This is the first fic I have written in...literally years. And currently I'm hyperfixated on a Who Framed Roger Rabbit-esque version of cartoons and Toon Town + Epic Mickey, both of which have really active followings (at least on tumblr and twitter) but literally no fics? And I wanted to create a Mickey rp blog on tumblr, but right now that's gonna be pretty difficult for me to do, I think, so this is how I am contribute...

Some things that y'all might wanna know:
1) This takes place in 2017.
2) Even in the span of 2 years, some things for Oswald have changed...kind of for the worst. So if there are details that seem inaccurate, that might be why!
3) A lot of this is derived from my headcanons...because I think about this shit a lot sjhdkjdhfjksdhflkjh so if you're reading this and wondering where the fuck some random thing came from, that's me LMAO

"Oswald!"

It was times like this when Mickey knew that he failed more often than not.

"Would ya please just stop ignorin' me and listen?"

Mickey couldn't understand why things had to be this way. He couldn't understand why he was stuck in this torturous cycle of giving his all for something, only for it to blow up in his face as he makes an already bad situation worse.

He felt that familiar anxious twist in his gut as he tugged on the arm of a certain lucky rabbit, sheepishly smiling and waving at the long-time staff and animators - who, by now, were used to the inevitable chaos that came with the job as people who worked alongside toons - as they passed through Disney Television Animation studio in Glendale, California. It was the primary location where Mickey and the core crew were filming the Mickey Mouse shorts that had been produced since 2013, a series where they had been outright encouraged from the start to return to their wacky, slapstick roots from the classic cartoon era. Despite the success of the shorts, however, Mickey knew better than anyone that there was something - or rather, someone - left to be desired.

When the execs had finally given the okay for Oswald to appear in one of the shorts, Mickey had been ecstatic, even going as far as to toonishly give each of them sloppy kisses and shower them with exclamations of gratitude. He could still recall that wonderful twinkle in his brother's eyes and the look of pure delight on his face as Mickey told him the good news while walking down Main Street. Mickey was initially planning on telling him in a much more formal manner, but he couldn't contain his excitement any longer. They hugged, they laughed, they celebrated so jovially he was sure the entirety of Toon Town could hear them. The weeks afterwards were the happiest Mickey had seen Oswald since he'd been told he would get his own meet-and-greets in Tokyo and California, back in 2014.

It wasn't that Oswald hadn't been happy at all in the years between. But Mickey could tell that he wanted more, even if he rarely voiced those thoughts aloud.

Which was why when he finally received the script for the episode, he couldn't believe that after all that it took for the suits to finally agree to Oswald's cameo, this is what they gave him. Despite much of the antics of the shorts being entirely improvised, they had gone as far as to spell out exactly what Oswald's role was - for Mickey to pluck him out of trash and throw him into a garbage can without uttering a word.

He had been too afraid to tell Oswald the truth at first, although he swore to himself that he would do so after wrapping up another short the next day.

The day after, filming was indeed wrapped up and Oswald had been waiting for him outside to grab lunch together, but Mickey couldn't find the right opportunity to tell him, so he didn't. It was alright, though - he could just tell him the next day.

Then that day came, and Mickey never told him. The day after that came, and Mickey still hadn't told him. A week passed. He still hadn't told him. Then several more weeks passed. He still hadn't told him. Then a month passed. He still hadn't told him. Only a few months later, filming for the short Oswald was meant to appear was underway. His brother had only asked him once why he hadn't received a script of any sort, or why they hadn't called him in yet, half-jokingly wondering if the producers had already forgotten about his role. Mickey laughed, twiddled his thumbs, evaded the question, and assured him that they would call him in soon.

And, true to his word, they had.

No one had told Oswald what he was meant to do. As soon as he stepped foot into the studio, a human took him by the arm and steered him towards a pile of steaming cartoon garbage. Mickey could only watch as his brother was told to get inside, his expression one of total bafflement - he glanced at Mickey, clearly desiring an explanation, but all the mouse could provide was a smile, hoping that it looked less contrite and more encouraging. The moment was cut short after the human, annoyed by Oswald's lack of cooperation, roughly pushed him into the garbage pile. Not a minute later, filming began.

Till that particular scene, everything had been going smoothly. Goofy filmed his short cameo and left early; Mickey laughed as the taller toon gave him a big ole hug before he said goodbye. In the couple of hours after he hadn't even needed to reshoot anything - but when it came to Mickey having to shovel his brother out of the garbage and toss him aside, the world around him seem to melt away as he inadvertently met Oswald's eyes and flinched. He knew that he would have to get it over with eventually. It wasn't a toon's place to change the productions - they were just actors. Even Mickey was just that - an actor. But he was an actor with status most toons could only dream of, and this was the best he could do. Oswald was giving him a look of such betrayal that, in that moment, Mickey wished the executives hadn't changed their mind at all.

He shook off his daze after the director abruptly yelled "cut!". Wordlessly, Oswald slid off the shovel, wiped stray debris off himself, and stormed away, shoving past the human staff and ignoring their indignant yelps.

"Toons," he heard the director gripe.

Summoning that well-known charisma befitting a showman, Mickey clapped his hands together, flashed his signature radiant smile, and declared that that was enough for the day. Feeling a rising sense of urgency, he clumsily removed his hazmat costume all the while complimenting some of the film crew for a job well done. And with that, he scurried away in the direction that Oswald had gone before anyone could stop him.

And now, here he was.

He sighed as he realized that his efforts to slow down the rabbit were useless. His shoes cartoonishly squeaked against the floor and left visible skid marks as Oswald merely stalked onward. Eventually giving up on his previous strategy, Mickey pondered what to do while sliding across the floor of the studio, still latched onto Oswald's arm nonchalantly. He cheerfully greeted a group of Disney XD toons that passed by on their way to filming - "Lovely day, isn't it?" - and he appreciated how unfazed they seemed by what was transpiring before them.

A brilliant idea ultimately did pop up in his imagination; it was risky, but the pros far outweighed the cons. With all his might, Mickey leaped onto Oswald's back, wrapping one arm around the other's neck; the other reached up to grab hold of those floppy ears he had always loved to mess around with. The rabbit stiffened and squawked in surprise, beginning to madly thrash about.

"Sorry, Ozzy!"

And with a sharp yank, he reversed the situation entirely, pulling his brother behind him like a ragdoll. He winced as the rabbit flailed his arms and caught him in the face, but otherwise, Oswald was totally helpless.

"You shouldn't have ignored me," Mickey quipped cheekily as he marched towards his dressing room with his brother in tow. Oswald was stronger than him on a normal day, and he certainly felt it now, but they both knew that the ears were a weakness only used during their dirtiest of sibling fights - which meant that Oswald LOVED to use it on him, no matter how inappropriate the timing was.

"Um...do you...need some help, Mr. Mouse?" Mickey looked to his right and blinked at a young intern who seemed to be more than somewhat alarmed at the bizarre display. He didn't recognize her immediately, and she called him Mr. Mouse, which meant that she was fairly new. Of course, this would be her first impression of him - struggling to have even one other toon listen to him and unceremoniously dragging that toon into his dressing room. He would have to find her later and apologize for causing a scene. Humans already tended to think that toons were inherently dangerous, and right now he wasn't doing anything to prove that otherwise.

"Uh - oh! That's real sweet of ya, miss, but it's alright, Ozzy and I just need to talk some things out. Thank you for the offer, though!" With that, he clumsily opened the door to his dressing room, pushed Oswald inside, winked at the intern one last time, and slammed the door shut. With a great heave, he slumped against the door frame, burying his face in his hands to regain his bearings during the short respite he had before Oswald exploded on him.

Why couldn't things just be simple? Why did everyone have to make everything so complicated?

He cautiously peered through his fingers to check on Oswald. Sure enough, the rabbit was trembling with barely repressed fury, his right foot beating at such a ferocious pace that Mickey was convinced he'd crack the floor. He seemed to be muttering something to himself as well, but all Mickey could make out were a few nasty words that he would chide him for using any other time...and his own name.

Swallowing thickly, Mickey stood up and cautiously tiptoed towards him. This wasn't the first time he and Oswald had fought - definitely not - and it wouldn't be the last, but this was more than just silly squabbling between brothers. Oswald's entire future was at stake. Mickey knew that better than anyone, and yet here they were, at the mercy of the humans' decisions and their fickleness, desperately trying to find a way to right past wrongs.

He really couldn't do anything right. For all his influence, Mickey didn't even know how to give his own brother the recognition he deserved.

Mickey paused when Oswald seemed to go completely still. I'm so, so sorry, he wanted to say. This won't happen again. I promise. But no words came out. He tentatively reached for Oswald's shoulder -

And stumbled back in shock as the rabbit whirled on him, fists balled up and teeth bared. "Don't. Touch. Me."

His mind couldn't catch up with his mouth before he forced out a pathetic "I'm sorry", leaving his already high-pitched squeak of a voice sounding like that of a little child who had been caught doing something they shouldn't have. "I-It wasn't my idea. I swear. I tried-"

"Oh, ya tried," Oswald sneered, his eyes burning with contempt. "You always try."

"What do you expect me to do?" Mickey pleaded. "Everyone thinks I'm the boss around here, but all I ever do in those meetings is fight for you to get anything. There's never a moment where I'm not thinkin' about you in there." It wasn't an exaggeration. Mickey vouched for the other underused Disney toons there every chance he got, too, but Oswald had always been different. Everyone knew that. But no matter what he did to convince his superiors, he never seemed to make the bosses budge. They just stared at him with those cold, uninterested eyes, always cracking the same joke about how they still found it absurd that they had traded a human person for a toon. At the same time, the mouse could detect the unmistakable irritation in their tone of voice, and the meetings always ended with that same vague feeling that he was being patronized.

"You say that a lot, you know," Oswald said. "You 'fight for me'. What the fuck is that even supposed to mean?"

He leaned forward till he was nose-to-nose with Mickey. The mouse shifted uncomfortably, his heart beating faster as he met Oswald's hardened gaze. The depth of Oswald's eyes had always caught Mickey off guard; there was something within them that made you feel as if your entire soul was being scoured for answers you were unwilling to give. Given his past experiences of placing his trust in other people, it was no wonder he had perfected the art of reading another person. In other words, Mickey was doing a terrible job at pretending he wasn't intimidated, but Oswald gave no indication that he cared.

Mickey's mind hastened to think of something to deescalate the situation, as was his usual response to fights like this, but before he could get in a word, Oswald had already cut him off.

"Do you care about me, Mickey?"

He might as well have taken him by the throat and squeezed.

Mickey was oblivious to a lot of things, he knew that, but even he had heard that there were people that liked to flirt with the idea around Oswald that the only reason the rabbit was still here at all was because his brother felt bad for him. He knew that he and Oswald were alike in more ways than one, and that included being easily affected by what others had to say about them, but even so, he didn't think that Oswald would actually believe them.

However, the more he thought about it, the more Mickey recalled all those times he had to apologize to Oswald for failing to yet again secure a role in any productions, or comfort him after Oswald, yet again, almost fought someone after mistaking him, unintentionally or not, for his brother. All those times, Mickey tried to radiate positivity and offer reassurances that things would get better, only for them to happen over and over and over. It was always the same.

Was he really that inconsiderate of a person that Oswald sincerely questioned whether or not he cared about him?

"I do," he replied. He hated how hoarse his own voice sounded. "You know that. You're my brother, Ozzy, you're - we're a team. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Mickey hoped that that statement sounded as genuine as he felt it was. It may have sounded cheesy, but it was the honest truth. While their lives had followed different paths in the previous century, they had each other now, and Mickey couldn't imagine his life without Oswald. After everything they had been through together, both in Wasteland and outside of it, they really were a team. More than that - they were partners chasing their dreams together.

Mickey thought he had seen Oswald's eyes soften ever so slightly, but the glower on his face deepened before he could be sure. The rabbit retreated slowly until his back was against Mickey's dresser, although he never broke his gaze.

"Then why," he said, venom seeping through each word, "would you treat me like literal shit for a stupid gag? Why would you let my first appearance in an actual cartoon for DECADES be a five fucking second cameo where you toss me in the trash?"

Mickey knew it was taking all the self-control Oswald had not to lash out at his surroundings. But despite all his years upon years of experience in breaking up altercations involving both toons and humans with diplomacy, he couldn't find the words to calm him down now. What could he possibly say now that would fix this? That things would get better? Wasn't that what he always told him?

"Is that what you think of me? Is that what I am to you?"

No. No, of course not. I would do anything for you. You have to believe me. I didn't have a choice.

"Didn't have a choice, huh?" Oswald narrowed his eyes. Mickey realized too late that he had said all of that aloud, and based on how Oswald's expression became more cross with every passing second, it seemed to be the wrong thing to say.

"Ozzy, you have to understand that it was either a...dumb cameo, or nothing. My bosses told me that whatever your cameo was, I'd have to accept it. I didn't know what they were gonna make you do until it was too late. I tried to have it changed, I really did! I-I know, I know it sounds bad, that's why I-" Mickey cringed, mentally slapping himself for how truly poor he was at decision-making. "I didn't tell you about it until the day of. A-and I know that that was so stupid and unacceptable and - and horrible of me, and I'm sorry, but...but this is still...progress, isn't it?"

A beat passed.

Mickey tried one more time. "...isn't it?"

He hadn't expected Oswald to answer immediately, but he almost wished he didn't.

"You're Mickey Mouse." Oswald pronounced his name with an excessively saccharine sweetness that felt all too fake. Mickey felt his skin crawl at that; Oswald didn't even have to actively say anything outright derisive to make him feel even lower than he already did.

In a moment of pure spontaneity, Oswald grit his teeth and smashed his fist against the dresser so forcefully that it startled the both of them, but he pushed onward.

"You're MICKEY MOUSE. YOU practically owned Hollywood at one point. YOU won an Oscar just for being born. You've met presidents, celebrities, emperors, athletes, prime ministers. YOU were the first toon to get a star on the Walk of Fame." With every word, Oswald became more and more unstable. Mickey suddenly became all too self-conscious of the fact that he had locked them in one of the very places that embodied his status. His brother was pacing around the dressing room now, his attention being diverted from one thing to another as he inspected the numerous accolades, letters, gifts, merchandise, and other overly conspicuous items that marked the highlights of Mickey's career. It was these things the mouse knew he had yearned for for decades as his career steadily tanked under Universal - it was these things that were within his grasp under him, these things that had been taken away from him almost overnight after he was stolen away.

Oswald seemed to thrum with excitement as he picked up Master Yen Sid's sorcerer hat that sat in the corner of the room, which Mickey had borrowed for one of his stage shows in the parks. He watched as the rabbit marveled at the starry pattern on its fabric that shimmered ethereally beneath the lighting. Mickey couldn't help but tense. He knew exactly what his brother was thinking: This could've been mine. This should've been mine.

His brother only continued to speak aimlessly. "You're magical, even without the hat. You're practically a fairy. You're a fantasy character right from a storybook, Mickey." The more Mickey listened to to him, the more he felt like this had to be some sort of surreal dream. He didn't want this to be real.

Gingerly placing the hat back, Mickey could tell Oswald was getting heated again. "But despite all of that, even now," Oswald mused, "you're telling me you're helpless? You want to tell me that after years and years of finally being back home, I'm basically stuck in perpetual limbo because you're too much of a pushover?"

Mickey had heard stuff like that before. He was hyperaware of the threads of gossip about him - he was oversensitive, a sell-out, and every other word in the dictionary that was a synonym for weak. And it hurt. It hurt more than he could let anybody know. To hear it coming from Oswald, who had witnessed him in some of his most vulnerable states before, who knew what some people had said about him and had defended him from it in the past, who knew better than almost everyone else about the pressure and guilt and fear that weighed heavily on Mickey's shoulders, - he might as well have dug his fingers into Mickey's chest and torn out a gaping hole where his heart should be.

"Don't call me that!" Mickey snapped. Rather than acknowledge him, his brother kept going.

"Why? Isn't it true?" Oswald's voice was becoming unbearably condescending. Mickey supposed it was because they both knew he was right, but if there was one person that could provoke Mickey like no one else could, it was his brother, and Oswald was about to take full advantage of that.

"What IS it with you?" Mickey retorted. "Do you even KNOW how many toons - not just Disney toons, either, all of 'em - would do whatever it takes to have what you have?" Walking right up to Oswald, he jabbed a finger onto his brother's chest, the words poured from his mouth like a broken dam before he could stop them. He knew what he was about to say wasn't right, but the images of those desolate faces of other underused and forgotten toons had flooded into his mind - toons who would meander throughout Toon Town looking for work, Disney toons who looked to him for hope like Oswald did. Some of them got lucky, if only for a temporary gig. Some of them didn't, their careers not seeing the light of day for years, only barely scraping by because of merchandise still being sold, or cult followings that were outrageously dedicated to them.

"Do you know how many Disney toons who've been here since the beginning want what you have more than anything? Do you know how many Disney toons are just teetering on the line between being relevant and being forgotten, and would KILL to be you? YOU got bought back by the company just because they felt like it. YOU have a whole store filled with your own merchandise, while some toons don't even get a plush doll made of them. YOU get your own meet-and-greets in two parks. You-"

"Oh, yes," Oswald snarled, shoving Mickey away and sending the mouse reeling backwards. "I just love standin' near the entrance of DCA, gazing longingly at the gates to Disneyland, thinking I have a decent amount of people comin' ta see me until I compare myself to literally every other toon there, tryin' to ignore the ungodly number of humans who have no fucking idea who I am and think that I'm the black and white version of YOU. Everyday, it's the same: 'Hey, look, it's discount Mickey!' But, gosh, imagine being ungrateful for that!" At that last sentence, the pitch of Oswald's voice had risen higher and higher until it was clear he was mocking Mickey's own.

This is getting nowhere.

"You know what? Fine. Be alone, since I'm useless to you. See if I care." Mickey said, taken aback how haggard his own voice sounded. Pushing past Oswald, he grabbed the keys to his car off his dresser and refused to look at him, rapidly trying to blink away the wretched blurriness in his eyes. His throat was beginning to close up and painfully ache in the way that it did whenever he got too emotional, and he was so exhausted at this point that it couldn't have been worth staying and fighting pointlessly any longer. He didn't care if that meant Oswald had 'won'. They were just going in circles, like they always did.

But Oswald only seemed to take that as a further offense. "Oh, hell no," he hissed, grabbing Mickey's wrist. "You don't get to lock me in here because I'm being an inconvenience to you, and then leave when you just feel like it."

He felt his ink turn cold, and in a moment of enraged calm, Mickey ripped his hand from Oswald's grip. He felt a flutter of satisfaction at the base of his stomach at that and walked away with a flick of his tail, pausing to reach into his right pocket and check the time on his pocketwatch. It wasn't that he had anywhere else he needed to be, but he knew how being brushed off infuriated his brother to the point of overreaction. Plus, the thing he held in his hand was simply a comfort, something that gave him a brief respite from those thoughts that crept through the recesses of his mind when he was at his most irrational and insecure. It took him back to a simpler time when his greatest concerns in life were singing and playing with - with -

He put the watch back in his pocket and turned to face Oswald once more.

"Why not?" Mickey inquired, his voice sounding even more gravelly. "You don't want to be around me, right?"

"Oh, what, are you gonna cry? If you don't quit it with acting like a child-"

"I'm leaving," Mickey snapped, clenching his fists and stomping towards the door. "And nothing's stoppin' you from doing the same. It's not like you're doing any better here than ya were over in Wasteland, right? You can go and rot there for all I care."

Oswald's eyes widened. His hands, which had been agitatedly pulling on his ears for the past minute, went slack and lowered to his sides. In different, happier circumstances, Mickey would've relished the look of disbelief on Oswald's face. Those rare times when he succeeded in showing Oswald that there was more to life than cynicism, when he got to see that people still loved him, were more precious than he could ever express to the other. Only now, all he could feel was staggering regret. He was awful. He was an awful brother, an awful person, and all he ever did was make everyone he cared about feel awful -

"You're just like him."

Mickey's hand had barely grazed the door handle when he froze. He didn't need to ask who Oswald was talking about.

"And you envy me for that," Mickey countered, but he knew his voice betrayed him. He grasped the handle now, if only to stop his hand from shaking.

"Ha. Not this time, mouse." A giddy laugh bubbled from Oswald's throat, setting Mickey's fur on end as his grip on the handle only tightened. At that last word, he felt himself be transported back in Wasteland all those years ago, clutching the paintbrush as he was confronted by his brother for the first time. They were strangers to each other then, two toons who shared the same face and the creators but were separated by a rift that seemed impossible to overcome at first. Even after they had finally reconciled, Mickey could still feel its presence haunting them. Even as they became closer; even as they had heart-to-hearts that lasted for hours into the night; even as they told each other things that they were too afraid of letting anybody else know; even as they mourned the loss of their human family together; even after they promised each other to always stay together; it was there. And here, even though they were only standing a whisper away from each other, Oswald felt hopelessly distant.

"You're selfish." Oswald's voice harshly broke through the fog, jarring Mickey to attention.

"Okay."

"You break your promises."

"Oswald, stop it."

"You're a liar, just like he was."

"I GET IT, OKAY? I GET IT."

"You just want to forget about me, just like he did, and when you do and I'm stuck in Wasteland again, you're going to pretend everything's okay, like you always do, because that's what you're good at, right? Smiling and waving, and pretending."

He blanked out. That had to be the only explanation.

Mickey didn't remember reaching back into the endless void of his hammerspace and taking out the magic paintbrush. He didn't remember lunging at Oswald like a feral animal, or pinning him to the ground with one hand. He didn't remember pointing the brush at Oswald's chest, a single drop of thinner coagulating at the tip, tantalizingly close to the area where Oswald's still somewhat new heart beat vigorously. He could, however, remember glancing upward at the mirror on his dresser, and feeling his stomach sink with horror as he watched his ink melt off his little body, floating away in thick tendrils reminiscent of a ghost before vanishing. He could remember looking back down and meeting Oswald's dilated eyes, which were no longer filled with malice or anger but were also unreadable.

He wondered why this had to be the one occasion he lost his mind over criticisms he'd heard a million times before, and how sad it was that Oswald was stuck with someone like him as a brother.

Mickey scrambled off of Oswald, holding the paintbrush close to his body as what he had been about to do only moments ago dawned on him like a revelation. He opened his mouth to say something - anything - but all that came out was a strangled sob. Oswald sat up, his hand placed protectively over his chest, his eyes larger than moons but still frustratingly vacant. Mickey turned on his heel, sprinting towards the exit before the rabbit could regain his bearings. He couldn't stay here, he couldn't be in this room anymore, especially not with him. Not after this.

Mickey burst through the door and fled.

hasljfsdfjdjkfhsa I literally get so soft for Oswald and especially Mickey...their relationship means so much to me and I wish Disney would let them be together in SOME capacity.

There will be a chapter 2! Just to warn you, though, back when I did write fics more often I was AWFUL at updating, and most of the time I just wrote a chapter and abandoned the fic entirely. Since this one is only a two-shot, that won't be the case this time around, but I'm terrible at having an organized schedule sskkskks...just know that it will be updated someday.

Thank you guys for reading uwu