Chapter Text
Maybe it was wrong for him to think in such a way, but it was hard not to indulge, especially when put in such circumstances such as being turned back into a toddler for a television episode.
At first, Mickey was hesitant, “Seriously? Is this really a good idea?” He protested during the episode’s table reading. Everyone else was silent as he did, “I mean, I understand the show is for children but… five children on set for a whole day? It seems a bit risky.”
He wasn’t wrong. Having children at the set, even if they were regressed versions of the adult actors was nothing if not a recipe for chaos. Managing baby goofy for one episode was hard enough, especially in-between shooting sessions, think about having five children.
Nobody said anything for a moment afterwards, then Goofy piped up, “Well Mick, seems like something interesting to try doing,”
Big talk coming from someone who was barely mentally present during the last baby episode’s fiasco.
“We already have a lot of—uh, merchandise for de-aged babied versions of ourselves. I heard it sells like crazy,” Goofy chortled,
“Especially yours,” Mickey reddened slightly at that and looked away.
Don’t remind him.
While he didn’t mind his image being used in various ways— he was a toon made to entertain after all —there was a certain kind of vulnerability that came with presenting one’s more childlike side, and it made him uneasy that there was merchandise— high-grossing merchandise at that —out there that portrayed him so lowly instead of carrying the role of an enchanting sorcerer’s apprentice, or any sort of leading figure of the sorts.
Walt would’ve probably sneered at the way Mickey gazed fondly at the babied doll version of himself on the store shelves if he were still here.
“I guess…” he muttered, “Still, whose going’ta take care of the nursery you all seem open to welcomin’ in?”
“Ah-hyuck— Me and Clarabelle of course, Mick! Did’ja even read the episode script?”
Mickey shook his head, his fingers pinched upon the sides of it, “No, no, that’s not what I meant, Goofy. I mean in-between shooting. I don’t think you remember, but having the machine turn you into a child and back to normal that last episode was not exactly cheap, y’know?”
As much as he wanted to save the hassle and turn Goofy back into an adult in between shoots, after Von Drake handed him the bill of what was supposed to be the cost of using the machine for the episode, Mickey nearly fainted face first into the shared food stand.
(But he didn’t because he had the grand idea of offering to carry baby Goofy at the time)
“I don’t mind taking care of the lot of you between shoots,” Goofy reassured, “I did raise my boy Maxie solo most of his life anyways.”
Clarabelle waved her hand to speak, “Plus, I’m sure you all would make pleasant children. I don’t mind taking care of you all in between shooting either,” she leaned over the table in a joke gesture of whispering away from and pointing at Donald, “Though I don’t think I can say about old-Donald over there. Something tells me he’ll be a spicy duckling.”
“I heard that!” Donald rasped as Clarabelle howled in laughter,
“Oh darling, I’m just joking around! But seriously, Mickey, you don’t need to fuss so much over the babysitting costs later. I’m sure me and Goofy can handle it. Heck, I’m sure Pete would be open to helping as well.”
Seriously?
“Seriously?”
Clarabelle looked at him weird, “Yes, seriously, Mickey Mouse.” She chided, “How’dja think he took care of P.J? Dumb luck? He’s not Goofy, y’know,” She hears a chuckle sound from Goofy next to her.
Mickey blanched. Clarabelle was right. Out of everyone in the group, Pete was probably most equipped caring for children, him having two kids of his own and all. He almost felt embarrassed about the fact that he wasn’t even married yet.
In fact, now that he thought about it, he hadn’t properly spoken to Pete in a long while, with all the busy of maintaining the company and balancing his work-life and his life-life, it was all starting to dawn on him about how much he has neglected that wasn’t directly related to work or the main clubhouse cast.
Well… Pete DID count as a clubhouse cast, but it wasn’t often he guest starred in the episodes. But Pete wasn’t a Mortimer, so regardless, Mickey still had no excuse for not catching up with him.
Plus, Mickey still felt hesitant towards asking Pete to do such a heavy favour of caring for one or two out of five de-aged versions of his co-workers, especially when he can’t remember the last time he’s done a favour for him. It was rude, and Mickey didn’t do rude!
Still, he admits that there may be unspoken ulterior motives towards not wanting Pete to help with the episode’s shooting. He couldn’t pin a point on it, but Pete just made him nervous in general. Maybe it’s all the villain roles he starred in past cartoons, but if he were being honest, it was probably because Pete seemed to be more laid back regarding his role at the Clubhouse series as compared to Mickey, who— as dubbed by Minnie —seemed ‘stressed’.
How dare Pete be so relaxed. What a villain.
“I ‘dunno Clarabelle, I don’t feel real comfortable ’bout asking such a favour from Pete. Why, I can’t remember the last time I properly spoke to the guy if I’m bein’ honest. ‘Just doesn’t feel right.” Mickey sighed.
Clarabelle seemed disappointed with his answer, “There’s nothing wrong with asking for a little bit of help, but suit yourself, Mick. You’re the boss here.”
“Awh, Clarabelle I thought I told you I don’t like being called that,” it’s wrong, “It’s weird.”
“’Mick?’”
“Boss”
“Oh. Alright then, I’ll surely keep that in mind,” Mickey saw her smirk from the corner of his vision, “…Boss Baby.”
“Don’t say that either— that’s just the same word with the word ‘baby’ tacked on the front!” not to mention extremely copyrighted if he remembered correctly.
“Well excu~se me for trying to lighten the mood! Just thought you could use a break, you look quite pale,” Clarabelle chided before directing her attention back to her script, effectively ending the conversation then.
Mickey stared at her, dumbfounded. Did he really look that bad? Maybe the script was getting to him too much, which wasn’t ideal. He can’t look bad on camera when the paparazzi eventually encounters him later in the day. Might as well wrap up the table reading at then, since nobody seemed willing to argue with the episode’s writing choices anymore.
(Or at all for that matter. It was understandable. The episode was odd for everyone involved behind the scenes. But, hey, anything for the kids, right?)
Mickey stood up, tapping his scripts on the table as he cleared his throat, “Well, I don’t have much all to say but to remind you guys to be punctual for tomorrow’s shooting.” He glanced over to Goofy and Clarabelle, who caught his uneasy glance and both smiled supportively, “We’ll have Goofy and Clarabelle in charge of taking care of the… crew. During the— um…’ he waves his hand around hesitantly, ‘Whole… Baby thing.” Mickey clears his throat, “Yeah. I’ll see you all tomorrow, then.”
Mickey hears the group hum some sort of acknowledgment of his “speech” before he does the table scraping and a few loose conversations between themselves as they shuffled out the room, earning a wave and the occasional variant of a “Bye, Mickey” as they did.
Mickey sighs and smiles as he sees Minnie stride over to him, the clack of her heels echoing as she did, her eyes fixed on a copy of the script in her hands, and her expression hesitant.
She looked up to greet Mickey warmly as she approached him, “Y’know, Clarabelle’s right. I think you’d make an adorable baby.”
“She said ‘pleasant’-- wait, Minnie. C’mon, don’t tease me like that!” He huffed, reddening slightly.
Minnie giggled, “I’m sorry Mickey, I couldn’t help myself, you just looked so tense. What’s got you so worked up about the episode? Goofy and Clarabelle already agreed to taking charge during tomorrow’s shooting.”
“No, it’s–’ Mickey shook his head, ‘I ‘dunno, Minn. Maybe I’m just a little nervous. I can’t quite tell, myself, but I’m sure it’ll blow over tomorrow, possibly.”
It did not blow over tomorrow.
Well… Not really. The episode went well and Mickey was back out of Von Drake’s machine, a grown adult again in no time. The change was so quick and unnoticeable that it didn’t take long for him to readjust and get back into character during the same take. He could almost see the envy radiate off of Donald as he had almost tripped and fell right after being transformed back into normal by the machine.
Once the cameras had stopped rolling, Mickey himself almost felt like falling over due to the sheer weight of flattery the crew gave him for recovering so quickly and staying in character after the transformation. The attention was nice, it made him feel fuzzy inside.
Wait, no— what? ‘Attention’?! ‘Fuzzy’?? Since when did he use such flowery words?
Regardless, the episode went well, and Mickey left to drive home satisfied with his work.
…Except he wasn’t.
Back in the present, finally registering Pluto’s snoring at the foot of his bed and the barely audible but noticable creaks he heard around the house but couldn’t place where from, Mickey ponders again about the episode’s shooting. Maybe it was wrong for him to think in such a way, but it was hard not to indulge: He couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of yearning to be back in the machine and to be turned back into a child.
Despite not remembering a thing throughout the episode’s shooting, there was a feeling of safety that remained when he tried to think back at it, especially when looking at both Clarabelle and Goofy. It felt bizarre to explain, but it was almost as if he still felt small, even after leaving the machine.
Was it weird? Sure, it was absolutely weird. Surely Von Drake’s machine had malfunctioned and he was just experiencing some temporary side effects.
But, hey, while the side effects were still present, he might as well indulge in the feeling, right? Maybe stick a thumb in his mouth and dream about the feeling of being cared for by his friends for once.
After all, it was just temporary. He’ll probably stop feeling in such a way very quickly and everything will go back to normal.