Chapter Text
It’s been four hours since Mike Wheeler realized, or rather fully acknowledged, definitively, undeniably, that he is in love with Will Byers. It’s been there like a warm seed in his chest for a long time, he thinks, probably several years, growing along with him. It’s kind of ridiculous, actually, that it took almost being eviscerated by a demogorgon for him to read the writing on the wall. It took seeing his best friend’s eyes rolled all the way back into his head, hand outstretched, muscles tensed, and a subsequent rush of heat to his face that rivalled that of the fires burning all around along with an absolutely wild shit-eating grin that he still feels in the soreness in his cheeks, for him to realize. It’s actually really fucking ridiculous.
And, god, if the world wasn’t legitimately going to shit right now, he would have half a mind to run frolicking through the goddamn hills, flower crown atop his head, because he’s never felt freer. He’s been carrying around this weight for god knows how long, not even knowing what it was, and now he can see everything so clearly. It’s like he’s gained an eighth color or some shit. It’s amazing.
And then he remembers where he is. Not in a fairyland of his own creation, not in a Sound of Music remake starring yours truly, not in a happily ever after. This is hell. (So why doesn’t it feel like it?) He needs to start acting like it.
It’s been four hours, but people are still shouting all around him, because everyone’s still trying to figure out where Hop and El and Dustin and all the rest are, and god fucking dammit. Will. The object of his enamoration. Will is currently passed out on the couch, blanket draped over him, shivering and sweating. Why is Mike like this?
It’s now that he realizes that he’s been hovering just behind the wall for a little too long now, standing in the spot where he can see enough of the makeshift living room to just have Will’s feet in view. He swallows roughly, trying to bring himself down from his dizzying high, and god it isn’t difficult because as soon as he steps forward and Will’s scrunched-up face and Joyce’s crouched figure come back into view, his heart drops and he remembers why they’re here in the first place.
All those kids, whose eyes he could almost see through, all gone. Just like Holly. Just like Will all those years ago. All their efforts for nothing. Nothing they ever did stopped Vecna from doing whatever the hell he wanted. Thirty-whatever crawls, and just as they were all starting to believe that maybe they had won the first time around, only to be slapped in the face in the worst way possible. Dozens of soldiers dead. Lucas injured. Will still unconscious. And Will… He couldn’t protect Will. Not this time. Not ever.
Joyce is facing away from her son, muttering something into her clasped hands. Mike pauses here, hesitating, every fiber in him wanting to surge forward to comfort her because he knows exactly how she feels, but he holds himself back because he knows that this is a private moment. Which is just the bitter reminder he needs that this is not his story. It’s always been about Will, and Joyce, and Jonathan, and Nancy, and Dustin, and Lucas, and Max, and El, it’s always been their story. He’s been content so far to play his little sidekick role, but he’s fucked even that up now. He’s the plan guy, but his plans lately always seem to go to shit, so maybe he can’t do anything good for anyone anymore. As it should be, maybe.
He swallows again.
Footsteps behind him. A sudden hand on his shoulder, his insides jump but he keeps his body rooted in the ground. His head whips around. “Hey, Mike,” says Lucas gently. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m–” he starts, not really knowing what will come out of his mouth next because he feels a lot of things, actually, but before his tongue can move he realizes that Lucas is gesturing towards his right shoulder and he’s probably referring to the sling they forced him into maybe two, three hours ago. As if on cue, a sting of pain shoots down to his elbow. He tries not to wince. “Oh. I’m fine. It doesn’t even hurt.”
Lucas raises one tired eyebrow at him, but does not elaborate.
“Should you even be up?” Mike says, quickly pivoting into more familiar territory. “I mean, that demogorgon got you pretty good.” Eloquent as ever, Mike.
“I’m fine,” he says pointedly, with a look that he definitely wants Mike to interpret in some way that he’s not going to. “Murray stitched me up ages ago, and he says that staying active is best for the healing process.”
“Murray stitched you up?” Mike scoffs. “Since when has that guy been good for anything other than being really fucking annoying?” He knows he could come up with a better quip if he tried, but he’s running on maybe two hours of sleep in the past 48 hours and god knows how many gallons of Mountain Dew, and the world is ending, and he might be gay.
Might be? I don’t think being in love with your male best friend merits a mere “might be”.
Lucas shrugs. “He says he used to be a nurse for, like, three months. Then he decided that the American healthcare system is fucked and left to be… whatever his job is now. I’m telling you, the lore on that man is insane.”
“Whatever,” Mike says, even though his interest is mildly piqued, because being annoyed at this weirdo he doesn’t even really know is so much easier than asking another question. “Any word from the Chief?”
Lucas shakes his head. “Robin has been trying to get in contact with him and everyone, but I think she’s stumped by the technical stuff, and it’s worse that we don’t have the van anymore. I wish Dustin were here.”
“He always seems to have an answer for us,” Mike says bitterly, finally giving into his fatigue and sliding down the wall.
Lucas joins him on the floor. “Hey, don’t beat yourself up, man,” he says. “You did everything you could. We did everything we could.”
“But it wasn’t fucking enough, was it?” Mike says, and he kind of means for it to come out angry, but instead it sounds pretty fucking pathetic. “Vecna came and took every last one of the kids we were trying to protect. The MAC-Z is literally on fire. Dozens of people died. Sure, we all got our asses saved by Will, but even he—” His voice catches in his throat, and he blinks rapidly. I am not crying now.
“I know,” Lucas says softly. “Everything sucks.” He chuckles quietly. “Nothing new there.”
Mike laughs a little, too, if only to do something that doesn’t involve the knot in his chest. “Yeah, same old same old, I guess.”
Lucas nods, just barely, lips tucked under teeth, hands worrying in his lap. There’s a beat between them, just enough to forget for a moment. Barely.
Lucas clears his throat. Mike’s sort of afraid to look back at him, because he knows how observant the boy next to him is, and god, what if he’s already clocked Mike’s sorry ass, and— “Hey, how are things between you and El?”
Of all the things he expected Lucas to say, that was not one of them. Mike makes a face he hopes doesn’t look too startled. “Uh, fine? Why?”
“It’s just, I know you hadn’t seen her for a while, and now she’s stuck in the Upside Down. I know that must suck, but I’ve also been thinking about how much you were fighting when you all first got back from California, and I don’t know, I guess I hadn’t really heard anything about it since then.”
“Um.” Mike says, very eloquently indeed. “Shit. No one told you?”
“Told me what?”
“Lucas, man. El and I have been broken up, for like, seven months at least, shit. How did no one tell you?” Mike is honestly trying not to laugh now, because it’s really not that funny, but it’s actually kind of ridiculous. What the fuck? This of all things?
Lucas blinks so slowly, it’s almost comical. “Oh,” he finally goes, hesitatingly. “Oh. Shit.”
“Yeah,” Mike says, and this time he can’t hold back a coughed-out laugh. “Sorry, man. I guess we all assumed that you already knew.”
Lucas is smiling now, too, which makes Mike’s own smile seep just a little bit deeper. “Damn, I must be the stupidest guy in the world. Seven months? Shiiit,” he draws out. “And this whole time, I’ve been saying shit like you were still together.”
“Yeah, ‘lovebirds’?” Mike says, nudging him a little, playfully. God, when was that? This morning? Two days ago? God, it was November 3rd that happened, and it’s fucking two in the morning on the 6th now. Well, probably— Mike hasn’t checked a clock in a couple of hours, and he’s not entirely sure he would still be able to read one if he tried. “We thought you were joking, genuinely. You’re good, man.”
“Good to know, I guess,” he says, rolling his eyes. “But Mike, you’re serious, things are good?”
God, what Mike would do to be as good a friend as Lucas. “Yeah, things are fine,” he says. “I think we were both kind of unhappy in that relationship, so it’s like all of our problems were solved once we were out of it. We’re friends.”
“That’s good, man,” he says, clapping him on his bad shoulder. Mike stifles a gasp. “I’m happy for you.” Then he notices Mike’s pained expression and blanches. “Oh shit, man, I’m so sorry, I forgot—”
“Mike?”
For the second time in the past ten minutes, Mike whips his head around, coming eye to eye with the formidable yet worried expression of Joyce Byers. “Mrs. Byers!” he says. “Shit, sorry, was I talking too loud?”
“You’re fine, Mike,” she mutters. “I just thought… Will, I think he’s starting to wake up.”
Mike’s eyebrows jump up and he whips back around to face Lucas, as if he needs Lucas’s approval because god knows he’ll be at the couch’s side in T-minus seven seconds. Lucas gives him a nod because he knows him too well.
So he gets up with five-foot-three Joyce Byers, obviously towering over her but feeling so small now. Will is stirring, eyes blinking open slowly, groaning a little bit and it just breaks something in Mike. Oh god, he realizes now, as he gets on his knees on the carpeted floor. He can’t know.
“Will,” he says, quietly, gently, softly, he hopes. Mrs. Byers takes her place at his head, caressing his hair tenderly. “Hey. You awake?”
“Mm. Yeah,” Will grunts. He rubs his eyes and struggles to sit up, but Mrs. Byers delicately pushes him back down. “How long was I out?”
“A couple hours,” Mrs. Byers answers. “How are you feeling, sweetie?”
“Fine, Mom,” he sighs, collapsing onto his elbows. He kneads the skin on his forehead. “God, I have the most massive headache.”
“I’ll go get you some Tylenol,” she interjects immediately, jumping up and rushing away.
Will hums, watching her leave. Mike darts a glance down at his lips, and he’s sure it’s kind of perverse given the circumstances, but he’s still trying to process that this is a practiced motion that he never knew the origin of, until now. But he can’t know. He looks away.
Will’s gaze finds him, anyway. “I kind of forgot what happened, after, well, you know…” He quirks a smile. “Can you fill me in?”
“Can I fill you in?” Mike blabbers, chest filling again. With joy, with confusion, with awe, with fear. Everything. “Sorry, Will. I think first and foremost we need to address literally the coolest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life, that you were responsible for, by the way.”
Will smiles stupidly, or it’s stupid to Mike because it just about makes every rational thought leave his body. “I did that, didn’t I?”
Instinct takes over and Mike takes Will’s hand and squeezes. If he wasn’t already nuttier than a fruitcake, he could swear that he sees a blush dust Will’s cheeks. “That was all you, Will,” Mike gushes. “You saved us. You saved me. In literally the coolest way possible, I might add.”
Will looks to the side, biting back an even bigger smile. “I promise I didn’t know I could do that,” he says quietly. Mike’s heart does a tiny somersault. “I haven’t been harboring secret powers for the past four years.” He turns back to face Mike. “Despite all your talk about me being a sorcerer.”
“You actually are, though,” Mike says breathlessly. “I cannot believe this is real life. You’re literally the coolest person ever.”
Will rolls his eyes. “No, I’m not, Mike.”
“But—” Mike starts to protest, but just then Mrs. Byers returns with a small cup of water and a white pill in hand. He clears his throat a little and scooches away to let her sit down next to Will.
“Thanks, Mom,” Will says before taking the pill and downing it and the water in one gulp. This time when he sits up, Mrs. Byers doesn’t force him back down, instead giving him a pillow for his head. “So, what’s the update? What’s happened?”
“You don’t need to worry about that right now,” she soothes. “Just rest for a bit, focus on getting your strength back.”
Will frowns. “I don’t need rest. I’m fine,” he insists. “We need to focus on finding everybody else. You have another son, too, you know?”
Mike shrinks back. “That’s not fair, Will,” she says softly. “We all care about Jonathan.”
Will scoffs. “Okay, so let’s get going, then!” He swings his legs over the cushions and plants his feet on the floor, starting to rise up off the couch. “They could be in danger for all we know; I mean, they definitely are, they’re in the Upside Down, for god’s sake— woah.” On his feet now, he suddenly grips Mrs. Byers’s shoulders, knees trembling, head lolling onto his chest.
“See? This is why you need rest,” Mrs. Byers says with that unique blend of scolding and tenderness. She guides him to sit back down on the couch. “Take it easy, Will.”
“I’m fine,” he insists again, angrier this time. “I just got a little dizzy for a second.” He sighs. “Didn’t you see what I can do now? I’m not… I’m not useless anymore, Mom. I’m not just a messenger. I can fight.”
She bristles. “I know that,” she says, betraying a sharp tone uncharacteristic of her. “We all saw what you can do. But that doesn’t change the fact that he is after you. And we cannot let him have you.”
He slouches into the cushions. “I just think you don’t need to shelter me anymore,” he scowls. “At least let me help find Jonathan.”
“No,” she says forcefully. “And that’s final.” She steps back and kneads her temple with pinched fingers. “I am going to have a talk with Robin and Murray about next steps, and—” For this she raises her voice to a low shout— “I am going to remind Lucas that he should be on bed rest—” Sounds of scurrying follow. “And I am going to try to wrangle Erica back from wherever she’s scampered off to.” She huffs brusquely and stomps off.
“Jesus,” Mike says once she’s out of earshot. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her that pissed off at you.”
“She’s not mad at me,” Will sighs. “I think she’s… scared. Scared because she doesn’t know what’s going to happen next.”
Mike sits down gingerly next to Will. Their knees brush briefly and Mike tries to ignore the goosebumps that explode over his leg. “She’s always been so calm under pressure, though,” Mike says thoughtfully.
Will looks off into the distance and shakes his head absentmindedly. “She is scared of me, I think,” he says softly. “I mean, understandably. What I did was pretty freaky. Pretty… Vecna-esque.”
“Hey,” Mike says, a rush of blood obscuring the logical part of his brain as he grabs Will’s hand again. It’s warm, and delicate. He’s flushing bad. “What you did might have been, well, Vecna-esque, but you’re so different from him. You literally killed his monsters! You used your powers for good, Will. That’s not scary. That’s… amazing.”
Will rolls his eyes, but he can’t stop the huge smile that spreads from cheek to cheek. Mike’s heart flutters in his chest. “If you say so.” His hand slowly slips away from Mike’s grip, but hesitates when it’s just their fingers touching. This fragile contact is somehow even more revolutionary than anything else. “You said it, Mike. I guess I am a sorcerer.”
Stars burst all through Mike’s body. He smiles, too, bigger than the moon. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Like I said.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.” Will smirks. Suddenly, his hand jolts away, and Mike swallows a sigh at the loss, but he can’t be upset for more than a millisecond because that same hand comes in front of his face, fingers poised, and flicks his forehead. Holy shit. In one swoop, the butterflies in Mike’s stomach become a firestorm.
He opens his mouth, and it’s a terrible thing to do because he swears to god, the next thing he says will be something stupid like Are you flirting with me? or You’re so cute, or Please do that again, or maybe even something absolutely undoable like I think I’m in love with you. He smacks his lips together before he can do something so foolish, swallows roughly, and stands up quickly.
“Mike?” Will squeaks, and oh fucking shit, that is not the message Mike wanted to convey, either. “I— I’m sorry, I don’t know why I—”
“It’s fine,” Mike ekes out, scrambling desperately for a solution that is neither a love confession nor a cold shoulder. But his brain is being really fucking slow right now, and it doesn’t help that he’s trying to wade through a mental swamp of warm mushy feelings. Fuck! Think of something, Mike! “You’re all good,” he offers, and mentally slaps himself. “Sorry. I don’t… I didn’t mean to react like that. It’s chill.” It’s “chill”? What the fuck was that? Oh, fuck me.
“Oh. Okay,” Will mumbles. “Sorry again.”
“No, I—” Mike says frustratedly, tugging at his hair. “Stop. Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.” He realizes that he’s going to start crying, and he cannot cry in front of Will.
“Mike—”
He’s only half-conscious of turning heel and getting the hell out of there because he is far more occupied with the confusing mass of emotions swirling inside. Fuck. He’s crying now, probably. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He thinks, he hopes, that he’s far away when he collapses onto any horizontal surface— it might be hard or soft, he doesn’t really know— and buries his face in his hands. His tears come hot and fast, shoulders twitching, gulping the air for oxygen but it’s not enough because he’s dizzy and the world is spinning. Fuck. “It’s my fault,” he whispers to himself through gasps. “It’s not your fault because it’s mine.” Fuck.