Work Text:
Mike pulled him in closer, hands cradling Will's face, his hands slick with his best friend's tears.
Will let him, his own hands already pressed against Mike's head, because he knew Mike wouldn't have the strength to hold it up himself.
He'd tried so hard — he'd drag Mike away from the battle the moment he realised his best friend was injured. He'd grabbed the First Aid kit Nancy had discarded before they'd went into battle, and he'd tried so hard. He'd done everything he could — wrapping his own jacket and bandages around Mike's chest in a desperate attempt to stop the blood flow, but nothing worked.
Mike's gasps of pain told Will enough, but as the tears quickly fell down his cheeks, he wouldn't accept enough. He tried everything he could, his hands moving desperately. He cried out as he tried to call for help, but everyone was still in battle. Saving the world.
And William Byers was sitting on the floor with his best friend dying before him.
During Will's frantic movements, that's when Mike had pulled him down. Had tried to calm him down, but his hands were shaking, and his movements weren't backed with any energy. He was slow, careful, almost like an elderly person. Will broke down in that moment. But, he'd leant in closer, he'd pressed their foreheads together in a moment of weakness, of just wanting to be near Mike.
Mike accepted it, leaning further into the touch. Then, he spoke, his voice gentle, broken. "I — I want you to know something," he begins, and he'd made speaking sound like a chore. Something you had to work for. The thought made Will feel sick. But nonetheless, Will pulled away, inches from his face, and met his eyes — both wet, red and puffy. "Something I've been too scared to — to say, too scared to even.. confront.. I.." He pauses, looking like he's trying to find the words, but Will feels his heart drop in that moment.
His hands firm, but soft, against Mike's face. "Don't leave me," he whispered, crying out, but attempting to calm it down. He didn't want to freak Mike out, not in his potential last moments. His thumb lightly traced his best friend's jaw, and Mike was looking at him like he'd hung the goddamn moon. It's not the time to be delusional here, he told himself, but brushed past it almost immediately.
"No, baby — I'm okay," Mike whispered, and despite the deep fluttering Will felt in his chest, he had to swallow it and move on. He was not about to make maybe the last moment between him and his best friend about his stupid feelings. He couldn't. Not when Mike was laying against a rock in front of him, in pain, blood down his temple, already staining Will's hand, and his shirt ripped open, a cut, large and deep, straight through his chest. His breathing was getting slower, like it was taking more work, and Will could've screamed. "I'm okay. I — god, I just need to tell you something."
Will was breathing out heavily, trying to keep himself under control but how could he? "Wh—what's up, Mike?" He whispers, tears streaming down his face as he met Mike's eyes.
Mike didn't take any time — his breathing had already grew bad, his mind was growing blank, and he slowly felt the life slipping out of his body. "Kiss me," he whispers, so soft that Will almost didn't hear it. But Will would've done anything for Mike in that moment. He would've always done anything for Mike. So, he leant in, and pressed his lips against Mike's. He tried to ignore the intense butterflies in his stomach, and he felt Mike trying his hardest to kiss him back, and not having enough strength to do so. But that was okay, because Will kissed him.
He pulled away, their faces inches away, their lips wet from tears. They were looking into one another's eyes, and Will whispered into the air between them. "I love you, Micheal Wheeler." He spoke, but he watched the way Mike was now fighting to keep his eyes open, and his heart fucking dropped.
"I love you too, William Byers." Mike replied, his voice faint and uneasy, but he was trying his hardest, and Will's felt Mike slowly but surely lifting his hand, and placing it on top of Will's which was on his face. "I'm sorry it took me so long to see that."
Then, Mike was guiding him in closer, or trying his hardest to. Will was sobbing violently, but he still kissed Mike. It was gentle, soft, and he felt Mike's lips moving against his very faintly. Mike was crying desperately against him too, and when they both pulled apart, they stared at eachother.
"In another life," he begins, staring up into Will's eyes, and Will felt like he was going to throw up, or violently pass out. "I would've figured this out sooner and we — we could've.." His voice drifted off, and alarm bells went off in Will's head instantly.
"No, no, no," he felt Mike's body slumping, and he was quick to wrap his arms around him, pull him in close until he was practically laying over his lap. But Mike's eyes were closing ever so slowly, and Will cried out desperately. "No, Mike — please, no.. no, no, no, no!" He can't see through the blurriness of his tears.
Mike's lips part for the last time. "I love you, Will. I'm sorry I was too blind to see that."
Then, his eyes shut. His body fell limp. The life had drained out of his body. And William Byers screamed.
"Will, please."
Will didn't say anything — and he couldn't see anything either in the dark shadows of his own bedroom. He hadn't spoken since that day, that fateful day a week ago, but that's all he'd been thinking about since the moment it had happened. Since the moment Micheal Wheeler had kissed him, told him he loved him, then Will had been forced to watch any signs of life drain out of his body.
Sitting on his desk, was a crumpled letter he'd been given by Karen Wheeler a few days ago. He'd been given a box of letters from Mike, which he'd ended up throwing away, or hiding behind his bed. He'd never sent them. They'd went through Mike's room, for any signs of why he might've passed away. They'd ruled him out for suicide, but the Wheeler family, minus Ted, all knew exactly what had went down that day, and none of them had left their house since they'd returned to the normal world. Nobody had — not Lucas, Dustin, Will, the Byers family, Robin, Steve. Nobody had left their house, the weight of what had happened too recent, too heart-breaking.
Will had stared at the letter for a good few hours before leaving it on his desk. So many emotions ran through him, the main one being frustration. When he'd went to California, he'd tried so hard to make any form of contact with Mike, and this whole time he had been writing plenty of letters, and had just never sent them.
Will's practically got the letter engraved into his head now, and as his finger slides of the smooth metal of the weight in his hand, he reads it over to himself.
Will, if you knew what I was and what I've done, you wouldn't mourn me. So please, don't. I'm doing this for your own good, for my own good. If I don't die in that battle today, I plan on travelling far, far away from here. Somewhere nobody will ever find me again. That'd be for the best, wouldn't it?
You deserve more, you've always deserved more. I was just too blind to see that. I hope you find someone who deserves you, someone who loves you out loud the way you've been wanting from me. It's not that I don't love you, it's that I'm scared, Will.
Scared of these feelings — scared that if I make the wrong move I'll lose you forever. I value our friendship too much to risk it. But I'll love you forever, even if it's in the darkness, somewhere you'll never find out. Things are safer that way.
But I love you William Byers.
And I hope after tonight, you find a way to move on. I hope you get into that Art School you've tried so hard to get into recently, before everything went to shit. I hope you find a man who gives you the world, though my biggest fear is that he'll never understand you the way I do. He'll never know what you've been through or—
I'm sorry. I've got to go now.
I guess this is it for now.
I love you, William Byers.
I'm sorry I've been too scared to tell you that.
Love,
Mike
Will clutched the metal harder, tears streaming down his face as he felt the cold metal pressed against his temple aswell, threatening, daring — and if it wasn't for his brother standing in the door frame, God knows what Will would've already done by now. Because he was sick of it — sick of the constant guilt on the boy he was in love with's death, the way the light drained out of his eyes in his arms. Will should've done more. He could've done more. It was his fault. His fault.
"It's all my fault," Will sobbed desperately, pressing the metal into his temple more, feeling the harsh pain, but he didn't move it. This wasn't even a tenth of the pain Mike would've felt on his last day, and Will had no right to try and gain sympathy after what he'd done. He could've saved Mike. Everyone probably hates him. "I could've done more. I could've done something, anything. He'd still be here with us. With me. It's my fault, it's my fault—"
"It's not your fault, buddy." Jonathan's voice was soft, but deep down, there was an undertone of direct fear in his voice too. He could barely see the sight of his younger brother with a gun pressed into his temple, his fingers clumsy and shaking against the trigger. But the gentle light flooding through the shut blinds from the relatively foggy day outside of their house was giving him all the light he needed to see. He could see the tears streaming down Will's face, and his heart had dropped a long time ago. "You did everything you could. I'm so proud of you, we're all so proud of you. We can talk for as long as you need, Will, I'm here for you. But can you give me that first, please?"
Jonathan's voice was shaking, and Will noticed the tears already falling down his cheeks aswell. He closed his eyes briefly, his breath shaky. Then, in a moment of relief, his hand drops, and the gun's now facing the floor. He's just holding it, but Jonathan's face had clearly relaxed, even if it was just a little. Then, Will's handing it over to Jonathan, an his older brother's taking slow steps forward to not overwhelm Will, and then, he's gently taking it from Will's hands, securing them in his own. "I — I wasn't — I wasn't really going to anything."
"Okay.." Jonathan breathes out softly, and from behind his older brother, Will sees his Mum. She was frozen in fear, and neither of the boys really knew when she'd noticed something was going on. Jonathan looked at her, tears in his eyes, and he lean down and kissed his Mum's temple. "It's okay, Mum. It's okay. You can go back to bed. I know you're tired. I've got Will."
But Joyce didn't move — she stood there, staring at Jonathan, then, her eyes travel to her youngest boy. Standing there, shaking, on the verge of breaking down, who'd just pressed a gun to his own head. She's rushing forward before her brain's tracking her own movements, and then, she's wrapping her arms tight around her son. "Baby," she's whispering into Will's ear, her hands firm on him, and Will sinks into her touch. From behind, comes Jonathan, who'd placed the gun down somewhere, and was now hugging his Mum and his younger brother tighter than he ever had before.
Will sobbed violently into their touch. "I'm sorry," he cried out, but his apologies were brushed over instantly. Jonathan ran his hand through Will's hair, and Joyce didn't show any signs of wanting to let go.
But Will didn't want any of them to let go.
But he, more than anything, wanted to let go.
He didn't know how he was going to live this life without Micheal Wheeler in it, but he knew he had no other option but force himself to try.
Will Byers' life had started the day he'd met Micheal Wheeler on the swings when they were only a few years old.
But, Will Byers' life had ended the day he'd been forced to say goodbye to Micheal Wheeler, in his arms, over a decade later.