Chapter Text
Mike thinks it’s far too crowded in this house.
When the boys returned back in March to the literal end of the fucking world, it felt like hell was coming down onto them specifically. It really had felt like this was it for the group. It was go-time, whether everyone was ready or not. But now it’s July, almost August. Four months after their worlds split in four. Over a hundred days. And still, the other shoe hasn’t dropped.
Because the Byers had nowhere to go at first, and because the Wheelers had “plenty of space,” everyone was holed up here. Joyce and Jonathan took the basement (though Jonathan was in Nancy’s bedroom enough that you'd think being upstairs with her at night was the original sleeping arrangement). Jonathan had sent Argyle home, which Mike understood - only because if he could have sent Will far away from all of this, he would’ve too.
El and Hopper were laying low in their cabin in the woods, a safehouse once again, but now for the both of them. She and Mike had barely talked after the cabin was fixed up, but it was pretty clear: they wouldn’t be getting back together. In fact, if he’s being honest with himself, Mike was avoiding talking to her altogether. The knowledge that she knew something was up with his confession was enough to make him avoid talking to her for life, if he could. But he knew he couldn’t avoid the conversation forever. He missed her. And she deserved an explanation, even if he didn't have the bravery to address it right now.
Will ended up rooming with Mike - a completely unforeseen turn of events. (Mike had begged him to sleep in his room, using excuse after excuse for why it would be better. The spare mattress and couch downstairs aren't comfortable; you can sleep in my bed. I've got plenty of closet space for you. You won’t be right next to the door if someone tries to break in.) In reality, though, Mike was just afraid that with the Upside Down splitting into the world, if he didn't have an eye on Will at all times, he might disappear into thin air. Or float toward the sky in the same way that Max had.
Now Mike is here, flat on his back on the floor in his stuffy room, staring at the ceiling and contemplating his situation. The Will situation. Glancing over, he can see Will in the bed, on his side facing toward him. The small desk lamp he keeps turned on at night for Will gives just enough illumination for Mike to see the outline of his body (in fetal position, Mike notes) under the blanket. And his face. His lips part a bit, with little puffs of air moving them every few seconds. His face is being smooshed by the pillow. Cute, Mike thinks, then forces himself to look away and back at the ceiling.
Despite how great it is to have Will around again, things haven’t stopped feeling tense. Whether it’s Mike’s fear or Will’s change in attitude, he isn't sure. Either way, they are out of sync in a way they’ve never been before. And Mike has no clue how to handle it emotionally. The past few months, he's been living with the push-pull of loving the idea of having Will around all the time and hating the idea of having Will around all the time. Not that Will makes it too hard on him, honestly. He’s been hiding from Mike - at least, that's what it feels like. He seems to take any advantage he can to get himself out of the house and away from Michael Wheeler. It hurts him more than he thinks is appropriate, but he can’t quite complain when he hasn’t been doing anything to ratify the situation. Mike thinks, unconsciously, he's probably more glad about it than he wants to be. He knows he doesn't have the courage to address the elephant in the room.
He glances over at Will again, noticing his breathing has started to pick up. There's a little tension between his brows that wasn’t there a few moments ago. He must be dreaming, Mike thinks. He starts to get lost in the uneven part of Will’s bangs from gravity splaying his hair onto the pillow underneath him. The furrow of his brows, like he’s thinking intently. The flutter of his long lashes, as his eyes move from being in the REM state. The cute little beauty mark he has right above his perfect cupid-bowed, full li-
He forces himself to turn completely away this time, onto his side with his back facing Will. The sleeping bag isn’t doing much to cushion the feeling of the hard floor, but he feels like he sort of deserves it for staring too much.
Just as his thoughts start to turn toward Will’s connection to Vecna, and whether he’s been lying about not feeling any chill at the back of his neck in months, Will begins to stir. Thinking he’s starting to wake up, Mike slams his eyes shut and tries to focus on his breathing to give the illusion of sleep. After a few moments of nothing but the sounds of the house settling, and Mike and Will’s combined breathing, he hears a small whimper behind him. Despite the fact that he’s supposed to be “sleeping,” Mike turns his head over toward Will just to check. The furrow between Will's brows has deepened, and his breaths are now coming short and fast. It becomes obvious to Mike now that Will is having a nightmare. He turns all the way over onto his side toward Will and leans up on his elbow, prepared to wake Will up if his dreaming distress worsens. Mike instantly gets a flashback of Will in a hospital bed the year after his abduction. A flash of the picture in full detail pulls itself to the forefront of Mike’s mind and disappears again. Will’s mouth moves as if he’s trying to say something, but no sound comes out.
All of a sudden, Will begins to shake. Little whimpers and sounds of pain alert Mike that now is the time to wake Will from his dream. As he sits up completely, he hears Will utter the name, “Mike” in what sounds like desperation. He falters for a second as he’s reaching his hands up toward Will, confused. Shaking his head at himself and focusing on Will's obvious distress, he lays a hand on Will's arm and pushes him a bit in an attempt to wake him.
“Will,” he says.
Will’s shaking has only increased, his breathing still quick. So Mike tries again.
“Will, wake up.” He pushes on Will's arm with a bit more force this time.
“Will, c’mon ma-”
Just as he’s finishing his last word, Will's eyes flash open and he sits up, his breathing ragged. Now that the blanket has fallen from where it was sitting over his shoulders, Mike can see the sweat beginning to pool on the shirt he had lent Will to sleep in. Mike watches as Will looks around to take in his surroundings, noticing how his chest is heaving like he’s just finished running a 5K. He holds up his hands in surrender to let Will know he comes in peace, and when Will's eyes finally travel back to him and the stress in his face starts to dissipate, Mike lowers his arms and murmurs, “Hey, Will. It’s okay. It was just a dream. You’re in my bedroom in Hawkins. You’re safe. It’s okay.”
As Mike speaks, the tension in Will’s shoulders and body language starts to loosen, but he can tell it doesn’t fully go away. “Yeah, see? You're okay. It’s okay,” he says softly.
Whether it's been a stressful week for Will and this dream sent him over the edge, or the nightmare really was that bad, it becomes very clear to Mike that he has some extra soothing to do. Because just after he speaks, Will’s face crumples.
“Mike,” he says, and his voice cracks as tears begin to pool in his eyes.
Mike immediately jumps into action, moving himself off the floor. Not wanting to risk accidentally sitting on Will's legs, he opts for the head of the bed. He picks up the pillow Will was sleeping with to toss to the other side of the bed, but it ends up falling unceremoniously to the floor. Whatever, he thinks, as he sits himself on the bed next to Will. I’ll pick it up later.
Now that he’s on the bed and next to Will, he becomes unsure of himself and where to place his hands. Rationalizing in his head that yes, friends typically comfort other crying friends with physical affection, he places a hand between Will's shoulder blades. He can’t help but think about how they are thigh to thigh right now and tells himself that it’s the last thing that should be on his mind.
After a few seconds of moving his thumb in soothing circles, he begins to feel weird about the fact that his whole palm and the rest of his fingers are just sitting stiff on Will’s back. Will’s tears have turned mostly silent as Mike switches to moving his whole palm in circles, and he can tell it’s effective at calming Will down after the last bit of sniffling ends.
“Do you want to talk about what your dream was about?” Mike says tentatively.
Will glances over at him. From the little light he gets from the lamp, Mike can finally see Will's tired eyes and red, tear-streaked face. Will's eyes widen a small amount, as if he’s just realized what happened, and he starts to say, “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up.” His cheeks darken even more as he looks back down.
Mike slightly scoffs and waves a hand as if brushing it off. “Nah, it’s fine. I mean, I wasn’t even sleeping.”
Will glances up again, eyebrows raised and mouth open, then furrows his brows and looks down at his watch.
“It’s four a.m., Mike,” he says, as if Mike wasn’t aware of how agonizingly slow the night was going when he was on the floor earlier.
“I know, I just…” He trails off, looking to the left of him and away from Will.
He thinks about what would happen if he told Will the real reason he couldn’t sleep. I know I’m just having a hard time being next to you every day, and wanting things guys shouldn’t want. I’m trying to figure out how it’s possible to handle wanting to be around you like a leech on the back of your arm, while simultaneously hoping that you never look at or touch me again, so I don’t do something stupid like entertain the idea of you looking at or touching me more.
Mike huffs out a breath. Yeah, far too revealing for either of us tonight, he thinks.
He glances back at Will, realizing that the change in subject was one of Will’s expert attempts at deflection from the question earlier. Focusing on softening his words, and pushing a bit more tension out of Will with his hand which is now trailing much closer to the hem of Will's sleep shirt - he restates his question.
“Do you wanna talk about it?”
The question makes Will tense up, his shoulders raising and head lowering as if he were trying to hide inside himself. After a few moments of the only sound being Mike's palm caressing his back, Will breathes out long and slow and finally looks up.
“Yeah, I think I do.”
Mike can’t help but notice how fearful Will looks after saying it - almost as if he’s more scared of Mike and how he’ll react, and less about reliving the dream that just made him burst into tears.
Now, with a sense of hesitancy at the expression Will is making, Mike braces himself for potential impact. He wonders for a moment if maybe the reason Will said his name while he was dreaming was because dream Mike was hurting dream Will - just like real Mike does in ways he’s too afraid to face. Forcing the thought away, he focuses on Will's words and body language. At this point, he’s begun attending to smoothing out the tension in the shoulder farthest from himself, fingers splayed and pushing deeper than he had previously allowed himself. I’m just comforting Will, he thinks to himself, trying to push away the greedy, giddy feeling he’s getting from it.
Will is once again facing down, toward his lap. Having finally thrown his feet over the edge of the bed to place them flat (with no socks, Mike notes) on the hardwood floor, Mike watches as Will’s knee begins to bounce.
“It was…” Will begins. Sighing at himself and starting again, “It was pretty different from my other dreams, honestly.”
His voice is low, and Mike leans in a bit closer to better hear him.
“Usually, if I’m going to dream something…” He hesitates. “Not the greatest, it’s more of a flashback to my time back there,” he emphasizes.
“It started off at my house- I mean the old house. And I was just sitting at the kitchen table, sort of doodling because I was bored, when I thought about going to visit Castle Byers.” He falters at the last bit, glancing over at Mike.
Mike becomes acutely aware of just how close their faces are now, due to him leaning down to hear, and attempts to straighten his back a bit while still staying close enough to catch Will’s words. He switches shoulders as an excuse for the movement. Will glances back down and clears his throat.
“Ehm. A- And when I went there through the woods to find it, it wasn’t there anymore. Not even the pieces left over from the, uh, storm.” Mike winces, but Will continues on with his story. “For some reason, it was like the place was something I guess I thought I could just call out for, like it was a person, and so I literally started yelling out into the forest, ‘CASTLE BYERS.’ Like hands cupped over my face and everything.” He huffs out a laugh and shakes his head at the absurdity of it. “But then someone was walking up behind me, and at first, I just thought it was my mom or Jonathan calling me back for something, but it was a random guy. I don't really remember any details of him. I just knew he was a guy, probably our parents' age.” He pauses for a second, taking a deep breath before continuing. Mike feels the way his muscles move underneath his hand.
“And then, like, all of a sudden, he just grabs me,” Will says, and Mike tenses.
“It was so weird too, because all I could think about was how normal everything had felt before that. I mean, the sun was shining, there were no signs of the Upside Down or anything. It was out of nowhere.” Mike tries to push his thumb in deeper where he’s now rubbing between Will's shoulders, in an attempt to coax him to continue. He tries to hone in on his facial expressions, not wanting Will to think he’s judging him or not listening.
“As he’s dragging me through the woods, and I’m, like, fighting him off, my whole body just locked up. I tried calling out for someone, but it’s like the words wouldn’t get out of my mouth. I was stuck. Then, when we were close to the road near the woods, you showed up.” Will once again glances at Mike, seemingly gauging his reaction.
Mike feels more than hears himself say, “Go on,” so soft he’s not even sure that Will heard it.
Will glances down, keeping his head angled toward Mike, and looks back up again.
“He shot you, Mike,” he says, and tears begin to pool once again. “It was insane, because one moment you were standing there a few paces away, looking at him dragging me, and he just pulls a gun out of his pocket and shoots you right in the chest.”
He’s breathing heavily again, Mike notes, so he attempts to pull himself closer to Will.
“Did anything else happen?” Mike asks.
Will shakes his head. “Not really. I mean, he shot you, and the lockdown on my body went away, but all I could do was yell your name as I watched you hit the leaves. And then you woke me up, so…”
Mike still gets the feeling that there’s a portion of the dream Will isn’t telling him about, considering how long it took to wake him after his name was said. But Will either doesn’t remember or doesn’t want to talk about it.
Now Mike's chest is basically touching Will’s shoulder. His eyes get caught on the way Will’s lips part, taking in a slow, ragged breath. He glances up and thinks he can practically see the way his own shallow breaths flutter Will’s eyelashes.
After a few moments of silence, Will says, “It was you, by the way.”
“What?”
“The someone I called out to. It was you. I called, and you came and you were killed. Because of me,” Will says, looking away at the wall in front of him.
Mike can’t help himself but ask again, “What?” in a disbelieving tone. “Why would you call for me? Why not, like… I dunno… El? Or your mom? Or Jonathan? Literally anyone else would be more effective at saving you. I can’t do shit; I mean, look at me.” He leans back a bit and gestures at himself with the hand not making its home on Will’s back.
Will does look. He furrows his brows and quite literally looks Mike up and down with a scoff. “What do you mean, Mike? You’ve saved me so many times.”
“What are you talking about?” Now Mike is genuinely confused. He doesn’t have superpowers like El. He doesn’t have authority like Joyce or Hopper, or the other older kids. Hell, he doesn’t even have the technological brain Dustin has, or the agility and physical stamina of Lucas. He’s just a mediocre kid who got thrown into extraordinary circumstances and had enough strong people around him to keep him from dying. Mike wouldn’t even be surprised if he didn’t end up making it out of this last battle alive. It’s a fact he’s been trying to make peace with for a few years now.
“Well, correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t it you who led the party into the woods after my disappearance?” Will asks.
“I mean, yeah, but we didn’t exactly find you, did we?”
“No, but you found El. Without El, I never would have gotten out of there. Mom and Hopper would have never gone into the Upside Down for me.”
Mike must still look unconvinced to Will, because he tries again. “Well, what about the year of the Mind Flayer?” he asks, as if it’s something casual.
Mike's whole body tenses at the reminder of that year. Will’s constant dark, distant, shell-shocked looks; Will’s body seizing in the field with his mouth open to a silent scream; Will's doe eyes that turned from his familiar hazel to an unsettling deep brown; Will’s dead weight as Mike struggled to carry him, sending a prayer to every divine figure that if a Demogorgon were to reach them now, it would eat Mike and leave Will alone.
“What?” Mike says, breathless. The effect of even the mention of that year makes him feel as though he's just been punched in the chest. He has no idea where Will is about to go with this.
Will falters for a second. “I just- I meant… You were there through everything, Mike. You were right by my side the whole time. Out of all the people there, you had no real reason to stay; it was just to comfort me. I mean, if you hadn’t been there for the lab, who knows what might’ve happened. You made me believe a little bit in myself when you called me the super spy. Your face and words are one of the only things I remember from the shed. Everything else is so fuzzy. You just showed up and were there simply because you knew you needed to be. I mean, without you, Mike, I-”
He cuts himself off. Will looks down, then trails his eyes up again, eyebrows kneading together. Through Will's lashes, Mike can see the pretty starburst of brown in the center of Will's green-hazel eyes. God, he’s gorgeous, Mike thinks to himself. The warm lighting highlights all the best parts of Will's face, and right now, with the combination of Will's words and the proximity of their faces, Mike stops thinking altogether.
He distantly hears himself ask, “Do you wanna go on a little walk?” as his hand inches higher up Will’s shoulders and neck, just beginning to thread his fingers through the hair back there.
Will’s breathing hitches at the skin-to-skin contact, right before he chokes out a small, “Huh?”