I Can't Go On Without You
Summary: Max calls up Mike at three am, without any questions asked, Mike goes to her.
Tags: Max Mayfield & Mike Wheeler, Minor Character Death
Its on Ao3 too
“Mike?”
“Max? It’s three in the morning?”
“I know – its… its my mom. Can you come to the hospital please?”
“I’ll be there.”
He doesn’t care to be silent, shoving his shoes on and grabbing a sweater. He doesn’t think of Holly still awake or the fact that his mom had for sure heard him slamming things around as he swipes his keys off the kitchen counter. His walkie is in one hand, the open channel silent as he starts up the car and peels out his driveway loudly, waking up the sleeping neighborhood.
He looked at the time, the numbers 3:12 flashing at him. He easily drives down the empty streets, definitely breaking a few speeding laws as he approaches Hawkins General. He sees Max sitting outside, smoke curling around her in wispy clouds. He gets out, barely remembering to lock his car as he jogs towards her. She looks horrible. Her face is splotchy, bright red against her pale skin and her freckles seemed almost non-existent. She drops the cigarette, putting it out under her shoe before stepping forward and crashing into Mike’s chest.
He instinctively wraps his arms around her, one hand around her waist and the other pressing her head to his neck. He doesn’t know what’s wrong, he doesn't know why she’s at the hospital at three in the morning, but he’s here, holding her tightly as if he could put back all her broken pieces back together. She smells of smoke and cheap rose perfume and her hair feels tangled, the strands being held up by a dingy hair tie. She’s still in her Ralph’s Records uniform: A black bowling shirt with the store name embroidered on the right side of the shirt and her blue ripped jeans.
She pulls away first, her breath still ragged and quick. Her face is still red, and her eyes are bloodshot as she leads him inside, walking past the nurses mulling around the nursing station. He catches their worried looks as Max tightens her grip on his hand, tugging him into the elevator. She stands across from him, arms crossed and her face dejected. Its different from that night in ’85, when they had been standing outside Billy’s hospital room waiting for the doctors to confirm if he was alive or not.
He wasn’t, the Mindflayer destroyed his chest cavity, taking his lungs, heart, and any organs that had gotten in the way.
That was the last time Mike had seen Neil Hargrove, tear marks streaking down his face and Max had muttered something about Neil only crying because he hoped it was him that ended his son, not some measly mall fire. Still, Mike only felt the surface level of empathy for the horrible man with a rotten son.
Almost three years later, Mike feels like he’s still stuck in that moment, the only difference was that the Party wasn’t here. The Byers were still in California, far away from Hawkins as they can get without leaving the country. Dustin wasn’t even in Hawkins either, he was in Utah, spending his winter break with Suzie and Lucas was in Chicago with his parents, looking at some of the schools that had scouted him for the various sports he played.
“My mom got hit.” Max finally says, “A drunk driver drove her into a tree. The driver died on the way to the hospital and my mom, they said she won’t make it.” He pulls her close, hands almost shaking as the elevator finally opens. She pulls away, her shoulders squaring, and she steps out into the flurry of doctors running the floor. She waits and Mike waits with her, waits for the inevitable news that Susan Mayfield died on a cold December night in 1987 because someone decided to drive drunk.
Mike goes in at six thirty to make a promise, hoping to ease Susan Mayfield’s mind.
For the first time in years, Mike prays to a god he’s not sure exist and prays for an easy passing.
Max goes in at six-forty-seven to say goodbye and at seven am on December 19th, 1987, Susan Mayfield succumbs to her injuries.
At seven am, on that snowing morning, Max Mayfield is the last of her family.
At seven am, on that cloudy, cold morning, Max Mayfield becomes an orphan at the age of seventeen.
They leave the hospital almost at midday, Max has to fill out paperwork and she wants to sleep forever once they’re done.
Mike takes them home, sits in the car for a complete thirty minutes with her, takeout slowly cooling at her feet before she sighs heavily and grabs the bags. She heads to his room, whispering a ‘good afternoon’ to Mrs. Wheeler before disappearing up the stairs. Mike realizes suddenly how exhausted he is as his mom meets him in the hall, a worried look on her face. Her hair is brown again, just how it had been before everything went to shit, before his best friend went missing and they were fighting interdimensional monsters every week for the next four years.
He seeks her comfort just like he did when they pulled Will’s fake body out of the water and when the Byers left Hawkins, taking two pieces of him with them.
( He doesn’t mention the day him and El broke up over the phone four months after she moved away and he cried into her lap at fifteen years old)
“Susan is dead.” He whispers, “Can she stay here?”
And Karen Wheeler is a mother, she raised three good, smart kids. She feed the three boys that never left Mike’s side. She let them have free reign of the basement and let them stay as long as their parents let them. With a gentle nod of her head and a kiss to the side of his head along with a whispered promise that she’s always welcomed, does she let him go.
Mike finds Max in one of his shirts. It’s the Hellfire one, he had gotten an extra, paying Eddie an additional twenty dollars he won in a bet with Nancy for it. It was big, hanging off one of her shoulders exposing her collarbone. She was eating her fries, eyes distant as Mike entered his room quietly, the door clicking shut behind him. She doesn’t look at him as he takes his own food and eats it in silence next to her.
When they’re done, Mike closes the curtains as Max gets comfortable on the bed, claiming the side by the wall. The room is engulfed in darkness as Mike crosses his room, blindly gathering their trash and going to throw it away. He comes back a few minutes later, a cup of water in hand. He places it on his bedstand as he slips under the covers with Max. She easily fits herself into his side, her cold hands (they’re always cold and it makes him want to hold her closer, to warm her hands up in between his own) fisting his shirt.
It’s easy, familiar in a way they can’t explain. They’re two parts of a song, completing each other in a way no one but maybe Steve and Robin can relate to. He slides an arm around her waist, pulling her close and tugging the blankets over them. Her chest rattles against his side and its easy to press his lips to the top of her head.
When they wake up, he’ll sit her in between his legs and wrangle her hair out of her knotted ponytail and make her hair pretty with simple plaits he begged Nancy to teach him.
When they wake up, he’ll hold her as she cries.
When they wake up, he’ll promise to never leave her, that wherever she goes, he’ll follow and she’ll give him a watery laugh and ask if he’s planning to replace Lucas, because after everything, the two are still together.
But for now, the two sleep, embraced in the warmth they share. Mike’s humming lulls her to sleep as his hand gently rubs circles over the shirt she had made fun of him for wearing.
For now, on this wretched winter day, Max sleeps knowing that when she wakes up, Mike Wheeler will be there, holding her together as her world continues to shift and change.
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WIP Wednesday!!
Omg I didn't forget!! Holy shit!!!
Anyways, this week's WIP Wednesday includes some bits from Putting the "Fun" Back in "Funeral"! Enjoy :)
...
Putting the "Fun" Back in "Funeral":
The piercing neon green of his eyes bled back into their usual icy blue, though the curious look did not leave. “Why’s that? And who names their kid Batman?”
Part of the City Spirit’s dark cloud tried to nudge him back towards his couch. “The Batman,” she began, “is a hero who operates to protect my city. He was born here and donned his cape in order to help those in need from the many criminals who call my territory home.”
Danny gave an involuntary awed noise. “So you guys have heroes here, too?” A dark tendril of smog wrapped around the back of the couch, resting gently against Danny’s neck.
The idea of having other heroes around was something that greatly appealed to Danny. Being the lone super-powered protector of Amity Park for so long took its toll on the young man, even with his human companions. It just wasn’t the same, being the only one with advanced abilities. He had to take the bigger hits, he had to be the one to save his friends if they got into too great of a bind, he had to be the one to try and take on the burden of Amity Park alone when they all went off to find their place in the world. With great power comes great responsibility, after all. And being the Ghost King? Well, Danny had more than enough "great power" to spare.
The thought was just as sobering as it was exciting. Other heroes, super or not, meant that there was something to have caused those heroes to come into play. Some great villain, or a world-ending disaster, or even large crime rates. Lady Gotham only said criminals, though, so maybe there were no supervillains Danny needed to worry about.
“Yes, in fact there is a large society of both heroes and villains.”
Well, it was a nice thought while it lasted.
“But many of the aliens you were so excited to hear about are among those heroes.” Gotham continued, not noticing Danny’s sudden mid-afterlife crisis. “There is the Batman, who is one of the founders of the Justice League. Superman, Wonder Woman, the Flash, Green Arrow, and many others are all part of this superhero society - the Justice League.”
“Okay,” Danny was desperately trying to keep up with this sudden information. “So, Batman is a super-powered dude who helped to start an entire squad of superheroes?”
“He has no powers. The Dark Knight is just a man, same with Green Arrow and many others. They simply are able to keep up with the aliens, gods, and metas.”
Danny paused, taking in a breath. He touched his fingers together, pressing his palms flat. Another breath was taken, this one deeper than the last. With every ounce of teenage angst he still had within him, Danny lifted his hands up together to rest against his forehead before bringing them down in an arch that would have made Sam proud. “What the fuck.”
A laugh rolled from Gotham’s form, his guardian sneakily tightening her protective hold on him. “What the fuck indeed, Little One.”
“Okay, okay-” Danny’s voice cracked with indignation, “So regular every-day humans fight supervillains and are able to keep up with gods? And super-powered aliens?”
“Yes.”
“And one of those humans - who named himself after a bat - is the sole protector of your lair? Besides yourself? And he doesn’t let any of his superhero friends help him?”
“I never said he worked alone. Though, for a long time he did not have any help.”
“Lady G,” Danny said again with exasperation. “I repeat: what the fuck.”
Her only response was to laugh at his expense as he continued to moan about how he couldn’t seem to escape crazy people, no matter what dimension he runs to. The space shared by two multi-dimensional beings filled with an easy warmth.
“So,” Danny started after a couple minutes of his grumbling. “Superpowered people aren’t allowed in your city because one of your protectors is just a man in a… What, fursuit? A crime-fighting fursuit?” He paused, considering, before rapidly moving on. “But there are super-powered people in this dimension who are also heroes.”
“Yes, that is all true.”
The young man took a second, silently thinking, before speaking again. “Okay, okay,” He started. “And the chances that I’m going to have to just… steal all of these ghostly artifacts is pretty high, right?”
“Again, you are correct.”
“So,” Danny said, stretching out the word. “Chances are they’re going to think I’m some sort of villain.”
Gotham made a noise akin to two cars scraping against each other as she hesitated to answer. “There is a chance of that, yes.”
...
“Great,” he bemoaned, bonelessly flopping around his couch. “Guess it’s time to pull out the ol’ acting shoes. Welcome to Danny’s One-Stop Shop for Villainy.”
Mmmm Dead on Main my beloved :) Putting the "Fun" Back in "Funeral" chapter 4 should be posted sometime this week! I just need to actually finish writing a couple of POVs ^-^
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