Chapter Text
Mike hated the feel of handcuffs. Cold. Restricting. Uncomfortable. He guessed that was exactly how they were supposed to feel, but still. He hated it. No matter how many times they clamped around his wrists, they still made him want to scream. But, as always, he had to stay cool. Especially now that he was finally getting to meet Hawkins’ brand-new chief of police that the whole town had been buzzing about for the past week – small town life is like that. First impressions were important. He was going to be interacting with this Jim Hopper quite a bit.
“Names,” Chief Hopper demands in a gruff voice, glaring at them from beneath his thick eyebrows. Mike and the rest of his party are all handcuffed and squeezed into chairs opposite of the chief, large wooden desk between them. Mike just stares at the metal nameplate in front of him, the one that reads CHIEF JAMES HOPPER in large, engraved letters. He didn’t know the Hawkins police had that much budget.
“I like your mustache,” Dustin says, his voice fully genuine. Mike suppresses a snort, Lucas does not. Max just rolls her eyes.
“Names,” the chief demands again, punctuating the word with a sharp knock on his desk. Was that supposed to be threatening? Mike exhales shortly. Whatever.
“Michael Wheeler,” Mike answers. His friends all turn to him with confusion and questions written on their faces. Dustin looks downright scandalized. He just gives them a subtle nod towards the chief, ushering them to follow his lead. As much as he likes messing around, this guy is a new kind of threat they haven’t been able to get a good read on yet. And Hopper seems like the strict kind. Better to play nice for now and hope they didn’t get locked up – at least, not for long.
Max is the first to understand. “Maxine Mayfield.” She and Mike may never really get along, but they did understand each other quite a bit. It got on both of their nerves. Lucas and Dustin loved to tease them about it.
“Dustin Henderson,” Dustin says.
Lucas sighs deeply, shaking his head, but gives his own name. “Lucas Sinclair.”
“Pleased to meet you, sir,” Mike adds, with none of the sincerity Dustin had before.
Chief Hopper looks up from where he’d been writing all their names down to give him a dirty look. “I don’t like your tone, kid.”
“It’s the only one I have, chief,” Mike retorts flatly, almost immediately falling through on his resolution to make this first interaction civil. Oh well. Max almost smiles.
“Ages?” the chief asks, ignoring Mike’s snark and turning back to his computer.
“Too young for you, sorry,” Max says. Dustin and Lucas burst into short-lived laughter, quickly making attempts to quiet themselves. Mike can’t help but crack a grin. Yeah, they really weren’t sticking to the make a good impression plan. It was too unrealistic for them.
“You little assholes better sober the hell up before I throw you in a cell to rot,” the chief snaps, silencing the last of Lucas and Dustin’s giggling. Dustin swallows nervously. “Now, tell me how old you are so I can get this damn report done and call you damn parents.”
The laughter is back, this time in the form of a tiny chuckle from Max. She quickly ducks her head. “Sorry, sir.”
“The hell is so funny now?” the chief snaps.
“Nothing,” Max lies. “Nothing at all, chief.”
“Sixteen,” Mike answers before the chief can question her more, surely to eventually realize the absolute shitshow that was Maxine Mayfield’s home life. “We’re all sixteen.”
The chief gives Max another suspicious look before turning back to Mike and his computer. “High school students?”
“Full time criminals, actually,” Dustin jokes. Lucas elbows him in the shoulder.
“Yes, sir, we are. Students, that is. Not criminals.”
“I’d say you were both,” Hopper responds coldly.
“Oh, come on, chief,” Dustin says, “A little fence-hopping doesn’t make a criminal mastermind. Just a dumb kid!” Mike stifles a little sigh at his friend’s usual antics. Dustin likes to act all buddy-buddy with cops, which either made them love him or hate him. More often than not, it was hate him. At least he was funny about it.
“Dumb kids for sure,” Hopper says, “and criminals. What the hell were you doing in a restricted area?”
A silence fell over their little group. Mike lets his head roll back in disinterest, staring at the ceiling and trying to make himself a little more relaxed despite the discomfort of the chair and the cuffs. He blows a strand of hair out of his eyes. Dustin chews at his lips and Lucas purses his. Max slumps a little further in her chair and lets out an audible, impatient sigh. None of them move to give the chief a response. It’s not the cops’ place to know what they were doing on the private grounds of the Hawkins National Laboratory.
“One of you brats better answer me,” the chief says, his tone thick with a threatening kind of warning.
Max shrugged. “Being dumb kids?”
“I swear, if I don’t get a single straight answer out of you-” the chief starts to growl. He’s interrupted by a short knock on the door. “Jesus Christ,” he practically yells, “WHAT?”
The door creaks open and the Chief’s face immediately falls, his eyes widening. Mike, his curiosity piqued, turns in time to see a brunette girl, about their age, poke her head into the office with a little frown. The first thing he notices is that she’s extremely pretty. The second thing he notices is that she’s dressed like she blindly grabbed whatever fabrics she could find in a thrift store and threw them into a tornado until an outfit appeared. Her dress is covered in colorful squares and lines. Her shirt under it looks like a navy and white flannel. Her socks, patterned with purple and yellow flowers, come halfway up her shins. All together the outfit could very well be an effective defense against predators.
“Is now not a good time?” she asks, her voice light and apologetic.
“Oh, no, kiddo, it’s-” Hopper stammers before composing himself. Kiddo? Is this one of Hopper’s kids? Mike had heard he’d had a family, but not much else. This could be fun. “I’m sorry for yelling,” Hopper says, almost making Mike laugh. “It’s not a great time right this second, but is there something you need?”
“You forgot your lunch!” says a voice from behind the brunette, followed by a disembodied hand shoving a brown paper bag through the door. The girl frowns deeper and shoves the bag away.
“Will! Stop it!” She pouts and opens the door further, coming fully into the office and making room for whoever is behind her. Mike follows the arm until he arrives at a face. His heart stutters.
Oh, fuck me.
Into the room steps a boy, wearing a tan plaid button up and the cutest, hottest, most lopsided fucking grin Mike had ever seen on any face, ever. His sleeves are bunched up at his elbows, leaving his forearms bare aside from a watch and a beaded bracelet hanging off his wrist. His hair is brown and fluffy, and he has bangs, just like the other girl. He’s incredibly pretty, just like the other girl. And his fucking eyes are so big and round and soft that Mike’s brain temporarily shuts down, turns to radio static. He can only assume that the two teens are siblings, and that their mother must be really good looking. That’s the only way for these kids to turn out this damn attractive despite their bad draw in the father’s looks department.
“Mom sent us over to make sure you don’t starve.” The boy – Will, his sister had called him – strolls over to the chief’s desk and leans right between Mike and Dustin to drop the brown paper bag on the desk. “Sorry,” he mutters to them sheepishly. Despite his soft eyes and nervous mannerisms, Will’s voice is deep, his shoulders broad enough to barely fit between the two other boys. Mike inhales sharply, keeping his eyes on this new guy who recedes from his personal space just as quickly as he had come into it, then forces an exhale. He needs to chill the hell out. He needs to be cool.
He needs to flirt with the chief of police’s kid.
“Oh, well, tell her thank you for me,” Hopper says, taking the lunch bag and tucking it safely out of view in a drawer of his desk. “And thanks to you two for the delivery.”
The girl brings her hand to her forehead in a salute and smiles. “At your service, chief.”
“Nice salute, officer El,” Hopper says, letting the gruff persona slip for a moment as he allows a hint of smile in his daughter’s presence.
Will, still standing behind Mike and Dustin, gives Mike a small glance out of the corner of his eye. He quickly looks away. Mike cracks a lazy grin. This is his chance.
“Hey,” he says, trying to address Will and Will alone. Unfortunately, the cramped room won’t really allow him that kind of privacy, but he does his best. Will’s soft eyes widen a bit in surprise. He looks around like he’s not sure who was being addressed, then gives a hesitant response. Cute.
“Hey?”
“I’m Mike,” Mike says, rolling his head back a little further to maintain eye contact. God, please let this look cool and not completely stupid. “Will, is it? I would offer you a handshake but I’m a little tied up at the moment. Hope you can forgive me.” That’s the best he could do, really?
Somehow, though, it works, seeing as Will’s cheek flush a little bit and his expression noticeably shifts. Mike extends another little prayer to the heavens: God, please let this kid like guys.
“That’s, uh, that’s okay,” Will says.
“So,” Mike starts. A loud bam interrupts him. He lifts his head to glower at the chief of police and his heavy fist. “Did you need something, chief?”
“Stop talking to him,” the chief orders, glaring. “He doesn’t need any brats like you around.”
“I think he’s a bit to old to have daddy calling all the shots for him, don’t you?” Mike snarks back.
The chief damn near growls at him in irritation, but looks up at his children instead of retorting or threatening any further. “Will, El, it was great to see you, but I need to get back to work now and I’m sure Jonathan’s still waiting for you outside. I’ll see you at home. We can order some pizza.”
“Awesome,” the girl, El, says brightly. She grabs her brother’s arm and starts pulling him out of the room. “Bye, Dad! I love you!”
“Bye!” Will says, waving.
“Bye, Will,” Mike responds, dragging the words out and turning to grin at the boy just before the door shuts.
“I told you not to talk to him.”
The only way that’s gonna happen is if Hopper actually puts him in a jail cell. Mike doesn’t say that one out loud, though. He gets the feeling that Hopper will not hesitate to go through with his threats, especially with his kids involved. Overprotective father, seemingly. Fitting for a cop, Mike guessed. More exciting for him.
“How much longer are we gonna be here?” Mike says instead.
“Yeah, I got some ice cream in my bag and I don’t want it to melt,” Dustin adds. Mike legitimately has no idea if he’s joking or not. “If that stuff gets everywhere, it’ll be a real mess. You ever had ice cream melt in a backpack? It’s not pretty.”
“Shut up,” the chief snaps, pinching the bridge of his nose. He picks up the phone and presses a number. “Florence? Can you call some parents for me? I got their names.”
Soon enough, Mike is in the back of his parents’ car, listening to his mom repeat the same lecture she goes through every single time. I raised you better than this, I almost decided to leave you there for the police to deal with, you need to grow up. Mike isn’t listening. He’s thinking about a boy.
He’s gotta find Will.
--
Everything in the police station seemed to go so very fast. Will was having a hard time wrapping his head around it all. One moment he’s bringing Hopper his lunch, the next he’s locking eyes with the single most attractive boy he has ever laid eyes on. One moment said attractive boy is talking to him, the next his sister is pulling him out of the room.
“Those kids seemed nice,” El says once the door to Hopper’s office has closed behind them. “Even if they are committers of a crime.”
“Can’t have been anything too bad, can it?” Will says, eyes lingering on the door. He sure hopes not. It would totally suck if that boy, Mike, had done anything really bad. If he did, he’d go to jail, and Will would probably never see him again. What was his last name? Will would need that if he ever wanted to find him. Maybe they’d go to school together.
The siblings walked past the receptionist desk just as she picked up the phone. “Sure, read ‘em to me,” she said after a moment, holding the phone to her ear with her shoulder as she grabbed a pen and paper. “Michael Wheeler…,” she muttered to herself, scribbling it down. Will froze. “Mayfield…Maxine?” the receptionist continued.
Mike. Michael.
Mike Wheeler.
A full name to fit a face – a beautiful, beautiful face. Full lips, sculpted nose, thick brows, a toothy grin. And freckles. Will might as well have swooned when he first noticed the light dusting of those freckles across Mike’s cheeks. Or when Mike made eye contact with him. His eyes were so dark, framed by thick, gorgeous lashes. He might even say Mike’s eyes were dreamy.
Will needed a wall to bang his head against. God, he finally accepts his attraction to men just in time to become the grossest, sappiest crush-haver to ever walk the earth.
“Will?”
Will jolts out of his thoughts to find his sister staring at him from the front door to the station. He jogs over to her. “Sorry!” They push through the doors. El gives him a concerned look.
“Are you alright? Did that boy say something cruel to you?”
“No!” Will corrects quickly, waving his hands around. The bracelet El made and gifted him for a long-ago birthday slips down his wrist a bit. “No, he didn’t. Kinda the opposite, actually. He introduced himself.”
“Oh,” El says, then smiles, “Maybe you will make a new friend for school. Even if he is a criminal.”
New friend. Friend. Right, because most people weren’t gay. He has got to stop getting so wrapped up in these daydreams. Reality was reality, and reality wasn’t happy and gay all the time. He knew that very well.
Will just sighed and smiled back at his sister, just a bit, as he opened the door to Jonathan’s car and got inside. “Yeah, maybe.”
“Maybe what?” Jonathan asks, turning around to face them in the back seat. El scooches in next to Will and shuts the door behind her. They’d fought about the front seat so often that Jonathan had banished them both to the back for a month.
“Will met somebody,” El explains.
Jonathan raises a brow and frowns. “At the police station?”
“There were just a few kids in Hopper’s office, no big deal,” Will says quickly.
“Four of them,” El adds, “They all had handcuffs on. There was a girl there, though! Maybe she can be my friend.”
Their older brother makes a face. “I don’t know about you two making friends with the small town criminal gang, but if that’s what you want to go do…” He shrugs. “Maybe just make sure they didn’t like, kill somebody. Then you can think about being friends.”
“Okay, slow down, we literally just met them,” Will clarifies, “I exchanged maybe two words with one of them. I haven’t picked my new best friend off the Hawkins most wanted list or anything.”
“Just sayin’,” Jonathan says, shrugging again and turning around to start the car.
That night, Hopper does bring them pizza, along with a surprise liter bottle of root beer. And best of all, having finally set up all their furniture in the new house, they get to eat it in real chairs at a real table as opposed to sprawled out on the living room floor giving themselves back problems. Will still hasn’t fully unpacked his room, but that could wait. He just has too many damn boxes, it was overwhelming. That, plus the interior design he’d have to do – it’s quite a lot.
“So,” Hopper says once they’re all settled and eating, “about this afternoon.” His tone makes Will’s heart drop the slightest bit. He knows that tone. It’s Hopper’s I’m about to be the bad guy but I don’t want the kids to hate me, Joyce what do I do voice.
It’s the You can’t talk to Mike Wheeler voice.
“What happened this afternoon?” Joyce asks, having not yet been updated by her children.
“I had some kids in my office when Will and El dropped my lunch off – thank you for that, by the way,” Hopper responds. He leans over to give Joyce a kiss on the cheek, which she accepts with a smile. Will and El give each other a gross, parents look, but they both know that they love their parents’ love. Plus, it keeps the two of them together, so how gross can it really get? “Anyways,” Hopper continues, “some of the kids started talking to them, introducing themselves, that kind of thing. And I just wanted to make myself clear…” Hopper levels the both of them with a dark look. “You are not to go anywhere near those kinds of people, understood? They’re trouble, and you two don’t need any more of that in your lives.”
Will hung his head, swirling his cup of root beer a little sadly. He knew Hopper would say that. He knew Hopper was probably right. But. Someone his age had talked to him without mockery. Someone his age that was cute had chosen to talk to him without mockery. It’s a little difficult for him to believe that that could be such a terrible thing. “What did they even do?” he asks hesitantly.
“Does it matter?” Hopper retorts.
“Well, there’s a big difference between armed robbery and, like, spray painting the mall,” Jonathan says. Hopper gives him a look. He quickly returns to his pizza and his silence. Hopper sighs.
“There was no armed robbery,” he says, “They were trespassing on government property.”
El became alert at that, her brows creasing. “What kind of government property?”
“Some department of energy thing,” Hopper says, eyeing his daughter carefully. Will reaches out to place his hand over hers, just in case she needs it. “And no, I don’t know why they were there. Probably on a dare.”
“So, nothing terrible,” Will says, hopeful.
Hopper shuts that down fast. “They all have records long enough for multiple pages of text, Will. They’re the town troublemakers. Stay away.”
“Disappointing” El says, sighing into her pizza. “The girl had a cool skateboard.”
And Mike had a cool…face.
--
Mike’s walkie talkie crackled to life almost the second his mother yelled him up to his room and he slammed the door behind him. He snatched it out of its hiding place under his desk and flopped down on his bed with a huff, glaring at his ceiling.
“Heeeello everybody,” came Dustin’s sing-songy voice through the little radio. “Anybody on?”
“Here!” responded Lucas.
“Just got here,” Max added. “My stupid brother nearly crashed the car on our way home. Again.”
Mike winced a bit, as he’s sure the others did at Max’s words. They’d all tried their best to help convince the chief that Billy is the only one fit to take Max home. Which is true. Which is incredibly sad. To have Billy Hargrove be the most present, responsible parental-type figure in your immediate family was a fucking tragic life to live. But none of them would every say anything like that to Max. She’d kick their teeth in for even thinking about her life being tragic. And it wasn’t really, not all the way. She had them, she had Steve and Robin and sometimes even Nancy, and she had herself.
“Hey,” Mike says.
“Hooray, we’ve got everybody!” Dustin cheers. “So how long are you guys on house arrest this time?”
“Who the hell is around to put me on house arrest?” Max snarks.
“I think my mom has given up on keeping me in the house,” Lucas admits.
“Mine was so busy lecturing about consequences that she forgot to actually give me the consequences,” Mike says.
“Are you kidding me?” Dustin whines, “I’m grounded for a month!”
Lucas snorts. “Since when has that ever stopped you?”
“It won’t,” Dustin says, “But it still means I’ve gotta sneak around for the next month.”
“Oh, boo hoo,” Max says, voice dripping with her classic sarcasm that can be felt even through the static of a walkie talkie.
“Topic change!” Lucas announced, interrupting what might have become another argument. “How about that new chief? Thoughts?”
“I know I already said it,” Dustin says, “But he does have a cool ‘stache.”
“Oh my god, Dustin, enough about the mustache,” Max groans.
“You were serious?” Mike asks.
“I’m always serious,” Dustin says. Mike imagines Lucas and Max laughing at that in their respective, far away bedrooms.
“He’s an asshole, that’s for sure,” Max says, leading them back to Lucas’ question. “And a stiff.”
“Yeah,” Lucas agrees, “might be a bit more of a problem than old Chief Larry was.”
“Ah, what’s a few days in juvie,” Max responds flippantly.
“Speak for yourself,” Dustin says, “They don’t have any video games in jail. I’m just not built to thrive in that kind of environment. I swear to God, I’m shaking right now just thinking about it. Shit.”
“Would you shut up, Henderson?” Lucas sighs. “What about you, Mike? You haven’t said anything about the chief yet.”
“Yes, please do grace us with your expert opinion,” Max says dryly.
“He can’t, he was too busy focusing on the chief’s son to notice anything about the chief,” Dustin cuts in before Mike can say anything. Mike sits up straight in his bed and glares at his walkie talkie.
“Ex-fucking-scuse me, Henderson?” he snaps.
“Oooooh,” Lucas hums, “Juicy!”
“Mike, man, I was sitting right next to you,” Dustin says with a laugh, “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?” His voice deepens into a mocking impression of what Mike assumes is supposed to be himself but really just sounds like a poor imitation of Han Solo or Sylvester Stallone. “Hey. I’m Mike. Sorry I can’t shake your hand, I’m in handcuffs, if you haven’t noticed. Because I’m a criminal. Isn’t that hot?”
“Dustin, I swear to fuck,” Mike warns in the space where Dustin finally pauses, presumably to laugh his stupid ass off.
“Bye, Will, bye,” Dustin continues mercilessly, “See you later, Will. Will, are you in love with me yet? Look at my hair. Look. It’s basically just like Eddie Munson’s, he’s pretty hot. Do you think I’m hot, Will? You’re so pretty, Will.”
“I’m going to kill you,” Mike says without a hint of sarcasm, “I’m going to come over to your house and kill you with one of Nancy’s guns. Is that what you want, Henderson?”
“Does Mike Wheeler have a little crush?” Max says. Mike can hear her insufferable grin permeating her tone. Fuck her. Fuck them all. As of right this second, he had no friends. Never did.
“Oooooooooh!” Lucas sings again like a second grader whose classmate had just been called to the principal’s office. “Mikey Mike has got a crush! On the police chief’s son, no less!”
“Quite the target, Wheeler,” Max says, “Your blind confidence inspires me.”
“I don’t know, man, little Hopper seemed kinda into it,” Dustin comments.
“His name is Will,” Mike corrects before thinking it through fully, “And what the hell are you talking about?”
“Oh god, he’s so excited,” Lucas says. “Adorable, Wheeler, just adorable.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Mike hisses.
“Cool your jets, man, I’ll tell you all about Will’s reaction to your disastrous flirting,” Dustin says.
“If he had a reaction then it wasn’t disastrous,” Mike says, again regretting it as soon as he does. He keeps digging himself into a deeper and deeper hole with every automatic snap to his own defense.
“Fair enough,” Dustin says, “While I may think your lines were a little silly, I’m 92 percent sure that Hopper Junior – sorry, Will – was blushing.”
Mike huffs in irritation. “I already noticed that, Henderson.”
“Of course you did,” Lucas responds.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Max answers for Lucas, “You were staring at his face.”
“Where else am I supposed to look in a conversation?” Mike snaps.
“You mean when you’re flirting with the chief of police’s son?” Dustin corrects, “I mean, yeah, fair point. The face is a good place to look. Especially if it’s a pretty face, right?”
“Shut up,” Mike grumbles for the billionth time. Maybe it would’ve been better for him if his friends had been homophobic and ditched him. Then he wouldn’t have to take this kind of a shit from them. Or any shit from them, ever.
Who was he kidding, he’s still glad they weren’t bigots. Coming out to them had been the scariest experience of his life, but he’s damn glad he did it when he did and with the people that he did. With his party, who just pulled him into a big group hug and squeezed him so tight that one or two tears may have managed to make their way out of his eyes. Yes, his friends had openly accepted that he sometimes liked boys in the same way he liked girls, with a few questions here and there, and that lucky miracle meant that now he was stuck getting teased about nearly every damn person he had the gall to look at, let alone talk to, let alone flirt with. He could never escape. There was no safe place. It was constant torture.
“So does this mean our next operation should be Operation: Get Mike into Will Hopper’s Pants?” Lucas asks.
“NO,” Mike shouts immediately, loud enough to make Nancy bang on their shared wall and tell him to shut up. He pauses. Considers. “Maybe. But we are not calling it that.”
“Wow, accepting our help,” Max says, “This is a crush crush.”
“He’s in looooovvee,” Dustin sings.
“I’ve talked to him once!” Mike whisper-yells into the microphone of his walkie talkie, “Chill the hell out!”
“If you say so, loverboy,” Dustin teases.
“I am this close to switching channels,” Mike threatens.
“Good, do it,” Lucas says, “Matchmaking works better if we can take you both unawares. Catch you in our net of love.”
“Now you’re talkin’, Sinclair!” Dustin cackles.
Mike falls back on his bed, presses his face into his pillow, and groans.