Mike Wheeler knew he was fucked as soon as he heard the first distant wail of sirens.

Shit, he thought. Not again. He ducked under a cluster of scraggly hawthorn bushes. He crouched there for a few moments, catching his breath. He glanced around. Should he run for it or stay put until the cops moved on? Their timing was impeccable, Mike had to admit. He'd only just emerged from the expansive woods behind him. He briefly considered running back into them. There were maybe two hours of daylight left? Three? He could stay the night in the woods.

Before him was another barren spread of mid-western land. He was about eight feet from the empty road. On the other side of that road was a sixteen foot chickenwire fence. Mike narrowed his eyes. He was running out of time. He decided he rather not freeze to death overnight in the woods.

Mike pushed himself up, stumbling a little, and sprinted across the road. He almost crashed into the fence, but managed to loop his thin fingers through the gaps in the wire last second. He paused, heart pounding in his chest, his head, his shaking hands. The sirens had stopped. Mike frowned. Why—?

Then he heard the car approaching. He whipped his head towards the road. Sure enough, the old police impala was cruising towards him, sirens off now, lights flashing blue and red. Mike choked on a curse. He was completely exposed. He should have stayed under the bushes. It was too late now though. There was no way the cop hadn't already seen him.

Mike sent up a prayer to a nonexistent god and began climbing the fence. His only chance of avoiding arrest was getting to the other side. Acres and acres of empty pasture awaited him. He vaguely wondered if livestock had once trampled flat the now overgrown November-wilted grass. His foot slipped and Mike yelped in surprise as he almost fell. He scrabbled to find purchase on the wire. His arms were shaking from the strain of holding himself up. His hands were slick with sweat, despite the biting cold. He regained his footing and clung to the fence, gasping in fear and relief. He looked tentatively down. He was almost to the top of the fence, maybe twelve feet from the ground. A fall from this height wouldn't kill him. Probably.

"Mike Wheeler.''

Mike startled badly at the sound of his name. His already erratic heartbeat leapt to his throat and for a moment he thought he was going to be sick. Then he remembered the police car pursuing him. It must have pulled up without him noticing while he tried not to fall to his possible death. Cold dread washed over him. "Fuck.'' He rested his head against the fence, the wire pressing a painful imprint into his forehead. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"Hey, Mike!" The familiar voice repeated. It was strangely amplified so it carried from the road to Mike's precarious position. "You're trespassing on private property. Please come down and get in the car. I'm taking you home.''

No, you're not, Mike thought bitterly, you're taking me to the station.

"Do you need help getting down?"

"No,'' Mike called back, as he began carefully climbing back down the fence. His faced burned with embarrassment. "I'm good.''

He dropped the last couple feet, landing lightly on his feet. He took a moment to compose himself, unwilling to let his defeat show, and turned around. Steve Harrington was leaning out the window of the car, megaphone in hand. He gave Mike a sad smile. "Get in the car, kid.''

Mike didn't look at Steve as he walked on shaky legs towards the car. He didn't look at Steve as he got in the car, nor did he as Steve turned around on and began driving back towards Hawkins.

"Hey, Mike,'' said Steve, in a gentle voice, after several minutes had passed. "What's going on with you?"

Mike stared out the window, pointedly ignoring him.

"Listen, you don't have to talk to me,'' Steve continued. "But you really should talk to someone. I know you don't have the best relationship with your parents, so it doesn't have to be them either. You're still close to that one science teacher from middle-school, right? The robotics guy?"

Mike remained silent. He was pretty sure Dustin was the only one who'd spoken to Mr. Clarke since graduating eighth grade.

"What about Nancy—"

"Why are you wearing sunglasses at three pm in November?" Mike snapped.

The day was overcast and the sun would be setting soon.

Steve shrugged and removed his sunglasses, tossing them in a cupholder. "Goes with the outfit.''

Mike did look at Steve then, eyes glancing over his beige uniform. Officer Harrington the tag on his breast read. "No, it really doesn't.''

Steve flashed Mike a grin. Mike new Steve was just being his friendly self, but he found it extremely aggravating. He crossed his arms over his narrow chest and stared back out the window. The late-fall landscapes passing by were all dead and dull and empty. Mike wished for a sign of life.

"So,'' Steve began in a casual tone, "we're about an hour drive outside Hawkins, did you know that?''

"How the fuck would I know that?"

Steve ignored the biting sarcasm in his tone. "Do you want to tell me what you're doing all the way out here?"

"I'm not running away, if that's what you're asking,'' Mike muttered.

"Not dressed like that, you're not,'' Steve agreed.

Mike scowled. He'd spent most of the day shivering in a long-sleeve t-shirt with a ratty red sweater pulled over it, jeans, and muddy combat boots. He pushed his long, curly dark hair out of his eyes defiantly.

Steve was looking directly at Mike. He held his gaze long enough that Mike became nervous he would crash just when Steve's eyes returned to the road. "Why aren't you in school?''

"I didn't want to go.''

Steve sighed heavily. "Look, I know high-school sucks, okay? I get it, I do. But you still have to show up and get that education, kid.''

"Don't call me that,'' Mike snapped again. It made him feel like a baby.

"Okay, Mike,'' Steve amended.

There was a moment's pause, then:

"I got suspended,'' Mike blurted out.

"Ah.'' Steve nodded. "Gotcha.''

"I didn't mean to this time, honestly. My parents said last time that if it happened again, I'm screwed. Well, that's not exactly what they said, but that was the gist, you know?'' He didn't wait for Steve to answer, before launching forward. "I didn't even do anything wrong this time! Like, I guess back talking to a teacher is a suspension-worthy offense in high-school—especially if there are some swear words thrown in, I don't know—but I didn't even do something close to that this time! They let us smoke outside the school, they don't care, so I didn't think it would be a big deal if I smoked in the bathroom. I left the window open and everything, so the smoke alarm didn't go off, but some jackass senior who thinks he's important because he's a senior walked in and made sure I was taken immediately to the principal's office where I got suspended. I couldn't tell my parents I got suspended again, so I pretended to go to school like normal, but then I had eight hours to kill and I went into the woods, but I realized I didn't know how far they went, so I decided to explore, and I didn't know I was trespassing on private property, there weren't any signs or anything. And, please, don't tell my parents!" Mike knew he was rambling now, but he couldn't help it.

Steve sighed heavily. "I have to tell someone, buddy. You're a minor.''

Mike slumped back in his seat. His parents were going to flip their shit. The principal, a greasy man called Mr Acres, had warned Mike that if he was suspended again they would begin discussing expulsion.

"How'd you know I was here?" Mike asked after a long pause. His throat was raw. "I haven't seen anyone all day. And here's no way whoever's property I trespassed on saw me,'' he added.

Steve's jaw tightened. "Anonymous tip.''

"Bullshit.''

"Jesus, Mike—"

"Who are you trying to protect?" Mike demanded. "Because you don't have to. I'm not going to bitch at someone who's actually trying to help me.''

"You are right now,'' said Steve flatly.

Mike laughed. The sound was sharp, high and cold, and completely unfamiliar to Mike's ears. "Please. As if you actually care.''

"I do care, Mike.'' Steve's voice was soft. The tragic look had returned to his face. Steve was pitying him and Mike hated it, but he knew he was behaving in a way that was extremely pity-provoking. He was a sad, lost child. That was who he was, and that was exactly how Steve saw him.

Get it together, pussy. "It was Dustin, wasn't it?"

Steve's silence was as good of an answer as any.

"God, Dustin,'' Mike began, but Steve cut him off.

"You know damn well he's just trying to help you, Mike Wheeler; you said so yourself two minutes ago.''

Mike said nothing.

"Your friends are worried about you.''

Mike still refused to speak. He hadn't told Dustin, Lucas, and Max he'd been suspended. They were probably confused and worried when he hadn't shown at school that morning.

"They could have called your mom,'' Steve continued, "but instead, Dustin called me. He just asked me to keep an eye out for you. I had nothing better to do today though, so I got in my car and drove around and checked all the usual places. Took me three hours. I've picked you up down this road before, although never this far down. But, hell, Mike, I was getting desperate so I just kept driving. Finally, I was miles out of town and I turned on my sirens so you could find your way out if you were lost. And I found you. Again. I don't care how many time you run off, kid. I'll come look for you. What I'm afraid of, what Dustin's afraid of, is one day I'll be too late and I won't be able to find you. But I will always, always come for you.''

Mike's teeth were biting in his lip so hard he tasted the metallic tang of blood. He knew if he said anything at all, the tears he was working so hard to hide would fall. The dam would break and he wouldn't be able to stop it. The last thing Mike wanted to do was cry in front of Steve Harrington, so he turned away and stared out the window.

Neither spoke for the rest of the ride.

As Mike had anticipated, Steve did not take him home. He took him to the station. Mike knew the drill. He walked into the police station behind Steve, head down, ignoring the curious looks from the others in the building. He sat in a hard chair and waited while Steve made a call. Mike couldn't hear what the older boy was saying or make out who he was talking to.

Once Steve got off the phone, he asked, "Can I get you anything?"

Mike shook his head.

Steve ran a hand through his perfect hair and sighed. What am I going to do with you? his gaze said. Mike looked away.

Once Steve had disappeared into an office, leaving Mike alone with several friendly cops that still managed to be intimidating, Mike wrapped his arms around himself and allowed his exhausted body to slump into the uncomfortable chair. Mike hated the police station. Every time he showed up there, he got more piteous looks. Ah, it's the poor troubled Wheeler boy again, the looks said. But it wasn't just that. It was the memories this place brought up. It was sitting with Lucas and Dustin when they were twelve, trying to explain that they knew nothing about Will's disappearance. It was returning a few days later to say that yes, actually, that might know something. It was the sheriff, who Mike had loved and hated and who had helped him so much. It was the sheriff's daughter, who Mike had loved and lost and loved again, only for her to leave him, then break his heart a few months later. It was the framed photo of Jim Hopper that seemed to be staring at Mike, no matter where he sat.

It reminded Mike of Mrs Byers, her kind heart and often frenzied state. She had always been so warm to Mike, and he had frequently felt more welcome in her small, cluttered house than in his own large, neat one.

It reminded him of Jonathan Byers, his fierce devotion to his mother and brother. He was so strong and yet so gentle. Jonathan, who loved Mike's sister so much that they had maintained a long-distance relationship for over a year. (Mike was never sure how they did it. They talked on the phone almost every day for hours. How did they have so much to discuss? They had visited each other only a few times since the Byers had left Hawkins, but it had never so much as put a strain on their relationship.)

It reminded Mike of Will Byers, who had been his best friend for years. Will was a good friend, while it lasted. But Will had loved Mike in a way Mike hadn't loved him back. For that, Mike could never quite forgive him. Especially now since Mike realized he could love Will back, that he maybe always had, but it was much too late for them now.

It reminded Mike of Eleven. His El. Two summers ago, she had broken up with him. He had thought she wasn't serious. That she was angry, that it was all temporary. Then everything went to shit and they didn't have time to fix what had been broken before El was gone. Two months later, El had officially put Mike Wheeler in her past. Mike understood why she'd done it. But it didn't make it hurt any less.

"Here ya go.'' Mike blinked in surprise as Steve handed him a steaming cup of dark liquid. Steve sat down beside him, sipping his own coffee. Mike drank the coffee gratefully, and, although it burned his tongue, it warmed him considerably and gave him a boost of energy.

He and Steve sat in silence for another fifteen or so minutes, drinking their coffee and avoiding eye contact with each other. Mike kept his eyes locked firmly on the floor, only looking up when he heard the musical chime of the bells on the door as it opened. Mike had just enough time to set his coffee down and stand up before Nancy threw her arms around him. He felt her chin press painfully against his clavicle. He patted her awkwardly on the back and she let go, drawing away from him. Her pretty face was flushed, from either cold or anger. Her eyebrows were drawn together and, having gotten over the initial relief of seeing him, she punched him none-too-gently in the shoulder. "Mike Wheeler! What the hell were you thinking, running off like that? I've been worried sick!"

"Sorry,'' Mike muttered lamely.

"'Sorry'?" Nancy shrieked. "Is that all you have to say for yourself?"

Mike felt his cheeks growing warm, aware of everyone is the station staring at them. He jammed his hands in his pockets.

"You've been out in the cold all day, dressed like that?" Nancy said, in a gentler voice.

Mike nodded, refusing to meet her gaze.

"What were you thinking?" She repeated.

"Got suspended,'' he murmured.

"Again?"

"Yes,'' Mike snapped, getting annoyed. "I got suspended again and I didn't tell Dad and Mom because they would've freaked the fuck out. I had nowhere to go where I wouldn't get caught, except the woods, which,'' Mike glared at Steve, "are apparently not safe to hide in anymore.''

Nancy sighed, and pushed a loose strand of curly hair behind her ear. "Oh, Mike.'' All the anger had drained away. "What are we going to do with you?"

Mike still couldn't look at her. He felt absolutely wretched.

Then, to his surprise, Nancy hugged him again. He was much taller than her, but he melted into her gentle embrace. "It's going to be okay,'' she whispered. "We're going to get through this.''

Mike nodded against her, blinking back tears again.

Nancy let him go again, wiped her eyes hastily, and turned to Steve, who had been standing back respectfully. "Thanks, Steve.''

He inclined his head to her. "No problem.''

Nancy took Mike's arm and began to lead him out of the station. "Steve,'' Mike said suddenly. "Thanks for not calling my parents.''

Steve smiled. "If you ever need to talk to anyone,'' he said, then gestured vaguely around the room, "I'm always here.''

"I know,'' said Mike.

"I'm going to have to tell Dad and Mom about this,'' said Nancy, as she drove home, "you do understand that, right?"

"Yeah.''

Nancy reached one hand over to the passenger seat and rested in on Mike's bony shoulder. "It's going to be okay.''

Mike wasn't sure how many times she'd said that to him in the last ten minutes. He didn't think it was true, but he appreciated it all the same.

"Yeah. I know.''

thanks for reading! please review :)

the title was taken from skid row's "youth gone wild"