Of Mice and (Proto) Men [Exemplary]

[Mickey Mouse]

Before this post.

Mickey Mouse was speechless.

Rarely had he seen such wanton devastation. Burnt down forest stretched out for several acres in front of his beady little black eyes. His mind raced back to the final hours of Dante’s Abyss, after the two dragon-riders had scorched the earth with their beasts’ flaming breath and a separate but equally vicious fire had ravaged the forest across the island. Flashes of the clinic bending and breaking beneath the sheer power of the finalists’ strokes flickered through his mind. The bruised face of the man with the electric blade; the blood seeping forth from the gutted space marine; Deadpool’s disease-stricken body huddled in a mass outside the ruined building.

For the first time since the competition ended, he could feel the slimy tendrils of the Orgosynth on his back again. Instinctively, he reached to pull the disgusting parasite off of him, but he found nothing. He released a sigh of relief before trying to avert his gaze from the scarred bits of earth that lay before him.

“Mickey?” Minnie Mouse piped up from atop their lion mount. “Mickey, are you alright?” She slid off of Simba’s back and took a few steps toward her husband.

He hesitated in his response. “Yes,” he nodded quickly once he’d gained the energy to do so, “Yes, I’m okay, honey.” He turned quickly from the sight of the burned-down forest and tried to focus on the literal greener pastures that they had already come through. Prior to now, the Tangled Green had been an absolutely splendid sight. Filled with all sorts of flora and freshly-sprouted life, the mouse had felt for the very first time like maybe he had found the one corner of the Omniverse untouched by horror. Obviously, he’d been wrong.

Behind him, Minnie’s eyes remained transfixed on the terrifying site that lay ahead of them. The King glanced over his shoulder at his hypnotized wife, her eyes sucking in all the death and destruction, and he immediately accepted his protective instincts and rushed to her, forcibly turning her away from the remnants of the forest fire. “Mickey, stop, I’m fine—”

“No, honey, you don’t need to look at that—” he struggled with her for a few seconds before she broke free, taking a few steps back from him.

“Mickey,” she spat, fists balled up at her side. The male mouse furrowed his brow at her as she let out a loud, frustrated scream. “Mickey, I am not some damsel in distress that you always need to take care of!”

The King scoffed. “Oh, yeah?” he shouted, angry for the first time since he had seen his wife’s beautiful face in this Omniverse, “Need I remind you who got themselves captured by a bunch of crazy, scary-looking terrorists, Minnie? That was you!” The lady mouse straightened up, taken aback that Mickey would yell at her—he’d never done anything of the like before—but her puzzled expression did not stop him. “You have no idea what’s in this Omniverse, Minnie,” he continued his tirade, “It isn’t like home. It isn’t just big, scary, obvious villains, Minnie. They’re everywhere! They’re hiding in plain sight, acting friendly right before they stab you in the back!”

His mind flashed to Deadpool, who had allied with the mouse before tricking him into breaking his one big rule, and then reveling in it. Hatred bubbled up inside the King as he remembered the spandex-clad man. “So if good guys can be bad here,” he sighed, his voice no longer at a shouting volume, “what the heckskies do you think is lying in an awful place like that, huh?” He stared at his wife for a second, barely even noticing the tears forming in her eyes. She fought to keep them inside. “Do you have any idea, Minnie? Do you?” He was yelling again.

“Sir…”

Mickey’s body turned violently toward Simba. The lion looked at him with concern, and then gestured to his wife. The male mouse turned back to Minnie, for the first time seeing the expression of hurt that now colored her entire face. Her fists clenched up, trying to hold back tears. His anger left him, replaced by regret.

“Oh gosh, Minnie,” he reached out, but she recoiled, “Minnie, I… I’m sorry.” He crossed to her and embraced her, and although she stood stubbornly still for a few seconds, eventually she relented and hugged him back.

“I wish you’d tell me what’s going on,” she sobbed into his shoulder. He swallowed nervously, and she looked up at his face, locking eyes with him. “I know something’s wrong, Mickey,” she shook her head, “I can see it in your face. You’re different, somehow.” The male mouse almost teared up himself as the words left her mouth.

“I’m still the same Mickey you fell in love with,” he assured her.

“Oh, I know,” she nodded, placing a hand on his chest and adjusting his shirt, mostly to find something to occupy her thoughts, “You’re still the same great, heroic guy I met back when I was a damsel in distress.”

Her words brought the King pause. “Maybe a little less heroic,” he admitted, the image of Delsin Rowe’s face plastered in his memory forever.

“I’m certain that’s not true,” Minnie looked up at him again, stroking his cheek gently, “Just a little angrier, maybe. Sadder, even. And I need to know why, Mickey. I can’t help you find your happiness again if I don’t know why.” She cupped his face in her hands, and he tried to smile, but couldn’t. He reached up, removing her hands and stepping away from her. Maybe she was right. Maybe he did need to tell her, to get better. But he couldn’t do it. The thought brought him too much shame.

He knew he couldn’t hide from her, though. With everyone else he could put on a happy face and he’d still be the same old King Mickey—but she would always be able to see him for what he was. The scarred little mouse that had watched his best friend get ripped apart by dragons.

“You have to go on to Ambrosia,” the King declared, facing away so that he couldn’t see Minnie’s face flash red with anger, which it did. “I’ll catch up with you, I just… need to see to some things first.” Minnie tried not to let her fury overwhelm her. She straightened her red, polka-dotted dress—she’d traded her royal clothes for a more casual outfit at some point in their travels—and harrumphed.

“If you insist, your Majesty,” she sassed him; he bit his lip.

“Minnie,” he exhaled, turning to face her.

“No, no, it’s fine,” she sighed, trying her best to calm down. After a few more frustrated grunts, she looked him in the face again. “I’ll go. Although I don’t know what you could possibly be looking for in a burnt-down forest, gosh.”

“I don’t know either,” Mickey shrugged, “But I’m hoping I’ll find it.”

This seemed to be enough for Minnie. She had grown used to this, after all—he always left her to go on some strange adventure into gosh-knows-where, to try and figure out something about himself, or some imminent danger no one else had ever heard of. The first time, he had come back with a bunch of magic spells, an oversized key, and a new fervor for his kingship. The second time, though, he hadn’t come back at all, and that was what worried her.

The couple embraced, Mickey kissing his wife one good time before preparing to send her off. She looked up at him after the kiss had been broken.

“Make sure you come back soon, alright?” she asked, and he nodded. She looked over to Simba, preparing to mount him and ride off to Ambrosia, but he shifted away from her as she got too close to him. “What’s the matter, Simba?”

“If you don’t mind, ma’am,” the lion king bowed his head, “I’d like to stay with the King.”

Minnie turned to Mickey. He didn’t really know what to say.

“It’s fine,” she smiled, her tone implying that it obviously wasn’t, “I don’t think Ambrosia is much farther, anyway.” She began to start off in the direction of the city of misfit creatures when a thought crossed her mind, and she turned around, looking at Simba. “Take care of my husband, alright? Don’t let him do anything stupid.” Her eyes flickered to Mickey and met his gaze.

He smiled at her. She couldn’t help but smile back.

* * *

The present.

“You know, sir,” Simba piped up after about a half-hour of silent exploration, “you really should go easier on her. She has no idea what you’ve been through.”

“Neither do you,” Mickey said curtly, breaking his way through some ashy brush.

Truthfully, he had no clue where this expedition was supposed to take them. The place had evoked so many memories for him that he thought maybe, if he ventured deeper within it, he would find something that would give him an idea as to how to get closure. Perhaps, he thought, all of these flashes of death and other equally horrific images would finally cease.

“The Earthshine makes me a part of you, sir,” the lion reminded Mickey, “I see what you see. I am, essentially, an extension of your power.”

“That’s creepy,” Mickey responded, waving off his trustworthy lieutenant. He supposed Simba could be called that, now—back in the Disney Realms, the lion had been one of the King’s most trusted nobles, ruling wisely over the Pride Lands after defeating the evil Scar. Here, he had no Pride Lands to rule over, so the mouse supposed he had transitioned into more of an advisory role; a bodyguard, a protector, someone to fight by his side. A small smile slipped onto the mouse’s face at the thought; it was almost like he was a king again, with subjects to follow him.

Well, one subject, he supposed. The word almost was key.

Simba had always been one of Mickey’s favorite subjects back home, to say the least. Bravery was something the mouse admired, and the lion king had no shortage of it—he had never been afraid to stand up for what he believed in, whether it was winning the Pride Lands back from the likes of Scar or challenging Mickey when he thought one of the King’s decisions was not the right decision to make.

Now, he crept behind the mouse, telling him things he already knew. Of course he had been too hard on Minnie. That much had become evident to the King the moment he’d seen her face, and the tears welling up inside her eyes. He always hated the thought of Minnie crying, and once he had seen it, of course he had stopped.

But she couldn’t understand. She really couldn’t. She had told Mickey, somewhere along their journey, that she had been abducted by the Organization before anything had happened with the Furby that Deadpool had accidentally activated. That meant, at most, she had seen his team’s encounter with that pink-haired fellow Samus had been forced to kill—she had no idea that the mouse himself had, eventually, spilled blood saving Deadpool’s rather worthless life. She had no idea that, in his desperation, he had let an evil, bloodthirsty parasite take root inside of him in exchange for the power to push through to the competition’s end.

That’s what Simba was saying though, wasn’t it?

She didn’t know. She couldn’t know. So why did he fault her for trying? He wasn’t going to tell her—he knew that if he did, if he admitted it to her, the shame would overwhelm him—so of course he should expect her to be frustrated.

“…you’re right, Simba,” he admitted, looking around the scorched earth, “I’m sorry. You’re absolutely right, I really should—”

“Your Majesty, shh,” the red-maned lion stopped in his tracks, “Look there.”

“Oh brother,” Mickey crept up beside Simba, placing a hand on the lion’s neck and looking out from behind a couple of wider trunks that had been slightly fazed by the fire but mostly just horrifically discolored. Just ahead, a little boy who couldn’t have stood much taller than Mickey himself and a woman with pale purple skin stood in silence. The mouse’s lips curled into a smile. “Someone my own size,” he chuckled, though that was not completely true; the armored boy still stood a couple of heads taller than him. “Do they look like they work for the Empire?”

“Hard to say,” the lieutenant narrowed his cat-like eyes, getting a closer look. The perks of feline vision, Mickey supposed. “His armor doesn’t look like the armor those guys who chased us were wearing,” Simba analyzed, “and she certainly doesn’t look like anyone we saw in Coruscant. But you can never be too sure, Your Majesty.”

The mouse King huffed, frustrated that they couldn’t get a better reading on the pair from afar. He supposed Simba was right—the boy’s armor was red instead of pearly white, and besides, he was just a young boy. The Empire seemed pretty terrible, but surely they weren’t hiring little boys nowadays? Though, the mouse considered, he could be a bounty hunter. Those types of guys were everywhere—wasn’t Samus one?—and it would be hard to judge who his allegiance was to if that was the case. But…

“I guess there’s only one way to find out, Simba,” the King decided. “Head over and flank them on the other side of the clearing. If it starts to look like trouble, come in and get me, okay?”

Simba nodded, and slunk off to follow his King’s orders. Mickey waited for the lion to get to the proposed position, and then made a little noise with the burnt-up branches at his feet. A little ways ahead of him, Proto Man and Mireya Vasquez caught wind of the mouse and called out for him to reveal himself.

Gladly, he thought.

* * *

Mickey froze up as Blues asked who was after him. These two seemed nice enough, so far, but he had yet to determine if they were Empire agents. Although, his experiences with the Empire led him to believe that if these two really did work for the big baddies, their first instinct would have been to raise their weapons at him, and that had yet to happen. Instead, their first offer had been one of peace. He’d risk it.

“Some nasty folks,” the mouse placed his hands on his hips, “Called the Empire, from this place called Coruscant. Heard of it, fella?”

Mireya glanced over at the preteen machine, who responded. “Yes,” Proto Man said simply, “Yes, I’ve heard of it. I live there, actually.”

“Oof,” the mouse scowled, “Sorry to hear that.” He chuckled a bit; for a moment, Blues and his half-night elf companion did not seem to get the joke. After a beat, though, Proto Man let out a tiny laugh, as well, and Mireya smiled ever so slightly.

“So the Empire’s after you?” Blues pressed the matter a little.

“Yeah,” Mickey nodded, “They kidnapped my wife. I had to rescue her. Some of their guys got in my way on the way out. I didn’t kill any of ‘em—I don’t do that—but me and her banged ‘em up a little bit. I’m sure they weren’t too happy about it.” Behind Proto Man and Mireya, something moved in the trees. The pair, caught off guard once again, spun around to see what the disturbance was. “Oh gosh, that’s nothing,” Mickey said, pushing past the two of them, “Just my guy. Simba, come on out! It’s safe.”

The lion stepped out of the charred brush; Proto Man looked intrigued, but Mireya’s skin went from purple to pale in seconds. “Blues,” she pointed, “That’s a lion.”

“I know, Mireya,” Blues glanced over at his companion, then at Mickey. “You say he won’t hurt us?”

“He’s a sheep in lion’s clothing,” Mickey smiled, bounding up toward his lieutenant. The mouse placed a hand on Simba’s face, and the lion king nuzzled him a little bit at the touch. “See? Absolutely harmless. He’s my buddy,” the mouse grinned back down at the two newcomers before reaching up and pulling himself up onto Simba’s back. He tapped the creature’s side with his foot, and the lion stepped down into the clearing, approaching Blues and Mireya, the latter of whom still seemed slightly anxious. “And he’s a real quick way to get from place to place. You guys want a lift somewhere?” Mickey held out a hand to help them up.

The unfamiliar pair cast another uncertain look in each other’s direction, but then, silently, made peace with the idea that this little mouse didn’t actually mean them any harm. Proto Man broke the eye contact with his companion and firmly grasped Mickey’s gloved hand, leaping up onto Simba’s back. Hesitantly, Mireya followed. “Alright, Simba, mush,” Mickey said, tapping the lion king on the back of his neck.

“…sir,” Simba sighed.

“…the lion talks?” Blues asked, wrapping his hands around Mickey’s tiny waist. Mireya followed suit, holding on to the preteen machine as best as she could.

Mickey looked back at Proto Man. “Um,” he wrinkled his brow, “of course the lion talks?” The mouse scoffed a little bit. Since when were there lions in the world that didn’t talk? He supposed he had heard of weirder things since arriving in this Omniverse, though. “Sorry, Simba,” the mouse refocused his attention on his lieutenant, “let’s go.”

Simba nodded his affirmation, much preferring this command than “mush.” He started off in the direction that he and Mickey had come from; the mouse glanced over his shoulder as his two new stowaways. “So where you guys headin’?” he asked, a smile on his face.

Facing his inner demons could wait a little while longer.