Chapter Text
“The new job is shit,” Mike Wheeler said to his ceiling, trying not to envision the cracks in the bland white paint as vines creeping in the shadows. “I mean, so far. Nancy said the same thing about her first job but now she’s pretty much running the Herald. So maybe it won’t turn out so bad. But for now it’s shit.”
A car alarm went off on the street below. His upstairs neighbors were arguing again. He never thought he’d miss Hawkins, but for all the batshit crazy stuff that happened, at least it was quiet.
“I can’t decide whether or not you’d like the city,” Mike continued, trying to imagine El as she would be now: 25, with long hair and dressed in the bright colors she preferred. “It’s kind of overwhelming but… it’s so anonymous, you know? Nobody would notice if weird stuff happened around you. And if they did, they wouldn’t care. You wouldn’t have to worry about anyone recognizing you.”
He talked a while longer, about Holly’s D&D campaign that she had enthusiastically explained to him over the phone, about a new movie coming out next week, about anything that came to mind until his voice trailed off.
Did he really think anyone was listening? Mike wasn’t an optimistic 12 year old anymore, talking into his walkie-talkie every night for the better part of a year. He was a tired, cynical 25 year old man, and the only fairytales he believed in were the bloody, cruel ones told to keep children from misbehaving. He didn’t believe in happy endings with three waterfalls anymore.
He had loved El. He loved her as much as his weak, repressed, emotionally stunted teenage heart could manage—which wasn’t enough and never had been. Even back then, he knew it deep down. But he clung to her, stubbornly, even after she was gone. Mike had always had the tendency to hold on too tight for too long.
Maybe that was why he still talked to her on nights like this. Even years after she left, he couldn’t let her go.
On Friday nights, Mike missed his party like a constant ache in the pit of his stomach. They’d promised to stay close, and they’d managed for a year or so after graduation, but… well, without the boundaries of Hawkins constraining them, everyone had grown in such different directions. Everyone except Mike, who felt like he hadn’t changed a bit since the day Hopper found him staring at the memorial when he should have been celebrating.
Mike looked up from his keyboard to the Christmas card taped to his wall. Max and Lucas grinned down at him, and between them was a tiny girl with wild red curls and warm brown skin. They lived in Indianapolis now, but he’d seen them over the holidays when everyone trooped back to Hawkins to sleep in their parents’ houses like they were still kids. Even Dustin had flown in from California, where he was rapidly climbing the ranks of some tech company or other. It had been great, crowding into the Wheeler’s basement to coo over the baby, but everyone had felt the empty spaces where Will and El should have been.
And what the fuck is your excuse there? Mike demanded of himself. He still talked to El though he was 99% sure she wasn’t listening, but he hadn’t reached out to Will in over a year, despite living in the same city.
Forcibly putting the thought out of his mind, he refocused on his monitor. It flickered, because the electricity in Mike’s shoebox of an apartment didn’t like running the computer and the heater at the same time.
Writing a book and running a D&D campaign were very similar in that the characters completely refused to do what Mike wanted them to do. Mike tried to wrangle the plot in the right direction, turning the hero toward the enchanted forest. He had it all planned out in his notes: the hero and his trusty companion would encounter a village of powerful elves, be captured, and escape with the help of a beautiful elf princess who would fall madly in love with the hero…
But the companion, a crafty warlock, wouldn’t let them fall into such a trap so easily. He cast a burst of fire at the wriggling vines trying to wind around them, then took off through the forest, pulling the hero by the hand. A magelight glowed before them, guiding them through the foliage until they reached a clearing with a glassy silver pond.
“You saved me,” the hero gasped, looking back at the forest that had ceased to write in pursuit.
The warlock shrugged, reflected moonlight gilding the edges of his features like silver filigree as he leaned over the water. “Not the first time, nor the last if you continue running into obvious traps at the rate you’ve been going.” He looked up, eyes sparkling, but his brow creased in concern as he caught sight of the hero’s leg in the light. “You’re bleeding.”
The hero glanced down at the torn leg of his trousers, where the thorny vines had bitten through to his flesh. “It’s fine.”
“Don’t be foolish,” the warlock chided, ushering the hero to seat himself on a stone by the edge of the pond. “Let me take a look at it.”
The warlock knelt before him, gently revealing the wound and beginning to rinse the blood away with a waterskin.
“Thank you,” the hero said, realizing he hadn’t spoken the words half as often as he ought. “You do so much for me.”
The warlock looked up, hands stilling their work. “I would do anything for you,” he said, so earnestly that the hero couldn’t resist cupping his face with his hands, leaning forwa
“What the fuck,” Mike Wheeler said to his screen, then repeated to his fingers on the keyboard. “What the fuck.”
He needed a goddamn drink.
Mike’s favorite dive bar was whichever one happened to be the cheapest. This also meant it was usually the most crowded, but he didn’t particularly mind. He wouldn’t call himself an extrovert; he would much rather be with a select few than a crowd, but the crowd and a vodka coke was better than his apartment and his own mind. He hunched over the bar, trying to keep his eyes from the area in the corner lit only in red; he fucking hated red light but it drew his gaze like flies to rotting meat.
Red lightning. Bodies. Teeth.
Forcibly holding back a shiver, Mike downed the rest of his drink. Maybe he should choose his bars by lighting instead of price.
As the bartender refilled his glass, someone slid onto the bar stool next to his. Mike didn’t pay much attention until the guy spoke.
“Mike?”
Mike choked, barely avoiding spewing his drink into the guy’s face. The guy’s very familiar face.
“Will,” Mike managed before devolving into a fit of coughing as the vodka burned his throat. Holy shit, when did he get hot? He thought, promptly followed by, I’m not drunk enough for this.
Will was throwing his arms around Mike, half hugging, half pounding him on the back as he continued to hack. The bartender slid a glass of water across the bar, looking unimpressed.
“Mike, I can’t believe it’s actually you! I saw your hair and I thought, there’s no way that’s him, I mean when was the last time I saw you? Last year? But you do still have the same haircut because you never left the fucking 80s!” Will laughed, a little sweaty and more than a little tipsy and so fucking beautiful. As Will leaned back and Mike’s eyes stopped watering, he picked out details through the haze: denim jacket thrown carelessly over a white tank top. Hair flopping over Will’s forehead in a decidedly modern style. Tiny gold hoop hanging from one ear. Will looked like a goddamn boy band member and Mike was going a little bit insane.
“Jesus Christ,” Mike wheezed, chugging the glass of water and scrubbing a hand over his face. “Uh, hi. How are you?”
“Drunk,” Will laughed. “But good! You?”
“Not drunk enough,” Mike muttered, echoing his earlier thought.
“Shots!” Will declared, but a hand with short purple nails settled on his shoulder before he could beckon the bartender. Mike looked up to see a tall woman with a short fringe of black curls.
“I don’t think so,” the woman said. “Sav tried to do a backflip which means it's time to go.”
“Ugh, fine.” Will leaned toward Mike conspiratorially but spoke loud enough for the woman to hear. “Abby’s almost as protective as my actual mom.”
Mike couldn’t help but grin at that, picturing Joyce wielding an axe.
“Here,” Will said, rummaging in his pocket, “give me your hand.” Mike complied without question, feeling like he was in some kind of trance. Will flipped his hand palm down on the bartop and scribbled something in pen on the skin near Mike’s wrist. “That’s the number for my new place. If Sav or Abby pick up, just tell them to fuck off.”
Abby gave him a playful poke to the ribs and Will allowed himself to be dragged away.
“It was so good to see you!” Will shouted over his shoulder. “Call me, we can catch up.”
Mike couldn’t be sure how long he stared blankly at the seven digits etched on his skin in blue ink. Eventually he paid his tab and made his way back to his apartment, flopping onto his bed without bothering to take off his clothes.
“El,” he said to the ceiling, “what the hell is wrong with me?”
When Mike picked up the phone, he fully intended to dial the numbers on his wrist, which he didn’t need to look at now considering how many times he’d read them. The phone number was practically tattooed to the inside of his brain, but his fingers panicked and went with muscle memory instead, which was how he ended up complaining about his life yet again to the person he called most often.
“You could come work for me,” Nancy’s voice said, sounding tinny through the phone receiver. “I could use a goddamn writer who actually knows how to use punctuation.” Someone, presumably the newswriter who had earned Nancy’s ire today, apologized profusely in the background.
“No thanks,” Mike said, checking his watch. Typical of Nancy to still be running her employees ragged into the evening on a Saturday. “I've had enough of you bossing me around to last a lifetime.”
“Then you’d better not slack off while I’m not around. We share a name, you know, and I don’t want that name attached to any half-assed writing.”
“They’re not even letting me write, Nance,” Mike replied, rolling his eyes. “I’m a glorified errand boy.”
“Part of the process. Builds character.”
“Didn’t you kill the guy who made you get coffee for him?”
“Because he was flayed, not because he made me bring him coffee.”
Mike laughed, the first real laugh in what felt like weeks. “Convenient excuse.”
“As much as I love consoling my darling baby brother on the woes of employment,” Nancy said after a moment, “are you going to tell me why you really called?”
Mike didn’t say anything, so Nancy waited, letting the silence grow until it felt crushing. He’d never been able to leave an empty space like that.
“I saw Will last night,” Mike said eventually.
“Okay?” Nancy prodded after another moment in which Mike couldn’t find anything else to say. “And that’s… bad?”
“Not bad,” Mike insisted, maybe a bit too fast. “Just… weird.”
There was a muffled thump on the other line, like Nancy had closed her office door to give the conversation her full attention. “Why weird?”
“I… haven’t seen him in a while, that’s all.”
“Really? Isn’t he, like, half the reason you moved up to New York?”
“What?” Mike nearly squawked. “No, not at all! I actually haven’t seen him since I moved here. Until last night.”
The line was silent for a long moment before Nancy finally said, “Huh. Okay.”
“It’s not like I was avoiding him,” Mike rushed to explain, feeling his face flush. “It’s a big city! I didn’t know where he lived, or his phone number, or anything about his life, really.”
“You could have asked Jonathan,” Nancy pointed out. “Or Joyce and Hopper, I know you have their number.”
She had him there; it wouldn’t have been hard to get in contact with Will. So why hadn’t he?
“But you saw him last night?” Nancy prompted gently.
“Yeah. Just random chance, we were at the same bar and he— Nance, he looked so happy. Happier than I’ve seen him since we were kids.”
“That’s good, right?”
Mike groaned, feeling like a grade A asshole. “Yeah, I mean, of course it’s great he’s happy, it’s just—he’s happy without me. He doesn’t need me anymore.”
Nancy sighed, her familiar done with Mike’s shit sigh. “You’re an idiot, you know that?”
“I know.”
“Look Mike, Will’s all grown up and doesn’t need you to protect him on the playground anymore. But it sounds like you need him.”
“Shut up.”
“You know I’m always right.”
Mike hung up in a huff, paced around his tiny apartment, then returned to the phone and punched in Will’s number before he could think better of it.
“Hello, is Will there? Oh, well this is Mike… No, I’m just an old friend. Could you let him know I called? Or… yeah okay, I was just gonna ask if he wanted to grab coffee sometime…”