Chapter Text
october 23
-----
Mike barely made it through the front door before his backpack slid off his shoulder and thumped onto the floor.
“Mom!”
Karen Wheeler looked up from the stove, where something warm and tomato-smelling simmered softly. “I’m in the kitchen,” she called.
Mike came skidding in, socks sliding on the linoleum, and wrapped his arms around her middle like he’d been holding something heavy inside all day and finally found a place to put it.
Karen startled, then smiled, immediately turning down the heat and bending to hug him back. “Whoa,” she laughed softly. “That’s a big hug. What’s that for?”
Mike didn’t answer right away. He just held on.
After a moment, he mumbled, “Can we sit?”
That made her pause.
“Of course,” she said gently.
She led him to the small kitchen table, pulling out a chair for him before sitting across. Mike climbed up, swinging his legs, his sneakers bumping against the chair rungs. He picked at a tiny scratch on the tabletop, quiet now in that way that meant something was wrong.
“What’s going on, buddy?” Karen asked.
Mike took a breath. Then another.
“It’s Will,” he said.
Karen nodded slowly. “Okay.”
“He was really sad today,” Mike went on. “Like… not just quiet. He cried in the morning. A lot. And he didn’t wanna eat his sandwich at lunch. I made my bread talk so he would laugh.” He looked up, searching her face. “That was okay, right?”
Her lips curved. “That was very okay.”
Mike relaxed a little. Then his brows pulled together again. “But… his dad came yesterday.”
Karen’s hands stilled in her lap.
“He’s… scary,” Mike said, struggling for the right word. “Not like loud scary. Just… scary.” He frowned. “And Will didn’t talk. At all. He just looked at the floor.”
Karen felt a cold, familiar weight settle in her chest.
“And,” Mike added, quieter now, “sometimes Will has bandages. Like on his arm. Or his face. But he doesn’t fall a lot. And Miss Carter doesn’t put them on.”
He looked up at his mom then, eyes wide and unsure. “Where do bandages like that come from?”
Karen didn’t answer right away.
She knew Joyce Byers. Had known her since high school. Knew Lonnie too—his smile, his temper, the way he could make a room feel smaller without raising his voice. She had never wanted to believe he could be like that with his own child.
But Mike was waiting.
She reached across the table and gently took his hands, small and warm in hers. “Sometimes,” she said carefully, “grown-ups make really bad choices.”
Mike frowned. “Like forgetting stuff?”
“Bigger than that,” Karen said softly. “Sometimes grown-ups get angry and don’t know how to stop it.”
Mike’s nose wrinkled. “But parents aren’t supposed to hurt kids.”
“No,” Karen said firmly. “They aren’t.”
“So… Will didn’t do anything wrong?” Mike asked.
“No,” she repeated, stronger this time. “Nothing. Ever.”
Mike nodded, slow and thoughtful, like he was putting puzzle pieces together that didn’t quite fit. “Is that why he’s sad?”
Karen swallowed. “It might be part of it.”
Mike shifted in his chair. “Should I tell Miss Carter? Or ask Will if he’s okay? I wanna help.”
Karen squeezed his hands gently. “I know you do. And you already are helping—by being kind, by making him laugh, by being his friend.”
She hesitated, then said, “But this is something adults have to handle very carefully. I need you to promise me something, okay?”
Mike looked serious now. “Okay.”
“Don’t talk about this with other kids,” she said. “And don’t ask Will about his dad or the bandages. Sometimes talking about it can make things feel scarier for him.”
Mike chewed on that. “So I just… play with him?”
“Yes,” Karen said softly. “You help him feel safe.”
Mike nodded. “I can do that.”
She smiled at him then, warm and proud. “You’re a good kid, Mike.”
He ducked his head, a little embarrassed. Then his eyes lit up again. “Can Will come over? Like to our house?”
Karen raised an eyebrow. “You’d like that?”
“Yes,” Mike said quickly. “A lot. He could see my dinosaurs. And we could build a fort. And my mom makes really good grilled cheese.”
Karen laughed quietly. “She does, doesn’t she?”
She stood and reached for the phone. “Let me call his mom.”
Joyce answered after a few rings, her voice tired but polite. “Hello?”
“Hi, Joyce,” Karen said gently. “It’s Karen Wheeler. Mike’s mom.”
There was a pause. “Oh hi.”
“I hope I’m not calling too late,” Karen said.
“No, no,” Joyce replied quickly. “It’s fine.”
Karen took a breath. “I was wondering if Will might like to come over this weekend. Just for a little playdate. Mike talks about him all the time.”
Another pause—longer this one.
Joyce’s voice softened. “That’s really kind of you.”
“I thought it might be nice,” Karen continued. “Something easy. No pressure. Just… kids being kids.”
On the other end of the line, Joyce sat at her small kitchen table, watching Will color quietly beside her. He looked up when she smiled, curious.
“He’s had a hard week,” Joyce admitted quietly.
“I understand,” Karen said. “And if it’s not a good time, that’s okay too.”
“No,” Joyce said after a moment. “I think… I think he’d really like that.”
Karen smiled. “How about Saturday afternoon? I’ll be home the whole time.”
“That would be perfect,” Joyce said, relief threading through her voice. “Thank you. Really.”
“Of course,” Karen replied. “You’re not alone, Joyce.”
There was a small, fragile silence between them before Joyce said softly, “That means more than you know.”
When Karen hung up, Mike was practically vibrating in his chair.
“She said yes?” he asked.
“She said yes,” Karen confirmed.
Mike grinned so wide it almost hurt to look at. “I’m gonna show him everything.”
Karen ruffled his hair. “One thing at a time, soldier.”
Mike laughed.
And for the first time that evening, the house felt lighter—like something good had finally found a way in.
-----
25 october
-----
Joyce pulled up in front of the Wheelers’ house just after two, the engine ticking softly as she turned it off. The neighborhood was quiet in that lazy weekend way, sunlight warming the pavement, curtains shifting faintly behind windows.
From the backseat, Will leaned forward, peering out between the headrests.
“Is this it?” he asked.
“Yes,” Joyce said, smiling as she unbuckled herself. “This is Mike’s house.”
"woahh." Will’s eyes landed on the front door and more specifically, on the small button beside it.
“What’s that?” he asked.
Joyce followed his gaze. “That’s a doorbell.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Like… you push it?”
“Mhm.”
“And it makes a sound?”
“Yes.”
Will stared at it like it was magic.
“At our house we knock,” he said, a little awed. “Can I-can I press it?”
Joyce laughed softly. “You can press it.”
She stepped out of the car, grabbed the bag from the passenger seat, and helped Will down. The bag wasn’t heavy, but it held more than just toys. Will had carefully chosen his little action figures that morning, lining them up on his bed before putting them inside.
What he didn’t know was that Joyce had added a few things of her own afterward.
Just in case.
She knew the accidents were rare now. She knew he hated when they happened. But she also knew how much worse it felt to be unprepared. So beneath the toys were diapers, a pair of soft sweatpants, clean underwear quiet insurance, tucked away where Will wouldn’t have to think about them unless he needed to.
They walked up the path together.
Will stood on his tiptoes and pressed the doorbell.
Ding-dong.
His face lit up instantly.
“It makes noise!” he said, delighted, pressing it again before Joyce could stop him.
Ding-dong.
Joyce laughed. “Okay, okay once is enough.”
The door opened almost immediately.
Mike was there.
“WILL!”
He didn’t wait for anything else. He barreled forward, arms flinging around Will’s shoulders in a tight, enthusiastic hug. Will let out a surprised little sound, then laughed and hugged him back just as hard.
“You came!” Mike said, bouncing on his toes.
“I pressed the button,” Will announced proudly.
“That’s so cool, right?” Mike said, eyes wide. “Come on! I gotta show you something!”
Before Joyce could even say hello properly, Mike grabbed Will’s wrist not rough, just urgent, and tugged him inside.
“Basement!” Mike called over his shoulder. “Mom, we’re going to the basement!”
Their footsteps thundered down the stairs, voices already overlapping, excited and fast.
Karen appeared in the doorway, smiling so wide it almost hurt her cheeks. “Well,” she said, amused, “I guess that answers whether they wanted to see each other.”
Joyce laughed, the sound a little breathless with relief. “Looks like it.”
Karen stepped aside to let her in. “Come on.”
Inside, Joyce set the bag down by the door, fingers lingering on the strap for a moment before she straightened.
“I just wanted to let you know,” she said quietly, lowering her voice, “there are toys in there but also some extra clothes.”
Karen nodded, attentive.
“And,” Joyce added, hesitating just a second, “sometimes Will still has… accidents. Not often. But it happens. I told the school too.”
Karen didn’t react with surprise or discomfort. She just nodded again, calm and understanding. “That’s completely fine,” she said. “Thank you for telling me. Whatever he needs, we’ve got it covered.”
Joyce’s shoulders loosened slightly. “I appreciate that.”
“You don’t have to worry,” Karen said gently. “He’s safe here.”
From the basement, laughter echoed up the stairs bright, unrestrained, the sound of two kids already deep in their own world.
Joyce smiled toward it, something soft and aching in her chest.
“Well,” she said, picking up her keys, “I guess I’ll let them get to it.”
Karen walked her to the door. “Take your time,” she said. “He can stay as long as he wants.”
“Thank you,” Joyce replied. “Really.”
She stepped outside, the afternoon sun warm on her face. As she walked back to her car, she glanced once more at the house—at the closed door, the muffled laughter inside.
She got into the driver’s seat and closed the door gently.
The engine started.
And as Joyce pulled away from the curb, she allowed herself, for the first time in a long while, to believe that maybe—just maybe—this would be good for him.
The basement felt like a whole different world.
Will followed Mike down the stairs, eyes growing wider with every step. The air smelled a little dusty and a little like cardboard boxes, but it was warm and bright, lit by a lamp in the corner and the glow from a small window near the ceiling.
“This is it,” Mike announced proudly, spreading his arms. “This is my basement.”
Will turned in a slow circle.
Shelves lined the walls, packed with toys dinosaurs in careful rows, action figures standing midpose, toy cars, plastic soldiers, and a shoebox full of mismatched dice. There was a small table in the middle with two chairs and a rug underneath that had clearly seen a lot of games.
“You have so many,” Will said softly.
Mike grinned. “Wanna see the dinos first or the guys?”
“The dinos,” Will said immediately.
Mike rushed over to the shelf. “Okay, so this one is a T-rex, but this one-” he pulled out a long-necked dinosaur, “-this one’s the biggest. He eats trees.”
Will laughed, reaching out carefully to touch it. “He’s huge.”
“Yeah. But this guy” Mike grabbed a smaller one with sharp teeth “is sneaky.”
They lined them up on the floor, Mike narrating dramatic battles while Will moved his dinosaur cautiously, making quiet roaring noises under his breath. Every once in a while, their shoulders bumped, and neither of them moved away.
After a while, Mike sat back on his heels. “Wanna play something else?”
Will nodded. “Okay.”
Mike jumped up and ran to a low shelf, pulling out a colorful board game box. He plopped it onto the table with a flourish.
“This is D&D,” he said seriously.
Will blinked. “What’s that?”
“It’s like… a game,” Mike explained, climbing into a chair. “But also a story. You pretend you’re someone else.”
He lowered his voice dramatically. “My mom says the real one is for older kids. I can have it when I’m ten.” He leaned closer and whispered, “But this one is the boardgame version, so it’s okay.”
Will smiled at that.
Mike opened the box, spilling out little cardboard figures and cards. “Okay, so you pick who you wanna be. Like a knight. Or a wizard. Or-” he gasped, “-a ranger.”
Will picked one up, studying it. “This one has a hat.”
“That’s a wizard,” Mike said. “They’re really smart.”
Will nodded slowly. “I wanna be him.”
Mike beamed. “Good choice.”
He picked one for himself—a knight with a shield. “I’ll be this guy. He protects everyone.”
They set up the board, moving pieces carefully, giggling when one of them fell over.
“So,” Mike said, trying to sound very important, “we have to get to the castle before the monsters.”
Will leaned in, eyes shining. “Do we fight them?”
“Only if we have to,” Mike said. “Sometimes you can sneak.”
They rolled the dice—Mike showed Will how, cheering when the numbers were big, groaning dramatically when they were small. Will copied him, tongue peeking out as he rolled, then laughing when the dice bounced off the table.
“My guy tripped,” Will said solemnly when he rolled low.
Mike laughed. “It’s okay. He gets back up.”
They moved their figures side by side across the board, heads bent close together, voices overlapping with excitement and soft laughter.
And down there in the basement—surrounded by dinosaurs, heroes, and a story they were making up as they went—Will felt lighter than he had all week.
and they don't realise yet... that this is only the very beginning of something big.
This is where their adventure starts.