Work Text:
On principle, the Wheeler family isn't big on major family gatherings. They all keep to their own family units scattered across the Midwest and occasionally gather when someone gets married or dies. In fact, the last time Mike went to a big family gathering was his aunt's wedding back when he was six years old. In the ten years since then, he can confidently say they haven't all tried to pretend to be one big happy extended family, and that trend seems like it's going to continue for at least another five years.
That, apparently, is too much to hope for. The trend decidedly did not continue, because now Mike is sitting at the edge of the dock at his aunt's house and desperately trying to avoid horrible small talk or becoming a babysitter for his numerous elementary school aged cousins.
Any other year would've been better. The world is quite literally ending in Hawkins, and Thanksgiving break was the perfect time to really hone in on their strategy to stop Vecna and end all of this apocalypse stuff for good. But all those plans came to a screeching halt in early October when Mike's aunt called everyone and said she's hosting Thanksgiving at her house on Lake Michigan. It's not even on the small section of Lake Michigan that's in Indiana either. They had to crowd into their car and drive over seven hours to Door County in Wisconsin. Mike's been in some miserable road trips before, including one where a government appointed bodyguard bled out under he, Will, and Jonathan's hands, but he thinks this road trip for Thanksgiving was the worst one he's ever been on.
Honestly, it might be nice if there wasn't about a million more pressing matters back home. The house is beautiful. It's large enough to house almost thirty of them for the holiday even if it is somewhat cramped, but it still has that cozy lakeside cabin feel. It has a big front yard and a back porch that looks out to a section of perfectly sandy beach, a private dock, and the all-encompassing blue of Lake Michigan. Of course, it's all snowed over since it's late November in Wisconsin, but that gives the whole thing a new charm. The lake sparkles gray blue in the winter sun, meeting a similarly toned sky on the horizon and seemingly swallowing them all whole.
Mike looks out at the lake and sighs. It's a rare sunny winter day, but it's still cold enough where he's wearing his thick, knee-length winter coat as well as a hat, gloves, and boots. His nose is starting to go a little numb, but he doesn't mind. Being out in the chill clears his head enough where he doesn't feel totally miserable. He needed to make himself scarce anyway. It's two o'clock in the afternoon on Thanksgiving day, which means they've reached the point where almost everyone's mad at each other, even more people are hungry, and there's not nearly enough space in the kitchen to finish everything in the two hours before their early dinner.
He also had to get away from everyone watching football in the living room. It felt like there was less of a focus on the football and more of a focus on trying to pick Mike's brain to figure out if he's socially adjusted enough. It's his dad's fault. He made an offhanded half-joke about how all of Hawkins thinks Mike and his friends are in a cult behind the serial murders earlier this year because they play Dungeons and Dragons. It wasn't funny, and it got less and less funny the more his various uncles and cousins probed for "proof" that Mike is actually an average teenage boy and not a nerdy loser who could feasibly be blamed for opening a gate to hell.
As torturous as that was, it's certainly better than the interrogation Nancy's inevitably going through. Mike almost feels bad for leaving her to the whims of their incredibly nosy aunts, but only almost.
He turns when he hears footsteps crunching in the light snow along the dock, ready to defend himself against something jumping out of the non-existent shadows. He exhales when it's just Nancy holding a bottle of wine and trying not to slip on the ice. Based on the fact she's also completely bundled up against the cold in a coat, hat, scarf, gloves, and boots, she plans to sit out here for awhile.
"Where'd you get that?," Mike asks as he scoots over to make some more space for her.
Nancy sits down next to him on the dock. "Aunt Cathy. She took pity on me after about seven people compared me to Eliza in the span of fifteen minutes. She was already drinking it, so there's about half left." She takes the cork out and takes a sip before holding the bottle out to Mike. "Said I have to share with my mopey brother."
Mike takes the bottle. "I'm not moping."
"You are so moping." Nancy leans back on her hands and looks out at the lake. "I don't blame you though. Hawkins?"
He takes a sip of the wine to postpone answering and tries not to react to the taste. He's never really had an occasion to drink before on account of being fifteen and a loser, but the way this weekend is going encourages the less logical part of him. "Yeah. Hawkins."
He passes the bottle back to Nancy. He watches loose snowflakes dance over the surface of the lake before they eventually melt into the swirling water. The lake is so big it doesn't freeze until mid-December at the earliest. This is probably what the ocean looks like, with choppy waves and a gray blue expanse he can't ever hope to see the other side of from here. It really is a shame he's here during the first and probably only time of his life he wants to be in Hawkins, because now he can't fully appreciate how beautiful and calm it is.
"You know," Nancy says. "As pushy as they all are, they didn't ask me about Jonathan a single time."
Mike raises his eyebrows and looks over at her. "Really?"
"Yep." Another sip. "Crazy considering I've been with him longer than Eliza's been with her fiancé."
"No fucking way." Mike didn't even know Eliza was engaged until about three seconds ago. To be fair, he hasn't seen her since they were ten and fifteen respectively and he still doesn't like her that much, so why would he know anything about her?
Nancy grins, but there's something bitter in it. "Oh yeah. They've only been together for a year and a half."
Mike takes the bottle when Nancy offers and nearly chokes on the sip he takes. He's been with El longer than his cousin's been with her fiancé. He's still in high school, but Eliza also isn't much older than him at twenty-one years old. Something uncomfortable yet familiar settles in his stomach. It appears more often these days when it hits him just how permanent he and El seem. Almost two years is a long time for any relationship, especially a teenage one. He's not sure how all of that makes him feel other than vaguely unwell.
He sets the wine bottle on the dock between him and Nancy. He doesn't need the alcohol making him honest. It's the last thing him and his inability to lie need right now based on where this conversation is going.
"I know why they don't like Jonathan," Nancy continues. She tugs at her gloves. "But like, why should any of that matter? Just because he doesn't fit their picture of the rich business major loser I should fall in love with doesn't make him horrible."
Mike doesn't answer. Nancy just needs to get her feelings out, and he's the only person in their family she can be honest around. They still don't talk like this often, but it comes up sometimes. With everything related to the Upsidedown, they're the only witness to each other's full experiences. Whatever Aunt Beth or Eliza or Uncle John or whoever else has to say about high school and growing up loses credibility because they didn't have to experience the Upsidedown alongside it all.
"How did we even end up here?," Mike asks. "Hawkins is under a military quarantine. How the hell did we leave?"
"Special permissions," Nancy answers. "No idea how in the world those were granted considering the two of us are a top priority to contain, but Mom can be convincing when she wants to be."
They go quiet again. The wind picks up, bringing the sound of waves crashing against the shore with it. Mike pulls his hat further over his ears to combat the additional chill.
"I'm glad they didn't ask me about El," Mike says, mostly to himself. "I don't know what I would tell them."
There's more meanings to that than he cares to admit. He hopes, prays even, that Nancy only picks up on the superficial one that's closest to her own experience.
El, or Jane rather, is a touchy subject in their family. Mike's parents technically know about her. In their minds, she's Jane Hopper, the girl the Byers took in after her adoptive father died in the fire at Starcourt Mall. It's the little bit of truth they can know without causing a bunch of other problems. His parents like to avoid talking about El when they can help it, and Mike gets it. They've never met her and only know she exists because of numerous letters and calls from California. What reason is there to mention her at all?
"How are things with El anyway?," Nancy asks.
Mike disregards his earlier thought about not drinking anything else and takes another sip of wine to avoid answering. He can't lie to Nancy about this, but that won't stop him from trying. "Fine."
"Bullshit."
Mike glares at her. Nancy raises an eyebrow and holds her hand out. Mike passes her the bottle.
"Fine," Mike says, looking back out at the lake. "Things are…rocky."
"Care to elaborate?"
Not really. Mike sighs. "I don't know. There's just so much other stuff going on. She's focused on training, and I've got school and everything else. We barely talk and almost never see each other."
God, he sounds so stupid. All of those things are easily fixable with a little effort.
He shakes his head and looks down. His boots are just barely above the water. "Do you ever just feel trapped? Like no matter what you do, you can't seem to figure out what you're supposed to do to, like, fit into everything that's going on around you?"
Honest, honest, honest. It might be his downfall someday, it might even be his downfall in this very conversation, but he can't stop it. He's just so, so tired of keeping up the front all the time. When it's time, he'll blame the alcohol, even though he knows he hasn't had enough to hide behind the flimsy excuse of being drunk.
"Because the more I try," he continues, gaze resolutely on the drops of water spraying over his boots. "The more I become someone I hate."
He stumbles over the last word. Hate. He hasn't really thought about it much, but he really, truly, hates himself and the fact he's stuck in this stupid cycle that seems like it has a clear solution but actually doesn't. There's something sticky and poisonous at his core that only grows more and more with each day. The longer he keeps going like this, the more it'll swallow him whole, but he can't stop. There's a wall around it, a high, impenetrable one that Mike knows he has to chip away at with nothing but his own two hands. He can crack through it easily, he knows he can. There's a loose panel he can grab and yank free and use as a tool to break down the rest of it, but he's rooted to the spot every time he tries. It's a horrible, paralyzing fear that grips him whenever he has the thought. If he admits everything to himself, too much comes down in exchange. He dug his grave, and now he has to lie in it. The loose panel stays on the wall. More dirt piles onto the grave. Mike stays rooted to the spot, unable but willing to make a difference.
So yeah. He hates himself. It hits him with a resounding clarity on the shores of Lake Michigan in Wisconsin where he's enjoying his family's attempt at playing perfect domestic life while the world ends back home.
When you're different, sometimes you feel like a mistake. But, you make her feel like she isn't a mistake at all. Like she's better for being different.
Will's words haunt him more than Mike expected they would. Will has so much faith in him, too much faith, in Mike's opinion. He doesn't know if it's inspiring or soul crushing or some mix of both, which makes the whole thing entirely useless to solving his current predicament.
Nancy takes another sip from the bottle. Then another. And a third. She passes it back to Mike, who does the same thing. It's almost empty. Maybe he can hide behind being drunk now.
"Mike," Nancy says, quiet over the wind and the waves. "Do you want to know something?"
Mike shrugs. He's not sure what she'll say in the wake of all of that. It might be the most words he's ever said to her at once, not to mention the fact he bared his soul to his older sister who he rarely trades more than a passing teasing comment with.
"I haven't seen you happy or excited about anything in a long time." Nancy shakes her head and looks at him. Her eyes shine with unshed tears. "But then you came back from California, and it was like you had this new purpose. You weren't just wandering from one day to the next because you had to. You had this…this spark that I haven't seen in you since you were thirteen. The world is going to shit all around us, yet you have your spark back."
Mike can't keep looking at her after that. He looks back at the water and hopes his own tears don't fall.
Nancy rubs at her eyes with the palm of her hand. Right, then left. The fabric comes away damp. "And maybe it's revenge at Brenner and Vecna and Hawkins Lab, but I don't think so. You're not like that. You're not bitter and angry like I am. You have so much love and care inside you, and something on that trip helped you find it again." She takes a deep, shaky breath. "Something on that trip brought the Mike I know back home. So who gives a fuck if you can't do what everyone says you should, because every time you tried, it was like I lost you."
See how you're leading us here? You're guiding the whole party, inspiring us. That's what you do. And see your coat of arms here? It's a heart. And I know it's sort of on the nose, but that's what holds this party together. Heart. Because, I mean, without heart, we'd all fall apart.
More of Will's words. Are they the root of what Nancy's talking about? Are they the key to breaking through the fear and grabbing the loose panel? Do those words mean that even when everything comes crashing down, there's people who will still have faith in him? Do they mean life doesn't end with Mike's secret coming to light, that maybe he can pick up the rubble and build it into something new? Maybe he can tear down the walls and build…well he doesn't know what he'll build, but it won't be a wall. Maybe a door or a shield or a bridge or just something that let's him expel whatever is stuck inside him and become who he wants to be, who Nancy knows he can be, who Will already thinks he is.
"Besides," Nancy says, voice thick. "Don't say you hate my little brother. I might have to shoot you for that, and I'm an excellent shot."
Mike blinks, caught off guard at her sincere tone but almost joking words, and the tears finally fall. That sticky and poisonous thing inside him eases up with each drop that falls. He sets the bottle on the deck again and leans forwards, resting his elbows on his knees as his shoulders shake and he resolutely refuses to look back at Nancy.
She puts a hand on his back anyway, right between his shoulder blades. It's faint through the thick material of his winter coat, but it's no less reassuring. They're not a very affectionate family, which makes every single touch carry an importance Mike can't articulate no matter how hard he tries.
He takes a deep breath and sits up straighter. Nancy's hand falls away, but she moves the bottle out of the way and scoots closer so they're pressed shoulder to shoulder.
"You shouldn't care about what they say," Mike says. "You're a badass. They're just jealous they'll never have the courage to break out of whatever all of this is and be as amazing as you are."
Nancy smiles. "Thanks, Mike." She reaches behind them and grabs the wine again. "Two sips left. To staying the family outcasts?"
Mike nods. "To staying the family outcasts."
Nancy tilts the bottle like she's giving a toast before she downs her sip. Mike takes the bottle from her, but he stops.
"Hey, Nance?," he asks, heart pounding and voice quiet and a promise of no more secrets made years ago echoing in his head. He can't believe he's about to say this. It's not even that bad in the grand scheme of things, at least not on the surface, but if Nancy picks up on the hidden meaning in the words, it could change everything.
But this is the first step towards breaking down the wall. Right now, he's grabbing onto the loose panel and daring to throw it away. He has to do this. He needs to do this.
"Yeah?"
"What if," he continues carefully. "What if I don't want things to work out with El? What if there's…what if there's someone else?"
Nancy stays quiet for long enough that Mike debates jumping into the lake to get out of this conversation. He knew this was a bad idea. He hasn't even fully admitted it to himself, so why the hell is he telling Nancy?
"Well," Nancy says, just as quiet and careful as he was. "Then this person, whoever they are, has my eternal gratitude. Clearly, caring about them brings out the best in you and makes you happy, and that's the greatest thing I could ever want for you. No matter the circumstances."
More tears spill down Mike's face. He did it. Maybe he didn't say the actual words, but he took a step forwards. After everything, maybe that's enough for now. "Yeah?"
Nancy nods. She has tears in her eyes as well. "Yeah. I love you, Mike. You're my brother. Nothing will change that."
Mike takes the last sip of wine and leans his head on Nancy's shoulder. "Love you too, Nance."
Nancy leans her head on top of his. They sit there until their mom yells at them to come inside and set the table. The weekend still sucks, but less than it might have. These days, that's as much as any of them can hope for, and Mike will keep fighting until things are good, no matter how long it takes or how hard it gets. He's taken his step forwards, and he's never going backwards again.