Chapter Text
It was weird living under the ocean.
Wakko still hadn't quite gotten used to looking out the window and seeing the depths of the sea. It felt unreal, when he still expected to see the sky, birds, trees.
Now, replaced by the surreal sight of buildings with jellyfish floating around them, neon lights glowing through the blue underwater haze.
It was like a dream.
A dream following a nightmare...
==== - ====
...In the 1940’s…
When Wakko saw a car for the first time, he instantly wanted to know how it worked.
Lon’s response to this had been to get him a lot of DIY toy car kits, among other similar toys that he could build himself. Because as much as Wakko had wanted to get into an actual car engine, his dad seemed to think that would be a little too dangerous.
Wakko had no idea if his interest in building stuff had been planned, or if it had been an unintended trait. He found he didn’t care very much.
One summer day he was in Lon’s backyard, having just finished putting together a wind-up car. Excitedly he wound it up and released it, watching the car skitter across the grass, proud that he had been the one to build it.
And he hadn’t even needed to use the instructions.
He had wanted to try building the toy without them. And he had done it, too.
He perked up further, a new idea occurring to him. Wakko eagerly went down on all fours and started to dig a hole, his efforts aided by his blunt claws, making a mound with the displaced dirt. Then he began to mold the pile into a sort of ramp, ignoring that dirt was sticking to the white fur on his hands. Winding the toy car up again, he aimed it towards the mound and released it.
The first time he encountered a problem, in that the car veered off course. So he dug an indent heading up the slope.
The next time, it worked.
Wakko let out a little whoop as the wind-up car went up his makeshift ramp and cleared the hole.
Then the pile of dirt attracted his attention, and he suddenly wanted to roll in it, and the bits of grass that he’d dug up.
His decision made, Wakko happily flopped down on the mound and began to wriggle around in it, sniffing at the grass around him. He quickly created a dust cloud around himself, sprinkling his fur with loose grass, causing his shirt to ride up around his chest.
"Having fun?"
The kindly voice didn't startle him. Wakko had both heard Lon open the back door and had smelled his woody cologne.
Wakko rolled onto his stomach and huffed, dislodging dust from his nostrils. Lon was kneeling next to him, wearing an amused smile.
“Yeah!” Wakko beamed up at him and nudged the portly animator’s hand with his nose, prompting a laugh. Lon responded to the nuzzle by scratching his back, running his fingers up and down his spine. Wakko let his tongue hang out, half lidding his eyes, his tail starting to wag in happy pleasure. After a moment he rolled onto his back instead, and Lon moved on to rubbing his soft belly. His tail kept moving, Wakko letting his tongue fall out the side of his mouth.
"It's amusement park day, Wakkerino," his father said fondly, moving to stand up. "Remember?"
Before that could happen, Wakko had rolled back over and jumped, managed to enthusiastically lick his dad's face. With an affectionate laugh Lon scooped him up and started to carry him back inside.
"Course I do," Wakko threw his arms around the animator's neck, hugging him, resting his head on his shoulder.
Once every other month, Lon took them to local amusement parks. Wakko loved it, especially the rides.
And of course, there was the concession food, the thought of which instantly made Wakko's mouth water a little bit.
The only thing he didn't like was how the park staff never seemed pleased to have toons around, often giving them dirty or suspicious looks. Lon always seemed to have to pay extra to even get them in the gates.
"I love you, dadoo," he mumbled, snuffling at Lon's balding head. Thinking about the extra effort he put in to take them on fun excursions always prompted him to say that, as sappy as it sounded.
"Aw," Lon had now put him down, grinning. "How did I end up making such a little lovebug?"
Not catching on that this was a rhetorical question, Wakko took it literally and answered, tilting his head sideways.
"I don't know. How did you?"
"I don’t know either,” Lon responded gently. "But that doesn’t matter. I couldn't be happier with how you turned out."
Wakko felt warmed from the inside, and he gleefully followed Lon outside to where his siblings were waiting by the car.
Back then, the three toons and Lon had been a family.
Until one terrible day, when the animator had died in a tragic accident.
And everything had changed.
==== - ====
....March, 1950...
Wakko woke up abruptly; and not where he had been before.
The last thing he remembered had been Memlo demanding that he come to his office. Then the man had insisted he drink water from a cup…while they had a ‘private talk.’
He’d been afraid, but Wakko had thought he knew what he was in for; a long tirade of insults, which all boiled down to the director calling him stupid and lazy.
Like always. Memlo had never liked him, and his verbal had only gotten worse after Lon had died.
But he hadn’t expected to pass out after drinking the water.
As Wakko woke up more, his heart started to race with terror. He had been bound via handcuffs, weirdly icy against his wrists, to a thick support beam. He attempted to use his toon abilities, and whimpered upon discovering he couldn’t.
It felt like a crucial part of his being had been amputated, except somehow even more awful; his abilities were still present, but he couldn’t reach them.
“About time. I want you awake for this.”
It was Memlo’s voice, filled with menace and hate. Something gripped the hem of his sweater; Wakko tried to whip his head around and bite, instinctively sensing he was in danger.
But he couldn’t open his mouth. Finally he registered something on his face.
A muzzle.
The straps were digging into his skull, bruising the bridge of his snout. Wakko’s chest suddenly felt tight; he couldn’t get enough air.
So he growled instead, loudly, trying his best to sound intimidating and hide how much he was panicking inside. He was just able to catch a glimpse of Memlo, glowering down at him.
For an endless second, nothing happened.
Then the response to his aggression came; it was beastial and angry, the man hitting Wakko hard across the face with a closed fist. He was thrown into the support beam, his vision flashing white, pain flooding his temple. He tasted blood in his mouth.
“Mangy little mutt,” Memlo snarled. “Since you refuse to improve on your own - I’ll just have to beat you into shape.”
The next instant, Memlo had stuck his hand under Wakko’s sweater, roughly grasping him by the scruff. In the process the human’s arm rode the garment up, fully exposing his back. Then he was yanked off the ground, into the air, the handcuffs screeching against the pole.
In the process, he glimpsed a steaming vat, caught a whiff of an acrid smell; the hated chemical that all toonkind feared, deeply.
Dip.
Wakko started to quiver, muttering indistinguishable pleas he couldn’t fully form due to the muzzle.
Not that it would have stopped anything; not when this man had despised him from the very beginning.
With his free hand, Memlo had picked up a rag that had been soaking in the vat of Dip. it was dripping on the concrete floor, the noise seeming oddly loud. The faint burning sensation in his nostrils felt like a terrible premonition of worse to come.
Then the rag was pressed against his back, and the world dissolved into nothing but fiery pain. Wakko attempted to scream, the muzzle effectively making that impossible.
Slightly less pain, then the burning intensified; then the same cycle again. Over and over for what felt like endless hours, Wakko’s vision starting to fade to black around the edges.
It felt like he was being burned alive.
Finally the cycle slowed and stopped. Wakko hung limply as Memlo continued to grasp his scruff, his back still in pure agony.
He emitted a strangled yelp as Memlo sloppily threw a bucket of water against his back to rinse away the blood, the cold water stinging. Then he was placed back on the ground. Dimly he registered a series of bandages being roughly wound around his middle.
This wasn’t being done out of care, Wakko could sense that. It was being done to hide what had happened.
“Now.” Memlo’s voice was low and dangerously calm. “Perhaps this will teach you to play your part right. The part of the resident dimwit.”
Wakko huddled on the concrete floor, shaking all over, feeling as if he were going into shock.
“Do you understand?”
His throat felt dry and closed up.
The muzzle was still there.
He still couldn’t breathe.
“Say yes.”
Feeling another whine building, Wakko squeezed his eyes shut.
“Say it!” Memlo roared, in a jarring departure from his calm tone.
He attempted to, emitting a stifled sob when he couldn’t part his lips enough. Memlo grunted in annoyance and roughly unbuckled the muzzle. Wakko gasped and sucked in a desperately needed breath.
"Say -"
"Yes!" Wakko gasped, the word turning into a sob at the end.
He could feel Memlo’s cold glare, even as his tormentor slowly unlocked the handcuffs, freeing him from the pole. Dully Wakko noted the slow trickle of energy that showed his toon abilities were coming back, even as he stiffly got to his feet.
“Improve. Or this will happen again, until you stop being such a defect. Say a word about this to anyone, including your fellow freaks, and your little sister gets it. Either from me…or from the scientists at Landall.”
Wakko felt his heart stop.
Yakko had told him, once, that the special ink used to make living toons was expensive, hard to get.
So when a toon turned out to be ‘problematic’ - made the mistake of acting too human - companies wanted to know why.
This was what the facility known as Landall prison had capitalized on. Claiming they could find out. 'Fix' the toons in question through painful tests, make them into the simple puppets that had been promised.
In short, saying they could do the impossible.
Because sentiment life inevitably came with sentience, thought, individuality, unplanned characteristics; both mental and physical.
He couldn’t allow Dot to be sentenced to such a horrible place. Wakko wasn’t sure he could forgive himself if he let that happen.
“And I’ll know if you tell,” Memlo continued, in a deathly soft voice. “Not that anyone would believe you. But I am rather averse to drama…and wasting money.”
He registered movement, and Wakko’s gaze darted to a small shape; a mouse. A toon mouse with an exaggeratedly evil face.
The rodent grinned at him with splintered, yellow teeth.
“He’ll be keeping an eye on you. And so will his friends…”
==== - ====
It had gone on for another three months. A slow spiral, leading to the quality of the Warner's cartoons slowly detiorating, the maltreatment sapping all energy and life from the three siblings.
In the end, it resulted in them being sold to a different studio.
They had been driven away from the WB lot in a covered truck. The truck's bed was cold, though Wakko had always been rather cold resistant; he ran warm.
Dot, a little less so. She had rubbed up against him, nonverbally asking for a hug; too proud to vocalize the request, especially in the wake of her recent treatment. Wakko had obliged, cradling his little sister.
Yakko had not joined them. He sat a few feet away, on the opposite side of the truck bed. Knees drawn up and hugged to his chest, tail tightly wrapped around his ankles. His eyes blankly staring into space, horribly silent.
"Yakko?"
Wakko tried to reach for him; although his hand as he fell short, Yakko still reacted to the movement. Flinching, he scooted away another few inches. Exchanged a worried glance with Dot, and Wakko saw his own guilt reflected in her eyes.
Knowing that they were no longer under Memlo's thumb had thinned the cloud of jealousy and pain that had been hanging over Wakko. He was seeing more clearly than he had in the last few months.
He now recalled with starling clarity how dull and thin Yakko's fur had gotten, how prominent his collarbone had become. That he had started wearing a shirt, when he almost never had in the past. He had become more withdrawn, started spending what little free time Memlo had given the siblings outside in the yard. He had seemed defeated, empty, and gradually had stopped talking altogether outside of filming.
Memlo had compared the younger siblings to Yakko so much, had seemed to favor him so much, both of them had let that bitterness blind them to the signs that their older brother was not well.
Engulfed now by intense guilt, Wakko hated himself more than he ever had before; all the more so for not being more alarmed by Yakko going silent. When that was in such oppostion to his nature.
'I'm a awful brother.'
Minutes ticked by, not that Wakko had any way of knowing how many minutes. Until he caught a scent he hadn't smelled in what felt like a lifetime.
Saltwater. Sand. Brine.
When he got out of the truck, it was to discover the truck had stopped on a pier.
It had been a long time since Wakko had seen the ocean. The last time Lon had brought him to the beach had been before the animator had died. It thrilled him to see it again; the water glittering under the moonlight, a black field sprinkled with gems. The smell of salt in his nostrils.
It was beautiful.
He had exchanged a excited glance with Dot. Saw his own joy at the wonderful sight reflected in her smile.
Both of their expressions faltered when they glanced at Yakko. He had simply stood there as the humans talked and exchanged money, hugging his arms. Shoulders hunched, his ears down, gaze locked on the wood at his feet.
They had been ushered onto a boat after that, and it had taken the Warners to a lighthouse. A lonely structure on a tiny island, in the middle of the Atlantic, essentially in the middle of nowhere.
Inside had been a submarine. It had been how the Warners had gotten to this city. A place ripped straight out of one of the science fiction novels Lon had used to buy for Yakko…
==== - ====
Wakko pressed his nose to the window, focusing hard on the fish swimming by the window instead of his memories. They threw tiny moving shadows across the floor, and then he saw something even more impressive; a whale, majestically gliding between two buildings. The neon signs nearby tinted the animal's lumpy hide with several different colors, making it look magical.
"Dot, Dot!" Wakko bounced away from the window. "I need your camera!"
Dot huffed, looking up from where she was arranging her recent photos. The camera sat on the ground beside her. "No way. You'll get hot dog grease all over it or something."
Wakko rolled his eyes and tried to grab the camera, but Dot snatched it away before he could, wrinkling her snout. "Oh no you don't!"
"Come on, just for a bit!"
Dot giggled and ran away from him, the two younger siblings chasing each other around their apartment. It was decently large, and after a whole week…it somewhat felt like home. Even if it wasn't technically the Warner's apartment, but rented for them to live in by Triton Studios.
"Hah!" Wakko managed to tackle Dot and grab the camera from her. He squirmed away from her and ran back to the window, hoping the whale wasn't gone. He just managed to snap a photo of it before the whale's fluke vanished between two nearby buildings.
Dot pouted. Wakko glanced towards Yakko, wondering if he had noticed the scuffle.
There had been a time when Yakko would have cheered them on, jokingly bet on who would win the battle for the camera.
Now, he was tightly curled under the blankets on the bottom bunk bed. Back to the wall, his face covered by his arms, blankets pulled up well past his neck.
Wakko was worried. He knew Dot was, too.
He tried to tell himself that Yakko had seemed normal when on Memlo's filming sets. That he hadn't noticed the deterioration because of Yakko's self isolation.
It wasn't doing much to assuage his guilt.
The younger siblings had tried pushing for answers to no avail ever since arriving in Rapture. Yakko would stay unsettlingly silent and refuse to look at them whenever they did.
Wakko hadn't resumed those efforts for a few days now, despite the guilt squirming in his stomach.
His older brother's current condition was painful to look at.
Yakko had long, feathery fur that got easily tangled if it wasn't routinely brushed. It had been nothing but mats by the time WB had sold the Warners off. He had needed his fur shaved down to a thin fuzz, because his pelt had been past saving.
Wakko had resolved to do his best to make up for how blind he had been to Yakko's condition.
He had worried at first that Triton studios would deem Yakko too broken to act. That they would get rid of him.
To his relief, the new studio had instead allowed the Warners to recoup in their new residence for three weeks after the buyout from WB. Wakko wondered if it had anything to do with the ragged state the Warners had been in on arrival.
The new studio might have been worried that if they put the Warners on set right away, they would be too fragile to handle acting.
It was a level of concern Wakko wasn't used to, even if said concern came more from a business standpoint than anything else; but he was certainly not going to complain. Even if three weeks wasn't really much time to recover from…everything.
Compared to how he and his siblings had been treated in the last couple of months, even a three week respite was amazing.
He and Dot both quietly watched Yakko under his blanket for a few moments, before exchanging sorrowful looks.
"I'll start putting out some food," Dot muttered. "You're better at this…emotional stuff than I am."
Although true, Wakko suspected she also needed to compose herself before seeing the sad, strange version of their older brother under the blanket. She had cried a few times, and Wakko couldn't blame her. Especially when he had shed his share of tears over Yakko's condition.
He suspected Dot felt just as guilty as he did.
"Yakko?" Wakko pulled on the blanket. "It's dinner time."
He hesitated, then pulled the blanket back.
Yakko flinched and uncovered his face. He blinked at Wakko with hollow eyes.
His older brother had always been slim, but he had lost even more weight in the previous months. With most of his fur gone, it was doubly apparent that he was far too gaunt. Wakko could see most of his ribs, and other bones stuck out in sharp relief.
He was grateful Yakko was wearing a full set of pajamas so he didn't need to see the distressing sight this time.
Wakko glanced at the clock on the wall. It was a good thing to have, given it wasn't possible to use the sun to tell time down here.
A slight drawback to living under the ocean. But Wakko was trying to think positively.
He reached for Yakko's hand. "Come on. It would make me happy if you came and ate with us."
He put on puppy eyes and did his best to sound pleading, hoping it would get through to Yakko.
At last, Yakko let his brother take his hand, but Wakko could sense that he was tense. That he was reluctant to let Wakko touch him.
Even so, he let Wakko pull him up. Swinging his long legs over the bed and standing, Yakko listlessly allowed Wakko to guide him to their new dinner table. He carried his lengthy tail so low the tip brushed the ground.
With his fur shaved to the skin, his tail looked like a rat's. Wakko didn't like it, when he was so used to it being full and fluffy.
Yakko had used to love physical contact, especially with his loved ones. The shift unsettled Wakko greatly.
It had started not long after Lon had died. Wakko had thought about why it had happened until his head hurt from the effort, trying to figure out the cause. But he never found an answer.
Except that maybe…Memlo had hurt him too.
But that made no sense, as far as Wakko could tell; when Yakko was the only one of the Warners that Memlo had seemed to like.
I guess the only way we'll know what's wrong is if…Yakko tells us.
And Wakko was starting to seriously doubt that would ever happen.
Yakko dropped into a chair and stared at the table. He started scratching at the tabletop with his retractable feline claws, the motion aimless.
Dot had put out fruit for herself, and raw meat for Wakko and Yakko; pork and fish respectively.
Ironically, Yakko had always been the best cook out of the three. Lon had taught the oldest the culinary arts, but Wakko tried to put that out if mind; his death still caused Wakko's heart to hurt.
So until Yakko got better, they had asked the studio to stock the fridge with things they didn't have to cook. Wakko was rather thankful for the fact that the three of them were part animal; they could eat uncooked meat with no issues.
Fish had always been one of Yakko's favorites. Wakko was hoping that it would help his brother eat again if he was offered an old favorite.
Yakko stared at the strips of fish on the plate in front of him. Wakko gobbled up his three slabs of pork, licking his lips, while Dot ate her fruit.
Yakko still hadn't touched the fish. Wakko glanced at Dot, both of them concluding that they would have to combine forces and convince him.
Only for Yakko to gingerly pick up a piece of the fish and slowly eat it.
Unlike the other times, the action wasn't as listless, and his eyes seemed to get a little brighter. Yakko licked his lips and whiskers as if savoring the taste, though his blank expression didn't change.
They waited to see if he would keep going. When he didn't, Wakko pushed the plate closer.
"That sure seemed yummy," he said. "Why not eat the rest of it?"
Yakko blinked a few times.
"Please," Dot put on her best cute face, while Wakko whined piteously.
That did it. Yakko picked up another piece of fish, eating it faster than the first. Wakko perked up, hopeful that this faster eating was a good sign.
The more of the fish he ate, the more Yakko seemed to be enjoying himself. Wakko started to smile, then grin, and he looked at Dot to see her doing the same.
It wasn't much, but even this mild amount of enthusiasm was better than the lethargic reaction they had been getting over the last few days. Until now, they had only been able to get Yakko to eat tiny bits of food.
After the meal, Dot carefully took Yakko's hand. "Okay. Now it's time to get clean."
Yakko nodded, his burst of interest fading, gaze once again distant; as if he was staring into another world. He stood and let Dot lead him towards the bathroom.
The younger siblings had also needed to get Yakko back in the habit of showering.
Wakko had let Dot handle that. He wasn't used to thinking about hygiene. Not beyond brushing his teeth…which were rather important to him.
His fur was short and stiff, and he had never needed to do much to look after it. Not like Yakko did, and Wakko had never minded smelling like a dog.
But he knew Yakko did mind being smelly and having messy fur. When he wasn't a shell of himself, anyway.
Once Yakko was actually in the bathroom, he didn't need further encouragement. The sound of water running soon emanated from behind the door.
Wakko knew he wasn't just pretending to shower; the scent of shampoo clung to Yakko's fur after each session.
When Yakko emerged several minutes later, Wakko ran over and bounced on his heels. "Yakko, let's watch TV!"
There were toons on the Rapture TV channels that Wakko hadn't heard of before; he wondered if that meant they lived in this city too.
The idea thrilled him. Maybe they could meet them.
Yakko blinked slowly at him. Then he nodded, tailing Wakko as he went to the basic but new couch that had been set in front of a medium sized television set. It was paneled in wood and bronze, with two knobs. Wakko had seen many such sets up on the surface, and in a way he appreciated such a familiar sight.
After Yakko had settled down, wrapping his tail around his feet, Wakko climbed up himself. "Is it okay if we cuddle with you?"
As much as he hated that it was necessary to ask, Wakko considered it best; given how touchy Yakko had gotten about his personal space.
Yakko replied with a slow blink. The younger siblings responded to the feline gesture by climbing up onto the couch and pressing against him. Wakko dragged a blanket up and threw it over himself, Yakko, and Dot.
Wakko heard Yakko blow a long sigh. He leaned his head against Wakko's, half lidded eyes on the TV as a show started playing. The flickering light from the screen tinged his white facial fur blue.
Warmth built under the blanket, Wakko feeling immensely comforted by his older brother's body heat. The three siblings sat in a pensive silence, watching the cartoon, acted out by toons they had never heard of.
It felt extremely cozy. It would have felt normal, if not for Yakko's condition…
Before his thoughts could spiral and make him cry again, Wakko felt a slight vibration from Yakko.
The vibrating became stronger, and Wakko realized it was purring.
Purring from Yakko.
Wakko couldn't stop himself from letting out a tiny, delighted yip and nuzzling Yakko's cheek. His tail beat a happy rhythm against the couch cushion. He heard Dot sigh, the sound loaded with relief.
"Decent gag. But I bet we could do better."
The statement was faint, almost a whisper, and largely toneless…but it was wonderful all the same.
Because it had been Yakko who had spoken, and it was music to Wakko's ears. He glanced at his older brother's face, hoping for a smile.
He didn't see one; Yakko still looked tired, mouth still a flat line.
But there was the faintest of sparks in his eyes, and that was still something.
Better than nothing.
Near the end of the night, Wakko felt a rough tongue gently start licking his ears.
It was a comfortingly familiar feline habit of Yakko's, and it had been a very long time since he had done it. Wakko nestled into Yakko, half lidding his eyes, soothed by the sensation of Yakko's tongue combing through his fur.