Chapter Text
It was May 16, 1995, which meant finals week, which meant Will Byers was supposed to be finishing his final project. Instead, his brain kept short-circuiting and replaying the image of Mike sprawled on his bed, fork in hand, demolishing a grocery-store sheet cake with El.
Having Mike here still felt a little unreal. Eight months pregnant unreal. For weeks, Mike had been calling from miles away, grunting into the receiver and insisting he’d developed his own gravitational pull by now. Will had told him he was being dramatic, which maybe hadn’t been entirely true.
Seeing him in person again had been… shocking, to say the least.
Will hadn’t realized one person could take up that much space without technically getting any taller.
Mike had shown up wearing one of his dad’s enormous hockey jerseys, apparently his substitute for maternity clothes.
Mike hated sports with a passion normally reserved for tax forms and pop quizzes, so the jersey alone was enough to throw Will off balance.
Add in the belly and the fact that they’d just come back from a stretch of long distance, and Will’s sense of normalcy never stood a chance. Rory was there when Mike arrived, armed with an apology and the aforementioned cake, hence Mike and El now eating it like it might vanish if they blinked.
Will tried to refocus on his painting, even though it felt impossible.
The assignment was “inner identity,” which was unfair on several levels. Will had already come out twice.
He didn’t really feel like unpacking his soul again for a grade. But every time he tried to think of something else. Colors, shapes, literally anything. His mind circled back to the same question of who he was now, in this room, at this moment.
Apparently, identity wasn’t done with him yet.
“William!” Mike sang out, snapping Will straight out of his haze.
Will jerked up from his sketchbook and spun around. The cake was gone. Just… gone. El was calmly wiping frosting off her face with the sleeve of her pajama shirt.
“Michael?” Will shot back, grinning despite himself.
“I’ve been calling you,” Mike said. “Am I really that annoying?”
Will snorted, closed his sketchbook, and crossed the room before dropping onto the bed beside him. “Please. Not even close.” He leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to Mike’s temple.
Mike immediately took advantage of the proximity, tugging Will back by the waist. His hand - thin but stubbornly strong - settled there before he leaned in and kissed Will properly. There was a little tongue. Too much tongue.
Will pulled back. “Nope. Not until we’re alone.”
Mike sighed dramatically. “El doesn’t mind.”
Will glanced over. El was already rolling her eyes. “I do, actually.”
“Oh,” Mike said, shoulders slumping as he pouted. “Okay then.”
“Hey,” Will said softly, scooting closer. Mike - very obviously pretending to be upset - let his head drop onto Will’s shoulder. Will smiled a little and kissed the top of his hair. “What did you wanna tell me?”
Mike stayed still for a second. Too still. Then he lifted his head and straightened, the joking tension draining out of him like someone had flipped a switch.
“It’s about the baby,” he said.
The room felt smaller.
Will’s stomach dropped. El stiffened beside Mike, her hand hovering, unsure.
“What…?” Will swallowed. “What’s wrong with the baby?”
“Nothing - nothing bad,” Mike rushed, then stopped himself. He sucked in a breath, clearly trying to slow down. “It’s just… he was diagnosed with gastroschisis.”
El frowned a little. “What is that?”
Mike rubbed his hands together, eyes flicking between them. “He’s gonna be born with his - uh - organs outside his body. Like, not outside outside, but not inside where they’re supposed to be.” He winced. “It’s something with the abdominal wall not forming right. The doctor said it just… happens. No reason. They caught it kinda late, though.” He shrugged, but it didn’t match his face. “So. Yeah. It’s… still sad.”
Will’s voice came out quieter. “Will it… will it, um…?”
“No. No, he’s not gonna… “ Mike shook his head quickly. “He’ll need surgery right after he’s born, but the survival rate’s like over ninety percent. The doctor said he’s gonna be okay.” He paused, jaw tightening. “It’s just… that’s my nephew. I mean, with Max and Lucas, that’s their kid, but still. I just… ” His voice cracked, just barely. “I keep thinking I did something wrong. Especially with… being on T before all this.”
“No,” Will said immediately. He wrapped his arms around Mike and pulled him in, firm and careful. “No. You didn’t do anything wrong. At all. This isn’t on you.”
Mike didn’t cry, but his mouth folded into that familiar, stubborn pout - the one that meant he was holding it together by sheer force. El stepped in then, gently hugging him too, careful of his stomach.
“It is not your fault,” she said, steady and sure. “Things happen.”
“Yeah,” Will added, rubbing slow circles into Mike’s back. “Doctors make stuff sound way scarier than it is. All the time. Remember when your orthodontist freaked out because you didn’t have your twelve-year molars yet?”
Mike let out a weak huff. He nodded against Will’s chest. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s… it’s like that.”
Then his shoulders tensed again.
“But he’s gonna be in the NICU,” Mike said quietly. “For weeks. Maybe months, if it goes bad.” His voice dropped. “Will… Lucas and Max have been waiting eight fucking months for this kid. And then they get this? That’s gotta hurt.”
Will tightened his arms just a little. “Yeah,” he said gently. “It probably does.”
El squeezed Mike’s hand. “But they still get their baby.”
Mike closed his eyes, breathing that in.
He pressed a careful hand to his stomach. “Sometimes I just… wanna keep him here,” Mike admitted, voice low and slow, like he was testing the words. “Like. Protect him. From the thing he has. It doesn’t hurt him now, but it will later, and I … ” He stopped, exhaled. “I know that’s not fair to Max and Lucas. Or to him. It’s just… my job. I gotta get him here safe. That’s what I’m supposed to do.”
Will felt his chest go warm in that quiet, achy way. God. Mike sounded like a paladin right now, like someone who’d sworn an oath and meant every word of it. A knight with no sword, just his own body and this fierce, stubborn sense of responsibility.
It was his duty to get his baby nephew here safe and sound.
And, watching the way Mike held himself - careful, resolute, terrified but still standing, or … sitting - Will knew he was going to do exactly that.