Chapter Text
Mike's pulse pounds in his ears, blood rushing through his body. His hands flinch to cover his face—a useless shield against the demogorgon barreling towards him.
Guttural screeches rip through the air, deafening the sounds of gunshots firing incessantly and uselessly. His skin drips with wetness; a combination of water and sweat. There's a metallic taste on his tongue, sharp and bitter.
If he dies, he hopes the kids will be safe.
Then, through the uproar: the unmistakable squelch of a bone bone breaking against flesh. A strangled noise.
Mike watches in revere as Will floats; muscles strained, eyes glowing, sweat dripping from his forehead, blood pooling on his lip.
The demogorgon, just feet away from him, contorts—arms and legs bending and shattering—but he can’t break his gaze on Will. The veins in his neck are popping out from his skin. His eyes blaze white, pupils gone.
He could look like El to some, but not to Mike. He’s Will. His best friend.
The demogorgon falls, leaving Mike standing there, staring at Will. His mind is blank, edges buzzing with fear and awe.
Mike watches as Will brings his wrist up to his face, chest heaving, and wipes the blood from his nose. His sleeve is left streaked with red, a sharp contrast to his green eyes, now glowing against the dark of the night.
He's beautiful.
Mike's feet carry him to Will, shoes slapping against the ground until he can feel him underneath his arms. His heart still pounds, and he can feel it beat in tandem with Will's. His fingers dig at his best friend's shirt, holding him steady under his grasp.
"You're a real-life honest-to-god sorcerer!" Mike breathes, voice shuddering. He pulls back just enough to look at Will--to see his eyes glow green where they had just been white. A sorcerer.
”Mike,”
Then, terrifyingly, he’s faltering. Mike’s eyes widen as Will slumps, collapsing against him.
His mind is free suddenly of the demogorgons, the kids, the soldiers. He just has to make sure Will is ok.
– 2 days later –
Now, Will is resting on the couch in the WSQK.
Before the demogorgons attacked, the Byers were staying with Mike and his family, in their house. Since then, though, it's Mike, Will, Nancy, and Jonathan staying at the radio station with Steve and Robin. Joyce is there a lot to check on Will, but most of her nights are spent at Hopper’s cabin with him and El.
She’s here now, sitting on a chair by Will; watching him. Mike's across the room, sprawled across the floor with his back against a wall with a comic. Really though, he’s also watching Will.
He hasn’t woken up since that night. He just sleeps, eyes darting in circles behind his eyelids. El’s been in the tub, eyes wrapped in a blindfold and floating quietly atop the water, searching for Will. But she can't find him, and he won’t wake up.
Mike’s walkie crackles static next to him. Dustin’s voice echoes.
“How’s he doing?”
“Still asleep.” Mike’s brow furrows, lips tugging into a worried frown. He stands and walks over to the couch, checking just in case to make sure Will hadn't miraculously woken up in the split-second he looked away for. Nope.
Mike paces, only half-listening as Dustin spews off updates about Hopper's crawls in the Upside Down, and the rest of the party's constant search for Vecna. They haven't found out where he is, or what he's doing. They haven't found the kids. They haven't found Holly.
The walkie crackles off.
Mike curls his hand into a fist, letting his nails dig into the side of his palm. He stares down at Will's unconscious body, letting him distort into a girl with fiery red hair surrounded by beeping machines. He can't help but see Max, trapped in a coma since Vecna almost killed her, and El had to restart her heart. He curls his fist tighter.
Mike tries to push this thought from his mind. Will is going to be ok, he has to be. What happened that night—his powers—Vecna wouldn’t have been able to get him. Right? Of course not, he’s a literal sorcerer.
He sits back down with his comic book, trying to distract himself in the pages, but he can’t help his eyes from drifting back to Will.
—
At some point Mike must've fallen asleep, and he wakes up to someone grabbing and shaking his shoulder. He blinks his eyes open slowly, light burning into his eyes. He brings the heels of his hands to his eyes, rubbing until he can make out Joyce's silhouette in front of him.
“Will’s awake!” Her voice sounds scratchy, like she’s been crying.
His tiredness forgotten, Mike scrambles to his feet, practically stumbling over to the couch across the room. Will’s awake. Two days of fear and anxiety tug at his chest.
Then, he looks up and sees him. His green eyes—open, finally—stare back at Mike. His hair is tousled, clothes wrinkled.
Mike stands there for a few seconds, taking in every detail about him before making his way over to the couch.
He collapses next to him, almost on top of him, and wraps his arms around Will's shoulders. He tenses for a moment, then sinks into it. Mike’s hands grasp at his shirt, afraid if he lets go, he’s going to be gone again. He buries his face into Will’s neck, trying to prevent the tears already forming in his eyes.
Will's hands press firmly against Mike's back, his arms slotting in place around his waist to adjust to the closeness of him.
Will's there.
After a moment Mike pulls back from the hug, keeping a shaking hand gripping onto Will’s back. He needs to know this is real, that it's Will sitting in front of him. He's not a boy trapped in his own body, sweating and overtaken by a sadistic monster, or a stiff corpse dripping as it's pulled from the lake below the quarry.
“You’re awake.” Awe drips from his voice, jaw still hanging slightly slack.
“Mom told me I was asleep for two days.” Will’s voice is thick with tiredness, and Mike’s almost never been happier to hear it. Since he disappeared the first time—years ago—losing him again has silently been Mike’s worst fear.
Tearing his gaze away from Will, Mike sees Joyce smile. She’s been more worried than he has, and he can see the anxiety still tight in her grin.
“I’ll leave you two alone for a minute. I’m going to talk to the rest and let them know the good news.” With that, she turns her back and walks into another room, leaving the two of them alone.
He looks at Will, and can’t help the few tears he was trying so hard to keep in from leaking out.
“I was so scared, Will. I thought, I don’t know, I thought maybe you were gone again.” His voice barely croaks out. Vulnerability leaks through the cracks in his voice. “El couldn’t find you. You were lost.” Shaking breaths interrupt each word.
Will gingerly reaches out and grabs his hand. He hesitates for a moment, then begins to rub his thumb in small circles around his knuckle.
“I was asleep. Really—just asleep.” A soft smile forms on his lips. Mike stares at it, his gaze transfixed on the soft pink skin. He watches each movement of his words, the way Will's lips and tongue and teeth work together to create the sounds soothing the worry laced through his chest.
He flickers his eyes away and stares at the ground. Will is like a magnet, begging for Mike's eyes to be pulled back to him.
Mike needs to see the rise and fall of each breath he takes, and the way his eyelashes flutter when he blinks. He needs to see the ever-present blush that reddens Will's neck and cheeks, and the way his eyebrows furrow together when he's worried or confused. He needs Will to keep talking. It can be about whatever he wants, so long as Mike can hear the way he's still him. Still alive. Still here. He aches to see the reminders of his being.
Will pulls his hand away slowly, leaving Mike’s skin tingling in its absence. He brings Mike close to him again, wrapping his arms tightly around his back. Mike’s tears make a wet spot on the shoulder of his t-shirt, changed from the one he had worn that night, but his skin still dirtied with reminders of the fight.
He buries his face further into Will’s neck, taking a deep breath. He can smell him, musky with sweat and blood, but also still faint with the cologne he wears and the undeniable smell of Will. Touching him, smelling him, it makes him feel real.
“I’m sorry I scared you. I’m sorry I was asleep for so long.”
“Will, don’t apologize. This wasn’t your fault, okay? I’m just—we’re just—so, so glad you’re ok.” He forces himself to pull away from his embrace. His entire body shakes. He feels a tug at him, his chest pulling him to stay tucked under Will’s arms—but he pulls back anyway. Wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand, he can’t help but chuckle. He was just asleep.
He's still looking at Will when Joyce comes back into the room, insisting on staying the night. He lifts his gaze from Will long enough to peek out the window and see the sky pitch-black. It must be late.
When Mike turns back to the conversation, Will’s rebutting against Joyce. “There just isn’t space, Mom. It’s already cramped with all of us here, and god knows it’s not any better at the cabin. I’ll be ok for the night. Just go home and rest, and I’ll be here in the morning. I promise.”
No one else is staying here tonight, they’re with Hopper in the Upside Down, but it seems like Joyce forgot about that. Mike doesn't say anything though, he likes the thought of just him and Will here tonight.
By some miracle, Joyce agrees. She hugs Will, whispering something Mike can’t hear into his ear, and waves a quick goodbye before leaving. Now it’s just Will and him.
“Uh… are you hungry?” That’s the only thing he can think of to say. Will nods.
They walk over to their makeshift kitchen. They don’t have a stove or oven, just a table set up with a microwave and a minifridge. Underneath the table is most of their food, which really isn’t much. He grabs two packets of instant ramen—the chicken kind—and heats them up in the microwave.
Will rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet. It feels awkward, somehow. Something feels different. With them, it’s almost never been awkward; they’ve been best friends for as long as he can remember. Something has shifted, and he doesn’t know what it is.
He hands Will his bowl, and they go back to the couch, sitting side by side.
“So you’re, like, actually a sorcerer now.”
Will chuckles. “I guess so.” He looks at him, meeting his eyes, holding the gaze for a moment before giving his arm a light punch, just like he did in the field that day. Mike’s breath hitches, but he quickly recovers, brushing it off.
“What did it feel like?” he asks. “I mean… to gain powers like that? It was insane. I thought we were all gonna die.”
“It just felt…right? I don’t know. I was so scared—then I saw the demogorgon coming for you—and it just, clicked, I guess.” He looks back at Mike sheepishly.
“So basically what you’re saying is I activated your powers,” Mike jokes, but Will looks more serious.
“Honestly, yeah, kinda.” He rubs the back of his neck with his hand, covering the blush spreading up to his cheeks. “Before I got my powers it was, uh, weird. It was like a movie—I watched all of my best memories—with Jonathan, Mom, you. It’s almost like…” He trails off, looking past Mike and out the window, where the trees shake in the storm they can hear brewing. His tone had become heavy, solemn.
“Like what?” Mike pushes, leaning in closer to Will again, bumping their knees together.
“Nevermind.” Will looks down into his lap at his bowl, clenching his fingers tightly around it. “I think I connected to some kind of hive mind. I could see through the eyes of the demogorgons.” His brow furrows, his face falling into a more worried expression. Mike can see tears start to well in his eyes. He looks scared.
Mike hesitates before gingerly sliding his hand onto Will’s back. He rubs it up and down, trying to be soothing, but really, he also just can’t help himself from touching him. Why?
“Mike, it was terrible. I saw them—everyone—and they looked so scared. The kids. Our friends.” His lip quivers. “I know I was fighting them, the demogorgons, but I also was them. I was the monster.” He pauses for a moment, and Mike doesn’t say anything to fill the silence. He just looks at him, leaning in slightly, silently urging him to keep going. “I can’t get their faces out of my mind.” A tear slips silently from the corner of his eye. His shoulders shake, hands quiver. “I had dreams when I was asleep. Nightmares. I saw their faces, but this time I wasn’t saving them. I wasn’t fighting the demogorgons, I was them.”
Mike’s heart aches for him. He wants to hold him, tell him it’s going to be ok, and never let go. He’d be safe, as long as he’s with him.
“Will, it was fake. It was all fake, you saved our lives. You killed those demogorgons!”
“I couldn’t save the kids.”
“We’re looking for them, Will. We’ll find them and save the day, like we always do.” He attempts a meager smile. “And now we have a sorcerer on our side!” Will chuckles humorlessly and collapses onto Mike. His head is on his shoulder, and so he takes the sleeve of his shirt and wipes the wet spots on his cheeks.
He lets his hand linger there, feeling the warmth of Will’s skin radiating through the thin fabric separating them. It feels so good to know he’s safe.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t save them. I tried, I tried so hard.”
“I know, Will. It’s ok, it wasn’t your fault. Vecna was too powerful, nothing we could’ve done would have been able to stop him. You saved our lives.”
He sees Will nod reluctantly. He shifts and stands from the couch, running his hands through his tousled hair. He hesitates before he talks again. Mike knows him well enough to know he wants this conversation to be over, to be far away from any thoughts about what happened that night.
“Um, I’m going to go shower, finally. I must look disgusting.” He doesn’t though, not to Mike. He looks like a hero. “I’ll meet you in our room after.”
They have three makeshift rooms set up, one for Steve and Jonathan, one for Nancy and Robin, and one for the two of them. Most of the time, Robin and Jonathan switch rooms so he and Nancy can be together, but Mike also has his suspicions about Robin and Steve wanting to be together (even though they insist they’re just friends).
His and Will’s room is the smallest, with two twin mattresses shoved against opposite walls. It’s basically a closet, so their mattresses are only actually about two inches apart
Mike isn’t tired, probably because he slept most of the day, so he pulls out the comic book he was reading earlier. He settles onto his mattress, leaning his head against the wall so he can hear the rain pattering against the other side of it. It matches the sound of the water running in the bathroom down the hall, where Will is.
He’s so glad he’s awake.
He hears the shower putter to a stop, and can hear the floor creak as Will steps out of it. He can picture his hair, dripping wet like it was that night, except this time they’re safe, and Will’s expression is calm. Behind Mike’s eyelids, he can see droplets of water running from his hair down the nape of his neck and to his shoulders, which have become noticeably broader recently. He’s stronger now than he was. The water runs down his arms, tracing the new muscle of his biceps, down his forearms to his wrists. It slithers between his fingers, where Mike’s hands held his earlier. He can feel where his skin touched mine.
The doorknob turns, making him snap his eyelids open. Fumbling, he fixes his eyes back onto his forgotten comic book, which he had let fall closed.
“Hey.”
“Hi.” He peeks at him from above his book. His hair looks almost black when it’s wet, glistening in the light from the small bulb that hangs from the ceiling. He’s in new clothes now, an old sweatshirt and checkered pajama pants. It’s one of Mike’s old sweatshirts.
Will sits on his mattress across from him. He starts to say something, but gets cut off by the lights flickering. Thunder claps and the lights blink out. Lightning strikes, and in the flash of light Mike can see the terror that has taken over his face.
On instinct, he drops his book, immediately moving to crawl over to Will’s mattress. His eyes flicker back and forth, scanning every corner of the room.
“It’s just from the storm.” Mike is trying to convince himself just as much as Will.
They both pause, sitting in silence, waiting.
Nothing happens. No walls open up, they can’t hear the roaring sounds of any demogorgons, Will’s eyes are still shining green instead of white.
Mike lets out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. It’s just the storm.
He can’t help it—he laughs, relief flooding his body. Soon, Will joins in too. They can’t stop, both soon rolling around, gasping for breaths as they giggle. Their knees and elbows bump as they roll, in desperate attempts to regain their composure. Their legs get tangled together and his damp waves brush against Mike’s face. It’s all things he shouldn't notice.
They finally stop, both laying on their backs, hands on stomachs, breathing heavily as they try to recover. It’s harder than either of them have laughed in a while.
Mike can’t even remember what they were laughing at. His head is fuzzy and his heart is fluttering in his chest, and for the first time in a long time, he can feel his muscles completely relax.
They both turn their heads to look at one another, watching as they pant.
“Mike–” It barely comes out as a whisper.
“What is it?”
In the faint light, he can see Will drag his bottom lip between his teeth, chewing thoughtfully, hesitantly. “Can you sleep with me tonight?” He sounds nervous.
Mike pauses, but he already knows he would do anything Will ever asked him to. “My bed is only a few inches away.”
“I know, I’m sorry, it was a stupid idea.” Will stumbles over his words, pushing himself up to sit against the wall, diverting his gaze away from Mike.
“No, stop apologizing, it’s not stupid.”
“I’m just scared. I think—maybe—just knowing someone is there, right there, where I can feel, maybe I won’t feel so scared. I won’t feel alone.”
“Ok.” He tells him, barely above a whisper. Will looks back at him, thankfulness creasing his eyes. Mike grabs his pillow and blankets, and brings them over to Will’s mattress. It’s a tight fit, so he drags his over to connect their beds.
They both settle in, each laying wrapped in their own separate blankets, but their legs pushing together through them.
“Two days of sleep wasn’t enough?” Mike jokes, nudging him with his knee.
"I feel like I’ve been up for days, to be honest.”
The nightmares. Memories of his own nightmares crowd Mike’s head. The terror that sweeps through his entire body, his mind numbing him to everything in the real world, tethering him to the terrible dream-world his own head created.
He presses his body to be just slightly closer to Will’s, flushing his arm and thigh against him. Enough of a firm presence to tell Will he’s there. As long as Mike’s there, he’ll be safe.
Will drifts off to sleep not long after that. Mike stays up, staring at him, afraid if he stops looking he’ll be gone again.
He watches as his chest rises and falls through the sweatshirt that he’s worn dozens of times. It’s nice now, to see him wear it. Another thing that’s shared between them. Mike traces his finger across his arm, from his shoulder down to his wrist then back up again. He does this until he eventually drifts off to sleep.
—
When he wakes up it’s still dark outside. Birds chirp somewhere outside the walls, leaves rustle on trees. Groggily, he tries to make sense of his surroundings.
He flinches when he realizes his arms and legs are thrown over Will, blanket kicked to the side. His head is nuzzled against his shoulder, and his hands are holding onto his arms. Almost every part of him is pushed flush to Will.
Mike lifts his head slightly, just to make sure Will’s asleep, and lets out a sigh of relief when he sees his eyes closed, chest rising and falling at a steady rhythm.
He should move away, any normal person would. He didn’t mean to get them into this close position, it all happened when he was asleep. Still, he stays. Just for a minute. Long enough to take a deep breath and smell the familiar scent of shampoo, and underneath it, Will. It feels calm to be with him like this…it feels right. He lets himself look at him, the back of his head, his shoulders, the side of his face. His hair is different now, it’s not the same bowl cut he fashioned for years. Everything about him just feels different.
It’s scary, almost, seeing him grow up like this; to change into someone distant from the nervous little boy he became friends with on that first day of kindergarten. It’s a good different, though.
Everything about them just feels…different.
Mike retreats, reluctantly, to the other side of the mattress. He wraps himself in his own blanket, still facing Will, and tries to fall back asleep.