Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Times of day feel distinctly different between seasons, a winter evening is a different world from a summer evening. Where does that leave a spring evening?

Spring is a pleasant warmth during the day, but the evenings still hold the chill of winter; Hawkins is especially cold. 

Will can’t say for sure that it’s something he’s missed but the chill he feels settle in his bones is definitely nostalgic, especially after spending so much time in California.

Regardless of nostalgia, the cold is still something that fills him with dread and anxiety; he likes it cold rings faintly in his head. He shakes it off.

Will can feel him, ever since they crossed the threshold into town, ever since they passed that ‘Welcome to Hawkins’ sign. The hairs on the back of his neck won’t go back down, the feeling makes him shudder but he can’t escape it. Vecna, One, The Mindflayer, it’s all thee same really; Is there a point in distinguishing between them? Sometimes Will wonders if he should also be added to the list.

He’s a ticking time bomb at this point, he’s sure the others have realised too. All of this started with him, when he was taken to the upside down, when he got his childhood taken away by the boogeyman or whatever else fucking metaphor you want to use. He can’t help but have this sick twisted feeling that everything that’s happening, the gates of hell opening up from inside the earth, has something to do with him.

There’s something wrong with him, something abnormal and incorrect. In more ways than one - he doesn’t want to think about that. With all the supernatural life ending scenarios that awaits them, of course his stupid fucking brain has to linger on that . Vecna thrives off of trauma and horrible deep dark secrets, and Will has plenty for him to choose from; but of fucking course it’s that that he chooses to torment him with.

He can’t be certain if Vecna or the Mindflayer is actually tormenting him, the logical answer is that it’s his own fault. He’s the one that’s focusing on all of his anxieties and feelings, the ones he specifically doesn’t want to be thinking about. Him being able to feel the upside down is simply heightening his current worries and anxieties. 

It doesn’t matter whether or not Vecna is currently trying to fuck with him, they’re still connected either way.

He really should get a blanket, or a jacket at least. Hawkins has always been cold in the evenings but it’s worse now, worse with the gates being open and the upside down seeping into their world. 

It’s weirdly beautiful in a fucked up way, the ash in the sky and the rot spreading through fields. It’s why he’s out here in the first place, sketching in the cold. It’d be better if he had more than just a graphite pencil, it’s not enough to capture the depth and brilliant colours. I’ll finish it later he thinks, it’s not like it’s hard to commit the sight to memory. If he’s being honest it’s probably something that’ll haunt him for the rest of his life. Or whatever’s left of it.

Will heads back to Hoppers cabin, sketchbook in hand. Whenever he finishes a sketch he usually shows it to his mom, but he has a feeling it’s not something she wants to see at the moment. It’s been tense the last few days, ever since they arrived in Hawkins and the world fell apart. Since Hopper came back, mysteriously having risen from the dead, they’ve all been trying to make sense of the situation and plan for what’s ahead. 

“I just think we should be out there doing- I don’t know, something at least!” He hears Mikes voice before he’s even finished opening the door. Mike getting into a screaming match with Hopper had become somewhat of a common occurrence. Hopper thinks everyone should lay low for the time being, work through a plan in detail and not make any rash decisions. Mike on the other hand wants to get things done soon, he’s tired of wasting time, something needs to be done.

“Listen to me you little shit, El needs to recover and we need to figure out a plan. A real plan, we can’t risk it!” Will can see where the both of them are coming from, he’s tense and itching to do something- anything to help; But he knows that if they rush into anything without a plan and before El is ready they would all die.

“I’m not saying we should march right into Vecnas evil lair- I’m just- why can’t we just scope out what’s going on?” 

Hopper let’s out a deep breath, reeling in his frustration. 

“We- the adults , will go and check out the lab and the gates but kids- especially you, wheeler - need to stay behind! There’s military and god knows what else keeping a close eye on the town. We can’t risk anything.” 

He can tell Mike already has a counter argument ready but then his eyes meet Wills from across the cabin and he deflates, crossing his arms. 

“Fine.” Mike says somewhat dejectedly, it’s clear he still wants to fight but all his energy has left his body. He turns on his heel and walks towards some room (Hoppers bedroom, perhaps? He isn’t sure) and turns to look at Will again before entering. The door stays open.

No one moves to go after Mike, everyone seems content to continue making a real plan alongside Hopper (or nap in Argyle's case). The open door feels like an invitation, for what exactly he’s not sure. He begins crossing the length of the cabin at an agonisingly slow pace, his feet feel like cinder blocks being dragged across the floor; he feels like one wrong move and he’ll fall down into the upside down again. That’s probably where you belong, the bitter voice in his head remarks.

He finally makes it to the room, finding the other boy laying on the bed and staring at the ceiling with half his body dangling off the edge.

Will closes the door behind them fully, he can be reprimanded about the three inches rule later; it doesn’t matter anyway, they’re both boys, there isn’t a reason for them to leave it open. Will ignores the sinking feeling in his stomach.

The gray and blue light peeks in from the window blinds, checkering out across the room. The way it casts shadows across Mikes face makes him look like a marble sculpture, smooth and flawless. Beautiful is the word that comes to mind despite him knowing he shouldn’t think like that. 

Quietly, he pads over to the bed and sits down on the end alongside Mike, making sure to leave as much room as possible between them.

“Hopper hates me,” his voice is barely above a whisper, so quiet Will isn’t sure he heard it at first. “I mean, I get it. In all honesty? If I were him I’d hate me too.” 

“No one hates you, Mike.” He can tell he’s having another spiral of self doubt, he’s had them since they were both kids but they seem to be becoming more and more frequent. He knows Mike has issues feeling ordinary, how he feels inadequate in comparison to El. El is his Superman and Mike is her Lois Lane, her earthly tether. But still, he’s just normal, ordinary. 

God how Will wishes he was ordinary. To Mike being normal means he’s failed, that he’s become just like his parents, just like everyone else. But Will? He wishes that was an option for him, normalcy is something he will never achieve. He’ll always be abnormal and strange, unnatural, queer. 

“What about you?” Mike asks.

“What about me?”

He pushes himself up on his elbows and turns towards Will. His eyes are glassy and his skin blotchy, the redness blooming against his usual pale complexion. 

“Do you? Still hate me?” 

He wishes it was that simple. During the months that Mike had neglected him he had built up a deep resentment, he’s sure it had been building for a while but with Mike not around it made it easier. He willed himself to hate Mike, but even when he thought about all that he had put him through, even when he had lied awake at night crying out of pain and anger: he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He could never hate Mike. 

He loved Mike and he hated himself for it.

“Mike, I’ve never hated you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And with that, a silence settles over the room. Resting over them like a warm blanket as Will lies down alongside Mike. 

-

Will doesn’t remember who fell asleep first, honestly he doesn’t remember falling asleep at all. He wakes to the golden glow of the morning sun shining in his eyes, making the whole world warm and hazy. He buries himself deeper into the softness of the bed, content to sleep in for a few more minutes. Until he realises that beds don’t breathe.

His eyes fly open and he’s greeted with Mikes sleeping face, inches away. At some point during the night he must’ve rolled on top of him or slung his arm across his chest. They’re practically chest to chest and their legs are tangled together, Mikes arm cradles his waist. 

If he moves now he’ll break the spell, Mike will wake up and it’ll all be over. But still, he can’t stay like this, can’t take advantage of Mikes sleeping obliviousness. To Mike it’s probably nothing more than affection between friends, a normal display of closeness. But Will can’t let himself enjoy it, or else his feelings will corrupt their friendship. Corrupt Mike. 

Before he’s able to move away, the body beneath him begins to shift. The arm across Wills body moves and Mike begins to rub his eyes, slowly blinking awake. Their eyes meet and both of them freeze. Mike looks startled but not necessarily disgusted, there’s something else too but Will can’t quite decipher it.

Will sits up a little too fast, he’s so light headed he almost falls back down, he catches himself and leans on his arm. His vision waivers and he feels pain settle behind his eyes, just now realising how dehydrated he is. 

Mike is sitting up now too, he reaches his hand out and rests it on Wills shoulder.

“H-hey? Are you good?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I just- water.” He closes his eyes and wills the headache away. Distantly he hears a door open and realises that Mike has gone to get him a glass. When he comes back, Will thanks him and downs the water and Tylenol. Mike’s sitting next to him now, rubbing his hand comfortingly on Wills back. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep last night, and-“ he cuts himself off, Mike gets the idea.

“Nah man, it’s fine, really.” Mikes hand stops and moves up to Wills shoulder, “it’s been a rough week.”

“Try, a rough three years,” it sounds more bitter than he means it to be. Thankfully, Mike laughs along anyway. 

They’re still not back to the way they used to be, falling easily into endless conversations, perhaps they’ll never go back. But, for now at the very least, they’re fine.

Chapter Text

They come to find that Hoppers cabin is quiet, and surprisingly empty. Jonathan, Nancy and, even Argyle, went to stay the night at the Wheelers house. Judging by the blankets left, Joyce and Hopper had slept together on the couch; though currently they were nowhere to be seen. He assumed El was still out cold, the exhaustion having taken over her.

Once leaving the bedroom, Will immediately heads to the kitchen in search of caffeine. For the past few years he’s dealt with insomnia and now he’s grown used to relying on coffee throughout the day, sometimes as a meal replacement entirely. It’s not like he’s making an active effort to starve himself or anything—despite his behaviour being disordered—it's just that sometimes he forgets to take care of himself.

or doesn’t believe it’s worth it.

Mike doesn’t comment on Will's choice of breakfast, or lack thereof. Instead, he rummages through Hoppers' freezer and takes it upon himself to make, not only himself but also El, breakfast. Will can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy that Mike didn’t even think to ask him if he wanted anything. He knows he would’ve declined if asked, but it’s the fact that he wasn’t asked at all that hurts. It’s a ridiculous thing to feel upset about, he knows that, but if they were 12 again the morning after a sleep over Mike would’ve asked. Stop being pathetic and get over yourself. Will dumps the remainder of his coffee down the drain and goes to check on El.

When he opens her door, she is already awake, holding a blindfold, and her upper lip is stained with drying blood. Her eyes are red and glazed over, like she’d been crying for hours on end, something he himself was all too familiar with. Quietly so as not to disturb her, he closes the door and sits across from her on the cabin floor.

“Max… ” she rasps before her body begins to heave with sobs, falling forward into Will's arms. He lets her cry into his shoulder, sometimes mumbling disjointed sentences between sobs. ‘ She’s not there’ and ‘ I couldn’t save her’ are repeated, over and over again. He stays quiet and combs his fingers through the short blades of her hair. The hair is something she’d also been mourning alongside Max. One of the first things she had said when they got her back was ‘ I wonder what Max will think about it. ’ 

While living in California, she received letters from all members of the party, but letters from Max appeared to excite her the most—even more so than those from Mike. Will didn’t realise Max and El had gotten so close over the summer but he was happy for her, the two clearly shared a bond. Sometimes he couldn’t help but wonder if El was like him in a way, but he never entertained the thought for long. Don’t project something like that onto her, she doesn’t know any better. Besides, she’s with mike.

After what feels like hours he helps her shakily rise from the floor, walking back into the kitchen together. Mike still hasn’t touched his own food, having opted to wait for her. El ghosts past Mike’s attempted hug, beelining straight for her food, a plate of Eggos with a mountain of toppings. He stands there confused for a moment but shakes out of his stupor and begins eating his own plate of, considerably more plain Eggos.

“So, El, I was thinking—“

“Mike, I don’t want to talk right now.” El has always been a little too blunt and to the point but Will is genuinely surprised. Why didn't she want to talk to Mike? Shouldn’t he be the one person she would want to talk to. That's what boyfriends do: they comfort you, support you. Even if she didn’t want to talk, she usually loves to listen to him. Will can recall times where Mike had talked for hours on end about stuff El most likely did not understand, but she still listened intently. So why shut him down? Maybe everything was still too fresh, too raw. an open wound that’s just only beginning to scab over. Even if she loves Mike, maybe she just needs a break.

Mike and El continue eating their meal in silence, while Will brings out his sketchbook and sits on the couch. He still wants to finish the landscape sketches he’s been doing on Hawkins, but for that he’d need colour. He’ll have to ask El for some crayons later, pencils or paint would be better but he doubts she has any. For now he just settles on sketching what comes to mind. He doesn’t do anything too complex; he just fills out a page with an assortment of random doodles. A sketch of a girl with a blood nose, a young man with a sword, an assortment of flowers, and other miscellaneous scribbles. He doesn’t notice Mike behind him until he speaks;

“I keep forgetting how great you’ve gotten at art!” Will slams his sketchbook shut and turns around, his face on fire. Praise for his art has always embarrassed him, especially coming from Mike Wheeler. “I–I mean not to say your old stuff is bad—not at all–but it’s crazy to see how much you’ve improved! Like the painting El made you do, it’s amazing! El, did he show you the painting?” Oh fuck, the painting. The painting he said El commissioned, that she had never even seen.

“What painting?” She asks, obviously confused. Confused because Will had deliberately hidden the painting from her, refusing to show her like he did with his other projects. Afraid she’ll find out about his secret, that she’ll hate him.

“You know? The painting you commissioned for me? Of the party?” Her face only grows more confused.

“I don’t know anything about a painting, Will doesn’t like to show me.” They’re both looking at him now, waiting for an explanation. He wants to run, to scream, to throw himself off a cliff and back into the upside down.

“Uhm,” he says lamely, “I can explain…” He tries to wrack his head for something, anything, to get him out of this, but his thoughts are going too fast and his heart is in his throat. 

“Oh! I remember now,” his head snaps up so fast he’s sure he’s broken his neck. What? “I mentioned to Will I wanted to get you a gift, something special, so he must’ve painted that after. I guess he wanted it to be a surprise for us both.” Will has no idea what’s going on but he plays along.

“Y–yeah! I was going to give it to El so she could give it to you but… Y’know… so I gave it to you when I felt like you needed it.” 

“Huh, why didn’t you just say so? Still, thank you guys so much, the both of you.” Mike says, none the wiser. 

-

After the painting incident, Nancy comes back to take Mike home, dropping off Jonathan and Argyle in his place, who immediately go into the woods to smoke weed. This leaves Will and El alone together for the first time since this morning, a strange silence settling between them. Earlier, when they had first dropped the subject of the painting, Will could feel El’s questioning gaze on him, like she was trying to put together a particularly difficult puzzle. The two of them had moved to El’s bedroom, her lying on the bed and him on the floor leaning against it. She started braiding his hair, something she could no longer do on her own, making an assortment of small plaits. 

“The painting…” she said in her usual cool tone, more of a statement than a question.

“El, listen, I promise I can explain–”

“I thought it was for a girl you liked?” His blood went cold and his hands began to shake. 

“Why– what made you think that.”

“You seemed so… happy, content like you were in a daydream. You wouldn’t let anyone look at it and you would blush when asked, it seemed like you were hiding a secret.” She sighs and begins a new braid, he wonders how she can make them so small. “You were acting so weird about it, so I assumed…” weird. The word sticks out to him. Because that’s what he is, right? Weird, a word synonymous with queer. “But then the painting was for Mike, not a girl. And now I’m… confused…”

Will begins to cry, full on sobbing, without even realising. He tries to make himself stop but it’s too late, the dam had overflowed and now they had to open the floodgates. El got up from her place on the bed and sat down beside him, taking him into her arms like he had done for her earlier. He was so stupid, so fucking stupid . The painting was a stupid idea, he should’ve never given it to Mike, he should’ve kept it buried deep in a closet never to see the light of day. 

“Will, look at me,” she takes his face in her hands, “Please don’t be upset, I don’t know why you’re so upset… Can you explain to me what’s going on?”

“You–You’ll hate me, everyone will hate me, I–I can’t.”

“Why would I hate you? I don’t understand.”

“Because, it’s bad! It’s wrong!” He chokes as he tries to take a deep breath, “I’m not- I’m not supposed to!”

“Will– Will, breathe. Take a deep breath, Ok? Ok, in”–he follows along as she takes a deep breath–“and out.” They repeat this process a few times until Will stops hyperventilating and begins breathing at a steady pace. 

“You weren’t wrong, about the painting, El… it’s for someone I like.”

“But it was for Mike?”

“Yes.”

“But Mike isn’t a girl?”

“Exactly.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah… Oh. ” He pulls his knees up to his chest and leans his head on them.

“I didn’t know that was allowed”

“Liking the same gender—being gay–is… not common. It’s technically allowed but most people don’t want it to be, they think it’s bad.”

“Why?” 

“Just– because–” how does one explain the concept of homophobia to someone unfamiliar to it? “People think it’s unnatural, that men need to be with women. People give all sorts of different reasons to be against it–religion, science– but the common consensus is that it’s not supposed to be in our nature, that it’s perverse . So they punish us for it, call us names, prosecute us, kill us. ” 

“But being… gay… isn’t actually bad? They just think it is?” Will doesn’t know how to answer that, because he honestly doesn’t know. He’s internalised so much of society’s homophobia, convinced himself that he’s disgusting and a mistake. He doesn’t hate gay people, there are many queer figures and activists that he idolises, but yet he still hates himself for being gay anyway. It’s a tricky thing, self hatred.

“It doesn’t matter whether it’s actually bad or not… that doesn’t change things.”

“Well… I don’t think it’s bad. I think it’s nice that you like Mike.”

“B–but, El, he's your boyfriend! ” 

“For now.” She sighs and Will stares at her in confusion. “I don’t know… I just don’t think me and Mike are working. I’m not sure what to do anymore.” El’s eyes go unfocused for a moment before she snaps out of it and wipes a hand across her face. Will puts an arm around her shoulders and pulls her into a side hug, resting their heads together.

“It’s ok to be confused about stuff like this… god knows I was. We’re family now, we can figure it out together if you want.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” The two sit there content for a while, family, that’s what they are now.

-

“El by the way do you have any coloured pencils or something?”

“Only Crayola.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Chapter Text

Following an unsuccessful scouting mission, Hopper Joyce Murray and Enzo (or whatever his real name was) were getting ready to go out on patrol once more. The streets of Hawkins were eerily silent, with roads and homes evacuated and barricaded off. What was even more strange was the military presence, or rather the lack thereof. Loads of equipment, various official-looking vehicles, and even a tank, provided evidence of their involvement, but actual personnel were few and far between. Although there were soldiers stationed on guard in specific locations, usually assisting the local law enforcement, it appeared insignificant in light of the threat. It was like the troops were lurking in the shadows, waiting in the trenches for the war to begin. 

Will feels uneasy at the thought. War… because that’s what this is, isn’t it? A war between worlds, a cosmic horror movie come to life. A battle between good and evil, underdogs against impossible odds. Only they weren’t a rag-tag group of superheroes, the universe's chosen ones; sure, maybe El was, but what about the rest of them? Hell, what about El? Although she is undoubtedly strong—far stronger than they realize—she is still only one person, a child.

He pushes those thoughts to the back of his mind and turns to the group of adults to say goodbyes. 

"Okay, Will, remember what I told you; stay in the cabin at all times unless you're attacked." They'd gone over it several times before–if attacked at the cabin, go to the emergency shelter at the gym and radio the adults. "Jonathan and Nancy will look after you." His mother draws him into one more hug and kisses him on the forehead before pulling away to do the same to El. The cabin feels less alive once they leave. Empty. Will's chest hurts as if the air has been sucked out and replaced with an anxious fog. El and Will continue lingering near the door, watching as the car heads away into the tree line. Nancy, Jonathan, and Argyle all sit around the fireplace, quietly playing a game of monopoly. Argyle is in jail. And Mike is... moping.

Mike and El are still strange around each other. Mike had returned to the cabin earlier that evening with Nancy, but he still had not spoken to Will or El. Will can't help but feel like it’s all his fault. Realistically, he knows he's not, but it doesn't stop the guilt from gnawing at him. Bubbling up just beneath the surface of his skin, eating away at his flesh. He still can’t tell whether he’s naturally this miserable or if it’s the powers at be trying to destroy him.

He doesn’t like the way this stupid fucking town keeps him on edge, it makes him want to crawl out of his skin, claw at the flesh of his neck until there’s nothing left. Destroy himself until there’s no trace of that monster left inside him. Is it a part of him? He still doesn’t know. 

What’s worse is that he’s almost happy that Mike hasn’t spoken to El, that he doesn’t have to see the two of them together. Watching the two of them be happy and in love makes him feel sick in more ways than one. Not just the corrosive feeling of heartbreak, but also the disgust he feels with himself for having fallen in love in the first place.

"Michael, can you please stop sulking and play a game with us?" Nancy says, packing up the monopoly board while Argyle and Jonathan argue over the next game. "You two should join us as well. Staring out the window isn’t going to make them come back faster." El doesn't budge, but she gives him a look, urging him to join them. Even though he feels uncomfortable leaving her to watch alone, he still moves over to the older teenagers.

“Alrighty dudes, who’s down for some go fish!” Argyle begins throwing cards into groups, ignoring Jonathan's suggestion of Clue. Mike groans but joins the circle regardless, taking his deck of cards and sitting across from Will on the floor. The gang rotates counterclockwise, starting with Argyle, who keeps offering dubious suggestions for "improving the game." Such as making it a drinking game (despite practically everyone being underage) and playing it with your cards facing away from you (even though he has no clue how to do this logistically).After a handful of uneventful rounds, Mike speaks up:

"God, I wish we could just play some D&D. If I have to say, "Go fish," one more time, I'll hurl myself into a ravine." The suggestion is met with a not-so-subtle scoff from Will. "What?" Mike asks. 

“For starters, the logistics of running a campaign with 0 preparation with a group of first timers is a nightmare .” Will shudders at the thought. 

“Yeah, yeah. It was just wishful thinking, ok?” He goes to pick up a card, but Will interrupts him with a bitter laugh. 

“Besides, I didn’t think you liked D&D anymore.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

"Last time I had to practically force you to play, and then you didn’t even take it seriously!" He's standing now; he doesn’t remember getting up. It’s like his body is on autopilot, resentment taking over the reins.

"Will that was ages ago! We all still play D&D, it’s just that summer—" Will can’t hear him over the sound of blood rushing in his ears.

"Oh, so now that I’m out of the picture, you’re miraculously interested in playing. Is that it? Was I the problem?"

“Will, no—” Mike's standing now too, trying to diffuse his anger. “It’s not like that.” 

“Then what is it like, Michael?” Will can feel himself on the verge of hyperventilating, angry tears threatening to spill. Pent-up resentment that has been festering just below the surface for almost a year is now boiling over, streaming out into the open. “Because you know what it looks like to me? It looks like you couldn’t wait for me to be out of the picture, for me to be out of your life. And once I was gone, you just went along and pretended like I never existed. No letters, no phone calls, nothing! And what for Michael? What could possibly be the reason?!” 

Mikes is crying too now, and Will almost feels bad. Almost. The tension in the air is high strung, almost electrical. Will can visualise the static of it. Will's constant chill at the nape of his neck has vanished, replaced by a white hot heat, static electricity making his hair rise.

“Will…” Mike takes a step towards him And shakily reaches out towards him, “I didn’t mean–“

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Will pushes him hard. His hands barely ghost against Mike's body; it's almost like he's taken control of the air around him, and Mike goes tumbling against the floor. There's an electric hum, and the lights are flickering in and out, threatening to break. 

“Holy shit!” Nancy and Jonathan rush to help Mike up from the floor, Argyle watching on in disbelief. Will stays frozen to the spot, his entire body tense and shaking.

“I— I didn’t mean— o-oh my god…” Will reaches out his hand to cover his mouth, but he quickly draws it back when he senses liquid. His hands are red with blood. His nose is gushing blood . He backs away into the wall and slides down, pulling himself into a ball. The heat is gone; his anger is extinguished; and the cold returns. All that’s left is a pit of guilt and despair, bile clawing at the back of his throat. He hurt Mike, he hurt him, and now he hates him more than he already did.

How did he do that? Since when did he possess the ability to do shit like that? At first, he thinks maybe he's possessed again. The first time around, he didn't even know he was possessed, so it's not a stretch to say it could happen again without his knowledge. He shudders at the thought of something unknowingly taking hold of him once more. But no, it wasn't like that. The first time he was possessed, he felt constant full-body chills, a constant craving for the cold. He likes it cold. This time around, it was like a heat, a fire in his veins that was burning him up from the inside. Something that could destroy him and everyone he loved if he wasn’t careful.

God this is so fucked, everything is so fucked up. What the fuck, what the fuck, whatthefuck—

“Will?” He jolts at the sound of Mike calling his name and looks up at him. He doesn’t look angry, he looks worried— no, not worried; afraid. He was afraid of Will. And Will would be lying if he said he wasn’t scared of himself too.

Chapter Text

His body is refusing to cooperate now, like an absent seizure only without the absence. No, he was present, painfully so. He just stays there, frozen in place and hyper-aware of every sound and sensation. The heat, the cold, the electricity, and the buzzing under his skin like cicadas. His ears are ringing, but then a melodic whisper breaks through;

"Will?" A hand rests on his shoulder, It’s El. She’s staring at him with those too-big eyes, brows furrowed and mouth pulled in a frown. She doesn't express any anger, fear, or judgement; instead, she just gives him a gentle, questioning stare that almost seems to be intended as comfort. "What happened? How did you do that?" She asks, matter of factly. 

"I-I don’t know."

"That’s ok," she bites her lip, lost in thought for a second, and then nods in reassurance, "it’s ok. It’s like you said; we’re family now, we can figure it out together." She pulls his shaking form into an embrace, and he hugs her back, trying to hold her as tightly as he can, as though his body would disintegrate if let go. He can’t help the way he unloads his tears into her shoulder, she simply rubs his back as his body wracked with sobs. 

He can’t help repeating I’m sorry over and over again like a mantra, an almost silent chorus trying to fix every mistake he’s ever made. Hurting Mike only validates every self hating thought he’s ever had, thoughts that call him a monster, that he’s a ticking time bomb waiting to drag everyone down with him into the abyss. He can still recall the taste of the scientists, of Bob, from back when he was possessed and a part of the hive mind. How it felt as the teeth of the demodogs tore through flesh and bone. The taste and sensation never really left, remaining a permanent stain on his memory. He tries to focus on something else but an even worse intrusive thought comes to the surface; that hurting Mike felt almost therapeutic, deserved.

-

"So… Will has powers? Like El?" Jonathan wonders aloud to the group. The three older teens are all standing while El and Will sit together on the couch. Her hand is still resting on him comfortingly. Mike keeps his distance, sitting in a dining chair with ice on the back of his head.

"That’s… I guess I do?" He doesn’t like the comparison. El had suffered so much to get her powers, forcefully experimented on and vigorously trained. From what he had gathered from the times she explained it to him people are born with certain sensitivities that can be unlocked through discipline. What had he done to deserve his abilities? 

"Maybe—maybe it’s a side effect, something left over from the upside down. Or from when he was possessed—" Will grimaces at the mention, and Jonathan sends him an apologetic look. "I mean, we know he still has a connection, the ability to sense it. So maybe it’s connected to that."

"I don’t know and I don’t want to keep talking about it."

"Listen," it’s Nancy speaking this time, "I know this is probably hard, but we shouldn’t just brush past this. We need to figure out what’s going on, and maybe we can use this against Vecna. "

"I know, I know, can we just— can we leave it until tomorrow? I’m so fucking tired." Hesitantly they all agree, letting Will head to bed. He goes to Els' room and lies down on the mattress set up on the floor whilst she takes her place on the bed. She looks like she's struggling with an internal debate, anxiously biting her lip.

"Will, there’s something I want to ask."

"El, I already said I don’t want to talk about all of this."

"No— not about the upside down or your powers… about Mike." He sits up to look at her. "Why were you so angry?"

"El, it’s— I’m just upset with the way he’s been treating me. We used to be best friends, and then we weren’t. Sometimes it feels like we’re getting back to the way it used to be but then something else will happen and I just… it hurts." She nods in understanding.

"I think I know what you mean. He’s like that with me too."

"No— El it’s different with you, he loves you. He just doesn’t know how to express it. With me… with you, he’s distant because he cares too much. With me, it’s because he doesn’t."

"Maybe… or maybe not. I think Mike's emotions are more complicated than he lets on. Maybe he’s pushing you away for the same reason." Will wants to scoff at the suggestion, but decides against it, not wanting to hurt Els' feelings. 

"That’s a nice theory, El. I appreciate it. " He tries to smile reassuringly, but it falters.

"I know you don’t believe me, you don’t have to. I just think it’s something you should consider. " 

"Thanks El... Goodnight.

"Goodnight."

He falls asleep almost immediately after that, whisked away into a dreamless slumber. No, that’s inaccurate. He is in a dream, sort of. He is conscious, or at least as conscious as one can be while sleeping, but he is in a void. A black hole existing outside of reality. He wanders through it aimlessly. There is no depth to this space. Like a canvas, it is empty. Void in the truest sense of the word, null. He looks down and sees he’s trudging through water, almost like a warped mirror or liquid metal. It feels real, but also not at the same time. He’s so used to being able to feel the air around him, cold and warm, but here it’s like his body doesn’t even exist.

"Hello?" He calls out and hears his own voice echo back at him, as if the void is calling and he never spoke at all. It's like his voice isn’t his own. He’d never heard such a heavy silence before. He wonders if this is what it’s like to be deaf.

He continues walking, but he can’t be sure if he’s going anywhere; everything around him is the same and unchanging. Suddenly, he can make out white against the black, a vague figure in the distance. He walks but the figure doesn’t change, simply staying out of focus and just out of reach. Until suddenly it’s in front of him, just a few feet away. A man dressed in white, with a cold and emotionless face. The man doesn’t acknowledge his presence and simply stares at him, stares through him. Will blinks, and suddenly he’s awake. 

Chapter Text

He’s been awake for hours now but he can still remember the dream from last night, the white figure flickering like a flame behind his eyes as he blinks. Resting at the forefront of his mind just out of reach. He isn't a fool; he knows this dream isn’t random, that it’s connected to everything that’s going on, his powers. Over the years all the signs have all built up into an interconnected web, a conspiracy board of memories. He should probably tell everyone about this, should tell El about this. But he can’t bring himself to, he’s already under scrutiny, he doesn’t want to incriminate himself any further. There are too many strikes against him, too much evidence piling up, pointing to him as some sort of malicious entity. A traitor. 

The buzzing in his head and the cotton in his ears persist even after chugging water, the crisp refreshing sensation failing to break through. Sighing, he puts the cup in the sinks upright, refilling it with the metallic tap water. He isn’t sure if the taste is from the pipes or his own psyche.

It’s early morning, the sun is still making its way over the horizon and the air is misty. He’s surprised no one else is up yet, that he’s even allowed to be awake without supervision. It feels like he’s breaking some sort of unspoken rule. He still hasn’t gotten the chance to talk with the adults yet, having fallen asleep before they returned. He wonders if they’ve been told, if Jonathan filled them in once they came home. Maybe they’re still in the dark and he’s going to have to tell them himself, putting himself on display and outing his secrets. 

He contemplates what he would say, how he’d explain himself. If they’d believe him if he told them he truly doesn’t know. He doesn’t understand how he became like this, what to do about it. Maybe they’d believe him. Maybe they won’t, maybe they’ll think he’s a traitor, that he’s been a traitor this whole time, that he’d stayed an unwilling spy, or worse that he’d become a willing one. They’ll go over each and every strand of evidence and link it all back to him. He’s the center, he’s the blame. What would they do? Try to save him like last time? Or would they make him the enemy. Will feels sick to his stomach, he takes another sip of water. 

“Oh, hey honey. We didn’t know you got up.” Will jumps at the sound of his mothers voice and drops his glass of water, thankfully it does not smash on the ground. Joyce sighs and walks over, picking up the glass and standing right in front of him. He just now notices he’s taller than her, he can no longer hide his face by looking down. Her hands grasp his face, cupping his cheeks and forcing him to look at her. “Oh, Will. It’s ok,” he’s not sure he believes her but he smiles anyway.

“Did they… did they tell you?”

“Will, I know it must be scary to discover you- you can do things, like El. But we’re here for you, to help you understand them.”

“You don’t…” he closes his eyes. “You don’t think I’m possessed again? That I’m dangerous?” Joyce’s eyebrows shoot up with worry at the suggestion.

“No! No, honey. If you were possessed I’m sure we would’ve been able to tell,” she breathes out a laugh. “I don’t think you’re dangerous–“

“But I hurt Mike!” The shame bubbles up all over again making his eyes sting. 

“Well–“ she hesitates. He knows it’s simply because she’s trying to find the right words to say but he can’t help but think of the worst case scenario. “It was an accident honey. I'm sure you didn’t mean too. You're not a danger, well your powers might be with inexperience but I’m sure El can help with that. We trust you Will, I trust you. You’re my boy.” He puts on a smile, not forced but not entirely genuine.

“I love you Mom.” 

“I love you too.”

-

He keeps replaying his conversation with his mother over and over in his brain. "It was an accident. I'm sure you didn’t mean to," it echoes in his head and haunts him. He didn’t mean to hurt Mike, did he? He’d never want to hurt him. He cares about him far more than he should. He loves him, even if it pains him to admit it. But he knows deep down that there is a darkness within him, a darkness that feels satisfied seeing Mike finally get his comeuppance. He loved Mike, but there was a bitterness too, a seed of resentment that he accidentally let grow inside him. They say there’s a thin line between love and hate, and sometimes Will agrees with the sentiment. But he doesn’t hate Mike, not truly, sure he resents him or can dislike him at times. The only person he truly hates is himself.

-

Slowly, the rest of the house begins to wake up. Mike and Nancy had gone home the night prior, once the adults had returned. Apparently, it had taken a lot of convincing to get them to leave. Well, specifically, Mike had taken a lot of convincing. Murray and the Russian guy were staying in the RV parked out front. Steve, Nancy, and Robin hadn’t elaborated on how they got it, but based on the way they shrugged it off, Will suspects it was through less than legal means. He remembers Hopper making an off-handed comment about the two men sharing a space, that ‘Murray seems to have a type’. The comment was obviously a joke, but it didn’t seem to be mean-spirited; it had caught Will off guard. It was the first time he’d heard anyone other than Jonathan comment on someone’s queerness without a hint of malice. It wasn’t an insult or accusation, just an observation. Maybe I could come out to everyone.

The thought wasn’t new, and it was growing more and more tempting by the day, especially now that El knew. He’s sure his brother has caught on. Jonathan had always made a point of voicing his support of queer people and gay liberation in front of Will, to make sure Will knew that he’d be accepted. Not to mention their conversation in the pizza parlour, which was for the most part unspoken and implicit, but they both understood the weight of it. But maybe he’s ready to do it, to say the words out loud to everyone. The world is ending. What else is there to lose?