FUck it I'm writing the fic oswald and mickey rescue discussion time let's fucking gooooo
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Despite how long it takes to clear away all the bloticles, Oswald is still working on the rocket by the time Mickey and Gus make it to Tomorrow City.
"All clear," Mickey says, edging cautiously towards Oswald, trying to make his footsteps as loud as possible. He doesn't want to startle him and accidentally make him break something delicate, Oswald's patience with him is already on thin ice as it is. "Do you... need any help?"
"Nnn," Oswald hums through the wrench clenched between his teeth. He's elbow deep in the rocket, messing with something Mickey can't see, laser focused on the mess of wires before him. He removes the wrench from his mouth with his ear, and waves it at some of the parts scattered on the ground next to him. "Gus, could you put those in the other side of the rocket?"
"Of course." Gus scoops up most of the parts on the pile - how he knows which ones he needs, Mickey doesn't know - and flutters over to the other side of the rocket, out of sight, leaving Mickey alone with Oswald. The only indication he's still here is the metal banging coming from the other side of the rocket.
Mickey shifts from foot to foot, eyeing the rest of the platform nervously, clutching his paintbrush a little tighter. The last time he was here, he could barely get to the elevator thanks to the beetleworx patrolling the place. He did make sure the generators spitting them out got shut down, but that was days ago, and for all he knows, the Mad Doctor could've found a way to get them up and running again since then. He should stay on guard, make sure no beetleworx or blotlings try to attack them, so Oswald and Gus can stay focused on their work.
Probably for the best, really. Mechanics has... never really been one of his strengths, despite all the cartoons that try to make him one.
Still, it feels awkward to just stand here, not helping, and let Oswald and Gus do all the work.
"Do you want me to do anything?" he asks, bracing himself for a sharp, rude reply.
"I got it."
Mickey blinks. That's... a much warmer response than he expected. Maybe it's because Oswald is too focused on his work to snap, but even so, Oswald has been cold to him ever since their first conversation. The only time he wasn't was when he extended that olive branch at the Jug, which Mickey... promptly ruined. But it took Oswald days to lose that frosty tone for the first time, and that was before he found out Mickey accidentally destroyed his home. It's odd to hear it absent again after only a few hours since his confession.
"Are you sure?"
"I don't need your help, Mouse, I can do it myself."
Ah, there's that bite to his voice again. Still not as cold as it usually is, but the edge is familiar, at least.
Mickey shifts again, tail swishing, as he scans the surrounding area for approaching enemies. He doesn't need to do anything else right now, Oswald and Gus will take care of the rocket, so he only needs to make sure they aren't interrupted. Easy.
Except it probably won't be easy if it actually happens, and goodness, Mickey really, really hopes it doesn't happen. Fighting off enemies on his own is hard enough, but the idea of needing to keep those enemies from reaching Oswald and Gus crosses right pass stressful and straight into terrifying.
... There's an ache in his chest where his Heart should be pounding in response to that terror. But instead, all he has is a cold, gaping, yawning hole, not painful but noticeable all the same, like a little black hole threatening to tear him apart from the inside out. The absence of a weight he never noticed until it was gone, leaving him untethered, and not in a good way.
His focus drifts back to Oswald, who fumbles blindly for one of the remaining parts on the ground, his ear still curled around the wrench.
Is this how everyone in Wasteland feels every day? This chest that's too big and too empty, trying to crumble in on itself to fill a gap that shouldn't be there? Mickey doesn't know how they do it. It's distracting to a maddening degree, and the lack of pain almost makes it worse. Pain would at least make sense, be easy to comprehend. This... this nothingness demands his attention, demands understanding he can't give. He hadn't realised how warm he was until his Heart was ripped out of him, leaving his chest nothing more than a chilly cavern that hasn't seen the light of day in decades-
"You get used to it."
"Huh?"
"The whole 'no Heart' thing," Oswald says, gesturing at him, and it's only then he realises he's pressing his hand against his chest, seeking a heartbeat that isn't there. "It doesn't go away, but it's not so bad once you get used to it. Most people stop noticing it so much after a few days."
"O-oh. I... see."
"Mm." Oswald shifts, refuses to meet his eye, and turns back to the rocket, shoulders hunching. "It... sucks to lose your Heart, so. Everyone in Wasteland gets it. You're in good company on that front."
Is he...?
"Thank you."
"Don't mention it."
Oswald's words are more of a demand than a dismissal, so Mickey drops it. He doesn't need to test Oswald's patience any more than he already has.
He looks down at his hand, still pressed against his chest, and drops it with a sigh. It's difficult to imagine ever getting used to this.
But Oswald didn't seem like he was lying, and Mickey has no reason to believe he's telling anything but the truth. Other than the fact Oswald doesn't like him, of course.
Again, he glances back at Oswald, who is either very, very focused on the rocket, or is ignoring him. The second option seems the most likely.
Oswald is... is just so confusing. He's rude, and brash, and quick to anger, and sneers at Mickey every chance he gets. Almost everything Mickey does - with very few exceptions - is met with scorn and contempt, and Mickey has done his best to ignore the slights, the insults, the petty and childish faces pulled behind his back and the over-the-top innocent whistling he gets whenever he turns around, but none of that has soothed Oswald's ire. If anything, it seems to make him worse, like he's trying to get a rise out of Mickey.
Mickey can't say he doesn't deserve it. Not after watching that fragile, tentative trust in Oswald's eyes shatter when he confessed to causing the Thinner Disaster.
Time and again, his adventure so far in Wasteland has proved one undeniable truth: Oswald hates him.
And yet he keeps doing kind things for him. He built Mickey a house in Ostown, and right next to his wife's house, no less. He agreed to help Mickey get home instead of telling him to find his own way out or suffer like the rest of them. He's trying to... reassure? Comfort? Do whatever it is he was just trying to do, for no reason other than to try and make Mickey feel better about losing his Heart. Oddly kind and generous actions extended towards someone he's supposed to resent, and he doesn't even seem to realise he's doing it half the time.
Mickey doesn't understand why Oswald insisted he would only give up a Heart for Ortensia when he does so much for Mickey, despite clearly believing he doesn't deserve it.
He frowns, tapping his finger against his hip.
That particular interaction has been... bothering him for a few hours now. Not because of Oswald's insistence he'd only make such a big sacrifice for Ortensia, or because he snapped at Mickey for giving up his Heart, but because of his issue with why Mickey did it.
Folks here would die for a Heart, and you gave up yours to save a gremlin you just met!
Of course he did. Gus is his friend, and he isn't going to let his friends get hurt, no matter if he's known them for seven decades or seven days.
But it wasn't just to save Gus. Oswald was being threatened, too, and yet he didn't include himself in that statement. Only Gus. Like Gus was the only one who mattered.
And it wasn't the first time, either. He said something similar when Mickey rushed to see if he was okay after the Blot threw him to the ground.
Bet you're sorry you had to save me too, huh? he'd snarked with far less venom than usual.
The words bothered him immediately, but he hadn't had a chance to rebuke them at the time because Oswald kept talking and redirected their attention back to the Blot.
He hasn't stopped thinking about it, though. Hasn't stopped thinking about that shaky edge to Oswald's voice, the barely-concealed hint of panic, the way the colour was still returning to his face after he shook off all the Blot's excess ink.
Above all, he hasn't stopped thinking about the words, and Oswald snapping at him for giving up his Heart to save Gus - but not, for some reason, including himself in that rescue - has only made him even more uneasy about the whole thing. He doesn't like the way it implies Oswald's safety was nothing more than a side-effect of trying to protect Gus. Doesn't like the implication Mickey wouldn't have cared if it was only Oswald's life in danger.
He's trying not to read too much into it, he really is. He doesn't know Oswald very well, it isn't his place to make assumptions, and maybe he just misunderstood. Maybe he's making something out of nothing. But the words have been nagging at him for hours, circling around and around in his brain, and no matter how hard he tries, he can't get them out of his head.
Bet you're sorry you had to save me.
Bet you're sorry you had to save me.
Bet you're sorry you had to save me.
What in the world did he do to give Oswald that impression? They haven't had the best relationship so far, and Mickey has done things in Wasteland he isn't proud of, but... but does Oswald really think he's so horrible he would've just left him to his fate at the hands of the Blot? Does Oswald really believe he matters so little to Mickey that he'd let him die?
The thought gnaws at his conscience. He bites his lip.
"Oswald? Can I ask you something?"
"Is it important?"
"Kinda?"
"What do you mean kinda-" Oswald cuts himself off with a groan. "Fine. Hurry up, I'm busy, and I gotta focus."
"Why did you say you bet I was sorry I had to save you from the Blot too?"
Oswald pauses, pulling away from the rocket to better give Mickey an odd look. "We're not exactly friends."
"So?"
"So why would you want to save me? It's not like I've been nice to you, why would you care what happens to me?"
His stomach twists. Apparently satisfied he's made his point, Oswald turns back to the rocket, reaching for another part.
Mickey steps on it before he can take it.
Oswald's head snaps up, eyes narrowing in a glare. "What do you think you're-"
"Is that really what you think of me?" Something slimy crawls down his spine, into his ink. The drops from his body float faster. "You really think I'm so awful I'd let an innocent toon die just because they were a little mean to me?"
Oswald stops. Really stops, actually putting down his tools for the first time since Mickey arrived. He sits back, tilts his head a little, stares at Mickey like he's a puzzle he can't quite figure out.
The feeling is mutual.
"... It's not an insult," Oswald says. "A Heart is a pretty big thing to give up. No one would do that for just anyone. Since we haven't been on, uh, good terms, and Gus has been sticking to you like glue since you got here, it didn't really make sense you'd give it up for me-"
"The Blot was hurting you. It was killing you. My Heart isn't more important than your life."
"You're kiddin', right? A Heart is everything, especially down here." Oswald's eyes flick to his chest. "You understand how it feels now, so you should get it. Why you don't give up something like that for just anyone. Without that Heart, you'll never get out. You'll be stuck here rotting with the rest of us forever, just... just sitting around trying to figure out if you should hope your loved ones are forgotten so you can see them again, or hope you never see them again because at least it means they aren't trapped and cold like you are. It's an awful way to live, Mickey. You get used to the ache but you never get used to knowing you're never going home."
There's a crack in Oswald's voice at the last word, and an answering lump rises in Mickey's throat. He presses a hand to his chest; the absence of rhythmic thumping makes his skin and ink crawl.
"It doesn't matter," Mickey says. "It's still not more important than you."
Oswald scoffs quietly.
"It isn't!" Mickey almost grabs Oswald's shoulders, but manages to stop himself just in time. "I - look, of course I wanna go home. Of course I wanna see my friends again. But - but not if that means letting the Blot kill you, Oswald. I know we don't get along, but that doesn't mean I don't-" He bites the words back, swallowing them down, ignores how desperate they are to crawl out. I care about you. It's the truth, he's grown fond of Oswald despite the constant cold shoulder, but something tells him Oswald won't be receptive to the words right now, and the memory of those eyes burning with betrayal stops him from saying them anyway. He hasn't done enough to prove he's telling the truth. "I don't care if we aren't friends, I wouldn't let that happen to you. Not if I could stop it. It doesn't matter how special that Heart is, I would never choose it over you. I'm not sorry I saved you. I'd never forgive myself if I didn't. I didn't just give up my Heart to save Gus, I did it to save you, too, and I'd do it again, a million times over, even if Gus wasn't there. I - I don't know what I did to make you think I'd do that to you, but if you really think I'd let you die just so I can go home, you're wrong. I'd never abandon you like that."
Oswald is silent. His eyes are wide, staring at Mickey with a disbelief that breaks his heart; this shouldn't be something to disbelieve.
The banging on the other side of the rocket has stopped. The whir and buzz of machinery and technology is deafening in the heavy air between the two of them.
"... You didn't do anything to make me think that," Oswald says at last. "People just don't usually do something that extreme for-" He cuts himself off with a grimace. "Never mind. Point is, it's nothing you did. I don't get why you'd do something as reckless as that for my sake-"
"I don't get why you keep actin' like you being hurt is something I shouldn't care about. You don't deserve what the Blot would do to you, and - and it's my fault it's here in the first place, and you shouldn't suffer for my mistakes. You keep actin' like I should think it doesn't matter just 'cause it's you, but it does matter. You matter. You matter to me."
Oswald recoils, eyes dropping to the ground, and Mickey's chest tightens; maybe that was too far. Maybe that's closer than Oswald wants them to be right now. He isn't anything more than an annoyance to Oswald, no matter how much he wants to be allowed to see the warmth Oswald shares freely with the rest of Wasteland but conceals from him. Mickey may want to put everything behind them and start fresh, but Oswald doesn't want to be friends with him. He's made that clear time and again.
"Why?" Oswald says. "I've been nothin' but mean to you since you got here, and it's not like I'm anyone important to you. You've got a whole life in the Cartoon World, more fame and friends and love than you know what to do with, and I've just got-" he gestures vaguely around him- "this. Why would I matter to you? Why do you care?"
Mickey swallows, helpless. The only thing he can think to say is, "Why wouldn't I?"
Oswald huffs, and leans back to look at the sky. There's a frown on his face, but it... doesn't seem angry. Just contemplative.
"Has anyone ever told you you're weird?" he says.
"I... don't think so? Maybe?"
"Well you are. Who says stuff like that?" Oswald mutters the last part under his breath, then raises his voice to cut Mickey off when he opens his mouth. "Got it. You would've saved me no matter what. I still don't get it, but whatever. Message received loud and clear. Now let me get back to work, we don't have much time."
Mickey removes his foot from the part he's been standing on, and Oswald snatches it up faster than Pluto snatches food from his plate.
The gap in his chest where his Heart should be aches even more. He misses Pluto so much. He's been trying so hard not to think about what it'll mean to be trapped here, but Pluto has been faithfully by his side for so long, he doesn't remember what it's like to be without him. His house won't feel the same without his dog jumping on his bed and licking him awake to beg for a walk every morning. And, gosh, Pluto will be heartbroken if he doesn't come back - all his friends will be heartbroken, but how in the world is anyone supposed to explain to Pluto he won't be coming home?
"Stop looking like that."
Mickey jumps at the harsh command.
"The fight isn't over yet, remember?" Oswald says, fixing Mickey with a stubborn gaze. A glare, Mickey would've described it as a few days ago, but he's familiar with Oswald's glares by now, and this isn't one. This is something... warmer. "We've still gotta ram this rocket right into the heart of that storm. If we aim it just right, we'll destroy the Blot once and for all, and then we'll... we'll see what we can do about your Heart. I'm not living in Wasteland with you forever."
The words are harsh, very similar to other spiteful sentiments Mickey has heard on repeat over the last few days, but it's different this time. The tone is... light. Almost... almost playful. An attempted at a tease instead of an insult.
Maybe that's just wishful thinking, but, well, Mickey has always had a soft spot for wishes.
And he's really, really relying on wishes right now. There's no guarantee they'll get his Heart back after all. Their plan to take the fight to the Blot... well, it isn't as fleshed out as it probably should be, there's going to be a lot of improvisation on their part, but it's safe to say the end goal is to destroy the Blot. Gus pulled him aside once they finished off the bloticles to quietly warn him there's a very good chance his Heart might be destroyed in the process if they succeed.
It's... a terrifying thought, of course it is. Mickey doesn't want to stay here. He doesn't want to be without his Heart. He wants to go home.
But if that's the price he has to pay to save Wasteland, he'll pay it. No matter how much he wants his Heart back, he can't bring himself to selfishly prioritise his own comfort over the safety of everyone who lives here.
And if he finds himself trapped here forever, with this agonising ache in his chest, just like everyone else, for the rest of his life... maybe that's his penance for his part in destroying Wasteland. Who is he to complain about it when he's the reason all of this is happening in the first place?
"Hey," Oswald says, "help me get this panel back on. Just hold it in place while I put these screws in."
Shaking the thoughts away, Mickey steps forward and holds the panel in place. Oswald is right, the fight isn't over yet. He still has a chance to right his wrongs and find a way to get home.
"Yeah, great, keep that right there. Just a little more, aaaand... done!" Oswald smacks the panel with a satisfied grin. "One rocket, ready for blastoff! Hey Gus, ya done with your side, yet?"
"Just finished!" Gus calls back, even though Mickey knows the noises on his side of the rocket have been absent for a while now.
"Great." Oswald pats the rocket one more time, then drops the wrench still held by his ear and finally steps away, gesturing for Mickey to follow him. "C'mon, Mickey. Time to finally wipe that Blot out of Wasteland for good."
The frost still isn't in his voice. If anything, he actually sounds warmer.
Hopefully that's a good sign.
Either way, Mickey climbs into the rocket. He takes a risk by taking the seat next to Oswald, and Oswald doesn't even scowl at him for it. Whether that means Oswald is warming up to him again or not, he doesn't know yet.
That's a concern for later, though. For now, they have a Blot to fight.
also some digital time of course because i am cringe but I am free
still a digitaltime thruther even after all them years hahhjdk
fun fact of the day in my previous design tony was the tall n lanky one with colin being shorter which probably made more sense but i switched them up this time year because yes
