Work Text:
Hawkins, Indiana
November 6th, 1985
——————————
The sun is high in the sky and forcing its way through the cracks in the yellow curtains when Mike awakes on November 6th, 1985. He groans and rubs sleep from his eyes before squinting them open slowly and peering around his brightly lit room. His eyes slide across his disheveled room and fall upon his bedside clock, 12:03pm. His stomach drops and he feels like he might throw up.
Shit shit shit. Mike springs from his bed, throwing the covers off of himself as he rushes towards his closet and pulls on the first shirt he sees, a faded blue sweater with small yellow flecks patterning the front. Before he’s even pulled the sweater over his head, Mike is rushing from his room and down the stairs towards the kitchen.
Mike whips around the threshold of the kitchen and spots Nancy on the phone.
“Get off, I need the phone.” Mike says impatiently, reaching towards her as if to snatch the receiver from her hand.
“I’m busy, wait your turn.” Nancy snaps at him, moving to press the phone against her shoulder as she addresses her brother.
“Naaancy!” He whines and goes to reach for the phone again.
Nancy rolls her eyes at Mike, turns her back to him, and places the phone back to her ear to finish her conversation. Mike pouts at her back before sighing and turning towards the counter to grab a muffin off the cooling rack. Mike picks silently at the muffin in his hand, staring daggers at his sister’s back. She prattles on about some article she’s working on to whoever is on the other line, oblivious to his mood.
“Shouldn’t you be at school? Also, those are for Holly’s bake sale tomorrow - stop eating them!” Nancy quips at Mike as she puts the phone back in its cradle, finally done with her stupid conversation.
Mike lurches towards the phone and scoops it into his hand, waving her away impatiently, “Mom said I could stay home today. They’re crappy muffins anyway.” He adds that last part just to annoy her.
Mike is already dialing the all too familiar number before he even thinks; the number he could recite in his sleep. He hasn’t called it all that much, and when he has he’s gotten a busy signal, but as soon as Will’s first letter arrived with those digits etched along the bottom Mike memorized them until they were ingrained deep in his mind. His sister rolls her eyes at him as she vacates the kitchen, scooping up a pen and note pad off the dining table as she goes. Mike holds the receiver to his ear just in time to hear a busy signal scream through the phone. You’ve got to be kidding me, Mike huffs angrily as he slams the phone back down. Well, Wheeler, maybe if you had set an alarm and gotten up early you could have caught him before the line got busy. He berates himself as he slumps into a kitchen chair.
—
Mike tries the number a handful of times throughout the afternoon, and every time that annoying busy signal beeps through, What do they even do all day, unplug the phone? Mike feels like he’s in his own personal hell.
—
Just before dinner the phone rings. Mike drops the comic he had been reading and sprints across the main floor to grab it before anyone else has the chance; just hoping that it’s Will even though he knows that it isn’t.
“Hello?” Mike answers, breathless from his run across the house.
“Mike, dude where were you today?” It’s Lucas.
“I stayed home; I wasn't feeling great this morning.” That’s not technically a lie, he did wake up feeling sick to his stomach, but not for the reasons he lets his friends believe. He doesn’t want to disclose that he stayed home all day just to call Will’s house umpteen times with no answer. I don’t even know if he stayed home from school today. Maybe everything is fine in Lenora, maybe Will is spending the day hanging out with all his new friends. Mike thinks, slightly bitter.
He hears a shuffle on the other end before Dustin’s voice carries though; they must have both gone to Lucas’ after school, “We tried the walkie, but you didn’t answer. If you’re feeling better, want to come to the arcade with us? We’re headed over now.”
“Come on, Wheeler, you know you want to!” Apparently Max is also there, yelling from somewhere in the background.
Mike hesitates, normally he would jump at the opportunity to attempt to beat Max’s records, but he really wants to call Will’s house again, “Not tonight guys, it’s almost dinner and I have some homework to catch up on that I didn’t do today. Next time though for sure.”
Max and Dustin begin to protest before Lucas is back on the line, “Have you talked to Will today?” He asks.
“No, have you?”
“I sent him a letter last week, but I’m not sure it got there in time. If you talk to him, tell him everyone is thinking about him.”
“Absolutely.”
They bid farewell and Mike hangs up quickly. He tries Will’s number one more time before his mom calls everyone to dinner. He gets a busy signal again and groans to himself quietly.
—
Mike sits by the phone after dinner and tries the line one final time. He dials the familiar number and prays that he doesn’t get a busy signal. This time the phone rings. Pick up, pick up, his mind chants.
Just as Mike begins to think the call will go to the answering machine, and just as he’s debating whether he’s going to leave a message or just hang up, someone picks up on the other line.
“Byer’s residence.” Mike’s breath wooshes out of his body at that familiar voice. The voice he’s missed. The voice he would recognize anywhere.
“Will.”
Lenora Hills, California
November 6th, 1985
——————————
The night of November 5th stretches long and dark, filled with shadows threatening to leap out of every corner and strangle Will. The boy tosses and turns restlessly in his bed as he watches the small red numbers of the digital clock by his bedside creep closer and closer to ringing in a new day. As the clock numbers flick past midnight he sighs heavily, November 6th. Will pushes off his blankets and rises slowly to his feet. Despite the warmth of the California night, he grabs a thick knitted yellow sweater as he passes his closet and pulls it on over his t-shirt as he pads across the silent house towards the kitchen. He opens a cupboard and pulls out a glass quietly before filling it under the tap. As he drinks down the cool water, he turns to lean back against the counter with stiff limbs.
A vivid memory flashes to the forefront of Will’s mind: he’s standing in front of the bathroom mirror in their old house in Hawkins. Flashes of vines crawling up the walls, and then that dark, sick feeling deep inside. He remembers leaning over the porcelain sink, retching, please no. He coughs up that dark, slimy slug into the sink basin. The next thing he knows, he’s back on the field of his old middle school, the Mind Flayer reaching toward him with its smokey black extremities. He screams “Go away!” and the thick smoke envelopes him. He can feel it everywhere.
There’s a loud crash and Will jumps at the noise. He’s pulled back to reality, back to their kitchen in Lenora. He’s breathing quick and shallow and he’s clutching the counter top behind him with white knuckles. The glass that he was holding is now laying shattered all over the kitchen tiles. I’m okay. I am safe in Lenora, it was a memory. I’m okay. Will notices he is trembling slightly as he lets go of the counter and bends down to start picking up the pieces of broken glass around his feet.
Just as he finishes picking up most of the larger pieces of glass, the kitchen light flashes on overhead. Will squints in the sudden brightness and yelps as a sharp piece of glass slices through his palm, leaving a trail of blood behind.
“Will! Are you okay?” It’s Jonathan, standing in old sweats with his hair a mess from sleep, and he’s stepping towards Will who is still crouched near the floor.
“Careful, there’s glass everywhere.” Will manages as he closes his fist tightly around the bleeding gash on his hand.
Jonathan pauses in his tracks to assess the situation before turning to the pantry where the broom is kept, “What happened?” He asks as he begins sweeping up the smaller shards littering the tile.
Will moves to place the broken bits in his hand into the trash under the sink, “I got up for a drink and dropped the cup like an idiot - I wasn’t paying attention.”
Jonathan looks at Will, really looks; assesses the deer-in-headlights expression still plastered across Will’s face and the rigidity of his stance. Will shifts on his feet under his brother’s scrutiny; he’s not used to Jonathan being this perceptive anymore, not since he and his new friend Argyle have started inhaling pot like it’s air. He’s gotten used to playing the “I’m fine” game and getting away with it.
“Did you have a nightmare?” Jonathan moves to throw the dustpan full of glass in the trash beside Will.
“No, I - I couldn’t sleep. I haven’t slept yet.” Will admits sheepishly. He opens his palm and sees the wash of crimson covering his skin. It looks pretty bad, Will thinks to himself.
His brother notices the cut across Will’s palm and moves to take his injured hand gently in his own, “That looks deep. Let me go get the first aid kit and I’ll patch you up. I’ll be right back.”
Jonathan exits the kitchen the way he came, and Will moves to sit down at the kitchen table while he waits. He pokes gingerly at the slice across his palm, the pain keeping him grounded in the present. He pushes the memories threatening to return to the back of his mind as he continues to press into the pain in his hand.
After a few minutes Jonathan pads quietly back to the kitchen and pulls out a chair to face Will. He sets down the first aid kit on the table and pops it open, gathering everything he’ll need to patch up Will’s hand. They sit in silence as Jonathan carefully cleans the wound, the only noise is a small hiss of air from between Will’s clenched teeth as the antiseptic stings the cut. As Jonathan carefully dresses the wound, his eyes flick between his work and Will’s face. Please don’t mention the date, Will begs his brother silently. Of course that never works.
“You don’t need stitches, just keep it covered and clean. It’ll heal up pretty fast.” Jonathan pauses his work and makes eye contact with his brother, “Are you sure you’re okay? I know it’s the - the anniversary.”
Will pulls his now bandaged hand back into his own lap and presses his fingers against the tender cut underneath, relishing in the spark of pain that keeps his head steady. “I’m fine, Jonathan,” he snaps. “I told you, I was just clumsy and the glass slipped.”
They hold eye contact; Will dares his brother to challenge him. Please don’t. This time, the universe is on Will’s side because Jonathan lets it go.
Jonathan sighs heavily, “You know you can always talk to me about anything, right bud?”
“I know.” There’s a long silence where Will considers telling his brother about the flashbacks that caused him to drop the glass. He doesn’t. “Thanks for patching me up. I’m, uh, pretty tired, I’m going to try to get some sleep.”
Will raises from his chair without another word, leaving Jonathan in his wake, and retreats back across the house to his bedroom. He closes the door behind himself and leans back against it with a deep sigh as the darkness of his room envelopes him like a thick, suffocating fog. I am okay. I am in my bedroom in Lenora and I am safe, he recites to himself. He crosses his room and turns on the bedside lamp; the room is washed in the gentle glow of it. He can’t stand to be in the dark anymore.
He pulls out his sketch book and pencils before retreating to sit on his bed. He doesn’t want to sketch, hasn’t really since the move, but needs the distraction. He sits back against his pillows, opens his sketch book to a blank sheet, and taps his pencil softly against the page. He sits like that for a long while; his brain trying desperately to drag him back into memories from the past, and him fighting to keep it in the present. He begins sketching aimlessly, dragging his pencil across the page without really thinking about what the end game for the drawing will be; just needs the distraction. After a while, he looks up from the page to the clock on the bedside table, 3:51AM, there’s no way he’s getting any real sleep tonight. He looks back to the sketch book in front of him, now covered with a rough outline of something promising; he has drawn a wide expanse of field, and on the ridge in the back there is a spattering of leafy trees. On the right side of the page is the outline of four figures: one of the figures sits atop a rearing stallion brandishing a sword and shield, another in a horned helmet wielding an axe. Closer to the center of the page is a figure in long flowing robes with an orb in their hands, and another in a full set of armor with a large heart in the centre of their shield. To the left of the outline is a three-headed dragon. Oh. It’s the Party, Will realizes slowly. He stares at the sketch before him and takes it all in. He misses his friends, he misses Mike. If he were back in Hawkins they would probably all be camped out in Mike’s basement together despite the fact that it’s a school night; making sure that Will felt safe and warm. Safe from my own mind.
Will analyzes the sketch some more, erasing some unneeded lines and adding some more detail, before he yawns loudly and feels how heavy his eyelids truly are. He slides down his pillows until he’s flat on his back. He props his sketch book against the extra pillow on his bed, still open to the drawing of him and his friends. His eyes drift closed slowly, and he slips into a fitful sleep plagued by vines, demogorgons, and blood curdling fear. He tosses and turns with nightmares, but doesn’t wake again. When his alarm goes off for school, much too soon, he is groggy and sleep deprived and covered in a cold sweat. When he opens his eyes he is met with the sketch of his friends, still propped against the second pillow beside him.
—
Will floats through the halls of school like a ghost, pressing into his injured hand any time his mind tries to drag him into the past. El walks beside him to and from every class, and they sit in near silence together at lunch. She doesn’t push him to talk, even though she notices the bags under his eyes, and the way that he isn’t totally present today.
“Joyce said that you did not have to come to school today. You could have stayed home.” She says gently, taking a bite of her sandwich and chewing slowly.
Will sighs and looks up from where he was pushing food around his lunch tray, “I didn’t want to sit at home all day, at least this is a distraction.”
El nods, “I understand, Will.”
He looks back down at his tray and continues to pick at the food there. He knows that El means well, but he can’t help the flair of jealousy that rises from the pit of his stomach. El, who even though she hasn’t made any friends in Lenora yet, has been kept in the loop of what the Party are up to in Hawkins. El who has received letter after letter from Mike, and a few from Max. Will and El had spoken to the Party on the phone once, just after they arrived in Lenora and got settled. He has received a total of two letters from his friends; one from Dustin just after they arrived and unpacked, and another from Lucas a few weeks after that. Radio silence from Mike. Will writes to his friends every few weeks, but hasn’t heard back from anyone since those first two letters arrived. With Joyce’s new job the phone line is almost always busy, so if his friends try to call him, he doesn’t know. Stop sulking, he chides himself, it’s not their fault you haven’t heard from anyone.
At the end of the day Will and El meet Jonathan at his car. He pulls Will in for a tight, wordless hug, bathing his little brother in the smell of weed, before they pile in and drive home. El and Jonathan make small talk about their day as they drive; Will sits quietly in the back seat. He leans his head against the window and looks out to the passing landscape without really seeing it while he presses into the bandage around his palm, the pain keeping him steady and in the present.
—
When they arrive home, Will slinks off to his bedroom before anyone can ask too much of him. He wants to call his friends, he wants to call Mike, but he’s also trying to be strong for everyone and doesn’t want to burden them - Lenora was supposed to be a fresh start.
He places an unlabelled mixtape, that he assumes is Jonathan’s, in his stereo. The music drones low through the speakers when he hits play. Will sits in the middle of his bed and pulls out his textbooks and homework, optimistic that he’ll have the focus to work on an essay that’s due soon for English class. Just as Will is flipping open his textbook to the correct page, the song changes on the stereo; out pelts Should I Stay or Should I Go. On any other day Will loves this song, one of his and Jonathan’s favourites; even all these years later. Today, however, the song catapults him back to the Upside Down.
Suddenly Will is twelve years old again and he’s curled on his side inside of Castle Byers, humming the song under his breath in the murky, spore-filled air while he shakes helplessly in the cold. A loud crack screams through the dark and Will jumps up, breathing heavily. He tracks the sound as it circles the fort slowly, fear prickling thickly on his skin. Just as the demogorgon crashes through the walls of Will’s hideout, a knock and voice from just outside his closed bedroom door pull him back to reality.
“Will, honey? Dinner’s ready!” It’s Joyce.
Will shakes off the vision and rises to his feet unsteadily, calling after her, “Okay, I’ll be there in a minute!”
Before he heads to the table Will turns off the stereo, now playing another track, retreats to the bathroom, and turns on the overhead light. He turns on the tap and splashes cool water over his face before making eye contact with himself in the mirror. It was just another memory and you are fine; you can pretend to be strong for them. Just for a while, just over dinner. His mom moved them across the country for a fresh start, and Will doesn’t want her to know that even though they physically escaped Hawkins and the Upside Down, that his mind is still trapped there. He takes a deep, steadying breath before padding across the house to the kitchen table. Just before he turns the corner and sees his family, he plasters a semi-believable smile across his face and prepares to play pretend for the next hour.
—
Just as Will and El are helping to clear the table after dinner, the phone rings. “I’ll get it.” Will crosses the kitchen and places the stack of plates he was carrying on the counter beside the sink and heads over to the ringing phone, catching it just before it goes to the answering machine.
“Byers’ residence.” He says in greeting to whoever is on the other end.
A long moment of silence stretches across the line. Just as Will is about to repeat himself he hears an emotional breathy response, almost a contented sigh, from a voice he would know anywhere, “Will.”
In a slightly disbelieving but elated tone, “Mike?”
“Hi.” Mike says in that soft voice that is reserved solely for Will.
“Um, hi. Been a while.” Will quips, a smile spreads itself quickly across his face at the sound of Mike’s voice before it falls again, he’s not calling for you, he’s calling for El.
He hears Mike clear his throat on the other end of the line, “Uh, yeah. Sorry, time’s gotten away from me. I tried calling earlier, but the line was busy.”
“Mom has a new job that ties up the phone a lot.” Will explains softly. There is silence on the other end before he speaks again, “I’ll get El, just give me a second.”
As he goes to remove the phone from his ear to call for his sister, he hears Mike respond, “I’m actually calling for you.”
“Oh.” Will’s sure his disbelieving tone carries through the phone to the other boy.
“It’s just - it’s November 6th and I - it feels weird not being together today.” Mike stumbles over his words like he’s surprised he’s being so honest with Will, “I wanted to make sure you were okay. The Party said they’re all thinking about you.”
Will hums into the receiver as he drifts aimlessly towards his bedroom, grateful that when they moved to Lenora Joyce got a cordless phone. He closes his bedroom door softly behind him. The room feels different than it did in the middle of the night, now that Mike is on the other end of the phone. It feels safe and warm. He drops down onto his bed and cradles the phone between his ear and shoulder.
“It is weird; not being with the Party all the time, especially today.” Will finally gives a response. It’s weird not being with you all the time, he thinks to himself. “I’m, um.” He pauses and collects his thoughts, deciding how vulnerable to be - how honest. Two years ago he never would have thought twice about that, when did things change between us? “Today has been really crappy, actually. Really hard.” He chokes out.
In that special, soft voice Mike replies, “We can talk about it, you know…If you want to, I mean. We don’t have to.”
Will sighs heavily into the speaker of the phone, he wants to talk to Mike about this. He realizes that’s all he has wanted all day: to talk to Mike. He hasn’t wanted to make his family scared or nervous for him, so he’s put on as much of a brave face as he could, but Mike is different. Mike would never treat him differently for the horrors that are plaguing Will’s mind.
“I didn’t really sleep last night,” Will begins, truthfully. Finally letting his shoulders relax for the first time all day as he speaks through the phone to Mike - tension he didn’t know he was holding. “I couldn’t sleep last night, and then I was having - having these horrible flashbacks; it felt like I was back there, you know? At school I was on autopilot, I couldn’t focus on anything all day; mom told me I could stay home, but I didn’t want to just sit here in my own head all day.”
Will takes a deep, shuttering breath. Mike sits quietly on the other end of the phone, leaving space for Will to continue, if he decides. He does, “And I don’t - I don’t have anyone here that I can talk to about it. I know I have my family, but I don’t want to worry them, and I don’t have any friends here yet and-” Will pauses as he thinks about how he just admitted that he has no friends - no one in Lenora could fit the space that the Party and Mike left behind when he moved. I didn’t have to admit that though. “- and it’s not like I would be able to talk to anyone new here about everything that happened in Hawkins anyway. It’s just been really hard since we moved, and today has been like a waking nightmare.”
“Will,” Mike’s voice sounds strained, “I’m sorry. I wish I could take it all away for you.”
“It’s not your fault, Mike. It’s just the way things are now.” He shrugs even though Mike can’t see him.
“Yeah, but at least if you were here we could hole up in the basement together or something and I could distract you.” Mike’s wishful voice drifts through the speaker.
Suddenly, a memory surfaces from the recesses of Will’s mind; he catches hold of a vague and blurry scene from when he was possessed by the Mind Flayer. He remembers bright lights, and tight binding holding his small, wrecked body to a hard chair. He remembers Mike, so young, Mike who was looking at him with tears in his eyes as he asks Will if he remembers the first time they had met. I do, I absolutely remember. Will’s eyes drift over to the sketch book still open on his bed to the page of the Party fighting the three-headed dragon. He reaches out and runs a gentle finger over the rough sketch of Mike with his heart laden shield. I miss you.
The two end up chatting about nonsense after the hard part of their conversation ends; Will can tell that Mike is trying to keep his mind off the day, and he appreciates it. The boys spend longer on the phone than Will meant considering it’s a school night and he didn’t really sleep the night before. After they say goodbye and hang up, Will realizes that Mike didn’t ask to speak to El, he actually didn’t even mention her once.
—
Will falls into another fitful sleep shortly after their phone call ends; spending another night tossing and turning restlessly. Though he is plagued by nightmares that take the form of his haunted past, he is also accompanied by a protective figure with thick dark curls and soft brown eyes in a full set of armor; carrying a sword, and a shield laden with the emblem of a large, red heart. This figure walks through the nightmares beside Will, providing a sense of comfort and safety; he shields Will behind him from every monster and horror they face, and cuts down every threat in their path with his mighty sword. Will would not wish these nightmares on anyone, but he would walk through any horror if it meant this dark haired boy stayed by his side.
Hawkins, Indiana
November 6th, 1985
——————————
After he hangs up the phone with Will, Mike glides upstairs to his room, lost in the conversation they just had; lost in the memory of the other boy’s voice. He slides into his desk chair and pulls a note pad from one of the drawers, pushes a pile of loose papers on the desk to the side, and grabs a pen.
Dear Will,
I’m sorry that I haven’t written sooner - I haven’t been sure what to say or how to say it. It’s not the same without you here. Nothing feels important without you here. Everything feels too important without you here. Everyone misses you, I miss you. The Party isn’t the same without you.
Writing to El feels so easy. Why is it so hard to write to you?
Tonight when we talked on the phone I was thinking about the first time we met, do you remember that? Do you remember me telling you about it last year, in the shed? I wouldn’t fault you if you don’t. It was the first day of kindergarten, you were on the swings by yourself. I was so scared to be there; I didn’t know anyone, but I saw you swinging by yourself and I just walked up and asked if you wanted to be friends. You said yes, and the rest is history. We spent every day together after that. We were inseparable. It was the best thing that I have ever done in my entire life. I think about that day all the time. I think about you all the time.
Do you remember how shy you used to be? How you barely ever said a word that first year we were friends? We had a silent language that was just our own. I knew how you were feeling and what you were thinking by the look in your eyes, by the set of your shoulders. The first time you ever came to my house for dinner my mom made shepard’s pie. I could tell by the way that you picked at it that you didn’t like peas, but you would never ever say that - you rarely said anything when it wasn’t just the two of us. So I picked all the peas off my own plate and swapped it with yours when mom got up to get another drink. The look you gave me when you realized what I had done could have set the whole world on fire. It set me on fire.
Anyway, I hope that everything gets better for you now that the anniversary is over for another year. Maybe next year we can spend it together. I hope that you find real happiness in Lenora. I hope we can talk on the phone again soon, I miss your voice. I just really miss you, Will.
Love, Mike
—
Mike folds the letter neatly in half, and rises from his desk chair. He walks around to the side of his bed and stoops to reach underneath, pushing aside odds and ends to find what he’s looking for. His hand finally finds purchase on a cardboard box, an old shoebox from Holly’s school shoes this year. Mike pulls it out and opens it gently. He tucks the letter into the box, atop the rest of the letters he never sends to Will. Mike sighs as he closes the lid and tucks the box safely back under the bed. Maybe I’ll send the next one.
—
END