Chapter Text
It all ends tonight.
Will takes in the sight of a distorted Hawkins as he climbs the Squawk radio tower, readying himself to enter the Abyss. Though he fears the final battle ahead, he feels oddly calm. Vecna has no more secrets to hold over him. He was out, and he was accepted. After years of hiding and fearing abandonment, he felt happy and like a weight was lifted off his shoulders.
The Upside Down from this height looked like he was peering into a haunted snow globe. A sealed bubble of all the horrid memories he has of this place, sprinkled with those vial particles. They seem smaller now, diminished from his bravery, by his determination to smash the glass dome into pieces and slice Vecna’s throat with one of the shards - watching those milky eyes turn lifeless as the dust of those memories melts away like vapor.
He feels the crisp frigid air tingle his exposed hands, shivering against the cold metal of the ladder. The toxic air chips away at his lungs, pulling him back into his twelve-year-old body. In that body, in that small, terrified child, this nightmare began. And today, in his teenage body, it ends. Vecna has nothing left to take from him.
“Hey, man, are you good down there?” Mike shouts from above, “You seem to be slowing down.”
Oh right, Mike...
Will’s heart - the one thing Vecna can still take from him, the only thing that will truly destroy him. He’d lied and told everyone, even trying to convince himself, that Mike was a Tammy: nothing but a silly hallway crush. But who was he trying to fool? Vecna could pry lies loose the way a fox coaxes prey from its shelter. Will can lie to himself, look at Mike and see Tammy, but he knows his love for Mike is stronger than he ever wanted it to be - and he can’t keep it buried much longer.
Mike is like an enchanted rose, sealed beneath a dome of glass - drawing Will in with its hypnotic scent, faint through the barrier, never allowing him to truly hold it or appreciate all its beauty. All Will could do was watch as each precious petal fell, one by one, as he slowly lost hope of Mike ever becoming his. He hoped by the time the last one dropped, his love would also be dead. But this is the love of his life, and Vecna holds all the power to pluck that final petal himself. In whatever way he wants.
“Yeah, Mike. Just a little tired.” he calls out.
“Okay, well, hold on, we’re almost there.” Mike says, his voice softening into his Will voice.
Will feels a stab at his chest, his feelings threatening to break free. He painfully swallows them back down along with a mouthful of particle-littered air, making him gag right as he reaches the top.
Mike’s attention is on him almost immediately, handing him a water bottle as Will steps off the ladder.
“Thanks,” Will mumbles, out of breath. He takes the bottle, lifting his gaze to the dark horizon again - for the first time letting himself hope that this torturous nightmare might finally be washed away. That his connection to this hell will flatline. And he’ll stand there and smile, the cord he cut resting in his palms.
He passes the water bottle back to Mike, shuddering when Mike’s fingers brush against his. Mike’s hand also shudders, causing Will’s head to snap up towards his face. His eyes are wide, filled with panic, and his freckles stand out against a rosy backdrop like twinkling stars scattered across a darkening twilight.
Mike clears his throat, stuffing the bottle quickly into his backpack, before licking his lips - his face screaming that he wants to say something. After a few seconds of agonizing silence, he finally speaks.
“Hey, um,” His breath comes out shaky.
“What you said earlier at the Squawk.” He takes a deep breath, settling the thick air between them. “I’m sorry.”
Will feels his body go limp, like all the air has been sucked out of him. He didn’t expect Mike to bring it up—not now, not here, not like this. His chest tightens, each heartbeat echoing in his ears, and for a moment, he can’t even breathe.
He hadn’t expected Mike to notice—hadn’t expected him to catch the small, quiet hint that he’d been holding for months: that Mike was his crush, his everything. And now, here it was, hanging between them like fragile glass.
A flush of embarrassment deepens the blush on Mike's face. “I mean, I’m not sorry about what you said; that came out wrong, or it didn’t come out wrong,” He buries his head into his hands, rubbing at his eyes. “Jesus Christ.” Classic Mike, spiraling when he gets nervous.
Will bites his lip, pressing his teeth into the delicate skin, distracting his mind from the racing in his chest and the warmth crawling up his chest. Why would Mike be nervous?
He feels the glass dome of his precious rose begin to slowly crack, letting him in.
“It’s okay.” Will laughs, trying to calm Mike and himself.
“No, no, it’s not.” Mike’s voice drops into a serious tone. “I should’ve been there for you, and I wasn’t, and I guess I was just so self-absorbed that I couldn’t see it. I—I feel like an idiot. And I—I'm sorry.”
Will exhales a shaky breath, letting what Mike said sink in. Mike still cares about him...maybe he didn’t realize Will had a crush on him. Or...if he did, he was okay with it. A wave of disappointment and relief collides in his chest.
He didn’t lose anything but at the same time, he lost everything.
“You don’t have to be sorry, and you are not an idiot; you’re not,” Will says, suddenly becoming very protective of Mike, wanting to squash his self-deprecation. Fuck, he knew he couldn’t reduce this to a silly hallway crush. “I think the way it happened needed to happen, but what matters is you’re still here and,” Will braces his heart for what he’s about to say next: “You still think we can be friends.” The friend feels sour on his tongue.
Mike smiles. “Friends?” He smirks, “No thanks.”
Will’s eyes suddenly go wide, like he’s seen a ghost. He hears that glass dome shatter again, reaching in a hand to cup the delicate petals. Could they really be more?
“Best friends.” Mike corrects, slightly averting his gaze.
Will's heart nose dives into his stomach, hitting hard on impact. A petal slips through his fingers, pricking him with a thorn. This is why he didn’t let himself get his hopes up. Those eighteen months meant nothing. Mike might not be an idiot, but he sure is. Thinking all those signs really meant something, digging deeper by talking to Robin about it. Still letting himself become delusional even after Mike hadn’t said a word about being his crush. Will feels the sudden urge to cry.
“Yeah,” he breathes, holding back all emotion in his voice, averting his gaze. “Best friends.” The words no longer taste sour. They burn.
As his eyes inevitably blur over, he’s haunted by a recent memory as the Upside Down merges into the desert roads of California. Asphalt and sand merging together from his tears as he sobs against the van’s window. He feels it again, that pain that feels like his heart is being torn from his ribs, knowing that Mike still doesn’t realize he’s the love of Will’s life.
But is that what Will even wants anymore, if it hurts this much? They are best friends. Platonic. He needs to accept that this is his Tammy and move on.
After pushing back, the last of his tears, Will turns back to Mike, and his breath catches in his throat. Mike stands there, body stiff and rigid, palms open to face forward, arms slightly pulled away from his sides, head snapped back, and his eyes...
Those dark brown, doe-like eyes are now a shade of cloudy white glossed over by a thick layer of tears.
“Mike!” Will screams, going into a deep state of panic.
A single tear slips from Mike’s eye as he struggles against Vecna’s hold. Bouncing across his trembling cheeks, shaking from his lips as he supposedly mumbles words meant for Vecna.
Those emotions Will tried to suppress seconds ago shoot right back up his throat like an arrow piercing their shield, unleashing them. His face streams with burning tears as he shakes Mike’s shoulders.
“M-Mike, c’mon, wake up.” He shakes him harder. “Wake up, damn it!”
He leans over the railing, shouting to the others while still holding Mike close. “Somebody help!” he screams until his throat is raw.
He continues to shake Mike, occasionally tapping his cheek, as the fear slowly nuzzles itself into his chest.
Vecna just might pull the last petal. Here. Now.
And not in rejection, like Will predicted.
But in death.