Endless Roads

Chapter 1

It was nearly three in the morning when Mike found her.

Will had arrived back at the house an hour earlier, bundled into a coat several sizes too large and tucked into Mrs Byers' side in a way that made him look much younger than he actually was. His eyes tracked wearily around the room, grazing over Dustin and Lucas and Max and Steve before finally landing on Mike, and when the two locked gazes the whole room fell away.

Despite the exhaustion lining the smaller boy's face, there was a gleam of energy in his eyes that was purely Will, and Mike knew in an instant that the Mind Flayer was gone. He grinned, stumbling forward to wrap his arms around his friend, and felt the tension ease from his heart as Will's arm snaked its way over his shoulders.

They only had twenty minutes to soak in each other's presence before Mrs Byers gently told the boys that Will needed to rest. Mike opened his mouth to protest, but slammed it shut when he noticed the pronounce tremble of her arm as she reached out for her son and led him from the room.

She needed some time with Will. Mike could understand that.

So, when Dustin and Lucas started complaining, Mike told them to shut up and help him clean the kitchen instead. He was expecting an argument – there was always an argument, lately – so he was pleasantly surprised when they both immediately snapped their mouths shut, exchanged an inscrutable look with each other, then complied.

He was pretty sure that look was some sort of commentary on him. A week ago, he would have called them out on it, grumpily accusing them of talking about him behind his back.

Now, though? He couldn't really bring himself to care.

He divided the chores in the kitchen, ordering each boy to a separate corner, and for forty minutes he lost himself in busy camaraderie. They tossed playful insults back and forth even as they carefully swept up broken glass, put crockery back in its rightful place on the shelf and debated the best way to fix the kitchen table.

Although he had to admit, the debate was becoming decidedly less friendly by the second.

Mike was all-too-experienced in recognising the signs of an escalating argument. He paused in his work, wide eyes darting back and forth between his friends as Dustin's gestures grew progressively wilder and Lucas' voice became increasingly edged with snark.

And – yeah. He really didn't have the energy for this.

There was an over-full trash bag in the centre of the room, and Mike jumped on the opportunity to escape. He took off for the front door, bag clutched firmly in one hand, and waved off their calls for input in favour of stepping out in the cool, blissfully quiet, night air.

The Byers' front porch had always been his favourite thing about the house. It was cosy in winter but cool in summer, sheltered enough to provide some privacy but still somehow open and welcoming with its worn floorboards and scattering of well-loved furniture. When they were younger – and, more recently, when Will was still recovering from the Upside Down and Mrs Byers wanted him close – they had whiled away entire afternoons on the deck, enjoying the illusion of freedom afforded by the low railing and fresh air.

Now, the wooden slats creaked beneath his shoes, grounding him as he took two steps forward and rested his weight against the banister.

Stars dotted the inky black sky, surprisingly clear without the light pollution of the town. In the distance, he could just make out the faint outline of woodland treetops. They swayed slowly in the gentle breeze, the same cool fingers of air that played with his hair and caressed his cheek, and he felt himself sink into the sensation, closing his eyes and slumping forward against the railing.

Will was going to be okay.

Eleven was okay, according to Hopper's most recent radio update.

The gate was closed, and the Mind Flayer was gone.

It was over.

For the first time in nearly a year, he allowed himself to breathe.

It was going to be okay.

The silence enveloped him, filling his mind, until it was suddenly shattered by a small sniffling sound from behind. He startled, lurching upright and whirling around in a single movement. The trash bag crashed to the ground, his arms reflexively rising defensively before him, and his eyes tore over the porch furniture in search of the source.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

Mike followed the voice, twisting his neck to the right. A square of yellow light streaming from the living room window illuminated the porch swing and there, curled into the corner, was a small figure with bright red hair.

"Max," he breathed. His arms dropped to his side and he swayed, relieved. Jesus Christ. He hadn't even noticed that she had disappeared. "How long have you been out here?"

He didn't mean to sound accusatory, but his heart was pounding erratically in his chest and his voice was hoarse with exhaustion, so the words came out harsher than he intended.

Max's silhouette instantly stiffened in response.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she snapped. "I should have realised this whole porch belonged to you."

Mike' fear faded as quickly as it had come, replaced by irritation. His eyes narrowed, and he folded his arms across his chest. "No, it belongs to the person who thinks she can just waltz into our lives and pretend she fits in.'

She flinched backwards, hurt flickering across her face, and he felt a small pang of regret. But he squashed it down and bit his tongue, not trusting himself to speak, before turning his back to her and staring intently at the road.

The road that was still horribly, terribly, empty.

He leaned forward once more, resting his forearms on the banister, and tapped a mindless rhythm with his foot. Come on, El. We're all waiting for you.

"I'm not trying to replace her, you know. I didn't even know she existed until yesterday."

He froze, not expecting the comment, and didn't dare look away from the path. He opened his mouth, a thousand different replies ready on his tongue, and –

You don't get to talk about her

You could never replace her; she's worth ten of you

Nobody asked you

Just leave me alone

- and he slammed his mouth shut, a sickening feeling creeping into his throat.

Shit.

When did he turn into a mouth-breather?

Max shifted behind him and Mike released a breath he hadn't realised he was holding, fighting against a tight feeling in his chest.

Maybe it was time to make a change.

He squared his shoulders and pushed himself upright. Then he walked stiffly over to the swing and lowered himself into the space beside the redhead, who was eyeing him warily.

"Yeah, I know," he sighed.

Max raised her eyebrows, but her face was still tight with mistrust. "Then why have you been such a dick to me?"

"For what it's worth, I think I've been a dick to everyone," Mike mused, rather than answering.

She didn't respond, so he let his gaze wander back to the driveway as he continued. "Except for Will, maybe. He's the only person I've been able to talk to for the last year, but he never even met El, and he's had his own stuff to deal with."

He felt rather than saw Max squint in confusion. "What do you mean? I thought all you guys were close – a Party?"

"We are," Mike confirmed, then dropped his gaze to his shoes and scuffed his toe against the floor. "But…they got sick of talking about it, I guess. I don't know."

He could feel Max's stare boring into his side and tamped down on a flare of annoyance, pressing his lips together to avoid biting out a snarky comment.

Why did she rile him so much? He wasn't sure, but he couldn't shake the feeling that his anger was probably a bit disproportionate for her snark. Maybe it had more to do with him than her, after all.

And wasn't that a pleasant thought.

The silence was awkward, but Mike didn't have it in him to keep talking. So, he pushed his toe firmly against the ground, moving the swing slowly back and forth, then rested his against the side pole with a sigh.

God, he was just so done with it all. As soon as El and Hopper arrived, he was dragging them both inside and collapsing onto a couch somewhere, and god help anyone who woke him up before noon.

The cushion bounced slightly as Max repositioned herself. Then, he heard her careful intake of breath from beside him.

"When my mum started dating my step-dad, I was so angry," she murmured. Her voice was quieter than he had ever heard, but the words carried clearly through the still night air. "I hated him, and I hated Billy even more. So, I spent a lot of time away from home – at the skate park, at the arcade – and I slept over at my friends' places whenever I could. And I guess I complained too much, because after a while they stopped inviting me over."

Mike winced, sympathy immediately flooding over him, and glanced over at her. Her eyes were wide and genuine, her jaw trembling slightly with uncertainty, and her shoulders were hunched protectively around her neck.

She looked more vulnerable than he had ever thought possible.

"I don't think it's possible to spend too much time complaining," he offered, meeting her gaze and pressing his lips together with concern. "Your step-brother is nuts. I mean, Nancy can be annoying, but he's just a total psycho."

Max snorted. "Nancy is a saint compared to Billy."

"Did you see the look on his face when you swung the bat between his legs?" Mike recalled, awed. "I think you scared the crap out of him. Probably literally."

That prompted a small laugh, but then Max shook her head, her lips twisting into a grimace. "We'll see. It could go either way."

The words hung uncomfortably between them, then the meaning clicked into place.

Frowning, Mike leaned forward to rest a shaky hand on her arm. "Wait, what are you saying?"

Max shrugged him off, expression shutting down once more as she glanced away into the darkness rather than meet his eyes. "It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does," Mike insisted, unintentionally raising his voice to a half-shout.

Max shushed him, eyes darting toward the door, before gripping his forearm in warning. "Let it go," she hissed. "This isn't about you."

"The hell it isn't," Mike snapped, affronted. "You wanted in the Party? Fine, you're in. I'm not going to stand by and let you get hurt in your own home."

For a fleeting moment, he should she would relent.

Her eyes glistened, her lips trembled with emotion, and she stared at him with a mixture of shock and hurt.

But then, something changed. He watched in confusion as she blinked her tears away before they could fall, crossed her arms across her chest and glared daggers into his soul.

"What the hell is your problem?" she lashed out. "You need to protect people to feel useful, or something? I've seen the way you act around Will and Eleven. Stop treating people like they're made of glass."

Mike shrunk back, heart clenching. It took everything he had not to break her gaze, but he forced himself to hold steady.

"It's not like that," he protested, weakly, but she cut him off before he could continue, scorn curling her upper lip.

"Sure, it's not."

That same tired anger was bubbling forth one more and this time Mike did look away, chest heaving as he whipped his gaze back to the driveway.

What he saw made him spring to his feet, eyes wide and anger instantly forgotten.

There were pinpricks of light at the end of the road, growing larger by the second, accompanied by the growl of a familiar engine.

"El."