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All things considered, life in Henry’s mind was pretty boring. Aside from the occasional memory-hopping and fleeing from imminent danger for the hundredth (five hundredth?) time, there wasn’t much else to do.
So when Mike Wheeler, who Max hadn’t seen in probably two years, popped up out of nowhere, she wasn’t expecting to feel conflicted.
Somehow, talking to Mike, as in, having an actual, mature(-ish) talk with the once moody, dorky, needs-a-haircut-yesterday Mike, kind of sucked. Don’t get her wrong, Max was thrilled to have someone to talk to other than Henry, if exchanging threats even counted, and herself. Plus, even before the whole Henry Creel-gate-apocalypse thing, Mike and Max got along pretty well, in their own weird way.
***
Less than a month into freshman year, Max had already had enough— everything was just too loud, too complicated, and too normal compared to whatever the hell happened the summer prior. From Lucas’ rowdy basketball games that made her temples ache, to Mike and Dustin’s geeky D&D sessions that went from “adorkable!” to “annoying…” fast, it felt as if everyone had agreed to go about their lives, leaving only Max and her problems behind. In a sense, it was almost relieving. At least she was free to stew in her own misery for as long as she wanted, whenever she wanted.
In fact, those were Max’s exact plans, until an uncharacteristically hot September day foiled them. Every swipe of her sweat-beaded brow reminded her of waking up on Starcourt’s linoleum floors, red trickling down into her eyes. Her hair kept frizzing up no matter what she did, just like it had under July’s unforgiving sun.
On days like these, where everything seemed determined to mock her, Max found herself sitting in front of Billy’s grave, leaning back on her hands as the gravel shifted between her splayed fingers. It wasn’t even as if she had liked him. If anything, it was the opposite. But in some depressing, fucked up way, seeing proof of a fate worse than hers helped make her issues feel much smaller.
Usually, Max would begrudgingly start making her way home once the sky started looking like one of Will’s paintings, or until her self-pity morphed into loathing– whichever came first. She hated Billy for dying, hated her teachers and their fake niceties, her friends for acting okay when she knew they weren’t, and most of all, she hated the Mind Flayer for, well, everything. Loathing was easier; she could simply remove herself from the problem, whereas self-pity followed her wherever she went.
Today, however, nothing felt satisfying. The evening breeze did nothing to quell the insistent heat, much less her ire. But the thought of going home to a living room of empty beer cans and an even emptier bedroom across from hers made Max’s stomach churn. Thus, the early autumn leaves squelched, as she made her way up the winding path that led to the Quarry. The blue of Lover’s Lake below reminded her of the California waves she was beginning to forget, but still felt a fondness for. With Kate Bush’s velvety voice in her ears and distant memories of a time before Hawkins surfacing in her mind, Max looked up just in time to spot a familiar figure 50 paces ahead of her.
If he had even noticed, Mike didn't comment on the fact that she was coming from the direction of Billy’s grave, and Max would only later realize that he was walking on the path that led to the Byers’ old house. Maybe it was the surprise at seeing him when she hadn’t expected to, or his lack of empty condolences and small talk that intrigued Max enough to follow him back home, and maybe it was because Mike knew this was the first time she’d interacted with one of them in weeks that he let her.
Whatever it was, meeting at that intersection somehow became their routine.
Mike and Max were not quiet people– ask anybody, and they would agree. Their voices had a way of carrying, and their typical bickering, even with Lucas and El’s peacekeeping, did not help their volume control. So when Max slowly lowered herself onto Mike’s worn couch, emotional support throw pillow in hand, she wasn’t expecting the long stretch of silence that came after.
Max couldn’t lie- she had no idea why she was there, and by the way he was hovering around, Mike didn’t either. While the party split into duos and trios pretty often, Mike and Max had yet to jump that hurdle. So now, without a reason to dissolve into their usual dynamic of bickering, and with no one else around to take the lead of the conversation, her brain was basically screaming at her, “ABORT! ABORT!”
Burrowing her feet into the rug, she tried to think of a way to escape the situation. She could say something came up, or that her mom wanted her home, though he would probably see through that one. She could also just walk out the door, but even though she hadn’t had a real conversation with Mike in ages, that somehow felt like crossing a line. Besides, that would make their shared math class really awkward, really quickly.
As she racked her head for ideas, the door to the basement creaked open. Max looked up to see Mike carrying, and almost dropping, a comically large bowl of popcorn sat precariously on top of an even larger, seemingly heavy, cardboard box.
Not even having realized he left in the first place, she watched as he began sifting through it, tossing the occasional VHS tape to the side, some with much more wear than others. As the caramel-y smell of popcorn wafted her way, Max finally let her curiosity, and her stomach, take over; “What are you doing?”
As if it were obvious, Mike replied, “We’re watching a movie” he held up two, clearly well-loved, VHS tapes, “Empire Strikes Back or Return of the Jedi?”
Max blinked, caught off guard. “Uhm. Return of the Jedi?”
Assumedly accepting her answer, Mike entered the tape into the player, nudging the box to the side as he plopped down next to her.
Whatever she came here expecting, it wasn’t this. Despite fighting with him since day one, Max knew Mike could be sweet. She’d seen the way he fretted over Will on Halloween, voice soft and reassuring. She’d heard about it when trading gossip with El–the way he held her hand and searched for her day and night. But she never thought she, Maxine Mayfield, would ever experience it for herself. (El later tells her that Mike tried to go up against Billy for them. In that moment, Max learns that it’s possible to feel horrified, profoundly grateful, and flabbergasted all at once.)
Catching her glance, Mike extended the bowl out in offering, his voice muffled popcorn, “Want?”
Max almost rejected his offer, but honestly she was already there, and her stomach was seriously on the verge of self-metabolizing after walking all day.
Staring straight ahead to avoid eye contact, she shoved a fistful of popcorn into her mouth, immediately gagging at how sweet it tasted. Mike cackled.
***
After the first day, their once explosive friendship morphed into something more quiet. They both knew there were many things they maybe should’ve talked about that were instead left unsaid, yet the air never felt heavy. They had their system- Max wouldn’t question the letters under Mike’s bed, or his weird obsession with the phone, and Mike didn’t question Max’s fourth period Algebra 2 headaches and weekly guidance counselor visits. It was a win-win situation.
On Max’s bad days, they would play random cassettes scavenged from the back of Mike’s closet. On Mike’s bad days, they’d binge as many of the Star Wars movies as they could before one of them inevitably knocked out.
It wasn’t like their little arrangement was an everyday ordeal; once when nothing she did quieted the voices in her head, Max iced him out for weeks. Sometimes, for unknown reasons, Mike refused to go up to the Quarry, and Max felt too awkward to walk home with him after school, so they’d go their separate ways, and that was that. But whenever they inevitably found each other back at that cliff, it was as if nothing happened.
Eventually, Max understood why the boys, and El, were so obsessed with the Wheeler’s basement; sure, the air was stale and honestly kind of funky (sorry Mike), but there was a comforting, lived-in feeling that lingered, putting her at ease. While she loved Lucas, and felt guilty about all the times she brushed him off, that quiet comfort felt like a lifeline.
(If she slowly started considering Mike more like family to her than she did her own flesh and blood, she would never admit it. But it turns out, having your lives turned upside down (har har) really brings people together.)
***
In any case, having Mike with her in what he kept calling “Vecna’s hell of a mindscape” should have been comforting, and to give credit where credit is due, it was. After all, in those couple of months before everything went down, Mike had, against all odds, become something like a best friend to her.
But staring at him now, with his cheeks less rounded, shoulders broader, and limbs less lanky, Max couldn’t help but think about just how much she was missing. He was a walking, talking reminder that everyone was changing and moving on, while Max was stuck in this obscenely orange, blindingly bright prison, as the same person she was freshman year of high school. She’d even missed Mike finally getting his stupid hair cut.
So honestly, it really fucking sucked.
“Can you stop that? You’re thinking so hard, I can literally see the gears turning in your head.”
Max scoffed. “I’m surprised you know what that looks like.” Mike rolled his eyes in response.
Snark was like second nature to both of them, which also meant Mike knew what she was doing — hiding behind it to avoid talking about what she was really thinking. He was a master at that too, after all. It was how they became enemies, then frenemies, and now sort-of-friends.
Perhaps their conjoined lack of vulnerability was part of what brought them together- birds of a feather flock together, and whatnot.
Max bit her lip. Usually she’d keep the gig up- drag it out until the other party was so exasperated, they dropped the subject. But two years with no human contact changes a person, and she really didn’t think he would fall for it. Besides, right now, all Max wanted were some answers.
Mike, who had started rambling after the initial shock of seeing her very much un-comatose,
(and after nearly getting decked in the face:
“Care to explain why you were hiding in a bush?”
“I was trying to stealth! I heard something moving so I was gonna ambush it, you know? I didn’t think it’d be you.”
At that moment, Max knew Henry wasn’t playing a trick on her; only Mike would use that type of lame ass logic.)
continued to rant, his hands flying, as he tried to catch her up.
“The whole town is a mess, I mean, it’s literally like something out of Mad Max 2.” He paused, “no pun intended.”
“There’s military guys everywhere. They’ve been guarding this huge gate to the Upside-down that opened a little after me, Will and the others got back to Hawkins.”
“El has been training nonstop, so none of us have really seen her since” Mike shrugged in a “what-can-you-do” kind of way.
Biting his lip, he added “Dustin’s been acting off ever since Eddie… you know.” Max didn’t know, but she could read between the lines.
Based on the couple of days they all banded together, Max thought Eddie was odd, but in a good way. By the way 14 year old Mike and Dustin followed him around like lost puppies, she knew they thought so too. Her heart ached for them; though she didn’t really know him, she couldn’t imagine the guy, usually so full of life and spunk, suddenly so…not.
Trying not to dwell, Mike continued. “The Byers lost their old house, so they’ve been staying with us for the meantime. Which is nice. Really nice, actually. It kinda feels like the old days before everything began, minus all the apocalyptic stuff.”
Max prided herself on being a pretty perceptive person, so the sheepish tone in Mike’s voice didn’t really surprise her as much as his honesty did.
Despite never explicitly talking about their woes, she picked up on a couple of tidbits over time. Max noticed the waning letters to California, and the absence of phone calls from. Subconsciously, she knew not to question the flicker of hurt? guilt? adoration? on Mike’s face whenever they dug up specific mixtapes from his cassette collection- something that mirrored too closely to how she felt speeding past the Sinclair’s next door.
At least it seemed that one of them had started making amends.
As if reading her mind, Mike hesitated, sending a cautious glance her way. “And Lucas…”
Max tensed. In the back of her mind, she knew this was coming, but it nevertheless sent a wave of anxiety to her stomach. Her relationship with Lucas was a sort of taboo that Mike and Max never brought up. She could tell he wanted to at times, but the sacred tranquility they built would have shattered if they did, and Max didn’t think that either of them wanted to take that risk.
Now, neither of them had much to lose anymore, so Mike continued.
“Lucas really misses you Max- we all do. But Lucas, he hasn’t left your side once. I’m not saying this to make you feel bad, obviously, but he needs you. He needs you to get out of here. We need you to get out of here.”
When she first woke up, Max had been consumed by what she could’ve done differently with Lucas: details she should’ve included in her letter, what she could’ve drawn for him instead of those kindergarten-esque stick figures, and the fact that she didn’t even get to say goodbye.
Even as time went on, and survival became priority, those thoughts never truly left. Instead, they became a consistent, dull ache in the back of her mind- never in focus, but just close enough to hurt. Now, they were staring at her headfirst in the form of Michael Wheeler’s annoyingly big, annoyingly genuine eyes. Max swallowed.
“I’ve tried everything Mike. Believe me, I’ve tried.” She didn’t want to sound so defeated, but she was tired. There was only so much running and fighting a person could do until they eventually gave up.
“Henry–or Vecna–or whatever, is everywhere. He sees everything. I’ve jumped into that tiny head of his so many times I’ve practically memorized the opener of that stupid play he was in. Even if we somehow find a way out, we might not make it– believe me I tried. I don’t know what else we could possibly do.”
Mike chewed his lip, caught slightly off guard by her opening up like this. Then, in a surprisingly assured way, he took her hand in his, which probably would’ve been weird if she wasn’t more taken aback at how determined he looked.
“Then, what if we go through our memories instead of his? You said that we need a strong tie to the outside, right?”
Max had briefly debriefed him about her theories for escaping this place, and they both decided this made the most sense and was the most approachable. (Other theories included chance, luck, and “when Henry is feeling adventurous.”)
“It’ll be way more emotional to us than his would be– we’ll have the advantage. Once we’re in there, we can think of next steps together. It’s two against one; the odds are in our favor.”
Not missing the opportunity to be a little self-gratuitous, Mike added, “In case you forgot, I’ve been a pretty awesome Dungeon Master for around 10 years now- strategy is kinda my thing.”
From the way his leg was bouncing, Max knew that he must’ve been bluffing a bit, acting brave to put them at ease. Neither of them really understood how this whole memory business actually worked, so their so-called “plan” was as bare bones as it gets. But for a second, she saw a flicker of the Mike she once knew- young and always eager to lead.
Feeling a random urge to honor his attempts at bravery, Max grinned, “Really not the brag you think it is, Wheeler.”
“My loyal party members would like to disagree.” Mike retorted, feigning offense. “C’mon! It’ll be the paladin and zoomer’s first ever side quest together.”
The twinkle in Mike’s eye, something she hadn’t seen since that summer before Starcourt went down, grounded Max in a way she wasn’t expecting. She’d gotten so used to tragedy, after tragedy, after tragedy that it felt as though she had the weight of the world on her shoulders. But if Mike, who had been in the trenches of ninth grade with her, could stand tall like this, shoulders lighter than she had ever seen them, perhaps she could afford a little hope too.
Truthfully, Max wanted to have another sleepover with El, where they would braid each other’s hair, spy on Hopper, and watch the sunrise through eyes puffy from sleep deprivation.
She wanted to listen to Dustin’s nonsensical rambles about gadgets, quantum mechanics, and other science-y things she didn’t really care to understand.
She wanted to steal Steve’s car with an anxious, but intrigued Will, and load every single one of Jonathan’s obnoxiously snobby tapes into the stereo with their feet up on the dashboard.
She wanted to have more movie nights with Mike, with popcorn she got to pick this time. (In Max’s humble opinion, sweet popcorn should be banned.) Maybe now, they could finally watch something other than Star Wars and without all the baggage.
Most of all, she yearned to hold Lucas again. She wanted to run into his arms, bury her head into his neck, and tell him she was sorry. She wanted to kiss him and tell him she loved him and that she thought about him every waking hour of her day.
Focusing on the smell of sickeningly sweet popcorn and voices of space Jedi, Max looked up at Mike with resolve not akin to a raging fire, but a teensy, reignited ember that had long burnt out. Yes, it was beyond unfair that the outside world was changing in ways she couldn’t be there for. But her future was waiting for her, and Max would be damned if she let Henry Creel — some theater-kid, fedora loving, creep — take that away. She could do this.
They could do this.
“Ready?” Mike asked.
“Ready.” Max nodded.
And if her voice quivered a little, and he squeezed her hand a little tighter in response, neither of them mentioned it.