Mickey Mouse stepped out of the children's ward, looking back at the children with his signature warm, happy smile as the doors closed. Coming to see the kids in the hospital there in Burbank was an important event he always kept in his schedule. Nothing made his heart lighter than the smiles of the young ones who needed something to smile about. Maybe it was because he was a Disney toon, but he loved kids more than any other type of human.

"Thank you so much for coming out, Mickey." The head doctor of the child's ward, Doctor Cadigan, said warmly. "It means a lot to the kids."

Mickey grinned up at her. "It means just as much to me." He answered. "I'll be back next Sunday just like always." The woman looked out the window at the dusk settling over the city. "Are you sure you don't want me to call the executives back at Disney to send a car? I always feel so uneasy knowing you make this commute from the studio and back on your own on foot."

"Aw, it's not a problem. It's only a few blocks away. I don't want to make the studio send someone such a short distance just for me, ahha!"

"Oh, I'm sure they won't mind." Doctor Cadigan argued with a worried look. "After all, you ARE the face of the company; and I'm sure Disney doesn't like any of their toons out and about on their own as it is. Not with how...hostile...it can be for you guys." It was common knowledge that toons weren't popular to some people when they weren't on screen. Dr. Cadigan, having worked with toons for years at the hospital as they came to entertain the children, couldn't understand how people could look down on them like they were just mindless tools for entertainment; and she knew that the studios and a decent amount of everyday people shared her opinion. However, prejudice was still prominent.

Mickey just waved a gloved hand and flashed her his happy go lucky smile. "I'll be okay, Doc. I've walked to and from this hospital for years." Doctor. Cadigan sighed as she accepted defeat. "Just be careful, okay? I'd hate to see you end up on the wrong end of someone's bad day..."

After another assurance that he would be just fine, Mickey took his leave of the hospital. As he walked down the street, hands in the pockets of his red shorts, Mickey took in the sounds of the evening. He liked the city at dusk. The streetlights were just beginning to turn on and the sky was a lovely concoction of orange and pink shades. It was his favorite time of the day.

Not many people were out. Anyone worth having a chat with was at home by this point. Mickey knew not to go starting conversations. Though he wasn't doing anything wrong, he was pushing his luck just walking the street. While toons weren't all out forbidden from leaving their studios, they got the nonverbal clue that they should be out of sight. Mickey sighed a bit to himself, remembering the days when everyone was happy to see him, no matter the age. Back in the early days of animation when toons were just beginning to jump off the paper. He always smiled to himself as he remembered Walt's face when Mickey came to life. The confusion that quickly melted into joy and wonder. Walt...Rest his soul...

As Mickey made it a block or two away from the studio, up ahead he heard the sounds of unstable footsteps, followed by slurred laughter and a bottle being dropped and broken. Feeling slightly uneasy he realized he was approaching a cluster of three drunken men. The smell of beer hit his nose even from a good thirty feet away. Mickey crinkled his nose a bit. Drunk already? Mickey himself wasn't one for that. Intoxication, especially public, was human stuff.

He thought for a moment about just crossing over to the other side of the street, but he didn't want to make it obvious that he was avoiding the men. It would probably provoke them. No, he'd just stroll casually by and continue on. He was almost home, anyways. However, as he was just about to pass, it turned out his earlier worry of provoking them didn't even matter, because the men all looked at each other with a grin that made Mickey even more uncomfortable. Keeping his stride, Mickey continued on. Almost ten seconds later, he heard the footfalls of the men behind him. He grew nervous and picked his pace up just a tad. 'Keep it cool, Mik. You're almost home. Just another block...' He thought to himself.

"Hey, inkspot!"

Mickey cringed a bit at the word "inkspot". One of the slurs for a toon. Mickey blocked out the hurtful word and kept on walking.

"Hey! I know you hear me, toon!"

Mickey sighed, and stopped. Turning around, he put on his best upbeat look. He didn't want to show any fear to these guys. "Uh...hiya, fellas! What can I do for ya?" He said in what he hoped was his usual light tone. The men all laughed rudely. "What you can do for us, inky, is entertain us. That's what you toons do, right?" Another guy said.

"Yeah! We're getting bored out here. We could use the entertainment."

As they all laughed again, Mickey struggled to keep his sudden irritation in check. As used to being heckled when he was out in public as he was , it was starting to wear on him. He tried to keep his casual tone. "Well, fellas, you know I'd love to...but I've really got to get back to the studio."

Mickey turned on his heel to walk away, but at that moment, he was grabbed by the tail and lifted into the air. He was now nose to nose with the leader of the drunken pack. He could smell the stale scent of beer on this guy.

"Nah...you're gonna stay right there until we're entertained enough..."

Mickey gulped. "Ah...what did you have in mind?"

The guy smiled a nasty smile. "You'll see." He tossed Mickey to the ground, as another guy held his arms behind his back. The man who had picked him up, pulled a spray bottle from his pocket. "Wanna know what we got in here, inkspot?"

Mickey was starting to tremble a bit, he had a sick feeling he already knew...

Before he could say anything, a sharp blow to his chest made him Yelp in pain. His eyes watered from the sting of the kick he had just received. Groaning, he hung his head so the guys wouldn't see the pained look on his face, only to feel another blow to the back of the head. Following that, he was tossed forward into his face.

Micky went to push himself up into his feet, only to come face to face with the spray bottle. The head drunk laughed as he squirted a mist onto Mickey, who yelled out again as he felt a burning sensation wherever it made contact. Falling back to the floor rolling a bit in pain, He knew exactly what had just happened. There was only one thing that could hurt a toon for more than a few seconds.

He was getting sprayed with D.I.P.

Not enough to erase him, obviously. The man just wanted to see him hurting. So he was just misting him. All the men laughed as Mickey lay on the ground, whining in agony as he was repeatedly sprayed. Whenever he tried to pick himself up, he would be kicked back down. At one point, one of them stepped on his tail to hold him in place.

It seemed to go one forever, the D.I.P stung him and he could feel his skin underneath his fur was getting some first degree burns. His fur itself was becoming slightly singed in places. He wanted to cry out and beg, but he knew it would make it worse. All he could do was sit there and take it until it was over.

Finally, as Mickey was nearing unconsciousness, the men were satisfied. Kicking Mickey one more time, the Disney icon was sent flying into a dirty puddle. Groaning in pain, he was left there as the drunks sauntered off. Mickey waited until he could no longer hear them, before shakily climbing to his feet. As he stood, a wave of dizziness hit him. He leaned against a light post, gathering himself before he stumbled forward.

"Almost...home...almost..." He mumbled to himself. He forces himself to walk and was feeling more and more tired and hurt with every step.

Finally he made it back to the Disney studio lot. Sliding his keycard into the slot and slipping in the Toon entrance, he stumbled all the way to the toon residency area. Disney was kind enough to construct a trailer-hood for the toons. The live-in trailers were nice and had great utilities. Mickey was always grateful to the studio for their hospitality.

He practically dragged himself to the trailer of his nearest friend. Knocking on the door, he leaned against the trailer, all his energy gone. He knew he must look terrible.

Donald opened his door. "Who is-" he began before his saw Mickey, quacking In shock and worry as Mickey slid to the ground. "Mickey?!"

Dragging his best friend inside, he layed him on the couch. "Try and stay awake, pal." He said, concern coating his funny voice. He ran to the phone and dialed the studio Doctor. Thankfully he hadn't left yet. Donald had to explain the situation three times (the doctor couldn't understand half the words he was saying due to Donald's already odd voice becoming even more so with his panic ) before the studio doc hurried over. In the meantime, Donald phoned Goofy and told him to tell Minnie and that both of them needed to get over there quickly.

He knew it was only right to tell Minnie despite not wanting her to worry. Going back to Mickey's side, he gently shook his shoulder a moment to keep him awake. "Don't pass out, Mik, the docs on his way."

Studying Mickey's injury, he realized what had happened. There was only one thing that could do this to a toon. Knowing someone had used D.I.P on his best friend and colleague made his blood boil. Or...his ink? He wasn't sure what they had inside them, really.

Mickey groaned and his eyes were slipping shut as the doctor arrived, Goofy and Minnie not far behind. Minnie shrieked in worry and ran to Mickey's side. The look of worry and fear was out of place on Goofy's face. "Gawrsh..." Was all he got out.

"Oh, Mickey! Mickey, what happened?!" Minnie was frantically trying to get answers as the doctor started to treat his burns and lay a cold cloth on his forehead. Mickey tried to keep up with Minnie's rapid fire questions as she kept frantically talking but his head was so cloudy all he could manage was a soft moan. The doctor placed a hand of Minnie's shoulder. "He'll be okay, Miss. Mouse. However he does need to rest and sleep this off. When he has rested and gathered his strength again I'm sure he'll answer all your questions." The doctor stood and turned to Donald and Goofy. "The injuries aren't major and should heal by this time tomorrow. Thankfully it was a minimal amount of D.I.P . I will definitely be speaking to the board about this and suggest they push the use of company cars. I'd advise you all not to walk off the lot alone." Donald and Goofy just nodded as the doctor left. Minnie still sat by Mickey, a firm hold on his hand. It would seem Mickey had finally slipped unconscious. Donald exchanged a sad look with Goofy before saying. "Minnie, you can stay here with him if you want. I've got more than enough room." Minnie smiled at him thankfully, tears welling up in her eyes.

Goofy stuck around until he knew for sure Mickey was going to be alright. He then started to head home himself. Max was still asleep and he didn't want him to wake up with him gone without a note.

Donald leaned on the wall watching Minnie doze off next to Mickey. The foul tempered fowl was getting angrier and angrier the more he saw how beat up his best pal was. Who would just do this to a toon? And to Mickey Mouse no less?! Was it because he was Disney? Donald scoffed to himself. Though as Disney toons they were indeed drawn to be more after school special-esque, they were just as skilled with mallets and anvils and, at that moment, Donald's mallet hand was twitchy.

Takin a breath, he turned to walk to his bed. Even he could see reason sometimes. He knew that running out searching for who knows who in the dead of night was stupid. Still, he thought to himself as he got into bed, this was his best friend he was talking about. He'd mallet someone for Mickey or Goofy any day.

Over on the couch, Mickey was sleeping fretfully. The pain made him uncomfortable. However, as he felt his girl next to him, he started to relax just a bit. His subconscious was soothed by Minnie's presence; and the fact he was in the homes of one of his best friends.

He was safe.