Chapter Text
Mike woke facedown on the forest floor.
Nothing hurt. Not necessarily. However, there was the distinct feeling of something being irrevocably different about him. Something inside of him had been rewritten, undone, disturbed. His blood sat wrong in his body, cold and empty where it should have been the opposite. His veins were a little too stark against his pale skin. His stomach groaned with a hunger that was undeniable–a kind of hunger he’d never experienced before.
Mike put his hands under him and forced himself up before catching a glimpse of his left wrist. The only light came from fluorescent streetlights shining their rays through thick autumn leaves, but even in the dark the wound was visible. Ridges of bloodied, raised skin interrupted his smooth skin, fresh, deep blood leaking down his hand and over the edges of his fingertips.
His body’s initial reaction was to vomit, but he forced himself to keep the contents of his stomach down. He clamped his right hand over the mark and sucked in unsteady breaths.
This was fine. This was okay. Sure, why not? Six months ago the Upside Down had bled its creatures from the underbelly of hell straight into Hawkins, Indiana, so, naturally, Mike Wheeler could also be bitten by a demobat. What the hell. Sure.
In his head he knew that the rationalization wasn’t doing him any favors–that he needed to get back to base before it got infected and he fell victim to fever–but he really wasn’t in any kind of rush to head back yet. He was still reeling, desperately trying to remember how and when exactly this happened. His memory had a disturbing blank smack-dab in the middle of it, somewhere between scouting the new cracks in the forest floor and seeing the humanoid shape tucked between the trees. Somewhere between the flock of fleshy, sharp creatures chasing him deeper into the wood and his name making it past Mike’s lips before he lost consciousness.
He sat back on his heels and did his best to take in the shadows surrounding him. Tall oak trees covered in thick moss and crawling with newly grown vines were all around. The air was chilled, but in a familiar way, a nostalgic way. A way that reminded him of endless campaigns and trick-or-treating. The moon hung low and heavy in the sky, shrouded with clouds that promised an oncoming storm. The wind had picked up as well, promising the same. Now he really had to hurry.
Mike stood up and set off in a direction he thought seemed reasonable. He kept one hand closed over his wound and blinked the daze out of his eyes, though it felt like shapes were moving anywhere he wasn’t directly staring. He couldn’t tell if it was paranoia or newly-obtained instincts. Everything felt clearer now. Before, the dark had always been a fear of his, something that his friends had to navigate him through since he refused to go to the eye doctor and check out his vision. Now, though? The dark looked as familiar as the light did. He could smell the leaves coating the ground, hear the skittering of both earthly and demonic creatures.
Okay, he really must be tripping out now. Whatever venom the demobat had injected into him was stronger than he assumed.
He had stumbled through a junction of trees, the road finally in sight, when he saw it.
A deer.
His stomach gave a violent growl, and he looked down at it as though it might tell him what that was supposed to mean. He kept waiting for the deer to spook, to run off, but it seemed to be completely fixated on Mike, like he was the headlights.
Almost against his will, he took a step forward. The deer didn’t move. It didn’t run.
Maybe that was what encouraged Mike to keep moving.
Distantly, he pressed his tongue against his canines, finding them sharper and more vicious than he had previously imagined them to be. He salivated at the sight of the deer, fawning and waiting for him.
He lunged.
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Joyce assured him, patting him on the shoulder before preparing her bag.
Will wasn’t convinced. It had been nearly four hours since Mike left to investigate the seams that were expanding near the northern edge of town, and Will had long since stopped telling himself that he was “overreacting”. Every time he drew that conclusion, things ended up going terribly.
He kept his arms crossed and gnawed on the inside of his lip, unsure and unhappy. His mom was packing her bag to spend the weekend out in the cabin with Hopper and El–they had scouting and training to do, apparently–leaving Will alone for seventy-two hours. Jonathan and Nancy were trying to make it past the military barricade that had been set up around the town in a feeble attempt to keep the Upside Down inside of Hawkins, but Will knew it was all for naught.
The invasion of Hawkins wasn’t Vecna’s initial attempt at world dominance. No, he was doing this for one reason and one reason only: to draw Will out. To strike a deal. To finish what he started all of those years ago.
It had started out subtle, but his attempts had only gained velocity as time went on. It started as cryptic nightmares. Those quickly developed into subconscious conversations in which Will did his best to either wake up or wait him out entirely. When Vecna learned how stubborn Will could be, he took what Lucas described as a “Max Approach”. Essentially, Will was locked in a coma for nearly four whole days before Mike was able to blast “Should I Stay or Should I Go” by The Clash and hold his hand tight enough for Will to escape. He didn’t sleep for three whole days afterward, afraid of Vecna trapping him again, but the demon had given up on that approach.
Since that week, Henry had gone suspiciously silent. No attempts to contact Will had been made, but he was smarter than to assume that he was moving on. No, he was just planning. Even the thought sent a shiver down Will’s spine.
They’d decided that keeping Will in the Wheelers' home wasn’t a safe approach anymore. Instead, they’d invaded an abandoned three-story in the rich side of town that had apparently belonged to a family known as the Turnbows. Erica apparently knew their daughter. They had happened to be vacationing in Cabo over spring break and, due to the military barrier, could not get back into their home. Will wasn’t losing sleep over taking advantage of their amenities. Based on the double staircases, dangling chandeliers, and full wine cellar, they were doing just fine.
Joyce hadn’t been eager about leaving Will behind, but El needed supplies and a support system, so he encouraged her to take the opportunity where it stood. The house was stocked with guns and had a radio in every room. Besides, if Henry was going to attack, Will would know. He couldn’t explain it, but he would.
“Mom, he promised he’d radio when he made it home. What if something happened?”
Joyce sighed and stuffed a few more water bottles into her bag. “I understand your fear, but Mike can handle himself. It really hasn’t been that long, sweetie. Just give him a little longer.”
Will couldn’t just give him a little longer. Over the span of four days, Henry had done his best to wear Will down by exploring every dirty secret he locked inside. He’d learned the things that kept Will awake at night, haunted and horrified, waiting for someone to tear him limb from limb over. He’d learned about Will’s disgust at himself over what happened back in 1983, his paralyzing guilt over the deaths he’d inadvertently caused through his abduction, his terror at being found and having his body taken advantage of again.
And, of course, Henry had learned about Mike.
Everything about Mike.
What if he took control of him next? What if he kidnapped Mike the way he’d kidnapped Will? What if he killed him as a warning for what would happen should Will refuse to go along with his plan?
Joyce must have noticed his spiraling because she stepped forward and grabbed his hand. He hadn’t noticed it, but he’d been absentmindedly picking at the skin of his lips, drawing blood.
“Haven’t I told you to stop doing that?” she sighed, running her hands through his hair.
“Yeah, I know. Sorry, mom,” Will said.
“No, no. No apologies. Everything will be fine. If he’s not back in,” she checked her watch. “Forty-three minutes, phone Hop and Nancy. We can have El check in on him if need be. Sound good?”
Will exhaled and nodded. He still didn’t feel any better about it, but he trusted his mom and her judgment.
She finally finished packing up her stuff and strapped her axe to her belt, pausing at the door to tell him to be safe and that there was mac and cheese in the pantry. Will was aware that there was mac and cheese in the pantry. It had basically been all he’d eaten in the past three weeks.
She ducked out the door and Will counted to thirty. When he was certain she wouldn’t turn around for something she’d forgotten, he swung open the basement door and descended into the wine cellar.
This was another bad habit he’d picked up since living in the Turnbows’ home. A week and a half ago, he’d awoken from a horrific nightmare from his time in the Upside Down the first time around, convinced that Henry had trapped him again. Thankfully, it was just another one of his episodes that he usually got around this time of year, but it had still rattled him so deeply that he couldn’t go back to sleep if he’d tried. Instead, he snatched up a walkie talkie and retreated to the basement, twisted open a bottle of some ridiculous expensive wine, and dissolved himself in alcohol until he could pass out again. About a third of the way through the bottle, he’d found himself pushing the call button on his walkie, Mike’s groaning, sleepy voice echoing around the spacious cellar.
He couldn’t remember what they’d talked about or how close he’d gotten to revealing his secret, but he did know that it happened no less than four times after that. Tonight, he planned on doing the same.
He slipped down the stairs and examined his options. After so many nights of the routine, he’d gotten a pretty good idea of what he liked and what he didn’t. Whiskey and red wine was nice, vodka was incredible, but white wine and beer reminded him a little too strongly of yelling dads and cold forest floors. He avoided those the best he could.
Tonight, he pulled out a glass and a bottle of scotch, deciding to play it safer, if possible. He poured himself a finger or two and tossed it back, enjoying the warmth it brought. He could convince himself that the alcohol made him warm enough to not be a favorable vessel for Vecna.
He brought the scotch upstairs and flicked mindlessly through the Turnbows’ ridiculous amount of cable channels before settling on MTV, which was playing a movie he’d never seen before called “The Lost Boys”. It seemed interesting enough, but Will wasn’t really paying attention. He was thinking of Henry, and his mom, and Jonathan and Nancy, and the government, and El, and–as always–Mike. That was who his mind always circled back to. Will was a broken record that had been skipping over the same heartbeat since the day that Mike approached him on the swing set. He knew this. Everyone knew this. But it didn’t make it hurt any less.
Outside, thunder crackled and it began to pour, pounding hard against the windows and flashing lightning through the windows. Will worried about Mike getting turned around in the fog and debated calling it in early, but there were still twelve minutes on the timer his mom had set, so he sat back and waited impatiently.
With five minutes remaining, there was a knock on the door. Will was two full glasses deep at this point and nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound. He sprang to his feet and rubbed his eyes, maneuvering around the dark room toward the front door.
He peered through the peephole, wondering if maybe his mom had forgotten something after all. He wasn’t worried that there was an enemy awaiting him–only the party knew where he was staying, and if it was Vecna, Will doubted he would have knocked first.
Regardless, he definitely wasn’t expecting to see Mike standing on the front porch, drenched and shivering. Will swung the door open, relief nearly cracking his chest open.
“Mike, oh my God. What took you so long?”
Mike had his arms crossed firmly and a glazed look in his eyes. For just a moment, his eyes swept over Will, taking him in inch by inch. Will blushed fervently and scratched the back of his neck.
“Sorry, I got a little lost. So...are you gonna let me in?”
Mike had no idea what the hell was happening to him.
All he knew was that he had attacked that deer in the forest, sunk his teeth into its neck, and attempted to drink its blood. Like a fucking vampire.
He had discovered very quickly, however, that the deer’s blood was disgusting. It was sour and far too unfamiliar. He’d spat it out and felt entirely unsatisfied. He’d then proceeded to hyperventilate and wonder if he was going insane. He didn’t know what to do–he couldn’t necessarily explain himself to his parents about what was going on now, could he? They could barely grasp the concept of the Upside Down, and that was after nearly seven different explanations, twelve personal stories shared, and a million analogies between people and inanimate objects drawn. Mike didn’t even understand what was happening; he couldn’t trust his mom to be focused.
So, he’d come to Will. For some reason.
Maybe he was sick. high fevers could cause some strange behavior. This was a known fact.
When Will swung open the door, Mike’s pulse skipped several beats. He was wearing plaid pajama pants and a snug white shirt, revealing pecs and abs Mike had desperately tried to ignore the past few months. The sleeves of his shirt hugged his biceps in an extraordinarily distracting way, and Mike forced his eyes to his face.
Unfortunately, that didn’t make things any easier either.
There was a steady flush to his cheeks and a wateriness to his eyes that revealed he’d gotten into the wine cellar again. His lips were bright red and Will’s teeth fiddled with them absentmindedly. That same confusing hunger crawled up Mike’s throat again.
All he wanted to do was throw himself through the door, but for some reason, he knew he couldn’t. So he popped the question.
Naturally, Will stepped out of the way.
“Yeah, yeah. Are you cold? It’s freezing out there.”
I’m perfectly warm now, Mike thought to himself.
“A little bit,” he said, stepping through the threshold. He kept his arms crossed, hoping that Will couldn’t see the bite mark on his wrist.
“Here, let me get you some clothes,” Will said, closing the door behind him. Mike took in the lavish lobby of the house that Will had commandeered after the latest Vecna incident and distantly thought that he could get used to it.
Mike watched Will hustle up the stairs. He knew that Will intended for him to wait down here, but he couldn’t help himself. He took the stairs slowly, knowing he was tracking water over the wooden floorboards.
Inside of the master bedroom, Will was going through his closet. There was a frantic, clumsy energy to him, revealing he’d already had quite a bit to drink. The bedroom that had originally belonged to the Turnbows had been converted into Will’s room with little effort. The duvet had been replaced with stacks upon stacks of blankets with all kinds of patterns. Boards covered the windows and artwork lined the walls. Mini maps and diagrams were sketched over floral wallpaper and a large canvas sheet was draped in the corner. It seemed Will was working on another painting, but in its current stage, it was unclear exactly what it was.
Will turned around and spotted Mike. He jumped instinctually before settling, slapping a hand against his chest.
“Jesus, you scared me,” he said through a smile. “Didn’t even hear you come up.”
“Oh, sorry,” Mike said awkwardly. “I was just…I don’t know. I wanted to see you.”
Will looked confused. “Well. Here I am,” he tossed his arms out and Mike laughed at the gesture.
Will walked into the main area and laid out the clothing he had found for Mike on the bed. There was a pair of gray sweatpants and a striped sweater that Mike recognized quite well. It was one of Will’s favorites.
“Here you go,” he said. “I don’t really know your size, so I kinda threw out my best guess…”
Mike watched the way his eyebrows danced with each of his expressions. His hair had grown longer and a little wavier, abandoning the atrocious bowl cut he’d sported for so long. At least, Will called it atrocious. Mike had never hated it.
Mike couldn’t hate anything about him.
Slowly, keeping his eyes locked on Will, he pulled his hoodie over his head, letting it stretch the black fabric of his Queen t-shirt and reveal a little bit of his stomach. Will blushed even harder, which drew Mike’s attention immensely. So much blood in his face…
“Oh–!” Will cut himself off. Mike flinched and wondered if he’d revealed too much of his hand, before Will literally pointed at his hand. “What the hell happened to your arm?”
Mike glanced down at the bite mark he’d forgotten to cover. Oh right, that.
“Oh, this? It’s nothing–”
“It doesn’t look like nothing,” Will said, grabbing Mike’s forearm and examining the wound. “It looks awful. How did this happen?”
“I–I don’t know, really,” Mike admitted.
Will traced the dents with his fingers delicately, sending chills through Mike’s body. He was so gentle, though he had every excuse to not be. Mike didn’t understand how Will had lived through so much and kept the same gentle smile he’d had that first day they’d met.
“Come on, we need to clean this,” Will said, tugging Mike’s sopping form to the bathroom.
Mike didn’t argue, just followed him blindly. Will sat him down on the toilet seat and started digging through the underside of the sink, canine still gnawing on the corner of his lip. Mike couldn’t stop staring at it.
Finally, Will found what he needed. He straightened up and sat down on the rim of the bathtub, taking Mike’s hand and putting it in his lap. There was a steadiness to his hands that he only seemed to have when he was a few shots deep. Mike was the opposite–he was a stuttering mess when he was drunk, even if he hadn’t been often.
Will pulled a bottle of hydrogen peroxide off of the floor and glanced at Mike. “This is gonna sting, but it should keep it from getting infected.”
Too late, Mike thought.
“Yeah, right,” he said.
Will poured it onto a cloth and then dabbed it onto Mike’s forearm. Mike hissed in pain, trying to yank his hand out of Will’s grip, but Will was holding firm. He was stronger than he looked.
“Sorry,” he whispered.
“Don’t be,” Mike said back. “You did warn me.”
Will smiled. “I always do.”
Mike shook his head while Will wiped some of the blood away. “Oh, no,” he said. “No one could have warned me enough about you.”
Will glanced up at him, dark eyes rimmed with long lashes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Mike scrambled for an excuse but found he didn't have one. “I just…I never saw you coming. I still can’t see you coming.”
Will bit his lip harder, teeth pressing pale dents into that red red mouth.
“You mean with Vecna?”
Mike stumbled in his mind. In all honesty, he hadn’t been thinking of Vecna at all. But he didn’t want to admit that.
“Yeah, of course.”
Will wrapped some gauze around Mike’s wrist and secured it, rubbing the gauze with his thumb gently. He pulled his hands away quickly, as though Mike had burned him, before putting his hand up to his mouth. He picked at the skin around his lips absentmindedly.
With one thoughtless scrape, scarlet blossomed from his bottom lip.
Mike’s heart started pounding. A need so deep it was nearly innate curled within his gut. He got to his feet without thinking, taking Will’s hand and pulling him up with him. He pulled his hands away to avoid any more damage being done.
Will looked at him confused, but Mike couldn’t stop staring at his lips and the red that coated them now. The hunger he felt was nearly identical as it was when he saw the deer earlier that night, and, once again, Will was standing there. Staring. Waiting.
There was very little space between their bodies. The bathroom wasn’t that large. Mike gripped the back of Will’s neck, causing Will to gasp.
What the hell am I doing.
“Mike…” Will said gently. He had one hand on Mike’s bare arm and the other fisted in his t-shirt.
The motion of Will’s lips working around the syllable of Mike’s name had caused the blood from his bottom lip to brush against the top one as well, and he couldn’t contain his hunger anymore.
He pressed his lips to Will’s. Will met him with a patient kind of eagerness, his mouth soft and damp and expectant. What started sweet quickly became frustrated, as Mike had gotten the slightest taste of him and was not interested in taking just a sample. He worked his tongue between Will’s lips, the blood slipping onto Mike’s tongue. Unlike the deer’s, it was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. Mike’s other hand came up to pull him closer, grabbing Will’s jaw and brushing his thumb over the soft skin beneath his mouth. Will mouthed back at him harder, pushing his tongue into Mike’s mouth with an equal kind of fervency.
Mike stumbled backward, pulling Will with him. The two rammed into the doorframe of the bathroom before stepping back into the master bedroom, arms still tangled and lips still battling in some unspoken dance. Mike opened his eyes long enough to get a feel for where the bed was before he pushed Will back onto it.
Their kisses only intensified, Will looping an arm around Mike’s neck to pull them together. Mike held his waist and leaned into him, letting his body weight pin Will down to the mattress.
Mike couldn’t tell if he was addicted to the taste of Will’s blood or the fear that kissing him brought. There was a kind of panic deep inside of him that was undeniable and it jumped every time Will pushed forward. The two were hardly taking a moment to breathe, instead focused on getting as much of each other at once as they could.
There was a ringing in Mike’s ears that he intended to chase all the way to the end. He kissed Will deeper, and Will hummed into his throat, and that was when he lost control.
He took Will’s bottom lip in his mouth and pressed his newly sharpened canines into it, feeling blood vessels burst. Warm, red liquid ran over Will’s mouth and into Mike’s.
Mike was hungry. Will’s blood was delicious. It was everything he had been craving and more. For a moment, he was gloriously full.
And then Will let out a little shriek and pushed Mike upward by the shoulders. Mike jerked out of his stupor and gazed down at him. He was straddled over Will’s thighs.
Blood dripped from the corner of Will’s mouth. His eyes watered and his cheeks were flushed. His lips were red, raw, and bitten.
Mike put a hand to his lips and drew back slowly. Crimson ran over his fingers and, before he could think about it, he licked it off of his hand.
A look of horror and something a little more shameful came over Will’s face.
“Mike…what are you...”
Mike was too busy staring at Will’s extremely active Adam’s apple. He was still breathing deeply, neck swallowing and rippling up and down in an attempt to get enough air in.
Will must have realized where he was staring, and right before he lunged for it, Will’s fist slammed against the side of his head, and all went dark.