#because while there's no outright shipping i think it's rather clear mike has gone from 'i'm a teenage boy what do you expect' to

[kariachi]

This Trade-Off au has been in my head for well over a year and it’s finally gotten written down.

Mike’s plot goes very, very sideways, and somehow he comes out better for it.

~~

None of it was supposed to happen like this. None of it.

The plan had been easy. Simple. Get Levin’s help obtaining the Dominus Librum- a threefold advantage that not only gave him access to transport to carry them past the point he could fly himself, an immediate chance to use it to get himself at worst back to his normal appearance and at best, normal, and the opportunity to watch Levin fight a third party again. (He’d already known Levin was the most physically attractive of that little posse- with those high cheekbones, broad shoulders, and he’d always been weak for brown eyes- but seeing him in action against the Highbreed Invasion had firmly cemented him in the ‘lustful fantasy’ pile.) Use the Dominus Librum, which, if his estimates were right, would leave both of them back to their proper looks and without their powers. Take it home and use it to replace his energy absorption, so he could use it to continue to feed his addiction while the Tennysons were down a team member and so less likely to be able to stop him.

Simple plan. Easy. There should not have been any issues.

Levin, in an outburst of joyous impulsivity, had lobbed the thing into the fucking ocean. Had by pure luck scuttled the entire goddamn plan.

Things had immediately descended into an argument about how shortsighted that was and how valuable the artifact was and no Levin he did not want to ‘figure something out’ if things went sideways from here. The conflict had escalated, voices were raised, things had been about to spill over- when it hit that he’d been talking too fast, that despite this he’d not felt his teeth rasp together once. Nothing’d gotten caught. A check showed his palms an unbroken plane. His hunger was barely worth noting.

The burning, hollow need for energy, for power, was still there, but compared to whatever in his chest was still nine and convincing himself he wanted to play alone breaking into two? It may as well not have been there either.

One moment he’d been yelling and about to hit the bastard like he’d wanted to from the start, then it had maybe been four beats, and he hadn’t been able to stop himself laughing. A halting, half-choked thing. Then Levin had been laughing, and he’d always been told snorting was slobbish but when he had all his senses later he’d admit it was charming from him. There’d been hugging (he didn’t even have to be delicate!) and more laughing, and he was forever going to blame the cacophony of emotions going on for how damn close he came to kissing Levin before he’d pulled out of his grasp. It wasn’t his fault; he’d been grinning like sunshine and anyone who said they were stronger than that was in denial.

They’d gone back to Bellwood, both more than a little dazed by the whole situation. They were normal, for once in their lives the health concerns, keeping tight control, the social pressures, the ostracization, didn’t apply. It was a lot to take in, and the trip had been mostly silence. That and the rumbling of their stomachs as they reached land. Given Mike’s had been going when they set out on their little trip, had been for most of his life, and that they had been a solid day, it was good timing. Mike had sung the praises of his favorite Indian restaurant until Levin had rolled his eyes, still grinning, and agreed to try it out.

They’d chatted while they waited for food, mostly about their mutations and the trouble they’d given them and how wonderful it was not to worry about that shit anymore. No more pulling teeth, no more getting stuck Wrong, no more undying hunger, no more fucking tumors (Mike may have called the waitress back over and ordered Levin a dessert to make up for that shit). The conversation had died when the food had arrived, and Mike couldn’t be shamed to admit that it was his fault. He’d been too busy properly appreciating his chicken vindaloo for the first time. Levin had teased him for practically melting over the dish, then laughed at his admittance that the extra teeth had left him with too little clear space for enough tastebuds to get near the full range of flavor and shared his food.

For obvious reasons they had parted on better terms than Mike had thought possible, given their history. He hadn’t even liked the guy twenty-four hours ago and the feeling had been very mutual.

Fuck, he’d been in a good enough mood, and happy enough with Kevin, that when Gwen had tracked him down later to figure out his angle he hadn’t even antagonized her, no matter how much having that power settled well. He’d simply admitted he had no angle (what could he have, his powers were gone and his plan had been scuttled, though she hadn’t had to know that) and disengaged.

Still, the improvement in relations had meant nothing to him two days later, when he had stormed into Levin’s garage while he was, thankfully, alone and promptly broken his nose. There’d been a lot of yelling, ninety-nine percent of it from Mike as he’d proceeded to lay the blame for the downright painful need to absorb energy- he truly was aching, it had never been this bad before- coming clean about his original plan so Levin would know why his pain was his fault. He was aching, craving, he couldn’t sleep, this was apparently his life now, because things hadn’t been and enough before now he had this going on too, at one point Levin had to help him keep from tripping over his own two feet. All of this he threw back at him, if he hadn’t tossed the fucking artifact Mike could’ve fed this need, he wouldn’t be going through this, it was all his fault, right up to the moment Levin grabbed him by the shoulders and asked if he needed to hit him again.

The offer had been so far out of left field for who he knew him to be and the history they had that it’d shocked Mike right out of his fit. He’d taken several deep breaths then, restocking his lungs, and carefully shook his head in the negative. Levin had nodded, led him over to sit on the ratty couch by the wall, and gotten him some painkillers and a soda. As he did, he reassured him that it would all pass, he was going to be fine, he should be ready in case of seizures, yes those were possible, yes it was bullshit, it might be several weeks for things to completely clear up, but he would be fine. It was a very confusing situation for anybody, nonetheless somebody running on minimal sleep, with a pounding headache, and who really wanted to eat the fucker in front of him. Which must have shown from the smile Levin gave him.

“Hey, you didn’t try to kill me, so you’re at least handling withdrawal better than I did.”

It had been one of the least pleasant periods of Mike’s life. Not quite up there with that first month after his dad died- way too much had happened there that had led him into this whole mess in the first place- but a close second. The moments of disorientation improved over the rest of the week, shifting into something more easily blamed on the fact he still couldn’t manage a good night’s sleep. The insomnia seemed to take ages to fade away, as did the pain, neither of which helped his swinging mood and shortened temper. Kevin had put up with it well though, and Mike had quickly found himself a regular visitor. Having somebody he could bitch to about what he was going through, who could give advice and reassurance in kind? Was incredibly appreciated. The Tennysons had pitched a fucking fit when they found out he was hanging around and Kevin was letting him, not helped by how short Mike had been with them, but there had been a wary cease-fire put in place. Nobody would be fighting anybody until they started shit.

So, things had quickly settled into what wasn’t quite a routine. When Mike felt like shit he would go to Kevin’s garage and either wait for him to come back or just immediately head in and throw himself onto the couch. They’d bitch back and forth a bit- withdrawal was an absolute cunt and apparently juggling black market work with dealing with the Tennysons would give anyone a migraine- snipe at each other in a way that had started out cutting and descended into something that was almost fondness, talk about shared interests and what they had going on. Mike would try to catch up on his sleep, Kevin would make him help out around the garage. At one point, half dozing, Mike had even admitted to missing flying. He hadn’t known the weight that was on his shoulders until Kevin noted his enhanced strength having been really nice to have.

They built up a back and forth over time. Kevin mentioned wearing her grandpa’s suit to his first date with Gwen, Mike had drug him to his favorite boutique to get him his own. (There’d been a lot of eye rolls and bitching, but the look on Kevin’s face later, when he saw himself in a well-tailored suit? Made it worth it.) Mike admitted to never having had to do his own chores past throwing his clothes in a hamper, Kevin had indignantly drug him to his apartment and taught him to wash dishes and do laundry. (It grated against his pride like nails on a chalkboard, but be had to admit the sense of accomplishment when he got it all down was far better than he’d expected.) Kevin needed a hard-to-find part for his car, Mike made phone calls. (Yes, he could have got it on his own, classic car owners had whole forums, he was aware, but why wait when a family name can carry you?) Addiction gnawed at the back of Mike’s brain, Kevin helped him take steps looking into a few hobbies to focus himself on rather than find something new to feed it. (He was now tentative owner of three houseplants and enjoying playing Amnesia even if he was shit at it.) Kevin opened up about some bullshit that’d happened to him not long before Mike put his plan into action, Mike took his side without a second’s hesitation. (“So, when I manipulate and feed on Gwen, she’s an innocent victim, but when somebody manipulates and mind controls you, you brought it on yourself? Fuck that.”)

It was, Mike was blindsided with nearly two months after that confrontation in the garage, as he sat there soothing the pain of his regrowing teeth and the rumbling of his stomach with a cheesecake and politely ignored the way the lights flickered as Kevin got annoyed with his latest project, a friendship. Or at least he was fairly certain it was at that point. He’d had all of one friend in his life and they hadn’t spoken in over a year for various reasons. But it felt like a friendship. They were still hanging out, even after his withdrawal was well behind him. The Tennysons weren’t happy, but nobody gave him trouble when they were all there at the same time, and he found himself keeping his trouble to obvious teasing. He was learning things and enjoying it, Kevin was learning things and enjoying it. When he’d realized his mutations were returning (and hadn’t the mix of dread and delight at when he was regaining been absolutely dizzying) he hadn’t even thought before going to Kevin about it, and felt camaraderie over his sparking and neither knowing quite what emotions they had going. Mike had talked about buying him suitable property of his own once he had access to his trust funds in a handful of years, and had shocked himself by meaning it.

This hadn’t been the plan. None of it. Not even close. If anything, he was living the opposite of his goal and surprisingly happy for it. Or at least somewhere bordering content. The yearning for power and energy was still there, but he felt like he was getting a better handle on it, an actual one this time. And he had a friend now, when the fuck had he gotten a friend? Out of Kevin, with whom two months ago he’d had a mutual ‘fuck you’ relationship. Who now could smile and make his gut flip around, something it hadn’t done for over a year and he was doing his level best to ignore.

For not the first time in the past few months, Mike had no idea where to go from there.