Chapter Text
By the time Mike had comprehended the unfamiliar landscape in front of him, he’d also decided that he’d probably hit his head really hard and all he needed to do was wait to wake up. Then everything would be normal.
He pushed himself off the ground and pressed a cupped hand against his face. His dirty hand stung the open cuts, and when he pulled it away, the red on his hands made it clear that he was still bleeding.
Maybe he wasn’t dreaming after all.
He turned to look for his bike, scanning the ground intently through his slightly blurred vision, and thought vaguely that he must have hit his head harder than he originally gauged. He wiped the blood and tears that must have sprung from the pain out of his eyes, and spun once again, still trying to spot his bike to no avail.
He did notice, however, that the world around him was more familiar than he originally thought. He was still surrounded by the forest and powerlines that littered Mirkwood, which meant…
The Byers house. Just down the street from him. Will, just down the street from him. Maybe the putrid air and unsettlingly sinister darkness were just side effects of the fall after all.
One hand still on his forehead, he started to make his way down the road. As his senses returned to him, the harder the world pressed in on him. The atmosphere became so foul that he had to pinch his nose with his free hand as he trekked.
Only halfway to his destination, he started to run. A darkness was beginning to take over him, igniting his fear and compelling him towards the modest house he considered a second home. Racing up to the front door, he jiggled the handle. Anyone else would have thought it was locked, but he knew it was consistently stuck and the correct way to bypass it. He flung the door open and nearly leaped inside, slamming it behind him and locking the deadbolt.
Safe. The anxiety that had plagued him just moments ago immediately melted, and he leaned against the door, vision once again starting to blur. Will, he thought through the haze of his oncoming headache. Make it to Will.
The blurring of his vision stopped, and he was almost grateful until the world started to become darker. Mind only on one thing, he dragged himself over the carpet and onto the hard wood of the hallway.
Will’s bedroom door, thank god, was open. With the last of his willpower, he landed on the soft rug, facing the ceiling.
“Will,” he groaned, rolling his head to look at the boy’s usual spot on his bed. “I think I need a doctor.”
No response. Mike squinted, and even through the combined darkness of his vision and the town that was decidedly not Hawkins, he knew.
Will wasn’t there.
Mike opened his mouth to call Will’s name, but his strength seemed to dissolve with the gesture, and his head flopped to the side as he lost consciousness.
—
By the time he woke, the bleeding had stopped. He lifted a hand to his scabbed forehead to check, and was reassured by the lack of red that came back on his fingers.
As he sat up to get his bearings for the second time in a row, he blinked lazily around the room and slowly accepted that he wasn’t in a bad dream. The air was contaminated with millions of small particles that he could feel crawling down his throat and into his lungs as he breathed. Outside, the sky was clouded with a darkness unlike any night he’d ever known.
Aside from the visual creepiness, there was an odd feeling flowing through the place, as if a soul hadn’t stepped foot there in years.
Slowly, he stood, scanning the room and comparing it to the one he knew so well. The posters and decorations were identical to Will’s, minus the mildew and peeling. He opened the door and stepped into the hall, finding the house the same as always. He tiptoed through doorways, hoping for any tiny difference that could give him a hint to where he was, but nothing was found. It was alarmingly similar, causing a panic to settle in his stomach. He skittered back to Will’s room, racing for the clock. Something about the place confused him, veiling any sense of time he might have had.
But the clock was blank, taunting him with a black screen. On the verge of tears, he hit it lightly with his fist a few times as he had seen Will do. It had always worked then, but it now failed him.
With no other idea of what to do he made his way to the front door, twisting the knob and pushing it open lightly. If he held any kind of hope that the outside would bring some kind of reassurance, it was crushed as the door swung open. His dread worsened, and the darkness became almost palpable.
In the distance, a small crunch sounded. It was almost silent, but Mike’s senses were on high alert. His head whipped to the direction of the sound.
A figure– well, less of a figure, more of a shadow– seemed to move. Terrified, he stepped back, slamming the door shut.
More shadows started to flash by the windows, cutting the small bits of light that passed through in and out. Branches cracked outside, and a roar sounded from the woods.
Mike’s eyes widened, and he turned to bolt to Will’s room. He crashed through the door, which had swung itself almost closed, slamming it as he passed back through. The light outside was still flashing, the figure seemingly growing impatient. Mike crawled into Will’s bed, grabbing the covers and pulling them over his head.
Safe.
A cracking came from the front of the house, and the footsteps that had previously been heard outside now seemed to be creeping through the living room, closer to Mike. He shut his eyes tight and held his breath.
The figure was drawing closer to him now, and he held as still as he could. There was nowhere for him to hide anymore– if he stood he would surely be caught.
The footsteps approached the door. His heart was rushing, and he hugged his knees closer to his chest.
The roar sounded again. Mike prepared for the door to be torn through, for the creatures to stab its claws through his chest or sink its teeth through his skin or use whatever dangerous features it possessed to tear him to pieces. Its claws scratched at the door, an awful noise that made his ears burn.
A dull thump sounded against the wood, and the monster let out some kind of whimper.
Mike’s eyes snapped open, and he peered out over the covers.
The creature hit its arm on the door again and again. Mike’s eyes were transfixed on the door, which shook against the weight, but held up nevertheless.
Eventually, the creature’s efforts stopped. Mike listened as it slunk away.
Safe.