Work Text:
Castle Byers has never been this cold.
Even in the winter months, Will and Jonathan would dutifully cover the fortress with tarps to keep snow out, and plenty of blankets inside to fight the outside chill. Will never spent long at Castle Byers in the winter anyway, much preferring to spend the cold months in the comforting warmth of Mike's basement, wrapped in soft blankets and surrounded by laughter.
That warmth, felt only just days ago, seems like a distant memory now, something unattainable, out of reach. The blankets beneath Will are damp and cold, leeching the last of his body heat from him. His teeth chatter as he sings softly to himself, trying to focus on anything but the throbbing ache in his limbs, his head, his stomach.
"If I go, there will be trouble," he mumbles, taking another breath of frigid air. "And if I stay, there will be double. S-so c'mon and let me know, should I s-stay or should I go?"
Will's short-lived reverie is harshly broken by the sharp sound of a snapping branch. His heart leaps to his throat as he bolts upright, despite the fatigue weighing down his limbs. He tries to keep his stuttering breaths as quiet as possible, like prey hidden in the underbrush. Like a child hidden under the bed, from his belligerent drunk of a father.
At least I'm used to hiding, he thinks deliriously, inching backwards towards his gun as the snapping of branches gets closer, and closer, and closer. The wet, clicking growls of the monster reverberate off the trees in the otherwise empty clearing.
Then, the noises stop.
Will holds his breath, heart hammering in his chest as he watches the demogorgon's shadow pass by the outside of his little haven. He's eerily reminded of how wild animals hunt; silent until they strike.
And strike it does.
The quiet air is suddenly filled with the vicious sound of splitting wood, and the high-pitched screeching of the demogorgon as it unfurls it's jaws at him, displaying it's rows of sharp, dripping teeth. Will reacts immediately, the adrenaline giving life to his sluggish body as he grabs the gun from the corner, cocking it and aiming right for the monster's open maw. He presses the trigger without hesitation, and wastes no time in running once the creature is reeling back and shrieking in agony.
The sound echoes around him as he runs, but begins to distort the closer it gets. No longer is it the shrill cry of an otherworldly monster, but a far more familiar voice, one that keeps his legs pumping faster still.
"Get back here, William!" His father screams from behind him, vile and angry and dangerous. "Get back here and face me like a man, before I fucking kill you! Like all those other faggots on the news! Do you hear me? Do you hear me?"
Will chokes on his own breath, fighting down the bile rising in his throat, feeling hot tears run in rivulets down his hollow cheeks. He raises a hand to wipe them away, when suddenly his foot snags a tree root, sending him sprawling to the forest floor with a cry.
Only, it's not dirt he falls upon, but asphalt.
Will scrambles upright, ready to keep running, but the thundering footsteps behind him are gone, as is the booming sound of his father's voice. The gun in his hand has been replaced with a trick-or-treating bag, his sodden jacket having somehow transformed into his Ghostbusters costume.
He looks around at the houses around him, eyes darting down the empty street.
"Mike?!" He screams, no, sobs, into the empty night air. "Mike! Mike!"
A hand grabs his shoulder, and he turns around with a gasp, meeting the warm brown eyes of Mike himself. Will relaxes at the sight of him, the sinking feeling in his stomach replaced with butterflies.
It's odd though, because Mike isn't in his costume like Will is. He's dressed in a smart brown jacket, blue vest and black slacks, looking at Will with an adorably confused expression. He opens his mouth to say something, but Will is distracted, taking in the sight of Mike in his formal attire.
"Helloo?? Earth to Will?" Mike asks, furrowing his brows and lightly shaking his shoulder.
"S-Sorry," Will manages, shaking his head. "What were you saying?"
Mike rolls his eyes. "I said, you're going to miss mine and El's dance. Come on!"
Before Will can protest, Mike grabs his wrist, tugging him towards one of the buildings on the street. He opens the front door as though it were his own house, and tugs Will inside. Will opens his mouth to argue that he isn't dressed for a dance, he's still in his costume for Christ's sake, but his voice dies in his throat when they step into the house.
Rather than entering someone's living room, they're greeted with the sight of Hawkin's Middle School gymnasium, decorated to the nines for the Snow-Ball.
Mike turns to Will, a grin spread across his cheeks. "You can record it, right?"
"Record... what?"
"Mine and El's dance, of course!" Mike laughs, causing a sharp stab to Will's stomach. "I'm gonna ask her to marry me."
"M-Marry?!" Will chokes, his heart dropping to his feet. "But we're only 13!"
"So?" Mike shrugs. "We'll just be engaged until we're 18. You'll be my best man, and we can play the video at the wedding. It'll be, like, super romantic."
Will wants to argue further, but he's not sure he can get words out without crying, so he just nods and sits down in the nearest chair. The weight in his hand has once again changed, and instead of his trick-or-treating bag, he's holding Bob's video camera.
Mike gives him a thumbs up and walks towards the dance floor, where El stands waiting. She's dressed in a blue floor-length gown, like a princess. Will's throat closes up, and he lifts Bob's camera up to obscure his tear-filled eyes. He presses record, following Mike and El across the dance floor for what feels like hours, but must only be minutes. When Mike gets down on one knee, Will's heart feels like it's being viscerally ripped in half. What comes out of his mouth makes it even worse.
"Crazy together, right?" Mike asks El, and it feels like Will is being burned alive again, every cell in his body suddenly full of roiling, molten lava.
The room melts away as his vision goes dark, but the searing, agonizing feeling remains, and he can hear the screams torn from his raw throat. He's vaguely aware that he's in a hospital stretcher, can hear nurses around him shouting numbers and asking him where it hurts, --everywhere--- but all he can do is writhe and sob for Mike, Mike, Mike-
"Mike!" Will gasps, eyes flying open as he sits upright in his makeshift bed on the couch, his heart pounding against his ribs. He clenches the blanket in his fists, eyes scanning the basement as they adjust to the dark.
That's right, I'm at Mike's house, Will thinks sluggishly, scrubbing at the tears clinging to his eyelashes. He takes deep, shuddering breaths and wraps his blanket --Mike's blanket-- around himself, in an attempt to self-soothe. I'm with mom and Jonathan. Not at the lab. Not at the Snow-Ball. I'm okay. I'm okay.
Will looks over to where his mom is asleep on the other couch, breathing a shaky sigh of relief that he hadn't woken her up. He's thankful that Jonathan, who had always been a light sleeper, is well out of earshot in Nancy's room. He's not sure he would have the mental fortitude to explain that no, this wasn't a terrifying dream-prophesy from Vecna, but a stupid and incoherent nightmare about Mike and El getting married.
The memory of the dream causes a fresh wave of heartache and grief, and Will finds himself quietly creeping off the couch, padding quietly up the basement stairs before he can convince himself otherwise.
I need to see Mike, his sleep-addled brain supplies, as he slips out the door. I don't want to be alone. I want him here with me.
Will's breath is still shaky as he creeps across the kitchen tiles, avoiding the creaky areas he knows by heart. He's already up the first flight of stairs, his next steps hesitating on the landing, when he starts to second-guess himself.
What am I doing? He's probably asleep. It's the middle of the night, Will scolds himself, staring at the floor. You're being a baby, it's just a stupid nightmare. You dealt with them alone before, you don't need to bother-
"Will?" comes a soft voice from halfway down the stairs.
"Mike?" he asks, unable to keep the tremor out of his voice as he looks up in surprise. He swallows thickly, trying to think of an excuse for his visit, while Mike descends the stairs quietly to stand next to Will.
"Mhm. Couldn't sleep," Mike explains, meeting Will's eyes with a shy smile. "I was sort of hoping you'd be awake."
"Oh," whispers Will. He feels his ears turn pink, and is thankful that Mike can't see him blush in the dim lighting. He nervously fidgets with the hem of his shirt, eyes darting to the floor. "I- um. Had a nightmare. I didn't wanna..."
"Be alone?" Mike asks, softly. Will hums in agreement, and Mike reaches down, taking his hand gently and meeting his eyes again. "Me neither. Come to my room?"
Will nods, quietly following Mike's lead up to his bedroom, their hands still clasped tight. The bedside lamp is already on, but Mike leads him straight to his bed as though they were still half-blind in the dark. Will doesn't have a chance to offer to make a bed on the floor, and he's not sure if he still should.
Would that be weird? Will thinks to himself, climbing onto the bed with Mike following. Is it weird to share a bed at our age? Is it weird that I'm in here at all?
"Hey," Mike hums, covering them both with the thick comforter and turning to Will. "You're thinking too hard, and all on your own. Are you okay? Was it a... Vecna-mare?"
Will snorts at the name, despite his nerves. "No, not a Vecna-mare. Just a regular old nightmare, same old. You know, compared to the Vecna dreams, I'm actually thankful for the regular old night terrors."
"You wanna tell me about it?" Mike asks, and Will shakes his head, horrified at the prospect of telling him that the worst part of the nightmare was Mike proposing to his now-ex girlfriend. Immolation and demogorgon included.
"It was really stupid," mumbles Will, his face warm again, and hopefully not visible in the dim lamplight. "I don't even know why it made me so upset."
"I promise, your nightmare can not be more stupid than some of mine," swears Mike. At Will's confused look, he grins and continues. "One time, I had a nightmare where Mr. Clark was having an affair with Dustin's mom. And another time, I had a nightmare that Hopper worked at Scoops Ahoy, and he wore the sailor uniform and everything. And it was really tight on him, but in a bad way, the buttons were really hanging on for dear life--"
Will can't help the giggle that bubbles out of his throat, and Mike grins at the sound. "See? You're nightmare can't be as stupid as that."
Will hesitates before speaking, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Mike follows the movement with rapt attention, before bringing his eyes back up to meet Will's own.
"In my dream, I was in the Upside Down," Will starts, deciding to omit the more embarrassing details of his dream. "Not a Vecna dream, a memory. I was 12, hiding from the demogorgon. I shot it, like in reality, but in my dream it turned into my dad. Chasing me, screaming at me. I escaped from him somehow, but I was back in Hawkins Lab. On the hospital stretcher, burning alive." His voice breaks. "Calling for you."
He takes a shuddering breath in, and Mike doesn't hesitate before pulling Will in closer, causing his breath to hitch. He doesn't know what to do, and he's hyperaware of Mike's arm wrapped around his torso, tucking Will against his chest. It's like how they held each other when Will had nightmares as a child, before the Upside Down. It's so opposite of their awkward hug in California, and Will doesn't know what that means.
"The next time I see your dad, I'm gonna kill him," Mike mumbles, his tone serious. At Will's snort in response, he pulls his head back to look at the other boy properly, brows furrowed. "I'm serious, Will. I'm not letting that piece of shit anywhere near you, end of the world or not. He'll have to go through me first."
"Ooh, Michael the Brave, my Paladin in shining armor," Will teases playfully, glancing up at Mike with laughter in his eyes. "Lonnie stands no chance."
"Damn straight," Mike murmurs, pulling Will in close again so his head is tucked beneath Mike's chin. "A Paladin protects his Cleric. I take my job as the heart very seriously, you know?"
Will is glad his face isn't visible from Mike's perspective, as he can feel his face flush crimson. Judging by how hot his ears are, and Mike's nearly imperceptible huff of laughter, he assumes the other boy can feel the heat of Will's blush against his neck. He takes mercy on him though, and doesn't mention it.
They fall into an easy silence after that, Mike slowly running his fingers through Will's hair, his other arm wrapped around the smaller boy's waist. The soft pattering of rain outside and steady beat of Mike's heart make Will's eyelids feel heavier with each passing moment, and it's not long before his eyes flutter closed and his breath evens out.
It must be his nearly-asleep imagination, but Will feels a light, fleeting press of something soft and warm against his forehead.
Something like a kiss.
When Joyce steps out of the basement in the morning, it's with a troubled expression, a walkman in one hand and headphones in the other. She makes her way to the kitchen and scans the room, but the only inhabitant is Karen, nursing a mug of coffee at the table.
"Have you seen Will yet today?" Joyce asks, an edge of worry in her voice. "His bed was empty when I woke up, and he left these in the basement. I know I can be a bit of a... helicopter mom, as Will would put it. I just... wish he would take the walkman with him."
"I've been like that with Nancy lately, too," Karen assures softly, setting her mug down. "I haven't seen him this morning. Have you checked Mike's room?"
"Mike's room...?" Joyce repeats, almost whispered to herself. She glances at the staircase leading up to the bedrooms, then back at Karen. "Did you hear him go upstairs last night?"
Karen shakes her head, a small smile playing on her lips. "No, but... old habits die hard, or so they say."
Joyce nods, albeit confused as to what Karen had meant by old habits, and makes her way to the staircase, padding up quietly as to not wake the other members of the household. Mike's door had been left slightly ajar, and Joyce prays that the hinges don't squeak as she slowly opens it to peer into the room.
At first, the only thing she sees is Mike's sleeping form on the bed, sending a momentary spike of panic to her heart. The thought that Will is really not in the house, that he may have been taken by Vecna, Henry, One, whatever, in his sleep, makes Joyce so terribly anxious that she feels nauseated. Though the panic ends as soon as it had begun, and she lets out a breath of relief when she spots the head of brown hair tucked beneath Mike's chin.
Will is nearly concealed under the thick down comforter, with Mike's arms holding the smaller boy close to his chest, as though shielding him from the world. It reminds Joyce of how Jim wraps himself around her at night, of how Jonathan and Nancy fall asleep curled together on the couch sometimes.
She feels tears of relief spring to her eyes; knowing that Will, against all the odds thrown at him, had found his person. That his person was Mike, the same boy who had asked to be his friend on the playground. Who had been by Will's side for a decade, through thick and thin, who, above all else, made Will feel safe.
Joyce blinks back her tears, slowly stepping back into the hallway and shutting the door until only a sliver of space is left. She walks quietly back into the kitchen, where Karen looks up with a tired smile.
"All good?" she asks, and Joyce nods.
"You were right. Mike's room."
Karen nods back, staring at her coffee with a contemplative expression before looking back at Joyce, almost hesitantly.
"You know," she starts, her voice soft. "When they were kids, Will would sleep in there if it was just those two. If it was the Party over, everyone slept in the basement. If it was just Will, they slept in Mike's room." She lets out a soft laugh. "No one else got that treatment. Will's always been special to Mike. When... when they found Will's body, in the quarry, it was like his world ended. He was beyond devastated."
She takes a sip of her coffee, mulling over her next words. Joyce can only nod, knowing that Mike had taken the news the hardest after herself and Jonathan.
"I just... want him to be happy," Karen finishes, her voice breaking at the end. "No matter what anyone else thinks, I want him to be happy. God, I get so emotional about that boy." She huffs, sending a smile at Joyce. "You know, Ted and I... didn't know about El. That you adopted her, that Mike was dating her. I mean, he talked about seeing his girlfriend in Lenora, but... when he mentioned staying with you guys, Ted and I kind of... assumed his girlfriend was Will."
They both burst into a fit of giggles, and Joyce wipes a tear from her eye, relieved and grateful that Karen had the same mindset as her; that their sons deserved to be happy together. Other's opinions be damned.
When their laughter dies down, Joyce sighs happily. "With everything going on, it's kind of nice to gossip about something normal. Do you think they're... aware? Of their feelings?"
Karen opens her mouth to respond, but Jonathan's voice pipes up from the kitchen entrance.
"Who, Mike and Will? No way. We'll need to lock them in a room, or they'll dance around each other forever."
Joyce turns in surprise, to see her eldest son striding into the kitchen with Nancy, a playful grin on his face. "I mean, that's essentially what Murray did to Nance and I," he lifts up their intertwined fingers proudly. "Worked out pretty well for us, I think."
"Oh my God, Murray," Joyce groans, rubbing her temples in exasperation. "We'll just get him to talk to the boys. He seems to love giving out relationship advice."
"The only downside is giving him the satisfaction," Jonathan laughs, pouring himself and Nancy two mugs of coffee, before sliding in next to her at the table. "Next thing you know, he'll psychoanalyzing Eddie and Steve."
"The worst part is that it would work on them as well," Nancy huffs, taking a slow sip off her coffee and leaning into Jonathan. "I vote in favor the Murray thing."
"For Mike and Will, or Steve and Eddie?"
"Both."
Joyce chuckles, turning to Karen. "You think we could fit an awkward dinner party into our apocalypse plans?"
Karen only grins back.
"I thought you'd never ask."