Chapter Text
Will knew it was only a matter of time.
That apparent calm was like the silence before a storm — thick, unnatural, almost ringing in his ears. There was a tension in the air that he couldn’t ignore. He felt it under his skin, in the tremble of his fingers, in sleepless nights. Something was lurking. In the darkness. In the depths. In a place he couldn’t name — but knew all too well. It was there. Waiting patiently, motionless, soundless, ready to strike at the least expected moment. And him?
He was powerless. Defenseless. He couldn’t stop it.
It had been like this for months, ever since he returned to Hawkins. On the very first day, as soon as he crossed the town limits, he felt that familiar prickle on the back of his neck — the cold, sticky breath of the past clinging to his skin like a shadow. The shivers that ran through him weren’t just memories. They were a warning. And a promise.
From that moment on, every day was the same. Nightmares ripped him from sleep with a scream, and the echo of his own voice would linger in the bedroom for far too long. He’d wake up drenched in sweat, heart pounding like mad. There were other symptoms too — dizziness, blackouts, sudden nosebleeds with no explanation.
He wasn’t cursed. It was something worse.
Something was calling him from the other side — from beyond reality. A quiet whisper, growing louder by the day. It didn’t speak directly, but the message was clear. Come back. You don’t belong here. This isn’t your place.
Your real home is there.
After countless sleepless nights — full of whispers that slithered into his ears like poison, and shadows that danced across the walls forming grotesque shapes — Will finally made his decision.
Not out of impulse. Not out of despair. Out of understanding.
If that thing — the one hiding beneath the surface of the world, watchful and eternally hungry, following his every step even when he thought he was alone — truly wanted to catch him… he wouldn’t run anymore. Not now. Maybe that’s what it had been waiting for all along. And if his surrender, his sacrifice, could change anything — could end this madness, could save others from a fate worse than death — he would do it. Without hesitation. Without fear.
He wouldn’t fight a shadow that was always one step ahead. He wouldn’t fight a voice that echoed in his mind like thoughts of his own.
Vecna. Henry. One.
Whatever name it wore, it didn’t matter. A monster is still a monster.
And this one was the worst of them all — because it didn’t just hurt the body, it infected the soul. It pierced the heart like a thorn and made everything else lose its meaning. Because of it, Will felt like a stranger — in Hawkins, in California, among friends, in his own skin. Because of it, every day was a battle, and every night — an agony. Invisible, silent, incomprehensible.
It wasn’t just trauma anymore. It was a presence.
And Will no longer had the strength to push it away.
It was one of those cold November nights when the air felt soaked with dampness, and the silence outside was almost too heavy, as if the whole town were holding its breath. The Expanded Party — those who had stayed behind, and those who had returned — had gathered once again in the basement of the Wheeler house. For now, that house served as their main base of operations. When access to the old radio station became too risky or completely cut off, the Wheeler basement turned into their command center — like before, but no longer the same.
After the earthquake and the Byers family’s return to Hawkins, it was Karen Wheeler who first extended a helping hand. She offered her home as a refuge — a safe haven for the tired kids who had lived through more than anyone ever should. But times had changed. The government was desperately hunting for El. Hopper was being tracked by Russian intelligence, which, though scattered, was still breathing down his neck. The ordinary neighborhood, with its perfectly trimmed lawns and curtain-peeking neighbors, was no longer a place to hide.
Hopper’s cabin in the woods... had long since stopped being an option. After the last encounter, it looked more like a ruin than a home. That’s why El, Hopper, Will, Jonathan, and Joyce had moved into the abandoned old radio station building hidden on the outskirts of town. It was the only place they could find even a sliver of privacy — though not safety. Now that the town was literally crawling with military patrols, and El’s movements were like inviting death to the door, they had to operate more cautiously than ever.
The basement buzzed with noise. Voices blended into each other, forming a hum like the drone of a beehive. Someone talked about sealing the gates. Someone else — about a theory ripped from comic books that might defeat Henry. Names were thrown around, numbers, ideas. Sentences cut off halfway. Emotion. Fear. Hope. All of it, all at once.
Will listened. He caught scattered words, though most drifted past him like smoke. He sat alone, in the shadows, curled up in a corner that felt more real than the rest of the basement. He was in a place no one looked. Where no one tried to reach him with comforting words or concerned glances.
Don’t get him wrong — he loved them. Every single one of them. Mike, Lucas, Dustin, Max, El… they were his family. More than friends. But now — after everything that had been happening inside his head, after those images that came even before he closed his eyes, after the whispers that echoed even in silence — he couldn’t even smile.
He couldn’t lie to them. He couldn’t pretend everything was okay.
Because it wasn’t.
Something pulsed inside him — a restless anxiety that refused to quiet. His thoughts raced too fast, each one sharp as a needle. And in the background… him. Always him. Quiet, watchful, present. Henry. Vecna. One. Whatever the name, his shadow hung over Will like a cold shroud. A connection no one else understood. A burden that couldn’t be shared.
And only Will knew that this wasn’t the end.
It was just the beginning.
Silently, as always, in the way only he could, Will slipped out of the basement. He moved through the storm of voices, past the hanging maps, over the scattered notes and sketches of gates, tunnel systems, and calculations spread out on the table. Everyone was busy. Heads down, voices overlapping. Strategy. Hope. Panic.
No one noticed him.
Or maybe — No one wanted to.
First, he headed to the kitchen, moving silently like a shadow. Then, with quick, almost too confident steps, he walked down the dark hallway and reached the door leading to the garage. For a moment, his hand hesitated on the doorknob.
Maybe he shouldn’t do this. In fact—he knew he shouldn’t.
It was reckless. Careless. Stupid.
But something inside him was screaming. Something stronger than reason, stronger than fear, stronger than attachment.
This wasn’t an escape. It was a sacrifice.
He didn’t say goodbye to anyone. He didn’t want tears. He didn’t want to hear the words “Stay.” He didn’t want to look into their eyes and see what he no longer had — hope. He knew that if he heard their voices, he’d hesitate. And he couldn’t afford to hesitate.
Will had already made his decision.
He reached for Mike’s bike — the same one they used to ride together on adventures into the unknown, as if the world ended just beyond Hawkins. He picked it up from the floor with care, almost tenderness, as if afraid of waking something more than just the silence in the garage. He was just about to wheel it toward the door when—
“Where are you going?”
That voice.
Familiar.
Close.
Impossible to mistake for anyone else’s.
Mike.
Of course it was Mike. It was always Mike.
Will froze, as if someone had stopped time in an instant. He turned slowly, heart pounding like a drum inside his chest. Their eyes met — watchful, worried, slightly accusatory. Mike stood in the doorway with his arms crossed, but his eyes weren’t angry. They were full of concern. And something else. Something deeper.
In a single moment, Will felt something tighten in his chest. Like an invisible rope had wrapped around his ribs and pulled hard. Like the truth he carried was suddenly too heavy to keep hidden.
Was this going to be their last conversation?
“Just…” he began quietly. “Just a ride. I wanted some air. Needed to get away from it all for a bit.”
He mumbled the words, staring somewhere past Mike, as if the wall behind him had suddenly become deeply fascinating. He avoided his eyes. He couldn’t bear what he’d see there — that care, that loyalty, that friendship that had been his only lifeline for years.
Mike didn’t look convinced. He’d spent the last half hour watching Will out of the corner of his eye — too still, too absent, hands nervously clenching on his knees. Something was wrong. Definitely wrong.
Mike knew Will too well. Their friendship had survived things that could’ve broken adults. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was how well he knew every tic, every shift in tone, every silence. Or maybe it was just… care. Pure, unwavering care.
“You wanted to go for a ride now?” he asked softly. “You know it’s not safe out there. You know that better than anyone.”
He stepped closer, carefully, as if afraid to scare off something fragile. He reached a hand toward the bike’s handlebars, but Will pulled back reflexively, like he’d been burned.
“I’m not afraid, Mike. You know that.” His voice was cold, flat, drained of feeling — like he’d stopped allowing himself to feel anything at all.
Mike’s brow furrowed, his eyes darkened with emotion he could no longer contain.
“I know,” he said slowly. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not afraid. I’m afraid for you, Will.”
The silence between them grew heavy, like lead. The air in the garage thickened, as if even the walls were holding their breath. Will avoided his gaze. He looked to the side — at old boxes, a toolbox, anywhere but at him.
Because he knew that if he looked Mike in the eyes, he’d fall apart.
“It doesn’t matter,” he whispered at last. “I’m leaving.”
And before Mike could say anything else, Will climbed onto the bike and pushed off, ready to ride.
But Mike moved faster.
He stepped in front of him, arms outstretched, blocking the way out of the garage. His face was tight with determination, eyes burning.
“I’m not letting you go alone,” he said firmly. “Not now. Not while he’s looking for you. I won’t let him get to you, Will.”
Those words hit Will harder than he wanted to admit. He clenched the handlebars until his knuckles turned white. Everything inside him screamed to go, to end it. Just push the pedals and leave everything behind — them, the pain, the fear, himself. But he couldn’t.
Because Mike was here.
Again. Always.
And that… that hurt the most.
If Will had any control over what was happening inside his head and heart, he would’ve left. Without a word. Vanished into the night and never had to look anyone in the eye again. He would’ve ended everything once and for all.
But he couldn’t. Not while Mike was looking at him like that.
With so much care, Will couldn’t bear it. With a fear he’d never seen in him before. And something else — something he was afraid to name.
And so he didn’t move. Not yet.
He couldn’t.
Not when Mike stood in front of him.
Not when he looked at him like he really mattered. Like he cared not out of habit, or obligation from an old friendship… but from something deeper. Like Will wasn’t just one of many, but someone. Someone whose presence meant something.
And the last few months of their friendship had been hard.
Cold. Quiet. A frozen distance stretched between them that no one knew how to cross. They barely spoke. And when they did — it was like strangers, like two people who happened to share a past they no longer had the strength to recall. Short sentences, broken glances. As if every word hurt.
Will knew it was his fault.
He had pulled away. He had started to run. First subtly — skipping meetups, sitting alone, making excuses. Then more violently — like a wave that washed everything away: the talks, the laughter, the looks.
And the one he avoided the most… Was Mike.
Since returning to Hawkins, he’d shut him out completely. Not because Mike had done anything wrong. Quite the opposite.
Because he hadn’t.
Because he’d stayed the same. Caring. Strong. Warm. Safe. The one Will wanted to see every day — and the one he feared seeing more than anything.
Because of those feelings...
Those stupid, unwanted feelings.
He shouldn’t feel them. He had no right to. He begged God to take them away. He prayed in silence, at night, for someone to rip them out of him. As if they were a disease. As if they were something to cut out, to burn, to forget. He wanted to be normal. He wanted to be what everyone expected him to be.
But he wasn’t.
And maybe that’s why the world around him was falling apart. Maybe it was punishment. For weakness. For the truth he tried to erase from his heart. Punishment for the sin he’d carried for years.
For falling in love with his best friend.
For falling in love with a boy.
“I’m not letting anything happen to you. Do you understand?” Mike whispered, so quietly that Will barely heard him. And yet those words cut through his thoughts like a knife through thin ice.
It wasn’t a question.
It wasn’t even a plea.
It was a promise.
Mike grabbed the handlebars without hesitation. His hand brushed Will’s — a brief touch, warm, innocent, but for Will, it was almost electric. He flinched, instinctively, like something inside him had stirred against his will. He looked down, at their hands — his fingers right next to Mike’s.
Neither of them pulled away.
Will felt his breath stop.
“If you’re going out, fine,” Mike said softly, voice gentle but resolute. “But I’m not letting you go alone. I’m not leaving you. Not tonight.”
Will opened his mouth, ready to protest. To say “You don’t have to.” Or “It’s not your business.” Or the worst lie of all — “I can handle it on my own.”
But he didn’t say a word.
Because Mike’s gaze wouldn’t let him leave. There was something in it that Will couldn’t ignore — determination, care, and something more. Something unspoken that had always hung between them, and now was too real to pretend it wasn’t there.
Will nodded.
Quietly. Slowly. Like someone finally giving in — not out of defeat, but relief.The small, fragile relief of not being alone.
It wasn’t a good idea. Will knew that now. Mike shouldn’t come with him. Not there. Not tonight. Not into what Will was planning. It was too dangerous. Too dark. Mike shouldn’t see it. Shouldn’t be part of what was about to happen.
Because Mike could stop him.
And Will had no time left to stop.
But… maybe, just maybe, he could give himself one more day.
One day where he didn’t have to decide. One day where he didn’t have to choose between fighting and surrendering.One day where Mike was next to him — not as a shadow, not as a memory, but as now.
It wasn’t much.
But maybe it was enough.
Will lowered his gaze, gripped the handlebars tighter, and started forward slowly. He felt Mike walking right behind him, shoulder to shoulder. Step by step.
Without a word.
And somewhere deep inside — very quietly, like a whisper — a voice Will hadn’t heard in a long time finally returned:
It’s not all lost. Not yet.
They rode in silence, wrapped in the heavy, damp darkness, broken only by the sharp, irregular flashes above. The lightning no longer resembled natural fury — red, distorted, branching like veins from a burning heart. It streaked across the sky like a warning. Like a sign. As if the heavens themselves were trying to stop them.
Hawkins no longer resembled the place they once knew. It wasn’t the town of their childhood — with pizza, comic books, and carefree days. It was a place cracked — both literally and figuratively. Asphalt split beneath bike tires, buildings stood empty, their windows like black, lifeless eyes. On some houses, weathered signs still fluttered: “FOR SALE.” Others had already collapsed. And yet — a few of them remained. A few still fought.
Eventually, they had to get off their bikes.
They’d reached the edge of the forest by Kochanów Lake. There was no way to ride any farther. Tree roots bulged through the soil, creating traps for wheels. Darkness thickened beneath the pine canopies, and the echo of thunder rumbled in the distance like a promise of impending disaster.
They walked.
Every step felt too loud. Branches cracked beneath their boots, leaves rustled as if whispering: they’re coming. Mike walked right beside him. Too close. Their shoulders brushed every few steps — a brief, accidental contact, and yet... significant. Too significant for Will.
Each touch was like a spark. As if something inside him burst, then went quiet again. Chaos. Longing. Fear. Yearning.
Will felt like he was losing his mind.
With each step, the pressure in his chest grew. He knew they were getting close to the end. Not just an end — the end. The place where everything would be decided. The point of no return.
The lake shimmered ahead of them like a dream’s reflection. It no longer mirrored the sky. It rippled unevenly, as if it were breathing. It pulsed with a reddish glow from within — from that side. From his side.
It was no longer just a lake. It was a gate.
The heart of darkness. And Will knew what he had to do.
This was where the nightmare was supposed to end.
This was where he planned to give himself to Henry. To surrender — everything he was — in exchange for the others’ peace. If his sacrifice could stop the deaths, close the gates, protect Mike, El, everyone he had left — then it was worth it. Every ounce of pain. Every scream-filled night.
But he couldn’t say it out loud. Not when Mike was standing right beside him.
Not when Mike was looking at him like not everything was lost.
“Why the lake?” Mike suddenly asked. His voice was soft, almost gentle, but in that silence, in that tension, it rang out like a scream.
Will stopped.
He didn’t answer right away. He looked out over the water, as if searching for the answer there. As if hoping the lake would speak for him. Or maybe... maybe he just needed a few more seconds. A few more seconds of quiet. A few more seconds before saying something he couldn’t take back.
The water rippled. Moved to the rhythm of the storm. Or maybe to the rhythm of his breath.
Will’s throat tightened. The truth was too heavy to say — even in a whisper.
“I don’t know,” he said quickly — too sharp, too anxious. And then he walked ahead, leaving Mike a few steps behind.
Mike didn’t reply, but Will knew another question was coming. Another why. Another what’s going on? He felt it in the tension between them, growing like an invisible wall.
But Will didn’t want to speak. Not yet.
Because if he said the truth, it would all be over.
But if he stayed silent… maybe he could still steal one more moment. One more look from Mike — not full of understanding, but full of presence. And maybe even… full of a feeling Will dared not name.
He stepped onto the wooden pier. The boards creaked beneath him, as if warning him with every step. Will moved carefully, almost reverently — like someone not walking forward, but toward something final. He stopped at the edge, right above the water.
There was no reflection anymore.
Only pulsing red, deep and alive, like the heart of Hell itself beat beneath the surface. That hypnotic glow spilled across the lake like blood, blurring the line between the real world and the other one — the one where the Evil came from.
Something was calling to him. A whisper. A promise of relief. An end to everything.
It was beautiful. In a terrible, irreversible way.
Behind him, a voice — a crack in the silence. Like a whisper in a dream. Like something you try to ignore… but can’t.
“Will?” Mike called out, almost a whisper, but his voice carried like a scream through the emptiness. It trembled — not just from fear. There was concern in it. Instinct. Like Mike already knew. Like he felt they were nearing a line that, once crossed, couldn’t be undone.
Will didn’t turn around. He couldn’t. He knew if he looked at Mike, everything would break in two.
Doubt.
Hope.
And maybe… a desire to stay.
But he couldn’t allow that.
He stood rigid, clutching the fabric of his jacket so tightly that his knuckles turned white. His hands shook — not from cold, but from tension. From the decision pressing down on his shoulders like lead.
Then came footsteps. Soft, careful, but unstoppable. The wood creaked beneath Mike. Each step, a dull drumbeat against Will’s heart.
Mike stopped a few steps behind. He left space. Maybe out of fear. Maybe out of respect. Maybe because he knew — one step too close might destroy everything.
“Will…” he began, but his voice faltered, like he was fighting something greater than words “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For everything,” Mike said quietly. “For not listening. For pushing you away when you needed me most. For pretending nothing was wrong… even though I knew something was. With you. In you.”
Mike’s words weren’t just an apology. They were a confession. And a verdict Will had already passed on himself long ago.
He shut his eyes. Tried to stop the tears. But his eyes burned, and his throat was so tight he couldn’t make a sound.
“I was scared,” Mike continued. “Not of you. Of myself. Of what I felt. Of what it meant. So instead of facing it, I hurt you.
I pulled away. I pretended. And every day… God, every single day, I regret it.”
Will finally turned around.
Slowly. Like every movement caused physical pain. His eyes were red, his cheeks wet. But there was no anger in him. Only something worse.
Despair. The kind that doesn’t scream. Just quietly tears a person apart from the inside.
“Why now?” he asked. “Why are you saying all this… only now?”
Mike lowered his gaze. Took a deep breath. Took one step. Then another.
“Because I feel like I’m losing you,” he whispered. “And I can’t… I won’t lose you again. Not like this.”
Will looked at him for a long time. Then slowly turned back to the lake. To that thing, which almost had him. The red on the surface pulsed faster. As if something beneath had moved. As if it knew his sacrifice was wavering.
“Maybe it’s too late,” Will said quietly.
“Maybe it’s not,” Mike answered. Quickly. With a determination Will hadn’t heard in his voice for a long time. “But if you really think you have to go in there… that you have to end this alone… then you’re wrong. Because I’m going with you.”
Will turned to him suddenly. Disbelief flashed in his eyes.
“How did you…”
“Will, seriously?” Mike cut in. “You think I didn’t notice? You think I didn’t see the way you’ve changed? The way you’ve been saying goodbye with every glance? You think I didn’t know what you were going to do tonight?”
Mike’s voice wasn’t soft anymore. It was sharp. Full of pain. And courage.
“You were going to slip away and sacrifice yourself. Go in there and give him everything. Because you think it’s your fault. That you’re to blame. That you have to save us all. But Will… you’re not alone.”
“Mike, you can’t… Are you…?” Will shook his head.
“Crazy? Maybe,” Mike said. “But I’m not letting you go. Not this time. Either we go together — or not at all.”
Will looked at him for a long moment. Something trembled in his throat — not a voice, not a word, but the weight of something unspoken that had been lodged in his chest for far too long. He wanted to tell Mike he was wrong. That what he was planning had nothing to do with courage. That there was nothing noble in it, nothing of sacrifice, and even less of romance. That on the other side, there was no light, no meaning, no heroism.
There was only darkness. And him.
Vecna knew no mercy. No compromise. He didn’t take prisoners.
But Will said nothing. The words stuck in his throat like glass.
Mike took a step forward and, without a word, reached for his wrist. Gently — almost carefully, as if he were holding something fragile in his hand, as if one careless move could shatter Will into a million pieces.
"Will..." he whispered. "Please… let’s just go home, okay? We can figure something out. Together. Something else. Something better than this."
Will stood still for a moment. Then his shoulders tensed.
"Like what?!" he snapped suddenly, yanking his arm away, as if even the touch was unbearable."You don’t get it, Mike! There’s nothing left to do! Nothing! No matter what I do, how hard I try — he’ll come for me anyway. He always finds a way."
His voice cracked at the end. As if he couldn’t carry the weight of that truth any longer — a truth he had lived with for too long.
Mike froze for a second, caught off guard by the outburst. But the shock didn’t last. The emotions surged through him like an avalanche — anger, fear, despair, all at once. He raised his voice, trembling with tension:
"So what?!" he shouted. "You’re just going to give up?! That’s all that’s left of us?! After everything we’ve been through?!"
His voice faltered, broke — and then, much more quietly, almost a whisper:
"You really want to... die?"
Will flinched. Not just at the sound, but at what he heard in those words — fear, real and deep. Maybe even love. But he said nothing. Just lowered his head.
"Do I even have a choice?" he whispered.
The voice was so quiet it barely existed. Like the echo of a boy who had already given up. One no one had heard when he needed to be heard the most.
Mike stepped closer, eyes locked on his with determination.
"You always have a choice," he said firmly. "Maybe we’re not stronger than him. Maybe we don’t even know how to beat him. But we’re together. All of us are together. And that means something. You mean something. Will, you’re part of this team. You’re... my best friend."
Will lifted his gaze. And in his eyes was something new — something sharp.
"Friend, huh?" he repeated softly. As if tasting the word. As if hurting himself with it.
Always just a friend.
Always only that.
Mike froze. He didn’t understand right away. Something had slipped past him — something important. And Will saw it in his eyes. He saw the realization begin to take root. Saw Mike mentally take a step back. Saw him start to understand.
But Will didn’t wait for him to figure it all out.
He looked away. Toward the lake. Toward the red glow, pulsing again, as if it sensed that the decision was coming — inevitable.
"Will… please," Mike said again, softer now, with a hope that almost hurt "Come home with me."
Silence fell. Long. Heavy. Stretched tight like a wire about to snap.
Only the lake whispered softly. Only the air trembled with the presence of something unnamed — on the other side.
Will lowered his head.
He was still hesitating.
He hadn’t stepped forward yet. But he hadn’t left either.
He hadn’t let himself disappear. Not yet.
Will, completely thrown off balance, sank into his own thoughts. Everything around him began to blur like a dream on the edge of waking. He no longer saw Mike’s gaze — that look caught somewhere between fear and a desperate plea for Will not to give up. He no longer felt the wind, which had grown stronger, slicing through the trees in icy gusts, tearing the air like a blade.
He didn’t even hear the lake begin to... awaken.
The water churned and bubbled, as if something was stirring within it — something enormous, ancient, trapped only for a moment. The waves crashed more boldly against the shore, splashing over the wooden planks of the dock, leaving behind a sticky, dark trail. The wood groaned ominously under the pressure of the oncoming force, but Will heard nothing beyond his own cracking heart.
And then... something began to emerge.
A thin, tar-black vine — writhing, slick, alive — slipped silently out of the depths like a shadow, like a thought that couldn’t be shaken. It crept onto the dock with a hunter’s precision. Moved slowly, almost gracefully, calculating the exact moment.
It hesitated only for a fraction of a second, and then—
“Will…” Mike looked up, barely hearing his own voice over the howl of the wind and the crackle of red lightning tearing the sky above them. “I think—”
He didn’t finish.
A scream ripped through the air like a blade. Instinctive, raw, full of panic that leaves no time for understanding. Mike froze, heart leaping into his throat.
Will cried out as something cold, wet, and unmistakably alive wrapped around his ankle. It gripped with a force that didn’t belong to the human world. One glance downward — just one — was enough to see the vine pulsating, breathing. As if it had a will of its own.
Will tried to pull back, to find balance, to grab onto something — anything. His hand slipped along the wet wood. He fell with a dull thud, arms splayed, his face a mask of terror.
And then…
The vine yanked.
One brutal pull.
And Will… vanished.
Dragged under the surface, as if the lake itself had swallowed him in an instant.
Only a splash remained. Only the echo of his scream. The wooden plank where he had stood rocked unsettlingly — as if the space had simply opened beneath him — and then silence fell again. Deep. Terrifying. A silence with no answer.
“WILL!” Mike screamed, his voice cracking before it gave way to a howl, raw and anguished, like someone who had just lost a piece of their soul. He lunged forward, falling to his knees, his hands clawing at the wet boards of the dock.
But where Will had just been… there was nothing.
Only the roiling, black surface. Only the bubbling red, bleeding through the water like a wound.
A thunderclap tore from the sky. One that was no longer just a weather event — but a warning. Something was awakening.
Something that had waited. Something that was pulling Will not just physically, but with every breath he’d taken, every broken thought he’d carried.
Mike remained frozen, shaking. But not from cold.
From fear.
From the knowledge that nothing would ever be the same again.
But he didn’t hesitate. Not even for a heartbeat.
He began to rise. Slowly, as if every movement cost him strength he no longer had. His eyes were wide, full of tears — but also something else. Something pure.
Decision. Determination. Love.
He took off running, tossing his jacket aside mid-sprint — agile, fast, unstoppable. The dock’s wood seemed to scream under his feet, as if it, too, wanted to hold him back. But Mike didn’t listen. He saw nothing but the darkness ahead.
And he jumped.
The dark, churning water swallowed him instantly — as if it had been waiting for this very moment.
The cold hit like a punch. An icy blade cut through his body, stealing the air from his lungs. The water was thick, unnatural, viscous. As if he were swimming not in a lake, but in some living organism pulsing with furious rhythm. A reddish glow emanated from the depths, spreading like blood. Its light gave no warmth — only dread.
Mike opened his eyes. The water burned, but he forced himself to stay alert. He scanned the darkness, desperately searching for a shape. A shadow. A sign that it wasn’t too late.
And then — he saw.
Will floated several meters below, suspended in heavy silence. Vines wrapped around his body like snakes. They slithered over him, tightened around his ankles, his wrists, his neck. One tendril seemed to pulse — feeding off his warmth.
Mike dove deeper, ignoring the pain in his lungs, the pounding in his temples. He felt time slipping away. The water felt less and less like water — like he’d crossed into something else entirely.
He reached Will. Grabbed his arm and tried to pull — but the vines only tightened, as if they understood. As if they were alive. One of them darted toward him, coiling around his own leg with a force that nearly dislocated his shoulder.
He had no choice.
Mike reached into his pocket. His hands trembled, his fingers numb, but eventually they found it — the handle. A small hunting knife. Always on him. Just in case… of everything.
The first cut — too shallow. The second — the vine on Will’s leg snapped. The third — Mike’s own leg was free. The fourth — sliced through another coiling around Will’s torso.
And then he froze.
Will wasn’t moving.
His eyes were closed. His lips slightly parted, with only a few weak air bubbles escaping — too slow, too sparse. His skin… was cold. Bone white tinged with blue. Like an abandoned porcelain doll, drifting in the void.
Mike forgot everything else in an instant — the vines, the cold, the pain. He gripped him tighter and kicked upward with everything he had. The water fought back, pulling them down, but Mike didn’t stop. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t let him vanish. Not like this.
Not Will.
Not his Will.
His lungs burned like fire, the world narrowed, colors shimmered like fever. But he didn’t stop swimming, dragging Will’s body toward the surface, toward the light that was barely still there.
Toward one last chance.
They burst free of the depths like from a trap.
Mike surfaced first — with a roar of pain and desperation. Air tore into his lungs with brutal force, as if it would rip him apart from the inside. His arms clutched Will’s limp body — cold as ice, lifeless, like it no longer belonged to the world of the living.
The water churned around them for a moment, as if unwilling to return what it had taken. But Mike had no intention of surrendering.
With effort, he swam to the shore — fighting every stroke, as if swimming through living tar. He felt his strength fading, his body begging for breath and rest, but he didn’t stop. He had no right to think of himself.
He clenched his teeth and somehow pulled them both onto the dock, dragging Will behind him. The planks bent beneath their weight, soaked, freezing, alien. And yet… safe. At least for now.
“Will…” he rasped, collapsing to his knees beside him. “Will, please… wake up. Open your eyes…”
But Will didn’t move.
He lay still, face turned to the sky, as if the rain alone might wake him. His hair clung to his cheeks, lashes heavy with water, and his lips… too blue. Inhumanly blue.
Mike placed a hand on his chest. Nothing. No heartbeat. No breath. The silence in his body was worse than anything Mike had ever heard.
“No…” his voice broke. “Not now. Not like this.”
For a moment, Mike froze. His hands shook. He felt something shatter in his chest — not his body, but something deeper. As if his soul was tearing.
Fuck, this wasn’t how he imagined it. This wasn’t how their first kiss was supposed to happen. This wasn’t their moment.
He gritted his teeth, tilted Will’s head back, pinched his nose, sealed his lips. CPR — the cold taste of lips he shouldn’t have kissed yet. And yet he did, because he had to.
Compression. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
Mike moved automatically, to the rhythm of panic pounding in his temples like a hammer.
“Will… come back to me, do you hear? Come back! You can’t leave me like this…!” he shouted, pressing harder on his chest. “NOT NOW!”
Compression. Breath. Compression. Breath.
He no longer heard the thunder, or the wailing wind, or the lake’s roar. Only the cursed silence — and his own voice, cracking at the edges.
Compression. Breath. Again.
And then — a sound.
Coughing. Choking. Water spilling from Will’s mouth. A deep, ragged gasp. Will’s body jolted in a violent spasm, as if something was pulling him back from the other side.
Mike jerked back slightly, holding his breath.
Will trembled. Opened his mouth and sucked in air like it was his first breath ever. His hands clutched the wet wood beneath him, and his eyes… his eyes opened. Glassy with pain and confusion.
But alive.
Mike let out a quiet sob of relief — so raw and bare it almost hurt. He leaned over Will, nearly touching his face.
“Oh God…” he whispered, his voice broken. “Will… you’re here. You’re here.”
Will didn’t respond. Not yet. But his fingers twitched — slowly, uncertainly — as if he couldn’t remember how to move them. Mike grabbed them immediately. He held on tightly, like an anchor. Like life itself.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered again. “I’ve got you. And I won’t let go.”
Will looked at him with cloudy eyes. There was still something in them from the other side — a shadow of the darkness that had almost swallowed him whole. But there was something else, too. A glimmer. Small. Flickering. But real.
In the distance, thunder rumbled. The lake pulsed red. Something moved beneath the surface — something watching them, something that hadn’t forgotten.
But it didn’t matter anymore.
Because Will was breathing.
And he was with him.
Will trembled beneath his hands, breathing quietly, as if each breath was a struggle — but he was breathing. He was here, truly here — not in the lake, not in the dark, not on the other side. His body was heavy, exhausted, but warmth was returning. His life was returning.
Mike stared at him motionless, his heart torn by disbelief. Just moments ago, Will had been dead. Dead. And now… he moved his fingers. Blinked. His chest rose irregularly, but steadily. He was breathing.
And then something inside Mike broke.
Tears flooded his eyes like a wave crashing down. He couldn’t hold them back — and he didn’t want to. They streamed down his cheeks, quiet and hot — not from pain, but from a relief so strong it twisted in his stomach. As if his body couldn’t contain everything it was suddenly feeling again.
He clutched those small, still freezing fingers, as if trying to warm them with his hope. He bent down until his forehead rested on Will’s rain-soaked hand. He was trembling. His breath was uneven, broken. He tried to speak, but his voice got stuck in his throat.
A sob escaped him. Short, muffled, raw. Not despair — just relief. Broken, but real.
“I thought I lost you…” he finally whispered, his voice hoarse from tears. “I thought you’d never… that you wouldn’t come back.”
His shoulders were shaking harder now. He cried in silence — not violently, not dramatically, but like someone holding in their hands something they once lost.
Will opened his eyes. Slowly, with effort, as if every millimeter of his eyelids was a struggle. And then — a slight movement of his lips. Barely a shadow of a smile. But it was there.
Mike felt his tears fall onto Will’s face. And he didn’t stop them. He didn’t want to. For the first time in months, maybe years, he allowed himself to cry — not from grief, but from love. And from pure, overwhelming relief.
Because Will was alive.
And Mike didn’t have to keep it all inside anymore.
At last, he could simply — be.
With him.
Mike knelt beside him, hunched over, as if the weight of the whole world pressed down on his shoulders. He held Will’s cold, limp hand tightly, like he was afraid that if he let go — Will would vanish again. His eyes were red from crying, his face pale and trembling. He breathed shallowly, unevenly, like someone who had stopped believing he was allowed to hope anymore.
And then — almost inaudibly, like breath returning after a long absence:
“Mike…?”
A hoarse whisper broke through the silence. The voice was weak, wounded, but carried a note of surprise. And something else — relief. As if Will himself couldn’t believe he could still speak. Still feel.
Mike reacted instantly. He lifted his head sharply, as if that one fragile sound had pulled him back into the world. As if someone deep inside a nightmare had just called his name.
“Will?” His voice trembled, cracking under the weight of emotion. “Hey… hey, it’s okay. Everything’s okay now.”
A smile appeared on his face — crooked, uncertain, lit with tears. Foolish in its vulnerability. And then Mike leaned down again and embraced him — with a gentleness as if Will were made of glass, but with a strength as if only that embrace could hold him together. As if his arms were a safe harbor after a storm neither of them was sure they’d survive.
Will flinched, as if he’d only just now felt the touch. As if he was just returning to his body. He drew in a shaky breath and closed his eyes. His head fell against Mike’s shoulder. And though his whole body screamed in pain, for a moment he felt only this — warmth, presence, that familiar scent that was here again, beside him.
Mike pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes. He needed that. He had to be sure Will was really there. That it wasn’t a dream. Not an illusion.
“Never again…” he whispered, with such gravity that every word sounded like a vow. “Never do that to me again. Do you understand?”
Will moved his lips slightly. He tried to smile — and though it was only a faint, uncertain shadow of a smile, it was real.
Will lifted his head and looked upward. The sky was still heavy, red, torn, but a gap appeared through the clouds. And through that gap, a single beam of light broke through. It wasn’t warm. It wasn’t even sunny. But it was there. Like the echo of a morning that hadn’t yet come. Like a hope that hadn’t entirely died.
Mike followed his gaze. For a brief second, their eyes met. And in that silence, amidst the miracle, Will whispered:
“I was scared.”
Mike immediately squeezed his hand tighter, as if trying to anchor them both in reality.
“Me too,” he admitted softly. “But now we’re together. Do you hear me? I’ve got you now.”
Will nodded. He didn’t need to say anything. That small gesture was enough. And then… he didn’t pull away when Mike leaned in closer. Their foreheads touched. Quietly. Carefully. As if, in that moment, everything finally found its place.
Cold began to seep into Will’s bones. His body trembled in a rhythm he could no longer control, as if every cell was rebelling against reality. Even in Mike’s arms — even there, where he felt safest — the chill pierced through his skin, reached deep inside, and stole the air from his lungs. He breathed shallowly, unevenly, as if each breath reminded him how fragile life had become.
Mike felt it immediately — not just physically, but with his whole being. His hand moved gently down Will’s back, as if to soothe the shaking. Then he moved even closer, shielding him from the biting wind with his own body. His arms tightened gently but firmly, without fear. He rested his forehead against Will’s temple — a warm touch that reminded them both that not everything was lost yet.
Their breaths blended into one. Hot, heavy, uneven — in stark contrast to the icy air around them. For a brief moment, only this mattered: that breath, that closeness, that quiet endurance.
“Hold on,” Mike whispered. His voice was soft, tender, woven from relief and care. Every word was like a thread trying to mend the cracks in Will. His fingers stroked slowly down his back, as if that gesture alone could keep him alive.
Will trembled harder, but he didn’t pull away. He was here. He was with him. And Mike’s presence was like an anchor thrown into the chaos — keeping him afloat, stopping him from sinking. The cold was still there, and so was the pain, but for that moment, they didn’t matter. The outside world fell silent. There was only the two of them — tangled bodies, two hearts beating together, and that quiet, almost unreal sense of peace rising from the ruins.
Finally, Mike lifted his head. He looked into Will’s eyes — clouded, tired, but alive. So much pain in them… and yet something else too. Hope? Disbelief?
Mike’s gaze was soft, quiet, full of relief — but also something deeper. A silent promise that he would never leave him again. That whatever came next, they would face it together.
Gently, without rushing, with the kind of care used to touch something fragile and precious, he leaned in and kissed him. Their lips met slowly, shyly — as if both needed to make sure it was real. It wasn’t a passionate kiss. Not fierce. It was tender. Pleading. Filled with everything they still couldn’t say but which screamed from the depths of their hearts.
Will trembled once more.
But this time… not from the cold.
This time, because something had changed. Something inside him opened, let go, allowed itself. Because he was no longer alone. He no longer had to fight alone.
Mike held him tighter, as if trying to stop time, to lock them inside that one perfect moment where everything — just for a heartbeat — was finally right.
And though the world around them still trembled — uncertain whether it was ending or just beginning — they stayed.
They stayed together.
“Let’s go home,” Mike whispered into Will’s ear, so quietly and gently it didn’t even disturb the fragile bubble around them.
And Will agreed. He didn’t resist.
He wanted to go home.