Work Text:
Everything was going so well.
This was what Will had always wanted, wasn’t it? Ever since he was young and feeling like he was falling behind his friends, Will had wanted Mike; his care, his affection, his attention, his love, all of it. We had dreamed so many nights of his wishes coming to fruition, only to wake up in the morning with an ache in his heart at the realisation that none of it was real and may never be.
And finally, it was happening. After seeking advice from a new friend who had been in his same shoes, coming out before he was ready and forcing himself to accept that it was all a silly little crush, hearing the words ‘best friends’ from Mike’s lips, and then…a love confession.
It wasn’t a pretty or romantic thing, with petals and a sunset—it was through heaving sobs and blubbered words and a hundred reassurances, and then they were finally on the same page after so long. They both wanted to take it slow, considering this was new, uncharted, and scary territory for both of them.
And then, one thing led to another, and they found themselves on Will’s bed, making out like teenagers. The frame creaked beneath them, the room quiet aside from their breathing. After a lifetime of loss, Will could never have imagined he would ever be in this situation with someone whom he considered the love of his life, yet here they were. It was new, everything about it, and it was all so fragile and electric. He was lying on his back, with Mike hovering over him and propped up on his forearms to avoid crushing the boy beneath him. Everything was going well, and Will was enjoying himself.
That was, until the voices started.
It began as a whisper in Will’s ear, just a quiet thing, like the light brush of fingertips across skin. He could ignore it, because Mike was right here and they were kissing, and Will had never felt so euphoric in his life. He wanted this, all of it. He wanted to feel the brush of his best friend’s lips against his, so soft and delicate, pressing against Will’s like he was both someone precious and something that Mike needed. Will squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus on the press of lips against his.
The whispers grew louder, unable to be drowned out even by this. They were traitorous thoughts, with a familiar tone that made Will want to gauge his eardrums out. That voice, so painstakingly recognisable, had been tormenting almost every waking moment since he was twelve years old and lost in the woods. He had been getting better; everyone had told him so. Realistically, he knew there was no danger anymore, no monsters hiding under the bed, waiting to strike when he was unsuspecting.
But those memories, those flashes of pictures from a darker time, those words echoing in his head that he wasn’t enough…it all was so loud, even after all this time.
It wasn’t just one voice. It was a chorus of every single person who had hurt Will. There was his father, who called him slurs and burnt out his cigarettes on Will’s skin, the scars of which linger even today. There was Troy, who bullied his friends relentlessly and called them terrible names. There was Vecna, who had haunted his every waking and sleeping for a long, long time, maybe even before Will was taken. And worst of all, there was Mike, saying words that Will knew, deep down, he never said. But it cut so deep, having this boy that Will loved and trusted simultaneously being the most gentle with him that anybody ever had, and infecting his mind with reminders of why he would never be enough.
Mike didn’t notice anything was amiss, and Will would’ve been glad for it, had he been able to keep the voices under control. He wanted Mike to assume that Will’s trembling was only because he was nervous yet eager, just long enough for Will to clear his thoughts.
But alas, that distant buzzing became a loud ringing, until it was all he could hear. Mike’s lips trailed off along his jawline, kissing softly over the bone, and then down his neck. This affection should’ve felt good—and it did, though distant—but all Will could feel was how distorted it was, like it wasn’t Mike at all. It was as if Mike’s warm, tender touch was suddenly cold and tentacles instead of hands.
Will wanted to pull Mike closer. Closer. Closer again. He wanted him close enough that his thoughts were just a constant train of MikeMikeMike.
Instead, Will found himself shoving Mike off him, surprised by his own actions but feeling too out of it to really comprehend it. Remotely, he saw Mike’s face twist into something of confusion, maybe a hint of hurt, but mainly worry—of course, it was worry. Because Mike cared about Will, didn’t he?
His brain told him otherwise.
Flashes of another world flooded his vision, and it felt like he suddenly wasn’t in the comfort of his bedroom anymore. He was back there, in the rotting reflection of the real world. The air was thick with sickly spores floating around and the scent of something long deceased. Vines twisted and curled around any and all surfaces they could find, grabbing and holding and claiming for themselves. There was no warmth, not even if you were wrapped in hundreds of layers. It was the kind of cold that seeped into your skin and laid a permanent seed there, burying in deep until you could never feel that hollow part inside be filled again. And then there was a voice; distant, echoing, pleading, a voice that…didn’t belong here…
“Will?”
Oh. That was Mike’s voice. Mike, who was warm and real. This Mike would never hurt him. This Mike would never say those horrid things that kept sneering at him. Mike would never hurt him, not like they did, not like he did.
But that was so hard to believe when all he could hear was that sickening voice in his head supplying terrible thoughts.
They would never love you if they knew you.
You’re a burden, you always have been.
“Will? Are you okay?” Mike’s voice was urgent, but gentle, and so concerned.
Before he could give it any real thought, Will was blabbering, his breathing a lot more raged than he realised, “Don’t… don’t touch me right now. Please.” He was practically panting, sitting up against the headboard and pressing his back as hard as possible against it like that would enable him to escape the memories trying to resurface. He wrapped his arms around his knees, pulling them tightly to his chest. “Just- just give me a moment. Please.”
Will’s cheeks were burning red—not from the kissing, but from the humiliating notions bouncing around in his head. The voice—deep, growling, rough, and so hauntingly known—reminded him of when he was just a young boy, curled up with nothing more than a song in his head to keep him alive. The voice reminded him of what happened to people like him, people who were…sick.
Mike nodded, but his hand reached for him on instinct, like it always did—always needing that contact with Will, always staying close and grounding him even when he felt like he was drifting. But Will… Will flinched. He jerked back hard enough to startle a sharp inhale from Mike, his hand ripping back like it had been burnt, but still lingering close by, hovering.
“Tell me what to do. Tell me what you need.” Mike begged helplessly—not asked, begged. There was an element of desperation to his tone that was so unlike Mike, a far cry from the fearless, resilient leader he always made himself out to be. It was clear he wanted to push further, to grab whatever was hurting Will by the throat and twist.
Will saw all of this; he did. He wanted Mike close. He wanted to feel those secure arms around him, holding him down on Earth when he felt like he was getting high off the ground. But every little particle in the air that touched his skin seemed like too much, too fast, and Will couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t get a single word out of his mouth, so he simply held a hand up to tell Mike to stay where he was.
Mike, the angel that he was, respected Will’s space like it would be a crime against humanity to disobey him. That wasn’t to say that the man wasn’t fretting, because he absolutely was—but he stayed, even if Will was fighting demons he couldn’t see, even if he could never understand why this was so hard for him. Mike always stayed.
“Are you okay? Will, talk to me, please.” He was using that soft voice that Will was so familiar with—Mike had hardly ever addressed him with any other tone, even when they were arguing.
Slowly, Vecna’s voice began to fade.
Will felt nauseous, and hardly even noticed how hard he’d been sobbing until Mike reminded him to breathe, and Will realised how difficult it was. His hands were shaking, his skin flushed with heat and sweat. Mike was talking to him, and he tried to focus on that, but his eyes were drifting anywhere but.
There was a burning shame now, one that he hadn’t felt earlier—God, it had been so good, everything that Will had never wanted and ten times more. Those nervous-excited butterflies in his stomach now felt like bile trying to rise in his throat, feeling all too much like that organism from another world all those years ago.
This is all you’ll ever be.
He avoided Mike’s eyes, looking down at the rumpled bedsheets instead. Will considered, distantly, if those voices were correct. How could he ever be loved if everything he touched was painted with memories of his past? He felt a bit like the radio tower; cracking under the weight of the Abyss and all that came with it, cracking under pressure.
Will’s fingers dig into the fabric of his jeans, his knuckles white with how hard he was trying to keep himself held together. His room smelt like Mike’s cologne mixed with his own, alongside the distant, lingering scent of cigarettes—a habit his mother and Hopper had given up long ago, but that ashy smell was hard to shake. It smelled like home, and that was almost a harder pill to swallow.
When Will spoke, barely in a whisper, his voice was hoarse, like he had been screaming even though he knew he wasn’t, “I wanted it.” He said quietly, his gaze looking carefully down. His breathing had evened out, but was still shaky. “I really did.” There was an apologetic tone to his voice, but he couldn’t find the words to explain himself.
Mike shifted slowly, sitting against the headboard beside him with his legs stretched out in front of him. His movements were slow, careful, so Will knew exactly what he was doing. “I know.” He replied, his voice achingly soft. “I know you did. I could tell.”
That hurt too. Everything seemed to hurt. “I don’t know why I can’t just-“ Will cut himself off, sounding frustrated. His eyes were watery, but no tears fell this time. He was angry, so angry—angry that his innocence and normality was stolen from him, ripped from the hands of a child who couldn’t possibly have defended himself.
“Hey,” Mike tilted his head slightly, his brown eyes trying to lock onto Will’s greener ones. With a heavy reluctance—and because he couldn’t say no to his best friend even if he wanted to—he returned the gaze. “It’s not your fault.” Will didn’t even say anything before Mike was repeating himself, drilling his words into Will’s head before any thoughts could interrupt him, “It’s not your fault.”
Will blinked slowly, letting out a sigh that was almost a laugh—humourless and wobbly as it was. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. I know you’re thinking it.” It was at this point that Mike usually would’ve given his side a playful nudge or bumped their elbows, but he didn’t, clearly still respecting Will’s need for space.
Will inhaled unsteadily, his eyes searching Mike’s for any hint of disappointment or anger or anything to reinforce what he was thinking about—but it was Mike, so there was none of that to be found. He fiddled with the sleeves of his hoodie, needing something to do with his hands. “It was him.” He admitted quietly. He couldn’t even say the name, but he heard the hitch in Mike’s breath anyway.
“Is he…” Mike started slowly, “Is he here?”
They had watched Vecna die, watched the Mind Flayer die, watched the Upside Down explode with El still inside. And yet, there was still a hesitancy to Mike’s voice, like he was expecting the worst—and Will couldn’t blame him, because they had all thought they’d won at several points over the years only to he proved wrong.
Will shook his head, eyes downcast, “No. No, he’s not. Just…” He took another slow breath, and Mike didn’t push, just waiting patiently. “Just…memories.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Will saw Mike nod slowly, clearly thinking hard—it was a familiar expression, with his eyebrows furrowed as he analysed Will’s profile. It made Will feel simultaneously exposed and seen.
“You’re sure?”
Will nodded, glancing sideways at Mike, “Positive. I don’t feel him anymore-“ They both knew he was referring to that unsettling tingle at the back of his neck, that sinking feeling like the drop at the top of a roller coaster. “-I haven’t since…that day. But I can still feel what he made me feel, back then. What he said to me. He wanted to break me down, Mike. He wanted to destroy me from the inside out. I don’t think I’m ever going to feel like myself again.”
Mike’s hands curled into fists, like he wanted to punch something—not Will, he knew that, but certainly the monster who made him this way. “No.” Mike spat out with his ferocity in his tone that Will hardly recognised him, startled. “He doesn’t get to take this from you. He doesn’t get to control you anymore, Will.” Mike shifted his body to face Will more directly. His hand hovered near Will’s on his knee, and Will gave him an almost unseen nod of permission. Mike’s warm palm covered the back of his hand, grounding. “You’re not what he made you. And I won’t let him take you from me, never again.”
Will shook his head, feeling warm tears roll down his cheeks. He wasn’t hyperventilating this time, wasn’t panicking, just quietly accepting this reality and letting it hurt him, “It feels like he already has.”
Mike was quiet for a moment, his thumb brushing over Will’s knuckles.
And then finally, Mike spoke up softly, “Can I come closer?”
Another slight nod, and he felt Mike shift towards him, just close enough that their shoulders brushed—it was enough to remind Will of who he was with, and who he knew would protect him if any of these imaginary enemies came back to haunt him.
“You didn’t push me away,” Mike said softly. When Will shot him a slightly incredulous look, Mike laughed, “Okay, physically, yeah. But you’re here with me now, aren’t you? Mentally? That was you, Will. You did that.”
Will frowned, “No, Mike. It was you.” He swallowed thickly, his cheeks burning, “Your…voice, it was louder than his. You brought me back.”
Mike huffed softly, gently turning Will’s hand over to intertwine their fingers. Will didn’t resist, letting him do it—he knew Mike wouldn’t hesitate to let go if asked. “Okay, we did it. As a team.”
Despite himself, Will couldn’t help but laugh—a shaky thing, but with a hint of real humour, “You’re ridiculous.”
Mike smiled, that dumb, dopey smile that made Will fall for him in the first place. And then it softened, because he was never anything but soft when it came to Will. “Hey,” He said again, “We don’t have to do anything else tonight—or ever, if you don’t want to. I don’t expect anything from you.”
Those words…they hit hard. Will’s life had been one big expectation, one thing after the other. He was always needed, but never often wanted or considered. After a lifetime of pressure, he was being told that it was just…okay—okay to say no, to breathe, to live.
“I know.” Will mumbled slowly, looking down at their joint hands on his knee, “I just…hate that he’s still here.” His voice was so quiet it was almost inaudible.
Mike squeezed his hand, not tightly, just bringing his attention back to him, “He’s never going to be gone, not completely.” It was the truth, and they both knew it. “It won’t be easy, it never is. But we never stopped, never let him win. You won, not him.”
“It doesn’t feel like I did.”
A quiet huff, a light smile to attempt to lighten the mood, “Because you have very low self-esteem.”
That brought a surprised laugh from Will, which looked totally out of place on his face with the teary cheeks and puffy eyes, “Okay, rude.”
Mike held his free hand up in surrender, grinning like an idiot, “It’s true!”
Will threw a halfhearted glare Mike’s way, but it softened out far too quickly to be effective, “Thank you. Really.”
Mike’s expression gentled, releasing Will’s hand in favour of slowly wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Will, feeling absolutely drained, went easily, leaning into Mike’s side.
The bedroom no longer felt like a battlefield; it was just…home—it always had been, but it was so easy to get lost in the memories of a dark time. But with the support of Mike and everyone else around him, he would be okay. Maybe he wouldn’t ever be truly healed, but for the first time since 1983, Will thought he might be alright with that.
His head was quiet for a change, a very welcome one at that. That didn’t mean the past was erased, but he refused to let it get the last word anymore.