Yakko tapped his fingers impatiently against the kitchen counter with the phone cradled against his shoulder, alternately studying the cooking directions on the back of a box of pasta at the same time as trying to keep an eye on Harpo, who was sitting at the kitchen table finger painting carefully on a large sheet of white paper. Each stroke was deliberate as the crude form of a giraffe began to take shape on the page while Harpo bit his tongue in concentration, making Yakko smile at the uncanny resemblance between Harpo and Wakko. Finally the phone line clicked and Yakko stood straight up.

"Warner archives," a bored voice droned on the other end. "How may I be of assistance?"

"Wendy? This is Yakko Warner."

"Hello, Mr. Warner," Wendy's voice drawled on the other end. Yakko often thought that Wendy Oppenheimer, the film archivist for Warner Brothers Studios, was possibly the only human being on earth who couldn't sound excited about anything even if she tried to be. She'd been around since the 1950's and didn't sound – nor look – much different than she had back then. "What can I do for you today?"

"I need a copy of a few of my shows. Doesn't matter which ones. Just make sure they have some Wakko Warner in them, all right? I'll pick them up tomorrow after five."

"That can be arranged," Wendy said. Yakko could hear her flipping through some papers. "I'll have Danny stick a few reels together and transfer them to a DVD."

"Thanks Wendy." Yakko hung up and sighed. "Well, kiddo, I'm going to have a big surprise for you tomorrow."

Harpo's attention, momentarily drawn away from his artistic endeavors, turned to his uncle. Harpo smiled. "Surprise?"

"Yep! Just you wait and see, buddy."

The DVD was waiting at the front desk of the archives just as he requested the next afternoon when Yakko picked it up on his way home. He smiled his thanks to the intern Danny, gave the star struck kid an autograph, and made his way quickly home. Harpo and Babs were in the kitchen, with Harpo kneading the dough and Babs slicing vegetables on the counter when he arrived home. Seeing his uncle had arrived, Harpo leapt from the stool and into Yakko's arms. "Uncle Yakko!" he cried.

"Hey buddy! Got your surprise." Yakko held up the DVD. "What do you say we give it a watch, hm?"

"What is it?" Harpo asked, his big eyes wandering over the DVD as though it was some kind of precious artifact.

"You'll see."

Yakko led Harpo over to the living room with Babs not far behind. He put the DVD into the player, turned on the TV, and sat back; Harpo immediately jumped in his lap. Babs could hardly contain her excitement; Yakko had told her the previous night what he had planned and she told him she thought it was a wonderful idea. Neither Babs nor Yakko had said anything about Wakko to Harpo in the days since the emotional upset when Harpo had fled the house. But Babs agreed with Yakko that Harpo needed to see his father in action, the way he really was, instead of just some drunken good-for-nothing, which was all Harpo had even known of him.

As the show started, Harpo clapped his hands in glee. "Oh boy, a cartoon!" he cheered. Wakko soon appeared on screen. Harpo froze.

"See him? That's your dad, Harpo. That's Wakko Warner," Yakko said gently, pointing to the TV screen. Harpo continued to watch in silence for a few moments, then slowly got up off his uncle's lap and shut off the TV. "What's wrong?" Yakko asked quietly, seeing the serious expression on his nephew's face.

"I don't want to watch that," the little boy said simply.

"But that's your dad on there, baby. Don't you want to watch your dad when he was a big toon star?" Babs said in soft voice.

"That's not my dad," Harpo answered firmly. He shuffled his feet. "Wakko Warner isn't my dad."

Yakko and Babs exchanged a quick glance; had Harpo forgotten about his father? "Yes he is, buddy. I know it for a fact," Yakko said.

Harpo didn't say anything for a moment, looking at the blank TV thoughtfully. He scratched his head, thinking hard; once again, no words came easily. Harpo pointed to the TV, determined to make himself understood. "That was Wakko Warner. Wakko Warner was a character. My dad played that character. He wasn't the character in real life."

Yakko swallowed a lump in his throat. "Your dad, Harpo…he wasn't always like he was when he was with you. When he was on the show with me, he was that character. The show's producers made the show around our personalities, to showcase our personalities. I knew your dad long before you were born, Harpo, and I'm telling you the truth. He was a good person." Yakko looked away. He couldn't bring himself to tell Harpo about how he'd abandoned his father in a time of need; some part of him still needed reassurance that his nephew loved him unconditionally. "He was a better person than I was. At least he never left behind those he loved."

"He left me," Harpo said, his voice barely above a tremble.

Yakko found that the lump now prevented him from talking. Babs knelt down next to Harpo and put her hands on his shoulders, forcing him to look her in the eye. "What Wakko was in the last few years that you knew him wasn't really him. You've got to trust us on this, baby."

"Aunt Babs, this isn't about trust. That's how I know him. That's how I grew up with him. For me, that really was him."

For a kid that was always considered dumb by those who'd conceived him, Yakko was continually amazed at Harpo's depth of emotional maturity and intelligence. Babs tried to keep from breaking her look with Harpo, whose big eyes were like daggers, demanding answers to questions he'd held inside for a very long time. "He didn't want to leave you. He – "

"If he didn't want to leave me, why did he do the things that he knew would get me taken away from him?" For all of their legal prowess, neither Babs nor Yakko could come up with an answer to the five year old's earnest question. Yakko felt that any answer was better than silence, but could not form any in his mind.

He would have liked to know the answer as much as Harpo.

Harpo let his gaze linger over each of them for a moment, then shifted it to the floor as realization dawned on him: they didn't know any better than he did. He swallowed hard and sighed painfully; he was fighting back tears with every fiber in his body but he refused to shed any more tears over his father. "I don't ever want to talk about Daddy again. Ok?" he whispered in a small voice.

Yakko ran his hand through Harpo's tuft of hair. "Ok, buddy," he said painfully, knowing this was the last mention of his brother – physical or otherwise – that he'd know for a very long time. It was like being ripped away from him all over again. "We won't talk about him anymore."

Harpo held Yakko tightly, wrapping his arms as far around him as he could, and knew that his uncle was crying. "It's ok, Uncle Yakko," he said quietly. "We three can be a family, can't we?"

"Of course we can, buddy," Yakko whispered to his nephew, holding him closely. "Of course we can."