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There wasn't much time left.
The hours were dragging on, whilst simultaneously sliding past rapidly, and all Mike could feel was the weight of the clock he kept in his basement. The sound was driving him crazy. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. It matched the pace of his heartbeat; he could feel it weighing on his sleeves and his chest and his throat.
God, he wanted it to be over. He wanted all of this to be over.
The basement was quiet, other then the soft breathing of his friends, and that dreaded clock. Everyone had long since stopped talking. It was their final chance to rest before this all came to a head, and they all knew it. A bigger pessimist might have thought it was their final chance at rest entirely.
Mike was absolutely not thinking about that.
Absolutely not.
Tomorrow was November the 6th.
His eyes looked down to Will, where he was buried in blankets on the floor, just a metre in front of him. Shit, shit, shit, this is not going to go well, this is not-
He was trying desperately not to think about it. He needed to not think about it.
His glanced around the room, desperate for some kind of distraction. Anything. El was in the corner, with her sister, Kali. Mike still had no idea what to think of her. Whenever El had mentioned her in the past it was clear there was pain there; there was a connection he simply would never be able to understand. Right now, for once, El looked her age. Her eyes were closed and the tension had drained from her shoulders. The fury and fear and grief he'd seen consume her over the past two years had temporarily melted away. In its place was a young girl and her big sister. Kali's arm lay protectively on El's. They were both sleeping, or at least pretending to be.
Mike's throat filled with something. It took him a few seconds to recognise it as relief. El is going to be okay.
If we make it through this, he thought bitterly, before forcing himself to correct himself. When we make it through this. He couldn't afford the pessimism now, not when it was his faith and fight that had helped to pull the party through the most recent horrors.
With his parents- Holly- Will-
The constant fear for them all was threatening to devour him. The determination that they would win was the only thing keeping him standing.
Determination? Delusion? Mike didn't care. He had to keep on believing.
He needed to stop. Thinking. About. It.
Max and Lucas were curled up together on the sofa. Mike still hadn't processed that yet either, not fully. He hadn't processed most things. Max finally opening her eyes, Max grasping onto Lucas as if he was the only object in the universe, Max explaining Henry's memories, Henry's plan... It all felt like a fever dream. It had only been 24 hours.
It was bittersweet, really. The surge of happiness and excitement (and sweet relief thank fuck Max is alive oh fuck-) at seeing Max awake again only to then acknowledge that she was now awake in time for even more danger. Their eyes had met when he finally went to greet her. Between them was this strange kinship, and a silent acknowledgement. Max had always seen right through him. In the past it had caused them to collide furiously. Not now. Any petty arguments between them felt decades ago. He had been so happy to see her, but also terrified. Another friend in the firing line.
But now... a small part of him felt twisted whilst watching them. He was ridiculously happy for them, honestly, but seeing Lucas' arm wrapped tightly around Max, seeing her head buried in his chest as if nothing could hurt her there...
Mike's eyes swept back down to Will, again. Inevitably.
He shut his eyes before the train of thought could catch him. Shit shit shit shit shit-
Because he should be feeling that about El. But the both of them knew that he didn't. Couldn't. And she didn't feel it either, he was fairly certain. They'd been teetering on this fragile balance of... I care about you, I need you in my life, I love you, but I'm not in love-
Somewhere between From Mike, From El, and right then and there, something had irreparably broken between the two of them. Or more like, it had forced them to realise it had never been there in the first place. Yet, despite them both knowing, neither of them had acknowledged it yet. Maybe neither of them had had the courage.
It also just hadn't felt like a priority, given everything else. They still cared about each other, and they still enjoyed each others company, so why change? There were more pressing things to deal with then processing that whole mess of emotions. Yet now, with the potential end of the world stood on their doorstep instead of looming ominously at them from down the road, it had never felt more suffocating.
There had been another reason he had felt he had to keep up this charade, for the both of them. If El had needed him... If she really believed...
There had been the painting. Up until yesterday.
"Look, El- I know it's all going to work out. It has to. We have to believe it, this time."
"This isn't one of your campaigns Mike," she had said. "You don't get to write the ending. Not this time."
And it hadn't made sense - it hadn't ever made sense, really, but- "You said I need to inspire us all to fight on, to act as the heart- we need to-"
Mike had cut off, because El was frowning. Not in disagreement. In confusion.
"What are you talking about, Mike?"
"The... Painting? Being the heart of the party...? You said you..." He trailed off. El's face remained confused.
She didn't know.
And Mike's stomach twisted. It was as if all the realisations he'd been desperately suppressing had collapsed at once - as if a weakened dam had finally burst. He was a deer in the headlights, with seconds left. He was a rabbit trapped in an avalanche. Nowhere left to go.
There was really nowhere left to go.
Fuck.
The painting could wait. If he thought about it any more, he knew he wouldn't be able to stop. He just couldn't go down that road yet. There wasn't the time.
His eyes opened again. They landed on Will. For a moment, Mike was transfixed. His gentle breaths, soft hair fanned across his forehead, his-
He needed to stop thinking.
He couldn't stop thinking.
Whenever he had a moment of silence, he just kept replaying the scene. Gentle Will, bright Will, soft Will... saving his life. It whirred round and round in his head, as it had for the past few days. He wasn't sure any part of him would get over it. If he closed his eyes, he would be there. If he-
He closed his eyes. He was there, again.
Mike had never been through so many emotions in such a short span of time. He had a mission. Protect the kids. Get the kids to safety. It was as if his whole life has been leading to this moment; he could save them, even if he couldn't save his past self.
But they had failed. He had done everything, and still failed. They had failed, and they had been weakened, and Mike had had nothing left to give. Maybe the optimism wasn't working, maybe the drive wasn't strong enough...
He had seen Vecna, the source of all their misery, for the first time. The creature that puppeteered this entire nightmare. He had seen him skewer and explode the military as if they were meagre flies in his periphery.
For a moment, he had seen him with Will. Will floating.
Mike's heart had stopped. His heart had stopped.
And then, just like that, Vecna was gone. Will was back on the ground- he's alive thank god thank everything thank- and Mike had barely a second of relief before he saw the monster and before he saw his whole life flash before his eyes.
He always had thought that had been a cliché, before. But he had seen it.
Nancy, aged 12, smiling in a blue dress, as he showed her his latest figurines. His parents, both happy, as he enthused about his new friend Lucas. Holly, hiding in his room after another nightmare, but now giggling as he distracted her with stories of superheroes. El, wide eyed, earnestly telling him about the latest movie she had seen. The party, roaring in laughter, at the NPCs in his latest campaign. Will holding his hand the first night he heard his parents screaming at each other. Will shyly handing over his first drawing of Mike the Brave. Will running around, casting spells with a giant stick. Will being magic. Will laughing, earlier that day, glowing from head to toe in the field. Magic. Will. Will. Will.
And then- as quickly as he had seen the Demogorgon, as quickly as he had a chance to flinch away-
Will.
Magic.
There was the second of shock, the second of, oh I really must be dead, and he really must be magic, but after that passed there was simply no mistaking it. Will had always been magical. But now he was controlling it.
He watched in awe as the Demogorgon collapsed at his feet. He watched with immense pride as Will fell to his knees, eyes rolling back down, lit by fire from every angle. Sorcerer. His sorcerer. (This thought, among many others, would be filed away in secret. Nobody had to know- especially not Mike).
Will had locked eyes with him, and in that moment, time had frozen. It had just been the two of them. Mike and Will. Will and Mike.
In that moment, Mike could see himself letting go. Unlocking that box. Stepping free from the misery and repression and fear that had held him back for years.
It had all come crashing down right away, of course. Before he knew it, Will had fallen, and Mike had been running. Sprinting. His heart stopped for the second time in fear, in panic, in-
Shit.
When he opened his eyes, he found himself staring at Will, again. Honestly, if he weren't so scared about letting his feelings run free and wild, he might never have stopped staring.
It was vulnerable times like this that Mike would desperately think, why us? Why do we have to save the world? For all of his planning and storytelling and sense of adventure, part of Mike ached so strongly to be normal. Part of him would always be the 12 year old boy staring at his best friend in wonder, hoping he would never have to stop.
But right now he wasn't thinking. No. He couldn't. He wouldn't. Thinking about it wasn't going to help anyone tomorrow.
He hadn't been able to stop watching Will since that night. More so than ever. He was so proud and so confident in his abilities, and he would never stop him from fighting alongside the rest of them, but that didn't stop him from feeling terrified. The thought of losing Will-
The panic rose again. Bubbling up, like it might claw its way up and through his throat and-
He snapped his eyes away and back up to the ceiling. In another world, he might have never stopped staring at Will. In this one, he wasn't sure he could afford that luxury.
Why us why us why us why-
Stop.
Mike stifled a sigh. He was never going to sleep. Not tonight. He slowly pushed himself from the ground, and tiptoed his way through the room, careful not to stir any of his friends.
Upstairs gave another vicious reminder, and another wave of feelings that he still didn't feel ready for. The house was still wrecked. Every turn was another slap in the face- this is someone else you might lose. This is where your mother nearly-
He was trying so hard.
He just had to survive today.
He made it to the kitchen sink, a glass gripped tightly in his hands. He didn't remember grabbing it. He was too busy trying not to look. The whole place was a horrific crime scene. The military had taped it up, placed their mark all over his home, and then been too distracted to clear it up again. Bigger fish to fry, it seemed.
For a second he closed his eyes. He was rewarded with a glimpse of his parents. Of Nancy covered in their mother's blood. Fuck, fuck, fuck-
At least they didn't damage the clock, he thought bitterly, as the ticking rang in his ears, fingers seconds away from the tap-
Suddenly, Mike had never felt so cold-
The glass slipped from his fingers. He spun round desperately.
He never heard the glass smash.
It was dark- wait- where was the kitchen- he'd just been-
He grabbed at the kitchen counter behind him, desperately, but it was still there, it was... Slimey?
Mike swallowed. Fuck. Fuck. How had he- where was he-
He spun again, back to the sink, but before he knew it he was in a corridor, face to face with a grandfather clock. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh-
"Will?" He called out, suddenly desperate for his best friend. "Will?"
Nobody responded.
He took a tentative step forward, eyes stuck on the clock. And then another.
His hands were shaking. He balled them into fists.
Mike the Brave. He just had to pretend, like he always did.
Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe the nightmares he knew plagued Will were also coming for him now. Maybe...
He slid his eyes shut. Please, please, please-
When he opened his eyes, he was no longer in the corridor. The sound of rain was almost deafening. Everything looked grey. He was staring himself- a smaller self. With a yellow striped shirt and an expression of pain, staring into the rain, lost and alone -
He would have just watched his best friend cycle away from him.
Younger Mike just stood there, tears beginning to well up.
Older Mike knew that he would stop them before they fell. He remembered it happening seconds before he witnessed it. He remembered the feeling, he remembered the pain, he remembered pushing everything emotional away from him. Again and again. Again and again and again.
It's not my fault you don't like girls.
Mike felt sick, he felt sick, he felt terrified, he felt angry, he felt desperate, he felt-
Shame.
As quickly as the word surfaced in his mind, he found himself in the basement again. The split second of relief vanished as quickly as it arrived. He was still in his memories. A younger Mike. A younger Will.
Dressed as the Ghostbusters.
They were smiling at each other. Then they were looking away, they were both ashamed-
The shame-
Mike was filled with ice.
Little Will and little Mike began to melt away, sinking into the sofa cushions. Everything felt so twisted, so wrong, and older Mike felt himself suddenly yelling, trying to reach out and grab them but he couldn't move and-
Something choked him. Engulfed him. There was something scratching at the back of his throat and he could only stare helplessly as his childhood melted into something dark and repugnant. He was restrained, he could feel hands on his wrists, arms, shoulders. His eyes were forced open. All he could do is watch as they continued to vanish-
The lights flickered, and all of a sudden, he was at school. It was loud. Children were laughing, and yelling, and chasing each other-
A very slightly older Will was laughing, his whole face lit up, at something Dustin had said. It sounded like music. The younger Mike was next to him, staring, wide eyed at Will-
He recognised the expression. Wonder. Awe.
No, no, no-
The background chatter died down. He couldn't avert his gaze. Two versions of himself, trapped by his own feelings. He stared at his younger self in anguish. In three years time, you'll still be hiding this. You don't even know what it is, yet.
The sudden quiet made the sound of his heartbeat louder; it rose up and filled his ear drums. It was all he could hear.
Disgusting. Disgusting. Shame.
Were they his thoughts? He couldn't tell, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't-
Mike still felt trapped. Like he might never move again. Desperately, he looked down, and saw that he was wrapped in vines. Living, pulsing, disgusting vines. It was enough to push him over the edge, and a scream began to build in his throat as he looked up and-
It had changed again. The scream died in his throat.
The Snowball. Little Mike was sat down. He was staring, staring straight at Will. Dancing with a girl.
The vines released him all of a sudden and he collapsed to his knees. Maybe the vines had never been there. He couldn't even begin to tell what was real anymore. It didn't matter-
All he could do was hopelessly remember the fear as he watched his younger self. The fear of knowing he wanted something that was wrong. He didn't understand back then what he had wanted. He just knew it was wrong, he knew he had to hide it, he had to-
Mike-
Mike startled, and twisted his head, but the room of dancing children began to turn to smoke. Someone might have been running towards him-
He blinked. He was somewhere else. Neon lights, empty room.
Shit. He slowly rose back to his feet, shaking. Maybe there was a way out of the labyrinth. He just had to look. He slowly turned, desperate for some exit sign, but froze when he saw her.
She was sitting in front of him in the centre of the room. Plaid shirt. Patchwork dress. Roller rink.
This wasn't- this wasn't the real memory, none of this could be-
She was hunched over, on her knees, in the centre of the room.
Mike reached out-
Mike!
As soon as his arm flung forward, the scene shifted again. They were on the hill now. Setting up Cerebro. There was another version of himself, only this one wasn't staring at Will. This one was intentionally avoiding his gaze. It somehow hurt more.
This Mike was arm and arm with Eleven. Everyone else in the scene was static; he couldn't make out their faces.
Except for him.
This younger Will watched as the two of them walked down the hill. Their laughter floated up, only it sounded mocking now. A thousand knives launched into his stomach.
He was absolutely going to throw up.
Will's face was contorted. Anger? Fury? Disgust? Mike didn't get any time to figure it out before the hill had vanished again. He spun around, disorientated, because he was suddenly surrounded by fluorescent lights and beeping and-
His mother. Jagged, angry marks across her throat, her chest. Drenched in her own blood. Surrounded by hospital staff, he only caught a glimpse... He reached for her and- His father, next, also swarmed by staff, cold, pale, almost lifeless, the ugly wound on his head-
You couldn't even save them...
He swallowed. The ice feeling started again. It started at his fingertips, and trickled it's way up.
Every limb felt numb. Empty. Devoid.
Your sister is gone and you can't even find her...
Just like you struggled to find him.
Just as Mike managed to drag his eyes from his father, he saw the body bag across the corridor. 12 year old Will, fake Will, pulled from the lake, now in the hospital. They pulled out another body bag. Holly-
You did this. You did this.
The body bags were shoved aside, the stretchers sent in opposite directions. Someone was pushing them-
You're going to make them all suffer.
Mike couldn't be sure which were his thoughts and His thoughts at this point. He wasn't sure it even mattered now. The shame was going to suffocate him. He might just die here, frozen in place, numb to the world, unable to scream or cry or laugh or-
Maybe if he just closed his eyes, it would all be over. Maybe
Miraculously, it worked. The beeping quietened down again. The air tasted less sharp. He took one deep breath in, before chancing opening them again and-
Neon lights again. Not again, not again
He was back on the roller rink, only there were two of them now. Side by side. Matching plaid. They stared at him with contorted expressions.
"You used me" Eleven spat. The ice had spread to his spine and his eyes widened. Eleven was advancing on him now, a skate in her hand. He wanted to deny it more than anything, but his throat betrayed him. It was filled with sandpaper. There were no words left.
I didn't mean to, he thought desperately, and that was all he could do. His hands were in fists, he was shaking. The tears were coming now, he knew, they were finally threatening to break through his barricades. They'd been so beautifully built, for years. Protection from the world. If no one can see in, nothing can hurt him. What a joke.
"You called me a monster, but look at you." The thing that looked like Eleven sneered.
I never said that- I never thought that-
But you were scared of her.
His and Vecna's thoughts were becoming fractionally easier to distinguish, but it was still difficult; the years of self loathing, suppression, and doubt meant his inner dialogue wasn't often so kind to himself. Vecna didn't have to dig deep to hurt him. It had all been bubbling at the surface since the day Will went missing.
"You see Michael? You see what happens?" His father's words rang in his ears as he took a step back, terrified. The Fake-Eleven continued to pursue with her roller skate.
Maybe from before then.
There was only so far he could back away until he hit the wall. I'm sorry El, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I never meant to, I never wanted to, you were my friend and I still needed you, I've been so scared of losing you-
He knew there wasn't much left to give until he was going to fully break down. As Fake-Eleven reached him, she swung back her skate, and instinctively Mike flinched. Hands over his head. He heard laughter, but felt no impact, and when he slowly lowered his hands the Fake-Eleven had vanished.
He barely managed to breathe again, before he looked to the side and saw Will, still standing there. Right where he left him, in the centre of the room.
Only it wasn't Will. It couldn't be. Will usually exuded light. He glowed. It must be from the pure goodness that radiated within him.
This Will was twisted. He wore an expression that Mike had never seen before, and would never want to see again on his best friend's face for a another second. It was furious, it was disgusted, it was venomous.
He just wanted it to stop. Please. Make it stop.
"What about us?" Called Fake-Will.
Mike's stomach dropped. To his feet. Once again. Not again. Please.
He remembered. He relived the panic from last time. What about us? What do you know? Have I been too obvious? How do you know? How do you...
Fake-Will walked towards him. Mike felt the first tear break free. He was going to lose it, he needed to get out of here, he needed to forget, he needed to think about something else, anything else...
"You're disgusting," Will said, as if it was a fact, as if he had commented on the weather. As if he believed it to be true. "What you've been thinking about me? It's disgusting. Shameful."
"Will," Mike whispered.
He knew it was fake. He knew it wasn't real. He knew he was just trapped somewhere, stuck in horrific memories, with horrific fake visions. But, but -
What if some of it was true-
Mike!
Nothing held back the tears now. They poured from him, the dam was broken, everything was broken, maybe it would be better if he-
MIKE!
Someone ran through Fake-Will, and he evaporated into smoke. Mike sobbed, his knees collapsed, and he sunk down back against the wall. He shoved his head into his hands. Please stop please stop please-
"Mike, please."
His head snapped up.
Eleven. Here to torture him again.
But-
No-
El was wearing the same clothes she'd been sleeping in, back in the basement- was that ever real? that feels like years ago- her hair shorter than in the memory, her eyes filled with panic.
"Mike," she said desperately, gripping at his shoulders. He flinched, Fake-Eleven's fury in his mind. "Mike you need to wake up."
He couldn't breathe, he couldn't-
"Mike," she repeated, shaking him slightly. "Please, just-"
Mike closed his eyes. Maybe if he just ignored it, maybe it would all go away. Maybe he could just forget everything again. Maybe they could be happy. Maybe they could be everything they pretended to be. Maybe he wouldn't be hurting everyone every time he opened his mouth. Or didn't open his mouth.
It was always say this, don't say this, love this person, not that person, stay strong, don't freak out, don't panic, just fit in, just stay quiet, just speak up-
"Mike."
The yelling didn't go away.
"Mike!"
Please, please, make it stop, make it-
"MIKE!"
... Will?
Mike opened his eyes, suddenly, and light flooded in. He gasped for air, and realised he was desperately shaking, crying, trembling-
He looked up and his eyes locked with Will's.
Will.
Will.
Real Will. At least, he thought. As Mike caught his breath, and tried to stop his trembling, he meekly raised a hand and prodded Will in the cheek. His face was so close. He could almost-
The pure panic in Will's eyes melted away to confused, relieved laughter, and he broke the eye contact to look across the room.
Mike took a few moments to re-orientate himself. They were back in his kitchen. He had never left the kitchen. He was laying on the floor. Will was kneeling by his head, one hand clutching at Mike's shoulder, as if he might lose him if he let go.
When he was slightly more confident that this was real and the world wasn't about to shift once again, Mike followed Will's gaze. He found El sitting against the cabinets, amongst the chaos, blindfold on, and nose bleeding.
The brief relief vanished to reveal more panic.
Shit, shit, how much did she see, what did she see, is she okay, is Will okay, am I okay? Did he get me? Is this real? Is he going to-
"Hey," a gentle voice snapped Mike out from his latest panic and his eyes shifted back up to see green ones filled with concern. Will gently brushed some hair from his cheek, swallowed, and then sat back on his feet for a second. "You're okay," Will said softly. "He tried to take you, but you're okay." He sounded like he was reassuring himself more than anything.
"How-" Mike winced as his voice sounded scratchy and hoarse. The tears hadn't stopped pooling and falling, but it was the least of his worries right now. "How did you-"
"I could sense him," he replied quietly, eyes falling to the floor. "I could see him, watching you, but it's like- like he could feel me watching, so he switched off the channel." Mike's gaze fell to watch Will play with his own sleeve almost subconsciously. "And then we heard the glass- I don't know- I don't know if he was just trying to distract us, or what. But El found you in there."
Mike closed his eyes. Fuck. Fuck.
So much for not thinking about it all.
He opened them when he felt her approach. He could barely look at her from the shame.
She crouched down, next to Will, at Mike's side. Her eyes were trained on Mike's face, and he had no idea what to think. Or what to say. He was still shaking but the tears had slowed to a stop. For now.
El placed her hand on Will's shoulder. Her eyes didn't leave Mike's face. "Can you give us a second?" She asked, quietly.
Mike trained his gaze back on Will, almost wanting to beg him to stay, so he didn't have to face this. Despite their usual silent communication, Will didn't get the signal. He nodded, slowly, but then he hesitated, and for one dumbstruck moment Mike thought he might reach to touch him again to- to do something. Instead, he slowed rose, and walked to the back door, grabbing his coat on his way out.
Mike stared after him, not knowing what to do. He couldn't face this. He couldn't-
"Mike," El said, ever so softly, and he burst into tears again.
"El, El, I'm so sorry, I'm so-"
The tears were inescapable now. He was drowning in them. He knew his face was red and scrunched up. He knew every single feeling he had tried to repress for four years, maybe longer, was attacking him all at once. He wanted to vanish. He wanted to disappear.
He managed to peek at her, and her sad expression hit him directly like a punch in the stomach. All he could feel was a sudden desperation to make sure she was okay, to make sure she knew he never intended to hurt her.
"I'm so sorry, you shouldn't have seen that- I shouldn't have done that- I've been trying, I've been trying for so long and I didn't mean to- I- I never wanted..."
El was still staring at him with wide eyes, and there was something like heartbreak there. Fuck, I read this all wrong earlier, she does need this, I'm the worst person, I'm-
"Mike," she spoke gently, and it shattered his heart. She reached for his face, cupped it lightly, and stared directly into his eyes. "Oh, Mike."
And it hit him. In the storm surge, in the tidal wave of pain and anguish, he saw El. He saw her. She was heartbroken. She was heartbroken for him.
Her hand fell from his face and instead she leaned over him and wrapped him in her arms, lifting him very slightly from the ground. "Mike. It's okay. It's okay."
The realisation washed through him, and he was frozen for a second, wondering why he suddenly felt so... Free?
El was the eye of the storm, holding him carefully. The internalised hatred and fury boiled inside of him, then simmered, and then stilled. He'd been so scared to lose her that they'd both had to pretend for all these years, just to keep the other around.
They never had to do that.
El wasn't leaving. El wasn't running away.
El was right here.
He was right here.
They had saved each other, more than once. He had waited for her. She had saved him again.
"It's okay," she repeated, squeezing him tightly, and he finally believed it.
His arms slowly wrapped around her, hugging her back, and trying to show her that whilst he might have lied about some things, he had meant the important parts: he cared for her. He cared for her so much.
He finally allowed himself to let go. He sobbed into her shoulder, body shaking, gripping her tightly. She held him back just as firmly, gently stroking his shoulder.
"I'm so sorry," he managed eventually, releasing her. She pulled back, rocking on her feet, and smiled just slightly.
"I mean it Mike. It's okay. We're okay. I understand."
"I-"
"We'll always be friends, Mike. I'm not going anywhere."
He stared at her, desperately, trying to drink it all in, to check she wasn't lying. "El, I- I just-" he closed his eyes and swallowed. "Thank you," he said instead, barely a whisper, as he opened his eyes again.
El shook her head. "No. Thank you, Mike. You don't realize how much-" she stopped for a second, thinking. "You don't realise how much you helped me. You gave me a home when nobody else would. We helped each other. We needed that, back then. We got to be teenagers. Stupid teenagers. We got to pretend for a while. I'm so… Happy, we had that. I'm not angry. I'm not upset." El let out a deep breath and laughed slightly, as if coming to her own realisation. "I think I was pretending too. I wanted to be normal, I wanted to be like everyone else... I just wanted to be a normal person for once."
Her words slowly wrapped around his mind, around his heart, acting as a cooling salve. He'd been too dismissive of El for years; maybe he'd never truly seen her. El was magical in her own right, and that had absolutely nothing to do with telekinesis.
"El. You're the strongest person I've met. You're the kindest person I've met."
She smiled at him, brightly, and Mike felt his world settle just slightly more.
For a moment of shame, he remembered getting it all wrong, saying the wrong thing over and over again, trying to keep up some kind of charade... They could have just been like this the whole time?
There was no point pondering it now.
She continued smiling, then reached out and squeezed his shoulder gently. "You need to talk to Will."
Mike crashed down back to earth just as quickly. The relief subsided to fear, to excitement, to want, to shame, to-
El must have seen it on his face as her smile turned slightly sad. "I know it's scary. But we don't know how tomorrow is going to go. You need to talk to him."
Mike eventually managed a nod.
He knew. He knew he needed to. But he had no idea what to say. "Hey, sorry I've been an ass for years, I was just desperately in love with you and that scared the fuck out of me to the point that I repressed the hell out of it and then I hurt myself, you, El, and all of our friends." He almost cringed at the thought.
And there was also... The fear. The fear of non reciprocation. He knew Will would never hate him, he knew Will would accept him, but would he...
He closed his eyes for a second.
"So yeah, El needs you Mike. And she always will."
It had always been Will.
When he opened his eyes, El was still softly smiling. She squeezed his shoulder one last time, before clambering to her feet. "Good luck," she whispered, and before Mike could respond she had spun on her heel and walked back to the basement stairs.
For a brief moment, he considered following her. He could join his friends in the basement. He could pretend to sleep, plagued by fear and anguish, and in the morning they could fight, and end this once and for all. His complicated feelings about Will could wait.
He didn't follow her. He slowly sat himself up, eyes trained on their back door, slowly trying to get the motivation to follow.
He could do this.
He had to do this.
When Mike grabbed his coat and slowly headed outside, he found Will sitting on the ground, his back against the wall, legs crossed in front of him. For a selfish moment, Mike just watched. He looked so peaceful, and so quiet. No-one would ever believe a boy that could carry such softness could ever rip a Demogorgon into pieces with his mind.
He must have sensed him, as after a few moments Will turned to face him. He blinked, worry beginning to settle on his features.
Mike wanted to kiss the worry lines that appeared between his eyebrows.
He needed to get a grip.
"How are you doing?" He asked gently as Mike lowered himself down next to him. He could feel his friends eyes' scanning over him desperately, searching for any traces of damage.
For a brief moment, he considered lying. It would be so easy to carry on avoiding everything. It would be so easy to just forget about it all until another day.
They might not have another day.
Mike could be as optimistic as he wanted, or needed, but there were some things he couldn't control. El had told him as much the previous day. But she had also told him to talk to Will. He needed to take hold of the one thing he did have control over.
"Not great," he admitted, looking back round to Will. He met his gaze steadily, stifling the urge to cower away. "Vecna did a number on me."
Will leaned to the side, angling himself so his shoulder pressed into Mike's. It felt grounding. Mike released a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. "Do you know what he wanted?"
He shook his head, but then hesitated. "I think he wanted to unnerve me, maybe. I don't know what would have happened if El hadn't found me." He shuddered slightly, turning his his head to face the garden instead. Will sat back up again, and Mike immediately missed the warmth of his shoulder. "Will, I was... I was almost ready to give in to him."
There was a small intake of breath next to him. "You know you're the bravest person I know, right?"
Mike's head snapped back round, meeting earnest eyes. They were both silent for a moment, before Will continued.
"That's what Vecna does. He takes the those... Moments that scare you the most, and he twists them to be worse. It's not your fault."
He felt his lip wobble slightly, and he could no longer meet his gaze. But he doesn't know. He doesn't know.
"Mike. It's not your fault."
In that moment, Mike knew he would believe anything Will fold him. He eventually nodded, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill over again.
"It was terrifying," he found himself whispering, feeling incredibly vulnerable. He hugged his elbows, leaning forwards. "I thought I might never escape. I thought- I thought he had me. Like with Max."
When he finally managed to look back at him, his best friend looked terrified. He quickly tried to control his expression, but Mike had already seen it. "I won't let that happen."
"I know. I know."
"None of us will, okay? Because it's all lies. Just because you see something that... Brings back bad memories, it doesn't mean that how you felt about them is real. The things he says aren't real."
Mike nodded, slowly.
Will searched his face, desperately trying to find some agreement. When he didn't seem satisfied, he continued. "He fuels himself on misery and sadness. He needs to lie to you so you believe him instead of the people that care about you. You need to make sure you don't fall for any of that. That's how he stops us from fighting him."
"Did he... Did he do the same with you?"
Will hesitated, before nodding. "Only briefly. He showed me... Moments I wasn't proud of."
They locked eyes. They both understood. Shame.
"We can't let him control us like this."
"We won't. Come daylight, it'll be over for him."
Mike cracked a brief smile at the thought. It really would be over. There really was an ending in sight. "You flipped it, anyway right? You changed the narrative."
"Yeah, I guess." Will said quietly, looking down. After a moment, Mike realised he was looking at both of their hands, sitting just centimetres apart. "I used happy memories. I reminded myself of joyful things, not whatever warped thoughts Vecna wanted to feed me."
"What kind of memories?"
"You know, like, childhood ones."
Mike found himself grinning slightly despite the situation. He could see a small blush forming on his friends' cheeks. "Was I there?"
"Yeah," he surprised him by responding instantly, and looking back up to meet his gaze. "Of course you were."
Despite all the turmoil still swirling inside of him, Mike couldn't help but beam at him. The kind of smile only Will really knew. Without thinking, Mike moved his hand across the ground, placing it next to Will's so their pinky fingers brushed.
Instant sparks. Will was watching him so carefully, and Mike would have done anything to get inside his head in that moment.
They were so close. If he wanted (he wanted, he wanted so badly) he could just lean across and-
Mike pulled the hand away and lifted it to his face. He scrunched up his nose and scrubbed briefly, as if he could scrape the overwhelming thoughts away. He needed to focus.
"So it's easy, right?" He said after a few moments of silence. "We forget the bad. Remember the happy. Kill Vecna. End the campaign."
Will laughed. "Yeah. Nice and easy. We just need to keep Vecna away from you again."
"Well at least we know El can kick him out of me when she's sitting right by me," Mike mused, trying not to think about what would happen if El wasn't there next time. If she was busy, for example, saving the world. He would just have to focus on the happy. That was much easier to consider with Will sitting right next to him.
"Yeah. That's true."
They fell silent. A peaceful, reflective silence. He was slowly forcing himself to accept that all of this hiding and pushing away his emotions was exactly what Vecna wanted. Which meant he couldn't do it anymore.
El knew now. It was time he started to tell everyone else.
And what better time than the end of the world?
If Vecna wanted to drag it out of him, he would just have to let it all out himself. Unload the gun. He just had to find the strength to do it.
But when he looked round, he could see a question brewing on Will's mind. Something was bothering him. "Will?"
Will hesitated, before looking straight ahead. "What did El want to talk about?"
Mike paused. "She saw some things. Some things I haven't really wanted to show anybody. Some things that didn't particularly reflect well on... on our relationship." He watched his friend chew his lip, clearly deep in thought.
"O-oh. But are you guys...?"
Will had been the only one to know about their strained relationship, but even he had only heard dregs. Mike had told him that things weren't the way they had been back at the start. When he had first confessed that he thought they might not stay together, Will had encouraged him to stay positive, that they would make things work out eventually. Just as he had in California. More recently, though, as it had continued to stagnate, Will had gotten quieter. He no longer pushed. He would just listen.
"We're - we're back to just being friends. Not just. Being friends." Mike frowned slightly, trying to get the words right. How could he word a break up that had never used the words in the first place? "I think it's best for both of us," he admitted, looking back round to Will.
Mike swallowed for a second. There was something in Will's eyes. Hope, maybe.
It was contagious. He found himself moving without his brains consent, shifting just slightly closer to him on the ground. If he leaned even slightly, they would be touching. There was something addictive about the way that Will momentarily looked down, flustered, so briefly that he would have missed it if he hadn't been staring.
"So you're both ... okay?"
"Yeah. I mean, when Vecna's dead I think we'll both be great."
Will laughed again, and Mike smiled, turning back to face ahead, and tilting his head up to stare up at the moon. Goddamn you Will Byers.
He really had to do this. It was now or never.
He wouldn't let anyone take these feelings away from him again.
"I'm so tired of hiding, Will," Mike said, so quietly he wasn't sure if he could hear him at all. He didn't dare look round to check, afraid his resolve with wither the second he caught sight of him. "I've been so scared. I don't want to be scared any more. I don't want him to take my- my feelings, and take my fear and twist them into something ugly. Not again."
Mike dared a glance at Will, and found himself swallowing at the intensity of his gaze. He didn't interrupt him.
"I've just- I think I've always known. How I feel." He took a deep breath. "About you. I thought it might drive me crazy. Maybe it did. I'm so sorry I was such an ass, back then, I was just so scared, and I didn't want to lose you, and I thought maybe if I tried to fit in... well, you know what happened. I always thought if Lucas told me I liked someone, then I must do, so I kept trying to make things works with El, but then it spiralled out of control..."
Will was still staring at him with giant soft eyes.
"But it was always you, Will. I don't think I'll ever... I don't think I'll ever feel about anyone else like this. I can't stop thinking about you, about kissing your stupid face, about spending all our time in my basement playing D&D and pretending everything is all okay again."
Did he really say that? Mike could feel his cheeks getting hotter. He couldn't take it back now.
"I'm sorry it took me so long to admit it, even to myself, and I'm sorry I'm saying this right now, with the absolute worst timing, but I think if I didn't tell you I might explode."
He still didn't respond. Mike felt his voice speed up the more he panicked. Will's eyes were locked on him, and Mike had no idea what he was thinking. He always knew what Will was thinking. What are you thinking, Will Byers?
"And I'm sorry if this changes things between us, I just- I guess I had to tell you. I have no idea how things are gonna go tomorrow- well, today, I guess- and I just... I mean, even if you don't feel the way I do-"
Will eyes widened just slightly, and Mike thought he might melt. Against his will, his eyes had slid briefly down to Will's lips. What had he been saying? He was so sure there had been something important... He snapped them back up again to meet Will's gaze as he heard a laugh.
"Mike-" Will was laughing, but his voice was the fondest Mike had ever heard anyone sound before. "That's so- that's stupid."
Mike stared, incredulous. "Hey-"
Will didn't let him finish or interrupt further. "No it's stupid." He grinned. (He's so gorgeous I'm gonna-) "That you thought I haven't been wanting to kiss you for years, that I haven't been crazy about you, Mike."
If anyone asked, later, that might have been the moment that killed Mike Wheeler. In the moment, all he could do was stare. Stare at Will Byers. Will Byers who was, apparently, crazy about him.
"Stupid," Will repeated, eyes brighter than the sun, and then the sun kissed him.
No, that might have been the moment.
For a second, Mike Wheeler's brain completely switched off. There was nothing: no overthinking, no overwhelming, no panicking, no suppressing. For a moment, he had his wish. He didn't have to think.
Will pulled back far too quickly, cheeks flushed, smiling shyly. "Mike," he whispered.
Oh, Mike would have hung the moon for that boy.
He would have fought every Demogorgon.
He would have lived in the upside-down for a hundred years.
He would have fought Vecna alone. He would have won.
Mike shook his head, and he knew his cheeks were just as pink as Will's. He knew he was likely still red and shiny from crying. He knew his eyes were swollen. He didn't care. "You think you're the crazy one."
Will laughed, again, and Mike couldn't take it anymore. He gently placed a hand on each of his cheeks, drunk in every centimetre of his face with his eyes, and pulled him back in.
Everything was electric. This time, he allowed himself to think. So this is what I've been missing, this is what it's meant to be. He thought about gently stroking the back of his neck, so he did. He thought about pulling Will closer to him, so he did. He thought about sliding a hand into his hair, so he did.
And the emotions flooded out. He let them.
Will was there to catch him.
All the fear, the longing, the need, the want, the grief, the anger, the desperation... He let it all go, he let it all wash away.
Will's arms were sturdy, wrapped around him like he never wanted to let go either. He was there. He was always going to be. He wrapped Mike up so tightly that fear couldn't even touch him in a million years.
They eventually broke apart, both gasping for air, both smiling, laughing, drunk on each other.
Mike had no idea how long they were sitting there like that, the only sound their gentle breathing, so close together that their breath intermingled in the crisp November air. They were in their own little bubble. Untouched by the state of the world, untouched by the fear, untouched by the apprehension of what the rest of the day would entail for them both.
He realized he was able to stare without stopping. For this moment, he had won, he was free, he could take exactly what he wanted.
"You're so beautiful," Mike found himself whispering eventually. He grinned at Will's flustered face. That might fuel him for decades.
"Shut up," he whispered back, but his eyes were glowing.
"Absolutely not. No chance. You think I've waited this long to - mmf-"
Will Byers had kissed him. Again.
Again. And again.
It didn't matter what the next day would bring, it didn't matter at all. This little moment was theirs. All of their memories were theirs. And their future... There was simply nobody in the universe that could take that away from them, either.
For every warped memory and every ounce of self-hatred that could be sent his way, Mike could chase it away within seconds by thinking of Will Byers in the moonlight, blushing, laughing, and his.
He would never have to steal another moment to stare at Will in secret anymore. He didn't have to wonder why us, because he knew they were the very people designed to defeat this fucker once and for all.
Why them? It had to be them. The sorcerer and his paladin. There was no anxiety left to be stolen from them, but they had everything left to fight for.
This was his campaign. This was his ending
Vecna couldn't make them face their shame, not anymore.
There was simply nothing shameful about loving Will Byers.
Neither of them moved out from their little bubble. At some point, Will had tucked himself into his side and curled up. His head has dropped and he softly slept on Mike's shoulder, brown hair tickling his cheek. At some point, Mike drifted too, resting gently on Will's head.
The sunrise woke eventually woke them. Everything hurt. Mike was physically and mentally exhausted, but the moment he looked round to Will, his heart filled with hope.
There was no time left until they had to face today. But there would be so many other days to wait for.