Chapter Text
November, 1987
There were three timed gunshots in which Mike Wheeler felt the most pain of his life.
The first two hurt more in the metaphorical sense, like a deadly silence you wouldn’t expect, or when you tell the person you love something awful that you know you won't be able to come back from. Those two shots pierced straight through Mike’s skin to reveal something ugly that day, something dark, something… rotten.
But we don’t talk about those. God, if he’s good at anything— it’s not talking about those.
This time, it’s literal. It’s a literal rain of gunshots that echoes all around him. It’s the first thing he hears when gaining consciousness, blinking up at the big smoky sky, some distant pounding in the back of his head that’s probably the sign of a concussion, but he can’t think about that right now. No, he can only think about one thing, and it’s not the lack of screams from soldiers who were around him just minutes ago, or the kids he was supposed to protect—
One thing, and he doesn’t even get the chance to find him, not before death is looking him right in the face.
Logically, Mike knows his life was never betting on much. From an early age, somehow, he learned to accept that he could simply die at any moment. It’s just part of the job. People older than him would constantly reassure him that it was never going to happen—they wouldn’t let it. Mike would be safe. Of course he’d be.
But really, how easy is that to believe? When you find yourself on the brink of death one too many times to count, those words start to lose meaning.
He can’t remember how old he was when he realized he didn’t really care all that much if he lived or died. It’s been a thought lurking in the back of his head for as long as he could remember; just another one of those things you don’t talk about. As long as the people around him were safe, and he wasn’t letting anyone down by not being there, he would go peacefully, he told himself.
He almost did, that one time, when standing above the quarry. It doesn’t mean much now, but it did back then. It meant the entire world when, just earlier that day, it was that same water they pulled his best friend’s body out of.
Maybe that was the turning point for him. Just maybe.
He knew going into this, there would be risks. He’s been painfully aware of those risks every single day for the past four years straight. But it still feels different, now that the time is here.
Dying, it turns out, is fucking terrifying.
It’s scary how your body will just freeze up and brace itself, suddenly unable to do anything to prevent what it knows is coming.
If Mike weren’t the luckiest goddamn person in the world, that would have been it for him. The demogorgon would’ve clawed his face off and snapped through every bone in his body. He would’ve been wiped from the face of the earth just like that.
But he wasn’t—because Mike is lucky—because Superman landed at his doorstep all those years ago, and he became the exact beacon of hope and sorcery that Mike knew he was capable of.
Maybe he had died just now. Looking ahead at Will, Mike’s heart has come to a complete stop in his chest. It wouldn’t be the first time, but this– This is something he’s never felt before. The amazement, the pride, the little voice in his head that says, ‘I knew it. I knew you had it in you.’
His body is pushing him forward before the other’s name even leaves his mouth. Will is on his knees, blood dripping down his hand, staring ahead as Mike falls close in front of him. Mike’s brain is going a hundred miles a minute before he can even touch him.
“Holy shit– Holy shit! Will, did you see that?! You– Oh my God, you have–”
He can barely get the words out, unable to contain himself with just how big he’s smiling, practically gushing. Will just did that! His Will! Holy shit!
“Are you okay?” Mike finally exhales. “That was fucking crazy! You just saved me… You–”
Quickly, all at once, his praise for the other gets lodged somewhere deep in his throat, the happiness on his face getting roughly ripped away, only when he really gets close enough to look Will in the eyes. He’s still staring ahead, right at the spot where Mike almost ate shit twenty seconds ago.
“Hey…” Mike breathes, trying his best to not let panic overtake him when Will doesn’t respond, when Mike calls his name over and over, and the other is still stuck in a dead stare.
His hands have drifted to either side of Will’s face now, lightly shaking him to snap the other back. “Hey, come here. It’s over. You’re here. You’re with me.” He’s getting deja vu, back to when Will got possessed, and it took forever for him to look at Mike with any recognition, with any affection.
He can’t go through that again. He refuses. “Will!”
By some miracle above, Will comes back to earth just moments later, just when Mike has placed a hand on Will’s cheek, in time to watch his eyes refocus, finally starting to blink normally.
The first thing Will must see is the worry drowning on Mike’s face. He’s panting still, still trying to remind himself that Will is okay. He’s safe.
When Will does focus in on him, his voice comes out soft, a little disbelieving, a little full of wonder. “Mike?”
Mike answers just as softly, “Hey… Hey, it’s me. Will, you just– Are you okay? How do you feel? Are you hurting?”
Will’s eyebrows push together. “I don’t know…”
A sound echoes in the background— people— more fucking military.
Shit. Mike starts slinging one of Will’s arms over his shoulders. “We gotta go. Can you stand?”
He nods, letting Mike help him to his feet.
When they start moving, the other is deadweight plastered against Mike’s side. Mike is about to say fuck it and just push Will to get on his back instead, his bad shoulder be damned, but Will seems to be recovering fairly quickly. He has enough energy to lean his head close into Mike’s ear and mutter, “Mom… My mom.”
At the words, Mike's eyes frantically start darting around for Joyce. He’s trying to remember the last place he saw her, or where she took Will.
By another blessing, he spots her near the edge of the Mac-Z wall, already getting up on her own feet when she sees them coming.
All three of them look like shit. Mike’s body is screaming at him to drop dead and push away the two people leaning against him for support, but they need to get out of here as soon as possible before any more guards catch them, especially if any of those fuckers hunting Eleven got whiff of what Will just did.
Plus, he would drop dead before he ever thinks of letting Will go. The other’s firm grip around his arm is the only motivation keeping Mike moving.
———
It feels like another ten years before they manage to get back to the Squawk. Thankfully, they had already prepared for the worst and had Joyce’s car close by in the area for backup. They dropped Erica back at home for now and rode the rest of the way in a deep, heavy silence that carried them far into the woods.
Mike stayed in the backseat with Will, who’s been slipping in and out of sleep for the past hour. Once they get back to headquarters, and his friend is resigned to a deep slumber on the couch, Mike finally gives in to Joyce's pestering and goes to take a shower.
It doesn’t help. He doesn’t feel any less dirty, or safe. His skin is still itching. His head is still pounding. His mind is replaying that same image again and again, of Vecna coming through the gate. Will, standing before him. Mike wasn’t there to see that last part, but from what Joyce vaguely described to him on the way to the car, she thought for certain Will was going to die this time.
He scrubs his skin raw. It’s probably one of the shortest showers Mike has ever taken, but it feels like he’s already been in there for hours. It can’t be soon enough that he’s able to return to Will’s side, still passed out, but there. Breathing. Alive.
He comes in quietly, first noticing the way Joyce is sitting, with her hands raised to her lips, like she’s thinking about something awful. She senses Mike after a few seconds, with the ghost of a smile. “Hey,” She greets softly. Warm. “Are you feeling better?”
Mike swallows, moving his head up in a nod. “I’ll stay with him. If he wakes up, I’ll…”
He doesn’t have to finish before Joyce gives him the kindest smile, something sad… sympathetic. She stands up. “I know, honey. I’ll be right down the hall. I’m gonna keep trying the others.”
Then she leaves, taking all the warmth in the room with her. It’s just him and Will now.
Maybe it’s because Mike really hasn’t slept in 48 hours, or maybe it’s because of all the gas explosions from earlier that are making him delirious, but Mike doesn’t waste any time in pulling up a chair right next to Will’s side, planting himself where he knows nothing can get to him.
He knows he’s a bit crazy when it comes to Will. Okay? He knows. But it’s just a trauma response, because Will went missing that one time, and he got possessed that other time— God, Will really has it the worst, doesn’t he?
So Mike has a reason to hover, to act irrationally sometimes. Will is his best friend. It’s completely normal.
It’s also normal, he tells himself, to reach for the other’s hand while he lies asleep, because Will likes to be held. He always has. And if the events of today proved anything, Will fucking deserves anything he wants.
Mike has a habit of gripping things too tightly. Usually, he keeps this in check when it’s around Will, but small moments can slip through the cracks. Mike is squeezing Will’s hand a bit too firmly, and that might be what stirs him awake.
He’s mumbling out Mike’s name before he’s even opened his eyes. Mike might not realize it yet, but he adores the way Will says his name, like it always means something special. Everything about him—the way his face morphs with recognition when landing on him. It makes Mike feel important, precious.
A beat passes before that calm moment is ruined. It starts with heavy breathing, when Will’s eyes start darting all across the room. There’s something horrific behind them, like he’s seeing something Mike can’t. And as always, Mike jumps headfirst to defuse the situation. He stops Will from shuffling around too much, doing what he can to ease the panic that overtakes the other’s face when coming back to reality.
“Will? Hey, can you hear me? Take it easy–”
It’s like a shot to the stomach watching Will be so afraid. And it’s always been like that. Even when they were holed up in Mike’s basement watching horror movies when they were ten. Half of the time, it wasn’t even Mike’s idea. He doesn’t hate horror per se, but he’s not a fan of jumpscares. Will loves everything about them. He’d be the one dragging Mike to the couch to succumb to two and a half hours of torture.
But that being said, no one is fearless—not even Will. So when Mike got a feeling, when his weird ‘Will is in danger’ senses went blaring, he’d be the first one to pause the movie and scoot close to the other’s side. Suddenly, Mike could be the brave one. He’d forget whatever agony he was going through on his own twenty seconds ago, and all of his focus would be on his best friend, on making sure he was okay.
That instinct, it turns out, never really left him. He thought it did for a while there, when that voice in his head pointed out how weird it really was. But in the heat of the moment, it’s kind of hard not to give in. It’s impossible, really.
It seems like Mike can’t get any closer to the couch—down on his knees now, but there’s something about his presence that has always grounded Will, so he finds a way. He shelters the other from everything else in the room until Mike is the only thing he can see. And it’s with calming words that he can finally bring the other back.
“It’s okay. Everything is okay. We’re back at the Squawk. We’re all safe. You’re safe.”
Will settles back down against the cushions, blinking up at Mike with a strange quirk to his eyebrows. From the looks of it, he’s not completely sure if Mike is real or not.
And before Mike can say anything else, before he can prove against those doubts, an upset frown starts pulling down on Will’s lips. With the hand not intertwined with Mike’s, his shaky fingers lift up to the side of Mike’s face. There, he grazes the bloody wound on Mike’s head, looking damn near murderous, and just– sad.
“Are you okay?” Will chokes out.
Mike honestly can’t believe him. All these years, and Will still manages to surprise him. “Seriously?” He laughs, loving and sad and so, so dumbfounded. “You’re asking me that?”
Will’s face is undeterred. “What about your shoulder?” He persists. “You hurt it in the bathroom…”
“My shoulder is fine,” Mike stops him, with a firm squeeze to his hand. “I promise.”
Then, Mike takes Will’s hand forward, sheltering it between both of his, held close to his chest like something sacred. To the shoulder thing, Will still doesn’t look like he believes him, and that almost makes Mike smile. Because now that he’s awake, Mike really is starting to realize what exactly he came so close to losing.
His voice drops to something so soft and gentle, completely out of his control. He can finally ask Will— “How are you? You’ve been passed out for a few hours. We still haven’t heard from the others.”
Will responds just as softly. “I’m okay. Nothing hurts. I’m just… tired.”
Will looks down to where Mike’s thumb is rubbing over the back of his hand, eyes stuck on the motion.
“There were three of them,” he continues. “One with Lucas, a-and one with Robin. They’re okay now.”
“Holy shit…” It’s like that’s the only thing Mike can say anymore. “You killed three demogorgons?”
Will manages a nod. “I guess so.”
Will sounds so humble and nonchalant that it makes Mike want to scream into the abyss.
This time, he lets the blissed-out joy find a home in his expression. It’s a combination of amazement and pride and an ‘I told you so’ all mixed into one. How could he not sit there smiling like an idiot when the person closest– one of the people closest to him just achieved something so amazing? “You’re incredible, you know that, right?”
Will’s lips quirk into a smile. “Incredible as in…”
“As in you’re unbelievable sometimes, and it’s annoying, but you’re still so– You’re so amazing, Will.”
Unable to accept a compliment, no less from Mike, Will just huffs out a laugh, rolling onto his back. “You’re just saying that.”
Mike makes an angry noise of protest. “See what I mean? Unbelievable.”
Will giggles, then they’re back to square one.
A mutual silence falls over them, a quiet moment—calm and intimate—where nothing in the world exists outside of each other. Just them in this shitty radio tower, while the world descends into shit. Will breaks the silence first, talking in a hushed voice only meant for Mike. It’s a wonder Mike can even hear him like this. It might not be possible if he weren’t so attuned to Will’s every thought and wish.
“I thought I lost you.”
Mike still hasn’t let go of Will’s hand, in all the time they’ve been sitting here. Mike’s expression softens, more so than it already has. He tries making a joke in response: “I thought I lost me too.”
To his absolute delight, it makes Will smile, blushing as he rolls his eyes.
Then Mike gets more serious all of a sudden, when the truth is practically pried from his throat as Will stares at him for too long. “I really did. I thought that was the end for me. I didn’t know where you were, and everything was so quiet, and I…”
He’s standing on the edge of a cliff again, except his dumb child brain is filled with so much more pain and worry now, so much more to live for and to die for. He doesn’t have that hope in the back of his mind, saying he could survive a fall from this height. Not anymore.
“I wasn’t ready. Not this time.”
At the last few words that leave Mike, Will’s eyebrows furrow together. “What do you mean?”
And suddenly, Mike feels exposed, like he shouldn’t have said anything at all. He sputters, trying to make something up that’ll derail the conversation. This is one of those things you don’t talk about.
But– This is Will. Mike has never had trouble sharing his thoughts with Will. That’s part of the problem, if anything. “Well, you know… With everything that’s been going on… It’s pretty dangerous now, isn’t it?”
Will looks ahead, letting him talk.
“Everything feels more real. Like this might really be the end of everything. Whether we win, o-or we lose–”
“We won’t lose.”
“It’s a possibility,” Mike states. “I know I sound all hopeful all the time, but I know it’s a real possibility.”
Will’s mouth falls shut.
“And I just– I don’t know. I thought I had made peace with the fact that any day could be my last. It’s the grown-up way of thinking about things.”
“Well, that’s bullshit–”
“It’s logical,” Mike stops him again.
“Who cares about logic!” Will shouts to the ceiling. “Since when has that ever helped us? We’re not gonna let you die.”
With humor finding its way in there somehow, “It’s not exactly a ‘party decision,’” Mike remarks.
“Well, I don’t care. I’m not letting you die.”
Then a smile finds its way onto Mike’s face, too. “Yeah. You made that pretty clear today.”
He doesn’t know why they’re even talking about this. There are much bigger things to worry about than whether or not Mike was scared about a demogorgon clawing his face off. Bigger things like what the fuck they’re going to do now that Vecna took all the kids— how they’re going to get in contact with the others in the upside down— Will.
So many more important things, but Will is giving Mike his whole undivided attention, like Mike’s feelings have any weight in all of this.
At least there’s one person out there who cares about what Mike is thinking. He’ll indulge in Will just this once.
“And I said I feel differently about it now. I thought I was ready… but I’m not.”
Mike is cradling Will’s hand again. He’s really not thinking clearly tonight. Not at all.
“Why?” Will whispers.
Looking ahead, with something warm and tender settling in his chest, “There’s still so much I haven’t gotten to do yet,” Mike confesses softly.
Their eyes lock—another precious moment of just the two of them. Just long enough for Mike to already miss it before it’s over.
“Mike…”
Mike forces himself to lean back. When did he even start moving so close? “Sorry. You should probably rest more. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
Will’s voice is quiet. “It’s fine..”
Mike is fully leaned back in his chair now, but he doesn’t let go of Will’s hand. Not even once.
He tries not to look at the disappointment on Will’s face that wasn’t there just a minute ago. Mike is good at that; disappointing Will. It’s practically all he knows how to do.
“I’m gonna stay here,” Mike says, rooting himself in that chair. There will have to be another “earthquake” strong enough to shake him from that spot.
A hint of a grin plays on Will’s lips. “You’re gonna? That’s not a question?”
Mike smiles too. “Nope.”
Rolling his eyes, Will mutters something about how ridiculous Mike is, and then it doesn’t take very long for him to fall back asleep.
It’s the gas fumes again. They cause Mike to not move a muscle for what must be hours, just sitting there, staring, watching the rise and fall of Will’s chest. He can’t remember the last time he got the chance to watch the other like this, to rememorize the slope of his nose, or each stroke of his eyelashes. He always thought Will was pretty, but it really does suck that he grew into someone beautiful.
Somewhere between the hours of 12:00 and 1:00, Mike forces himself to look away. There it is again. That rotten feeling.
———
There’s a two-hour grace period until everything picks up again, until they’re sat around the same room from only a few hours ago, only now it’s with the weight of loss, of failure. Except, in Mike’s eyes, today was anything but that. If it weren’t for Will sitting on the couch opposite him, present and alive and powerful, today would have been a total shit show.
It sort of is still, with blood cast over Lucas’s shirt, and an icepack cradled to Robin’s head. But at least they're here. Back to square one—but everyone’s here.
Joyce is catching everyone up to speed, her voice strong and prideful when describing what Will did. You should’ve seen the looks on their faces when finding out Will not only killed one demogorgon, but three. Three telepathic kills, and Will is just sitting there waving his hand and blushing like it means nothing.
He hasn’t said much since they’ve sat down. After his sleepy conversation with Mike, he’s been eerily silent throughout all of this.
Mike notices.
“So what now?” Robin asks. “What do we do next?”
When no one has an answer, Lucas chimes in to say exactly what everyone else is thinking. “What can we do? That makes twelve, doesn’t it? He got what he wanted. Whatever twisted shit he’s planning–”
“It’s too late,” Mike finds himself murmuring. No matter how happy he is about Will, that still doesn’t change the fact that they failed. They lost the kids, they led Derrick Turnbow right into Vecna’s hands, and now they’re just sitting here while that evil son-of-a-bitch is probably over the moon.
Mike feels sick. The image of the kids slipping away right before his eyes, destined for the same fate as Holly, as Will–
“We need to contact the others,” Joyce emphasizes. “Nancy, El, Hop– They might be trying to fix this too.”
Robin still looks uneasy. “But if Vecna got everything he needed…”
“He didn’t.”
They all turn to Will, whose gaze is locked elsewhere.
“He’s not finished yet. This is something bigger. There’s something else he needs.”
“How do you know?” Joyce asks him, and when Will finally looks their way, his stare is something unrecognizable. It’s heavy. It carries that same guilt Mike feels in his chest.
“Because I saw it,” Will stresses. “This– this thing. It’s not complete. It’s alive, I feel it–”
Mike drifts closer. “I-In the barn. Your painting–”
“It had a center,” Will bounces back. “Meant to hold something powerful. Someone.”
“Could it be… El?” Lucas tries.
Mike’s eyes dart back to Will, who is already shaking his head. “No… No, he wanted her on his side. He sees her as an equal. This is different. He’s looking for a vessel. That’s what he told me. That’s why he takes kids, because they’re weak. They’re… easy to mold.”
Will goes quiet for a moment. Mike can’t move any closer without falling off the couch, but oh does he want to. “That’s why he took me,” Will admits quietly. “Because I was easy to break. I… showed him what was possible.”
With anger in her eyes, “How do we find the last person before it’s too late?” Joyce questions. “If he hasn’t already gone after them–”
“And who is this person?” Lucas adds on. “If you don’t think it’s El, who else is strong enough for Vecna to want?”
“To need?” Robin pushes further.
“Shit.”
All four of them look at Mike, who has gone a sickly shade of white, looking like he’s just seen a ghost.
“What?” Joyce matches his dreadful tone. But Mike’s eyes slowly drift over to Will instead, who’s already staring right back at him.
A beat passes—just the two staring at each other. It doesn’t take very long at all for Will’s face to morph into something understanding… He already knows.
Mike speaks to him and to him only. “It’s you, isn’t it?”
Will doesn’t respond, but it’s clear he knows the answer too.
“No… No, but Henry had him!” Joyce yells when she’s caught on as well. “Just now! He walked away–”
Mike jumps up from his seat. “And what happened after that?! Will unlocked his powers!”
“Someone strong…” Lucas recites.
“But someone Vecna can control…” Robin finishes.
They’re all looking at Will again. Mike– Mike feels like his heart is about to give out.
Will’s mouth has fallen shut. For a moment there, he’s just staring off into nothing. Obviously, it was too good to be true. Obviously, he wouldn’t achieve anything miraculous unless there was a hidden motive that helped with Vecna’s plan. Maybe he is Vecna’s plan. Maybe those aimless words he hears in his nightmares sometimes actually mean something.
We’re going to do great things together, William.
Will forces himself to speak again. Mike can tell that it’s forced, that it’s painful for him. “He didn’t leave me at the Mac-Z for no reason. Even back then, back in the very beginning, I should have died. I did die.”
Mike is still unable to breathe.
“When he spoke to me, he showed me things. Memories. Something I forgot, back when I was in the Upside Down.”
He tries not to make things about himself, but Mike really hates where this conversation is going. If there’s one thing he damn near forces himself not to think about, it’s Will being stuck in the Upside Down.
“The spire…” Will continues, his face twisting in disgust at the memory. “I was part of it.”
It’s quiet. Deathly quiet until Lucas murmurs to himself. “Vecna doesn’t leave things unfinished.”
God, Mike wishes Lucas would just shut up already.
“No,” Will agrees. “He knew this would happen. He let me go for a reason. He knew that if he pushed me enough…”
“You’d become his goddamn sorcerer,” Robin whispers in amazement.
Mike looks back at Will, who’s jerking a stiff nod.
———
The next few hours pass by in a blur, where Mike is unsure if he was even present to begin with. He remembers the aftermath of their group discussion—Robin and Lucas disappearing to find somewhere to crash for the rest of the night, Joyce going upstairs to talk with Murray near the radio comms in case anything came in, and Will stashing himself up in one of the supply closets. That last part, Mike remembers for certain. Sometimes their crawls will run late, and Will and the rest of the “benched” team will create makeshift sleeping areas around the station until everyone returns home safely. Mike didn’t know Will preferred a confined space with no windows until it was him getting back late one night, and he nearly drove himself insane by running in circles trying to find his friend.
He found him in that closet with El, under the dim light of a table lamp, and the sheer relief that dawned on his face when he noticed Mike standing there had Mike wanting to cry too.
And now they’re back in that same tower. Many months later, and Mike is still holed up in the basement trying to think of a plan. He’s doing what he does best—his entire purpose here.
Occasionally, he’ll try to radio the others in the Upside Down. For every dead response he gets, he will scribble down on another piece of paper, filled to the brim with loose leads and makeshift strategies. His thoughts are all over the place. It doesn’t help that they’re completely in the dark right now, that they don’t even know what the hell is going on in the Upside Down right now, or if everyone is still alive, even.
No, the only thing they know for certain is that Vecna isn’t done with them. He’s coming for Will. Mike is sure of it–
The door creaks, jolting Mike from his thoughts. It winds open to reveal Lucas of all people, bleary-eyed, confused, pissed when he sees Mike surrounded by this mess.
“Dude. What the hell are you doing?”
Mike doesn’t watch him for long; he needs to focus. “What does it look like?” He mumbles, a bit irritated too. “We’re not– killing Vecna by just waiting around.”
He hears Lucas coming closer, exhausted by the sound of it. “Mike. It’s the middle of the night. We’ve been going at it all day. Just take a rest–”
Mike finally whirls around to scream. “No! I got enough rest when we were just waiting around for it to take Holly! Do you think we have time to sit back and relax? Do you think Vecna is relaxing? For all we know, he could be sending another demo after Will any second now.”
It takes a minute for Lucas to fully wake up and be present in the moment, and once he sees how bad Mike truly looks, his voice is controlled more gently, his hands reaching out like there’s any use trying to calm Mike right now.
“Mike… I know this is hard for you…”
“You don’t know shit.”
“I do,” Lucas insists. “I know what you’re feeling.”
Sure, he does. Mike continues what he was writing.
“I know you’re worried, but you’re not gonna be able to help us if you burn yourself out. You won’t be able to help Will.”
Mike feels like his bones are rattling beneath his skin. He snaps– “Don’t fucking talk about Will. You don’t know shit! You– You weren’t there when he got possessed. You don’t know what he looked like. If that happens again–”
“It won’t!” Lucas stresses. “Not when he has all of us. And don’t you talk to me about not understanding. The bastard took everything from me too. I know what Vecna is capable of. I’m scared for Will too. I never said I wasn’t.”
Mike exhales sharply, coming down from the shot of adrenaline. He’s being an asshole, he knows that. Lucas is the last person he should be arguing with about not understanding. But sometimes it really feels like it’s just Mike alone out here. Like he’s the only person vulnerable to everything that’s happened. The others have moved on so well, and it’s like he’s still biking through the woods crying in the rain.
“All I’m saying is you need to take care of yourself as well. We need you, Mike. With Dustin gone, you’re kind of our only bet at figuring this shit out.”
Mike huffs out a laugh. It’s pried out from him. Lucas always had that annoying effect on Mike specifically.
“Just go talk to him. Get your thoughts out. I think he’s still awake too.”
“Who?”
“Take a wild guess.”
Then Lucas slips out of the room, like he was never even there, and Mike is left at a figurative crossroads. Logically, he knows he should stay here to perfect some sort of plan, so they have the upper hand in the morning.
Or he could take Lucas’s advice and try to get some sleep. He really does need it. It’s been the most hectic few days he’s been through in a long time.
But in the back of his head, on the other end of the crossroad, he could listen to what his heart was asking for. Begging.
Giving in so willingly, he heads toward the room he saw Will take.
Will is lying on his usual makeshift mat on the floor, but his eyes are wide open. The lamp stays on. Always. If there’s one thing he misses from his childhood before being taken, it’s not being afraid of the dark
Tonight, he said he wanted to be alone. To think.
A few minutes into it, he’s not sure he wants to be able to think at all anymore.
To the noise of soft knocks on his door, Will turns his head. It’s Mike. Of course it’s Mike. He doesn’t have to grant the other permission to enter, or to gravitate so close to his side the second the door is shut behind him. He just gazes at him fondly, watching Mike kneel at his bedside and offer Will the kindest smile he’s ever seen.
“Hey. Are you still comfortable in here?”
“Yeah,” Will breathes out. “I just can’t sleep anymore.”
Mike keeps that caring look on his face as he shifts to get more comfortable himself. For some reason, Will just wants to cry at the sight of him. This has been the longest night of his life. He can’t wait for the morning when the idea of Mike dying in front of him won’t be at the forefront of his mind anymore.
“Why are you awake?” He asks. Mike looks tired too. Will spent half the day passed out on the floor, but Mike has been going nonstop.
“Can’t sleep either,” Mike answers. “I think I was being too loud. Lucas told me to put it to rest for the night.”
Lucas has a point. “You should take a break… When’s the last time you really slept?”
It looks like Mike is having a hard time remembering. “I’m fine,” he mutters regardless. “Promise.”
It only takes two seconds for Will to stare the other down and conclude his answer. “You’re a shit liar, Mike.”
Then Will shuffles backwards on his bed, inching closer to the wall so there’s a big space in front of him.
Mike looks down at the empty space, a blush heating up on his cheeks, against his very will. “Are you s-”
“Just lay down, Mike.”
Mike obeys, lying against the mat on his back, so close to Will that he can feel the other’s body heat from the other side of the blanket. He hates that it’s so awkward now, when just hours ago, you wouldn’t have been able to tell Will’s body from his. They’ve been pressed so close together before, so why does it only feel okay when it’s during a life-or-death scenario? Why can’t Mike just reach over and ask for the hug he really needs right now? What’s wrong with him?
Will’s voice comes out small, and once again, Mike hates that things can’t be easier between them. “Mike… Are you okay?”
“Hmm? Yeah, why?”
“You keep zoning out. It scares me.”
It’s not the first time someone has pointed that out, but it’s only with Will that Mike feels guilty about it. Will is here. He deserves Mike’s attention. With his face softening in an apology, he turns on his side so he can face him.
“Sorry. I guess I’m just not… acting right, lately.”
Will turns on his side too.
“You’ve been through a lot,” he reminds Mike, gently. “It’s been a rough few days… We haven’t gotten the chance to talk yet.”
“About?”
“About you. About your parents, your sister– I’m so sorry, Mike.”
Something about the way Will says it has this imaginary force squeezing down on Mike’s chest, crushing his lungs. A half-injured, half-missing family— yet still, Mike can’t bring himself to react. Not even with Will, who brings out the most honest version of himself. There really is something wrong with him.
“Yeah. It’s… It’s terrifying.” That’s all he manages to get out.
Will’s eyes are boring into him now. Mike tries not to look. He tries not to think of what Will might discover if he completely figures him out.
Mike desperately wants to change the subject. “I guess I just froze up, you know? At the hospital, when Nancy was crying and trying to make sense of it all, I could hardly focus on anything. I felt helpless. Like I was twelve again, repeating the same old mistakes.”
Will looks sad for him. “We’ll get her back,” he promises quietly.
Mike nods to himself. Again and again. “I know we will.” If that’s even true. “I’m not so worried about that. Holly has a pretty good team looking for her right now.”
“I just…” He drawls on, unsure of where he was headed with this in the first place. “I’m so mad at myself for letting this happen in the first place.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Will whispers.
“Wasn’t it?”
“No. It’s like you told Nancy. Yes, you could have gotten them out of Hawkins sooner, or at least told them, but how were you supposed to know what Vecna was planning? How were you supposed to predict everything he would do?”
“Nancy had a vision–”
“Almost two years ago–”
“It doesn’t matter!” Mike yells, immediately regretting raising his voice, but it’s too late now. “It doesn’t matter. It still happened. Holly is gone. He warned us, and we didn’t listen.”
Mike lies back, a dull thud against the floor, laughing to himself.
He bites back any emotion from showing through his voice. “I’m never going to learn. Never.”
Will has gone quiet, like he just now started to understand too. Mike has every right to blame himself, to resent himself forever. Yet, still, Will doesn’t want him to.
“You’re not helpless.” Will’s voice is so kind, so much kinder than Mike deserves. “You’re doing all you can.”
He shifts closer, still staring at the side of Mike’s face. If Mike were to turn his head again, something terrible could happen.
“And you weren’t helpless back then either,” Will adds. “You’re part of the reason I made it back here. A big reason. It was because of you.”
Mike stares ahead, blank. “It didn’t matter, though,” he mutters so low.
Now, Will is the one looking confused. A little hurt, even. “What?”
Mike shifts away; suddenly, he’s this uncomfortable mess in his own skin. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
But Will follows after him, moving closer yet again. “No. What do you mean?”
“Are you… saying that saving me didn’t matter?” Will asks innocently, like there’s even a chance in hell.
Mike sometimes wishes the ground would open back up and swallow him whole.
“No. No, Will, of course not. Of course not. Finding you…”
I would do it all over again. A million more times. In every single lifetime.
God, Mike is so pathetic. He just shrugs. “Yeah, I did all those things to get you back, but the second I do, what happens? What do I do? I start treating you like shit. I ignore you all summer, I take my anger out on you, then I can’t even send you a letter when you move away! I lost you. Again. And this time it was all my fault.”
Will looks remorseful at every word Mike says, and so sympathetic, despite everything. “We talked about this,” he reminds him, light and gentle. “I said I forgive you.”
“Well, I don’t forgive myself,” Mike spits out.
Probably because Will still doesn’t know the full picture. He doesn’t know why Mike felt so panicked all of a sudden, so out of place in his own skin. That summer was the worst of his life. He couldn’t recognize himself. He was grasping at straws, trying to fit in and act normal, and no one could see through him, no one except Will.
“Back then, I kept telling myself—that if I ever got to see you again—that if you… if you weren’t really dead… I would never take you for granted ever again.”
Mike finally looks at him, a matching look of heartbreak sewn onto both of their faces.
“But I did,” he admits. “I always do.”
Silently, unable to help himself, Will shifts forward to loosely hug Mike around the waist. Mike is so lost in his head that he can’t even enjoy it. He wants so desperately to lean back into Will, to sniff the shampoo in his hair when his head rests against Mike’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry.”
Mike murmurs back, “Why are you apologizing?”
“I don’t know what else to say.”
Mike will never be able to apologize to Will enough. He could spend the rest of his life trying, and it would never be enough.
“Mike?” Will calls, later, when the conversation should have been over. “Can I tell you something?”
Mike gives a nod, his hand now rubbing a single spot on Will’s back.
“It’s about your sister.”
That gets Mike’s ears to perk up. He looks down at the other, giving him time to gather his thoughts.
“I can’t really explain it well. I’m just… I’m really scared for her. No one else understands, but I know what it’s like to be down there. To be alone. It…”
Will’s voice is filled with so much pain. Mike can’t stand it.
“It hurts,” Will cries.
His fingers curl into Will’s back. If it’s not to comfort Will, it’s to help Mike, to remind himself that this is all in the past, that Will is here— with him. It’s over.
“I just don’t want her to go through what I did… Any of them.”
He really shouldn’t ask. He really doesn’t want to ask. “Earlier, you said he showed you something new. A memory you forgot.”
Will nods.
“What was it?”
Will stays quiet for a long time, and it’s not until Mike looks down that he realizes Will is crying. Silent tears, rolling down his cheeks.
“Hey…” He cups Will’s face, gentle in everything about it. “Hey. It’s okay.”
“Will…” He starts brushing Will’s tears away with his thumb when he doesn’t stop.
Will sniffs, rubbing a rough hand against his eye. “Sorry. I try not to think about it. It was so long ago, and I really shouldn’t kee-”
“Will.” Mike gently cuts him off to let him know that it’s fine. It’s okay.
Silenced, Will swallows, readjusts, and tries talking to Mike as he normally would, how he wants to.
“I hate thinking about it,” he starts with. “I hate how it has affected my body, my mind, like it’s still somewhere inside me. Always. Like I am it.”
Mike listens on with a heavy heart.
“I’m part of it,” Will hisses out, teary-eyed and angry. “The hive mind, the demogorgon, Vecna… we’re all the same thing. This evil, disgusting–”
“Hey–”
“I feel disgusting,” Will confesses. “When I close my eyes, I can still feel this thing sticking down my throat. Hurting me, changing me, rearranging— I don’t think my body is mine anymore, Mike. It doesn’t feel that way.”
Mike can hardly hear a word he’s saying. The blood rushing to his head when he gets the urge to kill someone is deafeningly loud.
Will sniffs back tears, the anger slowly escaping him, replaced with something devastating. “What if I’m not as in control as I thought? What if he’s just letting me think I am? Then, the second he needs me, I’ll snap back into this monster and do whatever he says. Except this time, I can really, really hurt someone.”
“But you won’t,” Mike swears, with as much conviction as possible. “Because you’re you. You’re still Will. You wouldn’t hurt anyone–”
“It doesn’t matter! Don’t you get it? I don’t exist anymore.”
Mike shuts himself up.
“I can still hear his thoughts, and as far as Henry is concerned, I belong to him. He’s just letting me run around thinking I don’t.”
Now that really gets Mike heated. “You don’t belong to him. No. Fuck that. You’re you. You don’t belong to anyone, and none of that bullshit matters. The second we kill that son of a bitch, you’re not going to feel him anymore. You’ll be free. You’ll feel free.”
Something worrisome sparks on Will’s face, but he doesn’t say anything. He lets Mike keep talking. He lets Mike’s hand come up to cup Will’s face, ever so tenderly.
“You do exist. You’re here, you’re with me. I see you.”
Suddenly, all that angst and dread melts straight off Will’s face. He looks so happy he could cry. Mike made him that happy, in such a terrifying moment. It’s the best feeling in the world.
“What if… you don’t really know me anymore?” Will asks, a genuine question.
And Mike thinks it’s silly. It’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. If there’s one person he’ll always know better than himself, it’s Will Byers
“Guess I’ll have to learn then,” Mike says anyway, playing into it, teasing.
The playful smile slowly releases itself from his face, the longer he stares at Will in the eyes. Beautiful and hazel and real.
“But I have a feeling,” he goes on, with his fingers lightly caressing Will’s cheek, like it’s the most precious thing he’s ever touched. It just might be. “I think it’s you. It’s really you…
It always has been.”
———
November, 1986
You would think in a world-ending apocalypse, Mike wouldn’t have to worry about when homework assignments are due, but here he is, staring down at a blank sheet of paper, unable to find a beginning to this essay to save his life.
Turns out, as a self-proclaimed writer, he kind of sucks at writing.
He’s not into poetry, he doesn’t like biographies, he obviously can’t write good letters, and now he can’t even do an essay right. Really, Mike’s future is doomed.
He wonders, just for a second there, if Will started on this essay yet. Knowing him, he’s probably already finished. What else would he be doing in the basement all the time? There’s some fun stuff down there, but it’s not that fun. Not fun enough to keep him occupied for two months straight.
Two months of living together already, and Mike and Will are still dancing around each other like it’s the very first week. Hell, if anything, that first week was better than whatever the hell this is. At least back then, Will and he were still catching up on lost time. They would have conversations in Mike’s bedroom into the late hours of the night, until it was time for Will to go back down to the basement. He would always retreat, no matter how many times Mike said it was fine if they just shared a room.
That period of time was dedicated to rekindling their friendship, for repairing whatever the hell happened between them when Will moved to California. And yeah, you could call Mike an asshole for somewhat enjoying their doomsday apocalyptic military quarantine— but at least this shitty situation brought him back to Will. That’s one good thing that came out of this, even if it didn’t really last.
At this point, Mike and Will are still friends, but they’re not exactly best friends. Mike thought they would have been fine after everything that went down on their trip to Nevada, where they shared their feelings and held back tears and all that sappy stuff, but Will has been oddly distant from everyone since getting back to Hawkins. Mike is included in that “everyone” this time around, even though he’s usually not. It drives him a little up the wall, but he doesn’t say anything.
Now, he only sees Will when it’s by coincidence. Usually, it’s in the kitchen, where running into other people is kind of unavoidable.
On a random Saturday, he runs into Will at some ungodly hour, where Mike wasn’t expecting to interact with human life until the sun finished coming up. Everyone was still asleep, and Mike’s hands were busy fiddling with the coffee pot when Will walked in. He must not have been expecting anyone either, given the way he nearly crashes into the wall when noticing Mike by the counter.
“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t think anyone would be up yet.”
For some reason, Mike’s mouth is dry. It’s really dry. “You’re fine,” he says, keeping his voice hushed. His eyes flick up from Will’s face to his messy hair, to his messy sleep shirt, then back to the coffee pot immediately. “I’m just here for, you know..” He gestures to the machine.
He can just hear the look of disgust Will is giving him. “I can’t believe you drink that stuff now. It’s gross.”
Mike can partially agree, but no one is drinking coffee for the taste. He shrugs. “What were you coming for? Are you hungry?”
An offer to cook breakfast for the two of them is waiting on the tip of his tongue, but Will shakes his head, basically telling Mike to go kill himself instead. Will starts making his way over to the cupboard. “No, I just needed some water. It got a little hot down there.”
Right. The shitty basement. Where Will insists on staying.
Will pours a glass for himself, while Mike stands there watching him awkwardly.
“You know… the offer still stands.”
“What offer?”
Mike’s eye twitches. “My room. It’s always open to you. You know that.”
Very smooth. If Will wasn’t totally put off by how annoying Mike is already, he definitely is now.
But despite what Mike’s inner demons keep saying, Will doesn’t really look annoyed by him. He just looks… lost. Unsure how to act. It’s just like how he was in California, and Mike wants nothing more than to permanently erase Will from ever feeling like that again.
Will is staring at the glass in his hand. Lost.
“No. I don’t know that.”
“What?” Mike asks, mainly because he didn’t really hear him.
Will replaces the strange look with a smile. “It’s fine, Mike. The basement is fine.”
Mike is sputtering then, like he’s physically unable to stop embarrassing himself. “Well, yeah– I just– In case it stops being fine, you can always come share with me. I mean, we always used to, so I don’t see the problem.”
“We were kids,” Will reminds him—the last time.
“So?”
“So it’s not the same! Plus, we’re not even– Nevermind.”
Mike circles the kitchen island to stand next to him, before Will even gets the chance to retreat again. “We’re not what?”
Will just looks sad now, and irritated, but mostly sad. “We’re not like that anymore.”
And here Mike is, standing there like an idiot, feeling like he just got stabbed. God, he misses Will. He misses him so much. He will hate himself forever for tearing the two of them apart.
Will takes sympathy on him, though, always being the more emotionally mature one. He cracks a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Plus, I think your dad hates me enough as it is.”
Mike is genuinely confused at that. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Will just gives him one last smile, small and weak and fake— then he leaves the room.
And Mike’s day is already ruined before it’s even started.
———
Believe it or not, but Mike usually doesn’t talk that much when he comes to visit Max. It might be a guilt thing. What right does he have to share random facts about his life when Lucas, and Max for that matter, are going through something much, much more difficult? Lucas is the only person Mike finds himself having a filter around. Mike is a jerk, but he’s not that much of a jerk.
Lucas’s perspective— that’s something Mike can’t even begin to process. He’d try putting himself in his friend’s shoes, trying to imagine what it would be like if it were Will or someone who got put into a coma instead, and Mike was doomed to wait at his bedside for months on end. He wouldn’t be as calm or collected as Lucas is, that’s for sure.
Though Mike really tries not to make everything about him and his nonexistent problems, there are some days when he just can’t help it.
“-And I told him to tell me if anything is wrong, or if there’s anything he or Johnathan or whoever needed, but it’s like talking to a brick wall sometimes! He’ll acknowledge what I’m saying, and then he’ll just go right back to pretending I don’t exist.”
Lucas looks so done with this conversation. It’s actually laughable.
Mike gets pissed off at that look, though. “You don’t believe me.”
Lucas sighs. “I just find it pretty hard to believe that Will is actively trying to ruin your life. So far– I mean, what did you say he did? He didn’t want to watch a movie with you last week, or share a bed with you this morning…”
Mike sputters, nearly choking on thin air. “When did I say that?! No, that’s– No.”
“And that he’s not talking to you every second of the day??” Lucas continues, still trying to understand the problem at hand here.
Mike throws himself back into his seat— this cheap, stupid, fucking, hospital chair— “You know what? Fuck you. Forget I said anything.”
“Mike, I think you just need to chill out a little bit. I know we’re all getting worked up here, but try not to take it out on Will. He has his own stuff going on.”
Lucas thinks he’s helping, but Mike genuinely can’t describe the visceral rage that statement brings him.
“I’m not taking shit out on Will. I would never– No, fuck you. It’s not just me being crazy, okay? He’s acting this way with everyone! He’s being avoidant and quiet, and I’m trying to find a way to make it stop. Because I care–”
“I mean, he seems fine to me.” Lucas shrugs. “Yeah, he’s probably still processing everything that happened with Vecna, but aren’t we all?” His eyes drift over to Max. “He comes here all the time to talk to us.”
This should not be the first thing Mike asks, but it is— “He does? What days of the week?”
Lucas sighs. Again. “You would know if you communicated with each other. You two could come together even. Crazy concept, I know.”
Yeah, Mike would fucking love to! If Will was able to stand being in the same room as him for more than five minutes at a time.
While Mike is ranting in his head, Lucas is studying the weird expression on his face. Mike always looks weird when he’s forming a thought, but this time it’s extra peculiar. So much so that Lucas’s tone shifts into something more sincere, and he genuinely looks curious to find out whatever the hell Mike’s got going on up there.
“You can finally tell me, you know?”
Mike looks back at him. “Tell you what?”
Lucas waves his hand over Mike’s general existence, as if it should be something obvious. “Whatever happened between you two when he left for Lenora.”
Mike stops, freezing in place, something in him feeling so unsettled and nervous all of a sudden for no reason at all.
“What? Nothing happened.”
Lucas gives him a deadpanned stare. “Dude.”
“No, I’m serious! I don’t know what you’re talking about.” And he means that. He doesn’t know what the hell Lucas is referring to. Sure, stuff– Stuff happened at the end of that summer. But Lucas wouldn’t know about that. There’s no way. God, he hopes not– “Nothing happened between us. We were still friends and everything.”
And maybe that was the problem. They were still friends, but Mike never took any further action to prove that to Will. But again, what the hell does Lucas know about that?
The other’s response is plain, giving nothing away. “Okay. I just thought…” Lucas shakes off the idea.
But Mike sure as hell isn’t letting this go. “Tell me.”
Lucas shakes his head again. “It’s nothing. I was just thinking about the end of that summer, and the start of freshman year.”
Mike’s heartbeat quickens, so loud he can hardly hear himself think. There isn’t much going on up there anyway, just a hopeless plea of begging Lucas to not say the wrong thing and ruin his entire life right now.
“You like refused to talk about him,” Lucas recounts, wearing a confused expression. “You’d get so mad when anyone brought him up. We knew you missed him, obviously, but it wasn’t like that when we talked about El. It felt like you hated Will or something.”
That’s not what Mike expected Lucas to say, but it’s somehow ten times worse. It makes him want to cry somehow. But he can’t. He hasn’t been able to since– since probably that summer.
It should go without saying, but Mike feels the need to say it anyway. Just in case anyone who’s listening really thinks that low of him. “I don’t hate, Will..” It comes out weak.
Lucas laughs, almost instantly. “Yeah. We know. That's why it was so weird.”
He still never answered Lucas’s question. He still didn’t explain why his relationship with Will turned so strained after that summer, but that’s something he’ll never be able to explain, so he’s glad Lucas doesn’t push any further.
But now, Mike is getting into his own head. At the mere idea of him hating Will, remembering that’s even a possibility between them–
“Do you think Will hates me?” He asks quietly, damn near having a panic attack at those words being arranged in a sentence he can say.
And Lucas is about to laugh it off, because apparently it’s funny, but then he notices how serious Mike looks, how Mike really is about to break down at the idea.
“No. Obviously not.”
But it’s not so obvious anymore, now is it?
“I don’t think there’s anything that could make Will hate you. Consider yourself lucky, asshole.”
His voice is teasing. He’s trying to make light of the situation, because it really is not that serious. It’s not. Is it? Will is Mike’s best friend. Will could never hate him.
So why does Mike have to force a grin onto his face to laugh along? Why does he actually have to pray that night that Lucas is telling the truth?
Maybe because— if he’s not— Mike really doesn’t have anything good going for him.
———
November, 1987
The next morning, Lucas and Robin are tasked with accompanying Mike back to the Wheelers’ house. During the short window when there are no investigators there, they’re supposed to pack up any belongings they might need.
Lucas goes to the basement to salvage any of Will’s and Jonathan’s stuff, Robin goes to Nancy’s room, and Mike goes for himself. But when he sees the complete wreckage of his room, he’s suddenly not thinking about his clothes anymore. No, his mind immediately goes to his closet, hardly standing anymore, where he kept probably the most important thing he owns. His painting, safely rolled up in a place that he could easily access when he wanted to look at it. And to his absolute dismay, when he finds it on his knees, through the mess and rubble, it’s destroyed. It’s torn, it’s crumpled, it’s a piece of trash.
Mike starts tearing up, in a way he never would have expected himself to. He knew his love for this painting– Will’s painting– ran a bit deeper than it probably should. No one else understood how much it really meant to him.
But he didn’t think he’d be so upset to see it like this. He spends a long time just sitting there, running his fingers over the scratchy paint. Will’s work. Every stroke, every color— He should have kept it somewhere safer. Idiot. This is his fault. Will spent so much time making this, and Mike just let it get ruined.
It’s at the worst timing that Robin peeks her head into Mike’s bedroom, concerned, calling out when she sees him just kneeling on the floor, not moving at all.
“You okay, Wheeler?”
Mike jerks, wiping his tears fast.
“Yeah,” he coughs out. “I’m fine.”
But– annoying as ever– Robin comes closer to look over Mike’s shoulder. He isn’t able to hide the painting in time before she sees it, then she sounds just as in awe and amazed as Mike did when he saw it for the first time, too.
“Whoa, that’s so cool! Those are your D&D characters, right?”
Not answering her, Mike folds it back up and places it in his bag to take with them. “Will made it.”
Then he’s standing up and going to the dresser for what he came for. He’s quick at packing. Most of his clothes look the same anyway.
He thought Robin would’ve left by this point. He’s not sure why she’s still standing there, watching him. Shouldn’t she need more time to pack up Nancy’s ridiculous wardrobe?
“Sorry about your room,” she offers. “It looks cool, from what’s still standing…”
Mike can feel himself growing irritated.
“I can see where Will gets his sci-fi love from.”
Mike slams his dresser shut. That does it. “Hey, speaking of Will, why are you talking to me? Isn’t he your friend? Shouldn’t you be on your way back to go see him?”
He’s circling the room, grabbing whatever else he has space for. He ignores Robin’s presence, who is just standing there, dumbfounded.
“Huh?” She calls.
Mike shakes his head. “Forget it.” This is stupid. He’s not jealous of Robin. Why the hell would he be?
But Robin is nothing if not persistent. The next second, she’s right in front of him, blocking Mike’s view.
“Are you okay, Wheeler? Did you inhale something toxic?”
“Why does everyone keep asking me that? I said I’m fine! I just want to get out of here.”
When he’s certain he has enough clothes, Mike heads to the bathroom to toss everything he sees into his bag. He’ll sort through it later. He doesn’t care.
Then it’s Lucas who comes to bother him next. He runs into him near the stairs.
“Hey, do you know where Will kept the rest of his clothes?” He asks Mike. “I couldn’t find that much downstairs.”
Mike grabs Will’s bag from Lucas’s arm, slinging it over his own shoulder.
“He wears mine. I packed enough for him, too.”
Robin sends a pretty strange look his way after saying that, as does Lucas, but Mike is leading them out of the house before he can see anything else that will ruin his day. Not everyone gets the privilege of seeing their childhood home reduced to rubble, and he wishes he stayed one of those people.
———
When everyone gets back to the Squawk, they start enacting the first step of their plan— "testing the waters."
There’s not much of a “plan” at all yet, actually. Right now, the team’s immediate future lies in the hands of Will. Mike somehow loves it and hates it at the same time.
The plan was— if Will can tap into the demogorgon’s mind and fuck shit up, maybe he can tap into Vecna’s and do the same. Or at least, maybe he can locate where he is.
For a while, they all sit around the basement while Will sits in the center of the carpet, silently searching through the Upside Down with hooded eyes.
Mike is antsy. He definitely thinks they should be utilizing Will’s powers to the best of their ability—it’s the most incredible thing he’s seen in his goddamn life—but something about this whole plan leaves a bad taste in his mouth. He’s worried. Every time Will makes a noise even relative to something painful, Mike is ready to jump up from his seat and call the whole thing off.
“Do you think it’s working?” Robin asks quietly. She’s not talking to Mike, but Mike is two seconds away from accusing her of not trusting Will and doubting how incredible he is.
Will’s breathing starts to pick up, his hand still trembling against his knee. Mike can’t tell for sure if this is a bad sign or if it means progress, but something in him tells him they shouldn’t get hopeful yet.
“Maybe we should pull him out,” Joyce suggests, now sounding worried too. “What if he can’t break out of it on his own?”
Without another word, Mike slides onto the floor, so he’s directly in front of Will, and their knees are touching.
“Will? Can you hear me?”
He takes Will’s hand and presses their palms together.
“Tell me if you’re listening. Give me a sign.”
A beat passes— then Mike feels a squeeze to his fingers.
“He hears us,” he turns to tell the others. Then back to Will— “Are you finding anything?” He quietly asks.
Will gives a single tap to the back of Mike’s hand. ‘Yes.’
Mike nods to himself. “Okay. Good. I’ll be here then. You’re doing great. If you need any help, just let me k–”
Suddenly, Will’s entire body jerks, everything snapping into place. He’s not breathing anymore, he’s frozen, his hand is crushing down on Mike’s— He’s choking— His eyes are darting all over the place behind his eyelids— The lights in the room are going haywire—
Mike starts panicking, “Will! Will, what’s wrong?” He’s yelling.
There are other panicked voices behind him, closing in on their space.
Mike’s hands have raised to Will’s shoulders, where he’s trying to jostle him. “Come on, come back! Will, listen to me. I’m right here, come back–”
A sharp inhale gets sucked through Will’s mouth as his eyes shoot wide open.
He’s back. He’s here. After the longest seven seconds of Mike’s life.
Immediately, Mike moves to pull him forward, at the same time that Will’s arms go to wrap around Mike’s back as he falls too. His fingers are digging into Mike’s sweater, gripping him so tightly as Mike chants to him under his breath. “You’re okay, you’re okay–” He squeezes the other back, guiding Will’s face to hide against his collarbone, his own hand settling on the back of Will’s neck. “You’re okay.”
There are other people moving around them, other questions being directed at Will, but Mike can’t stand to hear any of them. His mind is solely locked onto the person in his arms. Will, holding onto him for dear life.
At one point, maybe a long time later, someone tries to coax Will away from him, so they can talk and further move ahead with the plan. Mike doesn’t move an inch. If it were possible to lose himself in Will’s embrace and move endlessly closer, he would have.
———
Mike is pacing. Will is inside a room talking to his mom, and Mike is standing outside the door pacing.
He didn’t think he looked that crazy, but what does he know? These days, it seems everyone thinks he’s psychotic except himself.
“Hey, Wheeler?”
Mike snaps his head in Robin’s direction. “What?”
This only seems to amuse her further. “Nice to see you too, man. I was gonna tell you Murray brought dinner upstairs. If you still like that sort of thing.”
Mike waves her off. “I’ll get some later.”
Robin raises her hands in surrender, then slowly backs away.
Actually, now that Mike thinks about it, he should probably make Will a plate in case his talk with Joyce runs longer than expected. He likes his food hot, and he’s probably starving by now. Headed for the stairs, Mike nearly runs straight into Robin when turning the corner.
“Oh. Change your mind?”
“I’m bringing some to Will,” Mike informs her, even though he’s not obligated to.
He starts gathering portions of the food Murray brought, whatever he knows Will would like. This could be a good excuse to insert himself into the conversation, too. Maybe Will wouldn’t mind if Mike were in the room too when he tells Joyce about his vision. Only one way to find out.
Lucas is sitting off to the side, watching Mike with a raised eyebrow. “Mike, do you even like carrots?”
Robin sends an amused smile Lucas’s way. “It’s for Will,” she clarifies.
Then the two share an indecipherable look with each other that Mike doesn’t even care to look into. He gets Will’s food, then makes his way back downstairs.
He doesn’t know why he’s nervous when knocking on the door, when announcing his name is in fact Mike, and asking if he can come inside for a second.
He opens the door to see Will and his mom sitting on one of the pull-out beds, hand-in-hand, like Mike just interrupted a really personal moment.
And now they’re both staring at him, like an awkward deer in headlights.
“Hey, um… Sorry. Sorry to barge in, but Murray just brought food. And I… I got you some.” He holds the plate out to Will, really shy under his gaze all of a sudden.
To his side, Joyce is smiling at him ear to ear, and next to her, Will is looking at him like Mike just revealed he hung the moon and stars.
“Really?”
Mike nods. “Yep. I uh… I only got the stuff you liked. You’re not missing out on anything else, I promise. I just didn’t want it to get cold for you.”
Will has yet to accept the plate. It’s still in the air. He’s too busy staring at Mike with something unreadable.
“Thank you, Mike,” Joyce takes it from him. Bless her. “That’s very sweet of you.”
Mike bites back the smile. He just knows his cheeks are so red right now.
And now that his mission is complete, it’s time for him to show himself out… But the second he starts to turn, Will is calling out for him.
“Come sit with us. Please?”
You don’t have to ask Mike twice.
He nearly trips over himself when running to the bed, sitting himself down right next to Will. Personal space means nothing when their legs are pressed up against each other as Will starts to eat from the plate in his lap.
“You already ate, right?” He asks Mike.
“Oh, no. Not yet. I wanted to bring you some first.”
Will stops chewing. “Mike. Why didn’t you get yourself some?”
“I’m not that hungry…”
But Will doesn’t seem to care about that fact. No, he sets the plate down on the closest surface and starts standing up.
“Where are you going?” Mike calls, way more unhappy about it than he should sound.
“To get your dinner,” Will says before shutting the door behind him.
Then it’s just Mike and Joyce. Not the time and place for Mike to be blushing about how thoughtful Will is, but here we are.
“I know I say it all the time, but thank you for always looking after him.”
He should have expected that Joyce would try to hold a conversation with him; she’s a people person, always has been, but it still catches him off guard.
“Oh,” he drones. “Oh, yeah… Of course. He’s my… I’ll always be there for him.”
Way to go, Mike. Like that made any sense at all.
“I know, honey,” Joyce gives him the warmest smile. He’s noticed that, the way she always looks at him— it’s just filled with so much love. “Especially with all this Vecna shit– I’m really glad he has someone like you who cares so much.”
Mike smiles at how vulgarly she says it. There’s no doubt in saying Joyce was always his favorite parent out of all his friends. In a way, she felt like she was one of his parents, too, perhaps even more than his own dad.
No. Definitely more than his dad.
But every time he sees Will interacting with Joyce, especially here, where they’re all in on the same big life-altering secret, sometimes he gets really jealous. He wishes he had his mom, too, who he could go to and cry to when things get scary.
And now– Now he really can’t do that. He doesn’t know the next time he’ll even be able to see her.
“Mike?”
He turns to Joyce.
“I’m so sorry.”
And it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what she’s talking about. It must be a Byers thing—reading people’s minds.
“Thanks,” he mutters quietly. He refuses to break down in front of his best friend's mom. Absolutely refuses.
“I’m always here if you need to talk,” She goes on, just making it harder for him. “I know it’s not the same as if– As if it were your own mom, but I love you like you’re my kid too. I’ve always seen you that way.”
Tears are building in his eyes. They don’t quite fall yet. But they’re there.
He never would have guessed this is where they’d end up. One day, it’s like they were just seven-year-old boys, having sleepovers in Castle Byers outside, and the next, they’re here fighting monsters and the U.S. government. Sometimes– all the time– he wishes he could go back to the days when it was just him and Will and Joyce watching VCR tapes on the old couch.
“Thank you,” Mike forces out, and it’s the only thing he can say. Any more, and he will start crying.
With the most perfect timing, Will comes back. He’s holding two plates, one for Mike, one for Joyce.
“Thank you, baby,” she thanks him first. “You didn’t have to.”
Mike thanks him next, but it’s through a look instead of words. With them, sometimes a shared smile can say everything they need it to.
While they eat together—with Mike still leaning against Will, sharing a spoon when he wants Will to try this weird Russian soup Murray picked up—Will tells Mike about what he saw in his visions.
They weren’t as intense this time, as he now knows how to better control them. And there’s even some great news that came out of it. He was able to get a sight of the others: Nancy, Dustin, Jonathan, Steve, and even El and Hopper for a split second from a distance. They’re all okay.
But things started going wrong when he went looking for Vecna. There’s something weird in the Upside Down— a wall. A giant wall that circles the whole town, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t see past it.
But there was something calling to him, something echoing beyond that space Will couldn’t reach. Out there, somewhere, is Holly, and all of the other kids that Vecna kidnapped. But anytime Will tried to follow that call, trying to breach Vecna’s mind, he’d get shut off. The signal would go dead, and his head would reel from how badly it hurt.
Will says he saw that place again, only for a few seconds before he got kicked, but it was enough to solidify it in his mind. Their bodies are being held somewhere, somewhere terrible. And there’s still an open spot, waiting for someone.
Mike doesn’t stop himself from holding Will’s hand and leaning his head on his shoulder. Joyce is safe; she wouldn’t say anything if Mike started getting emotional.
But there’s something about Will that makes him want to remain strong. They would figure this out together. As a team. They had to.