Chapter Text
Narration: third person limited
Inner thoughts: italicized
Author’s word:
Hi, this is my first time writing a fanfic ever, idk how this works so you'll have to be indulgent. I haven’t really found a fanfic that portrayed the vision I had for a Spider-Will universe so I opted for writing it myself. I’ll be adding subtle references from Stranger Things and the Spider-Man movies (kinda pulling out stuff from both and putting them into the story basically). This isn't the freaky factory and it's a slow burn without too much angst, so yeah. Also Will is more masc here and Mike is still being extra nerdy self (and is a borderline twink) without being an obnoxious asshat (cause fym the duffers made him a nothingburger, I do not stand by that). Anyway have fun, I hope you enjoy this fic! :)
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A strident sound pierced Will’s ears. A semi-conscious yelp from Dustin, one of his roommates, whose room shares a wall with his, signals to Will that he’s woken him up. He groans and leaps towards his phone, slapping the alarm off before it wakes his other roommate up, though it’s more for his sake than Mike’s: he sleeps through amber alerts.
Shit, it’s morning already? And–Jesus, it’s POURING outside, that’s just great.
His eyes crease as he stares at the bright screen of his phone. 7 AM. Always an hour earlier than necessary: his class starts at 9 but he’s been late enough times because of…Spider-Man complications. He drags a hand down his face, taking in the familiar surroundings as he musters the courage to get moving. The dull brown walls, a few posters clinging stubbornly and a small window framing the spectacular view of a musty alley. The college student scrambles for a shirt on the ground, remembering he had removed it last night because of profuse sweating: since he’s been bit by a radioactive spider his freshman year of high school, his accelerated metabolism hadn’t let him wake up in clean bedsheets more than three days in a row.
As he slips on an old shirt, he notices the sudden tightness in clothes he hadn’t worn in a while.
Guess I can't really wear a baby-tee…
He crouches in front of the small fridge of the currently quiet apartment, remembering his omelet leftovers. He spots the tupperware crammed between a milk carton and an old loaf of bread and thanks the universe Dustin hadn’t stolen it again. As the clanky microwave painfully heats up his breakfast, Will carefully packs his bag and slips into his back-and-yellow suit, making sure to layer a long sleeve shirt and jacket over it. By 7:30, he’s out the door.
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Mike cracks one eye open as he hears the apartment door close. He glances at his watch, eyes still partly stuck together, and slowly leaves his warm covers.
Fuuuck–it’s cold. It’s not even October, are you kidding me?! This shitty isolation’s gonna be the death of me before Christmas.
He grabs his contacts from the stained bedside table and stares at them for a moment. He then shakes his head and pulls his black, thick-framed glasses from his drawer and looks through them.
Yeah, whatever with the look, the contacts are worse anyway.
He slips on the warmest socks he owns, then cracks every bone in his body before finally making his way to the drip coffee machine, grabbing a cup from the dish rack. Mike Wheeler has never been a morning person, and he never will be. His wonderful curly-haired roommate, Dustin, whose loudness in the morning can’t match anybody else’s, is living proof of that. In fact, even asleep he seems to be unable to stay silent: his snores roar through the apartment whenever he’s particularly tired, which seems to be always because of his STEM major.
He grips his cup a little harder as he waits for the hot liquid to pour into it.
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Will has his earbuds on as he speed-walks down the busy street leading toward campus, trying not to get soaked. The tempo of Making Out by No Doubt kicks in just as muffled screams cut through the rain. The student snaps his head around, squinting through the nasty weather, and eyes a bus losing control over the Williamsburg Bridge. He doesn’t lose another second before ducking into an alleyway, stripping off his clothes and shoving them into his bag, pulling his mask over his head. When he comes back out, the common transport vehicle is dangerously tilted over the edge, moments from plunging into the raging East River below.
He sticks his web to a building, launching himself toward the bridge. He lands on the top of the engine, his mind running at a hundred miles per hour.
Alright–fuck, um…stabilize first.
Before his eyes catch up to his movements, he creates a network of webs around the bus, slowing down its fall, but not stopping it.
That’s not cutting it.
He rapidly lowers himself, then inches himself on the side of the bus to get closer to the front. He breaks a window with his fist and makes big signs toward the other end of the vehicle. “ALRIGHT WE DON’T HAVE MUCH TIME. EVERYONE GO TO THE BACK OF THE BUS. NOW.”
The civilians do so without needing much convincing as the bus becomes more and more unstable. The superhero desperately climbs to a higher ground, launching webs to both sides of the bus.
I hope to God this works.
Holding both strands, he leans back on the weight of it and pulls with his whole body. He grunts.
“Come on, come on, come on.”
The truck barely tilts back, then slowly, gradually, he pulls it back enough so it not-so-lightly lands on the bridge. Spider-Man hurries back to the bus. “Is everyone alright? Are you all okay??”
The people slowly get out of the engine with his help and a little girl runs towards him, hugging his waist into a tight embrace. He crouches down and collapses into her frail little arms, patting her wet hair and looking around.
Thank goodness everyone’s fine…this little girl could have died--all of these people could have died.
He gets back up and she runs toward her mom, excitedly saying “Mom, I hugged Spider-Man!”. The citizens around film and applaud, cheering loudly. He disappears into the heavy rain as he hears the typical sirens, vanishing under the eyes of the crowd.
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As Dustin flips through the TV broadcasts, trying to find something interesting as he eats his cereal. As he gets to the Daily News, he calls. “Holy shit, Mike, come look at this!”
“Fuck off, I’m trying to get ready, my class starts in, like, twenty minutes–holy SHIT. That’s, like, three blocks from here!” He leans his elbows on the couch, flabbergasted. Both boys watch in silent amazement.
Dustin then sighs. “I mean, isn’t he fucking awesome?? Like, he just lifted that whole bus and the next second he was already running! And the way he just handles it? Like he punched through that window with his fist! And he was SO fast about it, like he was moving quicker than lightning at that point, I swear.”
Mike glances at him before looking back at the TV screen. “Jesus, Dustin, don’t come all over yourself…I mean, sure, he’s good at this and all but he’s a superhero–isn’t that his job? Plus, he’s probably some 30 year-old hanging out in the Avengers tower–there’s no way he’s not trained for this.”
“Whatever, party pooper.”
Mike clicks his tongue and punches his friend in the arm as he walks away.
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Clothes and hair still damp after almost three hours of class, Will gets out of class in a hurry–his shift at Enzo’s starting in less than an hour. After a quick walk from campus back to his apartment, he slips into his room unnoticed, the two other roommates still out. He struggles out of his humid Spider-Man suit and grabs a blow dryer, setting it up so it blowdries the suit. Now only wearing loose cotton boxers, he grabs clothes from his chipped drawer and sets them up on his bed: a simple flannel with jeans and yellow socks. As he quickly makes himself a sandwich–blow dryer still on–the door swings open. Mouth full, Will nearly chokes on his food as Mike appears in the small living room, face to face with him only in his underwear. Will feels the blood rush to his cheeks. Mike lets out a little squeak as he turns his back to him, giving his roommate some privacy.
“Oh SHIT–sorry, I thought no one would be home for a while, I was in a bit of a hurry.” Will rants as he awkwardly makes his way to the bathroom–sandwich still in hand–mouthing swear words to himself and retrieving his suit without Mike noticing.
The same Mike who is apologetically babbling bits of sentences with a thumb up in the air–anything but casual. “Not–not a–it’s no problem–fine. All good.”
Will takes the opportunity to throw the incriminating evidence of his secret identity in his room in one quick swoop and slams the door shut so Mike doesn’t peek in. Then, he hurriedly walks back to the bathroom to unplug the blow dryer. As he comes back out, he points at it. “Left the…uh, blow-dryer on.”
Mike had turned back around, leaning on the counter and looking down, cheeks flushed. When he glances up and Will is still there–as bare-chested–and not in his room, he smacks his face in surprise. “Shit–fuck–I thought you were in your room–I’m sorry, I’m not TRYING to get flashed, I swear!”
“Oh–no, no, it’s on me, I’m going now–don’t worry about it.” At that, he slips into his room and leans against the closed door.
Jesus–why are my cheeks so hot?? It’s just Mike, he’s a guy, it’s whatever…I’m sure he didn’t see the suit.
He sighs as he gets up and walks towards his bed, taking another bite of his lunch. He rubs the fabric of his superhero outfit and pinches his lips together.
The suit's kind of damp, but I’ll take it.
He puts it back on, buttoning up his flannel over it and slipping on his jeans. He emerges from his room again to find Mike sitting at the counter, staring at his phone. He clears his throat and the dark haired boy jolts–eyebrows raised as he glances at Will–who’s halfway out the door. “I’ve…uh…my shift at Enzo’s starting, I should be back by 5.”
Mike gives him a tight smile, averting his eyes, still a little red. “Cool. I might…pass by–to…to work! To work on my essay! And for the…food, and stuff.”
Will gives him a nod and leaves the apartment. Mike stares at the door as it shuts, tapping his fingers on the stained wood of the countertop. “Bye...” He exhales roughly, rubbing his neck.
God, this is embarrassing, isn’t it?? Why am I being weird, is this weird? And why did he have full-on abs–OKAY, no definitely not thinking about that. But objectively, though…
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It stopped raining outside and the sun peeks through clouds. Will pushes open Enzo’s front door. He's greeted by his colleague, Robin–who doesn’t lose a second before grabbing him by the shoulders and leading him toward the kitchen, drawing him into her usual fast-paced monologue. “Byers! Fashionably late as always–here’s what’s up in this beautiful Wednesday’s busy hour. As you can see, the place is PACKED–seriously I don’t know what is going on, maybe the Pope’s coming and I don’t know about it! But what I do know is that our amazing manager has assigned you to half of the tables since we’re short on staff–Eddie bailed mid-shift so you’re covering part of his section as well as your own. I vouched for you so I got stuck with the other half of his section–in addition to mine. Aren’t you just so excited for us?”
“Robin, stop throwing words at him, what are you tryna do? Make him bail, too? I mean, come on. Plus, you’re making me look like the bad guy, here. Shit on Eddie, not me.”
As the familiar voice is heard, Steve comes up from behind the bar, clearly on a call, based on the phone being stuck between his shoulder and his ear as he mumbles something incomprehensible, simultaneously blending a strawberry milkshake. Will smiles tightly, apprehensive of his upcoming shift.
Weird day so far, huh?
Robin grabs an apron, smacking the radio on: “...and now we switch to Diana Ross singing Upside Down, an 80’s classic that’ll take you on a quick trip back in time!”
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An hour later–swiftly transferring a plate from one hand to the other, Will puts down three mocktails on a table, adroitly putting down two meals on another, then swiping the empty glasses from an empty window booth, all before Steve can even blink. He leans over to whisper to Robin as she picks up an order from the counter. “Hey, Byers is really makin’ it run. I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’re great and all but he’s never broken a plate or made a mess in the whole time he’s been working here, and he never slacks–-hell he won’t even take breaks if there’s even a single client.”
Robin leans back, sipping on the coffee she asked Steve to make her from the bar–extra sugar. “Yeah, I will not be fighting you on that. That kid is tough. He’s picked up other people’s shifts more times than I can count. I’m surprised he’s not a burnout yet. I guess he needs the money.”
Will’s super hearing never fails and he silently listens, keeping his gaze away from them and putting new utensils and napkins down on a clean table.
I hope they’re not starting to suspect anything about Spider-Man…I cannot deal with this right now.
Will is taking the order of a particularly difficult customer, trying to apologize carefully when the door bell jingles. Mike enters the tiny restaurant, wearing his usual headphones and carrying his messenger bag–-the true literature student attire. Robin tries to scoot past Will, holding a plate with a dessert, a club-sandwich and an ungodly amount of ketchup bags sitting on it but she trips over the leg of a misplaced chair. Before anyone has time to think, Will is grabbing the plate from the air with one hand, guiding it through the space so the dessert and club-sandwich land flawlessly–-then swaying it to one side then the other, catching the ketchup bags in their fall–-meanwhile still holding his notepad and pen in the other hand. People here and there cheer and applaud in relief at the impressive save.
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Speechless Mike watches as Will gives back the plate to Robin–-who’s rambling about how incredible he is or something. Will notices him and smiles like a puppy as he walks over.
Holy fuck, how did he even…do that…?
The all-too familiar waiter takes a professional tone as he stops in front of him. “Hello, sir, what can I get you today?”
“Oh, is that what we’re doing right now? We’re just gonna ignore how you didn't let a single fry drop on the floor or is that already past your priorities?”
Will laughs softly, glancing at his feet, then back up at Mike with a confident expression. “I guess it is...I mean, things move quickly around here, you've got to learn to catch up. Steve is at the bar, you can go sit there if you want to get a seat quickly. We’ve been in the lunch rush.” He gives him a teasing smile before getting called over to another table.
Mike’s eyes linger for a second longer than necessary, hints of pink in his cheeks. He walks over to the bar as he was told and sits down on the cushy seat. Steve points to the new arrival and gives him a serious look. “Wheeler, I’m not giving you freebies! Always coming in here to get on my nerves doesn’t get you any discounts.”
Mike rolls his eyes, snapping back as he sets up his portable computer. “I’m not here for you, jackass. I’ll get a coffee.”
“How about a please and thank you?”
“Why are you thanking me? I didn’t do anything.” Innocently smiling, he watches the manager of Enzo’s sigh before giving up at putting up with his antics. He raises his eyebrows and stares at him dead in the eye in all seriousness. “You’re lucky your friend is the best damn waiter I’ve ever seen, Wheeler.”
Mike shakes his head before curling over his computer, but after Steve leaves, he smiles a little at the thought.
Yeah, so it seems…Will can really handle himself here, it’s kind of impressive. I’d be spitting in at least half of the annoying clients’ meals by now.
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Robin wipes a table thoroughly as she looks up to see Will finally easing up. He’s at the bar now, sliding a simple cup of coffee toward his curly headed friend as he speaks to him about something. She’s always wondered what had been getting Michael Wheeler to show up at Enzo’s at least once or twice a week for months. As she observes the two students, she raises an eyebrow: Mike reaching for Will’s hair, carefully fluffing it up in the most domestic way–stars in his eyes, and Will only smiling as he continues ranting passionately–probably about one of his interests–elbows on the counter and head cupped in his hands.
Wow…I see it, now.
She elbows Steve, who just came back from the restroom. He frowns. “Ow–what do you want, Robin?”
She designates the boys with a nod, smirking. “These two…definitely dig each other.”
Steve scoffs. Then looks at his friend, dead serious–almost alarmed. “No, no, not fucking Wheeler! Byers is way too pure for that little brat.”
“I think you’re a bit too late to stop that, Stevie…looks like the brat already charmed your boy.’
Steve clicks his tongue, hands on his hips. He shakes his head, then walks over to the bar and shoos Will from his section, Mike already arguing with him over it. Robin laughs under her breath.
At that moment, walking away to check on one of the tables, Will feels a low vibration taking over all of his senses. Chills cover the nape of his neck.
Something’s wrong…
He makes his way to the back door, trying his best to look as casual as possible. As he passes by Robin, he whispers. “I’m taking a break, cover for me please.”
She gives him a confused look, but only hesitates before she nods.