Chapter Text
December 1991
Hawkins, Indiana
Karen Wheeler watched from her spot on the sofa as her son’s childhood friends drifted up from the basement. All home from college, their first semester behind them, they carried the easy laughter and familiar energy of youth. Dustin, Lucas, and Max called out a chorus of “Goodnight, Mrs. Wheeler” as they made their way toward the front door.
Rising, she walked to meet them. “So,” she asked, “did you vanquish anything?”
They all smirked at her, the same mischievous expressions they had worn as children. Karen felt that strange, fleeting overlap, the glimpses of childhood still lingering in faces that were only just stepping into adulthood.
“Hmmm…not tonight, but no promises about what tomorrow night will bring,” Dustin replied.
They began filing out the door one after the other.
“See you tomorrow, Mrs. Wheeler,” Lucas said over his shoulder. His hand caught the hand of his girlfriend, Max. Young love, she thought, but then mentally shook her head because young love didn’t quite describe Lucas and Max’s relationship. She now knew what had been happening literally under her nose. She knew about the Upside Down, Henry or Venca, Hawkins Lab, and the supernatural beings from another dimension.
No, young love was far too trivial a phrase. What Lucas had done to keep Max tethered to this world, and what Max had survived just to find her way back to him, went far beyond anything simple words could capture. Maybe the closest term she could think of was the one she read in her latest romance novel. The author spoke of the hero and the heroine as being more than soulmates, but as a “destined pair.”
As she began to close the door, she sensed something was amiss. Will, she thought fondly. He was still downstairs with her son. She smiled softly, wondering if they had planned a sleepover, not an uncommon occurrence for the two of them. Their friendship had always felt slightly different from Mike’s relationships with the others. They were best friends, the best of them, she supposed.
Reaching to switch off the foyer light, she heard footsteps making their way up the basement stairs. The door opened, and Will slipped out through the narrow space he’d created, immediately closing it behind him with a sharp snick. He stood facing the door, his forehead pressed against it, one hand gripping the doorknob while the other rested against his chest, as if trying to steady his breathing.
Karen remained still. Normally, she would reach out to any of the kids when she saw them distressed, but this felt different. Heavier than the usual post-adolescent drama. More adult in its weight. This moment was meant to be private for Will, and perhaps for…
She shook her head, quieting the thought before she could finish it. He hadn’t noticed her, and she did not want him to be embarrassed by her presence. Silently, she turned away, leaning against the shared wall between the living room and hallway, remaining there until she heard Will walk down the hall and out the door.
Moving from her spot, she stepped into the hallway, her eyes drifting toward the basement, toward Michael, who must still be down there, lost in whatever world he and Will always seemed to find together. She imagined the two of them, connected in ways only they could understand, simply being Mike and Will. But thinking of how Will had left her home, she knew that being Mike and Will was no longer simple. A pang of sadness echoed in her chest.
Watching them, Karen felt a swell of emotion. The closeness between her son and Will was unmistakable—quiet, steadfast, and intimate in a way only they understood. It was her first clue to her son’s sexuality. She knew she was woefully out of her depth to have a queer son and needed to do something. She thought about the first time she had gone to a PFLAG meeting, terrified and unsure, coming from a conservative background where such spaces were whispered about, not attended. She had gone because Mike mattered more than discomfort or judgment. Listening to parents speak about the dangers their kids faced had stayed with her. It had taught her how vital it was to be present, to listen without showing disappointment, and to create a safe space for a child to reveal who they truly were. Seeing Mike and Will together now brought all those lessons rushing back, reminding her that love and safety must come first, always.
She could not ignore her motherly instincts, especially after everything that had happened in Hawkins, and especially to her children. She had committed long ago to never putting her head in the sand when her intuition told her something was wrong. The attack on her home, the abduction of her children, and the death of her husband had changed her. She was more watchful now, more intrusive perhaps, but it all came from love. If Will’s behavior was any indication of Mike’s state, then she knew her son was downstairs in his own turmoil, stewing alone, just as he was known to do.
Rapping her knuckles on the basement door, she called out, “Mike, I’m coming down.”
Karen descended the steps to find the basement looking as it always did. To the left sat the table surrounded by a mismatched collection of chairs, one of Holly’s campaigns frozen in time until her “party” returned. To the right, the television was dark, pillows scattered across the floor, throw blankets draped over the couch and ground. The space looked lived in, cluttered with empty pizza boxes, Coke cans, and crumpled bags of Jiffy Pop and Doritos. Yet the air felt nothing like the warmth that usually filled the room. Her gaze found the source of the chill, the ache. Her son.
Mike sat on the couch, leaning forward with his forearms resting on his knees, hands clasped tightly together. His face was marble still, sharp angles reflecting her own features, gifted to this beautiful young man. He hadn’t looked at her, hadn’t acknowledged her presence. She used the moment to study him. His gaze was fixed straight ahead, lids hooded, eyes darting subtly as though he were staring at something broken beyond repair.
Looking at him now stirred a fear Karen hadn’t felt in years. Not since he was twelve and thought Will’s body had been found. She had felt it then, too. That instinctive knowing that something was terribly wrong, even if she hadn’t yet understood its weight. Will. The name alone was both a word and a sentence when it came to her son.
Mike was grieving something, she thought. When he lost El, his grief had been sharp and volatile. Anger radiated from him, siphoning out through his pores. Very few people could withstand that storm.
Six months later, Ted died from an unexpected aneurysm. The doctors said it was a complication from the attack. In those months, Ted had learned about Mike and his secret life, and something had shifted between father and son. Not repaired, but softened. Ted found pride in the boy they had raised, and Mike found the approval he’d never admit he’d wanted. So when Ted didn’t wake up one spring morning, Mike’s grief was different. Quieter. Laced with melancholy.
Mike usually kept his emotions tightly coiled, bottled deep in his gut until they spilled out as cutting remarks or sharp looks. But this grief was different. This was desolate. Fractured. He sat in silence that threatened to devour him.
Karen figured this was about Will. While she didn’t know the specifics, she realized she couldn't leave him alone like this. That same fear, that same drive to protect her child, had brought her to PFLAG was back. Seeing other parents, hearing their stories of bullying, AIDS, even the very real threat of suicide, had taught her the delicate balance of giving a child space while remaining present, attentive, and unconditionally loving. Her upbringing had warned her against such places, but love for Mike outweighed all discomfort. She was here now, in the basement, carrying all that knowledge and care as she moved toward him.
She crossed the room and knelt in front of Mike. He still didn’t notice her, locked in a memory she couldn’t see. She gently took one of his hands. He didn’t stir. She lifted her other hand and cupped his face. The touch pulled him back. He startled slightly but didn’t pull away.
“Oh, baby…” she murmured.
Something shifted in his expression, a series of familiar tells she had learned over a lifetime. A story she suspected only he thought was his alone.
“Mom,” Mike said, his voice cracking.
She pulled him into her arms. He folded into her, face pressed against her neck, arms wrapped tightly around her. She felt his tears against her skin as his body shook with sobs, releasing the thing he couldn’t yet say.
“Tell me, Mike,” she whispered, pressing kisses into his hair. “Just tell me.”
She held him tighter. “There’s nothing you can’t tell me. Nothing you could ever say that would make me love you less. You’re my son…”
They stayed that way for a long time. Eventually, Mike pulled back, still held within the circle of her arms. A shuddered breath passed through him.
“Will, he… he’s found someone,” Mike said, his voice barely holding.
Karen watched his eyes flick up to hers, the question and fear bleeding through. If she had learned anything in the last two years, it was that no one could move forward without naming a thing for what it was.
“And, isn’t that good news?” she asked gently, offering another angle, hoping it would make him feel safe enough to keep going.
Mike looked away.
“Mike,” she said softly but firmly. “Isn’t that good news?”
His internal battle played out across his face. His lips, his brow, his eyes shining with unshed tears.
“No,” he whispered.
Karen nodded, steadying herself. “Why not, Mike?”
Silence stretched between them.
“Because I love him,” he said at last, voice breaking. “And I’m too late.”
He folded in on himself, knees drawn to his chest as he wept.
“Oh, Mike.” She gathered him close again, his head resting in her lap, his arms wrapped around her waist. She ran her fingers through his curls, holding him through the weight of another heartbreak.
Running her fingers through his curls, she thought about seeing Will before he left. The sadness he carried. Now her mind went to her son. While he has not “named the thing,” he is getting closer. Closer than he ever had been before. He acknowledges he loves Will. She thinks in time he’ll be able to tell her who he is from and “I” rather than from a “who.”
As she holds her boy through another heartbreak, the desolation and fracture are still there. Yet, maybe this time it's not as late as he might think, for Will is still alive.