Provenance (1/?)
THIS...THIS MONSTER...is entirely fluffygremlin's fault. *nods*
Currently at 8000 words and not finished yet.
A SPN/SUits fusion...SuperSuits, if you will.
Harvey doesn’t remember the day Mike got dropped on their doorstep particularly well, its more of a hazy memory, like looking at something underwater, moments of perfect clarity, like when Mike was first put in his small 4 year old arms, interspersed with moments when Harvey can’t remember anything apart from a muffled argument and snatches of words between his parents like “helpless” and “needs us”. And the stories he tells Mike become more reality to both of them than Harvey even wants to admit.
“Tell it again,” Mike had said, aged 5, and sticky, big blue eyes smiling at Harvey who had sighed, and started the story, again.
“It was raining, because it always rains when something bad happens,” Mike had squealed happily as Harvey had poked a finger into his skinny ribs, “and there was a knock at the door and there you were, covered in boogers…”
“Was not,” Mike had protested, around his finger in his mouth.
“Was too,” Harvey had clamped a hand around Mike’s wrist and pulled his finger out, “and mom picked you up and kissed you, boogers and all, and dad said you were a bald monkey and mom said you had to stay because bald monkeys cant look after themselves…”
“Not a bald monkey,” Mike had grinned and Harvey had made a face at him before he continued.
“And then dad agreed and that’s how I got stuck with you,” Mike had grinned around wobbly teeth.
“You love me,” he had said and Harvey had ruffled his hair and pulled the threadbare blanket over Mike’s skinny shoulders.
“I have to,” he had replied automatically and Mike had shaken his head.
“Do not.”
“Do to…go to sleep.”
“Love you.”
In reality it wasn’t that different. It had been raining and Mary Specter had picked up the crying baby, no boogers like Harvey liked to tell Mike, and cradled him close. The only difference being that Harvey had felt, at the tender age of 4, that this was what he was meant to do, look after baby Mikey, it was his job, and he was going to be the best damn big brother the world had ever seen.
…
John Specter had had what most people would call a psychotic break after Mary had burned in the first that started in Mike’s room but miraculously left Mike’s crib unscathed. Most normal people would say he was an unfit father, dragging his boys all over the country in search of the monster that killed his beautiful wife. What most people didn’t realise was that for the most part, John Specter was perfectly sane, and absolutely correct in his assumptions that something terrible, dark and supernatural had happened that night in that room. Harvey had been left bringing up Mike pretty much single handedly, once his own shock of his mother dying and his life being uprooted had passed he taught him to talk, to count, to tie his shoelaces. And it had come to no surprise to anyone that Mike’s first was Harvey. Well a garbled version of Harvey, more like ‘Vey than Harvey but John had smiled, lifted the kid high above his head and Mike had squealed as Harvey grinned, pride blooming in his chest.
From an early age it was obvious Mike was special, they had no knowledge of his biological parents, or why they had dumped him on the Specter’s or if Harvey’s parents had, they have never bothered to disclose the information to Harvey, or Mike. Mike was quick to learn, absorbed knowledge like a sponge, had the uncanny ability to read Harvey’s mood sometimes even before Harvey noticed it himself, could recite an entire cartoon back to Harvey after seeing it only once. It had been clear to John that Mike had a memory like nothing he’s ever known and had used it on more than one occasion to John’s advantage. The cartoon spouting though, had become annoying to Harvey after a while and Harvey would often try to smother Mike with the nearest stained cushion to shut him up, much to Mike’s delight. Mike thought everything was a game. From the salt lines across the windows and doors, to the Devil’s Trap in the trunk of the Impala, the fact that Harvey taught him how to strip a weapon when he was 6, everything was done with a grin and done impressively well.
But aged 12 it had stopped being a game and Mike had become sullen, craving normality, a stable home, a year in the same school and Harvey had tried to soothe the best he could.
When Mike was 15, Harvey began to notice the sidelong glances he would throw at Harvey during breaks in his teenage angst sessions, deep looks that held nothing of the brotherly affection they should have and Harvey had swallowed down his guilt whenever he caught himself looking at Mike in the same way.
He was 17, Mike was, skinny next to Harvey’s bulkier 21, yet faster and as equally as powerful, when he first kissed Harvey, angry at yet another move, and yet another two weeks of John being gone God knows where, had grabbed Harvey by the lapels of his leather jacket and kissed him so hard Harvey felt like it was for punishment rather than pleasure.
“Jesus Christ, Mike…what the hell?” Mike hadn’t said a word, but blinked, licked his lips and had stormed out of the motel room with out a backwards glance. He’d come crawling back when Harvey had finally managed to stop pacing, knowing that Mike could essentially take care of himself, and Mike had slipped into bed behind Harvey and pressed himself close. And Harvey had tried to ignore the throb in his dick as Mike had pressed his lips to Harvey’s shoulder and muttered “I’m sorry ‘Vey, I’m sorry,” into his skin.
It took Harvey another 6 months to work up the courage to touch Mike in anything other than a brotherly way. He had been checking for cuts and bone breaks after a particularly hard case, John already sleeping off his hurts in the chair in the corner of the room, snoring softly, and Mike’s eyes had gone wide as Harvey slid his fingers down Mike’s jaw.
“Harvey?”
“Shhh,” Harvey had clutched Mike’s chin between his thumb and fingers and kissed him gently, a press of lips but it had Mike vibrating under his touch when Harvey pulled away and cleared his throat. “You’re good,” he had announced and stalked off to take a cold shower. Mike had been asleep by the time he had emerged.
“I’m not going to break if you touch me,” Mike had said weeks later, another job and, another school and John was gone again and Harvey snapped his gaze from the pistol in his hands to Mike’s over the broken coffee table, “I want you too.”
“Mike…”
“Don’t give me brotherly bullshit Harvey, we both know that’s redundant,” Mike had snapped. He had a point, but Harvey hadn’t wanted to explore the feeling he got in his chest whenever Mike looked at him. Mike had moved first though, like he had always been doing, slipped to the floor between Harvey’s spread legs and slid his hands up Harvey’s thighs.
“Mike, I…”
“It’s ok ‘Vey,” Mike’s hands had tightened against Harvey’s denim clad thighs and he had lifted himself to his knees, leaned forward and licked at his lips and that had been enough to make Harvey move, surging forward and cradling Mike’s face between his hands and pressing his lips to Mike’s. Mike had whined as Harvey had licked into his mouth, finally, tasted the kid that had grown up as his younger brother and Mike had pulled away long enough to crawl into Harvey’s lap, kissing Harvey like he needed it and Harvey had pushed them both down onto the moth eaten couch, pushed his hands into Mike’s pants and proceeded to make the kid fall apart under his hands.
Mike left when he was 19, stole out of the motel room in the middle of the night and Harvey still blames Mike for getting Harvey drunk enough that he hadn’t woken at the lack of Mike plastered against his skin.
The drink, the slow, exploring sex, the touching, Harvey should have seen it coming. Mike had left two notes, one for Harvey, and one for both Harvey and John. The one for both of them was a cursory gone to be normal, please don’t try to find me, not yet. I love you both. The one for Harvey had been slightly longer, ’Vey, its not you it’s me? That sucks I know but it’s true. I promise. There is almost nothing that could pull me from you, except what has now. You were born for this life Harvey, I wasn’t and we both know that. Don’t be mad. I love you. Those three words had meant so much more after Harvey had realised what Mike sounded like when Harvey pushed inside his tight, hot body and Harvey had crumpled the letter in his hands, before setting his lighter to it and waiting for John’s return to tell him the “Wonder Kid” had walked out on both of them.
Mike’s been gone for 4 years when John goes missing, no calls, no answer on his cell and Harvey’s not so worried as there’s a bone deep ache where his family used to be.
He found Mike years ago, studying at Stanford, and after a week of watching over the kid, had left him well alone. But he here’s again now, watching the kid go about his life, he’s filled out from a diet of proper food, not just Spaghetti-O’s and Lucky Charms, and lack of training, and the haunted, tired dark circles under his eyes have faded and more often than not there’s a pretty blond on his arm.
Harvey ignores the stab of jealousy as Mike and the blond appear around the corner across the street from where Harvey’s lurking and Mike glances in his direction briefly, mutters something to the girl and unlocks an apartment door before ushering her inside. Mike takes one last look down the street and Harvey’s close enough to see the flicker of a frown on his face before he’s through the door and closing it behind him.
Harvey waits a couple of hours, ignoring the almost overwhelming need to touch Mike again, to make those noises spill from Mike’s lips, and manages to crack the lock on Mike’s window without any difficulty once he sees the lights in the apartment go out.
“Stupid…kid’s getting stupid,” Harvey mutters to himself as he pulls himself through, Mike’s window shouldn’t have been so easy to open from the outside. This maybe as close to normal as he’s ever going to get but some monsters know him, know his face and Harvey never thought he would get this lax. He curses the lack of salt under the window as he loses his balance and tumbles through. He stills, waiting to hear any noise from the apartment and moves when none comes.
He’s making his way through the living room when he’s barrelled to the floor by a smallish figure. He grunts and instinct kicks in as he wraps his legs around his assailant and flips them over.
“Easy tiger,” Harvey grins and Mike’s face clouds with confusion.
“Harvey? You scared the crap out of me,” Mike says and Harvey laughs.
“That’s because you’re out of practice, kiddo,” and Harvey finds himself flat on his back and remembers that Mike excelled at wrestling in High School.
“What the hell are you doing here?” There’s a flicker of a smirk on Mike’s face but its gone before Harvey can blink. Harvey groans, breathes heavily through his nose and regrets it as the scent of Mike hits him.
“Looking for a beer,” it’s an automatic reaction to having Mike on top of him that makes Harvey arch his hips upwards and Mike’s eyes slide shut.
“You drink whiskey,” he says, opening his eyes.
“True…get off me,” he groans and Mike stands, grabs his hand and hauls him to his feet. The feel of Mike’s hand in his own is shockingly familiar and Mike doesn’t let go immediately but drops Harvey’s like its burning when Harvey runs a thumb over his knuckles.
“Mike?” There’s a voice from the doorway and Mike springs guiltily away from Harvey, “everything ok?”
The blond seems surprisingly ok for having been woken up by her boyfriend wresting with another man in the living room in the middle of the night and Harvey leers at her lean legs like he’s expected to.
“Fine Jen, this is Harvey…my brother,” there’s a flicker of recognition in her eyes before a defensive mask slips into place and Harvey wonders what Mike has told her about his family.
“What are you doing here Harvey?” Mike asks again and Harvey sighs, swallows down the hot jealousy that slides down his spine as Mike slips an arm around Jen’s waist.
“Dad hasn’t been home in a few days,” he says and Mike blinks but his lips curl into a wry smile.
“So he’s working over time on a Miller Time shift, he’ll stumble back in sooner or later,” he says and Jen look up at him as Mike stares across at Harvey. Mike’s face is surprisingly and irritatingly blank, Harvey could always read Mike and now he can’t and he’s hit by the knowledge that its been four years.
“Dad’s on a hunting trip and hasn’t been home in a few days,” Harvey says pointedly and Mike’s impassive face breaks, worry seeping in as he releases his hold on Jen.
“Jen, excuse us a second,” Jen frowns but nods and Mike pulls at Harvey’s sleeve, tugs him out of the apartment into the cool night air, his fingers twitching and his face angry.
“You cant just break in, middle of the night and expect me to hit the road with you Harvey,” Mike says and Harvey sighs, he knew this wasn’t going to be easy but he can feel that John’s in trouble, he knows it, as sure as he is that Mike still thinks about them, he knows John’s hurt, maybe even dead and he counters Mike’s anger with his own.
“So you’re just going to stay here, live some apple pie life, be normal?” he spits the last word out like it tastes bad and Mike sighs, presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose like he’s bored of the same old argument.
“Not normal,” he says, lowering his hand and glancing at the windows of the apartment before reaching out and touching Harvey’s arm lightly, “safe.”
“So that’s why you ran away,” Harvey shakes out of his grip and pulls the trunk of the Impala open, anything to distract himself from pulling Mike close and fucking him over the hood. Or punching him.
“It was never about you…us…Harvey, you know that,” Mike pleads and Harvey looks at him, his fingers resting on the paint of the Devil’s Trap.
“Do I?” he asks and the anger falls off Mike’s face. Harvey sighs, looks back down at the arsenal in the trunk and forces his patented shit eating grin at Mike, “So are you coming?”
“No.”
“Fine,” Harvey pushes down the disappointment, the anger at Mike for not helping, for leaving all those years ago, for not helping now when Harvey needs it. He pulls the drivers door open and Mike’s hand lands on his.
“Harvey,” Mike stars and Harvey turns his hand over, curls his fingers around Mike’s briefly before pulling away and shoving his hands into his pockets.
“I can’t do this alone Mikey,” he says and Mike smiles, crookedly, punches his arm lightly.
“Yes you can, ‘Vey,” he replies, using the old nickname that Harvey hasn’t heard since Mike left and he swallows.
“Yeah…well I don’t want to,” he admits and Mike lets out a breath.
“What was he hunting?”
…
Harvey has to lie to get Mike in the car, he can’t tell him just yet what John was doing, Mike would never have come if he knew. But Mike’s here now, sitting next to Harvey, like he should have been for the past four years and Harvey has to grip his hands around the steering wheel to stop himself from resting his hand on Mike’s thigh.
“I have to be back in three days Harvey,” he says and Harvey glances at him. Mike’s got his bottom lip between his teeth and he’s worrying at it.
“Stop that,” Harvey says and Mike’s teeth let go. Mike always reacted to Harvey that way, and when they were younger, Harvey always tried to ignore the dark coil of lust in his stomach whenever Mike did it. “Why do you have to be back?” Harvey asks, clearing his throat and Mike raises an eyebrow at him like he knows what’s going on in Harvey’s mind.
“Harvard Law interview,” he says, looking out of the window and Harvey’s stomach clenches.
“Ok,” he says and Mike shifts in his seat, twists and pulls a leg up under him so he’s facing Harvey.
“Harvey…it’s…”
“It’s ok Mike, I get it,” He interrupts.
“Do you?”
Harvey’s not used to this unsaid conversation going on between them. Mike was never one to hold back, used to say whatever was on his mind no matter how awkward it made Harvey, used to mutter things into Harvey’s skin, “I love you,” and Harvey wouldn’t answer but would hear loud and clear. Now he can’t even answer if he wanted to because Mike’s not saying what he wants. “So,” Mike shifts back to look out of the window, his pulse thudding in his neck and Harvey wants to rest his arm along the back of the seat and curl his fingers into Mike’s hair, “give me the low down again.”
Harvey sighs, mentally checks how far away from Stanford they are before he answers.
“He wasn’t hunting what killed mom,” Harvey says and Mike stiffens.
“What then?” There’s a dangerous quality to Mike’s voice and Harvey tightens his grip on the steering wheel.
“He was looking for your parents,” he says and out of the corner of his eyes he sees Mike close his and press his fingers to the bridge of his nose.
“Stop the car,” Mike says quietly.
“Mike.”
“Please, Harvey,” it’s the please that does it and Mike knows that. Harvey hauls the car onto the side of the road, gravel pinging on the underside as it slides to a halt and Mike’s out of the car before it even stops, slamming the door so hard that the car rocks as Harvey gets out.
“Mike, come on kiddo,” he tries and Mike whirls around to face him, presses his hands to the hood of the Impala and Harvey thinks that maybe now isn’t a good time to tell him to mind the paintwork.
“Why the hell now? After 22 years you decide it’s weird that they just dropped me off on your doorstep? I’ve been asking, Harvey, for years, and now he decides to listen,” Mike takes his hands off the hood and turns, runs a hand through his already messy hair and Harvey remembers running his own hands through it.
“Mike, he always listened,” he says and Mike turns back to him, his eyes angry.
“You drag me out here under false pretence…” there’s hurt in his voice, like he expected better from Harvey and Harvey shoves his hands into his pockets to stop himself from reaching out to him. He rounds the hood of the car and Mike flinches as he gets close.
“It wasn’t false Mike, I…” he sighs, “I want you,” Mike flinches again, “with me doing this,” he finishes because he’s not sure what they are together now but he knows that he needs Mike here, he needs to find John and Mike can help, with that freaky brain of his.
“I’ve been fine, you know,” Mike says and it feels like a slap to the face and Harvey pulls out his tin of cigarillos and lights one, swirling the smoke around his mouth before blowing a few smoke rings, Mike frowns, wrinkles his nose, “I’ve been fine without you.”
“Well good,” Harvey snaps, “because I haven’t…” he admits and takes another drags, Mike frowns at the admission, makes an aborted attempt to reach out to Harvey but thinks better of it and shoves his own hands into his pockets, “that girl Mike…”
“That girl has been good to me,” Mike interrupts, “she doesn’t ask questions when I wake with nightmares because of what we hunted, she doesn’t flinch when I call her ‘Vey,” Harvey closes his eyes and Mike reaches out, plucks the cigarillo from his hands and grinds it into the floor with the heel of his shoe, “I hate it when you smoke.”
“Yeah, I know. But you don’t get to tell me that anymore,” he says and Mike bites on his bottom lip. Mike sighs and reaches past Harvey to tug the door open, there’s a small smile on his face when Harvey rolls his eyes. They used to do that as kids, open the door into each other and jostle to get the front seat, and then John would snap and they would both be banished to the back, and spend the night times curled around each other as John drove.
“Let’s…let’s just get this over with ok,” he says as he slips into the car and Harvey raises an eyebrow.
“Glad to know you’re so willing to help kiddo,” he says and Mike laughs, although its slightly forced Harvey feels lighter as he slips back into the car and turns the ignition and Mike asleep, head against the window and body turned slightly towards Harvey’s, within five minutes.
Currently at 8000 words and not finished yet.
A SPN/SUits fusion...SuperSuits, if you will.
Harvey doesn’t remember the day Mike got dropped on their doorstep particularly well, its more of a hazy memory, like looking at something underwater, moments of perfect clarity, like when Mike was first put in his small 4 year old arms, interspersed with moments when Harvey can’t remember anything apart from a muffled argument and snatches of words between his parents like “helpless” and “needs us”. And the stories he tells Mike become more reality to both of them than Harvey even wants to admit.
“Tell it again,” Mike had said, aged 5, and sticky, big blue eyes smiling at Harvey who had sighed, and started the story, again.
“It was raining, because it always rains when something bad happens,” Mike had squealed happily as Harvey had poked a finger into his skinny ribs, “and there was a knock at the door and there you were, covered in boogers…”
“Was not,” Mike had protested, around his finger in his mouth.
“Was too,” Harvey had clamped a hand around Mike’s wrist and pulled his finger out, “and mom picked you up and kissed you, boogers and all, and dad said you were a bald monkey and mom said you had to stay because bald monkeys cant look after themselves…”
“Not a bald monkey,” Mike had grinned and Harvey had made a face at him before he continued.
“And then dad agreed and that’s how I got stuck with you,” Mike had grinned around wobbly teeth.
“You love me,” he had said and Harvey had ruffled his hair and pulled the threadbare blanket over Mike’s skinny shoulders.
“I have to,” he had replied automatically and Mike had shaken his head.
“Do not.”
“Do to…go to sleep.”
“Love you.”
In reality it wasn’t that different. It had been raining and Mary Specter had picked up the crying baby, no boogers like Harvey liked to tell Mike, and cradled him close. The only difference being that Harvey had felt, at the tender age of 4, that this was what he was meant to do, look after baby Mikey, it was his job, and he was going to be the best damn big brother the world had ever seen.
…
John Specter had had what most people would call a psychotic break after Mary had burned in the first that started in Mike’s room but miraculously left Mike’s crib unscathed. Most normal people would say he was an unfit father, dragging his boys all over the country in search of the monster that killed his beautiful wife. What most people didn’t realise was that for the most part, John Specter was perfectly sane, and absolutely correct in his assumptions that something terrible, dark and supernatural had happened that night in that room. Harvey had been left bringing up Mike pretty much single handedly, once his own shock of his mother dying and his life being uprooted had passed he taught him to talk, to count, to tie his shoelaces. And it had come to no surprise to anyone that Mike’s first was Harvey. Well a garbled version of Harvey, more like ‘Vey than Harvey but John had smiled, lifted the kid high above his head and Mike had squealed as Harvey grinned, pride blooming in his chest.
From an early age it was obvious Mike was special, they had no knowledge of his biological parents, or why they had dumped him on the Specter’s or if Harvey’s parents had, they have never bothered to disclose the information to Harvey, or Mike. Mike was quick to learn, absorbed knowledge like a sponge, had the uncanny ability to read Harvey’s mood sometimes even before Harvey noticed it himself, could recite an entire cartoon back to Harvey after seeing it only once. It had been clear to John that Mike had a memory like nothing he’s ever known and had used it on more than one occasion to John’s advantage. The cartoon spouting though, had become annoying to Harvey after a while and Harvey would often try to smother Mike with the nearest stained cushion to shut him up, much to Mike’s delight. Mike thought everything was a game. From the salt lines across the windows and doors, to the Devil’s Trap in the trunk of the Impala, the fact that Harvey taught him how to strip a weapon when he was 6, everything was done with a grin and done impressively well.
But aged 12 it had stopped being a game and Mike had become sullen, craving normality, a stable home, a year in the same school and Harvey had tried to soothe the best he could.
When Mike was 15, Harvey began to notice the sidelong glances he would throw at Harvey during breaks in his teenage angst sessions, deep looks that held nothing of the brotherly affection they should have and Harvey had swallowed down his guilt whenever he caught himself looking at Mike in the same way.
He was 17, Mike was, skinny next to Harvey’s bulkier 21, yet faster and as equally as powerful, when he first kissed Harvey, angry at yet another move, and yet another two weeks of John being gone God knows where, had grabbed Harvey by the lapels of his leather jacket and kissed him so hard Harvey felt like it was for punishment rather than pleasure.
“Jesus Christ, Mike…what the hell?” Mike hadn’t said a word, but blinked, licked his lips and had stormed out of the motel room with out a backwards glance. He’d come crawling back when Harvey had finally managed to stop pacing, knowing that Mike could essentially take care of himself, and Mike had slipped into bed behind Harvey and pressed himself close. And Harvey had tried to ignore the throb in his dick as Mike had pressed his lips to Harvey’s shoulder and muttered “I’m sorry ‘Vey, I’m sorry,” into his skin.
It took Harvey another 6 months to work up the courage to touch Mike in anything other than a brotherly way. He had been checking for cuts and bone breaks after a particularly hard case, John already sleeping off his hurts in the chair in the corner of the room, snoring softly, and Mike’s eyes had gone wide as Harvey slid his fingers down Mike’s jaw.
“Harvey?”
“Shhh,” Harvey had clutched Mike’s chin between his thumb and fingers and kissed him gently, a press of lips but it had Mike vibrating under his touch when Harvey pulled away and cleared his throat. “You’re good,” he had announced and stalked off to take a cold shower. Mike had been asleep by the time he had emerged.
“I’m not going to break if you touch me,” Mike had said weeks later, another job and, another school and John was gone again and Harvey snapped his gaze from the pistol in his hands to Mike’s over the broken coffee table, “I want you too.”
“Mike…”
“Don’t give me brotherly bullshit Harvey, we both know that’s redundant,” Mike had snapped. He had a point, but Harvey hadn’t wanted to explore the feeling he got in his chest whenever Mike looked at him. Mike had moved first though, like he had always been doing, slipped to the floor between Harvey’s spread legs and slid his hands up Harvey’s thighs.
“Mike, I…”
“It’s ok ‘Vey,” Mike’s hands had tightened against Harvey’s denim clad thighs and he had lifted himself to his knees, leaned forward and licked at his lips and that had been enough to make Harvey move, surging forward and cradling Mike’s face between his hands and pressing his lips to Mike’s. Mike had whined as Harvey had licked into his mouth, finally, tasted the kid that had grown up as his younger brother and Mike had pulled away long enough to crawl into Harvey’s lap, kissing Harvey like he needed it and Harvey had pushed them both down onto the moth eaten couch, pushed his hands into Mike’s pants and proceeded to make the kid fall apart under his hands.
Mike left when he was 19, stole out of the motel room in the middle of the night and Harvey still blames Mike for getting Harvey drunk enough that he hadn’t woken at the lack of Mike plastered against his skin.
The drink, the slow, exploring sex, the touching, Harvey should have seen it coming. Mike had left two notes, one for Harvey, and one for both Harvey and John. The one for both of them was a cursory gone to be normal, please don’t try to find me, not yet. I love you both. The one for Harvey had been slightly longer, ’Vey, its not you it’s me? That sucks I know but it’s true. I promise. There is almost nothing that could pull me from you, except what has now. You were born for this life Harvey, I wasn’t and we both know that. Don’t be mad. I love you. Those three words had meant so much more after Harvey had realised what Mike sounded like when Harvey pushed inside his tight, hot body and Harvey had crumpled the letter in his hands, before setting his lighter to it and waiting for John’s return to tell him the “Wonder Kid” had walked out on both of them.
Mike’s been gone for 4 years when John goes missing, no calls, no answer on his cell and Harvey’s not so worried as there’s a bone deep ache where his family used to be.
He found Mike years ago, studying at Stanford, and after a week of watching over the kid, had left him well alone. But he here’s again now, watching the kid go about his life, he’s filled out from a diet of proper food, not just Spaghetti-O’s and Lucky Charms, and lack of training, and the haunted, tired dark circles under his eyes have faded and more often than not there’s a pretty blond on his arm.
Harvey ignores the stab of jealousy as Mike and the blond appear around the corner across the street from where Harvey’s lurking and Mike glances in his direction briefly, mutters something to the girl and unlocks an apartment door before ushering her inside. Mike takes one last look down the street and Harvey’s close enough to see the flicker of a frown on his face before he’s through the door and closing it behind him.
Harvey waits a couple of hours, ignoring the almost overwhelming need to touch Mike again, to make those noises spill from Mike’s lips, and manages to crack the lock on Mike’s window without any difficulty once he sees the lights in the apartment go out.
“Stupid…kid’s getting stupid,” Harvey mutters to himself as he pulls himself through, Mike’s window shouldn’t have been so easy to open from the outside. This maybe as close to normal as he’s ever going to get but some monsters know him, know his face and Harvey never thought he would get this lax. He curses the lack of salt under the window as he loses his balance and tumbles through. He stills, waiting to hear any noise from the apartment and moves when none comes.
He’s making his way through the living room when he’s barrelled to the floor by a smallish figure. He grunts and instinct kicks in as he wraps his legs around his assailant and flips them over.
“Easy tiger,” Harvey grins and Mike’s face clouds with confusion.
“Harvey? You scared the crap out of me,” Mike says and Harvey laughs.
“That’s because you’re out of practice, kiddo,” and Harvey finds himself flat on his back and remembers that Mike excelled at wrestling in High School.
“What the hell are you doing here?” There’s a flicker of a smirk on Mike’s face but its gone before Harvey can blink. Harvey groans, breathes heavily through his nose and regrets it as the scent of Mike hits him.
“Looking for a beer,” it’s an automatic reaction to having Mike on top of him that makes Harvey arch his hips upwards and Mike’s eyes slide shut.
“You drink whiskey,” he says, opening his eyes.
“True…get off me,” he groans and Mike stands, grabs his hand and hauls him to his feet. The feel of Mike’s hand in his own is shockingly familiar and Mike doesn’t let go immediately but drops Harvey’s like its burning when Harvey runs a thumb over his knuckles.
“Mike?” There’s a voice from the doorway and Mike springs guiltily away from Harvey, “everything ok?”
The blond seems surprisingly ok for having been woken up by her boyfriend wresting with another man in the living room in the middle of the night and Harvey leers at her lean legs like he’s expected to.
“Fine Jen, this is Harvey…my brother,” there’s a flicker of recognition in her eyes before a defensive mask slips into place and Harvey wonders what Mike has told her about his family.
“What are you doing here Harvey?” Mike asks again and Harvey sighs, swallows down the hot jealousy that slides down his spine as Mike slips an arm around Jen’s waist.
“Dad hasn’t been home in a few days,” he says and Mike blinks but his lips curl into a wry smile.
“So he’s working over time on a Miller Time shift, he’ll stumble back in sooner or later,” he says and Jen look up at him as Mike stares across at Harvey. Mike’s face is surprisingly and irritatingly blank, Harvey could always read Mike and now he can’t and he’s hit by the knowledge that its been four years.
“Dad’s on a hunting trip and hasn’t been home in a few days,” Harvey says pointedly and Mike’s impassive face breaks, worry seeping in as he releases his hold on Jen.
“Jen, excuse us a second,” Jen frowns but nods and Mike pulls at Harvey’s sleeve, tugs him out of the apartment into the cool night air, his fingers twitching and his face angry.
“You cant just break in, middle of the night and expect me to hit the road with you Harvey,” Mike says and Harvey sighs, he knew this wasn’t going to be easy but he can feel that John’s in trouble, he knows it, as sure as he is that Mike still thinks about them, he knows John’s hurt, maybe even dead and he counters Mike’s anger with his own.
“So you’re just going to stay here, live some apple pie life, be normal?” he spits the last word out like it tastes bad and Mike sighs, presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose like he’s bored of the same old argument.
“Not normal,” he says, lowering his hand and glancing at the windows of the apartment before reaching out and touching Harvey’s arm lightly, “safe.”
“So that’s why you ran away,” Harvey shakes out of his grip and pulls the trunk of the Impala open, anything to distract himself from pulling Mike close and fucking him over the hood. Or punching him.
“It was never about you…us…Harvey, you know that,” Mike pleads and Harvey looks at him, his fingers resting on the paint of the Devil’s Trap.
“Do I?” he asks and the anger falls off Mike’s face. Harvey sighs, looks back down at the arsenal in the trunk and forces his patented shit eating grin at Mike, “So are you coming?”
“No.”
“Fine,” Harvey pushes down the disappointment, the anger at Mike for not helping, for leaving all those years ago, for not helping now when Harvey needs it. He pulls the drivers door open and Mike’s hand lands on his.
“Harvey,” Mike stars and Harvey turns his hand over, curls his fingers around Mike’s briefly before pulling away and shoving his hands into his pockets.
“I can’t do this alone Mikey,” he says and Mike smiles, crookedly, punches his arm lightly.
“Yes you can, ‘Vey,” he replies, using the old nickname that Harvey hasn’t heard since Mike left and he swallows.
“Yeah…well I don’t want to,” he admits and Mike lets out a breath.
“What was he hunting?”
…
Harvey has to lie to get Mike in the car, he can’t tell him just yet what John was doing, Mike would never have come if he knew. But Mike’s here now, sitting next to Harvey, like he should have been for the past four years and Harvey has to grip his hands around the steering wheel to stop himself from resting his hand on Mike’s thigh.
“I have to be back in three days Harvey,” he says and Harvey glances at him. Mike’s got his bottom lip between his teeth and he’s worrying at it.
“Stop that,” Harvey says and Mike’s teeth let go. Mike always reacted to Harvey that way, and when they were younger, Harvey always tried to ignore the dark coil of lust in his stomach whenever Mike did it. “Why do you have to be back?” Harvey asks, clearing his throat and Mike raises an eyebrow at him like he knows what’s going on in Harvey’s mind.
“Harvard Law interview,” he says, looking out of the window and Harvey’s stomach clenches.
“Ok,” he says and Mike shifts in his seat, twists and pulls a leg up under him so he’s facing Harvey.
“Harvey…it’s…”
“It’s ok Mike, I get it,” He interrupts.
“Do you?”
Harvey’s not used to this unsaid conversation going on between them. Mike was never one to hold back, used to say whatever was on his mind no matter how awkward it made Harvey, used to mutter things into Harvey’s skin, “I love you,” and Harvey wouldn’t answer but would hear loud and clear. Now he can’t even answer if he wanted to because Mike’s not saying what he wants. “So,” Mike shifts back to look out of the window, his pulse thudding in his neck and Harvey wants to rest his arm along the back of the seat and curl his fingers into Mike’s hair, “give me the low down again.”
Harvey sighs, mentally checks how far away from Stanford they are before he answers.
“He wasn’t hunting what killed mom,” Harvey says and Mike stiffens.
“What then?” There’s a dangerous quality to Mike’s voice and Harvey tightens his grip on the steering wheel.
“He was looking for your parents,” he says and out of the corner of his eyes he sees Mike close his and press his fingers to the bridge of his nose.
“Stop the car,” Mike says quietly.
“Mike.”
“Please, Harvey,” it’s the please that does it and Mike knows that. Harvey hauls the car onto the side of the road, gravel pinging on the underside as it slides to a halt and Mike’s out of the car before it even stops, slamming the door so hard that the car rocks as Harvey gets out.
“Mike, come on kiddo,” he tries and Mike whirls around to face him, presses his hands to the hood of the Impala and Harvey thinks that maybe now isn’t a good time to tell him to mind the paintwork.
“Why the hell now? After 22 years you decide it’s weird that they just dropped me off on your doorstep? I’ve been asking, Harvey, for years, and now he decides to listen,” Mike takes his hands off the hood and turns, runs a hand through his already messy hair and Harvey remembers running his own hands through it.
“Mike, he always listened,” he says and Mike turns back to him, his eyes angry.
“You drag me out here under false pretence…” there’s hurt in his voice, like he expected better from Harvey and Harvey shoves his hands into his pockets to stop himself from reaching out to him. He rounds the hood of the car and Mike flinches as he gets close.
“It wasn’t false Mike, I…” he sighs, “I want you,” Mike flinches again, “with me doing this,” he finishes because he’s not sure what they are together now but he knows that he needs Mike here, he needs to find John and Mike can help, with that freaky brain of his.
“I’ve been fine, you know,” Mike says and it feels like a slap to the face and Harvey pulls out his tin of cigarillos and lights one, swirling the smoke around his mouth before blowing a few smoke rings, Mike frowns, wrinkles his nose, “I’ve been fine without you.”
“Well good,” Harvey snaps, “because I haven’t…” he admits and takes another drags, Mike frowns at the admission, makes an aborted attempt to reach out to Harvey but thinks better of it and shoves his own hands into his pockets, “that girl Mike…”
“That girl has been good to me,” Mike interrupts, “she doesn’t ask questions when I wake with nightmares because of what we hunted, she doesn’t flinch when I call her ‘Vey,” Harvey closes his eyes and Mike reaches out, plucks the cigarillo from his hands and grinds it into the floor with the heel of his shoe, “I hate it when you smoke.”
“Yeah, I know. But you don’t get to tell me that anymore,” he says and Mike bites on his bottom lip. Mike sighs and reaches past Harvey to tug the door open, there’s a small smile on his face when Harvey rolls his eyes. They used to do that as kids, open the door into each other and jostle to get the front seat, and then John would snap and they would both be banished to the back, and spend the night times curled around each other as John drove.
“Let’s…let’s just get this over with ok,” he says as he slips into the car and Harvey raises an eyebrow.
“Glad to know you’re so willing to help kiddo,” he says and Mike laughs, although its slightly forced Harvey feels lighter as he slips back into the car and turns the ignition and Mike asleep, head against the window and body turned slightly towards Harvey’s, within five minutes.