[For the seventh night in a row, Mike scrambles awake just before three, sweaty hands pushing off of the bed before he can get his bearings. He rolls to the blanketed floor, hair and T-shirt a mess, looking around like he expects to see something over his shoulder, breathing right onto his skin. When the room is empty, save for a sleeping Will a few feet away, he deflates. He grabs a sweatshirt and his bottle of flat, gas station soda, and crawls over to sit against the wall, owl eyes trained on the rest of the room. He can't shake the feeling that someone's right there in the room with them.
It's been like this for a week, now. Goosebumps on his arms, even in broad daylight. Nightmares that leave him almost in tears. He'd slept on the couch once, trying not to steal another full night's sleep from Will, but that night had ended up worse than ever.
The second he hears a stir from the other side of the bed, he mutters out, ] Sorry. Go back to sleep.
[See, the thing is that Will knows Mike is smart. Mike is, actually, one of the smartest people Will knows -- maybe the smartest. So he has to know that when Will rouses himself, having tried to roll closer to a comforting warmth that's no longer there, and Mike tries to tell him to go back to sleep, it's not gonna fly.
Grumbling softly, Will rubs at his eyes with one hand, hair sticking out everywhere in some truly magnificent bedhead. Then he shuffles over to the side of the bed, half-rolling off himself, dragging another blanket along with him.] Mmmf. Dumb.
[Translation is probably something closer to you're clearly not doing okay so of course I'm not gonna go back to sleep, you absolute wonderful dumbass, but it's three-something AM, and Will's articulation isn't great. He scoots his way over to the wall as well, wrapping up in the blanket and settling next to Mike -- not too close, just in case he needs a little space, but there. Present.]
[It's a bullshit answer, far less than Will deserves from him, but it's not necessarily untrue. It's the simplest cop-out he can give to this thing, whatever it is. He's having bad dreams, but it's so much more. It's muffled voices from nowhere, sounds he can't track. It's a smudged handprint on the outside of the window, gone when he calls someone over. He's never felt this far out of his own head with anxiety and paranoia.
The soda bottle hisses faintly as he opens it, and he takes a gulp to distract from Will's concern. With the caffeine he likely won't be tired again until dawn, and then he can go make coffee without disturbing anyone else.]
I can find you some earplugs, tomorrow. [Well, later today.]
[Will frowns a little, scooting closer with his blanket around his shoulders. Even though it's still summer, the heat heavy and sticky in the air, he still seeks out warmth, still wants to reassure himself that he is himself, that being warm and comfortable is what he wants. Not the cold. Not ever again.
The hair on the back of his neck is prickling, but Will ignores it, resting his chin on Mike's bony shoulder and looking up at him intently, unflinching.] I don't want earplugs.
[Will is - has always been the gentlest person Mike knows, but that doesn't soften the determination in his eyes, even just a few blinks out of sleep. Their noses bump when Mike tries to look back, but it doesn't feel comforting, or romantic. It feels vulnerable. It feels like the thing in the back of his mind, this haunting unease, doesn't want to be seen. It doesn't want to be close to Will.
He doesn't pull back, but he stays stiff and edgy under Will's chin.]
I think I'm going crazy for real this time.
[There were passages in books, back when he was looking in the library for information on depression. Passages about hearing things, or seeing things, or being paranoid.]
[Will makes a quiet "hmm" sound, low in his throat, shifting so his cheek is pillowed on Mike's shoulder instead, so he isn't staring at him quite so intently. He stays there, though, expectantly, looking down at Mike's hands fluttering and fidgeting on the soda.]
You do? [It's a prompting thing, gentle, patient. He doesn't immediately deny it or try to argue, because if Mike's saying it, he must believe it a lot.]
[It's different than last time, when it turned out it was just El watching him. He never felt anyone breathing down his neck, then. He always had the same dreams, of that night in the school, over and over again, instead of this endless loop of every awful thing that has or hasn't happened to him or his friends.
Hesitantly, he lowers his head to rest against Will's a little. His eyes keep chasing around the room, looking for something he's yet to catch a glimpse of, outside of brief, darting shadows.]
It's like I'm being watched, all the time. Like something's right over my shoulder.
[That sounds -- well. It sounds familiar. It sounds paranoid and illogical and just like Will for the entire past year. There's a crawling fear in his gut for a moment, and he almost pulls back so he can look into Mike's eyes and see if there's curling, twisting tunnels of smoke and ash there.
But he doesn't. The Mind Flayer left with Billy. All that's left is the old wounds inside Will himself, the gouges left behind when the monster was wrenched out of him. That's all. So it must be a Deerington thing.
So he settles back against Mike, reaches out to touch the back of his hand, feeling the twitchy, frenetic anxiety.] What kind of something?
[Fortunate or not, Mike hasn't thought to liken it to the Mind Flayer. He knows what the touch of psychic energy feels like, another consciousness tapping into his, but this isn't like that. This is like... like being hunted. Like watching a scary movie, and feeling the Wolfman right behind you as you climb the stairs. It's not what he thinks it would feel like, if something was trying to get into his head.
One shoulder prods against Will in a semblance of a shrug.]
I don't know. [And he really doesn't. He has no idea what it is, or if it even exists. And as someone with a deep emotional investment in the Scientific Method, part of him needs to before he'll admit that it's not just his own mind shitting itself.] I don't have any proof, it's just- ... I think I hear someone talking, sometimes. Like, whispering.
Oh. [Whispering is -- different. The Mind Flayer didn't whisper, it howled. It broke it's way through any defenses Will had tried to put up without caring about what damage it left. This sounds like something...smarter. More subtler.
That's almost scarier.
So Will tucks himself a little closer, like his presence will somehow drive away whatever this whispering thing is.] You don't...have to have proof. I believe you. [Of course he does.] And I don't think you're...y'know. Going crazy. It's the town doing something. It's not you.
[Mike wants to believe it, so he tries. He pictures all the other shit Deerington's done to his mind and to his body - stolen memories, false memories, those six weeks of being a ghost - and tries to absolve himself, to picture this as just another violation.
A shadow passes along the bottom of the door. He doesn't even bother to ask Will if he can see it.]
Would you tell me if you did?
[It's not serious, or at least not entirely. He even gives the faintest edge of a smile.]
[Will catches the smile, returns it with a faint one of his own and lets his hand walk over to touch the back of Mike's, lightly, knuckles to knuckles.] If you were, I'd be too, remember?
[Crazy together, that's the promise. Then and now and always.] So I probably wouldn't know.
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sforzinda
action because 𝔦𝔱'𝔰 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔥𝔬𝔯𝔯𝔬𝔯
Date: 2020-09-05 05:14 am (UTC)It's been like this for a week, now. Goosebumps on his arms, even in broad daylight. Nightmares that leave him almost in tears. He'd slept on the couch once, trying not to steal another full night's sleep from Will, but that night had ended up worse than ever.
The second he hears a stir from the other side of the bed, he mutters out, ] Sorry. Go back to sleep.
i'm so fcking stoked
Date: 2020-09-05 11:22 pm (UTC)Grumbling softly, Will rubs at his eyes with one hand, hair sticking out everywhere in some truly magnificent bedhead. Then he shuffles over to the side of the bed, half-rolling off himself, dragging another blanket along with him.] Mmmf. Dumb.
[Translation is probably something closer to you're clearly not doing okay so of course I'm not gonna go back to sleep, you absolute wonderful dumbass, but it's three-something AM, and Will's articulation isn't great. He scoots his way over to the wall as well, wrapping up in the blanket and settling next to Mike -- not too close, just in case he needs a little space, but there. Present.]
Bad dream?
no subject
Date: 2020-09-06 04:16 am (UTC)[It's a bullshit answer, far less than Will deserves from him, but it's not necessarily untrue. It's the simplest cop-out he can give to this thing, whatever it is. He's having bad dreams, but it's so much more. It's muffled voices from nowhere, sounds he can't track. It's a smudged handprint on the outside of the window, gone when he calls someone over. He's never felt this far out of his own head with anxiety and paranoia.
The soda bottle hisses faintly as he opens it, and he takes a gulp to distract from Will's concern. With the caffeine he likely won't be tired again until dawn, and then he can go make coffee without disturbing anyone else.]
I can find you some earplugs, tomorrow. [Well, later today.]
no subject
Date: 2020-09-10 04:27 pm (UTC)The hair on the back of his neck is prickling, but Will ignores it, resting his chin on Mike's bony shoulder and looking up at him intently, unflinching.] I don't want earplugs.
[I want you to talk to me.]
no subject
Date: 2020-09-10 07:25 pm (UTC)He doesn't pull back, but he stays stiff and edgy under Will's chin.]
I think I'm going crazy for real this time.
[There were passages in books, back when he was looking in the library for information on depression. Passages about hearing things, or seeing things, or being paranoid.]
no subject
Date: 2020-09-10 11:52 pm (UTC)You do? [It's a prompting thing, gentle, patient. He doesn't immediately deny it or try to argue, because if Mike's saying it, he must believe it a lot.]
no subject
Date: 2020-09-11 01:25 am (UTC)[It's different than last time, when it turned out it was just El watching him. He never felt anyone breathing down his neck, then. He always had the same dreams, of that night in the school, over and over again, instead of this endless loop of every awful thing that has or hasn't happened to him or his friends.
Hesitantly, he lowers his head to rest against Will's a little. His eyes keep chasing around the room, looking for something he's yet to catch a glimpse of, outside of brief, darting shadows.]
It's like I'm being watched, all the time. Like something's right over my shoulder.
no subject
Date: 2020-09-11 02:52 am (UTC)But he doesn't. The Mind Flayer left with Billy. All that's left is the old wounds inside Will himself, the gouges left behind when the monster was wrenched out of him. That's all. So it must be a Deerington thing.
So he settles back against Mike, reaches out to touch the back of his hand, feeling the twitchy, frenetic anxiety.] What kind of something?
no subject
Date: 2020-09-11 04:20 am (UTC)One shoulder prods against Will in a semblance of a shrug.]
I don't know. [And he really doesn't. He has no idea what it is, or if it even exists. And as someone with a deep emotional investment in the Scientific Method, part of him needs to before he'll admit that it's not just his own mind shitting itself.] I don't have any proof, it's just- ... I think I hear someone talking, sometimes. Like, whispering.
no subject
Date: 2020-09-15 10:58 pm (UTC)That's almost scarier.
So Will tucks himself a little closer, like his presence will somehow drive away whatever this whispering thing is.] You don't...have to have proof. I believe you. [Of course he does.] And I don't think you're...y'know. Going crazy. It's the town doing something. It's not you.
no subject
Date: 2020-09-16 09:06 pm (UTC)A shadow passes along the bottom of the door. He doesn't even bother to ask Will if he can see it.]
Would you tell me if you did?
[It's not serious, or at least not entirely. He even gives the faintest edge of a smile.]
no subject
Date: 2020-09-17 09:42 pm (UTC)[Crazy together, that's the promise. Then and now and always.] So I probably wouldn't know.
no subject
Date: 2020-09-18 12:19 am (UTC)Maybe we're hallucinating each other.
[That... makes no sense, but he's barely slept in like a week. Cut him some slack.]