Chapter Text
The ground doesn’t crack, it gives up.
One second Mike is shouting Will’s name, the next his stomach lurches and the world folds in on itself, red lightning tearing the air apart. Mike’s fingers slip from Will’s wrist as the floor vanishes beneath.
The Demogorgon screeches,
And then they’re falling.
Will lands on his ankle, a sickening crack ripping the air from his lungs.
“Will!” Mike sounds faraway, as though he’s underwater. Muffled by the ringing in Will’s ears. He squeezes his eyes shut, unable to think of anything other than the burning pain, pulsing through his ankle.
“Will? Are you okay?” Mike’s voice is frantic at Will’s side.
“Demogorgon.” Is all he manages to say, voice tight and strained, still unable to breathe.
“It’s gone, it ran.” Mike’s hand is on Will’s shoulder, Will focuses on the warmth, and attempts to slow his breathing. In and out. In and out.
Once able to form a coherent thought, Will opens his eyes. He’s sitting on the ground and Mike is kneeling in front of him.
Mike’s eyebrows are creased together and his eyes flick across Will’s face. “Your ankle.”
Pain shoots up his leg at the reminder. His ankle is twisted in a way that makes it hard to look at. He breathes out slowly.
Will looks up at Mike, he’s still anxiously analyzing Will’s expressions. “It’s fine Mike-“ something moves behind Mike, a vine.
Will’s breath catches.
For the first time since they fell he notices the way the air feels. Heavy. Wrong. Like breathing through wet cloth. His ears ring softly, that low, familiar thrum settling into his bones.
The dust drifting through the air isn’t dust.
It’s spores.
His stomach twists.
The demogorgon must have opened a gate when they attacked it at the Turnbow house and Will and Mike fell through.
“We’re here, we’re-” Will breathes out, starting to push himself upright. Mike’s hands land on his shoulders, firm enough to stop him.
“Don’t,” Mike says quickly. “Don’t stand. We need to splint your ankle.” His thumb moves in slow, absent circles against Will’s shoulder, grounding, careful.
“We’ll be okay.” He repeats and stands, looking around the room. “Stay here, I’m going to find something to make a splint.”
“El will find us,” Mike adds, forcing steadiness into his voice. “We’ll be okay.”
Will nods, but he catches the way Mike’s gaze flicks to the floor before meeting his eyes again - the slight tremor in his hands that gives him away.
Will can only nod his head, tears welling in his eyes, the weight of the situation hitting him. He’s back here again. He’s back here again and it feels the exact same. The same damp feeling, the same cold that buries itself underneath his skin and settles into his bones.
His breath fogs in front of him, thin and uneven. Every inhale tastes wrong, metallic, like rust and rot and the sound of it echoes too loudly in his ears. The Turnbow walls around them sag inward, veined with blackened growth, a warped reflection of a place that used to be safe.
It’s not just the cold that gets to Will. It’s the feeling of patience. As though this place has been waiting for him, like he’s doing exactly what it wants.
“Hey,” Mike’s voice is soft, concerned. Will didn’t even notice him re-enter the room. “hey, stop that. We’re okay”
Will swallows thickly and lets out a slow breath. Mike comes back carrying two wooden rulers, a pair of scissors, and a green pillow, which Will is pretty sure is usually bright pink in the Turnbow house.
“We need to leave.” Will manages. “The demogorgon, it knows where we are.”
“Yeah.”
The scissors in Mike’s hand tremble. He drags his free hand across the back of his neck, brows pulled tight in concentration. Mike’s thinking face, the one Will knows too well.
Mike moves across the room, sets everything down on the couch, then pushes it toward Will without a word.
Will understands immediately. He shifts on the floor, bracing his hands behind him and keeping as much weight off his left leg as he can.
“Hey- let me help,” Mike says, sliding Will’s arm over his shoulder and pulling him upright.
“It’s fine, Mike. I can do it.” Will shifts away from him, unsure why he does. He can’t do it on his own - he knows that.
Pain spikes through his ankle, sharp and blinding. He gasps, his leg buckling as he drops his weight again.
“Will.” Mike says, voice tight. Already reaching for him again.
Will hates how much he needs the help. Hates that Mike can see it.
Mike lifts him again, Will doesn’t lean away this time.
His chest feels tight at the contact.
Once he’s on the couch Mike takes the scissors and starts cutting the pillow’s case into long, thick strips. Silence falls between them, Mike sits on his knees in front of Will, every now and then glancing up at Will, almost as though he’s checking if he’s still there.
Will watches Mike’s every movement and facial expression. Normally he would be anxious about being caught or looking weird but he’s trying his hardest not to think about where they are and what is actually happening, he can't find it in him to care. Mike’s mouth is in a thin line, focusing as he starts cutting the pillow into small rectangles.
He cuts the last one and looks up at Will, reaching for his left leg. “Can I- is this okay?”
Will inhales a shaky breath, bracing himself. “Yeah.”
Mike gives Will a soft smile and raises his eyebrows, silently asking are you sure?
Will nods his head in response.
Mike reaches for the rulers and gently places them either side of Will’s ankle. Will hisses at the contact.
“Sorry, sorry” Mike strains, as though it’s hurting him too. He holds the rulers in place and reaches for the pile of pillow case strips, wrapping two around Will’s calf, holding the top of the rulers in place.
“This is going to hurt,” Mike says quietly, eyes flicking over his face.
“That's okay.” Will breathes out.
Mike grips the heel of Will’s shoe and turns it to the right. Pain explodes up Will’s leg, stealing the air from his chest. He bites his lip until he tastes blood, clinging to that sharpness instead of what’s happening to his ankle.
“I’m sorry- sorry,” Panic flashes Mike’s face, his hands hovering over Will’s leg, as though he’s scared to continue.
Will’s chest heaves as he drags in a shallow breath, then another. His vision swims, spots of white flashing behind closed eyes. He nods once, tight and jerky, because if he opens his mouth he’s pretty sure he’ll scream.
“It’s okay,” he manages finally, voice thin. “I’m fine.”
Mike doesn’t look convinced. He shifts closer, one hand bracing Will’s knee, the other steady at his ankle now. “Just breathe with me,” he says quietly. “Okay? In. Out.”
Will follows, counting the breaths, focusing on Mike’s voice instead of the lingering fire in his leg. Slowly, the pain dulls to something manageable - something he can survive.
Mike lifts his hand from Will’s knee and Will instantly feels its absence.
Mike reaches for a few more strips and the cut up pillow, securing them carefully around Will’s ankle. Will grips the sleeve of Mike’s jacket, holding his breath until it’s over.
“Done,” Mike says, finally looking up at him.
Will exhales sharply, his shoulders sagging with relief as he lets go of Mike’s sleeve.
Mike hesitates like he wants to say something - then doesn't.
The pain still pulses through his leg in sharp bursts. They sit there for a moment anyway, Will steadying himself, letting the ache settle into something manageable.
“Thanks,” Will says quietly.
“That’s okay,” Mike stutters, suddenly self-conscious. He glances around the room. “We should get going.”
He stands and offers his shoulder to Will, without making a big deal out of it. Will braces one hand against the couch cushion and the other against Mike, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket again. Mike steadies him, solid and warm in a place that feels anything but.
Together they rise slowly. Will’s leg protests immediately, a sharp flare of pain that makes him gasp, but Mike’s grip tightens, keeping him upright.
“Easy,” Mike mumbles quietly.
Will swallows and leans into him despite himself.
They stand there for a second, close enough that Will can feel Mike's heartbeat through his shoulder.
He silently hopes Mike can’t hear his own heart hammering in his chest.
They take a painful step, then another. Falling into a rhythm.
Mike opens the front door and they start towards the squawk.
The upside down hums around them, waiting.