Nothing Will Keep Us Together
Here is my Conformity Gate byler fic MOTHERLOAD uploaded here on Tumblr, I'll try and stay consistent putting it on here. The link to the Ao3 copy (the better copy) is in my last post.
again, if you're into The Truman Show, everything is fake, uncanny valley type stories, you'll be into this post season 5 one I'm stirring in a big cauldron. Plus I'm recently out of a long term gay relationship, so I've got enough angst to write a Byler novel.
Also, please take this TRIGGER WARNING for topics of SH and suicidal ideations. If you're struggling with this, my DMs are open. Remember there are sources and tools available to you like emergency lines and responders who want to help :) You're never alone in Byler nation guys.
Chapter One- Are You Still There?
Mike sits in the back of an ambulance, a blanket draped over his shoulders and his legs dangling helplessly over the ledge. He can’t help but feel like a kid, suddenly subject and vulnerable to anything happening around him. All he can hear are sirens and first responders, military guards being rushed into care while the body of his girlfriend will never be recovered. He should have done something, he could have done something. If the guards would have let go, he could have grabbed her. He could have saved her life.
In front of him, he watches as another ambulance backs up, opening its door and making room for an incoming gurney. Strapped in and unconscious was Will.
“Hey,” Mike says, too quiet for anyone to hear. Before he can register why, he’s up, his blanket falling off his shoulders. “Hey, what’s wrong with him?”
He’s immediately grabbed, his stride cut short by the overwhelming strength of an officer on duty. Mike instinctively resists the hold, ignoring whatever was being shouted into his ear. “Let go! Let go of me you piece of shit, what happened to him? What’s wrong with Will?”
“You cannot go over there. You’re not cleared, and he’s receiving treatment–”
“He was fine, he was fine when I last saw him.” His words are strained, he pauses to catch his breath. His hands come prying at the officer's grip, weakly working away at nothing. He’s claustrophobic, he needs to let go. “Did something happen?”
“Hey kid, you need to sit down.” Comes Hopper's voice, incoming from upfront. Mike looks ahead, his eyes glassy and shaded by deep purple bags. “You’re not thinking straight.”
“Hop, I– Will is getting put into–”
“I know.” He says, his tone drained and gentle. “I know, kid. He’s just strained, he’s gonna be alright.”
The officer on duty releases Mike to Hopper, who guides him back to the edge of the ambulance. Mike looks down, searching for something to ground him in reality.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I stood up.”
Hop sits next to him, looking older than he is. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and lighting one between his lips. After a deep inhale, he meets Mike’s eyes.
“You’re in shock.” He says, surveying the younger boy. “After Sarah died, I walked out of the hospital, out to the parking lot, and right into busy traffic”
He looks up, his eyes wide, “You got hit?”
“No, ‘car swerved out in front of me, stopped about a foot away. I wasn’t trying to kill myself or anything. I just– wasn’t all there.”
Mike nods, understanding. “I know that she’s really gone. Back when she first disappeared, back in eighty-three, I still felt her all around me. This time it’s different, it’s like the air is lighter.”
They both stare out, taking deep breaths as the chaos ahead of them unfolds. Hopper looks at Mike, hoping he'll return the contact.
“I feel it too.” He says, communicating solidarity. “I feel weaker now. She had so much power in her, it radiated into everything she did, and into everyone that she loved. But, I know that’s not what she would have wanted me to say. She died so that we could live in peace, and I intend to do that for her.”
Mike nods, watching as Will’s ambulance backs up and flashes its lights. “I understand why she did what she did, I just wish she knew how hard I was willing to fight for her. I would have done anything.”
Mike looks behind him, meeting the eyes of the medic who was waiting to perform his check-up and release. Hopper nudges him, standing.
“You deal with that, I have some work of my own to do.” He looks back before walking off, feeling uneasy, “And, uh– stay safe. If you need someone, call the station, or call my cabin. Understood?”
Maybe he was right to feel uneasy, Mike really wasn’t sure what was in the cards for him. He stands up, hopping onto the medics table and sitting limp as he’s scanned for injury. He’d never felt so alone, and this time he really was.
Will sits around the kitchen table, still adjusting to life in Hopper's cabin. He enjoys the secluded area, and his mom is visibly happier. He can never tell how Jonathan feels.
Breakfast is waffles, again. Maybe Hopper was coping, or maybe he really had adjusted to her diet, but Will was getting pretty sick of it. He severs a piece, stuffing it in his mouth and nervously bobbing his leg.
“So, plans for the day?” Joyce asks, pouring herself a mug of coffee.
Jonathan looks up, his eyes tired. “Sending off more applications. Today is Penn, UCLA, and Wisconsin.”
“UCLA?” Joyce asks, her neck cranking forward.
“It’s another back up, or– a back up to a back up. I’m still gunning for NYU.”
She nods, pressing a smile. Her attention is drawn to Will, who doesn’t seem fully awake just yet. “I think the party’s hanging out at Dustins, but I don’t know if I’m going.”
“Is Mike showing up yet?”
Will shrugs. “Sometimes. He still won’t talk much, not like before.”
“He’ll come around!” Her voice is oddly cheery, and Will notices the smell of cigarettes on her. “He’s still shaken. We all are.”
Hopper sits down at the head of the table, and everyone falls quiet. It’s hard to talk about El around him, he doesn’t seem ready. Her room has been left untouched. Will and Jonathan sleep on the sofas and don’t bother asking about the spare bed, it’s not like either of them would be comfortable taking it over anyways.
Since her death, the party vowed to try and make contact in any way they can. Once every ten days, they would reach out, look for her, if she’s out there they will find her.
The first didn’t go well. They used the static from Lucas’ television, trying to connect to wherever she was. Maybe the connection was weak, or maybe she was really gone. Tomorrow they’d try again, and he’s not sure what he’s expecting from it.
“I’m heading into the station in a minute,” He says, working on a cup of coffee. “Would you sort through those documents and find the forms they won't get off our asses about?”
Will’s Hawkins Labs registration forms, along with any kind of monitor filing or medical testing which was done illegally, bypassing the set systems. Will picks at his food.
“I’ll get right to that, officer.” Joyce smiles, tilting her head adoringly. They were never this affectionate before, or maybe Will just hadn’t noticed.
After breakfast, they rinse their plates and begin another perfect day of normalcy.
“Mike, do you copy?” Will says into the mic on his walkie. It only takes a few seconds for an answer to come through.
“Are you going to Dustin’s later?”
Wills not sure when they all dropped the ‘over’ thing. I guess it never feels as serious anymore.
“I think Dustin’s bringing Steve, and Max is coming too.”
“We’re watching a movie, right?”
He nods like Mike can see him, “Ferris Bueller's Day Off.” and then, “You should come. You know, tomorrow we’re gonna try again, and this time we’re going to find her. But for now, she’d want us to spend time together.”
“Yeah,” He says, the energy in his voice vacant and off, “I’ll come.”
“Good, I’ll see you at five.”
Will collapses the antenna, feeling a wave of nausea wash over him. Since they got home, he hasn’t been thinking like himself. It isn’t like his now memories, it’s like his brain has been swapped, replaced with a functional one.
Now, when he looks at Mike, he doesn’t feel drawn to him. He doesn’t feel anything at all.
By the time he’s getting ready for Dustin’s, he’d spent most of his day drawing pictures of El. Maybe it’s weird, but he’s scared of forgetting her face. Come to think of it, they never took many pictures of her. By now he has a notebook full of her likeness, every angle of her smile, crooked childhood teeth shining past her meaningful gaze. Every time she looked at Will, she meant it. That’s what he loved most about her, she was authentic in every way.
He packed his bag and slipped out the door at quarter-to-five, opting to walk across the street to the Henderson’s. When he gets to Dustin’s room, no one else has shown up yet.
“Hey, man.” He steps in, dropping his bag on the floor.
Dustin bounces up, greeting Will with a hug, “Hey, buddy! How’s it going?”
“Alright,” He says through a laugh, backing up a bit, “How about yourself?”
“Oh, you know, better than I’ve been in a while.” He gestures toward his TV, or rather just next to it where his– “Brand new Nintendo Entertainment System stocked and loaded with every hit game you’ve ever seen an ad for, baby!” –was plugged in and running with all the noise-reducing technology of a fighter jet.
Will’s eyes light up, and his jaw hits the floor. “What? How did you, when did you–”
“With all the money we’re saving on scholarships, I had some extra college funds, and my mom thought I deserved something after all that happened so–”
“That’s right, pretty sick, huh? I have it modded with all the best cheats, extra moves, and unlimited cash hubs. Whatever your heart can dream, this sucker can execute.”
“That’s amazing! I can’t believe it!” He gets on his knees, turning the console on its side and examining its buttons.
Dustin sits with his arms outstretched on his second hand softa, “Believe it.” There's a knock at the door, and it’s only time before Dustin sends Lucas running in to get a look at the console himself, Max trailing tightly behind.
“Dustin, you’re a mad man! It’s like having an arcade in your bedroom!” Lucas gapes at the spaceship-looking machine in front of him, stars in his eyes as he projects himself back onto the couch. He leans his head on the cushion, “Show her to me.”
Will 1v1’s Lucas in Urban Champion, beating him two of three times and crowning himself winner. It isn’t until half-past five that Mike walks in, seemingly unphased by the uproar of chaos in the room.
“Mike, you see it? I got myself an–”
“NES, cool!” His smile looks faked, and he parks himself at the edge of Dustin’s bed to watch. Will glances over, but looks away before he’s caught.
“You want a turn? I’ve got Metroid, Super Mario, Ghosts n’ Goblins–”
“I’m alright, I think I’m just gonna watch.”
Dustin shrugs, looking away, “Okay, well, who’s up next?”
“Me! I could kick the shit out of any of you guys.” Max chimes with a smile.
“I’d like to see you try, MadMax.”
They all laugh, and the night grows long. When Steve shows up, they head outside and start a fire in the backyard. It’s miraculously warm for the time of year, and Will’s oddly frustrated that no one seems to notice.
“See, there’s more to life than videogames.” Steve remarks, leaning against a post while the kids set out their lawn chairs.
Dustin cackles over his shoulder, looking back at Steve with a teasingly snarky expression. “I’d rather be squashing goombas anyday, but I guess this is fine too.” He sits down, letting out a breath of air. “The sky’s so clear, no spores or anything.”
The sun was just setting past the horizon and everyone paused to take it all in. Pink and orange skies, like an oil leak above their heads. Max nuzzles into Lucas’ arm, and Will takes out his camera to snap a picture. The only person who’s not bothering to look up: Mike.
On his chair, he sits with his arms crossed using the heel of his sneaker to rub up the grass under his feet. When the party talks, he thinks about El. Tomorrow was gonna be their second attempt at contact, and it felt like nobody cared.
“Y’know, this all feels so perfect.” Dustin says, running his hands through his freshly cut hair as he plops into his lawn chair. “It’s good to be with you guys and not worry about the world ending.”
“Perfect?” Says Mike, his tone critical. Everyone looks up to face him. “How can you say any of this is perfect? Our friend died. Hell, a lot of people did.”
“But what? How can you look past any of that? It’s perfect because it wasn’t us, you mean?”
Steve steps forward, keeping one hand on his hip while the other comes accusatorily jutting out, “That’s obviously not what he meant.”
“Then what did he mean? It’s perfect because El killed herself, isn't it? What a perfect night.”
“Come on, Mike. I just mean, we won! Can’t we be happy about that? Is it too much to say, for once, that we should move on?”
“Yes, that is too much. I’m not ready to move on, and you guys shouldn’t be either. It hasn’t even been a month since she saved our goddamn lives. Show some respect.”
Mike stands, zipping his jacket and bagging his lawn chair.
Dustin stands, his hand reaching out to Mike’s trembling arms. “Mike, don’t leave. I’m sorry, okay? You’re right, I shouldn’t have phrased it like that, come on.”
“No! I’m going. I’ll see you all tomorrow, if you’re still coming.” He storms off, crossing the backyard and street in a blinding frustration.
Everyone else stands back, watching as he makes his way to his back door. Will pauses, looking desperately between his friends and the Wheelers house before following after him. No one bothers to stop him.
“I don’t understand what I did wrong.” Dustin says, defeatedly falling back into his chair.
Steve shakes his head gently, “Nothing, he’s mourning.”
Will knocks on the Wheelers front door, waiting patiently at the porch before being greeted by Karen’s welcoming expression. “Will! What a nice surprise, do you wanna come in?”
“Sure, I was just gonna check on Mike–”
“Oh honey, Mike is just across the street at the Hendersons.”
“No, he’s upstairs in his room. He came in through the back door and I– can I just go see him?”
She looks him up and down, panting and out of breath, and steps out of the way. “Try not to trail dirt through the–” He storms up the steps, stopping at Mike’s bedroom door and pounding at the wood. “–house.”
“Mike? Mike, are you in there?”
There’s movement behind the door, and Will’s skin crawls. Something isn’t right. He knocks again, his knuckles sore. “Mike, come on. Open the door.”
The door opens, and Mike faces him with blotchy eyes and a faux angry stare. Will see’s right past it. He knows the difference between Mike being angry and Mike being sad. He knows every inch of him.
“I’m fine.” He says too fast, hovering by the door. Will waits for him to move and let him in, but he doesn’t. His eyes travel down, and that’s when he sees it. The growing patch of red on Mike’s sleeve.
“Mike, holy shit, what is that?”
Mike takes a defensive step back, releasing his hold on the door and finding himself cornered. Will follows him, doubling his pace and grabbing his arm before he can think to dodge it.
“Let me see.” Will says, his tone final. He rolls up the sleeve and gawks at the rows of thin cuts, bubbling with fresh blood. He’d never seen anything like this before. “Mike! You did this to yourself?”
He doesn’t answer at first, staring down in his own state of sudden disbelief. Then, he meets Will's eyes and opens his mouth,
“I don’t know. I didn’t mean to– I mean, it’s not like I was trying to–”
“What? Kill yourself? Why would I believe that?” Will doesn’t release his hold on Mike’s arm, his own hands trembling.
Mike pulls himself free, his eyes shifting. “I wasn’t! I just–” He crumbles, catching his face in his hands. “I don’t know.”
Will watches him, his instinct telling him to wrap him in an embrace and tell him everything would be okay. “Let's go. We need to clean that.”
Mike hesitates, but Will’s expression makes it clear he isn’t asking. So, he follows in tow to the bathroom door, gently allowing himself to be guided to the toilet lid. Will soaks a rag in rubbing alcohol.
“If this is about El, you know she wouldn’t have wanted this. She would be heartbroken to see you like this.” Will says, dabbing Mike’s arm and ignoring when he squirms.
“Then what is it? Why are you hurting yourself like this?”
Mike inhales, his breath unsteady. “I just things have been so weird and I wasn’t sure what to think anymore. This town, it doesn't feel like my home anymore.”
Will's expression is blank, and Mike starts to feel alone in a room with very tall walls. “So you cut yourself?”
He nods, looking down. “I wanted to see if I’d bleed.” At this point, he wasn't bothering to lie, and now he really must sound crazy, because Will pauses his cleaning all together and forces an intense stare.
“I know it sounds insane–”
“But since we’ve come back, things have been so different. It’s like, everyone just got over stuff so fast, and everything is changing. I know something is off, Will, but I can’t put my finger on what. I thought maybe if I were to cut myself and not bleed, I could prove this is all–” He looks up, his eyes glassy and searching, “Fake. Or something.”
Will stares at him, a knot forming in his stomach. Maybe because he felt it too. For weeks now things haven't seemed right, like he’s been on autopilot, and someone’s been thinking for him. His hand rests on Mike’s arm, their touch melting as the moment stretches long and tense. But, he needs to cut this out, because he's starting to feel uncomfortable keeping his back exposed to the hallway behind him. Suddenly, Will falls back into cleaning and drops their eye contact.
“You’re still unwell. I understand, Mike, I miss her too.”
“That is it. Vecna is dead, my mom cut his head off, and I haven’t felt him since.”
“I’m not talking about Vecna–”
“Well the upside-down is gone!” He snaps, dropping the cloth. Mike’s eyes widen. “It’s gone. There’s no bridge, no monsters, no nothing. We can’t keep dwelling on the past, we need to move on!” Will takes a breath, his eyes softening. He picks up the cloth, gently pressing it back into the wound. “And El is gone too. I miss her, but she sacrificed herself so we could be here, and we saw it happen.”
Mike pulls his arm away, standing up. “Whatever, Will.”
“Hey, come on, I need to bandage that.”
“I’ll get to it later.” He grabs the knob, “I couldn’t give less of a shit about my arm right now.”
“Well you should!” Will combats, shooting himself up to meet him. “I mean, seriously Mike? You’re cutting yourself, and you’re blaming it on, what? Things not feeling real? Yeah, you’re grieving, Mike. You're grieving.”
Mike spins around, “It isn’t that. I’ve grieved before, this is different.”
“Everyone is just– changing! Are you really not noticing it? Like, before all this my mom was unhappy in her marriage, she was going to get a divorce.”
Will nods, that was true. In the last few months that Will and his family had been staying at the Wheelers house, it was clear that their marriage was falling apart. He’d never once seen them kiss, or even speak beyond what sounded more like business encounters than marital disputes. Jonathan and Will had a bet going on whether they’d wait for them to move out before separating, or just rip off the bandaid.
“Well, the other night I walked in on them cuddling. They were watching a movie, and my mom was nuzzled into the crook of his arm. Honestly, if I keep thinking about it I might throw up.”
“I know. Then I saw Nancy in the kitchen and told her all about it, and you know what she said?” Will shrugs. “Nothing, she said nothing. Mike, you’re being dramatic, they’re married.”
“Well, they are married.”
“So what? I’ve never seen my mom show signs of loving, or even liking my father. And Nancy? She’s been wanting them apart since she was twelve. She would never shrug that off, never.”
Will sighs, sitting back down. “So, this means everything is fake and we’re living in a simulation. There’s only one issue there, Mike. If you’re in a simulation and nothing is real, then how do I exist?”
“How am I supposed to know you exist?”
“I’m serious, Will! How do I?”
His eyes are bloodshot, wide and scared. In this light, he resembles a cornered animal, shaking and unable to communicate properly. For a moment, he is replaced in Will’s mind with his own childish figure, back when no one believed him. No one except for Mike.
But Will’s eyes fall back on his bleeding wrist, and he knows there are issues bigger than Mike’s morale, he needed to keep him safe. He stands, gently taking his arm and guiding him back into the bathroom. A silence swallows them as he wraps the wounds and ties off the bandage, looking Mike deep in his eyes.
“You need to promise me you won’t hurt yourself again.” He says, meaning it.
Mike squints, his gaze unsteady. “I promise.”
Will looks at him, or maybe through him, and feels his chest ache. It might be the first thing he’s felt since the night they ended it. He’s scared to leave him alone, scared of what he might do.
“Keep the bandages on, I’ll see you tomorrow to find El.” He says, turning toward the stairs before stopping and looking back, “if you need anything, at any time, use the walkies. I’ll answer.”
He nods, and Will leaves, dragging himself back to the Henderson's to pick up his bike. The air is bland, room temperature, and seems to dry out his sinuses the longer he breathes it in. As he crosses the woods, part of him expects to see something, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t hear anything either.
When he passes Dustin’s, he sees the glow of the television through his living room window. Faintly, he recognises Lucas’ laugh, and notices that Steve's car wasn't parked out front, he certainly lived too far to walk. He hops on his bike, pedaling home as fast as he can. As he rides he watches the sky, and it’s too dark for this time of night. Way too dark.
“Goodnight, mom.” He says as he passes the room. His mom and Hop are on their bed, blue flickering television light reflecting on their faces.
She smiles at him, the house smelling of cigarettes and wine, and maybe her smile looks a little empty, or it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Goodnight, sweetheart. Get some rest! Remember, we’re touring schools with your brother tomorrow.”
He spends the night staring at the ceiling, unnerved by the energy in the cabin. The window was cracked, a perfect gentle breeze filling the living room with an average temperature. Jonathan’s away, working late, or something. It’s so dark outside you can’t see a thing, not even the sky. Maybe Mike was getting to him, but this was all starting to feel surreal.
After a while of laying still, maybe a couple hours, maybe thirty minutes, Will stands up. His nerves were getting the best of him. So, he paced the trim of the room, over, and over, and over again. Each step he took felt significantly longer, or shorter than the last. Sometimes, it felt like he’d run the perimeter, whereas others felt like a ten minute trip. As he stared out the window, he started to feel insane. How long had he been walking like this, thinking himself into a hole. It must nearly be morning, right? But it’s still too dark to see, so he keeps on walking, because the idea of laying down was somehow worse.
After a while, his bare feet lapping the panelled floor, he tries something new. He takes a step toward El’s room, her door left a few inches open. His heart begins to pound, the darkness of the room pouring out of the crack. He tells himself to turn back, he knows he should.
When he steps into the room, the energy shifts. It feels childlike, kind in a way the rest of the house couldn’t match. He flicks on the light, illuminating the room in a warm glow. Her drawings were pinned to the walls, Mike’s name scribbled in crayon and marker. Pictures of him on her desks, the group polaroid's and photo booth pictures stuck to the bulletin board with colourful thumbtacks. Next to her bed is a framed photo of her with the Byers family, back in Lenora, back when they thought it was over.
As he stares at the picture, at her, he feels something. A shiver, running up his spine and landing at his neck. His hairs stand up, and he brings his fingers gently to the edge of his skin. He turns around quickly, his eyes wide, “El?”
He faces Hopper in the doorway who looks around frantically, as if searching to see if anything had been tampered.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t sleep and I just–”
Will’s stomach twists, and he slips past him out the door. “I’m sorry.”
“I told you guys to stay out of there, I haven’t gotten a chance to go through it yet and I don’t want–” he looks at Will, his eyes narrowing, “Did you see something in there?”
“If you saw something in there–”
“I didn’t.” He says, sitting down on the couch. Hopper's eyes stay on him for a beat before he turns and heads to his room.
“Just, stay out of there.”
Will stares at Jonathan's empty sofa, wishing he was here now. The window is haunting, and Will worries it wont get light until he falls asleep, because it feels like he’s been awake for days.
