Work Text:
"And you are going to help me. You are going to be my spy.
“One last time."
The words are a precursor. They’re the prelude.
As Vecna’s grotesque, and mutated hand lifts, Will sees the claws.
Somewhere inside him, deep, and visceral fear unfolds.
No… No.
It’s a thought that bears repeating, even as his lips dare to close around defiance, sampling it.
“No, never!”
He feels like he’s lying. There’s a new kind of helplessness here. His physical body elsewhere, and his mind stuck in a land that obeys only one person’s command. His power permeates him, entering him as if he were soil left dry and cracked, and this is the water keeping it alive. Only it can. Only it shall.
And Will gasps with something else, the other’s clawed hand lifting up.
He’s seen it before. Never seen it act.
There's a memory, a bitter memory. Fuzzy and weird. He doesn’t even see well inside it. He just harbors a kind of knowledge, and in this knowledge much like a bundle of all things bad offered onto his brittle and breaking frame, there is it, there it lingers, a lumbering sort of presence allowing him a glimpse into something like a nightmare.
This hand.
This claw.
No.
NO.
Its presence, all evil, hurt, HURT.
His eyes widen.
No. NO.
Does he scream it, is it in his thoughts? Does it come out, is it kept inside like a secret for he knows, knows that here and now--
Nobody will hear him scream.
But scream, he shall a lot.
The claw moves, its ends curled, the bodies of the fingers lithe, glib and dangerous, clad in a leathery surface broken up by bulging veins, which throb, and they pulsate, and over his head it hovers--
And his eyes.
They follow.
Widen and follow.
Ain’t no way he could ever look away, ever close his eyes and pretend to ignore a presence that is might itself.
A hand.
So clawed.
Not a hand then.
Just a violent grabber.
And Will knows--
KNOWS.
Of his impending violation--
Yet again.
“The more you resist--”
Words. Not cold. Not at all. To Will they feel warm. Just like the hand that touched his cheek before. It delivered an almost gentle caress--
And to Will, that is the worst.
Something so caring and great, intended to be so by mothers and fathers and friends.
And. Lovers.
But the memory of it joins something horrific, and understands in layers and rows swell inside him, feeling like poison that takes over.
He. Has. Gone. Here. Before.
He. Knows. This. Place.
And knows this hand…
Thrice it’s touched his face, and in each case it burned and therefore, it singes his flesh even here.
The hand. And a touch.
OhSoWrong.
And Will--
“No.”
“--the more will this hurt.”
“NO.”
An invasion.
IN HIS MIND IN HIS MIND IN HIS MIND IN HIS MIND IN HIS MIND IN HIS MIND IN HIS MIND IN HIS MIND IN HIS MIND IN HIS MIND IN HIS MIND IN HIS MIND IN HIS MIND IN HIS MIND IN HIS MIND IN HIS MIND IN HIS MIND IN HIS MIND IN HIS MIND IN HIS MIND IN HIS MIND IN HIS MIND IN HIS MIND IN HIS MIND IN HIS MIND IN HIS MIND IN HIS MIND IN HIS MIND IN HIS MIND IN HIS MIND IN HIS MIND IN HIS MIND IN HIS MIND IN HIS MIND IN HIS MIND IN HIS MIND IN HIS MIND IN HIS MIND IN HIS MIND IN HIS MIND IN HIS MIND IN HIS MIND IN HIS MIND IN HIS MIND IN HIS MIND
ATTACK ATTACK ATTACK ATTACK ATTACK ATTACK ATTACK ATTACK ATTACK ATTACK ATTACK ATTACK ATTACK ATTACK ATTACK ATTACK ATTACK ATTACK ATTACK
“STOP. STOP. HENRY, NO--”
And tis this creature’s delight so hot, for it burns at a temperature too wrong, delight born in his dead heart, this being loves it.
Loves the hurt that he seeds in Will’s mind.
As Will screams and his thoughts contort and collapse down.
They invert.
An act of flaying his own mind.
He is stripped.
It rapes through his soul.
“NO.”
This entrance inside his secrets so forced, forced…
So very forced.
And suddenly: immediate.
He is inside Will.
William, preferably called.
And if Will’s mind has a center, tis the tenderest kind. All the heartfelt secrets. The surreptitious observations. Ideas and thoughts he never shared with anyone in the world, let alone his shadow, and yet they stalked him, the most devoted followers.
In Vecna’s greedy hold.
He caresses them like he’s caressed Will’s cheek so many times before.
A claimer, and abuser, a perpetrator and a robber. In a place where he isn’t welcome, and where Will’s mind echoes repeatedly:
GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT
There he stands, smug and human and then inhuman in both of his witnessed forms. Smiling as Will’s focus turns inwards, and he panics, he panics, he’s panicking, get out please, be gone, but the invasion has a farther reach, and this presence is one fat.
Fed obese by the contained, secretive thoughts.
These very secrets that Will ain’t share with the world--
De. Vou. Red.
Until his vision PU-PU-PU-PULS-PULS-PULS-PULS-ES-ES-ES and he’s--
“Will?”
“Mike?”
Will looks around.
What, where, how, but--
“Are you okay, Will?”
Silence. This corner of the physical world lives inside its heart. And when Will remembers something impossible, unlikely, remnants of a mysterious fear still coursing through him in a residue hold, he thinks, he thinks--
There was… screaming… his ears feel raw.
His throat, when he touches it, still is.
But… but silence, he picks up on it. It surrounds them both. And the WSQK station where the group has been spending the last hours in the hopes of figuring out how to use his newfound powers, looks exactly as Will remembers.
Calm.
Warm.
Familiar.
… Silent.
Some people are walking around, pacing as you do just to get the creative juices running.
Others are munching, and frowning, since to think and eat and expect both to work out perfectly is to live on the edge.
Thrilling.
But-- but Will…
He frowns, and looks around one more time.
This is the living room space. Here what feels like forever ago, his mom came up with a plan that isn’t really bad, just very naive. Very ambitious.
But for all they know, it might just work out.
But he could swear that--
“Earth to Will, hello?”
Will blinks. “Sorry, I.”
What?
Trying to fully bring himself back to the moment, Will focuses on Mike, aware they’re both sitting down, an open bag of chips between them.
That does sound about right… Murray mentioned eating. And then they decided to eat.
So why-- why is he… why does Will feel like he is just missing something very, very important?
“Nerves, huh,” says Mike, offering a bit of a smile. “That’s fine. Are you maybe worried that your mom’s plan won’t work out?”
“Well…”
Scared. Frightened even, but it’s not like he’ll say it.
“Frightened, actually. Just frightened.”
Inwardly, Will flinches.
Why did I say that? I didn’t intend to.
Oblivious to his panicked thoughts, Mike nods, looking lost in his own.
“I get that. But I think you’re going to manage. I think-- I think your mom has a good idea here. You can tap into Vecna now. Sure as you said, it’s proximity-based, but once we get you a live demo, for example, you’ll be able to. You’ll use it to tap into the hive mind and into Vecna himself. And then, we can kill him for good. Finally we’ll be rid of that rotting, noseless bastard.”
Helplessly, Will smiles…
God, this is such a relief to hear Mike talk about it like this. Yes, all of that is true, from how the powers work apparently, to what they all want so very desperately: a quick exit from all of this…
If only Vecna could die forever, they’d all be happy.
Relieved, Will nods.
“I hope you’re right. I sincerely do. And then… god, can you even imagine? A world where Vecna is dead… where we can return to our lives. Finally, we’d get to be teenagers. We’d get to live.”
His hopeful, dreamy whispers feel like a sin. Even in Will’s own ears.
Mike acts like he didn’t notice.
“Perhaps. I mean we already are alive, but I get what you mean. He’s been taking up a lot of our time, our energy… yeah, he’s been an annoying constant in our lives. El in particular. Sometimes I just look at her and I don’t understand how she’s been able to continue without wanting to just curl up into a ball and cry.”
“What do you know, maybe she does want to do that.”
Mike chuckles. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. If she did-- I’d be here for her. I’ll always be here for her. No matter what happens, I’ll be by her side even if it costs me my life--”
God, no.
Will reaches out for Mike awkwardly, craving to offer support, but his hand freezes as uncertainty wells up inside him.
His hands closes.
Mike doesn’t appear to see.
“--and it might, it might just cost me my life. And if it does, then it does. At least I’ll know I died with no regrets. I died for her-- the only person in the world I could ever, ever love… The most amazing person in the world.”
God, Will can understand that. Will can.
Will doesn’t want to…
… Shit.
Will does. And as the level of his understanding drops down on his shoulder like a literal planet he’s intended to carry, he blesses the fact he’s sitting; his knees are buckling; in his imagination, he’s falling; to have someone you love so, so very close, this stupidly close… and know that you can see, but don’t touch. Touch, but don’t hold. Hold, but don’t smell. Smell, but don’t taste. Taste, and don’t chew. Chew but never ever swallow.
Swallow…
And then never remember.
Rinse and repeat in an endless, bitter, horrifying cycle.
Mike exhales.
“Unlike you.”
What?
He meets Will’s eyes, and Will goes cold.
“Don’t tell me you were thinking of confessing, Will? Don’t tell me this short moment was enough to get you pining after the relief of a well-received confession? Do you think Mike would take it well?”
Horror. It creeps up Will’s back and Will leans back, his heart hurting in his chest.
“Do you think any of us would?”
Footsteps echo from all around him. And all the people here tonight at the station slowly arrive in the living room, grabbing their seats or choosing to stand as they focus on Will, and stare right through him.
Kindness has never seen their gazes.
Their expressions suggest it.
… Cold.
It creeps into Will’s thoughts.
No colder than how they look at him-- vermin under their soles.
‘Mike’s voice carries.
“Really now, Will, let’s try it then. We can start from the beginning. You can pretend I’m him. You’re so desperate for him and to be loved by him that you’ll be happy to have his attention without looking into what he’s really thinking about. That’s how it’s always been, hasn’t it? As long as he’s looking your way, you can feel like you matter to him.”
Will jerks back--
And ‘Mike’ grabs his hand, stopping him.
“Like the selfish fag you are.”
The flinch that ripples through Will is visceral.
“No, stop--”
“You stop,” bites out ‘Mike’ as his hold tightens. “You stop being disgusting. Don’t you understand, Will? We all already know that you’re weak. That’s no surprise. But at least you’re like us, we think. Weak, but normal. That is what matters. Weak, but just like others. But the moment we know that you’ve been faking it, and that you’re just a fag whose very existence defies what is right, we’ll feel so disappointed, Will. We’ll hate you. And we won’t even mourn the friendship we lost with you. We’ll mourn that we ever liked you. We’ll mourn the time you stole from us.”
He doesn’t let go of the hand.
He releases it in a violent, and repulsed throw.
It hurts.
“Because you’re sick, Will, and you’re abnormal. That’s the truth of it.”
Tears. Collecting in Will’s eyes--
Hurt.
“And the worst part, Will? Is that you continue to think that. You Have. Value. That you have worth. That you can live with us, normal people, you can live a good, prosperous life. You can have friends. And maybe, if you squint enough, you can have love.”
‘Mike’ leans in too close and his words embrace Will like a million daggers.
“You little liar.”
His skin begins to peel away, crackling like burned paper as the donned surface disappears upwards, melting away into smoking ash just to reveal the charred underneath.
“But I can show you that, liar.”
His tone transforms from that pleasant, soothing timbre to an alien growl.
He reaches out-- once more. With that evil, ugly left hand--
And Will has no time to run away.
He never would have had enough time.
It cups his cheek, the only kind, and loving touch Will Byers will ever know.
“I can show you the truth.”
Vecna’s hideous, monster form sits beside him, holding his cheek like he’ll never let go. In his hold, Will burns and whimpers. His breaths are ragged.
He needs to go.
But an unseen force compels his head to slowly turn, in doing so leaning into Vecna’s palm.
Just so he could see all these people. Mike among them. El.
And Jonathan, and Dustin, and Nance, and then Steve as well, all focused on him, frowning, staring, and studying him like he’s a particularly stubborn, and oversized bug they’ve been hoping to squash under their feet but rather than exit in dignity, his many broken legs continue to wiggle.
Their judgmental gazes scorch him. They’re the hottest possible substance to exist, unforgivingly invasive but also slow in the deadly embrace it deals.
Vecna’s hand slides down in a caress, and cups Will’s neck.
“Watch them, Will. Do you see?”
His thumb swipes over his jaw, languid.
“What do you see, William? Answer me.”
No.
No, he will not.
He remembers now, he’s remembered.
This isn’t real, and he’s being held a prisoner. Vecna’s breaking down the walls erected over his mind, exploding every barricade in place to protect the vulnerable core.
He remembers.
Breathing ragged, none of this is real, but these eyes-- these expressions--
God, they feel so real.
“Answer me, William. Is this not the very reality you hope to avoid?”
Will jerks his head away-- but the hand grabs his chin, deliriously warm.
It tilts his chin up, baring his throat.
And the people stand, stepping close to drop down their united shadow.
Underneath their gazes, Will exists, shaking.
“M-mom…”
She’s shaking her head. Tears kiss her eyes. She can’t even look at him, her faggot son, but still since, since if she looks away, he won’t go up flames. Shame about that. He bleeds her heart. He’s that knife inside.
“Is this why I raised you? I gave birth to you… I gave birth to you, Will. I carried you under my heart for nine months just so you could be like this, and want to live like this? How could you ever think it’s right?”
“M-mom, no…”
Finally, Joyce averts her gaze.
“MOM, PLEASE.”
“No… No. No.”
She turns away and won’t look anymore. Whether he lives or dies, let him not share his depravity with the rest of the world; at least then Joyce may pretend she had a son named William.
“My little brother.”
His attention pulls to Jonathan, his words now flowing through him like a curse.
The eyes are the worst though.
The worst.
Breaking and accusing, like the blade is being lowered through his organs as their eyes lock.
“I defended you for years, looked out for you for years. But how can I defend you here, Will? How could you ever be-- that? Out of all the things in the world, Will, out of all the things in the world, Will, you’re that. That thing. That… fairy. You. My brother… not my brother anymore.”
Will chokes on his tears.
“No, no, Jonathan… Jonathan…”
He remembers a moment from almost two years ago. That lame, diner-pizzeria and both of them working to fill a tub with water and salt.
Jonathan said such kind words.
He was so, so kind.
“I lied,” replies Jonathan, weeping, “but that’s fine, isn’t it, Will? Since you lied to me. I never knew you were this sick.”
The memory tarnishes.
Will jumps forward-- and he reaches out like a little boy, he’s a little boy. His brother is leaving--
“No, JON, DON’T GO. DON’T GO.”
But Jonathan leaves, stopping by the opposite wall to weep loudly, disgust and disappointment inspiring the tears that flow down from his eyes.
“God, you actually wanted my brother to be like you.”
Nancy’s words smell of vindication and horror.
Her jaw both tenses, and shakes as she grits her word out.
“You… could have… infected him with that. In this world, Will? Have you-- have you ever thought about what it means? To be gay?”
Gay. The word hits him like a thousand bricks.
It’s oddly worse than being called a faggot. He could ignore that. People can be shit.
But being ‘gay’ cuts right to the center of the fencing around his heart, in his mind, pulling out the dread that fosters inside his bones.
Gay, he’s gay.
“Disgusting,” snaps Nancy in an emotional tone, spinning away as she disappears to console Jonathan as his partner, his girlfriend.
A boyfriend and a girlfriend in the only right way for the world to work.
“Can’t believe I ever felt any kind of sympathy for you.”
Steve next. Dry, dispassionate words as he looks away, then scoffs.
“Well, glad to say I never gave two shits about you, so I can just disappear without you ever noticing. And if you do, not my problem…”
He pauses, spotting Nancy and Jonathan.
“Poor Nancy though. If I were her, I’d want to shoot you. Having gay thoughts about my brother?”
Steve shudders.
“This is so gross.”
“It is,” agrees Dustin, “and consider this; I was actually friends with this fag my whole life. We slept in the same room sometimes, we hugged and we hung out.”
Steve scoffs. “I bet that feels really disgusting in hindsight.”
Dustin faces Will.
“It does, actually.”
Their eyes lock.
“I feel really disgusted. You disgust me, Will. Don’t even look at me again.”
A beat passes.
“But that’s not what I’d do in real life, would I?”
As Will gasps, gagging on his tears, Dustin stands closer, bending at his waist to bring their faces together.
“No, I'd have more class. I’d be snakier. I’d find excuses. I’d mention Suzie a lot. My girlfriend, you know? I’d keep on bringing her up, kind of hoping it got through to you that that’s how it’s supposed to be, Will. A girlfriend. You’re supposed to get a girlfriend.”
He punctuates his words by stabbing his finger in Will’s chest, then realizing what he’s done, grimaces in disgust, wiping his fingers down the side of the couch.
“Ugh… But it would never work on you, right? You’d keep trying to reach out. It would take you a while to get I wasn’t interested. Actually, you’d keep hoping I just needed some time to stop thinking less of you. Nah, I’d always think lowly of you. Since that’s what you deserve.”
Satisfied with the state of his finger, Dustin wiggles it, and grins, since he wiped the fag off.
Well done.
“That’s what he is,” points out Lucas in a sage voice. He observes Dustin, like they’re really here, locked in this conversation. It’s a burning topic they might really talk about. Using these words. These tones. “I kind of admire that about you, Dustin, since I wouldn’t even do that. I’d just keep coming up with excuses why we can’t go out, provided I picked up the phone at all.”
“Smart,” declares Dustin.
Lucas smiles crookedly. “Yeah.”
He looks at Will.
“Imagine if you thought I was home sick or something, and then you saw me outside. Damn. That would get awkward real quick. Hopefully I’d see you first so I could avoid you.”
He shudders too, viscerally.
“God, when I just picture people finding out you’re that and then seeing me with you, what would they think of me? They’d think I’m just like you. I have enough on my plate as it is, Will. Sorry, Will, but also not sorry. Even now looking at you gets me like…”
A shiver squares his shoulders.
Lucas rocks it out.
He and Dustin move out of sight, and in moves El, who sits down on the table before Will.
“Will,” she addresses.
Her eyes show empathy.
“Friends don’t lie.”
Will bates his breath--
“And friends don’t think about their friend’s boyfriend like that.”
Her empathy scrunches up her nose, wrinkling the skin underneath her eyes.
“How could you, Will? I trusted you. I liked you. I called you my brother. Were you mocking my desperation for a family while I struggled with how to belong?”
His breath catches.
“No, no, no, El, no--”
She’s almost crying now.
“So you were, what, thinking about kissing my boyfriend and making fun of me for never realizing while you looked me in the eye and pretended everything was fine? That we were close? That you liked me?”
He leans forward in his seat, unaware of the hand’s absence on his chest as his clasp together, and he’s begging.
“El, please, I didn’t, I don’t, I never did--”
“Did you think about sleeping with him?”
That harsh and vulgar question.
It turns his words into a loud gasp.
“El--!”
“I bet you did.”
Her lips are wobbling. “I bet you looked at me and wondered what we do together when we’re alone. You probably imagined being in my place. Kissing him how I kiss him. Enjoyed being kissed by him. Did you imagine being in my skin, wearing my face since that’s the only way Mike would ever want you?”
A gagging sound rips out of his throat.
His tear-stained, pale face still looks at her, frozen in its state of obsessed horror.
“I… I… I…”
Not looking away, El sobs.
“How could you?” she whispers. “How could you betray me like that, Will? I saved you, you know. I saved you more than once. And this is how you repay me? L-lust after my boyfriend, dream of kissing him, holding him, being alone with him. Did you-- did you imagine what face he’d make as he undressed you? As he tried-- as he tried… well, did you? Because I did!”
She stands up suddenly, her final words a scream.
“You make me sick, Will. I used to see a brother in you. Now, I can’t even look at you… I can’t… I just can’t…”
She collapses into Joyce’s arms.
And Joyce cradles her slowly, maternal as she whispers, “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay… It’s okay, I got you… I’m here. I got you.”
“Yeah. I’d be thinking the same.”
Will can’t, he can’t…
He knows what he was just thinking but he forgot there are no secrets here. Vecna knows. Everyone knows. And in that case, Mike also knows as he stands there, pitiful his expression. He regards El and Joyce with tenderness. With compassion.
Then he glances down at Will, and the compassion is gone.
And Will cannot look back. He can only stare right ahead, his heart wilting as the thought he just had replays in his head…
“‘That’s my mom, she’s supposed to be comforting me’,” repeats Mike, and Wills eyes close.
That thought, those exact words.
“But she won’t and I think you finally need to accept that.”
Mike-- he sounds the most troubled out of everyone in that practiced, guarded way that openly admits Will isn’t even worth the depth of his disgust.
He’s barely worthwhile this sideways look that apparently takes its toll on Mike, and which he delivers as a present he’ll only yield out of necessity for a closure this one damned time and afterwards no more.
And Will can tell.
From the stance. How Mike’s body isn’t even facing him, and his eyes seem to glance away slowly.
So that Will can know-- there’s a timer on this talk, running out quickly, thank god.
“You realize I never would have returned your feelings, right?”
The voice as well. It adopts a colder tone the more Mike talks. Grows more unforgiving with every word.
“No. You didn’t. Which… I don’t understand it, I don’t. But I think I finally understand you now. This is why you always needed me to save you, didn’t you? Why you continued to cling to me even as we grew up. You had developed some sick fantasy involving me and us… There was never any us. And there never will be-- But.”
Mike shrugs.
“You still thought it. You still felt it. You looked at me and you dared to h o p e.”
“I KNOW.”
Will slides off the couch at that point.
His knees hit the floor, but it’s not a hard enough collision. Some pain and its tremble, but a hunger in him comes fully to itself, and it-- it craves more.
And Will WEEPS.
“I KNOW.”
His forehead touches the floor.
“I KNOW.”
I know.
Always knew, always.
“MIKE--”
God. The Mike that he loves. The gentle protector. The paladin and the warrior. The good, kindest soul…
“But that’s just your fantasy of me…”
Mike is crouching before him, staring through Will.
“You do realize that, right?”
And Will must look up, he MUST look up, take in this sight, the rarest fucking sight MIKE.
Here in person. His attention on Will, rousing his hunger. He hungers so, give him more, give him this attention. These kind, dark eyes and his words, give him the voice, anything as long as he has it, as it came from Mike personally…
Just so that for a few moments, Will could pretend it was his all along.
Born with an intent to catch his attention, spun for his thoughts and reactions, starving to hear his words.
HIS.
HIS!!
GOD. FUCKING. DAMN IT.
HIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!
“Never.”
Mike’s cruel, familiar tone.
“I could never be yours… Never.”
He weeps, Will, chokes on his sobs, snot down his nose, pale sunken features, cheeks with an ugly flush and his tears causing an allergic reaction.
“God, when I just think about it, Will… You know what I’d do, you know. You know I could never look at you the same. I’d never be able to trust the way you look at me, how you think about me, why you looked for me, what you needed from me. Did you really need me? Did you choose to need me? Was it so you could revel in my attention? Did you ever stop to think that perhaps it disgusts me to know you never saw me as a person?”
The burning expression, the loudness of his words.
Louder than those sobs.
“You saw me as your fantasy, your prince charming, yours alone, never once thinking about who I am as a person, what I need, what I want, what is actually important to me. No, you just thought about yourself. For years, Will, you hounded me, you watched me, and you never realized just how selfish you were being. Why were you ever saved?”
“Noooo don’t say that, DON’T SAY THAT.”
“The truth hurts, right?”
Down on his knees Mike moves, and on all fours, Will grovels.
“Is this why you were saved? So you could look into the eyes of the people who dragged you back home and betray them one after another? We never needed to look for our enemy, he was hidden among us since the beginning.”
“PLEASE STOP.”
Mike doesn’t talk.
“STOP STOP STOP.”
He just listens.
As Will’s hands shake so much and so hard. If he clenches them, his arms seize up. He cannot relax them. If they’re relaxed, they feel so hollow.
But he cannot grab Mike anymore…
He…
Cannot.
“PLEASE, STOP.”
HENRY, STOP.
“STOP AND LET ME GO. I KNOW. I KNOW…”
Let me out, PLEASE. Let me go.
A look into these eyes so familiar. Dark, and as Will always knew them, warm.
And Will’s words come out, broken up due to his sobs, wet from the tears and snot.
“I know, I KNOW… I know. I know I’m horrible. I know I’m evil for this. I know, Mike, I know… and I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry…”
“No you’re not.”
“I AM SO SORRY--”
“You’re not--”
“--I just love you so much.”
Mike goes quiet.
“So much,” repeats Will, bowing to the floor. “So damn much, Mike, since we were little… for years, for the longest time. You were my best friend, you were the first friend I loved. My best friend in the world, my partner in my crime, my fellow adventurer…”
“Not anymore.”
His heart shatters. Its bleeding won’t stop. A force from below. Pressure from the middle. They all collide, flatten what remains into something none, and he coalesces like a wound, on the floor curled up, wailing loud like a boy.
Like a little boy he once was.
And these words he’s heard, from each person now repeating in his thoughts, between his ears replacing any other function, in his veins like his blood, coursing and permitting his life to go should he only finally know, what a evil fucking person he was all along, all along…
A traitor in their midst.
A faggot.
And he weeps.
Weeps as a force rips through this last barrier.
And it crumbles like snow.
Faced with the heat of a dying sun, it falters, waltzed over and he sees himself in the hospital, walking towards Max’s room, seeing her comatose.
His eyes cry blood. Pressure has been building inside his head, and this small release doesn’t offer relief at all. It teases with something worse, and as its words fail, he sees the dam that stands behind, and many more tears to come.
HE WAILS.
HE CRIES.
Before Vecna.
In this place where the man took him once, where he pushed a vine down his throat, where he invaded who he was, an innocent little boy, a future and a home.
No more…
No more.
“I warned you, boy.”
That growl of a voice.
That hand on his cheek once more, indeed that only kind, loving touch for William Byers.
“Next time, remember to surrender quickly. Your defeat is in your favor.”
I know.
The only thought Will’s left with as the mindscape greets him again in this horror-esque place, and the clawed hand slinks away just so he and Vecna could look at each other, the victor and his thrall.
Vecna's mouth curls into a smile.
And he smears the blood on Will’s cheek…
Then turns away and the hand lingers, the last to detach as Vecna disappears into the annals of this world.
I know, thinks Will.
He wails.
I know. I know... I know.