Chapter Text
Will Byers had always believed there were two types of people in Los Angeles.
People who wanted to be seen.
And people who were just trying to get home without being hit by a car.
Unfortunately, he was currently becoming the latter.
"El, slow down," he called, gripping the handlebars of his bike tighter as they cut down the side street.
Elena Byers did not slow down.
She was several feet ahead of him already, oversized headphones around her neck, dark curls flying behind her while she balanced an iced coffee in one hand like somebody with absolutely no survival instincts.
"I am slowing down," she lied.
"You’re literally accelerating."
"The record store closes in twenty minutes."
Will sighed.
Unfortunately, he was smiling.
That was the problem with El. She could turn terrible ideas into adventures through sheer confidence alone. Last-minute vinyl shopping became a mission. Nearly getting flattened by LA traffic became "character building."
Taking a shortcut behind a row of dark studio buildings apparently became destiny.
Will was just opening his mouth to say they should’ve stayed on the main road when headlights swung sharply from the alley to their right.
A black SUV rolled out too fast.
Too close.
"Will!"
El shouted his name.
Brakes screamed.
Then his front wheel clipped metal.
The world tilted violently sideways.
And Will hit the pavement hard enough to knock every coherent thought out of his skull.
For one horrible second there was only concrete.
Hot.
Rough.
Real.
Then pain arrived all at once.
His knee.
His elbow.
His palm.
His dignity.
"Oh my god!" El yelled, skidding to a stop nearby. "Will?!"
"I’m fine," Will groaned.
Which was impressive considering he was currently tangled halfway beneath his bike like embarrassed roadkill.
The SUV door flew open.
A man in a leather jacket practically launched himself out first.
Long curls.
Rings on every finger.
Absolute panic in his eyes.
"Jesus Christ, kid, are you okay?" he blurted. "I didn’t even see you…"
"We were in the bike lane!" El snapped.
"There wasn’t a bike lane!"
"Was there a brake pedal?"
Will pushed himself upright with a wince.
Bad decision.
His palm was scraped raw with tiny stones embedded in the skin.
Fantastic.
Exactly how he wanted to spend Friday night.
The driver looked genuinely horrified.
"I’m so sorry," he said again quickly. "Seriously, man, I swear I wasn’t…"
"Eddie," another voice warned from inside the SUV.
The back passenger door opened.
Someone stepped out wearing a black hoodie, dark jeans, and sunglasses despite the fact the sun had already gone down.
Will barely looked at him.
El did.
And froze instantly.
Not a normal pause.
Not a double take.
A full-body system shutdown.
Her iced coffee tilted dangerously in her hand.
"El?" Will said cautiously.
She grabbed his arm hard enough to hurt worse than the crash.
"Will," she whispered.
"What?"
"That’s Mike Wheeler."
Will blinked.
He recognised the name.
Who wouldn’t?
He lifted his head again and looked properly at the guy in the hoodie.
Dark curls.
Pale skin.
Exhausted eyes behind lowered sunglasses.
He looked less like a celebrity and more like somebody who hadn’t slept properly in six months.
Mike’s gaze dropped immediately to Will’s bleeding hand.
"You okay?" he asked quietly.
His voice was softer than Will expected.
El made a tiny strangled noise beside him.
Will frowned. "Do I know you?"
El whipped toward him in genuine horror.
"Do you know him?"
The guy looked awkward instantly.
Actually awkward.
Not fake celebrity humble awkward.
Real awkward.
Like he wanted the pavement to swallow him alive.
"I’m Mike," he said.
"Wheeler," El added aggressively.
Mike glanced at her. "…Yeah."
"From Paper Halo."
Will looked between them.
Then toward the SUV.
Another guy climbed out from the opposite side.
Tall.
Perfect hair.
Drummer posture.
The kind of face that probably got forgiven for crimes immediately.
He took one look at Will bleeding on the pavement and said:
"Oh, wow. Okay. Yeah. This is bad."
"Steve Harrington," El whispered faintly.
Steve gave her a quick apologetic wave before crouching beside Will.
"You alive?"
"Emotionally? Debatable."
Steve snorted.
A third figure leaned out from the SUV after him.
Curly hair shoved beneath a beanie.
Bass case wedged beside him awkwardly.
He looked exhausted in the deeply specific way only musicians and college students ever achieved.
Dustin Henderson surveyed the scene once and sighed.
"We’re trending by midnight."
"We are not trending," Steve said.
"We hit a guy with a car."
"Lightly hit a guy with a car."
"I don’t think that’s legally a category."
Behind them, Eddie still looked seconds away from throwing himself into traffic out of guilt.
"I swear, man, I didn’t see…"
"Eddie," Mike said quietly.
Eddie stopped immediately.
Will became suddenly aware of three extremely famous musicians standing around him while El looked moments away from ascending spiritually into another dimension.
Cool.
Very normal Friday evening.
Steve reached back into the SUV.
"Okay, good news," he announced. "We have a first aid kit."
"Why would famous people be travelling with medical supplies?" Will asked.
"Because Dustin once impaled his own thumb at a festival."
"I thought the nail gun was unplugged," Dustin defended.
Steve scoffed at that and rolled his eyes.
Mike crouched carefully beside Will then, close enough for Will to notice how tired he looked up close.
Not glamorous tired.
Real tired.
Like exhaustion had settled permanently behind his eyes.
Mike reached carefully toward the twisted bike frame.
"Can I?" he asked.
Will hesitated automatically.
Mike noticed immediately.
He stopped moving at once.
That was…
Unexpected.
Most people missed Will’s hesitation completely.
"Yeah," Will said finally.
Mike lifted the bike gently off him and set it aside.
Then his eyes landed on Will’s scraped palm again.
"That looks bad."
"It’s fine."
"It has gravel in it."
"I’ve had worse."
Something flickered briefly across Mike’s face.
Quick.
Unreadable.
Then Steve knelt beside them with antiseptic wipes.
"This might sting."
"It already stings."
"Perfect. Then prepare for more stinging."
Steve cleaned the cut carefully while Will hissed through his teeth.
"Sorry," Steve said immediately.
"You didn’t hit me."
"We participated by proxy."
El was still visibly malfunctioning nearby.
Will glanced toward her.
"El."
No response.
"Elena."
She jolted violently. "What?"
"You’re staring."
"I’m not staring."
"You absolutely are, or else you’ve gone catatonic."
Mike made a tiny sound beside him.
Almost a laugh.
Will looked over automatically.
Mike looked away immediately.
Interesting.
Eddie rubbed a hand down his face. "I’m buying this guy like… ten bikes."
"We’ll replace it," Mike said instantly.
"You really don’t have to," Will started.
"We hit you."
"I drove the car," Eddie muttered miserably.
"You work for us," Mike replied.
Steve pointed at him immediately. "See? This is what happens. Mike feels guilty and suddenly everybody’s getting adopted."
"I’m not adopting anybody."
Dustin looked at Will. "He absolutely is."
Mike glared at both of them.
El finally found her voice again.
"I have every album you’ve ever released and I went to your concert last year!”
Dustin clutched his chest dramatically. "See? Finally. A normal person."
"I cried during Static Hearts," El confessed.
Mike looked alarmed. "Sorry."
"Not normal crying," she clarified quickly. "Like medically concerning crying."
Steve burst out laughing.
Will looked at Mike.
His ears had gone pink.
Actually pink.
That felt unfairly human.
"You made my sister emotionally unstable," Will informed him.
"I don’t think I personally…"
"He writes sad songs about parking lots," Dustin said. "So he absolutely did."
Mike covered part of his face with one hand.
Will was beginning to realize Mike Wheeler looked confident right up until somebody spoke to him directly.
Then he folded like cheap laundry.
Which was annoyingly charming.
Not that Will cared.
At all.
Zero amount.
None.
Mike glanced toward the ruined bike.
The front wheel was bent almost sideways.
"…You can’t ride that."
Will turned to look.
Oh.
Yeah.
That looked catastrophic.
Like modern art created by somebody deeply bitter about bicycles.
"Great," he muttered.
Mike immediately looked guiltier somehow.
Which made Will feel weirdly bad.
Which was deeply unfair considering he was the one bleeding.
Ryan Mercer finally stepped out from the SUV then, phone in one hand, expression exhausted beyond reason.
Band manager energy radiated off him instantly.
He took one look at the scene.
Then sighed.
"Okay," Ryan said calmly. "Here’s the plan before TMZ manifests physically in front of us."
"That’s dramatic," Mike muttered.
"You’re dramatic," Ryan replied instantly.
He pointed toward the SUV.
"We put the destroyed bike in the back, drive them home, buy him a new bike, and avoid headlines like: Paper Halo commits vehicular manslaughter."
"Manslaughter feels excessive," Dustin said.
"Vehicular indie crime?" Steve offered.
El looked delighted. "I’d frame that article."
Will looked toward the SUV.
Then at El’s pleading expression.
Then back at Mike.
Mike wasn’t smiling anymore.
He just looked genuinely worried.
And tired.
And painfully sincere.
Will hated that the most.
"Fine," he sighed. "But if you murder us, my sister’s ghost is still asking for autographs."
"I would not," El gasped.
"You absolutely would."
Mike’s mouth twitched.
"Fair."
Steve opened the SUV door dramatically.
"Your chariot awaits."
El climbed in first trying and failing spectacularly, to act normal.
Eddie and Dustin loaded the destroyed bike and El’s still functioning bike into the back while Ryan muttered something about insurance claims shortening his lifespan.
Will lingered beside the open SUV door.
Mike waited nearby.
Not rushing him.
Not assuming.
Just waiting.
"You really don’t listen to our music?" Mike asked quietly.
Will shrugged.
"El plays it constantly."
Mike nodded once.
"And?"
Will looked at him.
"And what?"
"Do you hate it?"
Will considered lying.
Instead he said:
"It’s dramatic."
Mike looked personally attacked.
"Dramatic good or dramatic bad?"
"Dramatic like somebody wrote lyrics at three in the morning instead of going to therapy."
Dustin barked out a laugh from the back of the SUV.
Steve pointed aggressively. "I SAID THAT LAST WEEK."
Mike looked horrified. "Whose side are you on?"
"No one’s. This is just funny shit."
Mike looked back at Will.
And laughed.
A real laugh this time.
Small.
Warm.
Surprised out of him accidentally.
And for one tiny second something shifted quietly between them.
Nothing huge.
Just a match catching in the dark.
‘Wonderful’ Will thought to himself, wryly.
El leaned out the SUV window desperately.
"Will, get in before I pass away."
"Too late," Dustin called.
Will climbed into the SUV.
Mike got in beside him close enough that their knees almost touched.
The door shut.
The city blurred around them in streaks of neon and headlights.
Across from him, El looked like she was simultaneously having:
- a religious experience
- a panic attack
- and the best night of her life
Will stared out the window trying very hard not to notice Mike beside him.
Trying not to notice the way Mike kept glancing toward his bandaged hand.
Trying not to notice the quiet scrape of his voice when he said:
"I really am sorry."
Will looked at him.
And for some reason, he believed him.