Chapter Text
Mike starts making his way up the basement steps. This is fine, he tells himself. It’s fine. He’s happy. His friends all have bright futures ahead of them. There’s a possibility El is alive. This is good. Everything is alright.
He’s never been very good at lying though.
He continues up the stairs, trying not to think about Will. And the way he cried, and probably still is crying. And his tears pooling around his green eyes. Oh God, those green eyes. Part of Mike knows this is not normal. He shouldn’t be thinking about Will like this, shouldn’t be so upset at the prospect of Will going away to college, meeting someone else. He should want his best friend to be happy. Really, truly happy. Because Lord knows, if anyone deserves happiness, it’s Will Byers. Sweet, gentle Will Byers with those crazy long eyelashes and careful smile and the unbelievable ability to turn a simple piece of paper and pencil into something breathtaking. His paint-stained clothes and mussed up hair and joyful eyes with just a hint of darkness that only someone who knows him so well can pick up on. He deserves love.
Mike thinks he’s gonna be sick.
Back down the stairs he goes, skipping steps and almost tripping over his own feet when he lands at the bottom. He partially regains his balance and haphazardly runs past the dnd table, where Holly and her friends have just begun their own campaign. He glances at the stack of board games and almost stops in his tracks at one particular title: ‘Whatzit’. That’s weird, he thinks absentmindedly. But he can’t dwell on it too long, because there’s a boiling nausea in him, and it’s coming up fast. He continues on, running straight into the bathroom and slamming the door shut behind him.
He stops in front of the sink and braces his hands on either side, fully prepared to start retching into the sink. He instead, however, can do nothing but dry heave, and no matter what, he cannot get that sickeningly sweet and sour feeling up and out of him. After a few minutes of useless gagging, Mike gives up, deciding he needs to sit down, because man, that was exhausting. Mike closes the lid of the toilet and sits on top of it. It’s in that moment he has a rather odd realization: he can’t remember the last time he used the bathroom. Heck, he feels like it was sometime before the Mac-Z fight, back at the Squawk. But that can’t be true. That was well over a year ago.
What is going on?
It’s silly, really. The fact that something so obscure as a bathroom trip can make Mike realize he really doesn’t remember much of anything. I mean, sure, he can look back and think of a vague summary of the past 18 months. Defeating Vecna, and the Mindflayer, and Hawkins going back to normal. Jane’s funeral, school, dnd campaigns, bike rides, graduation. But he can’t remember details. Mike feels like it’s almost comparable to when you watch a tv show and they do a time-skip, where you have a vague idea of the goings-on during a big gap of time, but nothing detailed. What a funny thought, he ponders. He really should stop watching so much tv. What was the last thing i watched on tv?
Mike rests his head in his hands, wondering how everything could seem like it’s perfect but also feel so wrong. Something is wrong with his head.
“MIKE”
He jumps at the voice, sounding like it was right there in the room with him. And it didn’t sound like just anybody, either. He knows that voice. That was Will’s voice. But Will’s upstairs, he thinks. The voice sounded so clear though, and so urgent. He can’t just disregard it. He stands up, ignoring the nausea that hits him again at the action. He opens the door, expecting to see Will there. Because he knows he heard his voice, and it was close. Flinging the door back, though, Mike is met with nothing but the empty basement, save for the lively chatter and giggles from his sister and her friends.
I am going crazy
Mike decides it’s time to go upstairs, because surely everyone is wondering where he is, and he needs to eat. What was the last thing I ate? Oh Lord, he’s doing it again.
He makes his way back to the staircase, but not before glancing back at the stack of board games. This time he really does stop, though, because the ‘Whatzit’ board game is gone. In its place is his old Monopoly game, the one he’s had for years. Of course it is, i’ve never put any other board game there. He makes it to the stairs, climbing them at half the speed he was going just a few minutes before, and takes a deep breath before placing his hand on the old doorknob, the one that’s been there through every dnd campaign, every movie night, every “crazy together”. Oh God, Mike thinks, everything goes back to him. He turns the doorknob, a bit surprised at the gush of air that rushes in upon opening the creaky door. He fully expects to be met with the familiar brightness of his house, of the smells of his mother cooking dinner. To hear the chatter of his family, and his found family, as they get ready to sit around the dining room table. He expects to see Will, to meet his eyes and surely receive that shy smile in return for his, to push down the agonizing pain in his gut just from the sight. That’s not what he steps into at all though. Though the scene is familiar, it couldn’t be farther from the comforting nature he was expecting. It takes him one second, two seconds, three- before it registers with Mike just where he is.
He’s at the quarry. Sattler’s Quarry. It’s cold. There’s sirens. Red lights. A cold, rattling gurney being rolled out. Being brought to the water. And the pale, stiff figure the medics are lifting onto it is none other than Will Byers.
Well, not the real Will Byers. It’s a cold, rubber dummy version of Will that the lab had planted to divert suspicion when Will was in the upside down. But that was years ago. Why is he back here? How did he get back here? Wasn’t he just at-
What the hell, Mike thinks. He can’t remember where he last was.
“What is wrong with you?!”
Mike’s attention is captured by another voice, one much younger than his and vaguely familiar. The sentence is familiar, too. His eyes scan the small crowd gather near the ambulance, and very quickly find the source of the voice.
Of course he sounds familiar, Mike thinks. He’s me.
Well, younger him, of course. But him nevertheless. And with him is Jane, small, fragile, defeated-looking Jane, who shrinks back at the harsh words. God, why do i hurt everyone i love. And Dustin is there too, and Lucas, and the pain of the whole situation hits Mike in that moment like a hammer to the ribs. Will’s dead, he thinks. No, that can’t be right. Will isn’t dead. The reason why seems out of reach now, just outside of Mike’s consciousness. He’s not dead.
But isn’t he?
Mike crumbles to the ground, the grief of it all too much. He’s dead. No, he’s not dead. But yes, he has to be. That’s his body. But no, somehow he isn’t. This isn’t real. But it is real, isn’t it? I’m here right now, i can feel the wind, smell the crisp cool air, hear the sirens. And feel the pain.
Oh, the pain. It wracks his whole body.
Will’s dead.
This is real.
Mike sees himself, his younger self, running away, bike trailing next to him. He doesn’t know where he’s going, what he’s doing, what he’s thinking. He just knows he should follow him. So follow him he does.
Mike walks the whole cold, wet, teary eyed way to his house, the whole time feeling a dull, yet throbbing, pain in his chest, that’s becoming all the more real by the second. Oh, it’s so real.
He trails a few feet behind his younger version, wondering if he knows he’s there and why he hasn’t acknowledged him. Surely he should’ve by now, right?
Mike walks into his house right behind his tiny self. Into the warm, familiar lighting of his house, where his mother waits. He watches as his younger version steps up to her and is immediately wrapped in an embrace, hesitantly returning it a second later. I need to be held too, Mike thinks. He wants to feel the familiar comfort of his mother’s arms.
Not thinking, he begins approaching them, one hesitant step after the other. Once he reaches them, he very slowly holds his arms out, aiming to embrace both his mother and the small, tear stained version of himself. It’s still you, he thinks, after all this time it’s still you. Mike leans forward to hold them.
Of course it wasn’t going to work.
Mike falls forward, right through them. Right onto the foyer floor.
Of course Will’s dead, that was his body. His cold, stiff body. He’s not coming back. The moment is real.
But Mike isn’t. He’s not really here.
So what does that mean?
Mike feels confused. So, so confused. He can’t remember why he’s here, or how he got here, or where he was before. He feels cold air, coming straight through the open door, but he’s hot. Oh, he’s so hot. He feels like he’s burning. How long has this been going on? He doesn’t remember being without this feeling. He looks down at his skin, half expecting to see it dark, almost burned, sweating and radiating heat. Instead though, all he sees is his pale, cold hands, chapped from the winter breeze. His arm is cold to the touch. He’s not sweating at all. But he’s so hot. It’s the same feeling he had in the bathroom, that out of body experience. Except this is more physical, less mental.
Wait.
The bathroom.
The realization makes Mike jump, and all of a sudden he can remember where he was before. In the bathroom. In the basement. And then he got here- somehow. How did he get here? And what’s weird about it? Part of him feels it’s wrong, that he shouldn’t be here. That’s not how it works, he can’t just jump back in time. And he doesn’t even know how he did, or how he left the basement. But the other part says don’t question it, there’s a reason. Even though it feels so terribly, inexplicably wrong, there has to be a reason. How else could he have gotten here? There’s a reason. Don’t question it, he thinks.
He can’t help but think the voice in his head sounded a little off then. Not quite like his.
That’s ridiculous.
He just needs to get out. Get out of where? This is my house, where would i be going? Oh no, Mike’s confused. He’s confused, and his head hurts, and he can’t take it. He leans forward with his head in his hands and groans.
Where do I go from here?
He needs to get a grip.
But he can’t.
Instead, he stays just as he is, on the carpeted floor, steady tears flowing down his face, and he can’t even remember when he started crying, but that’s the least of his worries. He stays here for what feels like an hour, maybe two, but who’s counting anyway?
All Mike knows when he lifts his head is that he really wasn’t paying attention at all, because the scene has changed.
He’s down in the basement again.
Holly and her friends are deep in their campaign at the table. How did I get down here? It’s as if he’s been here this whole time. Which- has he not? Why does he feel wrong again? Has he really been on the basement floor this whole time? What is he doing?
Mike slowly stands up, brushing his hands off on his pants. He wants to go back into the bathroom, to try and get a grip. First, though, he steps forward and places a tentative hand on Holly’s shoulder. Why? He’s not sure. Something in his head is saying he needs to make sure that she’s real, that she’s there. Though he does not quite know the reasoning behind it.
Holly immediately turns around at his touch.
“What, Mike? I’m busy. Surely YOU of all people would know how much pressure being a dungeon master is.”
Mike flinches, because he for some reason was not expecting her the feel him, or see him, or acknowledge him.
“Oh,” he croaks (geez, his throat was dry), “Sorry, Holly. I just- I wanted to make sure that you guys, um, that you’re ok.”
Holly looks slightly confused, but quickly replaces that look with a small smile. “Yeah, we’re ok Mike. Do you need anything from me? Or does mom?”
”No.. i’m just gonna use the bathroom down here real quick. But it’s all good.”
”Okay!” Holly says, completely unbothered. Mike vaguely wonders why she doesn’t ask him if he’s been crying, because he’s sure the evidence that he has been is all over his face. Or why he’s been crumpled on the floor for what felt like ages. He disregards the thought and continues to the bathroom, though, feeling a heavy sense of déjà vu.
Something in him tells him he shouldn’t be worrying. Heck, he’s experienced enough of the paranormal for a lifetime. Surely this is no different. It’s just that there’s a nagging feeling, a sense of dread, that says he should know what’s going on but doesn’t. Like he’s missing a piece of the puzzle.
He leans over the sink, splashing water on his face. The cool water makes him realize that he is cooled off now, he no longer feels the unbearable heat from just a while before. That’s good, he tells himself. I was probably just overheated. Yeah, overheated. He needed to cool off, and now he needs to eat, so he’s gonna go upstairs for dinner. Oh shit, dinner. How long has everyone been waiting for him? Have they been waiting? Has it only been a minute? Surely it has, or they’d have come looking for him. Especially Will. Oh, Will. Here comes the nausea again, the aching pain that ignites in Mike’s gut whenever he hears that name. Though right now, he can’t put a finger on why.
Overheated, he assures himself. That’s all it is. He’s dealing with heat exhaustion, and he’s got brain fog, and that’s that.
Overheated from what?
He’s been in the house the whole time. Right? How would he be overheated? Wouldn’t he remember what caused it? He shouldn’t worry so much. It’s not like he could ever actually forget everything. He could never forget the important stuff, never forget his family. His friends. Will.
Right?
Of course not. That’s crazy.
He stands in front of the mirror for a second longer though, bracing his hands on either side of the sink because he cannot make them stop shaking. He’s shaking, and full of dread, and he needs to ground himself. He looks up at his reflection.
Another face stares back.
Eyes bloodshot, intense stare enough to make even the strongest man flinch, and his combed-over blonde hair mussed and stained with blood. In fact, all of his clothes are stained with blood, at least as far as Mike can see. He vaguely feels that he knows the face, that he is all too familiar with the person staring back at him. He once again cannot quite grasp the reason, though.
He only takes a second to register all of this, though, before he jumps back, knocking his head on the door behind him. He looks down at the floor.
Vines.
Slithering, writhing vines.
Mike presses his palms to his eyes.
”MIKE WAKE UP”
Will’s voice again.
This isn’t real.
The heat is returning to his body, he realizes then. So much heat.
Deep breath. It isn’t real.
He stays like this for one second, two seconds, three, four- then slowly lifts his head, blinking. He looks in the mirror again.
His reflection stares back, looking completely normal. A bit shaken, but normal.
He looks around. The bathroom looks the same as always, the floor is clear of vines.
Will is nowhere in sight.
Upstairs, Mike thinks. I’m going upstairs right now.
As he once again makes his way past the dnd table, past his sister’s noisy group, he can’t help but latch onto Holly’s words.
“Suddenly a movement in the corner of the room, and there is nothing you can do when you realize with fright that Vecna is having you for dinner tonight.”
The words send a chill up Mike’s spine, and he’s not sure why. Vecna’s dead, after all. He’s been dead for a year and a half.
Upstairs. He’s going upstairs.
“Softer than shadow and quicker than flies.”