Apo's Diary

He tore his eyes away and stood. Mike left his room, shutting the door behind him as if he could hide away from his own story. His mind’s creation. 

“Mike, are you heading out?” Karen called from the kitchen, leaning around the corner. She looked older with her hair cut short, the scars decorating her neck making him feel choked and tired in one move. 

He swallowed hard, “Yeah. Did you need something?” 

She smiled at him, that careful look she had now— the look of someone in the know. The worry and pity wrapped into one. “Could you grab me a few things from the store?” She asked and he blinked back into the moment. 

He nodded without saying a single word. She dipped back around the corner and he sighed, looking toward the living room. Holly was sprawled on the couch, reading one of Mike’s old fantasy books. 

Karen reappeared and held out a list. He just pocketed it without looking, heading for the door. “Be careful!” she called.

He waved her off and slid into the station wagon, driving listlessly through the repaired streets of Hawkins. Time blurred around him. The town felt unfamiliar, like a place he used to know but didn’t live in anymore.

But everything felt distant now. Like a part of him died when El left.

He felt the familiar burn of tears but they didn’t fall. Not as he passed the lingering destruction around the town, the memorial, or the lab. 

Mike sighed and pulled into the parking lot of the small grocery store. The one Joyce used to work at. Where he’d go after school with the boys somedays, messing around and making her smile softly at them. He missed it. Missed it all. 

Steve’s truck was in the lot— the one he’d gotten after losing the Beamer. And Mike almost turned back around. He wasn’t in the mood to talk, but he parked anyway. 

His feet leaden as he strolled into the store, his shoulders hunched in the weight of something no one could see. His fingers were cold where they wrapped around the shopping cart. Its wheels squeaked as he pushed it down the aisles. The world felt flat, like a dull painting. 

He frowned at the apples, weighing one in his hand. Then a hand landed on his shoulder.

Mike startled before Steve’s face came into view, grinning. “Wheeler,” he greeted. “The apples offend you today?”

Mike sighed but didn’t shake off the hand. “Oh, shut up.” He droned, the familiar back and forth with the man, settling in his chest. It was like putting on a well-worn sweatshirt. 

Steve huffed a quiet laugh. “Okay, okay. Jeez.” He picked up an apple, tossed it into the air, caught it, and held it out. Mike snatched it and set it into his cart. 

“Should I even ask how you are?” He said it like a joke. Mike knew better. Steve would let it go if he wanted. He always did. But he cared— that was why he asked at all.

Mike rolled his eyes. “I’m fine.” He muttered, grabbing another apple at random. “You’re as bad as Nancy.”

Steve frowned, grabbing the apple and replacing it with a nicer one. “I’m pretty sure Nancy and I have very little in common.” 

Then Steve leaned over and ruffled Mike’s hair, shoving his hair in his eyes to steal the list from his hand. “Hey!”  Mike balked and tried to grab it back but Steve twisted to avoid his reach on instinct. “Dude,” Mike complained. “What are you even doing?” 

“Shopping. I’m low on, like, everything.” Steve stated, humming as he looked at the list. “And yeah—this is totally Karen’s handwriting.”

“It's terrible that you know her handwriting.” Mike stated, voice flat. 

Steve laughed, “I dated Nancy for a year.”

Mike nodded, “The worst year of my life.” He deadpanned. 

The smile Steve wore was fond and annoyed in one swoop. “Butthead.” 

“Asshole.” Mike fired back on instinct. 

Steve moved with Mike through the store, grabbing his own things as they walked. And Mike felt it like a balm over a burn. It didn’t fix it. It didn’t even heal anything, but it felt better than nothing. 

And when they parted ways, Mike no longer felt like he was drowning but treading water. 

And it kept happening like that. Not intentional. Not planned. 

Mike would turn a corner in town and there Steve would be— leaning against his truck, picking up dinner, grabbing coffee he didn’t need. Hawkins was small, but this felt different. Like the town was quietly funneling them toward each other. 

They'd talk, Steve sharing about his life, the students he taught, about his house search— trying to get out of the small camper hooked to the back of his truck. Mike would roll his eyes but ended up sharing right back. 

Like they were friends. Like they meant something to each other.

Mike was headed out of the library when he spotted Steve the next time. He was across the street, dropping Derek off at his dad’s work. Steve smiled when he spotted Mike, giving him that stupid, dorky, finger waggle. 

Mike moved over, coming to a stop at Steve’s passenger window. “You heading home?” Steve asked casually. 

Mike shrugged, “Eventually.” 

Steve nodded like that told him everything he needed to know. “Yeah. I get that.” Mike frowned and glanced away from the older man. To the street light that was half broken, the lights dim and spotty. 

“I, uh—” Steve started, then stopped, huffing a laugh. “So I finally signed the lease on that place.”

Mike glanced over. “Yeah?”

“Two bedroom place. Over in Forest Hills.” Steve grimaced a little. “Kind of a shit hole.” Mike snorted despite himself. “But,” Steve went on, “it’s quiet. And it’s mine. Which is… better than the shitty camper Robin’s parents borrowed me.” 

Steve scratched his jaw. “But anything was better than living with my parents.” He admitted and that caught Mike’s attention. 

“Yeah?” Mike asked. 

Steve shrugged, “Yeah. Feels like I'm a real adult. Less like an outsider and a son in the same breath. I didn’t realize how much it was messing with me until I got out, you know?”

Mike stared at the stupid broken traffic light. “Yeah.” He agreed softly. 

Steve didn’t look at him when he said it. “I’ve got a spare room.”

Mike’s chest tightened and the silence stretched. Mike just stood there like an idiot, blinking at Steve. 

“I’m not— it’s just there. If you’d like it.” Steve said quietly. His eyes jumped to Mike. Steve shrugged. “You don’t have to decide anything. Or like, ever. I just figured… it’s an option.” 

Mike swallowed hard, his voice failing as he stood there. 

Steve cleared his throat. “It’s whatever. I just— I stayed at home for too long and— it can be rough. I’m not exactly killing it at adulthood. But it’s an offer.” 

It was somehow louder living with Steve.

They bickered about almost everything but settled in naturally. Their furniture was a mix of thrifted finds and whatever Karen had forced upon them. Their dishes were even worse—not a single matching item. Mike found a strange enjoyment in finding stupid little things to piss off Steve, who was used to white with white everything.

He had a small writing spot Steve had set up in the living room, since Steve had demanded he stop hiding away in the small room next to his. The space was decorated with Will’s drawings Mike had held onto over the years, hanging alongside the pictures Steve took of the party and random shit he liked.

It felt like a breath of fresh air. 

A strange normal— one that grounded him. Getting dragged to middle school baseball games. Going thrifting for whatever they needed. Reading out parts of his story for input. Listening to Steve yell at whatever sports game was on. 

But there were still too many days where he just sat there and stared blankly ahead. Steve didn’t bother him on those days— just set a plate in front of him and kept a fresh cup of water within reach.

It was like Steve just knew what Mike needed. Like grief wasn’t a stranger. And maybe it wasn’t.

Today, Mike found himself in a dingy thrift store, looking for a teapot because he’d broken Steve’s last one. Even if Steve was the one actually searching, while Mike dawdled off to look at everything else. They had gone to a town close to Hawkins just to waste more time and Mike found himself drawn to all the weird nicknacks. 

He browsed the bookshelf in the back, fingers trailing over spines. Until he spotted a leatherbound book. It was cracked and older than all the rest. Mike pulled it out gently and looked at the cover that didn’t have a title, whether it was faded or not, he didn’t know. 

The book was heavy in his hands, aged like something from centuries past. He cracked open the spine as gently as he could. Somehow the writing was perfectly legible. But in a language Mike didn’t know. He looked over a few pages, a calm settling over him as he did so. 

Yet, the longer he flipped through it, it felt like the more he understood. Until the words were in English. He blinked, flipping back to see the entire thing was in English as if it had always been. 

“Mike,” Steve called out. Appearing around a shelf. A small ugly green teapot in his hands. He tilted his head, “Find something?” 

Mike closed the book, looking at the cracked cover. “Uh, yeah.” He said, clearing his throat and meeting Steve’s gaze. “Are you done yet?”

Steve rolled his eyes, “Yeah. Meet Gloria, our new teapot.” He raised the ugly thing and Mike raised an eyebrow. Steve huffed, “they didn’t have much options. But this baby’s cheaper than dirt.” He patted the side and Mike snorted. 

He tucked the book under his arm. “I think I saw a blue one over here.” 

Steve groaned, “And you didn’t grab it?” 

They headed over to the spot and Steve looked over the other teapot with careful eyes. “Why do we even need it? You barely drink tea.” 

Steve huffed, “Shut it, Wheeler.” 

Mike grabbed the blue one. “We should get this one. I like the small little glaze splatters.” Steve sighed and put the green teapot down and gestured for Mike to lead the way. 

When they set down the teapot and the book on the counter. The store owner raised an eyebrow. There was something amused in her expression. “That’ll be $2.” She stated, and Steve frowned. 

“What about the book?” He asked, digging in his wallet. 

She smiled, something a little sharp to it. “It’s on the house.” Mike grabbed the book, holding it close as she locked eyes with him. “Enjoy it.” 

Steve smiled politely, “Thanks. Have a good rest of the day.” He bumped into Mike’s shoulder as they went for the door and Mike felt as if something had settled in his chest. Something wrong. Something right. 

“You good?” Steve asked, already heading for the door.

Mike huffed and the bell above the door jingled as they stepped outside. “Yeah. Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” He cleared his throat and marched towards Steve’s truck. Steve grumbled under his breath as he followed. 

Evening was breaking through the sky, the fall air chillier than it had any right to be. Mike hated the cold more after the years. And if Steve’s thick corduroy jacket said anything, he wasn’t a fan either. 

Steve handed him the teapot as he started the truck. Mike turned it over in his hands. “It’s so ugly.” Mike deadpanned.

A laugh broke from Steve’s chest. “It reminds me of Robin.” He admits and Mike can’t stop the laugh that bubbled up. 

“What?” Mike said between laughter and Steve grinned.

He pulled out of the parking lot. “She’s coming to visit next week. And she’ll love it.” Steve shrugged and Mike looked over at Steve. There was a light look in his eyes. It was startling to see. 

Mike watched Steve—the confidence in his movements paired with a tension in his shoulders he’d never paid much attention to before. Like all this time Steve put on a show and right now, it was real for the first time. 

He gripped the book tighter, as if it could steady him in his realization. Clearing his throat, Mike looked out the window. “That’s cool. How long is she staying?” 

Steve shrugged, “A few days, I think. She’s gonna stay with us.” 

Mike frowned, “Should I give up my room?” 

That made Steve laugh, “Nah. We always share.” 

He wrinkled his nose. “Are you guys…”

Steve gagged, “No fucking way. She’s like my sister.” 

Mike snorted and twisted in his seat to look at Steve. “But you’re both always together?”

Steve glanced at him, pulling on their street. “So were you and Will. But that doesn’t mean we like each other like that.” 

Mike frowned, “But that’s different.” 

“Is it?” Steve hummed and Mike went quiet. 

They pulled into the driveway and Mike slid out. He sighed and glanced at Steve, “Can we order pizza?” 

Steve shrugged, “Sure. Sounds good.” He unlocked the door and Mike dropped off the teapot by the sink before he moved to his desk. Steve went to the phone and dialed the familiar number with neither of them being the best cooks.

Mike sat down and flipped the book open once more. This time to the first page. It was written in careful English, as if it had never been anything else. Within the book was an opening to a story. Or maybe a religion.

Time is spiraling, twisting, building. Linear is not how it is known. Choices are to be made. Options are given to those who deserve them. She reaches out when you need her. When you are ready. To accept is to be bound in her threads. To swear to her is to turn back. What she offers can never be undone.

Mike frowned, rereading it to try and make it make sense. But it only makes him more curious. Slowly, he flipped the page and blinked in shock. 

It’s decorated with an almost dreamlike web of red lines. But that’s not what catches him off guard. No, in the center there are only two lines. 

Do you wish to turn back and fix what is broken? Do you believe you can save them, Michael?

Mike slammed the book shut, his heart pounding in his chest. He stared at the cover—the way it seemed in better condition than when he’d found it. Red lines were where the cracks had been. 

“It should be getting here in less than an hour.” Steve's voice cut through the moment and Mike’s head snapped to him. Steve dropped onto the couch and glanced over. “Is it good if I put on the game?” 

Mike just blinked at Steve, frozen. Steve sat up a little straighter. “Are you okay?” He asked, looking concerned and wary. His gaze dropped to the book still in Mike’s grip. “Mike?” 

The breath that came out of Mike was shaky and he looked back down at the book. “I— I don’t know.” He muttered, glancing back down at the book. 

Steve stood, moving over to glance at the book as well. In a second, Steve scooped up the book. He flipped it open and he went pale. “What the hell is this?” 

Mike stood to see what page Steve had opened to. On the pages were two moments with details that no one should have. 

Barbara Holland screamed as she was pulled from the ladder. Everything was slippery and the monster tugged her closer. Its claws dug into her calves, until she was falling back to the bottom of the pool. The monster roared, feasting upon the poor girl as she screamed for her best friend. 

No one heard Barbara’s cries. 

Edward Munson biked from the cloud of bats. His mind was at war with himself. He didn’t believe himself saveable, he didn’t believe he could be the hero Dustin Henderson saw in him. But then, as the bike was torn from him and he stumbled to his feet. He realized, perhaps he could save one boy.  He could not save Christina Cunningham, he could not stop the town from turning him into a monster. But he could distract the bats from ever touching Dustin. So he turned, holding up his weapon and bellowed into the night. He was torn down, his life ending in blood and screams. Hoping he had done enough.

Eddie hoped Steven Harrington wouldn’t hate him for it.

Steve’s face was white. “Mike, what the fuck is this?” His voice was high pitched and watery. “What the fuck!” Steve read over the words again, tears filling his eyes. His finger traced over the line: Eddie hoped Steve wouldn’t hate him for it.

Mike tugged the book back and snapped it shut. “I don’t know.” He admitted. “I don’t know.” He dropped it down on the coffee table and it fell open on another page. It was worn and stained, like it had been poured over for years. 

Take time to reflect, for time is all you have. Look back on your doubts—your fears. This is your choice. Would you turn back? To let what came after fall away, forgotten. To bear the weight of what must be lost to begin anew. Step forward knowing this: What is taken cannot be returned. What is changed cannot be undone. Do you swear to carry the weight? Do you swear to carry her mantle, and abide by her laws?

Steve swore and moved, shutting the book. “Did we fucking get a cursed book?” He snapped, looking shaken. 

Mike hesitated, “no. No, I think we got a second chance.” 

“What?” Steve asked, looking at Mike like he didn’t want to believe it. 

Slowly, Mike moved to the book. “I think… I think it’s offering us a chance.” He murmured and sat on the couch, just staring at the book. 

Steve sat down beside him. “But who the fuck is it even referencing?” 

Mike shook his head. “I don’t—” The book reopened itself, as if it were alive. Flipping through pages until it landed on one. 

Time is spun upon her loom. Each choice is a strand. Each loss is bound into the weave. Time cannot be broken— only unraveled. The weaver has no care for outcomes, only for those who dare to reflect To those who endure the broken, holding fast to what was lost. And to those who believe in a better way, dreaming of what could be. There is a way. A chance. The path backward may be revealed. The way to change it all. 

Mike leaned in, his heart pounding in his chest. Steve pulled him back, “You can’t be seriously debating this?” He snapped and Mike frowned. 

“It’s a chance! Don’t you wish there was a way to— to save— to make it better?” Mike’s voice cracked, staring at the book. 

Steve chewed on his bottom lip. “What if we make it worse? We— almost all of us survived. What if next time Nancy is just one step too slow and the Mind Flayer kills her? What if Max dies at the hands of Vecna? What if—”

“What if we stop Vecna before any of those situations come around?” Mike interrupted and turned to face Steve. “What if we can save Barb and Eddie?” 

That caused Steve to freeze. He looked at the book slowly. “You’d risk it all?” He asked Mike, voice barely above a whisper. 

Mike shifted, “Yeah. If I could… stop Will from all the nightmares he faced. Give El a reason to live— give her an actual plan instead of a dream… stop Max from ever having to face Vecna. And never make Lucas sit at her bedside for almost two years. If I could make it so Dustin never had to grieve Eddie’s death, I’d risk the world for my friends."  He looked at Steve, the way Steve’s eyes were glassy. “Wouldn’t you?” 

Steve looked at him then the book. “Yeah. I would.” He said in an exhale, like the weight of the world landed on his shoulders. 

The book flipped through its pages. Fast enough that pages flew out. Only they didn’t fly off to the side they flew around Mike and Steve. More and more pages surrounding them until Mike felt a strike of pain in his mind. He screamed and clutched his head as his life flashed before his eyes. 

Each of his friends leaving Hawkins.

“So screw it! Screw the school, Screw the system. Screw conformity.”

Government interrogations.

 New NDAs shoved across tables.

“You understand me. Better than anyone.”

Vecna dead. The Mind Flayer falling apart.

“I don’t like girls.” 

“He’s a sorcerer! A real-life honest to god, sorcerer!”

Losing the kids to the Demogorgons.

His parents bleeding. Holly taken.

Crawl after crawl. Miss after miss.

The gates splitting Hawkins in four.

“Don’t stop. You’re the heart.” 

A military base. A helicopter falling from the sky.

“This is amazing. Did you paint this?”

“You can’t even write it, Mike.” 

Saying goodbye to the Byers.

Billy dying in the mall.

The Flayed chasing them through Starcourt.

“I love her and I can’t lose her again!”

“It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!”

The cabin. Just the two of them.

Snowball. Dancing with El. 

The tunnels. Drawing the monsters away.

Will screaming as something else wore his body.

El returning.

“We’ll go crazy together.”

Radio silence. Unanswered walkies.

El killing the Demogorgon.

Running from the government.

Will’s body.

Jumping into the quarry. 

Finding El.

Will vanishing.

Dice rolling on a basement table.

Mike slammed into the ground.

People were moving around him frantically. “Is it a thirteen?” A familiar high pitched voice asked. 

“I don’t know!” Another responded, sounding worried. 

Mike shoved himself up, blinking as his basement came into focus. The door heading down swung open and his mom looked down at them. Her hair was long and brown, nothing like he was used to. No. It was something he hadn’t seen in years. Mike’s head snapped to look at the others in the room. His friends. 

His friends that looked about 12. Not 19. 

“Oh fuck.” Mike breathed out and Karen gasped. 

“Michael! Language!” She snapped. “It’s fifteen after, time to be done.” 

Everyone groaned but Mike just gaped. He looked around once more before he was rushing to the phone. “Just— give me a second!” He called.

His mom huffed. “It’s a school night, Michael. And I just put Holly to bed. You can finish next weekend.” She demanded and he nodded absent mindedly. 

He was too focused on dialing a number he had memorized over the time of demanding rides. It only rang twice before a breathless, “Mike?” Came through. Steve sounded younger as well. But he didn’t sound confused. “Oh fucking— I think it worked.” Steve’s voice was shrill.

Mike ignored his friends, his mom, everyone. “Steve, you need to get over here. You need to— Will’s here it’s— this night is burned into my memory. You need to drive them home. Please, just—”

Steve interrupted, “I’m gonna be right there. Give me 5 minutes.” He ordered and the dial tone rang out. Mike stood there for another moment before he put the phone back on the hook.