Chapter Text
𓁹 𓁹 𓁹 𓁹 𓁹 𓁹 𓁹
His shallow breaths puff out into smokey bursts from the dry, winter air. It is below freezing as most March days are, yet his body feels as though it is on fire. His watch reads 3:57 in the morning. Mike has not slept in almost 48 hours, maybe longer. He has lost track of time. His body is exhausted, moving feels like he is wading through gelatin. His mind is like a live wire.
Everyone else is safely sleeping. Mike ensures that most nights, making his rounds, peering into their windows. He is careful not to leave hand prints. No trace can be left behind.
It will know he was there.
He has to make sure it does not get them.
He thinks it got Will once. The evidence is scattered at best, but it is there. His body was back, sure, and he was warm unlike before. He looked like Will. He acted like Will.
But that thing is not Will.
It can’t be.
It has to be… He doesn’t quite know.
Mike is determined to find out what it is. He cannot tell anyone, because they will think he has lost his mind. And maybe he has, but he cannot find it in himself to care. Not when his fingers are numb and he needs to do his last comb of the woods. As he stands still, scanning his surroundings, the silence is so loud his ears ring.
Once the cost is clear and he trudges on, the snow is thick and crunches under each step he takes. The noise echoes into the empty night, erasing any semblance of cover he is used to.
He does not know what he is looking for. He will know it when he sees it.
He will know it when he sees it.
He will know it when he sees it.
He will know it when he…
Snap.
A twig.
Fear courses through his veins, hot tears welling in his eyes as he scans the tree line. For movement. He knows it is there. He can feel it’s eye locked on him. He is too scared to even move, to even breathe.
The hairs on his neck stand up.
His gut feels heavy with dread.
Is it here? It is finally time? Can it see him?
He can see it.
It can see him.
What… the fuck?
He will know it when he sees it.
𓁹 𓁹 𓁹 𓁹 𓁹 𓁹 𓁹
Three Months Earlier…
Come December, the Hawkins’ quarantine is slowly lifting, but the damage still lingers, part of it will always be there. It is forever a stain on this forsaken town’s history. The relief efforts are ongoing, providing meals and supplies to those who lost too much in the supposed “earthquakes” that tore the town in two. Some think it was the rapture, some think it was God punishing Hawkins.
Mike thinks that it’s all a load of bullshit.
It is all just a bunch of fucked up conspiracies that people who think they know what happened made up. Mike knew what happened. He knew it all too well.
Townsfolk are starting to leave their homes now, adventuring into the streets more often than not. There had been a haze over the town, everyone too scared to leave the house unless for work, school, and necessities. With that haze now lifted, buzzing energy infects everyone in the way they tut around like busy bees.
Supplies are unfortunately still limited, the government is taking caution when letting shipments enter Hawkins for some reason. The fences are down, and the metal plates are slowly being removed. A terrible black stain is left below them. Plants do not grow there anymore, animals avoid the area. Nature seems to know that what was once there was not of this world, and should have never bled into Hawkins.
Fights often break out in the grocery stores. Mike has seen a few happen when going out with Nancy. The patrons scrabbling like gladiators in Ancient Rome, the store their arena. Who knew that pasta noodles could be cause for workers having to mop up blood and teeth off the white tiles. Stains litter those once pristine tiles, a reminder of the ugly truth lying beneath the surface of those who claim to be saved.
Mike’s dad did not survive the attacks. He has not really processed that his father is gone, pushing it so far down he cannot even feel the pain anymore.
Though Mike feels guilt for it, he has shamefully read his mom’s journals a few times, she is starting to believe her own lies. It is ridiculous. She can barely speak and yet she has deluded herself into thinking it was a dog that tore her apart. It must have been a huge fucking dog as the scars trail down her whole torso
It is the Wheeler way after all.
Deflect.
Deny.
Apathy.
He is scared of ending up like her, yet most days, he finds himself bottling up all his emotions and stowing them away for the future that will never come. It is but a vicious cycle that has sunk its teeth into him. It refuses to let go.
Besides the crazy grocery store brawls, and his family problems, the bullying also got worse. As students are now going to school with clearer minds, they find it in their hearts to be even more of dicks to the people who saved them. Of course, they do not see it that way. A lot of them blame the Party for what happened.
Especially those who were in Hellfire as apparently Eddie Munson was the antichrist. Yeah, the pothead loser who played D&D with a bunch of other antisocial teenagers was the pinnacle of demonic worship and selling your soul.
Mike can’t get too mad about it though, the bullying makes him feel normal again in some sick and twisted way. Well, as normal as someone who fought interdimensional monsters can be.
A gust of wind knocks him off his train of thought. The air feels cool against his face, Hawkins is not quite freezing yet, but on its way there. His scar tingles at the feeling of it, the skin constricting from the cold. He scrunches his nose to try to relieve it to no avail.
He remembers getting it a few years back in Star Court when Billy, or he guessed the Shadow Monster, pushed him into that pipe. With all the running around they did, he had no time to properly clean and bandage it. The scar travels down the expanse of his right cheek.
He kind of thinks it looks cool.
Those who bully him do not.
Whatever.
Mike is biking home from school, his mind is not entirely there. He finds himself zoning out over and over, thinking of the campaign he wants to plan, what to eat for dinner, how something is wrong with Will.
A feeling settles deep in his gut.
Dread… If he had to describe it.
A little over a month has passed since he made and detonated the bomb that closed the gate to the Party’s own personal hell forever.
They are finally picking up the pieces of who they were before everything started– trying to regain a sense of normalcy.
That was until Will started acting weird.
Don’t get Mike wrong, Will is always weird. He likes to collect bones. He even wears a necklace sometimes that has one of Mike’s baby teeth in it. (Mike wears his matching one with Will’s baby tooth too so he really can’t say much). But this is like weird weird, like Upside Down weird.
It started out small with him not wearing as many layers as it got colder. It was… odd, but not concerning. Then came the fainting spells. Will would whisper to himself then collapse, coming to with no recollection of what was happening before. A few days later he was sleep walking, making the same drawing of the shadow monster over and over and over in his sleep until his hands were covered in pen ink. It all came to a head when Mike was sleeping over one weekend and awoke to Will sleep walking and banging his head into a door. He was whispering something to himself. Mike swore he heard him saying “get out” repeatedly, but maybe his mind was playing tricks on him. He had gotten up and guided Will back to bed. Will did not remember this happening, but had a red mark on his head the next day. He was probably banging his head for a while before Mike woke up.
Sure, Will is a creepy person. He has always been interested in horror movies, for Christ’s sake he kept his brain scans from the Shadow Monster above his bed for nostalgia.
But this is different.
Will’s eyes look different. Mike cannot exactly pinpoint why, but they do. There is also the nose bleeds and chronic head and neck pain. One could say it’s residual effects from Vecna’s powers, but what if they are not?
He shakes his head to clear his thoughts and parks his bike in the garage. The sky is turning dark, threatening another storm. It was one of many this week, three to be exact.
He spots his little sister at the kitchen island making an after school sandwich. She is much quieter than she was before she went missing. She talks to Will a lot because no one understands her pain like he does.
Mike feels a lot of guilt for not being there for her more. He tries to step up by DMing her games with her friends, even if it takes hours.
“Hey, Holls,” he says as he makes his way to the kitchen. Nancy must have picked her up today.
She glances up and raises her eyebrows at him as a greeting, “Hey.”
He sets down his bookbag and roots around the cupboards for his own snack. Lunch was bad today.
“Do you need anything from the store,” he asks, humming as he finds his favorite crackers, “We are goin’ on ‘unday.” His voice is muffled by chewing as he shoves a handful in his mouth.
She pulls a disgusted face, “Ew, close your mouth when you chew. And no. I don’t think so,” She finishes making her sandwich and rolls her eyes as she brushes past him to place her plate in the sink.
He shrugs, purposely not moving to further annoy her, “If you think of anything, write it on the list.” Mike meanders into the living room where he finds his mom staring out the window. It is raining now, cascading the living room in a dark blue glow.
He clears his throat, watching as she slightly jumps. His mom is still on vocal rest from the severe damage to her larynx, so she is using a notepad to communicate.
Karen smiles at him warmly, beckoning him to sit next to her. Mike crosses the room, sits on the couch, and offers her a cracker. She shakes her head no.
“Shit, sorry, I forgot,” he apologizes, shoving the cracker in his mouth. He feels a pang of guilt for not remembering her soft food diet. She only has a week left of it.
She rolls her eyes and gives him a patronizing look, pulling her note pad out from beside her. She scribbles quickly. He already knows what it is going to say. Mike smirks in anticipation.
Karen flips it over to reveal a neatly written, Language, Michael!
Mike snorts, “Sorry, Mom. You know me.” He finishes off his pack of crackers. It sits in his lap as he fiddles with it, his hands always needing something to do these days.
The notebook is lightly smacked on his head as she rolls her eyes again, more fondly this time. She scribbles again, flipping it around to reveal, I wonder who you get it from…
Mike laughs out loud at that, “Definitely wasn’t Dad, Mom. You are always the potty mouth.”
The notebook is smacked on his head again before she resumes writing. This time it says And just you wait until I am cleared to speak again.
He snorted, “It’s going to be like a bunch of sailors in this house.”
She giggles to herself, smiling softly. Karen places her notebook down and then turns to look back out the window. The storm has picked up more, the sky darkening. Mike hopes Will made it home safe.
That weird feeling pulls in his gut again, but he shakes his head to rid himself of it.
“Hey, Mom,” he starts, “I am going to head up and take a nap. The weather is making me tired.”
Karen nods, grabbing his hand and pulling him down before he leaves. A soft kiss is pressed to his head. A gesture she was doing more since she was unable to speak.
“Goodnight!”
With that he makes it up his stairs two at a time and strips off his shoes and jeans.
He takes a deep breath and pulls out an empty notebook with a dragon on the front. He scribbles “The Investigation” on it and flips it open to the first page.
Mike slams shut the notebook and takes a deep breath. He feels sleep threatening to overtake him.
The notebook feels like it weighs five hundred tons in his hands. The weight of the words and what they mean plaguing his every thought.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
He sighs shakily and lifts up the corner of his mattress, shoving the notebook where he prays no one will find it.
There is nothing wrong with Will, and Mike is just too damn observant for his own good.
A wave of unease washes over him and he slips under his covers and attempts to fall asleep.
𓁹 𓁹 𓁹 𓁹 𓁹 𓁹 𓁹
Mike wakes up with a start. His heart racing in his chest, his palms are sweaty. The dream he had is already slipping away from him like sand between his fingers. All he remembers is the pure terror he felt moments before waking.
He glances over at his alarm clock to see that it is nearing 7pm. He slept for almost 4 hours.
His limbs are still stiff with sleep as he swings his legs off his bed. The room is pitch black, save for the orange glow of the street lights. The air in the house is stale and cool. He slips on a pair of sweatpants and makes his way down the stairs.
The house is eerily quiet, everyone off in their own rooms. The only thing interrupting the silence is the occasional sound of dripping outside as water droplets fall from the roof cascaded down the windows. It had probably stopped raining hours ago.
He sighs as he opens the cupboards and retrieves a glass of water, greedily downing the glass, he refills it once more.
A bang outside rips him from his sense of serenity. The glass almost slips from his hand when he jumps. It sounded like it was right by the back door. His senses are immediately heightened, years of being hunted by other worldly creatures will do that to you.
Mike slips on a pair of shoes by the back door. He thinks they are Nancy’s telling by how small they are on his feet. The back door slides open with a high pitched screech. Mike cringes at the sound. It echoes into the trees.
The air is freezing, the rustling of the trees in the wind is loud against the silence of the night.
Within a beat, the trees fall silent. The wind stops. Everything is still. Even the animals fall silent.
The hair on the back of his neck stands up. A shiver runs through his body as his arms break out in goosebumps. He feels weird.
Weird like someone— something… is watching him.
A small rusting makes his head snap to the right. In the distance he swears he can see a figure.
Tall, dark, just standing there. It was so still it could be mistaken for a tree.
Staring.
Staring at Mike.
It is dark out, so maybe it is just his mind playing tricks on him. It has to be. What else could it be?
The figure darts into the treeline with inhuman speed.
Nope.
Mike slams the back door closed and runs around the whole house, closing all the blinds they had left open earlier.
Thankfully, after the incident with his mom, all doors and windows are always locked.
He runs around again, triple checking them anyways.
Mike’s heart races in his chest. He places a hand over it, taking deep breaths.
In. Out. In. Out.
He tries to ignore how the wind stopped, how it’s gaze was like ice on his skin, how it moved far too fast to be human. He swore he could make out it’s eyes, glowing in the darkness, fixed on him.
Perhaps, phase one has to have some alternations.
Perhaps, phase one begins now.
Mike makes his way to the phone, and dials in the numbers without having to think about it.