dustin would have been the boyfriend el always deserved and i stand by that !!!!!!!!
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

JVL
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Claire Keane
will byers stan first human second
styofa doing anything
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祝日 / Permanent Vacation

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@thehawkinspost83
dustin would have been the boyfriend el always deserved and i stand by that !!!!!!!!
shauna shipman and mike wheeler giving us the absolutely evil bisexual representation the world needs right now
to read fanfiction or to write fanfiction, that is the question
heyy! second chapter of my byler fic ‘say don’t go (your silence has me screaming)’ is out now!! read it here on ao3 :)
say don't go (your silence has me screaming)
Part Two: the wondering
Pairing: Will Byers x Mike Wheeler
(Can be found HERE on ao3)
Part one can be found HERE :)
Word Count: 3k
Summary: Mike Wheeler knew many things for certain- what he didn’t know, was that he actually knew nothing at all.
----------------------------------------------------
Mike's forehead pressed into the frosty pane of the bus window, causing his skin to turn a harsh shade of red where it met the glass. His dark eyes darted back and forth as he watched the trees pass, snagging on the brown ‘Welcome to Hawkins’ sign nestled on the edge of the road, coated in a thick layer of snow.
His stomach felt as if it was turning itself inside out– and it wasn’t due to motion sickness. He tried to occupy his mind with distractions, with other things, but his palms were sweating, mind racing at the thought of what awaited him at home.
Things had changed. Mike had changed. And it made him sick.
After he had sent Will the letter at the end of September, the two of them had regularly corresponded throughout the semester. To be fair, the distance between them meant they could only talk so much, but the anticipation of waiting for a response had been a thrill that Mike had never experienced before. Something that had kept him going through the week. Something that made him excited to wake up in the morning, excited to go out and do things just so that he had something to tell Will.
Mike had felt a shift. Will was the same old Will– he wouldn’t dare change– but Mike… he was different. He was not that same boy that watched his best friend leave for college. Not the same boy who knew who he was; who knew how tomorrow was going to go, and the next day, and the next week, next month, next year. He no longer understood the order of things.
He was confused.
Everything Mike thought he knew about himself, had been tilted on its axis. He had said goodbye to Will when he left, said goodbye to his best friend, and thought nothing of it. Now, when he wrote to him, Mike thought about every word. Every single letter seemed to bear so much importance–would he say too much, would he not say enough? Will was his best friend, he knew that. He knew Will would always love him, always be there for him, no matter what; so why, why did he feel so unsure?
He was sure it was nothing. He was just bored– lonely. He had been without genuine human contact for so long. Hadn’t felt much of anything for anyone in forever. Hell, the last person he kissed was El, and that was nearly three years ago now. That was the only possible explanation for why Mike couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t stop thinking about his goddamn best friend.
The boy lightly thumped his head against the cold glass, attempting to knock some sense into himself. Seriously, this was getting ridiculous. He had to stop this before he embarrassed himself. He just had to stop.
Slowly, outside of the bus, the trees began to become more sparse and small buildings and barns began to take their place. The countryside began to fade away and Hawkins steadily took on form, filling the vast expanse of land before them. The bus continued to putter along, its three inhabitants happy to finally be nearing their destination. Mike reached down, his fingers wrapping around the strap of his backpack, which he promptly shrugged over his shoulder and he exited his seat– steadying himself with one of the overhead bars as he walked towards the doors of the bus.
The bus was slowing down now, stopping just outside of the Hawkins Post downtown.
Mike stepped off the bus, walkman blaring music in his ears, jacket zipped to his chin. He let out a shaky breath as he glanced around the familiar downtown, snow blanketing the ground, streets empty but businesses open. Mike looked across the street and smiled at the sight of the town theatre, where the four boys had seen all the Star Wars movies when they were kids. Will had always loved those movies.
Kicking mucky snow around with the tip of his scuffed pair of chucks, the boy’s mind began to race once more. For Mike, once he began thinking he couldn’t stop. Nancy had always told him he was pretty oblivious–and she did have a point, he could be– but the truth was, Mike felt as if he wasn’t slow to catch on to things, subconsciously he knew right away, he just took a while longer than anyone else to actually admit things to himself.
Once he admitted something, it was all he could think. It gnawed at him, slowly but surely, until it consumed him entirely.
He needed to be normal for Will. He needed to not let whatever emotional funk he was in right now affect their friendship, make Christmas weird for him. It couldn’t be that hard. Mike could be normal, could stash away all that he didn’t want Will to see–bury it deep inside the recesses of his mind.
To be completely frank, Mike still wasn’t completely sure what it was he didn’t want Will to see, exactly. The beat of his heart when the boy was near? The anxious sweating of his palms at the thought of his laugh? The delighted smile he couldn’t help but have whenever one of Will’s letters arrived in the mail?
It was then that Nancy pulled up beside Mike on the sidewalk in the family station wagon and laid on the horn, snapping Mike out of his daze.
“Alright, Alright!” He shouted, irritated at her constant honking, pulling his headphones down to hang around his neck, “jeez, I’m coming.”
Nancy just rolled her eyes at Mike when he stepped into the car, slamming the door as he situated himself in the passenger seat. She didn’t wait for him to buckle before she took off down mainstreet.
Nancy’s hair had grown out since he’d last seen her. She no longer had it cropped close to her ears, the look she had sported for a couple years after she’d graduated. Now, it curled just under her jaw–she seemed to have embraced her natural curls, taming them with a simple headband. Nancy had less time to think about her hair or her clothes these days, often wearing a pair of dresspants, white shirt tucked into her belt, and if she was working–which was often–she would throw on a blazer. It was nice, but not surprising, for Mike to see his sister thriving in her new position as an investigative journalist at the Chicago Tribune. It was good to see her thrive. He was happy–no, proud– that she was able to live, move past all that had happened to her. It was not a hidden fact that the events with the upside down did nothing but make Nancy Wheeler stronger.
They arrived at their home, pulling into their driveway situated at the end of the cul de sac, just as Holly jumped out of the backseat of a fancy white car.
“Thanks for the ride, Mrs. Turnbow!” She shouted.
“Of course, anytime dear.” The woman on the driver's side responded kindly, before driving away.
Mike stepped out of the passenger's side door, looking over the roof of the car at his little sister– who was seemingly not so little anymore. Holly was already thirteen years old, and the growth spurt she had hit nine months ago had left her taller than Nancy. She still sported her bright colours, flashy jewelry, and hair dyed a light orange colour. Mike hated– genuinely despised– to admit it, but he knew it was because of Max.
His little sister's face broke into a large grin as she jogged over to him, “Mike! You’re home!”
They met for a light embrace before the two of them, trailing after the eldest Wheeler, entered their house, snow crunching beneath their feet as they did so. Holly murmured steadily about her adventures with her friends–they had just spent the morning sledding down one of the many hills surrounding Hakwins–and the success of her last campaign, which she thinks ‘was her best one yet.’
Mike smiled, nodding along to one of Holly’s stories as he put his backpack down on the stairs leading up to his bedroom. The young girl stalled abruptly, looking up–well looking at, seeing as she was only two or so inches shorter than him–at Mike. She opened her mouth to speak, a long dramatic sigh being pushed out of her mouth.
“I think this is going to be the best Christmas ever.”
Mike’s stomach flipped again, remembering that he was truly home, and what that meant. Who that meant he would be seeing. He could not discern excitement from nerves, wanting to do a flip and having to throw up all over the floor. He matched Holly’s sigh, noting the shakiness in his exhale.
“I really hope you’re right about that.”
And god, he really really did.
--
Mike had been pacing– relentlessly, anxiously–across the Byers front porch for the past five minutes. It was December 11th, the frozen Indiana winter nipping at the back of his neck and any other piece of skin left exposed to the elements. He adjusted the scarf around his neck, loosening it slightly as he began to feel as if his throat was closing up. The cold that now kissed his neck was jarring, but better than the general sense of impending doom that he had begun to feel enclosing him.
God, why was he so nervous, and why was this so difficult.
He had been home for a week already, attending middle school christmas concerts, and playing late-night alcohol induced games of scrabble with Nancy. His family was the same as they had always been, Karen and the kids close, and Ted drifting off to sleep in his chair in the far corner of the living room. Mike had easily fallen back into the routine of living at home–his mom made dinner, and afterwards Holly would put away the left overs, whilst Nancy cleared the counters, and Mike steadily made his way through the dishes. Then they would disperse through the house, silently going about their mindless activities.
Karen would run a bath while Ted squandered whatever remained of his still-mobile years sleeping on his Lay-Z-Boy. His mom would usually disappear for the rest of the evening, heading straight to bed after she read a couple hours of whatever cheesy romance novel she was working her way through at that present moment in time. Nancy was rarely home, always hanging out with Robin downtown– the two of them apparently quite excited for Steve to get off work for the holidays and Jonathan to return home.
Holly could be found in the basement, drawing next to Mike, or planning out her next campaign, sometimes with the help of Derick or another one of her friends. Mike could hear them laughing, even with the door shut. It was a bittersweet feeling, hearing his sister experience so much joy from something that had once done the same for him. He was jealous; jealous that he had grown up and Holly had yet to do so. But on the other hand, it was kind of beautiful–the idea that a new generation was creating memories that they would treasure for the rest of their lives, cocooned in the basement that Mike and his friends had turned into a home.
A few times this week, Mike hadn’t been able to sleep. He was nervous, of course, for reasons that he still couldn’t bring himself to say out loud–or even write– out of fear that it would then become unavoidable. But besides that, he didn’t feel comfortable in his room anymore. It felt wrong, like trying to pull on jeans three sizes too small, or attempting to stretch someone else's skin over his bones. His room just felt like one big lie. So, to mend this, he had dragged his weary bones down into the empty basement a couple times this week, and curled up on the couch–falling asleep surrounded by walls that were wallpapered with Will Byers artwork. Falling asleep in the room that he had fallen for his best friend, and was just now beginning to realize it.
Yesterday, he got a call from Will. His voice had cut through the crackling speaker, warm and confident and so completely Will. He had invited Mike over to watch the new Exorcist movie–he said that Joyce had managed to snag the last copy from Family Video. Mike had stuttered out a ‘yes, I’d love to come over,’ face flushing furiously, before Will had happily said ‘cool, I’ll let Lucas and Dustin know. See you tomorrow!’
Mike got over his momentary disappointment that he wasn’t the only guest fairly quickly, when he realized that tomorrow, he would have to face Will. He would have to face his best friend, and try and act like everything was totally, 100% normal– when Mike knew, deep in his bones, that everything was totally, 100% not.
So yeah, he had been pacing outside, in the cold, afraid to knock on his best friend's door for the past five minutes. He felt as if he was playing a deadly game of Russian roulette–when (if) he knocked, the person who answered the door could be anyone out of a whole array of people, and it should be noted that Mike Wheeler had a definite preference of who he wished it would be.
Mike rolled his shoulder back, and let out a long exhale, shaking his gloved hands before reaching out and knocking gently on the door.
He could hear the ruckus happening behind the cabin walls. “The Cabin” being Hopper's old home, that the Byers had moved out of when Hopper got a deputy position in Montauk–now, they only used it for summers and holidays.
It was yet another thing that felt like a chipping piece of Mike's heart, this cabin. The place where El had been hidden from him and the rest of the world for nearly a year, the place where he thought he once knew love, but in truth never fully learned how to reciprocate, or even accept it. The place where he and his friends had fought off flesh demons, and the place where he had said goodbye to his best friend for the first time. The place where he came many nights after El left, lost and stumbling. And now, it was the place that held what felt–at least time him– like the fate of the entire universe.
There was a shout that jarred Mike back to reality, then a loud laugh, and footsteps.
His spine stiffened and the door opened slowly, revealing a smiling Will Byers.
Mike forgot how to breathe.
Will was standing there, a smile plastered to his face like he had just been laughing, wide, and genuine, and young, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. A rosy blush covered his cheeks, giving the impression that he was the one standing outside in the cold and not Mike. His hair had grown out since the last time they’d seen each other, loose shaggy waves reaching his ears. His shoulders were broad as ever, but he seemed to have filled out during the fall, muscles apparent due to the stretch of his maroon shirt over his shoulders and biceps. The taller boys gaze snagged on a shimmer of gold on his ear, a hoop piercing. And his eyes. Oh god, his eyes.
Mike swallowed, his mouth feeling awfully dry.
Will looked at him, smile fading abruptly as he took him in, dumbfounded expression and obviously nervous stance. He didn’t say anything–neither of them did for a moment. Will simply stared, mouth slightly open, cheeks slightly flushed.
Mike kicked himself, groaning internally. He was supposed to be normal, and here he was standing around, staring like an idiot.
He cleared his throat, “Hi.”
Will stared for a moment more, before the side of his lip quirked upwards slightly into the smallest of smiles, “Hey.”
His voice. Mike was realizing just how much he had missed his voice.
“I.. um-” Mike started, adjusting his scarf once again. He was beginning to feel quite hot.
“Do you want to come in?” Will asked, interrupting Mike before he could embarrass himself too badly.
Mike took a step forward before responding, “I, yeah… of course.”
Will smiled widened. He seemed to roll his eyes a little.
Mike stalled slightly, watching as Will swung the door back fully, pressing his back up against it, but still looking at Mike. Through the door he could see Dustin, Max, and Lucas sitting on the floor by the couch, eating popcorn and laughing. He watched as Max threw a piece up in the air and Lucas caught it in his open mouth.
He glanced back over at Will, who was looking at him expectantly.
“Well?” He asked, “Are you coming in?”
Seriously, what the hell was Mike doing? So much for acting ‘normal’.
Mike laughed awkwardly, stepping forward and towards the door. As he passed through the arch of the doorway, his shoulder grazed Will’s chest, sliding across his thin shirt, feeling the imprint of his hard flesh beneath.
It caused Mike to jump back slightly, and quickly step into the house. The touch was electric, the feeling, the connection. It was as if he had just placed his hand on a boiling hot stove.
He quickly stripped off his coat, toque, and jacket, before removing his shoes. His mind was racing a million miles a minute, as he fought to force the blush off his cheeks.
As he greeted his three other friends, he looked over his shoulder, where Will was still standing–watching. His stomach plummeted.
He glanced back towards Dustin quickly, who was busy filling him in on something to do with an exam mishap- but the only thing he was thinking of were hazel eyes, a gold hoop earring, and a half dozen hand written letters.
Jesus, Mike thought, this is going to be a long night.
can fanfic writers please please pleaseeee stop using ai !!!!!!! its so obvious and its literally killing our planet + our creativity !!! who cares if it takes you a month to write a chapter please DON’T USE AI !!!!!
every universe except this one, i guess.
why am i plagued with all this university coursework, when all i want to do is write fan fiction in my bedroom?
say don't go (your silence has me screaming)
Part One: The Beginning
Pairing: Will Byers x Mike Wheeler
(Can be found HERE on ao3)
Word Count: 4k
Summary: Mike Wheeler knew many things for certain- what he didn’t know, was that he actually knew nothing at all.
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Mike Wheeler knew many things for certain.
He knew he loved his sisters, Nancy and Holly. He knew his parents loved him, even though they forgot to show it sometimes. He knew where he came from. He knew what had happened in that small midwestern town. He knew that his friends from back home would always have his back, even though they only saw each other when everyone returned home for the summers. He knew he hated his college roommate more than he likely deserved, simply for asking too many questions about some painting Mike had on his wall. He knew he loved to write. He knew he missed school, shockingly, because it was predictable. He knew he loved his friends. He knew who he was. And Mike Wheeler knew– eternally, endlessly, undoubtedly– that William Byers would always love him.
What Mike didn’t know was that he actually knew nothing at all.
—
Mike sat in front of his desk in his dorm, fingers anxiously thrumming on its hard wooden surface as he stared blankly down at his typewriter. The paper was lodged carefully in its place, ready to be written on, stained by ink, whenever he decided to actually take action. You see, Mike had been sitting at his desk for the last twenty minutes, alternating between the aforementioned anxious jitters and biting on the loose peeling skin around his thumbnail– evidently getting no writing done at all. The boy was nervous; nervous because he wasn’t sure how soon into the semester was too soon to send his best friend a letter.
Attending a community college only about fifty minutes outside of Hawkins was the only option for Mike in the post secondary department. The government had offered them all money in exchange for their contractual silence—an offer which Mike had refused. Nearly everyone else accepted the hush money. Lucas, Max, Dustin, and Will had put it into saving accounts to pay for their out-of-state tuition. Nancy wasn't really given much money, but she was smart enough to do just fine in the scholarships department. Instead of money, she was absolved of any charges that would have been pressed against her for the many crimes she had committed in the fight against Vecna. Hopper got pretty much the same deal, with the added bonus of his old job. Mike couldn't have imagined taking the money. Being paid off for El's suffering. He couldn't do it. Wouldn't. He needed the world no know her name— know that she was a hero.
His grades had slipped from high A’s to low C’s after El had left town, as he worked harder on digging himself out of the pits of depression than acing his chemistry tests. The year after he graduated, Mike took a couple courses to make himself eligible for full time study, and the following year, he switched from commuting two days a week, to living on campus in a dorm paid for by his parents. As it turns out, Ted Wheeler could only handle so many of his son's snide comments.
Now, at nineteen, Mike was in his freshman year, still living close to their hometown, while all his friends scattered around the country. Dustin was attending Princeton university, Max and Lucas were off gallivanting somewhere–seeing what the world has to offer– and Will was at NYU.
So yeah, Mike missed his friends. But mostly, he missed Will.
He missed their bike rides, and their campaigns. He missed talking into the late hours of the night, saying things that he knew only Will could understand. He missed reading comic books together–Mike analyzing the story whilst Will appreciated the differing art styles. He missed simply existing together in the stuffy confines of his parents basement, lounging around watching the hours tick by. He missed when they lived together, he missed saving the world together.
When Will moved away the summer after graduation, Mike was already struggling with losing El, so his absence just added to the ache in Mike's chest. But after another year had passed, the ache faded into something dull, and Will came back for break just to be yanked away from Mike once more, it truly hit him. It hit him how much he needed Will Byers, his best friend, the only person who really saw him.
In August, Will had told him to write whenever. Mike had smiled, said he would, and clapped his friend on the back–you know, as friends do. Then he watched as the boy walked over to his mothers green car, luggage piled high and pressing against all the windows. Will had turned around, smiling sadly at Mike over his shoulder as he slowly slid into the passenger's side of the vehicle. Mike's heart had stuttered then, a lump becoming increasingly evident in his throat. Will had waved. Mike mirrored him–as he always did– and watched the car start down the road.
That was a month ago. and Mike had thought that would be the worst of it– saying goodbye to his best friend, his Will– but he was, apparently, sorely mistaken. The ache in his bones that he had felt when El had left, was pressing down on him once more, making it impossible to ignore his sadness, the complete and utter loneliness that had curled up and rested on his chest. Mike needed to talk to his best friend; he needed to hear about his days, his classes, his new friends. He wanted to hear about awful professors and the new paintings he was working on. He wanted to hear about how he had decorated his dorm, and how often he saw Jonathan. Mike wanted to tell Will how much he missed him, and how much he hoped Will missed him back.
So, swallowing back his nerves and steadying his hands, he began to type.
---------
Dear Will,
I’ve tried to hold off on writing this letter for as long as I could but, evidently, I didn’t end up making it that far. I don’t know how I managed to go so long without speaking to you while you were in Lenora.
How’s it going in The Big Apple New York? How are your classes? I remember you saying something about an art class you were really excited about, something to do with the prof being pretty famous or something? Tell me about your sophomore year, sorcerer.
Do you find it hard? Acting normal like we didn’t experience what we did? Everything that happened before graduation… sometimes I can’t stop thinking about it. I feel so stuck. Stuck in routine, in the memories, in the unknown. I don’t know how you do it, Will. Act so brave and carry so much. You called me ‘the heart’ when you gave me my painting a few years back, but I’m not the heart, Will. You are. You’re the courageous one, the one who keeps the party alive. You kept us alive. You’re the sorcerer, and I’m just a cowardly storyteller who can’t even leave his home town.
Anyways, I guess since you’ve been gone I’ve just truly noticed your absence. It's dumb, I know, because I’ve been without you before–Lenora, last year– but this time it feels substantial, like I can’t just avoid it or something, I don't know.
The last two times you were gone, I guess I thought I only missed El. And I did. I missed her so much. I still do, probably always will. But it hurts the same way without you, too. I catch myself going about my day and just wondering about you– what you’re doing, how you’re doing, when I’ll see you next. I don’t think I tell you enough, but you really are my best friend. I’m so grateful for you Will, for wanting to stay friends–best friends– after everything, even after you told me everyone your secret. I think about that a lot.
Anyways, I’m proud of you happy for you. Happy that you got out of Hawkins and are living life the way you deserve. Selfishly, I wish you came back home more– do you still call Hawkins home? I hope so. I don’t know if I could live somewhere that you didn’t feel was your home.
Sorry if this letter is weird. I didn’t really know who else to talk to. I guess I sorta figured you might understand how I'm feeling. Stuck. I don’t know what I’m doing.
Hopefully my next one will be better.
Say hi to Jonathan for me. Nancy says hi too, I'm sure. Oh, and tell me about your fancy New York art, and your fancy New York apartment.
Your friend,
Mike.
-------
It had been just over a week since Mike had nervously dropped off his letter to Will at the campus post office, fingers sweaty and shaking as he did so. One week of waiting, wondering what Will was thinking.
He didn’t know why he was so worried about the letter. Seeing as it was literally just a letter. Friends write letters all the time. Mike himself had already received a letter from Dustin, and talked to Lucas on the phone three times. Why was his correspondence with Will any different? It felt different. It felt endlessly different. Mike felt as if he was starving, as he waited for Will's reply. He couldn’t pay attention in class, eyes glazing over as he thought back to all the times he took Will’s presence for granted, all the times he had his best friend right there in front of him, and didn’t appreciate it for what it was.
So, suffice to say, when Mike stopped by the post office on his way back from class, he was quite pleased to see Will’s handwriting sloping over the front of a clean envelope. He raced back to his dorm and tore open the letter without a second thought, careful not to rip the envelope where Will had delicately written Mike’s name.
-------
October 3rd, 1990
Mike,
It's a dorm room– not a ‘fancy New York apartment’. I have a roommate. His name is Richard and he’s nice enough. He’s funny. He wears big glasses, kind of like the ones Dustin's girlfriend was wearing when we met her in Utah. I wouldn’t say we’re friends but we get along. And yes, I do have friends– don’t worry, Michael. I am meeting so many new people, even just this semester. New York is nothing like Hawkins.
I’ve been painting a lot. Not so much in my free time any more, but I’m taking mainly visual arts classes so that takes up a lot of my time anyways. I’ll have to get some photos developed for you so you can see them. Next time.
Your letter wasn’t weird. I get it. I found it so hard to try and fit in for so long, so I understand what you mean. I think distractions help. When I was home (yes, Hawkins is still home, idiot), in high school, I had you you guys. So that helped get my mind off everything. Now I have my classes and everyone here. I hardly even have time to think about it, or Hawkins. Sometimes I still have nightmares, but it's fine in the daytime.
I think finding your own sort of distractions could help. Don’t just stay in your room all day.
What have you been writing recently? Tell me about that. That could be a good distraction too.
Have you met anyone at school?
I miss you too. I miss the party, I miss home, I miss everyone. But I’m happy here. I think if I had stayed in Hawkins it would have killed me a little bit. But yeah, I miss my best friend. Nobody here understands me quite like you do. How could they? You were there through all of it. You saw it all and still called me your friend… I don’t know if anyone here would even believe me, let alone stay friends with someone who had gone through what we did.
And Mike, I miss her too.
Anyways, it was nice to check my mail and see your name. That's the first time I’ve ever opened a letter from Michael Wheeler. Don’t stop, please.
Love,
Will.
P.S. you’re still the heart Mike. Try and remember that.
---------
October 8th, 1990
To Will,
Thank you for the letter. I wasn’t sure you were going to respond. It could have been your chance at revenge on fifteen year old me. I never properly apologized for that. I’m sorry.
Actually, now is probably a good time to apologize for everything. I wish I could do it in person– I should have done it in person ages ago. But I guess I was scared or something, I don’t know. I’m sorry I never wrote to you when you were in Lenora. I tried to call. A lot. Your mom was always hogging the phone. It’s not an excuse. I could have written. I don’t know why I didn’t, I was writing El. I guess I was worried you would think i. I should have been there for you, when you moved, and even before that. I wasn’t the friend I thought I was. I took you for granted Will. I assumed you would be there no matter what. love me no matter what.
I’m trying to be better. I’m sorry it took so long.
I’m happy to hear how well you’re doing, and that you have friends. Although, selfishly, I miss our party. I miss everything
It’s good you like your roommate. Mines a piece of shit. I wish I could be there to help you with your nightmares, like I did when you lived at my place. I’m sorry you’re still having nightmares Will. I wish there was more I could do.
I’ve been writing. It’s a book actually. It's about a sorcerer and his friends saving the world with the help of a girl with magic powers. It’s about us all of us. I’ll have to send you a copy when I finish– it might need some illustrations.
It's probably not very good but it helps me process everything that happened to us, helps me understand all that went down. It sounds dramatic as all hell but it’s helped me see the whole situation so differently. See myself differently.
I haven’t really met anyone at school yet.
I would love to see photos of your art whenever you have them.
I miss you,
Mike
P.S. Thanks for the words of advice. Guess you really are Will the Wise.
-------
October 25th, 1990
Dear Mike,
Your book sounds amazing. And of course I'll read it. Maybe I can look at the first few chapters when I come back for winter break.
As for the nightmares, it’s not a big deal. Once I realize I was just dreaming, it's okay. You should really be worrying about my roommate– the amount of times he’s been woken up by my dreams is getting ridiculous. Hopefully he doesn’t try to smother me in my sleep the next time I wake him up at four in the morning.
You don’t need to apologize, Mike. We talked about it years ago. I’m sorry you still feel bad, honestly. Don’t punish yourself for something you didn’t even understand you were doing. Yes, it hurts, but you’re my friend and I forgive you. I forgave you a long time ago.
Plus, I’ve got my fair share of things to be sorry for. Things I did that you forgave. Things that a lot of people wouldn’t have been able to understand. The fact that you’re still my best friend. It means a lot more to me than you know.
I wish I had more to write.
I’m going out to a bar with some friends tonight. It's a bar for people like me. That's another thing that's different about New York, there's things like that–places for people who feel alone. It's cool. I don’t know why I told you that.
Jonathan says hi, I saw him yesterday for lunch. He’s working on his final film before he graduates early in December.
Love,
Will
--------
November 4th, 1990
Will,
I feel your absence more at this time of year. The time it happened. I feel so acutely aware of something missing in my life, it's like someone chopped off my hand or something. I can physically feel it. I’ve always felt strange around November 6th, but it's especially apparent this year–because you aren’t with me I know I must sound silly to you, you had to go through all that and I’m the one complaining. It's just that I remember so vividly what I felt like when you went missing. I didn’t think you were actually gone, that anything could ever actually happen to you, that I would never not have you in my life. In my head, you were invincible. Will the Wise. If I close my eyes, I can still feel what I felt when I saw them lift you out of the water in the quarry. We thought you were gone. I never want to feel that way ever again.
I miss you more this time of year, but I guess I also realize how different my life could have been without you in it. You’re my I’m not making sense, sorry.
Yeah. Short letter today because I don’t have much to say, but I’m thinking of you. Like always
Thanks for the photos of your new paintings, Will. The one of the knight is incredible. I put the picture of it on my wall next to your other painting.
I can’t wait till we’re all back together for the holidays. I miss how we it used to be.
Anyways, see you soon.
Love Your friend,
Mike
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November 22nd, 1990
Dear Mike,
I’m writing this letter on the bus, so ignore my printing.
You have my painting? I didn’t think you’d keep it after I told you El didn’t commission it. I don’t know, I guess I just thought you would think that I’m weird, or like we can’t be friends or something it was nerdy, and that we were too old to be playing make believe like that. It means a lot that you kept it though. It means more than you could ever know.
I can’t write anymore because this godforsaken bus driver seems to want to set the record for most pot holes hit in ten minutes, so you’re not even getting a letter. Consider this a lengthy telegram.
I’ll be back in Hawkins on December 10th. Maybe I’ll see you then.
Love,
Will
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December 1st, 1990
Will,
You will definitely be seeing me then.
I head home in two days, so I’m planning on posting this letter on my way out of campus. I’ll take the bus into Hawkins. A long and grueling hour-long journey. A New Yorker like yourself could never understand.
And of course I kept your painting. Why wouldn’t I? My basement is basically wallpapered in your drawings at this point–has been for years– so why is this any different? Is it different? You’re an amazing artist, Will, so of course it's on my wall.
I had always thought it was odd that El would have commissioned that for me. She never even played D&D with us. The fact that you did makes it all the more special. More personal. You experienced all those campaigns firsthand, and all those things you felt throughout them are so easy to see in the painting. It's not weird that you made me a painting. It's not. El had told me that you made more than one, that you made one for me and for someone that she thought you liked. I’m very honored to have made the cut, and the other person you made a painting for in California was lucky beyond comprehension. Anyone who gets to experience your gift is lucky.
The only thing I don’t understand is why you lied. You don’t have to lie to me, Will. About anything.
See you in a week,
Love Mike.
reblogging because for some reason i posted this right before ao3 went down!! love that
little snapshot of the byler fic i've been working on :)
more of 'calamity's child' coming soon !
YAYYY FIRST CHAPTER OUT NOW!!! read it here :))
I hope you guys like it <33
say don't go (your silence has me screaming)
Part One: The Beginning
Pairing: Will Byers x Mike Wheeler
(Can be found HERE on ao3)
Word Count: 4k
Summary: Mike Wheeler knew many things for certain- what he didn’t know, was that he actually knew nothing at all.
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Mike Wheeler knew many things for certain.
He knew he loved his sisters, Nancy and Holly. He knew his parents loved him, even though they forgot to show it sometimes. He knew where he came from. He knew what had happened in that small midwestern town. He knew that his friends from back home would always have his back, even though they only saw each other when everyone returned home for the summers. He knew he hated his college roommate more than he likely deserved, simply for asking too many questions about some painting Mike had on his wall. He knew he loved to write. He knew he missed school, shockingly, because it was predictable. He knew he loved his friends. He knew who he was. And Mike Wheeler knew– eternally, endlessly, undoubtedly– that William Byers would always love him.
What Mike didn’t know was that he actually knew nothing at all.
—
Mike sat in front of his desk in his dorm, fingers anxiously thrumming on its hard wooden surface as he stared blankly down at his typewriter. The paper was lodged carefully in its place, ready to be written on, stained by ink, whenever he decided to actually take action. You see, Mike had been sitting at his desk for the last twenty minutes, alternating between the aforementioned anxious jitters and biting on the loose peeling skin around his thumbnail– evidently getting no writing done at all. The boy was nervous; nervous because he wasn’t sure how soon into the semester was too soon to send his best friend a letter.
Attending a community college only about fifty minutes outside of Hawkins was the only option for Mike in the post secondary department. The government had offered them all money in exchange for their contractual silence—an offer which Mike had refused. Nearly everyone else accepted the hush money. Lucas, Max, Dustin, and Will had put it into saving accounts to pay for their out-of-state tuition. Nancy wasn't really given much money, but she was smart enough to do just fine in the scholarships department. Instead of money, she was absolved of any charges that would have been pressed against her for the many crimes she had committed in the fight against Vecna. Hopper got pretty much the same deal, with the added bonus of his old job. Mike couldn't have imagined taking the money. Being paid off for El's suffering. He couldn't do it. Wouldn't. He needed the world no know her name— know that she was a hero.
His grades had slipped from high A’s to low C’s after El had left town, as he worked harder on digging himself out of the pits of depression than acing his chemistry tests. The year after he graduated, Mike took a couple courses to make himself eligible for full time study, and the following year, he switched from commuting two days a week, to living on campus in a dorm paid for by his parents. As it turns out, Ted Wheeler could only handle so many of his son's snide comments.
Now, at nineteen, Mike was in his freshman year, still living close to their hometown, while all his friends scattered around the country. Dustin was attending Princeton university, Max and Lucas were off gallivanting somewhere–seeing what the world has to offer– and Will was at NYU.
So yeah, Mike missed his friends. But mostly, he missed Will.
He missed their bike rides, and their campaigns. He missed talking into the late hours of the night, saying things that he knew only Will could understand. He missed reading comic books together–Mike analyzing the story whilst Will appreciated the differing art styles. He missed simply existing together in the stuffy confines of his parents basement, lounging around watching the hours tick by. He missed when they lived together, he missed saving the world together.
When Will moved away the summer after graduation, Mike was already struggling with losing El, so his absence just added to the ache in Mike's chest. But after another year had passed, the ache faded into something dull, and Will came back for break just to be yanked away from Mike once more, it truly hit him. It hit him how much he needed Will Byers, his best friend, the only person who really saw him.
In August, Will had told him to write whenever. Mike had smiled, said he would, and clapped his friend on the back–you know, as friends do. Then he watched as the boy walked over to his mothers green car, luggage piled high and pressing against all the windows. Will had turned around, smiling sadly at Mike over his shoulder as he slowly slid into the passenger's side of the vehicle. Mike's heart had stuttered then, a lump becoming increasingly evident in his throat. Will had waved. Mike mirrored him–as he always did– and watched the car start down the road.
That was a month ago. and Mike had thought that would be the worst of it– saying goodbye to his best friend, his Will– but he was, apparently, sorely mistaken. The ache in his bones that he had felt when El had left, was pressing down on him once more, making it impossible to ignore his sadness, the complete and utter loneliness that had curled up and rested on his chest. Mike needed to talk to his best friend; he needed to hear about his days, his classes, his new friends. He wanted to hear about awful professors and the new paintings he was working on. He wanted to hear about how he had decorated his dorm, and how often he saw Jonathan. Mike wanted to tell Will how much he missed him, and how much he hoped Will missed him back.
So, swallowing back his nerves and steadying his hands, he began to type.
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Dear Will,
I’ve tried to hold off on writing this letter for as long as I could but, evidently, I didn’t end up making it that far. I don’t know how I managed to go so long without speaking to you while you were in Lenora.
How’s it going in The Big Apple New York? How are your classes? I remember you saying something about an art class you were really excited about, something to do with the prof being pretty famous or something? Tell me about your sophomore year, sorcerer.
Do you find it hard? Acting normal like we didn’t experience what we did? Everything that happened before graduation… sometimes I can’t stop thinking about it. I feel so stuck. Stuck in routine, in the memories, in the unknown. I don’t know how you do it, Will. Act so brave and carry so much. You called me ‘the heart’ when you gave me my painting a few years back, but I’m not the heart, Will. You are. You’re the courageous one, the one who keeps the party alive. You kept us alive. You’re the sorcerer, and I’m just a cowardly storyteller who can’t even leave his home town.
Anyways, I guess since you’ve been gone I’ve just truly noticed your absence. It's dumb, I know, because I’ve been without you before–Lenora, last year– but this time it feels substantial, like I can’t just avoid it or something, I don't know.
The last two times you were gone, I guess I thought I only missed El. And I did. I missed her so much. I still do, probably always will. But it hurts the same way without you, too. I catch myself going about my day and just wondering about you– what you’re doing, how you’re doing, when I’ll see you next. I don’t think I tell you enough, but you really are my best friend. I’m so grateful for you Will, for wanting to stay friends–best friends– after everything, even after you told me everyone your secret. I think about that a lot.
Anyways, I’m proud of you happy for you. Happy that you got out of Hawkins and are living life the way you deserve. Selfishly, I wish you came back home more– do you still call Hawkins home? I hope so. I don’t know if I could live somewhere that you didn’t feel was your home.
Sorry if this letter is weird. I didn’t really know who else to talk to. I guess I sorta figured you might understand how I'm feeling. Stuck. I don’t know what I’m doing.
Hopefully my next one will be better.
Say hi to Jonathan for me. Nancy says hi too, I'm sure. Oh, and tell me about your fancy New York art, and your fancy New York apartment.
Your friend,
Mike.
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It had been just over a week since Mike had nervously dropped off his letter to Will at the campus post office, fingers sweaty and shaking as he did so. One week of waiting, wondering what Will was thinking.
He didn’t know why he was so worried about the letter. Seeing as it was literally just a letter. Friends write letters all the time. Mike himself had already received a letter from Dustin, and talked to Lucas on the phone three times. Why was his correspondence with Will any different? It felt different. It felt endlessly different. Mike felt as if he was starving, as he waited for Will's reply. He couldn’t pay attention in class, eyes glazing over as he thought back to all the times he took Will’s presence for granted, all the times he had his best friend right there in front of him, and didn’t appreciate it for what it was.
So, suffice to say, when Mike stopped by the post office on his way back from class, he was quite pleased to see Will’s handwriting sloping over the front of a clean envelope. He raced back to his dorm and tore open the letter without a second thought, careful not to rip the envelope where Will had delicately written Mike’s name.
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October 3rd, 1990
Mike,
It's a dorm room– not a ‘fancy New York apartment’. I have a roommate. His name is Richard and he’s nice enough. He’s funny. He wears big glasses, kind of like the ones Dustin's girlfriend was wearing when we met her in Utah. I wouldn’t say we’re friends but we get along. And yes, I do have friends– don’t worry, Michael. I am meeting so many new people, even just this semester. New York is nothing like Hawkins.
I’ve been painting a lot. Not so much in my free time any more, but I’m taking mainly visual arts classes so that takes up a lot of my time anyways. I’ll have to get some photos developed for you so you can see them. Next time.
Your letter wasn’t weird. I get it. I found it so hard to try and fit in for so long, so I understand what you mean. I think distractions help. When I was home (yes, Hawkins is still home, idiot), in high school, I had you you guys. So that helped get my mind off everything. Now I have my classes and everyone here. I hardly even have time to think about it, or Hawkins. Sometimes I still have nightmares, but it's fine in the daytime.
I think finding your own sort of distractions could help. Don’t just stay in your room all day.
What have you been writing recently? Tell me about that. That could be a good distraction too.
Have you met anyone at school?
I miss you too. I miss the party, I miss home, I miss everyone. But I’m happy here. I think if I had stayed in Hawkins it would have killed me a little bit. But yeah, I miss my best friend. Nobody here understands me quite like you do. How could they? You were there through all of it. You saw it all and still called me your friend… I don’t know if anyone here would even believe me, let alone stay friends with someone who had gone through what we did.
And Mike, I miss her too.
Anyways, it was nice to check my mail and see your name. That's the first time I’ve ever opened a letter from Michael Wheeler. Don’t stop, please.
Love,
Will.
P.S. you’re still the heart Mike. Try and remember that.
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October 8th, 1990
To Will,
Thank you for the letter. I wasn’t sure you were going to respond. It could have been your chance at revenge on fifteen year old me. I never properly apologized for that. I’m sorry.
Actually, now is probably a good time to apologize for everything. I wish I could do it in person– I should have done it in person ages ago. But I guess I was scared or something, I don’t know. I’m sorry I never wrote to you when you were in Lenora. I tried to call. A lot. Your mom was always hogging the phone. It’s not an excuse. I could have written. I don’t know why I didn’t, I was writing El. I guess I was worried you would think i. I should have been there for you, when you moved, and even before that. I wasn’t the friend I thought I was. I took you for granted Will. I assumed you would be there no matter what. love me no matter what.
I’m trying to be better. I’m sorry it took so long.
I’m happy to hear how well you’re doing, and that you have friends. Although, selfishly, I miss our party. I miss everything
It’s good you like your roommate. Mines a piece of shit. I wish I could be there to help you with your nightmares, like I did when you lived at my place. I’m sorry you’re still having nightmares Will. I wish there was more I could do.
I’ve been writing. It’s a book actually. It's about a sorcerer and his friends saving the world with the help of a girl with magic powers. It’s about us all of us. I’ll have to send you a copy when I finish– it might need some illustrations.
It's probably not very good but it helps me process everything that happened to us, helps me understand all that went down. It sounds dramatic as all hell but it’s helped me see the whole situation so differently. See myself differently.
I haven’t really met anyone at school yet.
I would love to see photos of your art whenever you have them.
I miss you,
Mike
P.S. Thanks for the words of advice. Guess you really are Will the Wise.
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October 25th, 1990
Dear Mike,
Your book sounds amazing. And of course I'll read it. Maybe I can look at the first few chapters when I come back for winter break.
As for the nightmares, it’s not a big deal. Once I realize I was just dreaming, it's okay. You should really be worrying about my roommate– the amount of times he’s been woken up by my dreams is getting ridiculous. Hopefully he doesn’t try to smother me in my sleep the next time I wake him up at four in the morning.
You don’t need to apologize, Mike. We talked about it years ago. I’m sorry you still feel bad, honestly. Don’t punish yourself for something you didn’t even understand you were doing. Yes, it hurts, but you’re my friend and I forgive you. I forgave you a long time ago.
Plus, I’ve got my fair share of things to be sorry for. Things I did that you forgave. Things that a lot of people wouldn’t have been able to understand. The fact that you’re still my best friend. It means a lot more to me than you know.
I wish I had more to write.
I’m going out to a bar with some friends tonight. It's a bar for people like me. That's another thing that's different about New York, there's things like that–places for people who feel alone. It's cool. I don’t know why I told you that.
Jonathan says hi, I saw him yesterday for lunch. He’s working on his final film before he graduates early in December.
Love,
Will
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November 4th, 1990
Will,
I feel your absence more at this time of year. The time it happened. I feel so acutely aware of something missing in my life, it's like someone chopped off my hand or something. I can physically feel it. I’ve always felt strange around November 6th, but it's especially apparent this year–because you aren’t with me I know I must sound silly to you, you had to go through all that and I’m the one complaining. It's just that I remember so vividly what I felt like when you went missing. I didn’t think you were actually gone, that anything could ever actually happen to you, that I would never not have you in my life. In my head, you were invincible. Will the Wise. If I close my eyes, I can still feel what I felt when I saw them lift you out of the water in the quarry. We thought you were gone. I never want to feel that way ever again.
I miss you more this time of year, but I guess I also realize how different my life could have been without you in it. You’re my I’m not making sense, sorry.
Yeah. Short letter today because I don’t have much to say, but I’m thinking of you. Like always
Thanks for the photos of your new paintings, Will. The one of the knight is incredible. I put the picture of it on my wall next to your other painting.
I can’t wait till we’re all back together for the holidays. I miss how we it used to be.
Anyways, see you soon.
Love Your friend,
Mike
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November 22nd, 1990
Dear Mike,
I’m writing this letter on the bus, so ignore my printing.
You have my painting? I didn’t think you’d keep it after I told you El didn’t commission it. I don’t know, I guess I just thought you would think that I’m weird, or like we can’t be friends or something it was nerdy, and that we were too old to be playing make believe like that. It means a lot that you kept it though. It means more than you could ever know.
I can’t write anymore because this godforsaken bus driver seems to want to set the record for most pot holes hit in ten minutes, so you’re not even getting a letter. Consider this a lengthy telegram.
I’ll be back in Hawkins on December 10th. Maybe I’ll see you then.
Love,
Will
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December 1st, 1990
Will,
You will definitely be seeing me then.
I head home in two days, so I’m planning on posting this letter on my way out of campus. I’ll take the bus into Hawkins. A long and grueling hour-long journey. A New Yorker like yourself could never understand.
And of course I kept your painting. Why wouldn’t I? My basement is basically wallpapered in your drawings at this point–has been for years– so why is this any different? Is it different? You’re an amazing artist, Will, so of course it's on my wall.
I had always thought it was odd that El would have commissioned that for me. She never even played D&D with us. The fact that you did makes it all the more special. More personal. You experienced all those campaigns firsthand, and all those things you felt throughout them are so easy to see in the painting. It's not weird that you made me a painting. It's not. El had told me that you made more than one, that you made one for me and for someone that she thought you liked. I’m very honored to have made the cut, and the other person you made a painting for in California was lucky beyond comprehension. Anyone who gets to experience your gift is lucky.
The only thing I don’t understand is why you lied. You don’t have to lie to me, Will. About anything.
See you in a week,
Love Mike.
heyyyy!! the first chapter of my byler fic "say don't go (your silence has me screaming)" is out now!!
read it here on ao3 :)
little snapshot of the byler fic i've been working on :)
more of 'calamity's child' coming soon !
David Bowie by Sukita | 1973
the paradox that is not believing in conformity gate whatsoever whilst simultaneously hoping they're right because i want more stranger things
I can't stop thinking about byler and that damn power outage
calamity's child (ch. 5)
Chapter 5: Season 2, Episode 8: The Mindflayer
Pairing: Steve Harrington x Original Female Character
(Can be found HERE on ao3)
Word Count: 5.1k
Summary: Amelia Henderson always knew something bad was going on in the sleepy town of Hawkins, Indiana—but it wasn't until her cat died that she became aware of how bad things truly were.
the start of our little tag list! : @lovesflourmorethananything feel free to comment if you'd like to be added :)
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The Byers home was a quaint little thing situated down a long, twisting gravel road in the large expanse of forest between Hawkins Lab, the quarry, and downtown. It was a house that seemed it didn’t want the world to notice it– and to its credit, it rarely was. The posts that wrapped around the front porch were a boney white, as if they were ribs protecting the heart of the house from the danger that surrounded it. They failed, however, to protect poor Will Byers on that strange night eleven months ago, when he was taken; and right now, I was praying that he would be able to fend off his attacker once more– I was praying that the ribs wouldn’t shatter, would protect the heart and lungs from whatever might come its way.
I sat at the foot of the couch where Will’s unconscious body lay, my ax leaned up against a wall a few paces away. Jonathan sat beside me, facing Will, hand cupping his head. I could see the guilt in his eyes as he looked at his little brother. I wanted to tell him that it wasn’t his fault– how could it be? But I knew that it wouldn’t help; his little brother was in pain and all he wanted to do was make it stop.
Jim Hopper had done his best to fill the kids, Steve, and I in on what had gone down at Hawkins lab, and honestly, I was still having a hard time wrapping my head around it.
Will had been having visions–episodes, the chief had called them– ever since he was rescued from the upside down. The name, I was told, for the alternate dimension where the evil dogs came from. A couple days before Dart ate my cat, Will had his worst episode yet– a seizure-like event at Hawkins Middle School. Mrs. Byers had taken Will to the lab, where he had been getting check ups, and there (at the lab) something awful had happened. Something that had resulted in the dogs abandoning their attack on us at the junkyard, and instead focusing their energy on the lab. Dozens had died, including Bob Newby.
It didn’t even feel real. Mr. Newby’s death. Sure, Jonathan did nothing but complain about the guy–called him a dork– but he had always been a friendly face around town. The type of guy to cover the difference of your groceries if you were a few dollars short, and always had a box of sweets on the desk at the Radio Shack for the kids who had been dragged there by their parents. I don’t understand why of all people, Mr. Newby had to be the one to go. It always seemed to be the innocent people who had it the worst.
Innocents like Robert Newby, and Will Byers.
“I’m sorry bud,” Jonathan murmured to the sleeping boy, Nancy– who was standing above us–reached out a hand and placed it on Jonathan's shoulder. There seemed to have been a development there, between my two friends, in the three days since I’d last seen them. But now was not the time to ask them about it, so I added it to my growing list of questions to sort out once this whole ordeal was over.
The way she was looking at Jonathan as he whispered apologies to his brother was so full of emotion, so intimate, that I felt the need to leave them to have their moment alone. I sighed and quickly reached over to put a hand on Jonathan's knee, wordlessly offering some support, before standing up and walking through the Byers living room towards their kitchen, where Hopper was yelling on the phone.
I inwardly cringed as I made my way towards the kids, noticing Steve’s pained expression as he watched his girlfriend (ex-girlfriend?) console Jonathan. He seemed to snap out of his daze as I walked passed, shaking his head a little and rubbing his nose in an idiosyncratic fashion, before he sighed and followed me.
“I don’t know how many people are there–I don’t know how many people are left alive!” Hopper said sternly into the Byers phone as I passed by. He had been trying to get through to the FBI for the last ten minutes.
In the kitchen, the four conscious kids were sitting around the dining table. I pulled up a chair to sit beside my brother, who was standing up, and Lucas– both listening intently to the Chief’s phone call. Steve continued pacing the kitchen, obviously a lot on his mind.
“I am the police! Chief Jim Hopper!”
I rested my head in my hands, massaging my temples. This was going to be a long night.
The chief's voice got quieter as he seemed to reach some sort of agreement with the woman on the other side.
“Yes, the number that I gave you, yes– 6767. I will be here.” He stated, sounding resigned, before putting the phone back on its mount.
I looked up at Dustin, and then to Hopper as he turned around to face us. I kinda felt bad for the guy, obviously bracing to give bad news to a group of kids– might as well be feeding himself to a pack of wolves, at this point.
Mike Wheeler, Nancy’s little brother and the so-called glue of the group, sat with his hands folded on the table looking expectantly up at the Chief.
“They didn’t believe you, did they?” Dustin said, breaking the nervous quiet that enveloped the room.
“We’ll see.” Hopper stated.
Mike rounded on him: “We’ll see? We can’t just sit here while those things are loose!”
Dustin pushed off the table to go pace around the Kitchen in frustration, obviously inspired by Steve’s absentminded antics.
“We stay here, and we wait for help.” Hopper responded with an air of finality, before turning around and exiting the room, leaving Steve and I in the kitchen with a bunch of angry kids.
I’m half expecting them to start bitching about the cop the second he leaves the room but they don’t. They just sit there in silence. I don’t know if it's the exhaustion, or the death that hangs in the air, but either way, the kids don’t say a word.
My head pounds from exhaustion. All that has happened in the last, what, forty-eight hours? I can’t even wrap my head around it. It's like I’ve stepped into an alternate dimension which, I guess, isn’t even that far fetched anymore. I can’t believe these kids have had to deal with this, practically all on their own, for a year.
A few minutes of quiet later, Mike stands up and walks into the living room with no warning. He bends over and picks something up that I can’t see.
“Did you guys know that Bob was the original founder of Hawkins AV?” He says softly, back to us.
Lucas speaks up from beside me, “Really?”
“He petitioned the school to start it and everything. Then he had a fundraiser for equipment!” Mike responds, “Mr. Clarke learned everything from him.”
He walks back over to where we are all sitting, carrying a blue puzzle or something that looks a bit like a Rubik's cube. “Pretty cool right?”
I smile sadly, eyes falling to the table. Dustin and Lucas pipe up in a synchronized “Yeah.”
Mike places the blue cube on the table for everyone to see.
“We can’t let him die in vain.”
“What do you want us to do Mike?” Dustin replied, exasperated. “The chiefs right on this one, we can’t stop those demodogs on our own.”
I don’t think I’ve heard my brother sound so defeated since his party lost to Tiamat in one of their D&D campaigns last year– which is saying something.
“Demo-dogs?” Max asks, looking skeptically at Dustin. He just looks back at her like what he’s talking about should be obvious– but clearly, it's not. I lightly slap him in the chest, prompting him to fill us in on what the hell a demodog is.
“Demogorgon dogs,” He explains, gesturing slowly to us all as if explaining addition to a kindergartener, “Demo-dogs….” he sighs, giving up. “It’s like a compound. It’s like a play on words, so when you-”
“Okay!” Max interrupts, desperate for Dustin to shut up. He sighs, before continuing to his original point.
“I mean, when it was just Dart maybe….” He trailed off.
“But there’s an army now.” Added Lucas.
Dustin nodded in agreement, “Precisely.”
“His army.”
Everyone turned to look at Mike.
Dustin was staring at him with an expression of pure and utter puzzlement. That alone made me feel better about the fact that I didn’t have a clue what the boy was talking about; finally something that confused the whole group and not just Max and I.
“What do you mean?” I heard Steve ask from somewhere off to my left.
Mike began to look at his friends, expecting them to clue into what he was referencing: “His army. Maybe if we stop him, we can stop his army too!”
Mike quickly and excitedly exited the room with no warning, prompting the two other young boys to get up and follow him; and somehow, I was more confused than before. Steve sighed in annoyance and trailed after them, arms crossed. Glancing over at Max, I noticed that she was shaking her head in bewilderment. I caught her eye and smiled, shrugging. Letting out a long sigh, I pushed myself off of the table and stood up.
“We should go see what’s so important, I guess.”
Max and I traipsed into the room where the boys stood hunched over some pencil drawing, the redhead grumbling about the idiocy of men as we did so.
“The shadow monster…” Dustin murmured, holding the drawing– which appeared to be of some spider-esq creature– up for us all to see.
“It got Will that day in the field.” Insisted Mike, looking between Dustin, Lucas, and Max, prompting them to remember the day of Will’s episode. “The doctor said it was like a virus– it infected him.
Max began to speak, “and so this virus, it’s connecting him to the tunnels?”
“To the tunnels, to the monsters, to the Upside Down, everything.” Mike affirmed. At this point, I was more lost than I was to begin with– what tunnels?
“Whoa, slow down. Slow down.” Steve said, finally breaking his long withstanding silence.
“Yeah, Wheeler, I’m afraid you’re losing your audience.” I muttered, folding my arms across my chest, where splatters of the demodogs' blood still stained.
Mike turned to glance between me and Steve, seemingly finally clueing in on the level of confusion that comes with not being privy to all of this information regarding monsters, alternate dimensions, and child possession.
“Okay, so. The shadow monster is inside everything. And if the vines feel something, like pain, then so does Will.”
“And so does Dart.” Lucas cut in.
Everything was slowly starting to make sense the more the kids explained, piecing together new bits of information– and it was really beginning to sound like something Robin and I would watch on television late at night, delirious from exhaustion and laughter. God, I wish I was with her right now instead of hunkered down in Jonathans house plotting how to take down a pack of monsters. Everything was so much simpler two days ago.
“Yeah. Like Mr. Clarke taught us–the hive mind.” Mike added.
“Hive mind?” Steve asked, sounding incredibly lost, seemingly asking for a definition like the group before him was a thesaurus or something.
“Oh Steven, you poor thing.” I said dryly. He just glared back at me in return, prompting a smug smile to settle on my face, erasing my melancholy thoughts about movie nights and my friend.
Dustin turned to look at the older boy, judgement that I was feeling internally clearly displayed in his expression. “A collective consciousness. It's a super-organism.”
“And this is the thing that controls everything. It’s the brain.” Mike was speaking faster and faster, clearly excited by the connections he was drawing. I looked down at my little brother, who had begun to clutch the drawing tighter in his hands. He looked as if he had just had the largest epiphany of his life, eyes large and mouth agape.
“Like the Mind Flayer.”
Of course, Dungeons and Dragons would have to surface in this conversation eventually. To be completely transparent, I’m surprised they had managed to hold off for as long as they did. Lucas snapped his fingers and pointed to Dustin in celebration.
“What?” Max and Steve asked at the same time. Mike rolled his eyes and darted off down the hall.
“D&D.” I said to them, in answer to their question. Max looked as if she was slowly catching on, but Steve looked at me as if I was speaking another language. The other kids seemed to have given up on Steve, and went to follow Mike down the hall.
“Sorry Henderson, but that clears nothing up, like, at all.” Steve snarked.
“Dungeons and Dragons? It's a game.”
“Yeah, sure…but how does that affect us? What the hell is this shadow monster?”
“It’s an analogy, Steve.” I defended. Seriously, this guy.
“An analogy for what?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed.
“Holy shit.” I sighed, turning around and walking towards the kitchen table once again.
“Hey Henderson! Maybe try answering my question!” He shouted from over my shoulder. “You’re not a very good teacher…”
I rolled my eyes, “Just c’mere Steve– who knows, maybe you’re a visual learner.” I teased, playing along with his metaphor as I led us towards the kitchen.
—
The kids had gathered around the table again, and had evidently dragged Hopper, Nancy, and Jonathan with them. Dustin slammed what appeared to be a D&D manual down and began to address us as a group as I came to stand beside him, Steve close behind me.
“The Mind Flayer.”
“What the hell is that?” Hopper asked from where he stood behind the crowd of kids, stern skepticism clear in his tone.
“It’s a monster from an unknown dimension.” Dustin explained, passion evident as he rambled on, “it’s so ancient that it doesn’t even know its true home. Okay, it enslaves races of different dimensions by taking over their brains using its highly developed psionic powers.”
“Oh my god, none of this is real! This is a kids game!”
If I knew one thing from growing up with Dustin Henderson, it was the danger of belittling Dungeons and Dragons to his face– and that was exactly what the chief had done.
“No, it’s a manual,” Dustin snapped back, “and it's not for kids. And unless you know something that we don’t, then this is the best metaphor–”
“–Analogy.” Lucas and I corrected at the same time. I smiled at him, laughing at our synchronization.
“Analogy. That’s what you guys are worried about?” Dustin asked, loud and incredulous, eyes darting between the two of us on opposite sides of the table. “Fine. An analogy for understanding whatever the hell this is.”
Nancy interjected quickly, “Okay, so this Mind Flamer thing–”
“Flayer. Mind Flayer.” Dustin interrupted. Christ, for a kid who got so defensive over grammatical correction, he was being awfully picky about the proper use of D&D terminology. I looked towards Nancy apologetically, she just sighed and continued towards her original question, ignoring Dustin.
“What does it want?”
“To conquer basically, it believes it’s the master race.”
Steve pressed against my back so he could lean over the table.
“Oh, like the Germans.” He added from behind me. I turned my head to the side to look at him over my shoulder, brows furrowed and effectively baffled. He just stared back, looking at me as if I was the strange one here.
“Uh, the Nazi’s?” Dustin corrected, not lacking at all in condescension, looking over at Steve.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, the Nazi’s.” he responded, like that was what he meant all along. How dare we be so stupid as to misinterpret your meaning, lord Steve.
I rolled my eyes (again) and let out an exasperated and disbelieving chuckle.
“Uh, if the Nazi’s were from another dimension, yeah, totally.” My brother returned before going back to addressing the whole group– Hopper pinched the bridge of his nose, “It views other races, like us, as inferior to itself.”
“It wants to spread, and take over other dimensions.” Mike added.
“We are talking about the destruction of our world as we know it.” Lucas enthusiastically concluded.
Steve took a step back to run a hand through his hair, "That's great. That’s great, that’s really great. Jesus!”
“Ok, so if this thing is like a brain that's controlling everything,” Nancy spoke as she picked up the D&D manual, “Then if we kill it-”
“We kill everything it controls.” Mike interrupted.
Dustin smiled slightly, “We win.”
“Theoretically.” Lucas. Always the realist.
Hopper walked over to where Nancy stood to Dustin's left, and took the book from her hands, “Great, so how do we kill this thing? Shoot it with fireballs or something?”
“No, no… no fireballs,” Dustin laughed, looking over to the chief, “Uh, you summon an undead army because…uh, zombies, you know, they uh…they don’t have brains,” he stammered, “and the mindflayer… it…it likes brains.”
He paused, and took in Hopper's unimpressed expression, “It's just a game. It’s a game.”
Hopper slammed the manual down on the table in frustration, “What the hell are we doing here?”
“I thought we were waiting for your military backup?” Dustin called to him mockingly as the chief walked away from where we were gathered around the table.
“We are!” he retorted.
“But even if they come, how are they gonna stop this?” Mike shouted, the boys seemingly ganging up on a man who could put them behind bars if he really wanted to. “You can’t just shoot this with guns!”
“You don’t know that! We don’t know anything!” Hopper protested, ears turning red.
“We know it’s already killed everybody in that lab!”
“And we know the monsters are going to molt again!” Lucas added from his place at the table beside Jonathan.
“And we know it's only a matter of time before those tunnels reach this town!” Dustin pointed out, voice finally lowering.
“They’re right.” A new voice added, prompting everyone to turn their heads towards the living room. Joyce Byers, looking incredibly small, like she was shriveling up into herself. “We have to kill it.”
Hopper slowly walked over to where she stood, “I want to kill it.” she stated firmly.
“Me too-”
“I-”
“Me too, Joyce, ok? But how do we do that? We don’t exactly know what we’re dealing with here…”
Mike butted in, pushing off the table and walking away, “No. But he does.”
The boy approached the sleeping body of Will on the couch– the rest of us following him as we all slowly migrated from the kitchen to the living room.
“If anyone knows how to destroy this thing, it’s Will. He’s connected to it. He’ll know its weaknesses.”
Max walked over to Mike with her arms crossed, “I thought we couldn’t trust him anymore? He’s a spy for the Mind Flayer now…”
“Yeah but, he can’t spy if he doesn’t know where he is.”
—
The plan was simple in theory.
Take Will’s still-unconscious body out back to the newly-modified shed, wake him up, figure out the Mind Flayer’s weakness, and kill that son of a bitch.
However, theory is always far easier than reality.
We couldn’t wake Will up before we had a secure place to keep him, to hide our location from the enemy. So, to rectify that, the group of us spent the larger part of an hour emptying the Byer’s garden shed of its contents, stripping the place of any identifiers, and boarding the entire room up. Old cardboard boxes were broken down and placed over landscape fabric that Steve and Nancy had giftwrapped the room with. Jonathan found a bright light in the garage and with the help of Mike and Lucas he had propped it up across from where Will would be seated to obscure his vision– they didn’t want to take any chances of Will being able to recognize where he was. I even had to wrap their shitty, old dining chairs– that Joyce had forgotten to bring to the junkyard for ten years– in cardboard and duct tape, in case Will remembered them.
Yeah so, evidently, it wasn’t that simple.
Now, we’re waiting. Hopper, Joyce, Jonathan, and Mike are with Will in the shed, doing whatever they can to wake him up, get through to him somehow, and the rest of us are anxiously waiting in the house for Hopper to call in with any information.
Dustin comes to sit beside me on the floor in the kitchen, my spine pressed against the wall and ass starting to hurt from the hardwood. He adjusts his hat as he slowly slides down the wall.
“Hey kiddo.” I say quietly, smiling, but my stomach has been turning over nervously at the thought of what Will has gone through– what he is going through.
“Hi…” He says quietly, still fiddling with his hat; an obvious tell that he’s anxious, and I don’t blame him.
“He’s gonna be okay, Dustin.” I smile, bittersweet.
Dustin huffs, “We don’t know that. We don’t know anything.”
“Okay, sure– but we do know that Mrs. Byers and the chief are out there with him, and if I was the Mind Flayer, I’d be scared of them. Shitless.”
Dustin cracks a smile at that, something I haven’t seen much of since Mew’s got her shit rocked by that demodog. It makes me smile in return.
“Not Jonathan?” He laughs quietly.
“Meh. Not so much.” I mutter. Dustin smiles a big toothless smile and looks over into the living room, where Steve is swinging around his bat.
“I’m happy you guys are friends again.” he states, looking at the boy with the bat.
“Friends? Who said anything about friends?”
“You’re not fooling anybody, Lia.” I roll my eyes at his presumptuous comment. But in a way, I guess, he’s right– and of course he is, he’s a genius, and he knows me better than anyone.
“You’re a little shit you know that?”
“Yeah, whatever.” Dustin laughs, “hey, maybe when this is all over, we can finally watch Return of the Jedi with him, I bet he still hasn’t seen it.”
I’m just about to respond with a quiet maybe when the lights start going haywire. Every light in the house begins to flicker rapidly. Dustin stands up in a flash, running over to the window that looks out into their backyard. I stand up quickly and follow him there, Steve and Nancy joining us. The shed is pulsing in the dark, light slipping through the cracks in the cardboard, flickering madly. Then, as quickly as it started, everything returns to normal.
“What the hell?” I ask nobody in particular.
“It means he’s here. Something’s happening.” Dustin mutters, turning around quickly and pushing past the three of us. He’s reaching for the walkie talkie when the backdoor slams open and Joyce, Jonathan, and Mike– led by Hopper– file through the door. Hopper grabs something (a pen?) off the dresser beside the door and sits down at the table, urgently scribbling something down.
“What happened?” Dustin asks quickly.
“I think he’s talking. Just not through words.” the chief mumbles as he writes a series of dots and dashes on an old bank envelope.
“Hey, what is that?” Steve questions, in reference to what Hopper is writing down.
“Morse code.” Everyone else responds in unison.
“H-E-R-E” The chief spells.
“Here.” The kids respond. I released a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
“Will’s still in there. He’s talking to us.”
—
We spent the next thirty or so minutes ‘manning our posts’ as Lucas called it. Joyce, Jonathan, Mike, and Hopper went back out to the shed to resume talking to Will, telling him stories, memories, attempting to get through to him while the chief buzzed in dots and dashed through the walkie talkie. Inside, the kids and Nancy sat around the table, our walkie set in the center of it. Dustin hastily wrote down the messages we received, muttering whether it was a dot or dash under his breath. Lucas had a stained morse code translation pamphlet that Mike had found in Will’s bedroom between him and Max, converting said dots and dashes, and passing the results over to Nancy one letter at a time. Steve and I stood over Nancy’s shoulders, quietly observing the letters she confidently transcribed on the back of an empty notepad until she eventually wrote two words.
“Close gate…” We all spoke, reading out loud. Dustin opened his mouth to speak, but before he could the Byers phone began to ring furiously from its place on the wall. My stomach dropped in a clear sign of anxiety, looking at Dustin who stood closest to the ringing device.
“Dustin, phone!” I said urgently, “Hang up the phone!”
“Shit. Shit!” Dustin bolted over and removed the phone from its mount before slamming it back down, Nancy–always quick on her feet– right behind him. I let out a sigh, relaxing momentarily, before the stupid thing began to ring frantically again. Nancy grunted, grabbing the phone and tearing it off the wall before throwing it violently to the ground. My eyebrows disappeared behind my bangs in shock– these Wheelers didn’t mess around.
“Do you think he heard that?” Max asked cautiously from beside me.
“It’s just a phone, it could be anywhere…right?” Steve answered quickly, but it was easy to tell how unsure he was about the words leaving his mouth. I shook my head anxiously, gnawing on my lip.
“No. Something's wrong.” I mutter, beginning to pace the room. “How do we tell if it knows?”
As if on cue, a screech rang through the night, sound filtering through the open windings. The little hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. Demodogs.
We all turned to look out the window, Dustin being the first to break the taut silence.
“Thats not good.”
I stepped forward and slammed the kitchen window closed, clicking the lock into place before turning around and locking eyes with Nancy. “Everyone lock the windows. Now.”
We all scattered to separate areas of the house, Nancy running to lock the windows in the living room with Steve’s help, the kids all running down to the assorted bedrooms. I walked up to the front door and slid the gold deadbolt in place before turning on my heel and heading towards the wall beside the couch that currently housed my ax. I picked it up swiftly, feeling its weight in my hand, when the back door slammed open once again, welcoming Jonathan carrying an unconscious Will followed by an incredibly distressed looking Mike. The kids ran back down the hallway, sat on the couch, and peered out the windows, scouting for enemies like soldiers in the trenches. The backdoor slammed and Hopper rounded the corner, two large guns in his hands.
“Hey. Hey, get away from the windows!” The man called towards the three kids. I moved aside, allowing them to walk behind me.
Hopper turned to Jonathan, extending one of the guns towards him “Do you know how to use this?”
“What?” he asked frantically.
“Can. You. Use. This?” the older man repeated for a second time, accentuating every syllable.
Nancy stepped forward, “I can.” she spoke, determined.
Hopper didn’t hesitate in tossing her the weapon. Hopper and Nancy cocked their guns and faced the large window and front door, the rest of us assuming position beside them, protecting the kids. Steve twirled his bat, which he had retrieved from his bag in the kitchen, and raised it above his head. I mimicked him with my ax, imposter syndrome pushed aside and replaced by a strong sense of impending doom.
The sound of the dogs was getting louder, screeching howls mixing with the sound of the wind.
“Where are they?” Max asked from her place beside Lucas, who had his wrist rocket locked and loaded.
Nobody answered, as the growling slowly got closer, and closer, before a loud growl sounded from right outside the window to my right. The group of us all turned towards the sound. My hands shook, so I gripped the wooden handle of my ax tighter.
“What are they doing?” Nancy questioned breathlessly, some fear dripping into her voice as she looked down the gun and at the window. No one answered once again. Every one of us, silent as a ghost. Silence stretched on for what felt like hours, but was likely mere ticks of a clock, before it was broken by another screech, from the other window. Joyce screamed and clutched Jonathan from where she stood beside me. I moved further in front of Dustin, shielding him slightly from the threat.
The monster snarled, clicked, and groaned noisily on the outside of the house, but had yet to try to get in. We all stood our ground, readying ourselves for an attack.
Then, everything went silent, and a demodog flew through the window.
A dead demodog.
What the hell?
Hopper and Steve approached the animal, weapons still raised, as if expecting it to be resurrected- brought back to life.
“Holy shit.” Dustin muttered beside me. Holy shit, indeed.
“Is it dead?” Max probed.
Hopper kicked the beast lightly in the head with his shoe. The demodog simply flopped dramatically to the side, head hitting the floor. The chief slowly lowered his gun, sighing.
A creak.
The door.
We all turned just as rapidly towards the sound, just as we had when the demodogs were circling the house. But instead of growling, we were met with silence.
And then, the door unlocked.
I gasped, readying my ax once again, expecting some sort of wizard or alien to open the door and slaughter us all–without even bothering to knock. Everyone around me seemed to agree, as they all shortly raised their weapons once more as well.
The deadbolt slid, slowly, tauntingly, before it came completely undone.
Then the door opened.
It wasn’t a wizard, nor was it some monster from another dimension seeking blood.
It was a young girl.
Younger than Dustin- she must have been. Her hair was slicked back, dark liner smudged around her eyes. She wore all black and a serious expression. Her nose was bleeding, dripping slowly from her nostril down to her lip. She was the strangest looking girl I’d ever seen. She looked cool.
Mike stepped forward slowly, towards the strange girl.
“Holy shit.” Dustin whispered under his breath, so only I could hear.
I looked down at my brother who was gazing at the intruder.
“That’s her,” he said, “that’s Eleven.”
I let out a quiet gasp. Holy shit.
Superhero.