Chapter 6: Confrontations, Conversations

Weasels, just like the one they had encountered on the drive home from Bugs' meeting, were emerging from the thicket. Except this time it wasn't just one crazed-looking weasel – it was four crazed-looking weasels. They crunched through the snow, their eyes nearly entirely black from being inkshot and rolling in their sockets. Their feet were bound with what looked like plastic wrap that was secured at their ankles with rubber bands. Otherwise they were in nothing but ratty shorts and t-shirts, despite the cold weather. One weasel appeared to have bits of foam in the corners of his mouth.

Behind him Wakko heard the hurried footsteps of Jeanie and the two boys disappearing over the hill and retreating into the park. The weasels ignored them though, and focused on him.

"G-go away!" Dot shouted shrilly.

Wakko, who wasn't sure if he was shaking from cold or fear, looked at her. Dot's dark eyes were wide, and she was wringing her tail with nervous hands. The weasels were staring at her now too. Their teeth were bared.

"Wakko! What do we do?" Dot shrieked. Her voice was even squeakier than normal.

"I don't know!" Wakko hissed back.

Dot's head snapped to him, panicked. "You don't know? What do you mean you don't know?"

"I mean I don't know what to do!"

"You're the older one, you're supposed to know what to do!"

"Well maybe you could try using your own stupid brain instead of leaving it all up to me!"

"Yakko always knows what to do!"

"Well guess what, I'm not Yakko – "

A sharp clapping sound brought them both out of their argument. One of the weasels had snapped at Wakko with its uneven, sharp teeth. There was drool coming out of its mouth in globs. The saliva was dark, as though it was mixed with ink. Wakko gulped. There was something seriously wrong with these guys…they didn't seem like toons…more like rabid dogs. None of them were talking. Instead, they mumbled weirdly and incoherently, their words sounding like water gurgling in a clogged drain.

"I don't like this...I don't like this," Dot chanted, nervously, "Wakko, do something!"

"Why do you keep thinking I know what to do?" Wakko yelped, realizing that his voice sounded hysterical. Where was Yakko when you needed him?

"Because you – "

Dot never got to finish her sentence. The weasel with the rolling eyes had lunged at her, its maw open wide. Wakko tried to shout but no sound came out. But Dot managed quite a scream, and leapt out of the way. The weasel narrowly missed her and landed near the edge of the creek. He pulled his head out of the snow, wiping it off frantically. When he caught a glimpse of the running water he yelped and scrambled away on all fours.

"Run!" Wakko blurted, panicked.

"But Wakko – "

"Don't be stupid, just run!" Wakko commanded.

Dot clutched her tail. "But he'll chase me!"

"Just run!" Wakko hollered.

Finally she listened. Not bothering to jump this time, Dot pounded across the creek. Within a second her prediction came true: one of the weasels took off after her. Heart thumping, brain spinning, Wakko reached behind his back. He yelped in pain; he had completely forgotten that his arm was injured, so he reached behind with his other arm, not knowing what he wanted. When he brought his hand back out, it was empty. The pitfall of being scared and indecisive. Panicking in earnest now, Wakko reached again…he needed something…anything…a weapon…crap, what would Yakko do…

Mentally crossing his fingers, Wakko pulled his hand back out and looked down. His fingers were wrapped around a paddleball.

That's what he got for thinking of his brother.

Right now he didn't care how stupid his weapon was. Hefting the rubber ball upwards, he swung the paddle as hard as he could. The two connected with a solid thwack, and the ball shot towards the weasel like a bullet. But like the snowball Wakko had thrown at the boys earlier, his aim was off and the ball missed the weasel completely. But he was only afforded a moment of dismay before the rubber ball reached the end of its tether and rocketed back towards him. The cord wrapped around the weasel's neck, catching him by the surprise – he let out a half-choked squeal – before jerking him backwards. It gave Dot enough time to scramble over the hill and disappear from sight. Wakko sighed with relief. At least she was out of the way –

Something heavy collided with him, knocking the air out of his lungs with a loud "Oof!" Wakko landed flat on his back. He did his best to cradle his arm, but in the next second one of the weasels was on top of him, snarling and snapping, its hot breath pouring over Wakko. It smelled so strongly of ink that he nearly gagged. Wakko was punching and kicking everything within reach, he was vaguely aware that the other two weasels were grabbing at him too, clawing his jacket…somewhere in the back of Wakko's mind he could hear Yakko's voice telling him to never end up on his back in a fight, since you couldn't access your hammerspace that way…

"Mo!" the weasel suddenly grunted, "Mo, mo!"

"Bo!" another one countered.

Wakko had no idea what either of those two words meant, but quite frankly he didn't care. Suddenly he realized he was being dragged – the weasels were trying to take him somewhere. He dug at the ground, frantic, desperate for anything, but all he came up with was a handful of muddy snow. Not knowing what else to do, he thrust the dirty lump of snow into the closest weasel's face. The weasel let out an unearthly wail. Wakko would have covered his ears with his hands if wasn't trying so hard to escape. Clawing at his own face, the weasel staggered off of Wakko and ran around blindly before smacking into a tree and falling over. Before Wakko could even blink another weasel took the previous one's place, grabbing him, dragging him…Wakko called out, but he was so far into the woods, who would come out here on a day like this –

With an almighty slam, something big and dark crashed into the weasels. They squealed in terror and pain, and in the next moment Wakko felt the weight of them lifted clean off his chest. He gasped for air, then pushed himself up with his good arm to see what was going on. Two weasels were already lying still on the ground with the telltale goofy look on their faces that meant they had just been given a good mallet to the head. Beyond them, Wakko could see a third weasel struggling with another toon. Wakko's heart lurched – it was Yakko.

He and the weasel were tangled too close together for Yakko to get a good shot with his mallet. They were struggling, arm to arm; the weasel was snapping at Yakko's face with its long snout, but Yakko didn't seem to notice. He looked angrier than Wakko had ever seen him. Yakko's face was contorted in a furious mask, his ears were back and his snout was wrinkled like a snarling dog's. He wasn't even talking; normally Yakko would be taunting his adversary, or at least trading jibes. The fact that Yakko wasn't running his mouth was a bad sign. Wakko could tell that Yakko was trying to get his arm free so he could reach around behind his back – for what, Wakko wasn't sure.

Wakko pushed himself to his feet. He needed to help Yakko. Two weasels were knocked out, and the weasel that he had thumped in the face with the snowball as still on the ground, stirring and whimpering. Frowning, Wakko looked over at him. His stomach flip-flopped, and he gasped: the weasel's face was covered in ink. He was bleeding everywhere. Wakko was horrified; he had never meant to hurt the guy, he was just defending himself. And jeez, all he'd done was hit him with a snowball, how much damage could that have possibly done?

Worried about the weasel but far more worried about his brother, Wakko turned back to the fight. They were still struggling; while Yakko wasn't the biggest guy in the world he still seemed physically stronger than the weasel, but that didn't appear to be saying much. He looked out of his element; Wakko was pretty sure he had never seen his brother get into a physical fight. Yakko didn't really look like he knew what to do with his hands. He kept trying to half push, half punch the weasel, and neiter seemed to be working.

"Yakko, what do you need?" Wakko shouted, sprinting toward his brother, "I'll get it outta my hammerspace – "

"Get back!" Yakko hollered at him, still focused on the weasel.

"I wanna help – "

"Wakko, I said get back!" Yakko commanded harshly.

Wakko jumped a step back as though the tone of his brother's voice had bit him. He didn't know what to do. He had gotten Yakko into this…and it wasn't like he was some little kid, he could pull anything he wanted to from behind his back…he felt so useless…

It seemed that Yakko was overpowering the weasel, and for a moment Yakko had a bit of a triumphant look on his face before the weasel twisted its body suddenly and violently. He slipped out Yakko's hands like soap, and Yakko, whose face had switched from triumph to surprise so fast it was almost comical, stumbled forward. He caught his balance though, and was about to jump back into the fight when he caught sight of his hands. Wakko looked too, and nearly gasped – the palms of Yakko's white gloves were stained black with ink. That at least explained why the weasel was so slippery, but how – and why – was it bleeding?

Wakko didn't have time to wonder. The weasel had taken advantage of Yakko's split second distraction to try and tackle him from behind.

"Yakko look out!" Wakko cried out, but it was too late – the weasel lunged at Yakko, landing on his back and clinging there like a monkey while trying to snap at Yakko's face. Yakko staggered around under the weasel's weight, trying to push him off, looking for all the world like they were partners in some kind of strange dance.

"Would…you…get…off?" Yakko grunted, punctuating each word as though the weasel was simply annoying him instead of attacking.

"Bo!" the weasel hissed back, "Bo, Bo!"

"Yeah, don't know what that means," Yakko snapped while stumbling a few steps toward the creek. The weasel reared back, about to lunge at Yakko's face again, when he noticed they were only a few feet from the creek. It cried out in terror and hurled itself off of Yakko, trying to put as much distance between itself and the creek as possible. Now several feet apart, Yakko stepped in front of Wakko, placing himself between him and the weasel. Yakko glanced over his shoulder, locking eyes with Wakko for the briefest moment. Even though he knew his brother was just checking to make sure he was safe, Wakko tried to communicate everything in the gaze: I'm sorry, I'm scared, please don't be mad at me –

But Yakko turned just as quickly to face the weasel again. The weasel was eyeing him with a deranged look, and foam was dripping from its jaws. It was shaking now, and Wakko might have felt sorry for it had it not just attacked him and his brother and sister.

"So what's your story, mac?" Yakko asked suddenly. His voice wasn't friendly, but at least he didn't sound murderous. "Who are ya, huh? Any particular reason you went after my family? I gotta say bub, that doesn't sit well with me. I usually make sure people regret messing with my siblings."

The weasel said nothing. He just watched Yakko as he issued a steady, low growl.

"Not in the mood to chat? That's fine with me, but the cops are on their way and I gotta tell ya, I think they're gonna want to talk to you," Yakko said. Wakko noticed that his brother's hand was slowing creeping behind his back.

The weasel watched him, not appearing to register anything that Yakko had just said. The other weasels were still conked out, and the last one was barely moving.

"I think the cops are gonna have a lot of questions for ya," Yakko continued, "I know I do. In fact, my first question is: what's that over your head?"

Yakko pointed up to a space above its head, and the weasel at least seemed to understand that. It looked upwards frantically – Wakko looked too, but he didn't see anything, just the bare branches of the trees…

In one lightning motion, Yakko's hand whipped out from behind his back. A long rope with a loop on one end appeared, and it snaked outward toward the weasel. Before the weasel could react the loop had lassoed him perfectly and Yakko pulled the rope tight, pinning his arms to his sides. The weasel struggled wildly, flopping around like a fish out of water, but Yakko held the rope firm.

"Yippee ki-ay," he heard Yakko mutter to himself.

"Hey, that was really cool," Wakko complimented, "where did you learn to do – "

"Quiet Wakko," Yakko said sternly. The weasel was struggling against the lasso and Yakko gave the rope an extra tug. Not knowing what to do or say anymore that wouldn't get him in trouble, Wakko took a few steps back and held his injured arm gingerly. Hearing several shouts from behind him, Wakko turned around. Dot was looking down at him from on top of the hill, with a half dozen police officers behind her.


In all her life, Dot had never been in a hospital. Today that streak came to an end.

She was currently curled up in a chair in the waiting room, hugging her knees to her chest. Occasionally she would glance to her right where Yakko sat. He had interrogated her earlier, pushing for every detail of what happened since she'd left the apartment this morning. She told him everything – she didn't see any point in lying, and besides, she was sort of afraid to tell Yakko anything aside from the truth. When he had spoken to her his voice was low, anxious and exhausted. At times he had seemed to be a strange mixture of angry and sad, and his face looked like he had been awake for days. Yakko had just looked so old.

It was too early to tell if she was in trouble. She couldn't see why she would be; apart from slamming Jeanie in the face with a snowball, she hadn't really done anything bad, and Jeanie deserved it anyway. But Yakko was being entirely inscrutable now. Worse than usual actually. And it worried her.

After Wakko had told her to run, she hadn't gotten far into the park when she saw Yakko running toward her. She didn't know how he found her and at the time she didn't care, all Dot knew was that the person she wanted most in the world had miraculously shown up. She ran toward him, and they practically collided in the middle of the park. Yakko had grasped her by the shoulders and demanded that she explain herself, but Dot, nearly sobbing, began to drag him to where Wakko was. She had managed to get out a few key words – "Wakko" "hill" "Jeanie" "weasels" "attack" – and Yakko somehow got the point. All he asked was "where," and she pointed past the hill. With that he told her to call the cops and stay where people could see her before sprinting to where Wakko was dealing with the weasels.

The ambulance ride had been a cacophony of questions with very little answers; Yakko asking them if they were okay, what had happened, what had they done, why didn't they call him, what had Wakko done to his arm, where did it hurt, how bad was it, was Dot hurt, what had happened to her knees, why hadn't they called him, why hadn't they called anyone…Wakko's only counter being that he didn't know and he didn't need to go to the hospital. It was only when the paramedic offered to sedate him that Yakko was finally content to just sit, albeit while repeatedly squeezing the space between his eyes and sighing.

After his interrogation, Yakko had not spoken to Dot much apart from the oft repeated, "We'll talk about this when we get home." That was never good. So Dot was forced into silence, her only options being to watch Yakko, whose head snapped up whenever a doctor entered the room even though he was on the phone, or the other toons in the waiting room. They were in the only hospital in Manhattan that could care for toons, and it showed: the waiting room was packed. It was mostly adults, many of them with kids. Dot watched a young raccoon boy clutch his father's knee as he jumped up and down, chanting, "Daddy, watch! Daddy, watch!"

Dot glanced at Yakko. A couple people in this room would probably think he was her dad. Despite the obvious impractical logistics regarding both their ages, it wouldn't be the first time that had been assumed. Besides, he looked way older now…certainly not his actual age of nineteen, anyway. When people did ask her if Yakko was her dad, Dot always corrected them – Yakko would have had to be a five-year-old baby-daddy for that to be the case. That usually got her a look, a look that Dot interpreted as "so where are your parents?"

Dot, surprisingly, cared very little about who her parents were. She had asked Wakko once, and all he remembered was an old lady who was attached to a machine. Convinced that this cyborg-woman was just the product of Wakko's overactive imagination, Dot consulted Yakko. According to him, they had lived with their mother and grandmother for a short time before they were moved to the orphanage. That was all he told her.

These facts did not bother her. She had Yakko. Yakko, who tucked her in at night, who cuddled with her, who taught her how to ride a bike…but who did those things for him?

She didn't know what she would do if she didn't have a Yakko right now. The very thought of those weasels made her not want to leave the building. She couldn't close her eyes without seeing their fangs, their rolling eyes, the foam dripping from their lips…Dot squeezed her knees tighter. She wouldn't be caught dead in Central Park ever again. Who were those guys, anyway? And what did they want with her and Wakko? Had they traveled all this way from California to find them?

It was for these reasons, and many more, that Dot was glad she had Yakko. No matter how upset he was going to be with her, she wanted him there. He would answer her questions, he would keep her safe…but Yakko, he didn't have that. What did he do when he was scared or sad? How did he always know what to do?

Who taught him how to ride a bike?

Willing herself not to think of the weasels, Dot looked at Yakko. He was on the phone again.

"Yeah man," he muttered, "absolutely. No, still waiting. Yeah I'll let you know. I'll call you later tonight. Gotcha. Thanks Buster, adios." He flipped his phone shut. Stuffing it back in his pocket, he sat back in his chair and massaged the bases of his ears.

Dot watched him for a minute, wishing he would speak. Him talking would feel normal and safe, as opposed to everything she'd felt this afternoon. When he said nothing, Dot asked hesitantly, "How'd you find us?"

Yakko blinked and looked at her, startled, as though he'd just been woken up.

"Hmm?"

"How'd you know where to look for us in the park?" Dot asked.

Yakko lowered his gaze to her feet. "Your boots," he said quietly, "You had to wear the ones with the hearts on the bottom. I followed your footprints in the snow."

"Oh," Dot said. For all the fuss she had put up over them this morning they had probably just saved her and Wakko's lives. She suddenly felt very guilty for arguing with Yakko about them this morning, but couldn't bring herself to apologize. Hopefully he wouldn't bring it up.

Well, he certainly couldn't bring it up if he wasn't talking. Yakko had returned to silence, and Dot, entirely too uncomfortable with this, asked in a quiet voice, "Yakko, are you mad at me?"

Turning to face her fully now, her brother regarded Dot with exhausted but warm eyes.

"No Dot, I'm not mad at you," he said wearily, "I'm a little frustrated, but not mad. I think I had about eight heart attacks when I found out you guys were missing. No phone call, no idea where you'd gone…do you know how that made me feel?"

Dot said nothing and stared at her boots. The ones with the hearts on the bottom.

"Then I find you in the park without your brother, screaming something about weasels…Dot, how many times have I told you and your brother not to wander off?" he continued.

Dot protested, "We didn't exactly wander off, we were being chased. I was just following Wakko – "

"Yes, and argued to whole way," Yakko cut in. Dot opened her mouth to argue, but Yakko raised his hand. "Don't you deny it Dot Warner, I heard it straight from your mouth. If you two are ever in trouble, no matter how small – I don't care if it's because one of you got a splinter from using chopsticks – you always, always stick together and listen to each other. You understand?"

"Try telling that to Wakko," Dot muttered.

Yakko gave her a stern look. "I'm telling it to you right now. Trust me, your brother and I are going to have a nice chat later. I want to make sure you understand what I'm saying."

"Yeeesss I understand, I know English," Dot replied sarcastically.

"Drop the attitude Dot."

"Just following your example – "

"Dot!" Yakko snapped.

Dot jumped in her seat. She could count on one hand the number of times Yakko had ever raised his voice at her. The last time was when he caught her "borrowing" his credit card. Luckily she had both evaded punishment and memorized his credit card number. But now she just stared at him with wide eyes, her mouth squeezed shut in a tight line.

Inhaling and clutching his head with both hands, Yakko closed his eyes for a moment before looking down at her. He let go of his head, and his hair was now sticking up in places. "I'm sorry sis. I'm just not in the mood…I went through a good portion of the day thinking I lost you guys, and now Wakko's hurt. I'm a little stressed out. Do your oldest brother a favor and retract the claws, okay? I'm still on track to give myself an ulcer by age twenty-five and I'd like to try and avoid that."

"Alright," Dot said. He had always been annoyingly good at pushing all of her guilt buttons.

She joined him in watching the small raccoon, who was playing with his father's tail.

"There's one more thing," Yakko said, watching the young raccoon. "You're not going to like this."

"What?" Dot asked. He was probably going to tell her she was grounded. Unjust, but she'd argue her way out of it, no big deal.

Her brother looked at her from the corner of his eye. "We're going to move back to LA in two weeks."

Giving Yakko a look she would have normally reserved for people who were in the process of growing a third arm, Dot only managed to blurt, "Come again?"

"I talked to Buster. We're going to live with him for a while."

Dot still hadn't gotten past the first part. "…what?"

"You heard me Dot, we're moving, temporarily – "

"I know!" Dot snapped, "I'm just waiting for the part where you explain why you dragged me out of the lot, where all my friends were, dumped me off in New York where I didn't know anybody, and now that I've finally found a bunch of friends that I like, you're dragging me back to California where I don't have friends anymore!"

"I never dumped you anywhere," Yakko said in a hard voice, which changed back to normal almost instantly, "And you've got friends in LA, what about Skippy?"

"He's different now," Dot said quickly. How to explain it…

Yakko sighed. "Of course he's different. He's older and his aunt just passed away. I'm sure if you see him through it, you'll find that – "

"I'm not going," Dot said flatly.

"Pardon?" Yakko said, even though he phrased it in a tired way that indicated he had heard her perfectly.

"You can't force me. I can stay here if I want to," she said, looking him in the eye.

"I've already got subletters Dot. A bunch of NYU frat rats. Do you really want someone who goes by Grunt 'The Garbage' Grupp as your roommate?"

"Where do you find these people?"

"I have my ways."

"I don't care if I live with the Collyer brothers, I'm not going."

"This isn't really a question," Yakko said.

Dot crossed her arms. "Apparently not, since you never asked me!"

Yakko dragged a hand across his face and mumbled through it, "I know this isn't fair for you but – "

"Why?" Dot demanded. "Why are we moving? Again? Is it because of the weasel guys? Just because we had one little run in with them – "

"Dot – "

" – it's not like I'm going to go marching back to that spot in the park again like an idiot – "

"Dot – "

" – and if you recall, the first time we even saw one of those guys was near Toontown – "

"Dot would you just listen to me?" Yakko said, is voice rising again, "This wasn't exactly a hasty decision! I've had this on my mind for a while, and this whole day was the last straw! I talked to Buster and Scratchensniff, who both talked to Bugs Bunny, and none of them feel that this attack was a coincidence. I only want to be where I know you and your brother are safe, and LA is a much more toon-friendly town where all our friends happen to live."

"You mean your friends," Dot griped bitterly.

"Our friends," Yakko corrected. "Look, I'm not trying to be a bully here. This move is only temporary – til the summer, max. I talked to your teachers and they all say you and Wakko are so far ahead you could skip until next summer and still be fine. Plus any credits you take at the WB tooniversity will transfer over to JTAP when you reenroll."

"Good, 'cause that's what I was worried about," Dot said sarcastically.

Dot couldn't tell if she was genuinely mad or not. He just seemed like an easy target, something that she didn't have to feel guilty, sad, ashamed, or scared of. It felt good to be mad at Yakko right now, as she piled a list of grievances in her head: not only was he tearing her away from her friends for a second time, but he had, once again, made a giant decision regarding her life without any input from her. Didn't she have any say over where her life was going to be for the foreseeable future? Why did he get to choose, other than by virtue of just happening to be born first?

Yakko wasn't her dad, after all.

Her brother leaned forward in his chair. His face looked older still. "Sweetie, work with me here," he said, sounding oddly like he was pleading, "I'm only trying to do what's best for you guys, alright?"

Not wishing to reply and feed his manipulative meekness, Dot pinned her lips together and turned away from him. "Jesus Christ," she heard him mutter under his breath. Maybe she actually had made him mad now…resisting the urge to check she instead focused on the raccoon boy. He was now being reprimanded by his father for tearing leaves off a potted plant. Dot didn't see why it mattered. The plant was fake anyway.

"Warner?"

Both her and Yakko's heads snapped up simultaneously. The doctor, a middle-aged human toon, was standing in the doorway with a clipboard. They both stood up in sync and Yakko asked, "How's his arm? Is he okay?"

The doctor gave him a single, deep nod of his head. "Wakko is fine. We expect him to make a full recovery, but he has torn his ulnar collateral ligament in his left arm. Obviously as a Class B he'll be quicker to heal than most, so we're looking at five to seven weeks in a sling. After that I want him in twelve weeks of physical therapy so he can get squash and stretch back in that arm."

Yakko nodded quickly, muttering something to himself, managing to appear both supremely relieved and concerned at the same time. Peering up at him from his clipboard, the doctor gave Yakko a strange look that Dot couldn't place and said, "I spoke with Wakko about exercising caution when he used his powers. He's young yet and could do a lifetime of damage if he's not careful. Now, Yakko, I understand that most of his knowledge is gained through you, and you're quite young yet yourself, so I would just like to make sure that you are aware of certain safety procedures when it comes to your powers – "

"Thanks doc but young doesn't mean stupid. I'm aware of them, and so is Wakko," Yakko said in a steady voice.

The doctor met Yakko's gaze. "Sir, as a doctor, I'd like to make sure that patients get the best care possible."

His brow lowering, Yakko said coldly, "Yes, you're a doctor. Am I lecturing you on proper X-ray procedure? No. So why don't you stick to your job and I'll stick to mine, which is making sure that my family gets the best care possible. Maybe you could facilitate that by showing me where my brother is."

The doctor blinked a few times and cast a quick glance to the rest of the waiting room, which was filled with occupants who were staring right at them. "Yes sir, right this way," he quickly complied, and turned on his heel without looking at Yakko.

With one last look over her shoulder at the raccoon boy and his father, Dot turned back to Yakko and followed him down the hallway.


Yakko rubbed his face, hoping he could massage the exhaustion right out of it. The fear he had felt earlier today had drained him somehow, made him feel weak and shaky. His eyes hurt. He felt old.

Hunched over the kitchen table, Yakko had the newspaper laid out in front of him, but he wasn't reading it. It was there as a placeholder for something to do. At the moment, he was too lost in his own thoughts to concentrate. So many what-if scenarios. So many knots in his stomach.

When he found out they had never made it to the testing center, he was panicked. When he realized he had lost them in the most populated city in the country, he was terrified. It was a fear he had never known before. He had never lost his siblings before. Ever. His own carelessness was going to cost him his brother and sister. Had they been kidnapped? Hit by a car? The impossibility of the task ahead of him – finding his siblings in New York City – had crippled him.

Somewhere in the frightened haze that clouded his brain was a single thought: you need a starting point. A starting point. A place to begin. Where would he find that? He couldn't even find Wakko or Dot. His feet had taken him to JTAP without his own decision, as though his body had realized that he had lost the ability to reason and took over for him. It was there that we found Dot's footprints, hearts stamped into the snow, and he gave chase. The rest of his memories were a blur…pushing people out of his way and not caring…Dot rushing into his arms, screaming…Wakko, buried beneath a pile of the most wretched toons imaginable…

The image made Yakko taste bile in his mouth.

Shuddering, Yakko tried to push it out of his mind. Dot had been right earlier. Completely right. He'd wanted to leave New York the moment the cops had come slugging through the snow to arrest the weasel toons, and when Buster offered him a roof over his head, he accepted without hesitation. He felt vulnerable here; at least in Toontown, Yakko knew that in the event of an emergency he had plenty of friends to support him, not to mention an extremely competent collection of veteran toons from the Golden Era. But who did he have in Manhattan? Rebecca? She'd only be help if he needed someone to emasculate him for a few minutes before performing a solo.

Those toons had targeted them, there was no doubt in his mind about it. He had no idea why, or even how, but one fact was ironclad in his mind: those weasels had been after them specifically, and there was nothing to say that they wouldn't do it again. From now on, Yakko wanted to be somewhere where there was more to protect his siblings than just him and his mallet. He couldn't tell if this made him a coward or not. He'd never really given the idea of cowardice much thought before, or even heroics for that matter, since neither ever really had a place in his life. He made his decisions based off of whether it meant his siblings were safe or not safe, not by which was the brave or cowardly choice. If the safety of his siblings hinged on him running away, so be it. Besides, he didn't exactly have anyone to answer to…who was to look down on him for putting his tail between his legs every now and again?

Pushing himself up from the table, Yakko made his way to the phone. He had told Buster he'd call him, and now as good a time as any. Talking to Buster was comforting and familiar because in some ways, Buster hadn't changed much. He was still the carefree child star who dismissed the few problems he had. The only child of wealthy, doting parents, Buster embodied the life Yakko could only fantasize about: one that was largely free of the burden of responsibility, with a built-in safety net of loving support from a mother and father. For Yakko, who often felt as though he was navigating a fragile tightrope in the dark with no such net underneath, this was a whimsical notion that induced spontaneous bursts of envy.

His siblings, who knew nothing else, went through life assuming that having him as their guardian was normal. By now they had surely realized that it was not. Yakko felt like he was a barely passable placeholder for an unfortunate situation. Something like slapping a band-aid over a fatal wound. He was, at best, somewhat adequate to raise Wakko and Dot. Or if today was any indication, hardly adequate. Luck was the only reason his siblings had not met a worse fate.

It would not be the first time he felt that Wakko and Dot doubted him.

This was exactly why talking to Buster would be such a relief. Buster was someone removed from the situation. He wouldn't take today's events as seriously as they should be taken. Because of this the rabbit was generally regarded as cool, funny, talented, and armed with long list of friends that Yakko held top billing over.

Yakko smirked slightly, remembering that they hadn't started out as friends. With Tiny Toons premiering before Animaniacs, Buster had a bit of a head start at Warner Brothers. When Yakko arrived on the lot Buster had made no secret of his dislike for him, the "funny-looking kid with the big mouth." Most people agreed that this was because not only did Yakko suddenly find himself the center of attention, but most of that attention came from Babs. But Yakko, who up until that point had only been concerned with the welfare of his siblings, had never had friends and didn't see the point in having them now. Besides, his mouth had seemed much better equipped for making enemies.

Buster's combat tactic had been to turn his clique against Yakko. Yakko's had been to include veiled insults to Buster in his book report presentations.

But he and Buster had been like magnets to each other. It seemed that two talented, smart-mouthed boys couldn't be held apart for very long. Things could only go one of two ways: they would either be mortal enemies or best friends. Luckily it swayed to the latter.

By the end of his first year on the lot, Yakko and Buster were the crowned kings of the WB Tooniversity. They ran things in a near mafia-esque way, with Yakko and Buster operating as co-godfathers. They were admired by most, despised by few, and occupied, with finesse, the top rung of the social ladder. Yakko found this surprisingly simple to do.

Usually joined by Plucky and Hampton, Yakko and Buster had made the lot their personal playground. Yakko was the schemer, the conductor of the orchestra made up of the other boys. Buster was the frontman. Plucky and Hampton were the distractions. When they were thirteen, and when he was quite sure that Babs' crush on Yakko had come to an end, Buster asked Babs out via a romantic note that Yakko helped him write (well, Yakko dictated the entire thing, Buster just transcribed it so it would be in his own handwriting). Babs accepted without protest and they soon became the power couple whose pairing surprised no one. They were media darlings: two good-looking toons of the same species whose on and off screen romance was inoffensive and perfect for magazine covers. Meanwhile, Yakko flitted from girl to girl with increasing ease and decreasing attachment.

While their lifestyles were quite opposite, their personalities mashed nicely and Yakko felt secure in calling Buster his closest friend. The rabbit's good qualities and their shared history helped Yakko to overlook the small flaws that grew more prominent with age: a fair share of narcissism, a complete disregard for the realities of Yakko's or anyone's lives, and the trace beginnings of Peter Pan Syndrome.

Yakko dialed the memorized numbers and cradled the phone in the crook of his shoulder, using his free hands to rub at his face again. Two rings…three rings…

"Hello?"

"Hey Bust – Babs?" Yakko blurted, catching himself.

"Very good Yakko," Babs complimented dryly.

"Thanks Babs. Is Buster around?"

"We-e-ell nice to talk to you too!" Babs drawled in a highly sarcastic southern accent.

"Aw c'mon, I didn't mean it like that," Yakko said, backpedaling, "I only asked because I wanted to acknowledge that you were all-knowing."

"Nice save."

"So as not to offend you by avoiding conversation, how are you?"

He heard Babs give a small snort. "I don't think I could answer that in one phone call without giving you a bill that would put you debt. But I think the more important question is how are you…Scratchensniff told me you had a bit of a fiasco today."

Yakko rolled his eyes. "That's one word for it. We're okay. Wakko messed up his arm, it's going to take about two months to heal. Dot's a little shaken up, but not enough to stop her from giving me an attitude today, so I think she'll manage. And both of them found it in them to argue on the way home from the hospital, so really it's just business as usual."

"God, that's so scary though," Babs murmured, "and it's worse that it doesn't make any sense. If we're going to have psychotic toons attacking us left and right I'd at least like to have a little explanation."

"Tell me about it."

"What did the cops say? Anything?"

"They haven't gotten them in the interrogation room yet," Yakko answered, "they're supposed to give me a call in the morning. You know, the usual breakfast routine: eggs, toast, light conversation about the perpetrators in my siblings' aggravated assault case."

"You know that's almost funny Yakko," Babs teased, and Yakko swore he heard the hint of a smile in her voice.

"What about your end? Buster told me you guys had some sightings of your own," Yakko continued.

"Only a couple, and each makes about as much sense as the last. That is to say, no goddamn sense at all," Babs said, "Last week Hampton said he got woken up in the middle of the night because he heard noises outside his house. When he went out and checked he said he saw two guys who looked like weasels digging through his trash. But I guess they scared him so bad that he screamed, so they screamed, and then all of them ran away from each other."

"Is anyone surprised?" Yakko asked sarcastically.

"Hardly," Babs replied, "And Shirley said she spotted one a block away from Pete's tree farm on her way home from the office."

Yakko's brow furrowed. "Pete's? Isn't that where we saw the first one? Have you guys gone back to check it out?"

"Not yet. Buster's always MIA and there's no way I'm going by myself. I don't know which would be worse: toons who look like they've just escaped a mental ward or Pete."

"Eh, Babs, I think to talk about one is to talk about the other," Yakko said.

This time he heard her laugh. It was only a little chuckle, but it was a pleasant sound.

"So where is Buster? Oh wait, let me guess…watching the Lakers game, and screaming at the refs while still managing to play Mario Kart at the same time," Yakko tried.

Babs sighed. The sound crackled in the phone. "Where is Buster, you ask? Well, if you figure that one out, let me know, because it's a mystery to me. He said he'd be back in fifteen minutes two hours ago."

"Are you serious? Do you know if he's okay?"

"Your concern is touching but I'm sure he's just fine with Plucky at the bar downtown."

Any traces of lightheartedness that had been in Babs' voice before were gone now, replaced with a bitter edge that hinted at a churning sea of emotions underneath. Yakko was glad that this conversation was on the phone and that Babs did not have to see the discomfort on his face. His loyalty was to Buster first, which ruled out any act of sympathizing.

"Eh, I see…so, I'm guessing he didn't tell you my sibs and I are going to be his new roommates?"

"No, but I'm not surprised," Babs said heavily, "Those weasels spooked ya, huh?"

"I, no, it's not that, exactly, I mean we want to be back home with everyone and there are more opportunities in Los Angeles – "

"Uh huh. Sure."

Yakko frowned as he heard her confirm that she could see through him. It had been a long time since he'd spoken on the phone with a girl who had a brain. He'd forgotten what it was like to have a challenge.

"When are you flying back?" she asked.

"Two weeks."

"Do you want to tell Fifi or should I?"

Yakko rolled his eyes, suppressing a groan. "I have to say goodnight to Wakko and Dot."

"Is that your lame way of avoiding the question?" Babs prodded.

"Goodnight Babs," he said flatly.

He heard her phone click before he had the chance to hang up.

Blinking, Yakko stared at the phone for a few moments. That certainly hadn't been the worst conversation he'd had over the phone with a girl, but for some reason he wished he'd said something cleverer at the end. Something with a little more impact than "goodnight Babs." He'd never really had this problem before. Whenever he visited his conversations in retrospect, it was usually met with "Yeah, that was good" or "I probably shouldn't have said that."

Shaking his head, Yakko tossed the phone into the receiver and walked into the hallway, flicking the kitchen lights off as he did so. Wakko's room was the first one, taking up the corner. The door was halfway open, allowing light to spill into the hallway. Yakko rapped his knuckles against the doorframe twice and peeked inside.

Wakko was sitting in bed, propped up by his pillow, with a slim book laying in his lap. For a moment Wakko looked as though he was still in the hospital. Yakko's eyes were instantly drawn to his brother's arm: it was wound in medical tape at the elbow and encased in a sling. He was resting it against his chest, and it rose up and down with the steady rhythm of his breathing. The sight of Wakko's bandaged arm made Yakko's heart ache.

At Yakko's knock Wakko looked up with a tired, troubled expression on his face. Yakko was struck by how small his brother looked in this moment. Between the sling and the look on his face, Wakko looked endearingly pitiful, like a whipped puppy.

Picking his way amongst the landmines of clothing, books, and papers, Yakko joined Wakko at his bedside and sat down.

"I guess you finally have a passable excuse for not cleaning your room," Yakko joked, gesturing to the sling.

"Yay," Wakko muttered dryly.

"How does it feel?" Yakko asked.

Wakko flipped his book shut. "Hurts a little. It's fine."

"Do you want some more painkillers?"

"I'm okay."

"I'll get some, the doctor said you should take a dose before you go to sleep – "

"Yakko, I'm fine!" Wakko grumbled, tossing his book on the nightstand and rolling away from him.

Yakko rolled his eyes. Great. Wakko was going to refuse medical help out of sheer stubbornness. His eyes traveled past Wakko's shoulder and to the thin paperback that was laying on the nightstand.

"'Mickey Outwits the Phantom Blot,'" Yakko read aloud, "how old is that one?"

"It came out in 1939," Wakko answered into his pillow.

Yakko whistled. "Whoa, a classic. Any good? What's it about?"

"It's about Mickey and how he outwits the Phantom Blot."

Giving his brother a deadpan stare, Yakko said, "Thanks Wak, I would never have guessed."

Yakko gazed at the cover for a moment. A large black figure, unusually menacing for a Disney publication, was towering over a comically spooked Mickey Mouse. He knew that Wakko had always had a bit of a sweetspot for Disney cartoons. This was amusing, considering that Wakko would be happy to watch a wholesome Disney cartoon and follow it up immediately with that ridiculous and raunchy South Park show. But Wakko was just funny like that. Yakko, a tried and true Warner Brothers toon, had his criticisms of Disney but still could appreciate their cartoons. Most of the time, anyway. Watching Marsupilami had always been a bit of a struggle.

But as Yakko's eyes traced the cover, he noticed that the book looked rather beat up, and had several tears across the front that looked suspiciously like claw marks. Dot had told him earlier that the whole episode today began with "a stupid comic book."

"Sooo," Yakko said a little theatrically. He gave the lump beneath the blankets that was his brother a small nudge. "Is this the book that started World War three today?"

Wakko sighed. "Yeah, I guess."

"You know we're not exactly living on food stamps sib, I could have just bought you another one. A comic book's not worth getting in a fight and missing your test over," Yakko said.

At this Wakko rolled over and faced him again, his eyes burning. "It's not about that! They stole it from me, and they've always been jerks to me for no reason!" Wakko snapped. Then he added quietly, "Besides, it's really rare, you can't just buy another one."

"Wakko, look at me," Yakko said when Wakko dropped his gaze, "the world is full of jerks. I mean, c'mon, we're in New York City, this is like their mothership. Now there's nothing wrong with standing up for yourself, but you have to do it in a way that doesn't end up with you getting chased across Manhattan, hurting yourself, getting you and your sister in danger – "

"That was her own stupid fault, I told her to go away!" Wakko protested.

"She was just trying to help you," Yakko corrected sternly.

Wakko picked roughly at a loose thread in his quilt. "You always take her side," he griped.

Yakko had to work very hard to resist the urge to throw his hands in the air out of frustration. What was with them today? Had his siblings conspired against him? When had they decided that it was National Destroy-Yakko's-Last-Nerves Day?

"Don't even start Wakko, that's not true and you know it," Yakko replied, a bit harsher than intended. Softening his voice some, he continued, "I treat both of you the same just like I always have. And while we're on the subject, I want to talk about how you treat your sister. It's my understanding that in the midst of all today's chaos you two still found time to argue even though you were in real danger."

"I told her to back off, and she didn't listen. Then she went and embarrassed me even worse than I already was, slowed me up, then expected me to fix everything like a magician," Wakko grumbled.

Yakko looked him straight in the eye, gaze unwavering. "Wakko Warner, listen to me. Dot's a little sister. Of course she's annoying. Older brothers are equally annoying, if not more so. But that doesn't change anything – you are her older brother, and I'm counting on you to protect her when I'm not around. You're sixteen, she's almost fourteen. You're too old for this now. I'm not saying what she did was right, but it upsets me to find out that when things got tough, all you two did was argue. She's your little sister. She's the only one you're ever going to have. If she's gone we can't just go to the store and buy another one like we would with this comic book – "

"I told you, this one's a collectible, you can't just buy – "

"Wakko, please. You just don't understand…if you and Dot spent as much time collaborating as you did arguing, you'd probably be sharing seats in the oval office right now. You two are downright brilliant when you work together, I saw it when we were filming all the time. I see it now, whenever you find time to be nice in between fighting like a couple of politicians. You and Dot are so much stronger when you work together, and you don't even see it."

Yakko paused, hoping that his words would sink in but knowing that this would be giving himself far too much credit. Still, Wakko had the decency to look at least somewhat contemplative, maybe even a little ashamed. It was hard to tell though, the lamplight cast shadows over Wakko's face. For a second Yakko thought he was going to have to prompt Wakko to speak but his brother finally spoke up.

"I'm sorry I messed up so bad today," Wakko said in a constricted voice.

Wakko wasn't making eye contact. Instead, he seemed to find the cover of his comic book intensely interesting, and was trying to hide that fact that he was rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm. As he watched his brother try to push the emotion out of his face, Yakko reminded himself that for as much terror and panic he'd felt today, Wakko was the one who had to confront four crazed-toons with nothing but a petrified younger sister and a bad arm. No matter what he had done to land himself in that situation, Wakko certainly could say that he'd had a bad day too. Feeling his own face soften, Yakko scooted closer to Wakko and lifted his brother's chin with his tail.

"You didn't mess up sib. You were brave today, and I'm proud of you," Yakko said quietly, "you couldn't have anticipated what happened today, but now you know what to do if something like it ever happens again, right?"

"Yeah, next time I'll just mallet 'em like you did, that was pretty sweet," Wakko replied.

"What? No!" Yakko blurted, "You get somewhere safe and you call me! How many times have we gone over this? Don't do what I did, you could get hurt."

Wakko cocked his head at him. "So then why did you do it?"

"Because I didn't have time to think of something better to do."

"What if I can't think of anything better to do?"

Yakko massaged the bases of his ears, wondering if he had actually gone to bed hours ago and this was just a cruelly circuitous dream. "Look, Wakko, do as I say, not as I do, alright? You can't go around malleting other toons, end of story. For all I know I'll wake up tomorrow with and arrest warrant tacked to my chest."

"What about my test?" Wakko asked abruptly.

"Your test? Oh. Well, we'll just going to have to reschedule it after your arm gets better," Yakko responded, always in awe at how rapidly Wakko could change gears.

Wakko nodded solemnly. It was obvious that he was disappointed, but there was nothing else that could be done. Leaning forward, Yakko reached behind Wakko's neck and undid the straps on his sling. He gently slid it off and eased Wakko's arm out of the cradle before draping it over Wakko's bedpost. Then, as carefully as he could as to avoid hurting him, Yakko pulled his brother in for a hug.

"If I could make your arm better overnight, I would," Yakko murmured, resting his chin on top of Wakko's head, "and please promise me you'll be extra careful from now on, I think you aged me ten years today."

"Okay," Wakko muttered back. He didn't return the hug, which Yakko could only assume was either a side effect of turning sixteen or the fact that he was down to only one arm to hug with and didn't to take any chances.

Yakko released him and the bed creaked slightly as he stood up.

"Goodnight sib."

"G'night Yakko."

Upon seeing the lamplight disappear, Yakko shut the door behind him. It was Dot's turn next. Time to participate in their nighttime ritual: him suspecting her of being on the phone, her trying to hide the fact that she had been on the phone, them arguing over whether or not she had been on the phone, them saying goodnight to each other.

But this time there was no hint of a phone call – no whispers he could hear through the door, no sound of Dot frantically hiding her phone from sight and diving beneath the covers in an innocent play of mock sleep. The light wasn't even on.

Maybe she was still mad at him. Dot hadn't spoken a single word to him after they left the hospital. Just like the last time they moved.

Cracking the door open, Yakko peered inside. Her light wasn't even on; Dot was curled up in bed, illuminated by the city lights streaming through her curtains. Yakko frowned. Was she sick? Or had she just gotten much better at hiding the fact that she had been talking to her friends?

He tiptoed to her bedside and laid a hand on her forehead. It felt normal…well, they'd all had a long day. Maybe she was just tired after all. He bent low and gave her a quick kiss on the forehead before tiptoeing back out. However, he had only made it to the doorway when he heard her ask softly, "Yakko?"

He jumped a little, wondering how much more his poor psyche could take, and turned around.

"Yeah sis?"

"Who taught you how to ride a bike?" Dot asked from the darkness.

Yakko's frown deepened. "I taught myself," he answered, raising an eyebrow, "any particular reason you're asking?"

"No reason," Dot said through a yawn before she rolled over. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight Dot," Yakko said, shutting her door.

Well, apparently a weird day needed a weird end. Shaking his head, Yakko stepped into his room. He gave it a good look up and down; he'd be leaving it for an unspecified amount of time in two weeks so he might as well start soaking in his fill of it now. It had been a good room: cozy, spacious, had seen a few girls…exactly the qualities he looked for in any good room. In two short weeks he'd be back to sharing a room with Wakko, which certainly prohibited any prospect for romantic interludes, at least in Buster's house. But then again, after Rebecca, maybe he'd skip Buster's for a trial run at a monastery first. Deciding that he'd cross that bridge when he got to it, Yakko collapsed into bed and fell into an immediate sleep.

In a few hours Yakko would wake up to a phone call at six in the morning from the NYPD. All four weasels would be found dead in their cells. An inmate would complain about a bad stench in the early hours of the morning, leading the guards to discover nothing but four large inkstains where the weasels had previously been. There would be no witnesses. No suspects. And, with the exception of the Warners themselves, no motives.