Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

He couldn’t pull his eyes from the memorial. He never could. In the countless hours he’d spent sitting there on that bench, he’d memorised every name engraved onto the plaques, and could probably list them all off in order if asked. But the names weren’t what mattered to him. What mattered was the name that wasn’t there, the name that deserved to be there perhaps more than any of the others. 

Mike Wheeler was eighteen years old, but a part of his mind was still stuck at sixteen. Still stuck in the horror and anguish of eighteen months ago, screaming and fighting and crying. A part of him would always be stuck there. 

“Hey, kid.” 

He didn’t want to look up, didn’t want to tear his eyes away from the memorial. Didn’t want to look into the eyes of the man who was grieving just as much as him. He kept his eyes locked on the engraved words, not really seeing them. In his mind’s eye, he just saw her. 

“Thought I might find you here,” Hopper continued, his voice gradually getting closer. “You’re mom’s freaking out.” Mike sensed him sitting down beside him. It was strange, having company on the bench after so long sitting here alone. The last person who’d bothered accompanying him here was … 

Well. He didn’t need to think about that. He had enough to deal with as it was. 

“I mean…” Hopper’s voice was right next to him now, and Mike still wouldn’t look at him. It was too much, too painful, to see his own grief reflected back at him. “I can’t say I blame her. I don’t know if you remember, but we do have a history of kids going missing in this town.” 

His tone was light, joking, but his words cut Mike like a knife. He didn’t need to remember. He had actively spent the last few years of his life trying to forget the November of 1983. Everything awful in his life could be traced back to that time, every heartbreak and pain and loss he could think of, it had all started there. Thinking about her was bad enough. He couldn’t bear thinking about him, too. 

“She won’t understand.” He forced the words out, because while he didn’t want to talk to Hopper, he couldn’t be left in silence after being thrown back into those memories. Anything was better than being left to drown in it. “She’ll never understand why I can’t do it, why I can’t walk the stage.” 

He meant to stop there, he really did. He wasn’t one to share his thoughts, he had never been. His father had always hated it when he cried, he hated it when he cried, and he always cried when he opened up. But he could feel the question in Hopper’s silence, and despite himself, he couldn’t hold the answer in. 

“It’d be like a lie. Like I’m okay with moving on. And I’m not. I’m not okay with it.” 

Friends don’t lie. And he’d done nothing but lie, to everyone around him, to himself. He’d let the lies build up, and up, until he was buried in them, drowning in them, unable to find a way out. It was already too much - he couldn’t bear to add another lie to the pile. Not one this big. 

He could feel his eyes starting to sting, his throat starting to burn. And he wouldn’t let himself cry, he wouldn’t. Crying was for behind closed doors, shameful and secret. Crying was too honest, and honesty was just as scary as lying. He focused hard on the memorial, until he was sure the tears had retreated, and finally turned to look at Hopper. 

He expected to see the all too familiar shadows of grief and heartbreak on his face, the dullness in his eyes, the exhaustion seeping from his body. He’d expected the familiar ache of seeing his own reflection in Hopper’s face. But he hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t expected Hopper to look so light. The shadows were gone, the light had returned to his eyes, and the only sign of any guilt-ridded, sleepless nights were the faint bags under his eyes. He didn’t look like Mike. He looked normal. 

And that hurt worse than anything Mike could have imagined. 

He’d seen this before. He’d seen everyone go through it. One by one, the Party had started smiling wider, laughing louder, standing taller. And it had hurt every time. But Hopper? Hopper was the only person who’d felt the anguish as badly as Mike did. The only one who hadn’t forgotten her. When had this happened? When had he let her go? When had he tossed her memory aside without a second thought? Fury burned through Mike’s blood. Why was it up to him to hold onto her memory? Why was he the only one who had to hold onto it all, carry the pain for everyone? It wasn’t fair. He wanted Hopper to hurt, he wanted him to cry, he wanted him to remember. 

“I had this plan,” he said, trying to suppress the tremors in his voice. “That me and El, we were gonna go someplace far away, and… and no one would find us.” Saying her name hurt. It hurt almost as badly as the memories did. And he studied the police chief’s face, searching desperately for a flicker of pain in his face. There was nothing. It was as if Hopper was twisting the knife now, jerking it back and forth, leaving Mike a bleeding, dying wreck. Had he only come to find him to make him hurt even more? A final act of revenge. Revenge for both of his kids. 

“And I said this thing,” he continued, pressing on, because the more the words hurt him to say, then surely the more they would hurt Hopper. “About us going somewhere with three waterfalls.” He felt so stupid, saying it out loud again after all this time. He’d been sixteen, a child, and even then it had been silly. Foolish. He felt shame clenching at his insides, cold and firm. The burning in the back of this throat crept back. And yet he couldn’t stop talking. “I mean, I don't even know if she believed me. Who would? Three waterfalls, I mean that's so stupid, childish. It was a fantasy plan. I should’ve had a real one.” 

The words spilled out of him, words he had never wanted to say again, words he had never wanted Hopper to hear. He didn’t want Hopper to know how he’d failed his daughter, didn’t want to admit to him that he’d been right, all those years ago, in his mistrust of him. But there was no hatred in his face now, none of the anger and disdain Mike had grown used to as a younger teenager. He looked older, and the lines on his face were formed by concern, sympathy, understanding. He looked like a father. 

“I just didn’t… I didn’t think that she would just…” He couldn’t finish his sentence. He couldn’t say what she’d done out loud. He just couldn’t. The tears broke past his defences, collecting in his eyes, beginning to fall down his face, and he looked away, ashamed. If this was truly Hopper’s vengeance on Mike, he deserved it. He deserved every ounce of it. 

“Hey, hey. This…” The chief was struggling with his words, searching for them. Mike prepared himself for the final blow. But the words that came out of Hopper’s mouth surprised him. “It’s not your- it’s not your fault.” Mike looked back up at him, eyes wide. 

“What happened is not your fault,” Hopper said again, firmer this time. He sounded so sure of it, so certain. But how could he, when it wasn’t true? It was his fault. If he just hadn’t been such an idiot, if he hadn’t been wrapped up in his own problems, he could have seen what was happening. He could have stopped it. And if he hadn’t started lying in the first place… 

Hopper was still talking, and his voice was clear through the haze in Mike’s mind. “El made her choice. Now it's time for you to make yours. And the way I see it, you got two roads ahead of you. You got one road where you keep blaming yourself for what happened. You keep going over it in your head, what you could’ve done differently. You push people away and you suffer because that's what you think you deserve.” 

That sounded about right. After all, none of this, none of it, would have happened if it wasn’t for him and his cowardice and his lies. No one seemed to understand that. Because no one knew the full truth. And no one ever would. Not Hopper, not his mom, and not even him. No one ever could. 

“And then there's another road… where you find a way to accept what happened. Find a way to accept her choice. Doesn't mean you gotta like it, doesn't mean you gotta understand it. And never think about it. You just accept it. And you live the best goddamn life you can.” 

That sounded impossible. Not only that, but unfair. Excruciatingly unfair. Why should he get to live the best life he could, while she didn’t get to live one at all? Why should he get to move on? It was his own mistakes, his own stupidity, that had led them all here. 

Hopper seemed to read his mind. “I've been down that first road before. And I don't recommend it. And as for El… I think you know what she would've wanted for you.” Mike swallowed, feeling his eyes prick. Hopper wouldn’t be saying this to him if he knew the truth. If he knew that Mike had been lying to his daughter for years, if he knew that he'd kept on lying to her until the end, and if he knew that, in her final moments, he couldn’t even tell her he loved her.

All those lies, and he hadn’t been able to tell the most important one. 

But Hopper could never know that. Because if he admitted that, it opened the door to so many questions. Questions that he could never answer. 

Mike Wheeler hated lying. He always had. Because lying was a slippery slope. You told one lie, and suddenly you had to tell another, and another, until it spiralled out of control and everything you said, everything you did, was untrue. Lies were suffocating, and lies were inescapable. 

Walking the stage, graduating, acting like he was ready to move on; it was another lie. But what was one more lie, when his entire being was a lie now? 

So he nodded, forcing a smile onto his face. And Hopper clapped him on the back, satisfied, not realising that he had fallen for Mike Wheeler’s dishonesty, just like his children did. 

He was not feeling better about his decision as he approached graduation. Up ahead was a sea of orange, the same orange he was drenched in. He hated the colour of his cap and gown, but maybe that stemmed mainly from his hatred for the fact that he was wearing a cap and gown in the first place. He had always looked forward to graduating as a kid. Escaping Hawkins, running away to a big city somewhere far away, it used to be all he’d talk about with - 

Well. Things had changed. And none of that was happening anymore. Just another stupid fantasy, like his idiotic three waterfalls rhetoric. Mike Wheeler, the writer, the storyteller, was incapable of facing reality. 

“Mike!” It was his mother. He still wasn’t used to her short hair, so weirdly similar to his own, but she loved it, and his father hated it, so that was good enough for Mike. He watched her sprint up to him, relief etched in every inch of her face, and fell into her embrace. 

“Sorry, Mom, I panicked,” he said, voice muffled against her shoulder. Something was truly wrong with him, because all the hug brought to him were memories. Memories of when he was much smaller, sobbing in her arms after seeing his body dragged from the quarry, sobbing in her arms after watching the moving van drive away from him, away from Hawkins. Memories that consumed him. He was grateful when she released him - he could see he was taller than her now, much taller, looking down at her, instead of tiny and engulfed in her arms, small and terrified and lost. 

“You don’t have to explain,” she said, and he was grateful for that, too. If he tried to explain it, somehow without lying or telling the truth, he might break down. “God, look at you. You’re all grown up.” She cupped his face, smiling up at him, eyes filling with tears. “I’m so proud of you.” Mike wondered who she saw when she looked at him. Surely not who he was now. No one could be proud of that. “I’m so, so proud.” She patted his shoulders, then pulled him into another hug. Mike endured it. He felt like he endured everything these days. 

“I love you, Mom,” he said, because it was true. And saying anything true, anything honest, was sacred to him now. 

“I love you, baby,” she said back, voice cracking. The words were comforting, throwing him back into his childhood, hearing his mother tell him she loved him as she tucked him into bed, or waved him goodbye as he ran into school with his friends, or consoled him while he cried over a grazed knee or the cruel words thrown by bullies in the playground. Even after he’d learned to hold back his tears around his father, his mom had stayed safe for many more years, drying his tears and holding him through it all. As he’d gotten older, though, the expectation had become clear; it was time to grow up. He wished he could stay in those memories forever, but now his mom was gently guiding him away from her, towards the waiting crowd of his classmates. Pushing him into the real world. 

Mike hurried over to his seat, extremely grateful for his surname starting with a “W”. If he’d had to awkwardly make his way to the front he might have died of mortification. 

Principal Higgins was speaking, his voice as grating as it had always been. The normality of it was welcome. “...And now, it's my great pleasure to introduce someone who has truly excelled during their time here. Ladies and gentlemen give a warm welcome to your valedictorian Dustin Henderson.” His voice was extremely unenthusiastic, but that didn’t matter. As Dustin stood from the back of the stage and made his way to the microphone, little pockets of applause erupted. Somewhere in the audience, Mike heard Steve Harrington’s distinct cheering, his applause loud and clear. Someone - it sounded like Mr Clarke - let out an excited “Dustin!”, and from a few rows in front of Mike, Lucas’s voice rang out, shouting, “That’s my friend!” 

Despite himself, Mike smiled. As much as he resented them for it, the joy of his friends was infectious, and as he watched Dustin on stage, he felt pride welling up inside him. Cupping his hands to his mouth, he gave a loud whoop! Maybe graduating wasn’t so bad after all. The happiness around him was having an effect on him, and for a moment, he felt his old excitement for the future creeping back into his heart. Maybe things would all work out, for him, for all of them. 

And then he saw him. He was right at the front, the back of his head to Mike, his hair hidden in the same orange cap that everyone wore. Really, Mike shouldn’t have recognised him, not from this distance, not when everyone looked almost identical. But he did. He’d recognise that boy anywhere, anytime. It was in the way he shifted slightly in his seat, in the way his arms rose upwards, giving a supportive thumbs up to Dustin, who was now at the front of the stage. It was in the very air around him. Yes, Mike would recognise him anywhere. And the moment he did, the air was snatched out of his lungs. The sense of normality he’d felt only moments ago vanished completely. 

Because things wouldn’t work out for him. They never would. 

Things would never work out between him and Will Byers. 

The reminder was crushing and cold, and Mike had to fight to push it down. He couldn’t think about that. Not here, not now. Not ever. He was very practiced at pushing it deep into the back of his mind, hidden away, safe, secure. The best he could do now was focus on Dustin’s speech, soak up his friend’s big moment. Keep himself in check for just a little while longer. 

“I just wanted a normal childhood.” Dustin’s opening line sent a hush over the audience and a chill down Mike’s spine. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected from Dustin’s valedictorian speech, but it definitely hadn’t been this. This was honest. So honest it took him aback. 

“But that childhood was stolen from me,” Dustin continued, his voice loud and clear, his gaze steady on the audience. Unfaltering. Unafraid. And Mike was envious. “It was stolen from us.” Despite the masses of people, graduates and family and friends crowded around, it felt as though Dustin was speaking directly to him, to the Party. The sea of orange in front of him blurred as tears began to pool in his eyes, for what felt like the hundredth time that day. 

“And this past year, if you wanna know the truth, I've been pretty pissed off about it. But then I thought back to the past six years, and I realised that, even though there was a lot of bad, there was so much good too.” 

The tears were threatening to overwhelm him now. Memories flew at him at full force, juxtaposing images of the bad and the good, colliding and blurring together. Finding El in the woods. Finding Will’s body in the quarry. El vanishing. Will coming home. One and then the other, vanishing and reappearing and leaving him again. 

And now he’d lost both of them. 

Dustin was still speaking on stage, his voice distant and muffled, like Mike was underwater. “There’s this game I like to play. It’s called Dungeons and Dragons.” 

Mike dimly recognised the name, registered two people - Will and Lucas? - cheer. He couldn’t make himself react. He was frozen, paralysed by the memories twisting in his mind. El at the mall, Will outside his house in the rain. Will in the van, El in the pizza fridge. A mess, a mess that he’d made. 

“And in this game, there are two types of chaos classes; chaotic good and chaotic bad. Now, bad chaos brings anarchy, destruction, war.” Dustin paused for effect. El standing at the gate, El pulling him into her mind palace, El kissing him goodbye. El disappearing one final time. Will sobbing, Will shouting in his face, Will slamming the door and walking away. 

He hadn’t realised how lost he was in his thoughts until the crowd around him stirred from their silence, jolting him back to reality. He almost started applauding on instinct before realising that the sounds around him weren’t cheers, but murmurs and gasps. He glanced around, confused. On stage, Principal Higgins moved to stand, looking thoroughly displeased. 

Dustin, meanwhile, was still talking. “And I don't want order, which is why it's hypocritical that I’m even wearing this thing, I mean we look ridiculous, what is this? We look like Roman senators.” Mike grinned despite himself - he couldn’t help it, because whatever was going on, it was so inherently Dustin that it made him smile. A few years ago this version of Dustin was nowhere to be found, and seeing him find his humour again gave him the tiniest inkling of hope for himself. 

“I mean it's not who I am, I don't think it's who any of us are, so honestly just screw it.” And, right there on stage, Dustin threw off his hideous orange gown, revealing the grey t-shirt underneath. Big letters spelt out, loud and clear, Hellfire Lives! For a moment Mike felt an old, cold stab of panic - ordinarily this would’ve been enough for someone to pick a fight with them. But to his surprise, the crowd cheered. Maybe it was graduation excitement, or maybe no one really cared about Hellfire anymore. Maybe the memory of that awful spring was fading from Hawkins. The thought both comforted and terrified him. 

Higgins was yelling. But Dustin was still going. And Mike had to admire the chaos of it all, the stupidity, the bravery. 

“Screw the school!” 

“Henderson!” 

“Screw the system!” 

“That’s enough!” 

“Screw conformity!” Dustin hastily took the mic off its stand and moved to the side of the stage, darting away from Higgins’ reach as he tried to snatch the mic out of his hands. “Screw everyone and everything trying to hold you back and tear us apart, because this, this is our year!” 

In some crazy twist of events, the school seemed to forget how much they hated Dustin Henderson, the Hellfire freak. Because the sea of orange before Mike erupted in cheers and applause, standing and clapping at his words. They probably hadn’t been listening, hadn’t really got what the speech meant. The Hawkins High he knew wouldn’t celebrate the concept of non-conforming. But the quieter, less cynical part of him wondered if maybe, just maybe, everyone had their secrets, their differences. Maybe they all needed to hear Dustin’s message. Maybe they really weren’t as different as they all thought. 

Meanwhile, Dustin had thrown down the mic, the sound of it echoing through the speakers. Mike watched as he turned to Higgins, snatched his diploma, then proudly flipped him off, a determined smile on his face. Mike’s heart hurt a little, knowing instantly who Dustin was acting for. Eddie Munson’s dream, finally a reality. 

Confetti was raining down, Dustin was raising his arms in triumph, and the class of ‘89 were throwing their caps in the air. But all of a sudden, Mike was frozen, out of his body. The jubilant cries bled into Higgins’ threats of summer school, which bled into the ringing of the speakers, all around him, suffocating. And the ringing became higher, and higher, until - 

He was back, back there, eighteen months ago, screaming at the top of his lungs, thrashing desperately against the soldier’s grip. Watching her stand there, motionless, determined. The frequency, her kryptonite, pulsing and screeching around them. 

Something wasn’t right. He snapped back to reality, the noise around him rushing back, but his mind stayed on the memory. A question was forming in his mind, a hot ember, starting to burn away at the fabric of his thoughts, his memories, everything he thought he knew. It was far-fetched, ridiculous. 

But he couldn’t help wondering. 

He was running, tearing across the grass, weaving through the blurs of his orange-coated classmates, Lucas and Will just ahead of him. The three of them pounced on Dustin, smothering him in an embrace. It was all so normal, so like their childhoods, the celebrations in his basement after campaigns. Often, Mike felt as if he’d never escape his grief. It was all-consuming, suffocating. But these moments, his friends, the Party - they were a glimmer of light against the usual darkness. They were the only thing keeping him from falling off the deep end. 

“You’re a madman,” he laughed, the sound pure and genuine. “An absolute madman.” 

“Higgins totally shit his pants,” Lucas added, his smile wide. 

Dustin grinned back at the three of them, pride shining from him. “What’s he gonna do? Expel me?” 

Lucas shook his head, his face full of amusement and disbelief. “You’re crazy.” 

He couldn’t help staring a little at Will. He was grinning - a huge, genuine smile that seemed to glow. He looked so happy. Suddenly Mike didn’t hate the orange caps and gowns as much. 

He waited, tense and jittery, for Will to speak. Even after everything, the sound of his voice was enough to make his breath catch, his heart break. But before he could, another voice, a girl, one not immediately recognisable, cut into the conversation, breaking the bubble of warmth and isolation. “Hey.” 

The four of them turned their heads in unison, all equally as confused as the other. Mike’s confusion only deepened when he saw who it was. Stacey Albright, approaching them with two of her friends, whose names Mike wasn’t sure of, lingering behind her. Immediately he felt himself tense - he hadn’t spoken to Stacey since middle school, but back then she hadn’t exactly been kind to the Party, Dustin in particular. And her social circle was still the type to make snarky comments in the hallways. 

“Hey, Stacey,” Dustin said, his voice sounding strange. Slightly deeper, dripping with faux nonchalance, a poor imitation of coolness. Mike braced himself for severe second hand embarrassment. Watching Dustin talk to girls was never a pleasant experience. 

“I just wanted to say that what you did up there was pretty badass.” 

Dustin, momentarily, seemed taken aback. “Oh. Thanks. I was kind of just going for a bit of a Belushi thing. But if he was in, like, a Hughes film.” Mike cringed, sensing Lucas doing the same beside him. Of all the things Dustin could have said, this might objectively be the worst. On instinct, his eyes searched for Will, automatically seeking a shared look of exasperation, wanting to roll his eyes to make Will stifle a laugh. But Will wasn’t looking at him. Which made sense. Will Byers and Mike Wheeler no longer sought each other out for special, secret shared looks. 

“...But I don’t know. Does that make sense?” 

Stacey looked extremely confused. But, to her credit, she didn’t smirk, or laugh. Instead she gave an uncertain “Yeah”. 

“It’s okay if you-” 

“No, totally,” she said, and Mike felt a little warmer towards her. That was the best reaction Dustin could have hoped for. 

“Yeah?” 

“Mmm-hmm.” After a pause, the silence of which was excruciating for everyone involved, she moved to go, with a little, “Okay, cool.” 

Immediately Dustin leaned back, closer to the Party, a look of quiet horror on his face. “Why’d I say that?” he hissed at them, expression unchanging. 

“Dude…” 

But whatever exasperated lecture Lucas had in store was cut off, because Stacey turned back around. “Hey, so I’m having a party later tonight. You guys should come.” And with that, she left, her friends following closely behind. 

Mike was stunned. And, apparently, so was Will. He laughed a little, speaking for the first time. “Wait.” His tone, a mix of confusion and amusement, was so light and normal it made Mike’s heart clench a little. Made him wonder if Will was no longer affected by the weird, tense distance between them. 

Dustin turned to look at them, looking dazed. “Did that just happen?” It was a fair question - nothing like it had ever happened before, and, in Mike’s opinion, would probably never happen again. 

WIll spoke again, his eyes never once meeting Mike’s. “Should we go?” 

Lucas grinned at him. “Is that rhetorical?” 

“No.” Mike spoke without fully realising it, the word slipping past his lips of its own accord. But as soon as he’d said it, he knew he meant it, wholeheartedly. “Screw that. I’ve got a better idea.” He grinned at the Party, who were all looking at him with expressions of confusion and exasperation. “Way better.” 

“A hushed quiet falls over the town. Frightened villagers watch from rooftops and alleyways, wondering, how will this all end?” 

This, he thought to himself, was so much better than any high school party could possibly be. Everything about it just felt so right, so normal - the basement he’d practically spent his life in, the table they’d always sat around, and the entire Party watching him, waiting with bated breath for him to continue. No matter how old he got, no matter what he did with his life, he didn’t think anything would beat out the feeling DND gave him. Every word he spoke held the utmost importance, carefully crafted, everyone hanging on to the story he was telling. It was everything to him. Everything. 

Even better, though, was the delight in killing off his friends’ characters. “The sound of boots echo across the square, as Strahd von Zarovich strides up to Dustin the bard.” 

Dustin looked at him in horror, realizing what was happening. “Don’t do this.” 

“The vampire lord lunges-” 

“No!” Will cried from his seat across from him. Mike didn’t even have to try and act calm around him now - no matter what was going on between them, they could find solace, briefly, in campaigns. For now, everything was normal. For now, they were just kids, playing games in his basement. Just as things should be. 

“-Plunging his fangs into his throat!” 

“No!” Will said again, and Mike chanced a look at him, forgetting for a moment that they weren’t meant to steal glances at each other anymore. It was difficult, though, when Will looked like that. It was that damn necklace that did it. The necklace, and those eyes. 

Will suddenly looked back at him, and he hurriedly snapped his eyes away. Dustin was shaking his head rapidly, Lucas and Max sharing his look of horror. 

“Onlookers gasp as his body collapses. His lute clatters across the cobblestone, letting out a final, mournful note.” It was melodramatic and extra, just like every campaign death he’d ever written. Lucas and Max sighed in unison, exasperated, and so painfully in sync, which was to be expected after so many years together. Mike smiled. The endings were his favourite part; both tragic and happy endings were thrilling to narrate, the Party’s reactions just as rewarding either way. 

“Son of a bitch,” Dustin groaned, sounding just like his twelve year old self. Some things never changed. 

Summoning all his courage, Mike looked over at Will, and, to his surprise, Will was looking back. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, really. After all, Will was the only player left in the game, and Mike was the Dungeon Master. It made sense for them to be looking at each other. But it felt special, anyway. There had been a distance between them, ever since the argument. They’d avoided direct eye contact for a while now. This moment felt like a plaster being carefully put on a wound, a truce being made. They could pretend, in this moment, that everything was the same. 

“A lone hero remains,” Mike said, his voice somehow managing to avoid breaking, staying dramatic as always. “Will the Wise.” The name was heavy on his tongue, so precious it felt like an oath. “Barovia’s last and only hope.” 

Immediately chaos erupted at the table. “Cast meteor storm!” Lucas shouted, sitting forward. “Take out the bastard.” 

“I can’t!”

“Why not?” Max interjected. 

“He’s in the range of the suppression stone,” Dustin said, passionate as always. “No magic.” 

“So just whack him with your staff or something!” 

“And inflict six points of damage? He has 30 HP left!” 

The scene was painfully reminiscent of their childhood. Mike felt as though he was looking at two time frames in one, mirroring each other perfectly. If it wasn’t for the addition of Max, he might have slipped entirely into the memories, trapped between time. 

“Ok, so now what?” she was asking, desperation filling her voice. 

Opposite Mike, Will sighed, and slumped back in his chair, looking defeated. “That’s it.” 

“Nothing,” Dustin reaffirmed, equally as dejected. 

“What do you mean, nothing?” 

Dustin gestured at the board, as Lucas mumbled, “Checkmate,” and Will clarified, “We lost.” 

Max looked around at them all, outrage painted across her face. “So after all that, Strahd Von Douchebag just wins?” When no one replied, she flew to her feet, furious. “This game is bullshit!”

“I agree,” Will sighed. He looks cute when he’s irritated. 

Mike grinned - he was so caught up in the moment, he forgot to feel guilty or ashamed or gross when his mind wandered to the boy opposite him. He had been transported back into the bliss of his childhood, when he didn’t think there was anything wrong with thinking his best friend was pretty, anything unusual about his heart skipping a beat when he looked at him. He picked up the fake vampire teeth from the table, putting them on as he laughed at Max’s displeasure. 

“Such a stupid, goddamned waste of time!” she was cursing, in her frustration hitting something off a nearby shelf. It still amused Mike to see her so invested in their campaigns - she’d been an official member of the Party for over a year now, but he couldn’t quite shake the image of her at fifteen, mocking Hellfire Club at every chance she got. 

A lot had changed since then. 

“Strahd takes great pleasure in your anger,” he said, putting on quite possibly the worst, most over-dramatic Dracula voice ever. It had the desired effect, though. He let out a mock-evil laugh as Max kicked the wall, and Dustin flipped him off, his face unmoving from his expression of dismay. It really was just like old times. 

And maybe that’s why he did it. He was just so caught up in it all, the intoxicating joy of falling into old habits. He forgot himself, forgot everything that had built up and fallen apart between the two of them. Or maybe he just didn’t care anymore. Either way, he did it. Still grinning, he looked across the table, and locked eyes with Will Byers, for what felt like the first time in centuries. 

For a moment, his heart stuttered, and he worried he might pass out. And maybe he was imagining it, but he could have sworn he saw Will’s breath catch a little too. But the moment of terror and wonder passed almost as quickly as it arrived, replaced with the familiar warmth and excitement of DND, bringing with it an uncharacteristic wave of confidence inside him. 

He grinned, refusing to break eye contact with Will. “Time to join your friends, Sorcerer,” he teased, still using his ridiculous Dracula voice, fighting back laughter as he raised his eyebrows at him. He was back to toeing the line between friendly banter and something else, something more dangerous, something he hadn’t let himself do for a long time. Discreet enough to avoid looks from the rest of the Party - but enough for that glint of recognition in Will’s eyes, for the open, questioning gaze he gave Mike now. Time had changed many things between the two of them, but maybe some things never would. 

Lucas’ irritated voice broke them both out of the moment. “Just get it over with and roll,” he said to Will, defeated. “I don’t wanna hear his shit anymore.” 

“All right,” Will sighed, picking up the dice and starting to shake them in his hands. Mike smiled, satisfied with himself, and waited. Waited for the realization to hit them. 

Of course it was Dustin who got it first. “The mage,” he cried, flying forwards and catching Will’s wrists. “From the abbey of Saint Markovia. She said we can summon her.” 

Lucas’ hands flew to meet Dustin’s, his eyes wide. “When at our lowest depth!” 

Chaos erupted. Max and Dustin’s shouts overlapped as Will rushed to find the incantation, the Party panicked and hopeful and exhilarated, until Will finally found it. 

“Oh mage!” he said, his tone one of exaggerated seriousness, embracing the childishness of his excitement in the way he always had.  “Arise and end our fall from darkened paths and secrets deep. Come forth and help your promise keep.” His eyes lifted to Mike’s, and for a second it was as if Mike was looking into the eyes of the five year old he’d met on the swingset. The whole Party was looking at him, waiting, crowded around Will, but Will Byers was the only one Mike cared to look at. He seemed to glow. He always seemed to glow. 

After making them wait for long enough, Mike broke the anticipation. “Nothing happens.” 

The Party groaned, their frustration music to Mike’s ears. Lucas muttered to himself, and Will fell back into his seat with an exasperated, “Come on, Mike.” 

“Then why do we have the incantation?” Dustin protested, already locking in on inconsistencies in Mike’s story. 

“Wait. Wait, wait,” Mike said, sitting up a little to get them to quiet down. This was it. The big reveal. He felt electric. “A purple light begins to shine through the mist. Growing brighter and brighter.” The Party were all sitting straighter now, the air full of anticipation. “It's a portal. And out of this portal steps.. The mage of Saint Markovia!” 

The room erupted in cheers, everyone collectively jumping out of their chairs in celebration. Mike stood too, grinning as he fought to have his voice heard over the noise. “The mage hold out her hands, and shoom, a beam of powerful light shoots forward-” He grabbed a torch from underneath his chair, shining it into the Party’s eyes. It was all so melodramatic, so extra, and he was genuinely loving every second of it. He felt lighter than he had in months. 

“Strahd lets out a piercing-” and he shrieked, dropping to his knees dramatically and falling to the floor. “- As his body shrivels, burns, and turns to ash.” 

The Party continued to celebrate above him, and Mike let them enjoy it for a moment, lying on the floor and watching as they jumped up and down like children. He’d needed this, needed an escape from all the pain and anguish of the past eighteen months. But as he watched his friends, it occurred to him that, maybe, they’d needed it too. Maybe they were all hurting as much as he was. Maybe they were just better at hiding it. 

Eventually he got up, returning to his seat at the table. He’d promised Holly they wouldn’t take too long, after all, and as much as he wanted to stay in this moment forever, he had an important matter to get to. 

“The misty gloom that shrouds the village of Barovia evaporates and you are met with cheers from the townsfolk. In honour of your courage and bravery they give you medals, and you are all awarded 1,000 pieces of gold each.” He placed miniature chests onto the board as Max and Dustin mock celebrated, all smiles and laughter. 

A small pain in his chest, he spoke the last words of their last childhood campaign. “Flush with wealth and honour, you live out the rest of your lives in comfort and happiness.” The words felt heavy on his tongue. “The end.” 

And just like that, it was over. The final campaign, the end of childhood. There was an ache in his chest as the Party sat back in their chairs, coming down from the high of their victory. Will gave a light applause, quietly saying, “Great campaign.” The energy in the room had shifted, the exhilaration of a few moments before replaced with the growing sense of finality. It hurt, but in a way it was a good pain. It was the pain of having something worth missing. 

But Max, in typical Max Mayfield fashion, was not having it. “Wait, wait, wait.” She was frowning at Mike, which wasn’t necessarily uncommon, but was usually prompted by something discernable. This time he had no idea what his offence was. “That’s it?” she continued. “Comfort and happiness? Could you be more trite? I thought you were some kind of master storyteller or something.” 

There were snickers and murmurs from Lucas and Dustin, clearly delighted in the challenge. Mike noticed Will roll his eyes a little, which had no business making his stomach flutter in the way it did. He smiled despite himself, and, miraculously, locked eyes with Will again.

But what made him falter this time was the way Will was looking at him across the table. He was resting his chin on his hand, staring at Mike with so much intention it took his breath away. There was a look in Will’s eyes that was all too familiar and yet so staggeringly new, a heartstoppingly intensified version of how he used to look at him, back when things between them were good and dangerous and deep. He was, simply, beautiful. And Mike couldn’t stop his gaze catching onto his lips for a second, couldn’t help himself. He felt his breath stop for a moment, before shaking himself out of it. Get it together. 

He tore his eyes away from the boy opposite him to address the group. “Well, it’s true, the comfort and happiness part. But happiness can be found in many places.” 

A hush fell over the room. The air, previously so light and carefree, shifted, thick with emotion. There was truly a sense of finality washing over them all now. A turning point. An ending. 

Mike turned to look at Max and Lucas. “The knight and the zoomer, they retire from battle and they settle down in a small village. With each passing day their love grows stronger.” It radiated from them now. In every way they interacted, it was there. It was in the small smiles they gave each other, the way they held each other’s hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. Sometimes, it made Mike envious. Now, it just made him feel warm, and endlessly happy for them. 

“The bard craving knowledge makes his way to the Madges Guild of Enclave where he spends his days in their vast library,” he said, fighting the lump forming in his throat. He turned to Dustin, who had tears in his eyes. “Though deeply devoted to his studies he still makes time for the occasional adventure. And then he looked at Will. Suddenly the urge to cry became overwhelming, almost impossible to fight. “As for Will the Wise, he travels far and long to the bustling city of Vallaki.” He felt his eyes sting, but he refused to let any tears fall. Crying would feel like admitting something, something he really didn’t want to face. “Its overwhelming at first. So very different to the village where he spent his youth. But it isn't long before he finds his place there, and with that, deep happiness and acceptance.” 

The words felt heavy with importance on his tongue. He hoped Will understood their significance. Hoped he understood them as an apology. Will smiled at him across the table, the sight of it electric, setting Mike’s heart aflame. That smile hadn’t been directed at him for a long time. He hadn’t fully realized how desperately he’d missed it. 

“And the storyteller?” Will asked, eyes filled with tears. “What about him?” He had accepted the olive branch. His voice was soft and gentle, and full of forgiveness. Forgiveness that Mike didn’t deserve. 

“The storyteller…” He paused, suddenly unsure. He didn’t know. He hadn’t really thought about what happiness would look like for him from now on. He’d spent the better part of the last eighteen months wondering if he could even keep living for much longer. Even now, he wasn’t sure if he deserved the happiness he wanted for the others. Wasn’t sure if it was even possible for him. 

“...Keeps telling stories,” he settled on, eager to get onto the important matter of the evening. “Stories inspired by his friends. One day, he hopes, their tales of grand adventure will spread far and wide across the land, so all can know of their great bravery.” It was a silly, shallow answer, but it would satisfy the Party. 

He took a deep breath. He was terrified. Saying it aloud might make it sound unbelievable, stupid, foolish. A fantasy. But he couldn’t keep it to himself. He couldn’t. “But there is one story he can never tell. The story of the mage.” 

The air changed again. The basement suddenly felt too small, as if the memory of El was pressing in on them, suffocating them. But he had to keep pressing on. 

“Or at least not the real story.” 

And so he launched into it, afraid that stopping for a moment would ruin his courage, or worse, make him break down in tears. He let the words spill out of him, the impossibility of his final conversation with El, and the theory that had been building in his mind all afternoon. The last bit of beautiful, cruel hope he carried in his heart. And as he spoke, the Party’s faces mirrored his own, their eyes glistening with hope and tears. 

“Where did she go?” Max asked once he had finished, tears falling down her face. 

“No one knows,” he said, fighting back his own tears. “No one will ever know. But I'd… I'd like to imagine that she's somewhere in a beautiful land, somewhere far away. She finds a small town to call home. Safe from the danger of the Black Hand. And it is here, at last, that she finds peace. That she finally finds happiness.” 

Dustin smiled, his eyes filled with tears. Will was silently crying across the table. It was difficult to imagine that, only ten minutes before, they’d been cheering and jumping around the basement like madmen. It was funny, how quickly things could change. 

“And this is just a theory, right?” Max said, quickly wiping her face with her wrist. Her eyes were so wide, so desperate, so full of useless hope. 

“How do we know it’s true?” Will asked, his voice breaking. The sight of him crying cut Mike so deeply that for a moment he wished he could take back everything he’d said. Snatch the words out of existence. Or lie, lie just to comfort him. Anything to stop him from crying. 

But Mike had lied to Will too many times. So he told the truth, even though it hurt to admit. “We don’t. Not for sure. But I choose to believe that it is.” He swallowed the lump in his throat, scared he wouldn’t be able to hold back the tears much longer, and looked around at the group. The Party. His friends. “I believe.” 

Dustin was the first to speak, leaning forwards in his chair as he did so. “I believe,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. 

“I believe,” Lucas added, tear tracks down his face, followed by Max’s own firm, “I believe.” 

Will was last, still crying, so open in his heartbreak. “I believe.” 

And suddenly the two of them couldn’t look away from each other’s eyes. Mike was drowning in the tears pooling in Will’s eyes, he was being dragged down beneath the depths, and his own tears were so dangerously close to falling now. Tears, and the truth. Words formed on the tip of his tongue. What words, he wasn’t sure, but he knew they were honest and deadly and terrifying, and yet he couldn’t stop his mouth from opening on its own accord - 

The basement door opened with a bang, shaking the Party from their tears, Will from Mike’s eyes, and the words from Mike’s mouth. Relief welled up inside him, but alongside crushing disappointment. 

“Guys! What’s going on?” It was his mom, of course it was. “The lasagne’s getting cold!” 

“Yeah, we…” he called back up, voice shaking. “We just finished. We’ll be right up.” 

The door opening had jolted them all back to reality, inviting in cool air and the cold sting of adulthood. The room was silent, apart from the small sniffs and sobs. There was, really, nothing left to say now. Mike glanced back at Will, but the moment had passed, with the boy staring intently at the DND board, trying to collect himself and failing miserably. A sharp, painful memory hit Mike, a fight in the rain, jabs thrown about not being able to play games in his basement forever. He wished he could tell Will now that that was all he wanted too. 

Dustin was the first to stand, sighing as he did so. Lucas and Max followed, then Will, and then Mike, one by one beginning to pack away their childhoods. Character sheets were filed away into folders, figures carefully pocketed. Max was the first to leave. Mike watched as she slotted her folder onto the shelf it lived on, then made her way upstairs, crying quietly. Lucas followed quickly behind her, and Dustin after him. Each of them let go of their folders with a sad sense of finality, like they were letting go of it all, the Upside Down, Hawkins, their youth. Mike felt his heart break a little more each time. 

Will was by far the worst to watch leave. He approached the shelf with his eyes fixed on the folder, hands shaking a little. It was just the two of them left in the basement now. Just the two of them, just like it had all begun. He wanted to say something, anything, but his voice failed him. He just stood and watched as Will placed his folder onto the shelf, shoulders shaking, like it was the heaviest thing in the world. He just watched as Will slowly walked up the stairs, still sobbing, hands clenched at his sides, his eyes purposefully not looking at Mike. He stood there and tried to ignore the slow breaking of his heart. 

He was alone now. The basement felt too big and too small at the same time, ghostly in its absence of the Party. He looked at the folders, lined up side by side, the names of his friends staring back at him, waiting for his own name to join them. His eyes caught on Will’s name, and he let himself stare, let himself long for something he dared not name. He was alone now, after all. 

Slowly, he slid his folder next to Will’s. And he finally started to cry. Painful, wrenching sobs, made up of the anguish he’d held back all day. He let the despair swallow him whole, allowed himself to feel every inch of it for a few moments. He let his thumb caress the small space between his and Will’s folders. At least here, they would stay side by side. At least he could live with the comfort of knowing that, somewhere in this world, they were together, spending their lives in this basement like Will had wanted. 

But he couldn’t stay down here forever. Although it physically hurt him, he turned away, allowing his hand to linger at the base of the two folders for as long as physically possible, before tearing it away. He forced himself to take deep breaths, calming himself, wiping his eyes to clear away the evidence of his tears as he walked up those stairs. 

Thank goodness he’d started to leave when he had, because he’d only made it halfway up the stairs before Holly and her friends came rushing past him, pushing him into the bannister. 

“How do we play this game?” her best friend, Debbie, was saying, her voice obnoxiously loud. 

“Jesus, watch out!” he shouted,a little irritated at the interruption. But his irritation faded quickly as he watched the kids gathering around the DND board, their excitement infectious. 

“Jeez yourself!” Holly shouted up at him. “You said you’d be done an hour ago!” 

It was like watching a memory play out in front of his very eyes. The noise and chaos from his sister and her friends was all too familiar to Mike, the unrestrained joy and laughter of being a kid. Their petty arguing was so reminiscent of Lucas and Dustin. His sister was even sitting in the chair he’d just left himself. His heart lurched a little at the sight of this new group of kids sitting around their table. A new Party in his basement. 

His eyes stung a little, but he smiled. It hurt. But the hurt was good, warm in a way. He could almost see his Party there, still. Living and breathing exactly as they had at twelve years old. 

He took one last look at the basement, the DND board, the ghosts of his memories. And then Mike turned his back, walked up the remaining stairs, and shut the door behind him.