Chapter Text
Feeling much cleaner, but also realizing she should have been taking better care of herself for the past few hours, Vickie got out of the shower and joined the others for lunch. Robin made peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches for the kids, who sat lined up on one side of the table slowly chewing them. Everyone except Mike, of course, who Vickie had not seen since overhearing him in the bathroom.
Taking a place next to her to make food for themselves, Vickie was reminded of her volunteer time with Robin after the earthquake. The setting was almost exactly the same, except this time Vickie knew the weight of the impact. It wasn't like she was unaffected throughout the other Hawkins tragedies– Vickie had empathy for those injured in the earthquakes, she even knew Chrissy Cunningham, and found her to be very sweet– but it felt different to be “in on it”. Tragedies hurt her harder knowing how corrupted their causes were.
“Think fast.” Steve turned the corner and Robin tossed a sandwich at him.
Steve caught the sandwich but not without getting some of the artificially-colored grape jelly on his white shirt.
“Ugh, Rob, gross,” he muttered as he took a bite of the sloppy sandwich. Its contents were spilling out the side and down his hand.
“Almost as bad as my double-peanut-butter monstrosity,” Vickie joked, taking a bite of her sandwich she just finished making.
The second it touched her tongue it felt wrong. The bread was too soft, the jelly was too sweet. The sad sandwich bite was too large, and the texture was all wrong. Vickie tried to swallow it, but it was like she did not have enough saliva. The peanut butter stuck to her throat, and the whole bite felt like sandpaper as the lump dragged down her esophagus.
Slowly, Vickie set the rest of the sandwich on the paper towel in front of her.
“Woah, you good? All the color just,” Steve makes a whoosh noise and wipes his hand over his face.
“Huh?” Vickie snaps her focus back to the speaker. “Yeah, yeah I'm fine,” she pulls her lips into a small smile to reassure Steve that she was okay.
If she ate another bite of the sandwich, it would probably just have the same effect as the previous bite, so Vickie left the sandwich at the table. She started off for the basement.
“Where are you going?” Robin questioned.
“Just to get set up. It would probably also be a good idea to tell Mrs. Wheeler about my change in plans, and probably my parents as well.”
Easily escaping further questioning, Vickie began to set up a small sleeping area for herself. Luckily, extra blankets were already piled in the basement. Vickie dug out a ratty blanket that didn't seem important. She folded it next to Robin's set-up to pad the flooring, then pulled out a second blanket to lay on top of it. When the “bed” was made, it still just looked like a pile of blankets, but hopefully sleeping on it wouldn't be too miserable. With the amount of people in the house, that was probably the best she was going to get. She was almost crammed under a desk.
Speaking of, the desk was a disaster. Crumpled papers and empty soda cans littered the surface. It was undoubtedly Mike's stuff.
Only having to shift her mental to-do list slightly, Vickie began to pick up the mess. Surely with all the chaos regular chores had become irrelevant, and although Vickie was bothered by the amount of fits Mike already had in just a few days, she knew he was struggling and did not blame him, she just wished her attempts at helping had found a little more success. Most of the papers were schoolwork, answers scribbled over the worksheets, grades circled at the top in red pen. Many of the papers were not even from the current school year, and the grades on each paper seemed to slip lower and lower. Vickie stacked the crumpled papers into a neat pile, then set it off to the side.
Next, she picked up the food wrappers and other trash. She swept a can of cherry Coke into a wastebin, in the process, knocking a crumpled ball of paper in too. In case it was important, Vickie retrieved it from the trash and unfolded it to check.
Dear ZoomerMadMax Max,
The letter extended about halfway down the page, but half of the writing was just words crossed out and rewritten. Maybe Vickie should not have read it, it was Mike's personal letter and was not addressed to her. She started to fold it back up, but the next line made her freeze.
If you're reading this, you aren't dead. I probably am.
Her breath caught. Without asking for her permission, Vickie's eyes trailed down the page. Before she could process much more of the writing, there was a bump from behind that shocked her heartbeat into beating again like a defibrillator.
Hastily, she tucked the note into her pants’ pocket and spun around.
“Hi, hello, uh, I was just,” Dustin stuttered awkwardly. He cleared his throat. “Where is Max?”
“She didn't come in with Lucas? I thought she was having lunch with you.” Vickie frowned. Now that she thought about it, Max was not in the kitchen either.
Dustin shook his head.
“Mike wasn’t there either,” Vickie recalled aloud. She was not sure what she was suggesting, but Dustin took it, thanked her briefly, and left.
The whole time Vickie had been around Dustin, he had been on some sort of mission. Maybe that was him coping. He had seemed upset before losing El too, certainly different from the kid she met at high school orientation a few years ago, but continued to put on a thoughtful and determined front. Even after the fight he had his mind set on something.
Left alone in the basement again, Vickie wrapped up her cleaning spree. This time, she did not take any time to make observations, no matter how much her thoughts were itching to look through more of the papers.
For the rest of the afternoon, Vickie rotated between Mrs. Wheeler and Max. Mrs. Wheeler never got more comfortable throughout the day, and Max almost got worse. Neither claimed to be in severe physical pain, but instead gave Vickie an earful about how sick they are of being still all day. Lucas stayed glued to Max, who got irritated whenever he would perform one of her requests poorly, then immediately felt bad. By nightfall, she was sitting in the living room watching a cartoon with Holly, who had also been hovering around her all day. No one was really talking much, and they were no exception.
“This is stupid,” Max complained as Dustin sat next to her.
Instinctively, Vickie's eyes flicked up to watch her in case she needed anything.
“We are all just waiting around for a phone call, doing nothing and pretending everything is normal.”
“What else are we supposed to do?” Mike's pen stopped scratching the notebook in his lap.
“Could we at least do something meaningful to pass the time?” Max whined, “Like, I don't know, figure out long term where we are actually going to go with our lives.”
“I'm not going anywhere,” Mike huffed, returning back to writing.
Max rolled her eyes. “What about you, where do you want to go to college, Dustin?”
The conversation died quickly so Vickie started to tune them out again. Robin settled next to her, pressing her shoulder against Vickie's arm. Considering the amount of space still in the room, Vickie shuffled over a little bit so no one would think it was weird.
“Steve just left,” Robin immediately jumped into updating Vickie about her day. “Did you call your parents or not?”
Nope. She was so forgetful and completely forgot she said she was going to do that. As if to read her mind, the telephone rang.
“I can get it,” Dustin said, leaping up from the floor.
Everyone leaned in, suddenly very fixated on one thought: Did the Runaway Party make it safely out of Hawkins?
Dustin lifted the phone to his ear, breathing out quickly “Hello? Who is this?”
His face seemed to glow, only for a second, before transforming into confusion, deflating, and then concern.
“Is something wrong?” Holly asked. As she observed Dustin's reaction, concern flickered over her eyes.
“This is Dustin Henderson. An adult can't answer the phone right now.” He ignored Holly. “I can put his son on the phone though? Or…daughter, if you want, but she's only nine…”
“Give me the phone,” Mike demanded, standing from the couch. “Tell me what is going on,” he spit into the transmitter.
Dustin was still hovering by the phone, so he attempted to pry the phone out of Mike’s hands, informing the person on the other end, “Karen Wheeler has orders to stay in bed, she can't come to the phone.”
Before Dustin could fully get the words out Mike ripped the phone back, demanding again to be told what was happening. When both boys went silent, the other person must have finally given in and explained.
“Who was that?” Max asked tentatively after Mike slammed the phone back on the wall.
“The hospital,” Mike answered gruffly.
At the same time, Dustin said, “His dad was transferred to another hospital for surgery. The first was unsuccessful.”
“I can tell Mom,” Holly offered.
Mike settled back on the couch, Holly took that as a sign to go.
“This is a really fun sleepover party,” Erica said, words dripping in sarcasm.
No one responded.
“I think it's time for the sleeping part.”
Vickie didn't want to keep hanging out in the dreary environment anyway. She was relieved when Erica stood to get ready for bed because she did not want to be perceived as the first one to flee in a tense situation.
The group drifted out of the living room, most of them went into the basement where their sleeping bags and blankets were set up. With her legs crossed under her and her hands folded in her lap, Vickie settled on her borrowed blanket. She did not bring pajamas or any toiletries, so while Erica and Lucas were getting ready upstairs and Robin was changing in the bathroom, only Max, whose vision was impaired, remained.
Remembering the note she found earlier, she pulled it out and started to smooth the surface. While she did this, she was also watching out for people who could come out at any moment.
She was not supposed to read it. The writing clearly was never meant for her eyes, but with all the talk of people mysteriously dying, Mike was potentially in danger.
Dear ZoomerMadMax Max,
If you're reading this, you aren't dead. I probably am. That was a great way to open a letter. Lucas gave me your letter when I got home from California. He said El got you back, but just in case, I still should be able to read your last message to me if you didn't wake up. Well guess what? I read it anyway. I'm sorry. You seem to be the only person who will understand. I need to write back to you to try and explain, because you were close to El too, you will understand. The only difference is that you never hurt her.
The truth is, she talked to me just before she died left, and wanted me to explain. She told me the government would never stop their experiments, that they would never let her live. As long as she was alive they would continue their programs. I'm sure you saw her at the gate…when she…I don't think she did it. She couldn't have. She told me to explain to you guys and help understand why she decided to do that, but I don't understand. There has always been a lot I don't understand.
Maybe someday I'll find her in a place with three waterfalls like I promised. But is that even what I want? I don't think it's what she wants. Even if she somehow got away she's probably miserable and lonely. Or maybe she will move on, because that's what people do. They move on and will leave me behind. I deserve it, it's not like I treated others any better. It doesn't matter that much. Nothing matters that much. I don't even think I want to be here anymore. If there is anything left worth living I probably fucked it up already. If I haven't, I'm sure I will. All I know I need to do still is make sure the bastards that did this can't touch anyone ever again.
This letter is so dumb. I bet you couldn't even read half of what I just said. Fuck this, I'm starting over.
By the time she finished Vickie's hands were shaking. She hoped reading the paper would clarify that everything was okay, but the idea it enforced was quite the opposite. Her eyes remained glued to the final sentence as if more would magically appear and tell her what to do.
Teenagers were always weird, they made things dramatic when drama was uncalled for. It would not be unusual for a kid to complain to their best friend over a math test and groan about how they hated their life, but the paper was not about a math test or strict parents.
When Robin, Lucas and Erica were settled in their make-shift beds, Dustin switched out the light. He closed off the basement on his way to the upstairs couch, leaving them to try and sleep. Max was settled on the rumpled couch with Lucas laying on a mattress under her. Erica was meant to share the mattress with him, but she quickly dozed off with half her body dangling off the edge. She had a stuffed dog rolled under her arm. It made her look gentle in a way she never outwardly displayed to the group in the daytime. Holly and Erica and probably all the other kids involved with Vecna had a fierce front to try and fit with the older kids, it was a way for them to protect themselves, but Vickie felt helpless because she couldn't get through their masks enough to help them. No one was going to hurt or judge them anymore, there was no reason for them to pretend to be strong as steel.
Vickie tried to sleep, pulling the blanket over her shoulders and closing her eyes. It was no use, her eyelids sprung open again, staring up at the dark ceiling. Mike's writing wouldn't leave her mind.
If Mike's situation was as serious as he made it sound, Vickie probably should have reported it to someone, but who? There was nothing his parents could do, especially in their weakened states, and it wouldn't be appropriate to put that pressure on anyone younger than her. In addition, she did not want to interfere with his friendships, who knew how they would react? Not everyone would show support for a friend struggling to keep a will to live. And there was still a possibility that Vickie was misunderstanding the letter, and she didn't want her fear to mess with Mike's reputation.
Before falling asleep, she made a promise to herself to keep an eye out for Mike. That's all she had to do. Watch out for warning signs of escalation and make sure he doesn't hurt himself or anyone else.
Vickie would not forget her mission like the hundreds of other tasks she had forgotten. She couldn't. It was a promise.