Chapter Text
November 6th 1983
“Do you hear that…?” Mike whispers— glancing over his tri-fold and forcing down a smug grin at the looks on his friends faces. “Listen…”
Will leans closer, mouth held slightly agape as if in a trance, and this time Mike has to fit his bottom lip between his teeth to fight down the smile. He flicks his eyes between each party member, pausing for anticipation. It doesn’t take long for the other two to start leaning in, a mirror of Will.
Man, this is his favorite part of DMing.
Mike wrestles with that familiar giddiness squirming in his chest, and continues: “… Something is coming… something hungry for blood.”
He tilts his head down slightly, skimming his campaign notes for just a moment despite the fact they’re practically engrained in his memory at this point. Mike looks back up through his bangs.
“A shadow grows on the wall behind you…”
The boys lean closer.
“… swallowing you in darkness…”
Closer.
“… It is almost here.”
Mike pauses once more, knowing his friends well enough by now to know that they’re going to want to chatter.
“… What is it?” Will breaks the silence— gaze breaking from Mike’s for just a moment to look at Lucas and Dustin —his hands clutching the edge of the table.
“What if it’s the Demogorgon?” Dustin chimes in, looking around at the others nervously, a hand covering his mouth. “We’re so screwed if it’s the Demogorgon—”
Lucas groans. Dustin has been on about the Demogorgon the whole campaign, and Mike had to fight his grin down each and every time the word passed his friend’s lips.
“—It’s not the Demogorgon—”
Oh, for sure.
Mike clenches his teeth down on his bottom lip again, kicking his legs a little to keep himself as stone-faced as possible. Energy is buzzing through every inch of his body, fighting to escape somehow. He waits a moment more to ensure they’re settled enough and—
“An army of Troglodytes—” He slams down six of the miniatures Will helped him paint earlier that week “—charge into the chamber!”
The energy shifts— just like Mike wanted —and he leans back a bit.
“Their tails drum the floor. Boom! Boom! Boom!”
“Troglodytes?” Dustin snorts, relaxing in his seat. “Really?”
Lucas tilts his head back and looks down his nose at the other boy. “Toldja.”
“Pfffff—”
Mike keeps looking at Will— who remains unmoved with those big eyes staring him down —and Mike can’t help but let his lips twitch up into a tiny smile. Will always caught on quicker than the others, he just knows Mike too well. Snapping himself out of whatever hypnosis Will dragged him into, Mike looks around dramatically, eyes widening.
“Wait…” He hushes the others. “…Do you hear that?”
Lucas and Dustin are dragged back in easily, and he quickly has all three boys leaning forward into his story.
“Boom! Boom! Boom!” He smacks the table, startling the others from their DND-induced-daze. “That sound— it didn’t come from the Troglodytes… no… it came from something else…”
Mike’s hand immediately grabs for the miniature he’s had in front of him this entire time, waiting patiently for this exact moment, and he bangs it down on the map.
“The Demogorgon.”
A moment of calm before—
Dustin. “We’re in deep shit.”
Exhilarated, Mike turns to Will. “Will, your action!”
The boy in question flounders slightly, face scrunching as if he completely forgot whose turn it was. “I— I don’t know—”
“Fireball him—”
Mike finally lets himself smile at the mayhem.
“I’d have to roll thirteen or higher!” Will’s eyes flick to Mike in panic, though he quickly looks away.
“Too risky.” Dustin contemplates. “Cast a protection spell—”
Oh-ho-ho. Mike’s grin widens as the others descend further into the chaos.
“Don’t be a wimp!” Lucas scoffs, leaning forward over the map. “Fireball him!”
“Protection spell—!”
Mike schools his expression before:
“The Demogorgon is tired of your silly human bickering. It stomps toward you. BOOM!”
Dustin practically flails and Lucas looks to Will frantically. “Fireball him, Will!”
“Another step— BOOM!”
“Cast protection!” Dustin sticks to his guns and—
“It roars in anger—”
Lucas and Dustin yell at Will in unison.
“And—”
Will makes his choice.
“Fireball!”
He rolls the die over the map—
And, yes, Mike loves his enthusiasm, but when the die scatters all the way across the basement, Mike has to try his absolute hardest not to groan in annoyance. He hears a clatter off near the steps and he flings himself to the floor to begin the search.
“What is it?” Lucas cries, initiating his own search on the other side of the basement.
“I don’t know!”
“Is it a thirteen?” Dustin’s search doesn’t seem to be going well either, and really, how would Will know that? The dice is missing.
“I don’t know!” Will gripes.
The basement door swings open to reveal Mike’s mom, standing at the top of the stairs with one hand on her hip and an eyebrow raised. From the expression alone Mike knows he almost certainly missed more than a few yells of his name but he can’t help but beg.
“Mom, we’re in the middle of a campaign—”
“You mean the end.” Mom taps her watch sternly. “Fifteen after. Remember? Any later and I won’t let you ride back with the others.” She spins to return to the kitchen and Mike rushes up the basement steps— on all fours in his hurry —and continues to beg.
“Just twenty more minutes!”
“It’s a school night, Michael, and I just put Holly to bed.” Mom was making her way to the cutting board that was frankly way too tall. “You can finish next weekend—”
Mike cuts in, “—That’ll ruin the flow!”
“Michael.”
She levels him with a stare that would make him roll and expose a soft under-belly if it was about any other topic.
“I’m serious, Mom!” He pouts, desperate and a little pathetic. His voice reverts to a petulant tone that he utterly despises himself for pulling out each and every time— and he suddenly prays none of the party are listening in. “It took two weeks to plan!”
He hesitates a little.
“How was I supposed to know it’d take ten hours—?”
And he knows instantly that was the wrong thing to say because Mom swivels back to face him. “You’ve been playing ten hours?”
Mike opens his mouth to argue back, but knows by now it’s a lost cause and turns to his dad to begin yet another lost cause.
“Dad, don’t you think—?”
“— I think you should listen to your mother.”
And yeah, what did Mike expect?
A groan, and Mike turns back to his mom.
“Well, can— Can I just stay over at Will’s tonight?” Mike starts hopefully. “Instead of just coming all the way back home?”
“No.”
“Mom!” He exclaims. “Please?”
“Michael.”
Mike sniffs angrily, looking at the basement door, and he grumbles waiting for his mom to continue.
“It is a school night.” Mom repeats. “You’re lucky I’m letting you ride back with them at all. You come right back home, I mean it.”
A sigh, and Mike nods, returning to top of the steps where Lucas and Will are already packed up and racing over.
“Hey guys— anyone want this?” Dustin yells out, still beside the table, holding up the almost-empty pizza box.
“No!” The others say, and Mike follows Will and Lucas into the garage.
Will smiles up at him, heaving Mike’s bike up and wheeling it over to him.
“Thanks.” Mike nods, brushing the seat off absentmindedly before swinging his leg over it. Will grins harder and looks away to wheel his own bike over.
The garage door slams closed with a bang and Dustin comes up behind him, the last piece of pizza dangling from his lips as he pulls his bike upright.
“Something’s wrong with your sister,” Dustin says, muffled behind the piece clutched in his teeth. Mike grimaces but decides not to comment on the gross-ness of Dustin (it’s not like Mike is any better) and decides to simply humor him.
“What’re you talking about?”
“She’s got a stick up her butt.”
Mike snorts, gripping the handlebars.
“It’s ’cause she’s seeing that barf bag, Steve Harrington—” Lucas chimes in, pulling his bike outside the garage.
Scrunching his nose, Mike watches Dustin climb on his bike. “Yeah, she’s turning into a real jerk.”
“She’s always been a real jerk—” Mike huffs, riding to join Will and Lucas outside the garage, waiting for Dustin to get settled.
“Nuh-uh!” Dustin exclaims, awkwardly waddling his bike over to the three of them so they can all set off at the same time. “She used to be cool. Like that time she dressed up as an elf for our Eldertree campaign—”
“Four years ago!” Mike bit back.
A shrug. “Just sayin’.”
The four of them all wink their handlebar lights to light up the darkness, kick off, and set off down the street. It isn’t long until Lucas peels off from the group with a teasing: “See ya, ladies.”
Will locks eyes with Mike and rolls his eyes purposefully, Mike snickers.
“Kiss your mom ‘night for me!” Dustin yells after Lucas, who flips him off and rides up his driveway.
A moment of peaceful silence and Dustin breaks it with a mischievous grin and a: “Race to my place? Winner gets a comic?”
Oh… Bad idea, Dustin.
Will perks up in Mike’s peripheral, drawing his eyes over. “Any comic?”
“Yeah—”
Mike grins, and before Will even moves Mike knows what he’s going to do, and to be honest? Mike lets him. Will starts pedaling— hard —and Mike whips around so he can catch Dustin’s reaction.
“Hey!”
Dustin starts his pursuit, but he’s already too far behind, and Mike moves quickly to keep up. Chilled wind lashes across his face, blowing his hair up off his forehead, and he can’t get his wide smile to calm down. Small pleased chortles from Will reach Mike as he begins to catch up— not enough to win, of course —but enough to get a glimpse of the glee lighting up his best friend’s face. Will whizzes past Dustin’s house, waving to him happily, and slows down a bit to allow Mike to catch up to his side.
He grins wider at Mike, an impish sparkle in his eyes, and turns to yell at Dustin, “I’ll take your X-Men one-three-four!”
“Always need the last word, huh.” Mike huffs breathlessly.
A snort, and Will raises his eyebrows at Mike. “As if you don’t always try to get the last word.”
“I do not!” Mike squeals indignantly, nose scrunching.
“You’re doing it right now!”
“I—” Mike pauses, mouth still open mid-word, and he clamps it shut. “Shut up.”
“Mmmhmm.” Will hums teasingly, turning back to look at the road. “… It was a seven.”
Mike blinks, swerving slightly off course before correcting himself. “What?”
”The roll.“
Oh. Mike looks over at his best friend.
Will continues. “It was a seven. The Demogorgon— it got me.”
”Shit,” Mike sighs. “Don’t tell the others but— I was rooting for you.”
Will chuckles, looking away, and shrugs. “Just pretend it was a thirteen then, they were trying to get me to lie anyway.”
“Of course they were.” Mike scoffs, rolling his eyes.
They ride in comfortable silence for a while, taking turns trading glances in the dark safety of the night. Metal fencing reflects back against their headlights, the familiar NO TRESPASSING sign shining, and cicadas buzz in the background. And way too soon the two of them swerve into Will’s driveway.
A pause, and Will turns.
“Wanna come in for a sec?” Will looks up at Mike, almost coy in that way he is when the two of them are alone.
Mike hesitates, looking down at his watch. “‘Course I do, but my mom said I’ve got to go right back home.”
Will frowns, swinging his leg off his bike and walking it to the front door.
“School night, I get it.” Will says despite his obvious disappointment.
“Sorry, Will,” Mike sighs, leaning forward on his handlebars. “I’ll see you first thing tomorrow, yeah?”
That brings back Will’s smile, soft and tender in the moonlight. “Yeah. First thing.”
Mike looks down for a second, almost overwhelmed by Will’s eyes on him, and peeks back up through his lashes. “Well… uh- goodnight.”
Will twists his key in the lock and opens the front door. “Goodnight, Mike.”
“Goodnight.” Mike says… again.
Something playful glints in Will’s eye but Mike rides off before he can say anything about Mike’s perpetual awkwardness. Mike looks back just in time to see Will slip into his house, and he sighs, twisting back around so he doesn’t veer off course.
A cool breeze wafts gently through the air, sending a sharp chill down his spine, not cold enough to shiver but cold enough to make Mike wish he’d brought a jacket along for the ride. Will lives out much further than all of the others, something Mike silently resents— just a little bit —only because he wishes he didn’t have to bike so far to see his best friend. It is nice that the Byers are so close to Sattler’s Quarry, at least in the summer when it’s hot and muggy outside.
The light mounted on his handlebars flickers off with a buzz, and Mike looks down, brows knitting together. Another sigh, and Mike shakes his head to reorient himself, reaching with one hand to tap it. It flicks on for just a second and then— off. Mike groans, throwing his head back, and then smacks the light. On.
Mike smirks, looking back up and—
Someone— something —is on the road.
His smirks falls quickly, and he yanks on the handle bars, losing control and—
CRASH.
“Shit—“ Mike whines, raising a hand up to rub his cheek, slick with fresh blood. “What the—”
Strange, almost guttural warbles sound from the— thing. Okay, no. Nope. Mike scrambles up to his feet, the knees of his sweatpants torn and now tinged from the red running from scraped skin. Fibers from the pants cling to the broken flesh. He backs up slowly, eyes on the figure. Its proportions resemble something that Mike would write into one of his campaigns, head too big and limbs too long and lanky, body glistening— swollen, bloated, and hunched.
Mike blinks and—
The figure is gone.
Mike pales, his chest thudding, and he sucks in a stuttered breath. One second of freeze, and Mike is onto flight. He quickly abandons his bike, not caring about how angry his mom will be when she finds out, and takes off into the woods. He’s close enough to the Byers, he can just— stay over. He’d rather face his mother’s wrath than die to some weird misshapen freak on the way home, okay?
The chill of the November night is all-consuming now, freezing him to the bone, and Mike pants as branches smack him in the face in his urgency.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit—” He gasps, running as bushes rustle behind him and then—
That same guttural sound. A trill, rising and falling in the dark murkiness of the woods. Something about it instills a primal fear in his veins, pumping through all four limbs. And then a snarl, way too close, and Mike knows in that moment he won’t— he can’t —make it to Will’s house in time. Sweat drips down his temple despite the chill, and Mike diverts course, tripping over his own feet. He’s close—
So close he can see the American flag blowing in the crisp night air, the “ALL FRIENDS WELCOME” in bright yellow paint.
So close he can—
Dive in through the entrance and curl up in the corner. Mike sucks in one deep breath and— holds.
A shriek and—
Mike is gone.