Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Wednesday, October 26th, 1989.

Nancy Wheeler prides herself in her ability to solve a good mystery. Since she was sixteen, such mysteries pertained to secret government coverups and interdimensional mishaps, but at the age of twentyone, one year after the defeat of Vecna and the Upside Down, the biggest subject of her curiosity happened to be much closer to home. 

Mike had been acting… off the past few months. At first Nancy had just shelved the behavior as some sort of anniversary effect– tied to the trauma that haunted all of them from mid-summer to late fall, but as she’s been home from college more for work, she’s starting to think there’s more to it than that.

His behavior’s been sporadic, and more so than usual. Recently, Mike’s been far more inclined to lock himself in the basement or his room on the weekends and blast music loud enough to shake the whole house, just to appear at the breakfast table the next morning and act like nothing's wrong. On school days, he’s been getting home later and later, insisting at their mother’s questioning that he was just at Lucas’s or Will’s for some sort of hangout.

And maybe that would make sense, but Steve’s been complaining non-stop about how Dustin won’t stop whining about how their whole little group has been MIA recently. Which… doesn’t line up.

And hey, Nancy may not win an award for ‘best big sister’ anytime soon, but she knows her baby brother well enough to know that he’s hiding something. Nancy herself has been hiding things from her parents the second she discovered what a white lie was, so she can’t really hold Mike to a higher standard, but something about Mike’s infuriatingly secretive behavior as of late has caught Nancy’s attention.

Tonight, for example, when Mike comes bursting through the door four hours after school got out, cheeks pink and hair disastrous from the chilly autumn wind. He doesn’t even spare his family a glance where they’re sitting around the dinner table before booking it up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

“Micheal? Is that you?” Their mom says, pushing her seat back from the table in an attempt to see the culprit of the heavy footsteps on the staircase.

“Yeah mom, it’s me,” Mike’s voice carries. “Be there in a sec!” He shouts, door slamming behind him. The door shuts so hard on its hinges that Nancy can hear the thunk of a picture frame hitting the floor of the upstairs hallway.

“What is up with him lately?” Nancy’s mom sighs, making a futile attempt at wiping Holly’s spaghetti covered face with a napkin. Holly swipes at her hand, flinging more food onto the floor.

“Huh, not sure,” Nancy offers, stabbing her fork into a meatball on her plate. She stares into her noodles, mind wandering. Look, Mike has always been known for his somewhat erratic behavior, but even this was a lot. 

He hadn’t been this late for family dinners since he was twelve and the whole Upside Down thing started. Back when the Wheeler siblings had agreed to keep up appearances so as to not worry their parents more than they already were.

And as Nancy has been home for the summer and a solid part of fall for work, it seems Mike’s behavior has gone beyond simply being out later and getting into it more often with their parents. 

Not only has he been all over the place, Mike has been extremely avoidant of any conversion that might lead to an interrogation from his worried mother or confused sister. Any well-intended questioning targeted towards him has pushed Mike to meltdowns that Nancy hasn’t seen for a long time, and eventually their mother seemed to have given up, just in time for school to start and for Mike’s behavior to become even stranger.

At first, Nancy was worried that he was slipping back into his old, self-destructive, isolating ways, but really– that couldn’t be the case. Because even though Mike’s been acting unpredictable and secretive, Nancy can’t deny that he seems truly, overwhelmingly happy. In a way that Nancy hadn’t seen for a long, long time.

Like now, when a slightly less disheveled Mike appears in the dining room and slides into the seat next to Nancy, immediately digging into the waiting plate in front of him, Nancy can feel a  contentment radiating off of him in waves.

Even as he shovels spaghetti into his mouth, Nancy can see how his shoulders are hiked up, as if he’s trying to hide his clearly flushed cheeks and the ridiculous, poorly contained grin tugging at his lips.

Unfortunately for Mike, he doesn’t have his long hair to hide behind anymore, and Ted clocks his giddiness immediately.

“What’s got you walking on air, son?” He says, looking at Mike over his glasses with amusement.

Now, one thing to understand, two years ago Ted Wheeler would have never caught what his son was feeling in a given moment, or at least would have never cared enough to mention it. There’s been a lot of growth in the Wheeler house since the end of the world started and ended. Your little town caving in on itself and having your children be at the center of it all, unbeknownst to you, will do that to you. 

Nancy and Mike had talked about this change in their parents. How this shift has affected them, and previously Mike had been quite happy with this development, but Nancy thinks he may be currently reminiscing about the days of his parents' ignorance.

“Don’t know whatcha mean,” Mike says, schooling his grin and shoveling another bite into his mouth. His eyes never leave his plate.

Nancy’s mother and father exchange an entertained glance over Holly’s head, and Nancy watches her brother, deep in thought. She puzzles over his recent behavior in her head, trying to make sense of this newfound jubilation. Nancy does what she would do with any mystery she needs to solve, and categorizes the facts into strict files in her head.

What she knows:

1. Mike has been acting weird since the fourth of July this past summer, just after the blowout party hosted in the Wheeler’s backyard.
2. Mike has not been home at all since long before school started to now, but his friends haven’t seen much of him either, according to Dustin.
3. Mike’s been increasingly happy for seemingly no reason.
4. Mike has been increasingly forgetful and distracted for also seemingly no reason.
5. It’s almost Halloween, which Mike has been claiming is ‘the best night of the year’ since he was old enough to go trick-or-treating, and Nancy hasn’t caught wind of any scheme she’s sure he and his odd little group have been planning for months.
6. Nancy hasn’t heard much about any of Mike’s friends from him lately, and come to think of it, the obnoxious, lovable crew hadn’t been around all that often since some time during summer.
7. Mike has had to have been going somewhere. But where?

Nancy looks up from her plate, looking over at her brother, who’s currently teasing Holly about something or other as she steals food off his plate. She watches him, puzzling for something, anything, that would give her a hint.

And that’s when it hits her.

There, just above Mike’s collar, is a striking purple bruise.

Wait, what?!

Slowly, the pieces click in Nancy’s head as she goes down the list. Until she catches sight of the mark on her brother's pale throat, and everything comes together in such a way that has Nancy choking on her food.

As Mike pats her back, eyebrows furrowed curiously, it all registers in Nancy’s mind. That was it. Mike had the classic, undeniable signs of a teenager deeply, irrevocably, and secretly smitten. The weird, sneaky behavior, the dazed, spaced-out way he’s been carrying himself for the past few months, the mark. 

It mirrored the frantic, lovesick state of her and Jonathan the summer of ‘85.

God, Nancy’s baby brother was absolutely, undeniably, 100% in a relationship.

A secret one.

Nancy grabs her glass and chugs down a gulp of ice-cold water to clear her throat. More pieces of the puzzle come together in her mind as she gives Mike a tight, distracted smile and turns back to her plate, blocking out the drone of conversation bouncing around the table.

She knows for a fact that it’s not El. Not only was Mike adamant that they were better off as friends, Jonathan hasn’t mentioned anything about them at work at the Hawkins Post, and she knows he wouldn’t keep that from her. 

In fact, Jonathan had mentioned sometime in early September that he had seemingly been seeing less and less of Mike, and that Will and El had been increasingly shifty whenever his name had been brought up… 

Almost like they were upset with him.

Almost like he was hiding something from them.

And look, Nancy really does know that it’s none of her business. What her seventeen year old brother does and who he spends his time with really doesn’t concern her. But one thing about Nancy Wheeler, she couldn’t help herself when a good coverup was afoot. Especially when it involved her sneaky little brother. It was her job as his older sister to snoop, especially if he was potentially alienating his friendships or being unsafe and careless.

But now the question really was who. She knows she has to tread lightly, not push too hard or Mike will clam up completely. She decides to play at a new angle. Nancy knew she couldn’t solve this with logic alone; she needed the most gossip-addicted, hyper-connected person in Hawkins—one who somehow had ears on the entire high school network through his many jobs and his connection to their little band of friends.

A plan forms Nancy’s mind as she tunes back into the conversation around the dinner table, her mother is gently lecturing Mike for staying out too long and Mike is giving playful, long-suffering eye rolls in response. Holly contributes with her own snarky teasing, and it reminds Nancy so much of Mike she can’t help but grin.

They sit around the table, the light jingle of the radio broken only by the chink of silverware against plates and Holly’s appeals against Mike’s prodding. Nancy watches her brother through her hair, eyes stuck on the place where the mark has since been hidden below the collar of his sweater.

Mike has the goofiest smile on his face as he reaches across the table to mess with Holly’s plate, and Nancy knows that it’s not simply from the joy that comes with bothering his little sister.

She can’t help but smile a bit, too. Mike deserved it, he really did. This happiness. 

He’d gone through so much, they all did, but he’d been so little when Will had disappeared and their world had shifted completely on its axis. Nancy hadn’t seen him this joyful in a long, long time, and she truly was pleased that he had found something that made him this happy. Someone who made him this happy.

Abruptly, Mike glances down at his wrist, down at the little black watch that he’s had for the longest time and flashes its face to their mom, scooping up his plate and dashing to the kitchen. 

“Oh, well would you look at the time!” He darts back into the room, kissing his mom’s cheek and ruffling the top of Holly’s head, much to her chagrin. “Gotta go do homework. Science project. Thanks for dinner, love you, bye!” 

And before their mom can protest, Mike is already disappearing up the stairs, door slamming once again in his wake.

Nancy’s mom only sighs, muttering something about Mike being in an “excitable phase” and begins to gather dishes. “Help me with these, will you Nance?”

As soon as she finishes tidying up Mike’s forgotten plate, and her father disappears to the living room and her mother and Holly up the stairs, Nancy hurries to the kitchen phone and rings the RadioShack, where she knows Steve is taking a late shift.

But it isn’t her ex-boyfriend-turned-friend’s voice who picks up, it’s a much higher toned, frantic mumbling that’s audible through the earpiece. 

“Robin?” Nancy says, voice vibrating with excitement.

“Is that Nancy Wheeler I hear?” The voice says more clearly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Nancy takes a breath, gripping the phone tight. She decides to go with the approach of asking whether or not she has heard anything about Mike’s shifty behavior from the kids that are constantly hanging around their many jobs during Steve and Robin’s shifts.

“Hi, Robin, sorry to call so late. It’s about Mike,..”

In her excitement to relay the news of her decoded mystery and enlist a co-conspirator, Nancy completely misses the heavy thump of a window opening somewhere above her. 

If she had turned her head a foot to the left, she would have caught sight of her brother sliding off the roof near the kitchen window and biking off down the street, his wheels pointed in the direction of what could really only be one house.

Chapter Text

Friday, October 28th, 1989.

Really, for what was supposed to be the best month of the year, Dustin really had a bad track record with them. First it was Will’ possession blowing in with the chilly post-Halloween breeze, then it was an October tainted with red skies and the growing threat of Vecna, and this year, it was all going to shit because two of his best friends in the world couldn’t seem to make time for him.

He was supposed to be meeting with the Party at the Wheeler’s any minute now to form some sort of final plan for Halloween, but once again, supposedly, ‘something had come up’ for a third of the Party, and the meeting had been pushed back.

This wasn’t just a slight delay, this was the third cancellation this week. At this point, getting any of his friends together was like pulling teeth. 

Mike and Will had been acting off for months. At first, Dustin thought they had just gotten into some silly, well-intentioned argument, but after it hit the start of school and Will and Mike still were avoiding not only each other but also the Party as a whole, Dustin knew something was up. 

Will was always claiming he had an ‘art thing’, which usually meant he was locked in his room, meticulously copying fantasy creatures onto graph paper. Now, it meant he was simply unavailable. The vagueness was suspicious. 

Mike, meanwhile, had gone from being their hyper-verbal, commanding leader to a ghost. He simply sat abnormally quiet wherever someone had somehow dragged him to. He would stare off into space, cheeks growing pink and eyes sparkling, only to snap back to reality when someone called his name.

When they were forced together, they were both obnoxiously spacey. And don’t even get him started on trying to get them to interact. Dustin and the others had pressed them a few times, and each time both boys insisted in matching, tense voices that they were fine. And goddamnit, it was pissing him off.

Dustin kicks at a stray pebble in the Family Video parking lot as he parks his bike, his mood as gray and stormy as the clouds above his head. He tries to take a deep, calming breath. It doesn’t work. The problem wasn’t just the secrecy; it was the disruption to the established order. The Party was a unit, and when two major gears stopped meshing, the whole machine seized up.

He stomps into the Family Video, spirits lifting slightly at the smell of day-old-popcorn and the cheery Halloween music blasting through the speakers. 

There, he finds Steve Harrington leaning against the counter, phone trapped between his ear and shoulder as he organizes a stack of returns. 

He looks up and gives Dustin an exasperated look as he explains to whoever's on the other end of the line–for what must be the fiftieth time– that no, he could not mail Bambi on tape to their house.

“Heeeenderson!” An excited voice shouts from the back at the bell jingle above the door. “That you?”

“Hi Robin,” Dustin yells back, tossing his bag over the counter and sliding around to come sit on the stool behind the return slot. He slumps over in his seat, resting his head on the cool surface and shoulders falling in defeat.

Steve pats him on the back with a free hand, still locked in a losing battle with a customer who inexplicably seems to believe the postal service is an extension of Steve’s minimum-wage duties.

She must hear something in his voice, because when Robin emerges from the back closet with an armful of tapes up to her chin, she gives him a sympathetic wince. 

“They cancel again?” She asks, maneuvering around the counter and disappearing down the aisle in between ‘romance’ and ‘classics’

“You know it,” Dustin grumbles, lifting his head and resting his chin on his arms on the countertop. “It’s always Will and Mike. Can’t even get them in the same room! And when we do, they make it all weird by not even talking to each other." He rubs at his temples. “And it’s always a stupid excuse too. ‘Oh, sorry guys! Can’t make it today, Holly needs help with her costume.’ Holly’s being a cat for Halloween! What do you even need beyond ears and facepaint?”

Steve finally slams the phone down into its cradle, seemingly successful in his battle over the merits of making some poor, underpaid young adult travel eighty miles to bring you a children's movie. 

“Sorry Henderson.” He says sympathetically, reaching under the counter and tossing him a chocolate bar. Robin slides back behind the counter. Dustin catches the delighted, scheming look on her face as she pulls her own candy out from the pocket of her jeans.

“About little Wheeler,” Robin says, unwrapping a bright pink lollipop and eyes sparkling deviously. “I got an interesting call on our shift at the RadioShack last night.”

This catches Dustin’s attention, and he sits up straight in his seat, spinning on her. Steve nudges Robin with his shoulder, an exasperated look on his face. “Robs, I thought Nancy said not to tell anyone.” He mutters, but Dustin can see the amused grin growing on his own face.

“Actually, quite the opposite, Stevie,” She nudges him back playfully with her elbow. “How often have you seen Mike recently? Like, outside of school.”

Dustin peels back the wrapper on his candy, contemplating. “I’ve seen him maybe a grand total of four times outside of class and lunch since the semester started. He’s been shifty since July, but during the summer he couldn’t use ‘schoolwork’ as an excuse.”

Robin grins, leaning forward conspiratorially. “See, a certain Nancy Wheeler has also noticed this change in our dear friend Micheal,” Her smile grows impossibly wider. “She called last night to ask if we had caught any wind of him sneaking around with anyone… unfamiliar.”

Dustin's eyebrows pinch together, as he bites down on his candy bar. Speaking around a mouthful of chocolate, he questions.  “Mike? Mike Wheeler with a stranger?“

“See, weird right?” Steve joins in, voice a theatrical whisper despite the empty store. “But Nancy seems to think that Mike has been hiding something a little more… romantic.”

“What?!” Dustin can’t believe what he’s hearing. Mike?! With a secret girlfriend?!

But at the same time, something becomes a bit more clear in his mind. The pieces of Mike and Will's bizarre behavior—the avoidance, the whispering, the canceled plans—suddenly slot together, not as a fight, but as a cover-up for a third party.

“Wait a second,” Dustin says, theories twirling around his head. He leaps off the stool, pacing the narrow space behind the counter. “He's not just avoiding us; he’s avoiding Will! No, wait, that’s not right. He’s avoiding the two of them being in the same room together with the Party. Every time I try to get them in the same room, Will clams up, and Mike looks like he’s about to confess to a murder. They aren’t fighting, they’re conspiring.”

He turns back to Steve and Robin, hands waving exaggeratingly. “Will is covering for him! He’s running interference for this mystery girl so she doesn’t cross paths with us! That’s why the Halloween meeting keeps getting cancelled—they know we’ll find out they’re hiding something if we’re all together!”

Robin’s eyes gleam, and Steve snaps his fingers. “Damn Henderson, I think you’ve got it.” 

“I’ve got to get them together. Will’s a horrible liar, and Mike will get pressed if we interrogate him. They’ll have to crack,” A plan forms in the center of the chaos that is Dustin’s brain, and he reaches for the counter phone.

Chapter Text

Saturday, October 29th, 1989.

After weeks of basically radio silence from a third of the Party, somehow, Dustin has rallied all of them to Mike’s basement. He called everyone yesterday, insisting that they come together and create a plan for Halloween, that they’ve put it off too long.

Dustin, predictably, had pulled off a miracle. 

He’d somehow masterfully badgered, bribed, or guilt-tripped the entire Party (Mike and Will included) into the Wheeler basement.

The basement was dimly lit by a single floor lamp in the corner, casting long, lazy shadows across the worn carpet. The atmosphere currently felt less like a briefing and more like a hostage negotiation. Which Lucas guesses, it kind of is.

They’d all been lazily sitting around for a while. El and Max were settled up on the couch, reading over some magazine. Dustin and Lucas had been squabbling about whether or not they should do something at home or go to Tracey Mulligan's party on Monday. 

And Mike and Will… well, Mike has been laying on the floor in front of the couch, legs propped up next to the girls. He was staring up at the ceiling, dark hair and long arms splayed across the carpet. He hasn’t uttered a word since everyone arrived, save for a snarky response or two to Max’s teasing. It was seriously offputting.

And Will, Will was propped up against a stack of pillows opposite the couch, scribbling something into his sketchbook. The pencil was flying so quickly that it was almost aggressive. He was so intensely focused on the page that he might as well have been alone in his bedroom.

The tension between the two boys was palpable. 

In the way Mike's gaze keeps flicking from the ceiling up to where Will was sitting above his head. 

In the way Will hasn’t looked his way once, but keeps nudging his foot almost imperceptibly against Mike’s head of curls from where it lays near his out-stretched legs. 

A tiny, silent, secret game of tag that Mike ignored—or perhaps didn't even notice—while Will's cheeks grew faintly pink with every touch.

Lucas watches the strange exchange of their silent touches and glances. For weeks, he and Dustin had speculated they’d had a fight—a colossal, secretive, emotional–falling out. But the little foot taps, the proximity, and the mutual avoidance felt like something deeper, something heavier than a simple argument spanning over the past few months. 

It felt like they were both trying to ignore a large, fragile elephant that was taking up the space between them.

A few minutes drag by, punctuated only by Dustin’s increasingly frustrated appeals and the soft shff-shff of Will's charcoal on paper.

"This is pointless," Max finally declares, letting the magazine fall onto El’s lap. She surveys the room, her expression bored. "We've been here half an hour, and we’ve gotten nowhere." She looks down at where Mike is on the floor. “I would say take a vote, but I don’t think Wheeler here has anything to contribute. For once.”

Mike finally stirs, lifting his head just enough to shoot Max a glare. "I'm thinking, Max. Something you wouldn't quite know how to do."

"You're not thinking, you're sulking," Max retorts playfully, pushing herself up in her seat. "Why don't we do something productive? Like figure out the big mystery of why you’ve been avoiding us like the plague this semester. Will too, for that matter."

Okay… so, Lucas may have been thinking of touching that topic a bit less abruptly, but hey, who’s he to question Max?

Mike’s face tightens, his gaze glowing with something tense and screaming DO NOT TOUCH. "I haven't been avoiding anyone. I've been busy."

"Busy doing what?" Dustin demands, throwing his hands out in frustration. "You missed three straight D&D sessions. You missed the Karate Kid marathon. Even Nancy hasn’t seen much of you!"

Will, for the first time, stops drawing. He doesn’t look up, but Lucas sees his pencil hand freeze, the charcoal tip hovering just above the paper.

"We have homework, Dustin," Will mumbles in that quiet tone of his, his voice tight.

"Please, Will," Dustin scoffs. "You finish your homework before they even assign it. This is about something else."

Mike, clearly uncomfortable with the focus being entirely on them, slides up to a sitting position, avoiding everyone’s gaze and staring down at his hands before shooting Dustin a scowl. "Fine. Let's talk about the plan. I vote for Tracey Mulligan's party. Anything is better than listening to you guys argue over whose house is best, and we can’t use mine cause Holly’s having friends over."

Lucas smiles victoriously, grinning over at Dustin. But his eyes are zeroed in on something else. Something on Mike.

Lucas follows Dustin's gaze, and then Max's, and then El’s. 

The room goes into an abrupt, stunned silence.

“Mike?” Max says, and Lucas can hear the pure, unadulterated delight growing in her voice. “Please, enlighten me. What the hell is that on your neck?”

Mike seems to realize it around the same time, slapping a protective hand over the very obvious, very dark bruise visible just under the collar of his sweater, that had shifted as he had moved up. His pale cheeks fill with color, and his scowl grows. Lucas catches his nervous, desperate eyes flicker to Will, who sits frozen, pencil still on the paper. “I-it’s not- its nothing–”

“That, Micheal Wheeler,” Max interrupts, leaning further off the couch and reaching out a finger to poke at Mike’s hand. “Is undeniably, seriously, 100% a hickey on your neck!”

Dustin shoots up from his place on the floor, pointing an accusatory finger down at Mike, who’s starting to look like he wants to cry. “I knew there was something up with you!” He seems unaware of Mike’s clear discomfort, and closes the distance before plopping down in front of him. “So, who is it?”

Mike frantically pulls his sweater collar up, covering the mark. “It’s nothing, Dustin! Fuck off!”

And look, Lucas loves Mike. Truly, he would do anything for the scrawny boy in a heartbeat, but he can’t deny he’s also desperately curious.

“Mike, we’re your best friends! You really can’t tell us who this girl is?” He adds, scooting in next to Dustin. “Plus, you kind of owe us for being such a shitty friend recently.”

To Mike’s credit, he does look guilty, but at the same time he’s starting to look like he may actually burst into tears at the questioning. 

“Guys…” El speaks up, quiet and firm, from where she has been quietly observing the interrogation from the couch. “Leave him alone. He will tell us if he wants.”

Lucas notes that she seems unsurprised by the development in Mike’s love life, and also catches the way her eyes keep flickering between the cornered Mike and her brother, who is still frozen by the pillow stack. She knows something.

“Thank you El!” Mike exclaims, pushing up from his seat and shoving past Lucas and Dustin. He spins on them, face pinched and hands thrown out in front of him. “I’m sick of being interrogated in my own house. Now, are we going to make a plan that you were so adamant about making or can you just get the hell out?”

“Oh come on El!” Dustin whines, sliding down against the couch. “You’re just as bad as Will, covering for him.”

Will looks up then, his expression a mixture of shock and a tense, unreadable emotion. 

He looks like a deer caught in headlights, as if Mike’s questioning was targeted at himself. But, Lucas also catches a slight flicker of amusement… as if Will already knew about Mike’s little clandestine lifestyle.“I-what?! I have not been—”

“You know who it is, don’t you,” Lucas asks, giving Will his most scrutinizing look. 

Will’s mouth opens and closes a few times, before he seems to think better of denial and just shrugs, refocusing on the drawing on his lap. Lucas can see his foot tapping anxiously against the floor where he’s pulled it up to himself.

“I knew it!” Dustin and Max exclaim at the same time. Then look at each other in surprise.

“That’s why you guys have been so weird! You’ve been conspiring!” Max cackles, rolling back onto the couch. Mike and Will exchange a confused look, and Mike’s shoulders slump with relief, the topic of who passing by. For now.

But Lucas can’t help but notice how Will’s gaze lingers, watching as Mike collapses back onto the ground, starfishing once more. There’s a sort of raw, adoring look in his eyes. The same one that he’s given Mike since Lucas met them, the one he only ever lets slip when he thinks no one else is watching.

And that’s when it hits him.

The reason Will’s been acting so weird hasn’t just been about conspiring. Will was an accomplice, yes, but not a happy one. He was an accomplice because he would do anything for Mike, even if it got in the way of his own happiness.

His own feelings.

The pieces of the puzzle come together neatly in Lucas’s mind as he watches Will go back to his drawing. The way El seemed nervous for him, the earlier distress, the averted eyes, the way the sight of the hickey had stolen Will's breath—it all made a terrible kind of sense now. Will wasn't just covering for Mike’s dating life; he was facilitating it while nursing a crush that was actively tearing him apart.

Will Byers likes Mike Wheeler.

And said Mike Wheeler was secretly dating someone else.

Gosh, it really did all make sense. The weird tension the summer of ‘85 when all Mike wanted to do was hole up in El’s bedroom, the shy glances and pink cheeks whenever Mike would do something particularly Mike, like make some crazy, self-sacrificial move or crowd up in Will’s personal space like it was his own.

Lucas couldn’t help being a little frustrated with Mike. He’s a clueless idiot. But also, if Lucas hadn’t figured it out till now, how was Mike supposed to know any better? They’d always been like that, all physical touch and wordless companionship. How could he have told if Will liked him like that, especially when Will was so keen to keep it a secret.

He feels a rush of protectiveness flood through him, and a thought comes to his head. Something that could help Will get over Mike, and prioritize himself for once.

“Listen,” Lucas announces, drawing the attention away from where Max is still poking fun at Mike and Dustin is prodding him in the ribs with a pointed finger, trying to get him to crack. “We’ll go to Tracey’s. It’ll be a good distraction, we haven’t all done something fun together in a while. And who knows, maybe those who are single can find their own romantic secrets to hold over Mike’s head.” He says this with a pointed glance at Will, whose eyebrows furrow.

Poor Will, his self confidence is so low he doesn’t even want to reach outside the possibility of Mike maybe liking him back. The thought makes Lucas’s heart squeeze. That simply won’t do.

Mike lets out a strange little squawking noise at Lucas’s words, and he covers his mouth with his hand. He rolls onto his side, and Lucas can hear broken laughter spilling over his hand.

Will shoots him a look, seemingly just as amused. Lucas’s confusion grows, and he makes eye contact with Max, who just shrugs.

Then, El starts to giggle as well, covering her face with her hands. Will cracks then, setting his sketchbook down and pressing his face into his knees, shoulders shaking with laughter.

All three of them quickly descend into madness. Mike curls in on himself and clutches his stomach, gasping around his laughter. Will throws his head back, cheeks pink and mouth pressed shut as if trying to contain his barely suppressed laughter. 

El leans her head onto Max’s shoulder, giggling into her hand. “Yes Will, let us find you someone.”

Lucas’s brow scrunches as he watches the scene, his confusion growing at the hysterics.

“What, what’s so funny?” Dustin asks, poking Mike in the ribs again. “I think it’s a good idea! Let’s find Will a nice girl, make Mike third-wheel for once.”

At that, Mike sits up, wiping tears from his eyes. He looks over at Will, a mischievous grin growing on his face. “Nothing, nothing’s funny. I think it’s a good idea, too.”

Will shoots him a glare, but he’s still smiling.

Lucas narrows his eyes suspiciously. No way they were all giggly over nothing. “Seriously, what’s the joke? I’m trying to help Will stop moping around and realize he deserves some action! You clearly are already getting some, let him be more than your little wingman, Mike.”

At the mention of him getting “action”, Will lets out another choked laugh, burying his head in his hands.

“I heard Willa Marvin has been talking about you, Byers,” Max pipes up, her own face painted with confusion at the laughter. “I bet she’ll be at Tracey’s.”

“Perfect!” Lucas smiles, clapping his hands together. “She’s friends with some of the basketball guys. Bet I can set you two up!”

“Ew, we have like, the same name,” Will finally composes himself, picking up his book again. A blush is high on his cheekbones, and his teeth are gnawing at the inside of his cheek.

“Plus,” Mike pipes up, his eyes sparkling. “She’s taller than you.”

“Don’t be a conceited dick, Mike!” Max throws a pillow at him, and he falls backwards dramatically onto the carpet.

“You’re right, not really into that,” Will says. There’s something in his gaze, something entertained and sly.

“That’s okay, I bet we can find someone there,” Lucas assures him, crossing over to his pillow stack and throwing an arm around Will’s shoulders. “You’re a catch.”

Will looks up at him through his bangs and laughs. “So you’re my wingman, then?”

“Consider me your guardian angel,” Lucas squeezes his shoulders determinedly. “The girls of Hawkins High won’t know what hit them.”

Mike lets out another choked sound, and El buries her face in her hands, but Lucas decides to ignore that. 

Will is his best friend, and he’s in desperate need of a distraction.

Chapter Text

Sunday, October 30th, 1989.

Look, Hopper might not completely match up with the dictionary definition of ‘emotionally aware’, but he’d like to think he knows his basically-stepson well enough to know when something was up with him.

Will had been locked in his room all day. Really, he’d been locked up in there since he had gotten home from the ‘emergency meeting’ at the Wheeler’s place yesterday evening.

Last night, he had shoved his way through the door, abnormally flushed and disheveled, and had skipped right past the living room where Hop and Joyce had been watching one of El’s soaps on the couch. Will hadn’t even acknowledged them, he’d simply tossed his jacket onto the back of a dining room chair and practically sprinted to his room, bedroom door slamming sharply behind him and music immediately blasting loud enough for the house to vibrate on its frame.

Hop had turned to Joyce, who had gotten up to neatly hang Will’s discarded jacket on its rightful hook with a long-suffering sigh.

“What’s up with him?” He’d asked, and Joyce had shaken her head, observing the forgotten leather jacket on its hook with a wrinkled brow.

“Not sure,” She had responded, voice a bit distracted, and she had lifted the sleeve of the coat, running her fingers over the leather. “Who’s-” She cut herself off, shaking her head again and letting the jacket sleeve fall. 

Hop had looked back in the direction Will had disappeared to curiously. “Is he… doing okay?” He asked, as Joyce made her way back over.

“I’m sure he’s fine, probably just finally hitting his angsty teen phase, it’s taken him long enough.” She’d joked, dragging a blanket from the arm of the couch back to her place. There was something in her tone though, something knowing and smug. 

Hopper had opened his mouth to press, but Joyce had just curled up under Hopper's arm and gave him a look, and apparently that was that.

Now, at noon the next day, Will still hadn’t reemerged from his room, and his music hadn't stopped either, despite El’s protests from the next room over as she tried to nap off the sleepover she had had with the Mayfield girl.

Hopper was sitting at the counter, whatever mournful rock Will insisted on playing still blasting from under the door down the hallway. 

He sighs, running a hand over his beard. “Will, I swear to God, if you don’t turn that down, I’m gonna put my foot through your radio!” Hopper hollers down the hallway, not really meaning it, but the sound was starting to drill into his skull.

A muffled shout of protest comes back, and the music volume dips, but only marginally. The angry, driving rhythm still more than loud enough to be annoying.

Hopper tosses his crumpled newspaper onto the countertop with a heavy sigh and pushes himself off the stool. Joyce had run out to the store a little while ago, muttering about needing more coffee and maybe something to bribe the moody teen with, which left him in charge of peacekeeping. He walks down the short hall, the floorboards creaking under his weight, until he was standing in front of Will’s door.

He knocks, a sharp rap that was probably swallowed a bit by the music. “Hey, kid. You alive in there?”

No response, just the thudding bass.

Hopper knocks again, louder this time. “Will. Open up. It’s almost one, you gotta eat something.”

The music finally cuts off, leaving a ringing silence that felt strangely heavy. Then, a voice, small and slightly exasperated, came from behind the wood. “I did eat, Hop. Go away.”

That was weird. Will never talked like that, not even when El poked his buttons by floating things over his head or when Jonathan teased him over his driving skills. Or, lack thereof. Hopper leans his forehead against the cool wood of the door. “C’mon, kid. You’ve been in there since last night. That’s not normal, even for you. What’s going on?”

He hears the scrape of the window against its frame and a light shuffling through the door. “Nothing is going on. I’m just… tired. And I have homework.”

“Homework?” Hopper raises an eyebrow, knowing that’s a load of crap. “Look, I don’t care if you’re mad at your little friends, or whatever’s got your feathers ruffled. But you gotta talk to someone. Your mom’s worried. I’m worried.”

A long pause stretches out, filled only with the faint sound of El shifting in her room next door, probably finally being able to find sleep in the absence of Will’s music.

A steady silence fills the air for a second, until it’s broken by the thunk of something hitting something hard and a muffled grunt. “I’m fine, Hopper. Really. Just… need some time to uh- plan for Halloween?” Will says, his tone slightly lighter and more desperate. 

Hopper sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He knew when to push and when to back off. Pushing right now felt like it would only make the door lock click.

“Fine, but you better tell me or your mom what’s up at some point or she’s going to break your door down,” This was a lie, Joyce had actually been quite calm about this whole thing. She kept repeating adamantly that Will’s just going through some sort of phase. 

Hopper had been confused with the fact that she wasn’t too worried about it, but hey, who was he to question her? She knew her son, and if she thought it wasn’t right to push him, so be it.

Will lets out a sort of disbelieving scoff, and the music reappears, significantly quieter. 

Hopper sighs, moving back towards the kitchen. He makes it about halfway down the hall before something gives him pause, and his gaze shifts to the closed door next to him.

Jonathan.

Why hadn’t he thought of it? He’d been home all fall, working with Nancy at the Hawkins Post. He’d been here, more than usual. Maybe he would’ve noticed this weird shift in Will. Jonathan knew his little brother better than anyone, and he had a way of picking up on things much better than Hop and even Joyce ever could.

He lifts his hand and raps a knuckle against the door. “Jonathan, you there?”

The door swings open, revealing Jonathan in all his sleepy-twenty-one-year-old glory. His pajamas are thoroughly wrinkled, and he’s wearing two different patterned socks.

His eyes are heavy-lidded and he smells like photo-chemicals and a floral perfume that definitely isn’t his. “What’s up, Hop?” Jonathan rubs at his eye with his wrist, stifling a yawn.

“Sorry to bother you, bud. It’s about Will,” Hopper lowers his voice, careful to keep it below the music streaming from down the hallway.

Jonathan noticeably straightens, and Hopper can’t help but notice the flash of something protective and nervous in his gaze before he schools it and his face settles to a more passive expression. “What about ‘im?” He asks, feigning a sort of nonchalance and leaning against the doorframe.

“I’m just wondering if you’ve noticed anything… off, with him lately?” Hopper asks, brow furrowing at Jonathan's little display.

“He’s fine,” Jonathan says, waving a hand. It’s so similar to Joyce’s indifference that Hopper wants to tug his hair out. “Just busy, y’know? With Junior year, and everything.”

Hopper scans his face, searching for a crack in his nonchalance. He doesn’t get one though, and Jonathan just stares at him with sleepy, carefully calculative eyes until he gives up. “Sure, okay,” Hopper sighs, reaching out ruffling Jonathan's hair—(he insists he’s too old for it, but Hop can’t really bring himself to care)— and steps back from the door. “Sorry to bother you.”

Jonathan nods, offers a small, very Jonathan smile, and disappears back into his room.

Hop stares down the closed door for a minute, searching for answers, before sighing and rubbing at his beard again dejectedly.

He makes his way back to the kitchen, picking up his discarded newspaper and moving to the living room.

He collapses onto the couch, sighing and reopening his paper, picking back up where he left off on an article about some kid who painted Maria Santos’s house pink while she was at her mom’s in Nevada.

Hop makes it through about half a paragraph before his attention wanders, and his eyes find their way to the door as it swings open and Joyce bustles through, arms full of grocery bags and a chilly wind brushing through in her wake.

He stands up, throwing his paper to the side once more and making his way over to help with her bags. He pulls one from her arms, and she offers him a grateful smile before turning to the kitchen.

Hopper makes to follow her, but he stops in his tracks as his attention snags on the flash of leather by the door. He pauses, looking back at where Joyce has disappeared into the kitchen.

He shifts the bag he’s holding to his other hip, and reaches for the sleeve of the unfamiliar jacket and runs his hand over the leather the same way Joyce had done yesterday.

He frowns. This is the jacket Will came home with last night, but it’s not his. Will’s familiar denim one is hanging right next to it, Byers clearly visible in Joyce’s scrawl on the tag.

Hop reaches for the tag, flicking it up. There’s a faded chicken-scratch of sharpie just under on the wash instructions tag. 

EM

Hopper’s frown deepens, and he racks his brain for any one of Will’s friends with those initials, coming up empty-handed.

“Hop?” Joyce calls, and Hop shakes himself, making his way into the kitchen. He must be making a face, because she raises her eyebrow from where she’s digging through the fridge. “What’s up?”

“Who’s jacket is that? The one Will came home with?” He asks, keeping his tone as even as possible. He doesn’t like the idea that Will is sneaking around with someone he doesn’t know. Maybe he can get Callahan to dig through the high school registrar, see if any names match up.

He must be doing a bad job, keeping the edge out of his tone, because Joyce sighs, giving him an amused look over her shoulder. “It’s Mike’s, Will must have forgotten one when he went to the Wheeler’s yesterday. You know how Mike gets with Will, must’ve made him take it.”

He puzzles that over in his head, absently pushing a soup can back into the open cabinet above him. Sure, the Wheeler kid has always been extra defensive over Will. Has always been the first to shield him from whatever danger had been pinned to him next. But this, Will coming home wearing his jacket, with flushed cheeks and this new-found tendency for locked doors and incessantly loud music, this was something else.

Huh. “Is something… going on there?” Hopper asks, pulling a bag of tomatoes out of his paper bag and sliding them onto the countertop. There’s a pause, and he looks back to see Joyce stopped in her rummaging through the fridge. “As in like, are they fighting? Did Wheeler pull something?”

She turns, looking at him with a knowing little smile and leaning back against the countertop. “I don’t think they’re fighting, Hop.”

Hopper’s brows pinch together again, and Joyce just laughs, crossing the kitchen to the halfway unloaded bag he was working on. She pats his cheek, grabbing a discarded can of something with the other hand and pushing it up into the cabinet. 

Well, that’s that, Hopper guesses, as Joyce nudges him to focus on groceries. He dutifully continues unloading, but his mind is elsewhere.

Sure, maybe those two aren’t fighting. But that doesn’t explain Will’s weird behavior as of late. If he wasn’t angry, what was he? Wheeler had to have done something. Why else would Will be acting all weird?

Hopper feels like he’s on the edge of something. Like he’s missing a solid one and a half pieces to the puzzle that is Will and Mike’s relationship and whatever the hell is going on with Will lately. 

He rubs at his tired eyes, and Joyce lets out a chuckle beside him. Really, all he wants is to get Will back –(and for his obnoxious music to stop, but that’s been the case since Hop’s moved in with the Byers, so)– and he can’t do that if he doesn’t find out what the hell is up with him.

Jesus, it’s always Wheeler, isn’t it?

Chapter Text

Monday, October 31st, 1989.

“What about Lucy R? She’s pretty, don’t you have art with her?”

By the time the Wheeler’s mini van pulls up in front of Tracey Mulligan's gigantic, suburban nightmare of a house, Max is about ready to pull her hair out.

She’s crammed uncomfortably on the middle bench in between a thoroughly-perfumed Dustin and a very animated El, which would normally be fine, except for the fact that Max keeps catching a stray excited elbow to the ribs, and it’s not the most pleasant thing she’s ever felt.

On top of that, if she hadn’t met her fate at the hands of Dustin's God-awful cologne he’s insisted on wearing, she would be dead by Mike’s driving alone– (seriously, stop signs are there for a reason, Wheeler). And if this wasn’t all enough, Lucas is slowly but surely growing closer to a freak out on Will behind her, and they’ve been bickering back and forth over her head for the past ten minutes, unreasonably loud for how close they are and giving her a headache.

Lucas has somehow gotten it in his head that his one most important calling in all of his seventeen years of life is wingmanning Will. And Jesus, Will is not making it easy for him.

“Lucy? Doesn’t she do weed?” Will tosses back, twisted in his seat to look past Max at Lucas in the back. Mike snorts from behind the wheel as he slides into park.

Max barely suppresses a sigh. This has to be the twentieth girl Will has vetoed since they left the Sinclairs. She didn’t even know there were this many people left in their grade after half the population moved out during the whole ‘end of the world’ thing.

She also didn’t know that Will Byers, of all people, could be this picky about anything. I mean, please, this is the guy that let Mrs. Henderson feed him mushroom soup for years before Dustin eventually made him tell her he was mildly allergic.

And sure, maybe it’s funny how flustered Lucas is getting over all this, but Max is about to throw a category five meltdown if she doesn’t get out of this car in the next fifty seconds.

“Alright, time to go!” Max practically throws herself over Dustin, reaching for the door handle and swinging it open. He lets out an indignant squawk as she clambers over him and out of the crammed car, breathing in fresh, cologneless night air in relief.

El climbs out over Dustin right after her, much to his despair. She catches Max’s arm to steady herself before smoothing down her blinding, disco-ball of a dress and adjusting her headband. El has been very into astrology recently, and had insisted Ms. Byers make her a Joyce Byers original work this Halloween. Something sparkly and vaguely ridiculous, but in the best way possible. El had been delighted, and when Max asked her what she planned to do with it, El had simply informed her that she was being a star.

Dustin slides out after her, grumbling something about personal space and boundaries. He stumbles out onto the sidewalk, looking vaguely like a marshmallow in his all-white astronaut costume—(all El’s doing. It’s a wonder how well her puppy dog eyes work)— and letting Lucas out behind him.

Max has to pat herself on the back. For such a last minute thing, she really did good with her and Lucas’s costumes, the Westley to her Buttercup. 

Sure, El had been a little whiny about their resistance to being part of her astronomical scheming, but after one – albeit skeptical– viewing of ‘The Princess Bride’, she had been excited to help Max out with their couples costume. 

Lucas is dressed in all black, his mask tied loosely around his neck, and he looks good. He steps out onto the sidewalk, and Max reaches up to secure the mask around his eyes, and once it’s adjusted, he throws his arm over her shoulders, pressing an obnoxious, smacking kiss against her temple.

She rolls her eyes, setting up the driveway towards the house, where some loud, obnoxious house music is booming through the walls and out into the night. El snakes an arm through her free one, and Dustin cuts onto Lucas’s other side, waving his hands excitedly and chattering loudly about something that’s surely just as nerdy as it is dumb.

In their bustle to the house, Max fails to notice the rest of the Party that has yet to emerge from the car, and it isn’t until they’re standing in the huge, scarcely decorated, crowded kitchen, surrounded by a sweaty, tipsy swarm of their classmates, that anyone calls it out.

Dustin is somehow already nursing a red solo cup of something a troubling shade of pink, and El has already been swept away into the crowd by a guy that Max vaguely recognises from their Lit class.

“Where are Mike and Will?” Lucas says –or rather, yells – tugging his mask down to rest on his collar and peaking over the crowd to the direction of the door.

“Who cares?” Dustin says loudly, throwing back the rest of whatever horrid alcoholic version of Peptobismal is in his cup and tossing it aside, “Gonna go scope out the scene, see ya soon! Loooove you!” He drawls, before promptly disappearing into the rush with an air kiss and a little twirl.

Max rolls her eyes, filling her own cup with some Coke and a healthy splash of some clear liquor on the counter. She downs it in a few gulps, Lucas watching her with amusement. 

“Wanna dance, stalker?” She asks, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Why not?” He replies, gesturing for her to lead the way.

Max grabs Lucas’s wrist and tugs, pulling him through the throng of people in the kitchen towards the source of the music that has the house shaking on its frame.

She finds a relatively less packed spot in the center of the crowd, and turns to throw her arms around Lucas’s shoulders, despite whatever pop song is blasting being decidedly not too fit for a slow dance.

Max can already feel whatever she had just drank hitting her bloodstream in a warm rush, and the way Lucas’s hands feel over her dress has her face heating for a slightly different reason.

She looks up at him, cocking her head and suppressing a grin. Lucas smiles right back, eyes sparkling as he sways them slowly back and forth. 

Frankly, he looks a bit ridiculous, with his mask around his neck and sweat already forming on his brow, but she doesn’t really care. He’s still handsome. Plus, over the smell of her sweaty classmates, Max picks up on a hint of the cologne she bought him for his last birthday, and that makes her smile for real.

Lucas leans down, and presses against her lips with a smile of his own. This isn’t really Max’s thing, PDA and all that, but here, in this bustling, overcrowded living room, Lucas’s hands hot on her hips and his breath fanning across her lips, she can’t really bring herself to care. Half of the student body here is paired up, and Max thinks a solid 80% of the couples currently have their tongues down each other's throats, so why not?

Lucas pulls away, then –much too early, in Max’s opinion– and looks around, eyebrows furrowed. “Where did Will go off to?” He asks, and Max simply presses a sloppy kiss to his jaw in response. “I promised I’d- Will!”

Max has never wished anything bad toward Will Byers since she’s met him, but as Lucas turns his attention to where him and Mike have emerged from and therefore ruining their moment, she kind of wishes the lasers she’s glaring at him right now would crumble Will to dust. So much for dancing.

It is hard though, to stay mad at him as he smiles at her from across the room, all sweet and warm and gives a little wave before saying something to Mike and pulling him in Lucas and Max’s direction.

They quickly make their way over, shoving through the throng of bodies and over to where Lucas is still waving at them, as if they haven’t seen him this whole time and are actively moving towards him.

Will and Mike cross the distance pretty fast, clad in their respective sun and moon costumes– (El’s doing, once again) – which really just means they’re wearing neutral colored sweaters with a carefully cut out sun or moon pinned to the center. Max thinks they agreed simply because it was a lazy costume, but hey, whatever makes El happy. Plus, they weren’t as weird about corresponding costumes as Max had thought they may be, given the weird tension following the two of them around lately. A win’s a win.

“Byers!” Lucas shouts excitedly once they’re in earshot, and throws an arm around Will’s shoulders. It takes about three seconds and a quick ‘Hi?’ from Will before Lucas is promptly sweeping him away, gesticulating wildly with his free hand and saying something about seeing Mandy Smith on the staircase.

Max and Mike share a look and an eyeroll, and Mike gestures to the recently vacated couch that’s pushed against the wall. Max nods curtly and grabs his arm, tugging him maybe a bit more harshly than what’s strictly necessary and sending him stumbling after her through the crowd.

Max collapses onto the cushions, and Mike sinks down next to her, offering her a cup she hadn’t noticed he was holding before. She grabs it skeptically and examines the brown liquid sloshing around inside before turning to Mike, raising an eyebrow.

Mike just raises an eyebrow right back, and Max pinches him in the ribs with her free hand. “How do I know you didn’t, like, poison this or something?”

Mike rolls his eyes, swatting her and away. “It was Will’s, so unless he made some plan to murder you via-poisoned Coke and vodka and traumatize the unsuspecting student body of Hawkins High, you’re fine.”

She shrugs, and takes down the drink in a gulp. There’s more alcohol in it than she thought, and it burns at her throat in a way that sends her hacking. Mike laughs as she splutters– very rudely, by the way– and she moves to elbow him in the ribs again, mid coughing fit.

“Jesus, how much did he put in here?” Max manages after a few unhelpful pats on the back from Mike and a few more actually helpful deep breaths.

Mike shrugs, leaning back into the couch cushions and wringing his hands together. His eyes sparkle with a little more amusement than Max thinks is reasonable, and she smacks his elbow. “Hey!” He protests, rubbing at his elbow and sticking his tongue out at her. Real mature, this one. “Heck if I know, I have no idea where Will even got that from. Pretty sure he took it out of Dustin's hands the second we saw him.”

Max snorts, leaning back to match his posture. The alcohol is starting to hit a little, and her body is starting to feel a little warm and lazy. “By the way, where were you guys?”

It must be a trick of the dark, or maybe just the laser lamp that's shooting multi-colored beams over everything, but Max thinks Mike’s cheeks tint just the slightest bit pinker.

“Oh, uh,” He looks away, down at his hands on his lap. “Just talked for a bit.”

Huh. Okay. Max elbows him again, this time a bit more gently. “That’s good, you guys have been being all weird lately. Dustin and Lucas were close to staging an intervention.” She keeps her tone light and teasing, but there’s some truth behind her words. She hadn’t seen Mike and Will be this weird since the summer of ‘85, back when Mike was treating everyone like shit for seemingly no reason and Will had caught the fallout. 

As much as they both annoy her endlessly, she loves Mike and Will both dearly. That’s a truth not even she can deny. 

So it’s good, really, if they’re getting back to normal. She knows how much they mean to each other. Plus, if she has to sit through one more hang out where Lucas whines about Mike and Will– rather than dedicating his attention to much more important things like, say, kissing her– Max is going to lose it.

Mike offers a tentative little smile, and plays with a loose thread on the cuff of his sweater. “Yeah, um. About that, I’m… sorry for being distant lately. I didn’t mean to make it weird for everyone. I just…”

He trails off, and Max watches him, puzzling. Sure, Lucas and Dustin have been little crybaby’s all the time during Mike and Will’s strange absence, and that was seriously getting on her nerves. And yeah, maybe snapping the two of them out of their weird episodes of spacing out when they finally did show up was annoying, but really what it all came down to was the fact that Mike and Will were her friends– and as much as she hates to admit it –she missed them, too.

Normally, Max would tease Mike relentlessly for being a weirdo as of recent, and probably would grill him about the barely faded bruise peeking out from under his collar. But right now, as he stares down at his tightly wrung hands and his knee shakes back and forth, he looks kind of… resigned. As if he’s already accepted that he’s made some grave mistake that Max and the others will never forgive him for. The thought makes her stomach feel weird. Or maybe that’s whatever she just drank.

Mike gets like this sometimes, weirdly self deprecating and caught up on the littlest things. 

They’re similar like that.

Max thinks he may overthink everything way more than he lets on. In fact– she knows this to be true. Back when she had first woken from her coma, just at the climax of the end of the world, Mike had been weirdly avoidant when it came to her. When she had cornered him and demanded what was up, he had tearfully explained that– somehow– he had twisted everything that had happened up in his head and had come to the conclusion that everything that had gone down those past three years was his fault. As if it wasn’t the asshole that was Vecna that held sole responsibility for tormenting Max until her untimely death… and revival? 

Somehow Mike Wheeler had convinced himself that Max’s coma was his fault. That he should’ve checked on her more, shouldn't have gone all the way to California and left her in Hawkins, as if he had any way to predict that a previously-unknown, viney, red, bone-breaking monster would choose to target Max and could have done literally anything to defeat him if he had been there. Moron.

Anyways, Max had been watching Mike a little closer since then. He has his tells, and she kind of resents how well she knows them.

Like now, with his unfocused eyes glued to his lap and the slight tension in his shoulders. Does this idiot really think he’s committed some horrible, unforgivable crime and that Max and Lucas and Dustin all hate him for it? Sure, he’s been a crappy friend. So what? They’ve all had their moments. 

Plus, if Max is being really honest with herself, she’s happy for him. Proud that he’s come out of his shell enough to find some poor girl that’s fallen victim to his stupid puppy dog eyes and his tendency to ramble.

Max tunes back in, and presses her knee comfortingly against Mike’s. He looks up and meets her eyes, features painted in surprise.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” She shouts over the music, but she’s smiling.

After a moment, Mike smiles back, and nudges her gently in the ribs. “Yeah, yeah, I know.” He rubs at his neck sheepishly. “I just… I feel bad.”

“Don’t. You’re fine, just promise not to ghost us again? You might have to tell the mystery girl that she has competition. Who knew how much Lucas and Dustin crave your attention?” Max teases. It hits her then, that said ‘mystery girl’ is very likely at this party. Hm.

Mike laughs again, and the rest of the tension releases from his shoulders. “I’ll let hi-her know.” 

They sit there in companionable silence, then. Or rather, companionable silence filled by a very loud, very bass-heavy song blasting through the speaker system. The alcohol is making Max feel a bit sleepy, and she leans her head onto her shoulder as she scans the crowd until she catches sight of a familiar sparkly dress.

Max stands, looking back at Mike, who looks perfectly content, head leaned back against the wall and looking up at the ceiling. “I’m gonna go find El. Wanna see if you can find Lucas and Will and the poor girl they’ve surely cornered? Or whatever table Dustin is probably dancing on right now?”

Mike meets her gaze and laughs. “Sure.”

Max offers out a hand, and he lets himself be yanked off the couch. He stumbles a bit, catching himself on her shoulder. She laughs as he rights himself and shakes her head.

God, what girl could possibly be getting with Mike? Look, she may love him, but he’s just so… well, he’s Mike. He’s clumsy and he’s loud and he’s nerdy, which, Max herself is very happily dating a nerd, but Mike is next level. 

He’s, well, he’s an acquired taste. And Max can say that because she knows that she’s one too. Those who know him best know how his loudness and abrasiveness comes from his only-son-and-middle-child-with-borderline-negligent-parents complex, and the fact that he thinks he needs to be heard to be appreciated. He’s snarky, and he can be mean for the same reasons.

She gets him, like he gets her. He maybe understands her better than anyone else in the Party– not that she’ll ever admit it to him.

As she watches with amusement as he brushes himself off and parts with a gentle shove to the shoulder and off in the direction of a singing voice that sounds suspiciously like Dustin, she can’t help but grin.

Yeah, he’ll be fine.

—

Not even twenty minutes later, when Max hears a loud crash and a yell that sounds a bit like Mike yelling Will’s name, she takes it all back.

Chapter Text

Monday, October 31st, 1989.

When it happens, El is actually having a great time. 

Justin, a nice guy from her English class, had asked her if she’d wanted a drink the second they’d finally gotten to the house, and she had agreed. El had a very pleasant time chatting on the dimly lit staircase with him, and an even more pleasant time making out with him on said staircase. 

He was very polite about it, said please and everything. El thinks he’s a good kisser. At least, based on what she knows from her and Mike’s makeouts at thirteen and her recent phase of participating in things that would give her dad a heart attack, which includes lots of kissing. 

Joyce calls it her “belated rebellious phase”. What can she say? Kissing’s fun, and it’s even more fun watching Hop’s face turn that crazy shade of red.

Justin is sweet, but after a while, El had gotten incredibly bored of the taste of whatever sugary, alcoholic drink was on his lips, and had bid him a (not very) reluctant goodbye before skipping off to find the others.

Now, she’s propped comfortably against the living room wall farthest from the door. Max is next to her, head leaned on her shoulder and complaining loudly about their Calculus teacher and Dustin’s antics and a myriad of other things.

They’ve been there for a while, after Max had found El in the crowd and had asked her to dance. They had twirled and jumped around ridiculously to the beat of whatever Top Hits were blasting over the sound system for what felt like forever, before a thoroughly flushed and disheveled Max asked if she wanted to sit.

So yeah, even if Justin didn’t taste amazing, and the rest of the Party was nowhere to be found, and El’s shiny headband had gone missing somewhere in between Justin’s fingers in her hair and her and Max’s debut performances as swing dancers, it was still the perfect, all-American teenage Halloween night El had been dreaming about. Top five, for sure.

Well, at least, it is. 

It’s all going fine and dandy– as Joyce would say –, until the beat of the music is temporarily drowned out by a surprisingly loud yelp and the sound of something hitting the wall, hard, from the direction of the kitchen.

Max’s head shoots up from her shoulder, and she gives El a confused look. Half the crowd in the living room is looking around, unsure, and the other half is either too wasted or too submerged in exchanging spit to have a reaction. Some people have already taken off in the direction of the hallway leading through the dining room to the kitchen, interests piqued.

El debates staying there, on the ground. Her limbs feel a little heavy from all the dancing and the few drinks she’s had. She hasn’t had too much, though. Dad would kill her if she came home drunk. Or, at least, he would thoroughly scold her about the dangers of underage drinking with books from, like, the 70’s, and horror stories from his childhood until she died of boredom, right there at the kitchen table.

Max seems to be perfectly content with where she is, because she moves to lay her head back on El’s shoulder with a sigh.

At that moment, a very distinct yell echoes through the house, and the music finally screeches to a halt. 

“Will! Don’t!” 

Max tenses at her side, breath hitching. The sudden silence in the house is jarring, a heavy sheet of quiet weighing down over the previously booming house. Before El has time to react, another familiar voice echoes from the kitchen, through the hall and into the now hushed living room.

“You lay another fucking hand on him and I swear to God I’ll-”

El’s heart drops to the pit of her stomach at the sound of her brother's voice, loud and sharp like a knife cutting through the silence. She shoots up, Max close behind. They shove their way through the hordes of fellow teenagers, the buzz of confused chatter following hot on their heels. El doesn’t really hear them, though. 

Her heart is beating fast and hard in a pace that leaves her ears ringing as she shoves past a girl dressed in a red cape and her date dressed correspondingly as some sort of wolf. Max cuts ahead and takes hold of El’s wrist, pushing through the dining room past the table littered in red plastic cups.

When they finally burst through the silently observant crowd of onlookers from the doorway feeding into the kitchen, El’s heart drops at the scene splayed out in front of her.

Will is standing just in front of El, at the center of the little half circle carved out from the crowd. His shoulders are hiked up practically to his ears, and a frozen Lucas has an iron grip on his forearm, jaw slack.

A boy dressed in some sort of half-assed pirate garb, who absolutely reeks of beer and sweat is standing in front of Will, clutching a swelling jaw and staring at the ground in disbelief.

Something in El’s stomach drops as the pieces come together.

The tension filling the barely lit kitchen is thick enough to bite. El feels Max’s grip on her wrist squeeze tight as she catches onto the scene in front of them as well.

El can feel the anger pulsing off of her brother in waves as she watches him shake off his fist, and the multi-colored lights filling the kitchen blink ominously. 

El’s eyes flicker to the left, where Mike is leaned up against the opposite counter, thoroughly more disheveled than the last time she saw him. He’s cupping a rapidly reddening cheek almost absentmindedly with a pale hand. Much like everyone else in the crowded kitchen, his focus is glued to the two boys in front of him. 

Max reacts faster than El, and slips away around the circle, eyes trained on Mike. The second Max’s hand falls from her grip, he looks up. Mike’s eyes are wide and unfocused as he meets El’s gaze across the room, something in them startled and slightly pleading.

“You bitch!” A loud, slightly slurred shriek cuts through the tense silence, drawing El’s attention sharply back to the center of the room. The pirate, it seems, has come to his senses, and he looks nothing short of enraged as he glares at Will, watery eyes pinched.

Will seems to register what he’s done in the same moment, his shoulders falling and his face tight, but before he has time to move, Mr. Pirate is lunging for him.

El tenses, a familiar energy creeping up her spine. 

Sure, this guy’s drunk as hell, and he’s wobbly as he moves— slightly off target —towards Will, but El can’t help the way her shoulders raise and her fingers flex, an electric buzz running through every nerve.

She’s not the only one. She sees Lucas moving to step in front of Will, and catches Max freezing from over where she’s not-so-gently trying to tug Mike’s hand away from his face.

“Hey!” A loud, exasperated yell cuts through the crowd.

Before the pirate or anyone else has any chance to react, he’s being dragged backwards across the tile by the scruff of his collar. He lets out a startled yelp, feet scrabbling against the ground and hands fruitlessly reaching for purchase against a stray arm or countertop.

With a flash of blonde hair, El recognises the girl pulling the pirate along with an iron grip as none other than Tracey Mulligan, in all her prettily curled, perfectly made up, five-foot-three glory.

The kitchen is still and silent as everyone watches as – in a frankly very impressive feat of strength for someone her size – Tracey tosses the disheveled pirate at a little crowd at the edge of the circle that must be his friends.

“Get him out.” She hisses at them, and her glare must be pretty mean, because all five-or-so boys nod emphatically and reach for their friend. Soon enough, the flustered, dumb-struck looking pirate is swept away into the crowd of onlookers with nothing more than a frustrated grunt.

Tracey spins on her heel, pinning her hands on her hips and turning her sharp gaze on Will, who’s still frozen in place and looking more and more thoroughly chastened by the second.

El winces, bracing herself in sympathy for whatever earful Will is about to earn. But just as Tracey opens her mouth, she instead sweeps her heavy glare around the room at the crowd that has accumulated over the past ten minutes.

“What are you all standing here for?” She says loudly, tapping her foot against the floor. Her questioning rage has the assortment of partygoers spinning on their heels, and before she’s fully caught up, the crowd around El has thinned considerably. The music picks up again from the next room over, drowning out the quiet chatter in the thump of bass.

Tracey meets Lucas’s eyes from where he’s still standing just in front of Will. Her gaze has softened slightly, and she moves her hands from her hips to cross her arms across her chest. “As satisfying as it is that Byers here knocked the shit out of Tony, I’m going to have to ask you to get him out. Can’t condone violence and all that, y’know?”

A rush of relief runs through El, and she tries for a grateful smile.

Lucas nods rapidly, grabbing Will’s bicep and looking over to Max, meeting her gaze in the darkened kitchen, looking about just as lost as El feels.

Max grabs Mike’s wrist and tugs him towards the door, Lucas pulling Will hot on her heels. El watches as her brother’s eyes catch on Mike, who offers him a small, reassuring smile, and her confusion grows.

She makes to follow and figure out what the hell just happened, when she’s interrupted by a flash of blonde.

“Wait.” El turns to see Tracey dipping her hand into a cooler by the counter and holding out an icy Coke can. “For your friend’s face,” Tracey smiles, all venom in her tone gone and eyes gentle. “Sorry that your Halloween ended like this.”

“It’s alright, it was fun while it lasted,” El says over the music, taking the can and offering her an apologetic grin. “Sorry about the scene.”

Tracey shrugs. “Eh, Tony deserved it. Give your brother a pat on the back for me.”

El gives her another smile, and turns to push through the crowd once more. She slides through the throng of sweaty bodies to where Max’s flash of red hair is just disappearing out the door, and eventually is met by a rush of cold, refreshing night air.

As she steps out onto the driveway, El finds that her heart is still beating just a bit too hard in her chest, and her confusion hasn’t wavered as she moves towards Mike’s car. 

What had prompted Will to punch some random drunk? Sure, Will is strong. He’s smart and calculated but he’s never been the most reactive. Never one to stand up for himself when it really matters.

Always one to stand up for those he loves, though.

Really, El knows what happened. The pieces came together sometime between the shouting and the red print staining Mike’s face.

Will and Mike have been, well, WillandMike, ever since El’s known them. 

Their little duo predates any of them joining the Party, even. Sure, they’d had rough patch after rough patch for a while during the couple of years where the world kept insisting on ending, and El and Mike’s dumpster fire of a relationship hadn’t helped, but they’d moved past that long ago. 

El really has always known how deeply they care for each other. But, up until a humid, miserably hot day this past August, she really hadn’t had a full grasp on how deep their love ran for each other. Or at least, hadn’t had it confirmed. 

In some way, she thinks Mike and Will were always intended to fall into each other's orbit. Like the characters in her and Joyce’s favorite romance novels, they were made to love each other.

Over and over again, El has watched Mike and her brother trip over themselves and make sacrifice after stupid sacrifice for each other. Whether that be in the form of a mislabeled painting or a sword in a demogorgon's chest, the two had always had a sense of bravery when it came to the other.

So, when they explained to her in a tearful exchange in her bedroom on that hot summer's day that they’d never wish to hurt her, but that they had fallen into each other much more than they had ever intended, and confessed their true feelings, El couldn’t help but be anything but ecstatic for them.

That being said, harboring their secret for so long had proven to be quite the challenge. And Jesus, did they make it hard for her.

Especially if Will was punching people about it.

Just as she reaches the car, Lucas brushes past her back towards the house, mumbling something about finding Dustin so they can ‘get the hell out of here already’.

El hums sympathetically, and moves down to where Mike and Will are leaning against the car. They’re chatting quietly, and with each word leaving Mike’s mouth, Will’s tense posture slackens, shoulders falling inch by inch.

“Here,” She says, passing Mike the Coke. He offers a weak smile, and presses the can to his face with a wince.

“We better get out of here,” Max says out the window from where she’s sitting in the passenger seat. “Before Tracey decides that she also doesn’t condone loitering.”

Mike makes a sound of agreement, reaching out and squeezing Will’s hand almost imperceptibly before rounding the car to slip into the back seat. Will looks up and meets El’s eyes, his expression pained and guilty. 

“I’m sorry,” He says quietly. “For ruining your night.”

El shrugs, leaning against the car in Mike’s vacant spot. “You didn’t ruin anything. Though, you do have some explaining to do.”

Will winces, looking down at his red knuckles. “Yeah, yeah. Once we get home, though.” He pauses, shoulders rising again with a groan. “Fuck, Hop’s gonna kill me.”

El can’t help the smile that creeps onto her face. “Well, did Tony deserve it?”

“Yes.” Will says, no hesitation. He leans away from the car to glance at where Mike is on the back bench. His eyes are full of something soft, and his eyebrows pinch worriedly.

El shrugs again, moving to round the car and follow Mike. “Then what’s Hop gonna do about it?”

Will snorts, leaning off the door completely and opening the door he was leaning against. “You’re taking this whole defiant phase very seriously.”

She laughs, looking over the roof of the car to where Lucas is now making his way down the driveway, a flustered Dustin in his wake.

They all clamber into the car, Will and Mike in the very back, El and Dustin in the middle and Lucas driving with Max up front. As soon as the ignition clicks to life, Dustin is spinning around in his seat, cheeks flushed and curls in a knotted state that El is sure will take pounds of conditioner to get out. 

“Byers! I heard you decked Tony C. in the face!” He exclaims, seemingly unperturbed by their abrupt exit. 

Will just flushes, lifting his hand to show off his already slightly bruised knuckles in confirmation. 

“Seriously? Awesome!” Dustin practically shouts, twisting even further in his seat to grasp Will’s arm and run a finger over his reddened hand. He looks up then, his gaze only mildly unfocused as he catches the sight of the Coke can pressed against Mike’s cheek. (How he has such a high alcohol tolerance, El doesn’t know). “Dude, what happened to you?”

Mike shrugs, sliding further down in his seat.

“Y’know, I’d like to know that too.” Max says, following in Dustin’s lead and spinning in her seat with narrowed eyes.

“Guys, seriously? Just wait till we get back,” Lucas practically sighs from behind the wheel. They’re rapidly approaching the turn onto Maple, and the car falls quiet.

There’s a quiet, questioning tension in the silence, all focused on the boys in the backseat. It’s eerie, if El’s being honest. The Party is never this quiet.

Finally, Lucas pulls into the driveway of the Wheelers, and the six of them fall out of the car in practiced rhythm. They quietly make their way around the house, Dustin only slightly leaning on El for support. Lucas tosses Mike the keys, which he uses to open the side door into the basement.

El crosses into the warmth of the room, rubbing her arms with chilly hands. Lucas passes her and moves up the stairs, footsteps careful and soft. Dustin promptly collapses onto the ground, not dissimilar to Mike the day he almost got him and Will caught out with the marks on his throat. (Well, maybe that one is on Will).

Max meets El’s gaze from across the room where she’s sitting in the Wheeler’s old armchair, shaking her head with a sigh. El laughs, grabbing a blanket and crossing the room to sit on the floor at Max’s feet.

Lucas soon reappears down the stairs, one of Mrs. Wheeler’s floral hand towels in hand and an icepack in the other. He silently tosses them over to Mike, before sitting on the floor near Dustin’s head.

“Okay, Byers. Care to explain what the hell that was?” Max breaks the silence, then, her question pointed to where Mike and Will are pressed shoulder to shoulder on the couch, despite the whole other half of the couch being vacant. (Jesus, how has no one caught onto them?).

Will doesn’t respond immediately, instead keeping his attention glued to the boy next to him. El watches her brother scan over Mike’s hunched posture and downturned face with a pinched brow and calculating eyes. His focus flickers to the rest of the Party scattered around the basement, before briefly meeting El’s eyes with a sort of determination.

El catches the exact moment where Will determines that the pros outweigh the cons, and– despite the audience –, he reaches a gentle hand out.

His palm meets the side of Mike’s cheek, gently turning his face and directing his gaze from the ground to meet his. With his other hand, Will takes the discarded icepack from Mike’s lap and presses it against his reddened cheek with a gentle force.

Mike lets out a little sound as he meets Will’s eyes. Maybe from the shock of the cold, or maybe something a little more to do with the nature of this very public display.

Lucas sighs, apparently unbothered, leaning back on his hands and looking around the room before settling on Will and Mike with a puzzling look. “Well, Will disappeared right after we’d finally tracked down Lucy. I went off to find him, and by the time I did, Tony had cornered you, Mike, in the kitchen. He was saying some nasty stuff, and I saw him grab your face, hard.”

Mike looks down at his lap from where his face is still in Will’s grip, as if to hide his expression. Will bites his lip, eyes not leaving the boy in his grasp.

“And then,” Lucas continues at the lack of interruption. “You tried to get out of his grip, which is when he went to… hit you. But before he could, Will, well…”

“You punched him.” Max finishes, her tone indecipherable.

“He deserved it,” Will states simply. It’s the first time he’s spoken since they’d gotten in the car. 

“Well, sure sounds like it,” Dustin agrees amiably, nodding from his place on the floor. “But, uh… what exactly was Tony trying to do, grabbing you like that? And what was he saying?” 

There’s a pause, and Mike looks up, turning his face in Will’s hands to look at them.

“He um… well, he saw Will and I…” Mike trails off, looking down at his hands again. 

“He caught us making out.” Will says. His tone is determined. Resolute and challenging, daring, but El can see the way his hands are shaking from where they’re pressed against Mike’s face, and his eyes don’t leave the head of curls in front of him. She can’t help the rush of pride that runs through her at her brother’s bravery. “We thought he was too drunk to register it, so we just went back down to find you, Lucas, but I guess the dumbass had some brain cells left. He…”

“He cornered me, like you saw. Kept saying he thought I was ‘too pretty to be a queer’ and stupid shit like that. He um, well he said that if I was, he might as well kiss me to ‘see what i had given up girls for’,” Mike continues, face hidden behind his hair and voice as quiet as she’s ever heard it. “So uh, yeah.”

The room is dead silent. El finds herself holding her breath maybe just as much as Will and Mike must be. Her heart aches for them. For Mike, for being attacked by some moronic drunk for being who he is, for loving who he loves. For both of them, pouring the softest parts of themselves out for the Party to see and to do what they wish with.

Surprisingly, in his state, it’s Dustin who reacts first. He stands, moving over to where Will and Mike are sitting, gazes still averted, and promptly scoops them both into a bone-crushing, surprisingly coordinated hug.

“That’s bullshit,” He says loudly into their hair.. “Tony’s an asshole. I’m sure as fuck sending Steve after him.”

El hears Mike, or maybe Will, let out a watery, surprised laugh. 

Max snorts, standing. “Good idea Dustin. Send the babysitter off to attack a teenager.” She practically jumps onto the couch, scooting down to wrap her arms tightly around the growing pile of bodies. “I vote sending Nancy.”

El can see the pile shake slightly as Mike or Will or both start crying in earnest, and Max and Dustin pull back slightly, if only to let Lucas scoop them into a hug of his own.

“You’re not mad?” Mike asks tearfully. “Y’know, that we’re…”

“Of course not,” Lucas laughs, practically sitting on Will to hug Mike tighter. “I’m honestly just glad you’re okay. And… uh, I’m feeling incredibly stupid right now.

Max elbows Lucas, and Dustin pipes up again. “Thank you for telling us guys, and everything, seriously. Now I know why you guys have been so weird!”

“We love you both, so, so much, even if you’re the world’s shittiest liars,” Max says, and Will blubbers indignantly.

El can feel herself tearing up as she watches the scene from by the chair.

The pride she feels for the two boys in front of her is immense, and the relief flooding through her is strong enough that it could just as well be her that had just spilled her guts out.

It’s then that the others seem to register El’s absence of reaction, and Max spins on her, finger pointed accusingly. “You knew!”

El shrugs, shedding her blanket and moving to join the little circle with a knowing smile. “Maybe.” 

Lucas and Dustin scoff, and Max shakes her head. 

“So uh, how long has this been going on?” Dustin asks.

Mike and Will exchange a look. “Um, well, four months? Ish?” Mike says, fidgeting with his fingers.

“But he kissed me for the first time a while ago.” Will says, and Mike flushes a shade to challenge that of Max Mayfield's hair.

“I was trying to set you up with a girl for this long and you never corrected me?” Lucas groans, burying his face into his hands. Dustin pats his back sympathetically.

“How long ago is a while?” Max asks, a mischievous grin growing. 

“Back when you were in your coma,” Will answers, biting his lip as if holding back a grin, and Mike follows Lucas’s lead by burying his head into Will’s shoulder.

“Huh,” Dustins says, watching Mike curl closer to Will. “Not that different, really. It was weirder when you guys weren’t talking.”

Will laughs, running a hand through Mike’s curls. “Well, we didn’t want to be too obvious. But uh…”

“That backfired.”

Dustin continues to prod them with questions, as Max pokes and teases Lucas for his wingmanning bust.

“‘What about Willa? She’s so pretty!”

“Shut up! I don’t sound like that.”

“You kinda do.”

“Tony was wasted, he won’t remember any of that, plus he doesn’t even go to Hawkin’s High.” 

“Won’t stop me from going to the police station.”

El looks up, meeting her brother’s eyes, and hopes her message is clear on her face. 

I’m proud of you. 

The way his eyes light up, and his smile widens, paints a clear picture.

Me too.

Chapter Text

Thursday, September 29th, 1989.

Will’s acting weird. And damnit, Jonathan is going to find out why.

Ever since mid-summer. He’s just been… off. 

And it’s not anything upside down related, as Will has assured him thousands of times. No, it’s something else. 

He’s been jittery, jumping at the slightest ring of the phone. Locks himself in his room for hours on end, music blasting from under the door. Jonathan even heard him sneaking out one night, the thin walls making the click of a window opening and closing just audible under the music.

But, he didn’t investigate. He wanted to respect his brother's privacy, let Will come to him. It’s really been starting to nag on Jonathan, though. Mike and all of their gang of friends have been around much less, and according to Nancy no one’s been at the Wheeler’s either. 

Jonathan is worried about his little brother, and it’s gone on long enough.

It’s this rush of concern that sends Jonathan down the hallway of the nearly silent house down to Will’s room. It’s been a few hours since school's been out, and Jonathan had gotten home from work a bit ago. Will hadn’t come out from his room to greet him, and that made a tense worry rise in Jonathan's throat.

So, all this to say, this is how he finds himself staring at the closed door of his brother’s bedroom.

Music is playing quietly, pouring from under Will’s door. Jonathan raps his knuckles gently on the doorframe, listening close for a response. When he doesn’t get one, he presses his ear to the door, listening for the telltale sweep of a brush against canvas or rustle of bedsheets, but the only sound audible just under the music is a quiet, breathy whimper. 

The sound has a wash of sadness flooding through Jonathan. He pictures Will curled up under his covers, quietly torn up and refusing to reach out for help. His hand lifts, but he pauses just before his hand closes over the metal knob.

Look, he knows Will probably wants to be alone, but he can’t help the protectiveness that has him reaching for the door handle. It’s his job as a brother, not letting Will slip back into his old ways of quietly hurting, of not reaching out for fear of being a burden. Like he could ever be one.

With a resolve that has him setting his shoulders, Jonathan closes his hand around the knob and turns it, gently pushing open the door. 

What he sees, there on Will’s bed, catches the words in his throat and shoves them back down. He freezes, hand still on the doorknob and one foot in the door.

The back of familiar mop of dark hair is the first thing he registers, the second thing being his brother's hands tangled in it. 

Someone is on top of Will.

Mike Wheeler. Mike Wheeler is straddling him, caging him into the headboard. Will’s hand is knotted in his curls, the other hand pushing Mike’s t-shirt up to his ribs, hand tracing his pale skin. Mike’s hands are braced on Will’s jaw and shoulder, keeping himself from crushing Will  into the pillows.

If there was any deniability to what they were up to, it disappears at the sight of the angle of their jaws, the sight of their lips locked firmly together.

Jonathan feels himself shortcircuit. His jaw stutters open, and he can’t help the choked sound that falls from his lips.

That’s what does it. 

Mike reacts first, whipping his head around and twisting to fall off of Will in a desperate scramble. His cheeks are bright crimson, hair a mess. He pushes himself to the far side of the bed, smoothing his shirt down frantically.

Jonathan makes eye contact with his brother, who is staring at him with a look of pure dread. His eyes are full of a certain fear that Jonathan hadn’t seen from him in a long time, and he looks close to tears, the way he was when he was four and his favorite crayon was lost, like something special to him had been broken.

The sight makes Jonathan’s heart pinch painfully, but he can’t quite get himself to move closer, simply letting his hand fall limply from the door handle. His mind hasn’t quite caught up to what he’d just witnessed, but his brother was scared, and Will needed to know he was okay.

Both boys look thoroughly panicked. Mike is pressed to the wall Will’s bed is against, staring at Jonathan with a look that Jonathan has never seen on him before. His big brown eyes are full of a sort of shame, and he seems to be trembling with nerves.

The silence that stretches is agonizing, filled only by the thump of music and the ragged breathing of the boys on the bed.

Jonathan, realizing how his frozen state may look to them, slowly reaches behind him and steps fully into the room, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.

“I didn’t hear you knock,” Will says limply, voice strained and unnaturally pitched.

Jonathan slowly moves towards the bed, shaking his head slowly. The fear radiating around the room forces him out of his shock, and he takes a breath. “I thought you were crying.” He says carefully, and he pauses just at the edge of Will’s mattress.

Will looks up at him, some of his fear shifting to a questioning stare. His eyes and posture are full of a quiet determination. Jonathan admires his brother for that. His resolve. That even in the face of something scary, he refuses to feel weak.

“Listen, Will, I-” Jonathan is cut off by a shaky intake of breath from the other side of the bed. Both of them whip their heads to the wall, where Mike is curled up on himself, head in his hands.

His shoulders are shaking, and Jonathan clocks the quiet, sharp gasps at the same time Will does. All of his brother's attention shifts to Mike, and he quickly pushes himself over to him, gently pulling his hands from his hair by the wrists.

“Hey, hey. Mike, it’s okay.” Will mutters softly, the tension from his recent panic barely hidden in his voice. He lets go of Mike’s wrists and gently cups his jaw, forcing his gaze up to meet him. 

Mike looks terrified. His breathing is sporadic, and his eyes are filled with unshed tears. He opens his mouth, turning to Jonathan as if to say something. Instead, he lets out a choked sob, covering his face with his hands again.

Seeing Mike like this, seeing his brother's desperate glance sent his way, melts away the last of Jonathan's astonishment, and he sits at the edge of the bed closest to the wall, facing Mike and Will.

“Mike. It’s okay, bud. It’s just me,” He starts, and Mike peels his hands away from his face, meeting him with a tearily unsure, slightly surprised gaze. It reminds him so much of a version of Mike from years ago, looking up at Jonathan with teary eyes and a scraped knee, that his heart squeezes. Will turns to look at Jonathan too, hand firmly on Mike’s knee. His jaw is set in silent resolution, and his gaze is heavy on Jonathan, as if daring him to say anything. 

“You know I love you both, right?” Jonathan starts with a conviction that comes easily. It’s true. Of course it is, he loves his brother more than anything in the world, and he knows Mike is Will's perfectly favorite person, and always has been. 

And sure, maybe Jonathan had built some resentment during that year in California, for the boy bringing his little brother so much pain. But Jonathan has known Mike since he was five, with his unsettlingly intense gaze and confident little demeanor, and during the end of the world, Mike was a driving factor in saving Will, and in keeping him safe. Jonathan would forever be grateful for him, and his fierce protectiveness of Will where Jonathan couldn’t pick up the slack.

He reaches out, putting a hand on one of each boy’s shoulders. Both of them meet his gaze, Will softening and Mike’s breathing slowing. “Nothing, nothing about this changes that. And I’m sorry, for bursting in like this, for not reacting right away. I didn’t mean to scare you. You both are safe here, with me.”

They sit there for a second, staring at him. Tears are still running down Mike’s cheeks, and he’s looking at Jonathan with an unsure sort of awe. As if he had expected him to be lying, as if he was waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under him. The rest of the tension drains from Will’s shoulders, and he pushes forward, wrapping Jonathan in a tight hug. “I love you too, Jonathan.” He says, voice quiet and shaky.

Relief washes through him like a flood, and he squeezes his little brother tight.

Over Will’s shoulder, Mike looks significantly less panicked. His tears have slowed, and he wipes at his cheeks furiously with a fist.

Will pulls back and reaches for Mike’s hand, squeezing it softly. Their eyes meet, and something sweet and unspoken passes between them.

“You- you won’t tell anyone, right?” Mike finally says, voice quiet and cracking. His big eyes stare up at Jonathan with that weirdly sharp gaze he’s had since he was a kid. It hits Jonathan then, how much Mike means to him. He’s been the most important person to his little brother since they were in kindergarten, and still is, just maybe in a slightly evolved way. He feels a rush of gratitude as he reaches out.

“Of course not,” Jonathan reassures, patting Mike’s knee. “I’d never.”

Both boys look up at him with teary smiles, and Jonathan can’t help but smile back. Something nags at the back of his brain, and his grin grows.

“Is this why you two have been acting so weird lately?” He asks, and Will’s smile turns sheepish, shrugging.

“Maybe,” he says, playing with Mike’s fingers in his grip. “We um- well, we first got together in July. We figured that everyone would figure it out if we were openly spending so much time together, so…”

Jonathan can’t help but laugh, and Mike’s brow furrows in confusion. “I think everyone just thinks you’re fighting. Nancy and Dustin have been theorizing since the 4th.”

Mike shakes his head. “I think Nance has me figured out,” he whines. “She and my mom grilled me all summer.”

“Maybe stop being so obvious then,” Will teases, and Mike pokes his ribs in protest with a little squawk.

Jonathan smiles, moving to get off the bed with one last squeeze to Will’s shoulder. He makes his way to the door, opening it and throwing a glance over his shoulder, where Mike and Will are curled into each other in quiet giggles. 

“Lock your door,” He throws over his shoulder, and Will’s head whips up, cheeks turning pink as he nods. “If Hopper finds you two like that he’ll never let you over again.” He teases, and Mike rolls his eyes.

As he steps out, clicking the door shut behind him, Jonathan can’t help the smile that creeps up his face. 

He’d gone in there to find out what was up with his brother, and well… he had. He’s glad that Mike and Will have someone in their corner now, even if that’s probably not the way they had wanted to be found out.

Jonathan walks into the kitchen, where his mom and El are unloading groceries into the cabinets. 

“Hey honey, what’s up?” His mom says, struggling to lift a bag of flour up to the top shelf.

Jonathan schools his smile, walking over and lifting it from her hands to slide it into place. “Nothing much, just checked on Will.”

He doesn’t miss the way El’s head whips around from her place by the fridge. They catch gazes, and El’s eyes are narrowed, questioning and interrogative. She knows.

Jonathan just offers her a knowing smile and a gentle nod, and she seems to take it for what it is. A smile of her own stretches across El’s face, and she nods back, turning to put a package of something onto the counter.

“How’s he doing?” His mom asks, digging into the paper grocery bag. “I never know what’s going on with that boy.”

“He’s good, just busy recently,” Jonathan reassures her, pulling out a pot from under the counter for dinner.

“Good,” His mom says, smiling at him gratefully and turning to the counter again.

Yeah, good.

***

After this little blip, Will and Mike are more sneaky than Jonathan’s given them credit for, and somehow they manage to keep their little secret safe from literally everyone else’s speculation.

Jonathan keeps his promise, never giving anything away. Not to Nancy, not to their friends, not to anyone.

It’s not his to tell.