Archive of Our Own

Will is having a pretty normal day. His morning class goes by without much trouble, followed by a few meetings with his graduate students about their studio work, and now he’s sitting in the faculty lounge having lunch with two of his colleagues.

Nicole, the chair of the Art History department, is complaining about the university’s budget again, and David is firmly on her side.

“They cut us again,” Nicole says, pushing her fork through her salad. “I don't understand how they expect us to run a department with less money every year.”

“They don't,” David says. “They just expect us to figure it out.”

Will gives a quiet laugh. “That's usually how it goes.”

Nicole looks over at him. “Don't even get me started on your department… You're buying your own paint, aren't you?”

Will pauses with his sandwich halfway to his mouth. “Yeah, sometimes.”

David shakes his head. “That shouldn't be happening.”

“It shouldn't,” Will agrees, setting his sandwich down. “But there isn't much I can do about it.”

It's become one of those small frustrations he's learned to live with. Some semesters there is enough money for everything, and other semesters he finds himself standing in an art supply store with a receipt in his hand, telling himself that at least the students will actually use what he's buying. He doesn't mind helping when he can, especially when a student is already struggling to afford their own materials, but it would be nice if the department didn't occasionally make him feel like he's running a classroom out of his own pocket.

Nicole continues on to the subject of next year's budget, and David adds his own complaints whenever there's a pause, while Will listens with half an ear and finishes his lunch. It's an ordinary conversation, the kind professors have over lunch all the time, and there's something comforting about being able to complain about the same things with people who already understand.

Eventually, Will checks the time and thinks about heading back to his office. He has another class later, but for the moment there's nowhere he needs to be.

His thoughts drift, almost automatically, toward home.

Mike is probably still working.

Knowing him, he's been sitting at his desk for hours with a mug of coffee beside him, completely absorbed in whatever he's writing. He'll have told himself he'll eat when he gets to a stopping point, then reached the stopping point and immediately found another one. In the end, he has probably forgotten to eat.

Will smiles to himself. He makes a mental note to remind his husband when he gets home, maybe pick something up on the way if Mike still hasn't eaten by then.

Nicole is saying something about having to approve another round of departmental expenses when Will's phone begins vibrating against the table.

He reaches for it without thinking, expecting to see Mike’s name. But instead, it's an unfamiliar number.

He stares at his phone for a moment, his thumb hovering over the screen.

“Probably spam,” David says, barely looking up from his lunch.

“Maybe,” Will keeps watching it vibrate. Something about the number makes him hesitate, though he can't quite say why. “One second, guys.”

He pushes his chair back and steps away from the table, moving toward the quieter end of the lounge before answering. “Hello?”

“Hello, is this Will Byers?”

“Yes, it is.”

“My name’s Judy. I’m a nurse at St. Vincent's Hospital. I'm calling about Mike Wheeler. Is this his partner?”

For a second, Will doesn't understand the words. His hand tightens around the phone. “You’re calling about Mike?”

“Yes. He had your number as his emergency contact. He's here with us right now.”

Will's stomach drops so quickly that he has to lean against the wall. “What happened?”

“He was brought in after an accident. He sustained a head injury, and he has a laceration to the back of his scalp. The bleeding has been controlled, and the doctor has evaluated him. He's stable, but he's been given medication to help him stay comfortable while they finish treating the injury.”

Will closes his eyes for a moment, trying to absorb each sentence separately. “Is he awake?”

“He was awake when he arrived. He's sedated at the moment while they're finishing up.”

“And how is he? Is he okay?” He asks, his voice shaky.

The nurse pauses, and that tiny pause is enough to make Will's heart start pounding again.

“He's doing okay. The doctor is with him now, and we're keeping a close eye on him. We'd like you to come in so we can go over everything with you in person.”

“Of course.” Will is already reaching for his bag with his free hand, his fingers clumsy around the strap. “Yes. I'll be there.”

“Do you have someone who can drive you?”

“I'll get there.”

“Okay. And Will?”

“Yes?”

“Please don't worry if he's a little confused or sleepy when you see him. Some of that can be from the medication, and the doctor will explain more when you arrive.”

He swallows. “Okay.”

He ends the call and stands there for a moment with the phone still pressed against his ear, staring at nothing. Then he lowers it.

Nicole notices first. “Will?”

He looks back toward the table, and whatever she sees on his face makes her put down her fork. “What happened?”

“It's Mike.” Will's voice comes out quieter than he expects. “He's at the hospital. He got hurt.”

David is already pushing his chair back. “What?”

“He's stable,” Will says quickly, almost as though saying it out loud will make it more true. “The nurse said he's stable. He has a head injury, and apparently he needed stitches on the back of his head, but they're treating him. He's sedated right now.”

Nicole stands. “We're taking you.”

“No, no, you don't have to.”

“Dude, come on—” David tries to protest.

“They said he's okay.” Will grabs his bag from the back of his chair, fumbling with the strap before getting it over his shoulder. “I just need to get there.”

David reaches for his coat. “Then we're driving you.”

“You have class.”

“So do you, technically.”

“I'll figure that out.” Will says, running his hand through his hair anxiously.

Nicole is already pulling her keys from her bag. “Let’s go.”

Will shakes his head, still trying to make sense of what he's just heard. “Guys, really. You don't have to leave. You both have things to do.”

“We can reschedule things,” David says.

“You shouldn't have to.”

“Will,” Nicole says, holding out her car keys.

He looks at the keys in Nicole’s hand, then at her. “Nicole, no…”

“William, yes.”

“I can just take the subway or whatever.”

“You can, but you're not going to sit on public transportation for forty minutes wondering what happened to your husband when you can get to the hospital in fifteen.”

“I can’t—”

“Take the keys.”

Will doesn't move.

She steps closer and puts them directly into his hand, curling his fingers around them when he tries to give them back.

“You can bring my car back tomorrow.”

There's no argument in her voice now, only the quiet certainty of someone who has already made up her mind. She squeezes his shoulder before letting go. “Just get to the hospital.”

Will looks down at the keys in his palm.

For the first time since the phone rang, the reality of it seems to settle properly. Mike is somewhere across the city in a hospital bed. Will doesn't know exactly what happened, doesn't know how badly he's hurt, doesn't know what the doctors are going to tell him when he gets there. All he knows is that Mike had an accident and that someone else had to call him about it.

He slips the keys into his pocket. “Thank you.”

“Don't thank me,” Nicole says. “Just go.”

David nods toward the door. “Text us when you know what's going on.”

“Okay, I’ll text.”

“And Will?”

He turns back.

“Don't drive like an idiot.”

Despite everything, a small, shaky laugh escapes him.

“I won't.”

Nicole gives him one last look. “Good. Now go.”

Will leaves the lounge with his bag over his shoulder and Nicole's car keys clenched in his hand, moving faster with every step toward the exit, his mind already racing ahead to the hospital and to Mike, wherever he is, waiting for him.

By the time Will reaches the parking lot, his hands are still shaking slightly.

He finds Nicole's car, throws his bag onto the passenger seat, and gets behind the wheel. The engine starts, and an aggressively cheerful pop song immediately fills the car.

Will stares at the dashboard for half a second before reaching over and switching it off. “Oh, absolutely not.”

He pulls out of the parking space and heads for the hospital, checking the route at the first red light. He knows where he's going, but the distance suddenly feels ridiculous, every intersection another thing standing between him and Mike. He keeps glancing at the clock, then back at the road, impatiently watching the traffic ahead of him.

He remembers to call Nancy after a couple of minutes.

She answers after a few rings. “Will?”

“Hey. I just got a call from the hospital about Mike. He's been in an accident.”

“Wait, what?”

“He hit his head. They said he's stable, but he's there now and they're treating him. I'm on my way.”

“Is he awake?”

“He was when they brought him in. They're sedating him while they finish treating the injury.”

Nancy goes quiet for a moment. “I'm in Philadelphia until Monday.”

“Yeah, I know.” Will says. Nancy usually has to take trips like this because of her job, everyone’s used to it at this point. “I'm not asking you to come back… But can you call Karen and Holly? And also tell Jonathan?” 

“Of course.”

“Are Karen and Holly in Hawkins?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Just tell them Mike’s stable and I'm with him.”

There is a brief pause before Nancy asks, “Do you know how it happened?”

“Not really. The nurse didn't give me much.”

“Knowing Mike, he probably did something ridiculous.”

Will lets out a breath that is almost a laugh. “That's what I'm afraid of.”

“Call me when you know more… Also, try to stay calm. It's going to be okay.” Nancy speaks softly.

Will glances at the traffic ahead of him and nods even though she can't see him. “Thanks, Nancy. Talk to you later.”

They hang up, and Will puts the phone down, keeping his eyes on the road. Nancy will carry the news. That's enough for now.

He checks the clock, then the traffic, then the clock again.

The hospital is still too far away.

Will sighs and settles back into his seat, already imagining the first question he's going to ask Mike when he gets there: What were you doing to get injured like this?

Knowing him, the answer is going to be something stupid.

By the time Will reaches the hospital, the drive has become a blur of traffic lights and unfamiliar streets.

He parks Nicole's car and sits there for a moment with both hands still on the steering wheel. The engine is running, the radio is silent, and outside the windshield people are coming and going as though nothing particularly unusual has happened.

Will looks down at his own hands and realizes they're still shaking.

He turns off the engine.

Inside, the hospital is brighter and busier than he expects. He gives Mike’s name at the information desk, follows the directions toward the emergency department, and spends the entire walk trying not to imagine what he'll find when he finally sees him.

A nurse at the emergency department desk checks Mike’s information and then looks up at him.

“Are you the spouse of the patient?”

“I am.”

“He's still here. I'll have someone take you back.”

Will thanks him and waits, shifting his bag from one shoulder to the other. He hadn't realized until now that he'd brought it with him. His sketchbook is still inside, along with a folder of papers he had intended to look over between classes. The normal contents of his workday seem strangely out of place now.

A few minutes later, another nurse approaches. “Mr. Byers?”

He recognizes her voice before she introduces herself. “Judy, right? We talked on the phone?”

“Yeah, that would be me.” Judy says, a smile spreading across her face.

“How is he?”

“He's doing well. The doctor has finished assessing him, and we've gotten the bleeding under control. He has a few stitches in the back of his head. He's awake now, but he's still pretty groggy.”

Will nods, absorbing each part of that. “Can I see him?”

“Of course!”

Judy leads him down the hallway, and Will finds himself walking faster than she does. He catches himself and slows down again, suddenly embarrassed by the urgency of it, although he knows there's no reason to be.

When they reach the room, Judy pulls the curtain aside.

That’s when Will finally sees Mike.

For one strange second, his mind refuses to connect the person in front of him with the husband he left at home that morning.

Mike is lying against the raised hospital pillow, his hair slightly flattened on one side. There's a dressing at the back of his head, partly hidden from view, and a line runs from his arm to the IV beside the bed. His eyes are open, but only barely. He is staring at the ceiling with the vague concentration of someone who has just woken up and hasn't quite figured out where he is.

Will's chest tightens at the sight.

Mike turns his head. It takes him a moment before finally gathering the energy to speak. “Will?”

The sound of Mike’s voice nearly undoes Will.

“Hey.”

He moves to the bedside and takes Mike’s hand, feeling the warmth of his fingers and the faint, loose curl of them around his own.

“I'm here.”

Mike looks at him for a long moment, as though the information needs to settle somewhere before it makes sense.

“You’re here?”

“Yeah. I left work early.”

Will's thumb moves slowly across the back of his hand. He wants to ask a hundred questions at once, but looking at Mike like this makes all of them feel suddenly less important than the simple fact that he's awake.

Mike’s eyes drift over Will's face. “You look worried.”

Will lets out a quiet breath that is almost a laugh. “I got a call about my husband suffering a head injury and being hospitalized. I think it’s my natural right to be worried.”

Mike seems to think about this. “Yeah, that does sound bad.”

Will's mouth twitches.

Judy checks something on the monitor and then looks toward Will.

“I'm going to give you two a little while. I'll be nearby if you need anything.”

“Thank you.”

She leaves the curtain open just enough to keep an eye on the room without intruding, and Will pulls the chair closer to the bed.

He doesn't sit immediately. Instead, he leans down and kisses Mike gently on the lips.

It's brief, almost careful, but Mike’s mouth softens beneath his and when Will pulls away, Mike watches him with sleepy amusement.

“Apparently I'm fine,” he murmurs.

Will looks at him, raising an eyebrow.

The corner of Mike’s mouth lifts. “Still charming.”

Will laughs under his breath, and some of the fear that has been sitting in his chest since the phone call finally gives way to relief. “Thank God for that.”

He squeezes Mike’s hand and sits down beside him. For a little while, neither of them says anything.

Will watches Mike’s eyes grow heavier and heavier, watches him fight sleep without quite seeming to know that he's doing it. The medication has left him soft around the edges, his thoughts moving slowly enough that Will can almost see the gaps between them.

Eventually he opens his eyes again. “What time is it?”

“A little after three.”

Mike frowns faintly. “I was supposed to work today.”

“Well, obviously you're not going to be doing that now.”

“I had an idea… Before I left the house.”

Will studies his husband. “Did you?”

Mike’s brow furrows. “I think so.”

Mike’s confused expressions make Will smile a little. “What happened?”

Mike looks at Will, then toward the ceiling again. “I was working on my book this morning.”

Will remembers the state of the apartment when he'd left that morning. Mike had been at his desk with his laptop open, a notebook beside him, and that particular expression he gets when he's been staring at the same paragraph for too long.

“Were you stuck?”

Mike nods slowly. “You know me too well. I had one of those stupid writers blocks. So, I thought it’d be nice to go on a walk… You know, to clear my head.”

“I thought I'd go to Central Park.” he continues.

Will's fingers tighten slightly around his.

He can picture it. Mike leaving the brownstone in whatever he'd thrown on that morning, walking uptown with no particular destination in mind, probably thinking about his book the entire way.

“I was checking my emails,” Mike says, his voice becoming quieter as he searches through the memory. “There was something from my editor.”

Will's stomach sinks. “You were walking and looking at your phone?”

“Well, technically I was answering an email.”

Mike closes his eyes for a second. “I got hit by a scooter.”

Will looks at him. “A scooter?”

“It came from the side.”

Judy returns quietly to the room while he's speaking, checking the IV and making a few adjustments without interrupting them.

Will glances at Judy.

She gives him a small nod. “He was crossing the street when the scooter struck him,” she explains quietly. “He fell backward and hit the back of his head on the curb.”

Will looks back at Mike.  “And that's when he got the cut?”

Judy nods. “Yes. It bled quite a bit, but we've cleaned it and closed it. The doctor is happy with how everything looks.”

Will lets out a breath. “And the head injury?”

“His evaluation has been reassuring so far. We're keeping him here for observation while the medication wears off.”

“Okay… That doesn’t sound so bad.”

Judy finishes checking the IV and moves toward the other side of the room. She doesn't say anything else, leaving the conversation to them.

Mike is quiet again. Will looks at him, at the dressing hidden behind his hair, at the tiredness in his face, and then down at their joined hands.

“I was scared,” he says softly.

Mike turns his head toward him. “I know.”

“I didn't know what had happened. They just told me you'd been in an accident.”

“I'm sorry…” Mike says, he genuinely seems sad for making Will worry like that.

Will shakes his head. “Just don't do it again.”

“As you wish, sir.”

The words are so sleepy that Will can't help smiling. He brushes his thumb over Mike’s knuckles. “Get some rest.”

His eyes open, and for a moment he looks at Will with that same faint amusement from before. “Are you going to stay?”

“I'm not going anywhere.”

That seems to satisfy Mike. He settles farther into the pillow, his eyes slipping closed again.

Will stays where he is, one hand wrapped around his husband's, listening to the quiet sounds of the hospital room.

The worst part of the day is finally over, he thinks to himself.

Mike is here.

He's safe.

And, apparently, even after getting hit by a scooter and ending up with stitches in the back of his head, he's still capable of flirting with Will.

By early evening, Mike is finally cleared to leave.

Will has listened to the discharge instructions twice, partly because he wants to make absolutely sure he remembers everything and partly because Mike has spent most of the explanation watching the pen in the doctor's hand as though he's trying to figure out how it works. By the time the doctor leaves, he seems to have decided that the pen is no longer worth his attention, and his head sinks back against the pillow.

Will gathers their things while Judy finishes up in the room.

Mike’s coat is draped over the chair, his phone is sitting on the bedside table, and there is a small plastic bag containing the things the hospital gave him. Will checks it twice before putting it into his bag, then looks over to find Mike watching him.

“What?”

“I like your bag.”

Will glances down at it. “You've seen it a hundred times.”

“I know.” Mike smiles faintly, as though this somehow proves his point.

Judy comes over with the last of the paperwork, and Will takes it from her, folding it carefully before putting it away.

“Everything's in there,” she says. “He should take it easy tonight.”

Will nods. “Got it.”

Mike raises his hand from the bed in a vague little wave. “Thank you, Judy.”

“You're welcome.”

He lowers his hand again, then looks at Will. “She took care of me.”

“I know, sweetheart.” Will says, trying to hold back a smile.

Mike considers this for a moment, his expression becoming unexpectedly solemn. “She deserves a Christmas card.”

“Okay. We'll send her one, then.”

Judy laughs softly and steps away to finish checking the room. Will turns back to Mike and helps him sit up.

The change in position makes Mike go very still. Will immediately steadies him with a hand at his shoulder. “Take a second.”

Mike listens to him. His eyes are closed, and for several seconds he simply sits there, breathing slowly while Will waits. When he finally opens his eyes again, he looks much more awake than before, although his gaze takes a moment to settle on Will.

“Okay.”

Will helps him stand.

Mike gets about two steps before stopping. He looks down at himself. “My shoes?”

“You’re already wearing them.”

Mike stares at his feet. “Oh, okay.”

Will bites back a laugh and puts an arm around his waist as they start down the hallway.

Mike walks carefully, leaning more heavily against Will than he normally would. Every so often his attention wanders to something along the corridor, and Will has to gently steer him back in the right direction.

Outside, the evening air wakes Mike up a little. He takes a deeper breath as they step into the parking garage, looking around as though he's surprised to discover that the world has continued existing while he's been inside.

Will guides him toward Nicole's car.

Mike slows when they reach it.

He looks at the car, then at Will. “That's not ours.”

“No, it’s not.”

Mike’s eyes narrow slightly. “Whose is it?”

“Nicole's.”

There is a pause while he processes this. “Who’s Nicole?”

“From the art history department.”

Mike’s face brightens with recognition. “Oh, Nicole. I love Nicole.”

Will opens the passenger door.

Mike doesn't get in yet. He remains standing beside the car, studying it with the vague seriousness of someone making an important assessment. “She drives this?”

“Yes, Mike. Can you get in, now?” Will can feel his patience starting to wear thin.

“She seems like she'd drive a serious car.” Mike says, smiling stupidly.

“I don't know what you mean by ‘a serious car’”

“Well, neither do I.”

Apparently satisfied, Mike finally gets into the car.

Will closes the door, walks around to the driver's side, and gets behind the wheel.

The ride home is mercifully short.

Mike settles against the passenger seat, his head resting against the window. The city slips past outside, and for a while he watches it in silence, blinking slowly whenever the lights change.

Will keeps glancing over at him.

Not constantly. He knows Mike is okay now. The doctors have told him so, and Mike is sitting beside him, awake and talking and complaining about hospital vending machines.

Still, every time Will looks over and finds him there, something inside him settles a little more.

After a few minutes, Mike lifts his head. “Will.”

“Yeah?”

“I think I forgot something.”

“What did you forget?”

Mike stares ahead, thinking hard. His eyebrows draw together. Then his expression clears. “Nope. I didn’t forget anything.”

Will smiles and turns his attention back to the road.

A minute later, Mike starts humming under his breath. He doesn't seem to know what song it is, and after a few bars he abandons it completely.

Then he notices a street sign through the window. “That's a weird name for a street.”

Will glances over. “What is?”

Mike points. “Look.”

Since Will already drove past the sign, they watch the street disappear behind them.

“Oh,” Mike says, then he settles back down.

The rest of the drive passes quietly, with Mike drifting between sleep and wakefulness, occasionally murmuring some half-formed thought that Will doesn't quite catch.

When they pull up in front of the brownstone, Mike looks through the windshield for a long moment. “Are we home?”

“Yes, sweetie. We are,” Will talks gently. He turns off the engine and gets out of the car.

He comes around to Mike’s side, opens the door, and holds out a hand.

Mike takes it, then pauses before getting out. He looks up at Will with sleepy affection. “You know, I had a pretty weird day.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

Mike steps carefully onto the pavement. “But I got to go home with you.”

Will's expression softens immediately. “Yeah,” he says, reaching for Mike’s hand. “That’s right.”

Mike looks at him for a moment, his eyes still slightly unfocused, and then steps closer and wraps both arms around Will's waist. He holds him tightly, resting his cheek against Will's shoulder. “I missed you.”

“We were separated for like five hours tops…”

“Well, a lot can happen in five hours. For example, you can get brain damage,” Mike says, pointing at the back of his head.

That makes Will laugh out loud. He rubs Mike’s back, letting himself enjoy the hug for a moment.

Mike pulls back after a minute, studying Will’s face with sleepy concentration, and reaches up to straighten his collar. “You look nice.”

Will glances down at himself. “Meh. It’s just my usual self. Nothing special.”

“I like your usual self, you asshole.” 

Mike seems satisfied with his answer. He leans in and gives Will a soft kiss on one cheek, then the other, before putting his arms around him again. “My husband.” he says, dragging the word.

Will laughs quietly. “Why’re you so affectionate all of a sudden?”

“Because I got a good husband and I have to appreciate him!” Mike gives him another squeeze, apparently in no hurry to let go.

Will looks toward the front door. “Okay, we’ve got to get you inside at some point, right?”

Mike smiles against his shoulder. “Did you know that I love you?”

Will closes his eyes, smiling despite himself. “I love you too, baby. Now, come on.”

Another few seconds pass before Will finally manages to get him moving toward the steps, though Mike keeps hold of his hand.

They make it halfway up before he stops and looks back at him. “One more.”

Will already knows what he means. “Michael.”

“Please?”

Will sighs, but he's laughing as Mike steps back into his arms. He hugs him tightly, gives him one last kiss on the cheek, and then finally lets Will lead him toward the door.

“We can get inside, I guess,” Mike murmurs.

Will unlocks the door, still holding his hand. “Chop-chop!”

Mike smiles sleepily. “Yes, sir.”

After they get inside, Will closes the door and sets his keys down. “Come on. Let's get you comfortable.”

Mike follows him into the living room, although ‘follows’ is perhaps generous. He moves slowly, one hand occasionally brushing against the furniture as if he's reassuring himself that everything is still where it belongs. Will keeps an eye on him without making it obvious, ready to catch him if he stumbles.

The couch seems like the obvious choice.

Will pulls the cushions into place, fluffs one of the pillows, and retrieves the soft blanket from the back of the chair. He spreads it across the couch and makes a little nest out of everything before turning to Mike. “There.”

Mike lowers himself onto the couch, carefully at first, then leans back against the pillow. Will adjusts the blanket over his legs and makes sure the water bottle from the hospital is within reach.

Mike watches him the entire time. “You're very bossy.”

“Someone has to keep you from doing anything stupid, right?”

“Hey, I don't do stupid things!”

Will gives him a long look.

Mike seems to reconsider. “Most of the time…”

“Right,” Will checks the dressing at the back of Mike’s head without touching it, then straightens. “I'm going to take a shower.”

Mike’s expression changes immediately. “No.”

Will pauses. “No?”

“Don't leave me.”

Will looks at him, then at the bathroom down the hall. “Mike, I'll be gone for ten minutes.”

“I can come with you.”

“You can’t come with me.”

Mike sinks a little farther into the cushions, looking genuinely disappointed. “I don't want you to go.”

“I know,” Will sits on the edge of the couch for a moment and takes his hand. “But I'm tired, and I would really like to shower before I make dinner. You're going to stay right here, okay?”

“Okay…” Mike looks down at their joined hands. He looks like a kicked puppy, which isn’t helping Will’s case at all.

“And don't get up or start walking around the house. You’ve got to rest.”

“Fine.”

“Also, I don’t want to find you working on your book, so stay away from your office.”

Mike’s eyes lift to his. “I wasn't going to work—”

Will raises an eyebrow.

Mike gives him an innocent look that would be more convincing if Will didn't know him so well.

“Just stay here,” he says, squeezing his hand once before letting go. “You can watch television. I'll be right back.”

Will points at him one more time. “Stay here.”

“Aye aye, captain,”  Mike says, rolling his eyes.

Will shakes his head, but there's a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he heads down the hallway.

He makes it to the bathroom, closes the door, and turns on the shower. For the first few minutes, everything is wonderfully quiet.

The hot water feels like a miracle after the day he's had. Will stands beneath it for a while, letting his shoulders finally relax, washing away the sweat and hospital smell that seems to have followed him home. He closes his eyes and takes a slow breath, trying not to think about anything except the water running over his hair and down his back.

Then he hears the bathroom door open.

He opens his eyes immediately. “Mike?”

Mike’s voice comes from somewhere near the door. “Hi.”

Will turns his head and finds him sitting on the bathroom floor.

He is still wearing the clothes he left the hospital in, looking slightly rumpled and deeply pleased with himself. His back is against the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him, and he's watching Will through the steam with the peaceful concentration of someone who has apparently wandered into the room for a very good reason.

Will stares at him. “What are you doing?”

Mike shrugs innocently. “I came to see you.”

“I told you to stay on the couch.”

“I did stay there.”

“For like five minutes?”

Mike looks toward the ceiling as if trying to remember. “Yeah. Sounds about right.”

Will can't help it. A quiet laugh escapes him, although he's still shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

“Are you seriously going to sit on the floor while I’m showering?”

“Yes,” Mike seems perfectly content with this arrangement.

Will reaches for the shampoo, watching him from the corner of his eye. “You're going to get cold sitting there.”

“I'll be okay. Look at me, I’m resting.”

Will looks at him again.

Mike gestures vaguely toward the floor. “See?”

Will laughs under his breath and shakes his head. “Stay there, then. But don't move around.”

Mike settles more comfortably against the wall. “Sure.”

Will finishes his shower, and by the time he turns off the water, the bathroom has filled with warm steam. He reaches for the towel and wraps it securely around himself before stepping out.

Mike looks up at him. For once, he doesn't say anything.

He just stares.

Will catches the look and pauses. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Weird… I could’ve sworn I saw you staring.”

“You have a nice body.” Mike says, not taking his eyes off of Will.

Will gives him an amused look. “Thank you.”

His gaze lingers for another second before he smiles to himself.

Will picks up another towel and rubs it through his wet hair. “Come on. You're getting out of here.”

Mike looks around. “Why?”

“Because it's too hot in here, and you've been sitting on a bathroom floor like a stray cat.”

Mike seems to find this description unfair. “I like it here.”

“You'll like the couch better,” Will holds out his hand.

After a moment, Mike takes it and lets Will pull him carefully to his feet.

The bathroom is warm and steamy around them, and Will opens the door to let some cooler air into the hallway.

“Come on,” he says, keeping one hand lightly around his husband’s arm as they step out. “Back to the couch.”

Will leaves Mike on the couch long enough to get dressed, although he makes him promise twice that he won't get up while he's gone.

By the time he comes back downstairs, Mike has managed to turn the blanket into something much more elaborate than Will intended. He's sitting in the corner of the couch with it wrapped around his shoulders and tucked around his legs, looking less like a man recovering from an afternoon in the emergency room and more like somebody who has spent the last hour preparing for an expedition.

Will pauses in the doorway, staring at the sight in front of him.

Mike notices and looks down at himself. “What?”

“Nothing.” Will walks over, reaching down to straighten the blanket where it has bunched around Mike’s feet. “I'm just impressed you managed to make yourself even more comfortable.”

“I was cold.”

“Sweetheart, you could have asked for another blanket.”

Mike considers this as Will pulls the edge of it a little higher around his shoulders. “I like this one.”

“Okay, then.”

There is something oddly endearing about the way Mike has settled into it. He's usually incapable of sitting still for very long, particularly when he's at home and there's work to be done, but now he seems perfectly content to disappear beneath a pile of blankets and let Will fuss over him. His eyes have that same heavy, unfocused quality they've had since the hospital.

Will sits beside him for a moment and reaches for his hand. “You feeling any better?”

Mike’s fingers close around his almost immediately. “Yeah. Much better.”

Will gives his hand a squeeze before letting go. He notices Mike looking down at the blanket again, gathering it around himself with a little more care. “What’s the matter?”

Mike’s expression grows thoughtful. “I feel like Frodo.”

Will smiles. “Does that make me Samwise?”

“Duh. Obviously.”

The answer comes with such certainty that Will laughs under his breath.

Mike shifts against the cushions, apparently getting more comfortable with the comparison. “I've been through a terrible journey. I've been wounded. I've been separated from my home.”

“Is the ‘terrible journey’ being at the hospital for a couple of hours?”

“Yeah, it was terrible.”

“If you say so.” Will says, fighting the urge to laugh.

Mike looks at Will with sleepy dignity. “Samwise still took care of Frodo.”

That softens something in Will. The comparison is silly, but Mike is clearly pleased by it, and there is enough truth underneath the joke that Will doesn't want to ruin it.

“All right,” he says, settling the blanket around him again. “I'm Samwise and you’re Frodo. Sure.”

Will gets up before Mike can start expanding on the subject. “And right now, Samwise has to cook some dinner so he can feed Frodo during this terrible journey.”

That catches Mike’s attention. Will heads toward the kitchen, but he has barely taken two steps before Mike asks what they're having.

He turns back to tell him he's thinking tomato soup and grilled cheese.

The reaction is immediate, but not loud. Mike simply looks delighted, his whole face brightening with the kind of uncomplicated enthusiasm Will hasn't seen from him since they were kids.

“Really?”

Will can't help smiling. Maybe he likes this new medicated version of Mike more than he’d like to admit. “Really. Tomato soup and grilled cheese.”

“With the good bread?”

“Of course.”

Mike sinks back into the couch, looking extraordinarily pleased with his evening.

Will shakes his head affectionately and heads into the kitchen.

The meal comes together easily. He gets the soup warming on the stove and starts preparing the sandwiches, moving around the kitchen in the familiar rhythm of making something simple at the end of a long day. For the first few minutes he can still hear Mike shifting around in the living room, the occasional sound of the television changing channels, and once a muffled comment that Will can't quite make out.

Then the house goes quiet.

At first, Will doesn't think much of it. Mike has spent most of the day in and out of sleep, and quiet is exactly what he's supposed to be doing.

After a few minutes, Will glances toward the living room while buttering the second sandwich.

The apartment’s still quiet.

No television commentary. No questions about dinner. No Mike calling his name because he's remembered some completely unrelated fact he absolutely has to tell him.

The silence begins to feel less peaceful and more suspicious. 

Will sets the knife down. “Baby, is everything okay?”

He doesn’t get a response.

He wipes his hands on a dish towel and looks toward the living room again, already having a pretty good idea that whatever Mike is doing, it probably isn't resting.

Will finds his husband at his writing desk, exactly where he told him not to be.

He stops in the doorway and just looks at him for a moment. Mike is still wrapped in the blanket, which has slipped halfway down his back, and he's leaning over the desk with a pen in his hand. His hair is slightly mussed from the couch, and there is something intensely serious about the way he's studying the paper in front of him.

For one brief second, Will thinks that maybe Mike has simply fallen asleep at the desk. That is until he moves his pen across the page.

Will walks closer. “Mike, what are you doing?”

He looks up, blinking as though he'd forgotten there was anyone else in the house. “I had an idea.”

Will comes around behind him and looks down at the pages.

The first few lines seem normal enough. Then one of Mike’s characters dies.

Will keeps reading to discover that other characters die too.

By the time he reaches the end of the paragraph, practically everyone in the scene has either been killed or decided to drink poison, and the one character who remains alive appears to be contemplating doing the same thing.

He slowly looks at Mike, who is already watching him with the quiet expectation of someone waiting for praise.

“You've killed everyone?”

Mike looks back at the page, apparently checking. “Almost everyone.”

Will picks up the sheet and reads it again, hoping that somehow he's misunderstood. Unfortunately, that’s not the case. There is no clever plot twist hiding underneath it. Mike has simply written an entire paragraph in which one character after another meets a remarkably Shakespearean end.

He sets the paper down.

“Well, your publisher and your fans certainly aren't going to be very happy with you if this is where the book is headed.”

Mike looks thoughtful. “It is a little dark.”

“A little?” Will can't help the laugh that escapes him, though he still takes the pen from Mike’s hand. “You're done.”

Mike looks at the pen in Will's fingers and then at the pages, as if he's not entirely convinced.

Will gathers the papers carefully into a pile. “You can look at all of this tomorrow. Right now you need to get away from the desk.”

Mike doesn't argue when Will helps him out of the chair. He lets himself be guided back toward the couch, although his eyes keep drifting toward the manuscript as though he might suddenly remember the perfect ending if he looks at it for long enough.

Once he's sitting again, Will pulls the blanket back around him and tucks it loosely around his legs. “There. Much better.”

Mike leans back against the cushions.

Will leaves the papers on the desk and heads back into the kitchen.

The soup is already warm, and the sandwiches only need another minute in the pan. He finishes cooking, puts everything onto a tray, and carries it into the living room.

Mike’s attention goes straight to the food. He looks genuinely delighted when Will sets the tray down in front of him, and for a moment he seems to forget about the abandoned manuscript entirely. 

Will sits beside him and passes him the bowl, making sure it's positioned securely on the coffee table before handing him the sandwich.

Mike takes it, but instead of eating, he looks at Will. There’s something almost childlike about the expression on his face, and Will knows immediately that he’s about to ask for something unreasonable.

Mike shifts closer beneath the blanket. “Could you?”

Will follows his gaze toward the sandwich. “What, you want me to feed you?”

Mike nods.

Will sighs, but there's no real annoyance behind it. After the day they've had, after seeing his husband lying in that hospital bed and wondering how badly he'd been hurt, this is hardly a battle worth fighting.

“All right.”

He takes the sandwich from Mike and breaks off a manageable piece before holding it out to him.

Mike accepts it obediently, chewing slowly while Will watches to make sure he doesn't rush. There is something absurdly peaceful about the whole thing. The television is still playing quietly in the background, the lights in the apartment are warm and familiar, and Mike is sitting beside him wrapped in a blanket as though this is the most natural way in the world to spend an evening.

After a few bites, Mike settles farther against the couch. “I feel like I've been through a war.”

Will gives him another piece of sandwich. “You were hit by a scooter.”

Mike eats the bite. “Hey, don’t underestimate it! I could’ve had a concussion.”

Will looks at him, then shakes his head, unable to keep from smiling.

He gives Mike another bite, followed by a spoonful of soup once it has cooled enough. Mike accepts each one without protest, occasionally leaning his head against the back of the couch while Will waits patiently for him to finish.

“You're taking very good care of me,” Mike says eventually. His voice is quieter now, the medication still softening the edges of his words.

Will looks at him. “I know.”

Mike smiles faintly and lets his head rest against Will's shoulder.

For the moment, at least, he seems content to let Will take care of everything.

The evening settles into something quieter after dinner.

Mike has migrated farther into the corner of the couch, the blanket gathered around him with only his hands and head showing, while Will moves around the living room putting things back where they belong. The television stays on, mostly for the noise. Mike changes the channel every so often when something catches his attention, but eventually lands on a sitcom they've watched before and leaves it there.

Will is carrying the empty soup bowls into the kitchen when his phone rings.

He looks at the screen and sees that it’s Karen calling, then steps into the kitchen to answer. She immediately starts asking questions, and Will gives her the update while he puts the last of the dishes into the sink. Mike is home, he's eaten, and the doctor was satisfied enough with him to let him leave. He's tired, but otherwise doing fine.

“Can you put him on?” Karen says eventually.

Will glances toward the living room. Mike is lying under the blanket with his eyes half-closed, apparently paying no attention to anything.

“Your mom wants to talk to you.”

That gets Mike’s attention. He sits up a little, reaching for the phone when Will brings it over. “Hi, Mom.”

Will leaves him to it while he finishes cleaning the kitchen, but he can still hear pieces of the conversation from across the room. Mike tells her about the accident, though his version somehow makes the story sound considerably more complicated than it had been at the hospital. His mother interrupts him several times to get him back on track, and Mike laughs when she apparently tells him he always dramatizes things when he’s talking about his injuries.

Eventually the conversation turns softer.

“I missed you,” Mike says.

Will looks over.

Mike has pulled the blanket closer around himself, his expression sleepy but completely sincere. He listens for a moment before adding that he wishes she were there, and when his mother reminds him that Hawkins is a little too far away for her to simply drop by, he gives a quiet laugh.

“I know. I just wanted to tell you.”

He listens again, then smiles.

“Love you too, Mom.”

A few minutes later, they say goodnight. Mike hands the phone back to Will, who finishes the call and sets it on the coffee table.

He barely has time to sit down before Mike lifts the blanket and pats the space beside him. “Want to keep me company?”

Will looks at his husband. After everything today, he doesn't have the energy to argue. He slips onto the couch, and Mike immediately settles against him, tucking himself comfortably into Will's side as he pulls the blanket over both of them.

The sitcom keeps playing in the background. It's one of those Halloween episodes, and Will recognizes it almost immediately. “Oh, I love this episode.”

Mike makes a sleepy sound against his shoulder that could mean yes.

Will watches for a while, occasionally glancing down when Mike shifts closer. His hand moves absently over Mike’s arm, tracing slow little circles through the fabric of his shirt, and his fingers eventually find the hem of Will's sleeve and curl loosely around it.

By then, Mike is barely watching the television. His breathing has grown slower, his head heavier against Will's shoulder, and every so often his eyes close for a few seconds before opening again. Will doesn't bother telling him to stay awake. If he's tired, he's tired, and after the day they've had, there is something reassuring about having him here, warm and sleepy and finally home, by his side.

A few minutes later, Will makes some quiet comment about what's happening on the screen.

Mike doesn't answer.

Will looks down to find him fast asleep.

His hand is still loosely holding onto Will's sleeve, as though he'd drifted off without realizing he'd never let go.

Will smiles and carefully adjusts the blanket around Mike’s shoulders, then settles back into the couch without disturbing him.

The television continues murmuring softly in the background, filling the room with the familiar sounds of an evening at home.