Chapter Text
Mike sits comfortably on the ground. His legs are crossed, and beneath him are bundles of blankets and pillows, draped to form a fort. People sleep here when he has sleepovers.
Tentatively, he fidgets with the radio; the radio, huge in his hands, crackles slightly. He sighs.
“Okay. Uh,” he blows through his teeth. “This is day . . . Crazy, isn’t that? I think time — like, the concept of time is . . . kinda crazy,” He rambles, voice trembling.
“This is day . . . , 7:30PM. Oh, yeah! This is me. This is Mike. Sorry. But I guess you already know that. Yeah. Hi. This is Mike.”
His heart weighs heavy in his chest, words crawling up through his mouth. He shakes his head.
Static.
He flinches, “Hello?”
“Mike, do you copy?” Dustin’s voice filters through, bristling with annoyance. Mike doesn’t know what he was expecting.
He clenches his jaw, breathing. “Yeah, I copy.”
“Mike? What the hell are you doing on this channel, dude?”
Mike’s brows raise.
“Nothing,” he replies too fast.
Though, Dustin doesn’t seem to care. His voice booms so loud through the speakers that Mike almost flinches, a pang hitting his skull. “Okay, well, Lucas and I have $6 total. What’s your haul?”
Fuck!
“Shit, shit — I dunno yet!” Mike panics. “Let me see!”
The radio crackles as he hops up, much to the protest of his leg. He tries not to cry out at the pain that splinters through his shinbone and knee.
Mike digs through Nancy’s underwear drawer. He’d be disgusted if he weren’t so urgent. Where the heck is her piggy bank?
He touches a bra that he flings from his finger so fast he swears he can hear a noise in the air. He almost makes a sound.
He searches every place he can think of. The porcelain bank stares at him. He immediately shakes, quarters falling onto the bed.
He fails to realize that the door is creaking.
Nancy stands, shocked. “What the hell are you doing?”
Mike, mouth agape, gives the bank another shake. “I’ll pay you back!”
At the fastest speed he can manage, he gathers all of the quarters in a big pile, shoving them in his pockets before hobbling down the steps. His hands cling to the rails, coins clinking in his pockets.
“Mike!” Nancy sounds infuriated. He can hear her booming footsteps behind him.
Sorry not sorry, he thinks, zipping through the house. His leg slows him down quite a lot, but somehow Nancy is slower. If not for the rage he heard in her voice, he’d think that she was giving him an advantage.
He hops on his bike, wobbling and teetering, but quickly corrects himself enough to pedal down the road. Nancy stands defeated, watching him bike away.
Mike can’t help but feel a fizzle of pride in his heart. He grins.
The mist of the evening coats the ground in a light fog. The tires cut through like smoke. He bikes as fast as he can through the streets — Mike is thankful that he’s nearing a down sloped hill. The bike accelerates, going down the hill in a flash.
Mike’s face is plastered by the wind. He squints. The dark and fog is kind of creepy. He’s never been afraid of the dark, before. So why?
He shakes his head, trying not to think. He knows what the date is. He knows that November is fast approaching.
He knows.
He sighs.
Ahead of him, a streetlight flickers. He wants to jump out of his skin. How do I know that things are really the same?
Shaky handed, he wooshes past the light, bike a mere flash of lightning.
Of course I know that things are the same! I mean, seriously, everything’s been the same!
Yet the fear still hammers in his heart. Mike’s leg aches as he puts more pressure on the pedals. He has to get there.
Seriously, I’m fine! I’m fine! He tells himself. I’m fine!
He bites back a whimper, tears flooding his eyes. He forces himself past his limit.
A slick patch on the road sends his bike swerving. Before he can think, he tumbles onto the pavement. Fire shoots through his knee and jaw like a flare.
“Shit!” He whines, voice pitching. He tries to drag himself up. His leg, stunned by the impact, doesn’t cooperate.
He grips the ground with curled fingers, forcing himself into a sitting position. He makes a squeaky sound. From there, he hoists himself up.
Mike trembles. He rakes a finger on his jaw. Blood coats his index; he shudders.
His leg feels like fire. Burning. He picks up his bike, the metal scraping the ground.
He tries not to cry. He walks the rest of the way.
Mike is so late. So, so unbelievably late.
He pushes through the door to the arcade looking like a catastrophe. The rays of blues and pinks and oranges bloom in his vision, a headache blossoming beneath his skull.
He quickly spots the others gathered around an arcade machine. “Sorry I’m late. I, uh . . .”
He takes in the shock on their faces. The gawking makes him flinch.
“Holy shit dude, what happened to you?” Dustin stares at Mike, mouth a gaping hole.
“Uh. I fell.” Mike says truthfully, fingers tapping at his thigh. “On my bike. My, uh . . . I’m fine, though.”
Mike hisses through his teeth. Lucas takes his face in his hand and looks at the scrape.
“I’m fine,” Mike reiterates.
He steps toward the cabinet. He can feel the eyes following his leg. He tries not to feel insecure; the limp is heightened by the incident on the bike. Of course they’d stare. He tries to tell himself that he’s not hurt by the gawking.
Mike grabs a handful of the stolen quarters from his pocket, offering his hand. “I . . . I don’t wanna play that much, anyway. Take this as my apology for being late.”
He smiles as he watches his friends dig in, hand rubbing his jaw. He wants to see them happy — after all, he knows. He knows.
His eyes flick from friend to friend, taking in the gleaming of their eyes and their joyful shouting. Somebody asks if he wants to play. He shakes his head.
Mike watches their gameplay on the arcade machines with good intent. He offers more quarters to them. Dustin scoops up his contribution with no complaint or concern (at least, not that Mike can notice) but from the corner of his eye, he notices that he’s being watched. His shoulders prickle.
Mike stares ahead blankly at the screen, trying not to look at Will too much. The look, from what he can see in his peripheral, seems tinged by unspoken concern.
Mike digs in his pocket for another quarter.
“INSERT COIN TO PLAY,” the screen offers.
He asks for a turn, frowning. He feels like he should be chomping at the bit to play, but he doesn’t want to.
So much of the year, Mike has felt as though he’s just been observing. He watches things proceed like nothing ever happened. Like he didn’t fall; like he didn’t see.
He just watches what are supposed to be his memories unfold in real time.
He slips the quarter in the slot. The pixels light up on the screen, dancing around.
The bright game only makes his head hurt more.
Mike’s pockets run empty, but he doesn’t ask for money from anybody else. He just keeps watching, observing, like he’s sitting behind a television screen.
He’s considered telling them about what he’s seen before, but he can’t. As much as he feels terrible about lying, he likes the certainty. He’s scared to mess with stuff.
Mike only gets more anxious upon hearing a cry of outrage. Dustin’s talking about Dig-Dug scores.
He flinches at hearing the name.
“Who’s MADMAX?” Dustin asks as if somebody could answer.
His eyes immediately hit the floor.
He keeps quiet.
He likes the certainty. Fears the consequences.
Gosh, are they desperate to know. They might as well be on their hands and knees. Mike doesn’t aim much attention at their begging of the employee. He misses his cue to speak, so he gets nudged in the side.
“Get him the date!” Lucas shoves him.
The request processes in his mind.
“No! No way!” Mike, fuming, shakes his head. “I’m not prostituting my sister!”
The complaints of his friends crescendo.
Somehow, during the angered commotion, Mike loses track of Will. He murmurs profanities under his breath, silently slipping by Dustin to head for the door.
Outside, Mike finds him standing frozen. A strange feeling twinges in his stomach. He knows.
“Hey,” Mike speaks kindly, laying a gentle hand on his friend’s shoulder. Will gasps, facing him. “Are you okay?”
Mike’s heart flinches. Will nods. Mike smiles.
“Come on,” he says. “I’m sure they’re almost . . . not arguing.”
Laughing lightly, Mike leads Will back inside.
The sinking feeling in Mike’s heart persists, suppressed sobs of nervousness biting inside of him. He tries to tell himself that everything’s gonna work out fine.
——————
The next day at school goes exactly how Mike suspected.
Obviously, his idiot friends couldn’t stop staring at the redhead girl in class. At the moment, they stand behind the fence, watching her every move. Mike has to sit and listen to their dumbasses — ahem, his friends — talk to each other about the arcade.
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Mike is silent for the entire conversation. He nearly misses his cue to make a snarky remark.
Though, his silence doesn’t go unnoticed. He gets a jab to the side from Lucas, who looks at him like he’s expecting something.
“Huh? I wasn’t listening,” Mike’s words are blunt. He shakes his head, rubbing his eyes.
“I said she threw something away,” Lucas scoffs, dragging Mike by force before he gets to protest.
So there Mike stands, covering for their dumbasses — ahem, his friends — awkwardly, forcing a smile and a wave to somebody who looks at them strangely. He doesn’t know why he’s being so bitter.
Maybe because his head hurts.
Maybe because his leg hurts.
Or maybe because he just feels bitter; in the future he saw, he had been bitter, so maybe he just can’t help some of his emotions sometimes.
That makes sense, Mike decides.
Mike watches them unfurl the note, taking in the shocked faces upon their realization that she was on to them.
He can’t help but grin at the way their eyes bug out of their heads.
——————
At home, Mike gets reprimanded for stealing from Nancy’s piggy bank. He’s due two boxes of toys for misbehaving.
“Seriously? Two boxes?” He can’t help but repeat, voice pitching into a whine. He doesn’t know why he’s so surprised: he knew that this was coming.
“You heard me, Michael,” Karen scolds. “Until you learn to behave, you deal with the consequences.”
Mike fumes.
“But I didn’t steal. I borrowed. I said that I’d pay her back!” He insists, ears growing hot.
“Oh. You borrowed!” She says sarcastically. “You didn’t cuss out Mr. Kowalski either, or plagiarize that essay, or graffiti the bathroom stall?”
His mouth opens and shuts.
“Everybody graffitis the bathroom stall,” he grits his teeth, glaring up through his brows.
“So if your friend jumped off a cliff, you would too?” Ted speaks up.
Mike flinches. The room goes silent.
Just for a moment, Karen’s eyes go soft, then stony, stabbing Ted with her eyes.
“You have to learn that your actions have consequences,” Karen’s voice is firm.
He suddenly feels small and helpless.
Consequences. The word rings in Mike’s mind. He’s heard a lot of that word recently.
His eyes flick down onto his unfinished plate. He pushes the mashed potatoes around with his spoon.
“Two. Boxes.”
“Okay.”
He nearly slams the basement door. He sits down on the couch, leaning into the cushions. His eyes travel the room, looking for toys to put in the donation boxes.
Consequences.
He groans. Standing up from the couch, he heads for his shelf. Begrudgingly, he throws toy after toy in the boxes, curse word after curse word spilling out from under his breath.
He stares at the boxes.
He frowns.
Mike crosses his arms. His eyes meander across the trinkets lining the shelves. In some way, he feels like he’s being stared at, himself.
He picks up a toy. Rory. He presses the button that makes him roar, then throws him in the stupid cardboard donation box.
Actually, no.
He pulls him back out of the box and makes him roar again. He grins. Is this childish? Who cares? He’s thirteen. He lives a little before shit throws down.
His smile flattens. His eyes move to the blanket fort.
The walkie talkie feels big in his hands. He fumbles with the buttons, switching the thing on.
“Hello?” Mike greets. “Hey, I’m here. This is Mike.”
The silence weighs heavy in the air.
“Uhm. I really — I . . . I haven’t had a good day. I really need you here,” He truths.
The radio is quiet, aside from a small fizzle.
He knows she’s out there. He also knows that, despite that fact, she needs reassurance that he hasn’t forgotten.
Yet he still feels that guilt that he felt before he knew; he still feels as if she’s died. He watched her disintegrate. He watched a flash of light close the upside down.
Static crackles.
“Hello?” He flinches.
“Mike!” A voice booms.
Mike rolls his eyes at the urgency in his friend’s voice. “I copy.”
“What the hell are you doing on this channel?” Dustin demands.
“Nothing,” Mike feels familiar. He thinks he got asked that recently.
“Whatever. But — but Max is MADMAX —“
“Okay?” Mike snarks. He slams the antenna down immediately, tossing the radio to the side. He doesn’t need to hear something that he already knows.
Maybe he can make her never get involved. Then, maybe Vecna wouldn’t target her. Or, that just kills her instead, because nobody would know. Ugh. He groans.
Mike can’t fathom the thought of sitting by. He also can’t fathom the thought of his little sister all alone in Vecna’s mind without a guide. He swallows.
The bitterness sinks into his heart.
His lips tremble. He slowly pulls the antenna up.
“Take your time,” Mike whispers.
He sighs, leaning back into the blankets.