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Will feels lighter than he has in weeks. Which is odd considering he just saved the lives of three of his friends, they lost the kids they were trying to save, and they still had an inter-dimensional beast to kill.
But he's taking his power back, little by little. He won't let Vecna steal everything from him.
Yeah, it's going to be scary to reveal his truth to those closest to him, but nothing is scarier than being made to see visions of a future where all your loved ones reject you and then seeing the boy you love almost mauled to death in front of your eyes.
That set a fire inside him that he isn't sure how to put out.
His plans are as follows: shower, sleep, wake up, come out to his mom and brother, if all goes well, come out to the party.
He has only completed step one when his plans are derailed. He's stepping out of the bathroom located in the basement of the squawk, hair dripping onto the collar of a worn-out shirt his mom had packed, and wearing a pair of soft, threadbare sweat pants that definitely aren't his.
It's quiet, his mom upstairs on the couch in the sitting room—she insisted on being nearby if the others returned. Lucas, Erica, and Robin each were on either a mattress, couch, or chair; whatever they could find.
They all said Will should take one of the couches in the basement, since it's more secure if any of the military come looking after everything that went down in the Mac-Z.
Mike offered to stay with him, had brought down a sleeping bag before returning upstairs to raid the snack stash.
So, he isn't expecting it when he exits the bathroom and runs right into him.
"Oh, shit," Mike mumbles, stepping back, hands landing on Will's shoulders to stabilize himself
"Sorry," is all he can manage to get out with Mike this close. It looks like he hasn't showered yet, or even cleaned up his cuts and scrapes… he was only worried about a snack, apparently.
Will scrunches up his nose, the burnt smell mixed with natural body odor wafting from him is intense. "God, you stink."
Mike lets out a squawk. "Sorry, I haven't gotten to shower; I was starving." He says as he stuffs a handful of Skittles into his mouth.
Will smirks, "Yeah, all that running, you really must have worked up an appetite." He says as he leans back on the doorframe, putting some distance between himself and Mike's stench.
"Yeah, I did, actually." He chucks a skittle at him, and it bounces off his cheek before landing on the ground. "Trying to save the kids, but it was no use, in the end." His voice tapers off into a whisper.
Will groans, "I know. It feels like all my fault."
"What? Are you serious?"
"I—yeah. I mean, he came out there just to… to taunt me or whatever. Then he released his demos to take the kids."
"Will…"
"I could have done more, Mike."
Mike's eyes grow wide, jaw dropping. "More? You think you should have done more? You unlocked powers, Will. You tapped into the hivemind and controlled three—three demos and killed them just to save me, and um. Lucas and Robin. Will, that's more than enough! That's insane! You're a sorcerer!"
Will felt the heat rush to his cheeks. He was talking so animatedly, excitement clear in his voice as if he hadn't run through this story three times by now.
"I didn't tell you," Will says suddenly. And he realizes maybe he can, maybe he should tell Mike what helped him to unlock these powers.
"Didn't tell me what?"
Will looks at him for a moment, face caked with dirt and dried blood, hair drying curlier than normal thanks to the mix of sweat and the water leak they'd been sprayed in. Even with all of that, and the stench still ever present, he is the most beautiful thing Will has ever seen.
He deserves to know. Maybe not the beauty part, but that he had a role in helping Will do what he did.
"Come here," he says as he backs into the bathroom, "sit down and let me clean up your cuts. You're going to get an infection."
Will bends down and rifles through the cabinet under the sink for the first aid kit. He feels hands on his waist—he stills instantly. Just a tentative brush of movement before it's gone as Mike scoots behind him and sits down on the closed toilet lid. He gulps and tries to control his breathing before standing back upright, knocking the cabinet door closed with his knee, the thin plywood bouncing off the frame.
He busies himself setting out the kit, opening it, and starting to sort through the supplies he'll need.
"What did you mean?" Mike asks.
Will starts placing the items he needs on the sliver of counter space left: alcohol wipes, ointment, and a couple of bandages. "I—um." His eyes find Mike's, and suddenly he's moving to grab a washcloth from the basket by the wall. He needs to clean the dirt and sweat from his skin before he bothers treating his wound. And really, wound is a dramatic word for it—it's just a scrape, but it's pretty long, and it's near his eye.
He wets the cloth under the sink before stopping to wash his own hands. He's getting way ahead of himself. The air in the tiny bathroom has grown intimate in a way it always does when he and Mike are alone and decide to broach serious topics.
"I, um. Wanted to tell you about how I was able to do it."
Mike doesn't respond, just continues gazing at him.
"You know how?" The question is barely a whisper. Will doesn't trust his voice yet; he just nods, offering the damp cloth.
He watches as Mike wipes it over his face and neck.
"You gave me that advice, obviously." Will starts, looking down to begin opening the alcohol wipes. "But also, Robin and I talked."
He hears Mike let out a breath; he wants to say it sounded like a scoff. He's probably reading into it.
"She was telling me about how when she was going through a hard time, she came across an old videotape of herself as a little girl. And she saw how, like, carefree and just herself she was. So, since you know, this has all been really hard on me, especially after he—" He pauses, looking up from the counter and meeting Mike's gaze. It's intense, like it always is, but there's an openness to it that's familiar. "So, when I saw the demo going for you, I just… was hit. With memories. Memories where I felt that way too, carefree and fearless and just, me."
Mike shifts forward a bit, his knee brushing against Will's leg, the movement spurs him into action. He rips the packet with the alcohol wipe open, the sound loud in the tiny bathroom.
"This may sting a little," he whispers as he reaches forward to dab the wipe along the scrape, pressing gently on it.
Mike hisses; he can see where he bites down on his bottom lip to contain it.
He shakes his head a little, "'s okay. Um, what memories did you think of?"
"It was weird. It was like… a movie playing in my head. I saw everything. It was when I was really little… making drawings for Mom and her acting like they're the best thing she's seen—"
"It's cause they are," Mike interrupts, causing him to laugh.
He discards the wipe and grabs another, repeating the process. "And me and Jonathan building Castle Byers," he pauses again, inhaling a deep breath. "And, um. You."
Mike's eyes fly up to meet his own, looking at him through his dark lashes. It makes Will's breath hitch.
"Me?"
"Yeah. First, it was us meeting at the swings on the first day of school. I was so happy that day, I was so scared I wouldn't make any friends."
"Me too," Mike whispers.
Will tosses the second alcohol wipe into the trash before grabbing the tube of ointment and twisting off the cap. He can feel the weight of Mike's gaze, never leaving his face.
"Then it was us playing D&D for the first time… I was so happy then." Will squeezes a blob of the ointment onto his finger, then begins rubbing it softly along the scrape. "Then it just… happened. I was able to connect to the hivemind and take control. It all happened so fast."
Will brings his hand down and wipes the excess ointment on the side of his sweatpants. He distracts himself from the look of awe on Mike's face by selecting a bandage that will fit over the lengthy scrape and begins unwrapping it.
"You saved my life with a memory of me," Mike mumbles, almost as if he's talking to himself.
Will feels his cheeks heat up. "You saved mine with the same memory… remember? The Mind Flayer?" He grabs Mike's chin with his thumb and pointer finger, tilting his head to the side. If he doesn't distract himself during this, he isn't sure he can trust himself not to tear up, or worse. He places it carefully on the side of Mike's face, gently applying pressure to assure it sticks through the shower he's going to force Mike to take after this.
Mike continues looking at him, not saying anything. A look that Will is unsure how to place crosses his face, before a bright smile overtakes it.
He watches as Mike tries to bite his bottom lip to contain it.
"Do you remember when we were little, and every time I got hurt, I asked you to kiss it better cause you're a Cleric and that was the way to heal a Paladin?"
He doesn't know what he was expecting, but it wasn't that; he lets out a laugh—the sound too loud for the small bathroom and the intimate quietness that has formed a bubble around them.
"Yeah," is all he can manage to get out; he doesn't know where Mike is even going with this.
But he thinks back to the first time it happened.
They had been climbing trees in Will's backyard, and when they were called inside for dinner, Mike, after making his way carefully to the lowest branch, started swinging wildly to be a show off and lost his grip, crashing to the ground.
He'd cut his knee on an unfortunately placed tree root, and blood rose to the surface quickly. Will ran inside to grab his mom, and she rushed out with the first aid kit and patched him right up. After dinner, when they were playing in Will's room waiting for Mike's mom to pick him up, he had told him all about how Clerics can heal Paladins if they kiss their cleaned and dressed battle wounds.
Will remembers being skeptical—even then—and thinking that Mike just wanted someone to "kiss it better," as moms do sometimes.
He did it anyway, gave him a quick but gentle peck right over his band aid, and Mike was all smiles the rest of the evening. And days later, when the band aid came off and then a week or two passed of the cut scabbing over, then falling off, he explained to Will that it didn't leave a scar because he had healed him.
Will kind of believe him, then.
So it became tradition. When Mike got a cut, scrape, bump, or bruise, he would ask Will to kiss it better.
And even though the reverse didn't quite match up with the logic, he made sure to do the same for Will… just in case it worked.
He also remembered the last time it happened.
For a long stretch of time, they weren't as injury-prone as they once were, so there was no need. But Will remembers the first time he saw Mike after the events at Starcourt.
They had all been checked over and patched up by the paramedics. Mike had a pretty gnarly gash on his nose that needed to be kept clean and covered with a bandage for a couple of weeks.
Will had come over to the Wheeler house a week later for a movie night, the first one arriving as usual. Once they had made it to the basement, Mike had spun around, nearly causing Will to crash into him.
He said nothing, but lifted his finger and tapped lightly over the bandage.
Will remembers hesitating. He knew instinctively what Mike was asking for. But things had been weird between them all summer. They fought, they didn't hang out as much, and Will started to feel a hollowed-out feeling in his chest when Mike was around (and even when he wasn't).
But something must have changed and shifted as soon as his mom had started mentioning moving away to keep everyone safe, escaping Hawkins while they still had the chance. Mike had gotten closer. Asked to hang out more. It didn't help the empty feeling growing inside him, though.
So when Mike tapped expectantly on his nose, right over the skin-colored bandage and said, "I need my Cleric. This one could end up being pretty bad." Will felt himself soften, just a tad; the vacant feeling in his heart was numbed by the uptick in his heartbeat and the warmth spreading through his chest.
"Okay," Will had said, before leaning forward and placing a gentle kiss on his nose before pulling back.
Mike had smiled at him, wider than he had in a while, before turning around and talking about what movie they should watch. Almost like it was nothing. Almost like he didn't reach into Will's chest and squeeze a fist around his heart.
It seemed to have worked. Through whatever dumb luck Mike Wheeler had, no scar was left behind at all.
Will looks at Mike now, sitting there gazing up at him, and he slowly brings his hand up and taps his finger lightly against the large white bandage.
"I need my Sorcerer. Need him to heal me with those innate powers."
Will can't help but giggle, the absurdity of the situation catching up to him. "What? Saving your life wasn't enough? Now I gotta kiss it better too?"
The instant smile Mike gives him turns his insides to goo.
"I think I deserve a full-service healing from my Sorcerer."
"Oh, you think so?" Will says, raising an eyebrow and shifting closer to him, his leg slotting between Mike's thighs.
"No," Mike replies, bringing a hand up to cup the back of Will's outer thigh, the point of contact sending warmth through his body. "But I'm hoping I can deserve it, one day," Mike whispers.
He raises his hands to rest on Mike's shoulders, leaning forward and pressing a lingering kiss on top of the bandage before pulling back. "There you go, my Paladin. For saving me." He begins to step back before this gets out of hand, but Mike's grip on his leg tightens.
"You know… I'm feeling a bit of pain… I think I'm gonna bruise."
Will looks at him questioningly, eyes scanning his face for any more cuts or swelling. "Mike, I don't see—"
"Right here," he says as he brings a finger to his lips and taps.
Will's heart drops to his stomach, but before he can do anything or say anything, Mike brings his other hand to his hip, thumb brushing back and forth along the fabric of his shirt.
And—as long as he's asking for it, Will is going to give it.
He'd give it all to Mike Wheeler. All he had to do was ask.
It was his to ask for anyway.
He leans down, one hand moving from Mike's shoulder to the side of his neck, and places a quick, dry peck to his lips before drawing back.
"There. No bruised lips. Now you have to shower, you stink." Will can barely get his sentence out before he's giggling, and the giggles turn into full-body cackles when Mike takes both his fingers and digs them into his sides.
"I can't believe you interrupted our moment to insult me!"
Will can barely get a word out, heaving deep breaths to recover from the laughing fit. "You ruined it, actually. You stink, and you're way less hot with that huge bandage on your face!"
Mike gasps, "You think I'm hot?"
Will flushes, "I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
Will rolls his eyes, "I'm leaving so you can shower. You stink, and I'm hungry."
Mike stands then, Will stepping back to give him space, but Mike winds his arms around Will's waist and holds him close. "There's not much food left, just candy and those stale chips. Go into the secret stash and grab some beef jerky. It'll fill you up, and you need it after tonight."
Will looks at him, their faces close. "That belongs to El, though."
Saying her name feels like a bucket of cold water rushing over him. El. He wasn't even thinking.
"So?"
"So it's not mine."
Mike looks at him for a long moment before squeezing him tighter. "You can take whatever you want."
He doesn't think they're talking about beef jerky anymore.
"Okay," he takes a deep breath in—through his mouth this time, because seriously, Mike reeks. "Maybe beef jerky breath will keep you from trying to kiss me." Will smirks at him.
"Nah." He leans forward and captures Will's lips in a soft kiss, "As a matter of fact, I'm going to shower now so you'll keep doing it." He says as he pulls back, arms falling from their place around Will.
Will scrunches up his nose and smiles, "Good!"
"Good that I'm showering or good that I'll keep kissing you?"
"Go shower, Mike," Will starts walking backwards toward the doorway of the bathroom.
"After I get out, I can see if I can help you, you know, heal any of your battle wounds." He says, eyebrows bouncing up and down.
Will rolls his eyes. "No battle wounds, just an all-over general soreness from everything," Will says honestly.
"Oh, so your… whole body, huh? I'm no sorcerer, but—"
Will gasps dramatically, "Mike!"
Mike wiggles his brows dramatically before launching himself forward and capturing Will's lips with his own. "Just one more," he mumbles, kissing him again.
Will pushes on his chest, breaking their lips apart with a smack.
"Okay, okay. I'm going." Mike’s eyes go serious then, his gaze flicking between Will’s eyes like he’s trying to memorize them. All the joking and the teasing just… drops away.
"Seriously, go," he says, and his voice is lower now, that deep tone that always makes Will’s stomach do a somersault. "Take whatever you want, baby. It’s yours."
He doesn't give Will a chance to respond or get all in his head about it. He just leans forward and captures his lips in one last kiss—slow and lingering, like he’s finally putting a stamp on everything they just said—before he turns and heads for the shower.
Will walks through the basement and up the narrow metal staircase on wobbly legs. When he enters the main area of the Squawk, he sees that everyone is passed out asleep.
He makes his way to the kitchen area and immediately walks over to the little side table where all their snacks lie. He looks at the brown paper bag that has been put off to the side, big lettering drawn on the outside with a marker: PROPERTY OF EL.
Will stares at it for a moment.
Then he reaches his hand inside, grabs a bag of beef jerky, and spins around on his socked feet. Making a beeline for the basement.