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Will wakes with a start.
Mike’s left his lamp on for him, a warm glow covering the room. He appreciates the gesture even though he’s not had a nightmare for a few weeks. He prefers sleeping with the light on anyway. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but Mike is next to him now. He’d been writing when Will had put his phone down and closed his eyes.
“Mike?” He tries. Something stirs inside him. The whisper feels too loud.
Mike doesn’t move.
Sitting up slightly, Will tries again. Whispering Mike's name a little louder, his eyes remain closed. Usually, he’d have been awake the second Will was. Something’s off. There’s paper on Mike’s desk, and Will’s glad, distantly. It’s been too long since Mike shared his ideas with him.
He glances back down, and the feeling that woke him grows stronger. Fear, he realises belatedly. He’s scared. Maybe he did have a nightmare?
“Hey, Mike?” Will tries again. A little louder. He brushes his hair back and presses a hand against his forehead. Beads of cold sweat break on his hand. His other hand comes up, and two fingers press into his neck.
No. That can’t be right.
“Can you hear me?” His voice breaks. “I’m- I’m going to check your blood sugar, okay?”
His hands shake as he reaches for his phone on the bedside table. He’s missed a few notifications. Dustin’s sent him a video, Gabriel’s sent two texts, and Mike’s Dexcom alerts.
Will opens the app to see that Mike’s blood sugar is too low for it to register. He checks Mike’s pulse again. It’s weaker. Barely there.
He’s not breathing.
“No-no-” Will drops his phone, and his hands find their place against Mike's shoulders. He doesn’t respond to the touch. He represses the urge to gag when Mike’s body flops limply as he shakes him. “Mike!”
Movement from the rest of the house. The door behind him opens, light flooding the room, and only then does he notice the grey tinge to Mike’s skin. Will’s tears fall onto Mike’s cheeks.
Please come back.
Nothing happens. He tries to focus. Take a deep breath.
Please. Help him.
He hears Lucas swear behind him. Will's eyes flutter closed.
I love you.
You can’t leave.
A pressure builds around him, and Will’s eyes fly open again, blood flows from his nose, a wail rips its way through his very core.
Since Vecna had died, Will hadn’t tried anything with his powers. He’d spoken to El about it one night in his room the first week they’d moved to New York. Not yet used to the rhythm of the city, the attention of the new friend Max had made, getting drunk in a dimly lit bar and kissing him, trying to move on, from Hawkins, from Mike.
El had told him about saving Max. Restarting her heart in the void. He swore he’d never tell. He hadn’t told her when he’d felt the shadows envelope him again.
The energy was different now; it was hurting. It was lost. Will knew those feelings well, and when the shadow had asked about human emotions, about loss and love, Will had supplied it with his feelings for Mike.
He lies over Mike's chest, his crying almost inhuman. Someone moves to his side and rests a hand on his arm.
“Come on.” El’s voice is soft. Too soft.
When he opens his eyes to question her, he’s in the void.
It stretches endlessly, a dark expanse, water rippling under their feet. Mike’s not in front of him anymore. His heart rate increases, quick enough for him to get dizzy, legs shaking.
“Will. Focus.” El is tight-lipped, holding him steady.
Will does as she says, meeting her eyes. “Where is he?” He sounds wrecked.
“I don’t know. I need to find him.” A pause. “You need to find him.”
Will opens his mouth to protest. To say he’s not strong enough. But his eyes catch something behind her. The couch from the Wheelers basement.
Why is that here?
He walks past El, rushed, as the basement takes shape around them.
Will watches the eight-year-old versions of himself and Mike. They’re discussing a campaign, bouncing ideas off each other, and he sees himself bathed in the sunlight streaming through the blinds. He’s transfixed for a moment, listening to the laughter of his younger self. When had he last laughed like that?
“Focus,” El reminds him.
He tears his gaze away. Scanning the Wheeler basement for anything out of the ordinary. His eyes dart to the door leading outside to the yard. There’s no light coming through the blinds anymore.
As he crosses the room, he hears a younger Mike call for Will the Wise, his younger self giggling at the nickname. His hand rests against the doorknob– would it be so bad to stay a little longer?
“Well done,” El says warmly. “You are doing well.”
Will takes a deep breath and makes his way through the door, but instead of the yard, he’s greeted by the Wheeler driveway. The original party, all setting their bikes up, switching on the lights. His shoulders tense as the memory takes shape.
“It was a seven.”
“Huh?”
“The roll, it was a seven.” Will looks up at Mike. “The Demogorgon, it got me.” He can only watch as his twelve-year-old self gets ready to ride off. “Well, see you tomorrow!”
The lights above Mike flicker as Will rides off. He frowns before flicking them off and heading back inside.
El leads him onwards. The void shapes itself around them.
Flashing lights reflect off the water. There must be twenty people on the shore. Will recognises a younger Hopper. He jumps when a voice speaks from behind him. Painfully familiar.
“It’s not Will.” Another young Mike speaks up. “It can’t be.”
A limp body in a red vest is pulled from the water and dragged ashore.
“It’s Will. It’s really Will.” A young Lucas this time.
Mike turns. El follows, concerned.
“You were supposed to help us find him alive,” He stresses. “Why did you lie to us? What’s wrong with you?”
He pushes past his friends, ignoring their calls. He cycles home in tears.
The void shifts over and over. Everything they've seen has Will at the centre.
A fight in the rain. ‘It’s not my fault you don’t like girls.’
An airport in California.
Climbing a radio tower at the end of the world.
‘Best friends.’
It’s Mike losing Will over and over; it’s Mike watching Will be retaken by the shadows.
A storyteller instead of a Paladin.
–
The temperature around them drops. Will shudders.
“What is it?” Will whispers, turning to look at El. The first exchange of words they’ve shared since the initial memory. How long had they been here?
“I don’t know.”
Something moves in the dark, and Will steps closer to El instinctively. To protect her, or be protected, he doesn't know. They’re not alone.
He can’t stop the cry he lets out when he feels himself enveloped by darkness. Falling away from El. Memories fly past. Coldness. Dissociation. Pain.
He sees Mike swallow a handful of pills in his college room. He sees Max calling an ambulance.
The shadow claws at his chest. It’s hurting. The void changes one last time.
Mike is sitting at his desk, writing erratically. He looks desperate. Glancing at Will’s sleeping body from only an hour prior. He watches Mike as he climbs back into bed and sets his insulin pump. He can’t read the look on his face.
The shadow speaks to him. He is in pain. The storyteller does not finish writing his story.
Will has no time to question before the scene crumbles. Leaving Mike in the bed alone. Skin grey. He feels himself start to cry again.
He and the shadow move as one. El is already by Mike’s side, whispering to him firmly. Will kneels beside her. The water around them ripples.
He rests a hand on Mike’s chest and focuses hard, copying El’s lead.
He feels everything and nothing. The shadow writhes and pulls. Everything around him falls away. Then, he feels a rush.
Life. The shadow provides.
Will feels himself collapse. Weak. The water around them shifts. He’s back in Mike’s bed. He feels blood drip from his nose, and El wipes it away. Guiding him up, away from Mike, as paramedics rush into the room.
Then it all fades away. He drifts endlessly. His dreams are all surrounded by Mike.