It Was Coming All Along

by NoMartiniNoParty

Summary:

‘You shouldn’t wear wet clothes,’ Will sniffled, pulling his hand gently out of Mike’s and thumbing his still-damp collar. ‘Didn’t anyone ever tell you, you’ll catch your death?’

Mike frowned.

‘Don’t say that.’

‘Sorry,’ said Will absently. He pressed the buttons of Mike’s polo in a daze.

They were so close that Mike could feel Will’s breath, hot against his chin. Without thinking, he dipped his head forward.

Will’s eyes grazed over his lips, his mouth parting.

Mike pressed closer. Will was so warm, and he smelt like home.

-

Fall, 1987.
Will has been living at the Wheeler house for over a year, but as the anniversary of his kidnapping approaches, tensions between him and Mike are at an all-time high. Things come to a head in the middle of one of their missions together, when they find themselves seeking shelter from danger in a familiar cabin down by Lover's Lake...

This is a complete work that I'll be uploading chapter by chapter as we wait for Vol 2!

Chapter 1: The Burn

November 1987

 

Will leant heavily against the console table in the middle of the radio station. He knew everyone was milling around next to him, but it was like they were at a great distance, and all he could hear was a buzzing static. Someone switched off the overhead projector, then switched it on again. Doors opened and shut. The tired old bulb above his head flickered, its weak light barely illuminating the table covered in plans. 

The buzzing in his ear built to a roar, then suddenly:

Silence. 

He was alone.

He stared down at the console table. There was a dark notch in the wood on one corner, like a knot had been picked clean out. His fingers always made their way there, fiddling until the dent was rubbed smooth.

Will looked up sharply at a shuffling sound across the room. 

Mike was standing in semi-darkness by the stairs, his posture hunched and heavy. 

All week, Will had had the strangest feeling that the presentation pointer he’d been using was the wooden staff of Will the Wise, and that he could send magic bursting forth into Hawkins with just a flick of his wrist. His dreams had been filled with images of a young Mike dressed up as a paladin, careening round a bright blue bedroom and yelling at Will to duck as he pulled him from imaginary danger. 

But now, all Will could think of was the painting that still sat somewhere in Mike’s room, and a confession he’d never found the courage to give. 

It’s your fault, came the voice again. Always the same one; deep and terrible. 

Will wanted to meet him. He didn’t care if he got hurt; he just wanted this all to be over. 

He swallowed, running his fingers tentatively along the curling edges of the plans.

Over in the darkness, Mike still hadn’t moved.

‘I suppose this isn’t what you signed up for, is it,’ laughed Will ruefully, not looking at him, ‘When you walked up to me on the swings.’

‘I had no grand plans,’ came Mike’s distant voice. ‘Just being your friend.’

Mike's plain-faced sincerity made Will’s stomach ache. He huffed a dry laugh. 

‘Well, look how that turned out.’

Mike made a strange face, and turned away. 

Something sour curled in Will’s belly. This wasn’t about him. He shouldn’t be distracting Mike at a time like this with his wallowing, sentimental talk. 

The deep, low throb of the generators hummed through the room. The sound of it had made Will anxious, once. 

There was a rustling and Will looked up to see Mike shouldering off his pack. It dropped to the concrete floor with a thunk. 

Slowly, he approached. 

Will watched in a trance, his finger continuing its compulsive path along the sharp paper edges of the maps. The mechanical hum got louder and louder, pounding deep inside his abdomen.

Mike walked around the edge of the console table, coming to stand so close that Will could see the differing lengths of hair on his chin where he’d missed some shaving that morning. Tiny stubble, sharp and crisp, deep chocolate-black on his pale, bruised skin. 

Will hissed as a slicing pain shot through his finger, and a stern voice sounded through the room. 

‘Mike.’ 

Hopper stood in the shadowy doorway, wearing a low cap and a heavy expression. El lurked behind him in the shadows.

Will stepped hastily back from the table, clutching his bleeding finger. He glanced at Mike, who was staring at him with a look of guarded desperation.

‘Mike,’ said Hop again, low and dangerous. ‘Let’s go.’ 

Mike stayed still for so long that Will worried what might happen, but then he finally wrenched his gaze away and marched back around the table. He picked up his pack, slung it over his shoulder, and walked heavily to the door, disappearing past Hopper without a backwards glance. 

Hop nodded once at Will, his expression softening, and followed Mike out of the room. 

Will stood there, frozen, feeling the throb of the generator echo through his belly, a rumbling so deep it was almost comforting. The familiar blinking lights flashed across his vision, and he swayed dizzily before snapping awake and sprinting for the door. 

He burst out of the radio station into the hazy dusk, throwing his hands over his eyes as Hop’s truck headlights beamed to life. 

The last thing Will saw as the truck disappeared into the gloom was Mike’s face, peering at him through the passenger side window that glowed with the red-blue neon reflection of the WSQK sign.

Chapter 2: The Burn, pt. 2

Later that night

 

Mike tore into the console room, plans flying off the tables like paper aeroplanes as he swung his backpack off. His breath came in ragged stabs, chest aching after riding full pelt back to the station.

‘Shit, what happened?’ came Lucas’ voice beside him as they dashed over to where everyone was gathered around the couch.

‘Did he hit his head when he fell?’ Mike heard himself ask. He pulled off his sweaty beanie and dropped to his knees by Will’s side. 

He felt Will’s scalp carefully. 

‘Yeah…’ came Robin’s shaky voice. ‘I didn’t even see… one minute he was standing here, then we turned around and he just…’ She gestured with her hands, a comical movement that didn’t match the worry in her eyes. ‘Nancy’s just getting the.. thingy…’ she added. ‘You know. Ice. For his…’ 

She gestured again, finger circling her head.

Joyce was leaning over the armrest, stroking Will’s hair. She met Mike’s gaze, and he could feel the warmth of her body next to him, as though her panic was radiating into the room and mingling with his own, making the air smell sour and sick. 

Mike swallowed down the bile that had risen in his throat.

Lucas was behind him, talking to El in a low voice as he shouldered off his jacket. He saw her rest a gentle hand on his arm.

Mike turned back to Will. The room felt too big, gloomy with all the lights blown and only the generators blinking through the darkness. The overhead bulb gave off an acrid, smoky smell.

‘Where’s that ice?’ Mike barked over his shoulder, his voice cracking. 

Nancy appeared and handed him the compress. 

Mike snatched it off her, and some small part of him regretted it immediately - he could feel all the years they’d shared, all the squabbles and glares of childhood, and that life felt so small, so very far away. He suddenly realised how rude he’d always been to her. It was like he had slapped himself in the face.

He pressed the cold bag to Will’s head, resting a palm on the warmth of his chest. 

Will’s breath was shallow. His eyes fluttered, his mouth moving, but no sound came out. 

Slowly, people drifted away to other parts of the station, tidying, regrouping, getting ready for the night. Only Joyce and Mike remained by Will’s side. 

Mike felt the minutes tick by, vaguely noting the way the cold, hard concrete was pressing into his knees.

Chapter 3: Summer 1987

A few months earlier 

 

Will had a shower at the same time every day, like clockwork. Mike found himself hoping to walk past him in the hall, seeing which colour towel he had chosen that day, the different ways his hair curled over his forehead when it was dripping wet. The bathroom was always steamed after Will had been in there, and it smelled…

Well, wonderful. 

Mike had no idea what soap he was using, but whatever it was, the smell stayed in Mike’s nostrils all evening afterward. It was strangely intimate - even though they’d had sleepovers for years, something about living in the same house as Will was different. 

Sometimes, Mike lay in bed, breathing deeply, and imagined he could still smell the warm, musky-sweet smell of Will’s soap wafting through the house. 

Now all he could smell was his mom’s casserole. It seemed ridiculous that they were all going to sit down to dinner like it was a regular weekday when the town square had just been cordoned off by soldiers with submachine guns. Like that would be enough against…

Mike shivered, remembering the first time Will had said his name aloud to the crew in the radio tower.

Henry.

Just a man, but everyone in town was calling him ‘the devil’. Even Mike’s dad was saying it, spouting a neverending cascade of monotonous headlines from his perch in front of the TV, a weird blend of cynicism and enthrallment. Mike couldn’t tell whose side he was on. 

Actually, both his parents seemed a bit lost. His mom was frequently up late, sitting in the breakfast nook with Mrs Byers, a bottle of wine on the table in front of them, and sometimes Mike noticed his dad looking around like he was looking for something. He’d pat his knee absently as he sat in the La-Z-Boy, as though the space where Holly used to curl up on his lap was cold and empty now. 

In these moments, Mike felt a little sad for him, but he never said anything. The gap between him and his father felt like an ocean that was impossible to cross. 

There was a loud bang from Holly’s room next door, and Mike froze on the edge of his bed. 

Silence. 

Mike let out a breath. 

Holly was always up in her room these days, only venturing down for meals or a rare family movie night, where she curled up under a blanket with Will as they all tried to pretend the world wasn’t about to end. 

Mike’s leg bobbed up and down as he sat on his bed, and his gaze wandered up to Will’s painting on his wall. 

Suddenly his door creaked open and Will appeared, his hair dripping wet.

Mike jumped up.

‘Oh, sorry!’ said Will, clutching his clothes in front of him and backing out of the door. He had nothing on but a towel.

‘No, wait!’ said Mike.

‘I… I knocked, but there was no…’ said Will.

Mike tried very hard to not to look at the little beads of moisture rolling down Will’s bare shoulders. There was an angry weal of purple-red on his collarbone, little cuts and grazes all down his arms and the side of his face. 

Mike turned away, then turned back.

Will was still standing there, wide-eyed and frozen in the doorway. 

‘Come in… sorry,’ said Mike, laughing sourly at his own ridiculousness. ‘Are you ok? It’s not still sore, is it?’

He gestured to Will’s arm, the one he’d landed on when he fell to the ground. It seemed like Will was covered with bumps and bruises these days, coming back from missions in the tunnels coated in scratches and dirt, but these angry tears in his skin were much worse. Seeing him like this made Mike’s stomach ache, a constant low thrum that something was very, very wrong.

Will moved a short way into the room, then stopped awkwardly.

Mike floundered. The smell of his mom’s casserole suddenly made his stomach roll.

Will took a deep breath.  

‘I just… I forgot to take clean clothes to the bathroom,’ he said. ‘I thought maybe I could…’

He gave a little shiver, and Mike snapped awake. 

‘Oh, er… yeah, uh… course,’ said Mike. ‘Here, there’s some clean clothes here…’ He scooped a pile of fresh laundry off his desk, dumping it unceremoniously down on his bed. ‘Mom brought these up today. You can borrow something. Whatever you want.’

Mike stopped. Something about Will’s slight smile and red cheeks made the room feel very warm, and Mike suddenly felt foolish for talking about his mom and the fact that she still did his laundry - which was ridiculous, seeing as Will had been living with them for long enough to know how things worked at the Wheeler’s. 

Will drifted towards the bed, and Mike started shuffling towards the door, trying to navigate his way around Will without stepping dangerously close.

I’ll, er…’ said Mike, ‘I’ll just be downstairs… if you want me… for, you know. Anything.’

‘Oh,’ said Will quietly. ‘Ok.’ 

Will tentatively set his dirty clothes down on the bed and started sorting through the pile of fresh laundry. Mike watched him pull a navy blue sweatshirt up and hold it in his hands for a moment. The lamplight reflected off the little drops of water that were still running down the hollow of his back. 

Mike stood with one hand on the doorknob, unable to leave.

Will turned and looked at Mike. His eyes were wet. 

‘Will…’ said Mike, a swell of something cracking in his chest. 

Will shook his head and slumped down on the edge of the bed. 

‘Will…’ 

Mike surged over to him, sitting down next to him. Their legs knocked together. ‘Will, hey…’

Will looked up at him, his eyes shining, and a drop of water fell from a strand of hair onto his cheek, meeting the tears there.

Mike reached up and brushed the wet curl off Will’s brow. The dampness of his skin felt cool and tacky, and Mike let his fingers linger for a moment. 

Will stared at him, and Mike felt like he was standing on the edge of some precipice, as though whatever he did next could change the course of everything. 

‘Mike…’ Will whispered, his eyes locked on Mike’s.

‘Yeah?’ Mike whispered back.

Mike could have sworn Will’s gaze flicked down to his lips. He could have sworn it. 

Then Will was standing up from the bed, turning away, rummaging through the pile of clothes again, and Mike felt the magic slip between his fingers like smoke.

He stood up.

‘I’ll be downstairs, Will.’

‘Ok,’ came Will’s small voice as he kept rummaging through the pile of clothes, and Mike knew him well enough that he was only pretending to look for something. 

‘See you at dinner?’ Mike asked, and Will hummed yes. 

Mike closed the door behind him, pausing with one hand on the doorknob before turning and heading downstairs.

Chapter 4: The Burn, pt. 3

November 1987 

 

Will…

Will writhed as the hideous voice coiled inside his mind, slithering around his neck and up into his ears, tickling the base of his skull with a fragmented buzzing. The voice was so deep it was almost a feeling, resonating deep inside him until he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or just lying awake listening to the ever-present thrum of the generators. He squirmed, trying to stop it from spreading, from touching him, even though he knew it was already within him.

… just like me… come with me, William… 

… they can’t save you… 

‘Will.’

… he can’t save you…

‘Will.’

… no one can… no one…

‘Will!’

… no one but me…

‘Will, wake up!’

Will gasped awake, his head feeling like it had been split in half. 

Mike was crouched next to him, gripping his shoulder so hard it hurt. 

Will’s eyes adjusted in the black. The radio station looked different in the dark, eerie and unwelcoming. 

Mike perched next to him on the couch. Will could smell the sour tang of sleep on his breath.

‘What’re you…?’ Will croaked, ‘Why am I…?’ 

‘It’s ok. We’re just upstairs. Everyone was…’ Mike paused, sheepish. ‘I think they’re still up, planning. I thought you could use a little more quiet.’

Will couldn’t think. The moonlight from the wide windows shone brightly off the framed pictures of musicians hanging on the walls, haloing Mike’s head in silver. For a moment, he looked like…

Will winced, clutching the side of his skull.

‘I was… downstairs…’

‘And now you’re upstairs.’ 

Mike smiled, a tiny, sad thing that couldnt hide the frown that had made a permanent residence along his brow for the past year.

Will’s heart ached.

‘Did you… are you ok?’ he asked weakly, and Mike huffed a ragged laugh.

‘Well, the floor’s not the most comfortable thing in the world.’

Will looked down at the pathetic blankets next to the couch.

He looked back at Mike, who continued to smile before his face crumpled.

The shock of it made Will reach up, near-delirious with fatigue as he wrapped his arms around Mike and pulled him down into his chest. 

Mike gasped as he landed awkwardly on top of Will. His arm jabbed sharply into Will’s side, but he was so heavy and so warm that it didn’t seem to matter. 

Will wondered if they’d given him a sleeping pill, or some kind of painkiller - something that had made him bolder than usual. Mike was looking at him like he’d grown two heads, but he didn’t try to pull away. Instead, he folded their legs awkwardly together on the tiny couch.

‘You’re going to squash me, you big lump,’ said Will, ignoring how he could feel Mike’s heartbeat pounding against his chest. 

‘Will…’

Will didn’t reply. He just closed his eyes, hoping words wouldn’t be required of him.

‘You can’t sleep on the floor,’ he finally whispered, because he could feel Mike staring. 

He peeked open one eye, his head throbbing. Mike was silhouetted in front of the wide windows, half his body hanging off the edge of the couch.

Will vaguely wondered what time it was as he closed his eyes again.

‘I thought…’ he whispered.

‘What?’ Mike breathed.

Mike’s fingers were like phantoms, brushing against his skin.

‘I thought you wouldn’t come back,’ Will whispered. ‘Today. From the burn op. When we heard those roars over the radio, the flames, I thought…’ Will turned his face into the pillow. ‘I’m a mess, Mike. I can’t even think straight. I feel as if he’s… he’s crawling right inside my… my…’

Will’s voice cracked into a sob. He’d always been ashamed of what Henry had done; the memories had long danced at the edges of his mind, but now, knowing exactly who it was… and ever since he’d seen his old backpack hanging from the branch of that tree…

‘You’re shivering,’ said Mike. 

‘It’s nothing,’ Will replied, face still turned into the pillow. Mike’s touch was feather-light against his temples, but suddenly, Will didn’t want it. He didn’t want Mike anywhere near him, not when the memories of… him… were crawling around inside his skin, so dangerously close to the surface. 

Will swallowed. If Mike pressed any closer, he would be able to feel that Will was…

He didn’t know what was worse: that Mike would think he was hard from the nightmare, or because they were lying as close as lovers in bed. 

‘Sorry,’ Will mumbled. What an inadequate word.

But it was all he had.

‘Don’t be,’ said Mike.

His voice was so soft.

‘I’m just…’ Will croaked. ‘I can’t even sleep without making an idiot of myself.’

‘You haven’t made an idiot of yourself.’ Mike sounded hurt. ‘Will…’

Mike’s fingers kept up a light rhythm across Will’s skin, and soon the repetitive warmth pulled Will under, until the steady rhythm of Mike’s breath ghosting across his cheek lulled him back into fitful sleep.

Chapter 5: The Tree

A few days later

 

‘He’s gone,’ panted Mike, flying back into the control room. 

Lucas stood up from the maps. Beside him, El remained with one finger still hovering over whatever they’d been looking at.

‘What? Where?’ garbled Lucas. ‘He was here a second ago-’

‘I know,’ said Mike impatiently. He was still puffed out from sprinting a loop of the entire station. Not that he’d seen anything in the pitch black field - nothing except the empty space in the rack where Will’s bike should have been. 

Lucas looked around at the broadcasting booth. Dustin and Robin were bickering silently behind the sound-proof glass.

‘They’re about to start…’ Lucas said, panic edging into his voice. 

‘Fuck the show,’ said Mike, surprising himself. 

Lucas and El shared a look that made Mike’s stomach turn.

‘You got your bike today?’ Lucas asked.

‘Yeah,’ Mike breathed.

Lucas glanced back quickly at Dustin and Robin, who had been joined in the tiny booth by a confused-looking Steve. Mike watched them unseeingly for a moment, feeling an all-too-familiar twitch start up in his right eye. 

‘Let’s go,’ said Lucas, clapping him on the shoulder. 

Mike ignored the waves of silent urgency coming from El as he followed Lucas out of the station door.

Mike tried not to think as they sped down the gravel track into the trees. Only a few days ago he’d watched Will shrink to nothing in the door mirror of Hop’s truck, trying to swallow down the feeling that everything he did was a mistake. He’d kept telling himself it would all be fine, they had a plan, everything was under control, and then…

After the burn op he’d woken up on an empty couch, the dawn light pouring in through the huge windows, and an empty space where Will had been.

Will had barely looked at him all week. Mike kept noticing him slinking in and out of the room, Robin by his side. 

His stomach soured. The image of Will’s empty space in the bike rack flashed into his mind and his front tyre skidded on a particularly vicious chunk of gravel. He swerved, almost crashing into Lucas as they plunged into the trees. 

They screeched to a stop just inside the woods. 

‘We should split up.’

Mike could feel Lucas looking at him aghast out of the corner of his eye. The ground felt like sponge beneath his feet, the damp, earthy smell making his nostrils ache. Somewhere, a night bird crowed. 

It was the kind of night that would once have given a younger Mike that hopeful kind of thrill, that spooky Halloween feeling that adventure awaited him behind every spindly tree. 

He missed that version of himself. 

Lucas was still looking at him. 

‘I think I know where he is,’ Mike said.

‘Then let’s go,’ replied Lucas immediately.

‘No, just… we should split up. In case I’m wrong. We can’t afford to waste time.’

Lucas opened his mouth, but the fight seemed to drain out of him. Mike was stung with a memory of their younger selves, bickering in the Sinclair’s living room. He dropped his eyes to his handlebars, watching the pale white of his hands swim like ghosts through his watery vision. 

‘Channel three’, came Lucas’ voice, and Mike coughed, nodding once. 

Lucas tightened his bandana and took off into the trees. 

Mike took a deep breath and pushed off in the other direction.

 

The woods were cold this far in. Mike wondered, not for the first time, how things could feel so different in the dark. Their old middle school was only over the ridge, the wide open field with its crusty railings and graffitied brick. This had been their favourite lunchtime spot, one solitary picnic bench, perfect for the four of them to forget about the rest of the world for an hour.

But it had since become a clandestine meeting place full of top-secret plans.

Mike climbed off his bike gently as he approached, his heart hammering when he finally caught sight of what he knew he’d find. 

Will was standing in front of a tree by the picnic bench, a huge flashlight hanging loosely in his grip. It was the same tree he’d been entranced by earlier that week, drifting away mid-conversation with his eyes glued to something none of them could see. They hadn’t spoken about it - but not for Mike’s lack of trying. 

Will was gazing upwards now, fixed and still, as if in that same trance. Mike couldn’t see his face, and he was terrified of what he might see if Will turned around.

How long had Will been down here? 

Why hadn’t Mike noticed him leave?

Mike lost his grip on his handlebars and the bike’s front tyre swung wildly to the side, snapping a twig in two.

Will spun around, wielding his flashlight like a weapon.

‘It’s me, it’s me,’ garbled Mike, raising his hands and dropping his bike completely. It crashed against his leg, twisting grotesquely to the ground. 

Will stared at the spinning front wheel, the tick deafening as it slowed to a torturous stop.

A hollow silence followed, Mike trying not to curse out the pain shooting through his shinbone.

Will looked back up at the tree, his neck craned so hard it looked unnatural. 

Bile rose in Mike’s throat, souring the words that came out of his mouth, tainting them with judgement.

‘Will, what are you doing here? You can’t be out here, why did you just-’

‘Don’t!’ Will flinched as Mike approached him.

Mike stepped back, wounded.

‘You just took off,’ he said, hearing the tenderness in his own voice that had arrived, as always, without his permission. ‘Why didn’t you say anything? I told you I’d come with you, I’ll always come with y-’

‘Stop that!’ said Will, turning sharply. 

‘Stop what?’ said Mike.

‘Stop…’ The torchlight swung wildly as Will cast around. ‘Stop saying that you’re going to take care of me, that you’re going to come with me everywhere I go! You can’t just…’ He sounded close to tears, eyes rimmed with red and cheeks flushed in the glare. ‘We’re not twelve anymore, Mike, you can’t just take me home and tuck me in like we’re… like we’re…’

Mike stared at him, the ache in his throat making speech impossible. Something low and primitive rumbled inside him, something that resisted Will’s protestations with every fibre of his being, even as a familiar image flashed in his mind: summer rain, Will tugging on his backpack, and his own voice, spiky and cruel.

We’re not kids anymore. I mean, what did you think, really? That we were never going to get girlfriends? That we were just going to sit in my basement all day and play games for the rest of our lives?

Mike’s voice echoed, laughing at him from across the years. 

We’re not kids anymore. I mean, what did you think, really?

What did you think, really?

What did you think, really?

Mike forced everything down and moved closer to Will, the leaves crunching under his feet. 

Will seemed to sense his presence despite looking up at the tree again. His voice was soft, barely a whisper. 

‘I can feel it… he…’ 

Mike felt the very air constrict. 

Was he here? Right now?

‘Will…’ Mike began, trying to keep his terror reined in tight.

Will didn’t respond.

‘Will,’ said Mike again, straining to keep calm, ‘What’s the name of the toy dinosaur I got when I was nine?’

Will still didn’t reply.

‘The one that roars when you press the button on its stomach.’

‘Don’t do that,’ said Will quietly, still looking up at the tree.

‘What was his name?’

Will finally turned to look at him. 

They stared at each other. Will’s torchlight arced outwards, almost touching the beam from Mike’s abandoned bike where it swept low across the forest floor. 

A sudden rustling came from one side and Lucas burst through the trees.

‘Will! Shit, dude, are you ok?’ he asked, practically falling off his bike. ‘God, we thought… what are you…’ Lucas stopped when he saw the looks on their faces. ‘What happened? Is it … him…?’

‘No, no…’ said Will gently, stepping towards him, and Mike felt a different kind of sourness rear up in his belly. 

He swiped the tears from his cheeks and turned to pick up his bike. 

‘Let’s just…’ Mike said roughly. ‘Let’s just get back to the Squawk, ok? Will?’

Will met his gaze with a look that said too many things to figure out in the dark.

‘Will,’ Mike said again, ignoring the way Lucas’ gaze bounced between the two of them.

Will walked to collect his own bike where it leant neatly against the picnic bench. Just a few weeks ago they’d been here, cracking jokes and making flimsy plans for the future, somehow forgetting all that had been and oblivious of all that was yet to come.

Will put his flashlight in his backpack and wheeled past Mike without a glance. 

Mike followed behind him as they walked through the trees, sticking so close that their bike tyres almost touched.

Chapter 6: The Dig

The next day

 

A small weal had appeared between Mike’s forefinger and thumb since the burn operation, turning fleshy and red-white where the shovel handle rubbed against his skin. He could still feel the heat from the flame throwers like he was standing right next to the inferno.

It hadn’t worked. They’d failed. 

Again.

Mike leant heavily on his shovel and glanced around at the field that lay just beyond their spot at the edge of the wood. The evening sunlight lay low over the grass, little fronds waving gently in the breeze. The air smelled rich here, despite the drought. 

He looked up at Will, digging his own hole a few feet away, and found him already staring back. 

Mike stood sharply upright, eyes widening. Suddenly he was back in the hot Nevada desert, standing three feet away from his best friend yet feeling like they were seven states apart. 

‘It’s getting late,’ Will said quietly, his eyes locked on Mike’s.

‘Yeah,’ murmured Mike, trying not to look away.

If Will was afraid of going back to the Upside Down, he didn’t show it. Well, he tried not to, but Mike could tell. He could always tell. 

And even though it made him feel awful, Mike wished he would show it. He wished Will would gaze into his eyes again, or come to stand beside him, or weave his arms around his body like Mike swore he once had in that terrifying, magical springtime of 1986 when Will shared his room and his bed. There had once been a time when Will made it so easy for Mike to touch him.

‘What?’ chuckled Will, looking down at the ground then back up at Mike.

Mike blinked.

‘What?’

‘You’re staring,’ said Will flatly, his eyes glinting in the orange of the setting sun.

‘So are you,’ said Mike.

Will chuckled again, and it sounded real this time. 

Mike’s heart swooped.

But the smile slipped from Will’s face as soon as it had come. He picked up his spade again, aiming a half-hearted dig into the earth.

Mike watched as his digging became erratic, the fractured tink of metal cutting against brittle autumn dirt.

‘Will.’

Will ignored him, putting his whole weight into the next stab, faster and faster, almost slipping and losing his balance as sweat started to drip from beneath his overgrown fringe. 

‘Will, stop.’

Will carried on hacking the earth. 

Mike staked his own shovel hard into the ground and stepped towards him. 

‘Will, hey…,’ he said, taking him by the shoulders.

Will didn’t shrug away this time, but he looked up with wide eyes. He was trembling.

Mike placed a hand to his forehead. 

It was cool. Too cool. 

Almost cold. 

Will’s eyes fluttered as Mike’s hand pushed beneath his fringe, and he swayed forwards into the touch.

‘Woah, woah…’ said Mike, steadying him before tearing off his vest to wrap around Will’s shoulders. He smoothed the vest over Will’s jacket, then watched as his own hand slid down over the vest, down the sleeve of Will’s jacket, down to his cuff, where the soft skin of his hand still clutched his shovel. 

Mike loosened Will’s vice-like grip on the handle and chucked the shovel aside. 

He brushed his fingers over the tender skin of Will’s wrist, then twined their fingers together and closed Will’s freezing cold hand in his. 

Will stared down at their joined hands as if they belonged to a stranger.

‘Your hands are cold, too,’ said Mike thickly, tightening his fingers around Will’s, rubbing them gently to warm them up.

Will looked up at him. Mike could see the way the tiny red capillaries had burst around his irises. 

‘Will, I…’

But then Will blinked and stood back, pulling out of Mike’s grasp. 

‘It’s late,’ he said, ‘We should get back.’

Mike’s thoughts chased after each other as he looked up at the orange sky, the setting sun still visible behind the radio station high on the distant hill.

‘We haven’t had the signal yet.’

Will didn’t reply. He was stepping backwards, through the lumpy, leafy ground, still staring at Mike, his wide eyes shining. 

‘Will, wait, there’s something I-’

But before he could ask the question that had been burning a hole in his tongue, Will turned and grabbed his bike off the ground. He moved so quickly that Mike could only stand there watching before his brain kicked back into gear and he launched himself over to his own bike, grabbing both of their backpacks before chasing Will deep into the damp-smelling woods.

Chapter 7: The Hunt

The trees started to thin out, and Will weaved through the pine needles carpeting the forest floor. He almost spun over a large branch that lay across his path, the brakes of his rickety town bike squealing in protest. 

Light glimmered up ahead, far in the distance, something warm and gold that called to him. And behind, the telltale sounds of pursuit.

It was no use. He’d never been able to outrun Mike. Never in his whole life. 

Will threw himself off his bike. It crashed to the floor, crisp leaves spraying up everywhere. 

Mike skidded to a halt behind him, panting hard. He climbed off his bike, dropping both of their packs to the ground. 

‘What are you doing? We’re not supposed to be out this far!’ 

Will almost laughed. Trust Mike to always be practical about things. 

‘I know, I just…’

Mike’s face was wild, heat painting his cheeks and making the purple of his bruise look harsher than ever. He was staring between Will and his bike, dumped unceremoniously on the ground between them, like he’d never seen either of them before in his life.

‘What?’ barked Will. There was a hurrying ache behind his sternum, and he pressed his palm to it, trying to slow his heart. 

Mike’s face softened, and he rested his bike against a tree before picking up Will’s and gently leaning it against his own.  

Will turned away. 

He took a few more deep breaths, eyes fixed on the distant glimmer of gold through the trees. 

‘Don’t look at me like that,’ said Will after a moment, feeling Mike’s gaze burning the back of his neck.

‘Like what?’ 

‘Like you…’ said Will, fighting the stinging in his throat. ‘Like you always do, when we’re making plans at the Squawk, or when we’re shepherding the… the kids, or digging, or when I’m having another… episode.’ Will paused, daring himself to say it. ’Like you do when you think I’m not looking.’ 

A frown formed heavily beneath Mike’s messy fringe.

Will looked away, down at the forest floor, because sometimes Mike’s face seemed to glint with something terrible yet beautiful, like a painting of himself, or a statue carved from marble, with eyes dark as demons and skin stone-cold. 

Will dreamed of that Mike. That Mike gripped his waist until they both levitated off the floor, pressing their bodies so close together it was as though Mike was trying to physically climb inside of him. He dismantled Will from the inside out every night in his dreams, and Will would be lying if he said it wasn’t ecstasy.

But he also knew that wasn’t Mike. Not really. 

Will blinked and the leaves on the forest floor swam wetly into view. One was caught under the laces of his sneaker. A dull orange-brown. 

The whole world smelled like rot.

‘I know what everyone thinks,’ said Will quietly. ‘And I know what you’ve been telling them.’ 

He flicked his foot limply, trying to dislodge the pathetic leaf. 

‘What have I been telling them?’ asked Mike.

Will met his gaze. 

‘That there’s another way,’ he answered, and his voice came out flat and dead.

Mike just stared at him, his chest heaving.

Will turned away. He gazed between the trees as the silence ballooned, and then Mike’s voice cut through the air.

‘How can you say that?’

It took a moment for Will’s thoughts to gather. He spun around.

‘What?’

‘How can you say that?’ Mike said again, looking at Will like he barely recognised him. ‘We’re so close… we know what he’s after, we know where the tun-’

Will just shook his head. Nothing was funny, but the laughter was about to burst out of him. 

‘What?’ came Mike’s voice again, and Will went limp.

‘You don’t get it, do you?’ he said simply, ‘It’s got to be me.’ He’d never said it out loud, but he knew immediately that it was true. ‘That’s what he wants. It’s the only way he’s ever going to stop.’

Mike shook his head. 

‘No. No. We said we’d kill him, and we will. We’re-’

‘Mike!’ Will shouted, striding forward and taking him by the shoulders. ‘Come on! You know it’s true! Stop acting like-’

‘Like what? You want me to just think it’s ok that you’re gonna… you’re just gonna…’

‘It’s me he wants!’ yelled Will. ‘He’s already taken Holly, Mike! Max still won’t wake up! Who’s next? Lucas? Dustin? El?’ Mike flinched, but Will barrelled on. ‘Mom? Your mom?! I don’t fucking know! How many more people are gonna die like those soldiers?! And Hop said…’ Will sobbed, his voice snapping in two. He stepped back, resigned. ‘It’s me. Wherever I go, it’ll never be far enough. It’s never going to end. It’ll just keep happening.’

Mike’s shoulders slumped, and he turned and walked away from Will, leaning one hand against a tree with his head bowed. His shoulders shook, and muffled words Will couldn’t hear came from beneath the hand pressed over his mouth. 

Why couldn’t Will go to him? Why couldn’t he walk up to Mike, right now, and wrap his arms around him? Hadn’t they always been best friends? Hadn’t they used to hug all the time? Turning from children giggling under blankets to whatever they were that springtime, when the strange rumble of the newly-opened rift could still be heard echoing across town and distant sirens tore the night, and their warm bodies found each other in the dark of Mike’s bedroom? 

Hadn’t Mike lain with him all night, just a few days ago, until the sun rose slowly over the field, golden light pouring through the wide radio station windows?

Finally, Mike looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. He dragged a hand down his face, lined with a weariness that was all too familiar by now.

Will tried to smile at him, but he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t a grimace.

Mike drifted over to him anyway, moving slowly like a phantom entranced. He came so close that Will could see every shade of brown in his watery eyes, bringing his clammy hands to Will’s face. 

Will couldn’t help but look down at Mike’s lips as he leaned close.

A sudden movement flashed behind him, and Will sucked in a breath.

‘What is it?’ Mike murmured, frozen a few inches from Will’s face.

Will’s eyes flickered over Mike’s shoulder.

‘Demodog?’ said Mike, his voice low and serious.

Will nodded imperceptibly.

‘How many?’ 

Will pressed his lips together and shook his head slightly. 

‘Ok,’ murmured Mike, ‘Ok.’ 

Mike’s eyes hunted around behind Will. 

‘Clear behind,’ breathed Mike. ‘I’m going to turn around, ok?’

Will nodded, releasing Mike’s hands where they were still cupping his cheeks.

Mike turned carefully on the spot, and they pressed their backs together. 

Will’s eyes searched the trees for any sign of movement. He reached low and felt Mike’s fingers brush against his.

‘I left my shovel up on the hill,’ muttered Mike. 

Grey clouds rolled in overhead, casting the woods in murky shadows.

‘Mike…’ Will moaned. ‘What do we…’

Another movement flashed through the trees, a flurry of leaves kicked into the air. Twigs snapped as they spun rapidly on the spot, trying to get eyes on the creature. 

‘We gotta go,’ said Mike, ‘Now - let’s go -’

Mike reached down for their backpacks when a demodog flew out of nowhere, its terrible screech echoing through the clearing.

Will screamed and twisted away, skidding and crashing to the floor. Something sharp dug into his palms, and he turned to see Mike kicking and scrabbling away from the creature.

‘MIKE!’

'Will - get something -’ strained Mike, and Will cast about for a branch, a stick, anything. Their backpacks were on the other side of the clearing.

More screeches sounded in the distance, and the demodog suddenly raised its head, echoing the terrible cry before leaping off of Mike‘s chest and bounding away into the trees.

Mike was clutching his abdomen.

Will crawled over to him. 

‘Shit… Mike… shit…!’ Will scrabbled beneath his shirt for signs of blood. ‘You’re - have you…’

‘I… no,’ Mike winced, ‘I think it’s… I’m fine, it’s…’

Mike’s stomach was smeared with scratches, but the gash wasn’t deep. Blood was already drying around the wound.

‘Ah,’ Mike hissed as Will’s fingers brushed the sticky skin.

Will let out a sob and sat back on his heels, his fist balling in Mike’s shirt. 

Mike sat up with a hiss. ‘Come on,’ he said, pulling Will to his feet. ‘Come on, we gotta go.’ 

Will was frozen, staring between the trees back up the hill towards the radio station. 

Mike followed his eyes. 

Two more demodogs were prowling in the distance.

‘Oh, god…’ moaned Will, and Mike snatched his hand, pulling him away into the trees.

 

They tripped over pine cones and fallen branches, Mike’s hand gripping Will’s tight as the rain started to pour down. 

‘The bikes! We should have taken the bikes!’

‘Just leave it, come on!’

They ran on.

‘Mike… where are we… where are we going?!’

‘I don’t know!’ Mike yelled. ‘Away from those dogs!’

Mike wasn’t quite limping, but Will could tell he was in pain. 

Soon the trees thinned out, and golden light shimmered up ahead. They slowed to a stop where the ground sloped down to the water’s edge. 

The lake.

The rain was relentless, grey clouds driving in fast overhead. Mike’s hair was plastered to his forehead, tiny rivulets of water running down his jacket, staining it dark. 

He frowned and cast about as though looking for something. 

Then his eyes narrowed as he looked across the water.

‘There.’

Will followed his gaze towards a distant cabin, just visible through the trees.

‘Think it’s open?’

Chapter 8: The Cabin

The door swung shut behind them with a creak. Mike bolted it, and the solid clunk made something in Will’s stomach settle.

Will crossed to a murky window and peered out. 

A boathouse loomed from the shadows and a rickety jetty soared out into the lake, rain bouncing off the boards in sharp sprays. 

So this was the place Dustin always kept on about. 

Mike joined him at the window, his face oddly blank. He pulled off his soaking wet jacket, motioning for Will to do the same.

Will peeled off his bomber and handed it silently to Mike, who took it and ventured deeper into the cabin. 

Mike hung their wet jackets over the backs of a few chairs in the kitchen. The rain poured down outside, casting watery shadows on the countertops. 

It was a nice place, Will thought. Cosy, if a little dank. It was a good hideout. He could see why Eddie had chosen it. 

Eddie. 

Will looked at Mike. His face was almost expressionless. 

Will wanted to walk over to him, take his face in his hands, and kiss him.

He didn’t. 

Mike crossed to the window and peered out. Then he crossed to the other window, manically striding around the place checking every lock. Will did the same.

‘No sign,’ Mike said. 

Will nodded, glancing at the single panes of glass in the windows, the old wooden walls. 

Then he gestured to Mike’s stomach, his shirt stained with blood.

‘We should make sure it’s not… you know, infected.’

The word held a loaded meaning these days.

‘Maybe there’s a medical kit somewhere,’ Will added.

Mike nodded. His cheeks were very pink.

They stared at each other, not moving. Then Mike made a strange jolting movement, like an aborted wave.

‘I’ll try and find some heating or something,’ he said, and Will nodded, then took a deep breath and went to find a bathroom.

 

- - -

 

Mike meandered around the old cabin, taking in the dark wood and oaky smell. There was clutter everywhere, strangely-shaped objects coated in grime and dust, and ragged posters peeling off the walls. 

With a vague gnawing feeling, Mike noticed how similar it was to another cabin deep in the woods, miles in the other direction. 

A rusted heater sat in the corner of the front room, where wide windows looked out over the lake. 

Mike knelt down and cranked the dial. A pilot light flickered orange before stuttering out with a metallic clunk. 

‘Shit.’

He heard old pipes creaking to life.

Running water. That was good. Maybe they could take a shower while they waited for the dogs to disappear.

Mike stood up slowly and looked around the room, thinking of their walkies, lying useless in their backpacks in the middle of the clearing.

He sighed and slumped on to the old leather couch that sat in front of the large windows. There was a fuzzy blanket draped across it - probably a total moth nest, but better than nothing, considering his damp clothes were already making him shiver. 

He pulled the blanket around him and sank lower into the faded leather of the couch, staring out at the thundering rain. 

His dad had brought him to this lake before, fishing, when he was really young. He’d hated every minute of it; hadn’t been able to throw the line and almost wobbled them both out of the boat. The look of cold resignation on his dad’s face was worse than any yell. 

Mike would have preferred him to yell.

He didn’t tell Will that at the time, though. It wouldn’t have been fair - not with everything Will’s own dad had put him through that summer.

Will, who he’d almost just… 

Mike’s hands trembled. He took a deep breath and pitched his head back to look at the ceiling. 

Cobwebs hung from the low rafters, and an old oil lantern was rusted to a hook.  

It’s beautiful here, isn’t it, came Eddie’s ghostly voice.

Mike sat up, looking around the cabin.

Would have been nice to spend some time here as a free man. 

A low ache formed in Mike’s throat. The image was so vivid: Eddie, peering out of this very same window, scared and confused. 

And angry, no doubt. Dustin said Eddie was cheerful and brave until the end, and Mike believed it - but he regretted not having been there for that different version of Eddie. The one who was terrified as he played a DnD game come to life. That was the only way Mike had ever been able to reconcile what was happening to them - clinging to lore and fantasy as if, one day, despite the chasm that had opened up in the middle of their small town, he could still wake up to find this had all just been nothing but a dream. 

A nightmare. 

Because nightmares always ended, didn’t they? At some point, you had to wake up. You had to.

Mike’s mind flipped to the night that he’d spent with Will on the couch at the radio station; the way Will had shivered and trembled, murmuring in his sleep. Mike knew he shouldn’t have enjoyed lying with him like that - not when Will was hurting, when that man - that thing - was invading his mind, but Mike couldn’t help it. Whenever Will stood too close, he wanted to do something stupid.

Looking a little bit hot and bothered, there, Wheeler. 

Eddie’s bright, ghostly laugh echoed throughout the room. 

You know, I can’t say I saw it coming - I mean, I didn’t know the guy, but… now I think of it… it makes a lot of sense. No offence.

Mike’s heart raced. He shoved off the itchy blanket, too hot all of a sudden despite his damp clothes.

‘I found this.’

Will was standing in the doorway, holding an old tin with a chipped red cross painted on the lid.

He sat down next to Mike and ran his finger over the cross on the tin. Then he reached for Mike’s stomach, his eyes wide and hesitant.

Mike leaned back and let Will lift up his damp shirt to clean the wound. It stung when Will pressed the wettened cloth to his skin. The ointment smelled sharp and bitter, and Mike felt strangely like he was seven years old again, letting his mom clean up the grazes on his knees. 

Mike didn’t bother to drag his gaze away from Will’s face as he worked. His life was full of strange moments like this lately, little slices of normality tucked inside the horror. It was comforting. It made him feel like there was still hope for a world where a grazed knee after falling over in the yard was the worst thing that could happen to you. 

Will packed the box neatly away and they sat in silence, looking out over the water. The rain was hammering hard, a light fog drifting in as dusk fell over the lake.

Will sat rigid and upright, perched on the couch with fingers fidgeting restlessly. 

‘We need to get the Supercomms,’ said Mike quietly. 

Will looked at him, sucking in his bottom lip. It was something he did a lot - Mike had noticed since they’d been living together at his house.

Will looked back at the water. 

‘Ok,’ he said quietly. 

‘I’ll go,’ said Mike.

Will just kept looking out at the lake.

‘Ok,’ he said again.

Mike made to get up from the sofa when Will grabbed his wrist.

‘I’ll be back soon,’ Mike said, hoping Will could read his mind this time, too.

Will dropped his hand. 

‘The water works,’ said Will. ‘I’m going to take a shower.’

Mike nodded. 

Neither of them moved.

Then Mike turned away and strode out of the cabin before he could change his mind.

 

As he dashed between the dark trees, Mike tried not to think about Will alone, taking a shower while demodogs prowled around the shore. None of them knew what Henry was planning, not really - not after that strange revelation with the lights they’d found in the tunnels - and if… he… was already talking to Will, invading his sleep in the dead of night, who knew what could…?

Mike shoved down the panic. What choice did he have? They needed to let everyone know where they were, that the creatures were roaming closer to the radio tower than they ever had before. 

Mike swallowed the lump in his throat and sped up his pace, weaving deftly through the trees.

 

- - -

 

The water streamed hot and fast over Will’s face, the pressure of it weighing down his eyelids until he saw stars instead of a demodog tearing Mike’s body in half. He stayed in the shower until his skin started to burn red, dreading the silence he’d hear when he shut off the jet.

The bathroom door creaked when he cracked it open.

Silence. Only the thunder of the rain outside.

Mike still wasn’t back.

Will dressed in his still-sodden clothes. He went to the kitchen and took out a dusty glass from the cabinet, filling it with cool water.

The moon was rising, silver light flooding across the wooden floorboards.

Suddenly the room went dark, a swift shadow moving across the floor.

Will froze, eyes on the murky trees beyond the windows.

Then a loud bang on the front door.

Will tore open the bolts and Mike fell inside, drenched head to foot.

‘Are you ok?’ asked Will, scrabbling at the front of his jacket. ‘Did you see anything? Are they out there?’

‘No. Nothing.’

Mike was out of breath, panting as he threw the bolts shut. 

Will followed him into the front room, where Mike dropped their backpacks in the corner and fell against the wall, sliding down to the floor. He dragged his hands over his face, making the skin stretch grotesquely.

‘What happened?’ Will asked, pulling Mike’s walkie from his backpack. ‘Did you get hold of anyone?’ 

Mike didn’t reply, leaning his head against the wall with eyes closed, still breathing deeply.

Will clicked the walkie.

‘Squawk, come in, are you there?’

The Supercomm crackled.

‘Squawk, it’s Will. Are you there?’

Silence.

‘Jon? Dustin? Don’t tell me we’re out of range,’ Will whined, letting the walkie fall from his hands as he delved around in his own pack instead.

‘I got spare batteries,’ said Mike, his eyes still closed. 

The Supercomm buzzed faintly in Will’s hands, the line resolutely dead.

Will slumped against the wall opposite Mike. The cabin floor stretched out between them, moonlight pouring through the wide windows and lighting up all the knots in the wood. 

Will rubbed his finger into a small dent near his knee.

‘Maybe it’s the storm,’ said Mike, not opening his eyes, ‘Messing with the signal.’

Will could see him trying not to shiver.

‘So much for Steve’s new aerial,’ Will said. ‘Dustin’s going to be mad.’

Mike peeled open his eyes and looked at him, head still lolling against the wall. 

‘Guess we’re stuck here for a while, then.’ 

He sounded resigned, but there was a strange look in his eye. It made Will’s heart race, despite everything. 

Wasn’t that always the way? Even in the middle of a crisis, the rich brown of Mike’s eyes took up half his thoughts. That was exactly the problem. They were in danger - Mike’s sister was missing, they’d just been attacked - and he couldn’t stop thinking about how wonderfully warm it would feel to be wrapped in Mike’s arms. 

But if his theory was right… if all of this was happening because he was… he was…

Will swallowed. 

He couldn’t risk it. He wouldn’t. Mike had done nothing but touch his face back in the woods, and they’d been immediately attacked by a demodog. Will wouldn’t let anything else happen. He wouldn’t even cross the room to sit next to him. 

Mike adjusted his position against the wall, hissing and raising a hand to his stomach. He lifted his shirt, and Will tried not to look at the way his pale skin glistened in the moonlight. 

‘Is it strange?’ whispered Will after a moment, ‘Being here? Did you know this was Rick’s place?’

‘Yeah,’ said Mike softly, meeting Will’s gaze. He looked so sad. ‘Yeah, but I…’ 

He sighed and looked away. 

 

- - -

 

Mike didn’t know if he wanted to talk about Eddie. He didn’t really know how to talk about him without bringing up that confusing year of hot showers and incriminating hard-ons. 

Oh yeah, Eddie, the guy who I used to accidentally imagine lounging on my bed half-naked because his voice did strange things to me and you were two thousand miles away. 

There hadn’t exactly been time for that conversation, what with the world ending and all. 

But that was just an excuse. They’d had loads of time to talk, and plenty of reason to - not least because Will had spent practically all of sophomore year being followed down the corridors by foul-mouthed whispers and narrowed eyes. The whispers had soon turned to sneers, then cruel jokes and cracking knuckles, until one day, in broad daylight behind the high school gym, Mike had heard familiar heavy footsteps and knew he only had seconds to act.

It was the first time he’d ever felt the sharp thwack of a fist colliding with his face. He was honestly surprised it had taken that long.

Besides, it had been worth it for the look on Will’s face as he laid a cool cloth against Mike’s cheek later that evening in the basement. 

Just like he’d done tonight.

Mike didn’t notice that the rain had stopped until they heard a distant growl. 

He sat up in alarm, but Will barely stirred. He was leaning back against the wall, eyes almost shut. 

‘That one’s just hungry,’ he said, his voice oddly calm. ‘Nothing to worry about.’

Mike frowned at him, a horrible nagging feeling in his stomach. 

‘I thought hungry demodogs were exactly what we should be worrying about,’ he tried to joke. 

Will looked at him serenely. The moonlight lit his face in soft silver-white. Eerie. 

But still beautiful, Mike thought, and he’d never felt so at peace with that thought before.

‘Why aren’t you scared?’ Will asked after a pause. ‘Of me, I mean.’

Mike frowned.

‘You’re not scared of anything,’ said Will. ‘Not me, when I was… zombie boy.’ He made a strange face at the old nickname. ‘Not those demodogs.’ Will paused. ‘And not even of…’

Will sighed and looked down.

The wind rose, whining and murmuring around the old cabin, and waves lapped distantly at the shore. Mike couldn’t gather his thoughts, even though he knew Will would have sat there and listened all night if he tried. 

‘Skull Rock,’ said Will suddenly. ‘That’s what it’s called.’ He chuckled, shaking his head as if in disbelief. ‘When I was in California, I used to… dream about being back home and… going down to…’ Will cut himself off again. He kicked out a leg, rolling his ankle. ‘Lenora was supposed to be a fresh start, but I just felt like… I was leading the wrong life. Like there was something waiting for me back home, and I was committing this terrible crime by leaving it behind.’ 

Mike’s heart beat a soldier’s rhythm in his chest. Will never spoke about Lenora.

‘Jon said the feeling would go away,’ Will continued. ‘But I don’t think he really believed that. Not if the weed was anything to go by.’ Will stared out at the moonlit lake. ‘Jon was the one who told me about Skull Rock. He said it was this place down by the lake, and people would go there to…’ Will blushed. ‘People used to come here to… be together. And now, it’s just…’

Watergate. 

He didn’t need to say the word out loud.

‘Will, it’s closed,’ said Mike. ‘It’s been closed for years. The only gate is by the lib-’

‘But what if it’s not,’ said Will, and it sounded more like a bad omen than a question. ‘What if it’s not closed?’

Suddenly, Will’s walkie crackled to life.

He snatched it up. 

‘Hello? Hello?’

‘- bzzzzzz - in? Bzzz - Will?’

‘Yes, it’s Will, I copy! Dustin?’

‘- bzzz - opy? Will?’

Will’s face lit up and he gripped the walkie with both hands.

‘Robin! It’s me, we’re here, we’re…’

Mike turned away.

‘Will, thank God,’ came Robin’s distant voice. ‘Oh god. He’s here, he’s ok - bzzzz’

The line faded as she seemed to be talking to someone out of earshot.

‘Robin, we’re…!’ Will cried.

‘- bzzzz - stay put. Don’t - bzzzzz - the squawk is - bzz - der attack - bzzzz’

‘Robin? Robin! Robin, what’s g-’

‘ - bzzz - ray are hiding out - bzzzzzz - ever you are, hide. Just hide, Will, and - bzzzzz -’

The walkie crackled and fizzed, then flamed red hot. Will threw it from his hands like he’d been burned.

He looked up at Mike in horror. 

They both stared at the walkie, lying silently in the middle of the floor. 

Will scrabbled forwards, snatching up Mike’s Supercomm and trying it again.

Nothing but static.

Will’s face crumpled, and he collapsed back against the wall, his face in his hands.

Mike quickly slid across the floor and wrapped his arms around him. 

‘Hey, hey…’

Will folded into him. 

They sat there, Mike watching the shadows of clouds make their slow way across the floor, obscuring the moon then revealing it again. The warmth of Will’s body seemed to permeate the layers of damp clothes sticking to his skin, making the whole cabin feel alive.

Soon Will’s muffled sobs subsided, and he pulled out of Mike’s shoulder. 

They looked at each other, faces inches apart. Mike could see every teardrop caught in Will’s eyelashes. 

He couldn’t remember when he’d taken Will’s hand. Or maybe it was Will who had taken his.

‘You shouldn’t wear wet clothes,’ Will sniffled, pulling his hand gently out of Mike’s and thumbing his still-damp collar. ‘Didn’t anyone ever tell you, you’ll catch your death?’

Mike frowned.

‘Don’t say that.’

‘Sorry,’ said Will absently. He pressed the buttons of Mike’s polo in a daze. 

They were so close that Mike could feel Will’s breath, hot against his chin. Without thinking, he dipped his head forward.

Will’s eyes grazed over his lips, his mouth parting.

Mike pressed closer. Will was so warm, and he smelt like home. Mike’s eyes fell shut as he felt the gap between their lips disappear.

Chapter 9: The Cabin, pt. 2

Will was too scared to press closer, so he just sat there, holding his breath as Mike kissed him.

They broke apart, and Mike was gone - standing and walking in a wide circle across to the other side of the room. 

Will got shakily to his feet, feeling like a rift was about to open right there in the middle of the cabin floor. He felt electric, hopeless and yet somehow invincible because of that same hopelessness. 

This was it: the point of no return. Something had changed, and could never be unchanged.

Mike stood six feet away, staring at him with wide eyes and laboured breath. He rubbed a hand across his mouth. 

‘Sorry,’ he croaked.

He didn’t look sorry at all.

‘Are you?’ said Will quietly, and something flickered in Mike’s eyes.

Will couldn’t look away. The world had been reduced to the intense, chocolate-brown of Mike Wheeler’s irises.

Mike made another funny, aborted movement. The moment seemed to stretch to infinity, and Will only knew what was about to happen because he could feel the same movement within himself. 

He flew across the room right as Mike surged towards him. 

They met in the middle, crashing together so hard that it was almost painful, but Will didn’t care, because Mike was kissing him, really kissing him, in exactly the way he’d always wanted to be kissed; only it was better than he had ever imagined, because it was real, and Will wanted to meld their bodies into one so he never had to live a day without this. He felt tricked - tricked by all the visions and nightmares that told him this was wrong. How could it be wrong, when…?

Will didn’t even realise he was walking backwards until he crashed into something solid. There was a loud clatter and something smashed to the floor, but he couldn’t glance down to see what it was because Mike was surrounding him, engulfing him, almost lifting him off the floor. His clumsy hands were everywhere, and it was… oh, it was…

Heaven. 

Will let himself be pressed backwards until he was against the cabin wall. 

Mike was whispering something against his lips, and Will could feel the pounding of his pulse where their abdomens were pressed together.

Then something hot and hard pressed against his hip.

Will gasped away. 

Mike’s cheeks were burning red. 

‘I…’

He stopped. The way his eyebrows furrowed upwards, nervous yet defiant, was so familiar that Will almost wanted to cry. How typically Mike it all was, these fierce contradictions. Suddenly an image flashed into Will’s mind: Mike as a grown man, well into his thirties or forties, his dark hair peppered with silver and that same frown scrunching his eyebrows. 

‘Hey,’ whispered Mike, as Will turned his face away with a sob. He placed a chaste kiss on Will’s cheek, his hands gently squeezing his waist. ‘Hey...’

‘I just…’ began Will, rubbing grounding circles into Mike’s biceps with his thumbs. His hands almost fit all the way around them, but they were strong, wiry. Every part of Mike was so unique. There was no one like him; not anywhere. 

Will couldn’t lose him. 

And if they did this…

Will’s mind raced as Mike gently squeezed his waist, then stopped with his fingers resting on the hardened ribbon of skin on Will’s ribcage.

Will closed his eyes.

The burn. 

They’d never spoken about it.

‘Will…’ 

Had there ever been a softer sound? If so, Will couldn’t name it.

Mike’s thumb was a steady pressure against the shiny-smooth scar. He looked intently at Will, silent questions pouring off of him, and Will knew he couldn’t hide anymore.

He let Mike take his hands and lead him towards the couch. Their knees knocked together as they sat down.

’Did I hurt you?’ Mike asked softly, stroking over the scar on Will’s ribs.

Will swallowed.

‘Does it…’ Mike whispered, ‘Does it still hurt?’ 

Will shook his head.

‘Not anymore.’

Will fiddled with the blanket. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want to think; he just wanted Mike to kiss him, and keep kissing him. How strange it was to talk, after he had just felt Mike pressing hard into his hip. 

But Mike was waiting patiently, so Will lifted his shirt to show Mike the scar. 

‘Now we match,’ he tried to joke, gesturing to Mike’s fresh wound.

Mike’s expression made his throat sting with tears.

They sat in silence.

‘Our friendship means so much to me, Will,’ said Mike eventually, his voice barely a whisper.

‘Me too,’ Will managed.

He had always been afraid Mike would find out he was breakable. Even with everything that had happened, Mike had never once looked at him like they might not get out of this alive. And while everyone else tiptoed around, Will had always secretly believed things would turn out ok, just as long as Mike didn’t tiptoe around him, too. 

But maybe he’d hadn’t realised something: that Mike might be just as afraid as he was.

Will slid his hand along Mike’s wrist. He could feel Mike’s pulse jumping around, and the sensation made him feel brave. 

He reached up and pressed his palm against Mike’s chest, feeling his heart beat beneath his still-damp shirt.

‘We could die tomorrow,’ said Will, staring at the way his hand looked resting against Mike’s chest.

‘Yes,’ Mike replied.

‘We could die tonight.’

Mike nodded, simple and devastating.

Will met his gaze.

‘I don’t want to be afraid anymore,’ he whispered.

Mike covered Will’s hand where it lay on his chest, and Will’s mind flashed with all the confessions he’d never given, about the painting, about the heart on the shield, about everything he was and had ever been… and he realised Mike had been right, that day sitting in Will’s bedroom in Lenora. 

They’d never needed words. Not really. 

Will shuffled closer and let his gaze roam unabashedly over Mike’s face. He drank in Mike’s dark eyes and his eyebrows with their devastating arch; the strong hollow of his cheekbones; the shadow of hair growing on his chin. Mike had the most beautiful lips Will had ever seen, pink and full and a little chapped.

Will brought his hand up to cup Mike’s face, swiping gently over the purple-brown bruise that coursed down his cheek.

‘More handsome than ever,’ he breathed.

Mike’s eyebrows shot up, his mouth falling open in a perfect little ‘o’. 

Then he seized Will around the waist and dragged him into his lap.

Will fell over him, gasping as Mike stamped kisses wherever he could reach. His busy hands were everywhere, burning Will, branding him, hotter than any iron poker, and Will moaned out sounds he hadn’t known himself capable of, sounds that terrified and thrilled him. He wasn’t even sure it was he and Mike making these sounds, or some other beings who had intruded upon their lives momentarily. 

There was a devastating rush of cold air as Mike pulled away, followed by a gentle swipe of fingers at Will’s wrist as Mike removed his watch.

When had he put it back on after his shower? Will couldn’t recall. He felt drunk, only able to catch up to what was happening a few moments after the fact: breath panting over his neck, damp hair tickling his cheeks, and the smell - soapy and familiar, with the bitter scent of cold rain. 

Then Mike pushed Will’s shirt up his chest, bending forward to nuzzle against his belly, and Will felt wet warmth encasing the tender skin of his scar.

His mouth fell open.

Mike looked up at him with wide, questioning eyes, and Will let himself be lifted off the couch. 

He lay back against the hard wooden floorboards, his legs falling open as Mike settled heavily in between. 

Mike planted kiss after kiss down his abdomen, dancing down towards his scar. 

Will had the nagging sense that he’d forgotten something, but he couldn’t think; instead his hands played at the hem of Mike’s shirt, and Mike looked at him darkly before kneeling up and reaching for his own collar, pulling the polo swiftly off over his head. 

Will’s shirt ended up somewhere in the room, too. He couldn’t have said where.

Mike leant over him, nuzzling their noses together. Will’s groin pulsed as the soft bristle of Mike’s underarm hair grazed his skin. 

When Mike pulled Will's cords down, Will’s arm shot out above his head, trying to grab something to anchor himself. His wrist collided with a table leg, and he hissed. 

Then something soft appeared behind his head. 

A pillow. 

Mike lifted Will’s hips up, and Will felt a blanket slip beneath his bare legs. It tickled his skin, scratchy-soft.

Mike returned, hovering over him, dancing kisses down his ribs. Every couple of kisses, he flicked out his tongue, and Will held back his whimpers. He didn’t know what to do. What was expected? Allowed? 

Mike kept licking deft stripes into Will’s belly before looking up to catch his eye, as though asking permission, or daring him to pull away.

Will didn’t want to think, so he looped his arms around Mike’s torso instead, trying to let every sensation flood him. He bit Mike’s shoulder and heard him groan low in his ear. Mike was rolling their hips together so hard it almost hurt, but Will just pulled him closer.

Suddenly, Mike stilled, pressing their foreheads together.

Will gazed up at him, his vision blurry from the proximity. 

Mike’s eyes were squeezed shut, his breaths heavy and stuttered. Every time he breathed out, Will breathed the same breath in. There wasn’t enough oxygen; Will could feel himself getting dizzy in the heat. 

He craned up to press a tiny, questioning kiss to Mike’s lips. 

Mike hummed and kissed back, a second late, as though he, too, was running on a delay. 

Just… give me a minute. 

Will smiled. He stared at Mike’s lips; the same lips he’d stared at all his life. He’d kissed them, now. They didn’t look any different than before, though, and that seemed strange to Will. He felt as though it should be obvious that Mike Wheeler had been kissed by Will Byers. You should have been able to read it on his face, just like everyone had always been able to read exactly who Will was just by looking at him.

The nagging feeling in Will’s belly grew slightly, and he shoved it down, bringing his hands gently to cup Mike’s face again instead. He swiped his thumbs across Mike’s cheeks, and watched in silent awe as tears slid down to meet them. 

Tears immediately stung Will’s own eyes, welling in the corners before running down to pool hotly in the shells of his ears. 

Then Mike opened his eyes.

Chapter 10: Lover's Lake

Mike swallowed, feeling pulse after pulse of blood in his groin as Will gazed up at him. His body was unbelievably warm.

Will.

His best friend, Will, whose hands were now shoved down the back of his underwear. 

Holy shit. 

Mike watched as a tear dripped from the end of his own nose and landed softly on Will’s cheek, right below his eye. 

Will was looking up at him with a familiar expression Mike had known all his life - it usually meant ‘I’m nervous’, or ‘Will you come with me?’ - but now, Mike felt like that expression held an entirely new meaning. A meaning that, just maybe, hadn’t even existed before tonight.

Mike shifted a little, and watched as Will pressed his lips together, muffling a whine.

Mike pressed down again, and Will’s eyelids fluttered. 

Mike was starting to feel vaguely alarmed about how good this felt, and how easily Will was letting him do it. He hadn’t meant to kiss Will today. But he’d wanted to - God, he’d wanted to for so long.

The revelation hit Mike with cold clarity, and he slid to the side, onto the blankets.

Will turned until they lay facing each other, their faces pressed into the pillows Mike had pulled off the couch. He reached forwards, his hand dancing dangerously close to the front of Mike’s underwear.

It passed by, coming to rest safely on his hip instead. 

Will smiled softly, and Mike had the strange but not unpleasant feeling that he was intruding upon some private moment Will was having with himself. 

Then Will draped his leg over Mike’s waist.

Mike felt joyous laughter flood his chest. He caught hold of Will’s leg just behind the knee and held him close.

Will giggled, and Mike swooped back in to crush their mouths together, pressing a palm to Will’s stomach, grazing as low as he dared. He could feel the heat radiating off of him where the hair turned coarse and curling. 

Then Will covered Mike’s hand with his and guided it downward, until Mike was cupping all of him in his hand.

The entire room burst into flames. Nothing mattered except the burning of Will’s skin under his palm, the way his hips thrust feebly as Mike held him.

Will scrabbled at Mike’s underwear and Mike tore them off, kicking his legs inelegantly when they caught around his ankles. One of the pillows went skittering away across the room, and Mike felt a dull stab in his shoulder, vaguely noting that he must be lying on somebody’s watch; he snatched it blindly up and chucked it aside.

Mike barely had time to look down at Will’s hand on his prick - to actually see how Will’s hand looked wrapped around him after so many years of imagining - when Will shoved him messily onto his back. His head lolled against the cushions as Will pressed kisses to his neck, panting so hard that Mike could feel the beads of spit flying out of his mouth. 

Will stopped with his face hovering directly over Mike’s groin. He looked up at Mike.

A flurry of delirium spread through Mike’s chest, and he nodded.

Will sank down, pressing a kiss to Mike’s thigh like he’d waited a lifetime to do so. His hot breath ghosted over soft skin, and when he poked out his tongue, Mike’s elbows gave way.

He fell heavily back against the floorboards, the swoop in his stomach like missing a step going downwards and falling fifty feet instead. Time came loose and all edges started to blur; Mike might have clutched at the bedsheets, he might have gasped, or cried out, or simply cried; he might have said Will’s name (or worse), thrust into his mouth, or grabbed at his hair. 

Anything, anything, except telling Will to stop.

Will’s hand started travelling up his chest, as though hunting for something. Mike’s arm was thrown out wide across the floorboards, and Will followed it down until he found his hand clutching the edge of the blanket. 

He wove their hands tightly together. 

Mike was vaguely aware of some small pain - nails scratching skin, perhaps - but soon Will was crawling back up his chest with more questions in his eyes. 

Mike nodded frantically, incapable of anything else, and suddenly Will was gone again, back down his belly. 

The roar of distant waves built up in Mike’s ears, and the lights in the room started to flicker. 

When had they turned on the lights? Mike couldn’t think. He shivered and shook, almost feeling sick with it - it was too much, yet not enough, so intense it was almost pain, and it was all he could do to not knee Will in the side of the head. 

‘Will, I’m gonna…’

Mike reached down in a panic and pulled Will back up to him, rolling them over and laying on top of him. He watched Will’s face closely, paying attention to every stuttered breath and the exact way his eyelids fluttered open and closed. 

Then, on instinct, Mike rolled Will away onto his side and pressed their bodies together from head to toe.

Will seemed to settle at the contact. His breaths came quick and uneven, and he turned his head to look at Mike.

Mike kissed Will’s shoulder, because holding his gaze was like staring into the sun. 

Mike didn’t know how to do this, how to not hurt him  - God, he didn’t want to hurt him - but Will was muttering something under his breath and pushing his hips insistently against Mike, and Mike could have done it right then, he really could have; he wanted to, he ached for it - and then Will lifted one leg, and Mike couldn’t help but squeeze his fingers into the soft skin of Will’s thigh as he held it aloft…

‘Mike...’ 

Mike gasped and accidentally thrust forwards, hard. 

Too hard. He slipped between Will’s cheeks, grazing over his-

Will cried out, hand flying to grab himself just in time to spill over his own fingers. His body trembled in fits and starts, and Mike held him close, planting soft kisses down his neck and breathing deep until he, too, fell back to Earth. 

 

- - -

 

It was so strange, to lose yourself in the presence of another, to leave your body and go somewhere else - some other realm, some other consciousness - and then come back and find yourself exactly where you started, but knowing that everything, everything, had now changed. 

Will hadn’t really given this part much thought, because he’d never expected any of it to actually happen. His fantasies of Mike were usually coloured with despair, but even when he didn’t end up sobbing into his pillow, his fingers still trapped uncomfortably inside himself, he’d never once thought any of it could actually be real. 

Will drew a careful breath in, feeling sensation return to each of his limbs. Pleasure thrummed through him like an echo, or a dream - the kind that, if you tried really hard, you could fall back into even after waking. For the first time since he’d arrived back in Hawkins, he had become a version of himself he thought he’d never find again; a version untainted and unscarred. Not zombie boy, not the boy marked for death, just… Will. 

Plain old Will Byers, great at art and pretty good at science, too. Will, who still loved making up stories and playing DnD and remembered the way the sun glittered in his best friend’s eyes when they were free of fear and worry. Will, who was going to graduate in two years time and finally go and live in-

A fluttering warmth passed across his stomach. He felt the calloused pad of a finger stroking oh-so-gently against his skin, and dropped back into the room with a thud. 

You’re lying in bed with your best friend, completely naked.

‘Will…?’

Mike.

Mike was right next to him, and Will had just… he’d just come in Mike’s arms. 

And he was pretty sure Mike had done the same, if the delicious drip of warmth seeping down his ass was anything to go by. 

Will shivered. Delicious? Where had that thought come from? 

You know where.

Because it was, wasn’t it? Maybe he was disgusting for thinking that, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. It didn’t feel disgusting. It felt wonderful. 

He wanted to scrape his legs together and feel the glide between them. He wanted to sweep his finger through the mess, bring it to his lips and breathe it in. He wanted to turn and press into Mike properly, sharing all, but…

He didn’t want to open his eyes. Because he knew what he’d see if he did: the most beautiful boy in the world lying next to him, his eyes the deepest, darkest brown. 

What expression would Will find there?

A tickling sensation floated over his lower back, and he had a vague recollection of sitting in a bedroom somewhere, staring dejectedly at his own ass in the mirror. 

A flicker of fear rippled through him. What if… what if someone saw…  

Images flashed in Will’s mind: leering snarls and feet scuffling on gravel; Mike’s face slammed against the rough metal sheeting of the boathouse wall - the cut on his cheek opening up again - blood pouring - hands grappling slick wood - a writhing body kicked off the jetty, falling with a hideous splash into dark water below…

‘Will?’

Or what if Will woke up on the couch at the radio tower? Or - Jesus - on the floor of the old barn? What if he woke to find that this had all been nothing but one of his elaborate dreams, and that Mike had gone down into the tunnels alone after all, just like he’d said he would, and Will couldn’t get him back?

‘Will…’

Or what if… what if he struck, right now? 

Will felt a bitter sinking in his stomach. Of course it would happen now, right when he was the happiest he’d ever been.

‘Will.’

But somehow, even worse than all that was the idea that Will might open his eyes to find that this was real after all, and that he was safe, and happy, and that Mike truly wanted him - not just because the world was collapsing, but because he had chosen him, and would keep choosing him, no matter what. That Mike had been tucking secret messages into all the looks they’d ever shared since that cold spring evening when he’d flopped down on his bed and handed Will a printed t-shirt. 

You can wear this tonight, if you want.

It had felt so normal, like any old sleepover they’d ever had. Back then, the Hellfire Club tee had still been just that: just a t-shirt. And Will had pulled it on and climbed into Mike’s bed, able to forget, just for a moment, that outside the window, ash was still falling from the sky. 

But lying here, in this strange old cabin, Will didn’t know what to do. Because if Mike really wanted him just as much as he wanted Mike, then their whole lives going forward, they would…

Will swallowed. It would never be over. Even if they won, it would never be over. It almost made him wish for the lonely times when the idea of telling Mike how he felt was nothing but a dream. It had been familiar, then; the aching. 

But this? This was new and terrifying, because it meant Will would have to learn how to live with a beauty that, until that moment, had existed only in dreams.

What did you do with so much beauty once you had it? 

And how did you stop anyone from ever taking it away?

‘Will…’

Will felt Mike lean in and press a damp kiss to the mole above his lip - the one he had never liked. Mike’s voice was so soft that Will wanted to cry. 

He touched a hand to his face and realised he already was. 

Then he took a deep breath and opened his eyes. 

 

- - -

 

‘Will?’

Mike needed Will to look at him, but he lay resolutely still, eyes shut tight. Goosebumps rippled over his skin, and a stippled rash reddened his collarbones.

Mike sucked in a breath. 

Will got that, too…?! 

‘Are you cold?’ Mike whispered thickly. 

Will still didn’t reply.

Mike trailed a finger through the mess Will had made over his own belly. He was in awe of the colour and texture of it; it seemed so different to his own.

His fingers kept up a dappled rhythm over Will’s skin, cupping the curve of his bent knee and stroking his hand down the rougher hair on his shin. He grasped Will’s ankle, then the arch of his foot, then slid his hand all the way back up to his hips.

When Mike looked up again, he found Will watching him with shining eyes. He was still covering himself somewhat modestly, his legs pressed together where he lay twisted on his side.

‘Are you cold?’ Mike asked again, drawing the blankets up over them both. 

‘No,’ Will replied. He looked down at his stomach. ‘I…’

Mike started to laugh. He reached to grab his discarded shirt, gently wiping it over the mess and flinging the soiled polo away. Then he turned Will towards him and tangled their legs together, arms wrapping around his body like it was the most instinctual thing in the world.

Perhaps it was. Perhaps this was where he was meant to be, lying naked beside Will. He’d never felt so at home in his life.

Mike could feel Will softening against him as they dripped all over each other, but he didn’t know how to talk about that yet, so he just pressed their faces close. 

Will placed a tiny kiss at the corner of Mike’s mouth and closed his eyes.

It was hard to breathe with their faces so squashed together, but Mike didn’t care. Who needed air? Let them drown here, he thought, let them die here, right by this lake, in the place named for lovers. 

Lover’s Lake. 

He’d never thought much of the name. It was pretty cheesy, all that alliteration - although he supposed it was no different than the names of the far-flung lands in their DnD campaigns. Mike found himself whispering it breathily against Will’s lips. 

‘Lover’s Lake…’ 

Will pulled back slightly with an inquisitive smile.

‘Sorry, it’s just…’ Mike’s voice felt raspy, like he’d just woken up. ‘I don’t know why I said that, I…’ 

Will looked mildly dazed as his fingertips stroked gently up and down Mike’s back. 

‘I was just thinking…’ Mike continued in a hoarse whisper, ‘This place… it’s funny, how it’s called, uh… Lover’s Lake. I mean, who named it that?’ 

Mike swallowed thickly, feeling completely foolish. 

The silence ballooned. Mike’s hand had come to rest once more against the scar on Will’s ribs, like some kind of magnet was pulling it there. He pressed his thumb into the ribboned skin and gathered the courage to meet Will’s gaze.

There was that familiar look again. Mike had seen it in Will’s eyes hundreds of times before, but he’d never really understood the full weight of it until now. 

Trust. 

Whole, unabashed trust. 

Something burst in Mike’s throat. His grip on Will’s waist tightened and he shuffled closer, and Will did the same, clutching at his shoulders, and suddenly something desperate had formed, something urgent, as if the world was ending, and Mike supposed that it was, but somehow he had momentarily forgotten that anything else existed outside of this room.

Mike swallowed, trying to find his voice. He needed to speak, to explain; to not do so would be sacrilege. 

But just as he spoke, Will did too. 

‘Will, I…’ 

‘Mike…’

Will looked away, hiding his smile.

Mike laughed.

They looked at each other, grinning. Then Will’s grin faded, his eyes shining with a distant melancholy. 

‘Do you remember the first day that we met?’ he asked quietly, and Mike sucked in a breath. ‘It was the first day of kindergarten. Everyone was playing. Everyone had friends but me.’ Will brought his hand to Mike’s cheek. ‘Then I saw you.’ 

Mike didn’t move, simply letting Will caress his cheek. The skin was tender, but he’d almost forgotten the bruise was there.

‘You were just walking around by yourself,’ continued Will, ‘Right around the edge of the schoolyard. And then… you looked at me.’ A faint smile played on Will's lips. ‘I can still remember the moment you started walking towards me. You just walked in a straight line, right through people’s games, like you didn’t care if you got hit by a ball or… or knocked over. You just kept walking, right towards me.’

Will’s breath shook and Mike cupped his face, thumbs stroking over his damp cheeks.

‘And then you… you just… walked up to me, and…’ Will shrugged one shoulder bashfully, as though embarrassed to be able to recall the memory with such clarity. ‘You asked if I wanted to be your friend.’ 

‘And?’ Mike whispered, stroking the downy hair at Will’s temple. ‘What did you say?’

Will looked up at him, and it was as though a door that had long sat ajar was swinging wide open, and all light was flooding in.

‘I said yes.’

Mike nodded, his fingers dancing with the tears that streamed down Will’s cheeks.

‘I said yes,’ said Will again, squeezing his eyes shut, and Mike sealed their lips together.

Chapter 11: Lover's Lake, pt. 2

Mike didn’t know how long they lay there, talking and touching each other. Will kept pulling away from his kisses, as though he was too sleepy to focus, but his hands roamed over Mike’s body, inching bashfully further and further down until he was stroking velvet-soft skin and moving it around, playful and curious.

Will quickly pulled his hand away as Mike hardened, and Mike almost burst out laughing at his expression. What had he thought would happen?

But then something electric thrummed between them, like live wires in a storm, and suddenly they were crashing into each other again. 

Eventually they settled into the pillows, smiling too much to even kiss. They lay with faces pressed together and breaths mingling, and Mike had a nostalgic feeling, a sleepover feeling, oddly emotional at how many times he’d spent the night with Will over the years.

At one point, Will spoke about their road trip across the states. Mike felt the experience rumble up from his subconscious like it belonged to someone else. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but he vividly remembered the bitter irony of feeling trapped in the wide open desert.

Will confessed his whole plan with the painting, and how hard it had been to put it into motion once he’d seen Mike again. He’d been terrified Mike would run away from him; he’d been ready to say goodbye and never speak to him again. 

And yet again that night, Mike felt a rush of sheer, unabashed affection for this boy who had been living with his same secret fears all along. 

‘When did you know?’ Will whispered.

‘About you?’ 

‘No, about you.’

‘I’m not sure. I think maybe I’ve always known, deep down.’ 

‘Really?’

‘Yeah.’ Mike paused. ‘But seeing you at the airport that time… yeah, that definitely did it.’

Will laughed loud at that, flushing red. He described how it took him a week just to figure out what to wear, and Mike thought how miraculous it was to still be discovering things about Will so many years later. He couldn't imagine ever getting bored of him. When he pictured his future, Will was there somehow - even though Mike didn’t even know what he wanted to do with it yet. 

Not like Will did.  

After a while, Mike yawned and stretched, laughing in shock when he heard a loud belly rumble. 

Will looked at him, mortified, then covered his mouth and giggled. 

Mike was flooded with a giddy euphoria. He pressed into Will’s space, squashing their noses comically together.

‘Hungry?’ he teased.

Will laughed and shoved him away.

When the light switch did nothing but faintly buzz, Mike pulled the rusted lantern off the hook hanging above them. Will found some matches in a drawer, and the room was filled with light once again, as well as a low, bitter smell that reminded Mike of blackouts in winter.

The light from the lantern swooped as they made their way down the dark corridor. It wasn’t too cold, but Mike could feel Will shivering as they rounded into the kitchen. 

There was nothing to eat in the cupboards. Mike’s stomach fell as he held the lantern up to the empty shelves. 

Will nuzzled into his shoulder blade with a forlorn sigh. ‘Guess we can’t stay here forever, then.’

‘Guess not.’

‘I knew I should have accepted some of Dustin’s snacks.’

Dustin. The name sounded odd, like it belonged to another life. 

They twirled their fingers together, grinning in exhilaration as they stumbled around the dark cabin. They laughed harder with every door they opened, Will bending double when Mike stepped enthusiastically through a doorway and almost collided with an upright ironing board. 

They shoved the closet door closed, feet scrabbling on the smooth boards as cleaning supplies careened off the shelves and the lantern went rolling down the corridor.

‘Lock it, lock it! Quick!’ wheezed Will. 

‘There’s no… there’s… no… key!’ Mike grunted, slamming his shoulder into the door. 

Finally, the latch caught with a click.

They stood there panting, then collapsed into a fresh fit of giggles.

‘Why does Reefer Rick have an ironing board?’ asked Mike incredulously as they stumbled back to the kitchen for a drink.

‘So that years later, you’d get a shiner on the other cheek to match,’ said Will. He peered at Mike. ‘You’re looking pretty uneven without it.’ 

Mike rolled his eyes. ‘Sorry, do I not look pleasing to the big artiste?’

Will scoffed and turned away, filling a glass at the sink. He offered it to Mike, somewhat pink in the cheeks.

‘You first,’ Mike smirked, feeling inexplicably pleased with himself.

Will looked at him coolly, but his cheeks were pinker than ever. His eyes fell shut as he drank, sighing in satisfaction.

Mike’s smirk widened. He took the glass and downed the rest in one.

Will made an indignant noise, but Mike simply grinned, crowding him backwards into the sink as he refilled. He handed the glass back back to Will, who seemed unable to hide his smile.

A second glass sat abandoned on the counter behind them. 

Outside, the storm had picked up, rain lashing down and wind howling. Every so often, the moon came out from behind a cloud, filtering through the slatted blinds and casting Will in striped shadows. It reminded Mike of an old film noir they’d watched once. It was unlike anything he’d ever seen, and he’d become immediately obsessed with it. 

He’d noticed Will smiling privately to himself back then, too, every time Mike brought the film up in conversation. 

Will had always been accepting of Mike’s intensities. It was one of the things Mike loved about him. 

Mike watched as a tiny bead of water dripped from the corner of Will’s lips and ran down his chin. He was suddenly aware that they were both standing there in the kitchen stark naked. It felt simultaneously normal and like the strangest thing that had ever happened in his life.

‘Seriously, why does Reefer Rick have an ironing board?’ Mike blurted out.

‘So he can iron his clothes,’ said Will simply, a shy glint in his eye as he looked down at the floor. He stood with crossed legs, rubbing the underside of one foot thoughtfully over the other, then stifled a yawn behind his hand.

Mike pushed off from the counter and gently took the glass from him, placing it in the sink before linking their fingers together.

‘Not everyone can pull off your devil-may-care look, all effortlessly cool,’ Will added quietly as Mike pulled him back towards the front room.

‘“Devil-may-care?”’ repeated Mike. ‘You’ve been spending way too much time with Robin.’

Will snorted, and Mike wondered how exactly he was supposed to get used to this. Walking along with Will’s hand in his felt like something he shouldn’t get to do for free.

They paused in the doorway when they saw the mess of blankets and cushions on the living room floor. 

Will pressed his lips together, cheeks flushing.

Mike nudged his shoulder, nodding towards a closed door in darkness at the end of the corridor. 

‘Hey,’ said Mike. ‘There’s one more room we didn’t try.’

Will didn’t look at him, but Mike saw him grin. 

Mike picked up the extinguished lantern where it had rolled into a corner, and they pushed open the last door.

It was a bedroom, small and utterly ransacked, the mattress hanging half off the frame. 

They shared a wary look, then headed back to the front room.

Mike re-lit the lantern, then turned and found Will already tucking himself under the blankets on the floor, pulling more pillows off the couch to get comfortable.

Mike lay down next to him, feeling both thrilled and terrified as Will curled into his arms.

Rain drummed tinnily on the roof. Mike wondered if they should try and cover the windows. He should have double-checked the front door was bolted. Maybe he could-

‘Smells like birthdays,’ murmured Will, staring at the smoke that curled upwards from the freshly-extinguished match.

Mike clutched him tighter as shadows danced across the walls. 

 

- - - 

 

‘Mike?’ 

‘Yeah?’ 

Mike’s voice sounded hoarse, like he was on the edge of sleep. Will lay quietly for a moment before speaking. 

‘You don’t think we… you don’t think that what we did was…’ he paused, fiddling with the blanket. ‘Do you remember that news segment we saw at your house? With the people protesting in the streets?’ Will buried his face further into Mike’s shoulder. ‘And those posters they put up by Health class at school…?’ 

Mike had gone tense beneath him. They’d both seen the grainy footage of parades on TV, the scornful newsreaders announcing unnatural goings-on (‘This is an epidemic!’). When it had first happened, Will had stayed still as a statue while Mike’s dad coughed and shuffled his feet before flipping the channel. Then it started happening more and more, and Will found himself burning red as he slipped away to the kitchen for a drink of water. He distinctly remembered the time Mike’s eyes had followed him out of the room, the way the terrible voice in his head had awoken with a new vengeance from then on. 

One time, Will crept into the Wheeler living room when no one was around and flipped on the TV. The lunchtime news. He stared at the pictures on the screen, wild men in strange clothes holding picket signs and yelling from on top of each other’s shoulders. Will was both repulsed and attracted to them. How could that be possible? It was as though a long-lost member of his own family had appeared out of nowhere and asked him to come home, except he didn’t know where ‘home’ actually was. He had always thought Hawkins was his home, as awful as it often was. It was where his family were. His friends. Mike. He didn’t want to have to give that up.

Will had sat there watching the TV until the spiky ball in his stomach made him feel like he was going to throw up. Then Mrs Wheeler had come home and he jumped up, giving her a bright smile and disappearing downstairs. 

Lying in the cabin, Will curled his hands into his chest as another image from the TV filled his mind: the pale face of a young man lying in a stark white hospital room, his arms trapped beneath stiff bed covers, eyes blinking as purple-black bruises bloomed beneath his skin. 

Unlike the other men they’d shown on TV, he barely looked older than nineteen.

‘I know,’ Mike sighed, and Will startled. Mike’s hot, tangy breath ghosted over his forehead, and his words slurred with sleep. ‘I remember seeing this thing on TV years ago, when you were still in Lenora. 60 Minutes. But my dad just switched it off right away.’ 

The silence was heavy, stretching on and on. Will tucked himself further under the blankets, feeling like he was ruining everything.

But he had to say it. He had to.

‘Mike… do you think that… what we did was… ok? You don’t think that we’re… we’re not gonna… I mean,’ Will’s voice wobbled, ‘We didn’t really do anything, did we…?’ 

The young man in hospital flashed into Will’s mind again - only this time, he transformed into Mike, blinking powerlessly as the sickly purple bruise on his cheekbone spread across his face and blood bloomed inside his eyeballs…

‘Well, I mean…’ said Mike, his voice oddly light, ‘You just showered, right?’

Will looked up at him in surprise. 

Mike laughed nervously, but his eyes betrayed something else.

Will looked away, clamping his legs together beneath the blankets. 

‘Will,’ said Mike, ‘Hey…’ He was trying to sit up, to get Will to look at him. ‘Will… no… we didn’t… that’s not…’ 

He seemed adamant; almost annoyed. Will recognised that tone. It was the same one Mike had always used in the playground when he sensed bullies approaching, the one he had every time the planning meetings at the Squawk combined the words Will and risk and bait. 

Will felt a warm thrum in his belly. Even when they were kids, Mike had always been there for him. He couldn’t even remember his life without Mike. 

But what if…

When Mike spoke again, his voice was low and serious. 

‘Will, did this feel… wrong to you? Or… dirty?’

The last word was cracked and half-formed, as though Mike had aborted halfway through. 

Will shook his head desperately. Tears spilled from his cheeks onto Mike’s shoulder, running down his skin and dampening the pillows.

‘Sorry,’ Will said.

‘Don’t be,’ Mike wiped Will’s tears away. ‘It felt… I mean, for me, it was…’ 

Mike paused, frowning, with red colouring his cheeks. 

Will couldn’t stop himself from surging up and kissing him. He pressed their faces together so hard it hurt.

When they broke apart, Will touched his finger to the bruise by Mike’s eye again. He couldn’t seem to stop doing that, as though his touch alone could heal Mike and keep him from harm. 

‘It’s just me,’ Mike whispered as they tangled themselves into the blankets. ‘It’s just us.’ 

Mike wiped Will’s tears away again, even though his own were sliding freely down his cheeks.

Will was silent for a long time. He tucked his cold feet beneath Mike’s calves and watched as the lamp started to burn low, the tiny flame swaying in the draught.

‘This is going to sound strange…’ Will said, ‘But I think this is the happiest I’ve ever been.’ 

He fiddled with a rogue thread on the blanket. 

Then his stomach rumbled again, and he slapped a hand over his mouth as Mike burst into laughter.

‘Even though you’re starving?’ Mike teased. 

‘That was you this time,’ insisted Will.

‘Was not!’

Will burrowed further into Mike’s shoulder. It felt good to laugh. He always forgot how well laughter could fix things. 

They lay back. 

Eventually, the lantern snuffed out. Outside, the rain had stopped. 

‘Me, too,’ came Mike’s whisper through the gloom. His fingers traced over Will’s birthmark, skating down to the shining skin of his scar. ‘The happiest I’ve been, I mean.’

If only we could stay here, Will thought to himself. 

‘Everything’s going to be different now, isn’t it?’ he whispered.

Mike didn’t answer; he just continued stroking the skin of Will’s scar and pressing sleepy kisses to his eyebrows.

Will didn’t mind. It hadn’t really been a question, after all. 

Will felt his mind settle into the low, fuzzy haze of sleep. As his eyes fell closed, the last thing he saw was the dim glow of two watches intertwined on the table, their little neon digits blinking in the dark.

Chapter 12: The Morning

‘Bzzzzz - ike!? Come in Mi - bzzzzzz -’

Early morning sunlight poured gold across the wooden floor of the cabin, illuminating a walkie talkie. It crackled and buzzed, half-formed words straining through the distance.

‘Mike, this - bzzzz - stin, do you co - bzzzzzz - peat, do you co - bzzzzzzz - ?!’

Will's body felt like cotton wool, sunk so deeply into the blankets that he wondered if he would ever be able to get up. There was something hot tucked beneath him, but he didn’t want to know what it was - not yet. He just wanted to stay there, floating, the remnants of a dream tiptoeing around the edges of his mind.

Light crept under his eyelids. He yawned, kicking out a leg and coming up against something solid. 

‘Ow,’ came a muffled grunt from nearby.

Will drew in a breath. The scent was a little musty, but heady enough to make him want more, so he took another, deeper, breath. 

Velvety softness tickled his open lips. He mouthed at it, then poked out his tongue. Warm and smooth, with a rough little bristle of… 

He peeked open one eye. Right in front of his nose, all blurry, was a patch of dark hair. A little further away, a large hand covered his. Will could feel it more than see it; the tickle of rough fingertips ghosting over his skin.

He blinked and lifted his head. Mike had one arm thrown above his head, and he was blinking lazily down at Will, a soft smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. 

Will’s stomach did a somersault.

Mike’s smile widened, his eyes crinkling at the corners. 

‘You slept all night,’ he rasped, voice like sandpaper. It made Will want to do something crazy. Something that scared him.

Even after last night? His brain supplied. 

Last night. 

Will flushed and turned his face further into the warm crook of Mike’s arm. 

Mike nosed at him, jostling the leg that Will must have thrown across his hips sometime in his sleep. 

‘Hey,’ Mike whispered, the bashful laughter in his voice unmistakable.

Will looked at him. The sun lit Mike’s eyes in golden brown. 

That brown. It was unlike anything else. Will couldn’t believe that just last night, those same eyes had begged him to do things he never thought he’d get the chance to do.

Suddenly, a faint crackling came from nearby. 

Will froze millimetres from Mike’s lips.

Silence. 

It must have been the old cabin, creaking as the morning sun warmed the wood.

Will sighed, reaching up to wind his fingers into Mike’s hair and pull him down into a deep kiss.

‘Hmm…’ Mike murmured, ‘So you… don’t… mind my… morning breath, then? Good to know.’

Will giggled and kissed him again. Mike’s hands were warm, and it felt…

‘Bzzzzz - opy - bzzzzz’

Mike froze with his arms wrapped around Will.

‘- come on, Mike - bzzzz - is W - bzzzzzzzz - copy?! This is Du - bzzz - have a code r - bzzzzzzzz -’ 

Will felt the dreading emptiness seep into the tiny space between their bodies as a deep voice broke through the walkie.

‘-isten kid, we’re not play - bzzzzzzz - pick up - bzzzz - NOW.’

Mike seemed to wake up. He leapt clumsily off the floor and dove across the room to snatch up the abandoned Supercomm. 

Will had the distant thought that it should be ridiculous to see Mike like this, stark naked and half-hard in the pale morning light as he bent to pick up the walkie, but somehow it wasn’t. 

He was a painting in delicate creams and browns, and even with the bruise smeared along his cheekbone, which was now fading to a sickly yellow, he was more beautiful than ever. 

Will sat watching him, a surge of deepest intimacy rearing up in his chest. He wanted to draw Mike - properly, this time. In person.

‘Hello? This is Mike, I copy.’

There was an intermittent buzzing and scrabbling, then Dustin’s voice broke through the speaker.

‘Mike! Jesus, dude, we’ve been tr - bzzzzzz - for ages! You disappeared and your - bzzzzz - gone - bzzz - hell are you?’

Mike looked up and caught Will watching him. He flushed and glanced away. 

‘We’re… err,’ he stuttered, ‘We’re at the old cabin. Rick’s place. Down by the lake.’

‘Bzzzz - eefer Rick’s? What are you - bzzzzzzz - Will there?’ 

Dustin sounded urgent, and it pulled Will from his reverie. He grabbed one of the blankets and lobbed it at Mike, who caught it clumsily and started trying to wrap it around his waist while still holding the walkie. Though he was blushing, a scowl slowly formed on his face the more Dustin spoke.

‘bzzz - Earth to Mike? - bzzzzzz - with Will?!’

Mike swallowed. 

Will watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down in his pale throat. 

‘Yeah,’ said Mike quietly, gazing back at him. ‘Yeah, I’m… I’m with Will.’ He started drifting back towards the nest of blankets. ‘He’s here, we’re… we’re together…’ 

Mike trailed off, his expression softening as he sank back down to the floor, curling one long leg beneath him.

Will shuffled closer. Mike had salty tear tracks crisping the edges of his eyes, and his cheek was a little red where it had pressed into the pillow, a twin to the angry bruise that curved around his other eye. 

So Mike had slept soundly all night, too. Will caressed the bruise with a gentle finger, then cupped his hand around Mike’s where he was holding the Supercomm. 

Mike smiled.

‘Hey, Dustin. It’s Will. I’m here. We’re here.’

They grabbed their backpacks, pulling on clothes that were still a little damp from the day before.

Mike checked round the cabin - for what, Will had no idea - and Will poked his head into the front room one last time.

Their blankets were back on the couch, the pillows neatly placed back where they belonged. Will looked forlornly at the lantern, cold and lifeless in the morning light. 

He pressed his lips together, an all-too-familiar ache blooming in his throat. 

Jesus, they’d only been here one night. He had to get a grip.

But it hadn’t just been any night, had it? And now they had to go back to the station like nothing had happened, get back to the plan as if nothing had changed…

Look, listen kid, just… get back to the Squawk, ok? There’s something you’re going to want to see. Both of you.

Hop had sounded serious. Almost anxious. He was never like that.

Something was wrong.

‘Power’s out again,’ came Mike’s voice from another room, ‘That’s funny, I could’ve sworn… well who knows if this place is gonna be of any use, but…’

Will heard footsteps coming up behind him, and two long arms snaked around his waist.

‘I’m scared,’ Will whispered as Mike settled his face in his neck. ‘What Hop said, I…’ 

Will turned to look at Mike, and the words died in his throat. Mike was staring at the empty floorboards with an expression of infinite sadness on his face. 

Then he gave Will a gentle squeeze and tugged him away down the corridor. 

They came to a stop by the front door. Will felt like he was being sent to the gallows. 

They stood there a moment, just staring at each other. Then Will shoved off his pack and flung himself at Mike, kissing him so hard that their teeth clashed together. 

Mike let out a hmppfff and dropped his backpack; it clunked to the floor, banging painfully against Will’s leg on the way down.

Will pushed himself closer, up on his tiptoes. Mike had both arms wrapped so tightly around his back that he could barely breathe, but he tasted like morning, and home, and all the silent prayers Will had been pleading all night had come to nothing, so what did any of it matter? They still had to leave, go back out into the woods and pick their bikes and face whatever it was that was waiting for them. 

Will decided he wouldn’t cry, though. He wouldn’t.

Mike thumbed softly across his cheek, his breaths coming as laboured as Will’s. Will sank back down onto his heels, and Mike lifted his jaw to catch his eye.

’Will, look at me.’ 

Will did. 

‘It’s going to be ok.’

The wobble in Mike’s voice broke Will's heart.

But Mike had always been brave. It was one of the reasons Will loved him. 

Mike had smirked when Will had told him that last night, and Will had poked him in the ribs for being so smug, but he knew it meant a lot - he could tell by the way Mike had gone all hazy beneath the smirk. Will had almost told him about his dreams of Mike saving him in his paladin garb, but he didn’t want to scare him away - not now. 

‘And… whatever happens next…’ Mike paused, looking bashful. ‘Crazy together, remember?’ 

Will laughed thickly, nodding again. 

‘Yeah,’ he sniffed, ‘Crazy together.’

Mike pressed a tiny kiss to Will’s lips, and a metallic buzz crackled from the floor. They glanced down at where Mike’s walkie had fallen out of his backpack and rolled away across the rug.

They waited, but no voices came through. Mike picked it up, hauling his backpack onto his shoulders. 

Will felt something heavy settle in his stomach as he pulled his own pack back on. It seemed to weigh a hundred pounds. 

They shared a long look. 

‘Ok,’ Mike said, voice cracking with false enthusiasm. ‘Let’s go.’ 

‘Let’s go,’ repeated Will. He followed Mike out of the front door and down the steps. 

When they’d walked about fifty paces, Will stopped and looked back at the cabin. It sat there, resolute and solid, still washed with rain from the night before.

Something sour bubbled in his throat, but there was a hardness, too, a feeling he hadn’t known before. 

He turned and saw that Mike had stopped a few strides ahead. There was a distant look in his eye as he gazed back at the lake. 

When their eyes met, Mike’s gaze sharpened. Something passed between them, something electric and thrumming with righteous anger.

They fell into step, hands not quite brushing as they stalked silently back through the densely-packed trees.

Chapter 13: Fire and Blood

One week later

 

Will lay staring at the ceiling of Mike’s bedroom. Over above his bed, two tiny plastic stars were barely glowing in the dark. Mike’s gentle snores, barely audible, sounded from next to him.

Will’s heart clenched. Years he’d dreamed of laying here like this, with Mike sleeping peacefully beside him.

Will closed his eyes. He thought of the cot down in the basement where he’d spent the past year and a half. He thought of waking up in the radio station, generators blinking and moonlight gleaming. He thought of the burn operation and all the plans, and he could barely remember which was a real memory and which was just some vivid concoction of his mind, dreamed up in a fit of anxious panic.

It was a week since Henry had emerged from the gate in the town square, and Will’s mind had been a running loop of catastrophes since he'd stroked one long, sharp nail down Will's cheek and told him he’d be back soon, to finish what they’d started. 

Will’s stomach soured. He’d almost wished Henry had taken him again. Anything was better than this. The waiting. 

Waiting for something to happen with no idea what. 

Will knew Mike was struggling with that, too. Mike had never been good at not knowing things.

Mike hitched a snore in his sleep, and Will turned to look at him. He was frowning, his brow heavy where his face was pressed into the pillow. The comforter was tucked tight around his body.

Will tugged the comforter from Mike’s grip, careful not to wake him, and ducked his head underneath.

It was a warm cocoon beneath the blankets, with the musty tang of sleep. Mike’s fist was a solid ball gripping the edge of the pillowcase. His knuckles were white. 

Will laid a gentle hand over them, then leaned slowly closer to press a featherlight kiss there. He stroked the dips between each knuckle. 

What had Will done? All those years ago, for Henry? He couldn’t recall, and the not knowing made him feel like he was on a cliff edge with one leg dangling over deep black nothingness. 

Day by day, the party had split - Jon off with Nancy, El and Hop sneaking into the Upside Down - and day by day Will’s fear had been peeling back, to be replaced by a solid, steely feeling he was so unused to that he didn’t quite know what to do with it. 

What did you do when your mind suddenly decided you were no longer as afraid as you always had been? Why did Will feel like there was a separation between himself and his mind? How could they be two separate things and yet be the same? 

There was one memory that was on repeat - at least, it started as a memory, but then ran away from him, out of control until it was more imagination than actual occurrence, and Will could no longer discern which was real and which was just a dream.

It had begun at the Squawk, after he and Mike had come back from the lake. 

Will had flown down the corridor, heading towards something - some storage closet, some hidden corner, anything - where he could gather his thoughts. He could feel Mike close behind him, his long purposeful stride quickly catching up.

Will took a sharp right into the tower stairwell, ignoring the sign that screamed HIGH VOLTAGE! on the door. Will had never been in here before. He’d always wanted to climb up the radio tower, but Jon had never let him. 

Mike swept in behind him. He slammed the door shut and turned to Will with eyes wide and imploring. 

They stood there, in the cool, shadowy stairwell that led up to the great hulking tower, and just stared at each other. 

Mike’s outline was silhouetted in the dark. Everything became wobbly and unfocused, as though Will was seeing from deep under water, and a dull thickness began somewhere inside his skull, seeping into his throat until it was hard to breathe. 

Mike surged forwards and took Will’s face in his hands.

‘Will.’

‘No,’ Will stammered, still shaking his head as tears fell thickly down his cheeks. ‘No, not now, not now, not when we’ve only just…’

‘Will.’

‘I can’t… you… it was supposed to be me, it was supposed to be me, you can’t - not now, not now that I’ve just found you, I’ve just found you…!’

Was he making any sense? He didn’t know, or care. He probably looked like a madman, clutching at the camo vest that made Mike look more like a soldier than his best friend. 

The rough fabric snatched against Will’s nails as he grabbed Mike’s shoulders, desperately tugging off his beanie hat.

Mike hissed as Will’s fingers caught his hair, but he let Will grab at him and held him firmly in turn, ducking forwards as though trying to meet his eyes - or, perhaps, or to kiss him. 

Will so desperately wanted Mike to kiss him. Maybe this would be the last chance they’d ever have. Why was he wasting time talking?

Will stopped mid-sentence and threw himself at Mike, smashing their faces together. He reached back and tugged at the collar of Mike’s jacket, trying to pull it down over his shoulders. 

‘Take - take this off,’ he muttered against Mike’s mouth. 

‘Will…’ Mike started.

‘I want it off,’ Will said again, tugging at the hateful fabric, bulky and impenetrable. God, he hated this fucking vest - hated the stiff fabric, the way it prevented him from curling into Mike’s body or feeling his skin, the way it was one too many layers between them when really there should have been none at all, because Mike should be laying naked in his arms right now, not dressed in a bullet-proof vest and all the other things that they’d thought were cool the first time they’d seen them but which now represented nothing but the fact that Mike was about to go out into the middle of the battle as bait, and that this was their plan and possibly had been all along, ever since the burn operation… and it was all Will’s fault. 

Henry was right, when he whispered to Will in his dreams. 

You did this.

Will started to hyperventilate.

‘Take it off, please…’ he begged. 

He needed to see Mike’s skin; to see the freckles along his collarbone, to know that the pale little dents just below his hips were in fact real and not a figment of his overwrought imagination.

‘Will, stop.’

‘Please, Mike… take it off… take it off!’

‘Will!’ Mike pleaded, his voice breaking. 

Will crumpled at that; at the defeat in Mike’s voice. He felt nothing but a rippling, debilitating fear, the specific pang of regret he'd had as a child, when he'd broken his favourite toy and knew nothing could ever turn back time to fix it. It was like grief, this pain, but for something yet to happen; future-grief, except Will could feel the pain right now as if it was already happening, like all the future-pain and all the present-pain had folded itself together into one sickening sensation of sheer, powerless dread. 

It was as though Mike was already gone, like the person with his arms wrapped around Will was just a ghost.

Now Will lay motionless in Mike’s bed, staring at Mike’s sleeping face under the covers and wondering if all of that had even happened at all. He couldn’t even remember getting back to the Squawk after being at the cabin. It was just a blur of fire and blood, resonating with a voice. A deep, terrible voice. 

And now, when Will closed his eyes, sometimes he saw himself killing. Soldiers, women, children. He tore them limb from limb, tasting the metal of their blood in his throat.

Mike’s fist was balled in front of his chin under the covers. 

Will leaned close and placed another gentle kiss to his knuckles, pretending they were Mike’s lips. Then he slowly peeled back the blankets and slid out of bed, gathering his things and slipping from the room.

He made his way downstairs.

He picked up his shoes, then headed into the basement, and crept away out of the back door, into the night.

Chapter 14: The Tree, pt. 2

Mike stirred. There was a throbbing ache in his wrist, the muscles of his hand seized up with sleep. He made to roll over but couldn’t find the energy; his eyes felt glued shut. It must have been long before dawn. 

He yawned and shivered, the bed feeling colder somehow.

 

- - - 

 

Will thought of Robin, his mom, Jon. He thought of El, travelling further into the Upside Down than anyone had ever been before. She was always doing that; saving everyone. Will wondered if she ever got sick of it, and if she did, why she didn’t say anything. 

But as he wheeled his bike silently down the slope to their school, he realised he already knew. 

He thought of Mike. He always thought of Mike, but lately, the thoughts had been getting jumbled up, as if thinking of Mike caused some short-circuit crash inside his brain. The images looped and re-looped; Mike’s smile; Mike’s scowl; Mike fighting the demogorgon that came right into their house, swinging the old spade like it was Steve’s spiked bat. 

Mike, always so brave, even when he lost El and Will could see it destroying him from the inside out bit by bit every day. Will hadn’t known what to do, back then. He'd been powerless.

No longer.

That was the worst thing about Mike - and maybe the best thing, too - that he didn’t require Will to be brave. Mike was ready to be brave enough for the both of them, to fight every battle for them both. And yet he’d never call Will a coward. He wouldn’t even let Will think that about himself. 

But it was that realisation - that Mike accepted him just as he was, that everyone he loved did - that spurred Will to finally do the thing he’d been putting off for so long. It wasn’t a stubborn recklessness, but a calm feeling of choice. 

He could choose what he was going to do, and he would choose it without shame, no matter what anyone else thought.

The guilt gnawed at him, though. He should have left a note for his mom.

 

Will cruised silently around the running track on the school field, his wheels gently ticking over before he came to a silent stop. The brakes of his bike didn’t squeak once.

The field was empty. Ghost town.

He looked up at the sky. 

This was the place. 

Woooooohoo! came an echoing yell.

Will spun around. The air was cool, shadowy figures starting to fill the empty field, glimmers and flickers. 

That’s it! Go on, son! 

His dad. 

And Jon. 

Which meant...

Wooooo! His dad yelped hideously, bounding over to Jonathan and clapping him so hard on the shoulder Will could see Jon almost buckle. He was short and slight; he couldn’t have been more than thirteen years old. 

Will’s dad turned to him next. The past him, about half the size of Jon, standing sloop-shouldered off to one side.

Lonnie sauntered towards the smaller Will, wielding the baseball bat.

Dad… came Jon’s voice, but Lonnie ignored him. He shoved the bat into Will’s hands.

Will toppled to the side almost immediately, dropping the bat to the ground.

Will felt his own shoulders sag with the weight of his dad’s fierce gaze, leaden on his shoulders even all these years later.

He screwed up his eyes, swallowing hard.

So weak, came the voice. Deep, rumbling, seeping like acid inside his bones. 

Will forced his eyes open. The field was empty again; only clouds scurrying across the sky, forcing the moon in and out of hiding.

Will set his jaw as he stared up into infinity. 

‘Come on, then,’ he said in a low voice, the resolve crystallizing in his gut. 

He turned and launched himself onto his bike, tearing the rest of the way across the field and plunging into the woods. 

 

- - -

 

Mike worried the note between his fingers again, keeping it hidden inside his jacket pocket. It was already starting to tear, the fold lines roughened by the repeated touch of sweating, anxious hands.

He wanted to unfold it again, read it over for the hundredth time. Instead, he clasped it between his fingers, as though by keeping hold of Will’s words, he could keep Will himself safe, too.

El dashed up ahead, nimble and lighter than Mike had ever seen her. She leapt over fallen branches and dodged ferns like she’d been living in the forest her whole life. Mike supposed she knew the way more than anyone by now - except perhaps Hopper.

She's Luke on Dagobah, thought Mike, unable to keep the groundswell of awe from tiding over in his belly.

Then, there it was, appearing through the trees: Hop's old cabin. 

Mike forced the memory of another cabin far from his mind as he dashed inside and closed the door behind them. He got immediately to work, refilling the tub and adding more salt as he loudly gabbled his plan to El, who was changing behind the door.

He looked up when he realised several minutes had passed without her speaking.

‘El?’ Mike asked, chucking away the last bag of salt.

He turned and saw her standing in the doorway of her bedroom, suddenly looking fragile and small in her wetsuit. Mike felt a strange flicker of discomfort, as though he was seeing her for the first time.

He opened his mouth and closed it again, then sat down on the side of the tub, dipping his hand in the water for something to do.

‘Water’s warm enough, I think,’ he said, trying to control his voice. ‘And remember, stay behind something solid at all times. Who knows what he can see through now. Ever since he stole Will’s sight…’

‘Mike,’ said El, her voice calm and even.

‘Yeah?’ Mike said, looking up at her.

She came over to him and sat slowly down on the side of the tub. 

She took his hands.

‘I’ve been there,’ she said, slow and measured, as though expecting him to explode.

Mike couldn’t respond. Too many thoughts were running through his brain. He could barely remain perched on the side of the tub. Just being here, in this place; he already felt like he’d outgrown it. His limbs were too long; he’d had to duck his head just to get through the doorway. Nothing fit. He didn’t fit. 

‘When me and Hop were in the Upside Down,’ continued El, her gaze steady, ‘When we’d finished at the lab… we went to the woods on the way back…’ She looked at him pointedly, and Mike forced himself not to blink. ‘And we saw the gate. The one by Will’s tree.’

Mike squeezed El’s hand involuntarily, looking down at where they were touching as though he was watching the scene from a very long distance. 

‘So,’ Mike said, his voice clipped. ‘You can find him.’

El looked at him with such a deep, knowing weariness that it made Mike feel like he’d lived a thousand lifetimes already.

She nodded, lifting her hand gently to his face.

‘Yes. I can find him,’ she said, leaving the heaviest words unspoken. 

Mike didn’t have the capacity to wonder what was on the other side of that sentence. Ever since he’d found Will’s note tucked in the basement, in a place only he would have found it, Mike hadn’t been capable of contemplating any possibility other than ‘we’re going to bring him back.’ 

He’d been here before. He’d saved Will once. Twice, really.

He’d do it again.

 

- - - 

 

Will leant his bike against the picnic table and approached the tree. A low humming filled the clearing, like the air itself was throbbing with something. It called to him. 

As he got closer, the tree seemed to glow. Behind it, more trees opened up, forming a row, a corridor, as though all along he’d been searching in the wrong place, and he’d only had to catch the world from the right angle, the right viewpoint, to open up something new and terrifying that had been made just for him.

The echoing got louder, and Will saw an eerie red light glimmering in the distance…

And emerging from it… if he could just get a little closer… he could see a shadow. A distant figure, tall and hulking, beckoning him closer.

'William.'

Chapter 15: The Spire

The earth fell out from beneath Will’s feet. Air flooded his ears, buffeting so loud it felt like ever blood vessel in his body was bursting open at once. He gasped for breath, hands reaching for nothing as he fell down… down… down…

 

‘Will?’

The voices were faint, like an echo, or a dream.

 

Cold grip, sliding with wetness. The smell… foul… rot… death…

People were shouting. Or crying. Were they real?

Will felt the vines wrapping around his head like a lover’s embrace that suddenly constricts until love itself feels like a kind of death.

Who was it? Who was holding him?

Will’s eyes closed as tears slid down his cheeks. Mike, Mike, Mike…

Don’t let it be Mike holding him… if Mike’s embrace was a trap, Will didn’t want to know…

‘William…’

The voice was quiet, this time. It sounded strange now that it was in front of him, instead of inside his head. 

Will’s stomach rolled. 

‘Who would have thought…’ 

Henry’s low growl was as sinister as ever, but it was laced with something else now. Something almost reverent. 

The vines gripped Will tighter, squeezing his waist and chest, flattening him against the spire. 

He’d been here before, hadn’t he? Unable to move an inch.

Will gripped his fists, trying to siphon the hate he could feel coursing through Henry’s veins. 

Nothing. 

He fell limp, a sob stretching his throat.

Time slipped in and out. Breathe. Can’t breathe. His throat ached; his muscles screamed.

Henry appeared like Mike in front of him, the cold, terrible Mike from his dreams, with eyes like ice and skin like marble. Will cowed before him, his shame and desire fighting for first place. Then sleep overtook him, a low dread, like the kind of tiredness that scares you because it appears precisely when you really need to be awake.

Then, suddenly, a sharp cold sliced the back of Will’s neck.

‘Let him go.’

Could there be a universe where Will didn’t know that voice? Low and dangerous, yet nothing Will could ever be afraid of. He didn’t think he had heard such a beautiful sound in his entire life. Relief flooded his chest even as the sharp pain stung the back of his neck again.

Henry froze millimetres in front of him, his rancid breath filling Will’s mouth, and over his shoulder, Will glimpsed the silvery gleam of a blade that was making its slow way deep into the vines of Henry’s neck.

Mike’s gaze was dark with fury. Will could feel the blade sliding into his own neck as if Mike had it aimed at him instead, but the agony was somehow bearable; foreign and distant. 

Not his pain, but Henry’s.

‘Let. Him. Go.’

Mike bared his teeth as he drove the blade deeper into the fleshy, writhing veins at the base of Henry’s skull. 

Will winced and pressed his lips together, shoving down the pain he knew wasn’t really his. Mike was here. Mike was here. He was safe. He hadn’t fallen from the cliff-edge after all; hadn’t been razed down in battle back in the Rightside Up after Will abandoned them all, sneaking away in the dead of night and through the glowing gate in the woods. 

A surge of violence electrified the air like static. Something warm and thick flooded Will’s neck, and the vines around him suddenly loosened, writhing away. He stumbled and slipped down the spire, his legs giving way beneath him before his head struck the ground, and everything went black. 

 

Will heard a familiar sound. A gentle recurrent beep, like something from the video games in Mike’s basement. It wasn’t a scary sound, but something about it made Will feel anxious. 

He tried to open his eyes, but couldn’t. 

 

Will’s neck felt like it had been split in half. He was on fire. The wind roared. Wide, dark eyes filled his vision.

‘Will…!’

It was Mike. He was gripping Will’s waist, holding him tight as the wind whipped through his hair. 

Will gazed at him, the cold air stinging his eyes. Now was not the time to be stunned by the beauty of Mike Wheeler’s eyes, but he couldn’t help it. They shone with starlight, the darkest chocolate-black…

‘Will! Come on! We have to jump!’

‘Wh-what?’ Will asked, his feet slamming back to Earth. Or not Earth; he looked down and saw nothing but empty air beneath him. Faded paint on metal grilles… the radio station miles below…

They were at the top of the radio tower.

Will gazed around, and saw nothing but night. The treetops were black, wind rushing through them so loud it was deafening. There were no lights from the town. 

Hawkins was dark.

Only starlight shone in Mike’s eyes, the collar of his jacket turned up against the frozen wind. 

Will was cold. So, so cold.

‘It’s coming,’ said Mike, leaning over the railing, looking at something Will couldn’t see. His voice wavered like Will had never heard. 

He was unsure. Afraid. 

Will felt something solid form in his stomach, and he steadied himself against Mike.

Mike gripped him back, immediate and so tight it almost hurt.

Will didn’t care. 

‘Do you trust me?’ he asked. 

‘Yes,’ said Mike at once, though his eyes were wild and questioning. 

‘Ok,’ said Will, and the smile in his own voice surprised him.

The wind picked up, a roar echoing around the open field. Mike’s eyes flickered over the edge of the tower.

Will didn’t need to look. He knew what was down there, below, on the ground. Fire, bodies, death. Their friends. 

And rising up the tower, the shadow. 

Chasing him, as it always would.

It would never stop. Not unless…

Will reached forward and took Mike’s face in his hands, feeling the softness of his cheekbone beneath his fingers. The bruise on his cheek shone, a mark of all they’d been through. 

It was the last thing Will saw before he closed his eyes. 

 

Beep… beep… beep…

 

‘Will… I need you to stay…’

 

Beep… beep… beep…

 

‘Will… come on… I need you to wake up… come on… Will…’

 

Beep… beep… beep…

 

- - - 

 

The dust choked Mike’s throat, stinging his eyes. His ankle was twisted grotesquely beneath him, but he barely felt the pain. He shunted Will further into his arms, laying him across his lap. He tapped Will’s cheek, trying to open his eyelids. 

‘Will… come on… please…’

Around him, the sounds of the battle had gone quiet. Flames licked at the grass, their low sizzle punctured only by footsteps coming to a halt nearby. He felt everyone he loved gather around him, watching, staring. 

‘Help me!’ Mike cried over his shoulder, but no one came close. It was as though what they were seeing was too terrible to get close to. 

‘Will… come on… Will…’ Mike sobbed, gripping him, shaking him. ‘I need you to stay with me, I need you to wake up.’ He choked on a sob. ‘I’m not letting you go again. I won’t let you. I’ve still got to…’ Mike cast around, patting his pockets. ‘Where is it? I haven’t got it… I dropped it…’

It was absurd. He was reaching around for his radio, knowing it was long gone. 

But the tape. Will’s tape. 

Where was it? He needed to play it. He needed Will’s song. 

Mike shook Will, almost violently. He patted his face, leaning close to his chest. 

‘Listen to me. Listen. Will, can you hear me?’

Will’s body lolled in his arms, utterly still. 

Before he knew what he was doing, Mike was choking out the words.

‘If you… if you say that you are mine… I’ll be here til the end of time…’ Mike pressed his lips together, eyes filling with tears until Will was a blur in the flamelight.

It was barely a song. More like a broken prayer.

‘So darling you’ve… got to let me know,’ Mike’s voice finally broke, the words cracking into a croaky whisper. ‘Should I stay or should I go.’

Will lay still, resolutely unmoving. His eyes were closed; he looked peaceful, almost as though he was just asleep in Mike’s bed, back home.

Mike stared, trying to re-form the words of the song, but nothing came out. 

Suddenly, a warm hand lay on his shoulder. 

Mike looked up through blurred vision and saw El sinking to her knees opposite him. She leant over Will like a mother, placing one hand over his heart. 

‘What are y-’ Mike managed, but the look in El’s eyes was so sad that Mike fell silent. Her gaze seemed to say everything they’d never been able to, and all the years they’d known each other collapsed into the space between them.

Mike felt the warm red glow come from beneath her fingers, saw the light emanating from her body, more like something out of his dreams than something that could exist in real life. Her eyes closed, but she didn’t look in pain. She, too, looked at peace.

Notes:

Well damn, Vol. 1 was really something... until Vol. 2, more to come!

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 4 of It Was Coming All Along