Chapter Text
Everyday felt a bit more excruciating. Ever since the ground split open, rumors of extraterrestrial visitors resurfacing from the ground to take back their land, that the Rapture was in motion, or that the Earth itself was imploding, spread around like a nasty plague. The local authorities' radio silence only encouraged people's minds to wander, trying to find reason. A small conservative town, quarantined and kept in the dark. So many are in need of shelter; Hospitals are filled to the brim; Random parts of town are fully inaccessible. The pressure, the stress, the fear, it polluted the air, making it suffocating.
With the town in quarantine, and Vecna's doomsday in motion, saving the world in secret became much more complicated than it already was. The military roamed everywhere like rats. El couldn't be with the party. It was too risky to have her around since the military was actively hunting for her. She’s stuck far south, deep in the forest, at an abandoned junkyard. It was the perfect spot for her to hone her powers without leaving evidence of her presence. Hopper cleaned up an abandoned trailer so she'd have a place to sleep in. It's not ideal, but at least he's there with her.
Apart from that, a month after the ground split, everything reverted back to a normal cadence. People went to work. Kids woke up early in the morning to go to school and play. Late in the evening, some did charity work. Even if most of the people in Hawkins were losing their minds to a scary extent, they still helped each other. Life went on.
Being part of the group that knew what was really going on was like a curse. Before, Mike, Lucas, Will, Dustin, literally anyone who knew about the upside down, they could at least escape it through the normalcy of their day-to-day life. But now, everywhere they went, they were reminded of what's really at stake. The danger that’s been tormenting them since 1983 is coming to it's epiphany, and they're supposed to stop it. Any day now, Vecna could decide “today is the day", and begin the end of everything. Even after countless weeks of searching, nobody had a clue where he was, what he was going to do, and how.
That stress has been harsh on everyone. Lucas spent all the time he could spare in the hospital with Max. After the first of the frequent power outages, he's been too anxious to leave her side. Even if the hospital has a strong power supply specially made for situations like these, he can't help but worry himself sick because, what if it fails? What if it fails and he's not here with her?
Dustin, consumed by grief, his spark significantly dimmed. Eddie won't be remembered as a hero. Nobody will ever get to see how bright his soul was. A satanic, predatory, 20 year old drug dealing murderer. To anyone that didn't know him, that's all he was. And that fueled Dustin with seating rage. With all the oppression he had to see and experience over the years, how he could do nothing but take it, It sent over the edge.
Will, turns out he's still firmly linked to the hivemind, and it’s been far from easy on him. Always alert, always on edge. He hears, sees, and feels things that aren't there. Pupils unevenly blown, clothes almost always caked in cold sweat, a dark hue under eyes. The party tries to support him as much as they can, but Will prefers keeping to himself these days.
Mike would be there for him. That's what he should be doing, yet he hasn't. After he apologized for being an asshole, things between him and Will never fully mended themselves back together. They talk when they have to. They avoid being alone with each other. Whenever they interact, it's painfully awkward.
Mike has attempted to fix things a few times, but it never amounted to anything. Will’s probably tired of him. Maybe what happened in Lenora was too much? He did accept Mike's apology, but maybe he didn't forgive him. Mike wouldn't blame him if that's the case.
Apologies begin to lose meaning if they aren't followed by an effort to change. Will has a kind, and forgiving nature, but like any other person, there's limits to it. Mike crossed it like it was nothing and ruined everything. Any chance of going back to how things were, gone. That's something he'll never forgive himself for. It lives as a dark stain of shame, and regret on the inner walls of his skull. It weighs on him every waking second. Even though he still has the others to hang with, Will being out of reach made him feel so incredibly alone.
__
Late in the evening, he went down the stairs, and made his way to the kitchen. The blue hue of twilight outside the windows clashed with the warmth of lights in the kitchen. The house was calm. Everyone was off relaxing— this being a weekday.
His mom's casserole hadn't been enough. With the Byers living with them, Karen needs to double the amount of food she usually makes for dinner. This time, she miscalculated and didn't make enough to fully feed everyone. Naturally, since the Byers are guests, she secretly signalled the others to take smaller portions (Holly was the only exception). Mike was still hungry. He desperately needed a snack.
He knew Will was going to be down there too; at the kitchen table, probably. Walking, he glanced, and yeah. He's there sketching something. A steaming cup of tea sat next to him. He always made himself a cup of tea around that time. He couldn't remember Will ever liking tea. Perhaps it's something he picked up in Lenora? He'd ask, but he can't bring himself to.
Often, he can't help but feel like Will’s gradually becoming a stranger. He used to know everything about him. He knew he liked tigers, horror movies, Reese's pieces, Dig Dug and Ninja Turtles at the arcade, the color yellow, and so on. He could list off facts about him for days. Mike even has a few mixtapes filled with songs Will likes (A few of them he made while Will was away, and he initially wanted to mail them to him. He chickened out for some reason).
Now all of that feels uncertain. He hates when his mind starts thinking like this. He's aware it's bullshit. Will is still Will. He’s just enjoying something new. But still…
What tea flavor did he like? He'll ask him later. maybe. Probably not.
“Hey" Mike said, passing by to open the fridge, and browse for anything that would make a good snack.
“Hey" Will responded, eyes flicking up to him for a split second before locking back on his sketchbook.
Eyes were fixed on the fridge’s bleak content, Mike fought against the urge to look at Will again because for some reason, crossing his gaze didn't feel right. Not right now at least.
The tension was thick, and the hum of the fridge became unusually loud. It's almost as if it was telling him to hurry up and leave. His hunger died down, but he reached into the fridge anyway, and grabbed something randomly to avoid looking stupid. an orange. The one that's been rotting there for months. Of course. He could put it back and leave, but the silence in the room was so unbelievably uncomfortable, he couldn't be bothered to. He’ll throw it away in the morning.
Closing the fridge, he walked back towards the stairs, and as he passed near Will, he discreetly looked at his sketchbook; Some sort of Upside down inspired creature it was. Will’s hand held a cheap led pencil, and sketched softly it's shadows. It has the features of a demogorgon but with skin that twists and budges out like vines. It's shaded much darker than his usual sketches. That thing was creepy for sure, but it did look super cool.
“Cool drawing.” Mike complemented as casually as he could.
Will’s head lifted to face him, his expression unreadable. “Oh. Uh— thanks"
"Is it one of his new monsters, or did you—”
"I made it up. Don't worry”
"Oh, Cool.”
Mike stood there, the two of them looking at each other like deers in headlights.
“Uh— good night, Will.”
“Good night"
Mike left. Will returned to sketching.
—
During a crawl, Mike was assigned with maintaining, and operating Dustin’s tech. The many contraptions were used to monitor Hopper and El’s surroundings in the goal of preventing surprise attacks.
Those many contraptions were quite unstable due to them still being unpolished prototypes. So, someone had to look after them in case they needed to be recalibrated (which is every few minutes). If they were to be left uncalibrated for too long, the tech would certainly break.
Usually that's Dustin’s job but doing the same thing over and over again gets boring. It's fun to swap once in a while.
Hunched over, his hand twisted the nub controlling the signal. It was going haywire again, and making an awful high pitched static sound. The tech was loud to begin with, but Mike swore his ear drums were about to burst. How can Dustin stand this? Why didn't he add the option to lower the volume on that thing?
Just as he was about to get the signal back on the right wavelength, out of nowhere, a warm tickle ran down his lips. His fingers wiped it away, smearing off what he assumed was snot, but when he looked at his hand, he was instead met with a vibrant red. Blood. Great.
It’s all over the back of his hand and soaked in the cuff of his coat. The air in the wsk’s basement is so hellishly deprived of humidity so he shouldn't be surprised, but his stomach still sank at the sight. Maybe Vecna randomly felt like going after him? Obviously not. That's a bit of a reach but who could blame him for being a little paranoid? He's just glad no one was around to see that.
He quickly wiped off the rest of the blood under his nose with his cuff and some spit. There's nothing around he could've used instead, and it's not like he could leave his spot. He'll ask his mom to help him get the stain off. his hands back on the tech, he finished calibrating it and the ear piercing static fizzled out.
For the rest of the mission, he was on edge. Not because demogorgon activity was spotted an unusual amount of times. Because of his nosebleed. It left him with a buzzing headache. The kind you get from standing up too fast. He tried to tell himself that it’s nothing, because it was nothing. Dustin's deafness inducing tech gave him a headache, and then his nose coincidentally bled. It made sense, but his brain refused to let go of the thought. Something didn't feel right. Like his body was warning him— or maybe he's just so bored of sitting there waiting for the tech to fail that his brain clung to the only mildly interesting thing going on. That's probably it.
__
From there, things only went downhill. Since that crawl, he woke up every morning much more tired than he should be. At first, he didn't think much of it. It's hard getting up in the morning sometimes. But then, he started nodding off in class. Mike barely misses out on sleep. If he did, he still slept a few hours. It's never been a problem until now.
Laying in bed, he stared at the cracks on the ceiling. One started from the corner above his bed, and it spread into 4 branches like the roots of a plant. No homework, no motivation to write, nothing new to watch, no will to reread his comics again, no plans to hang with the party. He didn't have anything to do, or anything he felt like doing. The only reason he wasn't asleep yet was because he couldn't get himself to. His body refused to let him even if he desperately wanted to.
He could've laid on the basement couch and watched a boring tv channel till he fell asleep, but he couldn't. Will and Jonathan were down there, in the basement. He can't exactly waltz in, steal Jonathan’s bed —which is the couch—, and blast on the TV. That would be rude, and most of all, awkward. Maybe it wouldn't have been in an alternate world where he was on good terms with Will. They could've rewatched a few movies together with a fat bowl of popcorn. He's sure Jonathan wouldn't have cared. He probably would've snuck into Nancy's room, leaving his brother and Mike the basement to freely fool around in.
Things have never been the same after that awful summer.
Just thinking about it made him even more restless. He brought his comforter up to his nose, shifted to his side, and closed his eyes. His mind wandered through fields, cathedrals and swamps where a group of brave warriors traveled through on a quest for freedom and peace. Where will they go? Who will they encounter? The possibilities are endless. He'd write these scenarios down, but they're better left as they are. Daydreams.
__
In a panic, his body sprung up from his bed in a cold sweat, eyes wide, chest heaving, fear spreading under his skin like wildfire. His eyes frantically scanned his room. The door, the window, the closet, the floor, the ceiling, every wall. The only light he had was his weak desk lamp next to his bed which he forgot to switch off. It wasn't bright enough.
He threw himself off his bed, and with shaky fingers, flicked open the light switch. Now fully basked in light, nothing could blend in the shadows, but…. there wasn't anything. Of course there wasn't anything. Why would there be something? Even though he could see there wasn’t any intruder hiding in his room, his fear refused to dissipate. His body trembled as if he was alone, face-to-face with a demogorgon. Why was he so freaked out right now? Did he have a nightmare? If he did, he forgot about it already.
The outside of his window being pitch black, his eyes instinctively darted to his clock: 11:38pm. 3 hours of sleep. As much as it would be wise to lie back down and try to force himself back to sleep, Mike couldn't bring himself to. His mind reeled on nothing as if whatever disturbed him so much hid behind an endless wall of deafening static.
A cold— in the way mint is— sour feeling slithered through his bone marrow like thousands of tiny agitated worms crawling from within. His ribs felt both hollow and about to crack open. But the worst was how ticklish they felt every breath he took. It all made his stomach do somersaults.
He thought about radioing the party, or checking on Will to see if they also randomly woke up scared and sweaty. Figured it probably was just on his side, so he didn't bother. Waking them up over something average knowing how hard it is to fall asleep these days wouldn't be right.
“What the hell," He said to himself, leaning back on the wall. The motion made his head spin, and bile rose up his throat. His eyelids fluttered closed.
Did he catch the flu, or something? Whatever it was, Mike desperately wanted to sleep it off.
He snuck into the living room in which his dad was conveniently not asleep in, grabbed some random movie, shoved it in the cassette player and crashed into the softness of the living room sofa. Watching TV till he fell asleep seemed like the only g. The lame thing is that he can't have the sound on. His dad tends to be really pissy when it comes to sounds in the house at night when he doesn't have the tv muffle them out. That's why he would've liked being in the basement.
To add to that, his mother will probably scold him in the morning seeing him snoozing on the couch but, it didn't matter at that moment.
He curled up on himself lightly as he stared at the moving pictures on the analog tv screen. His mind wasn't registering any of the plot. Only the different shades of color dancing across the screen. Their harmony was enough to distract his mind from his current torment. Drowsiness took over, and his eyes shut before he could register that he fell asleep.
__
Though that didn't last. He woke up once again. This time, instead of unjustified panic, his eyes were dry. His eyelids dragged against his retina as if he applied the glue from a half dried glue stick behind his lids. They fluttered, blinking moisture back. To his disappointment, it was still dark outside. No signs of the sun making it’s comeback. He got up and looked at the time displayed on the oven: 3:55am. The movie stopped playing long ago, now replaced by static. He let out a groan as he rubbed his eyes. Why couldn't he stay asleep?
Sluggishly, he got up and rewinded the movie which was… The Shining? Until now, he wasn't aware of what movie he had picked. A few years back, his mother asked him and his sister which movies they would like to have copies of. She enjoyed the prospect of having a tiny library of movies her kids and their friends could enjoy. Especially because the Wheeler’s house was, for some reason, the hangout spot. Even a blind person could tell she was secretly proud of that.
She brought back 8 tapes that day, the Shining was one of them. She didn't want Mike to watch it since it was a horror movie (and he was 11) but, on many occasions, Mike snuck it out of the living room and watched it on his own in the basement.
It felt like a test of courage at the time. Did Mike the mighty paladin possess the stealthiness to steal the visionary artefact guarded by his own kin? And did he dare have the courage to witness the banished horrors sealed within it? Of course he did. He totally didn't spend the entire time paranoid, buried under 2 blankets, wishing the cleric of the party was here to assist him. When he had come to an age where she didn't care what he watched, it didn't scare him anymore (or maybe it wasn't that scary to begin with).
He's gone through so many tests of courage in his not-so-long lifetime that were much more than just watching something scary. He can't help but feel like he's failed most of them. What kind of paladin fucks up with both his girlfriend and best friend?
__
That night, he woke up again. 5 am. This annoying pattern repeated itself every following night. The amount of sleep he got progressively reduced as time went by, and it showed. Every morning, when he looked at himself in the mirror, he could see that he looked like shit. The faint darkness under his eyes; his bloodshot whites; his sickly unsaturated paleness. His body screamed exhaustion, but it wasn't bad enough to cause others to be concerned. They noticed but weren't alarmed. The situation that plagued Hawkins that they, again, had to solve weighed on them all. Looking a little worse for wear was the norm now.
Will probably struggled to sleep too. Well, it's not right for him to compare his situation to Will’s. His best friend's been through too much for one lifetime and it somehow keeps getting worse for him. It's almost like Vecna gets a kick out of torturing him. Even when he's not, Will still suffers. Obviously he'd be restless.
But, did he look forward to going to bed after a long day or did he always fear it? Did he spend most nights awake? Did he have enough blankets? It can get cold in the basement and Will never really liked the cold. Was it even comfortable down there? Mike sincerely hoped it was.
And as he thought about it, his troubles barely reached as high as any of his friends. Everyone's going through something major. Mike? The pressure of uncertainty and doom, and maybe a bit of loneliness which is the standard right now. It's great that he's doing fine. He hopes his efforts to keep the party's spirits up during the crawls at least alleviated some of the weight on their shoulders. He'd help them carry some of it if he could.
He's just sick and exhausted. He catched a cold. It doesn't really matter. As long as he's not dying, there's no point in making a big deal out of it.
The end of the world could be any day now. Working on locating Vecna and figuring out a way to kill him for good is much more important than whatever nasty virus is plaguing him right now—
“Hey, man. Are you holding up alright?”
Mike’s head snapped towards the source of the voice. It's Lucas. He's walking next to him. His brows hitched closer, concerned. Dustin’s up ahead with Will, already walking out the front doors of the school. Was the day over already? Mike could barely recall any of it. He didn’t remember biking to school. He didn't remember meeting up with the party. He didn't remember going to any of his classes. Although he did remember eating.. something bland? That's about it. It's almost like the day fast-forwarded, like skipping to the good parts of a movie you already watched.
Was his cold at fault? He's getting worse. Maybe he should go see a pharmacist about it, but there's plenty of people right now that need all the medicine they can get —especially since the supply deliveries are coming in slow—. It's not worth going just because of a cold. Maybe he should eat more soup, or drink warm lemon juice. Whatever sick people did to cure themselves. A waiting game. That's probably what it'll end up being.
“Dude? Are you there?” Lucas said, waving his hand in front of Mike’s face, getting his attention back.
“Oh— uhh yeah. I'm alright. Just tired.” Mike replied. "think I might've caught something."
“That sucks. Of all times, right now’s the worst. You know, with the crawls and all.” Lucas replied, looking up ahead for a second. “You sure you'll be in shape for the next one? We need you but-”
“Lucas, I'll be fine. I can still come. It's probably nothing. I'm not dying, aren't I?” Mike said, cutting off Lucas. He cringed at his last words. He hadn't meant to bring up “dying”. It's not a big deal but, bringing up death so casually these days feels wrong. Especially with Lucas considering he once mentioned how Max’s starting to look like she's actively decomposing.
“Alright, man. Just take it easy. We need you out there" Lucas patted Mike's shoulder, giving him a worried smile before jogging up ahead to the bike rack.
Mike trailed behind with a blank stare. He himself didn't know if he'd still do fine on the crawls. If it's bad enough Lucas bothered asking him about it, will the others start worrying too? Hopefully not. He'd rather avoid being forced to stay home. He's a leader at heart. The thought of the party risking their lives while he's sleeping butt ass naked frustrates him. Diseased Mike could still be useful. He wouldn't let himself become a burden. They’d recognize that, right?
__
Pulling into the driveway with a scratching stop, Mike got off his bike, laying it on its side on the lawn of his house. His mother will probably tell him to park in the backyard instead. That's if she noticed. She usually doesn't.
All Mike wants is to crash in his bed and let it swallow him. Hopefully it actually did. He made his way to the front door, opened it, went inside, threw off his shoes, and went up—
“Hey Mike, how was school?” His mother said, turning away from the dishes she was cleaning to look at her son. A warm smile stretched softly on her face as the evening sun shined through her blonde bleached hair.
“The usual" before Mike could turn away and walk up the stairs, his mom continued.
"Sweetie, are you feeling any better?”
So she did notice. There wouldn't be any point in hiding from her that he was a little sick. It's his mom after all.
“No, not really.” Mike says, leaning against the wall hugging the stairs, tired of standing up.
“Is your throat sore? I can make you some honey ginger tea if you'd like?”
“No, no. I'm just tired. I think I caught the flu or something”
"I'll warm you up some soup then, okay? You go rest. I'll bring it up to you with some Advils" She said with care.
Soup and pills. He's not sure it'll do much considering that's what he's been on. Can't hurt to have some more. Besides, it being prepared by his mom did feel much more appealing.
“Okay. Thanks, mom.” he said before turning away and climbing up the stairs.
He zombied through the upper hall, past the bathroom, his parents room and his sisters’s rooms, right to his. He hitched the door open and threw himself on his trashed bed. Laying there on his stomach, he buried his head into the softness of his blankets, breathing them in deeply. His own built up musk and the faintness of laundry detergent. Nothing more comforting than the smell of your own bed.
He knew he wouldn't sleep tonight either but lying down and relaxing felt nice either way. The good thing about being this tired is that his mind was too sluggish to think about anything. What's happening tomorrow, what he has no choice to worry about, what would normally keep him up at night… nothing.
__
The creak of his door rang through the room as his mother made her way in. His head lifted groggily, confirming it was her. His arms pushed him up and he sat leaning his head on the bed rest. He’s not sure how much time elapsed between when he laid down and right now, but it sure went by fast.
“There you go." She said carrying a tray holding a bowl of chicken noodle soup and a few salted tops. Bending down, she gently settled it down on his lap. "Try to eat it all,” she gave him a sympathetic look. Her hand went and caressed his head, her thumb brushing gently against his temple.
“I know eating is a hassle when you're sick but it's important. You'll feel better after.“ Her hand slid down and patted his shoulder.
“Yeah. thanks mom.” he let out a crooked smile, dimmed by exhaustion.
It's nice, his mom next to him like this. She should be prepping dinner, or cleaning the floor for the 100th time, but instead, she's here. He fought against the urge to hug her. Maybe that would make her stay a while longer. Maybe she'd let him lay his head down on her lap. Her hand would lay on his shoulder, her thumb stroking the fabric of his shirt with a motherly gentleness. And maybe she'd move to his head, caressing it like she did just now.
But all of that was just a fantasy. She has stuff to do. It wouldn't be right to get this greedy. It's not like he's dying. For now, his body leaned into the warmth, but it was gone. Opening his eyes, she wasn't there anymore. She left and he had no memory of it. Guess that's what barely sleeping does to someone.
Hunched forward over the tray, his eyes stared at the bowl of soup. The liquid swayed at any movement Mike made, making the noodles stir. The savory vapor flowing from it nuzzled his face. He closed his eyes for a second, enjoying the warmth. He's going to have to eat this. And that's fine. He's hungry. It's dinner time. This is probably one of the few times in his life laziness overtook his hunger.
He picked up the spoon. He lowered it in the broth, beyond the noodles, and scooped some up. He brought it to his mouth and ate it. The warmth of the broth spread around inside his mouth as he chewed. It's good.
He ate another scoop... And then another… and another…. and another… and— spoon still in his mouth, his stomach churned. His face followed with a grimace.
The savory flavor of the soup and the texture of the noodles suddenly felt wrong. Everything that made it good warped like a fading illusion. It's taste was now disgustingly similar to tangy dog water. The noodles felt like they were made out of the dead skin built up around the edge of an abandoned public jacuzzi. Nothing about it felt edible.
He spat what he had in his mouth right back into the bowl before placing the whole tray on his coffee table. The taste lingered in his mouth and he had nothing to wash it out.
The soup didn't work out. That's fine. He'll eat something later… or tomorrow. Who cares? He'll live.
He wiggle himself under the covers, laying on his side and closing his eyes, trying to get comfortable. The nauseous feeling in his gut made it hard to do so. It just wouldn't go away. Gosh, did he get food poisoning? Food position and stomach flu? Or just the flu? Whatever it is, it's beating on him.
He flipped himself around, lying on his opposite side, curling on himself a bit. His stomach did somersault, threatening to expel everything it held at any second. He's gonna have to puke. Is it even humanly possible to tough this through?
His feet rubbed against each other, trying to create some sort of soothing distraction from his growing discomfort. If it doesn't get better in the next 30 seconds, he’ll get up. He won't have a choice.
…
Okay it's definitely not gonna pass on its own. Eyes shot open wide. There's no way he's sleeping this off. He threw himself off his bed. Hunched over, he ran— as fast as a nauseated person can run— to the bathroom. His knees gave out in front of the toilet bowl. Hunched over it, stabilising himself with one hand on the seat, he heaved and gagged. His stomach clenched and unclenched. The pressure building up in his skull made his ears ring. For a painful minute, only spit dripped down his gaping mouth. No half digested slop. His eyes glossed over with a coat of tears. The grip he had on the toilet seat weakened and a tingly feeling rose up his fingers.
After what felt like too long, a warm feeling rose up his throat and burned on its way. He retched, and a sour bitter and lumpy liquid slid down his tongue, down to the water. Stomach acid and chicken broth. It didn't take long for the rest to make it’s way out. Tears blurred his vision as vomit mush plopped down into the water. It sank and floated back to the surface, swirling around aimlessly with the rest of the undigested food.
Eventually, the heaving subsided. The discomfort was gone, replaced by a spinning headache.“ugh, shit.." he croaked out.
From the bathroom, he could hear the sounds of utensils clinking against ceramic. His family and the Byers were eating dinner. If he focused enough, he’d probably be able to make out some of the chatter. He usually kind of hates eating with his family but having Will, Joyce and Jonathan around makes it fun. Although, it would be funner if he and Will talked at all. They used to dream about times like these; A super, mega, extra long sleepover. It's all going to waste because Mike messed up one too many times. His heart heavied.
Pushing himself up, he stumbled to his room light headed. The soup was still there. The bowl looks as filled as it looked when his mom brought it to him. There's no way he was risking his her coming to his room while he's asleep to take his dishes down for him just to see he barely ate anything. That would permanently get her on his back till she knew he felt better. He's already lucky enough that nobody who isn't involved with the upside down had eyes on him. It's better to keep it that way.
Picking up the bowl, he made his way back to the bathroom. He dumped it all, and flushed it away.
That's that.
Mike laid black down in his bed, left with an empty stomach and bitterness. After tomorrow, another crawl is scheduled. That meant, tomorrow, they had to meet up at the Squawk. He needs to be on point. Everyone came together with all the intelligence gathered and they brainstormed. Figuring out a plan with the highest success rate possible. That's where Mike shined the most (especially when the plan couldn't follow the usual foundations). He couldn't afford to have his mind clouded like it's been for the last few days. Of course, the others are capable of figuring things out without him, but if he can contribute, make a difference, he’d rather help out.
Besides, he's been dying to see all his friends reunited again. When they have to deal with the upside down, the party feels alive. Nobody needs to walk on eggshells around Dustin, Lucas is less uptight, Will isn’t stuck in his head and El looks like her soul returned to her body. They allow themselves to joke around and tease each other. It's a moment of reprieve that
makes everything a little more bearable.
__
After school, at the Squawk, it went as well as it could've gone. To make sure he wouldn't be sick, he didn't eat anything that day. Everyone seems to be fairing well enough. He's glad to see that Robin and Steve were as happy-go-lucky as usual.
El was stern at first but she loosened up eventually. The strain the constant training and isolation had on her was apparent but her sweetness remained, hidden under it all.
Will looked peaky and stressed. Nobody questions it anymore because everyone knows it's because of his link with the hivemind. Mike hates seeing him like this. He'd go up to him and offer comfort, but he's not sure Will wants him to.
Once the meeting reached it's end, Mike prepared his workstation for tomorrow. Paper, pens and all. The buzzing of static filled the small room as he twisted the nubs on the station radio station, trying to get it on the same frequency band as the walkie talkies. Usually he adjusts it a few hours before, not a day before. The radio station still needs to do its thing during the day. But surprisingly enough, tomorrow, the WSQK isn't airing. Something about maintenance? He didn't care to ask. So, he decided to adjust it now.
“Mike?" Mike's head snapped towards the door. It's Will, standing outside of it's frame. So focused on getting things done, and with the ear-assulting static, he hadn’t heard the door open, or maybe he hadn't closed it to begin with.
“Oh– uh, hey Will. Did you need anything?" He blurted out, caught off guard.
“No. Not really. It's just– Mike, are you alright?” Will asked, eyebrows hitched, hands fiddling with each other; an apprehensive stance.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good. Why d’you ask?” Mike answered after a few awkward seconds.
"No- I mean, is your cold getting any better?”
"How did you know I was sick?”
"Lucas told me about it, and uhh— I kinda live at your house? It wasn't hard to notice you weren't doing well.”
"Oh” his eyes glanced away to the side— embarrassed. That was so obvious. Of course Will would know. What kind of dumbass question was that?
"And I'm pretty sure anyone could notice just by looking at you” Will added
"Oh…"
"Yeah…”
After a few long seconds, Mike cleared his throat “Well— uh, I'm doing good enough to handle tomorrow.”
"Mike, you look awful."
“Is it really that bad?"
“it is."
If it's that obvious, he's glad nobody brought it up earlier. He really would rather avoid the embarrassment of talking about how the flu is killing him live. The worst would be the pity that would attract. His friends are nice. They would worry about him even though they have worse going on. The idea of that bothers him. His brows twitched down. He hates it.
In another situation, he probably would've said something along the lines of ‘Don’t worry. It’s not as bad as it looks’ or ‘I’m alright. We have better things to worry about.’, but the worry in Will’s eyes got under his skin.
“Okay… yeah— things have been a bit rough-"
“How… rough?” Will inquired gently, encouraging Mike to elaborate.
"Just the average stuff.." mike sighed.."Can't keep food down, can't sleep, headaches and all that." He avoided going in too much detail because Will’s already worried. He'd rather avoid worrying him more.
"But hey, it gets worse before it gets better, right?" He said, trying to diffuse the tension.
“Right… but Mike, you don't need to come tomorrow. Mom or Robin can cover for you. I'm sure they wouldn't mind"
“Will, I'll be fine."
“Are you sure? Because you look like you're about to drop dead any second." Will returned, his voice growing agitated out of nowhere. Why was he so concerned? He can't possibly look this diseased. Maybe he's just on edge. Still, seeing Will so stressed out over him makes Mike want to give in, but he resists.
“Yeah, I'm sure. Don't worry too much"
Will's eyes inspected Mike’s face, searching for something. “... alright, sure. I trust you…” he said, clearly skeptical but unwilling to press on further.
Another awkward silence. Mike looked to the side, and Will at the ground. The usual unease returned.
“I'll be heading back now so.. see you later.” Will said, turning away to leave.
“Wait— hold on.” Mike blurted out impulsively, stopping Will before he could even take a step out.
“I'm almost done here. Maybe we could uh— bike back home together? If you want?" He asked, trying to sound casual but he knew his desperation leaked through. What he said came out of nowhere, and he's not sure if he regrets it or not.
Will's eyebrows loosened and a second later, a weak, but genuine smile formed on his face.
“Yeah. That would be fun."
Mike perked up. ‘That would be fun’. It's a normal response, but hearing it from Will knowing their situation, it sent dopamine rushing through his veins as if he had won the lottery.
“Okay— cool. Just give me a sec" a shy smile grew on him as he turned to finish up prepping the radio station. Will leaned on the doorframe, waiting. Once Mike was done, they left and went to the spot behind the WSQK where they usually park their bikes, took theirs and left.
The ride home was silent. The sky was oxidising to shades of rose and amber, and the air was cold, but not cold enough you'd need a coat. At the speed they were going, the wind ate away the warmth within their hands leaving them. Dead leaves crunched beneath them, and the earthy smell of the early autumn filled their lungs. They treaded side by side, sometimes taking the lead. They swapped places every now and then like birds did when they soared through the sky together. Unlike every other day, the silence was comfortable. It made it easy to pretend things were fine. That once they got home, they’d hang out in his basement, read comics, watch movies, and dream for hours on end. And maybe, they'd sleep next to each other like they used to. At that moment, he wished his house was hundreds of miles away.
__
Like expected, when they get to his house, they split up. Will went to the basement, and Mike to his room. Until now, he hadn't noticed the ache festering within his skull. Nothing new.
He crashes into his bed, laying on his stomach, one leg awkwardly dangling off the edge. It wasn't a comfortable position and he probably looked stupid. He could move. He wanted to, but his exhaustion burned away any motivation he had to do so. If his headache wasn't buzzing through the tendons of his neck as if millions of tiny worms crawled within them, he would've passed out by now. Gosh, tomorrow is gonna be awful.
...
Knock-knock
“Mh?" He let out weakly, unsure if the knocking was just his mind messing with him or if it was real. He knew it was when he heard his bedroom door open.
"Mike, are you awake?"
Will. Mike's head lifted just enough to see. He wore pyjama pants and an old band t-shirt he's pretty sure is Jonathan’s. Will’s hair was damp and he smelled like sandalwood scented soap. Something else he changed during his time in Lenora. His old soap was citrusy.
"Will? What are you.." he croaked out with a sluggish rasp.
“Did I wake you? Sorry." Will said, staying near the door, ready to leave if Mike didn't want him in there.
“No— no. I was just laying down.” he reassured. Although, he’s not sure if he meant it or not. Was he sleeping? Not really, but for the past few weeks, it's been hard to define what counted as such. It might as well be.
The circulation coming back to his leg after he moved suddenly reminded him of how dumb his current position probably looked. Leaning on hands, he flipped himself, and sat up.
"Okay, good. So, uh— I brought you some tea.” Will approach the side of Mike’s bed, careful not to spill the steaming tea. He handed Mike the cup "It's Chamomile"
“Oh? thanks”. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe biking together did change something. Maybe Will just needed time to forgive him? Mike’s throat tightened. A part of him wished Will was still as distant. Time and time again, he hurt him. It's a stupid cycle. Only a matter of time until he messed up again.
The steam softly grazed Mike’s face. The warmth of the cup burned through the sickly numbness of his skin. Maybe Will’s just worried about him. Him bringing him tea doesn't necessarily mean things will change.
"Figured it’d be better than nothing."
“You don't need to do this, you know?"
"What do you mean?” Will said, his eyebrows lowering.
“It's just that—” he didn't want Will to fuss over him. Out of everyone, Will should be the one fussed over. He's been out of it ever since the ground cracked open. He's less himself every day that passes. Anything could happen to him at any given time. Possession, sudden death, or even disappearing again; nothing is out of the question with Vecna, and Will obviously had his attention the most. Mike's not sure what he'd do with himself if something happened to Will again. And now, he’s in his room giving him a cup of tea, looking at him with uncertainty when he should be the one looking after him. God dammit.
“Nevermind— Forget I said that. Thanks for the tea, Will. I really appreciate it” Mike continued before taking a careful sip, trying to avoid the confused look Will is giving him.
"Anytime,” Will said as he made space between him and the bed. "Goodnight.”
"Goodnight." Mike said back as Will left his room.
The second the door clicked shut, his shoulders relaxed and the knot in his heart came loose. He hadn't realised how tense he had become the second Will showed up.
The warmth of the mug between his hands caught him because he could spiral. Bringing it to his lips, he tills it, drinking the warm herbal sweetness within it once more. Some part within him wished Will stayed a bit longer. Maybe for the rest of the night. Not that It would've made any sense for him to stay.
__
Chatter rang throughout the classroom. The science teacher, Mr Clarke, had just announced they had to do a graded project in groups. What they chose to present didn't matter as long as it was well researched and that there was visual elements (like a model or a sign). Some students went with their friends, others had to be paired up with someone. Mike, Lucas, Dustin and Will partnered up, of course. Planning a research project before going against the military and interdimensional monsters was anything but convenient, but it's not like they had a choice. One thing was sure, they weren’t going to get much done today (like most of the class).
Trying to find a good subject for the project soon drifted to casual chatter. Awkward, but still somewhat comfortable. Even though they already talked and updated each other yesterday, finding new topics wasn't hard at all. They could talk about a rock on the sidewalk for hours if it took their mind off things. They had a silent common understanding to not bring up any touchy subjects in order to maintain the peace. One wrong word could pulverize it.
Eventually, they circled back to the project.
“So we do it at your house?” Lucas said to Mike, more like a statement than a question. They always did everything at Mike's house. With the basement he has, it's no wonder.
“Yeah, sure. But It's kind of a mess in the basement right now since we moved everything to set up Will and Jonathan's stuff, but I could clear some of it up. The DND corner isn't too bad.” it was bad. Mike was much aware of that since he's the one who shoved all the boxes laying around right in it. He didn't think much of it at the time since they barely hung out all together anymore. They didn't need to do the project there, but Mike really wanted to. He'll make it work.
“or we could go to Dustin's house” Will suggested, his eyes darting to Mike for a second. He should've asked Will if didn't mind. The basement is the place he, his brother, and sometimes his mom all sleep in after all. Moving everything and working on it there would probably bother them.
Dustin looked at Will like he was an asylum runaway still in his straitjacket. “No way, dude. There's no space in my room, and my basement absolutely stinks ever since it flooded. I'm pretty sure it's rotting.” even the lucky ones whose houses didn't collapse during the tragedy were still subjected to something. Whether it be no running water, no electricity or a flooded basement.
“I genuinely forgot you had a basement.” Mike commented.
“It’s better left forgotten. It was already bad before. I'm pretty sure it won't recover from this”
“Have you ever heard of black mold?” Lucas asked Dustin, with the obvious intent to annoy him.
“Yeah— obviously I know about black mold!”
They went on bantering, circling away from any science related discussions. Mike might've enjoyed it more if he wasn't profusely sweating. An ache pounded behind his eyes going straight to his stomach, mixing with his hunger. It was bearable this morning. Now he couldn't stand it. So many people talking at once, so much stuff going on around, the egregiously bright lights. It was too much. He needed air. Now.
“Hold on, I'll be back” Mike said with a sigh as he got up, trying to look as normal as possible
“Where are you going?" Lucas asked, the party all looking at Mike.
“To the bathroom?” He didn't wait for any follow-ups because he knew he wouldn't have been able to mask his current condition. He went up to Mr Clarke for permission, then walked out, not looking back.
__
Instead of walking down the hall to the bathroom, he turned for stairs, and rushed down them. The motion made him too aware of the emptiness of his stomach, and the boulder rolling around in his brain. If he can’t breathe in some outside air within the next minute, he'll lose his mind.
After taking a few turns, the outside door was within sight. The sun rays shone through, and the sky was a vibrant light blue. The sight itself wasn't anything special, but right now, it seemed almost heaven-sent. He made his way up to it, his hand within reach of the handle, but before he could push it open,
“where are you going? Get back to your classroom, little man.” Mrs Lucy said, standing in the middle of the hallway, her arms with a stern expression. She really did appear out of nowhere, didn't she?
“Sorry, I wasn't leaving. I just needed some air. I'll go back to class in a sec" Mike justified politely, trying to make himself seem less guilty.
Even though he wasn't lying, she raised her brows, giving him a look, not believing him at all. She started to make her way up to him.
"Yeah, sure. I see people like you every day. They say that, but skedaddle away instead.”
“I swear I wasn't—"
Now inches away, with her arms crossed, she looked at him. Just as he thought he was done for, her squinting gaze softened.
"Lord almighty, you're whiter than a ghost! Are you well?” Before he could respond, she chimed in again. “You should go lie down at nurse Wendy's office. I'll take you there" She said, grabbing his wrist and dragging him along.
“Okay." he said, defeated. He was a push away from the outside. His head turned, looking back at the door. It seemed as if the sun shined even brighter. He could even hear the faint sounds of birds chirping. His face melted into a frown. At least he looked bad enough to avoid detention.
__
It wasn't as bad as he thought. The office wasn't where it usually was. It was smaller. Only two beds were able to fit in it. The 3 other beds that used to be there were probably being used in the gymnasium for the help center. The nurse bothered rolling open one of the windows before leaving. The cold breeze that flowed from it reached the bed he was sitting on perfectly. It gently caressed his skin, grounding him. He still didn't feel great, but at least he wasn't in that classroom anymore. It was quiet here. And just as he thought them, the party rushed the room, looking worried. Had the bell rung already?
“dude, what happened? Are you okay?" Dustin asked, searching with eyes for any sort of injury.
"Yea I'm good. Some teacher dragged me here because she thought I looked sick or something.” Mike reassured. He knew where this was going, and he wasn't excited at all.
“Wait, you're sick?" Dustin assumed, not that it was hard to figure out.
“Yeah, he's been sick for a while. I told you the other day." Lucas reminded him.
“I don't remember at all— but anyway, you should stay home tonight, man. You do look pretty bad now that I'm looking” he hadn't thought about it before, but that teacher dragging him to the nurse's office was definitely worse than getting detention. Of course they'd be worried now. His hand reached his neck, trying to soothe away his growing frustration.
“I'll be fine. You guys don't need to worry” Mike reassured. Will hadn't said anything yet. He just stared at him with the same eyes from yesterday that said ‘I see through you'. It made Mike's skin crawl, and added to the tension. He looked back at Dustin and Lucas, unable to face him.
“Dude there's a bunch of people who could cover for you. Like, robin, steve, even Erica— oh wait, Will could take your spot.” Lucas said, turning to Will. "You know how to work Dustin's stuff, right?”
"I mean, yeah. I made it with him.”
"Everything's figured out. Just take it easy. Go home dude—"
“Shut up Lucas, Jesus Christ!” Mike snapped.
“I'm okay! I don't need someone to cover for me. I'm still coming tonight. You guys are making such a big deal out of this." He retorted with a certain amount of venom. It came out of nowhere. hadn't meant to sound so mean, but he was just so tired.
“Jeez, okay." Lucas mumbled, taken aback. Dustin, Will, and Lucas exchanged glances. Mike looked off to the side, embarrassed.
“I'll see you guys later," he said, trying to get them to leave.
Getting the message, they said their goodbyes and left. Will trailed behind and looked at Mike one last time.
“I'll be at the squawk too. So if you need a break…" Will offered, hesitating for a second.
Mike nodded, looking away then back at him. “Okay… thanks."
The second Will left and closed the door, Mike shoved his hands in his face. They dragged up, his palm digging in his sockets and his fingers gripping his bangs. Why did he have to be such an asshole? He snapped at them for no good reason. They were just worried. They didn't need to be, but they still were, and Mike couldn't stand it for some reason. He didn't deserve his friends by a mile. It's not the first time he's come to that conclusion. The whole situation made him worsened his aches.
He laid down, the back of his hand on his eyes to block the light out. He definitely won't be moving from here for while. Maybe if he closed his eyes, sleep would take him away to Dreamland and he'd be able to forget about everything for a while. He knew that was unlikely.