Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mike Wheeler had never had good luck.

He didn't have good luck when his sister had been taken into the 68th annual hunger games at the age of fifteen. 

He didn't have good luck when he watched her have that one final battle with the last one standing.

He didn't have good luck when he, a ten year old, watched his sister get slaughtered on live television for the Capitol's amusement.

He didn't have good luck when his father died during a collapsing mine, causing his mother to start drinking and leaving him to care for his younger sister, Holly, at just the age of 10.

All of this had left him believing fully that he wouldn't get lucky this year, that something would happen, even though the chances were slim, and Mike knew it. Still, a part of him accepted it. Accepted that he would die if he was placed into the games, accepted that he thought, no, knew, that he would not be able to kill anyone had it come down to that.

He didn't think he would ever be able to kill an innocent person without seeing the scared and shocked eyes of his sister staring back at him, soon to become dull and lifeless, the color drained from them, her body sent home for a sad excuse of a funeral, one that Mike couldn't bring himself to attend. His sister, who had been so close, yet was run through with a sword in the end. Mike could barely even speak her name now, let alone his father's.

Mike had never loved his father. Three years ago, he never would have even thought he'd miss him. He had never once payed any attention to his kids; didn't truly care when she had been reaped and killed- no, murdered- in the arena. Still, Mike found himself wishing him father back. Maybe, if he returned, things would be normal again. His mom would stop spending what little money they had on alcohol and getting herself drunk. Maybe Mike wouldn't have had to become a parental figure to Holly, who had only been six at the time of the mine incident.

Maybe, things would be better.

***

District 12 was a sad place. Dreary, many would say. Lifeless. Mike genuinely hated living there.

When he was younger, he had told Karen just that.

She had looked fearful and told him never to repeat that, so he didn't.

That didn't mean he didn't think it, though. He did. All the time.

The streets were dirty, full of people all walking sullenly to their destination, quieter than normal with the arrive of the peacekeepers, who had come in droves, their white uniforms standing out in the hues of black, gray, and browns that made up most of the district.

Mike stepped cautiously out the back door, careful not to wake Holly or his mother, who both slept silently indoors. He latched the door, wincing when it clicked, and set off towards the fence. The buzz was off- it almost always was.

He pulled at a loose bit at the bottom and crawled under, dusting off his pants when he was in the woods, trying to focus on only the sound of animals rustling leaves and birds chirping and swaying trees, rather than the fact he just committed a crime (and the fact that he did it every reaping).

Leaves crunched under Mike's feet as he took in a deep breath, eyes skitting around the scenery as he looked for-

"Hello."

Mike whipped around, falling backwards into a tree trunk, the bark digging into his back.

Jane grinned back down at him, her hair down, backpack slung over her shoulder. 

Mike grimaced. "Shit- You're hilarious." 

She reached her hand out, pulling him to his feet. He swayed for a moment before regaining balance, meeting her eyes. "I know."

Mike eyed the bag slung over her shoulder lazily, as though she had thrown it on last minute. "What's in there?"

"Deer," Jane replied cheerfully, aa though they weren't about to be possibly thrown into an arena where they would be, most likely, viciously murdered.

Mike nodded, brushing a leaf off his shoulder. "I still don't get how you do that. If you were to get caught-"

She shrugged, her grin faltering. "I need to. The bakery isn't enough. We don't make enough, Mike. I can't just let them starve."

They stand in silence, basking in each other's presence, before Jane plops down on a log, patting the seat next to her for Mike to sit down. He obliges, flinching as a squirrel runs in front of them.

Jane sighs, fiddling with her hands. "I'm worried. Will-" Mike stiffens, "He's in.... a lot of times this year. I told him he doesn't need to keep doing it, that it's not worth it, but he won't listen to any of that."

"Yeah."

"Here," she reaches into her bag, pulling out a piece of raisin bread. "For Holly. I know she likes it."

Mike looks down at the bread in his hands, his heart swelling. "You didn't have to."

She looks down sadly. "I know."

A siren startled them out of the moment, the sounds of tires on dirt echoing in Mike's ears. "Shit-"

Jane rushes to grab her things as she stands up, rolling the log slightly. She mocks a hat tip. "Happy hunger games."

Mike's lips quirk up the slightest. "And may the odds be ever in your favor."

***

"Mommy, I'm scared."

Holly stands in the corner of the room, her voice barely a whisper, Karen silently zipping up the back of her dress. Karen turns her around and looks at her, whispering something Mike can't hear that seem to calm her down slightly, before ushering Holly out the door. She stops, turning, seeing Mike, who pulled his raven hair back, hands shaking slightly.

Karen walks up to him, taking his face in her hands, and he can't help but flinch. If she notices, she doesn't say anything- she just smiles sadly, staring at his face, drinking him in, before turning and leaving, the feeling of her hands still warm on Mike's face, like a dream Mike wasn't sure happened.

***

"Welcome to the 74th annual hunger games!" Eddie's voice, full of feigned excitement, rings out through the crowd. The fear lingers, floating around them all, engulfing them, and Mike can't help but think that maybe it never truly left since the hunger games first made it's appearance.

Eddie goes on for what seems like hours, Mike fidgeting nervously with the hem of his shirt, hands trembling slightly. It’s just like you’ve thought about a thousand times, he tells himself. He's imagined dying in the games many, many times. Sometimes it's out of fear. Others it's out of hope, raw, unfiltered hope, that maybe, maybe, he'll get to leave this hellhole. He immediately feels guilt afterwards- if he did that, what would that leave Holly with? Their mother? He refuses to let that happen. He can't let another person down.

"...happy hunger games, and may the odds," Eddie hesitates, grief crossing over his face momentarily before his faked smile returns, "be ever in your favor."

Mike clenches his hand into a fist, feeling his nails leaving red half-moons in his palm. He watches in fear as Eddie reaches into the glass bowl (which is way too large for the small amount of slips, Mike notes) before pulling one out and opening it. It's funny, Mike thinks, how one small, white piece of paper can hold weeks worth of pain and suffering. Eddie's eyes widen slightly, but it's gone as though it never happened. His voice still comes out small and weak when he says, slowly, not looking up from the paper, "William Byers."

Mike feels his heart stop.

He can't hear, he can't see, only muffled screams and wails and gasps from in the crowd, somewhere. Everything is blurring together because it was Will, and what are the chances? He takes a shaky breath, trying to steady himself, but his heart is racing and his mind is screaming. Will.

It was Will.

Will, his first friend.

Will, his best friend.

Will, who had always been there, until Mike wasn't.

Will, who hadn't talked to him in six years, not since it happened and their older siblings both went into that train and never came out.

Eddie clears his throat, the sound ringing through the crowd, muffled wailing still being heard through the back, someone Mike can only assume to be Joyce, maybe Jane too.

Mike finally looks up to see Will standing up on the stage, head up in defiance, and Mike's heart flutters. He had no doubt he could win if he really wanted to. 

He reaches back into the bowl, pulling out another slip, another paper dooming a teenager to endless suffering.

Even if you won, it was still very much Hell. Mike was sure of that.

The paper is unfolded, and with a very forced grin, "Michael Wheeler."

Mike pauses, eyes still trained on Eddie, wide with fear, his palms are sweating, because he never once thought he'd actually be a name pulled out of that bowl, never once, even if he had dreamed of it at a time.

His palms are sweating, a tremor runs through him as eyes turn to stare at him, Holly's muffled cries from the kids section somewhere, and Mike can't function, he can't breathe. He's being pulled onto the stage, in front of everyone, their sullen faces broken with years of work and pain looking back at him, the slightest hint of sorrow on their faces.

To them, he's just another innocent person being forced into the role of a hero.

He misses the apologetic look Eddie gives him, the ending speech, the final anthem, the message from President Creel-

He misses all of it, eyes trained forward, staring into space, disbelief running through him. 

The last sight he sees before being taken away into the Justice building are the hands of everyone in the crowd, three fingers, coming up to lips, and being held up.

As if maybe, if they hold them up high enough, they'll be able to fix all the wrongs this world has done.

***

Holly sees him first.

She runs through the doorway, tears in her eyes, blonde hair bouncing as she does so. When she collides with Mike, he almost falls over, but he crouches down and hugged her back, like she might be able to save him.

"I'll be okay," is what he whispers to her. "I'll see you again." Is what he doesn't, because he knows that they both know that is a lie.

She shakes her head furiously, and Mike feels a wave of anger surge through him that Holly would ever have to worry about this. Worry about losing a sister. Worry about losing a brother. Worry about herself being reaped.

It's disgusting.

Karen walks in behind her, there but not fully there. Mike pulls away from Holly and stands, looking at Karen, who just gives him a single nod, a tear running down her cheek. Holly looks up at him in defiance. "You have to win."

Win. 

Mike didn't think there was a way to win. It wasn't winning. It was killing. You didn't win the games, you survived them. 

He was positive that he wasn't going to be able to do either.

Tears roll down Holly's face, and Mike isn't going to deny her this, so he just nods. He nods, and he whispers "I'll try." Even though, once again, they both know it is a lie.

It's not long before they leave, and Jane runs in. She engulfs him in a hug, tucking her face into his neck. "I can't lose you too," is all she says, her voice a hushed whisper. 

She pulls away slightly. "Will is going to kill. You have to, Mike. You need to. You're not completely shit with a sword. You can probably-"

One of the peacekeepers mumbles a sentence, cutting her off as she's escorted out, face trained to the ground.

Now, he's truly alone.

***

"You'll love the capitol. Delicious meals and the rooms are wonderful..."

Eddie rambles on and on, Mike not really paying attention at this point- keeping his eyes averted to the side to watch the scenery go by, pointedly not looking at Will sitting in the seat next to him, a bored look on his face.

A door opens, and Eddie jumps up, fake excitement on his face as their "mentor" walks in, seeing the two of them, sighing, shaking his head, muttering things that Mike can't hear- he's pretty sure that is the point.

Will looks up, brown hair bobbing with the change of movement. "Steve."

Mike steals a glance over at Will, turning away almost immediately and trying to focus more on Steve, who stands there, pain and maybe some frustration in his eyes. They all stay like that a moment before he finally sits down across from them, the train darkening momentarily as they go through a tunnel. He crosses his legs, tapping his hands on the chair arm, before looking at Will, and then Mike. 

Mike shifts in his seat. The silence is very, very  loud.

Steve exhales. "God, I hate doing this."

Will narrows his eyes. "What?"

"Mentoring. I hate it. I have to see two kids a year, tell them a bunch of information that's probably not going to help them, and then watch them get absolutely disemboweled on the big screen." Steve puts his head in his hands, running one through his hair.

Mike vividly remembers watching Steve on on the screen.

He was twelve when he won his games. He doesn't remember much about it, but he does remember his sister's look of fear as she watched him, in the final battle, rip someone's side open with a spear.

His first and only kill.

She had known Steve. Quite well, actually, as had Mike. The two were friends, once. Once was before Steve was reaped and came back, completely different, still haunted by the horrors he had seen in the arena. Once was before she herself had been reaped, and never came back.

Not after the incident.

However, Steve was a capitol favorite. He was charming in his interview. He was handsome enough. He was clever. He received numerous packages from sponsors. 

Mike didn't think he'd end up getting any.

"And of course it's the Wheeler kid. And the Byers, too. Why wouldn't it be..." Steve continues mumbling to himself before Will stands up.

"Aren't you supposed to tell us how to win?"

"There is no winning. It's you die, or you don't. We're going to end up getting to the capitol soon enough, and when we do, there's going to be people out there. You make them happy, they'll keep you alive. Byers. You good any weapons?"

Will shrugs. "I can probably use a knife."

Steve nods. "Good. Wheeler?"

Mike looks up. "Uh.... I'm fine with a sword."

His face heats up as he feels Will's gaze on him, eyes slicing holes in his skin. 

"See? That's good. Doesn't mean they'll have either of those. Depends on the arena, but after the 72nd games, I doubt they'll do that again. Leave out the weapons." His tone turns serious. "Do either of you think you could kill if you needed to?"

Will sets his shoulders, sitting back down. "I think I could."

Mike shrugs, his voice almost too quiet for him to hear. "Maybe."

Steve narrows his eyes, before slamming his cup down on the table (since when did he have a cup?) making them both jump. "We'll be there tomorrow."

He leaves, Will and Mike still sitting in silence. 

Mike breaks it. "I..."

Will shakes his head. "Don't," he mumbles, before leaving him too.

Chapter Text

The capitol is much more grand than Mike could have imagined, with the towering white buildings and people in clean, colorful, dresses and gowns and getups. Most of them are hideous, but Mike still thinks living here must be better than where he has been for the last fifteen years of his life.

The train ride there was simple enough. He didn't talk to Will once, and didn't see him much, either. They stayed out of each others way, for the most part, which Mike despised quietly. 

Stepping out of the train now, though, he wished he could go back in and stay there.

People were everywhere, talking loudly and excitedly. 

Disgust shoots through Mike at the remembrance that they're excited to watch kids die on live television for enjoyment. To them, he was nothing more than an object, a toy, an actor, even. He wasn't alive to them. Just someone there to give them a thrill, they’re then gone until the next year, where the same exact silly play was done again.

To them, he was nothing more than just free entertainment.

***

"Your rooms are over there. I think you'll like them. This is where we'll be when we're not in the training rooms..."

Mike looks around at the silk blankets and the couches and the rugs and decor, clean glass, spotless floors. It's all too much, it's too grand, it's overpowering.

When Eddie finally stops talking and leaves, leaving just the two of them, it's silent. Will clears his throat. "I'm... going to go look at the room."

It's the first sentence he's spoken to Mike in years.

Mike watches him exit, an unspoken agreement, truce between them. For now.

***

The rooms are expensive, to say the least.

Mike wanders the room, touching everything with his hand, and finding a remote on one of the tables. Curiously, he presses a button, jumping when a screen turns on behind him, a woodland scenery lighting up the room.

He fiddles with the remote for a moment before turning it off and setting it down, jumping at a knock on the door.

Cautiously, he walks over, twisting the handle, someone around Steve's age smiling back at him, brushing past him to walk in.

"Make yourself right at home," Mike says dryly, feeling slightly guilty when she nods a thank you.

She looks back at him, short hair bobbing, before saying, "I'm Robin. Your stylist? I made the costumes from last year, remember those?" Mike doesn't, in fact, remember those, but it doesn't matter, because she keeps talking, "I made yours this year too. Yours and the Byers boy? He's nice. I was just there." Mike snorts. "Anyway. We have..." she looks down at her wrist, "a couple hours before you two go out there in the carriages, so." She claps her hands together, and Mike flinches. "There's a bath running in the bathroom, I'll be right back, don't drown."

Most of the capitol people have the accent, but she doesn't, which makes Mike slightly more comfortable. It's easier to pretend she's just like him when she sounds like it.

 Mike squints at her. "Right now?"

She waves him off, exiting the room. "Yes, right now. Go." She latches the door shut, and Mike sighs, slowly taking off the clean clothes he grabbed from the train and throwing them on the floor carelessly. To his surprise, the tub is full and has soap in it too, Mike carefully stepping in, the warm water engulfing him in a hug.

It wasn't as though he was dirty. They had baths in District 12. Just not warm ones, and definitely not ones as big as this one, with this many options of soaps and temperature.

Mike watches Robin walk back in, a bag in her arms, an outfit on a hanger in her mouth. She slams the door shut with her leg, and Mike is at least slightly impressed she managed to bring all that in here and close the door.

She sets her stuff out on the counter, looking at him with a questioning look, as though she's wondering what to do with him. "You could use a haircut," She notes solemnly, and Mike's face jolts up.

"Wait, no- can I keep it like this?"

Robin averts her gaze to him, a hint of sympathy in her eyes. "Fine. But we at least have to do something with it, it's ridiculously tangled. You look homeless."

Mike resists the urge to roll his eyes. "I basically am."

She ignores this comment and exits the room, telling him to "put on the towel" or something along those lines. Her speech is muffled by the door.

He's grateful for the gesture as he exits the tub, the cold air hitting him like a slap. He wraps the towel around himself and Robin comes back in, coming up behind him with the scissors. 

Mike narrows his eyes. "I thought you weren't going to cut it."

He can practically feel her eye roll. "I'm not. I'm going to trim it. There's a difference, kid."

Mike scoffs as she goes around snipping the edges, the raven hair falling to the floor, until she's done, the brunette takin a step back. "It's not horrible. Very casual." She hands his a mirror, to which he takes gingerly, looking in the reflection, smiling slightly when he sees himself, his hair shoulder length and cut to be even, tangle free.

"Like it?"

Mike nods, getting up slowly, putting on whatever outfit Robin gave him after she exits the room. He slips into the black outfit, cringing when he sees himself in the mirror.

In all honesty, he looks like a rich capitol citizen.

He supposes that is the point.

He walks out, Robin lighting up when she sees him, a grin spreading across her face. "You look great. See, I didn't want to do anything like the years before I got here, because those were absolutely shit, do you not agree?" Mike nods, trying to keep up with her rambling. "So, I decided I could do something else. Had to be something with coal, but I needed you two to fit together, so I-" she pauses. "Actually, you'll see. Anyway. We should go outside- it's almost time for the chariots."

Mike looks skeptical, but follows her anyway, heading out the door. She stops. "Oh, and you should take off your watch. The outfit is safe for you, but zero promises for it." 

Mike looks down, forgetting he even had the watch on to start with. A pang of guilt shoots through his chest at the reminder that Will has the matching one, Will, who he hasn't been friends with in forever, but he couldn't force himself to take it off, even after he dropped it in the river that one time. It doesn't work (it's permanently stuck at 11:36,) but it does remind him of Will (which he would not ever admit) and he thinks that's better than having an actual, working watch.

Slowly, he takes it off, handing it to her. She takes it, seeing the look on his face. She pauses, but then she must eventually decide not to ask, because she tucks it in her pocket and says nothing of it. 

***

The people in the stands were loud, and it was dark, but they didn't seem to care. Their outfits shine in the light, their cheers echoing through Mike's ears. Robin taps his shoulder, and when he turns, she comes close and whispers in his ear, "Don't be scared when the consumes light up."

Mike reels back in horror. "Light up?" He hisses, looking at her with disdain. 

She nods and looks at him eagerly. "One of my best works. They'll like it. Which is good, because then they'll like you. You want them to like you."

"Most people don't."

Robin shrugs. "I do." She looks behind her, seeing Will come up behind them. "Like I said earlier. Smile, wave. Look desirable. They want that. It'll be good for you later."

Mike nods slowly, pausing when he sees Will, walking towards them, looking very very uncomfortable, but he's still gorgeous nonetheless. His hair is cut, the bowl cut finally gone (not that Mike didn't like it just fine,) the muscle around his shoulders visible with the costume. He comes up beside Robin, who gives him the same lecture about "not being scared when it catches on fire" to which he looks at her, alarmed. 

She just smiles and tells him to get into the carriage. He obliges. She averts her attention back to Mike, and her face softens slightly. "You'll be fine. I promise." She socks him lightly in the arm before pulling him into a short hug. He melts into the touch, feeling cold and bare when she pulls away. He feels like he's known her forever.

Maybe she's just like that.

Robin gives him a reassuring smile before walking away, leaving him. Mike climbs into the carriage, standing next to Will, the announcement ringing over the audience. He turns his head to see a brown-haired boy about his age with a shorter, a black haired girl, her glasses shining in the light, most likely a little younger than him in the carriage beside them, representing District 5, both of them looking sullen and scared, riding up to go in front of him.

In the very front, a blonde girl (Angela, is what Mike thinks her name is,) and a brown haired boy stand in pink feathered robes in District 1's chariot. Mike has to physically restrain himself from laughing out loud.

Will snorts beside him. "They look ridiculous," he whispers, looking back over and nodding a district 2, where a blonde boy with a grin stands and girl with the fakest smile Mike has ever seen are, dressed like gods in full gold.

He hadn't even realized the other chariots had started moving until the announcer spoke, introducing each group, until 12's chariot lurched forward, causing Will to almost fall backwards, but Mike grabs his wrist, both of them staring at each other momentarily before Will pulls away like it burned him.

Mike only feels offended, slightly.

Mike doesn't realize why everyone is gasping and the crowd starts roaring until he looks at Will, who's black outfit is alight with yellow flames that trail behind him like a cape. Mike looks down at his arm to see blue ones coming off his.

Before he can doubt himself, he grabs Will's wrist, the flames combining and making green, and holds it up as the crowd goes ballistic, screaming and cheering. Will looks at him with wide eyes, but this time, he doesn't pull away.

"And a shocking appearance from District 12..."

When they finally pull to a stop, Mike drops Will's arm, overlooking the crowd. In the dark, Mike feels a hand grips onto his wrist, and the crowd seems just a little bit brighter.

Chapter Text

"You two were wonderful last night. They won't stop talking about you. They're excited, I know it..."

Mike pushes food around his plate with his fork, listening to Eddie's endless chatter, his head spinning. They have to go to the training rooms, which Mike detests. Eddie wants them to "look like a pair" while Steve wants them to "look menacing" or something along those lines, which makes Mike want to die.

Steve sits at the opposite end of the table, chewing his bread thoughtfully, watching the two of them. He swallows, looking over at them, "Go for the things you're good at today. Today's training isn't about training, necessarily, rather making them think you are better than you actually are. Make them respect you. Fear you."

Mike nods slowly, eyes trained to his plate, mostly positive that that advice is going to get him killed.

***

Mike had been in an elevator before.

An old, creaky, rusty one that smelled of death and decay, but an elevator nonetheless. He hadn't been in one like this before, shiny and new and streak-free glass.

Standing in here now with Will and Eddie (who is silent for once,) Mike would give anything to be back home, even if there is a creaky, rusty elevator.

Eddie breaks the silence, "You two- what I said. Look a pair."

Will nods slightly, eyes flicking over to Mike momentarily before looking away.

When the elevator reaches the stop, Mike feels his stomach drop at the other tributes, holding weapons, sparring, looking all around menacing.

Mike is going to die.

Eddie ushers them out of the elevator, and they walk into the crowd as the lady speaks, talking about how "most of them are going to die immediately" but for those who don't, training is important.

That's what Mike thinks, at least. He's not really paying attention, his eyes focused on the careers, all together, them talking and laughing amongst each other, looking beautiful but dangerous like a blade, or a snake, ready to strike.

Mike parts the crowd in search of what to do, because there are so many options. He sees the dark haired girl with the glasses from yesterday at a station in which she's looking at a screen (examining wild berries, maybe?). His eyes catch on a girl about his age, her ginger hair sticking out among the group, tying knots. 

Mike feels himself get pulled over to her by some imaginary force (maybe just curiosity). He crouches down beside her, tilting his head in confusion slightly when she doesn't react, until she says without looking up, "What do you want?"

He thinks for a moment before saying dumbly, "I don't know."

She nods, looking up at him. Her eyes squint, and Mike feels a pang in his chest when he notices her eyes are milky white, unseeing, unfeeling. She snorts. "Figure it out yet?" She continues tying her knot, which she manages to do perfectly. "I'm not completely useless."

He nods. "I can tell."

She holds out her hand. "Max Mayfield. District 6." Her voice turns into a sneer. "Transportation."

Mike grabs her hand and shakes it gently, unsure of what to make of this whole interaction. "Mike Wheeler. District 12. Coal."

She unties her knot, handing him the ropes. "You know how to do this?"

He shakes his head, face heating up when he remembers she can't see him. "No."

Max tilts her head slightly. "Here, just do this..."

She puts them into his hands, walking him through it, until he eventually made (something that resembles) a knot, messy and sloppy, but it would most likely do the job. "You plan on killing?"

The question takes Mike off guard. He looks down. "Maybe."

She nods, moving her head at the noise of someone dropping a spear, the metallic sound ringing on the concrete floors. "I don't know if I can." She turns back into his direction. "I could, I mean. I just don't know if I'd be able to just.... Take someone's life. Like that." She shrugs, tying her knot again to perfection. Mike can't help but be impressed.

She continues talking. "My parents don't think I'm going to make it. I mean, I'll be honest- I don't think I will, either. But ," she tightens the knot angrily, "I at least want to make it to the end. Or close to. Not going down without a fight, I don't think."

"Yeah."

"What about you, Wheeler?"

"I don't know," isn't entirely a lie. He's pretty sure he won't die immediately, as long as he doesn't go straight for the cornucopia, like so many do. It's the place of first bloodshed, Steve had told them.

Max throws the knot down, her head facing away from him. "Who'd you come here with?"

Without missing a beat, he responds with, "Will."

She smiles smugly at that, but doesn't say anything. "I think maybe I talked to him earlier. He's nice enough. Said he would kill, no hesitation."

Mike remains silent, unsure of what to say to that, when she gets up. "I'm going over there." She hesitates, "same place tomorrow? I can teach you to make a snare."

He agrees, watching her go, touching things with her hands as she trails along.

She's nothing short of impressive.

Mike waits a moment before rising as well, wandering around a moment before somehow finding himself back with Will, who looks at him, face sweaty and breathing hard. He's holding a sword (the wrong way, Mike notes,) in an arena with another boy, equally as sweaty, also holding a sword, (the wrong way).

Will lowers the blade. "Who was that?" He nods at Max, who stands at the plant identification, the black haired girl pointing to the buttons on the board. 

Mike shrugs. "District 7. She's cool."

"The blind one?"

"Um, yeah?"

Will sighs, looking at him like he's a lost puppy. "You got to get with the people that are actually going to help you survive, Mike, not those that are going to get you killed."

Mike takes slight offense to that. "She's smart."

He just shakes his head and turns away, going back to holding the sword wrong, trying to deflect the other boy's hits. Without thinking, Mike says, "you're both holding it wrong."

They pause, the boy looking at him with annoyance. "How would you know?"

Mike snorts. "My sister taught me."

They stare at each other a moment before he shrugs, holding out a hand for Mike to shake. "Lucas Sinclair. District 11. You?"

Mike takes shakes a hand for the second time today. "Mike Wheeler. 12."

Lucas looks at Will. "You two together?"

He nods. "They stopped doing boys and girls separately in our district a while back. I don't know why."

Will looks back at Mike. "You said I was holding it wrong?"

Metal hits the floor, causing the three boys to turn around, looking at the noise as one of the careers starts screaming at the brown haired boy Mike saw yesterday, claiming he "stole his spear." One of the guards breaks them up, the blonde career turning away angrily, the other tribute in his district following him, a sneer on her face.

Mike glances over just in time to see Max, a grin on her face, the spear behind her back, watching from behind the column as she ducks back behind it, and Mike lets out a surprised laugh, causing Lucas to look at him in confusion. He waves him off and goes back to Will, reaching out to move his grip on the blade but pausing. "Can I-"

Will nods, and Mike slowly reaches out, re-adjusting his grip on the handle, fixing his posture. He's close enough he can hear Will's breathing, coming out slightly shaken, and he is right there and if he turns his head, they’d practically be-

"Byers. You done yet? I came here to practice for the arena we're going to be placed into where we will be forced to kill each other, so if you two don't mind leaving the-"

Will pulls away, face flushed, but he shakes it off quickly, and the two begin fighting again, each collision of the blade causing a ring to echo through the room, Lucas eventually twisting his blade back, causing Will's to fall to the floor. Lucas looks over at Mike, a look on his face, an eyebrow raised.

Mike gets the point.

Hesitantly, he walks over to Will and grabs the blade, slowly raising it up, Will backing away to give the two space (Mike supposed he didn't want to be run through with a sword before the games even start). 

Lucas nods, and Mike jumps out, throwing the blade forward, Lucas deflecting easily, the two going back and forth for what feels like hours but was probably only mere minutes. Breathing hard, Mike sees an unguarded spot, and quickly jabs the sword at it, twisting the handle, and it falls to the floor, Lucas looking at him with alarm, disrupting the silence, and it's only then, after looking around, that Mike realized everyone is looking at them, the careers looking mildly impressed.

Will stares at him, eyes wide, and Mike readjusts himself to go again.

***

"The careers won't stop talking about you after yesterday. I think you even managed to make them see you as a threat, which is good."

Mike looks up, brows furrowed. "Doesn't that mean they'll come after me first?"

Steve looks at him a moment. "Maybe. But maybe not." He shrugs. "Depends."

"Depends?"

"Yeah. I don't know what they'll think. It's still good, though, that they don't see you as just a twig anymore."

Mike gives him a look of annoyance before turning away, looking back at the table, which has way too many options when there's only four of them there, and it's not as if they're going to eat all of it or even come close.

He had seen one of the capitol people drinking a liquid that allowed them to throw up so they could eat more, which made Mike disgusted that they were vomiting to eat more while the people in the districts were starving (he would know, as he is one of those.)

He takes a hesitant bite out of his roll, not feeling hungry, really, but deciding he needed to eat least eat something.

Steve claps his hands together, and Will stops chewing his turkey. "Byers, Wheeler. Today they're going to take you into the back. They're going to expect you to show whatever skills you have, and then they're going to rate you. Byers. What're you going to do?"

He swallows. "I could... throw knives?"

Steve considers this. "Are you good?"

Will shrugs. "I'm fine." Mike didn't think fine would be enough to impress judges who had really seen it all, but he didn't say anything.

"Alright, do that. Wheeler?"

"Sword," was the first thing that came to mind, which resulting in him blurting it out.

Steve narrows his eyes. "Sword?"

Mike nods, and Will juts in. "He's good. He won against Lucas yesterday."

"Why is that impressive?" Mike says dumbly, looking at him for answers.

"You were the first person to do that all day."

Mike hadn't known that, but he supposed that would explain why everyone was looking at him like he was actually worth something.

Steve runs a hand through his hair. "Speaking of which, did either of you two manage to find any truces with anyone? Partners?"

Partners seems like a strong word, especially since they are all going to end up killing each other in the end, all previous "friendships" gone.

Mike takes a sip of water. "Uh, yeah. District 7. Max. She's smart."

Steve sighs. "The blind one?"

He feels annoyance rising at Steve referring to her as "the blind one" like that's all she was, but he doesn't back down. "Yeah."

"Fuck, Wheeler." Steve sighs again, hiding his face in his hands. Mike sort of wants to stab him. Steve looks back up, lookin tired and very, very annoyed. "Byers?"

"Lucas. Um, Dustin, maybe."

Steve looks like he approves of this somewhat, when Eddie speaks for the first time this whole meal. "You guys have an hour."

***

They dismiss in order of districts, district 1 going first, then 2, until there's no one left in the room but Mike and Will, sitting in pure silence, waiting for either of them to be called.

When Mike's name rings through the room, he stands up slowly, making his way toward the door. Will grabs his wrist, and when Mike turns, looks him in the eye and says, "Don't miss."

He gives a small smile and pulls away, opening the door, wincing when it latches, and stepping into the room, unsure of what to do. Mike looks around, eyes darting between the knives on display, the swords assorted neatly in place, practice dummies hanging from the wall, the metal hanger creaking as it rocks back and forth.

He takes a quick look over at the judges, sitting up on the balcony, laughing and talking, not paying the slightest amount of attention to him. He considers the pros and cons of this, but grabs a sword anyway, and starts to attack the dummy, getting bored quickly after it slices into two, the bottom hitting the ground with a thud.

A shot of frustration runs through him when he looks up to notice the judges sharing a pig, a roasted pig, chatter running through them as they take forks and stab into it, as though Mike wasn't even there.

In a moment of stupidity, or rage, maybe, he grabs a knife from the shelf and positions it, and before he can think any better of it, he throws it, watching as it flies, hitting the apple on the roasted pig and pinning it the wall, the judges looking at him in shock and maybe just fear.

Either way, their eyes are on him now.

Oh, shit.

Without thinking (because maybe that's how all Mike's actions are decided on,) he bows, trying to hide the fear on his face, because he just fucked it all up, and says, "Thank you for your consideration."

With that, the gamemaker's bewildered eyes still watching him, astounded, he walks away from the problem, just like he always does.

Chapter Text

"You threw a knife at the gamemakers?"

Mike shifts on the couch, Eddie glaring daggers. He shrugs, trying to come off as nonchalant. "They deserved it. And I didn't throw it at them, I threw it at the pig." He says this like that's better.

Steve laughs in disbelief as Will cracks a grin, Eddie looking like he wanted to die. He runs one hand through long hair as he sighs, which only makes Steve laugh harder, falling back into the couch. 

Will looks over at Mike, and offers a smile. "What'd they do?"

He shrugs. "Nothing. They just stared at me bug-eyed until I left."

Eddie sits up, looking him in the eyes. "Did they dismiss you?"

"I dismissed myself."

Will shakes his head fondly and Steve says, "I didn't know you could throw knives. Think you should have mentioned that sooner, Wheeler."

There it was.

Mike thinks a moment, weighing the pros and the cons of telling the truth or uttering a complete lie. Finally, he mumbles, "I didn't know either."

Will let’s out a surprised laugh, staring at Mike like he's something. Like he's special. Like how he used to. "You're insane."

Steve's expression turns serious. Thoughtful. "I don't know how they'll handle that. They could take it as an act of disrespect, in which case..." he lets out a low whistle. 

Mike perks up, his veins running cold. "They won't punish my family, will they?"

"They wouldn't, I don't think. They'll probably just make your life more like hell in the arena, but they really are doing that anyway, so you shouldn't worry too much," Will says, fluffing one of the pillows on the couch.

Steve nods, everyone looking at the screen as it comes to life, the anthem playing, a message from President Creel, and then going through the tributes, listing their name, district, and score.

The district one tributes come first, in which Mike discovers their names (Troy, with a 8, and Angela, with a 7) and the district two kids (Chrissy, with a 8, and Jason, with a 9) as they appear on the screen, Mike having to stop himself from worrying about the monster of a boy on the screen, smiling back at them, the nine intended in Mike's brain.

"God," Will whispers, watching as the tributes roll by, no one getting below a six, which is something that hasn't happened in a while.

Max manages to get an 8, which is impressive nonetheless, Billy (who Will says is Max's brother,) got an 8 as well. Lucas, a 7, Dustin, a 7, little 12-year old Erica with a 6, and then it's district 12's turn, and Mike is practically having a seizure on the couch.

Will's name appears on the screen, and then an 8. Steve claps him on the back, and Eddie congratulates him, Mike offering a smile.

They all know who's next.

It's only seconds, but it feels like minutes waiting for his name on the screen, his mouth falling open and the room erupting when a white 11 appears after his name. Will grips his shoulder, sending a shock up Mike's spine, looking at him in disbelief, in amazement, Steve grinning (something Mike felt proud to accomplish,) and Eddie just staring at the screen as through he was rethinking his whole life.

"They must have liked whatever attitude you showed in there," Steve concludes, looking over at Mike slowly, astonishment clear on his face. Heat rushes to his cheeks at the sudden attention, but he tries to brush it off like nothing happened.

***

"My mother told Billy to 'protect me' or some shit," Max remarks, using the air quotes with her hands. "I don't know why she thinks he gives a single fuck about me, but I guess if she's trying."

Mike sighs, leaning back against the fake tree as Mad demonstrates how to tie a snare. He admits he's not really watching, but he likes the conversations the two of them have."My mom didn't care at all," he says, looking out at Will, throwing knives into a target, missing nearly every one of them. Mike snorts.

Max smiles a bit. "It's fine, though. It's not like we have a super great relationship or anything. She barely speaks to me." She feels around for the rope and  pulls the snare, Mike watching as it tightens and pulls on her wrist.

"Who taught you to do that?"

Max undoes the rope with ease, her milky white eyes facing the ground. "I know I talk shit about him all the time, but Billy did, actually. He not horrible, sometimes."

Mike takes this in, eager to change the subject. "I saw you with Lucas earlier."

She lifts her head up, looking at him, annoyed. "Shut up, Wheeler. He was just showing me how to use a spear."

"Sure," Mike hums, ignoring the dirty look he receives from Max.

"I'm blind, not deaf. You talk about Byers nonstop. I don't think you should be talking to me about that."

Mike stills, looking at her a moment before going back to tapping his fingers on his knee nervously. "Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"Maybe."

It's silent a moment, before Max adds, quietly, "He is nice, though. I'm sure that will change in the arena, but," she shrugs, "We'd probably be friends. If we were from the same district, I mean."

Mike nods, unsure of what to say, when the blonde girl from district 2 (Chrissy?) takes over Will's spot in knife throwing, not missing a single time. "She's good," he says, looking over to where Max looks at him questioningly. "Chrissy. The girl from district 2."

"Oh" is all she says, until she blurts out, "It's tomorrow."

His stomach drops at the reminder, his good mood gone instantly. He mumbles an  "I know" and continues looking down at his hands. Slowly, he asks, "Truce?"

Max smiles, and holds out her hand. "Truce."

***

"You got this, alright? Remember. Don't go crazy and shit when the cloth catches on fire. It's supposed to," Robin says, eyeing him urgently until he nods. "And be what they want you to be. Charming. Nice. Funny. It doesn't matter, just make them like you," she hums, before adding, "and maybe don't be yourself."

Mike sighs and nods again, before finally leaving to go stand in line behind Will, who is wearing a yellow tux, which brings out his tan skin, and outlines the muscles in his arms (not that Mike is looking). His hair is done, untangled and clean, and Mike wants to reach out and touch it, but he restrains himself, putting his hands behind his back and leaning against the wall. Will's eyes glance at Mike's face a moment, drinking in the (ridiculously ugly) blue tux he's wearing. 

Mike detests it.

Will takes in a breath and leans against the wall next to Mike, the sounds of people cheering as the host for the show, Bob Newby, talks and talks, rambling on and on with questions for Jason, who's wide smile is on the screen. Will snorts. "He looks constipated."

Mike lets out a surprised laugh before saying, more serious, "He volunteered. Did you know that?"

Will looks at him, head tilted curiously. "What?"

"Jason. He volunteered. To be with her," Mike points at Chrissy, standing in a gold dress, talking excitedly to one of the tributes behind her, who looks at her in confusion. 

"Her? She's nice. I talked to her yesterday."

Mike gaped at him. "You talked to her? Like you were friends or something?"

Will shrugs. "She is nice."

"Until she's in the arena. Did you see her with that knife?"

Will falls silent, before leaning his back beside the wall. "I'd give anything to be back home, right now. I can't believe that tomorrow we're going to be thrown into some hell scape and forced to kill one another."

He looks over at Mike, fear in his eyes. "I don't want to."

Unsure of what to say, he says, "I know you wanted to kill me at one time."

Will looks at him, astounded, maybe a little angry. "Not true."

"Yes, you did. After," Mike's voice breaks, "that."

"I was mad, Mike, I didn't mean to say that-"

"Yeah, sure."

Will shakes his head but turns around, the moment clearly broken, the two of them left to pick up the pieces, knowing that if they tried, they'll both get cut.

Mike is called up, leaving Will alone, looking at him with raw sadness, like he thought maybe they could have had what they used to, like they used to, but really, Mike can't blame him.

He thought maybe they could, too.

***

Hundreds of thousands of eyes watch over Mike as he walks onto the stage, Bob's grin meeting him halfway, the lights hurting his eyes, the show's theme song playing from speakers, the crowd talking and cheering excitedly, and Mike wonders how they are still excited after they just watched twenty three other people come up here and do the exact same thing, better.

Mike sits down in the chair, searching the crowd for someone he knows, when his eyes catch on Robin, sitting in the front, looking at him with a grin, giving him a thumbs up, and mouthing the words make them like you.

He looks over at Bob, who starts talking when the crowd dies down, "Michael, is it?"

"Yeah. Uh, Mike."

Mike thinks he might melt into a puddle on the floor.

Bob's face turns serious. "Do you mind me asking you a few questions?"

He shakes his head, wising he had said something along the lines of yes, I do mind, and can I leave now?

His smile widens, reminding Mike to smile back politely, to act as though he wants to be there. The crowd quiets, and he's sure he could hear a pin drop. "Now. Your district is the only one that mixes the names, correct?"

"Yes."

"Great, that's what I thought- do you know the Byers boy at all?"

Mike considers this a moment, his blood running cold. He could lie, say no- or he could tell the truth, that they were best friends once, that he knew Will better than anyone-

"No, not really. His family owns the bakery, so I saw him in school."

Lie it is.

"Ah, alight. When I saw you two in the carriage, my heart stopped. Let me tell you why. Your outfits were spectacular. Who's idea was that?"

"Uh, my stylist. Robin."

The lights focus on Robin, who shoots them a small smile, waving before everything goes back to the way it was. "Wow. Do you have any tricks for us today?"

Mike looks over to Robin, who gives him a nod, and mouths get up.

"Yeah, actually." Mike stands, the crowd gasping and chattering as the ends of Mike's pants go up in yellow flames, identical to the ones the other night.

Once the crowd calms down, he looks over to Bob, who starts clapping, his smile very, very loud, as he says "And that's Mike Wheeler, everyone!" 

Mike resists a scoff as he walks off the stage after saying his goodbyes, the idea of all of this so ridiculous that he wants to laugh and laugh maniacally before he can't do it anymore.

Maybe he has lost his mind already, before the games even started.

He walks to the back rooms, where the other tributes stand bored, watching the screen, where Will appears, his yellow suit lighting up the whole scene.

"So tell me, Will, you're a good looking guy. Do you have anyone special at home? You got to, I'm sure."

Will smiles. "No. I mean, I'd like to. They just don't know it. Things haven't been great between us. I've liked them forever, though."

Bob looks troubled. "Really? Well, I'm sure things will get better if you come home after the games, right?"

He smiles sadly. "I don't think so."

"And why's that?"

Will sighs. "Because they came here with me."

The crowd goes ballistic, and Mike's jaw drops, the other tributes whispering to one another, Bob trying to calm the audience, but they're already too far gone.

Will is dismissed, and Mike can't help the rage that washes over him, the one that dissolves the relief, because even though yes, he's always wanted this, he can't have it, and Will just made him look like an object, like he's part of some sick, twisted love story, which is why Will is all of a sudden sitting in the rose bushes, his hands sliced up and leaving thin trails of blood red down his palms, and he's looking at Mike in shock, and Steve is trying to separate them, because then Will is up and he's shoving back-

"Guys." An arm comes between them, and they stop, Mike's clothes streaked with the red from Will's hands, both of them fuming-

"Wheeler. He just made you look desirable. Which is not something you have done by yourself at all so far," Steve states, looking at Mike with frustration. "He just helped you."

Mike looks at Will, hurt and staring at him with disgust, and Mike feels a sense of guilt wash over him, because Will just told everyone that he has liked him since forever, but they aren't allowed that, and he probably just made it look like he didn't care, like he hasn't felt the same way since before he stopped dating Jane.

Mike was always good at ruining things.

***

Outside on the balcony is where Mike finds Will that night, looking out into the city, the towering buildings, lights shining in the dark, the moon high in the sky. 

Mike took a seat next to Will, who was sitting against a potted plant, his shirt ridden up in the back from the way he had slid down against the wall.

Mike tried not to look at the tanned skin underneath.

Instead, they sat there in silence a moment before Mike looked at Will's hands, bandaged, and said, "I'm sorry about your hands."

Will looks up at him, then looks back down, the same sad look on his face. "It's fine. They'll be fine."

"Oh." Mike starts pulling on his fingers, listening to them pop, until stopping. "Did you mean it?"

"Mean what?"

"Everything."

"Oh." Will looks out, beyond the balcony, beyond the city. "It doesn't matter now." He pauses, before saying in a small voice, "I don't want to go."

Before he can think to hard, he interlocks their pinkies, and says, "Me neither."

"I don't want to be.... changed." Will looks at him. "By the capitol."

"What?"

"I don't want them to change me. I don't want to die some hero. I want to die as me." 

Mike looks over. "You aren't going to die-"

"I am, Mike, why don't you get that?" He throws his hands up. "It's the same thing that happens every year. One of the careers win, everyone else dies, and even if I didn't die it would be from killing, it would be from hiding, like a coward. You have a chance. You aren't complete shit with a sword. I can't do anything except maybe use a knife, and I can shoot a gun, but they don't even have those there. I just-"

Will sighs. "I don't know."

Mike watches Will as he breathes in and out, wrapping his arms around himself as a breeze blows by, his hair swept sideways, and Mike engulfs Will in a hug.

He freezes at the touch, at first, but then he leans into it, wrapping his arms around Mike, burying his face into his shoulder. Mike can smell his shampoo, smell him, really, and it's the same smell he's always had- of the bakery, bread, and cinnamon, and pine, and just Will.

It's Will.

It's always been Will.

Chapter Text

They were loaded into a airship.

All twenty-four of them, seated and later buckled into a leather seat, Mike sitting next to the curly haired boy (Dustin?) and Erica, both of them looking equally nervous.

A lady came around, asking them to hold out their wrist, to which she injected a tracker into, one that would tell the gamemakers when someone died and where someone was so that they could make them suffer even more!

Mike took a breath as the injected the needle into his skin, flinching when she drew it back out carelessly, leaving a stinging wound on his left wrist.

He glanced over at Will, who simply nodded, before training his eyes back down the metal floor.

The ride there was simple enough, no one speaking a word, just sitting in silence, the occasional rock of the aircraft or slight turbulence causing someone to call out, but other than that, they said nothing.

Mike didn't think they could with the peacekeepers keeping watch (as if they were going to run away, thousands of millions of feet in the air,) but he certainly wasn't going to try.

Then, they were there.

All of them, loading out, put into different places, tunnels underground, which all led to a single room- their stylist standing there, and a tube, one where they would be shoved into and would take them to the wonderful new temporary home of theirs.

Robin was there, waiting, looking stressed, pacing back and forth, stopping and sighing when she saw him, putting her hands on the shoulders of his black and gray suit, the one he was expected to wear for days on end.

"The cornucopia is a bloodbath- that’s not where you want to end up.” Her face turned serious, and then softened. "Oh, and... I fixed this for you."

She reached into her pocket and pulled out Mike's watch, handing it to him. He looked at her in awe, as she fastened it to his wrist, hiding it with his sleeve, and putting a finger to her lips. He smiled, and she looked down at it, eyes widening. "Mike. You got this. Stay safe, okay? That's stupid of me to say, but please, don't do anything stupid. I need you to go in there." She points to the tube, and Mike's eyes widened. "I know, Mike, I do, but you have to. You’ll be fine. Win, and I'll see you after. I swear it."

He nods, feeling the tears prick at his eyes, but he shuffles into the tube, breathing heavy when it starts to close, seeing Robin wave at him, mouthing, don't go to the cornucopia, as though he hasn't been told a thousand times.

The tube goes up, and then it's there, the light blinding him temporarily, until he focuses on his surroundings, seeing-

Oh, shit.

He's in a town, one overrun with slimy, purple and red vines, climbing up buildings, the trees and plants all dead, buildings crumbling, spores falling from the darkened sky, and he sees all the other tributes looking around as well, shocked and scared and unsure. A sign saying a faded Welcome to Hawkins is next to a poorly paved, cracked road. A screech echoes through the town, making Mike jump, causing him to almost fall off the podium, but he steadies himself.

He refuses to get blown to bits before the games even start.

A countdown starts through the speakers on the cornucopia.

The cornucopia.

A single sword lays on the metal in front of it, and Mike knows Will sees him eyeing it, because he shakes his head furiously, but he has to get it-

Ten

Mike looks around at everyone else, all eyeing the backpacks and weapons aplenty on the ground-

Nine

He has to get something-

Eight

He'll get slaughtered, though-

Seven

"Shit," He murmurs, Will still looking at him like he's lost it.

Six

He's going for it.

Five

He's shifting restlessly now, waiting for the stupid timer to hurry up-

Four

The blonde career is eyeing the spear.

Three

There's a bag of knives on the ramp.

Two

Another screech from close by echoes into the arena.

One

The timer blares.

Mike sprints off from the podium, noticing the careers already armed, and cannons are ringing out, it's a bloodbath, there's blood on the cracked roads, people calling out.

He's at the cornucopia, and the sword is gone, but there's a blue backpack, lying right there and he can probably get it, if he-

A knife flies out from behind, missing him by mere inches, hitting the backpack right in the middle. He turns, seeing Chrissy behind him, holding her bag of knives, another in her hand, her blonde hair flying in the wind. He doesn't think she'll kill him, but he doesn't necessarily want to risk anything.

He scoops the backpack up, then someone grabs it and they're fighting over it, the two of them, until they stop, blood splattering on Mike's face, and he winces as the boy falls to the ground, a knife through his stomach, Chrissy standing behind him, looking shocked and horrified, but she manages to mouth go and she turns and runs toward Jason, who's holding a bloody spear.

The boy's canon goes off and Mike takes off for the woods surrounding the structures, leaves crunching and twigs slapping his face as he flies through the brush, stopping only once he's sure no one followed him.

He's all alone.

He looks over to see a tree, a rather tall one, covered in the slime and the gross, dark purple vines- but it's still a tree, and he's pretty sure he can climb that.

Mike puts a hand onto a knot in the bark, and pulls himself up, feet pushing off a low branch, repeating the process until he's halfway up, and only then does he actually breathe, in, out, steadily. He sets the backpack down on the branch, and opens it, cringing at the sound of the zipper pulling.

Insider he finds a bag of beef jerkey, which he'll probably save, a jacket, a rope, and water bottle (with nothing in it except water purifier,) and a knife.

He exhales, wondering about Will for the first time this whole day as he leans his head back against the park, jolting back up when one of the vines tries to wrap around his neck.

Mike stabs it with the knife, watching as it shrivels and squirms but retreats backwards. His face contorts in disgust. 

He doesn't like it here.

Footsteps echo from below him. Mike looks down to see the careers standing below him, talking angrily.

Jason speaks up. "We're going for the blind one first." Mike stills, watching them silently, feeling his grip on the backpack loosen, praying that he doesn't drop it-

"She got an 8, Jason," Chrissy says, tying her hair back with a dirty hair tie.

His face softens. "Fine. You," he points to Troy, who stands, unimpressed. "Where do you want to go?"

Troy thinks a moment. "District eleven. Both of them."

Chrissy looks at him. "Why?"

"You know why, I think."

She shakes her head, looking disgusted. "No."

"What do you mean no?"

Mike looks back up as they continue arguing below, finally settling on the red-headed girl with the glasses (Barb?) and heading off the opposite direction, where Angela claimed she went.

Warily, Mike gets down from the tree, the bark scratching up his hands (which he supposes is karma from what happened with Will,) as he lands on his feet, a bolt of pain going through him at the impact. He rolls his shoulder back, hearing them pop as he hoists the backpack onto his shoulder. Toxic spores rain from the sky, and Mike is pretty sure he shouldn't be breathing those in, so he rips off a piece of cloth from the jacket and ties it around his face, most likely looking ridiculous, but not dead.

He sets off the opposite direction the careers went, constant paranoia that he's being watched settling in, but he supposes that's all apart of being hunted for sport.

I need to find water, he thinks, knowing that he won't be able to survive at all without it.

But, it is getting dark, and with the setting sun, he isn't sure he'll be able to find anything before it's pitch black, and Mike knows that the gamemakers like to make the mutts come out at night, after all, he's been watching the games since he was born.

As he treks through the forest, daylight leaving with each passing second, the anthem starts to play, and Mike whips around, looking for a clearing so he can see what happened, who died, and if Will is still-

He climbs up the nearest tree, his sore hands cracking open. Mike knows he'll feel the pain later, but for right now, it doesn't matter.

He props himself up, stabbing another vine trying to wrap around his ankle, and looks up at the sky as the pictures begin.

Both of the tributes from district 3, 4, and 8 are dead, the boy from 9. Nobody Mike knows, which is good, but also not, because the careers are all still out there.

Mike guesses they must not have gotten to Barb, yet, considering her name was never on the hologram. The anthem stops, and the sky goes black again, leaving it to just Mike and his thoughts.

He uses the rope to tie around his waist and under the tree branch, securing it just as the girl from 9 walks under the tree he's in, and starts collecting wood.

That won't go down well.

Mike watches as she starts a fire, wincing when laughter is heard from nearby.

"What do we have here?" Jason asks, looking at the girl, who looks up in fear.

He can't watch this.

He looks away, squeezing his eyes shut. He hears someone try to run, and then Angela's voice, a snarky, "Where are you going?" And then the sound of someone crying, begging, the girl's scream. He can tell she got pretty far, but someone must have thrown a spear or a knife, because the canon follows soon after the sound of a body hitting the ground.

Jason and Troy keep laughing and calling out in joy as they talk for a moment, deciding to camp, right there.

Right under Mike's tree.

Chapter Text

The girl's body is gone the next morning when the faint sunlight peaks through the dark, angry clouds, but Mike is displeased to find the careers still there, sleeping under him, silent.

Mike could go many ways with this.

He could sneak out of the tree and leave, but he risks waking them up.

He could, technically (most likely) kill one of them, but that would draw attention to himself, considering they don't know he's there. Also, he doesn't think he would be able to kill anyone without feeling guilt for the rest of his life (which could only be a couple days.)

Or, he could just wait until they leave, which could be a while.

As he waits, there's a rustling in the trees, and Mike looks over, to see the girl from 11, Erica, looking over at him, urgency in her eyes.

She points up, and Mike gives her a look of confusion, before she mutters something along the lines of fucking look up, to which Mike wrinkles his nose is disgust but does look up, seeing a slimy, tentacle covered branch, ten feet or so above him, crawling with Demobats, most of them sleeping in piles or hanging off the branch upside down. 

Demobats were used frequently back in the time of the 50th games, but were later banned because they killed too many people at once and made the game "less interesting." 

One, by itself, though, was nothing.

He and Jane would fine them frequently in the woods of their district, hanging on trees, one or two at a time, but they weren't ever in droves- there weren't enough of them left for that. They were an easy kill- Jane would shoot it with her bow, and that was it.

Now, though, Mike doesn't have anything to shoot it with, and he, unfortunately, is quite positive there are at least forty up there, sleeping on that branch.

He doesn't know how he missed them last night.

He looks back over at Erica, who shakes her head and mimics a knife sawing, and only then does it click-

She wants him to saw off the branch.

Disbelief runs through him, and fear, because they'll wake up for sure, but- 

He wanted a way to get rid of the careers, and he found one.

Or, rather, Erica did.

She vanishes into the tree, watching from a respectable distance, which Mike wishes he could do, but instead he has to be the one to do her dirty work.

Slowly, Mike begins to climb up the tree, until he's directly under the one. He stops to pull down his bandana, taking deep breaths, before pulling it back up, and standing up, knowing that if he falls he'll die immediately.

Faster than he would if the bats woke up.

He pulls the knife out of his pocket, his sore hands aching as he grips the handle, starting to saw the branch, the noise making him cringe as the Demobats begin stirring. Mike waits a minute, looking down to make sure the careers are still passed out below him (they are,) before continuing, each back and forth motion of the knife causing his hands to hurt more.

One of the bats wake up.

It crawls over to him, screeching in his ear, before starting to fly, using claws on his neck and face, causing him to bite back a scream as it bites down on his shoulder, but he keeps sawing, he's almost there, and then another bat has woken up, doing the same, scratching open his skin, his clothes starting to feel wet with blood. He can't stop, though, or this all was for nothing, so as one bites into his cheek, he swats at at it, causing it to fly off for a moment before circling back around.

Angela starts to wake up below, his eyes widening at the sight of his sword in her hands, but he can't focus on that, because he's almost done, the branch is almost off, the clouds overheard making it dark and gloomy, and Mike is pretty sure it's about to rain.

One of the bats bites down on his ankle, hard, and he lets out a yelp, squeezing his eyes shut and still moving his hand back and forth, back and forth-

The branch snaps.

Mike watches as it falls, falls, falls, laying right in the ash from the girl's fire yesterday. He watches as they all rise, screeching and flying around the careers, angry, as the careers wake up instantly, looking at them in horror, Chrissy screaming as one bites down on her wrist, Jason stabbing it with a spear, but then they're all over him, biting his face, tearing open his neck.

Everyone is panicking, Angela's cries coming louder and harsher, sobs from Chrissy. 

Mike feels slightly guilty watching, now.

Troy runs off into the woods, his hand bleeding, and Chrissy soon follows, then Jason, but Angela stays on the ground, crying and calling out. They're all over her, ripping her open, eating her, the sound sickening, and Mike closes his eyes as the blood soaks the leaves below, her cries softening, until there's silence, and a canon goes off.

He thinks that would count as his first kill.

Mike watches as the Demobats devour her, and he can't help the disgust that washes over him. He attempts to climb down the tree, but he doesn't think he can, his hands and face and legs clawed open, a bloody mess.

His second day, and he's already dying.

It starts sprinkling, and the spores stop raining down momentarily. He sits down on the branch, taking the bottle out of his backpack, watching as little droplets hit the inside, the metallic ring echoing. He takes a breath, risking a look down at his ankle, seeing clawed up skin and flesh, bite marks penetrating the thin cloth. He groans as he sets it out in front of him, along the length of the branch, his ankle feeling very, very wet.

The blood soaks the fabric, seeping in, the steadily increasing rain doing nothing good for it, only hitting the injury with small flecks of pain.

He reaches back to his neck, feeling along the gash, which is not as bad as his ankle, but still burns furiously, a steady flow of blood leaking out.

How he managed to screw up this badly, he doesn't know.

"Shit," He mutters, his cheek burning from here the bat raked it's claws.

Mike sits there for a while, feeling very, very hopeless, when small rings come from his left, and he looks over to see a can with a parachute. 

It lands in the branch below him, causing his eyes to widen as he reaches down, the gash on his neck splitting as he does so, pain erupting through him, but be still manages to hook it with his fingers, pulling it up.

Eager, he twists off the top, pulling out a note.

I did say not to go to the cornucopia.

(Also, that stunt with the bats was pretty awesome.)

-Robin 

He sighs, not finding it funny in the least, also not thinking it was very awesome, the noises of Angela's death playing in his head on a loop, the results of that "stunt" still on the ground below him, shown in blood and mutilated flesh.

Mike pulls out a tub of cream, the label ripped off, but the instructions still there- Apply once a day to injured area. 

He lets out a relieved laugh as he opens it, rubbing it along his ankle, squeezing his eyes shut at the pain, but still determined to finish.

When he's finished, he does his cheek, then his shoulder, neck, until he's done, and half of the cream is gone.

The pain vanishes almost instantly, and he mutters a silent thank you to Robin, realization shooting through him that Angela's body is going to leave soon, and she has his sword.

He shoves his things into his bag and rushes down the tree, landing hard on a vine that attempts to wrap around his ankle, to which he kicks off and walks warily to Angela's corpse, covering his mouth so he doesn't throw up at the sight of her bloody, eaten flesh. She's barely recognizable anymore.

The bats are all done, flown off to harass someone else, and probably to find a new tree.

The sword is in her hands (which are, also, barely recognizable) covered in her blood. 

Cautiously, Mike bends over, wet leaves squelching under his feet from both the pouring rain and the blood, and reaches for the sword, grabbing the handle with his bare hand and cringing visibly when it's sticky and wet.

He pulls it away, Angela's body rolling onto his boots as he does so, and he reels back in horror, biting back a scream at the sight of her face, which was, prior, facing the opposing direction.

He closes his eyes and yanks the sword, hurrying backwards so fast he almost trips over a vine, wet with rain.

Mike runs, and runs, until he can't anymore, the town of Hawkins staring back at him, dirty, cracked roads and old, broken buildings make up most of it, and Mike wonders where any of this came from.

He wouldn't put it past the gamemakers to build a whole city only to knock it down, but it still seems unlikely.

A scream from behind him followed from a canon flaring in the distance, birds flying from trees, causes Mike to turn around, wondering who that could have been, or, more likely, what got to them.

The screeches that weren't the ones from Demobats would usually come out more often at night (as Mike had discovered,) which was not ideal, to say the least.

That meant, in Mike's book, that there was something else out there.

Mike's throat ached for water, and, not wanted to down his supply, he looked up at the crying sky and opened his mouth, the few drops that landed sweet on his tongue. He stands there, savoring the small break, but that's all he allows himself before he continues his hike through the town, passing destroyed buildings, vines wrapping around the streetlights and poles, crawling over signs as they emerge from indents in the ground (that Mike isn't going to get close enough to find out where that is, exactly).

He wonders about the careers.

They didn't know he was up there, he doesn't think, so they shouldn’t be coming after him, specifically, but that doesn't mean they aren't angry.

Another scream, a canon, this time closer, and Mike's eyes widen at two deaths in the span of minutes, feeling dread pool in his stomach as another goes off. The bites from the bats are beginning to sting again, and Mike doesn't think he'll have enough cream for that, especially if he has to use it this frequently.

He sighs, peeking around a building, the cornucopia ringing when the rain hits the top, and Mike's heart drops at the sight of the careers, using the supplies inside on their wounds from earlier, Troy wrapping his hand with bandages and talking angrily to Jason, who points out in the woods, but Mike can't make out what they're saying.

He jumps at a hand on his shoulder, relief running through him when it's Max, raindrops in her hair, who just whispers, and says, "They've been guarding that since they came back from wherever they were this morning." 

He looks at her, tilting his head curiously. "How do you know that?"

She puts her head down, before mumbling, "They got him."

He stills. "Who?"

"Lucas," she says, her voice barely a whisper. 

"Who got him?"

"The dogs."

Mike looks at her, confused, blood running cold. "Max, I don't know what you mean-"

"The dogs. I've been with Lucas since the games started. He's been like... my eyes. Earlier, we heard the scream and then the canon. You heard that, right?"

"Yeah."

"And when he turned around," her voice broke. "They were there. I couldn't see them, obviously, but I just ran. I left him there." Mike can barely hear her when she says, "I heard his canon after."

"How'd you find your way here?" He doesn't want to keep pushing her, but he needs to know. Because if they got Lucas, there's no doubt they'd be able to kill anyone.

Max gets defensive. "Just because I can't see doesn't mean I can't hear, Mike. I can usually make out my surroundings with just sound, but they crept up so silently, we didn't even hear them..." she trails off, and Mike lets her.

He watches the careers, letting out a gasp as Dustin comes around the corner of the cornucopia, Jason turning and abruptly him instructions, pointing at the ground and then the woods again, as he and Chrissy set off for the woods, Troy following along sullenly after going back to grab a bow.

Mike looks at the scene in confusion, unsure of what was going on. "What're they doing?"

Max shrugs, blinking away the tears budding in her eyes. "I don't know. Like I've said, they've been at it all day. Lucas had said Dustin was there, right?"

"Yeah," he says, tilting his head in curiosity, watching as the girl who came with Dustin pokes her head out from where she appeared behind one of the trees. She sees Dustin, pacing, holding something, and visibly gasps, looking unsure of doing whatever she was planning on doing. She pauses, before saying something and carefully walking over the cracked pavement, something falling out of her pocket. Suzie cringes, closing her eyes like she's afraid something is going to happen. It’s hard to see through the heavy rain, but he’s pretty sure Dustin is holding a button of sorts.

Max pulls out a bloody knife (that Mike is pretty sure was formerly Lucas's,) and starts fiddling with it as she slides down against the wall, silent.

Mike turns back to the scene unfolding in front of him, Suzie almost to the cornucopia now, and Mike sees what she's going for now- a bag of apples, laying on wooden crates. At the sight, Mike realizes he hasn't actually eaten since yesterday, but he guesses he'll live. 

Dustin whirls around, spotting Suzie, who freezes as though she was caught. Dustin speaks to her urgently, and she turns and tiptoes silently off the field, apples in hand.

"Why is she being so careful?" Mike whispers, turning to Max, as though she has the answers. 

"I don't know. Lucas couldn't figure it out either. You don't think he..." she swallows. "You don't think it's possible that he could rig the mines, right? I think he's definitely smart enough."

"What do you mean?"

She turns the knife around in her hands, stopping, and stabbing it into the concrete with extreme force, the knife splitting an already-cracked piece into two. "Rigged them. She could have been extra careful because the land mines are on. The ones for if you step off the podium early?" She gestures with her hands.

Realization hits Mike instantly, and he looks back at the cornucopia, running a hand through his damp hair. "If I threw something, would it explode?"

"Sure, maybe, but you'd kill Dustin with it." She clucks her tongue. "Might not want to do that."

"Would you?"

Max considers this, and then nods.

"I don't want to kill anyone else," Mike says quietly, eyes trained to the ground.

She perks up. "Else?"

He nods. "Yeah. I dropped a branch with demobats onto the careers."

"Shit, is that where Angela went? I didn't like her," she pulls the knife out of the ground, stabbing it again, "Damn. I didn't know you had it in you, Wheeler."

"Me neither," he says drily, debating his odds with Dustin.

It was starting to get dark, though Mike was more than positive it hadn't been a whole day yet. The gamemakers must have been speeding things up, impatient.

He's quiet a moment, but then he whispers, "I'm going to do it."

Max doesn't say anything, but she nods, and hands him the knife she's been twirling around. "It was Lucas's. Make it count."

He grips the handle, knowing perfectly well that he isn't Chrissy, and that he's more likely going to miss his target, but he has to, for Lucas.

Mike takes a breath, and releases the knife, watching at it flies and hits a bag of shuriken, slicing open the fabric, watching the metal stars spill out, hitting the ground. Nothing happens, for a moment, and he takes that time to run off into the forest, Max trailing behind, only stopping when he hears the boom and sees the smoke, the sound of a canon following soon after.

He winces, sitting down on a log, putting his ankle out in front of him, the recent adrenaline canceling out the pain, until now, where it's starting to sting. He applies the last of the cream as he looks up, the anthem playing, the dead tributes announced. Mike reads them off to Max as they go along, ignoring her sharp intake when he says Lucas.

Two of those deaths were completely his fault, he knows, but he tries to ignore that.

Max sits down on the log beside him, rests her head against a tree, and falls asleep, and it's then that Mike realizes the knife from his bag is gone, and it's in her hands.

He shakes his head, not thinking he'll be able to sleep tonight, so instead, he looks out into the woods, waiting for the morning to come.

Chapter Text

"I don't think that was on accident," Mike says, staring down at Suzie's cold, lifeless body, his face twisting into a grimace on sight of the berries in her hands, her glasses shattered on the ground.

Max shrugs, feeling around on the ground and then picking up one of the apples from the bag Suzie stole and taking a bite out of it, sighing contently and resting her back against a tree. Through a mouthful, she asks, "Are we going to go into the town? Or are we just going to wait in the woods like cowards?"

Mike ignores that last part. "I can't believe you're stealing a dead person's food."

Max grins. "She's not here to stop us."

Mike shakes his head, but eventually results in taking one as well, the flavor exploding in his mouth, stomach aching from food he hadn't had in days. 

"See? They're good."

Mike says nothing until the apple is gone, throwing the core onto the ground waiting for Max to finish hers. She sits up, her milky white eyes alert as she says slowly, "You think the careers are mad?"

"Definitely."

She turns her head towards his voice, unamused. "Do you think they know we did it, though?"

"Technically, I did it," Mike says, grinning when Max flips him off. 

She heads off into the woods, towards Hawkins, Mike realizes, as he grabs his backpack off the ground, hesitating before stuffing another apple inside. He jogs to catch up with her. "Where are you going?" 

She points. "Away from here."

Mike doesn't say anything to that. Quietly, he adds, "I'm sorry about Lucas."

She stills a moment. "It's... fine," she taps her hands on her pants, "It wasn't your fault."

"I know. I just... wanted to say it."

"Oh." 

They walk in silence, the leaves under their feet crunching, the vines on trees wet from yesterday's rain, the smell of moisture in the air. 

"Have you seen Byers at all?" Max asks innocently, eyes trained forward.

"No."

She lets out a small hmph as she reaches back to retie her hair, twisting it back into braids, ducking to avoid a low branch, which is nothing short of impressive. Max blurts out, "He volunteered."

Mike looks over, confused. "Who?"

"Billy." She lowers her head. "He wanted to come to the games. Win, I guess. I guess he thought he could. Mom told him to 'protect me' but I think she just said that so she didn't feel bad when I died. An 'at least you tried' type thing, which is absolute bullshit." Max sighs. Tentatively, she asks, "You have a sister, right?"

The question catches him off guard, and Mike stops walking temporarily. "Yeah. Holly."

Max smiles slightly, stopping and turning around to face him. "Will told me about her."

His brows furrow. "When did you talk to Will?"

She shrugs and continues trekking forward, Mike hurrying to catch up. "Training. He mentioned you a lot for you 'not knowing him' in your interview."

"Strange," Mike hums.

"Isn't it?" Max looks like she's about to say something else but stops, Mike looking over to see why until a chill runs through him when his foot hits concrete. He looks up to see the main road leading into Hawkins, and in front of him, a dark blue house, towering over the street, a stained glass rose on the door.

He and Max walk up the front, Max trailing her hand along the handle. She turns around and adds, "It's locked."

Mike sighs and begins to head back, but he's stopped by the sound of shattering glass, a pile of rocks in Max's hand when he turns. He looks at her in disbelief, but results in unlocking the door anyway.

They step inside, wood creaking under their feet. Max heads up the stairs, leaving Mike alone below, floor boards shifting with every step. 

He wanders through the hallway, jumping at a clock chime, sending a chill down his spine as he spins around, eyes locked onto the grandfather clock behind him, the pendulum swinging back and forth. He tilts his head as a crack appears in the glass, spreading, breaking into four pieces, eyes widening, heart racing when the clock explodes, spiders crawling out of the face.

Mike falls backward, grabbing the wall and sliding into the room behind, taking a breath and looking at the dining room in front of him, an old radio on the table, chairs set perfectly into place, as though they were just used yesterday.

A chandelier hangs from the ceiling, the lights shattered, shards onto the floor below.

He runs his hand down the table, dust gathering on his finger pads. He wipes his hands on his pants and walks through the doorway into the next room, finding himself back into the hall.

Mike hears Max call for him from upstairs, and he makes his way up, grabbing onto the railing and wincing when one of the stairs cracks and his injured ankle falls through, the wood scraping the injury as it descends.

By the time he make it upstairs, he sees Max sitting on the floor, an air vent open next to her. She's holding a dusty glass jar, turning it around in her hands, looking over when she hears him coming. She holds the jar out, and Mike takes it gingerly.

"What's in it?"

He squints through the glass, flinching and dropping it when a black widow comes around the front, the glass shattering on the ground, and Max looks at him, amused. "That bad?"

He feigns a laugh and watches the spider crawl away, disappearing through a crack in the wood floor. "It was a spider."

She nods, reaching back into the vent, pulling her hand away in disgust when her fingers get tangled in a spider web, rubbing it off on her jacket with a curse.

"Was the cover already off?"

Max nods, another jar in her hands, but she puts this one back and feels around for the vent cover, putting it back on and standing up, dusting her pants off with her (newly spider-web free) hands. "Was it alive?"

"Yeah."

Mike looks back around, another set of stairs leading into the attic, Max already brushing past him to walk up. He lets out a sigh but doesn't dare leave her, following after her, more jars on a small table laying before him, drawings of things on the desktop. He reaches over and picks one up, one with a large, spider-like shadow looking over a red scenery. "How old do you think this place is?" He asks quietly, watching for Max's shrug.

She gestures to the jar in her hands. "Are they all spiders?"  

"Yeah."

She scoffs and sets it back down. "Well that was a bust. We should go into town-"

Max quiets at the sounds of voices echoing up the stairs, Troy's bored voice projecting throughout the house. "We lost Angela. The Henderson boy. Big deal. Why the fuck are we here?"

Jason groans. "I told you, I saw the Mayfield girl come up here."

Max stills as Troy continues speaking. "You think you saw the Mayfield girl."

"Can you shut up a moment and look around?"

Troy sighs but his footsteps silence as they head off, leaving Mike and Max sitting in silence. "There's something over there, isn't there?" she whispers, Mike turning his head and seeing a closet, the doors ajar slightly. 

He nods, and she must feel it, because she gets up, walking warily to the closet, stepping in, Mike following suit.

She closes the door as three pairs of footsteps ascend the stairs. 

"There are way too many spiders in here," Chrissy whispers, one of the jars being picked up. 

Jason responds quietly, sound muffled by the door, but his voice picks up as he says, "Byers. Go check that closet."

Mike's body goes still. Max looks over at him frantically as Will walks over, her breathing coming out ragged. The door opens, light seeping through the doors.

He looks at them, bored eyes starting to widen, looking very, very awake now. He puts his hands up, mouthing a what the fuck are you doing? 

Mike shrugs, begging him silently to not give them away, and Will puts his head in his brunette hair. Mike's eyes drop down to Will's wrist, bandaged and bloody, but he doesn't say anything, just stares, pleading without words he can't say.

"Byers."

Will looks back and closes the door, adding nochantly, "Nothing there."

Will had always been a bad liar.

As Jason speaks angrily outside, Max taps Mike's leg, whispering, "Knife." he hands it to her hesitantly.

When the door opens, she throws it, hitting Jason squarely in the shoulder. 

He cries out in pain, Chrissy turning abruptly and gasping, Will looking relieved as they scramble out of the closet, blood rushing freely down Jason's chest.

A knife misses Mike's head by barely an inch, and he looks to see Chrissy holding another.

He knows she could throw it, but she doesn't.

Instead she watches them leave as he and Max run, far from there.

Chapter Text

The day Mike's sister was reaped was a Tuesday.

It wasn't an interesting Tuesday in any way. Just a normal reaping, one that he tried hard to forget.

It started like the reaping always did- Mike went and crossed the fence with Jane, and his sister had been home to take care of Holly.

Mike didn't think anything would happen- her chances were slim. He had made her promise to not put her name in more than once for supplies, because they were, at the time, managing fine on their own.

One slip. One slip in a whole bowl, and the name drawn out of the glass was Nancy Wheeler, one that Mike had tried so hard to forget, to bury, one he had always loved. She was there, one moment, and then she was gone.

Mike thought she could win. She was fifteen, and to him, age ten, she was everything. She promised she'd try, and Nancy had never once broken her promise, not to anyone, and especially not to Mike. He remembers the last words he spoke to her, which were, you have to win.

If he could, he would take it back- because there was no winning. She was a kid, forced to be a hero for a bunch of people with lives that needed to be spiced up. And she was, merely, an actor, and nothing more.

The boy that went in there with her was Jonathan Byers, who would have been the first person in twenty years to volunteer in District 12, all because he wanted to be with her.

Mike knew Jonathan well- he was Will's brother, after all- how wouldn't he?

There was also a time when Mike and Will were close- so close, it scared them at times. If he tried hard enough, Mike could almost blame the games for everything that had ever gone wrong in his life.

Nancy had gone into the games. Mike remembered the arena well. The woods- summer woods, with the bright green leaves on trees and deer running through the forest.

He watched, every second, thinking he'd wake up one morning and Nancy would be dead, but it never happened.

It was her, Jonathan, and a boy from district 2, all of them, the last ones left.

He remembers the horror on Will's face, Will's beautiful face, the tears that spilled when Nancy sobbed her last words, tears in her eyes, to Jonathan, before she killed him with a knife, his blood splattering on the ground, soaking into the Earth.

The canon is forever etched in Mike's mind, the way the body hit the ground, his mother's sharp intake.

Her last words, the ones that she'd spoken, were, "I'm sorry.”

He had always thought that was scary.

You go places, meet people, you speak, so many times, and the last words she spoke were an apology, an apology, before the boy from 2 ran her through with a spear. The moment plays in Mike's head on a loop- the way the spear slid through her body, silent, the way her eyes widened with horror as she looked down, and abruptly collapsed, next to Jonathan, together again. 

Maybe they were never separated.

But the canon was like a gunshot through Mike's heart, the one that made it bleed for so long, maybe forever, really. He didn't think something like that would ever stop crying, ever stop dropping beautiful, deadly, crimson blood.

He had lost his sister.

His mother, who started drinking right after that.

He lost Will. It wasn't as though Mike could blame him, really, but he was also angry, angry at everything, everything for going to shit, Will for hating Mike for something his sister did, one that maybe even he would never forgive her for.

And then he walks into the reaping, five years later, his father gone, Karen more broken then ever, leaving Holly alone, all by herself in the world, no one but Jane to do anything for her.

Maybe Nancy's death hadn't ended with a spear through her heart only.

The sky had started getting dark when he and Max fled the house, taking a breather outside, the two pausing only when they had reached the woods.

They had decided to stop- the careers hadn't known where they went.

Mike figured they could sleep on a log tonight, as they had before.

He had decided that when the anthem played, only one death, that being Suzie, who Mike had never cared much for.

He wondered if she had died to be with Dustin.

He knew he'd do the same for Will.

***

Mike awoke to his name.

For a moment, it was like it had been when it was him and Nancy, her voice calling him, telling him to go to the bakery- if she had lived.

But that's not what happened.

He jolted up, blood running cold when Max was gone. He looked around, frantic, eyes widening when his name was called, a scared, loud cry, and dread pooled in his stomach.

Mike ran.

He didn't know where he was going, not really, just following the sound of his voice, was that was, most undeniably, Max.

He turned, seeing her, caught in a net, milky eyes alarmed. He exhaled, frantically going back to his bag, hands shaking when he remember the knife was gone, the one she had thrown at Jason.

Mike grabbed the sword, looking down at it, Angela's dried blood on the cold metal- it was all he had.

He started to warily cut the vine, tears welling in Max's eyes, something he didn't ever think he'd see from her- weakness.

That scared him even more.

The rope snapped, and she was on the ground, Mike deflating, relieved as she stood up, smiling at him. She opened her mouth to speak.

He didn't know why she didn't until he looked down, metal through her stomach, blood splatters on the ground.

Mike was calling out as Max's body hit the ground, the spear retreating, Troy standing behind her, a grin on his face, one that would stay forever, the last thing he did, and then he was on the ground, suddenly, a sword through his heart, Mike's sword, he thinks, a canon, but it's all blurry, muffled, Max's sobs the only thing he can hear, see, it's everything he is, right then, on his knees, holding her as her head faces up, eyes unseeing as they always were, but this time, they're lifeless.

"I don't want to die, I'm not ready."

Mike wants Will, he wants Nancy, he wants Holly, he wants anyone, he's alone, and he's lying to her, telling her she'll be fine, as if maybe, he said it enough, everything would be fine, she'd get up and walk away, and start talking again, insulting him as though it seemed they always had, even if it had been less than a week.

"Please, I'm not ready, I'm not ready, I'm not ready, I don't want to die, Mike, please-"

He thinks her sobs become background noise, at a point, her stomach starting to take shallower breaths, cries silencing, the blood seeping through her jacket, the brown one, the one she had worn when she was very much alive just minutes ago, and now she was here, and she was dying, and Nancy's death played over, and over, mixing with Max's, Nancy’s eyes staring back at him where Max's should be, and then she's gone, it's over, she's stopped talking, stopped crying, everything is done, and Mike is alone, this time, as he always has been.

He doesn't know when he rises to his feet, looking around the woods, picking the nicest flowers he finds.

Mike doesn't know when he lays them beside her, running a hand along her face so her eyes close.

He doesn't know how long it takes for her to be surrounded by flowers, shades of blue and yellow and white, surrounding her head like a crown, in her hands, like she was the bearer of them from the ground itself.

He collapses against a tree, head in his hands, sobbing, Nancy's death playing over and over like a broken record, Angela's lifeless eyes, the blood on Max's clothes, the echo of his sister's canon, clashing with the one that echoes from Max soon after he finishes the flowers, the ones he didn't even realize he was doing. Tremors shake him, but he lets them.

His hands are sticky, wet with Jonathon's blood, Nancy's, Max, Angela, all of it, his fault, and no matter how many times he cleans them, it stays, red and dripping, like a punishment he'll always be reminded of.

Mike doesn't acknowledge when arms wrap around him, the smell of sweat, blood, but still the smell of cinnamon and bread and pine trees, district 12, the bakery, Will. He doesn't know how long he sits there, sobbing, letting out everything he's been holding back for years, breaking when Will holds him, trying to keep him together, whole, even though he lost a sibling too, because of Mike.

But Will always put others before himself, even if those people were murderers.

Mike eventually slows, his head still buried in Will's chest, arms still wrapped around him, because it's Will, and that's what he does- he helps.

"I'm sorry," Will murmurs, head in Mike's hair, breathing in and out slowly in a way that Mike tries to copy.

Mike doesn't say anything. He doesn't know if he can, really, but Will eventually gets up and drags him far from there, from Max, from Troy, from Nancy and Angela and Jonathan, their ghosts lingering with him, like they always will- but maybe, they're a little fainter.

Mike walks in silence, one foot in front of the other, trying not to break it- the motion, repetition, the sound of the leaves and twigs and vines crunching under his feet. He looks over, feeling immense guilt when he realizes Will is slower, limping, an awful, horrible way, his leg a bloody mess, the sight reminding him only more of Angela, but he can't look away. Slowly, he whispers, "Are you okay?"

Will looks up, alarmed, but nods, a complete lie, but Mike allows himself to believe it, even if it's just for a little bit.

***

Mike doesn't know how long they walk.

It could have been minutes, hours, but he wouldn't have known the difference either way. Will stops when they reach a house- a small one, tucked in the woods, one that looks worn and old- but reminds him of home, in a way he doesn't seem to be able to describe. 

Will pries the front door with his knife, one Mike thinks is stolen property from Chrissy. The door opens with a creak, the wind blowing it backwards as it bounces back from the hinge.

Will steps in, looking around, vanishing around the corner, leaving Mike alone, just him and his thoughts, which he thinks could be more dangerous than if Will had left him with the careers.

The house is empty, for the most part, a couple of chairs knocked over on the floor, but it's just as old and full of spiders as the one he and Max had been to.

Mike sits down in the corner, leaning his head against the wall, Will returning and sliding down next to him, wincing when his leg hits the floor. Mike looks over and shakes his head tiredly. "You're not okay."

Will sighs. He fumbles with his hands a moment, before replying hesitantly. "Jason did it."

Mike perks up. "With his spear?"

Will shakes his head. "Chrissy's knife."

"Oh."

A canon goes off, causing them both to flinch, Will looking up at the ceiling. "I missed you."

Mike's heart warms. "Really?"

"Yeah."

There's a beat of silence, the rising sun shooting moonlight through the windows. "Does it hurt?"

Will looks back down and shrugs. "Yeah." He scoots over a little closer, their shoulders brushing, like they had in the closet when they were younger and Will's dad would come home angry. 

Mike isn't sure when, but at some point, he drifts off into sleep.

***

The nightmares come that night.

Deaths, playing in his mind, the canons.

He jolts awake, the sky dark and angry with clouds, spores raining down once again- no, it's snow.

It's snowing.

Mike lets out a dry laugh, snow covering the ground like a blanket, not willing to go outside to see how cold it is now, compared to how it was yesterday.

Yesterday.

Yesterday hits him like a train, Max coming back to him, and Mike tears his face away from the window. Rather, he looks down at Will, who's head is resting on his shoulder, asleep.

Mike's eyes trail down to his leg, torn and bloody, and he winces. It looks infected, the injury still wet. He has no idea how Will walked on that all the way here.

His eyes go back to Will's face, eyes closed, making him look younger, skin soft, but covered in dirt and sweat from the arena. Hair falls into Will's eyes and Mike pushes it away, pulling back when he wakes up, face contorting in pain when he attempts to move his leg.

"Will, you aren't okay-"

Will shakes his head tired. "I'll be fine, Mike."

"It's infected."

"I'll be fine," he says, more determined, and Mike backs down.

Another canon goes off. Will looks up, troubled, concentration on his face. "How many are left? Six, right?"

Mike pauses and then nods. "Me, you, Chrissy, Jason, Erica, Billy, and Patrick, " he swallows. "I don't know which of them that was. But that would make six."

Will shrugs. "We'll see tonight, I guess."

"Yeah."

Mike reaches back and pulls out his bag of beef jerky. Will's eyes light up as Mike hands him a piece. "Do you have water too?"

He hands him the flask, Will drinking gratefully, a small amount left in the bottom when he gets the bottle back. Mike reaches into the bag for another peice, the flavor exploding on his tongue, pausing when an announcement billows through the arena, a man's voice coming through.

"You all need something, right now, and we have the solution for that.

At the cornucopia, we have placed a table with three bags.

Each of you has a bag with your district's number on it.

You all know what you need.

We are also here to announce the remaining tributes, those being Jason Carver, Chrissy Cunningham, Billy Hargrove, Erica Sinclair, Michael Wheeler, and William Byers.

May the odds be ever in your favor."

Will looks over at Mike, a knowing look. "You are not going to that bloodbath to get anything for me. I will be fine, Mike."

"What if I want to?"

Will shakes his head. "I don't want you to."

Mike snorts. "I should listen to that because-"

The other boy's lips quirk up the slightest. "I am the injured one, so I think that my dying wishes should be what you do."

Mike's face turns serious, amusement gone. "You aren't dying, Will."

Will's eyes widen. "I know. I know. I was joking. I didn't mean it like that, Mike."

"I'm still going."

Will groans. "No, you aren't."

"Fine. Can I at least go outside and gather some snow for the flask?"

He looks at him, skeptical, as if he thinks Mike is going to try something, which is fair, considering he is. "Yeah."

Mike jumps to his feet, bending over slightly when his anole nearly gives out from under him, raw and red, but he still walks to the door, pushing it open with a creak, and trekking out behind the house to the woods, knowing he could run, but then Will would follow. He turns, looking for something he could use to get Will to-

A dinging comes from above him, and he looks up, a parachute landing on the ground next to him. Eager, he reaches down and picks up the container, twisting it to see the can full of soup, a note on the inside of the lid saying, 

Give it to him.

Don't screw it up, get the backpack, and leave. 

-Steve

He exhales shakily, thinking about how he's about to poison Will, but it's the only chance he has at Will's leg not kiling him, so he takes it.

Mike walks back inside, Will perking up. There are bags around his eyes Mike didn't notice before, his breaths coming shallower.  He eyes the can, and Mike says, not lying, "Steve sent it. Soup."

Will grins as Mike hands him the container, sending Mike extreme guilt, one that he's pretty sure he'll never get over.

It takes Will a moment to realize, but when he does, he looks up at Mike in shock, hurt in his eyes, before his eyes roll back and he's asleep, the soup spilling onto the floor. He winces, but takes his chance, grabbing his sword from the floor and heading out towards the cornucopia, snow crunching under his feet as he marches out towards a bloodbath.

Chapter Text

By the time Mike reaches the Cornucopia, Erica's backpack is gone, leaving only 12 and 2, which causes a chill to run down Mike's spine.

Jason hasn't claimed his yet.

He crouches behind one of the buildings, snow crunching, watching. A vine wraps his sword, attempting to pull it away, but he pulls it down, the vine slicing into two. He mutters a curse and wipes the slime off the blade.

Mike waits a moment, two, but no one appears for district 2's bag, and Mike decides to go for it.

He stands slowly, carefully, and sprints out to the backpack, a white 12 etched on the front of the dark green fabric, sitting on a metal table in front of him, the bag just in his reach-

A knife cuts through the air in front of him, hitting the backpack in the side, and Mike turns, blood rushing as he sees Chrissy, blonde hair tied up messily, breathing heavily, eyeing the backpack next to him, another knife poised in her hand.

Ready to throw.

He freezes, grabbing the backpack and trying to run, but her knife penetrates his bad ankle. Mike lets out a cry of pain as he hits the ground, loosing his grip on the bag as it flies, his sword falling next to him. He reaches out for it, but he's being turned over, Chrissy looking down at him, another knife in her hand, fear in her eyes.

She holds it up, the metal coming in contact with Mike's cheek. Her hands tremble the slightest, moisture pricking her eyes, as she runs it along his cheek, a hot searing pain causing him to bite back a scream.

Chrissy pulls the knife back and shakes her head, tears falling freely now, as she whispers an "I'm so sorry. It's for him, isn't it?"

Mike feels blood run down his cheek, his ankle. He takes in a breath, and whispers back a plead, "You don't have to-"

"No. I do. For Jason," she whimpers, setting the knife over his neck this time, "I'll make it quick. I promise."

"Chrissy, please-"

She starts to push down the slightest, a choked, "I can't do it," followed by the knife leaving his neck once again. She wipes the tears from her eyes and takes a shaky breath, says another I’m so sorry, and starts to draw blood as the blade hits his skin.

Footsteps erupt and she pulls back like it physically burned her as she turns her head, ponytail falling down, to see Billy, holding a dagger, whom Mike hasn't at all this whole time.

Chrissy falls backwards, trying to rise to her feet, run away, but Billy's there in an instant, his hands pinning her against the metal of the cornucopia. Mike's eyes widen in fear as he sits up, trying to crawl back, but failing from the pain in his ankle.

Billy's hands tighten around Chrissy's neck, and she lets out a choked gasp, cheeks wet from the tears trickling down. He looks down at her, fury on his expression. It reminds Mike of his father, and he shudders, ankle throbbing.

"Were you about to kill him right here?" Billy gestures toward Mike without releasing his hold on her neck.

She shakes her head desperately, hair down as the ribbon flies out of her once put up ponytail. She rasps out a response, body shaking in fear. "No, no I wasn't, I swear-"

He holds his chin up. "Oh yeah? You weren't going to?" Billy takes the knife from her hands, throwing it on the ground below.

"No, no I wasn't," she answers, sobs racking her body.

"So you weren't going to kill him, just like you killed Maxine?" Mike stills, Chrissy doing the same as realization seems to dawn on her, panic dancing in her eyes as she struggles to breathe, fumbling with her words.

"I didn't do that, it wasn't me, Billy, I swear-"

He shakes his head, voice oddly calm. "Don't call me that." He turns his head, eyeing a large rock on the ground, and dread pools in Mike's stomach as he watches the scene unfold in front of him, unable to do anything.

Chrissy seems to understand what he's about to do because she starts calling out, screaming for Jason, who Mike realizes must be close by. "Jason! Jason, please-“

He hears footsteps on pavement, Jason calling back, clearly scared, but all Mike can do is watch, knowing he is, no doubt, next.

Billy reaches for the rock, and quickly brings it down, fast, over Chrissy's forehead. She lets out a cry of pain, hitting the ground as he drops her, body thumping against the concrete. 

Mike grasps for his sword as Chrissy's eyes face him, unseeing, small amounts of blood trickling from her face, breaths shallow.

He looks up at Billy, who scans him with a murderous gaze, and Mike whispers, "Make it quick."

Billy reaches down for the knife, looks at him once more. He points at him, and says, "For the girl. We're even, for now. But if I see you again," a shiver goes down Mike's spine, "I won't hesitate to kill you."

He turns and runs the opposing direction, clearly fearing what would happen when Jason gets over here. Jason, who's still calling for Chrissy, and by the pain visible in his voice, Mike knows he sees her laying on the ground.

He reaches for the backpack, a searing pain in his ankle, but he manages to pull himself to his feet, sword in hand, and he runs, looking back only once, seeing Jason down on the ground next to her, begging her to stay with him, but then her canon goes off, and he lets out a roar of anger, and hurt. The arm Max hit lays useless at his side, and Mike turns back and leaves, knowing that Jason isn't going to stop, not now, not until he wins.

***

Will's awake when he returns.

His face lights up when he sees Mike, quickly darkening again when he sees his limp, the slice on his cheek, that of which is still dropping fresh, red blood.

Mike stumbles over, dropping the backpack down in front of Will before promptly collapsing next to him, slumping against the wall, wincing as he twists his ankle (which is, most definitely, infected,) around, stretching it.

Quietly, Will says, "Your face."

Mike turns to look at him, lips quirking up the slightest. "What about it?"

Will reaches up weakly, running a hand along the gash, Mike doing his best not to pull away. "Was it Chrissy?" he whispers, as if he's afraid of the answer.

Mike nods wordlessly, reaching into the backpack and pulling out a jar of some cream and a spool of bandages. He sets them down. "Put your leg over here," he says, Will groaning but eventually turning, having to prop himself up now that the wall is no longer behind him.

Mike isn't a doctor, that was his mother's thing, but he had seen too many people come into their house with limbs missing, scorched off or cut, and plenty of people with infected slices and gashes and cuts, so Mike figured he could probably figure it out, for the most part.

He ripped off the end of the pants, setting it to the side, gagging when he saw the mess in front of him, Will looking away, which Mike thought was smart (he wishes he could do the same, but instead he had to do the dirty work).

He dabbed some of the cream onto the fabric he tore, not bothering to read the instructions (Mike was never one for those, as Karen would most likely tell you,) not being able to bring himself to rub it on with his hands.

Carefully, he spread it around on Will's skin, noticing him flinch, but deciding not to say anything.

When he couldn't take it anymore, the way the blood swirled with the antibiotic, he tore off some of the bandages, quickly wrapping it the way he had seen his mother do so many times.

Will finally looked back, shifting to sit against the wall again. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it, reopening it to say, "Thank you. Even if you had to drug me." He smiles weakly, glancing at Mike's face, down to his lips, but back up to his cheek, the blood drying, pain still lingering.

Wordlessly, he took the cream from his hands, rubbing it slowly onto the damage Chrissy did, Mike looking down to avoid Will's gaze as he then went to his ankle, repeating the same process Mike had done with Will- ripping the fabric, dipping it into the jar, and spreading it around, pain searing through Mike like a knife (maybe worse, as he had just had a knife go through his face). He handed the bandages to Mike to do, and he obliged, wrapping it tightly with what remained, praying it would hold.

They sat there in a silence, a beat of silence, before Will asks, hesitantly, "What happened?" 

When Mike doesn't say anything, he adds, "You don't have to say anything. I just thought maybe you'd want to say something.-"

Mike swallows, Will silencing instantly. "I went to the cornucopia. Erica had taken her bag already. I don't know what she needed. No one was there, I figured it was fine," Will looks down, "Then Chrissy threw a knife at my ankle, and Billy smashed her head in with a rock-" he stops abruptly, voice breaking, neither of them attempting to revive the silence.

Mike wonders if either of them were ever going to try.

Chapter Text

Billy's canon went off in the middle of the night, and Mike knew it was his- he couldn't describe how, but, he knew.

It had jolted him and Will from a troubled sleep, one that neither had known they had fallen into, both of them waking with a start, looking out the torn curtains and fogged up windows to the woods outside, snow melting off trees, dripping as they hit leaves below, the blanket of snow thinning, water soaking into the dry earth.

Mike's ankle ached, but the application, for the most part, had done it's job, and he could walk without feeling like he was going to die.

From that, anyway.

Will rose to his feet, knee buckling upon the forgotten weight applied to it, and Mike reached out, grabbing Will before he hit the ground. They stayed like that a moment before Will eventually let go, a slight tremor shaking the earth, causing Mike to look down in confusion.

Will hadn't seemed to feel it- he stretched, and the slight movement was gone as fast as it had appeared, leaving Mike to wonder if he was, truly, losing it this time.

He still had a limp, Will did. Maybe he always would, but for the most part, he could walk- most likely, to wherever they were going, which was where we they ended up, Mike supposed.

He pulled the door open, pausing momentarily, looking out at the darkened sky, clouds casting over the moon (or, what Mike believed to be the moon- whether it was an illusion was above him at the moment). "We're going to town, right?" 

Will shrugged. "I guess. The canon was close, though- I don't know if we should-" a boom shook the earth, causing Will to pause, looking up as the light fixtures start shaking, swinging back and forth dangerously, chairs falling, one of the lights swinging off the hook and exploding on the ground next to Will, causing him to let out a yelp as the jagged shards dance on the wood floor. It all stopped, the lights still creaking as the swung, back and forth, and Will looked over at Mike.

He was pretty sure he had felt that.

"We should go," Will said finally, heading out the door, the melting snow crunching under his feet, Mike following suit, after checking for his sword and backpack, slamming the door closed behind them.

***

Hawkins, as they found, was more in ruins after the small earthquake that it was prior, windows shattered, street lights fallen over.

They walked the empty streets, a growing sense of paranoia following Mike, the probability of Jason appearing at any time was great, but something he didn't want to further explore or think about.

He allowed himself to think about Erica a moment.

He had only seen her once, when she told him to cut the branch, but only then- she just have been smart, to stay alive as long as she had, even through knowing her brother had died.

Mike wasn't sure if all siblings were as close as he and Holly were, or as he had been with Nancy. The Byers were close, Mike knew, before Jonathan left. After he had been killed, Joyce started to become more independent, watching over Will and Jane less, hiding herself in assortments of cakes and breads most people couldn't afford anyway.

Still, it was always fun as a kid to go to the windows and look through, seeing the frosted pastries and fluffy breads, even though he knew he couldn't have them. He and Will would often beg Joyce for a piece of whatever she was making, and most often she would cave.

Mike knew she wouldn't now, not after what happened with Jonathan. She couldn't look him in the eye anymore, or Karen- not even when Jane dry-fired her bow and needed stitches- rather she had just stood and waited, like a shell of the person she used to be.

Through everything, though, Mike and Jane had remained friends.

They had always had their tradition- they'd go out into the woods, even though Karen and Joyce both despised that they did so- and escape from everything, talk, every reaping, as they had done since they had discovered the fence was barely ever on.

"Mike."

Mike looks back over at Will, suddenly aware he had most likely been spacing off, but Will didn't say anything about that. Slowly, quietly, he asked, "Do you remember the day we met?"

Mike didn't miss a beat before he responded with a quick yes, because, of course, he did- that wasn't something he thought was possible to just forget, no matter how hard he tried (and he had- tried, that is).

Will smiles a little. "Good."

They had met when they were five- the first day of school, or, what classified as a school in twelve- a sad, broken down shack, but still the school nonetheless. Outside of the school, there wasn't a playground- only one set of broken down, rusty, creaky swings. Swings built for two.

Will had been sitting there, when Mike walked past, and he had decided it would necessarily hurt to possibly try and make a friend, so he did.

He had walked up to Will, and asked, and he thought maybe, asking was the best thing he'd ever done.

Mike would never admit that, though.

He didn't realize Will was talking until he stopped, and the silence came over them like a blanket. 

Mike stole a glance over at Will, before clearing his throat and asking, "Where are we going?"

"The house." A beat of silence, "the one you and Max went to," he adds, nodding the direction. "First though," he stops, pointing at the building in front of them, "We need supplies."

Mike didn't know what 'supplies' were considered to be, so he just followed mindlessly as Will slowly opened a glass door, cringing when the wind took it and it slammed into a wood box, one that Mike had seen frequently at the-

"Cornucopia," Will hums, looking around the boxes. "After someone," He looks pointedly at Mike, "blew up the boxes, the careers moved all the stuff that lived here."

Mike bent down, onto his knees, and examined a dagger on the floor. He picked it up and stuffed it in his bag, almost doing the same with a flask before he found, which was, thankfully, full of water.

He drank graciously, handing it off to Will, who finished it off, and continued rummaging around the boxes, looking for anything of use.

Will ended up finding a bat with nails sticking out of it, which he can't use well- Mike knew that, and Will knew it too, but neither of them said anything about it.

Jason must have ransacked the place before they got there, wet, snowy tracks from his boots around the store. Everything was, mostly, gone, only things they already had still lingering.

Finally deciding they were done, only gaining a flask (which was now empty,) and the bat, they left, deciding to wander the town before they'd have to fight against Jason, because they both knew it was coming- even if they never ran into each other naturally, the gamemakers would, for sure, end up throwing them together one way or another. Last year, the final four were all chased towards the cornucopia to fight it out by a wildfire, and Mike suspected they wouldn't hesitate to do it again.

The town of Hawkins (despite being completely totaled,) was a nice place, or, would have been, had time done it graciously. 

The school was huge- bigger than District 12's school was, at least. There were many stores, some with titles Mike could read easily, others he could barely decipher, both from the dark and from time itself- but it didn't make much of a difference.

Even destroyed, ruins of what it used to be, Hawkins was still nicer than 12, which Mike detested.

"There was a huge store over there somewhere," Will says, gesturing vastly, "it was mostly burned to the ground, though. There was a sign buried in the rubble. It said Scoops Ahoy or something. It was really faded."

Mike nods, unsure of what to say, as Will clears his throat. "I didn't think we'd make it this far." His voice is quiet, Mike having strain his ears to hear it.

He snorts. "Me neither."

"I kinda hoped we would though. Is that weird?" Mike shakes his head. "I didn't kill anyone. I couldn't." Hesitantly, he adds, "Did you?"

Mike's back goes rigid, but he tries to shake it off and keep walking. "I did. Actually. It wasn't really on purpose though."

Will looks over, eyes wide. "What do you mean it wasn't on purpose?"

Mike thinks back. "Uh, well, I dropped a tree branch of Demobats onto the careers." 

The other boy lets out a surprised laugh. "Is that what happened to Angela?"

Mike nods, frantic. "And I blew up the supplies. Me and-" he stops. "Uh, I didn't mean to kill Dustin, not really. He was just there, and... I don't know. Troy- you know what happened to him."

Will nods, voice small. "Did you enjoy it?"

"No," he says instantly, somewhat appalled at the fact Will thought he could.

He supposed he deserved that.

Mike focuses on the crunch of the snow, water sloshing under his feet, the rhythm he and Will keep constant in their steps, feet against concrete. Will attempts to pick the conversation back up. "Do you think Erica is alright?"

Mike considers. "Yeah."

"I wasn't sure, because we heard the canon earlier, and if Billy killed Chrissy, I doubted he wouldn't kill Erica. But," he swallows, "but, if by any chance, it was Billy earlier, then... I want to know what killed him."

Mike tries to remember what Max had said, what she had said killed Lucas, the monster she described- 

"Max had said Lucas had been attacked by something. About dogs, or something. I don't know," Mike chose his words carefully.

"Dogs?" Will looks skeptical.

"Yeah. Dogs. She said they... she said she couldn't hear them coming, which, is fucking scary, because she has great hearing." He stops himself. "Had. She had great hearing. I... I haven't seen them, but I think I've heard them. I don't what they are."

Will sighed. "Let's not find out then, yeah? Creel house- that's where we're going, right?" 

"What?"

"Creel house. The name was on the mailbox." Will said, as though Mike should know this. "We're going there?"

Mike shrugs. "Sure."

They walk in silence for a while, until Will reaches over and grabs Mike's hand, neither of them saying anything about it.

***

The Creel house is, apparently, scarier in the dark.

Mike decides it's like the house the main character always sees in their nightmares, the one that they always walk into before falling forever or being killed by something. The house where bad things happen, happened, for no reason but fate.

He thinks some buildings are just like that.

Back home, there was a small house by where Mike lived.

No one ever lived there- it was just there, but as a kid, he always hated walking by it- it radiated sadness, and dread, something a younger Mike didn't want to be apart of. He'd beg his mother not to make him walk by it, but she'd always make him, never understanding why he didn't want to.

The Creel house, though, was something else entirely.

He thought it was beautiful, at a time- a very long time ago, but still, a time, one long before this.

The window Max had smashed still remained as that, the rose on the door shattered, a broken reminder of just how much it used to be.

The door was already unlocked, probably from the last time they had been there- which Mike tried to forget. The two slipped in silently, boards creaking under their feet as they had, the first time, when it was Max standing beside him rather than Will.

Mike walks by the clock again, Will standing behind him, directly behind him, so close he could probably rest his head on Mike's shoulder.

Not that he would.

The clock was, in fact, not broken, and there were, in fact, not spiders spilling out of it. The clock seemed to radiate the eerie feeling more than the house itself. He tried to look away, he did, but he found it hard, watching as the clock split into pieces again, but instead of four cracks, it was twenty, Mike noted, counting as they appeared, before prying his eyes away, looking back to see it wasn't there. 

Maybe he should sit down.

Will had, on the stairs, resting his head back against the railings, hand running along the handle of his spear.

Mike decided to join him, sitting on the stair above him, head against the wall, boots on the railings. Will looked up and smiled weakly, Mike returning it.

"Do you ever worry about how this is going to end?" Will mutters not taking his eyes off Mike's face. "I mean- there's four of us left. Only one is going to go home. We can't both make it, Mike. If it comes down to us two, what then?"

Mike shrugs, knowing that isn't helpful, but he's unsure of what else to say. "I don't know."

"When Jonathan went into the games," his voice cracks, "I had known he was planning on protecting Nancy. Like she needed it, anyway." Will sighs. "He was going to let her win. Did you know that?"

"I assumed," Mike said, because he had- they weren't together, but they both did love one another, Mike thought, even if neither of them were ever going to do anything about it. And they didn't get a chance to, either, so he guessed it didn't really matter. 

"When I was reaped, I almost laughed. What were the chances I was taken, and Jonathan both? By that luck, Jane is going to be next." A beat of silence, "I was going to kill you, at first." 

Mike doesn't react to this.

"But then you were... different, I guess. Because I think when Jonathan died, some of me did too. And maybe, I don't know, when he died, I sort of... blamed it on you."

Mike looks down. "I did too."

Will has nothing to say to that, Mike finds, when he smashes their lips together, Mike's eyes widening at the sudden touch.

Will pulls back, ashamed, and starts apologizing immediately. "Oh shit- I'm sorry, sorry, I'm sorry, I just thought that if we were going to die-"

Mike stops him, meeting him halfway, the feeling causing him to feel dizzy, lightheaded, almost, his lips against Will's chapped, cracked ones. He's wanted to do this forever, he thinks, but he's never been brave enough- now, though, he's wondering what he was missing out on, and how he managed to survive so long without this, Will's hands in his hair, lips on his, the rush shooting electricity up his spine, and this is everything he thinks he's ever wanted, ever needed, and he wants more, needs it, maybe-

The door bursts open, Mike and Will flying apart, both looking up to see Jason, sword in hand, arm bandaged up, a limp in his step, bags under his eyes, hair disheveled looking very, very insane. 

He turns to look over at them, but they are going up the stairs, to the attic, as far away from him as they can.

A lantern sits on the desk, one that wasn't there before, casting an eerie blue glow on the room, Jason's voice projecting up the stairs. "Hey, Wheeler. You scared?"

Mike doesn't reply, sword ready, arms shaking. 

Jason laughs, a tired, clinically insane one. A laugh of a killer. "You know how many people I've killed? A lot. More than you, for sure. You know," he starts to walk up the stairs, and Will grips his spear tighter, "Angela was really annoying. I just about went and killed her myself. You did that for me, though. Got to thank you for that. Or, I would. You killed Troy too, did you?" His voice breaks. "Chrissy?"

Mike is trembling, Jason's voice growing nearer. "Wheeler, I draw the line at that. Maybe it was amusing, watching a twig like you manage to kill one, no- two careers, and I let you, but killing Chrissy?" He laughs again, a chill going up Mike's spine. "You shouldn't have done that."

Mike attempts to speak, finding his voice is very, very weak. "I didn't do it."

"You did, though. You watched. Remember that? I saw you. With that Hargrove freak. You sat there and watched as he bashed her head in with a rock, like the coward you are." He's up the stairs now, looking at them with bloodshot eyes, ones that Mike had begun to hate.

He smiles, a twisted smile. He's right up in front of Mike now, neither him nor Will attempting to do anything about it. "I came here for Chrissy. I couldn't even do that," he says, voice breaking, tears stinging his eyes, "But I know what she would have wanted. And that is you, dead. I killed the Hargrove boy, the same way he killed her." 

Will's eyes widen comically, Mike standing there, waiting for Jason to do something, maybe, but he doesn't. He just waits. And then he stabs it through Mike's arm, aiming for the heart but missing as he turns. He lets out a cry of pain, dropping his sword, Will attempting to grab it, but being stopped by a fist coming to his cheek. He stands, stunned, before throwing one back, hitting Jason squarely in the jaw.

Jason throws Will down into the desk, his head slamming hard on the wood as Mike reaches for his sword, getting up shakily and swinging it, slicing Jason on the ribs. He spins around, anger on his features, Will trying to get up, looking very, very concussed, as Jason punches Mike in the stomach, the wind knocked out of him, the pain from his arm blocked out by the adrenaline coursing through his veins as Jason throws him down, breathing hard, tears pricking his eyes as he towers over Mike, pulling out a knife, one that Mike thinks was Chrissy's, holding it against his throat and pushing, blood drawing, pain flashing through him as he lets out a sob, the knife digging deeper until it's not, Jason on the floor next to him, Erica looking over him, holding Will's bat.

Mike looks over at Jason next to him, his head ripped open where the holes from the bat met his head, and Mike looks up, grabbing it as Erica gives him her hand, pulling him to his feet.

Will struggles to get up, holding his head as he eventually does, walking over to them, just as Jason's canon goes off, the blood from his head pooling on the floor.

The ground starts to rumble.

A clock chimes, somewhere, as the earth starts to shake, a sinkhole, glowing fiery orange, opens where Jason's corpse lays, his body singed in half as it pours open, shaking the house. Mike hears chandeliers fall off the hooks and explode on the ground, the lantern from the table falling and shattering as the house starts to fall, a large, jagged crack ripping through the floor. The roof starts to shake, and Erica takes off down the stairs, Mike and Will following, falling backwards down the stairs when a piece of the roof comes down in front of her, ripping through the stairway, the wood cracked and broken. 

She jumps over it, landing hard on her ankle, wincing slightly. The clock keeps chiming, pounding in Mike's head. 

They rush out the door, running, watching as the crack grows, jagged, rushed lines, twenty-one of them, Mike counts, just like on the clock, meet in the middle, right at the cornucopia, exploding, the ground throwing up bits of dirt and concrete and stone as the cornucopia falls into the abyss, glowing red and orange, like a gate to Hell itself.

Everything stops.

The clock silences, ground resting once again, Mike stopping, taking a break, Erica promptly bending over, hands on her knees, inhaling sharply, Will plopping down on the ground abruptly.

There's a beat of silence, two, until a shriek comes from the abyss, a pounding erupting from them, the sound of something approaching.

Mike's stomach drops as Will an Erica both rise to their feet, Erica still holding Will's bat, leaving Will defenseless. Mike holds his sword up, as the howling gets closer.

There's a pause, until a thing crawls out of one of the cracks in the ground, a single, small, four-footed thing- it's eyeless, with pale, white skin, red and green scattering along. It lets out a low whimper, as Mike whispers, "The dogs."

Will looks over, fear dancing in his eyes as it walks a little closer, before emitting a screech, causing Mike to drop his sword in an attempt to cover his ears, as more and more spill out of the ground, claws reaching over the edge, scratching at the ground and pulling themselves up, approaching slowly, dangerously, like a lynx stalking it's prey.

Mike backs up, Erica reaching down slowly to grab the bat she dropped. She whispers, "That's what killed Lucas."

Mike looks over at her. "You were there?"

She nods sadly. "Yeah."

He opens his mouth to speak, but the monster pounces, landing on him, shoving him down to the ground, his head hitting against the bare concrete. He screams as it digs its claws into his side, opening it's mouth and roars in his face, a loud, ear-splitting, high pitched thing, before it's off of him, blood soaking his ribs, Eric's holding the bat (it's funny how she has done this twice in the span of an hour, Mike thinks) as she helps him up again, Will swinging Mike's sword and holding the rest off, temporarily, until he's on his feet.

They do the best thing they can think of- which is, at the time, run.

Mike sprints through the forest, Will behind him, Erica running beside, as they follow, howls and yelps and wails trailing their every move, snow crunching and squelching, tentacles sliding out of the way, attempting to wrap around Erica's ankle, but she slices it off, stumbling momentarily.

He doesn't know where they're going, not really, but he knows they need to get away- they need to escape-

They're at a quarry.

The dogs have stopped following. 

The retreat back, as though the end of the forest line hurts them, and run off the other direction.

It doesn't feel right, though.

Will stands, back to the Quarry, Mike facing it, as Will pulls Mike in for a hug, burying his head in Mike's shoulder, Mike resting his head on Will's. They stay like that a minute, two, before pulling apart, Will exhaling, deflating. He whispers, "We're alive." 

Mike nods, looking over at Erica, sitting down, head in her hands, as he had, so many times, but he can't blame her.

He can't help her, either.

The silence is loud, and Will toys with Mike's hair. "You know," he murmurs, "I'm glad you didn't cut it."

Despite everything, Mike smiles. "Really?"

"Totally. You know, when you let your mom straighten it, you looked ridiculous. I still liked you, though. I love you, you know that?" He grins a moment, looking up at Mike, and then glancing behind, eyes widening, grin fading, as he says, voice urgent, fear-ridden, "Mike, move out of the way."

Mike turns, entirely too slowly, seeing a tall humanoid thing behind him, it's about to land on him, but then he's on the ground next to Erica, who watches in fear, face contorted in panic as Will, Mike’s Will, lays on the ground, screaming out in pain as the tall, monstrous creature devours him.

Mike can't move, he can't breathe, he can only watch, like he always does, like he did with Max, and Nancy, and Chrissy, and everyone who's ever died because he was too much of a coward, a coward. And he can only watch in horror and fear as it's claws sink into Will's sides, who's calling out in pain, and sobbing, and dying, really, but Mike doesn't do anything, because he doesn't think he can.

Will lets out an awful scream, a horrible, but wrenching one, so full of pain and sorrow and sadness, as the monster screams, an ear-splitting wail, opening its mouth and closing it again, down on Will's face, Will's beautiful, beautiful face, the one Mike had looked at his whole life, the one he'd known since he was five, the one he came here, knowing he'd protect- but he didn't and he isn't and it's all his fault, all of it, but he still can't make himself do anything, he can't even function.

He hopes the gamemakers are enjoying themselves.

Mike doesn't pay attention when the Demogorgan is hit with the bat by Erica, stumbling back and falling down down down, down off the quarry. He isn't paying attention when the canon goes off, one that he wishes could have gone unheard. He's not paying attention when Erica says his name as he crawls to Will's body, Will's body, a body without a face, a sad, bloody mess, that he can't stand to look at but he can't look away either. He looks over at the quarry, and all he thinks is that a drop from there could kill you instantly.

He's not paying attention to what he's doing when Erica calls out for him, telling him not to, begging him. He thinks the gesture is nice, considering she doesn't know him, and she never will, because he's going to end it, right now, he's going to get it right this time, he's not going to mess up- not like he did when he was younger, and he wandered too close to the edge of one of these, a nice, tall cliff. He almost fell, he did, but Will caught him, back when Will would go with him and Jane into the woods. Will caught him, saving his life like he always did. That's what Will did. Save people.

But he won't get it wrong this time.

He takes a small step closer, inching forward, step by step, until he can peer over the edge. Erica is behind him, telling him not to leave her, but he thinks, if he does jump, if he does it, escapes, she'll win, and her suffering will be over, and his too. That's what he knows. He puts one foot over the edge, knowing perfectly well his brain is not functioning right now and he should step back and take a moment but the pain, the raw, unfiltered pain comes back up, and he wants it to end, the voices to leave, the ones he's willing to dig out of his mind with a knife if he has to.

He wants the pain to all go away, the ghosts that follow him around, the expectations, the fear, all of it, to go, he wants it all to go away, forever. He doesn't want it. Mike doesn't want it.

What he wants is Will back, and Max, and Nancy, and Jonathan, and his life, really, he wants to see a Jane again, but he knows he won't, because he's going to end it all, for real this time.

Part of him doesn't expect him to do it, not really, but if he did, everything would be better, because there wouldn't be an everything, it'd all be gone.

He hears Erica behind him, now, he does but he's not listening. It's as simple as that. It's all simple, really.

One foot over the edge, one foot deciding his whole future, whether he lives or dies, all of it, one foot. He looks down again, he's not thinking straight- but he doesn't care. The icy water beneath him is inviting, almost, and with a heavy heart, Holly, poor, sweet, innocent Holly, appears in his mind, heart aching as he knows she's going to hate him now. He'll be the coward she had as a brother, the one that left, leaving her with a mother who didn't care, leaving her in a hellhole, leaving her. 

Mike was always selfish.

 He lets gravity take him, letting his foot go off the edge, he jumps, falling, falling, falling, until it's all over, and the ghosts can't bother him anymore, mind finally clear, all thoughts gone.

Mike Wheeler had never had good luck, never when it came to this.