Chapter Text
-Mike-
“No, it’s seven, so it’s five hours before 1998,” Mike lowered his watch, glancing at the broken clock on the dash. The group was waiting in Mike’s captain blue Jeep CJ-7 ‘77, parked on the curb off Merkwood. Dustin and Lucas sat crammed in the back between a stockpile of backpacks, travel bags and a cardboard box overflowing with fireworks.
“Seriously? Aha!” Dustin found the cellular device he’d been rummaging for in his messenger bag. He yanked up the antenna on his Motorola StarTAC, “What’s Will’s number again? Memory got wiped when I tried to program tetris onto this sweet little puppy dog.”
“Will always locks his phone in the trunk while he’s driving. Thinks hearing it ring will cause an accident.” Mike gave Dustin a pointed look, “Honestly, I don’t blame him. His ringtone’s annoying as shit.”
The dusty bastard programmed that ringtone.
“Hey! Coco Jamboo is not annoying! It’s cheerful, like riding a dolphin on the sand…” Dustin surfed his hand on the stagnant car air.
Mike scrunched his nose, signaling his primary emotion, “Dolphins don’t ride on the–”
“OGH!” Lucas growled, “We’re gonna miss it, man! It’s too cold for this bullsh…”
“Will’s coming, okay! I’m not leaving without him, so either hold your horses or you two can take Dustin’s van.”
“Hell no! I’m not getting back in that grimey, shag jungle!”
“It’s not grimey!” Dustin whined, “That’s how the fur is supposed to look…”
“Shh!” Mike squinted at a faint whooshing sound.
There was a thud and Mike turned to see Lucas catching the box of fireworks as it started to spill out. Lucas put his hands up, “You’re telling me you willingly upholstered that thing with wet dog–”
“Can you two shut up!…I hear something,” Mike leaned against the window.
He heard Dustin pouting under his breath, “...fun walking back to Des Moines…”
The flashing lights of an airplane appeared from beyond the trees and passed overhead.
“Can we at least turn the damn heat on while we wait?!” Lucas flicked his leather bomber cuffs over his hands and feigned a shiver. Obviously fake, because it was like 34 degrees Fahrenheit and Mike couldn’t feel anything…
Oh.
Mike turned the key to start the engine and adjusted the temperature dials.
“Where’s my..?” Lucas banged around and Mike heard him chugging water like he’d been wandering the desert for sixteen days. “Ahh,” Lucas sighed pleasantly, though it wasn’t pleasant to Mike, “Why doesn’t Will just meet us in Ohio?”
“Goddamn lake effect snow. Canary won’t like the roads out there. Besides, we’re supposed to ride together. We all agreed on this weeks ago.”
Dustin blew a raspberry that gave Mike the urge to punch his shiny ass teeth out, “Right, not like you can’t survive another two and a half hours of your life without him next to you…”
Mike whipped around, “What’d you just say?! Gas prices are insa–”
“Guys!” Lucas double smacked from Dustin to Mike, leaning into the front cabin.
A pair of lights crested over the hill and grew before stopping on the curb in front of them.
Mike flashed his low lights, briefly illuminating Will’s yellow Volkswagon bug, which Mike had affectionately named ‘Canary’.
Mike popped his door and sprung out, “Will!”
They met between the noses of their cars and Mike threw his arms around Will’s neck, “Glad you got here safe.” Will’s arms wrapped around his waist and squeezed. It woke the butterflies in his stomach.
Will whistled as he pulled back, “Sorry I’m late. A kangaroo ran out in front of my car when I was in Arkansas.” His hair was poking down into his eyes from his beanie and Mike clenched his fists, resisting the urge to brush it out of his face for him.
“No worries…Uh, did you say a kangaroo?”
Will led them around the bug to his trunk and it creaked painfully as he lifted it. “Yeah, I thought Jonathan might’ve accidentally given me one of his special muffins, so I pulled over and sat for a few minutes after that,” he huffed, lifting an obviously heavy travel bag and throwing it over his shoulder. He was wearing that chocolate brown, oversized sweater that Mike had given him before he left their New Mexico apartment to see his family for Christmas. It made him look soft, like a bear or maybe a chocolate lab.
“Here, let me take that,” Mike grabbed at the straps and Will hissed at him.
“Whoah, hey, kitty just looks a little sleepy, ya know. Look,” Mike slapped his bicep, “look at this baby…Do you really think me incapable of helping a kitty-cat out?” Mike batted his eyelashes, still fondling his own mediocre bicep.
Will rolled his eyes and let his bag slip off his shoulder into Mike’s hand, then snatched his backpack up and slammed the trunk. A “Whoops, I’m so tired” slam, not like “FUCK MY PACK PACK!”
“How was Texas?” Mike asked, trying not to get paranoid about the volume of his thoughts.
“Sad. They’re still recovering from the tornadoes. I helped Mom and Bob clean out the trailer and we donated most of my old stuffed animals, then Mom insisted on giving away her favorite blanket and… There was a lot of crying.”
“Not the one with the thunderbird on it?”
Will sighed, “The one with the thunderbird.”
Mike frowned as they climbed into the Jeep. He wedged Will’s bag in the space between their seats, effectively blocking out Lucas and Dustin, who proceeded to bombard Will with complaints about his roommate’s manners.
Mike was flattered, “Will, can you control the music? I won’t need directions until we get to Elrod.” Will nodded and Mike flicked the headlights on, shifting the Jeep into drive and pulled onto the road.
The beautiful creature in the passenger’s seat peered into the back where Lucas and Dustin were likely still buried. “Hey, why aren't we taking Dustin's v–”
“Shh, don't ask.”
“Ah, k…Oh, any music requests, guys?” Will called to the nether of the back cabin.
“Mr. Bungle!” came a muffled shout.
Will shuddered, sharing a look with Mike.
“Sorry, did you say ‘Welcome to the Jungle’?” Mike raised his voice.
“No, I said Mister–”
The horn blared.
“You wanna hear The Pointer Sisters?” Will shouted softly and that made Mike giggle.
“...STER BUNGLE!”
“Art Garfunkel it is!” Mike called back, and actually, he did have those tapes. He could hear Dustin cursing in the back and smirked over at Will. The bright eyes and lopsided grin that shined back at him made him briefly forget that the sun was already asleep.
“Angel Clare?”
Mike nodded. It’d been his favorite for the past 4 years, since Will gifted it to him for Halloween ‘93. It was the only Art Garfunkel album he hadn’t owned at the time. Gift-giving on Halloween had become their own little tradition, since some indeterminable time ago. Mike couldn’t remember.
“Wake up my love, beneath the midday sun…” Mike sang as the tape started playing.
The heat was blowing softly against his neck and the streetlamps became fewer and farther between as the party rode out of town. Every once in a while, Mike caught the whispers of a sweet, soft voice next to him, singing along, too.
“You can nap if you want. I know you’ve been on the road for a while. I’ll wake you when I need directions.”
“Hmm,” Will sighed, “You sure?”
“Course, here–” Mike shimmied out of his denim jacket and rolled it up with one hand, then passed it over to Will. “Dustin took my actual pillow for his butt.”
“Oh, well your pillow is good for that…Thanks.”
Mike’s cheeks warmed as he remembered how Will had sat on his pillow once for 3 hours, mistaking it for his own, before they’d gotten a couch for their apartment. It was also while their pillowcases were in the wash, so it would forever carry the essence of Will’s ass. Thank Helm it had a pillowcase on it right now.
In his periphery, Mike caught Will settling against the door, just before he gasped and shot back up.
“My pillow! I forgot to bring a pillow!” Will groaned, slapping his knee.
“Oh…” Mike thought for a moment. “You could, uh, we could share mine. If you want,” his lip curled on one side, “That is, if you don’t mind breathing in the spirit of Dusty-ass.”
“Tff, that should be a character in our campaign, ‘The Spirit of Dustyass’…” he rainbowed his hands, then snuggled up to Mike’s jacket, against the window.
“I’ll write it in,” Mike smiled helplessly and flicked his gaze back to the road, otherwise they’d all succumb to the blinding light of the angel beside him.
He bounced in his seat as the song switched.
He was probably the most energized of the group, having slept in till 1 that afternoon, in his old bedroom, which still had his mattress from when he was a teenager. It was a little small, but Mike slept like a dead millipede.
His mom was the only parent from the original party who still lived in Hawkins. She was having a dinner party tonight with the girls, so Mike had opted to leave before the driveway got swarmed.
He’d spent over an hour driving around town reminiscing, and having a few unfortunate flashbacks, until Dustin called to let him know he and Lucas were close to the agreed meeting point.
The agenda was to meet up in Hawkins and carpool to Hamilton, Ohio where they’d join the members of their old, high school DnD party for a series of New Years Eve activities, before spending the rest of the week playing out an elaborate campaign that they’d been planning since September.
1998 was going to start off with a bang. They had a firework show planned for the conclusion of the campaign. It would be the party’s last big hoorah before Lucas became a father.
Max was back in Des Moines, seven months pregnant with her doting mother and mother-in-law. She would’ve been joining everyone in Ohio, if the doctors hadn’t put her on bed rest for her worsening preeclampsia. She was also carrying twins. Lucas was on the brink of a mental breakdown from the stress. Mike tried not to let it affect the natural volatility within their relationship. If Mike started getting too even-tempered with him, it’d make Lucas feel even more fragile.
“...another lullaby, another lullaby…” the tape ended, and Mike glanced over, the dim light reflecting off the road and illuminating Will, who was drooling lightly on Mike’s jacket.
He decided to let it happen. Will looked so peaceful with his mouth parted slightly and curved like he was inadequately blowing out a birthday candle. His lashes fluttered faintly beneath his darty, closed eyelids, mingling with his tousled fringe, where it spilled down from his hat. Mike snapped his gaze back to the road.
They were still about half an hour out from Elrod. Lucas’ muffled snoring crashed behind him, and a continual stream of clicks indicated that Dustin was doing something with an electronic device. The only other tape within Mike’s reach was the Hit to Death in the Future Head album by The Flaming Lips.
He must’ve listened to it a hundred times already, but it’d provide for a better ambiance than Lucas’ sleep apnea, so he put it in the deck.
When Mike finally reached the bridge, crossing Laughery Creek, he reached over and placed his hand gently above Will’s knee.
“Hey Will,” he whispered, lightly shaking Will’s thigh.
Will stirred, but didn’t wake.
“Wi-ill…” Mike sing-songed.
“Mmm, no… Wear the yellow dress,” Will mumbled.
Mike giggled. Will spoke in his sleep a lot. It seemed he frequently dreamt of getting roped into shopping with probably Nancy or Max, or the girls from college. He was always offering his opinion on their dreamland fashion choices. Of course everyone wanted the input of an artist.
Mike decided to play along, as he usually did, “The yellow one? Are you sure it goes with my eyes?” He spoke softly, in that voice exclusively reserved for Will, which he couldn’t even begin to deny existed.
“Mm, but the stockings and shoes make you look like a bumble bee.”
Mike clasped his mouth to stifle a laugh. “Okay, should I–”
“No! No, don’t straighten your hair… I like it curly.”
“Will you help me put it up, then?” Mike choked out, trying not to breathe too loudly.
“Mmph, too tall. Just flip it to the side.”
“Sure you don’t want to braid it for me?”
“Mike, just flip it…”
Mike froze. Was Will actually awake and just messing with him?
“Will, are you–”
“Mike, smthnbow ahamna...your leg hair…Take off the stockings…”
“Will, who are you talking to?”
“Don’t get sassy with me, Mike…My lipstick…”
Mike couldn’t breathe if he wanted to. He thought about pulling over. Will was dreaming about…about…
“Fine mmn Mike, mm- we can kiss, but you’ll have to reapply it for m–”
Mike slammed on the brakes, throwing Will forward. He swung his arm out to catch him and Will grabbed onto it, frantically. A series of thuds came from the back as Dustin shouted, “Jesus!” at the same time Lucas yelled, “Ow! What the hell, dude?”
“Shit!” Mike yelled. The disruption wasn’t exactly a conscious decision. “Sorry guys,” he held his hand over his heart.
“Did something run out in front of you?!” Lucas asked, indignantly.
“Uh, y-yeah,” Mike fumbled, “Yeah, something–”
“Was it a kangaroo?” Will’s voice was sweet.
“Yeah…..I- I mean, no…” Mike puffed, his heart beating harder as he caught sight of the sleepy smile on Will’s face. “It was just, uh, a deer, I think.”
“Are you okay?”
“I think so,” Mike blinked, trying to catch his breath. Will reached for him and rubbed his arm, which normally would have been comforting. Right now, it was just terrifying. “Are- are you okay?” Mike managed.
Will patted himself down, “Yeah, yeah I’m still intact,” he smiled, eyes still glassy from sleep.
Mike let out a long exhale.
“We’re alive, too!” Dustin called from the back.
“Yeah, yeah good,” Mike spoke, vacantly, “Can you read the map for me, now?”
“Yeah, of course.,” Will yawned, “Where…?”
Mike reached across Will’s legs and unlatched the glove box, eyes unfocused.
He didn’t speak for a while, just nodded along to Will’s directions, driving on autopilot. His mind was a fallout zone. He imagined the families in Texas, picking up the pieces after the wind’s brutal assault. He imagined himself walking between debris, finding things he hadn’t noticed before. Things left under the stairs, now ripped to shreds and on display, like confetti sprinkled around splintered wood.
Will switched the tape when it ended, and Squirrel Nut Zippers started playing. It was a wild contrast to the mood of Mike’s thoughts. It made his heart race. It felt like everything was running at warp speed and slow motion, both at the same time.
A few years ago, Will had confessed to Mike that he didn’t like women. And of course Mike was cool about it. If Will wasn’t interested in romance or sex, that was his right. He didn’t have to want that stuff. It didn’t change anything. Things between them would continue as they always had. Will still loved Mike’s hugs. Still snuggled up to him on the couch, when they watched scary movies. Still smiled and laughed and joked and sang and played games with him. Mike kept loving Will in whatever way he’d let him.
Mike hadn’t considered that, when Will said he didn’t like women, what he might’ve meant was that he rather liked men.
People uninterested in romance and sex probably didn’t dream of sacrificing their lipstick for the sake of a kiss.
Mike wouldn’t.
He couldn’t be sure, but now there was glitter in his memories.
How hadn’t he pieced it together before? Will’s flirty personality around him. The way Will swooned whenever they watched Basic Instinct. How he talked obsessively about Sir Ian McKellan. How he’d act all nervous whenever that tan, male barista was on shift at their favorite local coffee shop (a guy Mike felt was unobjectionably attractive). The way….the way Will looked at Mike sometimes, as though he were something beautiful…
Like the way Mike looked at him.
What scared Mike the most, though, was that Will’s subconscious seemed to pick up on another one of Mike’s secrets; one that Mike kept folded up in a trunk under his bed, stacked in a cigar box in the back of his bedside drawer and propped in a shoe box, hidden behind a collection of board games in the back corner of his bedroom closet.
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