Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"You're going to hurt yourself," Will says from his place on the floor. Mike scowls over at his best friend, briefly noting that Will doesn't even glance up from his sketchbook while he's judging him. Huffing, Mike turns his attention back to balancing the pencil on his nose after balancing it on his finger. He's almost succeeded, like, four times now, and he knows he's getting close, he can feel it!

"What are you drawing today?" Mike asks, eyes still firmly glued to the pencil between his eyes. Will hums softly, his hand stilling on the paper. After a stretched-out moment of silence, Mike gives up his balancing act (for now) and looks over at the brunette. He's staring down at the page before him, posture loose and gaze focused.

Mike leans closer to get a look at his best friend's art, but can't make out much of the actual sketch upside down. The page is colorful, despite Will not having any colored pencils or markers or water-color paints nearby. Must be an older sketch he's trying to improve, then. Mike finds it a bit endearing that he looks back on his older sketches so often. Will has a very healthy balance between using his old art pieces as references to learn new techniques and developing completely new styles. The thought makes him smile slightly. Then, Will speaks.

"I just miss the sun, you know?" Will finally says quietly. Mike sits up fully.

"I know it's been a while since Hawkins..." He starts, then stops. While he doesn't know how to continue, Will seems to get what he's saying anyway (he always does) so he soldiers on. "We'll get through this, yeah? And then we can go swimming again and laze around outside when it's warm and we can even move somewhere where winter doesn't exist at all and it never gets cold."

The words sound naive to his own ears, but Will's soft smile is worth the slightest embarrassment of his rambling.

"Why would I want to move anywhere with you, though?"

Mike's heart stutters.  His chest suddenly feels cold.

"Will?"

Will's brow furrows in confusion, before his expression falls eerily flat. Will is always supposed to have some sort of tick showing how he really feels; he has a habit of clenching his jaw when he's thinking particularly hard about what he's going to say before he actually says it, or blinking less when he is staring at something or someone he's trying really hard to understand.

Point is, Mike is never just unable to read Will. That's how it's always been: their world is ending, they've been best friends forever, and it's always been Mike and Will, side by side.

"Sorry, that's not what I meant to say," Will says apologetically.  "We'll talk more next time."

"Next time?"  Mike's getting an uneasy feeling.  Before he can continue, maybe ask Will what the absolute fuck is going on, his vision begins to blur at its edges.  He blinks harshly, raising his hands to rub at his eyes.

When he lowers his arms and opens his eyes, he's staring up at his bedroom ceiling.

"Huh," he mutters.  "What a strange dream."

He and Will end up biking around for most of the day.  Mike doesn't mention his dream– it seems kind of weird to bring up, now.  Plus, Will seems really happy today.  It reminds Mike of when they were kids, and had nothing to look forward to but long weekends and longer summers with endless possibilities before them.  Mike wishes things could be so simple again.  But why did they ever get complicated?  Just as he's about to ask, Will's voice drifts to him.

"Hey, let's go to the Quarry!"  Will shouts from up ahead.  Mike belatedly realizes he has fallen behind, and pumps his legs faster to catch up.

"Hey, I was lost in thought!"  Mike huffs as he pulls level with his best friend.  Will laughs.  The duo bikes around each other, occasionally challenging the other to a race as they make their way to the Quarry.

They end up at the base of the cliff, near the water.  Neither go in– rather, they sit side by side near the water's edge, staring out over the calm surface.  Mike exhales loudly, leaning back and resting his weight on his hands.

"What's wrong?"  Will asks, glancing back over his shoulder at him.  Mike takes a moment to ground himself, feeling Will's warmth from where their legs are pressed together.

"It's just... hard to be here sometimes.  This is where they... dragged that fake you out of the water," he mumbles.  Will remains silent for a moment.

"I'm still here," he says softly, his hand bumping against Mike's shoulder.  The latter smiles.

"I know, and I never lost hope that we'd find you.  But... I didn't know what to think, at first.  It looked so real."

"I don't know what I'd do if that happened to me," Will admits.  "If someone found your fake dead body somewhere."

Mike laughs suddenly.

"Fake dead bodies.  The government really is creepy, huh?"

"You're telling me."  They share a laugh.  Mike opens two cans of the soda they'd brought, and the day passes by in a blur.

That afternoon is... strange.  Strange, but not bad.  Mike is trying to erase the bad memories with good ones, but the bad memories are so strong in his mind that he knows it won't be so easy.

"Let's go back to my house.  We can watch a movie, or something."  He doesn't see Will's expression with his back turned, but the way his best friend mounts his bike speaks to his agreement.

The two bike along the edge of town on their way back, and Mike closes his eyes briefly beneath the endless blue of a warm summer's day.

When he opens them, the sky is red.

His grip tightens on the handlebars, and he briefly loses control, spinning out and tilting so far to one side he crashes.  Will shouts something, but Mike can't hear it over his groaning as he sits up from where he's hit the ground.

"Mike, are you okay?!  What happened?"  Will is next to him, helping him to his feet.

"Sorry," Mike whispers, frowning.  "I thought– ... it's nothing."

"It's clearly not nothing!"  Will says, a hint of frustration coloring his tone.  "Did you ride over a stone?"  Mike turns to him, mouth opening to offer an excuse, when Will's face is so close it fills his whole vision.

Mike's mouth snaps shut.  Will blinks.

"Friends don't like, Mike," he says softly.

Mike's stomach churns, but he feels like he's unable to be sick.  Red bleeds into the outer edges of his vision.  He thinks back to what felt like yesterday, and the day they've had today.  Darkness is rapidly falling, like night has already approached despite the sun having been out moments ago.  His hands hurt.

"That wasn't a dream, was it?"  Mike whispers aloud to himself.  "Is this all dream?  Who are you?"

The panic begins to set in.  Will's face has fallen back into the eerie blank mask, same as before.  Mike wonders how he missed this– this face could never be Will's.  Will is always expressing something with his eyes, and they are always so big and so bright and so telling.

This imposter's eyes are dead.

Before he can speak again, the ground feels unsteady beneath his feet.  Mike stumbles, face still caught between fake Will's hands.

"Michael."

The voice that sounds all around him, coiling down and slithering along his very bones, feels like a snake.  Mike shudders, feeling instantly as if he's been doused in cold water.  Will-Not-Will pushes him, and a scream is caught in his throat as he falls backwards.

Mike blinks, and he is lying awake in his bed, lungs heaving for air. Sweat clings to his skin, making his shirt feel tacky against his torso. Familiar bedsheets scratch the skin of his arms and legs, and Mike grips his rumpled duvet in tight fists. His heart thuds rapidly against his ribs.

"Mike?"

He sits upright abruptly, choking on nothing and turning to see Will.

Will, who is sitting up from his sleeping bag, rubbing one eye and tilting his head back to stare over at him drowsily. Will, who has always been a light sleeper, and so probably heard Mike having a nightmare.

But who's to say he isn't still in one?

"Who are you?" Mike spits, scrambling against the wall his bed is pressed against. Will's spine straightens, and he drops his hand. Imposter-Will even has the audacity to look confused. Mike's gaze darts around his room, cursing his thoughtlessness at the lack of weapons lying around.

But that's not right. He always keeps a bat just beneath his bed near the headboard, right?

Right?

"Hey, hey it's me," Will soothes. Mike's heart continues to drum against his ribs, and he feels like the room is turning hazy. Have the shadows always been that dark? Is that a vine slithering into the corner? Why are the faces on his photos so distorted?

Something is tapping his knee.

Mike is initially so paralyzed with fear that he doesn't realize it at first, but soon it's the only thing he can focus on. His fingers loosen their death grip on his own hair, and he slowly uncurls until he has the strength to look up, up into Will's knowing, concerned gaze.

"Mike?" Will says gently. "Do you need your Walkman?" He doesn't cease his tapping on his knee, one special code only they know.

Or, used to know, Mike supposes. He can't quite understand the Morse Code Will is trying to communicate.

Mike shakes his head, breath catching in his throat.

"Sorry," he mutters. "Nightmare."

"Was it him?" Will questions softly. Mike hesitates, gnawing on his bottom lip. Then, hesitantly, he nods. Tilting his head, his gaze snatches a look at his alarm clock; apparently, it's six in the morning. He sighs, rubbing roughly at his eyes and dragging his hands down his face.

"I'm sorry I woke you up," he offers. Will waves his hand, as if batting the accusation from the air. Mike notices that his hair is unkempt and fluffed unevenly from sleep.

"Don't worry about it. Usually I'm up around this time anyway. But Mike," Will catches his gaze, something hardening behind his eyes. "We have to tell the others. They should know."

And even though the very thought of anyone knowing he might be Vecna's next target causes a burning, curling feeling to twist his insides, he nods hesitantly. The small smile Will gives him is enough of a reward for his mute agreement.

At the next group meeting, when everyone is discussing their new suspicions about various Upside Down-related activity, Will shoots him a look and gently nudges his shoulder. Oh, Mike thinks, so it's time then. Hesitantly, he clears his throat. Somehow, this immediately has all the eyes in the room turning to him.

"I think I've been having... visions. And I've been having nightmares that are more– hm, intense than usual."

Silence. Nancy is staring at him with wide eyes, and his friends' jaws are practically on the ground. Then–

"Oh, thank goodness!"

It's Mike's turn to stare at Joyce in utter shock.

"Mom?" Will asks hesitantly. Joyce turns soft eyes on her son.

"I'm just glad it's not you, honey," she reassures.

"But... it's Mike," Will says, as if that explains everything. Mike feels like the world beneath his feet is crumbling. "It's Mike."

Will says his name with a quality he isn't used to. His voice drops into a gravely tone that makes Mike think he's going to cry. When he casts a glance at Will's eyes though, they are bone dry.

"Joyce is right, kid," Hopper says. He's standing near the woman in question, arms crossed and with a gruff look on his face. "You've been through enough. Let Mike take some of the heat, for once. God only knows the rest of us could use a break."

"He's got a bit of a point," Dustin chimes in quietly. Mike's shoes feel like cement weights, dragging him down in the misery he's being immersed in. "You really haven't done much, Mike."

"What the fuck is going on right now," Will mutters, staring with wide eyes at his mother.

"You're a right bitch, you know that?" Nancy says coldly, staring Joyce down. "That's my brother you're talking about who's cursed! How dare you!"

The room erupts into arguments around Mike. He feels something cold and slimy settle in his chest when Will starts shouting at his mom, the skin on his cheeks turning red from anger.

"Will, it's okay," Mike interjects weakly. He grabs at his best friend's shoulder, attempting to smile at him. "She's got a point, you know. You deserve a break." Will's jaw clenches so hard a vein pops in his neck.

"Mom, you need to leave. I don't want to see you right now. Get out."

"But Will–!"

"Get." Will's voice drops lower, deeper, more menacing. "Out."

Joyce, Hopper, and Dustin leave with little fanfare. Everyone else huddles around Mike in various stages of support before they disperse around the house. Mike feels a little too hollow to entertain anyone, so he leaves the socialization to Nancy and makes himself scarce.

They spend the rest of the day together, all lazing around. At one point, Will joins Mike in the living room where he's perched oddly on one end of the couch. The brunette nudges him over, and they stare out the wide window into the darkening sky beyond. The spores and particles drifting in the air almost look like snow. In a different life, Mike could pretend it's a normal Christmas, and he and Will are bundled up on the sofa together watching the first snow of the year fall just feet away.

Mike's chest hurts, and he curls around himself, flexing his aching right hand.

"I'm sorry you fought with your mom."

"She's too overprotective." Will shrugs. "You should know she didn't mean what she said."

"I wish none of this had ever happened," Mike admits softly. Beside him, Will shifts. "I wish it was snowing for real."

"I thought you hated the cold." Will raises an eyebrow, catching Mike's gaze.

"Mostly 'cause you do," Mike feels brave enough to admit. "I'd also prefer real snow to this Upside Down bullshit."

Will sighs.

"It's a lot worse for me, you know." Mike startles at the honest words. He can't help but stare at Will's side profile as he stares outside with a blank look on his face. "I miss California. It was so much warmer there, and there wasn't any of this to deal with. Even if you were a bad friend, it's still better than being here."

Heart clenching, Mike opens his mouth around a choked-off exhale.

"Will..."

"It's fine," Will shrugs. "I'm used to it by now, but... things were so much better when we were kids."

Mike's lungs burn. He coughs into his fist, feeling as if his whole chest is being crushed.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

Will doesn't acknowledge him.

Mike thinks he understands why Joyce said what she did, now. Maybe he does deserve to suffer. At least it will spare the others the pain he'll endure. He swallows his tears, inhaling through the agony clogging his throat.

Mike blinks, and he's staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom. The painting Will gave him is there, and he frowns in confusion. When did I hang that there?

Sighing, Mike rises.

He supposes it isn't a bad place to hang it. He's been running out of space on his walls to hang things because of all his posters, and he didn't want to hang Will's art of all things at knee-height in the corner. Deciding not to check what time it is, he spends some time staring up at it, admiring the painstaking details Will clearly took so much time to perfect. The dim lighting in his room, combined with the cloudy vision in his bad eye, make it hard to inspect the finer details from this distance. The teenager sighs, itching absently at the mostly-healed scar bisecting his lower left eyelid. At least the Demogorgan hadn't taken his eye completely, Mike supposes, and even better that it didn't get anyone else. He just hates how often he slams into doorframes, now–

"Stop being so pathetic and come out of your room, Michael."

Mike whirls around, startled, and sees Max staring at him from the hallway outside his room.

"Go the hell away, Maxine," Mike sniffs, turning away.

"Look, just because you're too sad and pitiful to actually tell Will you're in love with him doesn't mean you get to mope around all day."

Mike's gaze snaps to the redhead once again, this time with his heart in his throat. Fear and denial creep in, making his fingers feel numb. He swears Max can hear his thundering heartbeat, because in a moment she is stepping back, wrinkling her nose at him.

"Ew, you are, aren't you? Does he even know?" Her eyes widen. "Holy shit, you guys slept together last night! Were you doing dirty things in here, Michael?"

"N-No!"

"Does Joyce know? I bet she doesn't, she needs to get him away from you asap." And without another word, she's out of sight and heading down the stairs. Mike gives chase, following flashes of her shadow or glimpses of her hair whipping around corners until they meet in the Wheeler's living room. Mike swallows anxiously, staring her down.

"Max, I don't know what you think you know–"

"God, it makes so much sense now!" The girl exclaims, throwing her hands up. "You're all 'woe is me, woe is me, Will won't look at me! Woe are my unrequited feelings for another boy when I have a perfect amazing girlfriend!' Do you know how stupid you sound every time you complain about Will being mad at you? It's sickening!" Max mocks, and Mike clenches his fists at his sides.

"Max–" he warns.

"You're dirty, just like Billy said!" Max taunts. Her eyes stare directly into his soul, and an anger that isn't his own amplifies the red hazing his vision. He screams something, what he doesn't know, but everything kind of blurs into a kaleidoscope of pure rage. Mike doesn't really know how it happens, or really what happens until he blinks, and red is staining his hands and he is looking down at the corpse of one of his friends.

"... Max?" He whispers brokenly. He drops to his knees, staring down at her pale, unseeing eyes and her limp hair and her chest torn open and her dead dead dead–

Maybe his logic is a little skewed, but Mike reaches forward and attempts to push the ends of her ribs together, as if that will make her better. Maybe if he puts her blood back, she'll take a deep breath and laugh at him. So gullible, Wheeler! she'd cry from laughter. You should have seen your stupid face!

All he succeeds in doing is smearing more blood everywhere. It burrows beneath his fingernails, soaks into his pant legs, stains his baby blue shirt. The smell of iron wafts through the air, like someone is cooking it. His skewed depth perception causes him to miss her smoothe outer rib, and he cuts the outside of his palm along the jagged edge of her broken bones.

"Max, this isn't funny." Terror makes his voice shake. "V-Vecna, this isn't– it has to be him. Wake up–" he hits the side of his head, jostling his eyeballs inside their sockets. "Wake up! I get it, I'm easy prey, but let me go! Let me fucking go!"

Nothing changes. Max is still dead on the floor, and her blood is on Mike's hands.

A sound in the doorway has him turning to face an all too familiar face.

Will is staring at him like he's never seen him before, a horrified expression frozen on his face. Between one blink and the next, he's pointing a shotgun at Mike's chest, an angry tilt to his mouth. Mike raises his hands, licking his lips nervously as he gets to his feet.

"It's not– Will, please, it's not what it looks like! I tried to– help her!" He explains shakily. Will shakes his head, hatred bleeding in his eyes.

"You killed Max!" He screams. "Who else did you hurt? Where is everyone?!"

"I don't know!" Mike shouts back, voice shaking. "I don't– I don't know! Please Will!"

"Don't fucking say my name, Vecna!" Will thunders. Mike flinches back. "I know what you are."

Bang!

Mike blinks, and he's staring up at his bedroom ceiling.

This time, he doesn't allow the adrenaline to fade. Everything feels murky, his skin feels gross, and his chest aches. Mike can't remember the last full night of sleep he's gotten; hell, he can't remember when he got even a decent few hours. His body feels like a live wire, stretched thin and frayed. Sweat gathers at his temples as he forces his mind to turn over the last several months of his life.

He can't remember. He doesn't know what's real.

Suspension of disbelief.

Several pieces are floating just within reach, but Mike can't quite grasp them to start putting the puzzle together. And he knows deep in his core that he has to escape.  He has to run far away, not trust anything or anyone until he can figure out what the hell is going on.  He feels a burning sensation in his chest, air hard to come by.

What happened?  What the fuck happened?!

He can't speak, throat closing up.  Jumping up, the blankets tangled around his waist, Mike makes for his door.

He doesn't make it far.

A smooth, blank wall meets him, no door in sight.  He reaches forward to touch his empty bedroom wall, and his arm goes right through the plaster.  Mike cries out when he is pulled through and falls to the ground.  He hits his elbow funny, and cradles it close as he scrambles to his feet and turns around.

Another wall greets him.  A familiar wall, an unfamiliar scene.

Mike blinks at the strings of Christmas lights on the wall of the Byers' living room, with one letter of the alphabet beneath each bulb.  They flicker intermittedly, the house creaking ominously around him.  As Mike backs toward the front door, he realizes the lights are blinking in a pattern.  He stops and stares at them for a moment, trying to decipher the strange message.  It comes to him when the lights loop three times.

N-O-E-S-C-A-P-E.

He turns and throws the front door open, and suddenly he's in his basement.  The staircase stretches down in front of him, and suddenly the fear melts away.  His basement has always been a safe space, a barrier from the real world where all his worries melt away.

When he stumbles to the bottom, he comes across a strange meeting.

A lot of people are there: Dustin, Lucas, Will, El, Nancy, Jonathan Joyce, Hopper, Steve.  Mike steps forward toward where they're all gathered.  Tears track down his cheeks, and he chokes out a relieved greeting, but none of them acknowledge him.

"Hello?  Guys?"  No reaction to his call.

"He's been missing for a week, Hopper!"  Nancy practically growls.

Is that where he's been to them?  Missing?  But if that's the case, where the hell has he actually been?  He doesn't think he is dead, this feels more like the mindfuckery that's distinctively Upside-Down related, now that he thinks about it and his head is a bit clearer.

"We've been looking, Nance," Steve says softly.  Dustin sniffles by his side.  "And we'll continue to look, but we have to figure out what Vecna's plan is."

"He's right, we can't lose focus," Hopper says.  This doesn't surprise Mike; he would have been more surprised if Hopper was the one actively looking for him.  Hopper never liked him, anyway.

"My little brother is missing," Nancy spits, "and none of you seem to care."

"We care, honey, we really do.  It's just that none of us know where to look."  Joyce's motherly reassurance seems to take the wind right out of his sister's sails.

"At least we have Max back," Lucas cuts in, casting a lovestruck glance at the redhead in question.

"And the most I can do right now is tell you what I experienced when he had me," Max snaps.  She sounds exasperated, like they've had this discussion before.  "It doesn't matter if he's taken Mike.  You already looked at the Creel house and Will's hiding places in the Upside Down– none of us have any idea where he is."

Another argument breaks out, and Mike can feel his tears come back with force.  They're looking for me!  His mind screams at him.  They care!  For the first time in what feels like a while, hope swells in his chest.  He turns his attention to Will and El, the only two standing off to the side together.  His best friend looks like he's been crying.  His hair is a mess and the skin around his eyes is rubbed raw.  Mike notices he is shivering like he's cold.

"Guys," Will whispers.  His hand rises to rest gently on the back of his neck, eyes darting around anxiously.  "I feel him.  Something is happening."

El turns suddenly toward Mike, her head tilted forward.

"He's watching."

Mike is pulled backward into the wall, and his scream is swallowed by water.

He claws frantically at his surroundings, emerging to air that he sucks down greedily.  He's so, so cold, and he realizes he recognizes his surroundings almost instantly with a sickening familiarity.

He still has dreams about the Quarry.

Mike makes for the nearest shore like a man drowning (which is not far from the truth).  When he makes it in one piece, he chokes on a sob, scared out of his mind.

"Michael."

He curls up on his side, slamming his hands over his ears.

"No!"  A scream rips itself from his chest, his throat hurting from the force.  "Leave me alone!"

"Michael."

"No!"  Memories flit around, just out of reach.  The ground goes from rough rock to something smooth and cold.  Mike jolts upwards, finding himself in a bathtub.  He scrambles out of it, hyperventilating.

He doesn't recognize the house he finds himself in.  Mike runs from room to room, letting his eyes glaze over each interior before bolting to the next.  The doors and windows are all boarded up, slots of red light shining through them.

"Michael!"

Mike's breaths are coming in short gasps now.  He races down a hall, and doesn't slow his momentum when he sees a blocked door ahead.  He throws his entire body against it, bouncing off it as if he's nothing more than a pest. When this doesn't work after several attempts, he takes to wedging his fingers in the gaps of the wood, clawing at the wood until his fingers are bloody and his nails are chipped and broken.

"You're here now.  There is no escape."

Mike turns, and there he is.

He has a humanoid shape, although he doesn't look human at all.  Gunk from the Upside Down covers the vines that wrap around his figure.  Mike's gaze is drawn downward to the thing's hands, which end in long, pointed claws.  He presses himself back against the wood, his heart thumping loudly against his ribs.  The monster steps closer, and Mike finally catches a good glimpse of his eyes.

All at once, the memories begin to trickle in.

Vecna.

Mike's body is slack when the vines slither in to wrap around his limbs.  His body is dragged backwards, through the now-open door, and it isn't long before Mike feels his back hit and stick against something unpleasantly wet.  His chest heaves with his sobs, his lungs sear from the pain.

"You took so long to come to your senses."  Vecna's voice comes from him, and echoes all around them.  Mike cries out when one of his claws slices his cheek.  "Shall I show you what's going on outside your head?"

A kaleidoscope of moments flash through his mind, and Mike feels like the earth is no longer beneath him.  The world begins to bleed together, far-off moments playing on a reel before his eyes.

Him and Will, lying beside each other in his basement–

The Party attending Eddie's funeral beneath a depressing red sky–

Nancy hugging him when she finds him crying in his room–

Gunshots ringing around them while he's running, running as fast as he can–

Saying goodbye to El and Will–

Fighting the Mind Flayer in the mall–

Will the Wise, in his official outfit, declaring a day free of girls–

Spending days lounging at the pool with his friends–

Steve sneaking them in to the theater–

The Snow Ball–

Going in to distract the Hivemind in the tunnels–

Learning about the Spy–

Meeting Max–

Getting Will back from the Upside Down–

The feeling when Will first went missing–

Meeting Will on the playground all those years ago, and he said yes he said yes–

Vecna staring down at him, deadened eyes dissecting him like he's nothing more than the slime infesting the Upside Down.

"Yes, you'll do. Fresh batteries, a new face to puppet," Vecna's voice slithers around his brain. Mike gags, unable to breathe.

Mike remembers this moment. His limbs had been restrained– are restrained?– head tilted back against his will. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, sight failing–

He'd stared into Vecna's eyes, read the apathy and madness in his gaze. He's got spider eyes, he remembers thinking deliriously. I'll never escape again.

But now, he Sees. He feels like he's a passenger in his own body. Carnage surrounds him, blood mixing on the dirty ground. Mike's eyes scan everything in the real world, take in everything and he feels a foreign sense of amusement bubble in his chest.

Then, his gaze rests on El.

She looks scared, scared of him? Blood is flowing freely from her nose and eyes, and he even observes it trailing down each side of her face from her ears. She must be in so much pain. What happened? Mike is confused, then terrified as he can feel a smile stretching across his face.

"Uh oh," someone says. Mike feels his own lips moving, speaking these words even though he doesn't tell his body to move. His head tilts unnaturally far to one side. "Looks like someone's awake."

In between one blink and the next, El is throwing him across the hellscape. A raw, wet-sounding scream tears itself from her chest. Mike feels fear like he's never known before, even as a manic laugh bubbles from his throat. He feels sick, sick to his stomach. The force with which he hits the ground doesn't even faze him; neither does the warm liquid he feels trickling down the corner of his mouth.

"Mike! El stop, we can't risk hurting him!"

Mike's head snaps over to the newcomer, and his heart lurches in his chest. He feels himself take a step forward, and a faint sense of surprise makes him pause. Did he really move, or did the force puppeting his body make him take that step?

"Fight him, Mike!" Will screams. He looks terrible, so torn and ravaged by blood and hurt that it makes Mike feel like he's going to pass out. He remains present, though; he feels like he needs to stay here, in this very violent moment.  His left fist clenches, trembling, but he can do no more.  He laughs.  His chest hurts.

"William, you know what this means.  You've lost, none of you can defeat me."  A smile, wide and uncanny, splits his face.  Mike feels like sobbing.  "Not unless you want to hurt your precious friend."

"Mike, I know you're in there!"  Will screams again, and Mike finds himself immobilized by an unseen force.  Some part of him feels relieved that El is restraining him; he's terrified of what he'll do.  He hates not having control of his own body.

When he starts to lift in the air, the terror turns sour.

Maybe El isn't the one controlling him.

Mike is brutally yanked back into his mind, and suddenly he is standing face to face with Vecna. His body is free, no longer restrained by the vines he can see all around them.

He's only seen Vecna once before, when he– when he took over.  He realizes he doesn't know when that was.  It scares him, and makes him angry.

So, so angry.

They are standing in a strange place.  Red liquid coats the floor, looming pillars made of vines stretch up in the distance.  A cloud of red fog covers everything.  Mike recognizes pieces of the house Max described floating all around them, and he sees the grandfather clock above their heads clearly.  He thinks this place feels familiar, but he can't remember if he's actually been here before.

The air trembles, and Mike wonders what is going on outside his head.  He doesn't dare remove his attention from the monster in front of him.

"Was it casual, Mike?" Will-Not-Will is back, standing in front of Vecna and staring at him with a sad expression. Mike's gut twists, and Vecna's figure watches him from Will's shadow. "When you kept all my drawings in a binder from when we were kids? When you were the one who convinced the others I was alive, even when they found my dead body? When you recognized my voice through the walkie talkie? Was it casual when you told me that if we were going crazy, we'd go crazy together? When you stayed by my side in the hospital, when you stayed with me when I was possessed and killing people when you could have left for your own safety? When you said that asking me to be your best friend was the best thing you've ever done?"

Mike can't hear anything over the roaring in his hears.

"Was it ever casual, Mike?"

The ground trembles. Will-Not-Will flickers, before dissolving into particles. Vecna steps forward through the cloud that used to be the imposter of his best friend. Will's voice echoes faintly around them.

Crazy together.

Mike's anger fuels him to take a few steps forward until there is only a few feet between their bodies.  Vecna doesn't move, merely stares. His form flickers, and Mike begins to notice the monster is not untouched; there are lacerations along his arms, and a chunk of his neck is missing. Vecna's high has always come from the fear he inspires in others– and Mike is beginning to realize that he no longer feels scared.

He is angry.

So, so incredibly angry it boils his blood and sets his nerves alight. There are few times in his life that Mike Wheeler has ever been truly angry. He complains a lot, sure, and boy does he get frustrated. But this all-consuming rage has only come rarely, and Mike has learned that he burns hot and bright and he can be so very, very destructive. Vecna stands before him, and does nothing but stare as Mike feels his emotions hit a boiling point. But he finds that Vecna's lack of any reaction makes him look weak, somehow.  Mike smirks, glancing around again at their surroundings.

He's starting to see the cracks, now that he's looking for them. El must be fighting him on the outside; the least Mike can do is distract him on the inside.

"I am seeing this, but it isn't real," Mike grits out.  His throat has screamed itself raw, but he refuses to back down.  "You are making me see it, and I don't want to anymore.  This is my head, my mind," his voice reverberates around them, "get the hell out!"

Mike Wheeler has no special abilities.  He doesn't have the experience dealing with this stuff like Will does, he doesn't have El's powers, nor does he even have Nancy's nack for shooting guns.  But he'll be damned if he lets this absolute psycho creep feed off him any longer.

The world around them starts to fall apart.

Vecna had already been weak before, but now Mike knows just how deep this weakness goes.  He smiles, blood painting his teeth when the monster stumbles.  There isn't much he has, but he has his mind, as damaged and broken as it might be. He has his hands, which he's learned can de deadly on their own. Past the point of caring, he's willing to use them. Mike is on One in a moment, hands wrapped around his throat.

They struggle for a moment– Henry is a grown man, after all, but Mike refuses to back down.  Cuts litter his face and jaw, and One lands a particularly deep one near his collarbone, but Mike doesn't let the pain stop him.  He thinks of all that Vecna has put him and his friends through: Will's disappearance, all their friends' deaths, the lab, El. His fingers constrict around the throat of this monster, broken nails piercing skin.

And suddenly, he finds them both at the Quarry.

Mike grins down at One's fading form.

"You'll never hurt them again," he whispers.  No one else needs hear these words; they are just for them.  Mike knows Henry is on his figurative last leg– he just needs a little push.

He is all too happy to oblige.

Between one blink and the next, they are right near the cliff's edge.  Mike is kneeling next to One, his hands around the back of his head and his chin.  They stare at one another unblinkingly.

"This will kill you permanently," Mike says, telling his mind to make it true.  The ground rumbles beneath his feet.  "But should you ever think about coming back, know this– you'll have to get through me to get to my friends and loved ones.  And I will never let you touch them again."

Mike jerks his hands, an audible crack! fills his ears.  There is no light to leave the eyes that stare up at him in delayed surprise. He pushes Vecna's body from the cliff and leans dangerously far over the edge to watch as it hits the water, and the sharp rocks he knows rest just beneath the surface.  He stays like that for a long time, watching Henry's body slowly dissolve. A clock chimes in the distance. The vines creeping around him abruptly settle, as if their strings have been cut.

When Mike falls back to lean all his weight on his arms, the ground doesn't meet him, and he falls.

He's tumbling toward a bright light, and Mike has just enough time to process what he's seeing– his own body, floating above Will and Eleven and Dustin and Nancy– before he's falling for real.

Gravity feels so much different outside his mind.

As his body is let go, someone catches him, and they both collapse to the ground.  Mike briefly blacks out from the pain, but when he can see again he is looking up at Will.

He smiles at his best friend.

"Mike," Will whispers, reverent.  "Mike."

"It's me," he whispers back.  "I'm here."  His head is buzzing.  His arms feel like noodles and his back is in so much pain, but he is real.

Vecna is gone.

Other people are shouting things and he can see El and Nancy right above him too, but Will holds him tight and refuses to let go.  Mike is still cold from the hellscape One has trapped him in for... he doesn't know how long.

"I'm sorry," he feels the need to say.  Black spots dance in and out of his vision as he breathes shallowly to avoid the pain that comes with breathing deeply.  "I don't know– I can't remember... what happened."

"It's okay, Mike," Nancy says, or shouts.  He can't see her in his direct line of view anymore.  All he can see is Will starting to cry, and he panics briefly.

"Save your strength, please," Will whispers.  Mike feels like he needs to make him understand.  He wraps one arm loosely around Will's waist, trying to provide comfort for them both.

"I'm sorry for– what he made me do.  I can't remember.  When–?"

"No, it's not your fault," El's voice says.  "Help is coming, stay still."

"'S okay, really," he whispers, chest feeling like it's been caved in. The pain is hitting him in little batches, then all at once.  Will is saying something, but he can't quite understand past the white noise in his ears. The sky beyond Will is clearing, so beautiful after months of red, dreary darkness. Mike can only spare it a passing glance before returning his gaze to Will. Will, whose eyes are teary and scared and whose expression is torn with fear and loss. What did we lose?

Mike can't feel his legs.

Oh, he thinks. We've lost me.

He smiles sadly.

"It's okay, Will," he whispers, all strength failing him. He's cold, so cold– months of living through hell has taught him that it is colder than the coldest thing he could ever fathom. He hates that he'll never feel warm again. "'S okay. 'M sorry."

"Don't," Will pleads, voice cutting clearly through the static suddenly. "Please, Mike. We're not done yet, you can't leave us..."

Mike smiles, but he can't keep his eyes open. His strength has finally left him for the final time. I'm sorry, he whispers, or thinks, he can't tell.

I'm sorry.

Chapter Text

There's something wrong with Mike Wheeler.

Admittedly, Will doesn't immediately notice. When he does begin to notice his friend's slowly declining health, he doesn't think much of it. He and Mike aren't exactly on the best of terms right now, and everyone is more occupied with the literal apocalypse taking over their town. Mike isn't the first to suffer from nightmares and infrequent snatches of sleep, and he certainly won't be the last.

The dark circles beneath his eyes grow more prominent as the weeks go by.

The Party has a system in place for if someone is experiencing Vecna-related symptoms. Headaches, nosebleeds, hallucinations. Even though Will knows Mike won't come to him if he's experiencing the symptoms, he hopes to whatever God is listening that Mike goes to one of the others, at least. By the lack of alarm and constant vigilance, Mike hasn't spoken to anyone, so he must not be actively dying.

Will hopes, at least.

And anyway, Mike is pretty low on his list of personal priorities at the moment.

After everything went down in California and on their impromptu road trip, they've fallen in a kind of limbo. Months have passed since everyone has reunited in Hawkins, and they've all collectively decided that splitting up is the worst decision ever, and have been moving in groups of no less than three. Outside of having to team up out of necessity for patrols or projects related to the Upside Down, Will avoids Mike like existing in the same space for more than two minutes will kill him. His efforts are made easier by Mike practically making himself a ghost in every room Will occupies. Silver linings, he supposes. With the literal apocalypse on their hands, no one else has noticed the particular bout of tension that has befallen two of their members. Since they work well together despite it, it seems that no one really cares.

Will scoffs quietly to himself.

It's a bit hard to avoid the one person you're upset with when you're two of the only people in one house at the moment, though.

He knows Mike is somewhere on the ground floor of his home, so Will finds himself in the basement with a few of their updated maps spread out around the table. Hopper, Steve, Nancy, and Joyce are all out on patrol and Dustin is at the hospital with Lucas and Max, who seems to be doing well in physical therapy after waking up two weeks after Hawkins fell apart. Will doesn't know where some of the others are– as long as everyone checks in regularly and they all end up at the same place at the end of the night, people don't tend to hover.

He's in the middle of expanding the drawn splits in the map when there's a loud exclamation of pain, and then a miserable-sounding groan from upstairs. Will races to where he heard it, and finds Mike sitting on the floor in the kitchen, cupping his hands to his face.

Will stares at him, frowning thoughtfully. Mike is hunched in on himself, eyes screwed up in pain. The blood pouring from his face is thick and ample, and spills between his pale fingers in such thick rivulets it looks like he's at risk of dying from blood loss. Will is kicked into gear when Mike releases another groan of pain.

"Shit Mike, hang on, let me grab the first aid kit and some meds," he mutters. Mike's head snaps up, eyes half-lidded as if he hadn't heard him run in. He tries to say something, but Will is already out of the room and retrieving the kit, back by his side in less than a minute. Mike seems a little out of it– Will worries that he's hit his head. "Hey, what happened?"

"Shlipped," Mike mutters. He sounds petulant. Will's frown deepens.

"You got your face good. We'll have to check with Nancy and see if it's broken."

"Not broken," Mike insists in a thick voice. "Not broken. Bruised."

"Yeah, I can see that," Will quips sarcastically. And indeed he can; a thick band of red skin has already started to darken his face, spanning across his nose and over his right cheekbone. He knows that Mike will have a nasty bruise come tomorrow. His pseudo-patient doesn't say anything while Will patches him up. "Did you knock it on the counter?"

Mike hums, but offers nothing more. If Will presses a bandage to the small cut he has on the bridge of his nose a little harshly, Mike doesn't do anything but wince and hiss softly.

"There. Don't sleep just in case." The awkwardness is back tenfold as Will packs away the kit. "Watch TV, or something."

Mike gives him a thumbs up, and Will ends up staring at him a little longer.

"I'll be down in the basement reviewing maps, if you want to set up shop there until someone gets back," he offers without thinking. Immediately, he's kicking himself even offering. Of course Mike wouldn't want to be around him, and even if he does, Will isn't in the mood to offer entertainment.

"Sure," Mike agrees miserably. Will blinks, but shrugs and ultimately leads the way back to the basement. Mike settles on the couch, gaze tracking him and then the maps he is pouring over. What feels like hours pass in easy silence for once, and Will realizes it's only been roughly one hour since they came down here. Between his intense focus on the maps and Mike's reluctance to speak, he is actually feeling productive for once.

"El and I ended things for good, you know," Mike mutters into their comfortable silence at one point. Will's body instantly feels like a live wire.

"Oh really? I'm sorry to hear that." Will tries his best to feign nonchalance. He doesn't really want to talk about this now, nor does he really care to be honest.

"Yeah," Mike says glumly. "I realized I haven't been... the best boyfriend. Or friend, really."

Will pauses his pencil, heart beating rapidly against his ribs. He says nothing. Mike continues.

"I mean, I hardly ever wrote you. When I did it never felt right, so I never sent anything. I didn't try calling after the line was always busy. But you didn't either. Least I don't think you did." His words don't sound accusatory, just factual. His tone seems slightly off, and Will absently wonders if he really does have a bit of a concussion. "Do you think things will ever be like they were?" Something about this question rubs him the wrong way. Will's grip tightens on his pencil. He feels cold all of a sudden, like they aren't alone in the room, but when he releases a long sigh, the feeling abates.

"I don't think so," he admits quietly.

Mike remains silent, and that's that.

{}

They don't go on patrol together for a while, and Will makes it a point to not be alone with Mike at all. It's made even easier by a slight increase in demodog activity. There isn't really an excuse to be alone with Mike, and when one crops up it's easy to take on an extra patrol or spend time with his family.

When Mike's health steadily worsens, to the point he wobbles when standing up, the others loudly stage an intervention, asking if he's experiencing Vecna's symptoms, what's wrong with him.

Mike admits to having violent recurring nightmares, but no hallucinations, nosebleeds, or trouble discerning what's real. Everyone takes his words at face value. What reason does he have to lie?

They move on.

Mike's health stagnates.

{}

It goes like this.

Weeks after Will actually starts paying attention to his once-best friend, Mike goes off the rails. Will wakes in the basement of their shared house to goosebumps on the back of his neck, and an eerie feeling permeating the house. He feels like he's not alone. The feeling leads him upstairs, the house empty, to a very familiar doorway. Will white-knuckles the grip of the revolver in his hand as he stares down Mike's bedroom door.

When he pushes it open, his breath catches in his throat.

The carpet is a mess, clothes thrown about from the overturned dresser. The pictures and posters Mike usually has pinned on his walls are scattered on the floor or half-removed from their pegs. Will's gaze tracks to Mike's bed, which is made with a military-esque crispness, not a wrinkle in sight.

On his duvet, torn neatly down the middle between three party members and a paladin facing the Thessalhydra alone, rests his painting in two pieces.

Will can't find the strength to breathe. He turns on his heel and races down to the kitchen where the nearest Supercom is.

"Code Red," he breathes into the walkie, chest heaving with quiet sobs. "Mike is missing. I repeat, Code Red, Mike is missing!"

Everyone gathers quickly after that.

Will explains his ominous feeling straight from waking up, and what he found in Mike's room. The group agrees that he wouldn't just leave on his own given their current circumstances, so a search is launched. Hopper, Jonathan, and Lucas strike out to the Quarry and the outer reaches of town, planning to spiral inward and pass the lab on their way. Nancy, Robin, Dustin, and Joyce leave for the far side of town for an area of increased Upside-Down related activity they've been monitoring recently, all of them hoping Mike hasn't been taken. Steve, Erica, and Dustin make their way to the closest gate that tore open Hawkins with the intention of moving clockwise to check all of them for any sign Mike was dragged through. Steve also mentioned checking out the military base for any signs of foul play, and he and Dustin were bickering when they left over the possibility of the government being involved.

This leaves Will, El, and Max alone in the Wheeler household to await further updates. Frankly, Will is incredibly frustrated to not be doing more. Everyone checks in every half-hour, and after the first three confirmed checks Eleven retreats to the basement for solitude. She's searching the Void for Mike, hoping to get any clue on where he is. Max, wanting in on at least first updates to the action, has retired to the living room. Will helped her out of her wheelchair onto the sofa and put the TV on low so she had something to focus on other than her racing thoughts. This distraction doesn't work for Will, so he goes back upstairs to Mike's bedroom to search for clues. It feels a little weird to be in here when there's a manhunt for the room's owner going on, but he needs to find–

The hairs on the nape of his neck rise. Distantly, a clock chimes.

The Wheelers don't own any grandfather clocks.

Will slowly makes his way down the stairs. He swallows what feels like sandpaper, his heart racing wildly. Sweat gathers in his palms when he rounds the corner between the base of the stairs and the kitchen.

And Mike is there, but Will has been feeling the goosebumps on his skin long enough to know. Whatever is standing in front of him now isn't Mike.

"Whose blood is that?" Will whispers, afraid of the answer. Mike's face contorts in a smile that is too wide for his face. He can't even say his friend looks normal because of–

Blood is splattered along the entirety of his front. Thick, heavy drips cascade down his clothes. His right hand and wrist are saturated in it. Will takes a steady step backward, his throat stinging from the threat of throwing up. He weakly grabs at something, anything, to potentially attack with. "Whose blood is that."

"Will Byers, trying to act all grown up. Can't hand a little death, hm?" Mike mocks, but Will knows this isn't Mike. Mike would never do this, he would never taunt him like this, he would never... do whatever it is that's happened. Mike steps to one side, bowing low at the waist and spreading his bloody arm out. As if this sick performance is all a joke. Flecks of blood fling from his fingertips against the walls. Black lines creep up the side of his neck, bleed into his skin from the outer corners of his eyes. "What's behind doorway number one? Only contestant William Byers will know!"

Will grits his teeth. He briefly wonders (hopes prays) if this is a Vecna-induced vision, but knows it is not. This... this is all too real.

Mike– whoever this is, watches him for a moment, expression twinkling with amusement.

"I couldn't leave a loose end like her. You'll know where to find me. At the place where you died, and Michael along with you." Without another word, he turns and leaves out the front door, leaving smears of red along the door and its frame.

Swallowing thickly, Will steps around the wall leading to the living room. His grip loosens on whatever he'd grabbed, and it thunks heavily to the floor.

He chokes.

On the floor splays a body. Dead, unseeing eyes stare blankly up at the ceiling, a faint expression of terror marring the pale skin. Her throat has been torn out, skin flared out to the sides as blood slows to a stop in a large pool around her cold body. The red that flows from within her stains the red of her hair that lies limp around her head.

Max is dead.

For real, this time.

Will calls an emergency meeting, has everyone meet him in the backyard of the Wheeler household before migrating to the basement. Hopper is the first to know, what with the police needing to be involved. Everyone is angry, everyone is devastated, and everyone is out for blood.

"I don't know... I don't know if Mike is still in there." Will admits quietly. "I could feel him the whole time I was talking to One. Vecna, that is. It was like he was the one I was talking to, but Mike looked so... uh– without the b-blood, he looked normal."

"Is there a way to get him back without hurting him?" Nancy poses the question to Eleven, who is staring grimly at the table in the center of the room.

"He killed M-Max, and he's holding Mike hostage," Lucas says hollowly. Will winces at his friend's bloodshot eyes. "There's no negotiating."

"We can't just let him fuck with us like this," Dustin mutters bitterly. Tear tracks have long since dried into the skin on his cheeks. His gaze bores holes into Will before he turns to Eleven.

"Did you see where the real Mike is, El?" Steve probes gently, before Dustin can ask. Eleven, devastated and hurting, takes a moment to reply.

"I saw... I saw him in a memory," she explains, halting. "But he wasn't hiding in a good memory. It was like he was there. In the memory."

"What do you mean?" Hopper asks. El shrugs helplessly.

"I can't– he was just there. Vecna wasn't there, but I could feel him. Mike didn't even respond when I tried to pull him out of it."

"What if it's real possession? Like Mike's asleep and Vecna is the one controlling his body?" Robin asks hesitantly. "I don't– um, I don't really understand why or how, but maybe Mike doesn't realize it's more than just a dream. Maybe that's what Vecna's game is this time."

"Maybe he can't fight back because he doesn't know he should," Joyce breathes.

Will's stomach turns. Trapped.

"How can Vecna do this?"

"We already know he's a powerful Number," Dustin theorizes. "Like El, but... he's had more time to experiment. If what we know is accurate, it's probably true that he at least experimented on the other creatures of the Upside Down. Maybe he just needed time to build up this specific brand of mind powers."

"But why hasn't he done it before?" Will finally says, his voice breaking. "He's had plenty of opportunities: me, El, even Nancy. Why M-Mike, why now?"

"End of the world, kid," Hopper says grimly. The group huddles close together, grimly trying to think of ways to save one of their own.

"He's in his end game," Steve mutters bitterly. "Let's not give him any more breathing room, yeah?"

"We'll find Mike," Dustin promises, "and we'll bring him home."

"And pay Vecna back tenfold for what he did to Max. To Eddie, and to everyone else he's hurt," Lucas says.

Will watches everyone's resolve harden on their faces. He hopes, privately, that they don't have to suffer through losing anyone else.

He doesn't think they can handle another.

{}

Carnage. Destruction.

This is what Vecna has done. This is what Vecna wanted to do all along, with Mike's body.

Will doesn't even know anymore if his best friend is there at all. He certainly can't feel him. He observes the force puppeting Mike as he spins wildly in place, laughing loudly and throwing his arms about to puppeteer the vines and hordes of monsters swarming Hawkins. Will cradles his arm to his chest, feeling his breaths come in short gasps. Everything hurts, but the physical pain feels like nothing compared to the way his heart is bleeding out on the ground next to him.

That's Mike. His Mike. Will can't lose hope of getting him back, because the alternative is losing him forever.

"He's mine now, you can't have him back!" Not-Mike sing-songs. The notes sound raspy in his voice, coming from a cadence Mike has never used. "And if you try–" the maniacal grin widens, "– you'll have to kill him!"

Will's heart stops. Mike laughs, the sound ominous and intense.

Suddenly, something changes. Mike blinks, and his whole body spasms. His fingers twitch, and Will's eyes widen as he staggers on his feet. He glances over at his sister, seeing El's eyes snap open as she heaves. She looks like absolute hell; blood is pouring from her nose and the corners of her eyes, and her skin is pale and lined with dark veins. Will doesn't know if the red rings in her eyes are a trick of the light or actual proof of whatever battle she's endured.

But Mike, Mike sways slightly in place. As if something has just shattered and he's re-evaluating his entire world view. He looks over at Eleven, and a wide, uncanny grin stretches across his face.

"Uh-oh," he taunts mirthfully. "Looks like someone's awake."

Eleven screams, raising her arms to throw Mike back. A raw, manic laugh bubbles from Mike's throat after he lands. Will needs to suppress the urge to throw up when the sounds of several breaking bones breaks past his haze. He gasps around a wordless sob when he sees Not-Mike rise, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

"Mike!" Will screams desperately. Not-Mike and El turn to face him simultaneously. "El stop, we can't risk hurting him!"

When Mike's gaze meets his, the other boy takes a small step forward. Will swallows his fear, putting on a brave face.

"Fight him, Mike!" Will screams. His throat is raw from screaming. The spores rising from the Upside Down that bleed into their world don't help. Will wants to say something much more, but he can't get the words out.

Mike laughs.

"William," Not-Mike says condescendingly, "you know what this means. You've lost, none of you can defeat me." A smile, wide and uncanny, splits his face. "Not unless you want to hurt your precious friend."

"Mike, I know you're in there!" Will screams again, and Mike's body stops in place. Will feels a brief flash of hope, of maybe Mike is fighting it–!

His heart turns to stone when his best friend rises in the air, arms spreading and eyes glazing over with a white sheen.

He chokes. El screams.

"Mike!"

Will turns to see Nancy and Dustin there, and the four huddle up as Mike remains suspended, unmoving.

"What can we do, what can we do," Dustin mutters anxiously. "El? El can you help him?"

"Can you go inside his mind again?" Nancy pleads. Will notices how she keeps her gun up and ready despite her distress. Nearby growls and spine-chillingly familiar calls are starting to split his attention. Something big, something familiar chitters from one of the nearby buildings. Will wants to scream a little bit.

He just wants Mike back. He doesn't want to lose him.

El closes her eyes, raising her hand and concentrating deeply. Will, Nancy, and Dustin surround her, taking out the occasional Demodog that wanders too close. Will has to shoot carefully since his dominant arm is so fucked up.

His sister gasps softly, and Will snaps his head around to look first at her, then at Mike.

Mike, whose eyes are open and glaring down at them.

Mike, whose eyes are red around the edges and oozing blood.

"You can't have him," he says plainly. Will's heart breaks at the flatness in Mike's tone. There is nothing behind his eyes; no one is home but the monster trying to kill him, kill them all. He yells out for his best friend, but the group is being targeted by demobats now, too, and he must turn his attention to defending them so El can give them all a chance at survival. Even Mike.

Will sees El drag Mike forcefully toward the ground, but every time she shifts her focus he floats right back up, as if an invisible harness is connected to his shoulders. Will wants to cry at the unfairness of it all. Mike's eyes roll back into his head, and his body is unresponsive.

"Let him go, you bastard!" Will seethes. Nancy shouts for her brother from his side, dividing her attention between screaming for Mike and shooting the swarms of monsters pouring from the nearby gates. Will is worried about so many things: their survival, Hawkins, their families, El.

Mike.

Unfortunately, he has to prioritize, and so he shoots at any demodogs that come too close, and leaves the Demogorgon slaying to Nancy. Dustin screams something from behind them, and the sound of a metal bat hitting things reaches Will. Fires erupt a short distance away, and he catches sight of a truck speeding by and loud shouting dancing in and out of earshot. Everyone is doing their part, and Will sees Eleven's expression sharpen as she snaps back out of her trance, her arms falling slightly.

"Mike is fighting him," she breathes, and when she drags is body back to earth, he remains nearer to the ground, this time. floating in open air only a few feet out of reach. "He is waking up. I am going into One's mind to fight him. Cover us." And she shuts her eyes, and her face falls neutral.

Will and Nancy double their efforts, widening their breathing room and screaming words of encouragement to their missing member. Dustin does the same, drifting closer so everyone is safer from all sides. Will feels more tears staining his cheeks, every shot he lands feeling more and more futile. He and Nancy exchange a glance– they're running out of ammo. There's no way the two of them can hold off what feels like an army of the Upside Down's minions for long. Dustin doesn't have a gun, and he's showing signs of slowing down.

The first indicator that something has changed is the monsters nearest to them dropping dead. Will startles at a particularly high screech from a bat as it crashes just beside him, but he raises his foot and stomps on it for good measure. When it appears as if the monsters are actually dead, he whirls around, staring up at the stagnating body of his best friend.

Please come back.

Eleven gasps sharply, jerking back.

Mike falls.

Will can only throw his gun to the side and reach out to slow his best friend's descent just barely. Mike still hits the ground hard, one of his legs bending the wrong way on impact. Nancy releases a choked sound as they all crowd around them. Will cradles him in his arms, a fresh wave of despair blanketing him.

"Mike," Will whispers, reverent. "Mike." Familiar dark eyes gaze up at him, concealed by slowly blinking eyelids. Mike smiles weakly, looking out of it.

"It's me," Mike whispers back. His voice sounds wrecked. "I'm here." Will's skin feels settled, and he realizes he can no longer feel the source of his nightmares writhing beneath his skin, waiting for the chance to burst free, waiting for the end of the world. He squeezes Mike, feeling a small grin creep onto his face.

Vecna is gone.

And yet...

Will holds Mike tight, pursing his lips as fear returns to dig its claws into his heart.

Mike doesn't look good; his pupils are two slightly different sizes, still ringed with red that makes them stand out against his sickly pale complexion. His torso is frail and thin, and his left leg is clearly broken. His hair is greasy and sticks to his head, and his fingernails have been shaved down to near half their length. What did Venca do with Mike's body? Will fears the answer more than anything as Mike stares vacantly up at him.

He's broken, a voice within Will cries distantly. He's broken and I can't fix him.

Will can hear other people shouting across the hellscape at each other, the crackles of radio static interspersed through hasty conversations and check-ins. Mike's skin feels cold to the touch, and when Will relays this to Nancy, she begins to rub Mike's arms frantically, trying to stimulate more blood flow. Blood stains Will's biceps from where it trickles out of Mike's ear and the corner of his mouth in slow, thick trickles. They're all a mess, but–

"... 'm sorry."

Will almost doesn't catch Mike's whisper, but he's paying such close attention to the boy in his arms he's able to hear them. Will's heart starts to pound, and he swallows nervously. He pulls Mike closer to him, the skin on the back of his neck prickling for a new reason.

A scarier reason.

"I don't–" Mike continues, sounding like he's out of breath, "... know– I can't remember... what happened." Will grits his teeth at the fear he can hear in his voice.

"It's okay, Mike," Nancy reassures, her expression turning soft. "We'll get you help, then we'll figure this out, yeah?" Mike doesn't even acknowledge his sister, his drowsy gaze fixed solely on Will. Will can't help the dry sob that tears itself from his throat as he squeezes him tighter.

"Just save your strength, please," he whispers desperately. Mike blinks once, twice, and leans further into his embrace. Will's body quakes when one of Mike's arms loosely loops around his waist. It feels like a reassurance, like the beginnings of a weak promise.

"I'm sorry for– what he made me do." Mike insists on speaking. "I can't remember. When–?"

"No, it's not your fault," El says. Will casts a quick, pain-filled glance at her. She is crying too, he realizes; she is crying and staring down at Mike like this is the last time she'll ever see him. Will hates that she's looking at him like that, grabbing his hand so desperately– he has to make it. He has to. "Help is coming," she continues softly, "stay still."

"'S okay, really," Mike whispers. His gaze goes a little unfocused, staring up past Will at something only he can see.

"No, Mike–" Will panics. "Hey, stay with me, please. Please, please please don't– you have to stay with me, okay? We– we promised, remember? You said that," Will heaves, trying to steady his breath, "you said we'd go crazy together, yeah? You're not allowed to– to do this to– Mike!"

Mike's gaze slowly returns to his, and Will's heart skips a few beats at the look on his face. Mike is smiling. It's small, it's sad, it's... accepting. Will wants to shake him, swear at him, make him all better. He's seen this look before, on the soldiers and a few of the braver civilians that had ultimately fallen to Henry's swarms of monsters that had been out for blood.

They'd looked this way right before they died, too.

"It's okay, Will," Mike whispers, and Will's sobbing, tears soaking into Mike's already-rined shirt. "'S okay. 'M sorry."

"Don't," Will pleads, voice cutting in the quiet surrounding their small group. "Please, Mike. We're not done yet, you can't leave us..."

Mike's smile seems stuck on his face. The wrinkles around his eyes are disappearing as his skin relaxes, one muscle at a time. Mike stares at something past Will, his gaze loose even as Will shakes him. His grip is so tight around Mike's arms that his skin is turning white from the pressure, but he doesn't care. Dustin releases a wounded noise from beside them, and Nancy is screaming for someone to hurry up, please, he's dying! He's dying! Will only has eyes for the boy cradled against him, and so he is the first one to see the light leave his tired eyes. Mike mouths something, Will can't tell what, and his chest slowly stops breathing, body going still.

I'm sorry.

Will feels like he's the one dying. He has no wounds, but he's bleeding out, crimson heart staining the ground beneath him. He cradles Mike, and screams his lungs out. Nothing can compare to this grief he feels, this complete and utter devastation.

Above him, the sky bleeds blue, red fading away like remnants of a bad dream.