TW: Implied Kidnapping, Stockholm Syndrome, Emotional Manipulation, Slight Dissociation, Implied PTSD, Food Poisoning, Toxic Mindsets.
A.N. - I bounced around a variety of moods while writing this, so enjoy the ride.
Screams pounded against the confines of your mind. Even as a sweltering heat bulged in your throat, the shrill cries conjured nothing but irritation. The noise seemed to belong to a separate person, for the discomfort permeating your thoughts opposed the terror embedded in your expression. The twitches rattling your limbs like the tolling of church bells refused to cease as bright lights plagued your vision.
A feminine voice descended from above, penetrating the barrage of shrieks. "Are they okay?" It was muffled as if you had two pillows pressed to your ears.
"Nothing to worry about, baby sis. They just need a little time to adjust," assured a confident voice, this one much louder and clearer.
A third pondered aloud, "Should I bring them a piece of the turkey?"
The white glow consuming your eyes plummeted to darkness as the unseen bystanders began to converse with one another, a series of chuckles maturing into boisterous cackling. Their words rose to such a flamboyant volume that each syllable leaked into the next, but not a single phrase reached your ears as anything more than nonsensical ramblings. The sensation of spinning was joined by a nauseating flip of your stomach. Just before your last meal could greet the floor, a force seized your arm and yanked you into the air.
The first sight to confront you was the underside of Dot's bed. Mind fighting to dispel the blur infesting your vision, you shook your head and focused on the teal wood of the frame. Droplets of cold sweat populated your forehead, but the tension that had overtaken your system a moment prior flowed away in a single exhale. Sharp hues bordered your vision, the clattering of plastic balls signifying your unconventional resting place. You lifted yourself from the ball pit like a mud monster bursting from the depths of a swamp and rested a hand on the bedstead.
A twinge of pain in your back prompted you to wince. The resilience of Yakko's bones was an enigma, but the lack of his morning chitchat was a greater anomaly.
It failed to elicit the same fear that had seized your being for weeks after the event. Recalling his zealous speech about strengthening the relationship now channelled complacency, a bizarre feeling reminiscent of a survivor noting the environmental benefits of a storm that had levelled their home. The isolation of the water tower combined with the lofty capacity for violence inherent in Toons provided no shortage of opportunities, but Yakko had yet to harm you in any tangible way.
There was the periodic bout of unwanted affection but nothing that fostered scars. Where you spilled cereal and anticipated insults, he would joke about the fast-food restaurants growing rich off him as he left to procure your new meal. When you first saw him raise a fist, you shut your eyes, only to feel him pat your shoulder and draw you into a hug. If he had indulged in aggression, you would have a plethora of reasons to be scrambling over the guardrail every day. His behaviour was free of malice, and this apparent benevolence made your insistence on rejecting him seem flimsy.
An unnatural stillness lingered in the water tower, the quiet voices of the television serving as the only reminder that Yakko's propensity for conversation had not degraded your sense of hearing. The meagre grunts enveloping the sofa drew your gaze to the peculiar sight of Wakko rolling across the cushions as if he were flattening pizza dough. A groan slipped past his lips as he flopped onto the arm of the chair, ears drooping and tongue protruding from his mouth.
The jingling of empty bottles evoked a spark of surprise in your movements. Turning to the kitchen, you spotted Dot idling in front of the refrigerator, shoulders hunched and fingers encircling the handle. Waves of frigid air struck her form, but the pink bathrobe tied to her body provided a shield against the cold. She stared into the appliance with a glower.
Scanning the living space with a dazed frown, you lowered your arm and looked at Dot. "Where's Yakko?"
The Warner Sister slammed the door shut. "He went out." Displeased with the slim selections, she marched to the nearest cabinet and flung it open. Stale bread crumbs the colour of snow and barren cans littered with cobwebs welcomed her. Dot scowled and hopped onto the countertop, clenching her teeth as she struggled to grasp the knob of the highest cabinet.
A sudden urge to assist the young Toon flowered in your mind, and you marched forward to open the door.
She turned to you in surprise before smiling and standing on her toes to peer inside. A lone box of cereal occupied the dingy space, blanketed in dust and flaunting various gashes. The corners of her snout plunged into a deep grimace. Dot plucked the food from its dark home and leapt to the floor, muttering, "It's no good without milk."
Your gaze crinkled at the miserable edge in her voice. Observing such a rambunctious Toon reduced to drooping eyes and an empty stomach summoned a desire to alleviate her hardship. Shifting your attention to the refrigerator, you clutched the handle and swung the door aside.
The putrid stench of spoiled meat invaded your nostrils with a punch. A hunk of turkey sat in the centre of the top rack, sizeable bites scattered across its surface despite the visible deposits of mould. After a minute of rummaging around the rotten bird, you spotted a bottle with a gulp of milk residing on the bottom shelf. The liquid thumped the glass as you lifted it from the stink saturating the compartment.
Dot paused her attempt at shovelling the dry grain into a bowl, lowering the box to the table. She sighed and glanced at the entrance as if debating whether the effort was futile or not. A look of shock crossed her face when the cereal was drenched in milk, and she whirled around to find you holding a now empty bottle.
Her astonished countenance earned a smile from you. After discarding the bottle in the trash bin, you swiped a spoon from the utensils drawer and dipped it into the meal. The cereal spun like a whirlpool inside the bowl as you stirred the neat amount of milk. The liquid splashed against the clumps and flailed most of them in a glossy veneer.
Dot watched the process in silence, eyes wide and bewildered.
You propped the spoon on the side of the bowl and retreated to the end of the table with hopeful energy.
The Warner Sister raised a bite to her mouth, swallowing the grain in a slow gulp. The cold rush of the milk prompted a cheer to burst from her lips as she raised the cereal into the air and extended it towards her older brother. "Wakko, we have food!"
Wakko had remained draped over the arm of the sofa, awaiting his brother's return with a rumbling stomach. A speck of dust wafted through the air as his hands brushed the floorboards in search of crumbs from his earlier feast. He probed the crevices and plunged any colourful grains into his mouth, but his tongue sagged at the taste of grime. A tinge of green flushed in his cheeks.
"I was gone for an hour, and you already replaced me?"
The three of you whipped around to find Yakko standing in the doorway to the outside world, multiple bags of fast food clutched in his arms. He adorned a mischievous smile and shook his head. "For shame, sibs. I thought we were closer than that."
The amused voice of their eldest brother drew cheers from his younger siblings as they clambered off the sofa and scurried to the entrance. Yakko unfurled his arms and dropped a bag into their eager clutches, sliding the rest down his fur and catching them in his hands.
Wakko staggered to the nearest sack and latched onto it, stuffing the paper and all down his throat. He began to reach for another, and Yakko surrendered a row of food to avoid losing his arm.
Dot snatched a bag and unfolded it, only to frown. "Yakko," she grumbled, "I told you I can't eat this. It makes my face break out."
The eldest Warner shrugged and rested a hand on his hips. "Sorry, baby sis. The special on lobster bisque ended yesterday."
A glower stretched the thin line of her lips as she passed the food to a ravenous Wakko before a smile replaced it. "It doesn't matter!" She pressed her fists to her waist and shook her shoulders, acquiring a delighted attitude. "I have cereal."
Yakko watched her skip to the kitchen table in puzzlement. The sight of his sister brandishing the bowl like a weapon while you grinned filled him with joy, and he ambled towards the two of you. "Homemade cereal?" A chortle escaped him. "How can I compete?"
"You can't," proclaimed Dot, swishing her tail. She sauntered past him to plop herself on the centre of the sofa.
Your gaze followed the Warner Sister, confirming that she was relishing the meal. A bogus cough spurred you to face Yakko.
"Sorry to leave you by yourself, but the sibs wanted a late lunch. And I just didn't have the heart to wake you up." He plopped the bag of fast food onto the kitchen table and flashed a smug grin, eyes narrowing in playful curiosity. "I trust I was missed terribly?"
His dedication to dialogue had made the scarcity unusual, but it would have been a lie to claim that it was a welcome change. The moments of serenity were infected with aimless thoughts on when he would return. No amount of daydreaming was able to compensate for his ludicrous discussions. The water tower felt duller without his commentary to ignite fits of laughter when you were determined to be brooding.
A slight smile reached your lips, conveying a blend of relief and bafflement. "I'm glad you're back."
Yakko's grin brightened, and his ears pointed to the ceiling in an abundance of elation. He had intertwined his hand with yours when the sound of gagging shattered any intimacy.
Crumpled sacks of fast food surrounded the collapsed form of Wakko, the Toon expelling laboured breaths and sweating torrents. He groaned and opened his mouth, but his limbs did little more than drag along the floor. Half of a drumstick slid down his tongue, chunks of meat still clinging to the bone, and collided with a paper bag in a mess of saliva.
"Little bro?!" Both you and Yakko rushed to his side, Yakko kneeling beside him while you placed a hand behind his head and elevated it.
Wakko coughed until the second half of the bone exited his throat. His breathing softened as the pain contorting his face improved to a drowsy frown.
He was threatening to shut his eyes and sleep, so you slipped your arms underneath his legs and shoulders and lifted him from the ground. After walking to the sofa, you noticed the aghast stare of the Warner Sister.
Dot had abandoned her cereal in favour of plunging her fingers into the cushion, watching the situation with quivering limbs and a gaping mouth. She seized the bowl but retained her horrified countenance as you lowered yourself onto the adjacent seat.
Yakko scrambled to sit next to you and inspected his younger brother with a worried frown, releasing a powerful sigh upon realizing he was asleep. A grateful smile dominated his visage. "You know, you're not bad at that."
You had begun to turn towards him when Dot clutched your shoulder, drawing your inquisitive gaze to her scooting closer. She cast a concerned glance at her unconscious brother before leaning against your side.
The action conjured a surplus of warmth in your chest. A quiet grunt left your lips at the sensation of fur brushing the nape of your neck. Looking at Yakko in surprise, you discovered that he had rested an arm around yourself and Dot.
He pointed the TV remote control at the receiver and bathed the room in obnoxious light, sporting a contented smile. "Just like a family."