Chapter Text
May 27, 1989
The sun burns Mike’s face.
It’s out in full force, clouds scarce across the sky making the heat more prominent. Birds are singing, sitting atop of the power lines and branches, filling the air with soft chirps to one another.
But it’s too bright. And warm. At least for Mike.
He squints, eyes working overtime to adjust to the light. It’s a stark contrast compared to the darkness of his bedroom. He should’ve opened the blinds before he left.
If he had, he definitely would’ve chosen a different outfit. The striped, dark purple sweater and black jeans cling to his body. The beads of sweat forming on the nape of his neck and the back of his knees are already aggravating him — and he’s only been outside for two minutes.
It’s bright, it’s warm, and Mike Wheeler isn’t known to make the best choices.
“Mike?”
He turns to the voice, holding back a sigh.
One look at his mom and he feels a pang in his chest. Her hair is pinned back perfectly, but that’s not unusual. Her makeup is done, and it probably has been for a couple hours at this point.
Her eyes are also empty. They almost always are nowadays.
The blue of her irises shine in the light, eyelashes casting shadows on the bags underneath them that makeup can only mask so much of.
They’re void of amusement, but they don’t hold anger or annoyance.
They’re just empty.
She’s tired — whether it be because of him, his dad, or Holly is to be determined. It could be him. It’s almost never Holly. It’s almost always dad.
“Yeah?” he asks innocently, taking tiny steps backward to get further away from the doorway, and in turn, away from the glare she's throwing his way.
She gives him a pointed look, leaning against the doorway while she cradles a mixing bowl filled with cake batter.
Instinctively, his eyes dart to the pale scars peeking from underneath her blouse and traveling up her neck. He averts his eyes, bowing his head to cover his gaze. He swallows the lump forming in his throat.
They’re never easy to see. They never will be.
“I want you back within the hour,” she says, mixing the batter aimlessly. “You can’t be late today.”
Mike scrunches up his nose. “An hour? Why?”
“You need to get dressed!”
“I am dressed!”
She huffs. “In your suit, Mike.”
“I am not wearing a suit.”
She pinches the bridge of her nose and takes a deep breath. Mike holds back an eye roll. “Nancy will be here soon. We need to take pictures before you head to the school.”
Jesus Christ. Mike figured he wouldn’t get out of taking photos today, but he definitely didn’t expect for it to take as long as his mom is implying.
He purses his lips, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. “Two hours?”
“One.”
He groans and she shakes her head definitively. “This isn’t a negotiation, Mike.”
“Mom, we don’t have to be there until like, three anyway,” he argues, exasperated. “It’s not even noon! I have plenty of time.”
She stares back, face blank. “No, Michael. You don’t have much time.”
He pauses.
He tries to ignore the feeling — tries to ignore how the words make his stomach sink. How a chill runs down the back of his neck. It takes all of his willpower not to react.
Mike has felt a lot of things toward his mother throughout his life. The obvious — love, annoyance, frustration. But also —
Guilt.
Guilt for lying. For keeping secrets. For not telling her what truly was happening in Hawkins until it was too late.
But one thing he’s never felt is uneasy.
Until now.
It isn’t unfamiliar per say, and Mike would be lying if he said he hadn’t felt it before.
He can be a bit paranoid, but so is anyone else who has lived in Hawkins within the past ten years.
He pushes down the feeling, chalking up the sudden shift in her tone — the clipping of her words and her hard, empty eyes staring into his — to stress.
Even at her most irate, she’s never gotten this cold with him. At least, not to the point where he feels his entire body freeze over.
It has to be stress.
He swallows, the guilt — and maybe something else he refuses to acknowledge right now — bubbles in his chest. “Fine. I’ll be back in an hour.”
She’s still for a moment before a small smile makes its way onto her face. She nods, heading back inside without a goodbye. Mike turns around as well, finally leaving.
Despite his incessant need to get out, he isn’t sure why he’s leaving in the first place.
He knew his mom was right. He should stay home.
He should be getting ready to graduate high school. He should be rushing to get these pictures over with the moment Nancy arrives so he could go meet up with the party.
There was a time not too long ago where he thought they’d never get here. Where he thought — well. He thought that they’d be dead.
Yeah, he was pretty sure they’d all be dead.
He walks along the side of the road, legs moving on auto-pilot. Cars fly by and every now and then, he hears what he assumes are the cheers of his classmates through open windows.
It'd excite him if he didn’t already feel nauseous.
As he approaches downtown, his mouth goes dry.
It should be comforting, knowing that the town is starting to feel like home again.
Except, it isn’t. Not to him.
Walking through feels strange — he doesn’t know why, or when when he started feeling this way, but it almost feels unnatural how…normal things are.
Downtown itself has been rebuilt. There are no remnants of the debris from the once-abandoned stores and the gate to the Upside Down. There’s no trace of the reporters that once flocked to town, the military police, or even the MAC-Z.
The tunnels are gone.
Starcourt mall was demolished.
Even the scars of the earth splitting into four, which once symbolized the end of the world, had vanished. The steel panels built in their wake also nowhere to be seen.
Everything looks as it did back in 1983. Nearly every store is open. Kids draw with chalk on the sidewalks. Their mothers chat amongst themselves. People walk to and from work, they shop, they eat.
Hawkins has healed itself. It looks like a place where nothing ever happens.
It looks like nothing ever happened.
The only part of downtown that holds a reminder is the large marble pillar in front of the library.
Mike can make out the engraved names on the statue and the wilted flowers at its base as he approaches.
It makes him feel a little less crazy.
He sits on a nearby bench and examines the memorial, just like he always does.
He ignores the weight on his chest as he takes a closer look at the names of those who died during the 'earthquake.' It gets heavier when he thinks about the names that aren’t written.
Mike can feel the glances of those who walk past it. He can feel the brief pauses — the push and pull from the wanting to acknowledge it — to acknowledge them — that’s eventually outweighed by the desire to move forward and forget. The urge to pretend everything is fine.
He feels it sometimes too, but it’s too hard to ignore.
How is everyone able to ignore it but him?
If Mike is truly honest with himself, nothing feels fine. It never has. It probably never will.
He knows it is.
He knows it should be.
He wouldn’t be here if things weren’t fine.
Though saying something and believing it are two different things entirely. Mike is familiar with that concept in more than one aspect of his life.
So he sits. He sits, he stares at the memorial, he glances at those who glance at him and he tries not to feel unsettled when he locks eyes with people.
He’s not sure how much time goes by, but once he sees Hopper walking toward him, he knows it’s been a few minutes. If it’s been more than sixty, his mom is most likely, definitely going to kill him.
“Thought I’d find you here,” Hopper says, taking a seat next to him.
Mike doesn't meet his eyes. “Here I am.”
“Your mom’s been freaking out.” He takes off his hat, placing it on top of his knee. Mike glances over, noticing Hopper’s eyes fixed on the memorial as well.
“I told her I’d be back in an hour,” he mumbles, crossing his arms and leaning back against the bench.
“It’s been three.”
Mike snaps up, eyes wide.
What?
“Three?” he nearly yells. He looks at his watch, heart dropping when he reads the time.
2:07 p.m.
“That’s- that’s impossible,” he says dumbly, blinking hard. “I just got here. I swear I’ve only been gone for like twenty minutes — okay, maybe like an hour, tops. But it hasn’t been-”
“What’s been going on, Mike?”
Mike pauses, mouth still agape. He tries to process Hopper’s question, but it’s difficult given he’s just learned that three hours passed in what feels like minutes.
“I- nothing,” he finally says, shaking his head. “Nothing.”
Hopper stares at him, and Mike can see the wheels turning in his head, can see him weighing the options of whether they should get into this right now.
He prays for Hopper to give him mercy.
“Okay,” he finally says. Mike holds back a sigh of relief. “Well, let’s get you home, kid. Your mom wants you to change. Everyone’s already headed to the school.”
“Everyone?”
“I sent Will off with Jonathan,” he says with an eye roll. Shit — they were supposed to head over together. “Told him I’d come find you after your mom called.”
Mike ignores his heartbeat in his throat.
“Joyce let her know that you’d meet them on the field,” Hopper continues, standing up. Mike does the same. “When you see your mom, I would tell her ‘I’m sorry’ by the way.”
He nods, following Hopper over to his car. When he hops into the passenger side, he’s greeted with a radio and rifle in the seat. Without hesitation, he moves them, scoffing when Hopper shouts “careful!” with a level of annoyance only Mike can bring out of him.
“I’ve handled a gun before, Hop.”
“No, you’ve touched a gun before. Not handled. It’s important to me that you know the difference.”
“I know the difference!”
“Handled is what I do. It’s what Nancy does. You’ve touched one once,” he grumbles. “Well, twice now if you count this.”
“Well maybe if someone would teach me-”
“That’s a public safety risk." Mike huffs.
The beginning of the ride is quiet, only the soft hum from the car’s stereo and the chatter on Hop’s radio filling the silence.
It’s somewhat of a heavy silence, one that he and Hopper can both feel, Mike thinks.
He’s less than an hour away from missing his graduation, and would've definitely missed it if Hopper hadn’t found him.
But how?
How had he lost track of time so badly? Why hadn’t he checked his watch?
How did Hopper even find him?
The radio chatter gets worse the closer they get to Mike’s. Not only that, but so is the signal. He can hear the interference getting stronger, the strong static prodding at his brain to the point where he grimaces. A headache is steadily approaching.
It’s only after the fifth call on the radio that he looks over to Hopper, studying his focus on the road and decidedly not on Mike. This usually would make Mike breathe a sigh of relief.
But now, it only makes him anxious.
Every now and then, Hopper glances over his shoulder. He may be off today, but he has his uniform on. There’s a cigarette in between his lips, and his hat is back on his head like it never left. It’s a sight so familiar to Mike, but one he sometimes forgets he hasn’t always had.
“So,” Mike starts, drumming his fingers along the passenger door window. “Did you miss it?”
Hopper barely spares him a glance before turning back to the road. “Miss what?” he mumbles, cigarette still firmly in his mouth.
“Being chief,” Mike says. “Did you miss it?”
“What was there to miss?”
Mike laughs. “I still can’t believe they made you chief again so easily.”
“Why wouldn’t they?”
“I mean, Chief Powell didn’t-”
“Officer Powell,” Hopper corrects.
Mike rolls his eyes. “Sure, yeah, Officer Powell. But while you were gone he was chief.”
“Gone?” Hopper asks slowly, but it comes out more like a statement.
“Yes?” Mike says slowly, eyes darting over to the radio briefly. The static is getting louder. “When you were…you know-”
“Know what?”
“Presumed dead?”
Hopper stills for a brief second before taking a drag from the cigarette. On his exhale, he tosses it out the window.
They reach a red light, the car slowing down as the silence between them grows. They’re five minutes away from Mike’s.
“What are you talking about, kid?” he asks quietly.
Mike blinks.
“You know,” he says, feigning casualness. “Starcourt. The ‘fire.’”
It’s brief, but Mike sees the way Hopper searches his eyes, how he scans Mike’s face before he turns back to the road as the light turns green, almost robotically.
“Right, the fire,” Hopper says simply. “I mean, with everything going on, questioning my return wasn’t at the top of their list. Think Powell was just happy to get the hell out of Dodge.”
“Right,” Mike nods. His mouth feels dry. “Makes sense.”
They don’t speak for the rest of the drive.
The moment they pull into his driveway, Mike’s out of the car. He nods when Hopper tells him to be quick, ignoring the dread building in his chest.
He walks through his empty house and up to his room. In and out.
He gets dressed in record time, thanking his past self for setting out his clothes the night before. He avoids the blazer hanging on the back of his door — certain that his mom hung it up there — as he buttons up his collared shirt and quickly does his tie.
Within minutes he’s back outside, orange cap clutched in one hand and his gown flowing in the wind over his other. Hopper’s starting the car before he even opens the door.
“Took you long enough,” he mumbles, but there’s no malice behind it.
Mike responds with a tight smile, trying to regulate his breathing. He wasn’t running around by any means, but he still feels like the wind has been knocked out of him.
It’s going to be a long day.
+++
Graduation is where Mike starts to realize something is wrong.
He’s late, inexcusably so. That doesn’t stop him from at least trying to sneak in through the back of the field.
Quietly, he rushes over to his seat while Principal Higgins speaks, catching his mom’s expression as she sits in the bleachers.
Relief.
Anger as well, but mostly relief. Which is a win in Mike’s book.
The rest of his family exchange small smiles as he passes by, and he tries to ignore the feeling of more than their four sets of eyes on him.
Once he takes his seat, he can finally breathe again. It doesn’t seem like he’s missed much — Dustin still sits behind Principal Higgins on the stage, smile growing wider when he spots Mike.
Max and Lucas sit a few rows in front of him and they turn to him almost immediately, as if they sensed his presence. Lucas offers a small wave, and Mike holds back an eye roll when Max mouths “finally” and flips him off.
It takes longer for Will to spot him.
Whether it’s because he feels Mike’s eyes burning a hole into the back of his head or he just happens to be turning around, nothing stops Mike’s smile from growing when he finally locks eyes with him.
Will returns it with a raised eyebrow.
Right, he was late.
“Sorry?” he mouths with a small shrug. Will shakes his head, but Mike can see the small smile forming on his lips. He turns back around before Mike can say anything else.
The ceremony continues, and Mike tries his hardest to pay attention, but after the first twenty minutes, he can’t help when his mind drifts somewhere else. Specifically, to the events of the day so far.
He still doesn’t understand how time flew by so quickly. It felt like twenty minutes, surely he would’ve noticed how the sun had moved, how the kids had packed up their chalk and left the sidewalks.
But he hadn’t.
He hadn’t noticed any of it.
Then there's Hopper, who he’s certain is sitting next to Joyce and Jonathan on the bleachers behind him.
How he found Mike, he isn’t sure. Why had he acted so strange about Powell? About Starcourt? He’s even less sure about that.
It isn’t long until students start standing row by row, making their way single file over to the stage.
Mike sits up straight, spotting Will as he waits for his turn to walk. His hands are clasped in front of him as he waits patiently for his classmates ahead of him.
Mike ignores the flutter in his stomach when he steps onto the stage, and then again when he meets Will’s gaze as he's handed his diploma.
It isn’t until Will is back in his seat that Mike allows himself to zone out again, only tuning back in when Dustin, Max, and Lucas all take their turns across the stage.
He grins as they each get handed their diploma, and soon enough Mike is following his other classmates out of their seats and up toward the stage.
It’s quiet, even with the sound of the band playing music as Higgins calls out each student by name.
He keeps his head down as he inches closer, only looking ahead when he nearly trips over the stairs in front of him.
He’s next.
“Michael Wheeler.”
He hears a round of applause as he walks across the stage, no doubt from the rest of the party and their families, who've cheered for each of them as they’ve walked.
Mike tries his best to keep the smile on his face genuine, even if his cheeks are starting to spasm the longer he holds it.
He stifles a laugh at Dustin, who cheers loudly next to vice principal Vance, startling her. He shakes Higgins hand with ease and poses for the obligatory photo.
At least his mom has one under her belt now.
Once he lets go, he finally turns toward the audience.
He wishes he kept his head down.
The chill he felt earlier in the day has returned, but this time, more prominent as he registers the scene in front of him.
Nearly every student is back in their seats, albeit his row — the last row. Behind them in the bleachers sit families and friends, all quietly watching as he holds his diploma. There has to be over a hundred people on the field.
Over a hundred people watching him, all with their hands laid neatly on top of their laps and wide smiles across their faces.
Mirrors of one another.
He freezes, taking in the scene in front of him. Hesitantly, he glances behind him — an ice cold energy washes over him when he spots Dustin and the administrators holding the same pose and smile. They’re not blinking.
No one is blinking.
Mike grips his diploma tightly, hoping this is only his mind playing tricks on him.
That, or he’s suffering from heat stroke.
When he faces them again, he blinks.
Then he blinks again.
There’s people chatting amongst each other now, half of the student body are watching him on stage while the other half look for their own parents and wave.
He can hear the band again.
He feels dizzy.
A hand on his shoulder brings him back, guiding him off the stage. He starts walking again, weakly offering a small smile as he tries not to trip over his own feet.
The panic hasn’t left him, if anything, it’s amplified. He doesn’t know if it’ll ever leave, not after that. Not after after he —
After he what? After he imagined the crowd posed like marionette dolls?
He breathes hard through his nose, trying to mask his panic as he walks back to his seat. He looks up hesitantly at his classmates as he walks past the first row, trying to find those unsettling smiles he saw mere minutes ago, but they’re nowhere to be seen.
When he reaches Will’s seat, Mike’s met with an easy smile and a thumbs up.
He returns it, but it does little to soothe the anxiety he feels.
Especially when the smile Will gives him doesn’t reach his eyes.
Not when Mike spots, even if it’s just for a brief second, fear in Will’s eyes.
Before Mike can question anything, it's replaced with pride, and Mike has no choice but to keep walking and bury the feeling that something is very wrong.
He makes it back to his seat eventually, forcing a wide smile onto his face as he waves toward his family in the bleachers and holds up his diploma. He doesn’t want to know how similar his smile is to the ones he just saw, but the thought makes him nauseous anyway.
He sits through the rest of the ceremony with his eyes glued to his lap, afraid to look up.
It isn’t until he spots a cap land in the grass out of the corner of his eye that he realizes the ceremony is over.
People are cheering, the band is playing louder, and he can barely see anything over the confetti falling from the sky. Slowly, he stands and tries to make his way over to the party.
He spots them almost instantly near the stage, a small relief filling his chest at their smiles and how they rush over to Dustin. Mike’s legs move at a quicker pace to reach them.
“Dustin!”
“Holy shit, Henderson.” Max laughs, shaking her head. “You’re insane.”
“Higgins totally shit his pants during your speech!” Lucas adds, wrapping an arm around Dustin.
Fuck, Mike had completely zoned out during his speech.
“What’s he gonna do, expel me?” Dustin laughs, wrapping his arm around Lucas.
“I mean, you did flip him off,” Will smirks, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at them fondly.
“It was deserved,” Mike adds as he walks over to them with his hands in his pockets. He's didn't need to hear Dustin's speech to know that much.
They all turn to him happily, immediately pulling him into a group hug.
“I should be flipping you off too, y’know!” Dustin yells, face buried into someone’s chest. He pulls away, shoving Mike’s shoulder playfully. “Where the hell were you?”
“I lost track of time,” Mike shrugs, trying to be nonchalant. He ignores how clammy his palms feel.
His eyes travel over to Will, who's decidedly not looking at him. Great. “But at least I made it?”
“Yeah, barely,” Max scoffs, leaning into Lucas’ chest as the group breaks apart. “You almost missed Will walking across the stage.”
“You didn’t,” Will offers softly, yet still not looking at Mike.
Max rolls her eyes. “Whatever. At least we made it, yeah? Who would’ve thought?”
“Literally none of us,” Lucas deadpans. Everyone hums in agreement.
“Hey!”
Mike turns around, surprise prominent on his face when he turns to the person who grabbed their attention. It’s not until Lucas elbows him in the ribs that he schools his expression.
“Stacey!” Dustin says, trying to cover his shock. He takes a step forward. “Uh, hey. Hi.”
“Hey,” Stacey says, looking back at him in amusement. Her friends stand behind her, similarly to how the party stands behind Dustin right now.
Dustin opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. Mike bites his tongue to stop the smirk from growing on his face.
“I just wanted to say, what you did up there was pretty badass.”
Max stifles a laugh, having to physically turn around before she blows this for Dustin.
“Oh, thanks,” Dustin says, blush rising to his cheeks. “I was kind of going for a bit of a Belushi thing? Does that make sense?”
Stacey nods. “Yeah.”
Dustin shakes his head, “It’s okay if it doesn’t-”
“No! It totally does.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Stacey laughs, stepping forward. Mike looks over to Will, a similar, amused expression on his face as well.
“So, I’m having a party later tonight,” she finally says. “You guys should come.”
“Really?”
She nods, glancing over to the rest of them. “Yeah, really.”
Dustin, in a daze, nods back. “Sure yeah, we’ll uh, we’ll be there.”
“Cool, see you there,” she says before walking off with the rest of her friends.
The party immediately turns to Dustin.
“Did that just happen?” Dustin asks, eyes not leaving Stacey’s retreating figure.
“Yes, it did,” Max says, smirking. “And yes, you did sound like an idiot. Seemed like she digged it though.”
Dustin nods aimlessly, turning back to them with a glint in his eyes. “So we’re going, right?”
“Obviously,” Lucas grins. He turns to Will.
“I mean, sure, why not?” Will laughs, turning to Mike. He raises an eyebrow. “Mike?”
It isn’t until this moment that Mike realizes that he was also invited to the party.
Right.
He grimaces, weighing his options. “You guys actually want to go?”
“Yes,” they say simultaneously.
He presses his lips together. He should’ve expected that answer.
“I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?” Will asks softly as the others chat amongst themselves, waiting for Mike’s decision. His shoulder brushes against Mike, eyes hopeful and damn it.
It’s not like Mike can get out of it anyway. Even if all he wants to do is lock himself in his bedroom and try to convince himself that he isn’t crazy.
They look at him expectantly. Dustin's antsy, Max’s eyebrows are raised, Lucas’ is practically jumping out of his skin. Will just waits quietly, gaze soft.
Fuck.
“Screw it,” he sighs, shrugging. “Let’s go.”
There’s a chorus of cheers from the group as they walk off the field, Mike follows closely behind as they make their way over to their families. He listens absentmindedly to the plans being made, only speaking when he offers his place as the meeting spot beforehand.
“Jonathan can drop us off,” Will adds, walking beside Mike. “That way none of us have to worry about DD-ing.”
“Oh, so you’re planning on drinking, Byers?” Lucas teases, wrapping an arm around Will’s shoulder.
“Maybe?” Will answers with a small smile, eyes crinkling. Mike feels a pang in his chest.
“God, this is gonna be great,” Max sighs. “I’ve been wanting to do shots with you.”
“Since when?” Will asks with a startled laugh.
Mike doesn’t hear Max’s response, because he becomes acutely aware of just how close he and Will are, their shoulders are practically touching, their elbows bump into one another with each step they take.
A chill runs down his spine, and Mike really hates how often that’s happened today.
He wonders if Will feels it too, how his body tenses and his senses go haywire whenever he’s mere inches away.
It makes Mike’s mind reel, it makes his body run hot and cold all at once.
They all eventually part ways with the promise of meeting at Mike’s later that night. He doesn’t know many of the logistics, but he’s hoping that won’t matter by the time they get to his place.
He lets out a long sigh as he walks up to his family.
The day just keeps getting longer.
+++
“Don’t do anything stupid, yeah?” Nancy says from the passenger seat as they all file out of Jonathan’s car.
“Why are you looking at me?” Mike asks, affronted. Jonathan smirks.
“You know why." She starts rolling the window up. “Have fun! We’ll be back in a few hours.”
Mike rolls his eyes and gives a half-hearted wave before following the rest of the group up the driveway.
Stacey’s house is packed by the time they step inside. The music blares through the house, and Mike can feel the bass deep in his chest as they make their way through the crowd.
“Jesus Christ,” he mumbles, closing his eyes when he’s jostled around and beer splashes onto his arm. He counts to ten.
He’s already too sober for this.
“Let’s grab drinks,” Lucas directs, pointing over their heads toward the kitchen.
Mike follows wordlessly, trying his best to go along with the rest of the group. It’s difficult though. The loud music, the crowd, they don’t do much to soothe the panic rising in Mike’s veins. The same panic he felt this morning and at graduation.
He saw practically all of these people just a few hours ago. Some of them are even wearing their outfits from the ceremony, minus their caps and gowns.
Everyone is acting normal — drunk, but normal.
So why is it that every time he looks at someone, all he can see are empty eyes and manufactured smiles?
Every time he looks toward them, convinced he’ll spot a classmate he’s friendly with or just someone with a staring problem, they turn away.
No one is looking back at him, but he still feels dozens of eyes watching every step he takes toward the kitchen.
He leans back against the counter, trying to clear his mind. Max and Dustin appear seconds later, red solo cups for the five of them. Mike doesn’t want to think about how strong the drinks likely are.
He smiles, raising his cup in a small toast with his friends. He tries his best to make it believable.
A few minutes pass before Max decides she wants to dance, dragging Lucas away with her. Dustin disappears as well, but it’s less clear to Mike where he heads off to. It isn’t until they’re alone that Mike feels Will slide next to him, nudging his side.
“Hey,” Will says cheerfully, cup in hand. “You drinking?”
Mike glances at his untouched drink. “Haven’t decided yet.”
Will rolls his eyes, a playful smile on his lips. “Come on, Mike. It’s graduation!”
“I’m aware of that, thank you,” he chuckles. “But if I drink, who else is gonna get us home when the cops show up?”
Will laughs loudly, taking a sip of his drink. “Well for one, I don’t think the cops are gonna show up — and I’m totally not saying that because of Hop. Second, thinking you would be the one to get all of us out of here is hilarious.”
Mike pouts. “I could do it if it came down to it.”
Will nods with faux-seriousness. “Totally.”
“I could!”
“But would you?”
“Would you?”
Will finishes his drink, wiping the excess off the corner of his mouth with his thumb. Mike watches the movement closely.
“Yeah, I would,” he says with a shrug. “I have good instincts. Could get us out of here fast.”
“Even drunk?”
“I’m not drunk.”
“Not yet,” Mike teases, giving a pointed look at Will’s empty cup.
He rolls his eyes, shoving Mike’s arm playfully. “Whatever, I’m gonna go find Max.”
“For shots?” Mike yells after him, chuckling when Will waves him off on his way out of the kitchen.
Almost immediately, Dustin appears by Mike’s side, leaning against the counter and downing the rest of his drink. Mike watches in amusement, holding back a sigh of relief at Dustin’s reappearance. He really didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts right now.
Especially as his eyes dart around the room every couple of seconds, even subconsciously.
“How’re you holding up?”
“Great,” Dustin says distractedly, eyes scanning the room. “Looking for Stacey. Want to say hey.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” Mike smirks, laughing when Dustin flips him off.
“Shut up,” he mumbles. “I still can’t believe she invited us.”
“You left an impression,” he teases.
“Shut up,” Dustin repeats, a shy smile creeping onto his face.
Mike laughs, fingers tapping against the side of his cup. “I’m really proud of you, you know?”
“What?”
Mike shrugs, looking down at his feet. “I don’t know…I’m just proud of you. I feel like I haven’t really told you that. Valedictorian…I mean, that’s a huge deal, man.”
Dustin smiles, clasping his shoulder. “Thanks, Mike. I mean, yeah I worked my ass off, but it’s sort of strange, you know? We never…”
“Yeah. I know,” Mike says, cutting him off. They both knew what Dustin was going to say. It’s difficult for conversations to not head into that direction, especially on days like this one. “But you made it, we all did. You deserve this.”
“As much as it pains me to say it, I couldn’t have done it with you,” Dustin says with a smirk. “Chemistry really kicked my ass sophomore year.”
“Yeah, well, you couldn’t be the best in everything," Mike jokes, taking a small sip of his drink. He nearly lurches at the taste of it, trying his best to hold back a gag. Vodka mixed with…he doesn’t even know because the taste of the liquor is so strong. It burns the back of his throat.
Max definitely made it.
“Besides,” Mike rasps, “you should really be thanking Suzie.”
Dustin tilts his head to the side. “Suzie?”
“She saved your ass freshmen year. I don’t know many Valedictorians that get a D in Latin.”
“What are you talking about?”
“When she hacked into the grading system and swapped your grade?” Mike continues, raising an eyebrow.
“No one swapped anything. I got that A in Latin,” Dustin argues, mumbling under his breath. “Would’ve been an A plus if it weren’t for that fucking midterm.”
Mike rolls his eyes. “Okay yeah, sure. Look, I know you guys didn’t have the best breakup, but-”
“Breakup?” Dustin interrupts, looking at Mike incredulously. “Mike, who the hell are you even talking about?”
Mike opens his mouth to argue, but nothing comes out.
“Suzie,” Mike says slowly. “I’m talking about Suzie, Dustin.”
“And I’m supposed to know who that is? Is she someone in our grade?”
Mike swallows, tightening the grip around his cup in fear he might drop it. “You don’t know who Suzie is?”
“Obviously not. Care to enlighten me?” Dustin says with a raised eyebrow.
Do I really have to enlighten you on your ex-girlfriend of two years?
Mike feels a lump growing in his throat, but he doesn’t respond. He doesn’t know how.
This doesn’t make sense.
He glances away from Dustin hesitantly, eyes immediately locking with one of his classmates across the kitchen. He looks away quickly, only to be met with another — Jamie, from homeroom. Her eyes are on him, but they’re empty.
She’s smiling.
“Are you okay, Michael?”
Michael.
Mike whips his head back to Dustin, heart pounding in his chest. “What?”
“I said, are you okay?” he asks again, eyes concerned.
Mike tries to regulate his breathing. He nods and takes a sip of his drink, wincing at the taste.
It takes all of him to not to run away from Dustin and the ten sets of eyes he feels on him in the kitchen.
“I- I’m fine,” he gets out weakly. “Just tired, I guess.”
Dustin nods, but his eyes stay wary. He opens his mouth to say something else, but Mike interrupts.
“I’m uh, I’m gonna go find the others,” he stammers, pushing off of the counter. He needs to get out of this kitchen.
He doesn’t wait to hear Dustin’s response as he practically sprints out of the room.
He bumps into someone immediately upon exiting, mumbling an apology as he makes his way through the crowd and toward the dance floor.
Lucas. He needs to find Lucas.
It doesn’t take long until Mike spots him with Will and Max, drink in hand as they dance along to the music. He smiles when he spots Mike.
“Wheeler!” He sings loudly against the music. “Look who came to dance!”
Mike offers a tight smile. God, he wishes he wanted to dance.
He wants to get the hell out of here.
When he reaches them, Max is immediately grabbing his shoulders and shaking him, smile wide and breath smelling like vodka.
“Finally!” she yells, laughing. “We’ve been waiting for you to stop moping around.”
She gestures over to Will, who laughs, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. His eyes narrow when he takes in Mike’s demeanor. The others don’t notice.
“I wasn’t moping,” Mike mumbles. Max scoffs, but Mike turns away from her before she retorts. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
Lucas nods, taking a sip from his drink. “About?”
Mike rolls his eyes, there’s no way he’s getting Lucas far enough away to talk to him properly. In fact, Mike doesn’t know how he’ll get any of them away if it came down to it.
He hopes he doesn’t have to find out.
He leans in closer, grateful that Max takes the hint and finally lets go, turning away to dance with Will. Will’s eyes linger on him for an extra moment before he eventually turns away as well.
Mike’s breathing heavy, heart almost as loud as the bass thrumming through the speakers nearby. He has to focus.
Lucas looks at him expectantly. “What’s up?”
“Is anyone else acting strange to you?” he attempts to whisper, but it comes out more in his regular tone given how loud it is.
“Strange?” Lucas asks slowly, eyebrows raised. “Strange how?”
Mike’s shoulders slump, he can’t hide his frustration much longer — nor his panic. “Don’t you see them?” he mumbles, eyes darting over to the others dancing. God, he hates this. “How everyone’s staring at us?”
Lucas looks around, eyes landing on nearly everyone within their general vicinity for at least a beat. He turns back and shakes his head. “No?”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Mike mumbles, running a hand through his hair. “I- I feel like everyone’s watching me, Lucas. Or- or maybe us. I don’t know. And everyone is acting so weird and I-”
“Mike-”
“-My mom was being strange this morning too and Hopper acted…so not like himself,” he continues desperately. “Something’s going on, there has to be.”
“Like what-”
“And don’t get me started on graduation,” he continues, voice growing louder and more frantic. He turns around, the feeling of someone staring at him growing heavier. His body is cold, he wants to shake the goosebumps off his body. “Everyone looked possessed. And I just talked to Dustin too and he was being- I don’t know. He keeps saying he doesn’t know-”
“Michael.”
Mike stops, eyes wide as he looks at Lucas.
He feels nausea creeping in at the coldness of Lucas’ tone, the clip of his voice as he says Mike’s full name. His eyes narrow, mouth pressed into a thin line as he scans over Mike — eyes void of any distinct emotion.
When Mike blinks, Lucas is smiling again. Except this one is dripping with pity.
It’s so difficult to breathe, Mike is on the verge of passing out.
“Dude, I just think you’re being paranoid,” he says lightly, head nodding along to the music. He takes a sip of his drink.
Mike wants to smack it out of his hand.
“Paranoid?”
“Yeah, paranoid,” Lucas says, shrugging. “I mean, I get it, Mike. We all do. We’ve been through some shit, but seriously, just try and let loose, yeah? Try to enjoy it.”
“I-” he shakes his head. This cannot be happening. “I can’t just enjoy it, Lucas. Not when he might be back. Not when something is clearly-”
“Mike,” Lucas says exasperated. “It’s over. We’re all fine. We survived. Nothing has happened in weeks, we’re completely-”
“Weeks?”
Lucas pauses, before letting out a short laugh. “Years,” he corrects, shaking his head. He won’t meet Mike’s eyes. “Sometimes it still feels like yesterday, you know?”
Mike flashes a tight smile, one he’s certain looks more pained than anything. “Yeah, right,” he offers weakly.
Lucas nods, eyes trained away from Mike. “Just try to relax, yeah?” he says with finality, patting Mike on the back.
“Okay,” Mike says numbly. He feels his drink spilling in between his fingers, making them sticky. He can’t stop his hand from shaking. “I’m just going to get some air.”
“Think that’ll do you some good,” Lucas agrees.
Mike nods, face void of emotion and pale. He turns away slowly, making his way through the crowd. He doesn’t say anything to Max or Will.
Something is wrong.
Something is very, very wrong.
Mike doesn’t know how deep he wanders into Stacey’s house. Frankly, he’s just trying to get away from as many prying eyes as possible. It takes him longer than he’d like to admit.
Ever since he noticed the first person staring at him in the kitchen, it’s like they’ve stopped trying to hide. He locks eyes with a few other people as he walks further from the living room, his feet growing heavy as he walks further away from the crowds, maneuvering through the drunk teenagers and stumbling over the plastic cups littering the floor.
The music is loud, almost too loud. He can barely distinguish what’s playing, voices and lyrics muffled by how strong the bass is. The further away he gets, the more prominent the beating of his heart is in his chest.
He finally reaches an empty hallway, and holy shit, Stacey’s house massive. Mike isn’t sure he’ll be able to find his way back out, but that's the least of his problems right now.
He leans back, head hitting the wall with a thud. He closes his eyes and tries to regulate his breathing, but it’s no use.
There’s nothing anyone could do to convince him everything is fine. Not anymore.
It’s all too much, the air grows thin and he can barely breathe.
“Mike?”
He barely registers his name being called, eyes still closed and heart pounding against his chest. It’s a gentle hand on his bicep that brings him out of his stupor.
He’s met with hazel eyes immediately, filled with concern.
“Will,” he breathes out, gripping onto his outstretched arm like its a lifeline.
“Are you okay?” he asks softly, worried etched into his voice. “You…you don’t look so great.”
“I-” he pauses, voice failing him. How is he going to explain this to Will?
Would he even believe him?
Dustin is in his own world. Whatever is going on is clearly affecting Lucas. Who says it isn’t doing something to Will?
“You can talk to me, you know,” Will continues. “I’m here.”
Mike lets out a shaky breath.
“Have you felt anything?” he asks quietly, eyes pleading. “Have you…felt him recently?”
Will pulls his arm back like he’s been electrocuted. “What?”
Mike doesn’t loosen his grip. “Have you felt anything from…from the Upside Down?”
“Mike, what are you-”
“Something is going on, Will. You have to believe me,” he pleads. Will’s eyes widen, eyes darting back and forth from between Mike’s hand and his face. “I feel like I’m going insane.”
“Okay, okay,” Will says quickly, raising his hand to placate him. “Slow down. What’s going on?”
So Mike tells him. He tells him everything. Or at least he tries to, he’s certain it sounds as insane as he feels, and he’s positive he’s missing things, but he tries his best to explain what happened with his mom this morning, and how Hopper found him downtown. He explains what he saw at graduation, how he can still feel everyone’s eyes on him now.
He mentions how Dustin didn't recognize Suzie, and he tries to pretend like he doesn’t see the confusion on Will’s face too when he mentions her name.
He talks and talks and talks until he’s lightheaded, but Will listens. He listens and he doesn’t interrupt, and for that, Mike’s grateful.
Even if he can’t decipher the expression on Will’s face.
Once he’s done, he takes a deep breath, holding his hands behind his back to hide them trembling. Will looks up at him cautiously, bottom lip between his teeth.
“So what are you trying to say?” he whispers. “Are you saying he’s back?”
Mike swallows, shaking his head. “I don’t know what I think. I just know something’s wrong.”
Will nods slowly, not offering more of a response. Dread travels though Mike’s bones.
“You don’t believe me, do you?”
Will presses his palms against his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I don’t know, Mike. I want to. It all just seems pretty convenient.”
Mike’s mouth falls open. “Convenient?”
“I mean, yeah.” Will says, shaking his head. “It’s pretty convenient that all of this is happening on the same day you happen to forget our plan to head to graduation together. It’s convenient that it’s all happening on the one day you’ve been dreading for weeks at this point.”
Mike shakes his head, an incredulous look etched into his face. “Is that seriously all you got from what I said?”
“What else was I supposed to get from that?” Will snaps.
Mike scoffs, not only is his heart racing, but now his head is pounding. The music getting louder isn’t helping. “You’re supposed to understand that something is wrong. That Vecna-”
“That Vecna is what?” Will interrupts, taking a step forward. He’s glaring at Mike. “That he’s back?”
“I don’t know! Maybe! Is that so crazy to think?” Mike yells, also taking a step forward.
“He’s dead, Mike. We killed him.”
“Did you not just hear what I told you?”
“Yeah, Mike. I did hear,” Will retorts loudly. “I heard it all. I heard how you lost track of time again. I heard how you ditched me again. I heard how you’ve been trying to get out of this instead of enjoying yourself with the rest of the party again. Just like old times, right?”
“Will-”
“Why can’t you just admit it?” he says coldly, taking another step forward. Mike flinches.
A chill runs down his spine.
“Admit what?”
“Admit you’re scared,” Will says. “Admit you’re scared to grow up, so you’re - you’re clinging to this idea of Vecna. This idea that he’s somehow magically reappeared, so we’ll have to…what? Kill him? Again? Why can’t you just move on?”
“I-” Mike, shakes his head. “Will, what are you-”
“You’re so scared of growing up you rather go through hell again if it means things going back to the way things were,” he seethes, eyes narrowing. “You just always have to be the hero, don’t you?”
Mike swallows.
“It’s funny,” Will continues, menacingly. “Last I recall, you didn’t do shit. You hid behind us all, while we saved your ass over and over again.”
Mike stumbles backs into the wall. Will is only a few inches away from him at this point, radiating a level of coldness Mike hasn’t felt in years.
“Stop,” he whispers.
“You need it so bad, don’t you?” Will eggs on, only stopping when his chest is against Mike’s. It’s at this proximity that Mike realizes how Will’s eyes are glazed over, like he's in a trance. “You just have to be the hero. You have to have a purpose.”
“Will, please-”
“Because without purpose, you must feel worthless,” he practically growls. “You are worthless.”
Mike shakes his head, fighting back tears. This isn’t real, it can’t be real.
Then why does it feel like it is?
“You don’t mean that.”
“Of course I do, Mike!” Will yells, slamming his hands against the wall and caging Mike in. “God, I’ve felt this for so long. Just because I didn’t say anything, doesn’t mean I haven't thought it. You know that better than anyone, don’t you? I think it every time I see you. I thought it back then, every time a plan of yours would fail. I thought about it every time you made me feel worthless.”
Mike’s breathing falters, and he has to close his eyes to get this image of Will out of his mind.
“I still think it now. More than ever.”
This isn’t Will, it couldn’t be.
He wouldn’t say these things. He wouldn’t be so cruel.
But maybe he‘s always thought this. And now he has the courage to say it.
“Nothing to say now, hm?” Will laughs mirthlessly. “That’s a first.”
“Will, please,” Mike whispers, breath fanning over Will’s face. “This isn’t you.”
This isn’t real.
Will laughs, shaking his head. Mike can feel his warm breath against his neck — he’s so close, but he’s never felt further away.
“It’s not me? Why? Because I’m finally telling you how I really feel?” Will asks, tilting his head. “Because I’m finally done putting up with your bullshit?”
“Stop.”
“Because I finally called you out for who you really are?”
Mike’s knees feels weak, his brain feels like it’s splitting into two and the music keeps getting fucking louder. He can almost make out the lyrics.
“Because someone finally decided to tell you the truth and not spare poor, innocent Mike’s feelings?”
—Pushed around and kicked around, always a lonely boy.
Mike is frozen, terror running through his entire body.
“Stop.”
—And as hard as they would try they’d hurt to make you cry.
“Because I finally told you how pathetic you are? How you’re a worthless piece of shit-”
“Stop it,” Mike repeats as steady as he can, begging his voice not to betray him. His hands curl into fists.
—No, you never cried to them, just to your soul.
“-who only feels valued if someone needs him?”
“I said fucking stop!” Mike yells, hands colliding with Will’s chest.
Will falls back, hitting the opposite wall with a loud thud. He crumples to his knees with a groan, clutching the back of his head.
Mike gasps, scrambling back against the wall. His face is wet with the tears, despite how frantically he’s wiped his eyes and how hard he tried to keep them from falling in the first place.
—Crying to your soul, crying to your soul.
He breathes heavily, not daring to take his eyes off the boy in front of him — the boy he hardly recognizes anymore.
Will hasn’t spoken since he hit the ground, but he’s panting. Terror is slowly overtaking Mike’s entire body.
He freezes when Will finally looks at him.
His eyes are completely white.
“Will?” he asks carefully, barely above a whisper.
—Run away, turn away.
Will groans, grimacing as he looks at Mike. Or at least, Mike thinks he looks at him, it’s difficult to tell when he can’t see his pupils.
“Mike,” he stammers through a stifled breath. “You need to run.”
—Run away, turn away, run away.
Mike gapes, not daring to speak. Veins ice cold as he takes in Will. His forehead glistening with sweat, strands of hair sticking to his skin. His face straining against…himself, breaths labored and white eyes twitching. His hands are shaking.
“This isn’t real,” he grunts, like he’s restraining himself. “Ru- run.”
—Crying to your soul.
“Wha- what?” Mike finally chokes out, eyes wide. “Will, I don’t-”
“Mike,” Will says louder. “You were right. You need to run. Now.”
You were right.
“RUN.”
And that’s all it takes for Mike to regain feeling in his legs.
Because what he realizes, even if he’s had an inkling of it for most of the day, is that this is the first time he’s actually speaking to someone. Someone real.
It’s the first time he’s speaking to Will.
The real Will.
In no time, Mike’s sprinting down the hall. He tries his best to ignore Will’s screams, fighting every instinct to turn around and help him.
His hands shake as he tries every door he finds, most of them locked. He tries to hold them steady, but it’s no use. They can’t stop shaking, he won’t stop shaking.
He needs to hide.
—Cry, boy, cry.
Finally, he finds a bathroom. Without a second a thought, he throws the door open and rushes in, slamming it shut and locking it immediately. His back hits the door roughly.
He gets a moment of silence before the banging starts.
“Mike!” Will yells, fists hitting the door. It shakes against his back. “Open the door!”
—Cry, boy, cry.
Mike takes deep breaths through his nose, shaking his head frantically even though Will can’t see him.
“I’m sorry, Mike. I didn’t mean it! Just open the door.”
It isn’t Will. It isn’t.
He stays quiet, squeezing his eyes shut as Will continues to bang on the door hard.
“Damn it, Mike! Open the fucking door!”
Mike smacks his hand over his mouth to hold back a scream, praying and hoping Will gives up and leaves him alone.
He knows that’s wishful thinking.
He’s certain it is when there’s more voices coming down the hallway.
“Mike, listen to Will,” Dustin’s muffled voice says through the door. “You always listen to Will.”
“Fuck,” he breathes out, tugging at his hair. He backs away from the door quickly, pacing back and forth as the pounding grows louder.
“Come on, Mike!” Max. “Stop being a dick and get out here.”
The door is shaking against the weight of their fists.
“Will didn’t mean it!” Lucas adds, his voice sounds distorted. “You know he’d never hurt you.”
“Stop, stop, stop,” Mike chants softly to himself, leaning against the sink. He covers his ears with his hands, pressing them tightly. It does little against the loud bangs echoing in the small bathroom.
They’re going to break the door down.
“Open the fucking door, Michael!” Max screams, but it isn’t her voice. Not entirely.
“This is seriously what you’re gonna do?” Will scoffs loudly, emphasizing his words with another smack against the door. “How many times have I forgiven you for the shit you’ve done?”
Mike needs a way out. He needs to get the hell out of here.
“Time’s up, Michael.”
His friends voices disappear, instead they’re replaced with a guttural, low rumble.
The chime of a clock follows shortly after.
Slowly, Mike turns toward the door. But it isn’t a door anymore — now he's facing a large, grandfather clock. One far too familiar.
Fuck.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he breathes out.
He looks around the bathroom frantically, searching for a way out. The screaming outside doesn’t stop, and neither do the clock chimes.
The door – clock? he doesn’t know anymore – strains against its hinges.
His feet move on autopilot around the bathroom, searching for a way out.
There has to be one somewhere. Max mentioned that it was always somewhere that looked out of place.
But nothing looks out of place to Mike. He’s never even been to Stacey’s fucking house.
“Come on, come on,” he whispers desperately, opening the shower curtain and throwing the closet door open.
“Open the door.”
He checks the medicine cabinet. Nothing.
He checks under the sink. Nothing.
He checks the fucking toilet tank.
There’s nothing there.
He’s trapped.
Slowly, he backs up against the wall across from the door, arms falling to his sides, limp. The punches against the wall echo in his ears.
He’s going to die.
If he isn’t already dead.
He sinks to the floor, watching as the door bends to the will of his friends, of Vecna.
He closes his eyes to stop the tears from falling.
—Alone on a platform, the wind and the rain.
The sound of a synth makes him freeze, his breath catches as he hears the lyrics loud and clear. The music is still playing as the party roars around him.
—On a sad and lonely face.
His heart races — like it hasn’t been already — and he opens his eyes hesitantly.
Against the wall to his right is a vent. One that wasn’t there before.
With a red glow.
A small glimmer of hope sits in his chest as he scrambles forward. Shaking, he puts a hand up against it hesitantly, not entirely convinced it’s real.
—Run away.
He sucks in air, willing his lungs to cooperate. The voices on the other side of the door are growing louder.
The door is getting weaker.
He has one chance.
He backs up and kicks the vent once.
Then twice.
It isn’t until he stomps on it a third time that it gives way, opening a tunnel to what Mike has only heard of from stories at this point.
—Turn away, run away, turn away, run away.
He crawls through, legs and arms moving at lightning speed when he hears the bathroom door collapse behind him with a resounding crack.
When he reaches the open space, he hesitates. The crimson fog encapsulates him, making him gag with how it burns his throat.
The sludge beneath his feet feels like molasses, and he tries his best to ignore the dark red liquid seeping into his jeans, making the fabric stick to his legs.
It’s eerily quiet, except for his labored breaths and the sound of a song that he’s certain should be over by now.
“Michael.”
He needs to run.
So, he does.
At first, Mike doesn’t know where he’s going. All he knows is he needs to run and he needs to run fast. He can’t look back, knowing that the moment he does, Vecna will catch him.
He’ll be right back where he was, but this time with no escape.
So he runs, he runs until his legs feel like jello and his lungs are on the brink of collapsing.
—Run away, turn away, run away, turn away, run away.
He sees a bright light.
He urges his legs to move faster.
The closer he gets, the more he sees. He’d be horrified if he wasn’t scared shitless.
He sees himself within the light — but not him right now.
He sees himself at sixteen. He’s lying unconscious on a couch, eyes closed and arms by his sides. He’s at the Squawk.
He spots Nancy next to his body. She’s yelling, hands on his shoulders and shaking him frantically. He spots Dustin as he sprints around her, pointing up toward the stairs. The lights flicker frantically.
He’s going to pass out.
—Run away to your soul.
He wheezes, stumbling toward the gateway with all his might. He nearly trips over an abandoned piece of the Creel house, it looks like a window panel. Another piece lands to his left, making the water splash onto his side.
“You can't escape, Michael,” Vecna says. “Our fun isn't over.”
Mike gasps, eyes fluttering as he struggles to breathe.
He’s so close.
“That’s right,” Vecna says. “You’re tired. Good.”
A piece of rotten wood, which may have once resembled a door, falls in front of Mike. He dashes to the side, catching himself before he collapses onto the ground.
“God, fuck you,” Mike groans, limping away. He keeps his eyes trained on Nancy, heart aching at the tears running down her face as she yells at the others more frantically.
— Run away, turn away, run away.
He can finally hear them.
“Play it again!” Nancy screams.
—Turn away, run away.
“It’s not over yet!”
“I don’t give a shit, get it fucking ready!”
“Nance,” Mike breathes out as he reaches out, a final surge of energy rushing through him, hope filling his body.
—Run away to your soul.
Then everything goes black.
+++
“Mike?”
“Is he awake?”
“Holy shit, holy shit. Mike? Can you hear us?”
“I don’t think he can,” someone says frantically. “Shit, do you think it even worked?”
“It had to, he- he was shaking and his eyes were doing the thing.”
“The thing?”
“You know what I’m talking about!”
“I don’t think I do, Steve-”
“Henderson, I swear to God-”
“Shut up, everyone just shut up!”
Then there’s silence.
“Mike? Can you hear me?” a voice whispers softly. Nancy.
Mike groans.
“Holy fuck.”
“Shut up, Steve!” Nancy snaps. A hand lands on Mike’s shoulder, squeezing it encouragingly.
“Mike, can you hear me?” She lets out a shaky breath. “Please say you can hear me.”
He lets out a grunt in response. His body aches, the small movements he makes sends waves of pain through his entire skeletal system. He can’t open his eyes, the overhead lights already feel too bright with them closed.
He can hardly move, there’s a disconnect between his brain and his body.
“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Nancy whispers, rubbing his shoulder. It does little to soothe Mike. “Vickie, get him some water.”
“On it.” He hears footsteps leaving quickly.
“Can you open your eyes for me?”
No, I really can’t.
He lets out another groan. This is it. This is the only way he can communicate from now on. He thinks that’s fine.
“Please, Mike.”
He winces, fear engulfing him.
Opening his eyes makes this real.
Does he even know what’s real anymore?
Slowly, he tries. It takes nearly half his energy, but his eyes eventually flutter open. He grimaces, vision blurred and sensitive to the light. Holy fuck, they need to get some lamps in here instead.
“That’s it! You’ve got it,” Nancy says encouragingly, sniffling.
Mike feels a wet spot on his sleeve.
He blinks slowly, willing his eyes to focus. It’s not perfect, but when he starts to make out Nancy’s expression above him, he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
Her face holds more emotions than he can count — relief, shock, hope, fear.
Grief.
He blinks again, eyes adjusting more to the light around the room. He’s met with more people than he can bring himself to care about it right now.
Steve, Dustin, and Robin have the same expressions as Nancy. And the same wet eyes.
He tries to swallow, wincing immediately at the pain in his throat. It burns.
“Here,” Vickie says quietly when she returns, passing Nancy the glass of water. Her eyes dart over to Mike, shock evident on her face, though she quickly calms the expression with an encouraging smile.
“Thank you,” Nancy says before pressing the cup against Mike’s lips. “Drink.”
Mike doesn’t need to be told twice. He downs the water in seconds, choking a bit after the first sip.
God, when was the last time he had water?
Once Nancy pulls the cup away, she bites her lip. “Can you-” she pauses, looking guilty. “Can you try and speak? Please?”
Mike winces. He doesn’t want to, he really doesn’t want to. Mostly, because he doesn’t think he can.
But also, he’s afraid he’ll break down if he does.
“Nance,” Steve says hesitantly, gaze filled with concern as he looks between the two of them. “Maybe it’s not-”
“Please, Mike,” she cuts his off, wrapping her hand tightly around his. “Please.”
He lets out a shaky breath through his nose, eyes closing for a moment as he braces for the pain he’ll inevitably feel when he uses his voice.
“Fuck,” he croaks.
No one responds right away. That is, until Dustin huffs out a laugh.
“Yeah, that’s Mike alright,” he chuckles, sighing in relief.
Nancy grins, letting out a sob as she lunges forward and wraps her arms tightly around him.
“Ow,” he groans, eyes screwing shut at the pain from being jostled. "Nance."
“Sorry! Sorry,” she squeaks, pulling away quickly. She smiles apologetically, wiping tears beneath her eyes. “I just- holy shit, Mike.”
“Yeah, h-holy shit,” he chokes out. He lifts his finger weakly, pointing to the cup. In a second, Vickie grabs it and rushes away to grab more water. He’s grateful he didn’t have to say much more.
He downs it again in seconds. Vickie smiles fondly before going back for more, bringing the pitcher back with her this time.
They all watch him quietly as Nancy helps him sip on the water until the pitcher is nearly empty. It’s a bit unnerving.
He supposes he can’t really blame them.
“Where’s uh-,” he swallows, eyes darting across the Squawk basement. His voice sounds horrible. He realizes there's only the six of them down here. “Where is everyone?”
They all exchange glances. “They’re upstairs,” Robin says, eyes locking with Nancy. “We told them to give us space.”
Mike nods and does his best to hide the disappointment on his face. He was hoping there’d be one more person down here.
He lets out a shaky breath at the thought of white eyes staring into his at Stacey’s.
“God,” he whispers, shaking his head. “I feel like I was hit by a bus.”
“Yeah, well,” Robin grumbles, crossing her arms over her chest. “Vecna isn’t necessarily known for massages.”
Mike rolls his eyes, looking around the basement. He hates how there’s no windows.
He tries to move off the couch, but Nancy holds him down with a hand to his chest, face filled with panic. It doesn’t take much effort on her end with how weak he is. “Just lie still for now.”
He nods slowly, eyes almost back to normal. At least that’s going for him.
“So, how long was I out then?” he rasps. “A couple hours?”
The room goes unnaturally still.
Mike feels the shift immediately, he tries to keep his panic at a minimum when suddenly, everyone is looking everywhere but him.
“What is it?” he mumbles, brows furrowing.
Nancy takes a deep breath, tears welling up in her eyes as they dart across Mike’s face. He searches her eyes for an answer, panic welling up in chest again.
“It’s been more than a few hours, Mike.”
He swallows, nodding frantically. He looks around the room again, they still keep their eyes away from him. “Oh- okay? How much longer?”
Nancy doesn’t answer, instead, she bows her head down and locks her gaze onto Mike’s hand. He turns to Dustin on his right, he’s tugging at his curls. Steve turns around and rubs his hands down his face. Robin gnaws at her bottom lip.
“Will someone fucking say something?” he grits out.
Nancy looks up, eyes filled with tears and sorrow.
Mike has a sinking feeling in his gut before she says anything.
“You’ve been gone for two months, Mike.”