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Chuck was freaked out at first when he landed in the dark, creepy alt-version of Detroit. He popped a couple Ativan and managed to stave off an immediate panic attack, but it was a close thing.
He calmed down when he saw Mike, though, because even if the alt-version is bizarre, he's still Mike. Although the differences are kind of trippy. For one thing, he's almost preppy, with his pants belted and his t-shirt tucked in, and if his hair is a little long in back, it's not enough to be a statement or anything. Chuck might not have recognized him if he hadn't known the guy long before the mohawk and piercings and everything. He's like, Mike Chilton: plain vanilla flavor.
He's got the same grin, though, and he doesn't seem to mind that Chuck isn't his Chuck, doesn't seem fazed by the change in the least.
"Hey, something weird happened," he says, shrugging, "must be a day ending in 'y'. Anyway, you want to come back to the hideout? We can see if there's anything we can do to fix this."
He nods towards a massive, sleekly painted muscle car, and Chuck's jaw drops. He's not sure if that's cooler than a motorcycle or just different, but it's definitely not what he was expecting, and hey, a car has to be safer than a motorcycle, right? There's even a real, serious safety harness installed instead of a normal seatbelt, like this version of Chuck is just as nervous about wrecking.
Chuck can totally weather this weirdness. He's got his panic pills, he's got Vanilla Mike, (who's a Mike, even if it's not his Mike), he'll be fine.
Then Vanilla Mike hits the gas, the dark city turns into a streaky blur, and Chuck finds out the road goes hundreds of feet above the ground and no one here has ever heard of guard rails. In the middle of screaming himself hoarse, Chuck changes his mind about everything. He will not be fine, cars are not necessarily safer, and this Mike is definitely not vanilla.
When they reach their destination and Chuck slips Mike some tongue in his thank-fuck-we're-alive kiss, he has to reevaluate all over again. Casually death-defying preppy Mike has never been kissed, apparently. He looks delicious all stunned and flushed and flustered, but what the hell has alt-Chuck been doing, here?
*
Normally when Chuck abruptly finds himself somewhere unfamiliar, it's his cue to start hyperventilating, because things are about to get bad. But this time, he's standing on grass, in sunlight, and when he stares around in alarm, none of the buildings he can see are white and there are no pods overhead. He's not in some nice corner of Deluxe, and everything is clear and non-hallucinatory, so he's not on some weird Terra trip either.
"Hey, Chuck, you ready to, uh…" says Mike's voice behind him, and Chuck whips around to see a very different Mike. Piercings, strange hair, ripped clothes--this Mike looks like he's never heard a single lecture about Deluxian order and respectability. Or maybe like he's heard them all and listened carefully so he could look every single way they said not to.
"Uh," Mike says again, staring at Chuck.
"Hi, Mikey," Chuck sighs, with an awkward wave.
The following conversation is unexpected. This Mike doesn't seem to have any experience with alternate dimensions, time travel, body swapping, or anything similar. He's better at listening than Chuck's Mike, though, more focused, so Chuck is able to do a reasonable explanation instead of rushing through the basic points before he gets distracted.
“Okay,” he says when Chuck finishes, “so we just have to wait until you and my Chuck flip back, there’s nothing we can do?”
“I mean unless you have access to a dimensional modulator, yeah,” Chuck says.
“Yeah, that’s a no on that,” Mike says. “Wanna get some dinner?”
This Mike has a motorcycle, a lot chunkier and less colorful than Mutt’s sleek bike, but he only has a helmet for Chuck. Chuck is ready for the worst when he climbs on behind Mike and wraps his arms firmly around him, trying to nerve himself up for whatever death-defying roads they have around here. Then Mike revs the bike and starts… kind of drifting down the road, at what feels like about jogging speed.
“I’m, I’m ready, we can go,” Chuck says after a bit.
“Uh, yeah,” Mike says. “We’re going.”
Chuck looks around at the scenery going by in a gentle breeze, rather than an indistinct streaky blur. “This is it? You don’t wanna go faster?”
Mike throws a glance back at Chuck over his shoulder, which is just like Chuck’s Mike and is definitely going to get them killed one of these days, but he looks forward again before Chuck even finishes squeaking in alarm. “If I go any faster in city limits, I’m gonna get another ticket, and I seriously can’t afford that right now.”
“Ticket, like—” Chuck licks his lips, “like, traffic ticket? You guys still have laws about how people can drive?”
“Yyyyes,” Mike says. “You guys don’t?”
Chuck just sighs in response, deeply jealous of his alternate-universe self.
“So—you’re not scared right now?” Mike says. “My Chuck never wants to ride my bike.”
“Seriously?” Chuck says. “This is totally safe, you’re not even going fifty, much less two hundred fifty!”
“Two hundred fifty miles per hour?” Mike demands, glancing back again, wide-eyed. “What the hell, man, your world sounds awesome!”
Chuck sighs again. “You would think so, Mikey.”
He’s disgruntled about it up until Mike kisses him, brief and sweet, and then he’s just stunned. Not that he’d ever trade in his own Mike for another model intentionally, of course, but… maybe he’s just fine with vacationing here temporarily.