Chapter Text
It’s probably futile, because every night it’s futile, but something inside of him won’t let him give up. Not on her. He’s sure that this is what the rest of his life is going to be like: trying to reach her on the radio, searching the woods at the edge of town, always waiting for some kind of sign that she’s really still out there. That she’s okay. It keeps him awake nights. During the day he’s just agitated. Paying attention is a lot harder than it once was, and his grades have slipped a bit. Mr. Clark had pulled him aside to ask if he was okay, and he’d brushed off the concern, saying he was fine, just tired.
Tonight finds him navigating his way through the woods alone, because Dustin is grounded, Lucas isn’t interested, and Will -- well. Joyce Byers is still having trouble letting Will out of his sight, which he gets, because sometimes he doesn’t like leaving his friend’s side when it’s time to go home, either.
But he can’t not look. Can’t give up. He carries a flashlight, but he doesn’t call out, afraid he might not be the only one still looking for her. Bastards.
He’s been trudging through the damp, cold woods for over an hour when a loose root trips him and he falls, hitting the ground hard and wincing as the snow wet his clothes, chilling him even more.
Off to the right there’s a noise, and Mike grimaces as he struggles to get to his feet. A twig snaps, followed by footsteps steadily getting closer and he holds his breath in anticipation, heart beating faster in his chest. He shines his light in the general direction the noise is coming from.
“Who the hell is shining a light in my face?”
The voice is familiar, but it’s certainly not the one he’s been wanting to hear by any means. He lowers the light, doing his best to ignore the dread that fills him just as quickly as the hope had only moments before.
“Well lookie here. Frogface Wheeler,” Troy sneers, and James laughs as the two older boys draw closer.
“Whatcha doing out here all by yourself? Where are your little fairy friends?” James asks, glancing around.
“None of your business,” Mike retorts, squaring his shoulders.
“I don’t think they’re here.” Troy shines a light in his face and he squints, shielding his eyes with one hand. “Don’t see your crazy mutant girlfriend around either. You all alone, Frogface?”
He grips onto his flashlight a little more tightly. He really isn’t in the mood for getting his ass kicked right now. “I’m on my way home.” He shakes his head and turns, starting to head away.
Much to his dismay, Troy moves forward, grabbing hold of the back of his jacket. “Don’t have anyone around to protect you now, huh?”
Mike tries to pull away but Troy slams a fist into his gut, causing him to double over as the wind is knocked out of him. He hits his knees hard, barely a chance to catch his breath before James lands a kick to his torso, knocking him backwards into the snow.
“I got an idea.” Troy kneels down beside him, rolling him over so he’s lying on his stomach. He winces as pain shoots through his ribcage, and he struggles, trying to get up. Troy shoves his face down into the snow. “I didn’t tell you that you could get up, Frogface.”
“Man, what are you doing?” James asks, suddenly sounding nervous.
“Getting a little payback for my broken arm,” Troy answers, tugging Mike’s jeans down.
His eyes go wide and he tries kicking the older boy away from him, shoving his arms beneath him to get up without much luck. Troy slams his head back down again, and he yells, flailing. “Get off me! Get off me!”
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” James tells him, taking a couple steps back.
“Oh come on, it’s not like it’ll be his first time. He’s a faggot, remember?” He reaches out and picks something up, something Mike only glimpses in his struggles. Terror shoots through him as his face is forced back down into the snow, making it hard to breathe. Tears stream down his face as he yells but is pinned in place with Troy’s knees in the middle of his back.
He chokes on a mouthful of snow, gasping for air as pain rips through him when Troy shoves the stick inside him. His fingernails dig into the snow, clawing at the ground beneath, searching for something, anything he can use as a weapon against Troy, to stop him, to stop the painful violation.
“Not gonna be gentle like your girlfriends,” Troy says mockingly, shoving the stick into Mike and yanking it back out roughly before doing it again.
Mike screams, feeling like he’s being ripped apart, panic like he’s never felt before rolling through him the only competition against the agony in his backside.
Then the pressure on his back is gone, and he thinks maybe Troy is done torturing him and he draws in a shuddering breath, lifting his head to see what’s happening just in time to see Troy’s body slammed into a tree a few feet in front of him. All the air leaves his lungs for another reason now, and he scrambles to his feet the best he can, yanking his pants up despite the pain, and turning to see Eleven standing there, hand extended, more angry than he’s ever seen her before.
Blood is already trickling down her nose and he swallows heavily, shame and horror and relief and a million other emotions he can’t even begin to identify surge through him at the sight of her.
Troy, meanwhile, remains pinned against the tree and with a tilt of El’s head, he screams, high-pitched and Mike hears a bone snap in his previously uninjured arm. She tilts her head the other way and that arm re-breaks and Troy howls.
“El,” he mumbles, moving toward her slowly, because too much movement hurts, and he’s afraid she’s overdoing it, that she’ll pass out and not wake up this time and it can’t be because of him. It can’t be ever.
Eleven’s gaze shifts to him and then to the ground where he’d be lying, and Mike follows her line of sight, spotting blood in the snow. His blood. He feels a sudden rush of nausea and the world starts to spin. He collapses onto his knees, throwing up the dinner he’d eaten a couple hours beforehand.
“Let me go,” Troy whimpers.
She steps closer to Mike, eyes locked on the older boy, weeping with pain. “You. Hurt. Mike.”
“I’ll never do it again! I promise! Please, please let me go,” he sobs.
This time her voice is quiet. Too quiet. “No.”
Mike lifts his head to look at the older boy, just as Troy’s neck snaps hard to the side and he falls to the ground, limp and unmoving. He stares wide-eyed, face paler than usual, lips almost blue from having his face pressed into the snow for so long, and then he turns his head to look at Eleven. “El.” His voice breaks.
Eleven moves to his side, dropping down in front of him, and pressing a hand to his face, tears in her eyes. “Mike. Hurt.”
He tries to smile at her reassuringly, but he can’t. He leans into her warmth and presses his face into her shoulder as he starts to cry.