Chapter Text
It’s been four years since the world almost ended. Four years since the world did, in a way, end for Mike.
Eleven never came back as he hoped, and he quickly quit hoping. He went to college, graduated, and did everything he felt he had to. He still ended up back home, but life went on, even if it never felt like it would.
Admittedly, it was nice to see Holly again, and she seemed to be holding up well regardless of how bad he felt for essentially leaving her after everything while she was still so young. She is still young, yet far braver than he. It certainly doesn't help his moping to learn how her own party had recently wrapped up their first campaign, in the same basement, she as the DM, just as he was. He can’t even remember the last time he spoke to the party, even with the recent advances in technology.
He tries not to think about it. About them. He does anyway.
Only two and a half weeks into being back at home, in Hawkins, does he finally get with the times, ditching his typewriter for the clunky excuse of a computer like he was forced to use in college. Coming with AIM, he decides to create an account, despite being well aware that there will be no need for it. Mike hasn't had friends since he graduated and parted ways for college.
Though, only the next day, there’s a friend request waiting for him, the display name reading ‘MadMax’. He, of course, assumes it to be a coincidence. His heart stutters in his chest all the same.
Hesitating a long moment, Mike simply stares at the display name that is, for whatever reason, trying to contact him. Before he can even accept the request, the landline begins ringing, his mom yelling for him to get it.
With an annoyed sigh, he stands and picks up the phone. Before the receiver even reaches his ear, he notices the distinct voice, one he could never forget even if he wanted to. And, at one point, he did.
“You know I can see if you’re on without even accepting my friend request, right, Wheeler?” Max.
Mike can’t care to hold back the annoyed groan he lets out. “I didn’t even know you were back in Hawkins.” He fidgets with the coiled wire of the landline. He’s well aware of how disinterested he sounds. And, truth be told, he is, in a way, disinterested. Yet, at the same time, he can’t help the relief of hearing her voice again, which almost brings him to the point of tears. He keeps up his usual cadence of annoyance regardless. “Why do you want me on AIM anyway?”
He can almost hear the eye roll from her in the silence on the line. “Aren’t we friends? Do I need a reason?” Mike doesn’t even have the time to point out the fact that they haven't spoken in four years, how he doesn't even know what she looks like now, how he can only hope her hair is still that same pretty color that looks like fire in the sunlight. No, they haven’t been friends for a long time. She continues regardless: “I made a campaign.”
“A campaign? Like… D&D?”
“What do you think, Michael?”
Her tone is enough to prove it’s a stupid question, but he already knew that as he spoke the words. He knows what she means by ‘a campaign’, it just seems too weird. Too unbelievable.
She continues when his silence is too much. “Anyway, I’ve been working on it for a while, but the problem is no one I know is enough of a loser to play it.”
For a moment, Mike feels offended. They haven’t spoken for at least four years, but it still feels unfathomable for her to even think of finding another party. Though, only after a moment's thought, he realizes that, if he knows her at all – and he likes to think he still does, even somewhat – then he knows that she never actually considered finding another party.
He asks the only thing he can think to: “You want to get the party back together?”
Her response is quick and succinct: “Not ‘want to’, I have. All we need left is you, Wheeler.”
Again, Mike feels offended. Even after so much time has passed, he’s not in the slightest used to not being the leader. Even if the party were to have a new DM for however long, a part of him always assumed he’d still be the leader. Even if he maybe never deserved that title.
“Everyone?”
She chuckles softly, the sound barely heard over how muddy the landline makes it. “Yes, everyone,” she confirms. “Will is inviting someone.”
Mike groans again. “Will is inviting someone, and I’m the last person you ask?” he questions incredulously. “I’m assuming you’re going to want to use my basement, my house, and you ask me last?”
Offended, offended, offended. He can hardly think to feel honored, loved, appreciated, that they’re still insisting he join, to keep the party truly together, even with their numbers slowly becoming bloated. But in the end, he’s still the last person asked, and that’s all he can truly focus on. Even if he’s well aware that is mostly his own doing. Max only laughs again.
“Why else would I ask you? If it weren’t for your basement, your house,” – she’s obviously mocking him, but for a moment he finds it cute – “I wouldn’t. But you have a great basement. So are you in or not?”
Out. Certainly out. Fuck the sanctity of keeping the same party; they can have their stupid campaign without him. He still has nightmares about what happened, still thinks of El, of all of them, and they want to get together and play Dungeons & Dragons like they’re still kids? His glasses sit heavy on his nose.
Before he knows it, though, he’s replying: “Sounds good, my basement next weekend?”
He doesn’t ask what the campaign is about, or who Will is inviting. He just needs to get off the phone.
Max’s confirmation is quick and excited, telling by the tone of her voice. Mike, on the other hand, feels his stomach churn with the unease that only comes with knowing you’ve made the wrong decision. He walks slowly back to his computer and accepts her request, then gets started on creating a character sheet regardless.