Archive of Our Own ^beta

"What kind of mouthbreather works on a Saturday?"

Mike grinned and looked up from the sheaf of papers in his lap to answer his husband's light-hearted inquiry.

"The kind who gives out a surprise grammar quiz on a Friday."

Will's jaw dropped.

"What kind of monster did I marry?" he asked, torn between disbelief and amusement. He settled into the other lawn chair next to Mike's, handing him a cup of coffee.

"Oh, believe me, William," Mike assured him, nodding his head in thanks. "They were the monsters. It's a curious thing: there's something about Fridays that excites high schoolers to the point where they think classroom rules go out the window."

"Odd," Will remarked, shaking his head as though mystified. "Why are you out here?"

"Because I love the outdoors!" Mike asserted, which caused Will to raise his eyebrows because, yeah, he wasn't buying that at all. Mike saw this and, huffing, relented. "Fine. I like doing my grading out here. It's relaxing. I won't be out here long."

"Are you wearing sunscreen?"

"Obviously," Mike scoffed. He nodded toward the lawn area in front of them. "Plus, someone needed to watch the younglings."

Will smiled as he glanced up and observed the scene. Maia was giggling as she sat in the tire swing that hung from the thick maple tree. She twisted around and said something to Jonas, probably telling her brother to push her higher. Jonas obliged and Will tried not to wince as he saw his shrieking eight-year-old go much higher than he thought was probably safe, considering the condition of the homemade swing.

"We should probably replace that soon," Mike commented, echoing his husband's thoughts.

Will was about to agree when he spotted the first sign of trouble.

Jonas now looked irritated, clearly no longer content to assist his sister in having fun. He wanted to swing. Will watched as Jonas said something to her, and then sighed when Maia ignored him.

"Oh God," Mike groaned. "I have a bad feeling about this."

They watched as Jonas poked her to gain her attention, before saying something else.

When that too went ignored, Mike got to his feet and began strolling toward the tree, Will a step behind him.

They didn't make it in time.

Instead, they watched as Jonas snapped something at Maia and her face twisted. She sprang up out of the swing and gave her brother a hard shove, sending him to the ground.

"Hey!" Will shouted, causing both children to freeze and look at him with guilty expressions. "What is going on here?"

"Nothing!" Jonas insisted sharply, getting to his feet and quickly brushing himself off.

Before they could stop him, the ten-year-old had sprinted past them and disappeared into the house, presumably to go cool off in his bedroom.

Before they could interrogate her, Maia had followed suit.

Mike and Will met each other's eyes, both thinking the same thing:

We're not crazy, right? It's definitely them.

"What the hell was that?" Mike asked, flummoxed.

"I don't know," Will admitted before shrugging. "Let's go find out." A small smile graced his face despite the circumstances. "In a dark place we find ourselves and a little more knowledge might light our way."

Mike snorted but didn't disagree.

"Alright," Will asked, sighing. "What do you want to do?"

"Drink my coffee," Mike complained, looking longingly at where he'd left his drink by his chair.

Will shrugged again.

"Bring it with," he told him, not seeing the problem that Mike must have, given the way the paladin's eyes widened in surprise.

"Are you sure?" he asked, looking conflicted. "While we're mediating? Doesn't that seem a little…unprofessional?"

Will snorted.

"When has that ever stopped you?" Will pointed out, smirking, and Mike conceded the point with a tilt of his head.

"I bow to your superior knowledge, Will the Wise," he said pompously, grabbing his mug as they both passed by.

"So," Will asked, pausing to sip from his own drink. "I’ll take Maia, you handle Jonas?"

Mike nodded, and both men shed their joking attitudes, becoming serious in preparation for the upcoming interrogations. They ascended the stairs in silence.

At the top of the stairs, they separated, Mike continuing down the hall toward Jonas' room while Will knocked on Maia's door.

"Can I come in, monkey?" Will called out and when his daughter didn't deny him entry, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

He found her sitting on her bed, angrily scribbling dark, formless blobs, used paper already surrounding her haphazardly, as though a windstorm had swept through.

Will raised his eyebrows.

"I hope you're not using your sketching pencils," he warned her. Money wasn't really an issue for them, but being subconsciously mindful of the price of things was a habit Will had carried over from childhood.

She shook her head. Without looking up at him, she paused to hold up her pencil, which Will saw was a regular Crayola colored pencil from the family's collection.

He crossed the room and sat beside her on the bed, gently moving some of the pages before he did so.

"Maia," he said sternly, and she paused once more in her scribbling but, again, did not look up. "Maia, we need to talk about what just happened."

"Why?" she asked grumpily.

"Because that's what we do when we have a disagreement," Will explained firmly. "We talk things out."

"It's not a big deal," she insisted stubbornly, finally looking up. "We yelled at each other. So what?"

"If it's not a big deal, what's the harm in talking?" Will countered, making her huff. "We don't just ignore things like this, Maia. It doesn't help anybody."

She opened her mouth to argue but then thought better of it, instead swallowing and looking down at her lap for a few moments. Will waited patiently and when her gaze returned to his, he felt somewhat better upon seeing her contrite expression.

"It was a dumb fight anyway," she muttered quietly.

Will pursed his lips to keep from showing visible amusement.

"I figured as much," he said dryly. He scooted closer to her and gently bumped her shoulder. "Mind telling me what happened?"

"Do I have to?" she complained, tone whiny. "It was dumb. Forget it."

"That's not going to work," Will told her, trying to sound gentle but parental. "Trust me. Ignoring conflict is never a good idea."

"It wasn't a 'conflict,'" she claimed, stumbling only slightly over the unfamiliar word.

Will held back an exasperated sigh.

"Maia, you pushed him," he reminded her.

"He called me a…a bastard!" she revealed him, scowling. "I…I don't even know what that means, but I know it's bad."

Will's eyebrows shot past his bangs as he digested this new information before his expression returned to its previous form.

"It is," he confirmed for her, nodding. "And we will be talking to him about not using words like that, but…let's step back for a second. Can you think of any reason why your brother would have been upset enough to call you that?"

She shifted guiltily under his sharp gaze.

"I-" she started, sounding defensive, but then cut herself off and was silent for a long moment. When she spoke again, she sounded resigned. "I wouldn't let him on the swing."

Will nodded, offering her a magnanimous smile.

"Good," he praised. "Why not?"

"It's boring!" she responded, waving her hands in emphasis. "There's nothing else to do outside!"

"Then you take turns," Will said, resolute. "One can even push. Jonas was nice enough to push you."

"He's heavy," she grumbled, but her voice lacked its usual bite. She sounded remorseful and that was progress.

"Then you ask either your father or me for help," Will proposed, unyielding.

She bit her lip, knowing he was right.

Will observed her for a few seconds before deciding that he had done what he needed. She knew she was in the wrong and despite her stubbornness, Will knew his daughter would apologize on her own soon enough.

Will stood up, squeezing her shoulder in support before crossing to leave the room. He paused at the door and turned back.

"Maia," he said softly, continuing once he had her attention. "Apologize soon, okay? Not just to make Jonas feel better, but you too. I know it was just a dumb fight, but…if you don't address the small things, those bad feelings can…grow. Talking it out is the best way to…well, to make sure you both can put it behind you and move forward. Do you understand?"

She nodded and gave him a small smile and Will knew she was already figuring out how to word her apology.

Will left her to it, shutting his daughter's bedroom door behind him.

Outside her room, Will lingered in the hallway. He walked around the corner and leaned up against the wall before slowly lowering himself into a sitting position.

He knew Maia would listen to his recommendation and he hoped she remembered the reasoning he had given for it. It was true, after all.

Something Will had learned from experience.

Will really hated the woods.

He knew that was stupid. He knew it was irrational. A remnant left over from a more peaceful childhood but he couldn’t help it.

He remembered divulging this fact to Dustin years ago, when the two boys first got to know each other after the bard dropped into their lives in the fourth grade. They were playing a game, trading secrets, as two people who wished to become better friends often did.

It had been almost accidental. Will hadn’t meant to share it. Hell, not even Lucas had known.

Only Mike.

But Dustin had mumbled something about how, despite being gone for so long that he had only the faintest wispy memories of him, he sometimes liked to sit in his empty living room after his mom had long gone to sleep and pretend to be speaking to his dad. He would sit cross-legged on the carpeted floor, facing the armchair, imagining the man sitting in it, like he’d seen Mike’s dad do the few times he’d been over to the other boy’s house. Dustin would tell his father about his day. He’d brag about a test he’d aced or complain about bullies. Sometimes, he would complain about his mom, but not often. That felt wrong.

It was a heavy thing to disclose and it had a sobering effect on both boys.

Dustin had realized this instantly and his eyes had snapped to his lap where his hands rested, absently playing with one of his longer shoelaces. He looked nervous, embarrassed, obviously aware he had overshared.

Seeing this and wanting to puncture the balloon of tension that was inflating between them, Will had thought of reciprocating by telling Dustin about his own dad (or Lonnie, as Jonathan insisted he call him in the privacy of his thoughts since “dads don’t act like him, Will”), but that would only drag the mood down lower.

So he channeled Mike and said something that he hoped would make his new friend smile.

“I’m, uh, I’m actually really afraid of the woods.”

Dustin had looked up, surprised, before, as Will had aimed, his expression shifted, his lips forming a smirk.

“Isn’t your house, like, surrounded by woods?”

Will had smirked back at a snickering Dustin and held up his thin arms, wiggling them to show off how similar they were to twigs (something that his da-Lonnie had often grumbled about).

“I’m not an outdoorsy person.”

Will’s deadpan delivery had sent both boys into giggles and their laughter had bounced off the walls of Dustin’s bedroom.

Will smiled as he thought of the memory before a sudden burst of birdsong startled him back into his present surroundings.

He cast a nervous glance toward the treeline and, seeing nothing, brought his gaze back around to the door that he stood in front of anxiously.

Will balked. His anxiety was understandable, given the task he had come here to complete, but he also knew it was a necessary action, one crucial to his own emotional betterment if nothing else.

He swayed on the balls of his feet before he twisted around to look back at the pathway he had biked down. There was nothing that didn’t belong. No one was following him. No one was stopping him.

As he faced forward again, Will realized that the sun was already dipping below the horizon and that fact made him swallow and finally persuaded him to raise his fist. He hadn’t been lying to Dustin all those years ago. The woods were spooky and the last thing he wanted was to have to bike home in the dark. His headlight was still out of commission due to an impromptu race with Lucas that had forced him to cut through the unfamiliar trees surrounding Benny’s old diner, near Hawkins’ southern edge.

So Will knocked:

Knock, knock, pause, knock, pause, knock, knock, knock.

Will’s hand had just dropped back to his side when the door was wrenched open, revealing a startlingly jovial-looking Jim Hopper.

“Hello, Will!” the man greeted him, his mouth curving into a grin. His next words held an injection of humor. “I was wondering when you were going to come in.”

Will blushed and ducked his head, choosing to ignore the man’s subsequent chuckling. How long had he been daydreaming on the doorstep?

Composing himself, Hopper waved a dismissive hand.

“Don’t worry about it,” he told Will, still grinning. “El does it all the time.”

He stepped aside and allowed Will to move past him into the cabin.

“Is everything alright?” Hopper called after him, sounding worried, causing his guest to stop abruptly and turn to address him.

“Oh, yeah!” Will assured him, seeing the man’s anxious expression. He wondered if the chief was worried that something Upside Down-related had occurred. Will moved quickly to squash his fears. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Don’t worry.”

“Is your mom okay?” Hopper inquired, looking slightly relieved that there wasn’t a new supernatural threat but still seeming concerned.

“Yeah, she’s fine,” Will answered, hiding a smile. He knew for a fact Hopper and his mom had seen each other only yesterday, but he thought it was still sweet of the man to ask after her.

“And you?” Hopper prodded, seeming to scrutinize Will’s expression for signs of presumably sadness or pain. “Are you okay? And the others?”

Will blinked. This was new territory. He couldn’t remember Hopper asking after the other members of the Party before. Not to say the chief didn’t care and worry about them all. According to Lucas, the man had even used his authority to bring Troy Walsh to heel. But still, he had never before been so direct when investigating their collective welfare.

“Yeah, we’re all good,” Will spoke up after he realized that his internal thoughts had allowed the silence to stretch into awkwardness. “It’s…business as usual.”

Hopper gave a wry smile and Will knew the man had deciphered the meaning behind his reticent reply:

They were all coping as best they could.

“Right,” he responded, dipping his head in a sharp nod. “Well, let me know if that changes, okay? I’m…here for you. All of you.”

Will blinked again upon hearing this, looking dazed, and Hopper, looking uncomfortable, shuffled his feet. He opened his mouth, possibly to retract his last statement, but Will spoke first.

“Thanks,” he said appreciatively, shooting the chief a sincere smile. Will didn’t know what the man’s motivations were for suddenly being more watchful, but it was of little importance. Their Party could always use more steady allies. “I’ll pass the message along to the others.”

Hopper looked torn between relief and embarrassment and wanting to distract him, Will continued.

“I’m actually here to see El,” he revealed, speaking quickly, knowing that once the words had been verbalized, there was no way he could back out of his plan without raising Hopper’s suspicions.

Thus, he burned the bridge over which he might have been able to retreat.

The only way out now was to move forward along the path.

Hopper’s expression shifted into surprise and Will couldn’t blame him. Although he had interacted with and had what he considered a decent friendship with her, Will had never sought out El for a one-on-one conversation. His rationale for not taking a more active role in approaching her was, he knew, quite flimsy, one supported by inconclusive data fueled by cynicism.

But who knows? Depending on how this talk went, Will’s reasons for avoiding being alone with their mage might vanish.

Will had come here to…clear the air? Maybe? He didn’t really know. He just knew there was stuff that he needed to say. He felt as though he was attempting to row to a distant shore, but his boat was anchored, stubbornly impeding any progress from being made.

And Will didn't want to be weighed down anymore.

“Oh, okay,” Hopper replied. The man still sounded caught off guard but, seeing the tension written on Will’s face, he tried to hide it. “That’s fine. She’s in her room.”

Will nodded his thanks and began moving toward El’s bedroom, the door to which was slightly ajar.

He stopped abruptly when he smelled a familiar scent in the air.

“Are you-?” Will asked, cutting himself off and waiting for Hopper to glance at him before continuing. “Are you making spaghetti?”

Hopper raised his eyebrows, looking amused. He clearly saw through Will’s attempt at stalling but decided not to call him on it and nodded.

“Correct,” he confirmed, turning back to the stove. He used a stirring spoon to fish out a noodle and delivered it into his mouth, evidently to check its rigidity. He made an approving hum, nodding to himself, before he turned back to a smiling Will. “Henderson’s been on my ass about making sure I don’t just make El the same things to eat all the time. Wants to…’expand her culinary consciousness’? Yeah, that. Gave me a starter list.”

Will snickered before his laughter grew more pronounced as he connected some mental dots, which drew Hopper’s attention.

"That just explains something," Will told the confused chief, still chuckling. "A few days ago, Dustin radioed the group, asking for clarification on what everyone's favorite meals were. I guess he wanted El to try them herself. Spaghetti is Mike's."

Hopper snorted.

"Of course," he muttered, rolling his eyes as he directed his attention to the smaller pot filled with steaming tomato sauce interspersed with meatballs. “Even when he isn’t here in person, Mike Wheeler finds a way to ruin my life.”

Will pursed his lips to keep from grinning.

“I’m guessing you don’t like pasta?” Will questioned, entertained as the man continued to grumble under his breath.

Hopper paused before his expression turned sheepish.

“Actually, I love it,” he admitted before sampling a meatball. He refused to look at Will, knowing that if he did, he would break character by grinning. “I’m just…being grouchy, I guess.”

Will snorted and made to reply but was cut off.

“He’s good at that,” El’s voice, a laugh noticeably just below the surface, called out and Will’s head whipped around. He had turned away from El’s bedroom and hadn’t heard her approach.

His movement drew her gaze, which had been lingering on Hopper, to him and he saw the unasked question in her curious eyes, in the way she seemed to scan him, as though looking for injuries: She was wondering what had brought him here, to see her specifically, for the first time, alone.

Neither of them bothered exchanging words. El gave a mocking bow that Will knew to be a mannerism of Max’s and pointed back toward her bedroom. She raised her eyebrows, inquiring. He nodded and followed her, crossing the threshold into her room.

She shut the door behind her and Will resisted the urge to snicker. The “three inches” rule didn’t apply here. Will didn’t play for that team (and yes, maybe he mentally used a sports analogy just to spite Lonnie) and El had Dustin, though thankfully, neither of them were seeking to recreate the…intensity (that was one word for it, though Will could think of several more, all of which weren’t nearly as polite) of El’s previous…romance with Mike.

Will hadn’t even known Dustin and El were a…thing (he wasn’t quite sure what to call it. Neither of them seemed inclined to share details) until the bard had kissed her forehead comfortingly one night after a particularly frightening jumpscare during the Party’s weekly movie night. When El hadn’t immediately used her abilities to throw him across the room, Will had blinked and exchanged glances with Mike, who looked just as surprised, before shrugging. Lucas had looked ready to needle Dustin about the display of affection, but a warning look from Max had halted him before he could get the teasing words out. Eventually, Mike met Will’s gaze and shrugged again, both agreeing.

As long as El and Dustin were happy, it wasn’t their concern.

Will had been studying the room while he reminisced. He had been in here before with the Party, but their group antics had always distracted him from properly observing his surroundings. He took note of the posters and magazine cutouts papering the walls, blushing when he saw they were mostly what he could only assume were what El considered attractive male models and movie stars. Max had also evidently given her decorating tips. He couldn’t help but hum approvingly at the one depicting River Phoenix.

El caught the sound and smirked when she followed his eyes and identified the object of his focus, causing his blush to become more conspicuous.

“I knew it,” she murmured, her eyes sparkling with triumph. “I knew guys thought he was attractive too. Mike wouldn’t admit it but I knew he thought so.”

Will wanted to laugh but hearing his boyfriend’s name reminded him of what he was doing here and he suddenly wasn’t comfortable making any noise.

El obviously caught his hesitation, given the way she looked momentarily confused before her face had smoothed out into a blank expression. She turned away, apparently feeling the need to tidy up her nightstand and Will knew it was her way of giving him time to compose himself.

He watched her straighten some papers on the side table, his lips quirking when he saw her grab two sticks, nearly identical, before moving to sit on her bed. His suspicions were confirmed when he saw how she used the sticks to tap a rhythm on her now cleared-off nightstand, using them as makeshift drumsticks.

He didn’t realize the silence had gone on for as long as it had until she spoke up again.

“Do you always talk this much?” she asked him, sarcasm dripping from every syllable, sending him another smirk. “Slow down. I can’t keep up.”

Will snorted and sent her a playful glare.

Max was clearly a regular guest here.

“I just-” Will started, quickly sobering as he thought of the many thoughts swirling through his head like a whirlpool. It was so difficult to latch onto one, but he knew that if he was to have any hope of success tonight, he would need to. “I…I have some….things I need to say, I guess. A lot of things, actually. And…I don’t really know where to start.”

El sat back on her bed and crossed her legs, looking thoughtful. Her forehead wrinkled as she concentrated and she absently tapped one of her make-do drumsticks repeatedly against her kneecap.

Will, meanwhile, was beginning to regret this. This had been a bad idea. He had been stupid for wanting to do this. He-

“Okay,” she spoke up at last, drawing Will out of his spiraling thoughts. “Well, just…just start with the most important one. The one that you feel you need to share. The one that you feel that I need to hear the most.”

Will stared at her. That…was pretty good advice. It was times like these that he appreciated El the most. It was such a simple solution and yet, no one else in the Party would have thought of it. Will was definitely going to have to remember it for future reference.

“Uh, okay,” Will began, his mouth now feeling very dry, which he should have expected. Debating for a moment, he decided to repeat what he had done with Hopper and just say it before he could chicken out. Do it quickly, like ripping off a bandaid. The words were out of his mouth before he could think. “When I first met you, I didn’t like you.”

El’s eyebrows shot up, disappearing under her curls, and her reaction caused Will to assess his words and internally cringe.

He probably could have phrased that better.

“Okay,” she said after a moment, her tone wry. “So, I feel like I didn’t need to hear that.”

Will’s lips twitched into a small grin. That tone was all Dustin’s influence. He could practically hear the bard using the same mocking voice.

Will snickered and was relieved when El joined in.

“Sorry,” he responded, smiling again. Feeling better, he left his place by the door and joined El on her bed, mirroring her cross-legged pose. The tight feeling in his chest had somewhat lessened, though he knew he needed to elaborate.

“It’s…okay,” El answered, speaking carefully. Her smile faltered and she looked cautious, before that expression gave way to nervousness. “You…you don’t still feel like that, do you?”

“No!” Will insisted passionately, only lowering his voice when he saw she appeared relieved by his answer. “I promise, we’re good now. I just…when I first met you, I…”

He drifted off, unsure of how to finish his sentence. El waited patiently for him to find his thoughts again.

"When I first met you," Will repeated, starting again. "Well, before I even met you, actually, you made me feel…well, it wasn't you, I guess. I-"

"Stop," El commanded, holding up a hand. She looked as though she couldn't decide whether to be concerned about what he was saying or amused about the rambling way he was going about expressing it. She hesitated before stretching out her hand and placing it on Will's heart. The rapid, unsteady beat she could feel in his chest chased away any lingering amusement. Now, she only felt worried.

"Will, what's wrong?" El asked, leaving her homemade drumsticks lying in her lap to grab both of Will's hands.

The sudden touch made Will wince and she pulled her hands back, looking apologetic. She shifted her position to be more respectful of his boundaries, using one of her sticks as a measuring rod.

After a few moments, Will tried again.

"When I first came back from…from the Upside Down," Will said, thinking that he's finally figured out how to explain this. "Everyone was all excited to see me, of course. But then…"

He stopped again but this time, El wouldn't let him lose his thought. She was intrigued.

"But then?" she prompted him, gesturing that he should continue.

Will took a fortifying breath, trying to stop the rising tide of emotions, but it was little use.

They burst out of him along with the words, which tumbled after each other, unstoppable once they started.

"They were all talking about you!" Will exclaimed, his hands now moving in spastic gestures as he tried to explain. "Like, I was missing! I was running and constantly hiding from a fucking monster that wanted me dead for a week and it just felt like…like during that week, they almost…replaced me…with you."

El opened her mouth to object, stopping when she saw Will rapidly shaking his head.

"And I know that's not what happened!" Will clarified, holding up his hands, placating. "I know that now. But back then…that's how I felt."

Silence fell and it clung to them both like dark, heavy smoke.

"They were always talking about you," Will whispered, shaking his head as he recalled distant memories. "Especially Mike." Saying this caused Will's face to twist and the words came out tinged with bitterness. This expression was gone in the next second, and he continued in a less acidic tone. "They thought you were so…so cool."

"Because of my powers," El interjected and it was her who now sounded resentful as she wore a dark expression.

Will shrugged, nodding his assent.

"Yeah, probably," he murmured. "And honestly, I thought that sounded pretty cool too. But…it was more than that. You…you stood up to Troy. You saved Dustin and Mike."

"Using my powers," El countered, flicking away Will's argument with a dismissive flick of her other drumstick.

"Forget about your powers!" Will insisted, shaking his head again. "It wasn't how you were doing it, but what you were doing. You stood up to bullies. You kept them safe. I mean, shit, you killed the monster that took me, El!"

Will had worked himself up but now, suddenly, he just…deflated.

“How could I compete with that?” Will whispered, his voice sounding rough. He held up his arms and shook them, as he had to Dustin years ago, before letting them fall back into his lap. “I mean, I’m just…me.”

“It wasn’t a…competition, Will,” El reminded him, her own voice sounding hoarse as she observed him, appearing baffled.

“I know!” Will groaned, feeling miserable. Part of him regretted coming here and dragging all these feelings to the surface. But another, stronger part was nudging him on, telling him he needed to get this all out. “But…it felt like one. Back then. During that summer. Mike started…drifting away from everyone, spending all his time here…”

He lapsed into silence again. Across from him, El’s right hand lay on top of her left and she tapped her right pointer finger against her left hand, her sticks forgotten for the moment, as she studied him contemplatively.

“It was like-” Will blurted out, before snapping his mouth shut, looking surprised at his own outburst. At El’s encouraging look, he finished reluctantly. “It was like…he didn’t…care about…us. About me. Like he was forgetting all about me.”

“He didn’t,” El said instantly. She smiled to herself as her eyes looked distant. She was obviously remembering something. “He never shut up about you.”

Will cracked a smile at that. With what he knew now, he knew El was undoubtedly telling the truth. Given how everything turned out, Will was a little embarrassed at how strongly he still felt about that summer.

Spotting his smile, El went on.

“I mean,” she commented, smirking. “We didn’t…talk a lot. But almost every conversation we did have, somehow, you came up.”

Will tried not to think about how pathetic he must be that those words actually made him feel slightly better.

“He was always thinking about you,” she maintained, her face scrunching up as she tried to remember. “Even if he…was trying to pretend he wasn’t. He was…crazy…about you.” Here, she smirked again. “And you know what makes you crazy.”

Will hid a smile, instead pretending to look puzzled.

“Sorry, I don’t know,” he answered, shaking his head as though confused. “What makes you crazy?”

El raised a hand to cover her grin before morphing her own face into one that reflected surprise.

“Oh, you’ve…you’ve never heard that term?” El questioned, playing along and even shifting her cadence into a pretty decent impression of Mike’s voice (and Will should know. He spent a lot of time with the person in question). “You know, like the phrase? Like….you know, old people say it sometimes.”

It was too much for Will and he quickly shoved both hands over his mouth but was unable to stop a few audible giggles from slipping through.

El suffered a similar fate and they both dissolved into peals of laughter that were amplified in the small room.

“I guess I just-” Will spoke up after he had managed to subdue his mirth. His expression became serious again as he reflected more on his feelings during that summer, specifically his feelings toward his then-supposed best friend. “I just felt…lonely.”

He stopped, feeling awkward. He hadn’t meant to reveal that much.

El sent him a reassuring smile.

“It’s okay,” she promised. She started to add something else, but hesitated. Her expression grew solemn and her voice was quiet as she went on. “I don’t think any of us were happy that summer.”

Will winced and looked away guiltily. Here he was, whining about how he had felt at the time, completely forgetting what El’s circumstances had been: essentially on house arrest and being used as a cover for a closeted gay boy.

After a few seconds of introspection, she glanced up and saw his ashamed expression, the sight of which caused her to scoff and wave dismissively.

“It’s fine, Will,” she insisted, sending him a lopsided smile. She sighed and examined him in silence for a few moments, before shrugging again and flashing him another smile. “We…we made mistakes. We learned from them. So…how about this? Let’s just agree that that summer was bad and…move forward? So that we can be…real…friends?”

Hearing this, something warm and light replaced the earlier tight feeling in Will’s chest.

“Yeah,” he agreed, smiling softly at the girl across from him. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

“Me too,” she replied, mirroring his expression.

Will had been subconsciously leaning forward but now he relaxed and leaned back, drawing and then dispersing a deep breath.

“I already feel better,” he muttered, chuckling a little.

El snorted but nodded in agreement a moment later.

“Should’ve done this a lot sooner,” Will stated, feeling sheepish. An urgent thought occurred to him and his gaze snapped up to meet El’s. “I just felt…weird about all this. I swear, I wasn’t, like…blaming you or anything like that. It was just me being stupid. I’m sorry! How I felt that summer wasn’t your fault at all and-”

“You must have a hearing problem,” El interrupted, having altered her expression into conveying fond exasperation. “I said we’re forgetting and moving forward. You must not have caught it. It’s okay. Hop struggles with it too.”

Naturally, the afflicted man himself chose that moment to wrench open the bedroom door and thus caught El’s last statement.

“Oh?” he examined them, trying to make his expression look hard but being betrayed by the twitching of his lips. “What exactly do I struggle with?”

“Knocking,” she retorted cheekily, maintaining eye contact while she raised her eyebrows, as though daring him to say otherwise.

Hopper just snorted.

“I’ll tell you what,” he shot back, mockingly leaning forward as though sharing a grand secret. “I’ll master the art of knocking when you master the art of not leaving your shoes by the door so that your dad doesn’t stumble over them in the dark when he finishes a late night shift.”

Will had to bite his lip so he didn’t burst out laughing.

“Or,” El said, sitting up and leaning forward herself, taking the game just as seriously. “You could just master the art of using a flashlight.”

Will failed to keep the snickers in this time and Hopper shot him a playful glare before his focus returned to his daughter.

“I shouldn’t have to use a flashlight to navigate through my own home, Elly,” the man pointed out, in a voice that made it clear to Will that he couldn’t believe he was having this argument. “Just don’t leave your shoes there.”

El gave an exaggerated groan, ending it with a long sigh.

“I guess I can try,” she conceded, sounding very much like Will imagined a long-suffering saint would.

“Thank you,” Hopper replied, dipping his head regally. He gestured back toward the main room. “Dinner’s ready, by the way.”

El brightened and stood up, Hopper turning and leading the way.

Will stood up, feeling awkward.

Sensing his movement, El turned back at the doorway and shot him a smile.

“Stay and eat with us!” she proposed and Will blinked, before shaking his head.

“I don’t want to impose or any-” he began but El huffed and cut him off.

“Shut up,” she advised him, rolling her eyes. “You want us to be real friends, right? Then stay and eat dinner with us. We have enough.”

Will huffed a laugh before pausing. He guessed there wasn’t any harm in doing so. He’d had a light lunch, and he had never been one to turn down free food. He hadn’t been able to afford it when he was younger.

This fact had been exploited at one point in time by almost every person in his orbit, from Mike, who routinely left the leftover snacks at the Byers house after spending the night (not to mention how he was always “forgetting” his sweaters, though they both pretended neither noticed that aspect), to Mrs. Wheeler, who always sent him home from DnD game nights or sleepovers with a casserole or a Tupperware container of baked goods, always insisting she had just made extra.

Thus, Will felt himself nodding before he followed El back into the main room, where three plates (Hopper had either heard their discussion or had simply assumed Will was staying) were set out with accompanying cups and silverware.

Will took the spot next to El, while Hopper placed a large bowl of spaghetti noodles on the table, before leaving and returning seconds later with the container holding the tomato sauce and meatballs.

“I am so glad we got this new table,” Hopper muttered as he removed each person’s cup from said table’s surface to fill each with water from the faucet. “We can actually have guests over now. And fit more food on it. Always a bonus.”

Will was about to comment when his eyes passed over the table and he noted for the first time just how much food there was.

“Do you…always make this much?” Will asked dubiously, eying the nearly overflowing bowl of pasta. This seemed to be too much for two people to reasonably consume, even if one of them was a teenager who probably needed extra nourishment due to having psychic abilities.

“It isn’t unusual for us to have guests,” Hopper explained, nodding at Will as if to show proof. “Henderson is over quite a bit. Mayfield too.”

This information caused Will to pause in bringing his cup to his mouth.

“Oh?” he inquired, getting a nod from the mage. “How…how is she doing?”

Hopper tilted his head, considering, and he exchanged a look with El that Will couldn’t decipher.

“She seems to be getting better,” Hopper shared after a long moment. “I think getting her to agree to see that guidance counselor was a good idea.”

“Yeah, Ms. Kelly is surprisingly good at her job,” Will murmured. He could count on one hand the number of school officials he’d met in his life that he would consider competent in their chosen profession. Most of them turned a blind eye to issues like bullying (Will knew that from experience, unfortunately), but Ms. Kelly seemed to genuinely care, which sadly, was a rarity. After…everything that had happened in March, she had worked alongside Hopper to organize several town hall meetings to try to reassure a rattled public. When school had let out for the summer, she had posted her home address and phone number on a bulletin board in the police station, letting the youth of Hawkins know she was more than willing to schedule appointments to continue to meet with her regular “cases” over the break, as well as setting aside times for people to just drop by and talk if they needed to.

Will thought it was a nice gesture and while her openness with her contact information and residence led to her home occasionally getting vandalized (because, to the surprise of absolutely no one, least of all the members of the Party, there were those few assholes), she also had a steady stream of visitors from all parts of the student body.

Including Max.

Hopper hummed in agreement, chewing a meatball.

El ate quietly, and Will followed her lead.

Before long, Will became aware of a steady sound, which seemed to emanate from under the table.

With a furtive glance, he soon discovered the source of the noise and he quickly hid a grin, deducing that if El was keeping them hidden, there was probably a house rule against them.

He didn’t have to wait long to be proven correct.

“Elly,” Hopper spoke up, speaking around a mouthful of noodles. “What have I told you about those things?”

The tapping stopped abruptly and she attempted an innocent expression that Will knew for a fact she’d learned from Mike.

“What things?” she questioned, wide-eyed, and Will tried not to snicker when he realized she was deliberately trying to make her voice sound more childish, another trick of the paladin’s that Will had been watching the other boy utilize (with varying results) since they were in kindergarten.

“Elly,” Hopper repeated, this time with a note of exasperation, swallowing before continuing. “Come on, you know Wheeler’s stupid method doesn’t work on me. Now, what have I told you about those things?”

They held each other’s gaze for a few seconds before El relented, sighing, her expression petulant.

“‘The only drumsticks allowed at the table are the chicken kind,’” she mumbled, stabbing into a meatball with unnecessary force and glaring at her plate as she chewed, looking like a pissed-off chipmunk.

“Correct,” Hopper confirmed, raising an eyebrow.

She got the message and, muttering darkly under her breath, left the table to deposit her makeshift mallets in her bedroom, “accidentally” hitting every available surface in her path before returning, looking disgruntled.

“Come on, El,” Hopper sighed, noticing her expression. “You can make your…music any other time you’re awake, but not at the table. Meals are a time for peace.”

El rolled her eyes but nodded as she picked her fork back up to resume eating. She sent Will a dirty look when she saw he wasn’t even bothering to hide his amusement.

“So,” Hopper spoke up, his fork stopping midway between his mouth and plate. He peered across the table, making eye contact with both of them. “How was everyone’s day?”

Evidently, El wasn’t in the mood and remained silent, thus causing the burden of conversation to shift to Will.

But just as he opened his mouth to speak, there came a knock at the door.

Will saw Hopper’s brows furrow in confusion, no doubt puzzling over who their latest guest could be. The man set down his fork and rose from the table.

“If that’s Henderson,” he grumbled, moving toward the door and remembering to step over El’s shoes just in time. “We might not have enough food.”

Will was glad he hadn’t taken a drink, or he would have promptly spat it out from laughing.

Will saw Hopper use his hand to lift up one of the curtains and peek outside.

“Oh,” the man said, his voice doused with a blend of surprise and relief. He released the curtain, letting it fall back into position, before striding to the door to open it and welcome their guest.

“Just in time for dinner, Mayfield,” Hopper joked as he opened the door wide and allowed the zoomer to maneuver past him. “Don’t worry. I’ll pretend I didn’t see through your master plan.”

“I couldn’t miss El’s reaction to trying spaghetti,” Max answered in a faux-defensive tone, her voice rippling with underlying laughter. She revealed herself to Will’s sight at that moment, and Will couldn’t help the way his shoulders sagged with relief.

She looked good.

There were no worry lines on her face. Her eyes didn’t automatically dart around to take note of the exit points. Her fingernails, from what Will could see, looked healthy and not gnawed to the stubs.

And she was smiling, looking at Hopper with a cocky grin that immediately brought forth for Will memories of how she had acted…before.

Before the murders that had sent shockwaves through Hawkins.

Before the Upside Down had broken through into their world once more.

Before its latest threat had stepped out of the shadows and taken center stage in their lives. A bold position, but one that was definitely deserved.

A dark wizard who quite literally showed people their worst nightmares, who could unearth a person’s darkest secrets and bring them to light in a way that ensured maximum suffering.

A man-turned-monster who, despite the peace of the last few months, despite El’s repeated assurances that he was gone, unable to return, held a unique status among the people in their circle.

Because even now, four months later, the Party still hesitated before saying his name.

Vecna.

The Whispered One indeed.

The irony was it was a name they (specifically Will himself) had christened him with, picked carefully from DnD lore. It had fit, more so than they realized at the time.

An egotistical man who had become a god. A self-appointed deity who saw humans as little more than bugs, who was obsessed with exploiting fear and turning it against innocent people.

Like Max.

Like him.

Like Hawkins.

Almost as if she could sense the dark place his thoughts had taken him to, Will saw Max’s eyes snap to him, noticing him for the first time.

She looked surprised to see him, which made sense, since he had never made a solo trek here before today.

Her face quickly smoothed out and she flashed him a lopsided grin.

“Bite-sized Byers!” she called out dramatically in greeting, nodding to him before crossing the room, where he met her halfway by standing and enveloping her in a hug.

“As you can see,” Will drawled out, rolling his eyes fondly while he placed a hand on his head before moving it away from himself, showing the difference between their heights. “That name no longer has any meaning for me.”

Max rolled her own eyes but still snorted at the reference.

“Sorry,” she replied, not sounding anything like it. She sat in the chair that Hopper had retrieved from a corner of the room, taking up the place directly across from Will. “It’s tradition. You’re stuck with it.”

“Then you’re stuck with yours,” Will responded, shrugging in apparent indifference before a smirk found its way onto his face. “Marx.”

Max groaned but smiled.

“That’s a nerdy joke,” she insisted, making the same complaint as usual, wrinkling her nose as though fearing Will’s lameness was contagious.

“Could you maybe explain it to those of us who were cool in high school?” Hopper spoke up, looking amused as his eyes flicked between Max and Will.

“As if you were cool,” El muttered, taking a bite of pasta to stop herself from grinning.

Hopper’s hearing problem must have been acting up, as he seemed not to catch her comment.

“Karl Marx,” Will explained. “One of the founders of socialism. Associated with the color red.” Here, Will gestured to Max, who gave her head a flick, tousling her hair. “Marx, Max? It was perfect.”

“For those willing to do outside research,” Max shot back, snickering. She had finished loading her own plate and was now twisting spaghetti noodles around her fork, before swirling her utensil over her plate like a skater over ice, mopping up tomato sauce.

“It’s also because she’s a spy,” Will added, just to keep her smiling.

It worked.

“Unproven,” she retorted, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Thought you were supposed to be wise.”

“Part of being wise is having good judgment,” Will returned, popping a meatball in his mouth so that his chewing gave him time to think of a way to finish his thought, since he had no clue how he planned to conclude his statement. He found one. “‘I’m from California.’ Yeah, okay, sure. I’m reserving judgment until we can prove you’re not passing sensitive information through the Iron Curtain.”

Max gave him a look.

“As if the commies would be interested in knowing that you like Reeses Pieces,” she grumbled, but her tone was good-natured. Her next words were spoken in the voice of a Russian-accented villain (naturally) from your everyday Hollywood flick. “That’s been the secret all along! The way to best the American swine is with candy!”

Hopper snorted.

“That’s the plot to Willy Wonka,” the chief muttered gruffly, sending his tablemates into sudden laughter, making him smirk as he finished off his plate.

Will sobered himself quickly and took the chance to observe Max giggling.

She definitely looked better. Everyone could see it.

But it was El who actually vocalized it.

“You look…better,” the mage said, speaking slowly, giving Max the time to stop her in case she was overstepping. “Do you…feel better?”

Max paused but didn’t seem offended.

“Yeah,” she answered a few seconds later, sucking the bottom of her lip as she thought. “Honestly, Ms. Kelly is…great. More than great. She’s been helping me deal with…stuff. Some of it is…stuff I didn’t even know was a problem. You know?”

Everyone else nodded, each having experience with that phenomenon.

“I mean,” Max went on. She was absently pushing a stray meatball across her plate. “I couldn’t tell her everything that happened, obviously. About…him. But…the more general stuff helps, like the grounding techniques.”

“Good,” Will said, nodding. Seeing how uncomfortable she looked at being the focus of their collective gazes, he added. “Can’t tell you how many times I’ve used one of those methods. They really help.”

“They do,” Hopper agreed. His expression looked pained and Will figured he was recalling unpleasant memories.

At least until the man spoke again.

“I’m sorry," he apologized, though, for what, Will wasn't yet sure. His answer was revealed as Hopper continued, his voice leaking shame, his eyes having shut. "I…I really wish I could have done more to help you kids.”

He broke off and opened his eyes slowly, as though working up the courage to meet their gazes.

He found them all looking at him with incredulity.

“You did,” Max spoke up, her voice quiet but firm. “Hopper, you were a huge help.”

Hopper scoffed, disbelieving, and Will saw El lean forward in her chair to stare hard at her father.

“Dad,” El said gently. “You did help. Knowing that you were…keeping everyone else safe while we…took him on…we were able to stay focused and not worry about our families. You helped more than you think.”

Hopper was vigorously shaking his head.

“You guys shouldn’t have had to take him on at all,” he countered bitterly. He covered his eyes with his hands, before dragging said hands down his face as though trying to physically wipe off the ashamed expression now plaguing it. “I…I told myself after Starcourt that I was done letting a group of kids fight on the front lines against all this…this…apocalyptic shit! I-”

He cut off and glanced up from the table surface, locking eyes with Will and wearing a sorrowful expression.

“I promised your mom,” Hopper croaked out, clearing his throat before going on. “I promised her that if, God forbid, anything else…weird…happened, I’d make sure all you kids stayed out of it.”

Even though he knew his mom’s heart was in the right place, hearing that, Will couldn’t help but smile sardonically.

That had been an impossible task from the start.

“I just-” Hopper continued to explain, stumbling slightly over his words in his distress. “I didn’t want to see you guys getting…used to that. I didn’t want you guys to be the…last line of defense against…whatever the hell was happening.”

Will exchanged glances with Max.

“And yet,” Will said softly, shrugging his shoulders helplessly. “We always are.”

“We’re involved now, Hopper,” Max jumped in. “All of us. You can argue all you want about whether we should be, but…it doesn’t matter. We are.”

Hopper gave a long sigh but eventually was forced to concede the point and he nodded resignedly.

“I just wish that I-” the chief began but then stopped. He sighed again. “I wish that I could have done…something meaningful, instead of just leaving all the heavy lifting to you guys.”

Max was starting to look irritated and in order to prevent her from verbally cutting at him until she could get it through Hopper’s thick skull that he was a valuable, contributing member of their group, Will decided to cut in and hopefully put this discussion to rest.

“Jim,” he called out, and it took more resolve than Will cared to admit to not smirk at the way Max’s head whipped around at Will’s chosen form of address. He was flaunting what he considered one of the best perks of having Hopper date his mom: he was granted first name privileges. Just to rub it in Max’s face, Will repeated himself while leaning forward so that the chief focused on him. “Jim, Eddie is alive right now because of you.”

Hopper winced. He didn’t even like thinking about what fate could’ve befallen Eddie Munson.

Will read his thoughts on the man’s face.

“This whole town,” he emphasized, “they were all ready to pin everything on him. To have some vigilante band hunt him down and give the people ‘justice.’ But they didn’t! Because you calmed them down.”

Hopper nodded slowly at the reminder.

“You did your job,” Max piped up now. “You handled everything carefully. And because of that, you stopped an innocent kid from getting an almost certain violent death.”

Will thought Max was being generous. You could take the “almost” right out of the statement.

Judging by the stormy look on Hopper’s face, he agreed.

After Vecna (not that they had known of him then) had murdered a Hawkins High cheerleader named Chrissy Cunningham, with witnesses saying the last person to be with her was Eddie Munson, Hopper had moved quickly to find the teen, deducing the location of his hiding place: the Lipton house (which belonged to a dealer friend of Eddie’s). He had managed to surprise Eddie and talk him into coming quietly down to the station, assuring him that he just needed to answer some questions.

Once in an interrogation room, after some coaxing, Eddie started talking, spilling some crazy tale about empty, soulless eyes, a body that floated as though suspended by invisible wires, and bones that snapped seemingly of their own accord.

It had sounded insane.

Except Hopper knew for a fact it wasn’t.

At this point, the Party had arrived at the police station, with Dustin being particularly ferocious in demanding to know why Hopper was talking to Eddie instead of looking for the “real killer.” Once he had calmed down enough to explain who Eddie was and the nature of his relationship with the Party, Hopper was even more convinced of the teen’s innocence.

Not only did it look as though Chrissy had been killed by something Upside-Down related (and damn, was he pissed about that! This was four years in a row now!), Hopper knew these kids. He had literally bled with some of them. If they trusted this Munson kid and said he was innocent, then he was inclined to believe them.

Unfortunately, the rest of Hawkins would not be so easy to convince.

Hopper knew this town. He knew exactly who would take the blame for this unless he took drastic steps.

He still remembered looking each kid in the eye after he had asked them something they never thought they’d hear him say:

“Do you all trust me?”

They had all exchanged quizzical glances. It was such a pointless question to ask, a waste of breath.

Of course they did.

So they all nodded.

Hopper had studied them each carefully before nodding himself.

“Good,” he’d said, letting out a shaky breath. “Because I need you all to trust me right now.”

And with that, he ordered every member of the Hellfire Club be detained.

Which included most of the Party.

Hopper had walked away, not able to face their protests and betrayed expressions.

He had done everything by the book, separating each club member, before informing the press that Eddie Munson and all suspected “possible accomplices” were in police custody, under constant watch.

He had quickly excused himself from the throng of journalists, not wanting to put up with their badgering and scrutiny.

Hopper almost turned right back around to throw himself at the reporters’ tender mercies when he saw his daughter leaning against his desk, arms crossed.

When he had drawn closer, El had straightened up and stalked over to him, jabbing a finger at his chest and demanding to know what the fuck (it was nice to know Mayfield was contributing to his daughter’s education) he was doing by locking up most of her friends.

He had tried to placate her by telling her what he had told the others: to trust him.

Evidently, she found his explanation lacking and threatened to “Force-choke” (damn Henderson and his “lessons”) him if he didn’t come up with a better excuse.

He had eventually talked her down after assuring her that what he was doing was necessary, that it was the best thing for their group, and that (if he was right) they wouldn’t be there long.

She was clearly unhappy but trusted he must have known what he was doing.

Then Joyce had shown up.

And suddenly, dealing with a pissed-off teenager with the ability to snap his neck at any time was something he would have welcomed.

He had repeated what he had told El and fled before she could say anything else.

Powell and Callahan conducted interviews throughout the night, fortifying alibis while Hopper ran interference with the parents and siblings of the various Party members, who all insisted on camping outside his office for the entirety of the forty-eight-hour detainment period. Claudia Henderson had broken down at one point and he had been forced to say they were all but certain Dustin hadn’t been involved at all and the department was just asking questions to rule him out.

The next morning, Hopper’s maneuver had (unfortunately) paid off.

Fred Benson, another high schooler who wrote for the school paper, had been found dead in the driveway outside his family home, his body bearing the same brutal mutilations as Chrissy Cunningham’s.

Hopper had gone in front of the cameras with a prepared statement saying that, with Eddie Munson and his friends locked up and being seen at all times while another murder had taken place on the other end of town, they clearly weren’t responsible for Fred’s death and, with the abilis Powell and Callahan had worked hard to verify, it was also clear none of them could have killed Chrissy either.

Presented with such clear, logical evidence, Eddie Munson and the Hellfire Club were exonerated in the public eye and had been released immediately. If anyone still thought them responsible, they spoke of it only in low mutterings.

When Patrick McKinney, a basketball player, also fell victim to the apparent serial killer, having been struck down a few blocks from his house, during a time when most of the members of Hellfire had been observed attending an emergency town hall meeting to discuss the ongoing crisis, the mutterings stopped.

From there….

Hopper didn’t really like to think about what had happened after that.

Unconsciously, his eyes were drawn to Max, who had, along with the others, returned to her dinner while he was lost in thought.

The chief’s eyes then flicked to Will, who was finishing his plate while he argued with El over…attractive movie stars?

A smile played on the man’s lips.

He really didn’t like to think about what had happened next.

Will noticed that Hopper’s eyes were no longer staring off into the distance and smiled at him.

“You alright?” the boy asked, in what was supposed to be a joking tone but one that held enough worry that the effect was ruined.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Hopper replied, his smile widening. Absently, he glanced out the window and blinked when he saw that darkness had descended on the world and was quickly growing thick.

The man’s eyes darted to Will, and he saw that he had noticed it too and now looked anxious.

“Well, everyone,” he called out, getting the teens’ attention. “It’s getting late and I do have work in the morning, so I think we’re going to call it a night here.”

El and Max groaned in dismay.

“Yeah, yeah,” Hopper muttered, grinning as he stood up. He met Will’s gaze and lowered his voice so that only the two of them could hear. “You know, Will, if you want, I could just give you a ride home. You could just throw your bike in the back.”

Will was really tempted to instantly seize that offer, but he hesitated.

That felt…babyish.

Sure, he was afraid of the woods, which Hopper seemed to know or at least suspect. Max had probably figured it out too. So it made sense to take Hopper’s offer, but…

He wasn’t a baby.

He could handle the woods.

Even if his hands were trembling at the prospect of facing it alone.

“Uh, no,” he spoke finally, trying to keep the nervousness out of his voice and most likely failing. “That’s okay. You…you probably need to wash dishes and stuff.”

Hopper grimaced. He had forgotten about that.

“I should get going too,” Max piped up, returning from where she had placed her dirty plate and silverware in the sink.

El looked disappointed.

“Sleepover?” she asked, her tone hopeful, but Max shook her head.

“Sorry, mage, I can’t,” she answered, sounding sincere. “My mom wants me home.”

El looked bummed but brightened when Max said she’d be back tomorrow.

As Max and Will were heading toward the door, Will felt a tap on his shoulder and turning around, was immediately assaulted by a surprisingly tight hug from El.

“You visit too!” she commanded, daring him to disagree and seeming satisfied when he didn’t.

Will simply nodded before saying goodbye to Hopper and following Max out the door.

They were both a fair distance from the cabin when Max spoke up, slowing down to a leisurely pace to make talking easier, which he copied.

"So," she said, drawing out the word. Even in the near-total darkness, illuminated only by Max's bike headlight, he imagined he could see her smirking at him. "What were you doing there?"

He made sure not to look at her as he attempted a casual shrug.

"Just talking," he answered, knowing she'd see right through his facade, which she did.

"For the first time ever," Max retorted. "I'm assuming you finally cleared up the awkwardness of the whole 'I'm dating your ex' thing?"

"I mean," Will sputtered, blushing and glad for the cover of darkness so that it wouldn't be seen. "It wasn't just that though. There were…a couple of things I wanted to say. And I have."

"And now?" she asked. "Are you going to follow General El's orders and start visiting more?"

He smirked at the phrasing but nodded sharply, making sure she saw it in the dim light.

"Yeah," Will said. "I'm…ready to move forward."

She smiled and nodded.

"Ms. Kelly would approve," she informed him and they both laughed.

"Speaking of that, kind of," Max said suddenly after they had been peddling in silence for about a minute. "You don't have to tell me, but I'm just wondering: Are you scared of the dark or just the woods?"

Will sighed and gave a short, self-deprecating laugh.

"Was I being that obvious?" he questioned, shaking his head. Did everyone know and they were just too polite to say so?

"Not really," Max assured him. "But, you know, Hopper's a cop. And I'd like to think I'm an expert on hiding my feelings. Takes one to know one."

Will snorted and some of the tension pressing down on his shoulders that had appeared when Max asked her question went away.

"Just the woods, I guess," he admitted, feeling awkward. "I can bike through the downtown area at night no problem. So I think it's just the woods."

When she didn't say anything for a moment, Will considered the worst.

"You think I'm being stupid, don't you?" he speculated, his tone bitter. "That I need to grow up?"

"No," she answered instantly, her tone gentle but strong. "I think you're too hard on yourself."

When Will looked doubtful, she went on.

"No, really," she insisted, raising her voice so that he couldn't ignore her. "I mean, we all have stupid things we're scared of, Byers. Like…I'm…scared of thunder."

Will raised his eyebrows, disbelieving.

"Seriously," she confirmed, chuckling slightly as though she couldn't believe it herself. "Like…thunder. Not even lightning, the actual dangerous part of the storm. The thunder. It's fucking loud!"

Will couldn't help but snicker before he stopped short, feeling guilty. But Max was laughing herself and didn't seem to hold it against him.

"See?" she said, returning to her original point. "We all have stupid shit we're afraid of. The important thing is that you don’t let it control you. Which you’re not, by the way. I mean, you’re out here, aren’t you?”

Will considered that. He guessed she had a point.

They emerged from the woods then and biked side by side past Bradley’s Big Buy, riding parallel to the pumpkin patch.

After a few sharp turns, they both stared down the path that led into Mirkwood.

“Even these woods?” Max asked, sounding doubtful.

“Well, no, obviously not these woods,” Will replied, scoffing at the idea. “I live here. Mirkwood is basically my backyard. It’s different.”

His explanation had caused Max to turn her head and stare at him, unblinking, for a few moments.

“You’re an idiot.”

Will raised an eyebrow, amused.

“Thanks?” he answered. What was she…?

She sighed and scrubbed a hand over her face, muttering something about “stupid boys” and how “Mike’s perfect for him.”

“Byers,” Max sounded like she was trying not to laugh. She was failing. “You’re not afraid of the woods. You’re afraid of unfamiliar woods.”

Will blinked after thinking through her revelation.

Oh.

That actually made a lot more sense.

“Oh,” he said aloud and Max snorted and shook her head fondly.

“So,” she announced, beginning to bike down the dirt path, Will closely behind. “Your fear should actually be pretty simple to get rid of. You gotta explore this shitty town more!” Here, she glanced back at him and grinned. “Go outside more, Byers! Touch some grass.”

“God, you sound like Lonnie,” Will grumbled, but smiling, so that she knew he didn’t mean anything with the comment. Here, Will lowered his voice, adopting the distinctive growl that he remembered Lonnie Byers having. “Drawing’s for sissies, Will. Go outside! Climb a tree!”

“‘Climb a tree’?” Max repeated incredulously and Will knew she was remembering the short, physically fragile boy he had been for most of his childhood. “But…your arms! Did he want you to die?”

“He probably wanted the life insurance,” Will informed her sagely, making them both giggle. It was likely true, but you had to be able to joke about it sometimes.

“Well, you can do both!” Max declared, looking smug. “Just to spite that piece of shit! Go outside so you can work on your…natural landscapes, whatever you call it.”

“I usually like to draw people,” he explained. Maybe…

She was thinking the same thing.

“Then bring people with you!” Max said. “You know Wheeler always loves being your model! Bring him on a date somewhere, like…the pumpkin patch, I don’t know. Make sure he wears sunscreen so his porcelain, vampire-looking skin doesn’t burn. Then, when he falls asleep after you make out for a bit, because he’s tired as shit since his diet consists of Pop-Tarts and, like, plain slices of bread, you can draw him lying there, looking like the corpse he usually does. It’s a perfect plan: you get to hang with Mike, draw, and explore Hawkins!”

Out of loyalty to his boyfriend, Will was trying not to crack up at Max’s description of Mike, even though she kind of had a point about his less than ideal eating habits.

“Sounds like a plan,” Will decided.

Who knows? This might actually cure him of this particular fear and, if not, he got to practice his skills anyway.

“Glad I could help,” Max responded, smirking. They had reached his house and Will could see from the faint glow peeking through the living room window that his mom was probably up, waiting for him like she’d said she would be.

“Well, see you,” Max said, waving goodbye as she turned her bike around and began peddling away.

“See you around, Marx,” he called out after her, snickering when her only response was to flip him off without looking back.

And as he watched her retreating form disappear down the path, her speed once again proving the aptness of her Party nickname, his eyes were drawn upward to the stars that had started to come out, watching him silently from their affixed spots, guarding him.

How much of nature was there to guard him? To protect him?

Will smiled.

As he put his bike away and turned to walk inside, Will couldn’t help but think that maybe the woods, with their trees that towered over him like watchful sentries, weren’t so bad, and he counted that as progress because he didn’t feel so afraid anymore.

Going to see El had helped him in more ways than one.

Will felt something shift inside of him and he smiled as he realized what it was.

It was the feeling of putting something behind him and moving forward.

While Will was talking to Maia about the dangers of avoiding conflict resolution, Mike was dealing with Jonas.

Mike sighed, running a hand through his hair. His son was most likely still upset and would need to be calmed down before any real progress could be made.

Mike really wasn't looking forward to trying to soothe a pissed ten-year-old.

He took another sip from his coffee, letting the liquid sift through his mouth as he pondered over the best course of action.

Finally, he nodded to himself, his expression determined.

Roll for strength, Mike thought grimly, and he smiled to himself as he lifted his fist and knocked on the door.

"Jonas, I'm coming in," Mike called through the door and, after waiting for a few seconds and not being told to do otherwise, he turned the knob and crossed the threshold into his oldest's domain.

Jonas, who had been staring at the bird feeder outside his bedroom window, immediately spun around and gave his father a hard look.

"Is she dead?" he inquired, clearly hoping for a specific answer.

"No," Mike informed him, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at his son's dramatics. "That would be going against the advice of most parenting books."

Despite everything, his son smirked slightly at his comment.

"Most?" he questioned, snickering.

"The Bible," Mike answered, deadpan.

Jonas snorted before scowling when he remembered he was supposed to be angry.

"She pushed me!" he whined and this time, Mike did roll his eyes.

"Yes," Mike said wryly. "Despite what your father might occasionally say, my observational skills aren't that poor."

Jonas caught his father's implied message and Mike saw a look of embarrassment flash across his son's face before it settled into a stubborn expression.

"Then you saw how she wouldn't let me on the swing," Jonas assumed, crossing his arms.

"I did," Mike agreed, nodding. "And that was not nice of her to do and we will be talking to her about sharing."

"Why do we even have just one swing anyway?" Jonas grumbled, dropping backward onto his bed and focusing on the ceiling.

"I-" Mike started before stopping. "Okay, that's fair. I suppose we haven't changed our backyard in a while."

Jonas huffed in agreement but said nothing else.

When a few long moments passed in silence, Jonas finally craned his neck to look at Mike.

"What?" he said defensively at the sight of the man's pointed look.

"Do you have anything else to say?" Mike pressed.

"I don't know, do I?" Jonas challenged, making Mike give him a warning look.

"Last chance," Mike cautioned him. "Jonas, I know your sister. She's like you. Neither of you lashes out unless provoked. I saw you say something and that's when she pushed you. So, what did you say?"

Jonas' shoulders slumped, knowing he'd been caught. His head flopped back onto his bed.

Mike strode across the room and sat beside his oldest, reaching a hand over to smooth down his bangs.

"Come on, Jojo," Mike said softly. "What'd you say?"

"I called her a bastard," he finally muttered. "I don't even know what it means."

Mike blinked down at him.

Oh.

Was that it? Mike called people that for cutting him off in traffic.

Come to think of it, that might've been where Jonas heard it from…

Regardless of his own personal feelings on the severity of certain swears, his son shouldn't be saying it.

"Okay," Mike said after organizing his thoughts. "So, you shouldn't have said that. What should you have done?"

"I should've gotten you or Dad," Jonas mumbled, rolling his eyes.

Mike flicked him in the forehead.

"Exactly!" Mike exclaimed. "We were on our way over anyway. Next time, let us handle it."

Jonas sighed and nodded.

"And," Mike added, raising his eyebrows. "What have I told you about lying?"

"I didn't lie!" Jonas insisted. "I just…didn't mention everything that happened."

Mike internally snorted while maintaining his expression. A difficult feat.

"Jonas," Mike said sternly. "You can't do that, okay? When you apologize, because you will, just like Maia will to you, you can't just…ignore what makes you culpable, the bad thing you did. That's why when you apologize, you need to be specific. Both you and she will admit exactly what you did and why you're sorry. It's more…real that way."

Jonas nodded. Mike knew he had heard this all before. It was the format of apology Mike had always expected from them.

"Good," Mike said, smiling at him and bopping his nose.

Mike got to his feet and started for the door, ready to confer with his husband and hear how things had gone with Maia.

"Dad?" Jonas called out, causing Mike to turn back and look questioningly at him. His son was sitting up on the mattress now, looking anxious. "Is…is it a really bad word?"

Mike's eyes softened. Despite what had transpired between them, Jonas was still worried that he'd badly upset his sister.

"It's not something you should be saying," Mike said diplomatically. He shot his son a grin. "And hey, don't worry. She probably doesn't know what it means either. She'll forgive you."

"What if she doesn't?" Jonas asked, chewing his lip.

Mike hesitated before he rejoined his son on the bed, placing an arm around him.

"You know, I…said something really bad to your dad once," Mike revealed, his voice quiet. Years had passed since that fight in his garage and he still hated to think about it. "Really bad. In fact, when it happened, I worried that…I'd lost him as a friend."

Jonas stared back, wide-eyed and Mike knew why. Neither he nor Will liked talking about the few dark spots in their friendship, and that night was arguably the blackest. Their children had heard that Will and he had been friends since kindergarten and had eventually realized their feelings went beyond just that. But as far as the kids knew, their fathers' relationship had always been steady, with no pitfalls. It certainly seemed that way to them. So, for Mike to say he had said something that put their friendship in jeopardy was rather shocking for his son to hear.

"How'd you get him to forgive you?" the boy asked, his voice hushed.

Mike smirked.

"I apologized," he replied pointedly, snickering when he saw the dirty look Jonas shot in his direction.

"Okay, I get it," his son muttered, grinning.

Mike ruffled his hair and left the room, shutting the door on Jonas' complaining.

Mike smiled to himself.

That had gone pretty well.

Realizing he hadn't yet finished off his coffee, Mike sat down on the carpet a few feet away from his son's door, stretching his legs out and taking a sip.

Mike winced.

Damn. It was lukewarm.

But coffee was coffee.

As he waited for Will to finish speaking with Maia, since he didn't see his husband in the hall, Mike felt grateful Jonas had had the tact not to ask him what he'd said to Will that night.

It had been an…experience, and not one he cared to relive.

Apologizing to Will was just as memorable, though the reason for such was much more benign.

Mike found Will where he had expected him to be: by the ambulances.

Even after he confirmed the other boy’s location, Mike didn’t approach. Not right away. That was an anomaly. Usually, if a person were to scan a room, nine times out of ten, they would spot Mike and Will sitting next to each other, usually sharing some inside joke.

But that data didn’t account for…recent developments. It didn’t factor in one extremely important variable.

And that variable was that Mike Wheeler was an ass.

At least, that’s how he felt as he stared at Will, whose gaze was fixed on his lap as his attention no doubt wandered.

Mike felt miserable.

He wished this was easy. He wished he could just stride over and plop himself down next to Will and start cracking jokes until they were both laughing and the pain of these last few months was forgotten, a distant memory best left in the past.

But that couldn’t happen. Not right now. Because as he stood there, grappling with his courage, Mike realized that that fantasy could only happen in a world in which Mike Wheeler and Will Byers were best friends-or maybe something more, his mind whispered, and he quickly shut that down before it became a thing-and regardless of their past, regardless of what he knew Will would say if he asked him, Mike knew he hadn’t been acting like a best friend lately. Hell, he couldn’t even say he’d been acting like a friend at all.

Friends didn't treat people the way he’d treated Will this summer. They didn’t say…the type of things he’d said to him.

“It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!”

Mike bit his lip. His hands were clenched into fists and his nails were digging into his palms and it hurt, but Mike did it anyway because no matter how much it hurt, the pain of what he’d done to Will hurt more.

He could still remember the way something inside of him had shattered when he’d seen the look of betrayal on Will’s face.

He could still feel the way panic-white, hot panic-had surged up from his hammering heart and into his mouth as he watched the other boy turn his back on him and bike away through the falling rain, looking…defeated. That panic had felt tangible, like something was clawing up through his throat, choking him, and it had sent a jolt, like an electric shock, through his body and up to his brain and suddenly he was racing to get Lucas, scrambling to mount his bike as he babbled an explanation to the concerned ranger, shooting across town, barely noticing the fact that he was getting drenched as his thoughts twisted and turned and went to every dark place he could imagine and some that he couldn’t because losing Will was something that he didn’t even want to think about.

And when he had been rapping on the Byers’ front door, shouting at Will around the lump in his throat, he had thought maybe, just maybe, he was overreacting. Just because he felt like his whole world was ending didn’t mean Will felt the same.

That theory was crushed when Mike spotted the cleric standing, shoulders slumped, breathing heavily, over the ruins of what had once been Castle Byers. The destruction of Will’s safe space was more than enough evidence of the overwhelming pain the younger boy must have felt.

Of the pain he must still be feeling.

And so, taking a deep breath, Mike sent a silent prayer up to the heavens (hey, he didn’t know. Maybe God was real. Probably not, and if He did, the guy clearly had no love for him, but it couldn’t hurt to cover his bases) and, steeling himself, he shuffled over and stood nervously in front of Will until the other boy noticed him.

“Is this seat taken?” Mike asked lightly, wanting to try to at least start the conversation off somewhat in Will’s good graces.

He was hoping for something. A twitch of a smile. Even just a head shake.

What Mike got was a hard look and a half-shrug.

Not exactly what he had been hoping for, but Will’s coldness was more than understandable, given what had occurred the last time they’d been alone.

So he took the opening and, before he could talk himself out of it, he sat down beside Will.

Sneaking a sideways glance at him, Mike’s heart sank when he observed how stiff the other boy’s posture was, when he saw the tension in his shoulders.

There was a noticeable amount of space between them, in more ways than one.

“Are you okay?” Mike inquired timidly and tried to ignore the way his heart leaped when Will actually turned to look at him. He quickly moistened his oddly parched mouth and went on. “I mean, you’re sitting here…”

He made a vague motion toward one of the ambulance vehicles and Will, after a few moments, nodded.

“Just a few scrapes,” he reassured him, making Mike let out a relieved sigh. “You?”

“Same,” Mike said, nodding, and he tried not to show how happy it made him that some of the tension seemed to leave Will’s body, as though truly thankful that Mike hadn’t suffered a serious injury.

Of course he’s relieved! his inner voice snarled at him. He might be pissed at you but he’s not an asshole! That’s your job, remember?

Mike dug his nails a little deeper into his left palm to drive the thought away.

He cast his eyes around, feeling something in him ache as his gaze swept over all the destruction.

He was lucky to have gotten through tonight relatively unharmed.

Others hadn’t been as fortunate.

Mike winced when he thought of what Max must be feeling right now, the conflicted emotions that must be waging war within her.

Billy had been a prick, an embodiment of everything Mike despised, but he was still her family.

And now he was gone.

And despite everything, in his last moments, he had died to help them, to protect them.

And despite the…strained…relationship they currently had, Mike obviously cared about El. He hoped she was doing okay at the hospital, where she'd been sprinted off to as soon as a paramedic had spotted her injured leg, Hopper tagging along to keep her company (and also to ensure he didn't have a concussion from the blast that had knocked him unconscious when the gate had closed).

Mike continued to scan his surroundings, trying to shake himself from his tangled thoughts.

The colorful, cheerful atmosphere of Starcourt Mall had been erased literally overnight, and now, the only legacy the place would have was one of death.

“Do you think they’ll bother rebuilding?” Mike questioned, verbalizing his thoughts.

Will glanced back at him, before looking away, his eyes combing over the burned ruins. Scattered throughout, firefighters (not locals, obviously, but some of Owens’ men) still worked to douse flames and…recover all the bodies they could (of which there were few).

“Probably not,” he decided and Mike noticed that his voice had a biting edge to it that he wouldn’t normally associate with the cleric. “They might just decide it's better to…cut their losses and move on.”

Mike frowned. It was a fair point but seemed rather pessimistic coming from Will.

“I don’t know,” Mike said, leaning back and shrugging. “Who knows? Maybe they can rebuild. Make it better, even.”

“Is it really worth it though?” Will said, his voice sounding…harsh. Mike flinched at the cold glare the younger boy was giving him. “I mean, what happens if they do all that work and then the next time something bad happens, it all goes to shit again?”

Mike blinked and opened his mouth before snapping it shut as realization dawned on him.

Will wasn’t talking about the mall.

He was talking about them.

He took a few moments to gather his thoughts, chewing his lip, until he came to a decision.

“Will,” Mike said softly. “We, uh, we need to talk.”

He glanced at Will and a moment later, Will looked up at him. The younger boy’s face was swirling with emotions Mike wished he could identify. Eventually, it shifted into something suspiciously blank, like Will was wearing a mask. He looked guarded.

“Okay,” Will whispered, his voice sounding strained.

Mike looked away from him and focused on his own shoes, though he knew that was cowardly. He couldn’t help it.

“So, uh,” Mike said eloquently. “Listen, about what happened in the…in the garage…I, uh-”

“Look at me.”

Will’s voice sounded so furious that Mike winced.

He sheepishly looked back at Will to find the other boy glaring at him, but his eyes looked misty.

“If you’re about to say what I think you are,” Will posited, the words coming out in a hiss as his voice shook with barely-contained anger. “Then you should at least have the decency to look me in the eyes when you say the words! You owe me that, Mike!”

Mike sucked in and then let out a deep breath, before he nodded. Will was right. Mike needed to look him in the eyes to show him that he meant it. It was the proper thing to do.

So he did, and before Will’s dark expression could put him off, he blurted the first thing that came to mind, the thing he needed Will to know the most.

“I’m sorry,” Mike croaked out. But that wasn’t enough. “I’m so sorry, Will.”

Will’s face, strangely, showed surprise, his eyebrows shooting up as all signs of anger left him.

“You’re-” Will said incredulously as if he couldn’t trust what he had heard. “You’re sorry?”

“Yeah, I am!” Mike replied, rushing to go on. “God, I’m really sorry, Will. I’m…I totally crossed the line. All that shit I said in the garage, I…I’m sorry for everything.”

Will blinked and then seemed to be studying him, like he was wondering if the person in front of him was really Mike.

“Everything?” Will said, and now there was an edge to his voice, a hidden trap. This was a multi-layered question and Mike knew why that was.

"Everything," Mike stressed. He moved to add more but his throat was suddenly obstructed as a half-choked sob tore from his throat.

This seemed to bewilder Will even more, and, if Mike had been focused, he might have noticed Will's hand twitch where it rested on his lap, as though he was considering reaching across the empty space and grabbing Mike's own.

Mike took a few seconds to compose himself, feeling embarrassed about his mini-breakdown. Goddamn it, this was about Will, not him!

Part of him wanted to avoid mentioning…those words…specifically. But he had a feeling that if he didn’t bring it up, if he just gave a vague, more general apology, Will would be disappointed in him.

Suddenly, Mike recalled a distant conversation, one that had taken place years ago.

He had gotten in a fight with Dustin over…he couldn’t even remember. Probably something stupid. In the heat of the moment, they had both lashed out and said some mean things, and Mike had stomped up the basement stairs and hidden in his room as he fumed.

In true child-like fashion, he had started feeling guilty almost instantly. Really, it had been a dumb thing to argue about and…he had kind of started it, though he was still mad over some of the things Dustin had said.

He started feeling sheepish and was soon trying to figure out how to best say he was sorry when Nancy, who had been startled by the sound of his bedroom door slamming, came to check on him.

She had sat next to him on his bed while he babbled out an explanation, before immediately asking how he should phrase an apology.

After hiding a smile (because wow, her brother switched emotions so fast, it was almost concerning, but then again, he was a kid), she had given him instructions that, unknown to her, would stay with him for the rest of his life:

“Mike, the thing you have to understand about an apology,” Nancy had said in her lecturing older sister tone, “is that you need to mean it. Because…I feel like a lot of people don’t. People act like an apology is something they have to do, so they almost never actually mean it. So they’re just saying words with no…sincerity. People act like ‘sorry’ is this magic word that fixes everything, but it’s not.”

Mike had been confused.

“So,” he had said, puzzled. “I…don’t say ‘sorry’?”

“No, not-” she quickly corrected, stopping to take a breath. “You should still say ‘sorry,’ but you can’t just leave it at that. When you apologize, you need to address exactly what you did and what you said. All of it. Be specific. I know it’ll probably make you feel bad, talking about it like that, but it’s not supposed to be easy. And if you actually focus on what exactly you did and said, the other person knows that you know what you did wrong and that you’re not bullshitting them.”

Mike thought about it and found himself agreeing.

And so he had done that, and, when it had seemed to work, he decided to use the explanation Nancy gave him as a sort of model for all his future apologies.

There had been a lot of them over the years since, apparently, he was stubborn.

But despite that, despite what his friends may occasionally say (always joking, he knew that), Mike wasn’t stupid.

He knew what was at stake here.

Right now, he was being faced with the very real possibility of losing Will forever.

And if Mike allowed that to happen because of something he’d said?

It would be the worst thing he's ever done.

And so, with something as priceless as Will’s friendship on the line, Mike took the plunge and trusted in his sister’s advice as he utilized that model now.

“I’m sorry, Will,” he repeated, but then went further, getting to the specifics. “I’m sorry for…ignoring you for…most of the summer. I’m sorry for…making fun of you for still being into DnD and acting like you needed to just grow up and that we were…better than you somehow. And…and…I’m so, so sorry for that shit I said about you not liking girls.”

Mike had to stop to take steady breaths before he started crying.

“It was…really, really shitty,” Mike went on, needing Will to know that he understood the magnitude of what he had said, of what he had implied. “I…took something that assholes had been saying about you for years and…threw it in your face, and made you feel bad about it.”

Without thinking, Mike reached across the space and grabbed Will’s hand and to his relief, Will seemed receptive, though, for some reason, he was still looking at him like he was wondering if what Mike was saying was reality or a dream.

“That’s not something a best friend does,” Mike stated firmly. “Even if I was mad, that was messed up.”

Mike stared at Will, waiting for him to respond.

Finally, Will seemed to accept that this was, in fact, real life and when that happened, a curious change overtook him.

He suddenly looked timid, unsure.

“So,” Will asked, his voice sounding small, searching Mike’s face like he was looking for validation. “You’re…you’re not kicking me out of the Party?”

Mike blinked, nonplussed.

Where the hell had that come from?

“Wh-?” Mike started but then had to stop because…what? “Will, what are you talking about? Of course I’m not kicking you out of the Party! Why would I ever do that? Why would you even think that?”

“I-” Will started and then stopped. He looked at his lap, face becoming unreadable, but he was clearly debating something, turning an idea over in his mind. He seemed to reach a consensus, and when he looked back up, Mike was shocked by the sheer vulnerability on Will’s face. He leaned forward. Mike knew that look. Will was sharing something important. Just how important was evident by the cleric’s next words, spoken in a hesitant, shaking voice. “Mike, what if…what if it was true? What if…I didn’t like girls? What if I was…?”

Mike’s breath caught when he realized the full extent of what Will was saying.

What if I was gay?

Holy shit, Will was gay?

Mike was suddenly unable to speak. In fact, even breathing was a struggle. Mike felt like he had all those times he'd had the wind knocked out of him in gym class.

Because that…that meant that he…

Did Mike actually have a chance?

He quickly squashed the ludicrous thought, scoffing internally.

Calm down, Wheeler, Mike thought to himself. Just because Will is gay doesn’t mean shit about your chances with him. You don’t even know if he likes you like that! Which he probably doesn’t, since you are an absolute piece of shit who spent the whole summer ignoring-

Mike shut down that thought before he could spiral even further into self-loathing.

Oh my God, he still hasn’t responded to Will’s revelation! He quickly focused and winced when he saw that Will was looking unsure again.

“That’s great!” Mike exclaimed and woah, calm down. He didn’t want to give anything away. Calming himself, he went on, smiling. “I just mean…it’s great that you’ve figured that out about yourself. And of course I still want you in the Party! I-we’ll always want you in the Party! Because you’re you, and this doesn’t change that and…yeah…”

Mike trailed off awkwardly, his expression sheepish, but looking at Will, he could see the message had gotten across.

Will had tears running down his cheeks but he was beaming and he lunged forward and hugged him so tight that Mike’s chest hurt but he didn’t care because this was Will and they were hugging and everything felt so much better.

The tension that had existed between them seemed to finally fall away and when they separated, they were both grinning.

At that moment, everything was perfect.

They settled back in their spots, except this time, they were smushed together, their shoulders pressed against each other.

“Could you-?” Will started before pausing to figure out how to phrase his query. “Could you…not say anything about it to anyone else? I…I don’t really want everyone to know yet. I haven’t even told my mom or Jon, though…he probably already knows. Her too.”

Mike tried to hide his blush.

He was the first person Will had told?

He felt honored.

“Yeah, definitely,” he told an anxious Will, nodding vigorously. “My lips are sealed.”

Will looked relieved at Mike’s reassurance and both boys descended into a few long moments of comfortable silence.

“You know,” Will spoke up eventually, sounding somewhat embarrassed. “About what happened in the garage, it wasn’t all your fault.”

At Mike’s questioning look, Will clarified.

“Like,” he explained. “I…I was being kind of…callous. El had just dumped you and I just kept whining about playing DnD. I could’ve been more considerate of what you were feeling.”

Mike had started shaking his head before Will had even finished.

“Maybe,” Mike allowed, shrugging. “But you were right too. I…I was spending too much time with El. I had been ignoring you and the others. And…that’s not right.”

“I mean, it’s okay,” Will said, trying to make Mike feel better. “Like…El’s your girlfriend. Of course you want to spend time with her.”

“Y-yeah, I guess,” Mike replied, though, for some reason, the idea of El being his girlfriend made something clench in his stomach. It felt wrong. “But, you know, it wasn’t just about spending time with her. I was sort of…making it about me.”

“What do you mean?” Will asked, looking confused.

“Like,” Mike started, pausing to think. How should he put this? “I think there was a part of me that wanted a girlfriend because…that’s…that’s what I was ‘supposed’ to do. You know? Like, that’s what people do, right? When they grow up? And…we were growing up, so…that’s what I thought I had to do.”

Seeing Will’s anxious look, Mike rushed to clarify.

“Which I realize now was stupid,” he said. “I still like DnD and watching scary movies and competing over who has the best popcorn flavor combo and all that stuff. And…I’m not just going to…leave that all behind just because it’s what I’m ‘supposed’ to do.”

Will smiled softly. He liked the sound of that.

“Good,” he spoke up. “Honestly, that’s…that’s kind of nice to hear because…well, I was kind of worried.”

Mike frowned.

“About?” he prompted his friend to explain.

“Oh, you know,” Will said, and his voice was quiet. “Just…I guess I thought that maybe you were…pulling away from me because you…I don’t know, you’d ‘outgrown’ me or something.”

Mike scoffed.

“Outgrown you?” he said. “Will, come on! That’s insane!”

“Was it, though?” Will pressed him. “You just said you wanted to start acting more grown up, and I still wanted to be a kid. I thought…I thought maybe you were…letting me go or something. Because you finally realized that I was too…different.”

Mike shook his head rapidly, taking Will’s hand again.

“Will, there’s nothing wrong with being different,” he reminded him. “Different is cool! We’re all different! The whole Party! We always have been!”

“I know, Mike, but-” Will sighed, running a hand through his hair as he tried to explain. “But I’m…I mean, I’m really different. And I don’t just mean because I’m the shortest or whatever. But like…all the Upside Down stuff and…liking boys. I was really different, so even in a group of outcasts, I was ‘different’ from the others.”

Mike chewed his lip in thought. He kind of understood what Will was saying.

The cleric went on.

“And-” he hesitated, wondering if he should share this. He had to. “And I know we’re supposed to embrace what makes us…unique or whatever, be happy about it, but I just felt…lonely. I was on my own. And I thought that maybe, it was because of how ‘different’ I was. It was like this crushing weight on my chest. It was like the world was telling me I was too messed up, that me being ‘different’ was wrong. That I was a mistake and-”

And that was the last thing Mike heard before Will’s voice was suddenly drowned out by a rushing sound that came from his own mind. It sounded like when he stood under the showerhead and covered his ears, like a steady roar. He felt frozen, as though encased in ice. Later, Mike would remember another time and place he had felt this way: Sattler Quarry, the night they pulled that dummy out of the water, a dummy that, at the time, he had thought was the gray, cold corpse of his best friend. When he did make this observation, it would take him a moment to realize what connected the two events.

Both involved Will, of course.

And both felt wrong.

Seeing the supposed body of his best friend being pulled from the dark water had felt wrong. Will Byers couldn’t be dead. He was alive and he belonged with Mike, standing next to him.

Will being dead broke some sacred law.

And now? Here in the remnants of Starcourt?

What Will had said was so, so wrong that Mike was shocked that the planets were still in alignment. How was the universe itself not rebelling at bearing witness to such a blatant lie?

Will must have noticed Mike’s flabbergasted expression because he had stopped talking and was now poking his friend and calling his name, growing more concerned when he didn’t automatically get a response.

“Mike!” Will shouted, the sound finally piercing through the roar. “Are you okay?”

“I-” Mike croaked, and Will ceased his poking when he heard his voice. “No.”

“What’s wrong?” Will asked and Mike looked back at him incredulously because…really?

“Will,” Mike said, his voice still raspy from a sudden onslaught of strong emotions. “Do…do you really feel like that?”

Will was lost and so Mike brought the conversation back to the point of concern.

“Do you really feel…like a mistake?” Mike asked carefully, somehow, somehow managing to say the offensive word without immediately vomiting.

Will’s hands were twisting together in his lap and several times, he opened his mouth to say something before stopping himself. It didn’t matter. Mike could read the other boy’s affirmative answer on his face.

“Will,” Mike said now, his voice adopting a firm tone that he often used when he wanted his pick to be chosen for movie night. He stretched out his hands and gripped his friend’s shoulders. “Let’s…let’s get one thing absolutely clear. Okay? You are not a mistake. Do you understand? I…I can’t even begin to describe how fucking wrong that word is in relation to you. You are the…furthest thing from a mistake, Will.”

Will was very obviously blushing, muttering words too low for him to hear.

It was honestly pretty adorable.

Mike released the younger boy's shoulders, immediately dropping both hands down to cup one of Will's.

Neither of them acknowledged when Will had to use his other hand to wipe at his eyes.

They were silent for several long moments, both needing to regain their composure.

Finally, Mike spoke.

"And," he finished, his voice quivering as he thought of where Will possibly could have gotten such a ridiculous idea. "If I ever did or said anything this summer or any time before that… that…made you feel that way, or shit, made you think that I thought that about you, then I…I…I could spend the rest of my life apologizing and not make up for how sorry I am."

Mike felt Will squeeze his hand and glancing up at him, he saw the other boy wearing a forgiving smile.

Mike smiled again before his expression and tone became serious.

"It's not going to happen again," he vowed. "All the bullshit that happened this summer. The hiding. Canceling plans at the last minute. Ignoring you and the rest of the Party. All the stupid bickering that's going on in the group. I'm not letting it happen anymore. I swear, Will."

Will's smile widened.

"Okay," he approved and Mike saw that his eyes looked bright for the first time in…a while. "Good."

"I want to be…better," Mike continued, and Will's breath caught, because he could feel something, some tingling in the air, like that feeling you get right before a thunderstorm. There was an odd cadence to Mike's voice now, one he recognized.

He had felt the same energy in the Wheeler basement last Halloween, sparkling between them as they sat side by side, as though the stars had descended from the sky and were wrapping around them, like a glittering blanket.

He had heard the same modulation in Mike's voice then.

The night that he said they would go crazy together.

Will now knew what that power was.

It was the power inherent in a sacred oath.

Mike wasn't just promising Will that he would be better. He was pledging it before the entire universe, indicating that it was one that he definitely intended to keep.

Because nothing quite upsets the synergy of the universe like a broken promise.

"I want to be better," Mike repeated more confidently. "And…I know I can be. And I'm ready to show that. I will show it. I will."

Will observed him for a moment. He saw the way Mike seemed relaxed, more carefree, more like…himself than he had looked in a while.

This was his Mike.

For the first time in months, being alone with Mike didn’t feel suffocating. It felt right. Will no longer thought of himself as being left adrift, outside the realm, worlds apart from Mike.

Instead, he felt like both Mike and he existed together in a world that was entirely their own.

Will leaned forward, drawing his own face very close to Mike's and bringing a finger to the other boy's lips.

Mike ignored the way his heart missed a beat, just as Will ignored the way he could feel his cheeks flaming.

"I hate to ruin this moment," Will said in a falsely regretful tone. "But you seem confused. Probably the heat." He brought his finger back and tapped himself on the nose. "I Will." Then, he tapped an amused Mike on the nose. "You Mike."

It took five seconds of Mike's exasperated silence before they burst out laughing.

They composed themselves a few moments later, shifting positions to get more comfortable. Will was still giggling and Mike was shaking his head fondly.

"One of these days," the paladin alleged. "I'm going to get tired of that joke."

"No, you won't," Will replied with certainty.

“A bold claim,” Mike shot back, grinning. He had made things right with Will and he could breathe again. He felt jubilant. Euphoric. Like that feeling you get when you put your ear up to the chest of your once-thought-dead best friend and hear his heart beating strongly, in defiance of logic. “I want to disagree, but as…penance for my many mistakes, I’ll concede the point. Consider it a…bonus prize.”

“Good,” Will sent back, smirking momentarily before that gave way to a gentle expression. “But seriously, Mike, it’s…it’s okay. We’re okay.”

“Oh,” Mike mused, and for a moment, he allowed his relief to shine through, just to show Will he was grateful for his words before he covered it with a falsely surprised look. “Are you sure? Because another part of the bonus prize was that I grant you one wish. Anything you want, within reason. But if you don’t want it, then-”

“Actually,” Will interrupted, speaking above his sudden laughter. “I’ll take the prize. I want my wish.” The smaller boy leaned toward Mike again, speaking clearly as his eyes gleamed with victory. “I want to play DnD.”

Mike’s resultant snort broke them and both boys cackled, their shoulders shaking with laughter.

It took Mike a whole minute to collect himself.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he eventually promised Will as he saw the other boy’s hopeful expression, ending his statement with a grin.

“Good,” Will repeated before his eyes brightened with a mischievous light. “It’s been a while. Hopefully, the quality of your campaigns hasn’t suffered.”

Mike opened his mouth to assure Will that his creative juices were flowing as strongly as ever, but then he stopped upon spotting something that made him pause.

Two figures were sitting in the middle of the closed-off parking lot, one facing them, one away. The one facing away was hugging their knees to their chest, while the other sat cross-legged a considerable distance away.

Mike squinted before his eyes widened when the nearer figure's distinctive hair color identified them as Max. Which meant that, yes, the other figure was Lucas, he saw that now.

Mike watched them for a few seconds, all traces of merriment ebbing away, before, taking a deep breath, he got to his feet and moved toward them, Will following him silently.

He came around on her right side, observing the way she kept her face buried between her knees, obscured.

"Max?" Mike said softly.

She gave no indication of having heard him.

He glanced at Lucas and found the other boy looking just as helpless as he felt.

"Max?" he tried again, his voice a little louder.

Slowly, she lifted her head and turned to look at him.

Mike's breath caught at the sight of her oddly blank face, at her eyes that looked…dead.

When he didn't say anything else, she dropped his gaze and rehid her face.

Mike hesitated.

Just two days ago, he would have walked away, trusting that if anything was wrong with Max, Lucas could handle it so that he didn't have to deal with it.

Except Lucas was as lost as he was.

And Max…wasn't something to pawn off on someone, wasn't something to just ignore when he didn't know what to do.

She was their friend, his friend, and she was feeling pain beyond any he could imagine.

Except…

He kind of could.

Because he remembered that night at Sattler Quarry when he stood on the banks of the water and felt as though his entire world was ending. He remembered the cold, tight feeling in his chest. Remembered the way he had been hit by a pang of loss so strong that it had driven him to tears (and eventually, later that night, to puke).

Mike didn’t know the nature of Max’s relationship with Billy. But he’d like to think he understood some of what she must be feeling, of what she needed at that moment.

He had biked home and broken down in his mom's arms.

He remembered how he had felt then.

Safe. Cared for. Protected.

She hadn't said anything, but he was so grateful she was just there, offering comfort with her presence.

Mike swallowed around the lump in his throat and, not stopping to question his decision, he sat down, taking up position on Max's right.

Hesitating for only a split second, Mike reached out a hand and placed it on her shoulder.

He saw Will sit on Max's left, before copying his action, his hand coming to rest on her left shoulder.

Following their example, Lucas scooted closer and, after debating for a moment where to place his own hand, chose one of her legs.

The sound of footsteps caused Mike to twist his head around, just in time to spot Dustin stop behind Max. They made eye contact and, after noting what they all were doing, the other boy nodded to himself and took up station behind Max, resting a hand on her back.

They all stayed like that for a while, anchoring her, supporting her in silence.

At a certain point, it registered for Mike that Max was shaking and it was only when she lifted her head from her knees to wipe furiously at her eyes that he realized she had begun silently crying.

It wasn't long before the first audible sob wracked through her body, and once they began, they didn't stop. They were harsh and discordant noises, filled with anguish that tore at Mike's heart.

He met Will's eyes and saw that his friend was thinking the same thing as him.

Scooting closer in tandem, Mike and Will leaned in, hugging Max from each side. Dustin spread his arms and hugged her from behind, Lucas from the front, completing their spell.

Thus obscured from scrutiny, they cast protection over their zoomer, giving her privacy from the outside world as she grieved.

And later, after Mike had developed a habit of sitting up all night in his near pitch-black basement, going through his list of all the moments in his life when he wished he had acted differently, he would eventually come to realize that this moment was not one of those times.

Because right then, surrounded by members of his chosen family, Mike felt complete.

"It's over, Michael. I have the high ground."

Mike blinked and, when he registered his surroundings, he shot Will, who was smirking at him from the end of the hallway, a playful glare. Mike giggled when he realized his husband had also been sitting on the hallway floor…just around the corner and thus out of his immediate sight.

"I bet you've been waiting your whole life to say something like that to me," Mike speculated, shaking his head. "You've always quite literally looked up to me."

"I caught up eventually," Will reminded him, smiling. His smile melted into a serious expression as he sat down on the carpet beside Mike, both leaning up against the bathroom door. "How'd it go?"

"Pretty good," Mike responded, sighing. "He still has an issue with 'conveniently' leaving out details that make him look bad."

"He is your son," Will responded, smirking, and Mike tilted his head as he considered disposing of the rest of his coffee by pouring it over Will's head.

No.

Coffee could never be wasted.

Mike sniffed with false haughtiness and ignored the slight.

"Wait,” Will piped up, his eyebrows raising as Mike’s comment about their son’s behavior fully registered. “So he did actually call her a bastard?”

Will snorted in amusement at Mike’s confirming nod.

“Does she know what it means?” Mike asked, finishing off his coffee at last.

“No,” Will assured him, shifting to get into a more comfortable position. “Does he?”

“Nope,” Mike replied, finally allowing himself to smile at the situation. “He was pretty worried that he’d said something really awful. He feels bad.”

“So does she,” Will informed him, chuckling slightly. “Who do you think is going to apologize first?”

“Jonas is older,” Mike speculated, “so he feels responsible.”

“Maia did start it though,” Will reminded him. “And she knows that. I think it could go either way.”

Mike nodded his head in agreement but before he could say anything else, both men looked up as, in unison, the doors at each end of the hall opened and Maia and Jonas stepped from their respective bedrooms, the former clutching a piece of paper. Both obviously had intended to venture across the hall into the other’s territory.

Upon seeing each other, they stopped, frozen for a couple of seconds, before they both erupted into giggles.

“I win,” Will said smugly and when Mike made to argue, added. “I said it could go either way.”

“But not both at once,” Mike insisted. “Neither of us saw that coming.”

Their argument drew their children’s attention and they both blinked as though noticing their fathers for the first time.

“Why are you sitting in the middle of the hall?” Maia asked, giggling even more at the sight of Mike and Will sitting in such awkward positions.

“Cleaning the carpet,” Mike lied and made a show of examining the floor as though looking for dirt particles.

Jonas snorted before gesturing to his right, indicating that Maia should follow him into the laundry room. She complied and Mike and Will shot each other smiles as they heard both kids taking turns talking in low voices, no doubt following the apology model that Mike had passed on from Nancy.

They reappeared a few minutes later and both men shared a secret look of victory at the sight of them holding hands.

They stopped before them and Maia cleared her throat to draw their attention. When she had it, she silently indicated that Jonas, as the oldest, should do the talking.

“We’ve decided,” Jonas spoke up, directing his speech to both of them, trying and failing to remain straight-faced. “That this is your fault.”

Will, who had been taking the last sip of his own coffee, promptly choked on the brown liquid. Mike, after ensuring that his husband wasn’t in need of medical attention, focused back on Jonas and raised his eyebrows.

“I’m sorry?” he questioned them and Maia nodded, looking serious.

“You should be,” she intoned, accompanying her declaration with action as she offered them the paper in her hand. Will took it, still wiping his mouth, and when he had studied the drawing enough to glean its contents, he snorted and showed it to his husband.

Mike took it and, after appraising it for a few seconds, chuckled.

It was a simple sketch, denoting the rushed state their daughter had made it in. The maple tree took center stage, taking up a good portion of the page. Hanging from one of its large branches were two tire swings, dangling side by side. And in each swing was a small human figure, one Maia, the other Jonas.

“This wouldn’t have happened if we had two swings,” Maia asserted strongly. Jonas nodded, concurring.

Mike scoffed at the assumption, shaking his head. Will had taken Maia’s drawing back from him and remained silent as he continued to assess it.

“This wouldn’t have happened if the two of you knew how to share,” Mike corrected them, looking mainly at Maia, smiling even as he used his parental tone. “Or, barring that, if one of you had come to us instead of reacting the way you did.”

He directed this last statement mostly to Jonas and the boy blushed before sobering.

“We know how to share,” Maia claimed and when she saw Mike’s skeptical expression, appeared determined to prove him wrong. Huffing, she carefully stepped over the legs of her fathers, tugging Jonas with her. As he heard his children moving down the stairs, Mike smiled as Maia’s resolute voice flowed up to meet his ears. “Come on. I’ll push you. I’ll bet I can get you to go higher than you could get me.”

Mike chuckled softly before, noticing that Will hadn’t joined him, he refocused on his husband, who was still checking out Maia’s sketch.

Feeling Mike’s eyes on his form, Will looked up, appearing startled to find them alone.

“Where’d they go?” he asked curiously.

“To prove us wrong,” Mike replied and Will, understanding, smirked.

Will sighed, returning his eyes to the drawing.

“You know,” he said slowly. “They kind of have a point.”

Mike looked like he was about to argue but then stopped as he thought about it.

“Yeah,” he admitted, sighing. “Having only one swing is sort of asking for trouble. The least we could do is get them something they could do together.”

The sole swing was a remnant of their life before Maia had come into it. They had built it so that Jonas could have something to do in the backyard. Both men had been meaning to update their play facilities for a while, but hadn’t gotten around to it yet.

“I guess we could build another tire swing,” Mike went on, shrugging. “We’ve wanted to replace the one we have anyway. Might as well add another while we’re at it.”

Will’s gaze had returned to Maia’s drawing. His daughter’s suggestion certainly had merit, but he couldn’t help but think there was a better, more permanent solution.

Will smiled to himself when he found it.

“How about a swing set?” the cleric asked softly, glancing up to gauge Mike’s reaction.

Mike’s attention snapped to Will and he met the younger man’s eyes.

They held each other’s gaze for a few silent moments, before Mike’s face broke out into a wide grin.

“A swing set?” Mike repeated, seemingly to himself as much as to Will. His smile took on a teasing quality. “Interesting choice. What made you think of that?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Will responded, playing along. “It’s just…from my experience, they tend to bring people together.”

They both snickered at that and Mike took Maia’s drawing, glancing over it himself now.

“We have that big space in the back,” Will continued, getting more enthused about the idea the more he thought of it. “Between the tree and the garden. We could set it up there. Assemble it together. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure we don’t screw up too badly.”

Mike brought his leg up and kicked Will gently in the stomach, ignoring the other man’s laughter.

Will reached across and took Mike’s hand, squeezing it.

“So,” he questioned. “What do you say?”

Mike glanced up from his daughter’s sketch and met Will’s hopeful expression, eagerness seeming to exude from him like heat from a candle.

Mike chuckled at the look. It was the look that Will knew he could never say “no” to.

There was only one answer to give.

“I’ll see what I can do.”