Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Mike is going to die.

He can see bodies crumpled around him. The air smells like rot. The creature lunging at him is grotesque, flesh formed wrong and open mouth bloody, the shape of it resembling something human but too empty of emotion to be. The only thing that can be seen in the center of the unfurled petals is hunger.

Something is coming. Something hungry for blood.

It had come for Will that night, hauled him into the dark recesses of a place too close to home to be hell. Mike still doesn't know much of what Will went through that week in the Upside Down—there's a gap in his mind between Will leaving the safety of his garage and waking up in the hospital bed, everything Will endured and doesn't talk about.

Now it's coming for Mike. A final and gruesome retribution; his blood shed in exchange for everybody he failed to protect when he had the chance. His family. El. Will.

Just now Mike had watched from the ground, powerless, as Will was lifted off his feet and dragged into Vecna's violating clutches. The image won't leave Mike's mind for as long as he's alive, which isn't much longer anymore: Will shuddering with terror as his tormentor forced visions upon him that made his face twist in agony.

Mike wants Vecna to die painfully, horrifically. He wants the gnarled monster to experience far worse than bones snapping and eyes bleeding. But now he won't get to see it, because he's going to die first.

Maybe the world will end after, sun and clouds overtaken by joyless blue and poisonous particles drifting from above. Or maybe it will keep going without Mike in it and be all the better for it.

He's sixteen. He thought he would have time to become better, but it must be too late to. There's so much he would've done differently if he'd known it would go this way.

He tries to find Will, always, but the Demogorgon is the only thing taking up his field of vision. Enormous and like nothing meant for this world, an inherent wrongness. Mike doesn't want it to be the last thing he sees.

Like a child wanting to wake from a nightmare, he brings his arm up to cover his eyes. Tries to block out the sounds around him, He's always had a good imagination; he squeezes his eyes shut and thinks of a universe where this moment went in a different direction. Where the fight ended but his life didn't. He'll get to struggle through senior year with his friends and drive away from Hawkins with Will's hand in his. An apartment that they have matching keys for and within, have quiet conversations late into the night and listen to music loud enough to rattle the soul.

God, so much of this life he's thrown away. He won't do the same with these last few seconds—think of something good, don't waste it, don't waste it—

Laughter. Warm sunlight. That exact hue of hazel.

Mike's glad that for even a short while, he knew what it was like to have everything he used to be too afraid to want. Though these past few months have been strange and sometimes awful, there was so much love. Love to give and love to have. He only wishes he could live to see a world that wasn't against the existence of it.

He feels the swing of the claw towards him, an abrupt disturbance in the air, and hopes desperately for everyone else to make it out. Let this be worth it. Mike doesn't believe in God anymore, but still he prays he gets to go to some place where he can wait. He can be patient, so patient.

The pain he's expecting never comes. Something's changed. The stench of rot has faded and there's a stillness that makes him think he's dead, maybe it happened so quickly he didn't even register it.

What does death look like? Mike peels his eyes open and lowers his arm. The Demogorgon is still right fucking there, reaching for the kill—but not quite able to get there, held back by a force more powerful than itself. Mike might've thought that time froze if it weren't for its quivering form and the blood and saliva still dripping off its slippery flesh. He's shaking too, skin clammy, almost hysterical breaths puffing out of him.

He forces himself to look past the paralyzed creature, past the piles of uniformed bodies and tall flame to see who had the strength to do something like this, who had so quickly shown their refusal to let Mike die. It could have been El—she's definitely capable, and it wouldn't be the first time she's saved his ass. But every trembling bone in his body knows that this isn't her.

He knows.

The knowledge lives in his heart, slamming relentlessly against his ribcage. It's in the hitch of his breath when he registers what's in the distance, blowing his pupils wide when he takes in the familiarity of the figure and their outstretched hand.

The same hand he'd grasped in his own back in the field to pull Will closer, close enough to cling to and feel the worry in the stiffness of his shoulders. Mike had kept their fingers interlaced while he leaned into Will's space and whispered in his ear all that he was certain of in this godforsaken collapse of a world—that Will is capable of everything that a sorcerer is, that he's magic.

Mike has always believed in Will, maybe because that's just another symptom of love. The kind of faith that's undying. He doesn't think he'd believe in anything at all, if it weren't for Will. Not himself, not anyone else, not warmth or beauty or happy endings. Will had brought everything good to the world with him on that swing set.

Point is, he was fucking right. Of course he was. But never did he imagine it like this, violent and electric and divine. Will with his arm out, reaching for Mike, all-seeing white eyes and straining with raw power. There's death everywhere and everything is aflame around him. Mike can almost feel the fire, the heat of it burning the skin of his neck and face, but he's never felt more alive than he does now—tilting his head up to watch the Demogorgon tense up, splintering as it does, then backing up against the front of the vehicle when it goes limp and crashes to the ground with the bone jutting out and petals shriveling.

There's lights flashing behind him, matching his frantic heartbeat. Will's knees hit the ground hard with his fists clenched. Mike's blood is still rushing with the nearness of his death but he's smiling, helpless and awed.

Will lifts his head, and there it is. Mike almost chokes on his own breath when Will's eyes roll back down and look directly at him. There's blood under his nose.

Mike knows he's in love with Will. He's known it for years, has never been any other way. But even now it feels like he's falling again. He stares back, and there's something so dizzying about the way Will drags his sleeve across his face, the staggering intensity of his gaze. Will Byers is a lovely and bewitching being that Mike doesn't deserve to call his, but he does anyway.

Joyce is helping Will up from the ground, her face scrunched in bewilderment. Mike finally regains control of his shaky limbs and peels himself off the front of the vehicle.

The side of his head is aching. There's bullets littering the ground. Vecna is still out there, their world is still crumbling away, and Mike is running.

He doesn't lose momentum when he reaches Will, sweeping him clean off his feet despite the throbbing in his injured arm. Will gasps quietly, hands flying up to grip Mike's shoulders as they melt into each other, belonging to no place but each other's arms. Holding Will feels like coming home, a prayer finally answered, the sight of the sun emerging from the clouds.

Mike sets him down. Will's hair is damp and his eyes are shining and something about his stunned expression is so distinctly Will-like that Mike can't help it.

"My sorcerer," he whispers, reverent. "I knew it." He places his hands on either side of Will's face and kisses him.

It's nothing like the first time, desperate and pent-up from a lifetime of hiding from it. Or the second time, sweet and tender like it was could slip away at any moment. It's its own thing—Will's impossible magic hands in Mike's curls and Mike holding him tight by the waist with the relief of someone who's really, really glad he didn't die.

The fear, the fire, it all fades away. Mike can only make sense of Will, the most beautiful thing Mike has ever known even with his eyes closed. His lips are soft, but Mike can taste blood on the upper one. It should be strange, and it is, but he loves it just like he loves everything to do with Will. It's not a sensation that can be explained, especially not when Will's breath is better than oxygen and he's on his tiptoes to kiss Mike and it's making Mike feel insane on some incomprehensible level.

Someone near them clears their throat, loudly. Mike ignores it until Will mumbles his name into his mouth, muffled, before abruptly pulling back and landing back on his heels. They stare at each other; Will's hair is a ruffled mess and he's blushing down to the neck, as pink as his swollen lips. His face is streaked with dirt, his nose is still bloody where his sleeve failed to reach, and he looks like a goddamn painting. Poetry in human form. The love of Mike Wheeler's sorry life.

"You knew," Will breathes out. "I…I didn't even know."

"Doesn't matter. I did," Mike says, caressing Will's cheek with his thumb. "Always did. But seeing it was something else. It was amazing, Will. I love you so fucking much."

Will's face lights up and Mike almost goes in to kiss him again, but Joyce clears her throat once more. He'd forgotten she was there. "Maybe that can wait until later," she suggests, but she's beaming. Absolutely delighted. It wasn't like Mike had been worried, or thinking about anything but Will, but something relaxes in his chest anyway.

Mike grins and awkwardly rubs the back of his neck, his other arm still keeping Will close. "Sorry, Mrs. Byers," he croaks out.

Will buries his face in Mike's shoulder, letting out a sound between a laugh and a sob. The muscles of Mike's face are starting to ache with the width of his smile. The weight of Will against him is warm and comforting, reminding him of when they were kids and Mike thought he could protect Will from anything. In the end, it was Will who did all the work—protecting himself, protecting Mike.

The aggressive whir of a chopper from above disrupts the fleeting peace. Will lifts his head, squinting into the sky. There's remnants of blood under his nose; Mike reaches down with his thumb to wipe it off.

A surprised giggle escapes Will as he squirms in Mike's hold. "Mike, gross."

"Don't care." Mike gently squeezes Will's shoulder when the whir increases in volume. He turns to Joyce for confirmation. "We gotta go. Tunnels?"

She nods. To Mike, she looks…proud, maybe, and something tightens in his throat but he ignores it.

They hurry off, keeping each other upright and hoping that there'll still be time before everything catches up to them.

‪‪❤︎‬‪‪❤︎‬‪‪❤︎

At the Squawk, Mike and Will finally get away from the chaos.

Mike leans against the counter while Will cleans the blood trailing down the side of his face, brows furrowed in concentration.

He pokes Will's elbow, disturbing his focus. "It doesn't even hurt."

"You literally got thrown halfway across the MAC-Z. You're probably concussed, you don't know what you're talking about."

Mike rolls his eyes but stays still so that Will can tend to the scrape. He can't stop seeing it. How Will had gotten up after Vecna dropped him like he was nothing. The look in his eyes after he'd broken the Demogorgon, fiercer than the fire surrounding him.

Not in all of his wildest dreams has Mike seen anything so beautiful, so extraordinary. It would have been an honor for Will to be the last Mike saw at the end of existence, but he survived. He can see Will forever, because Will saved him.

"What is it?" Will asks, his eyes darting nervously.

"What?"

"You're staring."

Mike huffs out an embarrassed laugh. "Didn't mean to. I was just…looking."

"It's okay." Will smooths a bandage over the area, his touch feather-light. "I've always loved the way you look at me," he says, quiet enough for Mike to have missed if Will's lips weren't so close to his ear.

"Oh," Mike says quietly, surprised. At some point, he had become overly conscious of it—of people seeing everything he felt reflected in his eyes. He'd turn away when Will looked back and hated himself for it. But now that he's seen the same feeling mirrored in Will's gaze, he'll never turn away again.

He watches Will wash his hands in the sink, the water pink from the smeared blood as it disappears into the drain. He remembers the same hands slowly unfurling after they tore monstrous bones into pieces. The broken bodies belonging to the creatures that had done nothing but hurt Will and that he had somehow seized wondrous control of.

"So," Mike says with a sudden burst of confidence, "did anything…inspire you to do it?"

Will crosses his arms, a knowing smile spreading across his face. "There were a few things."

"Like what? Was the field a part of it?"

"Jesus, Mike." They both flush, remembering how Mike had pulled Will in and kissed him deeply before letting go, despite the amount of people in close vicinity and the risk of them witnessing it. "I'd say meeting you was a pretty big part of it."

Mike's breathing stutters. The surge of fondness is overwhelming in the best way; he can hardly find it in himself to respond.

"Don't look so surprised. My life would've been completely different if you'd never asked, you know."

"Mine would've been completely different if you never said yes."

It's hard not to spiral when Mike's thoughts go down these paths. Maybe if Will had never known the way to Mike's home, he never would have left that garage. He wouldn't have been stolen away to suffer in that dark place below.

Or maybe he would have gone missing anyway. But something in Mike tells him that he would have looked, even if he had never met Will. He would have felt that Will was someone he couldn't lose before knowing.

"Well, I'm glad I did." Will looks at his hands like they're a secret. Cards he doesn't want to show yet.

Mike doesn't know exactly how he did it, but he's glad that it's Will's—something Will gets to have for himself, to have wrenched his control back so beautifully.

"Hey," Mike says. "Look at me."

Will glances up at Mike and allows his hands to be taken. Mike interlaces their fingers together, brushing his fingertips over Will's knuckles. "Magic," he whispers.

"Not really." Will blushes, shaking his head slightly. "Like I said, I'm just taking his powers."

"And like I said, your powers are innate. You're not taking anything from anyone because they've always been yours. You've been magical your whole life."

Mike doesn't know how Will can't see it as easily as he does. Like the sun can't see how warm and bright it is for everyone else.

"So you weren't…afraid?"

"Of you? How could you even ask that?"

"I mean…you saw everything, Mike. How I killed them. It was the same way Vecna—last year—"

Will starts to pull his hands back, but Mike squeezes them comfortingly. "Will, you have to understand. It was nothing like that. Nothing. Vecna killed all those people—" he sucks in a breath, thinking of Max and the hollow absence of her even when she was right there in that hospital bed, "—to end the world. But I wouldn't even be in it anymore if it weren't for what you did. All of us."

"It was never an option," Will says. "Letting you get hurt."

"See?" says Mike. "That's what you do. You save people in every possible way."

"Mike…"

"You asked me if I was afraid, and I was. I saw it coming for me and I knew I didn't want to die in Hawkins. I want more. For myself, for us. And I was terrified of dying before I got the chance to be more than this—this person who's afraid all the time. But you're the bravest person I know, Will. Seeing you defeat those things gave me hope. We've been in this fight for so long that I almost forgot what it was like to dream."

Will's breath trembles. His eyes are glossy. "You think I'm not afraid too? Of course I am. It doesn't make you any less of a person."

"I know," Mike says quickly, oddly choked up as well. "I didn't mean it like that, you're—"

"It's okay. I just think that you're brave too, Mike. And there is more out there. So much more." He leans down and presses his lips to the back of Mike's right hand. "You remember that globe I had in my old room?"

"Yeah, the spinning one." It's still strange that the Byers' old place is no longer theirs. He thinks back to that spring day two years ago—watching them drive away had ripped his heart out of his chest, and riding his bike away from the house was like spearing a dagger through the center of it. "We used to talk about where we wanted to go when we grew up. When we were kids you'd draw what you thought the places looked like."

"They were never anything like the real thing."

"Your versions were better."

"And you're biased. I just mean…it's not impossible, you know? This isn't it for us."

Mike nods. "After graduation. A big city maybe, like New York. An apartment. If that's what you want?"

"You asking me to move in with you, Michael?" Will teases.

Mike swallows nervously. "Depends on what your answer is."

"It's yes, obviously. It'd be impossible to say no to you when you're looking me like that."

"Like what?"

"Don't look so innocent. You know what you're doing." Will seems like he's trying to look annoyed, but fails. His grin is crooked and his eyes crinkled at the corners. "But really, of course I would. There's no one I'd rather be completely lost with."

Mike thinks of California, bumping shoulders with Will as he unfurled the map in the back of the van. The sun hot on his skin when he looked at Will, all tanned skin and intense eyes. Both of them lost in the middle of the desert and their own heads.

"Me neither," says Mike.

Will laughs, sudden and bright. "What," says Mike.

"Nothing," Will says. "It's just— I can't believe you just kissed me like that. Right out in the open. In front of my mom."

"Sorry," Mike winces. "Is that…okay?"

In all honesty, Mike doesn't think he would be able to bear the torture of standing there and not kissing Will after what he saw him do. It was only right to immediately have Will in his arms, to share the same breath after Mike almost died and Will defied everything.

"It's very much okay, dumbass. I'm pretty sure she's known about my…thing for you for longer than I have."

"Wait, do you have a crush on me or something?" Mike fake-gasps.

"Shut up. I hate you."

"I don't know about that. I think you might like me." He peppers kisses all over Will's face. "I think you like me a whole lot."

Will shakes with suppressed giggles. "You're an idiot."

"Your idiot. Can't help loving you so much that I can barely function."

"Oh, I can tell," Will grins. "I love you, dork. And seriously, thank you. For believing in me."

"Of course," Mike says. "It's easy to."

A loud knock on the door makes them both look up sharply. Their hands fall away from each other.

"The hell's taking you two so long in there?" Dustin's voice is muffled from the other side of the door. "There's only one bathroom in here and about a million of us."

"Give us a minute," Mike yells back.

It really does feel like there's a million people in this place. Mike misses when it was just him and Will in his basement, the world narrowed down to D&D manuals and crayon drawings—and much later than that, kisses and the seeking of warmth in each other.

Now when Mike thinks of his home, he thinks of blood spilling across the kitchen floor as his mom's pulse slowed to almost a halt. His dad's glasses cracked in the lenses, a few feet away from the too-still body. It still doesn't feel real, like it's this horrible thing that happened to somebody else. Not Mike's family. He was meant to keep them separate from this world of his.

He turns back to Will, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Ready?" he asks in a lower voice.

Will searches his face, his eyes softening at what he sees. "You know, I miss when it was just us. We can hardly get a moment alone in here."

Mike smiles without having to force it. He kisses Will, chaste and instinctual, and it sends the butterflies into a frenzy. Will tucks his head into the crook of Mike's neck, and Mike speaks into the softness of his hair. "Trust me, so do I. But after this is all over, we'll have so many moments for ourselves we won't even know what to do with them."

"You're right," Will says, but something like a shadow passes over his face. It's gone before Mike can even fully register it. "Well, I can think of a few ways to spend them."

Will winks. He winks. Then he walks away like he isn't making Mike fall in love with him all over again, through every single thing he says and does.

And Mike follows him, because of course he does. It's Will after all.

‪‪❤︎‬‪‪❤︎‬‪‪❤︎

The nightmare takes shape before Mike can even process everything leading up to it.

Mike has seen this before, only when pulled under by sleep: Will lying motionless, pale as though the life has been drained from him. But this is is real—it had all unfolded right in front of Mike's eyes, from Will forcing himself into Vecna's mind and saving Max to being thrown out of it and hitting the ground unconscious with blood still streaming from his nose.

It's a nightmare, but Will's the one who can't wake up. Mike brings his fingers to Will's weak pulse and lets them linger there, just to be sure. His body is stiff, the muscles tensed. Like he's still fighting.

It always comes back to this. Will, trapped in some unreachable place and put in pain he doesn't deserve the slightest of; Mike, never able to get to him, useless and watching. He misses Will's smile. He misses talking to him, hearing the sound of his laugh.

Will's fingers twitch, the slightest movement. His nails dig into the fabric of the couch he's lying on. Maybe in pain. Anything could be happening to him right now, wherever he is, and Mike can't see it.

He covers Will's hand with his own. "It's okay," Mike whispers.

Nothing about this is okay, and Mike doesn't even know if Will can hear him or not. His hand is cold and unmoving again. The ache in Mike's chest feels like a living thing.

There's footsteps but Mike doesn't dare to look up. Keeping his eyes on Will is the least that he can do.

"Hey," Joyce says, her voice kind and familiar. "I brought you coffee."

Mike accepts the mug. Black, how he always has it—she must have noticed in the eighteen months of having breakfast at the same table. It's thoughtful, just like Will with his attention to detail. He takes a sip, the warm bitterness of the liquid forcing the emotion back down his throat.

"Thanks," he mutters.

"He's going to wake up."

"I know."

Mike looks at Will's ashen face and remembers how he'd smiled reassuringly before moving into the dark crevices of Vecna's mind. It's gonna be fine, he said, like he wasn't the one risking himself. I won't be in there for long.

"It's always him," Mike mumbles, almost to himself. "Why is it always him?"

Joyce sighs and settles down on the floor beside him. "It shouldn't be. Our Will's been through so much already, but he's strong. Much stronger than that monster. We both saw how incredible he is."

Our Will. Mike finally looks away from Will and at Joyce, though he doesn't move his hand from Will's. "Mrs. Byers, Will and I…we're, uh—"

"It's okay," she says. Her eyes are twinkling. "I think I understand. You've always been special to him, and I know how important he is to you."

"He's my favorite person in the world."

Joyce gives him the gentle smile that Mike often sees on Will, and his heart aches. "I wouldn't have wanted anyone else for my boy," she says. "You've always been good to him."

"Not always," Mike admits. God, if only she knew. "I've been bad to him, too. Before you guys moved away. And stuff happened in California, too."

He can't meet her eye anymore. It's hard to look at Will, too, to realize that he has no idea how to pull him out of wherever he's gone. Mike stares into his mug and lets the steam waft into his face. He's supposed to be the one with the plan. He's supposed to know what to do, especially when it comes to Will.

"Look at me, honey," she says. He looks up from his coffee. Her expression still holds a kindness that he doesn't deserve. "I'll never forget the look on his face when I picked him up after his first day of kindergarten. How excited he was when he told me about you. That's when I knew you two were for life. You might have caused him hurt later on, but I can see how happy you make him now." She moves a strand of hair away from Will's closed eyes. "You know, two years ago he told me that he wasn't going to fall in love."

Love. Mike freezes. It's not like Will doesn't tell him he loves him all the time, but hearing it from someone else's mouth makes it seem impossible. That he's the one Will Byers is in love with, of all people. "I don't know if…"

She lets out a small laugh, like he's ridiculous to even have doubt. But he can't help it; his heart's full of it. It's what it feels like to have to live in his own skin.

"Well, I've known him all his life. And I've known you for almost that long, too. I can see when two people are it for each other. You're lucky you've known each other since the start—some people spend a lifetime trying to find something similar to what he has with you."

She sounds wistful when she says the last part. Mike wonders if she regrets not connecting with Hopper sooner, if she mourns the lost time. Then there's Will to think about, and he knows that for her, he's worth it all.

"Yeah," he says. "I took it for granted before. Told myself he didn't need me anymore. I mean, I don't know, maybe I'm not…not that person."

She scoffs. "You're too hard on yourself. Of course he's had Jonathan and I, but he never stopped needing you. Even now, just you being here with him is helping."

"I wasn't there for him before." Mike's fingers move to Will's wrist to feel the thrum of his pulse again. "I still don't know if I can be who he needs."

"You're sixteen," Joyce says. "You've barely had time to figure yourself out with everything that's happened. It's hard to make the right decisions when you're hurting too."

It all comes rushing back. The helpless sinking of his heart when he saw the gush of his parents' blood so stark under the white hospital lights, panic so visceral it felt like he was dying when Will fell to the ground and didn't move afterwards.

Mike puts the mug down before he drops it with the way he's shaking, and his hand slips off its place around Will's wrist. He bites hard enough on the inside of his cheek to taste blood but his eyes sting anyway.

"I can't lose him too," he says, under his breath to stop his voice from cracking. It does anyway. "Not again. It—it keeps happening."

"Sweetheart," she says, looking a little misty-eyed too. "There’s no use blaming yourself."

Mike can't say he agrees, but he lets Joyce wrap her warm arms around him and dampens the front of her jacket just a little. He thinks about why he can't seek comfort from his own mother and swallows down the nausea at the memory of her torn skin and visible bone, a few more tears leaking out of his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he manages, muffled by the soft material of her jacket. "I didn't mean to make it all about me. I know you're worried too."

"Worried is an understatement," she huffs, but there's no real irritation. "It's Will we're talking about here. It feels like yesterday I was scared that he'd fall off his bike or take a tumble from the playground."

He chokes out a laugh that sounds embarrassingly more like a sob. Then suddenly there's noise from outside the Squawk—a skidding of tires, the slam of a car door.

Mike withdraws himself from Joyce's arms and wipes roughly at his face. It's probably pointless. "Is that…?"

"It must be," Joyce says, a hint of hope in her tone.

She stands. Mike stays on the floor, refusing to leave Will for even a minute. When Joyce looks back at him, he just shakes his head. "I can't."

Understanding crosses her face. "We won't be long."

For that time, Mike turns his focus back to Will's unconscious form with a sort of pitiful despair. He wonders whether he'd heard any part of the conversation with Joyce. It would be mortifying, but Mike would take any level of humiliation if it meant Will was okay and coming back to him.

"Hey, Will," he says softly. There's no acknowledgement, but he continues anyway. "Uh, I don't know if you can hear me or I could just be talking to myself here…anyway, I miss you. It's really hard without you here."

Even to his ears, he sounds pathetic. But it's true—the more time passes and Will doesn't wake, the more wrongness Mike finds in his mere existence. He's off balance without Will really being here.

He hurries on. "Which obviously isn't your fault at all. I knew how dangerous it was and I should've tried to get you out sooner. And you'd say there's nothing I could've done or whatever, because you always forgive me for shit you shouldn't forgive me for. I'm telling you now that I'm sorry, but I need you to come back so I can make it up to you properly. There's a lot I have to earn your forgiveness for—even though you said it's okay. I know it's not. I'll do anything you want. I'll be better. I really meant what I said about escaping this place together to find our own."

He sniffles and continues even when his voice breaks. "I love you, Will, and it's not enough but it's one of the only things I'm sure of right now. I knew it when we had just become friends and I'd make a joke that wasn't even funny but you'd laugh anyway—the best sound I ever heard. I knew it that day in the fourth grade when it was pouring rain, and you rescued a bird with a broken wing from the side of the road. You made me help you nurse it back to health because we did everything together. By the time it got better, you'd gotten attached. You cried when you had to let it go. But you said it was worth it to see how awesome it looked in flight and you couldn't wait to draw it in your sketchbook. It felt like flying itself when you took out that page and gave it to me."

Mike remembers the destruction of his house. He might not ever get it back, that binder full of Will's careful lines and chosen colors. He keeps talking before the panic can fully set in, low and unsteady.

"It took me longer to know that I was in love with you. I'm sure of that now, too. I think I realized it the first week you were in California and I was here. I couldn't sleep, so I called you. You told me you guys went to watch the sunrise on the beach, and I couldn't see it so you described every detail to me. The way the colors blended into each other, how it looked reflected by the ocean. But I didn't want the sunrise. All I wanted was to see you, the wonder on your face when you took it all in."

Mike glances towards the window. The voices are still overlapping outside. He doesn't have any goal in mind here—it's not like he thinks his desperate tangent will wake Will, but maybe he can hear it. Maybe he can feel less alone wherever he is, and know what Mike's heart looks like all bared and raw.

"And I did. I got a photograph in El's next letter that Jonathan took of you and her that day. God, you don't know how often I stared at that. You were so beautiful, and you were smiling, and I guess I got all self-absorbed and in my head. I thought that you wouldn't want to be held back from your new, amazing life by your asshole of a friend in Hawkins. In those first few weeks when we were still okay, I always called you when I missed you too much. The only way I could sleep was after we talked. But then we stopped talking, and I stopped writing. I barely slept at all in those months."

The unsent letters are still at home collecting dust in Mike's desk drawer. It's probably better that they never see the light of day. But Will deserves the truth if he wants it, and Mike will do anything to give Will what he wants.

"Everyone was so sick of me. I was so sick of myself, and I was hurting both of us by not sending any of what I wrote to you. I had so much to say. So much I wanted to tell you. I was a coward for not letting you see the love I attached to every one of them." Mike takes a broken breath and blinks rapidly to keep the tears at bay. "I don't know what my point to all this is. I hate it when you're not around. Even though you're right here I have no idea where you are. I wasn't the one to find you back then, and I won't be now. You're the one I want to keep forever, Will, but I don't know how to stop losing you."

Under Mike's hand, Will's fingers move again. Not tensing or anything that indicates pain. Just curving up, leaning into Mike's touch.

"Will?"

The door creaks open. Mike flinches, scrubbing at his face again. Joyce walks in, followed by El, Hopper, and an older dark-haired girl who Mike guesses from previous descriptions is El's sister, Kali. He stands with some reluctance and manages to form a strained smile, though he's sure the puffy redness of his eyes is evident.

El hugs him and he returns it, the smile coming a little easier. "You're back," he says, relieved. His voice is hoarse from talking to Will. "Did it go okay?"

"There were some…obstacles," she tells him, pulling away. "But mostly, yes. This is Kali."

"Hey," he lifts his hand in an awkward wave. "Mike."

'I know," Kali says. Her tone is hard to read, but her gaze is sympathetic; he must really look a state.

El's brows draw together in concern when she turns to Will. "He's been like this since he went into Henry's mind?"

Mike nods. "He moved, though. Just his fingers."

"What, like in the shed?" Hopper asks. "With the morse code."

"No. Not like that."

"Well," says El. "It's something."

She sits down in front of Will where Mike had just been. Mike takes her left side and before he can overthink it he grabs Will's hand again, interlacing their fingers. It only feels right.

"Okay?" he says, his shoulders bunching. He can feel every eye in the room on him and El.

El nudges him, a small smile brightening her features. "Yes. It's okay."

He relaxes and she pats his unoccupied hand. "You and Joyce stay here with him," she says. "Hop, Kali, and me will get everything ready upstairs."

"And I," Mike corrects despite himself.

She smacks him lightly. "Honestly, I don't know what Will sees in you."

"Hey! You're the one who dated—"

"I have no idea what you are talking about," El says. "I'm going to bring him back, Mike. I promise."

"I know you will. Thank you." He gives her a grateful look. "And be careful."

"Of course."

Then it's just the three of them again. Mike knows there is no God to pray to—it was Will who had saved him from a certain death, Will who's always been the answer. The bravest person Mike knows. The one he loves with his entire aching soul.

Maybe some would say that Will's his biggest weakness. But Mike's always felt stronger with Will by his side, the best version of himself.

There's a whole world to save, but none of that matters when his whole world is slipping out of his grasp.

‪‪❤︎‬‪‪❤︎‬‪‪❤︎

Will gasps awake at the same time El comes running back down the stairs, leaving puddles of saltwater behind her.

He shoots upright, his breaths loud and ragged. Joyce is the first one he sees. "Mom," Will croaks, folding into her arms. "I…he—"

"Shh," she soothes. "We're here. You're safe."

His palm is sweaty against Mike's, but Mike only squeezes his hand tighter. His heartbeat is racing, the relief of Will waking up palpable.

"Hey," Mike says, rubbing circles on Will's back in an attempt to stop the shivering. He keeps his voice as quiet as possible. "It's just us, alright? He can't hurt you now."

"Max," Will manages.

"I know." El blinks water out of her eyes and tosses her long braid back over her shoulder. "We're going to the hospital now."

"What's happening with Max?" Mike asks.

"She's in danger," says El. "I won't let anything happen to her, but we need to go now. Mike, do you think you can get him to the cabin?"

Hopper's eyebrows shoot up. "The kid can drive?"

Joyce gives him a look. Hopper quickly schools his face back to normal. "Take the spare car, Mike. The keys are in the booth."

"I'll get him there," Mike says firmly. "Keep me updated."

Joyce lets go of Will with obvious reluctance and Mike wraps his arm around him, protective. But he's failed to protect Will again. The hurt's already been done.

"Look after him, okay?" she says. She whispers to Will, "just hold on, sweetheart. I'll be back soon."

After that, it's only Mike and Will. Mike cards his fingers through Will's hair, listening to Will's breathing calm. "It's just us, Will."

Will emerges from Mike's arms, and the sight of him nearly splits Mike's heart clean in half. His skin lacks its usual color and his eyes are dull, bruised with dark circles. The shivering is almost violent at this point despite the relative warmth of the room they're in. He looks sick. He looks tortured.

"I'm gonna get you to the cabin, okay?" Mike says, cradling Will's face in his hand. "It's warmer there. You can rest."

Will gives the slightest nod. Mike steadies him as best he can against the cushions. "I have to run upstairs and grab the keys. I'm only going to be a minute, I promise."

"Okay," Will says, quiet, miserable. He's not okay at all, that much is clear.

Mike takes the stairs three at a time and bursts into the recording booth, scanning it until his eyes catch on a flash of silver. He snatches up the keys and sprints back down. Will hasn't moved from where Mike left him.

"I'm sorry," he says, out of breath. "I didn't want to leave you."

He helps Will up from the couch, looping an arm around his waist. Will sags against him, so trusting it hurts, and Mike just about melts. The fall breeze wafts in when he opens the door, both startling and unwelcome.

Tightening his grip around Will, Mike gently settles him into the passenger seat and reaches over him to buckle the seatbelt.

"I can do that myself, you know," Will rasps, his eyes fixed downwards.

"I know," Mike says quietly. "I want to."

He slides the seatbelt into place and makes his way to the other side of the car, fitting his right hand with Will's left while he drives as carefully as he can to the cabin. It takes all of his willpower to keep his eyes on the road and not Will, who he can see slumped against the window through his peripheral version.

Mike lets out a small, relieved breath when he sees the cabin come into view, knuckles white from gripping the wheel. He parks the car haphazardly and scrambles out to get the door for Will.

"You're shit at parking," Will murmurs when Mike opens it, the barest smile tugging at his lips.

Mike gives him a soft smile in return, taking Will's forearms to guide him out of the car. "Yeah, well, blame Steve. Questionable teaching and all."

The cabin smells like dust and there's visible cobwebs in the corners of its ceiling, but otherwise it's not in bad condition. Mike closes the door behind them with a heavy click.

Will's swaying a little on the spot, his eyes still glassy when he looks up at Mike. Worn out like he doesn't even have the energy for tears. A shudder ripples through him, and the pain in Mike's chest intensifies. What did he do to you?

"Did you wanna get cleaned up first?" Will takes a few moments to register the question, but he moves his head in a mechanical sort of nod. "Okay. I'll find you some clothes."

"You really don't have to do all of this for me," Will says, the words scraping out of him.

"I told you, Will. I want to," Mike assures him. "Because I love you, and I want to take care of you. Okay?"

Will looks like he's still waiting for a but and Mike doesn't give one. "Call out if you need anything," he says.

Once Will's in the bathroom and he hears the shower turn on, Mike rummages through the cabin for the warmest clothes he can find. He leaves a thick pair of sweatpants and a cheerful blue-striped sweater outside the door.

Mike loses track of time waiting in the largest of the unoccupied rooms. He unmakes and remakes the bed to perfection. Paces the length of the room until the soles of his feet ache. He almost falls over when Will knocks lightly on the door, even though it's wide open.

"Sorry. Just being weird," he says, standing still. "You don't have to knock."

Will shrugs. He's gotten a little color back in his cheeks. The sweatpants pool at his ankles and he's practically drowning in the oversized sweater, but the tremors have lessened.

Sinking onto the edge of the bed, Mike pats the space beside him. Will walks over and occupies it without a word, dropping his head onto Mike's shoulder.

"You should get some sleep," Mike says.

"I can't." Will's voice is barely audible against Mike's shoulder. "Not when Max…"

The sentence trails off, but Will doesn't seem to realize it. Mike turns and kisses the side of Will's head. "El's got that handled. You know she always does when it comes to Max."

Will makes a small noise of agreement, then lifts his head and shakes it with an abrupt vehemence. "It's my fault, Mike."

Mike immediately reaches for him again. "What? Don't say that. What are you talking about?"

"When I was in there," Will struggles through every word, "he used—"

What he was about to say next gets swallowed by a sob. A tear trails from the corner of Will's eye and disappears under the neckline of the sweater. Mike tamps down the rage that rises in him so intensely it feels like his own horrid monster, wiping away Will's tears with all the gentleness in the world.

"Listen to me," he says slowly, "you're not to blame for any of this. You've only ever saved us. Whatever happened, none of it was your fault."

Will's face crumples. He brings his palms to his face and muffles his sobs behind them until Mike curls his fingers around Will's wrists and pulls them away.

That's when he sees the faint but present scratches on the left side of Will's face. Indistinct red lines that hadn't been there when he was unconscious. The memory shoves to the forefront Mike's mind—Will suspended in the air, Vecna's clawed hand against Will's cheek, caressing.

Mike expects his monster's fury to grow, but he's only overwhelmed with sadness. Will who has only ever been kind and brave and generous, so undeserving of all that's been done to him. Mike's eyes well up too when Will slumps forward and cries into his shoulder, the sounds anguished and heartbreaking to hear.

"You're all right, baby," Mike whispers. He presses a tender kiss to Will's cheek where the marks are. "Just let it out. You're safe here. God, Will. I'm so sorry."

Will gradually quiets down, only giving the occasional hitch of breath. He doesn't say anything when Mike lifts the covers and guides him under. Draping them back over Will, Mike slips in beside him and buries his hands in the thick warmth of Will's sweater to pull him close again.

Lying against the pillows, they face each other. Will's eyes are rimmed with red and half-lidded with exhaustion, tears still pooling at the waterline.

To Mike's surprise, Will speaks before he can. "Don't be," he says, voice splintering. "You are who I need. You don't have to change yourself."

The first thought that crosses Mike's mind is that of course Will's trying to make him feel better. Always thinking of everyone else before himself, reassuring Mike after breaking down in his arms. Then Will's words fully sink in. His face burns. His breath goes shallow.

"You heard," Mike chokes out. "How…how much?"

"Not all of it. Just bits and pieces. I could— I think you were holding my hand. And your voice, it—" he swallows thickly. "It helped, when I was in there. The memories with you."

Will had heard him. Begging for him to wake up, unravelling into a mess of guilt and terror and most of all, love. Mike would fall apart a thousand times over if it helped Will in any way.

"I hoped it would," he says. "I meant every word. I'm really happy you're back, Will. You have no idea how much. Losing you is the worst thing that could ever happen to me."

"You're not going to," Will says. He looks more present now, his eyes much brighter than before. "I'd miss you too much. And um, about California. What you said—"

Mike opens his mouth, maybe to blurt out another apology, but Will shakes his head against the pillows and continues. "I never knew you felt that way. I used to think I was holding you back, too."

"Never, Will. I should've just talked to you. I was so stupid to think it would all go away if I hid how I felt well enough."

Will moves closer, resting his head on Mike's chest instead of the pillow. "I'm glad it went the way it did if it led to having this."

That's Will for you. Almost never one to hold a grudge, endlessly forgiving despite all the times he's been hurt as a result of Mike's own insecurities.

"You can be mad at me, you know," Mike says wryly. He ghosts his fingertips over Will's back and combs them through the soft strands of hair above his nape. Will relaxes against him, letting out a little sigh of contentment.

"Do you want me to be?"

"No. No, never. But that shouldn't matter when I'm the one who did you wrong."

"You've already righted it," Will says. "But were you ever going to tell me about the letters?"

"I don't know," Mike admits. "I'm sure they would have come back to haunt me at some point. Either way, I owe you all the truths I have. I'm going to get those letters to you after all this, and if I can't I'll make myself remember every word on them."

"Good, I've been waiting for them a while. Delivery's kinda slow around here."

"I know. I suck at my job," Mike grins apologetically. "But they're really embarrassing. You're going to think I'm so weird."

"I already think that."

"Rude." Mike ruffles Will's hair. Will yelps and squirms but doesn't pull away in the slightest. He's exactly where he wants to be.

"You feeling better?" Mike asks gently.

Will goes still again. "Think so. If I fall asleep…do you think I could get taken again?"

"Will," says Mike, pained. "You can sleep. He can't come for you here, and I'm not gonna let you go again."

Mike doesn't know how much control he has over this, but he knows he'd offer himself up to die a thousand different ways if it ensured Will's safety.

"Okay. Thank you—for staying." It's hard to tell whether Will believes him or not.

"You don't have to thank me. I'm not leaving you."

Will's eyes start to flutter shut, but he opens them like he's remembered something all of a sudden.

"What is it?" Mike asks with some alarm.

Will lifts his head and raises his eyebrows just a little. "Baby?"

"Oh," Mike says faintly. He knows Will's teasing, but hearing the word come out of his mouth makes Mike blush furiously. "I mean, I didn't—the moment, it—"

He becomes increasingly more flustered as Will watches on with this lovely, sleepy smile. Mike's mortification fades away, overtaken by an overwhelming flood of affection. He ducks his head and kisses Will.

It's sweet, slow, nothing that would set fireworks off. But Mike swears he can hear his heart beating loud enough to rival the sound of that, see colors exploding behind his eyelids.

He moves his lips to Will's forehead, brushing damp hair aside. "Get some rest, baby."

Now Will goes pink, lips pressed together like he's holding back a smile. "You're so much, Mike."

"Too much?"

"Never." Will's hand finds Mike's under the covers. His pulse is steady when Mike's fingertips graze his wrist, and Mike starts to give into his exhaustion too. Voice soft and sure, Will says, "I love you."

"I love you, Will. So much."

His person, his best friend, his forever favorite. Mike can't believe he was ever afraid of a love like this.

He welcomes the heavy blanket of sleep that he knows will be a peaceful one. It always comes easier after he's talked to Will.

‪‪❤︎‬‪‪❤︎‬‪‪❤︎

The clock ticks to midnight, signifying the beginning of what could be the day the world ends. November sixth, the day it started to collapse four years ago.

Mike stares blankly at the ceiling. He tries to count sheep, but in his imagination they morph into demogorgons and lash out with their bloody teeth and claws. He clicks his flashlight on, plucks a book off a nearby shelf, and tries to read but all his brain can absorb nowadays is crawl plans and explosive manuals. There's too many people in this goddamn place and it feels like the walls are closing in on him. He sighs and leaves the book on the couch, eyeing it to make sure it doesn't slide off and wake everyone up with the thud.

He doesn't know where he's going. His footsteps are mostly inaudible when he heads through the doorway into the next room, fingers covering the flashlight so it doesn't light up the whole radio station.

"Mike?"

He jumps impressively high at the sound, and Max's snicker gets cut off when he swings his arm around and shines his light directly in her face.

She glares at him from her sleeping bag, set up right next to El's. El hasn't stirred, thankfully—the whole ordeal with Will had taken it out of her, and god knows she needs the sleep for today.

"Put that down, asshole," she hisses. "Vecna already tried to blind me, remember?"

He hurries to lower his wrist, spluttering a horrified apology, but she just looks amused again. "Sorry. Too soon?"

"Yeah," he huffs. "It's not funny to anyone except you."

"Well, you're no fun. And keep your voice down, would you."

He mimes zipping his mouth shut and keeps moving, but her voice echoes through the dark again. "Mike. Where the hell are you going?"

"Out," he says.

"What, you're running away so close to the end?"

"Obviously I'm not running away. I just need to get out of here. I'll be back."

"Let me come with." She raises her brows in challenge and flicks her gaze to the wheelchair in the corner. "You gonna be any help at all, Wheeler?"

"Jesus, fine. Just give me a second."

While going to all his efforts not to wake El, Mike helps her into the wheelchair. It's a slow process, but eventually they make it to the exit. The first breath of fresh air is freeing until he thinks of how little time he might have left to experience it.

He leans against the cool brick of the WSQK building, kind of wishing he had a cigarette or something so he'd have something to do with his hands. It's a stupid thought—he's never even smoked. He'd probably find a way to make it look massively uncool.

"So what's up with you?" Max asks.

"Nothing's up with me."

"Something's clearly up, or you wouldn't have been longing for the outdoors at one in the morning."

"It's not one. It's, like, ten past twelve," he fires back.

"Right, my bad. Real big difference there."

Mike rolls his eyes without much actual annoyance. "I'm fine. Just nerves, probably."

"It's okay if you're not, you know. Anything could happen today."

"That's not helpful."

"But it's true. You got any regrets?"

If only she knew the half of it. He exhales a laugh, lacking of any humor. "Kind of feels like that's all I have."

She frowns, studying him. Her blue eyes are a little clouded over but still shrewd as ever. "Come on, Mike. There's got to be something you're proud of."

He offers a one-shouldered shrug instead of answering. "Do you think I've changed since…"

"Since before I died?" she snorts, but quickly straightens her expression.

”Fuck you. Answer the question.”

When she does, she’s smiling one of her rare smiles that Mike's hardly seen directed at him. "Yeah, Mike. I think you have. Don't look like that, I meant in a good way."

"In a good way how?"

"In the way that you're not pretending anymore. And you're still your usual insufferable self, but you're not afraid to show that you care about people. It's like…you were looking for something. Sometime in the past year and a half, you found it. Or should I say someone?"

"Uh," he manages. He feels some idiotic swell of emotion in his chest.

"Ugh. I'm never saying nice things to you again if you're just going to stand there gaping like a fish."

She's still smiling. Mike wonders briefly if all this Upside Down bullshit has messed with the space-time continuum and thrown him into another reality.

He closes his mouth then opens it again, not really knowing what he's about to say. What comes out is, "I missed you, zoomer."

She'd just seen right through him and all the walls he put up that are collapsing by the day, and it didn't feel like an attack. It feels like a step forward.

"Missed you too, loser," she says.

"I can't believe you figured us out already," Mike says. "You just woke up."

"Not my fault you and your boyfriend look at each other all gooey-eyed and act like you're dying when you spend a single second apart."

"We do no such thing—"

"What don't you do?" says Will, stepping through the door. There's still a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and Mike wants to put his arms around him and never let go.

Mike grins helplessly. "Nothing."

Max sighs deeply. "Hey, Will. I should probably get some sleep while you guys do…whatever you two do."

"I'll take you back inside," Will says.

"See you in the morning," Max says to Mike before her and Will disappear inside.

"Yeah. And, uh, thanks. For what you said."

Mike shoves his hands into his pockets. The sky is dark, devoid of stars, and it doesn't look like the end of the world at all. Like how people will look at him—if he makes it past tomorrow—but they'll never see anything outside of a painfully ordinary sixteen-year-old.

"What was that all about?" Will asks when he rejoins Mike.

"Just catching up on stuff," Mike says. "I couldn't sleep."

"Me neither. Jonathan's snoring again, and then I couldn't find you. I got worried."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to worry you."

"It's okay. Just a weird night."

A weird night is putting it lightly. Mike closes his eyes, and behind his eyelids he sees a flickering garage. An awful feeling in his gut. A missing best friend.

"You okay?" he asks.

"I think so. It's good having people around me."

Will's calm expression doesn't betray much, but Mike notices the way he wraps the blanket tighter around himself. How his gaze moves over Mike's shoulder, searching the darkness and all that it might be hiding.

Mike takes his hands out of his pockets and turns to Will. "Come here, I wanna ask you something."

"Okay," Will says. He looks nervous, but shuffles closer until Mike takes both of his hands and tangles their fingers together.

"I was thinking," Mike starts, equally nervous and staring down at his and Will's joined hands. "When this is over, I could drive us out of town for a weekend. Anywhere you want. We could go to a concert or maybe an art show, or a drive-in. Something like that." He feels his cheeks heat up. "You know, the whole dating thing. I'll meet all the boyfriend requirements."

The effect of the word is instantaneous. Will goes bright red, his lips parting. "Boyfriend?"

"Will. You can't tell me you—" Mike stares at him in disbelief. "I thought that was what we— what we were. You didn't know?"

"We never said so."

"We kiss. We say I love you all the time. Even Max knew."

"Really? She just woke up."

"That's what I said!"

Will's kissing him now. They're both fighting grins, teeth making contact every now and then, and the moment is perfect and happy and certainly not one that Mike regrets.

"Will," Mike murmurs when they break apart, pressed against the wall.

Will looks back at him, pupils blown and lips wet. "Yeah?"

"I know you can handle yourself. But you can't get carried away with the heroics. No sacrifices. I told you, I want you forever—that extends past today."

"You won't get rid of me that easily," Will promises.

Mike opens the door to let Will inside first. Without having to ask, they curl up together on the couch, and Mike holds Will with all the hope that it won't be the last time he gets to do it.