Chapter Text
Summer, 1987
“—so, you set off into the night, itching for an adventure, something, anything to quench that thirst of exhilaration. During your travels, you stumble across a small town, seemingly in the middle of nowhere—a remote settlement with little to no understanding of the outside world. You decide to stay there for the night, recluded inside of one of the inns, but as you further explore this newfound area, you discover a deep, dark secret that riddles the town. The secret, buried, has yet to be brought to light in years, decades, centuries, possibly even more. The task to expose this plaguing mystery will not be a simple feat, no doubt—”
The door jostles open, a mimicked explosion, a sudden burst of noise. Nancy’s standing in the doorway, a total, utter perplexion shown clear through her wide, mascaraed eyes and burrowed eyebrows. She stumbles in her place, backing away a bit. “Oh—”
“Nancy! Shit, Nancy, Jesus Christ—you can’t just come in like that without asking!” Mike is panicking, flailing his arms around in a flinch, face flush in embarrassment and mouth agape. He’d tripped and fallen backwards onto his bed in a frenzy, now holding himself up by his arms. His hair falls messily in his face, obstructing his vision, and he’s rocking those Star-Wars pajama pants that he out grew over the winter, the cuffs of the pants stopping abruptly at his boney ankles. He’s wide-eyed and one-socked, and has that “caught-red-handed” look on his face.
Nancy looks him up and down with that judgmental older-sister-look. The edges of her mouth quirk up and her eyes glint with amusement. Mike’s truly mortified, and it shows in his face when Nancy speaks up, her voice small yet accusing, high-pitched with curiosity. “Were you... role-playing with the wall?” She gestures to the wall Mike was previously facing towards and gesturing to himself, though in his case it was much more flamboyantly and with much more devotion.
“No! No, I wasn’t, that would be... that would be weird. Totally uncool. And you know I’m, like, the opposite of that, so.” Mike’s tone simmers down to a grumble as he turns away, grabbing at a blanket that had fallen to the dirtied floor and brushing a few wrappers from it, then tossing it behind him, aiming for his bed but ultimately failing. Nancy squints at him for a couple more seconds before huffing and placing an impatient hand on her hip.
“Right. Okay, well, Mom wanted you to know we’re having chicken casserole for supper.”
“Again?! Really? You know that shit messes with my stomach!”
“Tell that to Mom, then! Jeez, I seriously can’t with you right now, I can’t stand your whining, it’s just non-stop,” She complains, voice turned hushed in a tone that suggests she’d switched to be talking to herself. She stops, then, giving him another once-over before grabbing the door knob and slamming it shut. Mike scoffs, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation, then settling then on his knees while he sinks into the edge of his bed. He grits his teeth, leveling his breathing, digs his nails into his pajama pants.
After he gets on an outfit that his dad won’t give him (too much) crap about—some slept-in jeans paired with a striped tee that incorporates his favorite hues of blue—he rushes down the stairs and makes a bee-line across the kitchen to reach out towards the fridge when his Mom catches his arm with a controlled grip, giving him an accusatory look.
Mike freezes in place and stutters. “Um, to contradict whatever your thinking right now, I’m actually just really thirsty. I’ve been super into refrigerated drinks lately, so—”
“Uh-uh, don’t give me that excuse, Michael. You’re going to eat what I’ve cooked for you, not that pre-packaged crap that I don’t even remember buying,” Karen sighs, “I’ll have to ask Nancy about that. Nancy?” She calls out, turning over her shoulder, looking to nothing in particular. When she gets no response, Karen clicks her tongue, shaking her head in disappointment. Or is it annoyance? Mike distantly wonders about why Nancy never gets in trouble and he always does. He purses his lips and goes through the list of curses/spells he knows in his mind that don’t have to do with fire and more so something to do with bad luck so she could actually get caught when she sneaks out. It’s totally unfair how when he does it, it’s like his Mom’s senses are suddenly heightened and she suddenly wakes up like the night’s calling to her, whispering in her ear to check his room. He’s just trying to catch up on planning some campaigns with Dustin or Lucas that they'll inevitable never finish up on (not as much Lucas anymore, actually, and, well, not Will, not for right now, or so Mike hopes. Will is... Will’s away. Not physically, not anymore, but it sure does feel like it. It still feels like he’s somewhere else, infinitely distant from here, but he’ll come back. He’ll come back.) while Nancy gets up to some seriously shady business, and he’s the one who gets caught?
“Do I have to eat the casserole? Why can’t we just eat leftovers from last night?”
“Your father ate the leftovers. You know, you should be grateful I cook for you at all.”
Mike rolls his eyes when he thinks she’s not looking. She was. She smacks at his arm, and he lets out a girlish “Ow!” before she’s giving him another pointed look. He smacks his lips and reluctantly scuffles over to the dining table where Holly is already sat, absorbed in a book as per usual. He can hear the television playing the Daily (Nightly? What time is it? Didn’t Nancy say it was supper time? Had he really been busy doing perfectly normal things in his room for that long?) News from across the house. Dad’s probably rotting on the couch again, he thinks. Or no, he’s always on that weirdly-smelling recliner.
He takes his designated seat on the dining table, across from Holly’s elevated chair. He clears his throat. “What’cha reading?” He asks, hoping he sounds genuine.
Holly doesn’t react, unwavering, eyes set determinedly on her book and her book only. Mike scrunches up his face and sinks into his chair.
Everyone gradually takes their seats. Karen first, then Nancy, then Karen leaves to get Ted after sitting there in silence and waiting, then Karen and Ted. Karen tells the group to “dig in,” and Mike scowls. He’d rather not.
“I’d rather not,” He ends up confessing, distractedly, staring straight down at his hands that’ve gathered together in his lap. He refrains from picking at his nails. They’re already bitten down to the point of no return. He hears silverware clatter gratingly against glass. The table shakes a bit when Karen slaps at it—a warning—capturing Mike’s attention then. Her tone and expression are both dripping with threat, “What was I saying to you in the kitchen, Mister? You’re eating your food, whether you want to or not. In fact, I’m not letting you leave the table unless that plate is licked clean.”
Mike groans, “Are you kidding me? Why can’t you just fess up to the fact that your food is crap? Everyone here knows it!”
He expects his mother to retort back, but she doesn’t. He feels slightly guilty at that. He really doesn’t know why he’s been so irritable recently. Normally, he’d just mumble the insults under his breath and try not to puke while eating the food very, very quickly, and then rush back to his room.
His father finishes chewing a large bite. “Michael, don’t do this right now,” He only says.
Mike decides to shut up. Nancy’s glaring at him. Holly has sunken into her seat, but so has everyone here, really. Mike starts making some interpretive art with the food. The fork is his brush and the plate is his canvas. He almost snorts at that thought. Will would have found it funny.
About Will, about the Byers in general—Mike wonders. He’d vaguely heard, from his parent’s hushed conversations, that they’re looking for a place to stay, that they’d rather not continue staying at those musky motels out in who-knows-where, Indiana. Somewhere unsafe. An unknown place where he can't—well, how could he word this? It gives Mike an odd feeling when Will is someplace where Mike isn't able to protect him. It also gives him an odd feeling to admit that to himself, though he had been experiencing that exact feeling it the entirety of last year. Just... kind of ignoring it. He does that a lot. Mike chews at the inside of his lips, the words just itching to come out.
And they do, “So, uh. What about the Byers? I mean, where’re they staying right now? Uh, it’s just that me, Dustin, and Lucas are, like, really bummed we can’t see them.” Them is an exaggeration. It’s really only Will he’s talking about, and by his Mother’s look of pity it’s clear that she’s aware of this. Nancy also shoots a glance at him, for some reason.
“Oh, I didn’t tell you? They’re planning on staying here for the foreseeable future, actually, until Joyce figures it all out, the poor thing. We have all this space and we finally have something to do with it that doesn’t include those silly games you and your friends play, isn’t that nice? Ted?”
Mike channeled out after she finished her second sentence. What? When was this discussed, and why wasn’t he apart of that discussion? Why didn’t she tell him? Obviously it would be important to him. They’ve been close to the Byers family ever since Mike can remember—there’s nothing past kindergarten he can recall. Mike finds himself angry. He also feels the need to prepare, for some bizarre and foreign reason he can't quite place. The thought of waking up in the morning, heading down to breakfast and seeing three extra chairs pulled out and cramming the dining room, overlapping voices, never ending noise makes him shiver. But most of all, he's terrified of waking up and seeing Will every morning. Or, at least, it feels like terror.
“And... you’re okay with this, right, Mike?” Karen questions.
Mike nods. Of course he’s okay with it. Why wouldn’t he be? He wouldn’t be nervous—or, he shouldn’t. But he is. He’s nervous beyond belief, and he can’t think of any reason in the world why. It makes his head hurt. It makes him nauseous. He looks down at this plate of “food,” and almost gags. He shouldn’t be feeling like this at all. He should be excited. Well. He would have been excited, if it was years back. He would have jumped for joy at the idea. Would have gotten up and hugged his Mother as hard as he could. Would have had a hard time falling asleep at night from the anticipation. But he isn’t, not now. His heart aches longingly at the change. He wants to grab the nervousness bundling in his throat, making it hard to speak, and kick it to the curb. But that's impossible, and he feels as if solving this is impossible, like he's been missing out on this big factor in all of this. Like he's blind to something. He wishes he could just see it all clearly, as it should be. Mike wants Will and him to be clear with each other. He doesn't want to keep talking in vague suggestions.
He just wants to know what Will's thinking every hour, every minute, ever second, if they're with each other or not. His mind trails off to distantly wonder about something along the lines of mind reading. Mike's sure there are plenty of spells, curses, exc. revolving around mind reading. He could talk to Will about that. No, wait, no. He’s thinking in the past again. That would be too much, wouldn’t it? Maybe Will’s still mad at him—actually, Mike’s certain he is, and oh, how that hurts him and makes him so incredibly guilty—so maybe they’re not at the “talking about each other’s feelings” stage anymore. It would be awkward, Mike thinks, regrettably, because he has this gnawing feeling that when it comes to Will nothing should ever be awkward. Ever.
Other things about the stay would be awkward, too, of course. Mike would have to, well, not wear sweatpants that haven’t been washed in weeks around the house, sadly. Nancy would get a win out of that. Something about making the guests feel at home, or whatever. And he wouldn’t want Jonathan thinking he’s even more of a weirdo than he already does.
A sudden realization dawns on Mike, “Hey, what about Jonathan? He’s not staying with Nancy, right?” He grimaces at the thought, “Gross.”
“Oh, well—”
“What? God, Mike, you are so immature!”
“I’m just saying! You aren’t worried about that?”
Karen sighs, “I’m sure they can handle themselves. Right, Nancy?”
Nancy suddenly looks guilty. Mike squints at her, hoping she can feel his gaze. “Right, Mom.”
Ted clears his throat. “You better,” he comments.
“Right! Right, I know, jeez,” Nancy repeats.
Everyone settles down then. Mike slips away when Nancy and Karen get enveloped into a conversation about Jonathan's vague comments about college. He doesn't care for the food left uneaten on the table. Uncared for. Unwanted. It doesn't matter. He'd forget about it tomorrow. He creeps back into his dark and comfortable room, warm unlike that abandoned chicken casserole. He crawls into his bed, a difficult size, due to his sudden growth spurt. His feet dare to dangle off of the bed if the growing continues. He doesn't undress, just lays there, shielded by the blankets, and turns his brain off. It had felt like a long day though he'd done basically nothing. It feels like the knowledge he'd gained from his Mother today, about the Byers staying over, had cast a sleep spell on him. He hadn't even asked when it would come. He tries to distract himself from the fear that comes with that thought by shutting his eyes and letting the soft buzz of the heater lull him to a peaceful sleep unlike today.