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Will got bitten. Will is bitten.
He hasn’t broken the news to Mike yet, in fear of how he may react. He remembers seeing how quickly people's symptoms came flooding in, and he worries how bad it may be once his begin to show.
The events of the night the apocalypse broke out replays in his head, watching infected run into objects such as tables, countertops, walls, and way more.
And worse, he’s had to watch many of his loved ones turn one by one. First, his mom.
His mom got bit trying to protect him and Jonathan, her symptoms kicking in almost immediately. Jonathan didn’t even fight her, letting himself get bit first.
So yeah. Will had to watch two of the people he’s closest with get bitten first, and a part of him is glad he’s bitten.
He’s glad he doesn’t have to deal with the heavy dread and guilt of not doing anything about them getting bitten. He’s glad he doesn’t have to deal with this shithole of a world consciously anymore.
The downside, though, is leaving Mike here alone.
He’s been traveling with Mike ever since they forcefully got separated from the party what felt like years ago, and they don’t dare separate now. If — once — he turns, he doesn’t want Mike to go down with him.
He’s been bitten for about a half-hour now, and this bite stings. It hurts like hell, and those zombies don’t mess around.
Will’s been bitten, and he has no idea how to tell Mike. Mike, who is in the other room, stocking up for the two of them. He wishes he had the heart to tell him.
Will’s bite starts to bleed, and he takes this as an opportunity to tell Mike now. Complain about the bite, tell him to clean it and wrap it, realization, death. Easy as that.
“Mike?” he calls out, and Mike’s head immediately pops out of the door. He looks puzzled, and now Will feels even worse. “My arm is bleeding. Can you help me clean it?”
He shows Mike the blood seeping through his shirt, and just as fast, Mike’s head pops right back out. Will gets up to follow him, hesitating like there’s going to be a clicker right behind that door.
This is officially the worst day of Will’s life. Mike, his best friend since kindergarten, is on the other side of that wall. He’s grabbing supplies to clean Will’s arm, not even close to aware of what’s coming for him.
So, when Mike comes trotting out, supplies in hand, Will wants to cry. “Can you lift up your sleeve for me?” He questions, setting the cleaning materials down next to Will.
Guilt and dread washes over him as he rolls his sleeve up, slowly uncovering the bite mark. It takes a moment for Mike to process, his eyes widening at the sight.
“Will you’re.. you’ve been - what?” by his face, Mike almost can’t believe it. His best friend, of almost thirteen years now, has been bitten. He wants to cry, scream, get him help, yet he does nothing. Nothing but stare.
“I’m sorry.” is all Will can muster up, and now he definitely wants to scream. This isn’t Will’s fault, not at all, and yet he’s blaming himself. As Mike stays staring, Will grabs the gun that's slung over Mike’s waist, and pushes it against his chest.
“Do it.”
“What? No fucking way.”
“Do it, Mike! Or I'll do it myself.” at this, Mike’s face shifts into something of fear. Mike can’t be alone in this horrible world, especially without Will.
There’s silence that overcomes the room. The silence is tense, and almost awkward. Because Will just admitted he wants Mike to shoot him, and Mike is left completely baffled at this. There is no way he really wants Mike to just kill him like it’s nothing.
The gun is held tightly in Mike’s hand, to assure Will won’t reach over and take it for himself. Will has this look on his face, impatience, waiting for Mike to just.. rip off the bandaid.
“Bite me.”
“What?”
“I said, bite me.” he says bluntly, and now Will looks confused. Is he actually being serious?
“I’m not going to.. bite you.” Will says, and now Mike is getting upset. He doesn’t want Will to go alone, and Mike doesn’t wanna be left in this shitty world without Will. His hand clenches the gun, as he looks Will straight in the eyes.
“Bite me or I’m shooting us both!” and he’s being one-hundred percent honest. He doesn’t wanna be alone here. Will’s eyes are shiny, and he’s about to cry. Suddenly, he makes a move towards Mike. He tries to grab the gun from his hands, but before he can, Mike’s arms are wrapped around his torso.
“Stop! Mike — let me go!” he shouts, trying to fight his way out of Mike’s arms. “Fuck- let go of me!” Will doesn’t seem to want to give up, but neither does Mike. “I’ll fucking kill you!” he keeps yelling, keeps fighting Mike’s hold.
Mike tries his hardest to stay calm as Will keeps fighting his grip. “Good!” is all he can say back, and Will relaxes. But he’s not relaxed, his shoulders beginning to shake. He’s crying.
“I don’t wanna die.” he cries, and Mike drops the gun. Will doesn’t go for it this time, not bothering. Mike’s arms turn gentle as Will’s cries grew strong, filled with fear.
Will isn’t ready to die. He’s barely eighteen. Here he is, crying in his best friend's arms, a large bite mark threatening his life on the same arm wrapped around Mike’s back.
He pulls back, snatching the gun from the ground. It wasn’t a decoy, his tears, but he wants this to be over. Mike looks hurt, betrayed even. Will wants to cry, the gun held tightly in his hand.
“Will, please.” Mike muttered, tears threatening to spill over. Will’s crying again, with no shame, cocking the gun.
Mike’s head shakes, like he doesn’t believe his eyes. Maybe Will is gonna kill him first. “I’m sorry, Mike. I’m so — fucking sorry.” He’s sobbing now, the tears falling with no control. Will doesn’t want to die.
The gun is against the side of Will’s head, and now Mike’s crying. He’s begging and pleading that he doesn’t do it. But Will can’t turn, he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t wanna leave this horrible world with a new problem.
Will’s hand shakes over the trigger, before he just rips off the band-aid. The gun clicks, before going off. Mike can’t look, turning away with shut eyes. He hears Will’s body hit the floor, and he sobs.
“No, no no no-” he cries, falling to the ground and holding Will’s dead body in his hands. The blood pools around him, and all Mike can do is sob. “Will,” he whispers, holding him close. The blood stains his clothes, but he can’t bring himself to care.
Will is dead, in his arms, and it doesn’t even feel real. He hopes, just once, that this is all only a dream. One horrible, horrible dream. And Mike’ll wake up to Will who is alive and well.
Mike eyes the gun that Will had dropped, and he knows for sure he’s not staying in this world all by himself. He’s coming with Will.