Archive of Our Own ^beta

Will frowned as the tip of his pencil broke.

Again.

Sighing, he reached over for his pencil sharpener, which was resting on the ground by his foot. He still wasn’t used to being back in the Wheeler’s basement after all this time; it felt unfamiliar, like Will didn’t belong there anymore.

All of his drawing supplies were back in California, so he was stuck using whatever he was able to scrounge up from around the house. The Byers’ had temporarily relocated to the Wheeler home, and the atmosphere had grown increasingly awkward with each passing day.

Mike and El seemed to be avoiding each other, though Will was sure they’d make up soon. They always did. The thought shouldn’t have made him as bitter as it did.

And Mike and Will, well- He wasn’t quite sure what was going on. The air felt stilted and tense whenever they were in the same room. Mike’s words bounced around in his head; I feel like my life started the day I found you in the woods. He shouldn’t be bitter about it; of course El would be more important to Mike. She was his girlfriend.

But it was still the day Will’s life was uprooted forever. So excuse him if he was a little bitter.

But it wasn’t just that. He kept catching Mike just.. watching him. Like Will was a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out. As soon as Will looked over, Mike would look away and avoid eye contact.

They hadn’t had a real conversation since they got back. It was as if each one was waiting for something to happen, some bomb to drop, that would suddenly return them to normal.

Will frowned down at his page. It was supposed to be a sketch of a scene he had witnessed on the ride home- a herd of deer grazing in a field, peaceful and placid. The stag had looked up as the car passed, and for a moment, Will had stared into its dark, liquid eyes that seemed to say: I see you.

It was stupid. Will’d always had a deeper connection with animals than he did with people, and sometimes, in those quiet moments, he felt like they understood each other.

Will jumped as he heard footsteps descending the basement stairs, and he looked up to see Mike watching him with an indiscernible look. It unnerved him. He used to be able to read Mike so well, but somewhere down the line, he’d begun losing him.

“Hi,” Will said warily, making eye contact for a brief moment and then looking away, down at his paper, fiddling with the pencil in his hands.

The shirt he was wearing belonged to Mike. All of his clothes were in California, so he had to borrow clothes from the Wheeler’s, and really all that fit him was Mike’s clothing. It was a white undershirt, a little long for him, but tight around the chest. It was interesting how they had changed; Mike had grown taller and leaner, while Will had filled out a bit more, making Mike’s clothes fit him awkwardly.

“What are you working on?” Mike asked in lieu of a greeting, stepping onto the basement floor and leaning over to peer over Will’s shoulder.

Will sighed, leaning back and jumping a little when his back brushed Mike’s leg. He hadn’t realized Mike was standing so close behind him. “Just some deer I saw on the ride back. But I can’t get them right.”

Mike was silent as he studied the page. It felt a little like old times, when Mike would just sit and watch him draw. But this wasn’t old times anymore. He didn’t know this new Mike.

“Did you, um-“ Will bit his lip. “Did you need something?”

“No!” Mike said, a little forcefully. Will waited for him to continue, but Mike said nothing else, so he shrugged.

“Okay.” Will said, turning back to his sketch, trying to envision how the deer looked. He had the whole forest sketched out. Backgrounds had always come naturally to him, but it was animals that were his weak point.

He closed his eyes, trying to see the deer in his mind, the elegant arch of the neck, the thin but powerful legs. He was very purposefully not focusing on the warmth of Mike standing right behind him, or the feeling of Mike’s gaze burning into his back.

Opening his eyes, Will shifted his grip on the pencil and began to sketch the very lightest forms of the body of the stag. Usually, he would start with the head, but with no reference, it would be the hardest to draw correctly, so instead he sketched in a vague rectangular shape in its place and began work on the neck.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Mike sit down beside him and felt the tip of Mike’s knee come to rest ever so gently against his back, like Mike was nervous to touch him.

He swallowed hard and focused on his page, beginning the outline of the foreleg. Deer were always particularly hard for him; he could never seem to perfect the natural elegance of their bodies that he chased so desperately.

When they moved to California, he’d moved away from drawing people and had instead focused on animals. He still drew people, of course, but he was working on developing his ability to draw animals at the same time.

They sat in silence like that for a few more minutes, long enough that Will finished the body sketch of the first deer and moved on to the meticulous details of the face.

Deer, he noticed, had very long faces with large eyes and ears that made them look delicate. But contained within that was some sort of power, some quiet, ancient feeling: I own this place. I am part of this forest.

Will believed that to really draw an animal, you had to know the animal. You had to understand it, how it thought, how it moved. It felt a bit stupid to put into words, but he felt that you almost had to be the animal. You couldn’t just study anatomy and movement- that was part of it, of course, but you also had to be able to breathe life into it.

He closed his eyes and leaned back, trying to taste the cool air of the California woodlands. He envisioned the grass, the plants, the trees, moving with a herd to drink from a stream. He thought about the stag he had seen. He thought about those liquid eyes and asked them, Are you free?

He wondered what it would be like to be a deer. To be able to move to fluidly and gracefully. To be able to shed the body that had been tainted by the Upside Down. Would it be peaceful? Would it be freeing? He imagined having those long, powerful legs, able to carry him away from any danger. He imagined being able to run so fast that the world around him turned into a blur and all he could feel was the thrumming of his feet beneath him.

He could feel Mike’s gaze burning into him, and when he opened his eyes, Mike was staring at him, dark eyes practically burning holes into his skin. He tried not to think about Mike’s lips as he turned back to the page. He wondered what Mike was thinking about.

With a newfound sense of confidence, Will began to sketch in the powerful face of the stag, the long face, the dark eyes, the powerful antlers. He could sense Mike shifting behind him but didn’t put too much thought into it until he felt a head very slowly come to rest on his shoulder, like Mike was afraid of startling him.

Will held his breath, like if he exhaled the moment would be ruined and Mike would jolt away, like this all would be some sort of terrible dream. But Mike didn’t move, just let his head rest very lightly on Will’s shoulder so he was staring down at the page.

After a moment, Will let himself breathe again, reached out and continued to work on the stag, darkening the lines of the antlers. He was acutely aware of the warmth of Mike pressed against him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the outline of Mike’s face. He had the sudden urge to set aside the deer and sketch Mike’s face, his scattered freckles and red lips.

Will swallowed and began to rough in more details of the stag, darkening lines and adding the powerful muscles of the neck. After a few moments, Mike’s arms slipped around his waist, settling comfortably around him.

Will wondered what this meant. Mike always spoke more through actions than words, despite what he said sometimes; his actions always betrayed his true emotions, even if his words said the opposite.

Normally, Will would be able to read Mike like a book, but here he was completely clueless. This was a new thing he had never seen before. An olive branch, maybe. An apology.

I forgive you, Will said with a slight shift of his shoulder, with the light press of his back against Mike’s front. I forgive you.

They stayed like that for a long time; he wasn’t sure how long in reality, but it felt like hours, with Mike pressed warm against his back and his arms wrapped around Will’s waist. He finished two more deer before he blinked hard, realizing how sore his back was from sitting hunched over for so long- even before Mike came down, he’d been working on the drawing for a few hours.

Carefully, trying not to move too much so Mike didn’t think Will wanted him to move, Will set his pencil down and stretched his arms above his head, groaning appreciatively as his back cracked in multiple places. His spine pressed nearly flush against Mike’s stomach, and Mike made a low- nearly inaudible- strangled-sounding noise; the first noise he’d made since their short conversation about an hour earlier.

Will glanced at Mike questioningly, but the other boy was very solidly not looking at him, so Will turned back to his page, this time perhaps leaning back a little more than he was before, though nobody could prove it.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed this time. He finished his sketch and moved on to the “lineart”, which was really just vague shapes with a ballpoint pen he had stolen from Ted’s office. He wanted the deer to blend somewhat with the background of the page, so that you had to search for them.

They both jumped when a fist pounded on the basement door, and Karen Wheeler’s voice echoed through. Mike hurriedly disentangled himself from Will as Mrs. Wheeler spoke, leaving the boy missing the warmth of his friend (?) pressed against him.

“Mike, honey, are you down there? You have some chores to do,” Mrs. Wheeler called.

“I’m coming!” Mike yelled back, making eye contact with Will for a split second before turning away and hurriedly pounding up the stairs, leaving behind a very confused Will Byers. What just happened?

The sleeping bag was warm, uncomfortably so. It wasn’t his usual sleeping bag; instead, it had been scrounged from deep inside the Wheeler’s closet. Will was partway convinced it was filled with mites.

He shifted for the third time in as many minutes, grunting in annoyance. Even after two years, Will still walked a fine line between too cold and too hot. Too cold and he thought of the Mind Flayer- too hot and he remembered being burned alive.

Unfortunately, the sleeping bag was leaning on just the wrong side of warmth, so Will ended up climbing out of it and laying on top of it instead.

He felt it again; the old, familiar anger welling up within him, one that screamed, it’s not fair! This isn’t fair! None of this should’ve happened to me!

Which was true. For the most part.

Normally, he would punch his pillow until his arms were sore, would stab holes in a page with a pencil. Here, however, he could afford no such luxury; with El sound asleep on one side and Jonathan and Argyle on the other, any noise was bound to wake them.

But he knew that if he let his anger boil, it would spill over, would turn his world red and bleed from his skin. His red days were the worst days. He would snap and snarl at anyone who came close, would lock himself in his room for hours and scribble the Upside Down, would dig his nails into his palms so hard they bled.

And so he stood, as quietly as he could, and made his way upstairs, out of the basement. The wooden stairs creaked under his feet, but Will had long since learned how to scale them as quietly as possible after years of sleepovers.

The memory made his chest hurt. He continued past the living room.

His mom was asleep on the couch with Hopper on the floor next to her. He’d long suspected something was going on between them, even while his mom was dating Bob; he was glad it seemed like they’d finally done something about it. It had certainly been a long time coming.

The thought of Bob made his movements stutter. Even if he’d been knocked out when Bob was killed, he’d seen it, felt it in the now-memories. He’d seen how devastated his mother was afterwards. He’d known it was him, his fault, his words that had caused it. He was the one who told the soldiers to go to the hub. He was the one who caused the demodogs to attack.

Will forced himself to continue to the front door. He had to keep it together long enough to escape the house.

Quietly, he unlocked the front door, slipping out into the cool night air. In California, he’d gotten used to taking night walks; the air was just on the right side of perfect, and the tranquility had a way of calming him down.

Hawkins was different. The orange glow of the massive gates illuminated the night sky, making it look as though the sun was rising, even in the middle of the night. Even all the way over at the Wheeler’s, he could feel the cold of the gates radiating around him. The cold of the Upside Down had a particular feeling to it, like when your leg fell asleep and got pins and needles. It was the type of cold that stabbed at his lungs and pierced through his clothing.

Still, he walked down the empty street, away from the gate and towards the old park. It was rusty and rickety and not really safe for kids to play on, but most of the kids in the neighborhood used it anyways, including Will when he’d been young enough.

Right now, though, it sat abandoned. Will made his way over to the swingset and sat down on one of the swings. Normally, he would lean back to look at the sky, but he didn’t want the reminder of the Upside Down. Instead, he looked down at the grass.

His bare feet sunk into the dirt, and usually Will would’ve found the sensation a bit disturbing, but now he relished it. The grass was covered in a light sheen of dew that brushed against his ankles. The dirt was slightly damp, and he could feel small pebbles under his feet. The sensation of it all was like a reminder: You are here. You are alive.

He breathed in through his nose and exhaled through his mouth. The chains of the swingset dug into his palms. He could smell the rust and hoped that he didn’t have any open wounds on his hands; the chains and rust were surely grimy as all hell, and he certainly didn’t feel like getting sick.

He could feel the anger inside him cooling, simmering. Not gone- just pushed aside. Saved for later. He wondered if it would ever truly go away, or if it would be a heavy burden he carried on his shoulders for the rest of his life. He hoped it would go away; he was already weighed down enough by guilt that sat heavy upon his shoulders.

He sat there for a few minutes longer, rocking gently back and forth in the old swingset, listening to the sound of shrieking metal.

A beetle skittered across the dirt beneath his feet, and a memory rose to him unbidden:

He had been too young to remember it, but it was one that his mom talked about often. Little two-year old Will, tottering into the kitchen with a scorpion in hand. Beaming, eyes crinkled with excitement. “Look at the bug I found!”

He’d refused to kill it and had insisted that they release it into their backyard, and, as recalled by his mom, he’d held the scorpion the entire time, cupped in his hands, until he had set it gently in their backyard and watched it skitter away.

He wondered from time to time what happened to that scorpion. After all, scorpions weren’t native to Indiana.

The house was cold when he returned.

He bypassed the stairs to the basement and instead headed for the kitchen. His feet were still wet from the grass and he stepped carefully on the floorboards to avoid tripping.

When he looked up, Mike was standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a glass of water in hand. For a few moments, they stared at each other. Then Mike spoke. “You were outside.”

It was a statement, not a question. Mike’s gaze flickered down to his feet, which still had dirt on them. Will tried to read Mike’s tone, but it didn’t reveal anything. “I was,” He responded carefully, moving over to the cupboard and grabbing a glass.

Mike was silent as Will filled his glass. He tried not to give in to the instinctual panic, the don’t turn your back dont turn away that had taken root in his heart after his week Upside Down. He’d never gotten that feeling before, with Mike. Anyone else and he couldn’t turn his back. He wondered when that changed, when he stopped being able to leave himself vulnerable.

“I broke up with El,” Mike said, and Will startled so hard that he hit his head on the cabinet as he turned around.

“I- What?” Will asked, completely thrown off as he pressed a hand to his head. Whatever he’d been expecting Mike to say- maybe You shouldn’t leave the house alone or Why were you out in the middle of the night- was a far cry from- well, that.

“Me and El broke up,” Mike repeated, and there was something unnerving about the way he was standing, the way he was looking at Will, like he was waiting for something. Searching.

“Oh,” Will said. “I’m sorry.” He leaned against the wall, feigning normalcy as he took a sip of his water. But Mike’s brows drew together slightly and he knew that Mike had seen right through him. Will only pressed his back against the wall when he felt like he was in danger. Mike knew that.

He waited for Mike to comment on it, but instead, Mike said, “It’s okay. It was a mutual thing.”

And again Will was left floundering, so again he said, “Oh.”

“I do love her,” Mike continued. “Just not like that. I’m not sure if I ever have.”

And what the fuck was that supposed to mean? I’m not sure if I ever have. Mike and El had always been the perfect, normal (as normal as a couple in their group can be) couple, in love and happy, star-crossed lovers.

Before he could think of a way to respond, the back of his neck prickled in that terrible, spine-curling way, like a thousand bat wings fluttering against his skin. For a moment, the link was opened, and he felt Vecna’s rage jolt through him.

Will jumped, unable to stop the movement, and water spilled over his hand. His free hand automatically went to his neck and he put his glass down on the counter with trembling fingers.

It had gotten worse when he began to feel Vecna’s emotions. Each bolt of emotion left him feeling physically sick, shaky, like a newborn fawn learning to walk.

“Will? Are you okay? Will?” Mike was asking, and Will blinked when Mike was much closer than he remembered.

“Yeah,” He lied, the word settling like ash on his tongue. “I’m fine. Just didn’t expect it.”

He slowly removed his hand from his neck, hoping Mike wouldn’t notice the way his fingers were trembling. But, of course, Mike noticed. He always noticed everything but the most important thing.

“You’re shaking,” Mike pointed out, in that special soft worried voice he always used for Will.

Will swallowed and crossed his arms over his chest. “It’ll stop soon. It’s just a side effect.”

Mike frowned like he was searching his memory. “That didn’t used to happen.” He pointed out, stepping forwards again so that they were only a couple feet apart.

Will shrugged, trying very hard to ignore their sudden proximity. “Comes with feeling Vecna’s emotions. They’re pretty violent.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Mike asked, low, concerned, and god, Will was going to die if Mike kept looking at him like that.

“I’m fine.” He said, and the lie burned him, caught flame and set him smoking. He always hated lying. He never thought he would end up lying to Mike. “Goodnight, Mike.”

“Will, wait-“ Mike said, but Will was already gone, glass of water abandoned on the counter as he quickly slipped out of the kitchen and down the basement stairs.

What the fuck was that? The familiar wooden stairs creaked under his feet. What the fuck? Why had Mike been acting so weird? What did he mean, I’m not sure if I ever have? And why in the hell was he standing so goddamn close?

He reached his sleeping bag and climbed inside, tucking the upper part up to his chin and pulling his legs up to his chest to warm himself up. It was fine. He just had to get through the next couple of days or however long they were staying here and Mike and El’s inevitable get-back together.

He shifted around a bit, trying to get comfortable, and sighed. It was going to be a long couple of days.

In the morning, Mike was avoiding him.

Which was fine. It was totally fine. Except Mike kept giving him these little glances, looks that he didn’t used to have, and whenever Will caught his eye Mike would be wearing an expression he’d never seen before.

But then Mike wasn’t talking to Will, wasn’t sitting near him, looked away when Will entered the room. It left the latter more confused than hurt, though he supposed Mike might be mad at him for leaving the way he did in the kitchen. Or maybe for lying to him.

Maybe Mike knew about the painting.

Today, however, he’d made a plan to get out of the oppressive tension of the house, which was how he found himself sorting shirts at the donation center.

It was easy, mindless work- sort by shirt size and pass them to his partner, who happened to be Robin, which Will was thankful for. Even though he didn’t know Robin personally, there was a certain sort of automatic bonding that came from being some of the few people who knew that they were facing the end of the world.

Besides, he liked Robin. She seemed nice, and from what he’d heard, she’d been working her ass off at the donation center ever since the “earthquake”. There was something about her that just made Will automatically like her, something that whispered I’m safe.

He pulled another shirt out of his stack. XL. He placed it in the XL pile between him and Robin and pulled put the next shirt.

“Hey,” Said an unfamiliar voice, and Will startled slightly as he looked to his right. A girl stood there, around his age, with red hair not unlike Max’s. She smiled at him, perhaps a bit coyly.

“Oh- um, hi.” Will said, a bit flustered by surprise. “Do you need something?”

“Could you show me where the food making station is?” She asked sweetly. “This is my first day and I’m lost.”

Well, shit. She was obviously trying to flirt with him, but he didn’t want to hurt her feelings; she was obviously a nice girl. So he just nodded, pretended to be oblivious, and pointed in the direction of the food donation area. “It should be right over there,” Will said. “Look for a volunteer in an orange shirt. They’ll have your station info.”

“Thank you,” She said, clearly disappointed, but she headed off in the direction he’d indicated anyways. Robin, who had been listening to the interaction, snorted in amusement.

“Not your type?” She asked as Will passed her a medium shirt to fold.

Will shrugged. “Something like that.”

Something shifted in Robin’s face, just for a moment, but she just turned back to her work, folding shirts and putting them in piles.

Will felt like he’d just missed something important and he hesitated for a few moments. Unsure what to say, he eventually went back to his work.

It was only a few minutes later, when he pulled out a Wizard of Oz shirt featuring the Cowardly Lion, that Robin casually said, “Hey, Wizard of Oz. That’s a good one; I have a friend named Dorothy.”

I have a friend named Dorothy.

Holy shit. Was she…?

He’d learned about gay codes in Lenora, where kids were at least more accepting than Hawkins; there had even been a few kids in school who were openly gay, though Will himself wasn’t. But he never thought that there could even be another gay person in Hawkins, much less in the.. Upside Down group? Within the group of people he generally interacted with? Something like that.

“Oh,” Will said, very softly. Then, hoping he hadn’t misread the whole interaction, he said, “So you like..?”

“Girls,” Robin confirmed.

“Oh,” Will said again. “Um. That’s cool.”

Robin smiled crookedly at him, and Will smiled back, even though his nerves were still a bit jittery.

“So you don’t like girls, I take it?” Robin asked, and the familiar phrasing made Will lock up for a moment.

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

“Um,” Will said, after being silent for a beat too long. “Yeah. Um. Boys.”

Robin nodded. Then she said, “So who is it for you?”

“What?”

“All of us queer folk have a crush on a straight person,” Robin said matter-of-factly. “Rite of passage. So who is it for you?”

Will shuffled his feet, dropping his gaze from hers. This part felt almost too personal, too tentative, to admit; he’d never really said it out loud before.

“It’s, um..” He trailed off, and Robin said, “Hey, you don’t need to answer if you don’t want to.”

“It’s Mike,” Will blurted. “I, um, I like Mike.”

If only it just went as far as liking him. Maybe then Will could get over him.

Robin thought for a moment, then cracked a grin. “Those damn Wheelers, man. Attracting us gay people like flies to honey.”

Will blinked, processing those words for a moment. Then he mouthed oh, and said, “You like Nancy?”

“Yep.” Robin said, popping the ‘p’. “Some luck, huh?”

Will thought of Nancy, her ongoing (possibly ending?) relationship with Jonathan and maybe a little bit still there attraction to Steve, and echoed, “Yeah, some luck.”

They worked together in silence for the rest of Will’s shift, after which he uttered a timid, “Bye, Robin.”

“Seeya, Will!” Robin said, smiling at him, and Will offered a tentative smile in return. He was still reeling at the discovery of someone like him, someone who wouldn’t curl their lip in disgust and turn away.

He left the school and began the familiar walk to the Wheeler’s, hands stuffed in his pockets. The streets were mainly empty; about a quarter of the town’s population he packed their bags and left as soon as the gates were opened, so it felt even more barren then usual. Especially compared to Lenora- while not a big city, it was certainly much bigger than Hawkins.

The light from the gates caused the horizon to glow orange even in the daytime. Now, at noon, when the sun was at its peak, he could trace the orange of the gates in the sky. At least it wasn’t that cold yet; the sun still warmed the air despite how freezing the gates were. Will looked away from the sky and instead focused on the sidewalk at his feet, trying to forget the cold.

He counted his steps, made a game of not stepping on the tiny cracks that spiderwebbed across the sidewalk. It was old and weatherbeaten, as were many things in Hawkins. Not that Lenora’s sidewalk was much better.

He had only made it a couple blocks from the school before he froze.

The back of his neck prickled, just ever-so-lightly- not Vecna. Something else. Without even thinking about it, Will threw himself into the nearest shadow. He squeezed himself into the corner, trying to make himself as small as possible, hand pressed tight over his mouth to muffle his breathing.

For a few moments, silence. Stillness. Will was beginning to think he had imagined it. But then-

A Demogorgon.

It chittered lowly as it crept forwards, petal-shaped face sweeping over the sidewalk where Will had just stood. His heart jackrabbited in his chest, and he had to fight not to whimper with every breath. He bit down on one of the fingers over his mouth to ground himself.

Normally he would close his eyes, squeeze them shut tight, but he didn’t want to not be able to see it. The Demogorgon swept slowly across the sidewalk, searching, listening. Will’s entire body jittered as he realized it was looking for him.

Always back to him. It always came back to him. There was a sort of sick comfort in that thought: one thing would always be the same, even when everything else was changing.

He held his breath, every muscle tensed, prepared to run. With any luck, the Demogorgon would move on. He fought to keep himself silent, willing himself to breathe slowly. His hand stung, and he slowly began to lower it from his mouth, instead pressing against the wall so he could push off it if he needed to run.

The Demogorgon raised its head, sensing the air, looking around. His finger brushed a loose pebble in the brick wall and the Demogorgon’s head snapped towards him. Before it could move, Will bolted. He flew forwards off the wall and past the Demogorgon, down the sidewalk.

This was a familiar rhythm, one he fell into like coming home. Step-step-beat, dodge to the side, run as fast as you can. Cut corners. Don’t run in a straight line.

The pounding beat of the Demogorgon behind him was familiar, too. The low, snarling growls, the thumping feet. Will was scarcely aware of what he was doing anymore; his body was moving of its own accord, long-buried survival instincts taking him over once again.

He pelted down the sidewalk, skidded into an alleyway, ran as fast as his legs would carry him. He just had to- the house was only a few blocks away-

The realization hit him suddenly:

He couldn’t lead it back to the Wheeler’s. Not with Karen, Ted, and Holly there.

Will forced himself to pivot, skidding to the side and taking off at a right angle from his previous course, towards the forest. It wasn’t the most ideal option; the terrain would be different, more slanted in the Demogorgon’s favor. While Will had to struggle to climb up inclines and had to move slower down hills, the Demogorgon could move much faster and easier.

But it was his best shot.

His feet carried him in the direction of his destination before he even had a solid plan in mind. He jumped over a low wall, lungs burning, mouth open. The Demogorgon was still close behind him, snapping and snarling like so many dogs.

The buildings turned to trees. He continued running. Just a little bit longer, he told himself. Almost there. Instinctively, he found himself looking down, watching the ground for vines. Don’t step on the vines. Remember to watch ahead as well. Know your surroundings. The ground is slimy. Easy to slip. You can’t afford any mistakes.

Abruptly, the beat of the Demogorgon vanished from behind him, and Will froze, skidding to a halt in the leaf mulch. Not slimy. No slipping. Not Upside Down.

Wait. Listen.

Another rule from his week. If it stops chasing, don’t keep running. Wait. Listen.

A twig snapping on his right. Will made the mistake of looking towards it instead of running; it cost him a valuable half-second. The Demogorgon leaped forth, arms outstretched to cage him and pin him. Will bolted forward at the same time.

Claws raked painfully across his face, right eyebrow to collarbone. Will cried out, stumbled, pushed himself up by the palms of his hands. He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t.

Almost there. Keep running. Stay calm. Focus. He repeated it like a prayer, a mantra. Almost there. Keep running. Stay calm. Focus. Almost there..

It wasn’t a deep wound, he could tell that much. The Demogorgon’s claws had only grazed him. He had time before he started to get light-headed. It hadn’t cut an artery, so his biggest worry would be infection- if he survived the Demogorgon, of course.

He pushed himself to run harder. Blood ran down his shirt and trickled uncomfortably against his skin. The snarl-thump beat of the Demogorgon resumed behind him.

His legs burned. Finally, finally, it came into view.

The quarry.

He scrambled down a slope, leaping off the last few feet and jarring his ankle painfully. He ignored it, kept running, knew that the Demogorgon would be able to clear the slope in one leap. He couldn’t afford to limp, or pause, or check his ankle.

The beat halted. Will clenched his fists, counted the seconds. One, two, three, four… Thud. Step-beat. It was closer than before; he could feel cold breath on his heels.

He ran without looking backwards, took a deep breath. Then he pulled his leg high on the next step and kicked down with all his force. He felt his foot connect with the Demogorgon’s face, and it faltered slightly, missing a beat and falling further behind Will. Buying him some time.

Okay. He exhaled shakily, let his body take over the rhythm of his legs as his mind plotted. The Demogorgon wasn’t as close behind him now, wasn’t in danger of snapping down on his heels. Now he just had to focus on reaching the edge. It was up an incline, but it was so close. He focused on what he was going to do when he reached the cliff edge, felt the movement in his mind. He just had to hope, pray to all the gods that it would work, that the cliff would hold.

Now!

Will made as though to run off the edge, which was almost impossible to see until the last minute. Before he could fall, Will threw himself to the side, one leg hanging in air for a heartstopping moment.

Then he hit the ground, solidly on the cliff edge, and his heart soared as he heard the Demogorgon screeching as it scrambled to recover from the sudden drop. Yes! His face and neck stung from hitting the dirt, but he was just glad to be alive.

Sudden pressure on his leg. Before he could even realize what had happened, he was being yanked off the edge, the Demogorgon’s claws digging hard into his leg as it clung to him. A lifeline for its survival, or perhaps the last laugh: You’re coming down with me. If I die, you die.

Will scrambled desperately for something, anything to hold on to, hands catching on the gnarled roots of a bush. He grabbed for it desperately, barely even thinking about his movements as he tangled his hands in the thick roots. The rocks groaned, sending pebbles and dust raining down on his face; for a moment Will thought that the bush would give way, but it held.

Looking down, the Demogorgon was clinging to his leg with one arm, dangling precariously above the quarry. He barely even felt the pain of the gashes as he tried to kick himself free of the Demogorgon’s grasp. It slipped further down, drawing a long trail of blood along his lower leg, and Will gritted his teeth as his fingers began to ache.

With his free leg, he slammed the heel of his foot into the Demogorgon’s wrist. He felt it loosen a bit and repeated the action, this time thrashing the leg it was holding on to as well. Above him, the bush creaked, and his heart lurched as it gave way a couple inches. He was running out of time; it was a miracle the bush had held as long as it already had.

He took a deep breath before he wound up his leg and kicked the Demogorgon’s wrist as hard as he could, at the same time swinging his injured leg forward to slam the Demogorgon into the cliff edge.

The Demogorgon screeched, grip loosening, and Will took the opportunity to shake his leg like mad, feeling the claws slip more with every movement.

Finally, blessedly, the Demogorgon fell away, and Will drew his legs up close to prevent it from being able to grab him again. He watched as it plummeted and hit the bottom of the cliff, not even making it into the water. The impact made a resounding CRACK that echoed around the quarry. The body was still and silent.

Will couldn’t bring himself to feel triumphant. This was His doing. That Demogorgon would only be the first.

The bush was still threatening to give way any moment, and so he gritted his teeth and focused on hauling himself over the edge, bit by painful bit. He braced his good leg against the wall and began to pull himself up, not daring to even readjust his grip on the roots of the bush.

He threw an elbow over the cliff edge, then swung his bad leg up and over. The effort made him grit his teeth in pain, but it was worth it as he rolled up and over on to solid ground.

He laid there for a few moments, hands still tangled in the roots, staring up at the sky. His heart was pounding in his ears and his breathing was wild and erratic, chest heaving painfully. His entire body ached and there was nothing more he wanted to do than go to sleep right there.

Instead, he forced himself to sit up. His clothing was sticky with blood, his shirt essentially plastered to his body under his jacket. He had to staunch the bleeding as fast as he could; the effect of the two wounds combined posed the greatest threat to his survival.

His hands maintained their white-knuckled grip on the roots, and as he carefully and slowly disentangled himself, they remained stiff and hard to control, like he had just woken up from a deep sleep.

First things first. His leg.

The wounds there were much deeper than the one on his face and neck. They began about halfway down his lower leg and ended just above his ankle, four long lines that spiraled around his leg like a candy cane.

He pulled off his jacket and wrapped the sleeves as tight as he could manage above where the wounds began, letting the rest of the jacket fall down over the wound. He tied it as best he could to make it tight down his leg, and used his hands to press it harder onto his leg.

It wasn’t good by any means. But it worked well enough to get him back to the Wheeler’s.

Then to the issue of his face. He ripped one of the shreds of his pant leg off and pressed it to his face; this he would hold in place as he walked back.

He pushed himself to his feet and stared out into the woods, the likely two mike walk he had ahead of him, then down at his shredded leg. Mismatched feet, one shoe and the other shoeless, having fallen with the Demogorgon.

It was about to be a long, painful walk.

The adrenaline was beginning to wear off as he reached the Wheeler’s. Every bone in his body felt, well, bone-tired (no pun intended). Everything was beginning to hurt a lot more than he remembered it hurting; he supposed that was what the effect of adrenaline wearing off would do to you. With his free hand, he pulled his house key out of his pocket, thankful that he hadn’t lost it during the run.

His hand was shaking, so it took him a couple tries to unlock the door. When he finally got it open, he didn’t even bother locking it behind him, just closed it and shoved his keys back in his pocket.

And then- where to? The basement, where it was likely no one would see him? The bathroom, upstairs but with medical supplies? Who was even home right now?

He stood there for a few moments, wavering and uncertain. The choice was made for him, however, when his mom walked into the entryway and froze.

“Will?” She gasped, rushing over to him, and Will winced. Shit.

“Um,” He said as his mom put her hands on his face, staring at him in horror. “Hi, mom.”

“Oh my god, Will,” She cried. “Oh my god, baby, oh my god.”

His mom shuffled him into the kitchen, where it appeared Karen, Ted, and Holly weren’t home, because she immediately began to unleash a flurry of questions upon him. “What happened? Was it the Upside Down? Was it Him?”

She sat him down in a chair, grabbing a towel from the kitchen and pressing it against the long scratch down his face and neck, her eyes wide and frazzled. “El!” She yelled, lifting her head and looking behind him. “I need the first aid kit, now!”

He heard the basement door open and the sound of El gasping, then darting upstairs. Will winced in pain as his mom carefully wiped blood from his face, and she hissed out a sorry as she continued her work.

“Here,” El said, appearing from behind him and putting the first aid kit on the dining room table. She threw it open, looking as though she wanted to help but was unsure how. She gave him a look that said, What the fuck happened?

“Here, Will, put your leg in this chair,” His mom instructed, pulling one of the other chairs over and putting it in front of him. Will obeyed, propping his injured leg up on the chair, still with his jacket wrapped around it.

“El, will you untie that and pull it off?” His mom said, already turning her attention back to Will’s face, abandoning the towel on the table and grabbing something- probably a disinfectant or whatever it was called from the first aid kit.

El pulled the jacket off his leg just as he heard two sets of footsteps on the stairs. “What’s going on?” He heard Nancy ask, sentence cut off into an abrupt gasp as she saw his blood-soaked leg.

“Will?” Another voice cried, and he jumped as Mike careened into his vision, eyes wide and terrified in a way Will had never seen him before, not even when Will had been possessed.

“Hi,” He offered with a weak grin, the word turning into a hiss of pain as his mom smeared the disinfectant stuff all over his face wound.

“El, take that towel and wipe the blood off,” His mom instructed, having gone into full mother-panic mode.

“What happened?” Nancy asked, horrified, and Will could just barely see her hovering on his right, where his blind spot was.

“Demogorgon,” He was able to offer before he had to clench his jaw and grit his teeth as El swept the towel over a particularly deep part of his wound. “It’s dead.” He added.

His mom pulled a roll of bandages from the first aid kit. “Stay still,” She ordered, and even though she seemed confident Will could hear the way her voice shook. She began to wrap his neck with bandages, and Will closed his eyes, trying not to hiss in pain.

“What can I do? How can I help?” Mike was asking, pacing back and forth, eyes on Will’s face. It was odd, Will reflected, how Mike had been completely avoiding him for the past two days but was now concerned, panicking, like nothing had ever happened. Like Will had always been his priority.

“Here,” El said, handing Mike the disinfectant. “Put this on his leg where I’ve wiped the blood off. Put lots of it.”

It was a blessing El was so calm. By the way his mom’s hands were shaking, he had half a mind to tell her to sit down and let him wrap his own head instead. He tried to focus on anything other than the stinging pain of the disinfectant on his leg.

The bandages covered his left eye. It made him feel vulnerable, unsafe, like there was something lurking right where he couldn’t see. Will bit the inside of his cheek hard.

Meanwhile, his mom was now looking at his leg with a critical eye. “It definitely needs stitches,” She said, “But we don’t have access to that right now. We’ll just have to wrap it up and see if anyone has a needle and thread in their first aid kit.”

El nodded definitively. Though she looked scared, she was calm and collected. “I can handle his leg.” She said, more of a command than a suggestion. “You should sit down.”

Mike, meanwhile, was pale, white as a ghost, his hands shaking even more violently than Will’s mom’s. Will wished he could hold Mike’s hands in his own until they stopped shaking, wished he could kiss the fear from Mike’s lips.

“Mike,” El said, putting a hand on his arm as Mike finished up with the disinfectant. “You sit down too.”

“I- What? No! I want to help,” Mike insisted, and El shook her head.

“No,” She said firmly. “I got it.”

Mike looked to Will, who raised his eyebrows. Now that the disinfectant had done it’s work, his leg hurt less; he guessed it was one of the ones that had the numbing agent as well.

“Fine,” Mike said, grabbing a chair and pulling it over so he was sitting next to Will. It reminded the latter of his many days in the hospital over the years, how Mike would always be right beside him the whole time.

El wrapped his leg quickly and firmly. Will was glad his sister had picked up skateboarding from Max; it certainly helped with being able to deal with injuries.

“You said you got attacked by a Demogorgon,” Nancy said, all business now that Will was patched up. She moved to stand in his line of sight, a small mercy that he appreciated nonetheless. “And it’s dead?”

Will nodded, wincing as the movement stretched his neck. “Very dead,” He confirmed, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the chair.

“How did you kill it?” She pressed.

“I dropped it into the quarry.” Will said, and the room went dead silent. Will bit his lip; he knew the quarry was a sore spot for everyone, especially his mom and Mike, since that was where his fake body was planted. He didn’t dare open his eyes.

“But the quarry is, like, a mile away from where you would have been walking from the school,” Mike pointed out eventually. “Did you run all that way?”

Will nodded, his whole body sagging into the chair. Like it knew now: I’m safe. Rest. “It came looking for me. Ran to the quarry. Plan was to run to the cliff and then move at the last second to drop it in, but it grabbed my leg as it went down.”

He paused, but no one said anything, so he continued. “Grabbed some roots, kicked it off me. Climbed back up onto the cliff and walked back here.”

He yawned into the silence, becoming more weary by the minute.

“Holy shit,” Mike was the first to say.

“Wait,” Nancy interjected slowly. “You said it came looking for you. Like, it was specifically after you?”

Will was too tired to really be concerned. “Mhm,” He hummed. “Was after me. Could tell. No coincidence.”

He was asleep before he heard her response.

Will came to slowly. His first sensation was of warmth: his body was warm all over, the type of warm when clothes were fresh out of the dryer. Just the right side of warm.

His second sensation was that of weight draped over him, covering his whole body.

Blankets. He was in a bed, his sluggish mind put together. Will laid there for a few more moments, or maybe minutes or hours, wavering in that half-asleep half-awake limbo.

Then he shifted his leg slightly and flinched as pain shot through him.

Oh, right.

The Demogorgon.

He vaguely registered movement to his left. “Will?” Someone breathed, and after a moment, Will registered it as Mike’s voice.

Will opened his eyes. Well, opened his eye. The other was covered by bandages, so he couldn’t see out of it anyways, but hey, it was the thought that counts, right?

He was met with one Mike Wheeler, sitting on the ground beside him, directly at eye level.

They stared at each other for a moment. Mike looked like shit; his hair was messy and tangled, and he had deep bags under his eyes.

“Hi,” Will finally offered, cracking a small grin.

“Hey,” Mike said a little breathlessly, a smile splitting across his face. He reached up to run a hand through his hair, and Will hated the way his gaze followed the movement. “How are you feeling?”

Well. That was a good question. Will blinked, trying to take stock of his body, shaking off the last dregs of sleep. And, well, the answer was that everything hurt. Will was sore all over, like someone had taken to him with a mallet as he slept. He supposed fighting a monster from another dimension would do that to you.

He let his head drop back down on to the bed. “Like I just got run over.”

Will let his gaze scan the room idly through half-lidded eyes.

Oh.

He was in Mike’s room. Which meant he was in Mike’s bed. Having woken up. From just sleeping. In Mike’s bed.

“How long was I asleep?” He asked, drawing his knees up to his chest, still laying on his side.

“Uh..” Mike squinted as he tried to calculate the time. “Eleven hours…? Yeah, eleven hours. Um, you were pretty out. We stitched up your leg.”

“Oh,” Will said, searching for an appropriate response to that. “Um. I guess that explains why my throat is so dry.”

“I’ll get you some water,” Mike offered immediately, and left the room without any further prompting.

Will closed his eyes. The fabric of the sheets was rough and textured under his fingertips. He felt bad for stealing Mike’s bed from him; no shit that Mike looked like crap.

He was sure there was something else he was supposed to be thinking about, but he couldn’t remember it quite then. Will hummed to himself.

No- right, the Demogorgon.

All in all, not the worst outcome, Will supposed. Many people hadn’t survived a one-on-one encounter with a Demogorgon, especially unarmed.

He nestled his face further into the covers. Everything always seemed to connect back to him. Maybe he had dragged everyone down with him. Maybe if Will hadn’t been found, hadn’t communicated through the lights, they wouldn’t have been pulled into this.

Where would they be, if Will hadn’t been saved? Would they be happier? Would they still be in Hawkins?

Will Byers would have been buried, forgotten. And all those soldiers in the lab would still be alive. Dustin’s friend Eddie would still be alive. All those people killed by Vecna and the Mind Flayer would still be alive.

Bob would still be alive.

Maybe that one was what hurt the most. Bob had been his first real father figure since Lonnie, had genuinely cared about Will and Jonathan and their mom. And then Will had killed him.

A curse, Lonnie used to call him. A curse on this family. A curse on your mother. Look at how you burden her, burden me. Only thing you can do right is shoot a gun.

And maybe Lonnie had been right. Maybe Will really was a curse, bringing bad luck wherever he went. It ran from him like blood, inky black, staining whoever came too close. Marking them for death.

The sound of Mike’s footsteps drew him out of his thoughts. “Alright, I got water.” His friend announced as he entered the room, and Will sat up, wincing as what seemed like every one of his muscles protested the action.

“Thanks,” He said quietly, and if Mike noticed the change in mood from earlier, he didn’t say anything.

Will took the glass of water in his hands and looked down at it, staring at his reflection. Where would he be, he wondered, if the Upside Down had never happened? If he had never gone missing that night?

It wasn’t fair. He put the glass to his lips and downed the water in one go, suddenly sick of his reflection. None of it was fair. He was just a kid when his life ended.

“Do you think you can walk?” Mike offered as Will set the empty glass down on the nightstand. “We could go down and see the others.”

We. Like Mike and Will were one, inseparable. Like Mike was going wherever Will went. Mike always said we like that, included himself in Will’s problems, told him that we were going to fix it.

“Sure,” Will said, albeit a bit nervously. He swung the covers off his legs, looking down at the bandaged form of his left leg apprehensively for a moment. “Um. How many of the others are we talking about?”

“It’s Nancy, your mom, El, Jonathan, Dustin, and Lucas.” Mike listed, counting on his fingers as he went.

Oh. So about all of the most important people in his life, then, sans Max. Will tried his best not to make a face.

“What?” Mike asked, catching Will’s not-quite stifled expression.

“I dunno,” Will admitted. “I guess I just.. I don’t know. It’s dumb.”

“It’s not dumb,” Mike insisted, sitting down on the bed beside Will. “Tell me.”

He shrugged, drawing his knees up to his chest and feeling the rough texture of the bandages against his fingertips. “I guess I’m just nervous,” He mumbled, not looking at Mike. “For them to see me like.. this.”

He heard Mike scoot closer. “Well.. half of them have already seen you,” Mike pointed out. “Besides, you fought a Demogorgon with no weapons and won. No one is going to judge you for having battle scars.”

Will’s lips twitched. Battle scars. Mike made him sound so much braver than he really was.

“I guess,” He relented. Mike smiled at him. Will hated how Mike’s smile could still make his heart flutter, even after all this time.

“Can you stand?” Mike asked, standing back up and looking down at Will, who shrugged.

“Guess we’ll see,” Will muttered, swinging his legs over to rest against the side of the bed and bracing his hands on the sheet. He pushed himself up and off the bed in one movement, and he staggered as a jolt of pain shot through his leg.

Mike caught him by the arm, one hand on his shoulder and the other against his side. The touch burned like fire, and Will was stood shivering in a blizzard.

“Thanks,” He mumbled, cheeks flaming, looking away from Mike.

Slowly, Mike let him go, making sure he could stand on his own. Will wobbled sightly, but remained upright, and he exhaled in relief. Now.. now he just had to get across the room. And downstairs.

Well.

Will made only a few unstable steps before he teetered sideways again, reaching out and catching himself on Mike’s bookshelf.

“Here,” Mike said, stepping close to his side. “You can lean on me.”

Will obliged, because really, Will could never deny Mike Wheeler. He was doomed to orbit Mike forever, caught in the pull that was his best friend.

Will slung his arm across Mike’s shoulders, trying very very hard (with questionable success) not to focus on the feeling of Mike’s body pressed against his, and nearly jumped out of his skin when Mike put his arm around Will’s waist.

Slowly, they hobbled forward, and as they entered the hallway it became apparent that Will’s lack of sight on his left was going to become an issue.

Because- well, not being able to see the hallway on his left was.. problematic. In Mike’s room, it had been fine, because Mike’s room had always felt safe. Far removed from the monsters. But in the hallway, with a gaping blind spot and lots of hiding places, Will felt small. Vulnerable. Exposed.

“Wait a second,” Will muttered, pulling his arm away from Mike as the latter gave him a confused look. Will leaned against the wall and felt around the bandages on his face. Curling his fingertips under the edge, he tried to pull it away from his face, which he only partially succeeded at.

“Um,” Mike asked. “Is that a good idea?”

Will shrugged. “It wasn’t deep. Should be scabbed over by now. I hate not being able to see.”

He didn’t explain why, but Mike understood. He always did, somehow.

“Here,” Mike murmured, stepping closer. “Let me.”

He reached out and settled gentle fingers on Will’s neck, searching for the end of the bandage. Will held very still, sure that he had died and gone to a special kind of hell, because Mike’s fingers were trailing across his neck and ghosting along his jawline and Mike was standing so close.

Mike’s gaze was focused, brows drawn, lips parted. Will watched him breathlessly, tracing the lines of Mike’s face with his eyes, sure he was blushing bright red. Will settled his hands against the wall, unsure where else to put them.

He wasn’t sure how to feel about Mike’s sudden change in behavior. On one hand, it felt good to have Mike care about him again, to have Mike by his side. On the other hand- well. It seemed like Mike only cared about him when he was hurt, but that had to mean something, right?

Whatever it was- Whatever Mike was playing at- Will decided to just enjoy Mike’s attention while it lasted.

Mike found the edge of the bandage and began to pull it off, lifting the other hand to help unwind it from Will’s neck. Will held still, trying not to do something embarrassing, like kiss Mike right then and there, or maybe explode like one of those party poppers.

Mike shifted closer as he unwound the bandage, so that their faces were only inches apart. Will closed his eyes so he didn’t have to look at the masterpiece that was Mike Wheeler, and he startled a little when he felt gentle fingers under his chin, tilting his head back. Will let himself be moved, thought that he would let Mike do anything, because how could one ever resist Mike Wheeler?

The rest of the bandages slipped off once Mike unwrapped his neck, and Will opened his eyes. Mike hadn’t moved, stood close to him with the bandages clutched in one hand. He was watching Will with the same look in his eyes that Will couldn’t figure out, and Will watched him back, neither of them speaking for a long moment.

“Will,” Mike said slowly, searching Will’s gaze as he reached up to cup Will’s jaw. “I-“

They both jumped as a door opened, Mike flinching back a couple feet. Nancy stepped out of her room, gaze lighting up when she spotted Will.

“Will! You’re awake!” She beamed as she walked over to him. “How are you feeling?”

“Um,” Will stuttered, still stuck trying to process what had just happened. “I’m- I’m okay.”

Nancy’s gaze flicked between him and Mike for a few moments, brow furrowed like she couldn’t figure something out. After a moment, she awkwardly said, “Well, come on down when you’re ready.” And hurried downstairs.

Will looked at Mike, who looked back at Will. They stood there for a few moments before Mike said, “So, um… downstairs?”

“Yeah,” Will said a bit breathlessly. “Yeah. Um. Downstairs.”

They resumed their previous position, Will’s arm slung across Mike’s shoulders, Mike’s arm tight around Will’s waist. They hobbled silently down the hallway, the only sounds being the whisp-whisp of clothing. Once they reached the top of the stairs, Will pulled away, suddenly suffocating in Mike’s warmth.

“I think I can make it downstairs on my own. Probably.” He said, tasting ash on his tongue. All he could feel was Mike’s fingers brushing his face, Mike’s hand cupping his jaw, Mike’s face hovering inches away from his. He was spinning, whirling in a bout of confusion, because what the fuck had just happened? What the fuck was that?

Mike nodded but didn’t say anything, avoiding Will’s gaze. The latter took a deep breath before bracing himself with one hand on the railing and the other against the wall. He didn’t try to step with his injured leg, but instead hopped down the stairs on his good leg, with Mike following close behind.

Mike. What was up with him? What was that? Why did he say Will’s name like that, low and urgent, soft and caring and desperate all wrapped up into one. Why had he cupped Will’s jaw so tenderly? Why had he cupped Will’s jaw in the first place?

Could he- No. Mike wasn’t gay. Mike liked girls. Right?

Their late night conversation returned to him. ”I do love her. Just not like that. I’m not sure if I ever have.”

Was he- Could he- No, Will shut himself down firmly. He was reading too deeply into things. There was a perfectly normal, platonic explanation for all of it. He tried to focus on getting down the stairs. One step at a time.

He was interrupted by the sickeningly familiar flutter on the back of his neck. Not of a monster, but of Vecna. For a moment, their link was opened, and feelings, emotions, sensations that didn’t belong to him stormed through Will’s mind. Kill them all- Pay for this- I see you- Pain burning pain agony- Kill them all kill kill kill equilibrium-

Before he even really processed it, still blinded by the force of the emotion, Will’s fingernails were digging into the back of his neck and his knees were folding underneath him, crumpling, like he had just been knocked unconscious.

He heard Mike yelp and arms wrapped around his waist before Will could topple forwards, sending them both tumbling backwards onto the stairs instead. Will felt numb, weak, like he had just been winded. He didn’t feel strong enough to move any of his limbs, so instead he let himself relax, comforted by the feel of Mike’s arms holding him steady.

He was breathing heavily, hand still trapped between his neck and Mike’s chest. I see you, Vecna had said. I see you.

Mike shifted them so they were both sitting on the same step, holding Will close. Mike’s arms had shifted upwards to wrap around Will’s stomach, so that Will was leaning into Mike’s chest. Will closed his eyes, trying to control his breathing, but his chest shook and quivered with every breath so he eventually gave up.

“Are you okay?” Mike asked quietly against his ear. Will shivered at the feeling, and Mike’s arms tightened around him.

I see you.

“I’m okay,” He nearly whispered. “It’s just- It’s a lot.”

“What is it like?” Mike lowered his voice to match Will’s tone.

“It’s.. It’s like a link,” Will said, struggling to explain. “It’s only open for a few seconds at a time, but I feel.. everything. His thoughts, his emotions, his injuries. And he feels me too.”

I see you.

Mike shifted, pulled Will closer. “Does that mean he can know where we are?”

“No,” Will said confidently. “Just like I don’t know where he is either.”

“So it’s not like.. like Him?” Mike questioned, lowering his voice even more. Will could feel Mike’s breath on the shell of his ear.

“No. This feels different.” Will murmured, increasingly aware of the position they were in- sat on the stairs, Mike’s arms around him, Mike’s front curled protectively against his back. God. He wished he could stay like this forever, basking in the warmth of Mike Wheeler.

Mike made a humming noise against his ear, and Will fought the urge to shiver. Instead, he shifted forwards and reached up to grab the railing. “Come on,” He said, even though his hands were still weak. “They’re probably waiting for us.”

This time, Mike kept a steadying hand against his side as they finally made it down the last half of the stairs. At the bottom, Will kept one hand against the wall and the other gripping Mike’s arm like a lifeline as he closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, preparing himself to head down into the basement.

“Ready?” Mike asked, and instead of answering, Will slung his arm across Mike’s shoulders. Mike’s arm came up to fit around his waist, and they began the familiar hobble-shuffle to the basement door.

When Will reached to pull the door open, he heard the low murmur of chatter within halt, and he took a deep breath before he pulled away from Mike and began to descend the stairs.

He focused on the steps, on moving forwards, acutely aware of the gazes of every person in the room burning into him. He could hear the stairs behind him creaking as Mike followed him closely, and Will swallowed hard.

At least he didn’t have to go down with Mike’s help, arms thrown around each other. He could only imagine the look Jonathan would give him.

When he reached the bottom, Will braced himself on the railing on his right and turned to face everyone, letting a tired smile split his face. “Hi,” He said lowly, and he forced himself not to look at anyone in the face. He didn’t want to see their reactions.

“Holy shit, dude,” Dustin said. Will could feel Mike standing behind him, one hand brushing his waist in a silent offer. Do you want to sit down?

Will reached for Mike, bracing himself on the shoulder closest to him. Mike helped him to the couch, and Will sat down with a fair distance between him and the nearest person on the couch, who happened to be Dustin. He was pretty sure that if anyone else touched him, Will would perhaps explode or maybe die. It was just- a little too much- and so he drew his legs up to his chest and leaned back against the sofa.

Mike sat down next to him, not touching but close. Will blinked around at the room, unsure of what to say but unwilling to start the conversation. Across from him, sitting in a chair that had been pulled from elsewhere in the basement, Nancy cleared her throat.

“Okay,” She began. “Now that everyone is here, can you go through what happened in more detail?”

Oh. So this was what was happening. Okay. Will knew this. It was familiar; he had done this, explaining his experiences, what had happened to him, more times than he could count. Though perhaps never as calm as he was now. Somewhere, he wondered why that was; maybe he had just been through too much now. His brain had just gone ‘okay, that’s enough,’ and flipped the switch to make him stop caring.

“Okay, um,” He started. “I was walking back from the school, and I was like- maybe a couple blocks away? And I felt it nearby- and I just sort of, like, threw myself into this corner. Um, and it came along, and it was looking around where I’d been, on the sidewalk. I think- I dislodged a rock, or something? And it heard me. So I just- took off running.”

He continued, describing his desperate run through the forest and the moment the Demogorgon got his face. Will kept his gaze on Nancy, because oddly enough, she was the easiest to look at. She didn’t outwardly react to anything he said, just kept a neutral look on her face and nodded along to the parts that she’d already known from his brief explanation before he passed out.

“So when I got to the quarry, I ran towards the cliff and like- jumped? To the side? And I heard it falling and thought I was safe, but it grabbed my leg and pulled me off-“ Cue gasps from Lucas and Dustin, who were leaning forwards with rapt attention, and a small noise from Jonathan, who appeared vaguely sick. “-So I grabbed these roots with both hands, and I managed to kick it off after a few tries.”

He drew his legs closer to his chest. “Um, and then I climbed back up to the top of the cliff, wrapped myself up, and walked back here.”

“Dude,” Lucas was the first to say. “That’s fucking badass. Holy shit.”

Will shrugged, a bit uncomfortable. “I mean.. anyone could have done it.” He muttered.

“No way,” Dustin chimed in. “Outrun a Demogorgon? Hell no, dude. The rest of us would be dead within a few seconds.”

Will, unsure how to respond to that, made a vague noise of argument and looked down at his hands.

“Earlier, you said that.. that it had been after you, specifically,” Nancy said, and the slight lightheartedness that had hung in the air dissipated immediately.

“Yeah.” Will said, quiet, soft. “It was.”

“How do you know?” Nancy asked, leaning forward.

Will shrugged. “I mean.. first Demogorgon- or Democreature in general- that we’ve seen through the gate, and it goes after me immediately. And we know all the creatures are- are controlled by-“ He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t. He was doing so well. “By Him.”

“So you think He’s still after you?”

Will made a noise that was half-snort, half laugh. “He’ll always be after me,” He said bitterly. “Until the day He finally succeeds.”

The basement was silent. Will refused to look up, tracing patterns onto the worn surface of the sofa.

“I won’t let that happen,” El said determinedly, and Will could imagine the look on her face, fingers clutching her chair as she leaned forwards. “He won’t kill you. He won’t.”

“I’m not afraid of dying,” Will said softly. “I’m afraid of what comes before that.”

The room fell into a stilted silence, and Will’s eyes darted nervously, scanning over the faces, the reactions of the others. It was mostly grim, he saw, some horrified as well.

I won’t let that happen.

If only it was that easy. But Will knew. He’d seen it all in the now-memories. There was no way to stop Him. He always won.

“There’s no way to stop Him.” Anything to break this horrible silence. Will was so, so tired. He’d been fighting since he was 12, and he was ready to be done. To be able to tie up the past years with a neat little bow and say Okay, that’s it, that’s done, but it would never happen that way.

He exhaled harshly. “I’m a dead man walking.”

“But are we sure it’s Him?” Dustin asked, finally speaking into the silence that followed Will’s earlier statement. “I mean, isn’t Vecna, or Henry, or One- whatever we’re calling him- the one in control?”

“He’s just a pawn. Always has been. He just needed Henry to shape Him and give Him form, and then later to open the Rift so He could cross through.” Will looked down at his injured leg, counting the lines of bandages.

“How do you know all this?” Nancy asked.

He shrugged, tugged at a loose thread in the shorts he’d been changed into. “When I was part of the Mind, I had access to everything. Just because He let me go doesn’t mean I don’t remember.” Will’d never really talked about this, about the Mind. About feeling, understanding. He wasn’t sure he could ever really put it into words.

It had all become some sort of deep, instinctive memory, too much for him to really sort through or think about cohesively but just something that he knew, deep in his gut. The Mind would always be a part of him.

“So His plan has been to.. to come through the gate this whole time?” His mom’s voice quavered; He’d almost forgotten she was there, having been that she’d been silent thus far.

Will nodded silently, and his mom pressed on.

“Well.. when is He coming through?”

“Soon,” Will said with a slight shrug of his shoulders, still looking down. “I don’t know.”

The others in the room had fallen into what seemed to be a heated discussion, but Will wasn’t paying attention to any of it. He stared down at his hands. Any day now, He would be coming through the gate. And Will’s fight would be over. His only solace after that would be death.

He jumped a little when he felt Mike’s arm brushing against his. “Do you want to go back upstairs?” Mike whispered, and Will nodded faintly.

“Will’s tired, guys, I’m gonna take him upstairs.” Mike announced, and it was obviously an excuse, but no one challenged him on it. Will followed along with the motions, not paying attention to where they were going.

He was paying attention, however, when Mike led them into his room.

“Wait,” He muttered. “I can’t- I don’t want to take your bed from you again.” There was no reason that Will needed to take the bed now that he was awake. He didn’t want to make Mike sleep on the floor of his own room again.

Mike frowned at him. “Well, you’re not sleeping on the floor. You’re hurt,” Which, oh, yeah, he was.

“But it’s your bed,” Will argued. Mike shrugged.

“I don’t mind sleeping on the floor.”

When Will didn’t argue any further, Mike steered him over to the bed and Will begrudgingly sat down. Mike sat down beside him, and silence hung thick in the air; Will searched for something to say, but Mike beat him to it.

“Do you really think He’s gonna come through?” Mike asked quietly.

Will nodded. “I know He will,” He said softly, and a quiver ran through him that started at his shoulders and trickled down his spine. It tasted an awful lot like fear.

Mike grabbed his hand, and for a moment Will was twelve again, sitting in the Wheeler’s basement on Halloween, or maybe sitting in his room as He took Will over. You’re like a spy now. A superspy. “You know we’re not going to let Him win,” Mike said, so certain that Will almost believed him. What if he spies back? Just as certain as he’d been the first time. We won’t let him.

“You can’t promise that,” Will said quietly, mouth dry, and to that, Mike was silent.

“Will,” He said tentatively. “I need to tell you something.”

Will looked over at his friend curiously, sensing a shift in tone. Mike was looking down at the floor, one foot tapping a quick rhythm. A nervous tic. He watched as Mike bit his lip nervously, then said, “Please don’t be mad.”

Will blinked, trying to run through all the possibilities of what Mike had to say. “Why would I be mad?”

Mike inhaled sharply and turned to face him. Will searched his face, trying to decipher what Mike was about to say. But he came up empty; whatever that emotion was, sitting in his dark eyes, Will couldn’t read it.

“Will,” Mike said slowly, lacing and unlacing his fingers, avoiding eye contact. “I..”

And then Mike kissed him.

It lasted barely a second; Mike was backing away as fast as he’d leaned in, apologies spilling from his lips. Lips that had just kissed him. Mike had kissed him. Mike had just kissed him.

Will was sure he was staring like an idiot as Mike continued to apologize “-god, I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I did that, I had this whole speech-“ and his mind flew through all the possible reasons why Mike had kissed him.

Of course, there was only one plausible reason.

So Will did what he’d longed to do for years- he reached out, framed Mike’s face in his hands, and kissed him.

Mike made a surprised noise against his lips, and then he was kissing back just as fiercely, and god, Will was in heaven.

Kissing Mike was the smell of rain before a storm. Kissing Mike was the feeling of sun on his face. Kissing Mike was quiet nights spent in Castle Byers. Kissing Mike was taking his first breath of fresh air after the Upside Down. Kissing Mike was coming home. Kissing Mike was everything.

One of Mike’s hands came up to cup his jaw, and Will shivered at the feeling of Mike’s warm fingers against his neck. Mike’s other hand rested against his hip, clinging lightly.

Will moved a hand to grasp Mike’s shirt, like a lifeline, because he was sure he was going to fall over and pass out any moment. Maybe explode as well. Mike adjusted his lips against Will’s, and oh wow, Will was definitely exploding.

Mike pulled away and leaned his forehead against Will’s. For a few moments, they were silent, breathing each other’s air. Will kept his eyes closed. Mike’s hand was warm against his jaw, thumb stroking his cheek lightly.

Will leaned into it, exhaling lightly and opening his eyes. Mike was already watching him, eyes fond, and he smiled when Will met his gaze.

“Hi,” Will whispered, letting his hand drop from Mike’s shirt to his waist.

“Hi,” Mike responded softly. He was quiet for a few moments, just looking at Will, and it was so soft and intimate that Will felt warm all over. It was like sitting by a campfire after years in the cold, feeling the warmth spread back to his frostbitten fingers.

“So… boyfriends?” Mike said after a brief pause, and Will burst out laughing. He was still riding high on the euphoria of it all, a repeating loop in his mind: Mike likes me. Mike likes me. Mike likes me.

“Smooth,” He teased, and Mike rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” Mike muttered, pulling Will back towards him. “C’mere.”

Will let himself be guided back to Mike, let himself be kissed, smiled into it all. Because he was kissing Mike Wheeler. The warmth of soaked into his bones, thawed out his sluggish blood and let the spring flowers grow back from dust. He was floating, sure that the world could end at that very moment and he’d be content. Every movement was lightning, every touch was thunder.

Mike’s tongue swiped across his lip once, twice, and Will opened his mouth, let Mike push him back against the bedroom wall. He was burning up, scalding from the inside out. He never knew someone could be this happy, this intoxicated. And he thought that maybe happiness had always been tied to Mike Wheeler.

It really was intoxicating, and now he understood why people snuck out at night to see their partners, ditched class to make out, because nothing felt better than the feeling of Mike’s body under his palms, Mike’s lips against his own. He moved one hand to cup the junction of Mike’s neck and shoulder, stretched out two fingers to feel Mike’s jackrabbiting heartbeat under his fingertips.

Mike was warm beneath his palm. He could feel Mike’s heart pounding a steady rhythm against his fingertips, ba-dum ba-dum ba-dum ba-dum. His other hand had settled on Mike’s hip. The texture of Mike’s shirt was rough and scratchy against his skin.

One of Mike’s hands slipped under the hem of Will’s shirt to rest on his stomach, and Will’s breath hitched as Mike’s fingers trailed lightly over his skin (and he was not ticklish, thank you very much, nope, not ticklish one bit).

Mike broke the kiss, and Will made a noise of protest that died in his throat as Mike trailed his lips lightly across Will’s cheek to rest carefully on the long scar that ripped across his face and neck.

When Will didn’t pull away or protest, Mike began to peck a path down Will’s neck, tracing the scab like Will was a precious artifact. Something to be handled with love and care, fragile porcelain riddled with glued-together cracks.

“Mike,” Will muttered, tilting his head back against the bedroom wall even as he spoke. “Mike.”

Mike finally looked up at that, and Will pulled him back into a kiss, holding Mike’s face in both hands. Mike smiled against his lips and Will smiled too, so achingly happy that he might burst.

Mike bit his lip and Will made a very embarrassing noise that he would definitely deny later, causing Mike to pull away with pupils blown wide.

Mike’s face was flushed, his lips kiss-swollen and parted slightly. Will wanted to freeze this moment in time so he could draw Mike’s face, capture his jaw and cheekbones and scattered freckles. Mike was gorgeous, a face crafted by the gods, and Will was enraptured.

“So is that a yes, then?” Mike asked, and Will blinked, his brain lagging.

“What?” He asked, and they were entirely too close, and he needed Mike to start kissing him again immediately.

“To being boyfriends,” Mike clarified.

Oh. That was what he meant. Leave it to Mike to phrase things in the most convoluted way possible.

“Yeah,” He said, and kissed Mike again before the other could respond.

Recovery was.. slow, to say the least. One week after the attack and while his face had been healing well, he still needed help to move around. He ended up spending most of his time drawing in the basement or in Mike’s room; whichever he felt more comfortable in at any given time.

Vecna had gone fairly quiet- plotting, as far as Will could tell. He figured that He would keep Vecna around for a while, just in case He ended up needing him; it was reassuring, in a way, to feel Vecna. It told him that He wasn’t through the Rift any time soon.

The others were worried about him, he knew; he could tell from the worried glances, the constant mothering, the hushed conversations when they thought he wasn’t listening. It made him grit his teeth and scale the stairs on his own, made him hide away in Mike’s room for hours.

Pity always made him feel coddled. Nested in blankets like a baby. It made him feel trapped and exposed at the same time, like everyone was judging him, watching him, waiting for him to snap. Waiting for him to fall apart.

He glared at the drawing in front of him and sighed. It was of a picture out of a book he’d been reading about the snakes of North America; he couldn’t perfect the hershey-kiss markings of the copperhead.

His interest in snakes had started in California when one of his teachers had a ball python in her classroom. He knew, of course, that his mom would never let him own a snake, but it was a fun hobby to have- going out at dusk to search for snakes and other reptiles, keeping track of what species he’d found.

It was calming, in a way. To escape out into nature and just observe.

The door opened behind him. Will knew it was Mike without even looking; his boyfriend (!!!!) had a specific way he moved when he entered a room, one that Will had known by heart since he was little.

“Hey,” Will said absently, squinting at his reference picture as he erased and redrew one of the markings.

“What’cha working on?” Mike asked in lieu of a greeting, and Will felt the other’s weight against the back of the chair as Mike leaned onto it, arms brushing Will’s back.

“Copperhead,” Will muttered. “Can’t get his markings right.”

“Looks good to me,” Mike said, breath tickling Will’s ear. The latter snorted.

“Mike, you think everything I draw looks good.” He teased lightly, turning slightly so he could see Mike’s face in his peripheral vision.

Mike rolled his eyes. “Because everything you draw does look good.”

“I’m flattered,” Will deadpanned, though in reality he was probably blushing. Mike hummed, fingers smoothing over Will’s shoulders.

“Dinner’s ready,” His boyfriend said, and Will frowned.

“Already?” He turned to look at the clock, which indicated that it was, in fact, dinnertime. Will frowned deeper and rubbed the back of his neck; he didn’t realize he’d been drawing so long.

As much as he refused to admit it, Will loved small moments like this. They felt safe, normal, an insight into the life he would never lead. A life in which there was no Rift, no Him, no Upside Down. Just him and Mike.

“C’mon, you workaholic,” Mike teased, and Will stood reluctantly with Mike holding his arm in a steadying grip. Ever since they had started dating, their dynamic had become so much easier. Like they’d both been waiting before.

Together they hobbled down to the dinner table, which contained Jonathan, El, and Nancy. His mom had gone back to California to get more of their stuff, and Mike’s mom had gone with them, leaving Jonathan and Nancy in charge.

Will slid into his seat at the table, which already had a plate sitting in front of it- some sort of noodles, apparently. He didn’t know who in their right mind would serve noodles on a plate, but whatever.

Mike sat down in the chair to his left, and all five of them ate in silence. Dinner- and basically all group interactions- were rather melancholy affairs, though Will wasn’t sure if they were only acting weird because of him or not. Maybe they acted normal when he wasn’t around. Hell if he knew.

He bumped his knee against Mike’s under the table, and Mike nudged him back. Will smiled despite himself; it was silly just how much such a small interaction could cheer him up.

After dinner, Will said goodnight to the others and Mike helped him back upstairs. Will brushed his teeth, supporting himself against the counter, and looked at himself in the mirror.

His eyes were gray and tired. Will traced a finger across his scar, nearly healed now, and wondered what his twelve year-old self would think of this hollow shell. There was a certain life that was lacking in his eyes, a type of tiredness Will typically equated to military veterans and the like. Never to himself.

He reached out and touched the mirror. It was cold. Will always seemed to be cold nowadays. Some people said that mirrors were windows into the future. He wondered what the cold said for him.

He turned off the lights as he left the bathroom and plunged the mirror into darkness.

Sharing a bed with Mike had been weird at first.

After they’d started dating and Mike made it clear that he wasn’t letting Will sleep anywhere other than the bed, it became apparent that the solution was an easy one: share the bed.

It had been awkward the first few nights, with neither of them willing to cross this new boundary, carefully settled on opposite sides of the bed. But on the fourth day, Will had awoken with Mike sprawled on top of him like an octopus, and, well- it all settled from there.

Now, he felt they’d fallen into a pretty good routine. Mike helped Will into bed and then left to take care of his own nightly routine, allowing Will the time to adjust his side the way he liked and reserve an adequate amount of blankets for himself. (Mike hogged the blankets like no other; Will was sure he did it on purpose).

Will lay on his back in the bed, wondering how the best days of his life could also be during the end of the world. It was another cruel twist of fate, he supposed: Get what he’s always dreamed for, but only for a short time. Just another way for life to fuck him over.

He looked over as Mike opened the door, greeting him with a small smile. “Hey,” He muttered, and Mike greeted him in return with a grin.

Will closed his eyes tiredly as he heard Mike flick the lights off and cross the room to get into bed. The mattress shifted and the blankets tugged as Mike climbed into bed, and Will reached out blindly for his boyfriend with his eyes still closed.

“C’m’re,” Will muttered, voice muffled by the blanket. Mike obligingly shifted closer so Will could tuck his face into Mike’s chest, leeching his boyfriend’s warmth.

In quiet moments like these, he could at least pretend that everything was alright.

After a month, Will could walk on his own again.

He still had a lot of healing to do, that was for sure- but he could at least move around on his own, albeit slowly.

He could feel the end was near, crashing against his conscience like the rising tide, a slow pressure building at the base of his skull. Perhaps he was a pair of tectonic plates, crushing against each other, or maybe a tsunami building far out in the sea.

Will tried his best to ignore it. He wanted to enjoy his last days. Another snake came to life under his weary hands- this one a brownsnake, small and harmless. Storeria dekayi. The walls of Mike’s bedroom were decorated with his art of various people and animals, but the snakes were his favorites.

He rose from his chair, leaving the brownsnake on the desk, wincing as he stretched his stiff legs. Will headed downstairs, careful not to put too much weight on his injured leg. Nancy was already in the kitchen when he entered, and he acknowledged her with a noise akin to a greeting, though he was too tired to put that much effort into it.

“Hey, Will.” She said, offering him a small smile. He got himself a glass of water and leaned against the counter, looking down at his distorted reflection in the ripples.

He downed the water in one go and was reminded, strangely, of a similar occurrence when he’d just woken up after the Demogorgon attack. How much had changed since then.

“You okay?” Nancy asked, and Will shrugged.

“Yeah. Just thinking.” He muttered, and knew that he didn’t have to elaborate. There was only one thing on everybody’s minds.

“How much time do we have?” Nancy asked, and Will shrugged.

“Not long. I don’t know exactly.” He knew that the others had been trying to come up with a plan since he’d first revealed that He was going to come through the Rift, but that they hadn’t made any ground. He tried his best not to be involved in the planning.

Nancy nodded and pursed her lips, but before she could speak, a shriek echoed up from the basement, high and piercing, followed by shouting. He and Nancy shot each other a look before they were hurrying towards the basement door (well, as best as Will could hurry).

Nancy got there first, obviously, and headed down the stairs. When Will got there, standing in the doorway of the basement, it became apparent what the source of the commotion was:

A snake.

It was coiled defensively in the middle of the basement, with all the occupants of the basement pressed about as far away from it as they could get like a bomb had just gone off.

Nancy had paused uncertainly at the bottom of the stairs, likely unsure what to do with the snake, so Will carefully headed down the stairs and slipped past her. This was something he could handle.

He took a few steps towards the snake, despite what sounded like Steve and Lucas shouting at him to get back. Squinting at it, he could see the distinctive yellow stripe down its spine that marked it as a garter snake, and he relaxed.

Harmless, though he wasn’t sure exactly what type of garter it was- that was beyond his identification capabilities. Will took another few steps towards the snake so he was close enough to pick it up, ignoring Steve’s hissed “Are you crazy?” and crouching down.

It seemed like the entire basement was holding its breath; most of them waiting in horror, like Will was going to drop dead just from being in the vicinity of the snake, but he noted a select few were calm: Mike, Jonathan, and El. It made sense, of course; they all knew about Will’s liking for snakes and likely knew that he would be able to ID a venomous snake.

“How did you get lost all the way down here?” He asked the garter quietly as he carefully reached out to pick it up, much to the dismay of the others. It was surprisingly calm in his hands, wrapping around his wrist and gripping tight to his fingers.

“What are you doing?” Lucas yelped, putting his hands on the sides of his head. Will shrugged.

“It’s a garter snake. Harmless.” He added, looking down at the snake and twisting it in his hands so the tail was facing up. It was thin and tapering. Female.

“I didn’t know you liked snakes,” Nancy said, still eyeing the reptile in his hands.

“Didn’t really get into them until Lenora,” Will explained, running his thumb over the snake’s scales and eyeing the stairs. Chances were she wasn’t going to tolerate being handled much longer, and he would like to get upstairs and outside before the snake got prissy.

Of course, garters were basically harmless in terms of bites, but they had a defense mechanism called musking, where they would basically piss all over him and make him smell terrible for hours (Will had learned that one the hard way).

“Um, I should..” He gestured towards the stairs, and Nancy stepped aside. Now feeling a bit self-conscious, Will limped up the stairs and headed for the backyard, cradling the snake in his hands.

He pushed the back door open, shivering as the cold air buffeted him. Even though it was supposed to be summer, the chill of the Upside Down hung thick in the air; it only grew colder by the day, it seemed.

He frowned down at the snake in his hands. “Maybe that’s why you were in there,” He muttered to her as he heard the others step through the door. “Looking for warmth?”

Regardless, he thought, the others likely wouldn’t appreciate a wild snake roaming the house. So, reluctantly, he crouched down in the grass and let her go, watching her strike off into the dirt.

But when he stood, there was a terrible, terrible fluttering on the back of his neck. It was deadly familiar, and it shot such instant, paralyzing dread through him that his knees gave way. Every limb felt numb, like he’d just slammed into water from fifty feet up, like white cliff walls.

Mike caught him, because of course he did- Mike would always be there to catch him, to wrap arms around his waist when he stumbled. Will gripped at Mike desperately, scarcely able to control his numbed fingers but needing Mike’s closeness.

“Will,” Mike was saying. “Will, what’s wrong?”

But Will couldn’t answer, couldn’t speak, and so he just stared at the sky in wordless horror. It rooted deep in his heart, this dread, and it was home like his father’s new house. It was a dread he hadn’t experienced since he was 12, and it shocked him to his core, made him want to vomit, made him want to escape.

Mike was still talking to him, and Will didn’t listen, couldn’t listen, couldn’t hear anything over the roaring in his ears, the horrible instinct that screamed at him to RUN RUN RUN GO NOW RUN GO NOW- But he was rooted, rooted to the ground, taproots extending hundreds of feet down, taproots extending into his hell, his purgatory, his greatest fear.

Beneath his feet, the ground began to rumble, just ever so slightly, making the dust stir and the pebbles quiver. He couldn’t tell if the others were outside and he couldn’t move his head to check; he was a deer in headlights, watching death swoop down upon him, frozen in place by the force of his terror.

“Mike,” He choked out, curling his fingers into the fabric of Mike’s jacket. “Mike.”

He, too, was shaking now, quavering in time with the ground, his breath coming in a shaky gasp, and of course he would only be able to call for Mike. Because he’d always cried for Mike, and always, Mike had found him. Mike had saved him.

“I’m right here,” Mike said, pressing himself desperately against Will. “I’m right here, Will.” Will heard someone behind him yelp as the shaking intensified suddenly, and he swallowed hard, forced himself to breathe.

But his entire body shut down when he felt Him begin to come through, felt it as clearly as he felt Mike’s hand clutching his own. He was stuck, unable to blink, unable to breathe, just frozen, and suddenly he was 12 again, watching as He rose over the school.

The shadow blotted out the light as He rose into Hawkins, and it tasted like death. He was helpless, helpless as a newborn kitten, listening to the cries of fear around him, the horror as He stood, tall and dark and swirling, in Hawkins.

“Oh my god,” Mike whispered. And that truly was the only appropriate reaction, because what was He, if not some terrible god? Some divine horror cast upon the world?

Slowly, He turned, surrounded by dark clouds and red lightning and horribly reminiscent of the first time Will had seen Him- standing outside The Palace- Alone- Let’s go take that high score back on Dig Dug, yeah?

And then He was looking directly at them, directly at Will, and he felt bile rising in his throat but was too frozen to even throw up. Mike’s arm tightened around his waist, pulling Will closer as he shook in Mike’s arms.

He heard sirens in the distance, saw helicopters in the air. The red glow of the gates had never been so malicious. Standing, He was still, waiting, watching Will. Always Will.

This was now. The beginning of the end.

And Will would be the first to go.