Chapter Text
The first sensation Will comes back to is exhaustion, which sits heavy and final in his bones. Then, he registers his heart, which pounding ten times too fast; making up for the seconds it had stopped when Mike was about to die.
The second thing Will feels is his mother's hand lightly pressing down on his shoulder.
It's grounding - warm and solid and real in a way nothing else has been since he stepped into the MACZ, since he reached out with something inside himself he didn't know existed and pulled, watching three Demogorgons snap like paper dolls; their bodies folding wrong, grotesque and beautiful all at once. The image is still burned into the back of his skull: watching the way their limbs twisted through their own eyes, the wet sound of their collapse, the deafening silence that followed.
"Will..." Joyce whispers, and her voice cracks on his name. Her fingers tighten around his shirt, fisting in the fabric in a way that's almost painful. "Will, baby, how did you- what did you just-"
Will blinks, trying to focus on his mother's eyes. He tries to respond, but he doesn't know how to answer. The words stick in his throat, thick and useless, because there's no way to describe what had happened. Not really; he just knew Mike was going to die, Lucas was going to die, Robin was going to die, and something in him simply refused.
Then, Mike is there.
Will can barely register the blur of pale skin and dark curls before Mike crashes into him so hard they both stumble, nearly toppling into the ash-covered dirt. His arms come around Will's shoulders like a vice, like he's trying to fuse them together, and Will can't breathe but he doesn't want to breathe, he just wants to stay here, in this moment, in Mike's arms. Mike smells like sweat and fear and the particular staleness of a Demogorgon, but underneath it there's still Mike; detergent and cologne he probably stole from his dad and something indefinably Mike that Will has been memorizing since he was five years old. For this one moment, the horrible connection in his head is silent, replaced only by the hammer of Mike's heart against his own. He just wants to stay here.
"Holy shit," Mike breathes against his neck, and Will feels it everywhere. "Holy shit, Will, you just… did you see that? You just-"
"I saw," Will manages, his voice muffled against Mike's shoulder. His hands come up automatically, gripping the back of Mike's jacket, feeling the rapid flutter of Mike's heartbeat through the fabric. He can feel Mike shaking, or maybe he's the one shaking, or maybe they both are.
Mike pulls back just enough to look at him, hands moving to grip Will's shoulders. His eyes are wild as they dart over Will's face; dark and huge in the dim red light of the MACZ, and there's something in them Will has never seen before. Awe, maybe. Wonder. His mouth is slightly open, lips chapped and parted, and for one dizzying second Will thinks about what it would be like to kiss him, to close that tiny distance and-
"A real-life sorcerer," Mike says, and he sounds almost giddy, breathless with it. "Will, you have- that was incredible, that was… you saved my life. You saved all of us."
Something warm and terrible unfolds in Will's chest. It feels like the sun coming up after a decade of night, like maybe he's allowed to be something other than broken, something other than the boy who got taken and came back wrong. Mike is looking at him like he hung the moon, like Will is something extraordinary instead of something damaged, and Will wants to live in this moment forever.
He lets himself feel it; Mike's hands on his shoulders, the weight of his attention, the way he's looking at Will like nothing else in the world matters. He lets himself pretend, just for a second, that the way Mike is holding him means something it doesn't.
Then reality crashes back.
"The kids," Joyce says from beside him, her voice is hollow. "Will, the kids… they're gone. Derek, and- all of them. He took them."
The warmth in Will's chest turns rapidly to ice.
He pulls away from Mike (it physically hurts, like tearing off skin) and turns to look at the empty space where the children had been just moments ago. Blinks a few times, adjusting his vision to the carnage around him. Piles of dead bodies, soldiers who were breathing just thirty minutes ago, lie lifeless on the floor. Scraps of metal and rebar that must have gotten torn off the walls during the fight scatter around like confetti. There's still a few unextinguished fires, burning off of spilled kerosine and what very well could be body parts. Will tries not to think about it.
Notably, there's no children. No other consciousness bearing witness to the fresh hell surrounding them besides them three. They’d vanished, Will realizes sluggishly. Taken into the depths of whatever nightmare Vecna has planned.
Something twists in his stomach, sharp and wrong. It's not quite nausea; it's deeper than that, more fundamental. Like a hook caught in his intestines, pulling him toward something he can't see. The sensation is foreign and familiar all at once, and for a moment the world tilts sideways, red lightning flickering at the edges of his vision.
Perfect vessels.
The words echo in his mind, but he didn't think them. Couldn't have thought them. They taste wrong in his brain, like biting tinfoil, but they also feel right, like an answer to a question he didn't know he was asking.
"Will?" Mike's hand is on his arm now, tentative. "You okay?"
"Yeah," Will says automatically, but his voice sounds distant even to his own ears. He blinks hard, forcing himself to focus on Mike's face - the worried tension in his jaw, the slight part of his lips. All details Will had known since he was seven years old and drawing too many pictures of paladins.
But underneath those details, that wrongness is still there. Mike's eyes are lingering too long on Will's face, checking the places where his eyebrows crease and his lips turn down. Will knows that expression, like he knows every expression of Mike Wheeler. It's the same one he saw a million times over in seventh grade. The one he saw in his mother's shed when Mike had pulled him back from possession with a sweet story about a swing set.
"We need to find Lucas," Mike says quietly, and his hand is still on Will's arm, thumb rubbing small circles that Will tries very hard not to think about. "He went down into the tunnels, remember? When the Demogorgon-"
"I know where he is," Will says, and he does. He can feel it, the same way he felt the Demogorgons, the same way he can feel the sprawling network of the Upside Down stretching out in every direction. Lucas is below them, hurt but alive. He tried not to think about the way Lucas’ blood smelled to that Demo. About the wretched hunger he had internalized, just for a brief moment.
Joyce is looking at him strangely. "How do you-"
"I just do," Will says, voice clipped, and starts walking.
-
The tunnels are worse than Will remembers.
They're tighter, somehow; the walls pressing in, slick with moisture that definitely isn't water. The tendrils hanging from the ceiling brush against his hair, his shoulders, and every touch makes his skin crawl with a familiarity he wishes he didn't have. He's been here before. Well, not been in them, but been a part of them, cells and consciousness mingling until he couldn't tell where he ended and they began. Every corner they turn, Will can remember where the next fork is. He can remember, because he had drawn them all, pushing wax onto paper with a wild desperation he can only faintly recall the urgency of.
He couldn't knock the strange rattling feeling that he was connected to them still, even now.
He's trying very hard not to think about that.
Mike stays close - too close, really, close enough that their shoulders keep bumping as they navigate the narrow passages. Joyce is beside him too, a stabilizing arm pushing down across his shoulders, but Will is more aware of Mike beside him. The heat of him. The careful way Mike keeps glancing over, like Will might disappear if he looks away.
"You really can feel him?" Mike asks quietly. "Lucas?"
"Yeah." Will doesn't elaborate. “Well… I could. When I was…” He trails off, not willing to utter the rest of it out loud. He figured Mike would understand anyways; he always did.
"That's-" Mike stops himself, shakes his head. "I mean, it's scary, but also kind of-"
"I know," Will says, because he does. He knows exactly what Mike means. It's terrifying and incredible in equal measure, this thing inside him that he doesn't understand. This connection to a place that tried to kill him, that did kill him in all the ways that matter.
But Mike thinks it's amazing. Somehow, despite all odds, Mike had crushed him in a hug and called him sorcerer and looked at him with awe, not fear. That has to count for something. Even if Will still feels incomprehensibly, indiscriminately, indefinably wrong.
They round a corner and there's Lucas, slumped against the tunnel wall, one hand pressed to his chest. His shirt is dark with blood, torn open to reveal a long gash across his ribs. Not deep enough to be fatal, but deep enough to hurt like hell.
"Lucas!" Mike rushes forward, dropping to his knees beside him. "Oh shit, are you-"
"I'm fine," Lucas says, but his voice is tight with pain. Then he looks past Mike to Will, and his expression shifts to something like wonder. "Will. Dude. You- that Demogorgon was about to- and then it just…" He makes an exploding gesture with his free hand, wincing at the movement. "Did you...? How did you do that?"
"I don't know," Will says honestly. He kneels on Lucas's other side, and Joyce is there too, already pulling medical supplies from her bag. "I just… I felt it. The Demogorgon. Like I could reach out and-"
"And crush it," Lucas finishes, eyes wide. "Don't you get it? You're, like, Will the Wise, but for real. You have actual powers."
"He's actually more like a sorcerer," Mike says, and there's something almost possessive in his voice that makes Will's stomach flip. "Will the Wise was a cleric. Clerics heal. Will just…" He gestures vaguely. "Did that."
"Saved my ass is what he did," Lucas says. He's looking at Will with the same expression Mike had, that mixture of awe and disbelief, and Will doesn't know what to do with it. He's never been the one people look at like this. He's always been the one people worry about, the fragile one, the victim. This is new territory, fresh soil to stand on.
"It's not really my power," Will says, because he needs them to understand. "It's… I'm connected to Vecna. To the hivemind. I'm just using his power, somehow."
"Still counts," Mike says firmly, and his hand finds Will's knee, squeezes once. The touch burns through Will's jeans like a brand. "You saved us. That's what matters."
Joyce finishes bandaging Lucas's chest, helps him to his feet. Lucas sways but stays upright, one arm wrapped around his ribs. "So what now? Can you sense where the kids are?"
Will shrugs, catching himself on his back foot as he stands. “Um… no. At least, not where he put them. I could tell his vessels were important to him, so probably somewhere very private. Far away from us.”
The word hangs in the air.
Mike shoots his eyes to him, his eyebrows scrutinizing the same way they did when they were twelve and he didn’t understand a math problem.
“What?” Mike asks, voice no louder than a whisper.
Will feels it settle over him like a shroud, heavy and suffocating. Vessels. That's right. That's what they are. Perfect vessels for-
For what?
"What did you just say?" Mike's voice is sharp, ringing in Will's ears.
Will blinks, eyes darting around the tunnel walls. Where did he just go? Where is he now? "What? I said…" He stops, confusion crossing his features. "Oh. Well… that’s what he called them. Perfect vessels."
"You said that before," Mike says slowly, and now he's looking at Will with something different in his eyes. Not awe anymore; concern, tight and suffocating. "Earlier. Right after you used your powers, you called them vessels."
Did he? Will tries to remember, but the memory is fuzzy, overlapping. He remembers the rush of power, the satisfaction of watching the Demogorgons break, the certainty that the children would be perfect-
No. He didn't think that. He couldn't have thought that.
"I didn't-" Will starts, then stops. "I don't remember saying that."
"You did," Joyce says quietly. She's looking at him the way she has so many times before - like he's made of glass, like he might shatter. "Honey, are you… do you feel okay?"
"I'm fine," Will says, too quickly. He is fine. He's better than fine. He has powers now. He's useful.
Suddenly, Will's stomach lurches violently.
"Let's just-" He swallows hard, forces himself to focus on Mike's face again. The concern there is almost painful, but his eyes are grounding. "Let's get back to the radio station. We need to figure out what to do about the… kids."
Mike nods slowly, but his hand moves to Will's arm again. Not exactly stabilizing, Will realizes. It's more complicated than that. The touch is light, as if he's scared if he presses too hard something bad will happen, that Will will disappear or a Demo will spawn right in front of them, dragging them all back to the Upside Down. Frankly, Will can't blame him. Will can feel him watching, cataloging every micro-expression. Mike has always been able to read him, better than anyone. It's one of the things Will loves about him and also one of the things that terrifies him, because eventually Mike is going to figure out what's actually happening in Will's head, and then-
Then what?
They start walking, Joyce leading the way again. Mike stays next to Will, their shoulders bumping in the narrow tunnel, and Will tries to focus on that. On Mike's presence, solid and real. On the sound of their footsteps echoing off the tunnel walls. On anything other than the deep, sinking, all-consuming pulse in his head that feels wrong.
-
The radio station is exactly as they left it - cluttered and chaotic, maps pinned to every wall, equipment scattered across surfaces. Robin and Murray and Erica are there now, and suddenly everyone is talking at once.
"Oh my god, Lucas, your chest-"
"Where are the kids-"
"Will, what the hell-"
"Everyone just-" Joyce holds up her hands, and the room falls into a tense silence. "Everyone sit down. We need to talk about what just happened."
They arrange themselves in the main broadcast room; Will on the worn couch between Mike and Robin, Lucas in an armchair with Erica perched on the arm, Murray pacing uselessly behind them. Will can feel all their eyes on him, and he wants to sink into the cushions and disappear.
"Will killed three Demogorgons," Mike announces, and there's that pride in his voice again. "With his mind."
"I didn't-" Will starts, but Lucas cuts him off.
"He totally did. It was incredible. One of them was about to rip my head off and Will just-" He makes the exploding gesture again. "-snapped it."
Robin is staring at him, eyes wide behind the icepack on her forehead. "Will, that's… how is that even possible?"
"The hivemind," Will says quietly. He's been thinking about it during the walk back, trying to piece together what it means. Trying to ignore the strange swirling feeling in his chest. "I'm connected to Vecna. To all of it. I think… I think I can access his power somehow. Channel it."
"That's amazing," Robin breathes. "Will, you literally saved our lives."
"It's not-" Will shakes his head. "It's not mine. It's his power. I'm just… borrowing it, I guess."
"Still amazing," Mike insists, and his hand finds Will's wrist under the cover of the couch cushions. Just rests there, thumb against Will's pulse point, and Will's brain short-circuits for a second. He can feel his heartbeat jumping under Mike's touch, and he wonders if Mike can feel it too.
Joyce clears her throat. Her eyes find Will's for a brief moment, but they dart away. Will stiffens; his mother was nervous. Will had seen Joyce in all matters of states; terrified, angry, fiercely proud. Nervous, however, was not a common feature. It looked wrong on her face, and Will could feel the confidence he'd gained from Mike's ever-present touch begin to quiet.
Joyce exhales sharply, steeling herself. "I know this is… I know this is scary. But we have to think about what this means." She looks directly at Will, and there's something in her expression that makes his stomach sink. "If you can access Vecna's power, maybe- maybe you could get close enough to hurt him. To kill him."
The room goes very quiet.
"You want to use Will as bait," Mike says flatly, and his hand tightens on Will's wrist.
"I want to stop Vecna," Joyce says, and there's desperation in her voice. "He has twelve children, Mike. Twelve. He has your sister. We don't know what he's planning to do with them, but we know it's nothing good. If Will can get close..."
Mike's eyes shutter at the mention of Holly, and Will feels a deep pang of guilt low in his stomach. He can't help but feel like it was his fault, somehow. That through this entire karmic circle, all the weird ins-and-outs of the Upside Down and the monsters that came crawling with it, the calculus of loss-of-life boiled down to Will Byers being born. Will Byers being dragged out of his shed in 1983. Will Byers sitting here now, Holly's older brother pushing small circles into his wrist, while he recovered from using his innate connection to the dimension that took her.
Will swallows hard, but Mike has seemingly recovered. Done the math in his head, positioning his best friend against his little sister. Who mattered more. Who was more likely to die in the next 24 hours. Who he'd rather save.
Will felt like throwing up.
"Absolutely not," Mike says, and he's not quite yelling but it's close. "No way. Will is not… he's not a weapon, he's-"
"It might work," Lucas says hesitantly. Everyone looks at him. "I mean- Will can sense the hivemind. If we could get him close enough, maybe he could… I don't know, fry Vecna's brain or something?"
"That's assuming Vecna doesn't just take control of Will first," Erica points out. "No offense, Will, but you've been flayed before. What's to stop it from happening again?"
Will feels something cold slide down his spine. "I- I don't think-"
But he's not sure. He's not sure of anything anymore, not with the way parts of his memory feel fuzzy and rearranged.
"We should at least consider it," Robin says slowly. She's looking at Will with that analytical expression she gets, like she's solving a puzzle. "I mean, Will has been through hell and back. Literally. If anyone can resist Vecna, it's him."
Mike makes a strangled sound, the grip on Will's wrist tightening. "Are you all insane? You want to just- what, march Will up to Vecna and hope for the best?"
"I'm not saying we should," Robin says quickly. "I'm just saying we should think about all our options. Those kids are counting on us."
The room descends into debate - Lucas and Erica cautiously optimistic, Joyce desperate and uncertain, Murray cracking dark jokes to cover his obvious concern, Robin trying to logic through the possibilities. Mike argues against all of it, his hand still wrapped around Will's wrist like an anchor.
Will sits and listens and tries to ignore the way his skin is crawling.
Because part of him thinks Joyce is right. The children need to be saved. They need to be retrieved from wherever Vecna has taken them, not given the same childhood Will himself had. God knows what Vecna could do with twelve versions of Will, all lost and equally as destroyed as Will had been. Will could feel it, even now, on the outskirts of his memory; this deep, sinking, God-awful sense of completion. Of the final brick being laid. Will knew, with absolute certainty, that those children had to be saved. Before they got vines shoved down their throat and used to end the world as he knew it.
But another part of him, the selfish part, can imagine a world where he gets lost in Vecna’s brain and never comes back. Can imagine what it would feel like to be slowly replaced from the inside out, to go back to what it felt like at thirteen and all he could feel was thick black smoke forcing itself through his eye sockets.
Really, it was feeling increasingly familiar as he sat on the couch, Mike's hand on his wrist and a ball in his throat.
Will digs his fingernails into his palm, hard enough to hurt.
"The problem is proximity," Erica says. "Even if we agree this could work - which I'm not saying we do - how would we even get Will close enough? We don't exactly have a storage locker of sedated Demos."
There's a long, painful beat of silence as everyone shakes their brain for ideas.
"We could use the towers," Lucas says suddenly. "The radio towers. There’s 50,000 Watts that run through here, right? What if we heat a dead Demo up, just like we did to Billy in the sauna? What if that’d wake it up enough for Will to plug back in?"
Everyone turns to look at him in various states of confusion.
"Seriously, though," Lucas continues, sitting up straighter despite the obvious pain. “What if we brought it back up, used the voltage from the radio towers to reanimate it, and then had Will kill it again? We could see exactly what he's capable of. Figure out the limits of his powers."
"That's-" Joyce starts.
"Actually not a terrible idea," Murray finishes. "Controlled environment, lower stakes. We can see what the kid can really do."
Will feels everyone's eyes turn to him. The attention makes his skin itch, makes him want to crawl out of his body entirely. But underneath the discomfort, there's something else - a curl of anticipation, almost eagerness.
He wants to see what he can do. Wants to feel that power again, the rush of it, the way-
"Will?" Joyce's voice is gentle. "What do you think? Are you okay with trying this?"
"I-" Will's mouth is dry. His mind had made the decision before he can even process it. "Yeah. Okay. We can try."
Mike's hand tightens on his wrist, almost painful now. "Will-"
"It's fine," Will says, and he makes himself look at Mike, made himself smile even though it feels wrong on his face. "I want to help. This is… if I can do something, I should."
Mike searches his face for a long moment, and Will can see him cataloging, analyzing, worrying. But finally he nods, even though everything about his body language screams that he hates this.
"Okay," Joyce says. "Robin, you and Will go set up on the roof. Get the voltage ready. The rest of us will bring up the Demo. We'll…" She pauses, takes a breath. "We'll see what happens."
They start to disperse, people moving with purpose, gathering supplies. Will stands, and Mike stands with him, still not letting go of his wrist.
"Hey… are you sure about this?” He asks, voice soft.
Will stares at him for a moment, taking in the depth of his eyes. He was so beautiful, and Will wished that the crease of his brow that'd been stuck permanently on his face since the MACZ would just go away. That Will could kiss it away.
He blinked out of the thought process, stuttering. “Uh… yeah, yeah. It’s a good plan. And if I can kill Vecna this easily… we have to find out.”
Mike’s eyebrows twitch again, scrutinizing. “What if you go too far? What if Vecna pushes back?”
Will ignores the sudden sinking feeling in his stomach. “Then… we’ll deal with it. We need to try.”
Mike shakes his head, no-doubt about to start off on a monologue about how they don’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to do, but Will knows better.
“This is… life or death, Mike. Those kids are going through what I went through. They don’t deserve that. Nobody does.”
That shut Mike up. Will feels bad, suddenly, for causing the expression sitting across his face. Worry, guilt, and a sense of dread. It looked ugly on him.
Before Mike could respond, he stepped towards Robin. Mike’s hand tightened around his wrist, and Will looked back at him expectantly. A few heartbeats of eye contact that could have gone on forever, and suddenly, Will’s wrist felt very cold. He walked into the hallway and out to the parking lot.
-
The roof of the radio station is flat and grimy, scattered with old equipment and cigarette butts. Will sits near the edge, jamming coils of wire into a pumpkin. Will has to bite back a slightly hysterical laugh at the absurdity of the act.
They're going to test a life-or-death contraption on produce.
“You know…” Robin starts, fiddling with the wires “I never thanked you for saving my life. Personally, I mean. Seems like something I should do.”
Will stares at her for a moment, smiling. Throughout the last few hours, Will had almost entirely forgotten he had actually done something good.
“...You’re welcome,” he says. Pauses for a moment, indexing the coil in his hand and thinking back to the MACZ. About the chest-crushing love he had felt, the sheer weight of the panic when Mike Wheeler was about to die. He thought of Robin, both then and now, giggling with him in a tunnel, talking about crushes and love and self-acceptance. About seeing love - love he understood - through the crack of a hospital door. He smiled softly at the memory, a brief reprieve from the dread sitting under his tongue. “But… really, I should be thanking you.”
Robin flicks her eyes up, confused. “How exactly did I help you channel the powers of an evil wizard?”
"You... showed me how to accept myself," Will says quietly, and it's easier to say with just the two of them up here, the sky deepening to purple overhead. "I couldn't have done that without you. Without knowing that someone like me could- could be happy. Could have someone."
Robin's expression goes soft. "Will-"
Will sighs and slams the wires against the roof, troubleshooting. He's quiet for a moment, thoughts swimming in his head that were too dangerous to put to words. He can feel Robin's eyes on him, as if she already is anticipating what he's going to ask next. Will tries to ignore the strange sensation of feeling so seen.
"How long after you… accepted yourself… did you start dating Vickie?" The question tumbles out before he can stop it, desperate and a little pathetic.
Robin considers him for a moment, and there's something knowing in her eyes. "Oh. Um. Very long, actually. I had to tell someone first. Come out, I mean. Before I could even think about asking out a girl."
Will nods slowly. That makes sense. Of course it does. You can't do anything about feelings if you're still pretending they don't exist.
Robin sets down the wrench she was holding, leans closer. "Will… you think you're seeing an avalanche, then?"
The breath catches in Will's throat.
They'd talked about this before - about signs, about the way feelings build up like snow on a mountain until one day they just shift. He'd been talking about Mike then, even though he hadn't said the name. Robin had known anyway.
It had been three months into living at the Wheelers' house. Will had been sketching at the kitchen table - trying to capture the particular way morning light filtered through the curtains, all gold and hazy - when Mike had appeared with two mugs of hot chocolate. Not the instant kind from a packet, but real hot chocolate, made on the stove with milk and cocoa powder and marshmallows melting on top. "You looked cold," Mike had said, setting one mug down beside Will's sketchbook. Their fingers had brushed. Mike had lingered there, standing close enough that Will could feel the warmth radiating from him, could smell his shampoo. "I like watching you draw," Mike had said, so quiet Will almost missed it. "You get this look on your face, like nothing else exists." And Will had looked up and found Mike staring at him with something in his eyes that made Will's chest feel too small for his heart. The moment had stretched, fragile and shimmering, before Nancy had clattered down the stairs and Mike had stepped back, but Will had spent the rest of the day turning that look over in his mind, trying to decode it.
"Probably not," Will says, and it comes out more bitter than he intended. "I mean… it's probably nothing."
"You might be onto something," Robin says, and there's something wry in her smile. "I don't want you to get my big speech wrong, okay? Tammy Thompson was my first crush, yes, but she was a nobody. I barely knew her. I projected my self-esteem onto her, and it made her into someone she wasn't." She pauses, glances back toward the roof access door, like she's checking they're really alone. "But you and Mike… it seems different."
Hope is a dangerous thing. Will learned that a long time ago.
Seven months in. Will had been sick - just a cold, nothing serious, but Joyce had been working a double shift and couldn't come check on him. Mike had appeared in the doorway of the basement with soup and crackers and a stack of comic books. Had sat on the edge of the bed reading aloud until Will's fever broke, his voice going hoarse. When Will had finally fallen asleep, he'd woken hours later to find Mike still there, slumped in the chair beside the bed, hand stretched out like he'd fallen asleep holding Will's. The lamp had been left on. Mike's jacket had been draped over Will like an extra blanket. In the morning, Mike had acted like it was nothing, like he always spent the night keeping vigil over his friends, but Will had seen the dark circles under his eyes, the way he'd watched Will at breakfast like he needed to confirm he was really okay.
"He's just… Mike's nice to everyone," Will says, but his voice wavers. "He's a good friend."
"Will," Robin's tone is gentle but firm. "I've seen the way he looks at you. The way he's been looking at you all day. That's not just friendship."
Ten months in. The nightmare had been bad - the Upside Down, the tentacles, the Mind Flayer's voice in his head saying things Will couldn't quite remember come morning but that left him gasping and shaking. He'd woken up screaming, and Mike was in the basement before Will even fully surfaced, hands on his shoulders, voice steady and sure: "You're here. You're safe. I've got you." And then Mike had just… stayed. Climbed into the bed beside Will like it was the most natural thing in the world, wrapped his arms around him and held on until the shaking stopped. "I'm not going anywhere," Mike had whispered against Will's hair. "I'm right here. I'm always right here." And in the morning, they hadn't talked about it. Mike had gone back to his own room before Nancy woke up, but for the rest of that week he'd found excuses to be close - sitting pressed against Will on the couch during movies, their thighs touching; walking so close their shoulders bumped; reaching out to touch Will's arm, his shoulder, his hand, like he needed the confirmation that Will was solid and real.
But hope blooms anyway, treacherous and bright in Will's chest, and he can't quite stamp it out.
"I don't know," Will admits. "Sometimes I think maybe… but then I remember that he's with El, and-"
"They broke up," Robin says gently. "Months ago, Will. You know that."
Fourteen months. Mike's birthday. El had made him a card; the words Will never got to read, but he had an idea for what they said. Mike had stared at it for a long time, expression unreadable, before tucking it into his desk drawer. "You okay?" Will had asked, and Mike had looked at him with something raw in his eyes. "I don't know what I'm supposed to feel," he'd admitted. "I loved her. At least, kind of. But it's been so long, and I just… I don't feel the same anymore. Is that terrible?" And Will had wanted to say no, had wanted to say it's okay, you're allowed to move on, but the words had stuck in his throat because moving on meant Mike was free, and that felt too enormous to hold. Instead he'd just reached out and squeezed Mike's hand, and Mike had held on tight, thumb brushing over Will's knuckles in a way that felt deliberate. Intentional.
"I know they broke up," Will says. "But that doesn't mean-"
Seventeen months. Late night in the basement, just the two of them. Everyone else had gone home from the campaign, but Mike and Will had stayed, sprawled on the couch with a movie playing that neither of them were really watching. Mike had been talking about college, about maybe not going to the school his parents wanted, about maybe choosing somewhere else. "Where would you go?" Will had asked, and Mike had gone quiet for a long moment before saying, "Wherever you go." Just like that. Simple. Certain. "I mean-" Mike had backtracked quickly, "-we should stick together, right? The Party. We shouldn't split up." But his ears had been red, and he wouldn't quite meet Will's eyes, and Will had felt something dangerous and hopeful unfurl in his chest.
"It doesn't mean he wants-" Will stops, tries again. "He probably just-"
The thought dissolves, slippery. What was he saying? Mike probably just what?
Eighteen months. Last week. The day before their last crawl. Will had been in the basement painting. Working on a landscape of the quarry, trying to capture the particular quality of light on water. Mike had knocked but entered before Will could respond, which was normal, which was allowed because they were best friends and that's what best friends did. He'd sat on the bed, quiet, watching Will work. After a while he'd said, "You're so talented, Will. I don't think you know how talented you are." And Will had laughed it off, uncomfortable with the praise, but Mike had stood and come closer, looking at the painting with something like awe. "I mean it. You see things other people don't. You make them beautiful." Mike's hand had come to rest on Will's shoulder, warm and grounding, and for a moment - for a moment Will could have sworn Mike had leaned closer, could have sworn Mike's thumb had brushed against his neck in a way that couldn't possibly be accidental. But then Mrs. Wheeler had called them for dinner and the moment had fractured, and Will had spent the rest of the night wondering if he'd imagined it.
"He probably just sees you as a friend," Robin says carefully, and something about the way she says it feels wrong.
Wait. That's not what Robin said. Is it?
Will blinks, tries to focus. The sky is darker now, stars beginning to emerge through the purple. Robin is watching him with concern.
"I didn't-" Will starts. "What did you-"
But none of those moments meant anything. Couldn't have meant anything. Mike was just being kind. Being a good friend to someone broken, someone damaged, someone who needed more care than normal people. The hot chocolate was because Will looked cold; nothing more. The sick day was because Joyce couldn't be there and Mike felt responsible. The nightmare comfort was because Will had woken up screaming and it was probably keeping Mike up. The hand holding was platonic. The touches were casual. The "wherever you go" was about the Party staying together, not about- not about-
"Will?" Robin's voice sounds distant now, muffled. "Hey, you're spacing out again."
And even if - even if by some impossible chance Mike did feel something, what then? Mike didn't know. Not really. He didn't know what had happened in the Upside Down, in the parts of Will's memory that were blurred and dark and full of things he couldn't quite remember but that his body remembered, that left him gasping awake some nights with the phantom sensation of vines around his wrists, his throat, his-
Mike wouldn't want him if he knew. Nobody would want him if they knew. He was contaminated. Used. The things that happened - the things he couldn't remember but that lived in his body anyway - those things made him wrong. Broken. Ruined.
"Will." Robin's hand is on his arm now, gripping tight. "Will, come back. You're scaring me."
Will gasps, jerks back. The roof swims into focus - Robin's worried face, the pitch-dark sky, the contraption sitting between them. His chest is tight, heart racing, and his hands are shaking.
"Sorry," he manages. "I'm sorry, I just-"
"What just happened?" Robin asks, and there's something sharp in her voice now. Alert. "Will, your eyes… for a second you looked-"
"I'm fine," Will says automatically, but he doesn't feel fine. His head feels stuffed with cotton, thoughts slippery and hard to grasp. What were they talking about? Mike. They were talking about Mike. About feelings. About-
"You were saying something," Robin says slowly. "About Mike. You said…" She stops, frowns. "I can't remember what you said."
"I don't remember either," Will admits, and that should be alarming but mostly he just feels tired. So, so tired. "Maybe we should- maybe we should go back down. They'll be ready with the Demo soon."
Robin looks like she wants to argue, but finally she nods. "Okay. But Will- if something's wrong, if you're feeling weird, you need to tell us. Promise me."
"I promise," Will says, and he means it. He does.
He just can't quite remember what normal is supposed to feel like anymore.
They head back toward the roof access, and Will tries to hold onto the memories of Mike; the hot chocolate, the comics, the lingering touches, the countless nights spent huddled in the basement, saving Will from nightmares. All those moments that had felt like something. That had filled him with hope.
But the memories feel different now. Flatter. Less significant. Just friendship after all, just kindness extended to someone who needed it, who had been through too much and required extra care.
Just pity.
The thought sits heavy in his chest as they descend back into the radio station, and Will can't quite remember why he'd ever thought it could be anything else.