Chapter Text
Eli
“Friendships are eternal.”
A grandiose statement made by Angel leading up to the worst day of his life. Elijah hated him. He hated Angel West as much as he loved him. He hated everything about his friend. How he left him. How he lied to himself. Convinced himself that Elijah didn't love him. That Elijah didn't need him.
Eternal? A load of bullshit.
Maybe in a fucked up world where he could talk to a ghost. The world wasn't fucked up in that way. It was fucked up in ways that didn't matter. Where your romantic inclinations got you scorned or worse. This world's reality was worse. This world's reality didn't have Angel.
This world is bullshit.
The night he met Mike Wheeler, Elijah had planned to call it quits. Life was shit. He dropped out of university, resigned from his part-time job and was on his last cigarette. His last luxury in life. Then Elijah saw the lithe figure collapsing below, in a mess of uncoordinated limbs and was struck dumb by the resemblance.
At first, he brushed it off as a doppelganger. Lots of folks had look-alikes. Till the moonlight hit his eyes just right. Warm coffee under the night sky, and Elijah’s mouth worked faster than his brain. And suddenly, he was staring his dead best friend in the eyes.
The more Mike spoke, the more Elijah ached. Ached for more time. Ached for a love never explored, ached for his best friend. He knew it was wrong to treat Mike as a stand-in. But, as he said, life was shit.
And since the universe saw it fit to give him a reason to continue. As messed up as it was, he'd take it. It was borrowed time, either way. He knew this when he came face-to-face with Will.
Painfully obvious Will in love with Mike, and painfully oblivious Mike in love with Will. Laughable, really. He and Will were disgustingly similar. Maybe it's why he snapped– snapped at his self-reflection within Will's jealous tirade.
Something he shouldn't have done. Not that he cared too much. It was borrowed time, either way. Will would pull his head out of his ass, eventually. By then, Mike would be where he needed to be to receive whatever grovelling Will would do.
He would make sure of that.
He'd make sure Mike got the ending Angel never did. Maybe he was projecting his guilt onto the other. Though, would it be the worst thing? He didn't think so. He considered it a win-win. Elijah should feel guilty for manipulating Mike this way– giving him the wrong impressions, even if they were for Mike's benefit.
He could see it in Mike's gaze. The fright. The hesitance and yearning. Eli wasn't disillusioned to believe these were directed at him, rather than landing on him out of pure coincidence. If Mike needed to test the waters first, Elijah was happy to oblige, if it meant he could stay by his side longer.
And when Mike was ready to present himself. His true self. Elijah would not get in his way. He swears it.
Which is why he snaps at Mike's friends, chewing them out like a bunch of children, when he is certain that he has only about a year above them. Pitiful. He thought them pitiful. How blind they were. Swept up in their preconceptions of their friend to the point of ignorance.
Vindication was his prize when he chastised them for their ill-treatment. What were they thinking? It didn’t matter. All he was sure of was that everyone in the room fucked up. And he had an inkling why. He shooed them off to the basement ages ago, sending the brunette off to temper Will's exaggerated heartbreak.
God, he needs a cigarette. He clicks his tongue, listening to the shower turn off. Mike emerges, drowned in Elijah's hoodie–He had been adamant about Mike wearing it– with tear-stained cheeks, the shower seemed unable to rectify.
He looks soft. Sad but soft. Like Angel.
He shakes his head. Focus.
“Do you want us to go back to your room? Or would you prefer somewhere else?”
He receives a shrug. He takes it in stride. Though Mike is more volatile than Angel, they both seemed receptive to physical touch for comfort. He contemplates the best place to take him.
The basement with his friends was out. Obviously, his bedroom wasn't an option. “Do you have extra blankets and pillows?”
“Yes.” He croaks, his voice hoarse from crying. They both wince.
“Bring them to the living room. I'm gonna get you something to eat.”
Mike opens his mouth, no doubt to protest. Probably, to claim he isn't hungry. Elijah gives him a stern look.
Mike snaps his mouth shut and retreats to his room to complete the task given.
Satisfied with Mike's acceptance, He heads to the kitchen, setting the kettle on as he scavenges through Mrs Wheeler's tea box.
Mint. Lemon. Cinnamon. He chooses randomly, snatching a mug from the cupboard and whips up a cup of tea. He adds fruit to a saucer, deeming it adequate. At least, to hold Mike over for the nap; he certainly needs.
Soft footsteps pad into the room, holding a heap of blankets and pillows. He swipes them from and signals towards the snack.
“Meet me in the living room, once you're done.” He doesn't wait for a response, confident Mike will obey.
The kitchen is attached to the dining room and opens into the living room. He can feel Mike's watchful gaze as he works. He grabs the chairs, setting them at equal distances apart before throwing the sheets over them. He uses the remaining blankets to pad the floor and tosses the pillows inside as the finishing touch.
The fort is big enough to hold them. Not big enough for any crazy movements. Elijah is hit with a wave of nostalgia, finding it a shame he doesn't have any Christmas lights. Mike shuffles over, twisting the hem, creasing the hoodie– Elijah doesn't mind.
“Did you finish it?”
Mike gives a jerky nod. His frame shakes with residual terror. Elijah swallows down the anger. They were progressing, he saw it. The flicker of understanding. All for it to come crumbling down because of one irritating, jealous prick Will ‘fucking’ Byers.
His teeth grind. Muscles strain in his jaw. Mike didn't need his anger right now.
“Come here.” He says, opening his arms.
A bundle of downtrodden Mike curls into him, tucking his face into his neck, seeking his scent. He reaches into the head of curls and kneads away the tension. He smoothes out the pinched eyebrows. Massages his stiff neck. Mike doesn't meet his gaze. He hadn't since the argument. Unable to, afraid he shouldn't.
Elijah knew disgust. All too familiar with the desperation to tear off one's skin. To wash yourself until you bled. To shove your thoughts deeply into the crevices of your mindscape so you can never see them again. Because that's what queerness was to the wider world. Something to be shoved down. Something to be healed from. Something unnatural.
“If there are a billion universes, you'll be happy in at least one.”
Another shitty sentiment. Idealism is a pretentious concept. People exuding optimism to the point of exaggerating their suffering. As if the amount of pain suffered is a badge of honour. A badge allowing you to call yourself an idealist and to have the rest of the world believe it. The world loves sob stories.
Elijah did not. He didn't hate them. He'd simply rather avoid them. He'd had enough sob stories. He is a sob story far removed from idealism.
A Shame, really. Another shitty sentiment from someone else. Someone insignificant. Elijah is a cynic. He wouldn't hide that fact, except with Angel.
Angel, perfect angel. Pretty Angel. Pretty Mike.
He scooches deeper inside the fort, pulling Mike to lie down. Heat radiates off him. Elijah rubs circles into his hips as tears wet his shirt.
“Wanna talk about it?” Midnight curls swish as Mike shakes his head.
“Alright. Then, I need you to listen. Okay?”
Another nod.
“Will is a dumbass.” Dumbass in love.
Mike squirms, ready to defend. Elijah huffs into his hair.
“Shut up. You're listening, right?”
Another nod, this one closer to petulance.
“He's a dumbass who cares about you. But…you're allowed to be mad, Mike.” He combs back Mike's bangs. “You are allowed to be mad at him. Mad at the world. Mad at whoever the fuck.” He leaves a featherlight kiss on his forehead. Chaste and innocent. “Not forever. Just for now.”
Mike melts into him. He pulls him closer. “Be mad. I'll be mad with you.”
Mike tilts his head back. He is awed. It leaves Elijah wondering if no one had ever stood by Mike. Was he the one who stood by everyone else? His heart cracks. Not like Angel, but similar. So similar.
He cups his jaw. Noticing Mike's eyes drop to his lips. He fights down the laugh.
God, he is cute. Painfully obvious too. He'd love to kiss him. Not as a stand-in for Angel. He's wanted to kiss him since their moment at the quarry. Except Mike wasn't ready, and Elijah isn't trying to send him into a panic today. So, he pinches Mike's nose, gently tugging and swaying his head side-to-side.
“Rest.”
Disappointment flashes in his eyes, breaking apart into shame. Elijah steels himself. He wouldn't do it. Not now.
“I told you to listen, remember?”
Mike scowls.
“I meant it. Now quit thinking.” He presses his thumbs to Mike's temples, adding gentle pressure. “Because whatever is going on in that pretty head of yours is the furthest thing from the truth. Just listen…”
He hums. A tune he hadn't sung since the night he wrote it.
And I don't want the world to see me.
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand.
He needs Mike to know he is safe. For whatever it is he is discovering. He needs Mike to know Elijah sees him. He needs Mike not to be Angel. Though he desperately wishes he was.
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am.
In the haven of the fort, he fills Mike's mind melodically. Fills it and hopes it chases the bad thoughts away. Chases away the shame. Chases away the fear– for both of their sakes.
~ ~
Robin
Robin's legs burn. She runs. Her legs pump and pump, stumbling around corners and skidding at crossroads.
“Will!” She pleads. He is several feet ahead, distraught and spiralling.
Her legs pump faster. She wasn't an athlete. She sucks at running. She hates running. She hates sweat.
Yet, she'd rather run than abandon Will. Will needed someone.
“Will!” She screams, gasping for air. She is unfit; her tendons are cramping. She pushes and pushes.
Her hand stretches out. It clasps the hem and yanks Will back, sending him sprawling to the ground.
“Shit! Sorry, I–” She sucks in a few breaths, hands rest on her hips as sweat leaks into her eyes, burning. “Are you okay– dumb question. Of course, you're not okay. I wouldn't be okay if I fucked up that bad.” She winces, scolding herself for not having a better filter.
Will wilts…Hah wilts. He wilts, dejected and drenched in guilt.
“Sorry.” She holds her hand out.
He takes it, and she pulls him into a fierce hug. “I've got you.”
Will clutches her shirt. Great big sobs rip out of his throat.
“You're gonna be okay. It'll be okay.” She soothes.
He chokes and wrestles for air. It comes out of him in gagging exhales. She can only hug tighter.
Time passes. She isn't sure how much. Not that it matters. Time is insignificant.
Finally, Will pulls away. His eyes are bloodshot, his skin is patchy and flushed. She doesn't want to push. She'd made that mistake one too many times. She needs to be patient.
She smiles and pats his back. “C'mon. Let's get ice cream.” It gets her a wobbly smile, and it is enough.
They buy a basket of flavours. Chocolate. Strawberry. Hawkins Berry Blush. Grapenut. Rocky Road. They sit on the floor of Will's room, backs against his bed and digging their spoons in each tub. Robin's tongue is screwed for at least a week. She doesn't mind. It puts a grin on Will's face every time she screws up at Berry Blush’s sourness.
God Awful flavour. She is vocal about the sentiment.
“Why is this still on sale? It tastes like shit. Scoops sold better ice cream than this.”
His eyes light up. “Scoops had the money.”
“Are you blaming the economy right now, Byers?”
“If the shoe fits.” He smiles around a spoonful of Strawberry.
“I can't believe this.” She fakes clutching her pearls. “What have they done to you? Has all the exercise dulled your brain capacity and made you into a societal drone, where the only singular cause of our plights is always…” She waves her spoon around. Ice cream slides down her arm. “The economy.”
“It was inevitable.” He jokes.
“You've been ruined, Byers. Don't know how I'm gonna break it to Jonathan.”
They share another round of laughter and ice cream. A blanket of calm settles over them, and the unspoken question hangs above. Robin decides she won't ask first.
As the hours tick by of treats, brain freezes and lamenting about the economy, Robin almost thinks they aren't going to talk about it, which she'd be fine with. Mostly.
“He probably hates me.”
“What?” She is dumbfounded.
He clarifies, stabbing into the pistachio. It was the only flavour left. “Mike. He probably hates me.”
“That's impossible.” She says, firmly. Because she is positive, Mike feels the opposite of hate. She had been blind to it for a long time. Now it is clear as day.
“Impossible. Nothing is impossible.” Will points out, dropping his spoon in an empty tub.
“That is. In every one of your weird multiverses, Mike hating you is impossible. It is the one fact.” Her voice rises, loud with conviction.
His eyes widen. She understands why. Robin spent the first month of summer judging Mike Wheeler, turning a blind eye for no reason other than her own impatience. She'd spent that month calling Will deluded, when she was the delusional one.
She'd used Will as a benchmark for gayness, forgetting her own differences and ignoring Mike's. Too absorbed in the excitement of guiding Will, she failed to create a safe space for Mike to reach out. Like the others, she brushed him off as an annoying little shit. She was wrong. She hopes Mike can forgive her when all of this is over.
“You made a mistake. People do that. And it's okay, you just have to apologise.”
Will sighs. He slides the pistachio-labelled tub towards her and leans his head back on the bed. He roves over the ceiling. She scarfs down the remaining tub, hating to waste anything. She allows him the chance to gather his thoughts.
He chooses his worlds carefully, shoulders hiking up to his ears. “Apologising won't fix this.”
“What is this, Will?”
“I hate Eli. I want him gone, and I know that's not happening.”
Ah.
His hand comes up and twists in his hair. She unclasps the hand and holds it in hers. “You know, I used to hate Steve.”
“Really? But you guys are so…”
“Close. Yeah, well before that, I wanted to carve his eyes out.” She giggles, remembering the conversation in the bathroom, high off their rockers and bruised from escaping the Russians. A distant memory now. She remembers her palms being sweaty. The drugs had dulled her panic. And Steve had looked at her with love. So much love she almost cried. She'd been waiting for the disgust and found acceptance instead. In a roundabout way, she has the Russians to thank for giving her the courage to come out.
Now, she couldn't imagine her life without Steve. They were soulmates. Platonic, obviously. She thinks Eli might be Mike's Steve with a lot more blurred lines. Not that she could tell Will that. She isn't sure Mike realises it, yet, and he didn't deserve to have the realisation taken from him, not that she didn't trust Will. But, she wanted him to focus on his own thoughts, not whatever he believes Mike or Eli's thoughts to be.
Will's lips curl, horrified by the thought. “Eli is not my Steve.”
No, he definitely isn’t.
“Okay, bad analogy.” The corner of her mouth quirks up. “What I'm trying to say is, Eli isn't Mike's best friend. You are. And even if you want to claw his eyes out, like I did with Steve. There is a reason Mike wants to be around him. You trust Mike, don't you?”
He doesn't hesitate to affirm, “Yeah. I do. I trust him.”
“So maybe trust whatever it is, he'll let you know. And be there when he does. ” She bumps his shoulder.
“Alright, Yeah. I can do that.” He bumps her back. “Thanks, Robin.”
She ruffles his hair, “My pleasure, Baby Byers. Now, Vickie and I's anniversary is coming up…”
The conversation shifts to light-hearted events. She wants to give Will a moment to stew in the revelations until he's ready again. Ready to be heard. And ready to speak his truth.
To the moody boy in the suburban home who is a little shit with a devoted heart.
~ ~
Dustin
Dustin tended to be the last. Last at most things. Last to get his teeth. Last to get a girlfriend, where it had been applicable. Last to join the original party. He had never been bothered by it. That's what he told himself. When he found Steve, he was elated. He was first at something.
It was a drug. A novelty he never tired of. Till he finds himself next to Max and Lucas, stunned into silence because…
Mike had cried. Mike had cried. Heart-wrenching sounds that made him feel shitty. Mike hadn't cried when Holly was taken. He hadn't cried when the demogorgons had almost killed his parents. He hadn't cried when Will disappeared; he'd done something more extreme. Dustin knew this; he was there. It was a memory he had forgotten till he saw the fury in Eli's glare.
Eli, who only knew Mike for a week, glared at them like a stain on the bottom of his shoe. And Dustin was reluctant to defend himself. Reluctant to defend any of them. Not when Mike's broken voice stamps every part of his brain. Mike, who reassured Dustin that he was his best friend, too. That it didn't matter how long he'd known any of them. Dustin is his best friend.
The same Dustin, who lashed out, lied to Mike and blamed him for ruining the party on numerous occasions. This same Dustin, who can't remember the last time he checked in on Mike.
Shit. He is awful.
Sweat drips down his neck. The basement is hot. Summer heat clouds the room. The air-conditioning does little to alleviate their discomfort. Steve had left, urged by Dustin's adamancy. He didn't think Mike would appreciate Steve becoming privy to whatever would come from the conversation with Eli.
Eli had yelled at them, ordering them down to the basement to wait for him. Venom in his tone, gnashing his teeth like a ferocious beast. It was a sight to see; someone defending Mike so valiantly, much like a paladin. Dustin chuckles under his breath.
A paladin shielding another paladin. Brothers in arms.
The regret radiates off Lucas; his leg bounces between them. Dustin doesn't blame him; they were in the same boat. Max, too, though she hides better; she was handling it the worst.
She bites her nails. Dustin is sure she'll apologise later, in her MadMax way, aggressive and filled with snarky remarks. Witnessing a vulnerable Mike left her off-kilter. Her brain is rewiring her entire outlook.
It's ironic. A few weeks ago, they'd had a conversation about why she ribbed Mike so often.
At first, she confided that his reactions were comedic. Then, it became about her own hangups about his ill-treatment of Jane. Dustin understood.
To all of them, Mike was steady. Unshakable. They could scream, punch, and kick; whatever they wanted, Mike wouldn't bat a lash when they asked for his help. Max could direct her grief at Mike, and he'd accept it, eat it and still hold out his hand.
This revelation meant Mike wasn't unshakeable anymore. It meant Mike got hurt. It meant like the rest of them, he is still hurting. Possibly more than them. Mike always held on tightly. Whenever it got too much, all those things he held came bursting out in explosive ways. Harsh, erratic and wretched.
Dustin rubs his brows. He'd have to see about checking in more.
The stairs creak. He glances over his shoulder. The others stiffen beside him.
Eli descends the steps. His face set in a hard look. He takes the bean bag opposite them, intimidating even when lounging in the plush seating.
“I'm not going to ask.” He begins in a gruff tone. Geez, he sounded like Hopper. “I'm going to talk, and you're all going to listen. ‘Cause I'll only say it once.”
He gives them a chance to run their mouths. They don't take the bait.
He nods approvingly and continues, “Whatever this taking sides bullshit is. Cut it out. He doesn't need it.”
Dustin's brows shoot into his hairline. He raises his hand.
Eli rolls his eyes. “Share with the class then.”
“Uh. I think you have your facts skewed. We weren't taking any sides.”
“Yeah, man.” Lucas pipes up, cracking at the end. Dustin’s eye twitches.
“Who even are you?” Max scowls. “You don't know shit about what's going on.”
“And neither do you, carrot top.” He counters.
Max jerks back, her jaw drops. Lucas sneers. “The fuck did you say to her?”
Dustin groans, not wanting another fight.
Eli bares his teeth. They all jerk back; the animosity chills the room. “She wants to go around being an asshole, then she can expect it back. ‘Cause from where I stand, you're all shitty friends.”
That shuts them up. No rebuttal can be made. It is the truth. Max's cheeks flush, angry and embarrassed. He and Lucas squirm in their seats, properly chastised.
“Good. Seems like your brains are finally working.” He pats his jacket, retrieving a cigarette and a black lighter engraved with cursive ruby lettering: Elijah. He flicks the wheel a couple of times, successfully lighting the end and taking a deep drag. He blows the smoke out of the corner of his mouth.
“Whatever hangups you have with him. Fix that shit. Capisce?”
They all nod.
“Good. Cause he's gonna need you.”
Dustin perks up. “Need us?”
“You're his friends, aren't you?” He eyes them.
“Duh.” Max can't help but snap, still stewing.
Eli puffs out another cloud, sending the tobacco into their faces. “Good. Then be his friends, not assholes.”
They cough, fanning the smoke away. By the time their vision clears, Eli is ascending the stairs again.
Dustin watches him go. He hums thoughtfully. There's something familiar about Eli's behaviour. His heart pangs.
“Can't believe I gotta apologise to Wheeler.” She fake gags.
Dustin rolls his eyes. “We all do.” Her ‘Mike Hate’ charade wasn't working. His expression tells her as much as she twirls a strand of her hair. Her gaze turns apologetic, grasping the gravity of Elijah's words.
“Yeah. We've been shit.” Lucas agrees.
“Real shit.” She adds.
“The worst shits.” He smirks.
They burst into a fit of snickers, and he knows things will be alright. They'll apologise. And Dustin will make sure Mike knows he is still Dustin's best friend.