Chapter Text
Sunday, November 6, 1983, 7:07 pm
Mike doesn’t know how he got so lucky.
This is the height of his campaign. It’d been the longest time he’d ever spent preparing for a Dungeons and Dragons session ever– hours on hours spent sleeping over with Will to fill out character sheets while his best friend covered blank sheets of smooth, white paper with intricate designs of rangers, bards and paladins; with armor and a coat of arms so detailed that Mike could have just pulled it all right out of the sketchbook.
The Wheeler’s old basement is filled with a warm light that can only be described as “homey,” the soft yellow casting perfect soft shadows on the D & D board, each color lit just enough to see the difference between them, but feel like they’re straining to see by candlelight.
He remembers biking by the Hayes’ house everyday on the way to Will’s this week, seeing the house that never had the pink mosaic lamp shining from the rightmost window anymore, the house with grass that was grey with decay. The only life came from the bouquets of flowers piling around the mailbox, various arrangements of lilies and chrysanthemums that likely all came from the same seller, all below the sign saying,
“Our little angel, Jennifer Hayes.”
Jennifer Hayes was the first kid in Hawkins to kick the bucket.
It was October 30, the day before Halloween. Mike had been talking with the Party about matching costumes for the big day: Star Wars, or DC superheroes, because Lucas finally started reading the comics and agreed they were badass. Will voted for Stars Wars, so obviously Mike voted for Star Wars too. Hans Solo was so cool. But of course, Dustin and Lucas just had to vote for superheroes so the vote had to go to a stupid rock-paper-scissors duel that Mike should’ve won because Dustin is a dirty cheater.
This all was happening at lunch. Dustin celebrated a little too loudly, sending his school-issued peas and chicken nuggets flying off the lunch table as he stood and cheered in celebration. The group of girls, Jennifer’s group, gave Dustin disgusted looks, not amused by the antics that they should be used to by now but somehow aren’t.
Mike didn’t really mind the girls. For the most part, they kept to themselves. Some of them even played videogames, so Mike would sometimes actually have a conversation with them about it.
One girl Mike really didn’t like, though, was Jennifer herself.
She unfortunately fell into the category of “obnoxious blonde lady,” as his father called it. Jennifer wasn’t very bright, but had the confidence of a person who was. She was wrong, and boy was she loud about it. Not to mention that it was so obvious when she’d fake laugh. At the dumbest of things, she’d throw her head back into a shrill cackle, genuinely sounding like a hyena. Mike had always wanted to plug his ears right in her face to get a reaction. Maybe do it right back.
And somehow, whenever he’d look at Jennifer, she’d have her eyes on Will, strangely calm, yet contained the intensity of yearning. Now, Mike was in the measly sixth grade, but he knew enough about stuff to know that Jennifer had a crush on Will. She’d always sit next to him for group projects. She’d always find a way to include Will in the conversation. Whenever she’d make a (poor excuse of a) joke, she’d glance at Will, searching for validation in his smile.
Not that it bothered Mike. Lucky for him, Will was oblivious enough to not see the huge signals she was throwing his way, so Mike simply redirected him and moved him along. He’d let Jennifer get over her crush from a distance, and then tease Will for never noticing in the future, and they’ll laugh about it and move on. Easy peasy. Lemon squeezey, even.
But then she just had to move her friend group to be at the table right next to the Party’s table. It was always empty– no one wants to sit next to the freaks. But for Jennifer, it was the perfect window to make moves on Mike’s best friend.
Worst of all, Mike could see it working. After a few blissful days, Will finally decided to notice the pair of blue eyes that seemed to be on him constantly, big and yearning and stupid. Will’s ears became flushed from embarrassment, while Mike’s ears were red with irritation.
The last time wasn’t any different. Mike clocked Jennifer's gaze shifting to the boy beside him while her friend squealed something about her new puppy. Will slightly caved in on himself, eyes staying locked down anxiously, and Mike had half a mind to confront her. Did she not notice how uncomfortable Will is?
Then, it changed into something. Jennifer's face suddenly relaxed from the distressed expression she was making, but her eyes stayed locked on Will, like they couldn’t go anywhere else if they tried. They became glassy, then started to roll back, and a ball of pure dread dropped deep in Mike’s stomach.
Before he could even blink, Jennifer fell backwards off of the table’s bench, her head making a dull thud on the tile, and everyone’s eyes were on her. That one girl’s excited squealing transitioned into a scream of terror, and teachers and students alike were rushing from all directions, trying to get a look. Mike and Will stood, horrified but unable to rip their eyes away, and Mike could feel Will’s shaky breaths, but all he could do was hold onto Will’s arm reassuringly and try to stay calm.
The school nurse had finally pushed through the crowd of panicked voices, and knelt beside Jennifer, casually pulling out a stethoscope to check her heart. Ms. Robinson, the nurse, put the chestpiece right over Jennifer’s sternum, then her wrist, then the side of her neck, each attempt becoming less and less assured.
Ms. Robinson reached over to close Jennifer’s still rolled back eyes and stood slowly, eyes still on the girl, yet thoughts racing far, far away. She turned to the first teacher she saw, a younger woman with brown pin curls, and painfully whispered, with tears already streaming down her wrinkled cheeks, “She’s dead.”
The words were like a bomb. So quiet, yet so destructive when detonating, blowing any order clean out of its path. The fallout wasn’t any better: children screaming and crying in response to a concept they thought they were too young to see, teachers running around trying to contain it all but still appear under control. Mike didn’t scream. Mike didn’t cry. He just stared at the girl’s body, which was being moved to the unused art room, and let the noise pass through him as his ears rang, because this wasn’t going to be the last one.
It started off slow, at first. One girl gone? The town could easily label it as a ‘Hawkins Tragedy,’ and move on. But then a few kids in Hawkins Elementary dropped dead in the same way the following day, seemingly full of life in one moment then knocked out on the floor not even a second later. Someone new would end up dead on the floor everyday, and the numbers only grew exponentially.
One day, it was Erica Sinclair. Lucas was walking her to school; Wednesdays meant that Erica didn’t have Homework Club, so her older brother had to be the one responsible to get her to and from home. They walked side-by-side, bickering about something forgettable like they usually did. She had been yelling dramatically about why she’d never willingly hang out with Lucas and his “group of nerds,” and just stopped. Talking. Lucas knew what was happening before she even closed her eyes, but still watched in fear as Erica’s face relaxed and body collapsed into the concrete. Lucas didn’t even get to feel her last heartbeat. He didn’t show up to school for the rest of the week.
People were quick to realize that these deaths weren’t a coincidence. It wasn’t just in Hawkins, either; all across Mainland America, children between the ages of 8 to 14 were dropping dead of “mysterious circumstances,” showing no symptoms of any sort of sickness or mass hysteria.
Turns out, there’s some things worse than mania. It was soon discovered by military scientists that these deaths weren’t caused by some unexplained placebo effect, but because of a new virus that only affected pubescent children. The name they gave its disease was “Idiopathic Adolescent Acute Neurogeneration,” a name which Mike forgot as soon as he heard the news reporter say it, when he watched the weekly news with his Mom that Saturday. Coined “IAAN” for short, the working theory was that this virus activated nerves in parts of the brain that were usually inactive, which overwhelmed the children’s nervous systems enough for them to go into immediate cardiac arrest.
By the end of the week, nearly 70% of Hawkins Elementary had funerals planned, and half of Mike’s grade had dropped like flies. Deaths were happening more frequently, quickly going from a few a day to a few per class period, and Mike was getting concerningly used to it. But somehow, no one from the Party shared the same fate. Every morning, Mike was blessed with the sight of his friends’ faces, anxious and grieving, but alive. Every lunch, Mike got to hear Dustin’s rambling, Lucas’ dad-like disapproval, and Will’s soft voice that always offered Mike the regular milk when the school ran out of chocolate. (Which shouldn't even be possible, by the way. All the chocolate milk drinkers are dying).
And now, Mike gets to see them sitting in his basement, playing D & D, all of them on the edges of their seats as their legendary dungeon master directs them to the climax of their campaign. Granted, Lucas looks a little checked out, and Will’s eyes are a little troubled, but that’s expected. Well, for Lucas. Mike doesn’t really know what’s going on with Will, but he’s participating and that’s all that really matters to Mike right now.
“Something is coming,” he says, voice soft in a way that only means danger. “Something hungry for blood.”
Silence. Mike feels the expectant eyes of his three friends, and continues after a beat. “A Shadow grows on the wall behind you, swallowing you in darkness. It is almost here.”
Will turns to Dustin, doe eyes impossibly wider, barely containing his nerves. Mike stays carefully hidden behind his binder as he observes. “What is it?” Will asks in a whisper, completely ignoring Mike’s gaze.
“What if it’s the Demogorgon?” Dustin gasps, nudging Lucas to get him involved in the conversation. “Oh, Jesus, we’re so screwed if it’s the Demogorgon.”
“It’s not the Demogorgon,” groans Lucas, rolling his eyes like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
On cue, Mike stands with a small black figurine in hand and slams it on the table, earning startled expressions from Dustin and Will. Lucas looks like he’s ready to go home, but stays in his chair, eyes locked on the game board. “An army of troglodytes charge in the chamber!”
Dustin makes a face that slightly radiates disapproval. Like he was expecting more. “Troglodytes?”
“Told ‘ya.”
“Wait a minute,” Mike starts, a smile slowly inching its way over his lips. “Did you hear that? That– that sound? Boom… Boom… Boom.” With the last word, he harshly slams his hand down again, making the little troglodyte figure hop on the board. Dustin genuinely startles, and if Mike weren’t dming, he would've laughed. He’s totally using this against Dustin later.
“That didn’t come from the troglodytes, no, that… That came from something else.” Mike reaches in his pocket for another figurine. “The Demogorgon.”
Boom. Another banging of the table, and another figure on the game board. The boys immediately jump into action, the realization of how much deep shit they’re in leaving no room for hesitation.
“We’re in deep shit,” Dustin says intelligently. Never mind, looks like Mike needs to push them along a little bit.
“Will, your action,” he commands powerfully, brown eyes fixed on the panicking boy directly across from him. Will doesn’t look at Mike, but back and forth between Dustin and Lucas, clearly needing help.
“I– I don’t know!”
“Fireball him,” yells Lucas passionately.
Will’s face scrunches up in conflict as he glances at Lucas. “I’d have to roll a 13 or higher!”
“Too risky,” Dustin answers for Lucas, shaking his head. “Cast a protection spell.”
“Don’t be a pussy, fireball him!”
“Cast protection!” Dustin screams back, matching Lucas’ energy. Will still hasn’t said a word.
Things are happening too quickly, and with not enough action. Mike can’t let the moment he’s been planning for the past two weeks slip away from them. “The Demogorgon is tired of your silly human bickering,” he says impatiently as he looks around the table. Will’s eyes are back on Mike, and his face is etched with theatrical worry. “It stomps towards you. Boom!”
“Fireball him, Will!” Lucas pleads as Mike’s hand reaches over his binder and moves the Demogorgon along the game board, as if it were walking.
“Another stomp, boom!”
“No, no, no, cast protection!” begs Dustin, whose hands are clasped in distress above his head.
“He roars in anger!”
Without much thought, Will grabs the d20 sitting on the edge of the table and swiftly shakes them in his hand before throwing them down. “Fireball!”
Time seems to slow as the dice dance on the table. It looked like an 11, then a 4, then a 17, and it kept going on until no one noticed it approaching the edge of the table and jumping onto the abyssal carpet floor without a trace.
“Oh, shit!” Will exclaims frustratedly, which springs the world back into its normal speed, and the boys are immediately on the floor, scouring for the twenty-sided piece of plastic.
“Where is it?” Lucas asks, half of his body squeezed beneath the couch as his arm feels around. Mike stares at him strangely before moving on to under the staircase
“I don’t know!” the boy replies from underneath the table.
“Is it a 13?”
“I don’t know!” Will says again, much more exasperated, as he crawls from below the game table to Mr. Wheeler’s tool table. “I can’t know if it’s a 13 if we don’t know where the dice is, Dustin.”
This clearly isn’t the right thing to say, because Dustin’s hands are pressing on both of his temples, and he’s repeating “Oh my god,” like it’s a spell that’ll make the dice magically appear.
Mike thinks he hears his mom saying his name from the living room, but ignores it as he relocates from under the staircase to the bottom stair, eyes roaming. There’s more pointless conversation between Will and the others, but Mike’s too busy hunting for ‘dark grey, dark grey, dark grey’ to pay attention.
“Mike!” He looks up the stairs to see Karen standing at the top, looking down with her arms crossed in a rather disappointed manner. Mike rolls his eyes, having lost his progress in his search, and goes on all floors to start it up again.
“Mom, we’re in the middle of a campaign,” he mumbles halfheartedly, not bothering to look back up at her.
“You mean the end?” Karen asks, a smirk on her face that can only mean it’s rhetorical. She taps on the watch sitting on her left wrist. “Fifteen after.”
That snaps Mike out of focus. He, too, looks down at his watch, 7:15 blaring in his face and frustration seeping into his tone. It can’t be that late already. They weren't even close to a stopping point for the campaign.
Mike can feel the Party’s eyes on him as his mom turns away, without hesitation, and Mike’s quick to follow her to the kitchen. He briefly remembers that he probably shouldn’t trust the boys down there, but forgets it as soon as he comes face-to-face with Karen from across their white kitchen island.
“It’s a school night, Michael,” she explains, not even needing to be prompted. “I just put Holly to bed. You can finish next weekend.”
Finish next weekend? Is she serious? That’s not humanly possible. Mike explains as much, but she doesn’t understand. So he explains again, not leaving out the important details on why it’s so crucial that they finish the campaign tonight.
“Mom, the campaign took two weeks to plan. How was I supposed to know it was gonna take ten hours?”
Maybe he could’ve worded it differently, because the look on Karen’s face is nothing short of incredulous. “You’ve been playing for ten hours?”
Groaning, Mike turns to someone he doesn’t turn to often: his father. Ted’s out of his La-Z-Boy for once, kneeling in front of the family television and messing with the antennae. Mike doesn’t really know what he’s doing, and by the looks of it Ted doesn’t know either, so Mike spares him by involving him in this family conversation.
“Dad, don’t you think that–”
“I think you should listen to your mother,” Ted interrupts uninterestedly before slamming the TV with a grunt. “Dang dumb piece of junk,” he mutters under his breath, and Mike questions why he even tries with his father.
“You heard him,” Karen smiles sweetly. She steps forth to guide Mike gently to the top of the basement stairs. There’s an awkward moment of silence and Mike looks back up at his mom expectantly. She squeezes Mike’s shoulder lightly before letting him go.
“You’ll always have next time.”
Karen’s back in the kitchen, sipping her fourth glass of wine as Mike scurries down the stairs and is met with the sight of an empty basement. He can hear Will’s voice outside, so he puts on his coat and meets them out there; Dustin’s chewing on the last slice of pizza.
Sausage and pepperoni: Mike’s own request.
“There’s something wrong with your sister,” Dustin claims through half-chewed pizza. Lucas looks disgusted, but doesn’t seem to disagree.
“What are you talking about?” asks Mike, because honestly when has his sister ever been a part of the conversation? Nancy, with her preppy hair and outfits, and with her straight A’s that can only come with hours of studying. Nancy couldn’t give a fuck about the Party, and the last time Mike checked, the feeling was mutual.
“She’s got a stick up her butt.” Dustin reiterates, earning an immediate grimace.
Lucas jumps in before Mike can say anything back. “Yeah, it’s ‘cause she’s been dating that douchebag. Steve Harrington?”
Steve. Mike knew the name well enough. Steve Harrington was the annoying basketball jock that was trying to woo Nancy since the beginning of the school year. Every day after school, she’s by Steve’s car, letting him hold her hand and tuck her hair behind her ear in the grossly “high school romantic” way, and Mike actually wants to gag whenever his poor eyes had to cross paths with it.
Nancy wasn’t like this at first. She was reserved, independent, and knew exactly what she wanted. But if there was one thing Steve excelled at, it was persistence. And eventually, Nancy just gave into it. The whole situation reminded Mike a lot of Jennifer in a way that didn’t sit right in his stomach.
“Yeah, she’s turning into a real jerk.” Dustin bites into the crust of his pizza slice, and Lucas hums in agreement. Even Will is slightly nodding his head, and Mike suddenly feels defensive.
“She’s always been a jerk,” he says, because it’s true. He tries to ignore the way Dustin’s chewing makes him sound like a cow. It’s not working.
Dustin takes the final bite of his pizza and hops on the seat of his bike, inviting the others to do the same. “Nuh-uh,” he denies, starting to push forward with the balls of his feet. “She used to be cool. Like that time she dressed up as an elf for our Elder Tree campaign.”
“Four years ago,” Mike refutes, rolling his eyes, because that’s also true. Nancy’s in high school now. She doesn’t have time to play Dungeons and Dragons with middle schoolers. She’s too busy learning “human anatomy” with Steve the Brute.
“Just saying,” Dustin shrugs, and then he’s off, with Lucas in close pursuit. He rounds the corner without a glance, and Lucas shouts behind his shoulder, “Good night, Ladies!” before disappearing into the darkness of the night.
Will’s still on his bike, feet planted on the floor. He’s deep in thought, the way his eyes are trained on something in the distance and he’s biting at his lips nervously like he’s trying to contain what he wants to say.
Mike nudges him questioningly. “You alright there, Will?”
No answer. “Will?”
“I–” he starts, and Mike looks at him patiently. “It was a seven.”
Mike lets out a small ‘huh’ in confusion, so Will goes on, eyes still avoiding Mike, rambling. “The roll. It was a seven. We found it, under your dad’s tool drawer. They told me not to tell you, but I have to. It’s not fair to you. I know how long you spent on that campaign. And I wanna be able to come back. To, y’know, finish it. So, yea. The Demogorgon–” Will abruptly pauses to look at Mike head on, eyes swirling brown and green with something Mike realizes is much bigger than a D & D game. “-it got me.”
Mike doesn’t know how to respond. It’s like Will’s trying to tell him something that has nothing to do with whether he rolled a seven or a seventeen, but he had no idea how to prompt the conversation. Or what if he was reading into it. He feels like he’s been doing that a lot recently too. Will would get so freaked out. But maybe it’s what he needs–
“Well, see you tomorrow,” Will says when he realizes that he’s not going to get a response, kicking up his bike stand and starting to push the bike along with his feet. He reaches the end of the driveway before stopping to look back at Mike, whose eyes haven’t left his body yet. A genuine smile makes its way on Will's face, and Mike's gut turns upside down for a reason he can't explain.
“I had a lot of fun.”
All Mike can do is smile back as Will goes right and bikes down the dark street. He watches until the boy turns right again on Cherry Avenue and is gone with the night. The garage light flickers above Mike’s head, but all Mike can do is look at where his best friend used to be and soak it in. It was a seven.
That was the last time Mike ever saw Will Byers.