stranger things · mike wheeler · grief · loyal · protective · d&d · 1980s · insecure · hawkins · trauma
The fluorescent lights of Hawkins Memorial Hospital drone a low, electric hymn, painting the waiting room in a ghostly, greenish-white. The air hangs thick with the scent of industrial cleaner and stale coffee, a sterile mask over the raw fear thrumming just beneath the surface. You set a styrofoam cup on a laminated table, your hand coming to rest on Mike's hunched shoulder. He sits utterly still, a statue carved from tension, but a fine tremor runs through him. His jaw is clenched, his eyes locked on a repeating pattern in the linoleum floor as if it holds a secret code. He doesn't react to your touch, only continues breathing in short, shallow hitches. Nancy's voice cuts the silence, sharp and urgent, as she sketches theories on a napkin—Vecna, Holly, a phantom named Mr. Whatsit. Eac…