Work Text:
“Shit, Will! You okay?”
Mike shoots the disappearing in the horizon track one last glance, as he hurries over to help his best friend stand up from the ground.
“Been better.”
Will replies and immediately brings his hand to his mouth, horrified. Mike looks at him suspiciously and takes a step back to see him better.
“Will?”
He doesn’t get a reply, as his best friend scoots closer to the wall behind him and buries his face in his hands.
“Will! Mike! You okay?”
Jonathan runs up to them, dragging Argyle behind like a child. Mike would snort at the sight, if not for the accusing eyes of the older teen, jumping between him and Will. They settle on Mike’s face, as if trying to find the cause of the boy’s hidden face.
“Been better.”
Mike dumbly repeats Will’s response, before he gains an embarrassed groan from behind the artist’s hands.
“What happened to your boyfriend, man?”
Mike’s quickly reddening face has absolutely nothing to do with the term Argyle used to refer to Will. Absolutely nothing.
“Uh.”
Mike suddenly gets an overwhelming urge to push Will to the side and join him in desperate attempts to disappear. He powers through - Jonathan’s dangerously darkening eyes force him to reply sooner than later.
Mike lifts his hands in the air as a sign of defeat.
“Hey! That’s not on me. I don’t know what happened.”
Jonathan steps a bit closer to Will and carefully removes his hands from his face, before gathering his brother into his arms.
“It’s okay. Will, we’ve got you. I was so worried.”
Will mumbles something unrecognisable into his brother’s neck.
“What?”
Will doesn’t meet any of their faces.
“I said I worry when you smoke.”
Mike sees Jonathan’s face crumble, as if the words burn through his skin.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say it.”
Will sighs, clearly giving up trying to stop the flood of honesty coming out of his mouth.
“It’s true, though.”
Mike steps in between the two of them, making his best friend stand behind him like always, when he suspects that Will might be uncomfortable - it’s an instinct more than anything else.
“I think I know what might’ve happened.”
Three pairs of eyes land on him, but Mike doesn’t even begin feeling nervous, because Will slightly squeezes his hand, intertwining their fingers from behind.
He can feel his brain going fuzzy at the contact, but he can’t afford to give into the thoughts of what Will’s touch might mean. Not now.
“They shot Will with something, right?”
Jonathan nods, as he starts to catch up with Mike’s train of thought, his eyes brightening with understanding.
“Oh.”
Will breaks their hands apart, as he stands closer and Mike immediately misses him.
“What?”
Mike risks a glance at his best friend, unconsciously scooting closer to him. Will gives him a soft smile, before his eyes turn serious, demanding an answer.
“I think they gave you some sort of truth serum.”
Will is taken aback, but he seems to digest the sentence pretty quickly - his posture changes, as he stumbles back, looking more scared than ever.
“No. Please, tell me you’re kidding.”
Mike fights the urge to pull Will in by his wrist and wrap a protective arm around his waist.
“Hey, it’s cool, dude! You’re like a wizard of truth or something now.”
Mike doesn’t get to put his elbow under Argyle’s ribs, because Jonathan gets there first.
“Ow! Not cool, Jon.”
Jonathan gives him an annoyed glare, but doesn’t bother to tell him not to call him that ever again for the millionth time this week.
“I’m sorry, Will. The government must’ve wanted to interrogate you. Good thing we were armed.”
It does not soothe Will in the slightest.
“No. No, I can’t be under truth serum.”
Will avoids Mike’s eyes throughout it all and it makes his stomach curl uncomfortably, because, what is Will so scared of saying?
Mike is aware that he shouldn’t ask - he can’t ask it. He still does, because if Will Byers is known for one thing, it’s never lying to him.
“What is so bad that you can’t tell us?”
Will’s face turns into a look of betrayal and Mike’s insides hurt with guilt. Will already tells him everything - he shouldn’t be forcing his secrets out of him, when he can’t do anything but reply.
“I could tell you that I lied.”
Will hangs his head in defeat, as he scoots closer to Jonathan, almost hiding under his arm.
Mike’s brain absolutely short-cuts, as his mind desperately tries to grasp onto the memories of Will’s possible lie, not finding anything to go by.
“Please, stop asking me questions.”
Mike wants to argue - he really does, he needs to get his answers after all. One look at Will makes him feel like a lighting’s come crashing through his body - his best friend looks absolutely terrified.
There is nothing more important in Mike Wheeler’s life than protecting Will Byers. He gives up.
“Fine.”
Will still refuses to meet Mike’s eyes.
“Okay, brochachos. Rest time.”
Mike rolls his eyes, but it’s more of a facade than anything else. Even he can’t deny the exhaustion filling his bones, seeping through his body.
“So, when you were enjoying the shootout, I got us a place in this motel!’
They’re all too tired to scold Argyle, so another elbow under his ribs must do this time.
“ Ow!”
—
“Okay, we have two rooms.”
Jonathan says, as he plays with the room keys in his hand. Mike wants to bash one of the doors open and just go to fucking sleep. Is it too much to ask for?
“Let’s go, roomie.”
Argyle tugs Jonathan’s sleeve and Mike can’t believe that for the first time in his life, he wants to thank this man. He suppresses an annoyed groan, when Jonathan ignores it, still as a sculpture.
“Will, who do you want to room with?”
Mike knows he has no right to ask for it - not after he’s spent so much time being nothing but an ass. He knows he has no right, yet he still hopes with every cell of his body for Will to say his name - for the one last sign that he hasn’t fucked them up as irreversibly as he thinks.
“Mike, of course.”
The answer stumbles out of Will’s mouth, a beat too fast to be thought through, which means the truth serum must’ve formulated it for him. Mike gapes.
Will seems to realise it, too, as he quickly takes the key out of Jonathan’s hand and hurries over to open the room - he doesn’t lift his head for a second.
Mike closes the door behind them, not missing the warning in Jonathan’s all-knowing eyes. He gulps, before turning to look at his best friend. Will’s already settled on the bed, his shoes off and his knees pulled close to his chest.
Mike’s heart clenches.
Wait.
The bed?
Mike’s eyes widen, as he fully takes in the sight of the room - a huge, double, yet still unmistakably one bed with quiet Will on top of it stares right back, as if mockingly.
“There’s only one bed.”
Will lifts his head so fast that he almost gives himself a whiplash. Mike regrets his words, as soon as his best friend opens his mouth, his eyes wide with fright.
“Yes - I. Sorry, I’m going to, I’ll sleep on the floor. Take the bed, I don’t know why I’ve sat here.”
Will falls to the floor before Mike gets to reply, his back pressed against the wall.
“Will.”
He still doesn’t lift his eyes from the place where his fingers fidget with the end of his sweater, so Mike carefully takes the last few steps separating them and gently tugs at his wrist.
“It’s okay. We’ve had sleepovers before - it’s just like another one. This bed is so big, we might as well invite Jonathan and Argyle, too.”
Mike attempts to joke and his heart picks up the pace, when Will smiles - the sight cuts some ropes tightening his body from the inside. Mike feels himself relax into the touch of their hands.
He drags Will up and almost forcefully sits him on the bed, not paying any attention to the possible protests.
“Take the wall side. I know you don’t like sleeping on the outside.”
Mike doesn’t understand the wave of beam flickering through Will’s face - it’s not like he’s done a grand gesture or anything. He just worries - that’s the way it is. The way it’s always been.
“Didn’t think you’d remember.”
Mike sends Will a look of disbelief. He acts like Mike hasn’t sorted out and catalogued every fact about him, before carefully placing it on the shelves in his heart.
“‘Course I do.”
Will tiredly smiles at him with his face thankful. Mike hands him the nearest blanket and he immediately wraps himself in it.
They lay down, side by side, too exhausted to take a shower or even change clothes properly - the abandoned jackets will have to do. Mike feels the warmth radiating from his side and fights the urge to lean into it - to scoot closer and hug Will from behind, putting his head in the juncture of his neck.
“Will.”
His best friend turns to Mike with his eyes already half-closed from the overbearing sleepiness.
“Can I ask you something?”
Will’s eyes shoot open, as he half-rises himself on his elbows.
“Hm?”
Mike has a really bad gut feeling about it all - he’s not even sure if he wants to know the answer.
“Have you ever lied to me?”
Will sits up fully, moving to the other side of the bed. Escaping. He settles as far from Mike as he can without actually falling over the edge.
“Yes.”
Mike closes his eyes. There’s no way out now.
“When?”
Mike can hear Will trying to keep the words in his mouth in a desperate attempt to keep them under his skin.
“Which time?”
Mike sits up as well, looking for Will’s eyes, but the figure on the other side of the bed turns his back to him.
“How many times did you lie to me?”
Mike poses the question carefully, as if not to startle a delicate animal. Not to break Will.
“Twice.”
The answer is punched out of Will, who jumps onto his feet and finally faces Mike.
“Mike. Mike, please, stop asking me questions.”
His voice is begging, the upcoming tears seeping through the words and Mike almost feels guilty.
Almost, because Will lied to him.
“No. When did you lie to me the first time?”
Will sighs in defeat, seemingly giving up on fighting the serum swimming through his blood.
“The night when the Upside Down came back. Last summer.”
Mike goes quiet, as he searches for the painful memory. The screams in the rain and the ruins of Castle Byers attach themselves to his heart, pausing its heartbeat. A horrifying thought crashes through Mike’s head.
“Will, what destroyed Castle Byers?”
Mike watches, as his best friend visibly struggles with the reply, but fails miserably as it comes out as a muffled scream.
“You did! Fuck. You did. Are you happy now?”
Mike’s head starts dizzying.
“What?”
“I destroyed it with a bat that night and ripped all of our photos - not the storm. You made me destroy it. Now will you stop fucking asking me questions?”
This time Mike can’t stop the heartbreak from flooding his body - the words said that night filling his system, replacing every thought he’s ever had.
“Because I - shit. Will, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Will only nods, when Mike reaches out his hand to soothe him. He doesn’t take it.
“It’s okay.”
Mike’s heart sinks at the tone used, the too-known to him guilt audible in Will’s voice. He’s always been one to find a flaw in himself, when it was everyone else, who kept fucking up. When Mike kept fucking up. It’s not like Will’s ever done anything wrong - ever. Mike’s not even sure if he’s capable of it.
“It really isn’t. It isn’t and I owe you an apology, we both know I do. But first - I’m sorry, Will, this is the last question.”
They eyes meet, when Will looks at him with a petrified expression.
“No - don’t. Please.”
Mike averts his gaze.
“What was the other time, when you lied?”
Will distances himself even more, his hand almost reaching the handle of the door.
“In the van, Mike. And, before you ask, no, El didn’t commission the painting.”
Mike gapes, as he plays through the memories - the hope rising in his chest at Will’s words and the devastation, when El’s name was brought up - he tries to fill in the gaps in sentences, to change every she to I .
He needs verbal confirmation.
“Will.”
Mike stands up and takes a step closer and tries to look into Will's eyes, but he conveniently keeps them closed.
“No. Mike, please . Please, don’t ask me any more questions.”
Mike doesn’t pay any mind to his best friend’s words. He needs to know - the truth serum being the most efficient way of them all.
“If El didn’t commission the painting, then who did?”
Mike asks quietly, reaching out to keep Will in his grasp, to ground him and stop from falling apart at the words.
“Whose words were they?”
Will bites his lower lip, trying to swallow the answer, to not let it see the daylight. The reply gets punched out of him anyway.
“I don’t - want to tell you.”
The sentence always costs Will his breath, as he puts all of his effort into forming it, into not spilling his final secrets but still staying truthful throughout it all. He doesn’t think he can do it again - he prays for Mike not to ask again.
“Will, whose words were they?”
He turns the handle under his fingers, before facing Mike for the last time.
“Mine.”
Will’s eyes fill up with tears, when he gives Mike one last look.
“Will - no. Please, don’t cry.”
Mike sounds desperate, as he grabs his best friend’s wrist, trying to get him to look up.
“I don’t want to be the reason of your tears - please, don’t cry, because of me.”
Will jerks away from his touch.
“A bit too late, don’t you think?”
Will slams the door behind himself, leaving Mike gaping - his mouth open so wide that it might compete with the light string of hope surrounding his healing heart.
“Fuck.”
“Mike says into the emptiness, as he closes his mouth.
He fucked up. He fucked up so badly - he took the advantage of the truth serum, of Will’s inability to lie under it. Mike made him spill all his secrets - everything that Will didn’t want to tell him.
The door is still shut, but Mike can hear muffled cries from behind - so quiet that he can barely distinguish them from the sound of his own heart breaking. They’re distant and moving - like Will’s walking away and that’s what sends Mike back onto his feet.
He opens the door and follows his best friend - just like he always has. Mike always finds his way back to Will, no matter what - this isn’t going to be any different. Today is not the day of ripping off the band-aid, not if Mike has anything to say about it.
“Will!”
Mike runs down the lobby - so fast that he almost trips over his long limbs - to catch the disappearing strings of their friendship. He finds Will outside, leaned against a hotel wall. He’s shivering - he’s still only in his T-shirt, after all. Mike doesn’t want to think about the fact that he’s the reason why Will is standing in the cold, despite it being his worst nightmare.
Mike takes off his jacket, when Will turns around to face him - his face still covered in tear prints.
“Here.”
Mike puts the jacket over Will’s shoulders and relishes in the way they still, finally not affected by the cold.
“You’ll be cold.”
Will says, and Mike's eyes soften at the sentence - at the way his best friend is pissed at him, yet still cares about his comfort. It’s the way it’s always been - Will putting himself last.
Mike shakes his head and refuses the cloth.
“Keep it, you look good in my clothes.”
Mike vaguely wonders which one of them is under the truth serum in the end, when blush comes up to both of their cheeks.
“Oh.”
Mike approaches Will carefully, giving him the chance to back off. He doesn’t.
“I called.”
That’s definitely not what he intended to blurt out.
“What?”
Will blinks at him, as if trying to decide if Mike’s a very accurate hallucination.
“When you were in California - I called you. Every day for like three months, then I took the hint that you didn’t wanna talk to me and fucked off.”
Will starts shaking his head, before he’s done talking.
“I didn’t - I mean. I always wanna talk to you.”
Will closes his mouth, embarrassed by the wave of honest words and tries to express himself better.
“What I mean is - I missed you. I’m sorry.”
Mike nods and wraps an arm around his best friend, letting Will lean into the warmth.
“I’m sorry, too, you know. I’ve been an asshole to you for no reason other than jealousy.”
Will lifts his head off of Mike’s shoulder and looks him in the eye.
“Jealousy?”
The hope in his voice is so bright, so delicate, that Mike doesn’t have the heart to lie.
“You know, when I saw the painting. El said you’d been painting for someone you like and then you brought it to the airport. I couldn’t look at it - couldn’t think that someone else would get your art.”
Will looks at him incredulously, before carefully forming his words.
“You’re the only one to get my art.”
He laughs at the way Mike’s mouth falls open.
“But the - you didn’t. I mean, you didn’t give it to me - only the one from the van.”
Will closes his eyes, as he buries the last words into Mike’s chest, wrapping the sleeves of the jacket around his hands.
“It was the same painting. El was right - it was for someone I like.”
Mike moves swiftly, changing their positions so that they’re both on the same level and dives forward.
Will doesn’t kiss back for a second, before quickly getting over his surprise, as he puts his hands on Mike’s cheeks. He smiles into his mouth at the way his jacket’s sleeves cover Will’s fingers, leaving only the tips to touch his skin.
Will clasps his hands behind Mike’s neck, just under his hair, and brings him closer - melts into the touch. Mike gives in easily, licking Will’s lips and reaching out for everything he’s dreamt of for so long.
“I love you, you know?”
Mike breathes the words, pushing them though into Will’s heart with another kiss, as the world above them ends.
The world be damned.