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The Upside Down is too quiet.
Not silent,never silent. There’s always that low, wet hum in the air, like something breathing just out of reach,but empty in a way that makes Mike’s chest feel tight.
“Will,” he says, again, softer this time.
No answer.
Mike forces himself forward, dragging his bad leg through ash and rot. Every step sends a sharp, hot pulse up his side, but he grits his teeth and keeps moving. Stopping isn’t an option. Not here.
Not without him.
“Will!”
There—something shifts ahead.
A person.
Mike stumbles the last few steps and drops to his knees beside him.
“Hey—hey, hey—” His voice cracks immediately. “No, no, no—”
Will is barely conscious, curled slightly onto his side like he tried to make himself smaller. His sweater is torn open at the ribs, soaked dark with blood that looks almost black in this place.
The scratch is bad.
Too big. Too deep.
Mike’s hands hover uselessly for a second before pressing down anyway, trying to stop the bleeding, even though it keeps slipping through his fingers.
“Will” he whispers , breath shaking. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
Will makes a small sound—barely there—but it’s enough.
His eyes flutter open.
“M… Mike?”
“I’m here,” Mike says immediately, too fast, like if he doesn’t answer quick enough Will might disappear. “I’m right here.”
Will blinks slowly, trying to focus. His gaze drifts, then settles on Mike’s face, like that’s the only thing anchoring him.
“You—” Will swallows, wincing. “You shouldn’t… be here.”
Mike lets out something between a laugh and a sob. “Yeah? Kinda too late for that.”
Will’s lips twitch faintly, like he almost smiles.
It fades quickly.
“You’re hurt,” Will murmurs, eyes dropping to Mike’s leg.
Mike shakes his head immediately. “I know”
Will goes quiet at that.
The air shifts—the distant screech of something moving, hunting—and Mike instinctively leans closer, like he can shield him.
“Listen,” Mike says, voice dropping, urgent now. “We’re gonna get out. Okay? We just— we just need to move a little, find somewhere safe—”
“I can’t,” Will whispers.
Mike freezes.
Will’s hand weakly catches his sleeve, fingers cold.
“I tried,” he says, barely audible. “Before you got here. I can’t… I can’t stand.”
Mike’s throat tightens so hard it hurts.
“No,” he says, shaking his head like he can undo it. “No, we’ll figure it out. I’ll— I’ll help you. I can carry you.”
“With that?” Will glances again at his leg, even now managing that quiet, stubborn honesty that drives Mike insane.
Mike almost snaps.
Instead, his voice comes out desperate.
“I’m not leaving you.”
Will’s expression changes at that—something soft, something pained.
“I know,” he says.
And that’s worse. That understanding.
Mike presses harder against the wound, even though it makes Will flinch.
“Stay with me,” Mike says. “Just— just stay awake, okay? Talk to me.”
Will exhales shakily.
“About what?”
“Anything. I don’t care. Just— don’t—” Mike’s voice breaks. “Don’t go quiet.”
Will watches him for a long moment, like he’s memorizing him.
Then, very softly:
“You remember Castle Byers?”
Mike lets out a breath that almost turns into a sob. “Yeah. Of course I do.”
“I thought…” Will’s eyes drift past him, unfocused now, seeing something else. “I thought if I rebuilt it enough times… it wouldn’t fall apart anymore.”
Mike shakes his head, fiercely. “It didn’t. It didn’t, Will. It’s still there.”
Will looks back at him, faintly confused. “It is?”
“Yeah,” Mike says, even though he doesn’t know if it’s true. “Yeah. We’ll— we’ll go back. Fix it again. Together.ok?”
Will’s gaze softens.
“Okay.”
Another distant shriek.
Closer this time.
Mike’s grip tightens. His whole body is shaking now, from pain, from fear, from the crushing weight of it.
“I need you to hold on,” he whispers. “Just a little longer. Please.”
Will’s eyes are starting to close again.
“Will.”
A pause.
“Will!”
Will inhales sharply, forcing them open.
“I’m here,” he mumbles.
Mike leans forward until their foreheads almost touch.
“You’re not allowed to die on me,” he says, voice trembling, almost angry now. “Do you hear me? You don’t get to just— just leave. Not again.”
Will goes very still.
Something flickers across his face—something deeper than pain.
“I’m trying,” he whispers.
And that—that breaks him.
“I know,” Mike chokes out. “I know you are.”
For a second, everything narrows—the noise, the fear, the monsters—until it’s just this. Just them.
Mike shifts, ignoring the scream of his leg, pulling Will a little closer, careful of the wound.
“I’ve got you,” he says again, softer this time. “Okay? I’ve got you.”
Will’s head tilts weakly against him.
“…okay.”
The word is barely there.
But he says it.
And for now—
That enough
The air feels thicker the longer they stay still.
Like it’s pressing in.
Like it knows.
Mike doesn’t move. He barely even breathes, afraid that if he shifts too much, if he loosens his grip even slightly, Will will slip away from him.
Will’s weight is uneven against him—half-slumped, half-held up by Mike’s shaking arms. Every few seconds there’s a small, involuntary twitch that runs through him, like his body doesn’t know what to do with the pain.
“Stay with me,” Mike whispers again, because he doesn’t know what else to say anymore. “Stay awake.”
Will exhales, shaky and thin. His breath stutters halfway through, catching like it hurts to even exist.
“I’m—” he starts, then stops.
His hand weakly grips at Mike’s sleeve again, like he needs something solid to hold onto.
“I’m trying,” he says, smaller this time.
“I know,” Mike says immediately, too fast, too desperate. “I know, I know, just— just keep talking, okay? You said— Castle Byers. You— you wanted to rebuild it.”
Will’s lips part like he’s going to answer, but instead a sharp, broken sound slips out of him.
Pain.
Mike feels it like it’s happening to him.
“Hey—hey—” He adjusts without thinking, and Will gasps, his whole body going rigid.
“Don’t—” Will breathes, eyes squeezing shut. “Don’t move me—”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Mike says quickly, panicking. “I’m not, I’m not—just—just stay—”
Will’s breathing goes uneven, shallow and fast. His fingers curl tighter into Mike’s sleeve, trembling.
“It hurts,” he whispers.
Mike’s chest caves in.
“I know,” he says helplessly. “I know it does.”
There’s nothing to fix it. Nothing to stop it. Just pressure against the wound and hope and lies and—
“I should’ve—” Mike starts, voice cracking, then stops himself.
Will’s eyes flicker open, unfocused. “What?”
Mike shakes his head hard. “Nothing.”
“Mike.”
Even like this—barely conscious, barely holding on—Will still says his name like that. Like he always does, Like it's the most important thing.
Mike lets out a broken breath.
“I should’ve stayed with you,” he blurts. “Back there. I shouldn’t have—split up, or— or let you go ahead, or—” His voice fractures. “I knew this place was bad, I knew it, and I still—”
“Mike.”
It’s quiet. Weak.
But firm.
Mike freezes.
Will’s gaze is barely steady, but it’s on him.
“That’s not—” Will swallows, wincing hard. “That’s not how it happened.”
“It is,” Mike insists, anger bleeding into his voice now, sharp and messy. “You said you were fine, and I believed you, and now—”
“And now I got hurt,” Will finishes, breath hitching. “That’s— not your fault.”
“It is if I let it happen!”
Will flinches—not from the volume, but from the force of it.
Mike immediately regrets it.
“I didn’t mean—” he starts, but Will’s already shaking his head, small and weak.
“You always do that,” Will murmurs.
Mike blinks. “What?”
“You—” Will struggles to get the words out, each one dragging. “You take everything and make it your fault.”
“Because it is!” Mike snaps again, then clamps his mouth shut, like he hates himself for it.
Will lets out a faint, breathless laugh that turns into a cough. It bends him forward slightly and Mike panics, steadying him as best he can.
“Careful—careful—”
Will winces through it, eyes squeezing shut.
“It’s not,” he whispers once it passes. “It’s just… bad things happening.”
Mike shakes his head, even though Will probably can’t see it clearly.
“Not to you,” he says. “Not like this. Not again.”
That word hangs there.
Again.
Will goes very still.
For a second, Mike thinks he’s passed out—but then Will’s voice comes, barely audible.
“I didn’t want you to come.”
Mike’s head jerks up. “What?”
“I didn’t—” Will swallows. “I didn’t want you here. Not here.”
Something cold slides through Mike’s chest.
“Why?”
Will’s eyes drift, unfocused, like he’s seeing something else layered over Mike’s face.
“Because this place…” His breath shudders. “It takes things. It twists them.”
Mike’s grip tightens instinctively.
“I don’t care.”
“I do,” Will says, sudden and sharp despite the weakness. It makes him gasp right after, like even that took too much out of him.
Mike softens immediately. “Hey—hey, don’t—”
“I do,” Will repeats, quieter now. “I couldn’t— I couldn’t do that again.”
Mike knows what he means.
Mike’s voice drops.
“You’re not going to.”
Will’s expression shifts—something fragile.
“I might,” he whispers.
“You won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
They’re both shaking now.
Will from cold and pain.
Mike from everything else.
For a moment, neither of them speaks. The only sound is Will’s uneven breathing and that distant, horrible echo of something moving in the dark.
Then—
“I was scared,” Will says suddenly.
Mike looks down at him.
“When it—” Will falters. “When it attacked me.”
Mike’s stomach twists violently.
“Don’t— you don’t have to—”
“I thought…” Will’s voice thins. “I thought that was it. That I wasn’t going to see you again.”
Mike’s vision blurs.
“You’re seeing me now,” he says, like if he says it enough it’ll stay true.
Will’s lips tremble.
“Yeah.”
A tear slips sideways into his hair.
Mike freezes when he sees it.
Then another.
Will doesn’t even seem to notice.
“I didn’t get to say anything,” he whispers.
Mike’s heart stutters.
“Say it now,” he says quickly. “You can— you can say it now.”
Will looks at him.
Really looks at him.
And for a second, the pain, the fear, the Upside Down—it all fades behind something else. Something quieter. Something heavier.
“I was mad at you,” Will says.
It hits like a punch.
Mike blinks. “What?”
“I didn’t mean to be,” Will adds quickly, words slurring slightly as exhaustion pulls at him. “I just— you were… different. And I didn’t know how to—”
Mike’s throat tightens.
“You could’ve told me.”
“I tried,” Will says. “You didn’t hear me.”
Mike flinches.
“I—” He stops. Tries again. “I didn’t know you needed me to.”
Will lets out a weak, shaky breath.
“I always need you to.”
Silence.
Mike’s composure cracks completely.
“I’m here now,” he says, voice breaking wide open. “Okay? I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
Will’s eyes are glassy, unfocused again.
“You might have to,” he murmurs.
“No.”
“Mike—”
“No,” he says again, stronger this time, even as tears spill down his face. “I’m not leaving you here. I don’t care what happens. I don’t care if I can’t walk or if those things come back—I’m not leaving you.”
Will’s hand weakly shifts, finding Mike’s wrist.
“You can’t—” he breathes. “You can’t die here too.”
“Nobody is going to die will”
“You don’t know that.”
“Will stop!”
They both stop.
The words hang there—too loud, too real.
Will’s breathing stutters again, worse this time. His whole body starts shaking harder, uncontrollably now.
“Hey—hey—” Mike panics, tightening his hold. “Will, stay with me—”
“I’m—” Will gasps. “I’m cold—”
“I know, I know,” Mike says, even though he doesn’t know how to fix it. He pulls him closer anyway, ignoring the way it makes Will whimper. “I’ve got you. Just— just stay—”
Will’s head drops forward slightly, his weight going heavier.
“No, no, no—” Mike’s voice spikes. “Will, don’t— don’t do that—”
Will doesn’t respond.
“Will!”
Nothing.
Mike’s hands shake as he shifts, tapping his face lightly with one hand while holding him up with the other.
“Hey— hey, come on— open your eyes, come on—”
A second passes.
Two.
Then Will inhales sharply, like he’s surfacing from underwater, eyes snapping open just enough.
“I’m here,” he mumbles, barely conscious.
Mike almost collapses in relief.
“Don’t do that,” he chokes. “Don’t— don’t scare me like that.”
Will’s lips barely move.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” Mike says immediately. “Just— just stay.”
Will nods weakly—or maybe it’s just his head slipping.
“I’m tired,” he whispers.
“I know,” Mike says, voice trembling. “But you can’t sleep. Not yet. Please.”
Will’s eyes flutter.
“…okay.”
But even as he says it, they start to close again.
Mike presses his forehead against Will’s, tears falling freely now.
“Talk to me,” he begs. “Anything— just— just keep talking.”
Will’s breath brushes faintly against his skin.
“…you talk,” he murmurs.
Mike lets out a shaky, broken laugh.
“Okay,” he says. “Okay, I can— I can do that.”
He swallows hard, trying to think through the panic.
“Um— when we get out,” he starts, forcing the words through the tightness in his chest, “we’re— we’re gonna go back to your house. And— and I’ll help you paint again. Even if I’m terrible at it.”
Will’s mouth twitches faintly.
“You are,” he breathes.
“Hey,” Mike huffs weakly, clinging to it. “Rude.”
Will exhales something almost like a laugh.
It turns into a wince.
But he’s still there.
Still answering.
Mike keeps going, voice shaking but determined.
“And— and we’ll rebuild Castle Byers. For real this time. Stronger. It won’t fall apart.”
Will’s eyes stay closed now, but he murmurs:
“yeah?”
“Yeah “mike says softly.
he tightens his hold just slightly.
“And you’re gonna tell me when something’s wrong,” he adds, softer now. “And I’m gonna listen. I swear.”
Will doesn’t respond right away.
For a terrifying second, Mike thinks—
Then:
“…okay,” again. Fainter.
Barely there.
Mike closes his eyes, pressing closer, holding on like it’s the only thing keeping either of them alive.
“Just don’t go,” he whispers.
Will doesn’t answer.
But his breathing—uneven, fragile—
is still there.
And Mike clings to that,
like it’s everything.
Time doesn’t pass normally here.
It stretches. Warps. Slips through Mike’s fingers the same way Will’s blood had earlier—too fast and not fast enough at the same time.
But eventually—
Will’s breathing steadies.Just… less like it’s about to stop.
And Mike notices.
“Hey,” he whispers, shifting just enough to look at him properly. “Hey—Will?”
Will’s face is pale—too pale—but his eyes are open again, unfocused at first, then slowly finding him.
“…Mike?”
Relief hits so hard it almost makes him dizzy.
“Yeah,” Mike breathes. “Yeah, I’m here.”
Will blinks slowly, like even that takes effort. His brow furrows faintly.
“…still?”
Mike lets out a weak, breathless huff. “Yeah. Still.”
Will stares at him for a second, something unreadable flickering across his face—something soft, something like disbelief.
Then his expression tightens.
“…it hurts.”
Mike nods immediately. “I know.”
He glances down at the wound again, forcing himself not to panic this time. It’s still bad. Still bleeding, though slower now. Sticky. Dark.
They can’t just sit here anymore.
“I’m gonna—” Mike swallows. “I’m gonna fix this. Okay? Or— try to.”
Will’s eyes sharpen just slightly.
“You don’t know how.”
“Yeah, well,” Mike says, attempting something like steadiness, even as his hands start shaking again, “I don’t have a better option.”
Will watches him for a second, then gives the smallest nod.
“…okay.”
Mike carefully shifts, easing Will down just enough so he can use both hands. Will immediately sucks in a breath, body going tense.
“Sorry—sorry—”
“Just— do it,” Will murmurs, jaw tightening.
Mike hesitates, then grabs the edge of his own shirt with shaking fingers.
“Okay. This is gonna— probably hurt.”
Will lets out a faint, dry laugh that turns into a grimace.
“…yeah.”
Mike doesn’t let himself think too much.
He yanks.
The fabric tears unevenly, the sound too loud in the quiet. He works quickly, ripping it into rough strips, hands clumsy but determined.
“Okay,” he mutters to himself more than Will. “Okay, that’s— that’s something.”
He looks back at the wound.
His stomach flips.
“Mike.”
He looks up.
Will’s watching him—not the injury. Him.
“You can do it,” Will says quietly.
And that—
That steadies him more than anything.
Mike nods once.
“Yeah,” he says, even if he doesn’t believe it. “Yeah, I can.”
He presses one strip down against the bite.
Will gasps sharply, his whole body jolting.
“Sorry—!”
“Don’t—stop—” Will chokes out, fingers digging hard into the ground. “Just— finish it—”
Mike’s vision blurs again, but he forces himself to keep going, wrapping the fabric around Will’s ribs as carefully as he can, pulling it tight enough to hold but not—
Will cries out anyway.
A raw, broken sound.
Mike flinches with every movement.
“I’m sorry,” he keeps saying under his breath. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”
“It’s— fine—” Will gasps, even as his body trembles violently. “Just— do it—”
Mike ties it off with shaking fingers.
“There,” he breathes. “There—okay—”
Will sags immediately, like whatever was holding him up just snapped. His head drops back, eyes squeezed shut, breaths coming fast and shallow.
Mike hovers over him, panicked.
“Will—?”
Will nods weakly after a second.
“..i’am ok ”
Mike lets out a shaky exhale.
“Good,” he whispers. “That’s— good.”
But staying here isn’t.
Mike glances around—the dead trees, the drifting ash, the distant movement that never fully disappears.
They need something. Shelter. Anything.
“I’m gonna look around,” he says, trying to sound calm. “Just— just for a second. I won’t go far.”
Will’s eyes snap open, sudden and sharp despite everything.
“No.”
Mike freezes.
“I’ll be right here—”
“No” Will repeats, stronger this time, even as his voice shakes. His hand fumbles blindly until it finds Mike’s wrist again, gripping tight. “Don’t— don’t leave.”
“I’m not leaving,” Mike says quickly. “I’m just— right there, okay? I can still see you—”
“What if something comes back?” Will breathes. “What if you—”
“I won’t let it,” Mike cuts in, even though they both know he can’t promise that.
Will’s grip tightens anyway.
“Don’t,” he says again, quieter now. “Please.”
Mike hesitates.
He looks around again—then back at Will. Pale. Shaking. Barely holding on.
“…okay,” Mike says softly.
He sinks back down beside him.
“I won’t go far,” he amends. “I’ll— I’ll stay close.”
Will relaxes just slightly at that, though his hand doesn’t let go.
A few seconds pass.
Then—
Mike says again insisting this time.
“Will i have to go ,i wont go far i swear”
Will knew that he was right,
“…okay,careful” he whispers
Mike carefully lowers him against the base of a dead, twisted tree, making sure his head doesn’t hit too hard. Will barely reacts—just a faint wince, a quiet exhale.
“I’ll be right there,” Mike says quickly, hovering. “I can still see you, okay? I’m not— I’m not going far.”
Will’s eyes flicker open, sluggish.
“…okay,” he whispers.
It’s weak.
Too easy.
Mike hates it.
He forces himself up anyway, dragging his bad leg through the ash, scanning the ground, the broken remains of things that don’t belong here—old, rotted echoes of Hawkins.
Come on. Come on.
His heart jumps when he sees it.
Half-buried. Cracked. But—
“Holy—”
He drops down beside it, digging it out with shaking hands.
A walkie.
Not in great shape.but something.
“Please,” he breathes, fumbling with it. “Please work—”
He smacks it lightly. Twists the knob.
Static crackles.
Mike freezes.
“Hello?” he says immediately, voice too loud, too desperate. “Hello— anyone— Dustin? Lucas? Anyone—!”
Nothing.
Just static.
“Come on— come on—”
He adjusts the dial again, tapping it, shaking it—
And then—
“—hello?—”
Mike’s entire body locks up.
“Dustin?!” he practically shouts.
Static crackles again.
“—Mike? Is that—? Mike, is that you?!”
Relief hits so hard it hurts.
“Yeah! Yeah, it’s me— we’re— we’re in the Upside Down— me and Will, we’re—” His voice stumbles. “He’s hurt. He’s really hurt—”
“What? What happened?! Where are you?”
“I don’t know,” Mike says helplessly, looking around at the endless gray nothing. “Near— near some trees, like— everything looks the same—”
“Okay, okay— just stay where you are,” Dustin’s voice comes through, strained but focused. “We’ll find you. Just— keep the radio on, okay? Keep talking to us.”
“We will,” Mike says immediately. “Just— hurry, okay? Please—”
“We’re coming,” Dustin says.
The line crackles again.
Then—
Silence.
But not empty this time.
Not alone.
Mike clutches the walkie like it’s the most important thing in the world and scrambles back.
“Will— Will, hey—” He drops beside him again, breathless. “I got it— I got a walkie— I talked to them— they’re coming— okay? They’re coming!”
Will doesn’t respond.
Mike’s stomach drops.
“Will?”
Will’s eyes are open—but distant.
Too distant.
“Hey—” Mike’s voice shakes. “Hey, did you hear me? They’re coming— we’re getting out of here—”
Will blinks slowly, like it takes effort just to process the words.
“…okay,” he murmurs.
But there’s no relief in it.
No hope.
And Mike feels something inside him crack.
“Don’t do that,” he says quickly. “Don’t— don’t sound like that. This is good, Will. This is— this is what we needed.”
Will’s gaze drifts, not quite landing on him.
“I’m tired,” he says again.
Mike shakes his head hard. “I know, I know, but you just have to hold on a little longer, okay? Just until they get here—”
Will’s breathing stutters.
It’s worse now.
Shallower.
“I don’t think I can,” he whispers.
“No,” Mike says immediately. “No, you can. You can— you’ve been doing it this whole time—”
Mike grabs his hand, holding it tight.
“Your fine okay, Stay with me,” he says, voice breaking. “Just— just look at me, Don’t— don’t go anywhere.”
Will tries.
He really does.
His eyes drag back to Mike’s face, struggling to focus.
“Mike.”
“I’m here,” Mike says immediately.
Will watches him for a long moment.
Something shifts in his expression—something soft, something fragile, something like he’s already saying goodbye.
Mike feels it.
“No,” he whispers. “No, don’t— don’t look at me like that—”
“I didn’t think I’d get to,” Will says quietly.
“Get to what?”
“Say it.”
Mike’s breath catches.
“Say what?”
Will’s grip on his hand tightens weakly.
“I—” He falters, breath hitching. His eyes squeeze shut for a second like he’s trying to gather strength. “I wasn’t going to. I was just— going to leave it.”
“Will, you’re scaring me—”
“I—” He stops, eyes squeezing shut for a second like he lost the thought. His brow furrows. “…I have to tell you something.”
Mike’s chest tightens.
“Okay,” he says quickly. “Okay, yeah— you can tell me anything, just— just stay with me, alright?”
Will nods, barely.
But he doesn’t speak.
His eyes drift again, losing focus, like the words slipped away from him.
“Will?” Mike’s voice edges with panic. “Hey— no, no— stay with me— you were saying something—”
Will inhales sharply, like he’s forcing himself back.
“Right,” he murmurs. “I—”
His voice falters.
A tremor runs through him—small at first, then stronger. His fingers twitch against Mike’s hand, not quite gripping.
Mike feels it immediately.
“You’re shaking,” he says, fear creeping in. “Hey— are you cold again? Or—”
He presses the back of his hand to Will’s neck—
And freezes.
“…you’re burning up.”
Will flinches slightly at the touch, like even that is too much.
“It’s fine,” he mumbles.
“It’s not fine,” Mike says, sharper now, panic rising fast. “You’re— Will, you’re really hot— that’s not— that’s not good—”
Will shakes his head weakly.
“I’m okay.”
“You’re not okay!” Mike’s voice cracks. “You keep saying that and it’s not true—”
Will tries to focus on him again, eyes glassy.
“I just—” His breath stutters. “I just need to say it before I forget.”
The words hit wrong.
Before I forget.
Mike’s grip tightens.
“You’re not gonna forget,” he says quickly. “You can tell me later, okay? When we get out—”
“No,” Will murmurs.
It’s quiet.
But certain.
Mike feels something cold crawl up his spine.
“Will—”
“I might not—” Will stops, like he caught himself. His eyes flutter, unfocused. “…I just— I need to say it now.”
Mike’s heart starts pounding harder.
“Okay,” he says, voice shaking. “Okay, then say it— I’m right here—”
Will nods faintly.
But his breathing keeps slipping.
His chest rises unevenly, like it’s too much effort, like his body is starting to give up on it.
“Hey— hey— stay with me,” Mike says quickly, tapping his cheek lightly. “Come on, Will, don’t drift—”
Will inhales sharply again, like he’s pulling himself back through something heavy.
“I’m here,” he whispers.
“Good,” Mike says, almost breathless with relief. “Good— okay, tell me— what did you want to say?”
Will looks at him.
Really looks at him.
And for a second, everything else fades—the Upside Down, the pain, the fear—and it’s just that look.
Soft.
Terrified.
Certain.
“I—”
His voice breaks.
He swallows hard, like even that hurts.
“I didn’t mean to— to make things weird,” he says, words slow and slurring slightly at the edges. “Before. I just— I didn’t know how to—”
Mike shakes his head quickly. “You didn’t— Will, you don’t have to explain anything—”
“I do,” Will insists weakly. His hand twitches, trying to hold onto Mike’s. “I do because you— you didn’t understand and I—”
His breath catches hard.
His whole body jerks with it.
“Hey— hey— easy—” Mike says, panic spiking again. “Don’t push yourself— just breathe, okay? Just breathe—”
Will nods faintly, but his breaths don’t steady.
They keep slipping.
“Mike,” he whispers.
“I’m here,” Mike says immediately.
Will’s eyes are glassy now, barely focused.
“I just—” His voice drops, almost gone. “I needed you to know that—”
He falters again.
His head tilts slightly, like it’s getting too heavy to hold up.
“Will!”
Mike catches him, pulling him upright again.
“Stay with me— come on— you were talking— don’t stop now—”
Will’s lips part.
No sound comes out at first.
Then—
“…love you.”
It’s barely there.
More breath than voice.
Mike stills completely.
“What?”
Will blinks slowly, like he’s not sure he said it right.
“I—” His words tangle. “I didn’t— I wasn’t trying to— I just—”
His eyes start to slip closed again.
“Will, hey— hey—” Mike’s voice shakes hard now. “No, stay with me— what did you say—?”
Will exhales shakily, head leaning weakly against him.
“I wanted you to know,” he murmurs, barely conscious. “In case I—”
He cuts himself off.
Too late.
Mike hears it anyway.
His chest tightens violently.
“Don’t,” he says quickly, almost sharply. “Don’t say that— you’re gonna be fine, okay? You’re gonna tell me everything when we get out—”
Will’s hand weakly grips his shirt.
“Mike…”
“I’m here,” Mike says, but his voice is breaking now. “I’m here—”
The walkie crackles suddenly.
“—Mike? Mike, do you copy? We’re close—”
Mike fumbles for it with shaking hands, nearly dropping it.
“Where are you?!” he shouts, voice raw with panic. “You said you were coming— he’s getting worse— he’s—”
“Keep talking, we’re tracking you—”
“Then hurry!” Mike yells, louder than he’s ever been. “Just— just hurry, please— he’s not— he’s not—”
His voice cracks completely.
He drops the walkie back to the ground, turning immediately to Will.
“Hey— hey, they’re close, okay? You hear me? You just have to hold on a little longer—”
Will doesn’t respond right away.
His head is heavy against Mike’s shoulder, breath hot and uneven against his neck.
“…tired,” he whispers.
“I know,” Mike says desperately. “I know, but you can’t sleep— not yet— just— just stay with me—”
Will’s fingers twitch weakly against his shirt.
“…didn’t want to scare you,” he murmurs.
Mike’s chest tightens painfully.
“You’re not scaring me,” he lies, voice shaking. “You’re just— you’re just being stupid, okay? You’re gonna be fine—”
Will lets out the faintest, breathless sound that might’ve been a laugh.
“mmmmm.”
But it’s distant.
Fading.
“Will,” Mike says, sharper now, fear taking over completely. “Will, look at me—”
Will tries.
His eyes open halfway, unfocused, drifting.
“Stay,” Mike begs. “Just— just stay with me—”
Will’s lips move faintly.
“…I am.”
But his grip is weaker now.
His body heavier.
Mike pulls him closer, holding him tight despite the way his own leg screams in protest.
“Don’t go anywhere,” he whispers, voice breaking. “Not until they get here. Not before that. You hear me?”
Will doesn’t answer.
His breathing is still there—
uneven,
fragile—
but there.
And Mike clings to it, heart pounding, eyes scanning the empty gray around them—
waiting,
listening—
for anything that sounds like help
coming fast enough.
The sound comes before the shapes do.
Crashing—branches snapping, footsteps slipping through ash, voices overlapping and too loud for this place.
“Mike!”
Mike’s head jerks up so fast it makes him dizzy.
“Here!” he shouts, his voice raw, breaking. “We’re here—!”
He tightens his hold on Will without thinking.
Will barely reacts.
He’s slumped heavily against Mike now, almost all his weight resting on him. His head is tucked weakly into the crook of Mike’s neck, breath hot—too hot—ghosting unevenly against his skin.
It comes in shallow bursts.
Too fast.
Then too slow.
Then stuttering again.
“Hey— hey—” Mike whispers urgently, turning his head slightly. “Will, they’re here, okay? You hear me? You made it— they’re here—”
Will doesn’t answer.
His body trembles instead—small, constant shivers that don’t match the heat burning off him.
Mike presses his cheek briefly against Will’s hair, panicked.
“Stay with me,” he murmurs. “Just— just a second more—”
“MIKE!”
They break through the gray.
Dustin first, then Lucas, then the others behind them—faces pale, eyes wide as they take in the scene.
And then they see Will.
Everything shifts.
“Oh my God—” Dustin breathes, dropping to his knees immediately. “Is he—?”
“He’s alive,” Mike says quickly, too quickly, like he’s trying to convince himself too. “He’s just— he’s not— he’s—”
His words collapse.
Lucas is already beside them, eyes scanning, hands hovering like he doesn’t know where to touch.
“What happened?”
“Demodog,” Mike chokes out. “It— it got him— I tried to— I wrapped it but I don’t— I don’t know if—”
“Okay, okay—” Dustin cuts in, voice tight but focused. “We’ve got him. We’ve got him.”
They reach for Will.
Mike doesn’t let go.
Not immediately.
His hands are locked in place, one gripping Will’s shirt, the other braced against his back like if he loosens even a little, Will will slip through his fingers.
“Mike,” Lucas says, softer now. “We need to take him.”
Mike looks down at Will.
His face is slack, eyes closed, lashes damp. His breathing is still there—but faint. Uneven. Barely holding together.
His head shifts slightly with the movement around them, but he doesn’t wake.
“Hey,” Mike whispers, voice cracking. “Will— they’re gonna help you now, okay? You’re— you’re good—”
Nothing.
Just that shallow breath against his neck.
Dustin’s hand lands gently on his arm.
“We’ve got him,” he repeats.
Mike swallows hard.
His fingers loosen.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Like letting go of something fragile enough to break if he moves too fast.
As they ease Will out of his arms, his body lolls, completely limp except for the faint, constant tremor running through him. His head falls back slightly, exposing the flushed heat in his skin, the way his chest barely rises.
Mike’s hands hover in the air for a second after—empty now, shaking.
“Careful,” he says quickly, stepping forward without thinking. “Watch his side— it’s— it’s bad—”
“We see it,” Dustin says, already working, already focused.
Lucas helps lift Will, adjusting his weight so the wound isn’t strained. Someone else presses something—cloth, pressure—against the bandage Mike made.
Will doesn’t react.
Not even a flinch.
And that—
that terrifies Mike more than anything.
“Why isn’t he waking up?” Mike asks, voice rising, panic sharp again. “He was talking— he was just talking—”
“He’s still here,” Dustin says quickly, though there’s fear under it. “He’s just— he’s out of it—”
Will’s head shifts weakly with the movement, falling to the side.
His breath hitches.
For a second—
it stops.
“Hey—!” Mike lunges forward. “Will—!”
Then it comes back—shallow, broken.
But there.
Still there.
Mike’s knees nearly give out.
“Okay,” Dustin says, voice tight. “We need to move. Now.”
They start to lift him fully.
And that’s when it hits.
The adrenaline.
The fear.
The hours of holding everything together with nothing but panic and willpower.
Mike sways.
Hard.
“Hey—” Lucas notices immediately. “Mike—”
“I’m fine,” Mike says automatically, even as his vision blurs. “I’m— I just— we need to go—”
He takes a step.
His injured leg gives out.
Pain shoots up so fast it steals the air from his lungs.
He stumbles, catching himself for half a second—
then everything tilts.
The gray sky spins.
The sound dulls.
“Mike!”
He barely registers it.
His eyes are locked on Will—being carried away, too still, too quiet—
“Don’t—” Mike tries, voice slurring. “Don’t let him—”
The ground rushes up.
He doesn’t feel the impact.
Just the sudden, overwhelming absence of everything holding him up.
Darkness edges in fast.
The last thing he hears—
“Get them both out of here—now!”
And the last thing he sees—
is Will,
just ahead of him,
not moving—
before everything finally
goes black.
The first thing Mike notices is the quiet.
Real quiet.
Still. Warm.
Safe.
It takes him a second to realize he’s awake.
Another to realize the pain is different now—dull, contained, wrapped tight instead of tearing through him.
His eyes open slowly.
White ceiling.
Fluorescent light.
Hospital.
His breath catches.
“Will—”
The word comes out broken.
But someone hears him.
A chair scrapes.
“Mike?”
He turns his head too fast, wincing—
—and there he is.
Will.
Alive.
Sitting right beside him.
Pale. Exhausted. Bandaged.
But awake.
Mike just stares.
Like he’s afraid this is something the Upside Down left behind to trick him.
“…hey,” Will says softly.
That’s all it takes.
Mike breaks.
He pushes himself up too fast, grabbing onto Will like he might disappear if he doesn’t.
“Hey—hey, careful—” Will starts, but Mike doesn’t let go.
“Will,” Mike chokes. “You—you weren’t—I thought—”
“I know,” Will says quietly.
His hand comes up, slower than it used to, a little shaky—but it finds Mike’s face anyway. He cups his cheek gently.
“I know.”
Mike stills at the touch.
It’s warm.
Real.
Alive.
He leans into it without thinking.
“…you’re okay?” he asks, voice small now.
Will nods once.
“…yeah.”
Mike lets out a shaky breath, something in his chest finally loosening.
He doesn’t pull away.
If anything, he leans closer.
Will’s thumb brushes lightly under his eye—
and only then does Mike realize he’s crying.
He didn’t even notice when it started.
“…hey,” Will murmurs, softer.
Mike shakes his head a little, breath uneven.
“I thought I lost you.”
Will’s expression shifts—something deep, something that aches.
“You didn’t.”
Mike swallows hard.
His hand comes up this time, mirroring Will’s, hesitating for just a second before resting against his face—careful, like he’s afraid to hurt him.
Will doesn’t pull away.
“…you said something,” Mike whispers.
Will stills.
Just slightly.
Mike keeps his voice soft.
“You said you had to tell me something. Before—”
Will’s gaze drops for a moment.
“…you don’t have to—” he starts.
“I know what you said,” Mike says.
That makes Will look up again, surprised.
Mike swallows.
“But I don’t know if you meant it,” he admits. “You were barely awake. You were—”
“Mike.”
Will’s voice is quiet.
But steady.
Mike stops.
Will meets his eyes.
“I meant it,” he says.
The words settle between them.
Mike’s breath catches.
He doesn’t look away this time.
“…okay,” he whispers.
A pause.
Then, softer—
“I’m still figuring things out.”
Will nods.
“I know.”
Mike’s thumb brushes lightly along Will’s cheek, almost without thinking.
“But I don’t want to lose this,” he says.
Will’s expression softens, something warm breaking through all the exhaustion.
“…me neither.”
Silence settles again.
Mike hesitates—
then leans in.
Slow this time.
Giving Will time to stop him.
He doesn’t.
Their foreheads touch first.
Then—
Mike presses a soft kiss just under Will’s eye, catching the tear that had slipped there.
Will exhales shakily.
His hand tightens slightly where it’s holding Mike’s face.
Mike pauses, just a breath away, searching his expression.
Will doesn’t look scared.
So Mike closes the distance.
The kiss is gentle.
Careful.
Barely more than a brush of lips.
But it lingers—
soft, quiet, like they’re both learning it at the same time.
Will leans into it just slightly before they part.
They stay close.
Foreheads resting together again.
Breathing the same air.
Mike lets out a small, shaky laugh.
“…we’re gonna rebuild Castle Byers,” he murmurs.
Will huffs faintly, the sound soft but real.
“…again?”
“Yeah,” Mike says. “But better this time.”
Will nods.
“…okay.”
Their hands find each other again between them, fingers intertwining easily—like they’ve done it a thousand times before.
Mike exhales, then—
“I love you too,” he whispers, the words finally free. “I should’ve said it a long time ago.”
Will’s breath catches.
They don’t move apart.
If anything, they lean closer.
Foreheads pressed together, noses brushing, sharing the same small space.
Then Mike leans in again—
kissing him softly.
Will’s fingers slide into Mike’s hair, holding him there as they kiss again—slow, gentle, unhurried.
The kind of kiss that feels like relief.
Like something finally said out loud.
When they part, they don’t go far.
Foreheads resting together once more.
Breathing each other in.
And for the first time—
everything is quiet in the right way.