Chapter Text
He’s awake, he’s sure of that, but it’s so very dark.
Blinking once, then twice, his eyes adjust to the light in an instant, spots floating in his vision. It is dark, that much is obvious, but the rest floats into space, filling up the room that is his.
That starts a slow to his breathing, heavy and fast, something that’s coming back to him as well. He’s in his bedroom, and all is well.
It must have been a nightmare. He doesn’t remember it - not one bit - but this is normally how it ends, Will waking drenched in a hot sweat. Shutting his eyes, allowing them to flutter to a close, he collects himself.
Vecna is dead, and all is well. Max woke, El is safe - all of them are. Everything is just fine.
The reassurance doesn’t do much, it never does, but the rise and fall of his chest comes to a steady pace. A normal one.
“-ill?”
His hearing is still clouded and blurry, but the sound is close enough to startle him. He doesn’t move, just stares at the wall.
Someone is in his room.
“-ey- Wi- ill!”
That’s his name, but he doesn’t move to look. The words aren’t threatening, more so worried, but even as his ears clear he can’t say that he recognizes the voice.
A hand now becomes clear on his knee, the numb of his body fading, the grip growing tighter, but not enough to hurt.
“Will!”
Will recoils, finally turning to the shout right in his ear. No longer frozen in place, there’s a face in his, pale and panicked. There’s dark curls and bright eyes, long lashes and a hooked nose that accompany, ones mere inches from his.
But Will doesn’t know this face, and he lets a shriek bubble out from his lips.
———
“So,” Nancy is there for some reason, pacing in circles around the kitchen table - the one surrounded by all of his friends and family, “he doesn’t remember you.”
The boy - Mike, Will has been told more than once - sighs, deep and annoyed. “We’ve been over this, yes.”
Will tries his best not to make eye contact, but said Mike hasn’t broken his thick stare once. He stands, leaned against the wall opposite to where Will sits at the table, a snarling scowl scrawled over his features, and keeps a watchful eye fixed on Will.
Nancy - who he’s now been told has a little brother, Mike - doesn’t acknowledge the snarky reply, just keeps spinning in circles.
His mom finally steps in, sitting right beside him, one hand on his shoulder, rubbing in little circles with her thumb. “Will, honey, you remember the rest of us, right?”
Now this question hasn’t been asked just yet. It has for just his mom, or just for Jonathan, but not everyone.
Taking a glance around the room, a look at each and every one of his friend’s troubled faces, he finds his answer. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure.” He knows all of them well - Lucas, Dustin, Max, El, his mother and brother, Nancy, Robin, Hopper, hell even Steve - but not the one that can’t keep his eyes off of Will.
“So then why not me?” Again, their gazes meet, just as Mike slams his hands to the tabletop.
This is all too much, and Will doesn’t have any of the answers they think he does.
Thankfully, Lucas steps in. “I don’t think he knows, man.” Max squeezes his hand, his that’s much larger than hers. “I don’t think any of us do.”
Mike disregards that, still pushing. His eyes still haven’t moved. “But you remember Vecna?”
God, does he remember Vecna.
He remembers being twelve, shooting a rifle probably bigger than him at a monster inches away from swallowing him whole. He remembers failing to even kill it, running faster than he ever thought his feet could carry him. He remembers what it feels like to have one of those vines pulsing in his throat, tears flowing from his big eyes.
Will says none of that. He just nods, small and meek as ever.
“I don’t mean to, you know, interrupt,” Robin says, huffing a breath as she speaks, the ghost of a smile on her lips, “but I think it’s just you, Mike. He remembers the rest of us, Vecna, everything.” Will looks at Mike, and it seems his exterior is only hardening. “Just not you.”
“Bullshit.” Is all he says in response, small and pained.
It didn’t add up at first. Will screamed, of course, because there was some random kid his age in his room. His mom and brother both came to his rescue, but the boy just followed him as he shrieked for help, and his family didn’t seem alarmed by the boy, but by him.
“Will, baby, what’s wrong?” His mother had asked as she held his face, and he kept trying to run.
Blubbering out an answer, they had all looked at him like he was crazy. Now, it seemed anything but.
They’d simply called for the rest of the group, and here they all were, in the middle of the night.
“But Vecna’s dead.” Steve starts, fingers clamped over the bridge of his nose. “We killed him, I mean- who else could have done this?”
There’s no reply. It’s obvious what the answer is, even if it seems impossible. Vecna is responsible, no matter how unrealistic it sounds to Will.
“Do you think…,” El is speaking, finally beginning to give her own insight. “Do you think he did this before he died?”
“Well how do we even know he’s dead? What if we failed and he’s just after us again? After Will?” Max, with blind eyes lighter than blue, lets her fingers tap at the arm of her wheelchair.
“We killed him.” El seems decided on that, expression cold. “We did, I know.”
“So you’re saying that maybe this was some last ditch effort?” Dustin taps at his chin, deep in thought. “Anything he could do to get us back, even one last time?”
Jonathan, right at Will’s side, commemorates the thought. “Will was in his mind near the end.” Everyone looks to him, all except Mike. “Maybe that’s when he did it. Whatever it was.”
“But why Mike?” Tapping her foot to the floor like an incessant tick, Nancy has stopped her pacing. “Why only him? Why not all of us? Everyone?”
That’s another question left to be answered.
But Mike’s eye lets slip a twitch, and his lip quirks down into a stone cold frown. In a moment he’s stormed out, and Nancy goes right after, calling after with a cut off Mike as she rounds the corner.
Already decided, Hopper states it like a stone cold fact that breaks the silence. “I’m sleeping here tonight.”
Lucas and Dustin nod in agreement. “Us too.”
The rest of the group goes around, one by one, all saying the same, and soon enough they’ve all gone to set up beds. All except for the two of them.
“You okay?” It’s sort of a stupid question, and Will is sure Jonathan knows that, but it’s all he comes up with.
No, he thinks. Instead, he says: “Yeah. I guess.”
Jonathan knows he’s lying. Still, he doesn’t push. “A lot to take in?”
“Definitely.” Not recognizing your supposed best friend is one thing, but not remembering him is a complete other. The thought chills in Will’s bones, crawling under his skin.
It’s terrifying to know he’s been messed with, and still have no idea how - he still remembers so much, and it all seems so little. Mike is nowhere in his mind, not a scrap of him left, and Will can’t feel anything about it. Just a stranger to him Mike is, and there’s not a single memory or emotion welling up to refute it.
He wants to feel bad, or guilty, or sad, and all of that is there, just not for Mike. It’s all for Will, selfish as always.
“Let’s go help set up beds.”
———
Will is put in the center of the living room, furniture thrown to the corners to allow the rest of the group to sleep around him.
Mike isn’t there, though. He volunteered himself to sleep in Will’s room, from what Nancy told them. Will hasn’t seen him since he stormed out, and can’t say he’s not conflicted about it.
Wedged between Lucas and Dustin, he flops onto his pillow with a huff of air. They obviously notice.
“You good? At least as good as you can be?” The same question he’s already been asked, just phrased differently, and asked by Dustin this time. The same question he doesn’t know how to answer.
A good part of him is unfeeling, like he’s numb inside of his head. He would never tell them that though. “I think so.” It’s a lie, but everyone lies when asked the same.
“It is okay if you are not.” Eleven says from above him, and he cranes his neck to catch a glance at her, laying down as well.
“I know.” Does he?
“But,” Lucas bites his lip, pausing, “you’re sure you don’t remember him? Like at all?” He hesitates to ask, but does so anyway. “It’s all gone?”
“No, I remember everything else. I think.” It makes sort of sense, and at the same time none at all. “Just not anything with him. Maybe. All I know is I don’t have any recollection of him.” He grits his teeth, exhausted.
“I just…” it’s almost like no one believes him, or that they simply don’t believe it’s possible. “How can that be true? We killed Vecna, El said we did. Even if he cast something on you that did this, he’s dead. How could it still be affecting you?”
Max isn’t satisfied with his questioning, shutting him down quick. “Well it’s obvious Will doesn’t know. None of us do.”
He hates being helpless - they all do - but there’s nothing more he can do than acknowledge that.
“We might as well sleep.” Dustin says, albeit reluctantly. “We’re all tired. We can’t do much for Will if we don’t get any rest.”
They all say their agreements, and Lucas switches off the light. There are shuffles of blankets and pillows, limbs stuffed under thin sheets, but soon enough the noises draw to still silence. Dustin is correct, just like always.
Will cannot sleep.
His mind is running faster by the second, looping questions that he can’t possibly answer.
Who even is Mike? Why can he only not remember him? He remembers the rest of them, right? How could Vecna do that? Why? Is he dead? Really, very much, so super dead? Again, who even is Mike?
He wants to know so badly that it hurts, and he’s terrified. Vecna did something to him once again, and that only churns in his guts. How stupid Will was to think he was free, that he would finally get to live a normal, happy life. Will was not meant for that.
A pound in his head starts, short and thumping, but only in the back of his mind. It’s the call of sleep, one that makes him hold back a sob.
The nightmares never stopped. Will doesn’t think they ever will, and right now he’s living one. They’ll be there when he sleeps, just as when he’s awake.
The pressure grows, one that tells him he needs rest. It’s calm and gentle, pulling him under. His eyes still don’t close.
“Hey.” A whisper catches him, and Lucas is there, just like always. He steals Will’s gaze, head rested to his pillow. It’s one from the couch, one still with stains from times over the years that they’ve spilt food or drinks, but Lucas agreed to sleep beside him anyway, even with a dirty pillow. “You got this, dude. We’ll figure it out.”
He holds out a fist, one that Will bumps with a smile. “Thanks, Lucas.” He says, and the tears are still held back, but they’re there for a different reason.
———-
In the blink of a fluttering eye, Will’s awake again, like he never slept.
Will knows he did, he feels it in the soreness of his bones and weight of his eyelids. He stretches out a bit, careful not to wake whoever sleeps on either side of him. For a moment, he just stares to the ceiling.
The night before is stark in his mind, as much as he wishes it was all a dream. He remembers everything in full, all including the boy he fails to remember. The thought aches in his belly like wire coursing through his veins, tightening around his throat. Will is guilty, in a way, or at the very least feels like it.
Standing, he nearly trips over himself, vision stuttering black for just a second. He breathes a heavy breath, before he makes his way to the kitchen.
Everyone is still asleep, he guesses, as he takes a glance at all the makeshift beds still full. Most have bodies fully covered by blankets, presumably to keep the seeping in sun out of their eyes. He chuckles at that, just a little.
And when he turns away, rounding the corner, Will realizes he’s wrong.
Mike is there, glaring out the window above the sink, soda in hand. Will stops, stealing a chance to watch. He’s still in the pajamas Will had seen him in, which makes sense considering they’d only gone back to bed. His nose is firm and hooked, his lips tightly zipped. The wash of dark, loose curls he has stops over his shoulders, even if they’re still long and heavy, and some part of Will knows how soft they are.
Will barely computes as Mike’s gaze meets his, but it’s not mean. “You just gonna stare at me?” He says lightly, but his face doesn’t match.
“N- no.” Will chuckles, hoping to brighten the mood, make it seem like everything is normal. It’s difficult to do so when you’re talking to someone you could swear you’ve never seen in your whole life, but they swear they’ve known you the whole time. “No, I just thought I was the only one up.”
Mike’s eyes peel, and he looks away, taking another sip of Coke. He’s angry, Will knows he’s mad, he did something wrong. Instead of apologizing, Will blurts, “Soda?”
“What?” His eyes are back on Will, brows furrowed.
“You’re drinking a soda. It’s-,” he glances at the clock, “nine a.m.” There’s a nervous grin on his face, one that he hopes Mike will take well. That he’ll sympathize, and realize Will doesn’t mean harm.
“It’s the only thing you guys had.” Is his answer, but he doesn’t crack a smile. “I wasn’t gonna touch your mom’s coffee maker, ‘cause I know she’d kill me if I broke it.”
That’s true, so much so that Will intensely doubts his own memory. Some random kid wouldn’t just know his mom’s protective nature over her coffee, and wouldn’t imply his knowing of her saving up during the divorce to buy herself a nice one. “Yeah. She would.” A laugh escapes him, one giggly and short, but still there.
Mike wants to ask him something, and Will knows what’s coming, but he doesn’t say it. Instead, he lets the air drift awkwardly.
Will can’t help wanting the conversation to continue. “So you’re, um, you’re Nancy’s brother?”
Mike’s expression drops again, and Will knows he’s answered his question. “Yeah.” Is all he says, and he looks like he’s in pain, but not physically.
There’s a bump to wood, one from the other entrance to the kitchen. “Hey, guys.” A voice calls in a yawn, catching them both by surprise.
Another voice enters the room from behind, curls bouncing along with it. He wipes at his eye, groggy. “Lucas woke me up with his loud ass yawning.”
“Did not.” He snaps back, beaming, albeit sleepily.
“Uh, yeah, you did.”
Mike mutters a hello, and they all look to Will, waiting for something of the sort in return.
But Will-
He doesn’t-
Soda tapping to the counter, Mike leaves it behind to close in on Will, who can’t muster up anything. Mike knows it. “Will.” He says, and he looks.
The first boy settles on his feet from his rest to the doorframe, eyes wide. “You’re kidding-,”
“Will.” Mike repeats, but Will hasn’t broken wide eye contact. He can’t, or else the reality is written out before him. “Who is that?”
Following Mike’s gesture, Will is faced with two boys. One is tall and fit, the other short and geeky. Their expressions are mixtures of so many things that Will can’t unpack.
Will doesn’t know them.
He shakes his head, partly in response and partly to see if maybe his brain will snap back into place. It doesn’t.
The three boys take a glance at one another, one that feels like hours, one that feels like Will should be in on but he’s not.
Will’s shoulder burns where Mike had touched it once he tears away his hold. He stumbles back a little, like Will is scary to him. Like he’s some sort of monster. “I’m getting Nancy.” Is all he says, and it’s all he needs to.