Chapter Text
It’s been 12 years since the last dungeons and dragons game in Michael Wheeler’s basement. The party of five hasn’t been able to line up their schedules for some time now, what with moving away for college or managing a household.
Maxine and Lucas Sinclair got married a couple years ago, shortly after graduating college, and had a wonderful honeymoon in California, which let Lucas meet all of Maxine’s old friends or see old hang out spots. They’ve had two kids since then, both named after important people in their lives, and those two kids took up all of their time and energy.
While Michael stayed in-state for a cheaper ride at the recently renamed Marion College, Dustin Henderson got accepted at Yale in Connecticut and William Byers attended NYU with his brother Jonathan in New York. After graduating, Dustin became a part time teacher, part time researcher for a smaller university in Indiana. He decided to move back to Indiana for his mother but also for Steve Harrington, who frequently takes them both on road trips around the country when he isn’t wrangling his baseball kids or sex education students. They plan those trips months in advance, but planning campaigns hasn’t been on Dustin’s mind as much recently.
William hadn’t moved back to Indiana after graduating, instead stuck around in Montauk to be an illustrator for children’s books. This was also near his mother Joyce and Jim Hopper, who married shortly before leaving Hawkins. Jonathan has released and made little money on his indie movies, but they make him happy, and that’s what matters most to him.
Nancy Wheeler stayed in Boston to work for The Herald, but went back to Emerson to finish her degree before being promoted to senior investigative reporter, running into Robin Buckley every now and again while she finished her own degree at Smith college. Robin stayed in Massachusetts, becoming a cohost for a radio show, while living with Vickie Dunne, who went back to school as well to be a registered nurse.
After graduating college, Michael further pursued his dreams of being a writer. He wrote a lot in his dorm room while at Wesleyan, never paying too much mind to his roommate or other classes unless it was crucial to his grades. His roommate was a sports nobody anyway, and was never in the room unless to sleep, and even then would be MIA on the weekends. This was fine for Michael, as it meant he had an uninterrupted 24 to 48 hours of typing to himself, where he only needed to break for food and the bathroom– maybe to also sleep. Sleep deprivation though became a necessary tool for him, as that’s when his best ideas came out.
Unfortunately, the success of his writing was not always linear. He sent about 6 of his homebrew campaigns to Tactical Studio Rules, the publisher of Dungeons and Dragons at the time, but didn’t receive any response or see it used in any new books. He attempted to publish a 600 plus page novel detailing the campaigns he ran as a child, but when the publishing company he worked under refused, he tried to publish it himself. This failed, and sadly put Michael in immense debt. Michael instead found that he wrote romance novels the best, and published 15 books under a pseudonym, Hudson Rider. This wasn’t enough to keep him out of debt, but made it manageable, so he got a studio apartment in Indianapolis and worked at the nearest grocery store as a cashier. It was no Melvalds, but it wasn’t a big chain super market either.
Michael came home from his shift, and set down his two bottles of wine on the coffee table. Opening one, he turned on the television to NBC to watch reruns of Star Trek. He got out of his uniform, and dressed himself in a plain white t-shirt and blue dolphin shorts. Michael liked to tell everyone that he does his best to find time to write now that he’s not doing it full time and has to work at the store too, but the truth is that he mostly drank away his frustrations of his work not being recognized.
“I put my blood, sweat, and tears into that book, and now all it’s good for is being a good foot rest for me. How pathetic.” Michael thought.
Wallowing and swallowing more wine, he turned his head to the picture of Eleven that he kept on his bedside table.
“What am I supposed to do El?” Michael asked the photograph with a slosh in his speech. “I did my best, and I tried and tried again. But it still wasn’t enough. I’m useless.” He got up, stumbling over his own two feet at first before he hit his shin against the coffee table. “Ow, fuck.”
He laid down in bed and stared at the picture, a forever 15 year old Eleven staring back at him.
“Why… why can’t you be here? Why did we have to lose you El?” Michael cried, like he expected an answer, pitying himself to sleep. He woke up with a hangover, but more of the migraine kind– not the vomit your body weight kind.
Michael licked his dry lips from mouth breathing all night and grabbed the water bottle on his nightstand, chugging for a moment before gasping for air. He checked the alarm clock, it was 9:12 am and Michael didn’t have a shift today. He decided for himself that he really should call his mom and his publisher though, neither of them have heard from him in months.
Calling both parents meant two phone calls these days, since Karen divorced Ted a couple of years back once Holly graduated high school and moved out for college. Michael visited her once or twice afterwards, attempting to make his mom feel supported. Since Karen got the house in the divorce, she did her best to keep things the same so it wouldn’t feel different when her kids visited. Michael was glad for this as he eventually wanted to inherit it for the finished basement and all the great memories made down there already. Calling Ted meant he was looking for money— Michael avoided him otherwise.
“Hello?” Karen said, answering the phone.
“Hey Mom, it’s Mike.”
“Michael! Oh, how are you?” Endearing as always, Karen stopped what she was doing to speak with her son.
“I’m doing okay Mom, I just wanted to call and check up on you, see how things are in Hawkins.”
“Oh, I’m perfectly fine dear, Hawkins is the same as usual– though I gotta tell you, so many new families are moving in. It’s crazy to see the streets full of kids again. It’s just like the days when you and Will would go biking up and down the neighborhood.”
“Ahh yeah those were the days Mom,” said Michael, already regretting his decision to call as he quickly lost interest in their conversation.
“Have you talked to Will recently dear? Joyce called me and said that you two haven’t spoken in ages!”
“Ahh, I mean, yeah it’s definitely been a couple of years since I’ve reached out to him, it’s just- it’s like when he moved to California, we didn’t keep too much in contact and naturally drifted apart. That’s what happens when someone isn’t around all the time I guess.”
“Ah ah, that’s not true Michael, you hogged the phone all the time trying to get a phone call in with Will back then.”
“Well- I mean,” Michael didn’t really have an excuse to counteract this claim made by his mother. He did in fact try to call the Byers house in California all the time, but Joyce had a telemarketer job that kept her on the phone for hours. “I guess I’ll… try to call him later today.”
“Do you need his number? I have Joyce’s and she should be able to give you his,” Karen said.
“No Mom, I have his phone number,” Michael said. He lied. He didn’t have it, but he didn’t want to face William either. Even if it was just over the phone.
“Well wake up and call him then! He’s your best friend Michael, you should be able to talk to him and it not be weird.”
“I know, Mom, but-” Michael started to say.
“Alright, well then let me get off the phone with you then so you can call him, I have to make it to my hair appointment by 11, and I’m still not dressed to go outside yet. I hope you’re doing well, and I do hope you have a good day Mike,” Karen said right before the dial tone sounded.
“Doing great Mom,” Michael said to himself, and he put the phone back on the receiver.
“Talking to Will now after the idiocy I had when we were younger and last saw each other? No way. We are best friends, and nothing will change that, but I can’t imagine calling him and his boyfriend picks up the phone. I won’t be able to think straight if that happens, let alone stay on the phone. He’s got his life, and I’ve got mine now. That’s how it’s been for damn near a decade– we can keep it like that. What would we even talk about anyway? How I’m a jerk? No thanks, I’d like to avoid that conversation for the rest of my life.” Michael thought.
Michael took a break from the phone as his mother was probably not a great starter to his day. He checked on his dying plants, and when he saw they were still dying, he walked to the bathroom to get ready for his day. Michael threw on a different white shirt and red basketball shorts, then sat in front of his television set for a couple of hours before finally deciding to call his publisher.
“Henry Cole of Blue Swan Publishin’, who’s this?”
Michael’s publisher answered the phone like this every time. The first time really put Michael off, thinking he was a prick. He is, but he’s a realist at least, a realist with a heavy midwestern accent. He shuddered at the first name the first couple of times, but it’s a common name and was bound to come back up in his life.
“Hey Henry, it’s Michael Wheeler.”
“Who?”
“Hudson Rider?”
“Ohh yeah, Wheeler/Rider, yeah, yeah. How are ya? ‘Er ya thinkin’ of givin’ us our next novel?” Henry asked his last question with a sales pitch kind of tone.
“I was actually, but I wanna know how the company is feeling about fantasy again, I have a new idea that I think-”
“Let me stop you there, Weeder. We don’t do fantasy, an’ I told you before. The devil panic the south created around those dragon books has plummeted any sales of anythin’ that isn’t about good christian values. Books like Lord a’ the Rings ‘n’ Foundation just aren’t performin’ like we want ‘em to.”
“I know that, Henry, but please just listen to the idea I have before you shoot me down.”
“No. Wake up ‘n’ smell the roses. Y’ur nerd shit ain’t gonna work. Unless you have another young adult romance book up ya sleeve, don’t ask me ’bout it. Do what y’ur good at, and when you have a basic plot line, call me back.” Click.
“Mother fucker!” Michael yelled, throwing the wired phone back on the receiver and cutting off the dial tone.
“I just wanted to see what he thought of this homebrew. Without the party to play, if I get a good idea, I have to flesh out my own characters. Does he even know how long that process takes? How much time is wasted if this doesn’t see the light of day? This is bullshit!” Michael thought.
Frustrated and seeing the sun go down on another wasted day without writing a single word down, Michael grabbed his keys and headed to the liquor store around the corner from his studio. Scowling and disgust written on his face, he notices a bar has opened across the street.
“That’s weird, usually they space out bars and liquor stores more than this,” he thought.
The place was pretty packed with people, a lot of them dancing outside with cigarettes in one hand and a beer in the other.
“One beer wouldn’t be too bad.”
Michael went inside, dodging the random questions the drunk people around him had about who he was and if he had a square. He walked up to the bar, and waited for the bartender to notice him. A seat opened up and he claimed it, thankful it wasn’t warm or wet.
“What can I get you?” A woman asked Michael, cleaning a glass from behind the bar.
“Oh, uhm I’ll take a Budweiser.” Michael said, ordering the only beer he knew. He knew what his mom drank was good and the beer his dad drank wasn’t good but was still tolerable. He also knew– from what his dad told him– only pansies order wine at a bar.
The bartender went below to a refrigerator and pulled out a 12 oz glass bottle, popped the lid and put it in front of Michael. He gave her a five, got his change and gave back the tip.
Listening to the music changing in the background, he sipped his beer, trying not to grimace at the taste. Laughter rang out behind him, and there were multiple people dancing to the old jukebox in the corner. He sighed, looking down at his beer and his hands that held it.
“I know drinking alone at home isn't a good thing but showing up to a bar alone isn’t necessarily a good thing either I guess.”
He tried and failed to take full sips to finish his beer quickly, it wasn’t going to happen without making faces or puking. Defeated, he sat around trying to find an interesting channel on one of the many tvs. The two seats next to him opened up, and there sat down the one and only William Byers.
Michael almost choked.
“Will?” He asked, his voice cracking.
“Oh my god, Mike? Is that you?” William sounded excited to see him.
“Holy shit man, how are you here in Indiana?” Mike turned his whole body towards him.
“Oh you know…” he smiled and paused. “Book tour.”
“Oh from one of your illustrated works?”
“Yeah! I just got out of one of those actually, that’s why I'm here, and now I’m just trying to unwind my night.”
“Cool.” Michael said, reciprocating William’s smile.
“Thanks.” William said.
“Well, shit, how is New York treating you?”
“Oh it’s great, just great, I’m having a lot of fun, I’m rooming with Jonathan right now, but I’m hoping to get my own studio apartment soon with, uh, with Carl.”
“Oh nice,” Michael lied with a smile. “I have my own studio here in Indianapolis, I think you’ll really like having your own place.”
“Yeah, everyone always says that, haha.”
An awkward silence filled the space between them, but they didn’t look away from each other. Michael went to speak, but someone came up behind William and interrupted.
“Hey, thanks for saving me a seat,” said the mystery man. He had a lingering hand on William’s back that Michael noticed immediately, his smile wiped from his face now.
“Oh no problem, Carl,” William said, turning towards him and away from Michael.
Michael turned, swallowed more of his beer and his pride, and got up.
“Hey, I have to go but I was thinking, it’s been more than, god, a decade I think since we last played a campaign. And I don’t think I have your new number in New York. So, here’s mine-” Michael took the pen in his pocket and scribbled his digits on a napkin, pushing it to his best friend. “When you get back, call me and let me know the next time you’ll be in Indiana, yeah?”
William and the mystery man that was definitely William’s boyfriend, Carl, looked dumbfounded.
“Mike, you know we’re not kids anymore right? Wake up call, we’re basically 30, no one plays dungeons and dragons anymore.”
A woman started screaming at the next song starting like she was excited for it to play, distracting the mystery man. William kept his eyes fixed on Michael, who pushed his lips together to form a frown but didn’t let anything angry come out. Instead he stormed out. He looked back when he reached the door, wondering if William knew what he said was hurtful to him, but like some kinda imposter, he wasn't even looking towards Michael. He was already talking and laughing with his boyfriend.
“What did New York do to you, Will? You said you’d always wanna play DnD with me. I know you were angry with me, but that shouldn’t have stopped your love for the game. I’m the one that pushed you away for playing DnD before as preteens too and I regret it everyday, but that didn’t stop you before you left for college. What changed for you? Our fight? Adulthood? College? Bills? Him?” Michael thought.
He took his keys out of his pants pocket and opened his car door. Getting into the driver's side, he shut the door, turned his car on and slammed on the gas to get the hell out of that parking lot. Crossing the street to the liquor store, Michael walked in and grabbed three bottles for the night.
Back at his apartment, he’d drunk up about two of those before getting stumbly. He somberly walked towards his bed, and flopped down. Michael looked up at the lit night stand from the turned on lamp, the picture of Eleven staring back at him. He grabbed the frame and put it face down.
“Don’t… look at me like that.”
Michael woke up the next morning not realizing he went to sleep. It was 9:30 am on his alarm clock, and he needed to be ready and in the store for his shift by 10. He pulled on his dirty uniform from the previous shift, applied deodorant and cologne in the right places, and walked out the door with shoes half on. He put them on all the way once he got in his car, put his keys in the ignition, and drove like a bat out of hell to get to work on time. He barely made it, of course, because even though he woke up 30 minutes before he was supposed to clock in- he took 10 minutes just trying to find a pair of pants that hadn't been worn in the last two days. Some habits never die.
His day passes him by, not really interacting with any of the customers, just making sure no one steals anything from his line- even then, he could care less.
“That’ll be ninety dollars and thirty five cents, please,” a monotone Michael said.
“Here you go sonny,” said the older woman getting her groceries for the week. His cashier line dissipates and Michael leans against his register, staring at the ground while waiting for his next customer.
“You know you haven’t made eye contact with anyone once today right?” Michael’s boss said behind him. Michael ignores him, not looking up from the ground. He’s deep in thought about seeing William last night, but there’s no words in his head, just replaying the moments he got a good look at him over and over again.
“I need you to be a little bit more lively than that with the customers Michael, it’s imperative that we give everyone a great experience. Are you even listening to me?”
Michael looked up at him and nodded. He wasn’t willing to give him more than that, he hated this job, and only had it to pay off his failed fantasy publishing.
“Look man, I don’t care if you wake up on the wrong side of the bed every single day, it's not fair to take it out on the customers. If I have to come speak to you about this attitude again, I'm writing you up. You’re already on your last chance.”
Michael finished his shift, and headed to what seemed to be his favorite spot- the liquor store. He grabbed his two bottles of wine, and paid the counter girl. He got home without a hitch, and took little time to crack one open to swig directly from the bottle like his mother would. His phone rang, and he picked it up with no hesitation.
“Hello?” he said, not knowing who it was. Michael was almost convinced to add caller ID to his land line plan, but he never needed it before.
“Hey kid brother, it's been a minute,” Nancy said on the other end of the line.
“Oh Nancy, hey,” Michael said, sitting up straight and setting down the wine bottle.
“I’m not gonna take up too much of your time, I just wanted to know if you’ve heard from Dad recently?”
“I don’t talk to him unless I need money, and he won’t give me anymore so… no.”
“That’s what I thought, I just wanted to check. I also need some money and wanted to gauge how he was gonna feel about it.”
“What makes you think he will give you any if he cut me off?”
“Because I’m his first born daughter and Dad was always a softie to me, even if I got on his nerves as a teenager.”
“Yeah I got on his nerves since birth I guess.” Michael chuckled to himself.
“Haha, yeah. Well, don’t let me keep you,” Nancy said, trailing off.
“Hold on,” Michael said, thinking about yesterday.
“Nancy still talks to Jonathan, even though they broke up years ago,” Michael thought. “They said it's a ‘right person at the wrong time’ thing so they call each other often- she mentioned this to me a couple months ago, and Will said they were rooming together, so...”
“What?”
“Guess who I saw last night?”
Nancy left a small pause between them before saying “Who?”
“Will. He was here in Indianapolis last night, but he seemed a little weird. Like he almost didn’t know what he was doing here, but when-”
“Wait wait wait, hold on, you said he was in Indianapolis? That couldn’t have been Will, I called Jonathan last night and could hear him laughing at a movie with his boyfriend in the background. Jonathan kept having to tell them to cool it so he could hear me.”
“I’m sorry… w-what?” Michael was speechless, he didn’t understand what Nancy was telling him. He saw William right in front of him, what does she mean he was in the background of the phone call?
“It wasn’t Will you saw last night, I heard him in the background the entire night I was on the phone with Jonathan last night, and I’m pretty sure we talked for like three hours.” A silence came between them on the line.
“Mike,” she continued. “Are you doing okay?”
“Uhm… yeah I’m doing just fine, I just got home from…”
“Shit, she doesn’t know that I had to get a normal job,” Michael thought.
“From a creative writing class, I decided to try going for my masters.”
“Ah, that’s gonna be a hard lie to come back from.”
“Alright,” Nancy said with suspicion in her voice. “Well, I gotta wake up early tomorrow, I wanna be there before they start printing to make sure my article is perfect. I’ll talk to you later,”
“Bye Nance,” Michael said, putting the phone down to hang up.
“That couldn’t have been Will? So who did I give my phone number to? It’s fuzzy now, I don’t remember going into that bar, just leaving it. Did I really hallucinate Will in Indiana?” Michael thought.
Michael sat on the couch, unable to get up from the information he received from Nancy. He stared at the wall, trying to remember everything he did yesterday, but failed to since he drank so much as the night raged on. He picked the bottle back up, and gulped down what he could before his body told him to stop. He turned the television on, playing more reruns of Star Trek. The episode Plato's Stepchildren played, and Michael got up to make himself whatever food was available in his kitchen. With nothing easy to make, and nothing that could be turned into a meal, he turned back to his living room section of his studio and noticed William’s painting hanging on the wall.
“Wait a minute, that’s… not right.”
The Hydra with three heads painted as red, suddenly in the dark with only television light on it seemed… grey. Michael rubbed his eyes and turned on the lamp in the other corner, walking right up to it to inspect the painting.
“Okay, that’s definitely red. Must’ve been a trick of the light.”
He sat back down on his couch, and picked up the phone to order pizza.
“Thank you for calling Tony Bone’s Pizza, what can I get you started?”
“Hey Shawn, it’s Mike on Looping St, I’ll take the usual.”
“Alright I’ve got a medium pepperoni with mushrooms and pineapple, a wake up shake, and a chocolate lava cake.”
“Sorry, what kinda shake?”
“Strawberry?”
“Yeah… okay that’s what I thought you said. I’ll have a 20 waiting for Ross.”
“Ahh Ross quit man, we got a new guy though, his name is Chet, he’ll be there soon though, give us 40 minutes, alright?”
“Yeah man, sure.” Michael hung up, and turned back on his Star Trek reruns. Sure enough, 40 minutes on the dot, Chet shows up at his door.
“Man, you live in a super cool apartment building, I only got lost for 5 minutes instead of the usual 10.” Chet reeked of marijuana, but had all of Michael’s food without it looking damaged, so he must’ve still drove carefully.
“Cool, here’s a 20,” Michael said, handing over the bill and being handed his food. “I usually let Ross keep the change, so- keep the change.”
“Ahh thanks man!” Chet said as Michael shut the door in his face. He took a sip of the strawberry milkshake and gagged.
“Ugh, this is Cherry! They always do this!” Michael complained, then set everything down on his coffee table.
The night played out like most nights have for Michael. Eat, get drunk, pass out. The mornings were more of the same. Wake up, go to work, finish the shift, buy wine, go home, and the cycle continues.
Until one day he took a wrong turn going home from work and the liquor store. It was unusual that he would, but Michael was still distracted by the thought of William being in Indiana when he actually wasn’t and the thought of ‘I’m slowly going crazy’ burdened his consciousness. Down this wrong road was a part of town he didn’t venture too far into often, as it’s always been rumored to be a breeding ground for criminal activity. He tried to recognize any of the street names, but none of them were ringing a bell. He spotted a woman on the corner, and drove up to her with the windows down to ask for directions.
“Hey sugar, you look new, what’re you thinkin’?” The woman asked Michael, leaning boobs first into the car.
“Uhm, hi.” Michael said, not processing anything past being called sugar with so much chest on his car door. “I, uhm, I’m a little lost right now, and uhm, I’m trying to get back to Looping street? Do you know which side road I can take that’ll lead me back to Main?”
“Oh, I can definitely give you directions sweetie! Let’s go!” The woman ran in front of Michael’s car and unlocked the passenger side from the open window. She sat down and made herself comfortable.
“Uhm, sorry. Maybe… maybe I’m more lost than I thought. What are you doing?”
“Oh hunny, you’re really new, aren’t you?” She made a horrified face realizing how naive Michael is. “Hmm. How much money do you have on you?”
“Whoa, are you trying to rob me?” Michael accused, putting his hands up.
“No, I’m trying to see if you’re gonna still be a virgin in ten minutes! God, virgins are so fun, they squirm a lot but are such people pleasers.” The woman spoke as seductively as she could with her midwestern accent, licking the biting edges of her top teeth with a smile at Michael.
A lightbulb appeared above Michael's head and it flickered. His mouth fell agape, and after a couple seconds said “Oh… oh no, I-”
“Shhh,” she said seductively, putting a finger to Michael’s lips. “How much money do you have?”
Michael, letting himself think with his other head, put his hand into his back pocket and opened his wallet. He only had 3 dollars in it. He gulped.
“This is definitely not enough,” Michael thought. “but I think this will be a blessing in disguise.
“Three dollars?” The woman sighed deeply, looked around, and then locked eyes with the terrified Michael Wheeler in the driver’s seat. She grabbed the cash from his hand, and used her other hand to grab his face to turn towards her and get closer.
“Have you ever kissed a girl before?” She said within an inch from Michael’s mouth.
“Uh, yeah, I had a girlfriend as a teenager,” Michael said, scared by the question. The woman turned her head and started pointing out the windshield. Michael could only follow with his eyes.
“You see that stop sign up ahead? Turn right, pass six stops, it’s gonna take you on a bit of a curve while you do that, then turn right again, you’ll be back on Main across from the Auto Shack- er no, Auto Zone.”
Michael looked out of the windshield to where she was pointing then looked back to the woman in his passenger seat.
“Oh, thank you, I really-” Michael was interrupted by the woman mashing her face against his in an odd makeout session. Michael opened his eyes really wide, he hasn’t been kissed by anyone since Eleven. She tried to wrangle a tongue in his mouth, but he forcibly backed away, not willing to go any further.
“Are you gay or something, man?” the woman asked as she promptly got rejected from full on frenching.
“N-no! I’m not- I’m- I’m not gay!” Michael protested. “Get out of my car!”
“You have to be gay, you’re the first man that’s ever rejected me, and for your information, I gave you a first timer’s discount for that, I usually charge 10. Go fuck yourself fag.”
“I’d tell you to go fuck yourself, but someone’s bound to do it for ya anyway!” he yelled back at her, earning a slam and a kick of his passenger door. He quickly stepped on the gas as soon as it was shut and took his first right turn per the street hooker’s instructions.
“Bitch telling me what the fuck I am, who tries to kiss someone they just met?” Michael thought.
Michael went down the winding roads, and he made a second right. Seeing the Auto Zone right in front of him, he could at least tell she wasn’t lying to him about the directions anymore.
“Probably the only thing she was good for, I hated that kiss. It was sloppy and gross, and her breath smelled like cigarettes… I didn’t hate the kiss because she was a girl, I hated it because it sucked. The hell does she know?”
He looked down at the two bottles he purchased not twenty minutes prior, and looked at the road in front of him. Instead of turning left to his house, he turned right back towards that same bar he saw William at.
“It’s not like he’s going to be there again. I’ll just order a couple shots and go home.”
Michael drove up to the same bar across the street from the liquor store he frequents, and saw more of the same attendees that he saw last time. Women in short shorts with beer and cigarettes in their hands, men in tattered and dirty jeans rolling their own cigarettes and joints, a couple of deadheads, and now some snazzy bikes parked up front. He pulled into the lot, and sat his car in the back of the lot for a second before preparing himself for inside.
“He’s in New York, you were really drunk and thought you knew the guy in front of you.”
Michael got out of his car and walked in. The bar smelled the same as last time- yeast, farts, and smoke. He breathed through his mouth to help it, not that it really mattered, and sat at the edge of the bar. When the bartender- a guy this time- noticed him, he nodded, and immediately brought out a budweiser, remembering his last order here.
Michael, not realizing that he’s been made a regular somehow, didn’t think the beer was for him until it was sat in front of him.
“Whatever, I still have the wine for when I get home.”
“I’ll start a tab,” Michael said.
“Can I get your ID to keep for now, then?”
“You have to do that for a tab?”
“You do here,” said the bartender. Michael pulled back out his wallet and gave the guy his Indiana license, who inspected it for a second.
“Did you used to live in Hawkins?” the bartender asked.
“Whoa, yeah. How’d you know?”
“You’re Michael Wheeler, Holly’s older brother right?”
“Uhm, yeah.” Michael was starting to get weirded out by the questions.
“Yeah,” the bartender chuckled. “I went to college with her, we dated for like, maybe a month. She was cool, but kinda crazy.”
“That’s my sister for you, we went through some weird shit as kids.”
“Understatement of the century on that one.”
“Weird shit?” the bartender asked, but his memory answered his own question. “Oh yeah, she said she was there when the earthquake happened and the military quarantined ya’ll off. I never understood their reasoning behind the military’s involvement, they just beat around the bush and just kept blaming the Russians. Now what the hell are Russians doing in a tiny town like Hawkins?”
“Ah, you’d be surprised at the crazy stuff that happened in that town.”
“Yeah, like what?”
“Oh, you’re actually interested?” Michael asked, the bartender giving him a ‘duh!’ look. “Well, my best friend went missing, we found his body in the quarry, a lake of sorts; but it was a fake body planted by the laboratory that was in the center of our town cause they were leaking this chemical that was harming the ecosystem enough to kill off this other girl, but my best friend somehow survived.”
“No fucking way you were best friends with Zombieboy,” the bartender said.
“Hey, don’t call him that,” Michael said sternly, his voice raising. “He never actually died. He was just missing, being held at the lab. They faked his death so we’d move on but his mom was smarter than that, and Chief Hopper saved him by negotiating with the lab to keep quiet so they could bring him home.” The bar had a weird and awkward silence from Michael’s outburst for a second before the bartender could respond.
“My bad, didn’t know it’d still be that sensitive of a topic for you.”
“Yeah, well it is,” Michael retreated back into himself, then chugged the rest of his beer, anger overcoming his gagging. “Get me a shot of something, I don’t care what it is, just make it cheap.”
“Coming right up, Wheeler.” Michael rolled his eyes, and when given a shot of something transparent, he immediately tapped the bar and took it. He made a face at the bitterness of it.
“That was definitely tequila, oh god,” Micheal thought.
The bartender laughed. “Want another? This one’s on the house if you can drink it straight with no face.”
“You’re on.” Michael would regret these words, as he kept attempting to take shots with no face. By the 6th, the bartender stopped him.
“Alright man, you’ve made your point, you’re gonna rack up your bill trying to win a bet. Sit with this beer and then tell me how you feel.”
“I’m fine,” Michael said with only a small slur in his words. He wasn’t drunk like he could be at his place, but he definitely got too drunk too quickly, and it was apparent that he’d never gotten drunk off of just liquor before.
“Okay, then. Stand up.” The bartender had been daring Michael to do a lot tonight, and Michael had a lot to prove, so he wasn’t going to back down from just attempting to stand up.
“Okay,” Michael said, a bit more slur in his speech than the last sentence. He put both hands on the bar, spun himself around on the stool, and jumped off. His lanky legs faltered, and he fell face first into the empty table behind him.
“Ow.”
Michael sat knocked out on the floor for a second and the bartender ran around the bar and tried to help him up.
“Whoa man, I didn’t think you’d be that much of a light weight.” Michael didn’t answer, his eyes still shut.
“Mike! Wake up!” he yelled in his face, slapping him around a couple times.
Mike! Please! Just wake up! Mike!
Michael got splashed with cold weather directly from the fountain behind the bar, and finally woke up in said bar.
“What?” Michael said first, followed by “Whas happen?” his words more slurred, but clearer before he fumbled getting up from his seat.
“You tried to get up from your stool and fell face first into a table,” said another patron of the bar while handing him a napkin. “Your nose is all bloody.”
Michael touched his upper lips, and sure enough, a small amount of blood trickled out. He took the napkin from the other person.
“Thank you,” he said before putting it up to his nose and tilting his head back.
“I’m gonna close my tab then I guess, what do I owe you?”
Michael went to the atm, paid his bill and left a hefty tip for the guy who apparently dated his baby sister for a month, and went back to his car. He turned the rearview mirror to look at himself, trying to figure out if he looked drunk enough to be pulled over. He slapped himself in the face a couple times then turned his keys to start, and pulled out of the parking lot.
“Let me put on some music, that should help my focus,” Michael thought.
He shifted through a couple of radio stations playing songs he didn’t know, and landed on an 80’s hits station that came through the clearest on his stereo.
Goes bang-bang-bang 'til my feet do the same, but something's bugging me, something ain't right
Michael started bobbing his head, getting into the groove of Wham!.
My best friend told me what you did last night, You left me sleeping in my bed. I was dreaming, but I should've been with you instead!
He started to sing along.
Wake me up before you go-go. Don't leave me hanging on like a yo-yo. Wake me up before you go-go, I don't wanna miss it when you hit that high.
He laughed, he doesn’t remember the last time he turned on the radio.
Wake me up before you go-go, 'Cause I'm not planning on going solo. Wake me up before you go-go. Take me dancing tonight
I wanna hit that-
BANG. As Michael drove through an intersection on red, another car hit him from the left, t-boning him right down the middle of his own car, spinning him out of control, and hitting a street light on his right. It was a miracle he was virtually unharmed in the crash. The doctor said if he wasn’t plastered that he would’ve tensed up and broken many more bones than he did, though he barely did; only a rib and his wrist. That was it.
Michael was arrested for driving under the influence, a DUI. He pleaded guilty for his charges, and was sentenced to 80 days in county jail and a $200 fine. No one was seriously injured, but because there was more alcohol in the form of his mother’s favorite wine in his car, there were open container charges that were put on top of his DUI. Going through processing, Michael couldn’t stop shaking. He knew he wasn’t meant for jail, that he would much rather be anywhere else. Getting stripped to nothing and inspected by multiple people was awful, and the jumpsuits were cheap and itchy.
“Alright inmate,” said the intake guard. “This is your cell, this is your roommate, Crazy Bob, you’re gonna get along great.”
“Crazy who?”
“Did I stutter, inmate? Now git, I gotta lock this behind ya.”
Michael stumbled in, and inspected the bunk bed with thin mattresses, the sink and toilet combination contraption, and the quickly appearing wall on the other side. There was a poster of the ‘hang in there’ cat. It couldn’t have been more than a 6 by 8 foot room, and the bed took up most of the space. The man coined Crazy Bob already dibbed top bunk, and didn’t turn to look at Michael as he walked in.
“Uhm, Hi. I’m Michael. You’re Bob?” Michael received no answer. “Alright, I guess I’ll just lay down. I’m assuming I got bottom bunk?” Still no answer from Bob.
“Well, this could be worse,” Michael thought.
Worse it got, as Crazy Bob didn’t answer because Crazy Bob is a night owl and stays up during lights out, sleeping in his cell during the day. On Michael’s first night, Crazy Bob just made creepy whispers to himself from the top bunk, and Michael couldn’t sleep till almost 3 in the morning. The next night, he rocked back and forth muttering different things to himself, making the entire bunk squeak all night. No amount of pillows wrapped around Michael’s head was gonna save him from this. The third night, Michael was ready to ask for a switch. Crazy Bob kept leaning over to look at Michael, screaming at him each time, then leaning back to do it again.
“WAKE UP MIKE! *squeak* WAKE UP MIKE! *squeak* WAKE UP MIKE! *squeak* WAKE UP MIKE! *squeak*” Crazy Bob repeated to him over and over again.
“I’m AWAKE!” Michael yelled at the top of his lungs, trying to overpower Bob’s screaming. “That’s the problem though BOB! I’m trying to SLEEP! I’m supposed to SLEEP right now! Please god let me sleep!”
“WAKE UP MIKE! *squeak* WAKE UP MIKE! *squeak* WAKE UP MIKE! *squeak* WAKE UP MIKE! *squeak*”
“FUCK YOU BOB!” Michael yelled back, hitting his hand against the wall.
Bob finally fell asleep right before the doors opened for breakfast, and Michael was so thankful to be able to walk out of that room like he is each morning. He stumbled out, getting in line for count and grub. His days started to consist of going to breakfast, napping in the library during free time, lunch, sitting on the benches during outside time, dinner, and staring at that god awful poster. Getting back from dinner, this time Bob wasn’t in the cell block.
“Oh my god, I hope he gets locked out or changed rooms, I’m so over him,” Michael thought.
He sat on his bottom bunk and began his time counting while staring at the cat poster. Something… wasn’t right though.
“Hold on, that cat was orange, right? Why… is it all grey?”
He got up from the bunk mattress, and touched the poster. It was definitely a grey cat now, but something else was weird. The poster could be dented into the wall as it was touched.
“What? There should be a wall behind here.”
He lifted the poster and found just a normal wall still behind it. He put his hands to the concrete, and it was definitely solid.
“Wait…”
Michael brought down the poster again, and pushed on it. It gave a little, just enough that it would rip in the middle.
“That’s… not right.”
He pushed into the poster more, ripping it from the middle and pushing his arm through.
“Whoa, how am I pushing my arm through the wall?”
Michael ripped the poster apart from the middle, rather than just through. He looked through the tears, and instead of finding the other side of the wall on it, he saw blue walls filled with more posters, an open closet, and… himself?
“Is that… me?”
“The hell are you doing, it's ten after!”
“Oh shit! Shit!”
“You have thirty seconds or I’m leaving without you, okay? Thirty seconds!”
“Okay, I have to find my pants!”
Michael watched himself get dressed and run out of his bedroom after Nancy, who was taking him to school.
“Holy shit… what is happening?” Michael asked himself.
“WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP!” Crazy Bob appeared on the top bunk, screaming at Michael. He didn’t want to stay here with all of Crazy Bob’s noises, so he pushed himself through, falling into his childhood bedroom. He groaned, having hit the side of his lamp and bedside table, landing on his back with feet in the air on his bed.
“How the hell am I here, and how the hell am I, but not really me, also here? And was that Nancy? She looks so young, like when we were still in high school.”
Michael got up, and dusted himself off. He was in different clothes and even normal shoes now, also about 30 pounds lighter it felt. He felt his body for anything else that might’ve changed, and sighed relief. Suspicious again though, he went across the hall to the bathroom and went to the bathroom that was thankfully empty and available. He looked in the mirror to assess himself and found a 14 years younger version staring back at himself.
“Whoa! Whoa! What? What!?” Michael yelled, inspecting his face and body with more surprise, but quickly wrapped his hand around his mouth. If he as a teen just left for school, his mom is definitely still home, waiting for Holly’s time to go to school. She was just a 3rd grader, so her school started later.
And he just yelled like a crazy person in the upstairs bathroom.
He tiptoed out, hoping not to disturb anyone. Michael as his younger self ran out the door of his bedroom again, almost running into the current Michael, but younger him didn’t notice that older him was in the hallway.
“Uhm, hello? Do you not see me? I just time traveled and you can’t even see me, that’s super lame.”
He followed himself down the stairs, watching him throw on his hellfire t-shirt.
“Oh man I haven’t fit that thing in years.”
“Mike, I know your D&D club is tonight,”
“Hellfire.”
“Why don’t you just call it the high school drop out club?”
“I want you home no later than nine tonight okay?”
“Yeah, okay I’ll try-”
“No trying, you need to go to bed early tonight.”
“Why?”
“It’s a 6:30 flight Mike.”
“Yeah, I know but-”
“No buts! Nine or no California.”
“And no sweetie pie.”
“Mike! Lets goooo!”
“Jesus, how am I gonna survive a whole week without you guys?”
“Nine!” The door slams shut, and Mike’s parents go back to what they were doing.
“They really can’t see me, huh? Well, no point in staying here then. It’s almost like it’s looping these couple of minutes from that morning before going to Lenora.”
Michael walked out the front door of his childhood home and walked into the main hall of Hawkins High School.
“Wait what? No, I was just at my house, I-“
Michael turned around and saw the school yard and parking lot outside the double doors behind him, kids passing him naturally, not bumping into him but not actively avoiding him either.
“Hello! What is happening?” Michael yelled out. Not one person turned his way. They really couldn’t see him.
“This doesn’t feel right…”
Michael heard himself talk again, and from around the corner and in through the double doors came younger Michael, Dustin, and Lucas.
“Please arrive at the point.”
“If I get in good with these guys, I’ll be in the popular crowd, and then you guys will be too.”
Michael followed the three around the corner, still listening to them.
“Has it ever occurred to you that we don’t want to be popular?”
“So you wanna be stuck with the nerds and freaks for three more years?”
“We are the nerds and freaks.”
“Yeah but maybe we don’t have to be.”
Michael walked away, he remembers too well how this conversation went down and how it played out.
“Lucas focused so much on not getting bullied he forgot where he came from, but that’s fine, he came through for Eddie in the end from what Dustin told me.”
Michael moved along, seeing what next moment of his past he was going to stumble across. He turned another corner of a hallway and was back in his childhood home again, this time in the basement.
“I am not going to get used to that, I turned one way and it’s my house, I turned another way and it’s my school, I turned another way AGAIN and I’m back at my house. What is happening?!”
He came around the under parts of the stairs, and saw a mattress on the floor next to the couch. He recognized the blankets, and knew this was when the Byers were staying at his parents house.
“How did I skip so much time? I thought I time traveled somehow.”
He heard someone upstairs, saying how they’re gonna just hang out down in the basement tonight. He heard the door open, and someone came down. It was William.
Michael's heart stopped for a second, as beyond the potential hallucination he had at the bar, he hadn't seen William since a little after graduating high school. He took a deep and shaky breath, and walked towards William.
“Will?” He quietly called out. William sat in the bean bag chair, not hearing or seeing Michael in front of him. He pulled out his sketch pad and pencils and started to draw. Michael tried to see what William was drawing and stayed for a bit to watch him. William sketched the outline of a face, slowly but surely morphing into Michael.
Michael gulped down whatever emotions he was about to show knowing that William was drawing him, but this was a drawing he never saw. He heard the door upstairs open again, and William hid his sketch under another one of a dungeons and dragons drawing, depicting something from a previous campaign.
“Hey Mike,” said William, and the now Michael stepped off to the side to watch their conversation.
“Hey Will, uhm my mom says that dinner will be done in an hour, and she requested your help for setting the table.”
“Oh, uhm, sure, tell her I’ll be up in 30 then.”
“Cool,” the younger Michael said, letting silence hang in the air. “Well alright,” he finally said, turning around to leave.
Now Michael looked at William, never knowing what expression he had when he turned to walk away before. It was pained, his lips pressed together and his eyebrows were pouting. Now Michael felt the same expression hit his face, and he knew what was finally happening.
“I don’t want to believe it, but I don’t think this is time travel. I think… I’m still 16. Because… how I looked in the mirror isn’t too far off from what I just looked like when I came down the stairs. Still super weird to watch yourself do things. But… how? We defeated the demo’s, the mind flayer. I watched Joyce axe off Venca’s head. So… When? When did he take me? When did things start to feel off? He would’ve made it seem like everything was normal and then I’d be in a dream state, that’s how Nancy described it.”
Michael looked up at the stairs, then back at William. He was suddenly gone, and Michael heard him from upstairs again.
“These memories loop, so if I stick around one too long, it’s gonna reset to what I remember happening. But, how can I see Will’s sketch then? I never saw it before.”
“Because this isn’t just your memories Michael,” said a disembodied voice. It was deep, and Michael recognized the shiver down his spine. This was-
“Vecna,” Michael said under his breath. He looked around, and heard William open the door. He ran up the stairs once William made it to the basement, and walked through the door to the junkyard. It’s been repurposed to be a training ground for Eleven to learn how to fight and use her powers offensively. Michael visited her one time to finally try and talk things out, though it didn’t really go to plan.
“I wanted to say I’m sorry,” said Michael in the memory. “You were right, I have… trouble… with my emotions and it tends to make me seem like I don’t care about you.”
“There’s that word again,” Eleven said, looking away from him and back to focusing on her stretches. “Care.”
“Well, I mean I do care about you El,” Michael whined. Now Michael facepalmed, he couldn’t believe how naive he could be.
“She already knows you care about her dude,” Michael thought.
“But do you love me Mike?” Eleven asked. It was a fair question, Michael has had trouble telling her since she moved to California. Now it’s been 6 months since their fight about his letters, and he’s just now saying something.
“Of course I do!” Michael protested while Eleven rolled her eyes. Michael pouted and said “I… also love the painting you commissioned for me. Will gave it to me awhile back, and I realized putting it up in my room today that I never thanked you for it.”
Eleven stopped her stretches, a puzzled look on her face. “What is ‘commission?’”
“Oh, it’s like when you tell someone what to make or draw, or in this case, paint.” Michael answered her.
“Mike, I did not ask Will to make a painting.” She shook her head in confusion.
“Wait, what?”
“He… made one that he would not let me see, but I thought that was for a girl he liked. I told you about it in my last letter before spring break, do you not remember?”
“Oh, yeah… I remember now. Sorry, I must be mistaken then, maybe I misheard Will.”
“You didn’t remember anything, you threw away all her letters.”
“Maybe.” Eleven stretched her neck side to side. “Is there anything else you want to talk about?”
“No, I guess not.”
“No, I guess not,” Michael said, starting to walk away. The Michael watching himself inside the memory stood off to the side, ready to leave.
“Stupid, it’s just stupid. She doesn’t know that for a fact. Will doesn’t even like girls so I don’t know what she was thinking.”
Michael turned to leave, and across the way of the field stood Vecna, vines and roots for appendages and a grey exterior that was no longer skin.
“Michael,” Vecna said. “I’ve been itching to get to know the boy that plagues the minds of two of the many thorns in my side. Unfortunately, I didn’t know he would be this boring… and useless.”
Michael looked around him for something to use as a weapon, only finding the old cars and junk from outside behind him, nothing he could easily grab to use against the big bad in front of him.
“I wanted to know how you could be a common weakness of Eleven’s and William’s; it perplexes me. Why you?” Michael blinked, looked around, and he wasn’t in the same memory anymore. He was suddenly in the employee halls in the StarCourt Mall.
“What?”
“You were useless in all of the fights you’ve ever been involved in. Eleven wins most of them for you, or you’ll just straight up lose.”
“Bullshit! I’ve won plenty of fights on my own!” Michael yelled, his ego getting bruised. He ran through the hallways, doing his best to keep distance between him and Vecna. The only fight he really does remember winning was potentially against Troy, but Eleven was there to physically stop him and made him pee his pants.
“You used to be a leader Michael,” Vecna said, showing Michael the preteen versions of himself and the party that summer, Michael in front and leading everyone to the movie theater to sneak into Day of the Dead. Michael ran further, faster, trying to get out of these halls. He pushed through some double doors, and found himself at Hawkins Middle School. He looked around, and kept running, heading towards the cafeteria.
“Now you’re being left behind, dreamless and goalless,” Vecna said, targeting Michael’s insecurities that he won’t talk about and shoving him into the memory when he first kissed Eleven.
“You don’t even know me, you bastard.”
“Remember that I’m the one in your mind Michael, not the other way around,” Vecna said. “But I do have someone else’s memories on stand by, would you… like to see them?”
“Oh no…”
Michael turned a corner and stopped in his tracks. He was on a road, it was dark, no cars. He can hear a bike riding up on him, and when he turned, a singular light lit up his face before the bike crashed into the woods next to him. William, aged 12, got up from his bike, breathing hard. He heard a crack of a twig, and ran through the woods.
“Will!” Michael yelled, and ran after him. He watched William look back every now and again, and he led them both to the old Byers’ residence. William went through his front door then latched it from the inside. Michael ran up to the house, but stopped himself before reaching the front patio. A Demogorgon and Vecna stood outside his house, trying to look in through the windows. Vecna put his hand up to the door and closed his eyes, attempting to open the locks. He doesn’t actually go inside, instead he walks around the house, the demogorgon going the opposite way to case the place.
“Is this… the night you took him?” Michael said, tears welled in his eyes and his throat felt like it was closing. He ran to the back, hearing the back door open and shut, just in time to watch the back shed light glow extremely bright, and then shut off. He ran again, this time through the woods, and tried to find Castle Byers. He never made it though, as the woods only led him to the hospital.
“This place makes no sense,” Micheal thought.
He walked into the hospital, and saw William and Robin at the front desk. Not remembering that he’s in a dream memory world, he ducked behind some chairs in the waiting room.
“Wait, what am I doing? This isn’t the real world right now.”
He walked right up to them, and started to eavesdrop on William’s memory.
“Who’s Mrs. Massey?”
“My sweet granny that fell down a flight of stairs and broke nearly every bone in her frail little body.”
“Oh god, I’m… sorry.”
“Don’t be too sorry, okay. She’s not my real granny, I just used her name so I can visit Vickie. I know that it sounds unethical, but I always bring her cookies and I think Ms Massey loves me more than her own family at this point. More importantly she has got like a mando stash of benzos and her nurse is like a lazy slacker who never locks the medicine cabinet-” Robin stopped William, inadvertently stopping the memory eavesdropper behind them.
“Oh shit,” Robin said, grabbing William and throwing him back against the wall to hide from Vickie. Michael furrowed his brows from how Robin grabbed him, but he couldn’t do much about it.
“What? What are we doing?” William whispered.
“Hiding.” Robin also whispered.
“Hiding, right. Why?”
Robin gave him a knowing look, and pulled out a compact with a mirror. She put it around the corner and watched Vickie saunter her way down the hallway, keeping conversation with the girl she was working with.
“Jesus, she talks so much. I know, I’m a hypocrite,” Robin said.
“Yeah you are,” Michael said, following the two while they attempted to hide from Vickie.
“I know that’s Vickie, and they were here to get drugs to lace the pie, but why is she trying to hide from her? I thought they were good friends.”
Michael ran after them, but again the memories changed. He’s in the tunnels, and sees the distance growing between William with Robin and himself with Joyce and Lucas. He can see Joyce with the distance marker and himself with a shovel.
Robins stops and purposefully bumps into William.
“Hey wa-” William tries to stop them from falling into each other, breaking his train of thoughts.
“Hey,” Robin said, quickly followed by a “Hi” from William.
“Do you uhm, by any chance remember Tammy Thompson?” Robin asked.
“That terrible singer that actually made it in Nashville somehow?” Michael thought.
“Yeah, isn’t she that terrible singer?” William asked back.
Robin laughed a bit. “Yeah… but in the ninth grade, I thought that she sounded like Whitney Houston. I mean, the first time I saw her- oh my god, like, time slowed down. It was like a scene from some lame romance movie. You know her hair blew in the wind, and she just looked perfect. So goddamn perfect. And, uh, it was right then and there that I knew she was the one.”
Michael stopped walking next to them, letting them keep walking ahead.
“Tammy… the one… oh my god. Robin, you’re-“
“He lies to you about that painting,” Vecna said, walking closer in the tunnels with him. “He started becoming better friends with Robin than he is with you. Eleven is stronger than ever, and she’s still going to choose death and sacrifice over her friends. What makes you think either of them still need you?”
Michael falters, his breathing quickening, but turns to run in the tunnels anyway. Other memories come around: how they ran through and set fire to the tunnels when it still had all those spores spewing out at them and vines that responded to touch, how they had to dig a grave for the agent that died protecting them, the day Eleven came back through Hopper’s front door at the cabin, the night Michael took William home on Halloween after an episode- Michael runs through them all, not trying to get caught within Vecna’s grasp. He runs out of breath, and has to stop, getting caught up in the memory of fighting Billy, Max’s older brother.
“Shit, shit, shit,” Michael thought. “I’m gonna get caught if I don’t get out of here. Alright, he said this is my mind right? Maybe let's try to find happy memories. God, what’s a happy memory of mine?
He closed his eyes and tried to think of the last time he was really happy.
“Come on, come on, come on, come on!”
He stopped hearing the shouting of the fight, and heard crickets and cicadas. He opened his eyes, and found himself in the woods. A very young version of himself and William ran past him, and dove into the newly built Castle Byers. He turned and knelt down, lifting up the blanket and making his way inside.
“Will the Wise shoots a fireball, pe-shuew, pe-shuew, ahhhh!” young William said, playing with his minifigure and controlling the newspaper mache Beholder they made together.
“Mike the brave slashes the beholder, and his guts fall out, ppfflll aaahhh!” Young Michael said, laughing as he fell into young William, who was giggling at the sound effects.
Michael smiles, not really remembering this exact time too well, but knows it was probably the best days of his life.
“Can’t stay, the memory will just loop and he’s gonna catch up.”
Michael watched the two young boys playing in the fort for a moment before he turned and opened the curtain behind him, only to find a memory that’s not anyone’s he knows. The ground had about two inches of water, no, blood- it was everywhere and there was a red haze. Rocks were jagged and sticking up from the ground, and there’s some semblance of ruins of a house in the distance.
“Mike! Wake up! Please!” William screamed in the distance. Michael turned around, trying to find the source of William’s voice. He sees nothing at first, so he calls out.
“Will!” he yelled, his voice echoing in this space. He ran toward the house ruins.
“Michael, come back sweetie.” Joyce said, still sounding like it’s coming from a distance.
“Ms. Byers!” Michael yelled again, trying to figure out where they are, when they are. He still hadn’t figured out when he got put in his trance, but knowing that people were yelling for him and he could hear it meant he should be close to getting out of it.
“Will!” Michael yelled again, hoping this worked like marco polo.
“Mike, if you can hear me, please keep running!” William said, and Michael felt a hand on his forearm, but no one was behind him or in front of him. He looked up, and a puff of smoke circled a passed out Michael with Joyce and William screaming over his body, trying to get him to wake up.
Michael ran as fast as he could towards himself, his friend and friend's mother.
He was going to make it.