atomwave or coldwave
i just had a lightbulb moment for coldwave so, au: mick gets powers after the accelerator explodes. len doesn’t.
The world turns white, and for a shrieking, horrifying second, the only thing Len thinks is, “Where is my sister?”
He hadn’t thought of Mick in that isn’t, hadn’t felt the need to- They’d always said they’d die together, and his husband takes his hand as if he can sense Len’s thoughts, and the sky turns white and then gold and then-
It’s over. A flash in the pan, a bright wash of light and nothing else.
And he finds himself grinning at it, at the acceptance (not fear, never fear,) that had washed over him, for what? So old Doctor Wells made a dud. Hilarious. He lets out a laugh, tugging Mick’s arm, his warm hand still gripping Len’s tightly.
“That,” he says. “Was a whole lot of nothing.”
Mick tries to nod, but seems to have trouble with it, his eyes fluttering. “Funny.”
“Mick,” Len says, suddenly creasing his brow. “Are you alright?”
“M’fine,” he says, though he’s starting to sweat and that can’t be right, they never keep the heat on very high if at all, but he reaches to wipe the sweat from Mick’s brow and finds he’s burning.
“You need to lay down,” Len says, and something in his stomach says that it hadn’t been harmless, it hadn’t been a dud, it’s something far worse and something far more insidious. And his gut is never wrong.
Something is happening to his husband. Something has made him sick.
“Mick,” Len says, almost pleading. “Why don’t I run you a cold bath? Make you soup? You just need to rest, it’ll be okay, it’s fine-”
Mick shoves him. Hard, forcibly enough to put some distance between the two of them, and Len is about to protest but Mick drops to his knees.
“Don’t come near me,” Mick says. “Feel like I’m going to-” He curls his hands into fists. “Something’s wrong,” he offers, and his hands come alight, his arms.
“Mick,” Len says softly, expecting him to feel some kind of pain, something, but he seems to just be letting it happen, the flames don’t burn his skin but come out from it, move with it, and he watches as Mick tries not to touch anything and unsteadily rises to his feet.
He lifts his hand in front of his face, still glassy eyed, still sick. “Lenny,” he says, quietly. “I think there’s something wrong with me.”