Chapter Text
Sunday, November 6, 1983
“It was a 7.”
“Huh?”
“The roll. It was a 7. The Demogorgon, it got me.”
“...”
“Well, see you tomorrow.”
Saturday, March 29, 1986
The thing about Mike Wheeler is that, as much as he tries to do the right thing, he cannot catch a break.
Not that he’s ever been particularly athletic or anything. Time spent during the first half of Freshman Year ditching gym, hiding in the empty art room, can attest to that. His head has always been kind of all over the place, but never more so than when half of his heart absconded in an old, beat-up car/U-Haul truck to sunny California. The art room at school was great for tempering the frequent storms that brewed since then. He didn’t let himself think about why.
The point is, he can’t catch a break. One moment, he stood next to Will, looking down at the decay of his hometown. The next, he watched as El stomped back up the hill with a furious determination, Will closely following behind her. Later in the day, the smell of war-planning hung heavily in the air, with a group consensus to gather all troops the next morning to draw battle lines and go after One as soon as possible, while he was still weak.
In the evening, after everyone had dispersed, El asked to talk. She was staying with Hopper at the cabin while the rest of the Byers would temporarily lounge at the Wheeler’s. Mike had barely gotten a word out of her the entire trip to Hawkins, so he felt justifiably nervous. It couldn’t be that bad, right?
Wrong.
Quicker and simpler than he could have ever imagined, Mike was unceremoniously dumped by his girlfriend. As he biked home, he tried to make sense of what had just happened. He just couldn’t reconcile the details of their conversation. El said something about how she just couldn’t keep it up with everything else going on. Finally, she said that she does need Mike… but as a friend. Which does not explain the painting — at all. When Mike said as much, all he got was a cursory, I’m sorry. The whole conversation didn’t feel right. It wasn’t adding up.
When he got home, he found that most of the house’s residents had retreated to their respective rooms. Mrs. Byers would be staying in the guest bedroom, while Jonathan and Will would stay in the basement. Except Will wasn’t in the basement. He was tensely perched on the couch near the front door, as if he were waiting for Mike.
The thing is, Mike’s never been good at concealing his emotions with Will. If he were any good at it, he could have saved the both of them a great deal of hurt. So, he fell easily into a fervent rant— confused about how he got it wrong, stumped by the prospect of fixing it. Will did what he does best— listening with quiet encouragement, picking the right times to smile, chime in, or just let Mike finish a point, always knowing the right thing to say. It’s only when Mike brought up the painting that a chink in the armor emerges.
A normal person may not have picked up on it, but Mike has been an ardent student on all things Will for quite some time. The slight tension in his shoulders, shift of his eyes, and bite of his lower lip all told Mike that Will was keeping something from him.
Naturally, Mike pushed for Will to open up with his signature brand of stubborn relentlessness. The more he pushed, the cagier Will got, until he froze. Silently, with his back to Mike, he got up, walked out the front door into the Wheeler’s front lawn and stood as though he were waiting. Mike followed him in anxious trepidation, and only when he finally got in front of him did he notice that Will’s eyes were glass-white. “Will!” he exclaimed in desperation, placing his hands on Will’s shoulders.
In blinkless succession, three things occurred. First, as Will’s eyes returned to normal, a dark array of browns, golds, and greens, he softly whispered, “Mike?” Second, a sudden rumbling beckoned the opening of a gate directly below Will’s feet, swallowing him up like he were Murray’s risotto. Finally, with absolutely no forethought whatsoever, Mike jumped through the gate before it could close.
Mike landed hard on the ground of the Upside Down, his ankles weathering the blow. He groaned dramatically, blurrily observing his surroundings. The closest physical interaction Mike had with the Upside Down prior to this was the tunnels in 1984, and that was nowhere near as decrepit as this.
There was no color in sight, everything painted somewhere along the spectrum of a mildewy, vomit green to a foreboding, dark gray. It was straight out of every horror story Mike had heard; an artist’s nightmare.
Mike suddenly remembered he wasn’t alone, ripped away from taking in the environment by the sounds of Will’s hyperventilation. Alarm bells quickly rang in his head.
Will sat on the lifeless lawn, his knees pulled to his chest, his head buried between them. His back heaved with the heavy breaths he was taking, and Mike’s protective instincts instantly kicked in.
Amid Will’s growing panic— a traumatic re-exposure to the hellscape he braved less than a mere 3 years ago— Mike scooped Will’s shoulders in his arms and guided him to his feet. He surveyed his options, quickly guiding Will around the Wheeler’s house and into the basement from the outside.
They managed to find a section of the wall without any mildewy Upside Down residue and sank to the ground. Mike didn’t leave Will’s side, coaching him to coherence with gentle coos and affirmations.
I’m right here with you, Will. You’re not alone.
Something warm bloomed in Mike’s chest when it seemed to work. Soon, it was completely silent, if not for the sound of their breathing. Then, Mike, trying to conceal the pain radiating in his left ankle, shifted as gingerly as he could to alleviate some of the pressure on it. Will, whose eyes were still cast to the ground, caught on immediately, wordlessly rising to his feet, heading to the bathroom of the basement, and returning with a first-aid kit.
Before Mike could even question how he knew where to find it, Will removed a tensor wrap from the kit. Fighting off Mike’s protests, he delicately wrapped it around Mike’s ankle, careful not to discomfort him.
The act caused something to stir in Mike, something he didn’t let himself think about. To distract himself, he tried to make conversation— first, with silly, meaningless thoughts, then with more considered ones. Will remained particularly tight-lipped through it all, and Mike wondered exactly when he stopped being able to talk to Will freely, when exactly he stopped being able to read Wills’ mind like a book, when exactly even a fraction of Will’s inner workings became unfamiliar to him.
He wondered when, when, when, but didn’t let himself wonder why.
However, as much as he tries to hold himself back, something innate in Mike is nothing if not excruciatingly persistent.
“How many times are you gonna ask me the same question?” Will exclaimed, rising from his place beside Mike on the ground and trudging up the stairs of the basement. The sight gave Mike an acidic, gnawing feeling in his stomach.
“How many times are you gonna not give me an answer?” Mike quickly replied, chasing behind. “Will, clearly this is important! If it affects you so much that One can take advantage of it, it’s very important,” he justifies. “Nancy said no more secrets, okay? So, I just think that–”
“I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry, I really am.” Will turned to face Mike, the pair now standing in the Wheeler’s kitchen. “I just wanted you to get it. I wanted you to see how…. I wanted you to see how El sees you,” he trailed off. “I thought it would help, I thought—“
“What would help?” Mike interjected. “Things with El weren’t going well. They hadn’t been for a while. She clearly doesn’t see me in that amazing way you talked about. So did she just change her mind, or—“ Mike interrupts himself, instinctually avoiding a rabbit hole he does not let himself go down. “She clearly doesn’t need me that way, she said—“
“Mike, of course she—“
“No, she doesn’t and it’s okay!” Mike said, making the realization in real time. “It’s the truth and … and it’s okay. I just wish I’d gotten there sooner.” A stark moment of complete silence followed before Will spoke up again.
“I’m sorry, Mike.” Will was tearing up, which means Mike was doing everything absolutely terribly.
“Please, don’t apologize. I just want to understand.” There was another heart-wrenchingly long moment of quiet. More than ever, it looked like Will was holding something back. “Will…”
“I thought she felt that way.” Will’s walls were beginning to break down, which Mike thought was promising.
“Why?”
Will froze. “What do you—“
“Why did you think she felt that way?” Mike supplied. “Did she say she felt like that?”
“No, not exactly, but—“
“Okay, so why did you think that she did?” The moments that followed were the longest of Mike’s life. Will stood frozen, eyes wet and wild, almost searching for an exit route. He turned abruptly and walked off into the garage, which deepened the unease in Mike’s stomach.
“Will, come back here!” Mike groaned exasperatedly. Suddenly, the garage door was being opened. “You can’t leave, it’s dangerous.” Will was too busy scanning the garage to respond. “Where are you even going?”
Will abandoned his search, deciding to just walk out. “I— I don’t know, I just— I need to get out of—“
Mike lurched in front of him, gripping his shoulders with intent . They were now face to face, with very little separating them. There was no garage light to counteract the dark, the red sky was brewing with evil, and distant sounds of chittering monsters plagued the air that was dense with spores and something thicker than oxygen.
“You’re not leaving,” Mike affirmed. “You can’t leave; I won’t let you.” He took a deep breath. “Look, I know you. You wouldn’t just lie to me. When you said those things, it felt like everything I—” Mike quickly rerouted, “I thought I was doing the right thing. But then… “ he trailed off, his voice collapsing to a soft, desperately hopeful whisper. “You wouldn’t just lie to me. And I believe you when you say you were trying to help. So, I’ll drop it.”
Will looked shocked. “What?”
“I’ll drop it. I meant it when I said that Hawkins isn’t the same without you. I–” Mike swiftly corrected his course, again. “I know it’s my fault, but I really do want us to be a team again. So, if that means I have to earn that back, I’ll do it. I’ll earn your trust back.” He spoke so quickly he could barely collect his breath or his thoughts. “I just want us to be best friends again, more than anything. So, I’ll drop this, and if you decide you wanna talk about it sometime, we can, and if not, then we won’t. Either way, you are not leaving. Okay?”
A warm blush had taken root on Will’s cheeks, evident despite the lack of any lighting. “Mike, you don’t have to earn anything–”
“I want to. You’re important to me, Will. So important.” Mike couldn’t mask the fear in his voice. “Please, don’t leave.”
Will breathed in deeply before meeting Mike’s eyes. “... You’re important to me, too, Mike.”
“Yeah?” Mike couldn’t help the familiar, all-consuming grin that consumed his face.
“Of course …” After a few moments of silent hesitation, Will continued. “I just couldn’t stand to see you so upset. The way you were talking about yourself, how— how low you were feeling, I hated it, Mike. I hated all of it.”
Something fluttered in Mike’s stomach. Will was saying Mike’s name a lot— it sounded nice. The garage light flickered once.
“It was like there were ants crawling all over my skin, biting me everywhere, and they wouldn’t stop until I could make you get it, until I could just show you—“
Will abruptly shut his mouth.
The garage light started flickering at an accelerating frequency, and something erupted deep, deep, deep down in Mike’s chest. It was a brand of hope that had been admonished time and time again, buried deep and destroyed as per the universe’s instructions. Mike and Will stood face to face, each taking heavy, deep breaths.
“Show me what, Will?”
The garage light was flickering uncontrollably now.
Suddenly— and right before Mike could get the goddamn answer he had worked so hard for— a gate emerged right in front of them. Tearing a hole in space, El became visible.
“I found you guys! It worked!” She exclaimed, cheeks stained as red as the streak of blood oozing out of her nose, eyes fresh with tears of frustration or joy, and a smile now spreading from ear to ear. “Come on, what are you waiting for?!”
Mike moved towards the gate, stopping when he noticed Will hadn’t moved. Wordlessly, he wrapped his fingers around Will’s wrist and dragged him. Once they walked through the gate, they were greeted by tearful hugs and cheers from Nancy, Jonathan, Mrs.Byers, Hopper, and El.
“I was looking for you the whole time but I could not get through,” El explained. “Then, there was a burst of… light? It took me right to you,” she finished, her voice beaming with a mixture of pride and relief.
“Thank God! I don’t think I could’ve taken another minute!” Mrs. Byers cried out, wrapping her arms around the boys. Mike privately still thinks an extra minute wouldn’t have killed anybody.
They were rushed into the Wheeler’s home, interrogated for details, quiet not to wake Mike’s parents, and offered blankets and water and hugs and more tears.
Will did not look at Mike once. Mike knows this because he glared daggers at Will the entire time. It was deep into the night— how long were they in there?— and so when Will said he was tired and wanted to retreat to the basement to sleep, everyone began saying their goodnights.
Mike tried to catch Will before he snuck downstairs, but Jonathan quickly cut him off, giving him a face that screamed not tonight, buddy. Mike isn’t sure when Jonathan became such a condescending asshole, but he doesn’t like it. So, he scoffed, pouted, and dragged his tantrum all the way upstairs, where he forced himself into a fitful sleep.
And so, here he was. Saved by his now ex-girlfriend who doesn’t need him that way anymore just moments before he could get any semblance of the truth from his ex-or-maybe-not best friend. Oh, and the world was still ending. No one had a clue why Will was taken into the Upside Down or what was coming next.
So yeah, Mike really can’t seem to catch a break. Lying in bed the next morning, he felt indignant. Why was everything so uncertain? When did things become so complicated? Why doesn’t the universe just leave him alone?
However, the truth has a way of always coming out. No matter how much you conceal it, deny it, or bend it, it finds a way. Sure, Mike promised to drop his interrogations, but the natural elements of destiny stop for no one. And once the truth comes out, there’s nothing you can do but live with it.
Considering his luck, Mike’s fairly certain that he’s completely fucked.