Chapter Text
Mike thinks it all started the day the Byers moved into their house.
Having sold their house in Hawkins a year and a half prior and moved to California, when they came back, and the town got put in lockdown, they didn't have a place to go.
Mike had kindly offered up their place during Nancy's graduation dinner.
"Still no luck on housing?" Mom asked.
Joyce shook her head. "Everything is either unlivable or out of our price range. It's been... tough."
They'd been staying in a temporary military shelter for the time being, though from what Mike had gathered through Will, it wasn't exactly the best situation. Too many people had been displaced when the gates opened, so they were overly crowded, and the whole place freaked Will out, though he tried to hide it.
"It's hard to think about things like Boston when things are so up in the air at home," Jonathan said.
"You'll find a place soon," Nancy told him. "Something will turn up."
"Yeah?"
"Absolutely. Will and your mom'll be living somewhere awesome by the time we leave for college. Probably so awesome that you won't want to go."
Mom took a large gulp of her wine.
Mike was looking down at his plate as he piled in a spoonful of potatoes, eyes glancing up just once - okay, maybe twice - as he mumbled a question.
"Gross," Nancy said.
"Why don't they stay with us?" Mike asked, swallowing the food in his mouth. For some reason, his heart seemed to thump in his chest.
For some reason, the table went quiet.
Mike frowned, irritation flaring. He hated when people did that - like he'd said something wrong without anyone bothering to explain why.
Joyce and his mother had exchanged a look before Joyce began, "That's very sweet of you to ask-"
"Awesome," Mike cut her off, "Will can share my room, and you guys can- I don't know. Mom'll figure it out." He waved it off as if it were nothing - an obvious decision.
Mom cleared her throat, "Mike."
"What?" He huffed. He hated when she did that. Said his name like it was supposed to tell him a whole story.
"We can't put you out," Joyce said softly.
Mike opened his mouth to argue. He didn't mind, really; it wasn't a big deal. It wasn't like they'd never done it before. They'd been friends for over a decade now.
"I don't mind sharing." Will offered, "It'll be like a sleepover."
Mike grinned then, and, just for a second, it sounded nice.
"Will," Jonathan cautioned. "I think what Mom is saying is we won't put them out."
"But Joyce is right," Mom said smoothly. "It was very sweet of you to ask, Michael."
Mike sank back in his chair, mumbling to himself about how he didn't get it.
"Well," Mom said, pushing back from the table, "who wants dessert?"
Today, the Byers' car was pulling up the driveway. It hadn't been long since that dinner - a month, month and a half at most.
Mike watched from the front window, arms folded loosely over his chest as the car moved into park.
The back car door barely had the time to open before Mike stumbled away from the window, yanking the front door open, "Hey, you're here!" He grinned at the Byers as Will stepped out of the car.
It was stupid. Obviously, they were here. He'd just watched them pull into the driveway. Will smiled anyway, small and tired, and Mike felt something in his chest loosen at the sight of it.
"Hey," Will said back.
Joyce was already moving, popping the trunk open, Jonathan close behind, Will turning to help.
Mike's eyes darted towards where Will was moving, and he quickly followed, climbing from the porch towards the family.
Mike took a box when Jonathan handed one to him, didn't stop to check what was inside. It was heavier than he expected, something solid shifting as he lifted it.
"Careful," Joyce said, distracted, already reaching for another.
"I've got it," Mike replied automatically.
He carried it inside, setting it down just inside the entryway with the others already stacked there. More boxes followed. Back and forth. The quiet choreography of moving in - doors opening, voices overlapping, the scrape and rare bang of cardboard against hardwood.
"Careful!" Will said, following behind Mike with a box of his own. The boxes they'd been bringing were starting to pile up - not that there was much to begin with, really, just not a proper place to leave them all.
Mike placed the box down on top of the growing pile by the door, stepping back to take them all in. Some had names on them thanks to Joyce's careful handwriting, others a much faster scribble of barely readable Sharpie. 'Jonathan.' He assumed.
Will set his own box down by the pile, stepping back, shoulder brushing with Mike's. "Not too much, I hope." He said, lips twitching.
Mike huffed, "I expect half of it is just your sketchbooks." He teased, shoulder knocking with Will's once more.
"Well, most of our stuff stayed in Lenora, y'know. It's not like we planned to move back to Hawkins. Whatever's here is stuff you guys kept for us, honestly. We shoved a few things in Hop's cabin before, we were gonna take it the next time we came."
"Yeah," Mike said, nodding like that explained everything, as if he hadn't known that already. "Well," he clapped his hands, stepping towards the boxes once more, "Which ones are yours? We can bring them up to my room and-"
"I've cleared out the basement for the boys. Fresh sheets, pillows - we just had the one mattress from when the boys used to have sleepovers, but the couch will work fine. Jonathan and Will can decide who gets what." His mother's - Karen's - voice cut him off, though she wasn't speaking to him directly.
Mike paused, hands hovering mid-gesture. He looked over, but his mother had already moved on to the next thing, walking with Joyce towards the kitchen.
He didn't have the chance to say anything, though - not that there was anything to say, of course - Jonathan moving past them to grab a box from the stack, "C'mon. Basement's great, we'll keep out of everyone's way."
Mike watched Jonathan disappear down the hallway, box balanced against his hip, already moving like he knew the layout of the house better than anyone else, like he belonged there.
Will lingered a beat longer.
He glanced down at the pile of boxes, then back up at Mike. "Basement's great," he said, repeating Jonathan's words, like he was reassuring Mike, not himself.
"Yeah," Mike said, too quickly. "Yeah, it's- it's cool. Gets kinda cold though."
Will shrugged, "You got a heater."
"Hey," Jonathan huffed, popping out the door that led to the basement, "Are you two planning on helping or just talking all day?"
By the time the sun began to dip, the house had seemed to settle. There were maybe a couple of boxes left lingering on the ground floor, not taken down to the basement yet.
Joyce was in the kitchen with his mother, working on dinner as Mike climbed down the stairs, Holly following behind with a math packet in hand. He'd been helping her complete it before her questions turned dumb.
"I just don't understand how," Holly continued on her tirade, poking her paper with the pencil still in her hand, "if you know what six times seven is, you have to write out how to do it. I did it. What does it matter?"
Mike snorted, "Because your teacher wants to see that you know how to do it, not just that you can do it."
"But-"
"Holly." He chastised softly, cringing at himself. He sounded like his mother, he noted sourly, stepping off the final step, turning to the boxes still there
The tape had started to peel back on the top-most one. His eyebrows twitched up as he reached towards it, picking at the tape until whatever stickiness it had once had vanished and it just so happened to open. He leaned forward a little, glancing in.
Around him, he could hear Holly still droning on about her homework. Further away, Joyce and his mom were laughing amongst themselves, voices overlapping in conversation, the sound of pots and pans filling the room, the sound of yet another burner being turned on, the smell of whatever it was they were cooking wafting over.
Inside the box were books, stacked unevenly, their spines pressed together at odd angles. A sketchbook sat on top, its cover worn soft at the edges, a pencil tucked into the spiral like it had been left there on purpose.
From around the corner, he could hear soft footsteps moving up the basement stairs.
He didn't turn; he didn't have to, he recognized them.
The steps weren't rushed and clumsy like Jonathan's would be, or sharp and quick like Nancy's.
The steps were light, careful. They reached the top, hesitated - just long enough for Mike to register the pause - then retreated again, the sound softening as whoever it was moved back down toward the basement.
Mike grabbed the box he'd been peaking in, 'I should help.' He told himself as if he'd taken the thought under careful consideration, and it wasn't the first thing that had crossed his mind. The box was lighter than he expected, books shifting around inside.
"Mike!" Holly snapped, her foot stomping once.
He blinked, eyebrows jumping up as he turned to face her, "What?"
"I was asking if I carry the one." She stared at him as if he were the one asking for help with multiplication.
"Hols," he huffed, "I'm busy."
"Mom said you had to help me."
"Go ask Nancy, she's not doing anything." He said, moving around her towards the door that led to the basement, careful not to rattle the box in his hands too much, afraid of breaking anything delicate that may be inside.
He leaned his knee against the wall closest to the door, balancing the box on it as he reached for the doorknob.
"Nancy wasn't told to help me, you were." Holly continued, following behind him.
Mike huffed, "God, Holly! In a minute, alright? Let me just take this box down."
"Mike?" His mom's voice rang out, "Is that you?"
"Yeah, mom," Mike called back, closing his eyes in preparation.
"Perfect! Come help me set the table."
He groaned, "I was just-" he nodded to the box still resting against his knee, "I was going to take this down."
Karen came around the corner, her hair clipped back, apron on. She tilted her head, lifting a singular eyebrow, twisting the moist dishrag in her hands.
Holly's shoulders rolled back as she gave Mike a look, as if he had been helping her like he was supposed to, he wouldn't be in this predicament.
Mike exhaled through his nose, "Mom-"
She held the rag out to him, "Wipe it down before you place the dishes. There were boxes on the table earlier."
Clicking his tongue, he lowered the box to the floor, dropping it by the opening of the door, cracked open from when he'd twisted the knob.
He didn't say anything as he took the rag from his mother's hand, moving to the dining room.
"Thank you!" Karen called after him, shaking her head.
Grumbling to himself, Mike wiped at the table, the damp rag leaving darker streaks on the light wood. His mom was back in the kitchen, voice overlapping with Joyce's, Holly having pulled a chair over to the counter where she now sat perched with her homework before her.
"Just wanted to help." He muttered to himself, tossing the rag aside as he grabbed the placemats, "Bring a box down. Two, even. But no. "Mike, help your sister with her homework." "Mike, set the table." "Mike, take the trash out." "Mike, start a commune."."
'Okay, maybe that last one was a little unrealistic.' He thought to himself.
Still, he moved to the cabinet that held their dishes, pulling out eight plates all at once - he had to mentally check just how many they needed. Eight people under one roof, honestly, if it wasn't the Byers, he might have already gone insane.
It wasn't like he didn't like his other friends. Dustin was great - kind, funny, always knocked some sense into him - and Lucas and he shared more in common than either boy cared to admit, usually.
But he couldn't imagine either of them crammed into his basement with their families.
Besides, after a year and a half of Will living in California, Mike was glad to have him back. The closer the better.
His nose twitched, a sour smell hitting.
"Oh, I've got it." Joyce huffed, moving around the kitchen, a little faster than before, if the noise of her steps was any sign.
Mike heard the noise of metal on metal - a lid placed on a pot, probably.
"Too much butter." His mother's voice said, probably assuring Joyce it wasn't anyone's fault.
"Mom, what's eight times six?"
"Fifty-six, darling. No, forty-eight. No- ask your brother, he'll know."
"I should call the boys up, dinner's almost ready."
"Mike doesn't want to help. He's too busy peeping in places he doesn't belong."
"Did we put the potatoes in the oven?"
"What do you mean he's peeping? Peeping where?"
"How many potatoes did we make? Seven? Eight?"
"Hey, I am not peeping!" Mike cut into the conversation, the plates he'd pulled out forgotten on a stack at the table as he moved to the kitchen, staring at Holly like she'd offended his entire bloodline.
Holly scoffed, "You literally were."
"When?"
"Implying more than one occasion." She muttered, as if Mike asking simply assured his guilt, "You looked in the boxes."
"I did not." He scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Yes, you did." Holly argued back, "When you were supposed to be helping me with my homework. You looked in the box."
Karen stepped between them, one hand lifting in a practised motion. "Alright. Both of you. Mike, go finish setting the table. Holly, sit down."
"The tape was peeling. It was practically already open. Besides, I was just checking if it was anything fragile before I brought it down to the basement." Mike ignored their mother.
"Well, it's peeping." Holly finalised.
"It's taking inventory."
"It's weird, is what it is."
Mike's eyes grew wide. "How is it weird?" He sputtered.
"Mike." Karen said once more, "The table, please."
"Because it's not yours." Holly answered, "What if you'd opened it and seen something you shouldn't have?"
Mike stared at her, dumbfounded, "Like what? Jonathan's camera?" His top lip pulled in a scowl.
"What if the box had been Miss Byers'?" Holly shook her head at him. "What if it had been private?"
"Then Miss Byers has poor taste."
"Mike!" Karen hissed.
"Hey!" Joyce called out at the same time, bending over as she opened the oven.
Mike's hands reached up to his hair, pulling slightly in exasperation, "It wasn't even your box, I was just making a poi-!"
His eyes stung the moment the door was pulled open, hot smoke filling the confines of the ground floor of the house.
"Oh fuck." Joyce hissed at once, stepping back.
"Holly, stay seated," Karen said instantly, stepping around the counter towards her youngest daughter.
Mike stepped back, eyes screwing shut, hands falling to rub at them. "Jesus-" he coughed, waving his hands around as he blinked his eyes open.
"No no no." Joyce groaned as she rummaged around for an oven mitt.
Mike leaned over the counter, grabbing the mitt as he moved towards Joyce, "I've got it." He assured, pulling the pan with the potatoes out, hissing softly as he dropped it onto the stove, Joyce shutting the oven quickly.
The smoke didn't thin or stop at the door, too much having escaped already, the potatoes no longer burning but still smoking.
For half a second-just half-the house held its breath.
"Yummy," Holly said sarcastically, nose screwing up in distaste, Karen's arm wrapped protectively around her.
Then the alarm went off.
The shrill sound pierced through the air, louder than the conversation had been or the pots and pans from earlier.
Mike's hands shot up to cover his ears, wincing as the noise reverberated in his skull.
"Mom?!" Nancy's voice rang, "What's going on?!" She rounded the corner into the kitchen, blinking at her family.
"Burned something," Joyce shouted back over the alarm. "It's fine-"
Loud, rushed footsteps sounded from below, the basement door opening dramatically as Jonathan stumbled out, pausing for the briefest second as the smoke hit him.
"Dude-!" Will sputtered, running into Jonathan's back.
"Open the doors," Jonathan said as his brain caught up.
Will didn't argue, moving to the front door, stumbling against the box closest to the basement door, Jonathan moving around furniture, his hand brushing lightly against Nancy's waist as he reached the damp rag Mike had long since abandoned.
Nancy grabbed it from him instantly, "Got it." She said, already using it to wave the smoke around, away from the alarm, Jonathan moving to open the windows.
Mike watched as the bodies moved around him, his mother pulling Holly away from the chaos, Nancy waving the smoke away, Jonathan opening windows as Joyce now moved the tray to the sink. Will came around a moment later, probably having gone to open the back door after the front.
He tilted his head at Mike, lips twitching into a smile that said, 'What did you do?'
Mike shook his head, huffing a laugh as he followed Will to open the rest of the windows.
The alarm was still blaring, but the smoke had started to thin, pouring from the open windows.
"This is all your mom's fault." Mike pointed out.
Will snorted, "Sure, nothing to do with you." He said as he pushed the window up.
"If I'd been cooking, the alarm would've gone off way sooner."
Will opened his mouth to respond when the room fell silent, the alarm no longer blaring. Whatever it was he was going to say died with it as he turned away from the window.
Mike followed suit, leaning against the counter behind them, eyes falling on the fire alarm now silent and no longer on the roof but in Nancy's hand. "Dad's not gonna like that." He muttered.
Nancy looked from the alarm in her hand to her brother, "Dad's not gonna notice. He'll barely notice the Byers have moved in." She muttered, setting the plastic machine down on the counter roughly, the sound echoing in a finalizing manner.
"First day here and we almost burned the place down," Will whispered to Mike.
"Impressive, honestly."
"Burning dinner?"
"Getting everyone in one room in under thirty seconds."
"It's fine." Joyce waved her hand, "We'll… figure something else out. I could make-"
"Pizza." Jonathan cut off, "We can order a pizza." His hands were on Joyce's shoulders, already leading her away from the kitchen.
Nancy was already at the landline.
"We can put a movie on, too." Will said, noting the way Karen was about to start speaking, probably to dispute the idea, "What do you think, Hols?"
Holly perked up instantly, turning to look at Will, "Pepperoni?"
"Obviously." He agreed, grinning as he went to join the moms and youngest Wheeler in the living room.
Karen pinched the bridge of her nose, "Fine. But we eat at the table like civilized humans."
"Mushrooms, too, Nancy," Jonathan called.
"No mushrooms," Mike said automatically.
Nancy didn't even turn. "Half and half."
The windows stayed cracked open even as Mike moved to close the front door on the way to the living room, the house warm from the earlier smoke, the burnt dinner long forgotten.
Holly's homework sat abandoned on the kitchen counter, now she's sat on the living room floor, Will next to her, sketchbook resting against his knee, pencil in hand.
Mike hopped over the back of the sofa, plopping himself just behind Will, earning a muffled 'hmph' from his mother, who now seemed too enthralled in her far too filled wine glass to actually scold him.
Will leaned back, settling in the space between Mike's legs against the bottom of the couch.
Mike stiffened for half a second before he could stop himself.
Then he forced himself to relax, shifting just enough to make room, knees angling outward, the fabric of his jeans brushing Will's shoulder blades.
"Star Wars?" He asked, reaching for the remote.
"No." Nancy and Holly simultaneously responded.
Mike dropped the remote, hands lifting in the air as he settled back into the couch.
Will snorted, pointing at the paper Holly was using, "That's not how a cat's tail bends."
"Says who?" Holly muttered.
"Logistics?" Mike offered.
Will leaned towards her, taking the pencil in his hand, "It's more like this," he explained.
Mike found himself watching. The way Will held the pencil between his fingers, the way his eyes danced up to Holly's face to make sure it was okay for him to touch before he actually fixed the issues. The way he leaned back again once he was done, settling against the couch. Against Mike.
He felt the couch dip against him, and he quickly looked away from Will, towards Nancy, who'd claimed the empty space, swallowing.