Archive of Our Own

1 Week Left

—

The “Crawl” was Nancy’s idea, and Nancy was smart enough not to propose unsafe plans. 

Still, Will can’t help but feel dread whenever conversations are dragged to the subject.

“We can’t just sit around all day while the military does only-God-knows-what down there.” She urged, moving her pointer around in an erratic manner. “I mean, the past two months have been us doing nothing. Literally nothing!”

Will pushed his back against the edge of the table he was standing by. Nancy had caught his eye on that last note, and the look in her shining pupils weren’t exactly… comforting, for lack of a better word.

“Nancy, I agree with you.” Hopper stepped up. “But this is just too risky. How will we even be able to do all of those things with those soldiers roaming the streets like God personally ordered them to? And even if we do reach the gate, who’s going in?”

Nancy pursed her lips and twisted the pointer in her fingers. Slowly, she pointed it at Hopper and pushed it into his chest. “You.”

“Me?” Hopper let out a breathy laugh. “We should think more about this before committing to anything—”

“I can do it.” 

Will’s head snapped to the right.

By the projector stood Mike, a dumb look on his face, as if to say “Well, what did you think I’d say?”

“Mike.” Nancy’s voice was low and pitiful.

“Seriously, Nancy!” He stressed, his eyebrows knitting together like they always did. They casted a shadow above his dark eyes, deepening the color in a way that made Will gulp and want to look away.

“The plan needs someone who can actually run.” Nancy retorted, resorting to jabbing comments to settle her stubborn sibling.

“Oh, that’s funny.” Mike said. “If we’re actually serious about this plan—this crawl thing—I can do it. I… I’m brave enough to.”

Will felt a sharp, twisting pinch to his heart at the way Mike’s words trailed off towards the end, adopting a voice so quiet you had to focus to hear it. 

He took in the sight of him. Confident, eyes wide like a paladin with drive to complete an impossible quest hundreds of people have failed. Even in such a serious moment, he wanted those eyes on him—only briefly. Brief enough to experience what it felt like to be of attraction to someone else. Whether the existence of that attraction was because of the other person’s desire for power or gold or love didn’t matter to him—so long as they gave him the reassurance that he was good enough to deserve it—that attention. 

What was even more difficult than handling this scenario, so to say, was the fact that it would all mean less to him if it wasn’t from Mike specifically. That look in his eyes—it was an isolated thing. He won’t be able to find it anywhere else.

“You know who isn’t brave enough?” Robin’s voice brought him back to reality.

He really had to stop doing that. The earth didn’t need him, but he needed her, so it was best to ground himself.

He tore his eyes away from Mike to see Robin nodding towards Hopper with a cheesy grin on her face.

In response, all Hopper could do was press two fingers to the bridge of his nose.

“Guys, seriously.” Nancy drew the attention of the room back on her. She tapped the pointer against the plan on the wall. “This is the only way we can actually do something, unless any of you have another plan?”

The room went quiet. Will could practically hear Hopper’s rapid, heavy breathing from across the room.

He coughed and it was low and crackly. “We can explore it.”

—

5 Days Left

—

“Let’s just hope Steve’s irrational need to make a sharp turn whenever possible won’t make the antenna fly off the roof.” Dustin rambled, almost to himself.

Will hates handiwork, but he hates his thoughts more. He especially hates them when they spiral, and, obviously, they were spiraling. How could anyone expect him to be as calm as them? How could anyone not even care to ask about his feelings regarding going into the Upside Down?!

He deemed those thoughts both selfish and as irrational as Steve’s swerving skills. And so, when a distraction was offered to him, he jumped to accept it.

It helped a lot that it was Dustin’s offer. He loved setting up Cerebro that one summer—it was like looking into Dustin’s mind and inspecting the gears. The way they turned and pushed against each other until popping out the most spectacular brain-baby to ever walk this earth.

“I’d be devastated if that happened.” He said, fiddling with the wrench in his hand. “I feel like I’m attached to this… thingamajig.”

A smile grew on Dustin’s face. They were rare now, so the few times they appeared, he cherished them.

Dustin finally got off of his knees and sat cross-legged next to Will; he had been adjusting the neck of the antenna blasting through the roof of the van. 

Will was happy to finally be at eye-level with him again, even though it was small and irrelevant to their conversation. Something about contact.

Dustin sighed, rubbing his hands on his knees. “Don’t you think that this all might be a little… ambitious?”

Will immediately nodded. 

A chuckle escaped from Dustin, “I don’t know. I mean, obviously I trust Nancy and I trust her instinct, but this all feels insane. Breaking into another dimension is one thing, but a military base?”

It took him a second, but the joke made Will laugh. It felt freeing and nice—really nice. 

“I think ambition is needed here,” He replied. “If no one’s ambitious, then who’ll propose the plans that actually work?”

“So, you think it’ll work?” Dustin asked, raising a brow.

Will’s eyes left his—screw contact. He looked at the wrench in his hand, the way rust twisted itself into the metal that was once so shiny, you could use it to reflect the sun’s rays. “I hope so.”

“As long as Mike doesn’t manage to convince Nancy to let him go,” Dustin patted Will’s shoulder. “I think your wish will come true.”

That sentence—so light, so meaningless—felt like a punch to the chest. His lungs lost all the air they had captured, leaving him literally breathless.

Over the past two days, that offering Mike made of himself had been the only thing he could talk about. It didn’t matter if he was talking to Nancy, or Lucas, or El—who shared his feelings about the whole matter—the only thing he’d do is rant about how much he wanted to help in that specific part of the plan. 

Entering the Upside Down.

Will’s grip on the wrench’s throat tightened. His thick gloves aided in the murder of the tool—a problematic presentation of his feelings. 

He was against it. Completely against it. So much so that he believes that if Mike were to convince Nancy, he’d make a verbal objection.

“He can’t go into the Upside Down for this!” He’d plead, standing before an audience of eyes staring at him attentively.

“Why not?” Mike would challenge him.

That was as far as he’d go with the scenario, because this point forward would either escalate into a humiliation ritual for Mike, or a love confession spilled from a jittery, sensitive Will.

He grimaced at the poor wrench.

Last break, he thought he had finally let that part of him go—that part that… felt like that for Mike. 

He thought that when handing over the painting, he had handed over his Heart. 

He didn’t expect it to be back, and he didn’t expect it to want to enter the place that ruined his life.

As previously suggested, Hopper filled the role this Heart sought after. He’ll sneak into the military base. He’ll jump into one of their trucks. He’ll search the Upside Down.

Not Mike.

The knot in Will’s heart loosened at the thought. He’s safe.

Nancy won’t break, no matter how much he complains or threatens or pulls out his puppy-dog eyes.

—

With Hopper’s role being solidified, they had to make sure his attire was “cool as hell” (Lucas’ comment), and would protect him from the Upside Down (Hopper’s comment).

Will was focusing a bit too much on the former, he had to admit that. Showing his mom cute, red puffer jackets over the military-style, camo-print ones Hopper requested. His mom loved them too, so she was quick to entertain Will’s ideas.

Unfortunately, Nancy and Mike were there to stop this nonsense. Well, Nancy was. Mike was just following Will around the shop like a lost duck.

“Are you sure this was the thickest puffer jacket you could find?” Nancy asked him, squeezing the material in her hand.

“Yeah, they’re all out-of-stock and the clerk said new shipments have been difficult to get.” Will said. He rocked on his heels, stuffing his hands into his jacket like a mischievous child. “Actually, there is a really puffy one.”

“Really?” Nancy raised a brow.

“Yeah,” Will smiled cheekily. “But it’s bright yellow and made with polyester which makes it shiny and all.”

“Despite its uniqueness and eloquence,” Mike joined. “You lack good fashion taste, so you’ll reject it.”

Nancy rolled her eyes, but it was more so to Mike’s comment than Will’s, “We don’t want him looking like the sun down there. I’ll double-check myself. Thank you though, Will.”

She gave him a small, genuine smile before walking off towards the men’s section, giving room for him to turn to Mike and break out into laughter. 

The latter’s eyes widened, amused by the way Will unraveled so easily. His mouth was agape as if it was genuinely unbelievable that something he had said had an ounce of comedic qualities to it.

“Would you—” Mike spoke through the little chuckles that burst from the sight. “Would you really wear that though?”

“Seriously?” Will caught his breath just enough to be able to overexaggeratedly roll his eyes. “Well, do you consider it good fashion taste?”

Mike shook his head.

“Then, no.” 

The seriousness in his voice caused Will to crash into another round of hiccuping giggles. He bumped into Mike’s shoulder without realizing it, too lost in his absolutely hilarious jokes that weren’t actually jokes, but rather honest observations.

It was weird. No one made him laugh like this, and yellow puffer jackets weren’t really a comedian’s first choice of a punchline.

So why was it that when Mike said anything about them, Will’s face broke into a smile.

Maybe the prospect of entering the Crawl was finally getting to him. Things were settling into his mind as he made realization after realization, epiphany after epiphany, and it was making him hysterical.

It would explain why Mike wasn’t laughing.

He was smiling, but it was small. The corners of his lips barely perked up, as they were busy hanging open in amusement, or pure bafflement at Will’s audacity to find anything funny.

It was… strange, to say the least.

Will’s chuckles turned to giggles turned to a solemn smile. He straightened himself from his slumped position to get a better look at Mike’s face. The ghost of a smile was a strain to his expression, contorting the chipperness that was meant to be there into raw discomfort.

“Mike,” the name slipped from his lips, prompting the owner to direct all attention to him in an instant. He leaned forwards and Will caught the slight twitch of his eyes. The almonds widened, evidently expecting something from Will—the problem was that Will doesn’t know what to give.

“Mike,” he repeated. “Are you alri—”

“We’re ready to go.” Nancy reappeared, breaking the weird tension that was building between her brother and his friend.

It didn’t take too long for her and Joyce to settle on some options and direct them all to the cashier, pushing things varying from knee-caps to socks into Will and Mike’s arms. As they ushered into the car, Will caught sight of the thin, black puffer jacket in one of the bags.

Nancy sat in the front and quickly fell into conversation with Joyce. They were bonding over their dislike for The Clash. Apparently, Nancy was relieved when Joyce ejected the cassette from the radio, putting a stop to Joe Strummer’s vocal melodies.

Although Will took great offense to their terrible music opinions, he was grateful for it. It had them lost in the front seats, giving him and Mike some space in the back.

“Are you okay?” Will asked gently, hoping not to cross anything.

Mike’s head snapped to him, eyes wide in that puppy-dog manner Will hated. It was stupid, so stupid. He had to look away because he hated it so much. Right now, though, it was important to stare into them because he had to comfort Mike, and how could he do that while staring out of the window?

“Yeah,” Mike said quietly. “Why?”

Will straightened his back on the uncomfortable chairs, “You just seemed a bit down, that’s all.”

“And you wanted to make me feel better, did you?” A smile grew on Mike’s face.

“No!” Will’s whisper came out sharper than he intended it to. “Well, yes, but that’s because I didn’t want your bad energy ruining my day.”

“Oh?” Mike tilted his head. He leaned over the middle seat, closing a bit of the gap between them. “Well, how’ll you convert my bad energy to good?”

Will wanted to press himself up against the window—he really wanted to—but it was like his body was moving for him. Despite the tingling feeling in his heart, or the heat in his cheeks, or the twitch of his fingers, he leaned forwards like Mike, further closing the gap. 

“I don’t know,” he spoke in a shy voice, barely able to hold Mike’s steady stare. “I was hoping that you were fine, which you are, so I don’t understand why you’re so keen on knowing my ‘plan’.”

The smile on Mike’s face dropped, “Then I’m not fine. Not anymore.”

Will rolled his eyes, leaning away from Mike. He turned his eyes away and begrudgingly settled them on the decaying grass and trees trailing the road. He placed his chin in his hand and ignored Mike’s over-the-top sighs. Attention wasn’t something he could easily earn—not from Will.

Tired of his theatrics, Nancy turned around and told him to shut up.

—

3 Days Left

—

It was awkward being so close to Hopper. He didn’t really know him like his mom and Jonathan did.

The bear-like man huffed as Will tugged at the zipper refusing to close the puffer jacket.

“You stuffed it too much, Joyce!” He yelled, taking the zipper into his own hands and trying to pull it up himself.

Joyce lifted her head from the sewing machine. She had been widening the straps of the knee-caps she picked out when Hopper’s customer complaints interrupted her. “Are you sure it isn’t just stuck on your shirt?”

“Pretty sure.” He said gruffly. Face red, he gave up and let go of the zipper. “Either we remove some of the stuffing, or we loosen it like those knee-caps.” He pointed at them in Joyce’s hand, camo-printed—the only item that abided by his request.

During the car ride home, Joyce had gotten the spectacular idea of stuffing the puffer-jacket with extra cotton to make it thicker and hold more heat. By the way Hopper was barely able to move his arms, she stuffed it too much.

Will, as her assistant, took the jacket from Hopper and placed it on the crafting table. He smiled reassuringly at his mom, and although she returned it, the tightness in her cheeks showed that it was forced.

They were the type of couple to banter, so this wasn’t out of the ordinary, but these past couple of days were a bit weird. It’s probably the stress of the Crawl catching up to the both of them. Will freaks out at just the thought of someone from the Party—no matter who they are—going into the Upside Down. It was cold and scary and lonely. It made Will feel small, like a child. He couldn’t blame his mom for stressing about Hopper going into the Upside Down, and he couldn’t blame Hopper for stressing about his mom stressing about him going into the Upside Down. He just wished they wouldn’t quarrel in front of him.

He also wished they’d leave him out of said quarreling, even if it was just a joke.

“Let Will do it, his hands are more gentle than yours.” Hopper said, wearing a smirk under his beard.

Joyce raised a brow at him, apparently offended, but she quickly returned to her work.

Suddenly, the door of the basement slammed open and a pair of heavy footsteps entered the room.

Mike was close behind El, who had her eyes narrowed on Hopper.

“Hop.” She strutted towards him, hands curled into fists by her side. “We have to talk.”

Before Hopper could even respond, El wrapped her hand around his wrist and dragged him up the metal stairs. The sound of the door closing echoed through the basement, leaving an idle Mike with nothing to do but stare at Will and Joyce work.

“Is she alright?” Joyce asked carefully, setting the jacket down on the table. 

“Yeah, uh,” Mike stuffed his hands into his pockets. “She’s just a bit upset, about the crawl and all.” He glanced back at the door before continuing. “I don’t think she’s okay with letting him go alone.”

Joyce’s brows knitted together. Her lips parted to say something, but they quickly slapped shut and she returned her focus to the jacket instead.

Mike sighed and stepped closer to Will. It didn’t mean anything—Mike wasn’t thinking, and if he was, he didn’t mean anything by it.

Will felt their shoulders bump.

“I think we’re all scared.” He whispered.

“Huh?” Mike turned to him with a confused look on his face.

“I think we’re all scared of the Crawl,” he continued. “And I don’t think that’s bad or anything. I think we should be worried about someone going into the Upside Down again—it makes us more cautious. And, like, we can have these conversations with people—conversations we’d otherwise… avoid.”

His sentences came out like an awkward jumble of words strung together by thoughts lacking coherence. He squeezed his hands into fists and felt a nervous warmth bloom between the gaps of his fingers.

The expression on Mike’s face was unreadable, “Yeah, conversations, like El and Hopper’s… and stuff.”

“Yeah,” Will nodded. “Stress makes you spill your guts.”

He tore his eyes away from Mike and settled them on his mom, still bent over the jacket. Even from here, he could see the deep lines on her face that only seemed to grow over the past couple of days. If only she could speak—but he didn’t have the right to comment on that given the fact that he also swallows his words.

“I hope this stress doesn’t make us spill too much.” He heard Mike say.

He chuckled at that but kept his eyes forward, “I think it’s bound to.”

Joyce was quick to finish fixing the jacket. She lifted her head and looked at Will and Mike, standing shoulder-to-shoulder.

“Is it done?” Will asked, taking a step closer to her little work station.

“Yep.” She replied. She held the jacket up to show it off to the two boys, “Hope it’ll keep him nice and warm.”

A smile tugged at Will’s lips. He reached out and squeezed the new and fixed jacket, feeling its thick—but not too thick—material in his palm.

“Can I try it on?” Mike asked.

Will hadn’t even noticed that he stepped up to the table too, “Really?”

“Yeah,” Mike smirked. “I wanna feel like a military man for once—a strong soldier.”

“A soldier?” Joyce questioned him. “Don’t you want to be like the old medieval guys? You know, the ones you dressed up as with Will? Oh, that gown was adorable.”

“Mom!” Will whined. “It wasn’t a gown.” He whispered. Despite him and Mike’s decade-long friendship, for some reason, this was genuinely horrifying.

Turning to Mike proved that he wasn’t the only one slightly embarrassed by the resurfacing of the memory. His face had flushed into a light red, completely erasing his freckles.

“Yeah, a knight. Or paladin.” He said, letting his gaze fall to the floor for a moment.

“I think you should stick with that.” Joyce advised, but she still slid the jacket across the table to him. “I’ll be right back.”

Will’s eyes followed his mom as she pushed herself up from the chair and climbed the creaky, metal stairs. The door closed gently behind her, contrary to the slams of El and Hopper.

When he looked back at Mike, he saw the jacket in his hands. In fact, he had already slid an arm in.

“You look stupid.” Will blurted out. Even though it was half-on, it basically swallowed him whole.

“Not for long,” Mike grinned, sliding his second arm in. “You’ll be in shock when you see how well this fits me. You’ll basically beg me to take Hopper’s spot—I’ll look that good. That brave and competent.”

The warm feeling in Will’s chest suddenly vanished. His body went cold at the joke, and the blushing flutters of his heartbeat slowed. “You’re already brave.”

Mike didn’t respond.

He pulled both sides of the comedically large jacket close together over his chest and began to fiddle with the zipper. 

At first, it cooperated with Mike, smoothly gliding up until it reached his lower-chest, but suddenly, as if sensing Will’s discomfort, it stopped. Mike tugged at it once, twice—it didn’t budge, and this time, it was definitely not because his mom over-stuffed it.

“Shit! It broke or something.” Mike complained.

“Thank god.” Will said under his breath.

Mike lifted his head, eyes wide like that stupid puppy—Can he stop doing that? It made something in Will squirm—in fear. Squirm in fear.

“You hate my jacket.” Mike said in a serious voice.

Will rolled his eyes. “No, and it’s not even your jacket!” He jokingly pushed Mike’s shoulder. “I just don’t like seeing you in this context—going… going there.”

Mike stilled under his gaze.

“I mean—” Will spiraled into a stuttering mess. “I mean, I don’t like seeing anyone in this context. Especially anyone in our Party, because you guys are all my best friends.”

Mike’s stare was dumb—a bit hollow, but not exactly empty. Emotions swarmed the pair of black pupils, but the storm was so strong it bounced around and stuck to the walls, making the sacred place in his eyes look hollow. It was there, though, the feelings—the heart—just hidden in the corners of his red waterline.

It made Will feel guilty. He didn’t exactly know what it was over, but he didn’t like the fact that Mike’s face looked the way it did because of something he said.

Hesitantly, he took a step forwards and outstretched his hands. With one, he held the two sides of the jacket close together, and with the other, he pulled at the zipper. 

Eventually, it fell free from where it was stuck and zoomed up Mike’s chest. 

“I’m sorry.” Mike said abruptly. He lifted a hand and grazed his fingertips across the back of Will’s, still lingering on the zipper. “I shouldn’t be talking about it so carelessly. I’m sorry.”

In the back of Will’s throat, a lump formed. It obstructed his breathing, or maybe the way Mike was looking at him was obstructing it. Or maybe it was how his fingers were teasing his hand, or how his voice had this gentle tone that made Will melt.

He shook his head, “It’s okay, you don’t have to be sorry. I don’t actually care about it that much; it’ll help us destroy it in the end.”

Mike raised a brow, “You don’t care about me walking straight into a dimension of monsters?”

“I was there myself and I made it out with barely a scratch, didn’t I?” Will tilted his head. “And I’m just a cleric, you—” he pressed his hand into Mike’s chest, “—are a paladin. It’ll be like a morning stroll for you.”

As soon as he realized how much he was getting into the whole, childish D&D roleplay, he got flustered. It was embarrassing enough to get him to finally let go of the zipper, even though that meant Mike’s small touch to his hand would disappear.

Mike, on the other hand, looked like this was his life-calling.

“Morning strolls don’t usually involve walking alongside monsters, even for a mighty paladin like me.” He said with a proud smile.

“Oh, yeah?” Will challenged him. “What do you walk alongside, then?”

Mike’s eyes wandered away as he considered his answer. As stupid as it was, Will was grateful at the dedication he was putting into playing along—Yes, thinking before speaking was dedication for Michael Wheeler.

“I usually walk alone,” Mike said in a sad tone. “Because my cleric friend who used to always walk with me doesn’t care about the good I do for this world anymore. It’s actually a really depressing story, you see—”

Will shoved Mike’s shoulder, “Stop!”

His face was growing red; he didn’t need a mirror to tell him that. He couldn’t even remember the last time they were like this, cringy and a bit immature, but now, he does remember why they stopped doing it. It made Will… shy.

“You’re silencing me!” Mike complained. “That isn’t fair—”

“Is that my jacket?”

A new voice entered the room—Hopper’s.

He was descending from the stairs, a tired look on his face. Will and Mike had been so lost in their repartee, neither had heard the sound of the door slamming open nor the creaking of the metal stairs. 

“I look better in it.” Mike teased, patting his own chest.

Will could literally see Hopper suppressing an eye roll, “Sure you do. Sure, Mike.”

—

2 Days Left

—

He had truly lost his mind. That was the only coherent thought whooshing through Will’s head right now.

“Mike!” He called out. “Mike, get down!”

“Seriously, Wheeler!” Robin stood to his right, an intense expression of worry on her face. “You’re going to kill yourself!”

Mike paused his climb up the rickety ladder to respond to the two people freaking out beneath him, “We have to fix it! What, do you wanna wait all day for someone like Steve to show up and get your radio to work?”

“Yes!” Robin’s voice cracked. “Exactly that!”

“No!” Mike yelled over the sound of the wind. “I can do it!”

He turned away from them and resumed his slow climb to the top of the WSQK’s tower. No harness, no safety—it was like he wanted to die. It was like he wanted Will’s heart to burst from worry.

“Mike!” Will yelled again, cupping his hands around his mouth. “You’re gonna fall—Please!”

Either Mike was ignoring him or he genuinely couldn’t hear him anymore. Despite its cruelty, he hoped it was the former.

“We should get a mattress,” Robin said. “You know, something to catch him when he falls.”

“When?!” Will squeezed the front of shirt, right above where his heart would be.

Robin’s eyes widened, “No! I mean if. If!”

Will turned away from her. He didn’t even want to hear of a scenario in which Mike plummeted to the ground. He could lose his footing at any moment, his arms could go out and force him to let go of the ladder.

Will regretted ever entertaining Mike’s paladin fantasies. Although it made him feel dizzy and euphoric, nothing was worth seeing Mike scale a gigantic tower in an achingly slow manner.

“Seriously, Will.” Robin spoke frantically. “We should go get a mattress or a tarp or something.”

Will shook his head, eyes locked onto Mike’s shrinking figure. “I can’t look away from him.”

In his peripheral vision, he saw Robin freeze for a moment before nodding. “Okay, okay great. Stay here and watch Wheeler, and I’ll go find something he can land on.”

“Alright.” Will said in a shaky voice.

He heard the gravel under Robin’s foot scatter around as she pressed her heel into the ground and broke out into a sprint, “Yell my name if he falls!”

He really didn’t appreciate that.

At that point, Mike had reached a quarter of the tower. There was a small platform where he could possibly rest if he climbed a bit more, but instead, he paused.

“Mike!” Will yelled, stepping closer to the tower like that would make him more audible. “What’s wrong?!”

When he squinted, he could make out a bit more of Mike’s figure. His heart skipped a beat when he noticed that Mike had his head pressed against his chest, like he was dizzy and couldn’t keep it up. His arms were loosely wrapped around the rails of the ladder, and his feet teetered on the edge of the rungs they were standing on. If he were to shift himself just a bit, they’d fall right off and begin to dangle.

“Mike.” Will sighed his name softly. It was breathy and low—the most his voice box could conjure with such a sight before him.

Suddenly, Mike straightened up, forcing himself out of his slumped position.

Will gulped. He tried to mentally prepare himself to see Mike resume, but every time he closed his eyes, he saw an image of him slipping. He couldn’t breathe right—not like this.

The air in his lungs flowed more comfortably when Mike dropped a leg to the rung beneath it.

He was descending.

—

By the time Mike’s feet hit the ground, Will was running towards him, arms outstretched. His mind ran thoughtlessly. Seeing Mike right next to him and not up a literal death-tower made it hard for him to process what he was doing.

Although, he was thankful that his little brain kicked in when it did. His arms dropped to his sides before they could wrap themselves around Mike.

He took a small step back from Mike, giving him the distance he probably wanted between them.

“Mike, are you okay? Are you hurt?” The questions escaped from Will’s mouth in a rapid-fire manner.

His hair was messed up by the wind, sticking out in several directions so as to make him look as silly as possible.

It was here, closer to Mike, that he finally noticed the look beared on his face. 

It was burning red, and his forehead caught a small shine due to the sweat falling down it in droplets.

His expression, though, that’s what concerned Will. His eyebrows were bent into a frown in a cartoonish way, the corners of his bitten lips were stuck pointing to the ground. His eyes, dark and beautiful and watery, refused to meet Will’s.

“I’m fine.” He said.

Will didn’t believe him, “But you—what? Are you sure?”

Mike lifted his head, “Yeah, I just realized how stupid it was of me to climb a freaking tower all by myself.” 

His lips were in a tight smile that anyone could tell was forced.

Hands twitching, Will reached one up with the intention to give Mike a pat of reassurance, a squeeze on his bicep, a slap on his cheek—something, anything, that would get Mike to give him an honest reaction.

Just then, Robin came running out of the Squawk, blue tarp in hand.

“Oh!” She gasped, squeezing the tarp in her hand. “You’re down. Good, great!”

Will’s eyes wandered away from her and to Mike. He tried to detect any signs of relief or regret on his face, but all that was there was sadness—sadness Will didn’t know the root of.

“This tarp has a huge tear in it, so thank god you came down yourself.” Robin continued. “You would’ve fell right through it—probably.”

“Yeah,” Mike sighed. “Would’ve.”

—

1 Day Left

—

The sound of pencil scratching on paper when Will sketched was comforting. Nostalgia was embedded into its beats, and that relaxed the jittery, older part of him that didn’t seem to be able to accept reality. Despite all of this, he pulled it away from the page.

“I don’t think you’re mad,” his voice was soft. “A bit crazy—but only a bit. Enough to make things fun.”

“You really think so?” Mike asked, looking away from where his hands were fiddling in his lap.

Will nodded with a smile.

Mike’s lips curled at the corners, and Will couldn’t ignore the slight blush that suddenly coated his freckled face. A lot of things were just in his head—this wasn’t one of them.

Heartbeat beginning to stutter, he dropped his eyes back to his sketchbook. With a shaking hand, he continued adding details to the town he had been drawing. A dark shade covered its corners, but it didn’t compare to the thick slabs of vines crawling around the roads and shops.

“I don’t know why I feel this way,” he heard Mike say. “It’s just so stupid. It’s a trial run, a trial run. We’re meant to not get involved, at least not right now, so why do I feel so useless?”

Will sketched out another vine. This one was going to curl under the Melvad’s sign, serving as an underline for its large, printed letters. He tried to pick his words as carefully as he traced the angles before him.

Mike spoke before he could settle on them, “I feel useless even though I’m not supposed to give anything.”

The tip of the pencil snapped. Will hadn’t even noticed he was pressing down that hard. Now, there was a dark spot on his drawing that was in the shape of a spark. Little shards of the once solid graphite remained on the page, and he was too unbothered to brush them off.

He mustered up the confidence to meet Mike’s eyes. Slowly, and quietly, he spoke. “You aren’t useless. You never were and you’re never going to be.”

Mike’s eyelids appeared heavier. His stare seemed to be behind some type of blur, and Will couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

“If that was true,” he said, voice low. “Then I wouldn’t even be worried about it in the first place.”

Will couldn’t control how fast his eyebrows flew up to his forehead, “You have too much trust in the way you perceive yourself.”

A breathy chuckle rattled through Mike’s chest. It sounded a bit painful, but not forced. He twisted his body to fully face Will, knocking Will’s knees in the process. “I disagree. I know me best.”

“Sure,” Will rolled his eyes, although his smile didn’t falter. He tried to look away, to redirect his focus back to his grotesque drawing, but holding Mike in the sparkle of his pupils like this made him feel too dizzy to move.

Mike propped up his head on a hand, pressing his elbow into the headrest of the couch. “Who’s perception should I trust then, if not mine? Yours?”

The smile on Will’s face grew—it was too much, it hurt his lips. The part he bit a scar into stung, but that hurt was barely processed. He smiled, and he smiled like an idiot.

“No,” he said, drawing out the word. “Someone who knows you better, like… your mom.”

“My mom?” Mike sounded genuinely shocked. He should’ve just clutched at his chest at this point, perhaps dropped to the ground and begged for a spell to heal his shattered heart. “No one knows me better than you guys. The Party.”

Will shrugged, “Go ask Lucas, he’s the best at reading people.”

“I don’t think Lucas would appreciate me interrupting his reading sessions with Max and Erica to ask him what he thinks of me.” Mike argued.

Will rhythmically tapped the pencil against the side of the couch, considering Mike’s rebuttal. “Yeah, that’s true.”

They fell into silence, but neither returned to their initial tasks. Will with drawing, and Mike with staring off into space—probably imagining himself as a paladin, Will liked to think, just because it was cute. And corny. And a teensy bit egotistical.

The way they were both staring at each other was stupid, though, and Will wasn’t sure if Mike was waiting for him to say something or if he was trying to put together a sentence in his head himself. Either way, their eyes were locked onto the other’s pair.

The cushion underneath him moved as Mike shifted around, the way you do when you’re uncomfortable. He cleared his throat, and Will immediately straightened his back, as if he was waiting for it like a stage cue.

“Lucas isn’t here,” he said, slightly leaning down to be at eye level with Will. “So, I should ask you.”

Will’s grip on his pencil tightened, “What?”

“How—Ah.” Mike stuttered like this was the most important thing in the world. “How do you perceive me?”

Will sat up, “I don’t think my opinion would be the same—”

“It would.”

Cornered on the edge of the couch, Will sunk into it. He pulled his sketchbook closer to his chest like it was a shield—although it was flimsy, and he knew that.

Mike knew that too.

“Seriously, though, how do you perceive me?” Mike pushed. His voice made him sound really interested, and so did his attentive stare. “If you don’t answer, I’ll just assume you think I’m a loser.”

Will tore his eyes away from Mike’s intense ones. They kept darting all around his face—it made him feel like a bug under the inspection of a doctor. It made him feel small. 

“You’d be right on the money, then.” He whispered, eyes now glued to his drawing. His lines, once neat and careful, were smudged around the page.

Mike scoffed, “I’m a loser?”

“A pretty big one.” Will stood his ground. He brought the sketchbook closer to his face so as to hide the smile curling his lips. 

It didn’t seem like Mike caught onto the fact that Will was joking, though. He couldn’t see his smile—yes—but Will thought that his sarcasm was quite clear in his tone.

Instead of bantering back, he slumped down the couch. He turned his body away from Will’s, and Will knew that if he were to look up from his sketchbook right now, he’d see Mike depressingly staring off into space. He couldn’t have that.

“But I like losers,” he added. “So you being the biggest one on the planet should be a good thing—since you care about my opinion so much.”

In the corner of his eye, he saw a change in Mike’s expression. If only he had the confidence to actually look at him head-on.

“And losers are really brave,” his tone was gentle, choice of words careful. “Who has more courage than the person who is unafraid of being themselves?”

That made Mike turn his head to him, and if Mike the Loser could do it, Will could too.

Their eyes found each other again.

“Apparently, the true me is brave enough to be myself, but too scared to climb a stupid tower.” He complained.

“Come on, Mike. Neil Armstrong would be scared to climb that thing.” Will tried to reassure him.

Mike shook his head, “No, because… because if I was too scared to climb the tower, what made me think I’d be able to help with the crawl?”

The basement went quiet. This time, the sound of Will’s pencil scratching on paper wasn’t there to ease the tension. He knew a lot about Mike, but he didn’t know if he was as uncomfortable with silence as he was. The question never really crossed his mind—he wondered if it crossed Mike’s. Was this another commonality?

Perhaps so, because Mike started pressing his nails into his palms. When he opened his fists to stretch his knuckles, small crescent-like indents painted them in an ugly pattern. They went deep into his skin, symbols of hurt. Symbols of discomfort.

They were no different to the small tears Will bit into his lip; both shared the same origin.

Slowly, Will uncovered the rest of his face from behind the sketchbook. He placed it on his lap and balanced the pencil atop it, stilling the shaking of his leg to prevent it from rolling off.

He wanted to place a hand on Mike’s shoulder. He wanted to reassure him the same way Mike does to him, but something inside him told him it would be different coming from him. It’s because he’s different.

Instead, he rubbed his hands on his arms in an up-and-down motion, like one does to warm themselves. 

“I was right,” he said. “You don’t know anything about yourself. You don’t understand how brave you are.”

Mike opened his mouth to say something, but Will continued before he could.

“Even offering to go into… that place—that’s a brave thing to do.” He couldn't raise his voice higher than a whisper. “I—I would know. It’s so scary and—and cold in there, and you still want to go despite it all just to help us. Despite the demogorgons and the bats and the… the vines.”

He hadn’t noticed, but his leg had resumed its shaking during this spill of emotions. The pencil, once safe and balanced, wobbled on the edge of the sketchbook before falling to the carpeted ground. 

He didn’t react—neither did Mike. 

The words exchanged were an audible transmission of Will’s vulnerabilities, and the drawing sitting between them was a visual one.

He felt exposed, but he didn’t want to retreat back into the cushions of the couch. He’s made it so far, farthest than he’s ever been. Regret would be the only thing he’d have as company if he shuts up now.

“You’re brave, Mike.” He said tearily. “And even if you weren’t, that wouldn’t change how I feel about you.”

The words chosen were sensitive. He wasn’t stupid, he knew that and he wanted to take them back. He wanted to change feel to something else—something more general, like think. 

And yet, pulling his heart out of his ribcage like this just for Mike—God, he was pathetic.

Mike stared at him intently, “Because you like losers?”

He asked the question like it held weight.

It did.

Will nodded, his voice cracking. “Because I like losers.”

—

It was only a week before that Will tripped over a root and tumbled into a rather rocky ditch in the woods.

Jonathan had climbed down a small, steep hill to reach him, avoiding the root that took his little brother down. He swept him up in his arms and let him cry into his shoulder, weeping about the scratch on his knee from the fall.

Now, Will stood on that same hill, bandaid on his knee, staring at his baby doll stuck in that same ditch.

“Will?! What’s wrong?” Mike ran up to him. The makeshift shield he’d been using to defend himself from Lucas’ plastic sword was dragging into the grass after him. It was too heavy to carry, but he refused to put it down.

Using all the strength he had in his small shoulder, he heaved it up and placed the shield in front of Will, protecting him from the ditch. “Is someone down there?”

Gently, Will nudged the shield away. It was blocking the view of his baby.

Mike frowned but settled it on the ground, panting as he did so.

“My back!” he yelled as he straightened up. “How am I already this old?”

He was trying to get Will to laugh—Will knew that, but he didn’t want to listen to his jokes. Not right now.

He shook his head at Mike, now unable to control the pout of his lips. With a small nod, he gestured towards his baby doll in the ditch. Even from here, vision blurry with tears, he could see the tear in her onesie.

“Huh?” Mike followed his eyes. He squinted at the ditch—he had blurry vision too, but that was just because he needed glasses from sitting too close to the TV all the time. Will wondered if he could see how exposed his baby looked like right now. The thought hurt him.

He wanted to go down there like Jonathan did and save her, to sweep her up in his arms as easily as he had done and protect her from everyone’s eyes, but the thought of actually doing it… he was too scared. Too weak, too worried about getting another scratch. Given the fact that his baby was probably all bruised up from the fall, if he got another injury, they’d waste all the bandaids in the house.

“Is that… Joy?” Mike asked.

Will nodded.

Joy. On his 7th birthday, a boy had used her to mock him in school. He had grabbed him in a headlock and shoved his ear onto her stomach, the place in which a crackling speaker sat between fluffs of cotton. He kept pressing her so as to trigger her voice lines, forcing Will to hear the word ‘Mama’ cry out of her for basically half an hour straight while his friends cheered him on.

Eventually, they got bored, wished him a half-assed happy birthday, and flung the baby doll at him. Her plastic head bonked his own before falling into the sand of the playground.

It was then that he finally took a closer look at her—his “present”.

Instead of real hair those expensive dolls had stabbed into their scalps, her head rose in bumps to mimic it. Her mouth was slightly open, enough to fit a baby bottle or a binkie, and the lashes of her eyes were thick and black. The dress she wore was all torn up and dirty, but Will remembered that it was once a bright pink.

He remembered the way Monica Smith used to push her around in a stroller, ignoring Miss Harris’ calls to leave her by the cubbies until the end of the day. Monica would flaunt the baby around like she was a trophy, and she didn’t let anyone take her away from her. Not even her friends could hold her in their small arms.

“She’s from Washington.” She told the little girls gathered around her in a circle, whose eyes were wide open with fascination. “My dad said that next time he goes, I can get her accessories from the shop itself.”

A chorus of ‘Whoa’s was what she received in response, and it was clear she revelled in it. Who wouldn’t?

Monica loved her baby, until she got a new one.

She had completely forgotten about her. That’s how the doll wound up in the hands of some mean boys. Boys that were mean enough to tease Will with her, even though there was no correlation between them. Will was a boy, the baby was a baby… girl.

Will had bent down and pulled her out of the sand. Her left eye didn’t blink properly, and sand was stuck in her mouth and ears, but that didn’t matter.

When Mike found him at the corner of the playground and asked him if he was okay, Will lifted his new baby for Mike to see and pressed down on her stomach. Her speaker box stuttered a drawn-out ‘Maaaaama’.

“I’ll go get her.” Mike told him, brushing his knees to prepare.

Will immediately grabbed his arm to stop him. He shook his head and pointed at the bandaid loosely stuck to his knee, concealing an ugly scar.

Mike shrugged with a toothy smile, “I’ll be fine, Will. I’m strong!”

Before Will could protest any further, Mike hopped over a root and began climbing down the steep hill.

Will squeezed the front of his flannel shirt. His heart thumped in pain looking at Mike maneuvering like Tarzan the Ape Man—it was a terrible sight.

Not only was he barely avoiding rocks and roots, but he kept updating Will on his journey like Will wanted the commentary.

“I can see her!” Mike turned his head to look at him, standing above on the hill. In the twitch of his face, Will could see that he noticed Will’s disapproval in all of this. 

Instead of wallowing in self-pity, he redirected his attention to Joy. “She’s lodged under a root—only her leg!”

Will twisted the fabric of his shirt in his hand. Was she okay? Can they even save her if she’s lodged under something that deadly?

Apparently so.

He watched as Mike leaned over the ditch and tugged at her arm, right until she flew loose from under the root. He turned around to Will, and when Will’s eyes fell onto her laying safely on Mike’s chest, his hand dropped from his shirt.

A smile of relief grew on his face. He almost tripped down the hill again from excitement. The look on Mike’s face, full of pride and reassurance, stopped him in his tracks.

As he climbed his way back up, Joy was positioned in a way that pressed her head into his shoulder. He settled her face into his neck so as to protect her eyes from the sun—a true firefighter, or knight.

In minutes so short, Will didn’t even realize they had passed, Mike was pulling himself to his feet next to him. His white polo shirt had ugly mud smudged all over it now, and his jeans didn’t look any better.

“Not a single bruise!” He carefully placed Joy in Will’s arms.

He cradled her, terrified that one, wrong movement would break a bone in her small body. She was shaking—poor thing—and her unblinking left eye had a layer of dirt on it.

His bottom lip wobbled, but he had to stay strong—for the both of them.

When he lifted his head to look at Mike, he could barely make out his features through his tears.

Mike wiped his forehead and smudged some mud on his face, that stupid, toothy grin still plastered on his face.

Will was sensitive. He felt the tight inhale of breath he took push up against the walls of his chest and give his heart life. It was painful—the mother of the lump in his throat. Still, despite his nature, he wanted to speak.

Hesitantly, he parted his lips and willed his voice to work.

“Thank you.”

—

The Day of the Crawl

—

“She’s not going to be mad.”

“Have you seen the way she’s been acting all day? She’s already mad.”

“She’s just stressed, Mike.” Will said. “We all are.”

Mike sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Nancy wasn’t the only Wheeler that was stressed, that’s for sure.

He crossed his arms, settling in his usual standing-spot near the table. His brows were frozen in a frown so heavy, it’ll pull down his entire face with it.

Will slid by his side and gave his shoulder a little nudge, “It’s okay.”

Before Will even got the words out, Mike’s head was leaning down to look at him. An uncomfortable hunch in exchange for words of comfort, or rather stare of comfort? Eye contact of comfort? Given the fact that they weren’t speaking at all, only sharing a look.

Mike’s expression was still stuck in an ugly frame, and that irked Will like a bug bite tickling the thin skin of his neck.

Amidst all the contradicting thoughts of worry and anticipation, he mustered up a small smile. The fact that he even batted his lashes slipped through his mind.

Who could blame him? It was natural.

It was natural for Mike, too.

A smile just like Will’s appeared on his pale lips. It pushed his cheeks up, squeezing his dark eyes into arc-like shapes.

“Alright!” Nancy’s voice cut through the silence of the room. “Let’s go through tonight’s plan.”

Embarrassingly, Will got lost in the moment and hadn’t noticed that everyone had filed in. Robin was quite literally standing so close to him, they were brushing shoulders.

With heavy steps, Hopper walked over to Nancy and handed her her trusty pointer. It made a sharp noise when she flicked it open, “Remember everyone, this is a trial. If this goes right—and hopefully it does—we’ll be able to do the work the military will never be able to do.”

Will crossed his arms close to his chest as she began re-explaining the plan. They had gone through this at least three times a day this past week, and every time he heard about how they’ll make contact with the Upside Down, burning bile clogged his throat.

He swallowed it away, but it didn’t go down as smoothly as he intended it would. Instead, it got stuck like an unchewed bite of food and forced a small, choking sound out of him.

Quickly, he looked around the room to check if anyone heard him. Their fixation with Nancy’s words proved otherwise, which relaxed him a bit.

He needed to stop being so nervous about this. It’ll help them—that’s what he told Mike.

Suddenly, he felt something brush against his forearm.

His eyes wandered down and settled on Mike’s hand. When he lifted his head, that comforting look that they shared a few moments ago was back on Mike’s face.

He hated being around people who could read—not books, but humans. It felt like an invasion of privacy. Thoughts belong to the mind, unless the person speaks them. Then, they are no longer thoughts, but propositions and commentary. However, when the mouth is shut, privacy should be respected.

The way Mike looked at him so knowingly—that was trespassing.

And yet, it felt nice having someone understand him, even in his quietest moments. Even in moments where he’d rather go unnoticed, like after a strange sound escaped from his throat.

He nodded at Mike—a thank you, or a ‘I’m okay’—pressed his lips together, and forced himself to focus on Nancy and the Crawl.

“And, that’s it.” Nancy concluded, returning to her original position by the side of the projector. She had been dancing around the map on the wall, pointing and gesturing at things she had pointed and gestured at millions of times before. It was like a routine now, a choreography. “Questions?”

Will snapped his head at Mike.

They had talked about this. Questions, Mike had a lot of them and he was directing them to the wrong person. Will wasn’t complaining, but he’ll always push Mike into the right lane, even if it meant having him face the lion that was Nancy Wheeler in front of an audience.

At first, he thought Mike was ignoring him. He was staring at the wall, eyes wide and unblinking, like if he were to move a muscle, Will would jump him.

However, as most do, he cracked.

He turned to Will, and upon locking eyes, the ice freezing his face melted, revealing sparkling determination. It sounded a bit cheesy, but it made Will feel a bit proud. He looked young again, like the Mike who threw himself into a ditch for… what was her name? His doll? Whatever, that wasn’t important. The thing that was important was Mike being Mike the Brave.

“Tell her what you wanna do,” Will whispered. “It’s a good idea, I promise.”

“Yeah, I know it’s good.” Mike whispered back. “I made it, so…”

Will rolled his eyes, “So tell her. Come on—”

“Nancy.”

Will and Mike—and probably everyone else in the room—turned to the direction of the voice.

El.

“This plan is good,” she walked forward. “But it is not the best we can do.”

A frown appeared on Nancy’s face, but she seemed to be open to hearing more from El. 

She gestured at her to continue, but before she could, Hopper interrupted.

“No, kid.” He stepped in between her and Nancy like a wall. “I know what you’re going to say, and I already told you. No.”

From where he was standing, Will couldn’t quite see Nancy’s face, but if the way she outstretched her hand indicated anything, it was that their squabbles were preventing her from mediating before this escalated.

“If you are going to find Henry, then I should be there too.” El’s voice was strong and determined in a way that almost belittled Hopper.

“It’s not safe—not for any of you.” Hopper argued back.

Despite what he said, it was clear that he was targeting some people in the group. The projection on the wall right behind him depicted notes and timelines that belonged to Nancy’s mind, and among them, El and Will’s names were written on the top corner, a big, nasty red X scrawled across them.

“It is not safe for you either!” El slammed her hand on the table, making the projector shake. “But you want to go and you can. And you can go alone. I can help, Hop!”

“This is a trial run. We aren’t even sure this’ll work.” Hopper yelled back.

“He’s right, El.” Nancy finally managed to interrupt their ping-pong session of a fight. “This is a trial—we don’t know if it’ll work. If it does, you’ll be the first to go in there.”

Bile had a nasty taste to it. Its consistency was so thick, Will couldn’t swallow it down again.

Hopper sighed, “We’ll see.”

Frustrated, but calmed down, El crossed her arms and stepped away from the table. Will watched her cross the room, push past Dustin, and head to the basement.

“She also has a point, you know.” Mike said.

As Hopper turned to him, so did Will. Will hoped that he sensed it and considered it a small, subtle sign of encouragement. If only he looked at him.

He cleared his throat and continued, his confidence suffocating the room with the way he was flaunting it. “Yeah, this is a trial run, but imagine how much more difficult this entire thing will be if you don’t have us involved at all. Utilize us!”

“We are,” Hopper said. “Dustin, Steve, and Jonathan are going to follow me in the Upside Down, and Joyce and Robin are going to be maintaining communication through the radio.”

“But me, Lucas, and Will can also help.” Mike retorted. “I mean, Will’s the one who knows best about the Upside Down, you don’t think he’ll be a better guide than your gut instinct?”

The mood of the room shifted. Tension was a funny thing, something intangible. And yet, Will could see it in front of him, squeezing its thick matter in between the four walls enclosing them. He could inhale it too, breathe it in. Feel it clog up his throat and lungs and stomach like a… like a…

His mind turned dark and blurry.

Tension was familiar, and what it was familiar to repulsed Will. He didn’t know why he felt it before—that physical, painful feeling—but he did. 

Maybe tension was tangible, after all.

He knew Mike didn’t mean that they should throw Will into the Upside Down with Hopper and have him basically be a tour guide, but the others were sure to take it that way.

He should’ve known while encouraging Mike in that basement to put himself out there that his words would get all jumbled up and turn out like literal vomit. It was always a 70/30 chance with Mike—that he’d accidentally get ahead of himself—and when he landed in that 30%, people stopped listening. Just like this current moment, everyone was either confused or reluctant, especially—

“No.” His mom responded before Hopper could. “We’re all spiraling. This is a trial. And—and Will, he’s… We aren’t going to put him in that position.”

He watched Mike’s facial expression shift into something else: realization.

“Mrs. Byers, I didn’t mean it in that way—I would never—” He tripped over his words, throwing Will a panicked glance. “I meant that, we can all help, so why shouldn’t we? Why shouldn’t we make sure that this crawl is as perfect as possible?”

“Because it’s dangerous.” Nancy said.

Mike opened his mouth again, ready to argue back with that same confidence he managed to capture a few moments ago. However, Will spoke before he could.

“Isn’t all of this dangerous anyways?” He asked in a small voice. He coughed to clear his throat, mimicking what Mike always does before he goes on endless monologues. “I can help from here. A safe place. Mike and Lucas, they can help from a closer distance. They can handle that. They could be really good eyes for Hopper.”

“Eyes?” Hopper raised a brow at Will.

“Yeah,” Will fiddled with the sleeves of his jacket, growing aware of all the eyes on him. “You can put them at like a…”

The words quite literally vanished from his mind. It was ironic—he was the one advising Mike on all of this, and now, he was just as lost as a deer in some woods.

“An observation post.” Mike finished for him. 

Even though Will fell short, he grinned at him with so much gratitude, it blinded him.

“Listen,” Mike said, turning to face the group. “Instead of praying that our Walkmans or the Squawk tower will pick up on the military’s two-way radios, Lucas and I should go to that abandoned bell-tower thing and tell you guys when the burn happens. And when the truck starts moving, and if there’s anyone in the way. You can’t pick up all of that on a soldier’s radio, can you?”

The room fell silent.

Will squeezed the sleeves of his jacket as he watched Hopper and Nancy process everything. He tried to pick up on as much as possible; the twitches of their brows, the curling of their lips, anything that’ll tell him how they feel about Mike’s proposition.

With every atom in his body, he hoped that they just listened to Mike and realized that there is some truth to what he’s saying. If Will could choose, he would selfishly halt this entire mission. He couldn’t place himself as the chief of the Crawl, sending people in and out of the Upside Down like it’s a mall, which is exactly why he isn’t the one making the decisions.

Nancy is. Hopper is.

Will knew that he would only agree to let Mike out in seven layers of bubble wrap. He trusted that Nancy and Hopper would think otherwise and let him be the stupidly confident knight he wanted to be.

“Mike.” Hopper said his name with a heavy sense of finality.

Will felt the owner of the name straighten up next to him. He was just as anxious as everyone else—as Will.

Hopper turned to Nancy and took the pointer from out of her hands, leaving her standing there, mouth agape. He walked up to the map on the wall and rested the tip of the pointer on the bell-tower, “You and Lucas will have an observation post here. One of you will watch the soldiers’ activity with binoculars, and the other will transmit that information through the Walkman to me. Got it?”

Immediately, Mike nodded, and Will knew that a weight had been lifted off of his chest, because that same weight had been blocking Will’s breathing too.

From across the room, Lucas crossed his arms and nodded as well, a steely expression adorned on his face. “Got it.”

Hopper brought the pointer down and gave the entire room a look. His eyes wandered from person to person until they landed on Will.

“Kid,” His voice was lower now, gentler when he directly addressed Will. “You think you can guide me if I run into any trouble? If I get lost in the woods?”

Will’s spine stiffened as a cool chill ran through it. He couldn’t hide the obnoxiously loud, deep breath he took, and the way it rattled through his body didn’t help at all.

He turned to Mike, only to see that he was already looking at him. In fact, his mom, also looking at him, had the same exact expression on her face. The two, a few feet away from each other, shared similar feelings about this, but not thoughts. Will knew that.

Mike was worried that this might be too much on Will. His mom was worried that Will might be involved at all.

He didn’t like how everyone had input on his agency.

With all of his might, he tried to suppress the shakiness of his voice as he spoke. “I can do it.”

And so, with only four words of confirmation, the plan was revised.

—

The Night of the Crawl

—

“I’ll just finish clearing out this section, then I’ll head back to the truck.” Hopper’s voice crackled through the Squawk’s radio.

Nancy leaned over the table and pressed the grey button that turns on the microphone, “Alright, but you only have around 30 minutes to check the place out. Be quick.”

The radio hummed an audible representation of Hopper processing Nancy’s words. Although, when a voice finally came through, it wasn’t Hoppers.

It was Mike’s.

“Remember how you said this was just a trial run?” He asked.

Will thought that the question was rhetorical, but since Mike hadn’t continued, he seemed to be waiting for Hopper to actually answer. The hell was this new power dynamic?

When Hopper did speak, the radio made his voice sound much higher than it actually was, or he was getting nervous. “Yeah, Wheeler.”

“So, you shouldn’t push yourself to check the entire goddamn west of Hawkins.” Mike’s voice was also high, but not as Hopper’s. The latter was nervous then—or perhaps dejected.

His sigh could be heard through the radio, “And your point is what? I shouldn’t actually check the area and just sit in this truck until the military decides they’re done fucking around in here?”

“No, that’s useless.” Mike replied.

At that moment, Nancy leaned away from the radio. She decided to just let the two go back and forth, and while it would seem more helpful for her or Joyce to settle them, Will liked that Mike was taking charge.

He was being all bossy and annoying, but he was right. He was having his moment.

Subconsciously, Will’s hand squeezed the cushion he was sitting on—a stabilizer.

“You should clear out all the places you listed—the train tracks, the quarry—just skip the trailer park for now.” Mike said. “They’ll take you less than 30 minutes to check since they’re so close together—unlike the trailer park—which will also give you enough time to sneak back into the truck while the soldiers are busy packing shit up.”

Will hated radios—despised them. They’re the reason why he couldn’t see Mike’s theatrical gestures right now. He should’ve just offered to go to the bell-tower with them.

He was so lost in his jealous thoughts, he didn’t account for the amount of time that had passed without Hopper’s response. It could’ve been an hour, it could’ve been a millisecond.

“Sounds good.” Was all he said.

His mom took hold of the radio’s mic, “Yes, good. Be careful.”

“Of course,” Hopper assured her. “Over.”

The low hum of the radio returned as their communication came to a stop.

Will leaned back in his seat, and it was then that he realized that the reason why he couldn’t relax wasn’t because of the situation at hand. Well, it was—the thought of Hopper down there made his skin feel like it was burning from worry, especially the part on the back of his neck. However, he knew that the underlying explanation for the turbulent thumps of his heart was Mike.

All he could do was wait, all anyone could do was wait. The difference is that he had to wait with his feelings as well because he was weird. Because he was a freak and a loser.

Before the group split up, Will wanted to have a word with Mike—and Lucas, of course. Oh, and Dustin. And Jonathan, and—

It doesn’t matter since he didn’t have a chance to talk to anyone.

He had to stand by El and his mom and watch the Squawk van depart, quickly followed by Steve’s car that he begrudgingly allowed them to use.

It may sound stupid, but Will swears that he saw the silhouette of Mike’s head turn to look at him through the car’s window. Well, he was probably looking at El now that he thinks of it.

Currently, she was slumped on the couch by his side, leg uncontrollably bouncing. Will had curled their arms together so as to comfort her, but just like him, he knew that her feelings of worry were incurable. 

After what felt like ten minutes went by, the radio’s plain static streak was broken.

“Nancy? Hopper?” Mike’s voice emitted from it.

Synchronized, Will and El got up from their slumped position and pulled their arms closer together.

Nancy threw Joyce a concerned look as she leaned forwards, taking control of the microphone. “Yeah, Mike?”

The radio crackled, “One of the trucks just left through the gate, they returned it earlier than planned. Can Hopper check if it was his? Because, you know, if it was his…”

Will’s heart spiked, and by the way El dug her fingers into his forearm, he knew hers did too. 

“Hop.” She muttered his name under his breath like it was a prayer.

Will turned to her, tightening his grip on her arm.

Eyes wide and glossy, she was staring at the radio with a fiery intensity. Despite the determined-like expression she was wearing, the wobbling of her bottom lip and the sagging of her brows revealed the small kid freaking out inside.

Slowly, he extracted his arm from hers and moved it behind her, placing his hand on her back and rubbing circles up her spine.

She leaned into it, but her eyes remained locked on the radio. The lack of response from Hopper’s end was concerning.

A point El kept reiterating to him was that he was older. Not as an insult, but to highlight the fact that he might not be as agile as before. He might not be as confident, as strong, as clear-minded after everything that happened in Russia. Will only knew snippets of what he had to endure, but just from those censored tales, he could tell that it was bad enough to scar Hopper forever.

The thing is, that only riled up Hopper even more. He felt like he had a point to prove now, and a part of Will felt like he was not only comparing himself to El—a younger him—but Mike, too. The contender for his replacement. 

No one would say that Hopper and Mike were on equal footing, except for Will. Hopper was a soldier, and in his opinion, Mike was a knight. He didn’t need to be 7 feet tall and have shoulders broader than the Wall of China to be a good one, either. Knights were strong in the mind—unbreakable, untestable. They were calculated problem-solvers, just like soldiers.

Mike was a younger, more lanky, more annoying Hopper, and the fact that he had what Hopper had lost bothered the older man. 

“Mike,” he finally spoke, some agitation in his tone. “What was the license plate number?”

 “Let me ask Luc—” Mike cut himself off as he turned away from the Walkman. “96N527.”

Will, El, Nancy, Joyce, and Robin all bent forwards towards the radio in unison, waiting for Hopper’s response.

“Ah.” He sighed, which built up an irritating amount of suspense. 

El’s fingers were digging into Will’s forearm so deeply, he could practically feel her cuticles in his skin. If only Hopper just spat it out already!

“Not my truck.” He finally confirmed what they had been hoping for.

The entire group exhaled a sigh of relief. Will’s chest, once tight and twisted, loosened enough for him to relax his body into the couch once again. He sunk into its cushions and pulled El down with him.

—

The rest of the plan moved swiftly, and before they knew it, Hopper was rolling out of the military’s truck and hopping into Steve’s car.

As soon as Will and the others at the Squawk got confirmation that everyone was heading back—Mike and Lucas with Hopper, Steve, Dustin, and Jonathan in the van—they skirted through the double doors leading outside and sat on the porch.

Will lowered himself onto the step next to El, keeping his eyes trained on the gravel path leading up to the Squawk. They’d be here in minutes so long as they didn’t run into any trouble with the police, which wouldn’t even be a consideration in Will’s mind if only Steve wasn’t driving.

Behind him stood Nancy, the humming of the Walkman in her hand gliding into his ears like a build-up to a highly anticipated chorus. A chorus that is to come in 8 minutes—5 if Steve ran through any red lights—3 if the car ran on gatorade instead of gas—30 if a nosy officer pulled them over.

As he contemplated the numbers of seconds spanning the distance between him and Mike (and Jonathan, Lucas, Hopper, Steve, and Dustin), El suddenly shot up to her feet.

“There!” She extended an arm and pointed to the far end of the gravel path.

Will pushed himself up and squinted his eyes at the direction she was pointing in. Despite the darkness engulfing the view, a small, rectangular shape became clearer and clearer in the far distance. His heartbeat punched up at the sight—who knew a car would get him this excited? His father would be proud.

“Seriously, waiting outside?” The radio rattled with Hopper’s voice.

Rolling her eyes, Nancy pushed its antenna down, although the breathy laugh that slipped from her lips exposed her annoyance as feigned. 

In fact, she pushed forward through Will and El and hopped down onto the gravel, a proud smirk on her face. She had been successful—she had been right.

It’s been a long time since her “worth was proven”. She always seemed “worthy” to Will, almost more than anyone he knew, so it pained him to see her grin in this way.

He made a mental note to tell her later, or at least try to. Nowadays, she was always with—

“Jonathan!” She called out his name as he emerged from the van.

Steve’s—or temporarily Hopper’s—car slowed to a stop behind it. Its superiority over the fat van was flaunted as the doors slammed open with ease, meanwhile Jonathan was still pushing the sliding door trapping him and Dustin in the back.

When he finally did scramble out, he and Nancy ran to each other and shared a tight embrace. Will’s eyes didn’t bother to linger on them, they were too busy searching for someone else.

El hopped off of the steps, and it didn’t take long for him to follow suit. They both tilted their heads to the side to catch a glimpse of the car the van was shielding from their view. They hadn’t even noticed Dustin finally pushing himself through the door and faceplanting right into the ground. Damn that stupid van.

“No autographs today.” Lucas revealed himself, hauling a hefty backpack. 

A grin grew on Will’s face. He stepped forwards and closed the space between him and Lucas, accepting the open arms of his friend. “Not even one?”

Lucas patted his back, “Maybe I’ll give you a pass.”

“Shut up.” Will pulled away from the hug. He squeezed Lucas’ biceps before completely dropping his hands. “You did really well. Really well.”

“Thanks,” Lucas crossed his arms. “I mean, it’s good that I’m a ranger. Those skills come in handy sometimes, you know?”

Will literally couldn’t stop smiling. He felt silly as he rocked on his heels, but who cares? “You’re a fantastic ranger—”

“No he’s not.”

To his left, Mike stared daggers into him.

Will’s smile faltered. Mike had his arms wrapped around El, although they seemed to be loosening, allowing El to slip away to someone else. Still, Mike’s eyes stayed frozen on him and Lucas. 

He didn’t understand. Had he done something wrong?

“Dude,” Lucas chuckled. “Do rangers get on your nerves or something?”

Will felt a bit relieved when Mike turned his head to Lucas, breaking that look he was giving him. It made him feel cornered, and he didn’t want to admit it, but it made him feel… other things too, whatever they are. Mike turning away spared him an excuse to not ponder on it.

“No, it’s just…” Mike’s words trailed off.

Will noticed the way his hand gripped the strap of his backpack. He noticed the whites of his knuckles and the twist of the material. What’s wrong with him?

He looked between him and Lucas. Maybe there was something going on in the two’s relationship? It wouldn’t be shocking. As he’s said before, everyone’s stressed out, and for good reasons. A heated argument in the tower could’ve occurred without anyone’s knowledge.

A ‘pop!’ sound burst through the awkward silence as Lucas blew his bubblegum. He nudged Mike’s shoulder, passing through to enter the Squawk. “Rangers do stuff to people. Don’t worry, this reaction is natural.”

Will watched Lucas’ back as he swung open the door and entered. A strange feeling stirred in his stomach—rangers do do stuff to people, but Mike didn’t seem to like it in the slightest.

Shyly, he forced himself to face him. 

The freaky fog that dictated his stare lost its thickness, so much that Will felt it was safe to lower his guard.

“You did really well, too.” He said quietly, twisting his foot into the gravel. “I’m not easily impressed, but I… I thought you did good—great.”

Mike’s brows relaxed from where they were furrowed near his eyes, “Yeah, but, better than Lucas?”

Will raised a brow at that. He couldn’t help but laugh at this—what do you even call it? Jealousy? Mike wouldn’t be jealous over something like this. Maybe if it was about El, sure, but Will?

He looked at the ground where his feet were brushing back and forth against the small rocks making up the path. A hot spark jumped around in his chest and refused to settle, bouncing off his ribs and straight into his stuttering heart.

Too flustered to lift his head, he just nodded.

Mike’s response was quick, “So, paladins are better than rangers?”

That made Will look at him, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

If his consciousness was present, he’d realize how much closer him and Mike were standing now. The question was, was it him that took steps forward, or Mike?

Mike shrugged, “All I’m hearing is that paladins are bet—”

Mike’s words were punched out of him when Will, all of a sudden, closed the gap to embrace him. Future Will would hate this, Conscious Will would curse him, but Stupid Will? Stupid Will wanted to shut Mike up.

It was brief.

The feeling of Mike’s chest against his triggered Conscious Will to clock in, recalling a memory of Mike turning down a hug a couple of months ago or so. The flashback tightened his airways and loosened his arms. He dropped them and staggered back, mood completely shifted from excitement to humiliation.

He was wondering what was wrong with Mike, when he should’ve been asking that question about himself. The way he was speaking, kicking the gravel around, appealing to Mike’s strange, nerdy ego—he needed to place some boundaries down.

Although, before he could even apologize for crossing them, Mike broke through his.

His lips, parted to speak, were suddenly pressed into the camo vest Mike was wearing (Yes, Hopper was annoyed that Mike had camo and he didn’t).

Mike’s arms pushed them closer, slotting them together like perfect puzzle pieces, and held Will so tenderly, the thought of “respecting boundaries” didn’t cross his mind. Hesitantly, but surely, he brought his arms up from his sides and wrapped them over Mike’s back. His fingers grazed each other, but they were too interested in exploring the cold fabric resting beneath them. 

This close, this gone, Will melted. Goodbye Conscious Will, we hardly ever knew you.

The world around him disappeared as his focus narrowed onto the ephemeral experience he was captured in. He would never be able to cascade the feeling of Mike all around him to another person, at least not in this lifetime. The mixed scents of Mrs. Wheeler’s laundry detergent of choice and unappealing sweat tickled at his nose. Breathing was a distant concept he sacrificed for Mike’s touch. He didn’t mind suffocation if it meant entering the vulnerable space Mike guarded like a security guard: his arms.

“I don’t get a hug?”

Will jumped away from Mike and wrapped his own arms around himself instead. His fingers dug into his biceps as he turned to the voice, hoping that it wasn’t who he thought it was.

“I’m the one who almost died down there.” Hopper complained sarcastically.

Of course it was him.

Will was an idiot to think that just because the universe granted him something he wanted for once, it would do it again.

Still, he treasured the fact that Hopper felt comfortable enough with Will to joke like this. His hands released his sleeves, allowing his fingers to relax.

Hopper walked towards him, close enough to be in arms’ reach, and gave his shoulder such a strong pat, it made Will trip to the side. “Good job helping me, yeah?”

The only time Will was of some use during this entire thing was when Hopper was stuck at a crossroad.

He was walking by the train tracks that split the woods in two when they came to a sudden stop, buried under piles of mud, vines, and demogorgon vomit. This was a problem since the tracks were meant to lead him to the quarry—his second destination on the list.

After some lefts and rights, they made a large curve that was a few blocks away from the edge of the quarry. Will had followed that path many times, both in the Upside Down and the Rightside Up. Relying on the mental trail he left in another dimension to guide him through the woods wasn’t fun, especially in such harsh conditions.

When Hopper asked him the question—“Right or left?”—all he could remember was the way he nuzzled his nose into his wet puffer jacket as he walked, steps small and stumbling.

He sighed, closing his eyes and entering the memories he had blocked off with bricks so long ago. When he took a deep breath, he smelt the dried-up vomit stuck to his feet. El’s hand squeezed his, and the material of the torn jacket curled into his palm. A picture pieced itself together in his mind, and he wanted so desperately to stop it. He wanted to take it out of its frame and rip it in half, creating a tear between himself and the place that killed him.

It would’ve killed Hopper if he didn’t surrender to his memories. 

He lost a part of himself in that moment, or rather regained one. The peace of the unknown was gone, but the unknown in itself wasn’t actually a stranger, rather a forgotten tape.

He played it. Little Will staggered through the woods, standing where he assumed the tracks would’ve been. He stepped over vines that tried to get a taste of what it would feel like to touch him, to wrap around his wrists and feel his heartbeat pulsating through his veins.

A gut-feeling fueled action brought him to water. A single left.

Hopper’s footsteps were larger and farther apart than Will’s. If he were to, by some chance, land his foot on an exact spot Will landed his, the difference would be startling. The destination, though, would remain the same.

“Thank you.” He said, embarrassment flushing his face.

Hopper pulled him into a short side-hug, gave Mike a thumbs-up, and headed into the Squawk. He panted his way through every step.

“You shouldn’t trust your perception of yourself.” Mike said.

Will’s head snapped away from the swinging door Hopper left open and turned to Mike. “Huh?”

Mike shrugged, “You’re stronger and braver than you give yourself credit for.”

“No I’m not.” Will shook his head, laughing at the notion of him being strong in any capacity.

Mike raised a brow, seemingly offended. “But you’re a loser.”

“So what?”

“Losers are really brave.”

“Don’t quote me to me.”

Mike placed a hand on his hip, abandoning the strap he had been fiddling with. “Hypocrite.”

“I’m not a—”

“Who has more courage than the person who is unafraid of being themselves?” Mike rubbed his chin. “That’s what you said, isn’t it?”

Will gulped. It was audible.

“Face it, Will.” Mike took a step towards Will and leaned down to be at eye-level with him, just like how he had done in the basement. He brought his face close to his, so much that they were basically sharing a breath. “You’re a loser.”

A gap of quiet stretched as Will considered the compliment-kinda-insult. His shoulders weakened, dropping the weight of his back and pushing him forwards to Mike, breaking his straight-as-can-be posture.

“Loser.” He whispered, feeling the word on his tongue. It was different when it was applied to him. He wasn’t like Mike, not in the slightest. He didn’t carry it like a well-deserved trophy. They weren’t the same.

Mike looked at him like they were.

He nodded, “A pretty big one.”

“But—” Will frowned. “But, that doesn’t make me bad or weird, right?”

“Not to me, no.” Mike’s lips pressed together in a smile. It was small and so tight, it made his lips glow red. Will’s eyes flickered down to them. 

They parted and played a voice that sounded like pure music to his ears, “Because I like losers.”