Chapter Text
It started with the pitch-black sky.
It always did.
Mike’s eyes fluttered open and closed, adjusting to the familiar surroundings. His aching back pressed into the ground, like an invisible hand was shoving him into an unmarked grave. Spine crushed the dying grass beneath him, morphing with the dry yellow earth to take his place in the circle of life. Determined eyelids finally remained open, squinting to meet the hollow sky once more. A fog of shame painted his vision, blurring the space and making the world hazy.
But even without his sight, Mike knew where he was.
This was a place he saw a lot.
This was a place he walked a lot.
This was a place he thought about a lot.
A place that wormed its way into peaceful dreamscapes, hijacking gracious lavender meadow-frolics for gritty, real reminders of the things in life Mike wanted to forget. Parts of him he threw to the bottom of the well before cutting the rope back up. Memories that tore through his insides, rotting the space at the center of his heart from a young age.
All of his failures laid before him, like a fucked-up scrapbook strung together with his own ripped-out hair. Polaroid snapshots of moments that haunted him from his childhood, rendered in high-definition quality that didn’t exist in the material world. Glued down with thickened, clotted blood flowing from his own sliced wrists. Flaps of his own pale flesh pulled taut by the bands, binding the pages of misery together. An unholy collection of every single second of Mike Wheeler’s life he recalled to fill his own chest with regret.
Words scratched at his itching throat. They clawed up from his gullet, wheezing desperately, deprived of oxygen, once they reached the summit. English died when it met his tongue, mouth paralyzed and incapable of forming the words his body yearned to launch out.
When he tried again, an uneasy hoarse voice mumbled the first word that popped into his head.
“Will?”
There was no answer.
In the middle of the wilderness, Mike was alone.
A dense forest devoured the horizon, spanning for acres. In a place like this, there was no sunlight. Gargantuan pines towered over the frail boy, reaching endlessly into the voided sky. Bushy and plentiful nettles were devoid of color, sapped of their joy long ago. A plain grey filled their empty space, blending into the circling blackness. Thick trunks planted in the ground, roots stretching for miles under the cracked, unstable earth.
Smaller trees hunched beneath the greyscale pines. They were brittle and bare, surrounded by a pile of shriveled-up, dried grey leaves. Decay seeped from their frail twigs, dragging the branches toward the ground. An invisible weight pressed on the dying skeletal trees, ready to snap them in half at any moment. It lingered, squashing nature under its unforgiving and unrelenting hold until there was nothing left to do but break.
Four years ago, he waded through knee-high puddles and wet heaps of fallen leaves with nothing but a flashlight and an inkling. A deep-seeded fear and feeling that propelled him forward, dauntlessly searching the endless Hawkins wood for his forgotten best friend. The one the town claimed was long dead, rotting in a back alleyway later to be discovered as a John Doe some twenty years from now. Mike knew better than to listen to their incessant, judgmental whispers that assumed all there was to know about a little kid still figuring himself out.
Fear made Mike search the woods night after night. Tremors shook the beam of light from his flashlight the first few loops through the unforgiving pines. As his body grew accustomed to the perilous wood, his hands stopped shaking. They embraced the madness coursing through his body and forced his confident strides forward, further into the dark wilds calling his name. A faint ring of a voice he was starting to forget spoke in his head; one he was desperate to hear again before the sound faded too much.
When Dustin and Lucas were attached at his hip, cowering behind the fearless flashlight-armed boy, Mike found something. A bright yellow t-shirt swallowed a young boy. A boy that had buzzed hair, and was a little shorter than Mike.
Finally. He had finally found—
Mike hadn’t found his best friend. He found someone else.
In the massive rainstorm roaring overhead, as tears from the clouds drenched the three determined seekers, Mike found a means of survival. A lonely girl in the middle of the woods, with a glint in her eye that bred confusion and anxiety. A shimmer of something sparkling under the surface, that reminded him so much of the same spark he found within his beloved best friend.
Mike’s life changed in that moment.
She needed him at first, but he grew to need her more as the years progressed. A sense of purpose to protect someone when his best friend was absent. A way to find his best friend and bring him back to the waking world. A warm, secure place for Mike to hide every part of himself he resented for being and feeling broken.
He was a clock that chimed without moving its hands. The pieces functioned. They were in the right places. Use wore down the contraption, causing the hands to still at a set time for all eternity. Now and then, the gears would shift slightly and the clock would chime even though it wasn’t working properly. Even though it stopped working entirely. But that never stopped the random, bubbling hope in the clock to explode in a sudden moment of life, like it had kickstarted back to the state it was in years ago.
She was a place for Mike to hide. A place to run. Somewhere to retreat to so he could become the person his family needed him to be.
The person that wasn’t him. The person that could work in a world like this.
In her absence, he thrived. He was himself. He was Will’s Mike.
In her presence, he died. He was a shell. He was no one’s Mike.
For the last week, he relived this memory daily. Coffee kept the nightmares at bay, leaving him wide awake and restless most nights when the rest of the house slept. Even with mounds of caffeine pumping through his bloodstream, the thoughts still rapt at his skull. The endless sweep of the Hawkins wood in 1983 to find his best friend. The countless sleepless nights he wandered across town alone, hoping whatever stole his best friend away would rip him from the world next. No one knew about his secret death-wish missions; he kept them close to his chest, buried next to the feelings for his best friend he couldn’t quite understand.
Beneath Mike’s sweaty palms, the blades of grass sliced like thousands of knives. Sharp serrated edges poked and dug under his skin, infiltrating a weakening fleshy vessel. Any movement twisted the pointed edges deeper into the wound, and further into his deteriorating body. Fingers gripped the grass regardless, embracing the inevitable pain.
An overwhelming pang erupted behind his forehead, like a dormant volcano suddenly springing to life after being firmly locked in an endless slumber. It pounded against his skull and rattled his brain, desperate to peel back the skin and bones to burst free. It wanted to shred his flesh, tearing through pale skin to taste the bitter air he swallowed. The persistent pang throbbed, pulsating as if it had a heart and mind of its own.
With a wince and a groan, Mike lifted a trembling hand to his head. His palm pressed to his forehead, hoping to alleviate some of the pain with the hard pressure. Another groan launched from his closing throat when his efforts were in vain.
Mike took his time sitting up. He moved excruciatingly slow, afraid to jostle around his brain and further the damage to his skull. Hand still firm against his forehead, squinted eyes peered around the trees.
Raising his voice, he tried calling out again.
“Will!”
A bottomless echo reverberated between the trunks of lifeless trees. It rolled through the forest, well into the distance where it haunted Mike still. The faint ring of the singular word shook Mike’s head, clogging his ears with nothing but the failed reminder of why he was here.
Will’s name repeated on…
And on…
And on…
And on…
The sky was consumed by a wicked evil, black and empty. A blank void of nothingness. If Mike stared long enough, he’d assume he closed his eyes and fell asleep. It was dark, with no signs of life or light. Anything precious or colorful had been snuffed out by the uniform grey and blacks plastered across every square inch of the world around him. The remaining color was that of Mike’s dirtied, damp clothing from the material world.
A cold breeze swept through, jostling his jacket and curls. Crisp, pointed wind stabbed at his exposed pale flesh, warning him of impending doom. A foreboding message for the haunted boy in the middle of the vast wilderness, alone and unprepared. Strands of hair flew into his eyes, causing him to wince and squint, raising a shaky hand to brush them away. The hairs on the back of his neck jolted awake, standing upright under the collar of his jacket.
In the passing air, small sounds popped and crackled by him. Indistinct whispers mouthed vowel sounds in low tones that swirled around his aching head. When his head turned in their direction, they’d dart behind him to continue their undetected, indecipherable chanting. Voices beckoned him into the darkness with their eager tongues and talk. They were stalking in the shadowy veil, lying in wait for the teenager to succumb to the unholy forces of the darkness swallowing the vision.
Some of the only color came in the form of a pure white fog. It emerged in the distance, quickly rolling across the greyed hills and around Mike. A small figure treaded through the smoke, closing the distance between Mike and it with quick, confident strides. The silhouette was small, but absolutely sure of itself and its path forward.
When it got closer, Mike recognized him instantly.
The clenched jaw caging a well of agitation as he calculated and schemed foolproof plans to save the world. The fists that swung at his sides, primed for battle and prepared to lay his own life on the life for the people he loved. The furrowed brow that bled disappointment and frustration from the subject of his judgmental, unrelenting gaze.
A reflection from another time and life.
His black hair covered his head like a thick blanket, round and rotund in a bowl-cut shape. Bangs swooped into his face to hide his eyebrows. Slight curls bounced as he stomped forward. A grey-button up shirt had blue and yellow stripes running horizontal across his torso. The casualness hit like a crisp slap across the face. Beat-up, muddied trusted sneakers braved the cracked dying earth to pursue his target on the ground.
A mirror stood before Mike manifested as fear incarnate.
Above him, the fog cleared to show his own face staring down at him. Every detail was perfect to the moment, except for the eyes. His eyes were a dark, dark black. Empty. A void, just like the sky.
The sick and sinister specter taunted him. Hands flexed at his sides, debating if he wanted to wail Mike with bruising punches until he couldn’t breathe or let him escape with his life. A scowl so deadly it penetrated any ounce of bravery Mike was trying to front in the presence of his younger, more confident self.
Four words diced Mike’s resolve. They were spoken in a familiar high-pitched, annoyed whine that he remembered extremely well.
“You forgot your oath.”
All the air was expelled from Mike’s lungs with a single, worried word. “What?”
“Your oath,” he repeated, taking a loaded step toward Mike. “The one you swore to Will when you met.”
Mike remembered the day on the playground in kindergarten as clear as day. He remembered the anxiety bubbling in his chest when his little self-conscious footsteps padded up to Will, defeated and alone. Meeting Will was one of the greatest accomplishments of his life; of course he would remember it in extremely vivid detail.
On the swing set next to him, Mike remembered looking over at Will. Pride swelled in his chest, fluttering in a swarm of butterflies and glorious warm sunshine. The longer he smiled at his new friend, the more Mike realized how happy he was. How precious Will was. How amazing Will was. How Will was a simple stroke of luck in a cruel, unforgiving world.
Mike never wanted to let it go, no matter the cost. He needed to protect the pure, innocent light at the center of Will’s chest because he knew there was nothing like it in the world. Even on the darkest days Hawkins had to offer, there would always be one source of vibrant bright white light: Will Byers.
Mike swallowed the memories and his feelings.
“I didn’t swear an oath to him.”
“Friends don’t lie,” the retort was biting and venomous, aimed at the jugular.
Mike sputtered, frustrated. “I’m not—I’m not lying!”
“You swore an oath,” the younger version of himself repeated in a hollow refrain.
“I didn’t—I can’t—”
“You broke your oath, paladin,” the voice chided, taking another step forward. “Time to make good on your promise.”
The specter lifted one hand, twisting his wrist.
Vines split the earth, slithering up Mike’s arms and around his torso. They clamped down on his limbs, wrapping and coiling relentlessly to hold down the teenager. Slimy scales pressed against Mike’s clothes and skin, constricting the blood flow and robbing him of his lively color. Mike jerked his arms, struggling to get free, but his attempts were to no avail.
“You will be his loyal companion,” the voice boomed, darkening and lowering to a haunting bassy quality that sounded less like himself. “And his sworn protector.”
Shadows swept in from the hills. They weaved through the trees, darting through the wilderness to seek out Mike. The blackened sky seemed to get even darker, shrouded by the incoming onslaught of shadowy destruction. Clouds of black smoke rolled in and circled Mike. It spun in a swift whirlwind, blowing his hair out of place with the agile loop around his throbbing head. Mike tried breaking his arms free, but each agitated, panicked movement tightened the snake-like bonds around his arms.
When he was trapped with life slowly slipping from his palms, the spinning stopped.
Then, it invaded his body.
Shades of grey seeped into his palms. It slipped through his nostrils and settled in his lungs. Clouds of shadowy smoke encompassed his body, flooding into him at an overwhelming pace. Strangled, choked breaths pushed out of his chest, like he was trying to expel the foreign object from his lungs. Polluted air replaced any clear oxygen he took advantage of, breeding an incessant feedback loop of negative proportions.
“Let the anger consume you, Michael,” his younger self tilted his head, smirking. “Wouldn’t it be nice to release your rage in the name of Him?”
Mike was frozen, forced to endure as the shadows entered him. Wide-eyes bulged, begging for mercy he couldn’t vocalize. Any words dissipated in the trek up his esophagus, muddled by the shadows lunging into his stomach. A single tear slipped down his face, dying somewhere at the base of his chin.
“Your one true God who you cannot defy,” a low growl thundered around Mike, slicing through his head like a cleaver. “The one who now owns your soul.”
Choked gurgles clogged Mike’s throat, desperate to cry for help. An attempt to scream into the vast nothingness, hoping there was something that could answer back. Faint calls of his own name rung in his ears, taunting him of the world he knew. He couldn’t chase them; not when his limbs felt so heavy. Not when his eyelids were closing.
The voice was clearer. His eyes fluttered open and closed.
A voice Mike unmistakably recognized as Will’s yelled in his ears.
“MIKE!”
Mike’s eyes shot open.
Consuming his vision was the concerned face of his best friend. Tears streamed down Will’s face, stained with dirt and blood. A faint trace of red ghosted the space between his upper lip and nose. Perfect hazels shined in the orange glow of the flames, imbuing love and affection into Mike as if he was feeling it for the first time. There was a warmth that spread across every part of Mike’s body as he allowed himself to take in his best friend in all his beautiful glory.
Knelt before him, Will held Mike in his arms like a precious, prized possession. Will’s hand cradled the nape of his neck, holding his head upright and above the ground. His other arm firmly wrapped around Mike’s abdomen, cushioning his back.
Flames roared behind the two boys. Flecks of golden light sparked in Mike’s peripherals, illuminating the curves and dips of Will’s face. The moles that Mike wanted to trace with his finger tips as he swiped across Will’s delicate, fragile skin. Will’s head was backlit by the incendiary destruction screaming behind him, creating a halo of flickering cinder rage.
This wasn’t his best friend. This was an angel. An ethereal being that humbly graced Mike with his presence to calm his aching head with raw power and beauty. This was the God Mike pictured when his parents took him to church.
“Will,” Mike breathed, feeling every muscle in his body relax at the sudden glimpse of his best friend’s stunningly beautiful face.
“You’re okay, Mike,” Will smiled, tears stinging his eyes.
“You’re—You’re a sorcerer,” Mike couldn’t help the grin that slipped onto his face, taking in the majestic glint in his best friend’s mystifying irises.
“Yeah,” Will wetly chuckled, nodding. “I am.”
“You saved my life,” Mike whispered in an overwhelming reverence washing over him.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
Mike’s eyes drifted down to Will’s lips. Against his perfect features, there was a small cut. It was featherweight; a thin slice like paper swiped against his lips. Fresh blood trickled down, trailing to his chin. If the two halves of his perfectly shaped pink lips pressed together, it was barely noticeable. A ghost of a wound set to heal within a day’s time.
Without any ounce of thought, Mike’s hand moved on its own accord. His hand cupped Will’s cheek, thumb swiping against the cut. Will flinched under Mike’s touch, caught off guard by the sudden gesture.
Mike’s eyes wouldn’t leave the cut, voice innocently softening as he kept staring. “Who hurt you?”
His thumb continued to swipe across the cut, gathering the slow stream of blood on the pad of his thumb. He pushed it away, restoring and molding Will’s lips back to their former beguiling glory. Smooth pink skin glowed in the raging light of the fire still burning around them. Mike’s thumb traced the peak of his lip, pressing into the skin to explore every part of Will he never had the courage to admire.
“Oh—um—I fell—” Will stumbled over his words, face tinting red. “I have a few scrapes, but I’m—I’m okay.”
Upon hearing those words, Mike’s eyes flitted back up to Will’s peaceful hazels. “Are you sure?”
“I’d be more worried about you,” Will’s nerves bubbled up and out of him in a panicked chuckle. “You fell and hit your head pretty hard after I took out the Demos.”
“You’re more important than me,” Mike mumbled, hand still latched onto Will’s cheek.
Will flushed crimson.
Joyce bounded over from the old Radio Shack building, weight placed heavy on her left leg. She limped, biting her lip to bite back the pained cries desperate to leave her. Will tore his gaze away from Mike to focus on his injured mother, hands twitching against Mike in hesitation.
A small, quiet whine slipped from Mike’s mouth at the loss of eye contact. The absence of Will’s attention in a moment where Mike found it so grounding. Stabilizing after he woke from a horrific nightmare he’d been haunted by for the last week.
When his eyes opened, there was a pull. A magnet that Mike was drawn to.
A leash wrapped around Mike’s neck, yanking his head in the direction of the magnificent beauty that was Will Byers. For all he knew, Will’s delicate fingers wrapped around the looped end, pulled taut to keep Mike close and on all fours. Even if his best friend had Mike eating out of his hand, he wouldn’t have it any other way.
He needed to look at Will. He needed Will to look at him.
Every waking moment when Will’s eyes weren’t devoted to Mike was agony. He needed Will’s attention. He craved it, like an eager puppy bouncing around for approval of its owner. Tail wagging, desperate to squeak a high-pitched bark to draw the gaze of his beloved owner for a mere second to bask in the heavenly image of their cozy aura. The soothing comfort of their presence among the destructive world he was still figuring out.
“We can get back through the tunnels,” Joyce jabbed a thumb over her shoulder, aiming back at the smashed-in Radio Shack door with a broken hinge.
Overhead, a helicopter whirred. Blades chugged through the thick layer of smoke, inching closer to the three amongst the fiery field of fatalities. Blinding spotlights trailed across the flaming remnants of the MAC-Z, searching for bodies and answers.
Will nodded, head turning back to Mike. “Can you stand?”
Pupils blew to the size of the moon in Mike’s eyes, sparkling at the sight of Will staring at him. Time was sluggish as Mike watched the mystifying turn of Will’s head to his at an achingly, excruciatingly slow speed. The world could end at this moment, for all Mike cared. When Will wasn’t staring at him, it did end. Even for a second when Will’s eyes were on him, it was enough to bring a goofy smile to his face.
Mike nodded, eyes stuck on the hypnotic lure of Will Byers. Careful hands placed Mike on the ground, releasing their tight grasp on his clothing. Mike wasted no time springing to his feet, long before Will was able to stand up himself.
Joyce spun on her heels, hobbling back to the cracked-open door to the abandoned storefront. Her pace was slow and calculated, carefully taking her steps to not hurt her leg and hip further. Will rushed to his mom’s side, throwing one of her arms over his shoulders. He ducked, adjusting to the weight of her against his side, before propelling forward.
Mike sprinted to Will’s side. A useless, lost hand reached for Will’s left hand, dangling by his side. Wandering fingers slipped between Will’s, clamping down against the back of his hand. Will didn’t think much of Mike’s sudden movement, choosing to tighten the hold between the best friends. He squeezed Mike’s hand, then picked up his pace. Mike matched his speed, right by his side.
The three escapees weaved through the destruction surrounding them. Starving flames scorched what remained of downtown Hawkins swallowed by a doomed military operation. Stilled bodies littered the ground, guts painting a single-shaded mural of mortality on the asphalt. Seared flesh cooked in the fire, charring as it pressed to the heated pavement.
Sneakers crunched rogue glass shards as they slipped through the broken Radio Shack door. They avoided spilled cassettes littered across the floor and tangled headphone cables knotted like vines. Rounding one of the back shelves, Will released his mom and Mike to bend down and pry open the hatch. With a grunt, he opened the small door and stared down at the descending ladder.
Joyce went first. Will grasped his mom’s shaky hand, helping her hoist over the small lip and onto the top rung of the ladder. Scraped and bruised trembling hands pawed at the sides of the ladder, helping her ease down into the tunnels.
Silently, Will turned to hold his hand out for Mike.
“You first,” Mike flicked his head at the ladder. “I’ll follow.”
Will’s hand faltered, slowly lowering as disapproval wrapped around the call of his best friend’s name. “Mike—”
“I’ll be fine,” Mike flashed an earnest smile. “You matter more.”
Will gave a small nod, turning back to the hatch. His sneakers squeaked against the cracked tile, sliding closer to the edge. He stepped over the lip of the closure, planting his feet on the top rung of the ladder. Hands slipped against the cool metal rounded siding as he took turns lowering one foot after the other. When his foot dangled off the bottom rung, he hopped off.
Mike wasted no time.
He crouched down, slipping his legs through the opening. He ignored the ladder, opting for a quick plummet to the dirt ground. On his way by, a swift hand grasped the hatch, slamming it shut with the passing force. The loud sound slapped Will and his mom in the face, startling them with its crisp abruptness. Mike’s jacket brushed the shunned metal ladder as he glided through the air. Feet planted in the hardened dirt as bent knees caught his weight.
Mike straightened, a goofy smile plastered across his face the moment Will’s eyes caught his. He had jumped down and sprung up like an invincible child, ready to run head first into danger and walk off a broken leg. A huff of air pushed out of his lungs, like it was forced to or he wouldn’t look human enough. Shoulders relaxed under the weight of Will’s gaze. Pupils dilated when they locked onto Mike’s one true North Star.
Will’s head snapped to look at his mom.
She offered an honest and confused shrug, shoulders touching her earlobes.
Will stepped toward her, slinging her arm around the back of his neck once more. She shifted her weight partially onto him, leaning into her son for support. He treaded lightly, taking his time with the footsteps forward to make sure his mom could keep up and not hurt herself further.
It didn’t take long for Mike to dart over to Will’s side. Quiet whines slipped from Mike’s parted lips, begging for the contact he demanded from Will. Mike pawed at his free hand, fingers slipping against Will’s palm. They slotted between Will’s, clasping their hands in another intimate, reassuring bond. The distance between their bodies closed, while Mike’s disorganized, eager footsteps nearly stomped right on top of Will’s slower, calculated ones.
A stinging crept into Mike’s mouth. Teeth felt like sandpaper against his gums; rough, rigid, and rubbing in the wrong places. Sensitivity dialed up tenfold, making each chatter or bite feel like a thousand painful needles were shooting through his mouth. He could feel every piece of food ever lodged between his gums and molars. He shifted his jaw, hoping to alleviate some of the discomfort.
When it didn’t work, his free hand moved on its own.
It raised to his mouth. The sleeve of his jacket slipped between his parted lips, cushioning the ache of his teeth. Teeth worked at the edge of the fabric, rotating it between his teeth. He gnawed on it, feeling the pillowy sensation swipe against his burning teeth. It rubbed back and forth, wet and slicked with saliva. The fabric dampened, darkening a few shades under the weight of the spit.
In the distance, pained gasps sliced through the echoey quiet of the underground tunnels. Groans of discomfort tore through the air, followed by the careful shift of dirt and limbs. A potent metallic smell smacked Mike in the face, getting stronger the further into the tunnels they wandered. Soft spurts filled his ears, like the sound of water trickling downstream or blood flooding from a wound.
As Mike furrowed his brows and listened closer, he recognized the person making the sounds.
Cotton stilling in his mouth, Mike blurted out his findings. “Lucas is around the corner.”
Joyce glanced over her shoulder back at Mike, raising an eyebrow.
Will turned to look over his left shoulder. “How do you know?”
“He’s pretty loud,” Mike’s face scrunched up when he heard another pained groan. “You can’t hear him?”
Will turned to look at his mom, then back at Mike.
Absentmindedly, Mike began chewing his sleeve again. The fabric slid along his rows of teeth. Back and forth. Back and forth. It was grounding, in a way. The same way it was grounding to feel Will’s hand in his own, fingers pressing into skin. He needed Will’s touch and presence to calm his nerves. It was a nagging desire at the center of his chest, powering his entire body and mind. A desperate, clawing need to have his hands somehow attached to his best friend at all times.
It was relaxing. It was soothing. It made Mike practically melt in place, floating miles above the ground. Like the same feeling he got when Will’s eyes were on him. It made him so happy, and eager, and thrilled, like he could run a marathon or climb up a mountain. He’d do anything for Will if Will kept looking at him like that.
When they slowly rounded the corner, they saw Lucas.
Back pressed into the dirt wall, Lucas sucked in sharp gasps of air. His head titled, eyes squinting to look at the approaching figures in the distance. Hands were limp against the ground, struggling to curl fingers inward and move even slightly. His backpack was off to the side, just out of reach of his weak grasp. Dirt muddied his clothes, mixing with the blood pouring from the gash across his chest. Fabric was ripped along his abdomen, yanked from its place by the unrelenting claw of a Demogorgon.
A deep gash sliced through his chest. It spanned from one side of his torso to the other, blood gushing freely from the opened wound. It trickled down the sides of his abdomen, staining parts of his shirt.
Will’s eyes widened. “Lucas!”
He gently removed his mom’s arm from his shoulders, giving her a few moments to prop against the tunnel wall. Her hands were splayed out, gripping the hardened dirt siding to hold herself upright. Then, he dropped Mike’s hand to sprint to Lucas’s side.
Will dropped to his knees in front of his friend. Mike was glued to his side, copying the motion. Their legs bumped, denim rubbing together with the limited space between. Shoulders brushed, fabric swiping against each other. The two teenagers were practically sitting on top of one another, eliminating every ounce of space possible.
“The kids…” Lucas winced, trying to sit up more but thudding back against the wall in pain. “He got the kids. I tried—I tried my best to stop him, but—”
“It’s okay,” Will’s hand pressed against his shoulder, easing him back into the dirt wall. “We’ll get them back.”
“First aid…there,” Lucas’s head weakly flicked to the blue bag nearby.
Will turned, leaning forward to snatch the bag and pull it closer. Hurried, panicked hands gripped the zipper and tore the bag open, digging for the small white metal box with a cross on it. It slammed against the dirt, the metal clattering against itself. Will ripped it open and dug out roll-on bandages and a packet of disinfectant wipes.
The package tore open. Will threaded the damp cloth between his fingers, leaning down to brush it across Lucas’s abdomen. He winced, sucking in a sharp breath he held for good measure. Will’s swipes were quick and delicate, striving to make it as painless as possible. Blood collected on the wipe, cleaning up crusted-over remnants and faint red stains. Will threw it down to unravel the roll of bandages, motioning for Lucas to sit up and lean away from the wall.
“I tried to get it to go away,” Lucas lifted his arms so Will could wrap the bandage around him, swapping the roll between his hands with each rotation. “It wouldn’t back down. It just—”
“I know, you did your best,” Will hummed, offering a small smile. “Nice swing, by the way.”
Lucas’s eyebrows raised. “You saw that?”
Will blushed, nodding.
“The Demo…” Lucas’s eyes widened, a sudden realization slamming into him. “That was you?”
Will giggled, continuing to wrap the bandages around Lucas. “Yeah, that was me.”
Mike’s eyes darted between them with each passing comment. A needy, lost hand pawed at Will’s arm. Demanding fingers tapped against Will’s clothed bent elbow. Desperate whines slipped from Mike’s lips, high-pitched and disappointed. Mike needed Will to acknowledge him instead of Lucas. He shouldn’t be giving Lucas all of his attention, even if Lucas was injured. Mike wanted that. Mike wanted the attention.
When Will didn’t turn to face him, Mike tried again. Lost fingers pressed into the fabric depriving him of Will’s warm skin. Finger pads twisted, digging into the surface in the hopes of drawing Will’s attention away from Lucas. Another barrage of drawn-out, shrill whines and whimpers stabbed into Will’s ears. Dilated pupils marveled at the side of Will’s face, longing for a split second of hazel perfection.
To quiet his whimpers, Mike raised his sleeve to his mouth. The wet fabric threaded through Mike’s teeth, soothing the burning in his jaw. Clumped damp cotton padded his teeth with every relentless gnaw and chew. His fingers kept drumming against the fabric of Will’s long sleeve, hoping that eventually he’d earn the attention he desired.
Although Will should be bothered, he wasn’t. His hands kept wrapping the bandages around Lucas’s torso. It was hard to tell if he even noticed.
Lucas definitely noticed. A raised eyebrow stared at Mike.
Mike didn’t notice. Mike was busy.
Widened eyes were mystified by Will’s side profile. Wandering eyes traced the lines of Will’s perfect face. The arch in his concentrated brow. The sculpt of his cheekbones. The faint pink flush from the compliments thrown his way. A small sliver of a glimpse of the hazel eyes that were capable of making Mike forget the world around him.
Mike needed Will to look at him. He needed the attention like he needed oxygen. As far as he was concerned, the attention was his oxygen. Mike couldn’t breathe without knowing Will’s eyes were locked onto him. He needed Will’s touch and gaze. He needed it. It was essential. It was a must. He needed to have it.
“There,” Will leaned down to slot the bandage between his teeth, tearing through the sticky fabric. “That should do it.”
He picked up the bloodied wipe and tossed it back into the metal tin. The roll of bandages clunked against the thin metal afterward. Will grabbed the torn end of the bandage, pressing the sticky end flush to the other white wrapped coil. His hand reached over and slammed the tin shut, shoving it back into Lucas’s backpack. He zipped it shut.
“Thanks,” Lucas exhaled, sounding a bit better. “Could you help me up?”
Will nodded, gripping Lucas’s backpack. He slung his arms through the straps, deciding to take the weight off of Lucas’s injured back. It slumped against Will’s back once the straps slid over his shoulders.
Bending down, Will held out a hand for Lucas. A strong grip clasped his palm, allowing Will to hoist Lucas onto his feet with a grunt.
Mike hopped up on his own, eyes trained on the exchange.
Hands slid together with ease, held in a titanium grip. A sweet smile slipped onto Will’s face, flashing sunshine into Lucas’s eyeline. Even in pain, Lucas tried his best to match Will’s beautiful smile with one of his own. Proud eyes searched Will, wondering when he got so brave and bold.
Lucas had Will’s attention. But Will’s attention was Mike’s. Mike wanted Will’s attention. Mike had a right to it. It was his.
Mike wanted to hold Will’s hand. Right now. He wanted to grab it and keep it in his palm forever. It was so warm and cozy. It made Mike feel all bubbly and gooey on the inside. It was grounding. It was safe. He loved holding Will’s hand. Why was Lucas holding Will’s hand?
Instincts forced Mike to surge forward, wrapping his hand around Will’s free arm. Fingers coiled around Will’s bicep, feeling it flex in anticipation. The force jostled Will in place, though he didn’t seem to mind. Mike’s sleeve still tossed among his teeth, wet and clamped down by a thousand-pound force.
Lucas dropped his hand, releasing Will. His eyes scanned Mike, then Will, then Mike again. He opened his mouth, about to say something, then closed it. He shook his head, taking a few careful steps down the tunnel.
“Let’s get out of here,” Lucas’s voice was tense, though his eyes never left Mike and Will.
A red blinking light at the top of the radio tower served as a beacon in the night for the four travelers barely scraping by with their lives. It was a bastion for the hunted, giving a signal for protection and safety under the observant stars. The tower loomed over the radio station, stretching into the pitch-black star-filled dome above.
Flames from the MAC-Z continued to burn into the night. Smoke lifted into the atmosphere, polluting the horizon line in the distance. Beyond the trees, faint orange flecks barked at the moon, ever burning in the chaos that unfolded at the military compound. It was a stark contrast to the dark sky looming over Hawkins. Several helicopters chugged overhead, circling the area with sweeping spotlights to comb for survivors.
Beneath the blinking stars, the four escapees trudged toward the station.
Lucas led the charge. One hand clutched his abdomen, taking his steps carefully. Bandages would shift and rub against the wound with sudden movements, causing some discomfort. Each moment of unwanted contact sent a pulse of pain through Lucas’s body. He’d wince, clenching his teeth to suck in a sharp breath. Despite the pain, he pushed on.
Will’s arm wound around his mom’s lower back. Her arm slung around his shoulders, offsetting some of her weight onto Will. She leaned into him, putting as little pressure as possible on her injured leg. They moved at a slow pace, but not sluggish enough to weigh the others down.
Mike’s hand hadn’t left Will’s arm. His fingers looped around it, drumming incessantly against the fabric. Mike’s other hand lifted so he could chew on his sleeve, grinding the fabric with his teeth. The back-and-forth movement seemed to help the pain in his jaw, but he could still feel a faint sting. As he moved it around, the sting would weaken. The moment he stopped, however, all the pain slammed into him.
In the space around him, Mike could hear a lot.
The deafening whir of helicopter blades spun in the distance, chugging relentlessly to feed a search ending in unmarked mass graves. The faint crackle of frequencies and garbled voices over walkies and radios. Muffled chatter about looking for survivors, and rushing some of the soldiers to the infirmary. An order from one soldier to find a certain boy that escaped, whatever that might mean.
When they entered the station through the double doors, they slowly turned the corner.
Murray confiscated a lounge chair off to the side of the main area. His posture was slouched, legs crossed over one another. Exhaustion caught up with him, trying to slam his eyelids shut.
Robin was leaning forward, taking up space on one of the sofas. Back hunched, she leaned forward. Elbows dug into her thighs as one hand lifted so she could chip off parts of her nail with her teeth. Her eyes glued to the floor, studying the checkerboard-patterned tile.
Erica paced back-and-forth, looping around the area. Her hands were clasped behind her back. Slow, calculated steps pressed into the ground heel-to-toe. Her head tipped down, focused on the way her sneakers clapped against the tile.
They all straightened, eyes snapping to the sudden slam of the closed door. When two estranged groups met face-to-face, there was nothing to do but celebrate.
Robin leapt to her feet, a relieved smile exploding across her face. “Byers!”
Will snuck out of Mike’s hold and eased away from his mom. He smiled wide, meeting Robin halfway across the room. Her arm curled around his shoulders, tugging the teenager closer to her chest. They smiled and giggled, enjoying each other’s presence.
Mike didn’t like that.
Mike crossed the room, taking his rightful place next to Will. Their shoulders brushed, despite Will being locked in Robin’s warm embrace. Robin leaned back, raising an eyebrow at Mike. A watchful eye catalogued Mike’s every move, from his needy taps against Will’s arm to the constant brush of shoulders he’d illicit for attention. Despite her stare burning holes through him, Mike was still glued to Will’s side.
Robin guided Will to the sofa, plopping down with him. They sunk into the cushions, smiles and laughter ringing in the space between. Mike dropped down next to Will, legs brushing as he shifted on the cushions. When Robin’s judgmental eyes found him once more, Mike lifted his sleeve to chew.
“So,” Murray grinned, eyes bouncing between everyone before settling on Mike and Will. “Did we all dance our pants off with some evil dogs with a taste for human flesh and live to tell the tale?”
“Yep,” Lucas enunciated the p with a pointed pop, rolling his shoulders to stretch.
“I wasn’t with you for two seconds and look what happened,” Erica lifted a hand to jab in her brother’s direction, frustration shouting in her words.
Lucas gritted his teeth, hissing at his little sister. “You shouldn’t even be here!”
“Erica goes where Erica wants to go!”
“There are literal monsters in the streets—”
“Let’s sit down and regroup,” Joyce suggested to quell the siblings’ constant bickering, limping over to one of the other sofas. “We’ve all been through hell. We deserve some time to breathe.”
Lucas shot his sister a side-eye that screamed frustration. Squinted, aggravated eyes never left his sister as they both rounded the sofa, sitting on either side of Joyce. The three of them looked across at the other sofa with Robin, Will, and Mike.
There was a silence blanketing the air.
It provided some comfort. An ounce of peace in the middle of an active war on reality. The only sound to fill the quiet void was the chorus of breaths exchanged between the exhausted fighters. Each person had their own way of gathering the air for their lungs.
Lucas wheezed, straining with each inhale.
Erica drew in large, lengthy breaths then expelled them with a loud, dramatic sigh.
Murray huffed in big bouts of air like the greedy bastard he was.
Joyce took sharp, short breaths that quickly fled after gracing her organs.
Robin inhaled sporadic, anxious breaths that tried to calm her fiery nerves.
Mike and Will breathed perfectly in sync, chests rising and falling at the same time.
Will’s voice broke through the silence, a little hoarse from the sudden rest. “Do we know where the kids are?”
The room frowned. Heads hung in shame. Defeat seeped into their bones, weighing their bodies down to the ground. Postured sagged.
No. They had no clue.
Lucas looked to Will. “Can you see them?”
Will shook his head, voice small. “No, I can’t.”
“Maybe they escaped somehow,” Robin shrugged, arms flailing to spur on her panicked ramblings. “I mean—I mean, I saw one of those monsters fly through the air and get snapped in half! Who knows if there’s something or someone out there doing that to the ones that took the kids! Maybe they’ll—”
“That was Will,” Lucas cut her off, pointing at his friend. “Will did that.”
Robin’s eyes widened, spinning to look at the teenager next to her. “You did that!?”
“Yeah. I did,” Will nodded, red embarrassment blossoming across his cheeks.
“Holy shit,” she breathed, completely and utterly amazed. “Does that mean you’re a real-life wizard or something!?”
“Sorcerer,” Mike mumbled into his sleeve.
Everyone stared at Mike.
He perked up, noticing all the eyes in the room searching his soul. His eyes magnetized to the hypnotic pull of Will’s irises. That was the only set of eyes that mattered in the moment. The breath was knocked from his lungs, stuttering in his throat. Pupils dilated at the sight of Will Byers’s heavenly glow gracing his mere mortal presence. Mike lowered the sleeve from his mouth slowly, eyes never faltering from their tightened hold on Will.
“He’s—He’s a sorcerer because his powers are innate,” Mike tripped over his words, suddenly feeling like his tongue was out of place in his mouth. “Wizards learn spells for their magic. Sorcerers are magical.”
Robin elbowed Will, smirking. “You hear that, Byers? You’re magical.”
“Of course he’s magical,” Mike frowned, a little frustrated. “I thought he was magical ten years ago, way before he had superpowers!”
The words granted Mike some relief when they left his mouth. Any lie he could’ve said died on his tongue, paling in comparison to the sweet taste of the truth. It was intoxicating, the way the sugary words flowed through him and out his open mouth. He’d keep spewing his deep-held secrets as long as it kept Will’s eyes on him. He needed to keep Will’s eyes sparkling in the low light of the Squawk, aimed right at Mike. He needed to. He needed to.
Six sets of eyes were glued to Mike. Each had a different reaction to the words freely tumbling from Mike’s parted lips.
Will’s eyes widened, his blush darkening under Mike’s intense gaze and words. A small gasp left his blood-stained lips as the words Mike uttered fully sunk in. The flecks of golden sunshine swimming in Will’s eyes brightened, pulling Mike further in. Mike wanted nothing more than to be trapped in there with the sunlight, paddling through the calming ocean of Will Byers and his pulchritudinous perfection.
Murray raised his eyebrows, grinning devilishly. Schemes cycled through his mind as his eyes bounced between Mike and Will. His grin only widened as the silence stretched on, with neither of the boys breaking their intense eye contact.
Robin smiled to herself, trying to hold it back but failing miserably. She couldn’t contain her excitement, letting it consume her as she snuck glances over at Will. A sure optimism rung in her mind. Her heart fluttered at the exchange, finding it adorable.
Lucas and Erica shared the same exact reaction. It started with their eyebrows practically jumping off their faces. They retreated into their hairlines, making room for widened eyes to dominate their facial real estate. Their eyeline hopped back-and-forth between Mike and Will, eagerly waiting for one of them to say something, anything.
Joyce’s eyes were wide. Her lips parted in a soft gasp as she looked over at her son’s reaction to Mike’s words. There was a sense of pride swirling in her heart, unable to be snuffed out by any force in the universe. She let an easy smile slide onto her face, relaxing her shoulders.
Hands clasped in front of her, clapping to break the silence.
“So…uh…” Joyce cleared her throat, eyes remaining locked onto Will. “Does anyone have any ideas?”
“We need El,” Erica nodded, gesturing to Will. “If we had two sorcerers, then this would be over. Easy-peasy.”
“We can try to use the radio,” Robin offered, leaning forward with wildly gesturing hands. “Like—Like how we contact Hopper during the crawls. We could see if we can get a signal and reach them in the Upside Down.”
“But we don’t know where they are,” Lucas sighed, hand dragging down his face.
As the voices faded around him, Mike lifted his sleeve to his mouth once more.
Back and forth. Back and forth.
Turning to his right, Mike let a small gasp slide out of him. Small black pupils blew wide, consuming most of his eye. They took in Will’s ethereal glow and grace, marveling at the precious angel just within reach. Lips part and shift, smacking as Will talked to the others around them. Strands of his gorgeous brown hair bounced with each movement as he fidgeted under their weighted stares. Everything Mike could see was so mesmerizing, drawing him in closer like a moth to a blazing, burning flame.
Then, Mike was overwhelmed with the things he couldn’t see.
He could hear Will’s heartbeat caged in his chest. It started as a slow, steady thump. An anchor for Mike to latch onto to ground himself in a world he was still exploring. A world he still needed to understand and register properly. His own heart was beating at the same rhythm, like it regulated upon hearing Will’s to calm himself down. It eased his nerves, allowing him to follow the lead of his person setting the pace.
Then, it sped up.
What was an even-paced beat became a raucous drum, severely pounding to spur Mike on. The thunderous sound grew louder, causing Mike’s heartbeat to do the same. He could feel the organ in his chest pulsating, panicked and petrified. It slammed against his ribcage, demanding to be let out of its locked cell. The sound muddled the world around Mike, sending him off-kilter.
Mike swallowed, forcing the spit vibrating in his mouth down to the pits of his stomach. He bit down hard on his sleeve, almost tearing through his own finger. The fabric clamped between his molars, held in place by a debilitating anxiety washing over him. All he could hear was the sound of Will’s frightened, quick-paced heartbeat. The fear that rocketed through him, traveling to every organ in his body.
A faint, familiar scent wafted over to Mike. He breathed deep, letting the smell consume his body. It reminded him of a spring meadow, and the basement at his own house. It smelled like cool lavender swaying in the soft breeze. It smelled like old pizza boxes and musty throw blankets. With each inhale, the cacophonous heartbeat faded into obscurity. Smelling his own home on Will was oddly comforting. It told Mike that Will was here to stay, bathed in every inch of his basement and wearing it like a badge of honor. In the end, Mike was the one who had his full attention. He was Mike’s and Mike’s alone.
Mike could hear muffled voices blabbing around him, but couldn’t decipher a word they were saying. All that mattered was that Will had now turned to look at him, staring right into his eyes. Mike’s pupils blew wide once more, absorbing every ounce of Will he could greedily take.
Will’s gentle voice sliced through the haze. “Mike?”
“Huh?”
“Robin asked if you had any ideas,” Will repeated, furrowing his brow. “You always come up with the best plans.”
When Will looked at him, Mike stared back. The lights of the room gathered around Will’s head, crowning him with a lovely yellowish halo shimmering in the blinking lights of the radio station control panels. Will was an angel. A heavenly body that descended upon mere mortals. Though he couldn’t help it, a small smile tugged at Mike’s lips.
Then, he remembered Will asked him a question.
Mike’s relentless chewing of his sleeve abruptly stopped. He froze. He snapped back to life, eyes darting between the other five people studying his every move. The damp sleeve retreated to his lap, far away from his mouth.
“Oh—uh—no, no, I have nothing,” Mike shook his head, struggling to form a coherent sentence more than a couple words long. “Do you?”
Will tilted his head, analyzing Mike the longer he stared back. Mike didn’t have the comfort of gnawing on his sleeve anymore, so he fidgeted in place. The wet fabric rubbed back-and-forth between his finger tips, wishing it was still safely secure between his teeth. Downcast eyes avoided Will’s gaze, like he was caught doing something wrong. His posture sagged, drifting closer to the ground. A small frown slipped onto Mike’s face.
Will glanced over his shoulder at Robin, mumbling something about ‘only being a minute,’ and ‘needing to check his head; he hit it pretty hard.’ Robin nodded, giving Will’s shoulder a small squeeze.
“Let’s…um…” Will cleared his throat, looking around at everyone. “Maybe we can take some time. Get some food. I don’t think most of us have eaten all day.”
Silent hums and murmurs of approval floated across the space. Lucas and Erica bolted upright, racing to the kitchen for first dibs on the snacks they wanted. Murray stood and bent his back, trying to crack it. Joyce and Robin kept their eyes locked onto Will, and his slow turn to Mike.
“Hey, Mike,” Will leaned into Mike’s space, lowering his voice to a whisper. “How about I clean up that cut on your head?”
Mike perked up, eyes looking into Will’s. He nodded profusely, a small smile devouring his face.
“Okay,” Will chuckled, slowly standing up.
As he started to reach out a hand to help his best friend up, Mike already sprung to his feet. His eager hand grasped Will’s, fingers slotting together. An excited yank pulled Will away from the sofa and toward the upstairs bathroom. He squeaked at Mike’s sudden strong movement.
“Hey,” Will gave a small tug to Mike’s arm, causing his best friend to turn around. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Mike squeezed Will’s hand, stepping closer. “My head just hurts.”
“Let me look at it,” Will’s voice was the pillow Mike needed. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
“I am okay,” Mike frowned. “I’m fine. You don’t need to—”
“That wasn’t a question,” Will glared at him.
An exasperated, frustrated yank dragged Mike into the bathroom.
It wasn’t a large space; more like a glorified closet that morphed into a bathroom so the building would be up to code. Only a couple feet wide, it barely had enough room to house the essentials and a wire rack of towels and toiletries. One step from the door and they were already crowded at the sink basin.
Will shut the door, keeping his hold on Mike’s hand. He leaned over, swiping a small washcloth from the rack to the sink’s left. Curious eyes turned back around to see Mike smiling.
Glorious laughter bubbled from Will. “Why are you so happy?”
“Because I’m with you,” the words flowed through Mike naturally, like he was always meant to say them across a short distance.
Blush shot across Will’s cheeks, causing him to quickly turn away.
Mike whimpered at the loss of attention, smile fading. His posture sagged in the absence of Will’s heavenly eyes.
More of his addicting laughter rung in the air. “I have to wet the towel—”
“Can you still look at me while you do?”
Will chuckled, turning slightly to face Mike as he turned on the faucet. “Why?”
“I like looking into your eyes,” Mike shrugged, stepping closer with a small smile. “It calms me down.”
The crescendo of Will’s laughter distracted Mike from the darkening blush on his face. “Come here.”
Mike immediately leaned forward into Will’s space. His fingers curled into the back of Will’s hand, giving it a small squeeze. Will raised the damp cloth to dab at Mike’s forehead, where there was a small trickle of hardened blood. Mike’s other hand raised the sleeve to his mouth, like a bad habit he couldn’t quite break.
“You keep doing that,” Will hummed, slowly swiping the damp fabric against Mike’s skin.
Mike grumbled between mouthfuls of his clothes. “Doing what?”
“Chewing on your sleeve,” Will pressed the cloth into Mike’s skin, trying to scrub away the red crust layered on his paled skin.
“It hurts if I don’t.”
Will frowned, leaning back to look into Mike’s eyes. “What hurts?”
“My teeth,” Mike shrugged.
“Your teeth?”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “They just feel…wrong.”
Will raised an eyebrow. “Wrong how?”
“I don’t know,” Mike shrugged again, voice ashamed and frail. “Wrong.”
As the damp cloth resumed its determined brush against Mike’s head, Will’s knuckles grazed Mike’s cheek. It was brief and barely noticeable. A light touch any normal person would barely register. Mike, however, felt it with his whole being. A low, relaxed hum vibrated from deep within his chest, causing him to lean further into Will’s accidental touch.
When Will pulled back to inspect his work, Mike’s sleeve dropped from his mouth so he could snatch the cloth from Will’s hand.
“Hey—”
“Your turn.”
“Mike, I’m fine,” Will huffed, annoyed. “You don’t have to—”
Mike’s right hand cupped Will’s cheek, thumb brushing against his chin. Will froze under the touch, breath caught in his throat. Mike bent down to turn on the faucet, keeping his hand attached to Will’s face. He swished the cloth under the warm water, then turned it off.
Slowly, he stood up straight. His thumb tilted Will’s head up slightly. The soaked cloth lifted, meticulously dragging against Will’s cheekbones. Mike’s delicate touch and hand explored every inch of Will’s face with the wet cotton. He swiped away dirt and ash, restoring the masterpiece to its former glistening glory. The cloth wiped away the red stain from the nosebleed still marring his perfect tan skin. It traveled lower to his split lip, dispelling the evidence that a cut ever grazed the plump perfection.
When Mike finished, he lowered the rag slowly. He tossed it into the sink basin, a wet smack slapping the glass bowl. His eyes never left Will, taking in every pore he could finally see in full clarity. Admiring his best friend this close enhanced the beauty he saw from far away. Mike let himself indulge in the unfiltered sight of Will Byers. The slight pink flush that colored his cute cheeks and dimples. The restored beautiful lips that called out to him. The bright irises that reeled him into a permanent residence.
“Perfect,” Mike murmured, thumb stroking Will’s chin.
He could stare at Will forever.
Mike wanted to bask in the pure light radiating from Will. He needed to enjoy the sunlight pooling in his gut, slowly rising to his beating heart. The feelings Mike hadn’t quite placed in his youth slammed into him at full force the longer he gawked at the god in his palm. The angel of his dreams, who had been by his side all along. He could get used to this floaty, fluttery feeling that hijacked his body whenever he touched Will if it made him feel this free.
He felt like a real person. Like he was grounded and stable and could take over the world.
Then, it shattered once he heard the approaching footsteps.
“Robin’s coming,” Mike whispered in the space between them.
“What?”
There were three knocks on the door, followed by a voice.
“Hey, Will,” Robin’s call was muffled by the cream door. “We could really use your expertise on all things Vecna and Upside-Down-ney out here!”
Will’s voice was louder when he turned to the door. “We’ll be out soon!”
He turned back to face Mike.
“Can I check your jaw?”
Mike nodded.
Calloused finger pads curled under Mike’s chin, holding his head in place. They dragged against the soft skin, quelling the bubbling anxiety within Mike. Pads tapped against the surface, signaling Mike to tip his head up. Mike followed Will’s order.
Will lifted his other hand. Two of his fingers traced lines along Mike’s jawline. The contact was addicting, sending shivers down Mike’s spine. The slow, tentative drag across his skin was maddening, relaxing every muscle in his body. He leaned into the touch, a small whimper flooding from his lips. As Will’s fingers kept dragging against the pale flesh, Mike turned his head to kiss the palm of Will’s hand.
Will ripped his hands away. Mike whined, leaning back into Will’s space, begging to be close once more. His hand leapt to snatch Will’s arm, forcing his fingers through the spaces between Will’s.
A soft laugh escaped Will, eyes darting down to their intertwined hands. “You never wanted to hold my hand this much before.”
“Your hand is warm,” Mike pressed his forehead into Will’s shoulder. “And it makes everything quieter.”
“Quieter?”
Mike nodded against Will’s shoulder. “It’s loud. I can’t think.”
“Mike,” concern bled from the single call of his name as Will leaned back. “Are you okay? You can tell me if you’re not.”
“I’m okay when I’m with you,” Mike whispered, looking for heaven in Will’s eyes.
Mike dropped Will’s hand to wrap arms around his body instead. Hands eagerly dug into Will’s clothed back, pushing his best friend closer to Mike’s chest. Will buried himself in Mike’s lanky arms, finding a home against his chest. Mike leaned down and nuzzled his head against the top of Will’s, letting the familiar scent wash over him. His nose tickled the hairs as he took a deep inhale.
Flowers flowed in the springtime breeze, softly swaying to-and-fro. Lilacs and lavender melded together in a beautiful saccharine blend of ascension. Honeyed strands graced Mike’s nostrils, bathing him in the sweetness that was Will Byers. Nodes of fresh citrus and berries punctuated the flowery tones.
“You smell so good,” Mike mumbled into his scalp, burying his nose further into Will’s hair.
“Uh—yeah—” Will nervously laughed, loosening his grip on Mike. “I guess—I guess I do. I don’t really think I—”
“It’s nice,” Mike murmured, closing his eyes as a blanket of Will enveloped his sinuses.
“Let’s—um—” Will cleared his throat, placing both of his hands against Mike’s chest. “Let’s get back out there.”
Mike leaned back, lazily nodding. His arms slipped off of Will, releasing him from his unrelenting hold. Will stepped back, turning to head out the door.
It was too long of a wait. He needed the attention. Will wasn’t looking at him.
Mike lunged forward, grasping Will’s hand. He squeezed, shoving his palm against his best friend’s. Will chuckled, rubbing his thumb against the back of Mike’s hand, then led them out of the bathroom. They rounded the corner, heading over to the open cushions next to Robin.
Mike kept his body as close as possible when he sat next to Will. Denim-clad thighs pressed together, connecting bodies even through thick fabric. Shoulders brushed together, flirting with the limited space between them. Every touch Will mercifully granted Mike made him lean in for more. He needed to feel Will’s presence, for it made the world shake less.
As the conversation started up again, Mike wasn’t listening. He couldn’t listen, not while the stabbing pain returned in his jaw. Lips moved, smacking together as animated gestures wildly gesticulated across the loaded air. Aggravated spit launched between the two Sinclair siblings, but no yelling came from their agitated expressions. No sound reached Mike’s ears. It was like he was trapped in a vacuum, with nothing left to focus on except the pain shooting through him.
It started as a slow pulsating pang at the base of his jaw. A mild discomfort; one he could tune out and ignore if he focused on how majestic Will looked in the dim lights of the Squawk. All the pain seemed to slip away when he breathed easy in Will’s rejuvenating presence.
Then, his head started to hurt.
It felt like someone stuck a knife through his skull, piercing his brain and neck. A through line penetrated his body, ripping any relief he held onto right from his palms. He winced, feeling the pressure build and fester in his head. The pain spurred on the throbbing in his jaw, both marrying to form a debilitating wave of pain.
Mike’s sleeve instinctually ended up between his teeth. He grinded down onto it, hoping to alleviate the pain. It helped for a fleeting, temporary moment; then everything came crashing down onto him with a superior intensity. He bit down harder on the sleeve, nearly chomping his fingers off.
It didn’t help.
Knives carved through flesh, digging further into him. They embedded in muscles, reaching further and deeper to penetrate bone. A desire to seep into his marrow and infiltrate every part of his body to render him paralyzed.
It was too much.
“I’ll—I’ll be right back,” Mike mumbled, jumping to his feet and making a beeline for the bathroom.
The door slammed behind him.
Something burrowed in his gums. Something wanted to push through and out. A force bubbled beneath the surface, plotting its piercing vengeance to burst through Mike at any second. Unforgiving revenge sought to tear Mike Wheeler in half for the promises he couldn’t keep.
Shaky hands gripped the edge of the sink basin. He sucked in a sharp, strangled breath. The fingers on one hand reached into his mouth. Tips poked at the part of his gum where it stung. A hard mass swelled under the inflamed reddened skin, sore to the touch. His hand reeled back, a wince and a groan tearing through his body. He shuddered, sucking in another sharp, pained breath.
The aggravated, angry gums pulsed. They throbbing, demanding relief from the unbearable weight of pain pressing down into them. His teeth cracked and bent under the weight, feeling another force push them down and out.
Vaguely, he remembered a pain like this. When he was little and his baby teeth needed to come out. Sometimes, if they didn’t fall out quick enough, the adult one grew above it. The tooth would get stuck in the gum, pressing against the skin as it waited for the novice tooth to loosen and fall out. When that never happened, Mike would always yank them out himself.
But he was a teenager. He shouldn’t be losing his baby teeth.
That didn’t change the very real pain Mike felt shattering his composure.
This was a building pressure. Some unholy force festering under his skin. Some wicked intention rooted deep in his bones, finally battling its way to the surface. It needed an outlet. It needed a way out.
He had to make it stop.
Determined fingers reached back into his opened mouth. Finger pads felt around, pressing deep into the gum tissue to find the lingering stab of pain. When he pressed above one of his canines in the top row, his hand reeled back. Pain exploded across his mouth, rocketing to his jaw and up to his forehead. Mike groaned, his other hand gripping the porcelain tighter.
He had to make it stop.
His middle finger and his thumb pinched the tooth at the front of his mouth. A solid grip tightened around it, shooting oceans of pain throughout his body. Fingers wiggled the bone back and forth, feeling it shift against his gums. It was a little loose already, but his slow swinging loosened it more. An awful pain burst through his gums whenever he moved the tooth, but he suffered through it.
He had to make it stop.
So, he inhaled sharp and yanked.
Fingers pinched the tooth harder. The grip adjusted. Finger tips clamped down. Breath lodged in his throat, held back so he could concentrate. Focus on the inevitable onslaught of pain about to wreak havoc across his body.
With a sudden pop and wet slide, the pressure released. The tooth pulled free, blood-slicked and slippery between Mike’s fingers. A euphoric, numbing feeling swept over him. Any pain he felt fizzled out, dissipating among the victorious evidence retrieved from his own mouth. As he slowly pulled back his hand to look at the freed, mangled tooth, the peace abruptly ended.
The pressure returned tenfold. It pushed against his gums, rumbling and shaking the other teeth in his mouth. His lips curled upward, bracing his body for the blood-curdling pain rippling throughout his bones. Other teeth shifted in anticipation, loosening within the earthquake striking his gums. Blood gushed from the open wound formerly blocked by the tooth. More poured out as the skin split open, giving way to a replacement.
Metallic poison coated Mike’s tongue. Every nervous swallow was coated in coppery discharge, forced to slide down his throat and meld with acidic bile. It plopped into his stomach like rocks, digging up dwelling nausea swirling in a sea of anxiety. Blood coated his other teeth, painted across the faces of bones to stain them with the weighted curse of red ink.
As bone pushed through his gum, the wound widened. It split open, tearing flesh in half to penetrate the raw flesh desperate for a chance to recover. Mike gripped the sink for dear life, dropping the discarded tooth into the basin. Fingers dug into the porcelain, leaving divots in the glass and cracking the basin. Cries of agonizing pain tore through his chest, releasing freely and echoing loudly in the small cage of a bathroom he found himself within. Sounds of misery bounced along the thin walls, throwing out into the larger area of the building.
Then, it all stopped.
Sporadic breaths cycled through Mike. Quick rise and falls of his chest sent the adrenaline pumping throughout his body. Panic overtook all of his limbs, stealing control from his feigned composure. He was a panting, bloody mess hunched over the bathroom pedestal sink. A faint sting swirled in his mouth, but he swallowed it down with the remaining stream of blood.
Mike hesitantly, slowly, lifted his head to stare at himself in the mirror above the sink.
If he closed his mouth, he could pass as a normal human being. Maybe from a distance, he looked exactly as he usually did. Nothing changed about Mike Wheeler if one were to examine him from eighty feet away, or in reluctant, chance passing.
This close to his own face, Mike could see the change.
Broader shoulders spanned farther than before. The sleeves on his sweater and jacket were shorter, like they shrunk in the wash. Arms strengthened, biceps twitching when he bent his arms. Lanky limbs now filled out his clothing, fabric pressing comfortably against meatier skin. There were present muscles; not enough to make him look like a raging, roided-out jock, but enough to make him look like he was in shape. Pale skin had tanned slightly, looking like it finally took on color from the sun without burning up in the atmosphere.
His pupils blew wide. Black masses stared back at him through the mirror, waiting for his next move. As he opened his mouth wider and smiled, his lip curled up to reveal his bloodied teeth.
There was one long, fanged tooth taking the place of where his canine once was, painted in his own gum-blood. Curved bone stuck out among his other human teeth, proving to be bigger and bred for tearing flesh.
If this was a dream, Freud would have a lot to say about Mike Wheeler.
There would be a critical waggle of a finger, accompanied by some comments about Mike’s repressed sexuality. Overcompensation of prowess Mike didn’t possess. A nagging feeling of powerlessness in the face of sexual intimacy. An ever-present, lingering desire to express parts of himself he couldn’t quite step into.
Jung would argue for a beautiful transformation. Plentiful opportunities for personal growth to become a better person. A blossoming rebirth of the person Mike desperately wanted to be. Impending change looming over the horizon, leading to a new stage in life waiting for Mike to dive in head first and embrace the madness.
Mike wouldn’t call it beautiful.
Others would say he was self-conscious and insecure about his ‘frog-faced’ appearance. As his tooth clattered into the sink, Mike took this as a warning. A twisted beginning of something dark and sinister living within him. A new version of himself of which he was an unwilling prisoner. A rabid animal bred to wreak havoc and feast upon the innocence of the world.
A monster.
On the other side of his mouth, pain sliced through his gums. An excruciatingly loud roar of pain rumbled in his chest, shaking the walls of the bathroom. It was low and menacing, almost like a frustrated growl of an animal. Any sound contained in his throat slipped free, expressed in a series of agonizing growls and howls of pain.
Fingers penetrated the glass basin, gripping so hard it shattered. The basin snapped into several pieces, smashing one of the pipes on its fall to the floor. Water burst through the damaged pipe, spurting and splattering across Mike’s clothes and the tiled flooring. The glass shattered when it smashed against the hard floor, scattering across the tile in a million pieces.
Mike stumbled, falling onto his knees.
Beyond the door sealing his fate, people whispered. They talked, like the gossiping hens his mother would socialize with at the community pool. Hushed voices exchanged theories barely above a whisper, but Mike could hear their words clear as day.
“Does he have a concussion? Did he fall?”
“He’s been acting weird all day.”
“Do you think he’s hiding something? Maybe about the kids?”
“His parents are in the hospital. Give him a break.”
Then, a reassuring, soft voice called out to him. “Mike, are you okay?”
Another groan and roar of pain shook through his body. Mike’s head hung down, eyes clamped shut. His back was arched as fingers swiped against rogue glass shards, leaving little cuts and scrapes. Hands and knees dug into the tile, keeping him on all fours.
Repeated whispers and calls of his name stoked the flames. Fiery pain shot through his gums, scorching his mouth. Fingers curled against the tile, scraping against shards of porcelain beneath him. Cuts from the rogue pieces drew more blood, the scent consuming his nostrils. A parted mouth erupted into a shrill shriek, tearing through the Squawk and shattering the glass mirror. Shards chunked off and clattered to the ground, joining the mess around Mike.
The pain was unbearable. It was like a fishing line had threaded through his teeth to pull, pull, pull. Sharp wire sliced through raw flesh to tear, tear, tear. There was nothing Mike could do but ride out the pain and hope it subsided.
Will’s soft voice filled with worry behind the door. “Mike?”
Heavy breaths lunged out of him. His whole body coughed as more human canines clinked against the glass, bouncing to the ground. Jagged incisors created to inflict pain and punishment lunged from his gums, evicting his normal human ones. Blood dripped down his gums, mouth, and chin as replacement teeth pushed through raw flesh to take their place in the open wounds. Fingers buried into the tile, clawing at the surface and carving dents into the floor.
Will tried again, voice soft and pillowy like a giant cushion Mike wanted to curl up on top of for a long nap. “Can I come in, Mike?”
Though words died on his tongue, Mike swallowed the blood coating his mouth. A shuddered, frightened breath shook his whole body. With the remaining strength and control he had, he pushed a single word from his mouth.
“Will,” Mike croaked, the word caught between a hoarse voice and gurgled blood.
New teeth slammed together, not used to their presence yet. They took up extra space since they were larger and more pointed, designed to be used for means other than chewing food. His jaw sprung back open, stinging from the sudden contact of his sensitive teeth. It sent a vibration throughout his body, like a jolt of pins and needles that rumbled across numb teeth and bones.
The doorknob turned. The door opened, then promptly pushed shut.
Every part of Will slammed into Mike like a car hitting a telephone pole. It was a complete sensory overload, but Mike clung to it for stability in his own mess of disorganized chaos.
He could hear Will’s sporadic, panicked breathing. The rapid thump of his heart. He could smell the Doritos and Skittles on his lips. Could taste the pieces lodged between his teeth. The faint smell of a lavender shampoo carried over to Mike, one that smelled like a breezy flowery meadow of peaceful heaven. It was delicate and soft, just like Will. Clothes smelled faintly of charcoal and scented markers, maybe a stinging stale burnt smell of friction-on-friction from eraser shavings aggressively scrubbed against a page.
There was a twinge of ash coating his skin and hair from the fires at the MAC-Z. It was the strongest smell of all, smashing into Mike’s nose instantly, overpowering all the other Will-flavored smells. Mike recoiled, trying to ignore it by focusing on the other soothing smells in the beguiling aura of Will Byers.
Will’s sneakers crunched the broken glass, carefully treading over to Mike’s side. He crouched down, denim pulling as his legs bent.
If he saw the mess, he didn’t question it. Didn’t ask what happened to the sink or the mirror. Didn’t ask why fragments of Mike’s teeth are scattered across the glass. Didn’t ask why trails of Mike’s blood covered his face and the floor beneath. Didn’t ask why water was spurting from the burst pipe, pooling around Mike and soaking into his clothes. Will focused on his best friend, eyes softening.
“Are you okay?”
Will placed a gentle hand on Mike’s back.
Mike was reminded of just how much he needed Will’s attention. How much he craved it, deep within his soul. It was rooted in his bones, slowly spreading across every part of his body. The only thing that made the pain go away and the world quiet was Will Byers.
Mike’s body chased the touch immediately, back shifting to lean into it. His fingers eased their grip on the tile and shards. His posture sagged and relaxed, like a weight was lifted from his shoulders at the delicate touch against his spine. A long whine slipped from Mike’s parted mouth, needy and exhausted. Closed eyes relished the small contact on his back, letting it lull him into a peace he craved.
Will titled his head, staring at the side of Mike’s face. “Mike?”
“Something…” Mike’s teeth clattered together, muffling his voice as he adjusted to the new spacing in his jaw. “Something is wrong with me.”
His eyes opened, focusing on his hands. Finger tips had faded to a pale grey, which darkened by the second as new layers of skin piled on top of it. It thickened with each new layer of shriveled, grey skin added as a wall of protection around former human flesh. Nails pushed out from under his skin, ripping open the skin barrier. A loud, shrill cry thundered in his throat, vibrating the glass against the floor. Pointed, jagged claws protruded from his finger tips, scraping against the tile and trying to dig free. They curled like talons, lying in wait to snatch prey.
“Mike,” Will frowned, oblivious to the sudden change. “There isn’t anything wrong with you.”
“I’m not me,” Mike forced out in a low growl. “It’s like I’m—”
Will’s nails dragged against Mike’s back in a slow, tentative scratch. Mike’s back instinctively arched into the placating touch. A long, satisfied whimper drew from his parted lips. It vibrated against his chest, cooling the fiery pain exploding throughout his body. It gave Will a reason to keep tracing delicate shapes along Mike’s spine. Mike reveled in the feeling, letting louder excited whimpers flood out of him with each gracious touch Will blessed him with.
When Will’s eyeline traveled down to the floor, his hand stilled.
He saw the human teeth littered across the cracked bathroom tile. They floated among the porcelain shards and puddle of tap water. Gallons of blood painted the floor a bright red, streams still dripping down from Mike’s opened mouth. Greyed talons clutched the ground, taking place of where Mike’s pale fingers once were.
“Mike,” Will repeated, helplessly, with a shuddered breath, as he slowly looked back up at his best friend. “Are those—”
“Like I said,” Mike’s head tipped up, head turning to finally face Will.
Blood coated Mike’s chin. Rivers of red ran down his face, gushing from the open wounds awaiting replacement teeth to fill the space. Crimson crust lined his lips and mouth, as if he dove head-first into the raw meat of a dying carcass. Pupils pulsated in the low glow of the bathroom light, flickering with each movement of his body.
They locked onto Will.
“Not me,” Mike pushed the words out like it was painful to speak.
With the words, Will saw sharpened bone poking out from Mike’s parted, shifting lips. Hand moving of its own accord, Will’s thumb brushed across Mike’s lip. The pad of his thumb pushed the raw skin up to reveal a set of pointed dog-like canines and incisors on the top row of Mike’s mouth. New teeth that were pointed and jagged, created for carving through thick cuts of raw meat in the wild. Made for violence if the animal wanted to defend itself or its owner.
Will’s eyes widened, voice shaking. “Those—Those are—”
“It hurts,” Mike whined, barely able to form a coherent thought. “So much—So much pain.”
A loaded gulp from Will sounded like gunfire in the silence. “How can I help?”
“Hand,” Mike breathed out a desperate puff of air.
Will wasted no time moving his hand to the side of Mike’s face. His thumb rubbed against the bloodied surface, swiping some of the red evidence away. A faint hue lingered along Mike’s skin, painting Will’s finger pads.
Mike whined, leaning into Will’s touch. The slow drag of the thumb against his cheek was grounding and comforting. It massaged the pained jawline, ever changing and expanding. He nudged his cheek into Will’s palm, inhaling the soft unique aroma of Will Byers that always calmed him down. Delicate flowers swayed in the breeze, capturing an image of a sun-blessed field with just the two of them. A hum of contentment vibrated in Mike’s throat, turning into a comforted, quiet whimper as Will continued to stroke his cheek.
His head turned slightly, planting a delicate kiss to the inside of Will’s palm. His tongue darted out across the soft skin, tasting the lingering Doritos crumbs and bitter ashen flecks. Small licks of appreciation conveyed what his words couldn’t. Huge black, beady, puppy-dog eyes glanced up at Will, begging his person to stay in his presence.
“I’m not going anywhere, Mike,” Will’s promise was barely above a whisper, floating in the small distance between them.
As if Will could read Mike’s mind, he slowly lowered onto his knees. He scooted closer, denim scraping across shattered glass pieces. They clinked together with the small movements, pushing into a pile beneath them. Will’s other hand rested on Mike’s back, rubbing soothing circles into the fabric.
Will leaned over to press a faint, gentle kiss to Mike’s forehead. The best friends stayed on the floor, entwined and ready to endure whatever cruel fate the world had to offer.