Author's note: Full disclosure, I forgot I posted this fic here. Oops. Here's the next three chapters all at once, as a treat.


October 3, 1987

California was pretty much exactly how Mike'd imagined it.

When he got off the bus, the afternoon sun was blazing. He shielded his eyes with a hand, scanning around for a map. He finally caught sight of a plastic holder drilled to the side of the ticket stand. He took a flimsy paper map out, relieved that he didn't have to pay. He didn't think he had enough money left for the trip home, but he would worry about that later. First he had to find the Byers' street.

Mike walked over to a picnic area across from the bus station. He sat down at a vacant table, spreading the map out. He knew the Byers' address so it wasn't hard to find on the map. He perked up at the location. It was only three miles from the station! Mike was extremely grateful that he wouldn't have to find another ride. It had been a grueling two days on the road. He was happy for the opportunity to walk.

Mike'd left Nevada early that morning, after spending the night shivering on a bench in a sleepy little town called Hickory. It was a few hours out of his way, but Mike had decided to go through Hickory to avoid taking a more direct route through Vegas. It was true that he may have gotten a connecting ride earlier in Vegas, but Mike'd weighed the odds and decided he would be better off waiting in a smaller, safer spot.

The bus from Hickory had left promptly at 9:00 am that morning. The route was technically headed to San Diego, but it was stopping in a few small towns on the way, including Turkle.

So here Mike was, walking down the street, bound for the Byers'. He was going in the opposite direction of downtown Turkle, so he passed a gas station and a fast food restaurant, and then he was walking down neighborhood sidewalks. His feet felt sore and heavy, despite him having sat on a bus for the past day and a half. He was exhausted, starving, and a bit dizzy. But it somehow didn't kill Mike's mood. California was really something. Although Indiana had gotten cold early, it was still sunny and warm there. Palm trees lined the sidewalks like oak trees in Hawkins. People sat outside in lawn chairs, oblivious to the world in their sunglasses and bikinis. A shirtless man pushing a lawnmower raised his hand to Mike in greeting as he passed. Mike waved back.

Something that Mike gradually noticed was that there weren't as many children as there were in Hawkins. The families were smaller. It was such a minute detail. Yet Mike noticed it, and he suddenly thought of Holly. He wondered if she was playing in fallen leaves or riding her bike or at the playground. Maybe he should have said goodbye.

The sun peaked in the sky, and Mike began to grow sweaty. He checked the map one last time and stuffed it in his backpack, along with his jacket. He was suddenly extremely thirsty. Only half a mile left. He blinked hard, white spots swaying in his vision. It isn't much farther. Half a mile.

The further he walked through the neighborhoods that had to make up all of Turkle's residency because my God there were so many, he noticed that the houses were getting smaller. They weren't as big and glamorous as the first few neighborhoods had been, but it made Mike feel a little more real. It grounded him. These houses could have belonged in Hawkins.

Mike's stomach suddenly tightened as he stepped onto the Byers' street. This was it. They lived on this block. He would only pass a few more houses, then he'd be there. He would see Joyce and Jonathen. El. Will.

This was it.

Taking a deep breath, fighting back rising panic, Mike headed determinedly down the street. He narrowed his eyes against the glaring sun, looking at the house numbers. No, no, no, no, no – There! Mike stopped short. Before him was a small, quaint house, falling in the shade of an enormous palm tree. Mike immediately was thrown into memories of the Byers' old house in Hawkins. He'd spent so much time there. Goddammit, he'd loved it. Nostalgia was making an already hungry, dehydrated Mike sway a little. He rubbed his eyes. He wanted his drugs.

Sighing, Mike jogged up to the porch. There was a potted cactus by the doormat, which seemed like a tripping hazard. Mike reached to knock. His hand froze midair. He couldn't, he couldn't do this. What had he been thinking?

Keep her safe.

Mike was here to warn the Byers. That was all. It didn't have to be anything else. It didn't have to cause a tightness in his chest. He had to do this, for her. Before Mike could second guess himself anymore, he rang the doorbell. He waited uncomfortably, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. He felt his heart beat like a drum between his eyes. Mike heard footsteps approaching. He didn't have time to consider bolting. He couldn't catch his breath –

The door swung open. Mike found himself staring at a complete stranger. It was a young man about Mike's height, who had brown hair down to his waist. A lit cigarette was dancing between his fingers as he waited expectantly for Mike to do something.

"Uh,'' said Mike.

"Well,'' the stranger said, "where is it?" He smelled like weed.

"Where's . . . what?" Mike said cautiously. This plan really was looking worse by the moment. "Look, I don't want trouble. Is this the Byers'?"

"Fuck, are you serious?'' Without turning away from Mike, the stranger bellowed, "JONNY! COME 'ERE, THIS LITTLE SHIT FORGOT THE FUCKIN' PIZZA!"

Mike jumped, then took several staggering steps backwards. Before he could turn tail and run, the stranger reached out a meaty hand and grabbed him by the collar. He yanked him into the house, slamming the door behind him. Mike tried desperately to squirm away from his grasp, but the guy just dug his fingers deeper into Mike's shoulder. Mike bit back a cry of pain, trying to fight the rising panic in his chest. Oh God, I'm being kidnapped, oh shit oh shit oh shit –

"Argyle, what the hell, let the kid go!"

Mike felt the hand being wrenched from its painfully tight grasp on his shoulder. Mike jerked away, falling into the closed door. Gasping, trembling, Mike tried to stand, to run, but his legs buckled and he slumped against the door again. He hid his face against the solid wood.

"Jesus, Arg.'' This was a different voice, the one who'd told the creep off. It was familiar to Mike, but he couldn't immediately place it. He heard a heavy sigh. "You nearly scared him to death. Seriously, man, what were you thinking?"

A noncommittal grunt replied.

Gentle, warm hands wrapped around Mike's biceps and pulled him slowly to his feet. "Sorry, kid, my friend here is –" The voice abruptly stopped, hands recoiling.

Mike nearly bit a hole in his lip as he turned to face them. He tried to speak, failed. He gripped one trembling hand with the other. He badly needed his pills.

"I'm missing something here,'' said Argyle.

Mike ignored him. He continued to stare, and finally managed to speak. "H-hey, Jonathan.''

Jonathan Byers stared at him. His expression was unreadable, but he was still . . . Well, he was still Jonathan. He was still Will and El's older brother, still the guy who'd driven Mike to and from the Byers home when the weather was bad, still the same Jonathan whom Nancy had loved. He was a piece of Mike's childhood that Mike'd never acknowledged until he was gone from Hawkins, California-bound with the rest of the Byers. He was familiar and beloved and oh my God had Mike really missed him this much? Mike knew that it was improper, knew that Jonathan was deeply confused, knew that they'd never been close anyway, but he didn't care – He hugged Jonathan tightly around the middle. After a moment, he felt Jonathan wrap his arms securely around him. Mike closed his eyes. He'd never actually hugged Jonathan before. He had always just kind of been there in Mike's life, first as Will's older brother, then as Nancy's boyfriend. Now though, Mike realized his own attachment. Mike himself had never had an older brother, although he always saw Jonathan and Will together and was a little jealous. Jonathan was a protector: He always had been. Mike felt safer with him now than he had with anyone in awhile – Even though the shirt Mike clung to was slightly damp with sweat and had the lingering scent of weed.

"This is like, the weirdest shit I've seen all week,'' Argyle said conversationally. "And that's really sayin' something because I saw Brett Slinger's mom's tits on the front cover of this month's Playboy. ''

Mike let go of Jonathan, stepping back. Jonathan kept a firm hold on his shoulders, brows furrowed, scanning Mike as if searching him for potential injury. "Mike Wheeler.''

"Surprise,'' said Mike weakly.

"What are you doing here? Is everything alright? Are you okay?" The concern in Jonathan's voice was palpable. Inexplicably, it made Mike want to cry. He swallowed hard.

"I'm okay,'' he managed.

Jonathan looked unconvinced, but let him go. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, which had grown out into a mullet. He didn't look much different than he had the last time Mike'd seen him, which had been over a year ago. Jonathan looked a bit older; stubble was lining his jaw, but that was the only distinguishable change.

Jonathan gave a sudden, short, slightly hysterical laugh. "Mike Wheeler,'' he shook his head. "It's good to see that you're as unpredictable as always.''

Mike forced a shaky laugh. He felt a little faint. Unsure what to say or do next, he shifted his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. Jonathan didn't seem sure what to do either. They lapsed into silence. Mike wondered where the rest of the family was, but he thought it would be rude to ask Jonathan right then. Also, what would he tell them when they asked what he was doing in Turkle? Running away? Or that he'd come halfway across the country because he didn't have the balls to make a phone call warning them about the imminent danger that was headed their way? The two were both true, and not mutually exclusive.

"So,'' said Argyle, breaking the awkward silence. "Mike. That's the one whose sister you used to bang, right?"

"Argyle!" Jonathan snapped. "God, what is wrong with you?!''

Argyle took a long drag off his cigarette.

"That's not . . .'' continued Jonathan, pointedly not-looking at Mike. "It wasn't just –''

"Right, right,'' Argyle waved smoke away. "I meant the one you were in passionate L-O-V-E with.''

"You're always such a dick when I introduce you to new people,'' Jonathan muttered. He ran his hands through his hair again. "Look, uh, Mike, what's going on, bud? What're you doing here? I mean, it's great to see you and everything, but is everything okay?.''

"Yeah, really, everything's fine.'' Mike wasn't sure why he lied. He knew he didn't have to, not here. "I just, um, I had a few days off school and stuff so I decided to drop by.''

"Drop by,'' Jonathan repeated.

"Yep,'' said Mike, anxious to change the subject. "Where're Will and El?''

"El slept over at her friend's house last night. She should be home soon. Will has AV, but he'll be home in a few hours.''

"Mmm.'' Mike sounded like he was being choked by a live wire. He cleared his throat. "Great,'' he croaked. "Where's your mom?"

Argyle opened his mouth.

"Shut up,'' said Jonathan. To Mike, "Still working. She usually gets off around three on Saturdays.''

Mike nodded. "Cool. Great.''

"Do you want to sit down or something?" Jonathan gestured vaguely over his shoulder.

"Oh, yeah. Sure.'' Mike followed Jonathan and Argyle through the living room into the kitchen. The house was small, a little cluttered. The furniture was mismatched, a little worn. It smelled like lemon soap and smoke. It strongly reminded Mike of the Byers' old house in Hawkins. Which was to say, he loved it.

"This is Argyle, by the way,'' said Jonathan as Mike dropped his backpack and sat down at the kitchen table. Argyle flashed a peace sign. "He was born and raised here, so he's pretty messed up, but he's a good friend.'' Jonathan filled a glass with tap water at the sink and set it down in front of Mike.

Mike took a sip of water, remembered how thirsty he was, and drank the rest in two large gulps.

"Jesus, so this is what happens when a Midwesterner visits the desert,'' Argyle observed while Jonthan refilled Mike's glass.

"Thanks,'' said Mike as he accepted the glass from Jonathan.

"Arg ordered a pizza, so we'll have food in a few minutes. I'm sure you're hungry.''

"Speaking of which,'' Argyle extinguished his cigarette in a flower pot, "sorry about earlier. The kid that usually delivers the pizza looks a bit like you.''

Jonathan rolled his eyes. "No, he doesn't.''

"Your brother disagrees.''

Jonathan glanced at Mike. There was weight in his gaze, but Mike couldn't tell why. Jonathan looked away before Mike could figure it out.

The doorbell rang.

"Fuckin' finally.'' Argyle sauntered out of the kitchen.

It was quiet for a moment. Then Jonathan asked, "How's Nancy?"

"She's good,'' said Mike. "Really good.'' He told him about her internship with the Hawkins Post.

Jonathan smiled softly. "That's great. I'm happy for her,'' was all he said, but Mike knew he meant it with his whole heart.

Argyle returned with the pizza. "Jonny, I've decided you're right; that kid back there is hella hotter than Wheelie-boy.''

Annoyance prickled at Mike, although he pushed the feeling away. Argyle was clearly unhinged. He reminded Mike of a more lighthearted Eddie, if Eddie did more organic weed and less cheap vodka.

Jonathan ignored Argyle completely and offered Mike some pizza, which he accepted gratefully. The three boys ate in companionable silence for the next few minutes. Mike noticed the effortless closeness the older boys shared. They sat next to each other at the table, their knees touching, one or the other occasionally leaning in to bump shoulders with his friend. Argyle apparently didn't like the pepperonis on his pizza – or maybe Jonathan just really liked them – because he peeled them off every slice he had and dropped them on Jonathan's plate. Since when did Jonathan Byers have friends? Mike had only ever seen him with Nancy or completely alone. He was happy for Jonathan, but it also filled Mike with a melancholy sadness. He remembered when he and Will and Lucas and Dustin had been like that. Where had the comfortability, the closeness, the absolute lack of need for smalltalk or casual conversation gone? Mike didn't know, but he understood that it was lost forever. It ate his heart.

The front door slammed, causing Mike to jump.

Argyle wiped his greasy hands on his jeans. "Wonder who that could be.''

Jonathan sighed. "Incoming.''

"That bitch!" A familiar feminine voice shrieked. "I'm going to kill her!" El stormed into the kitchen. Her hair was wildly teased, her bangs a poof on her forehead. She was wearing overalls over a blue flannel and had a necklace made out of paper clips around her throat. She looked pissed as all hell and Mike began to laugh.

El turned her murderous gaze on him and completely blanched. She stared at him with wide eyes and lips parted in shock. Before she could move, Mike had gotten up from the table and thrown his arms around her. She smelled like rosey shampoo and jasmine.

"Oh! Oh, my God!" El gasped, pulling away after several moments. A wide grin split her face, whoever'd offended her long forgotten. "Mike! I – What are you doing here? ''

I came to save you. Mike choked on the truth. He licked his lips. Then he fed El the same lie he'd told Jonathan.

"I can't believe – You didn't call or anything! Do your parents know you're here?"

"Sure,'' said Mike.

El continued to beam at him. She held his cold hands in her warm ones. He squeezed them. "I missed you, El.''

She kissed his knuckles.

"So what's new?" Mike asked as they sat down at the table.

"You mean what'd that bitch Julia do?" said El as she took a bite of pizza.

Mike hadn't meant that specifically, but he nodded anyway.

"After a perfectly nice sleepover, she went and told me as I was leaving that she's started going out with Jason! Can you believe it?"

"That bitch!" Argyle gasped. "After everything?'' He shook his head despairingly.

"I know right!" El rolled her eyes. "I thought she was on my side!"

Jonathan frowned. "Which one was Jason again?"

"The skater,'' said El and Argyle together.

"Never liked him anyway.''

"When do you ever like my boyfriends?" said El.

"Ex-boyfriends,'' Argyle reminded her gently, patting her shoulder.

"Whatever.'' El seemed bored with this conversation. "What've you been up to, Mike? I haven't talked to anyone in a while.''

"Anyone" being her old friends in Hawkins. Mike almost let a slippery truth escape his lips, but caught himself. El didn't need to know that he hadn't really talked to "anyone" in a while either. So Mike wracked his brain for details that he'd picked up from distracted smalltalk with Dustin, Lucas, and Max, and he told El everything.

"What about you?" El asked sometime later. She had already filled Mike in on the recent events of her own life, including a detailed recount of breaking up with her most recent boyfriend Jason. Jonathan and Argyle had disappeared at some point during the first minute of the conversation.

Mike shrugged. "There's not much to tell.'' Which was true. What had he done since the Byers visited Hawkins last year? Drifted apart from all their old friends? Started hanging around two completely batshit classmates, who were totally not a good influence? Started smoking? Started drinking? Developed a drug addiction?

Mike was saved from El's prying by Joyce walking into the kitchen. She looked frazzled as usual, and didn't notice Mike until after she'd put her keys down, taken off her shoes, and lit a cigarette. "Hey, sweetie, how was Julia's?" She turned to face El at the kitchen table.

"Hey, Mrs Byers,'' said Mike, grinning.

"Mike!" Joyce's hand flew to her mouth in shock. Then she began to laugh and opened her arms to him. He eagerly got up to accept her hug. It was a Mom Hug, and it felt very personal, although Mike wasn't sure Joyce Byers gave any other sort of hug. He was a head taller than her now, and he momentarily rested his cheek on her frizzy brown curls. It was more comfort than Mike had experienced in weeks. His eyes pricked.

Too soon, Joyce pulled away, holding him at arm's length. "What a surprise! I swear you've gotten half a foot taller than the last time I saw you!"

Mike smiled, although he was inexplicably beginning to grow sad. "It's great to see you.''

Joyce pressed her small, warm hands to his hollow cheeks for a moment. A fleeting frown crossed her expression, but it was gone so quickly that Mike might as well have imagined it. Her smile returned. "What are you doing here, hon?" Before he could answer, she asked El, "Did I somehow miss this? I tell you kids everyday: If you have something going on, someone coming over, write it on the calendar! I can't keep track of everyone –"

"I'm sorry,'' said Mike quickly, catching El's meaningful look, "I didn't call. I just kinda . . . Well, I, uh, I had a long weekend so I thought I'd come for a visit, if that's okay with you. If not, that's totally fine, I can . . . leave,'' he finished lamely.

El shook her hair despairingly.

"Oh! No, no, you're absolutely welcome as long as you can stay. It's no trouble at all. We'll just put you in Will's room.''

Mike's stomach twisted. "Great,'' he managed. "And I'm sorry–"

Joyce waved his apology away. "I'm about to start dinner, but I want to hear about everything going on in Hawkins later. Why don't you go get settled? El, please show him to Will's room. Thanks, sweetie.''

Mike thanked Joyce again and grabbed his backpack, El pulling him down the hall into the first bedroom on the right. She pushed him in and closed the door behind them. "Mike Wheeler,'' she said. "You are one of the best friends I've ever had. You were literally the first person to ever show me kindness, and I've never forgotten it. I once knew you better than I knew anyone else.''

"Uh huh,'' said Mike nervously. He had no idea where this was going.

"I know something's going on with you. What is it? Why are you really here?"

To warn you that the bastards from the Hawkins Lab have finally caught up to you. Mike shrugged. "I already told you.'' He'd tell them the truth after dinner.

"You're really going to do this the hard way? Fine. Don't tell me anything. But Will will be home any minute. You better figure out what you want.''

"What the hell does that mean?"

El gave him a look that he couldn't decipher. Then she walked out, leaving him alone in Will's room. Mike dropped his backpack on the floor. He glanced around the room, searching for anything familiar. Will's bed was pushed against the wall, a shaded window above it. He had a desk with desk stuff on it. The room was tidy and appeared organized, but Mike couldn't be sure. It was minimalistic. He supposed there was nothing wrong with Will putting all his old stuff in storage, but it made him feel disconnected. It reminded him that they weren't kids anymore. Nothing was simple. They were leading very different lives now.

A framed picture on the desk caught Mike's eye. He pushed aside a neat stack

of homework and picked it up. It was them. Will, Mike, Lucas, Dustin. They were maybe eleven, arms wrapped around each other, all grinning. Mike couldn't remember when this picture was taken. It looked like summer, but they used to hang out every single day during summer; it could be any day in those two months of vacation. When did they not see each other? The school year, summer vacation, it didn't matter. They found a way. Every day. Mike's heart hurt.

The door opened. Mike turned, blinking very quickly. It was El again. She glanced at the picture in Mike's hands. Mike self-consciously put it back. El said, "Will's home.''

Fuck. He'd known it was coming, of course it was coming, he was in Will's house. But it didn't ease the sudden fear. Why was he afraid? What was he afraid of? Mike knew he was afraid of the past, but he would never say why outloud. He couldn't.

Aware of his trembling hands and gaunt face and too-long hair, Mike followed El into the hall. He touched the curls that nearly brushed his shoulders. His dad was right –

Mike stopped short. Will Byers was standing in the kitchen, leaning easily against the table, talking to Jonathan. Jonathan and Joyce both looked at Mike when he walked in. Will paused whatever he was saying and turned to see what they were looking at. Mike's mouth went completely dry.

Will blinked. He seemed to register Mike the way one receives devastating news: Wait no stop are you sure you're wrong that's impossible it's a trick stop fucking lying to me you bastard no no no no stop please no . His lips parted.

"Will,'' said Joyce. Her tone was strange, but Mike couldn't spare a glance her way. He couldn't take his eyes off Will. Will. God, Will.

Will remained completely still. His gaze was intense, his eyes darker than Mike remembered, his eyelashes longer. Will's tongue touched the corner of his mouth.

"Hey,'' said Mike, barely audible because he couldn't catch his breath, he couldn't ever fucking breathe these days –

"Hey,'' said Will just as faintly. He looked at his mom, a panicked question written on his face. Joyce pursed her lips.

"Mike's visiting us for a few days,'' El casually informed her brother. "He's sharing your room, if that's okay.''

"Oh.'' Will cleared his throat. "Oh, yeah. Okay. Sounds good.''

"Great because I already had him put all his stuff in there.''

Will nodded distractedly, eyes flitting to Mike before darting away. If Mike's chest wasn't already imploding then he probably would've felt it tighten. Will was treating him like a complete stranger. Mike didn't know why it surprised him, or why it felt like it should hurt. They really weren't friends anymore. Will had no reason to be excited to see Mike again. Except. Except that they used to be friends. Best friends.

What's happened to us?

"Dinner's almost ready,'' Joyce filled the lapsing silence. "I'll call you boys when it's ready.''

Mike and Will had no choice but to obey this obvious dismissal.

"Come on.'' Will motioned Mike to follow him down the hall towards his room, again. As Will passed Mike, their knuckles brushed. Will snatched his hand away. He stepped away from Mike, face accusatory as if Mike had done it on purpose. Mike's face burned. He wanted to stay in the kitchen with Joyce and El and Jonathan. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to go home.

Will sat on his bed. Mike sat on the floor. Will picked at his nails. Mike tried to fill his lungs with air.

"So,'' Will finally glanced at Mike, looking almost casually disinterested. Almost. "What's up?"

Mike shrugged. Casual disinterest. He was much better at this game than Will. It would have been the perfect deception, had he not made a horribly strangled noise while claiming, "Not much.''

A wrinkle appeared between Will's eyebrows. "You okay?"

Mike gasped. His head was starting to pound, which meant he was probably about to pass out.

"Hey. Mike.'' Will's bed creaked as he bounded off it. He dropped to the floor in front of Mike, scooting so close to him that their knees touched. "Mike.'' Will gripped Mike's chronically freezing hands. He probably wasn't getting enough oxygen to his brain. Mike dimly wondered if all the Byers had warm hands.

"Mike!"

Mike wheezed, tears starting unbidden in his eyes. This was bad timing, this was really, really bad timing, but Mike had no control over it. He'd learned over time that he couldn't fight these attacks; they just had to run their course. It hurt though.

Will's hands moved to Mike's cheeks. Will gently held Mike's face, his voice calm. "Mike, you need to relax, okay? Can you do that? Mike, focus,'' Will gave him a little shake. "Listen to the sound of my voice. Good. You need to breathe, Mike. Okay? Focus on drawing air in through your nose and out through your mouth. Follow me, that's right, Mike, in through your nose.''

Sweat was breaking out along Mike's spine. Tears leaked from his eyes, snot from his nose. He was nauseous and shaking all over, but he managed to take half a stuttering breath through his nose. Will breathed out with him, and Mike felt a fraction of the tension leave his body.

"Good, Mike, good. There you go.'' Will used the back of his hand to brush the tears from Mike's cheeks. "Again. In . . . and out.''

Gradually, the pain in Mike's chest eased, and his breathing came more evenly. His head ached from the severity of the attack. His stomach churned, and he fought back the urge to vomit. He became aware of Will's hands, one palm braced against Mike's shoulder and the other rubbing soothing circles on his back. The sudden consciousness of touch jumpstarted Mike's reactions. He pulled away from Will, swiping at his face, burning with embarrassment.

Will sat back. Mike could feel his heavy gaze on him, but he couldn't meet it. "Sorry,'' he whispered hoarsely.

"Don't be.'' Will was quiet for a moment. "I used to get them too, you know. Panic attacks. They started when I was little, when my parents would get into really bad fights. Then my dad left and they got worse for a while. Then they got better.''

Mike wiped his nose on his shirt. "How?"

"I eventually realized my mom and Jonathan weren't going anywhere.'' Will smiled, but Mike didn't find it funny. "Of course, then everything with the Upside Down happened, and they came back way worse than before. I had to talk to a psychiatrist at the Lab that time, which was embarrassing, but I'm glad I did.''

"I didn't know that,'' said Mike quietly.

"I never wanted to talk about it back then,'' said Will. "Now though, I know it's okay. You aren't weak for needing help, Mike.''

Appearing weak wasn't what Mike was worried about, but he nodded anyway. They lapsed into silence again. Mike took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Will asked.

Mike shook his head. He didn't have the words.

"That's totally fine, you don't have to say anything if you don't want to. Maybe though . . . It might help prevent another attack if you identify your triggers. Like, do you know what triggered this one?''

"I think you did.''

"Oh.''

Mike figured he should probably be kinder. Will was only trying to help him, after all. It was just . . . It was just a lot. On all fronts. Mike didn't know how to feel. He couldn't organize his thoughts and he didn't want to try. He wanted to swallow a few pills and sleep for the next decade.

Joyce called them for dinner. Will got up first, offering a hand to Mike. Mike accepted it with some hesitation. He gripped Will's wrist as Will pulled him to his feet. For a fleeting moment, Mike thought Will was going to hold onto his fingers. Then he released him and headed to the kitchen. Mike scrubbed at his face. He probably looked like shit. Whatever.

Dinner was hamburger casserole, which Joyce had been semi-famous for in Hawkins. She informed Mike that Californians didn't share the sentiment, to which Will replied that the Turkle district PTA was much more interested in Mimosa. Mike laughed, surprising himself.

He filled Will and Joyce in on the current happenings in Hawkins. He told them everything he knew about Dustin and Lucas, and most things he knew about Max, although he left out that she'd found a new group with the skater kids. Mike also left out the minor detail that he himself had found a new group with the druggies. He was aware of Will watching him closely throughout the entire conversation. He was probably wondering how Mike had gone so fluidly from being a shaky mess on Will's bedroom floor to having an easy conversation at the dinner table. It was a talent acquired over time and damn hard work, Mike thought derisively.

After dinner, Mike and Will helped dry dishes, a task so mundane and homey it made Mike's heart ache. It took only a few minutes for the kitchen to be completely cleaned because everyone was working together. The Byers' unity had always touched Mike, and seeing the four of them now, El included as if she'd always been part of their family, he was filled with the most profound peace he'd experienced in a long time.

This serenity was soon shattered, of course, by Joyce's innocent question, "Have you let your parents know you arrived safely yet?"

"Uh. No.'' Mike tried to look casual, but an uncomfortable weight was settling in his stomach.

"Oh, well.'' Joyce took the plate Mike was drying. "You'd better do that right now. I'm sure your mother's worried about you.''

Oh, I know she is.

"The phone's just in the hall, right by the living room. Nope – There you go.''

Mike found it. He picked up the receiver. He held it for a moment, hands sweaty, before dialing Eddie's number. It rang only twice before the familiar scratchy voice picked up.

"Wheeler, I swear to God, it better be you.''

"It's me.''

"You fucking litte –"

"Shh,'' Mike hissed. The Byers' voices were faint in the kitchen, but they really weren't that far away. He didn't want to be overheard.

"Where the fuck have you been?"

"I'm in California.''

Eddie was silent for a whole five seconds. Then, "You gotta be shitting me. Mike–"

"I know!" Mike snapped. "I know. It's really complicated, but I didn't mean to come all the way down here, it just kinda . . . happened.''

"It just kinda happened,'' Eddie repeated.

"Yes, it just kinda happened. Look, man, I need you to tell my mom –"

"No, no. No.'' Eddie interrupted. "Michael, darling, your mother has been up my ass for the past three days. No way in hell I'm getting you out of this one. Nope, nada, non.''

"Please, Eddie,'' Mike begged.

"Nope. Anything else I can do for you?''

Mike hung up. He aggressively rubbed his eyes. Great. This was great. Now he had no choice but to call home, which would be a very particular brand of distasteful. He blinked hard. Mike already felt lightheaded, a result of either his recent attack or the proximity to his time to medicate. He seriously doubted calling his mother would alleviate any of his anxiety. Still, she would probably find a way to track him down and have cops drag him thirty hours back to Hawkins if he didn't call. He dialed home.

"Hello, this is Karen Wheeler speaking."

Mike released a shuddering breath. "Mom?"

He heard her sharp inhale. "Mike?"

"Yeah, it's me.''

"Mike,'' Mrs Wheeler gasped, and Mike knew she was close to tears. He grimaced, resting his aching forehead against the wall. "Mike, where have you been? We've been worried sick! You didn't leave a note, you didn't call! You just disappeared, and we had no idea if you had been kidnapped, or were lost, or hurt, or scared –"

"Mom, stop, please! It's okay, I'm okay –"

"It's been three days, Mike.'' A sob escaped her, muffled through the receiver. "You have no idea – no idea – how worried I've been. With everything that's happened here . . . ''

Mike ran a hand through his hair, gripped it so tightly it hurt. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm really, really sorry.''

"You should be! Where are you? I'm calling your father and we're coming to get you immediately. Don't move. You sir, are grounded until graduation."

"I'm in California.''

Mrs Wheeler was quiet. Mike's knuckles were turning white against the receiver. He took a breath. Exhaled. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

"I don't know what to do about you,'' Mrs Wheeler's voice trembled. "I-I've tried so hard to be a good mom, to be available and stay close with my children, but Mike . . . I feel like I've lost you.''

Mike bit his lip so hard he tasted blood.

"I don't know what happened. You were such a happy kid. I know it hasn't been easy the last couple years, a lot of terrible things have happened, b-but I feel like something happened to you when you were about twelve that . . . ruined you. Dad and I have had many conversations about getting you help, but we don't know where to even start, Mike, because you never tell us anything! I-I don't even feel like I know you anymore.''

Fighting back tears, Mike managed to steady his voice enough to speak. "I'm sorry, Mom.''

"Did something happen, Mike? When you were in seventh grade, did a teacher or an older student – ?

"Nothing happened,'' Mike whispered.

"Then why are you in so much pain? Why won't you tell me anything?"

"I can't.''

Mrs Wheeler sighed. "You're hard, Mike. You're hard on my heart.''

The tears fell fast. They streaked down his cheeks, dripping off his chin before Mike could wipe them away. He felt wretched. His mom was good. She was really, really good, and it was not her fault that he was the way he was. She hadn't been the one to break him.

"When are you coming home?"

"Umh uh,'' Mike's words were uncontrollable. He leaned against the wall, trying to steady the receiver from shaking. He squeezed his eyes shut. "I-I don't know. A few days. Maybe. I don't know.''

"Are you eating enough? You didn't take much with you, are you warm enough? Do you have enough money to get back?''

"I'm good,'' said Mike weakly. "I promise.''

"Okay.'' She sounded like she was crying again. "Okay, baby. Come home soon. I miss you.''

I'm sorry. God, I'm so fucking sorry.

"Give my love to Joyce and the kids. Well, I guess they're not really kids anymore.'' Mrs Wheeler laughed wetly.

"I love you, Mom.'' You don't deserve any of this.

"I love you too, Mike. So much.''

Mike waited a few seconds, but the line didn't go dead. He hung up.

Will appeared. He had the same puzzling expression he'd had earlier.

"What?" Mike wrapped his arms around himself, fingernails digging into his sides.

"I was up really early this morning,'' said Will. "I'm going to bed now.''

Mike shrugged like Okay? He knew he was being unfair, but he couldn't help it. Bad feeling was spilling out of him.

"I know you must be tired.'' Will's tone was steady. He was speaking slowly, as if to a misbehaving child. "You can come to bed now too, if you want.''

Mike scrubbed at his face. "Fine. Whatever.''

"Bathroom's the second to the left.''

Mike watched him disappear into his bedroom. Then he followed, ducking into the kitchen on his way. Joyce was sitting with El at the table, having a cigarette while her daughter ranted about the Julia/Jason debacle. Jonathan was nowhere to be seen.

"My mom sends her love,'' said Mike.

Joyce smiled fondly. "Aw, Karen. I miss her.''

"She misses you too,'' Mike said automatically. "Um, I'm gonna go to bed now. I'm pretty tired. Thanks again for dinner and stuff. And I'm sorry I didn't call you guys, surprising you seemed like a good idea at the time.'' He forced a smile, discomforted by his own ability to lie. He'd tell them the truth in the morning.

"Please don't worry about it, Mike, we're thrilled to have you. Goodnight, now.''

"'Night, Mike,'' El echoed.

"'Night,'' said Mike, already backing out of the kitchen. He'd moved on to his next point of anxiety: Spending the night in Will's room. This was something that was a common occurrence four years ago. Mike'd been as comfortable curled up on Will's bedroom floor as he was in his own bed. But too much had changed. Mike had changed too much. He already felt a distinct strangeness between him and Will. An otherness.

They weren't the same boys they used to be.

Distracted by this foreign prospect, Mike pushed Will's door open without knocking. A very surprised Will stared at him. A very surprised, very shirtless Will. Mike opened his mouth to apologize, but his words caught.

Mike had seen Will shirtless many times in the past. They had been little boys with no shame, perfectly comfortable with stripping to their underwear, rather changing in the same room than spending a few moments apart. In fact, Mike still saw his friends shirtless fairly regularly. Lucas had gone through a phase last summer where he simply didn't wear a shirt. Ever. This? This was different.

Will was standing in blue plaid pajama pants, a t-shirt hanging limply from his hand at his side. Mike stared. And stared. He hadn't noticed earlier, but Will looked different. He'd filled out. He was no longer the fragile child he'd once been. He'd grown several inches. His shoulders had broadened. His tan bare arms were — muscled? Did he work out? His skin was honeyed gold by the California sun. He looked good. Really good.

"Do you need your stuff?"

"Hm.'' Mike snapped his eyes away from Will's toned stomach. "Uh, yeah. That's why – Yeah. I need my stuff.'' Locking his eyes on the carpet, Mike walked over to where he'd left his backpack. Without looking at Will, he fled to the bathroom.

Mike locked the door. He leaned over the sink, his face burning. Oh God. Oh Jesus. What was his fucking problem? He'd just been lamenting the change growing up had brought his and Will's relationship, and then! Then! Irony was cruel.

Angrily, Mike brushed his teeth. He angrily changed into a t-shirt and sweatpants. He angrily scowled at his pale face in the mirror. Mike pushed his dark curls back. His pill bottle was at the bottom of his backpack. He pulled it out. His hands were still shaking so badly that he could barely screw off the cap. Mike shook one pill into his open palm. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he shook another out. He popped them both into his mouth.

When Mike returned to Will's room, he pretended like nothing had happened. Will was sitting on his bed, reading a paperback by lamplight. He gestured to where a quilt and pillow lay neatly on the floor. "I made you a bed. The pillow is my old one, I don't use it anymore though. I kept it for its emotional value.'' He smiled at himself. "To be honest, I'm not really sure where the quilt came from, but it's clean. You can have my bed if you want,'' Will offered.

"No, thanks. This is perfect.'' Mike settled himself on the floor, wrapping himself tightly in the quilt. He rolled over to face Will's bed, tucking his knees to his chest.

Will folded the corner of his page and set his book aside. He was watching Mike with a frown.

"What?" Mike asked.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah.''

Will bit his lip. "Would you tell me if you weren't?"

Mike hesitated. "I don't know,'' he said slowly.

Will sighed. He laid down, shimmying under his blankets. He leaned over the side of the bed towards Mike. "Look, Mike, I know that we're not best friends anymore. We're not really friends at all.'' It was true, Mike had just been thinking it, but it still hurt coming from Will. "You know that you can still talk to me though, right? I know it sounds weird because we don't know each other that well now, but you can tell me anything. Really. I . . . I won't judge.''

Mike picked at the carpet.

"Do you want the light off?" Will asked.

"Sure.'' Mike laid his head on Will's old pillow. As the lamp flicked off, casting the room in darkness, Mike tried not to think about Will's face against the pillow. He tried not to think about how many tears it held, how many dreams it witnessed, how many times Will's lips brushed the soft cotton.

"Goodnight.'' Will's voice was soft.

"Goodnight,'' Mike murmured.

Several minutes passed. Mike lay very still. The only noises in the room were Will's quiet breathing and his bed's slight creaking as he shifted around. Mike could see the outline of Will's body in the thin moonlight that streamed from the window above Will's bed. Will's head was turned away from Mike, but Mike could make out the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

"Will?" Mike said into the dark.

A beat. Then, "Yeah?"

"I missed you,'' Mike whispered.

There was no reply, but Mike heard Will release a long, slow breath. Mike rolled over and went to sleep.