Chapter Text
The human mind is capable of so many things. In fact, it’s downright amazing. You can store vast amounts of knowledge and memories in your brain. Did you know the human brain can process information at speeds of up to 268 miles per hour? And it generates enough energy to power a light bulb! Isn’t that incredible? The human body is endlessly fascinating—especially the brain. Always the brain. How people think, work, decide. It’s all so interesting.
Most humans never use their minds to their full capacity. Some even say that if you did, you’d develop... powers? Like El, maybe—or maybe even stronger than hers. Eh. Who knows, right? Who really knows…
“Michael, are you even listening to me?”
Mike startled, suddenly brought back to reality. He hadn't even realized he was just sitting there on the floor, staring at the screen as another episode of He-Man played. He blinked and looked up at Nancy, who was already dressed and ready for the day. Lately, Karen had been making her bring Mike along to school so he wouldn’t have to ride his bike in this weather.
“I don’t feel good today,” Mike said, glancing up at his older sister. She sighed, running a hand through her hair and rolling her eyes. Clearly, she thought he was faking—but could it be a lie if Mike truly felt like crap?
“You said that yesterday. And the day before. You don’t even have a fever. Just because Mom’s letting you stay at home doesn’t mean you should take advantage of it,” she said, looking down at him, her face tightening into that expression that always made Mike think she wanted to kick him.
Which, honestly, she probably was thinking about at that moment.
“I really do feel like shit, Nancy,” Mike muttered, shooting her his best ‘just leave me alone’ look before turning back to the TV. He pressed the remote, flipping the channel to yet another news update about the latest typhoon battering Indiana counties—damaged houses, flooded streets. Mike bit his lip and switched back to He-Man.
It had been raining lately. Hard. The kind of rain that kept Hawkins wrapped in a relentless, moody darkness. Maybe that's why Nancy was driving him—and sometimes the others—to school instead of making him bike. Sometimes Max, Lucas, Dustin, and even Will joined. Though most days, Jonathan drove Will.
“Mike,” Nancy said softly, crouching beside him. She pulled him by the shoulders, forcing him to meet her eyes.
“What?” Mike asked, exhausted.
She stared at him, taking in the dark circles under his eyes, his limp hair falling over his face, and how pale he looked. Her expression softened, guilt sneaking in as she pressed a hand to his forehead. It was cold—not warm. He wasn’t sick, not exactly. But it was clear he hadn’t been sleeping well.
“You’re going to be late, Nancy,” Mike murmured, pushing her weakly away as she sighed.
“Is it El? Do you miss her? Do you want me to drive you to Hopper’s cabin?” she asked. Mike just shrugged. Hopper never seemed thrilled to have him over with Eleven. It wasn’t like they did anything except read comic books Mike brought for El, or mess with toys. Hopper probably thought Mike was up to something—like trying to kiss her. And, honestly, that was understandable. But Hopper had to believe them: things weren’t like that anymore.
Sometimes, the human mind can fool you into thinking you like someone just because everything around you is stressful. People want to cling to anything that feels magical, and Eleven was magic. She was the first girl Mike had really ever talked to, and the infatuation only grew because she had powers. She was special. She was a girl. That was all new for him.
She was still special—Mike’s very special best friend with amazing abilities. But he couldn’t just use her; she could barely talk when they first met, and still sometimes struggled to figure things out. Why would he try to make things more complicated by starting a relationship?
Honestly, it was probably best if they just stayed friends. Or, maybe it didn’t matter. Mike knew he loved her—not just as a friend, not as a girlfriend either. He just... loved El. She’s an amazing person, but a relationship was the last thing they should be worried about.
“Can you take me to her now?” Mike asked before he could stop himself. He’d been feeling down lately—not exactly sad, though that was part of it. The unending rain and darkness didn’t help. But it was more than that; he just felt wrong. Dizzy. Sometimes weak.
It started after the Snow Ball, after he and El danced. He’d gotten so dizzy he worried he’d take El down with him if he didn’t stop, and since then, it kept happening—random dizzy spells, nausea that came out of nowhere. Even after school let out for Christmas, all Mike did was go to Hopper’s cabin. The others were always busy—outside, hanging out, living their lives.
His mom had taken him to the hospital more than once, but they always just prescribed the usual stuff for nausea and told him he was fine, probably faking. Which he wasn’t. Honestly, sometimes he wondered if all doctors were jerks.
He barely had energy for anything these days. Sometimes the others would hang out at Will’s or even Steve’s, but never at Mike’s. He tried not to take it personally, but instead just went to El’s. He was sick, though—that was the reason, right? Still, it stung to feel mostly forgotten by the party. It would be nice if they visit him to check how he’s doing.
“El?” Nancy prompted, her voice gentle now. “Okay, let’s go. Let’s pack your bag, okay?” She helped Mike to his feet, steadying him. “Did Mom take you to the hospital again?” she asked as they climbed the stairs.
Mike nodded. “Nothing bad, they said,” he replied numbly.
“That’s good, I guess,” Nancy said, watching him hurriedly throw his comics, toys, and walkie-talkie into his bag before zipping it up. She led him downstairs and out to the garage, where her car was parked.
“You got everything you need?” she asked.
“Mmm,” Mike said, sliding into the passenger seat and buckling in as Nancy backed out of the driveway.
The ride was quiet, save for the steady patter of rain on Nancy’s car. Nancy broke the silence: “It’s been raining for weeks now. I wonder when it’ll stop.” Mike glanced at her.
“Isn’t there a typhoon coming?” he asked.
“Maybe. Did you at least bring an umbrella?”
“Does it matter? You’re picking me up anyway,” Mike replied, giving her an odd look. Nancy just sighed.
“Alright.”
They fell silent again, the quiet settling between them as Mike leaned against the door, watching grey skies drift by, then trees. His eyelids grew heavy; he listened to the rain, the distant rumble of thunder—almost felt like he could reach out, tug at the storm, make it stronger. Mike’s hand twitched at the thought. What a ridiculous idea, being able to control the weather. That sounded more like El’s thing than his.
“I haven’t seen the others in a while,” Nancy said suddenly. Mike opened his eyes and turned toward her.
“What?”
“I haven’t seen Will and the others.”
“It’s raining,” Mike murmured.
“Yeah, but we have a roof. It’s not like you guys hang out outside, Mike,” Nancy replied, rolling her eyes.
“They’re busy doing their own thing, I guess,” he muttered, annoyed.
It was true—they’d been off with Max a lot. Not that he hated her—well, maybe a little—but she was just… different from the rest of them. Mike didn’t want her gone, not really, but it was still annoying sometimes. Even though he couldn’t handle long hangouts, it didn’t mean he wouldn’t try.
Lately, they’d just hung out without even asking him. Sometimes Mike listened to their conversations on the walkie, but they never invited him along. It couldn’t be about his weird bouts of sickness; he hadn’t told them yet.
Lucas was always with Max, Dustin with Steve. Will stuck close to Joyce and Jonathan and had seemed cranky the last time they spoke. After the Snow Ball, Will had actually yelled at Mike to stop hovering, which was so unlike him. So yeah, Mike was hurt—but he definitely wasn’t hiding at home because of that. Definitely not.
He understood, though: Will hated being seen as someone who needed protecting. Hated feeling weak.
Mike tried not to blame him, but it still stung to be yelled at for caring too much when that’s just how he’d always been. Even before all of this.
“Oh, you should invite them over. Or did you guys fight again?” Nancy asked, basically calling him out.
“We—we’re not fighting. They’re just… busy. I’ll talk to them when I feel better and come back to school,” he grumbled, pulling his bag closer and folding into himself.
Nancy snorted as she pulled up in front of Hopper’s cabin, trees crowding around the little building.
“Pick you up at five?” she asked.
“Six, maybe?” Mike replied hopefully.
Nancy shot him an amused look. “Five sharp,” she said, then backed out as Mike trudged up the porch and raised a hand to knock.
Hopper opened the door, looking down at him with his usual exasperation.
“Again?”
Mike nodded. Over Hopper’s shoulder, he spotted Eleven sipping from a mug. She lit up when she saw him.
“Mike!” She grinned, set her mug down, and hugged him tight.
Mike hugged her back.
“Feeling… okay?” Eleven asked, tilting her head.
He shrugged. “Decent. I brought more comics and toys,” he added. Eleven nodded, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward her room.
“Hey! Door stays partway open!” Hopper called after them. Eleven scowled back but left it open as she led Mike to her bed. Sitting down, Mike emptied his bag, spreading comics and toys across the duvet.
“Look—I got Avengers, X-Men, a bunch more. They’re superheroes… kind of like you,” he said, handing her a Captain America comic. Eleven smiled.
“Superheroes,” she echoes, glancing at the comic book as Mike drops his bag by the bed and flops down sideways, showing her a Luke Skywalker action figure.
“He's not exactly a superhero here, but he's kind of like one, right? I mean, he’s a Jedi, and he has Force powers… like you have,” Mike says, waving the figurine at Eleven.
Eleven grins and scoots closer. “Force?” she asks, taking Luke from his hand.
“Yeah, we should watch the movie sometime. I think I can bring the tapes; you’d love it. He can move things with his mind. Just like you,” Mike says, sitting up excitedly—then winces when his vision swims a little.
Eleven’s smile fades into concern. “Are you okay? Does your head hurt?”
Mike nods weakly. “Yeah, a little. I think it’s ‘cause I haven’t slept much these past few days. The rain’s just so loud, you know?”
Eleven frowns, thoughtful. Then she nods. “Rain loud,” she agrees softly. “Scary,” she adds.
“Must be scary for you, huh?” Mike says, his tone gentle.
Eleven shrugs, then nods again. “It’s okay,” she says, placing a hand on Mike’s arm. He gives her a small, grateful smile.
“Is it lonely here?” he asks.
She shakes her head. “You and Hopper are here… Sometimes, I’m lonely,” she admits, pointing to herself.
Mike’s face softens. “Hey, I’ll try my best to come more often. Do the others visit?”
Eleven nods. “Will comes,” she says. “Sometimes.”
“That’s good. How about Dustin and Lucas?”
“Them too,” she answers, her face lighting up as Mike grins.
They talk a while longer—at least as long as Eleven’s still-broken English allows. Mostly, Mike talks for both of them; he explains comics, reading aloud and showing her the panels. Eventually, they’re lying on the bed together, Eleven resting her head on his shoulder, the comic spread open between them.
Mike likes to think he’s helping her learn other words—ones she hasn’t heard before, or doesn’t yet know.
Suddenly, the door opens. “Hey!” Hopper says, stepping inside. Mike and Eleven sit up quickly. “What did I say about personal space?” he grumbles.
Mike frowns, indignant. They were just reading a comic. Nothing weird. “We’re reading…” Eleven says, annoyed, her brows knit together.
“Personal space,” Hopper repeats, voice gruff. Mike reluctantly inches away from Eleven, tilting the comic her way so she can still see it. Eleven crosses her arms, glaring at Hopper in protest.
“I’m watching you,” Hopper says, giving Mike a pointed look. Mike barely stops himself from rolling his eyes. It’s like Hopper can’t stand him—like he’s just waiting for a reason to step in, even if all Mike's doing is breathing.
“I don’t understand,” Eleven mutters, glancing at the door, “he always comes and… says those words.”
Mike just sighs.
Suddenly, the air tingles with static. The door slams shut. Hopper’s muffled yell rises from the other side, and Mike grins as Eleven beams at him. They both burst out laughing.
A moment later, the door swings open again—and Hopper shoots them both a glare.
“Every day you come here, I see you corrupting her,” Hopper grumbled, his arms folded across his chest. Mike just snorted at that—corrupting her, seriously? What was Hopper's deal? He was always grumpy with Mike; did he act this way with the others, too, or just him?
Hopper eventually stomped out, leaving Mike perched on the bed, barely three inches from Eleven. He was reading aloud from a comic while she nodded, wholly absorbed. “I like her,” Eleven whispered suddenly, pointing to a white-haired woman on the page. Mike glanced down—Storm.
“Storm?” he asked.
Eleven nodded enthusiastically. “Hair,” she said, touching her own messy curls. Mike laughed, “She’s got a mohawk,” he pointed out, grinning.
Eleven’s eyes lit up. “You want to have a mohawk?” Mike teased.
Eleven nodded again, explaining, “Sister is like that.”
“Your sister, huh…” Mike leaned back against the headboard, thoughtful.
Their conversations often wandered to Eleven’s sister—Kali. The girl Eleven had met while searching for her mother, the one she’d found in Chicago. Eleven had stayed with Kali for a while before coming back to help her friends.
“Maybe one day you’ll visit her again,” Mike said gently.
Eleven shook her head. “Mad,” she whispered. “I left her for all of you.”
Mike’s heart twisted. “If she’s really your sister, she’ll forgive you,” he promised. “If you go back, she’ll accept you.” He gave a helpless shrug.
Eleven just hummed quietly, eyes downcast.
Mike watched her for a lingering moment, then held up the comic again. “Anyway, we’d better keep reading. We’re almost at the best part.”
That cheered Eleven. She straightened, moving closer, unbothered by the “personal space” Hopper kept lecturing them about. They lost themselves in the story, Mike giving each character a different voice, making Eleven giggle, her laughter barely loud enough to compete with the patter of rain that had dwindled to a soft drizzle.
Eventually, Mike had to leave. Of course, this meant being promptly ushered out of Eleven’s room, down the hall, and out to the porch where he waited for Nancy to pick him up—5 PM sharp.
“Your sister sure is taking her sweet time,” Hopper grumbled, joining Mike on the porch. The rain at last was stopping; sunlight slivered through the clouds.
“She’s probably busy,” Mike replied, shrugging.
“With Jonathan?” Hopper prodded.
Mike scowled. “Does it matter?”
Hopper just rolled his eyes. They stood there, waiting. Mike chewed his lip, glancing at the trees. Had Nancy really forgotten him? Was she caught up at school?
Or worse, with Jonathan? Did she seriously forget about her own brother just to hang out with a boy?
A thunderclap cracked overhead, so loud it rattled the cabin windows. Hopper looked up, startled. “Jesus,” he muttered, glancing at Mike, who stood stone-still, fists clenched. The rain had returned in an instant, hammering down. Hopper grabbed Mike’s arm, dragging him back inside just as the sky darkened, the last rays of sunlight snuffed out. For a moment, it almost felt like night.
“Alright, in you go before you catch a cold,” Hopper said, shutting the door behind them.
Eleven poked her head out of her room, her brow furrowed. “Nancy?” she asked softly.
Mike shook his head. Hopper looked at the phone on the wall. “Want me to call your house? See if your mom can pick you up?”
Mike shrugged listlessly. Did it even matter? His mom was probably busy with Holly anyway, or maybe the phone was tied up while she chatted with friends. “She’s probably talking on the phone,” Mike muttered, dropping down onto the couch. Eleven quietly curled up beside him, resting her head on his shoulder. Hopper watched them with a strange expression—irritation, worry, maybe both, as if stuck at a multiple-choice question with no right answer.
“Can Mike stay?” Eleven asked, looking up at Hopper with those big, pleading eyes. Mike joined her, and now two pairs of brown eyes stared him down.
Hopper groaned. “Fine.”
A grin broke across both kids’ faces as they clasped hands.
“Can he sleep in my room?” Eleven asked, hopeful.
Hopper shot her a glare. “No,” he said.
Eleven pouts. Hopper’s face pinches at the sight—like he’s just swallowed a lemon. “The door stays open wide,” he says firmly. Eleven just smiles, turning to Mike and squeezing his hands tightly.
“Sleepover!” Mike exclaims, grinning at Eleven. Hopper groans quietly—he knows what he's in for.
“Sleepover,” Eleven echoes, beaming.
By the time dinner rolls around, Nancy still hasn’t come to pick Mike up—so it really was a sleepover after all. The TV is still on, playing quietly in the background. Hopper has to pull out another chair for Mike at their small dining table.
“What about school tomorrow? You’ll have to wake up extra early so I can drive you home,” Hopper says, stabbing at his peas.
Mike shrugs. “I might not go to school tomorrow.”
“What? Why?” Hopper asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Been feeling dizzy. Sick,” Mike admits, nibbling at his eggs and glancing up. Eleven silently watches the exchange, eyes darting between them.
“What? Why are you here, then? Shouldn’t you be resting?” Hopper asks.
“It’s okay,” Mike shrugs. “I’ve gotten used to it, after a week or two.”
“When did it start?” Hopper presses, lowering his fork, concern creasing his brow.
“Snow Ball,” Eleven says quietly.
Hopper turns to her. “You know?”
Eleven nods, taking a bite of her food.
“It’s nothing,” Mike sighs, shaking his head. “I’m not worried about it.”
“Well, I am. Don’t want you keeling over. Does your mom know?” Hopper persists.
Mike nods. “I already went to get a checkup. It’s fine,” he reassures them.
Hopper hums, relaxing a bit. Maybe he cares about Mike more than he lets on. Maybe he’s not so grouchy after all.
“You sleep here, not there,” Hopper says later, tossing a thick bedsheet and a pillow onto the battered mattress on the floor beside Eleven’s bed. Eleven rolls over on her own bed, giggling. Mike grins at her, nods to Hopper, and sits down to fluff his pillow.
“Comfy,” Mike declares.
“Door stays open,” Hopper repeats, giving them a look. Both Eleven and Mike nod obediently as Hopper leaves the room.
Once he’s gone, Eleven bounds onto Mike’s mattress, excited. “Read again. Comic,” she says, grabbing the X-Men comic from the nightstand and handing it to Mike, who smiles.
“Okay. Here, sit here.” Mike pats the space beside him, and Eleven settles in at his side. He tosses the blanket over her lap and they both lean back against the pillows as he opens the comic to where they left off.
That night, Mike dreams of a cloudy sky—rain splashing his cheeks as he stands on a grassy plain. For a moment, he’s not sure what’s happening: is this a dream, or something else? He’s always had strange dreams, ever since he was a kid. But lately, all he dreams about are screams—Will screaming at him, thrashing on the bed as Joyce tries to hold him down.
Him running and yelling at the others that everything is a trap and the Mind Flayer is using Will to spy on them.
Then he dreams of Bob—always by the door, even in dreams—watching helplessly through the window as the demodogs maul him. Joyce is screaming, Hopper tries to shoot the creatures before giving up and dragging Joyce away to save her.
Next, it’s Steve getting hurt by Billy—
And Mike, powerless, unable to do a single thing. Useless. Will’s suffering, Bob’s death, Steve’s pain—he could do nothing to stop any of it. Even when he thought Eleven had died saving them all from the Demogorgon, all Mike could do was sit there, trembling in fear and grief.
The storm over Mike’s head brews. The gray clouds darken to black as if something’s burning—but there’s no smoke. The ground trembles beneath him, quaking with anger. Overhead, a tornado forms, churning in the sky.
More than one—a dozen, maybe more—tornadoes form all at once. Mike lets out a cry, not sure if it’s rain or tears streaming down his cheeks. The downpour grows heavier, blurring everything into gray, while the earth shakes harder beneath him. More tornados spin into existence. Strangely, it feels like a weight is being lifted from his shoulders, as if this storm—no, this disaster—is somehow soothing.
“Mike.”
“Mike…”
“Mike!”
Mike jolts awake, staring up at Eleven’s worried face. Her eyes are wet, as though she’s been crying. “El? Wh-what happened?” He sits up anxiously, noticing her hair is messy—outside, the rain is still pouring, and from down the hall he can hear the TV as well as Hopper pacing, barking fiercely into the phone.
“What?” Hopper shouts. “Sound the fucking alarm, warn everyone! Jesus Christ, why’d you wait for me?” He runs his hand through his hair, voice rising with panic. “Fuck—got it, Jordan Lake? Okay, tell everyone to stay inside—sound that fucking alarm, you got it?” He slams the phone back into the receiver like it’s personally offended him.
“A tor… tornado hit us!” Eleven gasps, clinging tightly to Mike, wiping away the last of her tears.
“Tornado?!” Mike repeats, sleep instantly gone as Hopper bursts into the room.
“You two—up! A tornado’s formed right by Jordan Lake, now move!” Hopper orders, voice tight with fear. Eleven yanks Mike to his feet.
“What? What the hell is going on?” Mike panics, feeling faint, but hastily grabs his bag. Eleven, with help from Hopper, starts levitating things into a duffle—clothes, books—anything they might need. In a blink, Hopper herds them out to his truck, slams the cabin doors shut, and jams the key in the ignition.
“Where are we going? Is it coming this way?” Mike asks, as Eleven wraps her arms around him, trembling.
“No, but we have to move—go to Joyce,” Hopper says, hitting the gas, wipers struggling to keep up with the rain. “Got a call from the station; it’s forming now, someone saw it and radioed us in. We can’t take any chances.”
Mike leans back, clutching Eleven as the storm intensifies. The rain pelts harder, almost resonating with Mike’s own nerves—he feels nauseous, like he might be sick. Overhead, emergency sirens wail, echoing from the old wooden poles lining the street: “Severe weather alert. Stay indoors now.” The message loops endlessly. Mike’s throat tightens.
“Are you sure it won’t hit Will’s?” he asks, voice shaking.
“We aren’t sure, kid, but we need shelter. My cabin won’t survive a tornado. I’m dropping you both at Joyce’s—then I need to get out there and warn the stragglers.”
They reach Will’s house. Hopper stops in the driveway and leaps out into the storm, opening the door for them.
“Jesus, Hopper—the sirens were so loud!” Joyce greets them, wrapped in a thick blanket. She hurriedly ushers Mike and Eleven inside. Will stands nearby, looking terrified and half-awake, hugging his pillow, hair wild. After all, it’s only four in the morning.
“What’s happening? Mike?” Will asks, voice small, eyes wide. Mike gives a nervous wave; Eleven still won’t let go of his arm.
“tornado around Jordan Lake. Lock the windows and doors, don’t go outside. I’m leaving Mike and Eleven here with you, Joyce.” Hopper drops Eleven’s duffle just inside the door.
“tornado? Indiana doesn’t get those,” Joyce protests. Will dashes straight for Mike, looking him up and down.
“Are you okay?” Will asks, gripping Mike’s shoulders. Mike just nods, still pale, as the sirens scream so loud outside, it seems impossible that anyone could still be asleep in town.
“I thought so too,” Hopper says tightly. “Just lock up. Don’t open the doors, don’t look out the windows—not until I say it’s safe.” With that, he heads back out, urgently reminding Joyce to lock up and stay away from the windows.
“Stay inside, away from the windows!” Hopper repeats as he runs for his truck. Joyce slams the door behind him, locks it, and quickly draws all the curtains, as if fabric might hold back a tornado, before turning back to the kids.
“Okay, okay—let’s all go to Will’s room,” Joyce says, herding the three of them down the hallway. “Stay there while I check every window in the house.” Eleven clings to Mike, and Will sticks close on his other side as they hurry along. The wind lashes against the windows, making them shudder with every gust.
“Is it here already?” Will whispers, almost afraid to speak.
“No, it’s still at Jordan Lake,” Mike answers, though his voice wobbles as he tries to sound reassuring. They pile onto the bed together, the storm’s fury echoing around them. From across the house, Joyce’s hurried footsteps thump as she checks every room.
“Mike, I’m scared,” Eleven admits, eyes shimmering with tears. Mike wraps his arms around her protectively; Will sits beside them, face pale and eyes wide with fear.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Mike murmurs, trying to soothe them. Will winces when the window rattles again, the whole wall trembling as if it might come loose.
Mike half expects to see a neighbor’s house fly past with how fierce the wind is. Something inside him wants to shield both of his friends—even if Will usually hates being babied. Without thinking, Mike holds out a shaky arm, and Will immediately scoots in, pressing close. Mike hugs them both, and in their warmth and closeness, his own fear eases a little. Here, together, it almost feels like nothing bad can reach them.
The rain keeps pounding, the rattling windows shudder with each breeze. Then, suddenly, everything quiets. The rain still falls, but the wind dies away, the howling silence almost as unnerving.
“It’s okay,” Mike repeats softly, rubbing Will’s back while holding Eleven tight. Both of them are shaking, but he keeps whispering reassurances, doing his best to comfort them.
“Do you think Jonathan’s going to be okay?” Will asks quietly, his voice small.
Mike nods, squeezing his hand. “Yeah. I’m sure he’s fine. He’s probably with Nancy right now—don’t worry.”
**
“Are you sure you’re okay over there? Do you want me to pick you up? Is Joyce alright too?” Karen asked, her voice slightly shaky as Mike held the phone tightly. Outside, the rain had finally stopped and the sun was peeking through parted clouds.
“I’m fine here, Mom. Is... is Jonathan there?” Mike replied, glancing over his shoulder at Will, who sat in the living room. Eleven leaned against Will, arms wrapped around his, both of them watching TV.
“Jonathan? Yes, he’s here,” Karen answered. Mike let out a relieved sigh.
“Okay—okay, I’ll come back when Hopper’s back,” Mike said.
Karen hummed an anxious agreement. “Good, good. If anything happens, stay put, okay? I know they said the tornado’s gone, but... I’m just worried. Promise me?”
“Got it. Bye, Mom,” Mike said.
“Bye. Love you. Be careful, please.”
“I will. Love you too,” he said softly, hanging up. He walked back towards Will and Eleven, who both looked up at him.
“Are they alright?” Will asked.
Mike nodded. “Yeah, Mom said Jonathan’s with them.”
Will visibly relaxed, like a balloon losing air. “Okay... okay, that’s good, right? They’re farther from Jordan Lake,” he said. Mike nodded and hovered awkwardly for a moment, swinging his arms.
“Are you okay?” Mike asked, noticing Will’s unease.
Will hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah... You?”
“I’m fine,” Mike answered, quieter now. Sure, the tornado had startled him, but thinking about it now, it didn’t seem as terrifying. Maybe the thought of being outside during it was scary, but otherwise... it was almost cool. He glanced at Will, who had fallen quiet again.
Eleven seemed to have drifted back to sleep. She’d been so worried about the tornado coming back, but Will had managed to calm her, and now she rested with her head on his shoulder.
“It’s been a while since we’ve talked,” Will said after a pause. “You haven’t been coming to school.”
Mike winced. “I was sick,” he replied.
Will gave him a searching look. “Is that true?”
Mike nodded. “Swear. I’ve been dizzy for a while.”
Will’s face fell with worry. “Are you okay?”
Mike smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry, I’m fine.”
After a moment, Will reached over and took Mike’s hand. “I’m sorry, by the way... for yelling at you before. I was just overwhelmed with a lot of things. I shouldn’t have—”
“Hey,” Mike interjected, squeezing Will’s hand. “It’s okay.”
Will looked up and managed a small smile. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Mike said, nodding.
Just then, Joyce hurried back into the living room, waking Eleven. She sat up, rubbing her eyes.
“Hey, is anyone hungry for breakfast?” Joyce asked. The three kids exchanged glances and nodded eagerly.
Once they were all sitting at the table, Mike wasted no time eating—he felt like he hadn’t eaten in days, though he knew he’d had dinner the night before.
“Whoa, hungry, huh? The storm must’ve worked up your appetite,” Joyce teased.
Mike shrugged, nodding, while Will snorted.
“Scary,” Eleven said quietly. Mike nodded as he chewed a mouthful of pancakes and bacon.
Joyce’s expression softened. “Oh, I’m sure it was, sweetie. Don’t worry—you can stay here as long as Hopper’s out, okay?” Eleven nodded, clearly relieved, helping herself to some Eggos from Joyce’s fridge.
“I don’t get it... How can there be a tornado here?” Will wondered.
“It must have been the typhoon,” Joyce replied with a shrug.
“But the rain wasn’t even that strong,” Will pointed out, still watching his mom with concern.
Mike kept eating, unsure what to add.
“Will it come back?” Eleven asked.
“Hopefully not,” Joyce reassured her.
“Does that mean we’ll have to go out for supplies? What if it comes back?” Will asked, his worry evident.
Joyce raised her hand to calm them. “It won’t, honey, don’t worry, okay? It won’t.”
The room fell quiet. Mike could see the tension on Will’s face—the way his leg bounced nervously under the table—and Eleven’s anxious glances as she chewed her waffles. Mike reached his socked foot toward Will, who startled, then relaxed a little when he met Mike’s gaze. Will offered a small, tight-lipped smile before turning back to his breakfast.
Later, when Mike and Will sat alone in Will’s room—Eleven still eating with Joyce—Will finally spoke. “When something weird happens, I’m always scared it might be... you know... it.” He chewed his lip, looking on the verge of panic, and Mike gently rubbed his back to calm him.
“And it’s been so cold, too. What if... Do you think it’s back? We never get tornadoes here,” Will whispered, voice trembling.
Mike shook his head, speaking softly, trying to soothe him: “It’s okay. It can’t be the Shadow Monster, alright? It’s just the rain. I promise. It’s the rainy season.”
Will looks up at him.
“Rain can’t form a tornado—not this kind of rain,” he whispers, worry tightening his voice. “Some storms can, Will. And it’s been raining for days now,” Mike says softly, trying to reassure him. He hushes Will, whose eyes are gradually filling with tears. “It’s okay, Will.”
“Are you sure it’s not them? What if it really is?” Will whispers, voice trembling.
Mike just pulls him into a hug, holding him close as Will buries his face in Mike’s shoulder.
“It’s not, I promise,” Mike murmurs. “Even if it is the shadow monster, I’ll stay by your side. Okay?”
A sudden knock on the door startles them both.
“Honey? Mike? The school called—they said they might cancel for the whole week after the tornado,” Joyce announces as she enters.
They break apart. Will quickly wipes at his eyes.
“Uh—o-okay, Mom!” he calls back, voice uneven.
“And Mike, Hopper stopped by to pick up Eleven. They’ve gone back to the cabin,” Joyce adds.
“Okay, Mrs. Byers,” Mike replies more quietly. Joyce hums in response, her footsteps fading as she leaves.
Will turns to Mike, voice small. “Are you going to leave too?”
Mike shakes his head. “I’ll stay—if that’s okay with you.”
“It’s fine! More than okay—better,” Will whispers, barely audible.
They settle back in the living room, Star Wars playing on the TV. Will is cocooned in a blanket from head to toe, leaning into Mike, who has draped the edge of the blanket over his own shoulders. Mike isn’t as cold as Will, but he knows the steady chill can sometimes remind Will of other, darker places. Joyce had cranked the heater, but it hardly makes a difference—it’s old, probably on its last legs.
Will mentions he’s been this cold since the rain started, often sleeping in Jonathan’s bed or with his mom just to share some warmth. He doesn’t like the cold at all.
“Are you sure you’re not freezing? Aren’t you sick?” Will asks, concern evident in his voice. His hair tickles Mike’s chin as Mike stares at the screen, eyelids heavy—so tired he feels like if he blinks, he’ll fall asleep.
“Hm?” Mike hums, half-asleep already.
“You’re not cold?” Will asks again, opening his own blanket a little, but Mike gently closes it.
“No,” Mike murmurs. Star Wars fades to background noise—he can’t keep his eyes open much longer. “Might sleep, if that’s okay.”
“It’s okay,” Will replies softly.
Mike gives a sleepy hum, nuzzling into Will’s shoulder. Will makes a soft, content sound.
It’s easy to sleep next to Will.
But dreams aren’t always gentle.
He’s standing again in a field of grass, sun glowing above—until images jolt into his mind: screaming voices, blood, Mike flinching with his hands clamped over his ears. Not this again, please not this again…
The sun is swallowed by clouds, thunder cracking in the distance.
Now Mike finds himself back at Will’s bedside at the lab. Joyce holds Will as he screams, eyes wild—angry, frantic, possessed. His words are twisted: “Coward! Coward! Coward! Coward!” He thrashes, voice shrill.
“You are a coward, Mike Wheeler! Coward!” Will shouts, as Mike sobs, hands pressed desperately over his ears.
“You’re a coward! Coward! Coward! Coward!” Will screamed, his voice raw with desperation as he struggled. Will laughed through his tears—high, hysterical.
“You’re not real,” Mike muttered, almost to himself, inching backwards toward the door. Will’s furious eyes stayed locked on his; he still screamed, still thrashed.
“Help me. Help me, Mike. Help me!” Will sobbed as Mike finally broke, tearing out of the room and into the open fields. He dropped to his knees in the damp grass, tears streaming down his face.
It was always the same—like the last time, and the time before that. Always Will. Always Will’s pain. Mike shuddered, sobs wracking his body, tears mixing with the wet grass beneath him. Overhead, the rain intensified, mirroring the drip, drip, drip of his tears.
“Stop it, Mike. Stop it. It’s just a dream,” he whispered to himself, muffling his cries as best he could while kneeling under the downpour. “This is just a dream, Mike. Wake up.” His voice wavered. Thunder rumbled in the distance and the wind whipped his soaked hair across his face as he wept. “Wake the fuck up!” he screamed, and felt the ground tremble and crack beneath his fists.
“Landslide? Jesus, Hopper, this is crazy.” Suddenly, Mike’s eyes snapped open—he was pressed up against the couch, the TV glowing in the dark. Will was curled into his neck, fast asleep. In the next room, Joyce’s voice drifted over from where she was talking to Hopper.
“What even happened? Is it safe to go outside?” Joyce’s nervous pacing came into view as Mike twisted his head, careful not to disturb Will. She nodded anxiously.
“Okay, so it was far from town? Okay, okay, that’s good. But this means the soil is soft enough for more landslides, right?” Joyce chewed her thumb, worry etched into her face. “Are you sure it’s safe? Okay.” She finally noticed Mike watching her and lowered her voice.
“Okay, stay safe. Bye… bye.” She hung up the phone.
Outside, the rain pounded the windows. Joyce came over, offering Mike a gentle smile. “Get some good sleep? Do you want to move to Jonathan’s room? I can take Will if you want.” Her voice was soft.
Mike shook his head—he didn’t want to move Will, didn’t want to risk waking him. Will looked peaceful for once.
Joyce’s expression softened even more. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you around. Your mother said you were sick. You feeling alright now?” She tilted her head. Mike nodded, trying for a shrug, but with Will on his shoulder, it only came out as a lopsided motion.
Joyce smiled, then ruffled his hair. “I feel better when you’re both here, where I can see you. Okay?”
Mike gave her a small, grateful smile.