Mike drove to his parent's house in the late morning. It seemed silly, considering El lived a block away. But he needed this. He needed to take a breather. He'd woken as the first rays of gray light filtered through the window. He'd lain wide awake, on his back, watching sunlight brighten the room. El lay beside him, fast asleep, facing him. Her breath caused the stray, brown curls around her face to flutter. Her eyelashes fanned out against her cheeks, which were tinged pink and dusted with small freckles—sun spots, from all the summer days they'd spent outside. It was a welcome change from the bone-white, waxy skin and the dark bruises under her eyes from her days in the lab. The lilac veins crawling over her cheeks like spiders, whenever she over-exerted herself. He still couldn't quite reconcile that sick, frightened child with the girl who lay beside him, so beautiful and strong. She'd grown out of all that darkness and trauma like a flower, and he didn't know what he'd done to deserve her. This anchor, in a violent sea that threatened to drown him. This ray of light, after so many nights spent searching for a way out of the darkness. She was everything.
He'd climbed out of bed, careful not to wake her, and pulled on a sweatshirt and jeans. He scribbled a note to her, left it on the bedside table, and snuck downstairs and out the door before his brain caught up with the rest of him.
Mike passed the sign that read Maple Street and turning onto the street that lead out of the neighborhood. He wasn't ready to face his parents just yet. Wasn't ready to watch a few lines appear in his mother's face, wasn't ready to see the disappointment in his father's eyes. So he drove, without a destination in mind, heading down unfamiliar streets, making a left here, a right here, another left . . .
A song by the Eagles faded to commercial, so he switched the radio off, keen to drive in silence, the rest of the way. His thoughts were much too loud, too fast. The radio was a distraction and he was better off without it, with so many things on his mind.
He was still processing the last twenty-four hours. He'd spent the last week trying to digest the pregnancy and all it's implications. What it meant for him, for his future, for them . It was such a dark cloud in his mental sky that he couldn't really face it without looking at it through a mirror. So, when the doctor turned on that monitor and revealed their baby, not just a blob of cells but a person with a heartbeat, with a nose and hands and feet, he'd felt like a ton of bricks had been dropped on him.
He still felt like a child, himself. How was he supposed to pull this off? He didn't know. He only knew he wasn't going to leave El to deal with this alone. They were a team. It felt like they always had been, like they were fated to wind up together, somehow. That chance meeting when he'd gone into the woods in the pouring rain to look for his friend hadn't been chance at all. He'd found her, or she found him, and that was both a beginning and an end, a blessing and a curse. And if it was a curse, then he thanked God for it, every day. When the world crashed down around them and monsters poured out of a literal tear in time and space, they had each other's back. It was the only thing he had to hold onto, in this life that had so suddenly turned upside down and dropped him on his ass. That had forced him into a game of trades, El's life for Will's and vice versa, so that he lived through each day in fear that it would take something from him, again, in this cycle of eternal return. They would be there, for each other, whatever happened. And that included monster invasions and armageddon, so why should a baby suddenly change things? It didn't. So he'd be there for her, and they'd do this together, and that was that.
He still couldn't wrap his brain around it. But he was at least heading in the right direction, he thought, as he drove past an old, red sign with chipping, white letters that read Sattler Quarry. He felt like he was standing at some great precipice. That everything that had happened had led him here, gazing at the water, below. This was a leap of faith, in every sense of the phrase, and he was taking that step. He'd be there for her. Through all of it.
He was going to be a father.
And a damn good one, too, he resolved, thinking of his own father. His father, whom he barely knew. Who worked long hours and spent evenings asleep in the La-Z-Boy. When he did tear his attention from the T.V. long enough to look his son in the eye, all Mike saw was a shade of disappointment, buried deep. Even then, he wasn't really seeing . Mike felt so unbearably detached from his father, and the silence that filed that space between them, the chasm neither of them attempted to cross, threatened to suffocate him. He wouldn't fall to the same fate. But the voice in his head taunted him, askingwhat if? What if I end up like him? And the fear was so real and immediate it drowned out everything else.
He clutched the steering wheel, knuckles turning white.
He couldn't.
He wouldn't.
Mike headed toward his house, swallowing that knot of panic, attempting to reinforce the walls he'd built up. He tried to convince himself it didn't matter what they said, that he didn't need someone to hold his hand, anymore. This was between him and El and nobody else. If they wanted to be a part of it, fine. If they didn't, well, he didn't need them.
He'd called Nancy in New York, just as soon as El told him about the pregnancy, spewing his guts out, over the phone. He didn't know why she, of all people, was the first person he'd told. Maybe because she, of all people, knew what it was like growing up with parents who barely spoke. Maybe it was because he trusted her, admired her, even, though he'd never admit it. He'd broken down and cried, then. Nancy had sounded close to tears, herself, but she'd comforted him as best she could, from so many miles away, telling him everything would be okay.
"You have to tell Mom and Dad." She'd said. "They're gonna freak, but it's better to get it over with." He'd agreed with her and hung up.
Mike parked in front of his house, at the end of the cul-de-sac. He made made way up the walk, opened the front door, and stepped into the entryway.
He'd told his parents he was coming home today, choosing to leave the part about coming early for El's appointment out of the conversation, which gave him some time. Time to be with El, away from everything else. Time to go to her doctor's appointment and to support her and be there for her in all the ways he knew how. Time to gather his bearings.
"Mom?" He called.
"Mike?"
He heart footsteps, upstairs. His mother appeared on the landing. She smiled, rushing down the steps to throw her arms around him.
"Hey, honey. How're you? How was the drive?" She asked.
"Fine."
"Good." She pulled away, beaming. He couldn't find it in him to return her smile. "Did you eat breakfast? I've probably got some pancake batter left over."
"No, I'm not hungry." He said. It was the truth. He'd never been so aggressively unhungry in his life.
"Where's Holly?"
"She slept over at a friend's house. She'll be home soon." His mother told him, quickly, intent on her quest to get every little bit of information out of him. "How are your classes?"
"Good. Everything's good. Hey, is Dad home?" He asked, distractedly, shifting his weight.
His mother's brow furrowed, slightly.
"Uh, yeah. Ted!" She called. His father wandered out of the kitchen, newspaper in hand.
"Mike!" His father exclaimed, clapping him on the back.
"Hey, Dad." He said. He glanced at them both, then fixed his gaze on the floor.
"Can I talk to you guys, for a second?"
"About what? What's wrong?" His mother asked, frowning.
Mike swallowed, licking his lips. He took a breath, inspecting his shoes.
"El's pregnant."
He told them, watching their faces turn from confusion to fear to disappointment and back, in the spaces between seconds. His mother's hands went to her mouth.
"Oh, Mike ." She whispered, beginning to cry, which was the worst part. He hated watching her cry. It was enough to push him close to tears, which is what he wanted to avoid, of all things. Because crying somehow made him feel weak, and right now, he needed to be strong. For El. For the baby.
He was always a sensitive kid.
"Wheeler's a crybaby!" The mouthbreathers and bullies would yell, jeering.
He never really grew out of it, either. He didn't cry as much, but he felt things too deeply. Loved too much. He didn't know if that was a bad thing, and maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was strength. But right now, it didn't feel like it. And he couldn't keep the tears from coming. They got all stuck in his throat, hot and itchy, and he was so damn angry , because he promised himself he'd keep it all together and now he was falling apart.
"Oh, Mike. Honey . . . " His mom said, again. "Mike . . ." She shook her head, opening her arms, and he walked straight into them. She held him, stroking his hair, while he broke down.
"It's okay." She said. "It'll be okay." Over and over again, voice edged with a note of hysteria, and he clung to her, trying to pull himself together. Finally, he drew away, wiping his eyes. He looked at his father.
Ted Wheeler folded his arms, frowning.
"Michael, this is irresponsible." He said. "You should've been more careful."
"I know." He said. "But it is what it is."
"I knew that girl was trouble." He said. "I knew it!" Mike froze, feeling the color drain from his face. Rage boiled his blood, and red blossomed along the edges of his vision.
"Ted!" Karen exclaimed, reproachful.
"Don't talk about her like that!" Mike yelled. He glared at his father.
"She's strange." Ted said. "Spending all that time with a bunch of boys . . . look what happened!"
Mike reeled.
"She's not like that!" He couldn't believe what he was hearing. They knew El. She'd spent Christmas with them, she'd accompanied them on vacations. She babysat Holly. He'd taken her to school dances and parties. When they were in high school, she spent almost every afternoon at his house.
"She is the best thing that ever happened to me!" He yelled.
"You sure know how to pick 'em, son."
"Go to hell!" Mike clenched his fists. "Don't you dare talk about her like that in front of me! I love her! And I'm going to marry her!" He shouted, hoarsely. "And we're having a baby."
"You're too young . . ." His mother said, with a kind of pleading desperation in her voice, and Mike glared at her.
"I'm an adult. I'm old enough to make my own decisions. If you don't like it, fine, but this is my choice."
"You're being unreasonable, Michael. A baby changes things. You can't possibly know how much of a burden this will be." His father said, shaking his head. "I won't support it."
"This isn't ideal. You don't think I know that? I do. But it doesn't matter. I'm not going to leave her alone. And if you don't support it, fine, but don't take it out on El. And don't ever, ever insult her in front of me!"
"Michael . . ." Ted began.
"I'm doing this. With or without you." Mike said, cutting him off. Tears were streaming down his face, but his rage fueled his words, and they cut through the air, cold and sharp as ice. "I'm sure your grandchild would appreciate having grandparents around, to look up to and spend time with. But I guess that's wishful thinking. God knows you couldn't give that to your own son." He'd crossed a line, but he didn't care. He'd reached the point of no return, and hysteria threatened to pull his head under water.
His mother burst into tears, at his words. Ted Wheeler stood, rooted to the spot.
"Get out." He said, quietly. Dangerously. "Get out of my house."
"Fine."
Mike turned, spinning on his heel. He wrenched open the door, storming onto the porch and down the front steps.
"Mike!" His mother called, but he didn't stop. He kept walking, resisting the urge to break into a run, tears slipping down his cheeks, stinging in the cold. "Mike, wait!" His mother's fingers closed around his wrist. He yanked his arm away, and she lost her grip. He turned, looking at her. Tears glittered in her eyes.
"He didn't mean it. Mike, don't go . . . We'll figure this out . . ." She begged.
He shook his head, choking back a sob.
"I'm sorry."
He got in his car, fired up the engine, and pulled away from the curb. He got halfway down the street before the tears blurred his vision. He turned the corner and whipped out of sight.
He drove for a while, unsure where he wanted to go. He made a series of random turns, running a red light in the process, unable to rid his brain of the image of his mother, standing on the street corner, looking so broken and fragile and old. He left her there. He'd never forgive himself. But he couldn't go back. He was no longer welcome. That, at least, was loud and clear.
The world had begun to spin in slow circles, and his heart beat much too fast, in his temples. He needed to pull over.
He parked, shutting of the engine. He sat back, pressing his palms over his eyes, very aware that he was, in fact, freaking out. He was falling over the edge and falling fast, and the water was rushing up to meet him. All he could do was shut his eyes and brace for impact.
None came. His pulse slowed, and the dizziness ebbed. He blew out a breath, gazing at the street. A gaggle of passerby walked by, laughing and talking. The town seemed alien to him. This place, which was once his home, seemed so small, so strange. He'd outgrown it.
This town had given him nothing. Nothing but a bitter taste on his tongue and nightmares that plagued his sleep. But that wasn't true, and he knew it.
It had given him a couple of friends. Their faces run through his mind. Dustin and Lucas and Will and Max. The strongest and bravest and kindest people he'd ever met. And El. The love of his life, the mother of his child. El, who was strange and mysterious. Who could throw you across the room like you were nothing. Who'd kill for you, literally. Who was so impossibly strong and brave and kind, the kindest of all of them, even after the world chewed her up and spit her out. Even after they took everything from her. Even after they tried to make her a monster.
Somehow, Mike wound up in a convenience store, off Fourth Street. He went to the cash register, bought a pack of Camels and a lighter, and walked a short distance to the park, down the street. He sat on a park bench, pulled a cigarette out of the pack, and lit it. He dragged, eyes watering as he fought the urge to cough. The stuff set his insides on fire, but he didn't care. Anything to push away these dark, stormcloud thoughts. The drug worked its way into his system, and he leaned back, cheeks and nose reddening in the cold. He pulled his hands inside his sleeves, hugging them close to his body. This autumn had been one of the coldest, and there were heavy clouds gathering on the horizon. He wouldn't be surprised if it snowed.
He took a few more drags on the cigarette, then dropped it on the ground, crushing it. His hands shook, and his knee bounced, like it always did when he was nervous.
He didn't know how to tell El that his parents had kicked him out. He didn't want her to think it had anything to do with her or the baby, because it didn't. It had to do with all the things he'd said.
He didn't want to see the look on El's face, the disappointment and guilt, when he told her how terribly that conversation had gone. And he didn't really want to think about things going forward, without his parents in the picture. He'd have to work this out, sometime or other. He couldn't go on not talking to them. And he really did want his parents to be part of their child's life.
Mike's grandma died when he was ten. He'd been close with her. They used to take walks in the park, and they had this thing were they'd feed the ducks in the pond. Those were some of his happiest memories. Who was he to deny that right to his child?
You can't possibly know how much of a burden this will be . . .
Without his parents, how were they going to afford the cost of living, with a baby on the way? How would he have time to work and do well in his classes and take care of a tiny human who was completely and utterly dependent on him? El was working, too, of course, but she'd have to take some time off when she actually had the kid. There were grocery bills and medical expenses and insurance and all that adult stuff. He'd imagined them living together, once the baby was born. So that added rent to the ever-growing list of Things He Couldn't Afford. And then there was the wedding, which didn't need to be extravagant, of course, but he'd always imagined some kind of gathering, some celebration. His brain hurt, trying to digest all the logistics, so he tried to stop his mind from derailing, completely.
Eventually, he returned to his car, shoving those thoughts into the corners of his mind. He returned to El's place, drumming his knuckles on the door before walking in. He found Hop sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a mug of coffee, cigarette dangling from his lips.
He looked up, startled, as Mike appeared in the entryway, and Mike immediately felt bad. He'd obviously intruded on some kind of private moment. The man had a faraway look in his eyes, as if he'd spent the last several minutes deep in thought. The Chief gave his head a small shake, clearing his throat.
"Where's El?" Mike asked, as casually as possible. He squirmed, inwardly. He and the Chief hadn't exactly gotten off on the right foot. Things had always been tense but now they were almost unbearable, and Mike's eyes darted around the room, searching for the nearest exit.
"She went to the store." Hopper said. "We're out of milk." He returned his gaze to the window.
"How'd it go?" Hopper asked, without looking at him.
"Not good." Mike admitted.
Hopper sighed.
"Sorry, kid." He said. "Life can be a real bitch, sometimes. Just when you think you're getting the hang of it, it turns around and bites you in the ass."
"Yeah."
"The best you can do is roll with the punches." Hopper said. "I try to do the best I can, for her. Sometimes I screw up. I screw up more than I'd like to admit. But you can't sit around and cry about it. You gotta admit your mistakes and move on." Hopper exhaled, blowing smoke rings. Mike dropped into a chair, across from him. Silence fell over them.
"I'm not mad, kid." He said, surveying him, over the top of his tented hands. "You're a good kid. These things happen. If you ask me, I think El's lucky to have someone so willing to support her. It'll be difficult as hell but not impossible. You'll be okay."
Mike cocked an eyebrow, taken by surprise. A second ago, he would've bet his life Hopper didn't have one good thing to say about him.
"When she told me, I got angry. And I knew I messed up, big time. The look on her face . . ." Hop shook his head, trailing off. "It kills me, to see her like that. She was so upset. And I just got so mad . . . " He took a sip of his coffee, eyes downcast. "This isn't anybody's fault. Not hers, not yours. And it doesn't do anybody any good to get angry. The best I can do is try to support her, in whatever way possible. This is something we're gonna have to deal with. And if I learned anything from my child-rearing days, first with Sara, then El, I learned it really does take a village. I wish your parents could see that."
Mike nodded. They lapsed into silence, for a while, though it wasn't uncomfortable. Mike searched for words, some way to express how grateful he was that at least one adult in his life actually gave two shits. Grateful that Hopper would be around to help them and support them. And though he dared not admit it aloud, despite everything, despite the tension and the differing opinions between them, Mike admired the Chief.
"Thank you." He said, after a long while. He didn't elaborate. He didn't need to. Hopper raised his mug.
"To fatherhood." He said, mouth twitching into a smile. Mike laughed.
"To fatherhood."
Mike and El were sitting at the kitchen table in their pajamas on Sunday morning, eating a breakfast of the scrambled eggs and French toast they'd made, when the doorbell rang. El made to get up, but he leapt to his feet before she could do more than rise halfway out of her chair. Mike walked into the entryway, answering the door. His mother stood on the porch, nervous and teary, carrying a big cardboard box in her arms. She looked at him, and her face seemed to wither, at the corners.
"Um." She said, breathily. "May I come in?"
Mike nodded. He stepped aside, and his mother paused, closing her eyes, and he could see her physically pulling herself together. She opened them, then marched straight past him, hugging that cardboard box to her chest. He followed her, closing the door. His mother started talking very fast, barely pausing for breath.
"I dug around in the attic for some of our old baby stuff. I found some old clothes and toys I thought you might like to look through. Most of it's junk but some of it's salvageable, I just brought it over so you could look through it and pick what you want. I was gonna donate it all to goodwill, anway, and—" She paused, abruptly, as El appeared in the doorway. Mike caught her eye.
Mike told her about the fight he'd had with his parents as soon as she'd returned home, brushing over some details and leaving others out, completely, but he knew he couldn't really keep anything from her. She could read him like a book. She'd looked at him with eyes so full of reproach and guilt and pain he thought for sure his chest would splinter into a million shards of glass. She'd offered to talk to them, herself, but he'd advised against it. It would probably just make things worse, and it wasn't fair for him to let her clean up his mess. She'd fallen silent, then. And she kept shooting him guilty, pitying looks, as if she expected him fall apart at any moment.
Mike's mother eyed El, and the two women sized each other up, testing emotional waters. His mother took a step toward her, then thought better of it, shifting her weight. She wrung her hands, nervously, eyes darting to the floor.
"Mike told me, um, about the baby . . ." His mom stuttered. She took a deep breath. "And I know it's a hard time . . . for all of us, and I know Ted and I didn't react . . . react well but I want you to know I . . . " She trailed off, looking helpless. "I'm gonna be there, for you. In whatever way possible. And I brought this old baby stuff. Um . . ."
El smiled, hesitantly. "Thank you."
His mom smiled, pleased. She carried the box to the living room and setting it on the coffee table. It was old and stained and worn. El opened the box, peering inside. She fished around for a moment, pulling out a green onesie with a frog embroidered on the chest. She smiled, holding it up for Mike's inspection.
"Cute, huh?"
He nodded, mind reeling. He couldn't quite get over it. That this was real and this was happening. But every passing day solidified the idea in his mind. Maybe one day he'd wake up and think I'm gonna be a father and not break down in a mini panic attack at the thought. But today was not that day. El folded the onesie and set it aside, returning her attention to the box. Mrs. Wheeler settled herself in a chair.
"I know it's still early, but I thought you might like to look through this stuff before I donate it." She said, shrugging. She looked at El.
"How many weeks along?"
"Ten." She said. "The doctor did an ultrasound. Hold on, I have a picture . . ." El left, rushing up the stairs. When she came back, she carried the envelope with the ultrasound photos in her hand.
"Here." She handed a copy to Mike's mom. She took it, holding it with trembling fingers.
"Oh my god." She breathed, and tears welled in her eyes. She looked at Mike. "Isn't it precious?"
Mike nodded.
She sighed, dabbing at her eyes with the corner of her sleeve, sniffing. She handed the photo to El, who tucked it away in the envelope and set it aside.
El returned her attention to the box. It contained mostly clothes, and El set aside a soft, cotton shirt, another onesie, and a little pair of sneakers. Apart from the clothes, there was a little stuffed bear and a rattle shaped like an elephant, made of soft material.
"That was Mike's favorite toy, when he was a baby." Mrs. Wheeler interjected. She laughed. "When I tried to take it away you'd throw a fit."
El grinned, setting it in the 'Keep' Pile. She lifted a soft, blue blanket out of the box and held it to her cheek.
"Soft." El remarked, handing it to Mike. He took it, running his fingers over the fabric.
El looked at Mrs. Wheeler.
"Thank you." She said, and crossed the room to hug her. Mike's mom froze, startled, before hugging her back.
"Oh, you're welcome, sweetheart. I know this isn't ideal, but maybe we can make the most of it. And if you need anything, just tell me, okay?" She patted El's soldier. "After three kids, I've seen it all."
El nodded, smiling. Mrs. Wheeler went to Mike, brushing a hair off his forehead. Her eyes welled with fresh tears. She embraced him, and he wrapped his arms around her.
"I'm sorry." She whispered, into his shoulder. "For what we said, before. Your father, he says things without thinking. He didn't mean it. He was just upset, Mike, you have to understand that. This is . . . quite a shock."
Mike nodded, swallowing. He dashed something treacherously wet from his cheek.
"I know." He said, and the tightness in his chest lightened, somewhat. "I'm sorry, too."
Mike left in the afternoon. El followed him to his car, and he cupped her cheek and kissed her, deeply, only resurfacing when he had to come up for air.
"I'll see you soon." He told her. He bent down, so he was level with her stomach.
"Hang in there, little guy. Take care of your momma." El laughed, brushing a hand through his curls.
"It can't hear you."
"Says who?"
"Says logic. It's ears probably aren't even developed."
"I'm optimistic." He said, grinning. He straightened, cupping her face in his hands. "I love you."
"I love you, too." She said, tilting her chin up for another kiss. He got in the car, and she waved as he pulled out of the driveway.
He arrived in Indianapolis in the evening. He returned to his dorm, tossing his overnight bag on the bed. He unzipped the front pocket and pulled out a thin, yellow envelope. He pulled a copy of the ultrasound out of it, then rooted around in his desk for a thumbtack. He came up empty handed and settled for a piece of Scotch tape. He taped the photo securely on the wall, above of his bed, and stepped back to admire his handiwork.