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In hindsight, Will probably should’ve been more careful tonight.
You’d think after nearly four years of doing this, he would’ve learned to be more careful—to not throw himself in harm’s way or get caught up in some messy shit that’s way over his head. Will can practically hear Jonathan’s voice in the back of his mind, reminding him to Stay out of trouble, Will.
…
Will tends to ignore his older brother’s advice. After all, if it was up to Jonathan, Will would’ve given up this whole double life of his years ago. Obviously, Jonathan means well, and he only wants to keep Will safe, but the two of them can agree to disagree when it comes to most superhero related things.
Tonight though? Yeah… tonight, Will really wishes he had listened to Jonathan, because as it turns out, sneaking alone into the hideout of one of Indianapolis’ most notorious gangs isn’t actually a good idea.
It’s a damn miracle that Will isn’t dead yet, and it’s an even bigger miracle that none of the thugs currently guarding him have pulled off his mask yet. If he manages to survive the night—which, mind you, is debatable at this point—the last thing he needs is for the city’s most wanted criminals to know his secret identity. Luckily though, none of them have been too interested in knowing what’s behind the mask.
Nope. They’ve been more interested in beating the shit out of Will.
Honestly, Will is so screwed at this point, because even if he could somehow manage to struggle his way out of the rope tied around his wrists and ankles, there’s no way that he’s going to be able to overpower all the guys in this room—at least not in the state that he’s in. Plus, something is most definitely off with Will’s powers at this current moment. He’s not sure what’s going on with them, but right now, he’s pretty sure any electricity he’d be able to produce would be nothing more than a little static shock.
Yeah.
He’s screwed.
Will winces, and he shifts uncomfortably, taking a slow, shuddered breath. It hurts to breathe, so his ribs are probably bruised, if not broken. That’s going to be a fun one to explain to his mom if he does make it out of here. She’s long since past threatening to ground him from superhero work, but that doesn’t mean she won’t absolutely lose her mind if Will comes home looking like this.
Across the room, a few of the thugs from earlier are caught up in their own little world, having a conversation about God knows what else. At the beginning of the night, Will had tried to listen in, just to see if he could glean any important information from them, but none of it had really been fruitful.
The only thing that had been something potentially helpful was a name that just kept coming up in their conversations: Vecna.
It’s not a name that Will’s heard before tonight, but from what his (likely concussed) brain has been able to put together from context, Vecna seems to be the guy in charge here. And while Will doesn’t know that much about him, he knows that this Vecna guy is probably bad news.
(It’s all the more reason why Will has to get out of here.)
Once again, Will shifts, pulling against the ropes tied tightly around his wrists. The coarse rope rubs up against the skin already rubbed raw, but Will grits his teeth, doing his best to ignore the pain. He can worry about all of that later. Right now, he has to get out of here—
“What the fuck is that?!” one of the thugs yells, his voice about an octave higher than it was earlier.
Will’s brow furrows, and he looks around the room to find—
Oh.
Okay.
Suddenly, all of the men holding him hostage begin screaming , and Will can’t help the quiet laugh that escapes his lips. The laughter, unfortunately, dissolves into a small groan as a fresh wave of pain washes over him. Right. Laughter plus bruised or potentially broken ribs probably isn’t a good combination.
Still, it never gets fucking old to see grown men screaming and running for their lives from a horde of undead zombies.
(They’re harmless… mostly. Only if you’re not committing crimes or getting on The Necromancer’s nerves.
…
Yeah, Will thinks it’s a stupid name too, but he doesn’t really have much room to talk. After all, he chose his own superhero alter ego when he was thirteen, and it’s haunted him ever since.)
Right before his eyes, the gang members guarding him scatter in different directions. Most of them are followed by zombies, and before Will knows it, the room is empty except for him and one other person.
Technically, he can’t see the other person, but Will knows he’s here—literally just hiding in the shadows.
“Showoff,” Will calls, and his voice comes out hoarser than he expects it to. He winces again, looking around the room and trying to spot his… well, not exactly his partner , but more like his ally.
See, the thing about The Necromancer —or Zombie Boy, as Will prefers to call him—is that he prefers to work alone. Honestly, it feels a little bit like a gimmick used to keep up the cool and edgy and mysterious persona that comes with the ability to control the dead and manipulate shadows, because every time the two of them have had to work together over the years, he’s actually been a fairly good partner.
And… embarrassingly so, there was a point in time, a couple years ago when Will was younger and his best friend was dating the girl who’d eventually become Will’s sister, that Will had… maybe had the teeniest, tiniest crush on Indy’s other resident superhero.
So, sue him.
Out of the corner of his eye, Will watches as the shadows bend, and his partner? (ally? friend? something like that) steps into view, looking around the room. Finally, his gaze lands on Will, and Will just offers a dry smile.
“Took you long enough,” he quips. “I could’ve died in here, you know.”
The Necromancer scoffs, and he takes a few steps towards Will, reaching into his pocket and grabbing a small switchblade. “And whose fault would that have been?” he asks, voice just as sarcastic as Will’s own. “I’m not the dumbass who went after the Demogorgons by myself. Now c’mere. Let’s get you untied.”
Will rolls his eyes, but he shifts carefully, ignoring the way his bruised ribs scream in protest. “That’s rich coming from you,” he deadpans. “God knows you’ve done a lot of really stupid shit by yourself over the years.”
“I’m never by myself,” his friend points out, a hint of a smile on his face. He nods his head towards the exit, where Will assumes his little zombie army is still terrorizing all of the members of Vecna’s gang. “Haven’t we established that already?”
“Riiight,” Will drawls, and he glances over his shoulder, unable to fight the smirk forming on his own face. “Your zombie friends. See, and you wonder why I call you Zombie Boy!”
The Necromancer pauses, his knife partially through the rope still tied around Will’s wrists. “I could just leave you here,” he points out. “Your hands aren’t untied yet.”
“What, and let the Demogorgons kill me?” Will retorts without even missing a beat. “Come on. You wouldn’t do that.”
Technically, Will can’t see it, but if he had to guess, his friend is probably narrowing his eyes at Will right now and also definitely looking for some quippy comeback. All of this—the bantering, the pretending not to actually care about each other—is just for show too… or at least it is for Will.
Maybe they’re not partners, and hell, maybe Will’s just delusional, creating some idea of a friendship between the two of them in his mind. But at the end of the day, both of them have the same common goal: keeping their city safe. And at the end of the day, Will knows that he has The Necromancer’s back, and The Necromancer’s got his.
(Giving each other shit is still fun though—like really, really fun.)
“Unfortunately, I wouldn’t,” his friend finally grumbles, cutting through the rest of the ropes around Will’s wrists. As soon as the rope falls to the ground, Will stretches his arms, wincing at the soreness in his muscles, and he carefully checks his wrists. Sure enough, his wrists are cut up and bloody, and they’re definitely going to hurt in the morning.
“Who else would help me take down Vecna?” he adds, crawling in front of Will and working on the ropes around Will’s ankles next.
At the mention of the Demogorgons’ leader, Will stiffens, and he looks at his friend with wide eyes. “How do you know that name?” Will hisses. “What else did you learn?”
The Necromancer pauses, and he raises an eyebrow at Will, as if to say, Seriously? “A lot,” he says, carefully cutting through the rope. “Nothing we should talk about here though. But… we’ve got our work cut out for us, I think.”
The rope around Will’s ankles falls to the ground, and Will swallows the nervous lump that’s begun to form in the back of his throat. “That guy is bad news,” he says quietly. “I don’t know much, but I heard a little bit about him tonight. Even his men are scared of him.”
His friend frowns, glancing around the room warily. “We should get out of here then,” he murmurs. “Can you walk?”
Will winces. Truthfully, he’s not so sure he’s going to make it very far, but it’s not like he has much of a choice since they both need to get the hell out of here. Plus, Will doesn’t want to spend another minute in this place.
So, Will quietly responds, “Yeah, I’m good,” and he grits his teeth, putting his hand on the wall and standing to his feet. His entire body screams in protest, and his knees nearly buckle and send him crashing back to the ground. Luckily though, he manages to stay upright, and though everything hurts so badly that Will thinks he might throw up, he somehow finds the strength to take a step forward.
“Okay,” Will says breathlessly, taking another shaky step forward. “Let’s… let’s get out of here. And we… we can talk.”
For a moment, The Necromancer hesitates, and he looks like he wants to say something to Will. He seems a bit more concerned than normal, which for some Godforsaken reason brings back the familiar feeling of butterflies in Will’s stomach.
(...Fuck. No. No, not again. He’s not doing this again. One unrequited crush is bad enough, but two? No.)
“I’m fine,” Will reassures, forcing himself to ignore the butterflies in his stomach and take another step. “Seriously. Come on, Zombie Boy. I’ve been in this hellhole for too long tonight, and I don’t want to see what happens when the Demogorgons come back.”
Fortunately, the concern melts away from his friend’s face, but he does step towards Will, carefully putting an arm around him. “Lean your weight on me,” he says in a tone that leaves no room for argument. “It’ll be faster this way.”
“You’re bossy when you’re worried,” Will muses.
“And you’re annoying when you’re injured,” The Necromancer deadpans.
“Ha, ha.” Will rolls his eyes, but he does lean his weight on his friend. Together, the two of them carefully limp out of the warehouse and into the chilly Indianapolis spring. It takes everything within Will just to keep walking and not pass out, and though it’s probably a little embarrassing to admit, he’s really, really glad that The Necromancer is here with him.
And it’s probably only because Will is exhausted and half-delirious with pain, but he leans closer to his friend and whispers, “Hey.”
“Hm?”
“Thank you,” Will says, looking over at his friend as best as he can. “For… for saving me tonight. I owe you one.”
For just a brief moment, The Necromancer’s face softens, and he pauses, his arm still wrapped carefully around Will. A chilly breeze blows around the two of them, and when Will shivers, he can’t help but notice the way The Necromancer holds him just a little bit closer.
Then, finally, his friend whispers back, “Yeah… of course. I, um… I wasn’t just gonna leave you there. You… you’re way too important to m—the city.”
The slip-up doesn’t go unnoticed by Will, and despite the cold air, Will feels his cheeks go warm. That familiar, fluttery feeling in his stomach returns, and Will can’t help but smile.
“Well, the city is important to me too,” Will says softly, leaning in a bit closer. “So… I appreciate what you did tonight. Seriously.”
A tentative smile forms on his friend’s face; then, he finally breaks their gaze, looking in the opposite direction. “Come on,” he murmurs, taking another step forward, “I think I know somewhere safe for us to hide.”
It hits Will on Sunday morning, when his phone won’t stop ringing , and the far too bright sunlight is streaming through his window, and his mom is calling up to him, “Will, baby! Mike is here!”, that Will is the worst best friend in the history of best friends.
“ Shit ,” Will gasps, and he sits right up in his bed, unable to help the pained groan that escapes his mouth when his injuries are aggravated again. After spending literally all day passed out in bed yesterday, Will had been so certain he would be fine on Sunday—or at least fine enough to catch up on some homework before school tomorrow.
What he hadn’t been thinking about, at least not until this very moment, was the fact that he and Mike had made plans weeks ago to celebrate their birthdays together today.
“Shit, shit, shit,” Will swears, getting off his bed as quickly as he can and stumbling around his room. The room most definitely begins to spin, though whether that’s from the mild grade concussion he got the other night or from not eating or drinking all day yesterday, Will doesn’t know. Right now, it doesn’t actually matter.
What does matter is putting some clothes on and covering up the bruises before Mike sees them.
…
Yeah.
So, here’s the thing.
Will’s been a superhero for going on four years now—since he first discovered his powers at the ripe old age of thirteen. Most kids have to suffer through puberty around that age, and Will? He had to suffer through puberty and freakish powers of light and electricity. But it’s fine. He’s had control of his powers for a long time now, and he’s been using them for good ever since.
Everyone in his family—Jonathan, his mom, and now even El and Hopper—knows about his work as a superhero. Jonathan and his mom have obviously known for longer, and they’re pretty used to Will coming home with a mess of bruises and an even bigger mess of crime-fighting stories. Hopper is honestly still warming up to the idea, since he likes to point out that technically Will is a vigilante, and El mostly just thinks it’s badass.
(El also likes to play Taylor Swift’s song Vigilante Shit around Will all the fucking time. She thinks it’s hilarious. Will disagrees.)
But anyways, outside of the four members of his family, no one else knows about Will’s double life as a superhero. He’s been careful over the years not to share this information with anyone. It’s bad enough that his family knows, since the secret could put them in danger, and as far as Will is concerned, he’s not going to cross that line with any of his best friends.
The Party’s first rule may be that “friends don’t lie,” but for this… Will has to make an exception.
As footsteps approach Will’s door, Will curses under his breath and slips on a flannel over his t-shirt, wincing as the fabric rubs up against the bandages on his wrists. The flannel and whatever jacket he ends up wearing today should cover up those bruises, but fuck, Will’s going to have to put on some concealer or something to cover the bruises on his face—
The door opens.
(Honest to God, sometimes Will hates how at home Mike has made himself in Will’s life. He doesn’t actually hate it, but in times like these… maybe he does.)
“Mike!” Will exclaims, and his voice comes out an octave higher than normal. He quickly ducks his head, trying his best to hide the bruises on his face. “S-sorry! I, um… I overslept.”
His best friend’s familiar laughter fills the silence of Will’s bedroom, and Will’s heart, the stupid, traitorous organ that it is, does a little cartwheel. “You’re fine,” Mike reassures. He sounds a bit closer now—maybe on Will’s bed? That would make sense. “I tried calling you when I got here. And I texted you yesterday to see what time we wanted to leave, but you never answered.”
“Sorry,” Will says again, wincing as he walks over to his closet. “Um… I wasn’t feeling great yesterday, so I mostly slept the entire day.”
Honestly, Will has no idea how he’s going to grab the concealer he only uses to cover up bruises like this without Mike noticing, but he’s going to have to figure it out quickly. Maybe if he just sends Mike back downstairs while he goes to the bathroom…
“Oh, that sucks,” Mike remarks. The squeaky floorboard in Will’s room creaks, and Will fights the urge to curse again. To no surprise at all, Mike has walked up right behind Will, all but trapping him against the closet door.
(Ironic.)
“Are you okay?” Mike asks, his voice softer now. He puts a hand on Will’s shoulder, and Will nearly flinches, immediately going tense. “You… you seem really off.”
“I’m fine,” Will says quickly, and he does his best to shrug Mike’s hand off his shoulder. “Um… you can just… wait for me downstairs. I’ll be quick.”
Silence settles over the two of them for what feels like several long, painful moments, and Will holds his breath in anticipation, hoping Mike won’t question him.
But because it’s Mike and he cares too much—something that normally isn’t a problem for Will—he doesn’t give in that easily. No, instead, he takes a step closer to Will, invading Will’s personal space, and he reaches out, placing a hand on Will’s face and gently turning it so the two of them are looking directly at each other.
(So much for hiding any of this.)
Mike’s breath hitches, and his eyes go wide when he sees the state of Will’s face. It’s been several hours since Will actually last looked in the mirror, but last he’d seen, he was sporting a pretty nasty black eye, a split lip, and a couple nasty cuts from Friday night’s ordeal. The swelling in his face has probably gone down, but he can’t imagine he looks that much better.
And judging by the look on Mike’s face, Will thinks he probably still looks worse for the wear.
“Mike,” Will starts to whisper, but the words fall flat. He’s not even sure what he’s trying to say here or what bullshit excuse he’s going to use this time. Every other time he’s had bruises, he’s managed to avoid any questions from his friends by just covering them up.
But now, there’s no hiding and no covering up the truth.
Fuck.
“What,” Mike finally asks, his voice low and dangerous, “ happened ?”
It’s a tone of voice that’s rare in Mike Wheeler—a tone of voice Will has only heard a few times throughout their over ten-year long friendship. And on top of that, the look on Mike’s face is absolutely furious, like he’s contemplating the murder of whoever did this to Will.)
(Ha. Now that’s a funny thought: Mike going up against all the Demogorgon gang members that beat the shit out of Will. Mike may have the heart of a fighter, but in terms of an actual fight? Yeah… there’s a reason both of them were relentlessly bullied as kids.)
“I…” Will takes a deep breath, and he closes his eyes. God, his head is pounding now, and what he really, really wants is to go back to bed. “It’s a long story.”
Mike exhales slowly, and again, he goes quiet. His fingers carefully trace some of the worst bruises on Will’s face. His touch is soft, gentle, and soothing—the exact opposite of the punches that had left Will looking like this in the first place.
“Will,” Mike whispers. Somehow, his voice is even softer and more serious now, and he runs his thumb across the top of Will’s split lip as carefully as he can. “Who… who did this to you? Was it… was it Hopper? God, are you okay? Are you not safe here?”
Immediately, Will opens his eyes, and he stares back at his best friend, feeling his heart shatter into a million pieces. There’s worry written all over Mike’s face and tears in his eyes, reminiscent of the very first time Will told him about how Lonnie used to be years and years ago.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Will whispers quickly, and he lifts his own hand, placing it on top of Mike’s. “It wasn’t Hopper, and I’m okay. I’m safe; I promise. I… just… it’s complicated, Mike. But I’m okay, I swear to you I am.”
The frown on Mike’s face deepens. Clearly, he’s not at all convinced, and for what feels like an eternity, he stares at Will, carefully searching for an answer.
Then, his eyes flicker to Will’s hand, carefully placed on top of Mike’s own.
And the worry on Mike’s face turns into… surprise.
Huh? Will starts to think, but he never gets to finish the thought.
Because before he can, Mike moves faster than Will’s ever seen him move before, and he grabs Will’s wrist, holding it in a surprisingly tight grip. Will can’t help but yelp, and though he pulls away, Mike doesn’t let him go.
“What the hell are you doing?” Will demands. “Mike, let go. What is wrong with you?!”
Mike doesn’t say anything, but he does loosen his grip ever so slightly on Will’s wrist, before pushing up his sleeve even more to reveal the bandages underneath.
Shit.
His eyes flicker up to Will’s eyes, then back down to the bandages around Will’s wrist, and without another word, Mike begins to unwrap the gauze. All the while, Will remains frozen there, his heart pounding wildly inside his chest and his mind desperately trying to figure out what the hell is going on.
After what feels like forever, the bandages around Will’s wrist fall to the ground, revealing the still bright red and healing cuts from the other night. Though his wrists look better than they did when he returned home Friday night, they still look worse for the wear—rubbed raw and just now beginning to scab over.
In front of him, Mike takes a deep breath, running his thumb across Will’s wrist and staring at the open lacerations intently. Still, he remains unnervingly silent, and Will swallows the lump in his throat.
“I… I can explain,” he says quietly, and Mike just laughs, soft and a bit sad.
Finally, his best friend looks back up at him, meeting Will’s eyes. “I don’t need you to,” Mike says, his voice as quiet as Will’s own. “Will…”
There’s something about the look in his eyes that Will just doesn’t get. He’s missing something here—something huge —and though Mike seems to think Will understands, Will sure as hell doesn’t. Maybe that’s the concussion’s fault too.
“Mike,” Will whispers back, shaking his head slightly. “I don’t know… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
A ghost of a smile forms on Mike’s face, and he runs his thumb across Will’s wrist again, so careful and so gentle. Fortunately, he doesn’t seem upset, so that’s good, but if Will’s being honest, he still can’t quite figure out what’s going on in Mike’s head. There’s still a strange look on his face, like he knows something that Will’s supposed to understand too.
“You know you could’ve just canceled on me,” Mike finally says, and he smiles—still hesitant but also more playful this time. “I think getting kidnapped and beaten up is a pretty good excuse for missing our shared birthday celebration.”
Wait, what?
Will’s eyes go wide, and for a moment, all he can do is stand there, staring back at Mike. Neither one of them says anything to the other, though Mike does raise an eyebrow, as if he’s still waiting for Will’s response.
“How—“ Will starts to say.
…
And then it hits him.
Oh.
Oh.
“Holy shit,” Will whispers.
Almost immediately, Mike relaxes, and he laughs, ducking his head slightly. “Holy shit,” he echoes, except he doesn’t seem as in shock as Will certainly feels. Honestly, Will has no idea how Mike isn’t freaking the fuck out like he is right now, because holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, this isn’t actually happening.
“You’re The Necromancer,” Will breathes.
(It’s not a question, because though Mike hasn’t explicitly said it out loud, Will can count on one hand the number of people that know what happened the other night.
And besides, the more that he thinks about it… the more everything makes so much more sense.
God, Will is an idiot.)
Mike glances up, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “And you’re Striker,” he says, and he pauses here, a thoughtful look on his face. “You know, just because it’s you, that doesn’t change my thoughts. Striker’s still a dumb name.”
“Okay,” Will protests, pushing on his best friend’s chest lightly, “that’s rich, coming from you. The Necromancer? Seriously?”
“It’s not that bad!” Mike insists. “And cut me some slack; I was thirteen when I picked my name!”
“So was I!” Will exclaims, and Mike laughs, shaking his head slightly. “God, you’re insufferable.”
Mike just offers him another grin in return, before taking a deep breath and putting his hand on Will’s shoulder. “We really don’t have to do anything today,” he says, his voice softer now. “I mean, after what happened the other night… you definitely need to take it easy. I can just head home—”
“You should stay,” Will blurts out before he can stop himself. A surprised look forms on Mike’s face, and Will smiles weakly, reaching up and putting his hand on top of his best friend’s. “Stay… we could just hang out… watch movies or something together, if that’s cool with you.”
“Okay,” Mike says softly, and he smiles back at Will, a bit shyer now. “I like that plan.”
“Cool,” Will breathes.
“Cool,” Mike echoes.
Neither one of them moves.
If Will’s being honest, he doesn’t really want to move, and he doesn’t want this little moment between the two of them to end. For the first time in years, the secret that’s been separating him from his best friend is finally out in the open, and as it turns out, Mike’s had the same secret this entire damn time.
(Now, if Will could only figure out how to tell Mike about his other secret.
…
One thing at a time.)
Suddenly, Mike inhales sharply, and before Will can even process what’s going on, Mike has pulled him into his arms. Though the embrace catches Will off guard at first and he can’t help but tense at first, eventually, he relaxes into the hug and wraps his arms around Mike in return. Everything about their hug feels right , just like hugs from Mike always do, and Will exhales, resting his head against Mike’s shoulder.
“I’m really glad you’re okay,” Mike murmurs, holding Will even closer. “I… I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you, or… or if I lost you.”
His voice breaks every so slightly on those last couple words, and Will just leans into the embrace and hugs him even tighter. “I’m not going anywhere,” he reassures. “It’s gonna take more than a few Demogorgons for you to lose me.”
A quiet laugh escapes Mike’s lips; then, he breathes deeply and just hugs Will closer, resting his head on top of Will’s own. Neither of them says anything else, but honestly, Will doesn’t think they need to. The two of them have always known each other better than anyone else, and now more than ever, Will knows that Mike understands him, just as much as he understands Mike.
Nobody else in the world gets Will the way that Mike does, and nobody else in the world gets Mike the way that Will does.
And so, standing here, safe and protected and known in his best friend’s arms, Will thinks there’s no other place he’d rather be.