Chapter Text
The smell of toasted batter and artificial maple syrup filled the Hopper-Byers' kitchen, a scent that had become the heartbeat of their new domestic life. It's been this way since the Byers moved out of the Wheelers' basement after Henry was finally sent to hell and the Upside Down was closed. Although only Will knows where he actually is. He is not hell. The physical form of Henry is dead and gone, but the shadow? No one talks about him anymore.
Will sat at the weathered oak dining stool, the tip of his pencil scratching rhythmically against his sketchbook. Outside, the Hawkins spring was aggressive in its vibrance; the sky was a piercing, toxic spore-free blue and the fields were no longer a graveyard of red vines and rotten crops. There was a mess of overgrown dandelions and budding maples now. It was so clear that for a moment, anyone could forget that Upside Down even opened its mouth in Hawkins.
Well, everyone can forget it except for Will. He was at the center of horrors for so long that they were drenched in his bones. Something that he desperately wanted to forget, but he couldn't. If he ever got a chance to remove one day from his life and alter history, he would just go back to 6th, November 1983 and tell himself to stay the night at Wheelers. Mike would never ask him to leave if Will told him he didn't feel like going home.
Across the counter, El was laser-focused on the waffle maker. She didn't use her mind to flip Eggos in the toaster anymore for the extra crunch. Instead, now she used a plastic spatula and made waffles from scratch, her movements deliberate and careful, as if she were practicing being human. She needed this practice for when she was out in public, visiting Kali, or going out with the Party. Everyone was still afraid that if any sign of her powers was shown to the public eye, they all would fall back into the same cycle that they ran from: Dr. Kay and the military's bullshit.
Will was grateful that he could stop El from making a sacrifice. When Hopper told him about Eleven's weird conversations with Kali, Will immediately stepped in, even before Mike had the chance. He begged, hugged and pleaded in front of her. He told her how broken Hopper would be for losing a daughter again, how it would kill Mike to lose his love, how broken Will would be if he lost his sister and how Joyce would cry for the daughter who had such a short time with her. The party would be in shambles. They would never recover, because El was a pillar for all of them. He kissed her temples and made her stay. Promising a good future, a better life and something beautiful with their friends and family.
She stopped. Will stopped Eleven from killing herself that night.
They killed Henry, destroyed the Upside Down and took the long way back to escape the military. The main score was when Will and El collectively used their powers to wipe out the memories of Dr. Kay and the whole military wing that knew anything about them. It was on the very cusp of the bridge being destroyed. They succedded and with Dr. Brenner dead and rotting, no one was coming for them now. They could be normal. Whatever that is for them.
"I'm planning to get some new clothes with Max on Sunday. Wanna come to the mall?"
"Sure." He replied, absentmindedly.
He loved Max's company a lot. Together, they talked a whole lot about boys and all the things he can't talk to anyone about. Their bond was uncomplicated because they just clicked randomly and never let go. Max realized how awful it must've been for Will to bottle up all his feelings for so long. She called him a 'Saint' for not being an asshole about his crush on Mike when they were alone one day. He told her that he was happy for El and wouldn't have it any other way, but Max was consistent on the fact that 'Wheeler would've explored' something that Will conveniently ignored. He didn't want to get his hopes up again and he certainly didn't want to hurt his sister.
"Mike is... different," El said suddenly. She didn't look up from the waffle maker. Her eyes droopy, showing that she was deeply affected by whatever she was saying. "For two months. Maybe three. Since Upside Down died."
Will paused his sketch of a Union soldier. "Different how? He’s been over every other night, El. He practically lives in this cabin."
"He comes to stay with you," she corrected, finally turning.
Her hair was now styled and cut properly. Joyce realized that they grew rather quickly and the best part was that they always turned out to be soft and wavy. Never using any artificial products for hair gave her an advantage. Now she could flaunt her healthy hair while wearing one of Joyce’s old oversized flannels and look just like her daughter.
"Because he cannot sleep in your room, Hopper would kill him."
"No, Will. You don't understand. When he looks at me, it is like he is looking at a book he has already finished. He seems... bored. Like, I am not the girl from his stupid dreams anymore."
Will felt that familiar, dull ache in his chest, the one he’d spent the last year trying to strangle to death. "You're overthinking it. Mike’s just... Mike. He gets stuck in his own head. You should just talk to him. He’ll listen to you. He always does, El."
"He listens to you more. He says something about you being the 'heart' of the Party," she countered, her voice small. She stepped closer, leaning her elbows on the laminate countertop. "Talk to him? For me? If the heart tells him that he is being a mouth-breather, he will believe it."
Will winced internally. The 'heart' speech was a ghost that haunted him, a reminder of a lie he told to save his sister and best friend's relationship, but after the party came out of the final battle alive, Mike retreated that awful symbolism towards Will. Telling him that he, in fact, is the 'heart' keeping everyone safe and together. Will wanted to kill himself. He really wished Henry would just take him. His words of desperation came back to bite him in the ass because Mike Wheeler never forgets a thing except for the fact that he has a girlfriend.
"Couples have problems, El. Look at Mom and Hopper. They spent half of last week arguing over who forgot to buy the good coffee, but they’re fine."
"Hop is in love," El said, her dark eyes pinning Will to his seat. "Mike looks like he is just tolerating me. Like I am a chore. He still doesn't say he loves me."
Will went quiet. The pencil lead snapped against the paper. He looked at his sister and felt a wave of protective guilt. When they first met, he disliked El so much. He internally blamed her for ruining his friendship. He hated that she took all his time, that he barely had any left for Will. After a while, when he had spent so long pining after Mike, he realized that he’d almost missed how much El was hurting.
Mike was never a good boyfriend to her. If Will had his rose-colored glasses off, he would've seen it sooner. He was a confused teenage boy who tried to fill the loneliness and protector-shaped hole inside his heart with a girl because he thought it was normal.
Will saw it too late. The cracks, the misunderstandings, the lack of communication and even the lack of feelings from Mike's side in their relationship. Still, Will never made a move, even when Mike had given him clear hints so many times. Will's eyes always found El's crinkling ones, realizing how hurt she would be if he ever did what his heart wanted.
If she’s happy, I'm happy, he told himself, a mantra he’d repeated until it felt like a bruise on his soul. Will told himself it was okay. He would move out of Hawkins, he will eventually find love and he will have someone to call 'his.' Someone who was not Mike. Someone who had no idea what he endured and how he crumbled under the pressure of it all. Someone who would not understand him the way Mike does, but he would at least see Will in his happiest and most calm phase. Something that the Party never got to witness until now, at least.
"I’ll talk to him, El. I promise." He said, gripping her fingers on the counter.
The gravel in the driveway crunched under the heavy tires of Hopper's police jeep. A loud voice of 'Don't mess around with Jim' blasting from the speakers with Hopper's loud, awful, off-key singing, made Will chuckle internally. His mom certainly had a unique taste in men. He hoped he didn't inherit it. On another thought, it might be too late.
"Dad is home," El chirped, her mood swinging upward instantly. She didn't move from the counter. Instead, she just tilted her head, a familiar, sharp focus entering her gaze. Across the room, the heavy iron deadbolt on the front door slid back with a precise, metallic shink. It was a sound that echoed too loudly in the quiet kitchen.
Will’s entire body went cold. The pencil slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor.
That sound. He hadn't heard it in years, not like that. Suddenly, he was back in 1983, standing in a dark hallway of his home with trembling eyes and a closing throat. His mind went back to the rifle that was in his shed. He trembled watching that similar bolt slide back as if an invisible hand had guided it. He’d told himself for years it was the Demogorgon, but the monsters were blunt instruments. They broke things. They smashed through wood and bone. They didn't have the delicate, psychic touch required to manipulate a sliding lock from the inside and Henry was not back in the real world yet.
She wasn't there, a voice hissed in the back of his mind. Was she?
"Will? You okay?" El was standing by the door now, her jacket on, looking back at him with a confused smile. "Hop and I are going to the Cineplus. RoboCop. You want to come? You’ve been staring at that sketch for ten minutes."
Will forced his muscles to unlock. He forced a smile that felt like it was made of dry paper. "Yeah, no. This history project is due tomorrow. Mr. Tan will be upset if I don't finish it on time and this sketch is also due. You guys go. Have fun."
"Don't study too hard, Zombie Boy," she joked, sticking her tongue out before disappearing through the door.
The house fell into a suffocating silence the moment the jeep backed out of the drive. Will didn't pick up his pencil. He stood up, his legs feeling like lead and walked toward the front door. He stared at the deadbolt.
Click, shut, click, shut, click, shut.
He closed his eyes and sank. Down past the kitchen, past the floorboards, into the cold, dark cellar of his own consciousness. A voice in the back of his mind, that was his own, thank you very much, telling him that something was not clicking.
Something was missing. His cynicism was taking the front-row seat in the theatre of his horrors and he could not help but wonder.
She did run out of the lab that night. What if?
His resolve crumbled. He did what he thought he would never do. Sick of not getting answers and being the victim for so long, Will had something snap inside him. He had to see if the person he called his sister was actually worth it.
Will grabbed a loose shirt from his wardrobe and switched ON the TV for static. Sitting criss-crossed on the floor, he delved deep inside his mind. A place of ruin that he hadn't visited since the Upside Down crumbled. He landed in the void after a couple of seconds and there, chained to a wall of black salt and mental obsidian, were the tattered remains of Henry Creel.
The man lifted his head, a jagged, hideous ache spreading across his burnt face.
"Finally," Henry rasped, his voice like dry leaves. "I wondered how long it would take for you to visit your prisoner, William."
The void was not a place of wind or sound; it was a pressurized vacuum of Will’s own making, smelling of nothingness. Will stood in the center of the pitch-black expanse, his breathing shallow. He never told anyone that he kept Henry as a prisoner. Everyone would've told him he was insane for keeping a monster like this. The truth is, when he hacked the hivemind and turned Vecna's power on himself in the Abyss, he merely injured him for El to finally blow and Joyce to take his head off. He absorbed him. The Henry who was pleading with Joyce not to kill him was just a shallow body.
Henry had so much power once that he could've destroyed Will from inside, but now that his physical form and his tether are no more. He is powerless. As powerless as Will once was. This excites him and terrifies him.
Henry’s head hung low, his skin a roadmap of scorched tissue and cracked obsidian. He looked like a puppet with its strings cut, until he slowly tilted his face upward. A wheezing, wet sound scraped out of his throat.
"You look... different, William," Henry rasped, the black veins in his neck bulging. "The domestic life, normal life, doesn't suit a vessel like you."
Will didn't flinch. He kept his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his corduroy jacket to hide the tremor. "I’m not here for a chat, Henry. I want to know about 1983. The night in the shed, when you sent your bastard for me."
Henry’s eyes, milky and sharp, crinkled at the corners. "A long time ago to be digging up old bones."
"Why did you send it?" Will’s voice was a low, dangerous hum. "Why me? Why my house?"
Henry shifted, the mental chains rattling with a sound like grinding teeth. "I didn't send it for you, little shadow. Your mother... she was the one with the unfinished business. Her mind was a fortress I wanted to crack and I told her to fight and protect the ones she loves. I told her ages ago that I would come for someone she loves, but she didn't take it seriously. I needed a vessel, but the barrier was too thick. I needed a way in. A tether."
He paused, a cruel, knowing glint reflecting in his gaze.
"I didn't find you on my own. Eleven... she was so small then. So terrified. I was hunting her, nipping at her heels in that cold, dark hallway of the lab. She felt my beast coming towards her, but she was mistaken. I did not set it for her. I used her fear. She didn't want to die, William. She was a frightened animal and an animal will always lead the predator to someone else's burrow to save its own skin. She saw it standing outside and while she ran from it, she opened the door. She gave the beast someone else to feast on and that was you."
"You're lying," Will hissed, his knuckles white.
"Am I?" Henry’s grin widened, revealing rows of jagged teeth. "Ask yourself, William. Why did the lock slide? Why did the monster know exactly where you were hiding? She traded your life for her freedom. She let it take you."
Will’s vision blurred with a sudden, searing heat. He didn't wait for another word. He tore himself upward, dragging his consciousness back through the layers of the void.
He snapped awake on the floor of his bedroom, the TV static screaming in the silence. He ripped the blindfold off, his breath coming in jagged, sobbing hitches. His skin felt too tight, his blood like boiling lead.
Henry was a monster, a manipulator. He couldn't trust him, but the seed was planted and it was watering itself with the memory of that metallic shink. He scrambled to his feet, his mind racing. El kept a diary. It was a flowered, fabric-bound book Will had bought her at the art shop months ago, a tool he’d suggested to help her process the "big feelings" she couldn't always vocalize.
She wouldn't. She couldn't, he told himself, even as his hands tore through the neatly folded piles of clothes in her dresser. He felt like a thief, a traitor, but the suspicion was a physical weight in his stomach, dragging him down.
He found it tucked beneath a stack of oversized sweaters. The paper felt cold against his palms. He sat on the edge of her bed, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
He flipped through the pages: sketches of Eggos, notes about Mike, little hearts drawn in the margins, until he hit the entry dated several weeks ago.
His eyes scanned the jagged, looping handwriting.
I feel the bad. The heavy bad in my chest, it read. In the lab, I was scared. I opened the door. I thought, better someone else than me. I did not know Will then. I only knew the monster. I am sorry, but I am glad I am alive. I can never tell Will about it because he is a good brother, but I feel bad for giving him to the Demo.
The words on the page began to blur, the ink bleeding into the paper like fresh bruising. Will’s vision tunneled until the only thing left in the universe was that jagged, sloping handwriting. The same handwriting he had patiently helped her practice at the kitchen table.
Mike is with Will. Always D&D. Always talking about the party. Mike looks at me and sees a girl who is not interesting. He looks at Will and I feel like he sees a girl he wants to be with. Will likes boys. I don't understand that but I support him. I'm scared thinking if Mike does too. Is it a bad thing that sometimes I wish the Upside Down kept him. If Will stayed gone, Mike would only see me.
The diary hit the floor with a dull thud.
Will stared at the wall, his eyes wide and vacant. The protective guilt he had felt an hour ago evaporated, replaced by a cold, crystalline fury. Every hug she’d given him, every "Zombie Boy" joke, every smile, it was all built on the fact that she had fed him to a nightmare because she was a coward and now, she wanted him gone again so she could keep Mike’s attention?
He felt tears clinging to the corners of his eyes, but he didn't cry. The tears felt beneath him now. Instead, a slow, terrifyingly calm realization washed over him. He wasn't the "Heart" because he was kind. He was the "Heart" because he had survived the very thing she had used to try and kill him.
He reached down, picked up the diary and tucked it back into the closet.
He walked over to his mirror, smoothing down his hair and wiping the frantic sweat from his forehead. He looked at his reflection, the pale skin, the large green eyes and saw the boy everyone loved and cared for, but behind those eyes, in the dark cellar of his mind, he felt himself crumbling. The warmth he had cultivated for years, the empathy that had allowed him to forgive every bad thing anyone ever did, was being flash-frozen by a biting, crystalline rage. It wasn't a loud anger; it didn't scream or throw chairs. It was the kind of anger that built cathedrals in the dark.
He felt the crumbling sensation of his old self: the Will who would have made excuses for her, the Will who would have cried and asked why. That version of him was being crushed under the weight of the realization that his sister hadn't just accidentally hurt him; she had envied him, she wished him suffering because his own best friend gave him attention.
The green in his eyes didn't change color, but the light behind them went out, replaced by a flat, predatory stillness.
He realized then that being the "boy everyone cared for" was the ultimate weapon. It was a suit of armor that no one would ever think to pierce. If the world wanted a victim, he would give them one, but he would be the one pulling the strings from inside.
"Okay, El," Will whispered to the empty room, his voice devoid of the warmth it had held for years. "You want your 'normal' life? You want your little boyfriend to love you? Let's see how much you like it when I start taking you apart piece by piece."
He picked up the landline. He knew Mike would answer on the first ring.
The silence of the house was a heavy, physical thing now that he stood in the hallway, his hand hovering over the yellowed plastic of the landline receiver. He could still feel the phantom weight of El’s diary in his hands, a hidden detonator pressed against his ribs.
He picked up the phone. The dial tone hummed, a steady, mindless drone that felt like the only sane thing left in Hawkins. He dialed the familiar number, his fingers moving with a muscle memory that went back to the second grade.
One ring. Two.
"Wheeler residence, Mike speaking," the voice crackled through the line. It was deeper than it had been a year ago, but it still held that frantic, breathless quality, the sound of a boy who was always waiting for a call that would change his life.
"Mike. It’s me."
There was an immediate shift in the atmosphere on the other end. Will could almost hear the way Mike sat up straighter, the way his focus narrowed until the rest of the Wheeler household ceased to exist. "Will? Hey. How are you?"
"I'm... good. What about you?"
"Is everything okay? You sound... quiet."
"I'm fine," Will said, his voice dropping into a soft, melodic register. He leaned his shoulder against the wood-paneled wall, twirling the coiled phone cord around a single finger. "I just... I needed to hear a friendly voice. I’ve been thinking about some things. Important things. They are messing with my mind."
"Yeah? Well, I’m a friendly voice. The friendliest you know," Mike joked, though there was a nervous edge to it. "Do you want me to come over? I can grab snacks, or we could finally finish that campaign-"
"No," Will interrupted, his tone turning sharp, nearly crystalline. "Not here. El is... she’s out with Hopper right now, but she’ll be back soon. I don't want her listening while we talk, Mike. Not this time."
The line went silent for a beat. Will could practically feel Mike’s confusion radiating through the copper wires. It was a tactical strike; by suggesting El was a barrier to their intimacy, Will was subtly placing her on the outside of the circle. A circle, he knew for sure that Mike would not question.
"El?" Mike’s voice was hesitant, tripped up by the unexpected wall Will had just built. "Why would she... I mean, are you okay? Did something happen between you two?"
"Nothing she didn't choose, Mike," Will whispered, the double meaning tasting like iron on his tongue. He let out a small, shaky breath, a calculated tremor. "I just feel like lately, whenever the three of us are together, I’m just... observing. Like I’m watching you through a window. I miss my best friend, Mike. The one who doesn't have to check for permission before he laughs at my jokes. It's like I'm back at Rink-o-mania."
Bingo strike. He stepped on the nerve Mike hated.
On the other end, Mike’s breath hitched. Will could hear the soft thump of Mike’s heart through the receiver, or maybe it was just the blood rushing to Mike's ears. "Will, you know you don't need... I mean, I’m always your best friend. Always here for you. Please come over."
"Yeah, umm.. okay," Will said, his voice a honeyed snare.
"And you are staying the night, okay? I'll kick Holly and her dusty friends out by 9." He said, laughing. "If you want to stay... You want to, right?"
"I want to stay the night. It will be good, in the basement, just us. Like it used to be before the world got so loud."
"Yeah, just us," Mike said and Will could practically see the crimson flush creeping up Mike’s neck, the way he’d be biting his lower lip in that kitchen hallway on Maple Street. "I'll have Mom make our favorite, she’s obsessed with you anyway. I just-"
"I’ll be there in twenty minutes," Will purred, a slow, triumphant smile spreading across his face, a look that would have terrified Mike Wheeler if he saw it in person.
"Yeah? I'm - I'm waiting."
"Thanks for being such a best friend, Mike."
Will hung up before Mike could respond, the click of the receiver sounding like a finishing move. He'd been pushing things down for months. He ignored the fact that Mike started being extra touchy and protective since the day in Sqwak when he had to come out to everyone, including Murray Bauman and fricking Vickie Dunnie, who was dumped by Robin two days later. He decided that he would not be pushing down anything anymore.
To Hell with El.
He stood in the hallway for a moment, the dim light of the afternoon casting long shadows across the floorboards. He felt powerful for the first time since the day he imprisoned Henry. Now, he wasn't the one being hunted.
He walked to the front door, the deadbolt glinting in the light. He reached out and slid it open himself, shink, locking the ghost of his sister out of his life. He had a character to assassinate, a best friend to reclaim in multiple ways and several people to woo out of the wreckage El had left behind.
For years, he had been the saint of Hawkins. He had been the one who swallowed his heart whole so El could have a home, so Mike could have a hero and so the Party could stay tethered to the light. He had been a martyr in a striped flannel shirt, bleeding out in silence so his sister wouldn't have to cry.
Why was he still protecting her? Why was he playing the role of the fragile, supportive brother while she pulled such bullshit on him?
He decided that he wasn't going to be the goody two-shoes version of Will Byers anymore. He was tired of being the boy who needed saving; he wanted to be the boy who demanded everything. If he had to be a brat to get Mike’s eyes to stay on him, then he would be the most difficult, needy and irreplaceable thing in Mike Wheeler’s life.
He didn't care if Mike chose him in the end. That was almost secondary now. The primary goal was the extraction. He needed to peel Mike away from El, layer by layer, until she was nothing but a fading memory of a lie. He would make himself the center of Mike’s gravity, a black hole of "crises" and "secrets" that El could never penetrate.
He looked at the dark clouds gathering on the horizon; the first heavy drops of a spring storm could drench the glass anytime soon.
What should he do? He had Jonathan's old car that he could drive to Mike's. He could also bike, but...
A car would be too easy. A car was what a rational person would take. He wanted to be a little irrational.
Will looked over and saw his yellow rain slicker and just scoffed. It was left hanging on the hook. He wanted to be cold. He wanted to be shivering when he reached Mike. He wanted to arrive at the Wheelers’ front door looking like a drowned bird that only Mike knew how to warm up. Something that Mike always loved.
Being the savior. It gave him purpose.
He gripped his handlebars in the driveway, the metal cold against his palms. It looked like he was just biking to a sleepover. Like any other week. Just another Tuesday, right? Wrong! He was riding into a war of attrition.
I’m sorry, Mike, he thought, a slow, dark thrill blooming in his chest as he kicked the kickstand up. I love you so very much, but in this moment, I need to choose myself.
He pedaled into the first gust of rain when he reached Mirkwood, a faint, sarcastic smile playing on his lips as the water began to soak through his shirt. The victim Byers' boy, was officially closed for repairs. The brat was just getting started and rightfully so.
The ride from the cabin to Maple Street had been a deliberate baptism. By the time Will reached the Wheelers’ driveway, the Hawkin's sky had collapsed into a torrential downpour, the kind that turned the pavement slick and the air into a cold, biting mist. He let the water saturate his flannel, weighing down the fabric until it clung to his ribs like a second, freezing skin.
When the front door finally swung open, the warmth of the Wheeler foyer spilled out, illuminating Mike. He looked startled, his lanky frame silhouetted against the hallway light.
"Will? Holy sh-you biked in this weather?" Mike’s voice was immediate, a frantic spike of concern. He reached out with his hands hovering as if he were afraid Will might shatter. "The car, Will! Why didn't you take Jonathan's car?"
"It wouldn't start," Will lied, his voice a calculated, fragile tremble. He stood on the welcome mat, a drowned bird in mud-caked sneakers, looking up through sodden lashes. "I didn't want to be alone. I just... I needed to get here, Mike and I was almost certain I'll reach you before the rain."
The effect was instantaneous. Mike’s paladin-mode snapped into place with a physical ferocity. He practically hauled Will inside, his hands firm on Will’s damp shoulders. "You’re freezing. You’re literally shaking, Will."
Mike hovered over him as he took him to the bathroom. The Wheelers were out of town and Holly had a playdate and sleepover at Debbie's. They had the house to themselves and Will was going to use it to his full potential. In the bathroom, the air was typical with the scent of fabric softener and Mike’s frantic savior-mode energy. Instead of handing Will a towel, he took it himself, draping it over Will’s head and beginning to pat him dry with a tenderness that made Will’s chest ache with a dark, triumphant heat.
"Stay still," Mike murmured, his face inches from Will’s as he rubbed the terry cloth over Will’s hair. His knuckles brushed Will’s forehead, lingering a second too long.
Will leaned into the touch, then abruptly pulled back, a cold flicker in his eyes. "I can do it, Mike. I’m not a kid."
Mike blinked, his hands dropping, looking genuinely thrown by the sudden frost in Will's tone. "I know, I just-umm here. Wear these." He handed a folded pile of clothes into Will’s arms: a faded Hellfire shirt and grey sweats that smelled so strongly of Mike’s skin it was dizzying.
They migrated to the basement, the sanctuary of their childhood. They sat on the old plaid sofa, a grainy, low-budget slasher movie flickering on the wood-paneled TV. Will played his part as the distracted and perfectly content best friend. Laughing at the shitty practical effects one moment, then falling into a heavy, brooding silence the next. He watched Mike from the corner of his eye, seeing the way Mike kept glancing at him, his brow furrowed, clearly off-balance by Will’s hot-and-cold rhythm.
"You want to head up to my room?" Mike asked as the credits rolled, his voice hopeful. "The bed’s better for your back. It might ache cuz of the cold."
Will looked at the makeshift fort of blankets he’d already started to nudge together on the floor. "Let's crash down here. Like old times."
Mike hesitated, then nodded, the rejection clearly stinging, yet he was too desperate for Will’s company to argue. Will knew how to push Mike's buttons. He just never had to do it before and now it was throwing Mike off-balance, which will surely make him come back for more because Mike can't take rejection. They settled onto the floor, the basement draped in the amber glow of a single lamp. The rain drummed a rhythmic, hollow beat against the small, high windows.
"Will?" Mike’s voice was a low rasp in the dark. He had moved his sleeping bag so close that their elbows were nearly touching. "On the phone... you said you wanted to talk. What was that about? Are you... are you having nightmares again?"
Will turned his head, his cheek resting on the pillow, staring at Mike. He saw the flicker of pain in Mike’s expression. The specific nerve he’d intentionally pinched. Mike hated the nightmares because they were the one thing he couldn't fight with a bat or a shovel. He hated the part where he wasn't there to pull Will out of them.
"Yeah, but... it’s not the Upside Down or... Henry, Mike," Will whispered, his voice dropping into a haunting, intimate register. "It’s... it's the night I was taken. It still unsettles me."
Will remembered months ago when everything was over and the party asked him about his time in Upside Down. He told everyone what happened the night he was taken. How the demo got him and how he tried to fight it for a week with nothing but a rifle and a will to survive. There wasn't one single dry eye in the Squawk that night. Even Steve cracked up and asked him why he never told this to anyone, to which Will just replied that he never dared to revisit those memories, but now that everything was over, he felt okay with opening up.
He saw Mike's broken expression that night. If Will was delusional or maybe hopeful, he would've concluded that it was a look of love, but Will Byers never got anything handed to him that easily ever.
Mike shifted, his entire body tensing. "What-what about it?"
"I keep thinking about the lock. You know... the-the deadbolt," Will said, his eyes wide and unblinking. "Now we know that the Demogorgon didn't have the mind for it. It was a beast, Mike. It broke doors; it didn't slide latches and Henry... he wasn't there yet. He couldn't have done it. It was... precise."
He let the silence stretch, watching Mike’s brain labor under the weight of the logic. Something in his periphery felt like piecing itself together.
"So I-I wonder sometimes," Will continued, his voice as soft as a prayer. "How did it open? Who slid that metal back to let the demo in? I get really scared about it."
Mike’s breath hitched. He didn't answer, but the shadow of a doubt, a seed Will had planted, began to take root in the set of his jaw.
"I feel so scared talking about it at home," Will sighed, rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling. "With Mom and Hopper, they pester me a lot. They treat me like I’m still broken and El..." He trailed off, his tone sharpening with a fake, bitter hurt. "Whenever you’re over, you’re so busy with her, or the Party is so loud... I feel like I’m invisible, Mike. Like, I’m just the ghost in the room while you guys play house. This is why I needed us to be here so I could get this off my chest. Alone."
The guilt hit Mike like a pang. He lunged forward in the dark, his hand lashing out to grab Will’s, his fingers lacing through Will’s with a desperate, crushing grip. For a moment, it felt like he would never let go. His eyes had that same look.
The look that scared the living shit out of Will. He grew so hopeful because of those eyes so many times. They were the same eyes he was giving him at the Squawk when he came out. Will could never forget the gulp, the bobbing of his Adam's Apple, the tears in the corner of his eyes, the conversation on the tower and then the increase in silent touches. It was all too much and for the sake of El, he had let it go. He let go of the hope, he let go of his love. Now he was choosing to indulge in it again, for his own sake.
"Will, no," Mike choked out, his face contorted with a fierce, protective agony. "I'm sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn't mean to-I never want you to feel like that. Never."
He leaned closer, his eyes shimmering with an intensity that made Will’s pulse spike. "I’m here. I’m always going to be here. If you need alone time, if you need me, you just tell me. To hell with the Party. To hell with everything else. It’s you and me, okay? Always."
Will let a slow, fragile smile spread across his face. It was a calculated look of a victim finally finding safety. He squeezed Mike’s hand back, his thumb grazing Mike’s pulse point, feeling the frantic, erratic rhythm of Mike’s heart.
"Thanks," Will echoed softly.
Deep in the cellar of his mind, the chains rattled. The extraction had begun. This part felt easy. He was already acing it. The low-frequency hum of the basement freezer provided the only backbeat to the rain still hammering against the foundation. Mike’s hand was still clamped over Will’s, his grip possessive and trembling, a physical anchor in the dim, subterranean light. Will watched the way the shadows of the laundry lines danced across Mike’s face, tracing the sharp, anxious line of his jaw.
"She sent you, didn’t she?" Mike finally asked, his voice cracking the heavy silence. He didn't pull his hand away, but his shoulders slumped, the weight of a thousand unspoken expectations pressing down on his lanky frame.
Mike knew Will was too good of a person that he would jump right in wherever anyone needed him to fix their mess. Mike knows Will had fixed a lot of his and El's problems by being the logical and emotional bridge. Something they both were too messy to do on their own.
Will shifted, the nylon of the sleeping bag whispering beneath him. He sighed as if he was carrying the weight of the world. "She’s... worried, Mike. She feels like... like she’s a ghost you’re trying not to see. She told me she feels left out. That you’re paying attention to everyone. The Party, me, even Dustin’s cerebro, but not her."
Mike made a sour face, a jagged twitch of his lips that spoke of a deep, festering exhaustion. He let out a long, ragged sigh that puffed against the cool basement air. "What am I supposed to do, Will? I’m trying. I swear, I’m trying."
"She thinks you’re bored of her," Will whispered, leaning in just enough that his shoulder brushed Mike’s arm. "She thinks your love ended when the gates closed. She wanted me to fix it. To tell you to be better."
Will watched Mike’s expression with the precision of an artist mapping a landscape. He saw the flicker of guilt, yes, but beneath it, he caught the flash of resentment. It was a tiny fracture, a hairline crack in the Paladin armor and Will reached out to pry at it with a surgeon’s precise touch.
"You can tell me, Mike..." Will murmured, his voice a velvet snare. "I’m not her. I’m not... Hopper or... Nancy. I’m just... I’m Will, your Cleric. Whatever you say stays here, in the basement. I promise, but tell me what you feel."
Mike stared at the wood-paneled wall, his eyes searching the grain as if looking for an exit. "It’s like... I don't know who I am anymore when I'm with her. I was the guy who went to the ends of the earth to be with her, right? That was my whole thing, but now she’s here and there’s no lab, and there’s no Vecna and..." He trailed off, his fingers tightening around Will’s. "When I look at her, all I see is the trauma. I see the blood on her nose and the opened cracks in Hawkins and the fear. I feel like I’m still in a war, Will. I’m tired of being in a war."
Will felt a surge of cold, electric triumph. There it was. The hole in the wall.
"So, hypothetically, you're saying that... she’s a reminder?" Will said, his voice dripping with forced sympathy. "Of everything you want to forget?"
Mike flinched, but he didn't disagree. "I just... I just want to breathe. With you-with-with the party... It’s different, you know? I don't have to be someone else. I don't have to give a speech every time I don't look at you guys for ten seconds. We just... we just are. I feel weird even thinking about all this."
"Maybe that’s because we don't have secrets," Will lied, his gaze dropping to Mike’s mouth for a heartbeat before snapping back to his eyes. "I know deep down, you keep too many from her."
Mike looked at Will, his expression raw and utterly exposed. He looked like he wanted to argue, but the comfort of the basement and the heat of Will’s hand were too seductive to fight. He blinked and his breath hitched just the right amount to let Will know his words were working.
"I-I don't want to hurt her..." He whispered, facing Will.
Within the pressurized vault of Will’s mind, the observation was recorded with the precision of a master cartographer. Will dissected Mike's gaze. He saw it in real-time, peeling back the layers of Mike’s hesitation like old wallpaper to reveal the raw, unvarnished hunger beneath.
From the safety of his internal throne, Will watched the way Mike’s pupils blew wide in the basement’s amber dimness. It was a physiological betrayal Mike couldn't hope to mask. Mike’s eyes were wandering and snagging for the past couple of years. Tonight it was no different. They caught on the soft, damp curve of Will’s lower lip, tracing the pale line where the skin met the faint, chapped flush of the cold.
Will noted the exact microsecond Mike’s breathing faltered with a jagged, hitched inhalation that signaled the collapse of the "friends? no thanks, best friends" bullshit narrative. To anyone else, it was a lingering look. To Will, it was a confession. It was the sound of a deadbolt sliding back by a desperate, magnetic pull.
Suck it, El!
He analyzed the twitch in Mike’s jaw, the way Mike’s tongue darted out to wet his own dry lips in an unconscious, mimetic response. It was a beautiful, pathetic display of gravity.
You’re starving, aren't you? Will thought, his mental fingers tightening around the imaginary chains of his control.
Mike was orbiting a star he thought was a flickering candle, oblivious to the fact that Will was intentionally dimming his own light and making it warm for him, just to draw Mike closer into the crushing pull of the event horizon.
Will didn't move at all. No sign of a smile or a sign. He simply stayed still, a perfect, silent lure, watching Mike Wheeler: the Paladin, the Leader, the Boy who Loved the Superhero, slowly realize that the mouth he wanted to feast on wasn't the one that could dangle a deadlock with her mind. It was the one right in front of him, tasting of rain and quiet vengeance.
Look all you want, the voice in the cellar of his mind hissed. Soon, you won’t be able to look away.
Will squeezed his hand, a slow, predatory comfort. He leaned his head against Mike’s shoulder, the dampness of his own hair finally dried against the pillowcase.
"I know you don't. You’re too good for that," Will said, the sarcasm hidden so deep it was invisible. "But you can't set yourself on fire to keep her warm, Mike. You deserve to be happy. She deserves to be happy, too. Even if that means admitting that your mind and heart belong somewhere else. You both need to see and speak your truths to move forward together."
Mike didn't pull away, but he did hitch on the 'together'. Will was slowly churning his keeper's persona, but any major change would be felt immediately, so playing it slow and safe was the only answer. Will let his head fall against his shoulder, a nudge of comfort that Mike took with both hands. He sighed and instantly and silently surrendered in the dark. Will smiled into the shadow of Mike’s head, pressed near the crook of his neck, the taste of the almost victory more satisfying than any waffle he could ever make with his cunning sister.
"I'm here, Mike," Will whispered into the silence. "I've always been right here. You're never alone in your struggles."
The basement was a graveyard of old memories, lit only by the rhythmic, ghostly blink of the smoke detector and the hum of the freezer that housed a ton of soda. Mike had finally drifted off, his breathing heavy and uneven, his mouth slightly parted as he lay on the makeshift bed of tangled sleeping bags.
Will didn't close his eyes. He propped himself up on one elbow, his silhouette a sharp, jagged shadow against the wood-paneled floor. He watched Mike with a stillness that was no longer protective; it was predatory. He traced the line of Mike’s throat, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed with a dream-soft swallow and the frantic flutter of his eyelids in REM sleep.
For years, Will had been a ghost in this basement, a boy who took up as little space as possible so he wouldn't displace the giant presence of Eleven. He had practiced a saint-like restraint, a holy kind of silence that had nearly choked him to death, but tonight, the restraint was a shredded veil. He let his mind run wild, imagining a world where El was nothing but a static-filled memory and Mike was an anchor tied only to him.
I'm not sharing anymore, Mike, I'm sorry for what I'm about to do, Will thought, the words a silent, heavy vow in the dark.
He propped his fingers and reached out, hovering just an inch above Mike’s cheek, feeling the radiant heat of his skin. He just wanted to savor the sight of his Paladin at rest, completely unaware that his Cleric had traded his staff for a crown of thorns. Will finally let his eyes slip shut, a small, dark smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
The morning light was a weak, dusty gray, filtering through the high, grimy basement windows. There was no sign of rain and the clouds acted like an out-of-sync background character in one of the shitty plays he saw at his school. When Will’s eyes blinked open, he hoped to find the empty ceiling, but instead, he found Mike.
He was already awake, propped up on his side, staring at Will with eyes that were soft, wide and dangerously vulnerable. Will was too sleepy to contemplate that shit look Mike was giving him, so he just let it cool off and kept it in his hidden diary of little proofs that he was going to use to ruin El's life.
"Morning. How did you sleep?" Mike whispered, his voice thick with sleep and an affection that made Will’s pulse hum with triumph. Nope, not analyzing. It's too early.
Will gave him a shy, downward glance with a slow, intentional smile. It reached his eyes but didn't quite lose that new, sharp edge. "Morning. It was good. How long have you been staring at me, Wheeler?"
Mike turned a predictable shade of carnation pink, huffing a small, embarrassed laugh. "Not long. Just... you... you looked peaceful. I haven't seen you look like that in a while."
"I slept better than I have in years," Will said, sitting up and stretching, feeling the satisfying crack of his spine. "I think it was the company."
Another half-assed moment for Mike to hold and pet until Will gives him something else to ponder on. He knew Will liked hanging out with him, he knew Will felt safe with him and he also knew he was Will's anchor in so many situations. Using this to his own benefit, Will would simply let Mike gloat.
They lingered there for a few minutes, trading low-stakes barbs about the shitty movie from the night before and the coldness of the basement floor. It was easy. It was the "old times" Will had promised, but with a new, underlying tension that Mike was too flustered to name.
"Come on," Mike said, standing up and offering Will a hand to pull him off the floor. "Let's go up and make some pancakes."
"We need to brush our teeth; your breath is a biohazard, Mike."
He laughed, hauling Will up, their palms lingering together for a second too long before they headed upstairs.
While Mike was locked in the bathroom, Will slipped into the kitchen. The sound of the fridge buzzing against the marble countertop. He checked the wall clock: 8:42 AM. He knew El was likely still asleep at the cabin, dreaming of the shopping trip she’d been hinting at for a week. She wanted Max to help her pick out something cute for Kali’s upcoming visit, but to his benefit, she procrastinated calling Max until the last hour.
He was going to take advantage of that.
Will picked up the Wheelers’ kitchen phone, his fingers flying over the buttons.
"Hello?" Max’s voice was sharp, a classic California rasp that sounded like she’d been awake for hours.
"Max, it’s Will."
"Will? It’s so early and why are you calling from Mike's number? I almost didn't pick up. It's too early for his shit."
"Max..." Will snorted, his voice smooth and effortlessly charming. "I was just thinking... I really need to get out of the house. Wanna bitch about something really bad." He carefully whispered the last part as if letting her in on some secret.
"Did Wheeler give you the puppy-dog eyes again?"
"Max..." he sing-songed with a hint of annoyance. "No... umm.. maybe.. I just-I was wondering if you wanted to hit the arcade or maybe grab a Coke at the park? Just us. I feel like we haven't actually talked and you know I can't really talk to anyone about this." This whispering was back. "I-I think El wanted to hang with you too, but I-I don't really know if... you know."
She did know. Will wanted to bitch about Mike and they could never do it in front of El because she would go ballistic.
There was a pause on the other end. Will knew Max had a soft spot for him. He was the boy who had shared her trauma in the trenches of the bastard that was Henry. Will leaned against the Wheelers’ kitchen counter, his thumb tracing the jagged plastic of the phone cord, waiting for a response. He knew exactly what was happening in Max’s head. She was weighing the obligation of hanging out with El. It would be a trip filled with bright lights, loud pop music and El’s exhausting, wide-eyed discovery of "normal" things against the quiet, gravity-heavy bond she shared with him. Where they could actually talk about normal stuff.
Max didn't do "soft," but she did do loyalty.
They were the only two who truly knew the weight of the shadow. They hadn't just fought the Upside Down; they had been colonized by it. While the others saw a monster to be defeated, Max and Will had felt the cold, invasive consciousness of Henry Creel sliding through their veins like mercury. They had both stood at the edge of the dark and felt the pull of the void and that kind of shared trauma created a frequency that El, for all her power, could never tune into.
"Yeah," Max finally said, her voice dropping that defensive, sarcastic edge. It was the tone she saved for the hospital wing where her physio was still undergoing or the late nights at the Squawk when the nightmares got too loud to ignore. "Yeah, Will. I'd... I’d actually really like that. El's been buzzing about some shopping thing, but she hasn't called me yet and honestly? My head's kind of pounding. I don't think I can do the Mall-El thing today. It's too bright and sappy for my mood."
Will felt a cold flick of satisfaction. It wasn't just that he was winning; it was how easy it was to use the very trauma they shared to isolate her. Max didn't see a flicker of a strategist; she saw the boy whom she loved to bitch with.
"I get it," Will said, his voice dropping into that low, understanding hum that made people want to tell him their darkest secrets. "The Mall is... a lot. We can just sit by the lake. Just us."
"Just us," Max echoed and Will could almost hear the relief in her breath. "Thanks, Will. Seriously. I’ll see you in an hour."
He hung up the receiver with a delicate, final click. He didn't feel guilty for lying to her or for stealing her away from his sister, who desperately needed a friend. He was alone and desperate in the dark and cold once. For an entire week and that too with a vine in his throat. Thanks to Eleven's little trick. Right now, he just felt efficient. Max was a pillar of El’s sanity and Will had just turned that pillar toward himself.
He turned back to the kitchen, catching his reflection in the glass of the microwave. He looked like the same old Will: the gentle friend and the survivor, but as he adjusted his collar, he thought of Henry chained in the dark of his mind and realized they were finally in agreement: The best way to break a person isn't to hit them. It’s to take away everyone willing to catch them when they fall.
Will turned over just as Mike stepped into the kitchen, smelling of mint and soap, looking like a puppy waiting for a command.
"Who was that?" Mike asked, wiping a stray bit of foam from his chin.
"Just Max," Will said, his smile perfectly innocent as he walked toward the fridge. "She wanted to hang out. I told her I’d see her later. You don't mind, do you?"
Mike’s face fell for a fraction of a second, the sting of being left out by Will, before he forced a nod. "No, yeah.... umm... Totally. Max is cool. Just... don't be gone too long, okay? We're still on for the movie night with the party."
"I won't be long," Will promised, his back to Mike as he reached for the orange juice.
He could practically feel El’s disappointment from across town. It was a small move, a minor theft of Max’s time, but it was another brick removed from the wall of El’s support system and as he heard Mike’s footsteps follow him toward the table, Will knew the he was exactly where he wanted him: waiting.