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The fluorescent lights in Hawkins General Hospital burned too bright, reflecting off the linoleum floors that smelled of antiseptic and something darker—blood, maybe, or just fear. Nancy sat rigid in an old green hospital chair, her hands clasped so tightly in her lap that her knuckles had gone white. Next to her, Lucas kept bouncing his leg, the nervous energy radiating off him in waves.
Mike stood.
He’d been standing for the last twenty minutes, ever since the nurse had come out with that look—the one that said critical but stable, the one that meant they’re alive, but we don’t know for how long. He stood facing the hallway that led to the ICU, his back to Nancy and Lucas, his whole body unnaturally still.
Too still.
“Mike,” Nancy said softly. “You should sit down.”
Nothing. He didn’t even twitch. His hands hung at his sides, fingers slightly curled, and Nancy could see the side of his face—blank, empty, like someone had reached inside her little brother and scooped out everything that made him Mike.
She’d seen him scared before. Terrified, even. She’d seen him facing down Demogorgons and Mind Flayers, gone through the trauma and heartbreak of seeing Will’s dead body, fake dead body all those years ago. But she’d never seen him like this. This absence. This void.
“Mike,” she tried again, standing up and moving toward him. “Come on, sit with us. The doctors said it could be hours before—”
“They almost died.” His voice came out flat, mechanical. “Mom and Dad. They almost died. Holly’s gone and they almost died trying to stop it.”
Nancy’s throat tightened. She’d been holding it together, had to hold it together, because someone had to and Mom and Dad couldn’t and Mike was… Mike was…
“They’re in surgery,” she said, forcing her voice to stay level. “The doctors said they have a good chance—”
“A good chance.” Mike’s laugh was harsh, brittle. “A good chance. That’s what they said about Will when he was in the Upside Down. That’s what they said about Max after—” His voice cracked. “Where is everyone? Where’s El? Where’s Dustin? What if they’re—what if something happened—”
“They’re okay,” Lucas said quickly, standing up too. “We would have heard if something—”
“Would we?” Mike spun around, and Nancy took an involuntary step back. His eyes were wild, red-rimmed, his face pale except for two spots of feverish color on his cheeks. “Would we have heard? Holly’s gone. She’s just gone. Our parents are in there with—with tubes and machines and the nurse wouldn’t tell us how bad it really is, she just kept saying critical but stable like that means anything, like that means they’re not going to—”
He stopped. His chest was heaving now, breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps.
“Mike.” Nancy reached for him, but he jerked away.
“We should have been there. I should have been there. I was doing god knows what and you were doing—whatever—and they were alone and Holly is nine years old, Nancy. She’s nine. And something took her. Something came into our house and took her and hurt Mom and Dad and we weren’t there. I wasn’t there.”
The words were coming faster now, tumbling over each other, his breathing getting worse. Nancy recognized it suddenly—the signs she’d learned to watch for in the aftermath of everything, the tight chest and hyperventilation and the way his hands were starting to shake.
“I can’t—” Mike pressed his palm against his chest, fingers splaying wide. “I can’t breathe. Why can’t I breathe?”
“You’re having a panic attack,” Nancy said, keeping her voice calm even as her own heart raced. “Mike, listen to me, you need to slow down your breathing—”
“I can’t. I can’t.” He stumbled backward until he hit the wall, sliding down it until he was sitting on the floor, knees pulled up. “Everyone’s going to die. Mom and Dad are going to die and Holly’s already—she could already be—and El and Dustin and Will and everyone could be dead right now and we’re just sitting here, we’re just sitting here waiting and I can’t—”
His voice rose to something close to a wail, and Nancy dropped to her knees in front of him, Lucas right beside her.
“Mike, hey, look at me.” Nancy grabbed his shoulders, ducking her head to force him to meet her eyes. “Look at me. Mom and Dad are alive. They’re in surgery, but they’re alive.”
“But they might not—they could still—” His breathing was so fast now, too fast, and tears were streaming down his face. “I don’t want them to die. Nancy, I don’t want them to die. And Holly, we have to find her, we have to—”
“We will,” Nancy said fiercely. “We’re going to find her. But right now, I need you to breathe with me, okay? Can you do that?”
Mike shook his head frantically. “I can’t. There’s—everything’s—it’s too much. It’s all too much. This whole time, all these years, everything we’ve been through and it never stops. It never stops and people keep dying and getting hurt and I’m so tired, Nancy. I’m so tired and I don’t—” His voice dropped to barely a whisper. “I don’t think I’m going to make it through this one.”
Nancy’s blood went cold. “What?”
“I just—I can’t see it. I can’t see how this ends with everyone okay. With me okay. I can’t—I don’t—”
“Stop.” Nancy’s voice came out sharper than she intended, and she cupped his face in both hands, forcing him to look at her. “Stop it right now. You listen to me, Michael Wheeler. You are going to make it through this. Do you hear me? You are going to make it through this because I am not losing you too. I’m not.”
“Nancy—”
“No. You don’t get to give up. You don’t get to—to check out or think that you’re not going to survive this because you are. We both are. And Mom and Dad are going to be okay, and we are going to get Holly back, and everyone—El and Dustin and everyone—they’re okay. They have to be okay.”
She was crying now too, she realized. When had that started?
“I need you,” she whispered. “Mike, I need you to hold on. Please. I can’t do this without you. I can’t lose you.”
Lucas put a hand on Mike’s shoulder, his own voice thick. “She’s right, man. We’re all still here. We’re all still fighting. And we’re not giving up on your parents or Holly or anyone. But we need you. Nancy needs you. I need you.”
Mike’s breathing was still ragged, but something in his eyes shifted—like he was starting to surface from wherever he’d been drowning.
“Breathe with me,” Nancy said again, softer now. “In through your nose. Come on, follow me.”
She exaggerated her own breathing, in through her nose for a count of four. Mike tried to follow, his breath hitching and stuttering, but he tried. She held his gaze, refusing to let him look away, refusing to let him slip back into that dark place.
“Out through your mouth,” she continued. “Slow. That’s it. You’re doing good.”
Lucas kept his hand on Mike’s shoulder, a steady presence, and slowly—painfully slowly—Mike’s breathing began to even out. The panic was still there in his eyes, the fear and exhaustion and grief, but he was present again. He was here.
“I’m sorry,” Mike choked out. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t apologize.” Nancy pulled him forward into a hug, and after a second, he wrapped his arms around her, clinging like he had when he was little and had nightmares. “Don’t you dare apologize. You’re allowed to fall apart, Mike. God knows you’ve held it together long enough.”
They sat like that on the hospital floor, Nancy holding her brother while he shook, Lucas keeping one hand on Mike’s shoulder like an anchor. The lights buzzed overhead. Somewhere down the hall, a phone rang. The world kept turning, indifferent to their terror.
“What if they don’t make it?” Mike whispered against Nancy’s shoulder.
Nancy closed her eyes, her own fear a living thing in her chest. But she couldn’t let Mike see it. Not now. Not when he was barely holding on.
“Then we’ll deal with it,” she said quietly. “Together. But they’re fighters, Mike. Mom and Dad—they’re fighters.”
“And Holly?”
“We’re going to find her.” Nancy pulled back enough to look at him, brushing his hair back from his forehead the way their mom did. “I promise you, we are going to find her and bring her home.”
Mike nodded shakily, wiping at his eyes with the heel of his hand. He looked young suddenly, younger than his seventeen years, and Nancy’s heart ached.
“I’m scared,” he admitted, so quietly she almost didn’t hear it.
“I know,” Nancy whispered. “Me too.”
Lucas squeezed Mike’s shoulder. “We all are. But we’re here, okay? Whatever happens, we’re here. You’re not alone.”
Mike took a shuddering breath and nodded again. Nancy helped him to his feet, keeping one arm around him, and guided him back to the chairs. He sat between her and Lucas, and they waited.
They waited for news about their parents. They waited for word about Holly. They waited for their friends to arrive, for someone to tell them what came next, for the weight of everything to somehow become bearable.
Mike’s breathing was still uneven, and Nancy could feel the tremors running through him, but he wasn’t dissociating anymore. He was here. Present. Fighting to hold on.
“It’s going to be okay,” Nancy said, more to herself than anyone else. “Somehow, it’s going to be okay.”
Mike didn’t answer, but he leaned his head on her shoulder, and she held him there, her baby brother, and prayed to whoever might be listening that she was right.
That they would all make it through this.
That dawn would come, and they would still be whole.
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