Archive of Our Own

Somewhere deep in his soul, Mr. Turner was aware he shouldn’t feel like ten years of a dead-end job, a marriage with more downs than ups, and the birth of a child were the pieces of the Triforce of Distraction from his web video passions, but his thirst for internet stardom prevented rationale reaching him. 

One afternoon, he was wracking his brain for video ideas. For a short while he coasted on reaction videos and the small following it generated. Mr. Turner didn’t understand why they were so popular; he attempted delving into YouTube analytics, but all that told him was that high school and college aged men were his primary audience. He attempted engaging with his audience, and while that generated engagement, he couldn’t get a grasp on them. It seemed all they cared for was giggling and spamming emojis. Of particular, the crying-laughing emoji was widely used. 

But the genre of reaction videos ran its course, and becoming popular from them was an impossibility. Mr. Turner gained thirty-thousand subscribers from his reaction content, and a Know Your Meme article credited him with the first use of the term Reactioneer by a YouTuber, but this didn’t equate to YouTube stardom. And once his reaction videos only gathered a hundred views at best, he was back at the drawing board.

He decided on producing vlog videos for two reasons: talking about his life was a hobby for Mr. Turner, even if he had nothing to say, and his neighbor, Mr. Dinkleberg, had a very popular vlog channel. Mr. Turner resented his neighbor with every fibre of his being, and having a more successful YouTube channel was the lemon juice poured onto a papercut wound. Worst of all! Mr. Turner thought Dinkleberg’s channel was great! 

“Honey, you aren’t going to believe this! Dinkleberg uploaded his DIY project for a wooden, turnip carousel, but he also uploaded a vlog of his friends sampling his wife’s turnip casserole! And they got three million views together! Millions, honey! MILLIONS!” before Mrs. Turner could articulate a thought, Mr. Turner was at the window cursing his neighbor, “Curse you, Dinkleberg!” 

Little did he know, but this regular occurrence of cursing Dinkleberg became a meme among his audience. Mr. Dinkleberg’s camera would catch Mr. Turner’s yelling, and rather than editing it out, he thought it would be funny to include. His fans always cracked up, and “Curse you, Dinkleberg!” and other variations were posted in the comments on a regular basis. 

After that round of cursing, Mrs. Turner decided now was the time, “Dear. I know you enjoy making videos. But, maybe it’s time to call it quits. You’ve been trying this YouTube meta,” a term she abhorred borrowing, “Ever since I met you. And it hasn’t gotten you anywhere.” 

Mr. Turner wanted to object with the YouTube ad revenue he made, but even he knew it was peanuts. For a while it was earning enough to help with bills and groceries, but those days were gone. Now he was struggling to get a couple dollars a month. 

“Oh, you’re right, honey. This is why they call you my better half, you know when it’s time to quit,” he admitted. Still, ten years was a long time, and he did build a somewhat impressive legacy, “Just. Let me make one more video, and if that fails, I’ll call it quits.” 

Mrs. Turner didn’t fully approve of her husband bargaining for more YouTube time, but she also didn’t believe she had anything to lose. And she accepted, on one condition, “I want you to spend more time with Timmy.” 

“The who now?” Mr. Turner asked. 

Mrs. Turner crossed her arms and waited for the punchline. When it didn’t come, she pointed to the family photo on the wall. To the couple with a young boy between them, who carried two adult hands on each tiny shoulder. 

And on that day, when Mr. Turner was thinking about what to make his last YouTube video about, his son comes up to him and asks him a question that every mother and father hears, “Daddy, can I have a toy?” 

It’s a question a father usually resents because ninety-nine times out of a hundred, the father isn’t going to give in to the child’s request. So he has to go into why. A good father would explain that the child should cherish the toys he already has. A mediocre father would give a circular reason, as in because I said so. And a bad father had two choices. One was giving into the child’s demands, and the other was unpleasant. 

Mr. Turner was going over his options, considering how he was going to say no to his child, but Timmy beat him to the punch and explained what he wanted, “I saw this toy on TV! It was the Crimson Chin! And the toy has him riding in his Chinmobile! And the car looks just like his chin! Can we get it, please oh please!?” 

A chin-shaped car sounded absurd to Mr. Turner. Why couldn’t children’s toys be sensible like what he had? Then he remembered the weird toys he had, and considered that the Chinmobile wasn’t so bad. Then he realized he was still not denying his son the new toy request. And after struggling to imagine what a chin-shaped car looked like, he gave in.

“Ok, Tommy! Let’s go to the store and get that Scarlet Skull toy!” 

“It’s Timmy. And it’s the Crimson Chin. Scarlet Skull is his evil uncle,”

Without thinking, he brought his camera with him. When Timmy asked why he brought it, Mr. Turner said that his audience might be amused with seeing this toy as he would. He drove to the toy store, and before he and his son walked in, he turned on the camera and addressed his audience. 

“What’s up, my fans! It’s PencilTurca64 here with my son! Say, hi fans!” 

Timmy waved awkwardly to the camera, “Uh. Hi?”

The camera went back to Mr. Turner, “And we’re here to get a new toy for my son! Some kind of Crimson Chin car, thing. Is that right, Timmy?”

The camera flipped back to Timmy, and now he was enthused before the camera’s eye, “Yeah! It’s the Crimson Chin’s Chinmobile! I’m so excited about it!” 

“And I’m excited to see what a Chinmobile is! Let’s go check it out!” 

He turned the camera off and got him and his son out of their station wagon and through the parking lot. He entered the toy store and allowed his son to roam around while he sought help. He found a chubby cashier and inquired about the supposed Chinmobile.

“Oh yeah! We’re actually out of those. Sorry,” 

Mr. Turner blinked, “You mean. There’s no more?”

“Yeah. You see, this is the first time the Crimson Chin’s car has ever received merchandise for the current round of releases and it’s very sought after. You’re like the fiftieth man today who's asked about it,”

Mr. Turner couldn’t handle a crying child, especially if it was his own. He couldn’t return home toyless, forgetting that he was inside an oasis of toys. 

“But my son needs this toy!” he begged.

The cashier looked over at Timmy admiring the wooden trains on display and tsked, “Buddy. I know what scam you’re running, and having a child with you isn’t going to magically make that Chinmobile appear. Word of advice, if you want to get results, maybe don’t abandon the kid.”

Mr. Turner was about to have a meltdown and/or assault a teenage employee. Maybe he should ask Timmy if there were any other toys he had his eyes on. He decided to test this and approached his son.

“Timmy, is there any other toy you wanna get your hands on?”

For the first time that day, Mr. Turner actually saw his son. He was a small boy, even for an eight-year old, and all that was big was the pair of buckteeth jutting through his lips. He wore a pink hat with a propeller spinning on its crown. Did his wife dress him in that hat? She did have strange taste, especially since she married him.

“No, daddy. I don’t want any other toy! I’m so excited to see the Chinmobile!” 

After that declaration of desire, Timmy gawked at the bouncy balls stacked on top of each other, and his father wanted to collapse and cry. He turned back to the teenager and gestured to his son. 

“You see?! My son wants that chin car! Will you please look in the back for more?” if push came to shove, Mr. Turner was willing to get on his knees and kiss the feet of a chubby teenager.

He didn’t budge, “Alright, I like the commitment, but the answer is still no. There are no more Chinmobiles.”

A grown man was about to cry in the toy store thanks to a teenager. He never thought another teenager would come to save the day.

“Parker, what are you doing? Go to the break room and give him that toy, dude,” a lean teenager sporting an emover admonished his coworker.

The chubby boy, Parker scoffed, “Josh! I was holding onto that until payday!”

“Dude, this man is about to start crying. If the boss sees a grown man crying, he’s gonna find out you were holding onto inventory,” Josh anticipated his friend's arguments and countered, “And you haven’t paid for that toy yet. You can only hold inventory in the breakroom if you paid for it, not hoarding it to pay later,” 

“Josh! Quit snitching!” he blocked Mr. Turner’s view of Josh, “Don’t listen to him, there is no Chinmobile. There is no,” he saw a new face on Mr. Turner. Despair vanished and fury took its place. He reached in his pocket for sharpened pencils, and held a lethally sharp point of graphite in his hand, “Look. You’re not, you’re not gonna-”

Josh stepped in front of Parker, “Sir, would you please wait at lane five? I’ll have that toy rung up for you in just a moment.” 

Parker attempted desisting the sale, but Josh could hold the toy over the chubby teen’s reach. But that didn’t matter to Mr. Turner; he finally got his son the toy he wanted. He wondered how Timmy would react to the toy. Best not to spoil the surprise. He purchased the Crimson Chin’s Chinmobile from Josh, then he took his camera out. He found Timmy in an aisle of princess apparel, but he was too excited to enforce masculine gender norms. He called Timmy while holding the camera in his hand. 

“Look what I got you,” he reached in the plastic bag and held up the package holding the Crimson Chin and his Chin-shaped car inside. 

The adolescent jubilation illuminated Timmy Turner’s face, and he squealed for joy, “The Crimson Chin Chinmobile! You got it for me! I’m so excited, daddy!” 

“That’s right! Now let’s hold off on getting it out until we’re home,” he said, partially to avoid a mess, and mostly to avoid the strange looks he was getting from filming his son. 

When they finally got home after a ride of begging to play with the toy, Timmy tore the box apart and played with the Crimson Chin figure, and the Chinmobile. The superhero’s vehicle of choice was a strange hotrod, although it less resembled a normal chin, and more the launchway-shaped chin of the crimson hero. He thought it was a little creepy, but Timmy was in love with it. Mr. Turner wanted to savor this memory forever and spent a half hour following Timmy around the house while playing with his new toy. He was making up stories for the Crimson Chin, mentioning a Bronze Kneecap causing havoc on the other side of Chincinnati, and having to speed through ten different highways just to get to saving the day. 

Mr. Turner was worn out. Before he turned his camera off, he turned it around and addressed his audience for what might be his sendoff, “Well, it was a long day, but Timmy got his Chinmobile, and he’s having so much fun with it. I think it’s time for dear old dad, or for my fans, PencilTurca64 to take a nap. Make sure you like, comment, and subscribe! Oh, and if you are, unsubscribe from Dinkleberg!” 

He shut the camera off. Despite mentioning a nap, Mr. Turner went to work, transferring the files from his camera to his laptop. The outdated machine he edited and uploaded so many videos on. He dreamed about having a desktop monster that could edit videos without dragging his feet through a laggy Sony Vegas he pirated from a sketchy Russian site. Still, if this was going to be his last video, then at least spending time with his son would be the note he was going out on. And as a father, that would be the best way to end his YouTube career. 

He put the finishing touches on his video. The editing was straight forward, and he added in music from a popular video game some commenters recommended. It was like a beefed up home video. For the thumbnail, he sought out stock photos of the Chinmobile and took a still of his son’s excited expression. In the corner, he usually added his grinning self, but he thought it was better not to. Once the video rendered, he uploaded it to his YouTube channel, and finally allowed himself to sleep.

Mr. Turner woke up the following morning just in time to see the bus take his son to school. He popped his back and walked downstairs to eat breakfast with his wife. He reported the upload of his final video.

“I don’t think it’s gonna do that well. My subscribers are there for me, and it’s more about Timmy. But that’s ok. I’m ready to give up on that crazy YouTube dream,” 

Mrs. Turner smiled, “I’m glad to hear that. But, I would like to watch it, if you don’t mind. Timmy seemed so excited about his new toy, I wanna see what he looked like when you gave him his toy.”

“No problem! Lemme get my laptop!” he placed the computer on their kitchen table and brought up his video. They were watching yesterday’s events in 720p quality, but they could see their son’s joy in 8K quality. When the video was winding down, Mr. Turner’s eyes trailed and looked at the video analytics. Something must be wrong with his glasses, because he was seeing too many numbers. 

“Wait. I don’t wear glasses,” he said out loud.

“Yes, that’s right, honey,” she confirmed amidst confusion.

Mr. Turner put a finger to the numbers below the video and sounded them out, “Two. Zero. Three. Four. Five. Seven. Seven,” he repeated this several times until he realized what they meant, “Two-million-thirty-four-thousand-five-hundred-seventy-seven views.”

She paused the video, “Honey. This has two million views.”

“Yes it does,” he blinked, “Refresh the page.”

She did, and it had another hundred-thousand views added to the count. Mr. Turner took the mouse away and clicked on the YouTube Studio button. And in that time, his video reached two-point-five million views. And the ad revenue.

“We could pay our car off with this,” Mrs. Turner pointed out.

That was certainly true. Mr. Turner knew this was true, and a whole bunch of other things were true. Among those was this. 

He wasn’t done making videos.

Josh and Parker spent the first hour out of school at the Wienershnitzel across the parking lot from work. Josh would lean against the guardrails surrounding the outdoor tables while Parker wolfed down three Chicago dogs. Parker would offer Josh a dog, but Josh always rejected it. He was trying to look cool with his foot against the concrete bench, but no one was impressed. 

“You know, Josh. I’m still upset about yesterday,” Parker said in between the second and third hot dog.

“Uh huh,”

“Yeah. You know how badly I wanted that Chinmobile,”

“Uh huh,”

“Dude, I was gonna use it to make a short horror fanfilm using it. How funny, would it be, for a stop motion monster to stomp on the Crimson Chin’s car?” he paused between words to chew on his food.

“Uh huh,”

“Hilarious. That’s what it would’ve been. Hilarious,” 

“Whoa!”

“See, you’re finally getting my vision. Maybe now you’ll apologize,”

“What? No, I don’t know what you’re talking about, dude. But check this out,” Josh sat beside Parker and played a video on his phone, “Isn’t this the guy we helped yesterday?”

Parker watched and heard the man’s voice narrating over a kid playing with the Chinmobile, “That’s him! How’d you find him on YouTube?”

“I think I was actually subscribed to him, dude. He is like, really funny to watch when you’re high, dude,” 

Parker looked around for signs of authority and reached into his pocket for a sandwich bag, “Wanna bet?”

A half hour later, Josh and Parker were watching the catalog of PencilTurca64’s videos in the shade of the toy store, and laughing their butts off. Neither could articulate what was so funny about Turca, not helping that they were inebriated, but just something about the energy he put into speaking and how unhinged he came across brought about the giggles in Josh and Parker. Especially when he started ranting about Dinkleberg. Whoever that was. Parker thought he was gonna pee during one particular Dinkleberg rant, and fell to the ground giggling. 

“Oh my god! Oh my god! I can’t! I can’t with this guy!” Parker gasped.

“I know, dude! What is this guy’s problem?! It’s like,” Josh puffed a cloud of smoke and coughed chortles, “I don’t know. Can’t believe I didn’t recognize him. Probably ‘cause you made him cry, or something.”

“Now I feel bad. What can you do?” Parker checked his watch, “We got work in five, Josh. Help me up?”

Josh lent a hand to his friend, and helped him up. As they turned a corner, a station wagon was revving through the parking lot. It was about to park, when it reversed out of its spot and approached them. Josh was getting nervous about potential DEA retaliation and prepared himself to shift the blame on Parker. 

The station wagon pulled up and the window came down and they recognized the driver, “Turca?!” they said unanimously. 

Mr. Turner was not used to being referred to by his username and it was a moment until he registered it, “You know my YouTube channel?” 

Josh and Parker leaned on his station wagon and nodded, confirming their appreciation for his videos, along with seeing the Chinmobile video with his son. 

“So what’s up, dude?” Josh asked.

“Well, I’ll cut right to the chase. I need more toys!” 

The pair exchanged red-eyed glances and invited him into the store. After clocking in, Josh asked what toys he was looking for. Mr. Turner admitted it didn’t matter what, as long as it was toys that a boy would like.

“Hey, gimme some of your old toys, as long as they’re toys!” 

Parker held up his hand and shook his head, “Mr. Turner. I’m sorry if this hurts your feelings, but what are you thinking?”

Mr. Turner blinked, “Well, I was going to film my son opening up new toys. That’s how I got so many views, right?”

Parker showed Mr. Turner the Chinmobile video, “You want your videos to get that many views, don’t ya?”

“Yes,” no hesitation in his voice.

“Alright, then you gotta understand how this system works. Ok? Alright, so you had a video of the Chinmobile. It’s a hot new toy, that everyone wanted to get a look at. So, people were searching for it, and they saw your video in the search results,” Parker explained, “That means, if you want your videos to pop off like that, you can’t just throw some random toys at your son, and think you’ll get ten million views. What you need are hot, new toys.”

Josh glanced at his friend, “Parker, how do you know so much about this YouTube stuff?”

“I have had five Let’s Play channels fail, and I listen to a lot of podcasts. I know what I’m talking about,” 

Parker could have been cancelled on Twitter for all Mr. Turner cared. He was getting advice he desperately craved. 

Josh just shrugged, “Well, if you want those hot, new toys, lemme get you a copy of our inventory. It can show you the new stuff we’re getting.”

Parker put a hand on Mr. Turner’s shoulder and offered two words of advice, “YouTube is a bread trail. You lead them on, until you smack them with something big. Something they don’t expect, and you lure ‘em back with another bread trail. You don’t gotta go bigger, but you gotta lead ‘em somewhere big,” he tugged on Mr. Turner’s tie, and the man listened to the words that would define the next two years of his son’s life, “No matter the cost, as long as you’re getting views and money, that’s all that matters. Do you hear me?”

Mr. Turner nodded.

“Then say it back, and I’ll get you a ten percent discount,”

“No matter what, if I have views and money, that’s what matters,”

Timmy Turner rode the bus to and from school. He tried not asking his parents for much, yet he wished they drove him to and from school. It wasn’t that he disliked the bus itself, more that it was the fellow passengers delivering an unpleasant experience. Maybe it was his buckteeth or his pink hat, but kids riding the bus laughed at him. There weren’t jokes, it was just people mocked him with giggles. 

He wanted to know what was so wrong with him that people would laugh at him. He once asked a recess supervisor why he was made fun of, and the woman callously blamed his weirdness. 

Was he really that weird? He didn’t think so, but he didn’t have another person to compare himself to. He wasn’t close with anyone. Except for his parents, and that was tenuous. His mother cared for him, but his father was distant. Always, fiddling with his computer and his job. It felt good spending time with him yesterday getting the new toy. He even carried the Chinmobile in his backpack just to have it with him. 

But no one was impressed with his possession and no one asked him questions. He was alone.

That wasn’t so bad. 

The bus stopped in front of his house. Most school buses let kids off at designated school buses, but Timmy was the only child on that block so the bus driver made an exception for him. He hopped off, with fellow children’s laughter following him to the front door. He noticed that his father’s station wagon parked in the driveway. Normally he was away at his job, so this was abnormal. 

“Dad? I’m home,”

“Ooh! Good!” his father exclaimed from the living room, “Can you come in here, Timmy?”

He did as he was told and found his father holding his camera up to his eye. Sitting on the rug was a wrapped gift. Mr. Turner gestured to the box and Timmy slowly approached it. He undid the bow and pulled the cover off and he gasped. Inside was a Bronze Kneecap toy. 

“No way! Dad! This is the Bronze Kneecap! I didn’t know they had this!” 

Mr. Turner chuckled with pride, “This is an all new toy, Timmy. They haven’t even sold this one yet! Go ahead, play with it!” 

Timmy didn’t need to be told twice and he started flying the Bronze Kneecap around the house. He couldn’t believe it, his dad got him a toy two days in a row! He couldn’t wait to tell.

Tell who? Who did he have he could tell? So far he hadn’t made any friends in school. But, maybe if he showed the Bronze Kneecap to someone in class, he could have a new friend? 

“Uh, Timmy?” he looked up at his father, who was still following him with the camera glued to his face, “Are you sad about something, you look bummed out, man.”

He shook his head, “I’m alright! Thank you for the toy, dad!” 

Mr. Turner put that clip of his son thanking him and approaching for a hug at the end of the video before the end cards. He cut out his reply to Timmy, but he did think about what he said.

“It’s no problem, Timmy. It’s your world after all,”

“Hmm, Timmy’s World,” Mr. Turner pondered. 

He clicked into his YouTube account and made some changes.

When Mr. Turner told his son that the Bronze Kneecap was a new toy, there was truth to that. That particular toy, a Crimson Chin villain with a button-activated kicking action, wasn’t to be sold until the end of the week. Toy channels were waiting for the chance to get a look at the Bronze Kneecap on its release, with only a few channels hosting videos thanks to review products, and those were few and far between and usually done by professionals. No one uploaded a video of a kid having fun with the Bronze Kneecap. 

That morning, PencilTurca64’s subscriber base saw their favorite weirdo scrubbed from the channel, save for two videos, and his channel was now called Timmy’s World. Instead of a middle-aged goofball staring dead-eyed into the camera, it was a young, bucktoothed child holding a toy.

Turca died so Timmy’s World could live. 

And Timmy’s World was thriving that morning. Surpassing yesterday’s video by a dozen million views and drawing subscribers by the trainloads. This was the success Timmy Turner’s Dad always wanted; and every F5 click reassured him this wasn’t a dream. It was all real. 

But he couldn’t rest just yet, he needed to make at least two more videos until he hit his audience with something big. If Parker’s advice proved true then the big boxes in the garage would net him easily a hundred million views.

He chuckled. A hundred million views. Just two days ago that seemed ridiculous, but it was now possible if he played his cards right. 

When Timmy came home, they filmed a video together where he played with a rerelease of an old Crimson Chin design. Timmy was unfamiliar with the Chin’s afro and questioned his taste in fashion. This sparked a reaction from Timmy Turner’s Dad, who claimed that it was very cool to wear such clothes in the seventies. Old Turca fans were nostalgic for this. In one day, this video earned nine million views.

The next day, Timmy’s Dad presented his son with a trio of Crimson Chin villains: the Golden Gut, Country Boy, and the Titanium Toenail. This video was different from the others because Timmy wasn’t that familiar with these villains. He ridiculed them on camera and brought one of his Crimson Chin action figures to not defeat them, but to make fun of them. He set up a mock standup gig for the Chin, and he grilled them. Not that an eight-year old had the wit for a good roast, because most of the jokes amounted to the Chin calling them stupid or lame, “Country Boy, you are stupid! You are so stupid!” Still, this earned Timmy’s World fifteen million views and thousands of comments. A good majority of them criticizing an eight-year old for besmirching classic Chin villains. 

Ever since the Bronze Kneecap video, Timmy Turner’s Dad had his son address the audience, promising something big at the end of the week. He couldn’t tell what it was, but he assured them it would blow their socks off. 

“So, dad. What are you planning? You haven’t told me yet,” Timmy asked his father after playing with the Disco Chin.

Timmy Turner’s Dad was busy editing the video together and would have ignored his son if he hadn’t seen him in the corner of his screen-burnt eye, “Huh? Oh, Timmy! Don’t worry about that! I promise it’s going to be great! Now go play with your toys!”

Timmy took the toys in his arms and walked upstairs to his room and played with them more while his father wracked his brain for ideas. That thing would pay off immensely, but he wasn’t certain if he could do it all himself. 

Then he remembered the teenagers.

He told Mrs. Turner he was going out, and he drove across town to the toy store. He looked for Josh and Parker but they were nowhere to be seen. He approached the manager, a man who looked remarkably like Wes Anderson, and asked about Josh and Parker.

“Oh my, those two slackers are finally gone. I’ve wanted to fire them the moment they showed their true colors, but I never had the reason to. Until I found out that they sold inventory ahead of schedule and shared company records with a civilian! How unprofessional could you be?! I do say, when I find out who did it, I’m going to,” 

Mr. Turner left the store without finding out what Manager Anderson had to say. Nor did he think he would help with finding Josh and Parker. 

Luckily, he didn’t have far to go. 

He smelled green smoke from around the corner and saw the pair leaning against the wall and sharing a blunt. Josh mistook Mr. Turner for a police officer until he recognized him. 

“Josh! Don’t scare me like that! You know I won’t survive prison!”

“Parker, what does that have to do with anything?”

“Ok, if that was a cop, I woulda been arrested for possession. And if I’m arrested for possession, then I go to prison. The place where I won’t survive!” Parker declared, “I guess it wouldn’t be so bad, we woulda shared a cell and been cellmates!”

Josh pretended to hurl, “Oh god you’re right.”

Timmy Turner’s Dad snapped his fingers, “Hey fellas. Were you two fired?”

They both nodded, “Yeah, Mr. Wink found out our little hustle. Threw our asses to the curb.”

Parker patted Timmy Turner’s Dad on the shoulder, “And by the way. I’ve been seeing your YouTube channel popping off! Real good work, man!”

“Parker, this asshole deleted all his old videos, how can you congratulate him like that? You remember all the rants we went on about YouTubers deleting their old videos? Were the JonTron rants nothing to you?” 

Parker handed the blunt back, “Josh, just smoke this and let the adults do the talking,” his friend grumbled but hit a fat dab as Parker conversed with Timmy Turner’s Dad, “Anyway, as you can see we probably can’t help with you getting new toys, but I think that’s irrelevant with all the new views you’re getting.”

“You really think so?” 

“Yeah man. I mean, hey just get whatever’s on the shelf now and have your kid play with it and boom. I think those’ll get views anyway! Just follow my formula, and you’ll be golden, brother.” 

Timmy Turner met Parker only once, and he never heard the man say this, but they affected him worse than anyone ever had.

Friday afternoon, Timmy was expecting to come home and film with his dad. It was turning into a pleasant and rewarding routine for the boy. Wake up, go to school, and then get a new toy from dad. Not all of the toys were winners, but they were still new toys. He still carried the Chinmobile with him everyday. Spending time with dad was the best he felt in a long time, and just having it close to him made him feel like that again. 

For Mr. Turner, Friday was not pleasant in the slightest. He had the help of two teenagers, who provided only a margin of help in setting up a project. The pair constantly demanded payment and breaks, and only into the third hour of bickering did they commit. Even still, it was dreadful having them around. 

But an hour before Timmy came home, the project was set up. Mr. Turner filmed its completed state for B-Roll, as per Parker’s advice, and paid the teenagers for their time. Parker promised that something this extravagant would pay off immensely. And Mr. Turner hoped he was right. He spent over five thousand dollars on this childish indulgence, and he was hoping to recoup bigtime. 

Timmy hopped off the bus and could tell something was going on in the backyard. It sounded like industrial fans were blowing a storm and he could hear plastic rubbing against itself. Did Dad buy a bouncy castle for him? That sounded silly, but he did silly things. 

Timmy walked through his house to the backyard to see what his father was up to. Mr. Turner was waiting with camera up and running. Timmy shot an annoyed glare at the camera lense that took place of his father’s eye, but this was gone in an instant. 

“Dad! Did you get me?!” his mouth spread wide for joy and he looked up at plastic pristine, “The Crimson Chin’s Lair?!” 

An inflatable version of the Crimson Chin stood welcoming children to invade his fortress of solitude to jump around his high tech gear and gadgets. It was a mockery to the Crimson Chin’s character, according to a deranged fanboy who would watch the video of Timmy playing inside a bouncy castle. 

It was difficult for Mr. Turner to follow Timmy around while he was playing. He should have taken Parker’s advice and put up mini cameras inside so he wouldn’t lose one bit of footage, but that would have added thousands to the overblown budget, and there was a chance he couldn’t reuse them later. 

“C’mon, Dad! Put down the camera and get in with me!” Timmy called out from inside. The bouncy lair was big enough for at least one adult to get into, provided they were not unfit.

Mr. Turner was in the middle of switching out memory cards to get more footage of Timmy playing with the lair, “In a minute, Timmy. Tell me, isn’t this so much fun?!”

That was a question Timmy heard his dad ask a lot this week. Wasn’t it obvious? He was having lots of fun. He tried to leap from a ledge in the lair into a designated pit and jumped over the lair’s ceiling. 

“This is awesome, Dad! Wait, I’m gonna zip through the Chin Lair secret tunnel!” it was a long slide from one end of the bouncy castle to the other. A child could slide through at ten miles an hour and land on safe lawn grass, “Wasn’t that cool!?” 

That expression Timmy made, looking up at his dad with hope, love, and happiness, was going on the thumbnail. With three memory cards full of footage, he thought he had enough to make a video out of.

“Alright, Timmy! I gotta go to work, do you wanna keep playing with this?”

Timmy looked at the Chin Lair, and he looked at the sky. There was at least an hour left of daylight, and they could always turn the lights on. Why did his dad have to leave?

“Dad, you don’t wanna play? You didn’t even get in,”

“That’s because it’s for you, Timmy! But I need to get to work!” 

Timmy shook his head. There was no point in playing if his dad wasn’t gonna play with him, “No, I’m done with this.”

Mr. Turner unplugged the industrial fans inflating the bouncy lair, and gradually the plastic palace deflated and flattened until there was no evidence something wonderful or magical was ever there. His father was gone before he even looked away from it. His backpack was leaning against the house where he reached inside and pulled out the Crimson Chin’s car. It didn’t seem as grand when he first got it. But, he still felt good holding it. 

What would the Crimson Chin say? 

“While I keep Chincinnatti safe from crime, your parents are there to keep you safe from crime. Your parents are all superheroes, kids! And they work even harder than me, so you have somewhere to sleep every night!” 

Timmy looked around. He thought he could hear that, clear as a blue day. But, no one was there. Certainly no Crimson Chin.

He went inside, saw his father hunched over the computer as he always was, and walked up the stairs to his room. 

“My dad’s a superhero, right? Well, if he needs me to play with toys, then I’ll do that. And, I think it makes him happy too! So even if I can’t play with him, I know it’ll be for the best!” on the floor was a Crimson Chin action figure, far too big for the toy car, but he sat him on the roof and he rode across the floor. Then he hugged him deep, “I love you, Crimson Chin!”

Timmy’s embrace pressed a button on the toy’s body, and it said, “You’re my best pal!”

But Timmy heard that from behind him.

“This can’t be! Why isn’t this a hit! Why isn’t it hitting five million views!” Mr. Turner was scrambling to explain why his video wasn’t the megahit the others were. The forty minute long video was certainly an impressive beast, but it didn’t hit the same score the other videos had. He dialed Parker and prayed he would pick up. He heard a shrill hello and babbled, “Parker! My video, it’s only reached two million views! What’s the deal? Why isn’t it the megahit that it was supposed to be!? You said I was supposed to hit my audience with something big!”

Noxious sounds emanated from the speakers, “Alright, I’m looking at the video. What the hell man, forty minutes? Are you insane? No one's going to click on some kid playing with a bouncy castle for forty minutes!”

“But you said something big! And was this not big?”

“Dude, I didn’t mean a big ass video! I meant what was in the video was big. You shoulda made this thing the same length as your other videos, maybe shorter, if I’m honest,”

Mr. Turner wanted to cry. He wanted to recoup costs and was worried about having to pay off that stupidly expensive bouncy lair.

“Alright, how’s audience retention? Can you tell me what that’s like?”

Mr. Turner obliged and clicked the panel in YouTube Studio, “Fifty-five percent.”

“Damn, almost halfway through! Actually more! Ok, this isn’t bad. This is basically, not many people clicked on it, but the people who did stuck around. Ok, dude! You know, this isn’t a disaster. Just, don’t make a monster like that again, ok? I say just stick to making something ten minutes and settle for that. Now,” the phone belched, “I have Taco Bell leftovers with my name on them. Call me if you need me, Turca.”

While Parker indulged in imitation-Mexican food, Mr. Turner left his computer to clear his head. It was clear he was getting wrapped up in YouTube too much again. Only this time, he was getting a taste of the success. Still, he was hoping that this video would have crossed a threshold of nine digit views. That was a lofty goal, but he believed he had the means to accomplish it. 

He was tossing the trash in his garbage can when he overheard a familiar yet unpleasant croak. Dinkleberg. His most hated nemesis. What was he doing at this hour? 

Mr. Dinkleberg noticed Mr. Turner and waved, “Hey, Turner! How you doing?”

Mr. Turner played things amiably, “Why, I’m doing wonderful, Dinkleberg! And, how are you doing? Are those Vee Logs still your nest egg?” 

Dinkleberg chuckled too much to notice his insult, “Things have stagnated for a while. I used to hit some of those big views, but seems I’ve plateaued.”

Mr. Turner’s jaw fell ever so slightly. That, that was what he wanted to hear more than getting ten billion hits on YouTube. Mr. Dinkleberg was faltering. That meant, he could defeat his neighbor, and supplant him as the superior. As was meant to be. 

“Why. Dinkleberg! That’s terrible!”

The man chuckled, and it was half genuine and cordial, “I wouldn’t worry about it, Turner. But thank you for your concern. Say, I’ve been seeing your channel taking off. You decided to become a toy channel? Interesting direction, but it’s real charming.”

Admiration for him? Napoleon envisioning himself seated at the Winter Palace with Alexander the Blessed groveling at his feet, paled in comparison to Mr. Turner’s vision of victory over Dinkleberg.

Still, it was best to be humble, “Why thank you so much for the compliments, Dinkleberg. This neighborhead is lucky to have two successful YouTubers living in it, wouldn’t you say?” and soon, it would have just one.

The door to Dinkleberg’s house opened and a middle-aged man in aviators came out, “Hey, Dink. We heading to the Pacific?”

“In a minute, Casey. Oh, this my neighbor, he’s running that new Timmy’s World channel I was telling you about,”

He approached Mr. Turner and offered his hand, “Good to meet you. I’m Casey Neistat.”

Mr. Turner’s squeeze felt limp and he wanted to collapse, “THE Casey Neistat?!”

“Yeah,” he let go of Turner’s hand and gestured to Dinkleberg, “Dinkleberg said he could show me a surf spot, and I thought I’d take him on. Ain’t that right?”

“Sure is, Casey!” Dinkleberg patted Turner on the shoulder as Casey Neistat got into a convertible, “Well, I’m gonna shoot a vlog with Casey and show off the California coast. You have fun with those toys, Turner!” 

With a high-end camera in hand, Dinkleberg and Casey Neistat left Mr. Turner behind as they rode down the block toward the beach. And all Turner could do was shout his name, “DINKLEBEEEEEEEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGG!” 

Little did he know, they got that on film, and Casey Neistat laughed incredibly fucking hard at the infamous Dinkleberg scream. He would be filmed buying Mr. Turner-themed merch from Dinkleberg’s store, and later in a separate video, would film himself unboxing and wearing the shirt he bought. 

But while that was happening, Mr. Turner declared no more free daylight burning. He was going to spend every moment of his life growing Timmy’s World until it made Dinkleberg an irrelevant YouTuber. Yes, he knew exactly the fate Dinkleberg deserved. One where he could only coast by doing interviews with Drama YouTubers for drip feeds of clout. Yes, that is what he deserved after all of the countless years of humiliation. 

He retrieved his credit card and he got in his station wagon. Timmy was going to need new toys today if he wanted to destroy Dinkleberg and attain YouTube success. 

“As long as it gets views, then nothing else matters!”

Two years passed. Timmy was ten years old and a YouTube superstar. Timmy’s World sat at twenty-two million subscribers. Every day, Timmy played with a new toy or some sort of game and would play with it in front of his father’s camera. When that was finished, his father left him alone and would work at his computer. And after a while, that was the only time the two spent any time together. 

It was worse after the divorce.

Timmy didn’t remember clearly but after a while, he stopped seeing his mother. And they also stopped eating healthy food. The only reason it stayed clean was his father hired a maid. She was a kind woman who seemed to enjoy cleaning, and a few times she even cooked when he asked. But, she put distance between them after he called her mommy.

He was always surrounded by toys. He couldn’t think of new places to put his new ones, and he didn’t care if he got new ones either. He just dumped them in the guest room. His dad didn’t notice nor care. Only very rarely did he bring a toy back to his room, where his friends were.

If he wasn’t playing with a new toy on camera or eating a delivered kids meal alone, he was in his room, playing with his friends. A year after Timmy’s World took off, Mr. Turner took Timmy out of the public school system. He argued that as a celebrity, Timmy needed to be looked after more closely by his father, and would need alternate education.

Timmy hadn’t learned a thing since fourth grade. That alternate education Mr. Turner talked about was a farce. He really wanted more time with Timmy to film him for more videos. He couldn’t just wait for his son to show up from school to make a video. Better to have him at his beck and call than wait.

At first he hired a tutor, but she raised too many questions about their lifestyle. So Mr. Turner let her go and attempted homeschooling Timmy himself. But, more and more time was taken up by Timmy’s World. The rights of merchandising, licensing, and branding. It was a miracle they even got a video up every day. He wanted to do everything himself, as he did when the channel was PencilTurca64. And he also wanted all the profits from it too. Occasionally Josh and Parker assisted with filming, but they parted ways when they became too unreliable. The last he heard, Parker started his own YouTube channel and Josh was arrested for public indecency. 

Piles of Burger King wrappers surrounded Mr. Turner’s workstation, and a multi-millionaire was sitting in front of seven monitors looking at statistics of Timmy’s World. Timmy Turner’s Dad was looking at the plateau for an explanation. Why now, was Timmy’s World falling off? It didn’t make sense! The latest videos weren’t even hitting a million views anymore! Sure, they were hitting big numbers, but not what a mega channel like Timmy’s World was used to. Something was going on. 

“Has Timmy’s World been shadowbanned!?” 

For as much time Mr. Turner dedicated to working on his YouTube channel, he never spent as much time constructing a community. He was aware of the comment sections, but he never read anything past the top five. By then he moved on. A detriment, as this could’ve alerted him to the growing hostility toward his channel. Even from the beginning, there were people concerned about daily uploads of a child playing with toys. At first it was conjecture about a potentially malicious audience, but that quickly subsided when the concern grew for the titular Timmy. Though it was his world, he didn’t seem very happy in it. Six months into his successful career, it became obvious to anyone who graduated middle school that he was not happy being the center of attention. He was not enthused with any except the few toys his father gave him; though he tried acting happy, it was not convincing.

However, if Timmy Turner was a bad child actor, he was among a dozen worth a dime. It was how he acted now that brought Mr. Turner attention he never wanted.

“This YouTube Channel Terrifies Me” by Sheldon’s Garage, uploaded two months ago was the beginning of the end for Mr. Turner. It was on the top of his feed and found its way to the top of trending. The video entailed a lanky, autoshop nerd sitting in front of his tools and talking to his camera. Mr. Turner wanted to dismiss the video for his poor production quality, but even he couldn’t produce that kind of cope. It was Sheldon’s testimony that earned him his spot at the top of trending.

“Hi, everyone. My name is Sheldon, and I would only introduce myself because this video is going to be outside my core audience. I’m a welder and I like to craft sculptures of anime and comic book characters. That’s just to let you know who I am. One of my favorite characters is the Silver Shell, and there’s been a release of new toys. There was this really cool looking figure that I wanted to get, and I was one day clicking around videos to get a feel for it. It shouldn’t come as a surprise, I would get a lot of kids channels popping up. You know, that happens. And I decided to watch one of this kid playing with the Silver Shell. And, I really wish I hadn’t. 

“I don’t make videos like this, but I felt I had to. The name of this channel is Timmy’s World. Every video, Timmy gets a new toy and he plays with it. There would be nothing wrong with that, except,” an infamous still of Sheldon looking as if he were about to cry spread around the internet, and soon became a reaction meme to use when about to discuss something genuinely saddening or cripplingly mundane, “That kid. He’s not ok! He’s pale like he’s never seen the sun! I mean, I looked through the channel and the last time they had a video where they filmed outside was a year ago. And, he acts nothing like a kid should. When he’s playing with the toys, he talks to them like they’re people. Here, this is the clip that made my heart break.”

Sheldon clicked play on a clip of Timmy playing with the new Silver Shell, and he had it fighting a generic female superhero called Mighty Mom, “Now Mighty Mom, you will answer for your crimes! And you will go to jail!”

He gave an effeminate voice for Mighty Mom, “Keep me in jail! Just as long as I don’t have to go home and see my dumb husband!”

Silver Shell confirmed her husband was very dumb, “Now that I stopped you, the maids can finally come back and clean the city!”

The clip paused, “What kind of kid makes their toys do this? I am playing armchair psychologist, but does that not seem wrong? A kid fantasizing about his toys fighting his mom and calling his dad dumb? And, no child should ever worry about maids. I think that says more than I could.”

The rest of the video was a summary of other strange occurrences in Timmy’s World. It showcased how lazy Mr. Turner was, since he allowed damning clips to go on YouTube. One was unearthed by a drama YouTuber. 

“What’s up everybody, it’s your boy, Boog for Big Boogaloo. Anyways, if you saw Sheldon’s Garage vid on that Timmy’s World channel, I got a new scoop. Yeah. I found this. It’s a June video of him unboxing a fuckin’ Quickster figure, and the damn toy’s head pops off when he’s trying to pop the box open. I know that shit happens to you nerds, but it happened to this kid, and he was crying. Not like a kid not gettin’ his happy meal toy crying, I mean, a kid who moved to Vietnam and got bombed after moving from Iraq because he got bombed there kinda crying. I mean, you know me. I’m Big Boogaloo, I got a heart of fucking stone. But this shit actually fucking got to me. So I decided to do myself a public service. No kid should be crying like he got bombed in two separate locations! I think, Mr. Turner is doing something to that kid! Something that he probably don’t want us to know about! So here’s what Boog, for Big Boogaloo, wants you to do! I want you to flag those videos for child abuse and give your fuckin’ local chapter of the CPS a call. That’s called Child Protective Services, and tell them that some weird shit is going down! That’s all from me. It’s been Boog, for Big Boogaloo! Make sure you hit the bell, leave a comment, and subscribe! Or you gonna get bopped!” 

Despite the insensitivity to Boog’s approach to the topic, Timmy’s World was exposed to an audience much wider than Mr. Turner ever dreamed, and he soon learned that he never wanted that. The audience that grew up watching Timmy were now old enough to recognize how inhuman Timmy’s situation was, and older watchers were recognizing the signs of neglect. The comment sections were spammed with condemnations of Timmy’s treatments, and calls for his safety were made. Some younger fans organized a movement on Roblox, seeking to find Timmy’s account and confront him about his safety. It was called the “Blink Twice Initiative” but it wasn’t successful, and Timmy’s account was never found.

“I don’t know what to do! I just wanted to make money off my YouTube videos, why is it so wrong if my son helps with that?!” Mr. Turner demanded after spending an hour just scrolling through the outrage.

In a fit of anger, he disabled all ratings and comment sections, but this did little to curb the growing animosity toward his channel. More YouTubers were coming out with their own videos covering Timmy’s World. Some were more cursory while others went into a deep dive to discover the history behind the channel, the psychology of Timmy Turner, and potential solutions. 

None of them knew the half of it. 

While his father was giving himself a heart attack over his YouTube channel, Timmy was with his friends. He had seven friends he spent his days with. The Crimson Chin, the Silver Shell, Smash Adams, the Elastic Waistband, Ultra Lord, Powdered Toast Man, and Stinky Diver. 

The silver-coated robot bent his knee and placed a hand on Timmy’s shoulder, “Come, Timmy Turner! There’s crime afoot, and without your help, we’ll never be able to save the day!”

“That’s right! The galaxy needs your help!” Ultra Lord confirmed. 

Stinky Diver shrugged his shoulders, “I say we let the kid take a vacation. I’m good relaxing here!”

“OH NO! YOU DOLTS AREN’T SLEEPING ON THE JOB!” the Chief exploded. 

Timmy didn’t include the Chief among his friends, but he couldn’t deny how funny he found the Chief’s episodes. Still, that day was different. 

Smash Adams scratched his chin, “Say fellas. Something’s up with our friend. He’s in a mood.”

“Perhaps what he needs is a slice of Powdered Toast!” suggested Powdered Toast Man, “A healthy breakfast can stop all problems! And the man that can stop all problems is,” he took a deep breath before bellowing his name, “POWDEEERRRRRRRRRREED! TOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAASST! MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNN!”

While the other heroes berated the toast-themed hero for his annoying call, the Crimson Chin could tell something was off, “What’s wrong, kid? You’re not yourself today.”

“I’m sorry, Chin. But it’s Dyno Dad again,” he admitted.

“That nefarious villain! What’s he doing? Has he sent his goblins again?!” the Chin asked.

Timmy shook his head, “Dyno Dad isn’t letting me out of the house.” 

The Elastic Waistband stretched his head to the window, “I see! There’s some sort of forcefield keeping us bound to his fortress.”

Smash Adams investigated the window, “Well, let me use the old razzle dazzle on Mighty Mom, and I can get us all out of here. I know her ticks like the back of my hand.”

Ultra Lord winced, “We all know what happened to her, Smash. And if you can’t charm us, you can’t charm Dyno Dad. That fiend! He’s going to have the entire galaxy in his eye.”

Silver Shell concurred, “I agree. And now that you mention it, we have been confined to our hideout longer than we’ve realized. Chief. Can you rendezvous with the Action League and the Justice Lodge? We’ll need their help.”

“YOU THINK I DIDN’T THINK OF THAT YOU BUCKET OF BOLTS! OUR COMMUNICATIONS HAVE BEEN CUT OFF! OH SHOOT! I THINK THAT’S DYNO DAD! EVERYONE! HIDE!”

The door opened, and Mr. Turner stood while Timmy’s friends cowered in fear, “Timmy, I heard yelling, is everything ok?”

Timmy looked up. The Chief was huddled behind Ultra Lord and the Silver Shell, “It was just one of my friends. Well, he’s actually Stinky Diver’s friend. But, he was afraid of Dyno Dad coming up the stairs.”

Mr. Turner couldn’t understand anything his son was saying. Everything seemed to be in order. True his son’s room was a mess, but that’s what the maid was for. Even though she hadn’t shown up in weeks.

“Right, well I’m on a zoom call, trying to save my YouTube career! For some reason, everyone on YouTube thinks I’m a bad guy! Tell me Timmy, you don’t think I’m a bad guy, right?”

Timmy looked back to his friends, “I don’t think that.”

Mr. Turner wiped a bead of sweat off his face, “Fooh! I’m glad the people who matter know I’m not a bad person! Well, just keep it down, ok? I’m trying to learn PR!”

When he closed the door, and his friends could finally release their breath, the Crimson Chin kneeled at his side, “You don’t think he’s a bad guy?”

Timmy answered, “I don’t think Dyno Dad’s a bad guy. I know he is.”

Downstairs, Mr. Turner was on call with a PR agent and he apologized for the interruption, only for the doorbell to ring. He apologized a second time before answering the door. Standing in the doorway was a skeletal-thin man with thick-framed glasses. His ears were so low, they seemed to be on his neck. 

“Good afternoon, Mr. Turner. I am Denzel Crocker. I am a caseworker for the Child Protective Services,” he reached into his pocket and produced identification. 

“CPS?” he wasn’t too surprised. He watched several videos urging viewers to report Timmy’s World to CPS, he was only surprised an agent actually showed up, “Well, what are you doing here?”

“I’m here due to a slew of reports referencing you, Mr. Turner. And your son. Truth be told, we thought it was a lot of prank calls trying to stir up mud for some schmuck. But better safe than sorry, I came by just to do a wellness check,” Crocker glanced inside, “Not a very clean house is it?”

Mr. Turner smiled, “My maid hasn’t swung by in a while.”

Crocker reached in his jacket for a notebook and wrote down his observations, “I understand that you run a YouTube channel? Many of the calls reporting you referenced a channel called Timmy’s World, is that right?”

He confirmed, “Me and my son unbox toys and he shows off how fun they are.”

“Interesting. I’ll have to take a look. Would it be alright if I came in?”

He blocked the door, “I don’t think so. Like I said, the house is a mess and is no way ready for guests.”

Crocker’s expression changed. Since he first laid eyes on Mr. Turner, he was bored and disinterested, merely following procedure to get pestering callers off his back. Now his eyes narrowed and he focused on the man’s demeanor. He was disheveled, sweaty, and his clothes were ragged and yellow-stained. Now that he noticed, there was an odor lingering around Mr. Turner; it was apparent he hadn’t showered in days. Crocker wouldn’t trust him to take care of himself, let alone a child. And he made note of every one of his observations in his notebook.

“Mr. Turner, I’m only here to do a wellness check. Just to make sure everything’s alright. This is for your benefit too, you know.” 

Better to let the officers inside and see that nothing was amiss. Let them stay, so they could see how normal things were. See how wonderful of a host you are. Mr. Turner? Edgar’s at the door. He brought his friend Allan, and their sister Poe. Shouldn’t you let them in, or are you afraid of what they’ll see?

The notepad and pen fell to Crocker’s side, “Mr. Turner, are you alright?”

“What?”

“You have been standing here, sweating. Would you like me to come later? Perhaps you’d like to clean your house before I come in? Is that the source of stress?”

There was one. One. Ace up Mr. Turner’s sleeve. He could play it and be rid of Crocker. But all that play would buy is time, and Crocker would be back with a much stronger hand. But he needed time. 

“Look, do I have to let you in?” 

Crocker narrowed his eyes. The rims of his glasses almost furrowed, “No. If you refuse me entry, I cannot enter your house.”

“Because,” Mr. Turner wanted to hear him say it, so the confirmation could render his thoughts real.

An eyebrow raised over the frame’s rim, “Because I don’t have a warrant,” Crocker scribbled in his notes and slid them in his jacket, “Well, I’ll be on my way.”

Victory.

“However,” Crocker stopped at his car and glared at Mr. Turner’s disheveled mass, “When I return, I’ll remember to bring my warrant with me. And your mumbling isn’t going to stop me from seeing what’s inside your house, Turner. I suggest you get things in order, because Judge Lopez and I have an excellent relationship. And he would be happy to get me a search warrant.” 

Mr. Turner watched him leave his driveway and the neighborhood, then he scrambled inside. He searched for trashbags and shoved every Burger King paper bag inside until ten plastic bags were filled. 

“Oh god! How am I going to make this look presentable? Where is that fucking maid!?” 

He tried calling her, but the number was blocked. 

“Egads! I need to hire a new maid! Forget it! Hang on, I can just,” he dialled Parker. He could count on him for help. The dial tone went on for a while until someone picked up, but it wasn’t Parker. It was a woman’s voice, and an older one at that, “Is Parker there? I need his help.”

“Sonny you sound like you’re gonna have a heart attack,”

“It’s urgent!”

“Well it’ll have to wait, boy. Twenty-five to life actually,”

“What!?”

“You must not know my boy that well. Stupid kid. He was trying to make videos on that internet, and he filmed homeless addicts killin’ each other with swords he bought. Got through with three death matches ‘for the cops threw the book at him. He’s my blood, mister, but I hope he rots in Dimmsdale Max forever. When I tried to get him to see sense, you know what that asshole said to me? No matter what it takes, as long as it gets views, that’s all what matters. Or some shit like that. Now. Why in the hell would you want to see that piece of blubber? Hello? Mister? Are you still there?”

Mr. Turner forgot to hang up and pick his phone off the floor. The backyard was a mess of inflatable castles and giant toy statues, every room was covered in discarded cardboard and crumpled paper with the odd toy left alone in a corner. The stairs were covered with more trash. While Mr. Turner left every bag of fast food empty, he smelt rotten food in the old bags. How come he hadn’t noticed this before? It must be getting to the walls as the paint was covered with a layer of grease. And upstairs, the hallway was occupied by piles of trash and toys. 

“Timmy!? Are you there?” he didn’t bother to knock and barged inside, “We’re in big trouble, Timmy! The house is a mess!”

His son wasn’t responsive. He was looking down at a group of toys.

“Timmy! Please, you need to stop playing with your toys, and you need to focus. I need help! The house is a mess, and we need to clean it up before we have visitors!” 

Timmy didn’t answer. He didn’t move from his spot.

His corner in between his bed and his closet was the cleanest part of the room. Dirty clothes were everywhere and it stank of sweat and fast food. It hurt his eyes and he needed to retreat to the bedroom restroom.

“This is bad. If CPS sees how much of a mess my house is, I could lose Timmy,” Timmy’s Friends overheard him, and for a moment, they believed Dyno Dad had noble intentions. But this was shattered, “If I lose Timmy, I lose my YouTube channel! I can’t have that! I finally have success!”

He pulled clumps of hair out, “I worked so hard for this! I can’t just let it go!” out the bathroom window, he spied Dinkleberg holding a selfie-stick with his wife, “No. I can’t let this go. I don’t care what it takes,” before he got into today’s mess, he checked his YouTube channel, and he saw it had more subscribers than Dinkelberg's. Yet Dinkleberg’s videos were still getting views, “I can’t let Dinkleberg get ahead of me. No, I can’t let that happen at all,” he grimaced at the man in his reflection, “My world is better than Dinkleberg’s stupid vlogs. And no matter what, I’m going to crush him with my stats! My superior views!”

But he couldn’t make Timmy’s World content here. No. Timmy’s World was a happy place, and this house was a travesty. He needed somewhere to film his son playing with toys. Their fans needed to see Timmy playing with toys. 

A fresh start. Besides, the house was the problem. If CPS found him in a new house having fun with Timmy, they would leave him alone. He just needed to move quickly. 

Timmy’s friends watched Dyno Dad dash out of their sanctuary. They comforted him, and promised they would protect him from that Devious Dyno Dad. The Silver Shell saw Dyno Dad running back and forth his lair and his chariot. Maybe Dyno Dad was finally going to leave him and Timmy’s friends alone. But that was foolish, and Timmy knew it. 

Dyno Dad came through the door and inspected the utility vault and gagged. He asked why there weren't clean clothes, and the Chief had to hold his tongue. 

Stinky Diver chuckled, “Now you all stink worse than me.”

Dyno Dad didn’t respond, “That’s alright, Timmy. We’ll,” he paused for breath, and he leaned against the vault, “We’ll get you new clothes. Just come with me, we’re gonna go somewhere else.”

Timmy couldn’t avoid Dyno Dad’s gaze anymore. Nor could he deny the villain’s demands. He was too strong for him and his friends. They could only play along, and plan later.

Dyno Dad grabbed Timmy and held him in his arms. And while he was powerless, he had one power. Ultra Lord taught him a supersonic scream that could stun Terror Titans. Even Dyno Dad was powerless against this audible attack.

“What!? What’s wrong?!” 

Dyno Dad forgot to press the mute button, and now Timmy could speak, “I’m not leaving without my friends.”

His friends were standing back, too afraid to provoke the villain’s fury. But he could defend them. After all, Dyno Dad needed him. It was in his interest to placate him.

One of Dyno Dad’s devious deeds was pretending his friends didn’t exist. He did it so well, Timmy felt dehumanized for his friends. 

“Whatever, can you come down the stairs and meet me in my car?” 

Timmy held their hands. The Crimson Chin, the Silver Shell, Ultra Lord, Smash Adams, Stinky Diver, the Elastic Waistband, Powdered Toast Man, and the Chief. He would never leave them behind. He braved the mountainside of Dyno Dad’s lair, and came out to face his chariot. 

“Timmy. I believe in you. We’re with you all the way. You stuck up for us, so we’ll stick up for you,” the Crimson Chin spoke for them all. 

Each gave Timmy a reassuring look, and they followed him inside Dyno Dad’s chariot.

Mr. Turner waited for Timmy to buckle his seatbelt with his armful of toys, and never looked back.

An older woman, through a cloud of nicotine smoke, barked at Crocker to go and meet with her son. Crocker said nothing to Mrs. Lopez. He heard enough stories from her son to not mess with her. When he stepped inside, he heard Judge Lopez on the phone and shoveling food in his mouth. Something about his wife needing to pick their son up from school. After he hung up, he swallowed the last enchilada and tossed the paper plate in a garbage can before addressing Crocker.

“Denzel! It’s good to see you!” Crocker and Lopez clasped hands and shook, “Sorry about the phone call. Angie gets her dad to pick up our kids, but for once, the man got some tail, so he’s too busy. But, I ain’t gonna bother you with that. What’s up with you, it’s been a while since I seen you.”

Crocker sat down, feeling comforted by his friend’s hundred miles per hour mouth, “Well, George it’s been better. Mother asks about you sometimes, and I tell her you’re doing well.”

“You still live with Mrs. Crocker?”

“You still live with Mrs. Lopez?”

“You’re damn right he does!” she called from outside.

Lopez rolled his eyes, “Anyway. I’m guessing you’re not here to catch up. There something you need?”

“A search warrant,”

“For who?”

“Kid named Timmy Turner. Our office have been getting reports about a Timmy Turner, and most of the calls we get aren’t even in our area. So I decided to check the house just to see what the hubbub was about,”

“And, Mr. Turner. Did he let you inside?” 

Crocker reached for his notebook and reviewed, “No. In fact, Mr. Turner wanted me nowhere near the house.”

Lopez nodded, “And, did you feel there was serious danger for the child?”

“I have a gut feeling about this. There’s something going on inside that house. For one, I could only get a peak, and there was trash everywhere. Turner looked like he hadn’t seen a shower in weeks. Now, a dirty house.”

“You wouldn’t come to my office about a dirty house,” 

“No. But we get reports that there is parental neglect for Timmy Turner. That something is wrong with him, and that Mr. Turner is using him for,” he looked over his notes, “YouTube views.”

Lopez narrowed his eyes, “YouTube views?”

“Yeah. This channel called Timmy’s World. This might reflect poorly on me, but I didn’t bother to look. My first thought about all of this, was prank callers or punks trying to defame someone,”

George opened his laptop and searched up Timmy’s World, “Hey, I think I’ve seen this. Yeah, one of my buddy’s, his kid watches this crap.”

Crocker and Lopez watched an older video of Timmy playing in a bouncy castle. Then they clicked on a newer one. This one offered a glimpse of the dirty house. The most recent video showed how disheveled Timmy was. And before, the kid was smiling and acting cheerful. Now, he couldn’t force a smile, and just sat and held the toy. The video wasn’t long, only lasting a couple minutes.

“Well, that was the Crimson Chin’s 70’s design! Timmy loved it! We’ll see you next time on Timmy’s World!”

Lopez paused on the frame of Mr. Turner’s face and stared in disgust.

“So you just want a search warrant?”

“My priority is the child’s safety, your honor,”

Judge Lopez signed the search warrant and promised Crocker additional help if he needed it.

Crocker returned to the Turner residence a few days after his initial visit. The station wagon was missing, and the lights were off. Miraculously, the door was unlocked. He went inside and gagged. It was worse than he imagined. 

There was evidence of a cleanup attempt, given the ten garbage bags, but the house was filled with trash. He had to watch his step. He called for Mr. Turner and for Timmy, but there was no answer. He saw the stairs and cringed. With trash overflowing the stairs, every step was a flight risk. Still, he mounted each one carefully and inspected the second floor. He saw a guestroom that was, without exaggeration, flooded with toys. More toys than Crocker would ever hope to see in his lifetime. 

“It’s like a Toys R’ Us threw up in here,” he muttered. 

He didn’t care for toys. They were a shortcut for bad parenting. Need a kid to shut up for a while? Get ‘em a new toy, and you and your buddies can watch the game. Toys could make it appear that a parent was better than they were. The number of parents who tried convincing Crocker they were good by the pile of toys they buried their kids under was beyond his count. But that alone wasn’t damning. It was a red flag raised half-mast. 

A roof flooded with toys? A red flag didn’t do this justice. 

Even the rich kids he saw couldn’t cover the floorboard. Nor could they reach the bed. 

He shut the door, but the pile spilling out prevented a shut door so he didn’t bother. He checked the next room. Filthy clothes spread across the floor and empty trash bags piled in one corner. Yet compared to the rest of the house, Crocker could conceive of someone living here. Not well, but living. 

He checked the bathroom and wanted to throw up. A dry toilet and a filthy bathtub. He managed to snap a picture before fleeing the bedroom. He had to get out of the house for fresh air. He reached the front yard. It felt like a shock  to his system, and he passed out. 

A hand patted his back and another offered a bottle of water. A soothing voice assured him it was alright. Crocker took the water and sipped. He offered his thanks.

“It’s no problem. But, I should ask what you were doing in Turner’s house, stranger,” 

Crocker looked him over. He was middle-aged, bald but well off, “I have a search warrant, and the owner isn’t home,” when he felt alright, he showed him his identification, “I’m with CPS, and I have probable cause to investigate the domicile.”

“CPS is looking into Turner?” he asked, “I didn’t think it got that bad while I was gone.”

He introduced himself. He was Sheldon Dinkleberg and while he had a day job, he supplemented his income with a successful vlog channel. He and his wife spent the past three months living in a boat and sailing along the Mississippi. They returned, saw the dilapidated state of Turner’s home and decided to sell the house.

“I used to know Turner. Thought him and I got along, but he has a jealous streak. My audience picked up on Turner’s anguish and I made merch off him. Haven’t seen him in a long time,” he faced the Turner Residence and grimaced at the disrepair, “Why is CPS looking into him?”

Crocker reached for a printed screenshot of Timmy, from the last upload of Timmy’s World, and then showed him the photo of his bathtub, “That display of emotional neglect, and a bathtub with that level of contamination? This is enough for my organization to take Timmy and arrest Mr. Turner. Do you know where they are?”

The grime, mold, and filth stained on that porcelain tub was nothing Dinkleberg had ever seen. To a homeover, this bathtub was the birthplace to a cosmic god. And Timmy. That poor boy. He looked nothing like Dinkleberg recalled. Could he actually be the same child? 

“Turner did this?”

“Please. I need to save this boy. If you know anything where they are, it would mean the world,” Crocker begged.

He took one last look at Timmy before turning it around in Crocker’s hand. Eyes that sunken, shouldn’t belong to a child.

“A few days ago, I saw Turner taking his son and his equipment into his car and driving away. I’m sorry, I couldn’t tell you where they went. I-”

Crocker squeezed Dinkleberg’s shoulder, “You’ve done enough. Now I need to do my job. Thank you, Mr. Dinkleberg.”

From atop the hotel, Mr. Turner looked out the window and sighed. He was in a glamorous penthouse, but he couldn’t enjoy himself. Room service provided better food, his clothes were clean, and his son didn’t smell. But he was still the same mopey kid. And now they were on the same floor, he experienced his son’s night terrors. And no matter what he did, he wouldn’t stop screaming until he was hugging his stupid toys. Hotel staff complained about the noise more every day. Turner couldn’t blame them. He wanted Timmy to shut up, but he only seemed happy when he was playing with those eight toys. His friends, he called them. That was fine, but he would make strange noises and shout or scream. And it got worse if he showed himself to his son. All Turner could do was stay out of Timmy’s space. 

Still, this penthouse was a temporary measure. He needed to buy another house. He could afford it with his fortune, but that wasn’t the problem. He needed another space to make Timmy’s World content. He needed a warm and welcoming environment for Timmy to play with. And while the penthouse was nice, it was not a place people expected a child to have fun. 

He needed to admit that Timmy needed something else. He needed to be happy on camera, and a new place wasn’t helping. If he wanted to crush Dinkleberg and have hit YouTube videos, he needed his son to be happy. 

He dialed Josh and asked if he knew a supplier.

“For toys?”

“I need something that makes my kid happy,” 

“Oh. Well, I’m not supposed to touch any of that shit while I’m on probation, Mr. Turner. Uh, but I can get you my dealer’s number,” he told Mr. Turner, “By the way, I saw a video sayin’ you were touchin’ your kid. That ain’t true, right? Because-”

He hung up and called the number. There was a click, “You called the Surfshack. You need a surfboard?”

“Uh. No?”

There was a pause, “Cous. You’re fuckin’ up the code. Only people that call this number are buyers, and they need a code. So someone gave out this number and didn’t tell the code. Either you’re a cop who didn’t ask for the code, or the dipshit didn’t tell you. Which is it?”

Mr. Turner rubbed his forehead, “Josh didn’t mention a code.”

“Josh? That kid? Jesus. Well, you sound alright, cous. What can I help you with?” 

Mr. Turner explained what he needed and the dealer suggested some pills, “I know a guy who holds uppers. Could mix ‘em with Prozac and that could help your kid with nightmares and depression. But I need your word that this is your son, and not a Filipino you need calming down.”

“I just need him to stop being mopey! That’s what every parent wants!” Mr. Turner complained. 

The dealer chuckled, “Tito’s just playing, dude. Anyway. Come by the Surf Shack, and pick up your order. Cash only. See you later, cous.” 

Mr. Turner left his son alone in the penthouse, and drove eight hours to this Surf Shack and another eight hours back. He charged his camera and slipped some pills into Timmy’s food. In a while, he would be all smiles.

Two weeks passed since Crocker investigated the Turner Residence and began his search for Mr. Turner and his son. When he reported the empty house to his superiors, cogs began their slow but steady turn. A wellness check turned into an investigation and grew from a one-man investigator into a small task force consisting of several CPS officers, police detectives, an FBI agent, and a pair of social workers. Crocker found himself surprisingly well equipped with balancing the mixed departments, though the need for saving Timmy Turner and bringing his father to justice swept away bad blood. 

Judge Lopez was more than forthcoming in granting them clearance into investigating Mr. Turner. You’d think he was a modern day Tony Montana, but the allowance afforded them privy information. Such as his bank account. The very day Crocker met with him, he went to his bank and withdrew hundreds of thousands of dollars from his account. After that, his account was silent. 

“Shouldn’t have spooked him the way I did,” Crocker admonished himself, “Probably thinks the whole FBI is after him.”

Said FBI agent smiled and offered his condolences, “Couldn’t have known. TV makes people paranoid and think we have eyes everywhere. Which we do.” 

The social workers and a detective were watching Timmy’s World videos and building a timeline. At first, Timmy was rather excited to receive new toys on a daily basis, but just a month into the channel’s history, his enthusiasm waned, and he couldn’t muster joy for a new toy. But he was happy to play with Mr. Turner, and occasionally his mother would appear and play with him. 

A junior detective most passionate about the case made contact with the former Mrs. Turner and she appeared for questioning. She admitted her concerns for Timmy’s lifestyle, but hadn’t thought it was a problem. 

“Then why did you divorce him?” Junior Detective Vicky asked.

“It was my husband’s obsession with Timmy’s World. He wanted it to succeed more than he cared about our marriage. And I think, more than he loves our son,” the dam opened, and Vicky offered a hanky while taking notes.

The detectives listened in and debated about Mr. Turner’s psyche; what sort of condition let him use his son for petty views. The FBI agent, Special Agent Lancer, recalled a case where a stupid kid held homeless death matches. The detective working with the caseworkers, reported seeing him in a Timmy’s World video, and identified him as Parker Dinkleman. They pulled him from the pen and sat him down for a talk. 

Crocker thought Vicky was a sweetheart, but once she sat in front of a perp, she was a heartless wretch, ruthlessly clawing out information from anyone. Her superior, a white-haired dick named Razinski, bragged that she could make tight-lipped gangsters talk, “The OGs ain’t shit when they’re in a room with Vick.”

Crocker couldn’t agree more. 

“Look, I’m not gonna talk without my lawyer. And if I do talk, I want a shorter sentence,” Parker’s bargaining was highly dubious.

And Vicky knew it, “Lard Head. You talk, or I talk to the parole board about the death tournament you planned for that homeless colony. Your lawyer may have pulled that from the courts, but if those plans come to light, you’ll never leave Dimmsdale Max alive. Hell, I could talk to the warden to put you in a hole until you’re an old man!” 

Unethical? Crocker certainly thought so, but it got results. Parker told them everything, how this strange man came looking for toys, and how they made an arrangement for him to get new toys. He told them the advice he gave, but he didn’t think it would lead to anything bad. 

“One last question,” she saw him quivering and she rolled her eyes, “Do you know where he ran off to if he abandoned his home?”

Parker shook his head, “Is he missing?”

“We’re looking for him. Currently having trouble,”

Parker nodded, “Did you check his channel?”

One of the social workers pressed a talk button, “We’ve been watching his channel for the past week.”

“No, his latest videos. Look, I didn’t know him for super long. A few weeks, but he was driven to get views. Because, he hated his neighbor. His neighbor is super successful at makin’ vlogs. Well, I don’t think you guys comin’ after him is gonna stop,”

Vicky crossed her arms, “You’re saying, that he would still be making videos? Even while he’s on the run?”

Parker nodded and Vicky looked at the glass, where her colleagues were watching. Crocker took the initiative and checked his phone. After searching for Timmy’s World, he saw the latest uploads.

“Oh my god, he’s right,” Razinksi said, “Vick! Tell the fat kid to fuck off and come out here!” 

Vicky told Parker to fuck off and came out the interrogation room to huddle around Crocker’s phone. It was a new, squeaky clean home, where Timmy was playing with a brand new toy. He wasn’t talking but he was energetic and flying the toy around the room. It was up to Mr. Turner to narrate over his son playing with the new toy. It didn’t take a psychologist to hear the stress in Mr. Turner’s voice. He sounded like he hadn’t slept in days, yet he pretended to act like a joyous parent having fun with his son. 

Crocker paused on Mr. Turner’s face, and tapped on the bloodshot eyes. Special Agent Lancer clicked his tongue and confirmed Crocker’s suspicions. His eyes were red and swollen, bags drooped under his eyes, and the skin was paler compared to earlier stills. 

“Jesus, Crocker. You scared the shit out of him, and from what? Telling him you were gonna see a judge?” Vicky asked.

Crocker showed his hands, “I knew I was dealing with a nutcase, I didn’t realize he was paranoid too.”

Razinski parted from the group and connected a laptop to a projector and found the video. He scrolled through until he found a closeup of Timmy, “Vick. What d’ya think of the kid?”

She studied his face and her jaw dropped, “That fucking scumbag.”

Detective Wilter pointed to Timmy’s eyes, “Notice how bright this house is, and how big the kid’s eyes are?”

That wasn’t the first thing he saw. It was how gaunt Timmy looked; he could see the boy’s cheekbones and the loose skin around his neck. Either he wasn’t getting fed or he didn’t eat. Crocker glared at Mr. Turner on his phone and wished he was right there so he could wail on him.

He pried his eyes away and asked the social worker, “Mrs. Cosma. What are your thoughts on Timmy’s appearance?”

She cleared her throat and stood at the projection, “Judging by the boy’s energy and difference in mood, he is being given or forced to take drugs.”

Razinski added, “I’d say he’s taking stimulants. The fucking bastard is actually giving his son uppers!” 

Vicky slammed her fist against the wall, “When I get my hands on that creep, I’m gonna drive him out in the middle of the desert and make him dig his own grave!”

The other social worker, Mr. Cosma, meekly raised his voice, “There is actually, one more video.”

Razinski clicked on Timmy’s World and saw the latest upload from only a few minutes ago. There was no colorful thumbnail, just a still of Mr. Turner looking frantic. He clicked.

The video was Mr. Turner sitting at the dinner table with a glass wall behind him, “I don’t know what to say. All of you trolls! You dare accuse me of hurting my little Timmy! You don’t know what I’ve done to get here! You heathens, have got the CPS on my trail! I had to leave my house! That I spent years paying off for! Because you called CPS on me! Sure, it was a little messy, but that’s what the maid was for! Now look, you see I have a new house, it’s nice and neat! It’s perfect for a boy like Timmy to grow up and live in! Now will you all stop saying I’m abusing him! Because I’m not! I’m his father and I know how to take care of Timmy! This is Timmy’s World, and he is going to spend every day having fun! I know what I’m doing!” he paused so his chest could rise and fall. From out of view, he reached for something and dropped it in his mouth and swallowed. At once, every detective took notes, “You know what I think this is. You trolls are from Dinkleberg! That’s right! Dinkleberg noticed how much bigger and more successful Timmy’s World is than his stupid channel, so he wants to tarnish my good name! Well, good luck, Dinkleberg! And good luck, trolls! I am the greatest parent Dimmsdale has ever seen! And Timmy’s World is the greatest channel that YouTube will ever know! This is Timmy’s World and you are all living in it! Do you hear me?! Do you fucking hear me!?” once more he paused for his chest to rise and fall slower to finish his video, “Don’t forget to like and subscribe.”

When the video finished, the detectives and FBI agent held up their notes, where each of them wrote down an approximation of where Mr. Turner was. Crocker nodded and said, “Let’s get this prick.”

Mr. Turner was aghast at the like-to-dislike ratio on his latest videos. They were universally bombed with dislikes. How could this be? It had to be Dinkleberg sending more trolls. Well, Mr. Turner was going to fight Fire with Fire, and he searched up Dinkleberg’s channel and found his latest video. He copied the link and posted in his community tab a rally to troll Dinkleberg. Immediately, Mr. Turner faced backlash from thousands of users watching his actions. They lambasted him for acting like a tantrum-throwing child, and that his actions justified Dinkleberg’s video. This only made him seethe in his living room more. He threw a stray lamp across the house where it shattered against the pile of toys he bought; a stockpile of future Timmy’s World videos. But what was the point if no one was going to watch them? No one was watching past the first thirty seconds, and he was getting bullied relentlessly. 

“Dinkleberg! You bastard! I’ll have a more successful channel than you! And I’ll have you admit it!” 

If Mr. Turner bothered to watch the video his neighbor made, he would have heard Dinkleberg give his channel the death knell. His former neighbor made a small video to address his association with Timmy’s World. While he acknowledged that the association was tenuous, he was personal friends with Timmy’s World manager, and his antics were made into running gags on his own channel. With hindsight, he admitted guilt for profiting off of what he now knew as child abuse. He urged his subscribers to contact the authorities if they saw Mr. Turner, “I don’t say this lightly. And I’m not doing this so I can feel better about myself. I’ll atone in my own way. Right now, there is a child being abused on YouTube, and for two years, Mr. Turner has profited off of it. It takes a village to raise a child. Well, his parents have failed him, so now it’s up to us for Timmy to have a happy life.”

Minutes after Mr. Turner’s failed call to arms, Timmy’s World was deleted. People reported the post for harassment, and a human saw the psychotic call to action from a high profile channel as evidence for deletion. Mr. Turner never found out until he met his lawyer.

His new house, a cottage along the countryside of the California coastline was lacking for neighbors, but an old couple sitting on their porch were able to watch a cavalcade of police vehicles coming down the road. They wondered if their new neighbor was another drug dealer. 

Mr. Crocker sat in the backseat of a Police SUV, sandwiched between the social workers who would be taking on Timmy Turner. He saw the police van following behind with officers riding inside armed to the teeth. For a child’s safety, a full police raid was in no way ideal. Both Crocker and the Cosmas argued that case, but they were overruled. They were going in blind, not knowing what Mr. Turner was capable of. With all his cash, it stood to reason he would arm himself if he truly felt he was in danger. Better to be safe than sorry. 

“As long as he’s rotting in prison, and Timmy’s safe,” he said out loud.

“You’re damn right, Mr. Crocker! I can’t wait to see that bastard’s face when we bust down the door!” Vicky exclaimed gleefully, and she revved the SUV’s engine.

“Easy,” Razinski warned his junior detective, “Keep a cool head. This will be standard routine.”

Two police car escorts drove in front and parked near the entrance to the cottage’s driveway. An unmarked FBI vehicle, Vicky’s SUV, and the police van parked in the driveway, blocking the Stationwagon’s means of escape. Agent Lancer performed a cursory sweep of the coast and didn’t spot boats or ships on the water, but he didn’t discount it either. It would’ve been a long walk to the coast either way. He watched Crocker and the social workers step out of their car, and counted the dicks with guns coming out of the van and cars. Was this overkill for a psycho parent who won the world record for worst stage dad? Perhaps. But the demand for Mr. Turner to face justice was high from both the law and civilians. If they didn’t make a show of it, there’d be too much disappointment. 

“Wanda, this feels tight on me. Do I have to wear this?” Mr. Cosma asked while fiddling with his body armor, “I look like I gained forty pounds with this on.”

“Yes, honey. You have to wear it,” she told her husband, though she looked uncomfortable, “Mr. Razinski, there won’t be any shooting, will there?”

He eyed the cottage, “That depends on our perp. Don’t worry. Best case scenario, no one gets hurt,” he walked past them and addressed his team, “Vick. You lead half of us to the back door. Make sure the house is secure. Once you give the ok, we approach the front door. Give Mr. Turner a decent knock on the door before we arrest him. But if he makes a move, I want you to be there to slap the cuffs on him. That good?”

She grinned and signaled to the officers to follow her. They crept around the cottage with their guns drawn, “Remember, twerps. We’re doing this for the kid. If there’s any bloodshed, don’t show the kid. We wanna do this quietly.”

Inside the cottage’s second floor, Timmy was watching the officers surrounding the building but didn’t care. He didn’t have the energy to care, but his friends were hopeful.

“Tell me, Silver Shell. What do you see?” the Crimson Chin asked.

“I count twelve of them. No wait, there’s more. They’re surrounding Dyno Dad’s lair!” Silver Shell reported.

The Chief climbed up and watched, “Holy Cow! Our backup has arrived! I’ve been calling these nimrods for months!” 

Ultra Lord knelt at Timmy’s side, “Cleft, aren’t you excited? This could be the end of Dyno Dad! We’ve been dreaming about it for so long! Why, ever since I met you, that’s what you’ve wanted, isn’t it?”

Timmy didn’t know if he cared anymore. Dyno Dad was doing something to him that changed how he felt. It was always when they were about to film, Dyno Dad would feed him something, and he would start to feel weird. He couldn’t sit down anymore and he had to run around to get the energy out. He didn’t feel like he always did, but not in a good way. He felt like he was forced to be happy. And when it wore off, he wanted to throw up and sometimes did. Not that Dyno Dad cared. He almost slipped on a pile of vomit, but it didn’t matter. 

“I just don’t care anymore,”

The Crimson Chin sat beside him, “I know this isn’t ideal, son. But, I bet this will be your ticket out of here. Dyno Dad’s downfall is coming. Just hold on and-”

Stinky Diver and Smash Adams came running across their hideout and warned of Dyno Dad’s approach. The door swung open and Dyno Dad paced the room, “Timmy, that blasted Dinkleberg! He’s laughing at me.”

He didn’t look up from the ground. The Silver Shell hoped he wouldn’t notice him at the window; for the officers were finishing their perimeter of the cottage. 

“When Timmy’s World gets through this slump, I promise, everything will be back to normal. And I’ll get you anything you want. Is there a toy you want really bad, Timmy?”

He had Timmy’s attention. He looked up at Dyno Dad through his wrangled bangs, “I don’t want another toy.”

“That’s absurd! You love toys!” 

“Dyno Dad, I love my friends. Get me friends,” 

Mr. Turner wanted to know why his son insisted on calling him Dyno Dad, because it didn’t sound endearing to him. Nor would he know why. He heard the doorbell ring and a loud series of knocks. He left his son behind and shut the door.

He reached the door and asked, “Who is it?”

“Wrong question, Turner!” that voice was familiar, but Turner couldn’t place it, “You should ask, who it isn’t!”

Mr. Turner put a latch on the door before he unlocked the door and answered, “Why, who is it?” then his jaw dropped. 

Mr. Crocker stood in front of a small army of police, “Child Protective Services. The Federal Bureau of Investigations. Dimmsdale Police Department. That’s who’s at your door, Turner.”

He looked around for a friendly face, but found none. The police were grimacing at him, a bald man holding a federal badge glowered at him, and a pair wearing office clothes were the only ones not holding him in contempt. 

The short, white-haired cop showed him a signed paper, “Mr. Turner, under the authority granted to me by the city of Dimmsdale, the state of California, and the United States of America, I am placing you under arrest for child endangerment, maltreatment, abuse, and whatever other bullshit you’ve been doing behind that fucking camera. And, I’m under strong suspicion you’re holding some serious shit. And if I don’t find it in your sugar, I’ll find it in your kid’s blood, you fucking bastard. Now save us all the time and energy, and open this fucking door.”

Mr. Turner shut the door and locked it. He sprinted across the cottage to the kitchen where he stowed a pistol in a drawer. He holstered it in the hem of his pants and looked out the back door. A woman in police uniform wielding a shotgun tapped the glass sliding door with her barrel. Behind him, a battering ram was breaking his door down. He scrambled upstairs.

“Timmy! This is bad! We’re under arrest! The cops are here!” 

He knocked on his son’s door, hoping to arouse a response from him. There was an escape route that went down the basement into a tunnel into the coastline. It was the reason he bought the cottage; the previous owner was a nutcase who tunneled through the ground and out the coastline for a potential escape attempt if he ever needed it. 

“Timmy? I need you to come with me, right now!”

His son wasn’t coming to the door, “Timmy! I am your father, and I order you to come out here, right now!” 

There wasn’t an answer.

“I need you! If I don’t have you, there is no Timmy’s World! You need to be on camera! I need you to make me views! I need to have this, Timmy! You can’t take this from me!” he opened the door and looked around. Timmy hadn’t moved from his spot, he was huddled against the wall with his toys clutched to his chest, “Please, I need you to come with me.”

“My friends tell me it’s over for you, Dyno Dad,”

He rolled his eyes, “Timmy, enough with this Dyno Dad shit. I need you to drop your toys and come with me. We’ll go to Mexico and film Timmy’s World there. It’ll be low budget, but I bet people will like it!”

Timmy shook his head, “I’m not going with you. I’m staying. My friends don’t like you, and I trust them.”

The wood cried against the ram’s head, “Who are your fucking friends! You don’t talk to anyone!” 

“They’re looking at you, and they don’t want me to go with you, Dyno Dad. Just leave us alone,”

He didn’t have time for this, “Forget it! You know what! Who says Timmy’s World needs you! I’ll find some other kid, and I bet he’ll be grateful for all the toys! You never played with the toys I got you! You just clung onto them! Well fine! They were cheap and stupid! And the videos didn’t get that many views! So long, Timmy! I’m taking your world with me!” and he slammed the door. 

He ran across the hallway to the bathroom. He heard the door cracking open and the glass shattering. 

“Turner! Surrender yourself, and this will go down easy!” the same cop’s voice demanded.

A shrill girl came shouting up, “We won’t put you down for resisting arrest if you just come down quietly with your hands up!”

“There’s no escape! We have the building surrounded!” 

Mr. Turner needed to buy time. He pulled his pistol from his pants hem, and pulled the trigger. It sprained his wrist, but the gunshot deafened the house, “Back off, coppers! I’m packing heat!” he opened the bathroom door, “You’ll never take me alive!” he slammed it shut and locked the door. He knew it would only slow them down, but that was fine. He looked inside the sink drawer for a duffelbag of his money. A hundred thousand dollars. He could start again. He knew it. In Mexico. There was a laundry chute and he threw his duffel bag first before he threw himself down. It was a fast fall, but he came down into the basement. He took a quick peak to make sure no one was around. He came out of the pile of clothes placed to cushion the chute’s fall. He crept down until he found the door in the wall. He opened it and saw the tunnel. He closed the door behind and walked forward to freedom. The sounds of the ocean guided him out this decrepit tunnel. Each step carved into the rock, he walked carefully down with his money bouncing against his back. 

“I’ll need to be careful. I have to buy a cheap car and then I need to make it to the border. Once I’m across, I’ll be free! Then I’ll need to hold auditions for kids. I bet I could find one even better than Timmy. Maybe I’ll have to rebrand the channel, and scrub Timmy away for good! Then I’ll get millions of views. Hey, maybe there’s more Spanish speakers than English speakers!? I could get more views that way!”

After a half hour of coming down stairs, he touched sand and heard the ocean louder than ever. Fresh air was coming in, and a free man was coming out. He bent underneath a low-hanging cliff that covered the entrance to the tunnel. A small motorboat resting against the cliffs waited for him, along with the gorgeous view of the Pacific. The way the sun shone down, it was captivating. This wasn’t Timmy’s World. It never was. This was Mr. Turner’s World! And he was going to take it by storm. By his name, he will be the most successful YouTuber the world has ever known! 

He felt a gun pressing against the side of his head, “Put your hands where I can see them.”

He raised them and they scraped against the rocks, “How did you-”

“You’re not the first idiot who’s bought this house thinking he could make a getaway through the tunnel. You’re actually the eighth. You may not be a dealer or supplier, but you have the same bad taste. Now on your knees,” Mr. Turner obliged. The agent came around him, the gun still pointed at his head, “On your face,” one half of his face was covered in sand. The agent moved the duffel bag out of the way and pulled the gun out of his pants, “Serial numbers filed off. Mr. Turner, you’re giving me a lot of work to do. Now, you have the right to remain silent, anything you say can be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to consult with a lawyer before questioning and to have a lawyer present during questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be appointed to represent you free of charge prior to any questioning,” a pair of cuffs tied Mr. Turner’s hands behind his back while the duffel bag came off his body, “Now there’s a staircase that goes up the cliffs. It was rough coming down, so it’ll be worse going up. But I’m not wearing cuffs, so who knows how bad it will be for you.” 

Mr. Turner got on his feet and eyed the FBI agent. He sighed and followed his command.

By the time Mr. Turner was stowed away in the back of a police van, the task force handling his case was finishing their sweep of his house. They found four million dollars in duffel bags all around the house, which were placed into a small pyramid of cash for the detective’s amusement. Finding Turner’s drug stash in the sugar jar was a hoot and holler of a moment for the officers, since Razinski was only joking about the old cliche. It was a small collection of over the counter prozac and stimulants, enough for a federal offense. Agent Lancer searched for other weapons, but found none besides the pistol he already claimed. One guest room was stockpiled with unopened toys; likely intended for future Timmy’s World videos that would never come. In sharp contrast, the refrigerator was empty of nutritious food. TV Dinners and energy drinks to last a year, but nothing that would help a child grow. And though the cottage provided ample space for anyone to have fun outside, inside was already becoming a hostile environment. Papers showed Mr. Turner paid for the premises with cash just a couple weeks ago, and the considerable mess from thrown wrappers and empty cans was most imprudent. Vomit stains were a common sight as well. Many officers’ first thought on seeing the cottage was a wish to own it, but the inside was such a pigsty, it ruined their impression. 

“He somehow built a giant YouTube channel, yet he couldn’t maintain a clean house. How the hell did he convince anyone to have a kid with him?” Razinski demanded.

“In my experience, idiots don’t plan that far ahead,” Vicky said.

Crocker looked up the stairs and saw a bullet hole in its ceiling. It kept them all from chasing him for five minutes, while he bellowed his cliche and attempted fleeing. A part of him wanted to go up there and take Timmy himself, but he knew that wasn’t his job. He saw himself in the mirror and knew he would frighten Timmy. But he wanted to be there to see him come down the stairs. That meant, even if his work wasn’t over, he did his job. 

Still, he wondered what the Cosma’s were doing up there, and why it was taking so long. 

Outside of Timmy’s door, Mr. and Mrs. Cosma were waiting outside Timmy’s door. They came up the stairs after Vicky assured them Timmy was safe, he was just sitting in his room with his toys. They knocked on his door and asked if they could come in. 

“We’re here to help you. Just let us know when we can come inside,” Mrs. Cosma said.

“Why aren’t we going inside?” Mr. Cosma whispered to his wife.

“Because. That boy hasn’t been given a choice in two years. He needs to make this choice for himself,”

Inside, he was ignoring all the commotion and focused on his friends. He didn’t believe Dyno Dad was gone, even though he really wanted to. It just, seemed ludicrous. Smash Adams and the Chief assured him they saw Dyno Dad with a pair of handcuffs slapped on his back, and there were cops everywhere. There was no way they would let Dyno Dad go free. 

The Crimson Chin sat beside Timmy and placed his hand on his small shoulder, “Give it to me straight, Tim. What’s so scary about opening that door?”

Timmy sighed, “You guys have been my friends for so long. I’m worried, that if I leave this room, I won’t see you again.”

The Chin laughed, “Timmy. You and I have been through a lot together, haven’t we?”

“Ever since Dyno Dad gave you to me,”

“We got to see what he did to all of us. I won’t lie, I thought Dyno Dad would never face justice. But, I’m glad to be proven wrong,” his massive chin brushed his hair, “What do you want to be proven wrong on?”

He faced his oldest friend and blinked, “That I can’t leave. That I can’t forget Dyno Dad.”

The Silver Shell bent his knee, “Well, kid. Prove us wrong.”

The others bent their knees and gestured to the door. From his corner, he saw their feet through the door. Could they really help him? He wasn’t sure. But, he knew they could help him leave. And if he left, he could forget Dyno Dad.

He rose and walked past his friends.

Smash Adams smiled and nodded, “Kid, one day you’ll be as smooth as I am.”

Stinky Diver tipped his head, “We had some adventures, didn’t we? I’ll be thinkin’ of you always.”

The Elastic Waistband stretched his head away so Timmy couldn’t see his tears. 

Ultra Lord bowed, “This universe is vast, my friend. But even after a thousand supernovas, I’ll never forget you.”

“If you ever need a boost, just call me. And I’ll get you a slice of Powdered Toast,” though the others ragged on him for being corny.

The Chief was not hiding his tears, “Just, get out of here, you wingnut! Oh I always cry at this stuff! Waistband! Hand me those tissues!”

The Silver Shell beamed, “I have always been your shield, Timmy. But you are stronger than I could ever hope to be. In a way, you were our shield. Thank you.”

And from across the room, when Timmy touched the doorknob, the Crimson Chin said, “Time to move on, kid. We’ll miss you.”

The door opened, and the Cosma’s saw a child standing before eight toys arranged in a formation. Mrs. Cosma bent down and looked closely; underweight and in need of sunlight and a haircut, if not a whole spa day. Yet, the light in his eyes wasn’t gone. 

“Hello there, I’m Wanda Cosma. And this is my husband, Cosmo Cosma. He and I are going to be in charge of your case. Your father-”

“Dyno Dad is going to jail?” Timmy cut her off.

She wanted to phrase her response more tactfully, but her husband rushed in, “Oh yeah! With the gun charge and the drug possession, and who knows what else, he’s not getting out for a long time!”

“Cosmo!” Wanda admonished him, “We don’t know who Dyno Dad is, it could be-”

“My father,” he said, “I’ve been calling him Dyno Dad ever since I stopped seeing him without a camera. I don’t remember if I came up with it, or if my friends did.”

“Your friends?” Cosmo questioned.

Timmy looked back, one last time. His friends were there, but not how he saw them for the past year. It was how he first laid his eyes on them.

Wanda cleared her throat, “Timmy. Do you want to come with us? My husband and I work with kids who have rough upbringings, and we try to give them a better home. Would you like to work with us?”

He nodded, “I thought I couldn’t leave. Prove me wrong.”

They came down the stairs, and everyone stopped what they were doing to watch the Cosma’s come down. Razinski, Vicky, Wilter, Lancer, Crocker, and the others watched them walk with Timmy down the steps. At first, some of them were aghast to see such a grim form for a child, until they saw his eyes. 

Then they smiled. 

Crocker followed the Cosmas out the door. Vicky offered to drive them before Razinski could order her to. 

Timmy was sat in the SUV behind the policewoman and beside the Cosmas. It was the first time he went outside in two weeks, since Dyno Dad took him to his new lair. He leaned his head against the window and looked at the ocean as they drove away. Crocker didn’t say a word, but he glanced at him every so often, and wanted to cry each time.

“I only wish, I had been there sooner,” he said to his mother that evening.

“Hey, let’s talk turkey,” Saul Goodman offered to his client after shooing the detectives out the door, “What are we looking at here? Franseca thought that I needed something that would improve my reputation, so clearly, a failed YouTube superstar is gonna help me look better. Alright,” he opened his briefcase and looked over at Mr. Turner’s file, “Says here you’re being charged with multiple acts of child abuse. Child endangerment, child maltreatment, and child abuse. Ok. Well good news, you didn’t touch the kid, so you won’t have to register on a list. And let’s see. Possession of narcotics, possession of a firearm with a defaced serial number, and I see the cops are trying to add some bullshit. Resisting arrest and evading arrest. Right. Well, all jokes aside. Here’s what I’m gonna do for you, Mr. Turner. Me and Judge Lopez go a long way, so I think if you show some repenting and are a little forthcoming about this, I can roll all the child abuse charges into one. If you’re willing to give up who you bought the dope and gun from, we can also scrub the possession charges. Won’t make ‘em go away, but we could strike it down from felonies to misdemeanors. And believe me, you want as little felonies as possible. And if you allow me to toot my own horn, I can also make those cops drop the resisting arrest charge. Or the evading charge. Because, let’s be honest, we all decide to just pack up and leave. That ain’t a crime. You will however need to fess up to one child abuse law. And if it’s a felony, which in all likely it will be, you’ll go away for six years and offer six big ones. Overall, I’d say that ain’t too bad. Well, what do you think?”

Mr. Turner was sitting across a metal table adorned in orange and chained together, “You can’t get me off?”

Saul chuckled, “Mr. Turner, as a fellow divorced man, I understand how lonely it can be without a wife to give a happy ending. But, your lawyer is not the person you should be asking,” he waited for his joke to land, and laughed preemptively, “I’m kidding. But, yeah that is getting you off. I mean, I saw pictures of the kid. And, I’m surprised you were allowed to walk out of there alive. I know Razinksi and his kid, they woulda buried you in the desert if they had the chance.”

Mr. Turner tried crossing his arms, though his cuffs prevented that action, “I don’t know, Saul. Doesn’t sound like you’re that great a lawyer.”

The welcoming smile was gone, and he glared contemptuously, “Well if I’m not that great, let me tell you how swell a public lawyer will be, because I know I’m the only lawyer that has called you back. If you go public defender, they will play ball for the district attorney. And you will face at least twenty years in prison. Not to mention that they will fine your ass more than you can afford. Oh one more thing, those cops are doing everything to take your ad revenue away. I talk to them, you,” he paused, “Will keep some of it. Enough to pay me. Otherwise, you will be jailed and broke. I will give you a minute to think this over.”

Saul Goodman was true to his word and gave Mr. Turner a minute, as after one passed on his fake Rolex, he stood from his chair and started packing his briefcase. He offered condolences and good luck to Mr. Turner and walked toward the door. 

“Wait! I need your help! I don’t wanna lose all my money!” 

Saul suppressed his trademark simper and turned back to the table, “Glad you came to your senses. And, you’re good with my terms?”

Mr. Turner raised his finger, “Will I have Timmy back after this?”

Saul paused to appreciate the desperation in Mr. Turner’s face, “I’ll get into it, but the short answer is no. But, hey. This is a good start, you show the courts you still love Timmy, that can-”

Turner waved his hand, “Forget it. Timmy abandoned me! What kind of son does that to his own father! I can always find another kid to make YouTube videos with.”

Part of being a lawyer meant sympathizing with the world’s worst specimens of humans. Saul wasn’t there to admonish his clients, only defend them from the worst consequences. But he couldn’t stop himself from informing his client of the state of his YouTube channel, “I hate to burst your bubble, but your channel is gone, Mr. Turner. CPS has archives of your videos, but. You don’t have a YouTube channel.”

If there was any despair in Mr. Turner, it seemed to Saul he bounced back from it quickly, considering he asked for representation while still in orange, “Will you help me sue YouTube so I could have it back? That channel is my life’s worth! I need it to show I’m better than Dinkleberg!” 

There was always sympathy for Saul Goodman’s clients, however little he had. But that question wiped away the bottlecap’s amount of sympathy. His face hardened and he looked incapable of a smile, “Part of whittling down a twenty-year sentence, is playing ball with the DA. That’s gonna include abiding by a restraining order that’ll keep you from standing on the same city block as your son. And before you start crying about restricting your civil rights, you’re also gonna have to agree to never appear on YouTube again. Judge Lopez, the DA, DPD, and frankly myself too, all agree that a person like you shouldn’t be doing YouTube. I saw the shit they archived, and you looked like a psycho in your last video.”

“You mean. I’ll never be a YouTube star?!” 

Saul shrugged, “To be fair, you never were. It was your son everyone was watching, so don’t get on a high horse, especially if you can’t reach the reins. But since we are talking about uncomfortable truths, I got another one for you. That ad revenue. You made sixteen million dollars from those videos. Now, the DA is going to argue that you abused your child to make those millions. I’m going to argue that not all of it was profit from child abuse, and what’s gonna help is you’re going to promise to divert that cash into a 529 plan for Tim.”

“Will I at least keep some of it?”

Saul’s smile returned and he folded his fool’s gold ring covered hands on the table, “You’ll dump most of it for your son, I can help set that up. But after the DA takes a cut, you’ll need to pay me. Afterwards, once you’re out of jail. You’ll have enough for four months rent as McBadBat’s next door neighbor.”

After Saul was finished discussing the case with Mr. Turner, he left the room and reached in his coat for aspirin. As he swallowed them after drinking from the water fountain, he greeted the detectives he shooed out, Razinksi and Vicky. She was not impressed with his clown costume, which she made apparent, though her senior reigned her in. 

“All jokes aside, I am surprised you folks didn’t fill his clothes full of toys and throw him in the ocean. Dimmsdale PD running out of street justice?” he joked. 

Razinski normally had zero patience for an ambulance chaser, but he allowed himself to smile, “We considered it. But our FBI friend caught him before we had the chance.” 

“But weighing him down with toys, I wish we came up with that, Ichabod,” Vicky chimed in.

The serious face returned to Razinski, “If this comes up in court, Goodman, I will deny it, and I will weigh you down in those fucking toys.”

Saul laughed, “No worries. Turner’s gonna play ball, and that’s what matters to you folks,” he looked into the room at the schlub wearing orange, “He made millions filming his son playing with toys, didn’t he? Fuck, if I knew YouTube was lucrative, I woulda done it years ago.” 

Vicky snorted, “One less ambulance chaser for one more obnoxious YouTuber? Is that proper equivalent exchange?” 

Saul found that actually pretty funny, and gave Vicky a real chuckle, “You know, I’m something of a movie guy, and I wanted to look at movies from a lawyer’s perspective. Then I found out some asshole beat me to the punch.” 

Razinski and his junior detective were losing interest in the conversation and left Goodman behind. They expected he would get on call about another client that saw his commercials, but instead he caught up with them for one last question.

“How’s the kid? Is he doing alright? Timothy Turner, I mean.”

He was seated at a dinner table choked by a small kitchen. His social workers shimmied around the kitchen preparing a healthy breakfast for themselves after spending an hour on his meal. His plate was covered with hearty protein and calorie-rich fruits and grains, and this meal was bigger than the last. As was the last bigger than the last. The man joked to the woman about Hansel and Gretel, and she shut him up.

If he could remember Hansel and Gretel, he would understand the meaning. But this was more food than he was used to, as well as being expected to finish his plates. Dyno Dad would leave Burger King bags in his room and he ate half or a quarter of the nuggets and one handful of fries on a good day. That was part of how he got so small. 

At first he got sick from the healthy food. The man wanted this as proof he could eat fast food more often, but the woman knew what was wrong. Timmy’s body was detoxing, and it would take time. 

Her name was Wanda Fairywinkle-Cosma. She was a social worker who helped kids find better homes, and her husband was Cosmo Cosma. He was a novice social worker; after he married Wanda, he wanted to do social work and pursued a degree in the field to work with his wife. Normally, their direct work with Timmy ended when they found him a foster home, and then they worked his case behind the scenes. But Timmy was a special case. 

He was technically a celebrity. His father’s YouTube channel made him famous, and that made it harder putting him in the system. It would be difficult to vet potential adopters who covertly wanted the famous Timmy’s World resident as their very own child. And escaping from one abusive home and ending up in another was not ideal for Timmy, to put it lightly.

So for the time being, Cosmo and Wanda agreed to take custody of Timmy. It wasn’t ideal either, nor was it sunshine and rainbows.

The Cosma Residence was a small apartment in downtown Dimmsdale that was a one bath and one and a half bedroom. That half bedroom was someone’s idea for a laundry room, but that someone didn’t consider the room was too small for modern laundry machines to fit inside, so it was poorly converted into a guest bedroom. And it was still too small for that. It was better used as a closet and storage room, Wanda and Cosmo discovered. But they converted it back into a bedroom. A bed big enough for Timmy opposite the door, and drawers for clothes and books. Not enough space to live in, so he couldn’t hole up as he could before in Dyno Dad’s lair.

So he would sit on the couch in their living room and spend time with either of the Cosma’s. It was taking a while for him to open up, but they expected him to be closed off for a while. If he had the environment to cope with his experience, his recovery would go smoothly. So for the past three months, they made an effort to get him out of the house once a day, usually at a nearby park, provided him with healthy food to boost his weight, and gave him the space he needed. 

He spoke for the first time in days, “Why are we eating breakfast so early? You guys go to work at nine, and only one of you goes to work each week.”

Wanda exchanged a glance with her husband. She was surprised Timmy noticed these details, “Well, that’s true, sport. But Cosmo and I both need to go to work this week.”

“This apartment may be small, but it needs two working incomes!” Cosmo exclaimed.

“Don’t worry about that,” Wanda chimed in.

Timmy nodded, “So, am I gonna be alone?” that didn’t bother him. There were books he could read and a television. He could make do for one day.

Wanda shook her head, “You’re not staying here, sport! You’re going somewhere just like us!” 

Cosmo bent the knee and offered his sympathies to Timmy, “I’m really sorry about this. But, you’re going to school. It wasn’t my idea, it was Wanda’s.”

“School? I’m, actually going to school?” he asked, “I. I haven’t been to school since Dyno Dad took me out! This, this is great. Will, I go back to my old school? And see my old friends?”

After chastising her husband for undermining her, Wanda explained they enrolled him into a special education program at an elementary school, “Living with you, I’ve learned you’re a smart kid. But you never got past third or fourth grade. So this program is for catching you up.”

“And it’s to help you with other kids!” Cosmo added, “You’ll get to meet kids just like you!” 

That made Timmy feel unsure, but he was still willing to try. Anything to get back to school, “You think I’m ready?”

Wanda studied him; she could see his cheekbones and a scale would still say he’s underweight, but he was better than before. She would admit to her husband that she was taking a chance on this program, but she believed it would be of great help. And truthfully, she and her husband needed to both work to keep their apartment. 

She said, “I do, sport.”

He followed them into their car, and they took him to an elementary school. Some kids saw him and thought he was from Timmy’s World. 

“You dumb babies, Timmy’s World had a pink hat! That dumbass just has buckteeth!”

The faculty understood who he was and vowed to keep his former identity a secret, for his sake and for the school’s. 

An administrator guided him through the halls into a classroom isolated from the rest of the school population. A teacher with a gentle voice welcomed Timmy inside and showed him a place he could store his backpack, then suggested a place he could sit. The room was spacious, but lacked for schooldesks. He sat beside one occupied by a boy with a large head of hair. 

He studied Timmy for a while, but turned back to his own desk. Timmy felt weirded out so many kids were staring at him, but he eventually got over it. Besides him and the big-headed kid, there was a boy with a wide face and blonde hair, and one girl with waist-length hair black as a raven’s wing. The room felt too big for only four students. 

For the first day, Timmy focused on his work and avoided drawing attention to himself. That was the hope, as he did not want to be recognized for his YouTube videos. While he was stuck on a math problem, he thought about those videos. He never had the chance to watch them. His father was always talking about making new videos, but he never showed them to him or his mom. There were times he used to joke with his friends, until it stopped being funny, that maybe his father wasn’t making videos and just liked filming him playing with toys. He truly wondered who watched those videos. Was it really interesting to watch a kid play with a random toy?

Well, why not ask a fellow kid? Timmy looked to the other boy and tapped his shoulder. He turned around, tipped his baseball hat and asked what he needed, “Just wondering, have you ever watched a video of some kid playing with toys?”

He tapped the desk and nodded, “Like on YouTube? Yeah. There was this channel where a kid played with toys. YouTube stopped showing them to me around last year, so I didn’t watch them anymore.”

The girl chimed in, “My brother Lincoln and my younger sister Lana watched that channel. It was called Tommy’s World.”

“Tommy?” the boy crossed his arms, “Lucy, do you have the right name for that? That doesn’t sound right.”

Then the boy with the large head joined their conversation, “It was Timmy’s World. And that channel has been deleted.”

The first boy nudged Timmy, “Jimmy’s got the word on all internet drama.”

“Those who are shunned by society and seek the internet for solace, they are hounded by Jimmy’s kind to face the light of judgement,” Lucy said ominously.

He frowned, “It was huge internet news! Everyone was talking about how Timmy’s World was run by a psycho parent!” 

Timmy presented another question, “Why would someone watch that? I was just wondering.”

Lucy answered, “Lana watched them because she liked how Timmy played with toys. Lincoln wanted to see how a toy looked in real life. And he thought Timmy was as small as him. Was that not why you watched him, Arnold?”

Arnold nodded, “I think so. Honestly, I didn’t know Timmy’s World ended like that. Was Jimmy telling the truth?”

“I overheard my parents discussing an article covering the demise of Timmy’s World. The channel’s manager was arrested with help from the FBI,” she explained, “I was in the vents.”

Timmy looked at Lucy, “You were in the vents?”

“Yes,” a smile crept from under her bangs, “Would you like help in getting in the school’s vents? They are very spacious.”

The teacher overheard, “Ok, that’s where I gotta step in. Lucy, you know what the principal had to say about the last time you went into the vents. That’s a no go zone.”

Lucy nodded her head, but she flashed a glance at Timmy. As if to say, this wouldn’t prevent them from an adventure.

Timmy returned to his homework; he couldn’t answer his schoolwork, but he could answer why someone would watch him. Now the next question was, why was his father so obsessed with it? He didn’t think it had to do with money. He tried recalling the last time his father worried about money, and couldn’t. 

Did he just want views? Was that it? 

There was a tap on his shoulder. It was Jimmy this time, “I’m sorry. But, I’ve been looking at your face. And, I think I know you. Are you, Timmy?”

Timmy blinked. He introduced himself before the class, so why would Jimmy need his name again. Unless, he was asking another question, “I am.”

“So. Your dad?”

“Dyno Dad,”

“I only heard that name on Timmy’s World. You were always mentioning him! Oh man,” Jimmy tapped his feet, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be spazzing out like this, but I followed the drama for Timmy’s World.”

Timmy raised his eyebrow, “What do you mean drama?”

Jimmy looked around, “Well, there was just a lot of talk on the internet about Timmy’s World.”

“And what makes that drama?”

Jimmy’s mouth hung open, “I. Don’t know. That’s just what, the internet calls it. You’re not on the internet?”

Timmy forced himself to smile and ask, “You saw my videos. Did it look like I was going on the internet?”

“That. Explains so much! Everyone was always trying to get in contact with you. I made a Roblox community to get your attention so we could figure out if you were safe!”

Arnold groaned, “Not the Blink Twice shit.”

Timmy heard a laugh escape his mouth, “Well, I’m sorry I didn’t notice. I don’t know what Roblox is.”

Arnold turned in his desk, “So you actually are that Timmy? The one on YouTube?”

“Yeah. Don’t wanna talk about it, but I am,”

Lucy’s blank face studied Timmy, “It’s him. My goddess will hear your prayers, Timothy. You are more tortured than I am,” she paused then grimaced, “Shit. That’s rough.”

Arnold giggled, “I never thought I’d see the day Lucy admitted someone’s more miserable than her.”

She sneered, “I acknowledge those less fortunate. Just never thought it would be right next to me.”

“Um,” Jimmy raised his voice, “I hope you don’t mind I watched your channel when I was younger. A part of the reason I was invested in the drama was, I felt bad about watching you. A lot of people I know feel upset because we made Timmy’s World a success. So, I tried making movements to get you help to atone.”

Timmy wasn’t understanding the references to his online activity, but he found his meaning. The teacher encouraged them to work more than talk, and their conversations ended until lunchtime. Timmy, with a lunch packed by Wanda, sat next to Jimmy and opened up to him. 

“My dad did stuff. I don’t know why he did them, and I’ll always ask why and never know. Maybe if people weren’t watching me, then he wouldn’t have done all this crazy shit. I don’t know. He could’ve done something else crazy. But it happened. I don’t know about the people who watched me, and I sure didn’t know about the people starting, what was it you called it? Drama? I know nothing about the drama. What I know is, I got pulled out of a house, and I’m living with the Cosmas. My memory is a little messed up because of that. But, don’t feel bad you watched me when you were younger. You don’t have to make up for it. It is what it is.”

Jimmy was stunned. He was eating soup when Timmy sat by him. When he started talking, his spoon was hovering over the tofu soup and sank into the soy depts when Timmy was finished.

“Can I, still make it up for you?”

“How?”

“Well, people speculated you didn’t have friends because you were making those videos. So. Would you wanna be friends with me?”

He beamed, “I had friends before, but it’s time I have some real ones.”

Arnold pulled a chair next to Timmy, “Mind if I’m one of those real ones?”

Lucy sat across them, “I would also like to be friends, but I prefer to be distant.”

They had questions about Timmy’s World of course, but after their well of queries ran dry, they asked about him. What he was interested in and they invited him to play games. Lucy knew about the occult and where to sneak off and hide, usually somewhere elaborate and very cool to Timmy. Arnold was down to earth and reignited an interest in baseball. And Jimmy seemed to know everything, but especially science. 

When Wanda and Cosmo came to pick him up, Timmy decided that two years of his father’s chicanery was worth today. He told as much to his caretakers.

“You’ll have so many days like that, they’ll outnumber the days with your dad,” Cosmo said, though Wanda admonished his insensitivity.

Days like today would outnumber Dyno Dad’s years. Timmy couldn’t believe it. Even when it happened. But it did, and surrounded by his friends, he knew he could move on. And one day, he would forget what it was like to be in Timmy’s World.