Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

What Yakko hadn't taken into consideration when signing the contract was what would happen afterwards. He had mentally kicked himself for it on more than one occasion. He was the thinker, the one who used his common sense, despite his outward comedic attitude to life that often left those less shrewd not knowing that there lay a highly intelligent being behind all the clowning around and farce.

He had presumed there would be other jobs. He didn't expect to stay in the limelight all his life; he knew how these things went. You got "discovered" (if you were lucky), you got a job in a movie or TV show, you played your part as best you could and hoped that the movie wasn't a box-office flop or your show didn't get cancelled after the pilot episode. You had your moment of fame; then it was over. Deal with it.

Yakko hadn't realized before was that it was much easier said than done.

The weeks that followed filming their only movie, Wakko's Wish, was like a surreal blur. Yakko and his siblings had gone about tying off loose ends, attending final photo shoots to promote the movie, all of them feeling detached from the finality of it all. It only occurred to Yakko as he lay awake one night during this period that he hadn't thought of one major situation.

Where on earth were they going to live?

They could hardly go back to the way they'd lived before ANIMANIACS. It wasn't possible now, anyway. Not now that...

Yakko shook his head, trying to keep his thoughts on the present. Perhaps they'd be locked up in the water tower for real? He didn't particularly relish the idea of going stir-crazy in a confined space with his siblings... though he didn't recall seeing anything in their contract that said they would be provided with accommodation after their employ with the studios was terminated. He had wished their creator was there so he could seek his advice. Yakko put his head in his hands; although none of them had physically altered, he'd been a lot younger when they'd signed the document. He knew it was ridiculous to be chastising himself when at the time he hadn't completely understood what he was signing. He should have spoken up; he should have asked someone to explain the exact interpretation of the document to him rather than act like a smart-alec who knew it all. Why hadn't he asked?

He knew why.

He was afraid.

They'd happened on the chance of a lifetime. All he knew was that their creator had spoken to someone, had said something that had influenced the powers that be into taking the Warner siblings in for an audition. And they had the same name as the studio, the big-shots liked that, it was "cute".

As Yakko, Wakko and Dot had performed their audition piece, Yakko felt himself almost shaking with nerves. This was what their creator had always wanted for them; a chance. A chance to show the world how fantastic and individual his creations, his "children" – as he often called them – really were. Yakko allowed himself a small smile at that memory. Harry wasn't like other creators.

That was why the Warners had wanted to make him proud. They wanted to make his name famous around the world, too. And Yakko had been afraid that if they'd set one foot wrong, or said one thing out of turn, that they'd be turfed out on their backsides. The thought of Harry's face, full of disappointment – more on their behalf than his - drifting through Yakko's mind as he read the terms of the contract – was enough to make him keep his mouth shut.

But now, they were stuck. The dream was at an end, and living in the water tower didn't seem too awful when one considered the alternatives. And that was just as well, because the water tower was where they had ended up.

Most of the Animaniacs cast had moved on – Slappy had been heading for retirement anyway, and Skippy really was her full-time charge, both on-screen and in real life. Pinky and the Brain had acquired their own series, and the other toons had their own projects and wishes to fulfil. "Hello" Nurse was, in fact, a real nurse, who had relocated to NYC to further her medical career and training, much to Yakko and Wakko's disappointment. Doctor Scratchensniff was about the only regular visitor they had nowadays; and even his visits had suddenly come to a halt, much to Yakko's irritation. He at least expected the visits to dwindle gradually until they were just names on a Christmas card list, but no. One weekend the doctor visited, the next he didn't show. Or the next. Or the next...

Yakko could've handled it; he was used to people letting him down. It seemed to be happening a lot these days. What bothered him was Wakko.

It pained him to see his brother sitting hopefully by the water tower door from dawn till dusk every Sunday. He had hoped that like many kids his age (at least his physical and mental age, anyway) he would gradually lose interest and put "Scratchy" behind them. Unfortunately, it seemed that Wakko had developed a unique bond with the heavily accented doctor. Yakko watched his brother standing "casually" by the door for what felt like the millionth Sunday in a row and he inwardly cursed Scratchensniff. To not bother with him was one thing, to deliberately ignore his little brother was a different matter.

Despite these feelings, there was little Yakko could do about it. It seemed they were destined to stay up here, with no true purpose in life, until whatever end they were going to meet came up and hit them with a smack. They were watched like hawks whenever they were let out; Ralph, who had sometimes turned a blind eye when they snuck out of the tower was no longer employed by the studio. Now they had to put up with Sydney, a tall, wiry man who could have been anything from fifty to seventy. They were watched constantly, "exercised" like they were dogs. It was getting to Yakko. Hell, it was getting to all of them. Dot had very nearly smashed the old coot with her mallet the previous week.

Yakko had thought they'd be able to leave like the other toons; but it had been their lack of anywhere to go that had ended them up here, trapped like caged animals, on the terms of Thaddeous Plotz. Oh, how Yakko cursed that man. He'd let them work themselves into the ground, and they'd complied, naturally thinking there would be something in it for them at the end of it all. Money, security, so they could at least live out their lives in comfort.

No such luck.

Yakko sat on the edge of the bed, deep in thought. When the chance came, they'd do it. It was rare that he made rash decisions, but he was at the end of his tether.

When the chance finally came, they would escape.

Chapter Text

January 2000

Yakko looked at Plotz in dismay.

"What do you mean, 'There is no money?'"

"What I said, Warner. I invested thousands of dollars in keeping your show on the air for longer than I should have. I had double the actors and a dozen times the props than I had for other shows. None of that's free, now, is it?"

"But...but the show went out to millions! We must have made..."

"Ah, ah. I made. I commissioned you, and as I think you will remember on the terms of our contract, a certain percentage of the overall income is rightfully mine."

"Not a hundred percent!"

Plotz sighed as if he were talking to someone extremely stupid.

"I paid a certain amount of capital to get your show off the ground. It clearly states in the contract that if that capital is not fully repaid by the stated date, I am perfectly within my rights to throw you out without a cent in lieu of what you owe me."

"You can't do that!"

"I have no reason not to."

There was a slight pause before Yakko spoke again.

"I want to see it." Yakko hoped his voice was steady.

"What?"

"The contract. I want to see it. We were never given our own copies..."

"Because you were – are – minors. And minors without a guardian. Therefore all valid copies were entrusted to me. Besides, it's irrelevant. Whether you have your own copy or not, you can't deny that you signed the document in the first place. Number one rule in these situations, Warner. Never sign anything until you know the facts."

Plotz was smirking. Yakko wanted to punch him. That damn contract. He knew, didn't he? He knew that Yakko, young and without previous experience, had been pushed into signing when he should have been offered guidance in the matter.

"But where are we supposed to go? Our money...that money...where are we supposed to live?"

"Beats me." Plotz opened his mouth to speak, then quickly closed it again. He had been going to say, "I couldn't give a damn where any of you go. You've been a thorn in my side since the day you got here, and if I ever see you again it'll be a million years too soon." But he thought better of it. If the Warners left the studios and word got about that Plotz had thrown them into the street, they'd become objects of pity and his reputation was bound to be ruined. No, he wasn't going to push the boat out too far from the shore.

"I suppose you could keep living in the water tower. It's served you all well enough for the duration of filming your show, besides, we don't need it for anything else." He gave a harsh laugh. "Might be interesting to mention it on the studio tours – the home of some of our washed-up stars of the Nineties."

The thought of Wakko and Dot kept Yakko from losing his temper. They were his family, they needed a home. Somehow he managed to keep his composure as Plotz continued to speak.

"It would be on my terms, of course. I'm not having you three running around causing havoc. You'll stay in the water tower unless you're sent for. Your food and necessities will be brought to you..."

Yakko could only stare at the Chief Executive as he listed several other "terms". They were utterly ridiculous. They weren't prisoners, for crying out loud! Why should they be forced to live like this?

His thoughts again turned to his siblings. They could leave, sure. Broke, but otherwise there was nothing to stop them. But where would they end up?

Yakko knew the answer to that. They'd end up, like so many others, on the outskirts of ToonTown, where other toons, previously successful or failed fortune-seekers, had ended up. Some toons left the area altogether, joining up to work with other studios, or even going further a field and working out in the 'real' world, with the humans. Yakko was an accepting person - he didn't see age, colour or creed as a barrier to friendships – but recently he'd been getting a bit fed up with being used by humans as an object of humiliation. When they'd been filming cartoons, it had been acceptable; it was part of the deal. Yet when the cameras had stopped rolling, he and his siblings had still been treated by many as inferiors. He wondered if outside the television world there were any other decent humans. He almost wished he was ten years younger again. In those days he'd (stupidly) thought all humans were like their creator.

The prime offender to the human race was still talking. Yakko was still thinking about what would happen if they just walked. His mind filled with images of Wakko and Dot, hungry, cold and nowhere to live. It reminded him of the plot of their movie. It was so ironic, he wanted to be sick.

"Are you listening to me, Warner?"

"Yes, Mr Plotz."

Even Yakko was surprised at how calm his voice sounded. Plotz looked at Yakko, almost feeling angry. If the eldest Warner sibling had seemed frightened or desperate, the CEO might have almost felt more patient with him. Plotz was a man who liked to domineer, to feel his power. Yakko Warner – no, all three Warners – were a puzzle to him.

Yakko managed to force out an undeserved "thank you" before heading for the door.

"Don't get any ideas."

Plotz's voice – threateningly soft - made Yakko stop by the door of the office, though he didn't turn around.

"Try telling anyone why you're really still hanging around here and I'll make sure you – and those brats you call your siblings – are out on your ear faster than you can say 'Animaniacs'". He snorted at his own "joke".

"If Harry knew how you're treating us after all the work we've done for you..."

"Harry's not here, though, is he?"

It was the malicious way that Plotz said it that made Yakko feel as if someone had kicked him in the stomach. He tried not to react, though he took a bit of comfort in hearing the irritation in Plotz's voice at the mention of the Warner's creator; obviously he'd hit a nerve somewhere in that man's unfeeling mind.

Yakko was determined not to give Plotz the satisfaction of knowing he'd got to him. He stared straight ahead and shut the door behind him with a forceful bang.

April 2000

It was Sunday afternoon.

Dot was absorbed in her fashion magazines; since being confined to the tower full-time she had become more interested than ever, poring over the magazines she bought with the little money she had left. She was even starting to draw her own designs here and there, keeping them out of ham-fisted Wakko's reach and hidden from Yakko out of pure shyness, in case he didn't think they were any good. If she'd known that he'd already seen them, she'd have been furious.

Yakko hadn't actually meant to go poking around in his little sister's part of the bedroom. He'd caught her one time scribbling under the duvet with the aid of a torch, well into the small hours of the morning. He'd stood by her four-poster-bed** with the curtains fully drawn, not quite sure how to announce himself. You couldn't knock on a curtain. She obviously hadn't sensed he was there, or she certainly would have let him know. He took a step back to avoid any sudden mallet activity (which seemed to be Dot's reflex action, particularly when taken by surprise) before calling out in loud whisper.

"Dot? What'cha doin'?"

Frantic scrabbling under the sheets.

"MMMM—mmm."

"What?"

"I said, 'nothing'!"

Strangely enough, that had stung a bit. They'd never kept secrets from each other before. Yakko had changed the subject.

"You shouldn't be up at this hour."

"Why?" Dot still hadn't opened the bed-curtains. "Do I have to be up for filming in the morning?!" Her tone was sarcastic, though her voice was high-pitched, almost as if she was going to start crying. Yakko sighed.

"I'll leave you in peace."

"Yeah. You do that."

Yakko had almost slipped on a piece of paper lying on the floor by her bedside. He picked it up absently before realizing what it was.

It was actually a pretty good design. A little shaky from having being drawn by torchlight, but the proportions were right. He sighed unhappily as he put the sketch back on the floor – if he put it on the dresser Dot was bound to know he'd been the one to see it – and climbed back into bed, pulling the blanket over his head, wishing he could block everything out.

He hadn't known Dot was so interested in fashion design. She'd kept that one to herself. Sure, he knew she liked browsing the magazines, but all girls did that, didn't they?

He had thought that they'd be able to pursue other interests when they'd finished with their cartoons. Best of all he'd thought they'd be able to do it without having to worry about money. Now his sister couldn't even look into a career she was obviously interested in and had to make do with her secret jottings at night, and there was nothing he could do about it. Yakko buried himself deeper under the covers.

Some big brother he was turning out to be.

Chapter Text

Yakko was in the park, heavily involved with an intense game of tag with Wakko and Dot. They were being watched by Sydney as if they were on-the-loose criminals, but Yakko tried to ignore it. The trouble was that they'd made the old man all the more suspicious with the antics of the previous Sunday; Yakko still wasn't sure how they were going to top their performance, which had involved Wakko and himself managing to tie their cantankerous escort to a nearby tree using his suspender belt.*

Yakko was lulling Wakko and Dot into a false sense of security by giving them a head start at the moment; they were some way ahead of him, yelling various affectionate insults about his lack of speed today. He allowed a grin to pass across his face. He hoped they'd never lose their childlike love of life and fun.

It felt good to take his mind off of trying to find a way to escape their forced imprisonment.

He'd still been trying to work out a plan, but to his dismay he'd found himself unable to come up with anything. It was like a punch in the face for Yakko; he was the one who could talk his way out of anything. But with no-one to listen to what he had to say, his one true weapon was deemed completely useless.

He'd barely slept since the night he'd caught Dot out. Every time his head hit the pillow, Yakko's mind swirled with disconnected bits and pieces of useless plans and information. When you were the oldest, there was no-one to consult; no-one to advise you when you needed it. On one of these nights, exhausted yet restless, he had taken out one of their old photo albums. Harry had had a proper camera with a tripod; previously a professional photographer, he had snapped away throughout their early "childhood", as proud as any blood father would have been. Yakko often wanted to get the photo albums out and look them over with his sibs; Dot would have been perfectly happy to do this, but Wakko could hardly stand to hear Harry's name, let alone look at his photo. Yakko had never understood that reaction; he drew comfort from the pictures. They helped to ease the pain of loss that often stabbed at him when he didn't expect it. It was his coping mechanism.

Yakko often thought back to the things that Harry had taught them. He'd home-tutored them to a certain level because most of the schools refused to enrol toons. Yakko had met many a toon since that could barely read or write their own name because outside of ToonTown there were no official laws on whether or not a toon should have to attend school in the first place. He was glad that not everyone had the "power" to be a creator. If they had, there would be many others living terrible lives at the hands of unkind people like Plotz.

Leafing through the pictures in their polythene sheaves, Yakko wished his creator was there to help him. If he was, they could all go home to him, no sweat. Yakko rarely admitted to needing anyone's help, but sometimes he wished there was someone, anyone, he could talk to about his situation. He shut the album with a quiet snap.

A tear dropped onto the shiny cover, and Yakko scrubbed at his eyes irritably.

"Why did you leave us?" he whispered to himself. The only answer was the sound of rain beating relentlessly on the metal roof of the tower, seemingly growing louder and more annoying with every minute. Yakko threw the album onto the floor, his heart pounding with sudden rage. He drew his knees up to his chest and rested his head on his arms.

After a little while he climbed off the bed and picked the book up, carefully checking the pictures were unharmed. He closed the album, stroking the cover almost apologetically. Angry outbursts weren't going to get him anywhere. He put the album back on the ledge hidden under his bed. He had dwelled on the past enough for one night. He had enough on his plate dealing with the present.

He was fed up with feeling depressed, but being locked in the confined space of the water tower was wreaking havoc with his mood.

He knew Plotz had been up to no good. He knew that they had money, somewhere, that rightfully belonged in their hands. He wanted to escape the tower, as did Wakko and Dot. Yakko wanted to do something about it all, but he didn't know how. He'd been counting on Scratchensniff's visit for some time. He was their only visitor now; and an adult. Surely he'd know somewhere Yakko could start? He sometimes still took them for days out. Yakko couldn't quite believe how he'd managed to get past Plotz – the CEO had been so determined that they were not to be seen OR heard. Yakko supposed the doctor had fended him off with some "psychiatrist talk". He had been going to ask him, until that Sunday several weeks previously when he hadn't shown up.

Yakko had tried not to be too disappointed; he trusted people less and less these days and had kidded himself that he didn't care. He felt embarrassed admitting that even he had formed a close bond with the man, despite thinking him a little odd when they first met.

Forget that, I still think he's a little odd.

If Yakko had tried to kid himself he didn't care about Scratchensniff, all he had to do was look at Wakko to remind himself. This was the first Sunday they'd actually managed to prise him away from the water tower door. They'd had to bribe him with candy and other treats and eventually it had worked.

"But what if Scratchy shows up when we're not there?" Wakko had complained. "He'll be so disappointed to have missed us!"

Don't kid yourself, Yakko had thought darkly, but he didn't have the heart to crush what little hope his sibling had left.

"Pretty sure he'll think to look for us at the park. He's knows it's where we're...exercised." Yakko spoke through gritted teeth.

They'd given Wakko the candy, but he'd still kept on whining. Yakko had plunged his hands into his pockets and tried not to take any notice. He'd been thankful when Dot had suggested they play tag for a bit. Otherwise he didn't know what he was going to do with his younger brother when he was pumped full of sugary sweets.

He was still planning a way to ensnare their "special friend" when he felt someone poke him in the back.

"You got ten minutes."

Yakko glared at Sydney before looking at the clock behind him.

"It's only three-thirty..."

"Can it, kid. You have to go back early. Mr Plotz wants to see you all in his office at four sharp."

"It takes us five minutes to walk up to his office..."

"It's for your own benefit. Something about a job he wants you to do. But if that's how you feel..."

"Alright, keep your hair on. We're coming."

Sydney took a step back, as if he was expecting Yakko to hit him suddenly with his mallet. Yakko could barely hide a smirk; at least they'd managed to wind the old misery up in some way. He did temporarily think about wielding his mallet just to see if Sydney took off screaming hysterically.

Nah, he thought. Too predictable.

Yakko called across to Wakko and Dot, watching Sydney out of the corner of his eye. He was a sly old man, nothing like Ralph. Yakko had been able to tie the former guard in knots almost instantly, relieving him of information that he'd been sworn not to tell them. Sydney was a completely different kettle of fish. Yakko had been surprised to find that he was on par with the eldest Warner when it came to verbal warfare, despite his indistinguishable – yet indisputably old - age. He wouldn't put it past him to make up a lie that sent them to Plotz's office just so they would get in trouble.

But a job? If they had some sort of job there'd be a purpose to each day again. He hoped it wasn't something mind-numbingly boring like being made a janitor or the like. It would be just like Plotz to fob them off with something like that. Yakko could see him sitting back in his office, enjoying seeing his most reviled employees working back-breaking hours with barely any reward. Dot in particular would hate it.

Sighing at the thought of seeing Plotz, and suffering Dot's wrath if they were given a job she thought was beneath her, Yakko walked in the direction of the office, Wakko and Dot trailing after him.

****

"Studio tours?"

"Oh Yakko, just imagine! We'd be able to tell jokes and sing songs everyone will remember just how cute I am!"

Dot was clearly getting carried away. Yakko mentally face-palmed; what had happened to her promise to let him do the talking?

Wakko for once was keeping his side of the deal. He stood at Yakko's side, nervously playing with the hem of his sweater, concentrating so hard on not saying the wrong thing that he was biting his lolling tongue.

"No, young lady. This isn't a further chance for you to...err...promote your talents."

Yakko had to be thankful that Plotz wasn't quite so callous towards Dot as he was to the eldest Warner; perhaps he remembered she had a mallet on her person that she wasn't afraid to use. Ignoring her scowl, however, he continued.

"It's not a permanent deal. Most of your sets have already been dismantled or used in other cartoons, as I assume you already know. However you still have a considerable number of fans who will pay good money to see what is actually left, as well as some of the back lot locations. Who better to head the tour than the Warner brothers?"

"And the Warner sister..."

Plotz ignored Dot's interjection and looked pointedly at Yakko. He felt his face reddening, but he knew he had to ask the question.

"Sounds great and everything, Plotzy, but what's in it for us?"

Plotz's expression didn't change.

"How do you mean?"

"I mean...will we be getting paid? Or will we be entrusting one hundred percent of our earnings to you...again?"

The "again" slipped out before Yakko could stop it. Dot wasn't the only one he'd given a talking to before they'd knocked on the office door. He'd had stern words with himself, too. No quick retorts, no jibes, nothing.

Shoot.

Plotz's face darkened like an impending storm cloud. He rose from his chair and took a meaningful step forward. Wakko let out a little squeak; Yakko moved in front of him protectively. Plotz shifted closer until his nose was practically touching Yakko's.

"I had thought you would be grateful for such an offer; a chance to get out of the water tower on a daily basis for a few months. I know it must be getting to you, Yakko Warner, with no-one to listen to that smart mouth of yours."

Yakko stayed still, and fought off the urge to bite Plotz's nose.

"As for pay, I didn't think even you would have the front to ask for such a thing. I told you some time ago that, despite the success of Animaniacs and the money it brought in, it was not enough to repay the capital that I invested. So by rights, you owe me money. As well as that, I have given you and your siblings a home, which you had no right to expect. A lesser employer would have turned you all into the gutter long before now!"

"You wouldn't really do that though, would you, Mr Plotz?"

A voice - unusually quiet for its owner - came from Yakko's right side.

"We worked so hard for you, and we had no idea that our show didn't bring in the money we thought it did...Steven always told us it was doing so well..."

Plotz's face turned an attractive shade of crimson.

Dot blinked her big dark eyes at the CEO.

"We'll take the job, Sir. I'm sure we're all very grateful."

She elbowed Yakko in the side. Her older brother nodded in agreement, somewhat bemused. Plotz smiled; a toothy, unpleasant smile.

"I suggest you take a leaf out of your sisters' book if you want to stay on my good side, Yakko. Be at the Tour Centre by seven tomorrow morning. You all know the sets well; tell the tourists something interesting about them. Improvise, you seem good at that. No singing, no dancing, no practical jokes. Now get out of my office!"

Dot waited until they were a little way from the office door before speaking.

"What a jerk. Yakko, I'm with you. Let's get away from here."

Yakko looked at her with amazement.

"Sister sibling, I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I think those acting lessons really paid off!"

"I never actually had any..."

"No, but I felt it was an appropriate comment. If you ever gave an Oscar-worthy performance, that was it!"

"Maybe I could get into the movies for real one day..."

"Disney?"

Dot gave him one of her special glares.

"No, but maybe the real thing...a top actress in the movies, not messing around in cartoons."

"Never say never, Dot...hey, where's Wakko got to?"

"He's probably eating Plotz's desk again."

Wakko was still standing in front of Plotz's desk. Due to his short stature, the CEO hadn't even noticed he had remained behind after his siblings had made their hasty exit from the office.

Now he was by himself, Wakko wondered how to start things off. If he'd been a normal height, Plotz would have noticed him without his having to say a word. He felt uncharacteristically shy and awkward. He stretched his neck to see over the desk; why hadn't Harry made him a bit taller?

Wakko shook his head to clear the memories from his mind, to shake off the sudden grip around his heart like a vice when he thought about his creator. He must have made a noise somewhere along the line, because Plotz looked up.

"What are you still doing here, boy?"

Wakko swallowed.

"I wanted to know...I was wonderin'..."

He stopped, waiting for Plotz to throw him out, but the older man didn't take that course of action just yet. Wakko continued.

"Well...I jus' wondered if you knew where Doctor Scratchensniff had got to?"

"I let him go. With you three no longer in front of the cameras, I didn't need to keep a psychiatrist on-site now, did I? None of the other toons cause their guest stars to need weeks of psychiatric therapy after filming."

"Well, didn't he leave an address? A number where I...we can call him?"

"No! If I remember rightly he said he was going back to Germany. I should imagine he'd be glad to go home and get some rest, away from you three pestering him every time he had a day off."

Despite the unkind words, Plotz hadn't quite meant them to come out as harsh as they sounded. The man barely had a good streak in him, and what had existed of it had been almost erased when he'd entered the competitive world of business. He was not a particularly clever man, and it was this that had set him against Yakko Warner from day one. From the moment the boy had made his first shrewd comments in Plotz's office, he knew he was up against a highly intelligent child. Yakko had made Spielberg laugh – in a good way - and this had only wound the CEO up further.

Plotz had really only got to where he was in life by shouting and throwing his weight around, and because he had been left the position to fill by his late father. He had been a hard, unfeeling type too. Plotz remembered his cruel put downs, particularly when it came to Thaddeous's less than perfect schoolwork. Plotz remembered constantly trying to please his father; staying up half the night to study, but it was never quite enough.

Perhaps it was these sudden memories that appeared from nowhere that made him reconsider his comments to the middle Warner sibling. He put his paper down, considering taking the sting out of his words with an "I'm sure he'll get in touch with you, Wakko", but as he looked up he saw the door clicking shut as the youngster in question had quietly padded out of the room.

Plotz stared at the door for a moment, wondering if maybe he should go after him and apologize. Then he shook his head, scolding himself for letting down his guard so easily.

Scratchensniff wouldn't be in touch again anyway. He knew that for certain.

****

The rest of the afternoon and evening had passed in a blur. Dot and Yakko couldn't help being excited; they were both extremely sociable people, and the idea of being out of the tower and in society again had made their hearts soar. Yakko had tried hard not to seem too enthusiastic. A part of him was still fuming with Plotz for the things he had said in the office earlier – that and the fact that they were being forced to work for nothing - but Dot's excitement quickly began to rub off on him, and before the evening was out he was beginning to look forward to the following morning. He didn't even care if the tourists turned out to be boring groupies in anoraks – just to be able to talk to another living being would be enough. Yakko adored his siblings, but being cooped up together constantly and without a break was starting to cause arguments – and Yakko didn't like that one bit.

Dot had cooked dinner with help from Yakko, and the two of them had sat conversing for some time about the next day. Dot's first and (to her mind) most important dilemma was what she would wear; she'd tried on and discarded three quarters of her wardrobe before Yakko had quietly suggested that they should wear their old outfits from the show.

"It'll give the tour a more nostalgic feeling," he supplied. "Course that means you'll be stuck with no pants again, Wakko...Wakko?"

"Hm? Yeah yeah, that's fine."

He went back to fiddling with the pizza on his plate. He'd separated the cheese and toppings from the base and sorted them into piles; but so far he hadn't eaten a single bite.

Yakko raised an eyebrow toward Dot, who shrugged in response. They cleared up the plates, including the one with Wakko's "artwork" still on it. Yakko looked towards his brother, who was watching an old Bugs Bunny cartoon on the television, before speaking in a low voice to Dot.

"Did he eat any of that?"

"Nuh-uh."

"Wakko not eating...Wakko, not eating pizza...gee, you don't think he's coming down with something, do ya?"

Dot shook her head.

"He probably made himself feel sick with all that candy you let him have to make up for Scratchy's non-existent visit."

"Wakko puts away copious amounts without any repercussions usually..."

"Except when it comes to candy. Remember that incident with the liquorice?"

"Ugh, not when we've just eaten, Dot..."

Yakko decided not to push it. If there was a problem, Wakko would come to him or Dot in the end. He always had done in the past.

They went to bed early, determined that they wouldn't oversleep and give Plotz another reason to come down on them like a ton of bricks. Suddenly overwhelmed with tiredness from the long and eventful day, Yakko and Dot fell asleep almost instantly, happier than they'd been in a long time.

They didn't hear the quiet sobs coming from deep within the pile of blankets on the right hand bed that went on late into the night.

Chapter Text

"Wake up, Wakko!"

"Narrrffff..."

"What? Narf? You haven't turned into Pinky overnight, have you? Come on, bro. We'll be late."

"But it's only five-thirty, Yakko. The first tour doesn't start till eight-fifteen..."

"Plotz wants us there at seven, remember? Besides I think we owe it to our fans to at least look awake and full of beans! C'mon, Wak. We went to bed early enough."

"I-I couldn't sleep."

"Too excited, eh?"

"Y-yeah."

"IS HE UP YET?!"

Dot's larger than life voice practically shook the tower. Not for the first time, Yakko was glad that they didn't have neighbours.

"Aaaaah..."

Yakko didn't have time to add anything to his trademark sentence opener before Dot started jumping up and down on the end of Wakko's bed.

"Wake up you lazy little-"

Yakko gently removed her from the bed.

"Watch it Dot. Don't break his bones or no-one'll be going anywhere." He turned to Wakko and ruffled his head before sticking his hat over it – the wrong way round. "Best do as she says, bud. I've tried to save you."

Wakko forced a grin at Yakko before pulling a meaningful gookie at Dot's retreating back.

****

When they arrived at the Tour Centre at ten to seven, Yakko couldn't help but feel a rush of warmth at the familiarity of it all. How many times had they all done this in the past during Animaniacs? Some days Yakko would be going over his script for the final time; Wakko would be somewhere nearby, always half asleep; Dot would be flirting (read: tormenting) with the fellows behind the camera.

He was pulled out of his reverie by Wakko pulling on his arm.

"Yakko, I'm hungry! Can I get something to eat from the cafe?"

"We just had breakfast!"

"But I'm starving! Just one sandwich?"

Yakko couldn't remember a time in his life when Wakko had ever eaten 'one' of anything, but he was pleased to see his appetite had returned, so he nodded.

"OK, but just one. Don't clear them out completely when they've only just opened, right?"

Yakko paused.

"Good to see you're back to normal, though."

Wakko looked at him questioningly.

"Last night. You didn't eat dinner. That's probably why you're so hungry now. What was it, overdid the candy like Dot said?"

Wakko nodded, looking relieved.

"Yeah...eyes bigger than my stomach...or somethin'...OK, back in five minutes!"

Yakko watched him go, frowning slightly. Something wasn't right there...

"Yakko, do you think Mr Plotz will mind if I sing my Cute Song?"

He never got five minutes to think. He looked up at Dot, who was checking herself in a hand mirror and fiddling with the flower on her head.

"Dot, remember what he said. You'll just have to wow everyone by being yourself...without singing."

"No fair! The tourists won't get to see my adorable little dance..."

"No, Dot. Y'know I don't encourage sucking up to Plotz, but do you want to be shoved back in the tower before we've even had a chance to prove ourselves?"

Yakko winced at his tone; he hadn't meant to snap at her like that. The look on her face made him feel worse. He put a hand on her shoulder.

"Sorry sis. I didn't mean for it to sound like that."

"What's all this about proving ourselves? I thought you were supposed to be thinking of a way for us to get out of here."

"I'm working on it but-"

"You're fresh out of ideas? There's something I thought I'd never hear from you. Look, we're gonna have to do it soon. Before the tours are done and Plotz locks us up forever. If we wait until the season's over we'll be shut back up in that tower with only our lovely Sunday afternoons at the park left. You know that new guard never takes his eyes off us. These tours are our only chance to make a bid for freedom; it's the only time we're unsupervised."

A plan started piecing itself together in Yakko's mind.

"We'd be seen on the cameras..."

"We're gonna have to take a chance, Yakko. I don't even know how long toons live for...and I can't face the thought of being stuck in that tower with no end in sight."

Yakko looked at Dot in a new light. Sure, he'd know she was fed up, just like he was, but he didn't know she felt that depressed.

"Not to worry, sister sibling," he said with a grin, "We'll be gone before the week's out!"

"I had another idea," Dot spoke a little shyly. "If we continue with the tours for a couple of weeks; lull Plotz into a false sense of security..."

Yakko slapped her – gently – on the back.

"Dot Warner, I had no idea you were as devious as that."

"There's more to me than just cute, Yakko."

Just then Wakko came running over (half smothered in mayonnaise), waving wildly to his siblings.

"Hey guys! The first tour is here!"

Yakko stood up.

"Come on, sibs. Let's get this show off the ground."

****

"Sing the cute song, Dot!"

"No, no! Nations Of The World was epic! Sing that one, Yakko! Please?"

The studio tour group was a surprisingly rowdy audience. Yakko had been somewhat startled to see that many of the shows fans were adults; much older than the supposed target audience. He'd heard it in passing that a lot of their audience was older than the target demographic, but it was still surprising to see it in real-life. That said, he had had some fairly adult themed jokes throughout the show's duration; he remembered people complaining. He grinned to himself as he recalled that these people had sparked the "Please please pleeese Get A Life Foundation" sketch.

He'd felt almost nervous as they'd got off at the different tour stops and he'd turned to address the audience. It had been some time since all eyes were on him, and he felt painfully self-aware as the rapt group turned their attention towards him, making no secret of their admiration.

Once he'd got started though he relaxed; small interjections from Dot livened things up further, and when they reached the recreated set of the water tower interior and the schoolroom sets, the audience had started clamouring for their favourite songs.

"Sing 'All The Words In The English Language!'"

Yakko laughed.

"I'm not sure I can remember all of that one! And we're not really supposed to sing..." he ignored a "Oh please pretty please" look from Dot as the audience protested and encouraged him at the same time.

With Yakko and Dot thoroughly tied up with keeping their audience happy, Wakko had stood awkwardly to one side of the group. He couldn't help feeling a bit hurt. Yakko and Dot had always been the centre of attention, and Wakko was usually quite happy to be left in the sidelines – after all, it always made the sudden smack of the mallet more of a surprise – but today he felt just like he had a long time ago when he'd been the only one not to receive any fanmail. He played unhappily with the hem of his sweater, only to be startled out of his thoughts by a nearby voice that was clearly addressing him only.

"What about you, son? Are you not going to perform your fifty states and capitols song?"

Wakko turned around, startled, to face a somewhat old man who wasn't a lot taller than himself. Wakko must have looked surprised because the man chuckled.

"I used to watch the show with my grandsons – those two rowdy blonde ones at the front near your brother, see 'em? - I never could give up cartoons. They're like old friends, always waiting for you to come back and watch 'em again." *

Wakko managed a small smile.

"So you're not going to join in the Grammy-winning performance?"

"I-I don't feel much like singing."

They said nothing more to each other for a few minutes. Wakko watched his brother and sister laughing with the tourists and wished that this would never end; he missed seeing them so happy and carefree.

"Where do you all live now the show's been cancelled? Are you back with your parents? Or perhaps your creator?"

Wakko partly wanted to tell the man to go away, but being so rude to his elders wasn't really his style. He was a good- natured boy; one you could have a sensible conversation with despite his tender age and constant urge to eat everything in sight.

He shook his head.

"We still live in the water tower. Our creator...he...he died." His voice trembled a little.

The man looked shocked. Wakko wasn't sure how to interpret his expression; he hoped he hadn't sounded rude without meaning to.

"I am sorry, my boy. You tell me to shut up if it makes you feel better; I've got a habit of sticking my foot in it. I've been a lawyer for far too long."

Wakko managed to give him a wobbly smile.

"It's OK."

"But, if I may poke my nose in further, why are you still all cooped up in that tower? I'd heard rumours you still lived there, on the grapevine and all that. But surely they could have found you somewhere better to live? After all the money you made the company?"

Wakko struggled to find the right way to describe things. He didn't really understand everything that Yakko had told him; only that they had no money and were basically homeless.

"The only thing that stands between us and life on the streets is Plotz's...kindness."

That's what Yakko had said, fists clenched. It had sounded to Wakko like Plotz wasn't being kind at all.

"There...there isn't any money, sir. I don't understand everything that's been said. there was something about...um...capital?"

"Ah, yes. The sum of money your employer would have paid to commission and promote your show. In other words, to get people interested."

"Yes. He said something about we didn't pay it back?"

Wakko trailed off. He hoped he hadn't said anything wrong. He glanced over to Yakko worriedly, but he was still occupied with his audience. Wakko lowered his gaze, feeling the man's eyes boring into him.

"I'm sorry sir. I shouldn't have said anythin'. I don't really understand it all."

"You're just a youngster; of course it doesn't all make sense to you, no matter how smart you are. But something doesn't seem right to me."

Yakko's voice cut in to Wakko's thoughts as he announced the end of the tour and the group started to disperse, cheering their hosts wildly. The man's teenage grandsons started heading towards him, and the old man got up. Bending his knees slightly so he was more Wakko's height, he proffered a hand.

"James Fenton."

Wakko enthusiastically accepted the handshake.

"Wakko Warner." He blushed self-consciously at this unnecessary announcement, but Fenton simply gave him a genuine smile.

"I like a proper introduction. Always introduce yourself just like that, Wakko Warner. No-one could ever forget you, even if you weren't famous."

For the first time since the incident in Plotz's office, Wakko smiled brightly.

Fenton turned to wave to him as he headed after his two grandsons.

"Keep your chin up, Wakko. I have a feeling things will get better for you. For all of you."

Wakko waved back; they were kind words, and they made him feel a bit better, even if there was no truth in them.

"Come on, Wakko! We don't have long before we have to start over! Don't you want a sandwich or something?"

Yakko's voice and the word "sandwich" caught Wakko's attention, and he hurried off to join his siblings.

****

Days became weeks; weeks became months. The tours were for a 'limited time only', the Warners knew that, but they'd actually ended up rather enjoying themselves. At any rate it had been a chance to break free of the water tower and blow away the cobwebs.

Yakko knew that this could be their only chance to escape for some time, and with the tours drawing to a close, he knew he had to put their plan into action.

They were ready. They had their most important possessions and what little money they had left on standby. Yakko thanked whatever greater powers there were for hammerspaces; they'd have looked painfully obvious lugging suitcases out on one of the tours. Now he just hoped that he'd pull out a mallet when requested and not a fresh change of clothes.

What Yakko was waiting for was the day itself. Not just any old day. The right day. A lousy, dark, dreadful day when no-one in their right mind would want to go outdoors. He wanted rain, heavy, torrential rain. Rain so that you couldn't see more than a few yards in front of you. It didn't happen very often in California, but it was winter time now and bad weather had been forecast. If that day didn't come, Yakko thought, they would just have to take their chances.

It took another six days before the opportunity arose. Yakko was awoken earlier than usual one morning by both Dot and Wakko bouncing on his bed – not the most relaxing wake-up call he'd experienced.

"What's up with you two?"

"It's gonna be a good day, Yakko! Listen!"

It was then that Yakko realized what they were getting at. He heard the insistent tapping of the rain on the roof of the water tower. Leaping out of bed, he threw open the tower door.

It was magnificent. Rain was coming down in sheets, obliterating the view across the lot. Yakko nodded significantly to his siblings.

The time had come.

Chapter Text

They'd started life as doodles; little sketches on the back of a notebook as he made the daily commute to the office where he worked as a photographer for a local newspaper.

Originally, Harry had wanted to be an animator. It had begun back when he'd been fairly young, though old enough to be past the stage of wanting a different career for every day of the week. If he had to pinpoint the moment, it was in summer was like a revelation; watching an episode of "Looney Tunes", Harry had decided there and then that this career – or at least pursuing it – was going to be his main goal in life.

He had continued to follow this dream throughout his childhood and into his teens. He never liked school very much; the only subjects where he really shone were Art and English, and he threw himself into those few short hours a week with gusto. He knew his father wasn't pleased about it; in the man's own words, "Sitting around drawing pretty pictures isn't going to clothe you or put food on the table!"

He had taken Media Studies at school to keep his father happy, but when the time had come for him to prepare for college he had to drop the bombshell: he was taking an Animation major, and he wasn't going to give up on his ambition for no reason. This of course had ended in a huge argument, and although it had hurt Harry stood his ground. Nothing had hurt him more than turning away from his family, but something told him he had to pursue this dream. He was going to make it, he knew it, and he would come home and his father would be proud of him after all.

He wasn't to know that he wouldn't see his father again.

"It was you. You couldn't do what he wanted and make him happy; it had to be all your selfish way."

He remembered the cold voice of his sister Sara as she spoke to him in a whispered hiss at the wake. Guilt washed over him as those cruel words left her lips, even though that was his sister all over; there always had to be someone to blame for everything. But he'd already felt bad enough; his mother was in pieces, and he'd never wanted to inflict pain on her. She'd been nothing but a tower of strength as he'd grown up – the opposite of his father.

He hadn't wanted to see her get hurt.

He'd returned to college with a heavy heart, and for a while he didn't think he was going to bother even finishing the course. But then, he had reasoned with himself, how was that going to help? Sara wouldn't thank him for throwing in the towel; her words were more likely to be "too little, too late." He had resolved to strive on and pass – with honours – and to hell with what everyone else thought. He was tired of trying to make everyone happy.

Abraham Lincoln had said, "You can please some of the people some of the time, but you can't please all the people all of the time."

There was never a truer word spoken, Harry thought.

He had never once thought for a moment that he didn't actually have the gift. It was rare, first discovered – speaking in twentieth century terms at least, before that it was anyone's guess – by someone called James Stuart Blackton, and a couple of years later a French man called Emile Cohl. Both had seemingly been sketching simple cartoon characters out of boredom when, to their simultaneous amazement, shock and horror, their sketches had come to life in front of them.

Blackton had wondered whether to keep it a secret. If man had the power to create living, breathing beings with nothing but a blackboard and a piece of white chalk, who knew what kind of chaos he would create. But he was soon to find out that the business of being a 'creator' was not all it seemed.

Not every character he sketched gained mortality. Blackton soon came to realize it had to be the right sketch. It wasn't as simple as: take your chalk, take your blackboard, draw someone, bang! You're a creator. Very few of his sketches came to life; in the end he pinpointed it as only being the ones whom he'd worked on with the most passion, the ones he felt as if they were friends waiting to be discovered.

Of course when he had decided to produce a short film starring his newly invented characters, the world had nothing else to talk about for months. Opinions divided sharply in two; those in the blossoming film industry who thought it was a wonderful idea – here were characters, beings who could be designed to look however people wanted them to. There was no need to worry about injuries or accidental deaths during filming because these "creatures" (as some people unkindly worded it) were seemingly indestructible. Fairy tales would be able to come to life; fantastical stories such as the works of Lewis Carroll could be immortalised on film.

Then there was the other set of people, some religious activists, some who may be considered early pioneers for Human Rights – who, despite the fact that these new beings (more and more frequently being dubbed "toons") were not human, thought that the idea of creating objects of ridicule for mere human entertainment was outdated and morally wrong. Despite this, more and more people paid to see cartoons as the years passed, the Great War came and went, and the world emerged into the Roaring Twenties.

The debate about toons rose again in 1942 when one of Blackton's first living creations committed suicide after his creator's unexpected death in a road accident. Though the authorities had tried to keep a lid on the story, they had been betrayed by a young man who had sold the tale to a local newspaper, although by the time it had hit the main presses there were already several different versions floating around, each one claiming to be "the whole truth on Blackton Toons' mystery death". As far as it could be deciphered, the toon had taken his own life with a deadly mix of turpentine and paint dissolver, though how he had decided to use this concoction no-one really knew.*

The authorities handled the situation well. They knew they were walking on broken glass; people were starting to question if toons were as resilient as it had first been thought. Blackton's creation had been given a proper memorial, treated with the same respect and consideration as if he had been a human being. Though people were shaken by the event, gradually cartoons regained their popularity and soon the likes of Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck and Porky Pig were once again making people laugh in theatres all over the world.

It was this golden age of cartoons that Harry wanted to represent. He'd been enchanted with early cartoons of Mickey Mouse; the little black and white cheery figure that always seemed to be whistling a happy tune – but he wanted his own cartoons to be different, to have a more mischievous side to them as well.

That was how he'd ended up sketching these three funny-looking characters on the train in the back of the old notebook. Essentially they all looked the same; three somewhat dog-like creatures, but in Harry's mind they were all different, they had their own personalities. The tallest one he drew wearing a pair of loose khaki pants and a T-shirt**, hands casually in his pockets, a smile curling the corners of his mouth. He looked like the smooth talker, the one always ready with a cracking comeback to any insults he might receive.

The next one, the one of middle height, he had sketched on a different day, another commute. He'd been humming "From Me To You" by the Beatles as he regarded the second sketch. He'd 'dressed' him in a loose blue turtleneck sweater and jeans. The characters had a dazed smile on his face, and his tongue was lolling out the side of his mouth, but Harry had a feeling that inside there lurked a great intelligence and superb comedic timing. Grinning, he erased an arm and redrew it with a mallet held aloft. After a moment, he drew a baseball cap on top of the cartoon characters' little head.

"Faboo," he said aloud.

The woman next to him clutched her handbag protectively and moved to another seat.

Harry didn't care.

There was one more character in his head, and until he came to the actual sketching it had looked the same as the other two, but as the picture took shape he suddenly decided to turn the character into a girl. He gave her a hairpiece in the shape of a flower, and decided to fill in a dress in pale pink when he got home that night.

Thinking about it, he gave her slightly longer eyelashes and a more feminine frame to her face. She came out cuter than he'd expected - "Cute" wasn't really a style he'd been looking for – but she looked like she belonged and he didn't have the heart to erase her. He had names for the other two, but he hadn't really expected a girl. Harry had to laugh to himself. It sounded like he was trying to work out a name for a new baby rather than a sketch that had come simply from his own mind.

"What's a good name for a little girl?" he wondered aloud.

"You should call her Dot."

It was the voice of an actual little girl sitting across the carriage from him; all the time he had been drawing she had been watching him with interest, though he'd been too caught up to notice.

"It's my favourite name."

Harry grinned. There was little time to thank her as the train ground to a halt. Realizing too late it was his stop, Harry quickly packed up his notebook and pencil; he just had time to scribble "Yakko, Wakko and Dot Warner" underneath the doodles before he had to leap off the train and onto the crowded platform.

Chapter Text

Yakko couldn't quite believe they had done it. Every time he turned around he felt sure someone would be behind him, ready to strike, ready to drag him and his siblings back to a life of loneliness and misery.

They had run without any real idea of where they were headed. Yakko had initially wanted to stick to ToonTown, but it was too close. Plotz had people who worked for him everywhere, and Yakko very much doubted that he wanted Yakko and his siblings on the loose after the way he'd treated them; no, he'd be worried that the Warners would sell their story and he'd be exposed as the cheating, thieving man he was. Yakko grinned a little at the thought of Plotz's expression. He could see the CEO, in his penthouse apartment, looking at the paper and the horror on his face to see the Warners telling the world about how they were treated after years of dedicated work for Plotz's company.

Yakko knew this would be cutting his nose off to spite his face. Plotz would get an idea of where they were and they'd be thrown back in the tower like a shot. However this didn't spoil Yakko's little daydream, and he stayed happily entertained by it until Dot tugged at his arm.

"Yakko, where are we going?"

"Aaaah..."

Oh man. Where were they going?

Yakko had been focused on simply getting away from Plotz and the ridiculous rules he had forced upon them. It was unlike him, but Yakko truly hadn't thought much further ahead than that.

"What about grandma?"

Yakko blinked at her. Why hadn't he thought of it before? They hadn't seen her in a couple of years; for some reason her birthday and Christmas cards and gifts had dwindled to nothing, despite the fact she'd always been bang on time before. He knew Plotz wasn't keen on them having contact with their old lives; when he had broached this subject with their grandmother over the phone at the start of their employment she had replied with something very rude that roughly translated to "No way, pal." It still made Yakko laugh to think of it.

But Yakko was warmly ready to forgive her forgetfulness; after all, she must be very old now. She'd been a considerable age when they'd started their work for Warner Brothers. Maybe she just needed a little help to manage nowadays.

"Or we could go to Germany!"

Yakko's sepia-toned Disney-style memory of their grandmother was suddenly snapped by this very strange suggestion from Wakko. He looked at Dot. She met his eyes with a bemused smile and they spoke in unison.

"Middle Kid Syndrome."

"It is not! We could go to Germany because that's where-"

"Hey! What are you kids doing?"

Yakko froze as he felt a large hand on his shoulder, though it wasn't too rough. A tall cop was standing behind them, a questioning expression on his face. He didn't seem to recognize them, funnily enough; perhaps he didn't have kids who watched cartoons. Perhaps he didn't have a TV. The Warner's faces had been plastered over so many billboards and promo's in the past that you'd have had to have been living under a rock not to know who they were.

"Uhm..."

"Look! It's the Warners!"

The big-mouthed culprit was a tall girl in a short skirt and white leather jacket – Yakko would have been wolf-whistling her if she hadn't just stuck her foot in it.

"Where are they going? I thought they lived at the Warner Studios?"

It was an annoying phenomenon that occurred when fans met famous people; they suddenly started talking about them as if they weren't standing in complete earshot of everything that was going on.

The cop, to give him his due, was not drawn in by the gathering group of teenagers who were starting to crowd around the.

This is all we need, Yakko thought, attention.

Dot, who seemed to be on par with Yakko in terms of cunning plans these days, pulled her killer punch. She batted her eyelashes at her audience.

"We're going to visit our grandma!"

Suddenly it was just like they were guiding the tours again. They knew the strings to pull. Yakko snapped his fingers.

"That's right!"

A chorus of "aww's" and "aren't they sweet" came from the star-struck group; which was, of course what Dot had intended.

The cop ignored them and gave Yakko a friendly grin.

"You need a lift?"

"That's very kind of you, mister, but she lives kinda far away..."

"We were on our way to the train station..." Wakko piped in, immediately catching on.

"Well, I give you a ride there then." He scratched his head, reminding Yakko suddenly of Ralph when he realized he'd been had. "I would've thought the studio would give you chaperones or something..."

"Nah, not now we're not heading the big-time..."

Yakko couldn't quite keep the resentment out of his voice. Luckily Dot was still in the midst of her award-winning performance.

"Are we gonna get to ride in your squad car, officer? Pretty PWEASE?"

Dot bounced ahead into the car, closely followed by Wakko. Glad that this guy bought their story (thanks to Dot), Yakko followed suit.

Yakko stared out of the window, the rain running horizontally rather than vertically across the glass with the speed of the train. It was slowing down a bit now, thank goodness, because now that they'd actually used the weather to cover their escape it was going to be a hindrance if it had kept up at that rate. It never lasted too long in California.

They'd barely been gone two hours and it had already been an...interesting trip. Wakko was lolling against his side miserably, feeling travel sick, whereas Dot was entertaining a group of older ladies who had recognized her from Animaniacs. Yakko had been hoping they would be able to travel to their destination without too much attention; however it had slipped his mind that Dot wouldn't know inconspicuous if it came up and slapped her round the face.

Wakko had fallen into a restless doze; Yakko stroked the top of his head absently as a feeling of unease began to creep over him.

They'd carried out their escape to perfection with not even the sounds of muffled shouts behind them. But Yakko hadn't planned much further ahead than that; they'd been so eager to get away and be free instead of prisoners that he hadn't considered what they would do if they actually did manage to escape. In his mind, he'd been through the options, and he suddenly realised that he'd been expecting to get caught. If it hadn't been for Dot and her sudden mention of Jacqueline Warner, he wouldn't have even known where to take them. They'd have been out on the streets, with no home, no money, and no food.

How could have been so reckless?

He was the responsible one. There was no-one else left to take care of his siblings; it was down to him. And he'd damn near messed up big time.

Technically speaking he could well have still messed up. Yakko didn't know if the old lady would keep her promise. They'd been let down so many times lately that he'd practically forgotten who was even trustworthy.

"If you ever need somewhere to go, you come here. Whatever you've done, or whatever you haven't done, this will always be your home. Whether it's because your time in the limelight is over, or even if you're in serious trouble, you can always come back here."

Those were the last words she'd spoken to him that day. The day they left for their new career with Warner Brothers Studios.

Yakko clung on to that memory as the train made its way towards their destination. Wakko stirred against Yakko's side; he hoped his brother wouldn't wake up for a bit. He needed more time to think.

Dot came bounding over like an elephant and plopped into the seat on the other side of Yakko. She rested her chin on his arm.

"Yakko, I'm tired."

"I know, Dot. So am I. Have a little sleep like your hyperactive brother here."

"I don't need naps! I'm not a baby!"

Yakko sighed. He couldn't win sometimes. He wasn't a baby, but he damn well wanted a nap. However he was worried that they'd miss their stop, and every time he felt his eyelids drooping he shook his head violently to rouse himself. Dot did eventually fall asleep, her head against the carriage window. Yakko consulted the route map; it wasn't far to go now.

They stepped onto the platform, blinking in the bright station lights. It was fairly late but there was still a reasonable number of people around; groups of teenagers and workmates on nights out, other groups who didn't look quite so friendly. A gang of young men, all in their twenties, gave the Warners some funny looks. One of them shouted something they couldn't hear over the other people. Yakko was glad. He bet his life they weren't saying "Hey! Welcome to the 'hood!"

He'd grabbed hold of Wakko who'd actually tried to go over to the group because he couldn't hear what they'd said – why didn't that boy recognize danger when he saw it? In Wakko's innocent mind, everyone he met was simply waiting to be a friend.*

Mr Innocence himself was, at this moment, trying to free himself from Yakko's hand.

"Let go, Yakko! I don't need you to hold my hand! I can take care of myself!"

Immediately Dot followed suit and tried to extricate herself from Yakko's other hand.

"Me too, Yakko! I'm not a baby either!"

Was awkward behaviour contagious?

"I know you're not babies." Yakko's voice sounded a hell of a lot calmer than he felt. "But we're in a strange town and I don't want to lose either of you. Not everyone's friendly, you know."

Especially round here, Yakko thought to himself.

It turned out that the address on the scrap of paper they had salvaged from Yakko's hammerspace was some way away from the station; the streets grew quieter and were poorly lit. Yakko was no coward, but even he didn't particularly relish being out at this time in such a place. He didn't remember it like this. How could a place change so much in ten years? He had only truly realized on the train that they'd never really been out on their own before. They'd lived with Harry during their early years, they'd been employed by Warner Brothers shortly after their creator's death, but they'd been safe in their water tower, even if they did live alone. And there'd been Scratchy and all their other friends on the lot...

"Yakko! Isn't that the house?"

He swam out of his reverie and looked at the house Dot was pointing at.

Considering the drastic changes and new buildings in the area, the girl must have had a photographic memory.

It still looked the same. The shrubs by the door were slightly more unkempt than he remembered, but otherwise it was definitely the right house.

The two younger Warners, who less than an hour ago had been struggling to get out of Yakko's iron grasp, suddenly moved closer to him, fighting the instinct to hide behind him like they had when they were younger. Dot spoke first, her voice unusually shy and quiet. Perhaps she could sense her brother's unease.

"I guess we should...you know...knock."

Good point, well made.

They climbed the few steps and stood before the front door. Yakko took a deep breath and knocked with more confidence than he felt.

Minutes ticked by. The door stayed shut. He knocked again. They were all starting to give up hope, their hearts sinking right down to their feet, when the door cracked open just a touch.

"Who is it?"

Yakko cleared his throat.

"Uh, we're looking for Jacqueline Warner... this is the address we had for her. She's...she's our grandma." The word felt weird as it tripped off his tongue, it had been so long since he'd used it in person. "It's us, Grandma. Yakko, Wakko and Dot Warner."

The door opened wider, though the occupant of the house held on to it, as if she was preparing to slam it any second.

"I'm not your grandmother!"

The voice was indignant and rather shrill, and now that the person had opened the door Yakko could see she was far too young to be Jacqueline Warner.

She was a woman in her mid-forties to early fifties, wearing too-tight black jeans and a red sweater. She looked a though she never smiled; as if she were more stern and cold than even Miss Flamiel. But there was something familiar about her...those dark eyes and that stray bit of hair that wouldn't stay out of her face...

"I'm Sara Brightly. I'm Jacqueline's daughter."

Yakko looked at her in surprise. Harry had mentioned a sister, but he'd never mentioned her name and simply stated that they didn't really get on. He didn't remember seeing her at the wake. Why wouldn't she have turned up to her own brother's funeral?

"You're Harry's sister?"

"Yes. And you're the ones my brother got himself killed for. Drove him to his grave, you did."

Wakko whimpered, pulling his ears down so he couldn't hear. Yakko put a hand on his shoulder. Manners were forgotten; no-one upset his sibs.

"Look lady, we didn't come here to see you. We came to see our grandmother and I'll bet she wants to see us too."

Sara gave a harsh laugh.

"That'll be a bit difficult; she's dead."

Yakko must have looked truly horrified, because the woman's expression actually softened and just for a moment he could see just how much she and Harry resembled one another.

"Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to come out like that. But it's a stone cold fact; she died last year. Reckon it was a broken heart, myself; first her husband then her son dying on her. So what can I do for you three then?"

For the first time in probably his whole life, Yakko had lost his voice. His mouth opened and closed, but he couldn't say a word. It was Dot who came to the rescue.

"Our show got cancelled. Somehow we lost all our money...we were locked up like prisoners in the water tower...we managed to get away, but we had no idea where to go...it was all my idea to come and find Grandma...so please don't shout at my brother..."

If it really had been Jacqueline Warner standing in front of them, she'd have scooped Dot into her arms while she sobbed out the whole story. She'd have taken them all inside and slammed the door on the cruel outside world. She hadn't been a rich woman but she'd loved Harry's zany little creations just as much as she would have loved real blood grandchildren. She had been a rare breed; one of those who didn't see social differences, and for whom love was truly unconditional.

Unfortunately she'd handed these qualities down to only one of her children. Despite bringing them up the same way, only Harry had turned out to be like her. It must have been genetic, and Sara obviously took after her father.

The woman's face had hardened again; you could almost see something like rage shining in her eyes.

"So. Ten years away, and you think you can come crawling back here when you're down and out? My mother might have been soft enough to have been taken in by your sorry little tale, but I'm not. You three cost me my older brother and my mom; what makes you think I want you in my life? You can all three go back to where you came from."

Yakko had known that would be the response from her. He wanted to shout, we have nowhere to go! We wouldn't have come here if we'd known the truth! But he remained silent. With as much dignity as he could muster, he addressed the dragon in front of him, though anger bubbled inside him as he felt Wakko's body shuddering with repressed sobs.

"We're sorry to bother you. We'll be on our way now. I'm sorry about Jacqueline."

If he called her by her given name, he felt more detached from the situation. It didn't hurt as much that way. Arms round his siblings shoulders, he steered them back down the steps and onto the street. This dignified performance must have awoken some sort of conscience in Sara, because she suddenly called after them.

"Wait..."

She darted back into the house, returning seconds later clutching an envelope. She held it out to Yakko, who was still trying to soothe Wakko and Dots' tears. He glared at her. She shook the envelope at him impatiently.

"For God's sake, I don't have all night. Never let it be said that Sara Brightly is a dishonest woman."

It took all Yakko's self-control not to snatch it from the miserable woman's hand. He eyed it warily, as if there might be a bomb inside it.

"She left it for you three. Though God knows why she thought you deserved it."

Yakko ignored her. The writing on the front was small and shaky, though he could see the remnants of the beautiful calligraphic hand he knew so well before it had been crippled up with arthritis. Despite that, he had no trouble deciphering what was written on the front, and his eyes were unaccountably misty as he managed to read out the three short words.

"'For My Grandchildren'".

Dear Yakko, Wakko and Dot,

If you're reading this, I fear we never got the chance to meet again before the inevitable happened.

I'm not going to draw this out; I watched your success grow from the day you fist appeared on the television screen; I wanted to point you out and yell "Those are my grandchildren!" to the world and his wife. It certainly wiped the condescending smiles off of those who said you were a waste of space, that you'd never make it.

Despite your enthralling success, I was worried. It's the curse of all parents, all grandparents: worry. Being the miserable old bat that I am, I couldn't help sometimes pondering over what would happen if your time at the top was to come to an end. Where would you go, what would you do? If Harry had still been here for you it would have mattered less; but he's not. I couldn't help but fear you would be alone in the world.

Of course I know now that you won't need my little back-up plan; you're all doing so well, and the money you're earning should be put in trust for you until the studio terminates your employ or you come of age, whatever arrives first.

But on the off-chance that you should ever come unstuck, that you should need somewhere to go, I decided to leave you this small token of my affection. The address is on the back of this letter. Yakko has been there with me once or twice, but it's a long time to expect someone to remember, so you'll need to ask someone in the area or at least know how to read a map.

It is not a lot, far less than you all deserve, but because you will not be able to come back to me, I am leaving you this small apartment and my meagre savings, so that you will always be able to have somewhere to call home.

Yakko, I've never met anyone as smart as you. I may be biased, but you keep that cool head and use that acid tongue to your advantage. Be outrageous. Speak your mind. I never did when I was your age and I've always regretted it.

Wakko, keep your individuality, your kind, peace-making nature. I always though Harry was going to make you into a narrow-minded hippy by modelling some of your personality on the Beatles; please forgive me for being so wrong. You're not like your brother and sister, but in a complete league of your own.

Dot, what can I say? I think it's obvious where you get that cute behaviour from (hint hint). Don't ever change. Keep hitting people with mallets. You might get more done that way than any other woman in history.

I'm not religious and I never have been. I've been happily agnostic all my life, and I won't go changing now. But I hope to see you all again someday at the end of the long winding road. Remember that I am fiercely proud of you all. Remember who you are and where you came from; don't listen to what others think. You hold your heads high, so that I can remain proud of you.

Be happy, be good, and be safe.

Your Loving Grandma

Jacqueline Warner.

Chapter Text

Keys...keys...keys...

Harry shook his bag in hopes of finding the offending item. Why did they always fall to the bottom? He didn't manage to locate them before the front door was flung open and a little black blur came speeding down the path towards him.

"DADOO!"

Harry inadvertently took a step backwards; but felt undeniably guilty when he saw the hurt expression on Wakko's face, and picked up his probably most unique creation for a hug. Wakko pushed Harry away feebly before snuggling into him.

"Sorry, Wakko, but I just haven't quite got over the incident with the mallet yet."

"I didn't know it would hurt you."

"No, that was my fault. I probably should have explained that humans are a bit more delicate when it comes to such things. I'm just glad you were only practicing and you didn't hit me too hard. Or on my head."

Wakko grinned and gave Harry a huge, sloppy kiss on the cheek.

Where had he picked that habit up from?

Wakko swung himself round onto Harry's shoulders for a proper piggyback ride. At least it made him a bit easier to carry.

"Hey, Dadoo, there's a Don Knotts marathon on the TV tomorrow! Can we watch it together? You're always out lately, you don't have time to play with us anymore!"

Harry wanted to hit himself over the head with a mallet then; Wakko never intentionally guilt-tripped anyone, but despite his oblivion he had a natural flair for the skill. Forgetting himself for a moment, Harry heard his own voice reply.

"Of course we can, Wakko. And I'm sorry I've been a bit tied up recently."

"That's OK, Dadoo."

"When did you say it was?"

"Tomorrow."

Tomorrow? Oh, no...

They were in the hallway by now. Harry tried to rectify his mistake.

"Um, Wakko..."

"Sheesh, Wakko, can't you give Harry a chance to get indoors before you decide to hang yourself round his neck like an attractive ornament? He's old, remember?"

This was Yakko, of course, who else? But there was no malice in his tone. It was just banter; it was the way they were.

Harry slung an arm over Yakko's shoulders as they went through to the living room, Wakko now riding on his back and pretending he was on a horse. Dot was waiting impatiently in the kitchen, stirring something that looked rather questionable in a saucepan.

"C'mooon, Pop! Where have you been? I've made you dinner!" *

Harry didn't have the heart to say what he really wanted to: "Why? Why are you doing this to us?!" Dot looked so proud of herself.

When she had engrossed herself in her cooking, Harry and Yakko took a few steps backwards into the living room. Harry leaned over, lowering his voice.

"Couldn't you stop her?"

"Sorry, old man. She thinks you need a wife to take of you, and as you don't seem too keen on getting one of those, she says it's her daughterly duty to cook your food."

Harry couldn't help but be touched by the sentiment, but he whispered again in Yakko's ear.

"Pizza later? When she's asleep?"

Yakko nodded, with a grin.

"Besides, I want to talk to you as well. About...you know. Today."

"Was it good or bad news? I can't wait that long to find out."

"Good news, that's all I'm saying. I'll tell you the rest over the pizza."

"Pizza! I want pizza too!"

Yakko shoved a hand over Wakko's mouth, a finger to his lips.

"Shhh, Wakko. It's our secret."

"You and Dadoo always have secrets."

"It won't be a secret for long, Wakko. I just need to talk it over with your brother first."

"You always tell him everything first!"

"Well...he is the oldest..."

"No he's not. We're all the same age, because you created us at the same time. Then you woke up the next day, after you gave us our colours, and bang! We were standing in the room next to your bed!"

Wakko always used this information whenever he wanted anything, mimicking the way Harry had told them the tale (it had been their bedtime story for years) and he was always met with the same answer.

"Technically, you're the same age. However, I decided on your ages when I drew you up, so officially Yakko is the eldest."

Yakko smirked a little at Wakko's sulky face. It could have dissolved into a bickering session but Dot's voice came ringing out from the kitchen.

"Dinner's ready!"

Yakko and Harry both swallowed, preparing themselves. Wakko, - dispute forgotten – had tried everything from chairs to bars of soap, and was unlikely to notice the taste of...of...whatever it was that was in Dot's saucepan. Yakko stood on tip-toe to whisper in Harry's ear.

"Dibs on the chair nearest the pot plant."

"Dibs on the chair nearest the trash can."

They both made a race of it.

Yakko reached into the box for another slice of pizza. They'd had to wait ages for Dot to fall asleep; when Harry had told her she might have to get ready for an audition in the next few weeks she'd gone into hyperactive mode, bouncing all over the chairs in the living room until Harry had had to carry her bodily to the bedroom. He'd whispered to Yakko to go ahead and order the pizza while he settled her down, promising Wakko he could wait up and have a few slices IF he promised to go straight to bed afterwards, despite the fact that he'd actually eaten all his dinner. Harry had long since stopped worrying about Wakko going to bed on a full stomach; he was less likely to eat the bedroom furniture that way.

Yakko shoved the whole slice of pizza in his mouth at once; he was starving.

"Piggy piggy."

That was Wakko, who, already having eaten a good third of the pizza, was now half-asleep on the armchair opposite the couch. Yakko raised an eyebrow.

"Pot calling kettle black, Wakko."

Wakko smiled lazily at him, tongue lolling as usual, before drifting off properly.

Harry came into the room and sat down next to Yakko. He was wearing the dazed expression most people had after witnessing one of Dot's more hyperactive moods.

"Is she asleep?"

"Yeah. One minute talking even more than you-"

"Hey!"

"-the next she just went: CLICK! Out like a light. Don't know how they do it."

"So...what happened? I hope you're going to reward me for this impressive display of patience, Harry."

Harry elbowed him gently in the ribs.

"It's not 'impressive' if you brag about it, Yakko." His face became serious. "You know I contacted Warner Brothers Studios after they put that advertisement in the paper?"

"Yeah..."

"They got in touch. They wanted photos of you, and a list of the sorts of things you were all good at. I didn't really think we were in with a chance..."

"Oh ye of little faith! With our superb abilities who could want anyone else?"

"...but they are interested. The meeting they called today was a sort of preliminary thing; the main interview before the audition is tomorrow..." Harry swallowed. "...with the company's CEO Thaddeous Plotz and...Stephen Spielberg."

It was Yakko's turn to be gobsmacked.

"Stephen Spielberg?! He's in on this?"

"Yes. With the recent success of Tiny Toon Adventures and Who Framed Roger Rabbit? he's interested in producing other cartoon projects. Wants to leave his own stamp on it, of course, so he wants the three lead characters to be memorable - or unusual - to say the least." **

"And you thought we'd be perfect?"

"Naturally."

"What's the catch?"

"So far there doesn't seem to be one. The only thing is you will have to live on-site during filming."

"We won't be living with you anymore?"

"You'll come home for vacations. And of course you can all come back to me when the show ends one day. When we're all rich and living in a mansion, eh?"

Yakko looked down at his lap; the pizza was turning sour in his stomach.

"I'm so..."

"Confused? I know, me too, Yakko."

"I don't understand though. This is what we've always wanted. I thought when it finally happened we'd be over the moon."

"Aren't you?"

"Yes...AND no. I didn't think we'd have to be separated for long periods of time."

"You don't need me, Yakko. Not really. You've always been so confident..."

"We DO need you." Yakko's voice was quiet but steady. "We haven't got parents; you're the only father we'll ever know. I know I always look after Wakko and Dot but you were always there if we got into serious trouble..."

"And you've certainly got into some of that over the years! You're so smart, Yakko. When the people handling the auditions told me they were looking for someone clever, independent and witty to play the lead role I couldn't help but think it was perfect for you."

Yakko had to smile; Harry had such faith in them. Mustering up all his confidence he managed to ask:

"So...what happens now?"

"I'll have to attend this meeting to put the arrangements into place and give the studio my consent."

"When do you have to be there?"

"Well the meeting is tomorrow, so I'm going to have to leave tonight if I want to even have a chance of getting there in time-"

"Isn't a bit short notice?"

"Yes, but you don't f—er, mess with these guys Yakko. We might not-"

"Dadoo?"

Wakko's voice from the armchair opposite them. They'd forgotten he was still there.

"What's going on? You're...you're going somewhere?"

Yakko stepped in.

"It's good news, Wakko. Harry's got us an audition...er...maybe. He's got an interview tomorrow."

Wakko's face fell further.

"No. Not tomorrow Dadoo, you can't! You said we'd watch the Don Knotts marathon together because you've been away so much lately. You promised!"

Yakko tried to diffuse the situation before it had begun, though he knew it was a futile attempt.

"You'll never guess who might want to sign us up for a new cartoon-"

"Is it Don Knotts?"

"Er...no..."

"Then I don't care."

Harry knelt down so that he was at eye-level with Wakko. He put both hands on the boy's shoulders before speaking; his voice was very soft.

"I'm sorry, son, truly I am. But this is so important for your future. For all your futures. I want you to have some stability. It's difficult out there for toons to get jobs other than in the film industry..."

"You just want us to be successful so that you get noticed! Well I don't want to be famous! It's not fair and I HATE YOU!"

Both Yakko and Harry winced as Wakko stormed down the hall to the bedroom and the slammed the door so hard the house almost rattled. It was unlike Wakko to throw a tantrum, but on the rare occasions it did happen he made a job of it. Harry would normally have scolded Wakko for the door slamming, but today he just sighed, looking defeated.

"He didn't mean it, Dad."

"I know I've let him down Yakko; more times than I'd like to admit. I've let all of you down. I hardly feel like the greatest dad in the world." There was a pause. "Yakko...you don't feel that way, do you? You and Dot? You don't feel I'm just using you all to get to the top of the game? Because it's not true. If you don't want to go ahead with this you just tell me and we'll say no more about it. I'd drop it all tomorrow if I thought I was making you unhappy."

Yakko knew how hard it was for his creator to say that. All his life he'd worked towards this dream, yet never achieving it. They'd come close once or twice; some lesser known cartoon companies had approached them, mostly wanting to do 1940's style shorts (probably due to the Warners somewhat nostalgic appearance) but Harry had downright refused. Yakko had thought he was mad. It was only later he found out that it was because of the callous and cruel way the companies treated their toons, despite fawning all over them in the public eye.

If Harry was willing to put his dream aside, even now, with a name like Stephen Spielberg showing interest in them, it said more than words ever could about just how much their creator valued them – not for the money they were potentially capable of making, but as his family.

"I wouldn't mind a chance of getting famous." Yakko felt uncharacteristically shy. "I've always liked the idea of a career in comedy..."

A faint smile rose on Harry's lips.

"Heaven knows you've got the cutting tongue and the wit for that, Yakko..."

"...and you know Dot's been a little drama queen from the start. Wakko's always seemed keen too. He's just angry at the moment... but I think he really wants to show the world that "Great Wakkarotti" act..."

Harry grimaced.

"Maybe I should just cancel..."

"No way, Dad."

Yakko's voice was firm.

"You can't. This could be our last chance. Not many people have been interested before; perhaps they won't be again. Wakko's not really at an age where names impress him...perhaps 'Stephen Spielberg' doesn't mean a lot to him. But you have to go for it."

Harry looked at Yakko in surprise before giving a light chuckle.

"Can't tell who's the adult here." He pulled his jacket on. "Better make a move then."

Yakko followed him to the door. He had always acted the adult out of the three siblings but he suddenly felt years younger, or like he had done on those occasions when Harry had tried to enrol them in schools, only to feel himself wilting under the accusatory glares of the principal and the other students.

Much to Harry's – and, in fact, Yakko's own – surprise, the eldest Warner suddenly reached up and hooked an arm round the older man's neck. It wasn't because they were a cold-hearted family that they rarely did this (apart from Wakko, who recently thought it was great fun to kiss anyone and everyone), but they tended to be people who let actions speak louder than words. They all knew the love was there, and it was reflected by the things they did for one another. They didn't need to be all over each other constantly.

Sometimes, though, it was hard. Watching their creator as he worked tirelessly to get them into the business. Sometimes Yakko didn't want him to leave them yet again; he just wanted them all to hang out together, like a family.***

Geez, Yakko thought, I sound like such a cornball.

It was a somewhat embarrassing moment; but Yakko would cling to the memory over the years. He never forgot it; if he could have gone back he would have never let Harry go.

They stayed that way for a few minutes before Harry gently set Yakko down. He ruffled his headfur.

"I'll be going then, son. Look after your siblings for me."

"Don't sweat it, Harry. I can handle 'em."

"I know you can...tell Wakko I'm sorry again, will you? Tell him I'll make it up to him as soon as I get back...no excuses this time."

"Don't worry about it. You know Wakko; he can't even hold a grudge overnight. You'll come back tomorrow and he'll be waiting for you with one of those sloppy wet kisses we know you just love." Yakko thought about it. "Though maybe some chocolate chip ice-cream would help too."

"Deal."

"Did you say goodbye to Dot?"

"Of course, just before she fell asleep. Not sure she'll remember, though."

"Just thought I'd ask...she might have given you a mallet over the head if you'd gone without saying goodbye."

"Well, I wouldn't forget again would I? Cover for me if she asks! I'll see you tomorrow."

"'K, bye Harry...Dad. You know we love ya really!"

Yakko said it in his usual, casual style, but deep down he always meant it.

He hoped Harry knew that, because there was never a chance to say it again.

Chapter Text

Chapter VII

A knock on the door.

That was when the nightmare began.

Harry was late back from the interview, but initially they weren't worried. They knew he was driving to the airport, paying for a flight just so he could be back with them within twenty-four hours. He was never gone for longer than that.

As the morning turned into afternoon and the afternoon to evening, Yakko couldn't shake off a horrible sense of unease. He didn't know what it was; it might have been the fact that Harry always called to let them know he was on his way, but today the phone remained annoyingly, inexplicably silent.

Wakko was still a bit sulky, though Yakko had faithfully sat through the Don Knotts marathon all afternoon – little brother in his lap, Dot against his side – despite being thoroughly fed up of sitting still. He'd practically leapt up at seven o'clock, when the three short raps on the front door had reached his ears.

He was not expecting to see two police officers standing on the step.

Likewise, they were not expecting the door to be opened by three toon children. When they'd gone through Warner's personal items, they had found his contact information and three unrecognized names on the page, although they all had the same surname. The two officers had spent most of the journey discussing "those poor kids he's left behind."

Away from ToonTown, there was still a great deal to be desired when it came to the welfare of toons and their offspring, should they decide to reproduce. It was a rarity that any first generation toons – i.e.; those who were hand-drawn, not borne to another toon – remained with their creators; most were sent straight to work in the business. They were given a deadline; if they were unsuccessful, they were culled using illegal, outlawed substances, such as 'dip', or, in more recent years, a concoction known as 'Thinner'.* It was thought that the creation of too many toons would cause extreme overpopulation, and the authorities used these illegal methods with discretion; they kept their tracks well covered, and only the truly shrewd and those that worked on the inside knew what was going on and strived to keep the secret as just that – a secret – or people would start to think the law was corrupt, or some such nonsense.

We'll return to the moment that Yakko opened the front door only to find himself face to face with two police officers.

He'd seen enough television drama shows to know that this wasn't usually a good thing.

"Is this the residence of Harry Warner?"

Yakko's heart fell like a stone. Something had happened, he knew it. That was why he couldn't settle all afternoon, why he could barely sit still, even for five minutes. Harry had gotten sick or hurt or he was in the hospital...

He felt two chubby arms close around his right leg, a small gloved hand slipped into his. Wakko and Dot. They looked at Yakko, eyes full of confusion. Both knew something was up. Their brother's face told them that without his even having to say a word.

"Look after your siblings for me."

The first officer who had spoken was clearly the most sympathetic; He crouched down slightly so that he could see eye to eye with Yakko before continuing. The older boy stepped back, arms protectively around his siblings.

"I'm sorry I have to tell you this, kids, real sorry. There was a road accident at the store just outside the airport..."

No...

"There were several cars involved, but two really caught the brunt of it. It was a head-on collision."

Stop it...you're lying...

"Mr Warner was the driver of one of those cars. I'm so sorry, kids. I'm afraid he didn't make it."

This was all a lie. It had to be. It was a mix-up, a big mistake...Yakko shook his head.

"He didn't make what?"

The second officer sighed impatiently, but was immediately silenced by a furious glare from his colleague. The latter turned back to Yakko.

"I'm afraid Mr Warner died."

To hear the words actually spoken aloud gave the news a terrible finality from which there was no escape. Yakko could hear Dot's cries, Wakko's howl of pain, but he could say nothing. Yakko Warner, who could talk his way out of anything, was stunned into complete silence.

The officer was saying something about dropping any belongings back at the house the following day, but Yakko barely heard him. In a 'normal' situation, they'd have been told the news, apologized to and taken in by the CPS; perhaps even separated from each other, as if the situation wasn't bad enough already. But, as always, there was one rule for toons and another for humans; often they weren't even regarded as children, as they didn't age or change their physical stature even decades after their creation. For once, Yakko was glad of the social inequality; the last thing they needed right now was to be separated.

After closing the door, Yakko went onto autopilot. He comforted Wakko and Dot; he tried to soothe their tears, tried to make them feel better. When he couldn't get them to stop crying he had the brainwave of putting them to bed in Harry's room, where they'd maybe feel closer to him. This was their first experience of death – his first, too – and that was always the hardest to bear. He gently stroked their heads, telling them some daft story in his most normal voice until they cried themselves to sleep, before getting into the bed himself.

"Look after your siblings for me."

Yakko knew that sleep was never going to find him the minute his head hit the pillow. He couldn't have been more awake if someone was sticking a knife into his back, his head spinning, that horrible swirling sensation in his stomach. He felt weird. Numb. It wasn't really happening to him; he felt disconnected from the whole situation.

What kind of a son was he that he couldn't even squeeze out a tear over his own creator's death? He might have been the smooth-talker, the wise-ass, but he'd never thought of himself as cold-hearted, unfeeling.

And what were they going to do now? Yakko had never dealt with a death before; he didn't even know where to start. He was twelve years old – both physically and literally at that point – he knew there were places you could contact for advice on such things, but not every human had the same opinion on toon rights. There was bound to be some law abiding do-gooder ready to stick their noses in. They'd be taken by the CPS and separated; or more likely, handed over to the authorities to be 'taken care of'.

Yakko knew a little about the 'culling'. Harry had never been too descriptive, but then it wasn't something you openly discussed with a twelve year old boy who just happened to be a toon. Yakko was not about to take the risk of being separated from Wakko and Dot, let alone hand themselves in and risk death just because some big-shot thought toons were responsible for 'overpopulation'.

Where would they live? Yakko knew Harry only rented the house they were in at the moment; what with their efforts of trying to get into showbusiness, they had ended up moving around quite a bit for various auditions and opportunities. Would they be allowed to stay in the house? But didn't you need some sort of tenancy agreement for that?

"I don't know what to do!" Yakko's muffled voice was almost a wail as he turned over in the bed and tried to burrow under the pillow.

His tiredness must have been good to him because what seemed like only seconds later, he was awoken (half-suffocated under the pillow) by dull grey light seeping through the half-open curtains. The light fell on the bed, illuminating his siblings' faces, tear trails still visible in the fur on their cheeks. Yakko felt his heart swell with both love and sympathy. Poor little things.

What had really pulled Yakko from his uneasy slumber was a real-life sound. Suddenly it came again. It was another knock on the door.

Yakko dragged himself out of bed and down the hall. He didn't recognize the shape through the frosted glass pane; perhaps he should just ignore it.

The letterbox opened; Yakko ducked out of the way so as not to be seen. People always looked through the letterbox when they suspected you were pretending to be out.

A voice called through; a soft, gentle voice that he knew well.

"Yakko? Wakko? Dot? Are you in there? It's alright, you can open the door."

Yakko was already fiddling with the locks.

"I'm coming! Oh please wait! Don't go!"

The voice spoke again, trying to calm him, but Yakko was making too much noise to hear. He finally managed to undo the lock with his shaking fingers and yanked the door open.

Nothing was said. There was no need. The figure stood still for a moment, her own eyes full of grief. Then she held out her arms.

Yakko leapt at her. It was as if the full impact of what had happened had really only just hit home.

"Grandma...t-there was an a-accident...Harry was...our dad was..."

Jacqueline Warner, despite her kind nature, was never a person to baby neither her children nor her grandchildren. She had always treated them as young adults. Even when they were in trouble, she was not one to condescend or be verbally abusive; she would sit the guilty offender down, explain in a calm voice just what it was that they had done wrong and they would sort things out from there. She never treated them as babies and she did not expect them to act like babies.

Today was different. Today, she bent down and picked Yakko right up as if he were a pre-schooler. It was rare he'd let anyone do this; but he was so devastated about Harry and yet so relieved that they hadn't been completely forgotten that he simply hugged her back without a second thought.

"I know all about it, Yakko. I was...informed last night. The police hadn't even checked that you three had somewhere to live..."

"Don't send us to CPS, Grandma, please! We don't want to be separated!"

Yakko felt two small bodies join the huddle, the commotion having clearly woken his siblings. There was practically nothing left to see of the elderly lady apart from a pair of shoes poking out from a mass of black fur. Despite her small stature and equally light weight, Jacqueline Warner did not buckle.

"CPS? What are you talking about, Yakko? You think I'm going to disappear on you? Leave you to fend for yourselves? I don't care what the law says about toons. You're children...and my family. I don't give a damn what anyone thinks. You're coming home with me."

Chapter Text

CHAPTER IX

In a quiet backstreet, an old beaten up car was parked in a lay-by. It was old and not in the best condition, the paint scratched, the windows streaked with grime, but it was inconspicuous enough that no-one took a second glance at it, nor at the interior where two men sat talking.

"There is no doubt in my mind that this document is a forgery. Superior, certainly, but a forgery nonetheless."

The second man, wearing a dark overcoat, pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"I feel like an idiot. I believed everything zat...zat loser told me." He seemed proud of this minor insult. "I worked for him for twenty years; it was shock enough when he called me in and told me it he vas going to let me go. I knew he vas up to something...he certainly didn't like it zat I vas visiting the Warner kids."

"He was against it from the start?"

"Once the show vas cancelled, yes. He stopped everyone from contacting them; I was their only visitor. No-one else was even bothering with those poor little kinder. The last thing I expected vas to receive a court order banning me from contacting them. If I'd have known it vas a fake..."

The first man gave his companion a sideways smile.

"You do care about them, then?"

"Vat? Of course I do!"

"You said they drove you crazy..."

"Zay do...zey did. But I knew them for ten years of their lives! Zey haven't changed, not physically, and they've always had zis childlike side to them. They still argue like kids, they act like kids...but I saw them change and grow over the years. Knowledge changes people, even toons. They are zany, zey are crazy...but zey are just children. Just imagine, Plotz is sitting back, luxuriating in his penthouse apartment with his ill-gotten gains, while those kidzes might be begging in the street!"

"Now, don't beat yourself up..."

"I should have stepped in! I shouldn't have just stood back like ze chump! If I had done something more zose kidzes might be cozied up in their water tower, where I know zey are safe! And not treated as prisoners, but as living, breathing people who deserve every penny zey earned slaving away for Plotz!"

"Were they...happy in showbusiness?"

"Ja, as far as I know. But sometimes it got to zem. Sometimes zey were tired, zey wanted to go home and visit zeir family, which Plotz agreed was allowed. But somehow zere was always some excuse he had for zhem not to be able to go home-"

"They had family?!"

"Vell, yes, I remember Vakko saying something about a grandparent..."

Scratchensniff's companion was practically bouncing up and down.

"You do know this means we have a chance of finding them, Otto? Without a lead and no-one stepping up to the plate to say they've been spotted, we were out on a limb. But now you say they have family somewhere..."

"Zey never mentioned where they'd lived before..."

"It'd be in their records. All we need to do is get hold of them; and that includes a copy of one of the bogus contracts, which should be in the same place."

"How are ve going to get hold of them?"

"A little James Bond work, I think, Otto. I love throwing the rule book out the window. Specially when I know I've got a winning case."

Scratchensniff sighed.

"I bet zey all hate me."

"Don't be so harsh. Once we get everything sorted both with Plotz and that devious spy of a guard he's got working for him, we'll track the Warners down and give them the 411."

Otto gave a high-pitched, nervous laugh.

"I'm going to wear some sort of protective headgear; Yakko will be after me with an anvil for putting Vakko and Dot through this."

"I expect they miss you more than you think."

"Vell...I miss them too. They drove me round the bend, especially Vakko...but I wouldn't want them any other way."

"Wakko? The little one in the blue sweater and baseball cap?"

Scratchensniff looked surprised.

"Didn't know you were a fan of ze show, my friend..."

His companion grinned.

"Ha. I have a certain weakness for cartoons, Otto. Also, I believe our paths may have crossed once before...but that's a different story. For now, we need to get ourselves moving. We have to get hold of that contract, and soon."

"I can't believe Yakko signed zat..."

"I think you forget, Otto. Yakko was only a boy back then. Physically, he remains unaltered, but as you said yourself, people learn, people grow. He's a clever lad, I believe..."

"Irritatingly shrewd."

"So surely you can see why he made a run for it? He could see there was no way out, no escape as long as Plotz was in charge. He's a sociable character; I imagine being locked up like a prisoner with very little respite was doing his head in. How would you have felt?"

Scratchensniff had no answer. His friend's voice continued; firm, but not unkind.

"He's just a boy, Otto. Cut him some slack. As I was saying, for now, we need to locate the contract. Embezzlement is a serious offence." He paused before looking over to Scratchensniff. "And what are you going to do when we have our man? With the Warner kids, I mean. Are you going to adopt them?"

"I don't know about zat; zey might be older now, at least in years, but I don't think I can keep up with eternal youngsters when I'm an old man. Besides," his shoulders drooped slightly, "I doubt zey'll want me now, anyway. Apart from for therapy after all zis..."

"It's Plotz that has caused all this; you're not the one who should be feeling guilty. I'll get a team together; they'll start looking as soon as they can."

Scratchensniff plunged his hands into his pockets.

"I'm sorry to be so impatient, mein Freund. It'z not soon enough for me; I'm going to start looking for zem myself."

His companion put a hand on his arm.

"Let me get their records first. It's no good just starting out without a clue where they are. Before you go off and play the hero, let's at least get hold of their old family address."

Otto nodded.

"I just hope zey're alright..."

****

Yakko stood on the pavement, staring at the dilapidated building in front of them. He'd been overwhelmingly grateful when he'd read the letter from Jacqueline; sure, he'd known by the address that it wasn't the best part of town, but he hadn't expected it to be this bad.

Esterview Apartment Building, Block C, had broken glass in the windows and graffiti scribbled over the door. Rotting vegetation hung from the half dead tree in the communal garden; Yakko could only tell it was a garden by the weeds pushing up from between the takeaway boxes that were strewn everywhere. The wind picked up litter and swirled it round his ankles.

He remembered seeing the road where the apartment was before, but he didn't remember it as being this run-down.

But that was nearly ten years ago. The blocks must have been relatively new back then. He remembered flowers in the gardens and new shining windows. If he looked at the buildings, he could see what they used to look like in his mind's eye. It was this road.

Oh God...

Wakko and Dot were clinging to each other behind him.

"We don't have to live here, do we, Yakko?!"

Wakko kept his distance, too, comforting his little sister.

"I'm not going in there! It's too scary!"

Dot's lips trembled.

"I want to go home! This place is too horrible..." she might have followed her heart and continued on if she hadn't seen the look on Yakko's face. She swallowed and blinked hard, pushing her tears away before she changed tack, slipping an arm through Yakko's.

"P-perhaps I'm overreacting." She gave him her best smile. "That's just a little thing I do. It's maybe not so bad inside."

She nudged Wakko, who toed the ground shamefacedly before quietly agreeing with his sister. With Dot clinging to his right hand and Wakko holding onto his shirt, Yakko stepped over the threshold.

The front door was not locked. There was no need; no self-respecting thieves would give this place a second look. They had to kick their way through piles of junk mail in the communal hall before reaching the door they actually possessed a key for.

They entered into what was possibly a living room; a filthy decrepit old sofa sitting at an odd angle in the centre. On hesitant inspection they discovered an empty bedroom and a bathroom with cracked floor tiles and mould climbing the grout.

Wakko looked around the tiny apartment in astonishment.

"Didn't Grandma like us, Yakko? Why would she leave us such a horrible place?"

Dot got in first.

"Don't be silly, Wakko. It wasn't always like this. Somebody's obviously broken in and made all this...this mess."

"Not to mention the thoughtful artwork." Yakko added, indicating the filthy words scrawled over the bedroom wall with his thumb. "Don't read it, Dot."

"What does it mean?"

"Nothing that you need to know, sister sibling."

Dot sighed.

"Well, we might as well make a start on clearing the place up." She went over and put her arm around Yakko, who was visibly drooping. "It'll look better when it's tidy. And clean. And painted up real pretty. We can make our own stamp on it!"

Dot's face brightened a little, clearly warming to her theme. "Yeah, and we can go out when we want and do what we want with out having to answer to anybody."

Yakko couldn't help but wonder why Dot would even want to go out in such a neighbourhood, but he was grateful for her optimism and flashed her a grin.

"Maybe you're right Dot. Guess we should start with the bedroom, cause it looks like we'll be sleeping Japanese style tonight."

"Japanese style?"

"On the floor."

****

"Hurry up, Wakko!"

"Give us a chance!"

"You're sooo slow!"

"You're so bossy!"

"Will you lot keep it down out there?!"

Wakko and Dot, busily engaged in verbal warfare as they struggled to carry yet another bag of trash down the stairs and outside, had forgotten that in this place they had neighbours. Neighbours with sensitive ears, obviously.

The new voice called down to them from the balcony above. Wakko and Dot craned their necks to see who it belonged to. It was quite dark (they truly had no idea of the time) and all they could make out was a bent figure in a plaid pair of pyjamas. He was shaking a fist and didn't look as if he was particularly welcoming.

"Waking a body up at all hours! This place has gone to the dogs! When my wife and I moved in we were proud to live here. Now all we get is you problem families from God only knows where!" The old man peered down at them, squinting in the poor streetlight, before doing a double take. "Toons, too! Why don't you go back to where you came from?"

He leaned out further and spat at them.

This horrendous tirade would have continued, but a figure wearing an old white shirt and khaki slacks came storming up the path. Yakko shooed his siblings back into the comparative safety of the building before turning to face their opponent, anger clearly written on his face.

"Leave my family alone! If you've got a problem, mister, you take it up with me!"

"I have got a problem, actually. They're always dumping your kind round here. Last thing we need is more toons – it causes enough trouble already."

"We've just as much right to be here as you..."

"Yeah, I've heard it all before. You're trash, the lot of you. Keep the noise down or I'll call the authorities!"

He slammed the door on Yakko, leaving him in the dark.

"Don't worry about him, kid. He's been a miserable old coot at long as there's been sunrise and sunset."

Yakko started as yet another strange voice put in their two cents worth. The owner stepped out of the shadows, and Yakko was surprised to find it was another toon; on first appearance he looked weaselish, but on closer inspection he could see it was actually a stoat. He was wearing a long dark coat and it was obvious he was some years older than Yakko, both physically and in design. He nodded to the eldest Warner sibling.

"Baxter Tulli.* Like I said, take no notice. Or send him to me, I'll get 'im off your back."

"I think I can handle it...but thanks all the same."

Baxter paused for a moment, leaning on the fencepost. Yakko could see his eyes flickering as he figured out the situation.

"Old coot's right about one thing; the place has gone to the dogs a bit, ain't it? You need help clearing up? I can give you a hand in the morning if you like."

Yakko looked at him suspiciously.

"I can manage it on my own."

"Pretty sure you can, live wire, but I'll drop by just the same."

****

Baxter may have been old, but it certainly didn't seem to stop him from charging around with an energy that was almost level with Wakko's. He knew how to get a job done, and he got it done fast. Yakko had to admit having an extra pair of hands wasn't so bad, and by the afternoon they had made progress enough to be able to sit down and have a bit of a discussion. There was an awkward silence to begin with; despite his neighbourly actions, this guy was still a total stranger, and Yakko felt a little uncomfortable. It didn't help that Wakko and Dot were more interested in racing each other across the empty living room than sitting politely with their guest. Yakko apologized, but Baxter just laughed.

"Doesn't offend me, kid. Living round here I've seen plenty worse." He reached into his pocket and took out a pack of cigarettes. He glanced at Wakko and Dot then thought better of it, shoving them back into his pocket. It was his turn to apologize.

"Sorry, Yakko. I live on my own, I forget about being a bad influence." He tapped his fingers, clearly longing for a drag. "What brought you to this area at such a time last night? And what did you do to old man Marsh?"

This was a bad habit of Baxter's; his sudden change of subject often left his company completely in the dark. Even Yakko had to think a moment before realizing what he meant.

"Our 'special friend' upstairs?"

The stoat laughed again. Laughter; Yakko hadn't heard much of that lately. He missed it.

"We didn't do anything to him. We were clearing the place up a bit so we could have somewhere to sleep...maybe Wakko and Dot were making a bit of a noise, but it was nothing to make a meal out of..."

"Ah, he's always out for a fight, that one. And what about you?" He gave a start. "Hang on...are you Jacqueline's grandkids?"

Yakko stared at him. How did he know?

"I remember her coming to view the place..."

"You knew her?"

The stoat grinned.

"I know most folks who've ever turned up around here. I had the spare key for her; she had the place decorated up for you, I remember."

Yakko smiled a sad smile. She'd tried; she'd tried so hard. It wasn't her fault the place had been reduced to a slum when they'd eventually got there.

"She came down couple times a year, make sure it was shipshape and all that. Sent someone else to do it when she started gettin' sick..."

Yakko's head snapped up.

"She...she was sick?"

Sara hadn't said anything about that...

"You didn't know?"

"We were working for the studio...she never said anything when we called home..."

"Ah, she was like that though, eh? Kept things to herself."

Sudden rage burned inside Yakko's chest.

"I don't need you to tell me what my grandmother was like!"

He put a hand over his mouth, shocked he could have been so rude. Wakko and Dot had stopped racing and were staring at him; was he trying to alienate the only person who'd bothered to help them during this whole sorry mess?

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

Yakko stopped; the old stoat was laughing.

"There's no need to apologize, kid. You need a bit of fire in you if you're gonna cut it round here. Takes more than that to offend me; I know I'm a nosy old fool." His face suddenly became serious; he leaned a bit closer to Yakko. "I'm not kidding now, though, Yakko. Why don't you sell this old place and find somewhere better? You won't get much for it, not these days, but you can add it to whatever else you've got. Either that or go home."

Yakko's face fell.

"You don't want us round here either?"

"Pah, far from it, my boy. I haven't met such interesting characters as you three for years. If I had my way I'd make you stay forever."

"But then why..."

"I'm coming to that. It's not a great life round here for toons, not at all. They only put up with me 'cause I've been here since time began; I worked hard, kept to myself mostly. I only know what I know from being so damn nosy. Now I'm old, I've had my life. The gangs don't want to know me."

"Gangs?"

"I suppose you've heard of people who are...Anti-Toons. Think humans should be the only intelligent race or some such; out to get rid of us, some of them."

Yakko glanced at his siblings; Wakko was chasing Dot round the other side of the room, trying to get his cap back. Boy, did she know how to wind him up. They were too involved to be listening to what the two older toons were saying.

"This was nice place once. It was only when those types started moving in did it suddenly get dangerous."

Yakko looked at the floor.

"We...we can't go home. We ran away; they'll say we deliberately made ourselves homeless. Since we're not officially employed by the studio any more, there's nothing to say that they have to make sure we've even got a home. It was all my idea to leave. It's my fault."

"From what your brother told me earlier it sounded like you were treated like second-class citizens." He paused. "Can I ask you a personal question?"

Yakko nodded; he was already getting used to the fact that this guy didn't beat about the bush.

"What happened to all that money you were supposed to have made on the show? The Enquirer said you kids were worth thousands..."

"That's just it. We don't really know. Plotz – that's our boss – he fobbed us off with the story that we owed him money-"

"Sounds like he took you for a ride, Yakko."

"I know. I knew something was fishy, but I'm not a lawyer, I'm an actor. There was no-one to help. All our friends had either moved on or forgotten us..."

"Even the psychiatrist fellow?"

"Scratchy? He's forgotten all about us!"

"How do you know?"

"He stopped coming to visit us. It was overnight; just like that! The one person I thought we could rely on. It wasn't long after Plotz told us..."

Yakko trailed off as he realized what Baxter was getting at.

"You think Plotz sold him out, too?"

"A character like that? Wouldn't surprise me, boy."

"But...but can't we prove any of this stuff? Get back what's ours?"

"If you can afford a lawyer. Pressing charges for embezzlement and forgery is a serious business; if they think you're trying your luck, you're looking at charges for obstruction of justice."

Yakko swallowed. Who were the courts most likely to believe: a CEO with years of experience at a highly respected company, or three toons who'd only ever been portrayed to the public as zany, crazy and outright lunatics? What had he gotten himself and his sibs into? Yakko had always throught himself pretty streetwise; he was the big brother, after all. It was to him his siblings turned for advice and any "grown-up" stuff. Now he felt lost. He suddenly felt too young for his years. Younger than Wakko. Maybe younger than Dot. He was glad to have at least some reassurance in Baxter. He'd always felt like he'd grown up too fast, having looked after his sibs from day one, but those times felt like a walk in the park in comparison to now.

Baxter stood up; his hands were already fumbling for those cigarettes.

"Maybe reconsider what I said about moving on, Yakko. It's not always so bad round here; you keep your head down, work hard, they'll leave you alone too. You've got your little brother and sister to think of. If you do decide to stick around though, I'll cover your back. It might seem like I'm a nosy old has-been but you can count on me."

Chapter Text

The eleven days between Harry's death and the funeral had stretched out endlessly, time slowing down to a point where Yakko was convinced the clock had stopped.

He had tried to behave normally, trying to keep Wakko and Dot in a routine. Jacqueline had not interfered; there was an unspoken understanding between herself and Yakko about it that they never discussed. If he needed help, he knew how to ask for it, and she would be willing to give it.

Wakko and Dot had both reacted differently to Harry's death; Dot had ups and downs, and she was often almost uncontrollable, whereas Wakko retreated into his shell, barely speaking, barely eating. Yakko had done his best to be understanding. He knew they weren't deliberately behaving badly – they were simply unhappy.

They were all unhappy.

Yakko had kept a brave face on during the day, determined he would keep his promise to his creator to look after his siblings, though every time he laughed or smiled he felt instantly guilty. How could he laugh? His creator was dead; the nearest thing he'd ever have to a father was gone, and he'd never see him again. To smile was an atrocity; to laugh was unforgivable.

He had tried to explain this to Jacqueline during one of their talks after putting Wakko and Dot to bed. When the two were finally asleep Yakko could drop the act and he would talk to his adoptive grandmother over a hot drink in the tiny kitchen.

Neither of them were quite sure how this soon regular habit was initiated. It was a mutual thing, really; Yakko, whilst used to being the eldest, the responsible one, found it a relief to have someone there to fall back on, to help out when Dot was playing up to her best ability and Wakko point blank refused to eat his food for the hundredth time.

Likewise Jacqueline, although quietly full of her own grief at the death of her son, was of the school who believed the best way to stop dwelling on your problems was to listen to someone else's – and she was inordinately fond of her fast talking, sharp-witted grandson. It pained her to see him so unhappy. Jacqueline Warner never played favourites with her grandchildren, but if she had her favourite might just have been Yakko.

So they kept each other company in the cramped but cosy kitchen, Yakko seated on one of the counter tops, Jacqueline leaning against the old sink. Sometimes they said nothing at all; other times they had private conversations which went on until late into the night.

The night before the funeral was probably the worst; Yakko didn't even bother to go to bed. Jacqueline nearly jumped out of her skin when she switched on the light to find her grandson on the counter top, swinging his legs over the edge in the pitch black.

"What are you doing in the dark, Yakko? You gave me the fright of my life!"

"Sorry."

"At least switch the light on. I nearly died of a heart attack."

Yakko's ears drooped.

"Don't say that..."

"I'm sorry, Yakko. I didn't mean..."

She trailed off before patting him on the shoulder with an apologetic smile.

"Let's start again. Want something to drink?"

Yakko tried to raise a smile.

"Sure. Vodka and coke, please, Jacqueline."

"I'll give you Jacqueline, Yakko Warner. And sure, vodka and coke. Thing is, we're fresh out of vodka."

She poured him a glass of the fizzy liquid, before giving him a smile.

"Ah, I miss hearing your witty remarks, Yakko. Good to see you smiling."

The smile quivered on the eldest Warner's lips.

"I-I feel so guilty..."

"You're too hard on yourself. Harry wouldn't expect you to go around weeping and wailing like a banshee."

"Yes, but I feel I shouldn't smile...or laugh. It seems terrible...how can I laugh when-"

"Someone you love has died? I know Yakko. I've asked myself these things before, three or four times over, each time someone in my family has passed on. But what you've got to remember is, you're the one who's still living. And you've got a little brother and sister who look up to you and adore you. I know it might not always seem like it when they have you up half the night -"

Yakko smiled sheepishly. He'd tried to keep Dot pacified at bedtime but he guessed she hadn't been quiet enough.

"-but they DO adore you. If that's not something to live for, I don't know what is."

She looked out of the kitchen window, keeping her gaze straight ahead, before speaking again, more softly this time.

"How are they getting on?"

"Not great. Dot's so up and down I can barely keep track of her, and Wakko's totally the opposite end of the scale. He won't eat anything, he barely even speaks. If I try and ask him how he feels he either gets mad or pulls his ears down so he can't hear me. I don't know what to do to help them."

"Everyone deals with things differently, Yakko. Some people like to surround themselves with good memories; others want to shut them out altogether. Give them time. Be there to listen, but expect them to lash out at you."

He looked at her. Perhaps she was telepathic, because after a moment she said,

"And you can lash out at me, if you want to."

They both laughed; a strange, alien sound in the house at that time. She put her mug down on the counter.

"Time for bed I reckon, my boy. We've got a rough day tomorrow."

Yakko grimaced. Sleep was altogether unkind to him at the present time; 'bedtime' was a word to be dreaded. Dot usually chose that time to become near-hysterical, whilst Wakko would pull his blankets over his head, silent and unresponsive. Yakko did his best to comfort them. He put Dot to sleep; he put Wakko to sleep.

He wanted someone to come along and put him to sleep. He wanted to ask Jacqueline, but even though he knew it was silly, he felt like that would be giving up. He was the strong one, he didn't need any help. He wasn't sure it would help him get any more rest anyway; there were still the nightmares to deal with.

Jacqueline stopped by the door briefly, without looking back.

"If you need me at all Yakko, you know where to find me."

He flushed; she knew. She was more shrewd than he allowed for.

It was something Yakko was ashamed of; here he was, a lad of twelve, waking up reduced to trembling wreck. He was almost a teenager for goodness' sake. He should be able to deal with it. Sometimes he slept for hours without trouble, lulling him into a sense of false security – the dreams were gone, they were over – then he heard the three loud knocks on the door, saw the faces of the police officers, and all the while somewhere nearby that he couldn't quite locate he could hear car brakes squealing, a terrible crunching, the sound of metal tearing metal.

A distant scream always ended the sequence, getting louder and louder until Yakko woke up and realized it was coming from his own throat.

That night, the night before the funeral of Harry Warner, the nightmares didn't bother Yakko.

He didn't sleep a wink.

******

They sat in the back of the funeral car, uncomfortably clothed in their best attire, newly bought for the occasion.

Yakko loosened the tight collar of his shirt for the hundredth time, feeling as though it might strangle him. The funeral director was originally going to have them travel alone, in the second family car, but Jacqueline was having none of it and saw to that they were together in the main car, with her riding in the front.

Yakko had to admire her. She was stoic, even now, though he knew she was far from unaffected by what was going on. He hoped he was going to manage to stay strong for Wakko and Dot; right now they were clinging to a hand each, Dot uncharacteristically silent, Wakko sitting with his beloved baseball cap over his face, shaking with the effort of trying to hold everything back.

Look after your siblings for me.

Those words kept coming back to Yakko; he couldn't shake from his mind that it was the last thing Harry had said to him. He was determined to keep that promise, as long as he lived.

It was a beautiful day, the sun shining brightly, little fluffy clouds unmoving in the azure sky. It was the WRONG day for such an occasion. Shouldn't it be dark, wet, miserable, the way they all felt inside? On the streets people were going about their day; couples holding hands, young families taking their kids to the park; how could the world carry on as if nothing had happened?

Some people and cars stopped as the hearse drove through; a teenager, covered in multiple tattoos and uncountable rings through every part of his face stopped and removed his hat.

That person would never know how much Yakko appreciated that; a rare mark of respect in these unfeeling times.

They drew up slowly outside the church, then got out and stood aside as the pall-bearers unloaded the casket. It was closed; it had had to be. Yakko didn't like to think of the reason why.

Jacqueline stood with her arms round all three of them; a small gesture, but it seemed to give them all a little strength; Yakko tried to stand up a bit straighter, Dot smoothed her dress, Wakko removed the hat from his face.

Yakko knew that as immediate family they would follow the coffin down the aisle with Jacqueline. He didn't want to. For once he didn't want anyone to look at him, or to take any notice of him at all.

He kept his gaze fixed on the stone floor as they made their way to the front pew of the church. He felt all eyes on them; it was the last tradition you needed at a funeral, really. Wait until everyone was seated inside, then have you parade to the very front of the congregation.

We would like to present: the deceased's grieving family!

Yakko sat with Wakko on one side, Dot on the other. He looked at Jacqueline as she took her place next to them - their eyes met and she gave him a brief nod; a way of asking if he was alright.

He nodded back, keeping himself together, though he wasn't all right at all. He didn't want to be the big brother, the responsible one. He wanted to sit next to his grandmother and hide his face in her shoulder, like a baby.

The pall-bearers bowed to the casket one last time before the preacher appeared to make the eulogy. Yakko couldn't take any of it in. He kept his arms round his siblings, focusing on staying strong. He didn't realize until later on that it was them who had kept him going.

Then it came to the speeches. Several people the Warners had never met made their contributions; previous workmates, old school friends and even some ex-girlfriends, though they obviously hadn't seen Harry for years. Yakko wondered why his creator had never been in touch with any of them.

Did he give it all up for us?

He was thinking about this when Jacqueline stood up; Yakko remembered she had her own speech to make too. He squeezed her hand as she walked past. She did not stop or look back, but she lingered for a fraction of a second, squeezing back gratefully.

She made her way to the altar and prepared to address the congregation. She looked so small as she stood alone at the front of the church; suddenly Yakko saw not his sometime formidable grandmother standing there, but a girl almost as young as him, stripped of someone she'd loved dearly.

How awful it must be to have your child die before you.

Yakko thought about how he would feel if he were to lose Wakko or Dot; the thought alone was enough to make his eyes fill with tears.

He turned his attention back to Jacqueline. She stood up straight, smoothed out her black dress, and opened her mouth to start.

Nothing happened. She stood shaking at the front of the church; she tried to remain utterly composed but her mouth was trembling. Yakko looked around the church. Everyone was staring at her, open-mouthed, but not a single person was coming to her rescue. He felt a stab of his old, headstrong defiance.

He stood up. His legs felt like they might liquefy but this was no time for a visual gag. He managed to control himself and stumbled up to the altar.

"Sit down." He whispered shakily to Jacqueline before turning to face his audience. There were a good fifty people in the church, but it might as well have been thousands. He almost backed down and bolted when he suddenly heard Harry's voice in his mind; a conversation from long ago, that until that point Yakko had forgotten.

"You're a strong character, Yakko. In the future, when you first open your mouth in public, people are going to remember your name. Even if they don't like you, they won't be able to ignore you. You stand out too much for that."

He could do this. He would make his family proud. He focused on them; they were who he was doing this for. He looked out into the sea of faces. He couldn't see Sara anywhere. Not that it was much of a surprise.

"My name is Yakko Warner. Perhaps some of you know about me and my siblings. Harry created us to help fulfil his dreams; dreams of getting into the cartoon business."

There was a stirring amongst the listeners. Yakko continued.

"Harry wasn't like other cartoon creators. He didn't want to sell us off to any old company and make a quick buck; he wanted us to be successful and do great things. That's why his dream became our dream. He treated us as if we were his real children; we had no other parents and, with Harry, we didn't need them.

When none of the local schools would accept us, Harry took over our education himself. He taught us to read and write, our basic math, and he encouraged us to practice our special skills, though I think sometimes he regretted that last one."

Quiet laughs from the congregation. Yakko stopped and swallowed, his mouth drier than a desert.

"It wasn't all boring stuff. He taught us other things; he shared a love of classic literature with me, he taught Wakko how to play violin, he taught Dot how to draw. He was terrible at anything but cartoons-" – another laugh – "but he taught her just the same.

We weren't a perfect family. We had our fights, our disagreements, just like everyone else. But inside we knew we didn't mean it – or even if we did at the time – come the next day and it was all water under the bridge.

Harry worked so hard for us. He wanted us to achieve anything we wanted in life. He wanted to see us be successful, for our own sakes. We intend to keep that dream alive."

Yakko turned to the closed casket.

"Goodbye...Dad. I hope we make you proud."

He turned back to the congregation. He was worried that the speech was too much, too over the top, but there was not a single person that he could see that didn't have tears in their eyes. He looked anxiously at Jacqueline.

The elder woman was now totally composed. She placed an arm around Yakko's shoulders, and gently steered him back to the pew, where Wakko and Dot fell against him as soon as he sat down.

****

They settled into a routine. They couldn't help it; there was very little else left to focus on. They practiced their toon abilities, they made up silly jokes, Yakko treated the bedroom mirror to his best comebacks and quirky expressions on a daily basis, but all it felt like they were doing was going through the motions, without at goal, without a purpose. Yakko had barely given a second though to the future; it was hard enough battling through the present.

The future was decided for them in a somewhat frenzied rush that began one afternoon during a late lunch. The one thing that relieved Yakko was that much of Wakko's enormous appetite had returned, and they had all been scrambling to get a hold of at least one sandwich before he demolished the lot, when there had been a knock at the door.

Still half-hearted but with a pinch of their old enthusiasm, the crockery in the kitchen had rattled with the all too familiar cry of "I'll get it!" Jacqueline had to resist the temptation of climbing onto the draining board to get out of their way.

In the end they all got to the door at the same time. It was a very odd sight of three toons - seemingly conjoined at some point of their anatomy – that greeted the man in a black Armani suit who stood on the front door step.

Yakko stood with Dot hanging from his neck and Wakko swinging on his arm. He paused slightly before speaking as nonchalantly as possible.

"May I help you?"

"I'm looking for the Warners...uh...is that you?" He looked as if he hoped they weren't.

"Yes, we're the Warner Brothers..."

"..and the Warner sister!" Dot piped up. "What can we do for you?"

"What can you do? What can you do?!" Armani Suit was a little over-excited, to say the least. He waved a letter in their faces. "How can you even ask that? You were up for an audition on Monday with some of the biggest producers in the business. You don't show up, I spend the last three days searching for you, and all you can say is 'What can we do'?!"

Yakko looked at the letter in astonishment. They'd forgotten all about it, the reason why Harry had left that night in the first place. He'd still be here if he hadn't...

Yakko looked at the floor. When he spoke again, his voice was very soft.

"Why on earth would they send you looking for us? There's plenty of toons in the business...why didn't you just find someone else?"

"Someone else?!" Armani Suit clearly had a talent for echoing. "You don't know this casting director.* After the pitch Mr Warner gave us, he insists it's you. Won't take no for an answer. Let's get going!" He tried to pull Yakko towards the car; the eldest Warner shook him off irritably.

"No."

"What?!"

"I said 'no'. You just expect us to drop everything? Right now? We didn't even know about this audition..."

"You would have if you hadn't moved without leaving a forwarding address."

"Oh, well I'm very sorry-" dripping sarcasm – "but we had a little too much on our plates to think about that at the time! We can't just walk away because someone we've never met snaps their fingers!"

"Oh yes you can." Jacqueline's voice came from behind them. She put her hand on Yakko's shoulders. He didn't push her away as she turned him to face her.

"What did you say not three months ago at the funeral?"

"What funeral?" Armani Suit also didn't seem to know how to keep out of private conversations. Jacqueline ignored him altogether.

"Well? What did you say?"

"That...that I wanted to keep Harry's dream alive."

"Right. And what about you two?" She looked at Wakko and Dot. "Isn't that what you wanted too?"

"Uh-huh."

"Yes, ma'am."

"So you're all in agreement. This is your chance; I'll be damned if you're going to miss it." She squared up to Mr Armani Suit. "And you can hold your horses while my grandchildren get a few of their things together. You're three days late already, why rush now?"

Having quickly put two and two together from the conversation that he'd unashamedly listened to between Yakko and Jacqueline, the man nodded agreement, somewhat shamefaced.

Yakko looked around the bedroom they'd been staying in since Harry's death. They didn't have a lot; toys seemed to have lost their charm at the moment. Only Dot half-heartedly cuddled a teddy when she fell asleep, and it was only because she'd had it since the start. Aside from clothes and an old family photo album, they put only their most valued possessions into their hammerspaces; Yakko a pair of paddleballs and Dot her old flower hair band. Wakko's most prized item was his red baseball cap, which was always on his head anyway. All were gifts from their creator.

Their unexpected visitor was irritably tapping his foot as he waited by the door. None of them took any notice as they fell on Jacqueline for one last hug. She kissed each of them in turn then ran her hand gently over Yakko's head.

"You remember what I've told you, Yakko Warner. It's up to you three now; but if you ever need somewhere to go, you come here. Whatever you've done, or whatever you haven't done, this will always be your home. Whether it's because your time in the limelight is over, or even if you're in serious trouble, you can always come back here." She cleared her throat. "Enough of this sentimental crap; go now, before I change my mind and keep you all prisoners here forever."

The Warners bounded down to the stretched Mercedes that waited for them and climbed in. They crammed themselves into the back window, waving and waving until they rounded the corner as the car drove away, transporting them to their new life.

In his mind's eye, that was always the way Yakko remembered Jacqueline Warner; standing by her red front door, waving and occasionally kissing her hand in their direction until they were out of sight forever.

Chapter Text

It was dark.

There was no moon in the sky over the Warner movie lot, nothing to highlight the shapes of the buildings or the now-empty water tower. This normally thriving place seemed to be deserted, but somewhere in one of the offices, a figured moved stealthily as he quickly yet thoroughly searched the filing cabinets.

His gloved fingers slicked through the pages until he found the two documents he was after. He looked at them and shook his head.

"Plotz..." his voice was a whisper that still sounded too loud in the emptiness of the building. "You dreadful man..."*

He had what he needed; James Fenton grinned to himself.

"I love throwing the rule book out the window."

****

The days turned into weeks, the weeks turned into months. The Warners became used to their new lives; it was odd how soon it stopped feeling new and felt as if it was normal. Their time at Warner Brothers sometimes seemed like a dream, as if it had happened during another lifetime altogether.

They had eked out Jacqueline's savings for as long as they could, but Yakko knew they wouldn't last forever. He had soon been forced to go out and search for some sort of work. There was really very little to be found in the area; and for once it wasn't in his favour that he was stuck as a younger teenager for the rest of his life. Most employers didn't even bother to look at his Creation Certificate which clearly stated his literal age, before slamming the door in his face. He was eventually reduced working odd jobs here and there for people who were obviously unperturbed by an "underage" worker, cash in hand, no questions asked.

Wakko and Dot had often offered to help him out, but Yakko wasn't having that. He shuddered to think of how some unkind people might exploit his precious siblings, and it was this thought that gave him determination and strength while he was out trying to scrape together enough money for their next meal.

Well, Wakko and Dot's next meal anyway.

On some days Yakko barely had enough for a loaf of bread. On these days, he didn't bother to eat. When his siblings questioned him he laughed it off. He had a list of excuses at the ready. He'd eaten while he was on his way home, he wasn't hungry, he was tired...

It was an Oscar-winning performance as always, and he convinced everyone but Baxter.

Baxter was the only friend they'd really made, it was true. He was a god-send to Yakko at times; the eldest Warner hated handing Wakko or Dot over to anyone. It made him feel unjustifiably jealous, but knowing the old stoat was just across the street in case anything went wrong did make him feel slightly more at ease.

When the stoat in question had first figured out Yakko's dilemma, he had been in their living room keeping them all entertained with stories of when he was younger and had visited a host of other countries after not really landing a successful spot in the film industry. Yakko very much doubted they were all true, but Baxter was a natural storyteller and they were excellent entertainment in the absence of the TV, which they still didn't have yet. Wakko and Dot had fallen asleep after an impromptu game of cops and robbers (led by no other than the stoat himself), while Yakko had slumped in the battered armchair, fighting to keep his eyes open. He felt like an old man. All he needed was a pipe and some slippers and the look would be complete. He was so tired...

And so hungry...

He must have inadvertently dropped off for a few minutes, because the next thing he knew Baxter was standing right over him and digging him gently in the ribs. Yakko nearly jumped out of his skin with an undignified yelp.

"Sorry kiddo, you were worrying me." He looked over his shoulder to ensure Wakko and Dot were still asleep, before turning back to Yakko, his arms folded and brow knitted together, looking for all the world like an overbearing father. "What's going on, Yakko? Don't think you can hide it from me, I've seen it all before, remember?"

Yakko was never a person to openly spill his guts; he'd been alone and without guidance for such a long time that he felt he was used to carrying the weight of his worries on his shoulders, so it surprised him when his mouth opened of its own accord and told the stoat everything, how work was becoming sparse, food was scarcer and scarcer and he didn't even want to think how he would keep up with Wakko.

Baxter listened intently, taking everything in before giving Yakko a sad smile.

"Yakko. I'm gonna tell it to ya straight. Plenty of my friends have been down this road, and I'm damned if I'm gonna let it happen to you and your sibs." He took a breath. "I know I've said it before; why don't you go home? I know you decided to stay and try your chances, but it's not working. You're too stubborn for your own good." He put a hand on the boy's shoulder; Yakko pulled away. "Don't think I don't want you around, kid – far from it. I just don't want to see you dragged down. Kids or no kids, there's plenty of people with no scruples round here and I'd hate to see your siblings get pulled into the underworld and forced into God only knows what."

This last comment made Yakko look up.

"But if we go home..."

"Plotz'll get you? You could always try getting to him first. Sell this place, sell your story to the press, do whatever. It's a long shot, but it might work."

Yakko gave a tired smile, too tired to even think. The old stoat made his excuses and left; Yakko carried his siblings to the bedroom, tucking them into the makeshift bed on the floor. He climbed in next to them; Wakko spread out like a windmill leaving very little room for anyone else. Yakko sat looking out of the old sash-type window a the sky.

"Dad...am I doing the right thing?" he whispered.

He longed for a sign, something, anything to indicate a reply, even a stupid Disney-style shooting star, but of course there was no response but silence permeated by the occasional sound of a car passing by. He wanted to wait a little longer but he was so hungry and exhausted that he fell asleep before his head even hit the pillow.

****

The events of the next few days would make up Yakko's mind about the situation for him. Things were a little better than usual; he had made enough money for them all to eat tonight, and he'd turned into their street a little less dejectedly than usual.

He was thinking about what they could have for this sort of celebratory occasion, when he saw something he did not like at all; Baxter was standing on the sidewalk in front of their house with Wakko and Dot, and both of his siblings were crying. He broke into a run.

"Sibs! Sibs, what's going on?"

They both fell on him, gabbling out the story at the same time without pausing for breath. In the end Yakko had to shout to calm them down so he could understand what they were saying.

Dot pointed at the floor where their apartment was; for the first time Yakko noticed the broken window and the newly scrawled graffiti on the door they'd tried so hard to get clean.

"We were playing hide-and-seek when some people started throwing things at the block..."

"Yes," Wakko continued, "they were shouting all these weird words I didn't understand. When they'd gone we came outside and that was written on the door."

Most of what was scrawled was indecipherable, but one sentence was clear enough to make Yakko's blood run cold.

"Go kill yourselves before someone else does it for you".

"Trouble in paradise." Baxter's voice was more serious than Yakko had ever heard it. "Word spreads very fast around here. Gangs work together behind the scenes; they'll have got a tip-off from other anti-toon supporters in the area. You should get out while you can, Yakko."

He looked at Baxter with more than a little of his old defiance.

"If they think they can make us live in fear, they've got another think coming! We haven't worked hard like this to be walked all over and made fools of!"

It was these words that ultimately led to the end; a figure in the nearby alleyway ducked back into the shadows and disappeared.

****

Yakko awoke in the night to a funny smell. It wasn't altogether unpleasant; just for a split second he thought he was back at home, tucked into bed, while Harry cooked their breakfast. Any moment now he was going to come rushing in and tear open the curtains so the bright morning light stung their eyes, making them shout "Retreat!" and try to hide under the covers.

It was such a mean trick.

Yakko tried not to wake up from this comfortable nostalgic semi-consciousness, but he couldn't help himself. He yawned and rubbed his eyes slowly. They were still too misty with sleep to see anything, so he rubbed them again. Still the room remained cloudy. He sniffed the air again.

Oh my God, it wasn't a dream, nor was it breakfast.

It was smoke.

He scrambled out of bed.

"Wakko. Dot." He struggled to keep the fear out of his voice. "Time to get up."

"What...where...Yakko?" Wakko sat up in bed, the fluff sticking up like a scrubbing brush on his hatless head.

"We..we have to go out."

"What?! Why? It's the middle of the night!"

Dot opened her eyes groggily. She looked at her brothers; then she and Wakko sniffed the air simultaneously.

"What's that smell?"

Yakko could see there was no point in lying.

"I think it's a fire. In the living room. Keep the door closed."

Wakko's eyes suddenly widened.

"Not the living room! I left my hat in there!"

Yakko had to concentrate very hard not to roll his eyes as he scooped Dot up into his arms. Of everything in the world, Wakko was worried about the hat.

"We'll get ya another, Wak, I promise. For now, let's worry about getting out of here, yeah?"

"But...but I've always had that hat! It's the one-"

A voice from outside interrupted them.

"Yakko! Wakko! Dot! You kids still in there?"

Baxter.

Yakko threw the sash window open, inhaling blessed air into his lungs, before leaning out to answer his fellow toon who was standing beneath their window still in his tattered old pyjamas.

"We're OK!"

"Listen up, kiddo. I've called the fire department, but they're coming from the next town because ours are on strike. Again. Can you get out?"

"I-I don't think so. The fire's in the living room, where the door is!"

"Right, don't panic boy. Throw the little 'un down to me, then you and your brother climb down after."

"Got it!"

"No!" came Dot's sudden cry from his arms. "No, Yakko, I'm scared!"

"It's OK, Dottie." The youngest Warner was in too much of a state to notice the accidental Dottie slip out. "It'll be a split-second. Bax will catch you and we'll join you straight away. 'K?"

Dot clung tightly to Yakko's neck, but she nodded bravely. "'K."

It was a huge fight for Yakko to throw Dot the considerable drop from the third floor window. Every instinct in his body was screaming "no, no, no!" at the thought of it, yet on the other hand it would be ten times worse for them all to burn to death.

"I-I'm going to count down from three."

It was for his benefit as much as Dot's.

"Three..."

"Yakko."

"Two..."

"Yakko, I love you."

He froze mid-count and looked down at her.

"I mean it. Thank you for everything you've done for us."

Momentarily speechless, he kissed her forehead quickly.

"I love you too, sis. I'll see ya down there."

"On the double, big bro."

Yakko threw her.

She let out a little squeal. He couldn't look; he felt sick.

"I'm OK, Yakko!"

It was a reply he'd never been so glad to hear. He peered over the ledge to see Dot waving from Baxter's arms.

"Great job, Yakko! Now you and Wakko get down here and we'll wait for the fire department."

"Right, Wak. Let's get moving."

Yakko turned to his brother.

His brother wasn't there.

Chapter Text

Surely he hadn't...not just for the sake of the hat, surely...

Yakko blinked, as if it would make Wakko appear out of nowhere.

"Come on, kid! You haven't got long!"

"I can't! Wakko's not here!"

"What?!"

"He was going on about his hat...I...I've got to get to him!"

Ignoring the shouts from outside the window, Yakko headed for the bedroom door. It was slightly ajar; he kicked it the rest of the way open. The force of the heat threw him backwards. The room was not a complete inferno, not yet, but the fire was travelling too quickly for his liking, along the curtains, creeping down to the wooden floor...

"Wakko!"

His brother was in sight, still standing thank goodness, his hat already on his head. Why was he just standing there? Yakko crossed the room in an instant and yanked on Wakko's arm, a little harder than he meant to.

"Don't EVER do that to me again!" His voice was a cross between relief and anger. "You've got the darn hat, why are you still here?"

He saw the drawer Wakko was fiddling with. His younger brother looked up at him, his eyes streaming with a mixture of tears and water from the smoke.

"It's...it's our family album...I was trying to get it...but it's stuck."

They tried again but the old book was well and truly wedged in the drawer. Yakko cursed himself momentarily for not simply storing it in his hammerspace, but there was no time for "what if's". The glass in the window shattered in the heat, and they took a step back. Yakko glanced toward the bedroom door; the fire was spreading quickly and would soon close off their only exit. With a cross between desperation and temper, Yakko gave the leather-bound book a furious tug, and by some miracle it came away unscathed.

The things he did for his sibs.

Yakko grabbed Wakko's hand and they flew to the door, charging through just as the flames began to lick their way up the door frame.

Yakko pushed his brother out the window ahead of him; they slid down the drainpipe and were almost crushed by Dot and Baxter. The old stoat squeezed their shoulders.

"You're trying to finish me off, aren't you?" He laughed shakily. "Come across to my house. We can wait there."

The adrenaline from the flight to save his siblings was rapidly disappearing; Yakko wasn't sure if he was going to faint or throw up. He felt an arm round his shoulders.

"Come on kid. Let's get some sugar in you."

"Not so fast, toons..."

They all turned to come face to face with a small group of people. They were not all youths, as one might expect, but a range of different ages, some wearing balaclavas or even those funny old-fashioned eye masks that ladies used to wear to formal dances.

Baxter's grip on Yakko tightened, and he knew these were the gangs that the old stoat had talked about.

They all took an involuntary step backwards, though the group were already moving forward, closing the gap between them Baxter whispered in Yakko's ear.

"Be ready to run when I say so."

"I-I dont...?"

The old stoat gave Yakko a mighty shove, sending him sprawling, Wakko and Dot clinging to his hands.

"Run, kids! Run!"

Run they did; the group weren't expecting the sudden division, and although they reacted smoothly and quickly it bought the Warners precious seconds as the group split with one half taking off after Baxter, the other after them.

They were a combination of too scared and too short on time to let their toon abilities make things easier for them, and as they reached the main road the three group members who were after them were hot on their heels. To Yakko's surprise they didn't jump them from behind, instead they kept on running until they were neck and neck with the Warners. The person in the eye-mask reached into a pocket and pulled something out.

A gun?

It wasn't a gun. It wasn't the right shape. It was sort of round, and made of rubber, almost like a small balloon. It looked like an old-fashioned water pistol. Yakko would have laughed if he hadn't been absolutely panicked. What was a water pistol going to do? There was something about their assailant's expression - obscured as it was by the mask - that made Yakko's stomach turn over.

The person paused, drew his arm back, and aimed the object straight at Wakko.

The world went into slow motion for Yakko. He gave his brother a shove, diving in front of him just in time. Whatever the thing was, it suddenly burst over the front of his shirt. He saw a flash of colour – weird, sickly green – before doubling up in agony.

"Yakko!"

He heard the frightened cries of his siblings as he fought against the pain. He drew back his hand and was shocked to see it was covered in a bloody, ink-like substance.

What the hell did he just hit me with?

Yakko and Dot were talking, trying to keep him awake as they took off towards the road, half carrying their injured brother. A car skidded to a halt at the lights, and the driver door swung open.

"YOU!" The voice was enough to temporarily startle the gang, who hadn't expected to find confrontation in the early hours of the morning.

"Leave zose kidzes alone!"

"Scratchy!"

Wakko shouted the two syllable name with mix of relief and desperation. On seeing that Yakko was injured, the old doctor immediately took charge.

"Quick, quick, get in ze car!" He carefully lifted Yakko into the back seat. "We need to get him to ze hospital. Now yous two get in ze front. Let's go before zey catch up with us!"

Wakko and Dot were doing as he said when Dot let out a cry.

"Wait! What about Baxter?!"

The words were barely out of her mouth when the toon in question appeared from an alleyway adjacent to Scratchensniff's car. There were muffled shouts not far behind.

"Never mind me! Get in the car!"

"But-"

"No buts! There's no time to lose. Go!" He addressed Scrathensniff. "Go, go now!"

The psychiatrist didn't need to be asked twice. Wakko and Dot scrambled into the car and sat in the front seat clinging to one another, sobbing for their now unconscious brother and for their friend, the sounds of angry shouts and distant sirens slowly fading as Doctor Scratchensniff put his foot down and they sped away.

****

At first, there was just blackness.

His whole body hurt. It was an unfamiliar sensation for a toon.

Doctor Scratchensniff's voice in the background.

Perhaps, like Alice In Wonderland, he was going to wake up and find everything that had gone on in the last year had been a dream. Maybe, in real life, he was snoozing in Scratchy's office as that man lectured them on how to behave.

He had to be dreaming anyway. Scratchensniff wasn't around anymore. Nobody who'd previously cared about Yakko and his siblings seemed to be around anymore. Like many times in the recent months, he'd never felt he and his family were so alone. He kept his eyes clenched tightly shut.

But he couldn't stop them from leaking. Just a tiny bit.

He wasn't alone now, at least not literally. He was almost awake, but he wasn't sure he wanted to be. It was too uncomfortable.

He couldn't remember quite what had happened. He remembered taking flight down the street with Wakko and Dot, then being chased by those people...then...and then it was all muddled. He remembered a car horn and headlights, shouting, Dot crying, and terrible pain. Then...nothing. What had happened? He tried not to open his eyes; he didn't want to come back to reality yet, where who knew what new horrors he was going to face...

He couldn't help himself and his eyes cracked slowly, painfully open; only for a doctor to shine a torch in them none too kindly. Yakko groaned.

"Is he gonna be OK?"

Yakko knew from the Scouse tones that the fearful voice belonged to his brother.

"I should think so. If you hadn't taken action as fast as you did, it would have been a different story. He's had a lucky escape."

"Thanks to Scratchy..."

"W-Wakko?"

The doctor smiled.

"I'll leave you in peace."

The on-call doctor left; leaving Wakko, Dot, and – much to Yakko's surprise – Doctor Scratchensniff standing by his bedside.

"Ah, Yakko, you give us quite the scare, ja?"

"Scratchy? What? What's going on? Why are you here?"

"He saved us all, that's why he's here!" Dot piped up. "We thought you were never going to wake up!"

"Yeah, you've been out for nearly a week, Yakko! We've been so scared!"

"I'm in the hospital?"

His siblings looked at him strangely.

"Don't you remember anything?"

Yakko thought. The image of the gang that had chased after them all flashed into his mind. They were getting nearer, shouting abuse at the three siblings as they spread out threateningly...

"The leader went to throw something at you, Wakko..."

"I think...I think it was Thinner. You stepped out in front to protect me. If it hadn't been for Scratchy and Baxter..."

Yakko suddenly jerked upright but then fell back in the bed, hissing with pain.

"Baxter! Did he...I mean...oh, he's not dead, is he?"

"Vat are you talking about? Do you mean the stoat? Don't worry, Yakko, he is fine."

"But is he hurt? He was trying to save us!"

"He did sustain some...minor injuries." Wakko and Dot had to restrain Yakko from getting out of bed. Scratchensniff laid a hand on his arm but he pulled away.

"I have to go to him..."

"He's not in the hospital, Yakko. He's been here with Wakko and Dot ze last week, but he vent home just for a while..."

"He's gonna be so mad he missed you waking up!"

Yakko was quiet for a moment while he took all this information in, before turning to Scratchensniff, looking more tired and serious than the doctor had ever seen him.

"Well, thanks for saving us, Scratchy. Now I suppose you'll be off again while we try to salvage what's left of our lives?" His voice was angry, but there was the definite glimmer of tears in his eyes. "Are you going to leave us to fend for ourselves? Leave my little brother in pieces all over again?"

"Hold up, Yakko, maybe you should actually listen to what Scratchy has to say..."

It was Wakko who had piped in. Yakko eyed him carefully before replying.

"I'm listening."

Doctor Scratchensniff opened his mouth to start, but Wakko could contain himself no longer.

"I was right all along! Scratchy didn't forget us. He was forced to leave by Mr Plotz, and he wasn't allowed to visit or contact us anymore, but then he realized something weird was goin' on because he's so smart..." Wakko smiled at the doctor. "So, he went to get the advice of an old friend of his, Mr Fenton, who's a lawyer! And it just so happens..." Wakko puffed out his chest with pride, "that Mr Fenton knew some of our story because he met ME on one of the studio tours! He said he was a great fan of our show, and he was very nice to me, but I didn't think anything of it. But he obviously remembered what I'd said because he and Scratchy worked together to expose Mr Plotz!"

Wakko finished, panting for breath where he'd gabbled out the scenario so quickly. Yakko still felt too groggy to realize what his hyperactive brother was implying by his story. He looked at Scratchensniff.

"Forgive me Scratchy, I'm not quite my tip-top sharp-as-a-knife self. This is all very interesting, but what does it all mean?"

Scratchensniff laid a hand on Yakko's arm; he didn't pull away this time.

"Vat it means is that the money Plotz stole has been restored to its rightful owners, i.e. the three of yous. He has been arrested for embezzlement and his employment with the studios has been permanently suspended. Zere is to be a new CEO for Warner Brothers and you are velcome to return home to your water tower whenever you wish." He paused. "Vell, that is, of course, if you want to. And of course you would no longer be restricted by Plotz's ridiculous rules...you would be free to come and go as you please...but of course it is entirely up to you."

Wakko and Dot held onto their brother's hands pleadingly. It was Wakko who spoke first.

"Let's go home, Yakko. Don't think we're not grateful for everything you've done for us and for working so hard to support us, because we are. But now we don't have to worry anymore..." Wakko grinned. "We can go back to having fun everyday. There'll be a new guard to be our 'special friend'..."

"And of course I vill come and see you all the time. I can go back to taking yous three on trips..." Scratchensniff sounded more enthusiastic than he meant to. He stopped abruptly and looked at Yakko. "Er, that is, Yakko, if you can bring yourself to trust me again."

Yakko wagged his finger, indicating that he wanted Scratchensniff to come closer.

"I'll trust you again...on one condition..."

"Oh...vat's that?"

"I can hit you with my mallet."

The psychiatrist let out an unintentional rather strained yelp, but he nodded.

"OK, Yakko. But not too hard, deal ja?"

"Deal. And I'll only use a little one."

Scratchensniff gave him a glare, but Yakko could see he was only teasing. He pulled the bedclothes up over the eldest Warner, and very gently patted him on the head. He looked at Wakko and Dot. "I'll give you all some time alone."

"You won't go home without us, will you, Doctor Scratchensniff?" Dot asked. Wakko leapt up and gave him a great big kiss.

"Of course he won't! I told you he'd never forget us!"

****

It was several days before the hospital even considered discharging Yakko, but after a week he was told he was healing very nicely and it shouldn't be much longer. The better he felt, the more bored he became, but he was never lonely.

Wakko and Dot visited every day without fail; they were staying nearby with Scratchensniff until Yakko was ready to go home. Baxter visited nearly every day too; Yakko hadn't really believed he was alright until the stoat had practically skipped into his hospital room.

There had been a quiet moment where they had exchanged embarrassed hugs and a few relieved tears.

Dot did most of the talking when his sibs visited – what else was new – and though Wakko was usually the more reserved of the two, Yakko noticed that he was quieter than ever in the days that followed their ordeal.

Dot had fallen asleep at his side late one afternoon; he still tired easily, and his own eyelids were heavy, but he noticed Wakko sitting in silence on the hard plastic chair next to his bed, hands clenched into fists as they rested on his knees. Yakko sighed inwardly; that was always a sign that something was bugging his brother. He reached across and put a hand on Wakko's head.

"Come on, bro. What's on your mind?"

Wakko looked up from his lap.

"I...I keep thinking about what happened that night. It was all so quick. You saved me...if it hadn't been for Scratchy you would have...you could be...and it would have been all my fault! Just like before!"

"Before? What-"

"With Dadoo. That was my fault too!"

Yakko looked at him strangely. Wakko rarely mentioned their creator; especially by name. Trust Wakko to give a life-shattering confession only days after Yakko had come round from what felt like a building falling on him.

"Aw, come on Wak. That was an accident, you know that. It was nobody's fault."

"It was! It was! Harry promised to watch the Don Knotts marathon with me and then he said he couldn't because he went to that meeting to try and get us an audition and I was so angry I told him I hated him and then he had to go but he didn't ever come back!"

Yakko looked at his brother in astonishment.

"Wak...just because you argued it doesn't make it your fault..."

"I bet he wasn't concentrating on driving because we fought! I can't stand that the last thing I said to our Dadoo was that I hated him!"

Wakko was shouting but his eyes were brimming with tears. He was clinging on to his cap.

"That's why I had to have the hat, Yakko...it was his first present to me...I-I couldn't leave it behind..."

Yakko tried to reach across to him before stopping with a grimace, the pain across his middle reminding him he wasn't quite ready to leap into action just yet. He gestured for Wakko to come closer and put a hand on his siblings' hatless head.

"Now come on, Wakko. You know that Harry didn't hate you. He loved you. He loved all of us."

"But how do I know for sure? Maybe he wouldn't have forgiven me."

Yakko had to think about that one; as the eldest sibling he was often expected to know anything and everything. Even the impossible questions like this one. The answer came to him and he flashed Wakko a smile.

"He always told us people who loved each other were allowed to have arguments. It's in the unspoken rule book...Wak, why didn't you tell me any of this before?"

Wakko looked sheepish. He didn't often keep secrets from his siblings; if he did he'd done something really bad. Or eaten all their secret candy supplies.

"Dot didn't know about the fight... and it all seemed so silly. I didn't think you'd want to hear me out. I thought you'd just call it 'Middle Kid Syndrome' like always..."

Wakko didn't see the look on Yakko's face before his older brother continued. He hadn't realized Wakko took his and Dot's little in-joke so much to heart.

"We all make mistakes, Wakko. Do you think I never feel guilty? After we ran away I couldn't believe how stupid I'd been. I didn't even know where to start. As awful as being locked up was, at least before we had a roof over our heads and we could eat without having to worry. I was...I was so intent on getting away. I didn't think of you and Dot..."

It was Wakko's turn to clasp Yakko's hand.

"I don't think that's possible, Yakko. You only EVER think of me and Dot."

Yakko grinned at him.

"Shall we make a pact? You promise to tell me when anything major like this is bothering you...and I promise never to brush you off with the 'Middle Kid Syndrome' line again."

"It's a promise...until you get better and go back to being Mr Smarty-Pants all the time."

Wakko was only joking, but Yakko was as good as his word.

He never once broke that promise.

Chapter Text

Safely back in their water tower a few weeks later, it was almost as if nothing had ever happened. Everything was the same, and yet it was different. The Warners knew that it was they who had changed and not everyone else or their old home. They felt as if decades of experience had been packed into the year they'd been gone.

The only reminder of their journey of self-discovery had been Yakko still limping around slowly, though he was now almost back to his old self. Dot was sure he was exaggerating the limp for extra sympathy, but she didn't care. All she cared about was that she still had a big brother to annoy her in the first place.

Doctor Scratchensniff had been as good as his word, coming to visit them regularly laiden with gifts and treats. He was still constantly terrorized by Wakko, but he didn't really seem to mind.

Baxter had decided to travel the world one more time "before he got too old" as soon as Yakko had made a full recovery. He was the only positive thing they'd gained from the whole experience, and Yakko in particular missed him when he'd gone on his way. He felt he had learnt so much under the guidance of the talkative old stoat; but with technology rapidly advancing there was no need for them to lose touch altogether. Computers were more and more accessible; perhaps aside from the long distance calls and postcards he sent them they could send him one of those e-mail things... Wakko could do it, he had the hang of it already. Baxter had promised to visit as soon as he arrived back on home ground.

"Bring us presents!" Wakko had yelled into the phone, though Yakko had playfully swatted him away. He knew the old stoat wouldn't take offence anyway.

The only downside to their otherwise Disney-style ending was that the gang of people who Baxter had labelled the Anti-Toons were never caught; there had been no other witnesses aside from Doctor Scratchensniff, and he'd been too intent on saving the injured Yakko to have taken much notice of the ones who had been pursuing them. Yakko tried not to worry about it too much; their adventures had sparked a huge wave of public interest and in their many interviews Yakko had publicly named the area in which they'd been living. Police were carrying out investigations, but had said it was unlikely they'd come to any conclusion. Yakko had accepted that. There was still a great deal of work to be done in ending the prejudices between humans and toons.

With the absence of Plotz (they later heard he'd got three years, plus he had to repay the money he stole to the studio) the Warners were allowed to go out whenever they pleased; there was little reason for them to leave the lot now they had no more family, but when they did want to go out or Scratchensniff took them somewhere, it was a relief to know they were free to do so without any restrictions.

The days passed pleasantly enough; they had been on an outing with Scratchy until late one afternoon and they were still over-excited when they went to bed. Wakko had fallen asleep instantly; he obviously had an off-switch hidden somewhere that his siblings didn't know about. Maybe it was under his hat or something.

His sleep was peaceful; he no longer fought the bedclothes or growled like a puppy when he slept.

Dot lay back on her bed, thinking, before whispering across to her brother.

"Yakko. Are you asleep?"

"Yes."

"Oh...hey, I'm serious." She paused. "Does it bother you that we're back where we started?"

There was no answer for a moment.

"No. I was stupid, Dot; I didn't think things through properly. I could have...I did ruin all our lives, not to mention Baxter could have lost his helping us out. We might have been prisoners when Plotz was here, but at least I knew you and Wak were safe, that you had food and a place to sleep. I took it for granted that we'd be able to go back to Grandma when you suggested it; I never thought what we'd do if she wasn't there."

Dot gave a sad smile.

"It was a pretty horrible feeling though, wasn't it? Finding out we had no-one left. I wish...I wish we could have seen her again, Yakko. Just one last time, to thank her for everything she tried to do for us."

"Me too, sis."

Dot lowered her voice further, even though Wakko was snoring like a foghorn.

"I'm glad you and Wakko managed to sort things out, too."

Yakko sighed.

"I wish he'd have told me about that sooner. I could have told him it wasn't his fault."

"You know Wakko; he never wants to bother anybody. It took him almost losing another of his most important people before he spoke up."

Yakko was quiet for a moment before asking another question. His voice was subdued; Dot could hear the emotion behind it.

"Dot...do you think Harry would have been angry with me for all this?"

"Yakko, Pop would have been more angry about the way Plotz tried to cheat us. It was against everything he ever stood for. We're lucky; most toon's creators design them, sell them and forget all about them. Sheesh, most toons don't even know their creators, or if they did it's been so long since they've seen them that they've all but forgotten them. We might have been young but Pop was the only father we knew; he believed in us and even if we live two hundred years or more we'll never forget him, or Grandma. We owe them everything, Yakko, and if they were still here I think they'd be proud of us."

Dot reached across for Yakko's hand in the dark. He reached out and linked their fingers together. No more was said.

In the darkness of the water tower that night, tears were shed; strange, bittersweet tears, a mixture of both happiness and long-buried grief.

The ever changing lot was silent; a shaft of moonlight fell on the tower, illuminating it in the dark. The town of Burbank continued to sleep, and somewhere in the night, a lone bird sang a heartfelt song.