I hope u don't mind op but this art is so beautiful I got inspired and wrote a fic about it...
Oswald doesn't wear his robe and crown often. They're heavy, for one, not the most useful for traversing projectors and avoiding thinner pools, and he doesn't see the need for them all the time. They were initially just a joke, one he and Ortensia clung to when they first landed in Wasteland, because if they didn't laugh they'd cry. Dark Beauty Castle was the only building in Wasteland at the time, and with so many kids to house, it made sense to claim it as a home, so of course that led to jokes about being king and queen of the castle. One thing led to another, more toons arrived, and before Oswald knew it, he'd gained the status of the ruler of Wasteland, with the regalia to match.
Most of the time they just sit forgotten in the castle, but on special occasions, he'll break them out.
The anniversary of the Blot's defeat seems as good a time as any.
Okay, and maybe the Mad Doctor's recent grab for power has left Oswald a little more eager to remind everyone who their leader is. Defeating him has done wonders for turning the citizens of Wasteland back to his side, but it's difficult to forget how easily they were swayed away in the first place. How quickly their attention was captured by someone else.
The robe and crown command attention, though. They're naturally showy, draw eyes back to him without him needing to say anything, make it impossible for him to be overlooked. It's not the only reason he wears them, but he'd be lying if he said it wasn't a factor.
So he's wearing them. It's a special occasion, after all; celebrations have been happening all over Wasteland, festivals and shows and fireworks, with Oswald leading the proceedings, setting off his own fireworks in the castle, lasting well into the night. A little excessive, maybe, but there's a lot to celebrate, and Oswald... may have gotten a little carried away. He may or may not only now be heading to bed, even though the sun is rising again.
He stretches his arms over his head as he walks, a yawn cracking his jaw. He aches, but in a good way, one that comes from spending the day running around with friends and having too much fun to notice the exhaustion. He's noticing it now, though, and his thoughts are firmly on his bed as he shuffles through the halls of Dark Beauty Castle. The candles aren't lit, and none of the lights are on, so the only thing illuminating the hall is whatever sunlight manages to peek past the stained glass windows and around the figure sitting on-
Oswald stops. Backtracks.
Ah. So this is where Mickey went.
Mickey missed the last set of celebrations after the Blot's defeat, only appearing briefly in a magic... mirror... window... thing just long enough to meet Ortensia and say goodbye. But this time he's still here, and Oswald took the opportunity to show him what Wasteland's festivals can look like, hence why he spent the day running around so much, and why the celebrations lasted so long. He wanted Mickey to see everything all the areas of Wasteland have to offer while they had the chance. Mickey disappeared at some point during the night, though, and Oswald was too busy to look for him. He'd assumed Mickey either crashed in his house in Ostown or went home.
But he's here instead, curled up on the stone ledge in front of one of the stained glass windows, resting his head against the glass, his eyes closed. The paintbrush hangs loosely from his hand, and drops of ink are floating off his body.
Right. They never did deal with that... ink dripping thing. They should probably look into that, but it doesn't seem to be hurting Mickey, so it isn't urgent. Probably.
"You know, you have a bed in your house," Oswald says, grinning at the way Mickey jumps, and hops onto the ledge to sit next to him. "The windows aren't the most comfortable place to sleep."
"I wasn't asleep," Mickey protests, although he's blinking blearily at Oswald. "I was just... resting my eyes. I couldn't sleep at my place, so I thought I'd explore the castle a bit, and took a break here. You, uh, you said I was welcome any time..."
"You are." Oswald rubs the back of his head sheepishly. "Did the fireworks keep you up? Apparently they kept the kids up, Ortensia isn't happy about that..."
"No, it wasn't the fireworks. I just couldn't sleep." Mickey reaches out and plucks at Oswald's sleeve. "I still can't believe you actually wore this. I know you're in charge, but I keep forgetting that means you're the King."
"It's a special occasion. The anniversary of the Blot's defeat, and your first festival in Wasteland. Seemed an appropriate time to dress up to me."
Mickey hums, running his fingers over the fur trim of the robe. His blink lasts a little too long, and when he pulls away, the movement is slow and sluggish. In fact, when Oswald looks closer, there are bags under his eyes that speak of several nights of poor sleep.
Weird. He was fine yesterday. Or, well, probably better to say he seemed fine. Bags like that don't come out of nowhere, but Oswald never noticed he was this tired.
"Hey, are you okay? You look..."
"I'm fine," Mickey says, managing a smile that does little to convince Oswald. "Like I said, I couldn't sleep last night."
"Looks like you haven't been sleeping any other night, either."
"I've slept a little. I just... wake up a lot. I dunno why."
Oswald drums his fingers against the ledge. Now that he thinks about it, Mickey has always been up and about before him, and he's been doing a lot of running around, trying to help with the repairs Wasteland needs. Even today - yesterday - whatever - he kept stepping in to help whenever anything went wrong; Oswald helped where he could, too, but not many of the problems could be fixed with his remote, so Mickey and his paintbrush ended up doing most of the heavy lifting. Combined with the late end to the celebrations and the lack of sleep, it's no wonder he's tired.
"Ortensia says when you can't sleep, you should still lie down and close your eyes and rest for a bit," he says. "I don't know if that actually helps, but it might."
"Maybe." Mickey looks doubtful. "I don't really wanna lie in bed on my own all day, though."
"Lie here, then." Oswald pats the ledge. "There's room."
"I thought you said it's not comfortable to sleep on?"
"It's not, but it's not the worst place to sleep, either. And if you can't sleep, you've got me for company."
Mickey squints at him. "Last I checked, you didn't sleep last night either. The fireworks were going off all night."
"Eh, I'm fine." He can always lean against the wall and take a nap if he needs to. Wouldn't be the first time. "C'mon, it's worth a try."
Mickey looks doubtful, but he humours him, curling up on his side with his tail hanging over the edge, clutching the paintbrush to his chest like a teddy bear.
"A little, I guess. I really don't think this is gonna help me sleep, though."
Oswald grins cheekily. "Want me to sing you a lullaby?"
"I have four hundred and twenty kids, and you think I don't know any lullabies?" He whistles the opening notes to a tune. "Lucky rabbit, that lucky Oswald rabbit-"
Mickey snorts. "I don't think that counts as a lullaby."
"If it gets kids to sleep, it's a lullaby."
"You used to sing that to your kids?"
"No, but they hate that song 'cause they think it's embarrassing when I sing it, so I threatened to whenever they wouldn't go to bed. Promised to sing it off-key and everything. Worked every time."
They settle into a comfortable silence. Oswald tries and fails to make shadow puppets with the limited sunlight shining through the window, while Mickey tries and fails to sleep. Ink keeps rising into the sky. Oswald pokes at one, and it pops.
... Is the ink coming a little faster than normal? Normally that only happens when Mickey is agitated, but when Oswald looks down, he doesn't seem upset. Just contemplative. His tail flicks, thumping softly against the wall.
"Are you sure you're okay?"
Mickey shrugs. "It's just weird to think so much time has passed since we defeated the Blot. We've had a whole 'nother adventure since then, but it still feels like it was only yesterday."
"Yeah." Tell him about it. It's hard to remember sometimes it's all over. He still wakes up in the night sometimes thinking the Blot is looming over him to grab him, or terrified it was all a dream, until Ortensia's soft breaths bring him back to reality.
... Maybe Mickey has been struggling to sleep recently for similar reasons. Except he doesn't have the benefit of having someone else in the house with him. He's all alone in there.
Well, he isn't alone right now, so... Oswald will do what he can.
The silence, while still soft, feels too fragile for words, even softly sang ones, so Oswald hums, instead. This one is a real lullaby he used to sing to his kids, a soothing melody meant to accompany rocking arms. Oswald reaches over and strokes Mickey's head in time with the lullaby instead, gentle and slow, unbothered by the ink still rising from his body.
Mickey's eyes flutter shut, only reopening twice before they close and stay closed. His breathing evens out a little bit, falling into rhythm with the melody, and his shoulders loosen and relax. The ink drops don't stop, but they do slow, floating lazily in the air.
Oswald isn't sure how long it takes, exactly, but he keeps humming, keeps stroking Mickey's head, until Mickey's face goes slack and he fully relaxes, succumbing to sleep.
Still, Oswald doesn't stop stroking his head. Just in case. Just to keep him asleep. Even though he's tired, even though Mickey is passed out asleep, he doesn't move from his spot on the ledge, feeling oddly like he's the only thing guarding Mickey from the waking world. Like if he leaves, someone or something will come along and disturb his rest, and Oswald is the only one protecting him from that.
Mickey doesn't need protecting, not really. He did most of his first adventure in Wasteland by himself after all. He's more than capable of looking after himself, and that paintbrush of his packs some serious power. There isn't much he needs protecting from.
But when he's like this, he looks so much more vulnerable, and it makes Oswald want to try. Maybe Mickey doesn't need protection from blotlings, or beetleworx, or whatever evil villain tries to destroy Wasteland, but Oswald will give it to him anyway. He's never had a little brother before, doesn't really know what he's supposed to do, but he does know he wants Mickey to feel safe with him. That's what big brothers do, right? Look out for their little brothers.
Mickey couldn't even sleep in his own house, and he's been sitting on the wall for who knows how long, but a few minutes of being by Oswald's side listening to him hum a lullaby is enough to lull him into slumber. So maybe that means Oswald is doing a good job.
It's enough to strengthen his resolve to not move an inch until Mickey is ready to go.
His hum trails off, and he stops stroking Mickey's head, but he leaves his hand between his ears, a silent reminder he's here should Mickey wake up. He rests his head against the corner where the glass and the arch wall meet, and closes his eyes, smiling softly. It may not be the most comfortable spot, but it will do for a nap.
It's worth it, after all, to make sure the two of them get a restful sleep. They deserve it.
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