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Today was going to be a very bad day, Mike knew the moment he heard the birds sing.
Pain thrummed in his arms and legs, acidic in the centre, burning and angry, and becoming more tender around the outskirts of his joints, like the sore skin around an open wound. As he woke, the pain became worse and worse, and by the time he could feel the sheets he was wrapped in and hear the hum of car engines as they drove by, he was ready to die.
Mike took deep breaths in, holding them for a moment, then released them. He couldn’t move—not right away, at least. The strength came to him slowly, like an IV dripping its medicine in small droplets. Every moment was gasoline on the raging fire in his limbs. He moved his right arm out of the duvet and then stopped, heaving like he’d moved something heavy. Shocks soared up and down his arm, zapping his fingers like static shock, and pinching the nerves in his shoulder before boomeranging back down to his elbow.
Fuck. Mike clenched his jaw.
The warm body beside him rolled over, as it did, it shook the bed, and the pain flared briefly. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and a lump formed at the back of his throat. He grunted as he pushed himself up. It could’ve been just a minute, but it felt like it’d been an hour by the time Mike managed to get himself sitting on the edge of the bed. His legs were twitching, and his arms lay limp and useless in his lap.
Yeah. There was no standing today.
Mike cursed. Some days, he could be stubborn and strong enough to refuse help. He’d hobble to the bathroom, swallow his pills dry, and then collapse onto the floor until the pain had faded enough to stand again, but today was not one of those days. Actually, it’d only be to Will’s dresser where Mike’s medicine bag sat, but still.
Mike turned slowly. His boyfriend’s woodsy scent reached his nose.
“Will.” He called, his voice wobbling and weak, “W-Will?”
The bed creaked as Will shifted, waking quickly. He’d always been a light sleeper, but it was like he had a built-in something-is-wrong-with-Mike detector. On some bad pain days, he woke up before Mike did and had everything ready by the time he woke. Apparently, when he’s in more pain than usual, he sleeps with a frown, but Mike isn’t convinced against the theory that Will has a sixth sense for him.
“Mike?” Will croaked tiredly. Sheets ruffled, and the springs in the mattress whined as Will sat up and shuffled over to him, “Bad pain day?”
Wow. Mike must look awful.
“Yeah,” Mike admitted, too worn to make a joke. A wave of pain coursed through his limbs, and he curled in on himself, trembling and head-spinning with nausea, “I-I need-”
“I know,” Will said. A soft kiss landed on his cheek, and then Will was gone, springing out of bed like a jack-in-the-box to get Mike’s pills. Only a few seconds later, he was back.
He dropped a few pills into Mike’s palm, and Mike rolled them between his thumb and shook his head, “Will, I need more than two.” He begged.
Will hesitated. One was Mike’s usual dose. One in the morning, another in the afternoon if needed, and one before bed. That becomes two if it’s a bad day, any more, and Mike becomes noticeably dozy.
Watching him tremble and his teeth chatter, though, he complied.
“Okay.” He handed over another, and Mike swallowed them like a tequila shot.
“We should talk to the doctors.” Will said as he sat down beside Mike, wrapping an arm carefully around him, “If their prescribed dose isn’t enough.”
Mike scoffed, “Their prescribed dose is a joke.”
Will sighed sadly. It was true. They’d given him a dosage to help cope with the post-coma pain, it barely held a candle to the chronic pain caused by the way his limbs were brutalised. They’d brought it up with the doctors a few weeks after Mike had woken up, but they’d been unwilling to up it, insisting it was still just Mike coming off of the coma.
“They said it’s a reasonable dosage-”
“Well, I’m in an unreasonable amount of pain!” Mike spat, and a moment later, wetness hit his cheeks. His face crumbled, and remorse flooded him, but Will hushed away any apologies. The anger wasn’t for Will, and nobody could expect Mike not to be snappy when pain has its venomous teeth buried in his limbs.
Will pulled him into his arms. His face was warm as it rested on Mike’s curls, and his soft touches were nice, even if Mike could barely feel them over the pain.
They sat there for ages, until the meds kicked in and the pain dulled to a less-than-maddening level, and Mike could just about think straight.
“Do you want to sit in the living room?” Will asked, “We can just relax on the sofa today.”
Mike nodded. As much pain as he was in, he didn’t want to spend the day rotting in bed. His stomach rumbled, but he was still too nauseous to even think of eating. Sweat rolled down his back, damp around his collar.
“Bath.” He pleaded, and Will hummed agreeably.
A bath. Will could do that.
“I’ll go and get it ready.” Will kissed his forehead and slowly parted from him, careful not to jostle his boyfriend when he felt as fragile as a tower of cards, ready to crumble with a mere breath.
On the edge of Will’s bed, Mike took long, deep breaths, fighting off waves of nausea and preparing himself for the agony of moving. There were days he couldn’t bathe, and on those days, shame would stick to him, tacky and itchy like dirt. Will says he shouldn’t be embarrassed or ashamed, and if it were anyone else, not Mike, Mike would probably be telling them the same thing, but those words don’t work so well when he’s stuck in his own filth, unable to move.
The party was supposed to come over today, right? Mike sighed a wet breath. He’d have to cancel. The only thing he could manage today was Will.
Will soon returned. Mike’s wheelchair, usually dormant in the corner of a room, either his or Will’s, depending on whose house they're at, rolled over the carpet, and Mike sighed heavily.
He hated the damn wheelchair.
“C’mon.” Will ushered gently and wrapped an arm around him, “Unless you want me to carry you.” He teased.
Mike chuckled a little, just about pain-free enough to do so. He shook his head. Will would have to tuck his arms under Mike’s knees, and any touch to them right now would be like being stabbed.
As weight landed on his legs, he whimpered. His knees wobbled, and he dropped with no grace into the wheelchair, gasping and clutching his knees. His elbows were no better, though.
“Should I call the party?” Will asked as he wheeled Mike to the bathroom.
Mike nodded, “I-I can’t deal with them today.”
Will’s soft touch landed on his shoulder, “That’s okay, Mike.”
Once they reached the bathroom, Will shut and locked the door, and as the crispy Spring breeze seeped through the window, Mike shivered. The bitter cold attacked his joints, and he yearned for the healing heat of the bath. He could hear the water rippling, hear the soapy bubbles crackling and fizzing. The bathroom smelled of the same honey body wash that all Byers use, and he took a long, appreciative breath as if smelling a bouquet.
A comb worked through his curls, and Mike hummed appreciatively as its teeth grazed his scalp, sending relaxing tingles down his back. Behind him, Will chuckled.
Once Mike’s hair was brushed, Will set the comb aside with a clink on the sink’s countertop and began to help Mike out of his clothes. They’d done this enough times that Mike no longer blushed, but the shame still lingered. Apparently, it was clear on his face, because a spontaneous and quick kiss landed on his lips.
“I want to help you, Mike.” Will assured him, “You could never be a burden to me.”
Mike nodded, and if the roles were reversed, that’s how he would feel, too, but it’s hard to believe.
Will lowered him into the bath. As the hot water swallowed him up, Mike whimpered as pain momentarily flared in his joints before, at last, decreasing some more. He sighed in relief and leaned on the side of the bath as his boyfriend lathered his skin with sweet soap. The good thing was that his bad days were getting farther apart. They’d been so frequent in the beginning because of the recentness of the attack and the general degeneration of his muscles and strength after being in a coma. Someday, things wouldn’t be so bad.
Once his bath was done, Mike dressed into one of Will’s oversized sweaters and a pair of loose sweatpants and sat back down in his wheelchair. The meds had kicked in, and it kind of felt like Mike was swimming. Will wheeled him into the living room, where there was the bubbling of coffee brewing and scrapes of metal on plates. El eating eggos, Mike guessed, and Joyce and Hopper waiting eagerly for their morning fix of espresso.
“Hey kids!” Joyce chimed as Will lifted Mike onto the sofa. Mike curled up, lay his head down and stuffed his face in the pillow.
“Bad pain day?” Hopper asked. It was more rhetorical. If Mike was in his wheelchair first thing in the morning, it was a bad pain day. Mike groaned irritably. Deep aches thrummed in his bones.
“Oh, honey.” Joyce cooed and shuffled over, her hand landing on Mike’s curls soothingly, “Are you up for eating anything yet?”
The question took a while to register. Mike shook his head, and she left him with a kiss on the forehead and a warm heart. On his worst days, the Byers would always be there for him.
After a while, Will joined Mike on the sofa. He brought heating pads and set them gently around Mike’s arms and legs, then curled around him.
“Feeling better?” He asked.
Mike tucked his face in Will’s neck, “A little.”
The painkillers help, as does heat to treat the aches, but Will helps the most. His touches wash over him like a soothing balm, and without Will, the pain would’ve driven him mad. Will keeps him grounded, keeps him sane.
Mike pressed a kiss to the skin he was closest to, “Thank you for taking care of me.”
Will shook his head, his chin dragging across Mike’s head, “I like to.” He said. He’d never hate taking care of Mike. How could he?
They stayed snug on the sofa watching classic movies all day—or listening, in Mike’s case. A bad pain day, for sure, but it could hardly be a bad day with a Byers around.
Especially his Byers.