Chapter Text
Writing poetry is not Mike’s strongest forte despite him being an aspiring writer. His english literature teacher told him to expand on his metaphors, and the best way to do so is to read and write poetry. It helps to see the world in a different lens, or whatever the hell that means. But now Mike can’t help but feel like it’s absolute bullshit, Stephen King surely didn’t bother with poetry.
And Nancy didn’t bother with knocking.
His door slams open like it's determined to become one with the wall, and it startles Mike out of his frustration for poetry so hard that he almost face plants into the words—green, hazel, bright like the sun, whatever. He’s workshopping it.
Nancy is standing at his door, car keys in han, and fully dressed while Mike is still in his boxers, looking at him with annoyance only an older sibling can muster, “The hell are you doing? It’s ten after.” She glares.
Oh, shit. Shit.
“Thirty seconds, or I'm leaving without you, okay?” She gives a warning before leaving downstairs.
Colourful curses that would have his Nana clutching her pearls leave Mike’s lips, while his eyes dart around his floor to see what clothes are clean and useful enough.
He finds them in ten seconds flat, and puts on his pants shorter than that. The Hellfire shirt laying on the floor screams for him, yet he still hesitates for a split second before throwing it on as well while rushing down the stairs.
As per tradition, his parents are milling in the kitchen. His dad casts him a glance above the line of his newspaper with one eyebrow raised before looking back down again, clearly dissatisfied with Mike’s fashion choices. His mom is not having an issue with it, instead asking Mike what he wants for breakfast.
“Don’t have time,” he says, grabbing two pop tarts instead.
“Mike, you need to wake up earlier so you can eat a better breakfast.” she fusses over him, fixing the collar of his hellfire shirt.
“Okay, okay.” he grunts, groaning when she presses a big wet kiss on his cheek right as the pop tarts pop out the toaster.
“Let’s go!” Nancy calls exasperatedly from the hallway.
He grabs his backpack, and hurries out the front door with Nancy into her car. Ever since she learnt how to drive it’s been blissful heaven for Mike, as much as he loves to bike it’s only good if it’s comfortably hot. Recently, he’s started to pester her about teaching him how to drive. Which, depending on her mood, she does. With a lot of impatience.
She glances at him, scrunching her nose.
“You got mom’s lipstick on you.” Nancy comments.
Immediately he opens the sunvisor to look into the rearview mirror, and yup, there it is, a big fat red smooch on his cheek, “You gotta be shitting me.” he mutters faintly and licks his fingers to start rubbing at his cheek, “Does she want people to make fun of me?”
“I don’t know, but I want to.” Nancy answers.
If it weren’t for her driving right now Mike would’ve pinched her so hard.
They find themselves in the school’s parking lot soon at the exact same time as the Byers. Joyce seems to be in a deep discussion with Jonathan and Jane, who both look confused with each word that she seems to say. It’s not unusual that Joyce drives her kids to school, but it’s definitely become less common ever since they started highschool, and with Will nowhere in sight, makes Mike throw the car door open while Nancy is still slowly driving her car to find a parking spot.
“Mike, get the fuck inside—MIKE!” She yells, gaining the attention of the people Mike’s marching over to.
“Hi Ms. Byers,” Mike greets politely, before nodding towards Jonathan and Jane, who look at him like he just grew a third head. And then behind Mike, where he’s pretty sure Nancy’s coming up with new signs to curse at Mike, “What’s going on?”
“Oh, nothing much.” Joyce smiles nervously as Jonathan opens his mouth, “I just told the kids about the conference I’m going to.”
A job conference? Joyce got a telemarketer job recently which definitely paid more, because Will started to wear actual new clothes sometimes that aren’t just hand me downs from Jonathan and Joyce respectively, Although, Mike’s not sure that sort of job required a job conference.
“To Alaska.” Jonathan mutters incredulously.
Jane nods, the look she usually has when she’s eager to put her knowledge to use, “It’s far.”
“Exactly,” Jonathan nods, with a pointed look.
Joyce wrings her hands together, repeating the motion of somebody washing their hands, a little tick she has because of her anxiety that Will definitely inherited.
“I have to go now,” she shifts on her feet, “don’t forget to tell Will about it too, okay?”
And then she kisses their cheeks, hesitating before pinching Mike’s cheek too and goes back into her car.
Don’t forget to tell Will?
Mike frowns.
“Where’s Will, by the way?” He asks, looking around for his best friend.
Jonathan shrugs with a sigh, like he’s also unsure about his brother’s whereabouts. During their driving lessons, Nancy has let it slip that Jonathan is feeling frustrated about Will pulling back into his own head, and not letting anybody in.
“Maybe in art club,” Jane guesses with a finger pointed to her chin, “Will’s been painting a lot, I think there’s a girl he likes.”
Jonathan chokes as Mike whips his head towards Jane.
“What?!” He sputters. Will? His Will? Liking a—a girl? That’s just—
Not possible.
“Did he say something?” Mike presses on, faintly aware of Jonathan who’s still fighting for air.
He must’ve said something right? They’re siblings now, so maybe they have some girl talk that the rest of the boys are not privy too. Will’s been invited to many of Jane and Max’s sleep overs after all.
But why would he tell them, and not his best friends—
Jane just shakes her head, making Mike feel deflated and weirdly victorious at the same time, “He’s been acting…different.”
Different.
Before he can ask Jane about it, pain shoots up his spine as he gets whacked across the head with car keys.
“No driving lessons for a week, Mike.” Nancy says sternly.
—
The morning does not get better. Will is not in the art club room like Jane hypothesised, leaving Mike to wonder about his actual whereabouts. It’s something Will’s doing a lot lately, just disappearing as if nobody would care to know where he’s going.
He hopes that Will is just excited about basketball (highly unlikely) and couldn’t wait to see rehearsals.
He’s not there, but Max is surprisingly.
Right beside her is Jane, who looks much more excited about the whole prospect of a basketball game than anyone in the party is—well, apart from the person that is playing the damn sport.
Lucas stands proudly among the other popular jocks, yet to Mike he sticks out like a sore thumb. He looks so stupid like that, trying to become this popular jock instead of embracing who he is.
He glowers, eyes squinting until everyone turns blurry like the unpainted DND figurines at the store. Among them, Mike can still spot Lucas easily.
This isn’t who he is, and if Lucas thinks he will find happiness because some jock pats him on the back after scoring a shot then he’s dead wrong.
He absentmindedly argues with Dustin about who’s better—Suzie, or Jane—which Dustin thinks he can win by saying that Mike and Jane are technically broken up, but still. Mike is right, Jane has saved the world, that’s still way more impressive than whatever Einstein thing Suzie is up to.
Jane seems to be more amazed at Dustin’s girlfriend than herself though, so Mike still fails the argument.
It gets worse when it is announced that the championship game is tonight, which they agreed was gonna be Hellfire night. Jane and Max slip away after the game, not there to witness the aftermath of Dustin and Mike’s irritability over the turn of events.
Lucas doesn’t see a problem with it, and begs them at the end to just move Hellfire. All Mike wants to do is tell him no, to tell him what he’s doing is stupid and that there’s no point in trying to avoid getting bullied if he’s gonna get stuck with these fake people, but the bell rings and Dustin caves in with a simple Shit.
All the words that were knocking against Mike’s teeth, begging to be let out and spat on Lucas’ face, angrily stomp back down to his heart where they simmer, brewing in resentment.
When it’s lunch time, it’s not hard to spot Eddie’s table. He’s holding up a magazine and waving it around like it’s something incredibly entertaining, exclaiming and talking loudly in an overexaggerated voice.
“Shit, he seems really revved up today,” Dustin comments, already sounding defeated at the idea of even mentioning moving Hellfire to Eddie.
“He’s always revved up.” Mike says. Eddie’s been even more agitated than normal ever since a guy from California named Argyle moved to Hawkins, and apparently stole a lot of his clientele in the weed business. It’s a bit funny, in Mike’s opinion, but Dustin takes the beef a bit too seriously.
For Lucas, he thinks, let’s just do this even if it’s stupid. Hellfire is not the same without him either way, and Mike can’t bear to have another friend who drops out of D&D, “We’ll just act casual.” They repeat the word casual again at the same time, and Dustin nods.
“Right, okay.” he mutters in encouragement to himself.
“Totally.”
As they get closer to the lunch table, it’s clear why Eddie is so revved up which doesn’t help his and Dustin’s case. Their hopes of making Eddie even consider moving Hellfire because of a championship game are crushed by his iron fist.
“Society has to blame something. We’re an easy target.” Exactly, someone says in agreement to Eddie’s rant. Mike doesn’t bother listening to who it came from. “We’re the freaks because we like to play a fantasy game.”
“But as long as you’re into band—” he says, voice rising in volume till he’s standing up on the table. “or science…or parties, or a game where you toss balls into laundry baskets!” He walks across the table as he says this, directing his gaze to every group he mentions till he lands on the jock’s lunch table.
Jason, the prick from earlier, stands up, “You want something, freak?” he says, reminding Mike of Troy. This is the part where Mike would’ve cowered away, hell, Mike wouldn’t even be doing anything to warrant that confrontation from Troy as he’s too eager to avoid it. But this is Eddie, the Eddie Mike knows and loves, because he just does a grimace that shuts Jason up.
Eddie turns around, satisfied, and runs across the table yelling: “It’s forced conformity, that’s what's killing the kids!” He jumps down in front of a teacher, scaring her half to death, earning a laugh from everyone sitting at the table. Eddie smiles bashfully, and lets two cheerleaders pass by. The duality of him never fails to amaze Mike, how he’s so loud, and then acts like a gentleman. “That’s the real monster.” He finishes calmly, and sits back on his chair.
Dustin laughs again, drums his fingers against the table, and Mike knows this is his opening, “So, uh, speaking of monsters—”
Right before Dustin can say his point, Eddie’s eyes light up like a cat who spotted the mouse, and he stands up abruptly till his chair clatters on the floor.
“Will the Wise!” he shouts across the cafeteria with a gleeful smile. Mike turns his head immediately towards where Eddie is looking, straightening his back to see across the sea of students.
There, far away on the other end, Will is walking with a rolled up painting, which Mike immediately zeroes in on.
Will’s been painting a lot.
Will startles at Eddie’s voice, eyes growing panicked when he sees the older man climbing on the table again. For a second, Mike feels the urge to climb the table too, to stand up and run towards Will—and he almost does, standing up so dizzyingly fast that Dustin instinctively clutches Mike’s pant leg.
Mike stares intensely at Will, hoping that their eyes meet just once, but as quickly as Will had looked up like a startled mouse, he looks down again, quickening his pace till he escapes through the cafeteria doors on the other end.
Mike’s stomach sinks as he watches Will disappear. He almost never eats from the school cafeteria. He used to, in the beginning, even if it was bits and pieces. But then he started to skip lunches, until he opted out of it all together, spending his time God knows where.
Eddie grabs the chair lying on the floor and slumps back on his seat with a sigh, “Dammit, I’ll get him to join next time, I swear Wheeler.” he promises with a tone of voice that suggests he’s seeing this like a challenge. Mike’s still looking at the doors Will disappeared off to, and he feels Dustin’s worried eyes on the back of his head, “So, what were you saying about monsters, Dustin?”
They both stiffen up, and look at each other before looking at Eddie, “Right…about that.” Dustin begins weakly.
—
Obviously, to anyone’s unsurprise, Eddie refused to move Hellfire. He had thrown whatever he was chewing on on Mike, and then manhandled them out of their chairs to basically get them to fuck off, and find a replacement. This, Mike doesn’t like either, but he sets out on finding Will, knowing what the answer will be anyways.
Will is not in the art classroom, and when he asks the giggling girls where he is, they only give him a doubtful look before ignoring him completely. Neither is he in the science room, gym floor, nor at the journalist club when Mike searches for Nancy. Everyone tells him no when he asks them to become a replacement, but not without berating the Hellfire club first and its contents.
Idiots.
He finally finds Will innocently walking down the hallway with that stupid rolled up painting in his backpack. If Mike just sneaked up and reached ever so slightly, he could easily grab the painting and sprint away. He would open it urgently, as if Will’s feelings are coded inside of the painting, as if he just found the code his feelings for that person would disperse into the wind.
But he would never do that, just the thought of Will’s sad eyes looking up at him for taking his painting makes Mike’s stomach churn with guilt.
Right as he spots Will, so does Dustin from the other end of the hallway who has probably just finished his round of asking people to join Hellfire. They both approach Will like he’s a feral kitten that’s wary of humans, their hyperactive nature disappearing when it comes to their best friend.
Will notices them, clutching the rolled up painting close to his chest like they’re attempting to pull a heist on it. It annoys Mike, because what’s so important about it?
He clutches the backpack strap, pushing his tongue in his cheek.
“Will, do you wanna join Hellfire tonight?” Mike asks, beating Dustin to it.
”We really, really need a replacement.” Dustin adds on, pressing his palms together like Will is their saviour.
Instead of shrinking in on himself and muttering a half baked excuse—because Will can never outright say no—he cocks his head to the side.
“I’m going to Lucas’ game.” Will says simply, he tilts his head to the side ever so slightly, “Aren’t you?”
Silence. A very awkward one at that.
Will’s face falls when he catches the guilty glances Dustin and Mike give each other, “You can’t be serious.” he says, his soft voice hardened.
—
Mike feels like he’s in one of those soap operas that his mom watches as he chases Will.
Power walking has never been his thing, but biking has, which should be objectively worse, so why the hell is he out of breath? The only thing he’s able to punch out of his lungs are half apologies and half beseechings—Will come on, Please Will it’s not what you think, I’m sorry. Whenever Will’s upset, his brain turns upside down, unable to be coherent or rational in any capacity.
Dustin has more rationale than Mike does, filling Will in on the details of their emergency, “It’s possibly Eddie’s last campaign before he graduates!—”
Mike nods along fervently at what Dustin says, but his eyes widen when Will suddenly stops, and turns around, an incredulous expression on his face.
“It’s not Lucas’ fault he couldn’t graduate for three years straight!” Will’s hands grip his painting, almost twisting the fabric.
“Don’t say that!” Mike rebuttals with no actual heat in his voice—hell, he can’t even raise it to his normal speaking tone.
“It’s true!” Even when Will is supposedly mad, he’s still soft spoken, voice only raising in a higher pitch. Plus, it’s not as if you can never play again, but this might be Lucas’ only chance! What kind of bullshit are you on, Mike?”
When Mike won’t respond what kind of bullshit he’s on (really, he doesn’t know half the time), Dustin thinks it’s prime time to chime in again, except with a slightly condescending tone that Mike would rather kill himself than have anyone direct at Will, ”Well, maybe-”
Mike slaps Dustin’s arm before he can say anything, ignoring the shorter’s incredulous look while maintaining eye contact with Will. He doesn’t know how he’s looking right now, but it’s enough for Will’s hardened expression to crumble like some poor imitation of a sturdy wall.
“Well…” Will bites his lip and casts his eyes to the side, squeaking the floor a bit as he rubs his foot, “I'll see you guys, okay? I have several chores to do before Lucas’ game.” The omission of when Will will see them again isn’t lost on Mike. He wants them to still go to Lucas’ game, not even bothering to see this from Mike’s perspective.
“Wait!” Mike yells, startling Will who hurls his body back towards Mike and faces him with wide eyes. The painting is clutched in his hand in a protective grip as if it’ll be snatched away at any moment- and Mike can’t fault Will for that because that’s exactly what he wants to do. To snatch the painting away, hang it up on his wall and pretend it was meant for him. But all of that would send him to the psychiatric ward, so instead he opts for licking his lips, and pointing lamely at the painting, “What are you working on? Is- is it…”
“Oh.” Will looks down at his painting, “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“No, it’s just, it’s nothing okay?”
Mike frowns, Will’s art has never been nothing. The binder, and several artworks hung up in his room, and basement show that, the few artworks everyone else in the party has from Will hung up in their room also shows that, and Dustin perks up, also wanting to know what the painting is, “Cool.”
Will bites his lip, nodding.
“See you,” he says quietly, head tilted down far enough for his bangs to cover his eyes. It makes Mike want to duck down, enough to catch Will’s eyes. “I’m assuming it won’t be at tonight's championship game.”
“No…Eddie, he refused to move Hellfire club. It’s the height of the campaign, you know how it is.” Mike says, feeling his mouth get dry.
Will hums, because of course he knows how it is. He was the one who looked at Mike, his eyes glittering like the night sky under his shitty basement light, anticipating what Mike had in store for him at D&D campaigns. It was only a few months ago that he was the one begging Mike to play, and isn’t it funny how the roles are reversed now? Dustin has begun to lose hope in getting Will to come to Hellfire. Lucas never asks outright, instead opting for gentle suggestions.
Mike asks and asks and asks till his heart is so heavy it could sink through cement.
“It’s the height of Lucas’ game too.” he says softly, like the words don't pinch his skin, and twists until he’s bleeding, “Good luck, though.” Will smiles
”You always—” he stops himself as he realizes his voice is rising in anger, feeling sudden defeat, ”you always say no.”
”I don’t,” Will says quietly, which is true technically. He never flat out says no, unlike Mike last summer who groaned out in protest when Will would beg for them to play D&D, instead he lets down Mike gently, always with an excuse ready. Somehow, this is worse. “I just don’t have the time. I’m sorry.” he adds.
He turns around— turn back, look at me— to continue walking down the hallway, and Mike watches him leave.
“See you, Will,” he mumbles, feeling a bit pathetic over the way his voice cracks at the end.
“Did you forget I'm here?”
Mike curses at Dustin’s sudden voice.
The answer is yes, he did sorta forget about Dustin’s presence. He tends to do that when Will’s around.
“So…Will’s not attending,” Mike says instead, and as an afterthought, even though it’s more like a main thought that’s blaring red and overtakes his entire mind, he adds; “and he’s mad at me.”
“At us. You do realise I'm still here right?” Dustin says and nudges Mike’s arm. When Mike still doesn’t tear away his gaze from Will’s retreating figure Dustin scoffs, “Dude, why are you like this?”
With an irritated roll of his eyes he finally gets broken out of his trance and shoves at Dustin, ”Oh, shut the fuck up.”
—
Mike can’t believe that they (read: Dustin) got an 11 year old to join Hellfire before Will did. Granted, this 11 year old was taught by Will the Wise himself, and even got his D&D manuals as a birthday gift. Although Mike got a good luck from Will before the campaign he still died early on, and had to watch the rest power through Eddie’s ruthless campaign.
He was stupid to believe Will’s smile, and wishes of good luck could get him through anything when he can’t even survive a session.
Erica comes at a clutch of the dice, rolling a nat 20 that wins them the entire campaign much to everyone’s surprise.
He’s so elated that he grabs Dustin in a hug, forgetting about everything bad for a moment. How Will doesn’t play D&D anymore, how he’s never been quite the same since last summer, how Lucas tries his hardest to conform through some false sense of sacrifice, how Max also has pulled away—only to be pulled back by Jane and Will.
In this moment, he’s won something. Not directly, but Eddie always said that one man’s win is the party’s win, and nobody’s victory or loss is gained alone.
But when he steps out through the doors he sees Will standing with Lucas further away, he’s fished back to reality like an overeager fisherman.
Judging by the rest of the school’s cheers, The Tigers apparently won too, and Will’s over there celebrating with them instead of with Mike.
Lucas is maneuvering Will’s arms into his shitty basketball jersey, and then wraps an arm around Will’s shoulder. It feels like an oddly intimate scene, like it’s something Mike shouldn’t be privy to.
Like it’s something Mike should be doing instead.
Will huddles closer, and Lucas hand rubs up and down Will’s arm, head ducking down to say something, which Will just shakes his head at.
A feeling that is spelled in big bold letters JEALOUSY flares up in his body. Mike’s about to be added into the data of the few cases of spontaneous human combustion, because the feeling is so burningly intense that it could probably wipe Hawkins out of existence—alternate dimensional monsters be damned.
He knows he’s staring obsessively, imagining the scene in front of him is way more romantic than it needs to be. He’s rooted on the spot, watching everything happening in slow motion like he’s witnessing a car wreck as Lucas raises his hand, and rests it somewhere near Will’s face.
Even though their backs are against Mike’s, he has plenty of creativity to imagine the intimate scene.
His jaw clenches painfully, and he storms the opposite way, ignoring Dustin calling his name.
Seriously? What the hell is Lucas thinking doing that to Will? And in public no less? It’s ironic that he wanted to join The Tigers to stop the bullying when he’s now putting an active target on Will, because no guy does that to his friend.
You do, an unhelpful part of his brain screams at him.
—
Storming off because of his insane jealousy did not make Mike feel better. In fact, when he woke up, the jealousy he was sure was going to pass just settled in his flesh as if he marinated in it, and now he’s tender from yesterday night’s memories.
His mom is in the living room wiping the same glass over and over with a pinched frown. She’s standing in front of the TV as it says something that he’s not fully listening to. It sounds serious. He’s vaguely registering the words as his brain keeps replaying the scene last night between Lucas and Will.
“A murder just happened, honey.” His mom supplies, as if reading his mind.
“Great.” Mike grumbles, grabbing a bowl from the cabinet. Holly’s not here, so she must be at a friend’s house, and his dad’s obviously at work as well while Nancy is probably off pretending to be a famous journalist from Boston. Which means it’s only his and his mom alone at home, something that doesn’t happen often.
“Don’t say that.” She chides, and then looks away from the TV to make eye contact with him from the living room, “It says a student from your school was the victim.”
At the mention of their school Mike’s heart stops for a second, imagining the worst case scenario. Was it Will? He was out late— so was everyone else, but his best friend doesn’t have the best track record of staying alive and not missing. “Who?” he asks his mom, keeping the panic away from his voice.
She shakes her head and walks back into the kitchen, setting the blindingly shiny glass down on the table, “It doesn’t say.”
He swirls the cereal in his milk silently, mulling it over. There’s no use in panicking, he should probably call Will to see if he’s safe and sound at home. He almost slaps a hand on his forehead when he remembers Joyce’s shitty shitty telemarketer job that keeps the line busy almost all day.
A warm hand on his shoulder gets him out of his thoughts, and the sight of his mom smiling comfortingly comes into his view, “Will is okay, sweetie. Joyce called me yesterday to tell me she’s going to a conference in Alaska tomorrow.”
“Yeah, I know.” He frowns, still finding the whole conference thing odd.
Because why would she be away at a conference when the purpose of her job was that she worked from home? It’s the reason why Mike wasn’t able to call Will as often, and had to rely on shaky radio signals.
He keeps eating while trying to listen to the news from the kitchen. It turns out to be futile effort, and Mike gets bored halfway through.
When he’s done eating the doorbell rings impatiently three times, which makes Mike highly suspect it’s Dustin on the other end of the door as he’s the only one who took it literally when Mike’s mom told him to make himself at home many years ago. What he doesn’t expect though, is for Max to be with him when he answers the door, and both of them have quite the serious expressions on their faces.
“Um, what’s going on—woah, hey!” He shouts as they shove their way inside like cavemen, scruffing their shoes on the hallway carpet.
“Hi Mrs. Wheeler!” Dustin greets his mom with a toothy grin, before dropping it as he tells Mike, “Basement, now.”
Once they’re in the basement, Mike understands the gravity of the situation. Dustin and Max explain to him what they saw, what they heard, and how they need to save Eddie and possibly the world again.
Turns out he should’ve listened to the news more closely.
“You sure you saw Eddie with Chrissy?” Mike asks Max. It all sounds baffling, because Eddie is many things but a murder isn’t one of them—which Dustin is very adamant about too while Max rolls her eyes. The lurking suspicion of there being something darker behind this…something out of human comprehension makes Mike nervous.
This should’ve been over.
Max nods at Mike’s question, “And then I called Jane, but she told me Joyce went to Alaska, and that Will’s been cold all night.”
Mike’s head snaps up at the newfound information, “Will had a cold?” He asks, standing up and ready to leave.
“Literally,” Max swallows, “she said he was freezing.”
Mike thinks back on last night after they were done playing the campaign, and how he witnessed Lucas giving Will his jersey before huddling close to him like a penguin.
God, he’s so fucking immature. If he wasn’t so jealous he could’ve been there for Will, and notice that something is going on way earlier.
Then he thinks back on when the Mindflayer first appeared, and how Will was constantly cold until he was suddenly burning hot. How tremors wracked his small body and cold sweat pooled constantly around his neck, “We have to go.” Mike says, leaving no room for argument.
Of course, Dustin still finds a way to argue, “Mike, we need to find Eddie!”
“We go to Will first and then find Eddie, if you don’t wanna do this then i’ll go by myself.” he says the last part through gritted teeth, and yanks open the basement door.