Fanfiction

this is for stories you write or you copy from fanfiction

this one i wrote:
Wakko:Is he dead?
by 17lions. (i really wrote this.) proof of it is on Animaniacs Fanfiction.
first chapter



A screeching noise, air knocked out of him, flying, and landing hard was all that Wakko Warner could remember before dark came. He woke up in a dark place feeling dizzy and pain was coming from his left leg. It felt like his heart was in his leg. He tried to adjust his eyes to the dark but it was hard. The dark seem to stretch with no end. “Y...Yakko? “He called out. “Dot?” He longed to see his brother and sister. “What happened to me?” He wondered out loud. He groped for anything to lean on, but grabbed on to air. He felt blood oozing out of his leg from moving it. He started to cry. He cried for awhile then he realized. Crying was not going to help. “Well, I have no other choice but to follow this hallway.” He said while wincing in pain. He started to drag himself into the darkness.

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Yakko heard tires screeching as he was talking to a teenager about his work in the studio.

“Humph, some careless drivers.” Yakko said to the teenager unknowing what happened yet. Yakko looked at Dot talking to another girl about……….. well………..princess stuff. Wakko, however, was nowhere to be found. Yakko knew that the middle Warner sibling was always leaving his sight, coming back after a few minutes later. He turned back to the teenager but the teen was gone. Yakko saw a dog coming instead. It was a Rottweiler and he was running towards him. Yakko backed away from the dog but it went faster with each stride. The eldest sibling stood still when the brown and black dog came up to him. Yakko was surprised when it started to pull on his kakis. He kicked the dog and it went away…….. to Dot. He saw the Rottweiler do the same it did to him but this time it was heard. Dot followed him into the crowd. A few seconds later, Yakko could hear Dot scream. The eldest Warner rushed into the crowd. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw what was on the sidewalk by Dot.

Family » by The Middle Warner Sibling (not mine)
part of chapter one.

Chapter 1 – It’s Hard, Being the Oldest

August 1988

He was jolted out of his sleep, not by the sound of snoring or a nightmare, not even the people in the apartment upstairs yelling at each other, but the unhappy cries of a baby.

His brain still a bit addled with sleep, the child turned to look to his left. Beside him, his younger brother slept peacefully, thumb in his mouth. He rolled over, curling up to his younger brother, hoping one of his parents would tend to the disturbance so he could go back to sleep.

After a minute, it grew silent, and the boy gave a happy sigh; his parents finally did something. With this thought still going through his head, the wails came back, louder than before. Apparently the baby was simply inhaling - more air - more noise.

Why didn’t Mom do something to make her be quiet? The boy looked at the clock on the floor – 2:42 A.M. With a small groan, he rolled over and got out of the bed carefully, making sure not to jostle the rickety frame. The last thing he wanted to do was wake his brother. Luckily his little brother was a fairly heavy sleeper and the noise did not seem to have woken him. Clutching his stuffed bunny, he continued to snore, occasionally letting out a small yipping sound.

Staggering across the hallway, he entered his parents’ bedroom and flicked on the light, wincing slightly as the dim light overhead lit the grungy room. Not surprisingly, neither of them was home. If he was going to be babysitting, the least they could have done was informed him. It would not be any different from any other day, but it just seemed like it would have been nice to have been told.

But, they hadn’t, and the baby was in the middle of his parents’ bed, screaming.

Wondering why she was not in her crib on the other side of the room, he walked across the dirty carpet, stepping over clothes, bottle caps, discarded cigarette butts, scattered playing cards, and old slips from the dog track.

Smelling something terrible; he cringed - did her diaper need changing?

Just taller than the edge of the bed, he peered at the baby, barely old enough to sit up on her own. Still bawling, her dark eyes followed his every movement.

He remembered Mom saying something earlier about his sister starting to get her teeth in, right before his mother put her own teeth around the neck of a bottle and thrust the infant into his arms.

Slightly sympathetic, but happy it was not him with the sore gums, he inhaled and hoisted himself onto the bed. Wincing at the bed frame creaking in protest, he crawled across the filthy duvet and picked the baby up. She quieted some. She whimpered and looked at him with big dark watery eyes.

He began to think – neither of his parents were here – not that he was sure how much help they would be. He had to find a way to dull the pain in her gums so she, and subsequently he, could go back to sleep. If the gods found favor with him, his brother would not wake up as well. Doing a quick look, he did not spot her pacifier.

He had read that rubbing alcohol on an infant’s gums could numb the pain of teething. Although medicines where readily available for teething on the shelves at the local grocery store or pharmacy, they certainly did not have the money for something like that. He hoped that a bit of alcohol on her gums would sooth her a bit.

It was hard sometimes, being the oldest. And to think – Mom made it sound like it was such an adventure each time she announced she was pregnant – the little ones will look up to you – you’ll be the big brother – it will be your job to protect them and teach them...

“Come on sister sibling,” he said, liking the new word he had learned today. “Mom said whiskey can dull the pain of anything, and I know there is plenty of that around here.”

The baby made a small whimper, but didn’t seem to protest further.

As he scooted across the bed, balancing his sister, he found the source of the foul smell - a bottle of spoiled formula. Hoping that his sister had not drank any of it, he kicked it off the bed onto the floor - he would clean it up later.

As the boy carried his sister into the living room, he rolled the new word around in his head. Sibling. According to the dictionary he had been reading - a blood relative. A kinsman or woman. It sounded so much more intelligent than brother or sister.

Yakko knew the importance of sounding intelligent.

Still carrying the whimpering child, he looked around, hoping to see his parents, even slightly tipsy, sitting on the avocado green couch with the cigarette burns on the seat cushions. Of course his father would drunkenly be talking about how “those damn kids” had ruined him; he would have had a successful career on stage and screen if he didn’t have to worry about them. His mother would be mumbling about money, hooch, and her own “Hollywood” career that had never taken off.

As he passed the obsolete television with the missing dial sitting on the puce carpet, ineffective rabbit ears sticking out at odd angles, he tripped over the VCR, dented from so many drunken kicks, sitting out in the middle of the floor. He gently moved it with his foot closer to the television in an attempt to save it from being damaged any more than it was. It was really the only thing of value they had in the house - it was entertainment and escape.

Struggling to hold the baby with one arm, he began to root around in the couch cushions. He knew there had been a bottle of rum in there earlier – he had smacked his head on it when he had been watching TV and play wrestling with Wakko. He wasn’t sure his sister would like it, but it always seemed to make Mom feel better.

The baby began to whimper louder, and not finding the bottle, Yakko gave up.

Think, think...What to do?

He was seven, getting ready to turn eight – his experience in this area was limited. Wishing he were a bit older and better prepared to deal with this, he hit upon another idea. There had been some cheap popsicles in the freezer – maybe one of those would work. Cold could numb pain, and it was really the only other idea he had at this time.

He quickly made his way into the kitchen, stepping over bottles, toys, and miscellaneous garbage. Looking around, he dragged a chair over to the aging Frigidaire and jumped onto the seat, still balancing the baby in his left arm.

Yanking open the freezer door, he was delighted to see that there were still several popsicles there. Grape, cherry, orange, mystery blue color – what flavor would a baby like?

He decided on red – girls always seemed to like the red ones. He preferred the orange. Wakko didn’t seem to care – more often than not, he would eat the wrapper too.

Closing the door, he sat down in the seat of the chair, then balanced his sister in his lap. She looked up at him, starting to cry again.

Ripping open the clear plastic wrapper with his teeth, he squeezed the end until the tip of the treat came out. Dot was starting to cry louder, and, when she inhaled to let loose another scream, he popped the end in her mouth.

She widened her eyes in surprise, but when she tasted the flavor, began to suck enthusiastically on it; surprising Yakko with the speed she was choking it back. At the same time, it appeared to be having the effect he desired – she was no longer crying.

As he sat in the chair with her on his lap, he looked around the kitchen, curling up his lip a bit when he saw several roaches move into the crack on the wall. He made a mental note to clean up whatever was spilled on the floor in the corner that was attracting them. Most of the cabinet doors were not closed, which was a shame - if they were closed, he could at least pretend that there was some food in them, and that he would not have two hungry faces looking at him in the morning. If Mom and Dad did not bring home some food stuffs, they were going to go hungry again, something that was never pleasant.

Dot’s highchair was thrown haphazardly in the corner, still filthy from the prior feeding that surprisingly, his mother had done. His father had taken his dinner and disappeared, leaving Yakko to assist his younger brother.

Wrinkling his nose, he noticed that whatever was spilled on the floor was also on the highchair - the tray had roaches on that as well. Disgusted with his mother’s cleaning habits and the bugs, he hopped onto the floor. He placed Dot on the chair, where she started making fussing noises, but did not unhand the popsicle. He grabbed a rag, already dirty with a prior spill, off the counter top and walked to the rusted sink. Thrusting it under running water, he began to wipe down the highchair, killing any bugs that he was able to catch and tossing them into a discarded bag that was on the floor. He also tackled the mystery stain on the floor since he was in the area, constantly turning to look at Dot, just in the odd chance she started to fall off the chair.

When he had finished his cleaning, he noticed that Dot had finished her popsicle. Half of it was on her face, the rest smeared on her pink outfit. Thankfully she appeared to be happy, looking at him with a goofy grin on her tiny white face.

Small smile on his face, he grabbed another rag, cleaner this time, and wiped her face and hands, breaking out into a big grin when she started giggling. If she was happy, then he was happy - plus, he could go back to sleep.

Picking her up, he carried her back into their parents’ room. Quickly changing her diaper and outfit on the bed, he carried her to the crib. Standing on his toes, he was able to lower the rail to place her in it, thinking that this was the safest place for her, not their parents’ bed where he found her. Plus, he knew the crib was clean - he had done the laundry himself a few days before. Judging from the odor coming from his parent’s bed, he doubted the sheets had been washed in months.

There were miscellaneous items in the crib that he had to move, including a bottle of rum and the missing pacifier.

Figures.

“Night sis.” He mumbled. He wiped the pacifier off with his glove, slipped it into her mouth, and raised the rails, hearing them click into place. He turned to leave, happy to seek his bed, when he heard her start whimpering.

Tired, and a little annoyed, he turned back to the crib, where she was looking at him through the bars like a tiny criminal, tears forming in her eyes. Were her teeth hurting again already?

She let out a soft wail, and with a sigh, he lowered the rails and picked her back up, ready to shove another popsicle in her mouth and sleep in the kitchen. She stopped crying and peered at him through her tears. With a shrug, he placed her back down, where she started fussing again. Raising an eyebrow, he picked her up, where she immediately stopped crying.

Unbelievable. She woke him up because she wanted comforting. He tried looking irritated, but was unable to really muster up the feeling. Around this house, he was starting to assume the role of primary comfort-giver; somebody had to do it. It would be nice if there was someone to comfort him sometimes.

She let out a soft giggle and began to gently bat at his face with her pudgy little hands.

Resigned to the fact that he was going to be up the rest of the night with her, he cuddled her and began stroking one of her long black ears, feeling the silky black fur through his glove. She squirmed, happy for the attention.

He walked to the window, hoping to at least see something interesting if he was not going to get any sleep. The walls in this apartment were way too thin to watch TV to pass the time - all he would do was wake his brother up. Too bad - his parents had tripped across a wonderful collection of movies from the thirties - Yakko knew better than to ask where they had come from. Old black and white movies true, but very entertaining – he and Wakko had watched them for hours…

He wrinkled his nose a bit, never liking the view out their windows. This section of Toontown was an overcrowded ghetto, full of has-beens, never has-beens, aging starlets, gamblers, con-men, and boozed up sleezeballs looking for a good time. The Plympton Ghetto was not the worst of the ghettos, but it was not one of the better areas of town either.

Somewhere out there, his parents were attempting to hit “the big one” as they called it. Whether it was begging, stealing, gambling, trying to con someone; they were always chasing some new scheme. If they were really fortunate, they would actually bring home some food. A bottle of spoiled formula and some popsicles were not going to make a very appetizing breakfast.

Despite the constant fighting of the residents upstairs, the noisy street, the calls of woman to men, constant traffic, the occasional siren, and a mugging here or there, he could usually sleep fairly well. It probably explained why he never found his brother’s snoring all that annoying. He had been dealing with worse for years.

Yakko felt rather than heard another presence, and with a tired sigh, turned to see his younger brother standing in the doorway, clutching his stuffed bunny and rubbing his eyes. Wakko looked at him with sleepy eyes a little hesitantly.

With a small smile, Yakko held out his other arm for Wakko, who ran over to get a hug of his own. Without a word, Yakko turned back to the window, baby balanced on his left hip, Wakko leaning against his right leg.

“Where’s mummy and daddy?” Wakko asked quietly.

Yakko, not looking at him, simply said “Out.”

His parents - and he used that word loosely…They should be here - they were the ones who chose to have children, but they were never here for anything, always out boozing and scheming and partying…

They had seemed upset when they missed the first time Wakko took a step. They had been more upset when they missed hearing his first word. They had been livid when they heard that his first word was "Yakko". They were actually angry at Yakko, like he stole their spotlight. He was not sure what they thought it was going to be - who spent more time with him - they were never here - someone had to watch him…

The only thing that had surprised Yakko about the whole affair was that his brother sounded like he was going to develop a Scouse accent. Unusual. Where that had come from, he had no idea.

Not wanting to dwell on these thoughts, and about to fall asleep on his feet, Yakko gently turned Wakko around and led him back to their bed, still holding their sister. Looking at her tearstained face, he could see that she was almost asleep. She glanced at him, let out a soft burp, and laid her head back on his shoulder.

He helped Wakko into bed with his one free arm, and too tired to attempt to bring Dot back to her crib, decided to let her stay with them. Maybe if she felt her brothers near her, she wouldn’t fuss so much and would stay asleep. He just hoped they didn’t crush her in the bed.

Glancing at the clock, the time now read 3:58 A.M.

Glad he had no plans for the day, he laid down, Dot cradled in his right arm. Wakko crawled over him, giving him a knee in the stomach in the process, to sleep on his left arm.

Yakko grabbed a pillow, placed it beside Dot so she wouldn’t roll off the bed, and with his two snoring siblings using him as a pillow, dozed off to an uneasy sleep, worried about what was going to be in the kitchen in the morning.

XXXXXXXXXX

He had been having a fairly pleasant dream; he and his siblings been had sitting in a clean kitchen eating a real breakfast - plenty of food - eggs, cereal, milk, juice…

He should have known it was a dream just from that - the words 'clean' and 'plenty of food' did not appear often in his house.

The scream in his ear shattered this illusion, and he jumped with a start. Groggy, he sat up, and saw Wakko sitting in front of his sister, waving his bunny in her face. She was sitting up, crying, and Wakko looked like he was about to cry too as he violently waved the scrap of fur back in forth in front of her.

Shaking his head, he asked “Wakko, what are you doing? You trying to upset her?” He picked the baby up, where she continued to sob, pushing her wet face into his chest.

“No.” Wakko whimpered, clutching the animal to his chest. “She crying - trying to play with her…not wake. You so tired...”

Slightly touched, Yakko placed his hand on Wakko’s head. “It’s OK, she’s just fussy - she’s getting her teeth.”

Wakko, looking confused, simply shrugged his little shoulders and curled up to Yakko, who looked at the clock. 8:37 AM. He got to sleep later than he thought.

“I’m hungry.” Wakko said.

Me too, Yakko thought. Wondering if his parents ever made it home, and if they bothered to bring any food, Yakko gently scooted his brother over so he could get up.

“OK – let’s go see if we can find something to eat.”

Yakko, holding Dot, was off the bed and waited for Wakko to hop down to the floor.

Holding his hand, he led them into the kitchen, noticing on the way that his parents’ door was closed. Well, that answers one question.

Looks like Mom and Dad had a good night, he thought. The bag of groceries on the rickety table looked liked manna from heaven. There was another bag on the table that Yakko recognized - blue plastic bags meant someone took a trip to the all-night liquor store.

Wrinkling his nose slightly, he placed Dot in the highchair that should have been disposed of long ago. The plastic was so broken and jagged that he had bound the entire top in duct tape just to make sure his sister, and previously, his brother, did not get cut on it. But, thanks to his early morning cleaning frenzy, at least it was halfway sanitary.

Wakko climbed into a chair at the table as Yakko began to go through the grocery bag.

Some of this stuff should have been put into the refrigerator when they came home, but apparently something else got in the way, he thought, giving the blue bag a nasty look.

But the milk still was cool, so he was hoping that was OK. There was a can of formula for Dot, a few slices of cheese, eggs, a jar of jelly, a loaf of squished bread, two bars of cheap chocolate - rare indeed in this house, - even a can of some breakfast meat-type product whose name he could not read, but he was hoping was going to be edible. It appeared Mom and Dad didn’t have a fantastic night - they had apparently gone to the “scratch and dent” section of the food store.

Excited to be getting something to eat, Wakko bounced up and down in the chair, long black ears flopping around his face.

Yakko laughed at his antics as he moved the groceries to their proper places - milk in the refrigerator, bread on the counter. He hid the chocolate in his pants – something to keep the sibs happy later. He began getting out the pans and bowls to prepare breakfast.

“Can I have cereal?” Wakko asked.

“Sorry, we don’t have any cereal.” Yakko said, concentrating on preparing Dot’s formula.

“Can I have a waffle?”

“Sorry, I don’t have any waffles.”

“How about pancakes? I like pancakes.”

Yakko sighed. He would love to give him pancakes or waffles. Wakko would eat waffles until he burst if given the chance.

“Sorry Wakko, I don’t have any of those either. We have eggs, toast, and potted meat product.”

“I don’t like those.” Wakko frowned.

Yakko, who knew that he did like all of the mentioned foods, turned to look at him for a moment.

“Yes you do. You ate toast and eggs a few days ago.”

“No I didn’t.”

Yakko had finished preparing Dot’s bottle, and placed it into her chubby fist. She put the nipple of the bottle in her mouth and began to happily drink.

“Yakko, I don’t like those foods. I want a waffle!”

Wondering why his brother was choosing to put up a fuss now, Yakko turned. Rolling his eyes at his brother’s whining, he continued to prepare breakfast. Probably left over from that 'terrible twos' thing he had heard about.

Unfortunately he had to prepare the food they had. He was not looking forward to yet another meal of eggs and mystery meat either.

“Yakko! I don’t want that!” Wakko began to yell, pounding his tiny fist on the table.

Startled, Dot dropped her bottle and stared at her brother in wonder.

Ignore him, just ignore him, Yakko thought. Temper tantrums are supposed to be ignored - if you ignore them, usually they quiet after a few minutes.

Wakko’s voice began to rise, and as the pounding on the table continued, Yakko thought it was going to be a long few minutes. Hopefully -

“Quit that damn noise!” a harsh voice rang out.

Uh oh…

“What the hell is going on?”

Yakko cringed as out of the corner of his eye he could see a shadow coming down the hall. Darn, Wakko woke him up.

“Wakko - hush!” Yakko hissed at his brother, who stuck his tongue out at him, and continued to pound on the table, repeating his "waffle" chant like a mantra.

Sensing that this was not going to end well, Yakko finished preparing the scrambled eggs, topped with cheese just the way Wakko liked them, and he quickly shoved a slice of breakfast meat and toast on the plate and immediately placed it in front of his brother.

“What are you doing boy?”

Yakko turned to look at his father standing in the doorway.

At first glance, Slacko Warner looked much like his name implied. Tall and lanky, his back was always bent in a constant slouch. His white face, almost translucent for its paleness, held large black eyes, framed by limp black hair and the trademark Warner ears and bright red nose. But where his children’s ears were upright and perky, Slacko Warner’s ears hung crooked and low, due to the stresses of hard living and the constant breaking of the cartilage in bar fights or when one of his con victims wised up, or he was caught picking the wrong pocket.

His father was not exactly a criminal mastermind - more often than not, he was caught.

His nose, red more from drink rather than genes, was enormous, and he was holding a can of beer to his head. Yakko supposed that another potential sucker figured out what his father was up to - it looked like his father was going to have one heck of a black eye and swollen lip at least.

Yakko noticed that Wakko had stopped throwing his waffle fit and was happily eating his scrambled eggs and toast, though he was avoiding the meat product. Not that Yakko could blame him - while it had turned a salmon color upon being cooked, it originally had started as a carroty-colored lump. He sure wasn’t looking forward to consuming it.

“Good Morning Dad. Care for some breakfast? It‘s really good,” he asked, holding a plate up to his father. Better to pacify the old man and get him out of there.

His father continued to glare down at him, eyes narrowing.

“You getting smart with me boy?”

I can’t help it, Yakko thought, among other comments. Deciding that caution should be exercised in this instance, he simply said “No sir,” and put the plate down on the table.

“What was that brat yelling about?” Slacko hissed at him, glancing at Wakko, who had briefly stopped eating his eggs to watch the conversation. Catching his father’s eye, he quickly looked down and began eating his eggs again.

“Oh nothing - he was just having trouble containing his excitement to be eating this feast you have laid out before us.”

Yakko saw the slap coming before it actually struck him across the mouth. Staggering back a few steps, he warily watched his father coming at him, hands encased in the standard issued white gloves of half the world’s toons. Most toons kept their gloves spotless - his fathers were quite grimy he noticed.

He dimly heard his brother and sister start to cry, and he regretted saying anything to his father in one of his drunken states. He didn’t want to do anything to put them in their father’s warpath. His parents had never hit the younger ones, and only rarely him - mostly for the same thing.

Big Mouth.

“Better watch that smart mouth boy - gonna get you in trouble someday. You don’t like the food we brought, get your own. Think you could do that kid? Think you could take care of all of you better than your old dad, huh?” Slacko slurred at him, spittle flying from his mouth with every third word.

A whole plethora of thoughts went through Yakko’s mind, the first one being: I already do.

Again deciding that silence was called for in this case, he said “No sir” and resisted the urge to wipe his face.

are u going to ad more of this? i have a fun time waiting to read what is new.