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Will’s breath keeps catching on the way in, like it doesn’t quite want to stay inside him. Every inhale is sharp and thin, every exhale shaky, like he’s already halfway to crying again even when he tries to stop. His nose twitches over and over, red and sore, and he presses his face deeper into his knees like he can disappear into himself if he curls tight enough.
He’s so small like this. Smaller than he already is.
Mike hates it.
He hates it so much it makes something ugly and hot twist low in his stomach, makes his teeth press together until his jaw aches. His hand tightens around Will’s without him meaning to, their fingers laced together and a little damp with sweat. They’re tucked under Mike’s bed, backs to the wall, the wooden slats just above their heads making everything feel closer, tighter, safer, even though there’s no one here. Even though Mr. Byers isn’t in this house.
Mike still keeps listening for footsteps anyway, he always does. His ears flick at every little sound, the house settling, the faint creak of pipes, his mom moving around downstairs, and every time his shoulders tense like he’s getting ready to spring. Like something might come crawling in after them if he isn’t paying attention. He presses closer to Will instead, shoulder to shoulder, trying to block out everything else.
Mike doesn’t like Mr. Byers.
That thought feels too small for what it is. It doesn’t fit right in his chest. Doesn’t like isn’t enough, it’s not even close. Mike’s never really hated someone before, not like this, not in a way that makes his whole body react without asking him first. But when he sees him, his lip curls back before he can stop it. His shoulders go rigid, tail standing on end, a low, ugly growl slipping out of his throat before he even realizes he’s making noise. It always ends the same way, his mom grabbing him by the scruff, dragging him back, voice sharp and quiet at the same time, telling him no, Michael, stop, that’s not how we act.
Mike always goes limp after, shame crawling over his skin like something sticky and gross, because he knows that he looks just like Mr. Byers when he does that, and he never ever wants Will to look at him like that.
Will sniffles again, louder this time, and it snaps Mike out of it. He shifts closer, pressing his nose carefully into the inside of Will’s wrist, breathing him in like he needs it. Will smells like coconut and grass and something soft, something warm. Like outside in the sun, like quiet afternoons. Underneath it there’s something sharper today, fear, and hurt, and something sour that makes Mike’s chest tighten. He hates that smell, too, but he tries not to let it change his own. He tries to keep himself calm, even when everything in him is screaming.
Will’s shaking. Not a lot, not big movements, just little tremors that run through him like he can’t quite hold still. Mike wraps his other arm around him, careful, careful, like Will might break if he squeezes too hard. He might, and that's scary too, but Mike can't let himself be scared or Will is going to be more scared too.
Mike’s mom had opened the door without even asking questions. She’d taken one look at Will, at his face, at the way he was holding himself, and her mouth had gone tight in that way it does when she’s trying not to show she’s upset. She told them to go upstairs, voice soft, and pressed an extra snack into Will’s hands like it might fix something.
Mike knows she worries. He knows she sees it, even if she doesn’t say it out loud. He worries too. All the time.
“He made Jonnie go hunting today,” Will finally says, voice barely there. It scrapes out of him like it hurts to speak, like every word has to be dragged up from somewhere deep.
Mike goes still. The anger spikes so fast it almost makes him dizzy. It floods up his throat, hot and choking, and for a second he thinks he might actually snarl. He clamps his mouth shut hard enough it hurts, swallowing it back down before it can spill out. Mike forces his voice to come out soft instead, even though it feels wrong in his throat, like he’s pushing something big through something too small. “It’s okay,” he whispers, trying to be comforting.
Will shakes his head, ears flopping with the motion. Usually, Mike loves that, usually he buries his face between them, lets himself get lost in how soft they are, how warm. But now, they just make his chest ache. They’re too big for how small Will is. Too easy to grab.
Mike knows Mr. Byers pulls on them. He’s seen the way Will flinches when someone reaches too fast, the way his shoulders hunch like he’s bracing for it. Mike’s eyes sting, and he blinks hard, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “He killed a bunny,” Will mumbles, voice breaking halfway through. “Like us.” Mike’s grip tightens again, thumb dragging up and down the inside of Will's palm. “Jonnie is so sad about it,” Will goes on, words tumbling out faster now, like once he started he can’t quite stop. “He didn’t want to, he said he didn’t want to, but dad- dad made him, and then he did it himself and he got really mad after, ‘cause- ‘cause Jonnie wouldn’t do it right and-” Will sucks in a shaky breath. “He said we’re wrong. That we’re- weak. That's why he's mad. I didn't mean to make him upset-”
“You didn’t,” Mike says immediately, too fast, too sharp. He softens it right after, squeezing Will’s hand and pulling it against his chest, pressing their joined fingers right over his heartbeat. “You didn’t do anything wrong. He’s mean, Will. He’s just-... he’s mean.” Will’s breathing stutters, but it slows a little. Mike can feel it, the way his knuckles rest against his chest, the faint thump-thump-thump steady under them, the pulsing soothing Will in a way Mike wished he could do verbally, too. “Does- does your mom know?” Mike asks, quieter now. Will shakes his head. Mike’s throat tightens. “I think my mom’s gonna call her,” he murmurs, even though he’s not totally sure. It feels like something she would do. Mike kind of wants her to, too.
Will curls in tighter at that, like the words themselves hurt. “Dad’s gonna get mad again,” he whispers. “I don’t want him to get mad.”
Mike’s nose scrunches up, his eyes burning. It feels like crying, but different. Hotter, sharper, like it’s trying to claw its way out of him instead of spill. “He hurts you,” Mike spits, voice wobbling despite how hard he tries to keep it steady. “He shouldn’t do that. That’s- that's not allowed. That’s bad.”
“I know,” Will says, so small it barely counts as sound. “Jonnie tries to stop him. He gets in the way a lot. But then- then he just hits Jonnie instead.” His voice cracks. “I don’t like it. I don’t like seeing him hurt.” Mike squeezes him tighter. “Mom tries too,” Will chokes out, “But she- she can’t always. And Mister Hopper… he’s nice. He says we can call him, and Jonnie does sometimes, when it’s really bad. When dad uses- other things.”He swallows hard, and Mike has to breathe through his mouth to avoid the smell of Will's distress. “Mom says it’s not polite to call him all the time, ‘cause has work, and- and dad gets more mad after, anyway. He drinks more, and then if he hears us-”
Will cuts himself off, shaking his head quickly, like he said too much. Mike moves before he can help himself. One second he’s sitting there and then the next he’s punching on top of Will, pushing him down into the carpet, pressing his face hard into the crook of his neck. His arms wrap around him tight, too tight, like if he doesn’t hold on hard enough Will might just disappear or go somewhere evil, like back home.
Will squeaks, startled, his foot kicking out and hitting Mike’s stomach. It hurts, a sharp jolt, but Mike doesn’t let go. He just holds tighter, breathing him in, over and over, trying to drown out the fear-scent still clinging to him. “It’s me,” Mike murmurs quickly, muffled against his skin, hissed through the pain of Will's thumps against his tummy. “It’s just me, it’s just me, Will. I'm scenting you-”
Will goes stiff for a second before slumping down. All the tension drains out of him at once, like something inside him finally gave up holding it all together. His hands clutch weakly at Mike’s shirt instead, fingers bunching in the fabric, legs hooking around him like the monkey stuffed animals that Mike's mom gets him, sometimes.
Will still smells scared, a little bit like rotten fruit and dust, but Mike presses his face closer, eyes squeezed shut. He wishes he could pull it out of Will and keep it for himself where it can’t hurt him anymore.
“…If I was a police officer,” Mike whispers after a long moment, voice small but fierce all at once, “I’d spend all my time beating up people who hurt you.”
Will lets out a weak, shaky sound that was probably supposed to be a laugh, but sounded like another sob. “What if they’re bigger than you?” he asks, voice trembling. “Sometimes, even if you’re fast, or you hide really good, they still find you.”
“I'd beat them up,” Mike repeats, nose directly against Will's scent gland. His grip tightens.
“You can’t beat them when they’re bigger,” Will says, quieter now. “They just… hurt you more.”
Mike’s chest aches so bad it almost feels like it’s caving in. “Then I’ll get bigger too,” he blurts immediately, like there’s no other option. Like it’s already decided. “I will. I’ll be the tallest person you know.” He pulls back just enough to look at him, even though it hurts to see his face like this, bruised, swollen, eyes glassy and red. “And if anyone tries to mess with you,” Mike goes on, voice shaking but determined, “they’ll have to go through me first. Okay?”
Will stares up at him, eyebrows furrowed and ears twitching alongside the sides of his head, hair tangled. “Even if you hide,” Mike adds, softer now, reaching up to brush his hair back carefully, gently, “I’ll find you. I’ll always find you. I don’t care where you go, I’ll come get you.” His throat tightens, but he pushes through it. “I’ll take care of you,” he whispers. “I promise.”
Will’s lip trembles. “But-”
“Friends don’t lie,” Mike cuts him off, waiting for Will to agree.
Will nods, small and uneven, hiccuping on the movement. His arms wrap around Mike as best as they can, clinging. “Frie- friends don’t lie,” he echoes, broken and soft.
“Mhm,” Mike hums, face pressed between soft ears, spine relaxing for the first time since Will first stumbled to his doorstep. “And, we’re best friends. That’s even stronger. That makes it, like, extra real.” Will nods again against the base of Mike's throat, and he can feel his tail wag at Will scenting him back. He never scented Mike as thoroughly as Mike would like, but he takes the scraps he can. “If you hide, just- just walkie me, okay? I’ll find you. And if you can’t talk…” He hesitates, thinking hard. “Just breathe. I’ll know it’s you. I’ll hear it.”
“…Really?” he asks, barely louder than a breath.
Mike doesn’t hesitate. “Really.”
___________________________________
The front door feels too big and too open, but Mike stands in it anyway, bare feet planted hard against the wood floor like if he presses down enough he can anchor himself there, keep everything from moving forward. They should be in the den, but they're not. It's cold out here, and it's not safe, but Mike can't go back inside because Will is outside.
He’s pressed so tight against Mike’s chest it almost hurts, small and shaking and there, still here, still safe for a few more seconds. Mike’s face is buried in the top of his head, right between his ears, his nose tucked into the soft space there like he’s trying to memorize it, like if he breathes deep enough he can make the scent stay. His arms
“I don’t want you to go,” Mike murmurs, but it comes out broken, muffled against Will’s hair, voice thick with tears. It sounds smaller than he means it to. Weaker. If Mr. Byers were here, he wonders if he would yell at Mike for crying or yelling at Will for it instead.
“I know,” Will whispers, his voice scraped raw. “I don’t want to either.”
“Then don’t,” Mike says quickly, lifting his head just enough to look down at him. “Just- just stay. You can stay here. My mom won’t care, she never cares, she likes you, she’d let you stay forever if you wanted.” He’s talking too fast now, the words tumbling over each other. “You can sleep in my bed, or- or we can stay under it again, I don’t care, and I’ll get you more snacks and-”
“Mike,” Will interrupts, soft but firm in a way that makes Mike’s throat close up. Will looks at him with those big, wet eyes, ears drooping just a little. “I have to go home.” It lands heavy.
Final.
Mike shakes his head immediately, even as his vision blurs again. “No,” he says, but it’s not strong. It’s not convincing. “No, you don’t. You don’t have to. You can just stay here, with- with me.” Will presses his face back into Mike’s chest, like he can’t stand to look at him while he says it.
“My mom’s gonna be worried,” he murmurs. “She needs to see me and know I’m okay, especially if- if the house is messy and I'm gone.”
Mike’s hands tighten in the back of his shirt. “You’re okay here,” he insists, voice breaking. “You’re safe here.”
“I know,” Will says again, softer this time. “I know I am.”
That makes it worse somehow. Mike buries his face back into Will’s hair, breathing him in hard, like it might fix something. “Then walkie me as soon as you get home. No- before. When you’re on the way. And when you get there. And- and later, too. Just keep calling me so I know you’re okay.”
Will nods against his chest, quick and small. “I will,” he promises, voice wobbling. “I will, I swear.”
“And if you can’t talk,” Mike adds, gripping his shoulders now, searching his face, “just- just breathe again. Like I said. I’ll know. I’ll listen for it.”
Will nods again, pressing closer like he’s trying to hide in him. “I will.” Mike tightens his grip, stomach sinking with that awful, creeping feeling that he's about to lose something.
“WILL!”
Mike freezes, Will tensing in his arms. Jonathan barely makes it halfway up the driveway before he’s jumping off his bike, letting it crash to the ground without even looking at it. It clatters loudly, the wheel still spinning as it tips over, but he’s already moving, already running.
“WILL-!” His voice cracks on the name.
He stumbles once, catches himself, then keeps going, sprinting up the rest of the way. Mike instinctively pulls Will closer, but Jonathan is already there. He drops to his knees in front of them so fast it almost looks like he fell, hands coming up immediately to cup Will’s face, careful but urgent, turning it side to side. “I've got him-”
“Hey, hey, buddy-” Jonathan breathes, eyes wide and glassy, scanning every inch of him. “What happened? Are you- are you okay?” Will makes a small sound, something between a sob and a sigh, and leans into his touch.
“Doesn’t hurt,” Will stammers out, and Jonathan's expression crumples.
“Jesus,” he whispers, thumb brushing carefully under one of the bruises. “Will…”
Mike’s grip tightens again, something defensive flaring up in his chest, but it doesn’t last long, because Jonathan looks just as scared as he feels. Without another word, Jonathan pulls Will into him, scooping him up like it’s nothing, lifting him clean off the ground. Will goes willingly, arms wrapping around his shoulders, legs locking around his waist like he’s done this a thousand times before, hiding his face in Jonathan’s neck immediately. “I've got you, bud. I've got you Will.”
Jonathan holds him close, tight, protective, one hand cradling the back of his head. “Jonnie-”
Mike’s chest lurches. “No- wait-” he blurts, stepping forward, hands reaching out. “Wait-” He grabs at Will, fingers catching on his sleeve, his side, anything he can reach. “You can’t- you can’t go yet-”
Jonathan looks at him then, really looks at him, and something in his face softens. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice low and tired and aching. “We have to go home, Mike. You can see him tomorrow, but I've got him for now.”
“It’s not safe!” Mike snaps, the words ripping out of him before he can stop them. Jonathan freezes, looking down at Mike, and there’s something heavy in his eyes, something that understands more than Mike wishes he did. “It's not safe-”
Slowly, carefully, Jonathan shifts one hand, reaching out to rest it on top of Mike’s head. He ruffles his hair gently, fingers brushing between his ears. “It’s okay. You'll see him tomorrow at school, remember?”
“It’s not,” Mike insists, voice shaking, eyes burning again. “He can’t go back there. He can’t- he can’t leave the den. There's monsters.”
Jonathan’s mouth tightens. Then, he leans down just a little, voice quieter now. “Dad isn’t home. No monsters there, alright? Just me.”
Mike hesitates. It hits him like a pause in everything, like the world stutters for a second. “…He’s not?” he asks, smaller now.
Jonathan shakes his head. “No. He’s not. He's not coming back for a little while.”
Mike searches his face, like he’s trying to figure out if that’s true, if it’s safe to believe. After a reluctant moment, he nods. “When he comes back, Will can come here, right?”
“Yeah. Course he can.” Mike nods again, eyes watery, and Jonathan lets out a quiet breath before dropping into a proper squat. “C’mere,” he says softly. Mike doesn’t need to be told twice. He steps in immediately, wrapping his arms around Will again, pressing into his back this time, burying his face between his shoulder blades. Will makes a soft, broken sound and reaches one hand back blindly, finding Mike’s and holding on tight. Their fingers lace together again.
Mike squeezes as hard as he can, like he’s trying to pour everything into that one touch. “Walkie me,” he whispers again, voice cracking. “Don’t forget.”
“I won’t,” Will murmurs into Jonathan’s shoulder.
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Mike nods against him, smearing his scent like a claim, like for some reason it would be able to get Mr. Byers to back off if he raised his hands again. Mike knows it won't, but he tries anyway.
Jonathan stands again slowly, adjusting Will on his hip. Mike’s hand slips from Will’s as they move, and it feels wrong enough that he lets out a whine, ears pinning down to his head.
“I’ll take you guys to the park tomorrow after school, okay?” Jonathan adds gently, glancing down at Mike. “We can hang out all day.”
Mike swallows hard, nodding once. “Okay,” he whispers, tail wrapped around his leg, shuffling back and forth in place. “See ya, Will.”
“... Bye Mike,” Will murmurs against his brother, curled into warm arms. A mean part of Mike thinks he'd be warmer, but he knows he couldn't carry Will around like Jonathan could, not when he hasn't grown up yet.
“See ya, Will-” Mike repeats, even though he's already said it once. Will snorts wetly, and Mike's heart soars. His stomach stays buzzing even when they leave and he's stuck outside all alone.
___________________________________
His room feels wrong when he goes back.
Mike stands in the middle of it, arms hanging at his sides, staring at nothing. His chest still hurts, like something got pulled out of it and didn’t get put back.
He sniffs hard, scrubbing at his face with the back of his hand. It doesn’t help.
He turns abruptly and leaves again, feet padding down the hallway faster this time, like he knows exactly where he needs to go.
His mom is in the living room. She looks up the second she hears him, and her expression softens immediately.
“Oh, Michael-” He runs to her, crashing into her arms hard enough to almost knock her back, face burying into her shoulder as the sobs finally spill out, loud and messy and impossible to stop.
She catches him easily, wrapping him up just as tight, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his head, the other rubbing slow circles into his back. “It’s okay,” she murmurs, soft and steady, over and over again. “It’s alright, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”
Mike clings to her, fingers digging into her shirt, shaking. “He has to go back,” he chokes out. “He has to go back there-”
“I know,” she says gently, pressing a kiss to his hair. “I know.”
“It’s not safe,” he whispers, voice small and broken.
Her hand smooths over his hair again, careful, soothing. “He’s got people who love him there too,” she coos. “And we’re right here, okay? We’re not going anywhere.”
Mike squeezes his eyes shut, breathing in shaky and uneven. “He promised he’d call,” he mumbles.
“Good,” she hums. “Then we’ll listen.”
Mike nods against her, even though the ache in his chest doesn’t go away.
___________________________________
Mike’s wearing a path into the carpet.
Back and forth, quick, restless steps from his door to his bed and back again, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. His ears flick at every little sound, every creak of the house, every car that passes outside, like one of them might somehow be the thing he’s waiting for.
The walkie sits on his desk, silent.
Mike glances at it every few seconds like he can will it to turn on just by looking hard enough. “Come on,” he mutters under his breath, pacing faster. “Come on, come on-”
Crackle.
Mike freezes, then he’s moving. He practically launches himself across the room, knocking into the edge of his desk as he grabs the walkie, fumbling with it for half a second before pressing it close. “Will?” he blurts, breathless, voice tight with worry. “Will- are you okay? What happened? Did something-”
“Mike,” comes the whisper back, soft before Will giggles. It’s quiet, a little tired, but it’s real, and it cuts straight through the panic still lodged in Mike’s chest.
Mike blinks, thrown off. “What– what?” he stammers. “Why are you laughing? Are you okay? I can ask my mom to come get you-”
“I’m okay,” Will says, still a little giggly, like he’s trying to keep it down so no one hears him. “My mom just- she said she was gonna hose me down outside when I got home.”
Mike frowns, confused. “What? Why?”
A tiny pause. “…She said you got your scent all over me,” Will admits, voice dropping softer, almost shy.
Mike can't help himself from beaming. It’s small at first, just the corners of his mouth twitching up, but it spreads quick, warmth blooming through his chest, pushing out the last of that tight, awful feeling from earlier. “Oh,” he says, a little breathless. “Really?”He shifts on his feet, suddenly feeling lighter, like something settled right where it was supposed to. “Did she-” he starts quickly, gripping the walkie tighter. “Did she wash it off?”
There’s a tiny rustle on the other end, like Will shifting in place. “…No,” he says. “She didn’t.” Mike’s shoulders drop immediately, relief rushing through him so fast it almost makes him dizzy. “She let me take a nap first, but I had to shower before I could eat at the table.”
Mike exhales, long and slow, tension melting out of him. Will, curled up in his bed, blankets pulled close, Mike's scent still there, wrapped around him, settled into the sheets, into the pillows, into the place where Will is smallest. Will slept in his burrow with Mike's scent on him, he trusted Mike to take care of him while he dreamed, even though Mike isn't very tall or very strong or very big at all.
Mike’s grip on the walkie loosens just a little, his voice softer when he speaks again. “Good,” he murmurs. “That’s… good.” There's a pause while Mike works up his courage, nervous. “Can I… can I scent you again tomorrow?” Mike asks, almost careful with the words, like he doesn’t want to push too far. “Just a little.”
Will giggles again, quieter this time, something warm threaded through it. “Yeah, but you can't do too much, okay?”
Mike perks up. “Why not?”
“My mom said it’ll hurt her nose if it’s too strong,” Will explains, voice soft and amused. “She said that I smelled more Wheeler than Byers.”
Mike grins, quick and bright. “Okay,” he says immediately, tail smacking against the bed repeatedly. “I won’t do too much.” There’s another soft hum of agreement from Will. Mike shifts, finally moving away from the desk, the restless energy in him settling now that Will’s voice is steady in his ear. He climbs onto his bed, curling up into it, the familiar space of his den wrapping around him. “Are you excited for tomorrow?” he asks, a little lighter now. “We can go on the swings. And the slide. And your brother said we could stay a long time, since it's the whole day after school.”
“I am,” Will mumbles, voice quieter now, sleepier. “I like the swings.”
“Me too,” Mike agrees instantly, smiling to himself as he tucks the walkie close. “They're our spot.”
“Mhm.” He stretches out across his bed, finally still for the first time since Will left, chest warm and full and okay. Will yawns, and Mike can picture him nuzzling into his burrow, buried under blanket after blanket.
“Get some rest,” Mike whispers, kind of wishing he was there with Will, even if he'd prefer Will in the den instead.
“Mkay. You too.”
The line crackles gently between them. Mike stays there anyway, listening to the faint static, a small, giddy feeling bubbling up in his chest as he presses his face into his pillow.
If he closes his eyes hard enough and concentrates, he can still smell coconut.