Chapter Text
Snowflakes dropped lazily outside the window. Soon they would blanket the darkened roads, the sloped roofs, erasing the scarred landscape of Hawkins into a clean slate. Children would spill from their warm homes out into the cold, red nosed, wide eyed, laughing. They would leave erratic tracks, odd patterns as they played, running in circles and making angels.
It hadn’t snowed in four years. Not since ash had fallen from the sky and Hawkins had been locked in a bubble. It had snowed elsewhere in Indiana, but never Hawkins. Like it had sensed it wasn’t safe to land there.
But today, it did.
Mike dazed out of the bedroom window, eyes unfocused. His hands hovered over his typewriter, as they were oft to do. For the last few months the world had passed him by, on the other side of the glass, apart from him. The summer sun, skateboards, bikes, shorts, had turned to autumnal oranges and reds, coats gradually becoming thicker, journeys becoming faster as the cold set in. The house opposite had moved out, to greener (and presumably) safer pastures. Nobody new moved in. The only time he left the house was when bribed by his mother with books or ink, and then he’d walk the roads he always walked. Down Cornwallis. By the Byer’s old house, which had been knocked down and not yet rebuilt. Through the forests, over crunching twigs and dewy grass, up to the quarry. They’d built a fence around it now, but you could still get close. He’d walk right up and peer over it, hands on the wood.
A spot of red moved through the white background. Mike focused his eyes with a gasp of breath, blinking. Of course Holly was out there. In her red coat, she looked like little red riding hood, but she’d already faced and defeated the big bad wolf. Another shape emerged from the house. Karen Wheeler had been left undeterred after everything, for the most part. The biggest change was that she was more involved with her children, and they with her— understandable given everything that had gone on under her very nose. The two ran around, marking the fresh snow, Karen pulling Holly’s sled with gusto. Mike’s father, Ted, was naturally nowhere to be found. Likely on his lounger, thinking about how he’d have to shovel the driveway.
Mike looked down at the paper in front of him. It sagged in the typewriter, leaning backwards, dipping further back each time he sat down, unable to type a word. When his friends had left back in the summer, he’d envisioned a life where he would write. He would live in his head, away from this place and everything that had happened. He would write fiction, where fact hurt. But nothing came. It was always this, the blank paper, his hands shaking like he was unable to move them.
How was it February already? Christmas had been and gone, his friends had returned and left again. He’d celebrated the new year in front of the TV, accompanied by his dad, whilst the rest of the Wheelers went out to see the fireworks. It’s too cold, Ted had said. I’m tired, Mike said. So the women went without them, but not without a sad glance or two, and an open offer if they changed their minds. Feeling uncharacteristically generous, Ted had let Mike watch the TV on his lounger. He’d ended up sleeping in it, only waking when Nancy kicked his leg and told him to get to bed, after which she’d attempted to have a heart to heart with him. She’d spoken softly of El, of knowing immediately that Mike was smitten by her, how cute they were. That was the first time in a while he’d felt something— he’d yelled at her to mind her own business, and they ignored each other after that.
“Mike, dinner!”
Mike glanced at the clock on the wall. 6pm, on the dot. Like clockwork. Without noticing the sun had gone down outside, the snow now appearing warm under the yellowing streetlamps. He noticed little these days. He’d blink and the shadows would be on the other side of the room, his shoulders and neck aching from slouching so long.
His legs knew the way, even if his mind didn’t care to go. Downstairs the table was set, as it always was, everyone in the same seats they always were. Without Nancy, without the Byers, it always felt like a joke. A comically large table which would always be half empty. Mike sat down soundlessly, not bothering to converse before eating. Karen stuttered, as though to say something, but stopped.
She did that often, with him. With Ted.
Holly and Karen continued their conversation from outside, talking animatedly over another bland meatloaf. The faint noise of WSQK hummed in the background.
“Josh is dating Cassidy now, so that’s over,” Holly grumbled, stabbing her food with threatening force.
“That’s a bit young, isn’t it?” Karen said. She smiled warmly. “I doubt it’s serious. You’re too good for him anyway.”
“Of course you’d say that.”
Mike was barely listening. The little focus he had was on mechanically eating his food so he could get the hell out of there and go back into hiding. After the summer, too many dinners had been used as honey traps, with Karen questioning him on his plans. College? Work? An internship? Nancy did all those things— even if she dropped out, she always has a plan. She’d given him time, knowing what had happened. But the others had moved on. Max, Hopper… Will. They knew and loved El, they all did, and they’d moved on. So why was he so different? She’d eventually let it go, but each time she opened her mouth in his presence he’d flinch.
“Linda was asking about you.”
There was a lull. It took a few seconds of silence for Mike to look up and see Karen was looking at him, eyebrows raised. “What?”
“Linda. Stacy’s mom? There’s a job going at the general store.” Whatever Mike’s face looked like made Karen stutter. “It would be at the back. No dealing with customers, really. Just sorting deliveries. It would keep you busy, and you could save the money for something nice. More books?”
Mike gave her nothing. But it seemed she had more to say. “The middle school has started an official DnD club, she told me. It was a bit controversial but a lot of students were interested. And since Holly will be starting soon, I was thinking that could be a good opportunity for you.”
“Not a good place to meet a woman, though,” said Ted. “That’s what he needs, that and a good job. He’s not a kid anymore. We were his age—”
“Ted!” Karen hissed.
Good, Mike thought. Let them argue, get distracted. His DnD books and materials sat in the basement. The only reason they were still there was due to Holly, who had her friends over each week. Despite her asking, he avoided them every time. It all seemed so… pointless.
“I don’t think dating is on his mind right now,” said Karen. Another classic dinner, where his mother put down her cutlery to glare daggers at his dad, who tended to deserve it.
“He’s a young man. Women are on his mind all the time, I can assure you,” Ted said back, leaning in his chair, incapable of reading the room.
“It’s not been that long.”
“It’s been long enough. If he meets the right girl, he’ll know.”
“It’s not just about girls, Ted. His friends are gone too.”
“What about Charlotte down the road? She likes books. I remember when I met you and I could barely sleep. I knew I had to get my act together. Get a job. Become a man. Don’t you remember?”
Karen stilled, averting her eyes. “I remember,” she murmured. “I remember the butterflies, and planning my day around bumping into you.” She cleared her throat. “It was a long time ago. And someone doesn’t need a relationship at this age.”
Another lull. The silence hung heavy, even Holly staying quiet. Their parents were on the slow road to divorce, they both knew. Likely waiting for Holly to finish school. It affected her, he knew. He knew they should talk about it, but what was there to say? The heart came into his head, and he quickly pushed it away. Each time he looked upon the painting El commissioned with Will, it made him think things could change. That they would be okay. But the truth was, the heart was broken, and he’d stopped believing it could be fixed.
Karen changed the conversation. “Are you looking forward to seeing Will this weekend?”
“Eating our food again,” Ted grumbled, quietly this time.
“He’s a nice boy, to come down early and help Joyce and Hopper move. It was nice of Mike to offer our house, since Hopper’s place is too small.”
“I still can’t understand the two of them. It’s a weird Joyce thing, to bring her loved ones back to life. I mean, where did Hopper go—“
“Well, I can.” The snap in Karen’s voice meant this conversation was over too.
He’d finished. He had serious heartburn, but he’d finished his food. “Thanks mom,” Mike said, before fleeing the room. He shut the bedroom door behind him, leaning on it for support. He’d barely made it out. It would piss of Karen, but it might be time to request having his meals up there. Where it was safe. Where he was alone.
He’d expected a dinner like all the others, but his mother had ruined that. Will. Unlike the others, he hadn’t come back at Christmas. He’d been staying with Jonathan in New York, until he’d moved there fully. Joyce and Hopper had decided to join them for the holidays, instead of the other way around, much to the group’s chagrin. Not that the rest of them had seen much of Mike over that time. He’d met them once, at the diner, listened to them regale their stories of university and their new friends and work. Even Steve had dropped by, kindly paying for dinner. Mike had said little. He’d stared at his waffles and realised he had nothing to say, nothing to update them on. Nothing had happened. Everything was the same. They were out writing their own stories, or their happily ever afters, but Mike knew what his was. Hawkins, the suburbs, a dull job and counting down the days until— He’d declined their other invites after that.
But Will was coming back now. Joyce and Hopper were moving to Montauk, after much planning, and the Byers were leaving Hawkins for the second time. For the second time, he’d watch them drive away, feel the sinking in his stomach that Hawkins was becoming less and less like home.
Unlike all the other nights, he didn’t pick up something to read from his stack of comic books, or hug his headphones on his head to drown out the thoughts that came with the night. He knelt by his bed, which still felt new and foreign. His room had been destroyed back then, and after seeing the blood downstairs, his mom had had most of the house redecorated. Save for Mike’s room, which looked the same. The book he pulled out was dusty, causing him to sneeze. He brushed some off, causing him to sneeze once more.
It creaked open. At once, pain stabbed him and he wheezed. The Snow Ball. El stood beside him, smiling wildly, whilst he rolled his eyes. He’d always hated photographs. He regretted that now. In his favourite pictures, her hair was short, and she donned Will’s clothes that hung off her. He didn’t know what it was about them. He flicked through, page by page, the pain increasing until he became numb. He didn’t brush the tears that fell, or the snot dripping from his nose. He let himself feel all of it. I deserve it. That was what was different between him and the others. He deserved to feel the pain of the loss in its entirety, without relief. Without support. Their final goodbye — he was the only one given one — and he had been unable to say it. I love you. Maybe it could’ve saved her. Maybe—
The next picture was of Will, El, and Mike, in the basement. Both he and El smiled, but Will’s appeared more like a grimace. His heart fluttered. Anxiety, at seeing Will again, he presumed. They’d barely spoken, save for Will wishing him Merry Christmas and telling him he’d be back in Hawkins in February. Now it was his stomach’s turn to flip. Through the tears, he smiled.
With a thud he slammed the book shut and threw it across the room, where it smashed into the closet door. He willed it away. He focused on El, the ache in his eyes, his head, until it became unbearable. His lips wobbled. I deserve this.
I deserve this.
I deserve this.
Mike looked across at the sparse decoration, the minimal mess. His eyes glossed over the stack of letters pushed right to the back of the bed, which he knew he should get rid of but had found himself unable to. There were many from El, with the painful reminder of their fight. And there were his unsent letters to Will. When he’d told his family he was sending a letter to Will, Ted had frowned and said 'Men don’t write each other letters. Write one to your actual girlfriend, if you must'. He’d rolled his eyes at the time, but the comment nagged him. He’d stood by the post office, excited to read Will’s response — especially since their phone line was always blocked — but decided it was silly. He was then in high school, not a child any more. Best friends, girlfriends— they were different.
In a few days Will would be there, in his room. Holly was holding her first major campaign, and so the basement was off limits, and Nancy was also coming back— something to do with a regular meet up with the others. Not that it was that regular, but they made attempts.
Whatever. He’d grin and bear it. He’d be polite. He’d make small talk. And soon enough Will would be gone forever, leaving him alone once more.