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The hospital smells wrong.
Too clean. Too sharp. Like the antiseptic is trying and failing to erase what happened. The air hums softly with machines that never stop making noise, when the room is empty they fill the silence in the most jarring way. Mike lies still in his bed, staring at the ceiling tiles, counting the cracks he can see without moving his head. Three long ones. One branching like a lightning bolt. He’s been staring at them for a while now.
He’s not sure how long.
His left side feels…absent.
Not painful or numb in the way you would expect. Just absent. His brain keeps waiting for sensation that never comes, keeps trying to send signals down a path that doesn’t exist anymore. Every now and then, a phantom pulse flares where his arm should be, like his body is confused too, reaching for something it can’t find.
Vecna’s face flashes in his mind without warning.
The way it leaned close. Too close. The sound of bones cracking, his bones cracking, and the awful, sickening feeling of being helpless and trapped. This wasn’t collateral damage, an accident in the fight. Vecna had looked at him like he was chosen.
Mike swallows hard, his eyes sting.
Eleven is dead.
The thought doesn’t feel real. It feels like a sentence his brain refuses to finish. Eleven is-
Eleven would-
Eleven always…
There’s a hollow ache in his chest where certainty used to live. For years, she had been the axis everything turned on. The one constant from the moment he thought he’d lost Will forever. She’d been there since all of this started. And now she’s gone, and Mike doesn’t know how to feel.
Guilt creeps in immediately, sharp and poisonous. He should know how he feels. Not knowing feels like a disservice to El.
But even with all of that, even with grief clawing at his ribs and the almost constant headache behind his eyes…
He still can’t stop thinking about Will.
About the kiss.
About the way his heart stuttered in his chest. About how right it felt in a way Mike hadn’t been prepared for. About how terrified he is now, because that moment didn’t die with Vecna. It survived. It followed him here.
Mike squeezes his eyes shut.
He knows he has to talk to Will.
What if Will regrets it?
What if Mike said too much?
What if Mike didn’t say enough?
What if Will sees him now and realises this is too much?
What if Mike hurts him?
The door opens quietly.
Mike doesn’t turn his head. He doesn’t have to.
He knows it’s Will.
It’s strange but Mike swears he can feel the difference, it’s like the air softens and the room warms. Footsteps cross the floor slowly, deliberately and cautious.
Will stops near the bed.
“Hey,” he says softly.
Mike doesn’t answer right away. His throat tightens. He focuses on breathing evenly, on not letting his voice crack when he opens his mouth.
“Hey,” he manages finally, barely louder than a whisper.
There’s a pause. Mike imagines Will standing there, hands probably clasped together, shoulders a little tense.
When he finally turns his head, Will looks different.
His face is worse for wear. He looks thinner. Paler. His left eye is covered by a patch, but Mike can see the cuts around it peeking out. Will notices Mike looking and offers a small, careful smile.
Mike’s chest tightens.
“I, uh,” Will starts, then stops. He shifts his weight slightly. “I thought I’d check in. If that’s okay.”
“Yeah,” Mike says quickly. Too quickly. “Yeah, that’s…yeah.”
Silence stretches between them, fragile but not awkward. Will moves closer, pulling a chair up to the side of the bed. He doesn’t touch Mike. Not yet.
“How are you feeling?” Will asks, gently.
Mike almost laughs.
How am I feeling?
Like I watched one of my best friends die.
Like a monster peeled me apart piece by piece.
Like my body isn’t mine anymore.
Like I kissed you and now I don’t know how to exist.
“I’m…okay,” Mike says instead.
Will nods, accepting the lie without calling it out. His good eye flicks briefly to Mike’s left side, then away again. He doesn’t want to stare.
“They said your surgery went well,” Will says.
“Yeah,” Mike murmurs.
Another pause.
Mike wants to say something. He can feel it pressing against his ribs, desperate and panicked. But the words don’t line up. They never do when it matters. He’s always had that issue with everyone else but never Will.
It scares him, feeling like he’s lost the ability to speak to Will so freely.
Will doesn’t push. He just sits there, breathing steady, a quiet reminder to Mike that he’s not alone and that he’ll wait for him.
“I’m really glad you’re here,” Will says quietly. “Alive.”
Something in Mike breaks open at that.
He blinks rapidly, staring back up at the ceiling because if he looks at Will now, he might lose control entirely.
“Me too,” he whispers. His voice shakes. He hates that it does.
Will notices. Of course he does.
“If you don’t want to talk,” Will adds quickly, almost nervously, “that’s okay. I know… everything’s a lot. I just- I wanted you to know I’m not going anywhere.”
Mike swallows. He believes him. The idea of Will never leaving his side fills him with warmth but also crippling fear.
“I’m scared,” Mike admits suddenly, the words slipping out before he can stop them.
Will’s posture shifts, attentive but gentle.
“Of what?”
Mike hesitates. His heart pounds.
“Of…messing things up,” he says finally. “Of saying the wrong thing. Of- of not being enough. I don’t know who I’m supposed to be anymore.”
Will is quiet for a moment. Then, softly, “You don’t have to know right now.”
Mike turns his head back toward him, really looking this time. Will meets his gaze, or as close as he can, with steady calm.
“I’m not asking you for anything,” Will continues. “I just wanted you to know that I’m here. As your friend. As…whatever you need me to be.”
Mike’s chest aches.
Friend.
He nods, because that’s all he can manage. His eyes burn.
Will reaches out then, slow, deliberate, and rests his hand lightly on the edge of the bed, close enough that Mike can feel the warmth without being overwhelmed.
“Rest,” Will says. “We’ll figure everything else out later.”
Mike closes his eyes.
For the first time since the fight, since the fear settled into his bones all those years ago, he feels like maybe, just maybe, later is something he can survive long enough to reach.
The room feels emptier after Will leaves. It’s only subtly, like the air has shifted. The chair beside Mike’s bed is still slightly angled toward him. Mike stares at it for a while, eyes unfocused, listening to the soft, steady beeping of the monitor beside him.
He almost reaches out to press one of the buttons just to see what it does but then he remembers. His arm still isn’t there. Every time he forgets, even for a second, the realisation crashes back in all over again.
There’s a quiet knock at the door.
Mike doesn’t respond. He’s not sure he could, even if he wanted to. Part of him wants whoever it is to go away.
The door opens anyway, slow and cautious.
“Hey.”
Mike’s eyes drift toward the sound. Lucas stands in the doorway, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, a couple of shallow cuts across his cheek and knuckles, bruises blooming along his jaw. Compared to the rest of them, he looks almost untouched and the contrast makes Mike’s stomach twist.
Lucas steps inside and closes the door softly behind him.
“How’re you doing?” he asks.
Mike blinks. He shrugs.
Lucas nods in understanding. He pulls the chair Will left closer and sits, careful not to crowd the bed.
They sit in silence for a moment.
Lucas’s eyes flick to Mike’s left side widening at the sight.
“They, uh…they tell you anything new?” Lucas asks.
Mike shakes his head slightly. The motion makes his vision blur.
“Does it-“ Lucas hesitates, choosing his words. “Does it hurt?”
Mike glances down at the blanket covering his legs where only one hand lays.
“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “It’s just… not there.”
Lucas exhales quietly. “Yeah. It’s not.”
The conversation stalls, even though it hadn’t properly began, both of them unsure how to move forward. Mike’s thoughts feel slow, like they’re drifting through fog. He fidgets with the edge of the blanket using his right hand, twisting the fabric over and over.
“Lucas?” he says suddenly.
“Yeah?”
Mike swallows. His heart starts to race.
“Can I…can I tell you something?”
Lucas doesn’t hesitate. “Of course, man. You can tell me anything.”
Mike nods, but he doesn’t speak right away. He stares at the wall instead, jaw tight, fingers trembling slightly as they pick at the blanket.
“You know how Will…” He trails off, breath catching. “How he told us he’s- that he doesn’t like girls.”
Lucas’s expression shifts, his face softens. He nods.
Mike squeezes his eyes shut for a second, then forces himself to keep going, words stumbling over each other.
“I’ve always felt wrong. Like- like I couldn’t…that there was a part of mine and Will’s relationship that felt like more than friends. I always felt like if I wasn’t around him I didn’t feel like my true self- not that I don’t feel like myself around you and Dustin but…but I just…” He shakes his head, frustrated, breath coming faster. “There’s something different about Will.”
Lucas stays quiet. Doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t rush him.
“And I’ve known for a while,” Mike continues, voice shaking now. “I’ve known that I… that he’s…” He swallows hard, eyes glassy. “We kissed. I mean I kissed him. In the Upside Down.”
The words hang in the air, fragile and exposed. Mike’s eyes are watering now. His hand twists tighter in the blanket. He can’t bring himself to look at Lucas.
Lucas doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t joke. Doesn’t look uncomfortable. He just nods slowly.
“Okay,” Lucas says softly. “Thank you for telling me.”
Mike finally looks at him, surprised.
“You’re…not weirded out?” he asks quietly.
Lucas snorts gently. “Nah.”
Mike’s shoulders sag just a little, relief cutting through the haze.
“How many people know?” Lucas asks, careful.
Mike hesitates, then answers honestly.
“Just…Will.”
Lucas nods again. “Yeah. That makes sense. Especially if you snogged him.”
They sit there in silence, but it’s different now, less strained. Mike’s breathing slows, just a little.
Lucas leans back in his chair, a sneaky grin spreading across his face.
“For what it’s worth,” he says, voice steady, “I saw this coming from a mile away.”
“Don’t sound so proud,” Mike murmurs rolling his eyes.
Lucas leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m just saying. I’m very perceptive.”
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t flatter yourself,” Mike laughs for what feels like the first time in ages.
“I’m glad you told me,” Lucas says after a beat of silence.
Mike nods. The weight on his chest has lifted and he feels lighter. The shame of this secret melts off him in an instant and the thought of Will, of being with Will seems more and more intense and real. Lucas is looking at him softly, Mike can see he’s trying to stop glancing down at where his arm should be.
“We’re gonna have to cut the arm off your DnD character.”