Chapter Text
It had been a week since the trial, and in the time the figurative dust settled and the media coverage moved onto the next exciting story, the small question whispering in the back of Wile E.’s brain had grown louder, until it eventually stopped him dead in his tracks and refused to be ignored.
What am I without Acme?
It wasn’t a bad question. Quite the opposite. But it was also a terrifying one that meant having to deep-dive into his own psyche, going all the way back to his diaper years, digging up suppressed ordeals he’d prefer left buried, and overall, it meant a psychological excavation he didn’t want to take on after everything he’d just been through. One thing at a time, please.
Thankfully, and without even meaning to, it was Kevin who’d supplied him with the helpful dose of insight he needed, on a random night as they sat in his car enjoying a nice reflective fast-food dinner. Kevin had handed him his unlocked phone, the internet search engine open and ready. He nodded suggestively at it, and with a bite of hamburger shoved to one cheek, he’d said, “It wouldn’t hurt to at least look. Acme may be the biggest, greediest guy out here, but they’re not the only company in their industry.”
Of course, the coyote knew that already, but the external reminder, the validation, the sincerity all balled up into one neatly wrapped gift, given to him by a friend….
Wile E. thought his next challenge would be developing trust between him and these new suppliers. Rightly so!
It wasn’t, because the moment he opened the first crate delivered to the foot of his cave – not on him, not flung through the entrance and broadsiding him into his furniture, but on the doorstep – it was the beginning of a creative renaissance, a brain blast of manic ingenuity he hadn’t felt in…he wasn’t sure.
He started small at first and worked his way up, and over…and then some more, and when that wasn’t enough he added more, welding this to fit that, ensuring proper valve release, appropriate rotator functions, and suddenly he needed to order and install a cooling vent, which then gave it a much better temperature capacity for other features, so of course he had to order larger tools, and larger tools meant he could apply certain heavier mechanisms and plating, and, and, oh he could definitely incorporate aerial dynamics now so he did, and, and—!
And it was complete.
Wile E. took several steps back, wiping the grease stains and sweat from his brow with the back of one hand as the other went limp at his side, ignoring the squeak squeak of the toon wrench hitting the floor. His eyes went wide and shiny, his mind now fully enraptured by the sight of his latest creation.
It was large, unsymmetrical, a Frankenstein of ideas welded and fused together, operating as one.
And when he turned it on and booted up the remote control, there was no premature explosion, no second-hand exhaust burns or faulty-wiring zaps. It responded.
A jolt of excitement rippled through Wile E.’s body, traveled up his legs, prickled the fur on his back, leaving his raised hands shaking in front of him. They were capable of so much…and now they may have just created, dare he think, his magnum opus?
Wile E. threw his head back, eyes bloodshot, pupils the size of sniper dots, his mouth open in a crazed toothy grin as hiccups of silent laughter racked his chest, shook his shoulders, outstretched his arms, trembling hands turned palms up and fingers curled, as though holding the immense power he was feeling.
It was invigorating, this rush of energy in his toon blood, a growing wildfire in his veins, nearly threw him into a hysteria that he didn’t care to stop.
“Ha Ha Ha—!!”
His hand clamped around his snout before he realized he’d done it, a knee-jerk reaction he’d picked up from disciplinaries in his youth, served as both a physical enforcer to his vow, and a humble ripcord to his overwhelming surge of confidence.
Don’t even think about it, son….
Wile E. flinched. Silence settled into his cave den, its presence perhaps louder than the echo of his mistaken outburst, if that made any sense.
…not until you catch one.
One deep breath and shuddering exhale brought him back to reality. He gave himself a few seconds to settle, then released his snout and shook the residual tingle of unease from his shoulders.
He needed a change of scenery, a chance to exhaust the surplus of ego-induced energy and stretch his intellectual legs!
A gurgled melody erupted from his stomach.
Wile E. licked his smirking lips, his eyes suddenly dark, half-lidded. He raised his hands up to touch and tap the pads of his fingers together, too hungry to acknowledge how his subconscious introduced the mental image of the smile given to him in the courtroom, how it made his chest flutter as it replaced the three-course meal he typically envisioned in these moments, if for only a split second before he shook it from his head.
It was time to pay his darli—delectable friend Road Runner a visit.