Oh, and I Meant To

What Happened?

Will Byers believes he is a morally good person. He thinks there's good in everyone and everything, the optimist he is, but he tends to look around his life and wonder one thing:

"What happened?" Mrs. Wheeler cried out as she rushed into Mike's hospital room. Nancy had time to jump up from her chair, gently grabbing her mother's arm, as Will watched helplessly. Nancy managed to choke out a brief explanation of what had happened.

Which, was inarguably very hard to explain.

---

"What do you mean, be the bait?" Dustin had cried out, still torn up over the death of Eddie Munson.

"I mean, since Max needs to wake up somehow and someone takes her place, I'll be the placeholder." Mike had said it so simply, like stating a random science fact like he'd do so few years ago.

"That doesn't mean it should be you!" Lucas had argued, Will staying completely silent.

"Well, it won't be one of you guys..."

---

Will had watched as Mike was floating into the air, unable to access the music, and his bones cracked. Left arm, right leg...

And then he dropped, as slight traces of blood left his slightly damaged eyes, and he gasped in pain, holding onto Will with his left arm, squeezing his shoulder as they both sobbed. The shaky breaths of the room had given way to Mike trying to keep his eyes open, and Will just whispering, too scared to speak any louder as if it wpuld hurt Mike, "No, no no no."

And Mike's eyes drifted closed.

There wasn't a better explanation.

---

Will squeezed his eyes shut as Nancy and Mrs. Wheeler held eachother close, shaky breaths and relieved mutters. Mike wasn't gone yet,

Or they hoped.

Hoped. Was that what they should call it? Or was it despair, penciled in with small eraser marks as a breakthrough to the paper as they pretended everything was okay? As they pretended Mike was well, happy even, had he been happy over the past months? He hadn't even told anyone he was struggling, that made him such an easy target.

The day passed in a blur, with many hugs from other people, like Lucas or Dustin.

The day passed in a blur, and Mike hadn't woken up.

Dustin and Lucas and Will held each other close, as they cried, and waited for the clear to greet Max when she woke. They'd gotten one friend back, at the cost of another.

Will had watched Mike all day, waiting for movement. The mask over his nose and mouth, for oxygen, seeing him hooked up to multiple monitors, seemingly sitting upright yet laying down at the same time. Mike's left arm and right leg wrapped up and suspended slightly. Mike's faint chest movements, his curly hair seeming dull, lifeless. The light bags under his eyes, tainted with red from tears and blood. His already pale complexion seeming ghostly white.

It hurt Will to watch. At least Mike would be able to see, hopefully, normally. He could write like he'd wanted to, and walk normally after some help, or with a crutch. Will wished this was fiction, just a dream, but no matter how many times he stabbed at his hand with his thumb he knew it was real. Reality stung.

Mike would tease him about crying, "crying over me, Byers? You've gone real low." It was hard not to, though, as the thought that Mike, the boy Will loved, could die. Will couldn't say goodbye, if he had to.

He looked out the small window of the stuffed room, the waning gibbous outside managing to remind Will of the life fading from Mike. He sighed, turning back to the bed and gently touching Mike's uninjured hand.

"I'll fix this, I swear."