I do not own Wreck-It Ralph or any of its characters or elements. Conan, who you might recognize from my other story "Reprogram", belongs to me, as does the song "Little Boy Blue", which I made for "Touch and Go".
"Ralph...," a hushed voice whispered.
A groan issued out from the gigantic lump in bed.
"Stinkbrain, wake up, this is important!" that same voice hissed out more urgently.
At last, the redheaded man got up and stretched his mighty arms with a yawn, eyes red and half-lidded as they focused blearily on the little black-haired girl standing in the doorway in her mint-green pajamas.
"Kid, it's," Ralph took a moment look at his alarm clock, "two in the morning. Whatever's got you up this early, can't it wait until morning?"
The little girl—Vanellope—rolled her eyes at her stepdad. "Uh, technically, it's already morning, genius"—her face went back to being serious, though, the moment Ralph opened his mouth to retort—"and this can't wait either."
Eyes adjusting to the dark, Ralph finally took note of the concern etched into his daughter's hazel eyes. His countenance softened as he adjusted his body so he could look Vanellope in the eye easier.
"Kid, what happened? Did ya have a bad dream?"
Vanellope took a deep breath then released it before reaching her right hand out for something beyond the doorway and pulling her way back into the room with a large thickset boy who could've flawlessly passed as Ralph's past self were it not for the unruly black hair, slightly paler skin, and golden-iris eyes.
Dressed in blue-striped pajamas of his own and bereft of his red-framed glasses, the boy nearly stumbled when Vanellope stopped right in front of the bed.
"He did," Vanellope finished, holding up her brother's comically large hand for emphasis.
Ralph furrowed his eyebrows in thought before fixing upon his smaller self a firm yet gentle look. "Conan, look at me. Is that true?"
The boy reluctantly met his father's eyes and responded with a wordless nod, ashamed of his own childish behavior and half-expecting to be scolded for displaying such vulnerability. So imagine his surprise when Ralph instead chuckled and patted a space beside him in invitation.
So taken back, Conan did not have the time to protest when Vanellope dragged him onto the bed with surprising strength. Before the boy knew it, he and his sister were seated in their father's ginormous lap, huge strong arms wrapping around the children like a living security blanket.
Conan fiddled with the fraying threads of Ralph's muscle shirt, absently taking counting in his head how often his father's chest rose up and down, up and down.
"So what was it about?"
Hearing that question stole the warmth from Conan's body. The boy tensed, half-ready to whimper and close his eyes and just pray for sleep to take him, until he spotted Vanellope's resolute stare from across Ralph's arms.
At her encouraging nod, Conan steeled his resolve and met his father's warm chocolate eyes.
"My parents...we were standing on opposite ends of an alleyway, them near the dark, me near the light. I tried to advance towards them, but with step I took, their images became more obscure. Even the alleyway seemed to drift further and further away."
He tightened his grip on the muscle shirt.
"Then I was alone, surrounded by nothing but white."
A familiar bubble of anger swelled up in Ralph, memories of long ago only strengthening it.
Despite how their similar appearances were, he and Conan were not related at all. In fact, the boy was just as much of an orphan as Vanellope was. However, whereas Ralph had found the girl in an orphanage, he stumbled across Conan by mistake on his way to work. The kid couldn't have been more than three years old, huddled into a ball between two trash cans for warmth against the frigid winter wind, eyes red from crying for God knows how long until two huge hands gently lifted him from the freezing ground into a warm embrace.
Conan and Ralph hit it off instantly, life only getting better when Vanellope joined the mix a year later.
Still, the subject of his biological parents remained a sensitive topic for Conan, one his father and sister avoided for reasons affecting them as well. Vanellope could emphasize with his brother's plight, kept awake often before as well by nightmares of her own original parents abandoning her.
As for Ralph, well the less said about Conan's parents, the better. From what the police were able to dig up from the media records, the couple who left Conan was two critically-acclaimed scientists who deeply valued their accomplishments and scorned anything they deemed to be a distraction from their work.
And according to their actions, that included their son. God, Ralph hated those bastards for how they treated his boy and could not stand the fact that he could never go to court against them since they'd no doubt cream him with their high-salary attorneys.
'On the bright side, though, it sure made adopting this kid a cinch. Tch, they don't know what they're missing,' Ralph mused with a tender grin on his son, "Don't worry, kid. You're not alone anymore. No one's gonna leave ya, not this time."
Conan smiled in relief, but Ralph could still see the uncertainty in his son's eyes. A lightbulb suddenly lit up in the man's head at what he hoped to be a brilliant idea.
"Say, Conan. What would you say if I sang ya to sleep?" As expected, Conan and Vanellope gave him the same disbelieving stare they once gave to their friend Candlehead when the green-haired girl attempted to balance five scoops of ice cream on her tongue. Ralph rolled his eyes at them. "Yeah, I know. It sounds cliché as heck; just trust me on this. Now wait here."
Before either kid could ask why, their dad departed for the closet on the right side of the bedroom, where he opened the door and rummaged around the interior for something. A minute later, he produced a rather weathered banjo, the instrument somewhat small in his large hands yet handled with care all the same. Seating himself back between his children, Ralph took a moment to tune the banjo before taking a pick he'd also found in the closet and strumming it against the strings for one last prep.
Clearing his throat, the auburn took a deep breath then began to count down softly. "Two, three, four—"
A soft yet strong melody drifted from the vibrating strings, Conan and Vanellope taken back by the beautiful music inviting them to come closer, especially when Ralph's voice joined in, mellow and warm.
Little Boy Blue
Don't you cry now
Wipe those tears and listen
To what I've got to say to you
The days, they gunna seem rough
And you hope someone will take you away
The nights, they gunna seem tough
And you hope someone saves you someday
But then you hear what the people say
And you hear the cold, cold world
Say you're all alone
To darken your bright day
His voice trailed away to give back the banjo its spotlight. Vanellope and Conan were spellbound; they'd almost forgotten how much Ralph excelled at singing. Already they found themselves leaning against their father's legs, sleep beginning to grow heavy on their eyelids, as the song continued.
Oh no!
Little Boy Blue!
Little Boy Blue!
Listen what I've got to say to you!
Never mind what those fools say
My dear little blue
Little Boy Blue
Don't let your heart shy away
This time, Ralph hummed in time with his instrument's sounds. In Conan's opinion, though, "hum" did not do the angelic resonance coming from his father's throat justice. It possessed such sadness, such strength, such pain, such joy—he buried his face into his father's stomach, savoring the warmth and softness on his cheek. He faintly noticed Vanellope doing the same.
The days, they gunna seem rough
And you hope someone will take you away
The nights, they gunna seem tough
And you hope someone saves you someday
Just look towards the sun
When those tears start to fall
Look towards the sun
And there you'll see me, smile and all
Little Boy Blue...
Little Boy Blue...
You'll always be loved
No matter what we weather through
Little Boy Blue...
Little Boy Blue...
Just never forget...
How much we love you.
His voice, having risen to a climax by song's end, cut off to give the banjo one last bow before the final strum faded into blissful silence.
A glance down revealed both kids curled up beside Ralph, his great gut their own personal pillow. The gentle giant chuckled in paternal affection before setting the banjo on the nightstand and laying back, pulling his kids closer so he could fit the blanket over all three of them.
"G'night, you two...," he pecked each forehead with a kiss, "and remember: I'll do anything for you."