Chapter Text
April 12. 1989.
“…Will?”
The question hardly registered in his head as the painful thrumming grew louder and louder. Unfamiliar faces blinked at him from all sides, the combined light of their flashlights making Will go dizzy.
He swiveled his head, eye catching on a boy in a navy sweater with black hair. A ringing noise bounced through his skull at the sudden motion, and he stumbled, eye shuttering close, hands immediately rising to cover his ears.
He distantly registered the same voice as before calling his name, only much closer now. A set of warm hands appeared on his shoulders and continued to wrap around him in a sort of desperate hug. The girl from earlier withdrew.
Will took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of the boy in his arms. Pine…sweat…lavender detergent.
After a long moment the warm hands withdrew, and the cool air once again grasped him.
The pounding in Will's head had slightly dissipated, and the voices around him were much clearer. They all seemed to be saying some shocked variation of: “Will, it’s really you!” Or: “I can’t believe you’re alive!”
He opened his eye hesitantly and slowly took in the group of people around him.
A boy who must be Lucas, with earnest eyes and blocky hair. Dustin next to him, with that same wide smile. Two girls to his right that Will didn’t recognize, with long hair and pretty faces. And, of course, Mike.
His jaw was sharp and his eyes were sharper, boring into him with an expression Will knew all too well. A grin took over his face, but if you looked close enough you could see the worry behind it.
Will turned himself away from Mike to find everyone looking at him expectantly. He didn’t know what to say to them in the slightest. What could he say, after all? What could he offer to any of them after all these years? At this point he’d known the Otherworld longer than he’d ever known them.
Embarrassingly, his eyes grew wet, and his throat constricted. It was all too much; returning to what once was his home, seeing the faces of people he hadn’t seen for years, seeing Mike.
The pain in Will’s leg grew sharper and the thrumming in his head returned. In lack of proper response, his eye shuttered close and the ground tilted to meet him. The last thing he remembered was warm hands, and a soft voice in his ear murmuring his name like a prayer.
—
When Will woke up, the first thing he noticed was the warm light, streaming in softly through the window to his left. It was a strange feeling, after all these years, and he found himself leaning into the unfamiliarity of it. If there was one thing he’d learned to do, it was adapt.
The second thing Will noticed was the presence of none other than Mike Wheeler, head slumped as he rested in a chair to his left. His face looked softer, now, all relaxed and peaceful. It was remarkable that however much Mike had changed, a part of the boy Will knew remained. In the curve of his cheek, in the softness of his hair, in the pink of his lips. Of course, as much as Will tried to ignore it, Mike was undeniably beautiful.
Did he have a girlfriend now? It’d been so long, it might be strange if he didn’t. Maybe it was one of the girls from earlier, the one with the brown hair. Maybe the other girl was Dustin’s girlfriend, or Lucas’.
Very suddenly, any relief Will had from earlier dissipated, and was instead replaced by the very strong feeling that he’d been left behind. While he’d been stuck down there, everyone else had moved on with their lives. They’d grown older, were graduating high school, had girlfriends and new friends and were light years away.
“...Will?”
Will flinched at the sudden noise, realizing he’d zoned out completely and Mike was now very, very awake.
“Shit, sorry, are you okay?”
“Um,” he choked out.
Mike looked at him with a worried expression, leaning forward in his chair so his elbows rested on his knees.
“You don’t have to–” he started, then stopped. “How are you feeling?”
“...fine,” Will said, which wasn’t exactly true. His leg throbbed steadily, and his head still felt loose on his shoulders. But he was warm, and the light was soft, and Mike was right there, so.
“Fine,” Mike parroted back to him with a look that said he didn’t believe it for a second.
“Where are we?”
“Oh, this is Hopper’s cabin. He’s chief of police now, actually. It’s a long story, but he said we could use it if we needed.” Mike paused for a moment, thinking through his next words. “He doesn’t know you’re here yet, none of the adults do. We figured we’d…” He trailed off and gestured vaguely. “We didn’t want to overwhelm you.”
Will nodded slowly.
The silence stretched out between them, bordering on uncomfortable. Will could feel Mike watching him, cataloguing him the way you did to something you weren’t sure was real yet. It was expected, if a bit frustrating.
“You didn’t have to stay with me,” Will said finally.
Mike looked at him like that was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard. “I wanted to.”
Will dropped his gaze to his hands. They were clean, which was a little disorienting. Someone must’ve washed them while he was out. There was a question he wanted to ask, and he wasn’t sure he’d like the answer.
“How long has it been?” He stopped, trying to find the right phrasing. “Since I disappeared, I mean.”
Mike was quiet for a moment. “It’s been… six years, five months, and twenty-two days.”
It only confirmed what he already knew, but it still stung to hear it out loud. Will looked up to see Mike peering at him with a defeated expression, all doe-eyed and sad and worried. It’d barely been a day but he already knew he didn’t want to see Mike sad like that if he could help it.
“Not that you’ve been counting or anything.”
Mike’s lips curled into a small grin. “Hardly.”
Will huffed a small laugh and immediately regretted it, his throat tightening in a way he hadn’t expected. He pressed his lips together and looked back down at his hands.
“Will.” Mike’s voice was careful. “Are you– ”
“I’m fine,” he said, and it came out smaller than he intended.
He wasn’t, really. He could feel it building in his chest, the specific, terrible pressure of something he’d been holding back for six years and counting. He’d cried in the Otherworld, obviously. It’d been thankfully private and regretfully lonely. But this was different; Mike was right there, three feet away, looking at him like he was worth so much and Will couldn’t decide if that made it better or worse.
“Hey,” Mike echoed.
Will’s eye was burning, and he didn’t trust himself to respond without breaking down completely. He hated this feeling, hated feeling weak and helpless and–
The chair scraped against the floor, and then Mike was crouching right in front of him, level to his eye line. A warm hand reached over and grazed his arm, a question on his face, as if Will would ever say no to him.
He lurched forward, arms coming up and around Mike’s shoulders, and he caught him immediately, hands pressing flat and firm against his back. The force of the hug nearly knocked them both sideways, but Will didn’t care.
“Sorry,” he managed, muffled against Mike’s shoulder.
“Don’t apologize.”
Will squeezed his eye shut. Mike smelled like lavender detergent and something warmer underneath, and it was so achingly familiar it carved him open. Mike Wheeler, sin incarnate, everything he wanted and could never have. He thought of every night he’d held that watch in the dark. Every time he’d let himself imagine a future like this and then talked himself out of it.
“I’ve got you,” Mike said quietly, into his hair. “Okay? I’ve got you.”
Will nodded, unable to speak.
When he finally pulled back, he did it slowly, and Mike let him go without protest. They sat looking at each other, both a little wrecked, and Will wiped at his face with the back of his hand.
“Sorry,” he said again, because he didn’t know what else to say.
Mike gave him a look. “Will.”
“I know.”
“You apologize too much.”
“I know,” Will repeated, softer. Then a smile tugged at his face. “Not that you’ve been counting or anything,” he echoed faintly.
Mike laughed once, short and a little wet.
—
It’d now been 2 hours since their conversation, and Will was sleeping peacefully on the rumpled bed. Mike had so many questions and absolutely no answers.
He watched Will’s chest rise and fall from his chair, cataloguing things he hadn’t let himself look at directly before. The scar tissue around his left eye, pale and uneven at the edges. The way his hands curled loosely at his sides, like even in sleep a part of him was ready to move. He was so thin, and his lean muscle was visible under tough skin.
Mike thought about the lighter fluid burns on his arm, and the machete at his hip when they’d found him. He thought about those six years, five months, and twenty-two days, and how many of those days had looked like the ones described in Will’s face right now; weathered, scarred, older than it should’ve been.
He wanted to know everything, answer every burning question that surfaced in his mind. How had he survived it? How had he injured his eye? How could he stand all those years alone?
Mike’s jaw tightened, and he didn’t push the thought further.
A soft sound came from the doorway. He turned to find Lucas leaning against the frame, arms crossed and watching Will with an expression of disbelief.
“Hey,” Lucas said, voice quiet so as not to wake Will up.
“Hey.”
Lucas stood there for a moment, silent.
“I keep thinking I’m gonna blink and he’ll be gone,” he said finally. “Six years. I can’t even wrap my head around it.”
Mike said nothing, just nodded in understanding.
Lucas shifted, glancing over at him. “I saw a little bit of you two talking, earlier. I forgot how different you are around him.”
Mike looked at him. “What?”
“I’m just saying,” Lucas said, keeping his voice mild, the tone he used when he wasn’t trying to start something. “You know how you guys are.”
Mike just looked at him, confused.
“I don’t know. Just, like, the way you talk to him.”
“He just spent six years in the upside down,” Mike said, a little sharper than he intended. “So yeah, I’m going to be– ”
“Woah.” Lucas raised both hands. “No need to get defensive, man. I’m just saying.”
“I’m not being defensive.”
Lucas gave him a very specific look that meant he’d chosen, charitably, not to respond to that.
“I just mean,” he said, measured, “you’ve always been kind of different around him. That's all I’m saying.”
Mike stared at him. “What does that mean?”
Lucas opened his mouth, then seemed to think better of it. He looked at Mike for a moment, something considering his expression, then looked back at Will.
“Nothing,” he said. “Forget it.”
Mike kept looking at him, waiting for a punchline or follow-up that didn’t come. He turned back to Will.
“Yeah, whatever.”
Another silence settled between them.
“Mike.” Lucas pushed off from the doorframe, stepping into the room just enough to rest a hand briefly on his shoulder. “You need to sleep.”
“I’m fine.”
“You haven’t slept since we found him. That was– ” He checked his watch. “almost eighteen hours ago.”
“I slept a little.”
“Slumped in a chair for two hours doesn’t count.”
Mike didn’t answer.
“I’ll stay with him,” Lucas said. “I’m not asking you to go home. Just—couch, blanket, at least 2 more hours. Come on.”
“Once I know he’s okay.”
“He’s okay. Look at him, he’s– ”
“I know,” Mike said. “I just– just a little longer.”
Lucas looked at him for a long moment. Then he sighed, in a way that meant he’d already lost and knew it, and pulled the other chair a few inches closer to Mike’s.
“Fine,” he said, sitting down. “Then I’m staying too.”
Mike glanced at him.
“Don’t make it weird,” Lucas said, settling back. “Also, El called Joyce and Jonathan. They’re driving in from New York, and everyone’s coming back tonight. Max got some proper medical stuff, gauze and antiseptic and whatever else, and Dustin’s been on the phone with some nurse friend of his mom’s getting instructions, because apparently none of us actually know how to treat a leg wound properly.”
“Dustin’s been– ”
“On the phone for an hour, yes. You’re not the only one who cares about him, you know. Point is, Will’s going to be fine. His leg’s going to be fine. Just breathe for a minute.”
Mike turned to him with an expression of reluctant acceptance. “Fine.”
“Good,” Lucas said. “Now stop staring at him like he’s going to disappear.”
“I’m not staring.”
“Right.”
“I’m keeping watch.”
“Uh huh.” Lucas folded his arms, eyes drifting to Will. After a moment, quietly: “It’s really him.”
For a long time, neither of them said anything at all.
—
Will woke to the sound of voices.
His hand flew to his belt before he was fully conscious, fingers closing around nothing. He sucked in a sharp breath, eye flying open, and it took him several long seconds to remember where he was. Warm light, a wooden ceiling, the smell of something other than rot.
Right.
He let his hand fall back to the mattress and focused on slowing his breathing down.
Through the wall, he could make out the low murmur of conversation. Someone laughed, short and bright, and the sound was so jarring that Will had to close his eye again.
He didn’t move, just laid there and listened to the steady rhythm of life.
Dustin’s voice, carrying easily over the others, mid-argument about something Will couldn’t quite make out. A dry response from a feminine sounding voice. The soft clink of something metal being set down, the zip of a bag being opened. Someone said Mike’s name, and a quieter voice answered.
Will stared at the ceiling.
In the Otherworld, silence had been survival. Every sound was something to assess, to track, to run and hide from. And he’d spent six years doing just that, running to no end. It was strange, then, that the voices on the other side of that wall were the most disarming thing he’d encountered since he got back. Strange that he could just lie here and let them wash over him without needing to do anything about it at all.
He didn’t feel okay. He wasn’t sure okay was somewhere he knew how to get anymore.
What he did know was that Mike’s voice was one of the ones on the other side of that wall, lower than the others and harder to make out, and that Will’s chest did something involuntary every time he caught it. Six years hadn’t changed that, apparently. If anything, it was worse now: Mike’s face had grown into something unfair, all sharp jaw and tired eyes and that specific way he had of looking at Will like he was the only thing in the room worth looking at. Will had spent a long time telling himself it didn’t mean anything. He knew he’d never get what he wanted.
He turned onto his side, facing the window. The glass was dark, and the woods beyond it were just a suggestion of shapes. Nothing moved, or screeched, or pounded in his ears. The only sounds were the ones from the next room, warm and human. Someone had turned on the radio and a song he didn’t recognize floated through the thin walls.
He pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders and closed his eye, Mike’s voice still a low murmur and the song coming to a soft close.
So for once in my life
Let me get what I want
Lord knows, it would be the first time
Lord knows, it would be the first time