Chapter Text
Despite the fact that it was June, Hawkins was still cold.
Will stood on his pedals as he biked up Cherry Lane, a road he’d known better than the back of his hand before the Upside-Down had split rifts through Hawkins. The rifts themselves had calmed down since March, when Nancy had blasted Vecna out a three-story window, but ‘calm down’ was a relative term for portals to another dimension. They weren’t actively spreading or billowing toxic smoke — at least, not yet. For now, their effect was largely limited to the damage done in March: splitting open roads, felling trees, collapsing houses, and, of course, the nightly threat of something crawling out.
Two-thirds of Hawkins’ population had cleared out within days. Those who stayed either chose to, or didn’t have a choice in the first place. Max’s mom was living in a motel that had been turned into a shelter, along with many others who didn’t have the money to leave. They all tried to keep some semblance of normalcy, even as Dr. Owens and the military descended upon the town. Hopper had retaken his old job as chief of police. Kids still went to school. Ted Wheeler had lost his job to the earthquake, and so Karen now worked as a hairdresser on the days when the air quality wasn’t too bad.
Will’s heart tightened in his chest, and he stole a glance at the tall, lanky, black-haired boy riding about ten feet in front of him. Mike remained oblivious, leaning to the side as they turned onto Dearborn, and Will stole the opportunity. Like him, Mike was dressed for the weather: jacket, long pants, scarf over his nose and mouth, and gloves; but unlike Will, Mike had a sword strapped to his waist. He’d first picked up the weapon shortly after they’d gotten back to Hawkins, when Murray had declared Hopper’s cabin as base of operations and insisted the kids learn how to fight. Mike’s mom had absolutely freaked out, and it had taken Hopper and Joyce almost two full hours to get her to calm down and let Mike train. Lucas’s parents and Dustin’s mom had reacted similarly, but once Karen relented, they soon did the same, and Murray had gotten back from Illinois with a truck bed full of weapons. Among them had been pistols, rifles, boxes full of knives, a few guns Will was pretty sure were illegal, a crossbow Lucas had claimed immediately, and an honest-to-God sword . It had laid at the bottom of the truck bed, sheathed and worn-looking, but Mike’s eyes had lit up the second he’d seen it.
Woah, he’d breathed, reaching past the assortment of guns to close his fingers around the hilt. A awestruck smile had traced across his face as he pulled it out, like King Arthur pulling the sword from the stone, and Murray had glanced up immediately.
You’ve used one before? Murray had asked, eyeing the way Mike held the weapon.
Mike had hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. Yeah.
Murray and Hopper had started training him almost immediately. Mike would beg Will and their friends not to watch his training sessions, insisting that it was horribly embarrassing, but they did anyway. Will had lingered on the porch of Hopper’s cabin one April morning, watching Hopper and Murray shout Mike through his paces in the center of the camp they’d constructed. Mike had stumbled from the trailer to the tents and back again, shifting through feints, jabs, and lunges, trying to get through Hopper’s guard as Murray barked commands from his lawn chair.
Will had been spellbound.
Mike tied up his hair when he practiced, or when he knew he was going to fight, and every time without fail, it sent Will’s brain into a skittering mess. Seeing Mike run through his forms at base camp, dressed in jeans and a loose tank top that left his taut, wiry arms free to move as he swung his blade, stopping occasionally to yell back at Murray, his cheeks flushed, his messy dark hair swaying behind him —
Will had forced himself to avert his eyes. His cheeks had burned, and he’d almost ran the whole way to the shooting range, cursing himself and stupid Mike Wheeler and whoever had convinced him to grow out his hair.
Mike looked good with long hair. Will had decided that the moment he’d seen him wearing that atrocious outfit in California: His clothes are awful, but fuck me, he’s grown his hair out. Mike would later confirm Will’s suspicions that Max had advised him to wear those tacky clothes, and Will had sworn to himself that when Max woke up, he’d sneak her as many snacks through hospital security as possible. He pretty much owed Max his life now, because if it hadn’t been for that goddamn outfit, he would’ve folded like a deck chair.
Now, Mike was wearing a fleece-lined bomber jacket over a flannel and a Ramones t-shirt, and Will was screwed.
Will averted his eyes from his friend again, his cheeks burning against the air that should’ve been warm. Ever since the elementary school had opened back up (the high school still largely being used for relief effort and army coordination), Mike had biked with Holly there and back every day, even after he started living at base camp with Nancy and the rest of them. In the beginning, Nancy had biked with Mike, honoring the ‘buddy system’ she and Hopper always insisted upon. But, as the military had come in, and Vecna started stirring again, Nancy had gotten wrapped up in detective work, and Mike could no longer rely on her every morning and afternoon.
That was when he’d asked Will to go with him instead.
I mean — if you don’t mind, he’d said, his dark eyes flicking down to the dirt. Will had been trying to teach the other members of the Party how to shoot, but was now completely and utterly distracted. Mike had rubbed his elbows, chewing on his lip. Holly said she misses you.
They went over together the next morning. The first week or so, it had been awkward, but as they got on their bikes and took the same route they had as kids, despite everything, they seemed to slip back into that instinctual rhythm. By week two, they were trading subtle remarks as they passed one another, by week three, they were teasing each other, and by week four, they were laughing and yelling to keep up conversations as they tried to race. They’d behaved themselves when Holly biked with them — at least, until she’d started to remind Will of himself. The look in her eyes, the quiet horror as she stared at the ash falling from the sky, the silence that followed her like a ghost —
We should teach her how to play D&D, Mike had suggested one day, out of the blue.
Will had almost ran his bike into the curb. Wh-what?
Y’know, he’d continued, oblivious to the way he’d flipped Will’s mood with just a few words. To help her with . . . all this. I dunno. Mike’s eyes had skimmed the pavement as it whizzed below them, then flicked over towards Will.
And if there was one thing Will could always do, it was read Mike’s emotions like the Bible.
Do you think it would help?
Will had practically stumbled over himself to blurt yeah, yeah, definitely, and just like that, the gap between the two of them had shortened. Will had felt like his chest was bubbling over with a fizzing, stupid kind of joy, only it wasn’t all that stupid, because that afternoon, they stayed at the Wheelers’ house until curfew, teaching a gradually more eager Holly how to play their favorite game.
After that, the three of them were unabashed nerds around each other. Will found himself looking forward not just to playing D&D with Mike again, but with Holly as well, to steal back a few precious hours as the three of them ventured into fantastical lands that felt infinitely more comfortable than the one they were living in. Mike DM’ed, and as he crafted campaigns for Holly, the distant air around him that had lingered since California seemed to thaw. There was still a gap between the two of them, left by months of no contact and ways they’d hurt each other and things Will couldn’t ever bring himself to say, but day by day, he hoped that gap was closing.
Because day by day, that nerdy, passionate, fast-talking Mike Wheeler he’d fallen in love with years ago had begun to emerge again.
Now, as they turned up towards Maple, the music from Mike’s boombox seemed to increase in volume. Will and Jonathan had spent their first few days back in Hawkins making mixtapes for everyone on the floor of Hopper’s cabin, and now no one went anywhere without their tape and a walkman. Dustin had rigged a boombox to the back of Mike’s bicycle so they could listen to music as they escorted Holly back and forth from school, just in case Vecna tried to attack one of them.
However, as the song moved into the chorus, Will began to offhandedly wonder if Vecna had managed to get him anyway.
And I’m not the kind that likes to tell you
Just what I want to do
I’m not the kind that needs to tell you
Just what you want me to
They were playing Will’s mixtape, currently at New Order’s Age of Consent. It was his own fault that the tape was full of mopey songs, but this one in particular, playing right now, felt like some kind of cruel joke. The song was exactly how these bike rides with Mike felt: an upbeat rhythm with faintly sad lyrics. Fleeting joy, like a good memory, but also lingering sorrow that Will desperately wanted to ignore. He was able to tune it out most days.
Not today.
I saw you this morning and thought you might like to know
I received your message in full a few days ago
Mike stole a glance over his shoulder. When he saw Will was still there, his eyes brightened, and a hint of relief flashed over his face.
I understood every word that it said
And now that I’ve actually heard it
You’re going to regret . . . .
The song continued, but Will and Mike glided to the side of the road and came to a stop in the Wheelers’ driveway. The Wheeler house hadn’t been hit hard by the earthquake, but there were still signs of damage — cracked wood, askew shingles, a slight list — that lined up with almost every other house in the neighborhood. Mike and Will left their bikes in the driveway, as always, and didn’t bother to hit PAUSE on the boombox before shuffling up to the Wheeler’s doorstep and knocking.
“You’re slow today,” Mike pointed out, squinting at Will. A slight teasing smile tugged at his mouth. “What’s up with that?”
“Didn’t sleep much,” he fibbed, and thank God, Mike seemed to buy it.
“Ugh, me neither,” Mike groaned, tipping his head. “Murray made me spar with Hopper last night — like, really spar, and I swear, dude, he’s gonna put my ass in the ground one of these days.”
Will snorted, leaning against the wall. He’d missed this — the way Mike would ramble around him, as naturally as breathing. “He has been nicer since El dumped you, though. You’ve gotta admit that.”
“Ugh, yeah, but like —” Mike rubbed his eyes. “He’s gone from actively wanting to kill me to, ‘if I stab Mike, well then, whoopsy-daisy!' Y’know?”
Will couldn’t help but grin. Everyone had seen the way Hopper trained Mike, meticulously and relentlessly. Will knew it came from a place of wanting to keep them all alive, but he also couldn’t discount the sheer animosity that used to radiate off of Hopper whenever he was within fifteen feet of Mike. The breakup had successfully reduced that fifteen-foot radius to five, but it was still very much there. “Yeah, I know.”
The door swung open, and Mrs. Wheeler appeared, looking more frazzled than normal. Will glanced out on the street, instinctively checking for any possible threats. They hadn’t run into any demodogs here in a bit, but activity all over town had been ramping up in the past few weeks.
“Hey, Mom,” Mike yawned. “Is Holly ready?”
“She —” Mrs. Wheeler’s breath came in gasping bursts. Will glanced back, and saw that her eyes were pink and blotchy with tears. “Mike, I went to wake her up, and she —”
Will’s heart plummeted into his stomach.
“She’s g- gone. ”
No.
Any hint of exhaustion in them vanished immediately. Mike bolted past his mother, his voice pitching as he ran into the house, yelling, “ Holly? ” Will was right behind him, his skin going cold with terror.
Any other day, Holly would've heard them and come bouncing down the stairs, sometimes yawning, other times bright-eyed at the sight of them. Karen would make sure she had everything while she started talking to Will and Mike about her friends or school, but mostly D&D. She would pester them to know when they could meet next for a session, bouncing on the tips of her toes with a kind of lightness Will hadn’t seen in her since before he’d left for California.
Now, the house was dead silent.
Will waited, his heart pounding in his throat, but there was no pitter-patter of feet on the stairs, no yawn of five more minutes! or cheer of hiii!, no sight of Holly’s round, bright face.
No. No. Will’s heartbeat sped up. No, not again, not Holly, please, God, not Holly —
Mike’s shoulder brushed against his.
Will looked up. His friend’s face was even paler than usual, his eyes wide with horror, and that shocked him back to reality. Mike’s little sister had just gone missing. He had to focus.
That, and . . . having Mike there always made Will feel more grounded.
“Let’s check her room,” Will decided, his voice still a bit raw. He glanced over his shoulder at Mrs. Wheeler. “Was that the last place you saw her?”
Karen nodded, tears welling in her eyes as she pressed a fist to her mouth. “You — you don’t think —”
Will tried to make his voice as gentle as possible, even though he knew it would have no effect. “We need to rule it out.”
Next to him, Mike drew in a sharp, strangled breath. Will glanced over at him. Mike wasn’t just pale, his eyes had gone unfocused.
“Hey.” Will reached out and brushed his wrist. “Mike.”
That shocked him back to reality. Mike blinked, managing to stem the torrent of panic for a moment to choke out, “Yeah, good idea —” and they were bolting up the stairs together. Mike ran down the hall, past his own bedroom, and threw open the door to Holly’s room.
It was like any other kid’s bedroom: brightly colored, floor littered with toys, bed piled with stuffed animals, except for the fact that there was no kid to be seen. It looked like she’d just left. Her character sheet was laid carefully on her desk next to the set of dice Mike had lent her, and the blankets and stuffed animals on her bed were tossed askew, like she’d just woken up.
“Oh my God,” Mike whispered, knotting his fingers in his hair. His breathing began to quicken. “M-maybe she left early?”
It was highly unlikely, but at this point, Will was similarly looking for any possible alternative. The two of them thundered down the stairs past Mrs. Wheeler and out back onto the driveway, where — clear as day — Holly’s bike remained leaning against the garage door.
“Fuck.” Mike’s voice pitched, his features contorting with panic as he unslung his backpack. “I — I have to call Nancy, I have to —”
“Yeah,” Will whispered back. His mouth was dry. “Call Nancy. Call Nancy, I’ll just . . . .”
He stumbled over to the sidewalk, and the situation hit his shoulders like a sack of bricks.
Holly.
There was no doubt in Will’s mind as to what had happened, and the horror of it seized him by the throat and shredded his nerves to atoms. He knew damn well how people could vanish into thin air, their surroundings only slightly disturbed, looking as though they might come back at any moment.
It had happened to him.
Will stumbled over to the nearest lamppost, leaning against it as he tried to suck in more oxygen. No, his horrified mind whispered, locked in a loop of words. Not Holly, please God, not Holly, don’t make her go through this, don’t let her feel what I did —
Vecna. That fucking creep had his hands on her now. Will knew it in his bones, in the prickle on the back of his neck. He dug his fingers into the lamppost, his stomach churning, but he worked up the guts and whispered, “Vecna.”
The name landed on flat air. Nothing happened.
Will’s eyes burned. He clung to the telephone pole, his fingers digging against the metal in frustration. Holly was in danger. Holly was in danger, and he had to do something. These past few years — the fear, the trauma, the nightmares, the dread —
He couldn’t let that happen to someone else.
Will took a shaky breath and reached into the back of his mind, that little dark corner he spent most of his life trying to ignore. That dark corner held everything that had happened that week in the Upside-Down, and it was where the Mind Flayer had latched onto afterwards. After he'd gotten exorcised, its pull had shrunk somewhat, but that little corner was still the shadow that flickered in every corner, the curtain of darkness over potential danger, the chill on the back of Will’s neck.
As he let the coldness of it sweep over him, he reached up, and tugged down his jacket collar.
“Henry,” he whispered. His voice was barely more than a breath, but the name brought a chill in the air that brushed against the back of his neck. “I know you're watching me. I know you're listening.” Will tried to swallow down the lump squeezing his throat. His stomach tingled, like he was about to step off a ledge, but he grit his teeth and said, “I want to talk.”
For a moment, all he could hear was a cold breeze as it rustled through the trees. No birds sang, no animals moved, no cars rolled down the street. There was just the wind, and the cold.
Then, Will looked up, and saw him.
He might’ve once been a man, but had since been overcome with mold like a month-old meatloaf in the back of the fridge. His skin was gray and warped. Tentacles wrapped around him until they blended with his skin and muscles, coming out from him.
“William.” Vecna’s face twisted in a smile. His voice was deep and grating, like a mountain during an earthquake, and it was the voice Will heard in his nightmares. “I was wondering when I’d get to speak with you.”
Will sucked in a trembling breath, fighting the urge to run. Nancy and El had described Vecna to him, but — God. This guy was ugly. Shadows seemed to bend towards him as he stepped out from under the tree in the Wheelers’ front yard, like they were trying to do everyone a favor and hide him from the world. This guy — he was the reason for everything. The Mind Flayer, Bob’s death, Max’s coma, Will’s kidnapping, the dread that had chased him for years — it had all been because of this ugly son of a bitch. And now he wanted Holly, too.
Anger swelled in Will’s chest, and so he used that to push forward. “Where is she? ”
“Holly?” Vecna made a humming sound, that sick smile contorting his ruined face. “Where do you think she is, William? Where did you go?”
Will’s throat tightened, and he suppressed the urge to glance over his shoulder. Where had he gone, upon entering a dark, cold world?
Home.
Holly was probably still in her room, hiding in the closet or under her bed, crying softly to herself as monsters prowled outside.
“You’re going to leave her alone,” Will said, his voice low and trembling. Fear pumped through his veins, but at least for the moment, the anger burning in his chest was stronger. “We’re gonna come in, we’re going to rescue her, and you’re never going to touch her again.”
“Why?” Vecna tilted his head, veins and tentacles pulsing. Those pale, milky eyes narrowed onto him, boring into his soul, bringing back half-buried memories of vines and teeth and choking cold. “Why should I let her go?”
Will tried to swallow down the last of his fear, but his throat felt like sandpaper. He could not let this happen to Holly, to anyone , ever again. No kid should have to wake up in a dark, twisted mockery of their own home, stumble through the cold as nightmares chased them, choke back sobs in a desperate bid to stay quiet as monsters prowled just a few feet away.
Will wasn’t a kid anymore. He knew what waited. He knew what death looked like. He had a choice, and making it was hardly even a question.
“Take me.”
Those milky eyes fixed on him, and a warped brow lifted, as if asking Will to repeat himself.
Even though the cold seeped into him, like he was drifting backwards into a freezer, Will lifted his chin.
“Take me,” he said again, his voice still shaky, but he held Vecna’s gaze. “Take me instead of Holly. I’ll come to you. I won’t fight. Just —” Will’s breath hitched, and his eyes burned. “Just finish it already.”
Vecna was silent for a long, agonizing moment, but then, a smile curled across his twisted face.
“Deal.”
“WILL!”
Will’s eyes flew open. He was standing in the street, next to the lamppost, his feet on solid ground, and the only thing keeping him from falling over as his knees buckled was a pair of firm, bony hands.
Hands whose imprints he’d know in his sleep.
Mike filled his vision, large dark eyes and a pale face framed by messy black hair that swept around his cheekbones as it tumbled down to his shoulders. His features had gone completely bloodless, paler than usual, contorted in an expression of sheer panic.
“Oh my God, Will.” Relief crashed briefly over Mike’s face, and his voice shook slightly. He didn’t let go of Will’s shoulders, if anything, he held on tighter in a way that made Will’s heart skip a beat. His lips parted, quivering as his eyes shone, and words tumbled out of his mouth in a breathless rush. “What happened? What was that? Are you okay? Was it —”
“Mike,” Will croaked, and he realized he was close to tears. His heart was in his throat, making it hard to breathe, and his head spun from it all. Feebly, instinctively, he reached out for Mike, one of his hands curling around the other boy’s wrist. His fingers closed around the fabric of Mike’s jacket, but Will still felt like he could feel Mike’s pulse beneath it, racing, alive.
Something Will wouldn’t be for much longer.
His knees buckled again, more violently this time, but Mike caught him, gently lowering them both to the ground. He still didn’t let go of Will, those huge brown eyes swallowing every part of him until Will’s breath felt like broken glass.
“Hey,” Mike breathed, his brows creasing upwards, his face pulled into a heartbreaking look of panic and worry. “Hey, just — just breathe. Breathe. What happened?”
Will tried, clinging to the other boy’s jacket like it was his last tether to the world of the living. His mind was a whirl of shock and dread, spinning for a few moments before something new smoothed it out.
An odd wave of serenity swept over Will, the kind that plugged up his tears and instilled iron in his gut; the kind of courage that comes after biting back tears and whispering, what else can I do?
“Mike,” Will said again, forcing himself to sound somewhat steady as his gaze traveled over Mike’s face, the freckles he’d count when he was a kid, the jawline that had sharpened with time, the cheekbones and the line of the nose he’d sketch absentmindedly, the lips he’d thought about in stolen moments of guilt, and the soft, knowing, caring eyes that had always been the same. Will indulged a few more seconds in studying him, this boy who’d been by his side for years, who never gave up on him without a fight, who made him feel brave when all the world was collapsing, then whispered, “I know where Holly is.”