Chapter Text
Sunday, May 25th, 1986
57 days since returning to Hawkins
“I’ll be fine, Mike, seriously. Could you… grab a couple of Cokes, or something? It might be a long day.”
Will said it lightly, like it didn’t matter that he was panting slightly while a sheen of sweat made his hair stick to his forehead, or that he was slumped against a metal shelf in a supply closet inside Hawkins Memorial Hospital while Robin fiddled with the dial on a blood pressure cuff half-fastened around his arm.
The three of them had slipped in a side entrance of the hospital undetected, thanks to Robin knowing someone who volunteered there with an ID badge and a useful penchant for not asking questions, and tore through the cupboards in an under-supervised wing. Will, Mike, and Robin gathered benzos and saline and aspirin and gauze and anything else that might be remotely useful to store at the radio station as they waited day after agonising day, preparing for the next crawl.
They'd been elbow-deep in boxes of gloves and masks when Will had gasped a little and fallen against the shelf, face several shades paler than the last time Mike had looked his way not a minute earlier. Will had mumbled something about dizziness and spinning and that he was probably just overtired, which seemed to assuage Robin but did little to quell the panic rising in Mike.
He was debating with himself over whether to wrench the cuff out of Robin's hands and try to decide whether the needle pointing towards 100 was a good thing or not, or just give in and leave them to it. What did Robin know about biology that he didn't, anyway? Screw that, what did she know about Will that he didn't?
Will offered Mike a small smile that didn't quite meet his half-lidded eyes as he held his arm out to Robin. The fluorescent bulb above them flickered a little, casting unnatural shadows over his face.
Fine, my ass.
He opened his mouth to argue with the back of Robin's head, but the weary look in Will's eyes had Mike nodding in spite of himself. He cleared his throat to try and get rid of the slightly tight feeling and stepped out into the hallway, letting the supply closet door click shut behind him.
The hallway was quiet. A few candy stripers walked past Mike, talking in hushed voices as he felt his feet carry him away from the closet. Away from Will. And Robin.
Despite being almost a month younger than Will, within days of climbing onto the unoccupied swing at kindergarten and glancing over at the boy next to him, Mike had felt a need to protect him in any way that he could. Their relationship had always felt… different to Mike's other friendships, in a way that he had no idea how to make sense of. It felt bigger than their friendships with Lucas and Dustin, felt more devastating than a breakup when they fell out, and felt more lonely as the emotional distance between them had grown with the physical.
Mike couldn't quite explain why he felt whole again, like himself again, as the Wheelers learned to live with three extra people in the house, and the proximity had knitted his and Will's relationship back together. Or why he'd search for Will's eyes, his smile, as the Party laughed at his joke, or why his face flushed when Will's arm brushed against his over the dinner table, or why the sight of Will towelling his hair dry as he left the bathroom made his stomach swoop a little.
He'd missed his closest friend in the year they'd been separated. That was all.
Any time that Will was a little shivery on a hot day or felt funny out of nowhere, that illusion of peace shattered around Mike. He'd come to instantly, instinctively, fear the worst– which, for any other teenager, would be 'oh, he's just coming down with something, I'd better not catch it.' But for them, the worst was something more like 'oh, the creature of Hell that's targeted him for years is back and ready to rip Hawkins apart again, I'd better not die trying to stop it.'
Will being a little out of sorts could mean the end of everything. Mike hated these reminders of how utterly powerless he really was when it came to protecting Will.
Mike only realised that he'd walked right past his goal of the fifth-floor vending machine when he heard the slightly tinny but unmistakable sound of the well-worn Hounds of Love cassette cutting through the rhythmic beeps from the room to his right.
He tentatively pushed the door open a fraction, wary of interrupting. The disturbance was enough to make Lucas look up from the Wonder Woman comic in his lap.
"Hey Wheeler, didn't expect to see you here," Lucas said softly, voice a little gravelly, "come on in, sit down." Lucas shuffled closer to the head of the hospital bed, mindful of machines and trailing wires, and gestured to the chair next to him.
Mike sat down a little heavily. "Hey, how's it going? How is… hey, Max," he tripped over his words a little. Mike was still a little unsure of how to approach Max in her unmoving state and felt a new wave of guilt that their relationship had always been a little fraught.
"Same as usual. Her doctor said fingers crossed she gets her casts off next week. Which has gotta be good, right?" He dragged his eyes over towards Mike, whose heart ached at the expression of pain betraying his mask of tentative hope. Lucas schooled his expression with a deep breath in. "We're on volume two, issue ten– I hope you're keeping up, I'm sure as hell not gonna butcher all the Gods' names again," he chucked, waving the comic towards Max.
When Mike didn't react, Lucas looked back at him, frowning slightly at Mike's furrowed brow and down-turned expression. "You visiting someone? Is everything okay?"
Mike sighed. It felt ridiculous of him, insensitive even, to start lamenting about how he was already missing Will since leaving him dizzy in a closet. Especially when he knew that Lucas would give anything to see Max awake and walking around.
But he knew that Lucas wouldn't let it go. Mike nibbled at his lip.
"Yeah, it's… it's just Will. We came to grab some supplies before the go-ahead for the next crawl, but he went all dizzy suddenly, and sent me out to pick up a Coke, for his, um, energy."
Lucas raised his eyebrows at the mention of the Coke and the apparent lack of a can in Mike's hands. Mike looked away, slightly bashful to have been caught in– not a lie, but in a moment of obvious distraction.
"Jeez, is he okay? You should've brought him down here, or radioed me to buy a drink–"
"No, um, he's fine. Robin's here too, she stayed with him," Mike said shortly.
Nodding slowly, Lucas said, "Oh, okay. At least he's got her in there with him. They seem like good friends. Like, they seem… good for each other, you know?"
"Yeah," Mike said, teeth gritted in a way that he couldn't explain as he wrung his wrists. Lucas narrowed his eyes.
What do you know? Mike wanted to ask. Almost did. Maybe a version of him with a shred more of courage would've. Why do they spend so much time together? What does she have that I don't?
Why does it bother me so much?
Maybe he was overestimating Lucas' all-encompassing knowledge of Will's life, love or otherwise. Mike sighed again.
Lucas was silent for a moment. Then, "Are you gonna take him that Coke?"
Mike felt a little ridiculous as he stood up, having somehow forgotten why he wasn't currently attached at Will's hip. He gave the two a small wave and mumbled goodbye, stepped back into the hallway, and shook his head a little to try and clear the confusion from his head.
Returning to his initial destination, Mike fumbled for the handful of quarters in his pocket, pushed the red button with a logo worn away from use, and pulled two cans out of the machine. He looked down at them, the spare coins heavy in his pocket, and sighed. Mike scrunched his nose and paid for a third can to tumble into his hands.
"Hey, you're Mike, right?"
Mike whipped around a little too fast at the loud voice behind him, almost dropping all three cans in the process. He righted himself and squinted at the candy striper, trying and failing to place her ginger pixie cut and dimples.
"I literally let you in here, like, half an hour ago."
Oh.
"It's fine, don't worry about it, no hard feelings. I'm Vickie. Although I'm probably just 'Robin's friend who works at the hospital' to you, which is fine because that is true, I am Robin's— friend, good friend, and I do work here. Actually, speaking of my current status as 'working here,' please tell me you're almost finished stealing from the ward over, I really don't want to lose this job and be taken in as a thief, or—or a conspirator, all in one day. That would probably not go down well with the Dean of Emerson, or my parents, or…"
Mike still hadn't said a word from where he stood clutching three cans of Coke.
"I have to stop rambling like that, God, I'm sorry. Did you, um, find what you needed?" Vickie finished, looking at him expectantly.
"Oh– um, yeah, I think so. Thanks for getting us in, I'm just gonna head back and check on… the supplies." The supplies were far from what he was eager to get back to, but Mike wasn't about to divulge that when he couldn't even get it out coherently to Lucas.
Vickie fell into step behind him as they rounded the corner towards where he'd left Will and Robin. He faltered a little as he heard Will's laugh ring out through the door opposite the supply closet. He shuffled slightly closer to peer through the small window in the oak door and saw Robin waving her arms around and talking animatedly.
And Will, his head ducked forward, shoulders shaking a little. Mike knew that look of unabashed joy like the palm of his hand. He prickled at the thought that someone else could draw that reaction from Will, but irritation immediately dissipated into guilt.
It felt like a hollow victory, watching someone else make Will laugh that way. Mike's chest tightened.
Will's happy. She makes him happy. So I should be happy for him. Right?
"I'm glad they get along so well," Vickie said softly by his side, "I think Robin really gets your friend, Will, was it? Sees herself in him. If you… know what I mean?"
Mike didn't.
Maybe Robin's… an artist. Or a nerd. Or… something. Isn't she in marching band? Mike thinks he would have noticed Will's newfound musical aptitude if that was what he and Robin had in common.
Vickie continued, undeterred by Mike's horrific performance in their conversation. "It really means a lot to me, seeing her so happy, so alive."
Mike screwed his eyes shut, grip tightening around the cans.
There had to be something wrong with him. Why could he not cope with Will moving on and finding some more joy in his life as they awaited the inevitable crash and burn of Hawkins?
Mike was witnessing the outcome of precisely what he had spat in Will's face the summer before, rain hammering on his open garage door.
'It's not my fault you don't like girls.'
At least he didn't have to keep beating himself up over that night. Not now that Will… had a girlfriend.
He picked up his confusing thoughts–tagged with words like relationship and Will and girlfriend–and sealed them in a box in the furthest part of his mind. Mike opened his eyes just in time for Robin to notice them standing by the door, eyes flashing with recognition. She cupped her hand to her mouth and, holding Mike's gaze, whispered something to Will that made him spin around and catch Mike's eyes instantly. Mike swallowed at the pink blush that dusted Will's tanned cheeks.
Robin burst out of the door with Will hot on her heels. "Hey Wheeler, 's that for me? Thanks kid, I owe you one," she said, grabbing a can from his hands that made him unceremoniously fumble with the other two, eliciting a small giggle from Will. "Byers is on the mend, I think, you'll be happy to hear," she turned to Will expectantly and after a beat he nodded back, "so we ducked out of that closet you abandoned us in for some more sterile pastures, and scored big in Mr Arlington's room." She tugged on the backpack straps with a toothy grin.
Once again, Mike despaired with himself for refusing to be anything more than civil with Robin. He, unfortunately, could see what Will saw in her. How infectiously bubbly she was, how her cropped hair frames her freckled face, my freckles have come out in the sun too…
What?
"Hiya Vicks," Robin's voice dropped as she sidled a little closer to Vickie, "thank you ever so much for the unrestricted access to Hawkins' finest drugs and bandages, I also owe you one," she punctuated with a wink. Vickie grinned. "I will see you tomorrow for our free period before band," Robin said, her arm bumping Vickie's. Mike cast a glance towards Will, who was standing a little stiffly, his face red and his eyes locked on Robin.
How the hell didn't I realise this earlier?
"Come on, kids, we gotta get all this stuff back to the station."
As they followed Robin and turned the corner, Will bumped into him a little, resolutely facing forward when Mike tried to catch his eye.
Mike was grateful that Jonathan and Nancy had ditched for the week to tour colleges again. As if they'd moved or changed since last year. He didn't hugely understand the fuss about choosing the right city—anywhere far away from small-town suburbia with an undercurrent of supernatural horror would do just fine. He expected that he'd follow Nancy into some writing programme, ideally at a college with a renowned art department. Regardless, them chasing their futures meant that he could hang out with Will in his basement.
Mike had wandered down to the basement after showering, his hair still damp, and knocked their telltale knock pattern on the door. He pushed it open and began down the stairs after acknowledgment from Will, who was sat cross-legged on the rug, box fan on high and radio on low. Mike shot him a smile, threw himself onto the couch and fumbled around for a comic to occupy his mind.
After fifteen minutes, Mike still couldn't say for certain whether he'd already read the comic, or which superhero it was about for that matter. He was a little distracted.
The way Will would shift and listen closer as Robin's voice came through the speaker between every song, and checked his watch every time she spoke, should not have been something that Mike noticed, or cared about.
Propping himself up on one elbow from where he led on the couch, Mike craned his neck a little to try and see what Will was drawing from his position on the floor.
"What're you working on?"
Will jumped a little as the words disturbed the melody and turned towards Mike but angled the sketchbook away from him. Mike let out a small huff of annoyance.
Will flushed a little and clamped the book closed.
"Um— nothing, just um, working on something for… my mom! Yeah, she— she sort of commissioned, um—"
"You know, you can tell me if it's for Robin."
Will blinked owlishly up at him. "What?"
"Like, I'm glad you've found someone, someone you wanna give your art to, that's good, she's, um, nice? And—"
"Why would I give Robin a drawing of you?" Will interrupted, a little breathy.
Okay.
What?
"What?" Eloquent as ever.
"I'm not showing you yet, because it's not finished, but I wanted to practice movement, and your hair's wet and your curls look, um, really defined, and it just seemed ideal…" Will trailed off and glanced back down at the closed notebook in his hands.
Mike was about to try and unpick that, or thank him, or beg to see it anyway, or something, when Will gasped, dove for the radio, and turned it up.
"Good evening Hawkins! It is indeed I, your glorious host Robin Buckley, better known as Rockin' Robin, coming to you live this delightfully sticky summer Sunday eve on WSQK: The Squawk. Steve, cue the chicken."
Steve did.
"So, quick question for all you hopeless romantics out there. Have you ever had one of those really important conversations somewhere that absolutely wasn't built for it? You know, something that'd be much better suited for watching the sun set on the hood of your car, or in the middle of the night where time just falls away a little, than in hushed voices under fluorescent lights?"
Will leaned forward to take a sip of water, his outstretched hand shaking slightly. Mike had no idea what she was going on about.
"I have no idea what she's—"
"Shh."
Mike blinked and closed his mouth.
"Anyway. In these important conversations, you might realise that there are some people in your life who are very, very good at being there for you. Consistently. And there are some people who are very, very bad at noticing that. Not because they don't care! Maybe they just because they don’t know how to listen unless you turn the volume up a little. Or maybe, you try and get your point across another way. Maybe they'd hear you through music?"
Mike's eyes narrowed slightly as he tried to unpick Robin's words. His knee started to bounce.
He glanced at Will, hands slightly clammy for some reason. Will was biting his lip, probably to suppress a smile at the sound of her voice, his eyes soft as he stared down at the worn rug separating them.
"This next song is for anyone who’s been wondering if whatever they're feeling is new, or if it’s just finally loud enough to hear. Take it away, guys."
The opening synth of a rock record that Mike vaguely recognised from one of Will's many attempts to encourage him to broaden his music taste phased in as Robin finished. Will was biting his lip, looking anywhere but at Mike, and finally remembered the sketchbook in his lap, cast aside in his hurry to turn up the radio. Mike began to sit up, an excuse beginning with Robin forming on his lips, when Will stopped him.
"No, wait, just— just lie back down, will you? Before your hair fully dries. I want to finish this."
Mike agreed, obviously. He would stand or sit or lie or do a headstand for as long as Will wanted him to. For as long as Will wanted him.
‘You keep your distance via the system of touch,
And gentle persuasion,
I'm lost in admiration, could I need you this much?’
Mike felt a small thrill run up his spine anytime Will used him as a muse. Will seemed undeterred as his soft features had given way to too sharp cheekbones and too many freckles and too long limbs, simply adapting his style and drawing Mike in a way that made him look way more attractive than any mirror or camera ever did.
‘Something happens and I'm head over heels,
I never find out till I'm head over heels.’
Swirling thoughts of Lucas, and Vickie, and Will and Robin, faded away and were replaced by hope that the drawing might be a gift for him someday. Mike led back on the couch in his family's basement as Will's pencil scratched lightly against the page and stared at the ceiling, blending in with the smooth sound of Tears for Fears and the gentle whirr of the box fan.
Maybe we can still be us.