"Are you sure you're feeling okay?"
"Yeah. I'm good.'' Mike picked up a bag of potato chips. "How about these?"
Will shrugged. "Not really what I meant, but whatever.''
"You said to find something with more nutritional value. These were made from potatoes, which are, like, a vegetable.''
"Botanically, yes. Nutritionally, no. And anyway, whatever value they might have had as a vegetable was lost when they got turned into chips.''
Mike rolled his eyes. "Okay, Jesus, Einstein. There's nothing here that'll satisfy your need to keep us all healthy while we run from the fucking –''
"Mike!" Will hissed. He ducked his head, glancing around the gas station. There was no one else inside except for a bored looking clerk at the counter, who was flipping through a paperback.
"Hmph.'' Mike started towards the counter, Will at his heels. They set down their snacks, while the clerk yawned and checked them out. Will paid with cash Jonathan had sent him in with.
The van was parked outside the station, the sun beating against the faded red paint. Will slid open the bullethole-ridden side door for Mike. He ducked in and presented the older boys with their purchases.
"Gnarly,'' said Argyle, picking through the snacks until he found a KitKat. He tossed the Chex Mix to Mike and Will. "Thanks, lads. I filled up the van so we should be able to stay on the road for awhile now. You peed, right? I don't want to stop again for at least a few hours.'' Argyle had taken the information Jonathan had provided him about the last few years in stride. ("Your sister could do what? That is fucking metal.'') It was probably more believable, Mike thought, when you heard about it already on the run from the reality.
Will offered Mike some Chex Mix. Mike took a few pieces, but he wasn't very hungry, despite the fact that he hadn't eaten in nearly twenty-four hours. His stomach was churning. He'd thought he would throw up in the shady gas station bathroom, but he hadn't. He'd just stood there, staring at the algae growing on the porcelain and wishing for his mom.
Jonathan accepted a handful of Chex Mix from Will, shooting Mike a worried look. Mike pretended not to notice. He wasn't sure how long he could act like he wasn't unwell, but he would try his damndest to hide it while he still could. No point making the situation any worse than it already was.
The previous night had been spent on the road. After explaining everything to Argyle, Jonathan and he had switched off driving every few hours, while Mike and Will drifted in and out of uneasy sleep in the backseat. Mike hadn't slept a full night unaided for months, so he'd barely slept at all. He'd blinked out of his drowsing that morning with an aching head and tumbling stomach. His headache had subsided now, but Mike was still fighting the nausea. He sipped cool water from a plastic bottle as Argyle merged back onto the highway.
Will was sitting with his legs crossed under him, staring out the window. He looked lost in thought. Mike laid back against the headrest. He tilted his face towards his friend, studying his shadowed gaze. Will looked forlorn, his eyes dark. A muscle jumped in his jaw. Mike's fingers itched to reach out to him.
Argyle swerved, swearing vilely. He slammed his fist on the horn. Mike bit back a groan, wrapping his arms tightly around his stomach. He sensed Will's movement and quickly relaxed his arms. Mike willed himself to focus on the horizon. He resisted the urge to curl in around himself.
The din of the highway became like white noise to Mike. It was an expansive, rural Arizona road that stretched for miles. Mike felt like he'd been surrounded by desert shrubbery and rocks and cacti his entire life. Eventually, his eyelids grew heavy and he began to nod off. The next few hours were spent in a surreal state of semi-consciousness. Mike swam in and out of dozing, brief images flashing before his dream vision and then blinking out of existence. His mouth was dry and his tongue felt as heavy and useless as the rest of his body. He tried not to think of El, not to think of Joyce.
They hadn't spoken much about them, although Mike knew they were all on their minds. Are they safe? Did the bad men get them? If so, are they still pursuing us? It was too risky to stop fleeing, they'd decided that. They weren't sure where they were driving, only that it was away. Will had briefly suggested they go to Hawkins, but Jonathan refused to possibly lead the Lab back to their home base. So for now, the plan was simply to drive until they ran out of gas money or heard from Joyce and El. Thinking about them made Mike feel even more sick with guilt and anxiety. Maybe if he'd been more focused, if he'd just told them sooner . . . But it was too late to dwell on that. Everyone had already asked Mike why he hadn't just called to tell them about the threat. They'd demanded why he didn't tell them as soon as he arrived in Turkle. Mike had come up empty. There was nothing he could say that would make it any better.
The hours dragged by. Mike tried to move as little as possible, keeping his legs crossed under him and his arms tightly clenched around his stomach. His mind drifted from El and Joyce, to his own mother, to Dustin and Lucas, to Max, to Eddie, to Angela, to Steve and Robin. He thought of all the shit they'd been through and how every event had somehow funneled into this disastrous road trip. He wondered if it was normal, if everyone felt like their life was a constant, unending stream of utter bullshit.
Mike thought of Hopper, who was gone.
Will fell asleep at some point. Mike stared out at the horizon through his window, swallowing hard every few moments. He wasn't sure how long he spaced out, but when he turned around, Will's head was resting against the window, eyes closed. His lips were parted and his cheek was smashed up against the window. He looked young, more like the Will Mike remembered. Vulnerable. That was it. Will looked vulnerable in his sleep.
The quiet voices of Jonathan and Argyle drifted from the front of the van. Mike glanced to see if they were paying attention. They didn't appear to be. Mike reached for Will's hand where it lay on the seat beside him. He wasn't sure what he intended to do once he took it, but he felt an electric current, a magnetic pull towards the other boy that he could not resist.
But he did. As soon as Will's hand was a sliver of empty space from his, Mike pulled back. He'd grabbed his hand while running the day before; this shouldn't have been much different. Hell, they were still on the run. But Mike continued to hesitate. He placed his hand against his own brittle ribs again and watched Will in his peace.
Argyle pulled over to stop again some while later. Will sat up, blinking awake. Argyle jumped out of the van, banging on the roof. "Wakey, wakey!" He yelled.
Mike bit back a groan. As slowly as he could without causing suspicion, he climbed out of the backseat. As soon as he stood fully straightened, waves of nausea so strong they nearly took him to the asphalt hit him. His head throbbed, white spots dancing in his vision. He blinked hard, once. They appeared to be at an unadorned rest stop. It was primitive in a way that beckoned no one, which meant it bore no threat (which was probably why Argyle had chosen it in the first place.) It was a single brick outbuilding, with two faded blue signs hanging from either side. Mike squinted through the haze. One read "Girls," the other "Boys.''
"Jonny and I call the urinal,'' said Argyle, dragging Jonathan towards the "Boys" side.
"They're probably both single stall toilets,'' said Will mildly, watching them go. He yawned and stretched, his shirt riding up an inch or so. Mike's eyes were immediately drawn to the tan expansion of skin between his waistband and naval. Before he could get a proper look, he turned away, wracked with a sudden tidal wave of sickness. Mike braced himself against the van, trying to steady his quaking body. He bit his lip, his eyes watering.
"Mike?" A firm hand pressed between his shoulder blades.
"M'alright.'' Mike pushed away and started walking towards the bathrooms without looking at Will. He set his jaw against the dizziness that threatened to tip him over.
They went into the "Girls" bathroom, because there were obviously no girls to occupy it at the moment. Will was right about it being a single stall.
"Do you –'' Will began.
"Go ahead,'' Mike managed.
Will went into the stall. Mike immediately leaned against the sink, gripping the cold metal. He stared at himself in the spotty mirror, swallowing down the rising saliva and bile. He saw himself now as the others saw him, pale and hollow and hurting. His body broke into goosebumps as sweat began to form on his skin. Mike felt his knees turn in towards each other, preparing to buckle. He gripped the sink harder. He sucked in air, willing himself to stay upright. Mike heard the toilet flush behind him and he let go of the sink just as Will came out. Mike watched him meticulously wash his hands. Hurry up. Please.
"You coming?" Will asked as he started for the door.
"Yeah, one sec. I'm just gonna,'' Mike gestured towards the stall.
Will looked a little bemused, but nodded. As soon as the door closed behind him, Mike collapsed to his knees in front of the toilet and vomited. His entire body shook from the intensity of the convulsions. His former nausea was nothing compared to the agony of his stomach clenching and cramping as it expelled its meager contents. His throat constricted and his nose burned from the acid. He could barely catch his breath between retches. Once he'd emptied his stomach completely he was left gasping, sweaty and shaking on the cold tile. This floor is probably filthy, he thought as he let his head rest on the ground. Some hundred-odd other people have probably puked their guts out here too. His head pounded from the pressure of vomiting. His mouth tasted acrid.
After allowing himself another few moments to recover, Mike hauled himself up onto his knees. He wiped the toilet seat off with toilet paper and flushed it. He climbed shakily to his feet. He washed his hands, feeling less nauseous than before, but somehow so much worse overall. The water was icy on his pale, vibrating hands. Sighing, Mike headed back out to Will.
Outside, Argyle was having a cigarette at the front of the van. Jonathan and Will were standing a little ways off, talking to each other in low voices. Mike started towards them.
"Hey, Wheelie!'' Mike turned to see Argyle beckoning him. "Come 'ere a sec.''
Puzzled yet curious, Mike went over to him.
Tossing away his cigarette, Argyle ducked into the van, leaning over the front seat. Mike saw him open the console of the passenger seat and pull out a bottle. Mike's heart sped up automatically. He couldn't help it.
Argyle straightened. He shook the bottle, causing the pills inside to rattle around. That familiar sound made Mike's already sore stomach turn. Argyle shook a single pill into his palm. He offered it to Mike.
"What is it?" Mike asked, as if he would actually refuse.
"Tegretol,'' said Argyle. "It'll help.''
Mike almost asked, "With what?" but stopped himself. They both knew the answer well enough. He accepted the pill with a muttered thanks and reflexively swallowed it.
Argyle watched him, arms crossed over his broad chest. Mike shifted uncomfortably. Despite the fact that the older boy saved their asses, Mike didn't feel like he knew him very well at all. He'd met him two days ago, and now they were running for their lives together. How did this become my life?
"Thanks,'' said Mike, because there was nothing else to say.
"Don't thank me yet, kid.'' Argyle ran a hand through his long hair, causing it to ripple down to his waist. "You're really in for it, you know that?"
Mike was trying desperately not to think about it.
Jonathan and Will joined them. Mike noticed that Jonathan instinctively moved closest to his best friend's side. Mike also noticed Will moving to do the same with him, but pausing, as if the distance of the last few years meant it wasn't allowed. Mike didn't know how to tell him it was. Mike didn't know how to tell Will he could do whatever he damn well pleased and he would allow it.
"We should get back on the road,'' said Jonathan. "I can drive.''
With Jonathan behind the wheel, Argyle was free to fiddle with the radio. Before long, the Kinks were blasting at full volume. Argyle knew every word, and so, apparently, did Will. Mike raised his eyebrows. Will smiled shyly, but didn't miss a verse. Mike smiled in return, despite himself.
Sometime after the fifth or six song, Jonathan suddenly turned down the music.
"Hey –'' Argyle started, but Jonathan waved him off.
"The car behind us,'' he said tightly, "has been following us for twenty minutes.''
"Shit, you sure?" Argyle turned around at the same moment Mike and Will did.
"Wait, don't –'' Jonathan began. Then, "Nevermind. They've seen us. Dammit.''
Mike automatically looked at Will, whose face was drawn. His hands fiddled with the buckle on his seatbelt. "What do we do?" He asked quietly.
"Hang on,'' Jonathan muttered. He changed lanes. Immediately, the white SUV with blacked-out windows behind them changed lanes as well. "That's the third time they've done that.''
"Fuck,'' said Arygyle. "Now what?"
Jonathan looked over his shoulder. The road they were on wasn't busy at all. It was one of those long stretches of country road that one could drive for an hour without seeing another car. The only other vehicle was the white SUV directly behind them. They were cornered.
"Why didn't we stay on the highway?" asked Will, a bit frantic. He suddenly reminded Mike of his mother.
"Ah, I figured we were better off rural?" Argyle suggested.
"You were wrong?'' said Jonathan. "Just throwing that out there.''
"Yeah, I'd say I was a bit off.''
Mike couldn't believe they were being so calm about this. "Guys.'' He tried to keep his voice from jumping an octave. "What do we do?"
"For now,'' said Jonathan. "I'm going to keep driving. We're safe enough. Hopefully a more populated area is coming up; we might have a chance at losing them then.''
The SUV suddenly changed lanes again. It sped up as if preparing to pass them.
"False alarm?" Will suggested doubtfully.
"Argyle –'' Jonathan started, a moment before the SUV hit them. Mike felt it more than he heard it. The crunch of metal against metal reverberated through his bones even before he was thrown into the sidedoor. His seatbelt locked, catching him just before his head hit the window. He felt the leather bite into him, constricting his chest like a panic attack. He yelled, or maybe it was Will. The van fishtailed off the road. Out of the corner of his eye, Mike saw Argyle lunge for the wheel to help Jonathan steer so they didn't flip. Mike was jostled back and forth, reaching a blind hand out to grab anything to steady himself. His fingers closed on Will's thigh. Will immediately gripped his wrist. Mike saw that he had his eyes squeezed shut, stiff as a board.
The van hit gravel, careening sideways. Mike yelped as he was thrown against the sidedoor again, the impact shooting through him in one bolt of pain. The van skidded on its side for another few seconds. Then it was still. Mike opened his eyes. He felt his entire body tense. All was quiet. He lifted his head, a moment of panic –
"Is everyone okay?" That was Jonathan, holding himself up against the back of his seat. Argyle, tossed against the fallen side like Mike, groaned, rubbing his forehead, but gave Jonathan a thumbs up. Mike looked over to Will, who was suspended by his seatbelt above Mike. His eyes were wide and terrified, but he managed to gasp that he wasn't hurt.
"Now'd probably be a good time to mention this thing doesn't have fuckin' airbags,'' said Argyle.
Will caught Mike's eye. "See,'' his voice was shaky. "Seatbelts.''
Jonathan's door suddenly opened. Hands reached in and grabbed Jonathan, ejecting his buckle as they did so.
"Jonathan!" Will cried, at the same time Argyle yelled, "JONNY!"
Mike fumbled for his own seatbelt, but it was too late. The bad men were here. They'd caught up to them. Will's door opened. Will whipped his head around just as he was forcibly pried out. He shrieked and reached for Mike, and Mike snatched for his hand, but he was gone. Mike pounded on his door. It was no use, of course. It was against the ground. A face appeared in Will's open door. It was covered by a white mask, features obscured. It extended a white-gloved hand to Mike.
Mike recoiled.
It reached for him. He shrank away.
"Mike.'' Argyle's voice dropped like Mike had never heard it. The older boy's face was stony. "Do what they want.''
"But –"
"Sorry, kid. You don't have a choice this time.''
Fighting back the panic that threatened to choke him, Mike reluctantly allowed himself to be pulled from the wrecked van. The man who helped him out was standing on the tailgate of the SUV. Another two men completely dressed in white materialized to help Mike to the ground. Unsteadily, Mike clambered down, stumbling away from the men the moment he felt earth beneath his feet. Jonathan and Will were standing beside the SUV, in handcuffs. Before Mike could protest, someone grabbed him roughly by the forearms and clamped his hands in the cold metal rings. Mike pulled away, hissing like a startled cat.
"Don't fight them, Mike,'' Jonathan's tone was flat. Defeated.
Mike was shoved in line with the Byers. Will immediately met his gaze. If he was trying to communicate something to Mike, it was lost. Mike couldn't focus for shit. His body was quaking, his hands shaking in their restraints with a tremor unrelated to the wreck.
Argyle joined them a moment later. He gave the men a deft middle-finger before allowing them to handcuff him. It was almost like they were being arrested. Mike supposed they were. This was never how he'd imagined it though.
The SUV pulled forward. Mike hadn't realized there was someone still in the car. He saw a huge dent towards the front where it had hid Argyle's van. The tailgate was a wide-open, yawning space.
"Get in.'' Mike couldn't tell who was speaking because of the masks. He looked to Jonathan. Jonathan's mouth formed a tight line. Then he clambered up into the tailgate. Will went next, scooting close beside his brother. Mike saw Jonathan rest his reassuring cuffed hands on Will's knee. Argyle followed, then Mike. He sat across from Will, wishing for something to say to him.
A white-clad man squeezed in between the four boys. "We don't want to hurt you.'' Mike thought that sounded an awful lot like bullshit. The man lifted four strips of black fabric up. It contrasted spectacularly with his white gloves. He began to blindfold Jonathan, whose jaw tightened, but allowed it. Then Argyle. The man moved to Mike. The last thing he saw before the lights blinked out in his head was Will's terrified expression.
All was quiet for a few moments. Mike heard shifting around. Then a gasp. He jerked his head up. What –
He felt a prick in his neck. Then it deepened into a real sting. Before he could start screaming hysterically, it was gone. Mike had been to the doctor enough times to know the feeling. But why . . . Ah. He felt his eyelids growing heavy, his heartbeat slowing down. "Fuck you,'' he murmered – or maybe he simply thought it – before he slipped out of consciousness.
When Mike came to, he was in a room so blindingly white that his vision blurred. He blinked again and again until the images around him cleared enough to be distinguished. It turned out there wasn't much to distinguish. The room was a small, empty block of white: White walls, white floor, white ceiling panels. Mike was sitting in a chair so hard that the knobs of his spine ached from the friction. He tried to wiggle around to alleviate the discomfort, but found he couldn't move. His wrists were zip-tied behind the chair, which struck him as oddly unprofessional. His ankles were secured to the chair's legs the same way. The handcuffs worked just fine, but whatever.
More confused than panicked now, Mike craned his neck around. The chair, of course, was white. The only other object in the room was a small black box in the upper right corner. Mike squinted at it. It looked as though it had a lens. A tiny pinprick of red light flashed. A camara. He was being watched.
Mike felt suddenly cold. He tugged at his restraints, growing increasingly agitated in his delayed panic. "Shit,'' he muttered. He jerked at his wrists until the skin rubbed away, leaving bloody raw welts under the tough plastic. His head was beginning to pound, another delayed reaction to whatever it was they'd injected into him. His nausea was also starting to come back and sweat was beginning to soak through his t-shirt. "Come on!" He felt his heartbeat speeding up, his breath coming in short gasps. Calm down. CalmdownCalmdownCalmdown –
The door opened. Mike jerked his head up. He hadn't even noticed there was a door. It was white (of course) and blended into the rest of the room, but Mike's eyes had trouble focusing even when it was open and three maskless men in long lab coats (also white) strode in. They stood in a line in front of Mike, staring him down. Mike couldn't distinguish their features despite the bright fluorescents in the ceiling.
"What is your name?"
Mike forgot the question as soon as it'd been asked. The speaker had to repeat it twice before Mike retained it, and he refused to answer when he did.
"Alright, let's try this. How do you know the girl Eleven?"
Mike set his jaw.
"Oh, for God's sake –" The man started, but his companion stepped forwardly and slapped Mike across the mouth.
Mike reeled back, more surprised than hurt. The man who had struck him got up in his face, his meaty hand gripping Mike by the chin. "Listen, kid.'' His breath was acrid. "We don't have all day. You better talk. Now, if you're smart. Or we toss you away to rot with your friends. Hear me?''
Mike spat in his face.
The man pushed Mike roughly away, swiping at his face with an arm. "Get that goddamn little prick out of my sight!" He roared.
Mike was almost relieved when the other two men in white cut his ankles free and pulled him to his feet. They produced a blindfold from somewhere, and Mike tilted his face up, defiantly allowing them to bind his eyes again. He was led away. He shuffled his feet slightly to keep from tripping; the last thing he wanted to do was make himself a fool in front of these assholes. Mike licked his stinging lips. He wondered what the bad men would do if he threw up on them. Despite his churning stomach though, his mouth was completely dry. He almost regretted giving some of his invaluable saliva away to that bastard's face. Almost.
A loud squeaking noise caught Mike's interest. It was coming from right in front of him. He had a moment to think, A door? before he was shoved forward. He stumbled, barely catching himself from falling to the ground. His head swam.
"Mike!" A familiar, relieved voice echoed.
He was grabbed roughly by the arm. Someone ripped the blindfold off. Mike blinked at his Will, Jonathan, and Argyle who all sat on the floor of an apparent prison cell. The barred door opened with a heavy clank and the man who had questioned Mike pushed him in with his friends, slamming the door behind him. Mike watched them lock them in, then stride away through the creaking door. Their footsteps faded. Mike turned back towards his friends. Will scrambled to his feet. "Mike,'' he said again, coming closer. He held Mike by the shoulders, his gaze sweeping over him as if checking for injury. "You alright?"
"Yeah,'' said Mike. "Are you guys?" He tore his eyes from Will's deep gaze, glancing at Jonathan and Argyle who sat with their backs to the wall.
Argyle flashed a piece sign. "Never better.''
Jonathan looked a little devastated, but he nodded.
"Will?" Mike asked softly.
"I'm fine.'' Will had yet to let go of him. His fingers pressed into Mike's shoulders hard enough to bruise. "They brought us all in here a few minutes ago. We were in separate little white rooms. They questioned us about El and stuff.''
Mike nodded.
"What did you tell them?" Jonathan's tone was careful.
"Nothing.'' Mike was a little defensive. "I didn't tell them anything. Not about El, or me, or any of you. God.''
Jonathan shrugged, but didn't apologize.
"He asked Argyle and I the same thing,'' Will offered. "If that makes you feel any better.''
It did, but Mike wouldn't say so. He took a deep breath, trying to clear his vision. He sat down next to Will. He shivered slightly, despite the sweat beading between his shoulder blades. "What now?"
"Now we wait,'' said Jonathan grimly. "They can't keep us here forever.''
Mike privately thought that they would most definitely keep them locked in a cell together forever. It filled him with a poignant hopelessness. He leaned against the wall, sighing. His arms wrapped automatically around his aching stomach. He was dimly aware that he hadn't eaten or drinken anything in hours, although that was the last thing he felt like doing. Presently, he became aware of Will looking at him. He met his gaze. Will's deep brown eyes were full of concern. Mike forced a smile.
Will took his hand.
