Chapter Text
It’s a week after they get back to Hawkins. Three days after El and Mike decide to take a “break” from the stilted remains of their relationship. One day after Will’s mom decides that he’s not allowed to leave the Wheelers’ house without a chaperone.
One hour after Ted Wheeler stares flatly at the jumbled family he’s somehow adopted and says to his wife, “How long, Karen?”
Fifty-nine minutes after Karen responds with, “As long as they need.”
Anyway. It’s then when Mike makes his way down the basement steps and stuns Will half to death with his words.
“You think—you—what?”
Mike swallows visibly, shoulders lifting in what is possibly supposed to be a nonchalant shrug. “I’ve been thinking about what you said.”
Mike’s first words still bounce off the walls of Will’s mind in a never ending echo. I think we should run away. He’d been attempting to sketch the claustrophobic walls of the Wheelers’ basement—once so beloved by him, he recalls, but now it only feels like a prison cell, and a dreadfully bittersweet one at that—but now the pencil is limp in his stiff, tensed fist.
“What I…said?” He manages, quite miraculously. Mike has somehow inched closer to Will, and he now takes a seat next to him on the sofa. Painfully close, like how they used to sit when they were kids. Back when they were the only planets in each others’ solar systems.
“When we got back, remember?” Mike’s hand twitches, as though it wants to move to touch Will. Will is partially glad that it doesn’t, and partially—selfishly—dismayed. “You said you can feel him, now that you’re back here. So…when you were in California, you didn’t feel him, right?”
Will’s mind slowly catches up. “I—I mean, yeah, I don’t think he could reach me there.”
“So his power must end somewhere, right? When did you start feeling him again?”
“I—I don’t know. In the van, I think? When we got back—”
“—to Hawkins,” Mike interrupts. His wide, dark eyes bore into Will’s, achingly earnest. “Right?”
Will tries to recall, but it’s hard to focus on anything other than Mike’s face. Far too close, far too open, far too everything.
“I don’t really…remember. Maybe? Sometime around then.”
“Right,” Mike nods, satisfied. He backs away, just slightly, and Will breathes again. “So, theoretically, if we got you out of Hawkins, you’d be safe.”
“I—I guess,” Will concedes, unsure where this is going. “I mean, I think his power is strongest in Hawkins. I don’t really know how far the Upside Down goes on, but—”
“—but if you couldn’t feel him in California, doesn’t that mean he can’t reach there? What if the Upside Down only exists in Hawkins? What if, anywhere else, he has no power?”
Will’s first reaction is that it’s a pretty self-centered idea. But, then again, if the Upside Down were to exist outside of Hawkins, why haven’t they heard of it? Sure, the government could cover it up to some extent, but if it’s everywhere—say, the whole world—wouldn’t some government in some country slip up? Wouldn’t there at least be conspiracy theories floating around about it?
And it’s true that in California, Will’s head was blissfully clear and quiet. He runs this idea over in his head several times before slowly nodding.
“Okay,” he starts. “I mean, yeah, I guess that would make sense. But why…?” It suddenly dawns on him. His heart stutters and his eyes meet Mike’s.
He has to think very carefully before saying his next words. If he doesn’t, he’s worried he might say something like, yeah, Mike, let’s run away to California together and live happily ever after.
What he does say is, “That’s not possible, Mike.”
Mike has the gall to look hurt of all things. Nevertheless, he plows on, scooting closer to Will and effectively causing Will’s brain to short-circuit.
“No, think about it, Will. We could leave now, before they set up the whole quarantine. They’re not done yet, there’s bound to be holes. And if we can hop onto a supply truck or something—”
“Mike, we can’t leave our families here to—” to what? his brain asks. He tries to ignore it. “—to do this.”
“My family’s fine, they don’t have anything to do with this. And I bet your mom would be on board with leaving, right? She moved you to Lenora in the first place—”
“That was for El. And no, she would not be on board, not when we have an inter-dimensional monster to defeat and stop from taking over Hawkins. If your theory’s even right, why not evacuate everyone?”
Mike pauses, eyeing Will. He purses his lips. “They wouldn’t believe me.”
“You don’t even know if you’re right.”
“I know you were safe in California.”
“Yeah, but safe isn’t helping anyone.”
“Who said it was your job to help anyone? Come on, Will, it makes sense. You know it. If I brought this up, nobody would believe me, and then we’d be on super lockdown ‘cause they’d think we might try and escape, and how is that going to help keep anyone safe?”
Will can’t quite process what’s happening right now. “Are you seriously saying we should abandon everyone in Hawkins to keep me safe?”
Mike’s eyes widen, but he exclaims, “Yes!”
Will stops. Somehow, he wasn’t expecting that. Evidently Mike wasn’t either, because he swallows roughly, a sharp blush highlighting his cheekbones. He looks away from Will.
“I—I mean,” he amends, looking embarrassed. “What I mean is, you’re connected to him. You’re in the most danger, for no reason. It’s not like either of us have been excellent assets at defeating him anyway. We all know it’s gonna be El or nobody. What’s the point of keeping you in danger when you don’t have to be?”
“Okay,” Will begins, a flush rising in his own cheeks. “Okay. Ignoring the fact that you basically just called me useless, my mom would panic if I left. You don’t even know—she gets worried when I leave the house and she knows where I am. Also, are you really saying we should just leave El to defeat him by herself?”
“She’ll have Hopper! And everyone else. Just not…us,” he finishes, a bit less enthusiastically than before. He’s definitely not meeting Will’s eyes now. “And you know that’s not what I mean! You’re incredible, you’re—I mean, you’re Will, but what’s—what’s the point of you staying here? What’s the point of you being in danger when you don’t have to be?”
Will is teetering dangerously close to somewhere hopeful. He clamps it down, reminding himself of spring break. Of the airport, the van, the pizza dough freezer. His sister. Jesus, his sister.
“What, you’re just going to—to leave El here? She—”
“She what?” Mike interrupts, brow furrowed, a sharp, sudden glint in his eye. “She needs me? Is that what you were going to say?”
Will swallows.
Mike continues, “Except she doesn’t, Will. Obviously.”
There’s a tense, shuttered silence breaking their conversation apart. Will doesn’t know what to say, so he keeps his eyes lowered and his lips pressed together.
Mike lets out a stiff puff of air through his nose. “I still don’t understand why you lied.”
And isn’t that the question of the century. Will refuses to let his eyes land on Mike, and stays silent. Resolutely, stubbornly silent. He knows Mike hates it, but what’s he supposed to say, really? I actually used El’s name as a pseudonym for my own so that you wouldn’t realize I was in love with you and avoid me for the rest of our possibly very short lives?
Obviously not. Obviously he isn’t going to tell Mike anything. He’d decided that when he gave him the painting. Whatever dumb feelings he’d been harboring weren’t going to solve anything. Whatever fucked up way he viewed his best friend wasn’t ever going to be relevant enough to ruin everything.
He’d keep it to himself. Eventually, maybe, he’d get rid of it.
Or maybe he’d die with it.
Either way, he’s prepared to take his feelings to his grave. What does it matter now, anyway? Now that danger is imminent, and his grave maybe isn’t such an abstract concept anymore.
He’s technically already died once.
But here’s Mike, eyes now fixed on him, fully and completely, like Will’s feelings might somehow—in some alternate dimension—actually matter. It’s bizarre.
It was at the airport, when Mike had shrugged off Will’s hug and nodded loosely at his painting, that Will had realized, Oh. It’s over.
What exactly was over wasn’t entirely clear at that point, but it was there. Thick as morning fog, eclipsing everything Will thought he knew about his best friend. Slamming the door on nine years of sleepovers and inside jokes and whispered secrets and solid, warm hugs. It was there, and its tendrils crept out of wherever they’d been hiding all that time, wrapping themselves around Will’s neck and choking him until he couldn’t breathe.
Now, though? Will has been thrown off balance once again. Because Mike’s gaze is anything but passive. His touch is anything but fleeting. His presence is anything but unattainable.
And Will? Well. Will can’t let himself fall for it. Not again. Not now. Not after everything.
Mike seems to realize that Will’s not going to answer. His gaze hardens but doesn’t retreat. He flips back to his previous point faster than Will can blink.
“Okay. But my idea. Will you consider it?”
“Will I consider…running away?” With you? Will doesn’t add.
“I just can’t lose you,” Mike says. If it’s possible, he manages to inch even closer to Will. Their shoulders are now brushing. Will exerts every muscle fiber in his body not to shudder from the electric rush of contact.
Unhelpfully, he remembers Mike’s words last summer. I love her and I can’t lose her again!
He brings them close to his heart. A knife of a reminder that he is not El. That it’s not Mike’s fault he doesn’t like girls. Even if maybe it is.
“Come on, Will. At least until all of this is over.”
“You mean until El singlehandedly solves all our problems for us,” Will replies, because that’s what they all mean when they talk about after. After this is over, after we defeat Vecna, after El saves all our lives. Will tries to imagine the amount of pressure his sister must be shouldering.
“I—you know what I mean,” Mike says.
And Will—Will doesn’t know what Mike means, because he’s not even sure he knows who Mike is anymore. He thought he knew when he was five and Mike was asking to be friends. He thought he knew when he was twelve and Mike was holding his hand and saying crazy together. He thought he knew when Mike arrived at the airport three weeks ago and ignored him for the rest of the trip.
He thought, he thought, he thought. He realizes now that he knows nothing. Maybe he never has.
“Sure, Mike,” he says, regardless. “I know what you mean. But I also know it’s a dumb idea.”
“Will—”
“Mike. No.”
“Please just—”
“Look, it sounds nice, okay? In theory. But this isn’t like DnD. Not everything has a nice, neat little answer. Not everything is going to be okay.”
Mike glares, his voice developing an edge. “So you’re okay just…what? Possibly dying?”
Will’s next words come without his consent. He spits out, “Oh, and I’m supposed to believe you care that much?”
Mike’s mouth was open. He’d been about to say something else. Now, he freezes, utterly lost, eyes whipping back and forth across Will’s face. When he does speak, his voice is colder than Will’s ever heard.
“What the fuck, Will.”
Will’s already severed heart splits into fragments as Mike stands up and marches out of the basement. He wants to call after Mike. To say he didn’t mean it. To say sorry, to say something.
Instead, he turns back to his sketchbook.