Archive of Our Own ^beta

The apartment smelt like paint and coffee.

Mike took notice of it as he stepped inside, kicking the door shut with his heel. After he made sure it latched properly, he dropped his keys into a ceramic dish Will made for one of his classes back in high school. 

Speak of the angel. 

 Will Byers was in their living room, perched on a rickety wooden stool in front of a canvas. His selves were rolled up past his elbows, exposing paint-fleckered forearms. And his hair had fallen into his eyes in a manner that looked both careless and completely intentional all at the same time. 

Somewhere in the background, a cassette hummed softly, perhaps The Cure or The Clash. Since those are Will’s favorite bands, although Mike couldn’t quite make out what it was. Like the music is coming from a different plane of existence. 

Whatever it was, Mike didn’t really pay it too much attention. Instead, he stood leaned against the door for much longer than necessary, just observing the breathtaking sight before him. 

Will had paint smeared on his cheek, a faint streak that looked wildly out of place against his somewhat pale complexion. And when Mike went to clean it off, he hadn’t even realized that he’d moved towards the other boy. It was like an invisible string held them together, and pulled them in. 

And when Mike was about to wipe it away like it was the most natural thing in the world, Will moved fast.

 He startled out of whatever trance he was encapsulated in and immediately turned the canvas away in one smooth, almost panicked, motion. One hand gripping the edge protectively, and the other obscuring Mike’s viewpoint of the mysterious painting in question. 

Then, he glanced over his shoulder.

“Hey,” Will said, a little breathless. 

He was obviously trying to keep something hidden, had that little grin plastered on his face and everything. 

Mike’s hand dropped back to his side dramatically, and he smiled despite himself. “You’re still not going to let me see it?”

“Absolutely not,” Will replied, fond and firm, not quite meeting his eyes yet. 

“Why not?” Mike whined, fully aware he was being annoying and entirely unwilling to stop. He was curious—sue him. Plus, he knew Will found it endearing, somehow. Mike didn’t know how that worked, but he wasn’t going to question it. 

“Because,” Will said, reaching for a tarp and carefully pulling it over the canvas so there was no possible way Mike could sneak a peek, “it’s a surprise.”

Mike opened his mouth to argue, because that’s just the type of person he is—

But then Will turned around. 

And,well. 

Mike couldn’t argue with those hazel eyes.

He stepped forward without thinking and finally wiped the green paint from Will’s left cheek. He let his fingers linger, before sliding them down the other boy’s jaw, until he was fully cupping his face. 

Will finally stood up, and as he did so, his eyes sparkled, especially his left one. He leaned into the touch instinctively. 

That was something that always made Mike’s heart stutter, the look in Will’s eyes. Hopeful, trusting, pure bliss. 

Like being here, with Mike, was exactly where he belonged.

And then, before Mike could marvel any longer, Will kissed him.

They’d kissed a million times before, but every time their lips touched, Mike felt weak in the knees. It was almost as if his body hadn’t caught up with the fact that this was real. That this was his life. 

He kissed Will back, slow and careful, as if to cherish every moment. 

Apparently he’s always acted like that with Will Byers. His parents used to joke that he “worshiped the ground Will walked on,” which…yeah. That tracked.

But how could he not? 

Will has always been there. Always within arm’s reach, even when the world was ending. Every monumental moment of Mike’s life could be tracked back to Will somehow. 

He was Mike’s first best friend, and not-so-secretly his favorite. Don’t get him wrong, Lucas, Dustin, and El are great, Max is too even if she can be a bitch sometimes. But it’s just…none of them are Will. 

As stupid as that sounds, Will’s just different. He’s got his own entire category on the list of Mike’s affections. 

He’s the face Mike searches for any time he enters a room. The first face he looks for when the world feels like it might end. And the face he knew he could look at everyday for the rest of his life while never getting bored.  

So Mike knows he’s whipped, but he thinks it’s reasonably so. 

If being completely and utterly infatuated with someone as kind, brilliant, and deserving of love as Will Byers was a crime, Mike figured he would be pretty high on the FBI’s Most Wanted list. 

And honestly? Totally worth it. 

Will slowly pulled back, much to Mike’s very vocal protest with him letting out an indignant noise that meant something along the lines of hey and rude, as Will turned away to clean up his supplies like he hadn’t just dismantled Mike Wheeler at a molecular level.

Will grabbed a handful of paintbrushes, and crossed into the kitchen, most likely with the intent of washing them off before the paint had the chance to solidify.  

Meanwhile, Mike stayed exactly where he was. Essentially paralyzed by the absence of warmth where Will’s lips used to be. 

Speak of the devil. 

“Hey Romeo,” Will called over his shoulder, far too casual for anyone who held as power as he did over Mike Wheeler, “can you bring the empty coffee cup over here so I can wash it?” 

There was a pause. 

Mike blinked once.

Twice. 

Oh. Oh. 

So that’s how it was going to be.

Will’s voice was warm, teasing, and unmistakably pleased with himself. But it snapped him out of his post-kiss paralysis, so he was a little grateful. 

All though, his gratitude did not stop him from letting out a loud scoff, because dignity mattered, as he bent down to grab the abandoned mug from the coffee table. The ceramic was cold against his palm, grounding him just enough to walk again like a normal person. 

He padded into the kitchen, stopping directly behind Will. 

“Wow. Okay. So that’s it?” Mike said, genuinely wounded. “That’s all I get?” 

This was not a joke, lack of kisses was a very serious relationship concern. And Will knew this, he knew how important these kinds of things were to Mike.

But regardless of all these facts, Will laughed. He actually laughed at him. 

Mike felt betrayed, but he couldn’t keep the beginnings of a smile off his face for long. On account of how much he loved the sound of Will’s laugh. 

“Mike.” Will said, albeit only exasperated in tone alone. They both knew better than to believe this was anything less than a front. 

Still, Mike narrowed his eyes in a way that was reminiscent of a hardcore strategist combating in an overly harsh game of chess.  

Two can play at that game, Mike thought. 

Before Will could turn back around, Mike slipped his arms around his waist and spun  him so quickly his back bumped gently against the edge of the sink. 

“There,” Mike announced, smug and extremely proud of himself. “Problem solved.” 

Will startled for exactly a second, before immediately relaxing into the hold, hands instinctively finding Mike’s shoulders. Fingers curling into soft fabric.

 “You’re a literal child sometimes, I hope you know that.” But his voice was soft, free of any malaise the words could potentially contain. 

Mike grinned, helplessly. “And yet you’re still here.” 

Will sighed, rolling his eyes so dramatically Broadway might call any minute.“Sadly.”

Yet, Will still leaned, and this time Mike met him halfway. 

This kiss was much slower, but filled with just the same amount of love and passion. Will’s hands stayed anchored on Mike’s shoulder, while Mike’s moved along his body. Traveling across his back, then slowly grasping the back of his neck. 

Mike thought, distantly, that it was moments like these that made everything worth it.

All of it. All the judgment, all the lies. The sideways looks they’d gotten in public when they were younger and used to hold hands at school. Before they were taught it was supposedly wrong. The monsters, otherworldly with heads shaped like flowers filled with teeth. Or everyday civilians such as Will’s bullshit excuse of a father growing up. Mike's jaw tightened at the thought, even all these years later.  

They’ve fought it all, and somehow came out stronger on the other side. Together.

And it’s also perfect moments like these that made Mike wonder why it had taken them so long to get here. 

Which, he now knows was mainly due to his own stupidity and award-winning obliviousness. But they also grew up in a town that told them being who they were was wrong and something to be ashamed of. So all in all it’s a miracle they ever sorted their shit out. 

That thought made Mike smile.

Then, abruptly, it didn’t. 

Because now that he thought about it, how they had crossed that invisible line between best friends to this, his mind came up black. 

That’s…strange. 

Surely he should remember. A first conversation. A first kiss. Some kind of moment that changed everything. It’s not like—

But Mike was quickly snapped out of his thoughts once more by Will’s voice. 

“You okay?” He asked, brows pulling together in that painfully familiar way they did whenever he was worried. God, even that was perfect. Too perfect.

Mike blinked, disoriented.“What—? Oh yeah, I’m fine. Why?” He asked, and just like that, Mike couldn’t even remember what he was thinking about a few seconds prior. It was like something forcefully pushed all the thoughts out of his mind. 

Will studied him for a second longer than necessary, eyes searching face to try and find something. But whatever he was looking for, he didn’t detect. 

“It was nothing. You just… spaced out for a second.” Will quickly shook his head, the grin quickly returning to his face.

“Did I?” Mike rubbed the back of his neck, trying to shake off the lingering unease. “Sorry. Guess I’m more tired than I thought.” 

“Probably,” Will said lightly, already turning back towards the counter. “But seriously, I should start on dinner before it gets too late.” 

He gestured towards the sink with his elbow. “Could you finish cleaning my paintbrushes for me?”

Mike nodded, stepping forward without another word. He let Will pass him by and turned to the sink, hands moving on autopilot as he started washing whatever was left in there. He wasn’t really paying attention to what he was doing, one moment he was standing there washing dishes and the next? They were sitting at the small dinner table. Two bowls of microwaved noodles set in front of them. 

They were both shit at cooking, but at least Will had never blown up a microwave.

“Huh, very gourmet,” Mike mused, trying for his usual teasing tone, to bring back a sense of normalcy. In return, his eyes lingered on Will longer than he meant them to. 

Will flushed immediately, although Mike wasn’t sure if that was due to the mockery of his cooking skills or his eyes burning holes into the other boy’s skin. “Shut up.” He mumbled, but Mike could hear the laugh threatening to escape. 

And just like that, they fell back into the easy rhythm of their usual conversation. 

Will talked about work at the animation studio, about deadlines and color tests and how bizarre it still felt to be paid to do something he loved so much. Then, he started talking about the mural he was commissioned to paint for the office, as head animator. 

“They want it in the main hallway,” Will said, gesturing with his fork. “ So it gets a lot of light. Which is good, but also kind of terrifying.” 

“Why terrifying?” Mike asked, genuinely curious. Truth be told he knew relatively nothing about art. Only the information that Will has told him. 

Will shrugged, eyes distant for a second. “Because murals fade.” He eventually said. “The sun bleaches them out over time. You have to plan for the future, like, what it will look like in a few years. Not just when it’s finished." He stuffed another bite of noodles in his mouth, “But, I guess it’s fitting. Beauty, by nature, is terrifying.” 

Mike nodded absently, watching the way Will’s hands moved as he spoke. He could feel the other boy’s excitement from the other side of the table. 

“And the colors matter more than people think,” he continued. “Like white paint. It’s almost never actually white. Usually it has a bit of blue in it, or yellow. If it’s too pure or perfect-looking it feels wrong.” 

When Will talked about things he loved, his entire being lit up. His eyes brightened, his voice grew more animated, his passion radiated. 

Mike thought it was beautiful. 

Mike thought Will was beautiful. 

“And you don't really notice anything is wrong unless you’re looking for it,” Will finished, glancing up, but then paused. His brows furrowed again, that familiar worry threading through his gaze. “Mike?”

The boy in question blinked. “What?”

“Are you listening?” Will asked. He wasn’t annoyed at all, just curious, and naturally concerned. 

Mike hesitated for a second, then laughed softly, a little embarrassed. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. I mean, mostly. I just…got a little distracted.” 

Will tilted his head. “By what?”

Mike met his eyes, a slight red hue to his cheeks. “You.” 

Will face flushed instantly. A rose color bloomed across his skin. “Mike–” 

“I’m serious,”  Mike said quickly, leaning forward slightly across the table. “You just, when you talk like that? It’s kind of hard not to stare.”

Will ducked his head, smiling despite himself. “You’re ridiculous.” 

“Maybe,” Mike pondered, still watching him. “But I’m not wrong.”

Dinner was relatively uneventful after that. Mike rambled on about his day, the book signing and how the line had been wrapped halfway around the store. About how surreal it still felt to hear that all these people enjoyed his work. Will listened as intently, as he always did, chin propped in hand, eyes soft. 

“I still can’t believe this is our reality,” Will said at one point, shaking his head. “Your childhood dream actually came true, huh?”

Mike nodded, ducking his head so Will wouldn’t see how hard he was smiling. “More than you’d ever know.”

They cleaned up together after that, working like a well-oiled machine. One washes, one dries; one clears, one puts away. 

Later, Mike plopped onto the couch, notepad balanced on his knees while mindlessly twirling his pen between his fingers, answering a few fan letters. Will returned to his painting, brush moving quietly across the canvas. They didn’t talk much then; they didn’t need to. 

By the time Mike finally set his pen down, it was a little after nine. He left his notepad on the nearby coffee table and let out a relieved sigh. Will glanced up, hazel eyes caught in the soft glow of the lamp. “Done?” 

“Done,” Mike said. “I’m officially off the clock.”

Will nodded and carefully covered his painting back up, then cleaned his supplies once more. 

While he did that, Mike dug around the cabinet and eventually came up with two VHS tapes.“Okay, serious question. Back To The Future, or The Empire Strikes Back?” 

“Hmm,” Will muttered, tilting his head in a gesture similar to that of a cat. “Well, we watched Empire last week. And it’s been a while since we’ve seen the wonders of the Flux Capacitor in action.”

Mike sighed dramatically, “I knew you were going to say that.”

“So,” Will added, smiling, “fire it up.” 

If it were anyone else, Mike certainly would have argued. But he just couldn’t say no to Will Byers. 

They settled onto the couch together, Will immediately leaned into Mike’s side, head resting on his shoulder. Mike threw an arm around him, keeping them in place.

The opening sequence started to play, with all the clocks ticking. 

Mike glanced down at Will, who was already fully engulfed in the film, his eyes reflecting the images on screen. He wore an enchanting smile that one would only naturally yearn to kiss again. 

And for a second, Mike forgot how to breathe. 

This wasn’t the first time the hazel-eyed boy knocked the air out of his lungs, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. 

If someone were to ask Mike Wheeler when he fell in love with Will Byers, he honestly wouldn’t know what to tell them. There wasn’t one specific moment that made him become instantly infatuated with the boy. 

Maybe a part of him always has been. But the root of it all, was just… everything.

It was Will waiting for him after school. Will giving him drawings that one might find trivial,  but Mike wholeheartedly believed they were worth more than anything created by Picasso. Will, always up for late-night movie marathons, or just spending entire afternoons sprawled on the floor with comics, basking in the other’s presence. Will being right by his side through all the Upside Down bullshit, and Mike returning the favor.

And the way Will made it clear that he needed Mike. That he always had, and always will. 

All those moments compiled together into this behemoth snowball, until the weight got too heavy and an avalanche occurred. 

It felt like waking up and realizing the thing you’d been searching for your entire life had been there the whole time. You’d just finally opened your eyes. 

Mike shifted slightly, adjusting his arm around Will’s shoulders, pulling him a little closer. Will made a small half-asleep noise of acknowledgment, but stayed tucked right up next to the raven haired boy, like that was where he belonged. 

Mike’s chest tightened. 

One thought seemed to come to the forefront of his mind. This all felt almost too perfect, too safe. And Mike, despite himself, knew better to trust things that went this well for them.

For now though, he pushed it down. He pushed it all down. Instead, turning his head to press a kiss to the top of Will’s temple.

He used to dream of moments like this, he remembered. Filled with peace and solace. So why ruin it now with paranoia. Hell, if this was a dream, Mike’s pretty damn sure he’d never want to wake up. 

Ring! Ring!

Mike didn’t remember falling asleep. 

One moment, Doc Brown was dangling off the clock tower, screaming about the future and lightning and something definitely not OSHA approved. Then the next he knew his eyes felt heavy, and he was slowly drifting in and out of consciousness. 

Well, at least he was until something almost sent him into cardiac arrest. 

Will’s breath was still steady against his chest. Okay. Good. That was good, at least that God-awful ringing didn’t disturb him.

Speaking of which…What was that?

Mike stared up at the dark ceiling, listening. Now that he was a little more awake and a little more aware, he realized that it was coming from their phone. Which, rude. Calling this late is already criminal. 

Even though most of his friends know he’d probably be awake, they should also know better than to call during his designated “Will Time”. 

Normally, he would’ve just let it ring. 

If it was important, they’d call back.

But for some reason, he felt something beckoning him to answer the call. A little voice that somewhat sounded like Will if he was very, very far away. 

And let’s be real, it was only inevitable that one day Dustin Henderson’s insistent mantra about curiosity doors would get to his head. 

“Goddammit,” he muttered. 

Carefully as humanly possible, Mike shifted slowly off the couch. He eased Will’s head off his shoulder onto a soft pillow. Then, he grabbed a blanket draped off the back of their couch and tucked it around his sleeping form. 

It was moments like these that made Mike grateful Will slept like the dead. 

“I’ll be right back,” he murmured, pressing a quick kiss to Will’s forehead. He knew the other boy couldn’t hear him, but it still felt important to say.

Mike stood and turned towards their bedroom door, where their phone was kept. Then, immediately thought of ways to arm himself. 

Which, yes, was stupid. It was literally just a phone call. Phones didn’t murder people. But what if it’s a psycho killer on the other line saying something vague and cryptic. Like he wanted to know the name of the guy he’d been stalking for the past week, or something. They live in New York after all. 

Actually, that would make a decent premise for a book, or movie. Not really his genre of expertise but–

Focus, Michael. 

The running echoed again, still persistent as ever. 

Quickly, Mike spun around scanning the living room for anything remotely defensive, and landed on a lamp balanced on one of their shelves. Not ideal, but what can he say? Old habits die hard. 

Lamp raised to the sky and courage dwindling, Mike slowly stepped into the bedroom.

The phone sat on the nightstand.

Receiver still vibrating slightly with each ring. 

Mike relaxed a fraction, then went to reach for it. But… the ringing stopped.

Oh well, sucks for them. That’s what they get for calling in the middle of the night.

Satisfied, Mike turned back toward the door, more than ready to return to Will, snuggle in his warm embrace and wake up tomorrow morning to his beautiful face–

And froze.

Eleven stood directly behind him. 

“Holy fucking shit!”

If it were anyone else Mike was just confronted by, the next sound they’d hear would be the lamp shade breaking into a million fragments on the ground due to his panicked outburst.

But El just caught it mid air, so it levitated for a second, then was slowly lowered to the ground. Almost like she expected that reaction. 

Which, yeah. she definitely had. After all these years, she knows him fairly well. Also, they literally dated. For a while. At least until they both realized how horrible they really were together. 

Never mind all that complicated relationship drama, not like any of that mattered now anyways.

What really matters, is what the hell just happened? 

He pressed a hand to his chest, heart trying to escape through his rib cage. 

“Oh my God,” he panted. “Jesus Christ, El. You scared the shit out of me. W-what the hell are you doing here?!”

This doesn’t make sense. Why was she right in front of him? She didn’t have a key to the apartment. Let alone a form of transpiration to get to New York. Which are both not the most pressing issues with what was currently happening, but Mike Wheeler tends to lose all rational thoughts when he’s anxious. It’s a gift, really. 

“We don’t have time,” she said instead, completely ignoring all his questions. 

That just made Mike even more confused. “W-What do you mean by that…?”

She’d always spoken in a cryptic, vague way. So there was still a chance this was all just some huge misunderstanding.

But her expression remained grim. “He will be here soon.” She stepped forward. 

The air felt tighter somehow, just like his heart. 

“This isn’t real, Mike.” 

Now that felt like a physical blow to the stomach. 

“What?” His voice cracked no matter how despite how he tried to stop it. 

What did she mean it wasn’t real? All of it? All the monsters? All their adventures? His whole life? Or just his current life with Will? Practically the happiest he’s ever been. 

At the thought, his eyes flickered past her, back toward the living room. Toward the couch. Toward Will, curled up exactly where Mike left him. He looked so content, so at peace. How could that be fake? 

“No.” He said, taking a step back, shaking his head. “What? No that’s not—this, this is my life.” 

El didn’t hesitate. 

“You haven’t lived it,” she said.

That hit harder than it should have. 

Because a large part of him knew she was right, but that didn’t mean he had to accept it. 

“No,” Mike said again, the word coming out rougher this time. “You’re wrong.” He shook his head. “He wouldn’t–he wouldn’t fake this, right? That would be too…too damn cruel.” 

The words tangled in his throat. 

After all they’ve been through? After Mike had finally let himself believe that he’d earned something good. That they could have a happily ever after. 

The thought of having that stripped away was almost too much to bear. 

But Venca doesn’t just do things to be cruel. No, he moves his pawns with a purpose unbeknownst to the other players. 

Mike swallowed, his throat tight. “This-this doesn’t make sense,” he said, more to himself than to El. “Why would he give me this?” His voice cracked again on that last word. The implication clear as day. “Why not just–” he made a vague, helpless gesture. “The usual stuff. Nightmares or nosebleeds?” 

El's face softened a tad with sorrow. “Because those tactics don’t work on any of us anymore.” 

That stopped him in his tracks.

“We have all learned what to expect. When to fight back,” she continued. “We do not associate him with hope, we associate fear. And he knew that would get to you more. He wants you to stay.”

Mike doesn’t answer right away. 

He keeps staring past Eleven, toward the living room. Maybe if he held on a little longer, he could memorize this life into his system. Maybe if he held on a little longer, he wouldn’t have to leave. 

El watched him carefully, and his expression was hard to decipher. If he didn’t know better, he would say that she was looking at him with pity. But that obviously wasn’t the case, she never pitied anyone. 

That fact aside, she was still one of the kindest people he’s ever met. She tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, most of the time. 

“Mike,” she said softly. “This isn’t like one of your campaigns. You can’t write the ending.” 

She stood right in front of him now. Her hand lifted to rest against his cheek in that converting gesture she’s mastered over the years. 

“You’re the center of our mission,” she continued. “Will and I are his biggest threats. So in order to win, he must take out our–”

“Heart.” Mike finished, his voice barely above a whisper. 

And that’s when it hit him. 

Vecna had been listening.

Not just since he’d been in the mindscape, no. He’s been here since the beginning. 

Every single day, every single moment, ever since that November night back in 83’. Vecna had been watching. Lurking in the shadows. 

This trap hadn’t been built overnight. No, it had been meticulously calculated over the span of years. Built brick after brick by hand, re-contextualizing everything Mike had ever known. 

Venca knew everything. 

He knew how horribly he treated Will two years ago. He knew that Mike never loved Eleven the way he was supposed to, no matter how hard he tried. He knew about that fight in the rain. The way Mike had let him walk away. Those agonizing words that still kept Mike up at night. 

He knew about the Goddamn painting. 

 He knew about every time Mike pleaded, 

begged to be something else. For him not to be like this. For him to be normal.  For him not to be so stupid, and-and wrong, and afraid. 

But… he’d been there for the good things too. 

When Mike told Will he was a sorcerer, that he was the magic they needed. 

When Will said he could never join another party without him. And when Mike told him that Hawkins just wasn’t the same when he was gone.

 When, in that freezing basement on Halloween night, they promised to go crazy together.

When Will told him the truth, against all odds. Even though he didn’t have to. Even if it terrified him. Because Will couldn’t lie to Mike. Even if he tried. 

And they’d always know that.

But now, Mike realized Vecna had known it too. 

He knew all these things, and he exploited them, used his love as a leverage. And he would continue to do so if they didn’t put a stop to it. 

But before Mike could voice his opinion, a realization crossed his mind that stopped him dead in his tracks. 

This perfect future, it really was just Will. 

And El saw that. 

Oh, fuck. 

“El,” he said quietly, and there was something fragile in his voice now. “I-I didn’t-”

She was already shaking her head. 

“I know,” she said. 

That made Mike stop in his tracks. 

He stared at her, heart pounding, his mind spiraling to the worst places. 

She…knows? Knew what exactly? 

She knows he’s broken. Knows there’s something wrong with him. That he’s disgusting and perverted for ever thinking this way. For falling love with–with someone who’s practically her Goddamn brother. And his straight best friend on top of that, which makes all these thoughts a million times worse.

Mike felt like he might be sick. 

“I didn’t mean to,” he rushed out, because he had to say something. Anything. “I swear, El, I didn’t– I never wanted to hurt you. I thought if I just–if I tried harder, I could learn to love you the way I should. Because–because you’re so, so good El. You’re so, so good.” His voice cracked. “And you didn’t deserve any of my bullshit, y-you didn’t–” 

He took a step back, hoping distance would make this less damning. 

“I’m sorry, El. I’m, I’m so sorry you had to go through any of that. I’m sorry that I’m so disgusting. I’m sorry that I’m such a mis–a fucking mistake. I’m–”

“It’s okay,” El interrupted.

Her hand came up again, steady this time, pressing flat against his chest, right over his heart. 

“Just breathe,” she said. 

Mike hadn’t realized how ragged his breaths had gotten. Hell, he was practically having a fucking panic attack. How humiliating was that? 

Still, he sucked in a shaky breath, then another. Trying to match the example El was setting, although hers were quite exaggerated. 

After a few moments, he was no longer on the verge of a mental breakdown. Which was progress, and apparently enough for El to stop leading an example in favor of speaking up instead. 

“I’m not angry,” El said quietly. 

He laughed once, broken and fragile. The air was barely there. “You should be.” 

“I’m not,” she repeated. Firmer this time.

She searched his face, eyes sharp, boring into his soul. 

“You did not truck me,” she said. “You did not use me. You were scared. You were just following what mouthbreaths told you to do.”

Mike shook his head. “That doesn’t make it okay.”

“No,” El agreed. “But it makes you human.”

That hit hard.

“I love you,” she continued. “And you love me.” A pause. “Just not in the way we thought.”

She lifted her head so she could look him dead in the eyes. So he would know that she didn’t blame him for any of this, that she was not mad. That she didn’t think of him differently after knowing the truth. After knowing–

“Not in the way you love him.” She finished, her eyes the softest he’d ever seen them. 

Mike nodded, because there really wasn’t anything else he could do. 

“You love him,” She repeated, “And he loves you.” 

His breath caught for a moment, “You don’t know that.” 

El gave him a look, a look so charged and filled with meaning, so there was no room for misinterpretation. “I do.”

Mike didn’t know what to say to that. He wanted to believe El, but it just didn’t seem possible. 

The silence stretched on, till El spoke. “I am out of time,” she said. 

And this time Mike understood exactly what she meant.

“But please know this,” she continued, her voice softer now. “I am not mad. I never was.” She lifted her hand, thumb brushing gently beneath his eye, wiping away the tear he hadn’t realized had fallen. 

I love you,” she said. “No matter what.”

Mike’s breath hitched. 

 “And so does Will,” El added. “He needs you to wake up. He needs you to fight. We all do.” 

The light flickered violently. 

El’s form began to glitch at the edges. 

“He’s here,” she whispered.

Then, she was gone. 

The room shifted into darkness for a moment, then a cloud of shadows where she once was. 

And, when the shadow settled.

Vecna stood in her place.

“Hello, Michael.” 

—

Will hadn’t moved in five hours. 

Ever since Hopper carried Mike’s limp body into the center of WSQK, Will hadn’t moved an inch.

He sat in a chair, pulled right next to the couch that the raven haired boy was laid across. He was pale and unmoving. Every few minutes, Will would check his pulse, pressing two fingers to Mike’s wrist. Just to find that it was weak, but steady.

Will’s spine was rigid, there wasn’t a relaxed bone in his entire body. His knee was bouncing with nervous energy, and every once in a while it would bump against the couch, startling him. 

The lights were too bright. 

The music was too loud.

Robin, bless her heart, thought it would be a good idea to have a tape play in the background just in case that could bring Mike back. They were desperate, after all. So cue Smalltown Boy by Bronski Beats for the hundredth time.

The song played on loop, again and again. The opening synth cut through every few minutes. Will barely heard it anymore. 

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes never leaving Mike’s face.

“Please,” he whispered, “Please wake up.” 

A single tear slid down his cheek, falling slowly onto the couch with a plop. 

Robin sat on the floor beside him, back against the couch. She’d been there for about an hour. Everyone decided to split up, and Robin didn’t think it was a good idea to leave Will alone. 

Joyce was also here, in the room next door. Watching over El as she emerged herself in the sensory deprivation tank. Searching the void for any hope of where Mike might be. 

That could usually take hours. They didn’t have many hours left. 

“You’re doing really well,” Robin said after a little while. She was trying to be comforting, although they both knew that was not her strong suit. Will might have been more appreciative if he was actually checked into the conversation. 

He still nodded, but he didn’t look at her. 

His fingers were now curled into the fabric of the couch, knuckles white. He hadn’t realized he was gripping so hard until his hand started to ache. He lost his hold, then reached out instead, brushing his thumb against Mike’s wrist again.

Still there. 

Robin shifted. “He’s stable, right? I mean, when Vickie came in here earlier to check she said he seemed fine. And she’s, like, super knowledgeable on that kind of stuff. Especially after volunteering with the hospital for two years. A-actually you know what? I should probably not be talking about my, you know, when you're…um-he, um, actually I think I’m just going to stop talking.”

Will didn’t hear any of it. 

Robin cleared her throat. “Okay, so I’m a liar. But, if you need to stand, you should. You should stretch, or eat something. Definitely drink. Coffee? Water? Honestly I know Murray’s probably got some Vodka laying around here somewhere which,” she lifted her hands in a defensive gesture. “I’m not supporting under-aged drinking right now. But if you were to take a sip, I would judge. For all we know dehydration is what caused Little-Wheeler to reach his current state.” She said the last part was quieter, Will could tell she regretted it halfway through.

Will finally lifted his eyes to her. The words all blurred together. Robin’s voice, though meant to be comforting, did no such thing. He was just too overwhelmed right now. 

His eyes snapped back to Mike, as they always do. 

Will didn’t know how much time passed between that, and the sound of the door opening, but his head looked up faster than what he thought was humanly possible. 

El stepped out, wet hair plastered to her shoulders, towel draped around her. She didn’t need the tub to track people, but since Vecna’s mindscape was such a harsh prison, and they wanted to up their chances of success as much as possible, the tank it was. 

Her gaze swept the room before landing on Will. He felt, instantly, like he’d been punched in the chest. 

“Did–did you find him?” Will asked before he could stop himself, voice hoarse, almost pleading.

El’s lips pressing into a thin line. Her expression was impossible to read.

“Yes,” she finally said, but it wasn’t the relief Will was expecting. Instead it filled him with a renowned sense of dread. “But it was not enough.”

Will’s stomach dropped. 

“Not enough?” His voice was tighter than he realized, his hands were curled into fists on his lap. “Then…then what do we do?”

El stepped closer. Her eyes did not leave his. It was grounding, but he felt extremely exposed at the same time. 

“You,” she said simply. “You’re the one who can bring him back.”

Will’s mouth went dry. “Me? El, what are you talking about? I-I don't even know how–”

“You do,” El interrupted. “You have always had a connection. To both Mike, and Vecna. You can go where I can not.” She smiled softly. “You’re his anchor, Will. If you reach into the void, you’ll find him. You’ll bring him home.”

Will shook his head, panic clawing up his throat. “El, I’m not ready. I’ve never even tried anything like that before. I can’t–what if I fail?”

El’s hand lifted, hovering near his shoulder. Her voice softened, but there was no mistaking the certainty behind it. “You can’t think like that. You’re not going in blind. He’s waiting, and he trusts you. You’re his sorcerer.” 

Robin shifted again, clearly about to say something, but El’s gaze cut her off. 

Will’s eyes fell back to Mike, lying so still and pale on the couch. The thought of losing him was unbearable. His heart physically ached with the weight that made him feel as though he could breathe. 

“I… I’ll do it,” Will finally said, voice barely above a whisper, but determined. “I’ll go, I’ll bring him back.”

—

Mike’s stomach sank at the sight of the figure before him.

This was only his second time laying eyes on Venca. The first being back at the MAC-Z a couple days prior. 

And let’s just say, in those few days he had not gotten any friendlier. 

“I’m not here for you,” Mike said, voice shaky. “I’m not… I don’t have to listen to anything you say. You can’t…”

Venca’s smile was slow and deliberate, which in turn made it all the more terrifying. “Oh but I can. Everything you’ve ever done, Micheal. Every mistake. I’ve seen it all. I’ve seen how that twisted brain of yours works. How it hurts the ones you supposedly care about.”

Mike’s hands clenched at his sides. “I… I didn’t mean-” 

“No you didn’t,” Venca interrupted, tilting his head as if to mock him. “But intention doesn’t erase consequence. Don’t you understand, Micheal? Do you feel the weight of all you’ve done?”

Mike shook his head, heart hammering. “ I didn’t mean to hurt him! I didn’t–Will,” his voice broke. “I didn’t mean to hurt Will.”

“Didn’t mean to,” Vecna repeated, voice curling with venom. “But you did, didn’t you? Every time you turned away. Every time you let him walk home alone. Every selfish, fettished thought you’ve had about him. You’ve left him over and over again. Bleeding from your mistakes.”

Mike’s knees threatened to give out. “I was just…I didn’t know how to…” his words were failing him. “I don’t know how to fix it!”

Vecna glided closer, the shadows moving with him. Slowly enveloping them in a cloud of smoke, but Mike didn’t notice. “Fix it? You had every chance, Micheal. And yet you failed, over and over again. To think you claim to love him, then treat him like this.”

Suddenly, Mike felt like he was falling. 

There was no ground beneath his feet, no air in his lungs. Just darkness. So, so much darkness. 

Until, there was color. 

Blinding blue and yellow fluorescent lights on the ceiling panels. Music thumped in the background as teenagers laughed and skated with one another.

Rink-O-Mania. 

Mike staggered, barely keeping his footing as the world snapped into focus.

But when the atmosphere dawned on him, his chest tightened.

Mike’s gaze dragged unwillingly across the rink, pulled to a little corner where a younger version of himself stood. Across from him, Will.

They were facing each other, voices raised just enough to not draw attention but sharp enough to sting. Will’s shoulders were tense, his face was twisted into this look of complete aggravation, despair, and hopelessness. And his eyes were shining in that way they do when he was trying not to cry. 

He remembered this day fairly well. It was spring break 1986 and Mike had just gotten to see Will and Eleven for the first time in six months. El was extremely clingy the entire day, and Will was unreasonably pissed. One thing led to another, and the night ended with Eleven being taken into federal custody the next morning, and Will was even more aggravated with him than before. 

“Do you remember this day,” Venca asked calmly. 

Mike gritted his teeth. “Yes.”

“But do you really?” Venca asked again, something about his tone threw Mike off. “Now tell me, Michael, what was the date your flight was scheduled to Lenora Hills?” 

This question caught him off guard. Largely due to the sheer randomness of its nature. But he tried to conjure up an answer regardless. “I’m not sure. March…22nd I thin-”

Holy Shit. 

Mike froze. His stomach dropped, chest tightening with a mix of disbelief and shame. March 22nd was Will’s birthday. Mike had forgotten Will’s birthday. 

Even worse, Mike had treated Will like that on his literal birthday. Holy shit, he’s a horrible person. 

Venca didn’t say anything, he just watched as the realization hit Mike’s face, and then it was dark again. 

This time, they reemerged into the light much faster, but that almost meant Mike recognized what was happening much faster as well. 

The summer of 85’ was without a doubt the worst of Mike’s life. Being trapped in government quarantine was better. 

Mike already knew exactly how this argument would play out. He didn’t have to see the look on Will’s face to understand.

“It’s a cool campaign, it’s really cool,” Mike had said, trying to justify himself. “We’re just not in the mood right now.”

“Yeah, Mike. That's the problem, you guys are never in the mood anymore. You’re ruining our party.” Will snapped, he never did that. 

“That’s just not true”

This exact conversation had played back through Mike’s mind more times than he could count. 

“Really? Where’s Dustin right now? See, you don’t know and you don’t even care, and obviously he doesn’t either, and I don’t blame him. You’re destroying everything, and for what? So you can swap spit with some stupid girl.”

“El’s not stupid. It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!”

Mike honest to God thought he was going to puke right in the mindscape. 

Over two years later it still sounded just as bad, maybe even worse. 

Vecna’s voice slithered around him, it was horribly venomous. “Do you remember this, Micheal? The pain you caused. The helplessness you’ve left him with. Can you ever do anything right with him?”

Mike was beginning to ask himself the same thing. 

They were falling against, fast and full force. Until they crashed right back where most of this began. 

November 6th, 1983.

“It was a seven.” Little Will’s voice cut through the night. So small and naive. “The roll, it was a seven. The demogorgon, It got me.” He threw his left leg over his bike. “See you tomorrow!”

The boy pedaled off into the night, disappearing around the corner with a way. 

Both past and present Mike watched him go.

“I don’t get it,” Mike said eventually. “How is this a bad memory? How did I let Will down here?” 

It must have been a hilarious question, because for the first time, ever, Mike heard Venca let out a low chuckle.

“Oh Michael," he said, almost fond. “This was the first time you ever let him down.”

Mike stiffened. 

“Will counted on you, trust you,” Vecna continued, circling him. “You were his safe space. Yet, you let him ride off all alone. Into the dark.” 

Mike swallowed. “He rode home all the time. I didn’t–I couldn’t have know–”

“But you did know,” Vecna cut in smoothly. “You knew it was late. You knew what people said about him, what would happen when the lights go out. You knew he wanted you to ask him to stay.” His voice sharpened. “You just didn’t.”

Mike’s vision blurred as the scene around them shifted, replaying the moment from another angle. Will hesitating for half a second longer than Mike remembered. Waiting. Hoping. 

“Why didn’t you walk him home? You knew he lived on the other side of town, and you let make that journey alone?” 

Mike’s hands curled into fist. “I was twelve.”

“So was he,” Vecan replied coldly. Alone. And he believed you would protect him.” 

The air around them thickened, the sky darkened, shadows stretched unnaturally across the street. 

“And we both know what happened next.” 

The world tore open. 

The streets dissolved beneath Mike’s feet, replaced by something rotten and purplish-blue. Vines pulsed under where concrete once was. The air was damp, heavy with decay. It looked like an alternate dimension of Hawkins. 

The Upside Down.

Mike staggered as the scene sharpened, and his stomach dropped when he saw him.

Little Will.

He was younger than he had been in years, terrified, back pressed against the splintered wall of Castle Byers. His breath came in ragged gasps, hands shaking violently. 

“Run,” Mike whispered hoarsely, though he knew Will couldn’t hear him. 

The demogorgon scream split the air. 

The scene switched to Will bolting through the forest, shotgun in hand as he ran fast. Faster than he should have had to. 

In a last ditch effort, he even climbed a tree to stay alive. Jumping to the next, but his backpack getting caught midair. 

“Hold on, hold on.” Mike whispered, though he knew it was no use.

The strap slipped, and Will fell. 

He slammed against the ground, and then he was gone. 

Vecna watched it all with interest. A menacing eye of destruction. 

“This is where the chain began,” Vecna said calmly. “You’re neglected, you’re mistake.” 

The scene fractured, switching between the slides of this terrible View-Master. 

Barb, yanked backwards into the pool. Fingers scraping uselessly against the tile screaming for help, just for no one to come. 

Bob, defenseless, smiling one second, gone the next.  The demo-dog pounced, ripping him to shreds while Joyce watched, powerless. 

Billy, impaled by the Mindflayer's flesh, choking as Max screamed his name, forced to watch him die right in front of her eyes. 

Chrissy.

 Fred.

Patrick.

Max. 

Floating in the air, bones snapping with an awful, rattling crack!

Eddie, blood soaking through his jacket as the bats tore into him, Dustin sobbing, begging him to stay. 

“Enough!” Mike shouted, clutching his head to try and physically block out the images, but they just kept coming. His chest burned, breath coming fast and shallow. “Stop-please–”

Vecna stepped closer, slow and agonizing. 

“All of them,” he said. “Connected by a single thread.” His voice lowered, almost gentle. “And it’s all your fault.”

Mike shook his head violently. “You don’t know that.”

“Oh, but I do,” Vecna replied. “I know everything. I’ve watched it all with my own two eyes.”

The world shifted again, darkness thickened. Vines crept along the ground, curling around Mike’s ankles, rooting him in place. 

“You carry their deaths,” Vecna continued. “All those tragedies, and many more.” A pause. “More to come.” 

The shadows ahead of them peeled back. 

Another vision bloomed into existence. 

But this one…this one hadn’t happened yet. 

Will stood in the middle of everything. Breath hitching, eyes wide with terror. His hands were slick with blood, clutching at nothing. Reaching out into the dark. 

“Mike!” Will screamed.

The sound ripped straight through him. 

Mike thrashed against the vines. “No, no, no, no, stop-!”

Venca stepped into the scene. Almighty, all powerful. 

Will tried to back away. He tripped. Fell hard onto the ground, scrambling uselessly as Venca loomed over him.

“Please,” Will sobbed, voice cracking. “Please! I don’t-Mike! Mike-”

Venca silenced him with a hand to the face. 

Mike couldn’t breathe. 

He couldn’t look away. 

Venca leaned closer to Will, fingers tightening, and Will’s scream tore itself apart. Raw, blood curdling. His body arched violently, hand clawing aimlessly at thin air. 

The scream cut off into a chocked, broken sound, and when Vecna stepped back, Will collapsed to the ground, shaking. One side of his face was covered with blood, completely mutated. Almost unrecognizable. 

Vecna turned slowly toward Mike.

“This,” he gestured to Will’s broken form, “is what happens next.”

Mike was sobbing now. Full, ugly sobs he couldn’t stop. 

“Don’t,” he pleaded. “Please. Take me. Take me instead. Just don’t-don’t hurt him-”

Venca knelt in front of him. His fingers lifted Mike’s chin, forcing him to meet his gaze.

“You see?” he murmured. “No matter what you do…he pays the price.” 

The vision of Will flickered again, him crying out, reaching for Mike, who was always just out of reach.

The vines tightened, suffocating.

“You hurt him, over and over again.”
Mike shook his head violently, breath stuttering out of his chest. A broken sound tore through his throat. 

“That’s not true,” he gasped. “I-I love him. Please-”

“Oh?” Vecna tilted his head mockingly. “You love him,” he echoed, amused.

The vines crept higher, curling tiger around Mike’s arms, his ribs, resting near his heart. 

“Could have fooled me.” 

Mike strained against them, panic flooding his system. “Please, I didn’t mean to,” he said desperately. “I didn’t mean anything. I was scared, I didn’t know how to-” 

“Yes,” Vecna interrupted smoothly. “You were scared.”

He circled Mike slowly, shadows trailing behind in his wake.

“And fear,” Vecna continued, “has always been your favorite excuse.”

The vines constricted again, stealing more air.

“You hurt him when you turn away,” Vecna said.

They tightened.

“You hurt him when you lie.”

Tighter.

“You hurt him when you let fear live your life for you.”

Tighter.

“You hurt him when you pretend not to notice the way he looks at you.”

Tighter.

“And when you look at him, like you love him. And it kills you to do so.”

Mike cried out, the sound breaking in his throat. 

His vision blurred, and he could barely make out the shape of Vecna stopping in front of him. “I never wanted to make him feel like that,” he whispered. “I just…I didn’t want him to hate me.”

Vecna laughed softly. “After all you’ve done? Any sane person would hate your guts.”

He was closer now, much closer. Right in his face.

“You want him,” Vecna said plainly. “You love him. And you are ashamed of it.”

He straightened, voice hardening. 

“In your world, that kind of love is punished. Twisted. Made into something ugly.”

Vecna extended a hand.

“But here,” he said, “you don’t have to pretend. Here, you can stop hurting him.”

Mike’s breath came in shallow, uneven pulls.

“Stay,” Vecna urged. “Let him go. You’ll spare him more pain than you ever could by returning. 

The vines loosened, just enough to let the words sink. Enough so he could lift his hand. To make a deal with the devil.

“Some minds,” Vecna continued, voice dropping to a near whisper, “it turns out, simply do not belong in your world.” 

His eyes burned into Mike’s.

“They belong in mine.”

Mike went still. The vines no longer tightened. Vecna didn’t rush him. He didn’t need to.

For the first time since the visions began, Mike was allowed to think. 

He closed his eyes. 

And thought of Will. 

Really thought of him, not as a weapon Vecna used, not as the burden that Will believed he was, not as the wound he kept on reopening, but as the boy himself. The boy who laughed too hard at his dumb jokes. Who painted Mike as if he was the handsomest man to ever walk the earth. Who looked at him in this way that just made his heart skip a beat. 

A boy who had been to hell and back, both in a literal and figurative sense. Who survived a whole week in the Upside Down by himself, with Demogorgons hot on his trail. A boy who broke out of a possession, fought through right till the very end. Someone so selfless, so pure. People would call him names, people would treat him like living shit. But his heart didn’t change. Even though the world dealt him a bad hand, he never stopped being kind. 

And maybe Vecna was right.

Maybe loving Will meant hurting him.

Every time Mike hesitated, every time he chose silence. How much his heart has changed over the years. When he swore he’d always stay by Will’s side, but more often than not he fell short. 

Mike’s breath trembled. 

Back in the day, before things got complicated. Before feelings mattered, everything was perfect. Those days, it was just Mike and Will. Will and Mike. No matter what the world would throw at them, they’d face it together. Screw mouthbreaths like Troy, or James, or Lonnie. Screw them for what they thought about them, what they thought about their friendship. What they thought about Will. 

Even though some things weren’t ideal, Mike wished more than anything to go back to being like that. Back when things were simple, or at least as simple as they would be for people like them. 

But no, things can never go back. Because of Vecna. Because of the Upside Down. Because of that night, Will went missing and everything changed. 

When everyone thought that it had been a hate-crime. When everyone thought Will was taken just because of who he was. 

Mike, in all honesty, still couldn’t decide if that was true or not. 

Why had Vecna taken Will in the first place? Because he thought he was an easy target? No, that couldn’t be it. Will was one of the strongest people Mike’s ever met. It had to be that Vecna saw his potential, saw how powerful Will could become. 

If he wanted someone weak, if he wanted someone flawed. If he wanted someone worthy of being tortured in an alternate dimension, he should have taken Mike. 

That kickstarted Mike’s thoughts again.

If he stayed here, if he let Vecna keep him, then Will would be safe. Vecna wouldn’t need to leverage anymore. There would be no reason to chase him, no reason to punish Will Mike’s mistakes. 

Maybe this was what love was supposed to look like. Choosing pain so someone else didn’t have to.

Mike opened his eyes. 

Vecna watched him closely now, a slow, satisfied smile curving across his ruined face. 

“You’re beginning to understand,” Vecna said softly. “You don’t belong out there. You never did.”

Mike swallowed.

He looked at the outstretched hand.

“I just…” His voice cracked. “I don’t want to hurt him anymore.” 

Vecna’s smile widened. 

“Then stay.”

The world seemed to lean inward, the shadows thickened, the vines loosened completely. 

Mike lifted his hand. 

Just a little.

The second his fingers twitched, 

The world broke. 

The air stuttered, skipping like a scratched tape at The Squawk. Venca’s form flickered, stretching unnaturally, his voice distorting into something layered and wrong.

“No-” 

The ground beneath Mike's feet pixelated, tearing away in chunks. The darkness flashed white, then red. Then…

Mike slammed onto concrete. 

Hard. 

He gasped, lungs burning, and scrambled upright. 

Still a little disoriented from the fall, he blinked his eyes a few times. Before looking at the scene around him. 

A garage door was opened behind him, and the house attached to it?

He knew that house. 

It was his house. 

And yet, it also wasn’t?

The walls were slick with dark, veiny growths, the air was heavy and cold. But Mike could still recognize it. 

It was just upside down. 

He was in the Upside Down. 

Still a little out of it, Mike kept looking around. Eyes adjusting to the lack of life. That was, until he heard a voice. Relieved, full of emotion. 

“Mike.” 

His head snapped up. 

Will stood a few feet away. 

He immediately thought this was a setup, or a dream. Possibly a vision. Maybe Mike hit his head so hard on the fall that now he’s concussed and seeing angels. 

But when he looked again, he realized that none of those things were true. This Will was solid, breathing, eyes wide and shining in that unmistakable way that meant he was feeling everything at once. 

“Will?” Mike breathed, terrified. “What, what are you doing here?” 

Will took a shaky step forward. “I don’t have much time. El, she’s currently distracting Vecna and I’m,” he took another step forward, “I’m here for you, Mike. I’m here to bring you back.”

Mike shook his head, Vecna had really gotten to him, engraved that stupid mantra into his head. “No, no Will's, it's not safe. You need to get out, you need to save yourself.  Get out of here. Vecna’s wants me, you can live. You can go, and live a normal life. Forget about me, forget about all of this. Will–”

“I know what Vecna said.” Will interrupted, voice sharp. “I heard everything, and I’m not letting you go with him.”

Even though Will didn’t mean it too, those words made Mike’s stomach drop. 

He remembered Vecna’s words. The accusations, the truths he let out that Mike wasn’t ready to share yet. 

“Oh,” Mike whispered. His chest tightened. This wasn’t happening, there’s no way in hell this is happening.

Mike thought he was going to die right then and there. 

“God, Will, I–I’m so sorry. I didn’t want you to find out like that. I didn’t want you to find out at all. I-I-”
Mike never got to finish his sentence. 

He didn’t have to. 

Will closed the distance between them with three uneasy steps and cupped Mike’s face. Their lips connected, and it felt…

Electric. 

But just as soon as it started, the warmth was gone. 

Will pulled back, worry and fear and shame written all over his face as his eyes searched Mike’s. 

It was at that moment, Mike realized, he was in so much shock that he’d forgotten to kiss back.

And he wasn’t going to miss the chance a second time. 

Mike leaned in, and the sparks returned. 

They both melted instantly, his hands gripped the front of Will’s jacket, the other boy's hands moved from his face to his hair. 

The whole thing was magic, the entire world reacted. Vines recoiled violently, shriveling away from them like they’d been burned. All the lights started flickering, blinking in and out in tune with their heartbeats. 

And then, music.

I, I will be king…

Mike pulled back just enough to breathe, forehead resting against Will’s. “Do you hear that?” 

Will laughed shakily, eyes shining. “Yeah.”

And you, you will be queen…

The world flooded with sound and light as the song grew louder. Heroes by David Bowie, blasting through WSQK on the right side up. 

Will chuckled, wiping a tear. “Robin.”

The basement dissolved entirely. 

Mike felt himself falling again. 

Then, he jolted awake, gasping, hands clutching an empty chair. 

“Mike!” someone shouted. “He’s back, he’s back!”

Will came through the doorway in a full on sprint.

His clothes were clinging to him from the tank. His hair was plastered to his forehead, water dripping onto his collar, a thin line of blood trailing from his nose to his lip.

“Mike,” he breathed.

Mike turned at the sound of his voice.

For a split second, they just stared at each other. Neither of them trust the world enough to move.

Then, Will was there, knees hitting the floor, hands gripping Mike’s shoulders. Mike felt the warmth of his hands, the way his breath stuttered as he tried and failed to stay composed.

Mike pulled him in without thinking, arm wrapping around Will’s shoulders, burying his face into the crook of his neck. Will clutched on just as tightly.

The battle wasn’t over yet, they still had so much to do. 

Vecna was still out there, but right now, that didn’t matter. 

No, the only thing that mattered, was them. 

Together. 

We can be heroes. Just for one day…