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Chapter Text

Lady Liberty was the Warners’ home and that was no exaggeration. It only became a problem when random folks decided to pop into their kitchen for a visit or whenever the Staten Island Ferry chugged by their bedrooms and Dot would have to scream at them to “turn off those lights!”

It wasn’t New York without the challenge and it beat living in a water tower for sixty years. Besides, Yakko got a kick out of scaring tourists and seeing what kind of city they were living in from their cameras. Today’s group looked promising; four women, six men, and a tour guide who looked like he’d seen a lot in life but apparently didn’t think much of it was funny.

“Here we have the lady of the hour, the Statue of Liberty, given to us by Belgium back in 1776,” the tour guide droned out. “You can see the inscription on her book, dated from Independence Day, all the way up in her hand.”

“It was the French,” someone called out. Eleven heads turned, but there was no face to the voice as it continued. “And they gave it to us in 1884. If you can tell me how they could afford to give us this big, gorgeous lady after fighting in at least fifty wars, call me.”

The tour guide let out a far from friendly laugh and popped out a cigarette. “You wanna quit hiding behind mommy and run this tour yourself, wise guy?”

“Me? A wise guy?” Yakko popped up around the tour guide’s shoulders. “Now that’s the first thing you got right all day! By the way, your shoe’s untied.”

“I’m wearing sandals.”

“And you’re walking around with them untied?”

The tour guide stuttered out a noise of disbelief as his head jerked down to his feet, causing Yakko to tumble off of him in a laughing fit. A nasty glare spread over the man’s face as he snatched the toon by the ears, dangled him off the ground, and got way too close in his personal bubble.

“Where you from so I can knock you back there, smart ass? Boston?”

Yakko smirked. “Jersey.”

He never saw a group run all the way home so fast. He hoped the Mets were taking notes.

“And if you look to your left…” Yakko mocked the tour guide’s obnoxious voice, swinging through Liberty’s crown and tumbling into Dot like a bowling ball.

The measuring tape in her hands snapped into its holder and off the mannequin she’d been dressing up. “You’ll find a dead body,” she growled as Yakko laid on the floor by her feet.

She palmed around the mannequin’s hips and bust, and when there wasn’t an item out of place, a relieved sigh left her mouth. She had worked too hard and for too long to have another passion project flop—literally—just because her brothers wanted to play rough.

“Relax, it’s still ugly,” Yakko reassured. He smirked at Dot’s flat expression, then slid a digital camera, left behind by one of the tourists, into her hand. “Will this make for a good peace offering?”

Dot gasped. “Is it a Polaroid? Can I use the photos?”

“It’s ours now. We can do whatever we want with it.” Yakko jumped to his feet and glanced around the small space. “Hold the phone. We’re missing one.”

“Wakko’s coming back. He said something about going to the movies.” Dot stopped fiddling with her new camera and furrowed her brows at the floor. “Or did he want pizza?”

Neither. Wakko entered the same way Yakko had, the only difference was he stuck the landing, and smacked a postcard over Dot’s eyes. He may or may not have raided several bodegas and uprooted some potholes to find the perfect one. As long as he steered clear of Rhode Island for a month, there would be nothing to prove.

“That is one depressing pizza,” Yakko said as Dot peeled the card from her face and grabbed a pair of scissors. “Wait!” Yakko snatched the postcard. “Don’t use this one.”

“Why? What’s so special about it?”

Yakko took a pushpin from his pocket and tacked it between a gap in Liberty’s crown, then stepped back to view it in between his hands.

“Ain’t she a beauty? You know sibs, I think we’re overdue for a field trip in the Big Apple. Wouldn’t that be…” He smirked and raised his hands higher. “…a nice change of scenery?”

The still image of the trio’s next destination showed folks hanging outside their parked cars on 8th Street and 6th Avenue, and the reality behind it wasn’t too far off. It was just missing the screams to “move it, Buster!” and a heated accent snapping “Buster? Whaddya sayin’? That I’m some kind of blue, loony-toony rabbit out here to amuse you?”

It also didn’t capture how squirrels were the new rats of the city. Not because they were dirty and carried diseases, but if looked at a certain way, one would not hesitate to steal your pizza and blast you out of state with dynamite from her purse. Crowds (and strays that were “definitely not on Times Square, definitely”) hustled across the busy streets, knowing exactly where they needed to go, and traffic moved like it had the right of way no matter what.

In passing a pair of men doing whatever it took so the other couldn’t get in a taxi first—“Literally Clark Kent with glasses!” versus “His jawline is the Bat Symbol!”—Yakko stopped with everyone else and waited for the rush to at least slow down.

A large delivery truck did just that, followed by a line of taxis on the opposite side of the street and an unfortunate cyclist who really should have been a gymnast. Everyone was a gymnast, apparently—bouncing, running, and bending their hands in every possible way.

Yakko snickered and took Dot’s camera to snap a photo. He was glad to know it was a Polaroid, but when the picture slid out of the slot, the gestures he saw were not only aggressive, but aimed at him. What did he do?

Yakko shook the photo in case the colors weren’t all the way there or if there were any creases that the sun was hitting to make him see things. Nope. All the red and sweaty faces, neck veins bulging, and jaws dropped to the ground were for him.

Wakko yanked his brother’s ears down and jabbed at the air until he looked to the right. The same delivery truck that had stopped earlier was inches away from running the three over, and an even larger driver was hanging out the window.

“Move, you stupid kid!”

Yakko scrambled onto the curb and pushed his siblings behind him, unintentionally knocking Dot into the throng of people. Wakko gripped Yakko’s pants and peeked around him as the truck swerved by.

“Get your eyes checked, you dumb idiot! We got places to be!”

Traffic was still backed up, so Yakko didn’t see the big deal of this guy trying to kill himself to get to work or why he still wanted to pick a fight. The truck had to stop again in a literal New York minute, and the driver leaned out to give the toon the finger.

“Save that for a lonely night, pal!” Yakko called out, absolutely relishing in the man’s boiling red complexion. He took another picture. “By the way, ‘dumb idiot’ is teetering a wee bit into oxymoron territory, and it’s just plain childish. And you’re ugly, too,” he muttered under his breath.

Too many legs were blocking Dot’s way, but they weren’t blocking her hearing. “Who you callin’ ugly, chump?”

The truck driver switched a finger for a whole fist, using his free hand to steer around the blocked traffic. “Go back to Circus Olay, ya freak!”

Dot scrambled to her feet and took a few steps forward. “Oh, you bet! I’ll need to earn that bail money somehow.” She pushed at anything that got too close. “Go on! Broadway’s full of hits, and there’s gonna be a couple more—me hitting you and you hitting the ground.”

Yakko blew a kiss to the retreating truck, watching the standard red cartoon lips float lovingly after it before they bit a chunk out of the rear tires. Wakko lit a match and burned the photo that had made Yakko act so strangely, forming the ash into a hard ball and hurling it at the truck’s backside as it wobbled down the avenue.

Yakko put his anger on hold for a nanosecond to pat Wakko’s head, then scoffed under his breath, “Really? Dumb kid?”

If Dot wasn’t fired up, that was just the carelessly thrown match on the gasoline. She whipped out her mallet and started swinging, making those around her jump away or cuss up a storm. If she was going to knock a couple extra down, so be it. That jerk was in the crowd somewhere, and if he’d run scared into the streets, Dot hoped he got hit by a car.

Yakko put a hand on top of the mallet after the eighth swing while Wakko grabbed a hold of Dot’s arm. Both shared a knowing look, Yakko stored the weapon in his hammerspace for the time being, and each brother took their sister’s arm to drag her to the subway.

“I too love going feral every now and again, sis,” the eldest Warner started, “but let’s keep the level of crazy down a bit.”

Wakko snickered but had to agree; even by New York standards, Dot was asking for trouble with that mallet stunt. She sneered but left her defense to loll along like she was doing and half-heartedly listened to Yakko ramble on about how “we can’t all pass for New Yorkers. That’d be like you trying to pass for Disney.”

Dot’s heels stomped down and she snapped rigid like an open jackknife, causing both brothers to trip forward.

“You mean I’m not Disney?” She screamed, the shrill echoes bouncing off the concrete walls of the underground station. “How dare you say that! My entire life was a lie! What do you mean I’m not Disney?”

The boys rubbed a palm down the side of their face when several heads turned in their direction. Even the street performer blatantly singing to give him tips stopped playing his guitar to stare.

Dot let out a pained cry and clutched her chest. “Why didn’t you ever tell me this before? My own brothers!” The back of her hand pressed against her forehead. “I am wounded by the cruelty of the truth.”

“Get wounded faster. We’re about to miss the train.” Yakko tugged Dot forward with Wakko bringing up the rear.

“Do you know how many adjustments have to be made? I need to cancel the singing lessons! What are the girls at Pixar going to say? I’m not Disney…” Dot’s fingers slid down her cheek in disbelief, only to pick up speed when they touched her hair. “Oh boy, it sure feels like it. Does Walt know?”

The doors hissed shut, the next stop whizzed by in an impossible blur, and the Warners were thrown out on their behinds before they could take a seat.

“Universal fans,” they all agreed as they dusted their clothes off and returned to the surface.

Dot wasn’t on her I’m not Disney rant anymore, but she was rightfully ticked off that they’d gotten booted off the subway. They could go back and wait for the next one, but how reliable was the metro when you wanted it versus when you didn’t? Dot was extremely vocal on the topic, drawing attention from kids playing with fire hydrants all the way to apartments across town, and only increased her volume as she followed her brothers into a restaurant bar.

“I’ll feel sorry for the next guy that looks at me funny,” Dot concluded, leaning against a table. Her ears perked at Wakko’s satisfied breath once she stopped. “Don’t tempt me. I’ll say it again in Spanish.”

There was a hard tap to her shoulder, followed by a condescending, “Hey. Chica.”

Dot brushed the spot where the stranger had touched her and turned around. “Who’s speaking?”

“The next guy lookin’ at you funny.” A stranger snatched a piece of fabric from under Dot’s feet. “Get the hell off my jacket!”

Yakko and Wakko caught their sister in time when she slipped, their concerned frowns deepening into so-you’ve-chosen-death scowls. The two would have let Dot at the bozo, but it was illegal to burn trash and they were pretty sure PETA wouldn’t take kindly to her beating up a whole jackass.

“Don’t stress, pal. I’m sure your boyfriend can knit you another one,” Yakko pointed out.

The man would’ve shed his jacket had it not been draped over his arm, so instead he tossed it to the side and squared his shoulders.

Yakko tilted his head. “Did you fellas already get married?”

“I hope it was a spring wedding,” Dot added sweetly.

The man’s fist, like his temper, shot out. Yakko and Wakko, still holding Dot, sprung away with ease and landed on the counters behind them, startling the kitchen staff.

“What? We’re allies!” Yakko shook his head in disapproval and jutted a thumb at their special friend. “Here we are showing support and he picks a fight with us.”

“I ain’t married!”

The man swung again but ended up punching a board that Wakko held up to block any more hits. An out of place but painful-sounding gong went off when the guy’s fist met wood.

“Ooh!” Yakko applauded. “You know with moves and a face like that, he reminds me of a video game character.” He laughed when Wakko eagerly took out his gag bag and pulled out an SNES system. “Right on the money, baby bro! How about it, Dot? Up for a few rounds?”

Dot smirked, already tying a red band across her head with her flower pinned to the front. Yakko connected the controller to her side and returned her mallet to her outstretched hands, lounging on the countertop like it was their couch. Wakko waved a set of pompoms above his head, cheering for his sister beside an empty scoreboard.

“Ladies first,” Dot offered. Before the man could say anything, she giggled and answered to herself, “Why, thank you.”

Yakko expertly pressed a series of buttons, transforming his sister into a woman possessed. In no time whatsoever, Dot was flipping off chairs, running on walls, and absolutely destroying this man’s ass.

“Goodnight everybody!” Yakko exclaimed after blowing a hard kiss.

Dot whirled around. “Hey! I thought we agreed no fourth wall breaks!”

“We’re fine. This is our very first one as a whole, so we should be celebrating.”

Dot rolled her eyes, and had she been keeping an ear out, she would’ve noticed one of the chefs sneaking around the corner holding a large pot. Yakko spotted him in the nick of time and turned Dot around to swing, but the pot slammed down on the wire that was hooked to her and the mallet slipped from her hands.

It took out several paper orders, a bell, and the unlucky waiter rushing to answer the loud ding! Dot continued to swing and move forward, almost like she was glitched out from the separated controller, while exaggerated sparks flew out of the frayed ends, zapping tables and chairs, frizzing up Wakko’s fur, and setting the walls on fire. Several furious and twitching eyes shot over to the main player.

Yakko hid the controller behind him. “Uhhh…” The sprinkler system went off and a wall behind him crashed down. “Now you can be an open air restaurant, just like your old man wanted.”

Just like the subway, the trio was chucked out with only concrete to break their falls. But also like the subway, they weren’t going to let a minor setback ruin their field trip.

They made the most out of a nonexistent itinerary—hiding sticks for roller skaters to trip over, catching chocolate coins in the fountain, seeing how many pigeons it took to make up their own Kentucky Derby in the Bronx. By the time the city was muffled horns and blinding skylines, the Warners were hitching a ride with a pretty cool fisherman across the harbor and back home, safe and sound.

Dot slid off Yakko’s shoulders as he hopped through Liberty’s crown and dragged her feet across the living room. Her nose bumped into her mannequin, making the project wobble in place. She didn’t even wait for something to properly provoke her; she brought out her mallet and swung, sending a hurricane of newspapers, mismatched buttons, and millions of postcards bursting out of their tacked and glued together conditions.

Her brothers sugarcoated it as a modest attempt at a dress, and Dot didn’t know if they were cowards to call it what it really was—a piece of shit—because of her many empty threats or if they were honestly trying to spare her feelings and encourage her craft.

Some craft.

Yakko winced at the vibrations along the floor and watched Dot stomp to the crown’s opening, counting five failed attempts at her resting her folded arms on any part of the ledge. She leaned against the wall instead and crossed both ankles and arms.

“Today was fun,” she spat out. “We got thrown around like garbage, I almost got lost crossing the street, some clown was bored enough to start a fight, and an entire diner is going to see us in court.” Dot threw her hands above her head, shouting, “New York, baby!”

Yakko’s knuckles rubbed harder down the side of his neck the blurrier Dot’s mouth got. She looked like she was ranting more, most likely about their stunts afterward that hadn’t seemed so bad to them hours ago. Lady Liberty truly was a symbol of freedom; the Warners were free to spit out what had gotten under their skin like they were in a therapy session.

The only thing Yakko caught was Dot huffing, and he hummed out a courtesy laugh as he said, “Would it be ironic or a pain in the neck if I asked you to repeat all of that?”

A second huff slowly expanded Dot’s chest, but she didn’t have the energy to let it out. She lamely held up a hand, moving it whichever way she heard her brother’s footsteps, and still couldn’t find the energy to even return the gentle squeeze on her palm. Yakko crouched down until they were nose-to-nose, slowly placing his hand on Dot’s cheek and turning her so that he could properly see her mouth moving.

“Where’s Wakko?” She muttered.

At the very top, right beside Liberty’s torch. His elbows propped on the railing as he observed the black waves of the New York Harbor. His tongue drooped the longer those glittering lights from the skyscrapers winked at him, and with a quiet sigh, he reached behind him and pulled out a board and marker, scribbling on it “yes?” and raising it over his shoulder.

Yakko chuckled. “You got good ears, bro.” He guided Dot forward, steering her to Wakko’s left while he took the right. “Something on your mind?”

Wakko patted his hat.

“Ah yes, that joke never gets old. But I need to know”—Yakko slowly moved his fingers in Wakko’s line of sight—“how are you feeling? Happy? Sad? Angry?”

Wakko scoffed at the elementary adjectives and gave a thumbs up. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t just carry around a notebook and pen. He could write, he was a decent drawer, and if he needed something, he was a big boy and could get it himself! He’d gotten that postcard perfectly fine, hadn’t he?

At Yakko’s raised brow, Wakko lifted his hands to his mouth and rushed out the sign for good. The eldest sighed and redid the sign with less force.

“Not sure if ‘thank you’ is an emotion, but you’re always welcome.”

Nobody laughed or smiled at the attempt to lighten the mood. Nothing was uttered after Wakko pulled three ice cream cones from his gag bag. The Warners kept their heads forward and their business on their treats while Lady Liberty kept an eye on her city.

“Yakko?” Dot began. Wakko elbowed his brother to get his attention, then did the same for Dot so she could go on. “Do you miss California?”

Yakko shrugged. “Hard to miss it when you feel like you’ve never left.”

Whaddya mean by that? Wakko wrote on his hand.

“We gotta get out more,” Dot mumbled around her ice cream. She gave what she’d said some time to roll around in her head before turning to the side. “You know what, we should get out more.”

Yakko gazed around the open space. “I don't know how much more out we can currently get.”

“Get out and off this island, genius. I don’t want to be cooped up, making fashion outta trash for the rest of my life, and then bounce out when it’s convenient. It’s 1929 all over again!” When she didn’t get a response, Dot turned a little more to the right. “Yakko, I didn’t mean…”

“There isn’t a place we’ll go that won’t have all eyes on us,” he interrupted with more force than intended.

Wakko’s ears flattened. Why does that matter so much now?

“Do you know how many Special Friends we’ve made, and how many things I’ve missed when they turn around…and they’re still talking…” Yakko’s eyes shifted to the side, hardening with the most fragile look Wakko had ever seen on him. “And I can’t talk back?”

The younger Warners shared a look in each other’s direction for a minute until Dot’s hand started tapping around the metal barrier. Wakko helped her on the railing to sit and Yakko held her securely so she wouldn’t fall. Dot made one last hand tap, this time around Yakko’s face, and squished her ice cream on his head.

“How does that feel? Good?” Dot teased with a smirk. “You look a little silly to me. Kinda foolish.” She turned to face the city lights and hooked her arms around her brothers’ necks. “You can too talk back. You read lips just fine, and it’s not like you’re alone. You got us!”

Even though Dot wasn’t facing Yakko so he could properly see what she was saying, the detour she took snapping him out of those thoughts—not to mention the ice cream melting in his fur—made him laugh and hug his siblings close. As long as he had them, the city didn’t seem so big to him.

Chapter Text

The Warners rarely hesitated when it came to deciding what was going to cure their boredom. A trip to the city was not the prescription Yakko was going for, but when you were outnumbered two-to-one—and when your sister could turn a literal blind eye and your brother could give you the silent treatment—all arguments were invalid.

“It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours and you guys want to do this again?” Yakko shook his head as he found himself back on 8th Street and 6th Avenue. “I feel like I’m in Groundhog Day, but less funnier.”

“Don’t be such a wimp. It’ll be different this time!” Dot argued.

Yakko leaned forward, clasped his arms behind him, and uttered a single, “How?”

Dot straightened up by how close she felt Yakko near her face and clenched a fist. Her eyebrows furrowed in concentration on how to explain, and not even a second into thinking did she feel someone bump into her. Her elbow hit the yellow call button below the walk sign, prompting the automated “wait!” to call out. An elderly voice apologized on her left.

“I’ll show you how. Feast your eyes on this, boys!” Dot reached a hand out. “Excuse me Miss, you look like you could use some assistance across the street. May I?”

A woman in her thirties handed a cane to her grandmother, the one that had bumped into Dot, and raised an offended eyebrow. “Uh, no thank—”

“Oh, don’t be so bashful. Face it, your eyesight isn’t what it used to be.”

Dot hooked her arm around the stranger’s and tugged once the beeps of the Walk sign started counting down. The abrupt movement caused the woman’s glasses to slip off her nose and get crushed under people’s shoes.

“Tell me about it,” she muttered.

Dot patted her companion on the hand and kept forward. Sure the Warner sister stepped on a few toes and tripped anyone that got in her way into oncoming traffic, but that was tame compared to, say, losing a heel to a fist-sized wad of gum. Or bumping your shoulder into someone’s hot coffee. Or being spit at because some chic’s partner thought you had pinched them.

Yeah, this woman was not getting a Girls Scout treatment across the street.

“See? We got over unscathed,” Dot proudly announced. If both could see where they were still going—right across a slanted platform, up a few metal steps, and onto the opened back of a mover’s truck—different words would’ve been exchanged. “If you need anything else, just yell.”

Yakko raced across the street before the sign could change and snatched Dot’s hand, pulling her onto the sidewalk. Wakko followed close behind, carrying the woman’s grandmother and setting her in the truck as well. He tossed the broken glasses in their direction and patted the truck’s side in parting, inadvertently signaling to the men in front to close the doors and drive off.

“Well, I think I did pretty good for someone who can’t see,” Dot protested. Wakko snickered as he kept up with her and Yakko. “It’s your fault. You never challenge your sister to do something she may or may not be able to do, and then get shocked when she does it anyway.”

Wakko took Dot’s hand. You know you have to be facing him so he can hear you, right?

“Exactly,” Yakko chimed in without missing a beat. He glanced down at the pair with a knowing grin. “Whatever Wakko just said, it’s true.”

Dot pointed a thumb in Yakko’s direction. “And this is the guy who’s afraid of not being able to talk back?”

At the same time, Wakko had decided to take advantage of signing something true and wanted to clarify if that meant, so I can choose what we’ll have for lunch?

Yakko couldn’t keep both eyes on Dot’s mouth and Wakko’s hands, so he fumbled out a vague “yes?” That was good enough for Wakko; he took his sibs by the hand and booked it down the street, leaving Yakko and Dot to shout things like “excuse me,” “move it or lose it,” or just let their swinging limbs do all the talking whenever they bumped into someone. In record time, Wakko stopped in front of a bodega and turned his pleading eyes on Yakko.

“I don’t know what he wants, but I smell pretzels,” Dot said, walking into everything but the door. “I’ll get it.”

Yakko pulled her back. “Maybe sit this one out, sis. I’ll get it.”

Wakko grinned. Sounds good to me!

Yakko did a double take halfway into the store. “What? No famous lament about you never getting to get it?”

If there’s food for me, I don’t care who’s getting it.

“Fair point.” Yakko stepped inside and smiled at the cashier. “How’s it going, pal? Let me get a—”

The guy immediately started rattling off about the store’s special deals and lottery stub chances, with the occasional “they’re not that old” comment for the hot dogs. Yakko rolled his eyes and turned to Wakko outside, signing to him under the counter: take me out.

Wakko tilted his head. To a ball game or with a piano?

Surprise me.

Food first, then we’ll talk.

“—won’t find in any other store. So how ’bout it?” The cashier finally finished.

“Nice to know you got priorities,” Yakko chuckled, shaking his head at whatever Wakko was signing next. “Try again, buddy.”

The man straightened up as his eyebrows bent down. “You know any other way to get this crap off my shelf?”

Yakko snorted as he watched Wakko pull out a notebook and feverishly ask in Dot’s hand how to spell something. “Should’ve stayed in school for that.”

“Big comedian over here! I don’t need no college degree to run this corner. You think you can do better in fifteen minutes than I could in fifteen years?”

Yakko turned to the cashier, resting his arms on the counter and nodding at the door. “Gimme five minutes.”

The man’s eyes bugged out unhealthily large in anger and he tore his apron off to throw over Yakko’s face. He stormed out of the shop, shouting a choked up “F you” over his shoulder, prompting Wakko to rush inside with Dot.

He snatched the apron off Yakko, blinking out in Morse code, What happened?

“Guess he ran outta stock.” Yakko gazed around the small convenience store and shrugged down at Wakko’s sad eyes. “Don’t worry, sib. You can still take whatever you want. We’ll watch the place as payment until he comes back. He sounded like a nice guy.”

Yakko climbed on top of the counter, arms out at his side.

“I’ll man the front. Wakko, you handle any outside deliveries and bring ’em in.” After Wakko’s salute and eager rush out the door, Yakko turned to Dot. “Sister sibling, you’re in charge of swaying our customers with the utmost persistence until they buy more than they were willing to spend.”

Dot rested her trusty mace on her shoulder and made her way down the aisle. “I’ll go pretty up.”

Yakko waved and snickered as he watched her step into the Out of Order men’s room. He checked the doors to see Wakko seated on all fours, tongue out and tail wagging, and once the morning reads were tossed onto the sidewalk by the delivery truck, Wakko chased after it.

He returned to his post shortly after, a random shoe in his mouth and sleeves rolled up to try and lift the block of newspapers. Yakko let his attention roam around the store, from the instant ramen to a stray cat napping on the shelves, but he couldn’t resist eyeing the hot dogs and wondering if they really weren’t that old.

Yakko’s thoughts were put on hold when a man walked inside. He lifted his cap with one hand, scratching his bald head, and in the other was a brown suitcase that he slid onto the counter. When the two made eye contact, the man’s mouth opened and Yakko could only imagine what he must have sounded like.

“Duuuuh, are you open?”

Yakko put a hand to his chest in mock wonder. “You know the Pentagon could use a clear, analytical mind like yours.”

A goofy grin crossed the man’s face and he waved a flustered hand. “Yous just sayin’ that.”

“Straight face and all. How can I help you?”

“A map. I gotta have a map to, uh…” The man’s eyes flitted around in exaggerated alert, trying to make sure no one, not even the cat on the shelves, was listening. “…to someplace that’s not here,” he stage-whispered, going so far as to lean in and put a hand to the side of his mouth.

Yakko pushed the stranger in reverse by his forehead, gave him the standard “let me talk to the manager,” and dropped behind the counter.

“Okay, but don’t take too long. I gots places to be!”

The man drummed his fingers on the suitcase to pass the time and eyed the hot dog case more than once. As long as the worker was going to get the manager, he figured he could help himself to lunch. The click of high heels behind him, however, made his appetite go south.

“Hello, Ralph.”

“Uh, helloooo,” he drawled out, mostly out of fear but also because he couldn’t pronounce the full name. “Lady killer?”

“I go for men, too.”

A blonde with no business being so curvy stuck the end of a pistol against Ralph’s stomach. Sparks flew off the dangerous smile on her red lips as she forced him backwards into the counter.

“Now riddle me this. I get off the plane exactly one hour after you’ve settled in New York, only to find you M.I.A. at the airport. What happened?”

“Aw geez, I was always bad at math,” Ralph admitted, casting an ashamed frown at his twiddling thumbs.

“Then I’ll give you a simple equation.” The weapon cocked loudly and the smile dropped from the woman’s mouth. “One bullet plus one heart equals one dead man, unless he hands over the suitcase in three…two…”

“Duuuuh, look! A distraction!”

Heloise Nerz was a lot of things. She wouldn’t be surprised if a whole song was dedicated entirely to her, but the one thing that would not make the list was gullible. She pressed the gun further into Ralph’s abdomen when he tried wrestling it out her hands and was glad she chose not to put the silencer on.

He deserved to hear what took his life away. After all, he had the nerve to bail out of a situation that could have been avoided if he’d stayed his ass at the airport and delivered the suitcase. Speaking of which, Yakko was halfway through his rigorous search for the manager in a magazine when the very item was knocked down in front of him.

A tiny compartment beside the handle popped out, revealing a golden key with a note attached to it. Yakko took it at the same time a pair of hands reached over the counter to grab the sides of the case, while another pair of something heavenly soft grazed the top of his ears. He froze until they pulled away, then peered over the counter to see a swinging set of hips that did not lie and two glorious, stocking legs leaving the store.

“Hot damn,” Yakko muttered, immediately rolling up the magazine and using it as a telescope.

From the bathroom, Dot froze mid-lipstick swipe and turned to look over her shoulder. “Yakko, what was that?” It sounded like a balloon popped, but she got no response.

Dot felt her way out, ignoring the items she knocked over, and turned her head in every direction so Yakko could read her lips, wherever he was. “Yakko, come on, you’re not—son of a!”

She tripped on something incredibly large and by instinct threw her hands in front to cushion the fall. They hit something warm, wet, and…Jasmine scented?

“Sir, accidents happen, but the bathroom is literally five steps away,” Dot scolded just as Wakko came running in from her shout.

His eyes furrowed in confusion at the unconscious man on the floor and his sister on top of him. Dot, he fumbled into her palm, I think you’re standing on someone.

Dot glanced down and awkwardly shuffled to the side, only to slip and bounce on the guy’s trampoline-like gut. Wakko’s confusion swapped for curiosity as he hesitantly climbed on the man as well. He pushed his foot down for an experimental tap, and when he felt a spring under his step, he started jumping.

Dot had no idea what was happening, but if it was okay with her brother, it was okay with her. Once she found her footing, she took Wakko’s hands and copied his movements.

The foxy lower half had already left Yakko’s line of sight, but that didn’t stop him from leaning over the counter to try and catch more of her. Something hit the end of the magazine, making him double take at his giggling airborne siblings.

“What the…” Yakko looked down at what was giving them height and waved his hands. “Guys, stop! What do you think you’re doing?”

Wakko and Dot tumbled off the man, startled from Yakko’s voice, and offered apologetic looks in his direction. Yakko scoffed under his breath and leapt over the counter.

“Honestly! You gotta let me go first!”

The three scrambled to find room on their new plaything, holding hands and jumping with an ecstatic “boingy, boingy, boingy!” They were so caught up in their fun that they didn’t notice the concerned crowd gathering outside, or the flash of police and ambulance lights, or the dark stain spreading from where they were hopping on.

Wakko slipped as he was coming down from a particularly high bounce and landed on his behind. Before he could get up, he noticed splashes of red all over his feet. The same color was on Yakko and Dot, as well as on the suit of the unconscious stranger. Wakko yanked Dot to his side and frantically pointed at the bloody injury, then after a sheepish face palm spelled out there’s blood in her palm.

“Blood? Ew!” Dot’s foot bumped into something when she turned, ready to bolt to the bathroom. Her hands traced over something cool and metallic. “What is this?”

Seven cops burst into the store, weapons drawn and shouting the usual “freeze,” “hands where I can see them,” “get down” as loud as they could. Wakko held Dot close and glanced up at a still bouncing Yakko, who mistook his little brother’s frantic waving as a gesture of hello and waved back.

“What’s the matter, sibs? Tired already?”

“Drop it!” One of the officers shouted.

“I don’t even know what I’m holding!” Dot shouted back, tossing the item, a still smoking pistol, in Wakko’s direction. “Here, whatever it is, you take it!”

Wakko fumbled with it a good five times, clumsily catching it on the sixth try and glaring at Dot. He tossed the weapon to Yakko, which smacked him in the face and forced him to stop jumping and catch it. He let out a startled shriek and threw it back at Wakko, who shoved it into Dot’s hands.

“I said drop it!” The same officer exclaimed while his men watched the game of Hot Potato with puzzled expressions.

The Warners flung the pistol toward the officers, setting it off and taking out the entire snack aisle, popping off the register, shaving off half a guy’s mustache from the crowd outside, and getting the bullet stuck in a mailbox.

The men in blue shakily got back on their feet after hitting the deck and immediately swarmed the trio, ignoring Dot’s shouts of personal space and Wakko furiously signing that he wanted to talk to his lawyer. Yakko tried in vain to block the door so they wouldn’t be hauled away in the squad car.

“I’m telling you, we’re innocent!” He protested. “We did not kill…this time!”

Chapter Text

In all his thirty-six years on the police force, Plotz had never gotten a case quite like this.

Three siblings. The youngest was blind, the eldest was deaf, and the middle brother was mute. All were accused of bumping off some guy inside a bodega in downtown New York.

It sounded like the start of some crappy joke that Plotz refused to entertain, but with the commissioner breathing down his neck, the captain couldn’t take that chance. So, after popping some much needed aspirin, Plotz marched into the interrogation room to face these killers head on. His Lieutenant was already with them and he could hear the ending of something along the lines of dealing with this.

“Fine.” The eldest toon shuffled a set of cards, split the deck, and handed them to the officer. “Deal ’em good. Last time we played Gin Rummy, you slid two Aces and a ten in your purse.”

“I did? My fault. It won’t happen again,” the Lieutenant promised as he passed out the cards.

Plotz stammered in confusion upon seeing the mess of playing cards and lax attitude from the small group. He yanked the Lieutenant out of his chair, face red and spit flying as he screamed in his ear.

“What is this, a playdate? You’re supposed to be interrogating them!”

The Lieutenant held up his hands in surrender and threw the Warners a sympathetic look. “Sir, I know it’s not procedure, but they’re just kids. If we can make them comfortable and ease a confession out of them—”

“Comfortable?!” Plotz bellowed. “Some sorry bastard is dead, and you want to coddle these things like they did no wrong?”

“All I’m saying is that yelling will only get us so far. We don’t know that they’re responsible for the death, and it could have very well been in self-defense.”

“They were jumping on this man’s stomach like a damn bouncy castle! His blood is on their hands and feet!”

Plotz refused to waste any more time and shoved the Lieutenant out the room. He stomped over to the Warners, baring his teeth at the unbothered trio still engaged in their card game, and smacked Yakko’s feet off the table so he could slam his palms down.

“All right, let’s get down to the brass tacks. Was there a woman present or not?” The captain stared expectantly at Dot but received no answer. “When I ask a question, I expect an answer little missy.”

Dot turned in the voice’s direction, almost like a hesitant ticking clock, and fluttered her eyelashes.

“Yes, I’m talking to you! Was there a woman present?”

“You mean, like, a dozen roses or a brand-new car?”

Plotz dragged a slow hand down his face.

“There had to be a woman. The place smelled nice,” Dot continued with a shrug. “My brother wouldn’t shut up about one in the car ride here.”

Plotz turned to Wakko, who gave him a big smile and a tiny wave. The captain gestured impatiently with one hand for him to speak, but every time the kid opened his mouth, he closed it, then opened it again as if he had a better answer, then closed it again. He repeated this at least five times, rubbing his chin or changing the way he sat in his chair as if that would help the thought process. All it did was help the migraine in Plotz’s skull beat out the aspirin he’d taken.

Okay, okay, I got it! Wakko confirmed, giving a reassuring gesture and cracking his knuckles to begin. He took in a deep breath, and with a lovestruck smile he sighed out, My brother said she’s hot.

Plotz blinked and turned to Dot. “What did he say?”

“Who?”

“Your brother!”

“Which one?”

“The one that’s not talking!”

“Oh.” Dot turned in her chair, nowhere near Wakko’s general direction. “What did you say?”

Dot, I’m over here.

“Wakko, what did you say?”

I said I’m over here.

“Wakko!”

Dot!

“Sweet mercy,” Plotz muttered. He massaged his throbbing temples and stepped behind Yakko, glaring at the back of his head. “And what about you, wiseass? You the brains of this whole operation?”

Yakko had since placed his feet back on the table while Plotz talked to his sibs, and the cards had returned in his hands to be shuffled some more.

“Do you need more time to think when you were just at the scene of the crime? Answer me!”

“Yell all you want. He’s not going to talk to you,” Dot informed the captain, with Wakko adding, Yeah, he reads lips!

“He’ll speak to me whether he wants to or not.” Plotz forcefully turned the Warner’s head up to him. “Cut the bull and answer the question. Was there or wasn’t there a woman?” 

Yakko’s mouth gaped in shock. “Fuzzy Wuzzy was a woman?” He sat up straight, smacking his palms on the table and gawking at his brother and sister. “Okay, was anybody going to tell me that Fuzzy Wuzzy was a woman, or was I just supposed to know that myself? I mean, good for her, but I didn’t know she was who she was all this time!”

Plotz was two seconds away from popping a blood vessel. “What the hell is he talking about?”

Wakko rolled his eyes. I already told you, mister. He reads lips, but you were talking too fast.

Between Yakko’s raving, Wakko’s hand motions, and Dot’s loud belly-laughter, Plotz was now convinced something in his head had already burst.

“Shut up! All of you, shut up!” Plotz pointed between Yakko and Dot. “Don’t tell me you didn’t hear anything because she heard it, and don't tell me you didn’t see anything because he saw it.” He scowled at Wakko. “And I don’t wanna hear a word out of your mouth that you can't tell me what this woman said because these two chuckleheads can repeat it. Now between the three of you freaks, you saw, heard, and can say everything!”

The captain slammed his fist on the desk, prompting the trio to do the same to the rhythm of “Shave and a Haircut” and clapping together at the “two bits” part.

Oh yeah, something had burst.

Normally when all eyes were on Heloise, she paid it no mind but still glowed on the inside. That glow was slowly igniting into a flare of agitation as she tore open every corner and pocket of the suitcase like a wild animal.

Everything but the key was cluttered in the small carry-on.

The blonde bent forward on the table in case she’d missed something, really getting all eyes on her, then slammed the lid shut when it was just the same junk she’d shifted through. She snatched up the ruined case and stormed up to her hotel room, throwing it over a bald head hidden behind a newspaper.

“That son of a bitch tricked us. It’s not here!” Heloise exclaimed.

Scratchansniff calmly folded the newspaper and fished out a pocket knife, calmly cutting out one of the squares below the case’s handle.

“It was,” he said when the empty compartment opened, “so at least we know it was transferred safely.”

“That doesn’t help us.” Heloise stepped behind one of the clothes dividers of the room and undid her top. “I probably shouldn’t have gotten so trigger happy.”

“It was either that or his cholesterol,” Scratchansniff pointed out, eyeing the many crumbled receipts of fast food chains. “Now think carefully. Was there anyone else that could have gotten mixed up in the line of fire?”

“The store was empty, but definitely open. Some paperboy was out waiting for the delivery trucks.”

“Oh yes, him,” Scratchansniff grumbled, looking down at his shoe-less foot as he sat back down. “But he wasn’t paying attention to us.”

Heloise snapped her camisole strap with a single finger and flipped her hair over her shoulder as she pushed the divider to the side. “Speak for yourself, old man. I had the cashier drooling at me through the window.”

The newspaper in Scratchansniff’s hands tore in half. “What?!”

“He was nowhere in sight when I got the case, so there must’ve been a backdoor he went out of. He could barely see over the counter, anyway.”

“That’s still two potential witnesses. Let’s be grateful neither of them heard the shot.” The bespectacled man gave his accomplice a stern glare. “Right?”

Heloise draped herself over the couch, sparing an offended scowl over her nail file. “It went off at the same time the case fell when Ralph knocked it over.” She chuckled under her breath. “Nobody was around to hear it.”

“So the fall must have loosened the slot and the key jumped out.” Scratchansniff clapped once. “Wunderbar! We go back to the shop once the police and crowd have cleared.”

“Fine, but we have to make a pitstop first.”

“Where?”

“Jail.”

“All right, we’ll leave—” Scratchansniff stopped his attempts of taping his newspaper together and stared in bewilderment. “Who do you know in jail?”

“Miss, will you tell your brother to face the camera?”

“Arrested for suspected homicide. Of all the charges…” Dot blew her bangs out of her eyes. “It couldn’t have been something with a little more flare, like espionage? She said face the camera.”

At least it was the only charge that came up on the computer, Wakko pointed out, kicking his feet on the stool he was sitting on.

Yakko furrowed his eyebrows. “What exactly have you been doing after dark?”

Snitches get stitches, bro.

“Can you please tell your brother to stand still?” The woman in charge of the mugshots stressed out. So Wakko signed for Yakko to freeze, Yakko let out a dramatic sigh and, in toon fashion, literally froze in a block of ice. “What is he doing?”

Standing still like you said, Miss Camera Lady, Wakko wrote on a piece of paper.

“Not standing still looking at you, standing still looking at me!”

Dot’s ears perked up. “He’s not facing the camera?” She reached out to pull Yakko’s arm, felt the ice, and took an ice pick from her flower to free her brother with one tap. “Face the woman!”

The woman quickly adjusted the camera stand as the taller toon scowled at the lens. “That’s good! Tell him not to move.”

Wakko threw his previously acquired shoe at his brother’s face, holding up a decorative “Don’t Move” banner after Yakko snapped his head in his direction with a look to kill.

“Why is he doing this to me?” The woman choked out, digging her nails into the bulky camera’s sides. “What’s so hard about facing forward? A baby could do better than him!”

You told him to hold still! Wakko argued, the same time Dot just about broke Yakko’s neck turning him toward the stubborn camerawoman. The woman allowed herself a moment of silence as she readjusted the camera’s height again.

“Finally. Now let’s get your good side—”

“She should make up her mind,” Yakko muttered to his sibs, turning his head as the flash went off.

The woman threw her head back. “SHIT! I quit, I fucking quit! Someone get them before I need a mugshot. And you,” she added to Yakko as a couple of guards stepped inside, “I’ll just get you when you’re sleeping.”

Yakko smirked. “You’re in luck. I’m a heavy sleeper.”

The three were escorted down the hall to continue the booking process and were very much delighted when they ran into their favorite no-neck captain.

“This is why I’m never having kids,” Plotz seethed after the three jumped in his arms.

“That is the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to us,” Dot whispered tearfully as Wakko kissed Plotz right on the mouth.

Plotz shook them off and let the previous guards walk them to do their fingerprints. (And yes, Dot did crack That Joke and made her brothers very proud.)

“Get these heathens far away from me,” Plotz ordered. “The less chances of parole, the better I’ll sleep tonight.”

“That won’t be necessary,” a velvety voice spoke up. Heads turned to see a man and one hell of a woman stepping into the police station. “I think we can get our clients under control.”

Chapter Text

The boys’ handcuffs popped off their wrists at the sight of their tall, blonde, and leggy lawyer. Wakko’s tongue rolled out of his mouth and piled on the floor like a clothesline. Yakko’s eyes telescoped out of his head, giving him a much better view than that cheap magazine. (Take that for what you will.)

If this was the kind of attorney provided to those who didn’t have one, then Yakko and Wakko were definitely going to consider a few other ways to be hauled to court in the future. They jumped into their savior’s arms and held her close, greeting her with a long kiss on the cheek and a passionately shouted/signed “Helloooo Attorney Nurse!”

“If anything, they need animal control,” Plotz corrected the woman’s earlier comment, watching the displays of affection in disgust.

Wakko snuggled into his lawyer’s plentiful chest. Good thing we’ve had our shots.

“Not me,” Yakko denied proudly, nuzzling his cheek against the woman. “Girls love bad boys.”

“Yeah, they love it when you start frothing at the mouth and speaking in tongues.” Dot felt around for her brothers’ wagging tails and tugged, sensing them land on either side of her and prompting a guard to redo their handcuffs. “And we never called for a lawyer.”

The bald man next to the woman chuckled. “That’s the beauty of New York, my dear. Things happen whether you plan them or not.”

“We’ve been sent here to arrange bail for you,” the blonde explained. “You see, our law firm represents the store you…volunteered at.”

Three cheeky smirks crossed the Warners’ faces as the woman went on.

“You’ll have to wait 72 hours before we can shift through more of the legalities, but with a little luck, we’ll have you out of here by 5:00.” Miss Lawyer crouched in front of Yakko and Wakko, making their cartoonish hearts leap out their chests and snuggle her ankles. “I hope you’ll forgive the insensitivity of it, but I’m going to push the blind-deaf-mute angle to help your case. How does that sound?”

Yakko leaned in close. “Music to my ears.”

Wakko nodded. Yeah, you can use me plenty!

Dot resisted the urge to strangle herself, but a cool breeze of perfumed air suddenly got her asking, “Uh, Miss? Have we met before?”

The stranger shared a look with her partner, her reply almost calculated and careful. “No, I don’t think so. You wouldn’t happen to be the blind one, by any chance, would you?”

Dot smiled. Way to start using that insensitivity. “Could be, could be not. Who’s to say? You know, a fun fact about those ‘blind ones’ is that whenever they like somebody, they get to make up what that person looks like.” She fluttered her eyelashes and smiled wider. “I bet I can come up with a pretty picture.”

“Is that so?” The woman stole a quick glance at the officers and captain. “How would you describe me in front of your new friends?”

“Well, you’ve made these dopes worship you at your feet, so you probably have a nice smile.”

The blonde hummed under her breath. “Not a bad guess.”

“The way you carry a conversation, I’d say you’re intelligent. Your eyes must be bright.”

“Why yes, they could be.”

“And I can tell by the way you walk that you have good rhythm, so you’ve got a good ear for music. That means you’ve got a huge donkey butt!”

“Absolute—” The woman’s glare could cut steel. “No, I’m afraid I’m tone deaf. Very, slimly, happily tone deaf.”

Dot shrugged as her brothers and even some of the guards started snickering. Plotz pushed in between them, once again repeating how they were better off without parole, and offered to escort the young lady and man out.

“I’ve never been happier to be a victim of the unjust legal system,” Yakko sighed out, leaning on Wakko’s head to watch those swinging set of hips that did not lie and two glorious…stocking legs…leaving the station. “Well sibs, prepare to be victims on the run.”

Wakko tilted his head up. What do you mean?

“It means that our killer lawyer, emphasis on killer, left with Mr. Magoo and we might be their three Billy scapegoats.”

Dot’s mouth gaped open. “I thought that blood smelled too expensive! And you waited this long to tell us?”

“I didn’t recognize her from the waist up!”

Plotz returned to pure chaos; no the Warners weren’t jumping in his arms like earlier, but they were shouting and pushing and getting in his face to tell him one overlapped thing over the next. The captain’s patience was already hanging by a thread and he didn’t hesitate to bark orders at his returning Lieutenant to grab the boys while he roughly shoved Dot in front of him.

“Sir, we could at least take off her handcuffs. She’s blind for Pete’s sake,” the Lieutenant gently argued.

“I’m not taking any chances,” Plotz shot back, but was quick to change his mind at the disappointed frown. “Fine, fine! You always feel too sorry for everyone.”

Dot rubbed her freed wrists and scoffed in his face. “I don’t need any special favors from you. I have my service pet to guide me.” She pulled a small box from behind and lifted the lid. “Wanna meet him?”

Two heads of a black-and-pink creature, covered in both spikes and fur, sprung from its confinement and let loose purple spittle and a banshee scream. Plotz looked like he was having a stroke while his Lieutenant bolted like a bat out of Hell, dropping Yakko and Wakko in the process.

“He’s housebroken!” Dot called after the running footsteps.

“Three witnesses. Three of them! Miss Nertz, this isn’t looking good for us.”

Heloise flipped to the next page in her book to keep from punching out the car window. She hadn’t counted on there being a third toon when she first saw the swarm of officers guiding those boys out of the bodega, especially not a girl. Something told her charm and a lower blouse wasn’t going to work in this case, and with all those details she had given about Heloise’s appearance, she wasn’t far from a solid testimony.

“Will you relax? By the looks of the captain, those three gave him plenty of reasons to start day drinking. If he doesn’t already with that gut of his,” Heloise added under her breath.

Scratchansniff leaned his head on the seat. “You make jokes now, but we won’t have the last laugh if someone actually starts listening to those kids.”

“Listen, that girl didn’t give any specific details about me, just the basics. She and those other boys had nothing to say about you, so you’re in the clear.” Heloise put away the book and continued by listing on her fingers, “She didn’t mention hearing any shots go off or being in the store in the first place; anyone can use perfume or cologne, so she would have smelled it anywhere; and even if she could see, she would’ve only seen me from the back.”

“How could she not? You’re a big fan of music.” Scratchansniff paled at the sound of a gun reloading. “You know, the slim kind. But we have another problem—that key was nowhere in the store.”

Heloise crossed her arms in a huff, then her eyebrows slowly rose in thought. “Unless those kids have it.”

“Oh yes, I’m sure the blind girl saw the key and told the mute boy to ask the deaf one if they could keep it.”

Heloise shot a warning glare at Scratchansniff’s mocking tone. To her own ears it did sound crazy, but what other option was there?

“It won’t hurt to check. Besides,” the woman added with a Cheshire grin, “if those three start getting suspicious, we’ll tell them our side of the story. And if they want to blab”—Heloise took a bullet out her pocket and marked it with her lipstick—“we get to reenact my favorite scene.”

Dot shivered from the sudden swap in temperature as she crawled out from the police station’s confusing ventilation shaft. She dusted off her skirt and held up an open palm, which her pet nuzzled its head under. It gurgled appreciation for its owner before helping her to her feet and obediently returning to the white box.

“See? That didn’t take long,” Dot said happily.

Yakko tapped his foot from his spot by the backdoor. The same backdoor he and Wakko had simply stepped out of when the Lieutenant dropped them, and when the eldest had turned to usher Dot through, she was shouting “this way!” in the wrong direction and escaping on her pet further into the police station. How did that thing have eight eyes and was blinder than their sister?

Wakko’s snores cut off into a startled gasp when Yakko elbowed him awake. Is it over? Can we go home now?

Dot huffed at the silence and crossed her arms. “We had to make a daring escape! Breaking out of jail isn’t like the movies or in fan-fiction; we have to be cunning, fast, five steps ahead of the guard—”

Yakko nudged her and Wakko in front of him until they got the hint to start walking. “You’re not a dentist, so quit looking this gifted horse in the mouth.”

Wakko looked over his shoulder and was able to sign with his tail, But where are we gonna hide? Won’t the police be looking for us?

“We’ll use the best hiding spot all escapees forget about, brother o’ mine.”

Ohio?

“In plain sight.”

There was nothing more convenient than having a protest break out in front of the police station to help a runaway’s situation. Overlapping chants and shouts about this, that and another shook the air, barely getting second glances from folks outside the protesting circle. Reporters were covering the demonstration live and trying to get comments, and the Warners were so focused on blending in with the crowd that they noticed too little, too late a camera aimed at them and a brunette shoving a microphone in their faces.

“Hey man, it’s not a perfect world,” Yakko told the people. “You just gotta sled fast, don’t smoke grass, and eat—”

Sea bass! Wakko guessed, thumping his fingers over the mic’s pop filter. It was always important to think about the folks watching at home who couldn’t hear. Unless you have a seafood allergy, then don’t. Or your face will swell up and you’ll die.

Dot felt around for the microphone and leaned close to it. “To the guy who tried to fight me and my brothers yesterday, I can’t see you but I know you’re ugly.”

Their statements were over as fast as they had been picked out of the crowd, and they were back to distancing themselves from the organized chaos.

Yakko spared one look over his shoulder, his curiosity racing faster than his heart. “Anyone want to fill me in on what they were protesting about?”

Dot shrugged. “Does it matter? It’s New York. What isn’t there to yell about?”

Wakko placed his tail on his sister’s palm to both help guide her and offer his two cents. I thought it was a workers strike.

“I’d go on strike too if I had to make another Fast and Furious,” Dot said truthfully, prompting the trio to agree how crazy “those damn Universal fans” were.

“Okay, but when Tom Cruise does another Mission Impossible, it’s legendary?” Yakko wanted to know, shaking his head in pure disbelief and confusion.

Wakko snorted. If he can jump on a couch, he can jump out a plane.

“Or maybe,” a familiar velvety voice piped up, making the Warners stop dead in their tracks, “that great big protest was demonstrating better gun control.”

The group fell silent before everyone spluttered into laughter, wiping their tears or hugging onto someone for support. The shared amusement disappeared scarily fast, and Yakko stepped in front of his siblings as the man and woman from earlier towered above them.

“I’d ask how you got out, but that would mean I cared,” the blonde danger said, her painted nails tapping the barrel of a pistol. “Where’s the key?”

“I’ll never tell you!” Yakko dramatically declared.

The woman leaned forward, her eyes half-lidded and the corners of her plump lips glistening with a new coat of lipgloss. “You won’t?”

A lovey-dovey smile spread across Yakko’s face. “If you say the magic word, maybe I will.”

Dot hovered a finger in her mouth and gagged. There was no way her brother was still smitten over their literal “killer lawyer,” as he had put it ten minutes ago. She swatted his tail away from her hand and was about to kick him when he wrapped it around her wrist. She froze at the soft tapping on her arm and realized what Yakko was silently telling her:

Hide this.

Wakko noticed the sign language as well and watched as a golden key was slowly whisked from his brother’s hammerspace, and without hesitation, he inhaled the item and swallowed it.

“On second thought,” Yakko backpedaled, his tone as deadpanned as his face, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The man and woman shared a look, taking a moment to nod and mumble a few things behind a raised hand, then glanced down at the three with a different set of expressions. The boys watched the woman strut behind a parked car and pull out a phone, but even with Yakko’s lip reading and Wakko’s hearing, they couldn’t make heads or tails of what she was mumbling.

“What did he say?” The man asked once she joined his side again.

“We have to take them with us.”

The Warners grinned in one another’s direction. “Road trip?!” They shouted in their own form of excitement as they swarmed the pair of criminals.

Dot clung to the man’s arm, swinging her feet off the ground. “I want to go to Coney Island!”

Can we drive to Connecticut? I wanna see if it really exists! Wakko begged, jumping in the woman’s arms and batting his eyelashes.

“Can we go to Broadway and watch an ambiguously dated musical?” Yakko shrugged and gazed around the streets. “Seriously, what decade are we in?”

Blondie and Baldy shook off the respective Warner on them and exchanged another calculated look.

“I’m afraid we won’t have time to see all the attractions you kids want,” the man said, earning three large pouts and a simultaneous “why not?”

“Because we’ll be leaving the country,” the blonde explained with a sweet smile. “And you three will be dead.”

Chapter Text

“Dead?!” The Warners repeated after what felt like a whole month of one stunned, slowed down, dragged out silence.

“That’s right,” Heloise purred out behind a dazzling red smile. She handed a spare pistol to Scratchansniff, who screwed on a silencer. “It’s just business. But if you tell us where that key is, maybe we’ll stop for ice cream.”

Yakko shielded Wakko and Dot further behind him. “Why would you want to kill us? We’re just kids! You hardly know us.”

“Then how would you like to get acquainted?” The blonde wanted to know as she put a manicured hand on a curvy hip.

Oh, the amount of jokes and suggestions dying to jump off Yakko’s tongue were wild. But he just wanted one thing from this woman ever since those cuffs were slapped on him.

“Can you scratch my nose?”

Heloise crouched down and used the tip of her pistol to scrub the toon’s nose. She then retrieved the lipstick-marked bullet from earlier and pressed it softly to Yakko’s cheek until the lip print remained.

“You’re a sick, beautiful woman,” Yakko muttered with a conflicted gleam in his eye.

“I get that a lot.” Heloise turned to Wakko. “And you, little boy? What would you like?”

The blonde blinked at the wild hand gestures and mischievous smirk spreading on Wakko’s face. She almost didn’t want to take her eyes off of him when he waggled his eyebrows and whispered in Yakko’s direction, “Do I want to know what he said?”

“He wants to know if you can take care of a few people in Philadelphia.”

Heloise squeezed Wakko’s cheek. “I’m afraid we’re not hitmen.”

This made Wakko’s face fall and he gave a less enthusiastic sign—one Yakko translated as “a soda is fine.” Heloise nodded over her shoulder for Scratchansniff to find a store and get the requested drink, and her face radiated with giddy amusement when she turned to Dot. By the warning growl in her throat after Heloise tapped her nose, the woman knew she was going to miss her the most but not with her gun.

“Is there something you’ve got your eye on, princess?”

“What I want you to do to yourself doesn’t fit a T rating,” Dot warned. Her tiny fangs poked out in disgust when Heloise’s perfume tauntingly lingered, but her wayward comment about getting something to drink afterwards powered up a light bulb in Dot’s head. “Actually Miss, I do have one teensy-weensy thing I’d like. Is that man still with you?”

Heloise raised an eyebrow at the sugary voice. “He’ll be back in a minute. Why? What do you want?”

Dot grinned. “I want to play a game.” She held her hand out in what she thought was Yakko’s direction and waited. “I said I want to play a game.”

“We already bashed movie franchises, sis. You really want to milk it for all it’s worth?”

“As if Hollywood doesn’t do that already? Just let me play a game, Yakko.”

“Yeah, okay, there’s a gun in our face—perfect time for Candyland!”

Scratchansniff eventually returned to a full-blown argument between the eldest and youngest, blinking at the overlapped shouts and how Yakko kept circling around Dot every time she turned away from him. He held the opened soda can in front of Wakko and nudged Heloise’s arm.

“What did I miss?”

Heloise shrugged. “I don’t even know.”

Yakko and Dot’s arguing was a blessing, though; if it weren’t for their loud voices combined, Wakko never would have rolled his eyes and happened to catch a familiar face across the street.

No, it wasn’t the ugly guy who tried to fight the Warners yesterday at the diner, whom the trio had fought back with an SNES gag. (And yes to the folks who are here after that one month commercial break and may need a slight reminder, that is what Dot was cleverly alluding back to.)

But that would be too cliché and honestly, what were the chances of seeing the exact same person in your exact location in New York the very next day? The face Wakko saw was just another building logo of a mustached man promoting another pizza chain, and the picture happened to make him laugh.

And whenever he laughs for too long, the hiccups come in. And when those don’t stop on their own, he’ll force them to stop any way he can.

Wakko vacuumed up the remaining soda, earning a disturbed look from Scratchansniff and Heloise, but their confusion quickly turned to shock when they were sent flying from a belch that almost broke the sound barrier.

Dot whirled around to where the disruption had come from and the chaos it had caused—blaring car alarms, dogs barking, a faint “my leg!” shouted in the distance—and Yakko, once again, circled around to get in her face so he could win the argument. Wakko didn’t waste a second nudging his siblings forward, but just a minute later the three of them were forced to stop.

Dot rubbed her nose. “Ow! What did we just bump into?”

One of the police cars. I think it’s still on.

“Is anyone in it?”

Yakko gaped down at what he’d heard. Or saw. Or read on his sister’s lips. “Whoa, hold the phone. I can’t drive this thing with my hands behind my back.”

“Who said anything about you driving?” Dot felt around for the handle and tugged the door open. “Ladies?”

Yakko and Wakko shared a long, doubtful look before Wakko let out a mournful sigh and tugged a pen from under his hat with his ear. He signed the will Yakko had produced from behind his back, and Yakko did the same before helping Wakko into the backseat the best he could.

Dot proudly hopped into the driver’s seat and ran her hands along the dashboard. “Oh, how sweet. They left the keys in here for me!”

The squad car revved to life, and a pounding wave of fear stepped up to the podium as the boys exchanged a second look. Dot’s foot slammed on one of the pedals, and the car jerked backwards and kept going backwards.

Even though Wakko was inside—flung against the window unable to move, but still inside—he squeezed his eyes shut as the car barreled toward Heloise and Scratchansniff, who had gotten to their feet some time ago. They drew their guns in vain and got squished between the police car and a random building.

“Stupid speed bumps,” Dot scoffed under her breath as Yakko shakily changed the gear shift from REVERSE to DRIVE with his foot. The forward surge of the car was enough to make him sick. “So? How am I doing?”

“Did you say something?” Yakko shouted over his racing pulse as Wakko was thrown against the metal divider with a jarring bang.

“How am I doing?” Dot shouted back.

“Don’t look at me! Keep your eyes on the road!”

“Fine, if it makes you feel better.”

“Turn left!”

The front of the car clipped several barricades set up from the trio’s previous escape, sending gates flying and pedestrians jumping. Just up the road outside of the police station, the protest had dwindled only slightly as Plotz and his Lieutenant pushed their way through the jumbled mess of signs and news cameras.

One of their radios cracked heavily under static, but a voice managed to announce, “South Unit isn’t responding. They crashed through the barricades in one of our squad cars!”

Plotz snatched the radio. “Who the hell is driving?” Then he got hit by the very car trying to escape, landing face first on the concrete and barely hearing the delayed response:

“I think it’s the blind girl!”

Yakko looked over the hood of the stopped car and tilted his head. “Uh, Dot, I think you committed vehicular manslaughter.”

“Whoopsie!” She giggled and proceeded to leave skid marks on Plotz.

8th Street and 6th Avenue just couldn’t get enough of the Warners. The stolen police car swerved around a small corner, forcing every car to violently brake or skid another way—all the while Yakko was giving jumbled “right, the other way, straight!” directions like his life depended on it. Wakko kicked the metal divider down and propped himself over the passenger seat, gesturing that they missed the turn on Barrow Street.

“Dot, turn left! Wait.” Yakko glanced over his shoulder at a frantically signing Wakko. “No—right! Uh, something about a dog?”

“Which is it?!” Dot shrieked. The adrenaline of grand theft auto could only get so high before it crashed. “Yakko!”

“Bare right! Bare right!”

Dot jerked the wheel in that direction, careening onto the sidewalk and sending up a barrage of chairs, patio tables, and a telephone booth in use.

“I said bare right!” Yakko yelled from the car floor.

“I know! Did I hit it?”

Wakko furiously wrestled, tugged, and bit into his handcuff chains. When it didn’t loosen, he started slamming his wrists on the rear window until the metal cracked and both cuffs slid off after a bullet shot through them.

Thank you! Wakko signed to the white sports car gaining on them. Scratchansniff was driving and Heloise was hanging out the window reloading a shotgun. The cops weren’t that far from them, either. Oh, mother— Wakko ducked when a second round hit the rearview mirror.

“Please tell me you’re popping balloons back there!” Dot called over her shoulder as she plowed through some kid’s outside birthday party.

Wakko dove into the front section at a third shot and forced the car to go the wrong way on a One-Way street. Still on the floor, Yakko was eventually able to flip his arms to the front of himself (sacrificing a tear in his smokey topaz slacks) and scrambled for the steering wheel as well.

“I can drive now, Dot! Gimme it!”

“No, I’m driving!”

I never get to drive!

The fight caused the car to start spinning in place in the middle of the road and the cop cars, Plotz and his Lieutenant’s car, and Heloise and Scratchansniff stopped in front of them. Everyone either approached the vehicle with caution or kept their distance, and the few officers that had drawn their weapons immediately dropped them when the spinning got blurrier and the car lifted into the air like a helicopter.

It kept going up and up until Yakko separated them all from the steering wheel. “All right! No one drives!”

“Fine!” Dot and Wakko snapped/signed respectively.

All three crossed their arms and glared away from one another, and for a few beats it was quiet. The car even had the courtesy to stand still.

Yakko turned to his sibs. “You think it’s gonna rain?”

Dot shrugged. “I don’t think so. Why?”

“I didn’t notice how many clouds were up here.”

Nope, the weatherman said sunny skies all day.

“Thanks, sib.”

The realization struck faster than lightning as to where they were, and the trio’s eyes shrunk as the car eerily creaked and sent the screaming Warners hurtling toward the Harlem River. The car crash-landed onto a waterborne garbage barge holding 7,000 tons of black bags on it, cloaking the three in darkness and the most godforsaken stench.

Wakko popped his head up from the car floor and glanced down at his mangled siblings. Are we in New Jersey?

Chapter Text

“Find them! Find them now!”

To say Plotz was livid was an understatement. There was a reason why he hated taking on toon cases, and that reason had tripled in less than an hour that afternoon. If the aneurysm didn’t kill him by the end of the day, the commissioner sure would. But Plotz was not going to be made a fool of, that was for damn sure.

As soon as he received the stolen police car’s coordinates on his radio, Plotz barked orders left and right at every officer to drive there immediately and demanded that his Lieutenant spread the word to other police stations. He wanted eyes and ears in every city and state that surrounded New York. He didn’t care if those places didn’t have the jurisdiction to make an arrest; he wanted the Warners in their custody ASAP.

“Dead or alive!” Plotz yelled. His Lieutenant shot him a disapproving glare. “Fine, they can be a little alive. But I get to shoot them!”

The captain whirled his head over to the pair of lawyers that had been involved in the wild car chase. They were exchanging heated whispers that Plotz could only guess were about their escaped clients.

“Still think those menaces to society are innocent?” He asked while approaching them. “I’ll give you people credit. Whatever case fills your pockets is guaranteed to pay those therapy bills on time.”

Scratchansniff and Heloise shared a look that Plotz couldn’t make out, but once it was fully directed onto him, a little voice in his head cautioned him to watch how he phrased things around the two. Heloise slowly smiled and bent over to address the short man (much to Plotz’s chagrin, but he wasn’t complaining about the view).

“If you offer us some legal protection and don’t ask any more questions,” she murmured sweetly, twirling whatever hair was left on Plotz’s head into a gray swirl, “we could make this prosecution worth your while.”

It didn’t take long for the Warners to adapt to their new home. At least it was a tourist free hotspot, and they had always wanted a waterbed.

In the backseat of the ruined squad car, the depressed trills of a harmonica echoed off the walls as Wakko played a prison-like melody. Dot was two seconds away from shoving it down his throat, but she knew he’d just turn it into a disgusting gag and play it with his esophagus. She leaned in Yakko’s direction, running a power saw over the chains of the handcuffs still on him.

“Now what?” She asked.

Yakko had to squint in the dark to see her mouth moving. “You were the one who wanted to get out more, remember?”

“And you were the one who said no matter where we go, all eyes would be on us. Well”—Dot gestured with grandeur at their smelly sanctuary—“no eyes in sight!”

Wakko’s harmonica playing got louder and more depressing, causing Dot to glare in his direction before she returned to the matter at hand. They could bury the car in the river and call it a day, or they could stay put and trust wherever the garbage was taking them.

“Why don’t we just go home?” Dot veered a little too close to Yakko’s wrists with the blades, making him shout in alarm, but she managed to break the chain in half. “Just a thought.”

“Oh yeah? Here,” Yakko grouched, reaching into his pocket and tossing a penny. It bounced off Dot’s forehead. “Take your thought back, because I didn’t ask for it.”

“What’s with you? We lost the fuzz, those two creeps aren’t chasing us anymore, and we have this forbidden key safely on us.”

In us, Wakko corrected, patting his stomach with a proud grin before going back to his harmonica.

Yakko shook his head in disbelief. “Look guys…” He let out an exhausted breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, I guess our situation is just now catching up with me. I mean, sure, we’ve made jokes about running from the law, but they were never about being accused for something we didn’t do. We’d own that crime and get away with it too, but I can tell you one thing.”

Yakko put a hand on Wakko and Dot’s cheek, bringing them closer.

“As soon as we get out of this mess, we’re going to show those cops and those killers who they’re dealing with, and they’re going to wish they had never met us…because we have the overwhelming STINK OF 7,000 POUNDS OF TRASH ON US.”

Wakko pushed his brother’s hand away, furiously signing, We wouldn’t have crashed if you let me drive!

“Do I look like a fool? Don’t even think about it,” Yakko warned, and Dot slowly hid a jester’s hat behind her back.

“Aren’t we a little too early to be having this conflict?” She asked.

Yakko barely caught the end of his sister’s sentence; he was trying to throw Wakko’s harmonica out the window. No he couldn’t hear it, but he could feel the spit hitting his face as his brother puffed into the instrument to annoy him.

“What?” Yakko asked distractedly, swatting at Wakko’s head when he kept getting closer.

“I said, aren’t we a little too early to be—” Dot dragged out an irritated sigh and felt around for any gaps or cracks in the car. “Forget it. I’m tired of repeating myself. Life would be so much better if the three of us were blind!”

That shut everything up. Even the waves of the Harlem River seemed to stop moving as Dot squeezed through one of the broken doors and clambered on top of the squad car. The pungent air of trash was no better outside than it was buried beneath it, but the breeze was treating her well. A seagull shrieked in the distance, and by instinct Dot turned her head to look at it—gotta make up what it looks like, remember?

Dot sighed when she heard the metal around her groan and steadied herself at the shift in extra weight on either side of her.

“It would be easier,” she mumbled into her knees while her eyes welled up with frustrated tears. She couldn’t tell if the gentle tilt of her chin was to help Yakko read her lips or to comfort her. “We’d have each other to guide, and we could make up what we look like and still be happy. You guys don’t have to do that and you never will. You’re lucky. I can’t see you and I never will!”

Dot’s voice cracked at the last line and she buried her head in her knees again. She didn’t want to turn her back on her brothers because she didn’t know where or how they were sitting, and it would’ve been so awkward if she spilled all of that out and whirled around just to look one of them in the eye. A set of arms wrapped around her shaking body and Yakko gave Dot’s knee a reassuring squeeze.

“And I’ll never know what you or Wakko sound like,” he quietly pointed out. “I can’t hear you calling for help if you need me, or hear myself saying how much I love you guys. Call me crazy, but I don’t think that’s very lucky.”

Wakko reached over, offering his own knee squeeze for each sibling, and did his usual tongue-out smile. I wish I could tell you guys a knock-knock joke, but…I’m no good at them.

All three broke into a smile at the much needed shift in mood and held one another tightly, never wanting to fall down that rabbit hole ever again.

Wakko’s smile flipped upside down. We smell so bad.

“A group hug was not the best idea,” Yakko muttered.

Dot nodded in agreement. “I’m gonna throw up.”

But she did not. Dot was escorted off the tugboat first once Yakko and Wakko eventually spotted land—if escort now means “fling your sister through a large slingshot and hope she lands”—and the boys joined her after pushing the cop car into the murky river, dramatically saluting as it slowly went under.

The trio casually walked the streets of whichever city they were now in, Yakko and Wakko keeping their arms linked through Dot’s in case they needed to make another mad dash. Yakko was already eyeing another cop car they could borrow.

“Uh oh,” he muttered as he braked hard in his tracks. “Men in blue at twelve o’clock, sibs.”

Wakko couldn’t help the shake in his hands. What’re we going to do, Yakko?

“There’s only one thing we can do. Those uniforms are way out of date, so how about some…polkadot?”

Dot cringed at the age-old request, but if it was the only way to get by the police, then she’d literally have to put on her best dancing shoes and swallow her pride.

“Alright boys,” she said as she pinned a garland to her skirt, “let’s do it.”

Wakko brought out a large accordion, and Yakko took Dot’s hands to lead her through the fast dance. The officers stopped their conversation to stare at the trio in confusion and took a few steps closer to one another as the Warners danced around them. At the final music note, Dot curtsied low while her brothers knocked the cops out with their mallets.

“Well, that was anticlimactic,” she complained as her brothers linked their arms back through hers and rushed off.

The second those words left her mouth, the trio had to stop yet again. A larger group of cop cars and officers were stationed along the streets, radios chattering and barricades forcing traffic in different directions. Yakko and Wakko glared down at Dot, even though she couldn’t see what she had just spoken into the universe.

“You wanna talk anticlimactic?” Yakko huffed as the next transition faded over them.

Further up the avenue, law officials were lined across the street of a hotel that was bustling with arrivals from all over the world. They were there more so to escort big named doctors, public speakers, and ambassadors inside rather than being on the lookout for “three monkey-dog maniacs.”

Guests that were already checked in cast wary or curious glances at the extra layer of police around the lobby. One elderly man couldn’t help voicing his curiosity.

“Are we getting an alien invasion or somethin’?” He asked as he was wheeled to his room by a bellhop. “It is New York, after all.”

“No sir, it’s just extra security for this afternoon’s event,” the worker droned out. Whether he was overworked or tired of being asked that was anyone’s guess. “You’re safe, don’t worry.”

The guest was soon placed in his room and watched the young worker discard his things in the closet, some of which he deemed too heavy and instead tossed on the bed. As soon as he was gone, the man wheeled over to one of the bags and unzipped it.

“Thanks Stan! We owe you one,” Yakko said as he and his sibs popped out.

Stan Lee waved a dismissive hand and stood up, ruffling the three’s heads. “Think nothing of it. I like you kids. Stay out of trouble, okay?”

The Warners nodded and waved goodbye as the legendary cameo god left the room.

“He’s such a nice guy,” Dot sighed out, climbing out of the bag and feeling around for the bathroom door. “Dibs on the shower!”

Ask for his autograph! I love Invader Zim, Wakko requested, already entertaining himself by making race car noises and running circles with the left behind wheelchair.

His silent puppy-dog stare for Yakko to push him was instantly obliged, and the boys spent five minutes each taking turns to zoom one another around the room. Flying past the window during his turn, however, Wakko jumped out of the chair and sent Yakko crashing into the wall.

Wakko pressed his face to the glass, ignoring the choked sounds of pain from his brother that sounded a lot like that lady who fell after stomping grapes. Below their room, a massive group of police were talking with three very familiar figures.

But just to be sure, Wakko whipped out a pair of binoculars and zeroed in on the blonde. Oh yeah, that was her.

“Hey, what gives?” Yakko grumbled, stumbling to Wakko’s side and rubbing the side of his neck. The binoculars smacked over his eyes, startling him for a second until he was able to focus on what was on the other end. “Thank you Stan for giving us the top floor.”

The ogling didn’t last forever. Plotz seemed to have a sixth sense, and his rolling eyes at whatever the officer was explaining to him landed on the Warner brothers. Both snapped the curtains shut and scrambled on top of the other, trying to get away from the window.

Yakko reached the locked bathroom first. “Uhhh, Dot!” He pounded on the door. “Hurry up, we gotta go!”

“Go in a bush or something!” She snapped.

Wakko peeked through the curtains and paled when no one was outside. His hands shook as he tried signing Yakko’s name, but he was still banging on the door.

Wakko rushed over, tugging at his pants. She can’t hear you.

“Really Sherlock? Neither can I!” Yakko slammed his fist one more time on the door. “Fine, take your precious shower! But do not leave this bathroom. Hide in the vent when you’re done!”

It was times like these that Dot momentarily forgot her brother was deaf. She was already out the shower and in her bathrobe, shouting “alright already!” and stomping out. And it was times like these that she hated not having her eyesight and had to use her other senses.

“Yakko?” Dot hesitated to sniff out the rancid scent of garbage, but all she could smell was her own perfumed and powdered fur. “Wakko?”

She perked her ears and forced herself completely still, straining to listen for the slightest noise or feel the faintest footstep. The floor outside the room shook with the force of heavy shoes, and the door sounded like it was struggling to open against something blocking it. Five cops burst into the room, shouting for the toon to put her hands where they could see them.

Dot continued walking around the room.

Minutes passed and the men shared disbelieving expressions as they slowly piled inside. It was like they weren’t even there; Dot kept to herself, returning to the bathroom to change, coming back out with makeup, opening the curtains to let in the sunshine…

“Is this the deaf one?” One officer whispered, lowering his taser.

“Probably. Makes our job easier, man,” another said with a shrug.

Dot’s giggle made the officers jump. “You know boys,” she began as she pulled her mace from her pocket and turned on her heel, “just because I’m lacking one sense doesn’t mean I can’t knock you all senseless.”

Her maniacal grin, smudged in lipstick, stretched across her face as she brandished the spiked weapon above her head and jumped forward, smacking harshly into a wall.

“My nose!” Dot shrieked, flailing her feet as she writhed in pain on her back. The group of officers cautiously surrounded her. “Is it broken?” She whimpered to the closest one she sensed in front of her face.

Dot uncovered her nose as the officer leaned in close and a boxing glove popped out from her palms, punching him in the mouth. He stumbled and took two of his men down with him as he fell, giving Dot enough time to bolt like a bat out of hell. She didn’t know which way was up or down, but the farther she got away from that room, the better.

The longer she ran, the hotter the panic in her chest burned, but she resisted the urge to call for her brothers. Dot was already pushing it by running blindly (haha) through the halls of a hotel. She banged her shoulder into something, tumbling to the floor and frantically palming up the wall for any curves indicating a corner she could hide behind.

“There she is!” Someone exclaimed behind her.

Dot’s heart dropped to her toes. Maybe if she played dead, they would leave.

“Dr. Arthur!”

Okay good, that wasn’t for her. Dot got to her feet despite her jelly-like legs and inched forward. The footsteps were getting closer and the calls for the doctor were growing louder in her ears. Then they stopped right beside her.

“Dr. Arthur, where have you been?” A man asked on her right, sounding out of breath but not upset. “I’ve come to pick you up.”

“Well, if you insist.” Dot held her arms up and jumped in the stranger’s direction, who was able to catch her last minute.

A woman laughed on her left. “What did I tell you? Isn’t her humor something else?”

“Yes, quite. I’m glad we found you, Doctor. The seminar’s starting in ten minutes, and we don’t want our guest speaker wandering the halls lost.”

Dot squirmed out of the man’s arms and sped down the hall. “I’ll start the search party, then!”

Laughter rang through her ears as the strangers grabbed either of her hands and turned her around, leading her to who-knows-where and complimenting her jokes. Dot strained out a courtesy laugh and prayed that whatever kind of doctor she was supposed to be, no one would want a live demonstration of her work.

Chapter Text

“Yakko’s Log, Day 159: the darkness is unforgivable. It’s cold and oppressive, like the water tower back in 1929. I can’t see my own hand in front of my face. I can’t hear myself think.”

A pause.

“I can’t hear at all. How much has the outside world changed without the Warner brothers and the Warner sister? How much have we changed? Oh God, I don’t think I can go on much longer—”

Wakko pushed STOP on the tape recorder and shot his brother a tired look. Didn’t we already do this sort of bit when it took a month to update?

Yakko smiled. “Yeah, but people love a good running gag. It doesn’t hurt.”

It doesn’t help, either.

“And who was the one who wanted to travel via luggage?” Yakko pocketed the tape recorder and tugged the zipper above his head, glaring when it refused to budge. “We’d have better luck on American Airlines! We wouldn’t get to where we need to be, but at least we’d get somewhere.”

Wakko shrugged and gnawed on a bar of soap from the last bag they had blurrily transitioned from. Dot hadn’t been in the hotel room when he and Yakko managed to shimmy their way into the bathroom vent to get her, and they could only hope that those cops would stay disorientated long enough to not radio for backup.

A steam roller to the head would buy them 15 minutes top, right?

Wakko shoved the melon-scented bar into his mouth and drummed his fingers on his stomach while Yakko tried to move the zipper. Wakko sat up, about to lend a hand, but a muffled voice outside the bag made him freeze.

“Yes sir, I know. But I’m telling you, it’s a done deal.” There was a long pause, then a sadistically sweet woman’s chuckle made Wakko’s fur bristle. “One hour, I understand. Bye.”

A hand pulled at the zipper and found it was also a struggle to open, so a knife stabbed through the top, centimeters away from Yakko’s face. He snatched a random shirt to cover him and Wakko as light flooded into the bag, but of course the hand reached for it and took it out.

“You’re so sure we’ll get this done in time?” A familiar accented voice asked in the distance.

“If you doubt me again, I won’t hesitate,” the buxom blonde responded, both in a smooth and chilling tone, as she held up her knife.

It was the boys’ sweet luck that while Heloise had revealed their hiding spot, she wasn’t looking at them but over her shoulder to address her partner in crime.

“Go ahead then,” Scratchansniff challenged. “But don’t come crying to me when you’re arrested for a double murder.”

“My tear ducts were surgically removed with my ability to give a—”

Achoo!

“Bless you,” Scratchansniff, Heloise, and Yakko said together. The criminals blinked at one another in confusion.

Wakko blew his nose and smiled, pressing one of those talking dog buttons that said “thank you!”

Heloise flung open the closet doors. Nothing. She squinted down at her bag, specifically where she’d cut it open with her knife, and emptied a pistol into the large duffel without a second thought. No screams or blood. Darn.

Scratchansniff groaned and rubbed the wrinkles along his forehead. “We’re working too hard and hearing voices. I need a drink.”

“Make it five,” Heloise added on her way to the bathroom.

“Five? Who else is drinking with us?”

“One for you, four for me. Duh.”

Scratchansniff rolled his eyes and offered a mocking “yes dear” before he left. Heloise returned to the room once her hands were free and sat on the bed to take off her heels and roll down her stockings. Each time she leaned over, she’d miss a set of eyes blinking from under the bed at her incredible curves.

Holding in the sigh of relief almost pained Yakko once Heloise’s bare feet disappeared into the bathroom, and he didn’t hesitate to crawl out and start tugging Wakko out from hiding—but he immediately had to shove him back under when Heloise made a change of plans and returned in a thick bathrobe. Her sight was blocked by a makeup wipe scrubbing her eyes, and she lazily swept a hand over the bedside table.

Yakko leaned as far back as his spine would let him and pushed the small pouch he assumed she wanted into her hands. Heloise tossed the makeup-stained wipe and shifted through the bag, her eyes still scrunched up, while Yakko crept painfully away on his heels, his back still bent and every muscle in him straining to not make even the slightest of noises.

In any other situation, the toon would make faces behind the oblivious person’s back and knock stuff over to make them question their sanity. But Yakko had to play it safe and blend in with the background, twisting into uncanny valley positions and silently handing facial products, brushes, and towels to the woman who wanted the Warners six feet under.

Yakko had never felt so comical and terrified at the same time, and he figured insulted deserved to go to the top of the list when he finally pulled Wakko from under the bed. The middle Warner got stuck for a second and in his state of panic, he banged his head on the bottom side rail. Yakko shushed him in case he was whining and rubbed the spot to make the pain go away.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, turning for the door and running his nose into Heloise’s thigh. Yakko grinned, giving her a tiny wave before whirling around to glare at his brother. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Wakko slowly held up his middle finger.

“It is an honor and a great pleasure to introduce our panel of specialists in their field this afternoon. Dr. Truman Jenner, cardiology. Dr. Harold Barlow, psychology. Dr. Rita Bennett, neurology.”

After each official’s name, a polite round of applause faded in and out around the large room of attendees.

“And in her first visit to the U.S.,” the announcer wrapped up excitedly, practically bouncing on his toes, “the first ever toon orthopedist, Dr. Teressa Claire Arthur!”

Dot’s applause was a bit longer than the others as she awkwardly smiled out to the crowd. Was it too late to conk herself unconscious?

“Dr. Arthur, my first question is for you.”

It’s too late.

“In your essay covering the biceps brachii and abdominal muscles of males, you attribute healthier muscle mass to a high protein diet. Now I know you’re a modest lady, but I simply must put you on the spot and ask which exercise is the most beneficial to increase lean muscles?”

The three doctors down the row simultaneously turned their heads, making Dot break out in a nervous sweat at the intense feel of being watched. On the bright side, she learned a new word today.

“What a wonderful question…” Dot leaned forward and squinted. “Shirley,” she finished. The man looked down at his Hi, my name is Carl name tag. “I would say most of my patients prefer the usual—lifting weights, swimming, all that jazz. But you want to know how I get the best results?”

Half the front row shifted forward expectantly, notebooks and tape recorders at the ready. Dot smacked her hands on the table, spiking a bit of microphone feedback in everyone’s ears.

“By touch! It’s the only procedure I live by. You need biceps that should be registered as lethal weapons and abs that can chisel boulders!”

Shocked and disapproving murmurs flooded the room, but Dot’s pitch only got higher in excitement and she was halfway on top of the table, slamming her fist by the microphone and sweating her hair out.

“Why stop there? Show me some cast-iron pecs and thighs that could choke a bear! That’s what the doctor ordered. Go big or go home!”

The murmurs amplified into horrified shouts and questions were being thrown left and right. Dot was pretty sure someone in the back had passed out, if the harsh thud and the shocked cry of “Grandpa?!” wasn’t a blatant giveaway.

“Dr. Arthur, are you suggesting this behavior is appropriate for your patients?” An appalled voice shouted in the front.

Dot furrowed her brow and genuinely forgot she was playing doctor. “Who said they were my patients?” She cringed at the deep gasps and the host’s desperate pleas for everyone to calm down. “I mean, uh, they were my patients, but they’re not…anymore?”

Wrong response, and the three doctors at her side were scooting as far away from her as they could get. Dot felt she had a good excuse to scream, and upon realizing the mic had picked up her distressed noise and the room had gone silent, she rolled with it.

The toon shot out of her chair and palmed around her eyes. “Oh God! What is this shooting pain in my head? Ah! Everything’s going white!”

One of the doctors stepped forward. “Here, let me take a look.”

“I don’t want you!” Dot snapped, shoving him away by the face. “I need a professional!”

Several weird looks from the medically trained guests were exchanged amongst each other as Dot tripped and crawled for the stage’s steps. The host helped her up but kept her still, insisting he could look at the matter himself.

“Look at what? I can see that I’m blind!” Dot screeched, pushing all of her weight on the man’s arms.

“Dr. Arthur, please stop being so dramatic. I can help.”

“I’ll be the judge of that!” Someone in the audience suddenly proclaimed.

Dot stopped struggling and glared at everyone’s persistence—honestly, if this was how to score a doctor, she’d been playing the game all wrong—but then her nose wrinkled from a familiar putrid smell. Her eyes widened and her hand shot out, smacking her brother’s nose, but the voice wasn’t Yakko’s. How was Wakko doing this?

“Sir, who are you?” The host asked.

“I’m the guy who does his job. You must be the other guy.”

Dot smacked a palm over her eyes. “Oh God.”

The host raised an offended eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Look at me. Look at me. I’m the captain now.” Wakko squished Dot’s cheeks together and jerked her head around in various directions. “What we’ve got here is failure to communicate.”

“Are you a doctor?” A woman called out.

Wakko tilted his head over his shoulder. “Wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy?”

These people were either still frazzled from the wild Q&A portion, or they had never owned a TV before. All that mattered was that Dot wasn’t alone anymore.

“Uh, yes! Tell me Doctor, how long have I got?” She cried, dipping dramatically into Wakko’s arms.

Something cracked just below his hip, and a stuttering slew of one-liners popped out of a tape recorder:

“N-n-nobody puts Baby in a corner…yo, Adrian, I did it…you can’t handle the truth…never let go, Jack!”

The murmuring started up again, and Wakko aggressively hit his side until the device shut up. He grinned nervously at the crowd and sat Dot up straight, taking a thermometer from his hat and popping it in her mouth.

Dot immediately spit it out. “Ew! You still have lice!”

Wakko held up a sign saying “she’s cured!” and grabbed her hand, stopping short at the sight of a small crowd by the door. The unmistakable clicks of police radios flooded in as five pissed off officers stumbled in, rubbing noticeable knots on their heads. Wakko chucked the recorder at one of their foreheads and snatched Dot’s arm in a run, crashing out one of the windows and making a mad dash to the parking lot.

Dot didn’t even get a chance to blink as she was shoved under a random vehicle. “Wakko! What is go—”

Wakko pressed a hand to her mouth and perked his ears to listen out for anything they needed to be quiet for. Moments later, a set of footsteps rushed forward, several pairs of shoes running in various directions and a few of them staying put.

“Where are they?!” Plotz yelled, and Wakko couldn’t see it, but no doubt were his veins out on his neck and spit was flying. “When I see them, I’m shooting them! On sight!”

“Sir, please,” the friendlier voice of his Lieutenant said. “What did you expect? They’re kids. Of course they’d run away if we had our men swarming the halls with guns and tasers blazing.”

“One of them impersonated a doctor, they assaulted five of our men, and they used Stan fuckin’ Lee as a diversion to get into the hotel!”

“What’s wrong with Stan Lee?”

“Nothing, he’s just cool. I wanted to meet him,” Plotz mumbled with a frown. He didn’t hear the snickers under the car and turned on his heel. “Find them! I want their ugly mugs plastered all over the state!”

Dot glared and slowly lifted the lid where her service pet lay in wait. Wakko put a hand on top of hers to close the box, keeping his eyes on the short man in front of them. He saw his feet turn and instantly felt his tail thump against a tire when two gorgeous legs strolled into view.

“If you would’ve just let me handle things and kept your head out of your ass,” Heloise started, a smile on her lips but violence in her eyes, “I could’ve had those boys back in your custody, and the girl would easily follow.”

Plotz scoffed. “And you really think a few winks in a bathrobe would make them surrender?”

Heloise chuckled and leaned forward. “Why not? I sure hope that’s a gun in your pocket.” She pinched the man’s cheek and winked. “So you can fall and shoot yourself,” she added in the same purred-out tone.

Plotz sputtered in both disbelief and embarrassment, storming off with his men and shouting orders for more blockades to be set up. A pair of loafers soon stepped into view, impatiently tapping when Heloise turned to acknowledge the new arrival.

“Don’t give me that look,” Heloise warned. “We can get rid of him too, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not,” Scratchansniff said flatly, gesturing to the mess of squad cars and the screaming police captain. “If anything, he’s wasting our time and we risk getting caught every second we speak to him.”

“So let’s kill him.”

“Nein!” At Heloise’s pursed lips, Scratchansniff rolled his eyes. “Okay, a quick murder after coffee. But let’s take care of this first. We have a lot of traffic ahead of us.”

The doors of the car Wakko and Dot were hiding under suddenly opened.

“Hullo!” An obnoxious and nasally voice called out. “I’m glad you’re back, I was gonna overheat in here. Can we stop at Burger King on the way? Ooh, can I drive, huh? Can I drive, please Daddy?”

The locks clicked, the engine roared, and the two’s hiding spot blasted away. Wakko quickly pulled Dot back into the hotel before Plotz could see them and hid behind a potted plant.

“Was that Yakko?” Dot exclaimed.

Wakko winced when she gripped his hand until three bones popped, but nodded. Yeah, he signed in her palm. Long story, but they got him.

“And you didn’t say anything?!”

Wakko blinked once, twice, three times. Do I look—

“I know I can’t. C’mon, we gotta go! We gotta save him!”

Wakko tugged his sister back when she nearly ran in the opposite direction of the door. Dot, you’re kinda blind.

“And you kinda stink. Now if we’re done exchanging harsh comments about the other”—The white pet box was out in a flash and smacked away by Wakko faster—“Hey!”

Wakko rolled his eyes and took her hand again. I know your pet hasn’t gotten a lot of cameos recently, but you’re milking it.

Dot made a face. “Ew.”

Besides, we can’t rely on the easy way out all the time. I think these people mean business.

“They can go bankrupt for all I care! I just want Yakko back!”

A flush of frustration warmed Wakko’s cheeks as one hand tugged his ear, the other clumsily patting half-done signs in Dot’s palm. She wasn’t the only one who wanted their big brother back; Wakko’s heart was still racing from doing what Yakko had told him to do when they’d gotten caught: run.

So he did, all over the hotel and nearly crashing into Scratchansniff at the bar. But the latter had seen Yakko first, and he practically broke his ankles like he was CoryxKenshin trying to snatch him up.

Wakko was about to pull out his mallet then and there, but Dot was still missing. And as the second oldest, he knew he had to find his baby sister before the bad guys did.

Wakko sighed under his breath and took Dot’s shaking hands into his equally trembling ones. I want Yakko back, too. He gently kissed her knuckles and smiled. And we will get him back, ’cause we’re the Warner brothers.

Dot gave a confident nod. “And the Warner sister. Okay, so what’s the plan?”

Wakko chewed his bottom lip in thought, gazing around the hotel for anything that might be of use to them, then spotted a parking valet accepting the keys to a man’s Ferrari. He smirked and tapped his mallet repeatedly in his palm, signing with his tail for Dot to wait there. He was going to get to drive this time.

Chapter Text

The thing about Wakko driving was that he shouldn’t. California already suffered enough, and it did not need a rat in a hat doing donuts on the freeway. Or eating them. Maybe that’s what attracted the officer to their stolen Ferrari after they crashed into a patrol car.

Trouble at ten o’clock. Look alive, Wakko signed in Dot’s palm after putting the car in Park.

“Let me handle this. I have a way with our men in blue.” Dot leaned forward once she heard the window roll down and smiled. “Yeah, no, sorry sir. The car with the body in the trunk is on Route 221. What a silly mixup!”

The policewoman’s eyes widened. The toon girl was talking nonsense to a cupholder.

“Okay, um… Sir, when I saw you speeding, I guessed 95 at least,” she told Wakko.

Wakko shook his head. You’re wrong, officer. It’s only my hat that makes me look that old.

This officer, fortunately, was fluent in ASL and sighed. “I meant 95 miles per hour. Do you get why I had to pull you over now?”

“You were bored and wanted company?” Dot piped up, her head now in the proper direction the officer was speaking. 

“Can I please just see your license and registration?”

“Sure, kid.” Dot fumbled around for many minutes looking for the glove compartment, then a few minutes more. “Wait, what does a driver’s license look like?”

A vein in the officer’s head got a bit more noticeable. “It’s square, and it has your picture on it.”

“Oh, that!” Dot waved her hands around, felt the rearview mirror, and snatched it from its hook. “Here you go!”

She chucked it out the open window, knocking the officer out cold. Wakko leaned out of the driver’s side to stare at the fallen woman. He glanced around, slowly took her hat to put on top of his, then drove off. Over the fierce hum of the Ferrari and the loud honking from other vehicles, Dot rested her chin in her palm and turned her face to the left.

“You know, it’s a little odd.”

Wakko extended his tail to talk back to her. What’s odd?

“I thought we’d have a longer interaction with that cop to make up for some kind of lost time. Ya know? Longer jokes, more gags, and slapstick for the whole family.”

I killed a guy to get this Ferrari for us so we could save Yakko. Is that not enough slapstick?

“You did what?”

You heard me.

Dot scoffed into her palm and leaned her head against the window. “I’m just saying now that it’s over, I feel sad and empty—like something more dramatic was supposed to happen.”

Wakko shrugged. Can’t always roll out the same material. Expecting the expected is so expectant of expecting spectators.

Dot did not appreciate that tongue twister and bit her brother’s tail, making him yelp and jump away from the wheel to tackle her. The Ferrari threw itself to the right, straight toward a coastline cliff, while the younger Warners threw hands on the dashboard. There weren’t any dramatic flips or anything; the car simply bumped down the jagged rocks like it was a slip-and-slide and stopped in front of a sandcastle being built by a kid. The little girl watched with wide eyes as the tires hissed their last breath and buried the car halfway in the sand.

Dot kicked open the door and flopped out. “Great, just great! We’re lost, aren’t we? That’s the last time I let you drive.”

Wakko rolled his eyes as he followed her, doing a double take at the kid and stopping to look at the sandcastle. He looked from the girl and back before placing the police officer’s cap on her head and running after Dot.

We’re not lost. I know where we are, he signed in her palm.

“Oh really, Magellan? Where are we?”

On a beach, standing on sand. There’s a lot of it here.

Dot smacked a hand over her eyes. “Okay, I’m not gonna yell at you, and I’m not gonna scream. How about we hitch a ride? Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

Wakko nodded in agreement and helped Dot on his shoulders for a piggyback ride up the cliffside. When his foot dug into a crevice, the part he was clinging to slowly pulled itself into a pink room. Wakko’s jaw dropped, and he whipped his head over his shoulder to see a different textured rock wall replace the gap and separate him from the beach. When he turned back around, he went crosseyed as several tiny red dots swarmed his face from a bunch of tranquilizer snipers on the ceiling.

Do…not…say a word, Wakko carefully and slowly signed with his tail.

Dot looked up from the Froot Loops cereal bar she was eating. “W0t?”

Yakko had seen it all – a greenhouse guarded by Rottweilers, a fancy marble bar, and three connected garages with who knows how many getaway cars.

“Must be your first time killing someone like me,” he quipped as he was shoved down a long and wide hallway. “The second location ain’t half bad. You wanted to let me down easy, didn’t ya? Huh? Aw, ya big lug! I could kiss you.”

“You put your lips on me and your teeth will be in the body bag before you,” a very agitated Scratchansniff snapped.

Yakko smirked. It was about time he got threatened with intensely specific violence. He’d been yapping the whole hour-long car ride nonstop, call him Alexander Hamilton.

“Nice place you got here,” he continued without missing a beat, his smirk widening at Scratchansniff’s angry red neck. “You ever thought of burning it to the ground and collecting the insurance money for a better one? I know a guy who could do it for a small fee.”

“Would this guy happen to be your brother?”

“Okay, I’ll get you another guy. But he charges an arm and a leg, and he’s definitely not Hannibal Lecter. Get it? Huh, huh? The Silence of the Lambs. Hello!”

Scratchansniff groaned as Yakko continued to rattle on and change topics at breakneck speed, and his only saving grace was that he was deaf. He couldn’t hear the walls being gunned down to ease Scratchansniff’s boiled-over temper. What the mastermind wouldn’t give to have one of those bullets ricochet.

Heloise entered the room a few moments later, watching in disinterest as Yakko excitedly roamed the room with his arms still cuffed to his back. Why he hadn’t slipped out of them was beyond her, because they certainly weren’t toon-proofed.

“Did the boss come yet?” Heloise asked, and Yakko had the strong urge to shout g’night everybody!, even though his back was turned.

“He’ll be in his office soon, which means we have the wonderful company”—Scratchansniff glared at the toon still talking—“with that thing for a little while longer.”

“Let him talk his head off. We won’t be in California for long.” Heloise gestured for Scratchansniff to follow her into the next room. “It also won’t be long before his siblings follow in his footsteps.”

“Hopefully those footsteps are full of cement,” Scratchansniff grumbled, shutting and locking the door behind them.

“…years too late, but they still made it to the psychiatrist’s funeral. Can you believe that?” Yakko waited like he was going to get a response, then shrugged in dismissal. “Never understood the point of cauliflower, folks. Call a flower? I hardly know her. Hello!”

Yakko finally turned around to an empty hallway, smacking his teeth and shaking his head in mock disappointment.

“Not a fan of puns, this crowd. No problem! I can do illusion tricks, but I’ll need a volunteer. Preferably Cindy Crawford,” he added, flourishing his wrists and removing the handcuffs.

Crickets, but he couldn’t hear them. Yakko shrugged again to no one and tossed the handcuffs away, strolling further down the hall and coloring in several hanging portraits with a Sharpie.

“Sure hope you fellas didn’t bring me to a museum,” he called out. “I guess I’d have one thing in common with all these artifacts: I don’t belong here.”

The toon started laughing to himself for three minutes straight, jumping and twirling with his eyes closed like he was in a musical, then eventually leaned against a wall, wiping a tear from his eye.

“Ah. If I could hear myself, I wonder if I’d slap me.”

“Why would you? You’re quite humorous,” a voice said from behind.

Yakko felt his fur bristle as he slowly turned on his heel, and no—it was no Christmas miracle. He’d felt something spritz the back of his neck and hoped he wouldn’t have to punch someone for sneezing on him. Color him surprised when he noticed three things at once:

He was leaning against a desk, not a wall. One of those motion sensor Febreze bottles was what had sprayed him. And someone was sitting in a huge chair, turned facing away from him.

Yakko snorted and crossed his arms. “Lemme guess, you’re the big bad antagonist here to monologue and outsmart me. Already one step ahead of ya, pal. Well, actually”—He popped in front of the chair and grinned—“I’m one chair ahead of ya! What the…?”

There was no one sitting.

“Ooh, you almost had it! Gotta be quicker than that,” the voice taunted. “But I’m so glad you like the chair. It was a two-for-one set, along with this stereo.”

The squeak of speakers echoed from above, playing a soft rendition of Flight of the Bumblebee. Yakko crossed his arms again, roaming around what he presumed was an office and speaking to the invisible man or woman of the hour.

“You know it’s rude not to greet your guests. I didn’t expect anything fancy poppin’ out, but a simple handshake goes a long way.”

A giant rubber hand shot out from the wall Yakko passed, sending him to the floor.

“A big Jackass fan, I see,” he muttered, coughing out a cloud of baby powder. “I’m more of an Impractical Jokers guy myself.”

The voice chuckled as the stereos doubled in volume, gently sending a buzz through the floor, and Yakko couldn’t help noticing the Febreze nozzle flickering a bright green. A puff of orange-scented perfume sprayed out the canister, but when it stopped flickering, it stopped spraying. Yakko hummed under his breath and returned to the chair, rolling himself around the room for a minute before rummaging through the desk drawers.

“Wow, you need a secretary,” he said out loud, messing up the organized files and tossing books over his shoulder.

“I have no need for secretaries. One’s mess is just a taboo form of organization,” the voice replied.

Yakko’s nose picked up a new layer of the same citrus-y scent. “Hello?”

“Hi.”

Yakko’s eyes slowly peeked over the desk, staring at the Febreze that had filled the air with orange smells again. And he could’ve sworn he caught the thing lighting up.

“Took you long enough,” the voice spoke once more, the Febreze lighting up and spraying. Yakko’s jaw dropped at the returning green light, flickering in Morse code. “What’s the matter, Yakko? You look like you’ve heard some distressing news. Share with me, I’m all ears.”

Yakko grinned, and he hoped he was smiling wide enough to cover his bruised ego. “Well don’t sell yourself short. I’m sure you’re all kinds of things, but we’re not above a T-rating, after all.”

The voice chuckled. “Didn’t your sister make that kind of joke three chapters ago?”

“Bold of you to assume I’d remember something like that. It took a whole year for us to get back on track, and it may take a couple more months to wrap this up. Ever heard of Commercial Break?”

“You’re relying a bit too heavily on that running gag, kid. Only a select few will laugh in genuine understanding, but you’ll just wind up with egg on your face for reusing the same material.”

Yakko scoffed. “Says the one using a motion-sensor Febreze capsule to communicate. What, you couldn’t afford an Alexa?”

The light didn’t turn on after that, and before Yakko could start hurting this stranger’s feelings further, the lights in the room cut off. And it wasn’t your average, everyday darkness. It was…advanced darkness.

The Febreze spritzed out a thicker coat of perfume, but the canister didn’t light up. Yakko cautiously rose to his feet, feeling around the desk and making a beeline for the exit. He banged his nose into a wall instead, and then hit his elbow on something hard, then tripped on his own feet and onto a rug he didn’t remember seeing in the room.

For every mistake in leaving, the air swarmed more and more with that orange-scented torture. Yakko growled under his breath and continued to sweep his hands across the floor, hoping to feel a curve that indicated an exit or a different part of the room.

“Would you like a hint in this maze of yours?” The voice taunted, but again, the canister wasn’t lighting up. Just spraying. “Hm? Well Yakko, won’t you answer me?”

“Do you like oranges, buddy? You think you could give me something else to work with? Like chloroform? Sulfuric acid? C’mon, don’t be shy!”

The speakers clicked on again, playing a Beethoven piece so loud that the floors shook. The Febreze canister began streaming multicolored lights and spraying random but strong smells—dark chocolate, gasoline, nail polish, strawberry-banana. Yakko couldn’t understand any of the Morse code that was flashing and ultimately ignored it, covering his eyes so he wouldn’t be blinded by the dizzying colors.

Not to mention the blend of scents were making him viscerally frustrated, and he needed his strength to tear out every single rib of whoever was playing games with him.

The voice was laughing again. “Sorry, I ran out of chloroform and sulfuric acid. Will this suffice?”

Yakko forced down his coughs, but one made it through. “Alright, enough with the whole ‘robbing me of my senses’! That’s low, even for you!”

But Yakko knew that wasn’t true. There were two people who wanted to put him and his siblings in caskets all because they supposedly witnessed a murder; the entire state of New York was on a manhunt for them; and he helped piss off an NYPD captain to the point where the latter cried at the thought of not shooting him, Wakko, and Dot on sight.

One more antagonist wasn’t low in the slightest. It was just what the writer ordered.