Work Text:
WILL
Will dipped his hand into his pocket and plucked out the scrunched-up post-it that Mike had given him yesterday.
He read it again. And again. And had been reading, obsessively, since Mike subtly slid it to him last night, as they parted at Wheeler's front door after their campaign. Will kept his gaze licking over the same words over and over, to make sure they had not vanished; and to imagine the possibilities that they entailed.
I want to talk with you. Mine at 6?
He thumbed the paper and, smoothing the creases. The paper was soft and delicate for the hours he had spent repeating this action habitually, and he worried if he rubbed it too much, the words might disappear and it might have been a stupid fantasy after all. Will pocketed the paper.
***
The phone rang at two o clock. Will had nervously been pacing around, lost in deep thought; he had planned to sit and stare at the wall until it was time to cycle over to Mike's house, but the ringing persisted. There was nobody else home, Jonathan was at work, and his mom was wherever she kept disappearing to these days. He picked up the phone.
"Hello?"
"Are you busy?" Crackled the voice from the voice on the line; Max.
"Max-- hi," Will answered, "uhh, what do you need?"
"Lucas can't admit that he doesn't know how build shit and he's putting us all in danger with these home improvements he's obsessed with."
From in the background, Will heard the faint whine of a voice he identified as Lucas'. He complained loudly about something along the lines of "making our house accessible", which struck up a short-lived argument that Will was not quite grasping the entirety of.
"Everything's fine how it is. I'm fine." Max spat.
"You literally cannot go in half of the house because it's got stairs everywhere and the shittest tiniest doorways in the world!"
Will considered hanging up to leave them to it, but instead interjected into their domestic spat. "So you need me… why? I thought you had it covered, Lucas?"
"Erica's at school right now and she's the only one here who isn't mentally incapable of building ramps." Interrupted Max, "I would literally roll backwards onto my head if I tried going up them in the state they're in now. I did tell you that Pythagoras would be far more useful than you thought. Will, these angles are almost vertical."
Will sighed, holding the receiver away from his ear as they began to debate again, "I'll be there in thirty minutes!" Will announced, hanging up the phone, exasperated.
He was already dressed, he had been since midday, in a shirt he was already sweating through, and light-wash denim shorts. The note from Mike felt like it was burning through Will's pocket, like a hot lump of coal- would it look to obsessed if Mike found him carrying it with him? He returned to his bedroom and stuffed the note under his pillow, and, drawing the curtains to keep the heat out, he grabbed the key from its hook by the door, slid on his shoes and stepped out into the sun.
The ride to Lucas' was always pleasant, a mostly downhill ride with plenty of trees for shade from the summer heat, and shelter from rainfall in the spring. There was scarce traffic: the odd car here and there, and the periodic sighting of a moving truck. Property prices had fallen greatly in Hawkins in the recent years- people were fleeing like mad, and others reluctant to move in. Will could not blame them. But some, it seemed, were taking advantage of this real-estate bargain. It wasn't long until he reached Lucas' street but by that time he was truly out of breath, legs burning.
If his mom were there, she would have insisted on driving him there and back. She had been so overly protective of him since Hawkins had returned to normal, coddling him and obsessing over his health. She would have lectured him for hours knowing he had ridden his bike in heatwave weather alone today. Will knew it came from a place of love, and that she was right, but he didn't need her to constantly helicopter around him, asking if he felt okay.
There were instances he was grateful for his mom's newfound attentiveness, like when he had his first seizure, around two months after they had killed Vecna. He was alone in his room; she had heard a thump and was there by his side in an instant, keeping him from injuring himself, and comforting him when it was over. Not that he remembered any of that, it was all a total distorted wobbly memory. What he did remember of the aftermath though, was waking to find Hop sat at the end of his bed, staring worriedly at him. When his mom came sprinting from the kitchen, she fawned over Will the same way she had when the Hive Mind used to hijack him. She asked questions, stroked his hair, and furrowed her brows so intensely Will worried they might stick that way.
In all honesty, yes, Will did appreciate his mom paying more attention to his needs-- he was just overwhelmed with the constant reminders that he would always have something wrong with him. Between the seizures, fainting spells, muscular pains and chronic fatigue, he was ready to accept that everything was going to be okay again. Hawkins was back to being safe. His friends were safe. But his body protested every day.
He let his bike clatter down onto Lucas' lawn, smoothing his sweaty hair down as he entered through the open front door. There was a steady draft meandering through his house, it was pleasantly bliss.
He followed the sound of voices into the living room, where Lucas was slouched across the leather couch, fanning himself with a fashion magazine. He gathered it probably belonged to Lucas' mom, but the scene was highly amusing nonetheless. Max was sat opposite him in her wheelchair, biting her nails, feeling the effects of a free-standing, plug-in fan.
"Good, you're here." Max piped up, rolling her eyes, "Lucas is going to kill me." She whispered and wheeled forward with a push of the joystick on the armrests of her chair. "Sit down, want some water?"
"Yeah sure. Please." Replied Will, biting the skin on his bottom lip, which was dry from the dehydration from cycling the way here in the heat. The couch made a peeling noise as Lucas sat up, groaning, to make space for Will, who sat intentionally on the edge, feeling the cracked leather stick to his clammy skin uncomfortably.
"And I'll have a coke. Thanks." Max continued casually, like she was ordering from a waiter at a diner, "Oh and plenty of ice too!" she called as Lucas began towards the kitchen, magazine-fan abandoned on the coffee table, to which he responded with a middle finger tossed over his shoulder.
"You know I didn't call you here for your construction expertise, don't you?" She said, coming closer to Will.
"You know it did cross my mind… although I did successfully make a semi-functional ruler in woodworking class in middle school so..."
"How can a ruler be semi- functional?" Max furrowed her brow, squinting at Will.
"It was... slanted. A little bit. On one edge." Will failed to suppress a smile.
Max laughed. Hearing her laugh recently had been quite a rarity; as they all would have expected. Being told that the likeliness of you ever being fully independent again had hit hard, and Max was only just coming to terms with what that would mean for her, and her future with Lucas. There were a lot of negatives to focus on, like skating becoming a bitter memory or not being able to cycle anywhere together anymore, but there were still plenty of things they could do together like their D and D meetups. Life was changing, but it wasn't over.
"Well I'm glad we don't need any extra help with the home-improvement side of things at the moment," she smirked, "although I'll let you know if we get really desperate."
"So what did you call me for?" Asked Will, finally.
"It's about Mike."
Will felt the air leave his chest at the mention of Mike's name.
"What about him?"
Max took a deep breath in and cast her gaze to the ceiling light fixture. "Will, we're worried about him. Don't you think he doesn't seem himself? I noticed last night, he seemed pretty off with you— I'm sure you felt it. Did something bad happen between you two?"
Will's heart began to race at the thought of himself being perceived in the same thought as Mike, and whether it had just grown hotter or it was just him, he felt himself flush with heat. He stammered for a second, circling the buttons on his shirt, mentally appreciating the absence of the scrunched up paper note in his shorts pockets, and when he finally spoke, it came out more defensive than he intended.
"Nothing's happened between us, what makes you say that? Did he tell you something? Is he mad at me?"
"Woah, okay. We were hoping you'd shed some light, but clearly you're in the dark just as much as us."
Max backed up a little as Lucas came back into the living room, carrying three glasses of drink, which he set down delicately on the table. Will instinctively reached forward for an icy glass of water, condensation already glistening on the outside of the glass, and took a deep mouthful, feeling the cold shock his body back into check from the inside. He forced himself to take a regulating breath before continuing.
"I'm going over there soon, I can check up on him then… what do I say?"
Lucas settled back down next to him, glass of something fizzy and clear in hand; he gave Will a brotherly clap on the shoulder and glanced briefly back at Max. "Whatever feels right, I guess," Lucas suggested calmly between sips of his drink, "think of him like a… like a little kitten, don't go in too strong and spook him. Just scoop him up and make him feel safe— then he won't bite you."
"I should pick Mike up and cuddle him?" Will repeated, stifling a scoff, "and I'd say Mike's more of a scratcher than a biter but maybe I'm wrong. So I just approach it gently and let him lead the way?"
"Why are you going over anyway?" Asked Max.
"I was invited."
"For what?" Lucas inquired.
"He didn't say."
Lucas and Max exchanged a fleeting look which stirred an anxiety in Will's stomach, he glanced between the both of them multiple times— "What?"
"Nothing." They said in unison, shaking their heads in a near identical manner.
"No, what? Tell me!" Will pleaded, frown forming on his face.
Max nodded indicatively towards Lucas, prompting him to speak. He shifted for a second, looking like he was about to break terrible news.
Turns out he wasn't far off the mark.
He left Lucas' at five thirty, the sky was still lit well, but Lucas had insisted on driving Will— perhaps he was eager to exercise his new right since he got his license, or maybe he was just another person who thought Will needed to be hovered over. He splashed his face with cold water in the bathroom before he left, and declined the kind offer of a cheese sandwich, picking up his bike from where he had left in on the lawn despite the exhaustion he was already feeling. He set off to Mike's house, mind splitting from the bombshell thought that had just been dropped on him.
He had seemingly remembered to swerve around parked cars and stop at the right places, but other than that, had a void recollection of his journey. He had arrived at the front door, tossed his bike aside haphazardly and knocked hard on the door before he could hesitate and rethink.
Mike Wheeler was stood in the doorway. Looking impossibly good, hair swept back features sharp, and eyes piercing thanks to… wait, was Mike wearing eyeliner?
"Mike," Will began breathlessly, "I, uh, you-"
"You're early." Mike began, "I mean, come in, I'm happy you're early actually, I um… my mom cooked some pizza if you maybe wanna take it to my room and we can, you know. Talk? Together? "
Will nodded, it was about time he ate something, he would never have asked Mike for food, but all that physical exertion had him feeling a bit light headed now. He stepped inside, sliding past Mike, who closed the front door behind him, and started towards the kitchen.
"No, I'll get it, go to my room and I'll be there in a sec." Mike said, partially blocking the doorway to the kitchen so Will could not follow, "Make yourself comfy."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure." Mike's face molded itself into that weird wonky smile that made it look like experiencing joy caused him facial discomfort. Will nodded in agreement and began climbing the stairs.
The window in Mike's room was open fully now that the intense daytime heat had dissipated, and his curtains were swaying gently on their pole. He ran his hands across the smooth texture of the duvet, letting himself zone out for a minute, listening to the birdsong outside. He then noticed, on the windowsill stood a row of freshly painted figurines, left to dry out, intricately detailed and scarily lifelike. There was an array of different fantasy characters of different colours, shapes and heights; great beats, fair maidens, brave knights.
Will was still waiting for his heart rate to return to normal, for his knees to stop trembling and for the pulsating vignette around his vision to disappear. Since sitting down. He tried taking a deep breath, releasing it slowly, and trying to blink his eyes back into focus.
The bedroom door bumped open as Mike entered using his back to push it open, carrying two plates with slices of pizza on them. He was talking about something Will could not quite hear, beyond the sound of static and pulse in his ears. Something wasn't right.
"Mike." He began.
Mike stopped immediately, concern growing in his face.
"Mike?" he repeated, uncertain if his voice had even penetrated the atmosphere enough to be heard, "I think I'm going to have a seizure."
MIKE
Mike set down the plates on the dresser and was by Will's side immediately; his arm naturally settled around Will's waist.
"Should I shout for my mom?" Mike asked, face positioned in front of Will's, locking eyes with him. Will shook his head.
"Should I call your mom?"
Will shook his head with more force.
He had witnessed a handful of Will's episodes; he understood that they had started when he first came back from the Upside Down, and had continued inexplicably after that. Mike had gone straight over to the Byers' house the night Will had his first seizure after they destroyed the upside down-- Joyce was so worried that it indicated something more sinister and that perhaps Vecna had survived, she was sobbing on the phone when Mike answered it, asking for him to come over.
'Mike, he won't stop asking for you, I don't know what else to do, can your parents drive you over?'
He had gone straight out, into the night, neither of his parents were home, they had taken a cab out, so Mike took the car. He knew it was wrong, he didn't even have his license yet, but he wanted to be there quickly. He left a note on the kitchen counter and drove off in the dark.
Will was looking vacant now, which is what normally happened, wasn't it? Mike wondered, he ran through a mental checklist of what he needed to do.
Firstly, he kept his grip round Will's waist, and supported him, helping him to the biggest area of empty floor space where his rug was laid out. Will was hard to hold up, his legs had given out and his grip was loose, making their downward journey a lot quicker and harder landing than Mike intended. He snatched a pillow from his bed, gently lifting Will's head to place it underneath.
The boys locked eyes and Mike reached out to stroke Will's hair-- he had no idea what possessed him to do so, but it felt like the right thing to do. Will looked so helpless, his eyelids seemingly weighing a ton when his fingertips reached the back of Mike's other hand, resting so delicately on his skin.
Will began seizing, Mike knew to start counting. If it lasted more than five minutes, he needed medical attention, if it lasted longer than three, Mike would shout for his mom.
He tried to keep Will rolled mostly on his side-- he remembered Hopper telling him that it was the safest position, for some reason that Mike didn't understand at all. But he did as he was told.
Seeing Will like this reminded Mike— hell it reminded everyone, of the days where Will's mind was being invaded and controlled and he had to fight it off. So rightfully, it stirred an anxiety for all of them as it resurfaced all the memories from '84. There was something different about this now though, it was reassuring that there were no dark forces or mind-controlling demons inside Will's head, but it was somehow more terrifying knowing that Will would never escape nights like this. The battle may have been over, but it had left scars, particularly deep in Will.
Two minutes had gone by, Mike thought, however he had lost count and could not see his clock from where they were positioned by the side of the bed. Will didn't seem to be slowing down, his muscles were still contracting to the extremes and his head was jerking backwards. He was going to hurt himself if he continued this way; Mike adjusted his position, and found his way higher up to Will's head, which had all but moved the pillow out of its purpose. As carefully as he could, he slid his lap under Will to keep him from hitting his head, and supported it as much as he could without restraining his movements in any way. He realised he would be able to handle this on his own after all.
Mike called out loudly. He shouted for his mom, to which no response arrived. "Mom!" He called again.
To his surprise, footsteps stomped on the landing and his door clicked open.
"Mom's not here, she's at the store. Why are you shouting, Michael?"
Nancy emerged in the doorway, holding a book, her finger wedged between two pages to mark her place. Her expression changed when she comprehended the scene, tossing her book aside with haste and dropping to the floor.
"Does he need an ambulance?" Nancy asked, voice desperate sounding.
Mike shook his head, glancing up at her, "Not yet. Just don't hold him down, let him move."
Nancy obeyed immediately, sitting close, but without touching Will's convulsing body. While Mike kept his attention bound to Will, Nancy was watched Mike with a focus as she observed the way he spoke to Will. There was a pained expression on Mike's face as he kept a light hand positioned on his friend's hair, and spoke to him gently even though they all knew he would not be able to hear them.
Will's recovery from the episode was gradual, he first stopped moving in that violent, thrashing way, but was still out for the count. Mike and Nancy were reluctant to move him in case he began again, plus there was no reason they could not stay where they were, it was probably the safest place for Will to be right now. Mike tugged his duvet from his bed and placed it around Will, to hopefully make things a little more comfortable. He noticed Nancy staring at him.
"What?"
"Nothing." She replied, shaking her head. "I'm just proud of you. You're a great friend."
The word friend stung a little more than it probably should have, he had no idea why. Will was his friend. Just his friend.
"I've got it from here. Thanks for helping, I got a little worried for a minute, but, uh, yeah, thanks." Mike said, "I'll keep an eye on him for now. Would you call Hopper? Will said Joyce goes there on Thursdays, she can pick him up on her way home. Don't say anything about this though, I don't want her to panic."
Nancy nodded and closed the door as she left, leaving him and Will alone. Mike stayed exactly in the same spot he had assumed during the seizure, and still had Will's head on his lap, listening to his deep breaths like they were ocean waves. A cool evening breeze was wandering in through the window, tickling the back of Mike's neck, as he daydreamed about nothing in particular.
Hardly any time passed until Will cleared his throat and tried to speak. He only made a vague 'm' sound, as he weakly hummed, but Mike knew he was saying 'Mike'.
"I'm still here. Do you wanna go on the bed?" He asked, making sure to ask yes/no questions to try and keep Will's inevitable frustrations subsided when he could not respond. Will nodded so subtly, anyone other than Mike would have missed it, but knowing him well, Mike knew what Will meant.
"I'm gonna try and sit you up now, okay? If you don't feel good, I'll stop, just show me."
Will's hand crept up to meet Mike's, both boys' palms clammy as they met- Mike settled his other hand on the side of Will's face cupping his cheek, it felt natural. Will squeezed weakly; Mike smiled. He began lifting him off the floor, supporting him to a sitting position. Will was still unable to keep himself upright, so Mike stayed sat behind him, firmly wrapping his arms around Will's chest, his legs either side of him. He didn't want to let go.
Mike spoke gently and reassuringly to Will, pressing his lips close to Will's ear, not to overwhelm him by speaking too loud, "Want to try and stand up?" In response, Will tapped on Mike's wrist, in a pattern:
One long tap, one short. A gap. Then three long. Morse code.
No
He tapped again: long, long. Gap. Short, short. Gap. Long, short, long. Gap. Short.
Mike
"Will." Said Mike, feeling comfort in regressing back to their old ways of communication, morse code was how they used to chat before Will would verbalise in front of Mike, all those years ago when they had first met.
He tapped out again.
Stay.
"I will." The light wind, as it blew through the open window, seemed to fill Mike with the courage to continue. "I wanted to talk to you, um, about why I invited you over."
Will hummed, adjusting his posture, assuming a curled up fetal position, head back on Mike's lap.
Why
When Mike did not respond immediately, Will rolled his head, looking upwards at him, looking sleepy, eyelids half closed. Mike had never seen him from this angle, from above, gazing down as the orange sunset light painted his face, casting shadows under his nose and lips. His eyelashes were long and dark and his skin slightly sheen with sweat.
Mike gazed down into Will's hazel-coloured eyes, such desperate looking eyes, where there were unmistakably tears pooling- his lip trembling. Mike's vision began to wobble as his own tears crept up on him unexpectedly. He sniffled by reflex, not knowing what to do with himself.
He felt his mouth twitch as he gazed at Will.
Will began tapping in morse again on Mike's wrist:
Long, short, long, long.
Gap.
Short.
Gap.
Short, short, short.
Yes.
Acting only on instinct, Mike broke free from that invisible string that had been restraining him, choking him, for months… and longer. He leant down, kissing Will tenderly on the mouth. With what strength he had, Will reciprocated, raising his chin up into the kiss, grasping Mike's hand tighter, as the tears began to spill down his temples into his hair.
When they broke the kiss, Mike reached out and dabbed at the salt tracks on Will's face with his sleeve. "Hey don't cry, I'm sorry. Will I'm so sorry, did I do something wrong?"
Will signaled a negative response with a small shake of his head, his lips parted, and closed again, stuttered whispers emerging. He was beginning to experience frustration from his lack of amenity, so Mike placed his hand back on his cheek.
"Don't struggle. Tap it?" Will made a pained expression at this. "Sign it?" Mike suggested as an alternative.
He brought his lips back together, and whispered so quietly Mike wondered if he had imagined it. "My legs."
"They hurt. I know… I know. That's why we need to go to the bed." He relayed kindly, trying his best to smile although his heart ached for his friend. There was that feeling again, and he wondered if what had just happened, that kiss, changed what they were to each other. Could they still be just friends after all they had been through?
"Can you walk?" He asked and Will nodded, however, by the time he had managed to help Will to his feet, Will looked nauseous and slumped against him like dead-weight meaning Mike had to half guide, half carry him before helping him lay down in his bed. He pulled the covers over Will because, despite the heat lingering from the day, Will was shivering, and then, because he didn't want to leave his side- Mike slid under the covers as well.
He felt a surge of warmth as Will scooted closer, resting his head on Mike's bicep. He pulled him close, close enough that he could feel Will's breath against his neck, and tucked his hair behind his ear where it had gotten long. It didn't take long for Will to fall into a much-needed sleep; Mike watched him for so long he had lost track of time, the sky had grown completely dark and there was the faint sound of crickets outside.
It wasn't until now that the fear of the situation had really sunk in. Will's seizures were a big deal, especially one like that- Joyce would definitely kill Mike when she found out that he hadn't called her straight away. But for now, he enjoyed the rhythmic in and out of Will's deep breaths as he held him close.
Mike had just begun to drift off when the doorbell rang. He waited for somebody else to answer. Will did not stir. Mike checked his bedside clock, it was only just gone nine o' clock, but felt far later. He checked briefly on Will before closing his eyes again.
Mike's arm was still touching Will, resting against his chest, with Will's head still resting on Mike's bicep- both breathing in each other's breath when Nancy re-emerged in the doorway.
Followed by Hopper. And Joyce.
Mike quickly tried to create a platonic amount of space between himself and Will, without jolting him or causing him any stress, on the appearance of the three adults, now standing in his bedroom. He had failed miserably; he could not free his arm which was trapped underneath Will, plus he had been awoken by the sudden influx of sound in the room.
Nobody moved for a solid few seconds. He could feel Hopper's stare burning holes in his skull and Nancy not seeming at all fazed by the scene. Joyce was the first to move, stepping towards the bed and reaching for Will, comforting him as usual.
"Time to go home, Will." She whispered, smoothing his hair. "And thank you, Mike," she added. A surprising comment-- he thought he'd be in huge trouble for dealing with the episode alone. "For taking care of my boy."
Will seemed more with it now after a short recharge his body had needed badly. Mike aided him as they went from laying to sitting, propped up by the headboard. He was still in no fit state to walk on his own to the car, he was still lethargic, and looked like he would faint at any given minute. Mike only wished that they would leave him here for the rest of the night. He would take good care of him.
But instead, Hopper came forward, sliding one thick, sturdy arm under Will's upper back, and one hooked under his knees, "Alright, kid. One, two, three…" he picked him up effortlessly. "Come and see him in the morning. He'll be fine, get some rest now, Mike."
It was so sudden and swift that they disappeared, leaving behind only the lingering scent on Will's cologne on his sheets. Will was going home, it was the best place for him, and Joyce and Hop would take great care of him, but Mike could not help but feel his absence even stronger as the bedsheets began to cool beside him.
Mike didn't sleep well that night.