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Mike Wheeler isn’t broken.
At least that’s what he tells himself as he stares into the dark abyss that is his room, the humidity of the 1987 summer encapsulating him like an unwelcome blanket. He huffed, and aggressively pushed his duvet off of him in a poor attempt to cool himself.
He isn’t broken, or sad, really. He couldn’t be. Not after everything he watched others go through, everything that he watched and tried to help but wasn’t really sure if his attempts were of use, anyway. He often found himself wondering if him being there for Will, for El, for Max, if it were a comfort. Did his presence make it better, less daunting, or did he make it worse? The restless nights where Will would wake up screaming, his lungs raw, recklessly clutching onto Mike as if he were the last person on Earth, did he really help? Or every Sunday when he’d sit by Max’s hospital bed in 1986, holding her pale hand and reading her stories, or updating her on the Party or Hawkins. Or crying.
In perspective, it was a ridiculous question to be asking himself. Of course he helped, of course, otherwise the people in his life wouldn't have gone to him for their comfort. Of course Max’s smile was genuine when she was a few weeks from her discharge and he practised braiding her hair. Of course El’s laugh was real when he blurted out any joke he could muster just so she would keep laughing at him.
El. His sweet friend El, who wore her heart on her sleeve despite everything she’d been through. Mike felt naive and stupid to even think that he'd deserved anyone as fantastic and magical as El as a girlfriend, felt selfish enough to hate living in her shadow. He scoffed at himself, mindlessly picking at the skin on his arms.
Mike knew he gave into the darkness too easily, and he was awfully self aware. It was like a constant voice in his head was screaming at him, telling him how fucking weak he was because people like his Will were smiling and painting and being so kind and he was awake at 3am with tears in his eyes and staring at the fucking ceiling. And sure, Mike had a hunch that everything Will put out was a façade but at least he had enough strength to put one up.
Hardly anybody had seen him since the last day of school. He hadn't come out of his house, hell, he hardly came out of his room. Guilt completely ripped through his soul, because he knew that he’d become cold and distant and so so mean since 1985 but for some reason he can’t help it. He can’t help bottling everything up and pushing everyone away because that’s just what he’s adapted to do. Seeing Will’s body, El disappearing, watching Will’s body get violated as some demon entered him. The Byer’s leaving Hawkins. Max in the coma. Losing Eddie. It felt like all he did was lose and lose and lose, so in return he built bars of metal, screwing them tightly around his heart so nothing could intentionally hurt him.
Everything intentionally hurt him, but nobody needed to know that. He was simply a blunt, rude soul. He doesn’t accept Max into the party and he tells his best friend, who always got called slurs, that it wasn’t his fault he didn’t like girls. If he calls Nancy an asshole or tells Lucas to fuck off, nobody bats an eyelid, right? It’s just Mike Wheeler! Completely emotionally unavailable, let him get on with it, right?
Right.
And then Will crawled through his window a few days ago and told him that he felt like he was losing him, every aspect of him, that he wasn’t himself anymore in complete tears and all Mike could do was tell him that he was right here and he was still him.
He knew Will was right.
Mike cringed at the memory, sitting up to gaze out the window, the pale moonlight beaming brightly in his room. He scoffed yet again, before reaching under his bed and pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, and tip toeing out of his room. He made sure to avoid all the creaks in the floorboards, the noisy stairs. He was still in jeans and a polo shirt. He wasn’t sure when he first put them on. Carefully, he unlocked the front door, letting himself into the foggy summer air, which felt thick enough to choke you. And then he ran. He ran away from his house, onto the street, down the road. He needed to get away.
He knew it probably wasn’t smart to be alone in Hawkins at the devil’s hour, but he decided he’d made a lot of stupid mistakes in his short life, what’s another one?
He wasn’t aware of the hot tears streaming down his cheeks until he came to a stop at the Quarry, the water beneath haunting him as it glimmered. He laughed, not at anything funny, mainly himself. How pathetic, to run away at 3am, with a packet of cigarettes. Regardless, he sat at the edge, legs dangling in the air, and took out a smoke. He placed it between his lips, lighting it, revelling in the way it burned the back of his throat. A distraction from every thing that had become especially overwhelming in the past few weeks. Will slapped him when he started smoking a couple months back. Playfully, of course, but rage was deep in his eyes. He had intended to keep it a secret, but it stained his clothes, his breath, his skin with that toxic smell. Maybe he should’ve been better at hiding it, but also he didn’t really care.
He stared at the way the water rippled, the way the moonlight reflected off it, the way it looked so… enticing. The way he could jump off right now, become one with the water, complete his story. He remembered all those years ago when he jumped off to save Dustin’s teeth, which he knew now was stupid because Troy was a fucking pussy, and also because Will would’ve come home and Mike wouldn’t be with him. He pictured little Dustin and Lucas solemnly entering his hospital room, their smiles solemn, and little Will asking where he was and his heart would clench with such ferocity he thought he could be having a heart attack. He felt even worse when he remembered all the times throughout the years he’d wished that El didn’t save him then, just so he could've saved everyone the trouble that was himself.
He shook his head, inhaling smoke to clear his mind, feeling the way the smoke travelled through his throat to his lungs. It was nice, he thought. Sure, maybe it was slowly killing him, maybe he’d cough up his lungs by the time he’s 30 but it felt as close to relief as he could get. The Upside Down had been gone since January. Hawkins had become completely apocalyptic, but as always, they fixed it. For real this time. Every one had been adapting, breathing a bit more, they even had therapy sessions provided to them by Dr Owens. Mike felt like he was going backwards. He refused to go to therapy. He felt too proud. Dustin told him he was a ‘fucking moron’. Lucas and Max and El agreed. Will simply stared at him concerned.
He didn’t really feel like he deserved it, which was also stupid, he knew. It felt unfair to waste some random shrinks time about his stupid inter dimensional shit when he felt like he’d suffered the least. Like, Will was abducted and possessed, El was literally a lab rat, Dustin and Lucas had people they loved literally die in their arms, Max watched her brother’s heart get ripped out and was preyed on by a fucking psycho. And if Mike was also cursed in the summer of 1986 and broke an arm, he doesn’t mention it. He doesn’t mention the way Will and Nancy shriek when he’s floating, either. None of it matters to him, because he feels so unimportant that it isn’t allowed to matter. He isn’t allowed to matter.
His eyes glance to the water again, the way it beckons and dances menacingly at him. The way that if he pushed himself an inch forward, he’d be gone forever, and he’d never have to fucking live with himself again. But he remembered that he was being forced on a milkshake date tomorrow with Max, Lucas and Will and it was at least one reason to keep himself breathing on this god-forsaken planet. He shivered slightly, putting his cigarette out on his arm, hissing. He knew he could’ve just thrown it into the water. He flicked the stub to the side, rubbing a thumb over the burn. It felt grounding, like he now realised he was literally contemplating killing himself on a random Thursday morning and he laughed because it felt so comical. He laughed because he was so fucking miserable and he had no idea how to voice it to anybody because they were all probably more miserable and he just kept on laughing because he wants to rip out his own heart. And then he picks himself up, walking away from the edge, his breathing erratic and walked home. He walked home because he really wants a chocolate milkshake tomorrow. Yeah.
If he also walked home because he could see Will tomorrow, he doesn’t think more on it.
To his surprise, Nancy was sat at the counter, a cup of tea clutched so tight in her hands her knuckles were white. Immediately, her gaze fixated on him, her eyes fierce and angry and she began to speak and Mike felt so cloudy and foggy and unreal that he didn’t even hear her until she was up in his personal space.
She flicked his forehead. “Michael!”
“Ow! What?”
“Where- Where have you been?”
“I- Out?”
The older sibling scoffed in defeat, returning to her seat at the kitchen table, after grabbing him a can of soda from the fridge. She invited him to sit down. He sat opposite her, opening the can. They sat in a slightly awkward silence, Nancy repeatedly scanning him over and over. He felt intimidated, and quite honestly, he wanted to cry. He wanted her to see into his head and see everything that was wrong and pull him into her embrace and run her fingers through his hair. When they were younger and their parents would fight, Nancy would pull him into her room and they’d listen to stupid pop songs on blast while she taught him how to do plaits. He longed for simpler times like that.
She broke the silence, “You reek of smoke, Mike.”
Mike shrugged. “I didn’t think it was that big of a secret.”
Nancy sighed, her hard exterior falling as she saw the mark on his arm. Mike’s throat closed up as her eyes pierced at it, taking another sip of soda just for the sake of something to do. “What’s that?” She finally asked.
Mike shrugged again in fake oblivion, “I don’t know, I must have hit a bush or something.”
“That’s a burn, Mike.”
“It’s not.”
“It is.”
“I’m going to bed.”
She grabbed his wrist as he stood, pulling him back on the chair. “Sorry I- Mike. I love you.”
Mike gave her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “I love you too, Nance. Goodnight.”
She looked as if she were about to say more, but Mike was already up the stairs before he could even glance back. Maybe he was a tiny bit broken. He could admit that now.
His concept of time seems royally fucked up, because everything is always too slow or too fast and it’s always alternating so he’s unsure how its 1pm on a Thursday and he’s sat with a chocolate milkshake in front of him and Will’s thigh is pressed against his thigh and it’s all so overwhelming and he can’t brea-
“Mike?”
He clears his throat, refocusing his eyes on Lucas. “I asked how your summer’s going, man.”
Mike stares at him in disbelief because literally everybody knows how his summer is going: shit. And yet he finds himself plastering a smile on his face and telling them all it’s going fine even though they already know he’s lying. Max looks as if she’s about to intervene with his bullshit, but Mike notice’s the way Will kicks her leg under the table and he can’t help but furrow his eyebrows.
“Is this an intervention?”
The words didn’t really mean to slip out his mouth, but they did, and the way they’re all staring at him with pale faces and slightly agape mouths confirmed his suspicions.
He scoffed. “You’re all being ridiculous, i’m fine, really.”
More silence. He felt Will press further into him, an action of comfort. He knew his eyes were watering at this point.
“Mike, I don’t have to have my vision to know you look like shit.”
“Cheers, Max.”
And suddenly he felt Lucas and Will’s gaze fixated on his stupid fucking burn mark and now he feels like a moron for not wearing a sweater but it was such a small mark that he kind of thought everyone would just brush it off as something clumsy. Maybe they would of he didn’t smell like a packet of cigarettes himself. Oh well. They didn’t say anything, just looked at each other with increasing worry.
Lucas cleared his throat. “When was the last time you slept?”
Mike exploded. “Can you all just stop? Nothings wrong! Everything’s fine! I’ve always been fine, right? I- I’m not doing this shit in public.”
Lucas huffed. “You’ve been acting like a douche all summer, Mike! We just want an explanation-“
Mike felt anger burn in his stomach. “A douche? You haven’t even seen me! How could I be a douche?”
“That’s- That’s the point.” Max was quiet, vulnerable, upset. Mike’s heart clenched. “What have you been doing all summer that was worth more than seeing us?”
Mike was speechless. He hadn’t been doing shit. He’d been rotting in his bed and staring at the ceiling and wishing he didn’t fight against Vecna and wishing El didn’t save him and now he was wishing he truly pushed himself into the depths of the water last night because everyone was looking at him like he was so fragile and rotten and they were right and he hated it. Will’s gentle hand on his shoulder pulled him out of his own mind and he was crying in front of them, full on sobs and all he could do was let Will pull him into his chest.
He was embarrassed that he was in a milkshake parlour. Maybe they hadn’t planned on him having a meltdown. He could hear himself apologising through sobs and everyone telling him that he’s okay and he’s fine and it makes him cry more because nothing could possibly be alright. How would anything be alright? He couldn’t breathe and everything was shaking and turning and twisting and all he could do was pull Will closer to him and bury his head into his neck and inhale his scent. Will was stroking his hair, caressing his scalp and Mike wanted to melt into him. He wanted to be glued to Will Byers side for as long as Will Byers would let him. Once he had calmed down and his breathing was normal, he pulled himself out of Will’s grasp and sat rigid, sipping his milkshake again to ground him.
Everyone looked guilty, mainly because him sobbing in front of all his friends was a good enough explanation for his behaviour. Because Mike didn’t cry, not in front of his friends and not to the point he was completely hysterical and inconsolable.
Will’s hand held his under the table. Mike didn’t resist.
Max broke the heavy tension. “You should’ve told us. That you’re struggling.”
Lucas nodded. Will squeezed his hand.
Mike ripped his hand away, crossing his arms protectively across his chest. “Yeah, what a friend I would be if I came up to you all like hey guys! Sorry you’re blind and sorry you’ve been possessed and sorry you watched the love of your life die but I kind of want to fucking kill myself so can we all focus on me?”
They all stared at him in shock, and hurt. Hurt over the mention of traumatic memories, shock over Mike’s admission. One Mike didn’t realise he made until he noticed a tear fall out of Lucas and Will’s eye and Max blinking abnormally fast.
“Shit I-“
“You really think we don’t care? How could we not care about you, Mike? You- You’ve been through shit too!”
“It’s bullshit! It doesn’t matter!”
“Mike-“
“I’m leaving. Thanks for the pep talk, really.” And he stormed out the booth, leaving five dollars on the counter. He heard them yelling his name. He didn’t care.
He was at the Quarry again, dusk settling in as he stubs out his 5th cigarette of the evening, on himself. He kind of didn’t care anymore. He was also unsure how long he’d been out here. Hours, probably, staring into the dark blue abyss of water. He expected them to notice something was off, he just thought they’d call him an asshole and tell him to pull his weight more, or something. He also couldn’t stop thinking about how gently Will held him, the way he pulled him close. He yearned for his touch again.
The thing is, Mike knows he’s gay. He’s known for a couple months now, and he’s never admitted it out loud, it just lingers in his mind and aches like a sore thumb. He also knows he loves Will. He wants to claw at his skin for being so selfish and indulging in his touch, his love. Yeah, Will came out to the party in 86’, and nobody really cared, but he didn’t want to think about the look of betrayal on his face if Mike ever admitted that he loved him. He felt bile rise in his throat, and he rapidly swallowed it down.
God, he was a mess.
It was just him, and the water, and he felt himself unintentionally pushing himself closer to the ledge until-
“Hey.”
Max.
She was beside him, leaning her weight on her walking stick. “Jesus, Max, are you stupid? You- you could’ve walked off the edge?”
She scoffed at him, carefully lowering herself to the ground and sitting beside him, cross legged. “I’m blind, Mike, not stupid.”
“Whatever! How did you get here? How did you know I was here?”
“Lucas drove me. And I dunno, I just knew. A guess, really.”
He didn’t reply, simply staring at the water. It calmed him, and stressed him out. It reminds him of Will, his fake body, his -almost- death. It reminds him of himself, rough and unhinged and unpredictable.
“Is this where you plan on doing it?”
Mike flinched, shocked at the bluntness of the question. “I- I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She simply sighed. “You can’t bullshit a bullshitter, Mike.”
It was silent for a couple minutes, Mike knew Max could sense he was thinking.
“I- I almost did. Last night.” His voice was impossibly small, shaky, vulnerable. He was talking to Max Mayfield, of all people, about his shit. Her hand scuffed the rocky ground, making it’s way to his hand. She grabbed it, linking their fingers and holding him tight, as if she were scared he’d evaporate into thin air there and then.
“You know,” she laughed emptily, “I get why Dustin thinks we’re the same person.”
“What do you mean?”
“After starcourt, I used to pray to whatever deity that something awful would happen to me. That something would take me like it took Billy.” Her words hit deep, like a stab wound to his heart, and he tightened his grip on her this time. “I think that’s why Vecna chose me. I’m guessing that’s why he chose you, too.”
Mike scoffed. “Sometimes I wish I didn’t run from him.”
Max nodded. “Yeah. Me too. I used to wish I never made it out of that stupid coma but- not anymore.”
Another silence plagued them both, but it was comforting, a moment of understanding.
“Look, Mike- You probably don’t want some shitty pep talk from me, and I get it but- Don’t go. Please.” Her voice cracked slightly, “We love you. I’m sorry we didn’t notice how bad you were hurting but- Nobody will hate you for feeling shit. For being human. You can’t compare stuff you’ve been through to us, because what we’ve all experienced? It’s different. We all react and deal with it differently, okay?”
Mike nodded slightly. “Okay.”
“Okay. Just talk to us. Talk to Will. He’s been so out of it since you left.”
“I- I’ll try, Max. I just feel so, I don’t know, stuck. Like everyones moving on and i’m stuck on some shelf like, collecting dust or something. And it’s so had to like, move on and pull myself together, like i’m stuck together with really flimsy pieces of thread.” Silence. “Sorry, that was stupid.”
“No, it’s not. It’s not stupid to mourn everything you’ve lost, Mike. To stay stuck on things that hurt you. But you’re not- you’re not broken. You’re not at a point of no return.”
Mike took a breath. A real breath. For the first time in years, he could breathe. ‘You’re not broken.’
“I’m not?”
Max playfully slapped him. “Of course not. For the love of God, please start seeing the therapist.”
“Fine.”
“Mike.” Her tone was stern, demanding, “I’m serious, okay? I love you- I need you here.”
Mike’s heart clenched with pain, love, adoration. He smiled, teasing her. “You love me, huh?” He nudged her gently with his elbow.
“Shut up, god you’re a freak.”
He put his arms up defensively. “I’m sorry! I love you too, Max, really. I promise i’ll talk to a shrink. I swear.”
“Good. And don’t tell anyone about this. I will be going back to pissing you off at every moment I get when appropriate. I’m already embarrassed.”
“I think it’s sweet!”
Max groaned, laying on her back and covering her face with her arms, face flushed pink. Mike joined her, gazing into the night sky.
“Are there any stars?”
“Yeah. It’s really clear tonight.”
“I think i’m starting to forget what they look like.”
Mike frowned, lacing his pinkie with hers. “We’ll be okay, you and me. I mean if we’re the same people it should be easy enough.”
She laughed sweetly, “Yeah.”
They sat there for a couple more hours, in silence or random conversations or bickering or crying. Mike tried to describe what everyone looked like now, the state of Hawkins. Max made him open up a bit more.
He had a long way to go. He probably wouldn’t be okay for a very long time. He will probably sit back at the Quarry and debate whether or not he wants to jump. Sitting on the rocky ass ground with his best friend on a hard Thursday? That was enough for now.
‘You’re not broken.’