Chapter Text
July 15th, 1986
Mike’s basement is humid on this specific summer evening. One of the windows is cracked open in an effort to air out the adolescent smell in the stuffy basement, letting in the golden glow of the setting sun. Despite the suffocating warmth, Will never wants to leave. Him and his friends are gathered around the old table they’ve always played D&D on, surrounded by a basement cluttered with old figurines and candy wrappers. Everything is just like it was when they were younger, except for the longer limbs being squished under the table they barely fit at. It’s the tailend of a long campaign, and Will is the last one standing.
“Will, you have to retreat! There’s no way you can kill it.” Lucas groans from Will’s right.
“No, it’s almost dead! It only has eighteen HP!” Dustin encourages from the other side of Will.
“Yeah and if he rolls under a twelve, we’re screwed! If he retreats, at least we can heal ourselves.”
“But he could roll higher and get to the other side of the bridge and just win the whole thing.”
“This fight’s as good as dead, dude.” Lucas leans back in his chair, seemingly giving up in his argument.
“Do it, Will. Come on.” Dustin leans in, looking towards Will, voice hushed. Will looks across the table at Mike, who’s looking at him expectantly.
“What’ll it be… Will the Wise?” Mike asks dramatically.
Will takes a deep breath, grabs the twenty sided die, and then shakes it between his hands. His hands glue together in the hot and sticky basement, and he swears the room grows even warmer as the eyes of his friends focus on his shaking hands. He tosses the die out of his hands and onto the table, and it feels like it takes centuries for it to finally land.
“Will the Wise shoots out a fire bolt from his staff, aiming right for the largest head of the Thessalhydra… The beast whines and squirms in pain…” Mike makes mock roaring growls, dragging on the suspense as long as he can, “The beast’s multiple heads crane out, its limbs flailing and tumbling unsteadily… Right before rising again and striking the last player down. You put up a mighty fight, Will the Wise, but you just weren’t strong enough.” Mike finishes his passionate combat description with a sigh. Lucas and Dustin both scoff and Will tosses himself back in his chair, disappointment rising in his chest. “The Thessalhydra wins. He takes over the minds of all those in the village, corrupting your friends and families before killing them and destroying your home.”
The Thessalhydra isn’t… a psychological monster. It doesn’t do all of that.
“Good job, Will.” Lucas snaps at Will, sounding especially pissed off. Will stares dumbfounded at him. He didn’t seem to care all that much just a moment ago. This isn’t him at all, sounding so cruel over a campaign? Sure, the campaigns can get pretty tense, but at the end of the day, everyone understands it’s just a game. But Lucas doesn’t have an ounce of warmth on his face. He’s turned pale and his eyes are dark and plain and his face expressionless. There’s nothing on his face that signals humanity.
“You failed us. We’re dead because of you now.” Dustin chastises in the same tone he had months ago at movie night. The harshness of his voice makes Will snap himself out of his examination of Lucas, looking toward Dustin, and when he does, he sees eyes full of disgust and a firm frown planted on his face. Will feels a shiver up his spine and his skin starts to crawl.
This isn’t right.
“Guys… What’s wrong? It’s just a campaign.” Will looks worriedly between them. Maybe everything that’s been happening lately has caught up to them and they’re at their breaking point. Maybe they’ve been burying their emotions so much that this campaign, which is very reminiscent of their unfortunate situation in real life, is bringing those emotions to the surface.
The wind starts to howl outside, growing louder and more intrusive through the tiny window in the basement. Will glances quickly towards it and notices how eerily dark it has become outside, unlike the comforting glow that leaked in moments ago. The bitter cool air seeps in Will, causing him to shiver.
“No, Will. It’s not.” Mike says from across the table, and Will dares to look towards him, and what he sees makes it all clear what’s wrong. Mike’s face is devoid of everything that makes Mike—Mike. The gentle curve of his eyebrows has turned into a stiff line, the light freckles that usually speckle his face are absent, and worst of all, his soft, brown eyes are now empty with streaks of blood trailing down his pale face. Will’s heart drops straight down to his stomach and he opens his mouth to speak, to try and say anything but all he can do is stare. His gaze shifts rapidly between Dustin and Lucas who now have the exact same stark streaks under their eyes and he feels the temperature in the room drop right alongside his chest.
“This is your fault, Will.” Lucas starts to say, “You were weak, you let him in, and you let him get to Max. And now, he got to me.” His voice breaks halfway through and Will sees the blood mix with tears as it trickles down his face. He can hear Lucas in the voice that’s speaking, not like before when there was nothing but evil. This voice has a trace of the Lucas that Will knows is in there and it tugs at Will’s stomach. Lucas is there. Lucas is trying to get out, he just needs help. Will just needs to help.
“Lucas, no, please… I-I know you don’t mean that.” Will forces himself to get the words out through his shaky voice and a part of him knows everything Lucas said is right. He was weak and it is his fault.
“You should have stayed gone, Will. How did you survive but Eddie didn’t?” Dustin’s voice echoes out. Will can feel his whole body stiffen and his entire face grow hot with fear and shame. He knows that these aren’t his friends, but he can’t push aside the fact that everything they’re saying is true. So many people would still be alive if he was dead and his friends and family would be safe. They wouldn’t have to worry about any of this bullshit Will is indirectly putting them through. He swears that the tears trailing down his face are practically freezing in place with how cold it is in here.
Will sees Dustin’s hands gripping the table, hard. His knuckles are white and his hands are shaking. Will needs to do something, anything to snap them out of it. He needs to help, he needs to save them. For once, he needs to do something helpful. But he can’t move. He can’t think. God, why can’t he move?
“Why did you love me? It’s ruined you. It destroyed us and made you weak.” Mike whispers from across the table. This is Will’s breaking point, because how does Mike even know this? Nobody should know this dreadful fact. He couldn’t have been that obvious, he tried so hard to hide it. Tears are burning down his cheeks, his face scorching hot, and he can’t speak.
“No, no, I… I never wanted to… Please, you have to know that I tried to…I tried to stop it! God, I’m sorry, so sorry.” Will’s voice is completely broken down and he shuts his eyes tight, a flood of tears squeezing their way out. He’s speaking in pieces, all over the place and he can’t move or look at any of them. He can’t move and see them like this. Suddenly, he hears the quick scraping of chairs on the carpet and he risks opening his eyes and sees the thing he’s feared the most.
Lucas is the first to start floating, with his eyes rolled all the way back. Any essence of Lucas that could have still been present is gone. There’s no one there now and his body is shaking so minutely, Will barely notices it. Dustin is next and all Will can do is sob, snot dripping from his nose and he can barely even see through the tears pooling at his eyes. He needs to do something, he needs to grab music or do anything. God, he needs to do something, but he just can't. He knows he needs to, but he’s frozen.
Then comes the snaps and cracks. Will can’t do anything but scream and sob, a disgusting mix of despair that echoes in the thin, cold air of the basement. Will tries to drown out the horrifying movement of limbs by louder screams of No, no, no! It’s all he can do.
“You failed, Will! You failed us and you were weak and useless!” Mike shouts from across the table, still in one piece somehow and Will can’t even hear Mike anymore. The words that come out are so harsh, cruel and unlike Mike, it’s like a scratchy record. The sound of the corpses of his dearest friends dropping beside him almost makes his heart stop. Maybe it actually does for a moment. And then Mike’s chair screeches and he starts to levitate and Will swears that his heart was fine before because this is when his heart stops. He slides down from his chair, and under the table. He covers his ears with his hands and he curls in on himself. These are the only movements he’s made and it’s a cowardly movement. He can’t look anymore, he can’t hear anymore, he can’t. He doesn’t want to hear what will happen to Mike, he doesn’t—
His body shoots up from the sleeping bag. He’s shaking, and his hair is sticking to his forehead and the back of his neck. He looks around the basement frantically, eyes darting around the room and adjusting to the night. Jonathan is sleeping on the couch, his face half muffled in the pillow and his mouth open, making a quiet snoring noise with a beat in between them. Will looks at the tiny window and it’s still pitch dark out. It’s a warm summer night, so the window is cracked open and chirps from cicadas leak through. But most importantly, there’s a lack of broken bodies flopped around the basement floor.
Will needs water. He needs to move. He hasn’t had a nightmare in weeks, let alone one that awful. It’s been warmer and his friends are out of school so he can spend more time with them. His mom has been letting him come to the meetings and he finally feels at least a part of the fight. But this nightmare has thrown him for a terrible loop. He climbs slowly and carefully out of his sleeping bag, moving so delicately as to not wake up his brother and then trudging up the stairs, very quietly while minding the creaks in the stairs that he’s gotten very accustomed to.
The kitchen is dark and quiet, so quiet. He rushes to the sink and splashes himself with water from the faucet, but it’s too cold. It sends a shiver down his spine and his breathing picks back up. He grips the sides of the sink and stares straight down at the tiling, trying to focus on the pattern and steady his breathing. It was just a nightmare, it was just a nightmare. It wasn’t real and his friends are fine. Will tries to push the voice creeping in saying for now away, but God, it just won’t go away.
His head is growing increasingly fuzzy and he can’t snap out of it. He can only hear the echoes of bones breaking and his own heart hammering in his chest. He doesn’t notice someone else is in the kitchen until he feels a hand on his shoulder that makes him jump out of his skin.
“Will—Hey, hey, it’s just me.” Mike’s voice is frantic at first then turns softer, consistently full of concern, “Are you okay? What’s wrong?” He asks quickly, eyes darting over Will’s entire body.
“Yeah, yeah… I just…” He takes a deep breath before continuing and stands up a little straighter, “I was thirsty.” A lie so ridiculously see through but Mike doesn’t even mention it.
“Then let me get you a cup. Sit down at the table.” Mike walks over to the cabinet, moving too quickly for the middle of the night.
“It’s fine, I’m good.” Will huffs out and he leans back against the counter. He definitely is better than he was a couple minutes ago. Mike doesn’t think so, evidently.
“Will, just sit down.” He groans out. Will doesn’t feel like going back and forth with him—he knows how stubborn Mike can be—and sitting down would probably be good for him. So that’s exactly what he does, exactly as Mike instructed.
Mike follows after him with two cups of cold water and sits down next to Will, who’s at the head of the table. Will’s fiddling with his fingers, rubbing the pads of his thumbs over his uneven nails and picking at dried paint. He can feel Mike drilling his eyes into him and he knows he’s trying to decide what to ask.
“Was it a nightmare?” Mike asks softly, and Will still doesn’t look up, but he nods minutely. Mike is silent for another moment.
“What happened in it?” Will starts to think over the events of the dream. His friends’ eyes, the blood, the howling wind outside, the cold… Will hugs his own arms, curling in on himself just like he did in the nightmare.
“Will, what happened?” Will sees Mike lean in closer out of the corner of his eye and Will can’t help, but look at him. And there he is—Mike. His eyebrows are turned upwards, his mouth slightly agape, his eyes so, so soft and worried. This is Mike, who is currently safe and in one piece and worrying deeply about Will.
“I’m okay. It was just… a really bad dream… We were, um, playing D&D, you know, like we used to.” Will holds on tightly to the cup of water, which is cold, which is probably good because he did wake up all sweaty and hot even though his bones felt stiff and frozen and the last thing he wants is to be cooled down. He is thirsty, actually, so he should probably drink it, “It was all pretty normal, until I failed to defeat the, uh… Thessalhydra in the campaign. That’s when it got weird, all of you guys started saying, like, mean things. Things I know you guys would never say.”
“Who else was there?”
“You, Dustin, Lucas.”
“What kind of stuff were we saying”
“I, uh, don’t really know. I don’t remember, it was just… I know it was mean. And a lot.” Will hates lying to Mike, it’s difficult every time he does it, but if he tells Mike what he was told—or rather what he told himself—in his dream, Mike would only feel worse. He also can’t be fully honest because of what dream Mike said to him, that would be way too complicated.
“But then it got worse. All of your eyes started to bleed, and then you guys were floating, and… and I could tell that you guys were actually in there. Like, you guys were possessed, right? But I could tell that you were still there. But…but the worst part of it all was that I did nothing.” Will is rambling now and he can feel the tears welling up, just like they did in the nightmare. He can’t stand to look at Mike, who is now closer than he was before, looking ever more intently. His hands are resting right near Will’s, he can feel the ghost of a touch.
“I…I just watched. I just sat there and did nothing. I could have tried to, I don’t know, find music or shake you guys or literally anything. But…But then you guys were in the air and I could hear the bones… God, your bones…” Will can’t go on through the tears that he knows has started streaming down his face. All he can see is the visions from his dream, all he can hear is the cracking of bones, and all he feels is the cold air. That damn cold air.
Until he feels an extension of warmth. Like a lifejacket when drowning. Mike’s hand was so warm and probably sweaty, but Will didn’t care. It just felt so human and real. And God, it felt nothing like the Upside Down, nothing like how that dream felt. It wasn’t Vecna, it wasn’t the Mind Flayer, it wasn’t Henry. It wasn’t the hollow, frozen air that Will suffered in for a week that still haunts him to this day. No. It was the warmth that came from Mike’s living, caring, and human body. It was the safety of his friend who’s always been there for him. It was the heat that radiated off of Mike and his persistent need to protect everyone around him.
“God, Will…” Mike whispers unevenly, and he’s looking down, possibly at their hands intertwined. “That’s… Are you cold? Your hand is freezing.”
“Oh, just a little, but I’m sure—” Mike grabs Will other hand and holds it in a much firmer manner, as if he’s examining it. He then puts both of his own hands on Will’s cheeks and he doesn't realize how cold he’s actually been until he feels himself practically melting under Mike’s fingers.
“God, why’d I get you cold water… Come on, we’re warming you up by the fireplace.” Mike gets up suddenly and walks over to the living room. Will doesn’t think he needs anymore warming up, not after Mike just held his face in his hands as if it meant nothing. Which, obviously, it meant nothing. But not to Will. Not to creepy Will who got butterflies in his stomach and felt warm all over just from simple touches from his friend.
Will follows Mike into the living room and sees Mike crouched down by the fireplace, holding a lighter right under the wood.
“Mike, you don’t need to do that. I’m already feeling warmer, so I think I’ll just—”
“Please, Will, just sit down.” He sounds exhausted and Will feels terrible knowing he caused it. The fire roars to life and the yellow light offers a bubble of warmth and safety. Mike gets comfortable on the floor by the flame, bringing his knees to his chest, not looking at Will.
Will sighs before walking tentatively and slowly over to sit next to Mike in front of the fire. He mirrors Mike’s position and he’s determined to just gaze into the fire. The way the sparks fly off and the flames dance around each other, all while warming up Will down to the bone. The warmth makes Will forget that the Upside Down even exists, that it could even hurt him or anyone else.
“You know you can talk to me, right?” Mike asks softly, and Will shifts his gaze from the flames to Mike’s eyes. The glow from the fire dances in his eyes and catches the ends of his curls, his face looking entirely contemplative. He looks breathtaking like this and Will swears the fire took all the oxygen out of the room.
“Yeah, I know.”
“Then why don’t you?”
Will squints at him in confusion. He literally just told him about what had to have been the worst dream he’s ever had and he’s asking Will why he isn’t talking to him? Even though that’s what he just did?
“I… do? I just told you about that… that really shitty dream.” Mike looks at Will, looking as upset as ever.
“Yeah, only because I found you. I mean, would you have told me about it otherwise? Would you have told your mom? Jonathan? Anyone?”
“It was just a nightmare, everyone gets them. It’s not… important. Why should I worry anyone?”
“Because it’s you, Will!” Mike expresses quietly through gritted teeth, while leaning in closer to Will and crossing his legs, “You…you never ask for help from anyone, you know that? You only let people know something’s wrong when it’s painfully obvious and already too late. And I mean, come on, Will, can’t you see how much it sucks?”
“What sucks?” Will draws his face back in annoyance.
“Caring this much about you! Knowing that you’re keeping stuff from me, and that no matter what I do, you’re still…you’re still miserable and hurting and scared and…” Mike throws his face into his hands as he groans and Will just holds his breath and stares at him. He doesn’t know what to say, if he should even say anything at all.
“God, Will, you know why I even came down here in the first place?” Mike looks up now, and Will’s heart sinks when he sees big, reddened eyes staring back at him. Will shakes his head.
“I was gonna… head down to the basement. Just to… to make sure that you were still there.” Mike looks back down, fidgeting with the strings on his sweatpants, “I, uh, I don’t do it a lot and I just peek over the railing, but it’s cause… sometimes I can’t sleep because I get like… God, I get… Scared, I guess. And being able to just see you there, sleeping and safe, and just there, it…it helps…”
Mike’s voice is tight and almost shaky and he rubs his knees anxiously. Will has no idea how to process what he’s just told him and he has no idea what it means.
“Mike, I…I had no idea…”
“Well, yeah, you’re always… sleeping. Look, I’m just trying to say that I care, Will. Like, a lot. So, just, please…” Mike reaches out to Will’s knee, where his own hand currently rests, “Please, bother me with the shit that worries or… upsets you or, or angers you. I can help, I wanna help. I can be there for you, just like you always are for me.” Mike tightens his hold on Will’s hand and Will knows only one thing for certain: he’s never been so warm.
“Okay. Okay.” Will gives a small smile towards Mike. Mike, who is being way too good a friend right now. Too good of a friend to be just a friend, honestly. Will doesn’t let his thoughts get that far though because this is how Mike’s always been. He’s always been able to notice how Will’s feeling before anyone else and he’s always known just how to help. This is just Mike being typical Mike, the way he always treated Will.
Except, it feels different. Maybe. No. Definitely.
It feels different because they’re sitting in the dark by the fire, Mike is staring into the fire, not a single part of Will is cold, and Mike is gently stroking Will’s hand.
There’s no reason for Mike to still be holding onto Will, let alone, what? Caressing his hand? Except for maybe this fear he has that Will is going to disappear in the middle of the night again. That must be it, it’s the only logical reason.
When Will eventually ends up back in the basement, in the sleeping bag on the floor, he’s trying his best to ignore every thought threatening to pierce through his head about Mike. He can’t let himself entertain what it could all mean. It’s been a rough night, Will’s tired, Mike’s worried and also probably just tired. Will is most likely just misremembering things. He buries every thought and possibility under a mountain of excuses until he’s exhausted his mind into sleep.