“how did you- in that- that place- how did you…”
“survive so long?”
Will’s voice is clipped, short. He’s swaddled in a blanket, the flannel pattern wrapped tightly around his shoulders. They’re sitting together on the Wheeler’s porch, close enough to feel each other’s body heat, but not close enough to touch.
Mike shakes his head, looking over at Will. He’s looking at the snow in the yard, his eyelashes fluttering ever-so-slightly as he thinks.
“No. The lights. How did you make them, like, do what you wanted?” Mike asks, and Will looks surprised. He’s used to the questions about how he survived, what he ate (he’d never answer that truthfully. he hadn’t owned up to that yet himself, and he wasn’t about to tell anyone else), what he drank, where he hid. The doctors ask him those questions as often as they can. it feels like he sees more and more doctors everyday.
Mike’s question is careful, soft. Will looks over at him, a blush beginning to bite at his cheeks. Mike’s face is red from the cold, his eyes wandering across Will’s, observing him with a sharp lucidity that Will hasn’t felt for a while.
It’s almost silent, a whisper.
“I wouldn’t… I know that was hard, I don’t want you to-”
Mike starts. He’s cut off as Will clears his throat.
“Yeah. Yeah. Okay.” He nods.
The snow becomes the only sound between them, each flake making a sound on its impact in the rest of the snow in the yard. Mike can feel the warmth from Will’s body but… it’s different. He’s colder than he used to be. Instead of warm and living he looks exactly as he is: a reanimated corpse.
It’s not like Will’s a zombie or looks like one, but Mike can still see it. He can see the ashy gray tones in Will’s face and that the gleam in his eyes has died down until they look like featureless hazel marbles.
Although they’re not featureless, are they?
He’s spent so much time staring at Will’s eyes he doesn’t need to look to know the answer to that.
Will’s eyes have always been something Mike could get lost in for hours, whether they’re green or brown or gray. They’re brown now, the flannel around him drawing out the color.
Sometimes Mike thinks they’re two different colors, one gray and one green, or one green and one brown. He loves when they’re different, unique only to Will and what he’s wearing that day. Now his eyes won’t leave Mike’s face, red creeping into his cheeks like blood seeping out into the snow.
They’re silent but it doesn’t feel that way. The space between them feels like it’s full of TV static and Mike can hear it hissing in his head.
“So… the lights?” Will asks, a lopsided grin falling onto his face.
“Oh- right. How did you get them to turn on?” Mike wants to shuffle closer until their bodies are flush and they’re making real, physical contact (in the hospital will had cried until Mike had held his hand. he’d been screaming and thrashing because he was so certain he was going to die and he needed someone to ground him, someone he cared about), but he doesn’t. Will can be touchy sometimes, seemingly scared of other people. Mike doesn’t want to scare him.
“I- I don’t really know? I just had to- to touch them- l think….. I think it was something in my body or- or something.” Will says. He glances at Mike’s hand.
Mike jolts, lifting his hand up for Will to take.
“Hold it up like- like this.” Will flattens his palm until it’s facing towards Mike, splaying his fingers out.
Mike copies his movement, wondering what this has to do with the lights.
Will gently presses their palms together, and Mike feels it.
A low thrum like the feeling of electricity is passing through Will’s fingertips, sending an oddly energizing buzz through Mike’s arm.
“Do you feel anything?” Will asks, a frown beginning to pull at his mouth.
“Y-yeah! It- it feels like electricity- like when you lick a battery.” Mike blurts excitedly.
Will scrunches his nose up at Mike’s description.
“That’s gross.” He giggles. Mike’s heart does something in his chest that it only did once before, with El.
“You’re gross.” Mike retorts, intertwining their fingers. Will’s fingers tighten around Mike’s hand, his eyes wide and sober.
The emotions rocketing through Mike’s body amplify, along with the electricity Will is pumping into his arm. Will moves closer, leaning against Mike’s shoulder, their fingers still intertwined.
Mike can feel the bubble of static electricity tugging at his shoulder and his arm, sending a pleasant buzzing through him.
“Can you feel the electricity?” He asks, looking down at Will.
“No. Well- I can’t feel it running around in my body, but- but I can feel that there’s something there.” Will says. Mike hums, leaning his head against Will’s. He yawns, the warmth from Will’s body accentuating the exhaustion already running through him.
Will nestles closer, and Mike feels him tilt his head, burying his face in Mike’s neck. He grabs the edge of Will’s blanket and tucks it around both of them, transferring his body heat to the tiny boy snuggled into him.
Nancy finds them in the morning, curled in a ball on the porch with their blanket wrapped around them. Mike is wrapped protectively around Will’s tiny body, their fingers intertwined.
me and my housemate just spent twenty minutes trying to take the lid off of a blender and had to resort to taking it to our next door neighbor, who we have never met or spoken to before. he opened in it about six seconds.
An extremely disheveled, disgruntled Mary MacDonald stumbled
from her bedroom to find her ex-best-mate perched crossed-legged on the wobbly
table in their kitchen, a small blender tucked between her legs.
“The fuck are you
“I’m trying,” Lily grunted through clenched teeth, “to get
this damned lid off.”
Mary, unimpressed with the considerable effort Lily was putting
into this task, glared at her. “And why in the fuck are you using the blender?”
“To make a smoothie,” Lily answered casually.
“And when in the fuck did we get a blender?” A legitimate
question. “And why?” Another.
“Discount shop. It was to two pounds, and to make smoothies.
Mary nodded as if the sight of Lily making a smoothie wasn’t
weird as fuck. “Why in the fuck did the inclination to make a smoothie strike
“Hangover cure,” Lily said cheerily, flashing a toothy grin
at Mary. After dabbing at the light sheen of sweat on her forehead with her sleeve,
she resumed her efforts. “Why in the fuck are you saying fuck so much?”
“Because you,” Mary said, pointing an accusatory finger at Lily,
“banging that wooden spoon so damn loudly on that plastic lid woke me up at—” she
squinted at the clock, “six-thirty-fucking-seven on Friday morning.”
“Oi, right, sorry.”
“I don’t have class
“I know, which is why you went out to that party last night,
which is why I blended you a hangover cure.”
Happy birthday!! I hope you can relax during this time and find some peace!!
What the cake is made of:
Icing: Jellied static. Has a zingy and weirdly cool flavor. Like licking a battery or penny, but not dangerous/poisonous.
Cake: Bone flour based cake. Made of magic, not real skeletons. Might have a bit of a kick bc it was made from some blasters and bone attacks.
Filling: Standard creme. (or condensed blaster fire, take your pick)
Topping: A well-aged and transformed Sadster. Wishing you a great time and tastes like the VOID. Be careful not to Cronch the soul of it tho. Ya might lose a tooth in that singularity and he won’t appreciate that. I recommend fishing it out first and setting that aside so he can get some rest.
Such a delicious and adorable cake <3 and don’t worry, his cronchy little soul is safe with me. aaaaaaaaa thank you for this lovely gift! I can’t stop grinning *hugs*
A/N: More than meats the pie is a spin off of the critically acclaimed series, Trixie’s day out. I always related to the character of Sharron Needles in the first edition, she only had 2 lines but god they were powerful. As someone who regularly pops into greggs for a pastie here and there, this fic gave me the shivers.