Work Text:
It’s November 5th, 2024.
Driving to the polls was already a nightmare. Chappell Roan blasting in his ears. He changed the station on the Radio too many times to count. It was always the same god damn song.
He was relieved to finally leave his car and slammed the door as he walked off to do his daily duty as an American citizen.
Vote.
He yawned as he filled out the ballot absentmindedly, checking off names he barely even knew enough about. Yet one decision was clear to him.
Kamala Harris.
The drive home wasn’t as bad as the drive to the polls, however his daughter was present at home, shoving a phone in his face.
Good Luck, Babe yelled at him from her phone speakers and he slapped her hand away. “Stop playing that damn song.”
“Wow dad I didn’t know you were homophobic.”
“I’m not- I just hear it all the damn time.”
November 6th, 2024.
Things weren’t looking good. The swing states turned red as he watched news coverage. Donald Trump had won the presidential election.
He thought of Will. The date, the outcome of the election. It must be hard on him today.
Yet he had work, and he had to drive his daughter to school, so he pushed away the thoughts that he always shoved to the back of his mind, the act not difficult.
Traffic was the worst it has been in his life. He honked and yelled at random cars. One in particular kept swerving.
“I think drunk drivers are a little strange.”
Mike sighs. “I’ve seen Stranger Things.”
He picked her up after school after a long day of work. Talk about politics drained his already horrible day. As he was driving, his daughter starts to speak.
“I’m so hungry I could eat William Byers.”
Mike nearly stopped the car. At a red light he turned his head around. “What?”
“I’m so hungry I could eat William Byers.”
“Where did you find that name?”
“Your yearbook.”
Mike sighed and turned back to the road. He couldn’t let his emotions overpower him. He’s driving and he has a child in the back. The radio just finished playing Espresso by Sabrina Carpenter. Mike needed a coffee himself. As the light turned green and he headed home, a melody began to play.
It’s fine, It’s cool,
you can say that we are nothing but you know the truth.
Mike gripped the steering wheel. His face turned red with anger. He hit the radio, changing the station.
You can kiss a hundred boys in bars.
He hit it again.
Good luck, Babe!
He was done. He pressed down firmly on the gas peddle. His daughter yelled at him to slow down. Mike couldn’t hear her. Chappell Roan was too loud. As he thought about the election, about the song, and about Will, he knew there was one thing to do, and he couldn’t wait. He took a sharp left. His daughter yelled at him again.
The large white building in Washington D.C came into view. There were people celebrating, there were people protesting. He couldn’t help but laugh at the protesters. He was about to do something greater than any of them.
And then he stoped.
“Get out of the car.”
“What?”
“Get out.”
With his daughter safely out of the car, he slammed the peddles.
As he accelerated towards the White House, he smiled. He hit a few people wearing obnoxious red hats and slammed into the gates. His momentum didn’t stop, however, and he hit the White House.
You’d have to stop the world just to stop the feeling.