Chapter Text
Now that you are right here,
I’ll always feel the same.
I still love the way you smile,
and the way you say my name.
But nothing stays the same.
Now I know, nothing stays the same.
- The Same (Ashe)
In the aftermath, there were three immediate questions.
The first, and most obvious, was quickly answered. What would happen to Hawkins now? Following what was believed to be a disastrous earthquake, a good portion of the remaining survivors elected to re-locate, fleeing from the wasteland that the town was rapidly devolving into. Justifiably so, considering that even if they had been lucky enough to emerge with their lives, their homes had been largely up-ended, and it was unlikely that they would be able to return to any semblance of normalcy anytime soon. This was not to mention the erratic weather events parading through the town like a doomsday knell, or the fact that strange tragedies had been plaguing the once peaceful area for years now. All in all, even without the knowledge of the Upside Down, it made sense that most of the Hawkins residents chose to leave. In the meantime, the handful remaining began the arduous task of re-building the community, and providing aid to those who had lost their homes or been wounded in the disaster.
The next issue was slightly more complicated. Where was Vecna, and what were they supposed to do now? They had no real way of finding Vecna, despite the intermittent pulses in Will’s neck reminding that it would be remiss of them to let down their guard. Apart from the hellish limbo that the town had been plunged into, there were no other stirrings. No sudden disappearances, no gruesome deaths, no monsters. On the one occasion that El had attempted to put out feelers, she had come up disappointingly empty, and it seemed that there would be no way to gain any sort of lead. Thus, with dead end after dead end in sight, they had no choice but to resign themselves to playing the waiting game.
Thus came the final question. It was arguably the easiest, though if anyone asked Will, it was the most anxiety-inducing of all.
Where the hell were the Byers supposed to go?
The answer, theoretically, was simple. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that Joyce and El would take up residence at Hopper’s cabin. Due to the limited space, Jonathan was relegated to an air mattress in the living room. Of course, it was hardly ideal for a grown man like him, but he was hardly one to complain. Then, by all logic, Will should have wound up sharing the air mattress with him. But because things were never that easy, that wasn’t what ended up happening.
Because the universe absolutely hates Will, he ends up staying at the Wheelers’.
Under normal circumstances, he would have no problem with this arrangement at all. It’s not like Will is unfamiliar with the Wheelers’. If anything, he’s too familiar, having had his childhood characterised largely by being a houseguest there. He knows how the third step always creaks, the story behind the embarrassing discolouration on the hallway wall, the sound of Mr. Wheeler’s footfalls when he gets up like clockwork for the toilet at 2 a.m. He’d never gone through the awkward phase of having to tiptoe around a house that wasn’t his own, or being subject to stilted, forced dinner table conversation, because from the very beginning the Wheelers had been as familiar with him as he had been with them.
So, theoretically, there should’ve been no issues at all. Theoretically, Will should’ve been more natural with his response to Mrs. Wheeler’s proposal. Theoretically, Will shouldn’t have secretly prayed that his mother would jump in and insist that they couldn’t possibly put out the Wheelers.
In reality, Will lingers a little longer when he hugs his mother goodbye, promising to be back for regular dinners. In reality, Will knows better than to cause more trouble than is worth over an innocent act of goodwill. In reality, when Will walks up to the Wheelers’, he deliberately drags his feet.
Lenora had been a fiasco, and everything after had been – well. Frankly, it had all blurred together at some point – Lenora, Suzie, Nevada, Surfer Boy Pizza, Hawkins… Will doesn’t quite know how to begin to describe it. He doesn’t even think he’s even begun properly processing it. Putting aside his own theatre production with Mike, it feels like he hasn’t been able to catch a break since that terrible night he’d been stolen away to the Upside Down, and that they’ve been stuck in this eternal loop of false security followed by debilitating crisis since then. Will’s exhausted, and he had been checked out either physically or mentally for kidnapping or possession reasons for a good bit of it. He can’t imagine how the rest of them feel.
Truthfully, it had been this exhaustion that had given him pause when Mrs. Wheeler had brought up the idea in the first place. He still doesn’t quite know where he stands with Mike, and with the whole end-of-the-world situation, he doesn’t want to complicate matters with his presence, or cause any unnecessary trouble.
The one sliver of optimism he latches onto is that it’s less weird now, between them, now that they’ve somewhat talked it out. That invisible cord of tension that had spun out between them since that uncomfortable reunion in the airport, along with the cloying, unresolved residue of the summer before, has eased slightly. In the hectic blur of those initial days after their return to Hawkins, all of them had been busy with their own matters. However, during the rare instances that Will had run into Mike, the other boy had seemed more of his old self; though given that they had been relegated to simple brush pasts, it was arguably difficult to gain any sort of definitive conclusion on just what Mike was thinking about. Still, Will is childishly grateful for the small, private way that Mike still smiles at him, no matter how fleeting.
But that’s one thing, and reality is another. He’s never quite able to allow himself to enjoy these brief moments, because any burgeoning delusions of happiness are quickly squashed by the memory of the van ride, and Mike’s impassioned declaration of love in the pizza freezer.
Really, it’s not even Mike’s problem. For one, Will had been the one who had chosen to say what he’d said, who’d looked down at the cliff’s edge of the monstrous lie he was brewing and taken a massive swan dive off. In some sense, he’d indirectly been the one who had emboldened Mike to say what he’d said. So, truthfully, this reality is one that he’s brought on himself. Besides, he’s always been acutely aware of the given thing that is Mike and El. The inevitability of their love. He has no business feeling like a wounded animal licking its wounds.
Will’s always been good at shoving his feelings down. He doesn’t resent having to do so. But more than anything, he’s afraid of being forced to confront how much everything has changed. It’d been easier to pretend when all of them were more focused on getting to El, on packing, on running, on moving. It’s less easy to pretend when he’s back, surrounded by people and places that he should know, but who flicker in and out of recognition like a smudged oil painting. It’s less easy to pretend when the only moving being done is moving on.
And God knows he should be moving on.
Last summer, he’d grasped at straws trying to pretend that the Party wasn’t steadily drifting away from each other. As if the ties binding them together weren’t pulling thin, with him strangled and miserable in the centre of a tangled web. There’d been the Mind Flayer, and he’d been able to pretend. There’d been the news of their move, and he’d been able to pretend.
But now, back here, where he has to face the irrefutable evidence that everything’s changed – he doesn’t know how to pretend. And even if he did, he doesn’t know if he has the strength to play charades any longer.
It’s the end of the world. You’d think he’d be more honest with himself.
He comes to a stop, sucking in a deep breath.
The door swings open.
“Hey.” Mike says. He’s slightly breathless, as if he’d run for the door, but the smile stretching across his face is nothing but genuine.
Despite his initial nerves, Will finds himself mirroring Mike’s grin. “Hey,” he says shyly. Mike seems to reach for his arm, before he pauses and rubs the back of his head instead.
“Well, uh,” he gestures lamely. “Come on. I cleared out my…” His eyes widen. “Wait. Hold on.” Will watches, confused, as Mike sprints off again. He doesn’t know whether to step into the house, so he dawdles awkwardly on the front porch, alternately shifting his bag of clothes from one hand to another.
He really needs to make a trip to the store, he thinks ruefully. He has nothing on him right now.
Finally, he hears more clattering, before Mike skids back into view. His hair is visibly dishevelled now, and he directs a bracing smile at Will.
“I cleared out my room for you.” He says brightly. Will’s eyebrows raise slightly. He supposes that he hasn’t slept over in a while, which explains Mike’s enthusiasm, but really, it’s not as if he hasn’t seen Mike’s room in varying states of disaster. Mike must see the expression on his face, because he rolls his eyes and tugs the bag from Will’s hands. “Come on, Will.” His voice is taking on somewhat of a whine now. “It’s way too hot out here.”
Will follows after him helplessly. To his cautious relief, the Wheelers’ house doesn’t seem to have changed much in the months that he’d been gone. Truthfully, he barely even notices some of the changes, but Mike seems to have taken it upon himself to be Will’s personal tour guide, and launches into detailed story after detailed story as Will trails after him.
When they get to Mike’s room, Will finds that it looks much the same as it had the last time he’d been there, save for the addition of some posters. It makes Mike’s earlier skittishness even weirder, but Will isn’t particularly inclined to pry.
Mike tosses the bag of clothes unceremoniously onto the ground. Some shirts spill out, and Mike frowns, seeming to notice the bag’s contents for the first time. “Jesus, Will, you’re wearing these?”
Will sighs. He stoops down to stuff the forlorn clothing back into the bag, before propping it against the wall. “They’re donations,” he explains. “Mom picked some up for me before sending me here.”
Mike’s frown deepens. “Why? You can just borrow my clothes.”
Despite himself, Will feels his cheeks flame. “That’s – ” He sputters for a moment. “We’re not even the same size, Mike.” He settles on weakly.
Mike’s still squinting at him like Will’s grown a second head. “We’ll figure it out.” He says dismissively. “We used to share clothes all the time.”
Will shakes his head, grinning. It’s nice that they’re able to revert to this easy banter, and his earlier nerves are all but forgotten. Mike’s always had a way of assuaging his worries, consciously or otherwise. “Yeah, when we were like, six.” He gestures vaguely at Mike, who only continues to eye him weirdly. “It’d be like… Jack and the beanstalk.”
“And I’m the beanstalk?” Mike says drily. Will arches his eyebrows in a you said it, not me way, before ducking laughingly from Mike’s grasp. “Hey, you’ve grown too, why is this on me?”
“Have I?” Will says, surprised. He doesn’t feel like he’s changed much. He still has the same unfortunate haircut, and he’s been stuck in the same clothes for what feels like forever. Sure, he’s filled out a little, but it’s not exactly strange for boys their age.
“Yeah, man.” Mike looks equally surprised. “Have you not seen yourself?”
“I don’t exactly make it a habit to preen at myself, Mike.” Will remarks wryly. “You know, narcissism is a sin.”
Mike looks offended, then mutinous, then defensive. “I don’t – I know that.” He splutters. “Jesus, sorry for trying to compliment you.”
Oh. Will feels slightly embarrassed. “Thanks?” He ventures. Mike rolls his eyes again, but it’s good-natured.
“Anyway,” he says pointedly, “like I said, just take whatever you want. It’s definitely gonna be a hell of a lot better than,” he nudges the bag with his foot, and Will glares at him when it spills over again, “whatever’s in there.”
Will can’t resist. “I’m not so sure.” He teases gently. “You looked like a deformed bird-of-paradise back in Lenora.”
Mike’s mouth hangs open. He sputters for a few seconds, before making a noise like a cat that’s been dunked into water. “A deformed – Max said that it was cool! She told me that’s how Californians – ”
Will has to press his lips together to stifle his laughter. Mike narrows his eyes at him. “Is this funny to you, William?”
“Very.” Will says primly. Mike lets out a humiliated groan, and flops onto his bed. “Mike,” Will snickers. “Come on. It wasn’t that bad.”
He can feel Mike’s glare even from where he is, and he winces. “Okay, it was. But I mean, really…”
“I thought it was cool.” Mike informs him miserably, his voice muffled into the duvet. “Tropical. You know, with the whole vibe there.”
“We’re experimental,” Will says blandly. “Not crazy.”
He instinctively ducks to avoid the pillow that comes flying his way.
Mike rolls over, disgruntled. His hair is sticking up, and he looks very much like a bird with its feathers ruffled. A baby kingfisher, Will thinks, suppressing his grin again. The reminder of Mike’s outrageous attire is a gift that keeps on giving. “Well, now that you’re gonna be wearing my clothes, we’ll just have to be crazy together, won’t we?”
Mike has this habit of speaking in givens, when it comes to Will. It’s something that Will finds grating at times, but for the most part, it’s comforting. Reassuring, to know that Will is someone Mike finds confidence in so easily.
“Yeah.” Will concedes. “Crazy together.”
They’re quiet for a moment.
“Is that why Argyle was so weird about my shirt?”
Will can’t help the bark of laughter that escapes his lips. Mike props himself up on his elbows, and the smile on his face is so fond, so Mike that Will feels himself soften. Maybe it won’t be so bad after all.
Still, the thing is, Will is no fool. Regardless of how Mike seems to have warmed up considerably since meeting him again in Lenora, Will isn’t dumb enough to assume this means that everything is fine again. Not when the threat of Vecna is still hanging over them, or when all of them have been rent asunder by trauma in irreversible ways.
Mike is… Mike. It’s really not his fault that Will never seems to be able to deal in anything other than extremes when it comes to Mike, or that Will still seems to be stuck haunting a version of himself that never came back, even if Will himself did. If anything, Will should be the one to get his shit together. With the Upside Down encroaching upon their world, and the Party split up, there are far bigger issues than Will and his complex when it comes to Mike. It’s not fair, either, for Will to expect that Mike put his own growth and needs aside just because Will can’t handle change.
So Will reminds himself that he doesn’t mind if Mike’s distant, or unapproachable, or cold. He’s only a temporary guest after all, both physically and emotionally, and he has no right to demand a monopoly over Mike’s time or energy. He takes what he can get, and leaves it at that. The days where Will’s occupancy in Mike’s heart had been a given are long gone, and Will… saying that he’s fine with it would be a stretch, but he supposes that he’s come to reluctant terms with it.
At least, this is what he repeats to himself as the days pass. It’s what he drills into his mind when Mike corrals him to the arcade, when Mike harangues him to explore the remnants of the town, when Mike holes up with him in the basement talking his ear off about some conspiracy or other. It’s all too easy to slip back into their familiar dynamic, to poke at Mike and to have Mike prod back at him. To know from the look on Mike’s face in the morning whether Will’s going to be washing ash out of his hair that day, or whether he’ll be granted the blessed relief of a lazy day at home.
It's ridiculously, mockingly easy how their lives slot back together, and no matter how Will remains on tenterhooks, waiting for inevitable disappointment, the days pass and still nothing comes. It feels like he’s on a coaster of some sort, bracing for the drop, but all he does is keep cruising along as if they had never fallen apart in the first place.
Will supposes that he should have more faith in Mike. That when he takes what he can get, he should see the positives as well. But he’s never had much faith in anything, not when it comes to matters surrounding him, because nothing has ever come easy for Will.
He wonders if it’s more selfish to hold his mistrust so close to him, or if it would be more selfish to yield to hope.
Growing up, he’d always kept the truths of his selfhood locked away in the chasms of his body, much as his brother had, and much as his mother had. He learnt how to shoot guns, how to turn the other cheek to the insults, how to keep vulnerability an intimacy privy only to those he knew would not see him as any worse for it.
He learnt not to ask for much. To accept with grace what he was gifted, and to give back with as much generosity as he could spare. He’s never minded this, not when he has the simple peace of his family’s love, and the fierce warmth of his friends. There are, after all, a veritable buffet of indignities in the world, ones that he has no control or say over. The only thing he can do is be thankful for any form of shelter in the storm.
And then the Party had begun unravelling at the seams, and more and more, Will had felt the broiling, ugly snarl of discontent in his chest. He longed desperately to move on, but he never could shake the feeling of being shunted aside, of still gasping for air even as his friends trekked forward with the next chapters of their lives. He wanted, more than anything, to cling to any sense of normalcy he could, and salvage whatever remained of his fractured childhood, but it seemed that he had been left in the dark, staring wet-eyed as everything good that had ever come to be no longer found reason to stay.
It made him angry. Then sad. Then ashamed.
He often thinks that if he were a good person, he would not be feeling this way. And maybe, he’d been chosen by Vecna in the first place because he’d seen this darkness inside Will. Peered into the ravines of his body and recognised him for how truly broken he was.
So Will doesn’t ask, and Will doesn’t question. He fights over the machines with Mike at the arcade, traipses around the borders of town on the rare fine-weather days, and indulges in rambling discussions on botany, and transport, and whether it’s possible to ever have too much syrup (both of them unanimously agreed that it was a stupid question and the answer would always be a resounding no).
It makes Mike happy, he thinks.
And, well, at least that’s still something Will can try to be good at.