Chapter Text
“Let go of me!”
Mike tries pulling his arm from his father’s grip, but he isn’t successful. His father has always been stronger than him. Mike thinks he always will be, especially if Mike continues to live like he does and grows as fast as he is.
His mom is out with Holly, Mike doesn’t know where Nancy is, just knows she’s most likely with Robin; the two have been together a lot. No one is home but Mike and his father.
That gives his father the perfect opportunity.
“Dad!”
Mike tries to pull his arm away, dig his heels in, or something to get his father to rethink what he’s doing to his fifteen-year-old son. Mike ignores the fact that it’s never worked before. Still, he hangs on to the foolish hope that this time will be different, that this time, his father will listen.
His father drags him up the stairs and down the hall, heading towards the main bedroom. Mike’s parents’ room. His father only releases his arm to push him into the room, almost making him topple over from the force.
He wants to run. God, Mike would cry if he could get out of this, but his father knows too much about him. His father can ruin his life if he even thinks about not listening. Ruin Mike’s life more than he already has.
“You know what to do.” Mike’s father breaks him out of his terrified thoughts. Mike glances at his father’s face.
Anger swirls in Mike’s gut, the warmth of it spreading to the rest of his body, consuming him. His cheeks color with it, but it’s not like he can say no anymore. He’s always given in, so why should now be any different? Of course he has reasons-
Mike’s father knows about him and Will; he knows Mike confessed to Will not too long ago. His father knows they’re tentatively trying out a relationship. And his father knows how deep Mike’s feelings run: they are a part of him. It sometimes feels like Mike was born to love Will. His father also thinks he knows where Mike puts Will’s drawings, but as of now, that secret is still safe.
Mike’s father knows about Mike’s suicidal thoughts, though he doesn’t seem to care because he does things to make them worse. His father knows every suicide attempt Mike has made. Mike doesn’t want the party, especially Will, to know because they’ll see him differently. He doesn’t want that.
“Michael.”
Mike scowls at the use of his full name despite the position he’s in. He hates hearing it because he only hears it during these moments with his father and when he’s in trouble.
His father gives him a look, telling him to knock it off and get on with it. There is no stalling here.
The last bit of hope Mike holds about his father changing his mind just this once disappears as he feels his father’s eyes on him, waiting for Mike to obey. His father lingers on certain parts of Mike’s body as if imagining something.
Mike doesn’t think he can deal with this much longer. He feels he’ll shatter and break soon if this doesn’t stop. Which is close to how he felt when Will disappeared, maybe even at the level it was when they found the fake body or beyond.
And only Dustin knows how bad that was.
Mike reaches for the bottom hem of his shirt, pinching the fabric between his thumb and pointer. He doesn’t want to do this, never has, never will. He has no choice if he wants to keep his secrets. Mike takes a deep breath, eyes meeting his father’s right before he moves to take the shirt off.
Mike can feel himself slipping, leaving his body to watch himself act on autopilot. First it was his shirt, then it’s everything else.
He feels numb and detached, even as his stupid fucking body responds to everything his father does. All Mike does is think about what his life would be like if his father wasn’t a fucking-
He barely notices his father leaving him to clean up. He barely feels anything as he runs through the motions of taking a shower, getting dressed, and hiding bruises his father had left because Mike bruises easily. Hiding the fact his father ever-
Mike can’t even say the word in his thoughts.
Mike looks at his watch when he’s done and sits stiffly on the edge of his bed. It’s been over an hour and fifteen minutes since he last noticed the time.
He still feels unattached to his body as he crawls under the covers on his bed. His father can’t make him do things there. He’s as safe as he can be when the apocalypse is happening.
He hopes Nancy gets back soon.
Chapter 2
Summary:
the aftermath of chapter one; mike and will have a moment - and mike continues to struggle as will tries to push.
Notes:
after this chapter, i'm planning on doing 2 - 3 scenes per chapter, but we'll see how that goes.
anyway, sorry this took so long, i've got so much mental illness at the moment so it's hard to find energy, but it's here!
<3!
Chapter Text
Mike wakes with a start, his heart pounding in his chest and a scream lodged in his throat. It seems like that’s all he’s getting. Just nightmares. He sits up, trying to catch his breath.
He can feel himself drifting a little as he calms and the shaking in his hands ceases. A deep breath, in and out. Another.
He hears someone knock briefly. The door’s opening before Mike can even think about saying something, and it’s Will. Mike lets a small smile onto his face, and Will returns it with tinted cheeks as he shuts the door behind him.
“You’re sleeping? Isn’t it a little early?” Will asks, amused.
Mike shrugs, lying back down and mumbling his answer. “I just feel tired.” His smile fades. “Lay with me?” He holds an arm up so Will can crawl in.
Now, both of them are blushing. Will joins him, lying facing toward Mike. “Hi.”
Mike’s face burns. “Hey.”
Will’s eyes flick to Mike’s lips, and Mike gets the sudden urge to kiss him. With that goal in mind, Mike leans forward, softly pressing his lips to Will’s before pulling back and opening his eyes again.
Will's lips twitch amusedly. “Want me to stay while you take a nap?”
“Yeah.” Mike looks away from his boyfriend so he can lay his head on Will’s shoulder. Will lets him and brings the arm behind Mike up so he can run his fingers through Mike’s hair, which is getting longer as the weeks pass. Mike doesn’t mind it, though, despite the comments people make. “Hey, Will?”
Will hums. “Yeah?”
“I… I have so much love for you, I don’t know what to do with it.” It sounds so fantastically cheesy, but it makes Will smile, so Mike counts it as a win. Plus, Will’s smile is contagious enough that Mike can’t help how his mouth stretches into a smile again, too.
There’s a warmth settling in his chest that he can only contribute to Will, the brightest light in his otherwise horrible life. Not that the party or extended party don’t help. Will is just… different. The steady warmth in Mike’s chest is as comforting as always, like he belongs here, like he’s home. In his room, on his bed, tucked into Will’s side as the little spoon despite being the taller one. It doesn’t help that Will has obviously built on muscle and is stronger than he was before leaving for California, before... before abandoning Mike.
Mike tries not to think like that, tries not to let himself get angry with Will because Mike knows the move was not entirely Will’s decision, not his choice, but… Sometimes Mike’s brain doesn’t get the memo. The anger is hard to control and the feeling that Will is going to leave again won’t leave him alone. It doesn’t help that just an inkling of a thought about Will leaving again makes Mike spiral like nothing else does, not even Mike’s father.
One of Will’s hands plays with Mike’s hair and the other lies over Mike’s hand on Will’s chest. Mike’s other hand is behind Will’s back.
Even though it’s a pleasant moment, even though he’s relaxed for once in his damn life, his thoughts have to ruin the happiness he feels for the first time in a long time.
You don’t deserve him, Mike’s thoughts say. He can do so much better than a sick fuck like you. You deserve to be alone.
Mike attempts to hide his face, turning into Will’s body as the smile Mike wears fades. He doesn’t want to ruin this moment, but the thoughts linger, sticking to the front of his mind no matter how much he wants them to leave.
“Mike?”
The hand in his hair stills, and Mike wants to kick himself for worrying his boyfriend. His feelings from the mention of the word "boyfriend" don't come close to touching the stress and exhaustion he feels. Mike mutters his response into Will’s chest. “It’s nothing.”
Will moves the hand resting over Mike's to slot his fingers in-between Mike's, squeezing gently as their palms touch. "It isn't nothing if it bothers you," Will tells him, voice a whisper.
Because of that, suddenly Mike wants to spill everything to Will: his father, his thoughts about how he's hanging on by a thread, and he feels it'll snap soon if nothing changes. Except, what if his father finds out and and outs them and their relationship before they can do anything with the information?
Mike knows for a fucking fact he won't be able to live with himself if Will gets hurt because of him.
"It's nothing." Mike's tone is insistent, yet also pleading as he pulls his head back onto Will's shoulder instead of hiding. "I promise." The lie falls easily off his tongue and makes guilt settle like a stone in his gut, but the anticipated results make it impossible for the truth. He can't let Will know how far his father has gone, how long it's been happening.
"Did your dad say something again?"
Mike tenses, and he knows it gives everything away because there are things Will is perceptive to after knowing Mike for so many years. "It's nothing." Please don't ask, Mike begs silently, I never want to think about it with you.
Will's hand squeezes Mike's again, and Mike knows he needs to change the subject before Will starts. Now.
But the universe rarely listens to Mike as Will attempts to look him in the eye, Mike avoiding it but still seeing the disappointed frown, causing a nervous energy to sprout that Mike can't do anything with unless he wants to prove Will's point. "Mike."
And there's the urge to hide again, Mike thinks, Will's brittle yet angelic voice forming his name in a way that Mike can hear the worry building on the disappointment. Mike's eyes burn with unshed tears, but that has less to do with Will's voice and more the burning of shame and words caught in his throat, though not exclusive. He finds himself apologizing on instinct. "Sorry."
The hand in Mike's hair starts up again, fingers catching momentarily on easily-separated knots throughout the curled mess. Will hums some song Mike recognizes but doesn't have the brain power to figure out at the moment. He pauses the hummed tune after a few moments to speak. "I won't make you tell me right now, but will you tell me later?"
It's a big ask, but only Mike knows that, Will not having been through what he's going through, not exactly. Sure, the possession could compare, Will having described it as being violating, he'd felt gross and so wrong for a long time after, but... that was something that happened once, not so many times he'd lost count over the years, and not by someone he's supposed to trust with his life.
It's unfair to compare the two, though, anyway. Humans and monsters from different worlds, and Mike would never truly know how Will felt back then, just like Will wouldn't know every nuance of Mike's current situation.
Mike's next words are reluctant, considering he's not planning on following through. Another lie. "Okay."
After that, Mike tries to relax the best he can, but after every thought he's had, it's turning out to be impossible, so he spends the next while just thinking about every thing that's going on.
Weighing risks and playing out scenarios in his head that never play out the way he wants. He... he wants to rest. Is that too much to ask?
Chapter 3
Summary:
continuing with a snippet of the abuse ; mike attempts to tell will, but something stops him
Notes:
finally it's here. one more update before the year ends, huh?
we hope this brings you something and that you're being careful with what you read <3
Chapter Text
"So pretty..." Mike's father mutters, standing in front of him as Mike avoids his eyes as much as possible. Even as Ted reaches out, knuckles brushing Mike's cheek.
Mike braces himself for... something, but all the older man does is stare.
They're alone again.
Nancy is out with Robin because of course she is. Mike wouldn't want to be here either; especially with their father. Holly and their mom are at a play-date, something that seems to happen a lot more now. It's like everyone's bored of staying at home, even in a climate like this, and Mike himself has no distraction, no excuse to be out. His friends are all too busy to hang out, Mike himself being so tired when they do.
It seems the universe hates Mike because of this; putting him in situations where both he and his father are free at the same time. There's nowhere Mike needs to be, no one needs his help with how useless he is. He would visit Max, but he isn't sure if that's a good idea, guilt tinging his thoughts. El and Lucas are usually there anyways, no need for someone to keep her company. Maybe he could find somewhere in town as Will had?
Mike flinches minutely as his father pulls away, giving Mike one last look before grabbing his wrist and talking again.
"You know what to do."
"No," Mike stupidly tests, tensing as Ted narrows his eyes.
A moment of silence Mike predicts to be for a window of correction. He doesn't take it.
"Did you just say no?"
Another window, but Mike only swallows, opening and closing his mouth a few times, waiting for his words to fill the silence on their own. They don't. Mike just stands there, looking like an idiot.
Ted tightens his grip on Mike's wrist as Mike winces, pain shooting through it. "Did you or did you not tell me no?" his father asks, and Mike forces himself to look him in the eye because he knows the rules to being assertive, however few times he is.
Mike wants to take it back, but finds he can't. His father heard him say it. Mike breaks the eye contact, letting his head fall forward in submission, his shoulders tensing. "I said no," he responds in a whisper.
"It isn't up to you, is it?"
Mike shakes his head.
"Then you better listen."
Mike nods fearfully, and instead of letting go, his father pulls him along. Up the stairs, past the other bedrooms, and into... into Mike's own. When his wrist is released, Ted pushes him onto the bed.
A new fear starts to rise inside Mike as his mind struggles to detach; the safety of his room fighting the danger the man possesses. The door gets closed and locked, no one to come in and save, even if there were other people here. His father moves to the bed, leaning over Mike.
There would be no escape.
Ted stares at Mike for a few seconds too long, inspecting, roaming his face, stopping on Mike's lips a few times like he wants to.
Mike is scared he will.
"Here's what's going to happen: If you want to keep your secrets and that boyfriend of yours safe, then you'll do what I tell you to do. If you try to disobey, everyone knows," he says finally.
Mike swallows and nods again. "Okay." Weakly, he tries to tell himself that this is, that this will all turn out okay in the end. Though the longer this goes on, the more he loses hope it'll ever stop. The more he loses hope that his father will somehow come to his senses that don't seem to exist. It hasn't happened in all the time it's been happening, so... it's hopeless now.
Ted reaches for Mike's shirt, and despite not wanting to, Mike helps him take it off. Cold hands roam Mike's skin, and like some miracle, he sees something flicker in his father's eyes. Something Mike might call guilt if he didn't know better. Or maybe it's the fact Mike hasn't been this aware in a long time. His father couldn't really be guilty, could he? It seems unlikely with all of Mike's experience, but he needs to try.
"Please don't do this." Mike pleads, weakly whispered but still loud enough to hear.
It seems the wrong thing to say because Ted stops for a second to look back at his face before moving down to Mike's jeans. "Stop whining," he scolds, getting the button undone.
His father only pulls away enough to get his own clothes off, the rest of Mike's following soon after with no protest, Mike not wanting to push his luck any more.
Thank God Mike's mind gets the memo to drift after that, and he doesn't feel anything other than emptiness. He lies there, letting his father touch him and hurt him and make him feel like he wants to die.
Maybe, his mind provides, you should. It'd certainly put an end to this. It could get attention, too. Maybe this way they'd find out what was going on right under their noses. Mike wouldn't be telling anyone, so he wouldn't break the deal.
Yeah.
He should.
He will.
"If I did something horrible, would you still like me?" Mike finds himself asking the next day, looking up from his planning notebook where he's scribbling down any random idea he has for a campaign. His gaze moves off to the side and he bites his lip, already regretting the words once they're out in the open.
"I'll help you hide the body," Will replies, not looking up from whatever he's working on. When Mike is quiet for a second too long, he can feel Will's eyes on him, pencil resting back on the table. "Did you do something?" Will's voice is serious now, and that makes Mike wince.
Mike can feel his face gradually getting hotter, tears involuntarily forming. What the fuck is he thinking? Is he going to tell Will about his father before he kills himself? Is he about to doom them because he can't keep a secret? Or is he going to tell Will about his plan?
"Mike?"
Mike blinks, shifting in his spot on the couch in the basement, moving to hook his ankles together. He moves the notebook to the side and puts his head in his hands, hoping to hide the forming tears. "Nothing. Just forget I said anything." He keeps his hands covering his face until someone, Will, moves his hands to hold them.
"You know you can tell me anything, right?" Will reaches to tuck some hair behind Mike's ear as Mike looks up. It's getting long, but Mike can't find an ounce of care for the fact. Besides, Mike isn't letting anyone touch him for anything - even something like cutting his hair - if he doesn't know them. Anything to avoid a reminder of his father. Will cuts off this train of thought by speaking, "I'll listen."
Mike blinks slowly, quiet as he replies. "I... I can't." He looks away from Will's face and to the table that's fully cleaned off for the first time in years. It feels bittersweet; as they've grown, pretending has taken on a new meaning. Pretending to be functional people instead of clerics and paladins. "I can't tell you," Mike foolishly lets slip, know that it's an answer of something by itself.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Will's eyebrows furrow as curiosity takes over. "Would it help if I guessed?"
Would it? Would Mike risk everything they have when he's going to die anyway? It's tempting, he knows, to at least say something is going on, and he really isn't sure, but that little bit of hope is sparking in his gut. Maybe he can stop this, maybe he can get himself back, get his body back without having to take any extreme measures. The more he thinks about it, the more it grows on him, getting bigger until the urge is definitely stronger than it needs to be.
Then... Then Mike is remembering what exactly is at stake here. He doesn't want to burden Will with any of his problems. Everyone knowing Mike's feelings for Will could put him in danger, and there's no way Mike can do that. Biting his lip, he tries to think. What is he going to do?
"Mike? Is... Is your dad still saying those things to you?"
Mike tenses and remembers that Will is his best friend, first and foremost. He should be able to talk about anything, and Will is here, actually here, waiting patiently for Mike to find his words. He's not across the country anymore. "If I did something horrible, would you still like me?" Mike repeats.
Will, still close, sets a hand on one of Mike's, squeezing gently. "I'll still love you, I promise."
Mike finally glances at Will again, trying to find his words. He's really going to do this, isn't he? Mike's gaze moves towards the basement door, and he prays no one is on the other side. Then his eyes are back on Will, intending to just look at him.
Look at his hazel eyes and the way his brown hair looks in this light, face illuminated by the soft lamp lights around the room and the fading ceiling light. How the darkness of the wooden-walled, art-covered room still adds something to the depth of Will's features, the mixture of it never able to make him look bad in Mike's eyes. How even in little light, his eyes shine something beautiful.
Mike forces his eyes away, biting his lip. His lips part to say something, anything at all, really, but nothing comes, so he closes it again. Silence stretches for a few moments before Mike tries again, voice low and monotone but ending higher, a question. "He's... not saying things to me?"
Despite the admittance of change, Mike can see the gears turning in Will's head as he looks back. "... There's something else, isn't there?"
Mike, showing obvious hesitance, falls back so his head hits the semi-soft surface of the back of the couch, eyes moving to the ceiling. How much is he going to tell Will? All or some? Or is he just going to change his mind and beg Will to forget?
The hope he'd felt starts to dwindle, and the idea he's had in his head seems more likely. "I..."
Will sits beside him on the couch, moving so their shoulders touch, grabbing Mike's hand again. Will's thumb rubs the top of Mike's hand. He waits patiently despite how Mike knows he wants to ask, to make anything he can better in that moment. After about a minute of silence, Will speaks. "Do you want to get-"
"No!" Mike half-shouts, immediately feeling guilty when Will winces, obviously holding back a flinch. "Sorry," Mike apologizes. "I just- I don't know if this is..."
"Enough?" Will guesses softly, gaze shifting from their hands to Mike's eyes, Mike looking away but not turning his head on contact. "Is he... hitting you?"
Mike shakes his head, not entirely telling the truth. It isn't something that happens often, it's something that's more correctional than for the sake of it. Not that the reason really matters. He wants to pull his hand away at the reminder of everything, the feeling of dirt and sweat covering him like a phantom, drowning him in the feeling of being ruined beyond anything that can be fixed.
The plan cements more in his head.
He deserves it, he know this. He needs to do it. Soon.
"Never-mind," Mike says, mind changed on saying anything. It wouldn't help, nothing could help him. "Just forget about it." He pulls away from Will and stands up, grabbing his forgotten notebook and the pencil he'd abandoned.
"Mike-"
Despite the reaching out, Mike knows Will is disappointed that he didn't say anything, but it won't matter in the long run. He'll find out eventually, Mike's thoughts whisper, so why not tell him now?
It wouldn't take long, the thinks back, just a few seconds...
"Mike."
Mike moves for the stairs, already knowing Will will follow him. He steps out and climbs the stairs, out the basement door and moving towards his room, not a word coming out of his mouth. He's emotional enough, he doesn't need anything to destroy his resolve.
"Mike." Will grabs his hand and pulls Mike back towards him while Mike himself is trying his best to keep his neutral resting face and not cry.
He can't cry. He quickly looks away from Will after the initial surprise, keeping his head down. "I said forget it, Will."
"I... I'm not going to drop this. If you're in danger-" Will starts, getting cut off by Mike's forced laugh.
"I'm not in fucking danger, Will." He can't exactly play as dumb as he wants, so Mike will just have to convince Will it was an act. "I'm fine, drop it."
"Stop avoiding the question, then!"
Mike stays silent, lip between his teeth, and watches footsteps appear behind Will. He doesn't have the awareness to recognize them. He makes no sound until the person clears their throat.
Will lets go of his hand in surprise, and Mike darts to his room, closing and locking the door behind him.
Mike doesn't bother listening in.
He feels so tired, rocks attached to every one of his limbs, weighing him down to the very ground he walks on. He just wants to sleep right now, even as his face grows hot and the urge to cry almost overtakes him.
He climbs under the covers, pulling the blanket up to his head and lies there, waiting the few seconds for sleep to overtake him so he won't have to talk to anyone outside of the safe little bubble he's made.
Chapter 4
Summary:
mike has a panic attack, instigates a fight with will when confronted, and does something irreversible.
Notes:
honestly surprised this didn't take as long.
Chapter Text
Mike doesn't wake up biting back a scream for once, but he does wake slowly, softness around his edges but phantom touches over every surface of him. These moments always affect him differently, him not being able to escape the reminders of memories past. The languid way he wakes up guarantees it will take him a moment to move, to disturb the feeling he shouldn't be having. All he can do is lie there and let himself wake up gradually, waiting so he can move on with his day.
It signals tired days, usually. Unfortunately.
Mike pulls the blanket back over his head for a moment, sighing as he shifts to distract himself from the fading touch. His eyes close again, brain influencing him to go back to sleep.
A knock on his door startles him, breath hitching.
"Michael?"
Oh. It's just his mom, home for once.
He can't help the bitter tinge his thoughts take, but it's not like he can demand she stay home. She'd obviously ask why, and Mike wouldn't waste a second before clamming up.
He shudders as she knocks again.
"Give me a second!" he yells back and glances at his window, the curtains pulled back. The night blinks back at him from outside, so he must have slept for a while. Normal for a tired day, he thinks. It's probably dinner time now.
Mike finally pushes the blanket off him when a third knock comes, every feeling piling on him at once as he's forced to face reality, fatigue dragging him down, stress causing too familiar aches, and shame, felt even though he isn't getting... hurt right this moment. He's ashamed that it happened at all, that he knows this feeling in the first place. "I said, I 'll be there in a minute!" he calls again, voice almost cracking but thankfully holding just enough that he knows she won't ask.
It also hits him all at once that he doesn't think he can face them, not when he knows he's going to kill himself soon. Not when he was so close to telling Will when he shouldn't have.
The only way out of the house from the upstairs is Nancy's room, her window. There's no promise he'll make it, especially if Will is here.
Settling on the edge of his bed, Mike stares at the ground in front of him, everything feeling not exactly... real, but him feeling the most unreal, the most fabricated, like he's a poor excuse for something that passes as human. He feels like a character in the video games he plays, seemingly controlled by someone else, a god pulling his strings. His body doesn't feel like his, and he looks at his hands, mind not connecting the idea that they are attached to him, not really.
It feels almost normal by now.
There's another, softer knock that interrupts him. Mike doesn't know how long it's been, just that none of this can actually be real... right? All of this is just some illusion made up, by him or someone else, he isn't sure. Still, he stands up and moves over to the door, silently unlocking it and stepping back.
Will is behind it when it opens. "Mike," he breathes and neither of them move, Mike's eyes drifting up to Will's face, not reacting to the obvious concern displayed there. "Are you okay? I didn't mean to pressure you earlier."
Mike's edges seem to blur more and he opens his mouth to interrupt but nothing comes out. He wants the world to feel real again, but how do you ask that? How do you say that in a way that doesn't make you seem like you've lost it?
"Mike?" Will asks, much softer. He reaches up to tuck hair behind Mike's ear again.
Mike himself barely breathes, feeling it get stuck in his lungs. The next thing he knows, he's struggling to get a breath in, not inhaling or exhaling.
"You're shaking," Will comments, but the words barely register as something understandable, and Mike's vision fractals metaphorically, heart beating louder than anything in his ears as he stumbles forward the few inches between them and grabs onto Will's arms.
Will's voice sounds too far away as he tries to get through, Mike's eyes squeezing closed as he tries to settle everything, but the world feels like it's spinning too fast, disorienting and scary, his chest burning more the longer the panic seeps into him. He struggles to think of a way to calm himself down until he feels something squeezing his arm.
One... stop. Two... stop. Three... stop.
It's a rhythm reminiscent of breathing. Mike focuses on that, trying to keep the tempo so he can calm down. It takes a minute to work, but in the end, it does.
Opening his eyes again, Mike can see the residual fear on his boyfriend's face, and he knows it scared him. Will is usually the one to have these... episodes, these panic attacks. Mike's not had one in front of Will in years, but it scares him as well. He doesn't think he'll get used to these episodes.
"Do you need to sit down? I can get you some water?"
Mike blinks, fully settling back and pulling away from Will, not saying a word. Instead, Mike moves past him, trying to pretend he hadn't just felt like he was dying. He gives no outward indication of anything, but don't get him wrong, he is freaking out, but he couldn't keep them waiting any longer, no matter his feelings. He could break down alone later.
"Mike, I don't think-"
Will follows him down the stairs, but Mike can't bring himself to say anything to him, to stave off whatever conversation they're going to have in the future, a future that would be too far off if Mike had any say in it.
Once downstairs, Mike freezes in a spot where he can see everyone and they can see him. Most of them look up as he enters, but his father just keeps eating. Expected, but somehow Mike is disappointed anyway, like it feels like something is changing but at the same time, the worst of it, the worst person, is still the same. It's not like he wants his father's attention anyway, not really, not when it means getting hurt, but it's more the principle of it.
If he can look at Mike while hurting him, why can't he do it any other time?
"Mike?" Nancy's voice is what finally helps him move from his brief second of hesitation, going to his usual seat next to her, Will following the second after to the other end opposite of Mike's father.
Mike hopes he can get Will off his back, but it'd take work, it'd take time that he isn't sure he has and dedication he can't commit to because he knows how worried Will can get, especially when he suspects something.
Like elementary school, Troy had cornered Mike on a day Will had missed and given him a black eye. The next day, Will had been relentless in drawing out information about who hurt him. Mike was never one to keep secrets from Will too long, not entirely despite what he's been doing, so it wasn't even an hour before Will got his answer. They never exactly did anything about it, mostly because of the social hierarchy, but the point of the memory still stands.
Throughout the dinner, Will keeps sending glances over, a studying eye, probably to find anything to help him figure it out, but Mike knows he won't find anything, every bruise carefully hidden.
Mike zones out otherwise, only answering simple questions. He pushes the food on his plate around, not really feeling hungry despite how his body is begging for it. He hasn't eaten properly in days, an on period now that he's back home again because maybe if he looks bad enough he won't be desirable enough to be hurt. His mom won't notice for another few days, anyway.
He tries to slip away after dinner, but Will grabs his arm and pulls them into the basement before Mike can protest in his still partially dissociated state. Will sits him on the couch once they get close enough.
"Look. I'm not the only one worried about you, Mike."
Mike only stares at him, detached and numb and eyebrows furrowing.
"Dustin and Lucas were talking about you in their letters, El said she was worried about you in front of you after picking you up from the airport and you didn't even react."
Mike blinks, trying to bring up the memory, but nothing comes. Did she actually say that?
"I... I think we'll have to tell mom if this keeps going."
Mike's eyes go wide now, knowing that telling them will make it impossible for Mike to put his plans into action. "What part of nothing is going on do you not understand?" Mike fires back. "You don't need to tell anyone anything-"
"Yes, I do!" Will interrupts, voice rising in volume. "You had a fucking panic attack, Mike! You haven't had one in years-"
"Well, excuse me for panicking when the literal apocalypse is happening! There's a lot to panic about!" Mike sits up from where his back was against the couch, glaring, feeling the first emotion he's had clearly since he woke up from his nap: anger.
"And it's not just the panic attack! Even Argyle and Jon noticed how off you were in California, and it's just gotten worse now we're back!" Will says, a little too loudly.
They both hear the warning knock on the door. Mike moves to get up, but Will pushes him back down.
"What-" Mike starts.
"I'm not letting this go."
Mike stares at Will. It's now that Mike realizes just how far he's fallen, how far he's willing to let them fall, even. It doesn't matter that Mike wants to spare Will of anything, doing this will destroy their fragile relationship for a long time, but only if Mike survives. He won't, though, not if he tries hard enough. He just hopes Will forgives him someday. "What the fuck are you doing?"
"I'm not letting you avoid the question this time. Something is clearly going on-"
"Nothing is fucking happening, Will," Mike raises his voice to say, now getting a little too loud himself. "Stop trying to see things that aren't there! You're being paranoid!"
Will barely flinches, taking a step back, but Mike knows him well enough to know that the accusation hurts.
Mike feels guilty, God does he, but he needs Will off his back.
The basement door opens this time, and Mike tenses, gaze moving to a wall away from Will.
"Keep it down," his father tells them, and then he's gone.
The feeling of not being real that was slowly fading comes back in full force with a heaviness in his chest that he knows isn't good. "Just stop, Will," Mike says, still not looking at him. "I don't need you messing with things just because you think something's wrong."
"That's the thing, Mike," Will hisses, "It involves me when I know you're getting hurt. I'm not going to stand by and watch you get worse without doing something."
"I'm not getting worse, there's nothing to worry about." Mike stands up, shifting his gaze back to Will.
"Yes, Mike, you are."
This conversation isn't going anywhere, so Mike attempts to move to the stairs, to get away from the running in circles, but Will grabs his arm again, him barely able to suppress a flinch. He glares at Will again, fully aware of what he's destroying. "Let go of me."
"Not until you tell me what's going on."
"Nothing is going on," Mike insists, pulling his arm harshly out of Will's grip. He heads for the stairs again, but Will speaks up one more time.
"Just talk to me, please," he begs, sounding desperate. Mike should know he's not one to give up easily, to not play dirty if Will thinks it's serious enough to.
"Just drop it." Mike rolls his eyes, head fuzzy and distant, stubborn. "It's not like you can help, anyway." He cuts himself off too late, and glares at Will so fiercely Will steps back a little. "Just leave me the fuck alone."
And then Mike is gone.
-
Unsurprising to anyone that knows, his father is sitting on his bed when he enters his room. Nothing really surprises Mike anymore, not about this. He can already feel his body tensing in anticipation of what's to come. He locks the door behind him so no one can get in. It's not like anyone can save him. Not Will, not his friends, not his mom.
He's already ruined, already contaminated with a sickness he can never get rid of.
"Michael."
Mike stops in front of him, staring at the ground with the promise of tears behind his eyes. He puts his hands behind his back, submissive.
"Have you told anyone?"
"No, Sir," Mike adds, knowing the paranoia of his and Will's fight is fueling this and hoping that'll win him some mercy. Mercy that he knows he doesn't deserve because why else would his body respond if he didn't want it? Why else would his father keep doing this if he wasn't subconsciously projecting something?
His father nods and stands up, moving from in front of Mike to the side, hand reaching out for a brief touch to the waist. He looks Mike up and down, taking his time as he does.
And for a second Mike is terrified Will is too curious, too dedicated, to not follow him, to not listen in on the other side of the door, hearing this conversation. The thought quickly fades as a hand lies on his lower back, his name said in a way that he hates.
"Michael, focus."
Mike nods. "I'm focused." He wants to end this, never wants to look at his father again, but he knows that right now, it's impossible.
The rest of it goes like this: Mike follows his father's instructions, letting his father touch and use him, and feels empty as he does, even with the comments of praise. he continues to feel heavily detached from everything, including himself. The pain of it doesn't bother him this time, not in the way it should. His father finishes with him and leaves him to clean up, just like every other time.
The difference of this time being Mike doesn't clean up, he gets up, wincing, and puts clothes back on before grabbing a hidden shoe box from his closet. It doesn't have much in it, but it has enough to help him, to severely injure him or even kill, if he's lucky.
He takes the shoe box into the upstairs bathroom with him and locks the door. Mike thinks about writing letters, but at the moment, he finds he doesn't have the time to. He wants all of this to be over as soon as possible.
So he takes one of the blades out of the envelope in the shoe box with every other letter he'd written Will and digs it into his skin, blood bubbling up barely a second later. It feels mesmerizing to look at, in a way. His eyes feel drawn to it in some kind of poetic beauty.
He slides the blade across his skin again, just watching how the blood beads and runs.
Mike jumps at the knock on the bathroom door.
"Mike? Are you in there?" Nancy. What does she want?
Mike makes another cut before replying. "Go away!" Surprisingly, his voice is steady.
A pause before the doorknob rattles and the door shakes.
"I said, go away!"
Another cut, deeper with more blood. It's steady now, and he feels... warm? He hears Nancy calling his name, but he can't bring himself to care anymore. His vision goes fuzzy as the light-headed feeling gets worse, and he feels almost... happy with what he's done.
His father will never touch him again.
The last thing he sees before he faints is the door flying open, El's worried face behind it.
Chapter 5
Summary:
mike goes to the hospital; misfortune strikes in the name of vecna, making mike feel worse.
everything starts to come out.
Notes:
this is a lot. we're getting to the end of everything we've got written.
we're dissociated as we write this and post it.
be careful.
Chapter Text
When Mike comes to, it's to the sight of El pressing something white to the still bleeding cuts on his arms. It doesn't feel like much time has passed, but he's unsure if he'd be able to tell; both seconds and forevers are the same when you're unconscious. He tries pulling away once it registers and escaping, terror lighting him up on the inside, twisting with the anger that accompanies it, but when he tries to stand, pain explodes from his arm, other places feeling like a blip in comparison.
Mike hears El's voice right before he drops and blacks out again.
"Mike!"
The next time his brain resurfaces, he cracks a tired eye open to see El still putting pressure on the wounds, pressing down harder than she had before and looking scared. It's a little bittersweet, he thinks suddenly, having El here, but not Will. He wonders where Will is, if he's even aware Mike is dying.
Mike startles when the door opens again, but it's not much besides tensing up. He doesn't dare stand up this time, even if his brain is screaming at him to get away, to die somewhere he can't be seen by any eyes. Fainting again wouldn't do him any good.
Distantly, he wonders if she's noticed-
"Mike," he hears someone say, and he lazily looks up and- oh, there Will is, looking so close to tears it's a wonder he's even still standing right now. Mike can tell Will's hands are shaking despite the distance, and Mike feels guilty, so fucking guilty that Will has to see this despite wondering, to see him at what is arguably one of his lowest moments since the last time he'd failed to properly kill himself at eleven - and told him about it, making Will promise to keep it a secret. "The- The ambulance is almost here." His eyes move over Mike's face, almost seeming like he's committing it to memory. "How are you feeling?" His voice shakes, too, making it seem like he's barely keeping himself together.
Mike wants to laugh, wants to double over, arms braced and laugh so hard he throws up. It's just so Goddamn funny for no reason, but instead, he only snorts, surprising both of them. "Does it look like I'm okay?" he mutters, all excuses missing from his lips and every memory on this tip of his tongue, glancing down to the bloody white, what he assumes is gauze, on the floor next to El. Blood is already seeping through the gauze on his arm, and he wonders how long ambulances take, the thought only registering in his brain slowly and for a few moments.
He feels so non-human as he mutters again. "I should've cut more." It's under his breath, to no one in particular, but all he can think about is the fact that he'll have to face his father after this, he'll have to face the source of his first nightmare, of his current living hell, and it feels like twisting a knife in an already open wound. It feels too easy to already be making plans for next time; pills again, rope, the quarry he'd already almost died from back in '83, a ghost of a knife held against Dustin's mouth.
"Dentist's office, open in three... two... one...!"
Dying feels like falling, in a way, he realizes, as the memory of blowing wind rushes by him.
The guilt he feels pulling El away from Max is immeasurable, especially when it's not like El can help him either. They're just kids, even her, and Mike can't let the adults know, can't put his trust fully in them despite how they've proven to be so different to his father, especially Joyce, who has always been like a second mom to him. He doesn't want to disturb her view of him, of what she thinks he is.
He hears El's sharp intake of breath and pained exhale. "Mike..."
Mike can't tell if Will heard, but he has the inkling he did as the other teen tenses, eyes going wide as a shaky hand covers his mouth.
Seconds or maybe minutes later, he hears shouting before Will's voice carries back to Mike's ears, breaking. "In here!"
A paramedic appears, pushing past him and into the bathroom with more gauze and tape, a second man carrying a board. The first makes quick work of securing more gauze to Mike's arm before he's taken out on the board and moved to the stretcher.
Mike closes his eyes against the bright light outside, not opening them until he's in the ambulance, vision blurry. Nancy joins him then, but both their parents are nowhere to be found.
She tries talk to him on the way, through the sound of beeping and the fog wrapping around his head, but he never answers. He should have died, would have died if it hadn't been for her. He hates it, hates her in this moment.
They make it to the hospital in minutes, the mandatory stitches being finished a few moments after they stop. Mike barely feels attached to his body because of the pain medication they'd given him to do the stitches alongside numbing his arm.
He stares up at the while ceiling as they wheel him out and escort him inside, Nancy on their heels. He gets taken straight to a room, where adults in hospital dress code are waiting for him, nurses who jump into action once he's stopped.
They speak as they clean up his arm, most likely seeing the flinches and the way he bites his lip, but they don't comment on it. Even when he's supposed to not feel anything. It's once they're done that the questions start.
Why did he try to kill himself, did something happen before, how is he feeling now?
Mike's head spins too much from the whiplash to answer most of their questions, others go unanswered because he can't say anything himself or everything will fall apart more. He already knows what awaits him after all of this is done; his father will drag him upstairs, probably back to his room, and they'd "argue", bruise upon bruise being added to his skin and a heaviness back to his heart.
They ask Nancy questions, but he knows she barely knows anything. She'd tried to shift the questions off him anyway, probably knowing how he feels about doctors and hospitals because of Will, but it doesn't work very well.
In the end, they tell him that there will be someone coming to watch him, to make sure he doesn't try again while they contact his parents and do the rest of the necessary paperwork. They also mention an officer coming by, but Mike focuses on the part about his parents. He goes tense, terror spiking at the thought of his father finding out that he'd tried to kill himself again.
That he'd risked it at all.
Weakly, he asks if they could skip that part, but the only nurse left in the room gives him another cold look and tells him, blatantly, that it's protocol and she has to.
Defeated, Mike just hopes that it's Hopper coming by, as the man had somehow gotten his old job back after he and Joyce arrived back in Hawkins after he, Will, El, Jon, and Argyle had. At least Hopper would feel some sympathy, even if Mike doesn't talk.
The next few minutes are rough as the psychologist questions him, trying to lead his head this way or that. Mike just tells him what he probably wants to hear; that Mike had gotten it out of his system, that he hadn't meant to go this far, that he'd take it back if he could.
All of it, lies, spouted so easily it was a wonder the others thought he's bad at it.
He only asks Nancy about Mike's history, if he'd tried this before. Mike hadn't from her perspective, so the man left the room, a guard of some sort taking his place. This guy would barely let him breathe without having to know what he was doing or what he's going to say to his own sister.
Mike only attempts to talk to her once.
He's entirely fucking relieved when Hopper walks through the door, nodding to the asshole. Except, the amount of fear he has rises, too, as this means he'll actually have to talk to someone about everything.
Everything.
Hopper has a sense for this stuff, Mike has realized over the years. He knows when someone is holding back, keeping information. It might be his downfall here.
Mike avoids using his hurt arm as he sits up. He sends Nancy a look, silently asking her to leave. She gives him a worried look back and a hug before leaving the room, leaving only Mike and Hopper alone in the room.
"Kid," he starts, but Mike interrupts him.
"Can we just do this so I can go home?" He doesn't meet Hopper's eyes, afraid he could already see it, see the things Mike is trying so desperately to hide. He doesn't see Hopper's initial reaction to the words.
"Mike," he begins again, speaking his name slowly and actually using it for once. Mike is too scared of him finding out to feel any certain way about it. "It's a lot more serious than you think-"
Mike's head snaps up. "I know how fucking serious this is, Hopper," he bites back, looking at Hopper for a few seconds before looking away again, not really able to stomach the intense eye contact. "I tried to kill myself, how much more serious can it be?"
Again, he doesn't see Hopper's expression at his words, but he does hear the words that follow.
"You might not be going home after this."
And that... That makes Mike's stomach twist. Out of relief or disappointment, he isn't completely sure. On one hand, going home is something he absolutely doesn't want to do. He's imagining his father looming in the doorway, eyes reflecting Mike's own fear in a way that makes it obvious it belongs to Mike alone.
But not seeing his friends? Not seeing Will?
They're the only reason he'd hung on so long, that he'd pushed it back and back, reasoning that maybe it'd be okay if he could just have them.
He's fine, he will be fine. He just has to make Hopper believe that. "What do you mean I'm not going home?" His eyes move to the man's, watching him hesitate.
"There's talk about sending you away for a while, putting you in an inpatient program." Hopper finally sits down, pulling the seat Nancy had been in a little farther from the bed.
Mike's stomach drops. Inpatient? Like... He swallows, eyes darting between Hopper and a spot on the wall, all of it sinking in. "Inpatient?" he repeats, outside of his head this time.
Hopper nods. "Do you remember anything from before you attempted?" His voice is a lot more gentle than the nurse's voice had been.
Mike finally looks away from him completely, biting his lip as he curls up on the bed, taking care not to let his pain show, especially as he carefully moves his arm. This is it. A moment of truth. His father's threats ring in his ears, of outing him and Will, of telling his friends just how fucked in the head he is and letting them see every sharp edge of what he's been made into. Everyone knowing and how they'd see him differently. Is he going to tell Hopper and have that, or is he going to keep his mouth shut and keep enduring until the next time he tries?
From the outside, the choice seems obvious, but Mike isn't sure if he has the strength to go through with it, to tell.
"Kid?"
Hopper's voice is impossibly soft, and Mike can feel his walls breaking down the longer he's here, even if they haven't said much to each other. It's now more than ever that Mike thinks he'd prefer to have Hopper be his dad, even with the weird love-hate thing they try to seem to have. When it comes down to it, Mike would trust Hopper more than he would ever trust his father.
At least Hopper had never told him how pretty he looks, had never tried to get him alone to touch him, had never forced a secret so big that Mike sometimes thinks he's drowning under the weight of it.
Mike's shoulders drop, and he can feel the tears coming.
He wants everything to stop hurting.
Lying on his side, not exactly facing Hopper, his voice comes out in a whisper. "I wanted it to work this time," he says, revealing that he'd tried before as his weirdly stubborn headache flares. It feels like his brain has been knocked around, and he would've asked for more painkillers, but other things were more distracting. If Mike was counting, and passively, he is, this makes attempt number four. Pills twice, the quarry, and now: cutting. Just like usual, he'd fucked it up. "It should have worked."
Mike is barely paying attention, but he does see Hopper put his notebook down on the floor, and the sound of the chair moving is undeniable, Hopper getting up to move closer. "I'm not here to judge you, Mike," he says, settling back down. "I just want you to be safe." Mike lazily looks him in the eye, wanting to believe so badly that he won't get hurt again. "Did something happen before you tried?"
"Before I slit my wrist, you mean?" Mike asks, glancing at his arm and the bandages, knowing what it looks like underneath. He feels numb, a little. He's just so tired and scared and somehow that helps him decide he's going to talk, to actually tell someone. He just has to pray his father doesn't do anything. "I..." Mike swallows, nervous, fingers itching to do something to distract. He looks back at the wall. "Something did happen. Before."
He doesn't look at Hopper, so any reaction is lost.
The tears fall as he tries to push it out, tries to say it. "My, um, my dad... He..."
And that's when the true weight of it hits him. He'd tried to kill himself. He'd tried and failed, and now El and Will and Nancy, maybe even everyone, they all know something is wrong now.
They don't know that Mike is... raped, over and over by his own father, but they know whatever is going on, it's serious enough that Mike would rather die than tell them.
He's lucky to have survived, except it means nothing if he's has to go back to his father, to go back to the abuse and to the threats, never knowing what it would be like to not do that.
Maybe if he went back he'd end up here again, trying to die a fifth time.
Mike squeezes his eyes shut and roughly wipes at them with the palm of his uninjured hand, a little angry with this entire situation. He couldn't go back, he wouldn't survive it, and not in the same way he's survived this. Whatever is going to happen if he doesn't talk will destroy him completely.
"Mike?" Hopper prompts.
Again, his voice is soft, so much that Mike would have laughed if someone told him it could be. Tears slowly drip from Mike's eyes, not going away no matter how many times he wipes at them. "I-" He lets out a frustrated noise as he digs his palm into his right eye enough to see static. He still hates crying, hates seeming weak in front of other people.
But he can't bottle it up this time. He doesn't want to explode later down the line because he knows it'll be disastrous for everyone involved, maybe more than he can handle.
It almost feel like a weight lifted off his shoulders when he blurts out, "My dad touches me. A lot." the feeling doesn't last long, dread creeping in as he covers his mouth in surprise. He shouldn't have said it like that, shouldn't have blurted it out. "I- Sorry."
Mike refuses to meet Hopper's eyes, trying not to completely burst into tears. Except, Hopper's response shocks him into looking up because the way he says it makes his skin crawl. He makes it seem like Mike's joking, like there's no way it could be true.
"Is that it?"
The tone of the comment freezes him, there's no doubt. He doesn't think about how Hopper would never say that to anyone, let alone him, but Mike's brain keeps trying to say he's right. It wasn't that bad. It's not like he didn't like it, his body always giving in to all of it.
Hopper is staring at him intensely, too. Mike looks away, tears spilling over once again as he unfreezes. He holds his hands tightly, nails biting into the skin. Even if it's true, that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.
"It's not that bad. You probably even like it."
Mike squeezes his eyes shut and covers his ears, muttering, "I didn't, I don't, I don't." But they both know the truth, Mike knows the truth.
"Nobody will save you," Hopper adds, standing up and stepping forward, Mike sitting up in response. "None of them care. You asked for it."
"No, no, no." Mike tries to block him out, tries to come up with something to say to counteract him, but everything he comes up with is weak or he doesn't believe it. He scrambles off the bed, moving back towards the door.
"You want it," Hopper tells him.
In lieu of answering, Mike runs for the door, but the environment changes. They're no longer in the hospital, they're in the Wheeler house. Mike freezes, eyes scanning a perfect recreation of his living room.
And for a moment he forgets.
"Mom?" he calls out, close to breaking down. "Nancy?"
"They aren't going to help you," someone says, voice mimicking his father's.
Mike is too overwhelmed to even realize what this means. To realize what is actually happening, truly believing his father is somehow in his head, saying these words.
"Did you tell anyone?"
This time it comes from behind him. He jumps and runs for the stairs. His father laughs as he opens Nancy's door, checking. Mike ends up in his room, hiding under a blanket on the opposite side to his bed as he hears his father shout.
"You can't get away from me, Michael!"
Mike squeezes his eyes shut and covers his ears. He can tell he's on the verge of a panic attack, chest already aching and his breath hitching, the fear seeming to light his veins on fire.
"You deserve this!"
Tears roll down his cheeks uninterrupted now, and... he believes it.
He deserves it. There must have been something he did at some point, in this life or the last, to get this- this treatment. There has to be. It had to be something unforgivable because what other reason would justify it other than something horrific?
Deep down, he knows the reason, but facing it... It's easier to blame himself than his father, especially after getting so much blood on his hands. It's easier to say he brought it onto himself even more instead of his father being that much of a monster. A quiet thought about Nancy and Holly perks up, but Mike squashes it down.
The footsteps are getting closer and it's getting harder for him to breathe. His eyes are shut tight, and he tries to block out the voice as it changes again.
Oh.
Oh.
That's what this is.
"I can end your misery, Michael."
Mike whimpers softly, involuntarily, and shakes his head, but... isn't dying what he wants? Isn't that what he tried to do? Why is he denying it?
"Join me."
His surroundings change a second time, large columns reaching the sky, tinted red from the clouds. Each column has something tied to it, something not as large but definitely as noticeable. Bodies.
He tries backing up in fear, but his back hits something hard, and looking up reveals a fifth column he hadn't seen before, vines sneaking around it. He barely fights as they hold him to it.
At least, he doesn't until something familiar reaches his ears before Vecna's voice can again.
"...If i thought that it would change your mind. But I know that this time I have said too much, been too unkind."
Is that... The Cure?
The same damn song he's had on repeat since his and Will' fracturing fight in '85? Boys Don't Cry?
How...
Mike wants to laugh because the song fits so fucking well, and he almost does with tears gathering in his eyes, but looking up reveals Vecna approaching, and it's a strangled noise that comes out instead.
"I tried to laugh about it, cover it all up with lies."
He gets distracted by the yelling next.
"Mike!"
"Mike, please!"
He chances a look to the side, and his eyes widen at the dream-like portal hanging in the distance, the white of the hospital room stark against the red landscape of wherever he's ended up. He can see Hopper and Will, who looks like he could burst into hysterics any moment, tears running freely down his cheeks, looking absolutely devastated.
They're trying to wake him up, trying to take him out of the trance Vecna has put him in.
More tears gather in Mike's eyes as he turns back. They wouldn't be trying to save you if they knew, his brain says, they'll hate you if they find out you didn't even try to stop it.
He can't let them know. Especially Will. Mike can't shatter their fragile relationship like this, not with something so... wrong. Not when it's Mike's fault. He won't do it.
Vecna is getting closer and still, Mike doesn't try to fight.
"I would break down at your feet and beg forgiveness, plead with you."
"You deserve all of this, to die like you lived; terrified."
Mike closes his eyes, hoping that it will happen quickly. "I'm sorry," he whispers into the air, willing them to believe it. He's so fucking sorry.
"But I know that it's too late and now there's nothing I can do."
The air is tense, choking as his chest rises and falls, him out of breath as the vines tighten, Vecna finally going silent as he gets close enough. It was always going to end like this, Mike thinks. The end was always going to be a choice he makes.
A loud shout takes his attention, coming from the same direction Vecna had been. "Mike!" He opens his eyes to see El, tears in her eyes as she stares down her old enemy. He can see the tense way she's carrying herself, on edge, as she stares down her past actions in tangible form. "Let him go."
Vecna doesn't pretend to be impressed, gesturing to Mike as he says, "Oh, but he wants it, doesn't he?" They both look back at Mike and he...
He doesn't move, frozen by El's arrival. Something about it feels final. Regardless, everything quickly devolves into a blur after that, El attacking Vecna, releasing Mike.
Despite how suicidal he is, despite his deep wanting to not face them, to face anything again, especially his own consequences, he runs for the portal, vines chasing after him as he runs. They only trip him up once before he's falling; falling into arms, stable and strong.
He doesn't even notice he's crying until Will is wiping his tears and saying, "Hey, it's okay, you're safe. You're safe."
Will's words barely reassure him as he falls straight into a panic attack, the fear spiking as he struggles to breathe, tears covering his cheeks as the headphones are knocked off his head. They can't know, Will can't know, El can't know, None of them can...
He feels like he's going to pass out as he fails to get it all under control, but the steady stream of Will speaking, of him holding on so tight, eventually breaks through the haze, Mike taking in gulps of air, finally. It takes him longer to fully calm down, wearing himself out in the process.
He looks down at his arm, noting that the stitches are still intact because there's no blood staining the bandages, even in whatever just happened. Mike wants to rip them out and let himself bleed out on the floor of this hospital room, so terrified of what would come next, but the moment he reaches for his arm, Will is gently grabbing that hand and intertwining their fingers. The panic blinds Mike for only a moment, frustration and anger taking over.
"Mike," he hears Will say gently, "You're safe. No one is going to hurt you, okay?"
Mike sniffs, unable to stop the, "Why?" he pushes out.
"Why what?" This time the real Hopper talks, but Mike can't help the way he tenses, expecting more to come out of his mouth.
"Why do you keep stopping me?" Mike whispers, head down, unable to meet their eyes. "Why aren't you letting me die?"
He hears Will's sharp intake better than Hopper's reaction, and his brain immediately tells him he's fucked up, that they're both going to leave him here to suffer by himself because it's always been his fault. Mike is incapable of doing things correctly. He tries his hand again, but Will doesn't let him have it back.
"Mike..."
Mike doesn't answer, now glaring at his lap as anger flows in. Why now? Why can't they just let it go, especially in front of Will? He can't say it in front of Will.
"Kid... We're not going to let you hurt yourself." The distant sounds of the hospital can be heard in he background, the room itself, silent except for their breathing. "But, we do have some things to talk about."
Mike pauses in trying to pull his hand away when Hopper asks if he wants his friends to be here for the questioning. Immediately, and definitely predictably, Mike shakes his head. The question is repeated for Will.
"I'm not leaving," he chimes in, almost as soon as the words are out in the open.
"Go, please."
"No. You're clearly hurting and someone has to keep you from-"
"From breaking the stitches, right?" Mike's tone is angry, but they must see something there because Will adds on.
"I just don't want you to get hurt anymore. I can't lose you." Will attempts to meet Mike's eyes, but Mike avoids them. "I can't lose you."
Will lets go of Mike's hand to move his face so they're facing each other, still sitting in the floor. Mike can see the remnants of tears gathered in his eyes, too. "Please don't leave me, Mike," Will whispers, pressing their foreheads together. Mike has half of something to remember Hopper is in the room, but he can't stop the ugly sob he makes next, dissolving into them as he moves his head to Will's shoulder, the teen pulling him into his arms.
They taper off eventually, and that's when Hopper reminds them he's there. Once again, Mike feels a strong jolt of panic as he pushes himself up off the floor, but Hopper doesn't look mad. He looks... exasperated?
"So, do you mind if we have that talk?"
Mike looks at Will as he sits back down on the bed, Will's hand on his elbow, and decides, for once, that safety is more important that whatever dignity he has left. Mike just has to prepare to be alone after this.
"Is it... okay if I stay?" Will asks now, giving him the choice. Mike hesitates but nods, curling back up on the bed, Will sitting in front of his legs.
"You seemed like you were going to say something before Henry..."
Chapter 6
Summary:
the truth is out and mike tries to start healing
Notes:
the antidepressants are finally working well enough for this
also fun fact: i lost the original draft twice so idr if this was the original plan for this chapter but here we are anyway so enjoy
Chapter Text
Mike pauses, his chest tightening with the knowledge that this will be it. There's a dull ache coming from his arm, not yet strong enough to be pain, but it grounds him nonetheless as he focuses on it, letting his chest expand as he breathes in, then lets everything out.
Again, his lips part, and it feels like a Sisyphean task to recount any of the horrors he's been dealing with for the past... however long it's been. He doesn't like thinking about that, about the length of all this. That he might have been dealing with this far longer than he thinks.
He forces a breath in then out as Will squeezes his hand, giving him silent encouragement.
"I- I don't know how much was really... the vision," he says, uncertain, his eyes glued to the floor like seeing their reactions will break him somehow. They could , he thinks, they really could . The visual of himself shattering like glass is clear behind his eyelids as he blinks.
"Would it help if we told you what we last talked about?" Hopper shifts forward, Mike hearing the sound of his uniform moving with him.
He still refuses to look, squeezing Will's hand back.
"Yeah."
The room goes quiet, the distant sounds of the hospital continuing around them. Beeping, talking, doors opening and closing, it all permeates his brain creating a sort of static that clogs his thinking. TV static that won't leave his brain like he's staring at it.
"I asked if you remembered anything," Hopper says gently, just as gentle as Mike remembered being surprised by. His shoulders tense, also remembering what he'd replied with. "You never answered the question."
That sounds like… Mike’s heart drops, realizing both of his confessions went unheard. Mouth dry, he opens it, a choked noise coming out instead. “You didn’t hear it,” he murmurs dazedly in a sort of shock-induced haze.
“Hear what?” Will prompts, and Mike freezes then relaxes with his boyfriend’s head on his shoulder. “What do you remember?”
It should be easy, somewhat, to repeat it, but Mike believes whoever says that is wrong because it feels… It feels harder to say something a second time, something big and life destroying.
Strangely, he gets the urge to laugh again, like he remembers feeling in flashes Before and During. The want bubbles from his chest and up his throat, begging to be let out like an inapt impulsive reaction. He supposes that’s really what it is.
“This…” he begins, deciding to just be out with it. “It was always going to end like this. In- In my head. Me just…” he trails off, getting choked up, but the message is clear to both of the others in the room.
“Why didn’t you just talk to me,” Will asks, his voice dripping with desperation and the horrible realization of what Mike is confessing to.
Mike had always intended to commit suicide, he’d always intended to die not by the Upside Down or the government or old age, but by his own goddamn hands and the energy of this confession hangs heavily in the room.
His vision blurs with yet more tears. He’s tired of crying, but it just keeps coming .
Fuck, why won’t it stop ?
He feels himself being wrapped in another hug, Will clutching him tightly as his words fizzle into nonsense, Mike’s brain breaking them down once again. It feels in one ear, out the other, all of it once again collapsing straight onto him, the pressure crushing his ribs.
“I just wanted him to stop…”
“Wanted who to stop?”
Despite the sudden stiffness of Will’s hold, Mike only repeats the sentence, “I just wanted him to stop…”
Really, he thinks later, it didn’t take a genius to realize with what Will already knew. Mike’s father wasn’t talking to him, wasn’t hitting him, and unless Mike had lied straight to his face, that only really left a single possibility.
“He won’t get you. I swear to God he’ll never see you again,” Will murmurs, his voice forceful despite the slight tremor of it.
Everything feels like it’s spinning, Mike burying his face in Will’s shoulder as the awful truth is finally in the air, at least between the two of them. Mike clutches tightly at Will’s shirt with the hand of his good arm, the other laid in his lap, the IV still attached to his hand.
Mike hiccups, his body seeming to melt into Will’s as he finally lets himself rest, trusting Will implicitly with the fall out of so many years of fear and self-hatred and secrecy. It feels only like relief, and Mike lets himself revel in it.
“You’re going to be okay, I promise.”
Later, when he’s drained, Will shifts them, Mike lying half on him with Will’s arm snaking around him to hold him. Mike’s eyes are red and puffy, a testament to how long he’d cried. Hopper had left a few minutes ago, Mike’s statement held in his hands in a manilla folder, years of abuse poured into the paragraphs of pen.
His eyes are closed, feeling Will’s fingers move up through his hair, comforting, none of this fighting having destroyed them the way Mike expected it to.
“Thank you,” he chokes out finally, softly, his voice hoarse.
“For what?” Will returns.
“For staying.”
“Always.”
Days later, Mike is sitting up in his new bed, El, Max, and Lucas on one side, and Dustin on the other, Will crushed to his side in the bed with him, an arm thrown around his shoulder. He doesn’t remember the conversation, not really, but he focuses on the rumbling of Will’s chest from talking, his eyes still attempting to focus in a room with so many more people than he’s gotten used to after hiding in his room with only Will or Nancy.
It’s not overwhelming, not yet, but he’s thankful that he isn’t forced into the various conversations, his head feeling particularly floaty today. It’s normal by now, no matter how horrifying the others would find it. Or rather, anyone that isn’t Max, Will, or El, all of them being just as familiar with the concept of abuse in different households with different offenses.
His stitches had been taken out a few days ago, almost two weeks after he’d gotten them, and the scarring already looks strange and out of place, ugly, but the moment he’d mentioned it to Will one night, he’d gotten a look, eyebrows pressed together, and had taken his hand and pressed such tender kisses to it that Mike had almost cried himself to sleep at the softness of it.
“Do you think you’d be up for a movie?”
Mike blinks slowly, his eyes finding El’s patient gaze. He thinks about it, about if his brain can handle the stress of going out with the trial still weeks in advance, the process of justice incredibly slow. He remembers last week, being discharged from the hospital and having a severe enough panic attack in Joyce’s passenger seat that she almost took him right back in.
Still, he breathes in… then exhales.
“I want to try,” he says finally, and she smiles brightly at him.
“Just say the word, and we’ll leave,” Lucas chimes in and again, Mike feels a specific guilt for not spending more time with his friends, especially Lucas, who he’s felt alien to for so long despite them having lived almost right beside each other most of their lives.
Mike nods, allowing the thoughts to pass as Will squeezes his shoulder. He tells himself that he’s getting better, he’s improving, he just needs to take it slow. This will be his second time out of the house since his discharge, and they’re all taking it just as slow.
In a way, Mike’s possession had provided them an opening, specifically, it had allowed Will and El an opening right after him, their love for him overcoming the terror of the past 4 years. Will is still learning to control that part of him, but Mike finds he’s intimately thankful for whatever has blessed him.
Will squeezes his shoulder again and Mike shifts closer.
A few days later, he’s struggling to pick an outfit, staring at two separate long-sleeves he’s laid on the bed; blue and black.
“Hey.”
Mike’s head snaps up, but he relaxes seeing his older sister, a gentle look on her face. “Hey.”
“How are you doing?” she asks, stepping forward, and Mike huffs in frustration. “Having trouble?”
Mike lets his gaze drift up again, a silent what do you think? plastered onto his face. “Yeah…” he murmurs. “I just… I’m worrying for no reason. I know they won’t care about my outfit or anything, but-”
“You’re still scared to go outside,” she finishes for him, and his shoulders drop like they were cut from strings.
It’s true, he still feels a permeating anxiety at the thought of it, of being in the open even with friends. It’s like the abuse is still lurking around the corner to his body, but his brain knows his father isn’t even allowed near him due to the restraining order. It's a vicious feeling, one that makes bile crawl up his throat, but he swallows it down.
“Yeah.”
She moves closer, but doesn’t touch him, and for that, he’s thankful, his senses overwhelmed already. “What do you think would help?” she asks, prompting Mike to shrug, lost. “I could take you,” she adds, and the thought is comforting.
He’s not doubted her ability to protect him, not once since all of this started, and when they’d really talked in the hospital and here in his room, she’d assured him of her love and care. That she’d drop anything to make sure he wouldn’t suffer ever again.
That she’s his big sister and it’s really time she put the work into that, no more lying, though he can sense the guilt behind it.
It warms his heart all the same.
A flicker of a smile appears on his face. “You were hoping I’d ask first,” he quips, and by her tinted cheeks, he assumes that’s right. Still, he appreciates her waiting for him to bring it up. “I… Yeah. I want you to.”
Taking a small breath, he steps closer to her, pressing their shoulders together as she gives him a reassuring quirk of the lips.
It feels so much like it used to between them now, and Mike is silently so fucking glad she’s still here, that any of this hasn’t turned her off yet or made her realize how much of a problem he is. Right now, she’s standing with him, being one of many unmovable pillars he calls his support system.
Her hand grabs his and his lips quirk again as she squeezes it then lets go.
“Take your time.”
Mike watches her go, then turns back to the shirts on the bed, grabbing the blue one and changing into it. He can do this. He can have fun.
Mike will be okay.
Chapter 7
Summary:
mike has some downtime.
Notes:
this is a short chapter, i haven't really been in the mood of writing this for a while, but i did have this sitting around from before our depressive episode so i thought why not just extend the fic a chapter. hope you guys like the update!
Chapter Text
Mike takes a heavy breath as he settles into the passenger seat of Nancy’s car, his hands shaking a little. Despite no chance of seeing him, Mike still can feel it, the paranoia seeping into his bones. He can feel his sister’s eyes, and he knows she’s trying to look out for him.
He appreciates it, even if he finds it annoying.
Will was already on his way, he’d stayed home for the first night in a while with the condition Mike would call if he needed anything overnight. Mike ended up talking to Nancy a bit more instead, telling her what exactly he’s afraid of going to the movies today and what she thought could help.
Their mom had come down halfway through the talk, asking for a moment alone with Mike, who had been hesitant, but he’d told Nancy to try to get some sleep.
They both watch Nancy leave, tension hanging in the air as Mike turns back to his mom, both of them finally alone together without one of Mike’s recent shadows.
“I’m sorry.”
Mike blinks at her, his eyebrows drawing down and something unsettled in his chest. “For what?”
“For him. Ted. I-If I’d known, I would have kicked him out years ago,” she admits, Mike surprised that she hadn’t known. “I do care about all of you, and it… it sickens me you had to go through that with him.”
Mike presses his lips together, trying not to cry at being told that she would have helped if she’d known. Because it turns out she hadn’t known. It also turns out Mike is bad at hiding his tears because her arms wrap around him so tight he can’t help but cry into her shoulder as she rubs his back, repeating that it wasn’t his fault and never could be.
He and Nancy only make small talk on the way to the movie theater, the rest of that silence filled by one of Mike’s mixtapes, his most recent gifted by Jonathan with a bunch of songs he thought Mike would enjoy. He does, the tape bringing the same comfort Jonathan does even with the man not being around with Will and Nancy being the hawks they are.
Mike finds himself chuckling as they pull in, Nancy’s lips quirking.
“What’s funny?” she asks, putting the car in park.
Mike shakes his head. “Nothing, I just… You and Will are so worried about me and it’s a little funny because no one else can be around me,” he admits, glancing over as he wrings his hands again, anxious, but lessening as he jokes. Then his face falls a bit. “You’re a call away, right?”
Her face softens. “Of course. And yeah… sorry, I guess we could’ve let the others check in,” she says, her cheeks gaining a pink tint.
Mike shakes his head with a shaky smile. “I didn’t mind it just being you two, I realized I missed everyone is all.” The silence takes over again, and Mike pulls in a deep breath before letting it out again. “Thanks, Nancy.”
He gets out without looking at her.
Days later sees Mike sitting in the Harrington house, Will holding his hand tightly as the others seem to flit around them like flies, trying to make Mike as comfortable as possible while also feeding into his anxiety unknowingly at the same time.
“Okay, guys! Give him some space,” Will says finally, Mike’s shoulders dropping and his frustration fizzling out as Will tells them off before Steve gets back with Robin and Eddie, this being the first time Mike will see the two since all of this happened. Like Jonathan a few days ago, Mike missed them as well, even if he doesn’t really know Robin that well; he’s only talked to her a handful of times.
He knows they share something at the very least, the queerness they both have to hide in a town like Hawkins.
She takes one look at him after stepping in and asks to talk to him alone. Will nudges Mike’s shoulder, silently asking.
Mike looks over at him, his eyebrows furrowed. It’s just Robin.
I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, you did go home early from the movie.
That was a theater full of people.
Okay… If you’re sure.
Mike stands, then follows her into the closest bedroom, watching as she leaves the door cracked with relief settling in his chest. He moves over to the bed, Robin standing as she wrings her hands.
“I don’t want to make you feel like you have to talk to me, but I heard what happened and I just wanted to say I understand. I-I’ve been in your place and it wasn’t easy, but I just want to let you know that I can be here if you want to talk,” she says, not entirely looking at him, but still glancing every few seconds like she’s trying to make sure he’s not uncomfortable.
His brows lower. “You… understand?” he asks, a bit of concern and a bit of surprise in his tone.
She nods. “I do.”
Mike can tell she’s trying not to give more information than he asks for. He’s grateful for that. Biting his lip, he nods towards the door. “That’s why you left it open like that?”
Robin nods again, still rambling like she wants to get all of her thoughts out. “Yeah, I remember not liking my doors closed all the way and I didn’t want to assume, but I also noticed you seemed relieved it was open.”
Mike nods, his shoulders relaxing more.
When he goes back in the main room, he feels Will’s eyes snap onto him, a silent check-in that he waits until he gets back over to answer. Sitting down, he shrugs, unsure of how to really answer after his conversation with Robin.
Her eyes meet his from across the room, and she nods, encouraging most likely.
“Can we talk later?” he asks, trying not to think about what they’d be talking about right now. Right now, he wants to relax, to try to have fun with his friends watching a movie and throwing popcorn at the bad parts as Max and Eddie boo loudly because he can’t really find the voice right now.
They choose to watch one of the Star Wars movies and Mike lets his head fall on Will’s shoulder, feeling the other relax under it as he moves the blanket over more. Mike’s not usually one to fall asleep half-way through movies, but he does, exhausted, eyelids dropping around thirty minutes in.
Thankfully, it's dreamless.
Chapter 8
Chapter by babygirlmikewheeler (winchestered_again)
Summary:
end.
Notes:
this one is definitely shorter than the last chapter, but i'm happy with it and hope you guys enjoy the end chapter! i have no start on the epilogue just yet, but hopefully i can in the next coming week.
on that note, watch your triggers one last time, this includes a short court scene with references.
Chapter Text
"I just wanted to say I'm sorry," Mike says, the first words out of his mouth quiet, reserved in a way that's unusual for him. His fingers are intertwined with Will's and all that he can think about is the fight he started and Robin's words.
"For what?" Will's voice is equally quiet, though much more comforting.
"For… calling you paranoid and trying to push you away. I-I felt like a huge jerk doing it and I never want to see that look on your face again," Mike confesses, his eyes avoiding Will's as he speaks.
Will's face had been heartbreaking enough when he'd said it, Mike can't deal with whatever expression he's making now, even if it is kind.
Will Byers, the most selfless boy Mike knows just moves Mike's face to encourage their meeting eyes and the look there is soft.
"It's okay. You were hurting and you didn't want me to see. I forgive you," he says sincerely, making Mike feel no less like a jerk.
"You really shouldn't forgive me that easily," he says, his voice low, tinged with guilt as he remembers all the other times Will forgave him so fast. "You always do that and I don't deserve it."
Mike's eyes wander again, still not keen on looking Will in the eye, another admission of guilt in the action alone along with his words. He's never been good at not blaming himself, after all, and holding grudges against himself has been something he's done since forever. His fingers fidget with themselves, picking at the edges of his nails, where a few hangnails stick out, and his shoulders tense as he hears Will sigh, his eyes snapping to the other boy finally, seeing the slight frown.
"I know you said your mom apologized for not paying attention, but I really wish she'd noticed more," he says, his voice slightly dry but also soft, his face melting again as he looks up from where he'd hung his head to say those things. "Mike, I really do forgive you and believe you deserve it. You don't need to be so hard on yourself about it," he adds in more of a murmur, his hands grabbing Mike's to stop him from tearing more skin from his fingers. "Sure it… hurt, but I'm much more worried about you than I am hurt by any of our fight."
Mike swallows. Then he nods. Maybe he'll have to accept it, the tightness in his chest loosening for the first time since he'd decided he'd need to push Will away.
His suit is tight in places, but loose in others, a thrifted one, since they'd spent so much money on a lawyer and his parents' divorce and Mike's hospital bill… without Teed Wheeler, Mike does rest easier, but he and the rest of them had already had to move in the few weeks since his and Will's talk.
He's closer to Will, though, so he won't complain.
The courthouse is stuffy, full of adults who are nosy, some Mike knows and others he doesn't. The party is in the row behind him except for El and Will, both take each side of Mike with his hands firmly in one of theirs, making sure he doesn't get too anxious being here.
His mom told him she fought for him to not have to come in and face Ted, but in the end, Mike would be forced to come face to face with his father one last time.
Hopefully.
The entire thing ends up stretching out over the day, Mike called up with sweaty palms just to recount with glassy eyes what exactly happened between them. It's a lot, his words sometimes stuttered or he trips over them as he describes just how horrible it was, how it felt and how he dealt with it.
How he'd ended up trying to kill himself to get away from it.
Every angle of his memories are scrutinized, he can tell. Well, the moments he's present for, anyway. He gets prompted to continue quite a bit, lost in his memories of hands everywhere, of threats of being outed, how he'd ended some nights in his own blood with the shower on over him, shivering until he got the strength to turn it off.
In the end, he openly cries hearing it.
"Ted Wheeler is found Guilty on counts of Child Sexual Abuse…"
He doesn't even hear all of it before he's diving in Will's arms, sobbing his eyes out. He feels Will's arms tighten around him instantly and more arms follow as Mike cries both out of grief for the years and the self he lost and out of relief that it's over, that his father can't reach him anymore.
They celebrate that night, Just him and his mom and Nancy and Will, watching Mike's favorite movies, throwing popcorn at each other, talking about anything and everything that came to mind, letting Mike recount all of his trivia for each movie when they were paying attention.
For the first time in a while, Mike feels like he has a future.
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