softer, harder, in between

“So I stopped fighting. I stopped being scared of the connection. And then I just… I thought about what I had to protect. My mom. Jonathan.” Another pause. Will's voice drops even lower. “You.”

Mike’s heart performed a slow, heavy roll in his chest. “…You thought about me?”

Will looked at him like he’d asked if water was wet. A faint, almost sad smile appeared. “Of course I did.”
What happens - and what Mike realizes - after Will's big moment.

Notes:

**REWORKED!!** I went back and rewrote this, now I'm much happier with it :)

im sure the ppl who follow my profile are asking "byler? in 2025?" and i say yes! because season 5 made me think about them. so much so i had to write my feelings. enjoy!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

The Demogorgons came out of nowhere.

One second, Mike was running - lungs burning, feet pounding against cracked asphalt - and the next, the world exploded into teeth and claws and that wet, clicking sound that still visited his nightmares. Mike stumbled backward, staring up at the flower-headed bastard lunging towards him. This was it. This was how it ended. Not in some grand battle, not sacrificing himself for El or saving the world. Just torn apart in a glorified parking lot.

The Demogorgon lunged, almost closing the distance between them. Mike covered his face, wincing at the stench that now flooded his nostrils.

And then -

Everything stopped.

Not literally. Mike could still breathe, could still feel his heart hammering against his ribs like it was trying to escape. But the Demogorgon had gone rigid, its body locked mid-leap, muscles twitching with the effort of some invisible restraint.

The Demogorgon vibrated with pure bloodlust, then slowly lifted from the ground. A horrifying pivot that defied nature, defied everything Mike understood about these creatures. Mike watched it levitate, confused, grappling with the sudden loss and regaining of his life. Mike winced as the Demo’s limbs snapped, turning in uncanny directions, before crumpling to the floor.

Mike turned.

Will stood ten feet away, arms outstretched. His eyes were open but unseeing, rolled back to show only whites. His whole body trembled with effort, with power, with something that made the air around him shimmer like heat off summer pavement.

Mike’s breath hitched so deep he wasn’t sure if he’d ever breathe again.

Will's eyes rolled forward. For one perfect, crystalline moment, they locked on Mike's. Bright and present and so profoundly Will that Mike's chest seized with something he couldn't name.

The first thing Mike feels is joy. Clean and fierce and overwhelming, the staggering fact of being alive singing through his veins. But brighter than that, sharper, is the sight of Will - his Will, his sorcerer - staring right back at him through ash-flecked air, wiping a smear of blood from his nose.

Then Will's eyes rolled into the back of his sockets, and Mike heard the thud of skull hitting pavement a heartbeat before Will's body folded gracelessly to the ground.

The second thing Mike feels is terror.

Because then Will's eyes roll back and Mike is already moving, already running. A sound tears out of him, raw and shapeless, swallowed by the static roaring in his skull. His feet are traitors, stumbling over each other, and it doesn't matter what he screams because Will is a pale, still comma on the asphalt and he wouldn't hear a thing. Not even if Mike had finally said the words he'd been chewing on for years.

The air got too thin to breathe.

Mike reaches him first. Distantly, he registers that his knees scrape raw on broken asphalt, but pain is an abstract concept right now, something happening to someone else's body. His hands are frantic, searching for proof of life - cradling Will's arms, his shoulders, pressing hard against the pulse point under his jaw. There. Faint, but there. A rhythm. A heartbeat.

Thank God. Thank God.

Mike's fingers find the spot at the nape of Will's neck, that place he's always gone to when he sensed something wrong, and he digs his fingertips in. A silent command. Wake up.

Mike traces over Will’s face, wild-eyed. Burst capillaries under Will's eyes, like tiny tragic constellations. Blood still fresh, tracing that path down to his lip. Eyes fluttered shut, near lifeless. Chest rising and falling in shallow, irregular breaths. Mike didn’t know how to get the lump of words off his tongue. He just sat there, frozen in fear, staring down at a half-lifeless Will.

"Will!" The voice comes from beside him. Mike flinches, his body automatically twisting to shield Will before his mind catches up. Oh. Mrs. Byers. Frankly, he'd forgotten anyone else existed. She's half-crawling toward them, her face stripped bare by terror. "Oh, my baby, is he... is he?"

Mike looks at her for a beat, seeing a stranger, before snapping back. He glances down and realizes - when did he pull Will into his lap? Will's head rests on his thigh, stabilized by Mike's hand at the back of his neck. The weight of him is solid and real and terrifying.

"He's alive," Mike says, and his voice sounds like it's coming from underwater. "He's alive, Mrs. Byers."

Mrs. Byers exhales shakily and crawls closer, reaching for Will. Mike feels himself tense, his grip tightening on Will's arm. Some animal part of his brain screams mine, mine, mine - but that's insane. That's Mrs. Byers. That's Will's mom. What the hell is wrong with him?

He forces himself to nod, to release his grip, to let her wrap Will up in her arms and rock him back and forth. Mike watches with wide eyes, cataloging details with manic precision: the way Will's mouth curves when unconscious; so different from how he looks in sleep. Darker. Less peaceful. The thought makes him sick.

He can hear his pulse in his ears, blood threatening to spill out.

"We have to get him out of here," The words come out blunt, tactical. A lifeline to cling to. "It's dangerous. We need to regroup."

Mrs. Byers nods, but she doesn't move. She holds Will tighter, and Mike understands. Every instinct screams to get out before soldiers come, before more creatures appear, but the idea of moving an unconscious Will feels obscene. Wrong. Will should be walking beside him, not limp because Mike needed fucking saving.

Mike shakes his head hard, dispelling the thought. He looks back down at Will and his heart clenches. "C'mon. I can help carry him."

He extends a hand. Mrs. Byers takes it after a pause, and together they hoist Will up. Mike automatically wraps his hand around Will's waist, taking most of the weight. Will flops against his chest, half-standing, half-leaning, and Mike's skin burns where they touch.

They trudge toward the car slowly. Mike doesn't want to hurt Will further. Each step is careful, measured. He keeps his eyes on the horizon, watching for threats, but his attention is split. Fractured. Most of him is focused on the warm weight against his shoulder, the shallow breaths that ghost across his neck.

They're almost to the car when Mike feels it - Will's head shifting, nestling closer onto his shoulder. A subconscious seeking of warmth, of safety. Mike's breath catches in his throat. His eyes shoot down to Will's face, and he watches with held breath as Will's brows furrow. A murmur escapes Will's lips, soft and pained.

Mike breathes out deeper than he has in years.

"No, no... it's okay, we've got you," he whispers, words just for them. His fingers tighten on Will's waist. "You're safe. I've got you."

Mrs. Byers shoots Mike a wild look, then stares down at Will with renewed concern. They walk faster.

Mike insisted on sitting in the back with Will. Of course he did.

Will is propped up against the back seat, unresponsive except for the occasional muscle twitch or murmur. Mike's eyes have never focused more intensely on anything in his life. He's memorizing details: the faint spray of freckles across Will's nose, the small familiar scar over his right eyebrow - a trophy from third grade, from daring each other to jump from the swings at their highest arc.

Mike's mouth quirks at the ghost of the memory. That quiet boy and the person before him now. Sorcerer.

The word fits. It shouldn't, but it does. Mike lets his gaze travel down Will's throat, over the rise and fall of his chest, to his arm resting on the seat. Without thinking, Mike lets his knuckle trace a line against the skin of Will's forearm. Just a ghost of a touch. Their skin looks different next to each other - when did Will get so tan? When did he get all these freckles?

"Will?" Mrs. Byers asks from the front seat, her eyes flicking to the rearview mirror.

Mike keeps his knuckles against Will's forearm, but his gaze snaps up to Will's face. Will's eyes are squeezed shut now. His breath hitches.

"Will?" Mike asks, voice barely there. He leans forward, trying to read anything from the twitch of Will's eyelashes. They cast sharp shadows against his cheeks from the passing streetlights. If Mike wasn't so scared, he'd say it was pretty. "Will? You in there?"

Will's eyes squeeze shut further, but Mike senses it - an imperceptible nod. Just a jerk of chin that someone else might miss, but Mike knows. Of course he knows.

He grins. Thank God.

A few moments later, Mrs. Byers hits a pothole. The car jolts, and Will's body shifts with it. His head tips sideways and comes to rest on Mike's shoulder.

Mike freezes.

He stares down at the crown of Will's head like a precious gemstone has materialized on top of his bones. His breathing goes shallow. He doesn't dare move, doesn't dare disturb this. For the rest of the ride, Mike stays perfectly still, eyes fixed on Will's face, watching the flutter of his eyelashes, the part of his lips as he breathes.

Something in Mike's chest cracks open. He doesn't examine it. He can't.

They arrive at WSQK in darkness. The old radio station looms against the night sky, its tower a skeletal finger pointing at stars Mike can't see through the haze. Mrs. Byers pulls up to the entrance, and Lucas appears in the doorway, his face drawn with worry.

"Is he-?" Lucas starts.

"Alive," Mike says shortly. "Help me get him inside."

Together, they ease Will out of the car. He's a dead weight now, no more of those small conscious movements from before. Mike's panic spikes, but he can still see Will's chest rising and falling. Still breathing. Still here.

They carry him inside to a sagging couch in the main room. The overhead lights flicker, casting everything in a sickly yellow. Mike helps lower Will onto the cushions, then immediately sits on the floor beside the couch. Below Will. At eye level with his limp hand.

Mrs. Byers disappears to try the radio again, still desperate to raise the others. Lucas hovers nearby, clearly wanting to help but not knowing how.

"I'll keep watch," Mike says without looking up.

Lucas opens his mouth, probably to argue, then closes it. "Yeah. Okay. I'll... I'll be around if you need anything."

Mike doesn't respond. His eyes are fixed on Will's face, on the too-pale cast of his skin. He reaches up - slowly, like approaching a spooked animal - and brushes Will's hair off his forehead.

Will is sweating. A lot. Mike's concern ratchets up another notch. He cups Will's forehead with his palm, feeling for fever, but his hand comes away damp and cold. Not fever, then. Something else. Exhaustion? Power drain? Mike doesn't know enough about this. He doesn't know anything.

He should've asked El more questions. Should've paid more attention when she was learning to control her abilities. But that was different - El had always had her powers. Will just... What? Unlocked them? Discovered them? How long had Will been able to do this?

The questions pile up in Mike's mind, unanswerable. So he does the only thing he can do: he starts carding his fingers through Will's hair. Slow, repetitive strokes. He tells himself it's practical - Will is sweating, he needs to cool down. But really, Mike just needs to touch him. To confirm he's still here, still solid, still real.

A few minutes pass. Maybe longer. Mike loses track of time.

Will's head moves, just slightly, pressing a few millimeters into Mike's fingers before falling still again.

Mike's breath hitches. "Will?" he whispers. "Can you hear me?"

No response. But the movement was there. Mike's sure of it.

He keeps stroking, testing the theory. And yes - there. Another almost-imperceptible press into his touch. Like Will is trying to communicate through touch alone, too exhausted for words or consciousness but still reaching for Mike in the dark.

Mike's throat closes up. "It's okay," he murmurs, voice thick. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

Time becomes elastic. Mike isn't sure if ten minutes pass or an hour. The world narrows to the couch, to Will's breathing, to the repetitive motion of Mike's fingers in his hair.

When Mrs. Byers returns, she's carrying Gatorades and chip bags. The crinkling startles Mike out of his empty stare at the far wall. His fingers are still in Will's hair.

"How is he?" Mrs. Byers asks, and her voice is urgent the way it always is now, stripped of any pretense of calm.

Mike looks up. Mrs. Byers is staring at his hand. At where his fingers disappear into Will's hair.

Mike feels his face heat. "He... I think it's helping," he defends. "He moved a little. Like he knew I was here."

Mrs. Byers makes a soft humming noise. She sets down her haul on a nearby table and straightens, looking down at Mike. "Oh, I'm sure," she says quietly. There's something in her tone Mike can't decipher. Not judgment, exactly. Something gentler.

"Nothing, then?" she asks after a moment.

Mike shakes his head. "No. But he's not out cold. It's like he's just… really asleep. Like he's resting."

"And how are you holding up, Mike?"

The question catches him off guard. Mike blinks, still looking at Will. "I'm alright,” he pauses, looking at Will’s closed eyes. He sighs. “I just want him to wake up."

Mrs. Byers nods. She leans down and kisses Will's forehead, a tender gesture that makes something ache in Mike's throat. When she straightens, she looks at Mike with an expression he can't read.

"At least eat something, alright? You can't keep watch forever."

Mike's brows furrow. "Of course I can. I'll be here when he wakes up."

"Mike-"

"I'll be here," Mike repeats, firmer now. His eyes are already pulled back to Will, to the steady rise and fall of his chest. "I have to be."

Mrs. Byers watches him for a long moment. Then she nods. "You yell if he so much as rolls over, you understand?"

Mike nods, and Mrs. Byers leaves. As soon as she's gone, Mike's fingers find their rhythm again in Will's hair. He focuses on Will's breathing, counting the seconds between inhales, reassuring himself with each one.

Dawn creeps in as a gray smear at the windows, trying to lull Mike to sleep. His eyes are gritty, his back aches from sitting on the floor, but he doesn't move. Can't move.

Footsteps approach.

"You think there's any coffee in here- oh. Hello."

Robin stands behind the couch, looking down at Mike with a curious expression. Her gaze travels from Mike's face to Will's sleeping form, and her expression softens in a way that makes Mike's insides heat with something like embarrassment or defensiveness or both.

"What happened?" Robin asks, her voice losing its usual sardonic edge.

Mike bristles instinctively. "A lot of things."

Robin clearly isn't satisfied with that answer, but she doesn't push. She walks around the couch and sits down beside Mike on the floor, close enough that their shoulders almost touch. Mike wants to tell her to move, to give them space, but that would be ridiculous. There's no them. There's just Will unconscious on a couch and Mike keeping watch like some kind of deranged guard dog.

Robin looks up at Will, and her expression goes soft again. Tender. Mike feels an irrational spike of irritation.

"People other than you are allowed to worry about him, you know," Robin says conversationally, like she can read Mike's thoughts.

Mike's jaw tightens. "I know that."

"Do you?" Robin glances at Mike's hand, still buried in Will's hair, then back to his face. "Because you've been sitting here like a sentinel. Which is sweet, don't get me wrong. But you look like you're about to bite anyone who comes within three feet."

"I think it's helping," Mike says for what feels like the hundredth time. Why does everyone keep commenting on this? It's not weird. It's not.

Robin's lips quirk into a small smile. "I'm sure it is."

There's something in her tone that makes Mike bristle further. He finally tears his gaze away from Will to glare at her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Robin says easily. She looks back at Will and sighs. "Don't worry. He's strong. Joyce wouldn't tell me what happened either, but I have my suspicions. And whatever it is, he'll push through."

Mike's irritation flares hotter. "What the hell would you know? You've known him for, like, three days."

Robin looks back at Mike, a little taken aback. Then her expression shifts into something more guarded. "I'm not trying to step on your turf, Wheeler."

"I don't have turf," Mike snaps. "He's my best friend. I'm just- I'm worried."

"I can see that." Robin's voice is gentler now. "Look, Will and I... we talked. We have some things in common. Things that make it easier for us to understand each other."

Mike's brows furrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Robin shrugs. "That's for him to tell you, not me. But my point is, I get it. I get him. And I know you do too. Probably better than anyone." She pauses, studying Mike's face. "Which is why you need to take care of yourself. He's gonna need you focused when he wakes up. You're no good to him exhausted."

"Well, his best friend exhausted is better than some chick he met three days ago," he bites out, anger flaring. Robin just stares at him for a moment, gears visibly turning behind her eyes. It only makes him more frustrated. "What?" he asks sharply.

Eventually, Robin smiles softly. "Nothing. Just realized I was wrong about something," she says, half to herself. She shakes her head, leading Mike to furrow his brows. What the hell? "I'm serious," she continues after a moment. "You can sleep right over there on the floor. Don't even have to leave the room. Just, for God's sake, go the fuck to sleep."

Mike pauses, works his jaw. He was getting quite tired.

"I'll sleep right there," Mike finally concedes, nodding to a spot on the floor a few feet away. Close enough to see Will. "Just for an hour."

"Deal." Robin looks triumphant.

Mike stands up reluctantly. His hand slides out of Will's hair, and he immediately feels the loss of contact like a phantom limb. He grabs a pillow and a blanket from a nearby storage closet and makes a nest on the floor within eyeline of the couch.

"Don't touch his hair," Mike grumbles as he lies down.

Robin's eyebrows shoot up, but she's smiling. "Wouldn't dream of it, Wheeler."

Mike closes his eyes. Within seconds, exhaustion drags him under.

When Mike wakes up, his first conscious thought is Will.

His eyes fly open, immediately finding the couch. His heart drops - Will hasn't moved. Still lying there, still pale, still too quiet. Mike pushes himself up on his elbows and sees Mrs. Byers sitting in front of the couch now, hunched over, one hand holding Will's limp fingers.

The sight makes Mike feel sick.

Lucas and Robin are standing behind the couch now too, both looking down at Will with identical expressions of concern. The room feels heavier than when Mike fell asleep. Like the air itself is holding its breath.

"Where's everyone else?" Mike asks, his voice rough with sleep. He clears his throat. "The kids?"

Robin winces. "They got the kids. Holly, all of them. And… Joyce can't raise anyone on the radio. Hopper, El, Nancy, Steve… they're all still down there."

Mike's stomach drops. He rubs a hand over his face, trying to wake up fully, trying to think. Holly. His little sister. Taken by Vecna while Mike was...

"We gotta get Will up," Lucas says quietly, his eyes fixed on the couch.

Mike's head snaps toward Lucas. "We're trying," he says, and it comes out harsher than he intends.

Lucas glances at him. "I'm just saying. If everyone else is stuck down there, and Will suddenly has… powers? Connection to the hive mind? This is our shot."

"No." The word comes out flat, absolute. Mike stands up, crossing to the couch. "We are not using him like a tool. Not now."

"Mike, we don't have time to-"

"We have time to let him wake up!" Mike's volume rises. "He just did something impossible and it knocked him out cold. We don't even know what it did to him. And you want to send him back into a psychic warzone?"

"Lucas is right," Mrs. Byers says quietly. All eyes turn to her. She's still holding Will's hand, but she's looking at Mike now. Her expression is torn - fear for her son warring with desperation for the others. For Holly. "We can at least discuss options. Before Will wakes up. We gotta get those kids back."

Mike's jaw clenches. He wants to argue, wants to plant himself between Will and everyone else and refuse to budge. But Holly's face flashes in his mind. Eight years old. Probably terrified. And Nancy, Steve, Jonathan, Dustin- they're down there too. Fighting. Probably dying.

"Fine," Mike bites out. "But not in front of him, alright?"

Everyone nods. Mrs. Byers stands up slowly, reluctantly releasing Will's hand. "Robin, would you watch him? If he moves at all, you come get me."

Robin sinks into Mrs. Byers' abandoned spot as the rest of them file into a side storage room. It smells of dust and old paper and defeat. Mike leans against the wall, arms crossed so tightly his shoulders ache.

"Well?" he demands. "What's the master plan?"

Lucas paces a short, tight line. His hands keep clenching and unclenching at his sides. "The plan is we have no plan. Our party is split in half. The military has the Upside Down locked down tighter than Fort Knox. And Will just mind-controlled three Demogorgons. That's not just a clue, Mike. That's a neon fucking sign."

"A sign pointing to what?" Mike challenges. "Sending him back into that connection when he can't even stay conscious?"

"To using the connection he already has!" Lucas stops pacing, rounding on Mike. "The gates are sealed, right? Military-grade lockdown. But if anyone can pry one open from this side, or… or sense where the others are down there, it's him. He's linked to it. To Vecna."

"That's exactly why we can't!" Mike pushes off the wall, his voice rising. "We have no idea what that link did to him. What if opening a gate tears him apart? What if Vecna is waiting for him to try? What if-"

"Since when do we have the luxury of playing it safe?" Lucas shoots back, and his fear is making him vicious. Mike recognizes it because he feels it too. "Since when do you, of all people, ignore the only logical move?"

"Since the logical move gets Will killed!" Mike's shout echoes in the small room. He hadn't meant to yell. The force of it surprises even him.

Lucas stares at him, anger melting into confusion. Mrs. Byers is looking at him too, her expression heavy with understanding.

Mike barrels on, words pouring out in a desperate torrent. "He just channeled the hivemind to kill what, three Demos? And he collapsed. He hasn't woken up. You want him to open a gate? We don't get to draft him into another suicide mission before he's even taken a breath. I'm not- we can't lose him. Okay? We can't. I can't."

The last words come out in a fractured whisper. The room goes profoundly quiet.

Lucas is staring at Mike like he's seeing him for the first time. "Mike, I-"

"I agree with Mike."

Mrs. Byers' voice cuts through gently but firmly. She's looking at Mike with that same complicated expression - gratitude, sorrow, a deep maternal knowing that makes Mike want to shrink into the wall.

"We don't ask him to walk off a cliff," she continues. "Not until we know he can fly. We find another way for now. I… I can keep on the radio, maybe we can hook up one of Dustin’s doohickeys to try and track Hop again…"

Mike nods weakly, unable to meet anyone's eyes, tuning out the rest of her plan. Lucas looks between them, frustration still simmering but banked. He scoffs, a short, bitter sound, but it dies in his throat.

His eyes have flicked to the doorway. Gone wide.

Mike follows his gaze.

Will is standing there.

He's upright, leaning heavily against the doorframe, but he's awake. His eyes are open. Alert. Fixed on Mike with an expression Mike can't read.

How much did he hear?

Mike crosses the room in three strides. His hand goes to Will's shoulder automatically, steadying him. "Will, how are you feeling?"

Up close, Will looks terrible. The hollows under his eyes are deep enough to cast shadows, and his skin has that translucent quality of someone who's pushed their body too far. But his eyes are clear. Present.

Will looks at Mike, and a small, sheepish smile tugs at his lips. "I'm okay. Just tired. Really, really tired."

Then Mrs. Byers is there, pulling Will into a hug. Mike steps back, lets her have this moment, but his eyes never leave Will. He catalogs every visible part of him - the way Will's shoulders curve, the slow blink of his eyes, the faint tremor in his hands. Still here. Still solid.

Still capable of channeling impossible power through his body.

The thought makes Mike's stomach churn with equal parts awe and dread.

They get Will situated back on the couch. Mrs. Byers fusses over him, bringing water and forcing him to eat half a sandwich. Will manages it, but his eyelids are already drooping again by the time he swallows the last bite.

"You need more sleep," Mike says. It's not a question.

Will nods, a tiny movement. "Yeah. Sorry, I just... can't seem to stay awake."

"Don't apologize." Mike's voice comes out fiercer than he intends. "You saved my life. You get to sleep as long as you want."

Will's eyes find Mike's, and something passes between them. Something warm and fragile. Then Will's eyes slide shut, and within moments, his breathing evens out into sleep.

Mike wants to stay. Wants to plant himself right back on the floor beside the couch and keep watch. But he also knows he needs to give Will space to rest without feeling observed. So he forces himself to stand up and walk to the other side of the room.

He finds a stack of old geological survey maps in a corner and starts organizing them by decade. It's a pointless task, but it gives his hands something to do. Something other than reaching for Will.

Mike is on his third stack of maps when a soft rap on the doorframe makes him turn.

Will is standing there. Awake. Steadier now, though still pale.

Mike's face lights up, automatic and unguarded. "Hey. You look better. Way better."

Will offers a small, soft smile. He hovers in the doorway for a moment, uncertain.

"C'mere," Mike says, gesturing to the maps spread out on the floor. "Look at this. Hawkins in 1952. Barely a dot."

Will steps in and pulls a chair over. He sits, and Mike watches the careful way he lowers himself, like his body is still remembering how to be a body. The maps are irrelevant. Mike just needed an excuse to keep Will close.

"Thanks for saving my life, by the way." It's lame, but it names the elephant in the room. "That's what you did. You saved me. It was… incredible."

Will's smile vanishes. He looks down, away, and Mike's own expression falters.

"Did I say something wrong?" Mike asks carefully. "That's what you did. It was incredible."

Will exhales shakily. "It wasn't incredible. It felt… I don't know. I was harnessing Vecna's power. I could feel him. Feel the rage, the hunger. It was more monstrous than it was incredible."

Mike's stomach drops. His hand shoots out, grabbing Will's shoulder and squeezing. "Bullshit," he says firmly. "I have never seen something more badass in my life, Will. It was… I couldn't look away. You were…" He struggles for words, for something that captures the awe and terror and pride that had flooded through him watching Will stand there, arms outstretched, power radiating from him like heat. "You were amazing."

Will looks at him then, and it's an open, vulnerable thing. Raw. "You really think so?"

"Of course I do." Mike says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. He smiles, trying to inject lightness into the moment. "I was right. Sorcerer."

Will's lips quirk into a small smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes. He looks back at the floor. "Yeah. I guess you were right."

Mike studies him, this boy who just discovered he has the power to control monsters, and tries to understand the weight pressing down on his shoulders. "You looked…" Mike starts, but realizes he has no way to finish that sentence. Powerful? Terrifying? Beautiful?

Eventually, Will catches his gaze again. His expression cycles through something Mike can't name before landing on hesitancy. "You weren't scared of me?"

"Scared of you?" Mike repeats, genuinely baffled. "God, Will. I could never be scared of you. I mean, it was terrifyingly awesome, don’t get me wrong, but… it’s you."

The words come out softer than Mike intended. He watches Will's face cycle through emotions again - disbelief, hope, something that looks dangerously close to longing - before Will clamps his mouth shut and looks away. He clears his throat.

"You know… I heard you. Earlier. In the other room."

Mike's stomach drops. "The argument."

Will nods, gaze fixed on the wall. Then he looks at his hands, fingers twisting together. "I heard what you said. About... losing me."

Mike goes still. The memory of his own outburst washes over him - the raw panic in his voice, the way the words had torn out of him without permission. "Yeah," he says quietly. "I meant it. I don't know what I'd do, Will." He forces a smile, tries to keep things light even though his heart is hammering. "You're my best friend. My sorcerer."

Will's gaze snaps back to Mike's face, suddenly intense. "Mike-"

But Mike's brain is already pivoting, desperate to understand, to process what happened. "How did you do it, anyway? You just… thought about it?"

Will blinks, thrown by the shift. He shrugs, a little self-conscious. "I don't know. It's not like El's powers. It wasn't… reaching for something outside myself. It was more like… grabbing a live wire that was already in my hand. Like the connection was always there, and I just stopped fighting it."

Mike leans forward, fascinated despite himself. "What do you mean?"

Will picks at a thread on his jeans, not meeting Mike's eyes. "Robin said something to me. Before all this happened. About how the things that make you feel like an outsider, like you don't fit… those can be the source of your strength. If you stop fighting them." He pauses, and Mike can see him gathering courage. "So I stopped fighting. I stopped being scared of the connection. And then I just… I thought about what I had to protect. My mom. Jonathan."

Another pause. Will's voice drops even lower.

"You."

Mike's heart does a slow, heavy roll in his chest. "You thought about me?"

Will looks at him like he's asked if water is wet. A faint, almost sad smile appears on his lips. "Of course I did."

The air between them thickens. Charges with all the things they never say, all the weight of years compressed into this moment. Mike's hand is still on Will's shoulder. He can feel the warmth through the fabric. Will is looking at him, really looking, and Mike is drowning in the familiar hazel of his eyes - the gold flecks, the green tones, the way they're soft and scared and unbearably honest.

Will's lips part. "Mike, I-"

BANG-BANG-BANG.

A loud, deliberate knock on the doorframe shatters the moment like glass.

"Time's up, lovebirds! Newsflash: Hopper and El are Rightside Up. War council in five."

Robin's voice, bright and deliberately loud, followed by the swift tap of her retreating footsteps.

Mike refuses to look away from Will. There's something here, hovering in the air between them, something vital he's supposed to understand. It sits on the tip of his tongue, in the tightness of his chest.

But Will is already shifting, standing up. The moment breaks like a snapped thread.

"We should go," Will says quietly.

Mike lets his hand fall from Will's shoulder, watching him leave the room. He stays there in the dust and maps and silence, his heart doing complicated things in his chest that he doesn't want to examine.

He thinks of Will on the swings, laughing. Will on the couch, so still. Will in the car, murmuring into his shoulder. Will wiping blood from his nose, eyes blazing with impossible power. Will saving him. Will saying, Of course I did.

The memories don't make him feel brave. They fill him with a deep, formless dread. He doesn't know why. Not yet. But the feeling is there, cold and certain: everything is about to change, and he's terrified of what he might have to say when it does.

The reunion happens in a blur of static and shouting.

Hopper's voice booms through the radio first - a guttural "We're coming in hot, clear the damn door!" that sends Mrs. Byers sprinting from Will's side. Mike is still standing in the doorway of the map room, only a few feet from where he and Will were just sitting. Something unfinished pools in that space, something he doesn't want to leave behind.

Not yet.

The door crashes open. Hopper fills the frame, and he looks like he's been dragged through hell backwards - mud, blood, ash, and a wildness in his eyes that speaks of pure, unadulterated survival. Behind him, smaller but radiating fierce energy, is El.

Mike's heart does something complicated. Relief, yes. But not the desperate, all-consuming relief he felt when Will's eyes first opened. This is different. Quieter.

El's hair is matted with grime, her clothes torn, but her gaze is sharp and focused. It scans the room and lands on Mike. Something passes over her face - concern, question, maybe recognition of something she's been seeing for a while now.

And behind El stands a girl Mike doesn't recognize. Her head is buzzed like El's was when they first met. Blood traces from her nose in a pattern Mike knows too well now. She leans against the doorjamb, assessing the room with cool, detached scrutiny that makes the hair on Mike's neck stand up.

Mrs. Byers launches herself at Hopper, a collision of relief and fear. Lucas lets out a whoop. Robin just stares, mouth slightly open.

Mike's eyes drift back to El. A part of him - the part that spent years thinking she was dead, the part that fought monsters for her - unclenches. She's here. She's alive. The relief is real and solid.

But it's not the relief he felt watching Will's chest rise and fall. It's not the same.

"El," Mike says, and his voice comes out rough.

She crosses the room to him, her steps quick and purposeful. She looks past him toward the couch where Will sat moments ago, her brow furrowing, then back to Mike. "You are okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, we're… we made it." Mike reaches out, almost on autopilot, and gives her shoulder a squeeze. It's a friend's squeeze. A comrade-in-arms’ squeeze. He feels her solidness under his hand, the reality of her, and he's grateful for it.

But the frantic, heart-stopping terror that had owned him while watching over Will? It doesn't flare for her. The difference is so stark it's like a physical sound in his head, a dissonant chord he can't unhear.

He pushes it away. Shoves it down.

"You?" he asks.

She nods, her eyes still searching his face for something. "I am okay. Will?"

"Alive. Exhausted." Mike can't keep the ragged edge out of his voice. "He… did something. Something big."

El's gaze intensifies. She looks toward the couch, then back to Mike with a new focus - a practitioner recognizing a strange new strain of power. "I felt it," she says softly. "A… tearing. Like Vecna's presence, but not his control. Something else."

Before Mike can ask what that means, Hopper's voice cuts through the murmurs filling the room. "We need to talk. Now. All of us."

They regroup in the main area, forming a shabby circle of exhaustion and adrenaline. Will appears from a side hallway, looking steadier than before but still pale. He takes a spot between Robin and Mrs. Byers. Mike notices the small, unconscious way Robin's shoulder touches Will's - a gesture of comfort and solidarity.

That spike of irrational jealousy flares again. Mike crushes it down.

Hopper and the new girl - Kali, he introduces her as - tell a clipped, brutal story. They'd found another entrance to the Upside Down, a secret military installation. Inside, they'd discovered Kali imprisoned in a cell, another number from Hawkins Lab. They'd fought their way back through a landscape actively trying to digest them.

"The kids," Kali says, her accent sharp and precise. "Vecna has taken them to a central point. A nexus. It's not just torture. It's a… a farm. He's drawing power from their fear, their innocence. It makes him stronger, lets him hold the gates open wider."

Mrs. Byers makes a small, wounded sound. "And our people? Nancy, Steve, Jonathan, Dustin?"

Hopper's jaw works. "No contact. Last I heard from them was at the perimeter. But if they're smart - and they are - they're heading for the same nexus. Trying to stop it at the source."

"So we go back in," Lucas says immediately, his hands clenched. "We find them, we get the kids, we end this."

"It is not so simple," Kali says coolly. "The gates are guarded. Military presence is heavy. We could never breach them conventionally."

A heavy silence falls. Mike's eyes drift across the circle. Will looks sickly again, fear he's trying to push down rippling just beneath his skin. Mike can always tell. Robin has drifted closer to him, saying something low that Mike can't hear. Will nods, and a faint, tired smile touches his lips. Robin nudges his shoulder with her own.

Mike's jaw clenches. What could they possibly have bonded over so fast?

"We have assets we didn't have before," Hopper says, pulling Mike's attention back. His gaze travels deliberately from El to Kali, then - heavy and expectant - to Will.

Will straightens under the attention. Mike feels his own body go rigid.

"Will," Hopper says, not unkindly but with a commander's bluntness. "What you did out there. Joyce filled us in. Can you do it again?"

Will's voice comes out hoarse. He clears his throat. "I… I don't know. It wasn't something I did. It was something I… stopped fighting."

"But you connected to it," Kali says, her interest clinical and detached in a way that makes Mike's skin crawl. "To the hive mind. You took control for a moment."

Will nods slowly, and Mike can see how much the memory sickens him.

"That connection," Hopper presses. "Could you use it? Not to control those things, but to… to sense where the nexus is? Where our people might be?"

The room holds its breath. Mike can see the desperate hope in Lucas's eyes, the conflicted fear in Mrs. Byers' face, the intense focus in El's gaze.

"No."

The word leaves Mike's mouth like a bullet. Flat. Final. Every head turns toward him.

Lucas blinks. "Mike, we just said-"

"I heard what you said," Mike cuts him off, his voice low and hard. "And you heard what I said earlier. He just woke up. He has no idea what that connection did to him. You want him to go poking around in Vecna's brain as a recon mission?"

"It is the most logical course," Kali says, one eyebrow raised.

"I don't care about logical!" Mike's voice rises despite his best efforts. "I care about him not collapsing again, or worse. What if Vecna feels him poking around and decides to snap his mind like a twig? Did your logic account for that?"

"We are all at risk, Mike," El says quietly.

"It's not the same!" The words explode out of him, too loud, too raw. He sees El flinch. Sees Hopper's eyes narrow. Sees Robin watching him with that infuriating, knowing expression.

And he sees Will, staring at him with wide, confused eyes.

Mike's face heats. "It's just… it's different. We need another plan."

"There is no other plan!" Lucas explodes, his patience finally snapping. "Mike, your sister is in there! Holly is in there! Will has a power we can use, and you're saying no because - what? Because you're scared?"

"Yes!" Mike shouts. "Yes, I'm scared, okay? Is that what you want to hear? I'm terrified! And we can't lose-" He stops himself, swallowing the words. "We need another option."

"Use El," Mike says, his voice dropping to something cold and tactical. "Use her." He jabs a finger in Kali's direction. "Use your new psychic. You want powers? There's your powers."

A stunned, horrible silence follows.

El looks like she's been slapped. Kali's expression goes coldly murderous. Mrs. Byers puts a hand over her mouth. Will is just staring, his face ashen.

Mike's own words echo in his ears, ugly and wrong. He hadn't meant it like that. He hadn't meant-

But he can't take them back.

Hopper takes a step toward Mike, his voice a dangerous growl. "Wheeler. You need to take a walk. Now."

The fury in Mike curdles into hot, shameful nausea. He looks at El, trying to form an apology, but the words are ashes in his mouth. He looks at Will, whose gaze has dropped to the floor, and something in Mike's chest cracks wide open.

Without another word, Mike turns and stalks out of the main room, down a short hall, and slams the first door he finds - a janitorial closet reeking of mildew and bleach - shut behind him.

The darkness is absolute. Mike fumbles for a pull-string, finds it, and a single bare bulb flickers on. It illuminates shelves of rusty cleaning supplies and his own distorted reflection in a grimy mirror.

Then the shaking starts.

It begins in his hands, a fine tremor, then climbs up his arms and seizes his chest. It's not crying. He's not crying. It's something else - a silent, seismic quake of pure, undiluted fear and fury and confusion.

He's angry at Vecna for taking his family. At the Upside Down for stealing his childhood. At the soldiers who made everything worse. At Lucas for pushing. At Hopper for his bluntness. At Kali for her coldness. He was angry at El for looking at him like that, and angry at himself for making her look that way.

But underneath it all, a white-hot core of anger is reserved for himself. For the confusion that hums constant in his blood. For the way his eyes track Will like a compass needle. For the way his world had narrowed in that parking lot - not when El arrived, but when Will's head lolled back and hit the ground.

For the jealousy that curdles in his gut when Robin touches Will's shoulder.

Why?

He can't articulate it. It's a scream with no sound, a question with no answer.

Mike balls his fist and drives it into the metal shelf beside him. The pain is bright and shocking, a burst of stars in his knuckles. He does it again. And again. The clang is satisfyingly loud in the small space. The pain is clean and simple and better than the messy, terrifying storm inside his head.

A knock comes at the door. Soft and utterly out of place.

Mike freezes, his bleeding fist still poised. "Go away."

The door cracks open anyway. Robin's face appears in the gap. She takes in the scene - Mike panting, fist swollen and bloody, shelves still vibrating - and slips inside, closing the door behind her.

"Nice decor," she says dryly.

"What do you want?" Mike snarls, turning away from her.

"Just making the rounds. Checking on the guy who's apparently trying to piss off every single person in this building who could kill him with their mind. Bold strategy."

Mike glares at a bottle of bleach. "I don't need your commentary."

"Clearly you need something." Robin leans against the door, arms crossed. "A therapist, maybe. Or a punching bag that isn't decades-old shelving."

Mike says nothing. His hand throbs in time with his heartbeat.

"You wanna talk about why you're self-destructing in a broom closet?" Robin asks.

"No."

"Cool. I'll talk, then." She pauses, and Mike can feel her studying him. "You're jealous."

Mike whips around. "What?"

"Of me. And Will." She says it like she's commenting on the weather. "It's written all over your face. Has been since I sat down next to him this morning."

The direct hit leaves Mike sputtering. "I am not- I don't… We're best friends. I'm just protective."

"Uh-huh." Robin's tone is skeptical. "And the way you looked at me when I sat next to him on that couch? That was 'protective best friend' glare? Because it looked more like 'get your cooties off my boyfriend' glare to me."

"He's not my-" The denial dies in Mike's throat, choked by the sheer, dizzying force of the implication. He stares at Robin, his anger deflating into bewildered panic. "What are you even saying?"

Robin's expression shifts, the teasing fading into something more serious. More careful. "I'm saying you're sending some seriously mixed signals, Wheeler. To everyone. But especially to him."

Mike's mind is a riot. Boyfriend. The word echoes in his head, absurd and terrifying. He thinks of holding Will in the parking lot. Of his desperate need to touch Will's hair. Of the world narrowing to the space between their shoulders in the back of that car.

He thinks of the painting. Of the speech in the van.

A speech for El.

"It's not like that," Mike says, but his voice lacks all conviction. "He's... and El… I'm with El."

Robin lets out a soft, almost sad laugh. "Are you? Really?" She doesn't wait for an answer. "Look, what Will and I have isn't… it's not some secret club or anything. It's just understanding. Knowing what it's like to feel like a wrong part in a machine that works fine for everyone else."

Mike's brow furrows. He doesn't understand.

"He's carrying a lot, Mike," Robin continues quietly. "More than you know. And a big part of it has to do with you."

Mike's throat closes up. "With me?"

"That's his secret to tell," Robin says firmly. "But my point is, you're so busy freaking out about what you're feeling - or not feeling - that you're hurting people. El. Will. Yourself." She pushes off the door. "You gotta figure out what you want. Because whatever this is?" She gestures at Mike, at his bloody knuckles and wild eyes. "It's not sustainable. And it's gonna get someone killed."

She reaches for the door handle, then pauses. Looks back at Mike with something almost like pity.

"And for the record? He looks at you like you're the only person in the room. Even when the room's on fire. So maybe figure out why that scares you so much."

She leaves, closing the door softly behind her.

Mike slides down the wall until he's sitting on cold concrete. His hand throbs. His head spins.

He looks at you like you're the only person in the room.

Mike thinks of Will's smile, small and private and just for him. He thinks of the absolute trust in Will's eyes when Mike called him a sorcerer. He thinks of the van, of Will's voice shaky but earnest, talking about feeling like a mistake…

And then telling Mike to say he loved El.

A cold, dawning horror begins to seep through the cracks in his anger.

What if…

What if the speech wasn't about El at all?

Mike doesn't know how long he sits there. Time loses meaning in the flickering light of the closet. His hand has gone from throbbing to a dull, persistent ache. He wraps it in a relatively clean rag he finds on one of the shelves, his movements mechanical.

Eventually, he stands. He can't hide in here forever.

When he emerges, the main room feels different. The atmosphere is tense but focused - a fragile ceasefire. People are eating cold beans from cans, speaking in low tones. The energy has shifted from panicked to grimly determined.

Mike's eyes immediately find Will. He's sitting on the far side of the room with El and Kali, the three of them in what looks like a serious discussion. Will is listening intently to something Kali is saying, nodding. El is watching Will with that focused, analytical expression she gets. They look like a council of wizards planning something dangerous.

Mike's stomach twists.

He finds an empty crate and sits, someone shoving a can of peaches into his good hand. He picks at it without appetite, his eyes drifting back to the trio. Will says something, and Kali nods with what might be approval. Will smiles - a tiny, genuine thing - and El puts a hand on his knee.

The jealousy is back, but it's different now. Muddier. It's not just about Robin. It's about all of them. About being on the outside of something he doesn't understand, something that's a part of Will he could never touch.

A presence settles on the crate next to him. Mrs. Byers. She holds two steaming mugs of something that smells like broth made from dust and hope.

"You need to eat more than sugar water, Mike," she says softly, handing him a mug.

He takes it. The heat seeps into his cold fingers. "Thanks, Mrs. Byers."

She sips her own broth, her eyes on Will across the room. "I think you can call me Joyce now, Mike." She says it sweetly, with a sad smile. Her gaze doesn't leave her son. "He's something else, isn't he?"

Mike follows her gaze. Will is gesturing now, trying to explain something about the connection, probably. His hands move in that expressive way they do when he's passionate about something. "Yeah," Mike says, and the word comes out thick. "He is."

"He always has been," Joyce says with quiet pride. "Even as a little boy. So quiet, but seeing things the rest of us didn't." She sighs, pride fading into weariness. "Mike… I know you're scared for him. I am too. More than anything. But Holly… those other kids… we have to try. We have to let him try."

Mike's grip tightens on the mug. "It's too dangerous."

"Everything is dangerous," Joyce says, and there's no judgment in it. Just fact. "Walking out that door is dangerous. Breathing is dangerous these days. But we have a chance with him. With all of them together." She nods toward El and Kali. "That's more than we had an hour ago."

Mike stays silent, staring into the murky broth like it holds answers.

Joyce seems to sense his immovable fear. She changes tactics, her voice softening. "You know, you can't stop him from trying to save you. He cares about you quite a bit."

Mike's head snaps up. Joyce is still looking at Will, but there's something knowing in her expression.

"He worked on that painting for weeks," Joyce continues quietly. "For you."

The world tilts. Mike forces words out through a throat that's closing up. "El… she commissioned it. For our anniversary. He was just the artist."

Joyce goes very still. Then, slowly, she turns to look at Mike. Her brow furrows in genuine confusion. "Commissioned it? Mike, no. That was all Will's idea. Start to finish. He…" She pauses, studying Mike's face with growing concern. "He told me it was a gift. For you. For making him feel less alone."

Her confusion deepens as she watches the color drain from Mike's face. "Honey, did… did Will tell you El asked for it?"

Mike can't speak. He just stares at her.

His mind is fragmenting, piecing together a picture he doesn't want to see. The Winnebago. Will's face, pale and streaked with dirt. His voice breaking as he talked about being a mistake. And then the pivot. The speech about love and heart and fighting for the people you love.

A speech that had saved Mike's relationship with El.

A speech that had poured from Will's heart.

The painting. The words. The love.

It was all Will.

A sound escapes Mike - something between a gasp and a choke. Joyce's hand is on his arm, her face alarmed. "Mike? What's wrong?"

He shakes his head violently, pulling his arm away. He stands up, the crate scraping loudly against concrete. Every head in the room turns toward him, but Mike only sees one person.

Will is looking at him with open concern.

Mike's gaze sweeps past him, landing on El. She's watching him too, her head tilted in that birdlike way she has. There's no anger on her face from his earlier outburst. Just a deep, weary understanding that makes Mike want to sink into the floor.

He crosses the room in a few strides. "El. Can I talk to you? Alone."

Hopper, standing nearby, straightens up with a protective glint in his eye. El looks from Mike's stricken face to Hopper, then back.

"It's okay," she says quietly.

She stands and leads him to the farthest corner of the radio room, near a bank of dead, silent equipment. The hum of distant generators provides white noise. She turns to face him, waiting with that infinite patience she has.

Mike's mind is a whiteout. He opens his mouth, but no coherent thought emerges. "The painting," he finally blurts out.

El waits.

"Joyce just… she said Will made it. For me. On his own."

El's expression doesn't change. She watches him expectantly, and Mike sees it - a slow, painful realization dawning in her dark eyes. Like she's been waiting for this conversation.

"You… you never asked him to paint it, did you?" The question comes out desperate, pleading.

A long, painful moment passes. El's brows furrow slightly. "What are you talking about?"

The ground falls away. "The things he said. In the van. About what makes someone love you. About being a mistake. You never… said that stuff? That was just…" Mike can't finish the sentence. Can't make the words real.

"Will," El says softly, finishing for him. She looks down at her hands, then back up at Mike. There's profound sadness in her eyes, but it's not for herself. It's for him. For both of them. "I… Will was planning to give you a painting. I saw him roll it up before the roller rink. But I never asked him to make it. I had no part of it."

Mike feels like he's been punched. His lungs won't work right.

"What did he say?" El asks carefully. "In the van?"

Mike shakes his head quickly, unable to repeat it. Unable to give voice to words that had carved themselves into his heart, words he'd believed were El's truth when they were really Will's confession hidden in plain sight.

"Why didn't you say anything?" The words come out ragged.

El takes a small step closer. "I didn't know what he said. But I…" She pauses, choosing words carefully. "I knew something had shifted. After the van. You were different with me."

"El-"

She holds up a hand, stopping him. Her voice drops to a whisper. "You have a big heart, Mike. You care about so many people. But Will is… it's complicated, isn't it?"

It's not an accusation. It's an observation. An offering of understanding.

Mike stares at this incredible, powerful girl he had loved - does love, he realizes with a shock, but not in the way he was supposed to, not in the way he'd forced himself to. He loves her like a sister. Like a warrior-sister who'd fought beside him and saved the world and deserved so much better than whatever pale imitation of romance he'd been offering.

The realization brings no relief. Only crushing guilt and a terrifying, dizzying freedom.

"El, I'm so sorry," he whispers, the apology encompassing everything - the past year, his distance, his confusion, his awful words earlier in front of everyone.

She gives him the faintest ghost of a smile. It's sad, but it's free of blame. "Do not be sorry. Be… clear."

Before Mike can respond, El reaches up and cups his cheek. The gesture is tender, final. Mike's breath catches.

"You are my friend," El says simply. "You will always be my friend. But you are not mine. Not in that way. I think…" She pauses, and her smile grows a fraction. "I think maybe you never were."

Mike feels tears prick at his eyes. El's hand drops from his face, and she turns and walks back toward the others. Leaving him alone in the shadow of dead radios with a truth that's too big to fit inside his body.

Mike stands there for a long time.

The truth settles over him like a physical weight. It's not just a weight of dread, though there's plenty of fear there. It's the weight of something immense and real finally being named after years of suffocating under denial.

The love in the van, the devotion in the painting, the unwavering light in Will's eyes… it was all for him.

And the frantic, possessive terror Mike feels, the jealousy, the way his world narrows to Will's safety, the way he can't breathe right when Will isn't in his line of sight…

It's not just friendship.

It has never been just friendship.

He's in love with Will Byers.

The thought should be terrifying. And it is - it's absolutely terrifying. But underneath the terror is something else. Something that feels suspiciously like rightness. Like a lock clicking open after years of forcing the wrong key. Like coming home after being lost.

Mike takes a shuddering breath and walks back into the main room on unsteady legs.

His eyes immediately find Will. He's standing with Lucas and Robin now, pointing at a map spread on a table. Will glances up, catches Mike looking, and offers a small, tentative smile.

Mike doesn't smile back. He can't. He just stares, seeing Will completely anew - the slope of his nose, the curve of his ear, the serious set of his mouth as he talks strategy. It's all suddenly, painfully beautiful.

And it's been right here. Right in front of him. This whole time.

Will's smile falters under the intensity of Mike's gaze, confusion clouding his eyes. Mike looks away, his heart hammering against his ribs hard enough to bruise.

The planning session reconvenes with new, focused energy.

Kali lays out the plan: Will would attempt to use his connection - not to control, but to sense. To locate the thinnest membrane between dimensions, the place where reality had worn threadbare. It would be like listening for a specific voice in a hurricane.

"Once he has a location," Kali explains, her voice clinical, "I can create an illusion. A large one. A catastrophe in another part of Hawkins. It will draw the hive's attention, distract the military forces. Create an opening."

"And then?" Lucas asks.

"Then we open a gate," El says quietly.

Lucas blinks. "We can do that?"

"Will and I spoke," El continues, glancing at Will. "We think together, we may be able to open one. I can channel his connection to the hive, use it to find the weak point, and tear through. Combining our abilities."

"If we find the right place," Kali adds.

"It will be unstable," El warns. "It will not stay open long. But it should be enough to get everyone through."

Hopper nods grimly. "We go in, we find our people and the kids, we get out. Simple."

It's anything but simple. It's a house of cards built on three people with powers they barely understand, held together with hope and desperation.

Throughout the rest of the planning, Mike is silent. He's taken Robin's advice - he's shut up and listened. His mind works on two parallel tracks.

One track is tactical: assessing the plan, finding flaws, thinking of contingencies. Where are the weak points? What if Will can't maintain the connection? What if Vecna senses them? What if the gate closes while they're still inside?

The other track is a riotous, screaming loop: He loves me. I love him. He loves me. We're about to walk into hell.

When the plan is finally set, the group begins to move. They gather weapons and supplies. They'll head to where Will's senses first connected to the hive - back to that cursed parking lot. Closer to danger. Closer to Holly, who's being tortured by the same monster that tortured Will.

Mike feels like his insides are screaming.

He loves me. I love him. He loves me. We're about to walk into hell.

Mike busies himself checking a flashlight, his movements jerky and mechanical. Will approaches, his footsteps hesitant.

"Hey," Will says softly.

Mike can't look at him. If he looks at Will right now, with everything he's just realized burning through his veins, he'll do something stupid. Say something he can't take back. "Hey."

"You look freaked out. More than usual."

Mike's laugh comes out harsh. "My sister's missing. My parents are in the hospital. And we're about to use my two best friends as psychic bait and a can-opener. You think?" The words come out sharper than he intends - a defense mechanism, a way to push Will away before Mike does something irreversible.

Will recoils like he's been struck. His face shuts down, all the careful openness from earlier sealing over. "Right. Sorry."

Guilt lances through Mike, sharp and immediate. "Will, no, wait-"

But Will is already turning away, joining Robin on the other side of the group. Mike sees Robin lean in, say something quietly to Will. Will just shakes his head, shoulders hunched.

Idiot, Mike thinks viciously. You're a complete idiot.

The journey to the spot is a tense, silent hike through the backwoods of Hawkins.

The earth is wrong here. Cracked like a dried riverbed, with veins of ugly red light pulsing beneath the soil like exposed capillaries. The air smells of ozone and decay and something chemical that makes Mike's eyes water.

They reach a clearing where the trees are dead and twisted, branches clawing at a bruised-purple sky that shouldn't exist. The boundary between their reality and the Upside Down here is barely visible - just a shimmer in the air, like heat rising off summer asphalt.

"Here," Will says, his voice hushed and small.

The group fans out, forming a defensive perimeter. El and Kali move to the center of the clearing. Will hangs back near the tree line, looking pale and sick.

Mike watches him, the need to go to Will a physical ache in his chest. To touch him, reassure him, tell him everything. But he's frozen. What could he possibly say? Sorry I snapped, I just realized I'm in love with you while we prepare for a suicide mission?

"Will," El calls, nodding to a spot next to her.

Will takes a deep, shuddering breath. He walks forward and sits cross-legged on the cracked ground. El sits facing him. Kali stands behind Will, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders.

"Do not fight the connection," Kali instructs, her voice low and hypnotic. "Let it in. Feel for the song of the hive, then listen for the wrong notes. The voices you know. Jane will focus that energy and tear open the gate."

Will closes his eyes. His breathing slows, deepens.

For a long moment, nothing happens.

Then Mike sees it - a faint tremor in Will's hands. A trickle of blood from his left nostril.

Mike's knuckles go white where he grips his flashlight.

El reaches out, places her hands on Will's knees. Her own eyes close. A silent communion passes between them, a sharing of strength and power Mike can't see but can feel vibrating in the air.

Suddenly, Will's eyes fly open. They're wide and unseeing, filled with kaleidoscopic horror.

"I see it," Will whispers, and his voice echoes strangely, like it's coming from somewhere far away. "The nexus… it's the lab. The old Hawkins Lab." He gasps, a sharp, pained sound that makes Mike flinch. "And… I see them. Nancy. Steve. Dustin. Jonathan. They're close. They're heading for it. For the lab."

"Good," Kali says, her face contorting with effort. "Hold that location. Fix it in your mind."

She lifts her hands from Will's shoulders and raises them toward the tree line. Her eyes go distant, unfocused.

Across the clearing, reality begins to warp. The air shimmers and splits, and suddenly there's sound - the roar of a thousand Demogorgons, the shriek of the Mind Flayer, the cacophonous noise of an apocalyptic battle that isn't really happening. Lights flash in the distorted air. Shadows of monstrous shapes surge and writhe.

The diversion has begun.

"El, now!" Hopper barks.

El stands, her hands lifting toward the point Will is staring at - a spot about twenty feet in front of him, where the shimmer between worlds seems thinnest. She grunts with effort, a vein standing out on her temple. Blood begins to flow from her nose.

A low groan fills the air, the sound of reality tearing. A jagged line of crimson light splits the air, vertical and sizzling with dark energy. It widens, inch by agonizing inch, revealing a glimpse of the familiar-yet-alien decay of the Upside Down beyond.

"Go! Go! Go!" Hopper yells, ushering them forward.

The group surges toward the unstable portal. Lucas goes first, then Robin, then Joyce. Mike hangs back, his eyes on Will, who's still seated, trembling, blood flowing freely from his nose as he holds the psychic anchor for El's tearing of the veil.

"Will, come on!" Mike shouts over the din of Kali's illusion.

Will's eyes meet his, glazed with pain and effort. He tries to stand, stumbles. Mike lunges forward, grabbing his arm and hauling him up. Together they stagger toward the gate.

El is the last, backing toward it, her hands still outstretched, maintaining the tear with sheer force of will. Her face is twisted with effort, blood streaming down her chin.

They tumble through.

The transition is nauseating - a drop in temperature, a smell of wet rot and old ashes. They're in the Upside Down now. The same woods from moments ago, but wrong. Dark. Twisted. The only light comes from the hellish red glow of the sky above them.

The sounds of Kali's illusory battle are muffled here, a distant echo.

"This way," Will croaks, pointing a shaking finger into the darkness. "Toward the lab."

They move in a tight, quiet pack, weapons raised. Will is at the front, guiding them through instinct and connection. Mike stays close to him, his shoulder brushing Will's every few steps. Will doesn't pull away.

They walk through the alien forest. Every shadow could be a threat. Every rustle could be death. Mike's heart pounds a steady rhythm: protect him, protect him, protect him.

Eventually, they hear real sounds - scrabbling, distant snarls, and the unmistakable thwack of Steve Harrington's nail bat connecting with something solid.

Hope flares in Mike's chest, fierce and desperate.

They round a corner and see them.

Nancy, back-to-back with Jonathan, firing a shotgun with grim precision. Steve, spinning his bat like a deranged baseball star, holding off two snarling Demodogs. Dustin, wielding a makeshift spear, yelling insults that are pure, beautiful Dustin.

"Guys!" Lucas shouts.

The relief on their faces is instantaneous. The parties converge, a frantic reunion of clapped shoulders and breathless confirmations that everyone is still alive.

But there's no time for more.

"The kids are in there!" Nancy pants, pointing toward a looming structure in the distance. The Hawkins Lab, or what's left of it. Specifically, a rusted cargo door pulsing with faint, sickly light. "Vecna's with them. We couldn't get the door open."

El steps forward, her face set with determination. She raises a hand toward the door. It shudders, groans, but doesn't budge. "He is holding it," she strains. "His will is too strong."

"Will?" Hopper looks at him.

Will is leaning against a tree, looking drained. He shakes his head weakly. "I'm… tapped out. The connection is fuzzy. He knows we're here."

As if on cue, a low, resonant thrum vibrates through the ground beneath their feet. The trees seem to breathe. From the darkness around them, a new wave of scuttling, clicking sounds emerges. Closer. Many of them.

"He's sending everything he has," Jonathan says, voice tight.

"El, Kali, on the door!" Hopper orders. "Everyone else, defensive positions! We hold them off until they get it open!"

Chaos erupts.

Demodogs pour from the shadows like a nightmare tide, all teeth and claws and that wet, clicking sound. The woods become a storm of violence and noise. Mike finds himself back-to-back with Will, swinging his flashlight like a club. It connects with a Demodog's skull - hard crack, satisfying crunch - but there are too many.

His eyes dart wildly between the beasts circling them. They're surrounded. This is bad. This is really bad.

He hears Steve's battle yell, the blast of Nancy's shotgun, Dustin screaming "Eat this, you ugly piece of shit!"

A few yards away, El and Kali stand before the metal door, hands raised. El is pushing with everything she has, nose bleeding steadily. Kali's face is a mask of concentration, sweat pouring down her temples. The door groans, begins to bend inward.

Then Mike feels it.

A deep, visceral sense of dread that doesn't come from outside. It blooms from inside his chest, spilling into his blood like ink in water. The world gets darker than it already is. The air gets heavier. It's like being watched by something vast and malevolent, something that knows him. He turns his head as he hears a distant clock chime… was that real? Was he hallucinating?

Mike tries to blink out of the delirium, but he can't.

A Demodog lunges for Will. Mike shoves Will aside without thinking, taking the brunt of the collision on his shoulder. He and the creature go down in a tangle of limbs and fury. The smell of it is overwhelming - rot and chemicals and wrongness. He gets his arm up, wedges the flashlight under its jaw, holding snapping teeth inches from his face. Its claws rake down his side, and pain - bright, searing pain - tears through the layers of his clothes and skin.

"Mike!" Will's voice, terrified and desperate.

Mike grits his teeth, his arms screaming with the effort of holding the creature back. It's too strong. He's going to lose. This is it. A stupid death in a stupid, dark place.

Then Will is there. He drops to his knees beside Mike, places one hand on the Demodog's thrashing head, and screams.

It's not a scream of fear. It's a raw, psychic blast of pure negation - a command that bypasses sound and strikes directly at the creature's nervous system.

The Demodog freezes. Its entire body goes rigid, muscles locked. Then, with a sound like cracking porcelain, it disassembles. Not torn apart by force, but unraveled, its form dissolving into black ash that rains down on Mike's face and chest.

Will collapses backward, panting, blood streaming from both nostrils now. His eyes roll back, showing whites.

"Will!" Mike scrambles out from under the ash, crawling to him. He grabs Will's face between his hands. "Will, look at me!"

Will's eyes flutter open, unfocused. He looks at Mike, and a strange, serene smile touches his bloody lips. "It's okay," he whispers, voice thin and distant.

Mike feels panic spike through him, sharp and cold. "No, it's not okay, don't you dare-"

His words cut off.

The world shifts.

The sounds of battle fade. The woods melt away. Mike blinks, disoriented, and finds himself standing in soft, quiet darkness. Not the oppressive darkness of the Upside Down, but something gentler. Almost peaceful. Another clock chimes somewhere in the darkness around him.

Will is standing before him.

Whole. Unbloodied. Steady on his feet. A gentle smile on his face.

Mike's breath catches. "Will? What's going on-"

"Mike," Will interrupts, and his voice is clear and loving and wrong. Will doesn't move like this. Doesn't stand this straight, this confident. Not since 1983. Not since the Upside Down first took him.

But Mike's brain is sluggish, struggling to process. Relief floods through him at seeing Will okay, at seeing him standing and smiling.

Will steps closer, and Mike's heart lurches in his chest.

"I need you to know," Will says, his voice dropping to something soft and intimate. "Before it's too late. Before we die down here." He takes another step, closing the distance between them. "I've loved you since we were kids on the swings. I've loved you through every stupid fight, every campaign, every moment. I love you, Mike. It's always been you."

The words are everything Mike has wanted to hear. Everything he's just realized he's been desperate to hear. They wash over him like a benediction, and for one perfect, crystalline second, Mike's heart soars.

Will steps closer, cups Mike's cheek. The touch is warm, real, grounding in the darkness around them.

"It's okay," Will whispers. "You don't have to say anything."

Mike exhales shakily, a smile pulling at his lips despite everything. He looks at Will's face, taking in every detail - the constellation of moles painted across his skin, the soft hazel of his eyes, the vulnerable curve of his mouth.

If this is a dream, it's a good one.

Mike opens his mouth to respond. To tell Will everything. The words are right there, perched on the edge of his tongue. I love you too. It's always been you. I'm sorry it took me so long to see it.

But something stops him.

He looks at Will's eyes again, really looks, and sees-

The gold flecks aren't quite right. The green tones are too uniform. And Will is standing too straight, too confident, holding himself in a way he never has. Not even before the Upside Down.

“...Will? What’s going on-”

Mike cuts himself off. Behind Will, a shadow looms. Silent. Massive.

Mike's blood turns to ice.

"Will, move-"

A Demogorgon, silent and impossibly fast, lunges from the darkness. Its talons impale Will from behind, bursting through his chest in a spray of crimson that's too bright, too red, too much.

Will's eyes widen in shock. His loving smile is still frozen on his face as the light drains from his eyes. He makes a soft, surprised sound - almost a question - and then his body goes limp.

The Demogorgon withdraws its claws with a wet, sucking sound. Will crumples to the ground like a puppet with cut strings, folding in on himself, and Mike can see-

The hole in his chest. The blood pooling beneath him. The absolute stillness of death.

"No," Mike breathes. The word has no sound. "No, no, no, no-"

He's moving before he can think, dropping to his knees beside Will's body. His hands are shaking so violently he can barely grip Will's shoulders. He shakes them, desperate, frantic.

"Will? Will, wake up. C'mon, Will, please…"

Will's head lolls to the side, lifeless. His eyes are open but empty, staring at nothing.

Mike's vision blurs. His chest is caving in. He can't breathe. Can't think. The only coherent thought in his head is no no nononono- not like this, not before I could tell him-

"Will!" Mike screams into the darkness above them, his voice raw and breaking. "Joyce? El? Is anyone - HELLO?!"

Nothing. Just silence surrounding them, pressing in from all sides.

Mike looks back down at Will's body in his arms. At the terrible wrongness of him being still, being empty, being gone.

He was going to tell him. He was finally going to say it. And now-

This isn't real. Some distant part of his brain knows this isn't real, can't be real. But it feels real. The weight of Will's body in his arms feels real. The blood on Mike's hands feels real. The absolute, crushing devastation feels real.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I didn't say it sooner. Please. Please wake up. Please-"

"MIKE!"

A different voice. A shaking. A slap of cold, foul air.

Mike gasps, his eyes flying open.

He's on the ground. The real ground. In the real Upside Down. And Will is kneeling over him, very much alive, shaking his shoulders with desperate hands.

"Mike! It's not real! It's Vecna! Snap out of it!"

Mike's brain struggles to catch up, to reconcile the Will in his arms - dead, empty, gone - with the Will above him - alive, terrified, here.

He finds Will's eyes. All the beautiful flecks of gold are there, exactly where they should be. The green tones shift in the red light. Will's face is tight with fear, streaked with blood and grime, but he's alive. He's here.

A sob rips from Mike's throat. He surges up without thinking, without caring who sees, and wraps his arms around Will in a hug so tight it must hurt. He buries his face in Will's neck, shaking, breathing in the scent of sweat and ozone and Will.

"You're here, you're here, you're here," Mike chants into his skin, a desperate mantra. His hands roam across Will's back, his shoulders, his chest - checking for wounds, for holes that aren't there, confirming he's solid and whole.

Will stiffens in shock for a heartbeat, then his arms come up, hesitant at first, then tight around Mike's back. "I'm here. It's okay. I've got you."

Mike can't let go. Won't let go. They rock back and forth like that while chaos continues around them - the sounds of battle, of El and Kali finally tearing the door open with a metallic shriek.

But Mike doesn't hear it. His world has narrowed to this: Will's heartbeat against his chest, Will's breath against his neck, Will's hands solid and real on his back.

"I thought you were dead," Mike whispers, and his voice cracks on the words. "I saw you die. I saw-"

"I know," Will murmurs, his hands moving in soothing circles on Mike's back. "I know. It's okay. I'm right here. You're safe. It's okay…"

They stay like that for too long - probably way too long. But Mike can't make himself let go. Every time he tries, he sees that image again: Will's eyes going empty, his body crumpling, that terrible stillness.

Finally, Will pulls back just enough to look at Mike's face. His expression is worried, searching. "What did you see?"

Mike shakes his head. He can't say it. Can't give voice to the nightmare.

"Mike," Will presses gently. "What did Vecna show you?"

Mike's eyes trace over Will's face obsessively - the familiar scar, the freckles, the curve of his jaw. All there. All real. He opens his mouth, to try and explain the horrors he just saw, but a screech interrupts him. Both he and Will turn their heads to see chaos happening by the door - a mass of their party fighting off some creature inside.

Before he can start his sentence, they’re both turning in the direction of the sound. Even though nothing felt more important than Will being alive and in front of him, his sister was in that room. Other kids were in that room. They had to save them, first. His sorry ass could come later.

Around them, the battle is winding down. The last Demodog falls to a combined shot from Nancy and Jonathan. The metal door hangs open, torn from its hinges. Beyond it, a chamber lit by a pulsating, heart-like mass of vines. And small, huddled shapes.

The kids.

"We need to move," Hopper's voice cuts through, gruff and urgent.

But Mike can't move. His hands are still fisted in Will's shirt, holding on like Will might dissolve if he lets go.

Will seems to understand. He doesn't push Mike away. Instead, he carefully extracts himself and stands, then extends a hand down to Mike. "Come on. Together."

Mike takes his hand. Lets Will pull him up. And he doesn't let go.

The rescue is a frantic blur.

The heart-mass - the nexus - throbs angrily as they free the children from their vine-wrapped prisons. Holly is there, sobbing and terrified, and Mike pulls her into his chest for a long, trembling moment. She clings to him like he's the only solid thing in the world.

But even with Holly in his arms, even with relief flooding through him, Mike's eyes keep finding Will. Checking. Making sure he's still there. Still alive. Still real.

Vecna himself is absent. He spent his power on the attack, on the vision meant to break Mike, and now he's retreated somewhere deeper into this nightmare dimension to lick his wounds.

It doesn't matter. They have the kids. They have each other. They need to leave.

The trek back to the unstable gate is brutal. Every snap of a twig was a Demodog. Mike’s focus fractured between his sobbing sister, his exhausted warrior-sister, and the boy he loved - a terrifying new weight in his chest.

They reach the spot where El tore reality open. The gate is still there, barely, flickering like a dying light. El looks ready to collapse in Hopper's arms, completely spent from holding it open this long.

"Go, go!" Hopper urges, pushing the kids through first.

One by one, they tumble back into their reality. Into the woods outside Hawkins. Into cold air that smells like pine and earth instead of rot.

Mike goes through with Holly still in his arms. The transition makes his stomach lurch, but he's never been so grateful to feel sick.

He sets Holly down on solid ground and immediately turns back to the gate. Counting heads. Nancy, check. Jonathan, check. Steve, Dustin, Lucas, Robin, Joyce, Kali—check, check, check.

Where's-

Will stumbles through last, looking gray and swaying. Mike catches him before he falls, and this time he doesn't care who sees. He wraps an arm around Will's waist, takes his weight, and guides him away from the closing gate.

Behind them, El finally releases her hold. The tear in reality seals with a sound like a thunderclap, and she collapses into Hopper's waiting arms.

They made it. They're out.

They're alive.

The journey back to WSQK is quiet. Everyone is too exhausted for words, too wrung out to process what just happened. The kids are bundled in blankets, some crying, others silent and shocked. Joyce fusses over Holly and the others, her maternal instincts in overdrive.

Mike walks beside Will, their shoulders touching with every step. Neither of them pulls away.

When they reach the radio station, people scatter - Joyce taking the kids to a makeshift first-aid area, Hopper and Kali huddling with a barely-conscious El in a corner, Steve and Nancy and Jonathan being examined by Robin who apparently has first-aid training.

Mike and Will drift to the edges. Mike leads them down a side passage, away from the noise and chaos, into a dim hallway that smells of mildew and old concrete.

They need to talk. Mike knows they need to talk. But the words are lodged in his throat like stones.

Will is watching him, his eyes huge with concern and something else. Something careful and scared.

"Hey," Will says quietly. "Are you okay?"

Mike lets out a shaky breath and nods. But it's a lie and they both know it. All he can see is that image - Will's chest torn open, his eyes going empty, the terrible stillness.

"What did you see?" Will asks again, his voice barely above a whisper. "In the vision."

Mike blinks, breathing in deep. No reason to be dishonest now, he guesses. His reaction probably spelled it out for everyone who was there. "You," he finally says, his voice barely audible. "He showed me you. You told me-" He stops, swallows hard. "And then you died. Right in front of me. I couldn't stop it."

Will’s brows furrowed, eyes filled with concern. “I told you what?” he asks, voice deadly quiet; hesitant.

Mike closes his eyes. His back hits the wall and he slides down until he's sitting on the cold concrete floor. Unsurprisingly, he feels Will hit the ground beside him. Always following him. "You told me you loved me," he says, and the words come out flat and broken. "That it had always been me. And then…" He can't finish. Can't describe watching Will die.

When Mike opens his eyes Will has gone perfectly still, kneeling in front of him. All the color has drained from his face. His mouth opens but no sound comes out. Mike watches the panic rise in Will's eyes - the fear of exposure, of everything changing, of losing what little he has left.

Mike can't let him spiral. Can't let him think for one more second that this is something to be afraid of. His hand - the one that's not bruised and bloody - reaches out to catch Will's wrist. The touch is gentle but deliberate. Will flinches like he's been burned, but he doesn't pull away.

Mike's hand slides up from Will's wrist to cup his cheek, mirroring the gesture from the vision but soft, real, him.

"Your mom told me about the painting, Will," Mike says, his voice barely above a whisper in the dripping quiet of the corridor.

Will's breath hitches. A tear escapes, tracing a clean path through the grime on his cheek. "Mike, I-"

"It's okay," Mike interrupts, his thumb stroking the tear away with infinite care. The words are shaky, terrified, but truer than anything he's ever said. "I… I don't know what this is. What I feel. It's all messed up and scary and huge. But… but when I saw you die in that vision…" His voice cracks. "The first thing I thought was 'I never got to tell him.'"

Will is crying silently now, looking at Mike with those wide, disbelieving eyes that are searching his face for any hint of a lie, a joke, a mistake.

"Tell me what?" Will whispers, and his voice breaks on the question.

Mike's hand trembles against Will's cheek. Now or never.

"That it's always been you for me, too," he says, and the words come out like a confession, like a prayer. "That I couldn't stand the thought of losing you. That when I was lying there thinking you were dead, all I could think was that I never got to tell you that I-"

He can't finish. The words stick in his throat, too big and too new and too terrifying to give voice to.

But Will understands. Mike can see it in the way his expression crumbles, in the way his eyes search Mike's face with desperate, fragile hope.

"You mean that?" Will asks, and he sounds so young, so scared. "You're not just… this isn't because of the vision, or because you feel sorry for me, or-"

"Will." Mike says his name like it's the only word that matters. "I mean it. I'm terrified and I don't know what I'm doing and I'm probably going to mess this up in a hundred different ways. But I mean it."

They stare at each other in the dim hallway, both of them trembling, both of them barely breathing.

Then Will moves. A hesitant, jerky motion forward - a question and a leap of faith all at once.

Mike closes the final inch.

The kiss is nothing like in the movies. It's chapped lips and the copper taste of blood, salt from tears mixing between them, the awful smell of the Upside Down still clinging to their clothes. Mike's nose bumps Will's cheek. Their teeth click together for a second before they adjust the angle.

It's clumsy and desperate and over in maybe three seconds.

It's also the most perfect, world-altering thing that has ever happened to Mike Wheeler.

They break apart, breath hitching, foreheads resting together. Will's eyes are closed, his eyelashes wet with tears. Mike can feel him trembling - or maybe that's Mike trembling, or both of them, it's impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins.

"Mike," Will whispers, and it sounds like disbelief and hope and fear all tangled together.

"Yeah," Mike says, because he can't manage anything more coherent. His hand is still cupped against Will's cheek, his thumb tracing the path of a tear. "Yeah."

They sit there, breathing the same air, existing in a bubble of two that feels fragile as spun glass.

A sound from the main room breaks the moment - Hopper's booming voice yelling “GET DOWN!”. A reminder that they were never safe, not really. Not even in this musty hallway.

Reality crashes back in. They're still in danger. Holly and the other kids are traumatized. Vecna is still out there, wounded but not dead.

This isn't over.

"We have to go," Mike whispers, but he doesn't move.

Will nods against his forehead, a tiny movement. "Yeah."

Neither of them moves for another few seconds. Then, slowly, reluctantly, they pull apart. But as they turn toward the main room, Will's hand finds Mike's. Their fingers tangle together - tentative, terrified, perfect.

Hand in hand, they walk back toward the noise and chaos and their friends. Toward whatever comes next.

Together.

Three days later, the world hasn't ended.

Vecna is still out there somewhere, licking his wounds in the dark. The gates are still open, the military regrouping silently. Hawkins was still occupied, by dark forces both of this Earth and of other dimensions, but they’d had a few days off. God knows why they finally got a break now, bur Mike wasn’t complaining.

But they're alive. All of them. The kids are on a lockdown still, in WSQK, but slowly piecing themselves back together with the resilience that only children seem to have. Holly still has nightmares, but she's talking again. Smiling a little.

Hopper has been training with El the past few days, murmuring about yet another crack-pot plan to kill Vecna. Even he seemed to know everyone need a few days off before they attacked again, but El refused to rest. As she typically did.

El and Mike had a real conversation. A long one. She told him she'd known for a while that his heart wasn't in it anymore, that some part of her had been holding onto something that was already gone. She told him she loved him - as a friend, as a brother-in-arms, as someone who'd fought beside her through hell.

She told him to be happy. To be clear.

Mike is trying.

He and Will are taking it slow. Glacially slow. They haven't told anyone yet, though Mike suspects Joyce knows from the way she looks at them when they sit too close. Robin definitely knows, because Robin seems to know everything.

They haven't kissed again since that moment in the hallway. They've held hands a few times when no one was looking. They've had long conversations in the dark about what this means, what they are, what they want.

It's terrifying and new and Mike is definitely going to mess it up at some point. But for the first time in years, he feels like he can breathe properly. Like some fundamental wrongness in the universe has been set right.

Will is in the map room now, helping Joyce organize relief supplies for the displaced families. Mike is supposed to be helping Steve and Dustin repair a section of WSQK's outer wall, but he's taking a break, leaning against a doorframe and watching Will through the window.

Will looks up, catches Mike watching, and smiles. It's a small thing, soft and private and just for him.

Mike smiles back.

"You're being creepy, Wheeler," Robin says from behind him, making him jump.

"I'm not- I wasn't-"

"Relax." Robin grins, bumping his shoulder with hers. "I'm just saying, the pining was bad enough. The requited longing is somehow even more nauseating."

Mike feels his face heat. "We're not- it's not like that. We're just…"

"Taking it slow?" Robin supplies. "Yeah, Will mentioned. Very mature of you both." She pauses, her expression softening. "For real, though. I'm happy for you. Both of you."

Mike looks at her, this girl who barely knows him but who somehow saw through him from the start. "Thanks. For… you know. The kick in the ass."

"Anytime." Robin's grin returns. "Though preferably not during another apocalypse. Once was enough."

They stand there in companionable silence for a moment, watching Will through the window. He's laughing at something Joyce said, his whole face lighting up in a way that makes Mike's chest ache with something too big to name.

"You should tell him, you know," Robin says quietly. "The actual words. I know you're scared, but… he needs to hear it. All of it."

Mike swallows hard. "Yeah. I know."

"Good." Robin pushes off the doorframe. "Now get back to work before Dustin starts whining about doing all the heavy lifting."

She leaves, and Mike takes one more moment to watch Will. To let himself feel this new, terrifying, wonderful thing blooming in his chest.

Then he heads back outside to help his friends rebuild. To plan how they’ll finally kill the monster that stole their childhoods.

That night, Mike finds Will on the roof of WSQK.

It's become Will's spot over the past few days - a place to escape the noise and chaos, to breathe air that doesn't smell like fear and desperation. Mike climbs up the rusty ladder and settles beside him, their shoulders touching.

For a while, they don't say anything. Just sit in the dark, looking at the stars barely visible through Hawkins' perpetual haze.

"I keep thinking about that vision," Mike says eventually. "About what you said. Or what Vecna made you say."

Will tenses beside him. "Mike-"

"Let me finish." Mike takes a breath, gathering courage. "I keep thinking about it because… because even though it wasn't real, even though it was just Vecna trying to break me… it was true, wasn't it? That's how you feel. That's what you would say if you could."

Will doesn't answer, but Mike can feel him trembling slightly.

"And I keep thinking about what I would've said back," Mike continues, his voice barely above a whisper. "If you hadn't died in the vision. If I'd had the chance."

"Mike, you don't have to-"

"I love you." The words come out in a rush, clumsy and terrified and absolutely true. "I'm in love with you, Will Byers. I have been for… I don't know how long. Maybe always. Maybe I was just too stupid and scared to see it. But I love you. And I need you to know that. Because if Vecna comes back, if something happens and I don't get another chance-"

Will kisses him.

It's less clumsy this time. Still imperfect - still chapped lips and fumbling angles - but better. Intentional. Will's hand comes up to cup the back of Mike's neck, holding him close, and Mike melts into it.

When they break apart, Will is crying again. But he's smiling too, wide and genuine and so beautiful it makes Mike's heart hurt.

"I love you too," Will whispers against Mike's lips. "In case that wasn't clear. I love you so much it scares me."

"Yeah," Mike says, because he understands that fear intimately now. "Yeah, me too."

They kiss again, slower this time. Learning. Figuring it out together.

When they finally pull apart, Mike leans his head on Will's shoulder, and Will's arm comes around him, solid and warm. They sit like that for a long time, watching the stars try to break through the haze.

The world is still broken. Vecna is still out there. There are battles yet to fight, horrors yet to face.

But right now, in this moment, they have each other. And that feels like enough.

That feels like everything.

Notes:

hope you enjoyed!! idk about yall but i cant wait to see byler under the tree this christmas

*UPDATE: for some reason when i reuploaded my rewrite all the old comments dissappeared :( plz leave ur thoughts down below!! apologies if ur words got deleted idk what happened

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