A/N: Right! Sorry for the delay. Lots of excuses (and good ones) but let's just stop wasting time and get back into it, hm? Thanks for the continued interest and your emails, and I promise, I will finish this! I will!

Yakko Warner sat on a lonely stretch of beach on an island he couldn't remember the name of, silently berating the phrase "time heals all wounds" for being completely and utterly untrue. Looking up, he could see the Pleiades shining in all its glory, the stray mists of the Milky Way so much brighter than in California or in any other place he'd ever bothered to study the heavens. His body ached and his eyes screamed for sleep, but he knew from months of experience that it was no use. When sleep did come, it was fitful and interrupted by nightmares; most nights he preferred consciousness, however unpleasant it might have been, because slumber always brought worse things from his unconscious mind.

It had been close to four months since he'd last seen his nephew Harpo. Four months since he'd set foot in Toontown, four months since he'd had a decent night's sleep or even a decent meal, four months since seeing Babs give him a genuine smile. He hadn't realized how sprawling and rural most of the Caribbean was and had foolishly assumed it wouldn't be this difficult to locate Harpo, Wakko, and whoever else they might be with. Someone who does not wish to be found can often times be the most elusive creature on earth, and Yakko and Babs had found this out the hard way. He felt he had stepped foot on every island, every shoal, every gritty bar, seen every tree and ridden over every wave the Caribbean had to offer. He also knew they were still a long way from finding that which they sought.

Yakko crawled into the small bed back in the hotel room. For once, Babs had found dreamland and Yakko kissed her gently on the cheek so as not to disrupt her much needed sleep. The rickety little window air conditioner, one of only three in the entire hotel (thus making this room a 'suite') rattled incessantly, giving heed to the rhythmic breathing of the sleeping woman next to him. Yakko sighed and sank down beside her, laying his head gingerly on the flattened pillow and pulling the light covers up over his chest, hoping his mind would allow him just a few hours of sleep before the sun rose over the water once again.

Their frantic plan of action had been born of the desperation that descends on those who feel their window of opportunity is scant. Often times it occurred to Yakko that Harpo didn't want to be found, and he was smart enough to evade his aunt and uncle for however long he wanted to. This bringing no consolation whatsoever, Yakko and Babs did the only thing they felt they could: they kept searching.

Meanwhile, the now-thirteen-year-old Harpo found a life of no school and no limits much to his liking, and each day was a new adventure to be explored and won. He reveled in the company of misfits that had become his family and found their eccentricities rubbing off on him rather quickly. The music of the islands – reggae, soca, calypso dances, even slow island ballads – lit up his soul until he felt he might burst into flame for the very brilliance of being alive. There comes a time in every teenager's life when they realize, for the first time, that they are truly alive, that they exist, that life is actually just one big human story and the exciting thing is when we all get to "add a verse." Wakko watched this transformation with joy, for while he could still see pain in his son's eyes for what he had lost back in Toontown, it was slowly but surely being replaced with a zealous spark possessed by those free spirits of the world.

"Dad! Dad!" Harpo cried excitedly as he raced bare-chested down the crooked pier towards Wakko, waving a beat-up book in his left hand and grinning from ear to ear. "Listen to this! Listen! 'All I want to do is make poetry famous, all I want to do is burn my initials into the sun, all I want to do is read poetry from the middle of a burning building – '"

"Ssh!" Wakko hissed, pointing down to the water. "You'll scare the fish!"

Harpo collapsed, laughing, on the end of the pier next to his father. Scooby stood beneath them in the knee-high water fly-fishing. "I can't help it, Dad. This book, this poetry – do you want to hear more?"

Wakko gave his son a grin of his own. In every place they stopped, Harpo somehow managed to track down any and all books on the island and borrow them from the inhabitants until he devoted himself to all of what the piece had to offer, supped it up and let it consume him. Wakko didn't usually have any idea what his son was rattling on about, but he enjoyed Harpo's enthusiasm for others' words. "Poetry on a sun-drenched pier, eh? Maybe that'll act as bait for the really smart fish around here."

"We ain't catchin' no Philistine fish today," Scooby laughed his gruff laugh up at them. "Read on, son, let's hear that son of a bitch. Shout it to the heavens, boy!"

Harpo leapt to his feet and screamed, "'Painter, paint me a crazy jail, mad water-color cells! Poet, how old is suffering? Write it in yellow lead!"

"Yeah!" Scooby howled, raising his beer can to the sky. "'Beauty is everywhere, Beaudelaire!'"

"How come they never teach you any good poetry in school, huh?" Harpo said, shaking his head. "All we get is Shakespeare and Wordsworth. Dickinson if we're lucky."

"Wordsworth is full of shit," Scooby said as he hoisted himself back up onto the pier, sticking a cigarette in his mouth. "Everyone who can read can see that." Scooby had proven himself to be knowledgeable about more than just diving for treasure and had become Harpo's only real literary audience. Though he had never dared admit it to anyone before in his life, Scooby was a philosopher and always had been. Harpo grinned.

"I'm glad I'm not the only one," he said. "Give me legless kittens dancing on a skillet or give me silence, that's what I think. I hated poetry until I found that not all of it was that 'Ode to a Grecian Urn' stuff."

"There are as many types of poetry in this world as there are poets, kiddo," Scooby said as he gathered his tackle gear and headed back down the pier. "But the only poetry you need to be thinking about is the poetic sound of treasure being blasted from the bottom of the ocean floor," he called over his shoulder.

"Tomorrow, huh Dad?" Harpo's voice broke. He cleared his throat, embarrassed beyond all belief; voice changes stemming from adolescence were a constant humiliation, but thankfully, no one on the Green Shark even mentioned it. It was just as well – Harpo felt like he was ten years older than he was and didn't understand why his voice couldn't catch up with the rest of him. "I mean, we'll try it tomorrow, right?" he said in an exaggerated deep voice to cover up the prior embarrassment.

"Sure, and just in time for carnival," Wakko said. He smiled at the sun. "My God, I haven't been to carnival in decades. Me and Buster went down to Trinidad for their carnival once. It was insane, Harpo. You'll love it."

"Tell me about it again."

"Imagine every strange dream you've ever had and multiply it by a hundred. Imagine all the strange creatures, all the strange music, every excess you can think of, every artistic display you can think of, and you've only got the tip of the iceberg. It is one hell of a party, Harpo. Pity that the word 'carnival' brings up images of popcorn and clowns to most people. Mardi Gras is the closest thing we've got."

"And that isn't bad," Harpo conceded. He sighed contentedly and gazed out over the two-toned water where the sand met the reef; aqua against deep blue never ceased to captivate the thirteen year old. "You're sure it'll work this time?"

"Yep. The mother load for sure." Wakko stood up and stretched, then began to put his fishing pole and tackle away. "I tell ya kid, even though I get sick of blasting a different part of the wreck every day, tomorrow is the day. I can feel it. No more bringing nothing to the surface. Nope. Tomorrow's the day."

"At least I got this," Harpo said, holding up his necklace. After one blast that had apparently been over the scullery of the ship, Harpo had rummaged around to find the remnants of a spoon with only the ladle still intact, the wood of the handle having rotted away many years ago. Though the others were upset at finding no treasure, the small trinket left over from everyday life aboard an eighteenth century ship charmed him, and he'd kept the small token, wrapping twine around what was left of the neck of the spoon and crafting a necklace that he never took off. He smiled down at it again. "At least we've had some fun along the way."

"That's true," Wakko said with a small laugh, ruffling the hair on his son's head. "It's been a hell of a ride."

Yakko and Babs could technically say the same thing but for much different reasons. After scouring the small island they were on, asking every person if they'd seen anyone of Harpo or Wakko's description, they knew they'd hit another dead end. "We might as well split," Yakko said tiredly as he packed the small bag of belongings they had. "They aren't here and probably never were."

"Where are we going next?" Babs said as she threw the hotel key at the keeper, having paid the bill that morning. They exited the small building and wandered over to the weedy airstrip to see when the next plane was leaving.

Yakko shrugged. "I was kind of hoping you'd have an idea."

Babs stopped. "I do." Yakko looked up at her, surprised. His ratty clothes and weary eyes spoke of exhaustion, and she sighed. "Babe, we need to go somewhere where we can rest for a few days. We've spent four months in the shitholes of the Caribbean. Neither of us has eaten enough, slept enough, or even felt safe. We've been avoiding islands with cities because we feel like Harpo and Wakko would try to avoid cities, but let's face it – we're both headed for a nervous collapse if we don't just slow down for a few days and take it easy."

While nothing on earth sounded better than rest to the long-suffering Yakko, he found himself indignant. "So you want to stop looking for a few days."

"No. For once I want to look for them in a place that also just happens to have clean water, a place where we can take a shower and get a good night's rest, a place that we won't feel like we're going to get mugged. It won't do us any good to end up in the hospital on some God-forsaken island where they've never heard of a medical degree." Babs bit her lip. "I hate the idea too, Yakko, but we need this. We can't run at this pace for very long. Besides, it's not as if we have any leads to go on anyway – "

"Well if you want to go off on some Caribbean vacation, you're more than welcome, but I'm going to keep looking."

"Where?" Babs demanded quite seriously. She crossed her arms. "Where, darling? And I'm getting pretty sick of the fact that you seem to think I want to find Harpo less than you do. Jesus Yakko, what are you trying to prove, anyway? Why the hell does everything have to be a competition to you?"

"It stems from youth," Yakko shot back. "And my name isn't 'Jesus Yakko.' It's practically all you've been calling me for months."

"Well I've had a bit of a reason to, don't you think?" Babs said in a steely voice. Yakko said nothing. She continued in an even voice. "If you want to be some goddamned martyr and not admit that you're as exhausted as I am, you're more than welcome. I'm going to find my son. But I'm not going to kill myself from some preventable illness before I do. I want to live to see him."

"We're toons!" Yakko spat. "Things that affect humans don't effect us in the same way."

"Oh yeah?" she said. "Look in a mirror."

Yakko stared at her for a long moment before sighing in defeat. "You're right," he whispered. "I just feel like if I stop pushing for just a single second, Harpo will slip away forever. I'd never forgive myself."

"Having a couple of decent meals and sleeping a full night doesn't constitute giving up, Yakko. Wherever our little guy is…we'll find him. Somehow or another. There's no where else I'd rather be than in a place where I'm looking for our son."

Yakko ran a drained hand down his face, looking older than he ever had. "God, I don't know what I'd do without you Babs," he said softly, on the verge of frustrated tears. "I really don't. I'm such a fucking mess. How the hell do you put up with me?"

Babs wrapped her arms around his shoulders and buried her face in his neck. "Because I know you're worth it," she said gently. "And I know you'll never stop searching, just like me. That's the kind of thing that shows me what kind of person you are – not your faults."

"Flight to Tuito's Cay leaves in two hours," a rough looking bush pilot told them as he passed by the embraced couple with the negligible luggage.

"Is there a city on Tuito's Cay?" Babs asked fervently, her attention momentarily torn away from Yakko.

The pilot grinned. "Oh, hell yeah. You ain't never been to Boomtown?"

"Never heard of it."

The pilot nodded. "You will, sister," he laughed as he walked off to fuel his plane. "You will!"

"…so you never saw Gloria again?" Harpo asked Scooby as they were up on deck, getting their scuba gear together for the next blast. "After all those cartoons you made together?"

"Haven't seen her since I left Toontown," Scooby answered. "One helluva woman, though. I always thought…well."

"Well what?"

Scooby exhaled the smoke from his cigarette and sat down on the deck bench. "When a toon is drawn to be with another toon, it's a powerful thing, buddy."

"What do you mean?" Harpo sat down next to Scooby, always eager to hear of an old toon's memories and stories.

"When an animator draws not just one toon, but maybe two, or even several, and they are drawn to be together, it's a powerful tie. One that can't be broken. You're always connected to the toons you were drawn to be with."

Harpo looked lost in thought for a moment before saying, "Even toons who are drawn to be brothers and sisters?"

"Yep." Scooby leaned down and picked up a regulator to fix a small leak in the first stage. "Me and Gloria were drawn to be in all those cartoons in the twenties, those silent ones. We could talk, of course, but as soon as either one of us opened our mouth, the studio heads knew no one would want to listen to us."

"Funny voices?"

"No, worse – unfunny voices. The most successful toons in the world are the ones who have a really high voice, a really low voice, or maybe a speech impediment or an accent. Why? Because people go to cartoons to escape from reality. They don't want to hear a toon's voice unless it sounds as unreal as the rest of the toon world is. Think about it. We toons don't fit in with a human's concept of reality; that's why we're funny. Laughter is the response to absurdity. But take away the absurdity, like a funny voice, and it isn't nearly as funny. Gloria and I just sounded like two regular joe's, nothin' special about our voices. So when the talkies came in, we were through."

"So what were you going to say about you and Gloria?"

Scooby again dragged heavily on his cigarette. "I thought…well…I thought maybe I could be more to her than just a co-star, that's all," he said softly. "But she drove other guys wild. I mean look at me. I'm drawn to just look like a scruffy tomcat. That was our gag, see – she was drawn to look stunning, to look beautiful, and her compatriot was a beat-up looking alley cat. Audiences thought it was funny because we looked so different from each other. But now that I'm out of the cartoon business, I'm nothing special – I'm not handsome, I'm not dashing, I'm not even clever."

"But you know poetry," Harpo pointed out.

Scooby gave a snort. "So what? Women like a guy who knows poetry only until she realizes that he actually likes poetry, that he's not just saying pretty things to win her over."

Harpo's mind darted back to Jessica Hertford, whom he'd left in Toontown four months earlier. He bit his lip. "That's not true. Is it?"

"True enough. Hey you know your uncle Yakko was pretty hot for Gloria back in those days, don't ya? Yeah, he chased her and chased her, but I don't think he ever got anywhere. Gloria doesn't belong to no one."

While Scooby laughed, Harpo swallowed hard. He'd tried hard to repress all memories of Babs and Yakko, if only so he could live through each day, but it was hard enough without being reminded by people like Scooby. He managed a feeble smile. "Yeah?" he whispered.

"Yeah." Scooby stood up and stretched. "Well, kid, I'm heading in for the night. Get some sleep, all right? Big day tomorrow. Blasting the last part of the ship – if there's a mother load to be found, we'll find it."

Absent-mindedly stroking the spoon necklace, Harpo looked up at the stars and nodded. "Yeah, ok," he said in a distant voice. Scooby disappeared below. Harpo sighed softly, his gaze not wandering from the night sky. "If it is to be found, we'll find it…and if brothers and sisters were drawn to be together, maybe they'll find each other too…"