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This is it—the end, whatever happens, there is no coming back from it. It's now or never, their last chance to save everyone. The plan is to infiltrate Vecna's fortress and destroy the source of his power, a task that's crazy enough to seem impossible. But it's the only option they have left. The party knows that failure would mean the destruction of their world as they know it. In a couple of hours, they'll be leaving, risking everything, and there is no telling if they'll all make it back alive.
The lay of the sun hitting the windows of the WSQK radio station lit the room in a warm glow of the setting sun. Outside, a gentle breeze rustled the leaves, their whispers barely audible through the glass. The worn fabric of the armchair beneath Will was rough against his skin, a familiar comfort amidst the chaos. The quiet hum of an old refrigerator in the corner added a soothing backdrop, grounding the moment in the tranquil stillness of late afternoon.
Will sat with both his hands clasped together nervously; his head bowed down, eyes distantly far away, deep in thought. Ever since he got out of that trance, thanks to El, he's been zoning out a lot. He was only out for a couple of hours, but it felt like a lifetime of never-ending suffering. There were things, many awful things, that Vecna showed him. Visions of a world in ruins, twisted reflections of his friends' faces distorted in pain and suffering. The memory lingered—cold shadows pressing against his thoughts, sinister whispers scraping at the edges of his consciousness.
The room is empty and quiet, except for the radio in the background and the steady breaths of his mom beside him. They have been sitting there in each other’s comforting presence for a while now, and neither has said anything.
At last, the silence became unbearable, gnawing at Will from the inside out.
Will shifted uneasily in his seat, his hands trembling slightly as he clasped them together more tightly. "Mom…I–I need to tell you something. Something I’ve been meaning to tell you for a long time, but I–" His voice wavered, and the words seemed to stick in his throat, unable to come out. His thoughts raced back to everything that had happened in the past few days. All the emotions he had bottled up were now bubbling to the surface, threatening to spill over. Will knew that there would never be a perfect time; the people he loved deserved to know the truth, no matter how hard it was to say.
“Will—” Joyce’s voice was impossibly gentle. She shifted to face him fully. “You can tell me anything. Anything at all.” She gathered both his hands in hers, her thumbs tracing soothing circles over his knuckles. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“It’s just—” Will’s voice broke before he could finish. He turned to face her, and his eyes were glassy, reflecting all the fear and hope warring inside him.
“I know I've been hovering these past few days. Maybe too much.” A flicker of guilt crossed Joyce's face before resolve replaced it. “But whatever this is—whatever you need to say—I'm right here. I'm listening.”
“When I was in that trance—before El pulled me out—Vecna showed me things.” Will’s voice trembled, tears pooling but not yet falling. “Terrible things, Mom. Visions that felt so real I—” His grip on her hands tightened until his knuckles went white, as if she were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.
“Oh, Honey.” Joyce’s expression crumpled with concern, but she held steady for him. “Whatever he showed you—it wasn’t real. You know that, right? He gets inside your head and twists things. That’s what he does.” She squeezed his hands, willing him to believe her.
“But that’s just it—it’s not just the visions.” Will’s voice cracked, desperation bleeding through. “He’s inside my head, Mom. He knows everything. How I think, what I feel, every secret I’ve ever kept.” A tear finally escaped, tracking down his cheek. “All my fears, all the things I’m most ashamed of—he knows. And I can’t—I need to tell you before it’s too late.”
“Hon–”
Click.
Will and Joyce look up to see the source of the interruption.
The latch on the door busted open in a quick swipe, then a soft whoosh, and Jonathan stepped into view. He still wore his stained old t-shirt and blue jeans; his hair stuck out every which way. His eyes widened slightly as they landed on them.
“Uh–Am I interrupting something? I can come back later.” Jonathan makes a quick move to turn and head for the door.
Will, feeling a sudden surge of determination and vulnerability, stood up abruptly. The weight of his secrets, coupled with the need for honesty, pushed him forward. His heart raced as he looked from his mom to Jonathan, understanding that this was his chance to finally be true to himself.
"Wait." Will's quiet yell stopped Jonathan in his tracks. Jonathan, sensing the urgency in Will's voice, slowly turned back with a concerned expression. "You need to hear this, too. Both of you."
Will sits back down beside his mom and gestures for Jonathan to join them. Jonathan sits down on the other side of Will and puts a comforting hand on Will’s shoulder. Waiting.
Will looked at both of them with his teary eyes before saying, “I know that I’ve always been different. An outcast. Ever since I was young, I’ve always known.”
“Honey, it’s okay to be different. There is nothing wrong with being different.” Joyce looks at him like whatever he’s about to say could not make her love him less.
“Yeah, whatever it is you tell us, it won’t change the fact that we’re family and we’ll always love you,” Jonathan added while squeezing Will’s shoulders assuringly.
“I-I’m not normal. I’m not like everyone else.” Will looked at Jonathan, then turned to face his mom before saying. “I don’t like girls. I mean–I do like them just not the same way that Lucas likes Max, Dustin likes Suzie, or Jonathan likes Nancy.” Will’s voice cracked.
“Oh, Honey–”
“And I’m in love with someone, and I know they’ll never feel the same.” Tears slowly streamed down his face.
“A–And–I’m–” He’s sobbing uncontrollably now.
“Just let it out, Honey, whenever you’re ready.” Joyce nodded and gripped his hands tightly.
Silence stretched between them—one heartbeat, then another, and—
“I’m in love with my best friend. I’m in love with Mike.”
It feels strange, this sense of release, as if all of his emotions are gushing out like water through a breached dam. Will wrestles with the irony of his fear—how he's always been terrified of showing Joyce and Jonathan his true self. He questions whether what he feared most was seeing disappointment in the eyes of those he loves most. But now, having laid himself bare before them, he is surprised by the powerful sense of freedom he feels. It's as if the invisible weight he has carried for years has finally lifted, giving space for hope to bloom in its place. Will finds himself picturing a future where he no longer has to hide, where he is seen and loved for who he truly is.
For a heartbeat, silence stretched on endlessly—then Will found himself sandwiched in a bear-crushing hug between his mom and brother. They clung to each other, sharing warmth and tears, holding on as if they’d never let go.
“Hey, you know that you’re the bravest person I know, right?” said Jonathan while he was pressing kisses to Will’s head. Will gave a small chuckle and hugged his brother harder.
“I’m so proud of you, honey. So proud. I love you, Will.” Joyce's teary eyes never left Will. Just by the way she looks at him, it’s silly to think that she’ll be disappointed in him if she knew the truth. When they finally released him from their embrace, Will wiped his face with the back of his hand and looked up at them, a smile breaking through.
“So, what brought all this up?” Joyce said with a curious expression on her face.
“I’ve been talking to someone, and they gave me all the courage I needed.”
"And who’s this someone?" Joyce's curiosity piqued further.
"I think you know the answer," Will replied with a small smile. Joyce's eyes lit up in realization.
"Don’t tell me…Robin?" Her smile was infectious.
"Yeah, the one and only, Rockin' Robin," Will smiled.
As the warmth of his family’s embrace faded, a new weight settled in Will’s chest. There was still one more person who deserved the truth—the one person whose reaction terrified him most. Mike. His best friend. The boy he’d been in love with for years. The thought of confessing made Will’s stomach twist with dread, but he’d come too far to stop now. If tonight was their last chance, Mike needed to know. Even if it shattered everything between them.
As Mike sat amidst the chaos, the last two days seemed to blur together in his mind. It felt like only moments ago they were having breakfast at the Wheelers'. Suddenly, everything spiraled out of control. Only two days have passed since his parents were rushed to the hospital and Holly disappeared. Throughout this ordeal, a lack of sleep and the constant rotation of filthy clothes, along with a diet of junk food and coffee, became their new normal. As Mike looked around, it struck him how such survival had become their way of life over the past few years. He found himself yearning for a sense of normalcy he feared may never return. Across the room, Eleven sat quietly, her eyes distant and clouded with worry, as if she was still fighting battles none of them could see. The air was heavy with unspoken fears and shared burdens, grounding them all in the gravity of the moment.
Mike doesn’t know if their plan—Operation Beanstalk, as Steve called it—will work, but he clings to the belief that it’s worth the risk. Despite the fear gnawing at him, there’s a flicker of hope motivating him to move forward. Resolve steers his actions as he considers the stakes: his friends, family, and everything they’ve fought to protect.
The basement of the WSQK radio station buzzed with nervous energy as everyone prepared for the final battle. Steve held up a makeshift spear, testing its weight. "You sure about this, Dustin? These are pretty sharp—think you can handle it?"
"Just because I'm short doesn't mean I can't still stab you," Dustin shot back with a grin.
Steve laughed, and just like that, whatever tension had been between them seemed to dissolve. Across the room, Nancy methodically loaded ammunition into a rifle, her movements precise and practiced. Jonathan appeared beside her, hoisting a flamethrower with uncertain confidence.
"Please tell me you know how to use that," Nancy said, eyeing the weapon.
"Absolutely," Jonathan replied. Then, after a beat: "Mostly."
Nancy shook her head, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. "Just don't torch us before we even get there."
Mike was in the middle of finishing the handmade bomb when he saw the movement in his peripheral vision. A hand clapped him on his shoulder, startling him a little.
“Hey, Wheeler, how’s it coming along? Haven’t blown anything up, I hope.” It was Robin, with her cheery comments and too enthusiastic self.
“Uh—It’s coming along. Just a little touch here and there, and it would be ready.”
“Awesome! Glad to see that you are as smart as Will made you out to be.” Robin crouched down in front of him and examined the contraption on the bomb curiously.
“He said that?” Mike voiced incredulously.
“Of course! He told me plenty about you.”
Will talks about him? Heat creeps up the back of Mike's neck, and suddenly the basement feels stifling. What has Will been saying? The question loops through his mind, equal parts terrifying and thrilling in a way he can't name. Part of him dreads the embarrassment, but another part—a part he's not ready to examine—wants to know what Will thinks of him.
They used to be inseparable. Best friends who understood each other without words. But this past year has carved distance between them, and Mike isn't sure where they stand anymore. Does Will even still consider him his best friend? The uncertainty gnaws at him, opening up a vulnerability he's spent months trying to ignore.
After a moment, Mike asked hesitantly, “What—What else did he say about me?
Robin’s expression softened, her usual playful energy giving way to something more genuine. “Honestly? A lot. He talks about how you never gave up on him when he went missing. How you made him feel like he belonged when everyone else made him feel like a freak.” She paused, tilting her head. “He said you’re the kind of person who sees people—really sees them. That’s rare, Wheeler.”
Mike’s throat tightened. He didn’t know what to say to that. The weight of Robin’s words settled over him, heavy and warm at the same time.
“He also said you can be kind of oblivious sometimes,” Robin added with a smirk, lightening the mood. “But in an endearing way.”
Mike let out a shaky laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”
Robin stood up, brushing dust off her knees. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but...” She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “Will’s one of a kind. And so are you. Whatever you’re afraid of? It’s probably not as scary as you think.”
Before Mike could respond, Robin glanced toward the door and grinned.
Vicki appeared in the doorway, still wearing her pink hospital scrubs with a cardigan draped over her shoulders. Her face lit up the moment she spotted Robin. Robin closed the distance in two quick strides, pulling Vicki into her arms. She rested her chin on top of Vicki’s head, one hand rubbing gentle circles on her back. When they finally pulled apart, with Robin's arms still around Vicki, both were smiling, soft laughter passing between them.
Mike stared at them, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape. Robin and Vicki? Together? When had that happened? His brain scrambled to piece together clues he’d apparently missed. The sound of footsteps on the stairs snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked up to find Will standing just a few feet away, rocking slightly on the balls of his feet, his expression carefully neutral—but his eyes held something Mike couldn’t quite read.
“Hey,” Will said quietly.
“Hey,” Mike echoed, his heart hammering in his chest.
Robin gave Mike a knowing look while still having her arm around Vicki, then patted his shoulder. “We’ll leave you two to it. Don’t blow anything up while I’m gone.” She winked and headed toward the stairs with Vicki in tow, leaving them alone in the corner of the room.
Will approached slowly, hands shoved in his pockets, “Robin said you were working on the bomb. How’s it going?”
“It’s...good. Almost done, need to finish a few things.” Mike gestured vaguely at the device, though he couldn’t quite meet Will’s eyes. The air between them felt charged, like the moment before lightning strikes.
“That’s good,” Will said softly. Then, after a pause, “Hey, Mike. There is something I’ve been meaning to tell you.” Will paused once more before adding, “Can we talk?”
Mike’s pulse quickened. “Yeah. Sure, of course.”
Will glanced around the busy basement, then nodded toward a quieter corner. “Maybe somewhere a little less chaotic?”
Mike followed him across the room, weaving between their friends as they prepared for battle. They found a small alcove near the back, partially hidden by stacked equipment and old furniture. It wasn’t much privacy, but it was something. Mike has a bad feeling about this mysterious conversation that made Will so nervous.
Will turned to face him, and Mike could see the restless energy radiating off him—the way his fingers twitched, the slight tremble in his breath. Whatever Will wanted to say, it was important.
“I need to tell you something,” Will began, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I know the timing is terrible, with everything that’s about to happen, but I can’t—I can’t go into this without being honest with you.”
Mike’s heart was racing now, his palms sweating. “Okay. I’m listening.”
Will took a shaky breath, his eyes glistening. “We’ve been friends for so long. Best friends. And this past year, I know things have been weird between us, and with everything that happened in California. I know I’ve been distant, and I’m sorry for that. But there’s a reason, and I—” His voice cracked. “I need you to know why.”
“Will—”
“Please, let me finish. If I don’t say this now, I never will.” Will’s hands were shaking. “You’re my best friend, Mike. You’ve always been my best friend. But somewhere along the way, it became...more than that. For me, at least.”
Mike’s breath caught in his throat.
“I like you, Mike, more than a best friend ever would or should. I’m in love with you,” Will said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I have been for a while now. And I know you don’t feel the same way. I know you’re with El, but I couldn’t—I couldn’t let tonight happen without telling you the truth. You deserve to know.”
The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Mike stared at Will, his mind reeling, trying to process what he’d just heard. Will loved him. Will was in love with him.
“I don’t expect anything from you,” Will continued quickly, wiping at his eyes. “I just needed you to know. Whatever happens tonight, I need to be honest. With you. With myself.”
Mike’s thoughts were a chaotic mess, but one thing cut through the noise with startling clarity: the way his heart had leapt when Will said those words. The way something inside him had shifted, like a missing puzzle piece finally clicking into its place.
“Will,” Mike said, his voice hoarse. “El and I...we broke up. Since we got back from Nevada.”
Will’s eyes widened. “What?”
“We broke up,” Mike repeated. “It wasn’t working our relationship. We both knew it, but we still kept going and holding on to the illusion that it would work out. But in the end, I wasn’t what she needed or deserved, and I felt like I couldn’t be myself around her. El’s like Superman, she’s special, and I’m just a random nerd that got lucky.” He took a step closer, closing the distance between them. “And I’ve been trying to figure out why it didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. Why I felt...relieved.”
Will was looking at him with something fragile and hopeful in his eyes.
“I think,” Mike said slowly, his heart pounding so hard he could barely hear himself think, “I think maybe I’ve been oblivious like you said. Like Robin said.” He laughed shakily. “I’ve been so scared of what I was feeling that I didn’t let myself feel it.”
“Mike, what do you mean?” Will’s voice was barely audible.
Mike reached out, his hand finding Will’s. Their fingers intertwined, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
“I’m saying that I felt...something. Something I’ve been pushing down for a long time.” Mike’s eyes met Will’s, and he saw his own fear and hope reflected in them. “I’m saying that I don’t want to go into tonight without being honest, either. With you. With myself.”
“Mike—”
“I think I might be in love with you, too,” Mike whispered. “And that terrifies me. But not as much as the thought of losing you without ever telling you. I’m sorry, it had taken the world ending for me to realize it finally.”
For a moment, they just stood there, hands clasped, the weight of their confessions hanging in the air between them. Then Will smiled—a real, genuine smile that lit up his entire face—and Mike felt something warm and bright bloom in his chest.
“Actually, there is something else I need to tell you.” Will’s voice wavered, and he forced himself to meet Mike’s eyes. “The painting I gave you—El didn’t commission it. She never did.” The words escaped like a confession he’d been holding hostage for a year, and the relief of finally releasing them made his knees weak. No more lies. No more hiding behind someone else’s story.
“What?” The words came out strangled, barely audible.
“And—the speech in the van—” Will’s voice cracked, tears threatened to spill over. “It was never about El. It was about me. Everything I said...I was talking about myself.”
The memory hit Mike like a freight train: Will’s voice in the van, raw and trembling. ‘And when you’re different, sometimes you feel like a mistake.’ ‘But you make her feel like she’s not a mistake at all. Like she’s better for being different.’ Mike’s chest constricted. How had he missed it? Every word had been Will laying his heart bare, disguised as someone else’s feelings.
It had never been about El. Every word, every trembling confession in that van—it had all been Will. Will’s pain. Will’s hope. Will’s love.
“I—” Mike’s throat closed up, words failing him completely. His mind was reeling, heart thundering so loud he could barely think.
“I’m sorry.” Will’s voice broke. “I was a coward back then. I hid behind lies and pretenses because I was terrified. But I’m done hiding, Mike. I’m done pretending.” He squeezed Mike’s hands, his grip desperate and grounding. “You deserve the truth. You’ve always deserved the truth.”
“Will—” Mike’s voice came out rough, thick with emotion. He tightened his grip on Will’s hands, anchoring them both. “Thank you. For trusting me with this. For being brave enough to tell me.” His eyes burned. “And that painting? It’s the coolest gift I’ve ever gotten. Because it was from you, it was always you.”
They gravitated toward each other without thought, as if the universe itself had been waiting for this moment. The distance between them evaporated—inch by inch, breath by breath—until Mike could feel the warmth radiating from Will’s skin. Then Will surged forward, closing the final gap, his lips soft and tentative against Mike’s. His hand came up to cradle Mike’s face with devastating gentleness, while the other settled at the small of his back, grounding them both. Mike’s entire body ignited at the contact, every nerve ending sparking to life. When Will began to pull away—too soon, far too soon—Mike’s hand shot to the back of Will’s neck, fingers threading through his hair, and dragged him back in. This kiss was different: desperate, consuming, pouring every unspoken word and suppressed feeling into the space between their lips.
His first kiss with Will. With his best friend. The thought should have terrified him, but all Mike felt was rightness—like every moment of his life had been leading here.
When they finally broke apart, neither could move far. Their hands remained on each other, anchoring, claiming. Will’s eyes were luminous and soft, gazing at Mike with such adoration that it made Mike’s chest ache. His lips were flushed and kiss-swollen, his hair disheveled where Mike’s fingers had run through it. He looked beautifully undone. Mike was certain he looked just as wrecked—and he didn’t care.
“So what do we do now?” Will asked softly.
“I don’t know,” Mike admitted. “But we’ll figure it out together. After we save the world.”
Will laughed, a sound of pure relief and joy. “After we save the world.”
They stood there for another moment, neither wanting to break the spell. Then, from across the basement, Steve’s voice rang out: “Alright, people! Five minutes until we move out! Final checks!”
Reality came crashing back. Mike squeezed Will’s hand one more time before reluctantly letting go. “Guess that’s our cue.”
“Yeah,” Will said, though he didn’t move immediately. “Mike? Thank you. For listening. For...everything.”
“Always,” Mike said, and he meant it.
They walked back toward the group together, and Mike felt different somehow—lighter, more certain. Whatever happened tonight, he wouldn’t be facing it alone. And for the first time in a long time, that was enough.
He may be running out of time, but with Mike beside him, he has never been happier