FicWad

Mike hasn’t been to school in a week.

It had been a couple of months since everything happened. It was past the winter break, and although the school had been closed for a long time, they seemed to have organized themselves. Mike hadn’t gone since they started, though. He was sporting an extremely contagious illness. That’s what he said, at least. He wasn’t sick at all. Not physically, at least.

He’d like to say that he’s been doing the same as everyone else, struggling but still pushing through. They were all relying on each other to not fall apart, acting as if there was light at the end of the tunnel of grief. Mike didn’t think so, but he wouldn’t say it.

He used to know himself as optimistic, since practically all of his plans worked. He stayed hopeful that Will was still out there, in ‘83, even after they found his body. He stayed hopeful for nearly a year that El had survived the demogorgon, and he was right. His plans, his beliefs, so many of them were right. He was used to things working out in the end, because even if he loses a bit, there was always an upside.

Now, that optimism has crumbled completely. Almost like he’d been fundamentally changed. It didn’t happen immediately, though. The first few days after, he kept planning, over-analyzing the moment in his head, trying to find a way that she could’ve survived. He only let himself down in the end. He promised to never get his hopes up again.

Mike knew he wasn’t the only person struggling, though. He wasn’t the only one that changed.

Max was silent. It was like how she was when Billy died, almost like she was pulling away. She could still crack a joke with a ridiculing grin, but it didn’t take more than a few moments for her to break down in tears afterwards. She spent most of her time with Lucas because he refused to leave her side and she didn’t seem to want him gone. Mike hadn’t spoken to her since it happened, except for in passing.

Lucas, meanwhile, was constantly moving. He busied himself with helping Max get better, as well as checking in on everyone else. He plastered on a comforting smile, but everyone could tell he was one moment away from collapse. Mike wanted to reach out to help like he always did, but he couldn’t.

Dustin was devastated. He’d already lost one person, and he was so sure he’d be able to save the next, to convince them that they didn’t need to do some stupid sacrifice. He tried to not talk to anyone, except for Steve. He was angry, but everyone seemed determined to keep him from falling back into the same space he was in before. Mike hadn’t talked to him, he hadn’t gotten the chance.

Will was the worst out of all of them. The first few days afterwards, he locked himself away. He didn’t eat, he didn’t do anything. When he finally opened up, he was horrified. He woke up screaming every night, it got so bad that he had to sleep in Joyce and Hopper’s bedroom so they could comfort him every time he awoke. He had panic attacks like a routine, and his leg bounced with anxiety every time he sat down.

Mike hadn’t spoken to him either.

After the demogorgon attack, the Wheelers found themselves practically homeless. Sure, the house would be repaired in due time, but with their parents still in the hospital recovering, and the ruin the rest of the town was in, it likely wasn’t happening for a while. The Byers family found themselves in a similar situation. Although Lucas would have offered his house, his parents were already extremely confused and concerned about his and Erica’s disappearance that occurred during the disastrous fight against Vecna. Dustin’s house was too small to fit all those people, so Steve had offered his own place, considering the fact that his parents still weren’t home and it was big enough.

Steve’s house was okay. Joyce and Hopper had taken the master bedroom, Jonathan roomed with Steve, Nancy had taken one of the guest bedrooms, and Will and Mike shared the other. In all honesty, it was basically just Mike’s room, since Will slipped into the master bedroom at night and spent all day running off somewhere else for air. Mike didn’t blame him.

It was Monday, now. School started last week, and Mike still hasn’t gone. He knows he can't pull the sick excuse forever, but it was working for now.

It was late in the morning, around 11:00, and nobody seemed to be home. He was still wrapped tightly in the blankets of the bed he lay on, and the curtains were drawn so the room remained dark. He almost wanted to squeeze his eyes shut and fall asleep again, just to ignore reality, but he wasn’t tired anymore.

He shifted, and winced as his thighs burned.

He had a bit of a problem.

A few weeks ago, he had found himself sitting in a locked bathroom, after everything became too much. In a panic, he had grabbed a pair of scissors that had been sitting on the sink above him, and he scratched rapidly at his thighs.

For some twisted reason, he began to calm down after that. He stared at his legs afterwards, irritated and scratched, with white lines crossing through now red skin that ached, feeling shame bubbling inside of him. Had he really done that? Yet somehow, along with the shame, came a sick sensation of pride. Maybe it was because he was mad at himself, or maybe it was because he’d felt so numb for so long, he wasn’t sure. But he saw his marked skin and almost let out a laugh.

A few days later, he went to the bathroom again, just to find that the marks were gone. Sure, you could almost make out a few scratches, but for the most part, it was gone. He wasted no time retrieving the pair of scissors and scratching at himself again.

It became a habit, an addiction almost. He felt so scared, feeling that pain in his thighs every time he moved. He was scared that if someone checked on him, if someone saw him, they would somehow notice. But weirdly, this sense of excitement coursed through him every time he remembered that the marks were there.

He sat up in his bed, wincing again, before pushing himself out of bed.

The scratching tactic had been working for the past few weeks, but lately, he’s wanted more. He wanted to see the remnants of what he had done for more than a few days. He wanted the hurt to reach deeper, to break the surface, he wanted more. Now, in an empty house, it felt like the best time to reach that goal.

He walked quickly to the bathroom, stepping inside and locking the door behind him. He didn’t need to, since nobody was home, but it brought him a bit of comfort.

He pulled open the drawer he knew had extra razors, since Steve apparently lost his a lot, and he grabbed one. Cautiously, he dismantled it, leaving the razor blade in his hand and dropping the other piece back in the drawer, closing it with his hip. He sat down on the closed toilet lid, taking a deep breath.

It was alright. He deserved this, anyways. He deserved it for not being enough for El, for being so rude all the time, for not helping enough, for failing at everything. He deserved this for wanting to die sometimes, as if everyone else hadn’t gone through enough loss. He didn’t think he was worth mourning anyways, and he didn’t understand why so many people cared about him.

Maybe if he’d reached El, in the gate. Maybe he could’ve saved her. Maybe they would’ve died together. All he knew was that he wasn’t ready for her to be gone yet, but she already was. It was killing him.

His hands trembled, but he lowered the blade to his thigh.

The blade pressed against his skin, and he carefully moved it down. A stinging sensation rang through his leg, and he watched in awe as the small cut began to leak droplets of blood. He let out a breath he had seemed to be holding, as he lifted the blade again and pressed down another time.

He pressed down once for El. For failing her. He pressed down a second time for his family, for Holly, for those kids that were taken, for not being there on time. He pressed down a third time for the party, for Will, for never saying the right thing. He kept pressing down, flashes of memories of every time he messed up appearing in his mind.

A few tears slipped down the side of his face, but he kept going. After a few more tries, there had to be at least ten cuts on both of his thighs. He wasn’t quite sure what to do, so he grabbed a piece of toilet paper and wiped the blood away. He let out a shocked laugh when he saw that the scars were still there. They were small incisions on his skin, and they hurt, and he could see them.

The excitement had come before the panic. He realized, horrified, that he had just cut himself. On purpose. He didn’t know why it made him so scared now, and not before, but he could feel his breath picking up the longer he stared at the broken skin, so he hastily pulled his pants up, shoved the razor blade into his pocket, unlocked the door, and dashed out the bathroom.

He scrambled through the door of his bedroom, sitting down on the bed and squeezing his eyes shut.

This isn’t real, this isn’t real—

When he peeled his eyes open again, he saw that his sweatpants had a few scattered patches of stained red blood. Apparently, the cuts had started bleeding again.

He cursed under his breath, standing up again and rushing to the bathroom. He remembered that Steve had told all of them about the emergency bandages he kept under the sink. He had made it very clear they were for emergencies, and Mike felt like his situation applied. The only issue was that he didn’t know how to wrap bandages, so when he took out the roll and yanked his pants down, he found himself at a loss of what to do.

He pulled out a generous amount, wrapping it messily around his leg, wincing as they pressed down hardly on the incisions on his skin. Ignoring the pain, he wrapped them even tighter. He didn’t want to risk staining anything else, since he knew he’d have a lot to explain if anyone noticed.

Looking down at his legs, he couldn’t say he did a good job, but he got the job done anyways. He didn’t think these would bleed through, especially since the cuts weren’t even that deep.

It was scary. The last time he bled was when he was fending off monsters left and right, but the only monster left now was him. He did that. He almost wondered if he bled enough from the cuts, he could die. He couldn’t decide whether that was wishful thinking.

Not that he would try to kill himself, but if it happened, he wouldn’t fight it.

Nothing else very eventful happened that day, except for the concerned glances he got during dinner when they all ate together. He didn’t think he looked that bad, but maybe his mental turmoil showed on his face more than he thought. His father had always said he was too physically expressive for his own good, and that one day it would bite him in the ass. Maybe this is what he meant.

He fell asleep that night swirling full of contradicting emotions. He felt comfortable, for once, the itch under his skin having relented for a few moments. He felt uncomfortable, with the way the cuts brushed against the badly wrapped bandages, how it bled too much to be healthy. He felt guilty, he knew this isn’t what El wanted, but at the same time he didn’t care, because this is what he wanted.

He whispered a small apology to El, yet it reached the ears of nobody but himself. Sometimes he wished that she was there, using her mind to spy on him, even if it was against the rules. Even if that meant her seeing him so destroyed. He just wished she was alive, but some days it was too hard to delude himself with fake stories and hopeful thoughts. He felt unbearably sad, like he could explode with it.

Sometimes he wished he still had his old house. Not that he would reach out for help now, but when Will and El moved to Lenora, when Mike felt particularly lonely at night, he’d slip out of his window (quite ungracefully, but nobody needed to know that) and he would walk over to Lucas’s house. Sure, every time Lucas looked up and saw his face in the window, he’d sigh and tell Mike not to come over again because his parents would kill him, but regardless, he’d let him in anyways. Sometimes, they’d grab Lucas’s walkie and contact Dustin, and if he was awake, they’d stay on the line until they all fell asleep. It was the most alone yet most bonded he felt in years, because he knew something was missing yet he felt so surrounded with warmth that he’d be able to at least sleep through the night.

Mike could have that now, if he grew a backbone and asked for help, but he didn’t. He didn’t want that. He just wanted a way to get rid of the chill in his bones that has been living in him for far too long, without having to confess everything he’s done. He wants to feel better yet keep his ignorance. He decided it would be better if he just stayed in bed, cold. It was easier.

He wanted to criticize himself for always taking the easy way out, but he was too tired to do anything else. He fell asleep that night with tear stained cheeks and aching legs.

—

The week afterwards felt hellish.

He was, eventually, forced to go back to school, since everybody else had started back again and it was clear that he wasn’t sick anymore (he never was in the first place).

His friends checked on him as best as they could, but he didn’t let them get too close. It was clear that he was still struggling, with the way he stayed silent during conversations. He didn’t even have the effort to roll his eyes. He was just there.

Everyone else was different, but they were getting better. Now that he was at school with them, he could tell. Max and Lucas were inseparable, and Dustin seemed to be fairing better this time around, now that everyone was more tight-knit. Will was smiling more, and he seemed less nervous. Everyone kept trying to include Mike into conversations, but Mike didn’t put in the effort to respond. When they asked him if he was doing okay, he gave them unconvincing smiles and told them he was doing okay. He knew they didn’t believe him.

He couldn’t focus in class, he felt like reality was slipping away from him. He remembered when he desperately searched for any books on wormholes and alternate dimensions, so he could prove that El was still alive. He gave up on that. Now, trying to learn felt like a chore. The joy of everything he loved was stripped from him, except for one thing.

Cutting was the only thing keeping him going.

It was like washing his hands, or brushing his teeth. It felt so natural, so right, at least in the moment. For the few seconds that the razor pressed down each time, he felt like he was finally choosing the right decision. The disgust or fear that came afterwards was worth it, to feel right for a few moments.

It was progressively getting worse. The cuts reached deeper, bled more, hurt more. His legs felt moments from collapse when he walked down the hallway, or stood with his friends. He got more looks at the dinner table, which was likely because of his bloodshot eyes and unkept hair. He wondered if this was what depression felt like, if that was the numbness he felt. There was a massive, empty hole inside of him, and it was eating at him every day.

Now, on a friday night where most people would be out, he sat in the shower. The water was scalding hot, burning him with every droplet, but he barely felt it. His legs were bleeding, and the water on the floor was mixed with red as it slipped down the drain. He couldn’t stand without collapsing, so he didn’t make the effort. He could barely see, since the water poured down his face into his eyes, but he blinked it away. His eyes stung, and he couldn’t tell the difference between the water from the showerhead and the tears from his eyes.

He felt like he was drowning, and the only gasps of oxygen came from the blood dripping down his legs. He felt like he was screaming, but only a few bubbles popped up at the surface, unnoticeable. He felt like he was under a frozen over lake, like he was trapped in a frozen, deadly prison.

The steam from the shower made it hard to breathe. He thought about death. What would it feel like to die? Would it feel like suffocating, reaching for a breath that you’d never get, that would be out of reach forever? Did it always hurt? Did El get to leave this world without pain? He hoped so. He hoped that if he died it would hurt.

He didn’t know how long it had been, but he didn’t want to use up all of Steve’s hot water, and he didn’t want anyone to get worried, so he lifted his arm and shut off the shower. The air of the bathroom hit him immediately, a cold feeling passing over his body. He grabbed the towel off where it hung and dried himself off.

He had washed the cuts, but he didn’t trust that they wouldn’t start bleeding again, so he grabbed the bandages from under the sink and wrapped them around his legs. He didn’t really improve at wrapping himself up in the last week, and there were incidents where his cuts had bled through, but he’d had excuses for them, like needing to use the bathroom or forgetting something at home.

It had happened that Wednesday, where he felt a droplet of blood slide down his leg while biking. He had stopped completely, before rushing and telling the party that he had forgotten his lunch. Will was confused, to say the least, since he’d seen Mike put his lunch in his bag, but before he could even question it, Mike was gone.

At first Mike worried he was being overdramatic, but the blood increased from one drop to at least fifteen. A sense of relief came over him, as well as dread, but that wasn’t relevant. He had, unfortunately, ended up at school late, and took a barely decipherable speech from his teacher.

He tightened the bandages an unbearable amount, dragging himself harshly out of his thoughts.

Once he was done with that, he grabbed the pile of clothes he dropped when entering the room to slip them on. He changed in the bathroom now, so he wouldn’t risk anyone seeing his bandages under his towel. He put on another pair of sweatpants, and a plain t-shirt.

He brushed his teeth afterwards. He was glad that the mirror was foggy from the heat of his shower, since he couldn’t bear to look at himself. He knew that his skin was red, and his eyes probably were too, but he didn’t care to check.

Once he finished, he unlocked the bathroom door and walked quickly down the hallway to his room. He opened the door, preparing to slam it shut behind him and jump facefirst onto the bed, but he was caught by surprise when he saw someone else seated there.

“Hey, Mike,” Will greeted a bit awkwardly. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, like he could jump off at any moment if needed. He was in his sleeping clothes too, which was also a pair of sweatpants, paired with a long sleeve plain shirt.

“Will,” Mike responded dumbly. He tried to ignore the way his legs felt weak underneath him, and he gripped the doorknob a bit more tightly. Will must’ve not noticed, though, since he didn’t say anything about it

Mike’s eyes darted around for a moment. Will came in here occasionally to grab his stuff, but now he was just seated there, staring at him. Mike didn’t understand why.

“I was gonna try to sleep in here tonight,” Will explained, noticing his confused expression. Mike’s eyebrows shot up, and Will backtracked. “If that’s okay with you, I mean. I know I haven’t really been in here much.”

Mike was surprised, to say the least. It was the first time in months that Will had chosen to try and sleep in this room. Mike wasn’t sure if he was upset at the loss of privacy, since this meant that he’d need to be far more careful in his activities, but Will feeling comfortable enough to sleep in their room made Mike feel happy for him. He still felt a tinge of embarrassment, though, since his room was far from clean. His clothes were scattered around the floor, his bed wasn’t made, his nightstand was unorganized. He had neglected cleaning his room because he figured that he wouldn’t have to account for anyone else. Will didn’t mention it, though, which Mike appreciated.

“That’s okay, it’s your room too,” Mike responded, finally moving away from the door. He could see Will visibly relax. He shut it behind him, flicking the big light off on the way. The lamp on the nightstand was still on, so the room wasn’t completely dark. Stepping forward, he collapsed backwards onto the bed. Will looked down at him from where he was seated.

Mike could hear the words Will was going to say before he said it, considering how many times it’s been repeated in the past couple of months.

“Are you okay?” Will asked.

Maybe it was his eyes again, Mike hadn’t checked to see if they were still red. Maybe Will had noticed the way his legs barely supported him. Maybe it was just based on how he’d been acting lately.

Will always seemed to notice when something was up. At least, before everything got harder. Mike remembers when everything got harder for him, during the summer of Starcourt. He remembered the shift, when people stopped making sense. When it felt like everyone, even his friends, had secrets and feelings that he couldn’t identify at first glance. When it felt like his brain was being squeezed every time he tried to comprehend his own feelings. He felt like everything was too hard to understand, like he’d jumped five grade levels and was expected to understand everything thrown at him.

Mike wondered if Will felt like that too, at some point. Like he couldn’t read minds anymore, or understand what someone meant. He wondered when that was, whether it was at the same time as Mike or before then.

Either way, now, Will seemed to be able to read his mind, or at least understand him well enough to notice that something was off. Regardless, Mike wasn’t going to incriminate himself, so he simply nodded.

“I’m fine,” he replied, giving Will a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Will frowned, but didn’t push.

Mike shifted himself to the further side of the bed, so he wasn’t laying horizontally anymore. He lifted up the blanket and slipped under it. Will had moved too, slipping under the blanket as well.

“Are you going to turn the lamp off?” Mike asked.

Will turned to look at the light, then looked back at him. He looked a bit conflicted. Mike knew that Will wasn’t as fond of the dark after he was taken to the upside down, and even though it had begun to get better over the years, all that progress seemed to have reversed after El.

“I’m…” Will swallowed, biting the inside of his cheek. “I’m not sure.”

Mike took it as a no. He didn’t expect him to, since this was his first night back in their room, and Mike figured he couldn’t provide half the comfort that Will’s parents could.

“That’s alright. Good night, Will,” Mike whispered as he flipped around to face the wall. He could hear Will respond quietly behind him.

“Night.”

—

The next time Mike awoke, he was being shaken aggressively.

His vision was blurred for a moment. He was lying on his back now, with someone looming above him. As his vision cleared, through the lamplight, he could see that the person was Will. Much to his worry, the boy seemed to be in a panic.

Mike woke up a bit faster, dread flooding his body. Had Will had another nightmare? He pushed himself up on weak arms, nearly falling back down. He managed to stabilize himself against the headboard.

“What’s goin’ on?” Mike asked, his voice slurring a bit. Will looked at him, growing even more worried.

“You’re bleeding. Why are you bleeding?” Will questioned, and he grew even more concerned as Mike’s face fell immediately.

Mike looked down at his legs, and his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. Will was right; he had bled through his bandages, through his sweatpants, and onto the sheets of the bed. The blanket no longer covered him. It wasn’t that much, but it was enough to cause concern, and far too much to play off as a small cut.

Mike flinched away from him, pushing him off roughly. Will caught himself and stared at Mike in shock. Guilt bubbled up in his throat, choking him. He felt like he could puke. Mike’s body shook as he heaved deep breaths, but he didn’t speak, he just crawled further back onto the bed.

They hadn’t fought in months. After California, things were a bit rough, but they talked through things and Mike got better at saying what he felt. He would tell Will how he felt, when he wanted to talk, and other things. He was maturing. He never put his hands on Will, ever.

Now, though, Mike was staring at Will like he killed his entire family, and it stung. Mike tried to ignore the way Will’s hands trembled, or the almost scared expression on his face.

Mike never wanted Will to get involved in this. Mike had spent far too long projecting, and letting his feelings fall onto the shoulders of someone else because he had no idea how to express it correctly. He finally thought he was handling it, even if it wasn’t the best way to do it. He thought he had it under control, but now Will knew, and he’d make him stop, and Mike would have nothing to rely on again. He wouldn’t have an easier pathway.

“What’s going on, Mike?” Will asked, trying to put a comforting hand on Mike’s shoulder, but Mike moved away again.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. This was never how it went, either. Mike had always been the one to put a hand on Will’s shoulder, to comfort him when things went wrong. He remembered back in elementary school, when kids would trip Will and get the class to laugh at him, or stick pencils through his artwork when his back was turned, or how they’d knock him over and call him names before the teacher caught them. Each time, Will dashed over to Mike if Mike hadn’t already gotten to him first, and they’d hug each other.

That was their system, how they communicated. If Will had a problem, Mike would try and fix it, and that was it. Mike didn’t want his feelings to be found out. He would’ve been content keeping his thoughts inside of head for the rest of his life.

“I’m fine,” Mike insisted. Will still shifted a bit closer, not relenting, but Mike stuck out a hand “Don’t.”

“Why are you bleeding? Did someone hurt you?” he asked.

“No!” Mike shouted, before flinching at his loud voice. It was probably the middle of the night, and the last thing he wanted was for more people to get involved. It also didn’t fly under his radar the way Will flinched at the rise in volume, and he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. He softened his voice, trying to sound like his life wasn’t spinning on an axis. “It’s nothing you need to worry about, just go back to bed.”

“Not while you’re bleeding. At least let me patch you up, or something,” Will insisted, leaning forward. He tried to keep his distance, but Mike could tell that he was holding back from grabbing the boy and figuring out what was wrong.

All the fight vanished from Mike’s expression, and he curled in on himself subtly.

“No! No. You can’t— you can’t do that,” he said, trying and failing to conceal the panic building in his stomach.

“Why not?” Will questioned. Mike didn’t reply, and Will’s eyes darted around, trying to find the issue. His gaze lingered on the growing stain on the bed coming from Mike’s leg, and he sighed. “Come on, Mike. You’re bleeding like crazy— I don’t want anything to happen.”

“I can’t. Will, I—” Mike felt like a thread snapped, the weight of the moment becoming too overwhelming. He couldn’t tell when his heavy breathing shifted into sobs, but he noticed the way Will’s eyes widened before he dropped his head into his hands. He repeated words even he couldn’t make out, mumbling incoherently into his palms as he cried.

He couldn’t tell him what was happening. He couldn’t tell him that the blood coming from his legs wasn’t from someone or something else, the only thing that made him bleed was himself. He couldn’t tell him that the person that Will seemed to care so much about was a monster that needed to punish itself. He couldn’t tell Will that because he didn’t want to hurt him.

“Shit, Mike?” Will cursed as he jumped forward, finally placing his hands on the boy’s shoulders. He wasn’t pushed away this time, and Mike let his head fall against Will’s chest as his body shook with cries.


Mike could tell that Will was beyond worried, now. Mike rarely cried in front of other people. Even after El died, he didn’t want to let himself break down in front of anyone. He just disappeared. It was easier that way, but now he felt completely on display, like a trophy in a case. It made him feel nauseous.


“What’s going on?” Will repeated, albeit more frantic.

“I can’t, I can’t—” Mike muttered those two words like a mantra, shaking in Will’s hands. Will was shaking as well, and it was clear that he didn’t know what Mike was talking about, what he couldn’t do.

“Talk to me, please,” Will asked desperately.

Mike couldn’t take the suffocating feeling in his chest anymore. He felt like he was being compressed into one flat pancake every moment that Will stared at him. He wanted to keep the secrets on his thighs for the rest of his life, but he didn’t want to feel like he was being choked alive. He couldn’t bear it any longer.

Mike lifted his head from Will’s chest, throwing the blanket off him completely. The blood stains were growing, and he took a breath, before reaching for the hem of his pants. He pulled them down slowly, and Will watched in horror as the scattered, bleeding cuts that were messily covered with bandages on his legs revealed themselves.

“Oh my god…” Will’s mouth was agape, and Mike could hear the growing frown in his mouth.

Mike was so stupid. He was so, so stupid. Why would he sleep in the same bed as someone else when something like this could happen? Why would he show Will this? Burden him with the weight of Mike’s irrelevant feelings piled on top of his already heavy ones? Mike couldn’t believe how inconsiderate he was being. It felt like he could breathe again, but he was suffocating in a new way this time.

“I’m sorry,” Mike whispered. His throat ached from his crying before, his eyes were still leaking tears at a less rapid pace, but he still felt nauseous.

Will grabbed Mike by the shoulders and pulled him into a gut-crushing hug.

“Don’t say that. Don’t be sorry. I’m sorry,” Will apologized, and Mike felt worse. He shook his head, and Will squeezed him impossibly tighter.

“I just— I don’t understand. Why would you do this to yourself? Why didn’t you ask for help? We would’ve helped, I would’ve helped,” Will told him, and at the close distance they were at, Mike could hear Will’s breathing turn erratic, which he always did when he was about to cry.

He found that out in kindergarten. Him and Will were running around during recess, when it had gotten warmer. One of the assholes in their class had knocked Will over, into the mulch. The wood scratched at his skin, giving him small cuts all over his legs. He had held in his cries while the bullies laughed at him, but when Mike had dragged him over to the teacher, Will couldn’t contain it anymore. His chest rose and fell unevenly as he began to tear up, and Mike held his hand while the teacher asked if he was okay.

Mike was the cause now. He was the reason Will was crying, and he didn’t know what to do to fix it, or if there was any way he could fix it at all.

“I’m sorry,” Mike repeated, as if they were the only words he could say.

Will shifted away from him, glancing at his legs again, before pushing himself off the bed and away from Mike completely. A part of Mike began to panic, thinking that Will was leaving to tell someone else, or to just leave him behind. Will must’ve noticed the internal mortification that Mike was feeling because he clarified a few seconds later.

“Bandages. I’m going to grab bandages, okay?”

Will left the room, leaving the door cracked behind him as he rushed out in a hurry. The silence in the room that followed afterwards was painfully nervewracking. Mike still felt like he couldn’t catch enough air, like he was just out of reach. His body shook slightly, and his eyes were irritated. Every bone in his body felt worn out even though he’d barely moved. It was unbearable, and Mike wanted to tear out of his own skin.

Eventually, Will came back, walking into the room at a quick pace.

“You okay?” Will asked considerately, and Mike nodded.

Mike pulled his pants the rest of the way down, and carefully moved his legs off the edge of the bed. Will kneeled down, a roll of bandages in hand. Will took off the old, soaked bandages. After wiping the blood away with a tissue from the nightstand, he carefully, and much more skillfully than Mike had ever done, wrapped the white cloth around Mike’s legs. The boy on the bed winced, his legs shifting a few times, but Will managed to keep his hands steady. Mike figured it must be an artist thing to have stable hands.

While Will worked, he began to speak.

“We have to tell an adult, okay?”

Mike grew stiff under Will’s hands immediately, and the boy on the floor paused his movements to gaze up at the other. When their eyes met, Mike shook his head frantically.

“We don’t.” Mike insisted. The last thing he wanted was for more people to find out. His mom would freak, especially with how paranoid she’s been after Holly, and he didn’t want anyone else to have to shoulder anything more. Everything was hard enough already. Hell, he just wished Will would wipe his memory of this night. He knew that wouldn’t happen, though, and he’d have to work around the boy. He wouldn’t be able to do that if there were more people involved. He looked to the side before finishing his sentence. “I’ll figure it out—”

“How?” Will nearly shouted. Both of the boys jumped at the shift in volume. Mike’s head turned back to him immediately, and Will took a breath before continuing in a hushed, but still aggressive tone. “How will you figure this out?”

“I’ll—”

“You’ll just keep doing it, right?” Will spat, and Mike winced. He was right. That was the plan, and that would’ve been the plan if Mike wasn’t being guilt ridden by Will’s still teary eyes. Now, though, he just wanted to find a way to make the boy stop crying, even if that meant sacrificing his only coping mechanism. “Mike, I can’t be the only one who can help you. We need to tell an adult.”

Reluctantly, Mike nodded. “Fine. Just… not my mom. She has enough to deal with already.”

Will nodded. “We won’t tell her if you don’t want to,” he reassured. He continued wrapping the bandages around his legs, and Mike tried his best not to shift around too much.

His breathing had calmed down from before, since the situation was being handled. He still felt shaken up, and very nervous about the fact that his secret had been exposed, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

He just hoped that nobody else in the party would find out. All of them were already having very hard times coping with everything that happened, and the thought of them finding out made him want to throw up.

“What about my mom?” Will suggested, and Mike shook his head again.

Mrs. Byers was great, and a wonderful mother, but she was also painfully overbearing. She obviously had more of a soft spot for Will, but she cared for every other child like they were her own kid, and she’d be devastated to find out Mike was doing this without her knowing. She’d already lost a daughter, Mike thought it was unfair for her to have to handle this too.

Will wasn’t looking at Mike, but he could probably tell that he didn’t want to tell Mrs. Byers, so went silent for a moment, thinking about the next suggestion. He wrapped the last bandage around Mike’s leg, and pushed himself off the ground. He moved to sit down next to Mike, the bed dipping with his weight. He held out his hand, and Mike took it without looking. It made him feel a little bit better.

“It doesn’t have to be a parent, okay? We could tell Jonathan?” Will said next. Mike let out a huff that would have been a laugh if he had the energy to do so.

“Why would he care? He hates me.”

“He does not hate you,” Will insisted, giving him an odd look.

Mike scoffed. Sure, when he was younger Jonathan didn’t hate him. When Mrs. Byers brought Jonathan along to the Wheeler’s to pick Will up, sometimes he’d ruffle Mike’s hair. Jonathan might’ve liked him before, but now? Every time Jonathan looked at him it felt like a threat. He hadn’t spoken to him for months, despite them living in the same house, simply because it was too anxiety inducing. Mike wasn’t even upset about it, he deserved it for how he treated Will and El in Lenora.

“Sure,” he said sarcastically.

“Fine,” the other boy huffed, turning to face him on the bed. “What about Steve?”

“And what, burden him with another thing? We already took his house,” Mike refuted. Will pressed his lips together, clearly stressed out. Mike couldn’t imagine telling Steve, his sister's douchebag ex-boyfriend. Even though they weren’t enemies, Mike still wasn’t the most fond of him. Steve cared, definitely, but Mike didn’t want to trust him with something like that.

“We have to tell someone—”

“Why do you still care? It’s none of your fucking business!” Mike shouted far too loudly, wrenching himself out of Will’s warmth and pushing himself up from the bed. He fought the urge to simply stalk out of the room, or yell at Will again, when they made eye contact. Mike froze as he saw Will’s red, tear stained, furious eyes glaring up at him.

“Sit down, Mike.” he whispered, and Mike collapsed against the bed again, refusing to look into the other boy’s eyes again.

“Sorry. I just— I don’t know,”

“It’s fine. I’m just trying to help,” Will replied.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

“I know.”

Will gave him an understanding smile, before stopping to think for a moment.

“We can tell Nancy. Is that okay?”

“I don’t—” Mike paused, going over the thought in his head. Of all the people in this house that Will had suggested, Nancy was probably the best option. He was a bit reluctant to tell her, since despite living in the same house for his entire life, they weren’t the closest. Not like Will and Jonathan, at least. Nancy was far nicer to him when he was younger, but now most of their conversations consisted of bickering and eye-rolling. They still had a relatively good relationship, and if he had to settle for anyone, it’d probably be her.

Will eyed him, and Mike realized he’d been silent for the past ten seconds, so he finished his thought. “I… I guess, yeah.”

Will smiled at him, which made the room feel a lot lighter. Mike felt like some of the weight on his back had been lifted, so he gave the other boy a small smile back.

“Okay. We’ll tell her in the morning,” Will responded. “We should go to bed, though.”

Mike nodded in agreement. Now that the excitement of the moment had worn off, he noticed how heavy his eyelids were. He crawled back over to his side of the bed. The sheets were uncomfortably wet, so he pulled the blanket over the spots and laid down. Will followed his movement, laying down as well. His side of the bed wasn’t stained, so he was able to slip under. He glanced over at Mike once, before flipping over.

Mike stared at the ceiling for a few moments, trying to process everything that happened. It almost felt like a long dream, and he’d wake up in the morning with no stains on his bed, and Will would be in another room, and he’d walk to the bathroom to hurt himself again. Sometimes he wondered if all of this was a long dream. The upside down, El, Vecna. What would he do if we woke up and he was twelve again? What would he change? That’s the question he asked himself as he dozed off to sleep.

—

They slept through until late. It was around eleven in the morning when Mike awoke. As his vision cleared, he slowly sat up. The lamp was still on, casting a warm glow on the room, in addition to the sunlight pouring through the cracks in the curtain by the window. Finally, his vision cleared, and he looked down beside him. Will was curled up in the blanket, his face half buried in the pillow beneath him. He was snoring softly, and Mike didn’t want to wake him up.

He knew it would probably be a bad idea to leave, since Will would obviously panic if he awoke to find Mike gone, but he figured if he could sneak out and get back quickly, he’d be fine. His legs itched again, and it was hard to not want to leap out of bed and grab his razor blade all over again. He at least wanted to use the bathroom, though.

Despite his best efforts to shift out of the bed unnoticed, he must've moved around too much, because before he had one foot off the bed, Will was stirring awake. He froze, listening to Will groan and shift around. The movement stopped, and MIke looked back. Will had flipped around on the bed, but nothing proved that he had fully woken up, so Mike continued his subtle movements.

He managed to climb out of the bed quietly enough to not risk waking him up again, and he walked around the bed to the door. The floor creaked slightly underneath him, which made him wince, but he kept moving as best as he could.

His hand wrapped around the doorknob, and he had just begun to turn it when he heard a voice.

“Mike?” Will yawned. When Mike turned around, Will was resting on his elbow, squinting at the boy across the room. “Where are you going?”

Mike stuttered for a moment, not having expected to be caught. “I… I was going to the— the bathroom.”

Will’s expression hardened ever so slightly. He gazed at Mike, like he was trying to read his mind. “You weren’t going to do it again, right?”

“I…” Mike sighed, and Will sat up fully. He didn’t look mad, but it was clear he was upset. Mike tried to rectify the situation. “I was going to try not to, but I don’t know. It’s a lot, Will.”

Will tried to hide his disappointment, but Mike could see it in the corners of his expression. He stood up, walking over to the boy and grabbing his hand like the night before. Mike deflated a bit.

“Do you want to tell Nancy now?” Will asked him. Mike thought about it for a moment, and he figured he would chicken out if Will didn’t drag him to Nancy’s room in the next five minutes. He nodded slowly, and allowed Will to drag him out of the room.

They eventually reached her bedroom. Mike neglected knocking, simply opening the door a crack.

Nancy was laying back on her bed, telephone in hand. Her hair, with the exception of her bangs, was tied into a loose, messy ponytail. Her curls were frizzy from the pillow beneath her, and she spoke in a hushed voice. Mike couldn’t make out what she was saying, or who she was talking to, but it didn’t matter.

They opened the door further, Will stepping in ahead of him and Mike following suit. The floor creaked beneath them, and Nancy perked up when she noticed the two boys standing in her bedroom.

“Hold on, Rob’, Give me a second,” Nancy spoke quickly into the telephone before setting it down and pushing herself to her elbows. “Yes?”

Mike and Will shared a glance. Will took his hand and squeezed his hand tightly before turning back to face Nancy again, who was now looking at them with confusion. She raised an eyebrow, and Will opened his mouth to speak.

“Sorry to interrupt your call, it’s just… we have something important to tell you,” Will told her. His eyes darted to the phone, which was on hold. “I think— I think maybe you should end your call. It’s personal.”

Nancy furrowed her eyebrows, concern flashing in her eyes, but reluctantly, she muttered a quick goodbye to who Mike assumed to be Robin and hung up the phone. She sat up fully, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed.

“What’s going on?” she questioned. Mike shifted back and forth on his heels, and Will pressed his lips together. Clearly, their reactions were very concerning, because she pushed herself up from the bed and walked closer to them.

“Is it him? Is he back?” she whispered, even though it wasn’t a secret and there was nobody there who shouldn’t hear it, anyways.

It wouldn’t be possible for him to be back, too, but nobody really had let their guard down just yet; they’ve thought they’d reached the end far too many times before, it was hard to believe war was over even if they watched it end right in front of them.

“No,” Mike muttered, shoving his free hand into his pocket. “It’s me.”

Somehow, this caused Nancy to grow even more concerned. Mike figured that anything upside down related would be more worrying than anything going on with him, but with the way Nancy turned on him, her eyes blown wide and her posture leaning towards him slightly.

“Are you okay, Mike?” she asked him. Mike knew there wasn’t any point in lying, since Will would reveal all regardless of what he said, so he very subtly shook his head. Nancy let out a breath, raising a hand and placing it on his shoulder. “What is it?”

“He’s been…” Will swallowed, squeezing Mike’s hand again. “hurting himself.”

It took a few seconds for the words to process in Nancy’s head, but once they did, her mouth fell agape. Mike could feel her grip on his shoulder loosen for a moment, before tightening into an unbearable grip that he fought the urge to pull away from.

“What?” she puzzled quietly. She shook her head, looking up at Mike with eyes that almost seemed wet with unshed tears.

“I’ve been using a razor. On my legs,” Mike clarified, and a small gasp left her lips.

Now Mike could tell she was really tearing up, and she yanked him into a tight hug before he could add anything somewhat comforting to his sentence. Will’s hand slipped from his own, and he wrapped his arms around his sister. He wasn’t sure what to say, since he’d never been in the position of comforting her. It was almost always the other way around.

“I can go, if you want.” Will interjected, a bit awkwardly. Mike had nearly forgotten about him in the moment, and apparently Nancy had too with the way she jumped a bit when he spoke.

Nancy nodded shakily, relenting her grip and stepping away from Mike, keeping a hand on his shoulder.

Will glanced at Mike, and Mike nodded at him to let him know he’d be okay. Will gave him a small smile before stepping out of the room, closing the door gently behind him.

Once he left, Nancy turned to him again. “Can we sit down?”

“Okay.”

Nancy used the hand on his shoulder to guide him to her bed. She sat down, releasing her grip, and he followed after her, the bed dipping with his weight. He wasn’t very used to the setting, since Nancy usually liked a degree of privacy and there wasn’t much reason for him to go there anyways. The last time he spent more than a few seconds in there was when Steve was showing them all the rooms. He thought it was nice, but he didn’t end up getting it. It was reasonable why she got her own room, since rooming with Jonathan or Steve probably would’ve been too much, but Mike couldn’t say that he wasn’t at least a little bit jealous.

“Mike,” Nancy whispered, taking his hands into her own. Her voice shook, like she was a piece of pottery a few seconds from cracking.

“Yeah?”

“You can’t— you shouldn’t force yourself to take the wrong route because you think that’s what you deserve. It isn’t. You deserve help, you deserve to be loved, you deserve to move on,” she told him, squeezing her fingers for emphasis.

Mike scrunched his face up, shaking his head as she spoke. He shifted backwards, and Nancy’s grip around his hands tightened subtly.

“But—”

“I don’t care about what you said or did,” Nancy interrupted, as if she read his mind. “I don’t care if you fucked up yesterday, or years ago. I don’t care if you fucked up at all. I know what that’s like.”

Mike’s eyebrows furrowed, his face flashing with confusion, and Nancy began to explain.

“Do you remember Barbara?” Nancy clarified, and Mike’s face shifted from one of confusion to one of understanding. He nodded, softly.

Mike didn’t have as many memories of Barb as Nancy did. He’d see her in passing whenever she came over, and sometimes she’d be there when Nancy babysat, but he never tried to speak with her. When El was in the bathtub, repeating the words gone like a mantra, he looked at Nancy and saw a face he’d never seen on her before. He’d seen her angry, and he’d seen her sad, but he’d never seen her so devastated. Her eyes were glossy with tears and a hand covered her mouth, and she looked a few seconds away from puking. Once El had finished, Nancy fled the room silently. It scared him, at the time, seeing her like that. He understood her now.

“She’d be alive if I… if I had made better choices,” Nancy continued. Mike wanted to shake his head and tell her that she had nothing to do with it, but it didn’t look like that’s what she needed. “But I’m still living. I deserve to live, and I deserve to be happy. I still miss her, I’m allowed to grieve her, just like you’re allowed to grieve El, but I still moved on. You deserve that.”

Mike nodded. The words took a few moments to sink in, but he began to understand.

It still hurts all the time. There was still an itch under his skin, a scream in his throat, an urge in his mind, but it feels like he has people to scream to. People to distract him from the itch, to cover the urges in his brain with hugs and smiles and love like stickers. That didn’t fix everything, that didn’t bring El back, but it made everything feel less dull. Like there was a light at the end of the tunnel, that was getting brighter and closer each day. Like he had a chance.

The silence in the room felt too loud, as if the world had paused to wait for him to react. He let out a shuddered breath, before speaking. “Do you ever have… so much to say, but nobody is the right person to say it to, so you just feel like you’ll explode?”

“All the time,” Nancy smiled, and Mike wanted to smile back. It felt like a twisted joke between them, feeling like a shaken soda bottle ready to erupt. Maybe it ran in the family, or maybe it was just a coincidence, but it made Mike feel a little better.

The two of them fell silent again. Nancy swung her legs back and forth, and Mike picked at his cuticles.

Mike almost enjoyed this. Him and Nancy haven’t been especially close in a while, but they always seemed to notice smaller things about each other. Mike noticed how Nancy screams into her pillows whenever she’s stressed. Nancy noticed how Mike plays his music especially louder when he’s irritated at something. Mike noticed how Nancy taps her foot when she’s anxious or growing impatient. Nancy noticed how Mike fidgets with his hands when he has nothing to do.

Mike noticed how when Barb died, Nancy’s room became unusually clean, like there was nobody living in there. She would wake up early every day to make the bed as neat as possible, and she’d rapidly fix anything out of place. She moved almost like a robot, completing tasks so she could ignore the big, towering truth of what happened. She’d do it until she got too wounded up, like a Jack-in-a-box, and then she’d explode. She’d rush to the bathroom, and Mike would walk past and pretend not to hear her choked sobs, because he didn’t know what he’d say.

And now, Nancy knew about him. She knew that Mike couldn’t be bothered to clean his room, that he wouldn’t run from the moment, but he’d analyze it. He’d go over every moment, every second, determined to fix it because he always managed before. He’d write it down, draw it out, try to find an answer he could be satisfied with, and every time he reached the same conclusion. Every time he realized he'd react the same. He’d spiral, he’d stop talking, he’d lock himself in his room for the rest of the day.

Now Nancy knew that he cut himself, too. He wasn’t as ecstatic about that.

“I still have photos of you from when you were younger,” Nancy whispered, breaking the silence. Mike lifted his head, watching as she gazed at one of the photos she had on top of her drawer, a nostalgic expression on her face. “You were so happy, all the time. Even when people were rude to you, you’d stand up for your friends and still end up smiling at the end of the day.”

Mike remembered those times too. When it didn’t feel like lifting a boulder when he tried to open his mouth and say something. When things were less complicated, and he was allowed to just be. He thought it was odd how he’d seemed to regress from his younger self, even though he was supposed to grow. Maybe if he could just be like before, life would be easier.

“It’s not that easy anymore. I’m not… good at that anymore,” Mike expressed.

It felt just as restricting as it felt freeing to admit those words. He spent too much time hiding from the fact that he made too many mistakes. It was easier to blame other people, or to justify his choices in his head and never explain them to anyone else. Admitting it now felt idiotic, since he’d already caused enough damage and all he could do was feel guilt, but it also felt right to acknowledge it.

“Good at what?” Nancy asked, tilting her head. Mike assumed it was mock confusion, since he figured it was obvious what he was implicated.

“Standing up. Being a good friend. A good person.”

He couldn’t remember the last time he thought he was good enough for the people around him. He’d wronged everyone too many times. He remembers how he treated Lucas while Will was missing, how he treated Max when she tried to be friends with them party, how he Will during the summer of ‘85 and how he practically ghosted him afterwards, how he couldn’t tell El he loved her till she nearly died, how he’d been the last to stand up and support Will when he came out. He’d do all that, and not know how to fix it, so he’d walk away. He’d save it for another day. He thought he had time, but now it feels like everything's blown up and he’ll never be able to fix it again.

“You are. Mike,” Nancy reassured. “I’ve seen you fight tooth and nail for your friends. I’ve seen you throw yourself in harm's way, just to keep them safe. I’ve heard them talking about you. They love you, okay? From what I’ve seen, you’re nothing short of an amazing person.”

Mike didn’t fully believe her, but the words spread warmth through his body. His feelings of inadequacy followed him everyday, and they’d been there for years. He tried his best, he’d make plans, he’d try to seem hopeful, but sometimes he’d be utterly hopeless. He was worried that nobody benefited from his efforts, that he was just extra baggage they carried because they had to, but hearing someone so adamantly deny that made him feel hopeful. He smiled sheepishly.

“See?” Nancy nudged him, smiling back widely. “That’s what I want for you. I want you to smile like that all of the time. I want you to be able to trust yourself, to love yourself. I love you, okay? You should too.”

Mike nudged her back. “I love you too, Nance.”

“I can’t believe you’re so much taller than me. Makes it harder to do this.” Nancy pulled back a little, suddenly reaching up for the top of Mike’s head. She ruffled his hair aggressively, laughing as he pulled back.

“Jesus, Nancy, stop!” Mike shouted, swatting at her arms. She relented, giggling.

They spent the next few minutes talking about whatever. Mike hadn’t had a real, casual conversation with any of his friends or family since it happened. It felt surreal, like he was finally getting better. He didn’t know if that’s what he wanted, but maybe that was what he deserved. Maybe that’s what El would have wanted of him.

—

It was going so well, up until now.

It was nearing the end of February, and Mike was sure that he’d been doing better. Every time he felt an urge, he’d initiate a conversation with Will or Nancy about anything, and it worked. The aching in his legs dissipated, and while scars still littered his thighs, he was glad that they were healed, and that he was getting better.

That’s what he wanted, right? To get better. But the itch didn’t go away. It never did. It buzzed under his skin every moment of every day. He wanted nothing more than to reach out to it, to dig under his skin to scratch it, but he didn’t. He didn’t want to see Will or Nancy cry, he didn’t want to risk anyone else finding out, he didn’t want to fuck everything up again.

Still, though, every day it became more uncomfortable to exist. He wanted to talk about it, but he didn’t want to worry everyone else, with his weird, inexplicable feelings.

He should have expected it, honestly. He really was a shaken soda bottle ready to erupt, because now he was sitting in his room, messily wrapped bandages around his legs beneath his pants, staring at the wall. He felt almost numb, like the pain was muffled under the sensation of reality being warped. That’s what it felt like, anyways. Like he wasn’t really alive, like he was somewhere else. Like his life was just one big movie that he could barely control, sitting in front of the screen, watching from faraway.

He wanted to go to his real home sometimes. Not that it would solve all of his problems, but it would feel less like he was waking up somewhere new each day. The only comfort was that he got to share a house with the Byers family for a little longer, which was nice. Still, though, the house had only just begun repairs and it was unbearable waiting. He felt uncomfortable with the thought that there would be strangers in his room, to repair everything, looking around, but he knew that thinking about it more would make it feel worse, so he pushed the thought away.

Luckily, it was a Saturday, and there was nowhere he needed to go. That also meant that nearly everyone was home, doing their own stuff. The only exception was Nancy, who had gone to meet Robin somewhere downtown. Hawkins was still riddled with military personnel, but it was easier to navigate than before. They were mostly there to confirm that any remnants on the upside down was gone, as well as other shady shit. Mike couldn’t bear to look at the same assholes who kept him from saving El, so he strayed away from those areas. Not that he went out much, anyways.

The party kept trying to drag him to “fun” group activities, but Mike just felt like a liar each time he got there. He felt disgusting for trying to have fun and be happy while El was gone. He felt like he never deserved to be happy again sometimes.

Then. he’d remember Nancy’s words. How what he wants isn’t necessarily what he deserves. How he deserves to be happy. It almost makes him feel hopeful, and then he feels sick for thinking he should get a chance. It was a never ending cycle, like he was on a hamster wheel, running to nowhere yet still tiring himself out.

He needed air. He’d spent too long inside, and thinking about made the house feel all the more suffocating. He was sick and tired of feeling like he couldn’t breathe, so he rushed out of his room, not bothering to close the door behind him. He bolted down the stairs, and out of the door. Luckily, he saw nobody else on his way there, so he figured everyone was just in their rooms.

The moment he burst outside, he wanted to go back in. It was cold outside, the kind that wasn’t freezing but still crept uncomfortably under your skin. Mike regretted not putting a jacket on, his body shivering as the wind blew on it. He did appreciate how the discomfort of the temperature temporarily took his mind off the familiar ache in his legs. The cold still wasn’t a good thought to linger on, since it reminded him of the cold of the upside down and the abyss. He definitely didn’t experience that chill much, since he’d only been there once, but it still wasn’t a good memory.

To his surprise, he found that Will sat at the poolside, fortunately wearing a sweater. He was staring into the depths of the poolwater, which was probably freezing. He looked like he was thinking.

Since he was here, Mike figured he should tell him. Tell him that he managed to fuck up again, that he was never getting better. He didn’t want to interrupt his thoughts, or bother him though. He could wait to tell him.

Mike turned around, stepping towards the door, when Will stopped him.

“...Mike?” Will called out from behind him. Mike turned around, and suddenly, there was a growing pit in his stomach. Will was staring at him, confused, and probably expecting him to respond. He’d have to tell him he did it again, and Will would be upset, and cry, and Mike would feel like a horrible person all over again.

Will must’ve noticed how Mike’s chest rose and fell faster and faster every second that passed, since he pushed himself up from the floor and skidded over. He placed his hands on Mike’s waist, stabilizing him, and Mike practically collapsed into his arms immediately, burying his head into the crook of the other boy’s neck. His hands gripped the back of Will’s sweater.

His eyes felt wet, and he sniffled, trying to keep himself from crying into the boy's top. His throat felt painfully dry, and the cold air passing through his throat didn’t help. The warmth of Will did, though, and Mike held onto him a little tighter.

“Mike, what’s—”

“I’m sorry,” he gasped, squeezing his eyes shut. “I did it again, I’m sorry.”

Will went silent, and Mike prepared for the worst. He thought he’d hear the same breathing that Will did when he was about to cry, or maybe Will would shove him off and get angry at him for ruining all his progress. He couldn’t bear that to happen, so he pulled away from Will. Shivering, he peaked his eyes open, and he stumbled back a bit on his feet. His breath hadn't evened out yet, but he felt guilty for falling onto Will, so he tried to make some distance.

Will’s face had shifted to one of understanding. He took a step forward, and Mike almost wanted to step back, but he kept his feet planted in his spot.

“Do you need me to bandage it?”

Mike froze. His eyebrows furrowed, but he answered the question slowly.

“I tried to, but I’m not that good at…” he glanced down, shrugging.

“Yeah. Okay,” Will nodded, grabbing his arm and leading him to the doorway.

Mike was thoroughly confused. He thought that if he told anyone, they’d be horribly upset. He thought he’d just hurt more people, but Will didn’t seem to care at all. He was treating it like an everyday normal thing. Mike didn’t know if he was grateful or concerned.

Will led him up the stairs of the house, Mike glancing around anxiously to see if anyone had emerged from their rooms. It was a miracle they had made it to the bathroom without anyone around to ask questions, which he was very grateful for, since at the moment he felt like a small leaf ready to blow away at the smallest gust of wind.

The door clicked shut behind them, and they stayed silent as Will kneeled down to grab the bandages under the sink and Mike pulled his pants down and sat on the toilet lid. He glanced at Will’s seemingly neutral expression with curiosity.

Will noticed his staring, and without turning his head, he spoke. “What’s the look for?”

“Why aren’t you…” Mike trailed off , unsure if it was an odd question to ask.

“Why aren’t I what?”

Mike swallowed, before fully restating his question. “You’re not upset.”

Will tilted his head, and Mike looked away. He shook his head, getting ready to apologize for the somewhat insincere question, but Will spoke up before he could say anything.

“I am,” Will clarified, and Mike looked back at him, sinking into himself a bit. Will blinked at him, before continuing. “but it’s not like you could’ve just stopped. I mean, there were a lot of…”

He trailed off, and Mike understood what he was implying. The large plethora of scars on his thighs that didn’t seem to go away still haunted him like some sort of ghost. Any of the sick satisfaction he used to feel had disappeared, now that there were people who didn’t want him to do it. Looking at it made him feel like he was at the crime scene of a crime he committed.

Mike must’ve shifted in discomfort at the thought, because Will looked down guiltily, focusing on the bandages again. “Sorry. I just meant that it’s hard to stop after you’ve done it for so long. I didn’t expect it to just… go away so fast.”

Mike let out a half hearted chuckle. “It wasn’t that long. I mean, the cutting wasn’t.”

“What do you mean?” Will inquired, his hands slowed, seeming genuinely confused.

Mike winced, realizing he may have revealed too much. He’d forgotten that Will didn’t know everything, just what he’d seen.

“I mean… before the cutting, I guess I still— I scratched myself. With scissors,” he admitted. He watched Will’s blank expression turn to something that resembled guilt again.

“Oh.”

“Sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, I just—” Will tightened the last bandage, dropping his hands onto his lap once he finished. “I wish I could’ve helped you sooner.”

Mike didn’t want Will to feel bad, because he’d feel bad as a result, but he didn’t want to invalidate how Will felt, so he pressed his lips together. He gave Will a small smile, which the other boy returned enthusiastically.

Mike bit his lip, before breaking the careful silence in the bathroom again. “Can I just… say something? It might be stupid, but…”

“That’s fine, Mike,” Will said. “You can talk to me.”

Mike went quiet for a moment, trying to find the right words to say it.

“I feel kind of… incomplete. Like I’ve been cut in half or something.”

Saying the words aloud felt odd. It was a thought he had a lot, and it was recurring when he was doing… less than healthy ways of coping. He didn’t think he’d get to tell anyone how he felt, he didn’t know if he deserved to, but Will hummed in understanding, and Mike continued.

“I think the last time I felt complete was before you went missing. When you were gone, we found El. She didn’t fill your hole, but when she left, she left a hole too. Even when she came back, I just felt like everything was moving too fast. All of a sudden, I was fourteen, and I had to be a normal teenager. But I wasn’t. I felt things wrong, and I still felt like I was thirteen, or twelve, or something. I felt like everyone was growing up and I was being left behind, and like there was always a hole. Always a gap. I tried to be mature, and I tried to do normal teenager things, but I always fucked it up. I don’t think I’ll ever feel whole, now. I just—”

Mike took a deep breath. He hadn’t noticed in his ramble that Will’s body had stilled, and he was staring up at Mike with widened eyes. Mike glanced at his feet, trying to maintain his very shaken composure as he continued.

“I wanna be a kid again. I wish everything was easy like before. Now I feel things I don’t understand, and I say the wrong things because everyone else feels things I can’t understand, and I get an itch under my skin that never goes away and I don’t understand why and I hate it. I hate myself. I hate this.”

He hadn’t noticed the way his voice raised in volume as he spoke, but when he finished, the last word echoed around the bathroom into eventual silence. Will was still staring at him, and Mike wondered if he said too much.

“I just… I just feel weird sometimes. I guess,” he whispered, trying to break the heavy tension that was in the room.

Suddenly, Will surged forward, jumping up from the ground and yanking Mike to his feet. He was in another gut crushing embrace, and Mike wondered when Will had gotten so strong.

“Jesus Christ, Mike,” Will gasped, his voice sounding oddly shaken. He released the taller boy, taking a few steps back and looking at him with a pained look. Mike felt his shoulders tense a bit. “Why didn’t you tell anyone you felt that way?”

“I thought I was being overdramatic,” he said, shrugging apathetically. Will stared at him, and Mike assumed he had said something stupid, so he shook his head. “I probably am. Being dramatic, I mean.”

“You’re not. I promise you, you’re not,” Will reassured.

Mike shook his head, but he couldn’t find a lie in Will’s voice. He trusted him, even if he didn’t want to believe him.

“Just please, know that you can come to me, for anything,” he pleaded. “Me and Nancy, the party, everyone. We’re always here.”

Will stared at him with desperation, and the hopeful feeling that Mike was so used to pushing down began to flow with his body. Hope that he’d make it out, that there was a light at the end of the tunnel, and instead of simply staring at it, he was walking towards it. Even if he fell over, or stopped walking for a moment, he was getting closer. He didn’t feel like he was leaving El behind, he felt like he was holding her with him, somehow.

Mike stepped forward, wrapping Will in another hug, which was immediately returned.Standing there, in the bathroom, being embraced by his friend, made the pain disappear. There was still a hole, but it felt like it was being filled with something new. For a very long moment, he really did want to get better. He wanted to leap through the light and see the other side. That was the biggest step he’d ever taken.