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The trap was set.
Short, to-the-point confirmations rang out through the walkies, each team in place to take on the Demogorgon. Everything was ready.
Everything was fine.
Everything was fine.
Will felt sick.
He didn’t know why. The closer they got to the trap being sprung, the heavier his head felt, his heart thudding uncomfortably in his chest. Every nerve in his body felt on edge, sparking in uneasy anticipation - it was like this… this looming sense of dread, and it was making him feel dizzy.
One look at the team with him in the barn fussing over their unconscious sort-of-hostages told him he should keep his worries to himself. This plan had to work. The amount of hard work put in by everyone else couldn’t be put at risk by what was probably just a burst of nerves, anxiety maybe.
A treacherous voice told Will what he knew deep down was true - that it wasn’t just nerves, that he was right to be afraid.
He ignored it.
—
Everything was going according to plan.
Steve’s voice crackled lowly over the radio. “It’s inside. Keep your traps shut.”
Multiple minutes passed. The barn was quiet, except for Joyce and Robin quietly bickering over the hostages in the back, Joyce insisting that no, they don’t need any more restraints and Robin lightly rebutting but what if one of them wakes up and runs away, I mean look at us, we can’t run after anyone, Joyce irritably biting back that’s precisely why we’re in the middle of nowhere, Robin.
It was annoying, but Will could tune it out just fine. He had more pressing issues at hand. Now that the Demogorgon was confirmed to be in the trap, Will felt worse than ever. His breathing refused to slow, only picking up in pace, and he could feel sweat beading on his temple. It was starting to feel like some kind of fever. Silently, he pleaded that that was all it was, a bout of illness, and nothing to do with the prickling sensation that persisted on the back of his neck, or the dread that was really starting to make him feel like he might throw up.
The bickering continued. As time went on it got harder to ignore and it was starting to make his head hurt so Will took a few steps away, giving a half-hearted smile in response to the quizzical look from Erica, who’d been standing in the corner listening to Robin and Joyce for the past ten minutes with a woefully bored expression on her face.
Maybe some peace and quiet away from the arguing would help.
It didn’t.
In fact, it only took a few minutes for everything to go wrong.
One second everything was fine, and then - it was like a switch had been flipped. In an instant the bickering fell away along with the barn around him, and what had started as a tingle at the back of Will’s neck became a stabbing pain. Suddenly his eyes were rolling back and he was swaying on his feet and he was seeing, he could see everything, he could see him…
Mike.
Mike who was standing in front of him, but shorter. No, that couldn’t be right. Mike wasn’t shorter. Will was taller. And Will… wasn’t Will at all. He could feel this foreign anger, this pure undiluted animalistic rage clouding his mind against his will, his blood-red vision zeroed on Mike, hazed with an almost painfully strong need to hurt. To feel the claws of his unnaturally long fingers tearing the boy in front of him to shreds.
Will felt sick.
He could only watch helplessly as he himself lunged forward, claws outstretched, the other mind merged with his pushing desires of hurt, maim, kill, kill into his head. It was too loud. He couldn’t breathe.
But Mike. Mike didn’t falter. Mike wasn’t a coward like Will. No, Mike tightened his grip on the shovel in his hands and, with a snarl of rage that Will never thought he’d be on the receiving end of, he swung the shovel around, straight into the side of the Demogorgon’s head.
Will’s head.
The impact felt like the full force of a migraine hitting all at once. He felt the Demogorgon stumble back but he felt himself fall to his knees. Distantly, in some part of his consciousness he couldn’t reach, his throat was burning from a scream he was sure was tearing itself out of his mouth, but one that he couldn’t hear.
Mike lunged again, the heavy shovel whooshing as it arced through the air, and hit again.
And again.
His head was splitting in two.
Like through a dream, he could feel his mother’s hands holding him up by the shoulders. He could hear her voice muffled, underwater, thick with tears, begging him to come back, but it was like it was happening to someone else. He couldn’t even think beyond the throbbing in his head. Every rapid heartbeat sent spikes of agony deep behind his eyes and down into his neck, down to his very core.
The Demogorgon shrieked, shrill and pained, and it was too much. Will’s consciousness was tearing. His numb hands desperately grabbed at his head in a vain effort to make it stop, his sharp claws feebly reaching out to swipe at Mike once more, both sides of him wracked with agony, head swimming with hurt and anger and desperation and too much.
Mike raised the shovel once more. Blood glistened on the metal of the weapon and on his face where it had splattered, dark eyes glinting with hatred. It was wrong. Mike never looked at him like that.
One more swing.
A final blow, and suddenly the Demogorgon’s thoughts slipped away like water along with Will’s own, and he returned to himself just in time to feel his body slump heavily into his mother’s trembling arms, muttering something he couldn’t remember, and then nothing at all.
-
The Demogorgon fell.
It fell hard, crashing through the floor below, and let out a piercing cry of pain as it landed in the arranged pile of barbed wire. Mike could hear the panicked yells of Jonathan and Nancy downstairs and there was a burst of flame, and now the cries became screams. It was almost too loud to bear.
A gunshot rang through the air and the monster leapt unnaturally high, back up to Mike’s floor, trailing flames as it went. It looked disoriented and pained and it stumbled away, scrambling past Mike and Lucas and tearing a hole into the wall. It was horrifying but almost kind of entrancing, in a way, how the hardwood shelves tore like paper and left a glowing red gate in its path.
The Demogorgon leapt through, and suddenly everything was silent.
Holy shit. Holy shit! Had they just taken out a Demogorgon?
After a stunned moment Mike remembered the plan and he scrambled back, letting the shovel clatter to the floor as he grabbed the walkie with shaking hands.
“It flipped. It flipped!”
There was a minute of silence. Mike exchanged glances with Lucas. Both of them were out of breath and Mike could see Lucas was just as shaken as he was, wringing his hands in anticipation.
Finally, the walkie crackled to life. “Demo tagged and released. Trackers in pursuit. Repeat, trackers in pursuit.”
Mike let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and ran a hand over his face. Already, the adrenaline was wearing off, and he could feel exhaustion creeping in. He lifted the walkie back to his mouth. “Is everyone else okay? How are things at the barn? Are the Turnbows behaving?”
Silence.
Mike could see Lucas frowning out of the corner of his eye. He knew his own face must look similar. “Repeat, barn team. Is everything okay over there?”
A hiss of static, then Robin’s voice came through, urgent and wavering. “Uhh… n-no. I mean, yes, the Turnbows are fine. Sleeping. That’s not the problem.”
“Then what is it? Robin, what’s the problem?”
“It’s… It’s Will.”
Mike’s heart dropped. He looked up. The confusion on Lucas’ face made it clear as day that he wanted Mike to probe for more information, but he didn’t.
Instead, eyes still locked with Lucas’, he responded, “I’m heading over there now. Stay where you are.”
He pushed the antenna down before stumbling to his feet, hastily grabbing his backpack and making for the door.
“Wait, Mike-”
He stopped and turned around impatiently. Lucas was looking at him with concern bright in his eyes, hand half-outstretched like he wasn’t sure whether or not to physically stop Mike.
“Are you sure you wanna go all that way? You don’t even know what’s wrong with Will. It could be nothing.”
“If it were nothing, she wouldn’t have said anything.”
“But-”
“I’m going, Lucas,” Mike snapped. Lucas retreated a bit, both hands now half-raised in surrender, and Mike sighed. In a more subdued tone, he continued, “I’m going. I trust you to look after things on your own. You can come with me if you want. Or you can stay here. Either way, I’m going to Will.”
Lucas stared at him for a moment, then sighed in defeat. “Okay. Just… be careful out there. Demo’s still on the loose somewhere.”
Mike gave a nod and a half-smile. “Always.”
With that he sped out of the room and out of the house, almost tripping over himself as he ran down the driveway over to his discarded bike. He tipped it back upright with fumbling hands and started the long journey to the barn, legs already burning within just a few minutes. Man. He really needed to work out more.
-
By the time he arrived at the barn, Mike seriously thought he might die.
He had to lean embarrassingly heavily on the barn wall to catch his breath as he arrived, banging loudly on the door for entry. Clearly they’d barricaded the entrance from the inside. He didn’t blame them, but right now it was annoying. He needed to get to Will. There’d been a knot in his stomach ever since that conversation with Robin, a knot of pure anxiety and something else that he couldn’t quite place.
All he needed was to just get into the barn and check that Will was okay. And then he’d be fine.
If someone would open this damn door.
“Hello? Will? Robin? Mrs Byers, Erica, anyone! Let me in, it’s Mike!” He shouted, hammering insistently on the door. This time he heard some faint footsteps and a loud clunking of wood being shifted, then the doors swung open to reveal a frazzled but relieved looking Robin. If she noticed how flushed and out of breath he was, she didn’t comment on it.
“Mike! Sorry about the door. Can’t be too safe. I actually suggested barricading it ages ago but Mrs Byers only agreed to do it when-”
“Robin,” Mike interrupted. He couldn’t find it in himself to feel bad about it right now. “Where’s Will? Is he okay?”
“Right! Of course. Uh…” she shifted out of the way so that Mike could come in. “They’re over there.”
She was pointing at a more secluded area of the barn, hidden behind some stacks of hay. He gave Robin a quick nod of thanks and tossed his backpack on the floor by the door, then jogged over to where she had indicated.
It was dark over here. In fact, he could barely see at all, and it was only once his eyes adjusted to the fragile light of one half-covered lantern that he could make out two figures.
One was Joyce. She was sat cross-legged on the floor, gaze bleak, idly running her hands through the hair of the other figure, who had to be Will. He was laid out on his back, Joyce’s light brown jacket covering his torso and another one - the navy colour indicating it was probably Robin’s - folded up under his head as a makeshift pillow.
Even in the faint light he looked unwell. There was a slight sheen of sweat to his pale face and in his sleep his features were unnaturally slack and unmoving, dark circles lined underneath his eyes. He almost looked dead.
Mike tore his eyes away, heart constricting, and looked again at Joyce. She didn’t even seem to notice he was there, fully transfixed on the boy laying in front of her.
He cleared his throat. She still didn’t acknowledge him.
“Mrs Byers,” he said softly.
This time she did look up, jolting as if he’d spoken too loudly. In the low light she looked exhausted and older than usual, like she’d aged ten years in a matter of hours.
“Mike,” she breathed, and suddenly she was up, grabbing his hands and leading him slightly away.
“Are you okay? Is it gone - the Demogorgon? Did you kill it?” Her voice was barely louder than a whisper.
Mike couldn’t help the concerned frown that appeared on his face. “I’m fine,” he responded in the same low whisper. “And yeah. I mean - no, not dead, but the tracker team is on its tail. We… we radioed about it. Did you guys not hear it?”
Joyce ran both hands through her hair with a heavy sigh. “No. We probably missed it because of Will.”
Mike didn’t miss the way she tensed up when she said Will’s name, eyes briefly darting over to his prone form as if to check he was still there. He hadn’t so much as twitched since they’d started speaking.
He swallowed. “What happened? Is he okay?”
Joyce shook her head and ran her hands through her hair again. She really did look drained. “It’s… we heard about the plan starting. We were quiet enough then to hear it over the walkie. And it was… fine. Everything was fine. Until it just wasn’t.”
She took another deep breath. “I was over there,” she waved in the direction of the still unconscious Turnbows, “talking to Robin. I was too busy arguing with her about something stupid, just stupid, I didn’t even realise something was wrong with Will until he was… he was on his knees all of a sudden and he was crying and he was screaming, Mike, he was screaming. Clutching his head like it was the worst pain in the world.”
Mike’s throat went dry.
“And his eyes, they - they were closed but I know he was seeing something. His eyes were still moving. That demo-vision thing, whatever you guys call it, it was happening but it was different this time. It was like… he could really feel whatever you guys were doing to it. He was in agony.”
His eyes drifted over to Will’s body and suddenly he felt almost dizzy, like the ground had given away beneath his feet. A terrifying thought had settled that told him he knew exactly what had happened here, but he refused to acknowledge it. It couldn’t be true.
It couldn’t.
Unaware of Mike’s turmoil Joyce continued, though was it just him or was her voice slightly quieter? It was like it couldn’t fully penetrate the low ringing in his ears. Which, when had that started?
“And he was hurting so bad and nothing I was doing would wake him and then suddenly it stopped. And he passed out but before he did he said something, he said…”
Mike’s eyes snapped back to Joyce and she was looking straight at him, eyes watery like they always were when she was worried. Irrationally he wondered if she knew what he was thinking. She always had a way of seeing right through him.
“He said your name, Mike.”
And there it was. The killing blow.
Mike’s heart plummeted.
This was his fault. His fault.
It had to be.
“Mike? Do you know why he said your name? I thought you might’ve been hurt but you seem alright. Are you hurt? Or maybe could he have seen you? In his vision?”
He opened his mouth to answer but nothing came out. All he could do was stare at Joyce, who was starting to look worried for him. His mind was completely blank apart from one thought, repeating like a broken record:
I hurt Will. This is my fault.
I hurt Will. I did this. I hurt Will.
The image wouldn’t get out of his head. Swinging at the Demogorgon’s head with his shovel. He had put his whole body strength into it, every ounce of fury he had stored in his body, hitting again and again, so much so that his shoulders still ached from it. Superhuman as it was, the monster had only stumbled, dazed and pained, but if he’d done that to a person…
Will, who had fallen to his knees, clutching his head in agony. It could only mean one thing.
A low groan startled Mike out of his thoughts. Both his and Joyce’s heads snapped over to the source of the sound. Will.
Mike just barely managed to get to Will before Joyce did, skidding to his knees beside him and reaching out to place a hand on the other boy’s shoulder only to stop himself at the last second. If Will had seen him, seen Mike lashing out at him over and over, the direct cause of all his current pain… there was no way Will didn’t hate him. He should hate him.
He swallowed. His throat felt like sandpaper.
“Will? Can you hear me?”
Will winced, then his eyes fluttered open slightly only to slam back shut with another groan.
“Hurts.” It came out like a whimper, like he didn’t even mean to say it.
Mike felt sick.
Joyce had no such reservations about touching him and grabbed Will’s hand with both of hers. “Will. Will! Can you hear me, baby? Can you look at me?”
Mike looked on with guilt sitting rotten and heavy like lead in his stomach as Will forced his eyes open, glazed gaze drifting towards Joyce’s general direction.
“Mom?”
Joyce gave a breathy laugh, relief etched deep into the lines of her face. “It’s me, honey. And look, Mike’s here too.”
The change to Will’s demeanour was almost palpable. It was like someone had poured cold water over him - in an instant he looked alert, awake, pain still deep-set in the crease of his brow but now he was trying to push himself up, hand slipping from Joyce’s grip, eyes darting around until they landed on-
Mike.
Whose heart somehow dropped even further. Just like his mother, relief sparkled in Will’s glistening hazel eyes, only making Mike feel worse. Did he not remember what Mike did to him? Would he now have to tell him? How would he react, knowing that his best friend attacked him? Would he even want to know him anymore?
He tried to force a smile onto his mouth but he knew it looked more like a grimace. The guilt was written plainly all over his face and if Will didn’t know what he’d done, he’d realise just by looking at him and then he’d hate him, he’d hate-
Arms around him.
What?
Will’s arms were around him. He was hugging him.
His brain short circuited. Will was hugging… Mike?
Through the only remaining functional part of his brain, he realised Will was shaking. Not just shivering, he was trembling, he was crying.
The moment that thought registered, Mike’s arms automatically moved up and hugged Will back, then tightened and held him probably harder than he should, given that Will sort of looked like he’d been hit by a truck. Or in the head, multiple times, with a shovel, his mind supplied unhelpfully.
“I’m sorry,” Will muttered into his shoulder. It was muffled and quiet and Mike almost thought he’d imagined it. Because that couldn’t be right.
“You’re sorry?” Mike asked breathlessly, and he could feel his throat constricting, making it difficult to talk. “What the hell are you sorry for?”
“I saw it, Mike, I was there, I… I attacked you. I was the Demogorgon. I tried to kill you.”
It was like he was speaking another language. Mike was hearing him but he couldn’t understand.
“Will… you didn’t do anything to me. You know you didn’t. You were just… watching, forced to watch - you couldn’t have done anything.”
He pulled back from the hug and gripped Will by the shoulders. The latter’s mournful, still slightly unfocused gaze refused to meet his, guilt now written plainly all over his face.
No, no, this was all wrong. How was Will getting this so wrong?
Mike reached out before he could stop himself and gently took Will’s chin in his hand, angling his head up and leading them to meet eyes. Will looked startled. He probably hadn’t expected Mike to do anything so bold and, to be honest, it was just as much of a surprise to Mike, but it had been a rough day and he wasn’t thinking straight. Not thinking straight at all.
“Listen to me, Will. This is not your fault. I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m so sorry, Will. I know what I did to you. I know you were seeing through the Demo and I know you felt it, I know you felt me hurting you, it was you the whole time, and I’m sorry, Will.”
He could hear his own voice wavering and he couldn’t stop the tear that ran down his cheek.
“I’m so sorry,” he said in a cracked whisper.
Will, the angel that Mike didn’t deserve and surely never would, smiled sadly as the pained look in his eyes shifted towards something like sympathy and he pulled the other back into a hug. Mike felt his forehead hit Will’s shoulder and he realised he hadn’t hugged Will like this, or even hugged him at all, since he left for Lenora. It felt so fulfilling, so warm and all-encompassing, like it filled a crack in his heart he didn’t even know was there.
He held onto Will like a lifeline, and Will let him.
“You have nothing to apologise for, Mike,” came his soft voice, muttered into the top of Mike’s hair, who could only shake his head in disagreement. Suddenly he was overcome with exhaustion, the events of the evening and the weight of his remorse all catching up to him at once.
They stayed like that, intertwined, for at least five minutes before Joyce returned. Mike belatedly realised he didn’t even know when she’d left.
“You boys should get some rest,” she said quietly. Mike pulled away from Will somewhat reluctantly and looked up at her. She had a gentle expression on her face and a few blankets in her arms.
“Found these in the van. I think we were gonna use them for the hostages in case any of them woke up and needed some kind of comfort, but, well.” She shook her head and dropped the pile lightly into their laps. “They’ll survive.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Will whispered with a yawn. The circles under his eyes had only gotten darker and the sweat on his skin had dried, leaving his hair stuck to his forehead. He still looked like death warmed over but at least he was alive, Mike told himself.
Joyce leaned down and planted a kiss on top of Will’s head, then ruffled Mike’s hair. “Sleep tight, you two. Mama loves you.”
With that she left, and Mike and Will were alone again in their secluded, dim corner of the barn.
Mike shifted away from Will slightly and took him in. “Are you… okay? Your mom said you were really hurting, like, really hurting earlier.” He didn’t even try to push away the newfound rush of guilt he felt in saying that, he just let himself feel it. He deserved it. “Does it still hurt?”
Will gave a weak half-smile. “A little,” he said truthfully. “But it’s more just like a headache now. It’s fine.”
And then, suddenly and without warning, he reached out and lightly grabbed Mike’s face with one hand, and Mike’s heart stuttered. What the fuck was happening now?
Will tilted Mike’s head to the side. “You’ve got a little, uh…” he gestured loosely.
What, dirt? Blood? Mike felt his face heat up, and tried to push down the childish assumption he’d jumped to when Will initially grabbed his face. He pulled his jacket sleeve over his hand and scrubbed at his face furiously.
“Gone?”
A laugh. Light and airy, piercing straight through Mike like a ray of sunshine through a raincloud. “Not at all. Here, let me…”
As if it meant nothing, Will swiped his tongue over his thumb and reached out, scrubbing at a patch of skin near Mike’s eye, then nose, then right at the corner of his mouth. Mike’s face was burning and it was like he’d been frozen in place, and the only part of him that could move was his eyes, tracking Will’s focused gaze with his own.
His eyes are pretty.
No sooner had the thought appeared unbidden in his mind than Will pulled back, appraising his work with a professional air. He wiped his hand on his jeans.
“It was just a little blood. All gone.”
Sparkling hazel eyes dragged up to meet black.
“Uh… thanks,” Mike said dumbly.
Will grinned again, and Mike’s heart lit up. Will was alive, he was okay, he was smiling, and now Mike was grinning back as relief finally hit him after so long because everything was okay. The plan had worked and even though Mike was the worst person ever Will didn’t hate him for it. Come to think of it, he thought that maybe Will just wasn’t capable of hatred. It’s not in an angel’s nature to hate.
Damn, why did he keep thinking of angels today? Maybe he was more tired than he realised. It felt like it was getting harder to control his thoughts.
“We should probably sleep now,” Mike said quietly, breaking the eye contact to fiddle with the blankets on their laps.
Another jaw-cracking yawn from Will only confirmed Mike’s suggestion, and he giggled a little at the timing, glancing back up just in time to see Will laugh too, eyes glittering.
Has he always looked this cute?
Okay, he really needed to get some sleep.
Mike shifted to his knees and pulled two of the blankets off their laps, layered them and laid them out on the ground beneath them. He then let out a sigh and unceremoniously flopped backwards, grunting as his back hit the floor hard. Wow, those blankets provided less cushioning than he thought they would.
With of course more grace than him, Will lowered himself to the floor, folding Joyce’s jacket and handing it to Mike for him to use as his pillow. He then pulled the remaining blanket over both of them. He turned so he was partially facing Mike and smiled at him, again, and Mike soaked up the sight like he was seeing the sun for the first time in his life.
“Night, Mike.”
Mike returned the smile with his own.
“Night, Will.”
And if Mike fell asleep thinking of Will’s smile, ingraining it into his subconscious so he’d never forget it, he didn’t let it bother him. It was the tiredness, he told himself.
And if Joyce found them tangled together hours later, fast asleep, Mike loosely curled around Will as if trying to protect him even in slumber, she didn’t tell anyone.