Chapter Text
Holy shit.
That’s the only coherent thought that surfaces in Mike’s brain. Every other part of him is buzzing with the high of adrenaline, systems still working overtime on the fight-or-flight response. He takes one breath, then another, and then—
The comedown hits. The threat is gone, and exhaustion sets in so quickly that he sort of wobbles ungracefully down to his knees. He gets a look at the corpse in front of him, less of a Demogorgon and more of a grotesque pile of goo and flesh, and has to blink several times to make sure he’s not dreaming. Holy shit. He had definitely been about to die, right? That thing was inches away from ripping him in half, right? Until—
Will. Will?
His best friend is a couple hundred feet away, pulling his mother to her feet. She’s patting him down frantically, turning his head this way and that to check for injuries, saying something Mike can’t quite hear from his vantage point. They hug, swaying for a moment before Mrs. Byers turns and points at Mike, and then Will turns too, and—
—And shit, Mike’s still got that dopey grin on his face, doesn’t he?
“Mike!” His call sounds distant, like he’s shouting through a cotton mattress.
“I’m good,” Mike tries to yell back, but his own voice sounds muffled too. His head’s starting to spin a little—is that bad? It’s probably bad. He blinks, and suddenly Will is running over, Mrs. Byers not far behind.
“Mike,” Will says again, and woah, now he’s at eye level, holding Mike by the shoulders. His hands skim over Mike’s arms, under his jacket, checking for any sign of injury. “Are you okay? Did it—”
“Yup. Yeah, yeah, I’m great.” He’s just still processing, is all. That’s why he’s so lightheaded. It’s a lot to process.
“Shit, Mike,” Will murmurs, reaching up to thumb at Mike’s forehead. He feels something slick glide across his brow, then Will’s finger comes away red. Oh. Will’s eyes get all big and sad and worried, and his stomach twists with the knee-jerk reaction to fix it. Will should never look like that.
“‘S not that bad, I swear.” Even as he says it, Mike doesn’t fully believe it: blood means trouble.
Will is not convinced. Mike can tell by the nervous furrow in his eyebrows. “But—you—”
“Will,” Mike breathes, and he’s probably grinning again like an idiot. “You just saved my ass, remember? I can handle a—a head wound, or whatever. Seriously.”
Will sighs. “I didn’t… I don’t even know what I did.” His voice falters a little on the last syllable.
“Well, it was super badass.”
Will finally cracks a smile at that, ducking his head. “Uh-huh. I’m just glad you’re alive.”
Right, dying. Because that’s a thing that could’ve happened. Mike’s chest squeezes with momentary renewed panic—Will could have died. “I’m glad you are too,” he stutters. “You, uh, I’m happy you’re okay.” His eyelashes are really long, Mike notices distantly. He has half a second to pray he didn’t say that last part out loud before a large military truck skids to a stop a few feet behind them—he can sort of hear Mrs. Byers shouting anxiously through the driver’s side window.
“Can you stand?” Will asks, squeezing his shoulder.
Mike decides Hey, only one way to find out, and lurches to his feet. Bad idea.
The world kind of—tilts, or cants to the side, and Mike blinks hard. “Mike,” Will hisses, grabbing his sleeve. “Hold on, just, slow down for a second—” Mike lets Will maneuver them around so his shoulders are under one of Mike’s arms, pushing him upright while he finds his balance. Only, he must not be looking hard enough, cause he only succeeds in leaning further and further into Will, listing to the side like he’s lost all control of his legs.
“Sorry,” he laughs awkwardly.
Will puts a hand on his waist to steady him. “I’ve got you,” he says, practically dragging him in the right direction. Mike’s face burns.
Mrs. Byers looks even more anxious than her son. “Are you boys okay?” She asks over her shoulder while they climb into the backseat. Mike lets Will answer for him, opting to close his eyes against the growing headache. Shit. He’d chalked it up to an adrenaline crash before, but it’s been a couple of minutes, and he’s still reeling—maybe that explosion had thrown him pretty far after all. Did he land on his back? Mike can’t really remember. There was fire, and he was standing there with—
“The kids!” he blurts out, sitting straight up. “Derek, and, and, the other two, are they…?” Will and his mother look equally devastated, and their grim silence tells Mike all he needs to know. He sinks back into his seat, dread clawing a pit into his stomach. “Shit.”
“Yeah,” Will whispers.
After a long moment, Mrs. Byers shakes her head. “Don’t you dare blame yourselves, either of you. Let’s just focus on the next thing we can do, okay?”
“We should get Erica first,” Will starts.
“Great idea. Mike?”
His mild headache is quickly becoming a terrible one. “Recon at The Squawk and meet all the others?” he tries.
“Sounds like a plan.”
Mrs. Byers puts the truck in drive, and everything goes hazy from there. Mike can feel himself drifting, bits and pieces of conversation floating past that he occasionally manages to catch. They get Erica, head to the Squawk, and the next thing he knows, he’s being shaken awake by a soft hand on his shoulder.
“Hey.” Mike squints his eyes open just enough to make out Will’s blurry face, hovering anxiously above his own. “We’re here, Mike. It’s time to get out.”
Here where? He thinks irritably, but it’s Will telling him, and Will’s always looking out for him, so it’s fine. “Fine,” he mumbles, shuffling out of the seat until he’s standing on solid ground again. Well, standing is a strong word—Will is holding him up. Again.
“Thanks,” he mumbles.
“Jeez, he looks even worse than ten minutes ago.”
“Erica.”
“I feel even worse,” Mike groans, letting Will pull him towards the front door of the Squawk. The neon logo is out—power grid must’ve gone all wonky again—and thank god for that, because Mike doesn’t think he could handle anything bright at the moment. It’s dim inside, too, and Will deposits Mike gently into a chair so he and the others look for flashlights.
Time passes.
Or it doesn’t, Mike can’t tell. He keeps his eyes closed and tries not to move around too much—when he does, the throbbing behind his eyes gets worse.
He hears the other three shuffle around, talk to each other in whispers, try their hand at fixing the radio and the power fuses. He tunes them out, doubtful he’d be of any help like this, and dozes.
“Hey there, Paladin.”
Mike wakes up for a second time, equally disoriented. Will is hovering again, but the voice he’d heard was—
“Lucas?” The headache abates just enough for him to smile up at him.
“One and only. Made it back in one piece, thanks to Mr. Magic over here.”
Magic? Mike looks at a seemingly flustered Will, and a few fragments of memory resurface. It’s coming back to him—Will, arms outstretched, eyes milky white, glare as deadly as it was beautiful. “Sorcerer,” Mike whispers, remembering the giddy awe he’d felt earlier.
Lucas laughs, and Will elbows him hard. “Lucas and I are gonna move you downstairs,” he coughs, “‘cause there’s a couch down there. Also, it’ll be quieter, hopefully. Is that okay?” Mike nods. Of course it’s okay. Anything Will says is okay.
Miraculously, the three of them make it down the hidden passageway into the basement without falling. It takes forever, though, and Mike starts to feel faintly nauseous from all of the walking. “You’ve got it,” Will tells him. “Just one step at a time.” When he finally does get to lie down on the basement couch, the sick vertigo feeling doesn’t go away; he’s somehow completely still and in dizzying freefall simultaneously. He presses the heels of his hands against his eyelids and groans. Someone puts a pillow under his head.
“Will?”
“Yeah?”
Just hearing his voice eases some of the tension in his shoulders; at least someone else is down here with him. Down here, Mike thinks. Down… where?
“We’re at the Squawk, Mike. In the basement.”
Right. “Right,” Mike nods. Ow. Huge mistake—no more nodding. “Great.” There’s a long stretch of silence. He can’t tell how long, though—why is that? “What’s wrong with me?”
“Uh, we think it’s probably a concussion.” Will’s voice is so soft and nice. Mike can hear him from somewhere just above his head. “Jonathan got one when we were younger, so my mom told me what to do. Less light, no noise—”
Wait. “A concussion?” He can’t have one of those. That’s, like, a long-term thing, right? Mike doesn’t have time to be concussed. There are kids missing, and his friends are still in danger, and— ”I can’t have a concussion.”
“Mike…”
“My parents,” he whispers, “and Nancy, and Holly.” Bile rises in his throat, and he shudders. “I have to help them, I have to—”
“We will, Mike. I promise. It’s okay.” There’s a hand on his arm, dragging soothing circles into the fabric of his sleeve. “It’s alright.”
He slows his breathing down. Will’s here, he tells himself. It’s alright. His head hurts. “I’m tired.”
“You can sleep, if you want.”
That doesn’t sound right. “I’m not supposed to. Because of the, uh, concussion?”
He hears Will chuckle and wishes he could open his eyes to see the smile that goes with it. “That’s a myth, Mike. Sleep all you want.”
No need to tell him twice. Don’t leave, he thinks, drifting.
“I won’t. I promise.”