Chapter Text
“But there is a story that he can never tell. The real story.”
~~~
Mike jolts awake, panting, in the dark stillness of his parents’ basement. He rolls over, the scratchy surface of the old couch rubbing uncomfortably against the exposed skin of his legs where his pants rode up during his restless sleep. Images from the dream that startled him out of his slumber flash before his eyes. Bare skin on bare skin, soft fingers tracing up his side, a hand gently carding through his hair, full lips pressed against his neck, hazel eyes boring into his, two pendants on black cord dangling in his face. He squeezes his eyes shut as tightly as he can, trying to push them away, but he can’t escape it. He tosses and turns for a while before he finally gives up. He reaches over to grab his watch, discarded on the coffee table the night before. 4:42 AM. Shit. He forces himself up off the sofa; there’s no way he’s getting back to sleep now anyway. He makes his way up the basement stairs, taking awkward side steps to avoid all the creaky spots, and slowly cracks open the door at the top. He grabs a glass out of the kitchen cabinet and fills it in the sink, downs it in a few large gulps, then fills it again, turning to lean against the counter. He sips at it slowly, staring blankly at a chip in a cabinet door on the island as a memory floods his mind.
A small Mike comes bounding up the stairs from the basement, taking the turn into the kitchen a bit too sharp, nearly crashing into the doorframe. An even smaller Will is close behind, but much more graceful, in pursuit of his best friend. Both boys giggle uncontrollably as they dash past Mike’s mom in the kitchen, through the dining room, ignoring Mike’s father grumbling at them through the living room, before they make it back into the kitchen. Mike runs between the island and the sink just as his mom turns to put away the biggest pot they own, which she had just finished washing from dinner. He smacks right into her leg, causing her to lose her grip on the pot. Almost in slow motion, the pot comes crashing down on him, the clang of metal hitting his skull reverberating in his ears. It bounces off of him and into the side of the island before finding the floor. Mike looks up at his mom for a spilt second of silence before promptly bursting into tears. She is quick to scoop him up to examine his forehead, on which a sizeable lump is already forming. Mike can’t make out her words through his sobs, but he rests his head on her shoulder to get closer to the soothing sound of her voice. He is starting to settle when he is set down on the living room sofa next to Will, startling slightly when something freezing cold and slightly damp is placed on the sore spot on his head. He barely registers his mom asking Will to hold the ice on Mike’s injury as he takes in Will’s teary eyes through his own. He doesn’t process his parents’ hushed debate about whether they need to take him to the hospital. All he is focused on are Will’s hazel eyes, full of worry for his best friend.
Mike nearly jumps out of his skin when a soft, “Hey.” pulls him out of his thoughts. He looks up to find Nancy standing in the doorway, brows pulled together in concern. “What are you doing up so early?”
“Couldn’t sleep,” he drags a hand over his tired face, placing his half-empty glass in the sink, for no reason other than to avoid her scrutinizing gaze.
“Did you sleep at all? I never heard you come up and you look like hell.”
He lets out a humorless laugh. “Gee, thanks, Nance. I slept downstairs, actually.”
“Anything you want to talk about?” He finally dares to glance up at her, but quickly realizes his mistake when his eyes begin to water and his nose begins to sting. He swallows down his tears and shakes his head.
“Just a weird dream,” He chooses to ignore the thickness in his voice and resumes his eye contact with the island chip.
He steadfastly ignores his sister as she pushes off the doorframe and makes her way to him. He keeps his arms crossed defensively over his chest as she wraps her own around him. He tries taking deep breaths as his eyes burn.
Nancy’s whispered, “Mike.” is all it takes for the dam to burst. He returns her embrace, somehow making himself small enough (despite having towered over her for several years) to tuck his face into her shoulder as hot, silent tears pour from his eyes, soaking into her shirt. His shoulders shake as she places a grounding hand on the back of his head, the other rubbing up and down his back. The position pulls him into another distant memory he thought he forgot.
Mike, age ten, throws the front door closed behind him with a loud slam before racing up the stairs, giving his bedroom door the same treatment. He hurls himself face down onto his bed and screams into his pillow. Hearing a quiet knock on his door, he lifts his head for a moment to yell, “Go away!” at whoever was on the other side.
“Mike?” a thirteen-year-old Nancy called softly. “Can I come in?”
“No! I said go away!” Mike feels the threat of tears crawling up his throat.
“Mike, please?” To her credit, Nancy does wait through a full five seconds of silence before she cracks open the door. “Mike, what’s going on? I thought you were staying at Will’s tonight.”
Mike screams again into the pillow he has yet to pull his face from. He hears the soft click of the door closing again and thinks he’s in the clear until he feels his bed dip down. He turns his head just enough to glare at his sister with one eye. He can’t stand to see the worry in her face.
“Mikey?” She hasn’t called him that since he was three, but it does the trick. He’s on her in an instant, arms thrown around her neck, sobbing into her shoulder like a small child. One of her hands comes up to caress the back of his head, the other rubbing his back until he is calm enough to recount the fight he and Will got into.
That fight was over something so minor the details have long since escaped him, but it was the first in their five whole years of friendship, so he can recall feeling as though the world was crashing down on his head.
“Do you have to go?” He’s too exhausted to be embarrassed by the child-like whine in his voice.
“I wish I didn’t,” She turns her head to press a kiss against his temple.
With a final, shaky breath, he pulls back and rubs the remaining tears out of his eyes. “What time is your flight?”
“Nine. Mom and dad will probably be up soon.”
Mike glances at his watch. 5:54. He lets out a heavy sigh.
“I’m sure I’ll be back to visit soon. And you can come visit me whenever. I think you would really like Boston.” She seems to hesitate before continuing. “And.. It's not too far of a drive to New York.”
He turns his head with a snap, narrowing his eyes. “Why does that matter?”
She has the decency to at least look a bit sheepish. “Well, if you want to visit Will..”
“He’s not even there yet, Nancy. We just graduated.”
“Are you saying you aren’t gonna miss me anymore when summer is over?”
“Of course not,” he doesn’t bother to fight the urge to roll his eyes. “But I don’t know what’s gonna happen when everyone moves away. I mean how many people actually stay friends with the people they knew in high school? Relationships tend to fall apart when you don’t see each other all the time.”
“Okay, ouch,” Mike winces when he realizes how much she likely relates to that particular narrative. “But you guys aren’t like that, Mike. The bond you have with your friends is so strong. Especially with Will. You two have been best friends since you were in kindergarten. Kindergarten, Mike! Do you know how rare that is? Not everyone is lucky enough to keep a friend in their life that long.”
Another wince from Mike as he thinks back to Barb. His sister’s best friend had been almost as much of a constant in his life as his actual sister had. He recalled the two of them dressing him up, putting their mom’s makeup on him, and even painting his nails. When Will came into his life, they roped him in on it too. That is, until Will came to school with a bruised cheek and fingers scrubbed raw after a weekend at the Wheeler’s. Will was banned from sleepovers and playdates for a month after that. Mike himself went home that very night and painted his own nails with as much dexterity as a five-year-old could and proudly showed them off to Will the next day. He later asked Nancy to remove it through tears after he'd spent the entire day being shoved to the ground and called the nastiest names no kindergartener should know.
His train of thought is interrupted by Karen walking into the room. “Mike, you’re up early. Are you going to the airport with us?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
His mother takes in his disheveled appearance. “Did you sleep okay, baby? You don’t look too well.”
“So I’ve heard,” he and Nancy share a look. “I just passed out downstairs last night, so I didn’t sleep great. I’ll probably take a nap when we get home.”
It’s not the whole truth, which he’s sure Nancy picks up on, but it seems to appease his mom. She’s about to respond when Ted walks in to join them.
“I think that’s a great idea, Michael. You need to be rested enough to start that job hunt.”
This time Mike does fight the roll of his eyes. No way he’s poking the bear at such an egregious hour. “Actually I’m supposed to be meeting the guys and Max at The Palace later.”
“Well then, you can put in an application while you’re there. And at the video store next door. There’s plenty of places downtown, I’m sure your friends will help you fill them out.”
Mike takes a deep breath and reminds himself it isn’t worth the fight. “Sure, dad.”