Work Text:
JFK’s tiny fists slam onto his hips, his overalls riding up as he puffs out his chest like a miniature general. Across the playmat, Abe wobbles mid-stumble, his mismatched shoelaces snagging on a discarded crayon.
"Err, uh, Abe!" JFK’s voice booms, louder than necessary for the four feet between them. "Let’s go see what the wh-wh-white thing is!" He jabs a finger toward the forbidden land—the grown-up bathroom, where Mr. Scudworth vanishes every twenty minutes like a magician who hates his audience.
Abe blinks, adjusting his crooked paper hat. "But—but the white thing’s *boring*," he whines, already tripping over his own feet as JFK grabs his wrist. "We g-gotta finish leading the army!" He gestures limply at a row of stuffed animals lined up for an "important meeting" (which mostly involved Abe whispering *shhh* at them).
JFK rolls his eyes so hard his whole head lolls. "Uh-oh, wrong! The white thing’s magic! Scuddy always comes back happier!"
It’s true—Mr. Scudworth returns each time with fewer twitches, humming show tunes until JFK "accidentally" flings a block at Mr. Butlertron’s charging port. Dragging Abe down the hall, JFK’s sneakers squeak against the linoleum. The bathroom door looms slightly ajar. Inside, the toilet glimmers like a porcelain throne.
"Err, uh, *ta-daaa*!" JFK spreads his arms. Abe gasps.
"It’s… shiny."
"Uh-err, obviously." JFK scrambles onto the seat, legs dangling. "Now we—whoa—"
His foot slips, and Abe instinctively lunges to help. Crash. The toilet paper roll explodes like a party popper. Water sloshes over the rim as JFK dangles upside down, one overall strap hooked on the faucet. Abe, flat on his back, stares at the ceiling.
"Toldja it was boring," he mutters.
In the doorway, Mr. Scudworth’s coffee cup hits the floor.