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The Upside Down may be cold, but the vines wrapping around Will seep like ice into his skin, slithering around his body like a coiled snake, and the more he struggles, the tighter they squeeze.
“Please,” he gasps, voice strained, weak. He can hardly see anything, which amplifies the fear. His legs feel light and shaky as adrenaline courses through his veins, his heart beating erratically in his chest.
“Please,” mocks a familiar low growl. Will strains again, but to no avail. He whips his head around, searching desperately for the source of the voice as the vines tighten. Tears spring to his eyes as memories of a terrified twelve-year-old boy fighting to survive in a realm of monsters flash through his mind.
He swallows back a sob.
“William,” the voice taunts, echoing around the darkened space like a breath at the nape of his neck, raising familiar goosebumps. Will squeezes his eyes tight, but immediately snaps them back open when the sickening sensation of the vines slithering across his skin is only amplified.
Still, he tries to be brave, not because he is, but because it's all he can do.
“You’re not real,” he spits, hot tears rolling down his face, as he blinks furiously. “We killed you. You’re dead.” Will chokes on the last word as a vine wraps around his neck, wet and suffocating.
“No?” he says. Vecna. “Maybe you are right,” the voice is closer this time, but Will still can’t see him. “Maybe I am not real, but this is.” Will has only a second to blink in confusion before his surroundings shift, and he sees something he wishes he could forget.
Eleven. Jane. His sister. Standing in the open gateway as the world falls apart behind her. His ears ring, and his vision blurs once again as salt slides down his cheeks. The vines around him are no longer vines, but the arms of the military men holding him back from running to her.
He never even got to say goodbye.
“Do you remember this night, William?” Vecna asks, the words distant over the blood rushing in his ears. “Poor little Eleven, she never stood a chance,” he sneers, and Will feels molten rage boil in his blood.
“Don’t you dare talk about her!” he screams, closing his eyes, trying pointlessly to wake up. He knows this isn’t real. He knows, but he can’t get his heart or mind to understand. This is not his first nightmare—not even close—but he can always wake himself up. He squeezes his eyes tighter, but when he opens them, the sight that greets him is still the same. Still his sister’s last moments. Still the day something in him died.
“It should have been you,” Vecna says, voicing Will’s most secret thoughts. “It is your fault she died while you stood by and did nothing.”
“Shut up!” Will shouts, heart beating out of his chest, as sheer panic overtakes rational thought. Why can’t he wake up?
Between blinks, the Mac-Z is gone, and the vines are back, cold and disgusting as ever.
“Having trouble waking up?” Will’s entire body jolts backwards as Vecna appears in front of him, his head hanging halfway off his neck. “Strange, isn’t it? That you cannot wake yourself up as you usually do,” Vecna taunts, stalking closer, his deformed face curling into a sneer.
“Shut up.” Will pleads like a cornered animal, feeling like he did that cold November night when he was first taken. “You’re not real! Get out of my hea—” The rest of his sentence is cut off as a vine darts into his mouth. He fights back. He does. But it’s pointless.
The tears that fall from his eyes feel thick and bloody, and since he cannot wake himself up, he wishes to die. But nothing is ever that easy.
“I have come back before, why not again?” Vecna says, caging Will against the wall so he is forced to tilt his head up if he wants to make eye contact. “You are going to help me, my vessel.” Will does not want to look at the monster in front of him, but he cannot bear to close his eyes. So he just wishes again to die.
“We are going to reshape the world together.” The vine in his mouth begins pumping something into him, and Will dangles limply, not feeling like a person. He feels like a thing—a dirty, disgusting, awful thing. “Exterminate the parasites, starting with your helpless friends.”
Will wishes to die.
“Starting with,” Vecna leans down so Will is forced to make eye contact as he says the single most horrifying thing of his life. “Mike.”
The real world crashes into him like a tidal wave, leaving him dizzy and reeling as he jolts up in bed.
“Will?” a panicked voice sounds from his left. “What’s wrong?” his boyfriend asks, sitting up alongside him. Will can barely hear him, hyperventilating and shaking. He falls off the bed when Carlton touches his arm, the sensation of cold vines returning.
“Oh my god, Will!” he shrieks, rushing to help him up.
“No!” Will screams through sobs, kicking Carlton in the shin as he scrambles backwards on the floor, the carpet burning his skin. “Don’t touch me!” He watches Carlton’s face twist in confusion and hurt as he stands awkwardly in the middle of the room.
“I’m sorry,” he says, scared and unsure. Distantly, Will recognizes he should feel bad, and he absolutely will later, just not now—not when he can still feel the phantom vine invading his body, not when he can still hear the echo of Mike’s name.
Mike.
“Mike,” Will gasps, white-hot fear scorching through him, as he remembers Vecna’s threat. He does not have the presence of mind to notice the hurt look on Carlton’s face when he says Mike’s name. “I need—” Will chokes out, shakily picking himself off the floor. “I need to see him,” he pleads, attempting to walk to the door, but his legs collapse when he tries to move, and he tumbles to the floor.
Carlton instinctively goes to help Will, only to be shoved off and screamed at again.
“I can’t—” Will is hysterical at this point, barely able to breathe as the world closes in on him. “I need Mike, I need him, please,” he begs, curling into a ball, squeezing his eyes shut. His brain is stuck on a constant loop of Mike, Mike, Mike, Mike, Mike, and he knows he won’t be able to breathe until he sees him again.
Carlton sighs and mumbles something under his breath, his footsteps retreating out of the room.
Will covers his ears with his hands and cries.
He does not know how much time has passed when he feels a gentle hand on his shoulder. The first thing he sees when he opens his eyes is Mike’s concerned face peering down at him, expression wide but knowing.
Will feels something deep within him unravel, as the coiled snake finally loses its hold on his body. Mike’s hand feels safe and warm and clean. Despite what many people would think and the names they would call him, he never feels dirty when Mike holds him. He just feels at home. On a normal day, the guilt would eat him alive—Carlton is his boyfriend, not Mike, he should feel that way with him—but right now, Will doesn’t care.
“Mike,” he breathes, air making its way into his lungs for the first time since he woke up as he takes in the boy above him. Mike’s brows are furrowed, his hair is messy and damp—perhaps it was raining outside, or maybe he had just showered—and his lips are slightly parted.
Will throws himself into Mike, trusting the taller boy to catch him, and he does. Mike wraps his arms around Will, holding him tight, with one hand rubbing soothing circles on his back.
“Shhhh,” Mike coos, pressing a feather-light kiss to Will’s hair. “You’re okay, I’m right here.”
“Mike,” he repeats, nonsensically. “I was so scared,” Will said, pressing his face into Mike’s neck, breathing in the faint scent of berries. “It was Vecna—he said that you—and I thought—oh God, Mike,” he gasps, a fresh wave of tears slipping from his eyes.
“Will,” Mike murmurs, voice a little choked, as if he were holding back tears. “Baby, he’s dead, he can’t hurt you, I promise,” he assures, combing a hand through Will’s frazzled hair. Will hiccups around a sob. “Hey, c’mon, look at me,” Mike instructs, leaning back slightly, but Will whimpers and quickly pulls him back.
He vaguely registers the sound of a door opening and slamming shut in the distance, and Will knew it was Carlton leaving their apartment. This isn’t the first time Mike has had to come over to guide Will back to reality after a nightmare, but it might have been the last time Carlton would put up with it. Will doesn’t exactly blame him. Carlton is great, and he’s perfectly sweet and caring, but he just can’t understand what Will has been through. The most Will could ever tell him was that his father left when he was young, not even any specifics, let alone could he begin to explain the Upside Down.
Mike is the only one who understands—who could ever understand. But things have been weird between them since that horrible day in November of 1987. Mike fell into a depression after El died, and Will did not fare much better. In the fallout, Will had more bad days than good, and it took months before he could even think about El without crying, and even longer until he could smile at her memory. It’s been over three years, and it still weighs heavily on his chest.
But, Mike?
Will doesn’t really understand Mike anymore. He doesn’t understand how Mike can come to him in the night, kiss his face, call him baby, but won’t touch him in the daylight. He doesn’t understand how Mike is straight and clearly still hung up on El, but holds Will like he wants to mould them into one. He just doesn’t understand.
And he knows that Mike doesn’t understand him—having said as much. He was angry when Will started dating Carlton, acting bitchy and cold towards him. When Will confronted him about it, Mike lashed out and accused him of settling for the first guy who would give him attention and called him desperate. Will retorted by saying that Mike was acting like a jealous asshole, and argued about how Carlton was the perfect guy for him. Mike asked why he couldn’t provide Will with what he needed then—why Mike was the one who Will sought out after nightmares. Will had screamed back that Mike was the one who couldn’t give Will what he needed, and he refused to wait around for the rest of his life for Mike to accept who he is. Mike said he was full of shit. Will said he was a coward. Mike left after that without saying anything, but not before Will saw a tear roll down his cheek.
He would never tell Mike, but Will knew he was right. Carlton was nice, but they didn’t have much in common besides art, and maybe Will was desperate. But, is it so wrong to want to be loved? He had wasted his teenage years pining after someone who was so far in the closet that they would probably never get out of it. Before Carlton, Will was the only one of his friends who had never been kissed, never been on a date, never been wanted.
But no matter how many fights they had and how much distance was between them, Will and Mike could never fully disengage from each other’s lives. Maybe it was the trauma of the Upside Down that tied them together, maybe it was something else entirely. All Will knew was that he was going to be stuck being in love with Mike Wheeler for the rest of his life, and Mike was going to be stuck in emotional repression for the rest of his. Sometimes, if Will thought too hard about it, he got sick, having actually thrown up once.
It was better to let these forbidden moments exist only under the cover of night, when the moon provided a refuge and Mike’s hands a sanctuary. So that’s what they did.
“Will,” Mike whispers, something reverent slipping through the cracks. Will’s eyes flutter shut as warm hands softly cup his face, guiding his face up. He isn’t sure what emotion is showing on his face, though he’s certain it’s far too revealing and honest. But what he sees on Mike makes his breath catch.
Mike’s eyes are swimming in love—so much love, he looks dazed. That was another thing; Mike was in love with him. That wasn’t some kind of deluded fantasy, Mike had confessed as much one night in Hawkins after the party had met up and Mike had too much to drink. Foolishly, Will had believed him when he said all he wanted was to be together. Mike had kissed him, and Will had promised to break up with Carlton.
Only, when the morning came, Will woke up alone with a note from Mike that apologized for getting drunk and blacking out, and that he didn’t remember anything. Will knows he’s lying, but confronting him would only make him more defensive, so Will left and they didn’t speak for seven months. Until tonight.
“Are you okay?” Mike asks, pressing another kiss to Will’s forehead, his thumbs smearing the tears on his cheeks. Will shakes his head as his chin wobbles and more tears spill over. “Oh, Will, I’m so sorry.” Whether he was apologizing for the nightmare or for what he was about to do, Will would never know.
A soft warmth settles over his mouth as Mike kisses him, pulling Will further into his lap. Will, ever a fool for Mike Wheeler, was helpless to follow. He pours every last ounce of fear, love, and anger into the kiss, his own hands digging into Mike’s shoulders, as he pushes harder against this impossible boy. His impossible boy.
Mike pulls back slightly just to mutter a quick apology before diving back in, coaxing Will’s mouth open, hands drifting down his back. Will shifted helplessly in his lap, a soft moan falling from his lips and into Mike’s hungry ones.
“So fucking sorry,” Mike gasps breathlessly between kisses, hands guiding Will’s hips to shift against him. Will shudders as heat coils low in his stomach and bites hard into Mike’s lips, causing a broken whimper to slip out of the taller boy, his hips jerking up into Will.
“Mike,” Will groans, grinding down and licking his lips at the coppery taste of blood. Mike’s blood. And maybe he is dirty for the thrill the thought sends down his spine, but Will doesn’t care, not when Mike is squirming and moaning under him. “Tell me,” he pants, hips speeding up.
Mike looks half-confused, half-rapturous before recognition flickers across his face. He shakes his head and quickly buries his face in Will’s neck, mouthing desperately at the skin. Will tugs sharply on his hair, grinding down hard at the same time. He almost smiles at the broken moan that tumbles from Mike’s bloody lips.
“Tell me,” he orders, simultaneously using his hands in Mike’s hair to press him closer against his neck, encouraging him to lick and suck at the skin.
“I can’t—” Mike chokes, sucking a particularly harsh bruise into the sensitive part of Will’s neck. Will could feel the hot warmth of Mike’s tears on his skin, but he didn’t care, not when his own tears were still falling, and he could feel the bulge in Mike’s pants, and the thrill that jolts through him as he remembers he is rutting against Mike on the floor of his and Carlton’s bedroom.
He is in so much trouble.
But he knows Mike, and he knows what he wants, so he switches tactics.
“Mike, please,” he begs, hips picking up speed, hands carding through slightly-damp curls. “Please, just tell me, please,” Will says, his movements stuttering as the heat builds, the smell of berries and Mike overwhelming his senses. “Please, I was so scared.”
Will knows he’s won when Mike lifts his face from his neck, dragging Will down roughly, causing a whine to slip unbidden from his mouth, and Mike leans in to lick the tears on Will’s face.
“I love you,” Mike chokes out, hips spasming as he approaches the edge, fingers pressing hard enough to leave bruises. Will lets out something halfway between a sob and a moan.
“I love you too,” he admits brokenly, slotting their lips together in one last messy, gasping kiss as he spills over the edge.
Mike moans into his mouth, his hips jerking erratically before he shoots his load into his pants, panting hot and uneven as his release seeps through the fabric and mixes with Will’s.
For a moment, they continue to jerk mindlessly through the aftershocks, still clinging tightly to each other. Then, reality comes crashing down and shatters their bubble. Mike freezes, and Will knows what’s coming.
Mike slowly pulls back from Will and pushes him gently off his lap with shaky hands. Will keeps his eyes fixed firmly on the carpet, new tears welling in his eyes, as the shame at what he had just done catches up with him. He just came in his pants. He just made Mike come in his pants. And he just cheated on his boyfriend—in their shared bedroom, no less. Worst of all, he just crossed a line with Mike that he had never crossed before, and he doesn’t know what Mike was going to do.
He listens wearily to the sound of Mike lifting off the floor and walking over to the door, his head hanging low. Mike says something just before he leaves, though, which is more than Will had expected.
“Hey, Will,” he says, his voice shaky and afraid.
The first tear that splashes onto the carpet is for Will and the ever-present pain woven deep in his heart, which alleviates only to worsen every time he sees Mike. The second tear is for Mike, the love of his pathetic life, who is so afraid of who he is, and so caught up in grief and misplaced feelings that he is going to spend the rest of his life miserable.
“Yeah?” he exhales, voice cracking.
“I’m really sorry,” the love of his life whispers. In a momentary flash of bravery, Will glances up towards the doorway.
Tears are flowing freely down Mike’s face, and there is unimaginable pain in his eyes, a sight that plunges into Will’s broken heart like a dagger. He takes in Mike’s flushed cheeks, messy hair, and blood-stained lips as matching tears coat his skin.
“Me too.”