Chapter Text
“…So for the fair we’re building a model that shows how stars change colors at different life stages instead. At first Mr. Clarke said we should do something flashy like a volcano, but everyone’s doing that, and Will’s least favorite subject is chemistry anyway.”
Karen lifted her brows. “I’m surprised you two know each other so well already, being that Will’s usually so quiet,” she said, heaping too much lasagna onto Will’s plate while everyone else helped themselves.
In the early days of their friendship, Karen was overly attentive to Will. He would learn later that Joyce had asked her to be sweet with him, because he was, as everyone else in his life always said, “sensitive.”
Will pushed his lasagna around his plate. “I…say stuff.”
“Yeah! He talks when it’s important,” Mike stressed, spreading out his hands like he was giving a lecture. Will took a bite to keep from giggling. “He doesn't ramble about stupid stuff like all the other kids. That’s why he’s so wise.”
Will smiled at the word; It felt so much better than weird or quiet or shy.
“Ooh, hey Will! I think we finally found your wizard name in DnD!”
They’d been spending the past few evenings setting up their first campaign— Mike explained the pros and cons of each class so Will could finish fleshing out his character, and Will listened, captivated, while Mike ranted passionately about his own persona.
“DnD?” Ted asked between bites.
“Dungeons and Dragons,” Mike off-handed, then turned his eyes back on Will. “Will the Wise. What do you think?”
“Hm…appropriate,” Will affirmed, stroking an imaginary beard. Mike giggled with his mouth full, pointing at Will while leaning towards his family in a get a load of this guy manner. They glanced eagerly at each other through the rest of the meal, twin stars of excitement shining in their eyes. After shoveling down their food, they scampered back to the basement to start their long-awaited campaign.
However, once Mike explained the complicated rules, Will was daunted. “Shouldn’t there be, I don’t know, an easy mode? I’m a beginner, and I've never really been that good at...winning things.”
“What?” Mike said, flabbergasted at the suggestion. “Will the Wise is far from a beginner. You’ve walked these forest paths a hundred times!”
Mike stood on his chair, planting a leg on top of the table. He pointed at Will and in a stately voice declared, “You are a wizard of great power, and with Mike the Brave serving at your side, you can conquer anything!”
Will stared into the valiant glow of his best friend's face and believed it.
The bathroom of the Squawk is especially drafty, and the freezing water gives Will goosebumps. Yet he splashes his face over and over again, as if it’ll wash away the guilt.
Superpowers. Superpowers, and yet he still couldn’t save the kids. Twelve kids he knows will be scarred for life. Twelve kids whose chances at living normal lives, if they ever had any, are ruined now— because of him.
All of them are acting as if they’ve found the key now that Will can access the hive. But because of those very powers, he’s closer to Vecna than ever— he can feel him tugging at the edges of his consciousness, looking for weaknesses. And he still has so many.
Knock. The soft sound brings Will back to himself, and he shuts off the faucet, dries his face with his shirt. Two more hesitant knocks, then: “…Will?”
Speaking of weaknesses. For once, Mike’s voice doesn’t comfort him. It’s just one more thing to be confused about.
Still, he says, “Come in.”
The door opens slowly. Will takes a deep breath and turns to Mike, trying not to let his face drop the way his heart does when he looks at him. “Hey.”
“Hey…I was just checking to see if you’re okay?”
Will can’t help but snort.
“Right, yeah, stupid question.” Mike’s eyes dart awkwardly around the cramped bathroom for a moment before holding up some M&Ms, raising his brows in offering.
The moment Will pops them into his mouth, he’s aware of the popcorn smell filling the air and his stomach clawing at him. Wordlessly, he snatches the bag from Mike and pours them into his mouth, nearly choking.
Mike’s surprised laughing has Will almost choking again trying to swallow them and explain himself.
“Uh, sorry. I didn’t think I could eat after all the Demo blood I smelled, but I guess the whole fight took a lot out of me.”
“Makes sense. What you did back there was…awesome.”
Unwelcome warmth spreads across his cheeks, and he turns slightly to hide it. “You keep saying that.”
Growing up, he would’ve given anything to have this sort of admiration for him drip from Mike’s voice. He hated how helpless he was, how everyone looked at him like he could shatter any second. Now that he’s finally not Vecna’s victim, he expected the weight to lift off his shoulders, but instead it’s been replaced with the weight of everyone’s expectations. He doesn’t want to see the hope leave Mike’s eyes, and because he lost the kids, he’s already halfway there.
“Because it’s true. None of us would have survived without you.”
“Well, you’re still pretty banged up,” Will says, nodding his head towards the cut on Mike’s brow. The color has darkened to purple, and the area around it is puffy.
“Compared to you? And Lucas? This is nothing.”
“It’s not nothing, Mike. I can see the swelling from here.” Will shakes his head and rummages through the cabinets for a bottle of rubbing alcohol. Mike’s been doing that since they were kids, downplaying his pain in favor of others as if he doesn’t matter. He never let Will take care of him the way he took care of Will.
Maybe it was for the better. Maybe if Mike let himself ask for Will’s help back then, when everything was a sign that Mike might like him back, then Will wouldn’t have been able to help himself, and he would’ve done something he’d regret.
But not anymore. Because it doesn’t mean anything, not to him, not to Mike. It can’t.
He snatches a yellow washcloth from the towel rack, which is dubiously stained and looks more like a rag, but smells fine enough, and turns to Mike. “If that doesn’t get cleaned, it’s going to get infected. If it isn’t already.”
“Really, you don’t have to, I’ll just use the…” Mike looks past Will’s shoulder at the mirror, opaque with a thick layer of fog and grime.
“Yeah, I don’t think Robin or Steve have cleaned that, or anything else here.”
“Ever.” He makes a face at the tiles, where Steve’s unmistakable hair strands litter the floor, coiled and brown like cut-up wire.
“Sit,” Will urges, before realizing that…there’s nowhere to sit. But Mike just sighs, flips down the toilet lid and settles on the edge, legs on either side, leaning back on his arms.
Will pours rubbing alcohol onto the cloth, leans down toward Mike, then…hesitates. He’s bent at an awkward angle, and he can’t see Mike’s cut well. He’d need to step closer.
…Should he be doing this right now? Will should distance himself from Mike. Give the feelings time to fade, like he expected they would when he finally realized in the tunnels that Mike couldn’t love him back.
“I’m all yours,” Mike stares up at him— and the ugly, swollen cut stares, too. You’re being ridiculous. He needs medical attention. Will takes a deep breath before tentatively stepping into the space between Mike’s legs. His eyes widen slightly; The seat creaks under him as his posture straightens. But he says nothing. What is there to say?
Will gently lifts his chin, tilting his head toward the light. Mike’s eyes stay locked on him, but Will concentrates on the cut so he doesn’t have to make eye contact.
But it doesn't matter which part of Mike he looks at, right now, all of him is too much. He’s forced to see the dramatic contrast of his dark curls against his ivory skin, clear as glass; Will gently dabs at his forehead like it’s just as delicate. But he knows Mike’s not the one at risk of breaking.
Mike winces slightly as Will begins to dab at his brow. “Does this feel okay?”
“It’s— it’s fine, yeah,” he swallows.
The small touches are unavoidable. They’re agonizing. Their knees brush, and the soft sound of the fabric echoes in his ears. Mike’s skin is hot when Will sweeps his soft curls to the side. Every touch is an impact, cracking his resolve.
Just focus.
When Mike clears his throat, the sound echoes. “How did you…I mean, how did you even do it?”
Will doesn’t have to ask what he means. He’s just grateful the silence is broken.
“It’s hard to explain. The…siphoning, it doesn’t come automatically. I have to be hyperfocused, I have to be close to the hive mind— I know it’s inconvenient, but I’m really not another El.”
“Of course not. You’re Will the Wise.” It’s that look again, the one from after the MAC-Z. The weight of it stops Will’s cloth before they even make eye contact. You’re never going to make this easy, are you? But Will has to look, and when he does, Mike’s smile grows slowly, faithful gaze unwavering, and so does the pounding of Will’s heart in his throat. He feels like he’s going to choke.
It’s just the aftermath, Will tries to tell himself. The last embers of his attachment to Mike burning out. But it doesn’t feel that way when Mike’s staring up at him through thick black lashes, hope and something else shining in his eyes, so bright that Will can barely look at him. This, somehow, feels new— risen from the ashes of the person Will used to be, of how he used to view the two of them: Will the wounded, and Mike the bandage. This feeling doesn’t heal. It burns.
All Will can offer is half a smile before looking away. This room is too bright, their bodies are too close, and anything else would say too much. “I have to spread apart the cut to clean it thoroughly. Hopefully this doesn’t hurt too much.”
“…Did I say something wrong?” Will should’ve known he'd catch him side-stepping. Mike never let things go until he got the deepest, ugliest secrets out of him. Except for one.
“Of course not.” Yes, he wants to scream. Everything you say is wrong. Everything you do is wrong. One word out of your goddamn lips, one look from you, and I’m falling again.
Mike’s frown only deepens, and Will knows there’s no way to make him believe it. He can’t bring himself to try right now. “I just need you to relax.”
He leans in before Mike can say anything else, before Will can talk himself out of it. Mike’s breathing quickens even before Will starts to spread the cut apart.
How close is too close? This is the game Will’s been playing his entire life. How much until Mike finds out? How much until Will can’t take it anymore?
The heat radiating from Mike's body is like a touch itself, and despite everything he gets the urge to lean into it. “Don’t be nervous,” Will murmurs to Mike. To himself.
“I’m…I’m not.” He exhales shakily as Will presses his fingers to his damp forehead, spreading the wound.
Mike grunts in pain, and instinctively grabs onto Will’s bicep. Will’s breath hitches.
“I think I spoke too soon,” he laughs, and it tickles Will’s neck. His eyes flick to where his hand hasn’t moved from Will’s arm. “Oh, sorry—”
“No, it’s okay. Squeeze, if it helps.”
The drafty bathroom is suddenly too warm. He can feel the ridges of Mike’s palm through his shirtsleeve. Will keeps talking, to keep them both distracted. “Um, to answer your question, when it happened…I thought of moments with the people I…” Will cuts himself off. “I just thought of all the defining moments of my life, and I realized that they weren’t when I was kidnapped by the Demogorgon, or when we fought the Mind Flayer, or even when I met El. They were just times when I wasn’t afraid. When I didn’t feel like I was…hiding.”
It’s easier for Will to admit when Mike’s eyes are squeezed shut. Mike’s brow furrows, trying to understand. He will, someday; Will promised himself that. That is, if they survive this.
“It reminded me of how much I needed to protect those moments, to protect the people I shared them with.”
“But…the first time you got possessed by the Mind Flayer— Ow— We tried to remind you of those moments, and it sorta worked, you found a way to get through to us, but you didn’t start snapping Demos’ bones like popsicle sticks.”
“I wish,” Will lets out a laugh, and some of the tension inside him with it.
“So, what changed?”
He dares a look at Mike. More freckles than Will remembers dapple his scrunched-up nose; Long lashes whisper against his cheeks. The yellowed wall tiles paint a golden glow around him. For the first time in many months, Will itches for a pencil.
Will was just a kid at the time. But even then, the way he felt about Mike was different than with his other friends— The need to be near Mike, the sense of relief that washed over him whenever he saw his familiar, freckled face. He just didn’t have the words.
When he turned twelve, he started to take his art more seriously. He tried portraits. And what better way to start than with the face he knew most, that he’d spent years studying? The best part was that since they were going through puberty, Mike’s face changed ever so slightly, constantly— a sharpening of his jaw, a darkening of his eyes. Will loved trying to capture those changes. He told himself the reason he always noticed was because he had an artist’s mind and observation skills, but that wasn’t the whole truth, was it?
Soon enough, he had stacks of portraits of Mike, his different expressions, different ages. But he tucked them in his closet— He never exactly knew why back then. He just felt the need to hide it, like something bad might happen if others saw.
Years later, when he was packing up his closet for the move to Lenora, he came across that box again. Portrait after portrait, each one more detailed than the last.
In each of the earlier pictures, the light accentuated a different trait. The sun flecked his eyes with gold in one; in another, dim porch lights gleamed in his wavy hair like moonlight in dark water. But as he thumbed through to the later ones, not a single beautiful feature of his was lost to shadow. The light almost seemed to emanate from within Mike.
And that was when he truly figured it out.
Shame and longing roiled in his gut. He was alone, yet his cheeks heated. Alone, yet still he felt the urge to hide. He traced the soft curves of Mike’s lips, half hoping his fingers would smudge the lines, wipe the love from them like it never existed.
“Joyce says it is time to say goodbye, Will,” El chimed from the living room.
And he was reminded of why it could never be. Mike and El deserved each other. He was Mike the Brave, the heart of the group, and she was a superhero. Will was just a loser destined to draw the true love in Mike’s eyes when he looked at her, and wonder how it would feel directed at him.
“Okay, I’m ready,” Will answered, tearing them up and shoving them deep into a bag with all his other trash. He didn’t need portraits to remember him, anyway. Mike was etched into every good thing in Will’s life; Malted chocolate milkshakes were the color of his eyes, seeds in strawberries reminded him of his freckles. Every bright thought inside his head was in Mike’s voice.
It would be good to spend time away from Mike, Will thought. Maybe the distance would make him fall out of love.
But once he got to Lenora, he realized it was exactly the opposite. Distance only made Will realize how much he needed Mike. El wasn’t the only one who was bullied in school. Will was too, for exactly the same reasons as he was bullied in Hawkins. Except this time Mike wasn’t there to comfort him in the cafeteria, or to drag him down to his basement, to transport him from the cruel real world to a better one. A world where he and Mike were a team.
Mike’s eyes flutter open at his silence, and Will averts his gaze.
“I…matured, I guess.”
There’s a silence, like Mike expects him to go on— like he knows it’s more than that. But Will doesn’t speak.
It isn’t the answer Will wants to give. It isn’t the answer Mike wants either. He can tell by the way his eyes shift to the ground, nodding more to himself than Will. What do you want, then?
The cut is clean. He should step back. But this close, Mike’s real smell cocoons him. Underneath the bloody smell of the battle, Mike— old books and his basement. Will used to always be this close to him, and all his heart did was beat a little faster. Now it throbs as if Mike’s squeezing it between his palms.
It’s devastating, knowing that an injury is the only reason he’s this close. It’s devastating that Will needs a reason. That the heavy rhythm of his breathing is a song he’ll always listen for and never learn.
He wants to stay here. He wants to run miles from here.
Instead, he steps back. “You’re all done.”
Mike blows out a breath and stands up. “Thanks.”
Neither of them can seem to make eye contact. Will hangs up the bloodstained cloth, puts the rubbing alcohol away, just to have something to do other than sit with the crippling fear that comes with the realization that he’s not done with Mike. And he never will be.
“Hey, I didn’t hurt you squeezing that hard, did I?” Mike says with a slight laugh at the end, like he’s trying to shake the uneasiness from his tone.
Will stands up from the sink cabinet, crossing his arms. “My arm didn’t feel that weak to you, did it?”
“No no, I mean— you’ve definitely gotten…stronger.”
Will’s been studying Mike’s face too long to convince himself that the flush that colors his cheeks is just a trick of the light. But he’s loved him too long to let Vecna in on his hope that it actually means something. So he pretends not to notice.
“I just meant more with my nails digging into your skin.”
“Right, because you have claws,” Will says sarcastically, holding up Mike’s hand, nails bitten to stubs, and he laughs. Tiny scrapes mar his knuckles. Without thinking, Will pulls his hand closer, brushes his thumb across them. “You should clean these, too.”
Mike doesn’t say anything, but his hand starts to dampen. Will’s stomach drops, and he immediately lets go. “But you don’t need my help with that.”
“I got it! I got it!” Loud shouts from the main room make Will nearly jump out of his skin.
Mike grins at him. “C’mon, let’s see what the Sinclairs cooked up.”
Will nods, but doesn’t return the hopeful smile— he can’t. Mike’s faith and optimism usually eases his fears, but everything’s different now. Because he’s finally okay with himself. But if anything happens to Mike, he will break.