Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mike slipped out his window, nearly falling on the slimy roof tiles.  Ever since the gates opened, a sort of mildew-smelling goo would collect on surfaces like condensation, more of it closer to the gates.  Nobody was 100% sure where it was coming from, but the Upside Down was the obvious reason.  Carefully, he scooted over to the edge of the roof, turning around and lowering himself down over the edge.  The gutter made an ominous cracking noise when his weight was on it, and Mike quickly let go and dropped down to the ground, the sudden impact jarring his knees.

He went still, watching Nancy’s window for any signs that she had heard him.  If she found him, she’d definitely drag him back inside, probably yell at him for being ‘irresponsible’ too.  And then he’d never get to talk to Will.  

And he had to talk to Will.  Had to ask him about the painting, and the van, and what it had all meant.   Because—well, because obviously Will was lying, given how El had broken up with him a few days ago.

Should he get his bike?  Mike debated it for a second, but his bike made a lot of noise, and it was on the driveway, where he would definitely be seen sneaking out, whether it was by his family (well, his mom and Nancy, because Dad had taken Holly to his aunt’s a week ago) or Lucas’s family or one of the approximately twelve other people who hadn’t yet evacuated Hawkins.

He would be fine.  Will was staying in Hopper’s cabin right now, which was closer than the Byers’ old house, and Mike knew the route incredibly well from last summer, when he was still dating El.  He started to walk, reaching into his backpack and pulling out his flashlight—not turning it on, but just holding it in case it got too dark in the forest.  Mike liked to think he knew the Hawkins woods pretty well, but a few demodogs had been seen sniffing around the edges of the gates, enough that Erica had pulled out her shiny new SAS Survival Handbook and given everybody a crash course in traps.  Mike had been pretty awful at it, unsurprisingly, but Dustin, Nancy, and, surprisingly enough, Steve, had been good at the knots and whatever else.

Mike gripped his flashlight just a little tighter at the thought of demodogs.  He’d seen well enough what they could do, but Will had also said that he could feel, like, a barrier or something?  Like One was waiting to let them out.  So he’d be fine.

Still, every snap of twigs underneath his feet or rustle of wind in the dying leaves made him jump with how starkly they stood out from the deserted forests.  All the animals had seemingly fled (or just… evaporated), which was… odd, but there were bigger things to worry about.  Like right now, his biggest worry being ‘talk to Will’, which wasn’t a worry as much as something he absolutely had to do as soon as possible.

He squinted at his watch, trying to catch a glimpse of it in the dim red light of the storms—which meant he was getting close, if the lightning was bright enough he could read his watch at night.  And, yeah, according to the digital readout it was 11:23.  Maybe he should have talked to Will beforehand, told him he was coming, but it was fine.  Showing up at each other's houses unannounced wasn’t something out of the ordinary for either of them.  At least, it hadn’t been… Mike shook his head.  It was fine.  He would go there, and they would talk.

It would be fine.

His foot caught on something, and Mike looked down with a frown, tugging his foot forwards.

“Shit!”  

Mike gasped in pain at the feeling of his ankle being yanked sharply, pulling it almost out of its socket.  He was flung onto his back, wind knocked out of him immediately as he was ripped straight up into the air by the ankle.

Everything blurred together into a horrifying mess as he gasped for breath, trying to make sense of whatever had just happened.  His upper back was the lowest part of him that touched the ground, the rest of him dangled in the air, and something was cutting into his ankle, pulling at it sickeningly, and he was stuck stuck stuck .

Automatically, he tried to pull his leg back towards him, but cried out at the pain that bit into his ankle and let his leg be pulled up once again.  Tears were trickling down his face as he twisted, every movement hurting more and more, and he tried to reach an arm up to untangle himself, but came short.

Mike caught a glimpse of what was cutting into his leg, flashing silver in the light.  It was a thick metal cord, wires twisted together into a sharp and unforgiving rope that was dragging him upwards by the foot.  His breaths came in fast, tearful pants, agony tearing through him.  It was one of the traps, a rope attached to the branch of a tree that had been stretched down, but now just slightly bent under his weight.

It didn’t pull him fully into the air, the branch wasn't high enough, but instead, kept him half dangling, the rope at a length that held his leg and half his torso off the ground, but long enough that his shoulders and head were still in the cold, slimy dirt.  He fumbled with his arms, pushed himself into what was sort of a bridge position, except his feet were in the air and his back couldn’t bend and he was tied up and bleeding.  Mike couldn’t reach to untangle the cord, because if his hands stopped pressing against the earth, the cord would go even more taut.

He could feel the cold metal twisting into his flesh, breaking the skin and pressing at the flesh, every miniscule movement making the rough fibres tear through the muscle even more.  Blood was trickling towards his knee, soaking through the fabric of Mike’s jeans.

Mike whimpered, arms shaking in their uncomfortable position as he strained to keep himself up.  He sucked in a gasping breath, screwing his eyes shut tight as the pain crashed through him.

“Help!”  He called, and the words came out weak and shaky.  He cleared his throat, fighting back a sob, and tried again.  “ Help!”  

It was a lost cause, and Mike tried not to let all the strength flow out of him at the realisation.  He knew where he was, and it was at least a quarter mile out from the cabin.  They’d never hear him.

One of his arms buckled underneath him, and Mike cried out, desperately fumbling to reposition it as the cable tore at him, pulling the shredded skin up his ankle.  Blood was flowing a lot faster now, and he gasped as the pain surged through his leg, nearly unbearable.  Every time his arms shook or slipped, the knot would shift upwards, sawing into the muscle and bone of his ankle.

Mike bit down on his tongue, adjusting his hands slightly.  His other leg hung bent in the air, too high up to touch the ground and give himself more support.  Mike’s arms were shaking, ready to drop, and he strained to hold himself up.

Why hadn’t he looked where he was going?  Every shuddering breath was a battle to pull in, every muscle and pain receptor working overtime.  Mike’s head dropped backwards, neck bending uncomfortably, face tilted back.  Tears ran down his face, and he gritted his teeth.  He had to stay up, stay up, stay up—but for how long?  Mike couldn’t do this for much longer, but—nobody knew he was out here.  He’d snuck out, hadn’t even told anyone he was leaving—nobody would be able to find him, nobody would even know to look.

At that, his arms suddenly gave out, and a strangled scream ripped itself from his throat as his ankle made a sickening pop, finally being wrenched from its socket.  Mike’s vision went white and he collapsed, shoulders and upper back on the ground again, and his mind slipped away from him for a minute, passing out from the sheer pain.

He let out a forced noise as soon as he came back to himself, squeezing his eyes shut and breathing in sharp, shallow gasps, trying to fill his lungs but only succeeding in hyperventilating.  His ankle was in severe pain, so much that he couldn’t pick out the feeling of the cold metal tearing at his flesh, but just the whole of his ankle feeling complete agony.  The pain radiated outwards, through his calf and beyond, flowing through his every nerve.

Mike didn’t know how long he lay there, desperately sucking in breaths and waiting for the pain to pass, his mind to start working and thinking instead of just screaming pain pain pain pain pain .  The sky was still night when he mustered up the strength to peel his eyes open again, and Mike whimpered quietly.  No matter how unlikely, he’d still hoped that maybe someone would be here by now, that someone would’ve noticed he was gone or heard him screaming or something.

But he was alone.

Slowly, overcome by morbid curiosity, Mike lifted his arm in front of his face.  He squinted at the watch, desperately pushing his brain through the heavy blanket of pain.

11:38.

Fucking 11:38 .

Mike burst into tears at that, letting all of the pain and anger and pain and pain out through his increasingly loud wails, voice scratchy and desperate.  Fifteen minutes, it had been fifteen minutes, and it was hours until anybody would look for him.  He couldn’t last hours like this, the pain making him want to throw up, ankle torn apart and probably dislocated or broken, held off the ground.

He spent what felt like hours, but was probably only a few awful minutes, crying and trying to stop hurting .

Then he took a shuddering breath and let it out slowly.  Did it again.  He was good under pressure, he could do this.

Nobody would notice him until morning.  Okay.  That meant that… Mike cried out as something shifted in his ankle, gritting his teeth until his mind started working again.  That meant that he had to make someone notice him.

His mind started to calm as he went through possibilities, the cool logic making everything seem a little easier.  Screaming didn’t work, he was too far away.  That had already been established.  So what else could he do?  Mike forced a breath through his lungs.  Felt his leg be torn apart.  Felt the cold dirt. Felt the straps of his backpack dig into his shoulders—his backpack!

He had a walkie in his backpack!  Mike let out a laugh, smile spreading over his face as he turned— fuck.

He fell back to his original position, pain pulsing through him once again.  How was he going to— ow— how was he going to get it out of his backpack.  Mike wished there was a better answer than what he had to do, a way that wouldn’t result in horrible agony.  But he knew there wasn’t.

Okay.  Okay.  Okay okay okay okay.  Mike could do this, he could do this.  He steeled himself, shifting forwards slightly to see if it would let out any slack.  It didn’t.  He shook out his wrists, even though it pulled his whole body around a little.

“Three, two—” God he wished he’d done a higher countdown. 

“ One!”   Mike screamed as he twisted himself, pushing his body over sideways and rolling onto his front, still screaming.  The snare around his ankle shredded deeper into him as it twisted, blinding agony filling him to the brim.  He was still screaming, voice cracking and trailing off until it was a noiseless breath.

This position was so much worse than the other one, infinitely worse.  His back was arched, lifted off the ground in a way he wasn’t flexible enough for without being dangled from a mangled ankle.

He breathed heavily, panting and pressing his hands into his face where it was mashed into the ground.  Fuck.  Clumsily, he twisted his arm behind him, pushing his backpack so it fell onto his head.  Then it was some horrifyingly agonising twists and movements until his backpack was off of his shoulders and in front of him.

Mike let his chest and chin be crushed into the dirt, unzipping his backpack with shaky hands and reaching inside, one elbow helping hold him up as his other hand fumbled for his—thank fucking God— unbroken walkie talkie.

Sobbing laughter started to bubble from his throat as he extended the antenna.  He pressed down the button.

“Code red,” he said, all too aware of the way his voice was broken and pained.  Mike wasn’t sure what other information to give, all his brainpower being poured into not screaming and crying in agony.

“Mike?” Will’s voice came over the radio almost immediately, sounding frantic.  “What do you mean?  Where are you?  Are you hurt?”  Will didn’t say over.

“Quarter mile out from Hopper’s cabin,”  Mike gritted out, trying to talk as best he could with his face mashed into the ground and in immense pain.  “And, uh.  You could say that.”  He laughed wetly, almost choking on his shaky breaths.  “Over,” he added at the end.

“Will, you’re closest,” Dustin said, not saying over.  Really, was Mike the only one that cared about proper walkie technique?  He was well aware that he was being stupid, but his thoughts were so giddy with relief and blurred with pain.

“Yeah, yeah!  Mike, I’m coming, okay?  He heard scuffling over the line when Will didn’t bother to let go of the button.  “Did you hear me?”  Will went quiet, and Mike pressed down again.

“Loud and clear.”

Will was coming.  He’d be okay.  Will was coming.

Will was coming.

Chapter Text

“Mike!”  Will called, spinning in a small circle in the clearing he was in.  No reply.  

Mike was hurt, a quarter mile out from Hopper’s cabin (at least he’d told Will what direction to go), and Will couldn’t find him.  What if a demogorgon got him?  They’d started to venture out of the gates occasionally…

No.  No, there was no way that had happened to Mike.  It just couldn’t have.  It couldn’t.

“Mike!”  He yelled out again.  If Mike didn’t answer this time, he’d call him on the walkie-talkie again, even though it was unlikely Mike had any more specific directions.  “Mike!”

“Will!”

The voice was quiet, pretty far off, but clearly Mike.  He was okay.  Will let out a relieved laugh, cutting through the woods in the direction of Mike’s shout.  Again, he yelled Mike’s name and got a response, adjusting course slightly.

Will was running now, crashing through the forest, nearly tripping over roots and the slime-slick dead grass covering the ground, but he kept going.  He had to get Mike, had to help him, had to see that he was okay…

“Mike!”  He called again, glancing around in the dimly-lit forest.  The red light of the gates was eerie and horrifying, but it really was coming in handy right now.

“Will!”  Mike yelled back—why did his voice sound so pained?—and Will ducked under a low-hanging branch, pushed through a bush, and stumbled to a stop in a small clearing.

Mike.   He was right there, he was alive, he was… Oh God.  Will pressed a hand to his mouth as he took in the gruesome scene laid out in front of him.

His best friend was hanging upside down, half in the air, from one of the snare traps, thick wire tightly looped around his ankle.  His ankle.   Will almost gagged as he looked at it.  The skin was torn and pulled away from his joint, blood still pouring from it and soaking Mike’s pants.  It was horrifying, and even more so because it was Mike that was bleeding and injured.

“Will, thank God,”  Mike choked out, and Will tore his eyes from the mangled ankle and stared at Mike’s face.  He was pale and stained with tears, face pinched and strained with pain—the pain, Will could barely imagine how it must feel.  But Mike still managed to smile at him.

“Fuck, Mike!”   Tears sprang to Will’s eyes as he stared in horror.  What should he even… he grabbed Mike’s backpack from where it lay next to him, upending him.  Come on, come on, come on… yes.   Wire cutters, he’d known that Mike had a pair of those in his bag.  And thank God he did, because Will only had a pocketknife.

“I’ve got you Mike, okay?  I’m gonna cut you free now, okay?” He rambled as he fumbled with the shears, clamping them around the metal cord.  Mike let out a thin whine of pain as the rope moved, sawing harder into his skin, and Will frantically apologised.  “Sorry, sorry!”

Then he pressed the handles together as hard as he could, cutting through the thick wire.

Mike cried out as he crashed to the ground—shit, Will should have tried to catch him—and Will dropped to his knees right next to his best friend.  Mike sucked in a few deep breaths, staring teary-eyed up at Will’s face, before a smile split his face and he let his head fall back on the cold forest floor.

“Mike, Mike are you okay?”  That was a stupid question, Will knew it was, and he brushed a hand over Mike’s face, smoothing his hair out of the way.

“My—my ankle– ” He managed, voice sounding somehow strained and relieved at the same time, and Will nodded several times, despite the fact that Mike’s eyes were still shut.  He was half reassuring himself at this point.

Will took a deep breath, steeling himself before shuffling on his knees over to the epicentre of all of the pain and injury that Mike had.  He didn’t look for a second, instead staring directly ahead into the trees—God, they had to get out of this forest.

He had to look, though.  Will slowly tilted his head down, until he was staring right at Mike’s ankle.  It looked even worse from this close up.  The loop of the wire was still cutting into the flesh, and now that he was looking closely he could see how the joint didn’t look properly aligned.  And the blood… Will took a deep, careful breath.  One step at a time.

“Mike, I’m going to get this off your ankle, okay?”  He kept his voice steady, he had to stay calm.  There had to be at least one calm person in this scenario.

“Okay,”  Mike managed, voice wet with tears and tight with pain, and Will reached over and squeezed his hand once before turning back to the wound.

Will reached to grab the wire,but it was all cut deep into the skin.  There wasn’t a way he could get it off without causing more pain.  He swallowed, steeling himself, before pushing his fingers into the bloody, mangled flesh.  Mike cried out, and Will barely restrained a gag.  His fingers felt hot and wet with the blood, and he grabbed a section of rope.  With the other hand, he did the same, fingers digging into the torn skin.

Then he pulled them apart, sliding the knot to the side.  It was a slow, agonising process, pulling at the cord, which pulled at the skin and the swollen joint, until the loop was large enough that Will could slide it off of Mike’s foot.

“Got it,” he breathed quietly, and Mike choked out a sob.  Will reached out to hug him, or comfort him, before he realised his hands were wet and sticky with blood.  Mike’s blood.  He rubbed his hands vigorously on the thighs of his pants, trying to get the coppery substance off his hands before it dried there. 

“We have to get out of here Mike, you’re bleeding!”  What if one of the monsters came?  It was kind of surprising nothing had found him yet, but Will was incredibly glad.  If something had happened to Mike…

“I don’t—”  Mike trailed off, gesturing down to his mutilated ankle,and Will bit his lip.  “Could you call anyone?”  Will ran his hand through Mike’s hair.  He was such an idiot. 

“No, I didn’t tell anyone I was going, I was too worried,”  How could he have forgotten to say something?  “And I brought my walkie with me, so there’s nothing back at the cabin for me to call.”

Mike nodded slightly, and Will felt tears in his eyes.  He should have thought it through first, should have told Jonathan or Mom where he was going, should have left his walkie.

He cradled Mike’s head in his lap, curling around it slightly.

“Could we sit for–for just a second?”  Mike gritted out, opening his eyes to look up at Will.  Somehow his voice was still soft when being forced through a layer of pain.

“Yeah, of course.”  Will replied, taking a moment to just stare at Mike.  Even tear-stained and pale, Mike was still Will’s favourite thing to look at.  For a minute, they both just stayed there in silence.

It felt peaceful, somehow, Mike bleeding on top of him in a forest in the middle of the night.  Maybe Will had to reevaluate his definition of peaceful, but everything lately had just been so hectic.   It was nice to take a second just to sit with Mike.

“Thanks for coming,”  Mike said, breaking the silence, and Will jumped slightly.

“Oh—yeah, obviously.  I mean, obviously I came.  I’ll always come to help you.”  Did he sound too earnest?  Well, whatever.

“Promise?”  Mike asked, a smile ghosting over the corner of his mouth.

Will smiled back.  “I promise.”

“Why’d you lie about the painting?”

Will choked on his own spit.  “What?”