Work Text:
Mike wraps his arms around Will tightly, twisting them in the air to take the blow of the impact as they crash through the top of the clocktower. Glass rains down on them as his back slams against a catwalk. That’s definitely going to leave a horrible bruise, but he has bigger things to worry about as he feels Will trembling.
“You okay?” He manages to ask between heaving breaths. He’d love to pull his stupid mask off to try and get a full breath, but instead he has to make do with the situation.
Will lifts his head enough to look at him and shakes his head, unable to speak as his hands come to grip at the shoulders of his suit. Mike barely has a moment to lift a hand up to settle it on Will’s nape and take in the terror on the brunet’s face before he hears a metallic thud and snaps his head over to see what looks like a stupid fucking cherry bomb furiously blink. He thinks for a split second of how just a few months ago, the Party had traveled to Pennsylvania so Lucas could finally set off what he called “the most insane firework,” named Satan’s Baby and its accompanying cherry bombs; once they get out of here, he’s banning them from celebrating the Fourth of July.
He practically throws the both of them onto their sides as the bomb explodes. He can feel the catwalk give under them and the force of the bomb flings Will out of his arms despite his best efforts to keep a hold on him. He flings himself over the side and grabs onto his outstretched arm, grip so tight he knows it’s going to bruise—and Will doesn’t have his bonus of regenerative healing, so it’s going to be a lasting one.
“Mike, pull me up, pull me up,” Will pleads, fingers digging into his arm.
“Will, I got you. I got you, baby, hold on,” he rambles, hand tightening on his boyfriend’s wrist as he scrambles to pull him up. He stops though as he hears the sounds of more glass smashing, and knows they’re out of time.
“Okay, Will, I’m gonna set you down right here, okay?” God, he sounds as bad as Robin as he lets go of Will’s wrist and shoots a web out, attaching it to where his hand had been as he tries to place his boyfriend carefully on a large gear.
His senses go off and he flings himself up and out of the way, landing on the rail as goddamn Billy Hargrove throws himself into the place where he had been. He lets out an inhuman noise, black veins crawling up and down the skin that's visible. Mike doesn’t know how he managed to get Flayed by the goddamn biggest rogue in his gallery, but somehow it’s not surprising—it must be some sort of bad karma.
He shoots a web out as Billy lunges towards him, disgusting pieces of flesh that aren’t his morphing down his arm to try and reach out and grab Mike. He tugs and breaks free of the webbing, and Mike shoots multiple threads out as he tries to contain the creature Billy has become.
“Fuck, Max doesn’t like you but she’s gonna beat my ass for this,” Mike mutters in a strangled voice as he flips out of the way to avoid more gross flesh as it splats against the wall. He swings himself up out of the clocktower, the moon shining down onto the scene as he sees Will stumbling on the gears, attempting to get himself to safety. He focuses his attention back onto Billy, managing to web himself to the man and pulling himself towards him. They grapple, Billy growling as he tries to get his hands on Mike. He grunts as Billy slams them into the wall, the bricks crumbling from the force used.
Mike pulls his legs in and manages to place his feet on the man’s broad back, pushing him away from him, allowing enough space for him to launch himself towards one of his webs, using the momentum as he twists around it to slam his feet into the front of Billy. It’s enough for him to lose his footing and fly over the edge, slamming into a beam then into another catwalk. The flesh that had splattered onto the wall seems to come alive as Billy seems to be knocked out cold, spiking and violent as it hurls itself at Mike. He unconsciously attaches his webs to it and swings it down and away from him.
He hears a crash and a yelp, and curses himself as he realizes what he’s done with his carelessness. He throws himself forward and lands on another gear, shooting a web out and breathing a sigh of relief as it sticks to Will; his lips are parted as he gasps and looks up to Mike, smaller gears falling down around him. He swallows hard as he takes in the distance from where they are at the top and how long of a fall it’d be to the bottom.
“I got you!” He shouts down to him, trying to not let his voice tremble. Will nods, trust shining in his eyes as Mike races to pull the thread of web up, hand over hand. He’s so focused on Will that he fails to notice Billy is back up, letting out a grunt as the man slams into him, his hands wrapping around his throat.
“Fuck,” Mike gasps out as the hands squeeze tight around his throat and they slam into the gear they’re standing on. Billy’s Flayed strength is giving him a run for his money. His eyes shoot up as if he can see below them as he hears a yelp and feels the web jerk in his hand, Will’s weight tugging at it as he drops further.
It’s as if Billy can sense Mike’s panic and he draws his foot up, smashing his boot down onto Mike’s wrist. He yelps but clenches his fist tighter; his heart is at the end of this strand and he’s not letting go.
The gear they’re on turns, and he hears a clang, turning his head to see there’s a pipe trapped between the gear below them and another, affording him some time. He whips his head back to Billy and his eyes widen as he sees the man whip out a damn Bowie knife from his boot, twisting his arm to stab the point of it towards him. Mike snaps his head to the side and his other hand flies up, smacking into Billy’s face as he struggles to push him back. Billy’s free hand grabs at Mike’s wrist and he can feel his bones grind in the man’s grip as he pushes his arm away from him. He tilts his head back then hurls it forward, smashing it against Billy’s. It’s enough to get the other man to growl again and let go of his arm.
He draws his arm back and curls his hand into a fist, swinging and connecting with the blond’s jaw. His head snaps to the side before he turns back to face Mike, an animalistic grin on his face. He takes the moment of distraction to shoot a web out and get the hand with the knife out of the way as it adheres to a gear behind him.
The hand that had let go makes its way back to Mike’s neck, the grip even tighter than before. He gets a web out and hurries to wrap it around Billy’s neck, a look of confusion marring his face before the gear turns and it slightly yanks him back, choking him.
“Let go,” Mike grounds out as the man continues to struggle. He turns his head as the gear below them turns, and he hears the pipe snap, the pieces of it falling past Will as he dangles in the air.
“Mike!” Will calls up to him as his eyes track the pipe before looking back up to him. He can feel his arm straining, Billy’s struggling inhales forcing him to turn back to him. The gears turn again and he brings his leg up, shoving his foot between them. He grits his teeth as the metal squeezes, the meager padding in his boot doing nothing to soften it as the mechanism of the tower tries to fight against him. He can hear every part of it straining and squealing in tandem with Billy as he tries to break the webbing around his throat.
“Mike?” Will calls again, and he turns to try and see him; the gears let out a clink sound, and he turns back to see the gear snap out of place on its axle.
“No,” he breathes out as he hears the hand of the clock outside crash down, punctuating the incoming destruction. The gear below turns and he feels the thread lighten as it snaps.
Time seems to slow and the gasp rings loud throughout the tower.
Mike blinks and everything speeds back up. The machinery explodes around him and Billy is hauled back. Mike doesn’t care to see where he ends up as rapidly rolls over and sees Will falling. His mind catalogues every minute detail: the way Will’s eyes find him; the way his lips are parted; the ruffle of his flannel and hair as the air whips around him.
He grabs onto the teeth of the gear and uses them to throw himself after Will.
His mind can’t seem to stop. He sees the mole above Will’s lip—his favorite place to press his own against, the skin always soft beneath his chapped lips (“Use the stupid Burt’s Bees,” Will would chide and Mike would groan); the fullness of his lashes as tears well up and turn his eyes glossy; the necklace Mike had bought him for their three-year anniversary (really sixteen considering how long they’d spent their lives together since that fateful day at the swing set) glimmering in the low light.
He feels his arm stretch forward, the movement as natural as breathing as he presses down onto his web shooters and hears the expected thwip.
He watches as the gears collide and fall, the web managing to make it through the chaos. Before it makes contact with Will though, he watches his boyfriend’s eyes fall shut and makes out the soft exhale that passes through his lips.
The web connects and stretches over Will’s midsection and Mike’s other hand swings out, grabbing onto a metal bar. The abrupt stop wrenches at his arm and he hears the web pull taut—sees Will jolt and snap at the movement, but now he’s way too far for Mike to make out his face. The gears that had fallen along with him crash into the concrete and the clock chimes, but Mike’s eyes are only on Will as he continues to hang in the air, his arms limp at his sides.
He can feel himself shakily exhale, caught in the moment, before he hurries to attach his end of the web to the bar he holds. He drops—hears the air whistle around him with how fast he descends.
He hits the ground and barely feels the impact of it reverberate through his legs as his gaze stays glued to Will. He pants, hand coming up to rip his mask off. The cold air against his face would usually feel great, especially with how sweaty he had unknowingly become, but now it feels unwelcome. Undeserved. He expects Will to turn to him, tease him for how tangled and messy his curls would become when smushed under his mask; Will does nothing. He continues to hang there, back curved as the rest of him is pulled by gravity.
“Hey,” Mike gasps out, stepping slowly over to him. He reaches down to grab a piece of sharp metal from the scattered machinery on the ground. “Hey. Baby.”
He gets a hand under Will’s back, then shifts him so his arm is wrapped around the brunet’s back, cradling him.
“Will?”
He hefts him up in his arm, reaching out with the other to slice through his webbing. Will’s still limp in his hold, eyes closed and head leaned back. Mike drops to his knees, letting go of the makeshift knife to wrap his other arm around Will.
“Hey. Baby, please.”
He falls back onto his haunches, shifts so his legs are sprawled out in front of him so he can lay Will across them.
“Will?”
He can hear how his voice shakes, understands in this moment what’s been done even as denial tries to cloud his brain. He gets a hand under Will’s neck, lifts his head up and watches his bangs flop across his forehead—his stupid bowl cut that he refuses to get rid of even all these years later despite Max and Jane’s teasing.
“Will, please. Please breathe. Baby, you’re okay. Please.” He feels as if he’s separating from his body, pleas spilling from his mouth that he knows will go unfulfilled. He lifts his other hand up, sees the blue spandex that covers it and feels hatred wash over him, wants to rip the whole damn suit off as his hand settles onto Will’s cheek. His eyes track the small rivulet of blood that runs from Will’s nostril down to his lips, covering his mole. That’s what breaks him.
A loud, broken sob is punched from him and he feels like he’s been pulled apart.
“No. No, no, no,” he mutters, voice cracking as another sob tears out of him. His hands shake as they hold his best friend, his boyfriend, his whole world within them. He can’t find it in him to speak anymore, sobs the only thing that leave his mouth as tears fall from his eyes. He presses his forehead against Will’s.
“I can’t do this without you.”