Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

At sixteen, awake and asleep are impossible to differentiate for Mike. 

Time hasn’t stopped or slowed since El — Jane in public — showed up in the woods, or when his best friend got pulled into another dimension by a giant monster, or when his best friend was when possessed by another monster, or when his friends and family were trapped in a mall controlled by Russians trying to escape the clutches of a giant flesh monster—  Jesus Christ his life is weird. According to all of Mike’s research (glancing from the clock to his classmates, tapping his foot, counting the days in his head) time is moving the exact same way it always has. 

Yet time doesn’t feel the same. 

Sometimes it feels slow, like Mike is underwater. His limbs are liquid, slow and shaky, and everyone else is walking normally. Everyone else is on land, but Mike is trapped in his own little bubble of water that’s impossible to pop. Sometimes the bubble gets flooded, and water fills his lungs; he’s left silently screaming, unable to breath, while his head pounds so loud that he thinks it might explode. 

Other times it’s fast. It’s like his life is a movie and he hit fast forward. Little white cracks line his vision as moments speed ahead. Until the vhs tape breaks or someone abruptly hits play, he’s stuck in a hell of fast movements and a racing mind. Then, suddenly, he’s thrust into a conversion that he doesn’t remember starting and people are staring at him like he’s crazy. 

(And then what he said to Will, all those months ago, comes back like he only just said it. 

“Crazy together?”

And it feels a little guilty that they really are going crazy together. That his words, somehow, made both of their feelings true)

When Mike’s somewhere, he tends to drift. It’s almost like he isn’t really there . His body is, he thinks, but his mind is gone. Taken away into another dimension. Or maybe it is there, just fuzzy. Like he’s in a dream, his body moving slowly and jaggedly.

Every day reminds him of the night that El supposedly “died”. 

There were lights — so many lights — flashing yellow, blue, red. The sound of laughter, the kind that only comes after death was so close, just a whisker away from snatching them all away, surrounds him. His parents are there, and so is Nancy and Hopper and Joyce and all his friends. But. But. 

But El isn’t there, so nothing else really matters, does it? She sacrificed herself for them. She’s dead because of them. 

The lights are blurred, the people are silent, and life is meaningless. And it’s always like that. For months. 

At first his friends make it better. Help him focus on the happiness that came before the tragedy. But soon they fade away too, quickly replaced by grief and anger. So much anger. And Mike can’t do anything but scream as he pushes away grief with nightly wallow filled calls and hopeless dreams. 

Will… Will is helpful. He makes the ringing in his ears leave and shows him the beauty that the flashing, blurry lights often hide. Around Will the anger fades, until he can feel joy and hope again. 

When Will is around, when it’s just the two of them, Mike allows himself to talk about Eleven.

The party doesn’t mention her. Ever. Not anymore. Not after Mike snaps and yells one too many times. Not after she died right in front of them. 

To the town of Hawkins, there was no young girl named Eleven, who sacrificed herself to save four boys she met only a week before. Mike only has Lucas, Dustin and Will to talk about Eleven with—

He tried talking to Nancy about it, once. She was so shocked that she asked if he was feeling okay. He hasn’t brought it up again. 

—but none of them will bring it up. Dustin might crack a joke about how El could grab something off some shelf that they couldn’t reach, but he always looked at Mike straight after, as if assessing if he was in trouble. If Dustin crossed another line he didn’t see. 

Mike hates it, because for all his defensiveness and snappiness, there is nothing more that he wants to talk about. Wants to share memories. Hopes. Dreams. Get confirmation that she’s actually real. That he’s not going crazy. That he’s not alone. 

He had never brought it up to Will before. He just never thought to. Will never got to meet El, before she died, so he couldn’t crack jokes. Couldn’t bring up memories. All Will had to go off of was what the other boys had said about her. 

(And faded memories of a bald girl shaking him awake, telling him to hold on a little while longer. Of that girl disappearing. Of the cries of a monster as he’s finally caught.)

Mike remembers when Will first brought her up to him. 

(It’s January. 64 days since El died. Mike calls her every day on the super com. He’s not sure why. He can’t seem to stop. Can’t stop hoping that maybe she’s still out there. That she’s alive. Can’t stop holding, no, clutching onto the hope that she can hear him. 

(He doesn’t realize it then, but he couldn’t properly mourn her. He was so caught up in his hope that he was just permanently stuck on angry. He was a shitty friend.)

He can’t call her as easily today, though, because Will is sleeping over. It’s the first time in awhile. Joyce has been more than over protective since he’s come back, wanting to stay and watch them hang out like they’re five. It’s made hanging out a bit awkward. Joyce, though, finally allowed Will to spend the night over at Mike’s without sleeping on the living room couch or something like that. Mike can tell Will’s relieved to not have constant eyes on him: Mike’s pretty sure this is the first time he’s really been at peace since everything happened. 

They’re in the basement, playing Mike’s Atari on his Dad's old TV. Or, they are supposed to be playing. Will sure is: Mike can hear him smashing buttons like his life depends on it. Mike, though can’t stop glancing — more like staring — at the fort. The fort that she slept in. That he nicknamed her in. That she smiled in. 

That she will never go into again. 

He’s replaying her soft voice saying ‘goodnight, Mike’, memorizing the blankets with his eyes like he hasn’t been staring at them for the past two months, when the sound of a character death breaks through his thoughts. He glances back at the screen, watching his life go down with blank eyes, before glancing back at the fort. 

Will’s controller hits the ground, echoing faintly against the carpet, and green eyes are staring into his brown. They go from eye to eye, and Mike faintly wonders if this is what it’s like to be under a microscope. 

Will’s eyebrows scrunch together, his lips pursed. 

“That’s the third time you’ve died.” Will comments, voice soft. “Since I don’t think we’re getting any closer to the boss, maybe we should stop for the night.”

Mike’s eyes widen. “No, we can—”

“Mike,” Mike’s mouth snaps shut. “You’ve been out of it all night. What’s wrong?” Will asks. 

Mike glances at the fort again, and when he looks back he finds Will’s eyes still on his. A look of understanding crosses Will’s face, and suddenly Mike’s gaze is locked on the dusty orange carpet. 

The silence between them is thick. Heavy. Like the days Mike wakes up and it seems like the world is on his shoulders. Like a breath in the wrong direction could make him just collapse. 

“What, uh, what was she like?” Will asks. 

Mike glances up, confused. Will shrinks slightly at the eye contact. 

“Eleven. What was she like?”

Even though Mike’s imagined a million different ways to talk about Eleven in the months of her absence, all of that flies out the window at Will’s question. Mike stays silent. It’s a long silence, much too long, and he knows Will is already overthinking everything, so he lets go of his filter. 

“Well,” Mike isn’t sure if his throat is squeezing shut or opening up, “She, she was awesome. We already told you about her powers and stuff—”

“Not what did she do, Mike. What was she like?”

Mike pauses. Looks to the floor. A smile pinches his cheeks. It feels foreign.   

“She was… she was shy. I think she hadn’t had any friends before us. She was so quiet, and we were so scared that we almost scared her off. But she, uh,” Mike pauses, and glances up at Will. He looks so entranced, like there’s nothing else he could possibly listen to, and he feels his chest swell up the same way it does with El. “She reminded me of you.

“She didn’t use words, she used actions. You had to tell everything she was thinking just by her expression. When she used her words, you listened because you knew they were important.”

“She sounds really cool.”

“Yeah, she is.”

Mike’s eyes widen. His chest might be exploding. Or maybe it’s his heart breaking.

“Was. She was.”

Mike tastes blood on his tongue, and it takes a second to realize it’s from his cheek. He unclenches his teeth, clenches his hands instead.

He looks down when he feels it. Watches, slightly distant, as Will’s right hand slips into his left. Says nothing when Will squeezes. He squeezes back. 

“You know, when my dog died, my mom told me that no one is ever truly gone. As long as you still have the memories and your love for them, they’ll always be right there with you.”

Mike doesn’t say anything, only nods at the words. Will doesn’t mention the tears in Mike’s eyes. Mike doesn’t mention the candy bar he finds on his sleeping bag. Neither mention the hand holding. 

When Will goes into the bathroom to brush his teeth, Mike calls El. He tells her what Will said, tells her that Will is the best friend in the world. Crawls into his sleeping bag and falls asleep to Will’s humming. He always hums when he’s anxious. 

“Love of my life/you’ve hurt me

You’ve broken my heart/and now you leave me”

Mike wonders if the song is just for him.)

When El disappears, Mike starts some strange habits. 

Sometimes he just starts speaking his thoughts. At first it’s like he’s narrating his life, like when he tells it all to El at the end of the day. Muttering ‘why is this thing so damn big? Are you trying to kill us?’ under his breath during class. He would get a few weird looks, maybe a few laughs, but it wasn’t anything he wasn’t already used to. Then it moves onto little comments, ‘blue like the sky,’  or “ugly, but not bad,’ that don’t make sense to anyone, not even Mike. 

Sometimes the party will laugh and ask him what he’s talking about, and he realizes that he has no idea what he just said. After a few weeks, that laughter became whispered worries, before slipping into the same normality that everyone else’s quirks are sorted under. 

When El finally returns, alive and safe, (thank god. He was right. He was right) Mike just figures that maybe his new quirks would... leave. Vanish as quickly as they appeared. They don’t though, because they live in Hawkins, Indiana, where things are never fun or safe or easy. In fact, he ends up gaining a few more habits. And the few that he has get worse. 

His mutters go from funny comments, to plain old self hatred. Anything that Mike thinks of as a mess up is immediately met with dozens of ‘ useless, dumb, idiot.’ He says it quiet enough for no one to hear him. Will notices, though, and — oddly — so does Max. After that Max, who sits next to Mike during Math and English, will kick him under the table if he starts his mutters—

(Will didn’t like that very much, so it quickly changes to Max starting some banter. Mike is easily distracted.)

—and Will, who has Mike in Biology and French, will grab his arm underneath the table, and slowly, ever so slowly, inch his way to Mike’s hand. And Mike goes silent because all he can focus on is the tingle of Will’s dainty fingers. 

His other habit is, well, he doesn’t really have a name for it. It’s when he just, sort of, checks out. Where he’s not anywhere. Time doesn’t exist in that space. It’s not a fun space: when he’s there there’s no happiness, no joy, no laughter. But it’s not a bad space either: there’s no pain or sadness there either. 

Mike doesn’t have control of when he goes there. Doesn’t know what causes it. His heart will be hurting and his mind will be moving faster and faster and then he’s not there at all. 

Time only feels normal when Will’s there. Biology will go from being a long forgotten memory (even though it happened only an hour ago) to an hour of awareness . It’s something Mike doesn’t even know he lost until Will returns it.

With Will, lights aren’t blurry, they’re bright. Will opens up doors Mike didn’t realize we’re closed, and he does it so gently and with such kindness that Mike is left open, raw, and loved. So, so loved. Will’s hugs make him feel things he didn’t know he could still feel, and his smile makes him forget his own name.

When he’s around El, things are real again. It’s like he can forget about all the stress and trauma and just sit on her bed and laugh.

El makes him laugh like nobody else. She makes his face burn from blushing and his cheeks hurt from smiling. She leads him passed the closed doors — that have been locked longer than he can remember — to a garden, where she lets him explore flowers and trip on stones. She teaches him as much as he taught her. 

When Will and El are there, it’s like time lights up in fireworks. Every second feels important. Every touch lights up his skin in small shivers (good shivers!), every shuffle makes him glance, and every word makes his brain light up. He’s suddenly so aware of everything. 

And it’s—it’s different than the alertness he gets when he’s scared or fighting: When he’s pumped full of adrenaline it’s like there’s a haze, making it so the memories aren’t completely clear when he thinks about them. When he’s around El and Will, his heart will race and his hands get sweaty and his eyes never stay in the same place long — yet, they’ll always end up looking back at El and Will — but there’s no haze. 

Every memory with the two of them is clear as day, like it was happening right in front of him. Taking El out for her first ice cream (Just him and El). Waiting for the chance to play the new arcade game (Will). Doing homework after school (Will and El). 

(Sometimes the others—Lucas, Max, Dustin, Steve, Nancy, Jonathan, even Joyce and Hopper —will mention a memory, and Mike will have to hide his shock because, in his memory, all he can remember is El and Will, and it always takes him an extra second to place his other friends.)

No matter how insignificant, he can’t seem to forget them. He mentioned it to his mom once, because none of his friends actually talk to Mrs Wheeler, so he figures it’s safe to confide something so private. 

(“Hey, Mom?”

Mike is sitting on the kitchen island, watching his mom make lunch. Karen hums is acknowledgment, and Mike knows that’s as much as he’s going to get out of her. 

“I’ve been having these, uh, really vivid memories lately. Like I can name the number of stripes on my—uh, friends shirt. Stuff like that.”

Karen hums again, finally turning away from the peanut butter and jelly sandwich and looking at her son. 

“You know, you had a photographic memory when you were a kid. Used to be able to describe each room in the house by memory alone. Oh! And you could describe your father’s outfits perfectly! Went away when you got older, though. Maybe it’s popping back up!” She says cheerily, chuckling slightly. She turns back around, grabbing a knife from the drawer. 

Mike is pretty sure that’s not how brains work, and he doesn’t think what his mom describes is very hard since the house has been the same since the 60s and he’s not sure if his dad has changed his pants at all in the past week.

“Oh, uh, cool. Thanks mom.”)

Mike thinks that it makes sense. Kinda. Not really. Because photographic memory shouldn’t only be brought on by certain people. Especially two people. Who he might be in love with. Or something. 

(He doesn’t tell anyone else about his memories. Barely even mentions it to himself.)

Recently, when time gets wonky and Mike’s day gets blurred by half dreams, he finds himself getting “woken up”. During math, Will will set his foot on top of Mike’s. El will lay her head in his lap, or vise versa, while they study. It’s small. It’s subtle. But it works. 

On really bad days, when Mike’s vision gets spotty and his breathing is labored, and life is more like a nightmare than a dream, Will will lead him out of school and they’ll spend the day at Hopper’s. 

(The first time this happens, Hopper comes home early with Joyce on his heels. He’s loud and angry, and Joyce is muttering about how the school called and how she had to miss work and was so, so worried. Mike doesn’t pay too much attention, doesn’t have the energy or focus to try. Mike’s laying on El’s bed, curled up with Grumpy Bear. He thinks he might be crying, but he’s not sobbing. The tears are just leaking from his eyes, unbidden, and tracking down his cheek onto the bedspread. He doesn’t have the energy to remember when or why he started crying, nor the energy to figure out how to stop. 

They are trying to have it in private, the fight that is. Trying being the important word, as the door is ajar and both El and Hopper tend to be loud (especially when they’re together). Hopper is lecturing them, going off about ‘danger’ and the ‘importance of education’, like Joyce and him didn’t barely pass high school, while Joyce is mothering El and Will softly in the pauses Hopper is forced to take because of a little thing called breathing.

El keeps breaking in every few sentences, telling him that they ‘had to’ and how ‘he wouldn’t understand’. Mike figures she started watching teen movies with Nancy, as many of the phases don’t completely fit the situation. Her intentions of being a brat are clear, though, which only riling Hopper up more. Mike thinks he should be laughing. Or something. 

Everything cuts short very quickly, though. Even Mike stops breathing when it happens. He’s not sure how quickly he starts up again. 

“Shut up for a second and LISTEN to us!”

Mike can hear Will’s heavy breathing from the bedroom, the resounding silence from the three other parties making it easy. After a few moments, he takes a deep breath and continues. He speaks so softly and slowly that Mike has to strain to hear it.  

“Mike hasn’t handled, uh, it, in the same way we have. Mike handles emotions very directly. Either something affects him or—or it doesn’t. If it affects him, he’s big and emotional and he needs everyone to know that. When he’s excited, he wants people to be excited with him, or he feels like his emotions didn’t have an impact. That he doesn’t matter, I guess.

“But... When he doesn’t want something to effect him, he ignores it. He ignores it until it boils up and comes out in an explosion. And—and that explosion isn’t normally destructive and big.”

Will takes another breath, and Mike knows where this is going. There’s a creek, as well as an exhale, and Mike can imagine Joyce and Hopper sitting on the big couch in front of the TV, Hopper nodding for Will to continue. El sitting on the arm chair, her elbows on her knees, unintentionally mirroring her adopted father. It’s a nice image. 

“I— We haven’t told you this, but, uh, sometimes Mike has these weird days. Dustin calls them his ‘dark days’. Sometimes he will come to school and it’s like—,” Will pauses for a few moments, and Mike knows he’s trying to pick his words carefully, “it’s like he’s a—a husk. Like his body is there, and he’s moving and taking notes and nodding when you talk to him and smiling when you ask him if he’s okay,” Will’s voice is getting more frantic and wobbly, and Mike can feel his finger twitch with the need to comfort. He wants to move. But his limbs are heavy and his brain his heavier and he can’t move. “But then you’ll look into his eyes and there’s nothing there. It’s like he’s running on auto pilot. And it’s—it’s—it’s—”

“Scary.” El finishes, and Will sniffles. 

There’s silence after that. It’s entirely possible that this might be the first time El and Will have talked about this out loud. He can tell that they have thought about it, as they have definitely noticed it. It’s nice to know that they care. It sucks to know it doesn’t matter. That any second something could jump through the window and kill them all, or some government guy could kidnap El while everyone is sleeping and they’ll never get to say goodbye. 

More tears run down Mike’s face, but his breathing stays the same, and his eyes never leave the unfocused speck on El’s wall. 

El’s voice cuts through everything. Just like it always does.

“I noticed. Mike would zone out during study time or play time, and I would tap his shoulder and yell ‘Mike’ and he would wake up.”

She pauses, and Mike knows she’s either thinking through more sentences or looking to Will to finish what she was trying to say. Will’s voice answers his unasked question. 

“The party noticed too. We would try to talk to him at lunch and he would just kinda hum and stare off into space. He wouldn’t actually answer to anyone, and would flinch away if anyone tried to touch him. But—”

Will stops, and clears his throat in the embarrassed way he does when he gives speeches in class. There’s more silence, before El picks up where he left off. 

“He lets us touch him, and he wakes up when we touch and talk to him a lots.”

Will continues. He’s got his debating voice on though, like when Mike and him discuss whether Luke or Anakin was the chosen one in the fake fights they have. It sounds serious, though. Mike can’t remember hearing this voice outside of their supernatural run-ins. 

“So we started doing a thing where I would kinda act really tired in class so I could lean into him and whisper stuff and then I would take him to El’s and we would study and talk until he was back.”

It comes out fast, and Will barely stops to breath before he continues.

“But today Mike was barely even blinking and he started crying in science but it wasn’t crying crying because he wasn’t sobbing he was just—”

Will takes a deep breath, and he sounds so hysterical that Mike would be surprised if Will wasn’t crying. He hears a creek, a shuffle, and whispered words he knows are from El. 

“He took him here. Pretended to pee so he could come. Mike got better. He’s still crying and he needs to stay .”

El’s words sound final, and the shuffling starts again. Footsteps approach, and Mike isn’t surprised when he sees the door creek open the rest of the way from the corner of his eye. 

The bed creaks, and suddenly El’s curly hair is tickling his neck and her hot breath is hitting his collar. She wraps an arm around him. His breath settles with it. 

He can feel Will moving above him, grabbing things around the room before gravitating toward the bed. There’s a dip near his head, a second of nothing, before his head and torso are floating up and Will is slipping under them. He can’t tell if it’s someone lifting him or if El is using her powers. She’s been iffy enough lately for it to be either. He finds himself too grateful for the warm comfort to think about it too much. 

They spend the next four to six hours sitting in El’s bed, Will reading while Mike slips into and out of dream, sleep, awake, panic, comfort.)

After the first time, Joyce “talks” to Karen and suddenly Mike is able to leave school with the permission of Chief Sheriff Hopper and a signature of some local therapist saying he has some sort of appointment. 

The times at El’s are nice, even if they are his burriest memories of them together. He knows the activities shift: Sometimes they’ll just cuddle, or Will or El will read, or someone will braid his hair while the other tells him about their day or an upcoming event or what the weather is like. Anything works. Anything to fill the silence. 

Those days are less frequent now. Not to say that he’s spending less time with Will and El — quite the opposite, actually — but recently more and more of his days are just normal or great. And sometimes they still go to El’s and do the things they do on Mike’s bad days, but Mike can participate. He gets to talk and laugh with them, instead of just listening to them while they pretend he’s answering.

Which is nice. It’s nice to be here, to joke and smile. To breathe deeply and not have to worry about water filling his lungs. Or Will getting taken. Or El dying. 

Time is still weird, though. 

It’s still too fast. Still too slow. It’s never normal. Seconds don’t tick by, hours do. Mike feels like he’s losing time. Feels like there isn’t enough. 

He almost lost El. He thought he did for nearly a year. Went through — what he thought were — hallucinations, called her every night, and wished and wished that he could’ve somehow switched places with her. That she was still living and he wasn’t. 

(Which was deep for a thirteen year old. Also very suicidal. If it weren’t for his friends, Mike isn’t sure where he would be.)

He also begged the universe for more time. A week wasn’t enough. Seven days to get to know someone, nearly a year of realizing how little that is. 

That year made him very, very aware of time. Of how quickly it can leave you, how little it can be. How every second needs to be appreciated, because what if in the next one the person he cares for is gone. 

Sometimes Mike will just look at Will, glancing at the clock every now and again to make sure that time is real and happening and normal. That every second isn’t too fast, or too slow. That he isn’t dreaming. That Will is there and okay. 

He does the same for El. He knows he does. He doesn’t know if Will and El notice it, doesn’t know if they know what it means. He isn’t quite sure what it means himself. Does he want time to be slow? Does he want it fast? Why does it matter at all?

For all of Mike’s overthinking, he can be rather oblivious. Forgets that Will and El aren’t the only ones he does that to. Because he has other friends: Lucas, Dustin, even Max that get the same treatment. He worries less around Steve and the adults, but every once in awhile he will stare at his mother and get struck with the thought that she’s going to die. 

And not in a few decades, surrounded by friends and family as she drifts peacefully into the beyond, but because she was eaten by a lily mouthed monster, or shot by some Russian spy, or maybe just in the wrong place at the wrong time. She’ll show up in the newspaper, a name in a list of dozens. Everyone else will think that she died in a car crash or from some chemical spill, but Mike will know the truth. 

Mike will know he’s the one who killed his mother. 

Dinner suddenly seams so fast and he’s moving so slow and he needs to look at a fucking clock . His mother is going to die and he can’t remember the last time he told he he loved her—

(“I love you, mom.”

There’s a clatter as Karen’s fork hits her plate, followed by several long moments of silence. Everyone is staring at Mike, and Mike is counting the peas on his plate. He glances up at his mother, unsurprised to find her looking at him with astonishment. It reminds him of the months after El disappeared, where she would fix him with a look every time he came home, in trouble— which was nearly everyday during that time. 

Though, it’s different now;  there’s no disappointment. Her eyebrows aren’t creased in confusion and her jaw isn’t set. She doesn’t look angry or upset or concerned. Just…

She just looks surprised. Maybe a little happy. 

Mike smiles, though it comes out as more of a grimace. “Sorry, I don’t say it that often. You’re—you’re just really great and I love you.”

Mike can feel his sisters’ stares on the side of his head. He glances at the two of them, hoping that they’ll look away. They don’t. 

Nancy looks confused and concerned, her eyebrows creased the same way their mom’s do, and her mouth open. Her fork is frozen halfway to her mouth. Holly—seven years old with a motormouth that rivals Dustin’s easily —is struck silent. She’s looking from face to face, clearly trying to figure out how to react. Mike doesn’t know if she even remembers the last time he said that to any member of the family, but he stops that train of thought as a pain in his chest flares up. 

Hell, even his dad has looked away from his newspaper to give him a weird look. Ted just looks completely befuddled, which is his normal face so Mike doesn’t really care. The fact that he got his attention at all is shocking enough. 

“Well,” Karen starts. Mike snaps his eyes back to his mother, taking in her soft smile as her calm voice greets him, “I love you too, Mike.”)

The point is, Mike hasn’t exactly hidden his feelings. It’s not really his thing: if he has a feeling, he’s going to feel it. And probably talk about it to anyone who will listen. It’s just simpler that way, plus it helps him sort through how he actually feels, rather than what his base instinct is. 

He’s always been told that he was easy to read: his face betrays everything that he thinks, and his impulse control is low enough for him not to think through his expressions. He can’t count the amount of times he’s been elbowed or kicked because his face showed the fact that him and the party were lying their asses off, or when he rolls his eyes without thinking, only to land them all on detention

He feels things strongly, he loves to whine and rant about his issues, and his expression tells more than his words. The problem with this combination is that when he doesn’t mention something, everyone notices. His friends are observant, he’ll give them that, and they know him well enough to figure out what he’s refusing to say. 

It’s a strange dichotomy to have. Mike ranting about how bus drivers are complete idiots and that they should be given more training if they were going to be put in charge of driving around two dozen high schoolers, while his friends wonder if he’s actually mad at the bus driver industry or if he’s avoiding talking about his current C- in History. 

A poor grade in history isn’t what has been on Mike’s mind recently, though. Because the ‘dark days’ have felt so far away the past few months, so the creeping feeling of one in the corner of his mind is terrifying. 

Unfortunately, while Mike knows his friends well enough to figure out if they’re being possessed or not, he’s also completely oblivious to most things that aren’t life threatening, so he’s pretty caught off guard when Lucas corners him to talk about his less than positive thoughts.

(Mike and Lucas have been neighbors since the Sinclair’s moved two houses down when Mike was four and Nancy was on the cusp of turning eight. They became friends in first grade when their moms both joined the PTA, and they were stuck at the meetings, bored out of their minds. They would spend nearly the entire day together: six hours at school with Will, two hours after school at the PTA (which Joyce couldn’t join because of work), then going to one of their houses’ to finish their homework and play until the other had to go home. 

Mike’s earliest memories included Lucas: seven years old, sliding down the banister and breaking his leg: eight years old, chopping off Nancy’s Barbie doll’s hair and facing the wrath of a rage filled twelve year old: ten years old, both of them getting stuck in a tree after making a bet to see who could climb the highest. They had to call the fire department for the last one, which made Mike want to swear off tree climbing for the rest of his days. 

Mike knows Lucas. Has gone through adolescence, puberty, and more with him. He will probably go through college with him too. Lucas is witty, brave, loyal, cunning, and so damn caring. He would do anything for his friends, and has proved his loyalty with the past few years of monster fighting. 

So it shouldn’t surprise Mike that Lucas would purposely ram Mike with his bike in order to stop him from running inside his house, but Mike’s still sitting on the concrete gaping at his friend in shock, so maybe he isn’t as aware as he thinks he is. 

Lucas throws his bike into Mike’s grass, leveling him with a look. “Come on, let's go to the basement.” he says, strutting past Mike and walking into Mike’s house like he owns the place. 

They had been biking home together after watching a movie at the local theater—alone since Joyce still wasn’t letting Will bike at night and Dustin hitched a ride with Steve (who didn’t have room in his trunk for their bikes, and there was no way they were just going to leave them there)—when Lucas asked Mike if he could spend the night. Mike said ‘no’ without thinking, rattled off a half hearted excuse, tried to dive into his house only to get here: splayed onto the concrete like a dead butterfly in a display case. 

His gets up, letting out a few dramatic grunts as he dusts himself off. He wanders inside, greeting his mother before walking into the basement, shutting the door behind him. He descends the stairs, finding Lucas sideways in the armchair, legs over the arm, jestering toward the large couch in front of it. 

As Mike sits down, he’s struck with how similar this is to therapy. Maybe Lucas, with all his strange humor, did that on purpose. 

Lucas clears his throat, raising an eyebrow at Mike that just says ‘don’t even try to get out of this’, before speaking, “So, I think we both know why we’re here. Do you want to start or should I?”

Mike remains silent. He doesn’t even know where to start. Or what brought this on in the first place. 

Lucas sighs, but he doesn’t look surprised. 

“The past week or so you’ve been weird: sneaking out of school, ignoring all the teachers, and zoning out during lunch. And don’t even get me started on your weird rants. Which either means that you’ve suddenly gained an interest in the politics surrounding the school system, or you’re avoiding something”

Mike should really give Lucas more credit: the guy really knows him. 

“And tonight you were almost completely silent. You said maybe two things and spent the last few hours either cuddled up to someone or walking behind everyone, staring off into the distance like you were in some old western movie. And sometimes you were just staring at us like we were going to disappear.”

Shit . 

“And it’s not like your ‘dark days’ or whatever Dustin calls them: you’re still here. You can hear us and understand us, you’re just not answering. And none of us know why.”

Mike looks at his knees. While Lucas had been talking, he curled into a ball, his side leaning into the back of the couch. He can feel Lucas’s eyes on him, but he refuses to look. 

After nearly a minute of uncomfortable silence, Mike answers. 

“I—I don’t really know where to start.”

The room is quiet for a few long seconds, before Lucas speaks. His voice is softer, more careful. 

“You don’t have to tell me what you’re thinking, or why this is happening. I—We just need to know how to help you, Mike.”

Mike looks up at Lucas again. 

“Help me?” 

“Like, feel better and stuff. Just tell us if you want to be left alone or if you want us to talk or—or hold you, or something.”

“Really?” Mike asks, and wants to disappear at how weak he sounds. How vulnerable. 

Lucas gives him a small smile. “Yeah, really. ”

Mike knows he’s blushing, and his chest is convulsing in a mixture of embarrassment and happiness. He bites his lip, holding back a smile as he stares at the crummy orange carpet. 

“Well,” his mood sobers quickly as he gets back to the subject at hand, “Y-You know my, uhh, ‘dark days’?” He obviously does, Mike. “ Of course you do. Sorry. ”

“Don’t apologize, Mikey.”

“Sorry. I mean. Okay.”

He takes a breath. It totally doesn’t shake. 

“So I kinda get these feelings whenever one is coming. It’s... You know how you can tell rain is coming because you can see the dark clouds? It’s like that. I can see the clouds. And the air is getting different. But it’s not raining. Yet.”

Lucas nods. Mike lets out a breath. His eyes are closed, or maybe just unfocused, so he does notice Lucas moving to stand and pace until he starts speaking. 

“Well, what if we do it so we tap something, probably you, twice. And it means, like, ‘can we touch you?’ And stuff. If you say yes then everything’s okay and we’ll cuddle you and shit. But if you say no, or if you don’t respond, we will leave you alone. And if you feel like talking you can explain what is okay and what isn’t.”

Mike nods. His eyes are blurry. “Yeah. Yeah okay.”)

Lucas, because he’s amazing and considerate, spreads this to everyone through the coms. Mike just watches him, tying knots into the strings of the couch as he wonders what he did to get such incredible friends. 

It’s easier after that. The “Dark Days” (why does that sound so fucking ominous, Dustin?) come and go, and his friends are there. They don’t leave, even though Mike can tell they’re sometimes so tired of life that they’re hinging on their own Dark Days. 

Which is a thing they should discuss, really: the Dark Days of the other group members. 

When Will becomes a shadow of his former self, either glancing around nervously or staring at nothing. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t smile. But Will has his night light (which Mike gave him. Mike gave him a present that he liked so much that it’s his tether to humanity. It makes Mike shudder with warmth if he thinks about it too much). 

El is different. Sometimes she talks so much, it’s like she’s trying to drown out any memory of the time when she couldn’t talk at all. She will blabber about something, using as many words as possible until her words lose all meaning. They don’t tell her that, though. Mike knows she needs them to listen, and they will. They will help her however she needs, whether it be when she talks to much or doesn’t talk at all. 

And then there’s Dustin. 

(It’s a Thursday. At least, Mike thinks it’s a Thursday. It feels like a Thursday, but it could very well be a Tuesday or maybe even a Monday, and Mike would be none the wiser until he has to write the date for whatever project he’s doing in Wells’ today. 

He’s walking through the hallway, weaving through groups with half a mind as he tries to remember the reading from the night before, when he’s suddenly pulled away. 

He blinks, looking around the new setting of the Health classroom, which apparently doesn’t have a class right now. The door shuts, muting the chatter of the hallway to a soft murmur. Mike meets the wide eyes of Dustin Henderson.

“Hey, Dustin?” Mike asks, confused, “don’t you have English with me in like,” Mike checks the clock, “three minutes? ”

“Can we be late?” Dustin asks, breathless. Mike’s nodding before he can process the question. 

“Yeah, of course.” No one wants to be in Wells’s class anyway. “What’s up? ”

Dustin looks almost like he regrets bringing up anything in the first place, which is never good. Mike watches him pace, slowly putting down his backpack. He thinks this might take awhile. 

“So, um,” Dustin stops speaking, looking from Mike to the floor. Finally he sputters out in rapid succession, “You know how last week El got freaked out at the football game and stopped breathing and I wanted to call the nurse, but then this mom came up to us and calmed El down and told us it was a panic attack?”

Dustin sucks in a big breath, staring at Mike with pleading eyes. 

“Yeah?” Mike answers. He remembers it pretty vividly; Joyce and Hopper had nearly passed out when they heard. Sometimes Mike really hates their new open door policy about trauma (but he likes it to. It’s nice to know there are adults he can talk to about this kind of stuff). 

Dustin continues, “and you know how a few weeks ago Will took you out of school because you started crying silently in class? ”

It was more like three months ago, but Mike nods anyway. He’s been getting better since then, especially with the open door policy and how helpful his friends have been. 

“And you know—”

“Dustin,” Mike interrupts, trying to keep his voice gentle. “Why are you bringing all this up?”

“Because I,” Dustin hesitates, which makes Mike slightly scared because Dustin only hesitates if he doesn’t want to say something (or if he’s just trying to be dramatic, but Mike doesn’t think that’s what’s happening), “Because I understand.”

Intelligently, Mike responds: “What?”

“I-I have dark days, too. They’re not like yours. I’m not even sure if they count, really, but, but sometimes I feel like if I stop talking then the whole world will just explode.” Dustin gasps so violently after his confession that Mike is half worried he’s going to pass out. He immediately puts his hand on Dustin’s shoulder, steering him into a seat before sitting next to him. He starts rubbing in slow circles, soothing the boy the same way he’s done to him time and time again. 

They’re close enough together to be breathing the same air, but Mike can’t find it in himself to care. The room is quiet, the bell ringing above their heads, signaling that they’re late to class. Neither move, though, listening to far away footsteps of students running to class. 

Mike starts slowly, his voice no more than a whisper, “You know, just because you react a bit differently doesn’t mean you don’t have dark days. I think we all have them; ours just tend to be a bit worse.” Mike shoots him a playful smile. 

Dustin laughs lightly, “I blame all the trauma. Not great for the health.”

The two laugh softly for a few moments, and when they stop the silence starts again. Mike looks at Dustin, and he understands, just a bit, of what he was saying. 

“When,” Mike starts, waits for Dustin to meet his eyes again, “When you say you feel like the worlds going to explode, what do you mean?”

Dustin looks away, jaw set, nose scrunched, and eyes nearly glaring at the floor. He’s not angry though, he...he seems almost embarrassed. 

“Well, it’s like my thoughts have different weights. I know it sounds weird, but just let me explain.”

Dustin stares at Mike, and it takes him a few seconds to realize Dustin’s waiting for an answer. 

“Yeah, course, yeah.”

Dustin takes a deep breath. 

“Okay, so, you know how you have thoughts that go through your mind. Like ‘she has a nice dress’ or ‘he’s cute’— Well, not so much the last— you know what I mean!” Mike doesn’t totally understand, but he nods anyway . “So, so I have thoughts like some of those normally, but, but on my bad days, they aren’t... good?

“It’s like everything I say is dumb. And I know it’s dumb normally, but then I have a shitty feeling in my stomach and I feel like I’m going to puke or something because I’m sure that you all hate me.”

Dustin doesn’t get to continue, because Mike tugs him into a hug. 

“Fuck. That.” Mike has never felt so sure before. “ We could never hate you, okay? Yeah, you can say some dumb shit, but you also say cool, profound, nerdy shit, too.

“And we love you, okay? We love your rants and your ideas and your jokes. Why the fuck would we be friends if we didn’t love it?”

Mike can feel Dustin tremble under his hands, so he goes to pull away, scared that he did something without meaning to. He’s stopped, though, as Dustin clutches onto him, shoving his own head into the crook of Mike’ neck. 

Mike just traces circles into his back, holding onto his friends even though he’s getting twitchy from sitting still for so long. After a few minutes Dustin pulls away, sniffling. Mike just looks at him, waiting. 

“We’re missing class.” Dustin settles on, smiling slightly 

Mike scoffs, “Would you really rather be in Wells right now?” He asks, indignant. 

Dustin fake shivers, causing Mike to snicker. “Ugh, Wells. That woman could be a demogorgon in disguise, Mike!”

“I know, Dustin.”)

They create a new code at Dustin’s insistence, where a squeeze means the person needs comfort. It works really, really well, and Mike loves Dustin so fucking much. 

Max has them too, though it’s not often that she goes to Mike for help. They aren’t enemies anymore—as if they ever were—but they definitely aren’t besties. Mike can’t hate her, not after seeing her help Will through panic attacks so many times. But they haven’t had a true heart to heart, yet. 

(Each of the party have their own strengths and weaknesses when it comes to school. Dustin is a freaking genius when it comes to physics and theoretical stuff, but he has trouble when things don’t have patterns. Lucas is bad with explanations, but good with examples. Will can come up with a creative solution faster than using a more common idea. 

Which means that Dustin, Lucas, and Will are all amazing at math, but terrible at explaining how math works. 

They only person who seems to get him is Max. 

Mike and Max don’t talk often. It’s not because they hate each other (“that’s so ‘84”, to quote the girl herself), but because they barely have any classes together. 

They’re both advanced in their own right; Mike was in AP Bio — a previously senior only class — by Sophomore year, and Max was in Calculus by her freshman. But because of their advancements in their respective talents, they tended to fall into the norm or below that for the rest. Mike, unfortunately, fell a bit below average when it came to math. Fortunately, Max is a bit below average when it comes to science, so they come to an agreement;

Help each other study for the shit they’re bad at, and don’t make each other seem stupid. 

“When I get murdered do not blame Russians, blame Algebra.”

Max doesn’t even flinch from her perch from his bed. “When you get murdered?” She asks.

Mike rolls off the bed with a groan, face up to his bedroom’s popcorn ceiling. 

“Don’t be dramatic, Mike.”

Mike sneers at her, though it’s more to provide a reaction than anything. They haven’t actually argued in years, mostly just bickered and sneered like they hate each other. No one in the group actually thinks they dislike each other, but a good portion of the school—at least of the ones who knew their names—think they have a rivalry. Max and Mike are happy to provide kindle to the fire. 

It just means that teachers like to pair them up for projects.

They rest in silence for awhile, the sound of pencils scratching against paper and the studio laughter from the TV downstairs giving them soft background noise. Mike flips over and drags a book down to the floor. He tries to focus on his Pre-Calc homework, but his train of thought keeps derailing every time Max spares him a glance. 

Which seems to be every ten seconds, apparently. 

After an eternity of looks, Mike finally slams down the book and looks back at Max. She has the gall to look surprised. 

“What is it?”

Max blinks, startled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She shrugs nonchalantly, head shaking. 

“Bullshit,” Mike admonishes. “Why are you staring?”

“Who says I’m staring? This may come as a shock, but you’re pretty hard on the eyes, Michael.”

“Max.”

“Ugh , fine.” Max snaps, slamming down her copy of The Scarlet Letter with all the force it deserves. “It’s that.”

Max points to Mike's face, more specifically his cheek. Mike frowns, confused. “It’s what?”

Max’s frown sours. “That! It’s—Your cheek, okay?”

Mike grabs his cheek instinctively. “What about it?”

Max won’t meet his eyes. “Just—Just check the mirror, okay?”

Mike nods, hesitant, before getting up and leaving the room. He doesn’t even need to open the door, since his mom is still convinced that Max and him will hook tongues the second they’re alone and inside four walls. 

Luckily, Holly’s having a playdate with one of the neighbors, because Mike knows she hates knocking and would not like to explain why he’s studying his face like he’s never seen it before to his nosy seven-year old sister. 

He finally figures it out after a long moment of cataloguing whether any of his freckles could be cancer; the bruise. 

Well, it isn’t really a bruise. It’s more of a discoloration at best. Mike likes to help out with the lights and sound for the auditorium during performances and stuff. Mr Clark was happy to teach him. Unfortunately, Mr Clack didn’t factor in Mike’s innate clumsiness. 

“I tripped over one of the mics I was setting up for the choir and fell off the stage. Landed on a backpack and the corner of a chair,” Mike says as he walks back into his room, pointing to the bruising on his chin and neck. “That’s where I got this. I’m not being bullied or anything, I swear.”

Mike is completely ready to let this go, move on to his homework and forget about it. He’s fully expecting for Max to forget about it, aside from some teasing about the fact he fell off the stage . 

He’s not expecting a scoff and, “Like I haven’t heard that excuse before.”

Mike blinks. “Excuse for what?”

“Your bruise!”

“It’s not an excuse. You know I’m fully capable of falling off a stage, Max. Though, I’m not sure if I should be insulted that you don’t believe me.”

Max raises her eyebrows. “You really just fell off the stage? It’s truly your fault?” Mike can’t remember the last time her incredulous tone was so serious. 

“Uh, yeah? I think some of the blame should go to the mic, but I did place it there—”

“Oh.” 

Mike trails off, staring at Max expectantly. 

Max turns back to her work. Her finger is twitching madly and Mike swears he can see her blushing. Which means that he either miraculously became Lucas, or Max just fucked up and is embarrassed about it. 

If Mike were a better person he would leave Max to her embarrassment, but it’s Max. 

Mike kicks over her book, sitting in front of her. “Okay,” he starts, “what the fuck is going on with you? ”

“Shut up, Mike.” 

“I haven’t seen you blush like that since Lucas fake-proposed when he had a concussion.” That was a funny day. Lucas had tried out for the football team, who apparently all agreed to tackle him as he was getting ready. It was a dick move and most of them got detention for it, but it led to the party discovering just how red Max’s face can get. 

Max frowns, her breath slightly short. Mike backs up a bit.

“Look, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I’ll listen. Okay?”

Max glances at Mike’s chin, tracing the bruise with her eyes. She whispered so quietly that Mike has to strain to hear her, “I thought your parents…”

Oh. 

“Oh.”

Max shrugs, “Yeah, oh.”

The two sit in silence. Mike curses himself. “Is that because your parents,”

“Yeah.”

Oh.

“Oh.” 

Max takes a rattled breath, finally meeting Mike’s eyes. “They, they don’t do it anymore. Not since Billy.”

Oh.

Mike glances at the door, listening keenly to the sound of the TV downstairs and his mother's footsteps. His mom is making dinner, and by the sounds of cartoons his dad is asleep. Mike gets up carefully, walking to the door and slowly closing it, trying to make as little noise as possible. When he turns around Max looks relieved, and Mike wonders what she thought he was going to do. 

Mike walks back to the bed. “Scoot over,” he whispers. He lays down as soon as the space is clear, waits for Max to do the same before he starts speaking. 

“My, my parents don’t hit me, but I think if they cared enough to hate me they would. ” Mike confesses, his voice no more than a whisper. “Well, not my mom. I think she cares, but she just doesn’t know how to say it sometimes. ”

Mike laughs to himself.

“Honestly, I don’t think my dad could pick me out of a line up.”

Max laughs, turning so her left arm in resting on Mike’s right shoulder, her chin resting on the crook of her bent elbow. “I don’t think my dad could either. He’s still living in California, but I haven’t seen him since I was, like, twelve.”

“Why?”

Max huffs, glaring at Mike’s left shoulder. “My mom doesn’t want me to see him. I think she thought if she kept me away from him, I would be more connected to Billy and Neil. Instead she just made me hate them.”

Mike smiles slightly at the mention of her brother. He knows he talks to El sometimes, in their weird way of communicating. “How is Billy doing?”  

Max smiles, “He got a job at some resort in Palma Alto. He seems really happy, and I think he met someone.” Max looks excited, and Mike can’t help but meet her excitement. 

“I hope she treats him right.”  

“Actually, I think it’s a guy.”

Mike blinks at Max, shocked. “Oh, uh. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, dude. Indiana conservatives and all that.”

“No , I just thought—”

“I did too,” Max reassures, “I guess once he got away from Neil he could finally be himself.”

Mike nods. Even though he’s a bit terrified of Billy, Mike’s happy that he got away from this mess. He tells Max as much. Max nods, a far away look in her eye. 

“It’s weird without him here. Neil is always angry and my mom is always scared. I’m not saying he should come back, because fuck that, but now Neil has nothing to take his anger out on.”

Mike glances down, concern creasing his features. “Does he hurt your mom at all?”

Max purses her lips, “Not physically. He yells at her a lot, calls her names and makes her think things that aren’t true. He tries to do it to me too, but I’m not home enough for him to target me.”

The two sit in silence, listening to Karen try to unsuccessfully wake Ted up for lunch. She calls up to them, but neither move to get up. 

“Parents suck.” Mike mutters, ignoring the way his voice cracks. 

Max nods into his shoulder, “Yeah, they do.”

Mike takes a few breaths. When Will was younger and his father lived with him, the same thing used to happen. Mike was young at the time, too young to understand that some parents aren’t built to love. He has a chance to do something now, though, doesn’t he. 

“Hey, Max?” He asks. Max hums into her elbow. “The extra key for the basement door is hidden under the rock that says ‘Nancy’.”

He can feel Max looking at him. There’s this long, long silence, where it seems like everything it suddenly much lighter than it was. Max shifts onto her other arm, her other resting on Mike’s stomach. “You know there’s this shed beside my house. It’s in perfect view of my window, so I keep sleepover stuff in it just in case.” Max whispers. 

Mike nods. His heart feels very, very full. He can feel Max’s hand intertwine with his own, and he knows this means something. He can almost feel the world shifting, and he wants to shout to the sky how amazing he feels. 

He doesn’t. Instead he sits in his bed with Max Mayfield and wishes on the glowing stars stuck to his ceiling. Wishes that this feeling will never go away.)

The thing about time is that it tends to move faster than you want it to, and slower than you think it does. It hurts Mike when he thinks about all he could lose, all that he’s already lost. He can’t think too hard, though. Can’t focus on all the deaths his witnessed, all the things he wishes he could unsee. 

He gets a watch for Christmas. It’s signed ‘from us’, which Mike thinks is just so he doesn’t have to explain to his parents why he wants to open the gift in private. It’s silver and simple, but whenever he looks at it he thinks of his friends. 

Whenever he thinks too hard, or when time gets too fast or too slow, or when he can’t tell the difference between dreams or reality, or just when he wants to know what time it is, he knows he can look at it. 

And when he’s fighting Russian monsters while screaming Will’s name, he knows his friends will be right there beside him, just as the watch will still be on his wrist. 

Even if life is weird, and time is fucked, Mike still rests easy knowing he his friends are with him every step of the way. 

Fuck. That’s kinda cheesy, isn’t it?