Chapter Text
After Will’s heartfelt confession to everyone, Mike is in deep trouble trying to put all the pieces together.
Because he’s always been Will’s friend.
Best friend, actually.
And he just cannot understand how Will never felt comfortable enough to tell him something like that.
Didn’t he trust him?
The thought stings more than Mike expects it to. It settles somewhere heavy in his chest, twisting with every breath. He doesn’t even know if hurt is the right word for what he’s feeling. Confused, maybe. Guilty. Overwhelmed. All of it at once.
He keeps seeing Will’s face, no matter how hard he tries not to. The way his voice shook. The tears he tried—and failed—to hold back. The fear written so plainly in his eyes. Mike presses his lips together, jaw tight. It hurts to think of Will like that. Hurts even more to realize that he’s probably been carrying all of this alone for God knows how long.
And Mike hadn’t noticed.
Hadn’t asked.
“Hey, Mike!” Lucas’ voice snaps him out of it. “This truck’s not gonna load itself. C’mon, man.”
Mike blinks, suddenly aware of the chill in the air, of the weight of the backpack straps digging into his shoulders. He realizes he’s been standing there, completely still, for longer than he meant to. Dissociating. Again.
“Yeah. Sorry,” he mutters, shaking his head as if he can physically shake the thoughts loose.
For fuck’s sake. They’re about to head into probably the most dangerous place on earth. He can’t afford to space out now.
They fall into a rhythm once he rejoins the group, moving back and forth between the supply pile and the truck. Rifles. Ammo crates. Flashlights. Radios. Everything feels mechanical, automatic, as if Mike’s body knows exactly what to do even while his mind drifts somewhere else entirely. Dustin is talking nonstop about contingencies and escape routes with Steve, gesturing wildly as he goes; somehow, despite everything, they seem to have finally made up. Nearby, Jonathan and Murray help Nancy secure weapons and organize the gear. Joyce and Hopper work in tense silence a few feet away, checking supplies and double-checking maps. Everyone has a clearly defined task, moving with grim purpose, like they’ve been preparing for this moment their entire lives.
At some point, Mike becomes uncomfortably aware of Lucas watching him.
Not openly. Not obviously. Just… lingering glances that last a second too long. Like he’s waiting for something. Or working up the nerve to say it.
Mike pretends not to notice at first, focusing on tightening a strap that doesn’t really need tightening. But the feeling doesn’t go away.
On one of their trips back to the truck, Lucas finally speaks up, his tone casual but deliberate.
“Hey,” he says. “So… are you planning on talking to Will about it?”
Mike stops short.
About it?
He looks at Lucas like he’s just started speaking another language. “Talking to Will about what?”
The question comes out too fast. Too sharp. Even to his own ears.
Lucas raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “You know. About it.”
Mike frowns, forcing out a laugh that sounds wrong the second it leaves his mouth. “No, I don’t. You’re being super vague right now.”
Lucas snorts quietly. “Dude. Don’t play dumb.”
“I’m not playing dumb,” Mike insists, though his heart has started racing. He knows exactly what Lucas is referring to—the confession, the tension, the words Will had choked out earlier—but he genuinely has no idea what Lucas thinks he knows.
Lucas glances around, lowering his voice just a bit. “It was pretty obvious he was talking about you.”
Mike feels like the ground shifts under his feet.
“What?” he blurts out. “What do you mean, me?”
Lucas lets out a small chuckle, shaking his head. “C’mon, man. Who do you think this ‘crush he’s had for the longest time’ is? Dustin?”
Mike opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.
Nothing comes out.
His brain seems to short-circuit entirely, replaying Lucas’ words over and over like a broken tape. Talking about you. Crush. The longest time. What?
He just stands there, staring at Lucas, completely stunned.
“Oh,” Lucas says, finally catching the way Mike’s expression shifts—shock melting into something almost… panicked. “You seriously didn’t put it together?”
Mike shakes his head slowly, like he’s still trying to process the words.
No.
He really didn’t.
“I mean—” Mike starts, then stops. He runs a hand through his hair, eyes fixed somewhere in front of him. “I wasn’t exactly surprised about the not-liking-girls part,” he admits quietly. “I guess I just… never thought about who he was talking about.”
The realization sits heavy in his chest, knocking the air out of him. His mind is still reeling, but then something inside him settles, sharp and clear. He turns to Lucas, meeting his gaze.
“I need to talk to Will,” he says.
His voice is steady now. Certain. His eyes are dead serious.
Lucas’ expression softens the moment he hears it. He slips an arm around Mike’s shoulders as they keep walking. “Hey, don’t stress yourself out too much.”
Mike doesn’t answer, but he lets him stay there.
“You don’t have to talk to him right away,” Lucas continues. “And when you do…” He gives Mike a small, reassuring squeeze. “It’s Will. And you’re Mike. You’re Will and Mike. You’ll be fine. Really.”
Mike looks calmer now, though the determination in his eyes hasn’t faded.
“Yeah,” he says after a beat. “You’re right.”
Another pause, quieter. “Thanks, Lucas.”
“Sure thing,” Lucas replies with a small smile. “Now c’mon. They’re probably wondering what’s taking us so long.”
…
An hour later, everything is ready.
They split into teams according to the plan, the way they always do—quickly, efficiently, like it’s second nature by now. Jonathan, Nancy, Steve, Robin, and Dustin head off together, Joyce leaves with Murray and Hopper, not without making sure everyone is perfectly aware of their respective roles, and Mike finds himself climbing into the van with El, Kali, Lucas… and Will.
The engine hums to life.
Mike takes a seat near the back, his knee bouncing almost immediately. Will is right in front of him, close enough that Mike can see the familiar slope of his shoulders, the way his hands move when he talks. He’s leaning toward El and Robin, quietly explaining something, his voice calm, steady—like he hasn’t just torn himself open in front of everyone hours ago.
As the van pulls onto the road, Mike lets his gaze drift, but his thoughts refuse to follow. Instead, they drag him somewhere else entirely. Back to California. Back to the cramped space of another van. Back to the way Will had sat beside him, nervous fingers worrying at the straps of his backpack.
Can I… show you something?
Mike can see it so clearly now. The way Will had carefully unrolled the painting, like it was something fragile. Sacred. The image of them all—his friends—standing together, fighting a monster. And him. Always him. At the front. Sword raised. Leading.
See how you’re leading here? You’re guiding the party. Inspiring us.
Mike swallows.
He remembers how proud he’d felt in that moment. How warm. He remembers laughing softly when Will pointed out the heart on his coat of arms, calling it “a little on the nose.” He remembers not questioning it. Not really.
That’s what holds the whole party together.
His chest tightens.
At the time, it had made sense. Will was talking about El. About how she needed him. About how scary it was to be different. About feeling like a mistake. Mike had listened, had nodded, had let himself believe every word was meant for someone else.
But you make her feel like she’s not a mistake at all.
Mike shifts in his seat, fingers curling into the fabric of his jeans.
Because now—now he can hear it differently.
He remembers the way Will’s voice had cracked on certain words. The way he’d avoided eye contact. The way Jonathan had watched them through the rearview mirror, like he already knew something Mike didn’t.
When you’re different… sometimes… you feel like… a mistake.
It hits him slowly. Not all at once. A quiet, terrible realization settling into place.
Will hadn’t been talking about El.
Not really.
He’d been talking about himself.
About being scared. About feeling wrong. About loving someone so much it hurts. About being terrified of losing them. About choosing to rip the Band-Aid off before the pain gets worse.
Mike’s throat tightens.
He looks forward again, at Will’s back, at the familiar curve of his neck, at the friend who’s always stood beside him, who’s always believed in him, who’s always put him at the center of the story without ever asking to be seen himself.
Without heart, we’d all fall apart.
Mike presses his lips together, breathing carefully.
Heart.
He’d missed it. All of it. And Will had still stayed. Still smiled. Still fought monsters at his side.
The van hits a bump in the road, jolting him slightly, pulling him back into the present. Will laughs softly at something El says, and the sound twists something deep in Mike’s chest—something aching and tender and new.
I need to talk to him, he thinks again. This time, I need to make things right.