Chapter Text
"Mickey, um-" Gremlin Gus started, his voice nearly escaping Mickey as the two of them trudged along Mickeyjunk Mountain, "perhaps you might want to put that Thinner away before we meet Oswald."
Thinner.
A very toxic liquid. Sticky. Green. Reeking of chemicals. The residents of the Wasteland knew to avoid such a substance, using it ever-so-sparingly to erase the occasional paint splotch or so.
Unfortunately, Mickey was not one of those people.
Ever since he had any other option, Mickey avoided using paint as if it were killing him. Of course, that was the farthest from the truth- the mouse had developed a hankering for Thinner, and with a flick of the left wrist, anything that crossed his path would be erased. Spatters, seers, blotlings alike, and even the Clock Tower, had fallen to the green tip of his brush. Violence had become second nature to him.
Any paint structure that caught his eye would be demolished within that very second, almost as if the bright colors of the Wasteland had irked him. Shops, houses, buildings of any size and sort, even flowers and bushes and streetlights, had all been reduced to mere wooden frames, or sometimes nothing at all, under the mouse's brush. This destruction marked the Wasteland with a hideous black mark, as every drop of Thinner spilled was absorbed into the land and sucked all of the color right out of it.
Mickey himself had become somewhat hollow, with inky purple blotches constantly rising from his figure, and sharp malice resting on his tongue. One would say, if they were paying close attention, his eyes contained a glimmer of green- a dastardly color reminiscent of the Thinner that coated his brush. He was a reclusive shell of a toon, with his eyes staring void and his posture always slumped into fighting position. He had ultimately reduced himself to a bundle of flight or fight instincts.
"Mickey?" Gus persisted once again, his voice containing a faint edge, "Did you- did you hear me?"
The mouse didn't respond, and kept the Thinner-soaked paintbrush tightly clenched in his fist. Mickey Mouse figurines and knick-knacks crunched beneath his dusty shoes as he trudged along, and he moved unwaveringly, as if he were heading directly for a goal. As if he were glued to one path. The gremlin hovered beside him, ultimately deciding against attempting to get his attention a third time, and they proceeded in silence.
It wasn't too long before they reached the large, black palace that Oswald resided in. The exterior walls were scratched and chipped, and stepping inside didn't prove to be much of an improvement. Gold rimmed-potted plants decorated the empty floors, and the walls were plastered with Mickey Mouse posters, torn and shredded, and defiled with angry smears of red paint. A familiar looking projector marked the empty space between the winding staircases of the building, strangely vacant and unguarded.
Gus fluttered over to the projector and peered around the corner of the staircase. He vividly remembered a pair of card-toons guarding the area- at least, before Mickey fell into the Wasteland. If they were here, they'd probably test him through the peril of the projector, as they did Gus before him, and as they did Oswald before him. A lot of people had gone missing since the mouse fell. Thinking about it made the gremlin's chest grow tight.
He tried not to question it.
Looking around seemed to escape Mickey's interest, and the mouse instead headed straight for the projector. It was rare that he left paint structures untouched and intact, so Gus concluded that he'd come back and destroy the place later. What fun....
Mickey leapt directly into the liquid screen of the projector, not pausing to wait for Gus or even check if he was coming. The gremlin hesitantly trailed behind; Mickey seemed uneasily intent on seeing Oswald, but Gus knew that if he stayed behind, the mouse would indefinitely continue on without him.
So into the projector he went.
He didn't see Mickey for the entirety of the two-dimensional segway- the mouse had a tendency to move quickly, to shamble from place to place as if he had somewhere else he needed to be. For this very reason, Gus made sure to move with speed and haste. The toon was no doubt causing trouble somewhere, and if Gus wasn't there to pick up the pieces....
The gremlin hovered through the exit projector screen upon reaching it, and was greeted to the inky darkness of Oswald's lair. Toys, posters, and merchandise galore of the iconic rabbit aligned the walls. Along with the chairs and tables and chests, seeing how many things in this room that could be thinned out made Gus a bit queasy. No sign of Mickey. Not good...
Gus immediately sprang upwards upon feeling the sudden sensation of a hand touching his shoulder, but his chest loosened upon seeing that the hand belonged to the mouse in question. Thank the stars Mickey was here, and hadn't destroyed anything, and hadn't hurt anyone, and...
Truthfully, that shouldn't be very much to ask of a toon.
"Mickey!" Gus exclaimed, floating down to his level and examining the mouse. "Good heavens- you scared me half to death! Are you alright? Have all your Health Pips?"
Before either of them could get the chance to speak, an unfamiliar voice cut through the room.
"And who are you two? Who let you in?"
The voice belonged to Oswald himself, who spun around in his swivel throne and faced the two toons. His gaze switched between the gremlin and the mouse for a few long seconds, as if he were studying every drop of ink that made them up.
"We're--" Gus started, before being cut off by the rabbit once again.
"Listen guy, first things first: ya can't bring your Blotling in here." Oswald gestured to Mickey as he spoke, and it only took Gus a second to realize that Oswald didn't recognize the mouse. Mickey DID have an awfully close likeness to one of those inky creatures, with his blot-like drips and voracious behavior--
"My name is Mickey." Mickey spoke, his voice gravelly and hoarse, as if he hadn't spoken in days (which wasn't too far from the truth).
Oswald blinked. "Mickey. Mickey Mouse." The rabbit leapt out of his chair in a huff, his movements quick and energetic. "THE Mickey Mouse!? What the heck are you doin' showin' up here? I could cream ya right now just for walkin' around like that!"
"He's not staying long-" interjected Gus, wedging his way between the two of them, "he just wants to get home, and we thought you could help us."
"And...why would I want to help you guys?" Oswald plopped onto his seat once again and leaned against the back of it.
Gus nervously eyed the mouse before speaking. "Because- ah- you want Mickey gone, and Mickey wants to leave..." The gremlin seemed very preoccupied with the unsettling way Mickey was eyeing the room, and how strongly his attention was fixed onto the paint knick-knacks that decorated it.
Oswald gave a jaded sigh and averted his gaze, his finger unconsciously tracing the armrest of the chair. "Hmmmm... yannow, leaving would take the power of a rocket, but the one we have ain't workin', so... guess that sucks for you two, huh?"
Before he could continue speaking, Mickey snapped the tip of his paintbrush directly beneath Oswald's chin- the Thinner-coated bristles mere inches away from the rabbit's throat. Oswald immediately grew stiff, and every bit of color drained from his face.
"H-hey, I was just- I was just kiddin'--" Oswald stammered, raising his shaky hands. He was all too familiar with how quickly the green substance could dissolve a toon, and it hadn't dawned on him until that very moment that Mickey was in possession of it.
Gus immediately waved his hands at the mouse, panic very clearly reflected on his face. Mickey seemed to get the message, and drew his brush away from Oswald's neck, but still kept the weapon tightly clenched in his fist.
"Tell us how to fix the rocket." demanded Mickey.
Oswald took a few trembling breaths, backing his chair up a noticeable smidge.
"Okay, alright, j-just--" The rabbit gestured towards the projector on the other side of the room. "The uh- the Doc scattered the parts 'cross the Wasteland. One's in Tomorrow City, ones in Ventureland, ones in the Haunted Manor...and if you bring the parts back here in one piece we can get the rocket goin'." Oswald suppressed an insult as he spoke- as much as he wanted to sign off with a snarky remark, Mickey didn't exactly seem like the joking type.
"That seems...doable, I suppose." Gus added. His gaze shifted over to Mickey, who seemed to be blankly fixated on the projector ahead. "Let's get moving then, shall we?"
And almost as if on cue, as if the clock had started ticking down, Mickey darted towards the projector and equipped his paintbrush. He sprayed the near entirety of the lair in Thinner in his wake, vaporizing every poster and every toy, and every piece of furniture, save for the chair Oswald had been sitting on, as to not give him a running start. Mickey moved much too quickly for either Gus or Oswald to process what was happening, but once the rabbit had jumped to his feet and raced for that dastardly mouse, the toon in question had already leapt into the projector.
Oswald clawed at the screen for a few quick seconds before jolting up and bellowing a roar of frustration. He tightly grabbed Gus by his suspenders and pulled him close.
"You BETTER keep that thing on a LEASH 'fore I SNAP 'EM IN HALF!" The rabbit demanded, his tone sharp and his teeth clenched. Gus quickly nodded in cognizance, and Oswald released the gremlin's suspenders from his tight grip, allowing him to scurry towards the projector.
"I'm SERIOUS, gremlin. I'm WATCHING him."
Gus seemed to abide that warning, and quickly apologized on Mickey's behalf before heading into the projector. God knows the mouse wasn't going to do it himself.
~
"Mickey, what was that!?" Gus scolded, finally catching up to the mouse. The two of them had entered Tomorrow City, the first place Oswald had sent them to for the parts. Bright blue fluorescent spires flashed above and around them, and each step Mickey took produced a hollow, metallic clank. Rocket-like vehicles sped by them as they moved along, traversing along a wired track, but the entire area was unsettlingly quiet.
"You can't just- Oswald is the king of the Wasteland! We need him on our good side!" persisted the gremlin, as he wasn't sure where to start or what to say. Mickey stayed silent, expectedly, with the paintbrush in the grasp of his own tail. "Do you even care that he is trying to help you? Do you even care that I am trying to help you?"
Mickey paused for a second, for a split second, and contemplated on that.
"Didn't Oswald try to kill me when I first fell here?" He finally spoke, stopping Gus in his tracks.
The gremlin blinked. He didn't have an excuse for that, but he didn't want to believe in one for Mickey, either. He continued on, trying to catch up to Mickey yet again, as he thought about how to respond.
"You don't--" Gus started, cycling through his own thoughts, "You shouldn't have to wrong the people who wronged you, Mickey. You didn't have to erase the Clock Tower, either. You had another choice."
Mickey continued on in silence. His eyes were blank and void, and he didn't seem to be processing what Gus was telling him. It wasn't Mickey's job to take everyone's licks. It wasn't his duty to sit back and make sure everything turned out alright. People who hurt him eventually get what's coming to them, whether they liked it or not. He was only acting in self-defense.
But he didn't say any of that.