Chapter Text
“My name is Micheal Wheeler, I’m 16 years old, and a year ago today, my best friend lost his mind.”
A complete monotone. Mike leaned back on the stiff blue couch, crossing his legs. He stared intently at the man across from him, looking for any reaction. There were usually two types of reactions when Mike said something like this to a new psychologist. The first was forced sympathy. The psychologist would lean their head to the side and frown. It was never a very genuine frown, but a frown nonetheless. Then, they’d say ‘Good God, that’s awful,’ and Mike would roll his eyes because he didn’t need a psychologist to know that much.
The second type of reaction was confusion. If Mike went to a psychologist out of town (he had tried a couple in the cities), they usually wouldn’t have heard the story of Hawkins’s very own youngest and newest lunatic, the boy broken by a tabletop fantasy. They’d take a long, hard pause and say ‘Really now?’ as if Mike was making things up. Which, of course, he was not. His best friend had truly lost his mind.
This psychologist frustrated Mike the most because he had neither reaction. He wrote down a few words immediately after Mike spoke. His wrinkled eyelids leveled and he sighed, as if Mike’s statement was nothing to bat an eye at. As if losing your best friend to some awful trick of the mind wasn’t the worst thing in the world. That frustrated Mike. At least the others had acknowledged him. Even if their sympathy was constructed, he didn’t mind the validation of the awfulness of his situation.
“Alright, Mike,” the man finally said. “It seems to me like you’ve done this whole introduction thing before. Have you?”
Of course he had. Mike had been to ten psychologists in the last year. That’s why he already knew this one wasn’t going to work out. He didn’t like his attitude. He didn’t like the way his office had bare walls. At least some of the others had tried to give the illusion of a cheery environment. This office made Mike feel like he was the one who’d lost his mind. An endless grey void.
“Have you?” the man asked again.
Mike sat up, snapping out of his own thoughts, and breathed deeply through his nose. “Yeah, I have. You’re not my first psychologist, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Mike’s mother placed a hand on his back and sat forward from beside him on the couch. “He’s had trouble connecting with a few of the people we’ve brought him to,” she explained. She looked quickly to Mike, who didn’t return the gesture, and then back. Mike seriously didn’t know why she insisted on being at his initial session every time. Maybe she was the reason he couldn’t connect. “My husband and I heard good things about you from a friend, though. We were hoping you’d be different?”
The man raised his greying eyebrows. “I have a reputation,” he mused. Setting down his clipboard. Then, he stuck out a wrinkled hand for Mike to shake. “Well, Mike, my name is Dr. Flinn. You can call me Rodger. I have a feeling we’ll get along well.”
Mike simply glared at the hand. He didn’t make any move to take it. Why would he? He already knew this psychologist wasn’t going to be a good fit. His mother might as well start looking for her next supposed miracle worker.
Noticeably off-put by Mike’s lack of response (Mike admitted to liking when the psychologists were caught off guard by him), Dr. Flinn retracted his hand and leaned back in his own seat, picking up the clipboard again. “Well, anyway, Mike, you said your friend lost his mind. Would you mind explaining that for me? I just want to use this session to get a comfortable grasp on what we’ll be dealing with. I’m sure you know that by now.”
Mike nodded. “Well, yeah. It’s exactly what I said. He lost his mind.” He looked down at his hands in his lap and then back to the psychologist. “Will.” A year later, and he could still hardly say the name without breaking down. “He was my best friend of 12 years. Then, one day, he just woke up and started spitting out all this nonsense about monsters and other dimensions and stuff. He was so freaked that they had to put him in Pennhurst. No one saw it coming.” That was the strangest part. Mike felt like he knew Will so well. It had never sat right with him that he hadn’t noticed any signs of Will becoming like that. He should’ve seen something, but one day he was normal, and the next he was screaming and running around like a maniac.
“Will Byers?” Dr. Flinn asked. “Is that your friend? I remember reading about him in the paper.”
“Yeah. That’s him.” Mike crossed his arms. “His mom didn’t want that article written and they published it anyway.” He remembered reading it. He remembered Joyce calling the newspaper and cussing them out while he and Nancy were over for dinner a day after Will went away. He could remember everything so clearly.
Dr. Flinn wrote down a few sentences in silence. Mike took this opportunity to look at his mom and try to give her some sort of sign that he didn’t think this was working out. He made a helpless face at her.
His mother gave a silent sigh. “Give him a chance,” she whispered.
Dr. Flinn, oblivious to the mother-son interaction, looked back up. He clicked his pen in his hand as he spoke. “Now, Mike, are you allowed to visit your friend at Pennhurst?”
Mike listened to the click of the pen a few times before answering. “Yeah. But I haven’t visited in months.”
“Now, why’s that?”
“I don’t like how he gets.”
“How he gets?” The pen continued clicking.
Mike thought of Will’s tear-stained face. He thought of his millions of drawings. He thought of him practically yelling in Mike’s face, trying to convince him there were alternate dimensions, that Mike had a superhero ex-girlfriend, that Will had gone missing when he was twelve. He thought of the sheer disappointment in his eyes when Mike said it wasn’t true. The desperate need for someone to validate his crazy ideas. How hopeless Mike felt knowing he could never help him.
“How he gets,” Mike repeated. “Just… It's too much. He’s hurt and I don’t want to see him like that.”
Dr. Flinn wrote that down. He asked without looking up, “How do you think halting your visits has affected you?”
Mike had to think about this one, the continuous sound of the pen loud in his mind. “It has its benefits.” That much was obvious. Of course keeping yourself from seeing someone you care about in an awful place is good for you. “...But also its downsides.” Mike missed Will with his entire heart, crazy or not. He wanted his friend back. “I don’t know, it’s just different.”
“Different,” Dr. Flinn repeated. He wrote that down too, then resumed his pen clicking. Click. Click. Click. “Now, Mike, have you been diagnosed with any mental disorders? Not like Will’s, of course, but-”
Mike interjected. “The last psychologist suggested I had depression," he said quickly.
At this, his mom leaned forward and put a hand on Mike’s knee. Damage control time. “We really don’t think she knew what she was talking about,” she said to Dr. Flinn. “There’s nothing wrong with Mike.”
Mike rolled his eyes, brushing the hand from his leg. He’d heard this a million times. Nothing was wrong with him. Just the fact that his best friend was gone and it was eating away at him every day. “Then why am I in therapy, Mom? Is it supposed to be a fun pastime for me?”
Now his mom looked at him, her brows struggling not to furrow together. “Honey, you know this has nothing to do with your… mental state. Your father and I just think you should talk to someone about Will.”
How could they talk about Will and not his mental state in the same sentence? “Mom, I-”
“Mike,” Dr. Flinn said, placing a hand in the air between them. “Look, if your mom says there’s nothing wrong, we’ll continue under that assumption. If I come to any conclusions in our sessions, I’ll make sure to update her, and we’ll set you up with a psychiatrist, how about that?”
Mike couldn’t believe this. He sat back again. “Fine.”
There was a long silence in the grey room before Dr. Flinn cleared his throat and continued. “Now, you say Will’s insanity came on suddenly? How did that affect you?”
“Obviously not well,” Mike responded. “He was fine one day and… crazy the next. It’s not like I was anticipating it.”
“Yes, and do we know how Will became like that? Was there a cause?”
Mike shrugged. He wanted this to be over. “Not really. The doctors theorized he just wanted so badly to have something important happen to him, or maybe to feel normal, that he took his stupid D&D world and convinced himself it was reality.”
Mike’s mom cut in, “A lot of people suspected he was a queer-”
“Which is irrelevant,” Mike shot back.
Dr. Flinn raised his eyebrows, but didn’t comment on that. “Dungeons and Dragons? Do you play this game?”
Mike wished. He’d really loved that game at one point. The escape from reality, quality time with his friends. But he couldn’t bring himself to go back to it now. “Not anymore,” he said. “I never used to believe it messed kids up… but then Eddie Munson turned out to be a serial killer, and then Will… Well, you know, all of us just felt like we shouldn’t play anymore.” He didn’t know why any of this was relevant. Who cared if he played D&D?
“All of you? Who is-”
“My friends Dustin and Lucas.”
“I see.” Dr. Flinn wrote a couple things down and thought some more, clicking his pen again.
Mike couldn’t stand the clicking. It was making him tense. He didn’t like the clicking, he didn't like the walls, and he didn’t like Dr. Flinn. He didn’t know why he was asking such stupid questions. Mike didn’t want to talk about Will anymore. Not today of all days. He wanted this to be over.
Dr. Flinn persisted even so. “Alright, Mike,” he said. “You said Will was your best friend, right?”
“Yes?” Mike didn't know why that mattered. Of course Will was his best friend.
The pen clicking also persisted. “Now, would you still consider him your best friend?”
Mike had been looking absently around the room, but snapped his head back to look at the psychologist. “What? I- Pass. I don’t like that question.”
Dr. Flinn leaned in, pen clicking even faster. “Why? Why don’t you like it, Mike?”
Mike looked away again. Each click was bringing him closer to letting loose the ball of frustration building in his chest. He could see his mother’s big eyes on him too. The room felt smaller than it had been, the grey void closing in. “I don’t see why it matters,” he muttered, eyes on the wall, fingers kneading palms in his lap.
Dr. Flinn was even closer, the stupid pen still clicking away. The room was even smaller. “Come again?”
Mike turned back as something in him snapped like a rubber band, his voice raised. “I said I don’t see why it fucking matters, sir.”
Dr. Flinn backed away, the noise of the pen finally stopping.
There was a light impact on Mike's sleeve as his mom nudged him. “Mike!” she said, also raising her voice a few tones. “Don’t use that foul language with your psychologist. Apologize to him. Now.”
Mike simply leaned back again. “Maybe he should’ve respected that I didn’t want to answer that question.”
Now his mother’s lips were pursed, eyebrows furrowed. She sat up straight on the couch and stared down her son. “I don’t care, young man. You will not talk to him like that. Apologize.”
The psychologist looked between the mother and son. “Mrs. Wheeler, it’s really alright. Perhaps we can-”
Mike stood up abruptly, decidedly done with this train wreck of a session. He didn’t need a psychologist who just got on his nerves all the time, that wouldn’t help him. “You know what?” he said, looking from his mother to Dr. Flinn, raising his arms in surrender. “I just don’t think this is gonna work out. I think we should just go now, Mom.”
He watched his mother put her head in her hands. “Micheal, please do not walk out of this room.” This wouldn’t be the first time Mike had.
For a minute, Mike tried to search for something to say, some way to explain himself, but he couldn’t do it. Defeated, he simply said, “I’m done, Mom.” With this, he turned from her and the psychologist and swung open the door. Walking out, he slammed it, trying to let go of his festering emotions. He was going to run, but curiosity got the better of him and he placed his ear to the wood, listening for just a second.
“I’m so sorry, doctor,” his mom was saying. “Really, he’s a sweet boy. He’s not usually like this. I-”
“It’s no problem, Mrs. Wheeler. I assure you I’ve dealt with much worse than angry teenage boys.”
An angry teenage boy. That’s all these people ever saw in Mike.
Mike heard his mother sigh again. “It’s just… I don’t know. I should’ve picked another date to make this appointment. I think he’s having a lot of trouble since it’s the one year anniversary of the event. His friend’s birthday is tomorrow too. It all just piles up on him, I don’t know-”
“Mrs. Wheeler, it’s alright.”
Hearing this, Mike turned and walked swiftly down the hall. He pushed another door open and walked onto the sidewalk without looking back. He was so done with the psychologists his mother found. They never listened, they didn’t understand him, they asked questions he didn’t want to answer. If he couldn’t connect with the first 11, why would he even keep looking? It was useless. These people couldn’t give him what he wanted. No psychologist could give him anything close. He wanted his friend back. He needed a miracle for that, not a doctor.
Mike opened the door to his mom’s car, parked outside the building, and slumped into the passenger seat with a defeated shudder. Quietly, he waited for his mom to come out and give him his latest talking to. He knew what he did was wrong. He just couldn’t imagine doing anything different.
Would you still consider him your best friend?
Mike couldn’t believe Dr. Flinn would ask such a thing. How was he possibly supposed to answer a question like that? Could Mike still consider the boy his best friend if he hadn’t truly connected to him in a year? He wanted to say yes. With all his heart, he wanted yes. Of course Will was his best friend.
Still, something in the back of his mind told him the answer was no. Mike couldn't stand that.
Truly, Mike had no idea what to think. The only thing he knew for sure is that he missed Will. He wanted his bike ride partner back, his walkie talkie talker, his novel artist, his emotional support, his Halloween duo costume, his head, his heart, his cleric. People always said you didn’t know what you had until it was gone, but Mike knew damn well how much Will meant to him. Even before he slipped away.
A full year. How had it possibly been a year? It felt like it had been seconds, days, decades, and ages all at once. Mike simply didn’t know what to think anymore.
And then he was crying. Like an idiot, he was crying in the passenger seat of his mother’s car, burying his face in his hands. People were probably walking past, wondering what was possibly so difficult for this teenage boy to understand. It wasn’t like he’d never cried before. Mike cried more times than he cared to admit, but he never felt less idiotic.
“You are my best friend,” he sobbed into the empty air of the vehicle. Nothing responded, nothing happened. He hated how he couldn’t tell if it was even true.
Then he heard his mother knock on the window, peering in at the sad sight of her son. She frowned and got in on the driver’s side, starting the car before she said a word. Once they were on the road, going at a comfortable speed down the main street, she finally said, “You can’t just keep doing that, Mike.” Her voice shook with fragile gentleness. “I know you’re hurting. I know you want to feel better. I want you to feel better so badly. But if that’s going to happen, we need to find someone you won’t walk out on. You understand that, right?”
Mike wiped his tears away and slumped down in his seat. The heat on his cheeks let him know he was still blotchy. “I know, I know. I just… I didn’t like him.”
“You don’t like any of them, Mike.”
“I did once!” he argued. “I told you I liked the last one! She was different from the rest.” The last psychologist Mike had was one from the cities, but she was kind and gentle. She understood Mike’s emotions. She wanted to help him, truly help him.
“She didn’t know what she was saying,” his mom said, turning into their neighborhood.
“You just made me stop going because she suggested I might have depression.”
A forceful turn of the wheel. A long sigh. “You don’t have depression, Mike. Nothing is… wrong with you.”
Mike slammed his hands down on his lap, trying not to raise his voice. “How would you even know? What if I do have it, Mom?”
“You don’t.” And that was final. Mike’s mom pulled into the driveway without saying another word.
Holly was already waiting outside on the front steps, dressed in her soccer socks and holding a shiny new ball. She waved excitedly as she watched her mom and brother pull in, unaware of their serious conversation.
Mike’s mom sighed before she opened the door. “Look, we can talk about this later, if you really want to. I have to take Holly to her soccer practice now.” She blinked a few times, drumming her hands on the wheel. “Just think about everything, okay? I think maybe this psychologist could be a good fit for you. We’ll talk later.”
Mike opened the door without saying a word. Once he’d left and shut it again, he muttered, “No we won’t.” His mom always said they’d talk later. They never did.
“I only want what’s best for you, honey!” Mike heard his mom call. He didn’t look back.
Holly passed him without much recognition and ran to the seat where Mike had been before, too excited for her practice to think about much else. He listened to his mom greet her as he made his way to the front door of the house.
Once inside, he kicked off his shoes and made the mistake of making eye contact with his father, who sat, as usual, in the living room. Eye contact meant he had to get involved in yet another unwanted conversation.
“So? How was the new guy? Do we actually like this one?”
Mike shrugged, looking down. “No. We weren’t connecting.”
“Eh, I could’ve called that.” His dad looked back down to the paper he was reading. “I tried to tell your mother she should just give up. You know, back when I was a boy-”
“You would’ve had to deal with this stuff on your own. I know.” Mike had heard this a million times. Maybe his dad thought it was helping him feel better, putting his situation in perspective, but it definitely wasn’t.
“Exactly,” his dad continued. “I think we oughta just leave you to yourself. I don’t wanna pay for another glorified scam artist just for you to say it’s not working.” Ted Wheeler, of course, did not believe in therapy.
“Maybe we oughta,” Mike said under his breath, and he made his way for the stairs, ready to be back in the solitude of his room.
“Hey! Your sister’s coming home for spring break, remember?” his dad called up after him. “Your mother said she wanted your room clean. And the bathrooms up there too, alright?”
“Yep.” His response was too quiet for his dad to hear, only a little more than whisper, but Mike didn’t really care. He didn’t feel like cleaning right now.
He was, however, admittedly excited for his sister to come home. He hadn’t seen her since Will’s initial breakdown, since that had happened during her last spring break. He had a feeling she’d be able to understand him a lot better than their parents and all the psychologists could. She’d once lost a best friend around his age too after all. Barbara, who skipped town and never looked back to give her old friend an explanation. After years and years of friendship, she just left. He knew the whole case had never sat right with Nancy, just like Will’s had never sat right with him.
What did the universe have against the Wheeler siblings? It was anyone’s guess.
Upon entering his room, Mike jumped face-first onto his bed and just laid there for a moment, listening to the clock in the hallway tick. He didn’t count how many minutes he stayed in that position, but the sky darkened at some point, casting a shadow over the bed. Mike didn’t care. He didn’t even turn on the light.
At some point, Mike thought he heard something. At first he brushed it off. It was probably just the wind outside, blowing branches against the house. The weather had been stormy all day, so that wouldn’t be a surprise.
But the noise persisted. It was coming from inside his room.
Mike sighed and stood up slowly from his bed, looking around in the dark for possible suspects of the sound. He listened harder.
The noise was static.
Mike furrowed his brows in concentration. Surely it wasn’t what he thought it was.
Slowly, Mike kneeled down beside his bed and stuck his hand into the dark space under it. He pulled out his old walkie talkie, the one he used to talk to his friends on. The noise, sure enough, was coming from the old box. A consistent static, like someone was trying to say something.
Then, the box spoke. A girl’s voice said, “Mike?”
Mike nearly dropped the walkie talkie in surprise. Who could possibly be trying to talk to him on this thing? It didn’t sound like Lucas’s sister, nor any of the women in his other friends' houses. Still, something about the voice gave Mike deja vu. Where had he heard this before?
Mike slowly lifted the antenna, his hands shaking. “Hello?” he asked timidly into the speaker. “Hello? This is Mike, over.”
No one responded.
He tried again. “Who’s there? This is Mike, over.”
Just as Mike was about to give up, he jumped as a voice spoke back. Unfortunately, it was not the voice he was looking for. “Mike? Why are you on this channel right now?” Dustin’s voice spilled through the box.
Mike sighed in defeat. “Nothing. I thought I heard something. My mistake. Over and out.”
Perhaps he really had imagined someone saying his name, or maybe it was just some trick Dustin was playing on him.
Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this had happened before. Even though it hadn’t. Mike obviously had never spoken to a girl on a walkie talkie. Except for Max, that was, but she’d been in a coma for over a year now, so this obviously wasn’t her. It didn’t sound like her anyway.
Rolling his eyes, Mike pushed the antenna down and shoved the walkie talkie back under his bed. Surely all the emotion of the day was just making his mind play tricks on him. It was ridiculous to think some random girl was contacting him on his childhood walkie talkie.
It’s just a weird day, he thought. The anniversary of Will Byers going insane.
A weird day it certainly was.