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Whoever told you that being shaken roughly awake was the worst way to wake up, was a liar. They had also likely never been woken up by 421 rabbits jumping on them.
“Gaahh!” Mickey yelled, sitting up as best as he could while his bed bent under him like tossing waves. He rubbed his eyes and scowled furiously at the chaos around him and it's orchestrator.
A guffawing voice from said orchestrator rose above the high shrieks and squeaks: “Ha! Happy 90th birthday old man!”
Mickey groaned and considered curling up under his comforter again, but as great as his blankets were, they couldn't stop the impact of the 420 young rabbits continuing to jump, nor block out the shrill, “Happy birthday Uncle Mickey! Happy birthday! Happy birthday! Happy birthday!”
“All right, all right, I'm up.” He weaseled his way out from among the tiny blue bodies and collapsed on the floor, glaring up at his brother. “Last year, when I said you needed a better way to wake people up…”
Grin wide and self-satisfied, Oswald shrugged and pulled him to his feet. “Hey, I kept my promise: no buckets of water. That's all you said.”
“I said ‘ better ,’” Mickey argued.
“‘Better’ is subjective. To me, this is better.” Oswald thumped his brother on the back and cupped his hands over his mouth. “OK KIDS! GO TELL AUNTIE MINNIE HE'S UP!”
Mickey ducked behind his brother as the baby-blue tidal wave of little rabbits surged down and out the door, and he spared a sympathetic thought for Minnie. Hopefully they wouldn't overwhelm her. When the room was clear, Oswald wrapped an arm around Mickey's shoulders and pulled him to the wardrobe.
“Oh boy,” Mickey snarked, “are we going to Narnia?”
“Nope! We're getting you dressed for the big day.” Oswald swung open the door and ducked inside. Very soon it began raining clothes.
Mickey ran to catch them. “Hey! You're making a mess of my room!”
“And look what I found!” Triumphantly Oswald popped out from the closet (not before the destructive rabbit had all but caused a snowing-over of clothes in his brother's room) and brandished an old outfit. “Ta da~! Now we can celebrate in style.”
“My old Steamboat Willie stuff?” Mickey questioned, catching the items as Oswald threw them at him.
“Eeup!” Oswald hugged him round the shoulders again and waved his arm through the air. “Today is the day we commemorate your claim to fame, the start of stardom that would crush my dreams and leave me forgotten — the day Mickey Mouse was born! Yahhhhh, woo-hoo! And you, baby brother,” Oswald released him only to pinch his cheeks, “you are now an old man! 90! We're gonna have to put you in a museum next year, you ancient relic you.”
Mickey raised an eyebrow. “You realize that you are a year older than me, right?”
“Semantics. Now go get dressed! I gotta get the others ready.” Oswald pushed him and hurried out of the room.
Mickey shook his head and sighed but smiled fondly. The board members had already arranged a packed day for him, but he had a feeling Oswald had thrown that itinerary out the window. (Considering it mostly consisted of touring and working up crowds, Mickey couldn't quite say he'd miss it.) Oswald could be very stubborn when he put his mind to something, and if Minnie was in on it… Mickey might as well just get dressed and go along.
“Ahh, this is nice, isn't it?” Standing on the rail of the bridge, leaning precariously out with only one hand gripping the wooden post holding up the roof, Oswald closed his eyes and breathed. “A hearty crew of friends gathered together on a boat, river spread out endlessly before us, ready to go wherever we will.”
“Which is?” Mickey asked. He was at the wheel in an obvious remake of his debut appearance. In fact, it was the same ship (minus Pete and that obnoxious parrot), and was even still all black-and-white. Thanks to his dear brother basting them with makeup, they had that last trait in common. The same song and the same heavy chug, chug filled the air, mingling with the lap of water and the tapping of his friends’ feet as they danced.
Oswald leaned farther over the edge of the bridge and stretched his arms wide like he was king of the universe and not a dumb bunny about to fall and kill himself. “Still not telling ya, Mick.”
Mickey huffed and rolled his eyes. “Genius idea. Don't tell the one in charge of steering the destination. That'll go well.”
“You, sir, are incredibly salty, which is my job, and anyway, as they say, it's not about the destination. It's about the journey.” Oswald sent a starry-eyed gaze over his shoulder, managing to hold the effect for a whole two seconds before he broke and lightly kicked Mickey.
“Ow!”
“You're supposed to be whistling.”
“I’ll show you whistling —”
“Are you enjoying yourself, dear?” a sweet voice asked before Mickey could kick his brother off the bridge. The two boys turned their heads and smiled innocently.
“Minnie,” Mickey greeted as she pecked him on the cheek. “Yep, I'm having the time of my life.” He looked out over the silvery river and sighed. “Really brings back memories, doesn't it?”
Minnie wrapped her arms around him and laid her chin on his shoulder. A note of solemn reminiscence filled her voice. “Yes…”
The river glazed over, and in its place came a sea of faces — impressed adults, wide-eyed children (were any of them even alive today?), thoughtful critics. Mickey saw himself, so many years before, standing in front of adoring crowds for the first time, a soft pressure on his shoulder. He saw himself look up into the most dear face of all.
“Ok, that's enough living in the past,” Oswald cut in, swiping away the memories with his words. “We're here to enjoy today amidst all these heavy callbacks. Shall we add a touch of something a little more modern to lighten the mood?” He grinned mischievously and jumped down to change the music. As the first strains began, Mickey groaned.
“Ozzie…”
Oswald bounced his eyebrows at his brother. “It's the Mickey Mouse, Clubhouse. Come inside it's fun inside. It's the Mickey Mouse, Clubhouse —”
“Oswald, hush.”
Oswald snorted but obediently stopped his singing (*cough* high-pitched squealing *cough*, Mickey would correct). “You're no fun.”
Mickey twisted the wheel, taking them around a bend. “It's my birthday. I get to define fun.”
“Allllll right. I'll put on something else then.”
“Aw, shucks, I've got just the one,” Goofy said, popping up behind them. He whispered loudly in Oswald's ear and the rabbit nodded and bounced off. In a moment a high-spirited sea shanty began to play.
Mickey nodded. “That's just the one. Now hold on to your hats, lady and gentlemen — let's see how fast this thing can go.”
Being a cartoon boat, it could go fast. Very fast. Donald's squawks streamed behind them as the world blurred, joined by whoops from Oswald and Goofy's signature “ Ya ha ha hooey! ” As Minnie released a cheer, Mickey let burst one of his own.
“YIPPIE!”
“Is this really necessary?” Mickey frowned in what he guessed was Oswald's general direction and scratched at the blindfold.
“Yep.”
“It's itchy.”
“Yep.”
“I'm taking it off.”
“Nope.”
Mickey groaned and leaned back against the wall of the bridge. About five minutes ago Oswald had booted him away from the wheel, taking it himself, as well as the whistling. (And no, he couldn't whistle any better than he can sing.) That had left a very bored mouse nothing to do.
Well, there was always something…
Mickey smirked. “Are we there yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Oh.” A beat passed as Mickey tapped his fingers. “Are we there yet?”
“No.”
“Oh. Are we there y—”
“Minnie dear, take the wheel. C’mon, baby bro, if you wanted to go over the side, you just had to ask!”
“No, Ozzie, wait — no!” Mickey shrieked, kicking as he was lifted up and trying not to laugh. “Ok, ok, I'm sorry, don't —”
“Over the side!”
Mickey's stomach swung with him as Oswald feigned a throw over, and he gripped his brother's arms tightly. “If I go over,” the mouse yelled, “you're coming with me!”
“So be it, if it must needs be done to vanquish this darkness!”
“OZZIE NOOOO!”
“Boys,” Minnie broke in, “we're here.”
“Oh, good.” With all the tender loving care of a big brother, Oswald dumped Mickey on the ground of the bridge. Mickey thanked him by lashing out his tail in his brother's direction, tripping the rabbit and, by the sounds of the squawks, sending him careening into one unlucky duck.
“You little…” Oswald started, and Mickey snickered, but a dark warning stopped them before it went any further.
The dark warning came from Minnie, and it was only one word: “ Boys. ” But both of them knew enough by now to read the subtext.
“Sorry Minnie,” they chorused. “Sorry Donald.”
“Good,” Minnie chirped. “Now I know you two will be on your best behavior and you, Oswald, will help him get there since he can't see, right?”
Both nodded vigorously.
“Thank you, boys.” He couldn't see it, but Mickey could feel her smug grin right then. He sighed in relief. I shall not have to die on this birthday.
“Man, your girlfriend is scary ,” Oswald whispered, helping Mickey to his feet.
“I know,” Mickey returned, and then winced.
“You know I can hear you, right boys?”
“Sorry, Minnie.”
“Love you, Minnie.”
Oswald tugged Mickey in the direction of the stairs. “Let's, um, get out of here, shall we?”
“Are we in… Disneyland?” Mickey asked, stumbling a little and waving confusedly. They were off the ship and while his sea legs weren't throwing his balance off, the blindfold was. The roaring crowds didn't help with orienting himself either, and he tried to look as collected as possible and wave at his adoring fans even while he clung to Oswald's arm like a lifeline.
Oswald patted him and slowed down a little. “Mickey, my bro, there would be crowds of people cheering for you anywhere you touched down. No, we're not in Disneyland."
Mickey huffed. “Ok, so where are we?”
“I'm not telling! Why would I tell you on the way to the surprise?”
“Because you love me?”
Oswald caught Mickey as the mouse almost tumbled face forwards and snorted. “Heh, since when?”
“Since forever.”
“Not even cl— all right, get up here.” Catching Mickey for the fifth time (it was the stupid road's fault, it was so uneven and pot-holed), Oswald pulled him on piggyback style.
“Ozzie no,” Mickey protested, cheeks burning.
“Ozzie yes. Otherwise we'll never get there.”
“We look ridiculous.”
“You always look ridiculous, baby bro. Hang on tight.”
As Oswald loped into a run, Mickey buried his face against his brother's back and tried not to think about how he looked. Blindfolded and bouncing like a toddler, he could only imagine the front-page picture tomorrow.
“Make waaay, make waaay! Make way for Prince Ali!” Oswald bellowed, really picking up the pace, and all thoughts of appearance flew right out as Mickey clung for his life.
“Ozzie!” he shouted. “Ozzie! Slow down!”
“Gotta beat the clock, Mick!” Oswald returned. “Weee-hooo!”
It was a very scary, jostling few minutes. The wind whipped Mickey's blindfold behind him, and the cries of the crowd hissed down to a dull buzz. A sweet, fresh smell, the kind you couldn't get in the cities, of onion grass and rain and mud, flew sharply into his nostrils, but just as he took breaths of it his nose smashed into his brother's back. “Ouch.”
“We're here~!” the rabbit sang, and he let Mickey slide to the ground. “Knew I'd get you there much faster.”
“If in a less than desirable state and only miraculously alive,” muttered Mickey.
“Meh. Here's here.”
“Good. So can I…?” Mickey tugged at his blindfold.
“Yep!”
“Finally.” Pulling it off, Mickey blinked in the sudden light at the grinning faces of his best friends — Oswald (Ortensia now at his side), Minnie, Goofy, Donald, and Daisy all beamed at him from under a wooden sign. Mickey let his gaze trail up to it and fix on the dripping yellow letters. “Mickey's House of Mouse… Country Edition?”
“Yup!” Goofy said, rubbed his neck. “Gee gawrsh, Mick, we wanted ya to have a special place to wind down.”
“Somewhere familiar but less crowded,” Donald added.
Minnie hugged Mickey around the neck and gave him a kiss. “A home sweet home away from home.”
“In the country where you can get some peace and quiet, provided we don't crash the party too loudly.” Oswald winked. “Do you like it?”
“Like it…” The place looked like the perfect country dream home, from the calming blue of its shingles, to the richly lacquered walls, to the smooth spindles of the fence surrounding the porch. A calm, peaceful aurra lay over the whole place, and Mickey blinked several times to keep from tearing up.
“S-somethin’ wrong, Mick?” Goofy stuttered, and Mickey realized he'd been silent too long.
He grinned and swiped them into a group hug. “Guys… it's perfect.”
“Oh yeah?” Oswald challenged, breaking free and planting his hands on his hips. “Just wait till you see the garden.”
“After cake and presents,” Daisy insisted. “Ortensia and I didn't spend all day baking and wrapping for them to be pushed to the side.”
“After cake and presents,” Oswald agreed. He winked and grabbed Mickey's arm, tugging him along. “C'mon, bro. Let's see how fast can you stuff your face.”
“ Oswald! ” Ortensia groaned, earning a raspberry from her husband.
Mickey laughed. “It's ok, O, I'll make sure to take good and long on that delicious cake of yours. Might take me all night.”
“Not if I eat it first,” retorted Oswald. “So you might want to get shoveling.”
The inside of the house was just as beautiful and homey as the outside; warm orange wood, crackling fireplace, thick rugs, the whole deal. Bright streamers and balloons covered everything, with a triumphant banner spread over the dining room table declaring, “Happy 90th B-Day Mickey!”
“Wow, guys,” Mickey breathed. “You really outdid yourselves.”
“And the pièce de résistance…” With a flourish, Daisy revealed and enormous black and white cake that beamed back at him.
“That's almost cannibalism,” Mickey laughed, taking in the surprising likeness, for of course it was a painstaking rendition of him. “Wow.”
“ ‘Wow wow wow’ eat it,” Oswald urged. “No wait. Light it on fire, and then eat it.”
“You want to light me on fire?”
“Cake you, yes.”
“I've got the candles,” Minnie said, appearing at Mickey's elbow and sticking them in his delicious doppelganger.
“And I've got the lighter,” Donald added. He held it out proudly, but Goofy snatched it away.
“Er, I think we ought ta avoid a repeat of, uh, you know when, hycuck.”
Donald mumbled something but relinquished his claim, and Goofy lit it.
“Everybody ready?” Minnie asked. “Now, three… two… one… Happy birthday to you… ”
As everyone else joined in the song, Mickey stared into the soft candlelight. Ninety years… so much had happened since then. So much had changed. So much would change even more in the years to come.
“ Haaaaappyyyy biiirthday toooo yooo~oouuu! Hooray!”
Donald and Goofy clapped him on the back and the others called for him to make a wish and blow out the candles. He grinned and closed his eyes.
I wish… that I'll always have you guys to celebrate with me. I wish that change will never draw us apart. I wish… that we'll always be able to celebrate fun times together, like today…
“Come on already!” Oswald called impatiently, and Mickey opened his eyes, sucked in deeply through his nose, and blew. Fifteen candles (of course Minnie didn't do ninety , that'd be ridiculous) in one go.
“Yay!! Great job!! That's our Mick!”
Oswald slapped down a stack of colorful paper plates and held up a knife. “Now scoot! Let's eat this baby.”
“Cannibal,” Mickey snorted, moving out of the way.
“Are ya done yet?”
Mickey trailed his finger through some of the icing-covered crumbs on his plate and licked it. The torn paper from his gifts lay about him like snowdrifts, and he nudged one with his foot. “Well…”
“Mickey.” Oswald poked him. “Be done. You're killing me. Your own brother, on your birthday.”
“Maybe that was my wish.”
“Mickey. I'm disowning you if you're not done.”
“All right, all right.” Pushing his chair away, Mickey stood up and s t r e t c h e d, yawning for good measure. “But I think I might hit the — hey!”
“ Come on .” Content to wait no longer, Oswald snatched his hand and dragged him behind. The others chuckled but made no move to either help Mickey or accompany him.
“Aren't you guys coming too?” Mickey asked, dragging his feet and irritating his brother.
Minnie shook her head and waved him on with a fond smile. “No, we'll stay behind and clean up. This last part should be between you two.”
“Weeell, ok then.” Shrugging, Mickey picked up the pace behind Oswald. A bit of apprehension mingled with eagerness: what was this oh-so-special brother-only thing in the garden of all places? Obviously something he was about to find out.
They stepped out into the night air. It had gotten late and chilly, and a sharp breeze whisked down at him to push at the captain's hat still on his head. Dozens of tiny pin-prick stars gleamed above, and the creamy hallow of the moon shone from behind fluffy white clouds. This would be a perfect place to sit and think.
With a jolt, he realized someone had already had that idea. At the end of the garden, sitting on an bench by a row of tulips, was a dark figure. Mickey glanced uneasily at Oswald, but his brother didn't seem at all perturbed by the stranger there. He just smiled a little funny and nudged Mickey on.
“Hey uh, Mr.?” Mickey asked, stepping closer. At that moment the clouds moved and the moon lit up the garden. It's light illuminated the figure, and Mickey gasped.
His eyes took in the smoothed-back hair, the neat mustache, the whimsical smile. His heart twinged at the striking likeness. Taking a step closer to the stone statue, he let out a breath. “Dad.”
“Yep.” Hands in his pockets, Oswald kicked the grass. “I thought it'd be nice to have him here, where you could sit and talk a bit with him when you wanted to think. He'd of liked it here, I think.”
“It looks so… real,” Mickey said, touching a wrinkled cheek and drawing his hand back as if afraid it'd be bitten. “So much more than the others.”
“Yeah… Kind of creepy. I understand if you want him moved — if it's too painful — I just thought…”
“I like him.” Mickey reached his hand out again and this time let it rest there. “It's almost like a part of Dad is really here.”
Oswald shuffled and looked at Mickey from the corners of his eyes. “I'd be all mushy and say a part of him is here but, eh, I'm not all mushy.”
“You're pretty close.” Mickey eyed the figure again. Stone Walt was dressed in a rumpled button-up and overalls, sleeves rolled to his elbows. His eyes were crinkled with the familiar laugh lines and twinkled with the same familiar spark. They seemed ready to wink at any moment. “If they were one of our cartoons,” Mickey's voice clogged a little, and he cleared it. “If this were one of our cartoons, he'd jump right up and start talking to us.”
“I can see it now.” Oswald nodded solemnly. “He'd up and say, 'Mickey my lad, you're an old man. Ancient. Museum-worthy. In fact in a few years we'll have to hang a sign round your neck stating that no, you're not some dusty relic that rascal Oswald has absconded with — ow!”
“I barely touched you, you baby,” Mickey laughed, not at all sorry about the punch he'd just given his brother's arm. “Serves you right for ruining the moment.”
“Ahh, whatever. Get over here, you.”
Mickey ducked, but he wasn't fast enough to escape. Oswald grabbed him and put him in, vigorously ruffling his hair. “There ya go, old man. You're still my baby brother bratling, even at 90 years old .”
“And you are still older than me so who are you to be talking about it, ” Mickey returned, wrapping his arms around for a full hug.
They stood there in companionable silence for a few minutes, staring at their father and supporting each other. Mickey broke the stillness.
“Two parts.”
Oswald pulled back a bit to shoot him a confused look. “What?”
“Two parts.” Mickey smiled at him. “Two parts of dad are here.”
“Huh.” Oswald blinked at the ground a few times and then looked back up, eyes shining. “You're really sappy in your old age, old man. Happy birthday.”
Mickey smiled and pulled Oswald closer. “Thanks Ozzie.” Thanks, Dad.
Ninety years. A long time, and a lot changed. A lot of loss and heartache. A lot of headache. A lot of work.
But, a lot of good, too. Mickey squeezed his brother tighter and stared into the bright windows of his new home, where he could see his friends laughing. A lot of love.