Chapter Text
The Upside Down is bleeding into Hawkins, Eleven and Mike are going to break up, and all Mike can feel is relief. Unless they’re already broken up, that is. Regardless, Mike can tell what’s coming and it feels like any moment things will finally get back to normal, finally start to make sense again.
Things had been weird since the pizza dough freezer and Mike’s confession. Things had been weird before that, really, but everything that had happened after Mike got to Lenora only heightened how out of place and wrong things felt between him and El. Afterwards, when she’d woken up, El had looked at him with a smile full of sadness and tears in her eyes. He knew, then. The two of them had never been that good at reading each other, but Mike knew things were never going to be the same for them.
He’d sat in between El and Will for the remainder of the drive back to Hawkins, felt the guilt pressing in on him from all sides, felt Jonathan’s glare through the rearview mirror. That weight hadn’t gone away and all Mike wanted to do was outrun it.
But after everything, after the long drive and all the reunions and walking up the hill to see death and destruction creeping toward them, after getting back to the cabin and everyone’s dismayed reactions, El had looked at him, nodded her head back outside and they’d left to go take a walk.
Hopper had narrowed his eyes at them but let them go without much argument.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” he’d said.
“We are not stupid people,” El had responded seriously before nudging Mike out the door in front of her.
Once the door had shut, Mike turned around.
“El,” he’d started to say before she placed her hand on his arm, stopping him.
“Not here, Mike.”
They kept walking. And now here they were, standing in the trees staring at each other. El was staring at him, determination on her face, hesitation in her eyes. Mike had to be the one to speak first, right? He’d led her, showed her what it was like to exist outside the lab, had been her very first friend. For her, he could do this. He could put aside the fear that was twisted up inside of him, that had been for years, always something he’d pushed down and explained away, ignored and told himself wasn’t a big deal, wasn’t because everything felt wrong when it should have felt right. Mike could do this.
They spoke at the same time, said each other’s names before pausing.
“Let me talk,” El said, the hesitation gone from her eyes, back straight as she stood up taller. Mike may have shown her around when they’d first met, but it was clear that he wasn’t that person for her anymore. That she didn’t need him for that anymore.
Mike nodded.
“Go ahead,” he said.
“I have been thinking about what I want to say to you…” El trailed off.
“It can be hard to put things into words sometimes,” Mike said quietly.
“Yes,” El agreed. “I know what I want to say but not how to say it. I don’t want to hurt you.”
She looked at him with her eyes wide, glassy.
“You can’t be afraid to hurt me,” Mike said before hesitating. “When we met… one of the first things we talked about was how friends don’t lie.”
El flinched slightly but nodded.
“I think we’ve both been lying,” El said quietly. “I lied about my life and you lied when you said you loved me.”
Mike felt a tear roll down his face.
“You’re right. I do love you, but not in the way I implied it, not the way I led you to believe, and not the way you deserve. I’ve been a shitty boyfriend, El. I’m sorry.”
“It is okay. You were shitty. But I kept things from you too. I do not think we should be together.”
Mike nodded.
“I’m sorry,” he said miserably. He was telling the truth, he was sorry, but that didn’t take away from what he’d put her through, the hurt he caused, and there wasn’t anything he could say to fix what he’d done.
“I know,” El said. “I know you are sorry for the way you treated me but I do not think we should be sorry about this,” El said, gesturing between them. “It is okay to learn things. It is good to grow. We have realized we don’t need to be together for that. I do not think we push each other to be better. We are too worried about appearances.”
“When did you get so smart?”
“I have always been smart.”
Mike laughed. El did too.
“I want to be your friend,” Mike said. “El, you mean so much to me and I want to—”
“I want to be your friend too. And I want us to stop lying to each other.”
“Me too.”
Mike held out his arms and El leaned in, wrapping her arms around him. They stood there for a moment before Mike dissolved into laughter.
That fear was still there, but it felt like some of it had been resolved. He felt lighter. This felt right. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he wasn’t fucking everything up.
“This feels better, doesn’t it?” He asked El as they stepped away from each other.
She smiled at him, big and genuine.
“Yes, it does.”
Mike smiled back at her. Everything finally felt right. Vecna was still around and they’d have to deal with that, but he’d fixed things with El, addressed their problems and come to the right conclusion.
Mike knew breakups were supposed to be sad, and yeah, part of him was sad—it would be impossible not to be—but more than anything, he was excited and hopeful for the future. There was so much to look forward to, even if they still had to deal with the end of the world. Just because things were chaotic, it didn’t mean they should just live in misery.
“We should get back to the cabin,” El said. “Before Hop comes to track you down,” she added with a laugh.
Mike rolled his eyes but laughed along with her as they made their way back to the cabin.
“El,” Mike said suddenly, reaching for her arm to get her attention as they made their way to the edge of the trees surrounding the cabin. “I want to be there for you. As a friend. I don’t want you to think you have to deal with everything alone. Even if it’s not me you talk to. I know Max was so important to you—”
“Is,” El cut in.
“What?”
“Max is important to me. She is not dead.”
“Right, sorry. Max is important to you and—”
El cut him off again.
“I appreciate what you are trying to say, Mike.” She paused like there was more she wanted to add.
“Maybe you should talk to Lucas,” Mike suggested gently. El tensed. “Or anyone!” He added, gesturing with his hands, trying to dig out of this mess. “My point is just that I don’t want you to feel alone in this.”
El nodded, but wouldn’t look at him, eyes firmly locked on the ground.
“In Lenora,” Mike started slowly, “you said you were different. I know you’ve been through things the rest of us will never understand but we’re all here for you. Just… please don’t distance yourself just because you feel like you have to.”
El sighed.
“You do not get it,” she said, and Mike wanted to cry. He knew he didn’t get it, would never get it, but there was no fix for that. “I should have saved her,” El said quietly, tears falling down her face. “I am the only one who could save her and I didn’t. I failed. What good am I without my powers?”
“El, no. You can’t put that on yourself. Max wouldn’t want you to put that on yourself. It’s all Vecna.”
“One,” El said shortly. “And that’s my fault too.”
She turned around and stomped up the stairs to the cabin. Mike followed but she went straight to her room and slammed the door.
“Wheeler,” Hopper said from where he stood in the kitchen with Joyce. Mike could feel the weight of his glare, the blame turning the air heavy.
“I tried talking with her about Max,” Mike said dejectedly. “I just wanted her to know she’s not alone, that it’s not her fault that we’re all there for her.”
Hopper nodded, the anger rushing away, his threatening expression smoothing out in understanding.
“Give her time, kid.”
It’s decided that the Byers will stay at the Wheeler house and Mike feels a sense of relief. He hadn’t known he’d been worried, but knowing he wasn’t going to be separated from Will made him realize that had been a possibility. He was glad it wasn’t something that needed any more consideration. Excitement and anxiety flutter in his fingers and he can’t stop the smile on his face because finally he’ll be able to fix things. He can make things right and be best friends with Will again, just like he’d promised in Lenora before everything went to shit and bullets started flying. This is perfect.
But when they get back to the house, his mom says Jonathan and Will can take the basement despite Mike’s protests that he and Will can share his room. His mom glances at him strangely, and then suddenly his dad is there, telling him to listen to his mother, telling him Will doesn’t mind sleeping in the basement, and Will just nods, staring at the floor not meeting anyone’s eyes.
“That’s bullshit,” Mike growls, but it’s too late, it’s already been decided.
“It’s fine, Mike,” Will practically whispers at the ground and Mike wants to shake him, wants to shake everyone, say no it’s fucking not but Will glances at him and says, “Besides, you don’t want to lose any of your precious space,” with a grin on his face, continuing, “And I don’t want to deal with your dirty socks.”
And Will is smiling, but he looks so tired. Mike smiles back at him, says, “Hey!” like he thinks he’s supposed to and watches Will go down to the basement.
“I still think it’s bullshit,” he mumbles, but no one’s left to hear his complaints.
He stomps up to his room, wondering if it was clean if Will would’ve been allowed to share with him. Maybe all of this could have been avoided if he’d just cleaned his room. He lies on his bed and thinks about doing something, cleaning up his mess, but what’s the point? It’s not like Will would ever see the disaster that his room has become. The basement is their place, anyways. It always has been.
After moping in his room, Mike starts to wonder what Will is up to. There’s still time before dinner, so Mike heads down to the basement. Maybe Will would want to do something. Maybe he’s bored out of his mind too.
The basement is dark, no lights on, and colder than the rest of the house.
“Will?” Mike whispers, heading over to the couch. He sees Will shift, sitting up from where he’d been curled up with a blanket. He’s down here alone. Jonathan must be upstairs with Nancy.
Mike sits down next to Will, notices the way he scrubs his face harshly, notices how he keeps it turned away, like he can hide himself if he doesn’t look back at Mike. Mike feels the panic, the fear, flare in his chest but ignores it, reaching a hand out to place on Will’s arm.
“Will?” He asks all soft and slow, hoping Will might turn to look at him.
“I’m fine,” Will says. Mike can tell he’s lying. Will sounds too sad to be fine. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “Just forget about it.”
“Will, no. I’m not—you don’t need to tell me anything you don’t want to, don’t need to tell me why you’re sad, but you don’t have to hide what you’re feeling. I’m here.”
Mike shifts his hand down from Will’s arm to his hand and feels Will tense slightly, for a moment, before relaxing and looking at Mike.
“You don’t have to hide from me,” Mike says. He feels himself glance at Will’s mouth and the way his cheeks heat up. This isn’t the time for any of this. Not now. He’s trying to comfort his friend right now. His best friend.
“I’m not trying to hide.”
Mike rolls his eyes while giving Will a small smile. Will grumbles and shoves at Mike but not enough for him to go anywhere.
The two of them are sitting there on the couch and it’s nice. Mike has missed this, missed feeling comfortable in Will’s presence, missed how natural it feels to sit together in easy silence. But at the same time, Mike wonders if things would be different if he hadn’t been such an asshole. He feels like he doesn’t know who he is anymore, like he’s looking into a mirror and can’t find his reflection, like he doesn’t recognize himself, like the mirror is lying to him because who the fuck is he anymore? He thinks back to that Halloween and “crazy together” and wonders if he hadn’t turned into such an asshole if Will would be confiding in him the same way he did back then.
“Will?” Mike hears himself ask, hears the embarrassing crack in his voice, the way it could almost be explained away but exists in the world anyway, and part of him wants to hide, wants to pretend he’d never spoken at all, but hiding is what got him into this mess and Mike is fucking sick of it all.
“Yeah?” Will asks, looking at him so carefully, so openly, and Mike wants to cry.
“I’m sorry,” he says, the words bursting out of him as he sits there breathing, trying to stop the tears in his eyes from falling.
“Mike— What? Why are you— You don’t need to be sorry about anything.”
Will is looking at him like he can’t fathom what Mike could possibly be apologizing for and it just makes Mike feel worse. Is he that much of an asshole that it’s impossible to imagine anything else, that everything he’s done, everything he’s said, every way he’s hurt Will, big and small, has been erased away because Will is used to expecting the bare minimum?
“Do you remember that Halloween that we came back here?” Mike asks quietly. Will freezes, tensing before answering.
“I— Yeah,” Will says, matching Mike’s quiet tone.
“You used to tell me things.”
“Mike—”
“I get why you’re not right now,” Mike rushes out, desperate for Will to understand, to not take this in a way Mike isn’t intending. The last thing he wants is for Will to feel like Mike’s pressuring him, forcing him to say things he doesn’t want to. “I’m not trying to like pry… I just want you to know you can talk to me. Like really talk to me. I know you might not trust me right not—”
“Mike, of course I trust you,” Will says like he’d never considered anything else. “I don’t know why you’re…”
Will trails off and Mike feels the need to fill the silence.
“I’m not accusing you, I just miss how you used to talk to me and I’m sorry I messed things up.”
Will is silent for a moment.
“You didn’t mess things up.”
“You don’t need to pretend—”
“I’m not pretending, Mike,” Will says almost bitterly. “You’re refusing to hear anything that isn’t what you’re expecting.”
“What I’m expecting?”
“Will you just listen?”
Mike flinches back like the words have physically struck him. How is it, that in trying to tell Will he’s there for him, that he wants to be the person Will confides in, that he wants to be the one who listens, that he’s making Will feel like he isn’t being heard?
“Sorry,” he says dejectedly, trying to hide his emotions. He’s trying to be there for Will right now—he doesn’t want his emotions getting in the way.
“I’m not hiding things or whatever you think because I don’t trust you or because I don’t want to tell you specifically.” Will pauses. “I just don’t want to talk to anyone about this. There’s not even anything to really talk about in the first place.”
“You told me about Vecna.”
“Yeah, but— But that’s different. That’s like relevant information.”
“And whatever you’re worried about isn’t?”
“Of course not. I’m just being a baby,” Will practically spits and Mike stares at him in shock.
“Will—” he starts, but he has no idea how to finish his thought. He’s seen Will angry before, but it isn’t usually directed inward like this, and it’s not usually so obvious. “You’re not being a baby. You’re allowed to be upset without reducing yourself down like that.”
Will shrugs, keeping his head down and refusing to look at Mike.
“Will,” Mike says, his voice cracking with emotion. “You’re not a baby. Having feelings doesn’t make you—”
“I know!” Will shouts as he stands from the couch. “I get it. I’d tell anyone else the same thing but everyone still treats me—” He breaks off to choke down a sob and Mike feels something in his chest crack. “Everyone still treats me like the youngest who’s always scared of everything. Everyone still sees me as a little kid,” he whispers brokenly.
“Will, no,” Mike whispers, standing up and trying to look Will in the eyes. “That’s not true.”
“And they’re not even wrong,” Will says, and it comes out like a wail. And fuck it, Mike isn’t going to hold back anymore. He puts his arms around his best friend and pulls him into his chest. He wants to be Will’s safe space, wants to be the one Will goes to for comfort, but damn it if he doesn’t hate what that means for Will. In a perfect world, Will wouldn’t have anything he needed to be comforted over, but Mike knows that’s literally impossible, and so he pulls Will even closer and holds him tight.
“I just want to go home,” Will cries and Mike gets it, gets why this hurts so much. Because Will doesn’t mean home like a house with his family, doesn’t mean home like Hawkins or Lenora, like making new routines and learning to live with everything. No, Will means home like meeting on the swing set, home like hanging out with the party and laughing until their stomachs hurt and then laughing some more over something they’ll forget about in a day, home like biking around town, racing down streets and around corners hoping they don’t fall, home like playing D&D in Mike’s basement back before they’d used it as a template to talk about all the horrors they’d experienced. No, Will wants to go home, back to childhood and innocence and Mike doesn’t blame him.
“I know,” he whispers into the side of Will’s head as he holds him. He rocks them back and forth slightly. “I know,” he whispers again.
That’s all he knows what to say right now. There’s nothing else, just them, in this moment, clinging to something they’ll never get back.