Chapter Text
Day 0:
Two years have passed since the events of the movie. Following a wave of media scandals and lawsuits, the multinational ACME Corporation suffered a minor stumble in its cartoon entertainment division—an almost imperceptible dip for a conglomerate that, in practice, continues to dominate the global economy and provide ninety percent of the planet's supplies.
Taking advantage of that small crack in the market, Wile E. Coyote put his dazzling intellect to work: he founded CoyoTek Dynamics, a thriving advanced engineering company producing high-precision gadgets designed exclusively by and for cartoons. When he isn't supervising patents or designing prototypes in his laboratories, Wile E. teaches as head of the Science Department at the prominent ACME Looniversity—pure irony—where he is a professor of wild subjects like Anvil Dropping or the science behind inventions, being widely respected for his impeccable (if tragically theoretical) brilliance.
Daffy no longer goes crazy remembering everything that happened to him. He is stable, going to therapy, medicated, and... living for free at Bugs's house, obviously.
The duck had just picked up a steaming box sitting on the front doormat and was walking back toward the living room. Package under one arm, he flopped down hard onto the swivel chair in front of the desk, adjusting the computer that did not belong to him to keep constantly clicking and endlessly scrolling through the online shopping site while trying to tear open the adhesive tape to open the box.
At that moment, Bugs walked into the room having just woken up, wearing his bathrobe. He was in a foul mood, with dark circles under his eyes and clear signs of not having slept well; he held a mug of coffee in one hand and had just grabbed the newspaper resting on the table, leaning it lazily between his hip and forearm.
—My god, I think they're building something across the street, all night long I've heard loud noises and rumblings—murmurs Bugs, annoyed, rubbing his temples with his fingers, until he sees Daffy—Did you get up early? Wow, that's new.
The rabbit says between yawns—. I guess those months of therapy have worked, after all…
The duck raises an eyebrow before looking back at the computer screen—I only go to that place because you force me to.
Agh, her again. —Daffy forms a disgusted expression on his face upon seeing the Gmail notification.
—The doctor?
—Yeah, I don't understand why Dr. Ramos keeps talking to me about that—protested Daffy, without taking his eyes off the screen while pulling a miniature air fryer out of the box—. She tells me all the time: "Oh Daffy, dialectical-whatever therapy has already cured your impulsiveness, now you're in Stage 3 of exposure and activating something to break something I-don't-care-about!" Basically, she uses fancy words to tell me to get a job!—he exclaims while inspecting what he had just bought—That lady seriously has issues with her husband and takes it out on me.
Bugs was listening to his roommate half-asleep, trying to stay awake.
—Daffy, the social worker was clear…—the rabbit yawns—...you have to complete odd jobs for three months if you want them to sign your final discharge. From what I hear, you're really sick of going to that place…
—What a pain in the ass.—said Daffy, typing a little harder than usual—. Besides, why leave the house, when you support me? Whatever, talking about that gives me a migraine… Oh, right! Look, look. Look at this new skill I got from my impulsive online shopping! Right now I'm going to order Mini Golf to play in the bathroom.
The arrogant duck expresses himself while using his partner's credit card to make his 98th purchase of the day, successfully completing the transaction.
Bugs looks at him with annoyance and slight curiosity.
—And, in three… two… one…
Daffy began counting down, dropping his fingers one by one. Suddenly, a slight tremor began to be felt beneath their feet, growing more and more noticeable until it made the living room furniture vibrate gently. Just as Daffy pointed his finger directly at the front door:
DING-DONG!
The doorbell chimed at the exact same time the heavy thud of a package being dropped on the doormat was heard. Immediately, the thunderous shaking began to rapidly recede into the distance at an absurd speed.
Bugs blinked, looking at his wall clock and then at Daffy.
–That's explain the noise...Did you just order that, or did you already have it hidden away? —he asked, genuinely confused—. It was like three seconds. I've never seen shipping that fast.
—Ha! It's the magic of capitalism, Bugsy! —bragged Daffy, running to the door to pick up a steaming box that was already on the doormat—. And that's nothing. In the "Shopper Moms" online group I belong to, they say there's a new mailman in town who delivers packages at the speed of light. Literally.
The gray rabbit raised an eyebrow, placing his coffee mug on the table.
—Speed of light? Hold on... Did Speedy switch jobs? Pizzarriba is profitable enough as it is.
Daffy shrugged. —I don't know and I don't care, he's so fast I've never even seen him—. He says while waving one hand dismissively.
His partner was about to respond, until the duck motioned for him to be quiet.
—Don't interrupt me, I'm checking if there are deals on feather shampoo—said Daffy, ignoring him completely and returning to the desk while signing a virtual receipt—. The point is, I already took care of the job thing so Dr. Ramos stops bugging me.
—Really? —asked Bugs, skeptical—. What did you get?
—Comprehensive management of psycho-emotional development in the pediatric domestic environment—declared Daffy, puffing out his chest—. I found the listing on an app and boy, am I lucky. The doctor wanted to send me to file papers, but please! I don't have patience for incompetent adults; children are adorable, they actually deserve my time.—says the duck with dramatic gestures—Besides, I babysat Tina's nephew one weekend and discovered I have a natural motherly instinct, kids adore me more than their incompetent mothers.
Bugs exhaled slowly through his nose. —So… a babysitter—he said, flatly.
The arrogant duck shakes his head.
—Babysitter? BABYSITTER?! Pffff! —Daffy practically spat the word—. Please, Bugs! That's so basic, the bottom rung of the caregiver social ladder. Babysitters are the ones who change diapers and make sandwiches. I am like... a specialist, a child expert. I will mold those children's minds and guide them to a successful future like mine. Besides, the client hired me specifically for that, look.
Daffy showed his phone to the rabbit with a triumphant gesture. On the screen, it literally read:
"Needed: Individual specializing in comprehensive management of psycho-emotional development in the pediatric domestic environment."
—See? —said Daffy, pointing at the screen—. That's not being a babysitter, that's... that's something else. Something more important.
Bugs looked at him confused, but didn't give it much thought.
— For whom?
—It's a couple that just moved into our neighborhood—. Daffy squints at the screen trying to read the names—. I've only spoken with the father so I don't know what the wife's name is, huh…. some guy named Wail- no, Wile E. Coyote, what an ugly name.
Bugs, who was taking a sip of his coffee right at that moment, choked dramatically, almost spitting the liquid out in a perfect parabola.
—... Wile E.?—exclaimed Bugs between coughs, wiping his mouth with his sleeve—. Wow… I didn't think that guy was the type to have kids.
—Who's he? —asked Daffy, frowning while adding a purple handbag to his online shopping cart.
—An old friend… or well, an old acquaintance from the past—said Bugs, being very ambiguous, not wanting to touch the subject while remembering old times—. You look a bit better—he says, trying to change the subject—. and therapy… well, meh, let's say it worked enough so you don't burn the house down. But I know firsthand how chaotic absolutely everything gets the moment Wile shows up.
Bugs folded the newspaper slowly, sighed, and poured himself one last sip of coffee before getting up from the couch.
—Besides, I'm not missing the show of watching you last only two minutes for anything in the world. So go grab your purse, I'll go with you.
—It's a handbag, not a purse. You uncultured swine—. Daffy clarifies.
———————————————————————————————————————
Ten minutes later, they arrived at the residence.
It was a building that looked like it had been ripped straight out of the New Mexico desert and forcibly inserted into the middle of the neighborhood: a modern adobe-style structure, with clay-beige stucco walls, completely rounded corners reminiscent of the rock formations in Albuquerque, and large tempered glass windows giving it a contemporary architectural touch. The flat roof featured exposed wooden beams, and on one side of the entrance, a giant cactus served as the mount for a state-of-the-art satellite dish. Everything maintained that slightly cartoonish, pristine finish characteristic of the residential area, where arid nature blended with urban design.
Bugs walked up the three stone steps and rang the doorbell while Daffy looked around.
The mechanism chimed a cheerful melodic chord, but immediately the sound was drowned out by a burst of interior chaos: the dull crash of a heavy piece of furniture overturning, a high-pitched cry, and the unmistakable chain-reaction explosion of several glass pieces shattering against the terracotta floor.
Both Daffy and Bugs exchanged glances.
After a tense silence that lasted a few seconds, the heavy carved wooden door creaked open slowly and pitifully.
There he was:
Wile E. Coyote.
Hardheadipus oedipus
Or at least, what was left of him.
Wile E. Coyote was barely holding himself up against the doorframe, hunched over and wearing a look of pure existential trauma crying out for help. He looked as if he had survived a hurricane, tsunami, and earthquake all at once: he had patchy bare spots on various parts of his body where raw skin was exposed because the hatchlings had pulled out his fur in clean tufts..
To make matters worse, parental logistics had him cornered: one of his hybrid offspring—a calm baby female bird with the sweetest, most angelical eyes in the world—remained perched on his right shoulder while tugging his ear with her beak; the second, the clearly hyperactive male, was using the top of the Coyote's head as a makeshift nest, messing up the few remaining hairs he had left while happily chewing on a squeaky dog toy with an obnoxious rubber squeak.
As the cherry on top of this exhausted mess, Wile E. had a bulky baby chest carrier buckled across his chest. Inside rested a giant egg, from whose edge extended an articulated arm with a small flexible infrared lamp projecting an orange light to keep the shell warm and under constant incubation.
The living picture of this situation was enough to serve as birth control for anyone thinking about having kids.
—What's up, doc? Wow... fatherhood really hit you with everything —commented the rabbit, leaning casually against the doorframe with his usual cool demeanor, observing the disaster unbothered.
Daffy, however, shoved Bugs aside with his arm, thrusting his phone screen directly into the emaciated coyote's face; the text message chat was open.
—Alright, 'Wile E.', according to our chat agreement, my hourly rate starts the second I step through this door —declared Daffy, speaking fast and showing not the slightest bit of empathy for the agonizing creature in front of him—. So less drama and more handing over the contract, I have three shopping carts waiting for payment to process.
Without saying a single word, eyes bloodshot and gaze lost in the void, the coyote unbuckled the carrier. He ripped it off his chest with a clumsy but firm movement and strapped it onto Daffy as if handing him a bulletproof vest. Immediately after, he turned on the mini infrared light to keep the egg warm, shoved a trembling baby bottle into the duck's mouth, and, with the last remaining ounce of his strength, grabbed his two hatchlings at once and deposited them directly onto Daffy's head. The duck spat out the baby bottle, obviously.
Wile E. took two wobbly steps onto the porch, fell flat on his face onto the lawn, and remained completely motionless.
Bugs looked down at him with an eyebrow raised, crossing his arms.
—Hey, Daffy... shouldn't we call an ambulance or at least move him to the shade? —asked the rabbit.
—The contract said 'childcare', not 'coyote resuscitation' —replied Daffy with total coldness, adjusting the carrier on his chest and tweaking the infrared lamp—. Besides, finders keepers, losers lose their peepers. Come on, Bugsy, let's see if the lazy bum at least made lunch, I'm starving.
Without showing a single grain of compassion, Daffy looked at the coyote and walked right past the door into the chaos of the house.
Bugs stayed on the porch, looking back and forth between the body lying on the grass and the open door. —I don't think that's how the saying goes…—murmured Bugs, scratching his ear and following his friend inside.
Before he could even take three steps into the hallway, a supersonic blast of air shook the property to its foundations, the stucco walls rumbled, the wooden frame creaked, and the window curtains blew outward in a perfect spiral. In the middle of a dust curtain, the blue silhouette materialized instantly.
He was wearing a picturesque mailman cap cocked to one side and a leather mail bag slung over his shoulder.
Road Runner.
Accelerati incredibus
—Beep-beep! —greeted Road Runner cheerfully, raising a feather in courtesy.
Daffy frowned in confusion.
Wasn't this guy supposed to be the mailman? He assumed so because of the outfit.
—Hold on, hold on, who gave you permission for home invasion? —protested the duck, adjusting the babycarrier—. It's one thing for you to deliver my online purchases in record time, but it's another thing entirely to walk into this weirdo's house like you own the place. There are privacy limits here, delivery guy!
Road maintained his friendly, enthusiastic smile, tilting his head with ease... until he saw a silhouette peeking over Daffy's shoulder.
Bugs Bunny.
In the blink of an eye, Road's smile froze, his cheerful expression tightened and grew a centimeter stiffer, while his eyes narrowed with a cold, massive hint of territorial jealousy upon recognizing his partner's old "past co-worker, almost romantic, almost EVERYTHING friend."
Bugs stretched his neck from behind, raising a hand with his usual nonchalance.
—What's up, do-? —the rabbit barely managed to greet.
Without making another sound, the Road Runner transformed into a blue blur.
SWOOOOSH!
Air slammed through the room once more, sending the flyers on the entryway table flying.
When the dust settled, the space behind Daffy was completely empty.
2 miles away, Bugs appeared standing right in the center of his own kitchen, holding a cup of coffee without a single drop having spilled, blinked twice, looked at the wall clock, and let out a long sigh.
—Wow... the guy really can't get over the past —murmured the rabbit, taking a calm sip of his drink.
————————————————————————————————————
Back at the rustic residence, the Road Runner reappeared in front of Daffy in a nanosecond, adjusting his mailman cap with impeccable composure, as if he had never moved.
Daffy blinked, looking at the empty space.
—Bugs? —asked Daffy, frowning—. Bah, who knows. He probably went to look for carrots or something equally boring. Haven't you left yet, mailman?
Daffy raised a finger in the air, giving a wait signal to the Road Runner as his phone began vibrating loudly in his purse. He pulled out the device clumsily—balancing the two hatchlings on his head as best as he could and adjusting the carrier so the egg wouldn't go flying—and answered abruptly.
—Did you already regret leaving me stranded in this madhouse? —exclaimed Daffy, annoyed.
—Daffy, I didn't leave because I wanted to —replied Bugs's voice over the speaker, accompanied by the sound of a coffee maker gurgling in the background—. Road... well, the mailman, threw me back home. Let's just say we don't have a great bond.
Daffy stood stunned for a second, and then a huge, malicious grin spread across his beak. Someone on this planet finally HATED the perfect Bugs Bunny?! The mere thought filled him with absolute satisfaction. If the blue bird couldn't stand the rabbit, it meant he and Road were going to be the best friends in the world!
While Daffy was still glued to the phone, the Road Runner began moving silently through the house amidst the utter disaster of floating diapers and scattered toys. With great speed, he grabbed a picture frame resting on the fireplace and held it right in front of Daffy's face.
It was an impeccable wedding photo:
Wile E. was wearing an elegant white tuxedo with a small flower on the lapel, while Road wore a cute black bowtie. Both posed happily in front of an altar filled with flowers, proudly displaying their respective rings on their fingers.
Daffy blinked, lowering his phone slightly without taking his eyes off the frame.
—Uh... Bugs... the mailman is my client's husband —the duck blurted out, eyes round as saucers.
—Of course he is, Daffy. It was completely obvious —replied Bugs on the other end of the line, taking a calm sip of his coffee.
Daffy looked at the photo once more, then looked at Road—who was nodding very proudly while adjusting his cap—and finally stuck the phone back to his ear.
—Bugs... is it legal to show a gay couple in an animated series? —asked Daffy in a dramatic whisper.
—Daffy, this is a fanfic, not an official Warner Bros. production, so anything is possible here —replied the rabbit in his usual dry tone—. Besides, canceling things over that was completely silly. Now do your job and let's see how many minutes you last as a babysitter.
—I am NOT a babysitter! And I'll prove to you that I'll complete all 5 days!—exclaims the duck, annoyed, before hanging up.
The Road Runner smiled at him with total, disarming kindness, tilting his head slightly like a true customer service professional.
With admirable skill, he dipped one of his wings into the leather mail pouch and rummaged around for a couple of seconds until pulling out a sheet of paper, impeccably folded into three neat, symmetrical sections. He extended the note toward Daffy with a solemn gesture, implying with his eyes that herein rested the ultimate manual, the sacred guide to surviving the care of his offspring.
Daffy took the paper with both hands, narrowing his eyes suspiciously before unfolding it bit by bit.
—Alright, finally some order in this place... —murmured the duck, clearing his throat and adopting the posture of an important analyst—. I hope this helps.
However, as his eyes scanned the page from top to bottom, Daffy's hopeful expression began to distort. His beak opened slowly and his eyebrows furrowed until meeting in the middle.
The entire sheet, divided into elegant sections with bullet points, diagrams, and bold headers, was packed from start to finish with endless rows of lines that strictly read:
"Beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep.”
This has got to be a joke.
A sick joke.
What kind of Morse code was this? There was even a warning section highlighted in bright red that read: "IMPORTANT: Beep-beep! BEEP-BEEP!”
WHY ON EARTH DO YOU WRITE THE WORD 'IMPORTANT' IF YOU'RE JUST GOING TO WRITE 'BEEP' AGAIN?!
—What kind of sick joke is this?! —erupted Daffy, waving the sheet in the air with dramatic fury while the paper crinkled loudly—. You can't understand a damn thing here! Where are the steps? Where is the emergency NUMBER? This isn't a child care manual, it's a detention writing punishment or a meaningless tongue twister!
The Road Runner, without losing a single millimete of his composure, simply pointed at the paper with a feather repeatedly, nodding his head as if everything were very very clear.
Before the duck could throw the paper to the floor and demand an official translator, the bird puffed out his chest, let out a loud, cheerful Beep-beep!, stuck out his tongue, and clicked it repeatedly, before bursting into a supersonic blue flash and taking off straight out the door—which miraculously remained intact with only a frame of floating air—heading off to deliver more packages.
The violent rush of air left behind a thick cloud of dust and feathers that engulfed Daffy completely, making him cough awkwardly while trying to swat away at his face.
—Cough, cough!... Rude! I won't recommend you to the “Shopper Moms” group!, I'm reporting you to the union! —yelled Daffy toward the empty doorway to the void, bitter and still holding the useless sheet full of "Beep-beeps".
This was going.to be a loooong job, but at least the kids would be adorable creatures of God.... right?
Wile E. Was still lying outside on the lawn, probably dead; nobody cares.
Day 0 ended.