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Choked sounds are the first thing everyone hears upon arriving at the Squawk, followed by the sight of a wounded Lucas on the side and Will choking Mike in the middle of the room. The leading group—Nancy, Jonathan, and Joyce—stop in their tracks, shock painted on their faces as they scan the room and look between the occupants.
It hasn’t been that long ago since Lucas called them, frantically shouting “Code Red” on the walkie, followed by shaky breaths and his trembling voice when he called for his two companions—Mike and Will. He had sounded pained and panicked too, calling for the others to hurry, and “Vecna’s here” was the last thing they heard before their communication was cut short.
The group runs to Lucas’ side, asking if he’s okay and what the hell happened in the short time they were gone. Lucas fumbles on his word, his wound—though not that bad—restricting him from moving too much and too quickly.
Joyce looks over at her son, worry and fear evident in her voice when she calls him.
“Will. Will, honey, what’s happening? ”
Her question goes unanswered, except by the choking sounds that follow. She feels helpless, looking at her son and Mike on the floor, the former trying to choke the life out of his best friend.
“Don’t get near him. Vecna possessed Will. You’d get hurt.”
They hear Lucas say on the side, branding his wound as proof of his attempt to help and failing. Nancy—having come and stood next to Joyce—disregards the advice and goes to stop the two boys on the ground.
She gets near enough to be able to before she is harshly flung across the room by an invisible barrier surrounding the two. She lets out a harsh breath, ears ringing and vision spinning from the impact as she vaguely registers the sound of someone calling for her name.
Mike—despite the hands around his neck and the depleting supply of oxygen in his lungs—calls out for his sister, worry laced in his voice. He calls out to her a few more times before he lets out a rather embarrassing squeak when Will tightens his grip on him. He looks back at the other boy, staring and trying to reach him.
Will, who’s currently choking him with so much force he thinks this is it, this is how I die. Will, whose eyes are white on the left and the usual beautiful hazel on the right. Will, whose both eyes are filled with tears and a hint of anger along with sadness. Will, whose mouth produces such heart-wrenching sobs and pained apologies.
Mike thinks he’s never looked more beautiful.
He reaches his hand towards the other’s face, wiping his tears and caressing his cheeks. Mike huffs out a shaky and unsuccessful attempt at taking in air before he lets a small, reassuring smile spread across his face. With much difficulty, he tries to move his head in a reassuring way, hoping to get his message to Will that it’s okay, he’s okay.
“Fight back, please. Please. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Will cries, pressing down on Mike’s neck. Will lets out a strangled cry as his vision darkens and the world around him becomes red. Mike looks at his friend, his Will, who was struggling against the control of the monster who’s hurt them all. He looks at the bloodied face of his friend, whose tears had turned to streams of blood, and calls out.
“Will,” he says, the boy looking down at him, visibly straining. “It’s… okay. Don't… don't cry. Not for me, never...for...me," he lets out, struggling between sharp intakes of breath. The world around him blurs as white spots appear in his field of view. His hand slowly falls back to his eyes; everything around him becomes muffled and unclear, like he’s plunged underwater and drowning.
He vaguely registers himself talking, spouting broken reassurance to the frightened and shaking boy on top of him. He’s pretty sure the other is crying still, repeating heartbreaking apologies along with raw and strained sobs.
Mike doesn’t find it in himself to care about his situation, convinced he deserves it for everything he’s done to Will. Despite the pain, he’s quite glad his movements and words are somewhat restricted or just difficult to execute, fearing any more gestures from him could cause more damage to the other boy.
He feels tears pool in his eyes and slide down his cheeks, in sync with Will’s bloodied ones. He closed his eyes, taking his mind off the pain and instead focusing on remembering all the times he’s taken life for granted.
The first thing he remembers is a swing set and a little boy, shorter than he himself had been back then. He remembers how lonely he looked and how his heart ached at the sight, not understanding why it had then. He remembers thinking to himself and hardening his resolve before walking up to the little boy and asking to be his friend. His heart aches at the reminder of how thrilled, happy, and excited he had been feeling when the other nodded his head and introduced himself. “I’m Will, Will Byers,” he had said in a soft and barely there whisper. Mike knew then and there that he’d do anything for him. And anything he did.
The second memory comes to him like a flicker of the light, the same way it did in their garage—the last time everything was still normal and good, the moment that kick-started the chain of unfortunate events that led them here. He remembers looking at hazel eyes, confused when the other boy had muttered about rolling a seven and being caught by the demogorgon. Will was gone by the time he’d snapped out of his trance, shouting goodbyes over his shoulder and biking down the road of their neighborhood. Had Mike known then, he would have gone with him or at least convinced him to just spend the night at the Wheeler house—like the old times.
Mike recalls the helplessness he felt looking at his best friend suffering at the hands of the Mind Flayer when he got possessed. That gnawing feeling of wanting to help the other and assure him that everything will be alright and that it will all be over soon. He remembers the steady stream of tears sliding down his face when he’d tried to make Will remember the first day they met—he ignores the small and quiet voice in his head reminding him of how Will cried then too, the lone tear sliding down his cheek mirroring the stream on his own.
The next memory he remembers is the sound of rain hitting the pavement in front of his garage. He remembers this being the first time Will got truly angry and pissed off at him. He remembers shouting, “It’s not my fault you don’t like girls,” to fight back and hurt. But not Will; no, he never had meant to hurt Will—though he was sure he did anyway. Rather, those words were for him. For Mike. Because he couldn’t risk him being discovered then, that he’d only been spending so much time with El to avoid having to think about hazel eyes and the ever-present bowl cut of his friend. That he’d only been avoiding Will because he was scared and confused about how he truly felt. Will did not deserve someone like Mike—a coward and a burden. Will deserved someone better, someone who wouldn’t be afraid to love him and show him off to the world, like he deserved to be.
And last but never the least, he remembers sitting at the back of a pizza delivery van, half listening and half staring at the boy in front of him. Will had given Mike a painting then and a heartfelt string of all the words Mike had needed and wanted to hear. He recalls smiling and beaming at the idea of seeing and hearing Will telling him these words, only for his hope to get shattered when the other had mentioned El. Mike loved her, don’t get him wrong, but he won’t deny to himself that he really did want all of it to come from Will. He wanted it to be what Will was feeling, not El or anyone else.
Mike inwardly smiles at his thoughts. He’d wanted to live longer, survive all of these, and hopefully even tell Will how he truly felt. But a part of him, a small and quiet part, is glad it’ll be in Will’s arms that he’ll die. A selfish thought, he realizes, as he’s sure this would hurt and cause more pain to his friend. He resigns himself to these memories as he slowly feels himself lose consciousness.
He's prepared to take his last breath when he finds everything clear once more and he's coughing loudly. He opens his eyes and looks around him, seeing Nancy, Dustin, and El, all looking at him wide-eyed. He watches them breathe a sigh of relief as Nancy cries and engulfs him in an awkward hug, muttering, “I’m sorry” and “Thank God, you’re okay.” He looks at them more before he remembers what happened earlier.
He turned towards the direction of the other group, who were surrounding Will. Will, who was lying on the ground where El had used her powers to get him off Mike. Mike peels himself off from his sister’s arms, crawling over to Will. He barely registers pushing the others away, moving to cradle Will’s body. He vaguely hears shouts of worry and alarm, telling him to get away before he gets hurt again. Mike pays them no mind; he knows Will won’t do anything to hurt him intentionally.
He holds Will’s head to his lap, muttering his name over and over, softly calling for him to come back. He doesn’t know how long it had been until Will finally wakes up, panic painted on his face as he looks around the place. His crazed eyes stop at Mike, not noticing the way everyone tensed up around them and got ready to do something, anything, if Will decided to hurt Mike more.
Mike lets out a small smile, teary eyes looking down at Will. The latter wasted no more time to hug him, crying hysterically as more blood seeped out of his eyes, nose, and ears. Will clings to Mike, fisting the hem of the other’s shirt as he weeps and weeps, muttering guttural and pained sounds of apologies.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to,” Will mutters, voice quiet and strained against Mike’s neck. “He… he got me. I let him get to me, and I hurt you. I hurt you,” he continues, getting off Mike’s arms and placing his forehead against the other’s.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Mike closes his eyes for a short while before he opens them again, looking straight into Will’s eyes that were now back to normal, except for the blood surrounding them. He smiles and wraps the other in a tight, bruising hug, caressing the back of Will’s neck and his back.
“It’s okay. I’m okay,” Mike whispers against the other’s ear, shushing his cries as he continues to rub his back. “It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault. I’m okay,” he says, closing his eyes and pulling the crying boy tighter against his body.
The others look on, staring at them with small smiles and teary faces, piling up on each other as they all slowly lean in to hug both boys on the ground.
Everything may not be so well later, but that’s okay. For now, they’re okay, and we’re all okay. And that’s all that matters.