Chapter Text
The silence they left behind was somehow worse than the chaos.
The tension in the air lingered like biting cold, slowly draining from the room in their wake. Warmth was returning– timid and uncertain.
Mike's hands finally came away from his ears, but they were still shaking. It was like the only way he could remember how to move was unintentionally. And judging by the stillness around him, he wasn’t alone in that. The sound of breathing filled the space – Uneven. Ragged. The sound of everyone in the room trying to pull themselves back together in the wake of… that.
Glass glittered across the floor. Papers lay scattered everywhere, some still drifting lazily down from the air vents. The radio equipment gave the occasional tired crackle, like it was complaining about being dragged into whatever psychic storm had just blown through the building.
Mike swallowed and forced himself to look around. The room looked wrecked. It was harder to see now that the only light they had was coming from the windows, but pain in the room was far too visible.
Joyce was still crying, but silently now. Hopper had his arm wrapped around her shoulders, holding her close while she trembled. His face looked carved from stone—every line etched deeper with exhaustion, grief, and shame.
Jonathan hadn't moved at all.
He stood staring at the door like it was taking every ounce of restraint he had not to follow his siblings. His jaw was tight, his eyes fixed and distant.
Mike hadn't even noticed when Nancy had made her way to Jonathan, but she stood at a wary distance from him. Her eyes flicked between her boyfriend, the shattered lights, and the door like she was already trying to catalogue the damage.
Murray sat staring down at the coffee soaking into his pants with the vague expression of a man who was clearly too overwhelmed (and likely scalded) to even begin asking what just happened.
Next to him, Lucas looked as shaken as Mike felt. Mike wanted to say his face was pale, but perhaps “ashen” was a more fitting term. His fists were tight on his knees, clutching the denim of his jeans. Lucas seemed to be doing the same as Mike carefully panning over each occupant in the room to assess the state each of them was in.
His eyes met Mike's, and where there should have been a silent communication like they always had, there was nothing but indistinct concern. Mike swallowed hard and broke their gaze to look over at the other couch.
The spot where Robin had previously been sitting was now vacant. She must have gotten up at some point without notice, but she hadn't gone far. She stood, now, just behind the couch near the window– arms hugging her torso in a manner that was clearly self-soothing rather than self-preserving.
Dustin seemed to have burrowed himself deeper into the back of the couch, trying to be enveloped by the cushions. Steve had shifted slightly as if to shield him. His eyebrows were in his hairline, bringing attention to the hand that was carding through his locks as he slowly blew a deep breath out.
“Honestly, I think that went pretty well,” He bobbed his head concedingly, “You know, all things considered.”
“Steve-” Jonathan warned in a low hiss.
“No- No, I'm not being an asshole,” Steve placated sincerely, “That genuinely went way better than I expected. I mean, look around some shuffled papers and a couple of broken light bulbs? With that kind of news? That's incredible.”
“I mean, he’s got a point,” Lucas piped up, “if it had been me, I probably would have brought the whole building down. Without powers.”
“Uh, yeah, about that-” Robin said nervously, and every eye in the room was on her. There was a slight rattle of the window she was looking through, and a deep wooden groan carried through the glass. Steve and Dustin were at her side in a second to see what she was looking at.
Immediately, Dustin's hands flew up and slipped under his hat.“No way,”
Lucas turned to Mike with a curious expression, but the second he opened his mouth, a deafening crack interrupted them. It was quickly followed by a ground-shaking thud and thinner snapping sounds.
The three at the window flinched, making a cacophony of shocked noises and low swears.
“What?” Mike jumped up immediately, but Lucas was closer to the window and inadvertently blocked his path, "What happened?"
“Uh… I- “ Steve stumbled like he was still trying to reason the words, “Will threw a tree.”
“He-” Mike blinked before deciding he’d misheard and shook his head, “What?”
“He threw a tree.” Dustin affirmed, his voice pitched several octaves higher than normal with almost giddy astonishment.
“What do you mean ‘he threw a tree’?” Hopper asked from the other side of the room as Mike shoved his way to the window.
Dustin turned around to pantomime the action for Hopper.
"I mean, he ripped a tree out of the ground—" Dustin made a pitching gesture, "—and threw it.”
And the evidence was right there in the scene below. The tree line had a gap in it now– gaping maw in the earth where the trunk had once stood. The soil was torn open like gums where a tooth had been wrenched out too violently—the empty socket left behind, raw and hollow, with the thin pale ligaments still hanging where the roots had been anchored. The pieces that hadn’t been strong enough to keep it grounded.
"Oh my God." He heard Joyce cry from across the room.
But Robin and Steve were quick to turn and keep her in place with reassurances.
"It's fine, Mrs. Byers, really—"
"It wasn't like a good tree, you know?”
"It was the one that was kind of out of place to begin with."
"Yeah, I never liked that one."
And though Mike was too transfixed on the scene below him to join in, he was grateful for their efforts. It was best Joyce didn’t see.
The tree hadn't been small by any means. It lay several yards away from the torn hollow, toppled onto its side where it had landed. Its snapped branches splayed awkwardly against the gravel. The last stubborn November leaves shaken loose and scattered across the lot, only for the wind to gather them up to drag them past where Will stood, heaving, and tangling them around El’s ankles. She was a few feet away from her brother, facing the fresh gap in the treeline. And though Mike couldn’t see her face, he could tell by the way her hands were in her hair that something was building, and it started with a scream.
The scream was faint, muffled by the wind and the glass, but still audible enough to pierce the hearts of those who heard it. It almost seemed like the sound itself had caused the earth to crack in the field before her. And whatever had escaped from that crack was drawing the very clouds above closer, heavier. Like she was bidding heaven and hell themselves to finally confront each other.
But it felt like the scream was meant for him.
”I shouldn't have said anything.” Mike whispered in contrition.
“That's not true Mike,” Dustin consoled, placing a hand on Mike’s shoulder, but not tearing his eyes from the supernatural display, “You just shouldn't have said that specifically.”
Mike’s instinct was to punch him. Dustin had never been the best at mollifying, but thankfully, Lucas knew that too.
“It's not your fault, Mike,” Lucas's own hand came to his other shoulder, “None of us knew they didn't know yet. “
And a bitter part of Mike wanted to snap and agree. It wasn't his fault. This was on Joyce and Hopper, and perhaps they should be watching this to see what they’d done.
Because now the gravel in the lot was levitating—hundreds of small stones rising into the air like the world's most ominous snow globe.
“Honestly, it's not your fault either, Chief, Joyce.” Steve, the kiss-ass, turned to address the adults ,as the rest watched the telemetry van and Joyce's car begin to lift along with the gravel “You probably would have gotten the same reaction if you had told them when you'd planned to.”
The words were nice, and Mike was sure Joyce needed to hear them. So he didn't say anything about it not being true. That he knew Will at least would have been better off having answers offered to him rather than being forced to demand them mid-panic attack. It wasn't in Will's nature to be suspicious and pry information out of people. He trusted people to be open with him and respected when they weren't. That was One of the reasons he was Mike's best friend. He didn't insist on Mike sharing answers that Mike himself didn't have yet.
"Mother of God," Murray’s voice muttered from where he now stood behind Dustin, watching his own delivery truck and the stolen military KrAZ join the other vehicles' suspension.
But Mike—
Mike was watching Will.
He was watching as Will's whole body twisted with tension and anguish that had nowhere to go. He was turned away from his sister, his hands were buried in his hair like they might tear his scalp clean off, but the action angled him in a manner that his elbows were no longer obscuring his face. And Mike wasn’t ready for it. It was an expression he’d never seen before. One he’d never even considered Will capable of– Embittered rancor twisting his usually gentle features into someone Mike didn't recognize. His brow furrowed so deeply it cast shadows over the indignant tears streaming down his face.
It was anger
Anger, yes, but not rage nor iniquity.
Will was practically a saint compared to Mike, and Mike had always chalked it up to a difference in their nature. Mike didn’t think it could ever be in Will’s nature to be vindictive. Even in the middle of their worst fights, Will had always seemed more disappointed than furious. Will had always been patient and kind, and Mike had always known he'd truly screwed up when Will finally lost that patience. And even then, the frustration would only emerge as a few stern words in Mike’s direction. He didn’t think Will ever could feel a fury anywhere close to Mike’s.
But there was at least one recently evicted tree that suggested otherwise.
Perhaps Will had always felt these things, but just got better at keeping them hidden. That he’d turned them inward, so that he could continue to be patient and kind with everyone.
Everyone but himself.
These powers were Will's emotions– raw, unfiltered, and devastating. All those negative emotions Will had kept locked away so quietly were now spilling out with nowhere left to hide. They were manifesting as an energy Will was only beginning to understand how to control.
And now realization felt like a pestilence dripping from his sinuses, down his throat, and slicking unsettlingly along the walls of his stomach.
This display was the most mordantly honest Mike had ever seen his oldest friend.
And it wasn't vengeful. It was heart-wrenchingly desperate.
Mike didn't know how he could have realistically heard anything beneath the vicious crack of thunder, but he swore he heard a throat-shredding cry of anguish torn from his best friend. A bolt of lightning split the darkening clouds above, and Will dropped to his knees as if it had struck him. The gravel and vehicles crashed down with him.
Car alarms exploded into life as tires slammed back onto pavement—a chaotic chorus of honking and shrieking that made everyone at the window recoil. The noise pulled El out of her own vehemence, turning around to check on her brother. El threw her hand up and silenced the sirens before kneeling down in front of Will.
They exchanged words—ones that were probably too quiet to hear even if Mike had been standing only a few feet away. Will lifted a trembling hand to El's face, brushing her hair back, and now Mike could see clearly that El was crying too. He shouldn’t have been surprised at that. And maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he was just surprised that he hadn’t been wondering if she was. He’d been too worried about Will’s state to have considered El’s.
And that wasn’t wrong. He shouldn’t feel bad. El had decided that she didn’t need him anymore. That’s why they had broken up. Sure, she had been his girlfriend, but she was just his friend. He still cared for her, but she wasn’t his best friend. No, his best friend still needed him, even though El didn’t. He didn’t think El needed anyone.
It confused Mike when he felt a sharp, painful edge twist deep within him at the sight of Will opening his arms, and El falling into them.
That wasn’t how things worked.
El was always the first one to initiate hugs. It was a fact Mike had only noticed after they'd fought about it. She’d confronted him for never hugging her first– accused him of never even thinking to reach out until she'd already closed the distance.
Will had become the opposite, growing more distant– especially in recent years. Ever since their return from California, Will had become reserved in making any physical contact. That's why Mike had made it a habit to throw an arm around his shoulder or drag him into a hug. Mike had to be the one to bridge the gap, because Will never would.
But Will brought a hand up to cradle the back of his sister’s head. He’d never seen Will do that for anyone else.
Mike was dismayed.
Here Will was, being selfless again– holding someone else together when he himself needed to be held. Typical Will, unable to sit idly by and watch someone hurt, even though he was in agony.
That was the explanation Mike's brain immediately supplied, but… then the parking lot light flickered, and he saw the slight shuddering spasms in El's back as she buried her face in Will's shoulder.
She wasn’t just crying. She was sobbing.
El was falling apart now that someone had given her pieces a safe place to land. Will had somehow known what she needed– Permission. Harbor. Reprieve.
And yeah, okay, on some level, Mike knew he had been a shitty boyfriend to El. Hell, he’d been a shitty friend to Will. He knew this. He had known it for a while, if he was being honest with himself. But there was a heavy, sinking feeling that landed with a soft click somewhere deep in his mind as he finally understood one of the many reasons why.
Mike always struggled to figure out how to be what someone needed. That was one of the things he hated about his relationship with El. She never told him directly what she needed him to do to make it work. He only ever found out when he was doing something wrong, and he was never told how to fix it. Mike wasn’t a freaking mindreader, okay?
Maybe Will was, what with powers and all. Maybe that was why he could just look at someone, know exactly what they needed, and give it to them without being asked. Will knew how to be what people needed without them ever saying a word.
But what Will needed was for someone to be that for him.
And that, well, that was Mike’s job, wasn’t it?
"I need to go out there," Mike heard himself say.
"Mike, no." Jonathan's voice was immediate and firm. "They need space. El said—"
Mike turned from the window to look at the broken family members.
“You know neither of them know what they need. They just- just shut down, and don’t let anyone in. A-and the longer they’re out there alone, the more they’ll think they’re alone, and they’re not.” Mike was careful to make eye contact with each of them. Hopper, Joyce, Jonathan. They all knew how close Mike was to the other two. They had to know he was the one person they could rely on in this, “They're hurting, okay? They just… they just need someone to be there. Trust me. I’m their best friend. I know I can help them through this.”
Jonathan was still staring at him cynically, so Mike kept his eyes locked on Joyce. He put on his best pleading eyes, and she turned to Hopper in affirmation.
Finally, Hopper sighed.
"Just you.” He said sternly, “Don’t overwhelm them. If they want you to leave, you leave. Understood?"
Mike nodded frantically and started moving for the door
. "Yes. Yes, understood. I'll just—”
"Mike." Joyce's voice stopped him just as he reached the door.
When he turned, she was looking at him with red-rimmed eyes, her face blotchy from crying.
"Be gentle with them," she said softly. "Please."
"I will," Mike promised.
He didn't wait for anyone else to object.
He pushed through the door and flew down to the stairwell to the parking lot, his heart hammering against his ribs.
He could fix this.
He could be what they needed.
He just had to find the right words.
Mike carefully opened the heavy door from the stairwell to the parking lot, careful to avoid making too much noise. Cold morning air slipped through the crack immediately, brushing against his face and carrying the damp scent of torn earth and wet gravel from the lot outside. The metal handle felt cold in his palm, slick with condensation from the morning air.
Mike froze. Because the first thing he heard was something he shouldn't have. The sound of Will’s voice stopped him mid-step, one sneaker still hovering above the threshold.
“-reminding myself t-that I am lucky to be alive. That I'm lucky to have survived where others didn't, but the truth is…The truth is, I wish I hadn’t. I wish I hadn’t survived, because it… it feels like I didn’t.”
The sentence landed in Mike’s chest, stalling the breath halfway into his lungs. His hand tightened instinctively on the edge of the door as he held it open just enough to hear the words, but not enough to reveal his presence. The metal edge dug into his fingers, but he didn’t loosen his grip. He realized dimly that these words weren't meant for him to ever hear. He was confiding these things in El, not him. And somehow that made the hurt more
“And what… what they don't tell you a-about surviving- what no one tells you is that…,” Will’s voice broke, the sound catching in his throat, “E-even when you outlive something… That thing doesn’t go away. It still lives on, just… In you.”
Mike leaned his shoulder lightly against the doorframe without realizing he’d moved. Will didn't talk about this stuff. Not like this. The closest he ever got to confiding these kinds of feelings was back when he was having his Now Memories. But after that, after… after the lab, Will never again uttered a word about his nightmares or the flashbacks. Mike had told himself that silence meant healing. That the absence of nightmares meant the absence of pain.
“It's a part of you now. And now you just have to wake up every day and… decide how you move forward with this- this new part of you that you never wanted.”
Mike had taken that silence as proof that things were better. That Will was better. Now it felt like Will had hidden wounds that had never actually closed, ones left by something still alive and well, breathing inside him.
“And everyone… everyone just wants you to be who you were before, so you have to- to hide it. T-try to convince yourself that you’re stronger because of what you’ve been through, but I don't… I don’t think I am ever going to wake up and feel like I'm better for what happened to me. Because it feels like it’s still happening. Every damn day.” The confession came out like a sob.
“A-and now that I know that… that it’s in us. That i-it always has been, a-and always will be. I just don’t… I don’t see how we can…”Outside, the wind shifted softly across the parking lot, stirring loose gravel and whispering through the splintered branches of the uprooted tree. It carried Will’s words in its chill, “A-are we ever going to see the other side of this, Jane?”
For a second, Mike considered retreating — pulling the door shut and pretending he hadn’t heard anything. Pretending he’d never come down here at all. The words hadn’t been meant for him, so it was probably completely justified to pretend that Will had never even said such a thing. But… he had. Even if he hadn’t said it to Mike. Will clearly needed someone– and not just El. He needed his best friend.
So, Mike drew in a slow breath, and he pushed the door open the rest of the way. His sneakers crunched over the gravel that had fallen back to earth, passing cars sitting at crooked angles from their rough landing. The uprooted tree lay on its side like a fallen giant, its tangled roots exposed and dripping clods of dirt.
Will and El were there, but no longer curled into an embrace. Both still sat close enough to talk, yet far enough to breathe. El was facing the door– was the first to see Mike’s approach. Her face was blotchy and tear-streaked, and her watery eyes widened at the sight of him. Her dark eyes flicked back down to where Will was sitting before her, then returned to Mike’s with something akin to anticipation… or maybe apprehension. Her shoulders tensed immediately, fingers curling slightly against her knees as if bracing for something.
Did she think he would judge them? No. No, they wouldn’t. They couldn’t. They knew him. They knew they could trust him. Were they just afraid of being vulnerable around him? He could understand that from El– she was always so independent, but Will?
With another step on the gravel, Wil’s back went rigid, but he didn’t turn to look.
"Go away, Mike," Will said. His voice was flat. Empty.
"No." Mike stopped in place, determined to stay and stay determined. "I’m not going to let you push me away.”
"Mike, this is not your place," El She rose slowly to her feet, brushing gravel from her palms. There was something in her voice—a warning, maybe. Or just exhaustion.
“Bullshit,” Mike refuted, taking another step forward despite the look she gave him, “You’re my friends, I can’t just walk away. Not while you two are hurting .”
Will laughed—a sharp, brittle sound that was nothing like his usual laugh.
"That's why you're here?” Will finally turned to him– eyes were red-rimmed and expression hollow in a way that made Mike's stomach twist painfully, “Because we're hurting?"
"Well… yeah," Mike shrugged, gesturing vaguely between them, because that was obvious. That was exactly why he was here. They were hurting and needed help, and—
Will looked at El.
"What did I tell you? Right on cue.” Will's voice took on an edge Mike had never heard before.“Here to save the day."
"I mean, I don't know about save the day," Mike said, letting out a small, nervous laugh that fell flat in the cold air, trying for levity and missing completely. "But you're my best friends, you know? I'll always be there when you need me."
"Mike…" El sighed, closing her eyes briefly and rubbing at the bridge of her nose, like that was the wrong thing to say.
God, he hated when she did that– acted like he was an idiot. Mike didn't understand what her problem was. He was being supportive. He was being a good friend. That's what you were supposed to do—be there for people when they needed you. Why did it suddenly feel like every word he said was somehow the wrong one?
"A true friend," Will said, his voice sharpening. "Only there if he's needed."
The mismatched words hit harder than Mike expected them to.
"Hang on," Mike recoiled, his brows knitting together in disbelief, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don't think you even notice it,” Will’s words were whispered, but not gentle like they should have been, “Do you?”
Mike swallowed uneasily, “Notice what?”
“Maybe it’s time I tell you,” Will sniffed with a smile that didn’t feel at all like a smile, “ Since it seemed like you are never going to figure it out on your own. You’re here because something bad has happened, Mike.” Mike felt like the ground was shifting beneath his feet, but Will had no such problem as he stood up– steady and sure. “ Because that is the only time I exist to you– when something awful happens to me. God, I can't believe I used to pray that something bad would happen to me, maybe I'd have my best friend back just for a little while.”
Mike had to resist the urge to step back. His weight shifted backward anyway, heel grinding against loose gravel. The sound seemed absurdly loud in the quiet between them– like a thunder backing Will’s words.
“ But… but it was never about me. It was never even about El. It was always about you.” Will continued. "It was about you wanting to play Paladin. A hero in a story where the stakes were never your own."
His voice trembled, but not with fear– with acidity.
"I was only ever someone who needed to be saved.” The last word felt like a mockery as he listed, “From Lonnie. From the Upside Down. From the Mind Flayer."
Mike's mouth opened, but nothing came out. He realized distantly that he had started shaking his head without even meaning to. A useless, instinctive denial his body had chosen before his brain could catch up.
"And then when El came along, you could finally be a true knight in shining armor. Save the magical princess from her tower." Will laughed quietly. "And then protect her from the big scary world. And curiously enough, things only got bad between you two when she made it clear she didn't need you to protect her. She wanted you to just be there for her. But that wasn't enough for you. It's never enough to want you. We have to need you for you to even treat us like we matter.”
“That's not true.” Mike renounced his voice, rising as he jabbed a finger toward Will’s chest, “That's not true, Will, and you know it. You’re- you’re just angry.”
Because if Will wasn’t angry—if he actually meant it—then Mike had no idea what that meant for them. What– what was he supposed to do if it wasn’t just-
“No, Mike, I think you're just angry because you know that it is true,” Wil shook his head contemptuously, “ You said as much in the back of that pizza van when I gave you that painting.”
The painting. Oh God, the painting. Why was he bringing up the painting? Mike had been content to never address it. Not after how he had proudly told El that he’d put it up in his room on full display because of how much he adored it. How thoughtful it was to go out of her way to learn so much about D&D despite never having shown interest in learning. How he’d thanked her for commissioning it and leaned forward to kiss her, but froze when she asked him what “commission” meant. Not after the eighteen-month spiral it had sent him down.
Even now, part of him wanted the conversation to veer anywhere else. Anywhere but here. Mike felt heat creep up the back of his neck as the memory surfaced, sharp and humiliating. He twisted away, taking a step back as he balked at the nerve.
“The painting?” Mike practically dared, “The painting that you lied about?”
“Oh, I didn't just lie, Mike.” Will sighed with pitying resignation in his eyes. A jolt of anticipation struck through him was the moment he’d been spiraling about – for Will to say that the painting, the sentiment, the words had never been from El’s heart, but Will’s own. That they were all still true–
“I told you what I thought you needed to hear, and I didn't care if it was true or not. And neither did you. That's when I realized that you never needed to know that she loved you. You just loved knowing that she needed you."
The admission poured like liquid nitrogen into Mike’s heart. Fractals of ice spidering out and freezing out every modicum of warmth it had ever held.
The words hadn’t Jane's. And they hadn't even been Will’s. They'd been lies.
Just lies.
Lies that Will knew Mike wanted to hear, and Mike had believed them. Happily. In spite of every glaring inconsistency, Mike had believed them.
Because Will had been exactly right– he always was. Will always knew what people needed without them having to even say it. And somehow that only made the humiliation worse.
“Shut up,” Mike spat. His jaw tightened so hard it hurt to even unclench it and bite back.
“There it is,” Will shook his head slowly, with a disappointment he’d clearly been anticipating, “The second the truth comes out, you’re running from it. How’s that for Mike the Brave, huh?”
“The truth?” Mike’s breaths came heavier as he closed the distance between them until only a few feet remained, and shoved him like the words had been a challenge, “You want to talk about the truth? You’re the one who lied!”
The shove was weaker than he meant it to be. More desperate than threatening.
“Yes, I did. I lied to you.” Will flung his arms out apathetically, “I was wrong to do that, even though I thought I was doing the right thing. I realized I hurt you in the long run by lying about something so important, and I’m sorry. You deserved the truth even if I was afraid of it. I can’t make up for what I did, but at least I can own up to it. Can you do the same with Jane?”
“I don’t need to. But you wouldn’t get that because you have no idea what it’s like to be in love.” Mike heard himself say– sharp, defensive, grasping for something—anything—to shift the conversation.
The words left his mouth before he even decided to say them.
Will flinched, but didn't back down like Mike had hoped he would.
“I know that it’s a desire, and not a goddamn dependency, Mike. You’re the only one who doesn’t seem to get that. “
“Oh, I see, you really think it’s all a choice, don’t you?” Mike's blood began to boil, but completely bypassed his frozen heart, making its ache more prominent, “Tell me, Will, if you’re so certain that love is a choice, then why don’t you just choose to get a girlfriend, huh? If love is a choice, then what does it say about you that you choose to be all alone?”
Even as he said it, a small, sickening part of him knew exactly where that line was aimed, and exactly what line it was crossing.
“Don’t.” The way Will said it caused the ice to spread from Mike’s heart, fissuring throughout his chest. “Don’t you dare stand there and lecture me about what is and isn’t a choice, Michael Wheeler.” Will took a step forward now, his voice rising with a fury that made the air between them feel electric. “Do you have any idea how little of my life has been a choice? Look at me, Mike. I didn’t choose to grow up on welfare, you know. I-I didn’t choose to have a dad who hated me. Christ, I—”
Will turned back to look at his sister. And Mike could have sworn he heard something splinter inside Will’s chest from the simple look they shared.
“We didn’t choose the blood in our veins. We didn’t choose to have our lives torn apart because of it. We didn’t choose to have these goddamn powers,” Will spat each reminder out like he could shame them out of existence with his words alone, “ We didn’t choose to be what we are. The only thing we got to choose was who we wanted to be. And I didn’t realize that for so long, because I was so busy hating myself for what I didn’t get to choose.” Furious tears were running down Will’s face now. And for the first time since the argument started, Mike felt the flicker of something dangerously close to guilt.
“So, for you to- to stand there, and have the audacity to try and tell me that love isn’t a choice, like I don’t already know. I know, Mike. I know, because I- I still love my dad, e-even though I wish I didn’t.” The sclera of his eyes was inflamed, the red tint turning the hazel of his eyes a bright, piercing green that glared into Mike as if he were the one to blame, “Who we love isn’t a choice, but what we do about it is. And you, Mike, and you chose to lie.”
“She needed me, Will!” Mike tried to match Will’s outrage, his voice cracking as emotion clawed its way up his throat, even as a telling tear slipped down his own face. Because if she hadn’t needed him—if none of them needed him—then what the hell had he been doing all this time?
“At some point, I would have believed you. Because I thought I needed someone once. I really thought I did, but eventually, when I needed them most, they weren’t there. But I was.” Will’s voice dropped again, “I still am. Turns out I never needed them after all. All thinking that ever did was hurt me because I was so busy looking for the answers in someone else," A bitter smile tugged at his mouth. "That I didn’t realize that I had them. I had all the answers.”
“Yes, you do.” Was the first thing El had said with an encouraging nod at Will, “So do you, Mike.” Mike had almost forgotten she was there, and he zeroed in on the opportunity to shift the topic.
“Oh,” He scoffed, “So you’re finally going to speak up? Or are you just going to let him speak for you like you did with Max? “ The words left his mouth before his brain could stop them, but he needed her to see how easily she was being manipulated– How Will was just angry at him for whatever reason and was making his feelings hers.
Or maybe he just needed the conversation to stop being about him…. About them.
“I let Will speak, because he is right.” She took a step forward, and it was clear her own tears weren't done falling, “And so was Max. You lie, Mike.”
“That’s not-”
“You speak so much and you do not listen. You talk and you do not treat your words as if they matter. But they matter, Mike. Even when they are lies.”
“I didn’t-”
"You didn't love me. You only said you did because you thought I needed you to. That I needed to hear it so you could save me. But it didn't, Mike. You didn't save me.”
No. No, no, this wasn’t right. Mike had done the right thing. He had. He had lost sleep over that night in the pizza kitchen, but had always been able to find comfort in the fact that he had done the right thing to save her. Will had been right there, encouraging him– letting him know he was doing the right thing. … Hadn’t he? The memory suddenly felt less certain than it had five minutes ago.
“Then h-how did-”
“I saved myself. " Her chin lifted. "It was like Will said. I had the answers. And Max was the first person who made me believe that. She was the first person who showed me that I didn't need someone else to save me. "
The words landed like a book of fairytales being shut without a proper ending. Like the princess had been the hero all along. That the knight didn’t matter. That his sacrifices had been in vain. That he had truly been useless and ultimately unnecessary. That he had never belonged in the story from the start. Something inside Mike snapped.
"Yeah, well," he said bitterly, "look where that got Max."
No sooner had Mike registered the words in his own voice than his vision blurred.
And then everything stopped. Even the wind.
His muscles went taut. His entire body had gone stiff and unresponsive as it was pulled into the air. The wind had been knocked out of him—his diaphragm petrified and refusing to allow breath into his lungs despite every neuron screaming to do so. Mike's frozen heart was now burning and ready to explode. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. Couldn't think. Couldn't—
Will's eyes glowered up at him– completely white. Void of all humanity.
And in a blink, they were Will’s again.
Hazel- green. Horrified.
And in that same blink, Mike's feet touched the ground, but his legs were shaking too violently to hold him up properly. He collapsed onto the grass, dragging in ragged breaths that burned down his throat.
"Oh God," Will said immediately, dropping to his knees beside him. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
His hands hovered helplessly near Mike's shoulders. Mike swatted them aside, and rose to his feet like a newborn fawn.
"You okay? Jesus, Mike, I-I didn't mean to—"
"What is wrong with you?" Mike gasped out, terrified, and Will had the gall to recoil like he'd been slapped. Like he had any right to play the victim after that.
"Mike—" El stepped forward.
"It was an accident," Will pleaded desperately, “Y-you know that I would never-”
“Never? Never what, Will?” Mike sneered even as his jaw trembled, “Choose to take after your father?”
The words tasted like poison, but he couldn't stop them– couldn't stop the terror from turning into cruelty.
He saw the words slap the apologetic expression off of Will’s face and reveal something unrecognizable.
And again, Mike was stumbling back, looking at the dying grass below his feet before he registered the impact. He brought a hand up to his face, still numb but not for long.
He’d been punched, he realized, looking up to see his best friend seething.
He’d been punched by Will.
Will had punched him.
For a split second Mike’s brain refused to accept it.
Will didn’t hit people.
"Now, that," Will shook his hand out, grimacing, "that was a choice."
"Will—" El called, but Mike could barely hear her over the blood thundering in his ears.
All he could see was Will through a haze of red. All he could feel was the throb in his face and the rage boiling in his chest. Mike launched himself at Will. His left hand fisted the yellow collar of Will's shirt, and his bony fist collided with Will's cheek.
Mike didn't know if his scrawny arms packed more of a punch than he'd thought or if Will truly wasn't fighting back, but he'd landed more than a few hits before he, again, felt an invisible force pull him back from where he'd had Will pinned beneath him.
It held him there, frozen, fist still raised
The sudden stillness felt wrong—like the world had slammed into pause while his body was still trying to catch up.
"What's the matter, ponce?" Mike panted heavily, the British insult slipping out in his hysteria. "Can't fight without your daddy's help?"
"Enough." El's voice cut through the chaos, low and dangerous.
Only then did Mike realize Will hadn't been the one holding him back.
No, Will was still laying on his back, staring at the overcast sky, nose leaking blood—not from his powers, but from Mike's fist. His head was shaking back and forth, listlessly—the movement so small it was nearly imperceptible. But it was enough for the light to catch the tracks of fresh tears dripping down the sides of his face to his ears.
The sight punched the air straight out of Mike’s lungs harder than any telekinesis could have.
Every ounce of adrenaline left Mike's body. He would have collapsed if it weren't for El's powers still holding him.
Somewhere above them, thunder rolled again—lower now, closer.
The first drop of rain struck the gravel beside Mike's shoe with a soft, hollow tick.
Then another.
And another.
The sky finally gave in.
Oh God.
Oh God.
What had he done?
This wasn't what he wanted. This was never what he wanted. How many punches had he thrown, not caring that Will hadn't bothered to fight back after the first one?
The answer came uncomfortably fast: too many.
Why? What had he been thinking? This was Will.
Christ, this was Will.
His arm dropped to his side and he became aware of the pain in his hand—his knuckles split and bleeding, already starting to swell.
"Will—" Mike started, his voice breaking.
"You know, I think you and I have been telling ourselves that we are best friends for so long, that neither of us realized how much you actually hate me." Will's voice was quiet. Calm. Devastatingly calm. "But it always comes out. It always comes out when I'm honest with you."
Mike felt his mutilated heart petrify inside him drop like a stone.
Cold rain began to fall in scattered drops, darkening the dust on the ground and freckling the grass around them. It dotted Will’s hair, beaded along Mike’s lashes, and soaked silently into the blood on his knuckles.
"I—I don't—" Mike tried, but he couldn't finish. Couldn't form the denial because some part of him wondered if Will was right.
"So maybe these powers are a good thing," Will continued, still staring at the sky. "Maybe it's a good thing they don't let me hide what I'm feeling anymore." He nodded, like he was accepting something, agreeing with whatever miserable god lay beyond the storm clouds.
The movement was so small, so resigned, it felt worse than the anger had.
"Maybe what's happening to me now is just the universe's way of forcing me to face the truth—"
There was a bitter ghost of a smile on his face.
"—that I was supposed to die in the Upside Down, but … I didn’t. And now… what’s left— Who I am… It’s not who either of us wanted me to be."
"No," Mike tried to say, but it was mostly air. "Will, that's not—"
Will finally sat up, calmly, face still fixed on the sky above, even as he casually brought his arms to rest upon his knees. He looked strangely composed now, like the storm had passed through him and left something colder behind.
"I didn’t get to choose what I am. But I did get to choose who I wanted. And.. now I’m something in between. So it's about damn time I start accepting who that is. Because whoever that is, I know he has the answers.” Will's piercing hazel eyes found Mike's—ardent, and resolute, and completely certain, “He’s only one I'm ever gonna need.”
Mike felt the weight of that gaze like something physical pressing against his chest.
“He's the only one that's ever gonna save me."
Will's words had been quiet, yet they had been all Mike had heard. Not the door of the station opening and footsteps rushing toward them. Not the voices of his friends demanding to know what the hell was going on or what had happened. There were hands on him—Lucas and Dustin pulling him back—and someone crouched beside Will. Jonathan, Mike realized distantly.
The rain was falling harder now, a steady patter against the gravel and the metal roofs of the cars around them.
He hadn't realized when El's hold on him had withdrawn, but Mike was still immobilized by Will's galvanized stare.
"Mike." Will spoke loud enough to make the pestering voices cease. He was still holding Mike's gaze in a way that coiled dread in Mike's chest—in a way that felt like a foreboding resignation. "Thank you."
Mike blinked. "What?"
"Thank you," Will said again, with a gentle candor that would have brought devastated tears to Mike's eyes if they hadn't already been overflowing. The kindness in his voice felt worse than the anger ever had. "For knocking some sense into me."
He gave a delicate nod, and Mike knew that was it.
A solemn, wordless farewell.
And for the first time since the argument started, Mike realized with quiet horror that Will wasn’t fighting him.
He’d been saying goodbye.