Chapter Text
CHAPTER ONE
Sophomore
September 1st, 1986
Mike perches on a chair at the breakfast table in the Wheeler’s kitchen, his fork pushing pieces of bacon and cut-up pancake around his plate, none of them reaching his mouth. It’s late August, and the heat of the summer still hangs in the air. The room is stuffy and uncomfortable. He’s dressed all wrong, blue jeans that are slightly too big for him, and a dark maroon sweater that hangs off his slender frame in a weak attempt to soften the sharp angles of his elbows. He’s going to stick out like a sore thumb today, his first day of sophomore year at Hawkins High. Not just because he’s dressed ridiculously for August, but because he will be alone. Completely, terrifyingly alone.
Summer was shit. It was the shittiest summer in the history of Mike Wheeler’s pathetic existence. He spent nearly every day in his room, blinds down, hiding from the sun, hiding from his friends, hiding from everything that made him Mike Wheeler. This was after an angry, tear-stained Eleven had broken up with him, because she was ‘growing,’ and ‘needed to learn to be El, the fifteen-year-old girl,' not ‘El, the superhero,’ or ‘El, Mike’s girlfriend.’ He wanted to call absolute bullshit on that; El could be just a girl and his girlfriend. But everyone else around him seemed to agree with her. And they were all comforting her, Will and Dustin and Lucas, even though she broke up with him. She dumped him.
It wasn’t just Eleven that had dumped him, either. Everyone in his life has abandoned him. Lucas spends nearly all day, every day at the hospital with Max. Dustin hasn’t been the same since Eddie died, but he seems to forget that Eddie was Mike’s friend, too. And, he guesses, he can’t blame them for having their shit. He can give them a pass.
But Will. It’s like, Will Byers, Mike’s-best-friend-of-twelve-years, it’s like he left for California last year and was then abducted by aliens. And in his place, they left a lookalike. He’s not Will Byers anymore, at least not the Will that Mike has always known. He’s different. He avoids Mike, hiding away all day, either in the basement or outside with El. Will can’t even hold his gaze at the dinner table.
And Will lied to him. Will lied about so much, so easily. And Mike hated it. So, if Will wanted to be different and weird, Mike would let him. He didn’t need Will. He didn’t need anyone.
But that left Mike alone. Alone and facing sophomore year with nothing to lean on but his locker and the stack of comic books inside it. If it weren’t for the stupid quarantine, he would have left Hawkins, left the state, maybe even the country. He wasn’t allowed to be homeschooled either; he’d already asked. His father had said he needed to Man up, face his problems, get over them, and stop being a pussy. So here he is, pretending to eat breakfast, with a brick in his stomach, hoping a bus hits him on the way to school.
His mother glances over at him and frowns. “Mike,” she jabs, “stop playing with your food. Either eat it or get going, you’re going to be late for school. You can’t be late for the first day back.”
He sighs; he knows his mom is right. He is going to be late. Will left nearly half an hour ago, without so much as a goodbye or a see you at school. This will be the first time since kindergarten that he won’t be showing up next to Will on the first day of school, except for last year, when Will was in California. But that was different. Last year, they couldn’t ride their bikes to school together or show up giddy for a new year. They could this year. They could be together right now. But they’re not. And they probably won’t ever again.
Mike heaves himself up out of the chair, his limbs cumbersome and half-asleep. “Sorry, Mom,” he says, rubbing his eyes and grabbing his school bag from the hallway. “I’m not very hungry. I’ll eat at school.”
Karen shakes her head at him, defeated.
The doors swing open, and the hallways are empty. Shit. He’s missed the start of first period. He doesn’t know what class he has either, because he never picked up his timetable over the summer. Off to a great start, he thinks, and drags his feet to the school reception.
The receptionist is an older woman; her grey hair is scraped into a tight bun that pinches the skin on her cheekbones upwards. She raises her eyebrows at Mike. “Do you need something? Classes started fifteen minutes ago,” she looks him up and down, “Mr...?”
“Wheeler, Mike Wheeler,” he sighs, “I, uh, I don’t have my class timetable, sorry. Would you be able to print me a copy, please?”
The woman sucks her teeth and tuts at him, then wordlessly prints him a sheet of paper with a list of his classes. The first class is English, with Mrs Morgan, and despite it being his favourite subject, he doesn’t feel like he has the physical capability to walk in late. The sheer embarrassment would kill him much faster than any interdimensional monster ever could.
He finds himself locked in a stall in the boy’s bathrooms, his feet tucked up on the lid, his knees hugging his chest. It’s been a long time since Mike ended up fighting tears in a bathroom stall. He’s always been bullied, always been a freak, but he’s also always had friends. Best friends. Until now.
Mike digs in his school bag and pulls out the fourth issue of the Man of Steel limited series that’s currently being released. He’s already read this issue three or four times in the past month, but he hasn’t had a chance to get his hands on issue five yet, so he leafs through the dog-eared comic book and lets himself fall into the storyline.
The school bell rings, signalling the end of first period. The blaring sound shocks Mike, sending a jolt through him, jumpstarting his heart and making it hammer in his chest. He’s shaking as he leaves the bathroom and makes his way to his second period class. Art with Miss Collins.
Mike hates art with a burning passion. Mostly because he’s fucking shit at it. He loves looking at art, at comic books, but he can’t even draw a stick figure without wanting to snap every pencil and paintbrush within a ten-foot radius of him. However, he had to pick a creative subject as an elective. There was no way in hell he was going to pick Drama. No matter how much time he spent roleplaying in his formative years. His acting skills were sacred and treasured and only shared with his party – not that there was much of a party to share with anymore.
So that left him to pick between Art and Music, and really, he should’ve picked music. He can play the guitar semi-decently, and he can sing fairly well. He hasn’t done either in a while, but he could, if he tried. But... Will was taking art. And Mike didn’t want Will to be alone, especially after doing his freshman year in Lenora, away from most of his friends. So, Mike picked art. Back when he was still best friends with Will. And Dustin and Lucas. Back when he had friends, period. Now he’s just stuck in a class he hates, with a boy who hates him, a boy who used to look at him like the solar system orbited around him.
Mike hovers outside the door of the art studio, his palms sweating and his heart still thundering in his chest. He’s shaking, and glad he skipped breakfast now, because his empty stomach is the only thing keeping him from vomiting onto the floor. It takes all his strength to push the door open and step inside the classroom.
“Good morning, Michael,” Miss Collins says in her sweet, sing-song voice. She’s a young woman, probably only a few years older than Nancy. Her skin is a soft honey colour, and her dark curls are piled high on the top of her head. She’s a warm, inviting person, which Mike finds comforting. “Take a seat anywhere you like,” she says, smiling at him.
He turns to face the room and makes eye contact with Will. He’s sitting at the very front desk, sketchbooks and pencils already strewn over the surface. One of the sketch books is lying open, the page filled with doodles and drawings. They’re mostly of plants. He’s been spending a lot of time away from the Wheeler house, so he must be outside sketching.
Mike conjures an image in his head. Will, sitting cross-legged in the field, wildflowers scattered around him. He’s lost in thought, fingers moving quickly across the page, alternating between drawing soft curves and sharp lines. El is in the daydream too, training her powers. She’s happy. She’s levitating. She’s laughing at a joke Will has made, and he’s laughing too. He looks so happy. That’s how the two of them spent their summer, giggling with each other. Without him.
Mike drops his gaze and walks sheepishly to the furthest corner of the room. He sits next to the window, and his eyes stay transfixed on the trees outside for the next hour. Miss Collins takes no notice of his avoidance until the bell rings, signalling the start of their morning break.
“Michael, will you stay back for a second?” she asks gently.
Mike is quiet, but obliges, rocking back and forth on his heels as the rest of the class dissipates. He notices that Will is one of the last to leave, almost like he doesn’t want to, like he has something to say. But then he follows the rest of the students, and he’s gone.
Mike’s attention is pulled back to Miss Collins. “Michael,” she starts, “is everything okay?”
Mike shrugs, balling up the ends of his sweater into his fists, hands disappearing. Anything to make himself smaller. “Yeah,” he mumbles, “everything’s fine.”
“Are you sure? You weren’t very engaged in class today. That’s not like you, you’re normally a very enthusiastic student – even if you aren’t a massive fan of art. You also weren’t registered for first period today. You didn’t make it to your English class?”
Mike feels his throat begin to close, words choking him, thick vines wrapping around his neck. He can’t look Miss Collins in the eye. He knows she’s trying to be nice, to be helpful, but he would much rather be left alone right now. “I was just late this morning. And I didn’t have any time to eat breakfast, so I’m not feeling well, that’s why I was spaced out a little. I promise I’m okay. Thank you.”
“Okay,” she sighs. “Well, go have something to eat now before your next class, and I’ll see you soon. I’m always here if you need someone to talk to, Michael.”
Mike nods, swiftly leaving the classroom as an embarrassed blush flushes up his neck into his face. How come teachers need to notice everything when everyone else acts like he’s invisible?
His next two classes passed much the same as art, him ignoring the world around him and daydreaming about a time when life didn’t feel so miserable and bleak. The bell rings, signalling his lunch period. The thing he’s been dreading the most all day.
Mike shuffles into the cafeteria, panic rising inside him like a wave in a stormy sea. His vision is a little fuzzy as he lines up with the other sophomore students. He picks up a tray and fills his plate with some form of mashed potatoes and steamed vegetables, carries the tray to a table, and sits alone. None of his party – ex party? – have arrived yet, so it’s a waiting game to see if they join him. He isn’t sure what would be worse, his friends sitting with him or continuing to ignore him. Both seem equally humiliating.
It takes another ten minutes for any of the other boys to show up in the dining hall. Ten miserable minutes that are no different from breakfast, just Mike pushing food around his plate and wishing a gate to the Upside Down would open up underneath him and swallow him whole.
It’s Lucas who eventually approaches him. He seems hesitant, unsure of how to navigate the conversation. “Hey... Mike,” he attempts, “we – Dustin and Will and I – we're uh, sitting over there,” he gestures vaguely to another corner of the hall, where Mike can see his old friends chatting. They don’t look happy, but they don’t look sad either. “Are you joining us? Or...” Lucas trails off.
Mike shrugs. “I’m actually not... super hungry right now. I had a big breakfast. I think I’m gonna go to the library and see if they have the newest instalment of...” he tries to think of book series, but comes up blank, “this thing I got into over the summer. An indie comic book series,” he lies. With that, he stands and walks as quickly as he can, leaving his tray and plate where Lucas is standing.
He doesn’t know where he’s walking as he roams the halls, circling round and looping back on himself. His hands are trembling, and he’s freezing, and he doesn’t know why. It’s so warm outside, and he’s in this stupid, massive sweater, but he’s shivering. An icy, biting cold is settling deep into his bones.
Mike feels dizzy; he blames it on the walking in circles. His head is spinning, and he’s scared he’s going to pass out if he doesn’t sit down and control his breathing. So, that’s how he finds himself in the bathroom for the second time that day, clutching his knees and rocking back and forth.
Something is gripping his chest and squeezing the life out of him. Something dark and sinister, something that doesn’t want him to be able to breathe, or to think, or to move. He’s paralysed; his limbs numb, pins and needles shooting through them.
He has a sudden, petrifying fear that this isn’t just a panic attack, it isn’t just him having one of his ‘moments’. What if it really is something out to get him, something interdimensional, Vecna, the Mind Flayer? The thought crushes him. Impending doom cascades down on him as if he’s pulled a brick out at the bottom of a wall, and the wall is collapsing on top of him.
He needs to escape, to run somewhere, anywhere but here.
Mike doesn’t realise that he’s standing in his front yard until he’s already there. His bike is discarded in the driveway. It’s a dizzying feeling, almost like he blacked out and teleported home. And it’s only one o’clock, he shouldn’t be home for another two hours. His mother is going to flip out.
He cracks the door open, drawing in a deep, shaky breath. “Hey, Mom?”
Karen’s head peeks out into the hallway from the kitchen doorframe. “Michael? Why are you home? Has something happened?”
Mike swallows and does his best to look miserable and unwell, which is unsurprisingly, not overwhelmingly challenging. “Yeah, I, uh... I threw up at lunch,” he lies, “so they sent me home. I’m still feeling really bad, like nauseous and dizzy.” That’s not a lie.
Karen frowns sympathetically, “Oh, baby...” she sighs. “It’s funny, the school never called... oh well. Why don’t you head upstairs and have a lie down then, darling?” She pats his shoulder, which is about as physically affectionate as his family ever gets. It makes him ache.
He heads upstairs, slowly and gripping the banister for support. He still feels woozy. He reaches his bedroom, slips his jeans off and changes into sweatpants, but leaves his sweatshirt on. He slides into his bed, curling up under the covers, shivering even in the warmth of his east-facing bedroom.
He’s half-asleep when Karen knocks softly on his door, then cracks it ajar. “Hi, Sweetie,” she says gently, “I’ve brought you a bucket, just in case you get sick again.” He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he had nothing in his stomach to throw up, even if he was truthfully unwell. “Are you not too hot?” she asks. She steps over to him, crouches next to his bed, and places a hand on his forehead. Her brows knit together as her fingers press against Mike’s skin. “Hmm. I thought you might have a fever... but you’re very cold. How odd. Stay tucked up in here under your covers. Shout if you need me, okay?”
Mike nods, then rolls over, hoping his mom understands that he wants to be left alone. She takes the hint and clicks the door closed behind her.
It’s a few hours before Mike is disturbed again. He’s sleeping, albeit fitfully, when there’s a knock at his door in the early evening. “Yeah? Come in,” he says groggily.
He’s expecting his mom again, or maybe Nancy, but it’s Will standing in the doorway. He’s wearing an old Star Wars shirt, one that used to belong to Mike. He’d given it to Will when they arrived home from California, because Mike had had a growth spurt over the winter. They used to be the same height, but now Mike was at least four inches taller, and almost all of his shirts were too short. They rose up and exposed his stomach if he lifted his arms, and it made him uncomfortable and sheepish. So, he gave most of them to Will and started dressing exclusively in oversized clothes. It worked out well for Will, considering most of his clothes had been abandoned in Lenora.
Will clears his throat in the doorway, his expression almost unreadable, with just a hint of worry mixed with confusion. “Hey, um... sorry to bother you,” he mumbles.
Mike sits up wearily, propping himself up on his elbows. His curls are a mess, flat and stuck to each other on the side he was lying on and bouncing haywire on the other. “It’s fine... what’s up?” he asks. Will hasn’t knocked on his door in months.
Will steps inside, “I just needed to give this to you, that’s all.” He hands Mike a copy of a book, and Mike squints at the cover. It’s Romeo and Juliet. Something buried deep inside Mike, something normally dormant, bubbles and flips around. Mike feels sick. Why the hell has Will just handed him a copy of Romeo and Juliet? Is this some kind of sick prank after El broke up with him? What is wrong with him?
Mike screws his face up at Will, turning his nose up in part-confusion, part-disgust. He doesn’t need to say anything for Will to know he doesn’t understand.
Will swallows, nervously scratching at the back of his head. “It’s not from me, it’s from Mrs Morgan,” he explains. “I mean, like, she gave the whole class a copy... but you skipped first period. And fifth and sixth.” He’s breathing heavily. He looks almost scared. “It’s just the book we’re studying this semester, and Mrs Morgan asked me where you were.” Will pauses. “Because we’re, you know, friends... I guess. So, I offered to pass your copy on to you. That’s all.” He looks like he’s finished, but he’s still hovering there, two feet away from the foot of Mike’s bed.
“Thanks then,” Mike mumbles.
“It’s nothing,” Will shrugs, sheepishly, then pauses again. “Are you... are you okay? Just because,” he flashes a glance at the empty bucket, “well, you weren’t in class, or at lunch.”
Mike sighs. “I’m fine, Will. I’m fine. I’m just not feeling good, I think it’s a stomach bug or something. I’ll be fine. Can you just... leave me to sleep, please? Thanks again for the book.”
Will nods. “Okay. Your mom says dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes.”
“Can you tell her I’m not hungry? I still feel too sick. Tell her to put some in the fridge for me, and I’ll heat it up later.”
“Okay,” Will whispers, and lets the door close behind him. Mike listens to his footsteps until they fade and he can’t hear them anymore.
Later that night, when he hopes everyone else is asleep, or at least in their bedrooms, Mike creeps downstairs and finds his leftovers in the fridge. Spaghetti bolognese. It is his favourite.
He peels back the Saran Wrap covering and watches as the bowl spins around in the microwave for a few minutes. He stops the microwave just before the bell rings, careful not to wake anyone in the house. He grabs his cutlery then sits, not at the table but in the corner, on the floor, and slowly, carefully, Mike eats his first meal of the day.
He breathes a sigh of relief as he finishes and washes up, relaxing as he hasn’t been caught sneaking around in the dark, then he heads back upstairs to bed.