Work Text:
The silence in the van is overbearing as Will, Mike, Robin, and Joyce drive back to the Wheelers’ house. Joyce is behind the wheel, knuckles white and leg bouncing. Her left hand’s pointer and middle finger are held out together like there’s a lit cigarette between them. Robin is next to her in the passenger seat, eyes glued to the darkness outside her window. She grimaces, holding her side every time they drive over a bump. As soon as they reunited, Robin told Will that, luckily, it’s probably just a bruised rib. Lucas and Murray weren’t quite as lucky, both having to be transferred to the hospital due to their injuries.
Fortunately, Vickie was able to communicate to the group that they’re both going to be okay and that they weren’t the worst car crash victims the hospital has ever seen. How Robin was able to convince them that the injuries were a result of an accident, despite the claw marks slashed into Lucas, Will doesn’t know. From the backseat, Will can sense that Robin is being eaten alive by the guilt of lying to her girlfriend, her mouth busy biting at her fingernails. But it’s not like she was being entirely deceitful; it was like half the truth of what happened. Regardless, Will understands; he hates lying to people, especially when it’s someone he cares about.
He glances at the seat next to him, where Mike is looking down and fiddling with the zipper of his jacket. Every time he shivers from the cold, wet clothes brushing against his body, he winces in pain and grabs his arm. Mike turns to look at him, and when they make eye contact, he tries a smile that fails to reach his eyes before he looks back down at his jacket. Will feels his cheeks flush as he turns to look back out the window.
He should be tired, exhausted even, but he’s not. It’s like there’s electricity vibrating throughout his body, fraying every one of his nerves so he’s wide awake. Will figures it makes sense; he can’t fully make sense of what happened less than an hour ago, in the MAC-Z. All he knows is that, somehow, he was able to control the hive mind.
It’s that reality that sits heavy within the vehicle. No one in the van is looking at him, but Will can physically feel that they’re all thinking about him. It makes him want to hide. He hates it; the worry, the pity, all of the attention, he hates it. He digs his fingers into the meat of his thighs, eyebrows furrowed, and eyes closed, praying that the house is close by so he can get some fresh air.
Soon, his prayers are answered when the van slows to a stop, and the sound of the engine turns off. He groans softly as he heaves open the sliding door, the chilly breeze very much needed. As soon as his feet hit the ground, Will’s knees wobble, and he needs to grab hold of the side of the van to keep his balance. Will doesn’t know when or how Mike gets to him so fast, but he welcomes the support as his friend wraps an arm around his side to hold him up as they follow Joyce and Robin to the porch.
“Now, it’s been a very long night,” Joyce begins as she looks for the right key for the lock. Mike makes sure Will is stabilized before removing his arms. Will looks over to see Mike taking off his soaked jacket, frowning at the smell emitting from it. “Let’s all get some sleep, so we have clear minds for tomorrow.”
“Actually, Mom,” Will flinches at the sound of his own strained voice. All eyes turn to look at him, and he momentarily forgets what he wanted to say under their stares. He locks eyes with his mom; her eyebrows are twisted in worry, but he knows she’s going to listen to him, so he continues. “I kind of want to wash off all of the water and-” the Blood, wash off the blood “-dirt before I go to bed.”
“Me too,” Mike nods his head in agreement. “We could use the hose in the front yard. Showers are great and all, but I don’t know if there are any bathrooms in the house still standing.”
Will can tell Mike meant the last comment to be more comedic, but the look of sadness that passes over his eyes removes any sense of lightheartedness. Even though it’s the reason they’re all here right now, it’s hard to believe that it’s only been a few days since Holly got taken and Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler were attacked. Right here, in this very house.
“I agree,” Robin sounds out, breaking the silence and turning every head towards her. “Not that I need to wash off, but that I agree you two need to. No offense, but I thought I was gonna suffocate to death on the drive here from the smell alone.”
Will’s mouth turns upwards into a smile as Joyce glares daggers at her. Robin shrugs in response and sends a wink to Will that only he sees.
“Of course, baby,” Joyce’s voice is soft as she reaches out to rub a comforting hand up and down her son’s arm, “Do you want me to bring out a heater?”
“No, thank you.” “Please.”
Will and Mike speak at the same time before they both look at each other.
“He’s right, we could use one.” “Actually, we should be good.”
Again, they speak in unison. When they look at each other this time, they both break out into smiles, amused by their synchronicity. When they break eye contact, both Joyce and Robin are looking at them, each with an entirely different emotion on their face.
“I’ll bring one out just in case,” Joyce nods and turns around, letting herself into the house. Robin chuckles to herself before following her inside. As soon as they’re alone, Will can feel an air of awkwardness engulfing them. Everything is unusually quiet, with only the sounds of the wind rustling the trees behind the home filling the air. It’s almost ironic how peaceful it is, a stark contrast to how hopeless they all feel. Will can feel the dull throb of a headache building, and he wishes he had asked his mom to bring out some Tylenol.
To pass the time, Will keeps on fidgeting with the end of his wet shirt, as Mike moves over to where the garden hose is connected to the wall. Fortunately, the hose is untangled, placed into a neat spiral, with the nozzle lying heavy on top. Will follows him, a few paces behind, watching as he bends down to make sure the water is turned on. The water spurts out suddenly, with enough force that it throws the nozzle backwards.
“Welp,” Mike quickly shuts it back off. “It works.”
Will chuckles softly, but stops as soon as he sees Mike pulling off his two shirts, both rising to expose his pale abdomen.
“Wh-whoa, what-?” Will stutters out, immediately dizzy. Mike tosses the wet shirts behind him, kicking his shoes off, before he moves to unzip his fly. Will blinks rapidly like there’s a chance he’ll open his eyes to a Mike who is fully dressed, and he’ll realize that he’s imagining the whole thing.
“No use washing our clothes,” he explains, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Will’s unable to form another thought as Mike pulls down his pants, again throwing them behind him. As soon as he’s only in his underwear and socks, Mike shivers hard, hugging himself to keep warm. “Jesus Christ, where is that heater?”
As if on cue, Robin and Joyce walk out, the former balancing a portable heater on her hip, and the latter holding two towels and a bottle of body wash in her hands. Robin’s eyes stay fixed on Mike as she plugs the heater into the outlet by the hose. She looks up as she turns the thing on and raises her eyebrow in Will’s direction, who, extremely flustered, can only shake his head in response.
“Alrighty, here are two towels, and I also grabbed some Irish Spring that was under the sink,” Joyce rambles as she lays out the two towels on one of the bushes closest to the door, balancing the bottle in between them when she’s done. She clasps her hands together and walks over to Will, her eyebrows still twisted with worry. “Let me know if you need anything else, sweetheart.”
“I will, Mom.”
“And Mike has the right idea,” She nods in his direction. Will doesn’t dare to look over. “If you keep your clothes on, you’re going to catch a cold.”
“Okay, Mom,” Will swallows dryly, cheeks unbearably hot. Joyce smiles and softly grabs his cheeks to pull him closer so she can plant a kiss on his head. With a small wave, she re-enters the house. Robin walks backwards to the door and shoots finger guns at the two before she also heads inside.
Will shuts his eyes tight, his back still turned to Mike. He can’t believe what he’s about to do. If someone had told him a year ago that he would be at the Wheelers’ house, taking his clothes off in front of Mike, he would have probably had a heart attack. But here he is, taking his shoes off and removing both of his shirts, and pulling down his pants. Once he’s also in his underwear and socks, he reaches out to grab the bottle of Irish Spring before he finally turns around.
The sight that meets him is absurd. Mike, in his tighty-whities, is lunged over the faucet, one arm wrapped around his front, still trying to keep warm, as his other arm is stretched out trying to turn the hose’s valve. The awkward position makes it impossible to get a solid grasp on the knob. Especially seeing as he’s using his injured arm to do so. Will knows Mike’s not one to ask for help, even when he desperately needs it, so he walks over, making sure to hold the body wash with both arms so the bottle hangs in front of his crotch. Mike looks up at him in embarrassment, and Will tilts his head to nonverbally ask him to move away from the faucet and holds out the body wash. Mike understands, takes the bottle, and backs away, once again hugging himself as he walks to the nozzle lying on the ground. He picks it up, but points it away from him. Will bends over and turns the valve, feeling the knob give way as he hears the sound of water pouring out from behind him.
Will walks towards Mike, who’s holding the hose over his head, eyes closed as water pours down his face. Standing next to each other, Will watches as Mike scrubs the blood and grime from his forehead. It’s now that Will wraps his arms around himself, not to keep warm, but to cover some of his exposed body. He feels like he’s going to explode. His heart is beating unreasonably fast, so fast that he feels the need to run his palm over his chest to soothe it from the outside. Gritting his teeth at the uncomfortable slide of his clammy hand across his skin, Will shuts his eyes and tries to gather his thoughts.
He can’t exactly pinpoint how he was able to hurt the demos as he did. Or how he was able to kill them without killing himself. He can still faintly feel the pressure of bones breaking in his arms and legs, and the soreness of his neck whenever he moves his head. Despite the feeling, his body is still, thankfully, intact. Which must be a good sign, right? To hurt the hive mind like that without dying. Joyce doesn’t think so. Will remembers middle school, when he was back home, the looks on his mom’s face whenever he talked to her. It’s the same look she had when she ran to hold him after the whole ordeal was over. He wishes he could tell her that it’s going to be okay, but he can’t even tell himself that. The kids are all gone, taken to the pillars, the pillars and Vecna and the Upside Down. The Upside Down, where Jonathan and his friends are. He hopes they’re okay. He hopes El is okay and he hopes Holly is okay, and that somehow, someway they’ll be able to figure out how to get to them and save-
A soft snort takes Will out of his spiraling thoughts. He opens his eyes and looks over to a completely soaked Mike, who is looking back at him, shaking his head and laughing. Will feels like he’s been caught doing something wrong, and he raises his crossed arms so his hands are in his armpits. Defensive, Will questions:
“What are you laughing at?”
In response, Mike just laughs harder, pointing the head of the hose towards the ground away from him. He pushes a hand through his wet hair, slicking it backwards so it’s out of his eyes. Will’s eyes follow the movement, noticing the soap suds stuck to his underarms.
“Nothing, nothing just…” Mike begins, biting the inside of his cheek as he figures out what to say next. “Do you remember fourth grade? We were in your backyard, it was after we finished one of our campaigns, and Lucas and Dustin had just left, leaving the two of us alone. And it had to be summer because we were both wearing shorts and just sitting in the dirt.”
Mike pauses to give Will time to catch on. Will has been following along, racking his brain for the memory, but there’s nothing there. So Mike continues.
“I was watching you draw in the mud with a stick, and all of a sudden, I just felt itchy all over. When I looked down, my legs were covered by a thick sheet of bright red fire ants.”
“Oh God.” Will’s mouth drops in horror.
“I know! Just thousands of fire ants crawling on my legs, biting me! It felt like I was on fire. I stood up and started screaming and trying to shake them off of me.”
As Mike is retelling the story, he’s been reenacting the efforts he took as a child; the hose in his hand moving wildly with him. Will, who still doesn’t remember this, can’t stop himself from laughing at the imagery.
“I thought I was done for, but then you leapt into action,” Mike grows more animated, motivated by Will’s laughter. He tucks the hose in his armpit, so the water is spraying out behind him as he bends over to rub at his legs. “You begin slapping and swiping at my legs to get them off. But all that did was transfer the ants onto you, so then you were also screaming and freaking out.”
“Oh, of course,” Will shakes his head in disbelief.
“And after a while, Jonathan bursts out the back door, probably thinking we were being brutally murdered or something. But when he realized what had happened, he very calmly grabbed your family’s hose and sprayed us down until every single ant was gone.”
Will smiles brightly, finally putting together the pieces of why Mike was telling him this story. Here they are, together in a yard, using the hose. Of course, Mike would make this connection, and while Will doesn’t remember this happening, he can see it so clearly in his head. Their laughter fades out as Mike returns to rinsing himself off, and Will goes back to awkwardly hugging himself.
“And, I mean, I’m asking if you remember this, not only because you know,” Mike says, voice soft enough to make Will’s knees weak, and gesture to the hose in his hand. “But because I can’t stop thinking about eight-year-old you, who was not the idiot who sat bare-legged on a fire ant hill, sacrificing yourself to get those bastards off of me.”
“So stupid, right?”
“But you’ve always been like that.”
“Stupid?” Will whips his body towards Mike, more shocked than offended.
“What? No! Shit, no! Not stupid!” Mike rambles frantically, dropping the hose as he holds both of his open palms out like he’s trying to prove he’s not a threat to a wild animal. Will raises his eyebrow, and Mike rubs at his eyes in embarrassment. “I just mean that you’ve always put others before yourself.”
Will fixes his eyes on the water droplets dripping down Mike’s face as he tries to swallow his words. He’s being too vulnerable, and it scares Will. Scares him so bad because Mike doesn’t even know, couldn’t ever know how true that statement is. Like a nightmare, the painting flashes behind his eyelids with every heavy blink he takes to shake away the tears building up. It should have been a good memory; he spent so long painstakingly painting every detail of the scene, of their party, but it’s not.
El asked me to. She commissioned it, basically. I mean, she told me what to draw.
Because he put Mike’s feelings before his own.
“And I’ve always admired you for that.” Mike continues, and Will, very embarrassingly, realizes he’s been staring at Mike's face for far too long. “And I just wanted to say-”
“Oh, you don’t have to–”
“-thank you.” Mike finishes, looking down at his feet, the hose pointed to wash away the last remaining soap on his legs. “Thank you for…” Will hopes he doesn’t mention what happened earlier; he’s just not ready to talk about it. Mike looks back up, his eyes wet, “...everything. Thank you for everything, Will.”
Will quickly wipes away the tear that manages to escape his eye. He knows his voice will betray him if he speaks, so he mouths back ‘you’re welcome’ and hopes Mike knows he means he’s welcome for everything. The world stops for this moment. A moment so special. Will wants to capture every single detail of what’s surrounding them and keep it with him forever.
“Because you know…” Mike breaks the silence, mischief building behind his eyes. “If I were left alone with Lucas or Dustin instead, I would have been royally screwed.”
“What?” Will’s back to laughing. He knows it’s probably true, but he still feels the need to defend his friends, “They would have done the same.”
“Come on! You and I both know that’s not true! Remember chemistry class sophomore year? The fire?”
This Will does remember. He can still smell the smoke from the small flame that emerged in the glass cylinder. A truly minor problem made a thousand times worse as Lucas and Dustin both felt the need to grab and use the fire extinguisher at the same time. Mike, biting the inside of his bottom lip, suddenly turns the hose around and douses Will in water just like Lucas and Dustin did with the extinguisher. Will squeals, trying to block the spray with his hands as a manic Mike wildly whips the hose around.
Despite his playful pleas for Mike to stop, Will stops blocking the water and allows Mike to soak him from head to toe. The playfulness reminds Will of how easy things were before the summer leading into high school. When he was sure Mike’s heart belonged to him as much as his heart belonged to Mike. Tapping into this familiar feeling, Will lets himself act like a kid again.
“Give me that!” Will exclaims giddily, rushing over to his friend as he tries to wrangle the hose away from him. “It’s so cold!”
“Absolutely not,” Mike teases, gripping the hose tighter, making sure the nozzle is still pointed at Will, “How else am I supposed to put out the fire?”
Will moves his hands from the hose to Mike’s wrists and hooks his leg behind his ankle, acutely aware of the fact that they’re both only in their underwear. With an eyebrow raise, Mike consents to what he knows Will is about to do next. Will tightens his leg and leans forward, pushing both of them down on the grass, Will landing on top of Mike. During their fall, Will manages to get possession of the hose, and Mike barely has time to react before the spray is turned back around on him.
“You’re getting me all dirty again,” Mike manages to say through his laughter. Will fixes himself so he’s nearly straddling Mike, careful not to put his weight on him. He pretends that he can’t hear what he’s saying as he continues hosing him down. “Stop it!”
Will fails to notice Mike’s arm lifting along his side, too distracted by the dimples on his friend’s face, until it’s too late. Mike jabs two of his fingers into Will’s armpit, causing the boy to topple over in laughter. With a quick grab of the body wash and hose, Mike switches their position and straddles Will, pouring soap into his hands and rubbing them together.
“Not only do you reek of dirty pipe water,” Mike smirks, trailing his eyes down Will’s flushed body. “But now you’re all muddy.”
Will doesn’t know what comes over him, but being near naked with Mike sitting right above where the waistband of his underwear digs into his hips, he finds the courage to lift his arms above his head and say.
“Guess you’re gonna have to clean me twice as hard then.”
It’s a challenge that Mike immediately takes. He starts by scrubbing at Will’s abdomen and chest, following the soap with the hose water. Will feels everything around them melting away; the only thing important now is the view of Mike hovering over him and the feeling of his hands on his body. It doesn’t matter that his head is pounding or that the grass below him is scratching him. How could it?
He closes his eyes as Mike cleans his face, using the blunt ends of his nails to scrape off the dirt plastered to his skin. The only break in the quiet is the shared soft giggles as Mike briskly washes his armpits. Will decides the generic smell of the Irish Spring is his new favorite scent in the world.
Very faintly, he recalls his talk with Robin. The analogy of snow and avalanches. He believes that this must be one, has to be his avalanche. He imagines the water running down his body as the snow running down a hill. Will would take being buried under the snow if it meant they could stay like this forever. But all things good must come to an end, and the end of this starts with the sound of clattering teeth. Will opens his eyes to see Mike shivering violently on top of him. Gently, Will reaches up to grab his wrists, thumbs pressed softly into his palms.
“We should go dry off,” Will whispers, tilting his head towards where the two towels are lying, “You’re like vibrating.”
Mike chuckles and slowly stands up, wincing as his knees pop. He holds a hand out, which Will gingerly takes, rising to his feet. As soon as he’s stable, Will notices that Mike’s legs are now covered with grass and dirt from where he was positioned on the ground. Without a second thought, he bends over to swipe the grass off his legs.
“Wait, hand me the hose,” Mike says, making grabby hands towards where the nozzle lies, soaking the ground. Will does, their fingers brushing (a gesture seemingly insignificant in comparison to whatever just happened), and hands it to him. “Turn, please.”
Will turns, arms away from his body and legs spread, and grimaces when he feels the spray of the water on his back. The dirt, mud, and grass from his own time on the ground washed away with it.
“Do you want me to get you next?” Will asks, turning around. Already walking to the faucet, Mike shakes his head.
“I’ll just use the towel,” Mike shudders, turning the running water off. He then moves to the heater, salvaging the warmth, before he unplugs the machine. “I don’t know how you’re not freezing.”
Will shrugs, and Mike joins him to walk to the front door, where the towels have been left on the bush. Will immediately wraps himself up as Mike swings his towel at his body, swiping the grass off him, before he covers himself. They stand side by side, drying off, Will now cringing at the feeling of his wet underwear clinging to his body. A comfortable silence washes over them, and, with nothing to distract him, Will’s mind goes back to worrying. Suddenly, he feels stupid for even attempting to have fun while everything is so hopeless. Like he’s reading his mind, Mike reaches out to place a hand on his shoulder.
“Hey,” Mike’s voice is reassuring in the way it usually is with Will. “Give yourself some credit for tonight. You kicked total ass.” Will offers him a smile and hesitantly places his own hand on where Mike’s is on his shoulder. “Like a real-life Superman.”
Will’s breath stops for a second, and he swallows a gasp that was too close to leaving his mouth. And after another moment of heavy silence, Mike squeezes his shoulder and walks into the house. Will watches the door shut as he stays outside. Looking at his feet on the ‘Welcome’ mat in front of the door, Will remembers.
I’m just some random nerd who got lucky that Superman landed on his doorstep.
He doesn’t know if it’s that memory or not wanting to face the destroyed home where he spent most of his childhood. Or if it’s the fear of having to face the fact that this night is over, and he’ll be forced to move on as soon as he steps into the home that keeps him outside. It doesn’t matter, he tells himself as he turns around to look up into the night sky, at the stars and what lies behind them.
“Holy shit, Byers.”
Hearing the overly excited voice, Will whips around to see Robin closing the front door behind her- a shit-eating grin on her face.
“How are you not losing it?” Robin asks, gesturing wildly to where the hose is now back on the grass, her voice surprisingly high and awake given how late it is.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Will answers, trying to feign confusion, but the smile growing on his face exposes how he knows exactly what Robin is talking about. But still, he needs to ask, “How much did you see?”
“I saw…” Robin pauses for dramatics, extending her hands to exaggerate her answer. “…the whole thing.”
“Oh god,” Will groans, squeezing his eyes shut, feeling like a kid who just got caught with his pants down. “This is so embarrassing.”
“This is the complete opposite of embarrassing.” Robin grabs him by the shoulders and intensely stares into his eyes. Will goes a little rigid in her grasp. “If I were your age and Tammy Thompson, not only stripped down to her underwear in front of me, but also sat on top of me as she washed the dirt from my freckled face.” She looks up wishfully, and Will thinks she might start crying, before she shakes her head and looks back to him. “Jesus Christ, Will, I would have had to lock myself in a cold shower for months so I wouldn’t completely lose my mind.”
“Yeah, well, Mike’s not Tammy Thompson.” The words come out of Will before he can stop them.
It’s the first time since their talk in the tunnel that Will’s has put that thought into words. The force with which he says them shocks him, and he slaps a hand over his mouth, embarrassed by how defensive he sounded. Panicked, he looks apologetically at Robin, who did not deserve to be spoken to that way- especially not after all of her help. But instead of looking offended, she looks proud? With a smirk on her lips, she softly punches Will in the arm.
“I know.”