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Thursday, November 6, 1986, 11:11 p.m.
Steve is crawling across the room, trying to get Will’s attention, but all Will can see is Mike: Mike, who is broken and lifeless in Will’s arms. Why did we do this? Will asks himself, tightly gripping his friend’s shoulders. They should have listened to Steve. Why did I let you convince me?
Vecna kneels down to look Will in the eye. He’s humanoid, two arms, two legs—but he’s horrific, like a man turned inside out. Will feels his stomach turn at the sight of him. Vecna chides, softly, like speaking to a child, “You’re a survivor, Will Byers—as am I.”
It’s not fair. Will is sick of losing—sick of crying, of feeling a stranger in the back of his head, of losing his friends. Losing himself. Mike is—was—the only person who was never obligated to stay by Will’s side. Mike was the only person that Will had ever wanted, the only person to keep Will’s feet on the ground and his head looking forward.
Death can’t be the end. Vecna can’t have him. Cold, Vecna tells Will, “We cannot save the dead.”
Will feels the last dregs of life slipping from Mike now; through his tears, he can see it—the tendrils of his soul floating through his lips, from his eyes, melting from his pores. Across the room, Steve has stopped moving. God, maybe Will has finally lost it, maybe he is crazy, but Steve’s soul is humming within him—like a dying engine. It’s not fair, Will thinks again. Like a tidal wave, a surge of grief and love pours from Will as he screams, “Give me a chance!”
The walls shake. Vecna laughs.
Rage, like a fever, fills Will. In a flash, he sees it all: the beast that took him three years ago, the Zombie-Boy graffiti he scrubbed from his locker, the tatters of Castle Byers as he struck it down, the paintings he started and never finished.
If only life were painting… Will would redo it all. Throw on a coat of paint and start again.
“Of everything we can do together, Sir Will,” Vecna whispers, resting an unwelcome hand on Will’s shoulder. “You may leave the dead to me.”
Pain like a virus swells within Will as he screams. He lets go of Mike and grips the knarled hand on his shoulder, crying, “No!” He’s shaking, or maybe the ground itself is moving. Maybe Vecna is going to end it all. Maybe they’ve failed—maybe Eleven’s on her way— maybe this is the end, coming good or bad.
Doesn’t matter. What matters is his friend—his best friend—his Mike.
Will shuts his eyes and pictures himself painting the canvas white.
.
.
.
Friday, June 22, 1984, 7:32 p.m.
“We’re late,” Dustin complains, tapping his watch. Gremlins has been out for nearly two weeks, and he’s been outvoted each weekend. Instead, they watched Ghostbusters twice in a row. (Mike told Will that he actually wanted to see it again, but he felt bad, so he’s letting it go.)
Lucas does not feel bad. “There’s also Karate Kid,” Lucas suggests, pointing up at the sign. “At 8. We wouldn’t miss any of the previews.”
Dustin pushes him toward the box office, then drags Will and Mike forward by the arms. “Nope,” he tells Lucas. “El can find us in the theater. I’m not waiting anymore.”
“Dude,” Mike says, shaking off Dustin’s hand. “Douche move. She doesn’t know how it works.”
“She knows, Mike,” Dustin says, rolling his eyes. “It’s more of a douche move to think that she doesn’t. She’s come with us before. Jesus, the Chief is probably going to march her into the movie to drop her off, for chrissake.”
“Look at all the people coming out of the last Karate Kid,” Lucas whines. A stream of people is leaving the theater, loudly discussing Ralph Macchio and the beauty of karate. Wax on, some girl says, like poetry is dripping from her tongue. “C’mon, Dustin, this is opening night! Martial arts! Rivalry! Action! We can see Gremlins next week—”
Meanwhile, Mike’s defending himself, saying, “We should still wait, dude, El might want to get a snack or something together—she gets pretty confused by the signs—”
“You and you,” Dustin interrupts, pointing at Mike and Lucas.
Will watches, amused. He has no skin in the game. As they know, he’s seen all these movies.
Dustin points at Lucas. “You are going to shut up about Karate Kid, because—by your own logic—we can watch that next week.” Before Lucas can complain, Dustin points at Mike and continues, “And you are going to have more faith in El. If she needs help, you can go, and we’ll save your seats while you buy Junior Mints or Twizzlers or whatever soda you two will giggle over. So, shut up and pull out your ticket money.”
Grumbling in agreement, they finally get in line for tickets. While Dustin and Lucas pay, Will nudges Mike. “You’re going to like Gremlins.”
“And maybe El will, too. You know, if she even finds us,” Mike grumbles. He sighs, then looks over at Will. “I’ll like it?”
“Dustin’s gonna be annoyed,” Will explains. He got frustrated with the characters breaking the one rule they were told not to break. “You’re going to laugh about it for weeks.”
Mike glances at the door, probably hoping El is going to come through any second.
Will rubs the back of his head. “She’ll be able to find us, Mike.”
Sighing, Mike turns and buys a ticket.
When Dr. Owens appeared at Hawkins Lab in the winter, they cut a deal for El’s freedom much sooner than last time. She’s been living a relatively quiet life with Hopper, who actually lets her be seen in public every now and then. Not sure how she convinced him, but Will figures that Steve probably had something to do with it. He’s been better at explaining everything they’ve seen, everything that went wrong.
Will really admires Steve. Steve has jumped back into step easily, while Will hasn’t been able to find his rhythm. Maybe if everything were the same as it was the first time around and they hadn’t changed anything, Will would know what to do. Or maybe this is Will’s curse, in this life and all the rest: to never know how to fit in.
Will and El go to the lab twice a week to work with the doctors there. They think Will has dormant powers, like El and Henry. Sometimes he believes it, but when he’s sitting there with El, and he can’t crush the soda can or find his friends or do anything at all except sit there, he knows it’s a crock of shit. No way he actually saved himself and Steve in the distant future-past. Even if he did, he doesn’t know how.
Will peels off to get popcorn, while Dustin herds Lucas and Mike into the movie theater. A pair of girls in their grade are standing behind Will in line.
“I heard his mom went crazy looking for him,” one of them whispers, as if Will isn’t right there. As if he can’t hear them. “What’s his deal?”
“Back from the dead,” the other one responds. “Like a zombie, you know?” They both giggle.
Zombie Boy, Will’s brain supplies. No way to avoid it—how could he? But the nickname hurts just as much as it did the first time. It’s only a matter of time before it catches on.
Before he can spiral about it, Mike appears at his side. “Small or large?” He asks, sending a pointed look back at the girls. “Who am I kidding? Large, right?”
Nodding, Will smiles. Of course, Mike is there to help him. “You know it.”
The concessions stand worker is filling up his popcorn bucket when he hears one of the girls again, this time timidly whispering, “He’s kind of…”
Mike turns around. “What? Who’s kind of what?”
“Mike,” Will gasps, grabbing his shoulder and trying to make him turn away.
“Kind of what?” Mike asks again.
It’s Lisa Scott, from Will’s English class. Her cheeks turn red. “Cute,” she says, looking away. “Or whatever. You’re holding up the line.”
“Yeah, get a move on,” her friend says, nodding and grabbing Lisa’s shoulders protectively.
“Sorry,” Will stutters, blushing. He grabs his popcorn and pulls a gaping, shocked Mike away from the line.
As Will pulls him toward the theater, Mike finally tears his eyes away from the girls. “Whoa,” he says. “Did she just—?”
“It’s not that big a deal,” Will says. If only he had waited a minute before joining the line.
Mike grabs his arm. “You could get a girlfriend,” he says. “You gotta go back there and say something, Will.”
Hilarious. Will almost laughs, shrugging. “I don’t want a girlfriend.”
“You—you don’t—? Are you crazy?” Mike asks, whisper-yelling at Will. “Why wouldn’t you—I mean, she’s kind of cute… in a way…”
“I guess,” Will agrees, hesitantly. She’s cute, sure, but Will isn’t interested. “It’s whatever. Let’s just get into the movie before Dustin kills us.”
They miss the first few minutes of the movie. Because they’re late, the group is split into two. Dustin and Lucas are in seats by the center of the theater, but Mike and Will are forced to slip into the back row.
Mike steals a handful of popcorn, eyeing Will from the corner of his eye. “Is this a future thing?” He whispers.
“Is what a future thing?”
“Not wanting a girlfriend,” Mike says, like it's obvious. “What do you know?”
Will huffs a laugh and says, “Not a future thing.”
“It totally is,” Mike responds, shaking his head. He pauses, then asks, “Do any of us get girlfriends?”
Looking around them to make sure no one is listening in, Will shushes Mike. “Mike. You know I’m not going to tell you that.”
“It’s not fair,” Mike whines, reaching for more popcorn.
Will holds the bucket farther away, laughing guiltily, saying, “I know why you’re so curious, but you won’t convince me.” Mike just wants to know if Eleven likes him back. It might be a little selfish of Will, but he just wants to live like this for a bit longer. His relationship— friendship—with Mike changed when Mike and El started dating. He knows it’s a losing battle, a lesson in futility, but Will is not going to hurry their romance along.
Disappointed, Mike sinks down in his seat. “What do you mean?”
Glancing at a sulking Mike, Will snorts. “Just watch the movie.”
Another few minutes of Gremlins play before Mike leans back over. “I promise I won’t tell anyone else,” he whispers. “Why am I so curious?”
“What?” Will asks, looking away from the screen.
“You know why I’m so curious,” Mike whispers. “Tell me why.”
Deciding it’s harmless, Will responds, “Let’s just say I know who you have a crush on.”
Recoiling, Mike blushes. “What? I don’t—what are you talking about?”
Part of Will thinks it’s cute—Mike’s reluctance to admit he has a crush on El. The other, more secret part wonders when Will won’t care at all about the girls that Mike likes. Looking away, Will says, “Don’t worry about it. Just watch the movie, Mike.”
Turning back to the screen, Mike sinks into his seat. He sighs and mumbles, “I don’t have a crush on anyone.”
Will would laugh if he didn’t think it would hurt Mike’s feelings. Instead, he decides to focus on the movie. It’s been a while since he’s seen it.
Eventually, Mike finally relaxes and digs a hand into Will’s popcorn bucket. Their hands touch, freezing Will in place. He looks at Mike, who glances back and then pulls his hand away. He eats his popcorn thoughtfully, hand hanging over his mouth.
Weird. Maybe Will and Mike’s friendship is always doomed to become awkward; no need for Eleven's assistance.
Will regains his brain and swallows his bite of popcorn. This deep into the movie, it becomes clear that El isn’t going to show up. He leans over and says, “I wouldn’t be surprised if Hopper decided the movie is too scary for El. That’s why she’s not here.”
“Scary,” Mike repeats, eating another kernel. “Please. She can kill ten-foot monsters. Are you scared? You went back in time. Does this scare you?”
“...I’m no Eleven,” Will whispers. “Trust me. There are many men in a lab who make that clear twice a week.”
“What are you talking about, Will?”
“I wouldn’t compare myself to El, that’s all,” Will grumbles. He feels the sudden urge to be alone, so he hands the half-full popcorn bucket to Mike. “I’m going to go to the bathroom.”
Mike silently takes the bucket, watching Will go.
The bathroom is empty. Will turns on a faucet, sticking his hands under the scalding hot water and holding them there.
He doesn’t have his visions anymore. Or his goosebumps. He wonders: in his previous life—if he can call it that—maybe he did have some powers like El. Maybe Henry planted them there when the Mind Flayer infected Will. He was magic for a minute, and then it was gone, and now Will gets to wonder for the rest of time: what if? His hands turn red, hot under the faucet, but he doesn’t mind.
“Will,” Mike says, rushing to Will’s side and shutting off the water. “What are you doing?”
Will didn’t even hear the door open. “Uh, nothing,” he stutters. “Sorry. Let’s—we should get back to the movie.”
“No, it sucks,” Mike says, looking Will over. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
Here it is again: people treating Will like a little glass doll. He rolls his eyes and pushes past Mike. “Yeah, fine. Let’s just get back.”
“It’s obviously not fine,” Mike says, following after. “What’s your problem?”
“I don’t have a problem,” Will responds, leaving the bathroom. Mike is hot on his heels, grabbing Will’s elbow and pulling him into the empty arcade corner. “Hey!”
“You have a problem,” Mike says, depositing Will in front of him, by the racing machine. “What’s up? You used to talk to me.”
Will turns away. He, Steve, and the lab all agreed that it’s best to keep the future to themselves. Everyone has already heard the essential stuff about Henry, so everything else should be on a need-to-know basis. Will says, “I can’t talk to you about a lot, Mike. You know that.”
“Who cares what the lab says? Or Steve frickin’ Harrington?” Mike says. “I’m your best friend. Or I was. Before you came back. Everything’s been different.”
Looking back at Mike, Will feels some air leave his lungs. He asks, “You’re not my best friend anymore?”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” Mike says. He grabs Will’s shoulder. “Tell me what’s wrong. Screw the lab. Tell me whatever you want to tell me.”
Will decides to diffuse the tension. “You just want to hear me guess your crush,” he says, forcing a smile. “I’m not falling for it, Mike—”
“Will,” Mike says, levelling Will with a look.
A moment passes. Smile fading, Will sinks into the racer seat. “When it happened the first time,” he starts, lowering his voice. “When I was taken, the Mind Flayer infected me. That year was… it was bad. The visions got worse and worse until it was like I was living in two realities. Like I had True Sight—being pulled between home and the Upside Down.”
Listening intently, Mike sits in the racing chair next to Will and nods for him to continue.
“You helped cure me,” Will says, sending Mike a sideways glance. “You and my mom. But even after I sweat the infection out, the… feeling of being flayed never left. It was like I could still sense the Mind Flayer without having the bad visions.”
“Like Blindsight,” Mike supplies.
“Sort of,” Will confirms. He sighs. “I don’t miss it. I want that to be clear. But… what if that was what made me magic?”
Mike’s eyebrows furrow.
Will turns away, sensing Mike’s confusion. “Or whatever. It doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter,” Mike says. “You think that the Mind Flayer’s infection—what was left when you cured it—that fueled your power, and that’s how you were able to send yourself back in time.”
Will pushes at the wheel, trying and failing to tilt it. The wheel locks when the game is off. He mutters, “Yeah. I know. It’s crazy.”
“It’s not crazy,” Mike assures him.
“I just think that I shouldn’t have to go to the lab every week,” Will tries to deflect. He forces another smile. “It’s cutting into D&D time, you know?”
In the flashing lights of nearby games, Mike turns quiet for a moment and looks away. “El was thinking about making another gate,” he says eventually. He glances back at Will. “The day before Steve found you. She said that she could make another gate to find you.”
Will’s smile turns a little sad, a complicated emotion stirring in his chest. Jealousy of her powers? Resentment toward himself? Appreciative of her care? It’s everything and nothing. “That’s Jane,” he says. “Always my hero.”
“She… she said that she can only…” Mike says, ignoring Will’s comment and searching for the words. “She can only crush the soda can if she wants to. She can only find people if she wants to. She could make the gate if she wanted to.”
“What are you talking about?” Will asks, leaning back to knock his head against the seat.
“Maybe your powers work the same.”
“You saying that I don’t want it enough?”
“Well, I don’t know that,” Mike shrugs. “What I know is that you need to want it and you need to believe in yourself.”
“Believe in myself?”
“Eleven thought she could do it,” he says. “I think she can probably do anything that she thinks she can do. We just need to get your confidence up, and you’ll be right there with her.”
“...That might be hard,” Will admits. “Confidence is a… fickle friend.”
“You might not believe in yourself right now,” Mike says, grabbing Will’s shoulder so they’re facing one another. “But I do. I believe in you, Will.”
Their eyes meet. Will feels his heart thud in his chest. “Thanks,” he manages to say. “Thank you, Mike.”
Mike smiles. He lets go of Will, letting his eyes fall away. He says, “I mean it.”
Will feels warmer. He feels like his feet are on the ground again, looking at Mike. This is enough, he tells himself. “It’s El,” he says, knocking his shoulder into Mike’s. “It’s you and El.”
“What?” Mike asks, laughing. Then his face does a backflip when he understands what Will’s referring to. His smile drops, punching Will in the shoulder. “No! What?”
Will just nods.
“Me and—and—” Mike sputters. “That’s—absurd! Ridiculous!”
“Whatever you say, Casanova,” Will says with a laugh, feeling very safe as he hides his true feelings away.
“You’re messing with me,” Mike says, pointing at Will.
Will says, “She liked you back, if that’s your concern. I’d say even in this life, you've got a chance.”
“She—you—” Mike’s brain does a few more loops, but it doesn’t seem to catch anything. “I don’t… I don’t like El like that. She doesn’t like me like that either.”
“Your crush is safe with me,” Will teases, laughing when Mike punches his shoulder again. “Hey! I can be very discreet!”
“It’s not true,” Mike tells him, sternly. “Forget that part.”
“Part?”
“Of the future—er, past—future-past—god, this is confusing,” Mike sighs. He pushes Will’s shoulder one last time. “Forget it. It’s not… You got it wrong.”
Will decides that Mike is cute when he’s being stubborn. That thought is born and nurtured for about three seconds before Will catches himself, shaking his head and feeling a pang of guilt. He shouldn’t feel that way about his friend. Turning to the game, he says, “Okay, Mike. If you say so.”
Mike turns to the screen in front of him.
They both get the same idea at the same time, digging in their pockets for spare change.
Dustin and Lucas find them there about twenty minutes later. “Guys,” Dustin says, exasperated. “Where the hell were you?”
Will’s pulling into first place, cutting Mike off at the last turn. “Yes! Yes, yes, yes!”
Mike shouts, “No! No! Not again!”
Hands on his hips, Dustin sighs. He asks Lucas, “Why do I bother?”
“This wouldn’t have happened,” Lucas says. “If we’d just seen Karate Kid.”