Chapter Text
Will Byers stood perplexed as the disconnected tone echoed from the payphone's receiver.
It was the last payphone left standing in Hawkins after the wreckage of the year before. The town had banded together to rebuild what was destroyed—houses, the community centre. Themselves.
And for a while, it worked. Things had started to return to normal. The people of Hawkins would never forget—no. But the chatter had begun to quiet; the subject of the earthquake from hell was slowly fading. Peace felt closer than ever, especially for Will.
That was… until the end of summer.
Until Jonathan disappeared.
Not disappeared the way Will had. But willingly. He hadn't said what had happened between him and Nancy, but Will suspected the worst. That they'd broken up.
When he woke a few mornings before in the Wheeler basement, he found a sticky note on his chest. The paper was already curling at the edges, worn soft as if it had been there longer than it should have. He rolled off the mattress on the floor and squinted down at the words through sleepy eyes.
Need some space. Don't worry about me. I'll call in a few days. Our payphone. —J
His chest sank. Jonathan couldn't even talk to him about how he was feeling. Somehow, that hurt more than the note itself. Will felt responsible—maybe he'd been too busy with the new art classes he'd been taking. The guilt settled heavy in his ribs, especially when he thought about how much Jonathan had always been there for him.
When Will had finally worked up the courage to come out to Jonathan and his mom, his hands had been shaking as the words spilled out.
I like boys.
Before he could even wish them back into his mouth, Jonathan was hugging him so tightly it hurt—but in a good way. His mom cried and told him she loved him no matter what. And that had been all he needed. That love had given Will the courage to fight on.
Vecna was gone. Destroyed by him and El, though Will didn't really remember how it had happened. It was all a blur. Or maybe he was choosing not to remember. El said it had felt like a merging of their power, of their friendship, of the love they shared for each other and the people they were fighting for.
When the dust of the final battle settled, his mom moved into Hopper's cabin, and they began making plans to rebuild the Byers house.
Mike and Nancy insisted that Will and Jonathan stay with them until it was finished.
Hopper and Joyce worked on the house all summer, with neighbors pitching in whenever they could. Robin and Steve helped whenever they weren’t working, and El, Mike, and Dustin showed up on weekends to lend a hand.
The summer was peaceful. They laughed. Drank lemonade when the heat became unbearable. Mike's nose got sunburnt even though Nancy yelled at him to put on sunscreen. Everything felt right again—easy, almost untouched by what had come before.
But summer ended.
El went to stay with Lucas and Max in New York. Will thought it was strange that she didn't return after a couple of weeks. But Mike didn't mention it either, so he decided not to press him.
Real life crept back in. Schedules shifted. Doors closed more often than they stayed open. And without anyone saying it out loud, they began to drift, just enough for Will to notice.
That was when Mike started acting totally weird. Again.
Will had thought Mike's strange behaviour in California had stopped when they returned to Hawkins. And it had… for a while. The sorcerer speech—how Mike believed in his powers, in him. They'd felt close again, like something fragile had been delicately mended. Mike could even hug him, unlike at the airport, and now, that was enough for Will.
He'd come to terms with the fact that Mike was never going to love him back. Not in the way he wanted.
And he was okay with it. He really was.
He just wanted his best friend back.
To be a team. Just like Mike had promised.
When Will and Jonathan moved into the Wheeler basement before the summer, things were good.
Comfortable. Totally normal.
Until Mike started disappearing in the mornings, gone until dark. Will barely saw him anymore. Mrs Wheeler said Mike was helping with the house build, but Will had art classes in the mornings, and on weekends or afternoons when he wasn't buried in projects, Mike never seemed to be there. Not at the build site. Not anywhere.
It started to feel less like a coincidence and more like Mike was hiding.
He wanted to ask him about it, but anytime they saw each other, other people were around.
Holly over breakfast, Nancy in the backyard, Mr. Wheeler when they watched TV. It was like Mike was choosing to never be alone with Will.
Everyone was slowly drifting away, and Will began to feel the sting of loneliness. Now, especially, Jonathan was gone too.
A few days after he found the note, Will cycled out to the payphone.
Their payphone.
The one they called their dad on years back, when they didn't want Joyce to know. It was obvious why Jonathan wanted to call from there—somewhere Nancy wouldn't accidentally pick up.
"Are you coming back?" Will asked, swallowing hard.
"Not right now, man. I need to clear my head."
"Can you at least tell me where you are?" Will pressed. "Mom is going to be so worried."
The line went silent for a few moments.
"Jonathan," Will said softly. "Please."
"I'm in California, Will," Jonathan finally replied. "Mom knows."
Will bit back the urge to cry. "What? You—why? What happened with Nancy? You can talk to me."
"Listen, Will. I'll be okay," Jonathan said, but his voice didn't sound convincing. "I'll call back in a week, okay? Next Sunday. Around four."
"Jona—"
The line went dead.
Will slammed the receiver back onto the payphone, the metal clanging loudly in the quiet street. His hands were shaking.
He was worried.
Jonathan hadn't sounded okay at all. Jonathan had never hung up on him before.
When Will got back to the Wheeler house, he went straight down to the basement, flung off his bag, and sank onto the couch. He'd been so wrapped up in his thoughts about Jonathan that he hardly noticed he wasn't alone.
He sat upright when he finally registered movement in the corner of the room.
Mike was rummaging through a stack of old boxes.
"Mike?"
Mike froze. His hands stilled inside the box before he slowly pulled them out, like he'd been caught doing something… wrong.
He was wearing a navy blue sweater with the sleeves rolled up, even though it was fall, and the air was already turning cold. Mike always seemed too hot in his clothes.
"Oh—hey," Mike said, turning his head casually. But he didn't actually look at Will. He bent back down and resumed searching through the boxes.
Normally, that would have startled Will. Normally, he would've overthought it. But Jonathan's voice still echoed in his head, distant and hurt.
Will fell back against the couch again, letting out a deep sigh that made his chest rise and fall heavily.
Mike finally straightened. "What's wrong, Will?"
Will kept his gaze fixed on the roof. He knew if he met Mike's eyes, the hurt might spill too quickly, too honestly. And Mike would see right through him.
"I'm fine," Will muttered.
Mike hesitated. It showed in the way he paused, half-turned, before facing the boxes again. He crouched down and resumed searching, quieter this time, like he'd decided not to push.
And somehow, that irked Will more.
When it became clear Mike wasn't going to find whatever he'd been looking for, he let out a short sigh and closed the boxes in defeat.
He started toward the stairs, then slowed.
Will noticed it from the corner of his eye—the navy-blue figure lingering.
"I'm okay, Mike," Will snapped, a little harsher than he meant to. "Go back to whatever rando thing you're doing."
Instead of leaving, Mike drifted toward the wall, leaned back against it, and folded his arms.
"Is it Jonathan?" he asked quietly.
Will tore his gaze from the ceiling and finally looked at him. "How'd you—"
Mike nodded toward the sticky note, now stuck to the side of the table.
"I wasn't trying to read it," he said quickly. "I just thought it was part of one of your art things and picked it up to—well. Take care of it."
Take care of it?
Will didn't even know Mike knew about his art classes. That's how little they'd seen each other lately.
"Mike, I never asked you about El and New York," Will said, exhaling as he sank deeper into the couch. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't ask about this."
The room fell quiet. Awkward. And Will couldn't believe they were doing this again.
"Why didn't you ask, Will?"
Will's heart dipped.
Should he have? Had he read everything wrong? Was this—was he—the problem?
"I—I… uh," Will stammered. "I didn't think you wanted me to."
Mike shrugged, like the conversation itself was making him tired.
The dark circles beneath his eyes made him look exhausted. And still—beautiful, in a way that made Will's chest ache. They reminded him of the prettiest violet paint, brushed gently beneath his brown eyes on a pale canvas.
Stop, he told himself.
Before Will could say anything else, Mike turned and started up the stairs, leaving him alone in the basement once more.
And that was it.
Will wasn't going to let himself feel alone again.
He couldn't let his world fall apart—not like before. He needed to be the brave one.
The one who was there for people.
He was going to get Jonathan back.
The next morning, Will woke to a chill. It was starting to get cold in Hawkins. Orange and red leaves fell steadily from the trees, skittering across the streets, and something about it all felt like a warning. Like something needed to change.
He showered, dressed, and realized the house was empty. No voices upstairs or footsteps. Just silence.
So he wrote a note.
Mostly for Mike.
Taking a short trip. Back soon. I’ll call my mom when I get there. —Will
He pressed it carefully against Mike’s bedroom door. A lump formed in his throat at how distant and strange things still felt between them. Had it been Will’s fault? Had he been a bad friend—by not asking, by not pushing?
He did care about Mike and El. He really did.
But it hurt.
Hearing about them hurt. And he hated himself a little for that. He wanted to be a good friend, but sometimes he failed because of feelings he didn’t know how to shut off.
He’d fix things with Mike when he got back.
Just as he turned away, Mike’s door yanked open so fast it sent Will’s hair upright with the rush of air.
“What’s this?”
Mike stood there in sweats, hair mussed and curling at the ends like he’d just rolled out of bed. His eyes were squinting, half-moons beneath dark lashes.
“Uh—I—I’m going—”
Mike scanned the note before Will could take it back.
“Will,” Mike hissed, keeping his voice low, “where are you going?”
Will bit his bottom lip. He felt Mike’s eyes flicker there, so quick he couldn’t be sure he hadn’t imagined it. Will averted his gaze and started down the stairs. “I’ll be back soon. Sorry for waking you up.”
“Will!” Mike called, following. Footsteps quick behind him.
“Will. Come on. Wait.”
Mike grabbed the back of his shirt. The touch felt cold against his spine—sharp enough that Will flinched.
Mike froze. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean to, uh—”
He sounded weird.
Will swallowed. Why did Mike even care where he was going?
“I know they broke up, Will. And that he’s in California.”
Will raised a brow. “You do?”
Mike nodded. “Nancy knows. She’s pretty torn up about it, actually. I found her crying in the basement the other night when she couldn’t find him.”
The basement.
Had Mike been down there again? Did he go there when Will wasn’t home?
“Yeah, well,” Will said, forcing steadiness into his voice, “so is Jonathan. And I’m going to bring him back, Mike. Just leave it alone.”
He turned toward the front door, Jonathan’s car keys biting into his palm as he stepped outside. He was thankful Jonathan had decided to fly to Cali.
...But Will had just got his license. Was this crazy?
Mike followed. Again.
“Will. Are you insane?” Mike said, catching up to him. “That drive is over two thousand miles.” He reached out and pressed his hand against the driver’s door handle, blocking him from getting in.
Will let out a frustrated breath.
“You can’t stop me, Mike. He needs me. I have to be there for him… like he’s been for me.”
Mike went quiet. Slowly, he pulled his hand away from the handle.
“Thank you,” Will said. Proud that he'd won.
Then, before he could process what was going on, Mike opened the passenger door and climbed into the car.
“What are you doing?” Will asked, staring at him.
“I’m coming with you,” Mike said. “Nance is a mess. So… I want him back, too. Let’s go before my mom catches us.”
Will took in Mike’s appearance—sleeping sweats, no shoes, no bag, no plan. Like he hadn’t even stopped to think. Like he hadn’t cared.
Will squeaked out a nervous sound. “Uh… are you sure?”
Mike didn’t answer. He was already fiddling with the radio.