Chapter Text
1st July, 1985
“It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!”
The second those words came out, Mike wanted nothing more than to take them back and shove them down his throat, for the ground to rip apart and swallow him, to curl up in a corner and die, to rip apart his chest and tear open his heart.
The sky roared angrily, lightning striking nearby, reflecting in Will’s eyes, causing Mike to finally notice the hint of tears in his eyes.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
He messed up.
Mike's heart ached and twisted at the sight of his eyes. He wanted to reach out, he really did, he really wanted to pull the brunette in his arms, to apologise, to say ‘I’m sorry’ over and over again and bury Will’s head in his neck and maybe get on his knees and beg for forgiveness— anything, anything at all to just... stop Will from looking like that— like Mike is a monster, a monster like Troy or James or Lonnie, like he just called Will a fag, a fairy, a queer or worse.
Mike knew Will wasn’t any of those things, but he couldn’t fucking breathe when Will looked at him like that.
But he didn't. He didn't pull him in his arms; he didn't even apologise. He just stood there— because they weren't kids anymore. They had girlfriends. This was normal. Mike was normal.
Mike was normal.
Will had to understand that.
Mike liked girls. It was just the truth. He should have a girlfriend. He's 14. It's normal. Mike is normal. He can be normal. Mike loved Will, obviously, but he had a girlfriend. Because he liked girls. He liked El. He loved El. El was his girlfriend. Why wouldn’t he love her?
“I’m not trying to be a jerk, okay?” He exhaled shakily. “But we’re not kids anymore..." Mike bit his cheek hard, trying not to focus on Will's face and form coherent sentences and not just start sobbing like a fucking idiot. "I mean, what did you think, really? That we were never gonna get girlfriends? We were just gonna sit in my basement all day and play games for the rest of our lives?”
Will’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, clearly fighting back tears.
But Will didn’t actually want to spend the rest of his life playing games in Mike’s basement.
That was a valid point, right? It was valid. Maybe Will would realise he was overreacting.
“Yeah.”
...What?
“I guess I did.”
What the fuck?
“I really did.”
Mike barely processed anything as Will walked away, hopping on his bike. He stared at the garage floor, lips parted slightly, his stomach twisting with that familiar wave of nausea creeping up, his breath unsteady and his heart pounding like it was about to escape his chest. The rain breeze suddenly felt suffocating and cold, making him shiver as he grit his nails into his palms, hoping to ground himself.
What the fuck just happened?
Will—his Will—wanted to spend the rest of his life with him?
What?
A violent crack of thunder split the sky once again, making the raven-haired boy snap out of his thoughts. “Will,” Mike called. Will didn’t turn around.
He wanted to spend the rest of his life with a fag?
Will wanted to spend the rest of his life with him?
Will Byers(his beautiful, gorgeous angel), that could do absolutely no wrong to a single being in existence, wanted to spend he rest of his life with Mike wheeler, the complete asshole who was lucky to be in Will's life, but still acted like a douche and just can't play DnD with him because he was scared and just can't admit he doesn't like girls and is a fairy, and that's why he was having girl problems in the first place?
With Mike, the absolute idiot who was throwing away everything, including the adorable angel who just leaving in the rain with tears in his bright eyes, just for him to pretend he fit in, that he was normal, when really, he was just a coward and born wrong, and there was nothing he could do to fix it?
“Will!” He tried again, but the boy barely looked back, turning his bike. “Will, come on!” Mike’s breath grew more panicked as he stared at the distant figure slowly disappearing in the rain.
Okay.
Nice going, Wheeler. Fuck you.
Mike just didn't get it. Why would Will say that? How could he mean it? But Will never lied. Why did he want to spend the rest of his life with Mike? He didn't understand.
Why? Just, why? Why Mike, of all people?
Mike wanted to run; he really wanted to just start racing after Will and plead for him to stop, to come back to him— so they could finish Will’s campaign, together, with Lucas, and save the villagers properly. He would see the brunette’s face light up and fill the room with his familiar warmth.
And then maybe they’d try to find Dustin, and when they do, maybe they’d get ice creams together and Will would laugh, his nose crinkling when Mike would point out he’s got cream on the tip of his nose.
But Mike just stood there. He just stood there, unable to move or speak or hear anything, or even feel, at this point.
God, who even fucks up this bad?
"Mike!" The voice was like a slap, shaking him back to reality, making him realise just what had happened.
He ignored Will.
He hurt Will.
And he let Will go and leave and bike in the rain.
6th November, 1983
“It was a seven,” Will said quietly as Lucas and Dustin began leaving, staying beside Mike.
“What?” Mike jolted back to look at the shorter boy, slightly confused. He wasn’t really thinking about the game.
“The roll— it was a seven.” The brunette repeated his words. “The Demogorgon— it got me.” He said. Mike frowned. Will hopped on his bike. “See you tomorrow, Mike!” The garage light flickered around him, but Mike paid it no mind as he slowly closed it and went back into the house.
Little did he know that Will would never be the same again.
Nothing would. Mike never forgave himself for not asking Will to stay.
They knew what happened next.
Mike's head snapped back to the source of the sound.
"Mike," Lucas called again, stepping closer to him, his expression confused and slightly uncharacteristically one of concern. "Mike, earth to Mike, w-what happened?"
The sky growled again; lightning flashed.
A knot formed in his stomach, twisting horribly, the nausea worsening.
He wanted to throw up, but this feeling was different from the previous one; it’s more intense, it’s unfamiliar, and it feels... wrong. Just like him.
"He... he left." The raven-haired boy's voice was a whisper, and, oh, so breathy. He was doubtful if Lucas even heard it. And he was right.
"What?" Lucas asked a bit more frantically, even more confused.
"He-he left... he just left." Mike choked out, the words weighing down on his tongue.
Lucas exhaled shakily, seeing Mike finally meet his gaze, his eyes unreadable, but not just staring into the distance.
"Shit!" Mike finally snapped out of it, realising the weight of his actions as Lucas pointed it out. "Shit, shit, shit!"
"Wh-wha-" Lucas inquired, even more confused.
"We have to go! We have to go, right now!" Mike panicked, his hands shaking slightly as he ran past Lucas, his feet finally useful as he ran through the door and raced down the basement stairs. He immediately grabbed his bag and started stuffing it with random things and his walkie-talkie, ignoring Lucas' calls.
"Mike, what? Where the hell are we going to go in this storm?"
Is Lucas being serious right now? Like Will didn't just leave to bike in the same fucking storm?
Mike chose not to answer, trying to ignore the absurdity of the question. His hands shook as he tied his shoelaces, the air around him choking him, making it hard to breathe.
"Stay here, and... and try to reach Will. Don't do anything stupid." He grabbed a raincoat from the back of the basement door and rushed up the stairs.
"Hold up. What? I-I'm coming, too! Wait up! Shit-" Lucas said, slipping in his sneakers clumsily and running up after Mike into the garage.
Mike rolled his eyes, tossing his raincoat to Lucas before he pulled his bike out of the garage and started biking frantically, twice as fast as he usually is.
"Mike!" He could hear his distant groan as he rushed through the rain, the water settling on his hair, dripping down his curls, blurring his vision. Being more athletic than him, Lucas caught up soon. He didn’t care. Mike could barely hold on. His hands were shaking; he could barely see. The drops felt thrice as heavy, burning on his skin. The sky growled at Mike, mocked him. He couldn’t see. Was he about to crash? Maybe he should, actually. He deserved to.
But he needs to get to Will. He needs to make it up to him and apologise. He can’t crash right now. He needs to make it up to him. He let him leave in the rain with tears in his eyes. He’s mad at Mike. He’s upset. He had tears in his eyes. Mike needs to get to him.
He can’t lose Will. Will is his, his best friend, his person.
He needs to find him.
Something doesn't feel right.
Will’s legs finally gave out as he let go of his bike. It crashed into a tree, leaning against the soaked wood. The brunette let out a final ragged exhale before his knees melted to the dirt. He slowly lifted the curtain to the small wood fort, crawling inside. The familiar comfort of the place was now no longer present. Small drops seeped in between the hand-cut sticks and twigs on the roof of Castle Byers, makeshiftedly covered with a plastic sheet that didn’t completely stop the rainwater, making the small mattress a bit damp.
Will sat down quietly anyway, eyes stinging with tears. His gut twisted again. He wanted to throw up.
With a trembling hand, he reached out and turned on the small battery-powered lamp, causing the small room to be covered in a warm glow with no real warmth, but at least it provided some light; otherwise the barely there, dim moonlight blurred by rain and clouds.
Will sighed, wiping his eyes roughly as he picked up a comic lying on the floor, face down. He stared at the words, really trying to read, but he couldn’t.
‘It’s not my fault you don’t like girls.’
The words echoed in Will's mind, haunting him. In a way, Will should have seen it coming. I mean, it was obvious. He was the only one who didn’t have a girlfriend amongst the party, and the only one who showed zero interest in girls. He probably looked queer, too(according to James, that is). Maybe he just didn’t expect it to be so soon.
A drop landed on his forehead, burning like a bullet beside his wet bangs clinging to his forehead.
How long has he known?
He couldn't blame Mike. Who the fuck in the entirety of Indiana would want to play DnD with a fag? Maybe Mike finally realised the truth— the truth that the whole town knew. Maybe the reason they were ignoring him was that the party finally realised that Will couldn't be fixed, that he was born wrong— a mistake, and that's why the shadow took him in the first place. Because he was weak. And an easy target.
And now Mike would probably never want to see his face ever again. Neither would Lucas, or Dustin. Jonathan and his mom probably won't say it out loud, but the truth is quite obvious. Nobody likes fairies.
The party would continue to thrive without the cleric, be normal, and Will would be left alone. He is alone. Mom is normal. Jonathan is normal. Dustin, Lucas are normal.
Mike is normal.
He loves Eleven, also the girl who saved Will from the Upside Down. He hated that he was jealous of her. She had been nothing but nice to him. He was ungrateful, jealous, possessive.
And also a fucking faggot.
His gut churned in on itself. The brunette sighed, flipping a few more pages in the book on his lap, trying to find something distracting, before slamming the comic on the mattress. He let out a long exhale and turned around to the wood wall covered with photos and drawings Mike and he had grabbed from around the house to make the place more Will's—the DnD manual of the campaign Mike had planned out for the party right before Will disappeared,
6th November, 1983
“Something’s coming...” Mike whispered, his tone low and soft, suspenseful, the way it always got when he was heavily invested in a campaign. “Something hungry for blood...” He leaned closer to the table, his voice dropping.
“What is it?” Will asked curiously.
“What if it’s the Demogorgon?’ Dustin looked at Will, his face dropping. He groaned. “Oh, Jesus. We’re so screwed if it’s the Demogorgon!”
Mike smirked, his gaze drifting from Will to Dustin. Will thought he looked adorable. I mean, Will thought he was always adorable, but looked a bit more so at the moment.
“It’s not the Demogorgon,” Lucas argued, gesturing with his hands to exaggerate his point.
Will caught Mike’s gaze for a second, and the two of them stayed there, his dark brown eyes full of adoration instead of the usual annoyance when Dustin and Lucas argued.
And the portrait of Will the Wise, his DnD character, he had coloured during one of his sleepovers at Mike’s house.
24th December, 1983
“Will, your action?” Mike asked excitedly as they finally got the chance to finish their campaign. It was Christmas Eve, and Mike had to beg his parents to have the party over because they wanted to finish the campaign after delaying it for a week as soon as possible.
“Fireball!” Will had yelled out confidently, reaching out to pick up the dice and shaking them in his hands before dropping them back down on the board.
“Fourteen!” The three burst into cheers and hoots.
“Direct hit! Will the Wise’s fireball hits the Thessalhydra.” Mike had declared.
The campaign was a success. They had won. The party was overjoyed to finally finish the campaign with their fourth member.
And for a bit, everything felt okay.
Will’s gaze drifted down to the lamp, his eyes stinging with the direct light before he reached out with his shaking hands to the photo placed on the small table.
It was Halloween. The party had decided on dressing up as the Ghostbusters, from Will’s favourite movie. Despite everything Will was going through at the time—his visions, the creatures in his vomit, the shadow—he was excited to have a distraction and pretend he was normal. He just wanted it all to stop, for the pain to stop.
31st October, 1984
“Who you gonna call?"
"Ghostbusters!"
But he would never be normal. He isn’t normal. He shouldn’t have expected any of that. He had to be tied down to the mattress to make sure he wouldn’t reach out and grab his mom’s throat, or stab Jonathan, or kill anybody else in the room. He was a monster, a threat. He couldn’t be normal. He was zombie boy. He was the queer with bruises on his wrists. And he'd continue to forever love Mike in silence— Mike, his best friend, a boy.
And that isn’t normal.
Will clutched the paper in his trembling hands, hoping to ground himself. It all felt too much. He couldn’t take it anymore.
He should have never thought he was worthy of their friendship. He should've never hoped that things would go back to normal after everything. He was wrong from day one. Lonnie called him a fag for a reason; he wasn't wrong about that. Even Troy was right. He wasn't meant to be born. He was a mistake. He was a mistake. He was a mistake. Mike would never support him, let alone like him back. He shouldn't support him. He's nice, he's kind, he has a heart of gold, he's brave. Will is just a fag. A monster who almost killed his family a year ago.
"Stupid...”
His friends and his mom and Jonathan and Mike would've never been put in so much danger if it wasn't for him. If he wasn't this weak, maybe he would've been able to escape the Demogorgon- somehow. Maybe the shadow would've never chosen him. Or at least he would've been able to stop the shadow from taking control over his body. Maybe if he would've not selfishly clung to the hope of life and just given up in the upside down, none of this would’ve ever happened. His gut twisted with shame and guilt; his heart felt like it was burning. He would never be happy. He didn’t deserve to be. He didn’t deserve to even hope for it. Mike shouldn't love him back.
He was so stupid.
“So, so stupid..."
Will stared at the paper in front of him, the picture of him, Lucas, Dustin, and Mike on Halloween, the four showing off their proton packs. Mike looked at Will instead of the camera, beaming with a beautiful smile Will knew would never be his. He loved Mike. Mike loved El.
He couldn’t take it anymore. With a cry, he tore the picture in half, the paper falling to the ground before he grabbed his drawing, digging his nails into the paper and ripping it apart just the way he wished to rip apart his chest. He grabbed the bat leaning on a wood log in the corner— the one Lonnie got him in hopes of teaching him baseball— and crawled out, standing upright as the rain poured harshly on his skin, burning him. He swung the bat at the fort as thunder echoed. The sky roared with every swing, but he paid it no mind. All he wanted was to destroy that stupid fort in front of him. Will didn't deserve it— Will didn't deserve any of it. He didn’t deserve happiness.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck..."
He swung it again, making the logs fall back. His breathing was uneven, coming out in short gasps as he dropped the bat to the ground, his hands shaking as he ripped apart the walls with his bare hands, splinters getting caught in his skin in the process, scraping the flesh. He gritted his fingers in the wood before he pushed it to the ground. Exhausted, his knees hit the ground as he let out a broken sob, hugging himself.
Everything hurt.
Everything hurt.
He never deserved any of those times Mike came to his house to check up on him. He never deserved to be part of any of his wonderful campaigns. He never deserved to be in their party. Lucas didn't deserve him. Dustin didn't. Mom didn't. Jonathan didn't.
Mom deserved love— she deserved Bob, whether Will liked him. Bob didn't deserve to die. Jonathan deserved to go to college and to not throw away his dreams because his mom gave up her savings for Will's treatment. It was all Will's fault. It was all Will's fault. It was all Will's fucking fault. Will should've died right there when the Demogorgon caught him. He should have been killed. Actually, he should have been killed right there and then when they found out about the monster in him. He should have died. He should have been-
The brunette suddenly heard a low growl and a squelch from the direction of the Byers' cabin, an all too familiar sound from the countless nightmares and visions he had had the past two years. He stopped breathing, his entire body freezing in place, and there was that familiar sensation- on the back of his neck, the hairs standing up as a shiver went through his spine, down his back, consuming his whole body.
6th November, 1983
The headlight flickered once, then twice. Then it went dark. Will couldn’t see. But he kept pedalling.
There was a man on the road.
Will lost his balance, sending the bike crashing into the ditch. He couldn’t really feel the pain, because his ears were focused on the chime of a grandfather clock in the distance, and something was growling— low and deep and dangerous...
Shit.
He was wrong. It wasn’t a man. It wasn’t an animal either.
Whatever it was, it didn’t look friendly.
Pulse trilled in his veins. He did the one thing he could think of— he ran. His legs were burning, but he ran, and ran, until he saw the familiar Byers’ cabin in the distance. He hurried inside, hoping Mom or Jonathan would be home, but the windows were pitch dark.
“Mom? Jonathan?” He called out, realising how ragged his breathing had gotten. Shit. They weren’t home.
Shit, shit, shit.
He could hear his heart pounding against his chest. He quickly made his way to the window, ignoring Chester’s barking as he cupped his face, his eyes searching. He sees it— the figure, clearer this time, closer. It’s almost 7 feet long, with no face, with claws and a flower-shaped face with teeth everywhere, ready to capture someone—a victim.
Him.
He felt his breath catch in his throat before he rushed towards the phone, lifting it off the cover. He dialled 9-1-1 as fast as he could, then waited. “Hello?” He said frantically. “Hello?”
Nothing, Static, panting, barking, growling. No one replied.
He could see a shadow lingering near the frosted glass of the door.
The lock snapped.
Will is fucking terrified.
He would be killed.
He dropped the phone, the plastic hitting the ground with a thud. He ran towards the back door. Gun in the shed. Lonnie had taught him how to use it, made him kill a bunny. He busted into the shed, his hands shaking as he reached to search for the gun. He reloaded it as quickly as he could. He came to do this. Just shoot the creature. Easy, right?
He clicked the safety off, resting the gun on his shoulder, pointing it towards the door. His breath hitches. He’s fucking terrified.
But he hadn’t expected the squelching and growling to come from behind.
He jolted back, the intensity of the lightbulb burning into his eyes. He heard the wood shift.
And then, he’s just gone.
The Demogorgon.
It got him.
Will immediately got up, his legs wobbling as he leapt to his left, running as fast as he could- this time because he knew he wouldn't be killed. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, making him want to scream, cry out for help. But it was useless. No one would hear him scream this deep in the woods.
He wouldn't be killed. He wouldn't be killed. He wouldn't be killed.
Pain shot through his leg as he stumbled. He forced himself to keep running as fast as his legs could keep up. He had no idea where he was going; he just knew he had to keep running.
He wouldn't be killed.
All of a sudden, a small sticky vine shot up from the ground and grabbed his leg, slithering up on his skin, causing Will's heart to almost burst out of his chest. Will breathed unevenly as he was pulled to the ground, his body hitting the Earth with a thud, a sharp pain flowing through his body as something sharp hit his thigh. No, no, no, no... He yelped, clawed at the dirt, fighting the strong grip of the vine which pulled him back. He let out a screech, though knowing it was useless, and desperately tried to fight the grip. Tears flowed down his cheeks as he cried out.
He didn't want to go back there. He didn't want to feel him again. All over. He didn't want to feel that. He didn't want to feel it. He didn't want to experience that slimy tentacle latching on his face, leaving it burning; the flesh slipping in his mouth, down his throat, pumping the back liquid in his stomach, his lungs—everywhere. He didn't want to hear his mocking, creepy voice again. He didn't want to go back. He wanted to go home. He couldn't go there again.
He wanted to be killed. He wanted to be killed. He couldn't live through that again. Please kill him. Please don't let him live. Don't keep him alive, don't let him feel it again.
The boy froze, hand pausing mid-claw as he registered the sound—the ‘thump, thump, thump’ echoing, shaking the ground, paired with the disgusting, gory squelching inching closer and closer. He gripped the dirt again, screaming desperately, begging even as he knew no one would hear him. The vine suddenly let loose its agonising grip on his ankle, leaving a deep red line Will couldn’t see but knew was there. He immediately sat up, turning around, but was immediately slammed back down on the ground by an invisible grip.
His body was near convulsing as his eyes threatened to roll back. His vision went blurry, small spots of black appearing at the corners. He could still hear the growling of the creature despite the ringing in his ears. More wet, disgusting vines seeped on his skin, grabbing his wrists from the sides and pinning him down. He felt a tentacle latch on his throat, suffocating him.
"Please..." Will choked out through the grip on his throat. "No..." He pleaded.
The creature growled again. Will could see blood pooling in his eyes, blurring his vision, but he couldn't feel it, too focused on the terrifying organism in front of him—having the same arms as the tentacles that once invaded Will's body, choked him just like this, and left his ankles and wrists sore and red with imprints. It was huge, as big as the oak tree near the now-destroyed Castle Byers.
He’s fucking terrified.
He cried again as he slowly registered his eyes burning, or maybe being pulled out, or maybe being squeezed in—he wasn't sure, but he didn't like it. It hurt. It would probably hurt less if he clawed out his eyes himself. It made Will beg to be killed, in his mind at least. Black filled his vision and slowly consumed it as his head rolled back. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't see. He couldn't even hear, his mind now filled with a sharp ringing sound. Something wet slipped down his cheeks, but it was different from tears. He tasted iron and bile and salt on his lips, all at once. He screamed as hard as he could despite the vine on his throat. He couldn't feel his fingers. Will only registered the feel of his bare stomach against the grass as his body was dragged by his legs before he lost consciousness.
The shadow.
It got him.
Again.
The bike crashed against the porch pillar into the wet puddle near the stairs, spokes still turning, as Mike rushed up to the door, hand coming up to pound desperately on the wood, not even looking back to care if Lucas had caught up.
Mike just wants Will back. Will would understand. He knew it. Will was always nice—an angel with a heart of gold.
It was selfish of Mike to ask for forgiveness, but he couldn't lose him over someone as stupid as a girlfriend. Not that El was stupid—it was just stupid that she was Mike's girlfriend. Mike wanted her to be his girlfriend, but he didn't necessarily like it. Sometimes he hates kissing her. Sometimes he just wants to talk and not be so close to her, and that's why he pushes her hand away when she tries to touch his neck.
But that isn't the point.
Mike needed Will.
Mike needs to apologise to Will. He wasn't good at it with others; Will was not like others. He was always different for Mike. It was easier to apologise to him, to speak to him. That’s part of why Mike needed him—he was his person, his best friend, his to take care of, and his to apologise to.
"Will!" He pleaded, his fist banging on the door as the air came out in heavy breaths. "Will, I’m sorry, man, alright? I was being a total asshole. Can you just come outside and we'll talk?" Mike knocked again, louder, his heart thumping just as loudly. "Will!" He panicked, his hand slumping against the cold wood as a knot of tension twisted in his gut. Lucas ran up to the window, peeking in, pressing his nose to the glass and cupping his eyes.
Was Will ignoring Mike? Will wouldn't do that, right?... he probably wouldn't.
Which means he isn't in the house. There was only one other place he could think of.
Mike ignored him and ran past to the forest, legs burning after pedalling continuously for the last 20 minutes, adrenaline still racing. There was one other place he could think of where Will would be. His chest felt like it was on fire with how hard he'd been trying to catch his breath, but he ran and ran and ran through the dark woods until he reached the familiar oak tree with the yellow flag of Will's familiar hideout— marked with messy blue paint and uneven strokes, probably written by Jonathan. Because Will's handwriting was different; neater, in a way.
But Castle Byers wasn't there.
All Mike saw were fallen logs and ripped papers all over the ground, along with a broken lamp and a baseball bat lying in the wet mud.
What the fuck?
Mike walked towards the fallen wood, eyes darting around in confusion as he tried to make sense of it.
What happened? He didn't think the storm was that bad. Castle Byers had been through worse before— Mike and Will playing board games in the light and comfort of the lamp, half drenched, laughing so hard their jaws cramped and their stomachs hurt. He knelt to reach out and stroke the wet wood with his trembling finger. And that's when he noticed it— the bike leaning against another oak wood trunk— Will's bike, the yellow paint glowing in the rain.
Will must have been here. But he couldn't have destroyed Castle Byers. So it must've been the storm...
That's okay, Mike and Will will rebuild it together after he makes it up to him. But he needs to find him first for that.
"Will?" Mike stood up reluctantly, feet dragging on the mud, staining the soles of his sneakers as he called out. "Will?" He tried. "Will!" He tried again, but all he was met with was the echo of his own voice, and the sound of the pouring water and growling thunder.
Where the hell is he?
Mike was growing more worried now, with no idea where Will could be. "Will!" He cried out, a horrible thought occurring in his mind. His eyes widened; he froze in his place.
What if it wasn't the storm?
What if someone had destroyed it?
Or, more accurately, what if something had destroyed it?
Fuck.
"WILL!" Mike screamed. "Will, where are you? Please come out! I said I'm sorry!" He waited, his chest rising up and down rapidly now. "Will... please, I’m sorry... This isn't funny."
Where is he? Where is he? Where is he? Where could he be? Where could he be?
...
What if...
No.
Mike shoved the terrifying thought away. It wasn't possible; it was gone, the gate was closed. Will was safe. He was just playing a prank, or hiding somewhere away, but he was okay, and safe. Mike hoped.
It's okay. He's okay. Just breathe, Wheeler. It isn't here. He's okay. He's safe.
Mike slowly started walking deeper into the forest, pinching his wrist to control and ground himself as he focused on searching for a familiar bundle of chestnut hair.
He couldn't find him.
He wanted to throw up. He really wanted to throw up. He felt sick to his stomach. He could feel it in his gut— the gnawing ache, the terrible feeling. He could feel it everywhere. His mind spun as he dug his nails into his scalp, the rain burning down on him.
"WILL!" He screamed again. He would scream until he coughed up blood to find Will. Anything for Will. Something wet flowed down from his eyes, and it was not just the rainwater. His eyes stung as he shut them tight, digging his nails in his skin to calm his racing thoughts.
What if something had really attacked? What if there was something really wrong? What if it had aimed for Will’s chest?
What if all that Mike finds is just Will's body lying in a puddle of mud?
Or worse, what if the shadow took him back to the upside down?
What if it had wrapped its slimy, gory arm around his throat? What if Will hadn't been able to breathe?
What if Mike never sees his beautiful face ever again?
No.
No, no, no, no...
"Will! Please, Will!" He cried out.
Will was okay. He just wasn't here. That's all.
So why in the hell did Mike feel like he was going to puke out his intestines?
"WILL!" He screamed, cried out, maybe whispered; he can't register it. He just wants to see Will. He knows worrying so much is irrational and Will is probably just not here, but Mike can't help the horrible feeling pooling in his stomach. "WILL!" He screamed until it left his throat raspy, his voice hoarse. "WILL!... WILL! WILL, PLEASE!" He didn’t realise he was crying until he tasted salt.
No, no, no, no... Not again, not fucking again...
Will is gone.
Look, the thing is, Mike always was weird about Will.
He was just like that. The party just accepted it. He was the first one to hug Will at the hospital after he was rescued, and that was okay. He hugged him too tight and too long and twice, and he also asked him if he was okay. He made out his breathing from radio static when everyone else believed Will was dead. He was the one who biked home alone and cut off Lucas and Dustin after Will's "body" had been pulled out of the quarry. He stayed at Will's house for nights to help him eat after he returned. He slept next to Will and shushed him back to sleep after nightmares at sleepovers, thinking the two others were asleep when, really, they were sharing confused glances under the covers. He was the one who knew the most about Lonnie but refused to tell the others even when bribed. He was always touchy with him, and he refused to let anyone else touch Will even when he had an episode at Halloween. He took Will home alone, away from Lucas and Dustin and Max, and nobody questioned it. He went to "apologise" to Will after they ignored him and told Lucas to not interfere.
That was just how things were. Mike was always like that. Max found it weird but never said anything about it. And that was just how it was. Mike and Will were different from the party. They were way closer. And even though Mike claimed he loved all of his friends equally, he clearly had a favourite. Even on the way to here, Mike remained concerningly quiet instead of his usual stupid ranting or Lucas and Mike’s bickering, just like that time on the usually cold 7th of November when they biked to Mirkwood, in hopes of finding Will safe and secure. Will just had that effect on him.
That was just how things were. So, maybe that's why Lucas let Mike drag him and make him bike in the pouring rain across town to the Byers' residence for a full 20 fucking useless minutes just to find out Will wasn't even there.
Lucas sighed as he stared at Mike's figure running off into the forest. He didn't follow, not really. He just rested his forehead against the cold glass and hoped Mike would get it over with. Look, Lucas and Mike did ignore Will. And ignoring him was a shitty thing to do, yes. They were assholes. But this was actually crazy. Mike was crazy. He always was, but right now, he was crossing the line. And it was genuinely annoying. Lucas was sure it wouldn't have made a difference if they had apologised in the morning. Will would've forgiven them anyway, because he's an angel. But Mike's idiocy had led them to this— biking here in a harsh thunderstorm to not even find the person they were looking for. This was all such bullshit. Lucas hated it. He just wanted to go home. Will wasn't here, and Mike was just being his usual crazy self and dragging them into messes. Fuck Mike.
Mike is weird. All of them are, but he’s really, really weird. Lucas doesn’t get him. A part of him hated that he made him bike here in this goddamn storm. But the other part was just... confused. Really, really, really confused. Seriously. Lucas loved Will, but this is just bullshit. And pointless. The only person Lucas can imagine himself racing across the entire town in the rain for to apologise to is Max, and even that’s a maybe—depending on what he even did to have to apologise for. So, when Mike doesn’t even understand his mistake with El, and instead blames the entire female population, especially Max, for it, but doesn’t hesitate to bike after Will when he messes up and, clearly, makes Will upset— it’s straight up crazy.
So, either Mike really messed up,
Or...
...
Lucas shakes his head, pushing away the thought. What was he thinking? Mike and Will have just always been close. It’s just that. Lucas is being stupid. They’re best friends, closer than any of the other party members. They’re just Mike and Will—always have been. Also, Mike has a girlfriend.
He’s just like that. It’s okay. It’s not Lucas’ place to think like that anyway.
...Why in the hell is he screaming?
Lucas groaned and pushed himself off the wood, turning in the direction of the noise. He felt himself freeze and his eyes widen as he registered the cries as pure terror and desperation.
"WILL!... WILL! Will, please!" Mike.
What in the hell?
Lucas immediately started following the sound, running through the woods until he found a very, very badly panicked Mike Wheeler standing in the middle of wooden logs, a broken lamp, a baseball bat and a fallen bike that looked very much like Will's, with the yellow paint drenched with the rain.
"Hey, hey, dude." Lucas tensed up a bit as he took in the scene, unsure of what to do or say. It wasn't often you saw Mike so vulnerable, honestly. Maybe this was even the first time. He also wasn't sure if it was just the moonlight or if Mike's face had gotten a bit pale. "Dude, dude, just breathe."
"Will- Will isn't... I can't-" The raven-haired boy choked out despite the ragged breathing, digging his nails in his skull, behind his ears, his neck. Lucas couldn't make out any of what he was saying.
"W-what the hell happened here?" Lucas asked hesitantly.
"He- Will- it came back- took him. Gone."
"What?"
"Will's gone," Mike repeated himself.
"...What are you talking about, Mike?" Lucas asked again, a sense of dread filling his veins as he recognised the implication.
“He’s gone-he-he’s just gone-” He covered his face with his trembling hands before he fell to the ground, his bare knees hitting the dirt with a thud. “Gone, gone, gone, gone-” He gasped, and Lucas could see his nails digging into the fabric of his shorts.
“Mike, Mike, breathe, dude.” Lucas had never seen him like this. He didn’t know what to do or what to say. “Mike.”
“He’s gone!” He yelled, like it was somehow Lucas’ fault.
“Mike, Mike, Mike.” Lucas knelt, taking hold of Mike’s wrists.
“He’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone...” Mike sobbed, shaking his head, his face drenched with the rainwater and the tears streaming down his cheeks, his chin. “Lucas, he’s gone...”
“Mike, Mike, stop. Just breathe. Please.” His own breathing was a bit ragged now.
“I...” Mike inhaled shakily, trying to form coherent words. “He- The mind flayer-... it took him... he’s missing...”
“I know, I know.”
“It’s all my fault, Lucas. It’s all my fault! I should have never let him leave... It’s all my fault... Will is gone...” His jaw trembled.
Lucas didn’t know what to do. He knew what to do when Dustin was upset; he knew what to do when Max was upset; he even knew what to do when Will was upset.
But he didn’t know what to do when Mike was upset.
The last and only time he’d seen Mike cry was when they watched Will’s “body” had been pulled out of the quarry. He had snapped at Eleven with tears streaming down his face, yelled at her, left the three to them and biked home alone.
And now that Will was missing again, the guy was absolutely losing his shit.
So, he did the one thing he could think of—he reached out and hesitantly wrapped his arms around his shoulders. Lucas hugged him.
A part of him expected to be pushed away. But surprisingly, Mike didn’t move. He buried his face in Lucas’s shoulder, his own trembling with the sobs he let out.
“Gone...” He breathed out, and Lucas could feel him shaking his head against his neck. "He's gone..."
“I know. We’ll find him. We’ll bring him back home.”
“No...” Mike is so vulnerable, and so small in the moment. It’s unfamiliar, and honestly a bit strange. But it feels nice, for a bit; despite the circumstances, Lucas was glad Mike was letting him in just a bit.
“Yes, Mike. I promise.” Lucas pulled away to look at Mike, trying to provide any tad bit of sympathy he could muster. “W-Will is strong. You-you know that. He survived the upside down for a week.” Mike sobbed in his shoulder. He looked terrible, terrified, guilty, scared. It was the most emotion Lucas had ever witnessed on Mike’s face. “We’ll find him.” He let out a shaky exhale, hoping to convince himself as well as Mike. The two stayed like that, with Mike’s head buried in his shoulder, and Lucas’ thoughts running at the speed of a thousand kilometres per hour. The sky growled. The rain didn't stop. It didn't seem like it would anytime soon.
This is bad.
They need to find Will.