Chapter Text
Michael Walsh was in his choice class - history - when the news came through.
"Hello, class, this announcement will only take a little of your time," the besuited, official-looking man said as he walked in. The teacher was abruptly cut off and glared at the man, but he took no notice.
"I've come to inform you that there has been a mass prison break," he said. "Twenty-one prisoners have escaped, five being high-security. If you see anything suspicious, please report it to the police."
For the first time since their adventure three years ago, Mikey found it hard to breathe. He slowly raised his hand, and the official set piercing eyes upon him. "You have a question?"
"Yes. About some of the prisoners - did any of the Fratellis manage to escape?"
"That is classified."
Mikey frowned. "But-"
"I'm sorry, young man, I am not permitted to say. Any other questions?"
Mikey slid back down in his seat. The pit of his stomach was broiling with bad feelings. So many 'what if's circled his mind, whispering of the things that could happen, stirring his agitation until he suddenly swept everything into his bag and pushed his chair back from the desk loudly. Despite the teacher's calls, he kept walking until he reached the door, and only then did he stop while he opened it before slipping out into the cool corridor.
The made a bee-line for his locker, swapping out his history book for his lunch, as the break would start in ten minutes. When he pulled out the tuppaware box containing his sandwiches, a slip of paper fluttered to the floor. Mikey stared at it for a second before picking it up and using his thumb to unfold it.
His eyes widened as they scanned the words, and his breathing quickened. It was unbelievable - so fast - but then the official hadn't said when it happened.
For starters, the note was written in a reddish-brown ink that looked heart-stoppingly similar to blood. Second, the page was burnt - by what, he had no idea.
The Fratellis had escaped, found his school, found his locker, and were now after the rich stuff to pay for the three years that they had been put away; the sum they were demanding clocked in at over two million dollars.
Mikey knew they didn't have that money anymore. That handful of gems in his marble bag had been worth less than a million, and the money went to buying back their houses from the country club. It took a lot to do that. Unless they resold the estate, they weren't going to get that money back.
When people started to stream into the corridor, Mikey refolded the letter and slid it into his pocket, closing his locker and pushing through the crowd, trying to see his friends through the throng.
Mouth's locker was closest, and Mikey saw his own reflection in the mirror on the inside of it before he saw the back of Mouth's head.
"We need to talk," Mikey said quickly.
"It's not you, it's me," Mouth replied, turning to face Mikey with a grin.
Mikey gave him a look. "You're despacable."
"Despicable," Mouth corrected.
Mikey waved a hand distractedly, looking around to see if he could spot Data or Chunk. "That's what I said."
Smiling quietly for once, Mouth pulled out a folder and pushed it into his bag. He checked his hair in the mirror and flashed himself a grin before closing his locker and bumping Mikey's shoulder.
"So what's up?"
Mikey shook his head. "I'll explain when we find the others. Did you not get the announcement?"
"No?"
"I'll tell you later. We've got to find everyone."
Mouth raised an eyebrow and caught Mikey's arm before he could plough through the sea of students. "Mikey, hey, Mikey. What's got you so worked up?" His eyes widened and he cocked his head. "Have you got a crush? I'm a hit with the ladies, if you need help-"
Mikey pulled away from Mouth and sent him a look that shut him up in an instant.
"We need to find them, quick. Let's split up."
Chunk was easy to find - he was in the lunch queue, talking animatedly to anyone that would listen about his new sandwich flavour. Mouth hauled him out and Chunk waved goodbye to his unwilling listeners.
"I was having a good conversation there," Chunk complained loudly.
"Well we're going to have a good conversation about Mikey. I think his paranoia is getting out of hand."
"Uh, okay."
Elsewhere, Mikey was following the stench of rotten eggs to the chemistry labs, where Data was profusely damning the smashed vial in the midst of a large, smoking mess on the floor.
"Data," Mikey called. "What is this?"
"I was doing an experiment," Data needlessly explained.
"For what? No, never mind. It's lunch. I need to talk to you guys about something very important."
"Sure. Can I clean-"
"This is more important."
"I'm coming." Data picked up his bag, glancing down at the smoking puddle. "I sure hope Miss doesn't know it was me."
The four converged on a picnic bench on the school field.
"So Mikey, what's up?" Chunk asked.
"This mean looking guy came into my History class before lunch," Mikey started. "He said there was a prison break."
There was a beat.
"A prison break?" Mouth echoed. "That is so cool! Who was it? Have they found them?"
"Oh Mikey," Data said slowly. "Mikey, it wasn't..."
Chunk paled, his hands gripping the table so hard his knuckles turned white. "They're out?"
Mouth looked between them all, taking in somber and panicked expressions. "I don't get it."
"The guy wouldn't tell me who it was. Twenty one escaped."
"Oh, that's fine then," Data surmised. "It probably wasn't."
"Except I found this in my locker." Mickey placed the paper flat on the table, open.
Chunk was the first to panic.
"They're coming for us," he wailed, looking around quickly. "We've got to go into hiding, you guys!"
Data nodded grimly. "That's the Fratellis, definitely."
"And they want gold or revenge. Where are we going to get the money, Mikey?"
"We'll find something. There's got to be something! Maybe Willy left a secret stash above ground- or there might be something else in the attic-"
Mouth refolded the note and handed it back to Mikey. "As if you haven't already gone through all that stuff," he pointed out. "Anyway, it's probably those stupid rich dumbasses trying to be clever."
"And if it's not?"
"We're doomed!" Chunk wailed.
"Don't be like that Chunk," Data chimed.
"Do," Chunk said. "They're going to kill us. Torture us. Blender our hands!"
"We are not going to die," Mikey said firmly. He sounded more confident than he felt. "We'll find a way. We're the Goonies, remember?"
"We're half," Mouth corrected.
"We should tell Brand," Chunk urged. "He'll know what to do."
Mikey shook his head. "Maybe... But not yet. He'll worry too much."
Data delved into his bag. "If there's one thing I want before I die, it's- hey, what's this?"
He pulled out a piece of paper, roughly folded into half.
"You guys..."
"They're going to kill us," Chunk repeated unhelpfully.