Chapter Text
It was a weird thing, living with the Wheelers in those uneasy months after Hell opened up into Hawkins. The spring had bled into summer, and the summer had ebbed into fall, which stumbled head first into Winter. Tenth grade treated Will as well as any other year of his education had; with half-assed attention and rolling discomfort coating his stomach. Johnathan spent more time at WSQK than not, his mother was practically frantic with planning their next blind step into the darkness surrounding Vecna’s condition, and all of his friends had found their stations at each uneventful crawl, each scrap of shared government information encrypted through radio waves, each uneasy afternoon spent waiting, dreading.
Will was… there. He was there, but somehow, these months seemed nonexistent. They passed him by with dreary boredom, teetering on comfort, yet not nearly comforting enough to be labeled as such. Purgatory, Will found, was a perfectly apt description. Waiting for damnation, waiting for the day he returned, because while everyone had been entrenched in their duties to put a stop to this all, Will had been sidelined. Coddled, comforted, and fretted over. Each look was wary, each touch was comforting, even when it need not be. He was sick of being the liability, the poor sickly one who had been thrust into the darkness so young he’d lost a piece of himself to it. Will was sick of not being able to help, not being allowed to.
More infuriatingly so, Will understood. He understood perfectly why his mother’s eyebrows pinched at the mere mention of his participation in the crawls, at the idea of him monitoring like Mike or Lucas, at the idea of him getting out of the fucking Wheeler basement, because she didn’t want him hurt. Nobody did. He’d been through too much, they all knew it, but Will kind of wished they’d humour him, If nothing, and take his advice every once in a while. Trust his instinct, no matter how warped. It was demeaning to be confined to a gentle cage of concern.
Still, Will wasn’t unreasonable. He’d learned to control his emotions, each stinging bitter reflux of his heart’s truest wants and fears. He’d been good at it from a young age. He was in purgatory, sure, but that was better than the times in his life that could have only been described as torture. Will was fine in his classes, in his tense visits with Max’s pale corpse, kept alive by machinery, in the cold of the fucking Wheeler basement—
Okay, Will had to get up. His feet had gone so numb they hurt.
Teeth chattering, Will shakily threw his mix-matched blankets and sheets off of him; clearly not the thick duvets he so desperately needed in the chilly quiet of the winter underground. Some nights, he would’ve had to have worried about waking Jonathan with his exasperation, but Will was pretty sure whatever was going on between Jonathan and Nancy left his big brother out of that cold room most nights anyways. They weren’t… together. Not if Will could say from the pained glances his brother kept sending the Wheeler daughter, but they were dancing around each other in a mind numbingly strange way that made Will feel almost bad for them. Not to mention the whole Steve Harrington part, where Nancy was seemingly tolerating her ex boyfriend at a similar degree to Jonathan. Whatever, it wasn’t Will’s business, and his toes were practically blue from the chill.
Will shakily walked up the steps, eyes searching through the dark. He could hear the hum of the upstairs appliances as he neared the basement door, opening it with a squeak that made him wince. He kind of wished his mother hadn’t shot down Mike’s offer to let Will crash on his floor, but nonetheless, he understood why.
Will still hated the cold. Hated it. More than anyone could understand, truly, because he grit his teeth and bared it. The cold felt gripping, suffocating, altogether consuming, and even as he lay safely in the dry Wheeler basement, Will still felt the dampness of The Upside-Down clutch at his skin, the ache of hunger like a memory beneath his bones. The crash of warmth as he entered the first floor was not unwelcome, exhaling in deep relief as he felt the chill leave his bones. It was unreasonable to be so upset over something so little. Will knew that.
With silent footsteps, swallowing back his emotions, Will pulled open the Wheeler pantry. He immediately felt a swell of guilt at taking any of the stocked food, food that belonged to Karen firstly and foremostly. He settled on taking their kettle and boiling himself water until he warmed up. Maybe just to hold.
The electric kettle light glowed in the darkness of the kitchen. Will had despised the dark as a child, but sometime after being exposed to the endless barrage of sunny days down in California, Will began to feel a sense of comfort in it. Not that he’d ever told any of his family, but when the blistering sun sank behind the sky on clear nights, Will would open his bedroom window and watch planes overhead until it began to rise again. There was something endlessly endearing about how quiet it got in those sandy suburbs— not like the quiet of his home in Hawkins, surrounded by chittering frogs and crickets that swelled up into the nighttime air, but quiet with people. Quiet with life. The hum of the breeze and a party two blocks down. The rev of an engine too distant to acknowledge. It was so full of life in such a desolate place.
Sometimes Mike’s home in the suburbs felt like that too, but he didn’t have a window in that basement to stare out of. Not like many planes crossed over Hawkins anyways.
The kettle finished with a click, and Will realized he’d been standing in the dark, staring at the glow for much longer than he thought. Blinking twice, he grabbed a mug out of the cupboard, and closed it as gently as possible. Pouring the water into the chilled ceramic, steam billowed off of it, and Will felt relief flood him like a dam broke loose. His shoulders relaxed, though he hadn’t realized they were hiked. His jaw unwound it’s tension, his teeth released his cheek, the sweet tang of blood stinging his mouth. The warmth bled through to his hands, and Will placed the kettle back, unplugging it to allow the light to blink off. He held the mug in his hands, swallowing back the rolling hunger deep in his guts.
The kitchen light turned on in a blinding flash, and Will let out a yelp. His yelp was returned with an undignified squeak, as one Mike Wheeler tensed into what was clearly a poor attempt at some form of martial arts, preparing to attack Will. Both boys immediately realized their situation, eyes widening.
“Jesus, Will!” Mike whisper-yelled, sighing in relief as he gripped his pyjama-clad chest.
“Nice to see you too.” Will mumbled, sipping his hot water. It tasted metallic with the small cut his molars had dug into his fleshy cheek.
“You scared the shit out of me, why are you in the dark?” Mike grouched, digging around his pantry for a snack. The boy’s skin was pale, eyes heavy with sleep, hair tousled to the side, black as night. He’d cut it short, back to that boyish style that made Will’s heart squirm in his chest, and the puffed up sleepy version of it didn’t do much to quell the longing in his veins.
“Didn’t wanna wake anyone.” He softly hummed, leaning against the counter as he winced at how loudly Mike was rustling through the very back of his pantry. It probably wasn’t that loud, but comforted by the rumble of appliances, Will couldn’t help but flinch. Mike didn’t bother responding to him.
“What’re you drinking?” Mike questioned stiffly, pulling some packaged pastry from a box, unwrapping it swiftly. He wouldn’t meet Will’s eyes, standing with his shoulders as stiff as if Will were a cop.
“Water.” Will shrugged. Mike hummed.
“Cool. Is it good?” He said, before immediately wincing at his word choice. It was no secret things had been awkward since California, but Mike had been especially self-conscious around Will. It had never been like that, Mike so aware of his words, watching each movement he made around his friends. Will couldn’t tell if it gave him hope of something more laying beneath the layers of Mike’s painful awkwardness, or if it only stood to show that even their friendship was over. Will just wished Mike would be normal. And wow, wasn’t that ironic?
“Sure is.” Will quirked a small grin. Mike seemed to relax at it. It was quiet for a moment, the dark haired boy turning his pastry over in his hands, head hung as he was lost in thought. Will noticed the lights added to the appliance buzz. They also formed an unfair halo around the Wheeler boy’s nose bridge, tall and proud. Will sipped his water and looked away.
“Hey… can— can I talk to you..?” Mike mumbled, his voice scratchy and pitchy. Will felt his heart thud, guts suspended sickeningly like right before a roller coaster drop.
“Shoot.” Will said.
“About… I mean— us.” Mike said pathetically, finally meeting Will’s eyes. “Because it’s been weird. I know it has. And— and I know it’s weird to talk about it, but… we really should, shouldn’t we..?” Mike rambled, gripping his pastry. Will swallowed dryly, heart thudding. The pull of Mike’s brows told him this wasn’t a conversation Will wanted at all. He knew that pull from rainy summer nights in eighth grade and blistering carsick afternoons in ninth. Something like bitter regret.
“Okay.” Will nodded, because there simply was no world where he wouldn’t go along with whatever Mike Wheeler wanted. “Turn the light off though, I don’t wanna wake anyone.” Will said, lowering his voice as he motioned towards the switch. Mike seemed to hesitate for a moment, before reaching out, and careening the room into darkness. Will could practically feel him tense across the space until his eyes adjusted, using the gentle glow of the Wheeler household to illuminate his friend.
Before Will could truly react, Mike was sliding down the fridge, collapsing his long limbs until they made space for him to sink to the ground. Will followed after, eyes watching Mike. The freckled boy glanced up at Will periodically, but couldn’t hold his gaze, even in the comforting dark.
They both sat on the ground, Will leaving his mug on the linoleum floor, away from him, as he sat straight against the cupboards. It was nice to be back in the dark, made it easier to ignore the gentle lines of concern written across Mike’s face as well.
“I thought you hated the dark.” Mike whispered, voice much much softer, and only then Will truly felt how close he was, crossed legs near enough to transfer heat to Will’s. The brunette hummed.
“Not since I was a kid.” He whispered. Mike nodded stiffly.
“I’m sorry.” He whispered. Will watched him, biting his lip. Hadn’t they had this conversation? “I— I know I was acting weird in Lenora. Like.. like, really weird.”
“I know. I forgave you before you even apologized.” Will grinned wryly.
“No— no. Even after that. After the— after I said sorry.” Mike said, air leaving in an exhale. “I’ve been weird for a while now. Maybe a few years. All of it, I’m sorry for all of it…” Mike winced. Will felt his throat swelling with emotion, confusing whirling feelings of relief, betrayal, hope, grief. Mike hadn’t touched his stupid pastry.
“I mean… shit, I— I feel like we’re barely even close anymore, you know? You’re living in my house, and I don’t even…” Mike gulped. The room fell quiet again.
“I’m sorry, is what I’m trying to say. I’m sorry I’m so… so weird right now. I’m— I'm dealing with my own shit, and I keep getting all messed up with you.” Mike pushed his hands into his face, bony fingers drawing across his cheeks. Will couldn’t look away if he tried, entranced by the puffy pink trails they left.
“I feel like— even after I said it’d be like before, it’s just… too much has changed between us, you know? And I’m sorry if I’m distant, I really, really am, but…” Mike trailed off, breathing to steady his next words. “Are you… are you… mad at me..?” Mike questioned, wincing.
“What?” Will immediately barked out, surprise colouring his expression.
“Not—! Not, like, wanna rip my head off mad, but… look, I know I made things weird between us in the first place, but… but I just feel like you’re kind of… avoiding me..?” Mike stumbled through his words, whispers turning to soft pleas.
“In what world? Mike, we’re together all the time.” Will questioned, nearly offended. Will couldn’t pull himself away from Mike if he’d tried.
“I don’t know, I’m probably just looking into it too much, okay? But… but, like, you agreed we should be like before. Right? And I— I’m not doing this perfectly, but… Will, come on, you have to see you’re… you’re different with me too.” Mike practically begged, leaning into Will’s space. Will tensed his back into the cupboard on instinct, pushing his head against it until it ached with the wooden resistance.
“Yeah, sorry I’m not acting like I’m eight anymore, Mike.” Will snapped. “What do you want me to say to you?” He practically growled, throwing up his hands in exasperation. He felt his frustration mounting, ready to pour out of him like boiled water in a kettle. “We’re talking, we’re laughing, the gangs all back together!” He sarcastically pepped. “Except Max is in a body-rotting coma, Lucas is a walking zombie, and that’s coming from me, Dustin is apparently trying to overcome his grief by getting his ass kicked, and the government put fucking tin foil over the gates of Hell.” Will crowed.
“My mom won’t let me do anything because apparently surviving all of this shit up ‘til now only goes to show how weak I am, my sister is being hunted like a damn dog, my brother can’t get his shit together enough to talk to your sister, everyone’s so worried about Vecna coming back that it hangs in the air like fog, and yet the only person with any real connection to him is me, and you’re all apparently determined to keep me in bubble wrap!” Will exclaimed, pushing himself into Mike’s space, baring his fangs as he snarled out his words. Will never let himself be ruled by emotion, but in that moment, catching the hurt gleam across Mike’s eyes as they reflected the fridge’s escaping light, he felt a sick satisfaction swirl like a delicious poison.
“So I’m sorry if I’m not in the mood to discuss why I don’t hold your hand like a little queer anymore, Mike.” Will growled. As those words left his mouth, watching Mike’s hurt face fall into sorrow, Will knew he should have never said them. His anger dropped, lips wobbling, and eyes wide in shock. Cursing, he slammed himself back against Mike’s cupboards a little too loudly for the silent night, roughly swiping tears from his eyes with the back of his sleeve.
“Will… you’re not—“ Mike tried softly, but Will harshly cut him off.
“I know.” He said, words cold as stone. He sniffled, embarrassingly. Tears hung in Mike’s eyes as well.
“Sorry. That was mean. I know you’re— you’re worried.” Will sighed. “It’s just… I don’t think we can go back to how it was.” Will mumbled, picking at his nails. He couldn’t meet Mike’s gaze, the shame of that statement swirling in his stomach. Will couldn’t go back to seeing Mike as a friend, holding him like it was nothing. Because it wasn’t nothing. It was everything.
“It’s not like I don’t want to be close again, but… but I’m not a kid anymore, Mike.” Will’s voice wobbled. Mike bit his lip, holding back tears of his own.
“Will…” Mike reached over, placing his hand atop Will’s. In a reflexive instant, Will inhaled sharply, knocking Mike’s hand off of his, eyes wide and fearful.
Both of the boy’s mouths hung open in shock, Mike’s arm practically suspended from how hard Will had pushed him off. Will choked on breaths, shocked by the unwelcome touch, and Mike looked at Will like he’d never seen him before, searching each line of his face, each breathy shudder.
“See?” Will shivered, eyes wide and dry. “Not the same.” He winced, pushing himself to stand. Mike immediately followed.
“Did I do something? I—“
“Mike.” Will pleaded, turning to face Mike.
“What? What changed so much, Will? I— I know you’re scared, but you aren’t in danger..! I don’t understand why everything has to change between us..!” Mike begged through watery breaths.
“I know you don’t!” Will yelled, the noise cutting through the nighttime air like a dagger to the chest.
“I know nobody gets why I can’t just—“ Will trailed off into a sob. “I can’t hold your hand, Mike. God, as if I don’t want to–” Will cut himself off with a pained wince.
“You— you said that, but I don’t mind. You know I never thought of you that way..!” Mike exclaimed.
“You can’t seriously believe all that happened to me in the Upside Down was that I was chased by a demogorgon through the woods for a few days.” Will whispered, voice breaking. He’d never said it. He’d tried, all those years ago, to tell his mother just what The Mindflayer had done. How it felt to lose every piece of him to an invader, how it felt to cough up a piece of him, used and left rotten. Will hadn’t had the words to use as a twelve year old boy, but he sure as hell knew. He knew.
Mike’s eyes searched, and yet he found no answers.
“We were twelve, I didn’t expect you to understand what it feels like to have something invade you, take every piece of you away. Violate all sense of comfort you have. I didn’t quite get it back then.” Will shook, eyes wide, and unseeing. “He caressed my face when he used me. He speaks so softly to me, he…” Will choked up, teeth grinding in his mouth, looking away in shame.
“I was used. I was his puppet. I—“ Will croaked, voice failing. Mike was silent, frantic as he searched Will for answers. Will was pretty sure the black eyed boy had stopped breathing.
“Dart. Do you remember Dart?” Will sighed shakily, eyes finally managing to reach Mike’s. The boy nodded. “He was mine. That’s— that’s why he trusted me.” Will mumbled. “He— he was incubated in me… I had a piece of that place inside of me..!” Will sobbed, letting the admission fall from his lips like dirtied floodwaters he’d been holding at bay with all of the strength he had left.
“When Mom and Hopper found me, I was dead. I was dead— with— with one of his vines down my throat, strapped up and pale. Mike, I know when we were kids it was all fantasy, but that’s…” Will‘s whispers broke into a tired sob. “How do you want me to let someone hold me when he left his rot inside of me? When— when my body was used, mind stolen, permanently left dirty at twelve..?” Will broke into hiccuping sobs, scrubbing at his face to rid himself of them.
“How many hours do you think I spent trying to wash his grip off of me in hot showers? How many times do you think I wished I could just— just let Jonathan pat my shoulder without me flinching..? How often do you think I wished everything would go back..?” Will cried.
Mike looked devastated, hot tears streaming down his cheeks in waterfalls. His jaw opened and closed, attempting to form words through his unyielding anger.
“He’s still in me. Around every corner, in everything I do, and say, and think. You pulled away, and now I flinch at you too.” Will cried.
“And for that, I’m sorry.” He said, voice shaken. The room was silent for a while, save for unsteady breaths. “Because you used to be– you used to be someone that never happened with.” Will’s breaths came out in heavy gulps, as though he was drowning under the pressure of his tense words. He gasped, hiccuping and shuddering with each pained drag of frigid air into his lungs.
“Oh.” Mike said, so pained it made Will want to fold into himself and die. Will fumed, swirling with embarrassment, with rage, with sorrow, with mourning.
“Oh.” He said again, eyes tracing Will as his tears broke into wild sobs, hands raising. Mike stilled as Will’s watery eyes tracked the movement, tensing. “Will—“ Mike’s words broke into pained sobs, shuddering and terrifying. Will could only stare at him, blinking. Mike hadn’t cried… ever, in Will’s memory. Ever.
Will barrelled into his open arms, hugging him like a lifeline. It was something, he supposed. A part of him kind of knew Mike needed it far more than he did, and as tragic as it was, even through hot shameful tears, Will still couldn’t deny Mike Wheeler a God Damn thing.
.
.
.
Living with the Wheelers was already weird enough, but having Mike watch Will with such heavy swirling emotions behind his eyes was only adding to the strain. Will would’ve liked to have been focused on the warm glow of the Christmas lights behind them, or the laughter that filled the home, or maybe even Karen Wheeler’s amazing honey-glazed ham, but Will could only manage to silently push around peas while Mike stared a pitying hole into his temple.
“-- I can’t believe you’d do all this for us! You know, Karen, you are just a gem.” Joyce hummed, forking up another slab of ham off of the ornate plate in the center of the table.
“Well, it’s not like we could go see extended family this Christmas, eh?” Karen dramatically winked, swaying with delight as she gulped back her fourth glass of chardonnay of the night. Joyce humoured her, laughing bitterly with a quirk of her eyebrows at the state of their sorry town.
“Thank God for that.” Ted mumbled under his breath, to which Karen sent a swift kick to his foot under the table. Holiday jingles played from whatever television station Karen had droning in the background, and Will pretended not to notice when Ted subtly bopped his head to them. Honestly, it was a surprise the man enjoyed much of anything.
“Oh, Jonathan.” Nancy grinned, shooting Will’s brother an excited glance right as he took an awkwardly large bite of turkey. Karen laughed at something his mother said. Nancy spoke through his chewing. “Robin found that track you were talking about. The one for… Y’know.” Nancy grinned, eyebrows raising. Jonathan’s eyes widened.
“Where the hell did she get that from?” Jonathan exclaimed, alight with joy. Nancy shrugged smoothly.
“Murray’s got connections, I guess. He was really bitchy about it though, so you should grab her something nice in return. Y’know, for dealing with that.” She grinned even wider. Somewhere down the table, Ted cut through Joyce’s and Karen’s conversation to chime a flat language, but nobody paid him any mind.
“Holly, would you put the book down sweetie? Your food is getting cold.” Karen hummed. A commercial played loudly from the TV room. Holly glanced up, and shyly put down her copy of Anne of Green Gables, letting it rest on her thighs while she took a small bite of the turkey. Karen sighed and promptly complained to Joyce about kids, and Joyce sent a knowing look Will’s way, watching as he made crosshatch patterns with their fine silverware in his mashed potatoes.
“Did you make christmas cake this year?” Nancy questioned brightly.
“Awe, no, sorry, hon. It just got too late.” Karen pouted, glass pulled up to her lips, smeared with red lipstick.
“Christmas cake? Karen, you should write a cookbook!” Joyce happily exclaimed with a sharp ha!
Jonathan smirked, breaking into giggles at his mother’s ironic complete detachment to all forms of housewifery. Nancy joined him soon after, laughing as her mother preened at the compliments Joyce threw her way. Rosy cheeked, Will wouldn’t go so far as to deny the two young adults had slipped themselves some drinks before the dinner. It was unusual to see Jonathan so relaxed with how much of a rarity weed had become back in lock-down Hawkins. Even Holly began to giggle at the grown women until the two of them were swatting away their annoying children’s insentence on them being funny.
Will knew Mike didn’t giggle along. In fact, the doe eyed boy kept his gaze trained on Will so closely, he felt as though he might have broken into a sweat. Part of him wanted to sink under the table and hide, and the other wanted to stab his fork through Mike’s line of sight, and snarl at him until he backed off.
“Mike, don’t you like the food?” Karen’s words cut through the cheer, quirking an eyebrow as she observed her son. Mike, in an act from God, ripped his gaze away from Will, blinking owlishly at his mother while the words registered. The rest of the table seemed to warily eye up his and Will’s nearly untouched plates.
“No! No, it’s– it’s great. Seriously, mom. Stellar.” Mike shot his mother a thumbs up, grinning placatingly as he took a large bite of ham. Karen huffed a fond laugh at her son. Nancy and Jonathan had decided something was so funny they were practically doubled over in fits of giggles across the table.
“I’m gonna use the bathroom.” Will mumbled, really to nobody, and stood from the table with a dull screech of his wooden seat. Joyce caught his statement, and shot her son a confused glance, but Will was out of the room before anyone could think much of it. He felt Mike’s eyes burn into his back the entire time.
Leaning over the upstairs bathroom sink, Will held his hands under the warm water, near steaming. It was comforting, that blistering heat of boiling water. Grounding, in a way, because Will liked the bite of heat a lot more than that of the cold. It felt like childish summers and cocoa-filled winters. He watched his skin turn puffy and red under the water’s contact, and when he winced, pulling his hands out to turn the steaming water stream off, the faucet was sweltering to the touch.
Will dried off his hands, feeling the burn return as he scraped the cloth along them. When he caught sight of himself in the mirror, his eyebags hung heavy, his skin pale from the months of partial sun and dizzyingly dread-filled days, he frowned. Will slept, sure, but it wasn’t restful. Waking up to any slight bump, Will found it a little hard to truly relax in the frigid darkness of his basement floor mattress with seven other people in his vicinity, all making noises of their own. Even on the nights he managed a deep uninterrupted sleep, nightmares were more common than not.
Will had nightmares as a child, frequently. Memories replaying on sickening loops; the shadows a little darker each time, the red of blood staining a little deeper. Will dreamt of the Mindflayer, Will dreamt of all of the times words came out of his mouth that weren’t his, Will dreamt of all of the moments he was thrust back into The Upside Down, the scenery beckoning his sick mind back to the gallows; permanently tarnished. Since moving back from Lenora, Will had found the nightmares hadn’t quite stopped, but they’d… changed.
Will didn’t see much of anything anymore. Nauseating flashes of disjointed memories that made acid burn his throat, odd noises Will had once remembered to forget, screams. Bloodied hands from being shoved to the ground, trembling grip on his rifle, child sized. He shook from the cold. He shook from his father’s words. Will’s dreams were no longer singular memories, played out through a darkened lens, but a highlight reel of every moment he felt his stomach drop in fear, every moment he’d just wished he’d died, and spared everyone the pain. Every moment that could have been avoided if he’d stay vanished, every moment that showed him he deserved to be vanished. By the time Will awoke, the memories all blurred into each other, indecipherable, but shame crashed against him like waves on a sandy shore, the gales of degeneracy pushing his mind back, back, back, until all that remained in his hollow form was the suffocating chill of death, and all the times he’d scrubbed scratches into his chest in an attempt to feel clean again. Will hadn’t been clean since twelve, no matter how he scalded the memories off of his skin.
Will heard Joyce and Jonathan’s loud laugh reverberate through the walls, identical after all of these years, down to the way they threw their heads back.
Will gripped the porcelain sink beneath him, shoulders hunched as he stared at his reflection. Every year he got older, Will’s face defined into that of a man’s. With his bowl cut gone, shaggy bangs replacing it’s former glory, Will recognized his eyes as his father’s before his own. Something drifting along the dull hazel of his spoke of a fear his father never had. Maybe that fear was all Will had to hold onto when he turned his head to the side, and in the right light he flinched at his own hands.
It was awkward with Mike. It was so fucking awkward. Two nights prior, they’d weeped in each other’s arms, collapsed into a heap on Karen’s linoleum kitchen floors until Jonathan had burst forth from the basement, eyes wide and wracked with sleep. Will and Mike scrambled away from each other, Mike sobbing harder than Will, and Will told his concerned brother that Mike and him were thinking about that guy they’d killed in the desert, lying through his teeth as he admitted to the grief just then catching up to them. Will couldn’t have given less of a shit about any nameless government official they’d left decaying in the Nevada desert soil, he’d accepted the plague of death that followed him since childhood. He couldn’t help but sigh in relief that it wasn't his family that died. That only stood to give way to a new wave of guilt for even thinking such a thing.
So, Jonathan, with a slightly confused but sympathetic look in his eyes, pat Mike stiffly on the shoulders until his sobs faded to sniffles. When he made sure Jonathan wouldn’t see, Will shot expressive tight-jawed stares at Mike, heavy with tired pleas to not show his brother just how deplorable he was, just how thoroughly he’d lost a part of himself in that place. He knew Jonathan held onto hope for Will’s childhood like no other.
When Mike bit back a look so bitter and angry Will felt it sear into him like a cold branding, he could only swallow his tongue. It wasn’t fair of him to have push such a thing on Mike, and as Jonathan glanced warily between Will’s hung head and Mike’s broad back as he stormed back up the first story stairs to his room, he at least had the decency not to say much about it. He led Will back to the chill of the basement, and they both silently drifted off, tracking each other’s breathing. Will closed his eyes tightly enough that hot tears swelled from their creases, warming his chilled pink nose as they rolled down his flesh.
It had been two nights since then, and nearly three whole awkward days of not meeting each other’s eyes with heavy discomfort. At least, the not meeting each other’s eyes part was on Will’s end. He didn’t want to risk baring the most sickening parts of himself to Mike and having them scorned. He couldn’t take it, not with all of his might. And Mike’s insistence on shooting Will sympathetic looks so riddled with bitter betrayal and judgement they couldn’t have been two notes away from hatred didn’t exactly leave Will aching to talk about what he’d said.
Frankly, Will had gone almost four years of his life without ever bringing up the stomach churning truth of what he really went through. He’d tried as a child with not much knowledge of intimacy beyond kisses to express just what was so wrong about his presence, filling each part of him, cold and suffocating– but Will couldn’t understand just why shame burnt so hot along his cheeks when he thought of how others looked at him for it; like a boy changed by brutality, his mind splintering. Will was Will, but he couldn’t spit out what had been taken. He could only spit up what he was left with, slimy and writhing.
Years went by as the shame began to burn differently; his twisted version of lust clinging to the only boy whose hands didn’t feel like livewires against his skin, ready to harm. Whatever warped knowledge of intimacy Vecna had left him with, it had come to infect the boy he loved more than anyone. He felt hatred curl in his gut sometimes, when Mike’s eyes lingered on Eleven like a million stars, shining so blisteringly bright it burned. But Will bit that back, and as pity turned to distrust in Will’s mind, in his ability, in his wellbeing, Will knew telling his friends and family of the scars they couldn’t see would only lead them to try to heal wounds they couldn’t reach, and smother Will in the process. He wanted to help, he wanted to be equal. Acknowledged, having changed. Accepted, being treated just as he was; Will. Everyone seemed to want him back, the him that hadn’t tasted death like an open mouthed kiss, but nobody thought to trust him like they once did. Nobody…
Mike did. Once, back before Will’s love turned inexcusable. Turned strange. Now, a livewire would have been preferable to his awkward grasp, unsure of what to do with a creature like Will after all of those years. Will didn’t find comfort in his hold anymore, only looming anxiety at how badly he wanted it. How shaken and strained it was from Mike, and how wrong it all was. Wrong, wrong, wrong–
A knock on the bathroom door alerted Will to the present, laughs reaching his ears instead of hollow ringing. Catching his gaze in the mirror again, he was sweating; pale and sunken, as though he’d left his body sickly with thoughts alone. It wasn’t as though the thoughts were new. Will splashed hot water on his face, and the knocking increased.
“Coming, coming!” Will groaned, swinging open the door. “Bathrooms your–” Will’s voice collapsed in his throat, looking up to meet Mike’s worried gaze, hardened and sparking with passion. Will knew that gaze from his meetings over Crawls, buzzing with nervous energy and unwavering hope. Will could only swallow dryly, caught between Mike and the bathroom, half way out the doorway. “Um.” He said dumbly, attempting to glance behind Mike for some semblance of reprieve, silently hoping his mother would spontaneously call him back to the table. Her boisterous laugh told him otherwise.
“We should talk.” Mike softly said, certain and steady, but dripping with sincerity. Will bristled immediately.
“That notoriously doesn’t go well for us.” Will mumbled, shoving Mike’s shoulder to push him out of the way. Before he could move past the boy, Mike grasped Will’s wrist. In an instant, the hot flash of contact left Will writhing like he was back in those rotting pumpkin fields, and he ripped himself out of Mike’s grasp, staring at him angrily. The boy’s hands were charmingly warm. Mike seemed shocked at the reaction, but recovered extremely quickly considering their last encounter.
“Look, Will, just hear me out for a second.” Mike said, voice dripping with a gentle tenderness Will hadn’t been granted since they were not much older than thirteen, sunkissed and miserable. “I’m– I’m not gonna… We don’t have to talk about… that.” Mike said, holding back his hands. He looked away, sorrow etched into the harsh lines of his strong features. Will wanted to run his hands through Mike’s soft hair, but he shooed the thought away with a wrinkle of his nose. It formed onto his face as a snarl.
“Wanna chat about the weather, then?” Will snarked.
“No– Will, I’m serious.” Mike said, voice beginning to wobble. If Will looked close enough, he could remember the unfamiliar way Mike’s expression crumpled when he cried. “Give me two minutes. Seriously.” Mike said, leaning towards Will. He smelled like home.
Will glanced around, the Christmas music picking up from the other room. He sharply inhaled, letting out a shuddering sigh.
“Fine.”
Despite having been living under Mike’s roof for the past seven or so months, Will could count on one hand how many times he’d casually hung out in Mike’s room. If the boys did hang out, it was typically in a group setting, usually in WSQK, the basement, and much to Ted’s displeasure, very rarely the Wheeler living room. It wasn’t as though Will wouldn’t have been welcome in Mike’s room, but there was an unspoken awkwardness surrounding it considering how vehemently Joyce had denied Will staying there in the first place.
Surely, it wasn’t taboo for Mike in the same way it was Will, and neither of them could quite see eye to eye on Joyce’s discomfort in taking up any of the provisions Karen could manage the Byers, but it still felt like an unspoken rule of the shared house. Will settled down on Mike’s bed, pushing his back against the wall as he crossed his legs, a Bowie poster wrinkled behind his body weight. Mike sat on the other end, far enough from Will he’d have to lean to reach him. Will kind of appreciated it.
He looked contemplative, but confident. As though he’d rehearsed just what he planned to say, which, knowing Mike Wheeler, was almost certainly untrue. Will wasn’t sure he’d thought about a single word coming out of his mouth in his life.
“I—I know you don’t want me telling anyone about… about what happened.” Mike began. Will immediately tensed, shooting Mike a wide eyed warning. “—and I won’t. I— I know it’s gotta be… hard.” He finished.
“This really feels like we’re talking about it.” Will grumbled, voice pitchy as he curled in on himself, tense. Mike took deep breaths that he must have thought were quiet enough to escape Will’s ears, stabilizing himself.
“Just— I— it’s… it’s not about what happened, it’s about you. I wanna talk about you. Now.” Mike clarified, sitting up to meet Will’s gaze. Will kind of felt like he was looking up at the sky on a sunny day, squinting with watery eyes as they lolled in his head to escape the brutally bright blue glow. Mike truly was luminous. Will swallowed, ripping his gaze away, but Mike seemed to relax as some tension left Will’s shoulders.
It was quiet for a moment, but somewhere through the walls, Nancy laughed so hard at a joke she began to wheeze. Jingle Bell Rock was on its fourth play of the evening.
“I was reading this book. A while ago, actually, way before— before you told me, and it was on behaviour and stuff. You know, my English teacher recommended it last year. Mr. Wilson, have you had him in a class yet?” Mike rambled, waving his hands around. “A—anyways, case in point, the story was about human behaviour, especially linked to, like, physiological stuff. You know; why do we sweat, stupid shit like that, right?” Mike explained. Will let out a sigh, beginning to feel a dangerous fondness pull at his chest with Mike’s endless word vomit.
“So, one section was on allergies. How people can, like, have allergic reactions to anything as long as their body wants to reject it. Enough stress and you can give yourself hives. It’s kind of impressive, actually, but I stopped reading it around this point. Hellfire got busier, and—“ Mike’s words cut off with a sharp inhale, pained and quietly cutting. Will felt guilt sink in his stomach like a stone in a dead evening lake. “That— that doesn’t matter. What matters is how they cure allergies. They’ve been doing that recently, literally curing kids of this stuff. Not just allergies— like, all sorts of psychological stuff. Phobias, too.” Mike remarked, Will watched, eyes tired, as Mike seemed to perk up, excitement swirling behind his controlled expression. When Will looked hard enough, Mike seemed to have never grown up at all.
“Have you heard of exposure therapy?” Mike blurted, a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. Will shook his head, raising an eyebrow. Wherever therapy Mike insisted on, Will had more than likely been through it. He’d been hooked up to enough electroencephalograms and heart rate monitors by twelve to make Max look healthy.
“Okay, so, basically, when these kids have allergies— let’s say to something like peanuts— they could die from eating them. But, like vaccines, they’d just give them really small amounts regularly, let the kid go through, like, a mini anaphylactic shock, and then keep doing it over time until the kid’s body built a total intolerance.” Mike excitedly waved his hands about, mapping out the ingenious methods of modern science. Will watched, a gentle gaze falling across Mike’s energetic form. Mike noticed the sleepy comfort Will regarded him with as he spoke, no response provided but trusting silence, and cleared his throat to continue.
“Like I said, this worked with phobias too. Like, monkeys that they’d used operant conditioning on could unlearn the items they associated with fear. The people, even the feelings. They could— they could totally rewrite people’s responses to shit that— that traumatized them, just by slowly exposing them to it in positive settings.” Mike’s mouth was moving at a million miles a minute, practically shaking the bed with his invigorated passion towards monkey psychology, of all things. Will kind of dreaded that he understood just where Mike was going with that train of thought.
“So… you want to stop making me fear… the Upside Down..?” Will mumbled, face scrunched at the improbability of that ever happening. As a concept, a cold, dreary hell crawling with demons beneath his feet wasn’t exactly neutral on introduction.
“No..! No… like I said, this isn’t about back then, this is about now. About us.” Mike motioned between them, eyes hopeful. “I’m… I’m not, like, a therapist, Will. I— I won’t even pretend to be able to understand how badly you’ve been hurt, but I can… I can fix what I’ve done. I know I can.” Mike said, voice soft as wool, and warm as the glow of the Christmas lights peaking under his door. It was dark in his room, Will noted. Mike must have remembered.
He felt his heart thud in his chest, singing a tune dangerously close to hope .
“Are you gonna perform experiments on me, then? A mad science streak?” Will said, allowing a smile to bloom across his lips against his better judgement. Mike was silent at the sight, staring at his lips in a way that made Will’s chest swell with interest.
“S—sort of! I just mean…” Mike licked his lips, glancing down. “You— you have a hard time with touch, right? It’s… I mean, it’s understandable, but it… it wasn’t like that with us, you know? You said it yourself.” Mike reminded. Will grimaced. “I used to— I used to help, you know, before it kinda… got weird.” He stuttered out, previous wild energy all but extinguished.
“Yeah.” Will softly hummed.
“But I was thinking… just like any other phobia, you could probably overcome that, right? Learn how to leave those feelings in the past. Learn to— to feel okay again, at least with others.” Mike said, and Will felt himself exhale a shaken breath. It had weighed on him all these years, the rush of guilt at realizing his closest friends made him flinch, the disgust at his own body for daring to treasure such disgusting acts done to it enough to let them influence each part of his life. “So… just… just until it’s not so scary anymore, I could basically do, like, touch exposure therapy, you know?” Mike tried. Will looked up, eyes wide.
“Only if you want to, I mean! Absolutely no pressure, but I just thought… because, I know it’ll be hard, but you said yourself that I was someone you were okay with— with touching you, even after The Upside Down, and I don’t want to see you keep tearing yourself apart over this, so I thought if I just helped you start small, maybe it would… it would help you, like, kind of get back to feeling safe about it..? Even— even with just me, if that’s all you need.”
“And— and I know that seems selfish, like— like I just want to be the one you touch again, but it’s not like I can tell anyone else why I think holding your hand every so often while you panic would help in the long run, because I’m not enough of a douchebag to just spill your past onto the floor for everyone to poke and prod at, so I just figured—!”
“Mike.” Will sternly interjected. Mike was practically panting. “I’ll do it.” Will agreed, his heart working overtime as blood pumped so heavily through his ears he felt like he could hear a rushing river by his head. His face was undoubtedly bright red, and the small, relieved smile Mike sent his way certainly didn’t help.
“Okay.” Mike said, soft and distant. He seemed distracted, staring at Will as he chewed on his bottom lip, lost in thought for a moment. When Will ripped his gaze away, practically burning, Mike thought to do the same. Will played with a loose strand in Mike’s duvet between his index and thumb, twirling and untwirling it tensely.
“So… what— what do you have in mind? How are you gonna… like… expose me?” Will said, grimacing at his awkward phrasing. Mike didn’t seem to mind, continuing to stare at the wall across his room, calculating behind his big brown eyes.
“Honestly, I don’t really have, like, a set plan…” Mike admitted, shrugging as he relaxed back into his bedframe. “I guess I should start with studying you, right?” Mike mumbled, eyes peering over at Will, sending a jolt of pleasure through him. Gone was the lingering betrayal, the horror, and there was the stern care that had made his heart trip and stumble chamber first into Mike’s hands. Will swallowed dryly.
“What do you need to know?” Will asked, voice nearly as soft as a whisper. Mike’s jaw tensed, eyelashes fluttering as he seemed to snap out of his inquisitive trance. The room was unbearably warm.
“What— what is it about… about touch that gets you? Like— is it specific places? Instances? The kind of contact? The person?” Mike rambled out, voice low and delicate, measuring Will for any reaction. Will felt his breaths come a little heavier, but didn’t show Mike any emotion towards his questions.
Hundreds of instances ran through his mind, times he’d hugged his friends after beating his arcade high score and felt nothing but bubbling joy, times his mother had been subject to his violent flinches after she’d pat his head from behind him, watching her boy with despaired eyes for the rest of the awkward exchange, every time Jonathan noticed Will inch away from him when he sat on his bed, tears threatening to well. Will remembered the grasp of doctors that made him want to cry like a tempestuous child, each time a stranger clad in medical equipment would put an electrode up to his temple and he’d feel dread sink heavy and sticky in his gut, an inescapable terror at the meaningless action. Will remembered Mike grabbing his hand after a bad episode on Halloween, and waiting for the dreadful shock to burn his skin, but felt nothing but a warm comfort, pressed steady to him like a star to follow in the dead night. Will remembered when he realized that feeling had changed to craving. Will blinked away the memories.
“I think…” he began shakily, “it has to do with being surprised by it. Also, strangers, obviously.” Will shrugged. Mike nodded, so sincere it looked like it hurt.
“It doesn’t matter how close someone is to me, whenever someone touches me first… without— without me initiating, I just… it feels like I’m being electrocuted, and my stomach sinks like I’m in danger.” Will explained, throat tight as he motioned to himself. “It— it’s hard, because people think I think they’re dangerous when I react, but… it’s not that, I just… I don’t think my body understands ever, even when I really trust people, that I’m safe.” Will said, heart heavy. He was exhausted, constantly searching for threats, backing himself into the corner of every room so nothing could appear behind him. Will couldn’t relax.
“So, I mean, I think when it comes to people close to me, I can touch them, but I can’t stand… being… being touched.” Will finished, voice cracking. Mike nodded, lost in thought for a moment longer.
“What about… like, specific areas..?” He questioned.
“What?” Will spluttered, red as a tomato.
“Not—! I meant..!” Mike flushed as well, warm along his freckles. “I meant, like, you always get those… those shivers along your neck…” Mike motioned to the back of his own neck, signifying to Will just what he meant. “So I was wondering, is that, like, a bad area? Or— or I mean is it all touch, or just, like, romantic..? Or is romantic touch worse?”
“Mike..!” Will groaned, hiding his flushed face in his hands as he slumped over onto his bed.
“Will, I’m serious! This is for scientific accuracy!” He exclaimed, laying himself down next to Will on his puffy duvet, looking up at the ceiling. Will shuffled himself around to do the same, legs hanging off of the edge of Mike’s bed. He made sure their bodies weren’t pressed together anywhere.
“Look, I know this seems weird, but you’re not exactly keen on telling anyone else about this, right?” Mike questioned. After a moment, Will stiffly nodded. “Right, and you’re my best friend, so I want to help you. In— in any way I can, you know? And— I don’t know, this is… I’m not trying to be weird, okay? If it’s weird, tell me to stop, and we don’t even have to speak about it again.” Mike explained, his voice so close to Will’s ear it felt like it set him alight. They boys were silent for a moment, and through the walls, Will could hear Ted Wheeler beginning to snore, undoubtedly draped over his La-Z-Boy.
“Okay.” Will said through a heavy sigh.
“Yeah?” Mike said, achingly soft and sweet.
“Yeah.” Will agreed, steady. The room went quiet again for a moment, until Mike shifted, pushing himself up onto one of his elbows to peer down at Will. It felt unbelievably intimate, Mike’s face less a foot from his own, both boys laid out over his bed in the dim room, small and warm and all too much like home. Will thought, for a sickening moment, he’d like to spend the rest of his life with Mike staring down at him like that.
“I hate when people touch my face.” Will mumbled. His own eyes fluttered as he spoke, surprised the words had slipped out from his own lips. Mike blinked back, pulling a grimace off of his face as soon as it came.
“I hate when people hold me, too. One time I nearly knocked Jonathan’s lights out when he hugged me out of the blue.” Will’s lips quirked up in a bitter smile. Mike let out a huff of laughter, short and bright.
“Are you gonna knock me out if I start touching you? If so, I’m gonna get you to sign some wavers. I don’t have broken nose money.” Mike grinned, wide and bright. Will did laugh at that, small and soft.
“Shut up.” Will rolled his eyes.
“So face touching, hugging, and anything unexpected.” Mike listed. Will swallowed.
“I— I don’t know about… like… romantic stuff, or whatever. That’s probably not gonna go over well for me either, huh?” Will said awkwardly, wrinkling his nose as though he’d tasted something rotten. Mike seemed shocked at this, and Will averted his eyes.
“Nobody down in Lenora caught your eye?” Mike mumbled, seeming to analyze Will like a difficult math equation. Will blinked, quirking an eyebrow, before meeting Mike’s gaze again.
“No..? Not— not really.” Will narrowed his eyes, flushed. Mike looked like Will had admitted to saving a car full of drowning puppies, relief and surprise washed across his boyish face. “Why? Did you think I was breaking hearts out in California?” Will grinned, teasing.
“No! I mean— not— not totally.” Mike stumbled over his words, averting his gaze, fidgeting and stiff as he slammed his body back down next to Will on the mattress, looking back up at the ceiling. “El just… she— she mentioned you liked some girl, I don’t know.” Mike trailed off.
“What? When?” Will said, face screwing up in amused confusion.
“Like right before I visited. I don’t know, she just mentioned it.” Mike waved it off.
“Well, I didn’t, and even if I did, I wasn’t exactly a ladykiller.” Will shrugged.
“Bullshit! You have, like, three girls making goo-goo eyes at you a day at school, I seriously doubt it was any different in California.” Mike exclaimed, voice bordering on a whine.
“You jealous?” Will grinned, heart thudding heavily in his chest. He wasn’t stupid, he knew women seemed to like him for whatever reason, but he couldn’t find it in him to care when Mike happened to exist.
Mike spluttered for a moment, words failing.
“Why would I be jealous?” His voice came out, pitchy and breathy, a little too high. Will giggled.
“Mike, girls make goo-goo eyes at you too. Don’t sell yourself short.” Will smiled, turning to watch Mike’s side profile. They were a lot closer than he realized, and when Mike turned to return his gaze, he practically felt all of the air in his lungs escape, boiling over like a kettle. He was so close, it ached. Mike was silent, eyes scanning Will.
“Also, don’t go out with them.” Will mumbled, breathy. Mike’s eyelashes fluttered. “You’re sort of dating my sister.” Will smiled, forced and hollow. Mike didn’t notice. He turned to watch the ceiling again, and Will followed suit.
“Sort of…” he replied, low and quiet.
The boys stared at the ceiling for a while longer, silence filling the room. Will could feel his temperature going down, heart rate slowing with the continued proximity. Adaptation was always one of his strong suits, after all.
“I don’t— I don’t think we should jump to me just touching you whenever, because that might be, like, a wreck on your nervous system, yknow?” Mike whispered, as though this was all some inside joke. Will nodded. “But I was thinking, what about, just, touches you didn’t initiate, you know? That seems like a good starting point.” Mike said, something definitive in his voice. Will nodded again, feeling discomfort creeping up already.
“Okay.” Mike said, breathy like a sigh. “Okay.” He repeated, more certain.
“Put your palm face up.” Mike instructed. Will hesitated, before following instructions. He flipped his arm over, unfurling his clenched fist. He knew Mike was going to touch him, but that didn’t prepare him for the gentle press of a pinky against his own. Will flinched away, but forced himself to put his hand back to where it was, pressed against Mike’s. They were silent, not much sound but muffled Christmas music and the distant chatter of their families filling the room, so blurred not a word could be made out. Mike drifted his fingers upwards, leaving them grazing a burning path along Will’s skin that he itched to get away from, before he sunk his hand down, stretching his long, pale digits out along Will’s palm, tracing an exploding pattern from the center.
Will felt himself tense, his mind conjuring images of vines, of the twisting horror of his lost autonomy, of the cool grip of shame— but Mike was warm. Mike was warm, and solid, and he linked his fingers between Will’s so silently and assuredly, like they were meant to be there. Thin and stable, he held Will’s hand, pressed against him like sparks of lightning condensed into human form. Will felt panic swell in his chest, but just as it came, it faded, with the gentle reminder that Mike was the one holding him. Mike, who had always been there. Mike, who cared. Mike, who worried. Mike, who Will adored.
Mike, who avoided Will for a year of his life. Mike, who’s fault it was that he didn't like girls. Mike, who’s life started the day Will’s ended. Will felt like he couldn’t breath, an oppressive anxiety flattening his lungs in his chest, and he ripped his hand out of Mike’s grasp, sitting up with a gasp. Mike sat up immediately behind him, eyes concerned and soft, hair tousled like he’d been sleeping.
“Hey, hey. It’s okay.” Mike hummed. Will gasped for breath for a moment, steadying himself fairly quickly. He swallowed back the original gasp, burning in shame.
“Sorry.” He croaked, refusing to make eye contact with Mike.
“It’s fine. I’m not mad.” He reassured, before placing a hand on Will’s shoulder without thinking. Will aggressively shrugged the touch off, rolling his back out of it and twisting his arm out like it had burned, writhing like a child. Will’s eyes went wide at the aggressive movement, as did Mike’s, who looked shocked, if not more embarrassed.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have…”
“It’s okay.” Will interjected, slightly too harshly. He was overwhelmed, and unbelievably embarrassed.
“It’s fine. Let’s just… let’s go back to dinner. It’s probably cold.” Will stiffly said, pulling himself out of Mike’s bed, half way across the room to the door in the time Mike could blink.
“Will—!” Mike called, Will’s hand hovering over the door knob. “It’s— I didn’t scare you, right? You’re still up for this?” Mike questioned, soft and sympathetic. Will felt his heart kick against his sternum, tensing at the pleasant tone of pleading in his friend’s voice.
“Yeah.” He sighed, slightly too dreamily. “Of course.”
When he entered the dining room, Holly seemed to be the only company sober enough to enjoy. Will tried to will the heat off of his cheeks when he caught a glimpse of how fondly Mike smiled at him while Holly showed him how to make charm bracelets, her little hands adept at the crafts, and Will’s slightly clumsier.
It didn’t work.