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notsugarandspice · 6 years

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Let’s Talk About Parks

*sings* I can’t write anything coherent so have this utter garbageee

Parks & Rec AU!

Read it on AO3.

CHAPTER 4: THE BASKET

“Babe, I have a double shift today so I won’t see you until tomorrow,” says Ben, feverishly stuffing things into his duffel bag, and simultaneously trying to put on a sweater.

“Alright. I have dinner, no worries!” says Richie, picking up a pack of Cheerios without looking up from the TV.

“Oh God. Rich that’s not food. And…can you please try to clean up a little?” Ben comes up to stand by his boyfriend, and he sees Richie’s face fall a little, and he pauses the game to look up, running a hand through greasy black hair.

“I-I’ll try, okay? Just don’t expect much.” Richie reaches out to take Ben’s hand and kisses his knuckles.

Ben blushes and pats his boyfriend’s head affectionately. “Alright, well, I’ll finish up whatever you’re not going to get to.”

“Okay.” Richie gives him a small smile and Ben walks out the door in haste.

As soon as his boyfriend makes an exit, Richie feels a wave of guilt wash over him. All Ben does is take care of him and he never gives back. So Richie decides to wobble towards the bedroom, take out a piece of paper and write down a list of chores for himself. Taking a double doze of the prescribed painkillers, he starts by taking care of the area where he seems to spend most of his time - the living room, removing of the dirty dishes, empty packs of chips, multiple itch sticks, vacant beer bottles. Richie pushes all of it into a garbage bag and places one filled to the brim right outside the front door to put into the large bins later.

With no proper knowledge for the use of the vacuum cleaner, Richie simply throws the couch cushions on the floor and vacuums on top of them and the emptiness on the seating area. He discovers a lot of lost items under the sofa, and plenty more candy wrappers. After he’s completely done with all the trash in the house, he takes the garbage bags out and throws them into a pit, waving to one of the cross-street neighbors doing the same. Richie then finishes a sink full of dishes and checks the fridge for expired items.

After completing the chores inside the house, Richie blows up a kid pool he found in the garage and fills it with the water from the hose, squeezing an entire bottle of Ben’s shampoo. He remembers that Went used to wash his dog Rosco in a similar fashion, and since he can’t really get into the shower, that’s the only way he can think of getting himself fully clean. He puts two garbage bags on each leg and wraps the scotch tape under and around the knee generously. Richie runs inside the house to get one last thing - the old boombox he had since he was a kid, covered in stickers and other teenage memorabilia. He inserts the latest Three Skin CD, puts on a song he wrote to Ben at the beginning of the year and strips all of his clothes before stepping into a rather chilly pool. Richie decides to throw the clothes in too for good measure, arguing that he might be just about done with the chores for today, and laundry is simply pushing it.

Just as he starts to sing along to the lyrics he hears the back door creak loudly, and he’s too comfortable to crane his neck to see, but he already knows it’s Lawrence. That complete asshole of a neighbor who never wants to leave him alone. Naturally, his neighbor places himself right in front of the pool with a solemn expression on his face, and all Richie can think of is that the guy’s entire outfit is in earth tones.

“Turn it down.”

“No, I wrote that song.”

“Do I look like I give a shit? Turn it down.”

“I’m not going to turn it down. What are you even doing- HEY!”

Lawrence grabs the boombox and makes a beeline towards the fence door that connects their backyards.

“You give me my boombox back right now!”

“IT’S MY BOOMBOX NOW, I ASKED YOU NICELY!”

Richie sits up on the pool, utterly flabbergasted. “You did not ask me nicely, you asshole! I just put twelve new batteries in that thing!” Shit.

Richie rolls backwards to get out of the pool but quickly lands on his back without crutches. When he finally manages to hold onto the side of the house to get them, he goes wobbling after Lawrence at the highest speed possible, clothes forgotten.

“Hey, Lucas! Look w-what we got,” says Bill, walking into the office with a large neatly wrapped basket. He puts it on the table in front of his coworker, admiring the massive red bow.

“Whoa, mama.” Lucas reads the label that says Neibolt Construction and rolls his eyes. Suck ups.

“I l-love Chardonnay,” says Bill sighing dreamily, and bends down to look at what else is inside.

“You can have the wine. I want to take that cheese and do terrible things to it,” says Lucas, boring a hole through the yellowish square hiding behind the bottle.

Bill starts unpacking the package and only stops when he feels Mike’s hand slap the top of his from going further. “No, no, no, no! Bill, don’t you remember? We can’t accept anything above twenty-five dollars for corruption reasons, c’mon, man.”

“W-what makes you-“

“I have to go drive all the way to Portland if I want to buy a film with nudity in it. We’re public servants.” Mike picks up the basket and has to stretch his neck back when the purple tie gets stuck under it. He stumbles towards his office, opening the door with the heel of his shoe, and places the gift under the desk, careful not to distress it.

Soon after he sits down, he sees Ben make his way into the department, and Mike instantly lights up from the brightness in his friend’s eyes amplified by a dark-turquoise sweater. “Hey, Mike.”

“Ben! Thanks for coming. We were thinking of making a social network where we could post updates about the park. Something like a page on Facebook? That seems to be the place everyone goes to these days.” Mike gestures for Ben to stand next to him as he shows him the open page on the computer. “EDDIE!”

The boy irritably makes his way into the office and rolls Lucas’ chair to sit by Mike, and when his boss refuses to move, Eddie simply pushes the chair with his, getting closer to the keyboard with a blank expression. He rolls the sleeves on his flannel and opens the Facebook dashboard.

“Can we cut this red ribbon, or do you like want me to sit here and wait for you to do it?” asks Eddie, nodding towards the little bow in the middle of the screen.

“Oh, right. Sure,” says Mike, grabbing the scissors from the cup on his desk, and cuts the strip straight in the middle. “Eddie, that’s really great. Look at all the kids!” Mike points at the folder filled with pictures of children in one of the community parks.

“Oh, look! The Pit has six friends already,” says Ben, pointing at the numbered list on the right side.

Eddie clicks on the new tab and enters the youtube.com, opening a horror claymation video. He doesn’t even look up at Mike and leans back in the chair, grabbing a Sharpie from the pen cup.

“Alright, well, we have things to do, so Eddie, you’re in charge while I’m gone,” says Mike as he grabs his briefcase from under the table. He stops in the doorway to observe Eddie draw shapes with the Sharpie on top of the white jeans. Mike shakes his head and exits the department.

“Doing a little experiment tonight to see what will get me drunker, drinking wine or-“

Mike didn’t know what to expect to see when he makes it back to the office the next day but it was definitely not that. He stands in front of the computer in pure shock, already violently sweating through the button-down. There, on the video in the middle of The Pit’s Facebook page is Eddie, smudged eyeliner, wine-stained lips, and a Sharpie-drawn Wicca symbol in his cheek. His hair is disheveled, cheeks pink and he is drinking wine straight from the bottle. Sitting behind Mike’s desk. He can tell because Obama’s portrait is in the background, just like it is in Mike’s office. It is the highest level of a nightmare.

“Right now drinking wine is winning-“

“God, Eddie, why would you do this?” Eddie is sitting on Lucas’ table, completely unaware of the damage he’s done, smiling mischievously at the image of himself chugging some Merlot.

“Um, because I was bored and my hair looked really good. That basket was right under the table,” he says without so much as looking at Mike.

“You have to take this down. I just sent a mass email linking to this page to promote our cause.”

“C’mon, play it again, Bill,” says Lucas, laughing at Mike’s horror-stricken expression.

“You g-gah-got it.”

Before Bill gets to so much as touch the mouse Jim makes his way out of the office, his lips pursed so much that they are invisible under the luscious mustache. “Michael.” He instantly turns and walks back into his office.

Mike puts his briefcase on top of his table and walks towards Hopper’s office, placing himself in front of the boss’ desk.

“Mike, he is nineteen years old. I thought I told you to contain this entire pit situation because a lot is at stake here.”

“Yes, I-“

“The Disciplinary Committee is having a hearing later today, and you’re going to have to testify.” Jim crosses his arms and leans back in the chair, brows furrowed and eyes icy cold.

“Oh, no-“ Mike is starting to feel nausea creeping up his throat, his head consistently changing its mind about being too heavy and too light. He starts stumbling towards the closest wall.

“Eddie might get dismissed. You could get fired.”

“Oh my god. Oh god. Oh no. Oh god.” The backs of Mike’s knees bump into the bench that stands by the wall of Jim’s office, and he sinks into it, falling onto the side, letting his shoulder feel the hardness of the seat. “This bench is so uncomfortable. Help, Jim. Help! Tell me it’s gonna be okay. Jim! Tell me it’s gonna be okay.” Mike feels himself madly hyperventilating now, and he doesn’t know how to calm down.

Hopper stands up and awkwardly pats Mike on the shoulder as he flails sideways on the dark wooden bench. “It’s..uh..hang in-“ As soon as Mike reaches a hand out, Jim pulls back and leans against his desk awkwardly. “-you’re uh, you’re okay.”

The next couple of hours are an epitome of a nightmare. Mike hasn’t worked at all, and he has to dry off his suit in the bathroom because of the forming sweat stains. His head is throbbing, and the coffee is producing the complete opposite of comfort. Mike rubs his face and temples in a desperate attempt to gain some composure, but it doesn’t seem to help. The distraction appears in the face of Lucas who rolls his chair to place himself in front of Mike’s desk.

“You ready for the hearing?”

“No, not at all.” Mike pushes the coffee cup away and lets his head fall into a sweaty palm.

“Do you want me to run some practice questions with you? Maybe help you prepare?”

“Sure.”

Lucas leans back in his chair and grabs one of the notebooks on Mike’s desk to take pretend-notes. “Mr. Hanlon, you are accused of leaving an intern in charge of the department and allowing a minor to consume an alcoholic substance on government premises. How many drinks do you have a week on average?”

“Zero.” Lucas raises an eyebrow judgmentally. “Well, zero to six.”

“I’m going to write down ten,” mutters Lucas, writing scribbles.

“Yeah,” whispers Mike sighing.

“Do you ever cheat on your taxes?”

“No, never!” Mike straightens up and sits more erect, suddenly intrigued by Lucas’ enthusiasm.

“Hey, you’re doing great. Alright. How many sexual partners have you had in the past year?”

“You think they’ll ask something like that?”

“You never know, nothing is off-limits to them. Now, Mr. Hanlon, how many sexual partners have you had in the past year?”

“Zero to six.”

“Zero. Have you ever thought about Jim sexually?”

“What-“

“Have you ever had a sexual dream about Jim Hopper?”

Mike looks horrified, and his voice comes out borderline hysterical. “Absolutely not, no-“

“Yes,” says Lucas, scribbling something down.

“No-“

“Now in this recurring dream you have about Jim, is he a furry, half-furry, a merman?”

“What-“

“Is he wearing a baseball uniform? Are you making love to him in the field of flowers on a couch shaped like his mustache?”

“Okay, no, time-out-“ Mike’s forehead is covered in sweat, and he aggressively throws his arms around.

“This committee doesn’t do time-outs, Mr. Hanlon! Answer the questions!”

“I need something to drink,” says Mike, unbuttoning his blazer.

“How about some wine with a minor?!” screams Lucas, leaning on the table.

“I meant water.”

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Hanlon. You’re fired.” Mike’s eyes nearly fall out of their sockets. Lucas stands up and pushes his chair back. “So this is your worst case scenario, you know?”

When Mike later walks towards the meeting with Jim, he is suddenly very aware of their proximity but also infinitely grateful that he’s there. Mike’s not sure he could possibly do this alone.

“Thank you so much for coming with me.” He is pacing in the waiting room, and Jim distractedly scrolls through his phone.

“I’m a department head, I have to be.”

They’re called into the room much sooner than Mike would’ve liked it, and the moment he sits in front of three stern middle-aged men, Mike instantly regrets applying for the job in the first place.

“Mr. Hanlon, you’re here because you allegedly accepted a gift of over twenty-five dollars, and contributed to the delinquency of a minor. Can you tell us what happened?”

“May I have a glass of water first?” The man nods and Mike instantly reaches for the glass standing on a black tray in the middle of the table, but his nervousness betrays him, and he knocks the whole row down. After putting it all back in place, he shakily pours some of it into the cup and gulps everything down. Mike then takes the briefcase from the chair next to him and pulls out a folder full of neatly typed notes, but the paper flutters in his hands.

“Two days ago, my department received a gift basket from a well-known local construction company. Awash in the glow of attention, I made a very unwise decision to leave it in my office in an indication that it was accepted by the department. This decision will live in infamy. The basket was already halfway open, and our intern, Edward Kaspbrak, drank some of the wine without my knowledge.”

“But you did open the basket. And the intern did drink some of the wine,” says the exceptionally unpleasant man sitting right in front of Mike, his mustard yellow blazer making Hanlon’s eyes hurt.

“Don’t blame him for my mistakes!” exclaims Mike, slamming his fist on the table. Upon seeing the other people’s rather startled faces, he clears his throat and sits back a bit. “The biggest crime we can commit here would be to destroy the teenage boy’s passion for local government.”

“Mr. Hanlon, what was the first thing you did when you arrived at work the next day? Could you give us a detailed timeline?”

“Of course. I awoke at six twenty-one in the morning after a fitful night of sleep-“

“Okay, what do you guys possibly want him to do?” suddenly asks Jim, half-groaning and rubbing his face in irritation.

“Well, we don’t know yet. We have a lot more questions ahead.”

Jim groans louder now and clenches his hands together.

“Jim, it’s okay-“ Mike reaches to place a comforting hand on his boss’ shoulder.

Hopper flinches away from the gentle touch, like he always does, and resumes to get even more riled up. “No, it’s not okay. This is not communist China. You cannot make him whip himself. You cannot make him wear a hair shirt.” Mike feels a sudden surge of raw gratitude wash over him, and he can’t help but crack a smile.

“We weren’t planning on doing either of those thin-“

“This is America! You want to live in North Korea? Go live in North Korea. I don’t want to. I want to live in America! Mike has never broken a rule in his life to the point that it’s annoying. If you want to slap him on the wrist, go ahead. You planning on doing anything more serious? You’re going to have to go through me. Let’s go.”

“We’re done?” asks Mike, his eyes jumping between the three shocked men and red-faced Jim.

Hopper promptly stands up from the chair without pushing it in. “We’re done. Let’s go.”

Mike stands up too, grabs his things struggling to mask a gleeful grin spreading across his face. They make their way back to Hopper’s office, and the boss frustratingly sits down on the letter chair. Mike stands in front of the desk again because his nervousness isn’t letting him relax enough to take a seat.

“After this, you should only expect to get a letter in your file. That’s it.”

“Jim, I just wanted to thank y-“

Jim raises a hand a closes his eyes in an unshakable demeanor. “Don’t worry about it.”

Mike smiles warmly, and he can see the corners of Hopper’s mouth jump slightly but he doesn’t comment on it, and instead sits down behind his own desk and instantly texts Ben who shows up in less thank half an hour.

“Hi, I got here as soon as my shift ended. How did it go?” asks Ben huffing and puffing, giving Mike a quick hug.

“I don’t want to be overdramatic but today felt like a hundred years in hell and the absolute worst day of my life.”

“Oh god, Mike. I’m so sorry.” He places a hand on his friend’s shoulder, and Mike’s slight smile feels like a win. “I haven’t slept in more than a day but do you want to go out tomorrow? Take your mind off things?”

Mike places a hand on top of Ben’s and smiles wide. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

Ben finally makes it back home an hour later, his muscles aching from standing for so long, and head heavy from lack of sleep and abnormal amounts of caffeine. But as soon as he opens the door, he registers the impeccably clean living room area and walking further notices the pleasant smell of freshly cooked food. And there, in the middle of the kitchen stands Richie, his hair tied back in a ponytail, freshly ironed button-down rolled at the elbows but torn track pants on the bottom. And somehow, that’s still incredibly endearing, and Ben feels his heart swell with affection.

“What do you think?”

“Rich, this is so sweet.” Ben walk closer to the kitchen, dropping his duffel bag on the sofa and instantly notices a scrape on his boyfriend’s cheek. He cradles his jaw and rotates it to the light source. “What happened?”

“Eh, I was chasing this jag-weed neighbor and fell in some prickly bushes. Doesn’t matter. What do you think of the house?” Richie points one of his crutches to the rest of the clean area.

“I love it,” says Ben sweetly and leans in to give Richie a soft kiss. “Baby, sit down, I’ll look after your scratches.”

Richie carefully sits down behind the dinner table set with candles and wine and leans the crutches against the side. “Does this mean I’m getting gently laid tonight?”

“Richie!”

Perma Tag: @happytozier @studpuffin @j0ys @qwertykevin @its-stranger-than-you-think @trippy-alexissss @letmybabyystayy @tinyarmedtrex @d-nbroughs @aizeninlefox

Parks & Rec AU Tag: @gazebo-motherfucker @1-800-lonelyheartsclub @eddiecare

#reddie #stanlon #mike hanlon #ben hanscom #benchie #richie tozier #stranger things crossover #lucas sinclair #jim hopper #eddie kaspbrak #my writing #parks and rec au #bill denbrough

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