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Mike was so unbelievably ready to go home.
They'd won, technically. The Mind Flayer was dead, the gate closed for good this time. But victory tasted like blood and sweat and the rotten tang of sulfur in the air. He held El tightly against him, her leg still bleeding sluggishly through the makeshift bandage. Her head rested on his shoulder, her breathing shallow but steady. Every few seconds she'd twitch or whimper, and he'd tighten his hold, murmuring reassurances he wasn't sure she could even hear.
The worst part wasn't the physical injuries or the exhaustion weighing down his limbs. It was the smell.
The air around them was thick with Max's distress, an acrid omega scent that made his alpha instincts coil uncomfortably in his gut. It was the scent of terror and grief and pain so profound it made him want to bare his teeth and snarl at whatever had caused it—even though he knew the source was already gone.
Billy lay motionless on the dirty mall floor less than ten feet away, his chest still, his skin waxy and pale in the flickering emergency lights. The scent of death was already beginning to creep into the air, mixing with the coppery tang of blood and the lingering chemical stench of burnt rubber and melted plastic.
Mike couldn't bring himself to look at him again.
His eyes found Will instead, standing across the wreckage with Lucas and Dustin. They were supporting each other, bruised and bloody but alive. Will's gaze met his over El's head, and something passed between them—an understanding, a shared moment of what they'd just survived.
But there was something else in Will's eyes too. A distance that hadn't been there before, a guardedness that made Mike's chest tighten.
He tried to focus on Will's scent to see how he was doing but it was carefully controlled, the sweetness muted behind what Mike recognized as scent blockers. He hadn't even realized Will was wearing them until now.
They'd saved the world again, but the cost felt higher than ever before. As he looked around at his friends—at the devastation, at Billy's body, at the way Max was curled into herself, sobbing silently—he knew that nothing would be the same after this.
He was right.
It wasn't just Billy they lost.
Hopper was gone too, his body never recovered from the explosion that had closed the gate for good. The official story was that he'd disappeared, but they all knew better. El had moved in with the Byer's immediately, the already cramped house feeling more crowded than ever with another body filling its small space.
Mike tried to be happy for them. He told himself that El needed a mother figure, that the reason he felt lost was because Joyce was providing for El in a way he couldn't. But every time he thought about El sleeping in Will's room, using Will's bathroom, sitting at their kitchen table for breakfast—something twisted uncomfortably in his chest.
He threw himself into summer with a desperation that bordered on manic. Trips to the lake, movies, bike rides—anything to fill the hours and keep his mind from wandering to places it shouldn't go. He kissed El whenever she was around, trying to prove something to himself more than to her. He ignored the way her kisses still felt clumsy and wet, the way her scent never quite settled right against his own.
And he definitely ignored how often his thoughts drifted to Will.
He told himself it was normal to miss his best friend, even when he was right there. But something fundamental had changed between them, Will no longer reached for him, no longer asked for anything. They'd always been inseparable, so the fact that this new distance between them hurt made sense. But this felt different than being hurt—deeper, more painful. Like a phantom limb aching for something that had been cut away.
It all came crashing down three weeks before school was supposed to start.
"Mike, honey?" His mom's voice carried up the stairs, tentative in a way that immediately put him on edge. "Can you come down here for a minute?"
He dragged himself away from his comic book, trudging downstairs to find his mother in the kitchen, her hands twisting in a dish towel.
"What's up?" he asked, already knowing from her expression that something was wrong.
She took a deep breath. "Joyce called earlier. She got a job offer—a really good one—in California."
Mike blinked. "California? Like... the state?"
"Yes." she gave him a sad smile. "They're moving at the end of the month."
The words didn't make sense at first. They seemed to float in front of him, disconnected from reality. Moving? To California? That was on the other side of the country.
"But..." he started, then stopped, not sure what he was even trying to say.
"I know it's sudden," his mom continued gently. "But it's a wonderful opportunity for Joyce. Better pay, better benefits... She sounded really excited about it."
Mike nodded mechanically, feeling like the floor had dropped out from under him. Will was leaving. Moving across the country. The realization stole the air from his lungs.
"Oh," he managed finally.
His mom watched him carefully. "I know this must be hard for you and El. You won't be able to see each other as often." She hesitated. "Maybe you should gather some things to give her? Something to remember you by when she's gone."
The suggestion made something sour curdle in his stomach. Of course that was her first thought—El. Not Will. Not his best friend since kindergarten who was being ripped away from everything he knew.
"Yeah," he said hollowly. "Good idea."
He went back upstairs on autopilot, his mind racing. Two weeks. They had two weeks left together, and then Will would be gone. Just like that.
An urgency seized him—a need to do something, anything—to fix what had been broken between them. He hadn't even realized how badly things had gotten until the possibility of never seeing Will again became real.
He pulled out an old duffel bag from his closet and began stuffing it with clothes, hoodies and t-shirts and jackets that he knew carried his scent strongly. As an alpha, his scent marks were potent and long-lasting, especially on fabric that had been worn repeatedly.
His fingers lingered on a familiar yellow shirt, the one he'd worn when they'd had their fight in the rain. The memory made him wince. He'd been such an idiot then, saying terrible things about nests and growing up without understanding what they really meant to an omega like Will.
He pressed the shirt to his nose and inhaled. Coffee and chocolate, paper and ink—the scent that was uniquely his. Then he grabbed one of Will's shirts from his dresser, it was originally Mike's but Will slept in it every time he came over for a sleepover, so it was basically his. Bringing this shirt to his nose, he inhaled even deeper, his alpha practically cooing as the relaxing scent of Will washed over him—vanilla and almond, with something sweet underneath.
Holding both items, he rubbed them together vigorously, transferring as much of his scent onto the shirt as possible. It was an instinctual alpha behavior—marking something that belonged to his pack, to his... to Will.
Their mixed scent was intoxicating. It smelt right. It smelt like home.
He did this with several more items, creating a collection that reeked of his alpha scent. Some were intended for El, as his mother had suggested, but most—most were for Will. A parting gift. Something to keep him grounded when he was thousands of miles away, surrounded by strangers.
Because Mike was suddenly terrified of what might happen to Will without him there.
The Byers' house smelled wrong.
Not bad exactly, but different. The familiar scent of Joyce's cooking was gone, replaced by cardboard boxes and packing tape. The air held the sharp tang of stress and the bittersweet aroma of a home being dismantled.
Mike knocked on the door, his heart pounding in his chest. When Joyce answered, she gave him a tired smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Mike! Come on in. Will's upstairs and El's helping Johnathan in the garage."
He nodded mutely, clutching the duffel bag like a lifeline. The living room was half-empty already, all the non-essentials packed up in boxes that were stacked by the wall. The television was still there in the corner, but it was off and the dark screen reflected the bare walls.
He climbed the stairs slowly, each step feeling heavier than the last. At Will's door, he hesitated, taking a deep breath before pushing it open.
The sight that greeted him nearly broke him.
Will's room was in chaos—clothes and books and boxes everywhere. But what made Mike's breath catch was what was missing.
The nest.
The bed was stripped down to just the mattress, the blankets and pillows and carefully arranged clothes all gone. The space where Will's sanctuary had been was empty, a void that seemed to suck all the warmth out of the room.
Will stood by the closet, methodically folding shirts and placing them in a cardboard box. He didn't look up when Mike entered, his expression distant and focused.
"Hey," Mike said softly.
Will glanced up, then back down at his task. "Hi."
Mike hovered awkwardly by the door. "Need any help?"
"No, I've got it."
The curt dismissal stung more than it should have. Mike took a few steps into the room, trying to think of something to say. Anything to bridge the chasm that had opened between them.
"It's... weird," he started. "Thinking about you guys not being here anymore."
Will paused in his folding. "Yeah, well. I'm sure you'll miss El a lot."
"And you," Mike said quickly, maybe too quickly. "I'll miss you too."
Will finally looked at him fully, his eyes guarded. "Will you? We barely hang out anymore. Even when you and El broke up, you didn't wanna hang out... not really."
The accusation hit its mark. Mike flinched, guilt flooding his system. "That's not fair, Will. I've been trying—"
"Trying how?" Will's voice rose slightly, the first sign of emotion he'd shown.
Mike's alpha instincts bristled at the challenge in Will's tone, but he forced himself to stay calm. "Look," he said, holding up the duffel bag, "I brought you something."
He approached cautiously, like one might approach a wounded animal. Will watched him warily as he unzipped the bag and pulled out a hoodie.
"I thought... since you're moving so far away... maybe you'd want some stuff with my scent on it. For your nest." He swallowed hard. "To help you feel safe."
For a moment, something flickered across Will's face—surprise, maybe even gratitude. But it vanished quickly, replaced by that same closed-off expression.
"Thanks, but I don't need them," he said quietly.
Mike blinked, confused. "What?"
Will turned back to his packing, his movements jerky now. "I said I won't need them." He walked to his dresser and pulled open a drawer, retrieving a stack of clothes that Mike recognized immediately as his own—old shirts and sweaters that he'd given to Will's over the years.
"You should take these back," Will said, thrusting them at Mike. "I don't need them anymore."
The rejection made his alpha whine and his scent spike. Mike stared at the clothes in disbelief, then back at Will.
"Will, what are you talking about? Of course you need them—they're yours now."
Will shook his head, dropping the clothes onto the bed when Mike didn't take them. "No, they're not." His voice was strained, controlled with an effort that was visible in the tension of his shoulders. "You should give them to El anyway. She probably needs them more than I do."
The mention of El sparked something defensive in Mike. "This isn't about El," he said, frustration creeping into his tone. "This is about you and me—about our friendship."
Will let out a bitter laugh that sounded nothing like him. "Our friendship? Is that what this is?" He gestured around the room. "You haven't been my friend for months, Mike. Not really."
"That's not true!" Mike protested, but even as he said it, doubt crept in.
"Really?" Will challenged, finally turning to face him fully. His eyes were bright with unshed tears. "When was the last time we actually hung out? Just us? When was the last time you came over to see me?"
"I've been busy," Mike defended weakly.
"Yeah," Will nodded sarcastically. "Busy with your girlfriend." He took a step closer, the lack of scent making Mike's chest ache. "You know what the worst part is? I understood at first. I understood when you gave my nest away to her. I understood when she came back and you neglected the party… when you neglected me. I got it. I didn't like it but I understood. But then when you broke up, I thought... I thought maybe things would go back to normal."
Mike's guilt intensified. "Will, I—"
"But they didn't," Will continued, his voice cracking slightly. "And then you said what you did about needing to grow up."
The memory of that day in the rain flashed through Mike's mind. "I didn't mean it," he said, the words tumbling out. "I was just stressed and angry and I said stupid things. I'm sorry."
Will's expression softened for just a second before hardening again. "It doesn't matter now anyway. I'm leaving. Me and my nests aren't your responsibility anymore."
Mike wanted to go back in time and stop himself from saying those wretched words, he could feel his scent turning sour with distress. "That's not what I want," he insisted. "I don't want you to leave mad at me."
Will shrugged, turning back to his packing. "Maybe it's for the best. I need a fresh start anyway. Away from... everything."
The finality in his tone scared Mike more than he wanted to admit. He took another step forward, desperation making him reckless.
"Will, please," he said, his voice softer now. "Don't do this. Don't go without letting me fix us."
"There's nothing to fix," Will replied, but his voice wavered slightly.
"Yes, there is," Mike insisted. "You're my best friend. You've always been my best friend." He swallowed hard, feeling vulnerable in a way he hated. "I don't know how to... be without you."
Will stopped moving, his back still turned to Mike. For a moment, the only sound was the ticking of a clock on the wall.
"I think," Will said finally, so quietly Mike almost missed it, "that maybe you'll have to learn."
The rejection was so complete, so absolute, that Mike couldn't find words to respond. He stood there helplessly as Will resumed his packing, effectively ending the conversation.
"Will—"
"Mike!" Joyce's voice called from downstairs. "Honey, El's looking for you!"
He stood frozen for another moment, wanting desperately to say something that would fix this, that would make Will look at him the way he used to.
But nothing came.
He left the room without another word, the duffel bag still clutched in his hand and the pile of clothes Will gave him stuffed under his arm.
Talking to El was like moving through a fog.
She greeted him with a bright smile, her arms wrapping around him in a hug that should have felt comforting but instead felt suffocating.
"Mike! You came!"
He forced a smile, the duffel bag hanging limply from his hand. "Yeah, I... brought you some things." He held out the bag.
Her eyes lit up as she peeked inside, pulling out one of his shirts and pressing it to her nose. "It smells like you," she said with a happy sigh.
"Good," he mumbled, watching as she continued to rummage through the items.
He'd meant to give her only a few things, keeping the majority for Will, but now that seemed pointless. Will didn't want them. Didn't want him.
El looked up at him, her expression soft with affection. "Thank you. I can't wait to try to build my own nest in California with them."
Mike nodded, feeling hollow inside. "You're welcome."
She leaned in to kiss him, and he let her, closing his eyes as her lips pressed against his. It was chaste and sweet and everything it should have been.
But his mind was upstairs with Will, imagining the way his friend's face had looked when he'd rejected the clothes—closed off and hurt and so very done with Mike's bullshit.
"I love you," El whispered when she pulled back.
The words hung in the air between them. Mike knew what he was supposed to say in return. He'd said it before, hadn't he?
"I..." he started, but couldn't finish.
El didn't seem to notice his hesitation. She just smiled and kissed him again, a quick peck on the lips before turning back to the bag of clothes.
As she examined each item with delight, Mike's thoughts drifted further away. He thought about Will packing up his room, dismantling what was left of his life in Hawkins. He wondered if Will would build a new nest in California, if he would find someone else to help him with it.
The thought made something ugly and possessive twist in his gut.
He watched as El held up one of his shirts, her face lit with happiness. She was so beautiful, so good, so perfect on paper. And she loved him—really loved him, in a way that should have been straightforward and uncomplicated.
So why did he feel like he was being smothered?
Why did every instinct scream at him to run back upstairs and beg Will for forgiveness?
"Are you okay?" El asked suddenly.
Mike blinked, realizing he'd been staring blankly at the wall behind her, and his scent was beginning to turn again. "Yeah," he lied. "Just tired."
She accepted this with a nod, returning to her exploration of the bag. "I will miss you," she said softly. "But we can call every day."
"Every day," he echoed, the promise feeling like a chain around his neck.
He stayed for another hour, making small talk and pretending everything was fine. Hands mindlessly pulling on the string of one of the hoodies Will had returned to him. But all he could think about was the empty space upstairs where Will's nest used to be, and the finality in his best friend's voice when he said he wasn't his responsibility anymore.
The day of the move came too quickly.
Mike stood with the others outside the Byers' house, watching as the last boxes were loaded into the moving truck. The summer sun beat down on them, but Mike felt cold inside.
El was already crying, clinging to Max before moving to Lucas. When she finally reached Mike, she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder.
"Don't forget me," she whispered tearfully.
"I won't," he promised, patting her back awkwardly.
When she pulled away, her eyes were red-rimmed and shiny. "I love you."
Mike opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat. Instead, he leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "Take care of yourself."
She nodded and moved on to say goodbye to Dustin.
Then it was Will's turn.
He approached Mike hesitantly, his hands shoved into the pockets of his shorts. The scent blockers were still in place, creating an artificial barrier between them that made Mike's alpha instincts bristle with discomfort.
"Hey," Mike said softly.
"Hey." Will's eyes darted around nervously, never quite meeting Mike's gaze for more than a second.
"I guess this is it," Mike said stupidly.
"Yeah." Will rocked back on his heels. "California's pretty far."
Mike nodded, searching for something meaningful to say. All the things he'd practiced saying over the past two weeks had evaporated in Will's presence.
"I'm gonna miss you," he settled on finally.
Will's expression softened slightly. "I'll miss you too." He hesitated, then stepped forward to hug Mike.
Mike melted into the embrace, nose digging into Will's neck and hands grasping at his back. He could barely smell Will through the blockers—just a faint hint of sweetness that made his chest ache with longing, all he wanted was to smell him properly again.
When they pulled apart, Will wouldn't look at him directly.
"Goodbye, Mike," he said quietly before turning away to join Joyce at the car door.
Mike watched them get into the car, watched the truck pull out of the driveway with Jonathan behind the wheel. He stood there long after they'd disappeared from view, a hollow feeling expanding in his chest until it felt like it might swallow him whole.
The first few weeks without Will were surreal.
Mike went through the motions of life—helping his mom with chores, hanging out with Lucas and Dustin, even calling El every few days as promised—but everything felt slightly off, like he was watching himself from a distance.
He kept expecting to see Will's bike parked outside his house. Kept reaching for the walkie-talkie to talk to him before remembering he couldn't do that anymore. The absence was jarring, his alpha was restless, pining over the loss of its ma— pack. Over the loss of its pack.
The worst moments were at night, lying in bed alone. His room smelled different without the lingering traces of Will's scent that used to cling to his pillows after sleepovers. The silence was too complete without Will's soft breathing or occasional murmurs from the sleeping bag on the floor.
Writing had never come to him so easily, he wrote letter after letter to Will. Most were boring, just talking about what he'd done that day, or what the others were up too. He got so excited when he learnt about the new Ghosts 'n Goblins cabinet coming to the arcade, that he wrote three pages, front and back!
But the hardest letters were the ones he wrote when the absence was too much for him to handle, when he missed Will so badly that he had to get it out of his system somehow. He ended up filling the pages with illegible rambling, half broken apologies and promises to be better.
He didn't send any of them.
He found himself thinking about that last day more and more. About Will's empty nest and the way he'd rejected Mike's clothes. About the finality in his voice when he said Mike would have to learn to be without him.
It made something in Mike twist uncomfortably.
El's calls didn't help. She was settling into California, making new friends, exploring her new home. Each conversation left Mike feeling more disconnected, like they were drifting further apart with every word.
Three months in, he caved. He called the Byers' house specifically asking for Will.
"Mike!" Joyce always sounded genuinely happy to hear from him. "How are you doing?"
"Good," he lied, twirling the phone cord around his finger. "My mom says hi by the way."
Joyce let out a happy hum on the other end. "That's good. Tell her I'll give her a call over the weekend, okay?" He heard some rustling and a muffled 'shit'. "Sorry to rush off but I need to leave for work soon, do you want me to get El for you?"
Annoyance flared quickly at the implication that he could only be calling for El, but died just as fast when he remembered he'd never asked for Will before. What else was Joyce supposed to think? Just because he was constantly thinking about Will, didn't mean everyone else knew that.
He let out an awkward cough. "Actually, I was calling to talk to Will. Is he around?"
"Oh, honey, I'm sorry he's out with some friends right now. I'll let him know you called. El's here though! Would you like to speak with her?"
The cord dropped from his finger like the stone in his stomach. "Sure," he managed.
El got on the line, her voice bright and cheerful. They talked for nearly an hour about her new school and the weather and a million other inconsequential things. When they finally hung up, Mike stared at the phone for a long time.
Will had been out with friends. New friends, presumably. People Mike didn't know and would probably never meet.
The thought shouldn't have bothered him as much as it did.
By November, the ache had settled into something constant and dull—always present but not quite sharp enough to demand attention.
November sixth marked three years since Will had first gone missing, and Mike found himself drawn to Castle Byers, the place that had once been their sanctuary.
The fort was in worse shape than he'd expected. The tarp was torn in places, the wooden walls sagging. Inside, it was even worse.
Someone—Will, he assumed—had torn apart what remained of the nest. The blankets were strewn about haphazardly, the old drawings ripped and scattered on the dirt floor. In the center of the destruction lay a familiar pile of clothes—Mike's clothes, the ones he'd given Will years ago to help build the nest.
He picked up two halves of a torn photograph, and he recognised it instantly. It was a picture of the party on the day Will presented, the four of them together, smiling and carefree. The rip went right through the middle, separating him from Will.
Something inside him broke.
He dropped to his knees, hands shaky as he placed the pieces back together. His vision blurred as tears filled his eyes. He'd done this. He'd driven Will away, had said terrible things, had taken him for granted until there was nothing left to take.
The realization hit him with stunning clarity: he needed Will. Not just missed him or wanted him back—needed him like air, like water, like something essential to his survival.
His alpha instincts roared to life, demanding he fix this, mend what he'd broken, reclaim what was his.
"I'm going to fix this," he whispered to the empty fort. "I'm going to get you back."
The conversation with his mom went easier than expected.
"I want to visit Will," he said over dinner one night in February. "For spring break."
Karen looked up from her plate, studying her son carefully. "That's quite a long way to go just for a visit."
"I know." Mike kept his voice steady. "But we haven't seen each other in almost six months, and... I miss him."
Something softened in his mother's expression. She reached across the table and patted his hand. "I think that's a wonderful idea, honey. I'll talk to your father about booking a flight."
The relief that washed over Mike was so intense he nearly collapsed right there at the table. He had a plan now—a chance to fix everything that had gone wrong.
Two more months.
He could wait two more months to see Will again, to apologize properly, to make things right between them.
He needed to talk to El. Needed to make sure that she knew he still cared about her, that he loved her just not in the way he was supposed to. Because even as every fiber of his being screamed for Will, he couldn't just abandon El, she was still part of his pack.
But the thought of seeing Will—of smelling him again without those damn blockers, of looking into those hazel eyes and making him understand how sorry he was—that was what kept Mike going through the endless days of March.
He wrote more letters, these ones with the intention of actually giving them to Will. He practiced what he would say when he saw him again.
Mostly, though, he dreamed.
He dreamed of Will's scent surrounding him, of rebuilding a nest together—something new and stronger than before. He dreamed of the way Will used to look at him, like Mike was the center of his universe.
And in his dreams, Mike wasn't confused anymore.
He knew exactly what he wanted.
The only question was whether he was brave enough to reach for it when the time came. He would be. He had to be. He couldn't lose Will again.
Not when he was just beginning to understand what Will truly meant to him. Not when he was finally ready to admit it to himself.
Mike Wheeler was going to California with a singular purpose: to get his omega back.
And this time, he wouldn't let anything stand in his way. Not even himself.