Archive of Our Own

“I’m dating Carlton. He’s…the best thing to ever happen to me. I’ve never been happier.”

Will’s words of a mere four hours ago repeatedly circled through Mike Wheeler’s brain like a tape recording. Whether he was willingly rewinding the player, just to hear Will’s words, close his eyes and picture Will’s shy, but pleased flush when the party had asked about his new boyfriend called Carlton, or if Mike was a prisoner within his own mind, he didn’t know.

He’d tried to act normal after the news of Will’s boyfriend had been dropped. After saying goodbye to them all, he’d gone home, shoving a quick hello in his mother’s arms as he bolted up the stairs to his room, closing the door and flopping on the bed. A sickly ache had come from the depths of his stomach and it persisted as he tapped his feet against his bed frame.

It had begun as soon as Max had steered the topic of conversation to everyone’s dating life. Which, if you ask Mike, wasn’t necessary. Lucas and Max were an item, as they had been since ’85 —on-and-off, but going strong since ‘87. Dustin was much more occupied with his mechanics course and future camping trips with Steve and Robin to have a girlfriend. And everyone knew that Mike and El had amicably broken-up sometime after the final battle with Vecna—a break-up which had been a long time coming. 

Mike had assumed, likely along with everyone else, that there had been no significant developments within the six months they’d flocked separate ways, starting their adulthood in varying colleges.

He’d gotten quite a shock when Will had volunteered he’d been seeing someone for four of those six months.

And as everyone asked follow-ups and teased and pat Will on the back, Mike had just stood, still as stone, only just able to scrape out a ‘That’s amazing, Will!’, when it had become apparent he’d been quiet too long.

He just…well, he didn’t want to be mean. But how could Will have found someone so easily? Not that Mike didn’t think Will was attractive—he’d always thought that Will’s smile shone brighter than everyone else’s in the party, and that he had nice hair, a nice laugh and a nice ass-

But, anyway. It was just common-sense Will was good looking. Sky was blue, grass was green, yadda yadda.

Considering that Will came out to them all during the final year when Vecna had terrorized Hawkins, Mike had always thought that it’d be hard for Will to find another gay person. Now less than a year later, he’d found one rather easily—perhaps it was because Will had gone to New York City to study.

Carlton.

Honestly, Mike thought that was a stupid name. A name fit for a real douche. Some football player or Prom King type. A name people made up when they were beyond the point of apathetic.

He instantly held some type of resentment towards this man who he didn’t know much about, other than his name. He just…didn’t want to be second place to Will. It had always been Mike and Will. Sure, there had been distance between them, causing a slight strain on their relationship. But they’d been friends since they were five, goddamnit!

Mike had taken it upon himself to brood over the why. Why he desperately needed to be Will’s number one person, why he disliked a person he didn’t know, why he felt like Will was slipping away.

And it had taken until sunset to realise that he was stupidly in love with Will.

Call him slow, call him stupid.

Mike had felt an electrifying jolt go through his body upon the simple thought: “I am in love with Will Byers.” Simple, yet groundbreaking. Everything—every feeling, every thought towards Will now made sense. Mike was just cursing himself for not realising sooner.

Not realising before Carlton came along.

And by the sounds of it, things were going swimmingly between the newly established lovebirds. Will had been blushing and tucking his hair—which had grown out, nearly at his chin—behind his ears like a silly teenager with a crush. It was clear things with Carlton were stable and unlikely to change, even if Mike were to ever-so romantically slide to Will on two knees, bearing a bouquet of yellow flowers and declare his undying love, something that he’d discovered less than an hour ago, but had probably been feeling for at least a decade.

It just wasn’t possible.

Hence, when Mike happened to stumble across a time machine, it got his rusted cogs spinning.

Firstly: Why had he found a time machine? A few days after his life-changing, planet-crashing realisation that he was in love with Will, Mike was going for a walk in Mirkwood, looking for where Castle Byers was. He’d since rebuilt it during the eighteen months where the Byers had lived with his family and life had been a tedious cycle of Crawls. He hadn’t gone back since, and wanted to check on it.

Maybe run into Will. Mike could hope—he and the others were back in Hawkins for another week before returning to their apartments or dorms in different states for the new semester.

Instead, he found something that resembled a telephone booth, something straight out of Doctor Who, the same shape and height and everything, aside from the fact the blue walls had yellow lining along the indents.

Mike had cautiously studied the outside, before entering, finding a typewriter within instead of a phone. There was no paper loaded, and instead there were engravings on the wall, that, Mike realised, could be manipulated to display different dates if he typed them.

Out of curiosity, he put today’s date: 23^rd July, 1990, and watched as the numbers flitted to the correct ones, shifting like slot machines. There was a remaining space for Mike to add the time. He checked his watch: 3:30 PM, and typed 3:25 PM on the paper.

He pressed enter, and the lever released, as if to go to a new line.

Mike was outside the booth once more, a few paces away, as if he were walking towards it. Mirkwood was completely the same around him, and it was the same time of day judging from the afternoon sun.

Well, almost same time, because Mike, with a gaping mouth and bulging eyes, figured he’d just gone back in time just five minutes. Or he’d accidentally teleported without knowing how.

He checked his watch.

3:25.

He looked up, and as if on cue, he saw himself, staring with wonder at the phone booth, approaching it with caution, and then proceeding to study the exterior.

Holy. Shit.

“What the fuck?” he exclaimed, scrambling forward.

His self from five minutes ago flinched, and then flinched again when he realised who was coming at him like a crazed lunatic. Strangely, Mike thought through the absurdity of the situation, that he really needed a haircut.

“Holy fuck,” Past-Mike stammered. He stepped back, losing his footing and falling. “Fuck-fucking, Vecna I gotta-” On the leaf-covered ground, Past-Mike swept his bag off his back. “Needa call- code red. Holy shit.”

“No, no, no!” Current-Mike held out his hands, trying to look as placating as possible. “I’m not Vecna, I’m not-”

“Stay out of my head!” Jesus, was the shouting necessary? Past-Mike’s hands were shaking as he pulled out the same mints, compass and water bottle that was in Current-Mike’s bag. “Fuck, where is it?”

Current-Mike raced forward, snatching the bag from his past self before he could contact the party.

“Listen,” he said. “That phone booth right there is a time machine. I went back in time five minutes.”

Past-Mike was not listening. He was scrambling away from Current-Mike, kicking up debris and bark as he got to his feet. He found a sturdy stick, about the size of his forearm, holding it out like a sword. “Stay back!”

Current-Mike’s grip on the bag loosened in exasperation. “What, you’re gonna fight Vecna with a piece of wood?”

“Better than a fucking candlestick!” Past-Mike retorted.

Current-Mike sighed. “Oh, God.”

They both cringed at the memory. The shutter of Past-Mike’s eyes opened, and for a second, Current-Mike saw that his past-self believed him. All because they both shared the same woe of wielding a candlestick against a Demogorgon, amongst Nancy and Hopper’s firearms and El’s powers.

Then, the distrust reclaimed his features. He began charging forward with the stick. Seriously, what kind of strategy did this guy have?

Current-Mike very easily dodged his past-self, and darted into the phone booth, keeping both backpacks in hand. He put his back against the door, whilst Past-Mike rammed his hands on the door, shouting varying insults.

“You better die, Henry!” he yelled. “There’s no room for meatheads like you to reproduce and-”

“-infect the world with your unique brand of idiocy,” Current-Mike finished. That’s what happened when you practiced your insults in the mirror, rather than coming up with them on the fly.

“How did you-?” Past-Mike seethed. “Just get out, or I’ll-”

“You’ll hit me with a stick?” Current-Mike’s voice sounded. His eyes darted around the room, seeking a way back to the present. He figured he could just adjust the time slots…

Past-Mike was spluttering, clearly at a loss for what he would do if Current-Mike—or apparently Vecna—faced him. “That’s a- that’s a-”

Current-Mike switched the time forward five minutes, and he slammed the enter key.

Silence.

He turned, seeing that Past-Mike was gone.

A new memory entered his brain, fresh with fear and adrenaline. What Past-Mike—which, he supposed was just him—had endured at the sight of…well, Mike.

Mike leaned his head against the wall, feeling as though he was the combination of two people. Even though they were both him. He’d discovered the time machine and he’d also had a heart attack and had fumbled with a stick.

Okay…

So, he knew that it worked. He could go back in time, and he could send himself back to the present. He couldn’t do anything else with this time machine he’d just discovered.

—

BREAKING NEWS: LAZY AUTHOR IS TIRED OF PERFECTIONISM AND DOESN’T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT LOGICAL CONTINUITY FOR NO OTHER REASON THAN JUST GENERAL APATHY WITH THE STATE OF THE WORLD (OR, A MORE RELEVANT AND BALL KNOWLEDGE REASON: THE RECENT AI SCANDAL ON TWITTER) (WHICH ISN’T SO RECENT NOW THAT I’M PROOFREADING THIS, SO I’LL SAY THE FINN WOLFHARD COMING OUT AS BI FOR THE SEVENTH TIME NEWS):

If you’re a clever reader and not an ai bot lavishing overly flowery praise about my fanfiction and offering your discord/snapchat in hopes of scamming me, then you’ll realise that Mike, as stupid as he is, would have figured out at this point he could also travel into the future. You know…that’s what you do with time machines. However, he won’t attempt it. Because then he’d know for sure whether he’d be with Will romantically, defeating the purpose of this fic, since homeboy would witness him and Will doing it doggy style and say ‘bet ig’ and go home rubbing his hands like the shit he is—or the story would just go off in some completely inane side tangent, featuring UFOs and flying cars and North West as President of America. We don’t want that. Unless it’s Zohran Mamdani who’s president, as I, a non-American, would thoroughly approve of.

THAT’S ALL FOR NOW, AND BACK TO THE PLOT

—

Mike just needed to figure out how he could send himself back to the present when he was in the past without close proximity of the phone booth.

As a newly appointed researcher, he knew that it was valid and reliable evidence that the time machine deposited Current-Mike within the general vicinity of where Past-Mike was, based off his singular attempt at time travel, where he’d been taken outside the phone booth, close to where his past-self was approaching. This meant, that if Mike were to go back to 1986, for example, he could end up in California, which would be nice, since he was too busy repressing homosexuality to enjoy the sunshine, but bad, since he might have to relive the horrors if he couldn’t catch a flight back to the phone booth after he’d conducted his match-making business. Such horrors, which were realising he doesn’t love his girlfriend the same way she loves him, and sitting in the back of a pizza van, feeling abnormally nervous next to his best friend, who seemed to glow in the sunlight and make him feel things no one else had? … Oh, and the military shooting in the Byers’ house and Vecna nearly killing Max and El—that too.

Mike rummaged around the phone booth, looking for some type of handheld device that would carry a signal. Like a magical radio wave, that would trigger his return to present when activated. His hand triggered a plate within the wall, and the opening popped out, revealing a conveniently-shaped circular button with a lanyard attached, like something elderly people wore in nursing homes when they couldn’t move and needed help.

‘PRESENT’ was written, curving along with the rim. Well, that problem was solved, Mike thought, as he put the lanyard around his neck, tucking the button into his shirt.

He laughed shakily, taking in the situation.

Mike knew exactly what he had to do next. No, it wasn’t go back in time to see dinosaurs or maybe meet Tolkien to discuss Lord of the Rings lore. He didn’t think about going to the future, seeing how society was faring (as mentioned in the news break, that won’t be happening). If it were, Mike could act the saint, travel a thousand years into the future, report back to all the politicians and global leaders of the economic and environmental state. He could figure out if climate change had wiped out civilisation, determine what they needed to change now so that humans would be alright, or he could see if the cure for cancer had been discovered, bring back the information to the present to save thousands of lives. He could see if he won his bet with Dustin, earn a few bucks if they really did make another Blade Runner movie.

There were infinite possibilities of what Mike Wheeler could do with access to a time machine.

His one and only thought: he could get with Will before Carlton did.

It was the perfect idea, Mike praised himself as he leaned on the wall, chin in hand. He could think of a time where he was alone with Will, and somehow tell his past-self to confess the feelings that he’d unknowingly been harbouring for his friend this whole time.

He knew that Will had a minor crush on him at some point, as Will had confirmed after Mike had started to suspect when Will had come out to all of them. He had no idea when Will had had this minor crush, though at least he knew that he had a chance.

He just had to pick the best date to tell his past-self to get his head on straight. Or…head on gay.

The typed 1982 into the typewriter, watching as the slot adjusted to the date.

The earlier, the better.

He then put December 22^nd. He’d been eleven-years-old at the time, so he couldn’t remember much. But most of his childhood memories—the ones before the Upside Down—involved skiving off whatever holiday cheer his mother was attempting to defrost within the Wheeler household, and instead heading to the Byers house to hang with Will.

Did Mike even have feelings for Will back then? Only one way to find out. 

He hit enter and found himself in his basement.

A wave of nostalgia swept Mike, looking at The Thing poster and all of Will’s drawings. The couch with the dodgy spring and TV setup, which featured many movie nights, and in ’85, moaning and bitching about girls. The carpet stain where Dustin had spilled soda, which Karen hadn’t found out until five years after the incident, when she was sorting out through some boxes, and shifted the cushion that the boys had deemed a solid cover-up for the spilling.

And, of course, their sacred D&D table. Four chairs, since El and Max hadn’t come along and been forced to join in campaigns just yet.

Only Mike and Will’s binders were out, as if-

Some thudding down the stairs had Mike running to hide behind the couch.

Down came little Mike and little Will. Giggling in their socks, pant legs dripping in melted snow. They ran for the table, sitting beside one another, rather than opposite when Dustin and Lucas were over, grabbing for their binders and figurines.

Mike carefully peeked over the couch.

Holy shit. His face truly had looked like a frog’s. He watched his younger-self hold up a figurine, explain with lavish hand gestures of its importance in his squeaky voice. God, was that how he had sounded too? No wonder Ted frequently huffed whenever Mike had gone on any one of his tangents at the dinner table.

His breath caught at Will.

His face was brimming with unbridled joy—something Mike had forgotten he’d seen on Will. Something that the Upside Down had permanently taken away. Chubby cheeks. Joyce’s classic bowl cut, which had been chipped away at in 1987, and murdered for good in 1990.

Mike felt like crying from how fucking adorable Will looked

— get in line, bitch. I can never watch season 1 comfortably knowing that my son is in danger… Well, I can never watch season 1 or any season now knowing of season 5’s utter bullshit. Seriously, am I the only one who hasn’t touched a single bit of the show ever since the finale? —

It was just…oh, God. His face!

He wanted to squish his adorable face and wrap him up in a blanket cocoon and give him hot chocolate and a marshmallow. He wanted to feed him popcorn, make sure it was warm enough, and put on his favourite movie. He wanted to watch him smile and giggle at all the funny parts, then afterwards, carry him to his room, where his droopy features would be struggling to remain awake, and his stubby hands would curl into Mike’s upper back. He wanted to pull back the bed covers, and try not to collapse as a yawn, which would sound like a kitten mewl, would exit Will’s mouth. He wanted to kiss his forehead, and tuck the blankets in nicely, then leave the night light on -

— Okay, I’ll stop projecting —

But he was becoming increasingly aware that he was a nineteen-year-old—a man—who was camping out behind a couch, secretly watching two fucking second-trimesters talk about spell efficacy.

He snapped himself out of his cuteness-aggression, and focussed on the matter at hand: getting himself to confess to Will.

But… watching his younger self and Will, he was struck with a wave of melancholy. Look how easy it was for him to brush his fingers against Will, to high-five him, or pat him on the back—such simple flowing physical affection had been lost some time during the years.

What the fuck was he supposed to do anyway? If his younger self saw him, then who knew what that would do for the future?

Mike spotted Nancy’s arts and craft boxes behind him. He grabbed a pen and paper, writing, getting agitated that Mike and Will, as oblivious as they were to the outside world when they were immersed in D&D, would eventually notice him.

He wrote, in his best handwriting that would have made Mrs. Lively fall to her knees in praise rather than leave a disappointed voicemail to his parents:

All those who live do love

So, tell the closest person

The moment you find this note

That you love them

And will devote yourself to them

For this note only exists

To carry and share the love within and throughout

Cringy and unmelodious. Would have to do.

He scrunched up the note, and…well, what’s he gonna do? Throw it and hope that they don’t notice the random flying piece of paper through the air-?

Yep, that’s exactly right. Mike lobbed the paper through the air, letting it land directly on the table, making mini-Will and mini-Mike gasp.

— Look, man, take it or leave it. Claude AI could never replicate this —

“Stay back!” Mini-Mike ordered, and Current-Mike put a hand in front of Will. “Where did that come from?”

“It flew through the air,” Will said, wonderous. Current-Mike ducked before Will could meet his eyes.

“Look what it says.”

Mini-Mike read out the note, then snorted. Current-Mike risked looking over the couch, watching his past-self ball the note and throw it elsewhere. Will, who’d been reading over his shoulder, watched it fall.

“Just something Nancy probably made with her friends,” Mini-Mike explained.

“It…seems important,” Will said.

“Hm. Will devote yourself to them,” Mini-Mike murmured, and the humour died, and he gaped silently at Will.

Will blushed. “You’re right. It’s silly.”

Mini-Mike shook his head dumbly. He swallowed, inhaling deeply, and then poked Will’s cheek with a finger. Not a quick teasing thing that he’d do to Lucas before scrambling away. Something just as curious as it was sincere. A soft press of his pad.

“Mike!” Will giggled, sounding a little strained as he blushed further.

“Uh!” Mini-Mike snapped out of his daze with comical shaking of his head and stuttering. “Sorry, it’s just…if the note says I should tell you…then I think I love you, Will.”

That easy???!

Current-Mike had his jaw propped open by an invisible crowbar, watching as Will swayed on two feet (so fucking cute).

How could his eleven-year-old-self have so much game?

“I love you too, Mike.”

Okay, great!

Current-Mike fumbled with the lanyard, feeling for the button that would send him home.

Except, I don’t want that to happen just yet, so I snatch the lanyard from Mike’s hands and throw it on the table.

“What the fuck?!” Current-Mike exclaimed. He wondered if Vecna had found him—he was currently still alive in this time period, so it was possible.

He lunged for the lanyard far too late, revealing himself to the pair he’d been spying on, dumbfounded.

“What the hell?” Mini-Mike shouted, angling his body to protect Will. “Who are you? What are you-?”

“Dude, shh, shh!” Current-Mike hissed, holding out his hands. “God, your voice is so annoying.”

“Don’t tell me what to do! Who are you? Why do you look like me?”

“I- ugh.” Mike put his head in his hands. “Please don’t make noise, I don’t want Mom to come down.”

“Mom?” Mini-Mike shrieked. “Are you me?”

“Yes!” Mike sighed. “Now, just listen. I wasn’t supposed to talk to you, I was just trying to get back to my timeline-”

“Your timeline? How old are you?”

“Nineteen,” Mike responded. “So-”

“Holy shit, nineteen?” Mini-Mike said, incredulous. “Your voice isn’t deep at all! And why is your hair like that?”

Current-Mike fiddled with his hair subconsciously. “What do you mean?”

“Parted to the side, like Dad’s,” Mini-Mike said, with a retch.

“Well.” Mike sighed, ruffling it out. “There. See?”

“That’s better,” Mini-Mike assessed. “Just, your voice, though…”

“I can’t fucking change that!” Current-Mike threw up his hands. “Just be glad people don’t call you Frog-Face now!”

“I don’t care what people call me.” Mini-Mike crossed his arms, huffing.

Current-Mike rolled his eyes, conflicted between slapping his younger self across the face or wincing in pity at the obvious lie. “Sure, man.”

“Um, excuse me,” Will, who had been silent so far, just watching the exchange with his mouth open, and was now trying to get his attention with a very quiet voice. “Are you really Mike? Like…” He pointed to Mini-Mike. “Him? In the future?”

Current-Mike softened instantly, lowering his tone, as he typically did when speaking to Will. He crouched to his height. “Yes. I’m sorry if I scared you, Will.”

“Oh.” Will gaped at him, eyes trailing all over his body, and then jerking his head to the floor, cheeks red. “Okay…” He glanced up, meeting Mike’s eyes, and letting out a squeak, clasping his hands together. “It’s fine.”

“Um.” Current-Mike cleared his throat, feeling awkward.

Mini-Mike’s eyes were narrowed, flitting between Current-Mike and Will, who was twiddling his fingers, clearly trying to steal another look at Current-Mike.

“How did you get here?” he asked.

Given Current-Mike had just completely fucked with the events of time, he figured it would be harmless to tell them. “I found a time machine.”

At that, Mini-Mike’s eyes became alight, before he stifled his curiosity. “Okay. And you came back to tell us…what?”

Current-Mike smiled. Oh, how children just believed things. Especially himself and his group of friends at this age—so wrapped up in orcs, dragons and spells that they forgot they were in a distinctly different reality.

“Well…” Current-Mike gulped. “There’s…a problem in my time. 1990. Will, you…you’ve been away for a while.”

Will blinked in confusion. “Really?”

“It’s a good thing!” Mike hurried to explain. “You’re out there, living your dream life. It’s just…without me. You and I sort of drifted apart.”

“That would never happen,” Mini-Mike proclaimed boldly, putting an arm around Will’s shoulder. Will nodded in agreement.

Current-Mike wanted to scream watching them. It had all been so good. “Well, you do. So, I wrote the note cause…well, I want us to stay together,” he said, looking at Mini-Will.

“We’ll always be best friends,” Mini-Will came forward, putting a hand on Current-Mike’s shoulder, despite his nervous smile. “I’m sorry I haven’t been showing that in your time, Mike.”

Mike practically fell to his knees. Will was just so goddamn perfect—apologising for something he hadn’t even done yet. Hadn’t even done at all since Mini-Will didn’t know that Current-Will had only innocently gotten a boyfriend, and Mike was the one who had a problem with it.

Current-Mike shook his head. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.” He placed his hand over Will’s tiny one, and squeezed. “When I found the time machine, I wanted to fix things. Maybe if I changed something in the past, then it could help how things are in the future.”

“What do we do?” Mini-Mike eyed where they’d briefly touched hands. Jesus Christ, what was his problem?

“Exactly what you did,” Current-Mike said. “Tell each other you love each other.”

Mini-Mike frowned. “But that’s what we always do.”

“Yeah,” Will added.

That was when Current-Mike realised he’d come too early. That this version of Mike and Will hadn’t figured out what was friendship and what was more. Maybe Will had the slightest idea of it, but neither had enough for anything not friendship to be set in motion.

Current-Mike sighed, taking a moment to observe the two together. Standing so naturally together, so obviously a pairing. The bestest of friends. Who ran home to write and draw, watch scary movies far too old for them, and to fall asleep on the couch, their heads on the other’s shoulders.

He fought back against a tear, not wanting his younger-self to curse him out for crying.

“Alright.” He stood. “Don’t forget it.”

Mike and Will nodded firmly. Mike’s hand found Will’s, and Will squeezed back.

Current-Mike’s stomach lurched.

Soon, all that touching would go away. The stares of the adults, the TV blaring about AIDS, the casual teasing from Lucas and Dustin, which would be good-intended, but would only serve as more gasoline to the fire, would pull them apart bit by bit. Soon, they’d hold hands in private, then not at all. They’d go in separate sleeping bags, and then eventually only have sleepovers with Dustin and Lucas around.

But Current-Mike couldn’t dwell on that. It’d be completely out of touch with the tone of this fanfiction!

Current-Mike nodded once. “I’ll head back now. Just…go back to your game.”

The two stared at him, until Current-Mike ushered with his hands, and they looked through their folders—Mini-Mike rather begrudgingly. Mike had never liked being told what to do; not even by himself, apparently.

Mini-Mike and Mini-Will both had a hushed conversation as Current-Mike walked and sat behind the couch. He fiddled with the button, just needing a minute and not wanting to leave just yet.

“Lucas and Dustin are gonna freak,” Mini-Mike murmured.

“Do you think we are allowed to tell them?” asked Will.

“Well, he didn’t say not to.”

“I don’t think he’d want us to.”

Mini-Mike scoffed. “You’re just gonna listen to him?”

“He’s you!” Will exclaimed. Then, quietly. “He’s…really tall.”

“I’m tall!” Mini-Mike pouted, crossing his arms. “For my age.”

“You are.”

Gripping the button, Current-Mike stole one last look, seeing how stupidly, adorably Mini-Mike and Mini-Will were smiling at one another.

He pushed the button, and was transported to the phone booth.

He checked his watch, finding that it was 1990. Right.

Strangely, he had no memory of being his younger-self witnessing his future-self appear within the Wheeler basement on a random day during Christmas break.

—

BREAKING NEWS: LAZY AUTHOR STRIKES AGAIN IN A VICIOUS ATTACK WITHIN THE GLORIOUS, WONDEROUS, BEAUTIFUL, EXQUISITE PLATFORM THAT IS ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN.

Hey, I’m sure you love these news bulletins, don’t you? They totally keep with the flow of the plot and are so funny. I bet you’re cracking up right now, and NOT because it’s 4 AM and you’ve got school in three hours and you’ve made the terribly amazing decision to read fanfiction instead of sleeping, and you’re starting to hallucinate. Unless it’s holidays? Or you’re not a student? What is my current demographic as the famous, impeccably talented and renowned chocolatecookie123?

*BANG BANG*

“HEY DUDE, GET OUT OF OUR FUCKING RADIO STUDIO.”

“YEAH YOU’RE NOT EMPLOYED HERE! UNLOCK THE DOOR!”

Don’t worry, I’m aware of how unfunny I am! In fact, my ex-friend and I were doing a personality survey one time during class, and a question was: ‘would your friends describe you as funny?’ And everyone was jokingly going ‘Oh, Samantha, how FUNNY am I??’ to which the friend would laugh and respond, ‘You’re so hilarious! Hehe omg!!’ And so, me, joining in on the bit, was like, to my ex-friend, ‘Am I funny, Jenny?’ (not her name) And they looked me in the eyes and said in the most serious tone possible, ‘You’re probably the least funny person I’ve ever met.’

So, yeah! We love eighth grade.

*MORE BANGING*

“NO ONE WANTS TO HEAR YOUR SLIGHTLY-SAD HIGH SCHOOL EXPERIENCE, BITCH! THEY’RE HERE FOR THE YAOI!”

“YEAH YOU BETTER NOT START TALKING ABOUT HOW SOMEONE CALLED YOU A CLOWN BECAUSE YOU DIED YOUR HAIR PINK!”

It’s not my fucking fault the colour came out redder than I’d anticipated! Anyways, holy shit, the breaking news is that Mike (and therefore, Will) don’t remember the incident in 1982 where 1990 Mike visited them is because I’m lazy and it’d cut the story short if they did remember—but you already knew that! Okay, that’s all for now, back to the story. Things are getting exciting! _{(Don’t click off).}

—

Mike figured it must have been some fault with the time machine. Especially since he had memories of running into himself from five minutes into the future. Perhaps the memory was too far in the past for him to have his eleven-year-old-self remember his side of the story.

He had to go back to when things had started getting weird between him and Will. When Mike became irritated with Will, because Will wasn’t trying to conform—aka have a girlfriend, be normal—like he was.

The day came to him immediately. So vividly. Rain. Just so much rain.

Mike typed: Okay, author here! There definitely is an actual date for the rain scene but I am NOT opening Netflix to work it out. The Duffers won’t steal that single view from me. Sometime in July 1985, from memory.

He pressed enter.

And there he was, behind his dad’s car, already soaked in the heavy downpour that had been rather odd considering it was the middle of summer.

“Will!”

Current-Mike crouched, spotting Past-Mike in that hideous yellow-striped shirt and jean shorts, rushing out the door, to where Past-Will was getting his bike. Shit. Current-Mike’s heart clenched seeing Past-Will’s barely contained tears.

Such sorrow which was perfectly reflected on Past-Mike’s expression: confused, worried, regretful.

“Look, I said I’m sorry, alright?,” Past-Mike was saying, in a more defensive rather than apologetic tone—come on, Past-Mike, Current-Mike thought bitterly, shaking his head.

“It’s a cool campaign it’s really cool, it’s just…we’re not in the mood right now-”

“Yeah, Mike, that’s the problem, you guys are never in the mood right now. You’re ruining our party!”

— Yes, I’m typing this scene from fucking memory. Fuck my stupid fucking byler life. Dude I don’t think I’ll be doing the roller rink argument but TRUST bro I’ve got that shit memorised down to Finn Wolfhard’s rapid, intricate micro-expressions —

“That’s not true!” Past-Mike exclaimed, untruthfully.

(In his past-self’s defense, Current-Mike reasoned, Lucas was also the one occupied with all-matters girls and not D&D. Now, having gained a few braincells, he could see why Will was more bothered by Mike’s lack of care for their friendship than Lucas’s.)

“Really?” Past-Will said. “Where’s Dustin right now?”

Past-Mike was too upset to answer back.

“See? You don’t know, and you don’t even care, and obviously he doesn’t either and I don’t blame him!”

(Tea, Past-Will)

Also, it may be important to note that Current-Mike was trying to grab Past-Mike’s attention by waving a hand like a drowning sailor in a deep sea. Yes, he’d initially ducked behind the car for cover, yet he remembered this conversation clearly. Knew exactly what was coming next, and decided that it was better to disrupt the fabrics of time rather than for Past-Mike to say those eight words that had haunted him ever since they’d tumbled out his mouth.

*cue tiktok edits with Lover, You Should’ve Come Over*

“You’re destroying everything and for what?” Past-Will was saying, whilst Current-Mike was doing very odd bounces behind the hood of the car: ‘Hey! Wheeler! Stop!’ “So, you can swap spit with some stupid girl?”

“El’s not stupid!” Past-Mike exclaimed.

“Shit,” Current-Mike murmured, giving up.

Getting ready.

“It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!”

To make history.

Well, more like to make SLOP, because Past-Mike certainly did not cook, as the kids say, judging from the utterly, indubitably shattered expression on Past-Will’s face.

Past-Mike sighed. “I’m not trying to be a jerk, okay?”

Current-Mike put his head in his hands as his past-self bullshitted about getting girlfriends and whatever else society had ingrained within the minds of young boys to believe was the acceptable, socially apt future.

And then Past-Will was biking away. 

“Will!” Past-Mike was calling, raising his hands like he was the victim. “Will, come on!”

Alright. Current-Mike squinted at Past-Mike through the rapidly falling drops, hearing Past-Will’s bike speed away. If his objectively efficient attempt at getting his past-self’s attention hadn’t worked, then there was only one other option.

Kidnapping.

He strode out from behind the car. “Hey!”

Past-Mike flinched, jolting around, having turned back to the door, heading inside.

“What? Who the fuck-?!”

Current-Mike grabbed Past-Mike’s arm. “We don’t need fucking Lucas for this! Why the fuck would you drag Lucas halfway across town to apologise to your friend?”

“Get off me! Who the fuck are you?!” Past-Mike was grappling and hitting at Current-Mike’s arm. Thankfully, he was skinny now, but even skinnier then.

“I’m you from the future,” Current-Mike said, through pants. He found his bike and got on, forcing Past-Mike on behind him. “I’m here to sort your shit out, and fix things with Will, blah, blah blah! Can you just fucking wrap your arms around me?”

“What? What are you saying?” Past-Mike instinctively held onto his older-self’s waist as Current-Mike pedalled away. “And what do you mean my shit? We’re the same person!”

Current-Mike groaned. “Jesus Christ, is there any version of me that isn’t as distrusting and pedantic as fuck??!”

“Can you fucking pedal faster?” Past-Mike ordered, seemingly forgoing all the wacky insanities that he’d just been through. “Will’s probably heading home. He’s-”

“He’s heading to Castle Byers, you fucktard!” Current-Mike corrected, sounding rather petulant.

“How do you know?”

“How do I-? You cannot be fucking serious?! Firstly, I’m you from the future. And he’s obviously going to Castle Byers because Will’s season 3 character arc was him struggling through the fact that he’s secretly closeted and that he feels like his childhood is slipping away. The childhood he never had because of the Upside-Down. He’s going to Castle Byers, a landmark of his childhood. The place where he hid from the Demogorgon. He’s going to tear up the pictures of the party and smash the wooden structure to pieces and let out the first iconic-as-fuck f-bomb in the show—all because you made him feel like a piece of shit and like he’s stupid for wanting to play D&D!”

A pause. Current-Mike’s feet repeatedly spun the pedals, the rain buffeting the road they whizzed down.

All that came out of Past-Mike’s mouth: “Will’s gay?”

Current-Mike:

“Were you not fucking aware of that?” Current-Mike asked. “You just said it’s not his fault he doesn’t like girls—what else did you mean by that?”

“Well- I don’t know!”

“You better fucking know!” Current-Mike said. “Are you Mike ‘Will’s-My-Best-Friend-Who-I-Like-More-Than-Anyone-Else-For-Reasons-I-Can’t-Explain-But-Are-Normal-Feelings-To-Have-Because-I’m-Straight-And-He’s-Not-And-That’s-Okay-Also-Side-Note-I-Want-To-Fuck-Him’ Wheeler. Or are you Mike ‘Holy-Shit-I’m-So-Fucking-Gay-This-Is-Bad-Trademark-Like-Bad-With-A-Capital-B-And-Will-Would-Be-Horrified-To-Know-How-I-Feel-Because-I’m-The-One-Who’s-Weird-And-He’s-Normal-So-I-Gotta-Do-The-Logical-Thing-And-Project. Hence: It’snotmyfaultyoudontlikegirls’ Wheeler?”

“…those are the only two options?”

“The most popular ones,” Current-Mike said. “What, you wanna just be Mike ‘As-In-Nickname-Is-Mike-And-There’s-Nothing-Else-To-It’ Wheeler? The Mike that’s straight and mourns El forever and travels to Iceland to find El and has babies with her and everything else that’s in the mileven tag?”

“El goes to Iceland?”

Current-Mike almost flipped the bike. “Holy shit, you are SO good at picking out the important details of what I’m trying to tell you!”

— guys, I actually did read a mileven fic once. Just out of curiosity; to see how the straight mind works. It was actually okay WITH the assumption that Mike is straight. But since he’s just NOT…then it feels so out of character. And the strangest thing is that he and Will are just besties. Like ACTUAL besties not ‘haha, we doing it crazy style on the D&D table after the others leave’ besties. Like, they’re true platonic best friends. *shudder*. Ugh, and Will was helping Mike work through his relationship with El…just like he was forced to do throughout the show, even in the finale…oh, my sweet Will. Anyway —

They were at Mirkwood. They both ditched the bikes and were power-walking towards Castle Byers.

“…and say it like you mean it, okay?” Current-Mike was lecturing. “Don’t blame Will for anything, okay? I don’t care if he does any wrongs. He’s a sweet angel babygirl cutie patootie who is always in the right.”

Past-Mike rolled his eyes, like this was Mom telling him for the thousandth time to push his chair in after dinner. “I know-”

“And really say how much you love him, he needs-”

“Wait, hold on, love?” Past-Mike stopped, facing Current-Mike head-on. “What do you mean by that?”

“Dude, we don’t have time for this. Will’s gonna destroy Castle-”

“Then, let him have his main character moment!” Past-Mike thrusted a frustrated hand in the air. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m with El. We’re dating and…it’s like you’re implying I’d rather…that I…like Will like that. Like…but I don’t—I don’t.”

Current-Mike dragged his fingers down his face. “Right. Mike ‘In-Denial’ Wheeler. Second option.”

“Huh?”

“Look.” Current-Mike laid a hand on Past-Mike’s shoulder. “I’m you. I know how you actually feel. There’s…” Despite the urgency of the situation, he sighed, softening his tone. “There’s nothing to hide from. Being who you are is scary. We’ve been running from the truth for a long time. It’s better to accept it.”

Lowering his tone had splintered some of Past-Mike’s barriers. “Is that what we do? In your time?”

Current-Mike stuttered. “Well, somewhat. I kinda only realised I had feelings for Will like three hours ago-?”

“Three hours?!” Past-Mike shrieked. “Dude, we’ve been in love with him since kindergarten, what the actual fuck is wrong with you?”

“Holy shit,” Current-Mike breathed, connecting the dots. “I think the time machine can also travel across universes. Since I was Mike Version 1: Oblivious. And you’re Mike Version 2: Painfully Aware and In Denial. That’s why I don’t recall a point of view from my younger self when my older self visited him. I visited my younger self in a different reality.”

— Guys, did that logic fix my plothole from before? It’s 12:54am, and I haven’t got much braincell to do brain thing rn. Seriously, time travel plots are so fucking confusing, and they just have to be crack because they’re just a total mindfuck. —

“I don’t care about the lore,” Past-Mike said, rather rudely. “What do I do? I tell Will how I feel?”

It hit Mike like the fucking meteor that killed the dinosaurs.

If his theory was correct in that this was a separate universe to his own, then whatever happened now wouldn’t affect his future at all. Perhaps this version of Mike and Will would get together before Will got with Carlton, but Current-Mike would go home, and nothing would have changed.

“Mike?” Past-Mike shoved his chest, making him stumble. “What do I do?”

Current-Mike blinked. He pulled the device from underneath his shirt.

“Do what you like! Bye!”

He pressed the button.

Back in the phone booth, Mike was no longer covered in rain and mud, and was staring at the typewriter, with the ghost of Past-Mike’s confusion, which had morphed into what might have been alarm just as Current-Mike disappeared, imaged on his brain.

Mike cleared his throat. “Alright, then.”

— What, would you give a shit about a version of yourself in another reality? You would…? Oh… —

How about the year after that? The whole hopeless pining whilst Will was in California, then their pointless arguments which danced around the truth, around the real reason why they were both upset with each other’s lack of correspondence. Sitting in Argyle’s van, swarmed with the stench of weed, and tossing between collapsing from utter boredom, enduring traumatic events instigated by the military and Vecna, and uncovering handmade paintings where Will would claim, teary eyed, ‘You’re the heart.’

There was a conversation at some point during 1986 that 1990-Mike could target. Help his disastrous self actually say what he fucking meant, for once.

First, he had to make sure he’d stay in this universe.

Mike typed: Okay, once again. There’d be a date. You look it up if you wanna know. Sometime after March 22^nd, aka, Will’s birthday. In fact I think it’s the next day. ANYWAY.

He added underneath the date: ‘Please keep me in this universe’ Because everyone knew that if you were a good boy and used manners, then you would get what you wanted.

As soon as he’d finished typing, some text not done by his own hand appeared:

Aight bet.

Mike nodded, satisfied.

He pressed enter, and was deposited in the kitchen of the house where the Byers had stayed at in Lenora. Owen’s agents sent to monitor their house were lounging in front of the TV, and Mike quickly ducked behind the counter. He rolled his eyes, remembering how useless the two of them had been—before he remembered that they were both currently dead. And actually, how they hadn’t been useless—considering one of them had helped them find El—but had more so just hogged the TV and not let them go anywhere.

Once again, with the power of time control, Mike had the ability to save their lives. He could alert everyone of the imminent military attack that would kill one of them instantly, and then fatally wound the other.

Instead, he jogged up the stairs to the guest room.

He peaked through the gap in the door, seeing Past-Mike, with his terrible hair—the peak of his ‘growing-it-out’ phase in attempt to mimic Eddie Munson’s—rummaging through his bag.

Oh, shit. The attack was happening within the next ten minutes.

That meant Current-Mike had to act fast.

He went to open the door. His hand hesitated at the doorknob.

Every time he’d interacted with his past-self so far, it hadn’t gone well. He’d been defensive and distrusting and overall, not willing to listen to his future-self’s wisdom.

He tiptoed down the hall, finding Will kneeling at the cabinet, shoving his clothes in his bag through sighs. The painting—the painting, which currently resided in Mike’s room—was rolled up beside Past-Will. Something Past-Will would, last minute, decide to pack with him.

That painting had been the cause of much aggressive curiosity from Mike. He’d been dying to know who the ‘girl’ the painting was supposedly for that El had mentioned in her letters.

Current-Mike sighed as Past-Will looked up, eyes widening in alarm.

“Hey,” Current-Mike said, putting a finger to his lips. “Long story, but I’m from the future. I have to tell you something.”

Past-Will had scrambled to his feet, though was keeping quiet—likely because he was already in the mindset of being sneaky, given that he, Jonathan and Past-Mike were all gearing up to escape through Will’s bedroom window…which would prove an ineffective route given that the military was about to smash the glass down with bullets. Current-Mike had to hurry.

“Who…?” Past-Will’s forehead was tensed, hands bunched near his chest, braced. “M…Mike?”

Current-Mike’s features softened. “Yeah, Will. It’s me. I’m from 1990.” Just looking at Will—his checkered flannel, tucked into his jeans, his trusty bowl cut. He remembered how crestfallen Will had been during their rink-o-mania visit, when Mike had been deliberately ignoring him. When Mike had just deflected and deflected, and made it miserable for everyone involved. Where he hadn’t noticed that El was getting bullied by her classmates, that Will was trying his best to be a good friend to Mike and a good friend to El.

His eyes started tearing up, and he found his heart pouring out. “Look, Will. I just want to say that you’re amazing. I know I’m about to come in here and apologise for how everything went, but I need you to…” Current-Mike sighed, wondering how much he could say. How much he should say. Yes, he’d been fully intending to straight up tell Will that he had loved him in this time, and he’d loved him long before, and continued to love him after. When Mike had been yelling at himself in 1985, it had been easier. Now, staring at Will’s fearing eyes, it felt too fragile.

“Really pay attention to how I act, okay?” he decided on. “Like, what I’m saying. Because…there’s more beneath the surface.” Current-Mike chuckled at himself. “So much more.”

Past-Will was blinking like a deer in the headlights.

Current-Mike nodded, spotting his past-self hauling his duffel bag.

“Alright, don’t mind me.”

He quickly hopped into Will’s closet, just as Past-Mike entered, sighing, and dumping his bag down on the ground.

Will was too busy staring at the closet where Current-Mike had just disappeared into, and he completely missed Past-Mike’s not-subtle-at-all checking out of Will. Current-Mike, through the door slit, watched himself suck his bottom lip, rub his hands over his thighs and trail his eyes down Will’s body.

Fucking hell. Current-Mike forced his eyes on the scene, fighting against his desire to crumble in his hands. How was he walking around claiming El as his girlfriend and looking at his best friend like that?

“Thanks, by the way,” Past-Mike said.

Will hadn’t torn his gaze from the closet. His fingers were loose on his bag.

“Will?” Past-Mike leaned forward.

“Your line is ‘For what?’” Current-Mike hissed.

“F-for what?” Past-Will stuttered out, trying and failing to conceal his perplexion.

Past-Mike launched into his ‘casual apology’—which Current-Mike knew all too well he’d practiced several times over in his head. “For knocking some sense into me, I mean, I was being a total self-pitying idiot.”

Will was still watching Current-Mike. Current-Mike was flailing his hands about, shoving the air away from him, as if trying to redirect Will’s attention. Unfortunately, the door wasn’t transparent. Though, if anything, any closet Mike Wheeler inhabited should be made of glass walls.

“‘I didn’t say it’,” Mike was trying to instruct Will.

“What?” Past-Will murmured, shuffling forward on his knees, unable to hear.

“Will?” Past-Mike stood from the bed—no, not until Jonathan comes!—and knelt beside Will. “What are you looking at? Are you okay?”

“No!” Current-Mike groaned, pushing the closet doors open. Past-Mike and Will both flinched seeing Mike barge out. Current-Mike pointed to Will. “Your line is, ‘I didn’t say it’,” He pointed to Past-Mike. “And then yours is, and flirty, by the way. I cannot stress enough how flirty: ‘You didn’t have to’!”

“Who the fuck are you?” Past-Mike put his body in front of Will. “Why do you look like me-? How-?”

Current-Mike groaned. “Holy shit, dude, can you be a little more interesting for the readers?” He gestured towards you. “Every single time you’ve acted like this—nobody gives a gaf!”

“What the fuck are you saying?” Past-Mike looked at Will. “What is he talking about? Did you know he was in there?”

“Uh…yeah,” Past-Will murmured, looking at his feet. “He’s from 1990. He’s…you. Apparently.”

“Look, I can explain,” Current-Mike said, with his hands spread placatingly. “But firstly, you were having an important conversation. So, you know what, I’ll just head out there” —He pointed to the hall— “And when you’re done, I’ll come back, okay?”

Someone came through the door. “You guys ready?”

Great. Current-Mike felt all energy leave his body as Jonathan from his perpetually-stoned era came through in a grey flannel and bag of his own.

He flinched at the sight of the three of them standing there.

He turned to Past-Byler. “Who…? Who the hell is that. Is that Mike?”

Current-Mike rolled his eyes. Goddamnit, he was going to have to explain this shit to Jonathan of all people. “Yeah, now just-”

Bang! Bang!

“Ah, fuck.” Current-Mike deflated like a popped balloon as the others started freaking out.

“What the hell was that?” Jonathan held a hand out, heading for where the sound had come from. “Stay here!”

Past-Mike and Past-Will held onto each other’s arms—oh, my God, yes, I knew that fucking door had a lock on it. They totally were holding onto each other, and my billion gazillion replays of that scene zoomed in were worth it.

More gunshots. Past-Mike and Will were whimpering with panic, clutching onto each other. Current-Mike stood there with crossed arms, feeling apathetic that he had to go through this again.

He belatedly remembered that the military were going to shoot the window. “Hey, guys, we should-”

“We gotta go!” Jonathan came running back in. “We gotta go. RIGHT. NOW!”

CRASH!

Welp, there goes the window. The other three all fell to the floor, scrambling to get upright. Current-Mike just sighed, fishing for his lanyard.

“I’ll come back later,” he called over the gunshots. They were huddled up along the wall with Agent Harmon. “Some time during the drive to Nevada, alright?”

The military attack had temporarily put a hold on the confusion Current-Mike’s being here brought. None of them were paying attention to him with the house a cacophony of shouting and shooting.

“What the hell is going on?!” Past-Mike yelled shrilly.

“Follow me!” Agent Harmon ordered, to which they all nodded frantically. Poor Will looked like he was going to have a heart attack. “I shoot, you run!”

“Good luck!” Mike called, knowing that Agent Harmon was about to meet his end. “Remember: Nina is not a fucking small woman!”

He returned to the present.

It was quite jarring: the tranquillity of the forest and the magical phone booth within, compared to the chaos Mike had just escaped.

He typed the same year and month, making it a few days later. Sometime when they were within Argyle’s Van or in a motel.

Perhaps he should have specified the time, as when Mike pressed enter, he found himself hanging on to the surfboard-shape sign that was on the roof of Argyle’s van. Heading about 80 miles down a long expanse of road.

“Fuck, holy fuck!”

He clung onto the red sign, hands covering the lower half of the ‘Z’s of the ‘Surfer Boy Pizza’ logo written. With physics that likely defied humankind—you’re welcome, everyone—he manoeuvred himself to the side of the vehicle, a little like Spider-Man, as his hands stuck and unstuck from the yellow roof.

Gripping on the window’s corner, he lowered his head, being greeted with the sight of Past-Will covering his mouth, stifling his cries.

“Oh, shit,” Mike breathed. He knew that Will had been crying in that moment—he’d just been too cowardly to say anything.

He got a glimpse of the three-headed dragon painting held in Past-Mike’s hands, right as Past-Will blinked away his tears and started howling for real.

“Shit, oh my- it’s… Jonathan, help!”

“What the fuck?” Jonathan’s gruff tone came from within the vehicle, which swerved as he was reasonably startled by a person hanging onto the side of the van he currently drove.

“Holy shit, man,” Argyle was peering at Mike with comically big eyes. Yo, he hadn’t seen Argyle in ages, where the fuck had he gone? “Is it just me or is Little Wheeler outside the van, and inside it?”

“Asshole!” Past-Mike was leaning over Will, winding down the window. “You fucking ditched us at the shootout! We don’t wanna hear from you.”

“I just need to talk to Will,” Current-Mike was begging above the roaring wind, which whipped his hair around. “Please, just- ah!”

Current-Mike lost his grip, and he hit the bitumen so harshly, the pain stabbed his elbow and knee, and spread out through his whole body.

Current-Mike groaned, sprawled with his limbs out like roadkill. He could faintly hear Argyle’s van tires screeching, turning around.

He picked his head up, seeing that the van was in fact driving towards him. At an alarmingly fast rate. Mike figured Jonathan was just already set on travelling fast—wanting to get to El quickly. That he’d slow down once he got to him

However, there was a certain glint in Jonathan’s eyes. The same one he’d spotted at the airport, after he’d given Will that half-ass hug. The same one when he’d left Will at the dining table to bring El her Eggos.

It was something dangerous, unrelenting. Intentional.

Current-Mike scrambled, fruitlessly inching along the road. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he murmured, as the van came closer, and his suspicions were confirmed as Jonathan was making no move in slowing down. There was something sparking in his eyes, some kind of long-lost thrill or a rejoice that was a long time coming.

Mike fumbled for the button as Jonathan veered his way. There might have been shouting from within the vehicle—the words too jumbled and muffled for Current-Mike to make out.

He found the device and transported himself away.

Back in the phone booth, he stared at the typewriter, shoulders heaving, sides still aching with the rough tear the bitumen had done on his bare skin.

Well, it was nice to know that his best friend’s brother had such unique feelings about him.

Clearly, season 4 1986 was a chaotic time for Mike and those associated, despite his group of stoners and repressed homosexuals being sidelined separated from the others in Hawkins. Really, when was there a time where Mike’s life wasn’t absolute insanity—whilst Vecna was alive and thriving, that is? Of course, there were down moments. Especially during that eighteen month period between seasons 4 and 5 where he and Will lived together. But he probably didn't need to go back to that period-

BREAKING NEWS: MWTFDYDGATE TRUTHERS LEFT IN SHAMBLES AND TEARS AS BYLER AUTHOR DISREGARDS THEIR THEORIES ENTIRELY

What, did you really think I was going to make 1990-Mike go back to every single time Mike and Will allegedly interacted during the eighteen-month time skip? We all know such time skip only existed because the Duffers—on that single occasion—were concerned about minor plot holes, the one in question being that the younger cast looked much older in season 5 compared to season 4. Clearly, the extent to which they cared about this was limited, as Holly was randomly aged up a good six or seven-

*GUNSHOTS* *MORE BANGING* *AUDIENCE GROANING FROM THIS REOCCURING NEWS BIT*

“HEY IF YOU’RE GONNA HOG OUR PRIVATE STUDIO, THEN YOU CAN’T MAKE 6-7 JOKES!”

“THIS IS A VIOLATION AGAINST OUR POLICY PROHIBITING ALL MENTIONS OF THE NUMBERS 6 AND 7!”

Sorry, sorry, *four or five years* Holly was aged up to fit a main character role. It wasn’t like there was another, familiar character that was younger than the original boys + Eleven in season 1, that was considered a fan favourite from season 3, and was also a young girl with not much development so far and was the perfect age already (*cough* Erica *cough*). But I’m getting beside myself! The point is, I will not be taking up yours or my valuable time returning to numerous occasions where Mike and Will, within the Wheeler-Byers residence, bumped into each other passing on the stairs, or glanced at each other gayly during breakfast, or had a slightly-deep conversation on their bikes to school or whatever headcanon you choose to subscribe to. For one, whatever intrusion 1990-Mike would enact would be ineffective, as demonstrated by his various previous attempts. For two, it would be extremely boring.

That’s all for now, and you’re back with scheming Mike!

-becuase it didn't feel right *wink*.

So, he figured he’d skip it.

November 6^th was a good date. Not as though it was the anniversary of some kind of traumatic or life-changing event.

He typed November 6^th, 1987, and set a random time.

Swirling clouds canopied the sky, intermittent red lightning tearing ominous flashes through the thick darkness. Current-Mike clung to the WSQK tower, fingers clenched around the freezing ladder poles. Ah, when they’d all climbed into the Abyss using the radio station tower, because there had apparently been a separate dimension above them this entire time. To be fair, they hadn’t noticed the one below them—or upside down from theirs? So…? But also to be fair, the concept of the Abyss existing at all was fucking stupid.

The ladder shook as Past-Will was climbing. Down below, Current-Mike saw Past-Will meet Past-Mike on the platform, and Past-Mike handed over a bottle of water.

Right. This scene—the one the author had to find on YouTube because this scene has zero buzz—meaning I have no memory of it—and is iconic purely for how infamous it is. How absurd that Mike and Will’s relationship that was clearly special, regardless of whether it was romantic or platonic, is completely wrapped up in a scene less than two minutes long. That Mike baited entire fucking cinemas with his ‘Friends? No thanks. Best friends’, which is arguably his worst line of the entire series, probably up there with ‘I say kick away, and stop these meatheads from reproducing and infecting the world with their unique brand of idiocy’. And that-

— Sorry, hold on, I’ve just received a letter requesting that I stop bitching about the ending of season 5. Broken record, beaten horse, etc, etc. Also irrelevant to the scene. Fine, I’ll stop. (I won’t). But for now, I will —

Current-Mike groaned, watching himself shift uncomfortably on the rails, where he was trying not to stare at Will drinking from the bottle where he’d just put his lips. Thinking about how Will had just come out because he was afraid Vecna would use his identity against him.

Will had spoken of a lot of things when he’d sat down with them all, and amongst subtle advertisements and more plot inconsistencies, he’d also called back to that argument in the rain.

‘I don’t like girls.’

Mike’s brain could be substituted with a brick of cement, though even his breath had hitched at those words. He’d known what they meant—known that their argument had been over so much more than just Will being afraid of growing up.

Current-Mike had the slightest bit of pity for Past-Mike, who was grappling with the end of the world, though also the realisation that he’d been a major dick to his best friend. And that said best friend, who’d just admitted to liking guys, was looking rather dashing under the flattering, stygian lighting of the Upside Down.

He crept down the ladder, coming within earshot.

“What you said earlier, at the Squawk,” Past-Mike was saying, in such a fragile, soulful voice, that really had something to say about Finn Wolfhard’s acting wiles (unlike other scenes).

— Oh, dude, that pained me to write. But it’s true. Finn shines with Noah, everyone knows this. He and Millie are great actors…but when they’re together… *nails on chalkboard* —

“I’m sorry,” Past-Mike said, then realised his faux pas. “I mean, not sorry about what you said. That came out wrong- or not came out wrong!” Past-Mike shook his head, flustered. “Jesus Christ.”

Thankfully, Past-Will was laughing, and Current-Mike had forgotten how that simple sound—one where it had let him know before Will had said it that he’d been forgiven—had eased the tension in his chest.

“It’s okay,” Past-Will said.

“I should have been there for you.” Past-Mike repented. His eyes were sincere—as sincere as Current-Mike could see with that fuckass beanie covering some of his view. “And I wasn’t. And, I guess I was just so self-absorbed that I couldn’t see it, and I feel like an idiot, and I’m sorry.”

See? An emphatic, slightly rambling apology. But better than deflecting and not apologising at all (see Mike and El season 4 ‘From Mike, from Mike!’ argument). Current-Mike pat his past-self on the back. This was going well; this was him being there for Will, genuinely.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Past-Will said, which was a lie, because there couldn’t possibly be a universe where Mike Wheeler existed without needing to apologise to someone for some bullshit he’d done. “And you’re not an idiot.” Also not true, Will! But I’ll let it slide, cause obviously everyone knows you’re an angel.

Past-Will looked outwards, voice softening. “I didn’t even understand it myself for the longest time. I think it needed to happen the way it happened—I needed to find my way.”

Past-Mike watched Will. Current-Mike braced himself, knowing what was about to come. Wondering what he should do—try and get Past-Mike’s attention? But that had literally never worked. Maybe cause a distraction? He could take off his jacket and dump it on them—their nervous systems were definitely faulty with the constant stress so it’d probably make them squeal that Vecna could shapeshift into clothing items and was coming after them with zippers and cotton.

Past-Will kept going. “But what matters is that you’re still here. And you…still think we can be friends?”

Okay, shit.

It was coming. Current-Mike could see it on the contortions on his past-self’s face. Subtle, but with a trained eye, he could see he was struggling with how to respond to Will. It was very easy to spot, since Current-Mike knew he was making the same expressions over his own face as he contemplated what to do.

Past-Mike figured out the joke—Current-Mike noticed with the tiniest smirk forming on the corner of his mouth.

“Friends? No thanks…”

Past-Will tilted his head in confusion as Past-Mike paused.

Current-Mike would not relieve this again. Without thinking, he dropped from his spot on the ladder, landing with a thundering slam on the platform, making the other two occupants flinch.

“What the fuck-?” Past-Mike was gawping.

“Aagh!” Current-Mike was screaming, charging at Past-Mike. With strength he didn’t know he possessed, he lifted Past-Mike by the waist and hurled him off the radio tower.

Past-Mike shrieked as he fell. Past-Will screamed, rushing to the rail, leaning over so sharply that Current-Mike instinctually grabbed his back in case he went after Past-Mike.

“Mike!” Past-Will was calling, eyes wide and distressed, tears creeping in the corners. “Mike?!”

Current-Mike sighed. That perhaps hadn’t been the wisest thing to do, but he had to shut his past-self up before he said something that would haunt the rest of his life. Besides, he didn’t really consider the death of 1987 him to be much of a loss.

He turned to where Will was frozen. “Look, Will-”

And Current-Mike promptly vanished from thin air.

…

…

…

BREAKING NEWS: …what?

Me, rifling through notes: Hey, wait. Is this right? I mean, he’s stupid, but not that stupid…

(murmuring)

Me: right.

(clears throat)

Me: Okay, this just in, folks! Mike Wheeler, known for being an absolute bitch, but not without a brain completely—or so was thought—has just died. And get this, he killed himself! No, not in the typical fashion such as hanging by rope or jumping off a bridge or tide pod ingestion, but by going back in time and shoving his past-self off a radio tower. Silly Mike must have not realised that by killing his past-self, it would also kill all future versions of himself!

(more murmuring)

Me: We actually have Mike Wheeler’s ghost in with us right now for a hot-new interview! Tell us, Mike, what was going through your brain when you watched your sixteen-year-old-self topple off the radio tower, by your own nineteen-year-old hands?

Mike’s Ghost: …

Me: Mike? Could you give a word to the viewers listening in?

Mike’s Ghost: *indecipherable murmuring*

Me: …Mike?

(leans in)

Mike’s Ghost: (opening organ of Lover, You Should’ve Come Over)

(long-suffering sighs)

Me, for the sake of the readers or listeners or I don’t know anymore: Gosh, he’s quite pathetic isn’t he? I’ll have to remember to add that tag.

(stares at Mike’s Ghost)

Me: Can we…?

(hesitation)

Me, gesturing to the crew: Hey, is it possible that we…?

(talking) (impatient gesturing to Mike’s Ghost, who is now softly singing the opening verse of Jeff Buckley’s depressing track, curled on the floor in foetal position)

(coming to consensus) [omg they didn’t even need to sing the song]

Me: Right, well. Mike, hey, buddy?

(Mike’s Ghost perks up, ever so slightly)

Me: We’re giving you a second chance, okay?

(Mike’s ghost sparkles significantly at this)

Me: Alright. Send him back in! And use your brain this time, Wheeler!

At the phone booth in 1990, Mike Wheeler was very much not a grotesque splatter of guts and goop at the bottom of the Squawk radio tower, and was instead facing the typewriter with all his skin and organs attached.

Alright. He needed to steer clear from all times when the Upside Down had provided their annual torture.

Most of the period after the Upside Down had blown up, Mike had avoided Will. Just as Will had avoided Mike. That had been the true testament to their declining friendship—no living in different states or arguments over girls or whatever. Just them both amicably deciding they should be apart.

But Mike had wanted to talk to Will. So many times when they’d been together when the party hung out, or when he walked past him within Hawkins High—unfortunately a shit load of trauma strapped to their belts still meant they had to get an education—Mike had wanted to say something more than a quick ‘hi’. Or just put his hand on Will’s shoulder, check in. Of course, the Upside Down had affected them all, but Mike knew that that the evil world of uncannily strong and disfigured dogs and bats was deeply ingrained into Will. He knew Will still got nightmares, as told to him by El. thankfully their relationship had been definitively ended for a year when they began to rebuild and have conversations around trauma, which had led to them becoming close platonic friends.

He knew about Will through everyone else. Nothing directly. He had the slightest feeling that Will missed their friendship. He saw him linger several times in the arcade or his basement, a question of ‘Should I stay?’ on the tip of his tongue. But then he’d wipe the wondering off his face and go home along with the others.

Mike remembered graduation night. Not their last night together before migrating to their respective colleges and futures, most of which being out of Indiana, but it was a memorable one. They’d blown of Stacey’s party—much to Dustin’s disappointment—and instead played a small campaign Mike had written. He’d created endings for all their fantasy characters to align with what each of their real-life counterparts hoped to achieve in the future.

He remembered Will’s bittersweet smile, teary-eyed as Mike described, using a veil of D&D terminology, Will finding a boyfriend and acceptance.

…which he belatedly realised was essentially him wishing for Will to fuck off and be gay elsewhere. He hadn’t meant it that way, though the fear that Will had internally believed that Mike wasn’t as accepting of him as he’d demonstrated on the radio tower kept him up at night.

Mike remembered how they’d all placed their D&D binders on the shelf, trying not to cry with the knowledge that their childhoods—as shit as they’d been—were over. There’d be no more school with the six of them attending in one place. For Mike, there’d be no more biking over to the Byers’ house, eating Joyce’s charmingly burned meals, and giggling with Will under the bed covers.

They’d all been emotional walking up to the kitchen…until the rich, flavoursome smell of Karen’s homemade lasagna had gotten them excited.

Will had been the second-to-last putting his binder back. Mike had watched Will’s back, every single word he hadn’t said bubbling up and straining against the inside of his mouth, screaming to get out.

Current-Mike typed in the date, taking a deep breath, and going back to almost one year ago.

He was back in his basement, half-cleared out, boxes filled but not sealed in his mother’s attempt to start the holiday cleaning. It was late—Mike could see the faded sunlight through the window. The D&D table had been cleared, and one person sat there: Past-Mike who watched Past-Will take his binder, putting it next to the four others on the shelf.

Current-Mike ducked behind the couch, watching as Past-Will lingered on the spine, and where Past-Mike was squirming in his chair, staring at Will, struggling with the fact they were the only ones in the room.

Lucas, Dustin, Max and El were all upstairs, washing their hands and siting where Karen had prepared her lasagna: the celebration for the fact that they’d all, somehow, graduated today.

Current-Mike knew what happened; knew that once Will put his binder there, Mike would only get up once Will had mounted the stairs. He’d caress the spines where his and Will’s binders touched, and he’d cry, thinking of it all, but mostly how it felt like Will was slipping through his fingers like liquid.

And then he’d wipe his eyes, nearly get run over by Holly and her friends coming down to play their first game of D&D, and he’d join his friends at dinner. He’d smile and pretend like everything was fine. He’d pay special attention to how Will simply shone—as he always did, but especially since Vecna had been defeated.

And he’d do nothing.

Current-Mike bit his lip, feeling just as hopeless as Past-Mike did in this moment. He couldn’t interfere with Mike or Will, as it’d only lead to confusion and chaos and in the case of Jonathan: murder attempts.

Past-Mike was close to saying something—Current-Mike could see it on his bottom lip, which was sucked into his mouth, and on his restless, tapping foot.

He just needed a push.

As Past-Will went to put his binder on the shelf, Current-Mike grabbed a screw that was within the mess of boxes, and threw it at the window.

Smack!

Past-Will flinched, dropping his binder with a yelp.

Past-Mike had also been startled, though he rushed out of his chair, straight to Will and bending down, gathering up the spilled papers and figurines within.

Yes! Current-Mike pumped his fist, watching as Past-Mike, who was joined by Past-Will in collecting the sundry D&D items. Both were bright red in the face and they avoided eye contact until they stood, and no longer could.

Past-Mike handed over his portion. “Here.”

Past-Will smiled bashfully, reassembling his binder. “Thanks.”

Past-Mike watched as Past-Will returned his binder to the shelf.

“Must have been a bird or something,” he said.

“Yeah,” Past-Will said, fiddling with a tassel of some bookmark sticking out from the shelf. “Sorry—overreacted.”

Past-Mike shook his head insistently. Current-Mike saw his hand twitch, as if to comfort Will by placing it on his shoulder, but he kept it to himself: a trained motion.

“Don’t be,” he settled for saying. “It’s been a while since…” Vecna. The Upside Down. “But…you know…”

We’re still traumatised. Still working through it.

Past-Will nodded, in that way that meant he always knew what Mike was saying, without needing to put it into words. “Yeah.”

The two of them loitered, looking around the room, clearing their throats and displaying other habits belonging to once-best-friends turned awkward-acquaintances-who-are-within-same-friend-group.

Then, at the same time:

“So-”

“Well-”

They stared wide-eyed at each other, before dissolving into nervous giggles.

“You first,” Past-Will said.

“Um…well…” Past-Mike bit his lip. “I just wanted to say…well, I don’t know, it might be silly but…I just feel like…” Current-Mike wanted to rip out his past-self for such ridiculous blundering. He steadied his breathing as he remained helpless behind the couch. “…like we haven’t been like we used to be.” Past-Mike cringed.

Past-Will wasn’t judging; nodding and saying, “Yeah, yeah, that’s…” He lowered his voice, shy. “…what I was going to say too.”

“I miss you,” Past-Mike blurted. Then he shook his head rapidly. “Sorry, that’s-”

“I do too,” Past-Will cut off, before Past-Mike could take it back. Before Current-Mike could take any of the D&D books from the shelf and thump it over his past-self’s head.

“Oh.” Past-Mike’s eyes were sparkling with wonder, lined with equal amounts disbelief and gratitude. “Cool.”

“Cool,” Past-Will echoed.

“Yeah…so, maybe we should…fix that?” Past-Mike suggested, tentatively.

Past-Will nodded. “Yeah. Best friends, right?” he added, in a knowing smile.

Current-Mike subtly shook his head, hoping that his past-self wouldn’t just agree and go eat lasagna.

Thankfully, the message was transmitted, as Past-Mike didn’t nod his affirmative.

Instead, he hummed. “I mean…I don’t know…”

Past-Will’s face fell. “What do you mean?”

Past-Mike scrambled to correct Past-Will’s heartbroken features. “No, no, that’s not what I meant. I want us to be friends—best friends—but also…more.”

Past-Mike put his head in his hands, and by the time he looked at Past-Will, he was still gaping at him in stunned silence.

“…more?” he repeated, mystified.

Past-Mike was so red Current-Mike bet he could cook an egg on his blushing cheek. “Yeah,” he squeaked out.

Past-Will took a moment to comprehend this. Then, he slowly stepped forward, reaching his hand out, unsure, giving time for Past-Mike to lean back. When he didn’t, Past-Will took hold of Past-Mike’s forearm.

“What does ‘more’ mean?”

Past-Mike was clearly nervous and, if Current-Mike could read his past-self’s thoughts, likely to start hyperventilating. He stifled down the urge, leaning naturally into Past-Will’s space, eyes trailing down to Will’s lips.

In a moment of low confidence, Past-Mike murmured, “I think you know.”

Past-Will’s breath hitched, and he too glanced at Past-Mike’s lips.

Current-Mike watched as the two breathed and came closer, eyes shifting from eyes to lips and back again.

He’d been heating up with anticipation as to what was going to happen. Breath hitching along with their increasing proximity, flushing when Past-Will had put his hand on Past-Mike’s arm.

Except…now something reared its head within his stomach. A dragon, who was snorting flames and thrashing about inside him, taking great dislike to what was happening.

If he thought what was going to happen would happen…then he would miss it. Despite being right in front of him, he’d never truly experience this moment with Will. He’d have the memory of it when he went back to the future, but he’d never get the current moment.

That was the cause of the jealousy to combust, expand to greater, fiery heights. Current-Mike watched as Past-Mike’s hand came to cup Past-Will’s cheek, leaning in…

…and Current-Mike stood. “NO!”

Past-Mike and Will both flinched, turning to look at him.

Then, as was customary when your future-self found a time machine and travelled back in time:

“Who the fuck-”

“Why are you-?”

“Are you me?”

“How long have you been there?”

Current-Mike was waving his hands, trying to tame the cacophony of an angry lion with no food. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s just- I couldn’t let it happen. I’m sorry, I’m selfish, and it’s literally me,” he said, gesturing to his past-self. “But…Will…” He turned to Past-Will’s shocked eyes. He calmed his voice, sounding sincere, desperate, vulnerable. “…I’ve wanted you for so long. I’ve been going back in time to try and show you that I love you because in the present you’re with someone else and it’s killing me. I’ve been turning back the clock to all the moments where I should have said something meaningful to you, and it hasn’t been working and I just…I want to kiss you. I want to date you and live with you because I love you. I’m in love with you. Okay?”

The three of them stared at one another as Current-Mike’s words rung out. The faintest sounds of the others moving upstairs could be heard. Past-Will watched Past-Mike, who was blushing and open-mouthed, like someone who’s secrets had been revealed against their will. (Well, to be fair…they had).

Current-Mike coughed. “Um…”

Pop!

Will was right beside him. No, not the Will from 1989 who was staring in astonishment next to Mike from 1989…there was a second Will now. One who was wearing the same clothes he’d worn when 1990 Mike had seen him a few days ago, when the news about Carlton had been shared.

Current-Mike’s jaw was dropped, staring.

Current-Will raised an eyebrow. “Well, why didn’t you just fucking say that?”

He grabbed Current-Mike’s arm, and they vanished, teleporting forward in time, back to the phone booth.

Given the small space, Mike was shoved against the wall, the door propelling open, and his body tumbling out.

“What…?”

Will was within the phone booth, smoothing his ruffled clothes and sighing. He returned his own copy of the button that could return them to the present, placing it within the slot.

“Will…how did you…?”

“You really are the biggest idiot,” he said, in a way that was exasperated, but so fond. He exited the booth, coming so that he was directly in front of him.

Will brushed a lock of hair from Mike’s forehead, and his heart rate spiked. Will then took the lanyard with Mike’s button, removing it.

“You didn’t have to travel back in time to tell me how you feel,” Will murmured, soft eyes shifting between Mike’s own. “You could have just said. Today.”

Mike spluttered as Will quickly put the button with the other, then came back to him. “But…Carlton…?”

Will just shrugged, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter. It’s you. It’s always been you.”

Not being able to take it anymore, Mike surged forward, kissing Will.

Chaste, but potent—Mike feeling the tingling over his lips, the smooth sliding.

He parted, pressing another kiss on Will’s cheek.

“I’m sorry, Will,” he whispered, forehead leaning against Will’s. “You’re right. I am such an idiot. I don’t know how to make it up to you.”

Will was smiling so freely, looking like he had the whole world in his hands. “Just be with me now.”

Mike chuckled softly, and they met in the middle once more.

Eventually, they walked through the forest, heading back to the Byers. Plans would be made: perhaps Mike would study at the same college as Will’s or one within the same state, close by. They’d move in together, get a pet cat and call it Marty, and they’d sleep in on Sundays, all three of them tangled in cotton sheets.

They were holding hands, their grasp swaying gently as if it were one with the light breeze.

“How’d you find me?” Mike asked. “How did you know what I was doing?”

“This,” Will said, using his free hand to pull out a note from his pocket.

Dear Will,

Hey, it’s me, Mike! Not your Mike, but a Mike you’ll get to know eventually.

I seriously hope this note finds you. Honestly, this time machine shit is getting fucking confusing, and I’d be up all night if I tried to think about the logistics of it…but we figured after many years of wondering how, that there had to be a legitimate reason as to how you found me during my various, stupid travels back in time. Whilst on a small vacation back home in Hawkins, we guessed that I probably just told you.

So here! On Thursday, the 23^rd of July, 1990, head to Mirkwood at about 4 PM. Walk the usual route, then turn left at the large tree stump and walk until you find a phone booth.

In there will be everything you need. What’s everything you ask? I can’t say much, but it involves you, me, New York, writing and art, friends and family, and some real romantic-comedy vibes.

Love,

Mike

30^th of June, 2001.

“Oh.” Mike breathed.

“Mhm,” Will said, and he leaned over, pecking him on the cheek. “Looks like we’ve got catching up to do.”

And they walked home, hands intertwined, Mike safely knowing that it didn’t matter whether it was the past, present or future—he would find his way to Will.

***