Chapter 18: Getting Closer

The van jerked over a particularly large pothole, and Yakko gripped the steering wheel even tighter.

"So, let's review," Babs said as she glanced in the sideview mirror, "Bosko and Mortimer are kidnapping toons and turning them into a weasel army."

"For the Blot," Yakko added.

"Right. And you said the Blot can…can blur?"

"Yeah. He can screw around with your mind, Bugs told me about it. It's just about as fun as it sounds."

"And the Blot is looking for you, and Wakko and Dot."

"You have to remind me?"

"Do you have any idea why?"

"He's in the mood for a fun yet educational song and dance number? No, no idea. Bosko said something about him thinking we were drawn, but what does that matter? There's plenty of drawn toons out there."

"But Bosko, he didn't want you found. He tried to kill you."

"Yup. They were a real charming bunch, weren't they? I'll miss them."

Babs sighed and leaned back against the seat. "You'd think getting more answers would've made things less confusing. Silly me."

"Leave the mysteries to Scooby. I don't care what they're up to anymore, I just want to find Wakko and Dot before the damn Blot does."

That wasn't entirely true. Bosko's strange comment about his mother was sticking in his brain. Yakko stared along the lengthy stretch of road before them. They were cutting through the hills and valleys of the desert, racing the rapidly setting sun. He felt like if he squinted hard enough at the horizon, he could see Toontown just ahead of them. What he wouldn't give to be there, now. Wakko, Dot, Bugs and Buster hadn't felt this close in weeks.

Cutting her eyes anxiously toward the mirror again, Babs continued, "Well first thing's first. We need to figure out how to get over the border. Bosko and his lunatic friends must have connections there, or how else would they have gotten us down to Tijuana in the first place? And then we'll go straight to Toontown and find the others. And then we'll give you a haircut."

"Huh? What's wrong with my hair?"

Yakko took a moment to look at himself in the rearview mirror. It was the first time he'd seen his reflection since he'd been caught. He'd certainly looked better, that was for sure. His hair was a shaggy black mop on his head, much longer than he'd ever let it grow out before. The fur that lined his cheekbones, which were more prominent from weight loss, had grown as well. His white face was now a dirty gray marked with smudges of grime and ink, and his eyes looked completely exhausted. He suddenly wished he didn't look so homely in front of Babs.

"You're braver than me, I don't even want to know what I look like," Babs muttered.

"Oh c'mon, you look great, you always do," Yakko said without thinking.

He gulped as the cabin of the van went silent, apart from the whir of the tires. Yakko kept his eyes strictly on the road. Maybe, if he pretended like he didn't say anything, she'd forget about it.

"Thanks Yakko, that's nice."

Well, okay, she wasn't going to forget about it. Play it cool Yakko, be suave –

"Yakko stay on the road!"

"Sorry!" Yakko yelped, his voice jumping up several pitches as he realized he'd drifted off the pavement and into the dirt. He jerked the steering wheel and they swerved wildly back onto the road. Yakko exhaled. He'd decided that he didn't like driving.

Babs patted him on the shoulder and laughed weakly. "It would be kind of ironic if we lived through everything at the Compound only to die in a fiery car wreck."

"Hey, c'mon, I think I could be doing worse for my first time behind the wheel."

"I'm just teasing!" She looked in the mirror again. He knew she was making sure they weren't being followed. "We are going the right way, aren't we?"

"Trust me Babs, if there's one thing I know, it's geography."

She snorted. "That's true. How could I forget?"

"Don't ever doubt the great Yakko Warner."

"I doubt your ability to drive in a straight line."

"Touché." He glanced at her. "How's your ankle?"

She pulled her leg carefully onto her lap. "I think the swelling's gone down, a little bit. It doesn't look like it's the size of a telephone pole anymore at least. But it burns like crazy…I can't imagine getting a full blast of that DIP. How could you do that to another toon?"

Yakko's hands clenched around the wheel, his mind racing back to when he'd forced the DIP gun back at Bosko, to when he'd shot the Blot. "I think they lose it in the heat of the moment. And I don't think Bosko and his cronies care about other toons. They seemed to think everyone else is just stealing their spotlight."

"Yeah, but just because someone gets picked for a role over me doesn't make want to go out and murder them."

"They're drawn, Babs. They had one purpose in life and now it's gone. I'm not making excuses for them, I just think that's how they're warped little minds are looking at it."

He could tell she was looking at him closely. "I'm glad I wasn't drawn."

"Oh yeah?"

"I think I'd feel like a bird in a cage."

"And if you never aged, you'd never get a senior discount at the breakfast buffet."

She snorted and rolled her eyes. "And what about the Blot? Honestly, I didn't even know he was real. All this time it's just been other toon actors playing him in the cartoons and comics. I didn't know he existed. And it's not like he had his own cartoons, he'd give kids nightmares for weeks – "

"Kids? I'm gonna have nightmares for weeks," Yakko muttered.

" – so what would he be jealous of? Where did he even come from?"

"Beats me. Maybe someone made him on the sly, like they're doing with the weasels. It would explain why he's battier than Bracken Cave."

"Could be," she muttered, frowning. She thought for a moment before sighing and running a hand through her ears. "I can't wait to be home."

"You and me both," Yakko said, fighting against the cold feeling in his stomach. When he was trapped in the Compound, the thought of seeing his siblings again was the only thing that had kept him going. But now that they had escaped, now that they were actively getting closer to them, his excitement was battling his dread. What if he got there only to find that they were hurt? Or missing? Every time he thought about it his heart would race uncomfortably while his stomach twisted itself into a tighter knot. It almost made him want to jump out of the car and run away, to disappear into the desert and never find out. But he couldn't, not when there was even the tiniest chance that they were there, waiting for him.

"Yakko, the road."

"Yikes!" he yelped, jumping into high-pitched levels yet again. He pulled back onto the pavement and groaned. "I hate when my voice does that," he grumbled, not looking at her.

Babs giggled. "Why? It's cute."

Now it was Babs' turn to blush and look away. Yakko raised an eyebrow at her, but couldn't help the way the corner of his mouth quirked upwards.

"Why can't we just park at Skippy's old house? I don't want to walk. I'm too hungry to walk."

From the backseat of the station wagon, Dot rolled her eyes. "Because, dear brother, we might as well wear signs that say 'here we are, capture us please!' if we park right next to Minerva's house. After all we've been through a little walking won't kill you."

"I don't care about walking, I care about wasting out time. We should go to Pete's tree farm."

"To find what?"

"I don't know, something weasel-y."

"Face it, we voted, you lost, fair and square."

Wakko sent a pleading look to Buster, who was sitting next to him in the passenger seat. Buster raised his hands. "Sorry dude, I'm with your sis. Minerva has something to do with it. And I'd rather walk than be sitting in the back of a van with a bag over my head."

With a groan, Wakko shut off the ignition, and the car gave a grateful shudder before going silent. They were parked several blocks from Minerva's house, which was too far away to see in the waning evening light. Without the hum of the engine, the street was silent. Too silent for what had once been a lively suburban neighborhood. It appeared as though it had not seen a single soul in weeks. Nevertheless, Dot felt like there were eyes peering at her from every corner.

As Wakko and Buster got out of the car, Dot turned to Skippy. "You sure you're okay with this?" she asked.

He bit his lip for a second. "Uh, yeah…yeah, I think so. Er, yeah. I mean, that Minerva she's…she's a bad egg."

Buster whistled. "Whoa, coming from Skippy that must mean she's the antichrist. What's so bad about Minerva, aside from the fact that her voice makes me want to chop my ears off?"

"She's up to something!" Dot attested as she and Skippy got out of the car. "She was mean to Skippy – "

"She's mean to everybody," Wakko countered.

" – and she was too interested in Yakko. Way too interested. Something's not kosher here."

Buster snorted curtly. "Yup, e-e-every girl is after Yakko, aren't they?"

Buster stormed ahead of them, his hands shoved in his pockets. Dot frowned at her brother, but Skippy leaned his head toward them in a whisper.

"He's been like this ever since I found him. He was trying to fight off a bunch of weasels, but he was a wreck. Bleeding ink everywhere, and he smelled like my Aunt Slappy's liquor cabinet. I think he was giving up. But I distracted the weasels…well, I sorta tripped over one of their tails…and they almost got us, be we escaped. Buster didn't talk to me for a while, but I kept talking to him, and then he came around. But I never know what mood he's in. Sometimes he'd be cheerful and want to try different places to look for you guys. But then other times he'll get real mad and frustrated and he'd do really risky things. The worst is when he just kind of gives up again. He'd say stuff like 'Babs is dead, Yakko's dead, everyone's gone and we might as well just leave.' He changes like a light switch."

"And you always say girls are moody," Dot mumbled to Wakko.

Wakko shrugged. "Give the guy a break. He had a lot of bad stuff happen to him, especially right before we got attacked and he and Babs – "

His eyes widened in embarrassment and he cut himself short, promptly looking away from them.

"What?" Dot pressed, "What happened with him and Babs?"

"Uh, how should I know?"

"Oh c'mon."

"It's nothing! Nevermind!"

"Wakko – "

Up ahead, Buster stopped and whipped around. "Are you guys coming or what?"

"Yup!" Wakko called, hurrying after him. Grumbling under her breath, Dot shared a glance with Skippy and followed them. They traipsed through the trees until they were crouched behind the hedge bordering Minerva's backyard.

"Think she's home?" Buster whispered.

Skippy peered over the leaves. "The lights aren't on, which is weird…her car isn't in the driveway either…"

"So then what are we waiting around here for? Let's go," Buster said, standing up and marching straight toward the back door.

"Wait!" Skippy hissed.

Dot rolled her eyes. "I'm guessing this is angry, risky Buster today?"

Wakko gave her a small nudge. "We can't let him go by himself."

Thinking she'd be quite fine with that option, Dot nodded nevertheless and followed Wakko across the lawn, with Skippy taking up the rear. Buster was cupping his hands around his eyes to stare into the windows. "Looks empty."

"How are we gonna get inside?" Wakko asked, leaning against the door. His question was answered when his weight easily pushed the door open, causing him to lose his balance and tumble inside with a yelp.

Buster craned his neck to look at him. "Well, that was easy."

Dot bit her lip. "Too easy, don't ya think?"

"Ugh, I dunno, there's dust everywhere," Wakko said, coughing, "I don't think she's been here for weeks."

Needing no further persuasion, Buster stepped strode inside and pulled Wakko to his feet. Dot looked back to Skippy for reassurance, but he looked as nervous as she felt. Sucking in her breath, she pulled her mallet from her hammerspace like Buster and Wakko were doing and stepped into Minerva's house.

If it had been clean, it would have been nice, if a bit gaudy. Like Bugs' house, it was obvious Minerva had money: a crystal chandelier overlooked the expansive foyer, the furniture was trendy and high-end, surrounded by exotic decorations and overlooked by a fully stocked liquor cabinet. Feminine accents were abound, and Dot couldn't help but feel that this was what a sorority house looked like on the inside. There were framed pictures and posters everywhere, and it wasn't until closer inspection that she realized most of them were depictions of Minerva herself. The majority of them were particularly vain images of her looking poutily into the camera during one of her photo shoots. Above the mantle was a massive painting of her lounging over an armrest, her back arched and her eyes closed.

"Can I vomit now or do I have to wait?" Dot snapped, glaring at each photograph. The pictures stared back at her lifelessly.

"This is creepy," Wakko said, "I wouldn't want pictures of myself all over my house."

"Well with your face who could blame ya?" Buster said, snickering as Wakko swatted at him.

"Shh," Skippy hissed, "we don't know if anyone's here. There could be weasels. They like to hide in places that are quiet and dark."

"Then Pete better watch out for the space between his ears," Dot said, earning a small laugh from her brother.

"So Dot, you're the one who said Minerva's up to something. What's she up to? What are we looking for?" Buster asked.

Dot took a step back when everyone turned to her. "Well, um, you should for, you know, weasel stuff, or something."

Wakko crossed his arms. "C'mon Dot, do you actually have anything to go on, or are you just pissed Yakko liked her?"

"Yakko liked her?" Buster asked sharply. "Jeez, he has a knack for going after the wrong girl, doesn't he?"

Dot shook her head. "No! Just call it a hunch okay? I'm not saying there's gonna be a neon sign that says 'this is a clue!' Just look for something – anything!"

"And if we don't find anything will you lay off?" Wakko asked.

"Yeah, fine. I'll lay off."

Nodding his approval, Wakko wandered off with Buster in the direction of the kitchen. Dot rolled her eyes…the only clues he was after were the edible kind…then again, they'd barely had anything to eat over the last two weeks, so she couldn't really blame him.

"All this time we lived next door and I've never been in her house," Skippy murmured as he inspected the mantle.

Dot quirked an eyebrow as she stared at a particularly elaborate painting of Minerva. "And you're disappointed by this?"

"No, I guess not. I'm just thinking…maybe if I'd gotten to know her better, I might've known what was going on."

"C'mon Skip, don't tell me you're blaming yourself."

"Nah, but…what if she was lonely or something? And she was just trying to get attention?"

"You know, I'd hate to see what would actually make you mad."

She started up the stairs, and Skippy followed. Each footstep creaked on the steps, and Dot could feel tremors of nervousness beginning to shake down her arms and legs. She pulled a flashlight from her hammerspace and pointed it down the upstairs hall. Everything seemed quiet and still, but somehow this made the house more menacing. Dot snatched Skippy's hand in her own, and he gave it a reassuring squeeze. Swallowing, they made their way down the hall.

They'd only made it a few steps when Dot saw something move to her left. She gasped in terror and jumped backwards, colliding with Skippy. Her hand was already in her hammerspace…she'd smash whoever, or whatever it was –

"Dot, chill out, it's just your reflection, see?"

Skippy had one hand on her shoulder and used the other to point through the doorway. Dot blinked, her heart still racing, then shakily raised the flashlight to get a better look. The light beamed back at her, and she realized that she'd merely walked past the mirror in Minerva's bathroom.

"Oh…phew," she breathed, then laughed weakly, "sorry, I was being stupid, next thing you know I'll be running away from my own shadow."

"S'okay, I still check under the bed at night," Skippy said with a chuckle.

Dot and Skippy stared at each other for a beat, then both looked down at the hand Skippy still had on her shoulder. They both jumped away from each as though an electric current had surged through them, laughing awkwardly and not making eye contact. Dot gave her ears a fluff, cleared her throat, and wondered why she had to be such a spazz.

She had missed Skippy over the past few weeks, and she wondered if he had missed her. Had he thought about her at all? And if he had, what had he been thinking? Dot hoped he had concentrated more on her charm and good looks rather than how she got loud when she was excited or that she snorted when she laughed sometimes. Besides, she'd certainly thought about him, about the cute way he smiled when she said something funny, or how he always offered to carry her books at tooniversity…

Dot gave her head a good, hard shake. Now was not the time to turn into teenage mush, she had a mystery to solve. Not only that, but the dark, quiet house was getting creepier by the second, and she had half a mind to concede defeat just so they could get the heck out of there.

"I think this is her room," Skippy whispered, pointing his own flashlight into the last doorway.

Minerva's bedroom was cavernous. More self-portraits lined the walls, and Dot was wondering when the mink would ever run out of poses to photograph herself in. To the left was a massive armoire, while the right side was taken up by a monstrous vanity. Skippy went to inspect the walk-in closet, which was bigger than Dot's entire bedroom back in New York. A giant bed with a frilly canopy sat in the center of the room. It was decked out in brilliantly red silk sheets and mountains of fluffy pillows.

Dot approached the vanity for a closer look. The mirror took up over half the wall, while the shelf was covered in tubes of lipstick and mascara, eyeliner sticks, foundation powder, eye shadow and more. There were no less than nine bottles of expensive perfume, including Pepe Le Pew's top of the line brand. Dot couldn't help but take a peek into Minerva's jewelry case, which was like finding a small diamond mine. Dot rolled her eyes, not doubting that half of these were tokens from Minerva's various flings vying for second chances.

Dot pulled her eyes from the jewelry and faced herself in the mirror. A pale, nervous teen looked back at her, not at all like the young girl from Animaniacs. She used to look at herself in the mirror a lot when they were filming. Everyone told her how cute she was, it was a running gag on the show, and she had soaked up every minute of it. Yakko had always told her that she had the title of most beautiful girl on earth and that no one could ever challenge her for it.

She had envied Minerva on set, just as she'd envied Tress. Not only was Minerva stunning, but the guys couldn't look away from her. Dot remembered wanting to be just like that when she grew up (not that she'd ever mentioned that to Yakko). But now, as she gazed at herself in the mirror, she imagined Minerva sitting in the same spot doing the same thing, and she cringed.

"She's got enough shoes to last her every day for eight months!" Skippy called from the closet, "I'm serious, I counted!"

Dot snorted, then noticed a photograph pinned into the corner of the mirror. Frowning, she plucked it out for a closer look. Then she gasped, almost dropping it. It was a picture of Rocky. And there was writing on the bottom: To a killer dame. Love, Rocky.

Dot suppressed a gag. There was an odd ringing in her ears as Rocky's image stared back at her, and she had to stop herself from ripping it to pieces. Her whole body started shaking as the memory of Yosemite coursed through her.

And then she understood what Skippy had come to grips with a long time ago. She knew what loss was now – not like the kind she felt with Yakko, where she was still nursing the flame of hope that he was alive. No, this was the loss where she knew, deep down in that same place, that someone she cared for was gone forever and never coming back. She understood the tearing feeling in her chest, the desperate wish that it was not real, that it was all a bad dream, and the crushing realization that it was not.

She looked away in disgust, only to have her eyes land on something else. Something much, much worse than the photograph. Dot felt as though ice was pumping from her heart and into her veins; Skippy was shuffling around in the closet but he sounded very far away, as thought she was traveling away from Minerva's house, miles and miles from Toontown. There, nestled among the makeup and perfume, was Slappy's green bowler hat.

Dot reached for it, her hand shaking, and brought it to her face. The flower was still clinging to it, but it was bent and wilted. It still smelled faintly of Slappy's perfume. Dot's throat began to burn as tears sprang to her eyes. Since the casket had been closed at Slappy's funeral, it had never really sunk in that she was gone. But here was a solid reminder, sitting primly in her hands.

"Whatcha got there Dot?"

Skippy's voice made her jump and turn around. He was standing barely a few feet from her, looking at her with bright curiosity. For a moment Dot had half a mind to hide the hat in her hammerspace, but her arms didn't seem to be working. As if in slow motion, she saw his eyes travel from her face to her hands, she saw the look of interest slowly melt into blank shock.

"Can I see that?" he asked after a few moments. His voice croaked.

"Skip, I – "

"Can I see it? Please?"

Dot thrust it out to him, and he accepted it gingerly. With his face bent low she couldn't tell if he was crying or not, but it was obvious that the optimism that had lit him so had been snuffed out.

Dot licked her dry lips. "It might not be hers, we don't know for sure – "

"It's hers. I can tell."

She had never felt so helpless in her life.

"I made excuses for her, Minerva" Skippy said softly, "I thought that deep down she was nice."

"I'm so sorry."

They stood in silence, with nothing but a mournful streak of moonlight coming in from the balcony window to comfort them. Dot wished more than anything that she could go back to the night that Scratchensniff had called them in New York. She would have ripped the phone out of Yakko's hands.

"Can I have a few minutes?" Skippy asked quietly.

She hesitated for moment, but nodded. There was no room to argue, not when he sounded so small. Without a word she left the room. But she only made it a few steps down the hall before tears burst out of her, and she did everything she could to muffle a long, powerful sob. She had to be strong for her friend – crying like a baby right outside the door was not going to help him now. Swallowing big gulps of air to steady herself, she swiped the tears from her eyes and cheeks and went downstairs.

The dusty footprints throughout the living room meant that Buster and Wakko had searched there. She noted that the liquor cabinet seemed less full than it had before, and she wondered vaguely if Buster had decided to stock up. This didn't seem to bother her though. She felt numb.

Buster and Wakko emerged from the dinette, and Wakko held out his hand to her. "Here," he said, though his voice was muffled by a mouthful of food. He brandished a granola bar at her. "Eat this one. Fair warning, she buys the crappy, healthy kind. They kinda taste like wood."

Dot winced at the sight of it. The thought of eating something Minerva had deemed acceptable made her sick to her stomach.

Wakko frowned. "What's up?"

"Where's Skippy?" Buster added.

She looked back at their silhouettes in the darkness, one of them taller than the other, and for a moment she could have pretended that that it was both of her brothers instead of just one.

"Well, we…I mean, I…" Dot stuttered. Why did this have to be so hard to say? "…we found Slappy's h-hat in Minerva's bedroom."

Wakko sucked in his breath sharply, and Buster flinched back as though she'd struck him. "What the hell? You're kidding, right?"

Dot shook her head, pushing tears back again. "Skippy's still upstairs, he wanted to be by himself for a bit."

Buster ran a hand through his ears. "I don't believe…you've gotta be…what a bitch…"

He stormed away from them and out onto the porch, slamming the door behind him and leaving Wakko and Dot staring at each other. Even in the limited light, Dot could tell that the color had been sapped from Wakko's face.

"You weren't kidding when you said she wasn't up to any good," he whispered, his eyes wide with shock.

The van hobbled along the dirt, sputtering and jerking with every rotation of the wheels.

"C'mon baby," Yakko said soothingly, patting the dashboard, "just a little further…you're so close…do it for Yakko…"

He prodded the gas pedal and then let it coast. They were riding on fumes now. But there was a massive boulder up ahead, big enough to shield the entire van from the road once they got behind it. Especially now with the waning sun, someone could drive by and have no idea they were there.

Babs stuck her head out the window. "Little to the left…yeah, right there!"

Yakko killed the ignition, and the van practically sighed with relief. "There's no way we're getting that to start again. Way to go us for picking the only van with only half a tank left."

"Bummer we couldn't have just stopped for gas…" Babs murmured.

"With that smuggler's van? I don't think we'd get the gas cap off before we got arrested. Or shot. Or both."

"Do you think the others made it? What do you think they did at the border?"

Yakko stared into the distance. "We haven't seen them, but I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. And I'd love to know how they're getting over the border since the best idea I've had is to run like hell and hope for the best."

"Well whatever we do, it's waiting 'til tomorrow, I'm not doing any kind of running with this leg," Babs said, glaring at her ankle as though it had wronged her.

He did not blame her, but he understood her resentment. They were undoubtedly being followed. Delaying the rest of the trip by an entire night meant that Bosko and his crew would overtake them and probably be waiting patiently for them at the border. He was reminded, bitterly, that it meant it was that much longer until he could look for his siblings. But he couldn't leave Babs by herself – not that she hadn't offered when they first noticed they were running out of gas. He'd turned her down immediately.

"That's okay," Yakko said, "It's kinda been a long day."

They stared at each for a beat as the vast understatement of that sentence settled over them. Then Yakko smirked, and Babs grinned, and the next thing he knew they were overcome with fits of hysterical laughter. He felt as though the hinge of his jaw was rusty – he hadn't laughed like this in weeks. It felt wonderful, even though he knew that it was merely a way for his mind to cope with what had happened and was still happening to both of them. Emotions were only coming to him in extremes now: he'd gone from wild fear to manic elation in the span of day, which was wildly contrasting with the cold, cruel numbness he'd felt when he'd aimed the DIP at Bosko and the Blot. But none of that mattered at the moment. He was alive, Babs was with him, and they weren't in the Compound. They weren't in the Compound, they weren't in the Compound…

They laughter died down, and Babs clutched her side as the last few snickers escaped her. "Thanks, I needed that," she said, wiping her eyes.

Yakko, trying to ignore the tingling in his spine that her laugh had triggered, gave her a small bow. "I try my best."

He hopped out of the van and stretched. The evening air in the desert was cool, but god, it was fresh. He inhaled deeply, swelling up his chest to toonish proportions, reveling in the feel and scent of it. Babs eased herself out of the van and used the door as support. "Here," she said, and tossed him a chunk of bread from her hammerspace. "I took it from the storage room when I was stealing the uniforms."

She pulled out her own and ate no less ravenously than Yakko did. With all the panic and pain and exhaustion he'd nearly forgotten that he was starving. He wished more than anything he'd just stuffed an apple or something in his hammerspace before he'd left for Pendleton that day; time didn't exist inside a hammerspace, so food wouldn't rot.

He leaned against the van next to her and cleared his throat. "Thanks for saving me back there. You were amazing. I really owe you one."

She waved her hand as though she did that kind of thing every day. "Don't worry about it. You saved 'Molly,' so we're even."

"Nope, if you recall, you saved my sorry tail twice. You one-upped me. And when did you get so good with a mallet?"

"Growing up with Bugs as a family friend has its benefits," she said with a grin, "but fine, you owe me then. You'll be the first person I call when my life is in peril – and at the rate we're going that should be in, oh, I'd say the next hour or so."

Yakko stared at the ground for a moment. "Babs, do you know if Bugs holds grudges?"

She blinked at him. "Grudges? Bugs? Unless it's got something to do with the Yankees, I don't think Bugs even knows how to hold a grudge. Any reason you ask?"

He squinted into the distance. "We, eeehhh, had a bit of a disagreement right before we went to Pendleton. I never got a chance to say I was sorry."

Babs chucked him gently on the arm. "You could chop off one of his ears and he'd still forgive you. And you'll get your chance, trust me." She paused, looking at him with a critical eye. "Sit down."

"What?"

"Sit down, I'm cutting your hair."

"Well aren't you the forward one. No thanks, I'm growing it out."

"Come on, please? We've got all night ahead of us, what else would we be doing?"

At this Yakko's mind dove headfirst into a dozen despicable scenarios and he mentally slapped himself. Not trusting himself to speak, he just nodded and sat down rather clumsily. God, why did he have to be such a spazz around her?

Babs shrugged and scooted behind him, carefully arranging her legs so there was no pressure on her ankle. She produced a pair of scissors from her hammerspace, then ran her fingers through his hair, pulling at it gently and weaving out the knots. Yakko exhaled slowly and shut his eyes. That felt good. That felt way too good.

"I've never cut anyone's hair before," she said conversationally.

Yakko smirked. "That's exactly what I love to hear from my hair stylist."

She was tugging on a lock toward the back of his head. He heard her suck in her breath, felt her tense, then heard the metallic snip. A few wisps of hair tickled his neck as they fell.

"Hmm…not bad!" she said brightly. She was a bit too excited over cutting one chunk of hair, but he could tell by her voice that she was in confident mode again for the first time since she'd revealed herself in the Compound. He was sure that if he turned to her she'd have the accompanying confident look on her face, the one that made him want to start drooling like a neanderthal, and he wouldn't be able to stop himself from throwing himself at her – whoa. He didn't know where these thoughts were coming from but they had to stop. He'd already thrown his friendship with Buster to the ground, there was no reason to stomp all over it.

Snip. She cut another lock. Snip. Another. Snip snip. The cuts became more frequent as her confidence grew.

"So Babs, I've got a question." He had to distract himself.

"Shoot."

"Why did you call yourself Molly?"

The snips hesitated. When she spoke her voice was quieter. "That was my mom's name."

Snip.

"Was?"

"She's not dead, if that's what you're thinking. But I don't know if I'd still count her in the 'mother' category. She bailed out on my dad and my sister and me when I was little. I never really cared, not much, I wasn't even that mad."

"Sounds like you were a pretty zen grade schooler."

"Huh, I haven't finished the story yet. I made excuses for her, like I understood her or something. I always thought that she left because my dad was trying to force her to be something she wasn't, since he kind of did that with my stepmom. I thought my mom wanted to make her own way. In my head she was this strong, independent toon that no one could reign in, and that's what I wanted to be."

"I feel like this is where the 'but' part comes in."

"You got it…she visited me, right around the time you came back from New York. She was just so…she was a wreck. She wanted to say she was sorry my show got cancelled – which, you know, she a few years too late for – and gave me this song and dance about how she's cleaned up and wants to be a family, even though she pretty much missed the whole 'Babs grows up' part. Who ditches their two kids, anyway? And when she said 'cleaned up,' she really meant she managed to stay sober for a three days and thought it was this huge accomplishment that I should be thankful for."

Yakko thought of her and Buster and it felt like a stone had dropped in his stomach.

Snip.

"I guess that's part of why I gave you such a hard time when you came back," she continued, "I didn't want people bouncing in and out of my life anymore. But when those bozos caught me and I needed to come up with a name, hers was the first I thought of. She was just on my mind."

Yakko stared off into the horizon again. The stars were out now, and only a few last streaks of orange and pink indicated there had been a setting sun. He hadn't thought of his own mother in years but, like Babs, she had sprung to his mind in the Compound.

Snip.

"Buster didn't get why I was upset with her," she said so softly that Yakko had to perk up his ears, "He thought I was being too harsh. You must think I'm a real cad."

"No, I don't actually. It would make me a hypocrite."

"Oh yeah?"

"The only things I really remember my mom saying to me fall along the lines of 'be quiet Yakko' and 'stop talking, I can't hear myself think!' I couldn't be good enough for her. It was like everything I did was wrong, and being with my sibs was the only thing I could do right. It's funny, when Wakko was a baby I was so scared for the day he learned to talk. I thought he would tell me to shut up too, but he didn't. My sibs listened when I talked, and they talked back…it was…it was just the greatest feeling. I didn't miss my mom, at all, when we went to the orphanage. And when I found out she died – I'm sure Buster told you that at some point – I was sad, sure, but I wasn't broken up about it. Not like you should be over your mom dying."

He was glad he was facing away from her, as he was sure that was he was saying was reflecting on his face. He didn't really know why he was spouting out all these things that he'd never told a soul before. It was like someone had unblocked a dam.

Suddenly, he missed Wakko and Dot more than ever.

Snip.

Babs sighed. "I think that just because someone's technically your mother doesn't make her a mom. Your family can come from anywhere. I mean, look at us – all us lot kids have patchwork families."

Yakko inexplicably thought of Bugs.

"There, I think that oughta do it," Babs chirped. She ran a hand through his hair again to dust out the loose strands, and Yakko held back a shiver. Then she leaned over his shoulder and held out a mirror. His pale face stared back at him; his hair looked a bit wild, but it was still a vast improvement over the shaggy look he was sporting pre-haircut. He didn't look for very long though. Babs was pressing into him in a rather distracting way.

"Nice work Babs, I'll be the bell of the ball," Yakko said, clearing his throat. Not really thinking about what he was doing, he turned to her. Babs was closer than he'd expected, and he found himself nearly nose to nose with her. Her breath hitched, startled, but she did not pull back. She held his gaze. All the feelings, acknowledged and unacknowledged, from before his capture came racing back to him, filling him from his toes to his ears. There was no way she couldn't hear how hard his heart was battering against his chest, that she didn't notice that his breath was becoming shallower by the second. His brain was screaming abort abort abort, but every other bit of him was telling him that if he leaned forward just slightly they'd be connected. That's all it would take really, tilting his head a little, just one inch –

The unmistakable sound of an oncoming car shattered everything. Babs gasped and clutched at his wrist, jerking Yakko so violently from the moment he felt dizzy. Motioning for her to stay where she was, Yakko crawled to the other end of the boulder and peered out from behind it. By this point it had grown dark, and his face was so dirty he was sure that he blended seamlessly into the night. Several yards from them he could make out a smuggler's van speeding up the highway. Its headlights were off, making it hard to follow in the darkness. Trailing behind the van was a large, black humvee, the same one that had originally pursued Yakko at Pendleton. They zoomed past him, completely oblivious to the two toons they were chasing.

Yakko waited until he couldn't even hear the vehicles anymore before he crawled back to Babs.

"There went our friends," he muttered.

Babs let out a frustrated sigh and dropped her head back against the van with a loud thunk. "Great. Straight for the border. They'll probably be waiting for us with gift baskets."

He slid down the van until he was seated next to her. "Excellent. If we're lucky they'll be filled with bath soaps. We smell like Newt Gringich's backside."

She snorted. "You're shockingly chipper."

He met her eyes. Was he? He had to be. How many times in the last week had he almost lost hope, stopped trying? If she gave up, then he had no chance. Babs was the only tangible thing he had at the moment; the need to see his siblings, the desire to apologize to Buster and Bugs – those were so incredibly far from his reach. But Babs was here with him in this hell. She was a light that guided him down a dark, twisting path that he did not know the end. If that light went out he was lost. They couldn't be beaten – not so easily. But stuffing all of the fear and uncertainty back into his heart, out of sight, was proving to be so hard. Yet there was something about the clearness in her eyes that made him feel stronger, that nurtured the barely flickering flame inside his chest.

"Is there a reason not to be?" he asked, his voice forced into lightheartedness. "I'm on my way back to LA, the air is smog-free, and the company is fantastic."

Babs let out a happy, humming sound and let her head drop to his shoulder. Sighing, he draped his arm around her, trying to ignore the bottomless ache of fear in his heart.

The small campfire crackled in front of him, casting lights and shadows over Wakko's sketchbook. No one had really felt much like talking, let alone doing more investigating, after the incident at Minerva's house, so Buster had led them up the winding roads that overlooked Hollywood to a deserted patch of woods. Skippy had shocked everyone by promptly setting up a campfire – apparently he'd been in Woodchucks with Huey, Dewey, and Louie back in the day. Who knew? Wakko wanted to ask him how he did it, but Skippy didn't seem to feel like chatting.

Skippy and Dot were sitting at the other side of the car, sides touching and heads bent close together and whispering. Wakko snorted – Yakko would've laid an egg if he'd caught them doing that. But aside from the fact that Skippy was a bit twitchy, Wakko couldn't care less – that's what made him the cool older brother. He glanced up at them. Skippy had laid his hand on Dot's. Something in Wakko's chest let out a nasty snarl. Okay, so even he had his limits. If he knew what was good for him, Skippy better keep his hands where Wakko could see them.

With one last withering scowl at Skippy, Wakko turned back to his sketchbook. Buster was staring absently into the fire, so with his back was to the car no one could see what he was drawing. He preferred it that way – his sketch wasn't turning out so good. His comic book was splayed out beside him and he was focusing on one of the panels. Both Mickey and the Phantom Blot were in it; they were in the midst of a car chase, and moments later Mickey would be crash his own car into a tree. It was one of his favorite parts and Wakko was doing his best to replicate it. Finishing up the curve of Mickey's ear, he pulled back to get a good look at it. Wakko glanced from his sketch, then to the panel, then back at his sketch again. He frowned. The panel in the comic book looked perfect, while his sketch looked like he'd shut his eyes and scribbled. He tossed the sketchbook aside with a frustrated grunt. Yakko, Scratchensniff, Yosemite…he couldn't do anything right, could he?

"What, that book bite you or something?"

Wakko looked up to find Buster looking at him over the fire.

"Whatcha drawing?"

"Nothing. It's stupid."

"I doubt it. Yak told me you were really good."

This made Wakko look up at him in shock. He'd always assumed Yakko told him that his drawings were special just because they were family – he had no idea Yakko had told anyone else about it. Something seemed to inflate, if only a little bit, in Wakko's chest, though he wasn't quite sure what it was.

"Oh…well, I was trying to draw this one part from this comic…"

He gestured vaguely to his book. Buster, his ears raised in interest, crawled awkwardly on all fours and plopped down next to him to get a closer look.

"Oh man, I used to love comics when I was little," he said, grinning, "I was more of a Marvel guy myself."

"Yeah, Marvel's cool. Did you read the one…"

They chatted happily about the intricacies of their favorite stories, of Spider-man's continuity, and Wakko felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders. It took his mind off of all the darkness around them, if only for a short while. He could see now why Yakko liked talking to Buster.

"Marvel's good, but it doesn't have Crisis," Wakko concluded.

Buster laughed. "Ugh, don't tell me you're a DC fanboy."

Wakko raised his hands in mock defense. "Hey, I like all comics. Great and small. It's just that DC is great and Marvel is small."

Buster gave him an odd little smile and quirked his head to one side. "What?" Wakko asked, feeling self-conscious.

Chuckling and shaking his head, Buster said, "Nothing, you just reminded me of your brother. Even the look on your face was right on target."

"That's just 'cause we look like clones," Wakko muttered.

"It's more than that. You two are a lot alike. Fun to be around, smart, make people laugh, put your family first, all that schmaltzy goodness."

Wakko rolled his eyes and rested his chin on his knees, staring into the fire as he spoke. "Yeah, and a lot of good that's done me. Yakko wouldn't have gotten into this mess."

"No, he probably would've talked himself into a worse one. That's the thing – you guys look alike, but as soon as you open your mouths you're completely different."

"Yeah, the difference is that I stop talking at some point."

Buster snorted. "Astute observation. That's why it's fun talking to you, you know. A guy can get a word in. I feel like I'm running a mental marathon with Yakko sometimes."

"What am I then, a mental stroll?"

"Did I say that?" Buster asked, raising his brows, "I just mean it's easy talking to you. Talking to Yakko…sometimes I felt like I could never keep up. Like it was it was a competition, and I'd always lose. And it wasn't just talking…school, gigs, girls…he always won. Always had to be the best."

Wakko glanced down at his arm. "Trust me, I know the feeling." It had never occurred to him that Buster, of all toons, felt the same way he did. Life was strange.

"Ya know, I always gave him a lot of crap for watching you guys all the time. I was always on his case for not going out and having fun. I was pretty stupid. Can you forgive me for that?"

Wakko blinked at him in bewilderment. Buster was staring at him, the question ending with a desperate need for reassurance. He seemed childlike almost, like he was begging.

"Well yeah, sure," Wakko said hesitantly, still wondering why Buster wanted amnesty from him, "But I…I think that was fun for him though. At least it was for me." Wakko frowned, his heart constricting a little. Had Yakko been having fun with him and Dot instead of going to parties with Buster? Or had they just been a burden to him?

"Are you still mad at him?" Wakko asked quietly.

Buster snorted. "Was it that obvious?"

Fidgeting slightly, Wakko decided not to mention he'd heard the conversation in the car as confirmation. "Uh, yeah. Are you?"

Buster inhaled through his nostrils and absently picked up the sketchbook. In the flickering firelight Wakko could see that his face was bent in deep concentration, and he looked significantly older. "I don't know," Buster said finally. Wakko took courage in the small amount of hope in Buster's voice. He was sure he hadn't imagined it.

Buster opened the sketchbook and began paging through it. "Wait, don't – " Wakko burst, lunging forward to snatch the book away. No one else aside from Yakko had ever laid eyes on his drawings, and Yakko had barely even seen half of them. But Buster was quicker and pulled it out of his reach.

"Oh please, have you seen me draw? I can't even make a convincing stick figure. Whatever you've got has to be better just by default."

Settling back on his heels, Wakko waited in forced silence as Buster looked through.

"Hey, these are badass!" Buster said, a grin cracking across his face as he inspected a drawing of a sea monster, "Oh man, look at his tentacles, those are so cool!" He flipped the page. "Whoa, hold the phone, who's the cute chick?"

Realizing he was pointed to the sketch of Berry, Wakko blushed horribly and mumbled, "Nothing, don't look at that one…"

Buster smirked but thankfully turned to the next page. The smirk slipped off his face, and his grip tightened around the edges of the book. His whole body seemed to have stiffened, and the air became tense because of it. Confused, Wakko craned forward to see which sketch it was that was making him mad…maybe it was the unflattering one he'd drawn of Buster's messy kitchen, it had been pretty gross at the time –

But Wakko's heart stopped when he saw it: it was the sketch he'd done, months ago, of Yakko and Babs talking. It still had the dark line marring it from when Shirley had burst into the room and scared the crap out of him.

"Buster, that's nothing," he said quickly, "it's just a stupid drawing – "

Ignoring him, Buster slapped the sketchbook shut and thrust it into Wakko's hands. "No, it's good," he said in a low voice, "real lifelike."

In one movement he was up on his feet. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Buster disappeared around the other side of the dented car. Wakko watched him go, desperate to shout after him, but all the words that bubbled up in throat refused to become cohesive and tumble out. His eyes darted around helplessly, searching for something, anything, that would make it better, that would take it back, but of course there was nothing. He'd screwed up. Again.

Yakko watched as Babs' face bent in concentration, all of her focus burning on the face where their hands joined. Her fingers were wrapped around his, her thumb working furiously against his thumb in what was possibly the most heated thumb war match of all time. The competitive side of Yakko was screaming at his other side to get a grip on himself – the side that kept getting distracted by her hand and her giggles.

Once the sun had set the cold had settled in, and they'd moved to the cabin of the van. Without words they had agreed that the more spacious back of the van was out of the question, each of them battling memories of being thrown in it by weasels. Babs, who had pulled a blanket from her hammerspace and had wrapped it around herself like a cocoon, laughed again as his thumb pinned hers. She squirmed, trying to free it and failing, and he began to count, "One, two – "

"No!" she cried dramatically, and reached out to jab him in his side. He yelped – how on earth did she know he was ticklish there? – and she seized her chance, her thumb sliding out easily in his moment of weakness. How dare she?

"Hey, that's cheating!" he said.

"I prefer to call it strategy," she shot back with a smirk.

"The secret of life is honesty and fair dealing. If you can fake that, you've got it made," he quoted in his perfected Groucho Marx impression.

God, she had that confident look again. Stop it, stop it…

"I'd rather regret the things I've done than regret the things I haven't done," she returned. A flawless Lucille Ball.

Her smile was arresting, he was a prisoner to it, he'd just have to sit here for years because he would never be able to leave –

"Onetwothree gotcha!" she exclaimed triumphantly, and it took him a moment to realized she'd had his thumb pinned down. This immediately caused her to break down into a victory dance in her seat, which was accompanied by a song with lyrics loosely strung together on the spot.

"Babs is the best, better than the rest, at thumb war, it is no chore…"

Yakko rolled his eyes. "You should take my spot on Broadway."

Finally settling down, her eyes flicked to his. "Do you think you'll go back to New York? After all this is done?"

"Doubt it. Unless Dot or Wakko want to go back to JTAP. I want it to be their decision this time, instead of me dragging them across the country just because I wanted to. Besides, the air's way too clean in Manhattan."

"Good, because everyone missed you here when you left." Her eyes dropped down to their hands, which were still connected. "Buster really missed you," she added quietly.

"I missed him too," Yakko said, trying to ignore the way her fingers were curled, "If I'd have known that he was having trouble…I could've done something, I should have – "

She waved him off. "As if I was some kind of saint to him. Please, I let it happen. But, even if he doesn't act like it, he's an adult. He's just going to have to decide for himself. I hope he hasn't gotten himself into too much trouble…I mean, he is a toon, but…I never know with him…"

The van grew silent as Buster's invisible presence ushered out the merriment from before. Part of Yakko wished Buster would just go away and leave them be, but the other part of him, the part closer to his heart, missed his friend desperately. He missed the old Buster, the real Buster, not the one consumed by addiction and pointless longing for a life he thought he wanted but never needed. He missed being good enough for Buster. And Buster, didn't he see what he had in Babs? What he was pushing away?

"He's tougher than anyone gives him credit for," Yakko said, "And smarter. I don't know if he'll find a way through this, but he'll find a way around it."

"I hope so. I wish I knew him better. We were perfect for each other as kids, but we just grew into two different people. Life's funny that way, isn't it?"

"Life's got a twisted sense of humor."

She snorted, but then gave way into a full-body shiver. To his surprise she suddenly scooted closer to him so that she was pressed up against his chest, her head nestled beneath his chin. Every muscle in his body wound to a level of tightness he hadn't imagined was possible; if someone so much as poked him he'd shoot straight through the roof of the van. Probably in the shape of a rocket. And if he was lucky he'd land in a magical where there were no amazing girlfriends of best friends to fall completely in love with.

Wait.

Love? He wasn't in love. Was he? That was impossible. He was a Warner. He was Yakko Warner. The word had been scratched out from his romantic vocabulary, and used only when he needed a good chuckle.

Almost of their own accord, as though they were breaking through the chains of his own confusion, Yakko's arms slid around Babs, holding her close to him. They settled there and his entire body seemed to soften, like clay, and there was only one word on his mind: perfect. This felt perfect. She felt perfect. He'd never wanted to just hold a girl like this before. Then again, he'd never wanted a girl like this before. Not in this way. Babs seemed to relax too; she sighed, and it made him delirious. What he wouldn't give, or do, to make her make that noise again. He buried his face in her ears and breathed her in.

They stayed like this until her ears perked up. Yakko watched her. She took his hand, cradling it in hers for a moment as though it was made of glass. Then his breath caught in his throat as she slid her bare hand under his glove. The friction of skin against skin was incredible, deliciously slow, only stopping when she was satisfactorily settled against him. Every pinprick point where their palms met positively burned, and Yakko found his eyes glued to their hands, pinned together beneath his glove. After too many moments he realized he was holding his breath. He exhaled in a puff that was almost a cough, and without any kind of conscious decision his eyes met hers.

In the past, Yakko had only ever looked into a girl's eyes as a means to an end. They thought it was romantic, they thought he was romantic, and he always found that he prospered in the end. Not once did he really look into to their eyes, deep into them to find the girl behind them. But now, as he all but drowned in the brilliantly clear blue of Babs', his brain was clouded with all that he had missed, every truth and happiness in the world, and all that he had to gain. He felt naked and exposed under her gaze like he never had before, as though everything about him was laid out plainly before her, and he wondered what she thought of what she was seeing.

He had to say something. He had to, before he did something he'd regret or he made her feel uncomfortable by staring at her like an idiot for some inappropriate amount of time –

"Why don't you wear gloves?" he croaked, then nearly cringed. That was the best he could come up with? God, he was an embarrassment to himself.

To his surprise, she smirked. "I always told people it was protest against tradition. But the real reason is because I thought they made my hands look too big. Isn't that ridiculous? But that's what most girls did back then anyway."

"You're not like most girls."

For how close she was there was no way she couldn't feel the frenetic way his heart was beating, and on top of that he swore she was getting closer. Her warm breath broke against his chin, and he realized for a second time that night that it would not take much for him to close the distance between them, like he'd wanted to do for months. With any other girl he wouldn't have given it a second thought – hell, by this point he'd be offering her a tour of his apartment. But not with Babs, with her it was so much harder, so much scarier. She could see right through him, he knew she could, and she'd realize he wasn't good enough, just like his mother had, just like any other girl would have if he'd stayed with her long enough to give her the chance to decide –

"I'm sorry!" she burst out suddenly, "It's my fault – well, sort of my fault – I guess it still makes it my fault – "

He blinked at her, trying to keep his head from spinning. "Come again?"

He'd never seen someone look so guilty. "It's my fault we're even in this mess! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…I've been meaning to tell you, but…"

Yakko frowned and shook his head, trying to knock some sense into it. "Wait, what are you talking about?"

Taking a deep, shuddering breath and not making eye contact with him, Babs said in a miserable voice, "I should have told you…on the night Bugs told us we were going to Pendleton, Buster thought it would be a good idea to go out for a bit, to take our minds off of things, even though Bugs told us we shouldn't. But I went, we went to this bar in downtown Toontown, it was one of those overpriced ones that thinks it's better than it – you know what, nevermind – long story short, we had a fight. And I was yelling at him, I mean really yelling, like Jerry Springer, you're-not-the-father kind of yelling. And in the middle of all of it, I said that he shouldn't even bother going to Pendleton. There were dozens of people there Yakko, and I screamed it at them like an idiot. Who screams a secret like that in some seedy bar? They'd have to be Beethoven-level deaf not to hear me. It's the only way the news must've gotten out, and it's all my fault. I'm so sorry, I haven't been able to stop thinking about it…"

Yakko felt as if a cold stone had been dropped into his stomach as he watched her blink back tears. It would be easy to not say anything, to let her and Buster take the fall. And for a moment, he very nearly did. Yakko bit his lip and stared out into the black desert. His heart was pounding again, except this time for very different reasons. He shut his eyes and sighed, and painfully turned his head back to Babs.

With a horrible effort, Yakko said slowly, "Babs…listen, it wasn't…it wasn't you who let it slip."

Her eyes finally flicked up to meet his, her brows puckered with confusion. "What?"

Yakko hesitated. He used the moment to soak in her face, because she was probably never going to look at him the same way again. "It…it was me. I said it. By accident." He felt as though he was pulling the words from his mouth against their will.

"You? To who?"

Oh boy.

"Um, well…you're going to laugh…well, no, probably not, but…Minerva."

Her face went from concerned to emotionless in one swoop. She blinked at him. Once. Then a chill seemed to settle over the car. Babs pulled away from him and Yakko immediately missed the warmth of her body against his.

She looked him full in the face. "You told…Minerva?"

Each of her words was like a punch in the gut. Like a coward, he couldn't muster the words to answer her.

Her eyebrows darted together as her eyes narrowed. "And why, might I ask, did you tell her about that? What exactly were you doing with her?"

"It wasn't anything – "

She laughed humorlessly. "Oh yeah, I'm sure, you two were just having tea and a nice little chat when it just slipped out – "

"What does it matter what we were doing?"

"It matters to me!" Babs shot back, but something flashed across her face the moment she said it. Yakko would have dwelled on this had his own frustration and regret not bubbled to the surface.

"Why?" he challenged, "I don't see why it should, last time I checked you were with Buster!"

"Well maybe I'm not!"

"What?" he yelped, wincing as his voice jumped up several pitches, "You didn't tell me that!"

"And why would you need to know?"

"I don't!"

"Then it doesn't matter!"

"Well then even if Minerva and I were going skydiving that shouldn't matter either!"

This seemed to wash over her, and it pinned her mouth shut in a thin line. Her blue eyes, so deep and inviting before, were now a cold, impenetrable wall. "And I thought what you did to Fifi was pathetic," she snapped, and put shuffled to the other side of the cabin to put as much space between her and Yakko as possible. She glared pointedly out the window, but he could still make out her stony face in the sideview mirror.

Yakko took a breath, snide remark prepared, but shut it when he realized it would only make things worse than they already were. That seemed to be the only thing that happened when he opened his mouth anymore.

Thrusting his back against the car, Wakko's eyes fell on his sketchbook. That stupid thing had done more harm than good…it was just a showcase of his many failures…with and angry snarl, he snatched it up. He tried to tear it apart but he couldn't even break the binding. Frustrated, he hurled it into the darkness, the papers fluttering, perfectly happy if he never saw it again.

Thump. "Ow! What the…"

Wakko frowned as Dot came marching into the light, one hand clutching the sketchbook and the other rubbing the side of her head. "A girl can't get some shut eye without getting concussed? What did you do that for?" she demanded.

But something must've shown on his face, because her own softened almost immediately. She glanced at the book, then back at him again. "You okay Wakko?"

"Fine," he grunted.

Not breaking eye contact, she padded lightly around the campfire and dropped down next to him. "Look, you do a lot of weird things, but trying to throw your sketchbook to Timbuktu? That's a new one."

"How'd you know it's my sketchbook?"

Dot rolled her eyes in a wonderfully familiar way. "Okay, well, for starters, it says 'Wakko's Sketchbook' on the cover."

He had to give her that one.

"And…I also…might have peeked at it before."

Wakko's ears jumped in alarm. "What? When?"

"At Bugs' house," she said, making an effort not to sound to guilty, "after we had some moronic fight. I was mad at you, and then I found your book, and I was totally gonna use it as blackmail material. But then I looked at it…and then I saw this one…"

She paged through, then held the book up to him so he could see. She'd stopped on one of the sketches he'd done of her, curled up on the couch and watching TV.

"I love this one," she said, "Just when I thought no one could translate my adorableness to paper…it looks just like me!"

"Keep it then, if it's so great," he grumbled, shoving the book back her, "'cause it's done me so much good…not…"

Her brow puckering, Dot's gaze turned to the book, then back at Wakko. Without warning, she slapped him over the head with it.

Wakko yelped and clutched his head. "Ow! What's your problem – "

"God, you're a worse drama queen than Yakko, you know that? I just told you your drawings are good, and you go whining about the thing like it chopped your tail off or something – "

"It's not just that! All I do is screw up, all the time, everything I touch just gets ruined, I might as well not even try – "

"That's not true and you know it! Whining and crying never solved anything. If you have problems, then deal with them!"

She had such a fierce look on her face that Wakko's mouth slapped shut. He pulled back to stare at her, her thin chest heaving, her tiny fists balled at her sides. After glaring at him for a length of time she deemed appropriate, Dot's face softened, and she was looking at him with a tender expression that reminded him irrefutably of Yakko.

"But don't think for one second that I'm letting you deal with them alone," she said, and she scooted next to him to snuggle into the spot under his shoulder, "you've got me now, too."

Feeling her shiver from the cold night air, Wakko wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a quick squeeze. They watched the fire in silence until Dot picked up his comic. "Be careful," he blurted, fidgeting under her.

"Geez, how many times have you read this thing? The ink is wearing off," she asked, examining the worn pages.

"A bunch."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Ya don't say…" He watched her as she brought the comic close to her face, angling it so it could catch whatever bit of firelight she could. "Don't you get sick of Mickey being so darn cheerful all the time?" she asked after a while.

Wakko shrugged. "Not really. That's part of why I like it."

The comic lowered. "Why do you like this so much?"

Keeping his eyes on the book, he thought for a moment. No one had ever asked him that before. "Well…I dunno…I mean it's exciting, and stuff…I found it at the orphanage, so I've had it forever…" his eyes drifted to a frame with Mickey and the Phantom Blot, "…and, well, I like that Mickey goes through all this stuff, the Phantom Blot keeps trying to kill him, but he never gives up, and he never stops being brave or doing the right thing. No matter what. But then there's the Phantom Blot. You think he's just a bad guy, but at the end he says he can't watch anything die. So there's a little more to him than you think. And…I don't know…that just seemed to make sense to me. I wish I could be like Mickey, but most of the time I just feel like the Blot."

Dot paged through the comic with considerably more interest now. "Well, I think that you're brave and do the right thing."

He thought of leaving Yakko, Scratchensniff, and Yosemite behind. "I dunno."

"I think there's more to you than most people think too."

"I dunno…"

"Don't be such a party pooper! C'mon, you can drive a car and you came all the way to Bugs' house to protect me, even after I was mean to you, and it was your idea to go to Pete's tree farm tomorrow!"

He nudged her. "Says the one who sets up snares and mallets huge toons in the head."

Her whole body seemed to swell with pride. "Just a little thing I do." She paused, staring into the fire, and a wave of sadness rippled across her face. Wakko wondered if she was thinking about Yosemite, and his mind scrambled for options on cheering her up.

"So uh…what's the first thing you're gonna do when we find Yakko?"

The corner of her mouth quirked ever so slightly, and he considered this a victory. "Hug him 'til he can't breath. Then tell him to get off his duff and tell Babs how he feels."

"Wait, what?"

"Oh please, he's been eyeing Babs for months."

"What? Babs? For real?"

Heaving a gigantic sigh, she gave him a classically Dot look – one that implied that he, like every other male on earth, was incredibly stupid.

"God, you're such a boy. You all are oblivious to everything. Yakko was obviously nuts about Babs and the only reason he didn't say anything was because she's Buster's girlfriend. Duh. So he should just tell her. Sure, it'll ruffle up some feathers, but even if she says no, he needs to show himself he can do a lot better than his current track record, a whole lot better."

Wakko rolled his eyes. "You were jealous of Minerva even before we knew she was rotten."

She let out an offended sniff. "I told you, I'm not jealous!"

"You never liked any of his 'special friends,' not one. Even the ones that weren't so bad. Remember Natalia? She told me she liked my hat once."

Dot was practically bristling. "Oh what do you know, you probably don't probably don't even know you're totally in love with Berry!"

"What?" Wakko yelped, shocked at the abrupt turnaround, "Since when?"

"Look, you're blushing!"

"No I'm not!"

"Wakko's blushing, Wakko's blushing…"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Am not – "

"Hey, simmer down over there! Some of us would prefer not to get a visit from some smugglers," came Buster's voice from the darkness.

Still smirking, Dot dropped her voice to a whisper. "Anyway, as I was saying, once we find Yakko – and Babs for that matter – he needs to prove he can ask out a girl who doesn't think IQ is a way to abbreviate the alphabet. It's too bad she's still going out with Buster though."

"Buster's not so bad," Wakko said, ringing his hands.

Dot prodded him in the side. "What's up?"

"Huh?"

"You've got that 'I know something and I feel guilty about it' look on your face," she said, raising an eyebrow at him. It made her look remarkably like Yakko while reminding him that she alone had inherited their older brother's poker face, not him.

"I…well…Buster's a good guy, but…I kinda, accidentally heard him and Babs argue before they disappeared and, um, they might…not be dating?" he mustered.

"Really?" she asked, frowning.

"Yeah – but don't say anything, promise? And don't go trying to, I don't know, do some kind of matchmaker thing or something."

She'd gone back to staring into the fire, and Wakko found this unnerving. He didn't trust girls. The wheels in their heads were always turning. Opting to distract her again, he muttered, "'Cause if you do, I'm telling your boyfriend you want to elope…"

The fire reflected in her wide eyes. "Don't you dare, that's not even true! And he's not my boyfriend!"

"Yeah, right."

She crossed her arms and stuck out her nose stubbornly. "And even if – in some insane alternate universe – he was my boyfriend, it's not a big deal. I'm a teen. I date boys. That's what I do."

"Hey, you don't have to tell me that, I'm not the one you have to worry about," Wakko said with blissful unconcern, stretching back to lean against the car with his hands behind his head, "I don't have to go after Skippy with a baseball bat. Big brother's gonna do all the work for me."

Groaning, Dot dropped her face in her hands. "Don't remind me," she muttered through the weave of her fingers, "He'll have a freaking coronary when he finds out."

He smirked. "Oh, so it's true?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," she said, crossing her arms and looking away to hide the color in her face.

If she had revealed this months ago he would have taunted her around the clock, but Wakko was surprised to find he had no such impulse. Instead, he simply adjusted himself to find a more comfortable spot against the car and said, "Don't worry. I won't tell Yakko. Not right away, at least."

She snuggled closer to him. "We're gonna find him, right?" she whispered, and she sounded small.

"Yeah." It did not occur to him to say no.

Wakko could feel sleep weighing down his eyelids, and the fire was an orange blur against the black night. He was so far from home right now, but with Dot here it didn't feel so bad. They were just missing their Part Three. With a guilty twinge he remembered ragging on Yakko for forcing him to stay at Bugs' house, that it wasn't his home. He should have realized that as long as his brother and sister were there, anywhere was home.

"G'night, sis."

"Goodnight Wakko."