Given how up in the air the end of "Toonstruck" was, and how it's just... so very clearly not finished, it's a little hard to write fanfiction for. So I made a few fudges in ways I can't exposition away in the text. Basically, everything is the same except 1) The Malevolator, the Cutifier, and the Warp Button were all destroyed at the end, 2) Drew isn't turning into a 'toon, either because the serum part didn't happen or it didn't work on him, whichever you can suspend your disbelief for, and 3) After Fluffy Fluffy Bun Bun's plan failed, she put King Hugh back in power (for NOW!) but she made it so he doesn't remember her doing anything to him, so no one suspects her of wrongdoing except for Drew and Flux.

Flux Wildly didn't care to spend time in the Shamrock Pub, the social gathering point for Cutopians. The establishments in Zanydu were far more exciting and lively, with patrons bouncing off the walls and falling through the floor at every chance. Cutopia, meanwhile, was full of cuddly-wuddly little critters drinking some of the least alcoholic beverages in all of creation, snuggling, giggling, and having a swell old time. Talk about boring! If something didn't explode or someone didn't get hit by a pie, Flux would just leave Drew to his work and head back to his little hole in the wall.

Drew had wanted to come here ever since he got a new sketchpad and charcoals. He was sitting at one of the tables, pad flat on top, and he had been carefully sketching the elaborate organ on the north wall for over an hour now. Flux had watched the drawing take shape with interest at first before slowly becoming bored with his stationary companion. The organ on the paper looked nothing at all like the organ on the wall; it was linear and sturdy-looking, not at all like the crazy contraption that drew all the attention in the room to itself.

"Why are you drawing it like that, anyway?" Flux asked as he spun himself around on the bar stool. As he passed by Drew's work, he glanced at his friend's progress. Focusing on one spot made him less dizzy, and less likely to upchuck (though if he had to look at those snuggling bunnies for much longer, he might do that anyway.)

"It's realism," said Drew, not taking his eyes off his work.

"Realism?"

"Yes- the attempt to depict subjects truthfully, as they really appear."

"So why does your drawing look nothing like the organ?"

"That's the thing!" Drew glanced back at Flux, who was looking quizzical. "For years now, I've been a cartoonist. That means I take things that are real and find ways to exaggerate or caricature them into something simple, yet recognizable. Since I've been stuck here, though, I realize I've gotten a chance to do the exact opposite: to take something that's already been exaggerated, and find a way to de-exaggerate it into a form like one you might find in my world."

"Tch." Flux gave himself another boost off the bar and spun around harder. "Artists."

Drew took a napkin off the table and began wiping the charcoal off his hands. "I think it's done," he said. "What do you think?"

Flux shrugged. "I'm not really into art. I mean, no offense, but you've already completed your greatest creation. Where else is there to go?"

Drew gave Flux an annoyed smirk, and Flux laughed. "Well," said Drew, "consider yourself lucky that I didn't stop after the first time I made what I considered my best creation."

Flux grabbed the bar stool and stopped spinning immediately. "Wait, what?"

Suddenly, a dull ruckus erupted somewhere outside the pub. Drew turned to the door, eyes worried. "Did you hear that?"

"No, seriously, what?" Flux jumped off the stool and tugged on Drew's coat. "What was that about your best creation?"

"Flux, be quiet!" hissed Drew.

Flux opened his mouth to protest, but then he heard it, too: three distinct voices: one high, one gravelly, and one proper. "You don't think-?"

"Excuse me!" Drew tapped the counter. The cheese shamrock barman looked up. "Do you have a broom closet or something we could duck into? Please?"

"O'course we do," said the Barman. "Just 'round the corner there."

"Thanks!" Flux and Drew disappeared into the cupboard at the same moment the front door of the tavern was thrown open.

Three half-formed 'toons, re-animated but unfinished, stood in the doorway: Feedback, the small one with the prosthetic mouth; Goggles, the skinny one with the bionic eyes; and Lugnut, the large one with the single robotic ear. They were sheet white creatures, with little more on them than the guidelines an artist uses to fill in the finished design. Because of this, they were considered as gruesome and frightening as a human walking around without his skin on, a mass of bones and muscles that somehow manages to shamble its way through life. In a word, disgusting.

"All right, listen up!" Feedback barked. "We're still looking for those two lugs wanted by the Malevolands for crimes against his Evilness, the Count!"

"Hey!" The Barman slapped the bar. "You know you can't extradite fugitives without King Hugh's approval! Don't be comin' into my tavern here and starting a ruckus!"

"It's not our intention to start a ruckus," said Goggles, "but if one is started without our consent we will participate."

Feedback put his arm in front of Goggles. "I'll handle this." Then he slapped the bar in an equal show. "Okay, look, you moldy hunk of cheese, King Hugh's days are numbered, and the sooner you get that through your thick, spongy skull, the easier this is going to be."

The Barman pressed his own palms into the table and leaned in himself, matching Feedback's intimidation tactics easily. "And maybe I should make you aware of this yourself, but I don't want your malevolent kind making trouble in me tavern. Now, if you don't turn yourself around and show yourself the door, then I'm sorry to say that I'm going to have to let the royal guards know."

"And what are they going to do? Dance at us?" Feedback turned around. "Goggles! Lugnut! Why don't you tear this place apart and show this guy what happens to people who don't fall in with his majesty's new order!"

"Got it!"

Before any of them could so much as flip a table, the Barman reached under the counter and pulled out a whistle, from which he let out a shrill blast. A second later, the door flew open and two pink armored armadillos burst into the room.

"I heard somebody needs our help to get rid of some of those nasty old Malevolanders!"

"We can help with that!"

"Two, three, four!"

The armadillos began tap-dancing circles around the trio. "Bippity-bip-bip bippity bah! Bip-boo-bip-boo bippity bah!"

"Yah-ta-ta-ta tiddly-tah! Yah-ta-tiddly-tiddly-tah!"

"Aaargh!" The sketches put their hands over their ears, except for Lugnut who removed his and stuffed it in his large armpit.

"This is most unpleasant!" Goggles protested.

"All right, all right! We're going!" snarled Feedback.

"Skiddly-diddly-dippity-doo!"

As the trio was ushered to the door, the guards continued to dance around them, moving them out of the building and out of trouble's way.

At the very last moment, however, Lugnut looked over his shoulder and spotted something. On the wall, behind the counter, were framed photos of toons in the bar. Most of them looked familiar, as toons he had seen in passing, and a few who were even there right now. However, one of them seemed to awaken something inside him, something raw and primal that he didn't understand. But he only had a second to mull it over before he was thrown out on his considerably ample bottom.

As soon as the noise of the henchmen died down, as well as the dancing and singing noises of the guards, Drew and Flux emerged from the closet. "Thanks a bunch," said Flux.

"No trouble at all," replied the Barman.

"We'd best get back to Zanydu," said Drew. "Let's take the portable hole."

"Yeah," said Flux. "Those goons have no idea where I live."

"That's because you literally live in a hole in the wall. Even to a toon it doesn't look like a house."

"Hey, home is home. I didn't hear you complaining last night when you needed shelter 'cause it was raining cats and dogs."

Drew shook his head. "Just once I'd like that to not mean what it sounds like."

"Yeah, well, get used to life in Zanydu."