Chapter Text
It is a wonderful day. Sun shining, not too cloudy, not too windy, just the kind of day that Will likes.
He shifts, cross-legged in the middle of the lawn with his eyes closed, fingers loosely laced beneath his chin. The afternoon sun warms his shoulders, heat collecting beneath the collar of his t-shirt. Sweat dampens the back of his neck, shaggy hair sticking stubbornly to his skin, while a breeze rolls across the hill and cools the exposed strip of his lower back where his shirt has ridden up.
In. Four seconds.
Hold. Four seconds.
Out. Four seconds.
The grass whispers around him, and birds sing somewhere beyond the tree line, the estate generators humming far below the hill. A guard laughs in the distance, and everything is exactly where it belongs, and everything is exactly how it should be.
Will focuses on the sounds, on the rhythm, on his breathing because if he focuses on anything else, he's going to focus on the footsteps coming his way, and it's going to lead to stress, which leads to panic, which leads to bad things.
“Will-”
The smartwatch around his wrist vibrates softly.
84.
Nice and safe. Will exhales slowly, mind grounded. Body management. It isn't an area he excels at, but it's one he must master. Every meal, every breath, every hour of sleep, monitoring his exercise and revolving his life around preventing mistakes.
"Will- I need to talk to you. It is about when I went into town and escaped.”
His pulse immediately jumps, and the watch buzzes again.
87.
"Will," Jane repeats, insistent.
"I hear you.”
"Then answer."
Will keeps his eyes closed, throat bobbing. Maybe if he doesn't look at her she'll leave, and he doesn't need to deal with this conversation. The grass shifts beside him as she sits down.
"I am serious, I need to talk to you."
"Can it wait?”
"It is important."
"If it's important then why don't you talk to Hopper? You were only gone for a few hours, I'm sure everything is fine."
"It is, but this is bigger than that. I did not get in trouble, but I need you.”
Will sighs. Jane has always tended to have two settings, complete silence or nonstop urgency. There was the rare moments when she was content, but he's seen her stretching thinner and thinner, worn down these past few years.
“Will.”
“... I can't take you outside, you know that. It's not safe.” The grass brushes against his bare ankles as the breeze shifts direction, and he tries to ignore the nervous flutter growing beneath his ribs. In, hold, out. Focus on the warmth of the sun, the freshly cut grass, the squealing laugh from guards nearby as a few of the new recruits play tag. Hopper was doing a good job training them.
"I want to bring one of them here."
Will's stomach drops, and his eyes fly open. “Jane-”
"I know. I have a plan.”
"No."
"You do not even know what I am going to say."
"I know enough,” he snaps, a bit more passionate than he should. He takes a deep breath. This is fine. It's nothing new. She's been doing this for months, ever since she found out she could feel for others. It's harmless, because she's just listening and observing what they see. He shouldn't stress over this.
“We need to meet more of us. Each time I find someone, they disappear. He has not.”
89.
"I don't want to know, okay? I'm sorry, but I don't want to be involved in whatever plan you're coming up with."
Jane immediately looks offended, leaning closer. “The plan that we are coming up with. You are involved, Will. You need to meet him too, he is different.”
Involved means losing control. Will can still remember the hallway tiles slamming into his knees after he blinked three months ago in the middle of a panic attack. He can remember appearing halfway through a wall and vomiting afterward from the pain and the way Hopper gripped his shoulders hard enough to bruise while demanding to know what triggered him. “No, I’m not.”
“You will like him when you get to know him, and you will be disappointed in yourself when you remember saying no.”
He sighs, slumping forward slightly. “The soldier? We've been over this-”
“No, the other boy.”
"The fact that there's so many I'm getting confused isn't helping your argument."
"He is important. He is miserable, we could help him. It is important that we help him.”
Will hates that word. Important. Important means attention, and attention means danger. They're supposed to stay here, nice and hidden, and not sneak past the guards to go into town, or try to have mental conversations with people. Important people don't get into trouble, because they're average. “He can get professional help.”
Jane hugs her knees to her chest. "He has the gene."
"So do hundreds of people. Jane, this has nothing to do with us."
"Not anymore."
“What?”
“Hundreds of people? Not anymore, Will. They are leaving, and I can not find any of them. How are you not worried?”
Will freezes, his stomach churning, feeling sick. Jane's eyebrows furrow as she looks up at him, desperate for him to understand, and he looks away before he can cave in. “We have bigger things to worry about.”
“He goes to school to become a writer, but he does not write, and he has a guitar but he does not play. He is normal, Will. That is why he is important. I want him to come here.”
Will looks away, avoiding eye contact. "Have you told Hopper?"
Jane snorts. "He would say no."
"Then there is your answer."
"No, that is his answer, not yours.”
"Jane."
"He is normal, he lives out there with everyone else. He is alive.”
"He has different circumstances, then. Just because he has some normal life doesn't mean that we can get that too. I know you're sick of being cooped up, but you heard Hopper. It's safer here.”
"For now."
Will's jaw tightens. It's the same argument they always end up having. Jane thinks hiding is killing them, and Will thinks hiding is the only reason they're still breathing. He wishes that just once she would see it from his point of view, too. “And what about Max?”
"People are disappearing again."
His stomach drops. "Jane."
"I am serious."
"I know you are.”
"You never listen to me about this. Why?”
"No," Will says quietly, tense. "I listen every time."
92.
Every story, every missing person, every frightened mutant she manages to contact, even down to the theories she cooks up, Will has listened to all of it, and each time it only convinces him more that they should stay exactly where they are.
"He is bored, I know it. He would prefer being here. There is also another, I think they are friends. We can convince the both of them.”
The watch buzzes again. 94.
He shifts. “I don't know what you expect me to do here,” he settles on saying, eyes closing and standing up, bare feet pressing into his yoga mat. Blue and covered in little hearts. Cute, simple, fun. Normal. He presses one foot against his inner thigh, palms together, spine straight. Like a tree. Inhale. Hold. Exhale.
92.
The earth, the air, breathing and balance. He swallows hard, focusing on the pull in his muscles, the flex in his thighs, the birds singing. “You need to bring him here-”
"Maybe ask Jonathan."
"You are faster."
"I don’t care."
"You are the only one who can do this."
"I’m not doing it. I'm sorry, but no. Either become a tree with me, or let me focus. Please.”
Jane is silent for a moment, before sighing, her voice lowering the way it always does when she says something mean. "It feels like Henry.”
Everything inside Will seems to seize. The name punches straight through every calming measure in him.
The watch shrieks. 102. Too high.
He drags air sharply into his lungs and bends forward, hands bracing against his knees. In for four. Hold for four. Out for four. Again. He could feel his pulse hammering in his wrists now, the familiar lightness beginning behind his ribs, the tugging.
“Jane,” he gasps, “you’re stressing me out.”
“I am sorry, but you need to hear this-”
103.
“I don't! You know you can't stress me out-”
“But Henry-”
Henry. Henry crouching in front of him, lips curved in a smile, hand reaching out. Knuckles dragging against his cheek, cooing words on his tongue, whispering praise. The afternoon vanishes.
"Will? You need to calm down-”
The air around him folds inward. Henry. Pale fingers, syringes with liquid in them, Jane flinching, Jane screaming, Jane thrashing around.
Grass flattens, tugging towards Will, leaves plastering themselves against his skin. Jane's hair lifts at the ends, grazing Will's skin before she yanks backwards.
“Will- you can control it-”
He can't breathe. The familiar vacuum sensation grips his body, inwards, pulling, his stomach collapsing inside of himself.
114.
His eyes squeeze shut.
Jane blinks, and her hair slowly begins to fall back down, listening to gravity, staring at where Will had been a moment before.
“...I will ask again later,” she whispers to herself, before leaning forward to start rolling up Will's yoga mat, tucking his water bottle under her arm.
___________________________________
Mike stares at the poster behind his professor, eyes scanning over the text. Comic Sans.
He's been staring at it for almost ten minutes. Not because it's particularly interesting, but because it's directly in front of him and it takes less effort than paying attention to whatever is happening in his lecture.
For such an important looking poster you would think a better font would be used. Or at least something more serious than Comic Sans.
BE A HERO, PROTECT YOUR TOWN!
SEE A MUTANT?
REPORT TO THE AUTHORITIES AT 8(883)322-2662.
A smiling police officer shakes hands with a smiling family, a wall of text beneath it. Something about public safety, community responsibility, and saving innocent citizens. Mike doesn't read most of it, not when he already knows what it says. They all say the same thing.
The professor continues talking, something about sociology, social fear, maybe history. Mike doesn't really process any of it.
The medication turns everything soft around the edges, like somebody stuffed cotton into his skull. His legs are spread beneath his desk, one foot lazily bouncing, his open notebook looking at the ceiling. The pen resting across the page hasn't moved in almost twenty minutes, maybe more.
Mike twists one of the rings around his finger, then another, then another. Metal slides against skin, cold and familiar. He squeezes his knuckles and the pressure helps just faintly.
Are you listening?
Mike closes his eyes briefly, ignoring it. He might be going insane, with the way this voice has been popping up in his head all week. It's so persistent, nagging at him.
Hello?
Mike ignores her. The professor continues talking, a student coughs, and someone laughs quietly across the room. The air conditioning rattles overhead, but he thinks it's a waste. It's the start of spring, there's no reason to blast the ac just yet.
You are doing it again.
Mike twists another ring. Maybe if he ignores her long enough she'll stop, but that strategy hasn't worked yet. Maybe this is a sign that his sickness is moving to his brain instead of his body.
I know you can hear me.
A kick slams into the back of his chair, and Mike rocks forward slightly. The voice vanishes beneath the interruption. For a second he almost appreciates it, then another kick lands harder, jolting him.
“Dude.”
Mike exhales through his nose. It's Chad, or maybe Tanner, or Troy, or Chance, or something like that. A T or a C, for sure, one of those frat guys, one of the ones that look exactly like his own name.
"Dude." Another kick. "The professor is talking to you."
Mike keeps staring ahead, thoughts lazily passing through his ears, each blink heavy. Apparently something is happening, but he's not exactly sure what.
"Bro." Kick. "Are you even listening?"
That is what I am asking.
Mike nearly rolls his eyes. The frat guy teaming up with his hallucination, a complete matching set.
"Mr. Lawson," the kicking stops. "Leave him alone." A few people snicker and the guy behind Mike mutters something under his breath. The professor turns and looks directly at Mike. "Michael."
Mike stares back. The classroom feels vaguely farther away than it should, like he's viewing it through a window. The professor folds his arms. His stomach churns, hungry.
"Would you like to answer the question?"
His eyebrows furrow, but the voice perks up again, high pitched and excited, a little stilted.
He asked about your view on the history of mutant purchases. Are you going to tell him?
Mike closes his eyes for a second, then twists one of the rings hard. The metal edge digs into the side of his finger, sharp and frayed. Pain shoots through his hand and it drags him back into his body, the fog creeping away into something a little thinner.
Mike opens his eyes and twenty students stare at him. Some are in pajamas, some looking exhausted the way Mike felt, but one girl was dressed up entirely. She was cute, pretty and wide eyed, probably dating someone from some sports team that got them a full tuition. A boy with two weirdly small teeth in his mouth grins at him, showing them off proudly. He sticks two thumbs up Mike's way, nodding as if they were friends.
Mike looks away. The poster watches from the wall behind them. Report suspicious activity. Protect your community. Protect your family.
He digs the ring deeper into his skin, then says the first vaguely academic thing that comes to mind. "Social fear creates systems that justify themselves. There's laws against slavery and laws to prevent animal abuse, but nothing for mutants. If they're animals, then laws against animal cruelty should apply to them, but if they're humans- why are they being sold and bought at all?”
Mike has no idea where that came from. The professor blinks and a few students glance at each other, but the boy beams, nodding rapidly, curls bouncing on his head.
His professor clears his throat, looking taken aback. “Well-... yes. Very well said, Michael. But that begs the question- what classifies a species as animal or human? We have believed it to be cognitive thought and the ability to form and understand complex languages, but recently state law dictates that a human is a creature with a ‘normal’ genetic code-”
The room turns back toward the lecture, and Mike sinks down into his chair, letting the fog nudge at him again. His fingers find another ring, twisting.
You are not an animal. I am not an animal.
Mike ignores her, a shadow appearing over his desk. "Hey-!" Mike glances sideways, and the boy beams, looking like he was about to tilt the chair over. He looks like he would apologize if someone else stepped on his foot, or like he would feed stray cats. His hat was surprisingly decorated, too, but his curls were practically exploding out of it. Mike kind of liked the bright blocks of color on his hat, though. It was a nice touch.
"That was a good answer," the boy whispers, his words sounding a bit like he had to chew them. Mike stares at him for a second, and the boy's smile falters a bit. “I like your jeans-! Did you rip them yourself or buy them like that-?”
"Shut up, Toothless,” the student behind Mike huffs. “I'm trying to pay attention. If I fail this class, it's on you.” Troy or Chad or Trevor or Chris maybe?
The boy immediately shrinks back into himself, shoulders hunching. “It's not our fault if you're an idiot-”
“You wanna repeat that?” The student behind Mike hisses. He sounds like a Tristan.
“Maybe I do-”
“Mr. Henderson. Do you have something to share with class, or are you going to keep picking fights?”
The boy sinks back down into his seat, and Mike drowns it out. His brain feels like soup after it's gone cold in a pot, chunks of bits and bobs floating around.
Mike presses his fist against his forehead, trying to let the pressure force him more awake, more present.
His thoughts feel slow. Sticky, like every idea has to wade through mud before reaching him. Or quicksand, probably. You can't get lost in mud like you can in quicksand. But, you can't wade through quicksand.
Maybe he should switch back.
The old medication wasn't great, but at least he could think. The new one was worse. Safer, according to his parents, but his thoughts lagged. Less emotional fluctuation, less control, so less power.
Less risk.
Less everything, though. His toes felt fuzzy.
It was good at keeping him controlled, but apparently it was also good at removing his ability to function like a human being. Or an animal, maybe. Scientists haven't figured that one out yet.
___________________________________
The world folds.
Will hates the feeling, and it never gets easier no matter how many years pass or how many times it happens.
For a split second, he feels like he's being pulled through the eye of a needle, every atom in his body stretched impossibly thin. Then, the air in his bedroom explodes outward.
A sharp gust rushes across the room, rattling curtains and sending papers fluttering. Will appears three feet above his bed, lingering for just a second before gravity drags him down, bouncing hard on his mattress. “Shit-!”
The springs squeak and his comforter bunches beneath him, but at least he didn't land on the floor again. The wind ruffles everything not nailed or taped down.
After years of accidental teleports, Will has gotten smart about it. The lamp is secured and screwed into his desk, the books are in a closed cabinet that's taped shut from the outside, his sketchbooks are weighed down by a large rock that he's borrowing from the grand canyon, his pencils are duck taped to his desk, and the little ceramic tiger that Jonathan bought him is shut in a wooden shelf that's nailed into the wall, a tiny glass window letting him peek inside.
Only one thing escapes, a loose sheet of paper lifting from the edge of his desk. Will snatches it out of the air before it can go any further. A flower half finished and painted in acrylic, the edges still damp. Will presses it back onto the desk and smooths the tape over the corners.
"There."
Safe, like everything else. Everything in it's place where it belongs, just how he likes it.
Will falls backward onto his bed, his pulse pounding against his ribs, steadily getting calmed. His skin still feels a little sweaty, and he should go shower, but he doesn't want to risk running into anyone.
Jane has a plan to smuggle mutants in the manor.
The watch on his wrist chirps.
104.
Will immediately presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. "Nope." Deep breath. In. One, two, three, four. Hold. One, two, three, four. Out. One, two, three, four. Again.
The mattress sinks beneath him, painted stars staring down at him from his ceiling, eyes throbbing from how hard Will digs his hands into them.
The watch vibrates again. 99, entering the safe zone.
Stars on his ceiling, the feeling of fabric on his skin, the sweat in his pores, the polish on his fingers. Everything in place.
Thin hands, pale and cold. Concrete on his knees, a voice that always knew what to say. Tone off, always inauthentic, always sickly.
Will squeezes his eyes shut harder.
A knock sounds from the door and Will jumps, startled.
103.
"I'm changing- I'm about to go shower, don't come in-!" The handle immediately turns. “Jane-"
The door opens, and Will throws a pillow at it. The pillow sails harmlessly past the person entering, Max ducking instinctively. “You're in a mood.” The pillow lands somewhere behind her and Max shuts the door with her foot, headphones resting around her neck, glasses over her eyes.
“I'm not in a mood,” he murmurs, before flopping back onto his bed.
She pauses inside the doorway, tapping her fingers twice against the wooden frame. The tiny sounds bounce outward and Max turns toward him immediately.
"You're on your bed."
Will blinks. "Yeah…?"
"I can hear the birds outside, idiot. It's a nice day and you're inside, on your bed? You expect me to believe that you're doing this voluntarily?"
"...Yeah."
"Curled up?”
Will groans, tossing an arm over his eyes and shuffles back to make room, and Max smiles. “It's hot outside, I'm just cooling off.”
She crosses the room confidently, another tap against the desk as she passes, listening to the sound bouncing back. She flops down next to him, mattress dipping, and drops her legs on top of his.
"What's got you blipping?"
Will winces. “Do you have to keep calling it that?”
97.
"So."
Will stares at the ceiling. "So."
"You blipped. What happened?”
“... Nothing happened at all.”
"You sound stressed, and you suck at lying.”
"Did you hear anything?"
Max tilts her head, leaning closer, curious. "Hear what?"
"Outside. I'm just- just curious.”
A beat. "What am I not supposed to have heard?"
Will immediately regrets asking. Max grins, but he feels dread well up in his stomach. Max loved secrets, but she didn't particularly love keeping them.
Will rubs his face, taking a deep breath. "Nothing."
"Interesting."
"It isn't, really. I was just curious if you heard anything happening.”
"You're lying to me.” Max taps her fingers lightly against the nightstand, and Will knows she's getting a map in her head. Will's heartbeat, his breathing, the shift of the blankets, his water bottle taped to the stand beside his bed, everything.
"You know," Max says slowly, "your heart rate jumps every time you lie."
Will freezes. “I'm not lying. That's just because I was outside, and it was hot.”
"You asked if I heard something."
"I-"
"It jumped again."
"That's not proof."
"There it is again.”
Will glares at her, and Max just smiles wider. He tilts his head back, already exhausted. The ceiling stars blur overhead. For a moment, neither of them says anything, then Max nudges his shin with her foot.
"You want to talk about it?"
Will closes his eyes. "...Not really."
Max hums, but Will knows she's not going to let it go. "Okay."
Max's flip phone rings, an upbeat pop song that she chose for Jane's ringtone. Will makes a distressed noise, leaping for it. “Wait- wait, don't answer it-”
Max shoves a hand against his chest, pushing Will back against the bed, and flips her phone open to accept.
“Max,” Jane says, worry in her voice. Will groans, muffled when Max smothers his face with a pillow. “Are you alone?”
Max shifts, turning the phone on speaker, and slumps back down against the bed. “Yeah, what's up?”
“I want to find more mutants.”
Will stiffens, expecting Max to be upset, but she just hums like she's considering it. “Why?”
Jane exhales roughly. “Because they are out there.”
“That’s not really an answer.”
Will tugs the pillow off of his face, and Jane adjusts something on her end. Will can hear the faint scrape of fabric, like the phone is pressing against her shoulder. He sits up, but Max tightens her grip on his legs.
“...I want to meet them.”
“It’s dangerous, you know,” Max continues, more careful now.
Jane’s voice tightens. “We are dangerous too.”
Will shoves at Max's legs, and she drops her body weight against him. “Isn’t that why we're cooped up here now?”
“I think the world is more dangerous than we are.”
Will lets out a sharp breath, and Max hums again, not disagreeing. “I’m listening.”
“When I ran away, I met another mutant boy.”
Will’s brain blanks. For half a second, he doesn’t process the sentence at all. “What?” He blurts out, too loud.
“Max, you said we were alone.”
“I lied. Was he cute?”
“What do you mean you met another mutant boy?!” Will demands.
“I mean exactly what I said. I tried to speak to him, but he kept ignoring me.”
“You tried talking to him?! Jane, you said that all you did was sightsee-”
“I have been following him in his mind for the past few days,” she continues. “I have been speaking to him. He is easy to follow, his mind is like water.”
Will makes a strangled noise. “You’ve been speaking to him-?!”
“Do you have a crush?” Max probs, interested, and Will flicks her before snatching her phone out of her hand, pulling it closer to himself.
“That’s against the rules, not to mention it’s invasive-”
“You teleport into people’s houses, Will.”
“Wh- that- that is not comparable!”
Max snorts, and Will glares at her even though she cannot see him. Jane keeps going, unfazed. “You go into people's houses, I go into their minds. It is the same. I have been following him, he goes to school a lot, and he has no friends. He is very boring.”
“Stop stalking random civilians,” Will groans, dropping back into the mattress.
“He is not random.”
“You literally just called him boring!”
“He is boring,” Jane confirms. “But he is a mutant, and he is important. He is normal.”
Will makes another distressed sound. Max shifts beside him, invested, and Will has a sinking feeling in his gut that he’s going to be tag-teamed on this decision. “It’s none of our business, just leave him be-”
“Is he cute?” Max asks again, and Jane hums.
“He is a boy. He does not smile, and his face is very… unpleasant to look at sometimes. It is very- sharp? He does not look very nice.”
“So he’s ugly?”
“I have seen cuter boys.”
“Can you just stop bullying this guy that you don’t even like? You don’t know him, Hopper doesn’t know him- you shouldn’t be following him at all-” Max elbows him, and Will lets out a choked sound.
“I do know him. I gather information,” Jane huffs, offended. “He goes to college. He walks home alone. He takes medication.”
Max perks up instantly. “Medication for what?”
“I do not know,” Jane says. “But it dulls him. It makes his mind feel like water when I am in it.”
Will presses a hand to his face. “Oh my God.”
“He thinks the voice in his head is not real,” Jane adds. “He does not believe I am really speaking to him.”
“So he’s crazy?” Max chimes in, and Will feels his pulse jump from the stress.
“I think so. But, I am making a plan.”
“No way,” Will cuts in. “Absolutely not. Jane, the entire reason we are here is to protect civilization from people like us.” Max snorts.
“That is my point,” Jane replies.
“No,” Will snaps. “That is not- Jane, no. We are not kidnapping some poor medicated college guy because you’re lonely.”
“It is not because I am lonely.” A beat. “…It is a little because I am lonely,” she admits.
Will groans so loudly it hurts. “Oh my God.”
Max, completely unfazed, takes her phone back from him. “Question. Has Will returned any of the stuff he steals and brings back here?”
Will freezes. 96. “I don’t steal-”
“You stole a frog hoodie from that one store, and you stole that watch-”
“That was an accident!”
“You teleported back with it in your hoodie pocket.”
“...Hopper wouldn’t let me get one because he said it would stress me out and I needed one to make sure that-”
“You are stressing,” Jane chimes in. “You also took those books-”
“I brought them back eventually!”
“And the cameras you give to Jonathan?” He opens his mouth again but nothing helpful comes out. Max shrugs. “I’m not shaming you, I’m just saying.”
“We have gone off of the track,” Jane sighs. Will slowly sinks back into the mattress, face hot. “I am tired of training for an apocalypse that never happens, and I am tired of hiding when no one is looking for us.”
“Don’t jinx it,” Max squeezes his shoulder, and Will tries to count his breaths.
Jane doesn’t correct herself. “We spend years here, just us. I want to be normal.”
“Jane… I know you want to be, but we’re not normal people,” Will whispers, softer now, trying to comfort her. “We don’t get to live by normal rules-”
Max cuts him off. “What’s normal? I mean, it used to be normal to beat your wives, but now it’s known to be like, pretty fucked up. It’s 2004, maybe in a few years what’s normal will be different.”
“You know what I meant,” Will murmurs, not having a real answer.
Jane clears her throat. “If we are here because we are not normal, then other people who are not normal should be here too.”
The call ends with a click, and Will sits up fully, pushing Max off of him. “Jane?”
Max lowers the phone slightly, tucking her legs under herself. “...She hung up. Don’t freak out-”
Will takes a sharp breath in, worry churning in his gut. In. hold. Out. In. Hold. Out.
“Will-”
He squeezes his eyes shut, feeling his stomach tighten.
___________________________________
You are tired.
No kidding.
You should sleep.
Mike closes his eyes briefly. A harsh electronic wail blasts through the building, red lights flooding the room. Chairs scrape and backpacks zip, and the ring in his fingers snaps in half, cutting into the pads of his fingers.
"Alright, everybody knows the drill. I’ll see you all next week. The essay is due on monday-”
Mike slowly straightens. The weird boy, Toothless, stands up from his seat. Mike blinks at him, eyebrows furrowing, lips tugging into a frown. He has to be going insane. Toothless looks shorter than before- at least a head shorter. Or maybe his new prescription was just messing with his memory again.
Mike squints at him, and Toothless grins, elbowing Mike’s shoulder. “I couldn’t deal with him talking any more- I’m more of a science nerd.” Mike nods, confused, and the boy deflates. “What- do you like this class?”
“It’s fine,” Mike murmurs, standing up. The boy barely reached his biceps. That couldn’t be normal. It would be rude to ask, though. Maybe he stopped growing early.
“Well- I have to get going! I’m meeting up with some friends- do you want to come with?”
“...I’m good.”
“Oh- uhm- you sure?” Toothless’ expression looks hopeful, but Mike just tugs his bag up over his arm, shrugging a shoulder awkwardly.
“Yeah. I should head home.” Toothless says something, but Mike’s already heading out the door.
You should have said yes- you seem very lonely.
Mike ignores her, too. Students pour down stairwells and through exits, Mike drifting along with them across campus. By the time he reaches the bike racks outside, most people are gathering in designated evacuation zones. He drops his backpack onto the pavement beside his bike and starts digging through it, looking for his keys.
Notebook, textbook- his hand brushes against something else. He pulls it out automatically, dumbfounded.
His protein bar from this morning.
Mike stares at it.
The protein bar is enormous. He blinks hard, squinting, but the size doesn’t go down at all. The thing is bigger than his whole forearm, stretching absurdly long between his hands.
What is that?
Mike looks around, but nobody is paying attention to him. Not one concerned stare or scream. Maybe what he’s taking now is stronger than he thought. Mike shrugs and shoves the snack back into his bag, problem solved. Future Mike can deal with it.
He finds his keys and unlocks the chain around his bike, before swinging a leg over the frame.
Michael.
Michael.
"What." The word slips out before he can stop it, and a woman walking past gives him a strange look. Mike immediately regrets speaking aloud.
You responded.
"Congratulations."
I need you to go somewhere.
"What, a psych ward?”
...You are very difficult.
Mike laughs once, rolling his eyes. “You have no idea.” The voice goes silent and for a moment he thinks that's the end of it, before an address appears in his mind. It’s suddenly there, clear and sharp, and Mike nearly misses a pedal. It’s like someone write it directly on his eyeballs. “What the hell-?”
Come there.
"No-”
Why not?
"Why not-?” Mike scoffs, feeling his temples throb. “Probably because strange voices in my head aren't usually a trustworthy source of life advice?"
I am trustworthy.
"According to who?"
Me.
Mike pinches the bridge of his nose while steering one-handed. Hallucinations, first auditory now visual too. He’s going to have to tell his mom, and then he’s going to have to go back to the doctor. This was somehow worse than just breaking alarm clocks on accident or ripping the handle off of the front door.
Please, you must come. It will change your life.
Mike snorts, his movement lagging. His bike swerves for a moment before he fixes it. "People who say that are usually trying to sell something."
I am not selling anything.
"Then you're starting a cult. Or- is this God? I’m sorry that I don’t go to church anymore.”
What is a cult?
Mike sighs, slumping forward as he crosses the street, letting the wheels turn without pressure. Not God, then. At least he’s not getting smited.
You have questions about yourself.
Mike's fingers tighten around the handlebars. “So does everybody else.”
About why you are different. Your abilities, and why you can do the things that you do.
A strange unease settles in his stomach.
You know something is wrong. You know you are not normal.
"Yeah, obviously. I’m not normal, but neither are you." The voice laughs softly and Mike pauses at a light, resting his feet on the ground while he waits for the crosswalk.
No, I am not. Think about it. There are others like us.
Mike rolls his eyes, and pushes off again. "Yeah, obviously. You think I don’t know that?”
... I did not for a while.
"The government literally runs ads about us." He thinks about the poster hanging behind his professor. Smiling family, smiling cop. See a mutant? Report to the authorities. Protect your community, protect your family, protect yourself. “You don’t make posters for things that don’t exist- besides, you can see them on the news.”
Then why do you not want to meet them?
Mike snorts. "Why would I? That’s like asking if I want to see a criminal. If someone is out there parading what they are, that’s already a bad sign." He doesn't need the government telling him that. He’s seen what happens when he loses control, when he doesn’t drug it down. Doors splintering, metal bending, bruises appearing where he hadn’t meant to leave them. Laws exist for a reason.
My brother is not dangerous.
Mike rolls his eyes. “Not to you, maybe.”
No, he is not. He is gentle. He is very gentle. He is good.
Mike slumps. Another red light. “That’s good for you? Can this wait until I get home? I look like I’m on drugs.”
He likes painting. And to draw.
“Okay?”
His room is full of art. He paints flowers, and landscapes. And people, too.
"Cool. Sounds thrilling.”
He likes yellow more than any other color.
"There it is. The weird thing.”
It is not weird.
"It’s a little weird. No one chooses yellow as their favorite color."
He likes yellow flowers.
"Sure, okay."
Yellow blankets, and yellow paint. His socks are yellow, too. They have rubber on the bottoms so he does not slide when he runs in them.
Mike snickers under his breath, imagining a brain with legs in neon yellow socks running around.
Will says people laugh more when they are happy. You are happier now?
"Who's Will?"
My brother. He wants to meet you.
He can’t really picture what a Will looks like. Maybe blond and british. “Why does he want to meet me?”
Because I told him about you. He is very excited to meet you.
Mike nearly rides into a curb. "You what?"
I told him about you. He knows about your classes, and your bike, and your rings. He also knows about your medication, and that you seem sad all of the time.
"Wow. Okay- wow." Mike swallows thickly, pausing on the side of the sidewalk, leaning forward to press his forehead against his handlebars, one leg on the ground to steady himself. The hallucination in his voice was talking about him to other hallucinations.
I am not in your imagination, I am talking to you in your mind. My brother is also special, like me. Our friend Max, too. I lied when I said that Will wanted to meet you- I am sorry. He is very scared to see you, but I think it will be good for all of us. He is scared of you.
"Smart."
No. He does not know you, he thinks you are dangerous. He would not be scared if he knew you.
Mike nods. "There. See? Smart."
I told him he was being unfair.
"He isn't."
You have never met him. You think he is a brain. I can see what you are thinking. He does not look like that, and I do not look like that. He is very… pretty. Will is the prettiest boy I have ever seen. I am a very pretty girl, as well. I even wear pretty dresses when I can.
Mike exhales slowly. His hallucination might be conceited, but it didn’t feel smart to point that out.
We both have brown hair, but my eyes are also brown and Will’s are not, they are green. He is very pretty when he is not scared, but he is scared very often. This is why you must meet him, so you can come here and he will not be scared of you any more. Max agrees, she is interested to meet you.
"If he's scared of everything, leave him alone. He sounds happy, he’s got you and your friend, he has a life. I don’t know why you want me to meet him so bad.”
He spends most of his time inside. He grows tomatoes. I forgot that part.
"You forgot the tomatoes,” Mike deadpans.
Yes. He does not eat them. He thinks they taste like dirt.
"...What? Then why is he planting tomatoes?” He turns down his neighborhood.
He feeds them to deer.
Mike laughs before he can stop himself. "What?”
The deer like them.
"Your brother grows tomatoes…"
Yes.
"Specifically to give away?"
Yes.
Mike shakes his head. "That's ridiculous."
Will says they appreciate it.
"How would he know?"
I do not know.
Mike snorts again. The image forms despite himself, some tall and scrawny nervous guy. Probably six foot and overly muscular wearing neon yellow clothes in a garden, covered in dirt.
He also likes to do yoga, or to swim. He is not that tall, and his face is not that… square. You are picturing him wrong. If you come here to meet him, then you will understand. He thinks if he leaves where he is, something terrible will happen. I think he is wrong, but… I understand why he thinks it.
The bike rolls down the street, the address buried somewhere in Mike's thoughts. A mutant who paints flowers and feeds deer, who likes yellow and yoga and who’s apparently terrified of everything.
For some reason, Mike finds himself wondering what someone like that would possibly want with him.