Chapter Text
There was a lot of screaming.
Mike had never done well with loud noises.
There were tears in Joyce’s eyes. She was holding onto Will’s hand, chasing after the doctors as they wheeled him through the halls. Mike, small and irrelevant, was left to fall behind and watch as his best friend thrashed within his restraints. There was something wild in his eyes, dark and all-consuming, and black lines were climbing up his face.
Mike latched onto Joyce’s jacket, terrified of being left behind. Her hand slipped from Will’s, and her head snapped around, eyes staring right through Mike like he wasn’t there.
She blinked, and her head swiveled, back and forth between him and Will.
“Come on,” she whispered, and her hand encompassed his, guiding him along after the retreating gurney. Mike stumbled over his feet, sneakers squeaking against the tile floor.
Mike had fallen asleep with Will in his arms, curled up on top of his bedsheets. He’d woken up alone with the window wide open, a chilling breeze leaking through. He’d climbed out of bed, and he’d peered out the window, and he’d seen him.
Joyce stopped abruptly, and Mike nearly ran into her. They’d wheeled Will into a room, and there were too many doctors blocking their entrance.
“Out of the way!” Joyce called, a terrifying force of nature. “That’s my boy! Out of the way!”
She elbowed one of the nearest doctors, and Mike stuck close as they pushed their way through. He clutched at her sleeve like a small child, like Holly with their mom in the midst of a crowded store. Joyce forced her way to the front, right to the edge of the bed, and Mike peeked past her.
Will, hunched over in the grass with blood dripping from his mouth.
Will, strapped down on a hospital bed with an oxygen mask stuck to his face. He looked small, terrifyingly so, and his nails were digging into the mattress. They seemed oddly sharp.
“Will,” Mike breathed, eyes round as saucers. He felt trapped. People were still shoving past them, a frantic attempt at controlling the situation, and Mike was- what? Just standing there? He should be helping! He should be doing something.
Mike came running out the back door, screaming for Joyce, and Will just sat there, staring at him. Wide, frightened hazel eyes. There wasn’t any recognition in them at first, glazed over with something feral, but then Mike was crouching down in front of him and the boy was trembling, leaning into his hand when he reached out to touch him. Something dead lay on the grass between them.
“Oh, baby,” Joyce whimpered, rounding the bed so she could take his hand again. Mike stayed put. His feet were glued to the floor, terror pumping through his veins.
“Will,” he whispered, staring at the blood crusting around his mouth, the sharp edges of his teeth. A sense of urgency made him cup his face in his hands, a warped echo of a few hours ago. “Will.”
Kissing Will felt faraway, now, like something he’d seen in a movie once. The excitement, the fluttering in his chest. It was all gone, now, replaced with his racing heart and a queasy turning in his gut.
His nails dug into the fabric of his jacket, scratching off some of the dried blood coating his fingers.
“Someone grab a sedative,” one of the doctors ordered, wrinkled and gray.
“Don’t you dare,” Joyce snapped, gearing up like a snake ready to strike.
“He’s going to hurt himself,” the man insisted. “We need to get him under control.”
“He’s scared,” she seethed, holding onto his small hand with both of hers. “You’ve strapped him to a table like a wild animal.”
“Look at this.” The doctor pointed at Will, at the lines creeping up his face and the strange coloring of his eyes. “This is not human. It’s not your son.”
“You lay one finger on my boy, I swear to god-“
Will was looking at Mike. His chest was rising and falling fast, like a panting dog. It was straight out of Ghostbusters. He half expected him to start rising up off the bed. And his eyes, pupils bleeding into his irises like drops of ink in water, stared right through his soul.
There is no Dana, only Zuul.
“Someone get her out of here,” the man demanded, waving a hand. “And get the sedative.”
A terrible noise tore itself from Will’s throat, high-pitched and grating. Mike flinched, something clicking out of place in his brain and leaving him dizzy. He clamped his hands over his ears.
The overhead lights flickered.
Will’s nails tore through the mattress, dark veins spreading from beneath his sleeves to the tips of his fingers. His back arched up off the bed.
The doctor grabbed a syringe.
You promised, a voice hissed in the back of his mind, shockingly clear against the cacophony of noise. Mike’s heart raced, thumping so hard he could feel it behind his eyes. You promised, you promised.
Several adult men went to grab Will, holding him down, and Mike screamed.
“Don’t touch him!”
The lights shattered, sending sparks down on their heads.
The doctor plunged the needle into Will’s neck. He made a harsh growling noise, eyes rolling back in his head, and-
-a pressure built in Mike’s chest-
-he went limp, falling like a puppet with its strings cut.
A harsh breath punched out of Mike’s lungs, and his knees went wobbly. He didn’t even realize he was swaying until Joyce was scooping him into her arms, a hand braced against the nape of his neck.
He stared at Will, frighteningly still on the bed, and he burst into tears.
“What do you mean, he isn’t in the office?”
Joyce was pacing, pulling the cord of the phone taut and loose as she crossed the room. She was curling it around her finger, a nervous tick. Mike had seen her do it a lot when he was little. His mom did it too, sometimes.
He was curled up on the chair they’d dragged up to Will’s bed for him, a thin blanket from some other room tucked around his shoulders. The sun was shining through the window, now.
Will still wasn’t awake.
“I understand that,” Joyce huffed, scowling at the floor. “But I- I need to talk to him. It’s an emergency.” She bit her lip, leaning against the wall. Her eyes caught Mike’s, then drifted over to Will, lingering on the sweaty bangs plastered to his forehead. Her hand twitched like she wanted to swipe them away. “Can’t anybody page his trailer? I’ve been calling all night.”
Mike glanced at Will. He wasn’t anything resembling peaceful. Whatever they’d given him, it had him out, the only sign of life being the slow movement of his chest. He looked like a corpse.
Mike had seen his corpse before. He’d watched it get dragged out of the water. Fake or not, he’d felt that grief.
Mike looked over at Joyce again. She’d turned away, tapping her foot impatiently as she listened to whoever was on the end. Mike inched his chair closer slowly, and he reached out, carefully avoiding the straps they had over Will’s wrist and touching his hand. He lifted it, then threaded their fingers together.
There was a small twitch in one of his fingers. A slight squeeze. Mike’s heart fluttered.
He leaned forward and folded his arms on the mattress, resting his chin on top of them. Absently, he brushed his thumb back and forth across Will’s knuckles.
“Fine,” Joyce snapped, irritated. “When he finally bothers to show up for work, tell him I’m at the lab, without him. Things have gotten worse.” With that, she slammed the phone back onto the receiver on the wall. A heaviness set in her shoulders, weighing them down, and she hung her head with a sigh.
Mike tilted his head to watch, feeling weighed down as well. He’d been up for hours now. But he just… he couldn’t sleep. He wasn’t sure if it was the uncomfortable chair, the situation, or what.
There was a persistent buzzing under his skin, like adrenaline.
“Hopper’s not there,” she announced, still glaring at the wall. “Nobody’s seen him for hours. And those receptionists, they just- they never take me seriously anymore. They act like I’m some lunatic.” She waved her hands about, frustrated, and finally turned around.
Mike shifted his arm, hiding his and Will’s hands from view.
Her face softened. She sighed again, and then she was walking over and pulling up her chair beside him. Her gaze lingered on Will’s face for a while, simply watching him breathe.
“I’m sorry,” she said eventually, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I shouldn’t have dragged you into all this. You should be at home with your parents.”
“No,” Mike grunted, squeezing Will’s hand again. “I wanna be here. I told him I would be.”
He turned so his cheek was pressed against his arm, peering up at Will. Some of the tension had bled from his face.
“He’s lucky to have you,” Joyce said softly, squeezing his shoulder.
There was a careful knock at the door. Mike’s head popped up, hand slipping out of Will’s. A doctor was standing in the doorway.
“Mom,” he greeted with a nod. “Smaller Wheeler.”
“Owens,” Joyce huffed, standing with her hand still braced on Mike’s shoulder.
“What seems to be the situation?” He asked, making his way over to Will’s bedside. “I’ve only been filled in on a little. I was told they had to sedate him?”
“Yes,” Joyce grumbled through gritted teeth.
“It sounded like a pretty severe episode.”
“It wasn’t an episode.”
“Don’t be so sure.” Owens pulled a pair of gloves on, going first to check Will’s pulse point on his neck. “I told you they could get worse closer to the anniversary.”
“Sam,” she snapped, glaring at him. “I don’t need a cat, because my son’s eating the rodents. We found him this morning. He- he wasn’t himself.”
“Trauma presents itself in a lot of different ways,” Owens explained, frowning. He took his hand back and grabbed the chart by the bed, scribbling something down.
“This isn’t trauma!” Joyce insisted. “You’ve been telling him for months that it’s all in his head, but this is real! His eyes were black. Something is very, very wrong, and you’re not taking it seriously.”
“I can order tests,” he assured her. “I am taking this seriously, Joyce. I just want you to consider all the options. Post traumatic stress is real, too. It can really change somebody.”
Mike decided that he didn’t really like this guy. Joyce was awesome, and she was really smart. Owens was acting like she was overreacting.
Mike had seen what happened. She wasn’t overreacting at all.
And he was a scientist. This was the place El had come from, the bad place with the bad men. It wasn’t a far stretch of the imagination to connect the two.
“Pulse is a little slow,” Owens hummed, glancing down at the chart. “But that’s to be expected. They used some pretty strong stuff on him. And don’t worry- he’ll be just fine.” He drummed the pen against the clipboard, frowning. “I think I’ll grab someone to help with those tests. Nothing invasive, we just need a look at what’s happening in here.” He tapped his own head with the pen. “That sound okay?”
Joyce did not look like she thought it sounded okay. But she nodded anyway, finally lifting her hand off Mike’s shoulder to fold her arms over her chest. Owens nodded in return, and he retreated from the room, off to fetch his help.
Off to find more scientists, because Will was a lab rat, just like El had been.
“I’m going to call again,” Joyce announced, more to the empty room than to Mike. She marched herself back over to the phone on the wall and angrily punched in the number, holding the receiver to her ear.
Mike glanced back at Will. His hand was still sitting where he’d left it, tilted towards him like he’d chased his retreating fingers.
Mike stood, wobbling a little on his feet and bracing himself on the bed.
“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” he said, loud enough for Joyce to hear. She might’ve nodded, he didn’t pay enough attention to notice. He shuffled out the door with his hands in his pockets.
The hallways all looked the same. It filled him with a sick sense of dread. Thinking about El, growing up surrounded by white walls and cold tile floors. Will, strapped to a thin mattress like a prisoner.
He hated this place.
He pulled at the string of his jacket, twirling the tip between his fingers. There were a lot of doctors, which felt… weird, because there couldn’t be that many patients. This wasn’t a hospital. It was a lab. And as far as he knew, El had been their only subject. How was the place even still operational without her? Why was it still operational? Why would the government let such a terrible place stay open?
“Excuse me,” he muttered, walking up to one of them. They stopped what they were doing, fixing him with an odd look, and he felt his cheeks flush. “Um- where’s the bathroom?”
He might as well have spoken in another language. The doctor stared at him, baffled. He shifted on his feet.
“Sorry,” he murmured, brushing a nervous hand through his hair. The man frowned, opening his mouth, and-
‘You promised.’
Mike’s brow furrowed, top lip lifting to the bottom of his nose in a grimace.
“What?”
An odd sinking feeling settled in his chest. His feet went cold like he’d stepped in water, and he looked down. There was no water to be found.
When he looked up, the doctor was gone.
“Wait-“ He looked around. All the doctors were gone. The hallway was completely empty. And it was cold, terribly so, in a way that sent chills down his spine and left him shivering. The lights on the ceiling were flickering and dull, filling the air with a low buzzing sound.
Mike’s mouth fell open as he swiveled around, trying to grasp what was going on. It wasn’t a prank. Doctors didn’t pull pranks. And he wasn’t dreaming. He’d have been lucky if he’d been able to fall asleep.
So… what?
“Hello?” His voice echoed down the hall. He felt the sound in his chest, rattling his very core. He shivered again, digging his fingers into his arms.
‘You swore you’d protect me, Mike. You said you wouldn’t let it get me.’
“I-“ He took a step back, wrapping his arms tighter around himself. “I am going to protect you. I’m going to fix this.”
‘You lied.’
“No!” Mike shook his head frantically, eyes darting around. “No, I didn’t. I wouldn’t lie. Friends don’t lie. I- I don’t-“
‘You’re a liar, Mike.’ He could hear the sneer in Will’s voice, bouncing off the walls and straight into his head. It was a snarl, laced with contempt. ‘You’re no friend. You don’t care what happens to me. You’re going to let me die.’
“No!” Mike clamped his hands over his ears, heart racing in his chest. “No, I won’t! I don’t want you to die, Will! I-“ He what? Cared about him? Couldn’t live with himself if something happened to him?
Loved him?
Love was a big, scary word. He was just a kid. His parents didn’t even use that word, and he was 13. He had no clue what love was.
“I could never let you die,” he cried, clutching at the fabric of his own jacket. “You’re my best friend.”
‘You let them hurt me. You stood there and watched.’
“I- I didn’t!” He did. “There was nothing I could do, they wouldn’t listen to me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Something tickled his neck. He stiffened, keeping his eyes straight ahead. A hand appeared in his peripheral, clawed and covered in blood, and he yelped.
He went to duck out of the way, but it latched around his neck, pulling him back. The claws dug into his skin. He choked, flailing, but they added their other hand, doubling the pressure. He felt his own blood dribbling down his neck, staining his collar and rolling into the dips of his collarbones.
‘Traitor,’ Will’s voice hissed, right in his ear.
Mike shrieked, throwing himself forward, and his face smacked against something, sending stars through his vision and fuzzing out his senses. His hands clutched something solid.
He stayed still for a moment, trying to catch his breath, and his fingers dug into a smooth surface. He felt sick. Surely, he’d just given himself some low-level concussion. But what-
He opened his eyes, and found himself staring down at a sink.
…
Wait.
He lifted his gaze up, and met his own eyes staring back at him from a mirror.
He was in a bathroom.
“What the fuck?” He breathed, face scrunching up. He stared at his reflection. His neck was perfectly unblemished. His hands were wet, implying he’d just been washing them. Had he…
Had he found the bathroom? Was all that just in his head?
What was that?
“What the fuck,” he repeated, more a whisper to himself. He let go of the sink, holding his hands up with a grimace. He scanned the room for the paper towel dispenser.
He found it on the far wall.
He crossed the room and tore off a sheet, scrubbing his hands until they were a little red. His heart was still racing. Something in the back of his mind was still screaming wrong, wrong, wrong at him. He sucked in a breath, shuddering, and turned to throw the towel away.
His eyes caught something move out of the corner of his eye.
He jumped, bracing both fists for a fight, but the movement was only the stall door.
Drip.
His eyes fell below the door.
Drip.
There was something wet on the grimy old tile.
Drip.
He needed to get out of here.
No. No, he should investigate. He was supposed to be the brave one. If he didn’t look, who would?
Why was that his problem?
He crept closer slowly, watching as the light caught on the puddle and shined crimson. When he stopped, he realized it was spreading. It made its slow trek forward, and he watched, transfixed, as it touched the tip of his sneaker and painted it red.
He lifted a hand and touched the door, swallowing a sudden lump in his throat. He nudged it open.
A body.
There was a body on the toilet. Fully clothed, a hysterical voice whispered in his head, almost a breath of relief. It was dressed in a doctor’s coat.
It was the man from last night. This morning? Earlier. It was the doctor that gave Will the sedative.
There was a needle sticking out of his neck, dug in rather violently like a knife gutting a pumpkin. Mike was almost certain he’d seen the same sight on his family’s dinner table last week. A frightening face, gore spilled all over the floor.
Except, that was a jack-o-lantern.
This was a corpse.
He was in the bathroom with a corpse.
He stumbled backward, lungs suddenly tight. His back hit the wall, and he screamed, shoes dragging uselessly against the floor as he pressed himself into the wall. He couldn’t tear his eyes away.
Dead, glazed eyes stared back.