Work Text:
Mike was sitting on Mutt’s hood in the garage, listening sympathetically as Dutch talked through what might be wrong with his current painting, when something flickered at the corner of his eye. He looked over and—it was him standing there, that was another Mike, leaning on his staff gasping silently for breath. There was a weird iridescent shift and flicker around his edges, something wrong with the light, and he didn’t seem to see Mike or Dutch, didn’t react at all when Mike went rigid, staring.
“Oh, what the heck,” Dutch muttered, catching sight of him, it, the flickery Mike.
“Is that some kind of hologram?” real Mike asked, unable to tear his eyes away. The other him looked sweaty and worn down and grim, and his lip was bleeding from a split.
“Not—not any kind I—” Dutch started, and broke off as the image of Mike snapped his head up, staring at something past them both.
Mike couldn’t help glancing in that direction, and for a split second got a weird, shimmery glimpse of silver metal and the glow of laser eyes warming up, and then it was gone but the Mike-image was still focused on whatever it was, jaw set and determined. His staff blazed to life and he charged in a streak of blue plasma, still dead silent, and then the shimmer around his edges flared and the whole image winked out.
Mike got off the car and took a few steps forward, reaching out like he might feel a difference in the air, but there was nothing, no prickle of latent holograms or hard light waiting to be triggered or anything else. He looked around the garage, breathing a little too fast, seeking any hint of that iridescent flicker, and found nothing.
“Okay, that’s,” Dutch said, and looked for words for a minute before giving up, shaking his head.
“Freaky,” Mike said firmly. “And bad. It better be a weird dimension thing and not a weird time thing.”
“Oh crap, yeah, no thank you, not into enemies invading the hideout in our future,” Dutch agreed. “Let’s get Chuck out here, he can take some readings and see if there’s any temporal disturbances going on or what.”
Dutch had barely popped up a screen to message Chuck when a shriek went up from somewhere in the hideout. Mike tore off at a run without even thinking about it, because that wasn’t Chuck’s startled shriek, or the I banged my elbow for the third time in a row, OW noise. It wasn’t even one of the indignant but resigned going-over-a-jump or being-harassed-by-Texas yelps. It sounded terrified.
“Chuck!” Mike yelled, and headed toward the wavering “Mike?” he got in response with Dutch on his heels. A minute later they found Chuck in the hall, breathing hard and looking panicky.
“Dutch!” he gasped, and gave him an intent onceover before sagging all over in relief. “You’re okay.”
“I’m fine, man, what happened?” Dutch said.
“You were leaning against the wall bleeding!” Chuck said, waving a hand at the hall behind him. “And like, messing with your omnitool, but your hands were shaking and your fingers were all bloody and—what the hell is going on?!”
“Well, it’s not any kind of hologram,” Dutch said, “and Mike and me both saw another one, so it’s not some Terra junk, but—”
“Can you check for weird time stuff?” Mike cut in. At the edge of his vision, something flickered at the end of the hall and he whipped his head around, looking for the rest of it, but the iridescent waver in the air vanished before he could see what it was. Dutch gave him a concerned look, then realized and grimaced.
“I’ve got alarms for that, I’m pretty sure that’s not it,” Chuck said, flicking up a couple of screens and starting to type. “But maybe dimensional membrane thinning…”
Two minutes later Chuck swore, and didn’t even notice when Mike flinched. “That’s what we’ve got, yeah, the wall between is just thin enough that we’re getting like, afterimages of what’s going on one layer over from us.”
“So we’re seeing the bleedthrough from a fight that’s happening in an alternate universe,” Dutch said, eyebrows raised.
There was another shimmer down the hall, and this time Chuck and Dutch tensed at the same time as Mike, all three of them staring. Mike thought he caught a glimpse of a purple shirt and moving arm before it disappeared again. He couldn’t tell if the visible hand had been bloody or not.
“Okay,” Chuck said, voice shaky, “that’s not getting any less freaky.”
“Nope,” Dutch said. “Don’t like that one bit.”
“Chuck, is it only seeing?” Mike said urgently. “Can they affect us, or the other way around?”
Chuck took a breath, focusing. “Shouldn’t be able to, no,” he said, “the boundary isn’t that thin.”
“Okay,” Mike said. “Alright, so… it’s not dangerous, it can’t be. We just gotta wait it out until it goes back to normal.”
It sounded nice and simple. In practice, it turned out that catching random glimpses of alternate versions of you and your teammates in the midst of a desperate fight for their lives wasn’t much fun. It sucked, actually, and all the flickery movements at the edge of your eye that never resolved into a complete image only made it more stressful.
Jacob saw the alternate Mike dashing through the kitchen with bloody rips in his jacket and t-shirt and swore himself hoarse, then took off in Sasquatch to check on Hudson. (Mike didn’t think an old guy like Hudson was likely to see anything much happening to an alternate universe version of himself, unless you counted holding hands with Jacob, maybe, but Jacob obviously disagreed.) Dutch went off to distract himself with another painting and came back in a hurry from seeing Julie in bad shape.
“I think her arm was broken,” he said, “she was holding her boomerang in the wrong hand. Had this nasty burn down her neck, too.”
“Fuck,” Chuck muttered, and even as Mike flinched, he couldn’t disagree. “Look, let’s just head for the rec room and like, chill for a couple hours,” Chuck added. “That’s out of the way enough they probably won’t go in there, so we won’t have to keep watching this.”
“We should, though,” Mike said, pacing in tight circles. “What if we could learn something? It’s only a layer away from our universe, what if something like that happens to us later—”
“Mikey, no, come on,” Chuck said.
“You’re gonna drive yourself crazy with that,” Dutch said. “Watching something you can’t fix or help with? Just… let it go, man.”
Mike looked from Chuck to Dutch and sighed, shoulders slumping. “Fine,” he said. “Rec room, okay.”
He let Dutch and Chuck take the controllers when they started up a game, because he could barely focus on the screen, too busy trying to strategize when he didn’t have enough information. The glimpse he’d caught of the thing alter-Mike was fighting had looked like a big bot, maybe something like a HOUND, but that was a guess based on the placement of the laser eyes. It could’ve been smaller, and there could’ve been more than one. If they were smaller and less sturdy than a HOUND, the Burners could probably take down five or so without their cars, at least if they weren’t fighting separately, scattered throughout the hideout. Although if they got caught unawares, it was unfortunately likely that they would be.
So, okay, in the case of a hideout invasion, they needed to get on comms and coordinate so as to meet up as fast as possible. That probably would be their instinctive first move anyway… so why hadn’t any of the alternate Burners been backing each other up? Oh man, those bots better not have been able to block comms. Okay, so make sure everyone knew beforehand if comms went down to meet up in the kitchen, maybe. Then they could plan their attack or defense, or if the bots were too HOUND-like or numerous, their escape and counterattack.
How had the bots even gotten into the hideout? There was only the one entrance tunnel, and Jacob had walled all the rest off pretty thoroughly, he was careful about security. Mike needed to ask him if he had any ideas—had they cut through the sheet metal walls?
There were plenty of alarms rigged up, but since no one tended to think about being attacked in the hideout, they didn’t have any traps or weapons emplacements. Maybe they could get some kind of laser array in place…
Fifteen jittery minutes later he heard Stronghorn pull into the garage, and a few seconds after that, a yell from Texas.
“Crap,” Mike said. “Sounds like he saw something—I better go explain what’s going on.”
“Not by yourself!” Chuck said, grabbing Mike’s arm.
“Yeah, we’re coming with you,” Dutch agreed. “No offense, but I don’t think any of us should be on our own with this stuff. It’s too damn creepy.”
Mike didn’t actually feel like arguing, he was just grateful to be able to do something for now.
When they reached the garage, Texas was standing in the middle of it throwing punches and kicks at thin air. “Whaaa-hah! Kachaw! Ain’t no weird nightmare juice gonna get to Texas!”
“Hey, Tex,” Mike called from the diner landing. “It’s just a weird alternate universe thing, dude, don’t worry! No Terras around or anything.”
“Texas wasn’t worrying!” Texas blustered, jogging up to join them on the landing, and then stared at Chuck, stepping closer to poke him cautiously in the shoulder, and then in the face, making Chuck sputter and smack at him. “So like, you’re the real one this time, right?”
“Yes! Stop it!”
“That was dumb,” Texas said accusingly, poking him again. “Don’t like, don’t go and get all messed up and junk, you gotta do the computer brain stuff! You can’t do computer brain stuff if you’re all burned up and hurt, duh!”
“I—the alternate me was burned?” Chuck said nervously, stepping back to get out of poking range.
Texas stepped after him apparently by pure habit, crossing his arms aggressively and frowning up at Chuck. “Shyeah, you were all sweaty and messed up and like your shirt was gone on one side and your skin was all weird and red! It was weird and dumb, and Texas was gonna punch whatever messed you up like that, but it was like, invisible or something!”
“Oof,” Dutch muttered, and started trying to explain the situation in terms Texas might understand. “Okay, so imagine you’ve got a pad of paper, and you’re painting on the—no, uh, you spill a few drops of water on the top sheet, okay? So it soaks into the paper, and whatever was written on the paper, the ink bleeds through to the layer below—”
Mike was distracted by the occasional shifts and flickers across the landing, even though they kept not resolving into anything. He was still keeping an eye out for more alternate Burners to show up—or a nice clear image of the bots they were fighting—but it was Chuck who eventually made a stifled whimper and pointed at the opposite end of the landing.
Mike whipped around to see another Texas, this one with that iridescent shimmer around the edges, stumbling and reeling like he was dizzy, which might be due to the extremely bloody head wound. He was missing his hat. Suddenly he jerked and turned, aiming his gunchucks with a set jaw and narrowed eyes. It would’ve been more reassuring if he hadn’t been swaying faintly.
“Crap,” Mike said, trying to tell what Texas was facing. There was no sign of more iridescence in the direction Texas was looking, though, and then he vanished before Mike could—do something, anything.
Not that there was anything he could do.
“Right,” Dutch said, “let’s get back to the rec room.”
“Heck yeah!” Texas said, a little more loudly than his normal enthusiasm. “Texas is gonna beat your butts at racing!”
For once, Texas actually had a fair chance of beating everyone at the racing game, because no one was in top form. Dutch won the first round, much to his own shock, and Texas won the second one, and proceeded to do so much triumphant whooping, punching the air, and boasting, that he annoyed Chuck into focusing on the game instead of freaking out. Chuck won the third round. Mike wasn’t even trying to play.
He did his best to pretend he cared about the game, but it wasn’t easy when part of him had moved on from strategizing to wondering if the other universe’s Burners were okay, if they made it through, if he’d find out either way. He finally gave up his spot on the sofa to go splash his face with cold water in the bathroom, hoping it’d do something for the twitchy desperate energy humming through him.
When he lifted his face from the hand towel patting it dry, Chuck was shirtless, sitting on the toilet lid, making a pained face as the other Mike carefully taped gauze over the patchy red of his ribs. The iridescent edge to their shapes was an unnecessary clue, because Chuck was clearly hissing in discomfort, and Mike was talking, probably trying to comfort him, none of which was audible. It was like watching a show on mute—but a show that real Mike had really been hoping to see, audio or not.
He sagged against the sink, breathing in deep as he kept watching. They were okay. Other Mike wouldn’t be fixing Chuck up yet if there was still any danger, and he wouldn’t be here alone with Chuck if any of the others had been hurt too badly. They beat the bots, everyone made it through.
Other Mike smoothed some tape on, then reached up and put his hand on Chuck’s cheek, and Chuck… leaned into it, smiling a little.
Lost in relief, real Mike blinked a few times and wondered if he was maybe making weird assumptions, and then Chuck leaned down enough to kiss the other Mike. Like, on the lips. Not, uh, not a close buddies kind of kiss at all, not that Mike was familiar with those, either.
Other Mike was breathing hard when he pulled back, and Chuck looked pink-cheeked and smug. Other Mike rolled his eyes at Chuck, threatening him with another piece of gauze, and then they both vanished.
Wow, okay. So. Wow.
The alternate Chuck was into guys, apparently. And either into Mike, or could be persuaded to be into Mike—although Mike had no idea how to go about that, so he’d better hope it was the first one. He stood there in the bathroom, replaying that kiss and trying to imagine his Chuck ever reacting well to Mike touching him like that, instead of laughing nervously and ducking away.
Then he heard the startled yelps from the rec room and dove back down the hallway. He got to the doorway of the rec room and froze one step inside it, staring.
To be fair, everyone else was staring too, Dutch and Texas and Chuck all facing the couch, where… Dutch and Texas were sitting, iridescent-edged and muted. Texas’s head was bandaged and he kept blinking and squinting dizzily, and half Dutch’s arm was wrapped in gauze, but Dutch’s good arm was around Texas’s shoulders, and they were kind of slumped against each other.
Dutch was talking to someone across from him, judging by the look on his face, and then abruptly Julie was visible there, perched on the shabby but comfy seat with gauze all up her neck and one arm splinted. Dang, Mike really hoped her disguise holograms were up to hiding all that when she went back up to Deluxe.
Mike was just about to say something to his own team when the iridescent Texas fumbled one hand up to his shoulder where Dutch’s good hand was, and took and held it. Dutch smiled a little, a tired, comforted smile, before they both winked out of view.
Julie laughed inaudibly, then turned her head to look directly at Mike and said something.
He stared at her, unsettled, and then jerked back as someone flickered into existence right in front of him. Chuck, still shirtless with his chest wrapped in gauze, following the other Mike.
Breathing out, Mike stepped to the side so he could still see Julie, which gave him a good view when the other Mike stooped down and kissed her.
Mike’s Chuck squeaked in shock and Texas whooped. Dutch raised his eyebrows and glanced over at Mike, grinning, and Mike stared back, lost and stunned.
Then the other Mike stepped back, and the other Chuck bent to kiss Julie.
“Holy smokes,” Mike said as his Chuck made a strangled noise.
“Whoa!” Texas said. “She’s dating both you guys over there?”
“Oh my god,” Chuck said.
Julie got to her feet to hook her good arm around the other Chuck’s waist, grinning, and just as he leaned toward the other Mike for a kiss, the three of them vanished.
The rec room felt way bigger without the extra people.
“Wow,” Dutch said, still staring at where they’d been. “You wouldn’t think they’d be in the mood for kissing, all hurt and messed up like that.”
“Did,” Chuck started, “were they, all three—?”
“I think so, yeah,” Mike admitted. “Uh. I saw the other Mike and Chuck in the bathroom. Fixing Chuck up, and, uh, kissing.”
Chuck stared at him, ears turning red.
“Dang,” Texas said. “How’s that even work, though?” he asked Mike. “Like, three people. Is skinny in the middle, so you’re doing him and he’s—”
“We’re not!” Chuck yelped at the same time that Mike said, “Texas!”
“Man, you and me aren’t exactly cuddling and holding hands, here!” Dutch said to Texas, exasperated. “It was a different universe, we went over this!”
“Yeah!” Mike said. “None of us are together, that’s, that’s a them thing.”
There was a brief pause. Chuck stared at the floor, still looking flushed.
“That sucks,” Texas muttered. “How come they’re having all the fun and we’re stuck being dumb chumps about it?”
“Uh?” Chuck said squeakily.
“Are… are you saying you want to be cuddling with me?” Dutch said, in a tone of mixed disbelief and fascination.
Texas crossed his arms and looked away, huffing. “No!” he blustered, and Dutch’s eyebrows went up as he studied Texas more closely.
“Oh, hey, Chuck,” Mike said hastily, “about those weapons system issues Mutt’s having, we should, uh—”
“Totally, yeah,” Chuck said, hustling for the door on Mike’s heels, and the two of them got out and all the way down the hall before quiet, fragmented giggles started escaping from Chuck. By the time they reached the garage, they were both laughing helplessly. The intrigued look on Dutch’s face, the shock of the unexpected, uh, displays of affection, the relief of seeing all the alternate Burners alive and whole in the end, if battered—it all mixed together and came out in near hysterics. Finally Chuck sank down on Mutt’s hood, weak with laughter, and Mike slumped next to him, a last few snickers escaping before he sighed, relaxing.
They sat in comfortable silence, getting their breath back. After a bit Mike realized he was starting to tense up again just waiting for that flicker at the corner of his eye, even though the fight was over and whatever glimpses they got of the alt-Burners wouldn’t be nearly as harrowing now.
In fact, considering what those guys had been up to at last sighting, any images that came across now would probably be—well, happening in the bedrooms instead of out here, for one thing.
“So hey,” he said in a strained voice, “can you check that dimensional thingy and see if there’s any sign how much longer it’s gonna be like this?”
“Uh, I mean, it’s not like I have a way to measure that,” Chuck said, but he was raising his screen anyway, fingers darting across the hardlight keys. “If I’d been tracking when it first happened I might have some useful numbers to compare, but—oh!” He studied the incomprehensible screen closely until Mike got impatient.
“What, dude?”
“Oh, right—the membrane’s thickened again,” Chuck said. “Man, that was a pretty brief time period in universal terms. We’re lucky we even found out they all came through okay.”
“For real,” Mike said. All okay… and eager to celebrate surviving, apparently. He tried not to think about that, and failed.
“I don’t think our Julie’s even into us like that,” Mike found himself saying.
Chuck snorted. “I’m pretty sure she’s into you, yeah. Me, not so much.”
“What, seriously?” Mike said.
“Yeah, dude.”
Mike contemplated this. It made no sense, so he dismissed it. “Weird, how they all looked exactly the same, and some stuff was the same, but some was totally different.”
“Like the nasty fire-spitting killer robot invasion,” Chuck said.
“Well, yeah, but I was thinking more like…”
“Dutch and Texas having some kind of thing going?” Chuck said. “Except it kind of looked like our Dutch was thinking about going for it, too.”
“Yeah, it did,” Mike said. His heart was beating faster, which was dumb. He licked his lips. “But also, like. You being into me.” He meant to say more, to clarify, but the words wouldn’t come out.
“Um!” Chuck said, high-pitched. “You mean, as a difference? Or, or as, uh—”
“A difference, yeah,” Mike said, hope and uncertainty twisting his gut tighter. “The other you was, we were, yeah.”
“And, I mean, the other you must’ve been into me, which is way crazier!” Chuck said, trying to laugh. He was knotting his fingers together in his lap, staring fixedly at them.
Mike had to swallow, and then the pause stretched out unbearably between them as he tried to find a casual but clear response. “Well, I mean.” Another taut, agonizing pause. “Not. That crazy. Really.” …Great, and he’d failed on both counts.
“You think?” Chuck ventured, sounding more confused than anything.
Suck it up, Chilton, say something. The right thing, this time.
“I’d call that more of a, a similarity, than a difference,” Mike got out finally.
Chuck caught his breath. “Yeah?” he said shakily, and then Mike abruptly had a lapful of scrambling Chuck, who was kissing him frantically as though he had to get it in before the opportunity vanished.
“Mmf!” Mike said, and put a hasty anchoring hand on Chuck’s butt to keep him from sliding backwards off Mike’s lap and Mutt’s hood, and Chuck groaned and kissed him more intently. Mike kissed back as best he could when he couldn’t stop smiling.
The killer robots had been unnecessary, since they had plenty of those here already, but Mike was just fine with some things bleeding through.