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He really shouldn’t be interrupting this moment.
Mike, however, has the poorest of timings even on a good day, and he can’t redirect his feet in time to stop himself from skidding around the corner right into Will and Mrs. Byers’ conversation, which now… includes him. Shit.
“I’m sorry, you guys are talking. I just— just wanted to let you know Hopper’s, like, fifteen out. So we should probably leave in… five-ish.” It’s hard to pick a focal point, so he lets his gaze fall between the two of them, like he’s never seen them before. As if he couldn’t perfectly picture what they looked like even with his eyes closed. Joyce, with that wrinkle of concern between her brows. Will, with that very same same mark forming, never quite permanent on youthful skin.
“Thank you, Mike,” she says, just as Will interjects himself. “Wait— Mike.” They hit his name in perfect unison, an octave apart, in a way that pulls at something in his chest. It feels like sitting at the breakfast table after a sleepover, watching Joyce pour a second coffee, amusement at her cup overflowing and just taking up the space between the two of them unabashedly. Like a real member of their family. Someone who could answer their phone, even, and take messages. It’s the same name he’s always had, but the way the Byerses say it makes it sound so… different, somehow.
But he really shouldn’t be interrupting, especially if he’s going to stand here and wax poetic in his head, so. “What?”
The look between Joyce and Will is quick, but the silent exchange is nearly, nearly audible to Mike. Maybe he’s just good at picking up on those signals. That nod— Will’s going to speak next, and Mike catches the bob of his throat as he swallows and opens his mouth and—
“Can you… stay? For a minute? I just. I kind of want to talk to you, too. About this. I think it’s something you should hear.” And he’s wringing his hands, again, and Mike has to resist the urge to nudge them apart. To say, it’s okay, don’t be nervous. I’m here. I’m here. He nods, and he hopes that will suffice as he darts to pull up a chair across from Joyce. He can’t see Will’s lip mole from here. He can’t see much of anything, with Will’s head tilted down like this.
A beat passes, then two. Joyce waits patiently for Will to work up the words next to her, and Mike would ordinarily, too, but he feels too on edge to wait. “… what’s going on? Are you okay?” The two questions he does ask, he knows, only belie the tens he doesn’t. Is it Vecna? Did something happen again? Is it the now-memories? Is the connection bothering you? Did you inhale more shadows? Did you have a vision?
And Will shakes his head, no, no, no, to each of his spoken questions and each of his unspoken ones. “No… I mean, yes and no. I just… wanted to talk to you guys about what happened at the Mac-Z.”
Oh. Was this not something they’d already hashed out on the tunnel walk back? How everyone was overlooking the fact that Will is a bonafide sorcerer now, which is insane, and, okay, maybe Mike could beat a dead horse about this again. Or a dead demo. Or three.
“Okay, sweetie,” comes Joyce, that ever patient Ms. Byers, Mrs. Byers, Mrs. Will’s Mom. “We’re listening, okay?” She says it as much for Mike’s own benefit, he thinks, as Will’s, and they nod in unison.
Turn-based conversation. It’s Mike’s shot, now. Talking is meant to be a free action, but everything feels suddenly weighty. “Yeah, of course. Talk to us.”
“I was telling Mom…” Before Mike interrupted. Yes. “… that… I haven’t exactly been. Honest. About everything that happened between me and Vecna.” There he goes, worrying his hands again, and before Mike can point it out or make a move, Mrs. Byers is there, offering a hand. Will takes it, squeezes again. She’s allowed to do that, of course, but Mike feels that sort of sinking sensation in his stomach anyway, and attributes it right back to Will’s worried look. There’s not much he can offer him right now other than an ear. Maybe at one point, he might have given his own hand. That feels like a lifetime ago. “He… he wanted me to feel like I was weak. Like I was… powerless. So, he showed me things that made me feel… weak. Powerless. Alone.
“I saw… us, Mike. I saw you, and me, and we were— we were fighting. We were pushing each other away, again.” Mike can practically see clumps forming in Will’s lashes, tears threatening, promising, to fall as soon as he manages a blink. He has to say something before that happens.
“No!” He fails, in a single word, because Will’s neck snaps up with the effort to look into Mike’s face, and fat droplets run tracks down his cheeks. One nestles into the corner of his mouth, and Mike’s tongue darts out to wet his own lips. Dry, only salty from sweat. If he keeps it up, they’ll crack. “No, that’d never happen, Will. I wouldn’t ever, ever let that happen. We promised. We’re a team, right? You and me.”
“We are, we are!” The frantic nod only serves to shake more tears loose, and Mike grits his teeth a little harder. “It’s just… Sometimes I just get scared of what that means. Because… what if you didn’t like the truth…?”
The truth. The truth?
“And, Mike. He knows that, and I don’t want… I can’t let him use that against me, or you, or— or anyone. I can’t. I can’t.”
“I— I don’t understand.”
A choked little half-laugh, and Will pulls his hand back from the knee it’s been squeezing, pulls the same knee away from Mike. The other stays squarely with Ms. Byers, whose thumb is stroking over it, reassuringly. “I know you don’t. Because I haven’t been honest with you, Mike. Or— or you, Mom. I’ve been keeping things from you, because everything I have, everything in here—” Will’s finger jabs at his chest, enough to leave an indent in his shirt over his heart, and Mike wishes he wouldn’t do that so hard— “he takes. He takes it away from me. And I don’t want you to hear this from anyone but… but me.
“I’ve just been holding it in, and I’m scared that saying this could make you feel like you don’t know me. I’m scared that saying this might make you guys think I’m not the same person… Because I’m still me. I’m still… I still like to eat cereal! I— I put syrup on my eggs. I like going to the movies. I like— I love playing Dungeons and Dragons in your basement, Mike, with my friends. I— I—”
“Honey…” Joyce’s lips are a thin line, and her chin is trembling with the effort to hold it together. Mike can see it start, but he doesn’t see it end, because his vision blurs, harsh and fast, throwing the two of them out of focus now. Mike blinks furiously. Mike, and my friends. Mike, and my friends. Mrs. Byers’ voice floats through his ears. “There is nothing. Nothing. In this world that would make us think of you any differently.”
“But it could! It could, Mom. It could. I’ve seen it. He showed me.”
“Not if we don’t let it. It doesn’t have to be real if we don’t let it. It’s our story, Will. You are always gonna be in it. Okay? Nothing is gonna change that. We know you.” Mike’s hand clenches, and Will mirrors it, but Joyce doesn’t let go. Neither does Will. Neither does Mike.
He realizes, belatedly, that his own has found its way to Will’s knee, that his own fingers are gripping at it, and he eases up a little before it can hurt. He hopes. Will’s face is already looking pained, and it pulls on something inside Mike just as hard.
“But you don’t know me. You don’t know this— this thing I’ve been keeping from you, and I know I shouldn’t have kept it for so long. I just couldn’t… didn’t want it to change us. Because it has changed things before. You know? It’s changed things with— with kids at school… with my dad. It does make me different. And being different is just… scary. Sometimes. You feel like no one will understand you. You feel like… even the people who love you, every single day, could never get you.” A sniffle. A heartbeat passes. Mike can hear it, hammering in his ears. Tell us what? The truth. “If I’m going to be… going into Vecna’s mind to mess with his memories? To try and hit him where it hurts? I can’t give him the opportunity to do the same to me.” The truth.
The truth?
“I’m… I’m gay.”
Mike’s mouth is moving.
Mike’s hands are moving. His legs are moving. He’s standing, he’s stepping in closer, and he’s wrapping arms around shoulders, bumping against Ms. Byers’ hands and cheek as they cradle him. His mouth is moving, but he can’t hear what his own mouth is saying, which is weird because he can still feel his ears under his beanie. Even Will’s heaving sobs can’t reach him. They’re just scraping wooden chair legs, a desperate clinging of limbs, Joyce’s hand smoothing over Will’s hair over and over and over.
When did Will get so… far away from him? When did they become just… two people? When did Mike become someone Will couldn’t tell everything?
It’s only after this that the ringing stops, ears popping on high-altitude flights and all the aches that come with it. Joyce is murmuring something, just to the right of him, and the space beneath his arm gives way as she squeezes Will tighter.
“Yeah. Yeah, we’re— we’re here. We’re not going anywhere, Will.”
I’m here. Why didn’t I know…?
Another choked sob works its way out of Will’s throat. “... Tha—” A sniffle bridges the word, a second syllable. “Thank you.” Thank them for what? Being cool? For their time? A thank you feels—
“Mike.”
Eleven. He pulls back, reluctant to do so, and he can trace the ghosting touch of Will’s hand crossing his shoulder, his upper arm, letting go. He can’t see Will shrinking away from it with his neck turned, but he can feel it. Turning this fast makes him feel dizzy.
“Mike,” she says again, firm, leaning around the corner. “It’s time to go. We need to get to the truck.”
Shit. “Okay. We’re ready, we’ll be right out.” This isn’t enough time! He hasn’t said… anything. Not anything he can remember, at least, with the way he’d just blacked out. He hasn’t said his piece yet. They definitely won’t have time after leaving for the Upside Down, but…
“It’s okay, Mike. It’s okay. We’re ready.”
Come on, Michael. Say something… heart-y. What’s the point of being The Heart if you can’t even comfort your best friend after he…
He…?
“Are you sure?” He turns again, back and to the right. Will’s closer to him than Eleven now.
Will’s nose crinkles up, playfully, despite the sheen on his cheeks that says he’s feeling anything but. “Are you sure? You sound… not sure, right now.”
“What am I saying that sounds not sure?” Mike doesn’t realize it sounds defensive, given the whole… everything, until it’s already been said. Try again. “I just mean, I’m sure we’re okay. You know?”
“Oh.” And the expression on Will’s face is flickering confusion, telegraphed, ‘was that in doubt?’ What… exactly had Mike said, after Will’s confession? He hopes it was, at least, somewhat reassuring. Somewhat encouraging. Somewhat… open, receptive, caring. “... Yeah. In case we weren’t… I’m sorry. I didn’t tell you sooner. About what was going on with me.”
“No, no, no, hey. You don’t have to apologize for anything, okay?” The furrow in his brow is back. They’re doing it again— mirroring each other. “Seriously. That’s, like… personal. It’s important to you. You came to us when you needed to. I just, um. I’m sorry that it happened. The things he showed you. We won’t let that happen, okay?” He’s opened his mouth, and he’s spoken, and he means it. Why does he hear his own tone sounding so… hollow?
Will’s smile is tight-lipped. Is that disappointment? “Thanks.”
That was the wrong choice, clearly. Will isn’t usually this quiet. It’s a recent development, the past few days, and not one he’s particularly enthusiastic about, but they haven’t exactly had a lot of downtime to unpack it. “… Did it scare you? To know that you, like… felt that way.” … Shit. “No, that’s… a dumb question. I’m sorry. I don’t— we’ve got stuff to do, and I, like. You don’t have to tell me.”
“It’s okay. We can talk about it. I want you to be able to, like… ask stuff like that if you’re curious.” Their attention is suddenly quite locked on a very interesting scuff on the station floor, and on Will’s sneaker toeing at it. “Um, yeah. It did. It still does, honestly. It’s kind of like… intense. And nauseating. To feel like that, when you… when you don’t expect anyone to be like you. It’s kind of… lonely, actually.”
This doesn’t make sense. It’s a car engine spluttering, fiending to start. It’s just not clicking yet. Surely, there isn’t just loneliness at the end of Will’s story. That would be awful writing. More than awful— cruel. He’s been through so much. To have everything end up in a rejection here, from Ms. Byers, from Mike, would be… shitty. Beyond shitty. A level of shitty that has yet to be put into words. God, there isn’t time for him to be asking these questions. They’re meant to be leaving now. They were meant to be leaving minutes ago. And he blurts it anyway:
“Was there someone you… you know. Was there someone who made you… realize?”
There isn’t time for him to be asking these questions. They were meant to be leaving minutes ago. His chest feels tight.
He can’t let it go unasked.
“Oh. I mean… yes.” His throat clearing sounds equally tight. “I guess, I just saw… signals. Thought I saw signals. From him.” And there— relief! Solid ground under his feet. Mike’s cheeks twitch, because now, he feels like he knows everything. Of course there’s someone. Which means— “But… I probably should have known better. That I never really had a chance.” His eyes look muddy, dark, when he levels them with Mike again. The sadness creeping into Will’s smile…
The floor beneath Mike opens up, and the boards beneath his feet are teetering dangerously.
“Maybe he knew and he was just. Too nice to tell me to go away. Maybe he didn’t know a thing at all, and I just imagined it? I just know that I liked him, and he didn’t like me back. Not the same way.”
That twists uncomfortably in his stomach, hard, and at an alarming rate. Liked. What a jerk. Here Will is, finally… able! Able to talk about it! And, and…
He…
Liked. This boy. Past tense. And clearly Will was moving on, or was already done doing so. Protecting his own, precious heart. Of course he would.
“I’m sorry. That’s just… just stupid! Of him. Not you. If he— if he led you on, or— or hurt your feelings? That’s shitty.” This isn’t the time. They’re running out of time. He can practically hear it ticking away in his ears.
“No! No, he’s not stupid. He’s really smart. And a really, truly good person. Someone that anyone would fall for. I don’t… blame him, or anything. It’s not his fault.” Something in Will’s expression screams, it’s mine. It’s so, so loud. Will’s always been that person. Glassy eyes, apologizing, taking too much blame on his own, small shoulders. And, beat for beat, Will continues. “I guess it doesn’t really matter, now. I just… I don’t want to like. I don’t know. I don’t want to give him any more trouble than I already have. And most importantly, I don’t want to carry that into battle with me, or anything. Not against someone that can use it against me. So.”
“It’s not yours, either.”
Water. Water, with nothing to hold it. No container to conform to the shape of, just for a moment. It spills out of his mouth, soaks their shoes, rubber soles squeaking. Burst like a pipe. He…
“... I mean, I can’t tell you how to feel about it, I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant. Just that you’re… a good person, and you deserve, like. The best things. Seriously.” Mike’s hand twitches for something. He settles on squeezing it into a ball, and a knuckle cracks from the pressure. “I guess… I can understand it, though, too. I mean… if Vecna’s gonna be rooting around, too, you’re gonna need all those— all those bumps to your wisdom saving throws.” This isn’t a campaign. He knows that. But he won’t bite his tongue on it this time. Miraculously, though, the reference works, because Will’s smile returns with a warmth and familiarity this time.
“Well, the way things have been going… I might need to ask Dustin for a bardic.”
“What?? No, no, you don’t need to ask Dustin. C’mon. I’ll toss you a point or two. What kind of DM would I be if I made stuff, like… un-cooperative? Un-fun?”
“I’m just saying, I clearly need all the help I can get!” Will hesitates, then says, “Maybe in, like, college or something, if I go far enough away. I don’t know.” It takes too long for Mike to register that he’s not really talking about Vecna now, but… being himself.
Mike wishes the floor would split open the rest of the way, would swallow him whole.
He does the swallowing instead, past the lump in his throat. The quiet between Will’s sentence fragments says enough. “You’ve got me. You have us. We’re here, and we’re not going anywhere.” It feels, sounds, warmer this time. Inspiration! He’s re-rolled, and fortune favors his second try. “I would never want you to feel like you— like you didn’t belong here. Like you didn’t have a place.”
“Yeah. Yeah. I know, Mike. Thank you.”
“Boys?”
He’s not sure when Joyce disappeared, but she’s returning now, clearly hesitating in the doorway to remind them that they do need to go. Mike shakes his head to clear the fog. They really didn’t have time for this, but he couldn’t just leave Will in his own little dark cloud either. That less-burdened nod from his friend, though, is relief in equal measure.
This is what he does. This is his place in The Party. In the world. He can make a difference, and it can be enough.
Lucas is staring at them. At him. Mike can feel his eyes boring holes in the back of his skull. His own, personal goosebumps at the nape of his neck. He senses it, especially when he and Will were several minutes late to the convoy regrouping. When he asks El to switch places with him. When he slides into place to check in on Will, who has been clutching at the metal shelving hard enough to turn his knuckles white, Lucas is staring.
It’s possible he overheard, Mike guesses. They’d been absorbed in the conversation in the radio station. Him, Joyce, Will. No one else. That had been deliberate, he’s sure of it. If Will had wanted Lucas to know… Well. He would have been there, now wouldn’t he?
He won’t apologize for feeling, for thinking, defensive this time. This is Will he’s talking about. When Will feels something, it means something. He trusts his judgement, and his judgement had been… him, Joyce, Will.
Their job, once the truck halts to a stop outside the lab, is to find Henry and cause a distraction for El and her sister. Whether or not Mike agrees with Will acting as bait, isn’t really up for debate, because Will’s made his mind up and he even has Ms. Byers on his side. Mike can swallow it down to keep the peace. Whatever lets him stick close to keep an eye out.
Which means, while everyone else has gone their separate ways per The Plan— up the crow’s nest or into the lab— Mike is here, in the basement, doing his job.
Babysitting Will’s trance.