Chapter Text
Mike almost did it. Everyone summed it up to not wanting another hurt friend, but that wasn’t the truth. If El hadn’t come right then, he would be gone. And maybe that’d be best. He only makes everything harder. Anyways, if Will isn’t there, what’s the point of him? They’re two halves of a whole, and since he’s dead, well, Mike doesn’t want to have to try and think about it too much right now.
“Micheal, eat. Try to not think about that f-” Karen nudges Ted with her elbow.
“Honey, try to eat something. If you aren’t hungry, that’s fine, but just try.”
“No. I’m going to sleep.” Mike makes his way up to his room, hearing his family argue in the background. He can tune it out easily. He knows he’ll eat the next morning, it’s just how nauseous the evening has made him feel the past few days. Maybe that evening he could’ve done something. If he wasn’t so self-centered, if he looked around for a minute to make sure that he would be fine, to make sure he’d be safe, he’d still be here. Mike is the reason he’s dead. It’s all his fault. All of it. Always.
The next day, he makes his way to Will’s house. He wants to smell the air in Will’s room. See the unmade bed and messy room that Will rarely cleaned. The Cure poster that hangs. The desk where Will would draw everyday. He gets near the house, peering around the bush to make sure that no one is near. The only thing he sees is Joyce Byers getting into a police car, and who looks to be the chief of police, Hopper, standing next to it. Mrs. Byers seems to be in a rush, or maybe upset, but nonetheless, She’s the one ordering the other around. Mike waits until she gets into the car, then pulls him and his bike into the bushes. He can feel thorns poke into his skin, and he’s not upset. He deserves this. He deserves dirt. He deserves the pits of hell. Just like—No. Mike shakes the thought off. He shouldn’t be thinking like this. What would Will say?
“Look, Hop, I know my boy. I know he’s still out there.” What? He knows that Mrs. Byers is going through something, but he didn’t expect her to really think that Will was still here? His body was found. But maybe, maybe she’s not wrong.
Mike can hear the car start, as well as see it driving away. He walks out of the bushes, and can feel the thorns tear through his navy blue jacket. He pulls his bike along with him as he walks around the curve to get to the front of Will’s house. As he gets to the front, he sees a big hole in the wall.
“What the fuck-” He gets cut off by a loud bang sound. It seems to come from the back yard. He decides to ignore it for now, it can wait. He parks his bike in front of where the hole is, still confused on why there’s a hole. He walks to the door, only after he turns the doorknob to realise that it’s locked. It only took one missing kid to start. He walks over to the hole, and walks through it, making notice of the ragged cuts along the side of it, looking like it was smashed from the inside out. Like someone was stuck. Trying to escape.
Mike made his way to the back of the house, looking around to see an extraordinary amount of Christmas lights strung around the house. He walked up to one of the walls, with black painted letters all over it. Suddenly, they start flashing over the letters.
M.
I.
K.
E.
His name. The letters are spelling out his name.
“Who’s—What’s there?” He yells out.
W.
I.
L.
L.
“Will? What’s going on? What the fuck is going on?” He scrambles over his words, trying to understand what’s happening.
R.
U.
N.
A sound comes from the ceiling. Mike doesn’t waste a second in running over to Will’s room, locking the door. He breathes, in, in, out. He has no idea what just happened, but he tries to calm down. He walks over to the bed, taking note of the smell. It confuses him. Sure, it has the comforting scent of Will, but it also has something else. The smell of death.
BANG!
Something hits the door, and all of Will’s lights turn on. His stereo starts playing, blasting The Clash.
“So let me know, should I stay or should I go?”
Mike moves toward the door, knocking over a tin can full of pencils. He kneels down and grabs the sharpest one he can find, before unlocking the door. He rips it open, just for it to be empty. It was his shot to be a hero, and he couldn’t even do that. He slams the door shut, and makes his way towards Will’s dresser. He opens the top drawer, and sees the other boy’s Cure shirt. It looks too big for him, it was probably Jonathan’s.
He always took care of his little brother. There was always dirt under his nails and a somber smile on his face. Mike doesn’t know if Will would’ve made it so long if it weren’t for him. Maybe the compress of bruises and tears would’ve worn him down. But it’s too late to know now.
The front slams open.
“Who the fuck’s here?!” Jonathan yells. Mike darts to the window on the edge of Will’s room, opening it as fast as he can, then jumping through. He can hear footsteps running to the back of the house, trying to capture whoever disturbed their broken sort of peace. Mike runs out to the woods, over to Castle Byers. It might not be his, but this wooden paradise shaped his childhood. He goes inside, and sees everything. Strewn comics, the blanket still on the ground, soaked from rain and mud, stained with tears and laughter, little lights to keep the world visible on dark nights, coloured pencils, a sketchbook, and a little blue pencil sharpener.
Mike grabs the sharpener, and puts the screw to his thumb, slowly twisting it out. He holds onto the blade with shaky hands as he drops the rest of the sharpener. He puts the blade into his pocket and slowly makes his way to the front of the house, trying to avoid Jonathan. He gets to his bike, eventually, and looks back at the house.
The house that once belonged to a boy made of sunshine, now a token of death for the dark of the night.