PROMPT POST

[drown]

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• Alphabetize pairings/threesomes/moresomes to streamline archive tagging/searching. (e.g. Chuck/Mike/Texas)
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LATEST PROMPTS | LATEST COMMENTS | ASK A MOD | FILL POST | GENERAL DISCUSSION | WARNINGS LIST | DELICIOUS ARCHIVE

7/16/2012: GOOD NEWS! Your fellow anons, S and B have graciously ARCHIVED EVERYTHING, and did a stellar job at that too! Now you can look up for prompts to fill, completed/wips/artfills in the meme, and look up stuff by character, pairing, and kinks/genres! We also now have a new mod, boyshort! She'll be on board to help out with archiving full time and mod things. \o/!!

8/3/2012: There is now a daily km update comm, archivefastarchivefree! Man, people in this fandom love being organized. This is awesome. :'D

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9/4/2012: archivefastarchivefree now has a tumblr mirror, for those without dreamwidth accounts.

 

11/06/12: Soldier on. In the meantime, fyeahmotorcity has a bunch of links to click on, so pick your protest of choice.
 

AS YOU WERE.

Comments

Mutts (6.3/?), "werewolf" AU, Mike/Chuck and Julie/Texas

[(Anonymous)]

Time passed quickly in a world without clocks, and made everything that had come before the present moment feel like no more than a dream, something ridiculous and imagined. Though he could remember it clear as crystal, when two weeks had passed, Chuck felt a world removed from the boy who had walked out to the lake to find himself. What he'd found instead was an uncomfortable truth that didn't sit well with anyone, as far as he could tell, and that Mike remained oblivious to.

Here was what happened after: they came home. Nobody remarked on their absence, not even when Mike returned Julie's keys to her, not even when Chuck attempted to give Texas back his map. Mike, whose affinity for Mutt dogs suddenly explained everything, had devoured the rest of his bag lunch on the way back, a price freely paid for taxi service and the promise that he'd drive a somewhat reasonable speed, and Jacob baked him a sauerkraut cake for dinner, espousing joy at finally having a customer to feed who didn't order everything fresh-killed and bleeding. Chuck fell asleep in what he was coming to think of as his bed, and didn't think about tomorrow, or any of the twelve tomorrows that had come after.

And now he was seated in the passenger chair of Mike's car, which was fixed now but still being upgraded, and Mike was nowhere around, but everyone trusted him with that. Chuck had taken off the control panel on the dashboard and was rooting around with wires and plugs and jacks, treated to a prime view of the popped-up hood through the replaced windshield while Dutch did something with the engine. "I can't believe how old this tech is," he muttered as Dutch slammed the hood back down again, pointed ear twitching. "Does Mike live in the stone age, or what? I know he knows how to work more complicated mods of this system."

Dutch shrugged. "He doesn't use those interfaces when he's driving. Do you really want him paying less attention to the road to mess with gadgets?"

Chuck's shudder was exaggerated, but real. Deep down, he'd always known that if he explained, really explained his abject terror, Mike would understand and at least try to slow down. But he also knew that he wouldn't be happy about it; the speed was his joy, the car his deliverance, and Chuck wouldn't ever take that away from him, if he needed it. And the fear was getting better in fits and starts, with every handshake and careless touch and thoughtless brush of hair behind his ear, clawed fingers scraping too lightly at his skin to do more than tickle and remind him of his heart in his chest. Everything was new. "Good point. But... I don't know. If I'm riding with him, I might as well do something with it. No sense in having a useless co-pilot."

Dutch's transmission beeped, and while he went off to answer it in moderate privacy, Chuck rolled the window up and played around with drivers and packets and expanded the RAM of the car's onboard computer. It was easy, barely more difficult than breathing, and he found that he could effectively shut off his brain while weaving red wire to gold to create a shower of sparks and a program that would allow him to more reliably lock on to enemy targets. The codes were simple, boring. He watched Dutch's lips move from a distance, the way his tail wagged (maybe this was the girlfriend he'd heard about, on the other line?) and pretended not to be curious. By and large, the Burners didn't seem to acknowledge a need for gossip, since everybody knew everything about everybody else anyway, but since Chuck wasn't jacked into that complex network of scents and body language, he missed out on a lot of things. That was the aspect that still bothered him, that and a half hundred in jokes that he was certain he would never get. You had to have been there.

A rap of knuckles on the window startled him out of his thoughts, and he cracked the door open, swinging his legs out, done with this project. "Hey, we got a call from the Cablers' settlement," Dutch told him, nonchalant, as though Chuck should have had any way of knowing what that meant; so many things remained obfuscated, only slowly becoming clear. "I have the part they wanted all ready, so me and Tex are going to go install it for them." There was only the briefest of pauses, a missed cue, and then he prompted, "So, do you want to come or not?"

Chuck didn't have to consider it overly long. If they were installing something, it was probably a technical project, and everything in that realm that Dutch got his hands on was invariably fascinating. "Yeah, sure. Are Mike and Julie coming?"

"Nah, Mike will probably want to take the new and improved Mutt out for a test drive, and it's not really Julie's bag. We don't actually need more than two people for this job, it'll be quick." Chuck grabbed the rapidly retreating olive branch as it had been extended, and settled into Whiptail's plush back seat on the way over, listening to Dutch and Texas make mildly impolite small talk, occasionally breaking in with his own muffled opinion.

Like the Terra settlement, the Cablers' home was visible from a far distance, and just as impressive; Chuck knew immediately why Dutch hadn't bothered explaining it. No words could have done the neutron-blue spiral galaxy of light and metal justice, a work of art masquerading as a vibrant city stretching up towards the sky, towering, defiant. The glow it cast illuminated everything the quality of starlight, and from the moment Chuck got out and stood on wobbly legs he basked in it, drinking it up. He could have spent weeks there happily, months, analyzing and assembling and taking it apart like clockwork to find out how it ticked, making improvements as he went. The world hummed around him and beneath his feet with life, with electronics, and there was a deep feeling of security here, no robots in sight.

A girl named Tenny met them, kissed Dutch on the cheek, tipped her hat to Texas, and shook his hand so hard that Chuck thought the bones might squeeze together and shatter. While Texas and Dutch unloaded the oversized load from its trailer, she looped her arm in his and lead him astray up the walk, pointing out objects of interest in highly specialized, technical terms that Chuck was delighted to find he understood and was fluent in. "You've heard about the security system here, I bet," she said confidently, jostling past big, burly men in overalls.

"Nope." For once, Chuck didn't feel bad about being out of the loop; she seemed eager to clue him in.

"Well, Dutch designed it for us a long time ago. It creates a specialized EM field cued to the frequency that Kane's tech operates on, and knocks it out. Instant roborepellant."

Reflexively, bemused, Chuck held out his cybernetic arm and clenched his fist, testing. "This arm is totally Kane Tech, though. Why is it still working just fine?"

"Probably because the brain that's controlling it isn't robotic-- I don't know a lot about biomods, but I'm pretty sure it's hooked up directly into your nervous system. Anyway, the fun part of that story is how we got it installed and running. Your friend Mike climbed twenty-two stories in the thick of an attack to plug it in and turn it on!"

Chuck offered her a weak smile. "Yeah, he's a heck of a guy."

They'd gone up several stories now, to a more or less deserted scenic outlook, and he became aware that she was watching him with big brown eyes. The view over Motor City was much less awkward than meeting that gaze. "Yep," she was saying, "everybody down here loves Mike Chilton. The cult of Mike Chilton. Heck of a guy."

Are we going somewhere with this? Chuck wanted to ask, but instead cleared his throat and meditated on the subject of despair and oblivity and the sharp awkwardness of new sensations. "So, you and Dutch, huh?" was what came out instead, and then, like a train wreck set in motion by a single pebble placed on the tracks, had no choice but to follow the disaster out to its logical conclusion. "What's that like?"

"Dating a Burner, or dating a wolf-thing?" Tenny, for her part, seemed completely unbothered by it, even a little amused by his obvious horror and discomfort.

"Both. Neither." He looked at her hopelessly, a kicked puppy. "The second one?"

"I don't know. Never been with anybody else. You'd better get used to dog breath, though, they all hate the taste of mint for some reason."

"I don't-- that's not--" Chuck tried to find his words, aware of his face on fire and Tenny watching him with a malice-free smirk; she'd been there too, of course, once. Chuck was not ready to acknowledge any of this, so instead of finishing his sentence he picked up a small, worn rock from around his feet, turned it over in his hands, and with great aforethought tossed it out over the precipice. The projectile seemed to hang in the air for seconds on end, though of course he knew that was only relative motion and distance affecting perception, and then it dropped away, down, down, down. The physical act of throwing something made him feel a little bit better, but mostly he just felt like he wanted to to die and melt away into the glorious conglomeration of twisted, intricately connected metal that surrounded him like a buzzing beehive. "Everybody loves Mike Chilton," he agreed after awhile, clarifying nothing.

The sky lit up like sunset with a thousand screens of red light before Tenny could offer any potential smart-aleck reply, filled with first the twisted visage of Abraham Kane, sickly triumphant, and then with the incongruous juxtaposed image of a crackling fire, the wreckage of a familiar green car. The first thing Chuck heard was Dutch coming up behind them, growling, "Goddamn, Mike, I just fixed that!"

And then the SOS alarm went off, buzzing around him and rattling his arm and in his head. From Julie, the signal scrambled, no voice but a brief choked off scream; on Kane's screens, the image of Mike on all fours, eyes rolling, lips pulled back over dire teeth and a dart in his neck, the plunger well compressed. Kane's voice: "Take him. Find my daughter." And then men in white, familiar (too familiar, too familiar, oh god, Mike) suits and gasmasks looping the silver wire around his neck, pulling it tight. He had no choice but watch Mike scream in pain, the sound finally choked off, as he scratched at his neck so hard and frantic that he bled, foam at the corners of his mouth, pink tongue lolling.

The feed cut. Kane was back. One sentence, "I will have what is owed me, Burners," and then nothing but Julie's belated SOS, echoing into the permanent night. Dimly, Chuck registered that Dutch was beside him now, shoulders squared, growling at nothing and everything, helplessly enraged. To his surprise, the emotion that boiled up to meet him was as obvious as it was powerful and immediately recognizable. For the first time in his life, Chuck felt he was allowed, entitled to be angry.

And then the snarl of rage was his own.

"We'll get them back," he said, and while he shook, there was, finally, no room left in him for fear. Mike was gone. Julie was gone. So they would get them back. It was simple. Dutch, Texas, and Tenny gathered in close to him, bristling at the loss, the indignity, the insult, and for the first time since his mother had died, Chuck remembered what it was like to be a family.

Pain changes you.