Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

it was march in 1996 and will byers hadn’t been so lonely since the first day of kindergarten. he had been sitting alone on a swing, watching the blades of grass bow in the light september breeze. his shirt was itchy, his shoes were too tight, and he was fighting off tears with the kind of desperation only five-year-olds and people who care too much know. a shadow had fallen over the grass, and will had looked up, and there was mike wheeler. will had never said this to mike, but when they locked eyes, will felt like he already knew them - stupid, impossible, inevitable recognition had settled over will like sun on the back of his neck. it was the warm feeling you get when you aren’t alone anymore. and as long as will had mike, will felt warm.

but here, in march, 1996, the cold felt bone deep. a cold that had nothing to do with the last chill of the winter and everything to do with mike, as things often do. even thinking that made will flush in shame. nobody normal cares this much about their best friend.

mike had been off. not off - mean. no, not mean either. he wasn’t anything. he’d pulled so far back it was like trying to talk to a ghost who didn’t know he was dead yet. and will knew why, obviously he knew why. the week before christmas, el had broken up with mike — for real this time. no shouting, no theatrics, just a soft, sad conversation in the gym hallway while the fluorescent lights buzzed above them. will had been there, pretending he wasn’t watching every second.

since then, mike had kept his eyes on the floor like it hurt to look anywhere else.

the party had splintered months ago. lucas drifted toward the jocks; dustin and mike sank into hellfire; max slipped deeper into her grief until it felt dangerous to even knock on the door. el tried, will tried harder, but some days it felt like he was holding a net full of water.

he joined hellfire to stay close to mike, though he told himself it was for the campaign. he showed up to lucas’ basketball games when he wasn’t having a panic spiral about mike ignoring him. he tried talking to max before she shut down again. he tried being what everyone needed.

but the thing he didn’t say — the thing he buried deep — was that mike didn’t even seem to notice. or worse, mike noticed and didn’t care.

and will hated himself for caring enough for both of them.

and that’s how will got to where he was now. in hawkins public library, on a thursday afternoon, sitting in front of a dialup computer. he was the only person here, save for the librarian. this was the only place will could get free and reliable internet access, a luxury they couldn’t afford at home. opening his bag, he fumbled around for the scrap of paper dustin had given him this morning - a list of forum addresses, where people from all across america, even the world, could talk about…well, anything. will had hoped, maybe foolishly, that he would find a friend. a friend he could talk to about anything, from art to comics and movies to his life. a friend that could numb the mike-shaped ache in his chest, even if only temporarily.

the clack clack of the keyboard under will’s fingers felt intrusive and rude in the stale stillness of the room.

wbs.net

the screen flickered and slowly, line by line, a new page befalls to load. a banner stretches out across the screen.

webchat broadcasting system - your online community!

will shifted in his seat as his trembling hand guided the mouse to a link -

new member? sign up here - it’s free!

wbs wasn’t the most popular of sites, but it was free, and will couldn’t afford the monthly subscription to aol.

username:

password:

his brow furrowed in concentration. his username had to be something personal, but not too personal it was obvious. he wanted an anonymous, no strings attached, strictly online friendship.

he wanted something that reminded him of himself. and his friends. how everything used to be before girls and highschool got in the way. when they’d spend hours in mike’s basement playing d&d and eating pizza, talking about nothing but the campaign and what they could go as for halloween. will’s lips quirked into a barely-there smile at the thought.

halloween.

username: spengler1984

that was a good day. when he, mike, dustin, and lucas had all dressed as the ghostbusters for halloween. will had been spengler, dustin was stantz, and mike and lucas had both been venkman. they had argued about it, of course, but the fight had quickly dissipated once they realised that they were the only kids dressed up. it had mattered so much at the time, being different, even though they were different every day of their lives and continued to be so even now.

username: spengler1984

password: chesterbyers1981

submit?

will clicked submit.

loading…

success!

the weight on will’s shoulders lightened by a sigh as his eyes scanned the screen.

welcome, spengler1984!

will’s mouse moved to the message boards tab.

general discussion

news & current events

hobbies and interests

tech talk

he glanced down at the list dustin had given him.

general discussion > teen talk

once in the teen talk sub-forum, will could feel his nerves like static under his skin. it was a silly feeling, getting stage fright behind a computer screen. but, then again, will had never been the brave type. that was always mike, who stood up to troy and james and the other bullies. will squared his shoulders, and began to type.

subject: write to me (and escape)

body: hi,

this is kind of strange to type, so i’m sorry if i sound weird. i just signed up for wbs and i’m looking for a friend. i want to keep it anonymous, so screen names only!

i guess, if you like dungeons and dragons (and planning really cool campaigns), if you’re pretty into x-men (so, if you have half a brain), if you find yourself wishing you were somewhere else than the place that you are, then i’m the one that you’ve looked for - write to me (and escape).

p.s. you get one detail - i’m from indiana, and i actually like the rain! i think i’d miss the clouds if i left.

leaning back in the cold, wooden chair, will reviewed his post with a blooming feeling of both anticipation and embarrassment forming in his chest. is this what he had come to? begging for friends in strangers online?

maybe it was desperate, but, if will was honest with himself, he was desperate - like a boy drowning is desperate for a lifeline. maybe someone out there was drowning too. and maybe, they could share a lifeline.

they could be desperate together.

will read over his post one last time. then, with a shaking and sweaty hand, he moved his mouse.

post?

post.

will folded his shaking hands in his lap.

maybe someone would write back.

maybe no one would.

but the library felt a little less cold.

and will felt a little less alone.

not much - just enough to breathe.

he gathered his things, took one last look at the glowing monitor, and whispered (not to anyone in particular)

“please.”

Chapter Text

“please, micheal - get off the computer! i need to use the phone!”

“five more minutes, mom! jesus!”

this house was a white picket fenced prison. mike ran a hand down his face with a sigh as his eyes darted across the screen. he clicked. refreshed. scrolled. same posts as an hour ago. same dumb arguments in the d&d forum. same ache in his stomach every time he let his brain go quiet for more than five seconds.

he hadn’t spoken to anyone since…well, his mom, thirty seconds ago. as for anyone outside of the wheeler household? god, it must’ve been…two, maybe three days. not since dustin on tuesday morning, and that had barely counted - it was just him mumbling something about the next hellfire meeting while dustin stared at him as if he was trying to figure out what kind of alien was wearing mike as a skin suit. he knew they were all worried - dustin, lucas, el.

will, too.

mike winced.

thinking his name made him picture his face, which sent a spike of guilt through him as painful as stepping on something sharp in the dark.

he shoved his chair backwards a bit, then forwards again like he couldn’t decide whether he should stay or he should go. the monitor glowed in the dim room. he refreshed again, though he knew it was pointless. it was all just noise. deafening, distracting noise - exactly what he needed.

noise kept the real things away.

his discman lay open on the desk, guts spilling out, the batteries he’d ripped from it rolling dangerously close to the keyboard. next to it sat his walkie-talkie, dented, dusty, and pathetic. he’d found it under his bed two nights ago, held it, stared at it until his throat got tight and his eyes stung and his breath became shallow, then put it down like it was radioactive. he hadn’t turned it on. he couldn’t.

god forbid he hear static and feel disappointed. god forbid he hear a voice and felt…anything.

he forced his eyes back to the screen, clicking on a new sub-forum, jaw tight and shoulders squared like he was bracing for impact. then a fresh subject line blinked up at him.

subject: write to me (and escape)

posted by: spengler1984

spengler. must be a ghostbusters fan.

he wasn’t going to click it. he shouldn’t have clicked it. he should’ve scrolled.

but he clicked it anyway.

the message was awkward. sweet. open in the way people were when they didn’t know yet that openness was dangerous. someone who liked d&d, comics, rain, indiana. someone who sounded like they wanted out.

someone who wrote like they were lonely in a way mike recognized instantly, painfully, like looking into a mirror he’d been avoiding.

his stomach curled in on itself. he shouldn’t reply. obviously he shouldn’t reply.

he couldn’t even talk to the people who actually cared about him—who actually wanted him around. what business did he have talking to a stranger online?

some part of him whispered that it’d be easier. safer. anonymous. no expectations.

no weird feelings he didn’t understand and definitely didn’t want. he clenched his jaw. hard.

he stared at the walkie again. looked away fast.

his fingers twitched toward the keyboard anyway.

he told himself it was boredom. curiosity. a distraction.

anything but the truth. he felt alone.

and whoever spengler1984 was… they felt alone, too.

and maybe - desperate as it was - mike wanted someone who didn’t know him to see him. someone who couldn’t look at him and immediately notice what was wrong. be swallowed, chest tight, breath uneven.

then he clicked reply, like he was already halfway falling.

his hands were sweating. his heartbeat was disgusting. and still - he didn’t stop.

subject: there’s escape in escaping

hello spengler,

cool post. it’s nice to see someone on here who isn’t looking to argue about whether or not cyclops is secretly the worst x-man (he isn’t, by the way. it’s wolverine). i like d&d, comics, and i live in indiana too.

it was weird, reading the last part of your post. i find myself wishing i was somewhere else than the place that i am more often than not these days. i wasn’t sure if anyone felt the same.

if you wanted to talk more, it would be cool if we could escape together? (metaphorically, obviously)

write back when you can.

thanks.

- IN2530

P.S. i can’t stand the rain here. i’d like to visit california - the sun would be nice.

mike read his reply once.

twice.

again.

every pass made his stomach twist tighter, like the words were shrinking under a microscope and revealing every stupid flaw he’d tried to hide. was it too much? too little? too obvious? too weird? did “escape together” sound desperate?

or worse - did it sound like he wanted something he absolutely did not want?

(he wanted it. he hated that he wanted it.)

he bit down on his lower lip until a metallic tang hit his tongue, sharp and grounding. the cursor blinked at him, pulsing like a heartbeat he didn’t want to have.

why was he doing this? he hadn’t answered dustin’s call. he hadn’t answered anyone. but some stranger with a ghostbusters username typed a paragraph about rain and comic books and suddenly mike was ready to spill his guts into the void?

pathetic.

he was pathetic.

he leg bounced under the desk, jittery, restless, like his whole body was trying to pull away from the screen even as he kept leaning closer. there was this tiny, traitorous part of him - deep, buried, terrified - that wanted someone to talk to. someone who didn’t know him.

someone who couldn’t put two and two together and see the thing mike spent half his life trying to crush out of existence.

spengler1984 didn’t know him. which meant they couldn’t know what was wrong with him. that alone felt…safe. safer than anything had felt since christmas.

he hovered the mouse over submit, his breath catching in his throat. this was stupid. this was embarrassing.

this was…something he needed anyway.

“whatever,” he muttered, even though no one had asked. then he clicked.

submit.

the screen refreshed. his message posted. no taking it back.

mike pushed away from the desk so abruptly the chair screeched against the hardwood. he ran both hands through his hair, gripping it tight like the pressure could smother the electric panic buzzing behind his ribs.

he shouldn’t have done that.

he should’ve done that sooner.

he should’ve done anything other than that.

he didn’t know.

he didn’t know -

from upstairs, his mom shouted again about the phone.

when he was dating el, he never had the time - or the space - to sit with this…stuff. this feeling he couldn’t name. didn’t want to name. he had her. she filled the silence. she filled the questions. she filled the parts of him he was terrified to look at directly. and when she broke up with him, she hadn’t been cruel. she should’ve been. god, she should’ve been. but she just looked at him with those soft, sad eyes and said he couldn’t love her the way she needed. “especially if you can’t even say it,” she’d whispered.

he knew what she meant. he’d known for a long time. he couldn’t help it.

he couldn’t change whatever part of himself locked up every time someone asked for more. he couldn’t change the way he loved - quiet, sideways, hidden like a secret he wasn’t supposed to have.

and somewhere deep down, in a place he’d never admit out loud, it felt like proof of something he’d been afraid of for years:

that there was something wrong with him. something warped.

something that had been bending out of shape since the start.

he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes until stars bloomed behind them. it didn’t help. the ache was still there.

he wasn’t sure what scared him more - that spengler1984 might write back…

…or that they wouldn’t. either way, mike felt the same sinking truth settle in his chest: he had no idea what he was running from anymore. and even less idea what he was running toward.

mike stayed frozen in the chair, staring at the dim blue glow of the screen like it might swallow him whole. his reply sat there, posted, permanent, taunting him. he could feel the panic creeping up his spine, slow and cold.

he didn’t hear the footsteps on the stairs. he didn’t hear the sigh.

but he felt the hand on his shoulder.

“michael,” his mom whispered, gentle in that way she always was when he least deserved it, “it’s late, honey.”

before he could even think to move, she reached past him and tapped the monitor’s power button. the screen died instantly, plunging the room into soft darkness. no accusatory glow. no blinking cursor. no place for his thoughts to hide.

just him. and her.

“you’ve been on that thing all night,” she said, brushing his hair out of his face like he was still twelve. “come on. bed.” he nodded, barely. not really meaning it, but not fighting her either.

she squeezed his shoulder - warm, steady, annoyingly reassuring - and for one second, mike felt something crack in his chest.

a tiny fissure of relief he didn’t want and definitely didn’t know how to accept.

because of course he had people.

of course he wasn’t alone.

he was just too messed up inside to reach out.

too scared of what reaching out might reveal.

“okay,” he muttered. karen kissed the top of his head before heading back upstairs. the house settled again, quiet and safe and suffocating all at once.

mike stood there in the dark, staring at the dead screen long after she was gone.

he wished it hurt less to be cared about.

he wished he knew how to let any of it in.

but all he had tonight was the echo of her hand on his shoulder and a message hanging in the void, waiting for someone he didn’t know to answer.

god, he hoped they answered.

Chapter Text

will hadn’t slept that night. his own words ran through his head like a freight train. his own stupid, needy words. he had sounded like a starving orphan with his hands out, begging for more food.

standing next to el in the cafeteria, which was the usual chaos of friday lunchtime, will’s eyes immediately found what they weren’t ready for. the table that was claimed by the hellfire club was its usual disorganised island of dice, character sheets, and snack wrappers. dustin was mid-explanation, his hands flailing dramatically. eddie munson was next to him, scrawling what will assumed was heavy metal song lyrics on his off-white sneakers. mike was sat at the far end, shoulders slumped, his chin resting in his hand. his fingers drummed quietly against the table, slow and aimless, as if he was counting the floating specks of dust that hung like tiny lanterns in the sunlight.

will felt his heart simultaneously leap to his throat and drop to his stomach at the sight. will had never, in his decade knowing mike wheeler, seen him so despondent when the conversation surrounded d&d. he had always been the one to make it feel like it all mattered, like they weren’t just blips in the steady decline to the inevitable. he had always been the heart.

but it was hard to be the heart for everyone else when you can’t even be it for yourself.

dustin caught will’s eye and gave him a wide grin. will nodded faintly, a ghost of a smile on his lips. dustin frantically waved him over, but will didn’t move towards the table. he couldn’t, not yet. he just kept walking, forcing his feet to carry him past the laughter and across the sticky floors while his mind stayed on the ghost of a boy at the table.

mike’s eyes flicked up briefly as will passed. for a heartbeat - a painful, twisting heartbeat - will thought there might be something there. something warm, familiar, the way it had always been and was always supposed to be. but then mike’s eyes dropped back to the table, to the dice, to nothing. that empty, sterile look he’d worn since christmas clung to will like cold water. his chest tightened and, pathetically, he pressed a hand against it as though he could physically hold the ache at bay.

across the cafeteria, lucas leaned against a table with his basketball team, his eyes bright and his laughter easy.

max shuffled through the room, close to the walls, headphones on and hood pulled low. will swallowed, his eyes burning.

he missed his friends. he missed his party. he missed his family. will felt rooted in time.

everybody else was moving on - but he stayed. dust was practically collecting on his clothes.

for will, it was still summer and everyone still loved each other.

el nudged him lightly with her elbow, pulling him from his thoughts. her grin was small but teasing. “art room?” she whispered, tugging on his sleeve. will almost said no. he almost said “why don’t we sit with mike and dustin today?” or, “let’s follow max and see if she needs company for lunch”.

but he didn’t. because will wasn’t brave.

he let himself be pulled along, following the warmth of her hand brushing his arm. will would do anything for warmth.

the rest of lunch was quiet in the way it only ever was with el — soft, sun-haloed, tucked away in their little art-room hideout where no one bothered them. el swung her legs under the table while she picked at a turkey sandwich. will pretended to draw, even though the pencil had barely moved in five minutes. she glanced up at him

once. twice . that observant little tilt of her head - the one that meant i know something’s off, but i’m not gonna push you about it.

he was grateful. he could also feel the guilt clawing through him, hollowing him out.

because every time his brain wandered where it wanted to wander - to mike (to who else?) - will felt like he was betraying her. like thinking about mike at all was somehow rubbing salt into something el hadn’t even said out loud yet.

so he kept his face neutral, kept his pencil moving, kept his heartbeat low and steady like none of it bothered him.

el didn’t ask. el didn’t pry. she just nudged her foot against his under the table, small and warm and simple, like she was reminding him she was there - in the exact way will needed her to be. safe. steady. not asking for explanations he wasn’t ready to give.

and will…god, he loved her for that. even if the person he wished was sitting across from him wasn’t her…he was glad she was.

will’s mind began to drift, far from the walls of hawkins high and to the glow of the library computer. wbs. his post. he wondered if anyone had replied. he hoped they had. god, he hoped they had.

“do you ever think about summer, will?” will’s head snapped up and met el’s eyes.

he was quiet, for a second. “summer? yeah, i mean…it was good. well, we were all together.” will replied.

he knew nostalgia was a mind trick - because summer hadn’t been good. not really. it had been a long stretch of heat-heavy days where will floated on the outskirts of his own friend group, fifth-wheeling lucas and max and el and mike while dustin alternated between radioing his girlfriend or disappearing with steve harrington for hours at a time. there were moments that felt almost right - those rare afternoons when everyone was laughing, when it didn’t matter who was dating who, when the world felt briefly like it used to.

but then el and mike broke up (the first time), and everything shifted. suddenly mike’s whole summer revolved around winning her back, chasing something will couldn’t give him, couldn’t compete with, couldn’t even hate without hating himself more. nothing else seemed to matter to him.

will hadn’t mattered.

and it shouldn’t have hurt the way it did, but it did - deep, quiet, constant. but summer was all he had left of his friends, even if he had to squint at the memories to make them look good.

el nodded. “we were together. we still are, i think.”

will blinked at her, eyebrows pulling in. was she serious?

she picked at the edge of her sandwich, thinking. “it’s like christmas lights,” she said slowly. “you pack them away all messy, and knotted. but when you finally pull them out again…they’re still there when you need them. you just have to take the time to untangle them.” el explained.

will gave her a faint smile and a half-laugh. “i thought i was meant to be the wise one.”

“even will the wise is allowed to be stupid.” she smiled. her eyes flicked down to will’s untouched apple. “are you going to eat that?” she asked, and will shook his head and she took his apple and as she ate it will thought, again, how glad he was to have el to be stupid with.

last period on a friday was computing class. will’s teacher, mr ephron, was probably about as old as hawkins itself and didn’t know the first thing about computers. will didn’t mind computing class - he was good at it, he didn’t have to talk much, and nobody payed enough attention to him to check if he was actually doing the work (which he usually wasn’t).

like a jolt of lightning, the urge hit him - stupid, reckless, embarrassing. he wanted to check his post. nobody replied, he told himself. obviously. he wasn’t delusional. people didn’t just answer random lonely-kid forum posts.

but still.

he should check.

just to confirm the silence he expected.

his fingers flew across the keyboard, muscle memory and adrenaline tangled. he typed in his username, his password, and hit enter before he could change his mind.

you have: 1 reply.

will’s throat tightened like a fist had closed around it. his pulse jumped. once. twice. then it just… didn’t come back down.

he clicked.

IN2530.

the name meant nothing. it should’ve meant nothing. but the letters looked steady, dependable somehow, like a lighthouse in the middle of fog.

his palms were sweating.

embarrassing.

he read the message once through - fast, too fast, barely seeing the words. then again. and again. each line landed heavy in his chest in a way that felt good and terrifying all at once.

cool post… couldn’t tell if anyone else felt the same… we could escape together (metaphorically)… i live in indiana too…

someone understood. or seemed to. someone saw the shape of his loneliness and didn’t flinch away from it. but then the guilt flooded in - hot, sweeping, drowning.

mike would hate this.

mike would roll his eyes and say something like, seriously, will? talking to strangers online? mike would -

stop. he couldn’t think about mike right now, not when his heart felt raw in his chest.

he read the message a fourth time, slower, letting the warmth of it spread throughout his bones.

happy. nervous. guilty. hopeful.

it all crashed together in him like waves colliding.

someone wanted to talk to him. someone had chosen to.

he smiled - small, fragile, the kind that could break if breathed on wrong - but it was real. his fingers hovered over the keyboard, trembling with something he couldn’t name yet.

IN2530.

his fingers hovered over the keyboard.

then moved. then froze.

what was he even supposed to say? hi thanks for replying i’m cripplingly lonely and your message made me feel things i haven’t felt in a year? god, no. he’d rather eat the monitor.

he forced himself to breathe and started typing.

hi. thanks for replying. i -

he winced. too formal. too stiff. too much like a kid emailing his math teacher. he backspaced until the line disappeared like it had never been there.

try again.

hey! super cool to meet you.

god, no. he sounded like dustin. delete. try again.

hi. um… i didn’t think anyone would answer.

ugh, too sad. delete.

he sat back in his chair, dragging a hand through his hair. around him, keys clacked and kids whispered and mr. ephron muttered something about the “digital age,” but it all felt miles away. the only real sound was his heartbeat, loud and stupid in his ears.

okay. one more try.

he leaned forward and let his fingers move without thinking too hard - because thinking too hard was the problem.

subject: i’m glad it was you

hey IN2530,

thanks for replying! i panicked a little when i saw your message (in a good way). i didn’t expect anyone to to feel the same as me - well, i didn’t expect anything really. i agree. wolverine is completely overrated. jean grey is my favourite - she’s cool. california would be nice, for a while i think.

it’d be cool to metaphorically escape with you. you seem like someone who’s good at escaping. and i mean that as a compliment. sometimes i feel like i’m on the verge of escaping, but then i get caught by the world again. do you ever feel like that?

i’m really glad it was you who replied.

- spengler1984

he stared at it.

read it over.

read it again.

it wasn’t perfect, but it sounded like him - or at least the version of him who wasn’t terrified all the time. he felt lighter. maybe even - no, he wouldn’t call it joy, but something close enough to hurt. he moved the mouse toward “send.” his hand trembled. then he clicked.

the screen refreshed, simple and anticlimactic, but will felt something like a spark run through him — a tiny, impossible flicker of hope.

he was still on the tightrope. but he hadn’t fallen off.

Chapter Text

mike hauled his bag over his shoulder, the ring of the final bell signaling the end of his friday afternoon torture; spanish class. he ducked out of the class, shoulders hunched, trying to fit his lanky body into a small enough shadow to pass through the hallway unnoticed.

but of course, when dustin henderson knew you, you could never go unnoticed.

“mike! hey, mike, wait up!”

mike let out a noise that was half sigh, half groan, the kind of sound you make when you know the universe is conspiring against you on purpose. he didn’t turn, didn’t slow - just shrank into himself like maybe he could physically outrun conversation.

dustin, naturally, jogged up anyway.

“god, latin is a bitch. i’m sitting at a D–. my mom is gonna end me.”

“that sucks, dude,” mike muttered, automatic, the bare minimum of human politeness.

dustin didn’t notice - or ignored it on purpose. “hey, are you busy tomorrow? do you wanna hang out?”
mike’s stomach dropped. “i mean, i’m not busy, i just-”

“we could get pizza,” dustin steamrolled on. “and we could invite will. maybe even lucas. play some d&d. just the four of us.”

mike suddenly felt like a deer on the interstate, headlights barreling toward him. his mouth opened, ready with a protest he hadn’t fully formed yet-

“will! hey, come over here!”

fuck.

mike sped up immediately, long strides eating the hallway. pure survival instinct.

because will was coming.

and will was warmth he didn’t deserve.

and mike couldn’t handle warmth.

not when every time he got close to it, his chest started doing that stupid, traitorous thing.
he knew - he knew - will would catch up anyway. because will always did. a gravitational pull mike had been running from since he could run.

sure enough, sneakers scuffed fast behind them, and then will slid into step beside dustin, breath a little quick, hair mussed like he’d practically sprinted.

he looked… like will.

mike’s chest burned.

“i was just saying to mike,” dustin announced proudly, “that we should all get together tomorrow. the four of us. like old times.”

will’s eyes flicked toward mike’s back - soft, bright, the kind of look that made mike’s ribs feel too small for his lungs. mike walked faster, straight-up overtaking them now, every step screaming don’t look at him don’t look at him don’t look at him-

“i’d…” will started, voice small but brave. will was always brave. “i mean, yeah. that sounds cool. mike, are you… are you in?”

mike didn’t turn, didn’t breathe, didn’t let himself react. if he reacted, he’d break.

“nah,” he said, forcing the word out. “i- i can’t. homework, you know.”

the lie tasted like metal. like blood. like self-hatred.
behind him, he heard will’s footsteps falter, just barely - a tiny stutter-step in rhythm that stabbed straight through mike’s spine.

he kept walking.

faster.

like if he moved quickly enough, maybe he could outrun the guilt crawling up his throat.

maybe he could outrun the part of himself that wanted to turn around.

maybe he could outrun the boy behind him.

but will followed anyway.

because of course he did.

“mike, wait!”

god. mike’s whole body reacted before his brain did - shoulders tensing, breath hitching, steps hitching for half a second before he forced himself back into motion.

but will was faster.

he always, always was when it came to mike.
within seconds, will was right beside him, practically power-walking to keep up, cheeks flushed from chasing him down.

“can you just-” will reached out like he might grab mike’s arm, then thought better of it. “-stop for one second?”

mike didn’t stop. didn’t even slow. “i told you, i have homework.”

“that’s not what this is about,” will said quietly, breath puffing in front of him as he kept pace. “you haven’t talked to me in months, and now you can’t even look at me?”

“i am looking at you,” mike lied, staring straight ahead at the lockers like they were suddenly fascinating.

“no, you’re looking at the floor, and the ceiling, and every exit sign we walk past,” will snapped, frustration starting to crack through the soft edges of his voice. “just not at me.”

mike’s jaw clenched. “will, can we not do this here?”

“we’re never doing it anywhere,” will shot back, voice trembling - not angry. hurt. “you keep running away every time I try.”

mike’s pulse spiked so hard he felt nauseous. “i’m not running away.”

“mike,” will said, and it sounded like a plea. “you’re literally speedwalking.”

mike quickened his pace out of spite, even though his legs were starting to burn. “look, i told you - i’m busy, okay? why is that a big deal?”

“because you’re lying,” will said softly.

mike froze.

not completely—his feet kept moving—but something in him stalled out like an engine misfiring.

will swallowed, stepping in front of him just enough that mike had to finally look at his face. it nearly knocked the air out of him.

“i know when you’re lying,” will said, voice quiet but steady in that way that always made mike feel seen. too seen. “you used to tell me everything. and now you can’t even tell me why you won’t be in the same room as me.”

mike’s chest squeezed painfully. “that’s not— you don’t— it’s not about you, okay?”

will blinked, hurt flickering across his face like a crack in glass. “i never said it was.”

mike looked away. his throat felt too tight. “i just… i need space. that’s all.”

“space from me?” will whispered.

mike didn’t answer.

he couldn’t.

because the truth was pounding against his ribs like it wanted out.

but all he said was:

“i have to go.”

will stood there, staring at him like mike had just kicked the last piece of hope out of him.

“yeah,” will finally murmured, stepping back. “i figured.”

mike didn’t look at him again.

he just walked.

faster, faster, faster.

like maybe if he kept moving, he wouldn’t feel the way will’s voice cracked on that last word.
mike practically launched himself around the corner, trying to get as much distance between himself and will as humanly possible without breaking into a dead sprint.

his heart was still thudding against his ribs, loud and messy, the way it always did after talking to will lately. like his whole body was screaming at him for making the wrong choice again.
he didn’t get more than ten steps before-

thunk.

“watch it, wheeler.”

max shoulder-checked him like she’d been lying in wait specifically to ruin his day even more.

mike staggered. “jesus, max- can you not body slam me in the middle of a hallway?”

“can you not walk around like a sad victorian ghost boy haunting the linoleum?” she fired back, eyes narrowing as she looked him over. “you look like death. but, like… the annoying kind.”

mike groaned. “oh, great. perfect. exactly what i needed. thanks.”

max crossed her arms. “what, did someone take your emotional support dice? did your hair lose a fight? you look… extra pathetic today.”

mike tried to shoulder past her. “not in the mood, max.”

she moved with him, refusing to budge. of course she did. she was like a gremlin powered exclusively by spite.

“yeah, well, join the club,” max muttered. “you’re not the only one whose life sucks. congratulations.”

“great. solidarity,” mike deadpanned. “we can make matching jackets.”

“i’m not your hellfire friends, i don’t do matching.”
max’s eyes flicked toward the end of the hall, where will had disappeared seconds ago, shoulders slumped, head down.

her expression shifted - barely. a tiny crease in her brow. concern? guilt? something that max would rather die than admit, especially to mike.

“so,” she said slowly, turning back to mike, “you gonna tell me why will looks like he just watched you dropkick a puppy, or…?”

mike’s stomach twisted. “nothing happened.”

max snorted. “wow. you didn’t just lie, you committed to the bit. impressive.”

“max-” he tried, voice strained.

“look.” she cut him off with a raised hand. “i don’t care what’s going on with you two. or… whatever.” she waved vaguely, like. “but maybe don’t take your emotional constipation out on literally the nicest person in this hellhole.”

mike bristled. “i’m not- i didn’t-”

“you’re avoiding him like he’s contagious, wheeler.”

mike clenched his jaw. “you’re one to talk.”

max’s expression went flat. “yeah, well, call it a peer review.”

they stared at each other - two disasters, pretending they weren’t drowning, refusing to throw each other a lifeline.

max finally sighed, rolling her eyes like it physically pained her to be mildly empathetic. “just… try not to be an asshole. or at least be a cool asshole. like me.”

mike huffed out something that wasn’t quite a laugh. “yeah. i’ll work on that.”

“you better.” max stepped aside, giving him a dry little salute. “now go home. you’ve got a long weekend of practicing your self loathing in front of the mirror ahead of you.”

she pulled her headphones over her head, a clear signal of dismissal.

mike shook his head and kept walking - chest still tight, pulse still uneven, will’s voice echoing painfully in his head.

the wind on the ride home was brutal - too cold for march, too sharp against mike’s face, like the weather itself wanted to bully him. figures. even nature wasn’t on his side.

he pedaled harder anyway, like speed could shake off the conversation he’d just had. first will, then max. two emotional punches in a row. he was pretty sure that counted as assault.

max’s voice lingered in his head:

maybe don’t take your emotional constipation out on literally the nicest person in this hellhole.
great. amazing. she was right, too, which somehow made it ten times worse.

mike blew out a breath, watching it leave like smoke. “i’m not avoiding him,” he muttered to the empty street.

but his brain immediately supplied an image: will standing there, eyes wide and hurt, asking if he needed space from him.

mike’s stomach twisted.

he didn’t need space. he needed- god, he didn’t even know. a different brain? a lobotomy? witness protection?

he coasted past the anderson’s place, letting his bike glide for a second. will had chased him. again. after months of mike practically shoving him away, will still followed. that had to mean something, right? or maybe it didn’t. maybe will was just being will - kind, patient, good.

mike gripped the handlebars until his knuckles ached and paled.

he shouldn’t care this much. he shouldn’t want - whatever he wanted. he shouldn’t feel like someone had scooped his insides out every time he saw will frown.

he shouldn’t feel like will’s voice had cracked something open in him earlier.

but he did.

Chapter Text

the byers house smelled faintly like jonathan had tried to cook something and then abandoned the attempt halfway through. will pushed the door shut behind him, hoping he could just slip to his room unnoticed, let the whole day sink into silence.

no such luck.

jonathan leaned out from the small kitchen, hair tied back with a rubber band, concern already flickering in his eyes.

“hey. you’re home early.”

“yeah.” will tugged off his backpack, keeping his expression carefully blank. “school was fine.”

jonathan didn’t buy it - he never did. he wiped his hands on a dish towel and nodded toward the living room.

“you wanna sit for a minute?”

“i’m okay,” will said. a half-truth at best.

jonathan stepped into the doorway fully, folding his arms. “will, you look like somebody kicked your dog.”

will let out a small, forced breath. “i’m just tired.”

jonathan raised an eyebrow. “tired, sure. but something else too.”

the gentleness in his voice cracked something tiny inside will, but he kept his face turned away.

“it’s nothing,” he said.

“doesn’t seem like nothing.”

will hesitated. then, before he could talk himself out of it:

“it’s… mike.”

jonathan softened immediately. not surprised—never surprised.

“what happened?”

will shrugged, aiming for casual and landing somewhere near wounded.

“it’s dumb. we were leaving class and dustin was trying to get us to hang out tomorrow. the four of us. like old times.” he rubbed his palms on his jeans, nervous. “and for a second, i thought mike might- i don’t know.”

jonathan waited, patient as ever.

“but he just… bolted,” will said quietly. “the second things got even a little close to normal - he just ran.”

jonathan blew out a long breath. “i’m sorry.”

“don’t be,” will said quickly. “it’s not like he owes me anything. i just… misread the whole situation.”

jonathan sat beside him on the couch, leaving a respectful few inches of space.

“will,” he said softly, “you didn’t do anything wrong.”

will swallowed hard. “i know. it’s just it keeps happening, you know? every time it feels like maybe things are better, he pulls away again. and i can’t-” he cut himself off, pressing his lips together.
jonathan rested a hand on his shoulder—light, steady.

“you care about him. that’s not something to be ashamed of.”

will shut his eyes for a moment. it didn’t help. everything felt hot and tight behind them.

“he’s my friend, jonathan.”

his voice trembled.

jonathan hesitated, then stood and fished around the coffee table. he came back with a cassette tape with a crooked handwritten label.

“here,” he said, trying to sound casual. “i made this for you, a while ago. figured you might need it eventually.”

will blinked, taking it carefully.

“a mixtape?”

jonathan shrugged, embarrassed. “don’t make it a whole thing. just… take it. track one felt like something you might want to hear.”

“what’s track one?”

jonathan gave a half-smile. “go find out.”

so will went to his room, shut the door behind him, and sat on the edge of his bed. he slid the tape into his walkman, hands a little unsteady, and pressed play.

a soft click. a breath of static.

then bowie’s voice rose like a slow sunrise-

“i, i will be king…”

and will’s throat closed instantly.

because of course jonathan would pick this song.

of course he would pick this one.

the first verse curled around him like heat, memory, longing he couldn’t put into words if he tried.

“and you, you will be queen…”

and suddenly every stupid feeling he’d buried all afternoon burst at once.

the hallway,

mike’s fast steps,

the way he wouldn’t look at him,

the way will could feel the distance growing and felt powerless to stop it.

the chorus swept in.

“we can be heroes…”

and the world cracked open.

will closed his eyes, breath shaking, heart pulling tight against his ribs like it wanted out.

because he wanted so badly.

wanted things he couldn’t ask for.

wanted mike to stay.

wanted mike to choose him.

wanted the universe to give him one thing that didn’t fall apart the second he touched it.

“just for one day!”

the sound blurred with the tears gathering hot at the corners of his eyes.

and when he finally exhaled, the dam broke.

he cried.

the chorus bled into the room, warm and distant, like it was coming from somewhere far safer than hawkins. will pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, but it didn’t stop anything - didn’t stop the shaking breath, didn’t stop the way his chest felt too small for the hurt trying to live inside it.

he kept seeing the hallway.

kept seeing the way mike wouldn’t dare to see him.
kept hearing the scrape in mike’s voice when he lied about homework, like even the excuse hurt to say.

he didn’t even think about it.

that’s what wrecked him most.

mike hadn’t paused.

hadn’t hesitated.

hadn’t even offered that soft, hopeful half-smile Will used to get for free.

just… nothing.

a wall slamming down.

like ten years hadn’t mattered. like every adventure, every late-night talk, every time will thought - stupidly - that maybe mike still saw him… was just something he’d made up.

bowie kept singing.

“i, i can remember…”

yeah.

will remembered everything.
mike holding his wrist while they biked through the woods.

mike insisting he’d always be there for him. mike, fourteen and sunburnt and grinning like will was the best part of summer, the best part of everything.
and now?

now will couldn’t even keep up with him in the hallway.

maybe mike had grown out of him.

maybe he’d finally realised what everyone else seemed to know: that will was… extra. too much. the weird kid, the quiet kid, the one who didn’t fit right in any group unless someone dragged him along.

maybe the whole “old times” thing only existed in will’s head.

the song swelled;

“we can be heroes…”

will let out a tiny, broken laugh.

heroes. right.

he couldn’t even manage being someone mike wanted to talk to.

and under the hurt sat something worse - something he wasn’t supposed to name. the way his heart had leapt, stupidly, when dustin called him over. the way he’d hoped, for one stupid second, that mike would look at him the way he used to.
that mike would look at him at all.

he wiped his eyes with his sleeve. it didn’t matter. nothing changed. the facts were simple:

mike had chosen distance.

had chosen silence.

had chosen not him.

and will - idiot that he was - kept wishing anyway.
he curled onto his side, walkman pressed to his chest like it could somehow hold him together, and let the song play out.

the mixtape clicked softly as the bowie track faded out, and will let the sound blur into something else - another night, another version of him, smaller and easier to hope.

they were eleven, and the woods behind the byers’ house were still theirs - untouched by monsters, untouched by growing up. castle byers was patched with new tarps that rustled gently in the wind, the whole fort smelling like damp earth and crayons and that cheap plastic lantern mike always insisted on bringing.

they were supposed to be drawing maps for the next campaign, but mike had gotten distracted almost immediately. be always did. one moment he’d been outlining mountain ranges beside will, the next he was lying on his back across the fort’s floor, staring up through the slats of the roof at the stars he couldn’t actually see.

“do you ever think about leaving hawkins?” mike asked suddenly, voice soft in the dark.

will had looked up from his sketchbook. “leaving? like moving?”

“yeah.” mike tugged absently at the frayed cuff of his sweater. “not because it’s bad here or anything. i just… i don’t know. sometimes i feel like the world is supposed to be bigger than this.”

will had gone still. he remembered that feeling - how the words settled in him like something fragile and precious. “where would you go?”

mike shrugged, cheeks pink even in the lantern light. “anywhere. somewhere with arcades on every corner. somewhere people don’t look at you weird for liking… you know. stuff.”

will knew exactly what “stuff” meant. comics, d&d, too-bright interests, too-loud feelings, emotions he didn’t know mike had yet.

he felt a small, secret smile tug at him. “you wouldn’t go alone.”

mike glanced at him - quick, almost shy. “well… yeah. i mean. i’d bring my friends. obviously.”

will pretended to focus on straightening the corner of his map, because the warmth in his chest was almost too much. “yeah. obviously.”

mike rolled back onto his stomach, chin propped on his hands, hair falling messily across his forehead. “we could build a castle byers there, too. like a better one. a real one. we could add a tower or something.”

“you’d help me rebuild it?” will asked, soft.

“of course i would.” mike said it like it wasn’t even a question.

outside, an owl hooted. the lantern flickered. and will, small and hopeful and terrified of everything, felt something bloom in him he didn’t have a name for.

he’d fallen asleep that night with mike’s shoulder pressed against his, the smell of dirt and old blankets in the air, and the certainty - gentle, glowing - that nothing would ever matter to him the way mike wheeler did.

where mike went, will would follow.

back in his room, will exhaled shakily, pulling the blanket tighter around himself.

he missed him.

he missed them - that version of them that hadn’t known how to hurt each other yet.

and the worst part - the part he could never say out loud - was that he didn’t know if mike missed him back.

will stayed curled on his bed long after the memory faded - long after the warmth of it gave way to the cold reality he had to come back to. the room felt too big and too small all at once. his eyes were sore; his throat still felt scraped raw.

he thought, briefly, about checking the library computer.

about biking through the dusk, fingers freezing on the handlebars, just for the chance that maybe - maybe - IN2530 had replied in the hour or so since computing.

that someone out there still wanted to talk to him.
but the thought of lifting himself off the mattress felt impossible. he didn’t have the energy to hope out loud. not tonight. not when everything inside him still stung.

so he stayed where he was. still. breathing slow. letting the ceiling blur.

he wasn’t sure how long he lay there before his gaze drifted toward his desk - to the blank poster board propped against the wall. untouched. waiting.
something small and fragile shifted inside him.
he remembered el’s voice, soft and sure: we’re still together. we just need to untangle.

maybe that’s what this was - a way of tugging at one knot, gentle, careful, just enough to keep it from tightening forever.

will pushed himself upright. the movement felt clumsy, like he hadn’t used his limbs in years. he crossed the room and sat at the desk, pulling the poster board closer. it dwarfed the little jars of paint beside it - loud white space, too much possibility.
his hands hovered over the brushes. his pulse thudded. stupid that something this simple could feel so risky.

he dipped his brush into blue - a deep one, almost violet - and pressed it to the page. he always started with blue.

a single stroke.

small. hesitant. barely anything at all.

but it was there.

he breathed out. something in his chest loosened, just enough.

he added another stroke, then another, rough outlines of a sky that wasn’t finished, wasn’t even really started, but would be eventually. he didn’t have to get it right tonight.

he thought about where the dragon would go, curling across the top, all teeth and shadow. where lucas and dustin would stand, tiny but unbreakable. where el would send that burst of light from her hands.

and then…

there would be a space beside them.

empty now. waiting.

will swallowed, throat tight. he couldn’t bring himself to sketch the shape of mike yet. not tonight. maybe not for a long time. but there was a place for him, in the world will wanted to paint. that felt… important.

he dragged the brush in one last line before his hand started to shake too much to keep going.
the painting was nothing right now - a handful of blue and the faintest ghost of outlines. it would take weeks. maybe months. maybe forever.
but he’d begun.

and beginning was the closest thing to hope will could give himself.

he set the brush down, leaned back, and stared at the barely-there image. his eyes burned again, but not in the same way as before. not sharp. not breaking.

just human.

the room was quiet. soft. his breathing steadier than it had been all day.

will let the quiet settle around him like a blanket.

maybe tomorrow he’d check the computer.

maybe tomorrow he’d be brave.

for tonight, starting was enough.