Chapter Text
NOVEMBER 6TH, 1983
HAWKINS, INDIANA
Trembling breaths leave their lips in bouts of grey mist. They’ve charged into the cave, weapons at the ready, but have been forced to hide after finding themselves greatly outnumbered. They’re lost in the hundreds of tunnels sprouting from every direction, and their legs ache as they run around, trying to retrace their trail.
Huddling and hiding, they crouch to the floor, leaning against the jagged rocky walls that make their palms itch like touching rough stubble. All they can do is wait until a moment presents itself for them to flee, but as their hearts thrash in their ribcages, time feels almost frozen. The only sign the world is still spinning is the faint, rhythmic drip of age-old cave water and the rain-like pitter-patter of footsteps. It fills the suffocating silence, along with their ragged breaths, like an ominous tavern song, as sweat forms on their temples at the cave's temperature.
Their metal armour and violet purple cloaks cling uncomfortably to their skin as it becomes slick with the damp air; footsteps grow nearer, heavier and louder than anything they’ve heard in the cave before. They hold their breaths, swords and staffs at the ready.
“The Demogorgon…” Dustin whispers as Will begins to attempt a protection spell, “Shit, it’s a Demogorgon!”
The beast bursts into their tunnel. It’s a thin creature, lanky and uncanny, but it stands tall and undefeated. It has a head like a closed flower and scars that have aged across its entire body like trophies planted in its waxy, tough and grey skin, but regardless, they’re determined to kill it or die trying. Trapped, they have no choice but to fight their way out.
As its head opens up like a blossoming rose, exposing a gaping mouth and thousands of razor-sharp teeth, Mike holds his sword determinedly in his leather-gloved hand. He’s in front of Lucas and Dustin. Lucas has his bow raised, and behind them, Will is firing protection spells, speaking in an ancient tongue, but Mike knows it won't be enough. Their cleric is exhausted and holds too little mana left for his magic to be of much help.
The Demogorgon roars, and bloodied spit spews from its mouth as it flexes its claws. They’re curved like raptor talons, knees bending, ready to pounce.
It flies at them, aiming for Mike as he draws his sword back, lifting his shield and pushing the others away, “RUN!” He shouts, “I’ll hold it off-”
“Michael!”
The four boys jump as Karen’s voice barrels down the basement steps, interrupting their game just as Mike throws a roll determining his fate. Heat pulses in the underground room. They haven’t left it for hours, and it's boiling. The mini figurines on their board stand still as they’ll have to until tomorrow, as Karen declares it’s time to pack them away for the night and stop their music.
“Mom!” Mike groans, but he knows she’ll inevitably have none of it, and an argument will ensue with his belongings being sold, so they carefully place everything back down to keep it safe for tomorrow.
“The campaign didn’t have long left either,” Dustin whines as Will sheds his purple wizard costume and Mike stretches his limbs. “Your mom hates fun.”
Mike giggles as his friends put on their coats and bags, presses stop on the radio, and follows them upstairs as they discuss their campaign.
“I think we should start from when we started hiding tomorrow,” Will says. “You shouldn’t have sacrificed yourself.”
Lucas shrugs, “Hey, we don’t know what he rolled. He might win.”
“Against the Demogorgon?!” Dustin scoffs as they reach the outside. They’ve been playing for hours, and now pitch blackness has settled itself around them like a thick fog, only penetrated by the bright spotlight above Mike’s garage. “Bullshit. He’s so dead. We’ll reset that last part tomorrow.”
Mike grins, shaking his head and hugging Lucas goodbye before he bikes away, “Fine, we’ll reset.” He complies, hugs Dustin, and Will.
Dustin’s hug is brief, but Will’s lasts a little longer. The Byers boy isn’t shy about affection. Fingers curl into Mike’s sweater, dragging him close and holding him tight as if there shouldn’t be any space between them at all.
When Will lets go, the warmth that had been building in Mike’s chest cools until he feels colder than he did before. His cheeks simmer, and flutters tickle his tummy. Will's touches always feel different. Likely, because he is Mike's primary source of affection, Mike thinks.
Mike shuffles back, twiddling his thumbs as Will’s bike chimes. “Cya tomorrow!”
“Sleep well, Mike!” Will waves goodbye. Mike waits against going inside, standing with upturned lips as he watches the light on Will’s bike get smaller and smaller until it disappears into the trees, twinkling between the gaps like a star.
He waits until Will is entirely out of sight to look away, taking an almost mournful breath when he is. He finally steps to go back inside, but in the next moment, he is abruptly plunged into darkness, and it catches him off guard enough to freeze. Has there been a power cut?
The autumn night’s frost plants itself in his bones, and he shivers as a chill shackles around him like the vines around a house. “M-Mom?” Mike stutters, struggling to see in the dark, “Nanc-”
The light switches on again, flickering, but illuminating the small space around him and seeping slightly into his driveway. Mike breaths in relief. He’s never been particularly scared of the dark, but he won’t call himself a fan of it either.
Mike takes a final look around. Caressed by the night’s breeze, the leaves on the trees rustle, and the silhouettes of branches sway as if waving at him. Nothing is out of place, and so he turns and tries to go back inside. The steel door handle to his garage is like an icicle under his palm, but when he twists it, it refuses to move.
Mike frowns, tugging at the handle, “Hey!” He yells, raising his fist to knock on the door, “Who locked the door?! This isn’t funny, Nancy!”
Mike stomps his foot in outrage, his steps loud and huffy as he marches his way around the house and to his front door. As he walks, he plots various courses of revenge. Totally raiding her piggy bank, or maybe tell Mom about Steve- no, that’s too far-
Somewhere in the darkness, a fallen branch snaps, and Mike jumps, whirling around at the loud noise. His curls bounce on his head with the movement, and he brings his arms to hug himself as he looks into the darkness.
Mike squints. Maybe someone is walking their dog, and they've stepped on a branch, or perhaps it's a fox, or a stray cat, or even a little hedgehog, but something is definitely out there with him.
He trembles just a little as the cold encases his small body. The nights are becoming colder and colder as autumn bleeds into winter; they’re due for a snowy night any day now, and Mike’s blue sweater isn’t enough to keep him warm. His toes tingle, and his fingers feel rusty the longer he’s outside.
Hugging himself tighter, Mike’s steps become quicker until he’s running to his front door. He’s so close when he sees it.
There's certainly something in the darkness, and it isn't a small animal or a dog walker. It’s tall and thin, it triples Mike’s height, and its breaths create a cloud around its narrow head. Its arms are so long they reach its knees, and its fingers are sharp and curved. Its shoulders heave with its breath, and Mike can feel it leering at him—an uncanny, twisted shape of a human.
Mike is frozen in fear; this is no human, and it isn’t until it takes a step, creating a hefty noise, that Mike snaps out of it and runs, spinning and running into the darkness of his back garden rather than running to the front door. The front is nearer, but it would require getting closer to the menacing figure at the end of his driveway, and so he rounds his large house.
The wet grass squelches beneath his feet, soaking his socks and the ends of his pyjama trousers as he bursts through the back door and slams it behind him. Locking it with shaking fingers.
Maybe his mind is playing tricks on him. He’s been playing a game about monsters all day, and he’s tired. He tries to be rational as he peers out into his garden. Under the moonlight, the dew on the grass lights up like little pearls, and aside from the rustling of disturbed bushes and leaves and the whistling sound of the breeze, it’s quiet.
Mike takes a breath, fogging up the window as his shoulders sag in relief. He must be imagining it, but regardless, he’ll definitely struggle to sleep tonight. Maybe Nancy will let him sleep with her like they used to. Back when their father actually bothered acknowledging them, and the nights were spent listening to their parents’ screaming matches.
He and Nancy would get a tub of ice cream and put on a movie. She’d brush her fingers through his hair as they lay in her bed, his head on her shoulder, and the loud noises like gunshots and explosions would always make him jump. That is, if Nancy didn’t force him to watch some romance. Their parents hated the volume they had the TV at, but Nancy would yell back about how loud they were, and it would create another argument.
He shakes his head and steps back, wiping away the condensation his breath had created on the window before he leaves a mark, and his mom yells at him. It dampens his sleeve, and he cringes as he pulls away, but the condensation remains as if it has seeped through to the other side of the window.
Mike frowns, trying to wipe it away again, but it's not on his side of the glass, “What the…”
The grey condensation shifts, and a petrified cry tears itself from Mike’s throat as the grey shifts and opens like a blooming flower, revealing a blurry image of sharp teeth.
He hasn’t been imagining it.
Mike stumbles back, almost falling over as he runs through his house. He flees to his basement, locking the door behind him and nearly tumbles down the stairs. Whatever it is evokes fear in him like nothing he’s ever felt before. It’s almost paralysing, it rids him of anything that isn’t terror, and his mind screams at him to run. Just run and hide.
But Mike has never been good at hiding; that has always been Will’s talent.
He dives beneath the table with the game board on it, cloaked by the cloth draped over it. Icy fear flushes through his body as he curls up with his arms around his knees, tears filling his eyes as he tries so desperately to quieten his whimpers.
He sits tucked into himself, trying to convince himself he’d been imagining it, but he can't be rational this time. Not when he’d stared a monster in the face.
Mike wants to scream for his mother, or Nancy, or even his dad. He wants someone to run down the stairs and take him into their arms. He’s never felt fear like this, not for a very long time.
This feels like something even Nancy can't protect him from, and so he keeps his mouth shut and tries, failing to muffle his whimpers as the clicking sound of a door unlocking fills the silence.
Go away, go away! Please, go away! Please, please, please.
The door opens with a creak, and Mike squeezes his eyes shut, tears rolling down his cheeks as the steps shake on his stairs. Thud thud thud, they go until claw-like feet scrape onto his stony floor.
Mike holds his breath, choking down his cries as a rotting-like stench grows closer. Beneath the cloth, the shadow gets nearer, matching perfectly with the silhouette he’d seen outside. He fights with everything he has not to scream.
For a moment, there’s silence, and then a long, claw-like finger hooks beneath the cloth, and a gravelly growl shakes the tablecloth like a breeze sweeping through the room.
Mike sobs and leaps from beneath the table, crawling out of the opposite side. He’s almost standing when the same claw grasps his ankle.
The large monster pounces on him, taking him to the floor.
He doesn’t get the chance to scream.
***
Nancy twirls her hair as Barb’s voice crackles through the phone. She’s been rambling relentlessly about her, ‘not-boyfriend boyfriend,’ and Barb is officially sick of her.
“I need to find a top Steve will like!” Nancy whines as her friend laughs at her, which. Rude. Barb says Steve not liking her outfit won’t be the end of the world, but it’s close enough.
“Nance, you’re being ridiculous.” Barb chuckles, “What happened to my normal friend?”
Nancy squawks, “Normal? I am normal! I haven’t changed!” She retorts, brows furrowed in outrage, but a smile tugs at the corner of his lips.
“You so have!” Barb insists, “This time last year, your biggest problem was Mike not having enough time for you and your mom straightening his hair, and now it’s Steve the Hair Harrington, you’ve changed!”
Nancy rolls her eyes, “Okay, first of all, Mike used to be a cute kid who did everything I said, and Mom straightening his hair is a tragedy.” She huffs, “He looks like a mushroom. Of course, my priorities changed—and secondly, Steve is a big deal! He’s… nice!”
Whatever Barb says next is drowned out by a door slamming downstairs. Nancy jumps at the loud bang as it ricochets through the house, trembling the walls, “Mike!” She yells, hearing his light, rain-like footsteps pitter-patter through the house.
Mike doesn’t reply, and another door, his basement door, slams next. Nancy sighs, “Seriously Barb I miss my baby brother. Mike used to follow us around like a little duckling! Now he’s got a ton of friends, and he’s not cute anymore.”
“He’s still cute. But I’m sure if you approached him first, he’d still want to hang out with you. You should do that and give Steve Harrington a rest. Give me a break from hearing about him.”
Nancy grins mischievously, “Absolutely not. Do you think I should get a new bra?”
“Nancy!”