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Mike Wheeler always knew he was a coward. He hid behind the facade he had so carefully built, the so-called heart. Always kept the party together– nothing more than a string holding a bracelet together. Only the bracelet broke years ago, and he hadn't served a purpose since the Byers moved to California. He click-clacked away at his typewriter, almost a strikingly identical carbon-copy of his father. He loved to write, but couldn't muster up anything worth publishing. El was gone, their last interaction resembling that of a bittersweet break-up, the party moved on, and here he was.
Alone.
Worst of all, even though Vecna was finally gone, all he could feel was a sense of dread; he never told Will the truth. The truth that had been eating himself up from the inside out longer than he could remember. Lingering touches, prolonged eye contact, the brush of shoulders, the warmth. Even after Will came out at the WSQK, a mention of somebody by the name of Tammy, a vaguely familiar name (if he had looked closer, he would’ve seen Robin's eyes start to water), he had still chickened out.
Friends? No thanks. The air shifted, the radio tower creaking with the weight of their shoes. Will's eyes widened. It was as if it was only the two of them, the upside down particles shifting around them not unkindly. And somehow, in someway, Mike had still fucked up. Best friends! He remembered the tight smile he’d been given, shoulders tensing up as Will gave him a haphazard hug.
And now it was too late. Will had moved on. Everybody had moved on. He was stuck in Hawkins, mourning a lover he never got to have.
He abruptly stood from his chair, knees wobbly from the sudden shift. Wills painting loomed in the distance. It glared at him, daring him to step towards it. His sweater had felt sticky on his skin, his wrists starting to itch. The colors blended together, but he could tell something was off. A detail he hadn’t noticed before. The thessalhydra had four heads. That wasn't right. He traced his hands along the border, noticing other mistakes that had been dormant minutes prior. The way some of the brush strokes looked ingenuine, claws amalgamating in an unnatural manner. The most obvious mistake though, was Mike the Braves shield. The heart was no longer visible; instead the shield was blank. He hesitated, fingers tracing the figure of Lucas’ horse before promptly ripping the painting in half.
He stumbled back in shock, tumbling to the floor, eyes still glued to the wall. He refused to look away as behind where the painting previously stood was a gaping hole, tentacles surrounding its perimeter.
Michael.
Conform.
The tendrils whispered, urging him to go back; pretend like nothing happened.
He was tired of running however, tired of living a lie, a lie that made his life bland. To be normal, wake up normal, act normal. How long had he been in this fallacy for? He had no idea, minutes felt like days and days felt like years. He was shocked, but shrugged it off as he finally got up after what felt like ages, brushing off his ankles and running towards the cavity. He no longer wanted to be a coward– he wanted to be Mike. Mike the Brave, the true heart.
The scene suddenly shifted, his glasses tumbling off his nose and down a steep cliff. He grounded his heels and paused at the edge of the quarry, blinking his eyes in an attempt to adjust his vision without glasses, feeling a twinge of recognition. Turning around, he saw two familiar faces, Troy and James. In front of him however, he saw himself. Younger, naive, face full of unbridled fear. Shorter hair that awfully clashed with his current longer head of curls, sweeping just right below his neck. He watched this version of himself shakily step towards the edge, right next to where he currently stood. Dustin had looked so much younger too, held up by a knife near his trembling mouth, terrified. Without noticing, a tear had made its way down his face. He remembered jumping. Prematurely, he turned his head towards his past self, watching the gears shift. He started walking towards him, speeding up, trying to grab his own shoulders and knock some sense into him. But his hands phased through, morbidly remembering this was a memory, his own, he couldn't alter the outcome.
He thought back, remembering the painting and the glaringly wrong details that led him to where he was now. Narrowing his eyes, he caught something else: the water below the quarry. It had seemed dirtier than he remembered it being. He had to jump again. Without a second thought, he stepped off the edge, submerging himself into a murky red substance in the blink of an eye.
Before he knew it, he was in an entirely different memory. This time, he realized he could vaguely hear cries of his name around him, quiet, but still loud enough to pick up phrases. ‘Mike!’ ‘Can anybody find some bullshit song he likes?’ ‘Who the hell are the butthole surfers?!’ ‘He’s going to continue to float, Nance, you have to let go!’ ‘Will, channel your powers.’ He strained his ears, trying to hear more, to find something real in this hellhole, but he knew he had to keep going. Ahead, he spotted Ted and Karen arguing, his younger self, although more recent than the previous memory, covering his ears on the stairsteps. His stomach dropped.
Karen had stormed out, yelling something as she had taken Holly and slammed the front door behind her, keys jingling in the other hand. Nancy had been with Jonathan at the library that day.
Ted had lurked around the corner spotting Mike. He shrunk under his fathers gaze, Ted’s hand starting to loom dangerously close to Mike’s face. A smack had resounded within the walls of the seemingly perfect, pristine Wheeler household. “No son of mine is a queer and a freak..” He drunkenly muttered, leaving a purpling bruise on Mike's cheek as he walked towards the living room, the stench of cheap beer aloof in the air. He remembered. His own hand floated towards his face, right over the spot where the bruise had healed.
He had to keep pushing.
To his left stood their fridge, the magnets looking awfully suspicious, colors too perfect to feel familial. He jogged towards the appliance, opening the fridge door and crawling into yet another vast red crater, the tunnel adjusting as he ripped through vines. They hissed and screeched, his body weight causing him to barrel into an increasingly more familiar evocation. He landed face-first onto gravel, hard and unforgiving.
“Ow! Fuck..” He had gotten up, rubbing his forehead while scanning the scene. It was raining, his clothes evidently starting to soak. Water was seeping down his neckline, discomfort apparent.
He saw a familiar bowl cut, hearing sobs he wished he didn’t remember. His uneven hair was jutting into his sides, staring at the version of himself he hated the most. Actually, that wasn't true. He hated the version that wasn’t honest with himself, which happened to be almost every version. But now he accepted the truth. The burning, flickering truth that he wasn't normal. He went against everything he was ever told, ever taught. He had always known, yet continued to hide it. He grasped onto everything he could that reeked of normalcy, like El, like his friendships, like his interests. But nothing could ever get rid of the way he felt about a certain someone.
A boy. No amount of repression could stop him from loving Will Byers, and even though his shame was deep, he felt weirdly content. Like the second he stopped caring, the heavy heart he carried seemed to slowly disappear. He could breathe easier. Or at least he wished he could for the most part, his alarming amount of mistakes and overwhelming self-rejection cutting into his consciousness like a butter knife. But he was changing, now more than ever, even though he knew deep down there was no guarantee he’d make it out of the trance he was seemingly in. But there was also a chance he could, he just needed to keep–
“It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!”
He froze. It was in the past, before he even knew Will was that way, but no amount of context could stop his stomach from lurching. He was a naive, rash teenager who didn’t think twice, saying the first thing that came to mind. He didn’t even think about the implications back then, an almost instantaneous expression of hurt painting Will's face before he ran off. He wished he could run after Will now; tell him he didn’t mean it. But the damage was already done, and here he was, watching it happen all over again.
‘Mike!’ A voice called out, but he couldn’t really hear it. Or at least he tried not to, his mind was still racing. He knew he had to– ‘Mike, I’m here, please,’ –keep moving forward, but he was stuck– ‘I saw it.. I saw it all. I saw the painting, I saw you jump, I saw Ted, the bruise, everything. Mike–’ –in place until two hands, two real hands softly gripped his shoulders, using a surprising amount of force to spin him around, noses bumping. He lifted his eyes, a very familiar face looking back at him. Will. The real Will. Hair longer than the bowl cut he used to fashion, textured and awfully pretty, but nobody needed to know he thought that. “–I missed you.”
He dared to look him in the eyes, belatedly realizing the tear tracks on his face were probably still visible from earlier. Will’s hands dropped from his shoulders, opting to snake around his ribs, right above his waist. They nestled on his back like they were meant to fit, much like compatible puzzle pieces, the familiar warmth making his breath catch.
After shaking out of his initial stupor, Mike started to talk, voice cracking with its lack of use. “Will I missed you so much,” Mike whispered, shakier than he had liked. Will’s nose stopped dripping saccharine, his eyes sparkling as he continued to hold Mike like they were alone again in the upside down on that damn radio tower. “I’m so sorry, for everything, I know you saw, I hid so much from you, you’re so courageous, and even after you had the balls to come out and everything, I still managed to be a coward, I couldn’t tell you howItrulyfeltandI–” Before Mike could continue rambling, he was swiftly interrupted by a pair of lips silencing him. He closed his eyes, his breath ragged as he reciprocated.
It was messy, Mike’s lips were definitely still dry and cracked, yet both boys moved against each other as if time paused just for them. He felt a hand creep into his curls, somehow pushing them closer towards each other. He felt Will bite his bottom lip, emitting a whine and a prompt signal to finally pull away, even though his heart protested. Mike was breathing like he had just run a marathon, a loopy grin pulling at his features.
“I know Mike.” Will sighed, a wide smile gracing his face. Mike was about to lean in again when the ground started to rumble, a voice echoing from behind them.
Michael Wheeler, you are weak. Pay for your sins, your mistakes. I’ll make it better, I’ll make you better.. join me.
He heard a muffled grandfather clock ticking, the ground shaking with increased vigor. Will grabbed his hand, interlocking their fingers as he pulled him away from the growing shadow that took the form of Vecna. His feet urgently began to speed up, turning his head to the side to see that the shadow had now fully emerged from the ground, stalking closer with every living step.
But holding Will's hand gave him strength, a persistent warmth he had craved all his life. He had felt hope for the first time in a while. In front of them grew a steady crack in the reddened sky, a scene unfolding where he saw fragments of reality; of Nancy crying, grabbing at his legs helplessly while he floated higher, a familiar tune playing while Joyce frantically stood next to Will, his eyes white and his nose continuously dripping red.
Now Playing: Smalltown Boy by Bronski Beat
“Mother will never understand why you had to leave
But the answers you seek will never be found at home
The love that you need will never be found at home”
With one last stagger of tumbling limbs and pure adrenaline, they both jumped through the opened portal, watching the false reality behind them crumble as everything began to fade.
“To your soul”
–
Mike slowly woke up, blinking his eyes open, vision awfully bleary. The first thing he saw was Nancy staring at him, her sobs of relief getting quieter as she pulled him into a hug. Then he saw Will, smiling while maintaining steady eye contact. They were in the living room of the WSQK, his real memories before the trance hitting him like a freight train.
Vecna had barely survived the final blow, and during their false celebration had closed them out of his domain. Dr. Kay had found Hopper, El, and Kali during their escape, Kali sacrificing herself while El and Hopper escaped. El and him had still broken up, but El seemed freer now, her and Max talking in the next room. Steve, Lucas and Dustin were giving him the occasional concerned look from the corner of the booth, but had walked away to go get him food as per Joyce’s request. The party had regrouped once they escaped from the upside down and their other various locations, temporarily weakening Vecna enough so he wouldn't be able to combine both worlds just yet, but just enough to prey on Mike to attempt to regain another vessel since he had lost all the kids during their last interaction. He had also seen Jonathan and Erica playing cards right before he had been taken. Huh.
Vecna was still out there, and the battle wasn’t truly over, but he looked at Will and watched him jog over, all his worries melting away. Without a care in the world, Will embraced him with a small hug, and then– Mike surprised himself with a kiss to Will’s forehead. Nancy and Robin locked eyes, surprised but not unwelcome to the new development. Joyce smiled at her son. Maybe things were going to be alright. No more secrets. Crazy together, right?