Just a warning, this chapter is very, very dark, bloody, and disturbing.

Yakko and Dr. Scratchansniff continued to meet for several weeks, each session ending with a lesson on zaniness. To the doctor's great surprise and Yakko's delight, the human was getting the hang of reaching for zaniness without the toon's assistance. He had actually managed to turn a book into a scroll without compromising the information in the pages. They had celebrated with sparkling grape juice, conjured by Yakko along with champagne flutes.

After a particularly good night, Yakko waved as he shut the door behind him, humming to himself. He had spoken more of the not-there memories, of times seared into his mind via paper and ink. The toon was no longer afraid of getting into the gory details, and the doctor never asked him to stop, even when he turned green. They had covered what had actually occurred between his parents and the ensuing chaos. It was becoming his favorite night of the week, and not just because of the sessions. He was connecting with the doctor and was starting to feel like he was somebody to look up to.

He was going to take his usual stroll through the movie lot, but something prompted him to stop and look up at the water tower. Every muscle in his body froze. The door was cracked open. Fear weaved through his veins, mixing with the ink that made up his strange form. He didn't move for a minute, staring up at the dark door.

Finally, he began to climb, rung by rung, up the familiar ladder. Maybe his sibs were looking for him. Maybe they had woken up, and they needed somebody. It was probably Dot. Wakko was a heavy sleeper. Maybe they had gone down the ladder and was searching for him in the dark movie lot. Maybe, 'Oh animators, please, no!' Maybe they didn't go toward the only building that still had lights in the window.

Yakko paused outside, unable to see into the darkness. He heard quiet sobs, male and female. They were awake. Was it simply nightmares? Was it just lonesomeness? Was it something that he could fix? His throat was dry as he stepped inside and held out his hand. After a moment's hesitation, he flexed his palm, and light filled it.

The water tower was a wreck. Shadows dripped from the ceiling like ink, and his heart pounded inside his chest, thumping like a bass drum in his ears. Where were Wakko and Dot? Blinking hard, he looked around, straining to see through the darkness splattered around the room. He had to be quiet, he knew that. He shouldn't have been awake, but he was, and now Wakko and Dot were in danger. That's what his instincts told him. And if he was caught, it wouldn't be good.

The room grew around him, or was he shrinking? The light in his palm went out, and he blinked as the entire room shifted. What was going on? He heard the floorboards creak, and he froze, plastering himself against the back of the couch, bunching the torn fabric in his hands. There was the heavy tread of somebody big, and he bit his bottom lip, glancing at the hallway to their bedrooms. If I can just get across the room, he thought, I can protect them. I can make sure they don't get hurt.

But the heavy tread stopped in front of the couch, which squealed in protest as the owner threw himself down. A softer tread approached and settled beside the first person. Yakko looked longingly toward the hall, knowing he couldn't risk the noisy floorboards. So he had to wait, praying that the two people on the couch didn't look back or walk around and catch him. There was a shift, and Yakko shivered, his only thought, 'Please don't do the grown-up thing again. Not now! Not while I'm listening.'

But there were no noises that shouldn't be heard by little ears, and Yakko sat there, sure the grown-ups would hear the beat of his heart. But they simply sucked down the yucky grown-up liquid, occasionally sniffing up the stuff that looked like crushed chalk. He wasn't sure how long he sat there, keeping his breathing silent and trying to reign in his overwhelming fear. Something that looked like moving shadows across the room stretched the reality that surrounded him, and somewhere in his mind, he knew that wasn't supposed to be there.

The sound of his father kissing his mother reached him, and Yakko's heart sank, his little black paws clutching his little black ears. He didn't want to hear them do the wrestling thing again. It scared him, and he didn't understand if it was hurting noises or not. The kissing was abruptly stopped as his mother shoved her husband away with a snort.

"No," she said, her voice soft and dangerous. Yakko hated when Mommy sounded like that. That was the voice she used when she wanted obedience, and if the obedience didn't come, there was often a swift slap or worse that followed.

"Come on," Daddy replied, his voice dripping with honey. Too much honey. That was Daddy's dangerous voice.

'Honey is sweet. Daddy doesn't do sweet unless he wants something,' Yakko thought wildly, his body trembling with stress and fright.

Something was going to happen if Mommy didn't say yes, if she didn't wrestle with him. Yakko suddenly changed his mind, hoping they would wrestle. Then he could make sure Wakko and Dot were safe and sound, that they were comfortable and oblivious to the pain in their lives. They were getting old enough to know that something was wrong with their family, and Yakko prayed that they would stay young forever, that they wouldn't have to face the world the way he did, that they would never know the rip of reality tearing above his body as another fist slammed into his small head, bringing forth another pain.

Yakko stopped breathing when Mommy said the dreaded word.

"No."

There was silence, deadly silence, as she stood. Yakko could hear great gulps as she finished another bottle of the yucky juice. His father sat still then there was a noise that made Yakko bite his lip to hold in a whimper. It was the swish of a knife. Yakko knew that noise. He remembered the burning pain along his arm when he'd dropped the fish by mistake. Daddy said to the doctor that it was an accident, but had it really been an accident? Or was Daddy just angry again? Yakko didn't want to know.

Mommy heard it, too, because her footsteps, which had been headed for the kitchen, stopped, and Yakko could feel her turn around. Daddy stood up, and Yakko stuffed a fist into his mouth to stop from crying. 'They'll only hurt you. They'll only hurt you and Wakko and Dot if you make a noise. Don't make a noise. Don't say a word. Stay silent. Everything will be okay. It's always okay.'

Daddy took several measured steps, and there was the shattering of glass. Yakko, his fist still in his mouth, had to look. Something deep inside compelled him to look around the edge of the couch. Mommy stood there, the yucky juice bottle broken and held like a weapon in her hands. Daddy held the knife between them.

"I'll ask again," he said.

"Don't bother," she replied.

"Why I ever married you, I'll never know," he spat. "You're a cheating whore. That's all you'll ever be. Are they even mine?"

Yakko didn't understand what he was talking about, and he watched with growing horror at the anger in Mommy's expression. There was a pregnant moment of silence and stillness before Daddy jumped forward. Mommy screamed and threw the bottle, which sliced across Daddy's ear. It was the last thing she would ever do. Yakko knew that as the knife plunged into her stomach. Her eyes bulged as she looked down at the knife then back at the toon who stabbed her.

"Mommy!" Yakko screamed, jumping up with wide eyes.

Both adults looked over at him, but there was no compassion in their eyes. Mommy fell down, couching and gripping her stomach. Daddy looked dispassionately down at the woman who had been his wife before throwing the knife down. Yakko watched as her blood spread across the filthy boards. Daddy stood there, breathing hard as he watched his wife die. After she stopped moving, he spat on the ground then left the room. Yakko took a few hesitant steps forward, but then Daddy came back with a gun.

The only grown-up left in his life looked at him, placed the barrel under his chin, then said, matter-of-factly, "This is all your fault."

Then he pulled the trigger. Yakko watched Daddy's body fall, thump, next to Mommy, and their blood mixed together, staining the boards and dripping into Yakko's blank mind. Drip. They were dead. Drip. That meant they couldn't hurt him anymore. Drip. Or Wakko and Dot. Drip. But what if they were okay? Drip. No, that wasn't okay. Drip. He had to make sure. Drip. But how? Drip. Drip. DRIP!

Yakko's small hand wrapped around the hilt of the blade that had hurt Mommy. If Mommy and Daddy were dead, this wouldn't hurt a bit, he thought. But if they weren't dead, this would hurt, and it gave Yakko a little thrill to know that he could hurt those who had beaten and bloodied him and his siblings. So with the constant drip of blood through the floorboards into his young, hurting mind, he began to cut and carve.

He began to hum to himself, peeling back skin and muscle. He cut at the joints until the tendons gave way and the bones separated from each other. Bit by bit, the ones whom he had feared and cowered from were taken apart, and with each plunge of knife into still-warm flesh, he chipped away at the little sanity he still had left in his little brain.

Something shifted in the corner, the shadows again. But they weren't supposed to move. Two shadows pressed against the fabric of reality, and Yakko frowned, slamming the knife so hard into the wooden floor that only the hilt was visible. What was going on? Shadows didn't move! This wasn't right, it wasn't usual, so what was it?

Yakko stood up, his clothes drenched with his parents' blood, and glared at the shadows. They pressed forward again, and Yakko thought he saw a face. Stomping his foot, he snarled.

"This isn't what's supposed to happen! Come out! Now!"

There was a soft noise, like a cloth ripping at the seams, then a tear that sounded like a blast from a cannon, and two other bodies fell down. Yakko gaped at them, fear and horror making bile rise in his throat. Wakko was bleeding from a head wound, blood coating his clothes, his blank eyes staring straight ahead. Dot was covered in purple bruises, her face cut open, her equally emotionless eyes seeing nothing.

No! No! No! He didn't protect them! He didn't cut them up enough! They had HURT them! Yakko let out a howl like a wounded animal, clutching his head. This wasn't how it was supposed to be! He was supposed to lead them to safety, burning their past behind them! He was supposed to teach them to be zany, not clean up wounds! Kneeling in the pool of blood, he began to slam his head against the floor.

A buzzing in his head, a sizzling burn. A fuse, he thought somewhere in his mind. Hands grabbed his shoulders, something else that wasn't supposed to happen. With blood spilling from a cut in his forehead, he couldn't see, but the hands shook his shoulders, and he heard a voice shouting from far away.

"Yakko, come back! Come back to now! This isn't now! Focus on me! Yakko, please! You're scaring me!"

A cloth was wiped across his bloody face, and he saw a person. He was an older human, bald with thick glasses. 'Do I know him?' he wondered. His brain hurt so badly, and he could feel the zany building to what promised to be pain and horror. The man was still shouting at him, and he cradled him to his chest. Yakko heard a steady beat, quick, but the man was real. He was alive. And he knew who he was, as clear and blinding as daylight after a storm.

"Doc!" Yakko screeched, his gloved hands turning into claws. Was he nine or fourteen? Was he a child or a teen? He didn't know. He screamed, tearing at the shirt. He needed his siblings to be safe, he needed the human to be safe. And he knew that he was about to ruin the water tower.

"Get…Out!" Yakko howled. "Protect…Help! Boom!"

The doctor blinked at him. Yakko was smoking at the seams, his eyes an actual fire. The doctor looked back at Wakko and Dot, lifeless and dull and broken as if there was nothing left inside of them. It became apparent that the shadows that had moved outside the open window hadn't been a bird. And it was also very clear that Yakko had been right to worry about his siblings knowing the truth about their pasts. He was looking at the results, and it wasn't pretty.

"Doc!" Yakko begged.

The sound of a fuse shot out around them, and Dr. Scratchansniff realized that time was limited. He knew Yakko would survive. Wakko and Dot were powerless, and for the first time, he wasn't.

"I'll get you out later," the human promised.

He stood and bolted toward the two limp toons, picking them up with ease. As the fuse seemed to slow for a brief moment, he lunged for the exit and leaped through. Falling was terrifying, but he focused on making the cement like a trampoline, praying he was good enough. As soon as they bounced, there was a whine that culminated in the biggest explosion that Warner Studios had ever seen. The water tower was lifted off its base, the cement cracking as metal flew everywhere. Fire engulfed the wreckage, leaping high and dancing in the wind in an obscene celebration of destruction.

Dr. Scratchansniff cradled the two lifeless bodies against him for a moment, then he stood, leaving them lying still. He had to find Yakko. Nobody could know about this. Nobody would understand what had happened. He needed to find Yakko and make sure the three Warners were safe. Pushing the fire back with what little zany power he had left, he searched the wreckage. He began to tire after only a minute of searching, but he had to find him!

The fire seemed to beckon him forward, deeper into the mangled wreck that the water tower had become. He didn't trust it. Then it turned blue, and a flame jumped up to hover in front of him. He watched in fascination as it turned purple then pink then red before shooting along a trail. Forcing himself to keep going, to keep protecting himself, he dug deeper, hoping, praying that this wasn't a trick.

And then the flames parted to show Yakko lying still, almost peaceful in unconsciousness. Letting out a cry of relief, the doctor grabbed the boy and heaved him over his shoulders. He weighed so little and yet so much. He was as light as ink splattered on a piece of paper and as heavy as the terrible story printed therein.

By the time he gathered the other two and limped back to his home, he was ready to collapse. He settled the two younger Warners on his therapy couch then carried the limp, battered, and bloody form of their eldest sibling into the bathroom. He was so tired from using his zaniness, but he had to get the blood out of the gloves and fur. So after running a hot bath, he rolled up his sleeves, stripped the clothes off the toon, then began to scrub.

For a brief moment, Yakko opened his eyes, looking around, confused. Then he met the calm blue eyes of Dr. Scratchansniff and relaxed back into the water. The doctor continued to wipe down the toon as sirens wailed in the distance, coming closer and closer to put out the blaze. But they couldn't put out its source, which lay deep in the twisted psyche of a toon that was created because of a personal vendetta.

And Dr. Scratchansniff wasn't sure if even he could help anymore. But he would try. He would try for the sake of the boy that had tugged on his heart, the boy he thought of more as a son every day, not just a nuisance. He paused, staring at the exhausted child in his arms, a child that would never grow and change. And then Dr. Scratchansniff began to cry. What was he going to do now?