Chapter Text
Mike
November 6th, 1983 - Hawkins, Indiana
Under the dim basement lights, the shadows seem to come alive, stretching and twisting like vines, reaching out towards them. There was a reason why Mike never came down here alone if he could help it. Nevertheless, the atmosphere was fantastic. They can hear the sprinklers on the Wheeler’s front yard, a soft pattering sound. The calm rhythmic clicking only serves to add to the anxious air around the table. Mike knows that he’s being a little mean with this campaign, giving his friends monsters that they aren’t yet ready to fight. So, exactly what he normally does. What can he say? It’s far more entertaining to watch them scramble than to listen to them gloat.
“Something is coming. Something hungry for blood. A shadow grows on the wall behind you, swallowing you in darkness. It is almost here.”
“What is it?” Will asks, eyes wide and hopeful, always the most invested in Mike’s campaigns, excluding Mike himself. Mike really hoped that he’d done well this time; Will loved his campaigns, yet he rarely passed on the opportunity to critique Mike’s storytelling and pacing.
“What if it’s the demogorgon?” Will slumps back into his chair as Dustin continues. “Oh Jesus, we’re so screwed if it’s the demogorgon.”
Lucas pipes up, “It’s not the demogorgon.” He never was all that good at predicting Mike’s campaigns. Beating them? Yes. Understanding how Mike planned them out? Not so much. No one seemed to understand Mike quite as well as Will did, no doubt a product of the sheer amount of time that they’d known each-other, how could they not understand one another perfectly after so long?
Mike threw a figure down upon the board as he declares smugly to the group; “An army of troglodytes march into the chamber.”
“Troglodytes?” Dustin questions, clearly underwhelmed.
Lucas, on the other hand, looks pleased, “Told ya!”, he calls out, the rest of the party begins to laugh, for once, Mike isn’t making this insanely difficult or high stress. By now they should all know better than to believe that this is all that he’s going to throw their way.
Struggling to stop himself from joining in, laughing with the others, well…more at them, at their naivety. He begins to speak again, far more softly,“Wait a minute. Did you hear that? That… That sound? Boom… BOOM… BOOM!” He slams the table, they all jump at the sound, startled.
“That didn’t come from the troglodytes, no that…that came from something else…” Mike pauses just long enough for the others to glance at each other in confusion, clearly awaiting whatever irritating plot twist that he’s about to toss their way. Maybe he was predictable after all.
“The demogorgon!” Mike triumphantly places the figurine on the board as the boys groan, banging on the table as if that would change anything.
Then the true chaos begins as the reality of what Mike has just said sinks in.
“We’re in deep shit.”, “Will! Your action?!”, “I don’t know.”, “Fireball him!”, “I’d have to roll a thirteen or higher!”, “Too risky. Cast a protection spell.”, “Don’t be a pussy. Fireball him!”, “Cast protection.”
“The demogorgon is tired of your silly human bickering! It stomps towards you. Boom!” Now Mike really has to stop himself from laughing, it never gets old, watching them scramble, all but screaming at eachother.
“Fireball him!”
“Another stomp, Boom!”
“Cast protection.”
“It roars in anger.” The final nail in the coffin, now the three of them are yelling over each other, a disastrous cacophony of fractured arguments, each vying to prove themselves right. Just how Mike had planned.
Will grabs the die, finally putting an end to Mike’s carefully crafted pandemonium. Tossing them onto the table, he calls out, “Fireball!”, they scatter onto the floor, rolling out of Mike’s field of vision. They all scatter throughout the room, searching for the elusive die.
“Oh shit!”, “Where’d it go?”, “Where is it?”, “I don’t know.”, “Is it a thirteen?”, “I don’t know!”
In the midst of their frantic searching, Karen Wheeler opens the basement door. “Mike!”, “Mom, we’re in the middle of a campaign.”, “You mean the end? Fifteen after.” Mike pushes himself to his feet, following her upstairs as the rest of the party continues their little quest, arguing with one another still. He walks into the kitchen where his mother’s placing that nights leftovers into a container. “Mom, wait! Just twenty more minutes.”, “It’s a school night, Micheal. I’ve just put Holly to bed, you can continue next weekend.”, “But that’ll ruin the flow!”, “Micheal-”, “I’m serious mom, the campaign took two weeks to plan… how was I supposed to know that it was going to take ten hours?”, “You’ve been playing for ten hours?!”
(With hindsight, that was decidedly the wrong thing to say to his mother.)
Seeing as he was clearly not going to win any argument against her, Mike stalked into the living room, “Dad! Don’t you think that twenty more-”
“I think you should listen to your mother.”
Great. All the support there. Dad of the year everyone! Ted returns to his precious television, trying to fix it as Mike stands in between his parents, indignant and betrayed, waiting for one of them to hear him out. They never did.
Mike walks with Will and Lucas outside, to where they’ve left their bikes, still waiting on Dustin. The boys all have their coats on and, in the brisk November air, Mike regrets not putting his own on, a deep, definitely not foreboding, chill settling into his bones as he attempts to prevent himself from shivering too noticeably. Finally, Dustin makes his grand reappearance, thank god for that.
“There’s something wrong with your sister.”, now ever so slightly concerned, Mike asks “What are you talking about?”
“She’s got a stick up her but.”, Mike doesn’t know how to reply to that observation. Thankfully, it’s Lucas who responds:
“Yeah, it’s because she’s been dating that douche bag, Steve Harrington.”
“Yep, she’s turning into a real jerk.” Dustin adds ever so helpfully.
“She’s always been a real jerk!”
“Nuh-uh, she used to be cool. Like that time she dressed up as an elf for our Elder Tree campaign.” Of course it’s Dustin who brings that up, of all of Mike’s friends, Dustin was always Nancy’s favourite. In fact, Mike’s pretty sure that Dustin used to have a crush on her.
“FOUR YEARS AGO!” Mike yells after Dustin the traitor as he and Lucas cycle away, calling back to him over their shoulders, “Just saying.”, “Later.”
Now Mike and Will are alone, maybe he should ask…
After Lonnie and Joyce got their divorce, the Byers had been left with copious amount of debt, thanks to that bastard. Joyce had taken a second job in order to pay for everything and had found herself unable to take her children to school, the Wheeler’s had offered to help out. It was nothing much, really, Will and Jonathan stayed in the Wheeler’s house on most school days, Karen would drive Mike and Will to school, Nancy and Jonathan would cycle together. It made sense; the Wheeler’s live a lot closer to the schools.
Mike had recently been wondering if Will would want to try that arrangement again. Joyce still worked late more nights than she didn’t, and Jonathan had started working/covering later and later shifts…
While Will would never admit it aloud, Mike knew that he didn’t like nor feel particularly safe when going home alone, unsure of how long it would be until the others came back. Perhaps…he and Mike could hang out more, pretend to camp in the basement, just the two of them. As much as it made Mike feel like a shitty friend, he could admit to himself that he preferred to hang out with Will one-on-one. Yes, he still loves the party, Dustin and Lucas are great friends, but it’s not the same.
Before Mike can say anything, Will pipes up, “It was a seven.”
“Huh?” Mike turns to look at Will, unsure if he heard him correctly. Will struggles to meet his eyes.
“The roll, it was a seven.” He clarifies. “The demogorgon, it got me.”
An unusual, tense silence spreads between the two boys momentarily, crickets chirping in the background. It’s November, why are there crickets? In a way, Mike’s pleased that Will told him the truth, Dustin and Lucas wouldn’t have brought it up and would probably pretend to have forgotten what they rolled in the next session.
Will pushes off on the peddles, “See you tomorrow.”
Mike intends to watch him cycle away but is distracted by the outdoor lights flashing behind him. By the time he turns back, Will is gone. He never did end up asking Will, did he? Never mind, they could talk about it tomorrow. Mike turns off the lights and goes back inside, suddenly very tired, maybe playing for ten hours had been too extreme after all. All he can really do now is hope that Will makes it back home safely and plan out how to propose the idea of having their sleepovers again. Or go to sleep, that works too.