Work Text:
“Do you know where King Oswald is?”
“I saw him a while ago, but I don’t know where he is now. Try asking someone else.”
The Blot War was bad enough for the toons of the newly-named Wasteland, but the side effects of it added insult to injury. It had been a long, hard battle—many lives had been lost, and buildings were being destroyed faster than safe houses could be made. When thinner rained down upon the world, the blue ocean became poison, destroying whatever came in the way.
Sadly, roads were included in that; and the bridges between the many lands of Wasteland became no more. In the beginning, it was attempted to set up temporary bridges, but due to the sudden floods of thinner, the efforts had been abandoned. Messenger gremlins became relied on to deliver information to the other parts of Wasteland, but it was a scarce position now; most gremlins instead focused on fighting the war. The few who had remained solely messengers were now being cornered by blotlings and killed.
Due to these miserable circumstances, Oswald started spending less time on strategizing and more on bridging the gap, both physical and figuratively, of the lands. He had discovered that using film reels and projectors, you could be transported from one land to the next. Knowing gremlins were nervous to try setting them up themselves, Oswald decided to brave the tides and set them up himself.
Gus knew that the rabbit had first decided to set them up in Ventureland, which he had heavily protested. The gremlin told him that he had heard the tides of thinner hit the shores hard, and it was quite possible that he could set one up in the wrong place—therefore killing him when the tide rose. Oswald told him that information only fueled his decision, as it would help the citizens in dire need of rescue to escape first.
Gus had been carefully making his way through the pirate’s world. He currently was in Tortooga, far away from the shores, talking to whoever had information about the rabbit.
“Uh—Hello!” he knocked on the door of a house—if anyone was inside, he didn’t know. “I’m Gremlin Gus, I’m looking for King Oswald. Have you seen him, by any chance?”
He waited for a few seconds, and when he had almost given up hope, a click came from the doorknob, and the door swung open. Inside was a cow toon, who bore a resemblance to any other background character. Their skin was darkened from what appeared to be dirt, and bandages from where they had been exposed to thinner were jankily placed among their limbs.
“He finished setting up the projector to Ventureland only a little bit ago. I heard he’s at Skull Island right now.” That was the last place Gus wanted to go, but nonetheless, he was concerned for Oswald’s safety and knew he must go there to assure the rabbit was okay. Oswald was supposed to be back an hour ago, and no one could help but assume the worst.
The gremlin forced a smile onto his face to hide his concern, “Thank you so much for the help! I wish for your safety, come visit Mean Street sometime!” As soon as he finished his sentence he teleported away, and to the shore of Skull Island.
The island had lost its once beautiful appearance. Before this, the island was lively with crimson-coloured rock, pockets of contrasting forestry green adorning it. A large skull served as its centerpiece, but now, the overflow of thinner sent green waterfalls through the skull’s large eyeholes. The grey rocks had been chipped away at, and the chunks that had been even slightly loose had been carelessly thrown from their place. No grass remained; it had become a barren land, only capable of bearing the worthless lifeforms of blotlings.
Gus couldn’t put words together that described his feelings—but not that he needed to. He needed to find what he came here for—and so, tossing his infuriation aside, he set off looking for a sign of Oswald. First, he decided to look for a projector; that’d let him know if the rabbit was successful.
He looked around in the open places, then in the small caves. It was in the small cave, once a photo-opt, that he found a projector. The projector appeared working, but the toolbox Oswald had been using was left beside it, in an orderly array. Gus figured that since the toolbox was left here, the rabbit must still be somewhere on the island, and since the tools were placed in the way Oswald usually set them up, he did so when he wasn’t in danger. Oswald was likely safe then—but why had he been gone so much longer than expected?
It was possible that thinner had unexpectedly fallen upon him, but Gus knew Oswald was smarter than to step too close to the pools. He could have been attacked by surprise, but the rabbit had fists that no blotling could parry, so that ruled out the possibility of an untimely death. Oswald was presumably alive on Skull Island then, but what was he doing?
So, feeling better from ruling out death, Gus calmly searched the place from the bottom shores to the upper layers of the rocky formation, trying his best to stay away from anything that could injure the small gremlin. Eventually, having nowhere else to go, he stepped onto the top of the skull, walking closer to the view he used to hold so dearly to him, that now had been destroyed.
It was on the edge of the skull that he found Oswald, slumped over, holding his limbs close together. Gus sat next to him.
“What a dismal place,” Gus uttered, tears building up in his eyes, “the view from here was beautiful.” The two sat in silence, observing the ruined world. Gus couldn’t help but feel nauseous, and he knew Oswald felt the same.
“Why did this happen ‘t us?” the rabbit croaked out. His voice was raspy, and it was clear that he had been crying before Gus had arrived. “What did we do ‘t deserve this?”
“I don’t know why this happened,” Gus admitted, “but I know we didn’t do anything to cause this.”
“Then why won’t Yen Sid fix this? Who, or what, woulda caused this?”
They both knew there was no clear answer. One day the sky stood bright, and a prosperous world grew taller every day. The next day it was all destroyed, and a monster stood above it all. Yen Sid never answered the screams for help.
“We haven’t even had time ‘t grieve,” Oswald pulled his face away from his knees and placed it onto his arms. His eyes were red, and the fur on his face was damp, “I lost my best friend ‘n my older brother in one day, ’n I haven’t even had time ‘t cry over ‘em.”
While it was true that all of Wasteland had taken a direct beating from thinner, Wonderland got the worst of it all; it had completely sunk into the poisonous ocean, killing all toons who had been there that day. Among those who were there were two people dear to Oswald: his closest friend, Francine (better known as Fanny), and his older brother, Julius. The rabbit had no time to grieve, and instead immediately turned to fight the Blot.
Not knowing how else to respond, Gus pulled Oswald into a hug, who immediately started crying into the gremlin’s shoulder.
“I don’t know how much longer I can do this, Gus. I can’t do this. I’m scared.”
Gus stroked the rabbit’s back, tears falling from his eyes as well, “I know. We all feel the same way. You’ve been really strong, Ozzie.”
The two sat together comfortably, the only thing filling the silence being sniffles between tears and the thinner waves crashing against the agitated sand. The last time he was here, Gus could see all the other towns. The colourful building tops of Mean Street poked above the vast forest that lined the shores of the isle. A vague silhouette of Dark Beauty Castle and the Matterhorn attraction towered in the distance. In the far past, construction beams of the mountain could be seen if you squint your eyes, but over time the snowy alp started to become trashed with arrays of forgotten Mickey Mouse merchandise—earning it the new name of Mickeyjunk Mountain. Though it was saddening that the once-loved attraction became a garbage site, Gus was still able to find a charm in the mountain—one he could no longer find now.
“I have a plan,” Oswald said suddenly, “I’m sure it’ll work, but I need someone else ‘t help me with it.”
“Well, what is it?” Gus was willing to do anything to stop this war, and he knew everyone else felt the same. As long as the plan didn’t cause the deaths of everyone, he didn't have a doubt in his mind that at least one person would help Oswald with it.
“I could trap the Blot back in ‘d Jug. The Jug ‘s’up at Mickeyjunk Mountain, ‘n ‘d stopper ’s’there as well, so I could lure it there. Then, when it swoops down ‘t get me, someone'll cap the lid, leavin’ it trapped in there.”
“Why don't you cap the lid yourself?”
“Because I’m gonna die,” Oswald coldly stated. “What, dya think I can dodge the Blot?”
“I was wishing you’d say you could.”
Oswald rubbed his fingers on Gus’ suspenders, unable to look him in the eyes. “Well, I can’t. So imma have someone else there when I sacrifice myself. Whaddya think?”
Gus sat in silence yet again, considering the options laid before him. The Blot was sure to fall for the plan; the king of Wasteland was a target that it could not resist. That was exactly why Gus hated the plan—he didn’t know what he, nor anyone else, would do with themselves if Oswald died. The rabbit was the sole thing that was holding the people together at this point.
But, if he did not do it, then it was likely this war would lead to a complete Blot win. No citizen would be able to live safely if the Blot reigned as king.
And so, Gus croaked out, “Go for it.” He then pulled the rabbit’s forehead to his mouth and planted a small kiss atop it. “If you can find another way though, then please do that. I don’t know what I’d do with myself if you were gone.”
“You’ll figure it out,” Oswald muttered simply, “I won’t let this plan fail, I promise.” It was all that the rabbit could promise, as the two toons knew that Oswald was the key to ending this war. Failing meant certain death, but no action meant the eternal suffering of the forgotten citizens.
Oswald pulled his head level with Gus and pressed his forehead against the gremlin’s. It was the closest the two had ever been to each other, but the action was filled with a mutual understanding. This would possibly be the last time the two could actually spend together outside of the fighting. No words had to be spoken to know that the two treasured their friendship, so they sat there, holding each other, spending every last moment they could appreciating it.
Then, Gus rose up, and so did Oswald.
“Well, I guess it’s time ‘t go,” the rabbit wiped his eyes, his voice still shaky.
“Try coming down to Lonesome Manor after your plan succeeds. I’ll go down there just so I can see you.”
Oswald chuckled—it was filled with heavy pain. “I’ll see what I can do.”
And so the two went down the jagged, grey rocks of Skull Island—the crunch of dead grass rocketing through their ears. With every step, their prayers became louder; and they harboured a dissipating hope that it wouldn’t have to end this way.