"And stay there before I have to separate you three!"
"You can't be serious!" Yakko intervened, "you can't actually separate toons! My brothers and I were drawn together! And what if something happens and-"
"Now now. This is rather simple. All we need to do now is rewrite your character card, to not have siblings. Of course, your animator is the one who has the cards, and he has long since passed. The only reason you three aren't on the streets is because of your animator and his status with the company! I don't know what he saw in you three, but I DON'T CARE!"
"We spilled freaking mustard on your tie!"
That I was going to wear to an interview that you completely trashed! We had to call animal control on you! You three are a danger to society. My words are final! You three are finished!"
That was a month ago. Yakko lay in the room. He remembered his siblings getting dragged, who knows where they went. The thought of them being gone made him mad. He was their big brother, he was supposed to protect them. Doing nothing but protesting. And he failed. The one time his siblings needed him, and he had dropped the ball. It wasn't his forte, but physical violence was always an option.
It used to haunt him, that the studio might file a lawsuit.
"They were 71?" So full charges should apply? They were kids!
The thought became scarily close to reality, even though at this point it was the least of their worries.
"WHY DIDN'T I?!" He screamed. Big ugly tears streamed from his eyes while he punched the rough brick wall. Just pure, righteous, unadulterated rage. Just nothing but screaming and his tears. "WHYYYY?!" "LET ME OUUUUT!" He tripped over his words, stuttering, his words were swallowed between sobs, a rare feat for him like his namesake. but so much more common in the past month. He hated it.
He punched harder and harder. His breath was hoarse and he was gasping for air as if he was drowning. He coughed but didn't stop. He was making a dent. He could feel it. His knuckles were inky and wet, his shoulder was pulled and a throbbing pain hit him like a wave, he had an illness that spread through him every day since being trapped. Coughing up ink, puking in a corner, his head felt as if it was ready to crack at any given moment. He was sick. Sick of being alone, sick of the pain, sick of the godforsaken studio.
And yet, there was nothing. Nothing that mattered more than blasting out of the hellhole of this prison. Every violent punch, every kick, every scream, every thought, every fountain of tears. His mind did nothing but add fuel to the fire inside of him.
"DAMN YOU! YOU THINK YOU'RE SO SMART, SO CIVILIZED, DAMN YOU… YOU… BARBAROUS BASTARDS!"
Yakko watched, horrified as Wakko and Dot both wrestled with four men and a police dog. Normally the police wouldn't be called for the Warners, but with the lack of understanding from the investors, a hazard they would be dubbed. His brothers were inked and bruised, a clear, deep scar around Dot's neck and a gash on Wakko's face.
"YAK-!" she managed to call before Wakko took her hand in an attempt to soothe her.
Yakko had to watch as they were shot with tranquilizers and forced into a small poodle's carrying case. He was able to resist the dart, if not by his size, out of sheer will. His sibs disappeared into the abyss that was the long hallway to who knows where. All he knew is that part of the studio was maximum security storage, a ridiculous, deadly punishment for three little kids.
"For Wakko and Dot." And with that, he flung himself at the wall, there was an earthshaking slap noise. He swung his neck back, to soften the blow. He once again ran a few feet back and threw himself at it again. And again. He did this till his leg gave out, His fist unraveling as he slowly fell, hitting his head against the concrete floor. The sensible, composed side of him came rushing back but was immediately replaced with a surge of panic and anxiety after he realized he should probably look at how much damage was done. His gloves were stained, he slowly took them off not knowing how bad it would be.
A chunk of his hand was white. A bit was missing. His feet were banged up in a similar fashion and his shoulder still hurt. He stood there panting until-
"UGHUHHHHH- HUUUGH-" He gasped for air as he regurgitated, hacking up ink and saliva, a 74-pound ball of fuzz, spit, vomit and tears. He tried to wipe them but that just smeared all the vomit around.
"Please…" he weakly squeaked between the heave. "I need them with me. They need me. ComrfhjryUGHHHHH-UGHHUHUHHHHHHGHHHGUU"
"My precious little sister was probably so scared, oh god, she would never admit it but this is definitely- this is one of her greatest fears, she would be so sad and lonely, not having Wakko and me with her, oh god it's one of mine as well. And Wakko, my small, innocent, adorable baby brother, how was he gonna-"
"Oh god. OHGODOHGODOHGODOHGOD- I have no way to tell how far got. Is my neck white?" He sputtered up more ink. "If this keeps up, I'll die! What about Wakko and Dot? Do they have this? Maybe I need a snack, Yeah, a snack will hold me over, Just like Wakkooo... WAKKO!
Wakko's hyperglycemia! Oh god, he could be- be- be- Shoo! Bad thought bad! Deep breaths. But not so deep you throw up. You've lost enough ink. Ok. I need snacks. Wakko needs snacks. Wakko has a gag bag. Ok. He should be fine. He should have food. I don't have a gag bag… hmmmughh. You know what, it's fine. Wakko will be fine he's gotta. "
He knew deep down that he wouldn't be okay, and with Wakko's terrible skills at rationing food, Yakko knew he wouldn't be either. But he couldn't dwell on that. He physically couldn't.
That's when he noticed his tears. They were black, like when you see mascara run. But it was more concentrated. The jet black liquid. That wasn't normal. He wiped some of the black salivae that covered his nose. His usually saturated red nose was white. He pulled an ear down, to see if it was just his nose, and it too was white. He was tired. And now he knew fully why.
When a toon loses too much ink due to stress, damage, or negative emotion, its first thought is to relieve it. But there was a third way, separation. Just that was unhealthy for a normal toon, it would take at least 4 years for them to "die." but for the Warners… they possessed a bond that no other toon ever has. The brothers went through so much, they were a unit. Inseparable. And here he was. Losing ink at a distressing rate.
"I should sleep. It might get my mind off things."
He lay on the floor, his eyes drooping up and down. Ink seeping from his body. Not as much as before, only about a milliliter a minute, but he felt fatigued, he was wet, sicky, and uncomfortable, and still there was only one thing that mattered. Or two.
"Sibs…"