Chapter Text
Mike’s waiting. “El. El, do you copy? Over.”
More waiting. It’s all he ever does. He’s waited for eleven goddamn months. Nothing.
Frustrated, he slumps back against the pillows of El’s old fort. He hasn’t had the heart to take it down—and he knows that’s ridiculous, it’s been almost a year— but he can’t let it go. Can’t shake the feeling that she’s out there, somewhere.
He never saw a body.
And even if he did—well, after last November, it would take more than that to convince him. Sometimes seeing isn’t believing.
He shifts uncomfortably. He misses his old blanket. The blue and yellow one. It was his favorite. Really warm. Toasty. Nancy probably stole it. So far, she hasn’t fessed up.
But this thin, lame white sheet will have to do. Shit, it’s freezing. Mike hates fall.
“Mike, do you copy? Mike, do you copy?”
What the fuck is Dustin doing, calling him right now? Lucas, maybe. Will, for sure. But Dustin never bothers.
He presses the comm. “Yeah, I copy. Over.”
There’s a pause, leaden with staticy suspicion. “What the hell are you doing on this channel?”
“Nothing.” Mike swallows. “Over.”
“Well, Lucas and I have six bucks total. What’s your haul?”
Would it kill him to say over? Just once?
But—aw, nuts. The arcade. That was tonight? “Shit,” Mike blurts. “Shit, I dunno yet. Um, over.”
“What do you mean you don’t know yet?”
“Hold on!” Mike insists, clambering to his feet. “Call Will. Over and out.”
He slams the antennae down, then brainstorms. Will’s probably prepared. He’s probably up to his ears in quarters. Where can he—
Nancy. She has to have something. She’s, like, an adult. And she’s always shopping.
Mike takes the stairs up two at a time, practically flying to his sister’s room. She’s not there, which is good. She’d kick his ass.
He rummages through her drawers, nearly gagging when he hits on a bunch of lacy bras and underwear. Nope. Gross, gross, gross— aha. Jackpot.
There’s a piggy bank in the third drawer. And it’s heavy.
Mike hauls it over to the bed, taking the stopper out and shaking it violently. Quarters begin to spit out on the girly comforter. A lot of them, too. Nice!
Of course, because he’s Mike Wheeler, and his life sucks, that’s when Nancy opens the bedroom door. “What the hell are you doing?”
Mike’s eyes widen. He freezes, looking from the filched coins to his sister, then back again. Shit. He’s gonna have to make a break for it.
“I’ll pay you back!” he shouts, then gathers the coins in his fists, shoving them messily in his jacket pockets. He shoulders past Nancy, then hops down the stairs as fast as he can manage. “Bye!”
“Mike!”
Footsteps. Oh, god, she’s coming for him. He’s in deep shit.
“Mike, get back here!”
Mike ignores her. He zooms past the kitchen, where Dad, Mom, and Holly are all gathered, in some sort of No-Mike, No-Nancy family meeting. Cool.
“Hey, no running in the house,” Dad calls blandly.
Mom stares after him, bewildered. “What is going on?”
Holly says nothing, because she’s only four, and she doesn’t talk all that much.
Mike makes it to the garage, to his bike, and his spirits lift. He’s done it. He’s made it. If he doesn’t count the fact that Nancy’s hot on his heels, running like her life depends on it. “Mike!”
He grips his handlebars tight, sprinting down the driveway with his bike. Freedom!
A second later, he’s riding into the night, pockets heavy with Nancy’s allowance. A job well done, if Mike says so himself. Which he does.
“Asshole!” Nancy shouts after him.
Mike continues to ignore her. He’s got a date with the Party.
Not a literal date. More like a friend-date. Like a… yeah. Whatever.
They’re going to the arcade. That’s all he meant.
***
Mom honks twice as they pull into the arcade parking lot. From the front door, Dustin lifts his hand in a cheerful greeting, and Will waves back.
He waits for the speech.
“Okay, so I’ll pick you up in two hours. That’s nine o’clock on the dot, okay?”
Will shifts restlessly in his seat, one hand already on the door handle. “Okay.”
Mom pins him to the chair with her gaze. And her hand, which is now on his shoulder, fingers digging in like little clamps. “If anything happens, if you need to come home, just ask to use their phone and call me. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“And don’t—”
“Don’t walk or bike home, I know,” Will finishes impatiently. He has this whole thing memorized. And really, it’s not like he even brought his bike. How, exactly, would he be biking home?
(On the back of Mike’s bike? Holding his waist? Leaning his cheek against his jacket?)
Anyway.
He gently shrugs Mom’s hand off and starts to open the door. So close. He can taste it.
“Okay, but sweetie—”
“Mom, I have to go,” he says firmly.
Her eyes soften. “Have fun.”
“Okay. Love you,” he blurts, then gets out just as she returns the saying.
As soon as he’s in the open night air, he feels less suffocated. More free. He loves Mom, loves her so much, but these past eleven months have been… difficult. To put it mildly. And he gets it! He totally does. But he still feels squished. Embarrassed.
Then he sees Mike, Dustin, and Lucas, and those feelings quickly disappear. In their place is only excitement and anticipation. The arcade is high on the list of things Will loves. Along with the Party members.
(One member in particular.)
Nope. Not thinking about anything. Will’s brain is empty. Just arcade. Games. Fun.
“Hey, Will!”
Heat blooms on his cheeks. “Hi, Mike.”
“How much did you get?” Mike asks curiously, holding the door open for him.
“Like… three dollars?” Will answers, blushing even more. Mike probably has a lot more money than he does.
But instead of laughing, Mike just smiles. “Woah! Nice. I have, like, five, but only ‘cause I stole it from Nancy’s room.”
Will snorts. “You’re gonna be in so much trouble.”
Mike shrugs. “Yeah, whatever.”
He’s so cool.
No. Stop, Will. Stop being weird.
They make their way over to the games, and before long, they’re engrossed in Dragon’s Lair, watching Dustin’s every move.
“To slay the dragon, use the magic sword!” the girl on the screen chirps.
“Oh, Jesus,” Dustin mutters nervously. “I’m in uncharted territory here, guys.”
Will’s eyes track the cartoon shapes and bright colors, and his hand tightens around the edge of the machine. “Down! Down, down,” he urges.
“I’m going!” Dustin shouts back, veering hard on the joystick. Too hard. Too clumsy. He’s not gonna make it.
But the knight dodges, and ducks, and he’s out of the way. Will lets out a whoosh of relief. “Come on, Dustin!” he encourages, the words mixing in with the rest of the Party.
After a few more seconds, their well-meaning cheers turn to all-out babbling, and Dustin waves an annoyed hand. “Shut up, shut up!”
The momentary distraction is all it takes. On screen, the knight is barbecued to a crisp, skin flaking off to reveal his white skeleton underneath.
Dustin’s face falls. “No. No, no, no! I hate this overpriced bullshit,” he exclaims, slamming a fist down on the machine. “Son of a bitch! Piece of shit.”
Lucas smirks, which is how Will knows he’s about to say something stupid. “You’re just not nimble enough. You’ll get there one day.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “But until then, Princess Daphne is still mine.”
In the game, Princess Daphne lets out a high-pitched coo, fluttering her long eyelashes out at them.
Yep. Stupid.
Dustin rolls his shoulders back, obviously choosing to ignore the taunt. “Okay, whatever. I’m still tops on Centipede and Dig Dug.”
“You sure about that?”
They turn to face Keith, the snarky high-schooler that works at the arcade. He’s currently shoving Cheetos into his mouth, fingers covered in cheesy dust. Gross.
“Sure about what?” Dustin asks.
Keith crunches on his Cheeto, a look of smug satisfaction on his pimply face. Slowly, Dustin’s expression turns to horror. “You’re kidding me. No, no, no!”
Together, the boys race over to Dig Dug, eager to check the leaderboard. Sure enough, Dustin’s been bumped down to second place. And whoever beat him won by a lot. As in, over ten-thousand points.
Dustin groans dramatically, slumping against the machine. “Seven-hundred, fifty-one-thousand, and three-hundred points!” Will reads out, unable to keep the awe from his voice. That’s so many. He’s never topped five-hundred thousand.
“That’s impossible,” Mike breathes, sounding impressed.
Maybe Will should practice more. Try and beat his record. Just… because.
Dustin whirls around to confront Keith. “Who is Mad Max?” he demands.
“Better than you,” Keith says bluntly.
“Is it you?” Will guesses.
Keith scoffs at him. “You know I despise Dig Dug.”
Oh. True. Also, his name’s not Max. Unless that’s, like… his middle name.
“Then who is it?” Lucas asks.
“Yeah,” Dustin adds. “Spill it, Keith.”
Keith smirks. “You want information, then… I need something in return.” Slowly, deliberately, he turns to Mike. The rest of them do, too.
There’s a beat of silence before Mike’s expression twists in disgusted realization. “No! Nonono, no way. You’re not getting a date with her.”
“Mike, come on,” Lucas pleads, pressing his hands together in a mock prayer. “Just get him the date.”
“I’m not prostituting my sister!”
Will bites his lip to hide his smile. Mike’s so funny.
Nancy, to Mike’s disappointment (and Will’s, kinda), is still together with Steve Harrington. Despite how sure both of the boys had been that her and Jonathan had something going on. Will is sure of Jonathan’s feelings—he doesn’t hide them well—and Mike insists that Nancy’s not stupid, and she would have to be supid to ignore such a good guy. But, so far, nothing. They’re just really, really… really close friends. Apparently.
Will hasn’t seen any other guy-girl friendships that close. But what does he know? He’s only thirteen. Nancy and Jonathan are practically adults. Maybe they’re just more mature, as much as he hates to admit it. Maybe they can be just friends, and brush off their feelings, without making anything weird. Will admires that about them.
“It’s for a good cause,” Lucas protests.
Dustin waves him off. “No, don’t get him the date. You know what? He’s gonna spread his nasty-ass rash to your whole family.”
Keith glares at them. “Acne isn’t a rash, and it isn’t contagious, you prepubescent wastoid.”
“Oh, I’m a wastoid?”
The guys keep bickering, but Will’s attention is caught by something else. A prickle at the back of his neck. The hairs on his arm standing on edge.
A voice, calling to him. Will. Will Byers.
Crap. Crap, can he not have one night?
He turns around, walking a few steps towards the glass door. There’s thick dust floating outside. Or at least, that’s what it looks like. Maybe he’s just overreacting. Maybe it’s just snow. It’s a little early for snow—not even Halloween yet—but it’s possible.
“Hey,” he says softly, still staring out the door. Then, louder, he calls, “Hey, guys, do you see the—”
He turns around, and they’re gone. Everyone’s gone.
It’s dark. Cold. He’s back. Back there.
Thick, ash-like particles scatter in the air. Writhing vines crawl up the walls and into the arcade machines, which flicker on and off like faulty lightbulbs. The whole room is gray, devoid of any music or life.
And through it all, there’s a voice. One that Will’s come to know almost as well as his own.
Come back, Will. Come home. Join us.
The front door crashes open, slamming against the wall. Will jumps, letting out a little panicked breath, and whips around to face the noise.
Come home. Come home.
As if in a dream, Will walks towards the door. It doesn’t even feel like he’s in control of his legs. It just feels like he’s being pulled. Manipulated. Like a puppet.
It’s even darker outside. And it’s storming. There’s no rain, just dust, but the thunder and lightning is fierce, glowing an unnatural, violent shade of red.
Will watches, rooted to the spot, as the whole sky lights up. He can feel it, coursing through his veins, his blood—the Evil. The devil. A hell-like presence, even if he knows this isn’t hell. It’s the Upside Down.
He’s not sure there’s much of a difference.
The devil is here. And it wants him back. It wants—it wants to—
“Will! Are you okay?”
Mike.
Will spins on his heel, and in the blink of an eye, everything’s fine. The arcade is just the arcade. Mike is there, standing at the door, tender concern in his eyes.
He’s gonna have to tell Mom about this, isn’t he? Man. He really thought this was gonna get better.
Why isn’t it getting better?
Will looks back out at the sky. It’s a normal shade of dark blue, twinkling with stars. The orange arcade sign spins harmlessly on its pole. “Yeah,” he says, once he can force his throat to form words again. “Yeah, I’m just…”
I'm just… hallucinating. Going crazy. Losing it, somehow, even though it’s been almost a year and this is stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Weak.
“I just needed some air.”
Mike draws closer, slinging an arm around his shoulders. Will’s entire back tingles, going warm and fuzzy. Every nerve in his body lights up, bright and as obvious as the neon sign of the arcade.
Stupid.
“Come on,” Mike says softly, leaning in close. “You’re up on Dig Dug. Let’s take that top score back, huh?”
“Yeah, for sure,” Will says, shooting him a smile. He focuses on his breathing. In and out. In and out.
Will is okay. He’s fine. He’s thirteen, and everything is perfectly normal.
He believes that less every time he thinks it. Soon, he won’t believe it at all.
He doesn’t want to know what happens then.
***
The next day, there’s a note in Will’s locker. No, not a note—a newspaper clipping. The newspaper clipping. Oh, and a note. Fantastic.
ZOMBIE BOY.
Will’s school picture is defaced, his eyes X-ed out with red sharpie.
He spares a glance down the hallway, then down the other way. No one looks at him. They never do. Or, if they do, it’s with a cruel curiosity in their eyes. Like he’s some kind of circus act. A sideshow attraction.
A freak.
But he doesn’t see anyone who looks suspicious, or more out of character than usual. Whoever did this, whoever keeps doing this, is either long gone or an insanely good actor. Will doesn’t know which option is worse.
God, you’d think they would move on by now. Find something else to talk about.
But it’s Hawkins, and Will’s ‘death’ and subsequent resurrection is still the most eventful thing to ever happen here. By a long shot.
The bell rings, cutting off his sad thoughts. He takes a second to ground himself, breathing in and out, looking at the drawing of the Party on the inside of his locker door. At their smiling faces. The bright colors.
He crumples the newspaper, shoves it in his locker, and grabs his books. Maybe in class, he can turn his brain off. Focus on school. Maybe he could even try to figure out who ‘Mad Max’ is. That’s about all the Party seems interested in right now. Will should probably chip in with the investigation.
Sure. He’ll turn his brain off. He can do that.
He drifts down the hallway, feeling a little out of it, until he’s in Mr. Clarke’s class, murmuring soft greetings to the boys and slipping in his regular seat. Okay. He’s paying attention. He’s taking notes. He can do this.
Mr. Clarke slams a plastic pinkish-gray model down on the table. “Meet the human brain.”
A little on-the-nose, Mr. Clarke.
The class is silent. Out of the corner of his eye, Will sees Mike smiling. They all love science class. Mr. Clarke’s, like… the best teacher ever. And he runs AV club, which automatically makes him ten times cooler.
“I know, I know,” Mr. Clarke continues, waving his hands. “It doesn’t look like much. A little gross, even. Right? But consider this: there are a hundred billion cells inside this miracle of evolution.”
Woah. That’s wild.
Beside him, Suzie Suthers passes a note back to Maisy Hall. Sometimes Will wonders if they’re friends just because their names rhyme. Maybe he should try and look for a Bill to befriend.
Nah. He’s good with the friends he’s got.
“All working as one! And no, I did not misspeak. I did not stutter. A hundred billion.”
Yeah, Mr. Clarke. Got it the first time. Very neat.
In the back of the class, Brooke Peters’ bubblegum pops. The sound is extremely loud in the quiet classroom.
And then there’s a second, louder sound: the door opening and closing behind two new guests. The first is a girl with a sour expression, like she’s just sucked on a lemon, and flaming red hair. The principal’s behind her.
Mr. Clarke lights up. “Ah! This must be our new student.”
“Indeed it is,” the principal confirms. “All yours.”
Will perks up in his seat. They never get new students. Maybe the arrival of this girl will shift some of the school’s attention off of him. Hopefully.
The girl starts to walk back to the only empty seat in the room, but Mr. Clarke stops her before she can get too far. “Alright, hold up. You don’t get away that easy,” he jokes. He waves a hand at the front of the classroom, at the empty space by his desk. “Come on up, don’t be shy.”
Reluctantly, she pivots on the spot and trudges up front. She looks like she would rather be anywhere else. Like she wants to disappear. Will relates.
“Dustin, drum roll, please.”
Dustin happily obliges, slamming his textbook shut and drumming a revved-up beat on the cover.
“Class. Please welcome, all the way from sunny California, the latest passenger to join us on our curiosity voyage… Maxine!”
Dustin’s drumroll stops with a small, final-sounding tap.
“It’s Max.”
Mr. Clarke blinks. “Sorry?”
Max’s voice takes on a hard edge. “Nobody calls me Maxine. It’s Max.”
Max. Like… like Mad Max? Dig Dug Max?
All the Party members apparently have the same thought at the same time, shooting each other wide-eyed glances. “Mad Max,” Lucas whispers, raising an eyebrow.
“Ah,” Mr. Clarke says, regaining his footing. “Well, welcome aboard, Max.” He waves her off, and she walks back to her seat. The boys turn to watch her as she goes, now intensely interested. Who is this girl?
The sun hits her red hair as she sits. It almost looks like she’s on fire. It suits her.
Will thinks she’s kinda cool. Well, for a girl. It’s not, like, the most interesting thing in the world, but it’s something. A mystery. A distraction.
The Max-talk goes on all the way through the rest of the day. At lunch, it’s still a hot topic of discussion.
She skateboards, too. And she’s good. Maybe she is Mad Max.
The Party watches her from behind the school gate. “There’s no way that’s Mad Max,” Mike says dubiously.
Oh. No, Mike is right. Definitely not her. “Yeah,” Will agrees quickly. “Girls don’t play video games.”
At least, not any he’s seen. It’s not like they can’t, but… most of the time, they don’t seem to be interested. Like, at all. The ones he’s tried to talk to mostly just make faces at him and walk away, snickering behind their hands like he can’t see them. Although, now that he thinks of it, that might have more to do with him being ‘Zombie Boy’ than his love of video games.
“And even if they did, you can’t get seven-hundred and fifty-thousand points on Dig Dug,” Mike continues. “It’s impossible.”
Yeah. Exactly.
“But her name is Max,” Lucas argues.
“So what?”
“So—how many Maxes do you know?”
There’s a short silence as they all think about that.
“I dunno,” Mike mumbles.
“Zero! That’s how many.”
Dustin hums in agreement. “Yeah, and she shows up at school the day after someone with her same name breaks our top score. I mean, you kiddin’ me?”
“Exactly,” Lucas says triumphantly. “So she’s gotta be Mad Max.”
“And plus, she skateboards, so she’s pretty awesome,” Dustin says.
Oh. Oh, Will sees what’s happening. They like her. Like-like. The romantic kind of like.
Well, that’s… good for them. Super.
Mike pulls a disbelieving face. “Awesome? You haven’t even said a single word to her!”
Good point, Mike. See, Mike is always right. Always the voice of reason.
“I don’t have to,” Dustin insists. “I mean, look at her.”
Will looks. And then he does a double-take, because Max is gone. For a second, he thinks he’s having another episode, until he hears Dustin’s voice again. “Shit, I’ve lost the target.”
Will scrunches his nose. Obviously, he doesn’t know much about girls—but he knows you aren’t supposed to call them targets. That’s just weird.
But Will’s trying to be a good friend, and support Dustin’s stalker-y habits, so he whips his head around, looking for Max’s bright red hair. “Oh! There,” he says, pointing to the stairwell. They watch as she gets to the top stair, then drops a crumpled-up paper into the trashcan below.
Hmm. Interesting. A clue, maybe?
Will looks at the others for approval, and by unspoken agreement, they take off running. He’ll admit, he’s having fun. It’s not his ideal way to spend lunch break—he could be drawing, or planning a campaign with Mike—but it’s still something new. Something he can do with his friends.
They stop short at the trashcan, not actually sure if they’re willing to dig in the garbage for this thing. Except Dustin, who dives right in. Will’s not complaining. He can dumpster-dive all he wants. Will’s not the one getting rotten-lunch smell all over his clothes for some girl.
As if the universe read his mind, a group of girls their age pass by, shooting them nasty looks. In this case, the judging is probably justified, because Dustin’s got his whole head and torso in the garbage. Will gives them a little wave, feeling very awkward. Nothing to see here! Move along, please.
“Got it!” Dustin exclaims, holding the ball of paper high in the air. “There we go.”
They all crowd around the note as Dustin unfolds it, anxious to see the result of his hard work.
“Stop spying on me, creeps,” they read aloud, voices mingling into a disappointed mush. Dustin and Lucas practically wilt on the spot.
“Well, shit,” Dustin mutters.
They had been kinda creepy, though. Will thinks Max has a point. He doesn’t like when people stare at him, either. And he has a lot of experience in that area.
“William Byers!”
Aw, man. It’s lab day. He’d almost forgotten. And after last night, it’s gonna be extra bad.
Principal Coleman nods at him as he turns around, an awkward acknowledgment. “Your mother’s here.”
Of course she is. Of course.
Will allows himself to mope for a second. To feel bad for himself. To wish that he could stay at school with his friends.
Then he sucks it up. “Bye, guys,” he calls, stepping towards the principal.
“Bye, Will,” the guys call back, waving him off.
The hallway is tense. Full of gawkers. People who want to catch a glimpse of Zombie Boy. Who want to gossip with their friends, wondering why he gets pulled out of class so much. Wondering if there’s something wrong with him.
Will doesn’t meet anyone’s eye. Instead, he stares at the ground, at his too-big, hand-me-down tennis shoes, at his dirty laces. He tugs his backpack straps tighter on his shoulders.
Mom’s outside, leaning against the car, cigarette in hand. She smokes a lot more now. Jonathan says it’s because of stress. And though he doesn’t say this next part, Will knows it’s because of him. Because of the Anniversary. Because of November, fast-approaching, a jump-scare on their family calendar.
Mom spots him and snaps out of her daze, waving with a forced smile on her face. Will waves back, jogging down the stairs and heading to the car. Principal Coleman opens the door for him, like he’ll get in some sort of tragic door-related incident if he tries to do it by himself.
Will hates this. He hates the attention it puts on him. He hates the way he can’t forget, can’t move on, can’t be normal.
The lab is only one of the reasons, though. And it’s not even the worst one.
***
Mike watches Will crowd into his car, and as with every time, he feels a surge of relief. Will’s okay. Mike can see him, he’s right there, he’s fine.
But he was off today. Reserved. Not laughing at as many jokes, not inserting as many of his opinions. Just kind of… floating. Mike recognizes it, because he’s been there. Because he’s still there, a lot of the time. Even if he tries to cover it up.
Mike’s brain fills with anxiety, little half-formed imaginings of Will getting in a car crash on the way to the lab, of something going wrong with his tests, of the Demogorgon coming back.
No. Don’t think about that. Mike resolves to radio Will as soon as he gets home, though, just to check that everything went well.
(To make sure he’s still alive. Still breathing. Still safe.)
“You guys think he’s okay?” Dustin muses quietly, as they watch Will’s mom drive away.
“He’s always weird when he has to go in,” Lucas dismisses.
“I dunno,” Mike says, eyes trained on the car, disappearing over the horizon. If he squints, he can still see Will in the backseat, tiny and hunched-over. “He was quiet today.”
“He’s always quiet,” Lucas responds.
No, he’s not, Mike thinks. But he doesn’t dignify Lucas with an answer. Anyone who thinks Will is always quiet just isn’t paying attention. And—sure, it’s been different, this last year. Clearly. Will went through a lot, and he has Bad Days, and nightmares, and a shit-load of lingering trauma. He’s not very chatty on Bad Days.
But on regular days, days where he’s feeling like himself, Will isn’t quiet. He cracks jokes and makes little witty one-liners that never fail to make Mike smile. He asks everyone how their day was and what’s on their mind and if they need help with anything. He likes to talk about things, once he’s comfortable: his music, his family, his dog, his art. D&D. He’s not quiet, and Mike almost can’t believe that Lucas would claim he is.
But Lucas doesn’t know Will like he does: front and back, inside and out, eyes closed, upside down. Mike and Will can read each other better than anyone. And Will, as cheesy as it sounds, is Mike’s favorite book.
He’s just on a tough chapter right now. That’s all.
Mike will help him through it. He’ll help him, he’ll be there for him, even if it’s the last thing he ever does. Even if he has to die trying.