The Raisins of Wrath

[Mickey Mouse]

“There it is!” Krok shouted. “The booty!”

“The what?!”

Mickey Mouse leapt from his perch, flipping through the air down to the craggy rock ledge where his two pirate compatriots — Krok, the crocodile-shaped, eye-patch sporting loud mouth and Flaaffy, the more demure and sheepish… well, sheep of the trio — stood watching the situation below them unfold. Flaaffy had secluded herself solidly behind the rock face, and was already shivering. Krok, meanwhile, stood on the edge, leaning as far as he could without sending his entire little body careening over, spyglass extended to its full length.

“The booty,” he repeated, gesturing wildly down toward the scene on the cavern floor. Mickey glanced over, flipping up his own eye-patch, which he wore purely for aesthetics, to get a better look.

“Everyone’s pants are covering their whole butts,” he astutely observed, examining as well as he could the derrières of the various figures below. Bandits swarmed through the small tent city, each looking a bit more intimidating than the last. If Krok had made mention of their lack of shirts, Mickey might’ve understood, as most of them either abandoned their tops completely to show off their impressive wilderness physique or wore some weird-lookin’ leather junk cobbled together in a shape he couldn’t imagine was very protective.

But he saw no butts!

“No, Mick, not booty like butts,” Krok groaned, removing the spyglass from his beady little reptile eye and spinning towards the mouse (former) king. “Booty like treasure. It’s pirate talk!”

Mickey blinked, then nodded. Truth be told, he still wasn’t very good at this pirate shizznit. He’d been carousing around the Crossroads for a few months now with Krok and Flaaffy — a sort of off-shoot squad of King Shark’s larger pirate crew — but had yet to really find his groove with the whole business. He supposed being a goody-two-shoes for, well, a really heckin’ long time made it kinda tough to break bad all of a sudden.

But he saw bandits down below, and if there was one thing being a good guy had prepared him for… it was fightin’ some goons.

He stepped up to the edge of the ledge with Krok. “Should we go crack some skulls?” the mouse asked.

“Oh, yikes,” Flaaffy baaed from back in her hiding place. She was mostly tech support.

“I think we should, Mick,” Krok smirked and licked his little crocodile lips. Mickey scrunched his face a bit; he’d always thought that habit of Krok’s was a tad bit creepy, but the reptile had been so good to him, teaching him the ways of the pirate, that he had long since decided to overlook it.

Krok leapt first. He dove down, staff in hand, sailing straight into the little stream that ran through the cave and into the bandits’ camp. Mickey watched as he splashed into the water, disappearing beneath the waves; now, all they had to do was wait.

A few of the bandits — the ones positioned up on the makeshift ‘walls’ of their camp — looked around at the sound of the splash, searching for the source. Mickey stifled a giggle as their heads whipped this way and that, becoming more frantic the longer they couldn’t find anything. He knelt down himself behind a slightly big boulder, just in case any of them had the bright idea to look up in their direction. Just a few feet away, he could hear Flaaffy’s knees knocking and teeth chattering. He glanced over at her.

“It’s gonna be okay, Flaaf,” he smiled at her. She met his eyes, and he could see her shoulders start to relax. She smiled back.

“I’m just not sure I’m cut out for this,” she admitted.

Mickey shrugged. “Me neither,” he said, “but as the saying goes: just keep swimming!”

Flaaffy smiled instinctively — Mickey had become known in their group for being excellent at encouragement and choice for confidence boosts — but then cocked her head to the side, a bit confused. “Where’d you hear that?”

Mickey thought for a moment, then said simply: “Somewhere!”

Images of a little blue fish flashed in his mind, and all over again — just as he did every single frickin’ day of every single frickin’ year — he missed home.

Water surged upwards from the little stream with a powerful roar, calling the attention of the mouse and the sheep. Krok emerged from beneath the waves as it turned into a legit tidal wave, cascading up out of the stream and charging toward the cobbled-together wooden wall of the bandit camp. The same frantic guards that had been twisting their necks in knots seconds before now stumbled over their own feet as they hurried to climb off the wall and clear the path of Krok’s destruction.

Mickey glanced over at Flaaffy. “Time to swim!”

He leapt, flipping forward and aiming his yellow shoes at the emergent tides. He held out a gloved hand, materializing his Keyblade and snatching it out of the air. The Star Seeker glinted in the sunlight that peeked through some holes in the cavern’s roof, the little stars painted on it glimmering as Mickey began to sweep it below his feet.

“Voltar Thundasir!” he shouted, and as if signaled, lightning crackled in through one of the holes in the roof and snaked down to crash into the water below him. Krok leapt out of the waves in just enough time, but the unlucky bandits still caught in the onslaught of stream found themselves wholly electrocuted, heads spinning and skin charred from the impact and blast radius. The strength of the thunderbolt’s impact pushed Mickey back up into the air, just enough airtime to allow him to do another flip onto dry land.

He stood, knees bent and keyblade at the ready, as a group of bandits hurried out of the side gate of their little camp to face him. They crouched a bit, trying their best to prepare for the fight, before one of them in the back dared to speak.

“It’s so… tiny!”

A bandit in the front, wrapped in some semblance of leather armor that basically spiraled around her body only covering the naughty bits, glanced back over her shoulder. “It is Mickey fucking Mouse,” she whispered. “Don’t underestimate him.”

“Mickey Mouse?” another repeated. “There’s no fucking way.”

The girl in the front turned back, but Mickey was gone, totally vanished right before her eyes. She blinked, and could feel her cheeks going pale before she’d even felt the keyblade on her shoulder.

“I see my reputation has preceded me,” Mickey smirked. “I’ve always wanted to say that,” he grinned happily, pressing down on her shoulder so the leader felt her knees shoved to the ground. Mickey stood behind her, holding up a gloved hand as the armor jingled of a half dozen bandits starting to move around him. “Uh uh uh,” he shook his head. “Don’t worry — I’m not gonna hurt ya. Too bad.”

He lifted his leg and kicked backwards, smashing his sole into the lady bandit’s head. She flew forward, face slamming into the cavern dirt, as the other six lunged at the mouse king. He swept the Star Seeker in front of him, smacking one bandit on the chin, as he slid through the gap between his legs and out of arm’s reach of the other five.

With a small shift in his position, the Star Seeker began to click and shift into a different formation; it split, rolling and turning and transforming into a pair of small laser guns. The bandits watched with awe as the tiny pistols settled into Mickey’s hands and he aimed the pair right at them.

One spoke up with a shiver. “W-what do you want with us?!” he squealed.

“Why, fella, that’s simple!” he smiled. “Your booty!”

 

[Mickey Mouse]

The bandits came at him, both knowing exactly what they were getting themselves into and having no frickin’ clue. Mickey fired off blast after non-lethal blast from the Double Arrowguns, knocking off the welcoming committee one at a time. In one breath, he’d duck beneath the swipe of a bandit’s sword and launch a blast of pure energy into their gut, sending them flying backwards into some tent structure they’d thought would keep them safe. Things almost seemed to move in slow motion as the group was picked off, one by one, slowly sent into unconsciousness by the mouse king.

As the last of them flopped down on the rocky ground before him, Mickey Mouse turned toward the central structure of the camp. He spun one of the Arrowguns on his index finger, blowing imaginary smoke off the tip before shoving it into his belt and shifting his gaze up to where Krok was battling his own set of bandits. The crocodile was good but not great at fighting — he could hold his own, but he wasn’t going to dominate a small crew like Mickey could.

He paused for a second, took a deep breath, and smirked, suddenly feeling quite proud of the amount of power he’d accumulated over the years. Sure, not everything was about power — with great power comes a great obligation to use it wisely, and he supposed at the end of the day, life was actually about figuring out what the wisest choices were.

His eyes shifted down from where Krok fought bandits on the rooftop to the doors to the bandits’ central hovel below. Mickey had a pretty good idea what the wisest choice was right now.

He broke into a sprint, practically flying across the stretch of rock separating him and those doors. Inside stood the last thing separating him from the goal he’d been chasing for the better part of his kinghood at this point. He was so close to getting what he wanted, at last, that he could almost freakin’ taste it —

Brrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmm.

Mickey’s ears jiggled a bit, perking up at a sound coming from high above his head. He stopped in his tracks, and glanced up at the roof of the cavern just in time to see a glint of silver glide past one of the holes in the cave’s ceiling.

He stood, frozen for a moment, fingers tightly gripping the hilt of the Double Arrowguns, staring up towards that little window to the sky. He needed the silver thing to fly past again; or fly past another. Sweat beads began to form on his forehead, and he whispered to himself: “There’s no freakin’ way.”

…because there was no freakin’ way, right? There was no way they’d found him.

He scowled after several seconds without another sign, and bolted into the central structure.

He blew through the flaps of the tent, eyes immediately zeroing in on the prize before him: the last Black Star Dragon Ball. It sat rather innocently on a pillow on a pedestal in the middle of the room, bright orange sheen shimmering in the light of the torches surrounding it. In the middle, it had — just like all the others — the traditional black stars of its name. Each had a different number; this one had three.

Mickey took a step towards the object, feeling the weight of everything he’d been searching for start to wash over him. Once he had this… well, his time with the pirates would’ve been worthwhile. He was having fun, sure, adventuring across planets, swinging in and getting into little scuffles, but when he’d heard about the Dragon Balls and their power — especially the power of the Black Star version… it hadn’t been long since he’d convinced Krok and Flaaffy to strike out with him to go and get them. This was really the only way left that he could imagine could help him get exactly what he’d wanted for so long —

“Mmm! Mmm!” a muffled voice reached his ears from his left, prompting him to stray from his course and turn. He looked down at the ground, one of the Arrowguns pointed directly at a young woman, arms chained up, mouth bound, struggling to pull herself away from one of the poles holding up the tent.

She stared up at him, hope filling her eyes.

He scoffed. My reputation precedes me.

He glanced over at the last Black Star Dragon Ball, the last thing separating him from getting to ask for his wish. It could wait a few moments, right?

…he really did stink at this pirate stuff.

He shoved one of the Arrowguns in his belt, hurrying over and aiming the other at the metal chains binding the young woman to the pole. He pulled the trigger, firing off a blast and separating her permanently from its grasp; she stumbled forward, hands still bound together as she pushed herself up onto her knees and up to Mickey’s eye level. The mouse king reached for the gag tied around her mouth and pulled it down.

“Oh my God, thank you,” she gasped, tears welling up in her eyes. “As soon as I saw you, I knew you’d help me — thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Mickey sighed, rolling his eyes a little bit. “Yeah, yeah,” he nodded, a little bit of shame creeping up his spine, “just… get out of here, okay?”

The woman nodded, turning and pushing herself up onto her feet. She started to run for the door when, just as she was about to reach it, the flaps burst open, and Krok sauntered in. Mickey turned to look at his pirate compatriot, while the reptile’s eyes looked the woman up and down before finally falling on the mouse king.

“Saving damsels again?” Krok groaned.

“Nobody’s perfect,” Mickey shrugged.

Krok unsheathed his sword, lifting it up and placing the tip of the blade against the woman’s throat. Mickey scowled, his free hand twitching toward the other Arrowgun stuck in his belt. The reptile turned back toward the mouse.

“She’d be a nice wench to have on our crew,” the lean, green, pirating machine mused.

“Let her go, Krok,” Mickey narrowed his eyes, letting his hand rest on the Arrowgun’s handle.

“Or what, Mick?” the reptile chuckled, pressing the blade a little deeper into the skin of her neck.

“You heard the mouse,” a voice called from the back of the tent.

A shiver crept up the back of Mickey Mouse’s spine as a blast of energy soared past the Black Star Dragon Ball’s pedastal, slamming into Krok’s blade and sending it flying straight through the entrance flaps of the main tent. Krok turned toward the source, opening his big trap to probably say something expletive-adjacent, but he couldn’t even get it out before a yellow scarf whipped out of the darkness, wrapping around his big, crocodile jaw and yanking him forward onto his stomach. The scarf snapped back to its owner as a little red blur dove out of the darkness, somersaulting onto the pirate’s back and pinning him to the ground.

“Get out of here, miss,” the young rescuer said, shifting his glance from the hostage towards the other pirate in the room.

Mickey Mouse bit his lip, looking up at the preteen machine staring back at him.

“Hey, Mick. Long time no see.”

“...hey, Blues.”

 

[Mickey Mouse]

The Proto Man and the mouse king stared each other down for what seemed like ages. It seemed, to Mickey, almost as long as they’d been apart, though that was impossible; it had probably been months or years since Nausicaa.

Mostly, it felt like a cowboy movie. Neither little guy had yet fallen into any sort of defensive stance, but it was also clear to any onlookers that the pair of them had not decided to let their guard down yet. For his part, Krok stood against the billowing wall of the bandits’ main tent. Mickey supposed most of the cohort of crooks outside had been taken care of by now — there hadn’t been many to begin with, truth be told — and so the crocodile probably judged the greater threat to his well-being was the sunglasses-sporting robot kid currently surreptitiously keeping his blaster cannon charged and ready.

A correct assumption.

“You know this kid, Mick?” Krok finally broke the silence after Mickey and Blues had spent altogether too long gazing into each others’ eyes.

“Know him?” the mouse chuckled, lips curling into a smile. “That’s my best friend.”

Blues’ mouth twitched, and he smiled too.

Mickey giggled. “I kinda wanna hug you,” he said, to Blues now, sheathing the still-prepped Arrowgun along with the other one.

“I would accept a hug,” Blues started.

“But…” Mickey raised his brow. He could hear the rest of the sentence before the preteen machine even had time to say it.

“What are you doing here, Mick?”

Mickey’s smile drooped. He’d never been very good at keeping a poker face — lying wasn’t really his game, after all — so of course his eyes flitted over to the Black Star Dragon Ball. If the Proto Man’s gaze followed, his sunglasses hid it well, but Mickey wasn’t stupid enough to think Blues hadn’t noticed. Blues had always been the smart one of their pair, even if Mickey felt sometimes he got a little too… well, was there such a thing as being too vigilant when you were a hero? Certainly, Blues’ idea of justice had always been a bit more punitive than his own. Mickey suspected that was the case even more so now.

“What are you doing here?” Mickey parrotted back.

“I asked you first,” Blues scowled.

“I asked you first,” Mickey imitated the preteen machine’s voice, eliciting an even deeper grimace from his best friend. For his part, the mouse’s smile grew, and he giggled just a little bit. It wasn’t often he got to play this part! Still, he could see Blues’ expression growing more and more steely, so he decided to throw the boy a bone. “I’m here for that,” he said, extending a gloved finger toward the Black Star Dragon Ball.

Blues turned his helmeted head towards the ball. Krok took the opportunity to try to lunge at him, but was met with a quick Proto Buster blast to the gut that sent him careening out of the tent flaps. Blues set his eyes on the Dragon Ball and let out a long, deep sigh.

“You don’t approve, pal?” Mickey asked, batting his eyelashes just a little bit.

“You know dang well I don’t approve,” Blues snapped, turning back toward the mouse king. He lifted his Proto Buster, angling it towards his bestie. “I can’t let you have it, Mick.”

“That’s okay, bud!” Mickey smiled big, bending his knees a bit and pulling the Double Arrowguns out of his belt. He smashed them together, and in a big flash of light, they transformed back into the Star Seeker’s traditional form. He spun it once, twice, and then — for the fun of it and to look heckin’ cool — a third time before settling into a combat stance.

“I ain’t askin’.”

He leapt forward, somersaulting through the distance between himself and Blues and bringing the Star Seeker towards the preteen machine’s ankles. Blues leapt into the air, barely dodging the swipe of the keyblade, slapping his humanoid hand on the wrist of his Proto Buster arm and launching a blast in Mickey’s direction. Mickey swerved to the side, barely avoiding the impact, as the recoil sent the Proto Man soaring up into the ceiling of the tent.

Mickey sprung after him, clambering up one of the poles holding the tent upright and diving into the mess of canvas material Blues was now tangled up in. He grabbed his best friend around the waist and dove off the pole, bringing them both down towards the ground — and the tent with them.

A stray Proto Buster blast burned a hole in the tent fabric, and Mickey rolled through it out into the bandit camp proper. Blues shoved himself out of the hole as well, shaking himself off as he stood up straight and glared over at his partner-in-no-crime.

“Your hugs aren’t as good as they used to be!” Mickey chuckled, doubling back a few steps to put some distance between them.

“You haven’t seen anything yet, Mick!” Blues shouted, breaking into a spring and lifting the Proto Buster up again.

Mickey’s knees bent, and he lifted the keyblade up. Blues ran towards him, his momentum growing, and just as he was about to reach him — and fire off a point-blank Proto Buster blast — Mickey sidestepped out of the way, leaving the Star Seeker in Blues’ path. The preteen machine gagged a bit as the keyblade clotheslined him, slamming him into the ground. Mickey’s giggle pierced the air a bit as Blues struggled to regain his breath.

“Ho ho ho, oh, brother!” Mickey chuckled, placing a hand on his stomach as he started to guffaw. “This is fun, Blues! Why haven’t we done this more often?!”

“Because — eugh,” Blues coughed, pushing himself back onto his feet. He faced away from the mouse king as he began to regain his faculties and brush some of the dirt off of his pink armor. “I didn’t want to embarrass you, pal.”

Mickey’s brow quirked, and his head cocked to one side.

And then Blues spun around, launching a Proto Buster blast directly into the mouse king’s chest.

“Oh, shiitake mushr—”

 

[Mickey Mouse]

The dust settled, and Mickey Mouse was still standing.

Not without some effort, of course — Blues was no slouch, and it took more than a steely personality to resist the knock back of a Proto Buster blast. The impact had punched the wind right out of the mouse king’s gut and launched him into one of the bandits’ watch-towers; luckily, he’d just made a dent in the wooden structure rather than knocking out any of its main supports. He doubted he would’ve been able to even stagger to his feet if he’d been covered in debris.

He attempted to get his bearings back as quickly as he could as he stumbled out of the small mess of rubble, dusting himself off. A few meters away, Blues stood, Proto Buster still outstretched, ready to fire off another blast. “Are you done yet?” the preteen machine called out.

Mickey’s grip on his keyblade tightened. “Not in the slightest, pal.”

Blues scowled, then fired off another shot.

Mickey swerved out the way, sprinting off to his right and watching as the Proto Buster carved another hole in the bandits’ watch-tower. This time, it did hit one of the supports, and the large wooden structure crumbled as the beams holding it up were burned away. Blues himself took a moment, dropping his guard and leaping out of the way of the falling tower — and that was when Mickey struck.

He lunged for his best friend, swinging the keyblade down hard at him. Blues glanced up, noticing the attack at the last second, and barrel-rolled to the side mid-leap — impressive, Mickey would admit — to avoid being in its striking range. He bounced on the cave floor a few times before pushing himself up onto his feet and skidding to a stop.

As the robot boy looked up, though, he was met once again with an oncoming keyblade, with even less time to dodge. The Star Seeker came down at him, and he lifted his hand up at the last moment, wrapping them around the ‘blade’ and holding it in place. Mickey grunted, pushing even more of his strength into trying to bring the weapon down into his best friend’s face.

“Eugh,” Mickey growled, “you’ve gotten stronger!”

“It’s been a long time, Mick,” Blues chuckled through gritted teeth. “What did you expect?”

“I dunno,” the mouse shrugged, pushing harder. “I figured you’d just been lounging up on the ARC or something. Haven’t heard much through the grapevine about what you’ve been up to.”

Blues scoffed, then spun to his right, releasing the Star Seeker’s blade. Mickey careened forward, slamming the keyblade down onto the cave floor with a clang — he’d be feeling those vibrations for days to come, for sure.

“I have been up on the ARC,” Blues said, dusting himself off as Mickey caught his breath. “I work with Leia’s people now — trying to fight off Darkseid.”

“Well, that’s super noble of ya,” Mickey smiled, glancing up and meeting Blues’ eyes.

For a moment, there was stillness between them. Blues knew that Mickey meant it — he could see in the mouse’s eyes that beneath the eyepatch and weird bandana and other assorted pirate accoutrements, an appreciation for goodness still existed. Mickey could feel it bubbling up within himself, too; a part of him knew that, if things in Nausicaa had turned out differently… maybe he’d have been there, with Blues, doing something.

But doing what? Wasn’t that the point? Wasn’t that why he’d turned to this life in the first place? Sure, he didn’t want Darkseid to swallow up the entire galaxy — did anyone? Mickey had seen even the most dastardly creatures and villainous vagrants fighting back against the Unmade on Nausicaa. But at the end of the day… well, they’d gotten the entire way through that, they’d managed to chase the threat to its source, and…

…well, Darkseid had mopped the floor with all of ‘em.

Mickey knew he’d seen the face of evil, and it was that fella. It was greater than any evil he’d faced in his entire long life — worse than Pete, worse than Frieza, worse than Karl Jak. Darkseid was… Mickey didn’t know if anyone had the power to stop him. Delay him, maybe, but that was it.

Blues took a few steps back, outside of the keyblade’s swinging range. The motion brought Mickey back to reality, so he crouched into a combat stance.

“We really don’t have to fight,” Blues offered. “You can just come with me, now, and I’ll forget about all of this stuff. Leia will, too.”

“Forget about what?!” Mickey snarked. “I’m just out here having fun piratin’!”

Blues scowled again, deeper this time. “Mickey. Piracy is not a victimless crime.”

Mickey grimaced. I know.

I kinda hate myself, if I’m bein’ honest.

But what else can I do? I’m gonna let y’all down anyway.

“Come with me,” Blues said. “I’m on a mission — a quest, really — and I could use your help. Come help me, and… everything’s forgotten. No one will hold you to any of this pirate nonsense. You can come with me and be a hero again, just like I know you are.”

“That’s a dirty lie,” Mickey shook his head. “I’m no hero, not anymore. How am I supposed to be a hero in a world like this?” He looked up through one of the holes in the cave ceiling. In the distance, a stain on the pure, blue, Erde Nonan sky, he saw the blackness swirling where Govermorne used to be. He threw a gloved hand up in the air, gesturing towards it. “How am I supposed to be a hero against something like that?”

Blues’ scowl turned into a frown. He took in a deep breath — more of a sigh, really, since he didn’t need to breathe — and then looked Mickey in the eyes.

“Why didn’t you try to reach me?”

Mickey stopped. He nearly froze at that question.

“I’ve been missing you since you disappeared,” Blues continued. “Heck, I looked for you for ages, pal. Then I heard you were… doing this, and it just put my stomach in knots. I couldn’t imagine why you’d do this instead of coming to find me. I just… I don’t know, Mick.” He placed his hands on his hips, and looked back up.

“I thought we were friends.”

If heartbreak actually made a noise, a thousand shatters would’ve reverberated through the gigantic cavern the two besties faced off in. Mickey felt his shoulders go slack as the proverbial knife dug into his soul, twisting and turning until the full weight of the preteen machine’s last sentence had sunk in.

The Proto Buster whirred. Blues lifted it up.

Mickey didn’t try to defend himself.

“I thought we were best friends,” the boy muttered. He fired off a blast, which slammed into Mickey Mouse’s chest. The small, anthropomorphic animal flew backwards, head smashing into a rock nearby. He slipped into unconsciousness as he rolled onto the cave floor, his stomach beginning to twist in knots. Blues walked over to his limp body, looking down at him, frown still plastered to his face.

“Sorry, pal,” he said, and then all went black.

 

[Mickey Mouse]

Some time later, Mickey’s eyes fluttered open slowly. He groaned a bit as the world returned to him, mostly because everything was so goshdarn blurry. He reached up and rubbed his eyes, trying his best to pull everything back into focus, and as he did, he felt his brow furrow almost automatically as he realized where he was.

He shot up maybe too quickly, blood rushin’ to his little mouse brain. He clutched his forehead with a gloved hand and groaned again as he looked around and found himself in the Slammer — what he’d taken to calling the detention level of the Spaceboat Willie.

“Feeling at home yet?”

Mickey’s gaze snapped toward Blues’ voice. He was being imprisoned on his own spaceship. The preteen machine stood — a little bit smugly, if Mickey said so himself — outside the bars of his cell, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. The mouse king almost bit back with something equally or more sassy, but just seeing Blues standing before him brought back the twisty stomach from before. The one that had emerged with the last thing the Proto Man had said.

“Not really,” he decided to answer, simply, turning away from Blues and tucking his knees up underneath his chin. He wrapped his arms around his legs and squeezed, as tightly as possible, as if contracting his whole body might cause his stomach to stop swirling with anxiety.

“I thought we were friends” — that was what Blues had said. It still lingered in the front of Mickey’s mind, even after all that time unconscious. He almost cursed his brain for making that the very first thing he’d thought of when he woke up; he almost cursed his tummy for succumbing so easily to the anxious feeling that statement brought with it. He didn’t, though, because for one: he didn’t curse, and for two: he knew, deep down, that this anxiety was just his body trying to protect him. He had to figure out what from, though, which was a lil’ bit frustratin’.

Blues sighed, but Mickey still didn’t turn to look. “I’m sorry for this, Mick,” he started, and Mickey knew there was a big but coming up, “but this was the only way to get you with me, I guess. I hoped you’d come and find me.”

“I’m sorry,” Mickey interjected, “for not doing that.” He glanced over his shoulder just a bit, meeting Blues’ gaze. “I don’t know if I regret not doing it,” he continued, “but I’m sorry I made you sad.”

Blues’ lips curled into a little bit of a smile. “S’okay,” he chuckled a bit. “If you hadn’t made me sad, I’d have never found ya.”

Mickey scoffed a bit, turning away again. I’m not sure if I’m mad you did, yet.

“The mission I’m on,” Blues continued, blowing right past Mickey’s clear discontentedness, “or the quest, whatever you wanna call it… I’m looking for something, too, y’see. The Erde Nonan locals call it the ‘Urn of Andraste.’ It’s supposed to contain, like, the ashes of some famous goddess or hero or something, and they’re supposed to be able to—”

“Make the lame dance and the blind able to see,” Mickey finished with a smirk. “I’m a pirate, Blues. You don’t think I know about all the treasure out in the galaxy?”

“I don’t think you’re a pirate,” Blues muttered under his breath, almost inaudible. “But… yeah. Leia wonders if it might help, I don’t know, heal some of the unmade worlds. Transform back some of the people that Darkseid has turned into monsters. I’m not sure I see the hope, personally — I’m not sure they can come back from how far they’ve gone. But Leia believes in second chances. That’s partly why she told me to come find you.”

Mickey’s ears perked up. “You didn’t come to find me yourself?”

“I’d looked for you for so long,” Blues sighed. “When I heard what you were doing, while I was out basically killing myself trying to find you… I don’t know, Mick. It hurt. I know you probably don’t see it this way, but I felt a little betrayed.”

Mickey let that one sink in, too, for a moment. A little betrayed? The choice to join King Shark’s pirate crew hadn’t been about Blues at all. It had been — maybe for the first time in his entire existence — something he did purely for himself. The first really selfish decision that Mickey Mouse had ever made.

So why get all up in a tangle about it? The mouse king couldn’t comprehend how Blues could be making it about himself. He’d needed something different. He’d needed to escape from the pressure, the anxiety, heck, the hopelessness of heroism. It hadn’t been about Blues at all. Heck, he hadn’t even considered how Blues might feel when—

—oh.

“So yeah,” Blues spoke up again, “we’re going to the Temple of Sacred Ashes, out in the Hinterlands. I’m gonna need your help; the temple’s a bit spooky, and the town that surrounds it — Haven, I think — is full of these, like, creepy dragon worshippers.”

Mickey spun back towards Blues. “The last Black Star Dragon Ball,” he said, “you didn’t just leave it there?”

“Nope,” Blues smirked. “We’ve got it. And the other six. Safe and away from you, pal.”

Mickey scowled. “We?”

Blues chuckled. “The Sqwid Sqwad is a bit spread out right now, out completing missions of their own — you’d be really proud of them, though, they’re like, fully rehabilitated from being Darkseid cultists — but we’ve got Hiro up in the lab. He’s been worried about you, too.”

Mickey’s scowl turned into a frown. How many people had he let down when he’d decided to stay off the grid and go gallivanting with pirates?

But then, how many people had he let down when he wasn’t able to beat Darkseid? How many people had gone through mental and physical anguish because he hadn’t been able to bring Karl Jak to justice and stop Dante’s Abyss? How many people had he let down because he just wasn’t good enough at being a hero?

“Well,” Blues continued, “I’ll let you rest. We’re taking the short, spaceboat ride to Haven, so it’ll only be another thirty minutes or so till we arrive.”

He started towards the door, but Mickey’s voice stopped him.

“Krok? Flaaffy?” he asked. “What’d you do with them?”

Blues glanced back at him. “Your pirate buds? We let them go. Seemed harmless enough.”

Mickey felt his heart beat slow down just a bit. Not enough, of course — the anxiety was still pumping. But he could rest a little bit easier knowing the two of them were safe and unharmed.

“Hey, Mick,” Blues said as the automatic door to the Slammer slid open with a whoosh, “I really hope we can fix this.”

Mickey didn’t respond. He just stared, blinking, back at the preteen machine and gave a soft, noncommittal smile. Blues nodded, understanding somewhere within his android body what that meant, and stepped out of the room, the door sliding closed behind him.

The mouse king watched his best friend go, pangs of regret bouncing through his tiny little form. There was the twisty tummy, yeah, but there was also muscle pain in his shoulders; his racing heartbeat; his swirling brain. He placed a hand on his stomach and rubbed, trying his best to soothe it, to calm whatever entity was trying to tie it into knots. Nothing worked, though, and he found himself falling backwards onto the bed, feelin’ pretty solidly like he was going to remain in this abject misery forever.

“Goshdarnit,” he muttered to himself, springing up off the bed and towards the door to his cell.

I can’t be here anymore. Can’t be around this.

“Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious,” he whispered, and immediately his body flattened. He turned into a 2D version of himself, as thin as paper, and slipped through the bars and out of his cell.

It took him mere moments to be out of the sliding door, three-dimensional again, and into the escape pod bay of the Spaceboat, pushing buttons and preparing to get the heck out of dodge. He just couldn’t imagine lingering around here, with Blues and Hiro and the guilt he know felt at the mere thought of either of them. Just seeing their little faces in his mind’s eye made him feel so inadequate, like such a fricken’ failure.

He pressed a final big red button, and —course charted for the surface of Erde — the escape pod door clicked open. He blinked and took a deep breath as he stood at the top of the ramp. Time to remove himself from this situation again, for as long as he could. He knew Blues would find him eventually, but he’d be ready then. He wouldn’t let the preteen machine get him a second time.

He took another deep breath.

***
​

Up in the cockpit of the Spaceboat Willie, Blues sat in Mickey’s captain’s chair, spinning around to entertain himself as the ride continued. Every once in a while, he peeked over his sunglasses at a nearby screen alerting him that one of the escape pods had been activated. He waited for the notification that it had launched.

“So it’s an urn full of someone’s dead body ashes?” a squeaky, mouselike voice came from the back of the room. Blues spun around.

Mickey leaned in the doorway to the cockpit. “Kinda creepy, don’t ya think, fella?”

Blues smiled. “Very creepy.”

“You tell Leia she’s got weird taste,” the mouse king shrugged, “but that we’ll snag it for her.”

Mickey stepped out of the door frame, sauntering across the cockpit towards the captain’s chair and his best friend. As he approached, Blues stood from the seat, and they locked eyes, standing there for just a moment, staring at each other.

“We will?” the preteen machine asked, hopeful.

“Yeah,” Mickey nodded with a smile, “we will. I can’t promise I’ll stick around after… but I owe ya one. I’ve put you through too much, pal.”

Blues didn’t say a word, but lunged at the mouse, pulling him into a tight embrace. Mickey was caught off guard for a split second, but then melted into it, wrapping his arms around the robot boy and squeezing him back.

“Now that’s what I call a hug.”

 

[Mickey Mouse]

The Spaceboat Willie touched down not long after. Standing outside of the ship, Mickey looked down at their destination: the quaint-looking village of Haven, just a short ways down the mountain road. For all intents and purposes, it looked like any normal Hinterlands village: cute little roofs with cute little streams of smoke rising from their chimneys, and small dots that Mickey assumed were people fluttering around the cobblestone streets. The only thing setting this place apart? The huge, majestic temple set into the mountain behind it.

The Temple of Sacred Ashes rose a good fifty meters above the highest roof in the village. Its stone was a sort of decayed jade green color, making it look almost sickly in the face of the more unassuming town surrounding it. Mickey did not get a good vibe.

“Wasn’t there some weird shizznit that happened in a town called Haven a little while back?” the mouse asked, crossing his arms, as Blues hopped out of the Spaceboat’s side door and strolled up next to him.

The preteen machine adjusted the bag on his shoulder, something clink-ing around inside. “Totally different village named Haven, also on this planet,” he shrugged. “It’s a pretty common name, I hear. This one got named that because it was the only place these dragon worshipper cultist guys could go after the new king took over in Arcadia. He wasn’t having any of their weird business.”

“Oh, okay,” Mickey nodded. “Makes sense, I guess.”

Footsteps behind them stole Mickey’s attention away quickly, as he whipped around to find none other than Hiro Hamada hurrying out of the ship. “Blues—” he called out before stopping in his tracks at the sight of Mickey.

The first thing the mouse king noticed about Hiro was that he was tall. It had — obviously — been quite a while since he’d seen the young man, and in that time, Hiro had hit his growth spurt. He still had the same mop of black hair on his head, same casual style, so he was, unmistakably, Hiro, but he was older, and he looked it. He had to be almost an adult by now, right? The mouse looked him over, his eyes falling at last to one of his hands — robotic, made purely of metal —which Hiro quickly tried to hide with the sleeve of his purple hoodie.

“Hiro,” Mickey started.

“Blues, why are you taking those?” Hiro ignored him, turning back to the Proto Man and slinging a pointed finger towards the bag on his shoulder. Mickey’s eyes fell once again to the bag, and he started to see what was going on. Several orb-like objects clinking and clanking against one another? The Black Star Dragon Balls.

“They’re safer with me than they are on the ship,” Blues stated matter-of-factly. “No offense, but with just you on there, no Baymax, it would be easy for someone to take them.”

Hiro scowled, and crossed his arms, but nodded.

“Now, say hi to Mick,” Blues smiled, trying to be as chipper as he could. Hiro turned toward Mickey.

“Your Majesty,” he bowed his head as respectfully as he could manage at the mouse king, but Mickey could tell there was a little bit of venom behind his greeting.

“Hiro, I—”

But the teenager spun around, hopping back up into the spaceship and disappearing from view. Mickey heaved through another deep breath. “Is everyone PO’d at me?” he asked solemnly.

Blues didn’t answer at first, but gestured for Mickey to follow and started to walk down the mountain trail. The mouse adjusted his keyblade in his belt and did so, following Blues’ lead as they headed down toward the town of Haven. The path wasn’t difficult —just a normal dirt road — but Mickey still felt something weighing on him which made every step just a bit of a struggle. Finally, after they’d been walking for what felt like ages — but was probably just several minutes — Blues spoke up again.

“It’s hard,” he started, “when you believe in something. To watch it struggle to live up to your expectations.”

“Yeah, well,” Mickey harrumphed, “it’s not so easy being the one who has to live up, either.”

Blues nodded. “No, it isn’t.”

Mickey glanced over at him. The preteen machine gave him a soft smile, then watched as Mickey’s eyes fell back to the Black Star Dragon Balls. Blues adjusted the bag’s strap a little tighter on his shoulder.

“Why do you want them?” he asked the mouse king. “What are you gonna wish for?”

Mickey scowled, turning away from his best friend. “You’re gonna think it’s stupid.”

“Try me,” Blues offered.

The pit in Mickey’s stomach grew bigger, because he knew that hearing the wish might hurt Blues even more than his escapades with the pirates. He’d kept it close to his chest for so long, ever since he’d splintered off from the main band of King Shark’s pirates to find the little orbs. He hadn’t even told Krok and Flaaffy.

“I want…” he gulped nervously, “I want to wish myself back home.”

Blues stopped in his tracks. He didn’t look back at Mickey, but the mouse king watched as his sunglasses tilted toward the ground. He knew this would happen. He knew it was gonna hurt Blues’ feelings to know he’d have rather left the Crossroads completely, without warning, than come and find him. But he couldn’t help that going back to the Disney Realms was the one thing that kept tugging at the back of his brain, that made his heart beat fast.

Of course, he hadn’t been home in so freakin’ long, he didn’t even know if it would take him back the way he was now. He felt like he’d strayed so much from the innocent-looking mouseketeer he’d been. The one the people had chosen to be their king. He wished he’d never set foot in his gummi ship that day, so long ago, and gotten himself into this mess. He’d been to one universe, gotten into heaps of trouble, fought in a nasty death tournament, traversed a Hero’s Graveyard, hopped to a different universe, fought in the death tournament again, and ended up face to face with evil itself. Going through all of that — well, it was going to change the little mouse no matter what, and he could never really be sure if it was changing him for the better.

But even after all of that, the thought of going home was pretty much the only thing that brought him pure, unbridled joy and excitement. The thought of having a home to go back to, that he might have a place that was his, where he and his friends could live in peace. Heck, it didn’t even have to be his big old castle. It could be the smallest flat on Cherrytree Lane. He just needed to be… not here anymore.

“I’m sorry,” Mickey muttered. “I just can’t stop thinking about it. This universe is just too much for me. I want it all to stop.”

For another few moments, Blues was still. Then, he turned towards Mickey. “It’s okay,” he murmured, nodding quietly, “I get it. I understand.”

Do you? Mickey thought, but kept his mouth shut.

“…I wish I could make you feel different,” Blues smiled sadly, turning and beginning to walk again. Mickey watched as his best friend headed down the trail toward Haven, Dragon Balls clinking against his pink, metallic armor as he went. Mickey Mouse took a deep breath in, held it for a few seconds, then exhaled. He reached down and rubbed his tummy a little bit, hoping to quell some of the twistiness.

But it seemed like it was here to stay, at least for a little while.

He started after Blues, and they walked the rest of the path in silence.