Chapter Text
Will stood at the kitchen island in the semidarkness, half-drunk glass of water sitting in front of him. Exhaustion clawed at his bones, trying to drag him under its depths, wings drooping and world tilting before him at a Dutch angle.
And yet.
His mind was more awake than his body, fingers absently rubbing the back of his neck. No gooseflesh rose there, but he could still hear the cheese-grater-on-rocks rumble of One's voice in his head, dissonant and harsh, reverberating within his skull like a shout from inside of a cavern.
The chills didn't come, but that still wasn't enough to set his mind at ease, fingertips numb with cold.
“What are you doing up?”
Will nearly jumped out of his skin, wings perking up, flaring out –
“Oof,” the voice said, probably from having the wind knocked out of him.
“Mike?” Will's hand was over his chest, his heart jackhammering, thudding pulse in his ears nearly drowning out Mike's grumbled response.
“Jesus, yeah, I didn't realize how heavy your wings are –”
A sigh of relief tore through him and he had to brace himself at the counter to gather his bearings.
“Hey, I'm sorry. You okay?”
He turned to look up at Mike, his face only half illuminated by the ribbon of moonlight that seeped through the window. Will could still catch the worry in his gaze, though.
“It's not…?”
“No,” Will said, his hand dropping from the back of his neck. He wasn't even aware he'd been doing it; a tic at this point, it seemed. “Just… couldn't sleep. Sorry I hit you.”
“It's fine. I didn't mean to startle you.” He seemed sheepish, turning around and leaning against the kitchen counter. Will mimicked him.
“What are you doing up?”
Mike rolled a shoulder, a lazy shrug.
“Same as you, I guess. Slept a couple hours, but then I just –” He gestured vaguely. “You know. Everything.”
“Yeah,” Will said. “I get it.”
Mike dragged a hand over his face.
“Me and El broke up,” He announced suddenly, and Will turned to him so fast he very nearly wing-whipped him again.
“What?!”
“Yep,” He said, popping his lips on the p. “I think it was a long time coming, though. We had a big fight before everything went down in Lenora.”
Will's head was spinning.
“You – that's –” He swallowed. “I don't understand. You two seemed so… in love?”
Mike visibly winced and ran a hand through already wild curls.
“If you'd asked me that a few weeks ago, I probably would have agreed with you. Now? I'm not so sure. I've been… looking back at everything between her and I more closely than I was before. I don't think it makes any more sense, though. It all feels so confused.”
“Confused how?”
“I don't know if I was in love with her,” Mike explained, “Or the idea of what she represented in my head.”
The moonlight filtered over his profile just enough to shadow the bitter curl of his mouth.
Will's jaw worked and he folded his arms over his middle.
Was.
He had to stomp hard on that bubble of hope before it ballooned too big in his chest.
“I couldn't say what she wanted to hear, you know? That I loved her. And I really thought I did. But then she told me that all I ever saw her was as a superhero. I tried to argue at the time, but now I'm wondering if she was a little bit right about that.”
Will honestly didn't know what to say.
“That's…”
“Stupid of me, right?” Mike snorted. “Trust me, I already know. If Max were here, she'd give me one hell of a verbal lashing.”
They both fell silent at the thought of Max. On that hospital bed, fighting for her life.
Will's tongue unstuck from the roof of his mouth.
“I'm sure she'll have one ready to go for you as soon as she wakes up.”
Mike tilted his head to look at Will, that bitter, self-deprecating little grin shifting into something with the edges sanded off.
“Aren't you going to give me one?”
“Nope,” Will said. “I'll leave the honors to Max. She's so much better at it.”
Mike laughed. “Yeah. That's true. You couldn't hurt a fly.”
Will frowned and cuffed Mike over the head with the tip of his wing for that.
“Hey, that's not fair.” Mike complained.
Will just shrugged.
Mike caught the tip of his wing in gentle fingers, and Will felt himself freeze.
“So,” Mike said. “Earlier. When you put your wing over me.”
Will felt constantly as though Mike was throwing him off kilter, pitching him wide-swinging curveballs he couldn't have even predicted or attempted to try to catch –
Supposed to be a team. Right. Supposedly.
It was hard to match the steps of someone who kept changing the rhythm.
“Y-yeah?”
“That was nice,” Mike said, voice soft, almost shy. He was looking down at his feet, toeing the grout in the tile with sock-clad toes. “I dunno. Felt… safe. Like a security blanket.”
“Oh,” Will breathed, his voice managing to break on that one syllable. “Um.”
He really, really had no idea what to say to that.
Mike looked back up at him through lowered lashes, the contrast of moonlight and shadow playing across his sharp features almost uncannily pretty. Ethereal, like something out of this world.
God, Will wanted to paint that look, but he couldn't be sure any manmade paintbrush or pencil could do him justice.
“If you… I wouldn't,” Mike paused, taking a deep breath, seeming to collect himself. “I'd like it if you did it again.”
He sounded embarrassed; so much so that it was unlike him. Will wondered if he'd see a pleasing pink flush spread across freckled cheeks were it not for the blurry obscurity of night. He had the ridiculous urge to reach out and cup Mike's cheek in his palm, smooth a thumb over the skin there, wondering if it would be as soft and heated as he always imagined.
Will's throat bobbed as he swallowed. He swore he saw Mike's eyes flicker down at the movement, but couldn't be sure if that was just a trick of the light – or lack thereof.
“Yeah, I… yeah. Okay.”
He moved slowly, slowly enough as not to spook Mike, unfurling one wing with near agonizing slowness, bones and muscles creaking with the effort. Moving carefully, as though Mike were a wild animal liable to be spooked.
Mike didn’t move at all, though. He just watched Will, eyes wide and dark and more open than Will had recalled seeing them in years.
Will felt as though he could tip forward and fall right into them.
His wing settled over Mike's shoulders, broad enough to drape from from shoulder to shoulder. He didn't let the full weight of it settle, tentative, but Mike sighed as though relieved and pulled it in closer to him. A little startled, heart in his throat, Will allowed his muscles to relax.
“Better than a heated blanket,” Mike commented. Their shoulders brushed as he shuffled closer. Will was hyperaware of the space between them, charged with crackling static.
God, his words were stuck in his throat again.
“We're gonna be okay, Will,” Mike said, his tone matter-of-fact and brooking no room for argument. “We’re going to be ready for him. When he wakes up.”
It was that exact manner of self-assuredness that could either make Will want to kill or kiss him.
Right now?
He didn't answer, just curled his wing over Mike's shoulder, words clogging his throat like he was choking on them.
🪶
It was strange, feeling so unmoored and set adrift in his own hometown.
In the days since the incident, people had begun to flee Hawkins, and Will couldn't blame them. Nothing had been the same since – the crackling red lightning, the spores in the air, the stench of rot and decay on the wind.
Townspeople never walked the streets alone anymore. Especially not after dark.
No more safe harbors.
The Byers had been staying temporarily with the Wheelers until they found somewhere more permanent to stay. Will's childhood home had a new family living there, and Hopper's cabin had… seen better days.
That didn't leave them with a lot of options. Will sat on the couch and pinched his nose between his thumb and forefinger as Jonathan and his mom circled through the same conversation over and over. His temples throbbed in time with his pulse.
“Maybe we can find a hotel? Or a motel?” His mom paced and wrung her hands as Jonathan shook his head mutely.
“Hotels in town are all going to be booked up,” He said slowly. “After… everything. We aren't the only ones displaced.”
“You can just keep staying with us,” Mike chimed in from the doorway.
Will unfolded from his penitent hunch at the sound of his voice.
He looked as tired as Will felt, eyes ringed by dark bruises, hair rumpled and a little greasy at the roots. He wasn't looking at any of them, picking at his cuticles instead. Will was pretty sure he was even wearing the same exact shirt he had yesterday.
“I already talked to Mom about it. She doesn't mind putting you guys up. You've already been staying here anyway.” He added with a shrugged shoulder, clearly aiming for unaffected and nonchalant, but the jumping muscle in his jaw betrayed him.
He looked like an exhausted wreck, but Will's heart still gave a pathetic little hiccup at the sight of him.
“Oh, no, sweetie, we couldn't possibly –”
“No, really. Mom was going to bring it up at dinner tonight, anyway. It's fine, Mrs. Byers, promise.”
His mom and Jonathan shared a long look.
“Alright,” Jonathan said eventually, tearing his gaze away from their mother and looking at Mike. “Thanks, Mike.”
“Don't thank me,” He mumbled, and turned on his heel and left.
Will watched both his mom and Jonathan turn and look at him, and he dropped his head back into his hands.
He’d be stuck under the same roof as Mike Wheeler – who was already acting stranger than Will had ever seen him – for who knew how long.
🪶
He'd been avoiding visiting Max. He could admit as much now.
Will found himself constantly looking for any excuse not to go, ranging from helping Mrs. Wheeler with household chores, shooting practice at their makeshift gun range with Nancy, or trips with Jonathan and his mom into town to gather supplies and groceries.
It wasn't because Will didn't want to see her. He wanted to more than anything. But the thought of seeing her in a hospital bed – pale and lifeless and so unlike her usual vibrant self – scared the shit out of him.
He couldn't avoid it forever, though.
“I am going to visit Max,” El told him when he opened the door first thing in the morning, “and you are going to come with me.”
She'd been allowed more and more freedom out of hiding – leash slackened, so to speak – so long as she didn't venture further than a set radius of miles within Hawkins. Will didn't understand all the finer details of it, truth be told. When he asked El about it, she'd just shrugged and said that she and Doctor Owens had made a compromise.
Whatever that meant. Will had learned it was better not to ask, at this point.
“El, I –”
“No. No more excuses.” She frowned at him, eyebrows drawing together in a dark line.
Will shifted from foot to foot.
El would wait him out, he knew. She was the far more stubborn one by a mile.
“Fine,” He sighed. “Let me get my jacket.”
El flashed him a grin.
If nothing else, it was good flying practice.
The morning air was damp and chilled, and Will zipped his jacket all the way up to his chin. No goosebumps on the back of his neck, though – it was just the normal kind of cold.
El watched him as his hand dropped back to his side.
“He is still asleep,” She said.
“I know,” Will said, mimicking El as she stretched her wings out. “I know that, but… I have this bad feeling I can't shake.”
El nodded as she dropped into a crouch. Will followed suit.
This was his favorite part.
A jump, a few strong wingbeats, and they were airborne – Will shot up a little higher than El, his wingspan far eclipsing hers now – interspersing more powerful flaps with gliding to maintain height and speed.
Will was the stronger flier, but El was speedier and more agile by far. She could fly laps around him if she wanted, and he watched a little enviously at the way she tumbled through the air with such grace and ease, catching herself like an acrobat on a tightrope.
“Show-off!” He called after her over the rush of wind, and he knew she heard him by the smirk she shot him.
She slowed a little to match his clumsy pace, dropping in close enough so that they could talk more easily.
“I know what you mean. About the ‘bad feeling’. I have that, too.”
Will set his jaw and nodded, looking down at the sprawl of the city beneath them, passing in snatches below the foggy mist of the clouds.
He wondered if the day would come where he didn't constantly fear what the next chapter of his life would hold.
He hoped it would.
El tapped him on the shoulder, distracting him from his thoughts, and they began their descent.
He was a little worse at landing than taking off, usually stumbling and sometimes falling over when his feet hit the ground. He counterbalanced the way El had taught him by flapping his wings harder, and only pinwheeled his arms a little. He remained mostly upright, at least.
El was the picture of grace, her wings folding neatly over her back. Ignoring the agog stares from passersby, blatant shock written on their faces at seeing two winged teenagers land in the parking lot.
This was the norm for them. The shock, the stares.
They were no stranger than everything else happening in Hawkins, in Will's humble opinion. But then – the general public didn't really know all of the details about that part.
“Let's go,” She said, already striding off before Will had even caught his breath.
Will had to jog to catch up with her, folding his own wings over his back.
Lucas was already there in Max's hospital room when they got there. and
He looked up from where he was hunched over her prone form when he and El walked in, both hands tightly around one of hers. Kate Bush's Running Up That Hill played softly from somewhere.
“Hey, guys,” He greeted, though his voice sounded hoarse and tired.
Will wondered how long he'd been here. His eyes roved over the cot with the rumpled sheets in the corner.
He felt his heart twist painfully in his chest.
Will dropped into the empty chair next to Lucas, and El wandered over to Max's other side, her expression shifting into something so unbearably sad that Will had to look away.
“How is she?” Will asked, softly, tentatively.
“The same,” Lucas said, rubbing a hand over his face. “Just… nothing changes. Exactly the same as she was the day before. And the day before that. I keep hoping…” He trailed off, shaking his head, his hand falling to his lap. His other hand still held fast to Max's, his thumb smoothing over her knuckles.
Will place a hand over Lucas’ shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze.
“She's gonna wake up,” He said, not sure if he was convincing Lucas or himself. “We’ll figure it out.” We'll stop him.
Lucas blew out a breath. “I hope so.”
They all sat in pensive silence together for a while longer. El brushed the curls from Max's forehead, and Lucas never let go of her hand.
This was something Vecna could never understand, he thought, firmly. He didn't know if Vecna could hear him or not. He didn't know if the radio in his brain was a two-way signal or not, but –
If. If he could hear.
She’s not yours. We're going to get her back. Fuck you.
🪶
Mike had been acting strange.
That wouldn't have been unusual in itself, with things being the way they were these days, an imminent apocalypse breathing hotly down their necks. Everyone was constantly on edge, tired and snappish from the lack of peaceful sleep and cramped, close quarters. But by contrast, Mike had been…
Quiet.
He was sullen and introverted on a good day, rarely even coming to dinner. Will could count on only seeing him once every twenty four hours, if he was lucky.
Sure, they were a too-large cobbled together sort of not-family, and Will could understand getting overwhelmed by that sometimes. Even he had nights that he skipped dinner and went to bed early with only aspirin and water in his stomach.
But this was different.
When Will passed him in the hallways at night before bed, it was as though he haunted his own house like a ghost, merely drifting from place to place.
“Good night, Mike,” Will had tried once, trying not to sound like he was pleading for something, and when Mike finally looked at him it felt more like he was being looked through.
A feeling Will will wasn’t unused to, but rarely ever came from Mike these days.
Mike had just looked past him and continued down the hall at a crookedly lilting pace, leaving Will reeling.
So. Yeah. There was something so completely not right about this that left Will feeling constantly unsettled.
Even if Will tended to question his own perspective on what Mike's new ‘normal’ was – they spent over a year hardly talking, after all – even the Wheelers seemed just as confused by this new behavior. Will could tell that Nancy and Mrs. Wheeler worried about this new behavior, often communicating something tense and unspoken through looks alone whenever that same chair at the dinner table was left unoccupied.
Will's concerns were solidified when he came downstairs one morning to see Nancy and Jonathan deep in conversation about something, heads bowed close together over their coffee mugs.
They were so intent on whatever they were talking about that neither of them looked up at Will until he got a coffee mug out of the cabinet, nearly upsetting several with a clumsy touch and a domino effect of loud clattering porcelain and glass. He cursed at himself under his breath for costing his opportunity at eavesdropping when both heads snapped up to look at him.
Jonathan looked almost sheepish, and Will had never been very good at getting a read on Nancy.
“Will, hey. Morning,” Jonathan raised his mug in greeting.
“Morning, Will,” Nancy tacked on, taking a prim sip of coffee, her expression pulled into a grimace as she set it back down on the table with a soft thunk.
Will made a face at himself while his head was still obscured behind the open cabinet. Time to face the music. He retrieved his mug and closed it, turning to face Jonathan and Nancy with an awkward little wave that just made his brother's eyebrows fly up to his hairline.
“Um, hey. Morning.”
He swore he felt both of their eyes on him as he busied himself by pouring coffee. He normally didn't take it with milk, but he was trying to buy himself a scant few more seconds before he had to face Jonathan and Nancy.
It really was just a few seconds, though.
He lingered putting away the milk and wondered if it would be strange of him to stick his head in the fridge for a while.
“Will,” Nancy said, as the refrigerator door swung closed and he winced, no time wasted at all, not with that one, “can you come sit with us? It'll just be a minute. Real quick, I promise.”
Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. It reminded him of Mike.
Will chewed on the inside of his cheek as he nodded, taking a seat next to Jonathan, who turned and offered him what was probably supposed to be a reassuring smile.
“Did you need me for something?”
“Yes,” Nancy said, at the same time that Jonathan said, “it's nothing, really.”
They exchanged another silent look, and Will wondered if being in love made their weird, annoying brand of older sibling telepathy that much stronger.
“I wanted to ask you a favor,” Nancy said slowly, tearing her gaze from Jonathan's to look back at Will. She drummed her fingers against the side of her coffee mug, gaze dropping to its contents as though it held everything she wanted to say, clearly choosing her words very carefully.
“We're worried about Mike,” She finally said, only sparing Jonathan a brief glance this time before her gaze dropped back down to her coffee. “Me and my mom, I mean. He’s been acting… weird. Weird even for him.”
Will's stomach twisted and he wished he hadn't drunk coffee on an empty stomach for a conversation like this, nerves burning a nauseous, acidic hole in his stomach.
“I've… noticed,” He finally said.
Nancy nodded and sighed. Jonathan reached across the table for her hand, and she turned her hand to grasp his, intertwining their fingers.
“Yeah, that's what I was worried you might say.”
Will glanced between Nancy and his brother.
“So, you wanted to talk to me about… Mike acting weird?”
“Yes and no,” She said, finally looking back over at Will. She bit her lip. “I know you two were close.”
Will had to swallow to fight the bile trying to climb up his throat.
“Right,” he said. His grip on his coffee mug tightened.
“I was just wondering if you could… I don't know, talk to him? Check in? Just… make sure he's alright,” Nancy continued. “He won't talk to me or to Mom.”
“What makes you so sure he'll talk to me?”
Nancy leveled him with a long look Will couldn't read. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair and looked away.
“Will,” She said, voice softer than he remembered ever hearing it coming from Nancy, “if there's anyone he'd listen to, it'd be you.”
“I don't… I'm not sure that's true anymore? We didn't talk much while we were in California.” He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He was pretty sure Jonathan was giving him another one of those patented looks.
Nancy just smiled at him, a little sadly. Will wondered what that meant.
“All I'm asking is that you try. See if you can't get him to at least come down for dinner tonight. It would make my mom feel a lot better.”
Will let out a breath, folding his arms over his chest and digging his fingers into his upper arms.
“Um. Alright. I'll try, but… I really can't promise anything.”
Nancy seemed to sag with relief before straightening up, and her smile this time was small but genuine.
“That's all I can hope for.”