Work Text:
Mike thinks he’s always hated crying.
Which says exactly nothing about him because everyone hates crying. Everyone hates how your face goes red and puffy and the tears stick to your cheeks like sweat on a warm summer day or when the headache creeps in and your eyes sting and sometimes when you ball a little too hard and it feels like the world is ending all over again.
(Okay, Mike thinks people don’t really think the last part, after all the whole End of the World club is pretty small, especially right now with Eddie dead and Max lifeless in a hospital bed but his point still stands, everyone hates crying, he hates crying.)
He doesn’t even think it’s some deep trauma response or whatever Nancy bullshit said to Steve and Robin, he doesn’t think it was learned from dealing with interdimensional monsters and eldritch horrors beyond his imagination, or even from years with his parents, the perfect nuclear family where their dad would say shit like “Boys don’t cry,” just like The Cure when he would fall outside and come crying inside, blood dripping from his knee.
He was always a sensitive kid, maybe not like Will, where the word was spit like a slur, sensitive they used to whisper, artistic and shy, and sometimes they cut the bullshit and just called him what they were all thinking, they just called him a fucking fag.
Still, Mike always cried just a bit too quickly, reacted a bit too harshly; his mom used to say he would scream the house down as a baby, she would tell him stories of him roaring with his little premature lungs, nothing like Nancy who was such a delight, such an easy first child. She never meant anything by it, he doesn’t think so anyway, but maybe that’s the thing; she never meant anything by it.
He cried when Will’s ‘body’ was found, hot tears running off of his face straight onto his mother’s thick navy cardigan, cried again when El ‘died’ and then again in ‘84 when they almost killed Will trying to defeat the same evil that took him from them.
In many ways he feels like his childhood, those few years anyway were told through tears and puffy red cheeks, they were told through government officials, and “Boys don’t cry.” ringing through his fucking ears until there was nothing left to say, no tears left to cry.
There were no tears when Will and El moved, the Byers driving down their bumpy old driveway into the Californian sun. In all honesty, Mike doesn’t really remember much after the Byers left, the days moved to months, blending together without his permission, Monday tumbling into Thursday in a blurry haze while September stretched through the year, the Byers' answer machine buzzing through the house.
There were no tears, none of the scratchy feeling at the back of his throat or the snotty nose that comes with crying. Almost as if he had nothing to give, no tears to cry for the people he loved so much.
Sometimes, Mike wishes there was, wishes that he spent those months doing anything other than waiting by the telephone until the sun rose and yet another day had passed without him even noticing as if he wasn’t in his body at all. It almost made him forget how much he fucking hated crying.
It’s not something he thinks he’s going to forget any time soon though, not now, when Hawkins is in shambles, cut in four like a badly sliced Surfer Boy Pizza, Max’s poor body hooked up to just about every machine imaginable and Eddie’s cold corpse rotting in the Upside Down.
Oh – and El broke up with him.
It shouldn’t matter, not in comparison to everything else. Mike shouldn’t even be thinking about it, he should be far more concerned about the whole murder thing that’s going on, or was going on? He’s not exactly sure, or maybe on Max who he didn’t know could stand still until the Byers left and the world stopped not just for him but for Max too, watching her ebb and flow out of their lives despite Lucas’s best attempts now laying in plaster upon plaster, no news on when, if, she’ll ever wake up; maybe even on the whole Vecna thing.
Mike cares about it all, he cares about Vecna and One and the Upside Down and the bastards that dared ruin their lives. He cares about the universe and why they thought it would be a good idea to shit on Will and El yet again as if they haven’t suffered enough. If he could speak to the universe he’d scream, he’d yell and holler because “How dare they,” who let them do that? Mike thinks he’d do that to a lot of people, to Brenner, maybe to Owens, and to the fucker responsible for it all.
That’s not what he’s crying about though, what’s taking up his first tears in over six months; no, instead that title goes to the last piece of his crumbling relationship dissipating into the cracks of the Upside Down, “You do not love me. You lied.” on El’s tongue; as straight forward as El’s always been, none of the tears from Lenora, none of “But you don’t love me anymore?” None of the questions, it was a statement, a fact. “You don’t love me.”
It’s not like he didn’t try and argue but he’s a writer for a reason, there’s a reason words fail him, again and again, and again but he’s not sure he can blame it on words, not this time because El, as usual, was right.
Mike thinks she’s one of the wisest people he’ll ever meet, she’s a superhero, his superhero even if they aren’t together; he’ll never meet anyone like her. Platonic soulmates or something, whatever Dustin parrots off of Steve and Robin, “Plantonic with a capital P.”
El wasn’t wrong and he’s still sobbing over it. Or maybe he’s sobbing because she wasn’t wrong, he didn’t - doesn’t love her. No matter how much he wanted to, no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t and somehow everyone could see it but him.
Mike’s not stupid. He gets that there are more important things to be worried about, more important things to be losing sleep and tears to than the state of his relationship with his ex-girlfriend, the same relationship that when Mike really thinks about it, which he’s been doing, was falling apart at the seams for a lot longer than El and Will were in Lenora for.
El didn’t say much more, she’s never been the type but she knows more than she lets on, she knows something Mike’s not sure he even knows himself. She didn’t say it, not to him anyway and if she didn’t say it to him he’s sure she didn’t say it to someone else but there’s this thing - this thing Mike’s almost one hundred percent sure El knows, her words still ringing in his head.
The thing is, the thing Mike’s so sure El knows, the whole reason he’s weeping in his bedroom in the first place is that he couldn’t love her because Mike doesn’t think he can love girls.
It’s not something he’s ever said out loud, not to himself or El or anyone else, he’s not even entirely sure how she knows she just does, she knows he didn’t - couldn’t love her. Maybe it’s the psychic powers, maybe she figured it out from those romcom’s that she loves, the ones where the girl and the girl always get together in the end because they’re in love and well, he and El weren’t.
Or maybe he was just that obvious.
Either way, the feeling, the memory, the whole thing is enough to rip another sob through his throat and keep his eyes burning red. There was a time when he thought he would spend the rest of his life with El, that they would get married and live in their own little house just like everyone wanted them to. Perhaps it was naive, Mike thinks everyone thinks that about their first partner.
It’s different now, besides, even if Mike did love her like that, even if he could there would be no marriage, no house at the end of the cul-de-sac like his parents because he and El weren’t his parents, they weren’t anything close. None of that really matters now though, not when Mike’s stuck sobbing in his bedroom over something that is positively, unequivocally, without a doubt his fault.
It’s his fault he couldn’t love El, couldn’t scribble out a Love, Mike at the end of every letter just like she did. It’s his fault she ended up hurt the way she did and yet he has the audacity to be upset about it, upset about the disintegration of a relationship that was never going to work because no matter how hard Mike tried he would never love her like that.
It’s his fault that they dated for nearly two years, even as the little voice in Mike’s head told him it was wrong, that he was wrong, the little voice in his head that knew him better than he seemed to know himself, the little voice that’s been in his head since they started dating when they were twelve.
If you could really call it dating back then, the whole memory of it, the two of them at twelve years old - back when El barely knew what it meant to be a human and Mike really didn’t know how to like girls, he still doesn’t. He doesn’t know how either of them thought it was a good idea, well, he does but it still sort of hurts to think about.
Which isn’t even getting into everything after that, after he watched El die only for her to come back a year later - for their breakup last summer and the shitshow of letters that’s been sent between the two of them since the Byers left for Lenora, every little crack in their relationship leading back to the two big problems from when they were twelve. El, fantastic, capable, El has been with him since they were twelve, and he’s never liked girls, not like that, not even when he tried.
The guilt is not lost on him, clawing away at him; mixed with a horrible sense of shame that’s made itself home in his bones. He didn’t know - not when they started dating, when, come to think of it they were really too young to date at all, especially given the circumstances but he still knew, he knew by the time he said those awful words to Will on that stupid rainy day in his garage, words Mike thinks will haunt him for the rest of his life.
He doesn’t know exactly when he knew when he figured the whole thing out - he doesn’t know when El did either if it was the letters or something else - something Mike hasn’t figured out himself. They have these big stories, the ones that played on the television before everything went to shit, stories about people like him and a disease that’s everywhere and how they always just knew - it makes Mike wonder if he did too.
The stories, the news coverage of Ryan White and Rock Hudson doesn’t fall favourably with his dad, loud remarks that they’re all supposed to hear from the stupid Lay-Z-Boy that’s still intact even as the world’s ending. Nancy rolls her eyes, their mother shrugs it off but Mike’s never really been able to do anything about it - paralysed in a fear he barely recognises.
He doesn’t get much time to ponder over the news coverage though, over the disease that’s ravaging whole cities, people like him dying alone in mass hospitals all over the country - he doesn’t get much time to think because he’s supposed to be at Hopper’s cabin in an hour and someone is knocking at his door.
Mike tries to tell whoever’s at the other side of the door to fuck off. It’s probably Nancy, telling him ahead of time to get ready to make sure they’re at the cabin on time - as if Mike would be late for that, (In all honesty, he probably would be, it’s not that he doesn’t care - time just doesn’t seem to like him that much, he swears,) but all he can really let out in a soft whimper and the start of a sob.
It’s not Nancy though, not even close. His mother stands at the door, eyebrows furrowed together and Mike can’t help but be a little bit resentful that she opened the door without being asked to come in, what’s the point of knocking if you’re just going to enter anyway?
“Mike?” She asks, big hair somehow still intact; the end of the world works hard but Shauna’s Studio 7 works even harder. He can hear the concern in her voice, the fear that’s still gnawing at her from the whole Hawkins split in four thing.
Mike doesn’t respond. He can’t respond, he can’t look her in the eye while his are all red and puffy. She doesn’t seem to notice though, letting herself in and making herself comfortable in a space on his bed, loving hand reaching out that Mike can’t help but flinch away from, his head buried in his knees.
“Mike? Honey, what’s wrong?” She coos, kind and genuine and everything she’s always tried to be while he’s in crisis.
The closer she gets the closer she gets to figuring it out, El figured it out, and he’s sure she could too - then again, she hasn’t figured out the Upside Down yet, and she has no clue about the other world seeping its way into theirs without permission, with a goal that’ll do none of them any good. Still, the idea of Mike, of her son being like that and the idea of an alternate hell dimension are two very different things.
“Michael?” She asks again, voice wavering slightly. Slowly, she moves her hand closer to his head and once again Mike can’t help but flinch.
“Baby, what’s wrong?”
There are words lodged in this throat, stuck to his tongue and choking him. He can’t even look at her, can’t match her concerned eyes with his own because he knows the moment he does everything will begin to fall apart again. Mike can keep secrets, ‘Friends Don’t Lie,’ and all removed, he’s kept this a secret for years, the Upside Down for even longer.
He’s just so tired. They all are, the world is literally ending around them and, not for the first time, it’s all up to them to save it. It’s worse this time too, long gone are the days of the Mind Flayer and the Starcourt Mall Fire; it’s here now, right on their downstep, leaking into their world and poisoning them from the inside out.
“Promise you won’t be mad?” Mike mumbles, head still buried inbetween his knees. It’s not a risk he has to take. Hell, it’s a risk he shouldn’t take, he should talk to El about it but she doesn’t deserve that, doesn’t deserve to hear the way Mike just couldn’t love her, no matter how hard he tried.
(She doesn’t need to hear about the other part either, the part Mike’s sure she knows about too. The part about Will, about her brother. Mike’s best friend.)
He doesn’t need to tell his mother though; he probably shouldn’t. Especially now, when the world is literally ending and Mike doesn’t have much of a plan if it all goes sour. The government torn itself into a tizzy, placing Hopper and the Byers back in Hawkins while Hopper’s Cabin remains uninhabitable, they don’t need to be dealing with him either.
It’s not like Mike thinks his Mom would actually do something like that - scratch that, he isn’t sure of it but he’s pretty sure his father wouldn’t be happy and well, at the end of the day his mother has always stayed, always chosen their father, if he had a problem with it maybe she would too.
“Mike,” She breathes, slow and far more steady than she should be. Mike supposes there’s worse he could tell her, they’ve done worse - El’s literally killed people, not that it was her fault, she had to, not that he’s sure his mother would understand, just like how he’s not one hundred percent sure she would understand whatever’s going on in his head; he’s not even fifty percent sure of it.
He lets her slowly take his hands though, his head slowly raising as he finally makes eye contact with her; he tries not to wince as she wipes away a tear, her warm hands on his. Her sigh is as heavy and painful as Mike imagined it would be and suddenly Mike feels like he’s twelve years old again, sitting on their sofa with El in his closet. “I could never be mad at you.” She smiles, it’s weak.
It’s not true either, she’s been mad at him for loads of things, tiny insignificant things that kept piling up and up a cry for help that they couldn’t hear, even when Mike was screaming. It’s always been small though and this isn’t small, really, it’s far too big, it still seems far too big for him to handle. (Which, for the record, is stupid because they’ve literally saved the world, there’s not much bigger than that.)
“You promise?” He lets out weakly.
Mike can see his mothers eyes soften again, concern obvious as her eyebrows furrow together. He feels twelve sitting on their sofa and fourteen in his mother’s arms and somehow it’s still all about Will and El and somehow it has entirely nothing to do with them at all.
“I promise.”
Mike’s not convinced she means it, not convinced this is safe. The words stick like molasses, frozen in his throat as he lets another sob escape, folding into himself and his mom’s arms all at once, accepting the embrace.
“I’m gay.” It’s quiet, steadier than he thought it would be but barely above a whisper, quite enough he's not sure his mom even heard it.
She opens her mouth to speak tough, only for a moment before closing it up again and letting the words hang in the silence. It’s thick, heavy and it’s times like this Mike wishes there were more words for fear, there’s terror and horror, fright and distress, there’s consternation and yet none of them describe how Mike feels, waiting with baited breath for her to say something, anything.
Before she can speak though, before the words leave her mouth Mike can’t help but let out another sob. She tightens the embrace and Mike would like to think it’s her way of saying it’s okay, he’s okay. He’s not sure though, and that’s what really scares him.
“Oh Mike,” She lets out finally, the tension in the air still thick. It’s neutral, in fact, it’s almost nice. “You know I love you right?” She asks.
Yeah, Mike knows she loves him, he’s just not entirely sure she can love this part of him, not now with everything going on, maybe not even if his dad has anything to say about it. “I love you, and I’ll always love you, no matter what. I love you.” She continues, pulling Mike out of the embrace for him to look her in the eyes.
She’s smiling, matching red eyes as tears fall down her face, ruining her mascara and her blue eyeshadow that Nancy used. Her hairs messy, bright blonde curls all over the place, chunks stuck to her shoulders where Mike laid his face, she looks just like she normally does and somehow she looks all the more real.
“It’s Will isn’t it?” She asks, tilting her head slightly as she smiles, wiping away the last of the tears from Mike’s puffy eyes.
It’s one thing she’s right about, it is Will, it always has been.
Mike lets out his own half laugh. He can feel his cheeks begin to burn and maybe it’s not something he would like his Mom to know, she barely knew about El but this is acceptance, maybe it’s even support and maybe, just maybe a mother always knows anyway