Archive of Our Own ^beta

Rose Maldonado was not afraid of anything. 

Heights? Easy. Spiders? Piece of cake. The dark? Bring it. She slept easily, no concern for monsters under her bed. In fact, she took it upon herself to patrol the master bedroom every night, bravely brandishing the cardboard sword her Papa had helped her make, to ensure that her (rather soft, in her opinion) fathers weren’t at risk for monster consumption. 

Her fearlessness put the fear of God in her dads. Mike already had a protective streak when it came to Will, but after Rose was born, he reached a whole new level. Will was frankly astonished he even had a higher gear to kick into. For his part, Will did his best to keep his parental anxieties in check. He loved his own mom, but… he didn’t exactly want to replicate her neuroticism, as warranted as it may have been. He didn’t want to treat Rose like she was made of glass. He wanted to give his daughter the space to screw up, even to get hurt within reason, even if watching it happen as her father filled him with a deep and awful dread. So every day after preschool, he and Mike took her to the small park down the block from their brownstone, parked themselves on a bench together, and let her climb (rather nimbly, he had to admit) to the top of the jungle gym, praying the entire time that she wouldn’t fall.

"She gets that from you," Mike sighed. He held an open paperback against his nervously bouncing knee. He hadn’t read a single page since they’d arrived.

On the bench beside him, Will just chuckled in reply. He had a notebook open to a blank page and was sketching absently between repeated glances at their daughter. He wasn’t drawing her. He was just keeping a close eye on her as he warmed up, doodling abstract loops and shapes that he shaded according to some divine message he was receiving, or at least that’s how it seemed to Mike. He was always badgering Will to let him get one of his designs tattooed, but he wouldn’t hear of it. They’re sketches, Mike. I don’t wanna look at them on your body forever. If you want me to design a tattoo for you, I will! But it wasn’t about that. Mike loved the messiness of Will’s sketches, the raw edges, the places where the pen bled and snagged. He liked that they were imperfect, rushed, carefree. Warming up. He smiled, despite the hot rush of anxiety that flooded his body as Rose swung upside down from her knees on the monkey bars.

“You’re staring,” Will murmured, eyes still on Rose. His left hand kept sketching.

“Yeah,” Mike agreed cheerfully.

Will rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t suppress a smile. 

Mike reached over and took his free hand. Will laced their fingers together automatically. Then, he snorted. “Okay, well, that she definitely gets from you.”

Mike finally tore his gaze away from his husband just in time to watch his daughter, who’d climbed safely down from the bars, launch into loudly telling off a boy who had bullied a younger girl off the swingset. The boy cowered in the face of the furious five-year-old and quickly abandoned the scene. Rose extended her hand to the little girl, who smiled shyly, a light blush pinkening her cheeks.

He glanced back at Will, grinning. “Sure does.” He leaned over and pressed a loud kiss to his husband’s cheek.

Will rolled his eyes again, but there was no hiding the affection in his gaze. Together, they watched their daughter lead the other girl back to the jungle gym, helping her climb up to the top. 

No, there was nothing in the world that could scare Rose Maldonado.

Not yet.

Rain slashed against the windows one chilly night in early November. It was long past midnight. The brownstone was completely silent and shrouded in darkness.

But Rose was not asleep.

She was thirsty.

For the first two hours after Papa had put her to bed, she tried to ignore it. But the more time passed, the drier her mouth became, and she was finding it impossible to sleep.

Daddy had been tired lately. Papa said so. And even though he hadn’t said it, Rose knew he was exhausted too – she’d found him fast asleep at his writing desk more than once this week. Rose didn't want to wake either of them by calling to ask for something as silly as this.

She was Rosie the Remarkable, their party’s trusted Rogue. She could handle it herself.

She slipped out of her bed, padded across the carpet, and slipped into the hallway.

Thunder boomed outside. Rose tiptoed down the hall to the staircase, then began the arduous process of lowering herself stair by stair while clinging tight to the banister. She could barely see anything, and she didn’t want to fall. A careless misstep would be all too easy in the darkness.

Rose was only four steps from the first floor when she heard a strange groaning coming from the living room. This wasn’t the groan of the brownstone’s old pipes, or the equally-ancient heating system. This was something… human. Goosebumps prickled the nape of her neck. She shivered. Even slower than before, she descended the last few steps and managed to not make a sound. 

Around the staircase, through the archway, and she was in the living room. At first, she didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Just the couch, facing the darkened fireplace, and the armchairs on either side of the coffee table. But then she heard the groaning again, from her left, where the bookshelves were.

The couch was blocking her view. She crept closer to the noise, remaining hidden behind the furniture the whole time. 

She peeked around the corner of the couch.

Sitting in the middle of the floor, back facing her, breathing heavily, flannel-clad knees bent, arms pulling them tightly against his chest, was...

"Daddy?" Rose whispered softly.

Her father didn't answer her. He was rocking slowly back and forth, a low moan leaving his lips every few seconds. The neck of his grey NYU t-shirt that she recognized as Papa’s was drenched in sweat.

Rose inched towards him. "Daddy," she repeated, voice trembling. 

Nothing.

Rose walked around him until they were face to face, heart pounding so loudly in her chest it almost eclipsed the thunder outside. Brown hair sticking to his forehead with perspiration. Silent tears running down his cheeks in steady streams. Hazel eyes wide open, but glazed and unseeing.

Rose waved a hand in front of his face. "Daddy."

Nothing.

"Daddy!" Rose cried. She grabbed one of his arms, pried it loose from his knees, and shook it with all her might. "Daddy!"

Will seemed to hear her, but distantly, as if his daughter's voice was melding with whatever he was seeing right now. The expression on his face changed from plain fear to utter heartbroken terror. His lower lip quivered. His tears ran faster. He still did not break his trance. 

Rose let go of her father’s arm, exhausted and terrified and spilling tears of her own. 

"D-Daddy?" she tried one last time, though by now she no longer expected a response.

Lightning struck and Will stiffened, then spoke. His voice was trembling and childlike and it absolutely paralyzed Rose with horror. 

"No," Will begged some unseen entity. "No. Please. Not her. Not her."

Rose didn't want to see this anymore. She wanted her Daddy to wake up and be back to normal again. She wanted to bask in the warmth of his smile. She wanted to nestle into his strong, gentle arms while he kissed her forehead and called her his righteous rogue and carried her back to bed (after stopping in the kitchen for her water, of course). But her father was broken, and Rose had no idea how to fix him.

“Daddy, wake up,” she pleaded. “You’re having a bad dream. Please wake up.”

Will’s head turned then, slowly, and it was hard for Rose to understand how he still couldn’t actually see her, when it felt like he was staring straight through her eyes and directly to the back of her skull. “Rose,” he rasped, and her blood crystallized in her veins. This was not her father’s honey-sweet voice. It sounded like gravel running through a rock tumbler. And he never, ever called her just Rose, unless she was in big trouble. “You need to run. NOW.”

So Rose ran.

She scrambled for the stairs, skidding across the floorboards as she did so, only barely able to stop herself from crashing into the wall. She tripped over herself trying to climb them, falling hard to her knees on more than one occasion. Once on the second floor, she whipped herself around the bannister railing and ran, ran, ran to her fathers’ bedroom. "Papa! Papa!"

Papa always knew how to fix Daddy. He could almost read Daddy’s mind, bringing him water before he even said he was thirsty, a blanket or a jacket before he even said he was cold. He brought him coffee in bed every morning and herbal tea with honey every night. When Daddy had a hard day in the studio and came home annoyed, ranting about a painting he couldn’t quite get right, Papa was already opening a bottle of wine with one hand and ordering Khao Soi from their favorite Thai place on his phone with the other. When Daddy was sad, Rose could make him smile with exaggerated clownery she busted out just for this purpose, but Papa was the only one who could make him laugh. 

Papa could fix this. He had to. 

Rose shoved the door open and rushed to her father’s bedside.

For a moment, she froze. Mike was still sleeping, curled up on his side with his back to the door. He looked so peaceful. Rose knew how tired he was, and she instantly felt an awful twinge in her chest that she would later in life come to know as guilt. But Daddy needed him. 

"Papa, wake up," she said softly, and touched her tiny hand to Mike's back. "Please wake up."

"Mmph."

"Papa, please.”

Mike rolled over, eyes still closed. "Rosie," he mumbled, "it’s so late. Go back to sleep."

He rolled back over, turning his back to her again.

Rose cried out in despair. "Papa, no!" she wailed.

Mike sighed and rolled over once more. He opened his eyes, blearily at first, but once they focused a bit on the sight in front of him they sprung right open. His daughter was crying.

"Rosie?" Mike struggled to sit up. "Hey, hey, what's wrong?"

He felt around for Will.

The mattress beside him was cold.

Mike immediately knew what was going to come out of Rose's mouth a millisecond before it did.

"I– I was so thirsty so I went downstairs to get w-water and I heard something so I went to in-ve-sti-gate, like aunt Nancy does, and I found Daddy on the floor all scared and sad," she blubbered. "I yelled and yelled but he didn't wake up. You can help him, Papa, right?"

Mike swung his legs off the side of the bed and picked Rose up, sitting her on his lap. She buried her face in his chest, and he felt her tears soaking into his t-shirt. He sighed, holding her close and kissing the top of her head. "Shh,” he murmured, rubbing her back gently. “Okay, it's okay, Rosie. You did the right thing coming to get me."

"He was so sad," Rose whispered, and Mike's chest tightened in the same guilt his daughter had felt moments before. 

The first week of November was generally nowhere near as bad now as when they were kids. Will was thirty-two, after all, and memories softened with time. After Rose was born, his Upside Down visions became even less frequent. The joys and stresses of parenthood gave his nightmares new, frankly more relaxing shapes. Forgetting to pick her up from preschool. Losing her in a crowded subway station. Normal dad shit. When Will woke from these, usually with little more than a soft gasp and a slightly elevated heart rate, he mentally said a prayer of thanks that he finally got to have normal nightmares like everyone else. On the rare occasions that it all came back—the Demogorgon, Vecna, the Mind Flayer, all those spores and vines and darkness—Mike was always there. To grab his wrists and hold them firmly but gently at his sides until the thrashing stopped, so he wouldn’t hurt either of them. To ease him awake with soft words and softer kisses pressed all over his face. To reassure him of his safety and lead him through breathing exercises once he finally did wake. To hold him tightly in the aftermath as he wept, wiping each and every tear away until he finally settled enough to fall back asleep. 

This week, though, was the hardest first week of November they’d had in years. Will had woken at least twice (often more) every single night from horrible visions, and Mike, dutiful husband that he was, woke with him every time. Soothed him every time. When morning came, he let Will sleep in while he dragged himself out of bed at 7am to get Rose ready for kindergarten, and himself ready for work. 

Mike was a fiction editor at a major publisher in New York, and even though he threatened to quit at least once a week (usually on Monday mornings when Will clung to him extra tight and begged for five more minutes), he didn’t totally hate his job. He especially didn’t hate the hybrid work schedule. The days he got to work from home made the sleep deprivation more tolerable. 

But the days he had to go into the office were hell, and the fifth of November had been one of those days. By the time he made it home, he was little more than a reanimated corpse. Usually, after putting Rose to bed at 7:30, they watched a movie, or read together, or worked in parallel – Mike drafting a story in one of his many notebooks, Will planning out ideas for new paintings in his sketchbook. Tonight, though, Mike had returned to their bedroom to find the lights low, a mug of sleepytime tea and two melatonin gummies on his nightstand, and his husband already in bed. Upright, leaning against the headboard, but in bed nonetheless. Wearing Mike’s t-shirt from NYU, where he’d gotten his MFA in creative writing nearly a decade prior. Even after all this time, Mike didn’t think he’d ever get used to the warmth that spread throughout his chest every time he saw Will wearing his clothes.

I know this week has been a lot, Will had said, twisting his fingers together nervously, and before you say anything, he raised an eyebrow and Mike shut his already protesting mouth, I’m not apologizing for anything, I promise. I just… you should get some rest. 

We should get some rest, Mike corrected, slipping into bed beside him. Not just me. 

Will shrugged. Might be a tall order. But this way, at least one of us will be sane tomorrow.

Mike gave the nightstand a sidelong glance. But… what if you need me? 

I’ll wake you up. Besides, I’m not really tired yet. I probably won’t even fall asleep until after midnight. If you sleep now, you can probably get a good five hours in. 

Mike raised a single eyebrow. Promise me you’ll actually wake me up if you have a nightmare, okay?

I will. I promise. 

Mike sighed. Alright. You win. He popped the gummies, drained the tea, then snuggled down under the comforter with a tiny sigh of bliss.

Will snickered. Cozy?

Very. He pressed his lips to Will’s. Thank you, baby.

I love you, Will murmured in response. Now go to sleep. 

Mike could already feel his eyelids drooping. Aye aye, captain, he mumbled.

Will snorted. You’re such a dork.

Who you married.

Uh huh. Can’t imagine why.

Neither can I, Mike whispered back. God, I love you so much.

Will hummed in response. He wrapped his body around Mike’s. Will was rarely the big spoon, but he knew even his big, brave, knight-in-shining-armor of a husband needed to be held sometimes, especially on days when he had to parent a five-year-old on three hours of sleep. Mike melted into his embrace. The heat of Will’s hand on his waist was all he needed to slip into the deepest sleep of his entire life. 

Too deep. For the first time in over fifteen years, Mike hadn’t felt Will stirring with a nightmare, hadn’t noticed him get up, hadn’t even noticed he was gone. Either he had been sleepwalking or, more likely, he’d woken (terrified, alone) on his own and gone downstairs so as not to wake Mike. So self-sacrificing. Mike could never be angry with him for it, for anything, but it was still frustrating that even after all this time, Will would put himself through so much unnecessary pain just to avoid inconveniencing Mike. As though he could ever be a burden. As though Mike’s entire being didn’t burn at all times with the urge to protect Will, to make him happy, to keep him safe. 

They had agreed they wouldn’t tell Rose about what they endured together, or what Will specifically went through, until she was much older. It was too much for a child to carry. Mike knew Will never wanted Rose to see him like that – crying, scared, caught in the throes of yet another horrific, vivid vision where he was kidnapped and violated and degraded and abandoned. He couldn't have known Rose would be awake, let alone thirsty enough to venture downstairs after him. He would be devastated to learn that she had.

Mike swallowed hard, biting his lip to keep his own tears in check in front of his daughter. If only he had woken up…

He carried Rose back to her room and tucked her back beneath her galaxy-print comforter. He clicked on her moon-and-stars nightlight that she usually insisted she no longer needed, but tonight she didn’t protest. A gentle orange glow filled the room, and tiny silhouettes of stars splashed across the walls and ceiling.

Mike knelt beside the bed. Rose turned on her side to face him, her cheek squished into the pillow. He stroked her black curls slowly, listening as her breathing gradually, incrementally slowed. 

“Rosie, this is really important.” She nodded gravely. Mike could almost laugh at the incongruity of such adult seriousness on her little face. “Don’t come downstairs again tonight, okay? No matter what you might… hear. I know you saw Daddy really upset, and I know you wanted to help him even though it scared you. And you… you are so, so incredible for that. My fearless rogue.” He grinned, ruffling her hair, and she giggled. “But this isn’t something you can help with, or should. Some things… really hard, sad, or scary things, they’re for grownups to deal with. Not kids.”

Rose frowned. “Why? I want to help. I can handle it.”

Mike inhaled sharply. The expression on her face right now, from the furrow in her brow to the fire in her eyes, was… well, it was like looking in a mirror from 26 years ago. His eyes burned. He ran a hand across his face briefly to collect himself, then shook his head firmly. “I know. I know you can. But, listen to me, okay: you shouldn’t have to. It’s my job as your father to keep you from feeling as much pain, sadness, and fear as possible. Your only job is to be a kid. To have fun. To be safe. To enjoy your childhood. And sometimes, that means Daddy or I have to do those hard things without you. But that’s why we have each other. We’re never facing anything alone, so you don’t have to worry about us. You just need to be a kid,” he repeated, a little too emphatically. His vision blurred; he blinked it away. “Do you understand?”

“I understand,” she repeated, in a tone that told him she did not understand, but had decided to stop arguing with him. “But…” 

She trailed off. Mike smiled softly at her, tilted her chin up with his knuckle. “What is it, bug?”

"I never got my water," Rose whispered sadly. 

"I'll bring you back a juice box," Mike replied. 

"Really?"

Mike had no intention of ever giving Rose sugar at two AM. "Really." He kissed Rose's head, knowing full well she would be asleep before he returned. Already her eyes were closing. "I’ll be right back."

"Okay," Rose yawned.

Mike was at the door when Rose asked tremulously, "Is Daddy going to be okay?"

He nodded. "Daddy is going to be just fine."

As soon as he closed Rose's bedroom door softly behind him, Mike bolted.

Down the hall, down the stairs, across the floorboards to the living room where Will sat, curled up in a ball and staring at nothing with blank, bloodshot eyes. His entire body was shaking violently. 

Mike knelt down in front of him and unwrapped his arms from around his knees, then took both Will's hands in his. The cuticles, he noticed, were raw and bleeding. He rubbed his thumbs across Will’s knuckles like a metronome.

"Will," he said, just loud enough to break through the fog of the nightmare. "Will, it's me. It's Mike. Wake up, Will. I'm here. I'm here, baby. You're okay. It's just me. You're okay."

There it was. The glaze clearing from his eyes, the tremors slowing until they stopped altogether. Will blinked. 

"M-Mike?" he gasped.

"Hey,” Mike breathed softly, running his thumb across Will’s cheek. “There you are.”

"Mike." A soft sigh of relief, before his expression crumpled. "Mike, I–" 

He was overcome by tears. 

Nausea roiled in Mike’s stomach. Will’s face and lips were completely grey. Mike had only seen him like this once before: when they were seventeen, right after he’d woken up from that Vecna vision. The one he could barely talk about, even now, even with Mike. The church. His mother, his brother, all their friends. And of course Mike, his figment’s cruelty in a league of its own. At least, that’s what Mike assumed, because even now, decades later, all trust rebuilt and then some, Will could tell Mike verbatim what everyone else had said to him in that vision, except for what Mike had said. 

This specific vision always reared its ugly head in the slideshow of horrors that played in Will’s mind every November. Each time Mike had talked him down this week, he’d ask Will what he’d seen. Will would paint broad strokes, but still refused to tell him any specifics. He knew Will thought he was protecting him, and his heart ached that he still insisted on carrying this alone. But even though it killed him, he wouldn’t force Will to disclose anything he didn’t feel comfortable sharing. Not ever, and especially not this week. 

Mike leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Will. Not too tight, but tight enough. He knew pressure helped.  "It's okay, sweetheart," he murmured gently, running a hand repeatedly through Will’s hair. "You were dreaming. I know it felt real, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t. You woke up. You’re with me now. Okay? It’s over."

"No, Mike, you don't–" Will took a desperate gulp of air. "You don't understand. It was– it was different this time."

Mike’s heart stopped. Different. That couldn’t mean what he thought it meant. Was Will… was he feeling him again?

He pulled back to see Will's face, wet and broken. "Different how?" he asked, trying to keep his voice even. He couldn’t panic. He needed to be strong, for Will. 

Will, who wasn’t answering, just shivering anew and glancing around, pupils blown in fear. He was jumpy like a prey animal – the radiator clanked across the room and he startled. Mike cradled Will’s face in his hands, kissed his forehead and cheeks. “Talk to me, Will. Please,” he begged.

Will took a shaky breath. “Normally… normally it’s. I’m. I’m back there, again. In the vines. He has me, and he’s… inside.” His voice cracked. Mike did his best to quell the white-hot anger that always threatened to overtake his body whenever Will recounted what Vecna had done to him. “Sometimes he has you instead of me, but he’s saving me for after, so I’m still trapped and all I can do is watch.”

Mike’s breath caught. He knew better to interrupt, even though his heart was shattering inside his rib cage.

"But it wasn't me this time," Will whispered. "It wasn't you either. It was Rose. She was calling for me, Mike." His voice broke off in a sob. "I could hear her. I could hear her."

"Oh, baby," Mike whispered.

"He was hurting her. Like he hurt me. He told me… he wanted me to watch, and he just–”

Mike pulled Will tightly against his chest, burying his lips in Will’s hair. "No, Will,” he reminded him firmly, "he didn’t hurt her. It wasn’t real. Just a nightmare. Rose is safe. She’s right upstairs, safe in her bed. I just checked on her. She’s okay. We’re okay. Everything’s alright.”

"He’s going to come for her." Will sobbed like Mike had never seen him before. He was not a loud, frantic crier. That was more Mike’s style. But right now, he was completely undone. "He’s going to take our daughter."

"Shh, baby," Mike whispered. "Shh. I know you’re scared, but I promise you nothing is going to happen to her.”

Will just kept weeping uncontrollably. His breath came in stuttered gasps, and Mike worried he was going to start hyperventilating. "I– I couldn't– move," he gasped. "I couldn't– do anyth-thing. And Vecna w-was– he was–"

"Will," Mike soothed, “Will, sweetheart, can you breathe with me? Eyes on me. Okay?” Hazel met deep brown, and Mike gave him a tiny, reassuring smile. He placed a hand lightly on Will’s chest so he could feel the rise and fall. “In.” He inhaled deeply. 

Will copied him, inhaling shakily. 

“Good. Okay. And… breathe out.” 

Will exhaled, just a little steadier.

“Good. That’s so good, Will. Just like that. In…” They inhaled together. “Out.” They exhaled together. Repeat. “Good.”

Eventually, Will’s breathing evened out enough to assuage Mike’s worry. He rested his forehead against Will’s. Will’s eyelids fluttered shut. His fingers fumbled around in the space between them until they found Mike’s, then easily interlocked. They sat there together for a while in total silence. Rain slapped the windows. Thunder boomed. Mike barely heard any of it. He focused on the sound of Will, inhaling. Exhaling. Settling down.

“Vecna’s dead,” Mike murmured into the dark. He felt like it bore repeating. “We killed him a long, long time ago. He’s gone, baby, I promise. He can’t hurt us anymore.”

“How can you know that for sure?” Will took a shuddering breath. "Don't you ever think it was too easy?"

Mike froze. 

In all the years since they closed the Upside Down, Will had never indicated he felt anything other than relief that the torture chamber of their childhood had finally ended. Mike had no idea Will had been secretly holding onto the same anxiety he had been for fifteen long years. 

He’d mostly gotten over it, but there were still some nights, late insomniac nights, where Will slept soundly beside him while Mike stared at the ceiling replaying every second of the final battle in his head. These nights were rare, far rarer than Will’s nightmares, but they did happen. The sequence was always the same. They attacked the Mind Flayer. El impaled Vecna on the spire. Joyce chopped his head off. All in less than twenty minutes, tops. So little resistance. A monster of that size and strength, somehow incapacitated by their minuscule bullets and grenades that probably felt like raindrops against its thick exoskeleton. And Vecna who had brutally and easily killed so many, including their own friend, by entering their minds and using their weaknesses against them, hadn’t even attempted that with El. Of course Mike thought she was incredible, and that day she was stronger than she’d ever been before, but enough to dispatch him in less time than it took to walk back to the gate afterward? 

For a moment, he was overtaken by a tidal wave of memory.

El and Mike used to go over it together for hours in the months afterward, when they were still teenagers. They’d meet for coffee after school once a week (some ridiculously-named, tooth-bleedingly-sweet whipped concoction for El, an Americano for Mike) and they’d walk through Vecna’s final moments all over again, second by second. Overanalyzing until their brains throbbed. 

After they made it back to Hawkins, after it was found that Eleven’s powers had vanished along with Vecna and the Upside Down, and with them any incentive for the government to use her blood to create an army of super-soldiers, after they were all bound to life-or-death levels of secrecy and given massive monetary settlements to sweeten the deal, they were allowed to live their lives. El was allowed to be a girl, finally. 

Her first act as a free woman was to break up with Mike. 

Firmly, but kindly. Low-drama. She did all the talking. He nodded and cried, which took them both by surprise, but it felt more like an emotional release than a symptom of supreme devastation. Like he’d been carrying a boulder for so long and finally got to set it down. 

We must stay friends, she ordered, poking him in the sternum once, then multiple times until his sniffles turned to weak laughter.

Always, he rasped. She smiled, and he pulled her into perhaps the tightest embrace they’d ever shared. 

Initially, he’d proposed the weekly coffee not-dates as a way of keeping their friendship alive. Now that they were no longer dating and El no longer had any reason to feign interest in his hobbies, they barely saw each other. She spent most of her time with Max and Will, and while she usually came to the Party’s regular movie nights, her appearances at the arcade were rare, and she sat out all D&D sessions in favor of spending time with Hopper or hanging out with her new friends from school. Because she had those, now. Because she was allowed to go to school, now. To be a regular teenager like everyone else. He was so happy for her his heart could burst, but he also missed her quiet, grounding presence. So, coffee, once a week. Usually on Fridays, when they were already planning on staying up late and the caffeine wouldn’t screw up their sleep schedules too much. 

What was intended to be a regular weekly catch-up quickly turned into reminiscing, which turned into re-hashing, which turned into an extremely specific form of psychosis wherein Mike had convinced himself they had not defeated Vecna after all. The anxiety invaded his every waking moment, no matter what he was doing. The only times it seemed to lessen were when the whole Party was together in his basement, and he could hear his family moving around upstairs – everyone he cared about in one place, where he could be one hundred percent certain they were all safe. Or when he was alone with Will. Knowing he was alive, being able to see him, talk to him, casually brush against his body on the basement couch and feel the tangibility of him. The reality of his body, intact and existing in front of Mike without pain. Without fear. But even then, the burning question that had plagued him since November 6, 1987 never truly faded: Is it really over? Did we really win, or is there a shred of him still out there somewhere? 

Sure, he’d seen Joyce swing the axe. He’d seen Vecna’s head drop to the sandy ground inside the Mind Flayer. He’d seen those eyes turn cloudy with death. But he’d also seen the dark particles whirling out of Holly’s mouth—out of all the kids’ mouths—and away into the yellow skies of the Abyss. They weren’t aimlessly blown away like dust. They’d seemed… animated. Alive. Who was to say those fragments of evil weren’t coalescing back into a mini-Flayer somewhere in the Abyss, biding its time until it was strong enough to tear a hole in their world again and snatch Will right back?

When they’d first started meeting up, El was inclined to agree with him. Her entire life had revolved around the Upside Down and Henry and all the suffering he’d wrought. She understood better than anyone what he was capable of, and it was just as hard for her to wrap her head around the fact of his death. The ease of it. The swiftness. Papa had told her she wasn’t ready. He said Henry would crush her like a bug if she tried to fight him. Instead, after all their years of running from his visions and falling prey to his mind games and violence, she had been able to incapacitate him in mere minutes. It didn’t make sense. 

Her entire life had always felt like a cosmic joke. Finding people who saw her and loved her just to lose them again. Her mother. Hopper, for a while. Kali, twice. Her literal heart, buried deep beneath the Nevada desert, stopping three times at Papa’s insistence, after she thought she’d finally escaped him. No matter how bright the light might shine at the end of the tunnel, no matter how much hope the universe saw fit to dangle in her face, the other shoe always dropped eventually. She expected nothing less from this. It kept her up at night just like it did Mike. Why would she be allowed a happy ending now? Why would any of them?

Mike gnawed on the end of his pencil. On the table were their drinks, El’s beeper that she’d covered with stickers, ready to alert her of any dispatches from Hopper, and a plain black notebook Mike had dedicated to all of his theories about the Upside Down. What it was. How it was created. How it was destroyed… or not. It was April and finally just warm enough for El to start ordering her liquid sugar with ice. “So you jumped over him, and then… he flung you how many times, again?”

“Once.” She held her arm up perpendicular to the table, then slammed it down through the air, stopping just before she hit the surface. “Boom.”

Mike snorted. El huffed, and a strand of her hair blew upwards. “You are lucky I did not get concussed, or worse. I could have died.” But there was no bite in it, and he could tell she was holding back a smile.

“But you didn’t.” 

She stuck her tongue out. He mimicked her, then examined his notes again. “Okay. So he threw you to the ground. And then…”

She grinned. They’d gone over the facts at least twenty times by this point, and she always delivered this part with the same unbridled glee. “Then I flung him.”

“Then you started pushing him back towards the spire, and that’s when Will broke his arm.”

El nodded. “And then I impaled him.”

Mike glared at the page below him. It was the same story she’d been telling him for five months. It was the same story they’d both lived. Nothing changed, no matter what angle they tried to attack it from, no matter how hard they prodded for any cracks. 

“This doesn’t make any SENSE,” he groaned, dramatically tilting his head all the way back over his chair. “He just… slam-dunked you once, and that’s it?” El grimaced at the description. “Are you sure you aren’t forgetting anything?”

“No, Mike.”

“He didn’t go inside your head? He didn’t make you levitate?”

“No.” She paused. “Well, he did for a few seconds, right before he–” She repeated the arm motion. “But I was already in the air from my jump, so. He did not lift me like he did with Max or Will.”

Another long, loud groan. This time, Mike pitched forward and dropped his forehead onto the open pages of his notebook.

“Mike.” Said in a warning tone he could never ignore on penalty of death. Just because she could no longer send a coffeepot flying at his head with her mind didn’t mean she didn’t still terrify him sometimes. He looked up at her pathetically. “I think you are making mountains. Out of.” She paused, and her brow furrowed as she hunted for the word. He opened his mouth to help her, but she narrowed her eyes at him, and he shut it. “Anthills,” she finally said, confidently.

Close enough. He didn’t bother correcting her. “He’s an all-powerful psychic being hell-bent on destroying the world. You shouldn’t have been able to kill him that easily.” He winced. “Um. No offense.”

El shrugged. “You are right. I am– I was not as powerful as him. But… I am not sure this is something that can be explained. We have been trying to find an answer for months, and we keep going in circles. Maybe we should just… accept it. Vecna is dead. It is over, Mike. We are okay.” She smiled softly at him. “He is okay.”

Mike felt fire rush into his cheeks. “I didn’t say–”

“You didn’t have to.” El was silent for a moment, her eyes thoughtful. “I wonder…” 

She trailed off, and Mike bristled with impatience. Was she remembering something? A clue they’d overlooked? “What?”

“Maybe, you and I just… want him to be alive.”

“What?” Mike spluttered. “That’s- That’s ridiculous. Why would I want that monster alive? After everything he’s done to us? To Will?”

El looked at him for a long time in that inscrutable way that always made him squirm. He always felt so examined by her. “After all this time, he is still… separate to you.”

He frowned automatically. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… there’s ‘us.’” She made air quotes. She’d been into that lately. “And then, you always separate ‘Will.’” She leaned back in her chair, cocked her head slightly. “You always do that,” she repeated, tone unreadable.

“I– I do not ‘separate’ Will.’ He’s just. He’s my best friend. And I guess… maybe I think his grudge against Vecna and everything is different from the ones we have, because I feel like all of this has been so unfair to him in particular.”

El stared at him. “Seriously?”

He blushed, chastised. “You sound like Max,” he muttered.

“I was raised in a lab, Mike.”

“I know.”

“I was a science experiment. I was a number.” She pointed at her wrist, where concealer and hairspray had blocked out her tattoo. Joyce taught her that trick, to make it last all day. But Mike could see it just the same. He had its position memorized. He’d caressed it with his thumb a thousand times. Maybe a million. 

“I know, I know I know I know I’m sorry, I’m an idiot. You know that.” 

“That is true.” El let out the most long-suffering sigh. “I do know that.”

They both cracked up. El picked up her drink and took a long sip. She wouldn’t break eye contact with him. “I didn’t mean you, by the way,” Mike clarified, because he felt the need to say something to change the searching look in her gaze. What could she be looking for? “I know your life has been hell, I know that. I mean, not hell, but, not easy, in a way none of us can ever understand–”

“No, it was hell,” El affirmed.

“Right. So. To me you’re not really in it. You know what I mean? Like. Of course you’re one of us, I don’t mean that either– fuck.”

El snickered. “You are very bad at this.”

“I’m aware.” He sighed. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that, with me, Lucas, and Dustin specifically, all of this shit, the Upside Down, everything… it didn’t, like… touch us the same way it did him.”

She softened. “I know.”

“And it’s awful. I hate that it had to be him.” His shoulders sagged. “I wish it had been me,” he admitted softly. “All of it. I wish I could take it away from him.”

“You have always wanted to protect him,” El said, and this time he could definitely read her expression, and he hated it. He recognized it from Nancy occasionally and his mom constantly. The ‘What a sweet boy’ look, as he called it in his head. “And that is why.”

“Why what?” He’d forgotten entirely where this conversation began.

“You have been protecting Will from Vecna for the past six years. Now, he is dead, and you are worried Will is not going to need you anymore. It is all making sense now.” She took another long sip of her drink, watching in growing amusement as Mike sputtered wordlessly, furious at being read so completely, unable to muster a comeback. “I know you do not want him in real danger, but you also do not know where you fit in his life now that it is all over. If Vecna was still around, you would at least serve a purpose to Will, even if all of us were constantly terrified for our lives.” She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair. “Am I close?”

Mike gaped at her. He couldn’t form a single word. El had ripped them all directly from the darkest, most hidden corners of his heart and thrown them on the table between them for him to see, neon and glowing. 

“From what he says, you have been protecting him for his entire life. Since you were children.” Her voice was so, so soft. Mike could no longer look her in the eyes, opting instead to stare at his half-drunk Americano, now lukewarm. “He needed you before Vecna, and he still needs you now, Mike. He always will.”

Mike stiffened. “What did you just say?”

El frowned. “What–”

“Just now. You said. You said, ‘He needs you now, Mike, and–’”

“‘–he always will.’ Mike, are you having a stroke?” 

“No, no, I just…” He forced a laugh, shook his head. “I’m just being stupid. That’s, like, almost word for word what he said about you, once.”

El leaned forward, her expression suddenly interested. “What do you mean?”

“He told me that you need me, and you always will. Like, those were his exact words. Back when we were driving to Nevada to find you during Spring Break. He gave me the painting that you commissioned for me, and that’s when he said it. I never actually got to thank you for that, by the way. It was really nice of you, and Will’s so talented, I’m glad you asked him to do it.”

She looked at him quizzically. “What painting?”

Mike blinked. “The, uh, big one. With the three headed dragon. And the party is about to fight it…?” His voice pitched up high at the end, and he coughed to try (and fail) to hide it.

“Mike, I… do not know what you are talking about,” El said slowly. “I did not ask Will to paint anything for you for Spring Break. Actually, I never told you this, but I was going to give you a bracelet to thank you for coming. It was this silver cuff thing. It was heavy, and I did not really understand the appeal, but Will said you would like it because it looks like something a knight would wear? I did not have any money, though, so I did have to…” She waggled her fingers. “But I was mad after our fight, so I left it behind when I went to Nevada. It is probably still stuck in Lenora. Sorry about that.”

Mike’s brain had shut off at I did not ask Will to paint anything for you.

El hadn’t commissioned the painting.

Which meant that Will had painted it for him, all along. From himself. And everything he’d said to Mike, through the lens of El–

You make her feel like she’s not a mistake at all. Like she’s better for being different. And that gives her the courage to fight on.

If she was mean to you, or if she seemed like she was pushing you away, it’s probably because she was scared of losing you, just like you’re scared of losing her. 

And if she was going to lose you, I think she’d rather just get it over with quick. Like ripping off a Band-Aid.

El needs you, Mike. And she always will. 

“Mike?” 

He shook his head slightly. “Shit. Sorry. I spaced for a second.”

El looked him up and down. “You are freaking out.”

“I am not freaking out!”

Several people at surrounding tables turned to look at them. Mike turned beet-red. He lowered his voice. “Well, what about you?” he deflected, accusatory. “You said we both want Vecna alive. What’s your rationale, then?”

El shrugged. “I want Vecna to be alive because… because I do not know who I am without him,” she said simply. “I was raised to find him, then fight him. I did not know it until Nevada, but… everything I ever was, everything I have ever done, it has always been  about him.”

Mike felt all the air leave his lungs in sympathetic grief. Tears sprung to his eyes. 

“Now he is gone, so… what do I even do now? What is my purpose?” She suddenly stiffened, blinked a few times, and then, she was crying too. “God, I sound like a fucking robot,”  she snapped, mostly at herself. Her voice cracked on the final word. She turned her head to the side and tried to hide behind her hair, but her sniffles were audible.

Mike stared at her, face openly betraying his sympathetic heartbreak, but inside he was also stunned – he had never, ever heard El swear before. He and the rest of the party always tried to coax it out of her after a few cheap beers or hits of Dustin’s weed from the giant airtight mason jar he kept in a box beneath his bed (inherited from Eddie - he didn’t touch the stuff, but gladly gave it to his friends or bartered with them in exchange for a meal or arcade tokens). They’d be lucky to get a giggly Asshole out of her, which was hardly anything to write home about. If she’d said this during a movie night, or during a rant or something, it would have been hilarious. Here, drenched in her self-hatred, it was awful. It sent a knife through Mike’s gut.

“Hey. Jane, don’t.” Dammit, he was already crying. He never called her that. She didn’t let anyone call her that, except Hopper. He didn’t know what else to say. He never did, did he? But somehow, it worked. El uncrossed her arms, let her right hand fall to the table. He took it in his and squeezed. “Your purpose is… whatever you want it to be.”

She huffed, but didn't pull away. “That is not helpful. That is sort of the problem, actually. I have no idea who I am. I have no idea what I want. I have infinite choices, so it is impossible to pick. It is… overwhelming.”

“You’ll figure it out.” She gave him a skeptical look. “You will. You have so much time, now. You’re not even graduating for another two years.” Due to the year and change she spent in hiding, training to fight Vecna, El had to start at Hawkins High as a sophomore while the rest of the party began their senior year. In a few weeks, they’d graduate and disperse across the country, and El would stay here. Waiting for her own life to begin. She didn’t seem too sad about it, especially since she’d managed to build a solid group of girlfriends in her grade, but he knew she’d miss them. He would miss her. So much. “Nobody has their life figured out at seventeen. Not even Dustin.” He paused. “Okay, maybe Dustin. But the rest of us…” He shrugged. “I don’t even know what I want to study yet. I have no idea what I want to do for a job. I don’t even know if I actually want to live in New York forever, after college ends. And that’s fine. I don’t need to know. None of us need to know anything until we’re like thirty. That’s when shit gets serious.”

El laughed, finally. He smiled. “And we’ll always be here for you, for each other. To help each other figure it all out. You’re stuck with me.”

“Good.”

They were quiet for a moment. Mike tried to focus on her instead of the one million thoughts pinballing around in his head, every last one revolving around a single memory of a weed-reeking van interior and Will beside him, nervously handing him a rolled-up canvas. It was hard, but he managed.

 “Can I admit something?” El looked down at her hands. Her fingers flexed automatically. In and out.. “I miss them, sometimes.”

“Your powers?”

She nodded. “I hated them for so long. I hated how much it hurt to use them. I hated what they had to do to Mama for me to have them. And I hated how much other people loved them. Everybody always loved them, or what I could do with them for their benefit. Nobody wanted to just see me.”

Mike bit his lip. He knew he’d been one of those people, and if he hadn’t already apologized profusely to her for it during his weeks of intense post-breakup self reflection, he would’ve launched right into it again. As it was, he stayed quiet, letting her continue. 

 “But at the same time, I got used to them. Parts of them. It is so… weird without them, in ways I did not expect.” Her nose scrunched. “I keep forgetting that I have to turn off the light switch before I get in bed. With my hands, Mike. It is torture.”

He couldn’t help it. He cracked up. “I love you,” he said, the way he would (and does) to Lucas and Dustin. They all said it to each other now, constantly. A side effect of watching each other nearly die. Since they broke up, it’s never been easier to say it to El. She knew exactly what he meant by it, too. Not romantic, but no less important. She accepted it, just like he accepted that she’ll never say it back. Not after all the times he denied her, while he was busy denying himself.

“Mike…” 

“Yeah?”

El squeezed his hand. “I think there is someone else you should be saying that to.”

They stared at each other for a solid two minutes.

“Who?” Mike finally said.

“Michael Theodore Wheeler–”

“Shut uuuuuup,” Mike whined. “Everyone in this coffee shop is so nosy. I don’t need them in my business.”

“Do you hate women, Mike? I think you hate women.”

He groaned. “Here we go.”

“Because you just tried to silence me.”

“Are you going to tell me who I’m supposedly so in love with, or what?”

El just gave him a pointed look. “Mike. You are dumb, but you are not stupid.” Right on cue, her pager buzzed. She rolled her eyes. “Dad is summoning me. I have to go.”

“Wait, El, no–”

She was already gathering her things and heading for the door, but stopped beside his chair to squeeze his shoulder gently.

 “Ask him about the painting,” she said softly. “I think he wants to tell you the truth.”

“Did he say that?”

She smiled sadly. “He didn’t have to.”

The ragged sound of his husband’s breathing snapped Mike back to the present day. Will’s nightmare. Their early 30s. Their living room floor in the dark. Will’s shaky question: Don’t you ever think it was too easy?

Will was still waiting for his response.

“I used to,” he said, honestly. “I used to worry so much about it, actually. When we were kids.”

Will’s brow furrowed slightly. For a second, he looked like himself.  “I didn’t know that.”

“Oh, yeah. For months afterward. I basically forced El to listen to me rant about it every Friday after school.”

“So that’s what you guys were doing.” Will shook his head, a tiny smile playing on his lips. “We all thought you were sneaking around together. That you both realized the breakup was a mistake and wanted to take it back, or at least try something different, but didn’t want us to know before you were sure you wouldn’t fuck it up again.”

Mike rolled his eyes. “So a boy and a girl can’t be friends?” Will chuckled at that, despite himself, and Mike’s heart swelled at the sound. He rubbed his thumbs gently against Will’s wrists. “She was worried about this, too. That maybe we hadn’t really killed him, that it was all over too quickly to have been real. But she’s always been able to sort of… see the bigger picture, you know? And eventually, while I was losing my mind trying to figure out how he survived, she told me that maybe we have to accept that we just got lucky. Maybe it really is over, and we deserve to be happy after everything. It’s… it’s because of that conversation that I went and found you that day in April and… and asked you about the painting. You remember?”

Will nodded. His eyes filled with tears again, but he was smiling. “That was the day you first told me you loved me,” he whispered. “It was the best day of my life.”

“Mine, too.” Mike returned his smile, no less teary. “I wouldn’t have been able to do that without talking to her that day. Without… letting go of Vecna as the source of all my fears, and accepting that I was just scared of losing you. And of waiting too long, and you realizing you wouldn’t need me anymore.”

“Mike, I’ll always need you.”

“I know. But I didn't know that then. I was young and stupid and scared and I needed El to spell it out for me, as usual.” They both laughed, a little. “But Will, baby, listen to me. He’s gone. Okay? You haven’t felt him in fifteen years. El’s powers are gone. Your powers are gone. He’s not coming back. We can accept it. We have to.”

Will stared at Mike with bloodshot eyes, and Mike was almost frightened by the intensity within them. "If he is, though,” he said slowly. “If  he is still out there… I won't let him touch her.”

"I know you won't." Mike touched his cheek softly. "I won't either. I swear.”

Thunder shook the brownstone, and Will jumped. He glanced around then, wide-eyed and frantic, as if seeing his surroundings for the first time. “Wait, are we in the living room? How did I get here? I was… I’m so confused, I–” His eyes welled up again with sheer overwhelm.

“Shh, c’mere.” Mike pulled him back in for a tight hug, cradling Will’s head against his neck and kissing his temple. “I think you were probably sleepwalking. It’s alright. I’m here, I’ve got you. D’you wanna go back to bed? You must be exhausted.” 

“Yeah,” Will exhaled. “Bed sounds nice.”

“Do you need me to–”

“Oh hon, absolutely not, you’ll throw your back out. We’re not nineteen anymore.”

“Okay, you’re definitely back,” Mike muttered, helping Will to his feet.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

Mike wrapped his arm around Will’s waist, and Will wrapped his arm around Mike’s shoulder. Together they carefully made their way back upstairs and to their bedroom. 

When Mike pushed open the door, the two of them were shocked to find Rose sitting in the middle of their mattress, wide-awake and waiting for them.

“Rosie,” Mike said warningly. “Don’t–”

"Daddy!" Rose cried, ignoring him entirely.

She scrambled down from the bed and ran across the room to them, tears rolling down her tiny face. Will let out a small, devastated gasp as Rose threw her arms around his legs and held tight. 

"You didn't wake up," Rose wailed. "I was yelling and yelling and you didn't wake up!"

Will bit his lip, and his eyes welled up again. Guilt flooded Mike’s body. He hadn’t thought to mention Rose’s misadventure downstairs. His entire focus had been on comforting Will, and he knew bringing this up would have sent him into hysterics again. He’d really thought Rose had fallen back asleep. He supposed he should’ve known better— their daughter had clearly inherited his protective streak. Mike squeezed Will’s shoulders, a silent question: Are you okay?

Will glanced at him and gave a tiny nod. Mike sighed and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. “I’ll be right back, okay? I’m gonna get you both some water.” He slipped back out the bedroom door.

Will knelt and lifted Rose into his arms, holding her tight against his chest. He buried his face in her soft curls and breathed in. She smelled sweet and milky and young. His baby girl. 

"Daddy," Rose cried softly, throwing her arms around his neck. "Daddy, Daddy." 

"Oh, Rosie, don't cry," Will murmured. "I’m here, darling. I’m right here. I’m so sorry I scared you.” He kissed the side of her head three times in rapid succession. “I just had a bad dream, huh? A really bad dream, but Papa woke me up, and I’m fine. Everybody has bad dreams sometimes, even Daddies, but I’m okay. Promise.”

Rose pulled back to look at Will, and rested her tiny palm on his cheek. She looked so Wheeler here, it almost made him want to laugh. The precise angles at which her brow furrowed in worry and her lips turned down were identical to an expression he’d seen before on Karen, Nancy, Holly, and of course Mike. Her hand explored the skin of his face like she was trying to see if he was real. He kissed the tip of her nose, and her face scrunched up in a half-giggle.

 Will gave her a watery smile. "Want to sleep with us tonight, bug?"

“Uh huh.”

“Okay. No problem.” He kissed her forehead. She buried her face in his neck. Wetness smeared across his skin – her tears, he realized, and finally, for the first time since he’d seen his daughter, he allowed himself to shed a few silent tears of his own. 

He carried her to the bed and set her down on the mattress, then sat with his back against the headboard. Rose immediately crawled into his lap again and fisted her hands in his shirt, resting the side of her head right up against his heart. Will’s chest ached. He brought his hands up to rub her back slowly. When he was a very young child, in the aftermath of particularly brutal fights between his parents where his father stormed out and left his mother bruised and crying in their bedroom, or at the kitchen table, or on the couch in the living room, if Jonathan wasn't home to stop him Will would find her and climb into her lap and do exactly what Rose had done. He’d turn his head to the left and press his ear right up against his mother’s heart. The sound of her heartbeat soothed him, assured him she was still there. 

The door opened, and Will blearily turned to see Mike coming in with a glass of water in one hand and a sippy-cup in the other, face tight with nerves. His expression softened when he took in the scene before him.

“Hey,” he murmured, placing the glass on the nightstand next to Will. 

“Hi. She’s gonna sleep here, just for tonight.”

“Sounds good.” Mike leaned down and kissed the top of Will’s head, then climbed into bed next to him.

 Will folded his legs so his knees formed a sort of backrest, then slid his hands under Rose’s armpits and lifted her up to sit. Mike handed her the sippy cup while Will drained the glass in a few large gulps. 

Rose drank for a while, then handed Mike her cup. “Thank you, Papa.”

“Of course, Princess. Think you can sleep now?”

Rose yawned instead of responding. Will chuckled and lifted her out of his lap, laying her down on the mattress beside him. Mike pulled the sheets back over the three of them. They formed a nesting doll of spoons. Rose’s spine pressed against Will’s chest, and he wrapped his arms around her waist. Mike scooted up behind Will, throwing a lanky arm around the both of them. 

"Daddy?"

"Yes?"

“What were you dreaming about?” Rose whispered into the night. “Why were you so scared?”

Will let out a long breath. Mike's hand slipped over his and squeezed gently. 

“You don’t have to,” he whispered against the shell of Will’s ear.

This is not her burden to bear, a thin, dark needle of a voice whispered in the back of Will’s mind. You already weigh down so many. Your mother. Your brother. Your incredible, loving husband who is probably going to die of sleep deprivation. Why add your innocent daughter to the list?

But children were smarter than adults gave them credit for. They understood far more than they let on. Mike and Will of all people knew this intimately, and they generally made an effort to be as candid with Rose as they could. Rose had already seen something she didn’t understand. It couldn’t be undone, as much as Will wished it could be, and so he refused to make it scarier by hiding the truth from her. He squeezed Mike’s hand back. Meaningfully. I do, he thought. I do have to. 

Mike seemed to get the message. He hooked his foot around Will’s calf, pulling their bodies even closer together beneath the comforter.

"We were going to wait… I wanted to wait until you were a little older to tell you this, because it’s kind of scary–”

“Daddy,” she protested, “I can handle it, I promise.”

“Rosie,” Mike admonished, and Will felt his husband’s voice rumbling through his own body from where they were pressed together. "Don't interrupt your father.”

“It’s okay,” Will whispered, to both of them, and he could feel them both relax against him. He couldn’t help smiling. His family of firecrackers. Mike’s lips pressed against his back through his shirt. His muscles immediately unclenched, and he felt his heart rate slow. “When I was a little boy–”

“How little?”

“Not as little as you. I was twelve.”

“That’s so big.”

“I was a pretty small kid,” Will argued. Mike snickered into his shoulder. “Anyway, I… I was leaving Papa’s house one night, after a game of D&D, and I was… kidnapped. On my way home.”

Rose gasped. Mike pressed his forehead against Will’s neck. Will could feel his entire body stiffening where they pressed together, the hatred and fear that vibrated through him. Will wanted to turn and take Mike in his arms and apologize for everything. For what he’d had to go through, during that awful week Will was missing, and everything after. He was so strong, had always needed to be for so many people, for so long. For Will. And he never complained, held it all and put it aside when Will needed him. Even when, like right now, it was breaking his heart. Will moved his hand to Rose’s waist, allowing him to shift and nudge against Mike with his elbow. After a moment, Mike nudged back. 

Will took a shuddering breath and continued: “They took me far, far away from my friends and family. I was kept in a dark, horrible place for a week, and… my kidnapper, he… did things to me. Awful things that… made me feel like my body didn’t really belong to me anymore. It’s… complicated to explain. Rose, you know how we always tell you that certain parts of your body belong to only you? And that nobody else should see or touch them, unless Papa or I are giving you a bath?” 

“Yeah,” she mumbled.

“It was sort of like.” Will felt the burning behind his eyes. He forced it back. “He was breaking that rule, with me.”

The room was silent for a moment as Rose processed the information.

“Oh,” Rose finally said, softly.

“Yeah.” Will exhaled heavily. “I was taken on November 6, and every year when the day gets close… I have nightmares about the time I was gone, and what happened to me. Lots of them. That’s why Papa and I have been so tired lately, but especially him. He wakes up whenever I do and takes such good care of me, and you, even though it means he’s not sleeping as much, and it might make him grouchier.”

“Hey,” Mike grumbled against his back. Rose giggled, but quickly fell silent, and the expectant silence loomed again.

“I know this is a lot to hear, and I don’t want you to be sad, or scared. Okay? It happened a really long time ago, and I’ve had a lot of time and support to help me heal. I… we just think you should understand what’s going on, because I’m going to have nightmares like this every year, probably forever. It won’t always be this bad, and I really, really hope you won’t ever have to see me like that again. But if you do, you can do exactly what you did tonight. Go get Papa right away, and then stay upstairs. You don’t need to do anything else, okay? Papa always brings me back.” 

“Okay,” Rose mumbled.

“Okay.” He kissed the top of her head. “Thank you for being such a good listener, sweetheart.”

Behind him, Will heard a soft, almost imperceptible sniffle. His heart cracked. He shifted so he could tap his index and middle fingers against Mike’s palm:

.-.. --- ...- .  ..-  

love u

“I love you,” Mike breathed immediately, his voice thick with tears and so low it was barely a whisper. “So much.”

For a few minutes, the only sound in the dark room was the three of them breathing.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.”

Will frowned. “For what, baby?”

“Just sorry. Not cuz I did anything, just… sorry you got taken.” Rose rolled over so she was facing him and threw her arm around him, burying her face in the hollow of his chest. “And that all that stuff happened to you.”

Mike kissed the back of his neck, right where Will used to feel that awful iciness that meant something horrible was coming. Now there was only warmth, and so much love. “I’m sorry, too,” he said, loud enough for Rose to hear. He tightened his arm around them both. “None of it should have happened. Ever. And I’ll make sure it never does again.”

“Me too,” Rose chimed.

Will let out a watery laugh. “My knights in shining armor,” he murmured. “How did I get so lucky?”

A safe, cozy silence descended upon the little family. Mike’s breathing evened out, and Will could feel himself starting to slip away.

“I have an idea,” Rose said into the darkness. 

“Rose,” Mike deadpanned. “Sleep. Now.”

“Michael,” Will hissed under his breath. “What’s your idea, bug?” he said, a bit louder.

“If this happens every year, then maybe next year… we should go on vacation?” She sat up in bed and looked at them, excitement growing on her face. “You could pull me out of school and we could go to a cabin in the mountains where nobody would bother us, and Papa can take the whole week off work, and I can bring books and snacks and read by myself the whole time so you guys can sleep all day after Daddy has his nightmares and stuff? And if you’re awake we can watch tv and do cozy things, and if not it’s okay because I can do all that anyway without you?”

Will craned his neck around to make eye contact with Mike. “Why have we never thought of that?”

Mike ran a hand over his face. “I have absolutely no idea,” he breathed. “Our child is a genius.”

“Though, I’m not sure how long that’ll last if we get into the habit of pulling her out of school for weeks at a time.” Will reached out and grabbed Rose around the waist, yanking her back down to the mattress as she squealed in laughter. He kissed her face. “Nice try, you little sneak.”

“It’s five days of first grade, baby, it’s not exactly calculus. She can go on one vacation.”

“Two weeks before Thanksgiving?”

Mike shrugged. “We make our own rules. We always have. Why stop now?”

Will sighed. “Unbelievable. When she has to repeat first grade, don’t come crying to me.”

Rose grinned. “So we’re going next year?”

“We’ll think about it,” Will allowed. 

“We’re going,” Mike stage-whispered.

“Michael.”

“You love me so much it makes you insane,” Mike sing-songed, kissing behind Will’s ear.

“I can’t hear you. I'm asleep.”

“Daddyyyyy,” Rose scolded. “Kiss Papa goodnight. Don’t be rude.”

“Yes, William, listen to your daughter. Don’t be rude.”

Will rolled his eyes, but he’d never deny his husband. He turned just enough so Mike could swoop in and capture his lips in a deep kiss. Rose clapped her hands in glee. 

“There,” Will said, turning back to her. “Satisfied, Cupid?”

“Uh huh.”

“Alright,” Mike sighed, “now let’s all try to get some sleep, for real this time. I think we need it.”

And so, nestled between his husband and their daughter in the warm, safe home they’d built together, Will finally fell into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.