Chapter Text
Sylvester experienced plenty of odd situations in his life as a corrupt lawyer. From strange clients to stranger criminals and yet, to this day the strangest situation he ever found himself in happened one late spring day years ago. Back then, he usually found himself scamming locals in each town visited. But on this peculiar summer day, he was hired to do paperwork for this wealthy businessman In Upper Mouseton for a pretty penny. Of course, At the time he didn't think much about the offer. In fact, he felt grateful to find a quick job he could do before moving on to a real scam.
However, what happened next was something he wouldn't forget for the rest of his days.
He arrived early at the estate with a briefcase in hand and clad in what he usually wore at the time, all green outfit consisting of a shirt under a vest, pork pie hat and tie.
Upon knocking on the door,the client in question, Mr. Mouse, a tall mustached mouse clad in a purple businessman suit, greeted him.
“Ah, you must be the lawyer,” Mr Mouse said, flashing a bright grin, “I hope the train ride wasn't too rough for a lower man like yourself.”
Sylvester forced himself to a fake smile. He always hated these types of moneybags who had more gold than actual brains.
“It was bearable.” He simply replied. “Now, let's get to business, shall we?”
“Why of course, come in, come in.” The mouse replied, holding the door open.
Sylvester stepped inside the estate, and was greeted by an overwhelming posh and lavish foyer. With embossed glam style walls, polished ivory floors, floral stained windows, and white rotary stairs.
Following the mouse up the stairs,he almost groaned upon being led into a child's bedroom instead of an office.
The bedroom appeared much smaller than the foyer, almost as if it was nothing but mere afterthought. With only a small twin bed,a simple wardrobe and single toy chest. The only fancy thing was a mahogany armchair next to bed.
Speaking of the bed, tucked under its plain white covers was a tiny mouse clad in an orange sweater. He couldn't be older than ten.
Oh no. Is this what he thinks this is?
“Now, I know you are a busy lawyer, but I'm sure you won't mind watching my son while you work.” Mr Mouse said, giving him a ‘you'll get paid less if you say no’ smile.
Never before had Sylvester wished he had the strength to slap someone. Usually, he preferred more subtle methods to show his frustration, but that smile was testing his patience.
But he didn't, instead he plopped down on the chair and held up his fake smile as sat his briefcase in his lap. “Why, of course, I don't mind at all.”
“Excellent, I'll get to the paperwork while you get acquitted with junior."
With that, Mr. Mouse left. Leaving Sylvester alone with this small, tiny child.
“Great.” Sylvester groaned, causing the child to stir. Oh, no.
Sylvester stiffened up, watching the child rub his eyes and sat up with a big goofy smile on his face.
“Who are you mister! You look a lot like my dad but with a cool hat and big briefcase” the kid rambled. “Wait, wow is that real leather? Can I touch-”
“No.” Sylvester snapped his briefcase away, sitting under the chair where the brat couldn't mess with it.
“Awwww, okay,” the child frowned for a brief moment before almost immediately brightening up again, “Are you my uncle?”
Sylvester blinked. "What no!”
“Don't lie! You look like my dad!”
Good lord. This child was going to drive him mad. Before he could respond though, Mr. Mouse returned with the paperwork tucked under his arm.
“Ah, Mortimer, you're awake.” He said, walking over to his son, “Do you like him so far?”
Mortimer beamed and nodded, “Of course, what's his name?”
“Oh, uh…” Mr. Mouse hesitated, tapping his chin as he turned to Sylvester, “Samuel?”
“Sylvester.” Sylvester corrected, gritting his teeth.
Mr. Mouse snapped his fingers, “Yes, that.”
Sylvester sighed, rubbing his temples as Mr. Mouse handed him the paperwork. This was going to be a long day.
“Can I play with uncle Sylvester?” Mortimer asked.
“Of course, Junior, that's his job.” Mr.Mouse said, patting Mortimer on the head.
Sylvester wanted to kill him. He was a lawyer for goodness’ sake. Not an underpaid babysitter. Still, he stayed in the chair, knowing it'd be foolish to do something to a rich businessman without a proper plan.
“Yay!” Mortimer leaped off his bed and clung onto Sylvester's leg, “We're going to have a lot of fun!”
Mr. Mouse let out a hearty chuckle as head out the room, “Oh, I'm sure you will.”
The door slammed closed and Sylvester was once again left with this hyperactive child.
“Wanna play with cars?” Mortimer asked, beaming.
Sylvester sighed, knowing the little brat would probably cry to his dad if said no. “Fine, let's play with cars."
“Really! Ha- cha cha! ” Mortimer squealed, causing Sylvester's eye to twitch. He needed coffee.
Ideally black coffee.
—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sylvester didn't know how long he could deal with Mortimer. It had been barely fourteen minutes, and the child was already getting on his last nerve, constantly tossing toy cars into the paperwork and asking increasingly personal questions.
“Do all lawyers wear all green or is it just you?”
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
“Where do you live?”
Luckily, before he gave into the temptation of chucking the menace out the nearest window, he finished up the paperwork.
With a smirk, he rose from his chair, scooping up his briefcase and walking over the door.
“Wait, where are you going, Uncle Sylvester?” Mortimer called out, quickly following him.
“First of all, I'm not your uncle ”Sylvester corrected as he paused at the door. “Second, I'm leaving. Goodbye.”
“Nooo!” Mortimer's face fell, his ears drooping as he clung onto Sylvester's leg again, “Don't leave!”
“Huh!” Sylvester yelped, lifting his leg in an attempt to shake him off, only for Mortimer to tighten his grip. “Mortimer-”
“Please stay! Please!” the boy pleaded.
“Mortimer.” Sylvester snorted. He had enough. With a huff,he sat his suitcase down on the floor and managed to pry Mortimer off him. “Go play by yourself.”
“But- Uncle Sylvester!”
“I'm not your uncle.” Sylvester exited the room and closed the door on his face. After that he walked down the hall, finding the businessman at the end of the hall, smoking an embossed cigar.
“Here.” Sylvester shoved the paperwork in his chest. “I'm done.”
“Is that so? Then where is your briefcase?” Mr. Mouse gibed as he drew out a stack of fifties.
Sylvester blinked, glancing down at this empty hand. He left it with Mortimer. Great.
With a huff, Sylvester snatched the money and stormed back to Mortimer room, opening the door with a slam. Only to find that Mortimer was nowhere to be found. His briefcase, however, was still there lying on the floor.
With a relieved sigh, he picked up the briefcase and headed out, going straight to the train station.
—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Usually every train he boarded and left bends together into a blur. But today, he couldn’t help but notice that with each train he took,his briefcase got heavier and heavier.
By the time he reached his seat on the last train,he all but dropped the briefcase on the seat adjusted to the window.
“Ow!” A familiar tiny voice yelled from inside.
Sylvester felt his heart drop. In an instant, he pops the briefcase revealing Mortimer tucked in a sea of paperwork, clothing, documents, books, files, and the occasional lock pick .
“Ha- cha cha! Hi Uncle Sylvester!” Mortimer gulped as he peered out the briefcase.
For a second Sylvester didn't know what to say.He just let his hand shoot up to face.
But with a deep breath he said four simple words. “I’m not your uncle.”
“Liar!” Mortimer shouted, crawling out the briefcase and onto the seat, causing a few pictures to scatter on the floor.
“M-ortimer!!” Sylvester sputtered, quickly gathering the pictures by one. However, when he picked up the last picture, he paused for a second as he examined it.
It was an old picture of a certain coonhound reading a book under a tree. The Coonhound had rich red fur, a strong contrast to his light blue cardigan vest.
Why did he still have this?
“Hey, what are you looking at?” Mortimer questioned, tilting his head.
“Nothing!” Sylvester shoved the pictures back inside the briefcase, quickly shutting it before scooping it up.
“Wait!” Mortimer gasped, his eyes going wide with awe. “Do you have a secret past? Are you a superhero!”
Sylvester shook his head. This kid watches too much TV. “No Mortimer, that is absurd.”
“Oh, I get it! it's super secret!” Mortimer exclaimed, shaping his fingers. “Don't worry Uncle Sylvester, your secret is safe with me, as long as you take me to your super cool secret hideout!”
“Oh-” Sylvester rolled his eyes but before he could muster up a proper response, the train began to move forward.
“Wooh! Here we go!” Mortimer cheered scooting over to the window. “I can't wait to see your hideout Uncle Sylvester!”
Sylvester froze. For the first time in his life, he was lost on what to do.
What can one do in such a situation?
Wait.
If the kid believed he was a superhero.
Then perhaps...
“Oh Mortimer, sweet Mortimer,” he cooed, in the best worried tone he could fake. “I do wish I could take you to my hideout, however, it's my moral duty as a hero to return you home.”
“Aw, do you have too?” Mortimer whined, slumping back with his arms crossed.
Sylvester nodded, sitting next to him, “Alas, I must, my heart gold is far too big, I could never forgive myself if you got hurt there.”
Mortimer blinked, staring at him for a few seconds before nodding. “Oh, okay…” he whimpered.
Oh no. Was the kid going to cry?
“Uh, There, there-” Sylvester swallowed, awkwardly patting his head, “...Would some ice cream make you feel better?"
That seems to do the trick as Mortimer eyes lit up. “Really?”
“Of course, it'll be my treat.”
—-------—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
The train huffed to a halt, Sylvester slowly exited the locomotive with Mortimer trailing close behind him.
The station stood tucked in the middle of a small desert town tucked between towering mountains and the occasional cactus.
The houses were wooden, tightly packed and most of the stores were tiny mom and pops, or rundown diners.
A great place to lay low for a while, but a terrible place to try to steal a car in order to get back to Mouseton.
In fact he almost reminded him of-
No.
He needed to focus.
“Mortimer, take my han-.” Mortimer immediately did so, squeezing it tight with that same big goofy grin. “Okay then..”
Why was this kid so attached to him? They barely know each other.
Nonetheless, for now he ignored the weirdness of the situation, and went straight for one of the diners.
This diner was a converted rail car standing next to an old rusty phone booth.
The car had a stained, rusty steel exterior, fractured glass block windows, and a flickering neon sign overhead that read ‘Rick's Diner’.
“Is this where I get my ice cream Uncle Sylvester?” Mortimer asked, bouncing in place.
“No, I need you to go into their bathroom and make the biggest mess you can.” Sylvester ordered, snapping his fingers. “When you're done, come back here.”
“Huh, why?” Mortimer questioned.
Sylvester rolled his eyes.
Kids.
Why must they question everything?
“Everyone in there is a spy for the villain Mortimer," he lied. "That's why.”
“Oooo. On it!” Mortimer nodded, saluting him before dashing inside.
With the plan set in motion, Sylvester turned his attention to the parking lot and started eyeing each car.
As he suspected, there weren't many, exactly perfect for cross-state travel, ranging from rundown trucks, to wrecked minivans straight from dump. But eventually he found something decent, a black Honda Accord with a key waiting inside.
Perfect.
Now, to make sure nobody saw him.
He glanced at the diner's windows, and saw the patrons; a mix of Meerkats, Jerboas, Roadrunners, and a single red panda, all gathering at the bathroom.
Looks like the kid did his part well.
Now, It was time for him to shine.
With a smirk, he grabbed a lockpick from his briefcase and unlocked the car door with ease.
Too easy.
He sat inside, placing his briefcase under his seat. Now he just had to wait for the kid.
A few minutes later, Mortimer bolted over to him, however, his upper body, including his face, was completely covered in ketchup.
“Mortimer, what happened!” Sylvester yelped, his eyes going wide. “I said make a mess of the bathroom, not yourself!”
Mortimer grinned, unfazed “Don't worry, it's not mine!”
Oh right. The kid still thought he was a superhero.
Wait.
“Superheroes aren't exactly known for killing, Mortimer."
“The newer ones are!”
Newer ones? What comics was this-
No. He didn't care. He shouldn't care.
“Alright, fine, get in.”
Mortimer obeyed, sitting right next to him. “So, do I get my ice cream now?”
Sylvester let out a long sigh, wincing slightly when he noticed Mortimer didn't click himself in. “Put on your seatbelt and I'll get you ice-cream at the hotel.”
“Okay!” Mortimer smiled, bucking himself in.
With Mortimer properly buckled in, Sylvester started the car and pulled out the parking lot and onto the main road.
He glanced around to see if there were any bystanders. Luckily the only person on the street was a elderly bighorn sheep humming a tune while walking her tabby.
How convenient.
Thus with nobody important around, he drove away northward.
—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In a small dimly-lit wooden office adorned in wanted posters marked with red Xs, sat Redbone Coonhound. His medium wavy red covered one eye and was tied in a small ponytail in the back. He sported an all black uniform that consisted of jeans, a long poncho that reached past his waist, a classic cowboy hat, leather gloves, and of course, a gun holster.
He was in the middle of cleaning his pistol, when a red panda in a blue waitress uniform burst inside.
“Conner, someone stole my dad's car!” She screamed.
Reacting swifty The Coonhound loaded his gun, and placed it back into his holster. “Take me there now, Miss Pagie.”