Chapter Text
Oswald glares at Mickey’s retreating back, the smell of smoke and thinner stuck to the mouse’s fur. The stench still seems to linger in his path, even as he slinks away into a store. Mickey didn’t stop to talk to Oswald, this time. Didn’t even look, in fact. He just hopped out of the Tomorrowland projector and strode past Oswald like he didn’t exist.
As if Oswald needed the reminder of his invisibility in regard to Mickey.
Oswald lets out a deep sigh, fury bubbling within him, quick and potent like always. Mickey Mouse had always been somewhat of a thorn in his side, but now…Whatever, he doesn’t have to deal with this. Not right now, at least. If Mickey isn’t going to give him the light of day, then why stick around? The rabbit shifts his weight, about to escape to visit Ortensia’s house when a small, almost unnoticeable thing stops him. It would’ve been normal to anybody else, but not to him.
Gus, Oswald’s good friend – and Mickey’s chaperone as of late – is spotted slipping out of the shop that Mickey just went into. The standard action is turned curious when brought up with the fact that the gremlin hasn’t left Mickey’s side since they met. Gus has practically become an accessory with how attached to Mickey he’s become, so what in Wasteland could have gotten him to part? His low-hanging head is something to note, as well. In fact, his whole body whispers a sort of tenseness. Or perhaps he’s tired? Either way, his body language = not happy.
The abnormality of the situation raises alarm bells in Oswald’s head. He takes a few steps forward, away from the Walt Disney statue to meet Gus sooner, a frown hinting on his face.
“Gus? What’s going on? Why aren’tcha with Mickey?” Oswald whispers. There’s no real need to keep his voice low, as there’s nobody near them at the moment. But now that Gus is closer, Oswald can see the bags under his friend’s eyes. He also notices that the smoke-and-thinner smell sticks to him, as well.
“Something’s wrong, Oswald. With Mickey,” Gus hisses, his breath smelling even more heavily of smoke, somehow.
Oswald huffs, worry dropping. Is that really the issue here? “Of course there is. He’s Mickey Mouse, the superstar who ruins lives. Gotta be somethin’ wrong with anyone who’s okay with doing that,” he says, allowing his volume to rise a bit. Not to a yell, but away from a whisper.
“I don’t think so. I’ve been around him for a few days and…,” Gus trails off, words failing him.
“Gus, I have more important things to do than hear ya realize that Mickey Mouse might not be all he’s cracked up to be,” Oswald drawls. What has he been telling Toons all his life? That Mickey Mouse is a massive threat to anyone’s personal peace. But when Mickey Mouse actually starts to be that said threat? ‘Ohhh, it’s such a shock!’ Please.
Gus, however, shakes his head and holds his hands out. “No, this…this is different. He’s–”
“Sick and twisted?” Oswald raises a brow ridge.
“Possessed.”
This admission makes Oswald pause, his frown stretching into a look of surprise. His tense shoulders droop a little bit and his folded arms loosen. The king had seen much in his lifetime (deathtime?), including possession. In fact, building the Lonesome Manor had been a way to reduce possession. A place to give the ghosts a home so they wouldn’t run rampant and cause trouble so often. The plan had been a success, thanks to Madame Leona and the iron fist she has with the toon ghosts. And yes, sure, sometimes the ghosts would act up anyway. But nothing that Mickey had done really screamed ‘ possession. ’ It screamed ‘ asshole, ’ sure, but nothing else.
“You sure?” Oswald questions, eyes flicking to the shop Mickey had gone into a minute prior. “He didn’t look possessed when he walked past.”
“I know,” Gus breathes.
Oswald takes in Gus’s tense posture. The gremlin has always been so spry, despite his age and background. He’s a handyman, a friend, and a damn good leader when he wants to be. So seeing the slump in his shoulders has Oswald’s nerves sparking with worry once again.
“...Okay,” Oswald relents, “Tell me what makes ya think he’s possessed.”
“He changes, Oswald, I’ve never seen anything like it.” Gus shakes his head. “It’s like his eyes go dull. I only saw the change from ‘normal’ to ‘possessed’ happen in action once, but that’s all I needed to piece his odd behavior together. It happened just before we hopped into Tomorrowland.”
“Maybe he’s just overwhelmed with the situation?” Oswald suggests.
“No, it’s more than that. Actually, it’s the opposite,” Gus contradicts.
“Huh?”
“It’s like he can never get tired. Not because he’s energized, though, but because he’s not alive ,” Gus explains. “His entire posture changes, as well as his expressions. He speaks less, and he seems almost uncoordinated in his movements. He’ll just stand around, too, sometimes. Which would be fine if he didn’t look so weird while he did it. He never quite looks at anything, either. It’s…disturbing, to say the least.”
“That doesn’t sound like anything the ghosts here would do.”
“I know.”
A shiver runs up Oswald’s spine and he finds his eyes drawn back to the shop. “Jeez, Gus, are ya sure you’re safe?” He says, thinking back to the news he’s been hearing about the Mouse’s ‘ methods ’ of dealing with trouble.
“Well, I mean,” Gus starts, tearing his gaze away from the shop as well, “I think so. Just so long as I stay out of his way, I should be fine.”
“I don’t know about this. If he’s as bad as you think, maybe you should steer clear, anyway.”
“Or, I was thinking, maybe I can steer him clear.”
Oswald blinks, ears perking up in surprise and mild curiosity. “What?”
“I can fool him,” Gus says, straightening up a bit.
“Yeah and how’re ya gonna do that?” Oswald questions, his foot tapping nervously. Gus obviously has a plan cooking, and Oswald has a feeling that he’s not going to like it.
“I’ll just lie to him.” Gus shrugs. “Won’t be terribly hard to do. He’s been relying on my guidance so far, so I’ll just guide him wrong.”
“Resorting to lying, eh? Your Jiminy Cricket’s broken,” Oswald jokes, both to lighten the mood and to ease his nerves a bit.
“Jiminy Cricket’s not in Wasteland, yet. His rules don’t apply here,” Gus says dismissively. “But anyway! I brought this all to you for a reason. While I’m distracting Mickey, you’ll investigate a bit.”
“Investigate what? What leads do I have? You know more about all this than I do, so if anything, you should be investigating,” Oswald points out.
“So you want to be the one following Mickey around, then?”
Oswald scoffs at the mere suggestion, face melting into a scowl of annoyance. He’s just about to voice his issue when he sees movement out of his peripherals. His head snaps over to the shop to see that – yep, the door has opened and Mickey has exited.
Gus follows his line of sight and beelines it behind Oswald. Oswald turns his head to look at Gus but is stopped by the gremlin hastily turning his head back forward.
“Don’t look,” Gus hisses, “Don’t act like I’m here.”
Oswald’s head snaps back forward, and he watches as Mickey wanders around, talking to one of the resident Toons. “So, why are you hiding? Wouldn’t he already have noticed you’re gone?” Oswald whispers over his shoulder as discreetly as possible.
“He doesn’t really acknowledge my existence unless I visibly leave him. But, his version of ‘acknowledgment’ is to follow right behind me. No matter where I go, he follows. Even when I tell him to stop. Only way I can get him to not follow is by sneaking off or by letting him leave me first,” Gus responds from his hiding place.
“That’s stalking!” Oswald shouts.
“Shh!”
“Right, right, sorry,” Oswald sighs, rubbing his face to try and soothe the surge of anger and stress, “Have you considered that he’s just a freaky weirdo, though?”
“He’s not. The change is incredible. Terrifying, but incredible.”
Oswald watches as Mickey stands in the middle of the street, unmoving other than some idle gestures.
“Jeez, you’re right. This guy is creepy,” Oswald mumbles.
“What is he doing?” Gus whispers.
Oswald opens his mouth to answer when suddenly, Mickey steps in his direction.
“He ’ s com ing over here!” Oswald whisper-shouts.
“Wait what? Did he see me?” Gus whisper-shouts back. He pops his head over Oswald’s shoulder to see what Oswald sees, but this fatal action causes the mouse to pause with acknowledgment.
“Damnit, Gus, he did now!”
Gus flies out from his hiding place. “What should we do? I don’t know when I’ll get the chance to talk to you alone again!”
“Uh… uh– ,” Oswald says intelligently, eyes flicking between a panicked Gus and a running Mickey.
Gus sputters, looking incredulous.
“Why does this guy have to run everywhere–”
Suddenly, Gus bursts out laughing. The sudden display of misplaced joy startles Oswald, who flinches back.
“Good one, Oswald,” Gus says as Mickey approaches. His eyes bore into Oswald, seeming to try to say something.
Oswald lets out a small, confused chuckle before it dawns on him – it’s a cover. Probably. “...hah, yeah! Still a master of comedy, I’ll say,” Oswald remarks, playing along. He can only pray that his acting skills are as good as they used to be.
Gus comically wipes a fake tear from his eye then looks over to Mickey, acting surprised. “Oh, Mickey! Didn’t see you there!”
Mickey doesn’t say anything, instead electing to just stare at Gus. Oswald didn’t notice before, but Mickey has a tendency to…not blink.
A silence stretches between the three of them before Gus elbows Oswald in the arm.
“Agk– what was that for!” Oswald exclaims. “What do you want me to say to him? I don’t even like the guy!”
“Well–” Gus starts, but stops, a lightbulb practically appearing over his head.
“What,” Oswald demands, both dreading and anticipating what Gus might say.
“Well you’ll have to get used to it, won’t you? We just talked about this,” Gus states, shaking his head.
“What.”
“You’ll be accompanying Mickey and I!”
“ What!?”
Gus slings an arm around a baffled Oswald’s shoulders. “I know, you don’t like the idea, but it’ll help you understand him a bit better. Help you two get along.”
“To hell if I’m gonna–” Oswald shouts, but is effectively cut off by a stare from Gus.
It would make sense. Oswald would be able to see what Gus is seeing, as well as help misguide Mickey. The investigation and babysitting could be knocked down at the same time, with neither of them having to go it alone. It’s the perfect plan.
A plan that Oswald despises.
“Well?” Gus says expectantly.
And a plan that Oswald is going through with, apparently.
“Yeah, yeah, I…remember what we talked about,” Oswald grumbles, folding his arms. “For the record, I never actually agreed to it.”
“Perfect!” Gus claps his hands together with a note of finality. “Glad you wouldn’t go back on your word.”
Oswald lets out a long, heavy breath, biting back a retort. Specifically one about how he never gave his word. This whole catastrophe has him feeling simultaneously sick, livid, and uneasy. But, despite this, he can’t help but be somewhat placated by how relieved Gus looks. The hunch is gone from his back, and he looks much more steady. Gremlins have a tight-knit sense of community, so the close company is no doubt acting as an automatic stress relief.
“‘Course,” Oswald says dryly. “So, where are you guys planning on going, now?”
Both Gus and Oswald turn to Mickey, who’s technically supposed to be the one leading. But the gap given to allow him to speak is wasted, and it just falls into another awkward silence.
“... ahem, Ventureland,” Gus supplies.
“Makes sense,” Oswald remarks. “But do we wanna get anything beforehand, or are we just hopping right in?”
Mickey wordlessly walks away from the two of them and towards the gremlin in charge of fixing the Ventureland projector, answering the question without words.
“He really just does whatever he wants,” Oswald whispers to Gus.
“Mhm. I’m glad we’ll both be around to keep an eye on him. Especially you, since you’re able to leave him whenever, and can do damage control,” Gus whispers back.
“Yeah, that was a real prickish move of you, by the way,” Oswald says, tossing a glare at Gus before looking back at Mickey.
“Sorry,” Gus says, not sounding apologetic in the slightest.
The two’s eyes catch on Mickey’s hands as they slip into his pockets. One after another, countless power sparks are removed from his hammerspace and supplied to the wide-eyed gremlin. Eventually, the gremlin even has to stop Mickey, meaning that the vermin somehow has more.
“Jeez,” is all that Oswald can voice in response.
“I’m pretty sure he’s stealing them, to be honest.”
Oswald groans, ears drooping. The task of babysitting Mickey feels more and more arduous with each new ‘fun fact’ he learns.
“Now you know how I feel,” Gus remarks.
It’s supposed to be humorous, but Oswald can’t help but take it a little too seriously. He may groan and gripe about the mission ahead, but the guilt of not noticing how badly his dear friend was doing weighs on his mind. He only hopes that he can make up for it now.
The projector behind them flickers to life, modeling one of the many Mickey shorts. Without hesitation, Mickey strides toward the movie.
Oswald leans over to make another remark about Mickey, but Gus is no longer there to receive it. Oswald’s eyes catch on Gus up ahead, who waves Oswald along, already towing behind Mickey as he readies to jump through. Oswald sputters his surprise at how quickly the scene has changed and scampers after the two.
“No time to process, with this guy,” Oswald mumbles, diving through the projector and officially starting his adventure.
He’s immediately met with the jungle setting that the original screen promised. Up ahead, the splash of color against the black and white marks the presence of Mickey and Gus. The two of them waste no time, as they’re already out of Oswald’s line of sight by the time he catches sight of them.
Teeth grinding in annoyance at the thought of having to chase the menace that is Mickey Mouse, Oswald dashes after. Over stumps, around trees, and through hollow logs he goes, trying to catch up with his new travel buddies. Never again does he see that splash of color, though, even as he makes it to the end of the passage. He halts with a frown creasing his brow but ultimately leaps through the exit. Mickey must be faster than anticipated.
But even as his senses are bombarded with the scents and sights of real (?) life, there’s no Gus or Mickey to be seen. Searching is a futile attempt, as even in the crevices of the little town, only bugs and overgrowth can be found.
During his miniature investigation, he catches sight of a Toon staring at him. He simply flicks his gaze away, not bothering. He’s absolutely sure that there have been more staring at him, they just were quicker to look away than this sap. However, when he looks back at them out of some compulsive need, he realizes that they haven’t looked away like any normal person might’ve. Actually, even as he now stares back, they just look on. It only takes a moment of looking more to notice that it’s Smee.
Smee falling into Wasteland had been quite a surprise when it happened. Plenty of people still knew about him, after all; a remembered Toon had no business being in the land of the forgotten. But it was quickly realized that, despite the knowledge of his existence, he had no love to his name. Nobody uttered the name “Smee” unless with was paired with “Peter Pan” or a general retelling of the story he was in. And oftentimes, he wasn’t even given that.
Most Toons gave him a little extra kindness, after that realization.
The shared notice made must make something click in Smee’s head because the old pirate offers a brief smile before shuffling over to where Oswald stands.
“Something you wanna say?” Oswald asks. He represses a wince, realizing that it came off a bit harsh, despite his intentions.
Smee, though seeming a bit meek, plows through the awkward start. “A-actually, yes, Your Highness.”
Oswald shakes his head, waving a dismissive hand. “You don’t have to do that, Smee. Whaddya need?”
“Well,” Smee starts warily, “I was gonna ask Mickey Mouse for help with something, but I’ve heard about him and…”
“Now you’re not so sure,” Oswald finishes.
“He seems a little violent.”
“Yeah, a lotta people are getting that message, right now,” Oswald mumbles, noting that Smee speaks as if Mickey hasn’t arrived yet. Something must be holding him and Gus up in the projector. “So, what’s your dilemma?”
Smee points towards a door, currently closed. “Behind that door is a projector to Tortooga, and by extension, the rest of the islands. It was destroyed by some of the pirates, though, since the Mad Doctor has been doing some nasty business. They did it to keep us safe, but I want to be able to reach the other pirates who need shelter.”
“Ah, okay, so you want us to fix it?”
“‘Us?’”
“Um…yeah. Mickey and Gus should be following after me soon, here, so,” Oswald explains sheepishly. Just the vague admission that he and Mickey are somewhat working together now feels foreign on his tongue.
“Oh dear,” Smee frets, “You’re traveling with him, now? You’ll keep him in check, won’t you?”
“Ah, well, how much harm could he do here?”
“The only way to fix the projector is to get the parts from some of the pirates who destroyed it. With all that everyone has gone through, I don’t think anybody wants any more trouble. But, even so, nobody is going to back down without some resistance” Smee laments.
“Hm…” Oswald muses, “Say, these pirates like treasure, yeah?”
Smee nods. “Oh, yes. But, what does that have to do with the parts?”
“Show me exactly who has the parts,” Oswald says with a grin. There are some perks to being a king.
Including riches.
— ----------------------------------------------------- —
Oswald awaits Mickey and Gus as they jump through the projector at last. Mickey is about to wander over to one of the pirates – presumably to talk – when Oswald waves Gus over. This causes Gus to approach him, which, in turn, means that Mickey does too. Just like Gus said he would, earlier.
Just like Oswald hoped would happen.
“Hey, what took you so long?” Oswald asks, arms folded.
“Ah, just some complications. Maybe I’ll tell you about it later,” Gus replies with a shrug.
‘Ah,’ Oswald thinks, ‘Private info, then.’
“No matter. We’ve run into an issue, it seems like,” Oswald sighs.
Gus frowns, silently prompting Oswald to explain this turn of events. Even Mickey seems rather interested. Well, as interested as an expressionless person can look.
“The projector to Tortooga? It’s down, and nobody knows what happened to the parts,” Oswald explains.
Gus’s eyes widen, an eyebrow raised. “Really now?”
“Yep, nothin’ we can do, it seems like,” Oswald shrugs. He and Gus share a look, brief but telling, before turning to see how Mickey will respond.
Can’t destroy what you can’t reach.
The mouse, like usual, can only bring himself to stand there like a living corpse, leaving the conversation just as dead as his demeanor. Oswald is just about to take the initiative and suggest that they turn back when Mickey suddenly turns heel. He stops just in front of a partial-toon building and, before Oswald can even ask what he’s doing, sprays a stream of thinner across the entire roof. The bright colors dissolve into nothingness, leaving the drab inert base to act as the new roof.
Oswald watches in shock as he doesn’t stop there. Mickey wields his paintbrush like a warrior clutches their weapon, and swings with the same ferociousness. Every pop of vibrancy is decayed below the endless river of green. The Toons in the area have no choice but to huddle under the inert canopies in hopes of not being melted themselves as their home is destroyed before them.
“What did you do?” Gus hisses while Mickey is distracted.
“I–” Oswald breathes, “I bought the parts to the projector so he couldn’t fix it. What was I supposed to do?”
“Not that, apparently.”
Oswald gags when the smell of thinner becomes overpowering. The plants that might have eased the fumes with their own scent have all been wiped from the ground, along with much of the grass. Even the fountain in the middle of the square becomes a pale green as sprays of thinner make their way into the water. The scent, without much else to help it, is almost dizzying.
There is no rhyme or reason for this madness. No warning for what might be ruined next, or why. The stream of thinner doesn’t even point consistently at one thing. The brush is waved around by a jerky arm, splattering droplets for Toons to flinch away from.
Gus and Oswald lock eyes, and pools of fear meet weariness.
So this is what they meant by destruction.
Oswald finally jumps into action, feigning courage in hopes that he may create some genuine. He built the Wasteland, and this vermin has no right to take it down. “ Hey!!” He bellows, “Knock it off!”
Mickey doesn’t so much as look at Oswald.
A spark of anger flares in Oswald’s chest and he storms forward. “You got a lotta nerve to–”
Oswald yelps, cut off by a stream of thinner being shot his way. He leaps aside to dodge it, every hair standing on edge at the fact that Mickey is now picking a fight with him.
Except…he’s not.
Mickey didn’t even notice.
Oswald quints, gazing at every one of Mickey’s features. There’s no recognition behind those eyes, nor is there any sound really reaching those big-ass ears of his. It dawns on Oswald then, that, no matter what he says or does, it won’t really matter. His voice probably melts into the cries of his people that scatter around him, indistinguishable from each other if you don't care enough about it. Mickey is on autopilot – he likely has been this whole time. Something is happening in his head that can’t be solved through conscious thought or any kind of communication.
Oswald lifts a distressed palm to his mouth, a cacophony of feelings screaming over each other. His body twitches in different directions as he can’t quite decide what to do. Fight? Let this run its course and rebuild afterward? Try reasoning? What if he can’t fix it and Mickey goes off to destroy something else? He should’ve known that misguiding him was a bad idea, he should’ve–
Wait a minute.
Wait a minute!
Oswald dashes back over to where he came, shoving his way through the mob of Toons to Gus. “Tell him to stop,” he immediately commands, grabbing Gus’s shoulders.
Gus absentmindedly grasps Oswald’s wrists in a comforting fashion. “He won’t listen to me, I’ve tried that before.”
“You said that you’ve been guiding him?”
“Yeah?”
“Then what’s the difference between when he does listen to you, and when he doesn’t?”
Gus’s brows furrow, then shoot up as realization hits him. He wastes no time and even teleports out of the small crowd to get to Mickey as fast as possible.
Oswald pushes himself back to the front of the crowd, just in time to see his friend place himself right in front of Mickey. The ballsy action makes Oswald’s heart rate spike.
“You have to get power sparks to power the projector!” Gus cries, causing Mickey to freeze.
A moment of tense quiet passes through the air, some unfinished toon crawling back into itself to reform without the constant stream of thinner aimed at it. “You need – uh – fifty power sparks before you can fully power it,” Gus continues. “They should work in place of the missing parts.”
Oswald watches with bated breath as Mickey stands idle for a few moments, then flips his paintbrush onto his back. The entire jungle itself seems to release a captive exhale at the sign that the torture is over. Mickey waits until Gus is right by his side before running over to the projector to travel back to Mean Street. Before he can even watch them disappear into black and white, Oswald is already turning around to address his subjects.
Apologies fall quickly and sincerely from his lips, sandwiched between promises to return and help rebuild. The sweet words are paired with the sour admission that he can’t stick around, and that he has to make sure that Mickey causes no more destruction than he already has.
Oswald, of course, is met with respect and an abundance of understanding. But that doesn’t stop the swell of guilt from inflating within him, situating itself uncomfortably beside his organs.
Man, he really is finding a lot of things to feel guilty about, today.
With a few more apologies stringing behind him, he jumps into the projector. Unlike last time, Oswald meets Gus and Mickey inside the monochrome jungle instead of on the other side of it. No words are exchanged quite yet, just looks that speak of determination with an edge of fear.
They leap out of the screen once more, concrete meeting their feet upon landing. Oswald tries to draw back, in hopes to exchange words with Gus, but it’s almost as if Mickey sensed that Gus wasn’t right beside him, and hung back as well. So even in color, and with the smell of city smoke and thinner, words are left unsaid.
Oswald is sure that he’s going to have to give Mickey the slip when the mouse suddenly jerks to a stop. He stands perfectly still – which hasn’t happened yet, since he’s always had some sort of movement going on even when he was stationary – and his eyes somehow unfocus even more. Oswald casts a bewildered look at Gus, who holds his finger to his mouth in a shushing motion while gesturing to watch.
And so watch he does.
A shudder runs through the mouse and some of his muscles twitch in a way where only a patch of skin seems to move rather than entire body parts. His jaw clenches, and his fingers flex, and then–
And then he’s fine.
His eyes have light again,
Mickey’s eyes dart around before catching onto Oswald, who was behind him. He reels back in surprise, but throws on a shaky smile, nonetheless. “Well hiya! You’re not usually away from your statue,” Mickey oh-so-casually says, as if nothing in the past hour had actually happened.
Oswald’s gaze trails from Mickey’s green-stained fur to his confused grin. With all that’s happened in the past hour or two, how many questions that have been raised, and how many bad memories have been made, Oswald can only think of one thing to say.
“What the
hell
.”