Archive of Our Own

The last rays of the sun poured through the shattered windows of the radio station, casting long, sharp shadows across the makeshift “war room.” Dust floated lazily in the air, swirling over the table strewn with hand-drawn maps of Hawkins. Mike Wheeler stood frozen, finger tracing the red X marking their target, as if sheer will could erase it.

Behind him, Robin Buckley was getting ready for the evening broadcast, pretending to be calm, though Mike could hear her hand tapping nervously against the metal tabletop. Steve moved around them like a hurricane, organizing supplies in a way only he truly understood.

El stood to his right. Their shoulders nearly touched—nearly—and that “nearly” stung somewhere deep under his skin, a sharp reminder of everything that had changed between them. A year ago, this space hadn’t existed at all; now it felt like a wound. Mike tried to ignore it, but the weight in his stomach kept growing with every second, as if stones were settling there, pressing down, refusing to be moved.

“Okay, so let me just… get this straight,” Dustin said, leaning over the map. He crossed his arms, panic threading through his voice. “We’re walking into a nest of twenty-something Demogorgons. With what? Seven people and two kids with powers?”

“We don’t have a choice,” Nancy snapped, cocking her shotgun with such practiced ease that Mike felt a mix of pride and a flicker of fear. “This place… It’s leaking. The Upside Down is strongest there. If we don’t stop them, Hawkins wakes up tomorrow with another anomaly right under its nose.”

“I know, I know.” Dustin raised his hands, having already heard the lecture that was coming. “I’m just saying… maybe we should wait for backup from…”

“There is no backup,” Lucas cut in quietly, his voice hollow with exhaustion, like he hadn’t slept properly in weeks. “Sullivan’s people are too busy hunting El. We’re on our own.”

Mike’s jaw clenched the moment Sullivan’s name slipped out.

It’s been a year and a half since the military took over Hawkins. A year and a half of living like fugitives in their own town. A year and a half of watching everything crumble layer by layer, as if someone was slowly unscrewing their world with a screwdriver.

Instinctively, his hand moved toward El. A gesture so automatic, so familiar, that his body did it before his brain caught up. He froze halfway, as if remembering suddenly that touch wouldn’t fix anything anymore. And he didn’t know why.

Once, it would have been natural—reach for her hand, comfort her, shield her from the rest of the world. Now there was something new between them. Something quiet. Tense. Something he couldn’t name, even though he felt it clearly, like the temperature between them had shifted a full degree.

El noticed the hesitation.

She always noticed.

That was the hardest part about her—this quiet, flawless reading of people, even when they didn’t fully understand what they themselves were feeling.

The door to the back room creaked, and Mike’s head jerked up too quickly, as if his body already knew before his mind who was about to appear.

Will Byers stepped out first, Joyce right behind him, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder, as if she were shielding him from the world. Will looked exhausted—lately, he always looked exhausted—as if something had been draining half the light he used to carry inside him. But there was something new, too. Something sharp. A flash of determination in his eyes so vivid it almost felt foreign on his gentle face.

her hand resting lightly on his shoulder, as if she were shielding him from the world.

Purpose.

A strength Mike couldn’t overlook.

“Will, honey… are you sure?” Joyce asked for the tenth time that day, as if every word might turn back time and keep him here, in a safer place. “You don’t have to—”

“Mom.” Will turned to her, gentle but firm. On his face, Mike saw a new mix of softness and stubbornness, something that suited him far more than fear ever had. “I have to. We talked about it.”

“I know, I just…” Joyce’s voice faltered, fragile, as if it could melt into the air. “You’ve only had these powers for a week. What if—”

“Joyce” Hopper’s raspy, heavy voice cut in from the doorway, where he had been standing silently, listening to everything. He crossed the room slowly and laid a hand on her shoulder. “He’ll be fine.”

It wasn’t just reassurance. It sounded like a fact.

Will shot Hopper a quick, grateful glance that lit up his face for a fraction of a second. Then his eyes swept across the room, lingering where they always lingered just a little too long.

On Mike.

When their eyes met, something sparked between them—quiet, electric, almost tangible. It hit Mike faster than he was ready for. For a brief, dizzying moment, he forgot how to breathe, how to keep his balance. Everything outside that single line of sight blurred.

He felt El beside him tense, almost imperceptibly. A small shift, one Mike caught only because he knew her inside out.

“So, what’s the plan?” Will asked, stepping toward the table. El lifted her eyes to him. They exchanged a short, simple nod—a tiny gesture, but heavy with meaning.

It still felt surreal to Mike—…watching them stand there together like that, moving in perfect sync as if it were completely natural. El—Eleven—the only person with powers for years. The only one who could save them.

…watching them stand there together like that, moving in perfect sync as if it were completely natural.

And now, Will.

Will, who had spent years as a victim of the Upside Down, was standing here with quiet certainty, as if the power inside him wasn’t foreign at all but finally in the hands it was meant for.

Someone strong.

Someone brave.

Someone Mike couldn’t look away from, no matter how hard he tried.

And that was what unsettled him the most. Not the fact that Will had powers. But the way his attention kept slipping to him, like a needle drawn to a magnet.

“El’s going to create a barrier to funnel them into the main part of the warehouse,” Nancy began, pointing at the map. “Then the two of you,”—she indicated Will and El— “take them out. We’ll provide covering fire and make sure nothing slips past us.”

“How many are we talking?” Will asked. His voice was calm, almost cool, but Mike could feel the tension underneath—the same tension he’d feel if he were in Will’s shoes.

“At least twenty,” Steve said, joining them at the table. “Could be more.”

Mike noticed Will’s jaw tighten slightly.

“Okay,” he said.

“Okay?” Mike caught himself speaking before he could stop the words. “Will… you’ve never faced that many at once.”

Will’s eyes met his, and in that look, something made Mike’s stomach flip.

“I took out three at the same time, remember? Two from a distance. I can handle it.”

“That was different,” Mike insisted, pacing around the table toward him, involuntarily edging away from El even though he didn’t want to. “You were drained for hours afterward. If anything goes wrong—”

“I’ll be fine,” Will said again. His voice was soft, yet weighted with a certainty that couldn’t be ignored. “I can feel them. I understand them in a way nobody else does.”

Mike stood across from Will, his heart pounding faster than it had any right to. He looked at him with a mix of awe, worry, and something he couldn’t quite name. El was just behind him, and suddenly he realized he didn’t know whether he was more concerned for Will, for her… or for himself, standing here between them.

He wanted to argue. Wanted to tell Will he didn’t have to prove anything—that he could stay in the base where it was safe. That he couldn’t bear watching him fall again.

But he knew that look in Will’s eyes. Will needed this.

Mike swallowed hard and nodded.

“Okay.”

“Good. Now that that’s settled,” Nancy said impatiently. “Mike, Will, get the supplies.” Her tone was sharper than usual. She threw her brother a pointed glance. “We leave in half an hour. Make sure we’ve got enough ammo and medical gear.”

Will glanced at Mike, then wordlessly headed toward the supply room. Mike followed automatically, almost without thinking, feeling as if every moment they shared from now on carried a new, unexpected weight.

✦·✦·✦

The supply room was cramped and dusty, stacked with boxes of ammo, first-aid kits, and canned food. A single bulb hung from the ceiling, casting a pale light over the tight space.

Will was already digging through a box of bandages when Mike stepped in and shut the door behind him. The click of the lock sounded in the small room like an echo in an empty church.

They worked in silence for a few minutes. The only sounds were the rustle of supplies—the whisper of paper, the clink of metal cans, and distant murmurs from the main room seeping through the walls.

Mike tried to focus on his task—checking boxes of ammo, counting magazines—but his eyes kept drifting to Will.

To the way Will methodically checked each first-aid kit, his fingers moving with careful precision, and how his hair fell across his forehead, too long, in need of a trim, but perfectly framing his face; how his lips moved slightly, as if counting the bandages in his head.

Mike knew those gestures. Knew them so well he could draw them from memory.

And it made him feel like an idiot. Like the worst boyfriend in the world.

El was there, on the other side of the wall. His girlfriend. And he… he was here, in this tiny room, unable to look away from his best friend.

“You’re staring,” Will said suddenly, without looking up, but Mike could hear the faint smile in his voice.

“I’m not…” he started, then gave in. “I’m just… worried.”

“I know.” Will finally looked at him, and the softness in his expression made Mike’s heart do something complicated in his chest. “But you don’t have to. I’m not that kid who got taken in ’83, Mike. I’m not even the same person I was a week ago.”

Mike set down the ammo box he’d been holding and stepped closer. Too close. He should have backed off, kept some distance.

He didn’t.

“I know that. I just…” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated, as if he couldn’t organize his own thoughts. “What if something happens? What if you push yourself too far and—”

“And what?” Will asked gently, looking at Mike in a way that made him feel completely exposed. “Mike, we’re in the middle of an apocalypse. Anything can happen to any of us. Nancy could get scratched by a Demogorgon. Lucas could get shot by Sullivan’s men. El could…” He faltered. “You could trip over some rubble and break your neck. We can’t live in fear of ‘what if.’”

“That’s different,” Mike insisted. There was something in his voice that drew Will’s gaze, holding it there, though neither of them knew why.

“How?”

And it was there—the challenge. Soft, gentle, and yet a challenge.

Tell me why, Will’s eyes seemed to say. Tell me why it’s “different.” Tell me what it means.

Mike opened his mouth.

Because it’s you. Because I can’t lose you. Because the thought of watching you fall again rips me apart in a way nothing else ever could.

But he couldn’t say it. He had no right.

“It just… is,” he whispered miserably, his eyes searching for even the tiniest hint of understanding in Will’s gaze.

Will studied him for a long moment; there was something unreadable in his dark eyes. Something painful, longing, sad.

Then he reached out and squeezed Mike’s arm.

“I’ll be careful. I promise.”

The touch sent a jolt of electricity up Mike’s arm, and for a single stupid, dangerous second, he thought about leaning in, closing the space between them, to…

The door opened with a soft creak.

El stood in the doorway, and her eyes immediately landed on Will’s hand on Mike’s arm. For a fraction of a second, her face was an open wound—pain, betrayal, understanding—before it snapped back into a mask of calm.

“Nancy says it’s time to go,” she said quietly.

Will pulled his hand back instantly, as he’d burned himself. He didn’t look at Mike. He didn’t look at El. He stared somewhere between them—at the wall, the floor, or anything else.

“Right. Of course. Coming.”

He moved quickly, passing El in the doorway.

Mike stayed behind, standing in the empty supply room, staring after his girlfriend. Her eyes were full of something that looked like resignation, and it tightened around his heart.

“El, I…” he started, but his voice sounded too soft, too fragile.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Not now. We have to go.”

She turned and walked away, leaving Mike completely alone. The silence in the room pressed down on him harder than the noise from the main hall ever could. His heart pounded in his chest, and guilt ate at him from the inside out.

✦·✦·✦

Twenty minutes later, they were packed into Hopper’s van and Steve’s car, heading toward the industrial district on the edge of Hawkins. Mike sat in the back with Dustin. Will was across from him, Lucas wedged between them—a silent barrier that no one tried to cross.

El sat up front with Hopper. Her back was stiff, and she didn’t once turn to look at Mike.

Nancy, Steve, and Robin were in the second car behind them. Joyce and Jonathan stayed at the radio station, though Mike noticed Joyce’s hands trembling as she said goodbye to Will.

The ride was tense and quiet. Dustin tried a few times to start a conversation but quickly gave up, discouraged by the mood.

Mike peeked through the gap between the seats, watching the back of El’s head. He wanted to say something, do something—but the words got stuck in his throat.

His eyes kept drifting to Will, despite himself; every small movement his friend made stirred something inside him that he couldn’t name.

Will sat there, eyes closed, mentally preparing for what was coming. So calm, despite everything. Will, who…

“Stop it,” Dustin whispered so quietly that only Mike heard. He turned his head toward him.

Dustin studied him with that all-too-knowing look. He shook his head almost imperceptibly, and Mike felt shame burn across his cheeks. He looked away, trying to hide his feelings.

✦·✦·✦

The warehouse loomed ahead of them—a massive concrete structure with shattered windows and rusted doors hanging crookedly on their hinges. Cracks glowed red in the distance, casting a sinister, crimson light over everything.

Everyone took their positions. Mike stayed close to El and Will, every part of him screaming in conflicting directions: he wanted to be by El, to protect her; he wanted to be by Will, to…

He didn’t finish the thought.

“I can feel them,” Will said as they stepped inside. “There are a lot. More than twenty.”

El nodded.

“Thirty. Maybe more.”

“Can you handle it?” Nancy asked uncertainly.

Will and El exchanged a glance. Something passed between them—a quiet understanding born from the fact that they were… different.

“Yes,” they answered together.

Mike watched as they took their positions in the center of the open space. El didn’t once look at him.

His chest ached. Every breath reminded him how badly he wanted to be close to her and, at the same time, close to Will—and how impossible it was to reconcile those two desires.

✦·✦·✦

The battle erupted in chaos and blood.

Demogorgons poured out of the shadows—too many, far too many—and El raised her hand, creating a barrier that funneled them toward the center of the warehouse.

Will stepped forward. His eyes were white. His connection to the Upside Down blazed inside him with a bright, dangerous light.

Together, they were magnificent. Terrifying. Incredible.

El lifted the creatures into the air, raising them like puppets. Will tore them apart from the inside, using his link to Vecna’s hive mind against him.

One by one, the Demogorgons fell.

But more kept coming.

Mike watched from the back, his heart racing—a mixture of awe, fear, and something he couldn’t name.

He wanted to be close to El—and while doing so, he couldn’t take his eyes off Will.

“There are too many of them!” Lucas shouted, firing at a creature that had broken through the perimeter.

Mike pulled the trigger. Adrenaline buzzed through his veins; his eyes couldn’t leave El and Will. Blood streaked their noses; their hands shook with exertion.

“We can do this!” Will called. His voice was strong, despite everything. “El, on three!”

The remaining Demogorgons—fifteen, maybe more—moved as one.

“One!”

“Two!”

“Three!”

The explosion of power was staggering. A wave of distorted air lifted every Demogorgon and tore them apart, scattering them into pieces.

Mike felt a mix of relief and awe in his chest. He watched them; his hands trembled—not from fear, but from what he was seeing: strength, determination, and a connection that made him feel both in awe and utterly powerless.

Will let out a raw, primal scream.

Then there was silence.

For a moment—maybe one, maybe two seconds—Will and El stood frozen: their hands still raised, chests heaving with effort, blood streaking down their faces in dark lines. The last Demogorgon lay in pieces at their feet.

Then Will wavered.

Two bodies collapsed.

That was all Mike saw.

El to his left—his girlfriend, the girl he loved, who had just poured every ounce of her power into saving them.

Will to his right—his best friend, the boy who haunted his dreams, who made everything else feel less real.

Two bodies.

And his own body made its choice.

✦·✦·✦

There was no choice.

No moment for Mike to stop and think. His brain couldn’t keep up; somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice screamed: El. You have to get to El. She is…

But his legs were already moving.

Instinct. Pure, primal instinct, coming from somewhere deeper than logic, deeper than thought.

The world narrowed to a single point, and one name tore itself from his throat—raw and desperate:

“WILL!”

Mike’s knees hit the cold concrete. His hands instinctively found Will’s face—palms on his cheeks, fingers tangled in his hair, holding, checking, begging.

“Will… no, no, no, please, wake up.” The words spilled uncontrollably; his voice cracked with every syllable.

Will’s skin was ice beneath his fingers. Too cold. His head sagged, heavy, as if every string had been cut.

Mike leaned closer, forehead against Will’s, trying to feel his breath.

It was there. Barely, but it was there.

“Will, please,” he whispered. “Don’t leave me… I can’t…”

“Mike.”

A voice came from the side. Robin dropped to her knees next to him. Her hands joined his, touching Will’s face, checking for a pulse.

“Will, hey, wake up,” she said, her voice tight with tension.

Mike barely heard her. His world was a blur, and all he could feel was panic clutching his chest.

“Will,” he whispered again and again. “Will… Will…”

And then, from somewhere distant, almost like another world, a voice reached him:

“El! El, honey, wake up!”

Hopper. It was Hopper.

And the world stopped.

Mike froze.

His hands still rested on Will’s face, his body still leaned over him.

But something cold ran down his skin.

El.

El was ten feet away.

His girlfriend.

And he… hadn’t even looked at her.

The realization hit him like a punch to the stomach.

Hopper ran to El—Hopper, not Mike.

Mike, who should have been first.

Mike, who had promised to protect her.

Mike, who had said "I love you."

But his body had chosen someone else.

His instinct had chosen someone else.

He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t think.

He couldn’t do anything but kneel there, holding Will, while the truth poured over him like icy water.

What have I done?

“Check his pulse!” Nancy shouted.

“She’s got one! Weak, but she’s got one!” Hopper answered, fingers pressed to El’s neck.

“She’s waking up!” Dustin called, relief flooding his voice.

And Mike… Mike stayed on his knees beside Will, not looking that way, not checking if his girlfriend was safe.

Every second dragged like an eternity. His heart pounded, a mixture of relief and guilt. El was there—alive—and he wasn’t where he should be.

✦·✦·✦

Will took a breath.

That awful, rasping sound—like drowning in reverse. His chest rose sharply; air tore into his lungs in a ragged, desperate gulp.

“Will!” Mike and Robin shouted at the same time.

Will’s eyes opened—brown, lost, and scared. His gaze immediately found Mike’s face.

“Mike?” he whispered weakly. “You… you’re…”

“I’m here,” Mike answered. His voice cracked, but this time with a relief so immense it felt like he could shatter. “You’re okay. I’ve got you. Everything’s fine.”

His hands still held Will’s face. Now gentle, as if afraid to let go even for a moment.

Will blinked, trying to focus.

“Wh… what… battle…?”

“It’s over,” Robin said through tears. “You won. You and El.”

At the sound of El’s name, Mike felt another tight squeeze in his chest.

Slowly—so painfully slowly—he forced himself to turn his head.

El sat ten feet away. Hopper was supporting her. She was pale, weak, but alive. Conscious.

And she was looking straight at him.

Their eyes met across the warehouse. Mike saw everything in her face.

Not anger. Not an accusation.

Pain.

And understanding.

Sad, broken, enduring understanding.

Because she saw—everyone saw.

They saw who Mike ran to.

They heard the name he screamed.

They saw whose face Mike held as if it were the only thing that mattered.

Mike opened his mouth. He wanted to say something—sorry, I didn’t mean to, I…

But no words came.

What could he say? How could he explain something he didn’t even understand himself?

El held his gaze for a long second. Something in her eyes cracked—small, quiet, painful.

Then she slowly turned her head.

She turned away from him.

And Mike felt his chest break apart, crumbling into fragments.

“Mike?” Will’s voice was quiet, worried. His hand slowly lifted, brushing against Mike’s, still resting on his cheek. “What happened?”

Mike looked down—at that face full of concern, at eyes warm despite the exhaustion.

“Nothing,” he whispered. “Nothing. I’m just… glad you’re okay.”

But it was a lie.

Everything had happened. Everything had changed.

And Mike had no idea how to fix it.

✦·✦·✦

The ride back was Mike’s worst nightmare.

Will fell asleep immediately. Exhaustion took over just moments after the van started moving. His head lolled onto Robin’s right shoulder; his breathing slowly evened into the deep, calm rhythm of unconsciousness.

Mike sat on the left, Robin between them like a physical barrier. A deliberate barrier—or at least that’s how it felt; the weight in his stomach kept reminding him of it.

El sat up front with Hopper. Her back was rigid, shoulders tense. She hadn’t even flinched.

There was something in that stillness—in the way her body was so careful, so controlled—that was worse than any scream could have been.

The silence was suffocating, filling every corner of the van like something alive. Mike felt it on his skin, in his lungs. Heavy. Impossible to ignore.

He tried not to look at Will.

He tried not to notice the way his hair fell across his forehead, the rise and fall of his chest with each breath.

He tried not to think about the fact that his hands had held that face mere minutes ago, pleading with him to come back.

But he couldn’t stop.

Every glance made the guilt in his chest grow—dark, venomous.

“You were fast,” Hopper finally said.

His voice was quiet, but in the van’s stillness it sounded like a gunshot. His eyes found Mike’s in the rearview mirror—old, tired eyes that had seen too much.

It wasn’t a compliment. It wasn’t even a question.

It was an accusation.

Mike opened his mouth. Closed it. What could he say? What could fix what he’d done?

“Sorry” felt too small.

“It was instinct” sounded like an excuse.

“I love her” would have been a lie—not a complete one, but enough.

So he said nothing.

Hopper held his gaze for a long second. Something dark and warning flickered in his eyes. Then he looked back at the road.

But Mike saw it—how his jaw tightened, how his hands gripped the wheel until the knuckles whitened.

The rest of the ride passed in painful silence.

Mike stared at his hands—the same hands that had held Will’s face, that had felt his tears on his skin, that had completely forgotten El—and tried to understand what had just happened.

But the longer he thought about it, the less sense it made.

Or—what was more terrifying—the more sense it made.

✦·✦·✦

When they arrived at the radio station, Joyce and Jonathan were already waiting outside.

Joyce’s face lit up at the sight of them—relief so pure and simple—but a moment later, as she looked at their faces, the smile faded.

“What happened?” she asked immediately, scanning each of them, checking for wounds, blood, and pain. “Is everyone… everyone alive?”

“Everyone’s alive,” Nancy replied quietly, stepping out of her car with Steve and Dustin.

Nancy approached the van, and her eyes immediately found Mike. There was something in them beyond a simple question—quiet disappointment, sad, subtle, yet strong enough to make Mike feel smaller than he ever had in his life.

Joyce studied them all more closely, as if trying to read everything left unspoken: the tension in their bodies, the silence between words, the weight of thoughts that hadn’t been voiced.

“Okay,” she said slowly, though deep down she clearly knew something was off. “Alright.”

Hopper helped El out of the van. She was weak, unsteady on her feet, leaning on him for support. Her face was pale and exhausted, her nose still slightly bloody.

Mike took a step toward her automatically. Instinct. Habit. What he was supposed to do.

“El, I—”

She raised a hand. A small gesture—delicate, controlled—but it stopped Mike in his tracks as effectively as a wall.

“No,” she said quietly. Her voice was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that comes after the storm, when everything has already been destroyed, and there’s nothing left to break. “Hopper will help me.”

She didn’t look at him as she said it. She didn’t need to.

The rejection was clear in every inch of her body: the way she turned away, the way she held onto Hopper instead of him.

It was like a knife stabbing straight into Mike’s chest.

Hopper gave him a single look—half warning, half disappointment—before leading El inside the radio station.

Mike stood there, in the nearly empty parking lot, helpless, watching his girlfriend walk away.

Helpless to fix anything.

Because how could he?

How could he apologize for something his body had done without his consent?

For something that—deep down, in a place he was afraid even to admit existed—didn’t hurt as much as it should have?

Joyce stayed behind the van, opening the back doors to wake Will.

“Sweetheart,” she said gently, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Wake up.”

Will stirred slowly, blinking sleepily, confused. His eyes scanned the van—and immediately found Mike.

“Mike,” he said, smiling.

It was a small, sleepy smile, full of warmth, relief… and something that made Mike’s chest tighten painfully.

For a moment—one brief, deceitful moment—everything seemed normal.

Will and Mike, best friends, whole and safe after the fight.

And then Will’s gaze drifted further.

He saw El disappearing through the doors, her back stiff, arms wrapped tightly around herself. He saw that she hadn’t looked back. He saw the strange, awkward silence surrounding her.

Will’s smile flickered and died like a candle.

“Wh-what…” Will started uncertainly. “What happened?”

“Later, sweetie,” Joyce interrupted quickly, helping him out of the van. “First, we need to get you to bed. You’re exhausted.”

Will opened his mouth, as if to argue, but Joyce gave him that look—a mother’s look that said, Trust me, not now—and he closed it again.

Mike took a step forward, lips parted, as if he had something to say.

“I can—”

But Joyce’s gaze stopped the words in his throat. There was no anger in her eyes, only a mix of care and quiet authority that froze him completely.

“I’ve got him, Mike,” she said softly, but with unwavering certainty. “Come on, sweetie.”

Jonathan appeared on Will’s other side, gently supporting him as he helped him walk.

Will threw one last look over his shoulder—eyes full of questions, concern, and something Mike couldn’t name.

Then they disappeared inside, leaving Mike alone outside, his heart clenched like ice.

The surrounding vans were emptying: Steve and Robin unloading gear, Lucas and Dustin checking their weapons, and Mike felt completely isolated, as if an invisible wall had risen between him and the rest of the world.

He didn’t know how long he’d been standing there—seconds, minutes—staring at the door behind which everyone had disappeared.

“Mike.”

Nancy suddenly appeared beside him, like a shadow, without asking permission. Her face was serious, tired, her gaze sharp and unwavering.

“You need to talk to her,” she said quietly, without accusation, but with an unshakable certainty.

“I know,” Mike whispered, his own voice strange to him—hoarse, heavy with a pain he couldn’t control.

Nancy exhaled and crossed her arms, standing beside him like a warning.

“What you did… it wasn’t right. You know that, don’t you?”

There was no room in that question for excuses.

Mike nodded, feeling his heart speed up and his throat tighten with uncertainty. He didn’t trust his own voice. He didn’t believe he could form words without breaking.

Nancy studied him for a long moment; her eyes carried a quiet, unyielding sadness.

“She’s in the basement room,” she said. Calm, but carrying the weight of understanding. “She said she wants to be alone. But… I think she’s waiting for you.”

Mike finally lifted his gaze, meeting her eyes, which seemed to see everything he refused to admit to himself.

“Nancy, I didn’t—” His voice cracked. “I didn’t mean… I didn’t plan—”

“I know,” she said gently. The compassion in her tone didn’t ease him; it made the weight of what he’d done almost tangible. “I know you didn’t plan it. But it happened.” She paused. “Sometimes the heart wants what the mind isn’t ready to admit. That doesn’t change the fact that someone got hurt.”

The words hit Mike like a punch to the stomach, leaving him exposed and suddenly very small.

“Now you have to face it,” Nancy finished, looking him straight in the eyes. “You both deserve the truth. Whatever it is.”

Mike nodded, feeling like a frightened child standing in the dark hallway of his own feelings. Nancy squeezed his arm gently—a simple, comforting gesture—then turned and walked inside.

He was alone.

He took a deep breath—one, then another—trying to calm the hammering in his chest. His hands shook, every muscle screaming with tension.

“You have to face it,” he repeated Nancy’s words in his mind, like a mantra meant to lift him.

But how? How could he look her in the eyes and speak the truth when he didn’t fully understand it himself? How could he explain something he couldn’t name, something that didn’t yet have words in his head?

Finally, because lingering any longer would be a cowardice greater than fear, he forced his legs to move. Each step toward the door felt like marching to the gallows. The weight of guilt and uncertainty pressed down on his shoulders, crushing every muscle, every breath.

Every step brought him closer to the conversation he feared more than anything in his life. But he had to do it. For El. For himself. For the truth that lay beneath all the chaos.

The truth his body had known before his mind even realized.

✦·✦·✦

The radio station's basement was cold and dark. El sat on the old sofa in the corner, knees drawn to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around herself.

She looked so small. So fragile.

“El—” Mike started, unsure how to continue.

She lifted her gaze to him, and in the light of the single bulb dangling from the ceiling, he could see streaks of tears on her face. 

“You ran to him,” she said quietly.

There was no accusation in her voice—just a statement of fact.

Mike wanted to deny it, to tell her it wasn’t what it looked like, but the words got stuck in his throat.

“Yes,” he finally admitted. “I’m sorry. I… I wasn’t thinking. I just reacted and—”

“And you ran to him,” she finished calmly, but mercilessly. “Not to me. To Will.”

Mike felt the sting of tears behind his eyes, but he wouldn’t let them fall.

“El, I didn’t mean… I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I know.” She looked down at her hands, clenching them as if trying to keep herself together. “But you did.”

Silence hung between them. Heavy. Sticky. Inescapable.

“How long?” she finally asked.

Mike furrowed his brow.

“What?”

She lifted her gaze again. Her eyes were red and tired, but she wasn’t crying anymore. The tears had stopped—and that made it worse.

“How long have you loved him?”

The air in his lungs turned to stone.

“El… I… it’s not—”

“Don’t lie,” she cut him off quietly, but with an authority that brooked no argument. “Not now. I deserve the truth, Mike.”

She was right. She deserved the truth, even if it destroyed her.

Even if it destroyed them both.

Mike sank onto the sofa, keeping a careful distance between them. He buried his face in his hands, trying to corral the thoughts that still eluded him.

“I don’t know,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Maybe… always? I don’t know when it started, El. I don’t even know if it ‘happened,’ or… maybe it was always there, and I didn’t want to see it.”

He lifted his gaze to her.

“I love you. You know I love you. But…”

“But you love Will more,” she finished. Her voice was quiet, without anger, just sad. Sad and deep, the kind that digs into your chest and makes it hard to breathe.

Mike couldn’t deny it. He had tried lying before, and it hadn’t worked. Not now. Not for her. Not for himself. He had to be honest.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” he said. “What I feel for him… It’s different from what I feel for you. That doesn’t mean what we had together wasn’t real, but…” He trailed off, struggling to catch his breath, to find words that kept slipping away. “When you fell, when you both fell… my body just… moved on its own. I didn’t think. I didn’t decide. I just ran to him and…”

His voice broke completely. Silence filled the room, thick and painful.

El watched him for a long moment, saying nothing. In her eyes was something hard to name—sadness, understanding, grief. Then, slowly, she reached out and gently touched his hand.

Mike looked up, startled by the gesture, hardly believing her touch.

“I knew,” she said quietly, her tone calm but filled with emotion. “Not from the very beginning, but… for a while. The way you look at him. The way you worry about him.” A tear slid down her cheek. “The way you never looked at me.”

“El…”

“No,” she interrupted gently. “Let me finish.”

She took a deep breath; her hand was still resting on his.

“I thought that if I were good enough, if I loved enough… maybe… maybe you’d finally look at me the way you look at him. But today, in that warehouse…” Her voice broke, and another tear traced down her cheek. “I saw the truth. And it hurt, Mike. It still hurts.”

Mike felt his heart splinter inside his chest.

“I’m sorry… I’m so, so sorry,” he whispered.

“I know,” she replied, squeezing his hand tighter, even as her own fingers trembled. “And I know you love me. It’s just… not that way. Not like him.”

They sat in silence for a long moment. Mike could hear the distant hum of voices upstairs; the radio station carried on while his world crumbled around him.

He felt the cold sofa beneath him, the smell of the basement, and the weight of the truth pressing so hard he could barely breathe.

“What now?” he finally asked, barely above a whisper.

El slowly pulled her hand back and wrapped her arms around herself. Her frame shrank, closed in on itself.

“Now… you need to talk to him.”

Mike shook his head so violently that a few strands of hair fell across his eyes.

“I can’t. El, we’re still—”

“We… It’s over, Mike,” she said, and though her voice was quiet, it carried the finality of something irreversible. Like a decision she had made long ago, but only now found the courage to speak. “I can’t—” She closed her eyes. “I can’t be with someone who loves someone else. I deserve more than this.”

She was right. God, of course, she was right.

But the truth cut, tore him apart from the inside, leaving him hollow.

“You deserve everything,” Mike said. His voice cracked so badly he had to look away. “You deserve someone who will love you without hesitation.” He rubbed a hand across his cheek, as if it could fix something. “Someone better than me.”

El looked at him in silence. Not with anger. Not with resentment.

Just with the same broken sadness Mike had felt the moment he ran to Will, not to her.

And that hurt the most.

El gave a small, sad laugh.

“Maybe… but for a moment, it was good, wasn’t it? Us?”

“It was amazing,” Mike admitted honestly. “You’re incredible, El. And you’ll always matter to me.”

“But not that way.”

“Not that way,” he agreed quietly, his voice heavy with the weight of truth.

El wiped the tears from her face.

“You should go. I… I think I need to be alone right now.”

Mike hesitated, not wanting to leave her, not wanting this moment to mean the end between them.

“It’ll be okay,” she said quietly, though her voice trembled. “Eventually. Just… not today.”

Mike rose slowly. Each step toward the door felt unbearably heavy, as if the weight of the whole world pressed down on him. When he reached the exit, he turned back one last time.

“El?”

She looked at him. Her eyes were full of everything words could never capture.

“I love you. Maybe not the way I should, but… I love you. Always.”

She gave a small, sad smile—the kind that tore his heart in two.

“I know. Go.”

Mike stepped out of the basement, closing the door softly behind him. He leaned against the cold hallway wall. His hands shook, and tears streamed freely down his cheeks. He felt the weight of the entire world pressing down, including the weight of a love that had never been what it should be.

A love they could never give each other.

“Mike?”

He looked up. Dustin was standing at the end of the hallway, hands in his pockets, his expression full of sympathy.

“Did you hear?” Mike asked, wiping his face.

“No. But I didn’t need to.” He stepped closer. “How’s she doing?”

“Broken,” Mike admitted honestly. “Because of me.”

Dustin let out a heavy sigh.

“Yeah… that sucks, man. But… I think you both knew this was coming. We all did.”

“Yeah?” Mike laughed bitterly; the sound was dry and empty. “All of you except me, apparently.”

“No,” Dustin said quietly, firmly. “I think you knew too. You just didn’t want to admit it.”

Mike looked away. He couldn’t—he couldn’t—deny it.

“Will’s in the last room on the left,” Dustin said after a moment. “Joyce went to help Hopper. If you want… You know. Talk to him.”

Mike shook his head immediately, almost instinctively.

“I can’t. Not now. I just… broke up with El. I can’t…”

“Mike.” Dustin grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to meet his eyes. “I know it’s complicated. I know you feel like shit.”

“That doesn’t even come close to how I feel right now,” Mike muttered.

“But Will’s there,” Dustin continued, not letting go. “And he doesn’t know what’s going on. He’s worried about you. About El. About what all this means.”

After a moment, he added quietly:

“He deserves to know. From you. Not tomorrow. Not ‘sometime.’ Now.”

“Know what?” Mike asked helplessly. “That I ruined everything? That my feelings for him destroyed things with El?”

“That you love him,” Dustin said simply. “That’s what he needs to know.”

Mike looked at his best friend—besides Will and Lucas—the boy who had known him since they were kids.

“What if he doesn’t feel the same?” he whispered.

Dustin rolled his eyes.

“Wheeler, you’re an idiot. A bigger one than I thought. Of course, he feels the same. He always has. Everyone knew, except you two.”

“Really?”

“Really.” He gave Mike a gentle push toward the stairs. “Go. Talk to him. Stop being a coward.”

Mike took a deep breath. Then he nodded and headed for the stairs.

✦·✦·✦

The room Will was in sat at the end of a long hallway. Small, makeshift—a place where they could rest, if only for a moment. The door was slightly ajar, and a small lamp cast a warm, gentle glow into the corridor.

Mike stood in front of it, unsure what to say, unsure how to begin.

Finally, he knocked softly.

“Come in,” Will’s voice called, quiet and tired.

Mike pushed the door open and stepped inside. Will was sitting on the mattress, leaning against the wall, a sketchbook on his lap. He looked up as Mike entered, his eyes widening slightly.

“Mike,” he said. “I thought you were with El.”

“I was,” Mike replied, closing the door behind him. “But…” He trailed off, not knowing how to continue.

Will set the sketchbook aside, his face hardening with a serious expression.

“What happened?”

Mike froze for a moment. The words stuck in his throat. Slowly, he sank to the floor next to the mattress, not trusting his legs to hold him.

“We broke up,” he whispered.

Silence.

“Oh,” Will said finally, his voice strangely flat. “I’m… sorry.”

“You’re not really sorry,” Mike said, staring down at his hands.

“What?”

“You’re not really sorry,” he repeated, lifting his gaze to meet Will’s eyes. “So don’t pretend.”

Will looked hurt.

“Mike, I… of course I’m sorry. I know how much you loved her.”

“Loved her?” Mike laughed bitterly, the sound empty and dry. “You know what’s funny, Will? All this time, I thought it was love. That I loved her. That I loved being with her. But today…” His voice broke, and the silence in the room felt almost tangible. “Today I realized it wasn’t the kind of love we’re supposed to feel.”

Will stayed quiet, but Mike could see his breath quicken.

“You know what I did when you fell?” Mike asked, his voice raw, tight with tension and emotion. “When I saw you both hit the ground at the same time?”

Will looked at him, waiting.

“You were there when I woke up,” Mike said softly. “I remember your voice, your face…”

“But you don’t know what happened before that,” Mike cut in. His hands clenched into fists. “El was there. Ten feet from me. My girlfriend. The person I should’ve checked first. Hopper ran to her, but I…”

Mike looked at Will. His eyes were full of tears.

“I didn’t look at her. Not once, Will. Didn’t even check if she was breathing. I just ran to you.”

“Mike…”

“To you,” he repeated, clearly, firmly. “I ran to you, Will. I screamed your name, held your face, begged you to wake up. Not once did I think of El… not until it was too late.”

Will stared at him, eyes wide, tears shimmering in them.

“Mike…” he started, but Mike couldn’t stop himself.

“And everyone saw it,” he pressed on. His voice cracked under the weight of truth. “Hopper, Dustin, Lucas, Nancy… El. Everyone saw who I ran to. Do you know what that means, Will? Do you know what that says about me?”

“Mike, please…”

“It means my body knew before my mind was ready to admit it,” he said. His breath trembled, every word heavy with emotion. “Somewhere deep inside, instinct knew where I wanted to be. Who I wanted to be with. And it wasn’t El.” He drew in a shaky breath, as if he needed to filter it through his heart. “It was you. Always you.”

The first tear slipped down Will’s cheek.

“What… what are you saying?”

Mike shifted closer to the mattress, closer to Will.

“I’m saying I love you.” His voice was low, quivering; each word was weighted with years of unspoken feelings. “I’m saying I’ve loved you for years, but I was too scared to admit it. I’m saying that when I thought I lost you again today, my world stopped, and the only thing I could think of was that I’d never told you. Never let myself feel what I really feel.”

Will was crying openly now, tears streaming down his cheeks, and Mike didn’t take his eyes off him.

“Mike, you can’t…” he started weakly. “You just broke up with El. You’re confused, emotional…”

“I’m not confused,” Mike said firmly, almost with desperation. “For the first time in months, everything is clear to me.”

He reached out, stopping his hand just in front of Will’s face.

“Can I?”

Will nodded almost imperceptibly. Mike gently touched his cheek, brushing away a tear with his thumb, as if he were trying to convey all the words he couldn’t express through that single gesture.

“I love you, Will. I loved you when you disappeared, and I thought I’d lose my mind without you. I loved you when you came back—different, but still you. I loved you in every movement, every fight, every moment I tried to convince myself it was just friendship. And I love you now so much it’s hard to breathe thinking about it.”

“Mike…” Will’s voice was barely a whisper.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Mike said. “If you don’t feel it, if it’s too much, if you need time… I get it. I just had to tell you. I had to…”

Will cut him off, leaning forward and cupping his face in both hands, like he was afraid that if he let go, it would all vanish like a dream. Their foreheads touched, breaths mingling in the warm, trembling space between them, and the world around them ceased to exist.

“You idiot,” Will whispered, his voice breaking—full of relief, disbelief, and love. “You complete, crazy idiot.”

“Wh—what…?” Mike barely managed. His heart was racing faster than words could keep up.

“I love you,” Will said immediately, without hesitation, like those words had been waiting for this moment his whole life. His thumbs traced over Mike’s cheeks. “I’ve loved you since… I don’t know, forever? Since that day at the playground, when you asked if I’d be your friend. Since a thousand little moments between that day and today… And in every single one, I knew it was you.”

His hands tightened, as if holding something sacred.

“I thought I’d die without ever telling you.” Will swallowed. His voice trembled, but every word was certain, full of truth. “I thought I’d have to watch you be happy with El and pretend to be happy for you, even though it hurt me every single damn day.”

“Will…”

“And today,” Will continued, as if finally all the doors he’d kept locked for years had swung wide open. “When I woke up and saw you there… holding me, all tear-streaked… I thought I was dreaming. That I’d completely lost my mind. Because there was no way you could really… fight for me like that.” He leaned back just enough to look Mike straight in the eyes. “I was terrified, Mike. Because if it was real… it changed everything. And I didn’t know if I was allowed to believe it.”

“And now?” Mike whispered, his hands rising to cup Will’s face, holding his trembling hands against his cheeks.

Will let out a shaky breath, the corners of his mouth lifting into a soft, tearful smile.

“Now?” he murmured, his voice warm, trembling in equal measure. “Now, I don’t want to wait anymore.”

And then he leaned in, closing the last bit of space between them.

The kiss was salty with tears. Mike wasn’t sure whose—they were probably both. Uncertain, trembling, a little awkward, and yet the truest thing he had ever felt. It was like coming home, like finding a piece of himself he hadn’t even known existed until he touched it again.

When they pulled back, still catching their breath, Mike rested his forehead against Will’s, as if he were afraid that even a second apart would make it all vanish.

“This… is really happening?” Will whispered, his voice shaking.

“It is,” Mike replied softly, slowly, as if every syllable were a spell. “It’s happening.”

“And El…?”

“She knows,” Mike said calmly. “She told me to talk to you.”

Will drew in a shaky breath. A shadow of guilt crossed his eyes, one Mike couldn’t bear.

“I’m sorry. I know you loved her. I don’t want to be the reason—”

“You’re not,” Mike cut in firmly before Will could finish. “It’s not your fault, Will. It was never your fault. El and I… we were falling apart long before this. She probably felt it too, but… neither of us wanted to be the first to say it.” He stepped back just a fraction, only to meet Will’s gaze fully. “I don’t regret her. Never. But… I can’t regret this. You. Us.”

Will smiled. Truly smiled, fully, radiantly—the kind of smile Mike hadn’t seen in so long.

“Us. That… feels right.”

“Does it?” Mike felt his smile spreading across his face without intending to.

“Yes.”

They kissed again, this time with more certainty, deeper. Mike shifted closer, climbing onto the mattress, and Will pulled him even closer, until there was no space left between them. Their bodies fit together perfectly; every breath, every trembling movement was a confirmation that they had finally found where they belonged.

When they finally parted, neither of them spoke for a moment. Mike held Will’s hand in his, and Will stared down at their intertwined fingers, his expression one of disbelief, as if he still couldn’t quite believe this was real.

“Hey,” Mike said softly.

“Hey,” Will replied, smiling down at their hands.

“You okay?”

Will lifted his gaze.

“Okay,” he said, then paused. “You?”

Mike thought of El in the basement, the tears on her face, that moment in the warehouse that couldn’t be undone. He thought of all the things that would need fixing the next day, the conversations, the time.

Then he looked at Will.

“Yeah,” he said honestly. “Better than okay.”

Will yawned—long, uncontrollable, covering his mouth with a hand, a little embarrassed. Mike chuckled.

“Go to sleep.”

“Stay,” Will said immediately, already half-asleep. “Please. I don’t want you to go.”

Mike didn’t need any more encouragement. They settled together on the mattress—Will curled into his side, head on his shoulder, fingers still entwined, as if it had always been natural. For a moment, Mike lay with his eyes open, staring at the ceiling, listening to Will’s breathing gradually even out with the rhythm of sleep.

“Mike?” Will murmured, barely awake.

“Hmm?”

“Thanks,” he whispered. “For running to me. For choosing me.”

Mike pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his head.

“I’ll always run to you. Always.”

Will fell asleep with a smile on his face. Safe, warm, finally loved in the way he had always dreamed.

Mike lay beside him long after, before he himself drifted off. He knew that whatever came next—Vecna, Sullivan, the end of the world—they would face it together.

His first instinct hadn’t been wrong.

It was Will.

It had always been Will.

And now, at last, he didn’t have to pretend otherwise.