Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It was getting late. 

They had been out searching the Upside Down for the last 3 hours to no avail. Still no sign of Vecna, still no sign of hope. The only thing Mike was left with was the overwhelming sensation of the spores in the air weighing on his skin, not so much on his lungs though. The blue bandana El had given him, wrapped tightly around his airways, had ensured as much protection as possible from the toxicity.

To be honest, Mike hadn't even wanted to accept the bandana. He never did, always making up excuses as to why he didn't need one. 

"I’ve built up a tolerance"

"I’ll just zip my jacket all the way up"

"I don't like the color."

The last excuse had been a petty one. One that had made El give him that look she always gave him when she knew he knew how unreasonable he was being. So, they'd just stared at each other for a minute until he relented, just like he always did.

He grabbed the bandana from her hand, with way more force than needed, stomped his way to the mirror and tied it around with as much drama as one possibly could manage when tying a knot, all while she watched him, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised.

Mike felt like an idiot.

"Happy?!" He scoffed as he pushed past her, making sure not to actually hurt her. He didn't want to hurt her, didn't want to hurt anyone. He just wanted her to snap at him.

To tell him to get his act together.

To stop acting like a baby.

To stop making a scene over a stupid, fucking bandana and instead use some of that energy on what truly mattered, saving the fucking world.

Instead, she just hummed in response as she followed him out from The Squawk.

She was smart, knew not to give Mike any more leverage he could further use for his sudden temper tantrum. Mike wished Hopper was the one handing him the bandana instead. He wouldn't have wasted a mere second before he'd start yelling at him. Then Mike could fight back, could yell as loud as he wanted, get some kind of release.

However, lately Mike felt like Hopper was trying his best to avoid just that. Removing himself from situations in which Mike could get under his skin, and if such situations ever occurred Mike would watch as he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and physically forced his body to walk away from him.

He was sure it was because Joyce had caught on to what Mike was trying to do. She had most likely told Hopper that Mike wanted to make him angry, something he was sure angered him even more. But if there was one thing they had in common, it was their stubbornness, and Mike was sure Hopper would rather eat raw Demogorgon meat before he'd let Mike get what he wanted. 

Whatever.

Mike was sure he'd find a way to reverse this whole meditation journey Hopper was on eventually. 

He looked around for a second, glancing at the people sitting in the vehicle with him.

Nancy stood at the back doors on lockout duty, fingers tightly clenched around her shotgun. She looked as if she was waiting — almost hoping — for something to shoot. Eleven stood across from her, arms crossed the same way she had crossed them towards Mike earlier that day. Her brows were furrowed together in a mix of concentration and frustration. Mike knew that look. She was most likely rearranging new theories in her head. Rearranging whatever information she had gathered from today, trying to improve for the next crawl. Then Mike turned to look towards the front of the car.

Steve drove, shoulders stiff, both hands gripping the steering wheel way harder than necessary. Hopper sat beside him in the passenger seat, one hand resting on top of his gun. Neither of them was speaking. 

They were all driving in silence.

All stuck inside their own heads.

All too busy with themselves to pay any attention to Mike.

Carefully, he lifted his hand to rest his head on it, his hand covering his mouth. He gently stuck his pinky and ring finger past the edge of the bandana and pulled it down ever so gently, just enough for it to slip past his nose. Then he leaned closer towards the cracked window. The opening had been caused by damage from past excursions, it was big enough for Mike to stick half his face through.

Mike breathed in.

Closed his eyes as he felt spores fill his lungs. It took everything in him not to cough. The burn hit immediately, sharp and violent, clawing its way down Mikes throat before spreading throughout his chest. He tried his best to swallow, forcing the coughs back down.

He breathed out.

Then back in again.

It burned. His lungs felt like they were on fire and despite having done this same routine at least 20 times now, he most definitely had not built any kind of tolerance. He could feel tears threatening to spill out from his eyes as he took his third and final breath, this one shakier than the others. This was as far as he could go before he'd reach his limit.

Three breaths.

Three pathetic breaths. That was it. That was Mike's limit.

It made him sick to his stomach how weak he was. He couldn't even last three deep inhales before he started coughing like crazy. It always made him wonder how on earth someone as small and young as Will-

"Mike what are you doing?" 

Shit.

Mike yanked his fingers out from beneath the bandana and leaned back from the window as fast as he could. He turned to look at Nancy, blinking hard to try and remove any remaining proof of the current burn in his chest as he cleared his throat to the best of his ability.

"What?" He asked, trying to keep his voice as innocent as possible. Nancy's eye narrowed and her eyebrows furrowed in annoyance at her younger brother's attempt of feigning innocence.

"Why were you breathing in spores?"

"I wasn't?"

Mike tried to keep his voice as neutral as possible, but he could feel the previous coughs he had swallowed before tickling his throat again. He prayed his sister, for once, would just let him be. 

Her eyebrows lifted slowly.

"I saw you."

Mike looked away from her and over to Eleven, hoping for an escape. Instead, he was met with that same knowing look.

For how long had she been looking at him? 

"I don't know." Mike muttered, turning back towards the window.

"Don't I don't know me Mike," Nancy snapped. "Answer the question." Nancys poor impression of him — in which she had greatly exaggerated the teenage angst and deepness in his voice — felt amusing enough to warrant a quiet snort from the front seat.

Steve.

"Shut up Steve." Mike blurted out before he could stop himself.

"WOAH! What the hell did I do?!" Steve shot back. He sounded more irritated than usual. It was probably the lack of sleep getting to him. Getting to all of them. Mike knew he wasn't helping, but he hadn't been helping for a long time.

"You were laughing at Nancys stupid impression!" Mike shot back. "Because it was funny and accurate?" Steve replied, confusion and annoyance mixed in his voice. "It wasn't funny nor accurate!" Mike tried mocking Steves tone.

It was a horrible impression, way worse than Nancys. He didn't really care though; he just wanted to get under Steves skin.

"You know what Wheeler?!" Steve said, turning slightly in his seat.

"Eyes on the road." Hopper grumbled as he dragged an annoyed hand over his face.

"What?!" Mike barked back, standing up to make a point. He could hear Nancy mutter words of disbelief under her breath, as she had clearly given up on trying to get through to Mike.

"You can be such a little shithead sometimes!" Steve snapped, slamming a hand against the steering wheel. The van jerked slightly as the speed increased.

Mike should stop — he knew he had to stop — but it was too late.

The Micheal Wheeler train had already left the station, and it was heading full speed towards a cliff.

"IM the shithead?!" Mike laughed dryly.

"Mike..." Eleven warned quietly, stepping closer. "YEAH!" Steve yelled out, twisting halfway around in his seat. "You are!"

"Steve. Road" Hopper said again, sharper this time. Steve ignored him.

"You're constantly acting like a jerk," he continued. "Snapping at people, saying rude shit- it's like you WANT us to get pissed off!"

Mike said nothing.

"Seriously," Steve continued his tangent. "I mean you've always been a little annoying, but you get like ten times worse whenever we're in the upside down! And like sure, I understand, no one wants to be down here except you do! You literally do!" Steves hands were spending less and less time holding the steering wheel and more so flailing around the air trying to further his point. "You're always volunteering to come down here. You throw a damn tantrum if we say no-"

"Steve." Nancy warned.

"-but then the second were actually down here?!" Steve continued, louder than before. "You BARELY help with the mission! You just stumble around in your own little world and then freak out the second someone talks to you!"

The van swerved slightly. "Steve!" Hopper barked. Steve finally glanced forward, only for a moment, before he immediately looked back again. 

"What is your deal, man?!"

Mike just stood there silently, fists clenched at his side, trying his best not to fall with the sways made by Steves now not-so-smooth driving.

"Steve that's enough." Nancy said firmly. "No! I want him to answer!" His eyes locked on Mike. He stared at him.

"For once," Steve continued. "Without the sarcasm, without the attitude."

Mike stared back.

"You're not twelve anymore Mike," Steve said

"Grow up."

Mike didn't answer. He was never going to, because what did they want him to say?

That they were right? That he was trying to rile them up?

That every time someone got angry at him it felt a little bit closer to what he deserved?

That if Mike pushed them hard enough, then they'd eventually hate him, eventually leave him behind.

Then maybe Mike wouldn't have to keep pretending he belonged with them.

Because he didn't.

Not when every second he spent down here, all he could think about was how this place — this horrible, rotten place — was where Will had died. 

Will — who had been so full of life he might as well have been the sun itself — died here. 

He died in a place void of laughter and comfort and safeness. 

He had died alone.

The thought alone made Mike feel as if he was going to throw up.

Mike hadn't moved on, hadn't "gotten over it", not really. He still blamed himself for letting Will bike home that night. He could've insisted he stayed longer, could've ridden his bike back to his house, could've cut his stupid campaign short instead of letting it drag on too late at night. 

He could've saved him, but he didn't.

So even though he hates being down here, he knows Will hated it too.

And if Will — sweet, kind, wonderful Will — hadn't been given the option of just "staying home", then why on earth should Mike?

Why should someone as cold and cruel as him get that luxury?

If anyone belonged down here, it was him.

"WELL?!" Steve shouted, snapping Mike out of his head. He swallowed and immediately regretted it as the spores in his lungs clawed at his throat again. "I-" 

Mikes answer was interrupted by a screech. A sound so horrible yet so familiar.

Everyone had been so busy entertaining and watching the Mike Wheeler show, it was like they somehow forgot where they currently were.

All their heads turned in unison to look at the road where they were met with a demo-dog charging full speed towards the windshield. It cracked on impact as Steve screamed, grabbing the steering wheel with both hands again.

He swerved trying to get it to fall off but it just continued to climb up to the top of the van. The swerving caused Mike to come crashing to the right side of the van. Pain shot through his shoulder. He groaned, hearing the sound of gunshots coming from where Hopper was sitting. Then he heard more screeching.

Screeching that was getting closer by the second.

He quickly turned around, grabbing his backpack trying to get a hold of the pocketknife he had packed with him. Another swerve sent him crashing back to the ground, the sound of gunshots and grunting coming from behind him. Eleven and Nancy were both fighting off the swarm of demo-dogs and Demogorgon’s making their way towards the van, two of them Eleven had to spend all her attention on as they got closer.

Mike stood up, yet again, only to hear Steve yell out a "HOLD ON!" , only Mike wasn't holding on, he had barely made it back on his feet.

So when Steve pressed the speed pedal, sending the monster on the roof flying off, it sent Mike flying out with it.

He could hear Nancy and Eleven screaming his name as he crash-landed onto the ground. He rolled a little further, feeling the grainy terrain rip open his jeans and scratch into his skin. The bandana fell of his face, barely holding on to his neck and he felt a sharp pain twist at his ankle as the rolling came to a stop. The pocketknife had slipped from his grasp, and his backpack had fallen off his shoulder beside him.

His head hurt. His ears were ringing and his vision was blurring.

He pushed himself up panting looking around, trying to get the world to stop spinning, only to see the demo-dog he had tumbled out with already making its way to its feet. Mike scrambled to get back up as he looked for his knife, but it was too far out of reach. The demo-dog screeched in his face, revealing the horrible, disgusting, bloody mess hidden behind its petals, before it charged at him, leaving Mike no choice but to sprint towards his backpack, swoop it up, and then keep running into the woods.

Away from the demo-dog.

Away from his friends.

Thankfully for Mike, it seemed like he wasn't the only one affected by the fall as the demo-dog had spent a good minute gathering himself enough to stop running without tumbling and falling back down, seemingly as dizzy as Mike was. Despite the minor head start and Mike running as fast as he possibly could, the demo-dog was gaining on him and there was only so much Mikes adrenaline could help with keeping his legs working beneath him before they'd collapse.

He had to hide. 

His eyes scanned the terrain until he spotted a giant tree and decided it would be his best shot, at least for a little while. He just needed to catch his breath. He quickly ducked behind it. His hands gripped at the bark on the slimy tree behind him as he gasped, desperate to get oxygen back into his lungs. He needed to slow down his heartbeat.

He could hear the screeching sound from the monster as it sprinted past him as he held his breath, trying to keep as quiet as possible as it passed him by.

Slowly but surely, he began feeling that familiar tickling at the bottom of his throat. He took another breath which only helped to worsen it.

He needed to cough, had been needing to cough for a while now. Cursed himself for not just having let it happen back in that stupid van while Steve was busy with his stupid monologue. He raised a hand over his face, pressing it tight against his mouth, desperately trying to trap the sound before it could escape.  

Then he coughed.

Just a tiny one.

Still, once he had started, it seemed impossible to stop.

Another cough forced its way out, then another, and another. Each cough became louder, more aggressive. Mike dropped to his knees, curling himself into a ball as he held both his hands desperately tight around his mouth, trying to smother the sound.

It didn't work.

Every cough tore the air from his lungs, and every time he dragged in a breath, the air burned. The spores scratched down his throat, filled his lungs with poison, only making him cough harder. It felt like his lungs were tearing apart.

Then Mike heard it.

The sound of clicking.

It was listening. 

Mike froze, hands still pressed hopelessly tight over his mouth. Tears slid down his face as he tried to swallow the next cough before it could escape. A heavy thump shook the ground in front of him. Mike slowly lifted his head, hands falling from his mouth to his sides.

This is it.

This is how I die.

The demo-dog stood only a few feet away, it flared its petals as it growled at Mike.

Mike couldn't move.

Another cough fell out of him, weak and helpless.

He supposes this is fair. His life ending like this. Mauled to death by some horrible, other worldly monster. Mike started wondering if it was the same way Will had died. Did it hunt him down the same way, did he try to hide as well?

He closed his eyes as the monster screech. Thought of Nancy and Eleven, Steve and Hopper. He hoped they'd made it out. Wondered what they would tell everyone else. Wondered if they'd really care or if, deep down, they'd be relieved.

He wouldn't blame them.

The ground shifted — the demo-dog lunged. Mike braced for the impact.

Impact that never came.

Instead there was a wet, tearing squelch, followed by the creature letting out a sharp, ear-piercing shriek of pain.

Mikes eyes snapped open.

For a second, Mike couldn't believe what he was seeing.

The demo-dog was on the ground.

Pinned.

Struggling.

Spear through its throat.

Someone was standing over it.

The person held it pinned to the ground by a their foot, as said person continued stabbing it with the spear — which looked less like a spear and more like a knife tied to the end of a stick. With each pull and each puncture, the squelching sounds worsened as the demo-dog struggled to get out of the person’s grasp. It screeched at them, but with its mouth open, the person slung the shotgun that was resting on their shoulder into their hands and began firing until the creature’s body finally went limp.

Mike took in a shaky breath, in shock that he was still alive.

A familiar feeling spread through his chest. A feeling of emptiness, like something he had been longing for had just been held out in front of him only to be ripped away when he was a mere arms reach away from it.

He'd deal with those feelings later, the more pressing matter at hand was thanking his supposed savior. 

He removed his eyes from the dead demo-dog in front of him and instead looked up at them, at him. Took in his camo boots that were tightly tied, seemingly to keep them from falling off, continued to look over at the dirty clothes he wore. Mis-matched set of sweats. His sweatpants black, the sweatshirt dark green, hood over his head hiding his face as he was too busy...cutting the demo-dog open?!

"Um, I'm uh...I'm pretty sure it's already dead." Mike tried to joke, to ease the sudden tension he could feel falling over them. The person ignored him, seemingly too busy storing pieces of muscle into the same kind of container one would use to store leftovers.

The smell was horrid and Mike couldn't help but gag at the sight of blood. At the way the person in front of him didn't even flinch as he cut through nerve endings and organs, bodily fluids splashing onto his gloved hands.

When the person seemed satisfied with his capture, he put the container back into the backpack he had left on the ground before flinging it back onto his shoulders and picking back up the shotgun while standing up.

For the first time, Mike finally was able to get a good look at the persons face. His hair was short and uneven, cut almost like some kind of shag. He looked sickly pale. His eyes felt as if they were boring a hole through Mike although they remained completely void of even a hint of emotion. The eye to the right was white and Mike noticed a scar tracing from his eyebrow, through his eye, continuing down his cheek for just a bit before it abruptly stopped in a line that looked too straight to have been coincidental.

His other eye held a sense of familiarity to Mike. The color a soft green. He looked at his nose, at his mouth, at the mole over it. 

Wait.

...What?

He looked back up into his eyes. The same eyes he had looked into on their last day together. 

His stomach dropped. He was going to be sick. 

He traced his face yet again as his mind simultaneously remembered every picture of Will.

Pictures Mike had been studying meticulously ever since he died.

That’s right, Will died.

Will is dead.

Maybe he was dead too.

The demo-dog was currently eating away at his flesh right now and he was merely hallucinating to ease the pain. Still, everything felt too real. The smell of blood, the ringing in his ears from the sounds of gunshots, the pain in his foot and the ground underneath him that he was currently clenching onto. It was all real, so that had to make him real as well.

Will is dead.

He's supposed to be dead. 

He kept repeating the sentiment in his head, but it didn't matter. All the details matched. Sure, his features had become older, but it was still him. It was still-

"...Will?" Mike whispered, terrified the sound of his voice would somehow make him disappear, make this not real. Instead, it appeared as if Mike speaking awoke something in Will as Will’s emotionless eyes suddenly shot up along with the shotgun flying back up into his hands, shooting right past Mikes head, straight through the tree he was still leaned against.

Mikes eyes widened as he slowly glanced beside himself, watching as the smoke gently flew out from the bullet wound in the tree.

He looked back in shock, only to see the barrel of the gun was now not only closer, but pointing directly between his brows. "Will! Will it’s me! It's Mike!" Mike begged as he put his hands up. His voice was shaking as he tried to ignore the gun and instead focus on the boy in front of him. 

Mike watched Will gritting his teeth together before he barked out "Up!" Mike furrowed his brows, confused on what was going on.

"...what?"

"GET UP!" He yelled again, and although it sent a short sense of relief that it was indeed Wills voice yelling at him right now, he wasn't so sure Will was having the same revelation in recognizing him.

Mike slowly rose to his feet, feeling the pain he had been trying to ignore in his ankle sparkle back up again. His legs felt shaky. He tried to keep his breath steady, to not freak out.

Will was alive.

He was alive and he was standing right in front of him.

Sure, he did have a gun pointed to his head but it didn't really matter. Mike was so overwhelmed with emotions, emotions he hadn't properly felt in ages, he didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He felt a smile crawl its way up his face.

Bad idea. Will did not seem to appreciate that.

Before he knew it, Mike felt Wills leg kick him in his stomach hard as his back slammed against the tree. The air in his lungs forced its way out of him as he hit it. Before he had a chance to collect himself, he was turned around, right side of his face slammed into the slimy tree as his hands were grabbed.

"Woah, woah, woah!" Mike said as he realized what was happening. He felt rough rope tie its way around his wrists, tight enough that it was most definitely cutting off circulation to his fingers. "Will calm down!" He tried, but the mention of his name seemed to only agitate him further as Mike felt something slam against his ribs. He groaned out in pain.

Then he felt the bandana El had been so insisted on him wearing, being tied around him again, now reused to cover his mouth. Mike understood it was an attempt to get him to shut up.

Although he most definitely could still talk, he wasn't sure how much farther he could push before Will decided to pull the trigger. He wasn't going to risk it. Wasn't going to let his stupid mouth ruin whatever heaven-sent gift had just fallen before him.

He felt Will pull him back from the tree by the wrists, guiding him in front of him, before he felt something poking at his back. He turned around to see Will pointing the gun at him.

His eyes were filled with anger and fear. Mike understood he wasn’t going to get through to Will at the moment and decided it was instead best to just show him he wasn’t a threat.

A further nudge caused by the gun told Mike it was probably for the best if he started walking. So he started to walk, despite the pain each step caused him thanks to his ankle that was most certainly ruined by now, hoping wherever they ended up would be a place they could talk.

Oh, how Mike had so much he wanted to tell Will.

He just hoped Will would be willing to listen.

Chapter Text

It was getting late.

Will had been out on his monthly hunt for food. He'd managed to find some more canned food. One tomato soup he was going to be saving for a special occasion, as well as some canned beans he wasn’t as exited to eat.

His backpack weighed heavy thanks to the bottles of water he had boiled, and he kept having to adjust the straps to try and find some relief from the weight.

He hadn’t found any meat just yet though. The only creatures he had stumbled upon on his journey were the bats flying up ahead, but still no signs of any dogs. He just needed one to ensure his stock wouldn’t become empty, ensure he didn’t have to step outside again until next month.

As he kept walking through the woods, Will took extra precaution not to step on any vines or loud sticks that could alert anything nearby of his existence. 

He sighed.

Tried to breathe out the weight in his chest that never seemed to fully let go.

Sighed again, deeper this time.

Then he heard it. In the distance, the sound of bullet firings and screeching. The sound of rubber tires burning under the speed of a vehicle, an engine roaring. Someone was screaming. He couldn't make out what.

It didn't really matter, he just knew it meant he was close by to something he could kill. Something he could eat.

With a final sigh, he started walking in the direction of the sounds praying that the monster he stumbled upon would end up being a dog and not the Flower Man. 

Please don't let it be the Flower Man.

Today had been an especially bad day. He woke up after yet another nightmare, one he was getting particularly sick of letting occupy his brain. Then, his favorite crayon, the one that soft blue color he adored, finally ended up snapping when he was this close to finishing his drawing.

After that when it was time to eat, he decided to open a can of Campbells "Soup for one! Old fashioned bean with ham & bacon!", but when he went to grab his spoon, he managed to knock the open can off the table causing it to spill all over. However, the cherry on top of the cake was when Will was about to head out for his food hunt and managed to stub his toe.

So yeah, not the best day. If it then ended with Will being chased and hunted down by the Flower Man, he was most definitely going to end the day crying. 

After he'd walked for a while, he started hearing sounds of a monster running...and someone coughing? Anyway, based on the speed and the number of times the ground would make a sound, the creature had to have more than two legs which meant it most likely was a dog. 

Yes! 

Will grabbed his spear, tucked against his backpack, as he made his way towards the sounds. Sure enough, there it was growling at something.

It was distracted. Now was his chance.

Will didn't waste a second before he charged towards the gross monster, piercing it through his neck down to the ground. He didn't want to damage the big muscle groups. As it slammed down to the ground, Will stepped on it to ensure it wouldn't escape. He dragged the spear from its neck and forced it down yet again.

Up, schluuup, back down again, squelch.

Then it screamed at him.

Will hated it when they did that, whenever they'd reveal the disgusting, alien mouth hidden beneath its petals. Will found it repulsive.

Without thinking, he grabbed his shotgun — the one he was supposed to only use for emergencies — and fired into the vile monster laying on the ground. 

Shit. What a waste of bullets. 

Not only that, but now he'd created way too much sound. It was probably for the best if he hurried back just in case someone, or most likely something was nearby.

He sighed yet again as he knelt down to start cutting out pieces of his find, taking out both a knife and a container from his backpack.

In his peripheral vision, Will could make out someone sitting in front of him. Well, he wasn't sure if it was actually someone or simply his mind playing tricks on him again. He didn't want to look up to find out — just in case, instead of a person, he'd be looking at the same kind of being that kept haunting his dreams.

The memory made him cut through the demo-dog sharply. For each cut he kept taking out the remaining frustration bubbling through his veins on the dead creature. 

"Um, I'm uh...I'm pretty sure it's already dead." Will froze, just for a second, surprised at the words spoken to him.

So it is a person. Probably one of the soldiers that had been spawning in the Vale of Shadows as of late.

Maybe they ran after the dog to try and kill it, or rather the dog ran after them. Didn't matter, they were probably going to die soon anyways. 

Will took one final glance at his container, feeling satisfied enough with the amount he'd been able to gather. He closed the lid and put it in his backpack before raising himself back up.

He looked down at the boy sitting in front of him.

Strange. He wasn't wearing the typical uniform the soldiers wore, maybe he had gotten lost?

Will noticed the way his black, curly hair stuck to his forehead, probably thanks to sweat, and the way he was clenching the ground beneath his fingertips.

He looked exhausted.

Then the boy’s eyes widened. Will assumed it was in fear. He didn't blame him considering he had just killed in front of him, and he had no way of knowing if Will was going to kill him too. Will didn't really know either. He hadn't killed a person before. Had just made sure to avoid the soldiers when they suddenly arrived.

He didn't know why they were here or if they were working for him, so he wasn't going to risk any contact.

Yet the feeling of standing in front of another human being for the first time in years, felt a little surreal. Will didn't let himself dwell on the feeling any longer than necessary.

He knew deep down that he couldn't form any kind of relation with said person, even if he wanted to. 

To begin with, Will barely had enough supplies for a party of one, even that was pushing it. Another mouth to feed, another person to care for, that meant more trips outside, more exposure. Also, Will had no way of knowing who this boy really was. Kind didn’t mean safe, helpless didn’t mean harmless. Disease was another risk and after having clawed himself through hell to survive for this long, he refused to be taken out by something so microscopic.

Even so, Will didn't really want to kill the boy. There was just something about him.

The thought of it — of dragging a blade across his neck, slicing the skin open as blood spilled out — made his breath hitch.

The forest would handle him. Whether it be the dogs, the Flower Man, cold, hunger, a wrong step, the boy looked fragile enough for any of them. In fact, he looked so helpless it caused an ache in Wills heart. There simply wasn't a reason for him to-

"...Will?"

What.

His name.

He knew his name.

How did he know his name? No one knew his name.

No one except for him, which meant that whoever this boy was, if he even was a boy, had to be working for him.

Had he been found? Was this some kind of test? Some kind of bait? Was he nearby? Watching him from the trees? Waiting for Will to slip?

What do I do?

I’m scared. 

I don't want him to take me.

Please don't take me.

Will's thoughts were racing at a thousand miles per hour and — before he could stop himself — instinct took over.

The shot rang out through the forest before Will even registered pulling the trigger. Will had shot the boy.

Or at least tried to.

The bullet had instead struck the tree the boy was laying against. Smoke gently flying out of the bullet wound.

He missed. 

How did he miss?

Will doesn't miss. Especially not at this distance.

Will took a shaky inhale, forced his breathing to slow down. He needed to get his act together.

As he stepped closer to...whatever was sitting in front of him, Will adjusted his grip, watched for any inconsistencies in the boys supposed attempt at showing fear.

The boy turned his head, his eyes flicking from the gun back to Will. His shoulders were trembling so hard it looked painful.

He was shaking.

Or maybe that was Will. 

Will straightened his posture, felt his index finger fall back on the trigger, took a final breath.

Just pull the trigger. 

"Will! Will it’s me! It's Mike!" The boy, Mike, started to beg as he released his clenched hands from the ground and instead put his hands up in surrender. The boy’s eyes stayed wide, pleading, desperate.

It's a trick. 

You don't know him.

He's trying to fool you. 

Just shoot!

His mind was screaming at him. Pull it. Shoot. Kill him. Just kill him! But Will couldn’t. His body refused. It was as if his trigger finger had completely detached itself from the rest of his body.

Will felt frustration claw at him. Had he grown weak? Will’s chest tightened, his pulse spiked. Something about the boy’s fear seemed so real, so human, that he couldn’t help but hesitate.

Screw this.

If it really was a setup, Will figured he’d already have been caught by now. That meant, at least for now, the danger wasn’t immediate. Time for plan B.

"Up!" Will barked. The sound of his own voice surprised Will. It sounded rusted, unused. It had been a while since he'd used his voice like this. The only times he'd ever hear himself talk would be when he'd mindlessly mumble to himself at home or whenever he spoke in his dreams.

When Mike continued to just look at him all confused, muttering out a quiet "...what?", it only further agitated Will.

He’s stalling for time.

"GET UP!"

The words tore out of him in a way he didn’t think possible. The boy scrambled to stand up, finally getting the memo.

Will scanned the trees without meaning too.

He waited.

Waited for any signs of movement.

Any signs of him.

When he couldn't find anything, Will turned to look back at Mike, who was already looking at Will and, for just a few seconds, neither of them moved. Will began contemplating what to do. Knock him out, carry him, tie him to the tree and leave him.

Then Mike smiled.

It wasn't wide, wasn't mocking. It was small, shaky almost. A smile of relief. The kind that sneaks in before you can stop it. He smiled as if he had just found something he thought he'd lost.

The warmth of it hit Will like a blow. It made something churn deep in his stomach.

What could he possibly have to smile about?

The kick came before Will had fully decided to move. His leg swung harder than intended, slamming into Mikes stomach. The air forced its way out of him through broken sounds. Mikes smile vanished instantly.

Good.

While Mike folded forward, Will swung his gun back onto his shoulder before grabbing Mike and slammed him against the tree.

If he was being completely honest, he was perhaps pushing the boys face slightly harder than necessary into the bark of the tree, but there was just something about his stupid smile and the way he looked at him.

He looked at him like he knew something, as if he knew him. Not in the same way he knew his name. no, truly recognized Will. He wasn't afraid enough. Will didn't like it. Not one bit. Something was wrong.

He pulled some rope out from the outer pocket of his backpack, easily accessible, and yanked Mikes hands behind him. tying them tightly together. Mike protested, his voice was shaking. He seriously needed to shut up. 

"Will calm down!" 

Calm down? 

Why would he need him to calm down? So he'd lower his guard? So he'd miss twice?

Not happening.

The butt of the shotgun drove into Mike's ribs. He groaned out in pain. It almost made Will feel bad. 

Almost.

He continued to hear Mike rambling, the noise never ending.

Shut up. Just shut up.

Will spotted a bandana tied loosely around Mike's neck. He grabbed the knot and quickly yanked it free, tied it over Mikes mouth instead. The fabric pressed against his cheeks. Good enough.

He then pulled Mike from the tree by his cuffs until he was facing the direction they needed to walk. Quickly, he repositioned his gun to press the barrel between Mike's shoulder blades.

Walk.

Mike hesitated for just a second, instead choosing to look behind him. Look at Will. Will felt heat crawl up his cheeks.

Could he see it? Had he noticed Will couldn't actually shoot him? That when it came down to it, his body refused?

Will nudged him again, harder this time.

Walk.

Mike still didn't move. 

He knows you missed. 

For a moment, Will was certain Mike would call his bluff, that he'd get that same look in his eyes, but he didn't. He turned his head back around and stepped forward, slowly, carefully. 

Will let out a breath he wasn't aware he had been holding. The fear it held annoyed him.

He followed close behind, guiding Mike with the barrel of the gun, his gaze never leaving his back, only to occasionally glance at the trees surrounding them. Just in case. 

Mike's smile lingered in his mind. Not mocking, not cruel. Just glad. That was what unsettled Will the most, because no one should be glad to see him. 

Not anymore.

Actually arriving at their destination turned out to be a way more strenuous task than Will had anticipated.

Not only was Mike terrible at taking instructions — even if they only consisted of Will pushing him more to the right or more to the left — but he also walked so slow.

Judging by the way he'd try and dodge the vines on the ground, Will understood he knew better than to alert anything nearby but, thanks to whatever injury he had so clearly gotten in his right foot, Mike moved at a snail’s pace.

Every time Will would nudge him as to get him to walk faster, Mike's knee would buckle under the weight of his foot. Will could hear the way he was trying to hold back any sounds of pain and — if it weren't for the fact that this very well could be some kind of trick — he almost felt sorry for him.

They'd been walking through the woods, if Will had to guess, for a good 30 minutes. He could feel himself getting tired by the way his gun would slowly fall down with the weight of his eyelids. He had to force himself awake numerous times. Didn't understand why he was so out of it today.

It really wasn't his day.

Thankfully, they were almost there. 

Just to be safe, Will decided to move the gag from Mikes mouth up to his eyes. Didn't want Mike to see anything he didn't need to see. To understand where they were and alert someone, or something.

Mike mumbled out a tiny protest, but it was more directed at himself than at Will, so Will let it slide. Then he grabbed Mike by the rope surrounding his wrists and began pushing him to where he needed to go. 

This turned out to be a very demanding process, both for Will and for Mike.

Will had to try and get Mike to move where he wanted without him touching anything he wasn't supposed to, all while Mike kept trying not to trip over his feet.

The whole thing was aggravating, and Will couldn't help but huff out a breath of annoyance. Mike apparently took that as a sign that he was suddenly allowed to share his thoughts.

He was not.

"You know, I think this would be a whole lot easier for the both of us if I could see."

Will ignored him.

Ignored how he was probably right.

Even so, he could just want Will to untie the blindfold so he'd be able to see where Will lived. Then he could report back.

Will would rather struggle with moving the boy, whose limbs seemed completely disconnected from his body, than let that happen.

After a solid 10 minutes of taxing work, Will had managed to move both him and Mike to the small shack he lived in. He opened the door, pushed Mike inside — ignored the way his body thumped onto the wooden floor — and closed the door. Will turned around and had to stop himself from laughing.

Mike was flopping on the floor like a fish out of water. He looked ridiculous.

As much as Will would have enjoyed seeing Mike continue to make a fool out of himself, he first had to ensure Mike wasn't a threat. 

He grabbed Mike by the ropes and dragged him along the floor. "WOAH!" Mike yelled out. Will already missed the gag.

When they'd stopped in front of Will’s sink, he pushed Mike underneath and pulled him up to sit back up.

Almost immediately, Mike managed to bump his head onto the porcelain. "OW! Will! Come on let me see, please." Will ignored Mike’s pleading yet again as he instead took to tying his already tied hands to the sinks drain tailpiece. He tugged on Mike’s wrists to ensure he couldn't move, and when he felt satisfied enough, Will finally moved the bandana away from Mike’s face. 

Mike’s eyes blinked a few times before they found Will’s face.

It was rather dark in Will’s small home. The main light source in the room was one battery driven lantern resting on Wills desk and another by the side of his bed.

Will could tell Mike needed a second to get used to the change of environment, and when he had, Mike looked at him with that same sense of familiarity. 

"Hi Will." Mike sighed. He seemed relieved.

Relieved Will didn't kill him?

Relieved Will had done exactly as planned?

Will didn't respond, just squinted his eyes a bit trying to get a proper read on Mike. Mike’s brows furrowed a bit at Will’s lack of a response. He seemed sad. This was all too confusing.

Will was also way too tired for this.

He stood up as he moved back over to his desk, still making sure to steal glances at Mike to ensure he stayed put. 

He flung his backpack onto the table as he began pulling out different objects. Cans of food, water bottles, some toothpaste, a new book, some newspapers and magazines, a new pair of scissors, batteries, his container of meat, a purple t-shirt, a few buttons, his bloodied knife and a stuffed toy that wasn't completely destroyed.

The toy was shaped like a black cat with a red color, attached was a fake bell. It was missing an eye.

Will sat down as he pulled open the drawer that held some of his sewing stuff. He chose a button the color yellow to match the bell and began sewing it in place of its missing eye. 

"Will, do you want to talk?" Wills head snapped back up. He stared at the wall in front of him.

Will had almost forgotten he was here.

How on earth was that even possible?

There was a stranger tied up in his home, and here Will was, acting as if everything was perfectly normal.

He turned his head around to look down at Mike, who had such a pitiful look on his face Will had to look away immediately. He looked back down at the freshly operated stuffed toy.

Silence fell over them again.

Will understood, eventually, that Mike was waiting for an answer, so he shook his head.

"Alright, that's fine, it's just...If you ever want to talk, or only want to hear me talk for that matter, just let me know yeah?" Will bit the inside of his cheek, hard enough to draw blood.

He had brought Mike here to talk. More so interrogate, but still. Why was it now, when he'd finally made it back, he didn't want to?

Was he scared? Scared of what Mike would say?

What if he was a spy? What if he was working for him? Then what? Would he be able to kill him now in the comfort of his home? What could possibly have changed for Will to be able to do now what he wasn't able to do earlier?

Will didn't want to think about this anymore. He stood up as he began putting everything back in its respected place — ignored the way Mikes eyes followed him.

Contemplated putting the blindfold back on.

Decided against it.

Didn't bother to dwell on why.

He put the stuffed toy on his bed a long with the others he had gathered over the years. A teddy bear dressed in a red shirt, a Mon chichi toy, a yellow care bear with a sun in the middle, a tiger laying on its stomach and finally the black cat.

Then he removed the green sweatshirt he was wearing, now reduced to only his t-shirt and his sweatpants. He threw the sweatshirt in a — now empty, after today’s wash — plastic bag.

He brushed his teeth in the sink — doing his best to ignore the boy sitting beneath it — flushed away the remaining toothpaste with just a bit of water from the bottles and headed to bed.

He let himself get comfortable underneath the blanket as he took his eyes back to watch Mike.

Mike’s eyes were beginning to close, each blink appeared as if it was getting heavier than the last. 

Good.  

Will continued to look at Mike, watched as he slowly drifted off to sleep. Only then did Will feel safe enough to let his own eyes rest.

He double checked the knife hidden beneath the mattress was still there — breathed out a sigh of relief when it was — and then hoped that whatever he dreamt tonight, it didn't include Mike and that smile he still wasn't sure what meant.

Chapter Text

Mike hadn't meant to fall asleep. 

In all honesty, he wasn't even aware it was humanly possible to fall asleep in the Upside Down — especially not when one was tied up in the middle of nowhere. Yet here he was, blinking away the remaining sleep stuck in his eyes.

He yawned as he stretched, only to immediately hit his head, for the second time since he'd arrived, against the porcelain above him. “...ouch..” he grumbled, instead opting to stretch out his legs in front of him. 

Mike had slept surprisingly well considering the situation he was in.

Sure, his neck hurt like shit, he couldn't feel his fingers, and his ankle — which had definitely grown a few sizes overnight — was throbbing like crazy, but all things considered, it wasn't the worst sleep Mike had ever gotten. 

Mike looked around himself — in an attempt to properly wake up his brain — as he tried to take in whatever he could of the room from where he was sitting. 

The room was about the size of his bedroom.

To his left stood a desk cluttered with various objects — a few trinkets, buttons, paper of various kinds — and a lantern, that appeared to be fighting for its life to help shine light into the place. Besides the desk there were stacks of books, all varying in size and color, followed by an old wooden door, and above that, a small rectangular window, which appeared to be the only window there was. 

For what the room lacked in windows it made up for in drawings. There were dozens of them hanging on the walls. Some were connected to one another, forming larger images. Others were scattered sketches of figures and objects Mike struggled to make out from where he sat. 

Eventually, Mike looked in front of him — at the boy lying in the bed. 

His knees were pulled up, the blanket covering them helping to shield Will's face, but Mike could still hear it.

The quiet scratching sound, the same sound a crayon makes when it drags across the paper.

Will was drawing. 

The way he was sitting, the sounds, the stillness surrounding them, it pulled Mike away from the Upside down to somewhere else entirely.

Back to Mike's basement.

Back to a blanket draped over Will's knees as he sat crisscrossed on the floor, hunched over a drawing he was working furiously on that Mike wasn't allowed to see yet. Mike would be sitting close by, sprawled out with one of his comics in his hands, reading. Well, more so pretending to read.

He wasn't trying to let his focus shift — would get physically annoyed with himself at the way he kept having to re-read speech bubbles to not fall completely out of the story — but his eyes kept drifting to Will without meaning to.

The way Will furrowed his brows, a slight pout tugging at his lips, in concentration, forced Mike to press his mouth against his sleeve to muffle a giggle. Will looked so serious, like the fate of the world depended on that single piece of paper. He had always been more of a perfectionist than Mike. 

Every once in a while, Mike would get caught staring.

He'd ask Will if he was finished, to which Will would shake his head no, and then they both looked back at what they were supposed to be focusing on. 

Mike couldn't concentrate to save his life.

It wasn't the comic — Amazing Spiderman #238 — fault. It was a really great comic, with a brand-new character in it that Mike would otherwise have been super excited about. It was just that his mind kept wandering back to Will. 

The drawing too of course. 

Mainly the drawing.

After some time, Will would puff out a breath of air, a quiet signal he was finished, and Mike would spring up immediately, abandoning the comic on the floor, as he hurried over to Will. 

“Can I see?” He'd ask, trying to sound casual, as if it didn't matter. As if he wasn't practically vibrating with excitement. 

Will would nod. Sometimes he'd mumble something like “It's not perfect” or "I'm not done just yet”, but Mike would always ignore that. He sat down besides Will who handed him the paper Mike was already reaching for.

He held the sheet of paper like a prized possession because it was. 

Not just because Will's drawings were incredible — though they were — but because they were pieces of Will himself. Back when Will barely spoke, Mike had learned almost everything about him through those pieces of paper. Each piece another to add to the puzzle. 

His favorite colors, his interests, the kind of activities he liked, the things that made him curious, the things that made him scared, the strange details that caught his attention.

Whole stories spilling out of Will's head and onto a singular sheet of paper and Mike learned to read them the way people learn how to read books. 

When Will-

…

When everyone said Will was gone, Mike gathered every drawing Will had ever given him.

Every single one.

He kept them in a folder safely hidden underneath his bed. Safe from prying hands and questions and eyes that screamed of pity. 

Some nights when Mike couldn't sleep — the nights he was too afraid he'd be met with nightmares instead of dreams — he would carefully take them out of his folder and spread them across the floor.

Just to make sure he didn't forget.

Didn't forget Will.

Mike studied every line, every color, every detail — everything Will had ever told him without words, he kept trying to see if there was anything he had missed. 

Maybe Will had told him where he was. 

Maybe if Mike looked hard enough, he would be able to figure it out.

Then he could find him and bring him home.

Nancy caught him once. 

It was three days after Will's funeral. Not the fake funeral for fake Will — the real one for his Will. The one they held after everyone decided it was time to stop searching.

Mike had spent three nights in a row with the drawings spread out around him looking for clues. Nancy tried to get him to go to sleep. She wasn't just suggesting, she was begging. Told him that Will couldn't possibly have left him any clues because the Will who drew those pictures hadn't known that anything was going to happen to him. He hadn't known he would be taken. 

Mike cried in Nancy's arms for the rest of that night.

When he woke up the following morning, he was back in bed. The drawings had all been placed back. His room was clean. Void of anything to suggest that Mike's previous breakdown had even occurred. The only remaining proof his puffy eyes and the residual tears on his cheeks.

Mike checked under his bed to find the folder laying a bit further back than he usually placed it. He picked it up and looked at it. Didn't open it.

He looked at the folder.

Everything Mike had left of Will was reduced to a singular folder. 

It took Mike a while to be able to look at the drawings again after.

Not without breaking into tears.

But Will was here now! Will was sitting right in front of him, drawing, as if nothing had changed. The same scratching of paper, the same stillness surrounding them. Mike kept himself still too — trying to not let his underlying excitement bubble over — as he listened. 

Mike was waiting, waiting for that quiet puff of breath, for Will to lower his knees, lean across the mattress and hand Mike the page like he used to. 

The moment never came. 

The pencil kept moving, Will kept drawing, until eventually, Will puffed out a breath of air — resulting in Mike's entire body tensing up in anticipation — but then Will just put the piece of paper on the floor beside the mattress. Mike watched as it drifted down before settling on the wooden floorboards. 

For a moment, Mike expected Will to push the paper towards him. Instead, the scratching started again. A new drawing. Will had already started on a new drawing without letting Mike even glimpse at the first. 

Mike stared at the piece of paper that refused to move no matter how much he wished for it. 

If Will wouldn't talk to him, wouldn't look at him, how was Mike supposed to know what Will needed if he wouldn't even show him his drawings?

A small, painful knot formed in his chest. 

Will wasn't drawing for him anymore. 

Of course he wasn't. 

Those memories overcrowding Mike's head — the basement, the comic, the drawings spread out across the floor — they weren't memories they shared. Not really. Not if Will couldn't remember. Mike let a quiet breath huff through his nose.

God, he was such an idiot.

Here he was getting all sentimental over a stupid drawing completely disregarding the situation he was in. Less than a few hours ago, Will had held a gun to his head. Not as a joke, not as a warning. He'd meant it.

Will had full on intended to kill him and for all he knew, Will was only keeping him alive until he needed to go hunting again. Mike was just convenient monster bait he had stumbled upon in the woods. 

The thought sat heavy in his chest.

Maybe that was it. Maybe that was all he was right now. Something Will could drag around until he stopped being useful. Then he could throw him away, watch as the life from Mike's eyes slowly faded and he wouldn't feel a single thing. 

Mike's jaw tightened.

Served him right, honestly.

Of course Will didn't want anything to do with him. Of course Will didn't remember him. Why would he? Mike had spent the last years building up this version of Will in his head, this helpless version that needed him, a version that cared about Mike as much as he cared for Will, but that had never been fair to Will. 

Will had always been kinder, quieter, better. 

Mike had always been the loud one, the selfish one, the one who pushed too hard and wanted too much.

Maybe Will had finally escaped that. Who was he to pull Will back in again?

Mike stared down at the floorboards in front of him. 

Perhaps he deserved the cold looks and the rope tied around his wrists and the gun to his face. If he couldn't even get through to Will after all these years, then what did that say about him? What kind of best friend was he if all he made Will feel when looking at him was fear?

A sudden thought struck his chest sharp as a knife. 

Maybe Will would be better off without him. 

Maybe-

No. 

Mike shut his eyes shut, ignoring the tears that were laying gently in his waterline, and forced the thought away before it could fester into something worse. 

Stop it. 

He wasn't doing this, not again. Not after finally finding him. Not after all the nights he had spent torturing himself with dreams of him and Will reuniting. He wasn't going to ruin it for himself when he had the real deal in front of him.

Even if Will didn't recognize him right now, that didn't mean he never would, it didn't mean the memories were gone forever. 

Mike refused to believe that.

Will was here, Will was alive, Will was drawing. That was proof enough that the Will he'd spent hours laughing with from the sun set until it rose back up again was still in there somewhere, even if he had changed — even if Mike had changed. 

Mike wasn't about to give up on him — give up on them — just because things were a bit harder in real life than they were in his dreams. If Will couldn't remember him yet, then fine. 

Mike would just have to remind him.

“My arms hurt.” Mike said, breaking the silence the room held.

Mike noticed the way it made Will freeze before he returned to his drawing. “And I need to pee.” Mike added. Still no reaction. “Like, really need to pee.”

Will stopped drawing again. “I’m just saying, out of concern for your floor, that I really, really need to pee.” Mike made sure to emphasize each word, hoping one of them would hit a button in Will's head saying, “Look at Mike.”.

Apparently, it had worked, as Will finally lifted himself up from his bed and walked over to crouch in front of Mike. 

Mike couldn't help himself. He sighed a sigh of relief.

Although he technically was aware it was Will who had been hidden behind the blanket, a part of him wasn't 100% sure last night had truly happened. But here Will was, with almost the same kind of bedhead he'd get and the same look he'd give Mike when he'd gotten annoyed with him.

However, now wasn't the time to reminisce, again. 

He had to find a way for Will to not have him doomed to the naughty corner for the rest of his life.

“I'm serious.” Mike said with a tug at his arms, trying to urge Will to act. He watched as Will bit the inside of his cheek before finally reaching for Mike's wrists. Will only untied the knot securing him to the drain tailpiece before dragging him back up. 

Mike could feel pain shot up his leg and had to stop himself before collapsing back down to the floor again. Then Will pushed him against the wall in a way that said “stay”. 

Mike listened.

When Mike was pulled away from the wall and shoved towards the door, he spotted something — that looked eerily similar to the object that had been pointed at him last night — resting on Will's shoulder. Will opened the door, pushed Mike outside, led him to the left side of the house, and then he felt the barrel of the gun push at his shoulder blades. 

Deja vu. 

Mike resisted the urge to turn around and say something. A push at Mike's back told him Will wanted him to hurry up.

“It’s kind of hard to relieve yourself when there's a gun pointed at you. Haven't you ever heard of shy bladder syndrome?" Will didn't find that funny. 

He felt another push at his spine, so Mike just sighed, did his thing, and when finished, felt the gun be replaced by Will's hands pushing him back.

Once back inside, Mike could tell they were headed back for the sink, so he planted his heels onto the floor in an attempt to stop it. “Woah, woah, woah- Will, wait! Just wait a second!” Mike twisted slightly in Will's grip, trying to look back at him, trying to meet his eyes. “Please! Can you please just- can you let me explain who I am?”

Will didn't answer, just kept pushing. Mike's shoes kept scraping uselessly against the wooden floor. Then suddenly Will stopped and Mike switched directions.

Instead of pushing him forward, Will shoved him sideways towards the bed. He dropped onto the floor with a loud thump, struggling to get himself to sit back up. Will climbed onto the mattress across from him. They faced each other.

For a moment, none of them spoke. 

Mike looked down at the floor, trying to take a peak at the drawing he was so curious about, but Will caught him. Yanked it from the floor, placing it behind him, before Mike even had the chance to get a proper look.

Then Mike noticed Will's hands. They were trembling slightly as he kept picking at the loose threads of his sweater, twisting them around his finger, pulling at them, like he needed something to focus on that wasn't the person sitting in front of him, almost as if he was nervous.

Which made no sense considering Mike was the one tied up on the floor. 

Mike took a deep breath, trying to breathe out some nerves.

“So…uh…I'm Mike.” He started, his voice catching slightly. “Mike Wheeler. Or- uh, Michael Wheeler if you wanna get really specific.” He let out a small, nervous laugh that died immediately when Will didn't react. 

“Anyways uh- so uhm- We used to be-” Mike stopped himself. “No. Scratch that. I am your best friend.”

Mike could feel his chest continue to tighten.

“I’m your best friend, and your mine”

Will didn’t move, didn’t even blink. 

Mike pushed on anyway. 

“W-we all thought- They all thought you were dead.” Mike was speaking faster now, stumbling over his words. “So we stopped…uhm, stopped looking. But I didn’t- I mean- I did, but not really, I just-” 

He was rambling, had to force himself to calm down, to keep going

“But now I've found you. I found you Will” His voice softened, hope creeping in despite everything. “And now we can go back home. You can go back home-”

“Home?” 

The word came out so suddenly, it made Mike stop mid-sentence. 

It took him a second to even register Will had spoken. “Yeah,” Mike said gently, relief flooding through him. “Yeah, home. You can go home.” Mike sighed into a smile, however Will didn't smile back. He just stared at him, confusion pulling at his eyebrows.

The silence stretched.

Mike could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. 

Will's gaze had drifted down to the floor like he was carefully considering Mike's words. His fingers had been released from his sweater and were instead clenched around the blanket he was sitting on top of.  The expression on his face — that distant sort of concentration — reminded him of El.

Then-

“Mike.” 

Mike looked up immediately.

Hearing his name in Will's voice should've felt right, instead something about it felt…wrong.

It sounded as if Will was tasting the word, rolling it around his tongue. His face all scrunched up as if he found it bitter instead of sweet, as if it disgusted him.

“Uh- yeah?” Mike replied, nerves creeping back into his voice. “Yeah Will?”

Will looked at him.

Really looked at him.

“Who are you?” 

Mike blinked.

What?

“I just told you-”

“No.”

The word came out sharp. Mike felt his stomach drop yet again. 

“No?” He replied weakly.

“No.” Will's voice was steady; however his shoulders had gone rigid. His eyes kept flicking across Mike's face as if he was searching for something but failed to find it. 

Then Will stood abruptly. 

Before Mike could react, Will grabbed him again, hauling him to his feet and dragging him back towards the sink. This wasn't happening, they were making progress.

They were.

“NO-! Will, just wait a second!” Mike thrashed in his grip, panic surging through him. His horribly hurt ankle had had enough as it suddenly slipped, causing Mike to slam into the ground. His body was killing him. It would be a miracle for him to wake up tomorrow without any heavy bruising. 

Will froze. 

His face looked so torn apart by emotions Mike couldn't decipher as his eyes kept darting over Mike's face. It broke Mike's heart. 

“I’m sorry.” Mike blurted out, breath coming out uneven. “I’m sorry, I didn't mean to yell. Please-” Mike forced himself to stop struggling. “I want to explain. I really do, I just…” Mike swallowed hard, still struggling to catch his breath, having totally overused the little strength he had left in his body. “I need to know what it is you want me to explain to you.” 

Will didn't respond.

Mike's voice dropped into something softer. 

“Please Will.”

He closed his eyes, feeling a tear free itself from his eye, rolling down into his ear and onto the floor.

“I'm sorry, okay?”

The room fell silent once again, and for a moment Mike expected to feel Will start dragging him towards the sink. Instead, he heard the floorboards slightly creak. Mike opened his eyes and saw Will walking back over to the mattress. 

His entire body flooded with relief.

Mike didn't waste a second to start crawling towards him. He sat himself back up, legs in front of him, back slightly hunched. 

“Okay?” Mike asked. Will nodded, took a deep breath, seemed to try and ease the tension in his shoulders.

Okay.

Chapter Text

Will stared down at his hands, twisting his fingers together.

What in the world was he even doing right now?

He had let Mike try to explain himself, listened as he spoke complete nonsense, and now he was giving him a second chance? For what? Had he finally gone crazy? 

Will lifted his head slightly.

Mike was watching him. The look on his face made Will immediately glance back down again.

Mike's eyes, they looked at him so fondly. They were filled with such a softness it felt overbearing. Will didn't know what to do with that. 

His working theory was that Mike was suffering from some kind of brain injury. Maybe Mike had hit the sink harder than he thought and was just confused. Maybe he was mistaking Will for someone else. 

It would certainly explain a lot.

Will could feel Mike's eyes boring a hole through him. He had to say something. Will figured that if he kept Mike talking, he could figure out whether Mike was dangerous or merely suffering from memory loss. 

“Where did you come from?” The words came out quieter than he intended, nearly a mumble. It just felt so surreal to be sitting here — having a conversation with another person instead of just talking to himself. 

Mike shifted slightly where he sat. “Well, I came from uh- the real world, I guess?” Will’s brows furrowed. “Like I live in Hawkins,” Mike quickly continued. “I live in this town. Just… not here. It's the same town just without all the Upside-Down stuff and, you know.” Will didn't know — Upside-Down stuff?

“Anyways,” Mike took a deep breath before continuing. “There are these rifts between our world and the Upside-Down that you can travel through. That's how I got here.” Will narrowed his eyes slightly as Mike talked, as if squinting might somehow make the words easier to understand. 

It didn't.

“Does that make sense?” Will shook his head. Mike huffed out a breath through his nose. He sounded annoyed. 

Was Will being annoying? He wasn't trying to be. It wasn't his fault he didn't know how you were supposed to deal with a crazy person. And besides that, Mike had been the one who wanted to talk in the first place, so why was he acting like Will was the frustrating one?

“I'm sorry Will.” 

Will looked back up at Mike but Mike wasn't looking at Will anymore. His gaze had instead drifted to somewhere across the floor. “I never knew I'd be this bad at explaining things.” Mike laughed softly, but the sound felt hollow. 

Oh. 

Mike wasn't annoyed at him; he was annoyed at himself. For some reason, Will didn't like that. 

“Uhm…what do you mean by Upside-down stuff?” Will asked, mostly to give Mike something to latch back onto. Mike's head shot back up immediately. “T-that’s what we call this place!” He said quickly.

“It's because it's like our world but a dark version of it. It's a parallel dimension except it's filled with monsters and vines.” He kept gesturing vaguely with his bound hands. “So the Upside-down stuff is like that demo-dog you killed, or the vines, or the spores, or the Demogorgon.” 

“Demogorgon?” 

“Yeah! From DnD, remember? We played the night you disappeared and-”

Mike abruptly stopped.

His voice cut off like he'd run straight into a wall.

“...uh.” 

He looked away for a second.

“Anyway, does it make more sense now?” He quickly finished. Will nodded, even though he wasn't completely sure he meant it, but Mike's face lit up so brightly when he did that Will didn't really mind pretending. “So, you can go to your world and my world because of... “rifts”?” Mike began nodding enthusiastically. “Mhm! Gateways essentially" “Uh huh.” 

Will wasn't fully convinced Mike wasn't making this all up. It didn't make sense for a sane person to willingly come to a place filled with monsters when their own world apparently had none. Maybe he was hallucinating, the same way Will had when he was younger — dreaming up a whole new world just to escape the real one. 

“Why are you here then?” Will asked carefully, “Instead of your world?” He spoke slowly, just in case Mike's entire worldview was about to be shattered into a thousand pieces and cause the kind of breakdown Will was not prepared to handle.

Still, he thought it better for Mike to snap out of his delusions now rather than later. It would make it easier to decipher which parts of what he was saying were actually true and which parts were just Mike telling stories. 

“We were looking for Vecna,” Mike began before hesitating. “You know who that is?” 

Will shook his head. 

“Oh.” Mike blinked. “That’s…surprising” He shifted awkwardly. “Uh- anyway. Me and my friends were at least looking for him, or more like any signs of him, but then we were attacked by the demo-dogs and Demogorgon’s, and I fell out of the van and so yeah…” He gave a small, awkward shrug. “Here I am” Mike tried to wave his fingers a little, but it looked difficult with the way his hands were tied up. 

“...They left you?” Will asked softly. A strange wave of sadness washed over him before he could stop it. “What? No! No, no I'm sure they're looking for me right now!” Mike said immediately.

Mike kept talking, explaining something about his friends and how they'd come back, but his words had quickly turned into background noise. 

They left him. 

If Will hadn't been there, Mike would have died. 

He was all alone, they weren't coming to get him. 

Will knew exactly how easy it was to convince yourself someone would eventually show up. Any day now turned into weeks, then months, then years. 

But Mike looked so sure of himself.

 Will bit down on the inside of his cheek, trying to focus on the sting instead of the heavy feeling settling in his chest. 

He didn't like whoever these “friends” of Mike were.

“-so yeah,” Mike finished somewhere in the distance. “Hope you understand they're actually nice.” 

Sure they were.

Will nodded. The movement seemed to ease something in Mike. His shoulders dropped slightly, and he let out a slow breath as his posture softened. 

There was still a tiny voice in the back of Will's mind reminding him that Mike could very well just be a very good liar. That he was manipulating him, trying to gain Will's trust so he'd let his guard down and Mike could attack. 

Will ignored it. 

To him, it truly just seemed like Mike was a confused, injured kid who had wandered into the wrong parts of the woods. He'd been scared, desperate, and clung to the first person he saw the way baby ducklings latch onto the first thing that moves.

Eventually Mike would wake up and realize he'd been mistaken. Will just had to help Mike realize that this friendship of theirs only existed in Mike's head.

Will cleared his throat, shifting nervously on the mattress. “Why do you say we're best friends?” He didn't look at Mike when he spoke, instead picking at a loose thread on his sleeve, twisting it around his finger.

He could already guess the expression on Mike's face. The kind that felt as if it was staring into Will's soul, the one he hated. “Well…uhm…” Mike began.

He paused for a minute.

“Do you remember the first day that we met?”

Mike's voice had gone soft, it was so gentle. “It was-” He cleared his throat. “It was the first day of kindergarten. I knew nobody. I had no friends.” Will glanced up at him through his lashes. 

Mike wasn't looking at him anymore. His eyes had drifted somewhere far away, brows drawn together like he was watching something only he could see. “I just felt, so alone,” Mike quickly continued “And so scared, but” Then he looked back at Will. Will meant to look away. 

He couldn't.

“I saw you on the swings and…and you were alone too. You were just swinging by yourself.” A small smile appeared on Mike's lips, but Will could also faintly see tears creep their way into his eyes. “And…I just walked up to you and…I asked. I asked if you wanted to be my friend.” He said softly. Will’s brows twitched into a small frown. 

“And you said yes.” Mike continued, pressing his lips together for a moment like he needed to steady himself. “You said yes.” He took a small breath. “It was the best thing I've ever done.” 

A yellow swingset.

Sunlight warmed the metal chains, creaking softly as the swings gently moved back and forth. A boy sat on the swing beside him. He had black hair and was wearing a blue jacket. The sun was warm on Will's face. The air smelled like grass and dirt and playground mulch. The boy smiled at him. Will smiled back. He felt joy.

Will blinked.

The image flickered.

A yellow swingset.

Creaking swings.

A boy with black hair in a blue jacket. 

A warm sun.

The smell of grass, dirt and playground mulch.

The boy smiled.

Joy. 

The images flashed faster through Will's mind.

What—

A yellow swingset.

A boy with black hair.

A blue jacket.

A warm sun.

A smile.

Joy.

Will stared at Mike. The images were reflected in his eyes, the same sunlight seemed to live in them.

A yellow swingset.

A boy with black hair.

Blue jacket 

Warm sun.

Joy.

Will’s eyes kept darting between Mike’s as if searching for an answer to a question he wasn't even aware he was asking.

Yellow swingset.

Boy with black hair.

Blue jacket.

Warm sun.

Joy.

His head started to hurt. Will squeezed his eyes shut, his hands coming up to clutch his head desperately trying to ease the growing migraine.

“Will?”

Yellow swingset.

Black hair. 

Blue jacket.

Warm sun.

Joy.

“Will, are you okay?”

His ears started ringing. The images sped up.

Yellow swingset.

Black hair.

Blue jacket. 

Sun.

Joy.

Swingset. Boy. Jacket. Sun. Joy. Swingset. Boy. Jacket. Sun. Joy. Swingset. Boy. Jacket. Sun. Joy. Swingset. Boy. Jacket. Sun. Joy. Swingset. Boy. Jacket. Sun. Joy. Swingset. Boy. Jacket. Sun. Joy. Swingset. Boy. Jacket. Sun. Joy. Swingset. Boy. Jacket. Sun. Joy. Swingset. Boy. Jacket. Sun. Joy. Swingset. Boy. Jacket. Sun. Joy. Swingset. Boy. Jacket. Sun. Joy. Swingset. Boy. Jacket. Sun. Joy. Swingset. Boy. Jacket. Sun. Joy. Swingset. Boy. Jacket. Sun. Joy. Swingset. Boy. Jacket. Sun. Joy. Swingset. Boy. Jacket. Sun. Joy. Swingset. Boy. Jacket. Sun. Joy. Swingset. Boy. Jacket. Sun. Joy. Swingset. Boy. Jacket. Sun. Joy. Swingset. Boy. Jacket. Sun. Joy. Swingset. Boy. Jacket. Sun. Joy. Swingset. Boy. Jacket. Sun. Joy. Swingset. Boy. Jacket. Sun. Joy. Swingset. Boy. Jacket. Sun. Joy.

His head felt like it was splitting open. The ringing grew louder and louder until Mike's worried voice was almost impossible to hear. 

Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.

“Do you want to be friends?”

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

More images flashed by, but they moved too fast for Will to understand them. Then suddenly, the sun disappeared and the images turned cold.

“William.”

No.

“You and I, we are going to do such beautiful things together, William.”

Will heard himself cry out. Something bright flashed behind his eyes. He needed it to stop. He didn't want to remember. It hurt. Everything hurt. Just make it stop. 

Then finally,

Silence.

Will slowly opened his eyes. The ringing in his ears began fading out. Something warm dripped onto his lap. 

Blood. 

Will wiped at his nose with the back of his sleeve, breathing hard.

“...Will?” Mike whispered, making Will look up at him. Mike looked terrified. “Will are you okay? What happened?” 

Will didn't answer. He felt exhausted. Like every ounce of strength had just been drained out of him.

“You have the wrong person.” He muttered, pushing himself to his feet, legs shaky, as he walked towards his desk. “What?” Mike asked, confused. “No, no Will, I promise you-” 

“Enough.” The word snapped out of him sharp and loud. He yanked open a drawer and grabbed a water bottle then unscrewed the cap and drank quickly.

The water sloshed down his throat as he tried his best to wash away the lingering taste of memories he didn't want. The feeling he hard worked so hard to surpress.

He stood there for a moment, simply breathing.

Then he walked back to the bed, without looking at Mike, and plopped back down onto the mattress. Pulling the blanket over himself, Will turned onto his side, so his back faced Mike.

The tiger plushie was pulled tightly against his chest. Will kept his eyes open, he was too scared to close them, didn't want to be met with any more pictures. 

Tension filled the room. 

Will could tell Mike wanted to say something, could hear him opening his mouth, closing it again, shifting like he couldn't decide what to say. “Could I, uh… see what you were drawing earlier?” 

Seriously?

That's what he wanted to ask? After everything that just happened?

Will huffed quietly and shifted on the mattress, turning his back a little more. All Mike cared about was that stupid drawing. Too bad.

There was a soft rustle as Mike shifted on the floor. Will glanced over his shoulder to check what he was doing, just to make sure he wasn't trying anything.

Mike was staring at the wall, the one Will had covered with pieces of paper.

Mike suddenly turned his head and caught him looking. Will quickly turned away again, but not before he heard Mike chuckle softly.

Will clutched the tiger plush closer to him and tried to focus on its worn fabric instead of the thumping in his chest. 

“Is this you killing a Demogorgon?” Mike asked. Will turned back around to see which picture Mike was referring to.

It was the one where he'd drawn himself dressed like a gladiator, standing over a dead flower-man whose head had been cut off.

Will nodded, pushed himself further upright so his back rested against the wall. Mike just smiled, mumbling out a “cool” as he continued to study the drawing.

“And this one?” Mike nodded towards another picture — a tall brick tower with a princess inside. “It's a princess. She's been trapped in the tower by an evil witch.” Will muttered “You came up with that yourself?” Will shook his head before looking over towards the stacks of books by his desk. “Ah.” Mike said, understanding.

He continued looking across the wall. Will sat the tiger in his lap as he began fiddling with its ears, answering Mike's questions with short responses whenever he asked about another drawing.

Slowly, the pounding in his chest began to calm. 

“Which one's your favorite?” Mike eventually asked. Will looked up and saw Mike watching him expectantly. He bit his lip, not sure what to answer. After a moment, he pushed himself off the bed and walked over to his desk, opening the top drawer. 

Inside were stacks of drawings and Will hesitated before pulling out three sheets of paper. “I can't decide between these” he mumbled, making his way back, sitting down beside Mike on the floor.

He laid the drawings out in front of them — his fingers immediately found their way back to his nails, as he began picking at them. 

The drawing on the left was of his tiger plush. He had worked especially hard on that one, trying to make the fur look as soft as it felt in real life. The blue background made the orange stand out nicely. Will liked that part the most.

The one in the middle was a picture of a house. The paper was older, edges slightly bent. He had drawn it years ago and it wasn't nearly as good as his newer drawings, but that didn't matter. The feeling it gave him did. 

A small house, four windows, a picket fence and a welcome mat by the door. 

Sometimes Will would stare at the drawing, close his eyes, and imagine that it was real — imagine that it was his house.

The drawing on the right showed a knight. He was covered in shining armor. His face was hidden behind the helmet, but somehow you could still tell he was kind. A small bird sat on his shoulder and on the knight's chest plate was a giant heart. 

That one might actually be Will's favorite, however he'd never say that out loud.

He was afraid that if he did, something would happen to it. Something would take that away from him too. 

Will kept biting and picking at his nails, glancing between the drawings and Mike's face.

He didn't know why it felt so important to hear what Mike thought, but he wanted him to like them — wanted him to say they were good, to say what he liked about each one — and somewhere deep down, he hoped Mike would pick the knight as his favorite.  

“These are amazing Will.”

Will looked up and met Mike's eyes. His breath caught in his throat. Mike's smile was bright, overwhelming almost. Mike looked back down at the drawings, seeming to be studying every little detail. Will couldn't take his eyes off him. 

“I think…” Mike said slowly, lifting his bound hands to point. “This one is my favorite.” His finger hovered over the knight. “M-Mine too!” Will blurted out. The words escaped before he could stop them — he sounded stupid.

Mike looked at him again with that same bright smile making Will's chest feel strange — too tight, too warm. He swallowed. 

Mike turned back to the drawings. “You’re really good at this” he said softly. Will stared at him. 

“The knight looks really nice,” Mike said and Will frowned slightly. “What do you mean? You can’t see his face?” Mike shrugged a little. “I don’t know.” He studied the drawing again. “You can just tell.” He began pointing with his bound hands.

“He’s got that big heart on his armor, and the bird sitting on his shoulder…Animals only do that when someone’s safe.” Will glanced down at the drawing.

Mike leaned in closer and Will could feel the warmth radiating from his body. “You don't know that it could be an evil bird.” Will pointed out. It made Mike laugh and Will bit the inside of his cheek at the response. “Yeah, that's true.” They both looked back down at the drawing again.

Will sniffled, quickly rubbed at his nose. Mike glanced up again. “...Will?”

Will blinked. “What?”

Mike frowned slightly. “Your face.” Will frowned back. “My face?” Mike tilted his head, as if to get a better view. “Will…are you crying?”

Was he?

Will lifted a hand to his cheek, his fingers came away damp.

More tears slid down his face and into the corner of his mouth. They tasted of salt. Will frowned in confusion. “No, I-” His voice caught. Something heavy was building in his chest, swelling like a balloon that was about to burst. “Hey, what's wrong?” Mike asked softly. That only seemed to make it worse.

What was wrong with him? 

“Will talk to me, what happened?” Mike's voice was so gentle it made Will feel like he was drowning in it. He wiped at his eyes, but the tears kept coming. “S-sorry.” Will choked, a small sob slipping out. “No, no, no,” Mike quickly said. “It’s okay, don't apologize.” He tried to scoot closer to Will, but the ropes made it awkward. 

“Uhm..It's time to eat.” Will blurted suddenly. He needed to end this conversation — needed something else to focus on. He gathered the drawings quickly, avoiding Mike's gaze, stood up and placed them back into the drawer. 

Will took several deep breaths, wiping his face hard with his sleeve until the tears finally stopped. Then he opened the food drawer, grabbed a can of tomato soup, and opened the drawer for appliances, pulling out a bowl and a spoon. 

The soup sloshed loudly as he poured it. Will sat down on his chair and started eating. He sniffled quietly between bites, then he paused.

Mike probably hadn't eaten in a while either. 

Will reopened the food drawer. He had found quite a lot on his last few hunts, so it would probably be okay if he shared a little bit. Will grabbed another spoon and made his way back over to Mike who still looked concerned. Will ignored it.

He sat down across from him and placed the bowl between them, scooping up a spoonful and holding it out to Mike's mouth.

“Eat.” 

Mike stared at the spoon.

“No- heh- no, I'm uh… I'm good.” He said with an awkward smile. “You need to eat.” Will urged, annoyed at Mike's pickiness. “Yes, well- OH! I know!” Mike perked up. “My backpack! I filled it with snacks, we can eat that instead.”

Backpack?

Will frowned as he watched Mike's smile slowly fade. “Where's my backpack?” He asked, looking around the room. “I don't know.” Will said as he put the spoon back into the bowl. “You didn't bring it back with you?” Mike seemed a little frantic. “No?” Will said before taking a spoon for himself. “God damn it.” Mike muttered. Will lifted Mike's spoon again. 

“Mike.” 

“Noooo.”

“Eat.” 

Mike looked at him before reluctantly opening his mouth. Will slipped the spoon in, holding a hand underneath in case the soup spilled. Mike swallowed with a strained expression. 

Another spoon.

Mike squeezed his eyes shut. The face he made was so dramatic that Will huffed out a quiet, small laugh as he kept feeding him. Mike tried to dodge the spoons the only way he seemed to know how — talking.

“You know-” 

Spoon. 

“This actually isn't the worst thing-” 

Spoon. 

“I’ve ever eaten.” Another spoon. Will simply hummed in response as he refilled the spoon with more soup. 

“One time” Mike continued after swallowing. “We were eating at my house. My mom was sick so she couldn't make dinner, so my dad decided to give it a go.” Another spoon. “It was-” Mike gagged at the sudden spoon shoved into his mouth. Maybe Will should slow down a little.

“It was awful. Everything was burnt but also somehow undercooked. It tasted like…every bad flavor all at once.” Mike started laughing. “You didn't want to be rude so you kept nodding when he asked if it was good”

Will kept eating quietly as Mike talked, letting his imagination fill in the scene.

“But your face!” Mike said through laughter. “You looked like you were about to throw up. When my dad turned to talk to Holly, I shoved all the food from your plate into my mouth. You were so shocked, but I couldn’t let you finish it. I thought you’d get food poisoning.” Mike grinned.

“But then you started stealing food from my plate! We kept fighting over it until my dad noticed and gave us both second serving. He thought we were fighting over the food because we liked it!” Mike kept giggling at his own story.

“We had the worst stomachache after that, but we were laughing the whole time, hunched over on the couch in my basement.” Mike smiled at the memory. “Do you remember?” 

Burnt mac and cheese.

Legs dangling above the floor.

A boy with black hair-

“No.” 

The word came out sharp — forcefully interrupting whatever it was trying to sneak back into his brain. Mike frowned slightly and Will ignored the guilt tugging at his chest. He went back to force feeding Mike until the bowl was empty. 

“Will.” Will already knew what was coming. “No.” 

“Will come on-” Will stood up, carrying the bowl and spoons in the sink. “You seriously don't remember?” He rinsed the dishes.

“Not even a little bit?”

Ignore him.

“What about that time when Holly spilled milk all over you? You remember that?” Will looked down under the sink and saw the bandana laying on the ground. He picked it up. 

“She started crying because she felt bad” He made his way over to the chatterbox on his floor. “And you panicked trying to comfort her and-wait, Will, no-” Will quickly tied the bandana he had twirled tight together around Mike's mouth.

Mike shouted something muffled. “Shh.” Will pressed a finger to his lips. Mike looked very unimpressed. Will simply raised his eyebrows at him in response before going back to the sink to dry the dishes. 

He could hear Mike humming in the background.

What in the world was he doing?

At first Will tried to ignore it, but the humming kept going. The same muffled melody over and over again, distorted by the bandana tied around his mouth. It sounded wrong — off-key on purpose. Will scrubbed the bowl harder than necessary.

Ignore him. 

Mike kept humming. 

The same two notes. 

Over 

And over

And over.

And over.

Will dried the bowl, put it away, and shoved the drawer shut a little harder than necessary. The humming continued. Will shot Mike a death stare — one Mike met with a smug look as he began humming louder. 

Ignore him. He wants you to react. 

Will sat down at his desk and picked up a shirt he was working on repairing. He threaded a needle and began sewing a loose button back on, focusing on the small precise movements of his hands, and not the annoying creature beside him.

Huuummm.

Huuuummm.

Huuuummm.

After five minutes, Will snapped. He shot out of the chair and stormed across the room so fast Mike barely had time to react before Will clamped a hand over his mouth. “Can you SHUT UP?!” Mike yelped in surprise, the sound muffled beneath Will's hand.

Will pulled his hand away slowly, giving him a warning look as he moved to put his hand behind him. Instead, his hand bumped into Mike's ankle.

Mike yelled out in pain making Will freeze. His eyes darted from Mike's leg to the pained expression twisting across his face. Mike was squeezing his eyes shut, breathing sharply through his teeth. Will scooted closer to Mike's ankle without thinking.

Mike spat the bandana out from his mouth. “Will it’s really not that bad-” Will touched the ankle. “-OW!” and immediately pulling his hand back. Will looked at his face — all scrunched up in pain — before looking back.

He gently lifted Mike's foot and dragged the pant leg back to reveal a severely injured ankle. His stomach dropped.

The ankle was badly swollen, the skin mottled in deep purples and blues. It looked stiff and angry, like it had already begun to swell around the joint. Will pressed his lips together. “Will I promise, I'm okay.” Mike said quickly. Will blinked at him.

Why was Mike trying to comfort him? Mike was the one who was hurt.

Will didn't respond, instead he shuffled backwards toward the dresser and pulled open the bottom drawer — the medical drawer. Inside were the few supplies Will had managed to collect over the years. 

Bandages, old gauze, a couple elastic wraps, a small bottle of disinfectant, some cloth and a few cracked ice packs that only worked if he kept them stored near one of the cold vents where the air seeped through.

Will grabbed what he could carry and hurried back. “Will please you really don't need to-” “Take your shoe off.” Will muttered as he put the items in front of him. 

Mike tried to laugh. “Uh…that might be kinda hard.” Will met his eyes and saw how he was gesturing to his bound hands with a smirk. Will rolled his eyes, carefully untying Mike's shoelaces for him.

Mike kept shifting in his seat. “Stop moving”. Will said annoyed. “I’m not mov-” Mike shifted enough for his ankle to touch Wills arm “-OW- okay, sorry.” he relented as Will glanced at him one eyebrow raised. Will then, slowly, pulled the shoe off and Mike groaned. “Sorry.” Will mumbled. “It’s fine.” Mike said through clenched teeth. 

Will gently lifted the ankle again, inspecting it. It was swollen, bruised, but not bent the wrong way. Probably a sprain. “It's not broken.” Will said quietly, more so to himself. Mike exhaled dramatically. “Great. Love that.”

Will grabbed the cold pack and wrapped it in a thin cloth, then he carefully placed it against the swollen ankle. Mike sucked in a sharp breath. 

“Cold?” Will asked, not looking at him. “No, no, it's fine.” Mike said, although with the way he was breathing, it was obvious he was lying. Will proceeded to reach for one of the elastic bandages and began wrapping the ankle carefully. Not too tight — just enough to hold it steady. He could feel Mike watching him as he worked. 

“Youve done this before?” He asked. Will shrugged. He eventually finished tying the bandage and gently lifted Mike's leg onto the mattress, trying to get some height on it. “Keep it up.” Will prescribed.

He began gathering the supplies as he made his way back to the drawer. “And don't walk on it.” he muttered out of reflex. “Well that might be difficult considering the ropes situation.” Will paused then muttered out a “Good.” 

Mike snorted and silence settled between them again. Will stood up and glanced down. Mike was stretched out on the floor, his injured foot propped up awkwardly on the mattress the way Will had told him to. Mike caught him looking. “Thanks Will.” He smiled. Will nodded quickly before looking away.

Suddenly Will felt the need to do something — anything — to fill the quiet. He turned towards the stacks of books near his desk and began skimming through them.

His fingers traced across worn spines until he found one he liked. The BFG. Will pulled it free and walked back toward the bed, stepping carefully over Mike's body. He sat down and opened the book. Before he could start reading, Mike spoke again.

“Will?”

Will looked down at the page and hummed in response. “Could you…read out loud?” Will froze, his fingers tightened slightly around the edges of the book. He didn't want to make a fool of himself. Will didn't know every word in the book, he might pronounce them wrong and then Mike would hear. What if he laughed at him?

Slowly, Will lifted his head and met Mike's eyes. He was watching him with an almost hopeful look. It made his heart thump.

“Please?” 

Will swallowed.

Maybe just a little bit. If Mike laughed, he could always stop.

Will cleared his throat quietly and looked back down at the page. “The witching hour,” He began softly. “Sophie couldn't sleep.”

His voice felt strange in the quiet room. 

“A brilliant moonbeam was slanting through a gap in the curtains.”

Mike shifted slightly on the floor, kept his eyes on Will the whole time. Will kept reading. 

“It was shining right onto her pillow. The other children in the dormitory had been asleep for hours.”

The room was quiet except for Will's voice, which grew steadier as he kept reading. Mike didn't interrupt — didn't laugh — he just listened, and after a while, Will realized he had stopped worrying about the words.

“When she reached the curtains, Sophie hesitated. She longed to duck underneath them and lean out of the window to see what the world looked like now that the witching hour was at hand.”

Mike glanced at him. “You’re actually really good at that.” He said. Will blinked, caught off guard at Mike's sudden intrusion in the story. “At what?” Will asked. “Reading.” Will looked back down at the page quickly. “It’s just reading.”

“Still,” Mike shrugged. “You do the voices.” Will frowned slightly. “I’m not doing voices?” Mike smiled “You totally are.”

Will ignored him, decided to just keep going.

“She listened again. Everywhere it was deathly still. The longing to look out became so strong she couldn't resist it. Quickly, she ducked under the curtains and leaned out the window.” 

Will's finger traced along the lines as he read. He could feel Mike watching him, tried his best to ignore it. He leaned forward slightly as he read, completely focused, his hair falling into his face while his eyes followed the words across the page.

“Suddenly she froze. There was something coming up the street on the opposite side.”

Will could see Mike was smiling.

“Hey Will?” Will sighed but looked up again. “What?”

Mike tilted his head. “You kinda look like a teacher when you read.” Will stared at him, mouth slightly opened. “...Shut up.” Will grumbled as he felt heat climb up his ears. Mike grinned. “Keep reading.” Will rolled his eyes, but he did.

Will had raced through the book faster than usual. He found it was actually quite fun to read out loud to someone. His voice had grown steadier, and the words were flowing easier the longer he read.

“The giant picked up the trembling Sophie with one hand and carried her across the cave and put her on the table.” Will had to pause for a moment, scanning the next paragraph. Mike didn't interrupt.

Usually, Mike would have said something by now. A joke, a comment, something annoying. 

Will frowned slightly and glanced down towards Mike. Mike's head laid to the side, black curls all splayed across the floor. His arms were folded loosely beneath his head and his eyes were closed. Will stared at him.

“...Mike?”

No response.

Will leaned forward and slowly pushed himself off the bed to sit next to Mike. He leaned in to listen. Mike's breathing was slow and even. He had fallen asleep.

Seriously?

Here he had been worried about stumbling over words for nothing. Mike had just fallen asleep halfway through the story. Will huffed quietly under his breath, “Unbelievable.”

He kept scanning Mike's face. 

He noticed a strand of hair had fallen over his eyes. Without really thinking about it, Will reached down and brushed it aside. Mike didn't stir but Will still quickly pulled his hand back.

He sat there for a moment before slowly moving back to his seat on the bed. 

He took a final look at Mike, just to make sure he was still asleep. Will hesitated. “...Now he really is going to eat me, Sophie thought.” He continued reading but his voice was quieter now. He turned the page carefully. The room felt strangely calm.

Outside, the horrors of the world stretched endlessly in silent gray and flashes of red, but for once, Will didn't feel as if something was hunting him. So he kept reading, even if the only person listening was asleep.

Chapter Text

The wind rustled Mike's hair as he raised a hand over his face, trying to shield himself from the blaring sun.

“Will, wait up!” He shouted breathlessly before running after the boy ahead of him. Will's laughter echoed across the quarry, bright and carefree, bouncing off the rocky cliffs.

Mike couldn't see him at first, only hear him. That familiar laugh guiding him towards him.

By the time Mike finally caught sight of Will, he was already standing near the edge of Sattler Quarry. “What are we doing here?” Mike asked, a smile still on his lips. Will turned around.

He was laughing. It was such a wonderful sound, Mike wanted to drown in it.

The sunlight caught in Will's hair, turning the brown strands soft gold at the edges. The wind pushed it across his forehead and he brushed it back, still grinning at Mike. His eyes somewhat glistning as they crinkled slightly in the corners from the way he couldn't stop smiling. 

For a second Mike felt like he was looking at something he wasn't supposed to stare at for too long — like staring directly at the sun. Will looked almost unreal standing there at the edge of the quarry. Too bright for the dusty cliffs and gray stone surrounding them.

Will tilted his head, still smiling “Come on.” He said. Mike didn't even question it. 

He stepped closer. 

Will stepped back.

Mike let out a quiet laugh. “Careful,” he playfully warned, “Watch where you're going.” Will just smirked — that familiar teasing look that always made Mike feel like he was being let in on some private joke — then Will turned around again, and started running. 

“Will?”

He didn't give him an answer. Just looked over his shoulder with that same smile, only something about it felt wrong. It wasn't playful anymore — it was sinister, cruel in a way. Will turned forward again and sprinted toward the cliff.

“Will?!”

Mike's smile vanished as he realized what was happening. 

“Will, WAIT-!”

Mike ran, but the ground beneath his feet suddenly felt heavy as if he was running through water. The small distance between them stretched wider, and wider, and wider, until finally-

“WILL- NO!”

Will reached the end, and jumped.

Mike's arms shot forward instinctively, grasping for someone who wasn't there. “WILL!” He stumbled the last few steps, dropping to his knees at the edge, scrambling forwards as the rough gravel scraped at his palms. Slowly, Mike peeked over the edge.

At the bottom of the quarry, Will floated in the water — face down, completely still.

Mike's stomach twisted violently — his vision blurred as tears rushed to his eyes.

“...Will?” He whispered.

Then, the body moved. It rolled over in the water and Will stared up at him, still smiling. “It's okay Mike,” The gentleness of his voice carried up the cliff perfectly clear. 

“Jump.”

Mike blinked in disbelief. 

“Come down with me.” The smile was warm again, inviting Mike back to where he belonged — next to Will.

Relieved air rushed out of Mike's lungs. “O-okay,” he breathed. “Just…give me a second.” He stood slowly, legs trembling, as he looked down at Will waiting for him in the water. “Hurry Mike!” Will called out for him. Mike gulped.

It had to be fine, right? Will had jumped, he was fine. Besides he didn't want Will thinking he was too scared to jump in. 

He clenched his fists, closed his eyes, put one foot in front of the other, and stepped off.

The wind raced past him, tearing at his clothes and rushing in his ears so loudly it hurt. Mike forced his eyes open and his heart stopped.

The water was gone.

The quarry floor had gone dry, completely empty. No Will waiting for him. Just stone-cold ground. 

His body twisted in the air as panic seized him. Mike managed to look back up at the cliff, at Will standing at the edge. He was too far away, completely out of reach. Mike tried to shout his name, tried to say something — anything — but no sound came out. 

Will simply stared down at him. 

The warmth in his face was gone now, replaced by a cold, distant expression. Mike reached up toward him anyway. 

The ground rushed closer. 

Mike kept trying to elongate his limps, kept reaching even though he knew it was too far. Will just kept looking at him, void of any emotion.

Mike managed to glance back down at the ground, watching as it came closer and closer and closer until eventually-

Mike woke with a violent gasp. His chest heaved as he sucked in air, feeling as if he'd been drowning. For a moment he couldn't breathe properly. The air came in sharp, uneven bursts that burned his throat.

His hands were still reaching upward — trying to grab onto someone who wasn't there. His voice came out as a hoarse whisper. 

“...Will…?” 

Darkness swallowed the room around him, and it took Mike a few seconds to remember where he was. Forcing himself to move, he pressed his palms against the cold floor and pushed himself upright, his arms trembling slightly at the motion, his heart still racing. 

He had to see him, had to make sure Will hadn't disappeared. Had to make sure the dream wasn't some horrible glimpse into the future. 

Mike blinked into the darkness, his eyes slowly beginning to adjust, and shapes in the room started to take form.

The outline of his foot in front of him, raised on top of a mattress and finally, a small shape curled up beneath a blanket. Will. 

Mike held his breath without realizing it. For a second, he just stared. Then he heard it — soft, steady breathing — the quiet rise and fall of Will's chest beneath the covers. The sound of breathing filled the room as ease filled his chest so suddenly it almost made Mike dizzy. He slowly let out the breath he had been holding.

Will was still here.

Still safe, still asleep.

Mike's eyes drifted across the mattress and noticed something resting besides Will. A small square shadow. 

The book.

Right.

Will had been reading to him, and somewhere in the middle of it, Mike had fallen asleep.

Mike rubbed a tired hand over his face. 

He was such a jerk. 

Mike shifted awkwardly on the floor. He glanced at his injured ankle still resting on the mattress, remembering Will's strict instructions not to move it. With a quiet grunt, he pushed himself to the side, closer to the bed. 

Getting comfortable proved more difficult than he had anticipated. Mike ended up half on, half off the mattress — his legs stretched across the bed while his lower back hung awkwardly over the edge.

The position was ridiculous, but he didn't bother fixing it. He lifted his bound hands, tucking them beneath his head to use as a makeshift pillow. Now he was lying right beside Will. 

For a moment, Mike just looked at him. He had been trying so hard not to think about it, but now there was nothing left to distract him. Just the soft sound of Will breathing, and the heavy, unmoving thing sitting somewhere in Mike's chest.

Mike still wasn't convinced any of this was real.

It couldn't be. 

For four years Mike had believed Will was gone. 

Four years of empty seats, four years of DnD nights that felt empty, four years of bike rides that he always fell behind on, subconsciously waiting for someone who wasn't there to catch up.

Four years of grief that had settled so deep inside him it had become a part of him he'd accepted long ago. And now, Will was here. Sleeping beside him like nothing had happened. 

It didn't make sense.

Mike's eyes drifted further down to Will's shoulders. The blanket had slipped a little while he slept, bunching loosely around them. His face was relaxed in a way Mike couldn't remember seeing since their reunion. He looked peaceful, the tension between his eyebrows finally gone. 

He watched the slow rise and fall of his breathing — a silent proof of Will's existence — but the doubt crept in anyway. 

Because for a long time there had still been hope, back when people still told him maybe.

Mike remembers sitting by the phone for hours, pretending to do his homework as he listened for it to ring. Remembers watching the front door at school, his head snapping up before he could stop himself, already expecting to see Will step through it with that awkward half-smile, backpack slipping off his shoulder, his hair a mess like he'd rushed all the way here trying not to get in trouble. 

But it was never him.

Eventually, people began noticing what he was doing. They'd give him those careful looks, the ones that said we understand, the ones that thought of him as pathetic, the ones that pitied him. Mike learned to look back down at his desk before anyone grew the guts to say something out loud.

However, weeks turned into months, and months turned into years and eventually, the world stopped talking about Will. Everyone was trying their best — Mike knew that, truly he did — but sometimes it didn't feel like enough.

Sometimes it felt like they had already accepted something he refused to believe. 

Life kept moving for everyone else. People laughed, talked about stupid things, made plans for the future as if the world hadn't lost anything important.

Mike despised it.

He hated how easy it seemed for everyone else to keep living. Worst of all was birthdays. The first one after Will's death had been horrible.

Mike hadn't even wanted to celebrate — he still didn't — but his mom had insisted, saying they couldn't stop living, that it was important to hold on to normalcy. There had been balloons taped to the wall, confetti poppers, a giant “Happy Birthday” garlanded, more sweets than any human being should ever consume in one sitting and a cake on the table. The candles burned so brightly they made Mike squint.

As everyone sang for him, Mike remembers looking at the flames, feeling as if they were taunting him. Felt something ugly infest his soul, something he has never been able to free himself from.  

Mike blew them out because his mom told him to, thanked everyone for the presents, and tried his best to smile, but that night, after everyone had left, Mike ended up puking up whatever disgusting sweets he had eaten and crying into his pillow, pressing his face into the fabric to ensure no one would hear how pathetic he was being.

Mike swallowed hard, forcing the memory away before it could grow into something heavier. Began focusing on Will again.

The faint scar near his eye caught his attention. He studied it quietly, tracing the thin line with his gaze, following the way it traveled across the skin.

He was almost certain it had been self-inflicted. The idea was way beyond Mike's sense of comprehension. He couldn't understand it — couldn't understand how Will, — gentle, careful Will — could ever want to hurt himself.

Something painfully twisted somewhere under Mike's ribs.

“...sorry.”

The word slipped out before he could stop it.

Will didn't stir, Mike hadn't really expected him to. He wasn't even sure what he was apologizing for. Maybe it was for the birthdays, or the times he laughed at something stupid and selfishly forgot, just for a second.

Or maybe it was for the fact that Mike had promised he'd always be there for him, and Will had still ended up here all alone.

“...I'm so sorry…” The apology hung quietly in the dark between them. Will's breathing never changed, and Mike laid there listening to it, feeling like if he stopped paying attention it might disappear again. 

He began matching his own breathing to Wills, breathing in, breathing out. Closed his eyes, feeling calm enough to not worry about what might revisit him in his dreams. That was at least until he noticed Will's breath changing.

It was subtle at first, just a tiny hitch, before it calmed back down again. But then it became more paced, more ragged.

“...Will?” Mike whispered. Will answered with tiny mumbles and whines as he began twisting his body underneath the blanket. Mike pushed himself upwards to get a better look. The frown between Wills brows had come back and he was gritting his teeth together. He looked scared. 

“Will, wake up.” Mike wasn't sure what to do. Will became more and more distressed, beginning to mumble tiny words of no and stop. When Mike then saw tears begin spilling onto Will's cheeks, he decided enough was enough.

With his bound hands, Mike grabbed Wills and squeezed. “Will wake-”

Wills eyes bolted wide open and before Mike could even register the movement, something flashed through the air and a sharp pain exploded through his arm. 

Everything went still.

The room filled, once again, with the sound of Will's breathing — only now it was rough and uneven, dragged in sharp breaths as if he'd just run a mile.

Mike blinked, not really sure what just happened. Will simply sat frozen in front of him, chest rising and falling rapidly as he for a moment stared at nothing, like his mind was still catching up with the world around him. Then his brows twitched and confusion slowly pushed its way across his face. 

“...Mike?” His voice was hoarse from sleep and the sound of it made it impossible for Mike not to smile. “Hi Will.” 

Will blinked again, like the sight of him wasn't quite making sense yet. It seemed as if he was still half-asleep. It made Mike huff out a quiet laugh, however the pain in his arm hadn't really faded, in fact it had kind of started to worsen.

“What are you-” Will's gaze moved slowly across Mike's face, then to his arm. The change in his expression was immediate. The confusion drained out of him so quickly it was almost startling, replaced by something tight and pale and horrified. “O-oh no…” His voice came out thin “Oh no. Mike-" 

“Hm?” Mike didn't want to look away. The sight in front of him was one he hadn't had the luxury of seeing in forever, he wasn't going to let anything ruin it. “I'm so sorry-”

Before Mike could ask what he meant, Will scrambled off the bed so fast he nearly tripped over the blanket. He stumbled towards the desk, yanking open drawers with shaking hands.

Mike tilted his head, confused by the situation. “What's wrong?” Will's head snapped towards him — The look he shot Mike was so sharp Mike nearly flinched. “What's wrong?” Will repeated, his eyebrows raising. Mike simply gave a small, confused smile, which made Will stare at him as if he'd lost his mind. “There is a knife in your arm.” 

What?

Mike forced his eyes to move away from Will and down to his arm, and sure enough, there was a knife handle sticking straight out of it.

Huh.

Well.

That explained the pain.

“Oh.” Mike simply said. He lifted his hands towards it, curious, but Will immediately pointed a finger at him with frightening intensity. “Don’t touch it!” Mike froze, locked his eyes back on Will.

He was rummaging even faster now, his hands shaking so badly the drawers kept slamming against the frame. “Do you need any he-” “DONT MOVE.” 

Alright then.

A moment later Will let out a quiet gasp of victory, grabbing something, before he rushed back to Mike. He moved so fast he nearly lost his balance again, dropping to his knees beside him. 

Up close, the panic on his face was practically startling — his eyes wide, lips pressed thin, his hands hovering nervously over the knife handle — he looked like a deer in headlights.

“What are you smiling about?” Will muttered, frustration slipping through his voice. “I, uh…” Mike shrugged slightly. “Nothing.” Will didn't look convinced.

“I have to pull it out.” He said quietly. “That's okay.” Will glanced up at him, clearly not reassured.

“It’s going to hurt.” “It's fine, I have a high pain tolerance.” Mike said easily. Will let out a short breath through his nose. “Uh huh.” His hands were still shaking.

Will took a breath, then another. Mike could see the way his hands hovered over the knife handle like he was afraid it might explode if he touched it wrong. He was shaking all the way to his fingertips.

“I just…pull it out.” Will mumbled. Mike tilted his head slightly. “You sound very confident.” Will shot him a look so pointy Mike nearly began laughing. “Just saying” He said through the smile on his face. 

Will looked back down at the knife like it had personally betrayed him. “On three” he said quietly. “Alright.”

“One,”

Will paused, Mike waited. He could hear Will swallow so he turned his eyes back to him. Saw the way he was biting the inside of his cheek and forced the urge to tell him to stop away.

“Two-”

Will's eyes glanced up at Mike's face, their eyes meeting, and his brows somehow furrowed even deeper. “You can't look.” Mike furrowed his own brows at that. “Why not?” Will shook his head as if Mike had just asked the dumbest question ever. “Well, just because.”

Great argument.

“It's a knife in my arm, I think that gives me the right to choose whether I can look or not.” Mike scoffed, however the defeated look that fell over Will's face made it impossible for him to refuse.

“I…fine.” He grumbled as he turned away, hearing Will let out a sigh of relief. 

“Three.”

Pain shot up Mike's arm so fast it stole the air from his lungs. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth as the knife came free, his whole shoulder tightening instinctively. Warmth spread down his sleeve immediately and he felt blood dripping at his fingers. “Holy shit-”

“Still here.” Mike quickly said in an attempt to calm Will down, however the words didn't really seem to register. The knife clattered somewhere beside them as Will grabbed the edge of Mike's sleeve instead. “I’m going to- just, hold still-” Before Mike could ask what he meant, Will grabbed the fabric and tore it straight off the seam.

The sound ripped through the quiet room. Mike blinked down at the ruined sleeve. “…hey” Will was already pressing a cloth against the wound, his hands firm despite the shaking. “I liked that shirt.” The smug look on Mike's face was interrupted by pressure hitting the wound.

Mike hissed out in pain. “There's a stab wound in your arm.” Will snapped. “Oh really, hadn't noticed.” Will gave him an unamused look. 

Tough crowd.

Will held the cloth on the wound with one hand while digging frantically through the supplies with the other. A sharp medicinal smell filled the air as he opened the disinfectant. “It's fine,” Will muttered quickly. “Its not that deep— I mean it is deep but not like, uh…not like-” 

“Your pep talks could use some work.” Mike joked but Will seemed too busy wetting a new piece of cloth with disinfectant to appreciate his humor.

The moment the disinfected cloth pressed onto his wound, Mike jerked. “Geez,” Will glanced up to look at him. “What?” Will asked. “It burns.” Will looked at him as if he was stupid. “It's disinfectant.” Mike rolled his own eyes now. “Yeah, I gathered that.” 

Will's lips pressed together as he carefully lifted the cloth to inspect the wound. Mike watched his face. He looked completely focused, brows drawn together in concentration.

His eyes flicked between the wound and the supplies like he was mentally running through steps. Then he picked up the needle and thread. Mike noticed the shaking starting up again.

“You gonna patch me up like one of your dolls now?” Will froze, and Mike noticed a shade of red slowly become visible on Will's face and ears. “They’re not dolls.” He mumbled. “I’m not judging. I sleep with stuffed animals at home too.” Will didn't look convinced. “I’m serious. I get scared at night sometimes you know.” 

Will's gaze dropped down to the needle and thread in his hands. “...me too...” he mumbled so quietly Mike barely heard it.

Before Mike could say anything else, Will was back to focusing on his arm, something tight and unhappy settling across his face. He began positioning the needle. “This is going to hurt.” Mike just smiled at him. “High pain tolerance, remember.” 

The needle slid into his skin. Mike sucked in a sharp breath but stayed still, his eyes closed as he tried to dissociate from the pain in his arm. “Yup, totally don't feel a thing.” He said through gritted teeth. Will huffed and Mike opened his eyes, a grin spreading across his face. “There it is.” 

“What?”

“That almost-smile.”

“I did not smile.”

“You did.”

“I did not.”

“You stabbed me and now you're gaslighting me.”

Will shook his head but Mike still caught the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth as he finished tying the final knot.

He cleaned the wound again, finishing everything off with pressing gauze over it and wrapping a bandage carefully around Mike's arm.

His movements had slowed now. The frantic edge from earlier had finally faded into something softer. 

Will leaned back slightly once he was done, staring down at the bandage like he was still checking his work. Mike looked down with him. “Huh, well would you look at that. You're both a teacher and a doctor.” Will glanced up.

“Why are you making jokes?” He asked confused. “Why not?” Mike said. Will gave him a bewildered expression. “...I stabbed you.” Mike just shrugged as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “It happens.” 

He leaned back slightly, wincing as the movement tugged at the stitches. It made Will frown. “Will its okay, I'm still alive.”  Will exhaled slowly. “...yeah.” Mike smiled at him. A smile Will didn't return. 

He looked back down at Mike's arm. His fingers hovered over the bandages for a second, lightly pressing the gauze down one last time as if making absolutely sure it stayed in place. Then his hands stilled. 

For the first time since pulling the knife out, Will stopped moving entirely.

Mike realized just how close he was. Will was still kneeling beside him, one knee pressed into the floor, the other braced near Mike's leg.

Their shoulders were almost touching — Mike was sure that if he leaned forward, even a little, he'd probably bump into him. Will’s brown hair fell into his face as he continued to study the bandage with intense concentration. Mike couldn't help watching him. 

The panic from earlier had faded from his expression, but the tension hadn't fully disappeared. It lingered in his raised shoulders, in the way his fingers kept flexing.

Will looked drained — like the panic had burned through all his energy. Mike felt like he needed to say something. “Will,” he finally looked up. 

They were closer than Mike had realized. They sat there in silence for a bit, Will's eyes flicking quickly between Mike's face and the bandage. “You alright?” Mike asked. “Are you?” Mike glanced down at his arm. “It's still attached, unlike the sleeve of my fav shirt.” Will didn't look entertained, but Mike smiled a little anyway.

Abruptly, Will moved away from Mike.

He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face in a tired gesture. He stood up and Mike swallowed, missing the warmth that had been there a second ago. Will looked down at him before saying "I'm really sorry.”

He was fiddling with his sweater again. “Do you want to tell me what it was you were dreaming about?” Mike asked. The panicked look on Will's face came back as he quickly shook his head. Mike gave him a smile, trying to comfort him, to tell him it was alright. “I had a nightmare too.” 

Will sharply nodded in response before turning around to go rummage through a bag filled with clothes.

He pulled out a dark blue sweater and walked back over to Mike. “Here.” He said, as he handed him the sweater and sat down on the mattress. “Uhm, it will be kind of difficult to get on.” Mike nodded towards his bound hands. “Oh.” Will nearly whispered.

He bit the inside of his cheek as he looked down at the rope surrounding Mike's wrists. “You don't have to untie it, I'll be fine.” Mike tried to reassure even if he, deep down, truly wanted nothing more than to finally be freed from the uncomfortable rubbing and numbing feeling at his wrists and hands.

Will pouted, meeting Mike's eyes. “No I…uh…” Will rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. He closed his eyes as his hands moved to rub frustrated across his face, a groan leaving his lips. He let his hands fall back down to his lap, his lips pressed together, and he took a final deep breath before grabbing Mike's wrists and working to untie the rope. 

In all honesty, Mike wasn't expecting Will to do it. He'd been almost certain Will would change his mind halfway through — that the moment the knot loosened, he'd pull back and retie it, but the rope slipped away from his wrists. “...don’t try anything.” Will muttered. “I-I won't." Mike quickly responded.

Cold air rushed over the raw skin where the rope had rubbed, and Mike let out a quiet breath of relief as he moved his hands apart.

His wrists ached as he slowly rolled them, trying to coax the circulation back. It felt as if pins and needles were poking at his fingers.

“Can you remove your shirt?” Will asked, then hurriedly added, “Without moving your arm.” Mike nodded and began working the shirt off with his good arm. The fabric dragged awkwardly over his shoulders, so Will moved his hands to help him lift the fabric.

As the cold air hit the newly exposed skin, Mike felt a shiver run up his spine. “It's cold.” He mumbled. “Sorry.” Will apologized — as if the temperature was somehow Will's fault. He leaned in closer, dragging the shirt off his head. 

Mike bit his lip for a second, hesitating. “Do you want to hear about it?” he asked. “About what?” Will wasn't really paying attention, too busy focusing on the sweater he was trying to pull off his body. “My dream.” 

Will paused for a brief second, then continued. “...If you want.”

Did he?

Not really.

But he felt like he had to. As if he didn't, the words would end up rotting in his chest. He had to show Will he wasn't the only one who woke up panicked, not the only one who hurt people without meaning to or the only one who clung to something soft in the dark believing it might keep the nightmares away. 

Will placed the ruined shirt beside him as he picked up the new one and presented it to Mike. “It was about you,” Mike quietly began, sticking his hands through the sleeves. “Usually you're younger, but this time it…it was really you.” Will guided Mike's left arm through the sleeve. “You, uh, ran up this cliff, the quarry.” Mike swallowed. “And uhm, you smiled at me before you-”

His voice caught, he forced the words out anyway. 

“Uhm…Before you jumped.” The other sleeve came next. Mike sniffed. “I thought you were dead, no one survives a jump like that, but when I looked down, you were just there… laying in the water.” Will guided the hurt arm with more carefulness. “You told me to jump in with you.”

Will was quiet — actively avoiding Mike's eyes — and for some reason that made the ache in his heart hurt even more. “So I did.” He sniffled, trying to stop the inevitable. “Because of course I did. I'd do anything for you.” He let out a weak laugh in an attempt to stop the tears welling up in his eyes, as the sweater began sliding over his head.

“But when uhm, when I jumped-” his voice broke. “Y-you were gone.” 

The fabric fell over his face. Mike grabbed it quickly before Will could pull it down the rest of the way. 

He could already feel it coming — the pressure in his chest, the tightness in his throat. “I looked up and you were back on the cliff.” Mike forced himself to continue even if his voice was now shaking. “And I tried to reach for you I really did but I-” The sob slipped out before he could stop it. 

He felt a pull at the sweater, he clenched his hand tighter to try and stop the motion. “...Mike?” Will's voice was so comforting, it sounded the same as it had in the dream. Will tugged again but Mike only shook his head. “No.” He choked out.

He'd changed his mind — he couldn't let Will see this side of him. He hadn't cried in front of anyone in years. It felt wrong, like something he wasn't supposed to do anymore.

He sniffled, tried to muffle the sound of the tears leaving him. He felt yet another tug. “Mike.” 

Very carefully, Mike pulled the collar of the sweater down just enough for his eyes to peak through. That had been a mistake because the moment he caught sight of Will's face — of the softness in his eyes, the quiet concern glinting in them — everything inside Mike shattered. He couldn't hold it anymore. 

The tears came hard and fast, ugly, choking sound filling the room before he could stop it.  Will gently pulled the sweater the rest of the way down and Mike immediately buried his face in the crook of his arm, mortified at himself. He felt pathetic. Warm hands closed around his wrists, making Mike's stomach drop.

Shit.

He had scared him.

Freaked him out enough for Will to feel the need to tie him up again. He was such an idiot. 

Mike squeezed his eyes shut, too ashamed to look, too scared to see the expression on Will's face. What if it was the same as the one looking down at him from the cliff? What would he do then? 

The warm hands lifted his wrists slightly, then stopped midair. “Mike.” Will's voice was trembling, he felt a shake at his hands too.

Mike opened his eyes to see Will's nervous face looking back at him. As they stared at one another, Will carefully guided Mike's hands upward and pressed them against his face. Will's cheeks were so warm beneath his palms. 

Mike didn't move at first, terrified, feeling as if he was touching something fragile. But the look of determination in Will's eyes screaming at him to do it, were encouraging him, almost pleading. So slowly — very slowly — Mike let his hands relax. Let his palms soften against Will's face. 

Will's grip around Mike's wrists tightened, seeming to need the contact just as much. “It's okay,” Will whispered, closing his eyes. “It was only a dream.” Will leaned into Mike's hand, only a little, but the tiny movement broke the damn Mike had been building for all these years.

There was nothing left to stop the overflow of tears escaping from his eyes, no matter how hard he wanted to.

Will didn't pull away at how pathetic Mike was being, he stayed there — holding Mike's wrists, leaning into his hands — as the quiet room filled with the sound of Mike's walls finally breaking. 

Through his sobs, Mike felt his thumb begin to move.

At first, it was barely anything, a hesitant stroke along the side of Will's cheek like he wasn't entirely sure he was allowed. Will's skin was warm, warmer than he'd expected. 

The tight grip around his wrists slowly loosened, and after a moment, Will let go entirely. His hands sank back into his lap, leaving Mikes where they were. Giving him permission to touch, permission to take.

Mike's shoulders still shook with the last remnants of his crying, breath catching unevenly in his throat as another quiet sob slipped out. But he didn't pull his hands away, instead he moved them again carefully, almost reluctantly. 

His thumbs slid upward first, brushing faintly beneath Will's closed eyes.

The skin there was soft and when he pushed up, just a little higher, his thumb caught against something delicate — Will's lashes. They tickled faintly against the pad of his thumb. 

Mike's breathing hitched, but the sob that followed was quieter this time. 

His fingers drifted higher, his thumbs brushing slowly across Will's closed eyelids, feeling the faint shape of them beneath the skin before moving further up to his eyebrows. He traced them gently, followed the curve.

Somewhere in the middle of the movement, Mike realized his hands had stopped shaking. His breathing had begun to slow too, the harsh, choking sounds of earlier fading into uneven inhales and soft sniffling instead.

His left thumb lingered for a moment before it began drifting, mapping the thin line of the scar running across Will's eye. He followed it carefully, noticing the way the scarred skin felt different beneath his thumb. His other hand moved up to Will's forehead, pushing a few loose strands of hair away.

Will didn't move, his eyes stayed closed. Mike sniffed softly.

That helped.

His hands moved more easily after that.

They slid down again, cupping the sides of Will's face now instead of just brushing it.

His palms rested against the curve of Will's jaw, thumbs slowly drifting inward as if they were learning the shape of him.

He traced the line of Will's nose next — the bridge, the slope of it — each small movement felt steadier than the last. 

The careful hesitation from before had faded somewhere along the way, replaced by something warmer, something that made Mike linger longer than he probably should have.

He wasn't just checking anymore, he was remembering, confirming, making sure every piece of Will was still where it belonged. 

By now the sobbing had faded completely. Only the occasional sniff escaped him as he breathed in slowly through his nose, his chest rising and falling more evenly than before. 

His right hand stayed cradled against Will's cheek, but his left began to wander again. It slid slowly downward. His thumb hovered just beneath Will's mouth.

Mike hesitated.

His heart had started beating harder now, though he wasn't entirely sure why.

Will's lips were slightly parted. Mike stared at them for a moment longer than he meant to. Then his thumb moved, just barely. 

It brushed against Will's top lip first — soft enough that he almost wasn't sure he'd touched it at all. However, the warmth of it lingered on his skin. 

His breath caught.

The second touch was slower, more deliberate. His thumb dragged gently along the shape of Will's upper lip before slipping down to the lower one.

The softness of it made something strange twist low in his chest.

Will's mouth parted slightly beneath the touch. Mike's gaze fixed there. He barely noticed how close he had leaned in, how his breathing had slowed to match Wills, how his thumb moved again, slower now, dragging the curve of Will's bottom lip with no intention of stopping.

A warm, dizzying feeling replaced the earlier hesitation. It was heavier, hungrier. Mike found he couldn't think about anything else, until he looked up and met Will's eyes — one white, one green, both wide open, looking straight at him — causing Mike to jerk back like he'd been burned.

His hands vanished from Will's face instantly, dropping into his lap as heat flooded violently up his neck and into his ears. Shame crashed over him so fast it made him feel sick.

He stared down at his hands like they'd betrayed him, like they weren't his at all. His throat tightened and Mike swallowed hard, trying desperately to bury the feeling. 

The warmth that had filled his chest mere moments ago transformed into something ugly and suffocating.

What was he even doing?

Mike kept his eyes fixed on the floor, a quiet sniff escaping him, as he tried to steady his breathing again.

Even though Will had initiated, even though he'd let him, Mike couldn't help the knot in his stomach and the thumping in his heart, feeling as if he was betraying Will's trust by doing something he knew was wrong. 

He felt disgusting. 

“We should probably get some sleep.” Will's voice broke through the silence. Mike swallowed, the shame still sitting heavy in his chest. “Yeah.” He muttered, the word quieter than intended.

He heard the rustle of a blanket as Will shifted on the mattress in front of him, so he lowered himself to lay on the floor.

He stared at the dark of the ceiling, faint shapes of cracks and shadows blurring together above him. His body felt heavy.

It felt as if everything that had happened tonight had suddenly decided to settle all at once. It was overwhelming — He wanted to go home.

“...Mike?” Mike turned his head to look at the boy who was looking at him from the mattress. The blanket was wrapped tightly around him. The stuffed animals had been pushed down toward the foot of the bed, except for the tiger, which Will was holding loosely against his chest. “...Uhm.” Will started awkwardly.

He shifted a little, clearly unsure of himself. “You're hurt so…” His voice trailed off as he patted the empty space beside him. It looked like he regretted the movement the moment his hand touched the mattress, he was visibly cringing at himself.

Mike pushed himself up slowly — his muscles protesting the movement — and for a second the room tilted slightly from the exhaustion pressing behind his eyes. Still, he shuffled the short distance to the mattress and carefully pulled himself up beside Will. 

The mattress dipped under his weight before Will immediately handed him the only pillow. “For your ankle.” Mike blinked at it for a second before understanding. “Oh.” A small smile tugged at his mouth. “Thanks.”

He slid the pillow beneath his ankle, letting the joint rest on the soft height. The relief was immediate, dulling some of the throbbing ache.

He lowered himself down again, the mattress thin and rough beneath him, but after everything that had happened it still felt better than the floor.

Mike turned his head and saw Will — curled back into his blanket, tucked tightly inside — already looking back at him. None of them said anything. The quiet between them felt different now than before. 

Something about the situation prompted Mike with enough confidence to ask Will, "How'd you get that scar?” But Will didn't respond. Only pressed his lips tightly together.

Mike's gaze flickered to them before he could stop himself. His thumb still tingled faintly at the memory of touching them. Then Will turned away, muttering out a quiet “Good night.”

Mike watched the back of his head for a moment longer. He let out a slow breath, turned his head to look back out into the darkness of the room. The exhaustion from the nightmare, the stab wound, the panic, the crying — all of it settled over him like a heavy blanket of sleep. 

Mike woke slowly. 

His body forced him awake, first by the dull ache in his shoulder, then the stiffness in his neck, then the soreness around his wrists, a tender, raw feeling that made him instinctively flex his fingers. Something nudged his shoulder. “Mike.” 

He groaned softly, burying his face deeper into the mattress. 

Another nudge. “Mike.” 

Mike cracked one eye open. Will was hovering above him. His hair was a disaster. Not just messy, it looked catastrophic. As if hed been dragged through sleep instead of simply having it.

Mike stared at him for a moment, then he huffed out a quiet laugh. Will frowned immediately. “What?” Mike rubbed at his eye with the heel of his hand, his voice still thick with sleep. “Your hair” 

Will instinctively reached up and tried to flatten it down, but it did absolutely nothing, it sprang right back up. Mike's shoulder shook slightly as he laughed again.

Will narrowed his eyes at him. “Are you done?” 

“Maybe.” Will rolled his eyes. “We need to eat.” Mike sighed but pushed himself upright. The movement pulled at the wound in his arm and sent a dull throb through his shoulder making him wince slightly. “Yeah, yeah.” 

The mattress creaked as Mike scooted closer to the wall, making space.

Will awkwardly climbed over him to get down, one knee briefly pressing into the mattress beside Mike's thighs before he hopped to the floor. Mike watched him move around for a moment, watched as he turned on the lantern sitting by the desk. 

His gaze drifted down to his own wrists, the skin there still red where the rope had rubbed, slightly raw. Mike rubbed at one absentmindedly before dropping his hand. 

Will was already searching his drawer for more of that oh so delicious soup, and Mike's eyes wandered down to the floor. He saw something reflecting the soft light coming from the lantern, laying there. 

The knife.

Still stained with blood.

Mikes blood.

It was still there. Mike had only just registered it when he heard the sound of metal clanging against wood. Will had dropped the can back in the drawer, his eyes locked on the same knife. There was a brief moment where an agreement fell over them — don't say anything. 

Will abandoned the cans of food to rush over to the knife, grabbing it quickly off the floor. He didn't look at Mike while he crossed the room to the sink.

The faucet screeched quietly when he turned it on, and Mike watched him scrub the blade under the water harder than he probably needed to. It felt as if he was trying to wash away more than just the blood. 

Mike looked away, feeling as if he wasn't supposed to see this. 

A few minutes later, Will returned with two bowls of soup and a water bottle. He handed the bowl and then the bottle to Mike. “Drink.” Mike obeyed, taking a long swallow before handing it back. Will climbed back onto the mattress, placing the bottle between them.

The bowl looked…questionable. “Eat.” Will said, taking a spoonful of his own. “You sure I won't die from this?” It somehow looked worse than the tomato soup, Mike wasn't even sure what kind of soup it was. “Do you want to eat meat instead?” Will asked, raising his brows. 

The demo-dog meat you cut up you mean? No thanks. I choose my own destiny. 

“Soup it is.”  They ate in relative silence. The soup was cold, and honestly pretty gross, but it was still food. Halfway through, Will glanced down at Mike's foot. “How’s your ankle?” he asked. Mike stretched it slightly, testing it.

The pain was still there, but it had dulled.

“Better” he said, looking up at Will with a small grin. “All thanks to you.” Will rolled his eyes immediately, looking back down at the soup he continued to eat. However, Mike still caught it. 

That tiny smile tugging at the corner of Will's mouth before he looked away. 

Will's gaze stayed fixed on the bowl after that. Not once did he look back up. Mike noticed. Noticed the way Will's shoulders had tensed, the way his fingers had tightened around the spoon. Suddenly, Mike felt very aware of last night. 

The dream.

The crying.

The touching.

He cleared his throat. For a second he almost asked about it. 

About Wills dream.

About…everything else.

But the words never made it out. 

So instead, he took another bite of the terrible soup and pretended the silence between them didn't feel heavier than before. 

By some miracle, Mike had finished the food. 

He handed the empty bowl back to Will, careful not to brush his fingers against his, and Will took it without comment and carried it to the sink. 

Mike leaned back slightly on the mattress, watching him move around the small room. It was impossible to tell what time it was here.

The Upside Down never changed. No sun, no sky, just the same endless gray darkness interrupted by the occasional flash of red pressing in from outside the walls.

The only sense of time came from Will. From the lantern he switched on when it was “day” and turned off when it was “night”. Maybe he actually knew.

“Do you know what time it is?” Mike asked. Will didn’t look up from the sink as he rinsed the bowl and began drying it with the same old rag. “Probably like…five?” Mike furrowed his brows. “In the morning?” Will shook his head, placing the bowls and spoons back where they belonged.

“We slept for that long?” Mike asked, a little stunned. Will only shrugged, as if it didn't matter.

Come to think of it, Will didn't seem to do much here at all. He only ever left the room to go to the bathroom, and inside he mostly just read, drew, ate or slept. 

That, and the occasional emergency surgery apparently.

“Do you usually sleep that long?” Mike asked. Will had already moved back to his desk, lazily flipping through an old magazine. “Sometimes,” he said absentmindedly, “Sometimes I can’t sleep at all.” 

Yeah, Mike knew that one.

“What do you do then?” Mike had started fiddling with his fingers as he waited for answers. Will still hadn't looked at him once since “breakfest”. “Well…I read. Or draw.” Will said, turning another page.

“Sometimes I fix clothes or other things that break. I try to work out sometimes too. Jumping jacks, sit ups, stuff like that.” Another page flipped. “And then I eat and…that’s usually it.”

Mike frowned, the texture of the blanket itching beneath his hands. “Well what about when you go outside?” 

The magazine page stopped moving.

For a moment, Will didn’t say anything. Then he slowly turned the page and mumbled “I don’t go outside.”

Mike lightly chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. “Maybe I hallucinated, but I’m pretty sure we met outside.” Will didn’t laugh. “I only go outside once a month, to restock.” He explained quietly, he was leaning his face on his hand, so his words came out slightly muffled. 

The lantern on the desk cast golden light across Wills face and helped further darken the shadows surrounding them.

Mike's hands clenched together, the knuckles turning white. He needed to find the radio in his backpack, or any radio for that matter, or if he was really lucky, a gate. He just needed something — anything — to fasten the process of them leaving.

He refused to let Will rot in this place any longer than necessary.

“How about..” he hesitantly began, a part of him worried what he was about to say would press the wrong button in Will and make him snap. “...You and I go outside together. Tomorrow, maybe?” Will's head snapped towards him, Mike watched Will from the corner of his eye, his head still pulled downwards. “No.” The answer came instantly. “Why not?” Will swallowed. “It's dangerous.” 

“You seem to be pretty capable of protecting yourself.” 

“It's still dangerous.” 

Mike bit the inside of his cheek. He needed them outside — needed them to search, to get home. 

“But we have to find some board games, don't we?” He suddenly said, desperate to find a good enough reason. Will looked at him again, face still smushed up against his hand, mindlessly playing with the magazine's paper. “Since I can't really draw” Mike continued, surprised the idea had sparked Will's attention. “and I'm assuming you don't have any games here, we should find something we can do together.” Mike gave him a crooked smile. 

“Together...?” Will repeated, straightened his posture. “Mhm, I have to warn you tho, you'll probably lose, I'm like…really good.” He joked, a smug smirk on his face. Will tried to hide it but Mike saw the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Then his eyes dropped to Mike's feet. “...but, what about your ankle?” Will asked, voice filled with concern. 

Oh.

Right.

My stupid fucking ankle.

“It's fine, really.” Mike quickly said. “It doesn't even hurt anymore. If we just find a walking stick I'm sure it'll be fine.” Will looked skeptical. “Are you sure?” Mike nodded, even if he was breaking his sacred rule, lying straight to Will's face.

It was for a better cause, he was sure Will would forgive him when they were home and he was eating actual food, not cold, clumpy gross soup sitting on a soft couch instead of the hard, cold wood of his chair. 

Will looked down at the floor, a furrow planted between his brows. Mike took a deep breath, held it there. Tried to keep himself calm, to act like the verdict wasn't all that important. 

“Okay.” Will finally whispered.

Mike's face lit up. “Okay?” Will nodded. “Okay!” The relief rushed through him so fast it almost made him laugh. 

Before he could say anything else, Will abruptly stood up, moving to the sink and began brushing his teeth. After a moment, he turned around to look at Mike. He turned back again, spat into the sink, then went and opened another drawer, pulling out both a toothbrush and a bowl.

He let his own toothbrush sit in his mouth as he squeezed toothpaste onto the brush, walking back over to Mike. Will handed both items to Mike with his own toothbrush still in his mouth. “Thanks” Will merely nodded, a simple “uh huh” leaving his lips, before he returned to the sink. 

After brushing their teeth, Mike leaned back against the wall while Will rinsed the bowl and toothbrush.

When he'd finished, he grabbed a book from the stacks and climbed back onto the bed. “Are you going to read to me again?” Mike asked with a smirk. Will shook his head and pulled the blanket over both of them. “No,” He said, handing the book over. “Your turn.” Will pressed his lips together, still wouldn't fully meet his eyes “You sure? You were so good-” 

Will punched Mike's arm. 

“Ow!” Mike winced dramatically. “You trying to ruin my other arm too?” Will rolled his eyes, though the small smile on his face wasn't hidden anymore.”Alright then, I’ll read.” Mike smiled as he looked down at the book in front of him. He cleared his throat and attempted a very dramatic British accent. “Bridge to Terabithia.” 

Will snorted. His hand flew over his mouth immediately, eyes wide like hed shocked himself. Mikes head snapped towards him.

“What was that sound?”

“What was that voice?” Will shot back defensively.

Mike burst out laughing, it was such a genuine laugh too. It made the heavy, dark room suddenly feel so light and the lantern seem so bright.

Will looked at him with an expression Mike couldnt decipher, but he let the remaining laughs leave his body before looking back towards the book and opening it, beginning to read the first chapter. 

Mike really tried his very best. He straightened his posture, cleared his throat and began reading with as much seriousness as he could manage.

Every character got a different voice. Some were deeper, some were higher — one sounded vaguely like a pirate. He used his hands too, acting things out whenever something dramatic happened. 

Every few sentences, he glanced sideways at Will. Waiting — Hoping.

Because every time Will laughed — even a quiet one — something warm and electric sparked in Mike's chest. 

It was completely stupid, but Mike would've read the entire library out loud if it meant hearing that sound again.

Eventually, the laughter faded into quiet listening. Will's shoulders relaxed beside him, his eyes stayed on the book, and after a long while, Will slowly leaned his head against Mike's shoulder.

Mike froze, completely. His heart slammed against his ribs so hard he was certain Will would hear it.

Don't move,

Ba-Thump,

Don't react,

Ba-Thump,

Don't ruin it.

He forced his voice to stay steady as he kept reading. He turned the pages, did the voice, even though his pulse was racing and warmth had spread all the way up his neck.

Mike stared down at the words, pretending nothing had changed, but inside his chest something bright and terrifying had begun to bloom. He tried very hard not to think about why, so he just kept reading.

Mike woke to the sound of the door closing.

His eyes snapped open — the bed beside him was empty, and Will was gone. 

“Will—?” Mike shoved himself upright too fast. Pain exploded through his shoulder and ankle at the same time, but he barely registered it. “W-Will?!” His voice cracked and the room began spinning when he tried to stand.

No.

No, no, no, Will was real.

He was real, he was just here.

Wake up, wake up, wake up.

Mike stumbled off the mattress, his injured ankle buckling the moment his weight touched the floor. Pure, hot pain shot up his leg and stole the breath from his lungs. He caught himself against the wall covered in drawings. 

The room tilted violently and he felt his stomach curling in on itself. “...wake up…please wake up…” he mumbled into the wall. His hand knocked weakly against it, as if the impact would somehow break him out of whatever nightmare this was.

But the wall stayed solid. The drawings stayed in place. Will was still gone. 

His chest tightened painfully, the toxic air he now craved not coming in properly. He tried to straighten himself, but his ankle screamed in protest sending another wave of nausea through him. 

The room blurred, his eyes covered in tears. “Please...” He choked out, pressing his forehead against the wall. His hand came up and hit his head weakly. “...wake up.” 

The door suddenly swung open and Mike flinched violently. Through it came Will. He was carrying a long, sturdy branch with him.

For a moment, Will just stood there at the entrance, clearly confused, as his eyes landed first on the abandoned bed — the blanket half dragged onto the floor — and then spotted Mike. 

Mike's eyes widened. A few tears still clung to his cheeks, and his whole body was still trembling thanks to the leftover shock.

The sight of him made Will's expression shift immediately. His brows pulled together as he bit the inside of his cheek.

“Are you okay?” he softly asked. The question snapped Mike out of it. “W-what? Yeah!” Mike wiped quickly at his face, forcing a laugh that sounded far more strained than he had wanted. “No, totally. I'm fine.”

Will didn't look convinced but, thankfully, he didn't push. Instead he lifted the branch slightly in the air. “I found your walking stick” he said. Mike looked at it for a second before reaching out to take it. “Thanks.” he said quietly, gripping it tighter than necessary.

“We should leave soon,” Will continued, already moving around the room. “It's better if we avoid the worst of the monsters.” He slung his backpack over his shoulders as he spoke. “So you should probably put your shoe back on” he added, setting the shotgun on the table and beginning to reload it with practiced movements. “And grab an extra sweater. It's cold out.”

“O-okay!” Mike quickly said, hurrying to do exactly as he was told.

The shoe took longer than expected thanks to his stiff ankle, but he forced it on anyway. Then he grabbed another sweater from the clean clothes bag and pulled it over his head.

When he finished, he stood awkwardly near the wall, leaning most of his weight onto the walking stick.

It was the perfect height.

He wondered if Will had been searching for long or not, trying to find the perfect one. His heart thumped at the idea. 

Will finished loading the shotgun and slung it over his shoulder, then he walked toward the door. His hand wrapped around the handle, but before opening it, he stopped.

Slowly, Will turned back around and the look on his face caught Mike off guard. It was filled with concern, worry, something quieter too Mike couldn't name. 

“...You're not going to run away…right?”

The words were almost a whisper, but the question felt so loud in the room. 

Mike stared at him for a second, too shocked by the absurdity of the question to answer immediately.

Run away? From Will?

“No.” Mike said. His voice was steady, firm. “Never.”

Will exhaled softly, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. Then he turned back toward the door, twisted the handle, and swung the door open.

Chapter Text

They had been walking for a while now.

The forest stretched endlessly around them, gray, brittle and lifeless. Branches clawed at the flashing red sky like the bones of something long dead and the air was thick with drifting spores floating lazily through the trees. They caught faintly in Will's hair and his sleeves before dissolving. 

His shotgun rested across his shoulder, the familiar weight grounding him, while one hand stayed hooked around the strap of his backpack. 

Will kept a steady pace — not too fast, not too slow — just enough that Mike could keep up.

Behind him, he could hear the uneven rhythm of Mike's steps. Stick, step, stick, step, stick, step-. Will's eyes kept moving to the tree line, the ground, the branches overhead, the spaces between the trees, then back again. 

Years out here had trained his body to do it automatically. Even when he wasn't trying, his gaze flicked toward anything that shifted — a vine sagging under its own weight, spores clumping strangely in the air, the faint tremor of something moving far away beneath the ground.

The walking stick scraped softly across the dirt. Step, stick, step, stick. Will resisted the urge to look back at him, instead keeping his eyes forward continuing to watch the forest slowly thin out ahead of them. 

If they kept going in this direction, they'd eventually reach the houses near Maple Street. Hopefully, that's where the games would be. Will's fingers tightened slightly around the backpack strap.

He had seen a board game once years ago.

It had been sitting in the living room of a house near the edge of town, the cardboard box half collapsed from moisture and the pieces scattered across the floor like someone had abandoned the game halfway through. Will had sat beside it for a long time. 

He remembers picking up one of the tiny plastic figures and turning it over between his fingers. He remembers wondering what the rules were, what the game was supposed to be about, but he left it there in the end. There hadn't been a reason to take it. After all, games required more than one person and there weren't a lot of them around. 

But now, now there was someone. Someone who wanted to play, someone who had smiled at the idea as if it meant as much to them as it did to Will. 

He shifted the strap of his backpack higher on his shoulder. He tried to tell himself he was only doing it because Mike wanted to, not because the idea made a small, nervous kind of excitement curl in his stomach. 

A faint sound drifted through the trees, making Will stop in his steps. His head tilted slightly as he listened.

The forest answered with the same hollow quiet as before — the distant creak of vines stretching across branches, spores brushing softly against bark, the slow rasp of his own breathing. 

Behind him the walking stick scarped again. Step, stick, step, stick. He briefly glanced over his shoulder. Mike was still there, still following, still limping. It eased Will's chest a little, before he turned around and began walking again.

Spores drifted through the air like slow snowfall, one landing on the sleeve of his jacket and dissolving into gray dust. He brushed it off absentmindedly as his thoughts began drifting again, drifting back to the other night.

Back to Mike's hands.

The memory returned in fragments. 

Warm palms, careful fingers against his face, touches so light and uncertain that slowly grew firmer and more deliberate. He remembers how Mike had traced his eyebrows, his jaw. Remembers how the warmth of Mike's hands had felt strange against his skin. 

It felt unfamiliar but still nice. Very nice.

For a moment he'd let himself lean into it. He'd closed his eyes from how calming it felt — from how nice it was to feel soft, warmth holding you safe. He had tried to memorize the feeling, until Mike's thumb had brushed against his mouth. 

Wills grip tightened around the backpack strap again. 

He remembers how Mike had looked up, how he'd caught him watching him, but most of all Will remembers how Mike's hands had jerked away as if he just realized that what he was touching was something cold and slimy.

The memory made Will swallow, a quiet, uncomfortable thought creeping up behind him.

Could Mike feel it?

Were there still traces on his lips that he hadn't been able to wash away?

Did Mike know there was something wrong with him, something still inside him that shouldn't be there?

Will made a mental note to wash his face when they got home. He didn't want Mike to think he was gross. His jaw tightened slightly as he began focusing on the forest again.

Ground, branches, a vine shifting slowly along the base of a tree. Could still hear Mike. Step, stick, step-

A sharp breath broke the rhythm, Will turned around immediately.

Mike had stopped walking. He was instead leaning heavily on the stick, his jaw clenched tight as if he was trying not to make another sound. Their eyes met, and Will could see the way Mike quickly forced a smile on his face. “I’m fine!” Will didn't answer, just let his eyes drop briefly to Mike's ankle, and then back up again.

Mike straightened slightly, adjusting his grip on the stick. “Seriously” he quickly said. “I just stepped weird.” Will watched him for a moment. The explanation didn't sit right, but Mike had already started walking again. Step, stick, step, stick, like nothing had happened. 

Will hesitated but eventually turned forward again too as they kept moving through the forest. 

He began watching Mike the same way he watched everything else. It wasn't something he consciously decided to do. His eyes simply moved that way now, drifting between details without pause. Ground, trees, branches overhead, Mike, the space between them, then back again. 

The pattern of Mike's walking was uneven, and it made Wills mind quietly mark it down the same way it marked every other irregularity in the forest. Mike was trying to hide it, but the hesitation between steps was just long enough to notice if you were paying attention — and Will always was. 

His gaze drifted lower. Mike's right hand held the stick in a tight grip, fingers pale where they wrapped around the wood. His left hand kept shifting between helping guide the stick and hanging loosely at his side, as if he wasn't sure what to do with it. 

A spore drifted down and landed in Mike's hair. It dissolved a moment later, turning to gray dust. Mike hadn't reacted, he probably hadn't even noticed it. 

Will's eyes moved again. Ground, roots pushing through the dirt, a vine twitching slowly against the base of a tree, then Mike.

He noticed the way his shoulders tensed every few steps, the subtle shift of his balance when he tried to keep weight off his ankle. Noticed the way he tilted slightly toward the stick whenever he thought Will wasn't looking. 

Will studied him for another moment, then he quickened his pace. Two, three, quiet steps, lightly jogging across the ground until he was walking beside him. Mike glanced over for half a second, but he didn't say anything. 

Up close, Will noticed even more. Dirt clung faintly to Mike's cheekbone and his eyes looked tired. His gaze was fixed carefully on the ground in front of him.

Will found there was something gentle about the way his sharp features rested, even when he was concentrating on where to place his next step. The kindness contained in him stood out sharply against the rotten, decaying forest surrounding them. The dead trees, the gray air, the distant groaning of vines shifting through the woods — Mike walked through it like a piece of a kid’s bedtime story that had fallen into a horror novel. He was too soft, too warm.

Will's chest tightened slightly. He slowed his pace again, drifting back behind him. From here, the contrast was even clearer. Mike moved like someone who trusted the world not to hurt him. Will's gaze dropped to his ankle — the way it bent wrong when he stepped, the slight tremble in his shoulders — and a realization settled slowly and unpleasantly in Will's mind.

Mike looked easy to kill.

Will's eyes traced the line of his neck where it disappeared into the collar of his jacket. The skin there looked soft. 

A creature lunging from the trees could knock him flat. 

A vine tightening around that injured ankle could drag him down before he even had the chance to fight back.

A singular misstep, that's all it would take.

Will's fingers slid towards the spear secured beside his backpack. He pulled it free and felt the solid wood in his hand. 

The forest surrounding Mike stretched in every direction, empty and watchful. Will's eyes swept across it again, slower this time. Trees, ground, branches, the shadows between trunks, anything that moved, anything that breathed, anything that might even think about getting close.

Because if something out there had any ideas about taking Mike—

Will tightened his grip on the spear, the wood creaking softly in his palm.

—It was going to regret it. 

Eventually the forest around them thinned out, and the street lined up with houses became visible. Will heard Mike breathe out. He sounded relieved. 

He looked over at Will with that same stupid smile he kept giving him — the one that kept making his heartbeat race — and Will felt the need to look away. He took a deep breath, slowly exhaling in an attempt to get rid of the nerves that tried to settle in his body, before they made their way towards the first house. 

The door creaked softly as Will pushed it open, dust and pale gray spores drifted through the air inside the abandoned house, disturbed by the movement. A mixture of dust and spores hanging in the air off the abandoned house met them as they stepped inside.

The smell hit immediately — damp wood, rot, and something faintly metallic that always seemed to cling to this world.

Will stepped in first, flashing a quick light around to ensure nothing was trying to hide in the darkness. When he could neither see nor hear anything, he let Mike pass through. He closed the door behind him, checking outside as well, making sure nothing was sneaking up on them from the distance. 

He turned around and handed Mike the flashlight without really looking at him, already scanning the dark interior. Will figured lighting the place up would probably be the easiest task for Mike to do. 

In his peripheral vision, he saw Mike playing with the flashlight, turning it on and off, the quiet sound of clicking following each time he did. Will put a hand over Mikes to stop him, lifting a finger to his lips.

Quiet.

Mike nodded and the beam of the flashlight slowly swept across the room — over collapsed furniture, creeping vines crawling across the walls, and patches of gray growth spreading like mold along the ceiling. Will's eyes moved carefully through the shadows, searching for anything that resembled a board game box. 

Eventually, something caught his attention beneath a small table. He looked over at Mike before he nodded towards it, and Mike shifted the flashlight beam.

Sure enough, a decaying cardboard box laid half buried underneath it covered in dust and spores.

Will stepped forward, crouching to pick it up. The cardboard was covered in dust and grime which he brushed away with the side of his hand, revealing the words Trivial Pursuit. 

That seemed fun. 

He turned the box a little in the air, inspecting it one last time, before deciding Mike should probably have final say. 

He turned, holding the box up for Mike to see, but to Will's disappointment, Mike wasn't paying attention. His gaze was somewhere else entirely — drifting toward the dark hallway that led deeper into the house.

What was he looking for?

Will walked in front of him, trying to get his attention, and showed him the box again. Mike smiled at him completely clueless. It made Will huff out annoyed as he raised his brows, shaking the box a little in front of him. Mike — finally — looked down at the box and made a little “oh” motion with his mouth before he looked back up again, meeting Will's eyes. He nodded, seeming to agree with the choice, a small smile at his lips.

Satisfied by his reaction, Will unzipped his backpack and slid the box inside before swinging the bag back onto his shoulder. Will turned towards the exit and motioned for Mike to follow, moving on to the house next door.

They searched house after house. Some were empty, others held small pockets of forgotten things Will had never bothered noticing before. In one house, they found another backpack for Mike and an extra flashlight along with a pack of batteries. Will was however far more excited about the board games. So far, they had collected one called Guess who? another called Connect four and a worn deck of cards.

That one, Will hadn't been as excited about. Only picking it up because Mike insisted, claiming they could play all kinds of games with the cards. Even if it didn't make any sense to Will, he still believed him. Mike clearly knew more about board games than he did. 

It was, however, starting to get dangerous to stay out here. 

Will knew the patterns of this place as well as the backside of his hand. He knew when the dogs traveled through the streets, knew when they needed to kill the lights as a passing pack wandered by. He knew when to stay perfectly still as bats shrieked overhead but most of all Will knew that not too long from now, the entire area would become far too crowded. 

He'd learned that lesson the hard way. 

So as they opened yet another door, Will made a mental decision that this would be the final house. He turned around to Mike, mouthing the words “Last one.” 

Mike's brows furrowed as he mouthed a hurried “Why?” back to him. Will simply gave him a look saying, “just because”, not understanding why Mike was making a big deal out of it. Will scoffed, turning away from the pouty face behind him. 

Since they now had each of their own flashlights, they decided to split up. The living room contained nothing, and the hallway bookshelves were filled with warped paper and ruined books. Will carefully climbed the stairs, avoiding the thick black vines winding across the steps. 

The house creaked beneath his weight. Will began searching the bedrooms, looking through clothes, broken toys, old furniture, then he opened one of the drawers. Inside sat a brightly colored box — Chutes and Ladders — and Will studied it for a moment before opening his backpack. There wasn't much room left. He should probably give it to Mike. 

He made his way down the stairs, but when he reached the living room, Mike wasn't there. Will frowned. He checked the hallway, but still nothing so he continued to make his way towards the kitchen.

Will bit the inside of his cheek when he was yet again met with no signs of Mike — resisting the urge to call out for him, hoping he was just searching another room.

Will placed the game box on the counter and instead began checking the cabinets above the sink, in case they had some extra food, when he heard something behind him. 

He twisted his body around, spear tight in his hand, ready to attack whatever had foolishly tried to sneak up on him-

Mike.

Will dragged an annoyed hand over his face. 

Was he seriously trying to get himself killed?

He looked at Mike, who seemed far too happy for someone who had just snuck up on him like that. Will mouthed a quiet question, “Find anything?” but Mike shook his head. 

Weird.

Mike's attention fell on the box on the counter and he smiled before putting it in his bag, however something seemed off. The backpack looked too full. 

Will narrowed his eyes, stepping closer, trying to see what Mike was hiding, but Mike zipped the bag shut and slung it over his shoulder before he had a chance. Now it looked normal again. Will exhaled sharply through his nose.

He was being paranoid.

Will placed his backpack on the counter, putting the flashlight beside it as he waved at Mike to come closer. Mike stepped forward carefully with his stick, standing right in front of him.

Will opened the backpack, trying to hide the container of meat he was opening up inside, hoping the smell wouldn't drift fast enough for Mike to catch on. 

He glanced up at Mike from his eyelashes, pointed to his mouth with a quiet “..aah..” slipping from his own. Mike looked slightly confused but an amused smile still settled on his face as he opened his mouth. Will gently covered Mike's eyes with one hand, and it made Mike chuckle quietly. 

The joyful sound made guilt wash over Will as he quickly grabbed a piece of the raw meat. He knew exactly how horrible it tasted — the gross, slimy, rubbery texture and the way it coated your mouth with a vile taste impossible to describe — but he also knew Mike needed the energy. 

As much as Mike was trying to hide it, Will could tell his ankle was killing him. He saw the way Mike's weight leaned harder onto the stick and the way he kept having to take heavy breaths. 

Before Mike could grow suspicious, Will threw the piece of grossness onto his tongue then forced his mouth shut, his hand leaving Mike's eyes to help close his jaw. 

Mike's eyes flew wide open wide with disgust and fear. 

He looked at Will in panic as he tried to shake Will's hands off. “Chew.” Will whispered. Mike let out a miserable quiet whine. 

“...please Mike..” 

A soft exhale left Mike as the panicked look in his eyes slowly faded into one Will couldn't quite decipher. He reluctantly began chewing, sounds of quiet gagging filling the room. It looked like it pained him to eat it. The way his eyes were pinched shut, the way his shoulders tensed as if to push the taste away — Will couldn't help but feel sorry for him. He didn't think it would be this bad. 

He wanted to help him, wanted to ease the gruesome experience he had just forced him under, and the other night came to mind again.

The way Mike had caressed his face — his warm thumb brushing gently against his cheeks — it felt comforting. 

Maybe it would comfort Mike too?

Will swallowed, a little embarrassed of what he was about to do. Still, he let his grip loosen, the hands that had been holding Mike's jaw softening where they rested against his face. Carefully, his thumbs began to move, small strokes along Mike's skin. He watched the motion for a second, then realized Mike had stopped chewing.

Will furrowed his brows, confused, as he looked up at Mike.

Mike was staring at him — eyes wide, his eyebrows raised. He looked stunned.

Oh. 

The warmth drained from Will's chest just as quickly as it had arrived.

Maybe this wasn't something everyone thought felt nice — maybe it was just Will. How stupid he was to think he could replicate that feeling for someone else. Especially considering Will could never copy the warmth and kindness Mike's hands held. 

Will's hands were rough.

Will's hands were excruciatingly cold. 

Will's hands were unpleasant, filthy, dirty — just like the rest of him. 

Embarrassment washed over him as he began to retract his hands, his eyes going back to the ground, not being able to hold the eye contact. 

Of course Mike didn't want him to touch him, not like that. 

How could he when he'd already felt the awful stains left on his body. 

A dull thud echoed through the room, and Will spotted Mike's walking stick now laying on the ground. Then hands-

Mikes hands.

They caught Will's wrists before he could pull away, firm and certain, guiding them back and bringing Will's impure palms against his face. Mike continued to chew as he looked at him with such certainty, Will — even if he felt he should — could neither look, nor pull away.

Mike closed his eyes shut and pressed the palms of Will's hands impossibly closer to his face. Will could see the way Mike forced himself to swallow as he twitched his neck, — jaw tightening, breath hitching slightly — seeming to try and shake the feeling of it away. 

Mike opened his eyes again — they looked black in this light — and met Wills with such an intensity, it almost made Will forget that Mike had just done something so terribly stupid. 

The echoed sound of the stick hitting the floor slowly faded out, however the sound of screeching outside quickly replaced it. Both of their heads snapped towards the windows where the sound had come from.

What…?

Will felt his heartbeat start up again. He forced his hands away from Mike, carefully picking the stick back up from the floor and handing it back to him.

The sound of clicking — the same sound it made when it was listening — could be heard outside. Will closed his eyes. It was a dog, he was sure of it. The sound came from a direction lower than a Flower man would have made. 

It was right outside.

The sound grew, the number of footsteps as well. There wasn't just one now, at least two. 

Will's eyes snapped back to Mike. Mike who was hurt, Mike who was easy prey. 

Shit.

He pushed at Mike's shoulders, forcing him to sit down behind the counter. Made another hushing sound with his finger as Mike furrowed his brows at him. “Stay.” Will demanded. Mike looked as if he wanted to refuse, wanted to help, but if he tried to do anything right now, it would only mean more work for Will.

It was better this way, truly. Will had lived his whole life learning how they moved, how they hunted. Will knew how to handle this. He knew how to get them out of here safely. 

All Will needed was for Mike — for once — to stay quiet. 

The sounds had stopped outside the door. Will grabbed an abandoned mug left on the counter and threw it towards the living room. It crashed into a thousand pieces as it hit the ground. The dogs came crashing through the door, falling over one another to rush towards the sound, to find their prey.

To find Will.

Will grabbed the spear from his backpack and stepped forward to meet them. 

The sound of Will's footsteps grabbed their attention.

They both screeched at Will when he emerged from the shadows, claws tearing across the floor as they chased the sound, bodies low and fast as they spread without thinking — one angling wide, the other coming straight in.

They were trying to flank him.

Will rushed forward, just enough to keep them both in front of him, eyes flicking between them, tracking the shift of their weight, the tilt of their heads, the moment before they lunged. He knew the patterns.

The first one went high but Will moved before it could get him, twisting aside as its jaws snapped past his shoulder. He drove the spear into its side, using its own momentum to shove it into the living room table. 

The wood cracked under the impact, but the creature twisted immediately, claws digging in as it pushed itself back up. 

The second one came in low. Will spun, ripping the shotgun from his shoulder and swinging it down onto the dog's path. The stock connected solidly enough to knock it off course but not enough to kill it. It hit the floor, rolled and came back up, already circling him again. 

Will stepped forward instead of back, forcing them to reset their spacing, keeping them from building speed as he drove the spear forward again. He wasn't trying to kill them — not for now — he just needed to control where they moved. 

The first one backed away, snapping at the weapon, while the second one tried to close in from the side again. They seemed to be working together.

Will could hear the monster lunge as he twisted towards it, shoving the spear across its path and forcing it sideways into the edge of the broken table before it could reach him. He shifted his weight ready to charge at the first one-

Claws dragged across his side, sharp enough to pull a tight breath from him as Will shoved past. 

The first one lunged again — Will didn't have time to reset. He grabbed the nearest thing, a chair, yanking it up before bringing it down hard.

The wood shattered across the dog's back with a sharp crack. The force drove it into the floor, claws scraping wildly as it tried to push back up. Will struck again with the broken frame, then dropped it and drove the spear down.

The spear drove into one forcing it back and the shotgun he'd thrown off his shoulder he used the stock off to slam into the other, redirecting it again. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, constant, giving them no openings.

The first dog faltered for half a second as it hit the broken table again — an opportunity — so Will pushed in, harder this time, driving the spear forward when the shaft suddenly jerked violently in his hands.

The knot slipped.

The blade tore free, sliding across the floor.

“Shit.” He hissed

The monsters lunged at him.

Will dropped low and rolled, claws scraping across the floor just behind him as he came back up already moving, eyes locked on where the knife had landed.

It was too far.

He ran.

Footsteps thundered behind him, inching closer and closer and closer-

A shape slammed into him from the side. Will hit the ground, — hard — air forced out of his chest. 

Get up.

Will twisted, shoving the shotgun up between them. Jaws snapped down at him, the impact rattling through his arms before he forced it off — a struggled yell leaving his lips — and pushed himself back to his feet.

The other one was already coming.

Will moved again, straight for the knife. He dropped into the last step, sliding across the floor as claws struck where he'd been a mere second before.

His hand closed around the handle, and he turned as he rose back up. The knife drove forward into the nearest creature as it lunged, the impact finally slowing it, but it kept trashing and snapping, forcing Will back a step. 

He ripped the knife out, black blood spewing out of the vile being onto Will's clothes. It fell to the floor whimpering, but Will heard something else behind him.

He tried to dodge, but it was too late — claws dragged across his back, sharper, deeper than before. 

A sharp yell fell out of him as he swung his body towards the ground, throwing the creature off. It growled at him as it came back to its feet.

Will's breath hitched as the sharp pain on his back began settling into him. The grip on his knife tightened. He was getting seriously pissed off now.

Will charged towards them both. The shotgun struck one aside and the knife drove into the other. He kept them moving, never letting either fully reset nor giving them space to build speed. He noticed each shift before it happened and answered it immediately. 

One stumbled — finally — and Will pushed forward, driving the knife in again only this time it was harder, more direct.

They both crashed onto the ground as Will kept the stabbing motion going. The sound of flesh being ripped open and blood gushing out echoed in Will's ears. The creature thrashed, screaming at him — fucking disgusting piece of shit — as Will grabbed the knife back up, and down. Eventually the screaming stopped and the creature stilled. 

Will pushed himself back up — his breath uneven — as his eyes snapped back around to the second. 

It didn't rush him, it was watching. Its head tilted, a slow, deliberate clicking noise slipping from its throat.

A low sound dragged out of Will's chest in response.

The monster froze for half a second, then hissed back.

Will lowered slightly, knife in one hand, shotgun in the other, forcing his breathing quieter. He matched the monster's stillness, ready for when it would inevitably attack.

Then its head perked up, and it moved, charging towards him. Will stood ready, but the creature didn't attack him, instead it twisted past him.

Towards the kitchen. 

Will turned around — terrified what he was imagining was true — and, sure enough, there was Mike, peeking up from behind the counter.

“No-”

The monster bolted.

“STOP-”

It was too late.

It leapt, Will ran. Everything in him snapped tight — every step faster than the last as the distance closed too slowly.

It was going to reach him.

It was going to put its hands on him — rip him to shreds, eat at his flesh — and Will was too far away to do anything.

No.

Will jumped, hitting the creature midair. They crashed over the counter and slammed onto the kitchen floor, the impact knocking the breath from him as the creature twisted beneath him, claws scraping, jaw snapping, mere inches away from Mike.

Will forced it down, pinning it hard as the knife struck down fast. Once, twice, again. It screamed underneath him, but despite that, it was still reaching for the terrified boy in front of them. 

Something in Will broke.

A raw, furious yell tore out of his throat as he slammed the creature down harder, pinning it with all his weight. The knife strikes came faster now — becoming less controlled for each stab.

Will didn't stop — didn't bother to feel the sting in his side or his arm or his back — only felt the frantic rage burning in his blood.

It was going to take him.

Will's vision became slightly blurred as black blood splattered over his face, covering his eye, his nose, his mouth. The taste of it was horrid, but Will didn't mind. Even if the movement had stopped — even if the monster's flesh was beginning to look dismembered and mutilated — he had to make sure.

You were going to be alone again. 

The sound of his ragged breathing was loud in the silence of the house. His grip tightened as the knife came down again, and again, and again–

His arm was starting to hurt.

“......ill…”

The flesh on its back was beginning to thin out. Will changed the blade's target — stabbing untouched area.

His breath had become so sharp and uneven, Will felt as if he was choking, however he wasn't able to stop now. His arm was moving on its own, faster than he could register, happening as easy and natural as blinking.

Why does everything-

“....will....”

Want to destroy-

“.....Will!....”

Want to take-

“Will!”

A hand on his shoulder abruptly stopped the blade's movement. The knife hovered in the air, trembling in his grip. For a second he didn't move, didn't breathe. Stayed frozen in place, blinking away the blood in his eye. 

He looked down at the disfigured animal below him. His chest heaved as he breathed in and out.

The hand rubbed his shoulder.  “...Will, it's okay. I'm okay." It was Mike. Will didn't bother to answer — What did he know? — instead shrugging off Mike's hand, eyes still locked on the creature. 

It stayed unmoving, but Will didn't let his grip loosen just yet.

He turned the dog around so its petalled mouth faced him, then he lifted his arms in the air, both hands clenched around the knife, as he drove it down one last time straight through the neck. 

He heard Mike's shaky breathing beside him.  

He pushed himself back up — tearing the knife out as blood splashed out with it — and wiped the blade against his sleeve. His sweater was ruined anyway. He tried his best to clean the blood off his face too as he stood up — knees slightly wobbly — before picking up the shotgun and swinging it over his shoulder.

He didn't look at Mike.

“I told you-” His voice caught, meaner than he meant it to be. He swallowed, took another breath, and tried again. “I told you to stay down.”

A quiet beat. 

“...please don't do that again…”

Will could hear the tremble in his own voice. The words just felt so fragile — so scary to say out loud. Will couldn’t look at Mike as he pleaded with him.  

Another quiet beat followed.

Then a whisper. 

“...I’m sorry.”

Will bit the inside of his cheek at the sadness contained in Mike's voice, before he grabbed his backpack and flashlight and turned towards the door. “It’s time to go back.” 

The walk back felt suffocating. 

Not just because of the pain settling into every inch of Will's body now that the adrenaline had worn off, but because of Mike. 

He kept glancing over at him — quick, uncertain looks — like a kicked puppy waiting to see if it was still welcome. The uneven limp didn't help either, nor did the way he so obviously wanted Will to say something. 

It completely threw Will off his game. He tried to fall back into his routine —tree line, ground, branches overhead, the space between — but his focus kept slipping. Every time he forced his attention away from Mike, he kept letting himself distract and it snapped right back to him. Ignoring him somehow only made it worse.

Will frowned slightly to himself.

He wasn't really mad at Mike. But if he wasn't mad, then what was this? Why couldn't he look at him? Why did he keep needing to take slow, steady breaths just to feel normal again? 

“GAH-” Mike yelled out, stumbling over himself. Will reacted instantly, grabbing a fistful of his sweater and hauling him upright before he could hit the ground. 

“Watch where you're going..” he muttered. “Sorry..” Mike mumbled, now avoiding Will's eyes.

Will hesitated, then tried to soften his voice.  “It's okay. Just… be careful..” He responded, trying to ease Mike. Mike nodded, looking down at the ground. Will did the same and immediately noticed it. 

His ankle looked like it had gotten worse. There was more hesitation in every step, and his walking rhythm had changed. Will swallowed, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. 

Should he ask Mike if he wanted any help? Maybe that would get him to stop looking so miserable. 

“...Mike?” Will tried, his voice catching slightly. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Your foot- uh” His gaze flicked anywhere but Mike. Trees, ground, sky. Mike's head popped back up from the ground to look at him. “Yes Will?” He answered. He sounded hopeful.

“Do you..uhm…do you maybe need some help?” Will struggled to get the words out. “What do you mean? I already have the stick” Mike replied. 

Heat rushed up Will's neck all the way to his ears. “Yeah. No, you're right.” He quickly replied, pressed his lips together, embarrassed that what he'd tried to suggest had flown so high over Mike's head. 

A few seconds passed in awkward silence. Then Mike shifted. 

“Oh.” 

A pause. 

“Oh! Oh- You mean-” Mike's head snapped up, turning towards Will. “You want to help me?” Will nodded, a little stiffly, as Mike's face lit up. “Yeah! Yeah, that’d- that’d be great. Thanks Will.” Only now did Will dare look up at Mike. Finally that sad expression was gone, replaced by something soft. Will breathed out a breath of relief as he nodded moving closer to Mike. 

His hands hovered awkwardly for a second. In all honesty he wasn't really sure what he was doing. He'd only read about friends rescuing or helping one another like this when in need but doing it himself felt a bit odd. 

He tried his best anyways, wrapping one arm around Mike's waist, then carefully guiding Mike's arm over his shoulders, adjusting until it felt somewhat stable. He swallowed down the nerves he was feeling and took another deep breath.

They began moving.

At first it was clumsy — uneven steps, mismatched rhythm — but slowly they found something that worked. Will wasn't sure how much it was actually helping Mike's ankle, but it definitely seemed to help Mike's mood.

After a while, his focus settled again. His eyes moved through the forest like before — tracking movement, scanning for danger. “You looked really cool, you know.” 

Will blinked, glancing over. “What?” Mike had that stupid smirk back on his face. “You know, when you beat the shit out of those demodogs.” 

He thought that was “cool”?

Mike scoffed lightly at whatever expression Will must have had on his face. “Okay, yeah, it was terrifying too. Obviously. But I don't know…It was just-” He shrugged slightly. “Cool. Seeing how much you've grown.” Will slowed down a little. 

“Youve never been weak, don't get me wrong.” Mike continued. “Even when we were kids, you were the bravest person I knew, but…yeah, I didn't think I'd ever see Will Byers take down a monster with just a knife.” There was a spark in Mike's eyes that made it hard to look away.  

“Lucas and Dustin are gonna freak out when we tell them” He added with a small laugh. “I’m not even sure they'll believe us.” He shook his head slightly as he chuckled at the idea. “....Lucas and Dustin?” Will slowly asked.

Why was Mike going to talk about something so horrific to “Lucas and Dustin”? 

Mike's excited expression slightly shifted. “Uhm, yeah! Lucas and Dustin, they're our friends.” He smiled again. “It's always been us four. I mean, I was first of course, that's why I'm your best friend, but…they're not so bad.” Will didn't return the warm smile.  

Will wasn't friends with Lucas and Dustin. 

He didn't know Lucas, didn't know Dustin — What kind of name even is Dustin? 

He didn't like how Mike talked about them like they belonged here — like they were real. He wanted to talk about something else, wanted to keep the focus on Mike. Mike was real, Mike existed here, not in some made up fantasy world. 

“What game do you want to play when we get back?” Will asked, cutting him off. Mike blinked, seemingly thrown off. “Oh! Uhm…I don't know. You pick, I'm good with anything.” Will nodded. “Okay. I'll think about it.” Mike nodded, a smile on his face. “Alright.”  They fell back into a silence again, but this one was good. This one felt easy, something Will could breathe in. 

He decided on Chutes and Ladders.

They made it home in one piece, thankfully managing to avoid any other meetings with a monster. 

Will helped Mike settle into his chair before moving around the room, putting his backpack, shotgun and the rest of his things back where they belonged. He tried to ignore the way Mike immediately started fiddling with everything on the table — picking things up, turning them over, setting them down again. 

It annoyed him, but he forced the feeling down. He didn't want Mike to think he was the kind of person who snapped at everything. 

Will tugged at his shirt, grimacing as he looked down at himself.

Dirt, blood sweat — it clung to him. Soaked into the fabric, dried stiff in places. He could feel it in his hair, on his skin. He probably smelled awful. 

He glanced back at Mike, who was now pulling board games out of both their bags, stacking them with a small, focused smile. Will turned back around, quickly pulling his sweater off.

It felt weird to undress with someone else in the room. It felt weird just having him there to begin with, but the longer Mike stayed, the more it started to feel…normal. Or at least, something Will wanted to be normal. 

“Your back.” 

Will froze.

“Will- Your back, y-your arm too, and your side-” Will moved quickly, shoving the dirty clothes into the bag, hunching over the other one digging for something clean.

He could wash himself later, he just didn't want Mike to look at him anymore. 

Mike pushed himself up from the chair. He didn't need to do that, he needed to rest. “Sit down.” Will muttered, yanking out a purple sweatshirt with a giant yellow star on the front. “Will, please,” Mike softly said. “You need to bandage it, or at least clean it a little, there's blood everywhere.” 

Will swallowed. 

He knew that. Mike didn't need to point it out. He just wasn't sure what blood Mike was referring to — His…or theirs. 

Maybe there wasn't that much of a difference.

“It’s fine.” He muttered, trying to pull the sweater hurriedly over his head, ignoring the sting in his side. 

“Will.” Mikes voice held that tone again — the one that made it impossible for Will to ignore him. 

Will hesitated, then slowly looked up.

Even though he knew exactly what kind of expression Mike would have, even though he'd seen it a hundred times by now, it still made it hard to breathe properly. 

He looked away again and with a small, frustrated exhale, Will dropped the sweater back into the bag and walked over to Mike. He gently pushed Mike back down into the chair before kneeling down to open the medical drawer. “Do you need any help?” Mike asked. 

Will could tell he was being gentle with him, as if Will was fragile, as if he hadn't just watched Will lose control and tear something apart with his bare hands.

“I can do it.” Will simply said. And it was true, he could do it. Sure, his back would make things a little more difficult, but he'd manage. Will still wasn't sure if Mike had felt something that night. He didn't want Mike to touch him again until he was completely sure he was clean of it. 

Will grabbed bandages, gauze, cloth and water as he turned away and walked over to the sink. He poured some water on the cloth before grabbing the old bar of soap laying on the sink and rubbing it onto the cloth to use it as a washcloth.

The soap stung against his wounds. Will scrubbed anyway. 

He tried his best to avoid looking at the wounds. He always hated how they looked. Hated every scar on his body that the world had forced upon him.

If he thought about it too long — how the monsters he hated so much had caused indentations on his body that would never fade — it made him feel claustrophobic in his own skin. 

When he tried to reach his back, his movements turned awkward, clumsy, the angle all wrong. He probably looked like an idiot. “Will, come on,” Mike gently said, "let me help you.” 

Will stopped, slowly retrieving his hands from his back, instead wrapping them around himself as if that could hide anything. “...but I'm…I'm gross.” 

The words came out quieter than he meant them to. Mike gave him a look Will didn't dare try to decipher, afraid it was something bad. “No you're not.” Silence filled the room.

Will's chest tightened. 

He didn't know what to do with that.

He felt stupid for not knowing how to describe his feelings to Mike, who was still sitting there, waiting for him like it was the easiest thing in the world. Will's thoughts spiraled for a second.

He could just ignore him, could tie him back up, shove him underneath the sink, or even kick him out for that matter — but with the way Mike was so kind to him all the time, how could he even dare think such things?

Will swallowed, forcing the knot in his throat down. “So…uh…” His voice faltered. He glanced up — Mike was still watching him patiently — then immediately looked away again. “Why did you…uhm..” The words wouldn't come out. It frustrated him how silly he was being.

It was just talking.

Why was this so hard?

Mike spoke before he could try again. “You don't have to say it,” He said. “You can show me, or draw it, or we can talk about it later, yeah? I'll be here whenever you want.”

I'll be here.

The words echoed in Will's mind.

Will's hands slowly lifted.

He brought his fingers to his lips, then pulled them away in an over-exaggerated way. It was a demonstration. He looked up at Mike, who looked as if he'd seen a ghost. 

“Will- you don’t think- Shit, no that’s not-” Mike pushed himself up too fast. His ankle buckled, and he barely caught himself on the chair. “Your ankle-” “It's fine.” Mike rushed. “Will, I didn't pull away because I— because you were gross. I'd never think that. Ever.”

He limped closer. Will's eyes darted between his. “I just…You were looking at me” Mike said, a little breathless, “And I- I don't know, I got embarrassed I guess.”  

Will blinked. 

“...oh.”

That wasn't what he expected.

“Why?” He carefully asked. Will noticed the way Mike swallowed, the way his eyes suddenly began switching from looking at him to the floor or the wall or anywhere else. “I don't know,” he said. “I just…did, okay? Anyway, that's not the point.” He looked at Will again, more firmly this time. 

“I'm sorry I made you feel like that. Really, I didn't mean to.”  Mike raised the inner parts of his eyebrows as he spoke, his eyes locked back on him now. “Please, can I help you now?”

Will pressed his lips together. 

If Mike wasn't disgusted with him, then maybe…maybe it was okay. 

Without saying anything, Will stepped forward, placing the damp cloth in Mike's hand, then turned around.

He stood still in front of the sink, shoulders tight, hands braced lightly against the edge like he needed something to hold onto to ground himself with. He could hear Mike behind him — the uneven step, the faint drag of his foot, the soft shift of fabric as he moved closer.

Will's breath slowed on purpose. In…and out, in…and out.

For a second, nothing happened. Then a touch so light it barely felt real. Will flinched anyway — it was instinctive. His shoulders jerked slightly forward before he could stop himself, fingers tightening against the edge.

“...sorry.” Mike quickly said, his voice quieter now. “I'll be careful.” Will replied with a small, stiff nod. 

The cloth touched his back again, slower this time. The fabric dragged softly across his skin, cleaning away the dried blood in slow, cautious strokes. It stung in places — sharper where the cuts were deeper — but Will didn't move. 

The room was quiet except for the faint sound of cloth against skin and the occasional shallow breath from behind him. Will focused on that — on the rhythm of Mike's breathing.

“...does it hurt?” Mike asked after a moment. Will hesitated. “..no.”

It wasn't true, but it didn't really matter if it hurt or not.

Mike reached forward, grabbing the water bottle stood on the sink, spilling some more over the cloth. 

He retrieved his hands and went back to press more carefully against one of the deeper scratches along Will's shoulder blade. Will sucked in a quiet breath through his teeth before he could stop himself. Mike immediately pulled back.

“Sorry- I- Are you okay?” 

“It’s fine.” Will said quickly. Too quickly.

Silence fell over them again. Mike continued with the soft cleaning strokes, when Will all of a sudden felt Mike's fingers trace his skin, softly rubbing away at something.

Will's jaw tightened slightly. 

“...you shouldn't." he muttered. The movement behind him paused. “Shouldn't what?” 

Will stared at the sink — at the grime that wouldn't come off no matter how many times he scrubbed it. “Touch it.” Will's voice was tight, his fingers gripping the sink so hard his knuckles were turning white. “Why not?” Mike was asking so innocently, as if he genuinely didn't understand.

Was he playing dumb?

How could he not see it? 

It was staring him right in the face. 

“It's filthy.”

The words sat heavy between them. Mike didn't respond right away. Will almost wished he would just agree or laugh or even pull away. Anything would've been easier than the heavy silence.

“It's just blood Will.” 

He shook his head, even though Mike couldn't fully see it. “No, it's-” He stopped, his voice quivering. The words wouldn't come out right, they never did.

Mike stepped a little closer. Will could feel it — the shift in the air, the warmth behind him, the grounding presence. 

“It's not.” Mike's voice was so calm compared to the trembling in Wills. The cloth moved again, cleaning him as if there was nothing wrong — nothing to be afraid of. Will couldn't understand how Mike could stand there, hands steady, cleaning something Will could barely stand to look at himself. 

“..you don't know that.” Will mumbled. 

A moment passed before Mike spoke. 

“I do.” It wasn't said loudly or dramatically, just certain — as if he knew something Will didn't. 

Mike's fingers brushed lightly against his skin as he worked, grounding the motion without pressing too hard.

For a minute, Will waited for the moment where Mike would pull away. He could feel himself start to tense again — shoulders inching up, breaths getting shallower, thought slipping back into that same palace.

“Okay, this is going to sound really weird,” Mike suddenly said. “But, uh, this isn't even close to the grossest thing I've dealt with. Just so you know.” Will frowned slightly, eyes still fixed on the sink. “...okay?” 

Mike let out a small, awkward huff of a laugh. “No seriously, you're like-” He hesitated, as if he was trying to rank it. “-Not even top five.” Will's brows furrowed deeper. “Top five of what?” “Gross things,” Mike said before adding an “Obviously.” 

Will didn't respond. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to.

Behind him, Mike shifted his weight slightly as he reached forward to re-wet the cloth again, rubbing soap on it. “Now that I think about it, Dustin alone probably fills up like…three of those spots.” Mike continued, as he went back to continue cleaning. 

“...Dustin?” Will asked before he could stop himself. “Our friend. Curly hair, talks a lot, thinks he's always right- which okay sure he kind of is sometimes but that's not the point-” The cloth pressed gently against the cuts on Will's side, slower now. 

“There was this one time,” Mike continued, his voice picking up a little. “We were so hungry but none of us had any money, but then he found this…thing in the trash behind the arcade.” Will's face scrunched slightly. “A thing?” He asked, confused. “I don't know what it was.” Mike quickly said. “I'm pretty sure no one knew what it was. It might've been food at some point or— I don't know, a science experiment gone wrong-” Will huffed slightly before Mike continued with the story.

“But he just, picks it up.” Mike sounded halfway horrified and amused at the memory. “With his bare hands and we're all yelling at him to put it down right, like Lucas is losing it-”

“The other one?” Will quietly asked. “Yeah, the other one.” Mike confirmed.

“But Dustin just looks at us,” Mike continued. “and he goes, “Guys relax, it's probably still good.”” A quiet breath left Will's nose. “And then-” Mike was speaking a little faster now. “-he sniffs it.” 

Will turned his head slightly to look at the giant grin on Mike's face. “..he didn't.” “He did!” Mike immediately said. “He absolutely did, said it was for “quality control”, and then, he tasted it.” Will's mouth fell slightly agape. “What.” 

Mike laughed at Will's expression. “I know! And then he goes.” Mike paused for a second, seeming to get into character. “Hm. That's not so bad.”

It was a horrible impression.

Will raised his eyebrows at him, amused at Mike's interesting acting choices. Mike stood still for a second before he straightened himself, regaining composure, coughing a little as if trying to hide the clear embarrassment on his face. “So, anyway,” He quickly said, going back to finish off the last of the cleaning job. “Compared to that? This is nothing.” 

Will turned back around. His shoulders had lowered slightly, his grip on the sink had loosened too. He hadn't noticed when it happened. “That’s really gross.” Will muttered. “I know right! That's what I said.” Will couldn't see it, but he could hear it — the smile on Mike's face.  

The cloth moved one last time across his back before stopping. “Okay…I think that's most of it.” Mike said. “Okay.” Will nodded.

Will grabbed the bandages and gauze he'd placed on the sink “Want me to help with the bandages as well? You can't really see what you're doing.” Mike offered.

Will looked down at the items in his hands, fiddling slightly with them. “I can try.” He said. Mike huffed out a quiet laugh, but it wasn't mean, still the sound made Will bite the inside of his cheek. “Will, come on.” Mike gently pushed.

He leaned down a little to meet Will's eyes and Will let him, glancing up at him from his eyelashes. “Okay.” Will almost whispered as Mike breathed out, a smile forming on his face. 

“Is it okay if we sit? My ankle is kind of hurting.” Will's eyebrows immediately raised up. Will hurriedly nodded, feeling a bit guilty for having let Mike stand upright for so long. He moved first towards the mattress, setting the supplies down before turning back around. 

Mike was — for some reason — trying to move on his own, before immediately stumbling. Will stepped in without thinking, grabbing his arm to steady him. “Careful.” He huffed out, a little annoyed at how many times he's had to tell Mike just that. “I am being careful.” Mike muttered, though he leaned into the support anyway.,

Will helped guide him the short distance and helped him sit down on the mattress. Mike let out a quiet breath as his weight dipped beneath the surface, as if he'd been holding it. “Thanks Will.” Will didn't answer, just sat down in front of him, legs crossed, back facing him. 

The gauze rustled behind him, then Mike's fingers brushed lightly against his back again as he began wrapping it around him.

“...so.” Mike started up again. “Since we're on the topic of disgusting things-” Will sighed, but there was no real weight behind it. “-Lucas.” Mike said. “The other one” Will replied automatically. “Yeah, the other one,” Mike chuckled. 

“He can get super determined and stubborn when it comes to certain things,” The gauze tightened slightly around Will's shoulder. “And this one time, we were out in the woods because he had gotten fixated on finding something, insisting he could track it.” 

Will's interest had peaked slightly. “Track what?” he asked. “I don't know, he wouldn't tell us for some reason. Said it was a surprise, that he didn't want to ruin until he found it.” The gauze continued to wrap around his side. 

“Anyway, he's going on about footprints and broken branches or whatever, and then he kneels down-” Will felt Mike's hand pause briefly against his back. “-and stick his fingers into this mud.”

Will frowned. “...that doesn't sound so bad?” He could hear Mike try to stifle a laugh as he continued with his story. “It wasn't mud.”

Will blinked. “Oh.” Mike's soft giggles echoed behind him. It made him smile too. “Oh no.” Will breathed out through the small smile on his face. “Then to top it all off, he stands up and wipes his hand on his pants like it's nothing, and then Dustin goes “Dude…I think that's dog shit.” 

A quiet, genuine laugh fell from Will's mouth. Mike's hands stilled for a second before they switched to applying the bandages on top of the gauze. “Your impression is so bad!” Will giggled. Mike scoffed. “No it's not!” The sound of Mike's voice made Will giggle even harder. “Yes it is!” 

“What made you an expert on Dustin impressions?” Mike playfully teased back. Will's brows twitched a little. He didn't know. He just knew that it was bad, that something was off. He looked down at his hands. “You're just objectively bad at them. Like the British voice you attempted.” Will said, trying to bring the focus elsewhere. 

“Whatever could you possibly be referring to?” Both of Will's hands smacked over his mouth trying to muffle the surprised laugh that came out of him. “See! That's exactly what I'm talking about!” Will said, his voice filled with remaining laughter. “I can't believe this. First Steve and now you.” Mike said dramatically. 

Will furrowed his brows slightly. “Steve?” He asked. Mike pulled gently at Will's shoulder, a signal for him to turn around. Will moved without question, too interested in who this new character in Mike's world was to bother paying attention to what Mike's hands were doing. 

Mike reached for Will's arm, gently guiding it towards him as he began wrapping gauze around his forearm. “He's our babysitter.” Mike explained, focused on keeping the gauze in place. Will narrowed his eyes at him. “Your what?” 

Mike grinned slightly. “Not like, officially, he just kind of…ended up taking care of us I guess. Him and Dustin are basically brothers at this point though I'm not sure either of them wants to admit that.” Will tried to imagine the people Mike kept talking about the same way he did when reading stories.

“He's also way too obsessed with his hair. People literally call him Steve The Hair Harrington.” Mike said that as if it annoyed him, and the expression on his face made Will want to tease him. 

“Well, does he have great hair?” Will asked innocently. Mike glanced up at him before looking back down to grab bandages. “I guess. If you like that whole look.” He muttered picking up bandages to wrap around Will's arm.

“And you don't?" Will said one eyebrow raised, amused at Mike's reaction. 

Mike scoffed like it was a dumb question. “No, obviously not. I like-” Mike's eyes met Wills for a second. His expression slightly changed.

“I-” Mike started again, then scoffed, shaking his head. “I don't like showoffs, anyway,” He quickly continued “He also used to have the biggest crush on my sister. It was disgusting.” 

Mike finished off the bandages and Will tested them out by slightly moving his arm. They were secured tightly — probably way better than if Will had done it by himself. 

When he looked back, he saw Mike was holding the damp cloth again, lifting it towards Will's face. 

Will instinctively flinched, his body tensing slightly again. His eyes flicked down to his lap as he tried to force away his stupid nerves. 

“Hey,” Mike said quietly. 

Will's eyes flicked up. 

“Eyes on me.” Mike smiled at him. 

Will swallowed, biting the inside of his cheek as he nodded, just barely.

Mike brought the cloth up and gently wiped across Will's cheek. The dried blood came away in dark streaks against the fabric. Will watched his face the whole time, hyper aware of any signs of change — any sign of hesitation, disgust, realization — but Mike didn't change, he just kept talking.

“So, compared to all my friends, you're definitely the coolest” Will furrowed his brows at him. He wasn't sure he believed that but…he didn't hate hearing it. “The bar doesn't seem very high.” Will pointed out, making Mike laugh as he lifted the hair on Will's forehead to clean beneath it. “Well what about you? Am I your coolest friend?” Mike asked, a smug smile on his lip. 

Will huffed out a breath as he rolled his eyes. He tried to hide the smile on his face, but it was more difficult than he'd expected. “You're my only friend Mike.” He said, tilting his head at him. 

Mike retrieved the cloth, giving him a sweet smile. “So you agree?” Will looked at him confused. “On what?” 

“That were friends?” The victorious look on Mike's face made Will's eyes go wide. He felt embarrassment wash over him as he looked down at his hands, trying to avoid Mike's gaze. 

“So…” Will could hear the joy in Mike's voice. It made him scoff out a laugh. “Board game time?” Mike asked. Will glanced up at him — a small smile on his face — before he nodded in response. Mike grinned at him so wide it felt blinding. 

Will stood up, grabbing and pulling the purple shirt over his head before crossing the room to his desk. He grabbed the box of Chutes and Ladders and held it up slightly as he turned back to Mike.

“Oh you are so going to lose Will.” Mike said, already too pleased with himself, as Will rolled his eyes at him making his way back to the bed. 

“Could you explain the rules to me?” Will asked, opening the box and taking out the items inside. Mike didn't answer.

Will glanced up at him, frowning slightly. “Mike.” He said, a little more pointed this time. Mike just kept smiling at him.   

“I don't know,” Mike said. “If I don't tell you, I'm basically guaranteed to win.” 

Will lightly punched his shoulder and Mike immediately collapsed as if he'd been shot. “Ah! My arm!” Mike groaned, clutching it like it was actually injured. “It's broken- Will, it's broken! How am I supposed to play now? Sabotage I say!” He rolled onto his back, then onto his side, that awful British accent slipping in as he spoke. “Truly, I've been betrayed-”

“Mike, stop it.” Will said, already giggling. He tried to sound serious, but it didn't work. 

Mike cracked one eye open to look at him, a smile already pulling at his lips. “Alright, alright.” He said, pushing himself back up. “I guess I'll tell you.” Will scoffed softly. 

This all felt so…easy. The laughter, the talking — the way his shoulders weren't tight, and the way he wasn't waiting for something to go wrong. Will didn't question it, just let it settle, instead focusing on Mike's voice explaining how the game worked. 

For how much Mike talked about winning, he was surprisingly bad at the game. 

Will tried his best to keep his face neutral — despite the warm and bubbling feeling in his chest — as he moved his piece forward again. Across from him, Mike stared down at the board as if it had personally offended him. 

“...this game is rigged.” Mike muttered. Will hummed as if he was considering the possibility. “Mmm, I don't think so.” Mike gave him an unamused look, his arms crossed. “You've won seven times Will.” 

Will simply shrugged, eyes still on the board. “Maybe I'm just good.” Mike narrowed his eyes at him. “This morning you didn't even know the rules.” Will set his piece in place — landing on a ladder — as he dragged it up two rows. “And now I do.” he simply responded. 

Mike huffed, leaning back slightly where he sat on the mattress before immediately leaning forward as if he couldn't help himself. “Okay, no, the last ones didn't count.” Mike decided, grabbing the dice. “This is the real one.” 

Will let a hint of a smile tug at his mouth. “Youve said that for the last three rounds.” “Okay but those were just practice real ones.” Mike shot back. Will's smile grew, just a little, making Mike point at him. “Don't do that!” 

“Do what?” Will innocently asked. “That face,” Mike said. “You're being smug.” Will pretended to be shocked at the accusation. “I'm not!” Mike rolled the dice — a two — before having to watch his piece slide down the chute all the way to the bottom. 

Will bit his lip to try and repress a laugh. “You so are.” Mike said, handing the dice back to Will. He rolled it, a soft clicking sound against the board. A six. Will moved his piece again, calm and unbothered.

Mike watched every movement as if it mattered way more than it actually did. “...youre definitely cheating.” he said. Will glanced up at him with a scoff. “How?” Mike looked suspiciously at the board. “I don't know yet,” he admitted. “But I'm gonna figure it out.” Will huffed out a quiet laugh. “Good luck.”

Mike rolled his dice with more force than necessary. It bounced, spun and landed dramatically on a one. Mike froze. Will bit the inside of his cheek.

“Don't.” Mike warned without looking up. Will didn't say anything, which somehow made it worse. Will could see Mike looking slowly up at him.

Will's lips were pressed together and his shoulders were just barely shaking. “...you're laughing.” Mike said, mock-offended. “I'm not!” Will quickly said. 

“You are!”

“I'm not-” Will couldn't hold it anymore. The look on Mike's face combined with his horrible luck made it impossible for him not to burst out in laughter. A kind of laughter Will wasn't even aware he could do. 

He could hear Mike breathlessly say, “This is unbelievable.” only resulting in Will laughing even harder, his eyes squeezed shut as tears formed in them. “You said you were going to win!” 

“I am going to win!” Will opened his eyes, tilting his head at him. He bit his lip for a second, just merely contemplating if he should throw fuel on the fire or not.

“...When?” Will immediately pressed his lips back together to suppress another laugh. Mike's mouth went agape as he scoffed. “Wow, okay, I see how it is.” 

Will smiled again — he couldn't really help it anymore. Mike blinked at him for a second. “Mike.” Will breathlessly laughed. Mike just kept looking at him, his expression softening. Will's brows twitched slightly. “Mike?” He tried again. “Yes Will?” Mike almost whispered. “The dice?” Will smiled confusedly at him, raising one eyebrow at him as he held out his hand. 

“O-oh! Right! Here.” Mike said, snapping out of whatever it was. Will looked down at the board as he shook the dice in his hands. He examined the board — pretending he wasn't already aware of what he needed to win. “Looks like…I just need to roll a three.” 

Mike leaned his face on his hand, but Will could still see a tiny smile on his face. “Looks like it.” he mumbled from beneath his hand. Will took a deep breath and rolled.

The dice clicked softly, rolling towards a two, before it just flipped over, revealing the three dots on its surface. 

Will felt his heart jump in his chest, as he tried to suppress a smug smile. He grabbed the piece and moved it the remaining three spots. “I won,” Will simply said before mumbling out a tiny “...again.”

Mike shook his head at him, raising his brows. “I heard that.” A small silence settled between them.

Will glanced up at him. 

Mike was still pretending to be annoyed, but there was something softer about him now. Will didn't fully understand it, but he didn't look away. “...Do you want to play again?” he carefully asked.

Mike looked back at him. He huffed a little before saying “...yeah.” then quickly adding. “But this time I'm winning.” A warm feeling settled in Wills chest as they reset the game. 

Then his ears picked something up.

Will felt it before he fully heard it. Something wrong — a faint break in the quiet.

“....bzt…ike…re…..bzt….ere….ik…ar….yo…..er..”

His breath caught. The sound slipped in and out, thin and crackling — barely there. Will went silent, focusing only on the inaudible sound. “...bzzt…Mike-”

“Will?” He didn't answer, instead pushing himself off the mattress, his head turning slightly as he tried to place where the sound was coming from.

“Will what's wrong?” Will shushed him sharply, his hand snapping up without looking. Mike went quiet. “...Do you hear that?” Will whispered. Mike leaned in closer, glancing around the room. “Hear what?” He whispered back. “That,” Will said, more urgently now “That noise, like…static-” 

The realization hit Will like a blow. 

Will turned to Mike, a wave of cold fear washing over him. “Mike.” Will said sternly, watching as Mike froze. “Why did you bring back a radio?” 

For a second, the room went silent. Then Mike moved — more so lunged — from the mattress towards his backpack. “No-” 

Will's stomach dropped as he fell to the floor and scrambled after him, reaching for the strap, the zipper — anything — but Mike was already pulling it open. 

Mike yanked the radio out of the bag, the static sound now sharper, clearer than before. “Mike, are you there? I repeat Mike, are you there, over.” 

“NO!” Will crashed into him, knocking him sideways onto the floor, reaching desperately, however Mike's arms were longer than his and he'd already pressed a button. “Dustin! I'm here! We're in the-” Will shoved forward, ripping the radio out of his hands. “Will! What are you doing!”

“Stop-” Will's voice came out rough, shaking. “Stop- stop talking-” He crawled away from Mike, clutching the radio to his chest as if it'd burn Mike if he got too close. Mike didn't seem to care, he lunged after him, trying to rip the radio out of Will's grip. “Will, give it back!”

“STOP!” The word tore out of him and — for a second — Mike froze just long enough for Will to see the panic in his eyes. The confusion — the not understanding — as he kept pulling at the radio. “Will they're trying to help-”

Help.

That word was wrong. It was wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong-

Despite Will's frantic grip, Mike managed to press a button. “Mirkwood! We're deep in Mirkwood!”

“No-”

“We?” The voice said. “What do you mean we?! Mike-” Will shook his head, breath coming too fast now. “No, no, no, no-” 

Mike looked at him — really looked at him — and for a moment, he hesitated. “...I'm sorry..” He whispered out, before pressing the button yet again. “Me and Will.”

Will could feel the breath rush out of him as his body weakened along with his grip. Mike removed the radio from Will's trembling hands as they found refuge on the wooden floor — his nails scratching against it. 

They were going to find them. 

They were going to-

His chest constricted as images flashed, sharp and fast and wrong, of hands and shadows and something reaching for Mike.

Mike on the ground, not moving, covered in blood and grime and vines-

Will's breath hitched. The room felt smaller, the air thicker, as if it was closing in around them. Will could feel it crawling under his skin, threading through his thoughts. Mike was still talking.

How could Mike…how could he have done this to him? How could he have been so careless, so loud, so stupid?

Mike was going to get himself killed. Mike was going to let him find him. And Will had let him. Will had trusted him even though he knew Mike was naive, knew he was weak, knew that he fell for illusions and believed in fake hope. 

Will pushed himself off the floor, the sound of Mike's voice and the one through the radio blending together in the background.

That was okay though, Will would teach him. After he'd gotten them somewhere safe. They would find somewhere else, somewhere far, far away. It didn't matter what it looked like.

Wills pretty sure he could survive anywhere as long as he could have Mike laughing besides him.

But he couldn't have that if Mike was dead — He couldn't have that if Mike kept talking to the monsters in that awful radio.

Will's gaze flicked across the room and landed on the stacks of books. He moved his feet that felt so heavy for each step, making his way towards them. 

He was sure Mike would forgive him, the same way Will would forgive Mike for the radio.

His fingers curled around one of the heavier books. Behind him, Mike was still. Talking. Will turned around and stepped closer. 

His back was facing him. His shoulders open, completely unguarded in a way that made a quiet certain feeling settle deep in his chest. 

See, he was easy prey. 

Will lifted the book in the air and — for a split second — a flicker of guilt flashed through him, then it faded. This was necessary. This was helping. 

“...but you have to hurry I don't think Will—”

Smack.

Mike's body crumpled, the sound dull and immediate as he hit the floor. The radio slipped from his hands, clattering beside him. 

The room went still, except for “MIKE?! Mike, respond! What's going on?!”

Will stepped over Mike's body, didn't look down for more than a second. He was breathing. That was enough.

Will crouched, kneeling over the panicked voice on the radio. “Mike?!” The grip around the book tightened. 

They weren't going to take him — They weren't going to find them. Will raised the book above his head–

“.....Will?…is tha-”

–and brought it down hard.

The plastic cracked, the voice stuttered. He smashed it again, and again, and again, each strike harder than the last, until it dissolved into nothing but broken static and twisted metal. 

Will's breathing slowed as he felt the tightness in his chest loosen. He looked back at the unconscious Mike. 

Will swallowed as he moved closer, crouching beside him. “...it's okay,” he murmured, barely audible. His hand hovered for a second, then rested lightly against Mike's shoulder. “I've got you.” 

Will wasn't going to be left alone again. He'd make sure of it.

Chapter Text

A sharp ringing filled Mike's head so completely it stopped feeling like sound and became something else entirely — Just pure pressure.

It was dense and suffocating, as if it was pressing outward from inside his skull. A dull, heavy thob followed at the back of his, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. Each beat was stronger than the last as if something inside him was trying to push its way free.

A strained groan slipped past his lips as he tried to lift a hand to his aching head, desperate for anything that might help dull the pain. However, the motion stopped before it could even begin. 

His arms wouldn't move. They were caught somewhere behind him and held in place by something unyielding. 

He let his head fall back instead, the wall behind him knocking faintly against his skull and grounding him in a way nothing else was. He tried again — testing, pulling, twisting— but his hands didn't budge. They were tied.

Shit.

His eyelids fluttered weakly but the world that met him was distant and shapeless — nothing but subtle light and motion that refused to settle into anything real. It felt as if his brain hadn't fully realized he was awake.

The pain was unbearable. It pressed in on him from all sides, thick and heavy, as if he was submerged underwater. Every part of his body felt weighed down by it, sluggish and unresponsive.

For a moment, Mike just stayed slumped against the wall, breathing shallowly through the pain, patiently waiting for the ringing to dull into something he could manage. 

Then he began noticing a different sensation down at his ankle. 

Soft, controlled hands pressing and shifting. Each touch was careful but firm and it sent sharp bursts of pain up his leg. The contrast was jarring and it made him instinctively try to pull away. 

The rope only bit deeper into his wrists as he did. He felt his breath hitch as he forced his eyes open, blinking hard against the blur and the way the room seemed to tilt before it slowly dragged itself back into place. 

Shapes sharpened, edges formed where there had been none, until he could finally make out the floor beneath him, his legs stretched out in front of him…and the figure sitting at his feet. 

“...Will?” 

His voice came out thin — barely more than a breath — like the room itself was swallowing the sound before it could travel. 

The figure shifted, looking up at him. “Stay still.” Will's voice said. It was quiet but steady, as if nothing about this was unusual. As if this — Mike tied up, disoriented, and Will calmly working at his ankle — was exactly how things were supposed to be. 

Confusion cut through the disorienting haze. 

“What- no, whats…whats happening?” Mike tried to move, but the smallest shift sent the room spinning again. Nausea rose up so fast he had to clamp his jaw shut to keep it down.

“It's okay. You're okay.” Will murmured. “I'm just re-bandagizing it. I don't know how far we're going to have to walk.” The words didn't make sense. Why would they be going anywhere?

Dustin had found them. He'd heard him — heard his voice through the radio — clear and real and-

The radio.

Mike's stomach dropped. 

He blinked hard, adrenaline cutting sharply through the fog. “Will, wheres- what happened to the radio?” 

Will hesitated. It was small, barely there — but Mike caught it. Just the slightest pause in his hands before they resumed tightening the fabric around his ankle a little too firmly. “It broke.”

Mike let out a short, disbelieving breath. The sound caught somewhere between a laugh and somewhere closer to panic. “It broke? Just- what, out of nowhere?”

“Does it hurt when I do that?”

The question cut right past him. Will wasn't even looking at him. He hesitated for a second, thrown off. “...what?” Mike muttered.

“Your ankle,” Will repeated, adjusting it slightly in his grip. “Does it hurt more when I do that?” 

It did, but that wasn't the point. 

“Will.” Mike said, sharper now despite the strain in his voice. “The radio.” Will continued to ignore him. Another thump of pain hit the back of Mike's head, harder this time. 

“-shit!-” Mike winced uselessly trying to twist away from the deep, sharp throb. His breath caught as a memory slipped back into place. 

“...did you-” The memory came in a flash. Mike sitting with the radio in his hands, Will behind him, and then-

Nothing.

“Did you hit me?...” Mike quietly asked, his jaw tightening as the words settled heavy in his mouth. Will didn't answer — didn't even look at him — just kept fiddling with his ankle. “Will.” 

It was like talking to a wall. 

The pain pulsed again, sharper this time, and it tipped something over the edge. “Did you hit me?” Mike repeated, his voice rising as irritation bled through.

Wills hands adjusted on him again — tightening the fabric, smoothing it down, adjusting with slow, deliberate care — like that was the only answer he was going to get. Mike let out a sharp, disbelieving breath. “Seriously?” He snapped. “You don't even- what, you're just not gonna say anything?” 

The lack of reaction felt louder than anything Will could've said. 

The pain spiked hot behind Mike's eyes, frustration bleeding through with it. “You can't just- Could you stop ignoring me?!” 

Still nothing. 

“WILL!?” 

Will looked up at him now, but Mike almost wished he hadn't. 

There was something wrong with Will's working eye. 

The change was subtle, but it was right there glaring at him. 

A cold, crawling feeling spread through Mike's chest. “...what?” Mike's voice faltered despite himself. Wills head tilted slightly, almost curiously. The movement was small, but it felt off. Not in a way Mike could name, just enough that his pulse spiked along with it. 

Then Will blinked and something shifted, like a mask settling back into place. “Theres no point in talking about that right now.” Will said quietly, the words calm. Too calm.

Mike stared at him. “No point? You-” His voice caught for a second. “You hit me.” 

“I needed you to stay quiet.” The answer came easily. There was no guilt or sense of apology in the words. “That's not-” he started but the words faltered. “You don't just…knock someone out Will!” 

Will didn't react to the name. His hands just moved again, adjusting the bandage which no longer needed adjusting, like it mattered more than the conversation. “It wouldve been worse if you kept talking.”

Mike scoffed at him. “Worse how?”

Will didn't answer right away. Mike noticed the way his eyes kept twitching as he mumbled something beneath his breath. “...not going to happen.” he mumbled out. 

“What are you saying?” Mike asked, more carefully now as a chill crept up his spine thanks to the unnatural movements of Will. 

Will finally looked up again, but it didn't feel like it was Will looking at him. He opened his mouth to say something but then Will's hands tightened.

The warmth in them disappeared, replaced by something colder, harder as his fingers pressed into the swollen joint with sudden, unyielding pressure that didn't feel like care anymore, only force.

Pain shot up Mike's leg so fast it knocked the air out of him.

“Stop-!” The word broke out of him as he tried to pull away, but there was nowhere to go, — nowhere to move. His back was pinned to the wall, his hands useless behind him, and Will was blocking the only remaining space.

“It hurts- Will!-” His eyes squeezed shut as if he was trying to imagine himself somewhere else — anywhere else. Back to playing board games and laughing with Will — his Will — but the pressure only increased and Will's hands began twisting around his ankle. 

Mike could hear himself yell out. Could hear the raw, uncontrolled sound that ripped out of his throat, however the moment it did, the pressure disappeared. 

Mike's eyes snapped open, his breath catching as he looked over at the trembling boy in front of him. 

Will wasn't touching him anymore. He was sitting with his hands clutched tightly to his chest as if he was afraid of them. His whole body trembled as his breathing turned uneven and shallow. “Sorry- I'm sorry… I dont-”  The words stumbled out of him, fractured and disoriented. His brows furrowed so deeply it looked like it hurt. 

Mike forced himself upright as much as the rope and the pounding in his head would allow, ignoring the protest from his ankle. “It's okay.” He quickly said, the words coming out softer than expected. “Will it's okay, I'm fine, see?” 

Will didn't respond — it didn't even seem as if the words were reaching him. His gaze kept darting everywhere but at Mike, his lips moving in quiet, incoherent murmurs that didn't form anything Mike could understand. “Will,” Mike tried again, more firmly this time. “Look at me.”

Will's eyes snapped back up at him. And — thankfully — They looked like his again. “Im okay.” Mike said, forcing a smile despite the pain coming from both directions of his body. They couldn't compare to the way Mike's heart clenched thanks to the look on Will's face.

Slowly, Will's breathing evened out, his hands lowered back into his lap even though his fingers still twitched slightly. “I broke the radio.” He quietly admitted.

Mike's heart dropped, even if he already knew. “...Why?” He asked, the question coming out quiet. “Will, didn't you hear him? That was Dustin! They're coming to get us-” 

“Dont.” 

The word wasn't loud, but it stopped Mike anyways. “Dont believe it.” Will's voice sounded so desperate, threaded with something fragile. “Please.” The expression on his face was filled with the same kind of pity the kids in school used to give him, soft and careful.

“Believe what? There's nothing to believe, that was them.” Mike pushed back, his hands curling into fists behind his back, trying his best to contain the bubbling frustration growing in him. 

“It's not.” Will stood as he said it, shaking his head once like the sentence alone had settled the disagreement. 

Mike let out a strained, disbelieving breath. “He was calling my name Will.”  Will's eyes flicked over Mike's face. He saw the way Will was biting his cheek, but the sadness on his face wasn't directed towards himself, it was directed towards Mike. “They know your name,” He said, as if it didn't mean anything. “Thats not hard.” 

The dismissal hit harder than it should have. 

A frustrated sound came from under Mike's breath as Will turned away completely, moving around the room, packing with quiet efficiency like the conversation had already ended. “Youre just…” Will began, his voice quieter now as he sorted through supplies. His movements precise, controlled. “...hearing what you want to hear.”

The sound of the zipper shutting close sounded way louder than usual. It felt final, like a door slamming. As if there was no use in arguing. 

“Im not crazy.” Mike spat out, the words sharper than he intended, breaking out of him before he could soften them. 

Will turned towards him, a soft smile on his face, but it didn't flutter Mike's heart the way it usually did. 

If anything, it did the opposite — a dejected feeling settling over him. “I know.” Will said, the words so careful, but it wasn't reassurance. It was the kind of voice adults used when they didn't believe you but didn't want to say it outright. The same one his mom had years ago, when he realized Santa wasn't real.

A hollow feeling opened up in his chest. 

“Then why are you acting like this?” Mike asked, his voice faltering despite himself. Will didn't answer — he'd already turned away, moved on, picking up the second backpack and continuing to pack as if he was a parent patiently waiting for their kid to stop throwing their temper tantrum. 

“Will!” The name came out louder this time, edged with desperation. “You're not listening to me! They're on their way, we're going to go home-” 

The book hit the table with a sharp crack that made Mike flinch. “Youre not listening to me, Mike.” 

Will still wouldn't look at him. His hands moved methodically as he kept adjusting, reorganizing. His shoulders were tight and his jaw clenched just enough for Mike to notice from where he sat.

“It's an illusion, okay?” He continued quieter than before. “A nice dream you let yourself believe because it's safer than the truth.” Mike stared at him. The words came out so cleanly — so rehearsed — as if he'd already thought them through a hundred times before saying them out loud. 

“Whats the truth?” Mike said, shaking his head slightly as he spoke. Will stopped. His hands slowed, then stilled, and for the first time since he'd turned away, he looked back.

Really looked.

There was something in his expression that made it hard to breathe. 

“That you're all alone.”  

Will hesitated for a second before continuing.

“That they left you to die.” 

The calmness in his voice didn't match what he was saying. It should have sounded harsher, angrier, but it was completely void of any emotions. 

He couldn't look at Will anymore — It felt suffocating. His eyes instead escaped down to his own legs like they were the only stable thing left. He swallowed trying to relieve the dry feeling in his throat, and felt the words sitting heavy in his chest even as he tried to push back against them.

He wasn't all alone.

He wasn't.

And neither was Will. 

So why- Why couldn't he see that? Why did he sound so sure? 

The thoughts pressed in on him, suffocating in a way that had nothing to do with the walls surrounding them. For a moment, Mike just sat there, feeling his nails digging into his palms sharp enough to draw blood. Slowly, the weight in his chest began shaping into something else, something that pushed back.

He couldn't let that be the end of it — couldn't let Will decide that that was the truth. He wasn't just going to sit here and watch Will spiral. Mike refused to let him disappear again, not when he was sitting right by him. He had to find a way to get through to him, or if that failed, a way to stop him. 

He just had to do something. 

Mike lifted his head, forcing himself to look — to stay present — even if everything in him wanted to shut down. He watched as Will moved to the bed, picking up two stuffed animals with a hesitation that didn't match anything else he'd done so far. Will's expression cracked for only a second as he let the yellow care bear fall back onto the mattress. Will turned away before carefully placing the tiger into the bag as if it mattered more than anything else in the room. 

“Are you just going to leave everything behind?” Mike asked. “Not…everything.” Will mumbled. “What about all your drawings? Your stuffed animals? The board games?” The words came faster now, grasping at anything that might anchor Will — make him stop and think. “You can't just replace that!” 

“Ive packed Chutes and Ladders. And the cards.” Will muttered, like that solved the issue. “I'll make new drawings. Well find new games and I dont need-” 

He faltered, glancing at Mike before quickly looking away, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “I don't need more stuffed animals.” 

Mike watched him open up the drawer filled with drawings and pick out his top three, gently tucking them into the tiny space left in the bag. “Do you even know where we're going?” Mike asked, the irritation slipping out. Will stilled for a moment before huffing out “Somewhere safe.” Mike let out a quiet groan, tipping his head back against the wall. 

Somewhere safe.

Of course that was the answer. 

Will glanced over at him, brows pulling slightly together as if the sound had personally offended him. And even though Mike knew he had every right to be frustrated right now, the look still made him feel a sense of guilt. 

“Do you actually believe we'll be safer out there than in here?” Mike's jaw tightened as the words left him. Will shrugged as he huffed out, seeming to be just as annoyed with Mike. “You have no concept of what safe even means, Mike.” 

Mike leaned slightly forward. “I know what safe means,” he shot back. “Our friends are safe.” Will rolled his eyes — actually rolled his eyes — at him. Mike blinked, thrown off just enough for the irritation to spike again. 

“Why are you rolling your eyes at me?`” Mike demanded, and sure, his voice sounded way more whiny than he wanted, but he didn't even care at this point. Will shook his head, tongue pressing into his cheek as he looked away. “Because youre-” He started then cut himself off with a frustrated exhale. “Youre being impossible!” 

His attention snapped right back to the backpack, adjusting things that didn't need adjusting. There wasn't even room left in it. “Im not-” Mike stopped himself, physically clenching his mouth shut as he dragged in a sharp breath through his nose. 

Yelling wasn't going to help. It was only going to make both of them miserable, and right now he couldn't afford that. 

Will swung one backpack over his shoulder, then the other, both hanging awkwardly. It looked heavy, but he didn't seem to notice. Or maybe he just didn't care. 

He made his way over to Mike, who was trying his hardest to imitate Hopper's meditative skills. “We're leaving.” He said, then bent down to pick him up. Mike immediately let his body go slack. 

Dead weight.

If Will wanted to drag him out of here, he was going to make it as hard as possible. Will managed to lift him a few inches before letting out a strained breath and dropping him back down. 

There was a pause, then Will shifted behind him, trying again from a different angle. Mike slid right back down to the floor as if gravity had a personal vendetta against Will specifically. “Mike.” Will's voice came out tight, threaded with irritation as he exhaled sharply. Mike didn't respond. Just let himself go limp, uncooperative in every possible way.

Behind him, he could hear Will sit down. He felt the shift in the floor as Will's hands tried to work their way under Mike's arms, trying to get leverage. Mike stiffened immediately, every muscle locking up just to make it worse. “Mike! Stop- acting like this-” Will huffed, the strain starting to creep into his voice. 

Mike didn't reply, just kept pretending as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Will's hands shifted again, moving under his back this time. Mike rose barely an inch before Will dropped him again, his breathing turning uneven.

“Mike.”

There was something different in Will's voice now, it made Mike look up. He watched Will drag both his hands down his face, pressing them there for a second seeming to try and pull himself back together.

“Yes Will?” Mike asked, his tone deliberately light and innocent. It made Will exhale into his hands. “We don't have time for this.” 

“Mmm.” Mike hummed. “No, I think I have all the time in the world.” Will's hands dropped and the look he gave him was so sharp and suddenly intense that for a split second, Mike almost laughed. 

Will pushed him back toward the mattress trying to prop him up against it. Mike's back hit the edge of it but his body had already started to slide back down. 

“Mike.” 

“Will.”

“UGH! Why are you being so-” Will cut himself off, hands coming up to his face again as the rest of the sentence dissolved into a muffled groan. 

Mike didn't care if he was being annoying right now. If being annoying bought them time — if it slowed them down even a little — then he'd lean into it as much as he had to. The longer they stayed here, the more time their friends had to find them.

Will's hands slowly fell away from his face and Mike felt his heart clench immediately. The frustrated, angry expression on Will's face was gone, but what replaced it was somehow worse.

Will looked so small. His expression had softened into something fragile and uncertain, like the fight had drained out of him all at once. Mike's shoulders dipped slightly as he let out a shaky breath. 

He'd seen that look before. It was the same one Will had given him yesterday as he force fed Mike probably the worst thing he'd ever eat. 

Mike's own expression faltered before he could stop it, his mouth parting slightly and his eyes widening. 

He tried his best to ignore the fluttering feeling in his chest, but then Will reached out, fingers tugging gently on the fabric of his sweater, as a small pout formed on his lips. “.....Mike..”

Mike's breath hitched. He tried his best to calm himself down, to look somewhere else that wasn't at the sad bunny in front of him. Will pulled at his shirt again. “..Mike..” It was quieter this time, softer.

His eyes moved before his mind could stop them, and when they first landed on Will, how could they even dare try to look away. “...We have to go…” Will nearly whispered, his eyes searching Mike's face with something so open and desperate it made his chest ache. “....Please?” 

Mike forgot how to think — forgot what he was supposed to say.

“...okay.”

The word slipped out of him, and Will's face lit up instantly. 

Relief flooded through his expression, softening every edge of him as the sweetest smile broke through his sad expression. “Yeah?” Will asked as if he needed to hear it again. 

Mike knew he shouldn't, knew he had to take it back but-

Will looked so happy.

Mike nodded. “Mhm.” 

Will smiled even brighter before he moved forward and wrapped his arms around Mike, pulling him into a hug so sudden and so tight, it knocked the air right out of him.

Mike froze for a moment, because it had been four years. Four years, and somehow, Will still felt the same — warm, solid and real, his face pressed into Mike's shoulder like he belonged there — like he never left. 

He swallowed hard, forcing everything rising up in his throat back down before it could spill over. 

He'd given his friends time. Truly, he had. 

He'd stalled, argued, done everything he could without pushing too far. So if they didn't make it in time…that wasn't on him, because there was no way he was going to be the one to ruin the joy beaming from Will. 

Will pulled back suddenly like he'd just realized what he just did. A flicker of what seemed like embarrassment crossed his face. Will took a small breath, the smile still lingering as he helped Mike back onto his feet. 

Will grabbed his shotgun before slinging it over his already overloaded shoulder, then reached for the door. It creaked as it opened — cold air slipping in. Will stepped behind Mike again, steadying him forward. 

“Uh, Will-” Mike started, glancing over his shoulder. “Maybe it'd be easier if you untied me? I could help carry some stuff?” 

They stopped for a second, as if Will was contemplating it. “Uhm…” he heard quietly from behind him. “....maybe when we get somewhere safe.” Mike sighed softly. “Okay.” He said, admitting defeat.

As they stepped out, making their way to god knows where, Mike resisted the urge to look behind him. Still, a part of him hoped so hard that if he did, he'd see them — shapes in the distance — coming to save them.

They moved slowly.

Mike stumbled more than he walked, his weight uneven and his ankle dragging just enough to make every step awkward. The ground caught him constantly — roots, dips, loose dirt — and each time he faltered, Will was there. Always there.

One hand was firm around his arm and the other was hovering just beside him like he didn't trust Mike not to collapse if he let go for even a second. 

Every step was guided, adjusted, corrected. Mike could feel it — the constant pressure, the subtle shifts — the way Will moved him without thinking like he was something that needed to be kept in place. 

For a while, neither of them spoke. Just the uneven crunch of their steps through dirt and leaves, the quiet rustle of branches brushing against their legs and the distant hum of nothing.

“Where do you want us to go?” 

Mike blinked slightly, the question taking a second to register. Will's voice wasn't strained or sad anymore. If anything, it seemed thoughtful. 

“Like when we find somewhere,” Will continued, his grip tightening just a little as Mike's foot caught in the ground for a second. “Do you think we should stay somewhere higher up or maybe we could find something deep underground, like a secret bunker or something.” 

Mike swallowed, his eyes flicking towards the trees. “I don't know.” He mumbled. “We could find somewhere near water. I think that'd be nice.” Will answered for him. Mike nodded vaguely. 

His focus wasn't really on the conversation — it was on the silence in between it. He was searching for voices, footsteps, any sign of life, but there was nothing. Just him and Will. “Do you know how to swim?” Will asked.

Mike's brows twitched a little as he glanced back at him. “Yeah?” Will pressed his lips together for a second as his eyes drifted in between Mikes. “Could you teach me?” Mike scoffed, a tiny smile on his mouth.“Teach you?” Will nodded.

Was he joking? 

“Will, you dont…dont you remember how to swim?” Will's brows pulled faintly together before his gaze dropped back to the ground. “...no..” he mumbled. “...It's kind of hard to teach yourself.” Mike felt his heart clench at the words. 

The memories came flooding back all at once.

The kiddie pool in Mike's yard, both of them crammed into it, competing to see who could hold their breath longer. 

The beach and lovers lake. Their stupid, matching floaties. Will clinging to his arm, laughing and panicking at the same time. 

How they'd splash Jonathan until Mike got yelled at.

How he'd have to dry Will's tears whenever he ingested too much water as they curled up together under the same towel. 

Mike holding his hands — guiding him — and laughing so hard to the point he could barely breathe when Wills kicking sent water everywhere, soaking anyone dumb enough to stand close to them. 

The party playing chicken fight and Mike and Will winning every single time due to the fact Mike refused to let Will fall and Will refused to lose.

Will remembered none of it. 

Mike kept forgetting that. 

He inhaled slowly, forcing the ache down before it could spread. “Of course I'll teach you.” Mike softly said, forcing a smile. Will looked up at him before giving him a small smile back. Then Mike's attention sharpened.

There, in the distance, there was something faint. His head tilted slightly, breath catching as he closed his eyes to focus merely on the noise. “...Mike?” He didn't answer. The sound came again — voices — far away, but there.

Mike's eyes flashed open, his head whipping towards the direction, his voice already rising. “HEY-!” 

A hand slammed over his mouth. 

The force of it knocked the air straight out of him as Will yanked them both backwards, dragging them off path and down into a bush. Branches scratched against his arms as dirt shifted underneath them when they hit the ground hard. Will's grip didn't loosen for even a second. 

“Mm!-” Mike tried to speak, but the hand over his mouth pressed tighter, cutting him off completely. “Shhh..” Will whispered, the sound brushing against his ear. 

The position they were in was uncomfortable and crowded. Mike tried to twist out of Will's grip, but it only locked harder around him when he did. 

The voices came closer. Through the gaps in the branches Mike could see them — three figures — and the grumbling, grumpy voice coming from the tallest one, Mike could recognize anywhere. 

It was Hopper. 

Mike jerked forward again, trying to force something — anything — out, but Will's hand shifted, covering his nose as well. He couldn't breathe. Panic hit fast, his chest heaving uselessly against the restraint. 

“...get to higher ground, we might be able to spot them.” Nancy's voice. Nancy, Hopper and Eleven, searching the woods, searching for them. 

They were there, they were right there. 

Mike trashed harder as desperation washed over him, but Will only pressed harder down, his arm locking around him, holding him in place. Mike's lungs burned.

Spots flickered in his vision. If he didn't do something, they were going to leave. They were going to walk right past them, further into the woods, further away. This- this one chance, that may be all he's getting.  

Mike shoved himself forward, rustling the bush just slightly. Will yanked him back immediately. 

His strength was overwhelming. Mike's head sagged against Will's shoulder, his body going heavy as his breaths turned shallow and useless. His eyes blinked slowly, struggling to stay open.

Nancy had stopped. 

She was looking right at them.

A small, broken whine escaped Mike, instantly muffled against Will's palm. The sound of his own heartbeat roared in his ears, or maybe it was the sound of Will's pulse. 

“What's wrong?” Eleven's voice, faint but there. 

Mike forced his eyes open wider, willing — begging — for Nancy to see him. 

For a moment, he almost believed they'd made eye contact, but then she turned around. “...nothi…” 

No.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no-

Mike's eyes rolled to the back of his head, his vision blackening. His body didn't feel like his own. He just felt so heavy. 

The pressure vanished.

Air slammed back into his lungs, sharp and painful, as Mike collapsed into the crook of Will's neck, gasping and choking on every inhale like he'd forgotten how to breathe. 

It hurt.

Everything hurt.

He clung there shaking, as he dragged in breath after breath, his body scrambling to catch up. Above him, Will's breathing was uneven too. 

Mike glanced upwards — still gasping — eyes slightly unfocused, as he looked at him. 

Will was staring at the place Nancy had been. He seemed frozen. His hand was still half raised and his fingers trembled faintly.

He looked terrified.

“Theyre-” Mike's voice cracked as he sucked in another breath. “Theyre here…” No response. Mike swallowed hard, forcing the words out between uneven inhales. “That means-” his voice wavered but he pushed through it. “That means we can go home.”  Will's eyes snapped to his. They were sharp, cold. 

Then, without a word, he grabbed Mike, hauling him out of the bush and back up to his feet with a grip that felt tighter than before. They started moving again, faster this time, less careful. 

Mike stumbled to keep up, barely catching himself as Will pushed him forward. His movements were more erratic than before. “Will- slow down-!” 

“We can't stay here.” His voice was thin and frayed at the edges. “Will, we have to go after them-” “No.” The word was immediate. Mike's jaw tightened. “Will-” “No!” 

Will yanked him forward, forcing them in the opposite direction — Away from Nancy, away from Hopper and Eleven, away from safety. 

Mike dug his heels into the ground — ignoring the pain it caused him — as he tried to slow them down, but Will just shoved him harder. “Move!” He snapped at him. Mike exhaled sharply through his nose, biting back the frustration rising in his chest. “I am moving.” He snapped back. 

The silence between them was suffocating. 

Worse than any other silence that had fallen over them the past couple of days, because this one was fueled by a mutual anger. Every step, every breath, every slight shift of Will's grip, it all carried pure irritation. It pressed in on Mike from all sides to the point Mike was sure he'd lose his mind if he didn't say something soon. 

It had been one thing before Will had seen them. Back when he thought they were something else and Mike could pretend Will was confused or scared, but now he knew. He saw them — he saw that they were real, that they were looking for them, that they weren't monsters. Yet, here they were, running away.

Mike exhaled sharply through his nose once again, trying to calm himself down. 

What seemed to anger him most though, was that Will still didn't trust him. He couldn't just take Mike's word for it, couldn't even try to believe him. His hands were still tied behind his back and his grip around his arm hadn't loosened once because Will didn't trust him not to bolt the first chance he got. 

Sure, he'd apparently grown to like him, but he still didn't trust him. The idea that Will truly thought Mike would lie to him about this — about everything — it hurt. 

However, it mostly just pissed him off. 

“Ive already taught you how to swim.” Mike grumbled. The words came out low and bitter, cutting straight through their prolonged silence. 

Will didn't respond, because of course he didn't. “So actually, I take it back.” Mike went on, his voice tightening. “I take it back because I don't need to teach you something you already know.” He knew he was rambling, saying stuff that didn't matter, but Mike didn't care.

He needed to get some relief from this sob worthy rage inside him before it choked him to death. 

“That wasn't me.” Will mumbled behind him. Mike couldn't help but groan out irritatedly. “It was- It IS!” 

He resisted the urge to look back at Will, afraid if he did the anger he had would dissolve. He needed to get it out — needed Will to hear him. “I know you remembered when I told you about the first day we met. I saw it! Stop- just- stop denying it!” Mike pushed on.

He tried to twist himself out of Will's grip even if he knew it was useless. It was more so of a protest than a genuine attempt anyway. “You saw wrong.” Will's voice was hollow, as if it didn't even belong to him. 

Mike laughed in disbelief of the situation. “Okay, fine.” His voice sharpened, words coming out faster now. “Tell me if you remember this then.” He didn't wait for an answer.

“We were like six years old and Jonathan, your brother- your brother, took us down to Lovers Lake, but you refused to go in because you thought there was some kind of sea monster going to eat you-” 

Wills grip tightened slightly.

“Me and Jonathan had to hold your hands just to get you into the water but the second you stepped in you started jumping up and down like crazy, drenching Jonathan, and then when I joined in suddenly I was the problem, anyway Jonathan had brought-”  

A pained yell came from behind him. The grip on Mike's arm loosened enough for Mike to be able to twist out of it and turn around to look at Will. The frustration he had been containing immediately evaporated and was instantly replaced with grueling worry. 

Will had a hand clamped over his scarred eye, the other hand still half-reaching towards Mike, as if it hadn't caught up to him. “...Will?” Will looked up at him. 

For a second — barely a second — there was a flicker of brown that went by so fast Mike almost missed it. Then Will cried out again. 

The reached out hand came to cover his other eye as well as he dropped to his knees.. “Will?!” Mike stumbled down in front of him, panic engulfing him so fast it made his head spin. 

Will sounded like he was crying. His teeth were gritted together and his entire, trembling body twitched under the strain. “Hey, hey, Will it's okay,” Mike quickly said, his voice softening. “Im here- Im right here.” 

It was the same thing as before. The same thing that had happened when Mike told Will about their first meeting. It was as if remembering physically pained Will. 

Another pained yell left Will, but then, the twitching and trembling abruptly stopped, before his hands slowly fell down from his face. 

Will stayed still, his head bowed. Then his emotionless expression shifted. Confusion flashed across his face before it quickly tightened again, his brows furrowing. Before Mike could react, Will looked up at him and grabbed his face. “Hey- what are you-” 

“Look at me.” Will's hands were firm, turning his head, forcing him to look directly at him. Mike frowned, thrown off. “I am looking at you?”

“Look.” There was something urgent, almost desperate, in his voice. Mike stilled.

Will's eyes searched his intensely, flicking back and forth frantically. “Do you see it?” Will nearly whispered. Mike looked closely, really trying his best to find what Will was talking about.

All he saw was a familiar shade of green and the long lashes accompanied by it. The other eye a pale white and the scarred tired skin that traced across it. They were both Will. They were both beautiful. 

“See what?” Mike asked, brows pulling together. “Whats wrong.” Will hissed at him. 

Mike blinked, his confusion deepening as he shook his head slightly. “No- Will, what are you talking about?” Something about the urgency and tension in Will's voice and the compressed hands wrapped around Mike's head, made a sense of dread settle deep in his stomach. 

Will held his gaze for a second longer — then a second more — but then he exhaled, something in him deflating, and his hands dropped. Whatever he had been trying to show Mike, Mike had obviously failed to find. 

“Nothing.” he mumbled, and just like that, it was over.

He grabbed Mike, pulling him upwards. “Come on.” Mike stumbled, his thoughts spinning and heart racing. 

What just happened? 

“Will- wait.” Mike's voice came out uneven. “What did you mean?” “Im sorry I hit you.” Will deflected. Mike swallowed trying to get them back on track. “I-yeah it's, it's okay- Will please, what did you mean?” No answer. 

At first Mike thought Will had gone back to ignoring him, but then the grip on his arm shifted. It slid from his bicep, down to his wrist, and then, slowly to his hand. His fingers wrapped around Mike's hand gently. Mike's breath caught, just slightly. 

“When you…when you said I wasnt…gross, you meant it right?” The question felt out of place — like it didn't belong here, not after everything. “Yeah.” He immediately answered. “Yeah of course I meant it.”

Will didn't respond right away. Instead, his grip tightened just a fraction as he stepped closer. Close enough that Mike could feel the shift in the air between them. 

Will's face hovered near his shoulder, his breath brushing faintly against Mike's neck. It made a shiver run up his spine for multiple reasons. 

“Even if they're real,” Will whispered. His voice was low, careful, as if he didn't want the words to exist outside the space between them. “Even if they're here to save you…” The words ghosted against Mike's skin. “Theyre here to save you.” 

Will's hand tightened around his. “They don't know me,” Will continued, quieter now, “And I don't know them.” There was a slight trembling underneath his voice. “And even if you can't see it,” Will murmured, his voice dipping just enough to make it feel like a secret “...They will.”

Mike frowned. “See what?” Will didn't answer the question. “They won't let me stay,” he said instead. “They won't let me stay with you.” The words came out softer this time.

Mike's chest twisted hard at the words. “Im not leaving without you.” He said certainly. Will let out a quiet scoff. “Mike,” Mike turned his head slightly to look back at him. “Youre not leaving at all.” 

The words should have hit like a threat, and they did — a cold, uneasy feeling settling low in Mike's stomach — but underneath it, tangled somewhere he didn't want to look too closely at, was another feeling. Something warmer, something that made his chest tighten for an entirely different reason. 

He ignored it. 

“Yeah I am.” Mike shot back, trying to regain his composure. “And so are you. You're coming back home with me Will.” 

“You don't get it.” Will said, before he stopped moving. His voice had changed again, turned back to that flat, apathetic tone. “You told me yourself” Will continued, his gaze dropping slightly as if he was replaying a memory in his head. “You all thought I was dead.” 

Mike's stomach dropped. 

“You said they stopped looking.” Each word landed slow and heavy. “That you stopped looking.” Mike opened his mouth. “Will, that's not-”

“And then they found you.” Wills brows furrowed upwards. “Just like that.” His eyes lifted again, locking into Mike's. There was no warmth in them, no softness, just pure sadness. 

“If I'm really who you think I am…” Will swallowed hard, breathing in deeply, before nearly whispering, “...what does that say about me?” 

Mike shook his head immediately. “It doesn't say anything, you don't understand-”

“They found you after a few days, Mike.” Will interrupted, his voice enclosing.

“Ive been here for years.”

The mournful expression on Will's face was enough to send a nauseating pit in Mike's stomach. “That's not how it works Will-” “So what is it then.” Will asked, only this time there was a sharp tone underneath it.

Mike swallowed hard. “Things were different back then. We didn't know anything about this place or about how to get here and by the time we did…” We'd already buried you. 

The words sat there weighing on his tongue. He swallowed them back down.

“But that's why we have to go home now. Now you can, they're all going to be so happy to see you, I swear-” 

“No they wont.”

Will's voice was quiet. 

“Im not…I don't belong in your world.” Will shook his head as his brows furrowed. “I belong here.” Mike felt frustration claw at him again. “You belong with your friends Will. With your family- with-” He hesitated. “ -with me.” 

“You don't understand.” Will sighed. His mouth opened and closed a few times until he finally muttered out. “He showed me.” Mike stopped slightly at that. “...Who showed you?” Will froze as if he just realized what he'd admitted. “Will, who's he?” He watched Will's eyes dart anywhere but his face as the tension between them rose again, thick and suffocating.

Mike opened his mouth to ask again, but he was interrupted by the faint sound of footsteps. 

Both of them froze, their eyes meeting instantly. Then their heads both whipped towards the direction of the sound. 

There, coming towards them from the distance, was a fast moving figure.

 Mike's eyes widened as his breath caught. “Hopper-” It came out like a whisper. Then as hope hit all at once, too fast to control, he yelled out louder. “Hopper!” He turned to look at Will, his heart racing. “Will-” He began, ready to plead. He didn't even know what he was going to say, but he didn't need to.

Will was already looking at him with an unreadable expression, a small lift of his brows. “Go on.” He said. There was no edge to the words. No anger, or anxiety. Will seemed completely detached.

He gently pushed Mike to kneel on the ground, his hands firm on top of his shoulders. “What?” Mike breathlessly asked. “Arent you going to yell?” Will asked as if it didn't matter before stepping back slightly. Mike hesitated for half a second before turning his head.

“HOPPER!” He shouted, his voice cracking as it broke through the trees. “HOPPER! WERE HERE!” Mike had never in his life been so happy to see the grumpy man running towards him. “MIKE?!” 

Relief hit Mike so hard it almost made him dizzy. “YEAH! ITS ME! ITS ME, WERE HERE!” Mike yelled, a laugh falling out of him despite everything.

Hopper became clearer the closer he came and Mike could see him reach for his walkie. “I found them, were about 350 feet west from you, I've got eyes on-”

A shot rang out past Mike's head — The sound deafening. 

At first Mike didn't understand what he'd heard. Everything felt as if it moved in slow motion. The sound echoed and stretched as it travelled all the way towards the man coming to save him. Mike watched as the bullet toar straight through Hopper's thigh. A sharp grunt left his mouth as the walkie fell from his hand mid-sentence and he collapsed to the ground.

For a moment, everything stopped. Mike blinked trying to get time to move normally again. Then-

“FUCK!” The shout tore through the trees snapping everything back into place. Mike's head snapped up behind him, to see Will already aiming the gun again.

Mike pushed himself towards him without thinking, lunging towards him and knocking Will off balance, sending them both crashing towards the ground. The shot went wide as the gun jerked upwards into the trees, before it slipped out of his hands and hit the ground. 

“Get off-” Will snapped, his voice sharp and raw. He shoved Mike off him, scrambling back to his feet while grabbing the gun in one quick motion. His other hand yanked the straps of his bags off his shoulder and tossed them aside like they were nothing.

“Will-DONT-” Mike begged but Will wasn't listening. He aimed again. 

“HOPPER- WATCH OUT HES GOT A GUN!” Mike desperately yelled, his voice shaking. Hopper reacted instantly, rolling to the side just as the next shot rang out, dirt kicking up where hed been a second before. He reached for his own weapon, and yanked his own gun free. 

“KID, GET DOWN!” Hopper barked. “WHAT?! No- NO DONT SHOOT?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?” Mike yelled, turning towards him in disbelief. “I SAID GET DOWN!”

The next shot came from Hopper. Mike flinched at the sound, his breath catching as he snapped his head back up towards Will, but the space where he'd been was empty. “...will?”

Will had vanished. Mike's breath caught as his eyes darted through the trees, scanning frantically for any sign of him. However, there was no trace of him. No movement, no sound, just the abandoned bags on the ground.

Mike still knew he was here. He could feel him. The tension and anger thick in the air, but underneath it, buried deeper, was fear. Will was convinced Hopper wouldn't want to save him. He had told him how he was convinced Hopper would hate him, and here Hopper was, pointing a gun at him. 

“Would you put that away?!” Mike hissed, the words breaking out as he turned towards Hopper. Hopper looked at him as if he'd lost his mind, his gaze flicking confused between Mike and the trees. “Youre scaring him.” Mike urgently pushed, lower this time.

Hopper let out a disbelieving scoff. “Im scaring him?!” His voice was drowned in that same annoyance it seemed to always have when regarding Mike. “Uh- YEAH?!” Mike shot back, staring at him like the answer was obvious.

It clearly wasnt.

Hopper kept the gun raised as he slowly inched his way closer to Mike who was still kneeling on the ground. Mike's jaw tightened at the intense grip Hopper had on the weapon. 

Fine. If Hopper wouldn't listen, maybe Will would.

It was a long shot — God, it was a terrible shot — but it was all he had. 

“WILL?!” He called out for him. “WILL, I KNOW YOU'RE THERE! JUST- PLEASE DON'T SHOOT OKAY?! WERE NOT- HE'S NOT GOING TO HURT YOU!” 

“WHAT?!” Hopper snapped back at Mike, giving him an incredulous look. Mike shot him one right back. “HES NOT. GOING. TO HURT YOU. RIGHT?!” Mike's voice had become sharper, more pointed.

Hopper squeezed his eyes shut for a second, dragging in a deep breath before shouting through gritted teeth. “RIGHT. I'M NOT GOING TO SHOT JUST-” He cut himself off with a frustrated scoff. “JUST DONT SHOT ME KID, ALRIGHT?!” 

Wow, Joyce's meditative techniques were really doing wonders.

However, their pleading appeared to fall on deaf ears, as all they were met with was a grueling silence. Mike glanced over at Hopper who was trying — badly — to signal something with a series of stiff, awkward gestures. Mike frowned back, completely lost. Hopper groaned, dragging an annoyed hand over his face. 

“WILL?!” He called out. “I DON'T KNOW IF YOU CAN SEE ME, BUT IM- I'M PUTTING MY GUN DOWN OKAY?!” He raised the gun slightly as if he was proving a point, then slowly crouched and set it on the ground before kicking it away. The motion seemed like it pained him, the wet dark spot on his pant leg growing. 

“IM- I'M GOING TO WALK TOWARDS MIKE NOW.” He continued, hands lifting into the air. “HES YOUR FRIEND RIGHT?! I'M NOT GOING TO HURT HIM. IM ONLY- IM JUST GOING TO HELP HIM UP!” Each step he took was slow but devastatingly loud. Each crunch of leaves made Mike's heart slam harder against his ribs as his eyes flicked back to the trees, searching.

Then, from behind one of the trees, Mike could barely see the dark outline of  a barrel poking out — aimed directly towards Hopper. 

“HOP- DOWN!” Mike practically screamed. Hopper dropped to the ground without question. The gunshot cracked through the forest a mere second later. The bark of the tree exploded outward as smoke curled into the air. 

Mike stared at the spot where Hopper had just been and his stomach dropped as a sense of dread washed over him. If he hadn't yelled out — If Hopper hadn't dodged  — That would've been a headshot. 

Hopper would have died. 

“Shit…Shit, shit-” Mike began hyperventilating. “Hey- hey kid, its okay. Im okay.” Hopper's voice cut through faintly as he crawled toward him but Mike could barely hear him over the pounding in his ears. His whole body felt out of sync like his heartbeat had taken over everything else. 

He felt the ropes at his wrists loosen then fall as Hopper cut through them, but he barely registered it. His hand retreated back in front of him. He looked at the uncontrollable shaking of them. 

Will was trying to kill Hopper. 

Not scare him, or wound him. He was trying to full on kill him. 

The same way he had killed those demodogs, the same way he'd-

“Mike.” Firm hands gripped his shoulders. Mike forced himself to look up at the man in front of him. “Dont freak out on me kid.” Mike swallowed hard as he shakily nodded. “Can you stand?” Mike nodded again. “Alright, now trust me on this okay?” Another nod, even if he wasn't sure what it was he was saying yes too. 

Hopper pulled him back to his feet before he moved behind Mike and pulled a knife to his throat. “WHAT- WHAT THE FUCK?!-” Mike freaked out, jerking forward instinctively. “Stay still.” Hopper whispered to him. Mike took a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly, as he forced himself to calm down. “WILL?!” Hopper shouted. “I WANT YOU TO COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS OVER YOUR HEAD, OKAY?! IF YOU DONT, ITS NOT GOING TO BODE WELL FOR YOUR FRIEND HERE, YOU HEAR ME?!” 

Bad plan.

This was definitely a horrible, horrible plan. 

“Hop, I dont think-” 

A low, guttural growl came from the darkness in between the trees. It didn't sound human — it didn't sound like anything remotely close. It shut Mike right up. Then Mike felt a shift in the ground beneath them. 

At first it was subtle. Just a faint movement in the dirt, but then Mike noticed it. The vines. They twisted up from the ground, fast and purposeful, slithering straight past Mike and right towards Hopper. “Hop-”

It was too late. A vine wrapped around Hopper's leg and yanked him hard down to the ground, more immediately snapping into place around his arms and torso, dragging him towards the tree the bullet had shot through. 

“What the fuck-?!” Hopper struggled, but the vines only tightened. As realization of the situation settled in, Mike began making his way towards Hopper only to immediately freeze as he saw Will walking towards them.

Or, at least it looked like Will. 

His entire body jerked with sharp, unnatural movements. Every twitch too sudden, too wrong. His fingers curled in on themselves like they hurt, like they weren't meant to bend that way. Dark, nearly black, veins ran beneath his skin standing out against the unnatural pale of his face. And his eyes were completely white. Both of them were. He was still growling — the same way demogorgons do. 

Mike felt his eyes widen. “W-Will, whats-” Mike began, stumbling a step towards Will as his breath caught, only for Will to twist his hand towards him. A vine snapped around Mike's waist, holding him in place. The sudden pull made Mike suck in a breath as the words he was going to say died in his throat.

The grueling sounds of Hopper choking filled the area. Mike knew he should say something but he didn't know what. He didn't know what to do, because this- this wasn't Will. Not fully anyways. Will looked outright terrifying, but the worst part was that Mike, somewhere impossibly deep down, still found him beautiful.

The vines tightened harder, and harder and harder around Hopper, forcing him further against the tree. His movements grew more desperate but weaker. The vine around Mike loosened slightly as if Will's focus had fully shifted to only one thing — Killing Hopper. 

It became hard to breathe.

Not all at once but gradually, as if something was tightening around his ribs and pulling just a little too tight every time he tried to inhale. 

How in the world was Mike supposed to do anything? He couldnt get through to Will. He couldnt save Hopper. The boy standing in front of him wasnt himself. There was something horribly wrong.

It was in the way his brows twitched as if he was in pain, in the way his body moved too sharply and unnaturally, almost as if there were two people trying to control it at once, and something about his voice. It was too rough, too low, too inhuman. 

Still the part of Will who had sat across from him on the mattress, laughing at his stupid impressions and listening to him ramble, who'd read stories in that quiet, careful voice and patched him up, that part was still in there. Mike could see it. But he could also see that Will couldn't fight whatever this was on his own.

Mike's eyes dropped down to the ground, searching for anything, until they landed on a rock. It was half-buried in the dirt, but close enough that he wouldn't have to take more than a step to get it. 

His fingers curled slowly as he reached down, the rough surface scraping against his skin as he picked it up. It felt awfully heavy, or maybe that was just him. 

Behind him, Hopper choked. A wet, strained sound that didn't belong to someone who still had time to wait for Mike to act. Mike flinched, his grip tightening instinctively as his head snapped up. Hopper's eyes had rolled to the back of his skull, and his skin had turned a faint shade of purple. His body looked like it was barely fighting on. 

Mike's chest heaved as his eyes darted back to Will, to make sure he wasn't paying attention…and he wasn't. He wasn't checking or adjusting, or tracking him the way he always seemed to do with everything around him. He was just focused entirely on Hopper, as if Mike wasn't even part of the equation. 

Mike swallowed away the lump in his throat.

Will trusted him. That was why. 

Not because he didn't care, or had forgotten him, but because somewhere in all of this — underneath whatever had its claws in him — he didn't think Mike would hurt him. All this time where he'd thought Will didn't trust him and used it as the reason for the ropes, for the non-existing distance and the way he held him too tight, it had all been false. 

Mike recalled Will's quiet voice: "You're my only friend, Mike.” and that smile he'd given him. That small, careful, soft smile and the way he'd looked at him so compassionately.

His grip on the rock faltered, his hands trembling.

I can't do this.

The memory of the dice clattering against the board and Will's useless attempt at hiding his smile. That quiet, barely-contained laughter and the way it built until he couldn't hold it back anymore. Bright and unrestrained in a way that made Mike's chest feel filled to the brim with awe. 

Mike sucked in a shaky breath. “Stop.” He whispered under his breath as if that would push the memories away. 

Hopper choked again, forcing Mike back to reality. 

He was running out of time.

Mike's fingers tightened around the rock until it hurt. He began making his way behind Will. He sounded pained. Violent sobs kept breaking through the snarls and growls falling out of his mouth. 

His vision blurred and his grip steadied. This was the only way to save both of them. His arm lifted slowly, as if the air itself had thickened — every inch of movement had to be forced out of him. 

The world stretched as every tiny sound surrounding him felt overwhelmingly loud. The sound of leaves shifting, the strain of vines, Hoppers uneven, almost gone, breathing, Wills uneven everything, and Mike's own heartbeat. 

It reminded him of how his heartbeat had thumped when Will had aided his ankle. The careful hands, and that small frown on his face as he focused. The way Will had looked at him as if it mattered more than anything to make sure he was okay. 

That was Will. That was his Will, not this, not- 

Mike's throat tightened painfully. 

The rock made its way down to Will's head. 

A sound so awful echoed out. Mike could feel it carve itself deep inside him, becoming something Mike would never be able to erase from his memory. The vines dropped instantly as Hopper collapsed. Will followed instantly.  

The rock felt heavier than before. Mike couldn't stop himself from looking down at it. Blood.

Wills blood.

His breath caught in his throat, somewhere between a sob and a choke. The rock slipped from Mike's hand, hitting the ground somewhere beside him but the sound felt distant. He could hear Hopper wheezing on the ground — a wet, uneven inhale. Mike's head snapped toward it, but his body didn't follow, because Will was on the ground, unconscious.

The space between them vanished in seconds before Mike could even realize it himself. One second he was standing, the next, his knees slammed hard into the ground besides Will. The impact was sharp and jarring but it barely registered. His hands were already reaching — or more so hovering — over Will, like if he touched him wrong he'd make everything worse. 

“Will-” His voice broke out of him, thin and cracking. Mike swallowed hard, forcing it back as his hands finally settled — one cupping the side of Will's face and the other pressing shakily against his shoulder. “Hey- hey, Will?” His voice rushed, tripping over itself “Will, wake up its okay-”  It wasn't okay.

Blood had already begun running down the side of Will's head. It traced along his temple, gathered at the curve of his jaw and pooled into his ear. There was so much blood. There was so, so, so much blood. 

It smeared warm against his fingers and palm where they cradled the back of Will's head. Mike felt his stomach churn. “I'm sorry.” He quickly said. “Im sorry, Im sorry, Im so sorry-” The words tumbled over each other, rushed and desperate, but Will didn't respond — didn't move. 

Mike's hand shook as he brushed sweat damp hair back from his forehead. The motion was careful and slow and so gentle as if it could somehow undo what he'd just done. “Cmon,” He whispered softly. “Cmon, you're okay just- just wake up, okay? Please Will..?” Nothing. Not even a twitch. 

In front of him, Hopper dragged in another breath. It hitched halfway through as if something inside him wouldn't let it finish. Mikes eyes flickered towards him for a second.

He was still on the ground — still struggling — one arm barely pushing against the dirt. His chest was rising in uneven breaths as if each one had to be fought for.

A horrible emptiness began growing in Mike as he turned back immediately. 

“Will.?” Mike asked again, shaking him slightly. When he was yet again met with no answer, he leaned in closer, his hand sliding from Will's shoulder to his neck. He let his ear rest against Will's chest and pressed his fingers against Will's neck, searching desperately before he held his breath as if that would help him hear better. 

He just had to make sure. 

Then he felt it — A pulse. Faint, but there.

Mike let out a shaky breath that almost collapsed into a sob. “Okay- okay, you're okay.” He repeated quickly, like saying it enough times would make it true. He lifted himself back up, looking at Will's face. Another sound came from Hopper. The sharpness of it made Mike flinch.

“-Hopper?” He called out, not turning to look just yet. His hand was still braced against Will's neck as if he couldn't risk losing the feeling of Will's pulse. “Hopper are you- are you okay?” The only answer he got was the sound of awful wheezing. 

Mike swallowed hard before his eyes darted back up again — just for a second. Hopper hadn't gotten up, hadn't even really moved. The only movement was the tremble in his hand where it pressed into the ground. Mike shifted like he was going to stand, but he didn't. 

Instead, his hand tightened slightly against Wills shoulder. “H-hold on.” He stuttered. “Just- just hold on, okay? Im-” He didn't finish his sentence — he couldn't, not when Will's head tilted slightly and the blood kept rushing. 

“No, no, no, no-” he muttered under his breath as his fingers adjusted, trying to find somewhere to press to stop it, even though he didn't know how. Hopper coughed. It sounded wet and painful. 

Mike squeezed his eyes shut for half a second. “I know.” He said sharply, even though he didn't look at the man. “I know, just- give me a second okay?! Please I have to help him-” He opened his eyes again before his thumb dragged lightly across Will's cheek, smearing red across skin that was finally starting to look like his again. 

The dark veins were retreating as if they'd never even been there and the familiar warmth began blossoming back into his skin. “There you go.” Mike murmured softly. “See, you're okay…” 

He caressed his face with both hands, gently stroking his thumbs back and forth. “Ive got you.” He said, his voice steady despite the way his hands were still slightly trembling. “Im right here Will, Im not- were not going to leave you.” His hands became firmer against his face as if he needed to ground himself, make sure that Will was still here. 

He could see Hopper shifting on the ground as more strained coughs began pouring out of him. Mike's head turned halfway, forcing himself to look. “Hopper are you- can you-” He stopped because he didn't even know what he was going to ask. “Do you need- should I-” 

His body didn't follow through — didn't get up, didn't move — because his hands were still holding Will's face. “Just- just hang on.” He said again, though it wasn't clear who he was saying it to anymore. “Both of you just hang on-!”

The sound of footsteps coming fast toward him snapped Mike's head up. His eyes were wide, unfocused at first as if his brain couldn't quite catch up to what he was seeing. 

Nancy and Eleven, running towards them. 

“NANCY!” The name ripped out of him, louder than anything else, raw and cracking and filled with desperation. Nancy's expression changed the second she saw him — saw them. “Mike-” She started, already moving faster.

Eleven didn't stop. She veered past, straight toward Hopper and dropped to his side without hesitation. Nancy reached Mike a second later. 

Her arms wrapped around him and the familiarity and comfort they held made whatever hed been barely containing under the surface crack all at once. Mike managed to let go of Will, instead grabbing onto her sweater. 

His fists bunched the fabric tight in his hands as if it was an anchor and he buried his face in her shoulder, tears violently spilling down his face. “I didnt-” His voice shook fiercely. “I didnt mean to- I didnt- I had to, he wouldnt, he wouldnt stop and I couldnt-” 

The words tripped and tangled between one another, breaking apart before they could even fully form. His grip around her became impossibly tighter as he inhaled so intensely his whole body shook with it. 

“I didnt mean to hurt him, I didn't but he was going to- I mean Hopper was- He wouldnt listen, he wouldnt look at me he just-” His breath forcibly hitched. “He trusts me, he wasnt even- he didnt even see me and I-” None of it made sense, not in the way Mike was telling it, but Nancy didnt interrupt. 

Her arms simply embraced him, her hand stroking gently through his tangled hair. “Its okay.” She softly said. “It's okay Mike.” But it wasnt. Will wasnt.

"No, no wait look.” His hands slipped from her sweater, immediately reaching back for Will like he needed to show her, needed her to see what hed done. “Hes not waking up and theres so much blood. Hes breathing but its- its-” The words dissolved again. 

He could hear the sound of fabric tearing in front of him and his head jerked toward the sound. 

Hopper had pushed himself up, his hands rough but deliberate as he wrapped a strip of torn cloth around his thigh. His jaw was clenching through the pain. Eleven sat beside him, helping where she could. Then Hopper reached forward towards Will. 

He gave Mike a firm look as he reached for Will's head. Mike reluctantly let go, instead grabbing hold of Will's hand. He bit his tongue as he watched Hopper press the fabric carefully against Will's head. He wrapped it as best as he could, firm enough to slow the bleeding. Then without hesitation, he slid his arms beneath Will's body and lifted him off the ground. 

Mike let out an almost offended noise. “Easy.” Hopper muttered, his voice strained. Will's head lolled slightly against his shoulder, the makeshift bandage already darkening. Mike forced himself off the ground, ready to rush towards him, but then he remembered. 

“We have to get his things.” Mike suddenly said. “All his drawings and books- the plushies! He needs them, theyre back at the house we have to go back we cant just leave them-” His hands had begun shaking again, worse this time. “Theyre important to him, theyre all he has we cant just-” 

“Mike.” Eleven's steady voice cut through his rambling. She stepped in front of him, close enough that he couldn't look past her and back onto the unconscious boy. Her hand closed around his wrist, the touch firm, grounding, before gently pulling it back down from where it had been gesturing frantically at nothing. 

“We have to go.” She said. Her voice was calm in a way that didn't match the chaos surrounding them. “We have to get you help.”  Mike shook his head immediately. “No, but his stuff, he needs his stuff-” 

“Well bring the bags.” She said, refusing to let him spiral past her. Her grip tightened slightly — not painful, just enough to keep him grounded. “But Will can make new drawings. He can get new books and plushies.” Mike's breath hitched. “The most important thing is getting him out of here.” She carefully said. 

Mike could feel his breathing begin returning to normal. He blinked a few times, noticing Nancy coming up from behind him carrying both of Wills bags. He managed to glance past Eleven and saw Hopper who was already moving with Will safely in his arms. 

Eleven didn't let go of his hand. She instead lifted it, pulling his arm gently over her shoulder to anchor him there. “Come on.” She said. 

She guided him forward step by step, even if his body didn't seem to remember how to fully move on his own. He could hear Nancy behind them speaking. “We found them. We're on our way back so…get ready.” 

When the gray van finally screeched to a stop in front of them, Mike barely reacted.

His legs had gone numb somewhere along the way — pain still buried deep, pulsing faintly beneath everything else. 

The doors flew open to reveal Robin, shouting something fast and urgent but the words didn't land. They slid right past him disguised as meaningless noise against the ringing in his ears. 

Hands were on him again — Eleven and Nancy — both helping to guide and lift him. Mike didn't even remember climbing in, just the shift as he was sat down and pressed into the seat beside El, across from Hopper. 

Will was still in his arms. Mike's eyes locked onto them immediately. The bandage around Will's head was soaked through, dark and heavy, but it wasn't spreading anymore. It had stopped. That was good. That was-

“....out there Mike!” Mike's brows furrowed for a second, taking a second to register that someone had actually spoken to him. “..what?..” he mindlessly mumbled. 

Even if the bleeding had stopped they should still get it stitched. Or cleaned. People got stitches all the time so it wasnt…it wasnt a big deal.

“Are you even listening?” Nancy's frustrated voice called out. “Yeah.” Mike lied, saying it as if the question was a dumb one. 

You just cleaned it, stitched it, wrapped it and then it healed- it healed. That was how it worked. Everything would be fine.

Maybe Will needed a blood transfusion. How much blood did one have to lose to need one? Will had lost…a lot. 

It at least looked like a lot. 

Mike's gaze dropped to his hand — his stained hand. Dark red dried into the lines of his skin and caught beneath his nails. 

“Can someone please explain what the hell happened out there?!” Steve —it sounded like Steve — yelled out from the front seat. 

Mike began rubbing away at the dried blood. 

At first it was almost absent-minded. His thumb dragged slowly over his palm like he could just wipe it away if he did it enough times, as if it hadn't already dried stuck in place. 

“How did you get shot? And- And what are those marks on your neck? Also why is he bleeding from his head- Actually, first off, who is that? Is that Will? Like presumed dead Will?” Robin was rambling but he barely paid her any mind. 

The blood wouldn't come off. 

Mike pressed harder, his nails scraping lightly as his fingers dragged across his skin, trying to force away the blood that refused to move.

“Apperantly. However, now call me out if I'm wrong, I don't remember Will having the ability to control the vines?!” Hopper's voice cut in.

Just like that, the memory forced its way in — sharp, vivid and impossible to ignore — the sound of the vines tightening and stretching and pulling and that awful, wet splintering noise as they moved like something alive, determined to kill-

Mike's hands jerked slightly, but he didn't stop scraping at his skin.

“...He didn't mean to.” Mike muttered, the words barely leaving him. “He didn't mean to?!” Hopper snapped. His voice echoed too loudly. It felt as if something was cracking open inside his skull “No.” Mike said.

His fingers pressed harder into his skin — scrubbing and scrubbing and scrubbing — and his skin began heating up. It was starting to burn.

“Alright, okay, did he mean to shoot me or was that just a misunderstanding as well?” 

Mike's nails dug into his palm.

“He missed, didn't he.” Mike said, flat and distant. “Mm no actually, maybe if you'd look up you'd see there's a hole in my thigh!”

Mike didn't look up — he couldn't — because if he did, he'd see it again. The way Will's white eyes looked at him. 

His nails dug impossibly harder into his palm, dragging and scraping. It hurt but it didnt matter because it still wouldn't come off-

“Wait did he shoot you before or after the vines thing?” Robin asked

His fingers shifted to try and scrape beneath his nails. He pressed beneath them so hard it began to ache.

“What does the vines thing even mean?!” Steve chimed in, sounding irritated himself.

There were too many voices, too many sounds too many stupid questions-

“Why are you so bent on defending him, the kid had you tied up on the ground he was using you as bait.” Hopper said. “He what?!” Nancy, Steve and Robin all yelled at once.

The word bait hit deep and ugly. Mike's hands stilled for a second. He was going to untie him when they got somewhere safe. He was just trying to keep him safe.

“He was using you as bait?” Nancy asked. The concern in her voice made Mike snap. “No he wasn't?!" He shouted. “Oh yeah? So why were you tied up?” Hopper pushed. 

The memory twisted and broke apart before reforming into something worse — Will's face, wrong and strained and his expression flickering between something familiar and something that absolutely wasn't, something that was wrong-

“Do you see it?”

“Because he-” Mike began, but was interrupted by Nancy. “Did he hurt you?” The question was asked so softly it made Mike feel wrong in his skin.

“Do you see what's wrong?”

“WHAT?! No-!” Mike's head snapped up, the motion too fast and sudden, making the world tilt for a second. Images overlapped behind his eyes of Will laughing, Will smiling, Will giving him careful, soft looks-

“Howd you injure your foot then?” Hopper cut in again. Mike's gaze dropped immediately as if it had been yanked back down to his hands. “I tripped!”

“You tripped?” Hopper repeated, disbelief thick in his voice as if Mike was lying. As if Will was the cause of his ankle. Will, who had aided him so carefully, who had found him a walking stick and who had supported him when it wasn't enough. Will, who had been so worried for him. 

Mike scrubbed harder and faster, his breath beginning to come quicker as frustration and sharp anger began curling in his chest. 

“YEAH! I TRIPPED! What- What is this?!” His voice cracked as it rose. “He didn't mean- He's not- He's not evil okay?! He didn't want to hurt anyone, he was just scared!” Mike rambled. “He seemed real scared.” Hopper muttered. 

The words hit wrong. They were all wrong. 

“Guys-” Eleven tried, her voice quieter but steadier than the rest. Her hand reached for Mikes. It was warm, grounding, but Mike pulled away before she could fully touch him. The movement was automatic — instinctive — like his body didn't want anything interrupting what he was doing.

“Are we even sure that's Will though?” Robin said. “WHAT?!” Mike's head snapped up again, sharper this time. “Im just saying! I mean, sure I've never really seen him up close other than the occasional picture but doesn't it sound kind of…too good to be true? That he somehow survived?”

The mere implication of Robin's words twisted in his chest so thigth it almost hurt to breathe. A wave of nausea washed over him as he kept having to swallow before speaking. 

“It is him.” He said, but his voice was shaking now. He couldn't look at them anymore, his eyes went back to what was safe. Rubbing at his stained palm.

“Why couldn't El find him then? You know with her salt bath thing” Steve asked. 

“I don't know.” Mike said, the answer coming out thin.

“Why were you tied up.” Nancy asked.

“I don't know.” 

“Howd he get those powers?” Robin asked.

“I. Dont. Know.” 

Each word was more strained than the last, pulled tight as if something was about to snap.

“You spent four days with him, and you're telling me you don't know anything?” Hopper said.

Four days.

Had it only been four days?

“I know that he's Will.” Mike muttered. His hand jerked violently against his own skin. “Mike-” Eleven said, closer to him now. Her hand wrapped around his wrist this time, a more firm movement than earlier. She was trying to stop him. Mike sharply pulled away as if the contact had burned him, before he went back to grinding at his palms. 

“What would you have done if Will had killed me?” Hopper asked. 

Mike froze.

Slowly he looked up at him — really looked this time. 

“Why are you saying his name like that?” Mike asked. It made Hopper laugh out short and disbelieving. Mike's brows twitched together slightly as he began looking around the van. 

He looked at their faces, at the doubt and distance drenched in each one. 

“Are you all blind?!” Mike yelled out desperately “You can see its him!” Mike pushed himself up suddenly causing for his ankle to scream out in protest before pain flared up his leg, but Mike barely registered it compared to the rage flaring up in his head. 

The van rattled slightly over the road. “Sit down.” Hopper barked at him, but Mike barely heard him. He was looking at will — at the way Hopper was holding him. 

Hopper didn't know what he was talking about. He hadn't seen the way Will laughed or cried or hid whenever he felt anxious. He had only seen the part of Will even Mike didn't know about. It wasn't fair to judge him based on that. It wasn't fair he was the one who got to hold Will when he didn't even believe it was Will he was holding.  

“Give him to me.” Mike demanded before dropping down between Hopper and Nancy, already reaching. “What?” Hopper frowned. 

“Youre holding him wrong.”

“How am I holding-”

“Hop.” Eleven said, stopping him. Hopper exhaled through his nose before muttering something under his breath, but he handed him over.

Carefully, he lowered him into Mikes arms. Mike quickly adjusted, as he pulled Will in closer settling him close against his chest. Wills head rested in the bend of his elbow, his face tucked in pressing slightly against Mikes sweater.

The warmthness of Will made Mike stop. Wills breath ghosted faintly against the fabric, each inhale and outhale grounding him more than anything else had since the forest. Mikes other arm tightened slightly around his legs holding him in place.

His eyes traced over him slowly, noting the faint rise and fall of his chest, the way his lashes rested against his skin, the small, almost unoticable, twitch in his brows every now and then — It was all Will. Every single part. 

His thumb began brushing gently against his arm as he kept his eyes hyper analyzed on every minor change in Wills expression. He had to make sure Will was as comfortable and safe as he possibly could be. 

Around them, voices continued — questions, murmurs, the low hum of the engine — but they blurred togheter into something distant, quickly turning into background noise. It was all unimportant anyway. None of it mattered more than the boy in his arms.

When the faint furrow of Wills brows began easing out, Mike felt his chest loosen as well. A shaky breath of relief let him as he held onto Will just a fraction tighter.

They didn't stop driving until the trees grew thick enough to swallow the road whole.

The van jerked to a halt, branches scraping along the sides as Steve forced it off the path. The engine cut out with a sharp, final click that seemed too loud for the quiet that followed.

For a second no one moved. “Out. Now.” Hopper ordered, breaking the tension. The doors flew open again as cold air rushed over him. Mike barely registered the shift as Eleven helped pull him out. His weight leaned heavily into her as his ankle protested the second it touched the ground. His hands tightened instinctively around Will, refusing to let go for even a second. 

Branches snapped underneath their feet, the spores drifted past them dissolved wherever they made contact and the sound of Hopper swearing under his breath could be heard somewhere behind them. 

“Wait.” Eleven suddenly said. Everyone paused before El stepped forward, lifting her hand slightly towards an unnatural tear in one of the trees. 

Her eyes narrowed in focus as the split began opening like something being unzipped, faint red light bleeding through the edges. “Go.” She said. 

Nancy went first, then Robin, then Steve. Mike didn't remember deciding to move, only the feeling of Eleven guiding him forward, gross, gooey consistencies dripping onto his shoulder, and then they were through. 

The gate sealed behind them with a soft, final snap. Mike quickly looked back down at Will just to make sure he hadn't disappeared, and when he saw he was still there — when he realized they had made it out — he let out the breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. It was shaky and uneven as his shoulders dropped slightly and his chest began loosening up. 

They made it. They actually made it.

“Give him to me.” Hopper said, grabbing Mike's focus. His grip around Will tightened instinctively. “No-” “You can barely walk.” Hopper snapped before reaching for him. “Im fine.” Mike shot back, even as his ankle screamed in protest. “Youre not.” Hopper's voice dropped lower. “Give him to me.”

Mike didn't move — didn't want to move. Will was warm against him, breathing deeply. Letting go felt near impossible. He tried to take a step to protest against what Hopper was saying, however his footing ended up slipping, sending pain flaring up his leg. He groaned out in agony before he could stop himself, and that was all it took.

Hopper took Will from him — albeit reluctantly. Mike's hands hovered for a second after theyd become empty before dropping uselessly to his sides as Eleven steadied him again.

They didn't argue after that. Not out loud anyway. 

Steve began waving them forward through the trees. “This way- cmon, cmon!” The forest felt endless for a few minutes — branches catching in sleeves and uneven ground threatening to send Mike down every other step — but then the shape of the radio van came into view. 

Steve was already yanking the doors open. “Get in!” Hopper climbed in first with Will in his arms, disappearing into the back as carefully as he could manage. Nancy followed, then Robin who was already reaching for something inside. 

Mike hesitated at every step. Not because he didnt want to move, but because his body suddenly felt…done. Elevens hand tightened around his arm. “Ive got you.” She quietly said before helping him up. 

The doors slammed shut behind them before the engine roared to life and they were moving again. They were going home. 

His focus snapped back to Will, staring so hard to the point his eyes began hurting, but he didnt look away.

Will was going home.

When the van stopped and the doors opened again Mike had finally calmed down enough to recognize the warmth of the sun and the freshness of the air he had almost forgotten. As Eleven helped him down, he closed his eyes for a brief second, breathing in the clean air and letting the sunrays dance on his skin. It felt so good he almost felt like crying. 

He opened his eyes as they began moving again and saw the shack in front of them. There was a dim light glowing from inside and silhouettes shifting behind the windows. He could make out Dustins curls and Lucas high-top and felt his chest tightened.

He began pulling Eleven with him, forcing them to move faster until the door was right in front of them. His hand was already reaching out towards the handle pushing it open with as much force as he could manage. It slammed as it hit the wall.

“Mike?!”

“Holy shit-”

Lucas. Dustin. 

Mike let out a half laugh-half sob as he let go of eleven and stumbled forward into them. Their hands immediately grabbed at his shoulders, his arms, grounding him in place, checking that he was actually there. 

Dustin let out a relieved laugh. “Dude we thought-” “Youre okay-” 

“Im fine.” Mike quickly said, a small smile on his face as he tried to calm his friends down. Then their focus shifted to behind Mike. Mike turned around and watched as Hopper stepped in carrying Will. The room went completely silent.

No one said anything as they moved downstairs. 

No one said anything as Hopper carefully lowered Will onto the couch.

No one said anything when Mike dropped to his knees besides him, his hand finding Wills without hesitation. 

No one said anything when he didn't let go, instead curled his fingers tighter and kept his eyes glued to the sleeping boy. 

The silence stretched into a heavy one, until Hopper finally broke it. “We're not telling Joyce or Jonathan about this okay?” He said, his voice low but firm. “Not yet anyways.” Mike's head snapped up. “What? Why not?” 

“We don't know if that's actually Will.” Hopper continued. Mike scoffed at him. “Uh, yeah, we do. They deserve to know.” Hopper rubbed at his forehead with his hand, the other placed at his hip. “And if you're wrong? Do you really want to be here when Joyce has to relieve losing her son all over again? Because I don't." 

Mike's jaw clenched. “So you're all going to stay here until I get back” Hopper sighed as he pointed sharply at the party. “Where are you going?” Steve asked. “First, I'm calling Owens, and then I'm going to the hospital before I bleed out on the floor.” The last part he said directly towards Mike who fought against every inch of his body to not roll his eyes. 

Hopper then turned towards Nancy. “Youre in charge. If he wakes up-” Hopper snapped his fingers. “-You knock him out again. Fast.” Mike's grip around Will's hand tightened. 

Hopper didn't wait for a response. He just turned and headed back upstairs, muttering something underneath his breath. The door slammed not long after, and the silence came back as Nancy, Robin and Steve all retreated back upstairs as well. The silence however didnt last long.

Dustin was the first to break it. 

“Okay- nope, sorry I need like, at least a basic explanation here.” He said, moving to stand by the armrest of the couch. “Because last I checked, Will was, uh…super dead?” Lucas moved towards him, shooting him a look. "Dustin." 

“What? No Im serious!” Dustin insisted. “Like is this like a clone situation? Parallel universe? Evil twin maybe? Did we just accidentally bring back some random kid-" 

“It's him.” Mike quietly interrupted. Dustin looked at him for a second before nodding. “Okay.” He said as whatever disbelief he had inside himself seemed to evaporate. 

“Okay, but…how do you know?” Lucas chimed in., his eyes flickering to Will then back to Mike “Did he- Did he recognize you?” 

Mike's thumb brushed slowly over the back of Will's hand, the motion repetitive but grounding. “Im not sure…” He mumbled after a second. Lucas swallowed hard as he nodded slightly at his answer. 

“How did you even find him?” Mike exhaled softly through his nose “Well I didn't find him, he found me.” his eyes stayed on Will. “There was this demodog chasing after me and…Will killed it.” 

“WHAT?!” Lucas and Dustin shouted in unison.

Dustin began laughing again. “No way.” The disbelief on their faces made the smallest smirk tug at his mouth. “He also killed two more.” he added, quiet but unmistakably proud.” At the same time.” He couldn't stop himself from gloating at their reactions. 

“Holy shit!” Dustin laughed out disbelieving as Lucas scoffed into a smile. “Youre serious?” Lucas asked as Mike nodded, letting out a small, breathy laugh. 

Eleven let out a small laugh too, shoulders loosening just slightly at their reactions. “Can you believe this Jane? Will knows how to kick monster-butt.” Dustin said, making her laugh fuller. 

For a second, it all felt almost normal. Like one of those moments where they were just talking, joking, being kids. 

His gaze fell back on Will's face and on the bloodstained bandage. His chest tightened as he quickly turned, instead reaching for Will's bag where Nancy had left it. 

His fingers fumbled slightly as he pulled it open and carefully retrieved the drawings Will had packed. 

“Look.” he said, placing them on the table and spreading them out carefully,

“Woah. Will did these?” Lucas asked as Mike nodded. “Hey that one kind of looks like you!” Dustin said with a wide grin. 

Mike's head snapped down to the drawing he was pointing at.“What?” He stared at the drawing of the knight as his brows pulled together. “You can't even see his face, what are you talking about?” 

“Okay I know that” Dustin said mildly annoyed. “I'm talking about your DnD character. He literally drew a paladin.” Mike scoffed at the suggestion. “It's not a paladin, it's a knight, there's a difference.” He said, crossing his arms. “Sure, but…Maybe Will drew the paladin subconsciously…because he remembers you?” Lucas said, leaning slightly forward.

Mike looked back down at the drawing again. He looked at the way the lines curved,the details etched in it and the obvious care and attention it had gotten. Then he remembered how Will had said it had been his favorite. 

He felt a lump build up his throat as he quickly turned away, blinking harder than necessaryy, desperately trying to sniff away what was building up. 

“Dude…are you- are you crying?” Mike's head dropped immediately, pressing his face into Will's arm. “What? No. Shut up.” He muttered out. 

Lucas' hand landed on his shoulder as he knelt down beside him. The touch was all it took.

Mike's breath hitched, and then everything he had been holding back since the forest broke out of him. 

It wasn't loud, just a quiet, barely contained shaking as he curlied in closer to the warmth of Will's sweater. He buried his face as his shoulders trembled despite how hard he tried to stop it. 

Eleven leaned in beside him as her hand rested lightly against his back moving in slow, comforting circles. Then he felt another hand on his other shoulder as Dustin sat down behind her. 

They didn't say anything — didn't need to. They were still all here for him, proving what Mike had been trying to tell Will all day; They aren't alone. 

Their moment was interrupted by the door upstairs slamming open as Nancy and Steve rushed down the stairs.   

They all looked up at them, Mike quickly rubbing away any proof of his sadness, but he could tell Nancy still noticed it by the way her brows quickly furrowed and she halted for a second before continuing to move towards them. “Move.” She said, as the comfort surrounding him eased away. 

She knelt down besides Mike, lifting Will's head slightly upwards. “

"What's that?” Mike asked, his voice slightly rough. “Sleeping pills.” She said, avoiding his eyes as she adjusted her grip. “No-” Mike shook his head immediately. “-why do you-” 

“Mike.” Nancy cut him off firmly. “We have to.” Mike swallowed. The argument sat there, burning in his chest, but he didn't let it come out.

“Let me do it.” He instead decided. Nancy looked at him as she let out a frustrated sigh, but she still handed him the pills and the cup of water. Mike shifted slightly where he sat as Nancy tilted Wills head for him.

He placed the pills carefully on his tongue, every movement slow and deliberate, before tilting the water into his mouth. Will subconsciously swallowed, and then he moved.

A small, weak whine left him as his brows furrowed together. Mike immediately abandoned the cup to retreat his hand back to Wills. 

“Will..?” He asked carefully, holding his breath. Will's eyes fluttered barely open as they moved unfocused around the room until they landed on Mike. When they did, his shoulders loosened slightly and his fingers tightened around Mike's hand. Then his eyes closed as he went slack again.

The breath he had been holding was let out shakily as Nancy carefully placed Will's head back onto the pillow. “Shit….hes actually alive.” Dustin whispered. “Of course he's alive.” Lucas hissed back at him.

They began bickering quietly behind him, but it faded into background noise. 

He felt a slight nudge at his side and turned to look towards Eleven, however she wasn't looking at him, she had her eyes on Will. “I'm sorry.” she softly said. “Im sorry I didn't find him.” 

She pressed her lips together before continuing, shifting slightly in her seat. “I should have-" Mike bumped his shoulder lightly against hers. “It's not your fault.” He said. She glanced at him, offering a small, uneven smile before looking back down at Will. Mike did the same.

It really wasn't her fault. If anyone was to blame…it was Mike.

“...So what now?” Steve asked from somewhere behind them. Nancy exhaled. “We wait.”

As they sat in a newgrowing silence, an intrusive thought began hollering through his brain. The nearly black veins and the unnatural sounds paired with the violent, out of character actions, Mike had seen it before.

He had seen it in Billy. 

A wave of worry washed over him, because if what was happening to Will was anywhere close to similar to what happened with Billy, Mike couldn't help but feel as if they weren't safe just yet.

Chapter Text

A giant shadow stretched across the sky.

It didn't drift or shift like clouds should. It didn't crawl or lunge or hunt the way things on the ground did. 

It simply was.

It anchored above him, its long, branching limbs carved into the air as though it ruled over the world itself and yet, despite its stillness, Will knew with a certainty that settled deep in his bones that it was alive. 

That it was watching him. 

It never made a sound. There weren't any footsteps or voices or even any sign of breathing, but there was this…pressure. Low and constant, like a hum bored beneath his skin. It pressed against his thoughts and curled around his name without ever needing to say it. But it knew. It knew his name.

Will didn't understand what it was — he didn't try to. Understanding wouldn't change anything, understanding wouldn't make it go away. The only thing he did understand, was that it wanted to hurt him. Just like everything else here did. 

So, he ran.

He ran and ran until his lungs burned and his legs trembled beneath him as he darted through alleyways, slipped into hollow buildings and forced himself into spaces too small to properly breathe in. Anywhere with a ceiling, anywhere with walls thick enough to block the sky. Anywhere would do as long as he wouldn't have to see it when the red lightning flashed.

Even if the shadow in the sky never moved, the monsters on the ground did. 

One time, Will spotted him again — the Flower Man — and the moment his eyes caught sight of it, his body reacted before his thoughts could. He bolted, stumbling through a doorway so hard it slammed against the wall, the sound echoing sharply. 

Inside the building thick, veined vines crawled along the walls and ceilings, pulsing faintly as though something unseen moved through them. The air was damp and heavy where it clung to his skin. He ran blindly down the hall, yanking open one of the doors, but it was a dead end. Simply a room filled with desks and chairs. 

Will turned around as panic rushed through him before he ran back out into the hallway. With nowhere to go, Will decided his best shot would be the lockers. 

The metal door screeched softly as he pulled it open and shoved himself inside, curling into the tight suffocating space and dragging the door shut just as the front doors slammed open.

The sound vibrated through the building. 

Will froze. 

A low, distorted growl followed, echoing down the halls as Will could hear it searching. 

His hands flew to his mouth, pressing hard enough to hurt. It didn't matter, he just needed to trap every breath, every trembling sound threatening to escape him. His entire body locked — every muscle was drawn tight as he listened. 

The growling came closer,

And closer,

And closer,

Until it was right outside.

Will squeezed his eyes shut, desperately trying to imagine himself somewhere else.

Somewhere else.

The thought began frantically repeating over and over like it would become real if he just held onto it hard enough. 

Somewhere else. Somewhere else. Somewhere else. 

There had to be somewhere else.

Somewhere warm, somewhere bright — Somewhere where the air didn't feel like it was rotting inside his lungs. 

A place with voices — real voices — laughing, calling his name in a way that didn't feel like a trap. 

A place where someone would wrap their arms around him and it wouldn't feel suffocating. 

A place where people told him they loved him, how they'd always be there for him, how he was safe. 

A place with his friend, his mom, Jonathan, Mike.

Mike.

The name hit harder than the rest.

Where was Mike? Why was Will here? Why was he alone?

The fear twisted tighter, threatening to break through the fragile stillness he was clinging to. His body tensed as tears burned behind his eyes. He couldn't make a sound — he refused to. He just had to stay still, stay quiet — stay alive. 

The sound of growling retreated away from where he was hiding, but he still didn't let himself relax. 

Time stretched until it lost all meaning. His legs had gone numb. A dull, distant absence that crept upward until he wasn't sure they were even there anymore. Eventually his arms began prickling, going heavy where they pressed awkwardly against the locker walls. 

Cold seeped in, deep and gnawing. Then hunger — a sharp and hollow feeling — twisted his stomach until it hurt to breathe. His eyelid began drooping

No.

He forced them open again, his vision blurring. His head dipped forward before he jerked it back up. He had to stay awake — Had to be ready in case anything got too close. However, the silence dragged on and eventually, the need became too much. 

Thirst clawed at his throat, exhaustion dragged him under and the smell in the locker caused by his own accidents became too much. Carefully, Will pushed the locker door open. 

There wasn't anything in the halls waiting for him. He tumbled out more than he climbed, hitting the ground hard before staying there for a moment. His body refused to cooperate thanks to the pins and needles surging painfully through his limbs. 

It took some time before he could move again. Even longer before he could stand and even then, each step felt unsteady and heavy. Still, he moved and by some miracle, he made it through the building. 

He stepped towards the exit and outside where the sky greeted him immediately. Red lightning tore across it in jagged flashes… and there it was. Waiting.

It didn't move — not really — but it shifted. 

Will's breath caught as, in that moment, something inside him understood. 

It hadn't been chasing him — it hadn't needed to. It had simply been waiting for this moment, when his body was too tired, too weak, too empty to run properly. Waiting until there was nothing left in him but instinct and fear. 

A small broken sound slipped out of him before he could stop it. Then he ran. Again.

His feet brought him back inside, through another door and out into an open field where there was nowhere to hide, nowhere to disappear. He could feel it catching up behind him. There weren't any footsteps or movement, just a presence closing in. 

“Go away-” His voice cracked, swallowed immediately by the vast emptiness around him. “Go away!” He pushed himself to run faster even as his legs screamed and his vision began faltering thanks to his tears blurring everything into streaks of gray and red.

“MIKE-!” The name tore out of him — raw and desperate — but it echoed back empty. 

A sob broke out of him as the quiet that met his pleas left him with the horrible, creeping understanding that there had never been anyone there to hear him to begin with. 

Mike wasn't here, no one was.

The silence left him there with the quiet, unbearable truth — There was no one coming to save him.

His legs gave out. 

He hit the ground, the impact knocking the air from his lungs as a sharp gasp left his body. For a second, Will couldn't breathe — couldn't think — couldn't do anything but lie there stunned as the world around him tilted.

Then the panic came rushing back filling his blood with adrenaline and fear. He forced himself to move. His fingers began digging into the dirt as he dragged his body forward inch by inch, as if that alone might be enough to save him — as if distance still meant anything. 

His arms trembled beneath him, weak and unreliable, his legs nothing more than dead weight dragging behind.

It wasn't enough. 

It was never going to be enough.

A dreadful feeling came over him followed by that same suffocating pressure — only it wasn't distant anymore or watching from far above. It was right there. 

Will stopped crawling. Not because he wanted to, but because he accepted that his attempt at running was useless. He slowly turned himself onto his back with trembling hands, forcing himself to look. It was closer than before. So much closer.

The edges of it blurred into the sky itself, too vast to fully understand. Its shape was wrong in a way his mind couldn't hold onto.

Will's breath hitched, sharp and broken as terror clawed its way up his throat. “No…” The word barely formed, trembling apart as it left him. “No, please…” 

Tears slipped from the corners of his eyes, sliding cold against his temples as his vision blurred but he couldn't look away — couldn't move. His body seemed to already have accepted its fate. 

“I dont-” His voice was so small. “I don't want-” The words died, because there wasn't anyone to hear them. No one to answer, no one to help. 

One of those shadowy, tornado-like limbs stretched toward him. Will's breath stuttered as it hovered just above him, close enough now that he could feel it without it even touching him.  

It was cold.

Not the kind that stung your skin — The kind that sank deeper and bit at your bones.

His fingers curled uselessly into the grass. “Go away!” He yelled out, forcing the sound out of his throat. “GO AWA-”

A feeling of being hollowed from the inside out came surging in as its shadows began pouring into him. His breath vanished from his lungs, stolen mid-inhale, leaving his chest locked open and useless. It filled every space it created before Will could even understand what was happening.

It was everywhere. 

Inside his head, behind his eyes, down his spine, underneath his fingertips.

It threaded through him, wrapping tight and spreading faster than he could think, faster than he could fight. Then, in some impossibly cruel way, it forced its way in further. 

Will's body seized — every muscle locking so violently his spine snapped off the ground in a sharp, unnatural arch. His jaw slammed shut with a crack that shot pain up into his skull, his teeth grinding together so forcefully he could hear it. 

His chest stayed expanded, but nothing moved. 

No inhale.

No exhale.

His lungs sat full and useless, trapped open around a cold that did not belong there. 

Then his ribs jerked outward with a sickening strain, the joints pulling and threatening to give as pressure built beneath them. It pushed from the inside with a steady, relentless insistence that did not stop, did not ease, did not care if his body could withstand it. 

His hands slammed into the ground. His fingers clawed into the grass so hard his nails bent in a way that felt like they were tearing off before his body began convulsing around the intrusion. His arms shook violently, tendons pulled tight, trembling under a force that ran straight through him, slowly claiming.

His heartbeat stuttered, then raced, then stumbled again. Each beat slammed unevenly against the presence and came back wrong — out of sync, out of rhythm and no longer fully his. 

Vertebrae by vertebrae, it climbed his spine. The sensation crawled upward with awful precision, pressing along the column of his spine, mapping him from the inside. Every nerve it passed lit up in pain, firing erratically and sending sharp, disjointed signals through his body that made his limbs jerk and twitch without pattern or control. 

A sharp choking sound caught halfway up his throat, strangled before it could fully form. His neck tightened underneath a grip that didn't lose as his head jerked back. His mouth opened wide in a silent attempt to let out a scream he could no longer make.

It reached the base of his skull, and pushed in.

Pressure slammed intensely into his head forcing his vision to fracture instantly. The sky tore open above him, red cutting through everything as his eyes strained, refusing to settle. 

Wills vision doubled for a split second — two perspectives colliding. His own, shaking and unfocused, and the other, unwavering, non-blinking.

It was seeing through him.

His gaze jerked to the side without his permission, tracking nothing he chose. It lingered too long before it snapped away again. 

 It hurt. 

It hurt so, so bad. 

His breath came back in a violent rush, but it wasn't a breath of relief. It was too fast and shallow, dragged in uneven bursts that scraped his throat raw. His chest stuttered under a rhythm he didn't set anymore. 

Too much-

It was too much-

His hands began pressing deeper forcing himself to focus on the horrid pain and sting shooting through his fingers as his nails began breaking. He needed it to hurt — needed to feel something that was caused by him — but it didn't help. Nothing. Helped.

It kept spreading down his arms until it was in his hands. The rigid movement of his fingers slowed deliberately one by one, tension slowly draining out of them. His grip loosened as the dirt slipped from his grasp and his hand flattened against the ground.

He tried to move them again, but nothing answered. 

He wasn't alone in his own body anymore. 

His body wasn't his anymore. 

His eyes stayed open. They didn't blink — didn't need to — his gaze fixed on the unfocused, glassy sky above as the red lightning continued to split it open again and again and again. His chest rose and fell in perfectly measured breaths. 

Tears slid silently into his hair and, in the quiet that followed, the panic dulled. Pushed down somewhere deeper where it could no longer interfere

Will's lips parted slightly, a faint, trembling breath slipping out as the last of his fight drained from his body, leaving him limp against the ground.

Then it moved him. His body rose up and he began walking.

He walked

And walked

And walked

And walked

And walked

Every monster he passed ignored him. They cleared a path before he reached it like they already knew where he would step. Every vine moved before his feet could reach them, dragging themselves aside in slow movements that left the ground bare in his path. Will didn't blink. His eyes burned.

He walked

And walked

And walked

And walked

And walked

And walked

And walked

And walked

And walked

And walked

Then he stopped.

He was standing outside a house. A house with a rose on the glass window in the door. The door creaked open. 

Will wanted to scream at what was standing in the doorway waiting for him — at the memories he'd been trying to suppress resurfacing overwhelmingly quick . However, the scream stayed in his chest, never reaching his throat, and Will stepped inside.

The floor felt cold. 

Will curled in on himself shaking, pulling his arms tight against his chest and pressing his knees in as if he could keep what little warmth he had from leaking out, but there's nothing there to keep.

His skin felt wrong — thin, useless — like it had forgotten how to work. His body doesn't give anything back anymore. Not warmth, not strength, nothing. He's been hollowed out into nothing more than a tool, turned into a pathway. 

His fingers twitch. His stomach twists with it. He doesn't react fast enough to the familiar warning. 

He knows what's coming.

His body lurched to the side as vomit forced its way up. It burns through his throat in a harsh, acidic rush that leaves him choking on it before it spills out onto the floor next to him. 

It's thick and bitter.

It clings to his lips and to his chin, strings of it dragging down as his breath stutters and catches after the aftershock. It hurts — It always hurts — but not in a way that matters anymore.

The humiliation is still there though — a quiet, dull feeling sitting somewhere deep in his chest — but even that feels worn down. It just doesn't cut as deep as it used to. 

That horrid smell settles in almost immediately, rotten, acidic and familiar. It fills the air around him before it clings to him. It sinks into his clothes, his skin, his hair. It never really leaves, just layers over itself. One instance on top of another until there's no separating it anymore. 

Will doesn't move away from the vomit laying next to him. He could try. But he doesn't. There's no point. 

He doesn't have the strength for things that don't change anything. 

His body goes heavy again as the tension drains away before his eyelids begin sliding shut. It's become instinct more than anything — a quiet, desperate but useless attempt at dreaming himself away.

It doesn't work. It never does. 

His body is forced upright almost immediately against his will. His spine locks as his shoulders pull forward, dragging him into position. His head dips before his vision shifts. The room disappears, and the tunnels take its place.

They stretch endlessly in every direction. Dark and alive walls pulsing faintly as they spread outward beneath everything, growing, widening, branching further and further for each second he stays there.

Will doesn't think about how nor does he think about why. He just…does it. Shapes them, extends them, feels them move in ways his body no longer can. 

There's a strange kind of relief in it. 

It's easier here. There's no cold here, no shaking, no smell, no weight pressing down on him from the inside. Just movement — Just purpose.

Will likes it.

The tunnels are better than the floor.

The tunnels are better than the mess beneath him. 

Better than the sour burn in his throat. 

Better than the aching in his teeth and knots in his hair. 

Better than the way his body betrays him in small, quiet humiliations he's stopped reacting to.

Better than the vines and the force and the constant, aching, exhausting pain that never goes away. 

Better than being reminded he's still alive. 

Then it snaps away.

One second the tunnels stretch endlessly outward and the next, he's back. 

Will collapses forward. His body doesn't even try to catch itself. His arms buckle, useless, as his face hits the floor with a dull, heavy impact that barely registers past everything else. His breath comes out shallow as his chest struggles to keep up and his body trembles.

Spit slips from his mouth trailing down onto the floor before his tears follow shortly after, gathering at the corner of his eyes before slipping free and sliding wet across his face. Will doesn't wipe either away, just waits for it to dry. 

It’ll happen again.

It always does. 

It's just the same cycle over and over and over again all blurring together into one long, unbroken stretch of tortured existence. 

It keeps pressing — keeps demanding more without ever saying how much. Will doesn't know what more there's left to give, so he just keeps going. He makes the tunnels bigger, he makes them faster, he makes them better. All in the quiet, distant hope that one day it might be enough.

It won't be.

Will knows that.

He should have died a long time ago.

Will knows that too. 

He also knows that the only reason he isn't, is because he makes sure of it. 

Will's gaze drifts weakly toward the movement in the distance — a vine. It drags itself across the floor with slow, deliberate intent, winding its way around debris and slipping over the ground until it reaches him. 

It pauses for a moment. Then it strikes. 

It latches onto his mouth, forcing its way in. His jaw is pried open, stretched as wide as it can as it pushes its way in deeper, sliding down his throat. A weak, broken gag fails to fully form.

It won't stop until it's satisfied. 

It fills him with something heavy and wrong. Something that settles in his stomach thick and unmoving, keeping his body alive in the most basic, mechanical way possible. It isn't care. Its maintenance.

The vine eventually withdraws, slipping free and retreating back into the dark, but Will knows it'll come back. It always does. 

Will doesn't fight it anymore — He hasn't in a long time. Fighting doesn't change anything. It just makes it hurt more. And he's so tired. 

He’s so tired. 

He can't remember if it's always been like this. He tries — really tries — but his memories keep breaking apart whenever he gets too close. Pieces go missing, taken from him so precisely that what’s left still seems like something whole, but it's just enough for Will to know it isn't. That there used to be more, that they used to matter. But they don't. Not anymore. 

This feeling is the only thing he can really remember. This feeling of a vast emptiness in his heart and the overbearing feeling of being constantly used. 

The door creaks open. Will glances over without meaning to, his vision lagging behind the movement. He watches as the shape of someone enters.

It takes a while before his eyes can make out who it is and when he does, his heart sinks.

Its him- 

Will's eyes shoot wide open as he wakes up in a cold sweat, a sharp, fractured gasp leaving his lungs. His heart was still pounding from having relived what he'd been forcing away for so long. He couldn't make out his surroundings, the disorienting feeling threading his blood making everything too confusing.

Where was he?

There were loud voices overlapping, shapes moving too quickly and blurring together, light that wouldn't settle right in his eyes and someone leaning over him, holding onto something long and thin that his mind twitches into vines before it could become anything else. 

Before it could even get the chance to touch him, Will bolted forward, tumbling over the ledge of what he barely registered as a bed. The impact of the fall barely registered even as it knocked the air from his lungs. He shot back almost instantly, already on the move towards the open door. 

Hands grabbed at him — or at least what appeared as hands. Will wasn't sure if wherever he was even existed at all or it was another trick, another place meant to keep him trapped. Maybe it was another memory. Will didn't want to remember. He'd tried so hard to forget.

Why did he have to remember?

They were yelling at him but Will couldn't make out the words, didn't try to. He shoved his elbow back with as much force as he could manage, feeling it connect with something solid before the tight grip on his shoulder loosened. 

He twists himself out of the remaining, albeit loosened grips, as he keeps running into the next room. It maps itself out as he moves — walls, openings, distance, exits — his brain catching onto anything useful without slowing him down. He notices the stairs, then hears the voices behind him getting closer. 

No time to think.

He spots a pair of scissors and grabs them without breaking stride before throwing them behind him in one sharp motion. A yell of pain followed immediately but Will didn't check to see who emitted it. He continued to run as fast as his feet would take him, hearing the way the voices faltering behind him grew more and more frantic — More scared.

Good.

He had to show them he was a threat. Then they'd think twice before getting close again. 

The door at the top of the stairs burst open under his weight as blinding light flooded in, swallowing everything in front of him. 

Will recoiled with a choked sound, stumbling back a step as his hand flew up to shield his eyes. His vision burned, tearing apart underneath the brightness. It was too much — too blatant, too sharp — nothing like the dim, rotting dark he knew. 

His eyes began watering.

He couldn't see.

He couldn't-

“STEVE! GRAB HIM-!”

The voice yelling from down the stairs cut through the ringing in his ears just as movement rushed towards him from the side. Will reacted on instinct. 

He swung towards it, hearing a solid crack on impact. The force of the hit jolted up his arm as the person went down with a strangled sound of pain. 

Will didn't wait for them to get back up. He turned around, shoving at the new door and suddenly found him outside. It was so much worse out here.

The light wasn't just bright, it was loud, pressing into his eyes, his skin, his lungs. Will squinted hard, tears spilling freely as he staggered forward. His breath hitched painfully with every inhale. The air, it hurt. Each breath scraped down his throat, filling his lungs faster than he could handle. 

His legs tripped over themselves and Will hit the ground, knocking the sharp air from his lungs in a rough, broken sound as he curled slightly on instinct, then his brows furrowed. 

The grass beneath his palms, there was something off. His fingers dug into, gripping tightly and grounding himself in the texture to ensure it was real. It was a beautiful shade of green —brighter than his green crayon, something Will didn't even know was possible. 

It felt so soft, so warm, not anything like the usual rotten, ashy death of the brittle grass he knew. He stared at it, feeling entranced in the feeling, before he slowly dragged his hand through it, watching the way it bent, the way it moved, how it didn't recoil or twist away from him. The warmth just stayed pressed into his skin. 

Will blinked, his gaze drifting down to his arms — his bare, clean, untouched arms — and to the unfamiliar clothes covering him. They felt soft too. He rubbed at the pure white fabric, feeling shame wash over him as he dirtied it with his dirt stained fingers. He switched to — hesitantly — look upward towards the sky. 

It stretched wide above him, colored blue, — not the usual dreadful red and black — a stunning shade of blue. Clouds drifted lazily across it, soft and white and untouched by lightning or decay. For a brief, fragile moment, Will's chest eased in a way he couldn't understand. It felt safe to sit there, feeling the warmth from above settle into his skin in an obscure way.

Will didn't understand it — didn't trust it — but he couldn't look away, and just in case this was the last time he'd ever get to experience this, he let himself, just for a mere second, close his eyes and savor the bizarre moment.

Then the voices came rushing back. Will's head snapped toward them, his entire body tensing instantly as he saw them. A group of figures were running toward him, calling his name like they knew him. 

How-

How did they know that?

They shouldn't know that.

They shouldn't-

Where was Mike?

The thought hit him hard, removing the brief calm out from under him as if it had never even been there. Will pushed himself off the ground, his legs unsteady but persistent as he continued running. Where was Mike. Where even was he right now?

This warmth, this softness, it wasn't real, it was a distraction it had to be. He had found him, and if hed found Will…then he'd found Mike too. 

No-

He had to get out, had to find the exit. He'd done it before he could do it again, he just couldn't let himself get distracted.

He had to save Mike before he dared to touch him — before he dared to hurt him.  

His heartbeat slammed against his ribs loud and frantic, each step jarring through his body, pushing himself faster, harder, ignoring the way his lungs burned, the way his vision blurred at the edges.

Mike.

He needed to find Mike. 

He needed to save Mike.

He kept running, and running, and running-

Until he didnt.

His body locked mid-step. His limbs frozen in place despite the way he tried to force them forward. Will tried to move, but nothing responded. This was wrong. This wasn't how it worked, There was no pressure crawling, or spreading, no cold forcing its way through his ribs. Just an outside force holding him in place. 

His body began to float backwards, dragging him unwillingly back towards the voices, to the people standing there all watching him. 

He saw the person responsible for his unmoving. A girl with her arm stretched out, blood slipping steadily from her nose. Around her stood six people of varying heights, then another one stepped forward from behind them — dark waves falling across his forehead, a tense, worried expression on his face-

Mike.

It was Mike.

Why was Mike here, was he even real? What was going on? Will didn't like it, he felt scared. 

Mike was saying something to him, but Will couldn't focus on the words. His gaze kept flicking restlessly between the girl holding him in place the unfamiliar faces surrounding her and Mike. This wasn't real, it couldn't be real. 

The force pulled him forward, guiding him inside again as his stomach dropped so sharply it made him dizzy. His breath fractured into uneven, panicked gasps as he squeezed his eyes shut, brows pulling tight, trying desperately to wake himself up, to tear himself out of whatever this was. 

The voices overlapped again — loud and indistinct — filling his head with noise as footsteps rushed down the stairs. The same stairs he had just fled with everything he had. Through the chaos, was Mikes voice. Mikes clear voice telling him it was okay, telling him to breathe. 

What part of this was okay?

None of it was okay.

The force vanished and Will dropped. He caught his weight against the floor before his eyes flew open, instinct taking over. He turned around, already pushing himself forward ready to run, but they were ready too. 

Hands grabbed him again — too many, too tight for Will to fight back despite how hard he tried. He kicked, trashed, twisted violently in their grip, but it didn't matter. They dragged him back, forcing him down onto the bed. 

A broken sound tore from his throat as he struggled against them, his body refusing to give in. Then he spots Mike, standing beside him, holding him down, looking at him with such a painfully conflicted look it made Will so confused.

If he didn't want to do this, then why was he? Were they hurting him? Forcing him? If mike could just get them to stop, Will could help-

“Mike, we have to.” 

Will's head snapped toward the voice — a girl with short, curly brown hair, something about her strangely familiar — and then back to Mike, just in time to see him press his lips together, avoiding Will's eyes. 

Do what? What did they have to do?

Mike nodded.

Something tightened around Will's wrists. Then his ankles. Thick, unyielding rubber snapped into place, locking him down against the bed. 

They let go of him, but even so — even as Will screamed, his back arching violently, twisting and thrashing with everything he had pulling hard enough to strain his muscles, to burn, to hurt — nothing moved. 

Eventually, his strength faltered. 

He fell back, breath ragged, a low, broken sound slipping from his throat as he stared at the people surrounding him. They were all looking at him like he was something horrific. 

“Will.” Mike's voice pulls his attention back, grounding and unbearable all at once. It pulls him back to the familiar kindness of his eyes, still looking at him the way Will had grown fond of. “Will, please…you have to trust me. You're safe, okay? I- I know this is scary, but you're safe. I'm right here. I'm right here, we only want to help you.”

Help me?

Will tugged weakly at the restraints again, a weak, helpless sound slipping from his lips when they didn't budge. 

How was any of this helping him?

“Perhaps it's best if we…put him back to sleep?” 

Will's head snapped toward the older man speaking. He was wearing a white coat and holding a sharp, glinting syringe in his hand. His breath hitched painfully. “What? Like, sedate him?” Someone said. The man nodded. “What?! No!” 

Voices rose instantly — overlapping arguing clashed together loudly. They argued over each other, the noise pressing in from every side until it became unbearable. Will squeezed his eyes shut, lips pressing tight, trying to block it out. 

The noise didn't stop, the restraints didn't yield. Slowly his surroundings transformed behind his closed eyes. The restraints became vines. Thick, slick, alive vines pinning him down the same way they had once before as the familiar coldness washed over him. 

His breath broke again, sharp and panicked, then he felt it. A cold, aching pressure, slowly curling through his arms whispering through his blood.

Let me in.

It crept upward his chest, to his throat trying to climb higher. Will didnt let it.

I can make them stop.

It pushed harder.

Let me in Let me in Let me in Let me in Let me in Let me in Let me in Let me in Let me in Let me in Let me in Let me in Let me in Let me in Let me in Let me in Let me in Let me in Let me in Let me in Let me in Let me in Let me in Let me in Let me in Let me in Let me in Let me in Let me in Let me in 

Will clenched his fists — nails biting into his palms — trying to anchor himself in the pain he controlled rather than the one clawing inside his body. Will couldn't help himself. 

A sob tore out of him, loud and violent as his whole body shook. The sound ripped through the room, raw and uncontrollable followed by a desperate inhale before he kept twisting desperately in the restraints holding him down. 

The arguing voices stopped. 

The pressure eased. 

All that remained was the sound of his broken, uneven crying and the heavy ache it left behind in his chest. 

Mike's voice cut sharply through the quiet — firm and commanding in a way Will hadn't heard before. Reluctant footsteps follow, then the sound of the door closing, then one of the restraints around his wrists loosened. 

Wills eyes shot open as he watched Mike move quickly to the other side of the bed, his hands careful but deliberate as he worked to free the second. The man in the white coat stayed by the wall. Watching. Waiting. 

The second restraint slipped free. Will grabbed the first thing within reach — the lamp on the bedside table beside him — and hurled it towards the man with all the strength he had. It struck the man's leg with a sharp crack, glass shattering as it hit the ground. The man sucked in a pained breath. “Jesus Christ-” 

Will took the chance to lunge for the restraints at his ankle, but a hand caught his wrist. Will looked up to see Mike giving him that soft, comforting look. “Hi Will” He breathed out. Will blinked at him for a second, tears still slipping down his cheeks as he sniffled. Then something in him gave away completely.

His hands shot forward, grabbing onto Mike and pulling him down onto him. Mike didn't resist. He folded around him instantly, arms wrapping securely around his shoulders. One hand pressed warm and steady against his back while the other slid gently in his hair, fingers moving in slow, soothing motions. 

Will curled his head towards his chest, hands gripping at his biceps, watching as tears dripped down onto his lap. Will couldnt help himself. He was so overwhelmed.

The violent sobs fall out of him again, snot and tears running down his face. He tried to pull back — to keep the mess away from Mike — but Mike only held him closer.  “Hey…Hey, its okay.” He murmured softly, his voice low and steady. Will clung tighter, his fingers wrinkling the fabric of his sweater. 

After a moment, Mike pulled back just enough for his hands to come up to gently cup Will's face. His thumb brushed carefully beneath his eyes, wiping away the never ending tears. “Breathe.” He said before he began demonstrating — slow inhale, steady exhale. 

Mike's hands were still cradling his face. They were warm. So warm. Will found himself leaning into it without thinking. 

Mike's eyes, there were layers to them. Colors shifting subtly in the light that Will hadn't been able to notice before. Warm amber threaded through deeper tones, catching softly where the light hit just right. They were so alive. So gentle, looking at him like he mattered. 

Wills lashes fluttered slightly as his focus drifted to the way Mike's eyelashes framed them. Dark and soft, casting faint shadows against his skin when he blinked. There was something strangely calming about it. The rhythm, the steadiness. 

He took in the shape of Mike's eyebrows — the way they curved and shifted with every flicker of emotion, drawn together just slightly in worry but still gentle. 

Everything about him was gentle.

He looked at his nose — sharp, defined, catching the light along the bridge — then lower, lingering when they reached his mouth. 

Mike's lips were parted slightly, still forming soft instructions, still guiding him through each breath, but Will wasn't really listening anymore. He was watching the way they moved, tracing the shape of them, noticing the softness. Watching the small, reassuring smile that began to form. “Yeah…that's it.” Mike murmured quietly.

His eyes flickered back up, drifting across the faint dusting of freckles scattered across Mike's face. They were subtle, easy to miss if you weren't looking for them, only Will was. He noticed them. All of it.

Every small detail, every quiet piece of him he'd never had the privilege of seeing before under the darkness. 

He leaned into Mike's touch just a little more, his head tilting faintly into the warmth of his palm as his shoulders — finally — started to relax. “Youre doing so good.” Mike smiled softly at him.

Will's brows knit slightly in confusion before realizing that his breathing — somewhere along the way — had steadied. No longer panicked, just even in the way Mikes was. 

A sharp cough cut cleanly through the softness.

Will's eyes snapped toward the man across the room as the fragile calm in him began cracking instantly, awareness rushing back in. He'd forgotten he wasn't alone. Forgotten this wasn't safe.

Get it together. 

His brows furrowed as he clung to Mike in a tense, protective way. His gaze sharpened, locking onto the man ensuring he didn't move. But he did. Just a small step towards them, still it was enough to make Will's shoulder rise up immediately, tension snapping back in place. 

“Maybe we could start the examination now?” The man said. Will didn't like the way the words sounded. His stomach twisted. He didn't want that. It sounded like it would hurt. It sounded like something he wouldn't be able to stop. 

“Do you have to be here?” Mike snapped as his hands shifted, moving from Will's face to his back and side, subtly pulling him in closer and shielding him. It made a fuzzy feeling bubble in his stomach. “It would be best if we could help him as fast as possible.” The man replied. “The saturation from the Upside down, not to mention the spores in his lungs should be treated immediately….and also, his head.” 

The words blurred together. They didn't make sense.

Mike looks back at him with soft, apologetic eyes. “Will..” he said quietly. “Can he please help you? It won't hurt, I promise.”

No. No, Will doesn't want to. It's not that he doesn't trust Mike, it was the man. The way he was looking at him like he already knew what was going to happen, just waiting for it.

Will shook his head frantically, grip tightening even harder. 

Mike's lips pressed together, a quiet sigh slipping from his nose before something Will couldn't understand flashed across his face. “Mike.” The man said, pulling Mike's attention. “What?” Mike shot back, turning his head in a staggered motion. The man didn't answer, just lifted his hand slightly before curling his finger in a small, silent gesture, stepping back toward the wall. Come here. 

Mike was hesitating. Will could feel it — could see it. The way his throat moved when he swallowed, the way his shoulders tensed and his brows knit tightly together. It looked like leaving hurt.

Then don't, just stay. 

But Will's silent pleading didn't reach Mike. His hand slipped away, warmth vanishing with it, releasing Will of the only thing he was sure wouldnt hurt him. His hand shot out on instinct, catching the sleeve of Mike's sweater and tugging at the fabric. “...no..” The word slipped out before he could stop it. Small, barely there, but Mike still heard it.

He turned back around immediately, sucking in a sharp breath as his expression tightened. 

For a second, he looked like he might stay — like he might choose him — but he didn't.

“Ill be back really quick okay?” He said softly, and then he was gone. Not far, but far enough. 

They began whispering to one another. Their voices were low, blurred together, too quiet for Will to make out. He didn't need to hear the words, he could see them. Could see the way Mikes expression shifted. The anger that grew like he didn't like what the man was saying. Still, they were both distracted. That was enough. 

Will threw himself forward towards his ankles, fingers fumbling frantically as they clawed at the restraints ripping it loose as quickly as he could. The second one he twisted too sharply towards, overbalancing his body as it slipped off the bed entirely, hitting the floor awkwardly. 

It hurt. 

It didn't matter.

He reached forward anyways, pulling himself back up.

“Woah-! Will, no dont!” Mike's voice came closer but Will twisted away from him. He ignored the hands trying to stop him…but then he felt a sharp sting in his arm. 

His head snapped toward it — toward the needle, buried deep. The mans hand steady as he pushed the plunger down forcing the liquid into him. It burned.

It burned.

A raw, violent sound tore from Wills throat as his hands shot out grabbing at the syringe, trying to rip it out-

But he couldnt.

Arms wrapped tight around him from behind, holding him still, trapping his arms. It was Mike. Mike was the one holding him still. “Im sorry, Im so sorry-” Mikes voice broke low and desperate against his ear as his grip tightened while Will fought against him. The strength began draining from his limbs despite everything in him screaming to keep going — to run — but his body wouldn't listen to him.

The fire in his arm spread. It dragged a numbing feeling through his veins. His movements slowed.

His hands fell slack, breath stuttering before his head dipped forward as the strength bled out of him. “No…” he tried again, but it barely came out. Mike's hold didn't loosen. “Ive got you.” He whispered. Will could hear a faint shake in his voice. “Ive got you.” It didnt feel like it. Everything was slipping.

The room blurred at the edges, wrapping into something distant and unreachable as the weight pulled him under.

His body sagged fully back into Mike with no strength left to hold himself up. 

His eyes fluttered.

Ones.

Twice.

Heavy.

So heavy.

The last thing he felt was Mike's arms holding around him.

Holding him in place.

Rubbing gently at his arm.

Then-

Darkness.

The heaviness of his eyelids began slowly relenting as Will blinked himself awake.

The room was dark. Nothing like the overwhelming, blinding brightness from before, but still not the suffocating endless dark he was used to. This was different. Strange.

His body felt light. It was a nice feeling.

His head turned slowly, heavy but cooperative, drifting toward the right as his eyes adjusted. He noticed the thin strings attached to his arms — clear tubes trailing upward into a plastic bag hanging beside the bed. Something transparent was dripping steadily through it disappearing into him, but it didn't hurt.

Will let out a quiet, breathy scoff of amusement. The bag looked funny just hanging there like that. 

Then his attention drifted again, pulled by a faint awareness that something hard and plastic-like was resting against his nose, along his cheeks and neck, but it also didn't hurt him. 

He breathed in, waiting, but there was nothing. No burning, no sharpness, no ache clawing down his throat, just air. A slow sigh left him as tension eased from his body before a faint smile touched his lips.

His head rolled lazily to the left, immediately greeted by his tiger plushie. A tiny, soft sound slipped out of him. “...oh.” A bright feeling bloomed in his chest as he looked at it. He tried to reach for it — his fingers lifting — but his hand didn't move far. Will instead tried to lean in as much as he could, nudging his face gently into the plush and letting the soft fur brush against his cheek. It tickled. 

He stayed there for a moment longer enjoying the safe familiarity of it, then, when he was satisfied, he shifted again — just slightly — looking past it. 

There was a boy curled awkwardly at the edge of the bed with black hair falling messily over his forehead. His head was resting on his arms folded beneath him laying against the mattress, his breathing slow and even. Mike. Mike was drooling.

Will let out a quiet laugh under his breath, then he noticed three more scattered across the floor, slumped against one another in sleep. Their shoulders were touching, limbs loosely tangled together.

It looked nice to have that many people to lean on, to be warm with. 

His gaze lingered fondly until it caught a familiar face — The girl who had held him still. She didn't look so scary like this. She just looked young, pretty. There were small clips in her hair in the shape of stars. One yellow, one purple. They looked really nice.

His eyes wandered up the wall without much thought until they froze looking at three sheets of paper taped carefully at the corners. 

A small gasp caught in his lungs.

His drawings. All three of them. The tiger, the knight, the house. 

He studied the house drawing, noting the green of the grass he'd colored in so carefully, but compared to the bright grass outside, it just looked flat now. Will had to fix that when he got the chance. 

Sleep tugged at him again, curling around his limbs and pulling him down. Will stretched as much as he could, his body arching slightly beneath the blanket. The movement was limited by the restraints but it still was enough to feel good. Enough to shift the air. Enough to wake Mike up.

“...a-are you okay?” He whispered to him, voice sleep-heavy. Will's head turned back to him immediately, a smile already forming before he even fully looked at him. Will nodded. “..you sure?” Mike continued, pushing himself up slightly as he blinked the sleep from his eyes, leaning closer. “How do you feel?” 

How did he feel?

Will let the question sit for a moment — really thinking about it.

“...really good.” he murmured with a soft, content smirk. He wiggled slightly underneath the duvet, testing the warmth and softness wrapped around him in a protective way. It felt so different. Nothing like the thin, scratchy one he had back home. The mattress too, it wasn't clumpy or hard. It felt like what he imagined laying on a cloud would feel like. 

How could he not feel good?

A quiet chuckle came from Mike making Will look at him.

Mike pulled the blanket further over his shoulder, tucking it gently in. He was resting his face on his hand, barely covering his mouth as if he was trying to hide the smile spreading, but it didn't work. Will could still see it.

Will squinted at him like that would somehow give him the ability to see through his hand. “..What?” Will asked, his own smile growing. “Does it feel nice?” Mike asked, tapping lightly at the duvet, a soft laugh coming from him. “Yeah…” Will replied with his own smile.

Mike's smile widened — his teeth catching briefly on his bottom lip — before he glanced over his shoulder at the others still sleeping on the floor, then back to him. His hand moved again, pushing away at the part of the duvet covering the restraint around Will's wrist. 

His eyes begin repeatedly looking down at the rubber, then back up at Will. 

Up and down, up and down, up and down…Upside down? 

Wasn't that what Mike kept talking about. 

Upside down and upside down and- 

Will let out a quiet, sudden burst of giggling.

Mike blinked, his brows knitting together in confusion, a smile still lingering on his face. “...what?” Will pressed his lips together, trying to contain his sudden giggle fit. He could tell him, but it was funnier if he didn't.

“...nothing.” he said instead, a sly smirk forming. 

Mike smiled at him before he began moving again, this time reaching for the restraints. He undid them one by one — first his wrist, then his ankle — the movements gently and deliberate. Then he stood up, leaning over him to free the other side, and just like that…Will was free.

He stretched immediately. His arms reached high above his head, his legs extending beneath him, his whole body lengthening as far as it could go as a soft groan slipped from him.

Before he could settle again, the duvet lifted slightly and Mike climbed in beside him, moving the tiger plushie lower down and in between them. The mattress dipped under his weight, warm air shifting beneath the covers as he settled in, adjusting until he was comfortable. He folded his arms over the blanket with a quiet sigh, then turned his head towards Will, smiling.

Will mirrored him without thinking, folding his arms the same way, turning toward him, then he remembered the strange plastic.

Will lifted his hand towards his face — curious — but Mike caught it gently. “Its okay,” he murmrued “Theyre just helping you breathe.” He didn't let go, instead he guided Wills hand down, letting it rest between them.

Their fingers brushed, then settled slightly intertwined in one another. Will didn't question why they were holding hands, it just felt nice. Everything about this felt nice. 

Nice…Mike's hair looked nice. It looked soft. Messy in a way that still made him look cool. Will almost reached out — almost — but then the memory hit. 

“Whats wrong?” Mike quietly asked. Will hesitated, biting lightly at the inside of his cheek before carefully asking “Is your head okay?” Mike's eyebrows raised for a second before a smile grew on his face, a breathless laugh falling out of him. “Yeah, yeah it's okay. What about you is…is your head okay?”

Will frowned slightly.

His head?

He lifted his free hand up to touch it, fingers brushing against a bandage hidden in his hair. 

Oh. Right.

Everything came rushing back — The fear, the pressure, the way hed lost control, the vines it used to hurt that poor man and Mike who had…who had hit him.

“..you hit me.” Will simply said.

Mike immediately shrank in on himself, guilt flashing across his face, but Will just smiled. At first it was forced, but it quickly turned real. “Its okay.” He quickly said, something playful sparkling in his body. “I get it.” 

Mike narrowed his eyes a little at him. “...you do?” “Yeah.” Will nodded seriously. “You didn't want me to beat you at board games anymore.” Mike stared at him. “...what?”

“Next time,” Will continued, trying — and failing — not to smile wider. “Just admit I'm better than you.” Mike let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. “That is not-” “I knew you were a sore loser and everything, but you didn't have to go that far. A little dramatic, yeah? “ Mike huffed, covering his face briefly. “Yeah.” 

The tension disappeared, the guilt on Mike's face beginning to ease slowly away. 

Will let himself sink back into the pillow with a content sigh before staring up at the clean ceiling. No vines. No shadows creeping where they shouldn't.

His fingers moved barely in Mike's hand, intertwining them a little more.

“The people on the floor..” Will murmured, his voice growing softer. “...theyre your friends?” 

“Yeah.”

“The ceiling..” Will blinked slowly. “Theres no vines.”

“Nope.”

“That means we're..we're in your world…right?”

“Yeah.”

There was a pause. Then Will continued, quieter. “So we're really out? We're- We're really safe?

“Yeah,” Mike softly replied. “We're really safe, Will. We're home.”

There was something off in his voice — something unsteady. Will turned his head to look.

Mike's eyes were shining. Tears had gathered at his waterline, but they didn't fall. “Are you sad?” Will asked, brows furrowed in worry, shifting himself as close as he could get to Mike thanks to the strings and tube slightly restricting him. Mike quickly shook his head, a small laugh escaping him. “No- I'm just happy. These are happy tears.”

He rubbed them away before they could build into anything more. Will watched him do it.

He wouldn't have minded wiping them away the way Mike had done for him. 

“This is real right?” Will asked, his voice barely a whisper. “Its- Its not fake?” In response, Mike took Will's hand and guided it carefully to his chest.

“Do you feel that?” He asked.

A heartbeat — A steady rhythm.

Will nodded.

“Does it feel real?”

Another nod, shaky breath of relief slipping from him. 

Mike let his hand go and for a quiet moment, they just looked at each other. 

Then Mike smirked. “I can't believe you broke Steve's nose.” “..What?” Mike's smile grew wider turning into a grin. “It's like, maybe the fourth time someones punched him in the face.” Will tried to understand what Mike was talking about, until he remembered the punch he had thrown in his attempt to flee. 

“You definitely hit him the hardest though.” Mike leaned in with a playful expression. It made Will huff out a quiet laugh. “Im serious,”Mike continued getting more and more animated with what he was saying. “In the future, if anyone ever messes with me I'm just gonna be like- Hey, I know a guy.” 

“Mike..” Will rolled his eyes at him, but there was still a smile on his face.

“And they'll be like- Oh yeah? Who? And Ill go- Will.” Will groaned softly. “And they'll laugh.” Mike said, nodding seriously. “Will? That doesn't sound scary. So Ill say- Okay, dont say i didnt warn you”

Will pressed his lips together, trying not to smile. “So I call you” Mike gestured dramatically. “And you show up instantly like- like The Flash!-" “Who's the flash?” Will asked.

Mike pressed his lips into a smile before saying “Dustin will be happy to show you, don't worry, but hes basically this superhero who's really fast, so anyway, you come running and then just - Boom!- take them out in one hit and disappear again like some kind of terrifying myth-”

“Mike.” A groggy, annoyed voice grumbled from the floor. “Go to sleep.” 

They both froze before Mike pressed his lips together, shoulders shaking slightly as he tried not to laugh. Will wasn't any better — quiet laughs kept falling out his nose. 

Eventually the laughter faded and the energy drained from him. His body sank deeper into the mattress, eyelids growing heavier with every passing second. 

The exhaustion drained his light mood, letting the guilt creep its way back in. “I'm sorry…” he murmured. Mike didn't respond, so Will continued. “I'm sorry for hurting you..for hurting that man I just…” His voice slowed, slurred slightly at the edges. “...I don't want to hurt anyone..”

The words barely made it out — Sleep took him before anything else could, but this time…it was gentle.

Warm sunlight spilled through the windows in soft, diffused beams, dulled gently by the thin curtains that swayed just enough to make the light feel alive — shifting and settling across the room in slow golden patterns.

The walls were splittin two — White wallpaper scattered with delicate pink and green flowers above, and warm wooden panels below — and the whole space felt quiet in a way that wasn't empty but full. Safe.

Will sat cross-legged on the floor, the warmth of the sun resting against his back. He leaned over his drawing, completely absorbed in the careful movement of his hand.

He wasn't alone. 

There was someone else there. Stretched out across the couch in front of him with a comic book held loosely in his hands, legs too short to reach the end. A boy with curly dark hair falling into his face with a grin already forming as if he knew something Will didn't. 

“Are you finished?” He asked. 

Will glanced at him for only a second before looking back down at the page in his lap. 

There were two figures on the paper. One stood tall in a deep purple cloak scattered with yellow stars and a pointed hat tilted slightly as a wand was raised in one hand. The other wore armor, solid and bright, which had a red heart painted boldly across the chestplate and a sword gripped firmly at their side.

“Woah-” the boys voice lit up instantly, comic forgotten as he pushed himself upright. “Thats so cool Will!” 

Suddenly he was there, right beside him on the floor, like hed always been there. 

Before Will could respond, the door behind them swung open. 

“Im home!” Another boy stepped inside, arms full of paper bags that crinkled softly as he adjusted his grip, pausing when he spotted them sitting together on the floor. “Hey.” he said, his voice easy and familiar. “You guys hungry? Moms not gonna be back until late, so it's just us tonight. That okay?” 

Will nodded before he could think about it, the motion small and instinctive. He looked back down at his drawing, but it wasn't there anymore. A plate of spaghetti and meatballs sat in front of him instead.

Will blinked confused as he looked up. 

The room had shifted around him without warning. He was sitting at a table now, fork resting in his hand. Mike sat beside him — talking endlessly, words tumbling over each other in a way that felt warm and familiar even if Will couldn't quite follow what he was saying — while the older boy sat across from them, nodding along, trying his best to keep up.

But his attention wasn't really on Mike. It kept drifting…back to Will.

“-Sorry,” he interrupted suddenly, his voice softening before his gaze fully settled on him. “Will, are you okay?” 

Mike turned too, his expression shifting instantly — concern flickering across his face. 

Will stilled.

Was he okay?

The question lingered longer than it should have but yeah. Yeah he was.

He nodded in slow but certain motions, and something in the older boy's shoulders relaxed almost immediately as he let out a quiet breath before turning back toward Mike. “Sorry,” he said lightly. “What were you saying?” “So basically-”

Mike launched right back into it without missing a beat. Will let himself smile, small and private, as he lowered his gaze to his plate, twirling spaghetti carefully around his fork.

When he looked up again, the older boy was already watching him. Their eyes met, and he smiled. Will smiled back.

The sunlight continued to dance across the table, softening the colors until they blurred together — gold and warmth and something just out of reach — and the edges of the room began to dissolve, the sound of Mike's voice fading into something distant, something indistinct-

-and then it was gone.

Will woke with a slow blink, his eyes adjusting as the golden light gave way to something dimmer, eyes meeting the ceiling above him. 

He turned his head slightly, seeing Mike curled up beside him still asleep. His breathing slow and even with one arm tucked awkwardly beneath him. The room was empty now — no people laying on the ground. It felt safer like this. Just him and Mike.

That dream. Mike had been smaller in it — younger — but still the same. Still bright, still talkative, still kind. Will frowned slightly, thoughts catching on. He wondered what he looked like back then. What hed really looked like. 

Maybe Mike wouldn't mind showing him a picture if he asked. 

The thought settled softly in his chest as he stayed there for a moment just listening to the quiet, steady rhythm of Mike's breathing. Then he picked up on something else.

Voices.

Just outside the door.

Will's body tensed immediately. Careful not to disturb Mike, he slowly eased himself out of the bed. His movements were cautious and deliberate as he moved toward the sound, but he didn't get far.

Something tugged at him. Will looked down. Thin plastic tubing looped around his face, hooked into his nose and wires ran from his arm, anchored in an annoying way. 

Without really thinking about it, Will reached up and pulled the tube free. The sudden absence made him scrunch his nose trying to get the lingering, uncomfortable sensation away.

Then his attention dropped to his arm. He grabbed the two wires there and yanked. 

The resistance gave way with a small, sickening pull. Immediately, clear liquid began dripping uselessly from the loose strings. Small beads of blood began rising from the punctures in his skin. It stung.

He continued moving closer to the door before pressing himself against it, tilting his head just enough to listen. Five voices. Two women. Three men. They overlapped, cutting into each other.

“..what if there is a connection? That's not crazy-”

“If he was connected to Vecna, don't you think we would've found him somewhere other than the middle of nowhere?”

“Maybe he escaped?”

“Okay but then how-”

Will's heart began pounding, each word making it go faster, louder. “Will?” He flinched, turning sharply.

Mike was awake now, pushing himself up on one elbow. Sleep still clung to his expression as he rubbed away sleep from his eyes. “What are you doing?” He asked groggily, before yawning and stretching slightly. 

Will didn't really know what to say — That he was spying on his friends? That he still wasn't sure if they could trust them? — But Mike didn't wait for an answer. 

His eyes had already dropped to the floor, to the discarded tube and wires, to the blood trailing faintly down Will's arm. An understanding settled over his face in an instant. “Oh” he murmured before shifting quickly, reaching toward the plastic bag and adjusting something with careful hands, making the dripping stop. “These are just to help you feel better.” He gently said, like he was trying not to startle him.

Will swallowed dryly. 

For some reason, heat crept up the back of his neck. Shame. He didn't understand it, but it settled in his chest all the same — heavy and uncomfortable. 

“Hey,” Mike quietly said, glancing up at him again as his voice softened. “Can you come here for a second? I just- I want to clean that up, okay?” He nodded toward the blood trailing down his arm.

Will hesitated. 

The voices were still outside. They could come in any moment. They could attack if they weren't ready. 

Hiz gaze darted around the room until it landed on a chair. Without a word, he crossed over, grabbed it and dragged it roughly across the floor before jamming it firmly beneath the doorknob, wedging it into place. 

Feeling halfway satisfied, Will turned back to see Mike watching him. One eyebrow slightly raised and a tiny smile on his mouth, waiting for him. 

Will stepped closer before he sat down on the edge of the bed, holding his arm out stiffly. Mike reached for it, careful and steady, wiping away the blood with a piece of cotton before pressing something clean against the pictures and taping it down with practiced ease. 

For a moment, none of them spoke, then Will opened his mouth. “I had a dream about you.” Mike's hands paused their movements for a moment. “What kind of dream? he asked, glancing up. Will looked down at the duvet, focusing on a wrinkle in the fabric as he tried to piece it together.

“You were a kid.” He slowly said. “And we were in this room, this really bright room. You were reading something and I was drawing this drawing you liked and then there was this older boy who made dinner for us, spaghetti and you talked so much-” Will trailed off, the memory slipping slightly from his grasp as he frowned.

“What were you drawing?” Mike asked. Will hesitated, trying to remember. “Two people I think..one of them was wearing a purple robe. Like a wizard or something. And the other one had armor with a heart on the chest-” his gaze drifted, landing on the wall.

On the drawing of the knight hanging there, quiet and still. “...like that one.”

Mike followed his gaze, not saying a word. 

“Huh.” Will murmured, an uneasy feeling twisting in his chest. “thats…weird.” Mike didn't laugh or brush it off. He looked so serious, so sympathetic. “Will, I don't think that was just a dream.” He said carefully. “I think- No, I know that actually happened.” The words landed heavy.

Will's gaze dropped immediately, his hands curling slightly in his lap.

No. That couldn't be right, it didn't make any sense. Rooms like that didn't belong to him. Sunlight didn't belong to him. Only the dark. Only the cold. 

“...are you sure?” Will asked even if he already knew the answer. “Yeah,” Mike said, almost apologeticly. Will nodded once at his answer. “Oh.” 

The word felt too small for the gravity of the situation. He didn't know what else to say because if that really was real — if it had actually happened — then that meant there had been a time where he hadn't been alone. That meant that everything Mike had told him had been true. 

He recalled the nightmare he'd had. Recalled the way hed yelled out for Mike. “I called for you.” He abruptly said, the words slipping out before he could stop them. He could see Mike's body freeze. “What?” Will didn't look up.

“On the field” he murmured. “Before it got me. I yelled for you, but you didn't come so I thought…I thought you weren't real, that you were just in my head.” 

Silence. 

Will didn't dare look up at Mike.

Had that been wrong to say?

Will swallowed down the lump in his throat, shifting slightly where he sat before trying to change the topic. “There was another boy in my dream. The one who made the food?” Mike exhaled softly. “Yeah thats…thats Jonathan. He's your brother.” 

The realization settled in slowly as Will nodded faintly to himself. Then his gaze flickered back toward the door. “...is he out there?” He asked. “No.” Mike said softly. 

An awful feeling settled in his stomach.

Of course he wasn't. Why would he be?

Why would he want to see-

“He does want to see you.” Mike quickly said, as if he could hear the thought forming in Will's head. “It's not- It's not you. Hopper just…wont let him come right now.”

“Hopper?” Will echoed. “The guy from the woods.” Mike said, immediately adding after having noticed the guilt tugging at Will. “Hes okay don't worry. I promise he's alright.” Will nodded faintly, though the unease didn't fully leave. 

The silence that followed stretched, uncertain and fragile as Will fiddled with his fingers trying to distract himself, until Mike shifted, leaning forward just enough to catch his eyes. “Hey.” he softly said. “Do you want to take a bath?” He offered him a small smile. 

“We wiped you down earlier but I think it'd be nice for you to just relax.” Will frowned instinctively, a scoff leaving him. Baths weren't relaxing. They were cold, and scary and unsafe.

Mike seemed to notice his hesitation, because he rushed to add “It won't be bad I swear. It actually feels really nice. But- if you dont want to thats okay! I can just get it ready and you can decide after. No pressure.”

Will straightened his posture, breathing in an out as he looked at Mike and the reassuring look on his face. 

If Mike was talking so positively about it, he could at least try. He said he didn't have to so, it should be fine. 

Will nodded in response. “Okay!” Mike said, relief flashing across his face. “Just- stay here a second.” Then he was gone, already throwing the chair out of the way and halfway out the door before Will could get so much as a “Wha-” out.

Will stood immediately, tension snapping back as his body got ready to move — to run — if he needed to. However, the voices outside began fading into footsteps moving away, up the stairs distantly. 

A moment later, Mike reappeared pushing the door open and offering a small, reassuring smile. “Come on. Bathrooms this way.” He said.

Will followed after him, albeit skeptically.

Each step out of the room felt wrong — like peeling himself away from something he'd just barely learned how to trust — and the moment he crossed the threshold, the space around him shifted into an unfamiliar one again. Larger, cluttered and unpredictable.

The room was a mess. Not chaotic but just…lived in. Objects were scattered without pattern, the couch was half-buried beneath blankets, there was a table crowded with things Will couldn't immediately make out and a projector angled toward nothing. 

Mike moved ahead of him, weaving easily through the space as if he already knew every obstacle without needing to look where as Will lagged behind slower, bumping into things here and there. 

His hand brushed the edge of a table before it stilled. A compass layed on it. Small, metal, sharp. He picked it up without thinking, turning it slightly so the thin needle caught the light before settling between his fingers and pressing just enough so he could feel the sharpness of it. 

“What do you need that for?” Will's head snapped up. Mike had turned around, one eyebrow raised watching him. Will shrugged, but Mike didn't move, just held his hand out. 

Will tightened his grip for a second, the needle pressing more firmly into his skin before he looked away with a small, irritated exhale and dropped it into Mikes palm. “Thank you.” Mike said genuine. 

Before Will could pull back, Mike reached out and took his hand, guiding him forward again as he set the compass aside. Will didn't pull away.

Mike pushed the door on the other side of the room opening it up and leading them in. The bathroom was small. Everything pressed together — toilet, sink, bathtub —there was barely any floor space. 

Mike let go of  Will's hand and moved to the bathtub, turning the knobs. Water rushed out in a steady stream. It was clear. It filled the tub quickly, rippling and shiftling, reflecting light in a way that felt strange. 

He had seen bathtubs before, had tried to fill them up, but what came out hadn't looked like this. It had been thick, dark and slow, seemed almost alive, whereas this looked so clean. Just like everything else here. 

As the water rose, Mike poured something into it. White foam bloomed across the surface, spreading outward in soft uneven clusters. Then thin, curling lines began rising into the air. Will frowned confused. 

“Whats that?” he asked, pointing at it. Mike looked at where Will was pointing, then back equally as confused. “Soap?” he guessed. “No.” Will said, stepping closer as his eyes narrowed. “Theres smoke.

Mike blinked then quickly shook his head. “Oh! No, no that's not smoke. That's steam.” Mike explained. “Steam?” Will repeated. “Yeah. It happens when the water's hot.” “Oh.” 

Hot water. He didn't know that was possible.

Will leaned forward, bracing one hand against the edge of the tub as he lowered the other into the water. He jerked it back instantly.

The reaction was sharp. His breath caught as his fingers curled in on themselves. 

It burned.

“Whats wrong?” Mike asked, worry clear in his voice. Will swallowed, not wanting to complain too much. “It's just…a little too warm maybe.” “I can fix that- hold on.” Mike adjusted the tap quickly. “There. That should help.” Mike said as the water eventually finished filling up. 

Will tried again, slower this time, dipping his fingers beneath the surface and felt something in him recoil. It wasn't pain, not exactly, but his body reacted anyway, something deep inside him resisting.  

“...it's still a little hot.” he said distracted, his voice distant. When Mike didn't respond, he looked up and felt his heart drop.

Mike looked like he'd seen a ghost. Was it really that strange he still found it hot? Was that weird? He didn't want Mike to think he was weird. 

Will cleared his throat. “I- it'll be fine when I get in.” He quickly said. Mike hesitated but eventually he nodded. “Okay. I'm just gonna grab you some clothes and a towel.” Will nodded in response as he watched Mike make his way out the bathroom, the door shutting behind him. 

The room went quiet. Only the faint sound of water, the soft hum of pipes. Will looked down at his hand.

He flexed his fingers one by one, watching closely to make sure he was still the one controlling their movements. When he couldn't find anything wrong, he lifted his head, where his reflection immediately met him.

Will didn't remember walking closer, but suddenly he was standing right in front of it. 

Looking.

His breath hitched.

The face staring back at him didn't feel like his. 

It was too sharp, too hollow. His skin stretched wrong across bone but his eye, that was the worst part. It brought back memories he despised. Memories of some of his darkest days. 

The white of it was wrong. Not just blind, dead. A pale, clouded thing sitting in his skull where something living should be. The scar traced the same pattern the knife had, the scar jagged underneath his eye where his hands had started trembling while he cut through it. 

Will lifted his hand and touched it. 

His fingers shook where they pressed against the skin beneath his eye, dragging it. 

His breath fogged the glass.

Will leaned in closer — closer until all he could see was the damage. Every uneven line, every wrong angle.

His hands snapped down to the sink, gripping hard. The porcelain creaked faintly under the pressure. 

This is what they see. 

No wonder they looked at him like that. Will would have been disgusted too. The only thing that didn't make sense, was Mike. 

Why he kept looking at him like he wasnt…like he wasnt this. 

A knock at the door made Will flinch back instantly. “Can I come in?” Mike asked. Will stepped away from the sink quickly, wiping his hands against his clothes as if that could get rid of the feeling. He tried the best to shake off the thoughts still lingering in his brain as he opened the door. 

Mike stepped in, smiling lightly, holding a stack of clothes and towels. “Here- these should fit. Just let me know if anything feels weird okay?” Mike said, handing over the clothes and towel meant for Will and keeping the ones for him. Will nodded, placing the clothes on top of the closed toilet lid. “Thank you.” he replied. 

Mike lingered for half a second longer, almost like he wanted to say something else, but then he stepped back. “I'll be right outside. Just call for me if you need anything” He said with a smile, waiting for Will to nod and then walking out, shutting the door again. 

Will didn't look in the mirror when he undressed. He kept his eyes down the whole time. There were some things he didn't need to confirm — some things better left unseen. 

He walked over to the bathtub, where the steam had stopped. Carefully, he stepped in and felt himself gasp at the feeling of warm water around his body, sinking himself in slowly, closing his eyes slightly as he did. It was hot — really hot — but it also did feel kind of nice. 

The waterline crept up his chest as he adjusted, his arms resting along the edges of the tub. His breathing began slowing before he blew gently at the bubbles gathered near his chest, watching them break and fly into the air. 

A small sound left him — almost a laugh.

Mike was right. This was relaxing. 

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply in and slowly out, however on the exhale his breath caught.

Despite the warm water surrounding him, Will felt something cold. It spread through his chest without warning — sharp and immediate — as if something was reaching inside him and wrapping around his lungs. 

Pain tore through his ribs, his lungs, curling inward and downward and twisting tight around his stomach, climbing up his collarbone. It began screaming. Pressing in that awfully familiar way.

No.

Go away.

The pressure built.

Go away.

It screamed at him to get out, the pressure building and building until it hurt to breathe — until it hurt to exist inside his own body. 

Will began panicking, and in a desperate attempt to make the feeling go away, he shoved himself under the water. 

His hands locked onto the edges of the tub, fingers slipping slightly before gripping tight as he forced himself down, submerging completely, but it didn't stop.

The cold stayed, the pressure stayed — It was still screaming. It coiled tighter, pressure growing the same way it had in the woods where Will hadn't fought back. He needed to fight back. 

The lack of air hit sharply, overwhelming his lungs as they tightened. His chest spasmed as his body begged him to breathe- Good. Let it hurt. Let it burn. Just replace it. 

His grip tighetened, knuckles whitening as his body shook. Every instinct in him screamed at him to resurface, to breathe but he couldn't. Not yet. Not until he was sure it was pushed deep, deep down. He needed it weak.

The cold pressure inside him began to crack, the screaming fading. 

It hurt so much, but it was okay as long as he knew he was the one causing it.

Any second now. 

He could go up any second.

Will squeezed his eyes even closer shut at the uncomfortable painful feeling of being without oxygen for so long as his body panicked, but he held.

Just a little more.

Just a little longer-

Hands grabbed at him forcefully, dragging him upward. The air hit him, causing Will to gasp violently, choking on it, lungs seizing as he coughed. Water dripped from his face, his hair, his mouth.

“What are you doing?! Wha- What are you doing Will- what are you doing?!” Mike's voice broke through, frantic and loud. A towel pressed against his face and his hair, rubbing too quickly like Mike didn't know what else to do.

Will turned his head away, trying to hide in it — to disappear into the fabric, into anything that wasn't this — but Mike didn't let him. He pulled the towel back, frustration and concern clear in his expression. He was waiting for an answer. An answer he wasn't going to get.

What he was doing? How would he even go about explaining that?

Mike dropped down beside the tub, back leaning against it as he pulled his knees up. “Im not leaving.” He said. He was trying to sound commanding, firm, but Will could hear the tremble in his voice. 

Will sank back into the water, feeling smaller than before. “...sorry.” he mumbled, glancing over at Mike, but he didn't respond, just pulled his knees closer to him. 

Will's hands disappeared beneath the water, fingers tangling together, pulling, fidgeting. Did he really have to tell him? 

He didn't want to explain — to say it out loud — and sure Mike wasn't forcing him, but he looked so sad. 

Will wasn't trying to kill himself. 

He didn't think he was. 

Maybe he just wanted to go back to sleep. Back to the warm memory instead of that thing inside him, pressing and spreading, reminding him it was still there. 

Was that really so wrong? He hadn't meant to scare him.

Will took a deep breath, building up courage before he breathed out “..I just dont like feeling it..” 

Mike turned his head, glancing over at him. “Feeling what?” He asked, but he wasn't pushing for an answer. Will couldn't give him one — at least not right now. He just wanted to not have to think about things he desperately wanted to forget.

Will shook his head. “Okay. "That's okay.” Mike quietly said. Will glanced up at him, bracing for disappointment, but it wasn't there. Just that same softness — that impossible kindness — smiling at him with that same soft look in his eyes. 

“Oh!” Mikes suddenly perked up, his voice bright. He grabbed two bottles on the floor next to the tub, fingers grabbing around plastic as he held them up like they were something important. “Shampoo and conditioner.” 

He turned himself back toward Will, switching to sit on his knees as he leaned closer. For a moment it seemed like he was going to hand them over, but then he hesitated. His eyes flicked down, lingering on the labels instead of meeting Will's gaze. “Uhm…I think it'd be easier if I did it.” 

Will's brows pulled together, confusing knitting tight across his face. “What?” Mike huffed out a quiet, awkward breath, his shoulders rising just slightly as if he was bracing himself. 

“Yeah, cause you cant really see your head so-” He gestured vaguely, seeming very interested in the ingredients on the bottles, his words tripping over themselves “-but I can. So that makes it…easier.”

It didn't. Not in a way that made sense anyway. But Mike said it like it did — like it was obvious. “...Okay.” Will said after a second, the word uncertain but he let it out anyway because it was Mike saying it, and that seemed to mean something more than common logic. 

Mike set the bottles carefully along the edge of the tub before standing up and reaching up to unhook the detachable shower head. The pipe creaked softly in protest as he pulled it down, testing the water with cautious fingers before angling it toward Will. “This feel okay?”

Will lifted his hand, letting the stream spill across his skin. It felt warm, but it didn't burn. Will nodded.

Mikes hand came to rest at the back of Wills neck, guiding him to lean back just enough. The touch was gentle but grounding — careful in a way that made the constant tension in his chest loosen, if only a fraction. 

The water threaded through his hair soaking it thorough without a single drop touching his face. Then the stream cut off.

There was the soft sound of plastic being suqeezed followed by a faint scent of something unfamiliar but nice as Mike worked the shampoo between his hands before bringing them to Will's scalp. His fingers slipped into his hair in slow, deliberate, massaging circles that sent a strange — almost aching — warmth spreading outward. 

Will exhaled without meaning to as his body pressed into the touch trying to feel it even deeper. It felt really good. 

Mikes fingers moved carefully — never pressing too hard, never rushing — as if he was afraid Will might break under anything harsher. When he finally pulled his hands away, the absence felt immediate. 

There was a pause before the water returned to rinse through his hair. Mike's hand steadied again at his neck, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against his skin in soft, repetitive motions that felt like reassurance. Will couldn't help the tiny smile that came across him.

He repeated the same thing. Shampoo, fingers, slow circling pressure that made Wills eyes slip shut despite himself and his shoulders lowering inch by inch as the tension drained out of him in quiet, reluctant surrender. He rinsed it out, then began applying the conditioner.

Mikes fingers combed through the strands instead of pressing into his scalp, untangling what felt like more than just hair, before rinsing it clean. 

By the end of it, Will felt quiet. 

And for once, the stillness didn't feel like something waiting to be filled by claws and cold and that thing lurking just beneath his ribs.

Will couldn't remember the last time he'd felt like this — He wasn't sure there was a last time. 

“Youre all done.” Mike said, reaching for a towel. Will straightened himself, stretching slightly trying to wake himself up from the slight daze he was in. “Thank you.” He murmured. 

Mike smiled at him, soft at first. Then it changed into something mischievous. Before Will could react, the towel was in his hair, roughing it up in quick, messy motions. “Mike-!” The protest came out half formed — more startled than angry — his face flashing as he ducked away instinctively.

The towel disappeared just as quickly revealing Mike who laughed, bright and unguarded as Will could feel his hair sticking out in every direction without even needing to see it.

He shot Mike a look. Something meant to be annoyed but it didn't have any real bite to it. His hand came up instead, trying to smooth it back down, fingers catching in damp strands. 

Mikes laughter softened into a fond exhale. The sound curled into a small smile as he stood up. “Ill let you get dressed but dont-” he paused, like he was choosing his words carefully. “Im not leaving. In case you try anything.”

It was said lightly, like it was a joke, but underneath it there was a genuine worry. “I wasnt planning on it.” He said, offering a small smile. Mike returned it immediately, relief flickering across his face before he turned away, giving Will what privacy the cramped space allowed, retreating to stand in the corner with his back angled just enough not to look.  

Will moved quickly out of the tub. The towel was dragged across his skin in hurried motions as the mirror loomed at the edge of his vision. Will didn't look. 

The clothes came next, pulled on in uneven motions as the fabric caught against the damp skin when he tugged the shirt over his head. Relief settled only when it was in place. When he was covered, hidden. “Im done.” He said, making Mike turn back around nodding.

“Is it okay if I quickly take a shower? I'll be fast I promise and I can leave the door unlocked if anything happens.” Will nodded, stepping out as Mike slipped behind him and shut the door.

The room felt different without Mike in it — bigger, colder. Even with the voices still drifting faintly from upstairs — muffled footsteps, low conversations — there was something hollow about the space now. Almost like the warmth had followed Mike and stayed with him. 

Will lingered for a second, then moved. The map drew him in without asking, spread out near the projector and marked with red circles and Xs that looked less like plans and more like warnings. 

Will stared at it, trying to make sense of it, but the lines refused to connect. The meaning slipped just out of reach no matter how long he looked. He couldn't understand it any more than he understood anything that had happened in the last day. 

The footsteps upstairs began moving. Will's head snapped up, eyes locking onto the ceiling, tracking where they moved. They stopped in front of the door. Then it opened.

Voices came through, loud and overlapping like always. “Dont-!” “Mike will kill you-!” Someone was coming down the stairs.

There was no time to think.

Wills hand shot out, grabbing the compass where Mike had placed it, fingers curling tight around it. He ran back into the bathroom, slamming the door shut hard enough to rattle the frame. The sharp sound cut through the rush of the shower behind him — Mikes startled yelp barely registering as Will twisted the lock into place with shaking hands. 

Click.

His heartbeat roared in his ears as he stumbled back a step, his grip tightening around the compass until it bit into his skin. 

The footsteps came closer, until they were right outside the door.

Will held his breath.