Chapter Text
Will was on the bed, slouched over his knees, staring at the photo of El he had in his hands. It was after the last time the party visited the arcade together. Everyone was so happy— it’s the only time Will could remember being so care-free aside from when he was a kid, before anything supernatural had disrupted their lives.
Mike was to his right with the goofiest grin on his face. El was smiling to his left. Lucas had slung his arm over Mike’s shoulder and his other one was slinked around Max’s waist drawing her in closer to him.
Dustin was on his tiptoes behind El and Will, right next to Steve who obviously wasn’t ready for the photo. He was glaring at Robin, right after she’d made another joke about how big his hair was that night, even more so than usual. He was trying to impress Nancy yet again and failing miserably at it. Robin was mid laugh, her head falling back in the way that it does when she can't catch her breath.
Jonathan had insisted they all take one last photo together just in case the world as they knew it ended. In typical Hawkins style, he’d said. He and Nancy were leaning in closer to each other with a slight blush on their cheeks.
Nobody knew what was around the corner, only that they had each other, and at the time that was enough. For one night, they waved away any invading thoughts about the mind flayer, Vecna, or what he had in store for them. They just focused on the hot summer air and the cicadas buzzing in the trees and overgrown grass surrounding Hopper’s cabin, where he, Joyce, and El were staying while the military was searching for her at the time.
Just the thought of the military sent shivers down Will’s spine. They offered everyone involved with the deaths of numerous military personnel immunity in exchange for their silence. It was less of an offer and more of a threat. Agree or die, pretty much.
He blamed the military. At first, Will was angry. So angry. Filled with this burning hatred and lashing out in a way that was so unlike him it was scary.
What replaced that feeling, after a while, was sadness. So intense it felt like weights tied to his ankles dragging him deeper into the heaviness of grief stricken waters. Then came the emptiness, when he finally settled on the bottom.
Will felt tears sting his eyes. He’d been so naive. To think they could’ve all gotten their happy ending, all lived long enough to be old and wrinkly together.
His dream was crushed, shattered into a million tiny pieces along with what was left of the gates to the upside down. He didn’t like the price of freedom.
But they weren’t kids anymore. What did he think? That they were going to sit in Mike’s basement all day and play games for the rest of their lives?
He couldn’t help it that his eyes drifted to Mike’s face again, slightly blurry in the image. The smile he held, his long black hair half dangling in his eyes, and his gorgeous curls tickling Will’s neck.
He thought he’d gotten over it by now. He thought he’d pushed it away, this Tammy Thompson crush of his. He was so convinced. Maybe that’s just what he told himself in the weeks that followed their radio tower conversation.
But the longer time passed, the longer it lingered. The wanting. Will's mind wandering to these signals Robin had mentioned.
He almost wished she'd never told him at all.
His longing had made its own house by now: built inside of Will Byer’s ribcage, walls molded around his heart, beating incessantly with each breath he took. Every memory of the times Mike brushed his knee. Bumped his elbow. Shared a look.
Will’s lips were permanently curled around the shape of Mike’s name. It was always on the tip of his tongue, daring to be spoken, aching like a bruise you just can’t stop poking at.
After they defeated Vecna, Will tried to make peace with the fact Mike would never love him the same way he loved Mike.
Will had this idea of moving to the city, finding love with someone in a place he could be his true self, somewhere he wouldn’t think of Mike’s beautiful eyes and long lashes and oh god, that sickeningly beautiful laugh of his.
It was short lived however. Mike’s behavior towards him lately was, well— strange, to say the least. Will tried to remind himself every time Mike touched him that it meant nothing. Nothing at all.
He was always holding onto him, hands around his waist, head laying on Will’s shoulder. It was as if he thought Will would disappear the second he let go. He knew it was because Mike had lost his girlfriend and best friend all in one day after El had…
After El…
He rubbed the side of the picture, lightly grazing El’s face. He was having trouble remembering her laugh, how it sounded, the way it chimed in Will’s ears and infected him with the same kind of painful, contagious laughter he’d always associated her with. Four months without her felt like a lifetime, in some odd way.
The grief hit him at such strange times over the smallest of things, that he could hardly predict when and where he’d get flashbacks or have a breakdown from the pains of losing her.
His bottom lip was trembling now, breath coming out in shaky, uneven sobs.
His sister had left as quickly as she had appeared.
Mike and Will shared their grief— along with the rest of the group, but theirs was scarier, rawer, scarred into every memory and thought.
Everyone still grieved, they had to. But for Will, his grief felt less like the loss of a loved one and more like a nightmare from the upside down. The doom that came with feeling like he was stuck there, like he never truly came home.
It replayed in his nightmares on a loop, the kind of nightmares the rest of the group didn’t have. Not ones of El vanishing, visions of her disintegrating into particles, or crying out for help.
Those nightmares were dark. Traumatizing. But there were the ones Will could not talk about. Ones that left him paralyzed in the night, weak in the knees, gasping for air, and any sign of reality.
Nightmares that had him clinging to anything tangible he could reach out and touch, just to anchor himself, just to say I’m here. I’m here and I’m okay. It’s not happening. I’m real.
Will couldn’t speak it out into the world. He didn’t know if he ever could— that the worst ones were of Mike.
Vecna hurting him, killing him, turning him against Will. Pools of blood, a missing arm, stolen eyes and Mike bleeding from his sockets. He was shaking at just the memory of it.
Mike became aware of Will’s nightmares during the 18 months they lived together after the Byers moved back from Lenora.
Will had felt safer being under the same roof as Mike and that acknowledgement alone was enough for him to feel slightly embarrassed and ashamed because of how unfortunate their circumstances really were. They didn’t have anywhere to go. It wasn’t like a continuous sleepover, it was desperation.
The horrors he relived felt so real. During those 18 months, if Mike wasn’t there when he woke up, he’d collect himself enough to will his body out of bed and into the hallway; he’d follow the railing to the edge of the darkness and knock on Mike’s door. He always opened it.
Mike would rub his back, hold him, and stay with him until he fell asleep. Still, it was something Will hoped no one in the group went through, ever. But as hard as he hoped it would never happen, it was now happening to Mike.
It started three weeks ago. Mike had been waking up screaming, drenched in sweat, eyes big and black, wet with remnants of the atrocities they survived.
He’d walkie Will in the early hours of the morning, voice cracking, trying to hold himself together and failing. With every minute Will talked, he was stringing back together the fragile pieces of Michael Wheeler, though he didn’t take much pride in that fact.
Rather, each time Will comforted him, it reinforced the longing inside him that ached without warning or mercy. One that begged to be fed and the guilt ate him alive.
Will pushed his feelings for Mike down and tried to satiate it with scraps of his affection, affection Will knew wasn’t meant for him, but had nowhere else to go now. El was gone.
Mike would’ve gone to El for his nightmares, would have called her late at night, done everything he was doing with Will right now with El instead if she were still here.
Will had to remind himself of it daily. He replanted the guilt he felt, the way he imagined he’d be betraying his sister through every secretive declaration of love Will made in his everyday decisions.
But Mike’s nightmares were getting worse.
The party had been seeing counselors at the request of their parents, though they obviously couldn’t speak on the unbelievable events they’d witnessed. The doctors didn’t understand it and the counselors' mental exercises barely changed a thing.
Will had been through it all before and he still didn’t have an answer. His nightmares would come and go, increase and decrease in severity without rhyme or reason. He was sure if they could just tell the counselors what had happened, even just speaking the secret aloud would ease the anxiety they carried.
After all, how much could someone help if they didn’t know what they were helping with?
But spilling that there was and still may be alternate dimensions wasn’t something you just brought up during a counseling session. Not unless you wanted to be thrown into the Pennhurst Asylum.
Karen had called Joyce last night, begging for any advice she could get, mother to mother. They’d talked for so long Will got nervous and radioed Mike. He was quieter than he normally was, which as of late, was pretty quiet anyways.
“I haven’t been sleeping… like at all. She was worried and— I don’t know. She didn’t know what to do I guess. She asked me what I needed and I just— I just said your name. Is that… okay?”
Will didn’t quite understand what he was talking about yet, but he nodded along with what Mike said as if they could see each other. Mike needing him… the whole sentence felt unbelievable, but filled him with such happiness he felt silly.
It didn’t take long for Will to figure out what exactly he meant.
Joyce had cracked open his bedroom door and poked her head in, half expecting Will to be asleep after her long phone call with Karen Wheeler.
It must have been later than two in the morning when she sat down on the edge of his bed, lips pursed, the pathways of dried tears still waiting to be wiped from her cheeks.
“Mike’s not doing so good, sweetie. And I know just how much you care about him. So, I just wanted to say that Karen asked if you could— only if you wanted to, of course, stay over there for a little while. Just temporarily until his nightmares get better. You might know what to do better than anyone.”
Saying no never even occurred to Will.
So now he was here, all moved in to the Wheeler’s guest bedroom almost two years after he’d first moved in with them when Hawkins had split down the center.
His art supplies were sprawled on top of the desk, his music and books all stacked on the small bookshelf, and a drawer of his flannels and pants organized neatly in the corner with the rest of his clothes.
He opened a random comic book to his favorite number, seven, and slipped the crinkled party photo in between its pages before wiping away his tears.
He didn’t have much stuff, just a few boxes of necessities. His stay was just temporary, of course.
Mike was trying to sleep in his room down the hall when Will arrived a few hours ago. Karen said he was awake late into the morning and her worry was apparent in the sleepless bags sunken under her eyes when she opened the front door.
She reminded Will of his mom when he first started getting the bad nightmares. At first his screams were silent. Nobody needed to know, so he didn’t tell anyone.
Then all of the sudden, they became undeniable. The whole house could hear his voice.
Sometimes he wished they’d stayed silent, even if he had to deal with them alone, because at least that way he wouldn’t have to feel so ashamed.
Pretty soon Will hears a soft knock on his door.
“Can I come in?” Mike’s muffled voice echoes.
Will mumbles in agreement and quickly rubs away the last of the tears saturating his eyes.
It doesn't seem to work, because immediately when Mike lays eyes on him, he's stumbling to his side.
“Will, what’s wrong? Are you okay? Are you hurt? What happened?”
Will laughs half-heartedly. “It’s nothing, Mike.”
”Will, hey,” Mike holds Will’s shoulder and pulls him into a hug. “Is this because you didn’t want to come? I’d understand—”
”It’s not that. Seriously, I wouldn’t have said no in a million years.”
Mike breaks out in a smile. “Really?”
Will nods. “Really.”
Studying Mike’s face in the sunlight pouring through the window makes Will realize just how tired he looks. Will had been busy picking up odd end jobs here and there to save money. Mowing lawns, trimming bushes, watering gardens, carrying heavy stuff for neighbors.
He hasn't spent nearly enough time with Mike in the last month and seeing how miserable his best friend looks rips a hole in his heart.
”What is it?” Mike asks. Will swallows the lump building in his throat.
”I’m just sorry. I wish you weren’t going through this right now. I’m not really much help—“
”That’s not true, I asked for you. You’re…”
“I’m what?” Will asks.
Mike releases Will from his arms and pauses. His brown eyes look like that of a puppy's.
"...You're the only one who makes me feel normal."
Will's breath hitches in his throat. "What do you mean?" His voice wavers.
He needs Mike to clear up the misunderstanding, to shut down the feelings bubbling up under Will's skin.
”You know I have nightmares of El, and those are…” Mike shakes his head.
“But lately I’ve been getting a different one. All the time, whenever I sleep. And sometimes I remember them exactly as they were, but other times I wake up and I don’t remember anything. Just that I’m always looking for you.”
A shiver runs down Will's spine. Always looking for him?
He could hear his heartbeat in his ears.
Mike's eyes shift to the floor. The walls, the window, everywhere but Will.
Before he can say anything, Mike continues.
“Ever since we lost El, I’ve felt so… out of it, I guess? And when I’m with Max, Lucas, and Dustin, yeah, it helps. It helps a lot. But the only times I feel like I’m me again are when I’m with you. Does that… does that make any sense?”
His eyes finally come back to meet Will’s, shining in a way that can only mean they’re wet with tears.
Will doesn’t realize the gravity of his words until they’re rushing out of him.
“It does. It really does, Mike,” Will exhales a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I've felt like that ever since I went missing.”
”Yeah?”
Will nods.
”I just… I just want you to know I don’t take you for granted. You’re my best friend, you’re family, you’re everything to me, you’re—“
Mike cuts himself off with a sharp intake of air. He turns away, closes his eyes, and covers his mouth with his hand.
”You’re my best friend too, Mike.” The words only are a dull ache now after how many times he’s repeated them. “I’m right here, okay?”
And he is, he means it with every atom that he’s made of. He thinks of El, of her smile, how much she loved Mike. How much she loved him too, and how he wishes he could have given her half of what she’d given him.
Hope.
Mike lets out a shaky breath and reaches for Will. He wraps his trembling arms around him, and leans to tuck his chin into the crook of Will’s neck. Mike’s nose is cold on his skin.
”Can we just stay like this for a little longer?” Mike’s voice wavers.
Will runs his hand through black curly hair, brushes it behind Mike’s ear, and nods.
”Yeah,” Will says. “Always.”
Mike holds him tighter. Like letting go means death, like it means his everything is gone and gone forever. He holds onto Will like he’s the very air he breathes and doesn’t let go until he’s sure he can breath again.