Work Text:
Will is worried about Mike. Worried doesn't even begin to cover it. Mike's been acting... weird, lately. Not that he doesn't have good reason to be— the return of the end of the world has everyone on edge; none of them are going to be jumping for joy anytime soon— but Mike’s being weird even taking the current circumstances into account.
Mike's pulling away in a way Will's never seen from him before. The only thing even slightly similar is when, in the summer of 1985, all Mike wanted to do was hang out with El. That was different, though. This Mike, the one in the fall of 1986, isn't ditching everyone to make out with his girlfriend. For one, he and El have been broken up for months now, and it's not like Mike has had the time to seek out a new romance. Not only that, but when Mike disappears, he leaves an air of general worry. Will knows Nancy is worried, and even Max. He's isolating himself to be completely alone.
More than anything, it scares Will. It scares Will, because it's so unlike Mike to do that.
It scares Will, because when he asked Lucas and Dustin about it, they weren't worried the same way he was. Said he was the same way when he and El moved to California.
Isolation is just how he deals with change, they said.
But it's not.
This isn’t Mike.
Will's biking to the Wheeler home, cold raindrops eliciting shivers from his bare arms. He's going to get an answer, from Mike himself, why he's acting this way.
What's wrong. And they're going to fix it, together, and it'll all be okay, and Mike will go back to normal.
Except Mike isn't home.
"What do you mean he isn't home?" Will asks, desperation dripping into his words like thick sludge.
Nancy's brows furrow. "I thought he was at yours?"
No one is supposed to leave their houses alone right now— not that Will's exactly adhering to the rules either, but Mike shouldn't be wandering around who knows where when he's being weird. "Shit. Fucking shit."
Will turns around, running to his bike— and, more importantly, his backpack, laid unceremoniously next to it in the wet grass. He doesn't hear Nancy's response as he rushes over to it, scrambling to get out his walkie-talkie.
"Does anyone know where Mike is?" he asks desperately, silently begging for someone to be there.
The walkie clicks as Dustin responds, matching Will's urgency. "He's not home?"
"Jesus, Dustin, obviously he's not home," he snaps.
"He... Have you checked the quarry?" That makes Will nervous. That makes Will so, so nervous.
He swallows. "What? Why would he be at the quarry?"
"He— Mike..." Dustin sighs. "After you came back from the Upside Down... he goes there sometimes? I think it's some sort of trauma thing? But... well, I thought he'd stopped doing it, but... you can never be too sure, right?"
"Fucking— Okay, I'll go check the quarry."
Will makes sure his walkie is secured safely in his backpack, zipper properly closed all the way, before he swings the straps around his shoulders and starts pedaling down the road at the quickest pace he can manage.
Some sort of trauma thing... Yeah, cause Will's fake body was pulled out of that quarry. He'd heard all about it, about the fake funeral that had been held for him— for a while after, during their sleepovers, Mike would have nightmares about it. Bad nightmares.
The rain pours down on him, heavier than before, as the quarry comes into view. And, sitting nearly at the edge of the cliff— Mike. What the fuck, he thinks.
Very carefully, ever so carefully, Will gets off of his bike. Quietly, he sets his bike down in the glistening greenery. The last thing he needs is to scare Mike, startle him off the edge of the 50-foot drop.
What the fuck is he doing that close to the edge?
What the fuck?
Will softly steps closer to him, freezing when he steps on a twig, splitting it in two with a sharp snap. Mike doesn't react. Will's starting to get the feeling that he's somewhere far away, as distant and unreachable as outer space.
As cheesy as it sounds, Will is going to be the astronaut who ventures deep into the unreachable, and brings Mike back down.
Once he's close enough, Will softly clears his throat to alert Mike of his presence.
Mike startles, looking up at him with an amount of hopelessness on his face that could rival a kicked puppy. God.
Will sits next to him on the wet grass. "So..." he starts. "What are we doing here?" He's careful to keep his voice soft, while not patronizing him.
Really, Will can't fathom why Mike would be here in the rain. Too close too the cliff.
"I..." Mike starts, trailing off. His tongue darts out of his mouth, wetting his dry lips. "I don't know," he whispers, voice shaking.
The rain sticks his dark hair to his face. Will tucks a strand of wet hair behind Mike's ear, fingers threatening to linger over Mike's freckles.
Mike swallows. "Thank you," he says. "For... being here." His voice sounds dry and hoarse from crying.
"Of course," Will replies, automatically. "Of course."
"It's not easy staying away from here," Mike states. "It's weird, I know, but... I don't know. I like the feeling of sitting here. Being so close to falling. It's..."
That makes Will nervous. So nervous. "Is it—" he pauses, thinking carefully about his words. "Dustin said it was some sort of trauma thing?"
Mike laughs hollowly. "Something like that," he mutters, dry amusement slipping into his tone.
"I still use a nightlight," Will blurts out.
Startled, Mike chuckles. "Yeah?" He still refuses to look Will in the face.
"Yeah. Can't sleep in the dark anymore."
Mike sighs softly in agreement. "I— I feel like I'm— slipping. Behind a screen."
"Of nightlights?" Will jokes dryly.
"Suicidal tendencies, more like." Humor slips into Mike's voice, but that isn't funny. This isn't funny. Thinking about Mike— what, tipping himself off the quarry? Nothing about that is funny. Will's body fills with dread at the implications.
No. Not Mike. Never Mike.
"Mike—"
"Stop," he demands, and so Will stops. "I—" his eyes well with tears. "Fuck. I'm sorry. Will, I'm so sorry."
Tears begin to fall down his face, over his freckled cheeks.
"Sorry? For what?" Will asks, trying his hardest to keep his breathing under control. Mike needs him right now.
"For— making you deal with this. It's stupid."
"Making me deal with what?"
"I don't know. I'm messed up. And it's— fucking—" his words are cut off by a sob, and Will quickly pulls him into a hug. It's awkward, because they're both sitting on the ground and their legs are kind of in the way, but Mike doesn't seem to mind, so Will doesn't either.
"I'm sorry," Mike says, again, but this time he isn't sure whether it's directed at him or at Mike himself.
"Don't be sorry," he says, "there's nothing to be sorry for."
Mike sniffles. "You know I jumped off the quarry once?"
Will's hug tightens. "That's not funny. Don't say that, Mike."
"I'm serious."
"Wh— Mike, you'd be dead if you did that."
"El saved me before I could fall all the way down. I— fuck. I think about that day a lot. About what would've happened if she wasn't there. I don't know. It's not like I want to die. I'm not gonna do anything. I just..."
"When?"
"When what?"
"When did you... I feel like I would've heard about this."
"When you were missing. Dustin was there, too."
"Oh. Is that why...?"
"Yeah."
"Hey. Look at me."
Nervous brown eyes, red-rimmed from crying, meet caring hazel ones.
"You can come to me if you need to. Always. Okay?"
"Okay."
After a few beats of silence, Mike clears his throat. "So... now that I've bore my heart to you," he starts, "do you wanna talk about why you lied about the painting?"