Work Text:
Lucas found Mike right where they’d left him hours ago: knees pulled to his chest, back to the couch, eyes trained on Will. His posture, straight-backed and rigid, said he was alert as ever. His eyes said he was so far away he wouldn’t notice an attack until it was too late.
He looked like Hell.
Lucas made his way into the room, two plates of food in hand, and gently folded onto the floor with his best friend. “Mike,” He said, “You should eat.”
Mike’s head shifted in Lucas’ direction before his eyes did; It was obvious dragging his gaze from Will was a monumental, physical task because it took a double take and a triple take before Mike managed it.
It took him a second more to register Lucas’ words, and then another to find the food he was being offered. He took the plate, grip loose, unfolded his legs, and set the plate on his lap.
“Thanks,” he said. And geez, his voice was rough. His eyes, unbidden, darted back to Will’s form and Lucas watched his shoulders fall, his spine curling inward. Lucas knew that feeling- to expect a new outcome every second of every minute of every day. No matter how irrational it was, hope was what had kept Lucas breathing this last year.
Mike sniffed, and then his eyes were darting - Will, Lucas, away, repeat- and he was squeezing his hand into a fist.
There was a tense moment, neither daring to speak, until Mike unclenched his fist and said in a barely there breath, “How did you- do you do it?”
A pause. Lucas thought he understood the question asked, but he needed clarification.
He didn’t need to wait long. “With Max, just- just waiting every day with no results. How do you handle it?”
And that. . . that was a loaded question. Lucas was stumped. Because- Everyone had been struggling with Max’s coma. Everyone was waiting for her to wake up, and running themselves ragged looking for clues.
El had gone days without sleep out of desperation; Dustin spent more time with Lucas and Max in the hospital than he did anywhere else; Will was the best shoulder to cry on; and Mike had taken it upon himself to lead the group and lift the party’s spirits through anything he could think of: campaigns, stories, planning against the enemy. Mike had been determined as anyone to bring Max back.
Except: How do you handle it?
Lucas thought of his friends- how they’d all been so thrown by Max’s sleep, how determined they were to get her back. But none of them, no matter how hard they tried, really got it. Lucas knew none of them got it; Losing Max (not losing, she wasn’t lost yet, she just also wasn’t found) was like losing a part of his soul. It was like hot, steamy glass right out of the dishwasher and immediately plunged into ice-cold water; he had got her back only to lose her again.
And oh. That.
Lucas thought back- back, back, back, to the year the Byers moved to California. To: Mike, complaining in the beginning about how hard it was to actually call when Will was available. To: Mike, as the months went by, pulling away and getting angry. To: Mike, after the week of Spring Break, and being so… happy, relieved, himself again.
And, well. Lucas hated that small part of him that could breathe now that someone else finally got it.
Mike and Will had always been close; more bestfriend than the rest of the party being “Best Friends”. It had been a little confusing when he first joined the Party. He hadn’t understood why it was so hard to click with them the way they seemed to click together. It hadn’t been hard to get used to, though.
And not once in their years upon years of friendship had he ever been jealous; MikeandWill were a fact as unwavering as 1+1=2. It was so normal, something to always expect, that he’d never given their friendship much thought; they all loved each other and they all wanted Will to be safe, Mike just . . . felt it more deeply.
Lucas wondered now if he should have thought more deeply about it.
How do you handle it?
“I don’t,” Lucas said, and he watched the surprise shift onto Mike’s face. “Honestly,” He continues, “ I wish I was handling it better. But, it’s like, I can’t think about it or I’ll fall apart. I get all . . . unresponsive, and down in the dumps, and I don’t sleep, and every time I see her just laying there, I want to throw something. You know?”
Mike says, “Yeah. I know. I want to fight every last monster who’s hurt Will, but gathering enough- enough courage to leave him long enough to actually do something is. . .” He deflated and heaved a sigh.
“You get it,” Lucas said. Mike peered at him, and Lucas said, “The others, they love Max and Will. They do. But not the same way I love her, and not the same way you. . . ?”
Mike’s eyes widened and his posture turned rigid once again (Lucas hadn’t even realized how relaxed Mike had become until it was gone) and Lucas was about to retract the statement when Mike shrugged, face pink, and tilted his head in slight agreement.
“I don’t know what you see in her,” Mike joked.
Lucas scoffed, “Yeah right. You and her are more similar than you like to think!”
Mike smirked, but the expression faded quickly. He glanced back at Will, face soft and eyes hard when he said, “We’ll get them back. We’ll fight for them, and we’ll get them back.”
Lucas would always believe his best friend.
He said, “Absolutely.”