Yakko remembers their parents well. He was written that way. He was the oldest. He remembers when he saw Wakko come home the first time, and seeing his tiny tongue stick out. And when Dot stood on her own for the first time and toddled towards their mother while Yakko and Wakko cheered excitedly- Wakko hadn't understood while they were yelling, but he enjoyed making noise, so he cheered along.
He remembered everything. Including the night they were informed they would not be seeing their parents ever again. He remembers how Dot and Wakko didn't understand what that meant. How they'd whined about how they wanted to see their mom and dad. How an adult had to explain it to them. And the tears when it finally clicked.
He remembered everything. Dot didn't remember anything besides a few blurry faces. But she didn't care. She had been a so young, she knew it wasn't her fault. But Wakko had more memories. The sound of their mothers voice as she rocked him to sleep, and their father hoisting him onto strong shoulders to dance around the living room. He felt like he could do more to remember them. And he felt guilty when Yakko asked if he remembered when they'd stay up late to watch movies with their parents, and he couldn't. Even though he really wanted to.
And when Yakko was tired, after a long day, sometimes he would talk about them. About their parents, the things that Dot and Wakko couldn't remember. And he'd get more worked up, as old memories flooded back, and the grief still stuck in his chest came up and made tears in his eyes.
Wakko didn't like seeing his older brother upset. He puts a hand in his shoulder. "I'm miss them, too." And there was no untruthfulness to be found. Because he did. He missed the things that still lingered in his mind, and he felt the longing in his chest as he racked his mind for more memories that wouldn't come.
Yakko's laugh was always nice. But in the makeshift living room of the water tower, that night, it sounded uncharacteristically bitter.
"How could you miss them? You barely remember them." Wakko pulls his hand back as if he's been burned. His ears droop down, and from the way his older brothers twitch, he can tell the eldest sibling regrets his words.
When Yakko turns, his own ears droop as well, to see his little brother with tears streaming down his face. Wakko crying wasn't a sight anyone wanted to see. And Yakkos chest ached. His brother was crying and it was his fault.
He does the only thing he knows how to. He yaks, hoping it will cover the wound. But he hasn't any bandaids, just old scraps of fabric.
"Ah- look at me, with my big mouth. What am i sayin'" his laugh is stilted an akward. Wakko is silent for a moment, and the sobbing starts again, more intense then before.
"I'm sorry! I wanna remember them- I'm.. I'm trying really hard t'remember" Wakkos voice sounds choked, and his words stick together as he tries to push them through his tears.
Yakko winces. And then he's kneeling on the ground and pulling his brother into a tight hug. "I know-" he shouldn't be surprised at his own urge to cry, but he is.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that." He can feel his little brother still shaking in his arms. And he wishes he could stop it. He doesn't let go. He doesn't remove his arms until he's unsure how long they've been sitting there. Until he hopes the sound of Wakko's crying hasn't woken Dot. And until his brother's shoulders finally stop shaking.
When he pulls away, Wakko does not move. He's leaned against Yakko's shoulder, his eyes closed. He'd already been exhausted from filming that day, so it comes as no shock to Yakko that his brother is asleep. Slowly, he scoops Wakko into his arms and makes his way to the beds. With more care than he handles anything else, he sets his brother down in his bed, then makes his way to his own. And if Wakko crawls into Yakko's bed that night, he doesn't say anything about it.
Yakko remembers their parents. He was written that way. He's the oldest.
