Chapter Text
Mike hasn’t felt like himself lately. And by lately, he means in 18 months.
The Upside down and the end of it had its effects on everybody. Joyce was still overprotective, Steve still flinches at monsters in horror movies, and El…well, El was gone.
That was the hardest part for Mike to understand. El, Eleven, Jane Hoppper, was dead. The girl he had loved, laughed with, fought with, was now dead and gone, sacrificed for a world that didn’t deserve her. He had failed as the leader of the party. “The Heart” his ass. He should’ve talked to he, should’ve convinced her to stay. Would it have even worked? Why didnt he notice something was wrong?
Not only that, but living 5 years of your life in fight or flight made having nothing to run from uncomfortable. Mike felt constantly fidgety, frustrated, irritable, he didn’t want to talk to anyone for days after the battle. It was hard to believe it was over, after all they’d been through. He should be happy Vecna was dead, but after he took El with him, after all the hell he put will through, killing Eddie, almost killing Max, Mike was still angry. He was angry, and anxious, and sad, and just fucking upset.
—
His only solace in those folllowing days after the final battle was Will. He was the only one Mike could really tolerate being around. The boy just didn’t expect anything of the ravenette. Will would come visit often, popping into Mike’s still being reconstructed room with a sketchbook and some pencils. He’d just sit on his floor, and draw next to him while Mike layed in bed, for hours. Sometimes they talked, sometimes they wouldn’t, but irregardless, Will would smile at him when he left. “I’ll see you tommorow, make sure to eat, okay?” His smile was small, traced with concern and weariness, but it was there.
Soon enough the chains tying Mike to his bed became weaker, the exhaustion less heavy. He remembers it was a week and a half after the end when he finally got up with plans to do more than just go to the bathroom. He got up, showered, brushed his teeth, and his incredibly messy hair (Jesus Christ), and stumbled down the stairs.
He’ll never forget the look on his family’s faces when he joined them for breakfast, sitting down at his usual seat at the now Byer-less table. He cleared his throat. “Good Morning.”
His mother blinked, then again, “Yes, a good morning it is.” She finished with. And it was, for a little bit it was. He ate bacon, and eggs, and pancakes and drank coffee which woke him up a bit more. He didn’t feel panicked, or fidgety.
Until his mom asked him to tie a necklace around her, and he caught a glance at her scars. And suddenly, in his mind he was right back at the hospital, watching her be taken away, struggle to breathe…
And suddenly, in real life, he was on the floor, sitting against a wall, also struggling to breathe. The world blurred and his hand trembled. Nancy was there in an instant, grabbing his shoulders. “Breathe, Mike, what the hell?”
And it was that day after the final battle, that he realized another emotion he was feeling. He was angry, anxious, fucking upset,
and he was scared.