Chapter Text
Perhaps it was odd or cheesy that Will missed Hawkins.
His family tried to argue many different points in favor of why Lenora was better (for them, and overall).
His mom told him it was a new start away from everything. That her new job let her be home with the three of them and keep them company, instead of being tied up at the store from sunrise to past sunset.
Jonathan would say things about sleeping better at night in passing, but Will also believed that was because of the fact that his brother was higher than a kite half the time.
El was El, and while it was probably relaxing for her to not always have to try to save the world with her own bare hands, he knew that school in Lenora was hard for her. Kids were never understanding of outsiders. Will was much aware of that.
To Will, Lenora was nice, but the unsaid words and actions and feelings of the Byers family over the past few months accumulated to say one thing: Lenora did not feel like home, even after 8 months of acclimating to it.
So Will thought it was safe to say it was okay to miss Hawkins.
Of course he missed his friends; Dustin and Mike and Lucas, and even his newer-made friend, Max. He missed their stupid jokes and adventures on wheels (the boys on bikes and Max on her skateboard).
He missed Dustin’s side remarks that were witty as hell and surprisingly sharp for someone with a face with such soft features and a wide smile that could make almost any adult in Hawkins melt. He missed his lionish hair and colorful baseball caps.
He missed Lucas and their excited late night talks on a private walkie channel about the future or wanting things to be different.
Will and him both wanted things to be normal, to be normal themselves. He suspected they might’ve meant different things when it came to the subject, but he felt a kindred connection to his friend and his reasoning regardless.
He missed Max too. She was sharp as a tack and tough. She was the kind of rough-around-the-edges type of person that Will wished he could be. She was nothing but fire and energy, and Will dreamed of walking into a room with the presence that she did.
He hoped that maybe something in the California air gave one that level of grandiosity and strength, but it turned out to be something true and original to the one and only Max Mayfield.
He had missed all of them like hell.
He missed Mike like hell— or had— counting down the days from winter to spring break after El announced his visit. He had been so excited to reunite; to see Mike’s fluffy dark hair and deep muddy eyes back in person, and to hug him so tight that Mike would complain that he couldn’t breathe, and then laugh when Will would respond with some clever quip he had been imagining for months.
But then everything went to shit.
He and El and Jonathan no longer had a house.
They’d been shot at several times over by people in military uniforms, and had even buried a man in the desert before subsequently spending several nights in a van that stunk of cooking grease and Jonathan and Argyle’s stupid “Purple Palm Tree Delight.” He didn’t know how the two could even stand the stench of the weed, much less smoke it regularly and loyally.
So sure, it was obvious to say he missed his friends in Hawkins. But he also missed the town as well. He missed quiet evening bike rides (when his mom used to let him go alone), when the air was chilled, and he didn’t have to wait till 8 pm for it to be cool enough like he did in Lenora.
He missed the giant pine and spruce trees; how they smelled, and how light filtered through them. He missed the crunch of their browned and fallen needles under his feet as he traversed the woods surrounding all sides of town, and how if you were in the right place and were quiet for long enough, you would hear the whispered song of wind passing through the branches. For the longest time Will had loathed the smell of the sap, and how it clung to his fingers even after several hand washes.
He missed the town’s red brick library, where he and (mostly) Dustin got shushed or chided by the librarian for reading more than their allotment of checkout slots; giggling ducked behind shelves over silly children's books they were too old for.
He missed Mike’s basement, with its couches that were springy and old but still comfortable beyond what seemed imaginable for a dingy old couch in some basements. He could hear the rolling of the dice on Mike’s old foldable metal table, the party’s raucous laughter upon defeating one of Mike’s monsters, and the “oh no’s” and “uh oh’s” in response to when Mike smiled behind his divider with something up his sleeve.
He missed the way the sidewalk leading up to the bright yellow door of the Sinclair house had a lip from a tree root that you had to watch out for unless you wanted to trip. His knees and palms ached just thinking about all the times that he had scraped them up when he was younger— almost hear Erica chiding her older brother for forgetting how his own sidewalk was a tripping hazard to him and his friends. No! It’s not hard to see. You’re just an idiot. He missed Lucas’s grumpy half-ass responses that usually comprised of a shut up or leave me alone.
He missed his own old house, with the floral wallpaper and the yellow phone on the wall. He could still sometimes smell the phantom scent of maple syrup and cigarettes and crayons in the air.
He missed the autumn mornings when he could smell the falling leaves as the Party inspected Loch Nora, planning their Halloween route of houses to hit. His bike would crunch over all the varying shades of brown and orange and mottled yellow, finding himself dissatisfied when they didn’t make a noise under his shoe.
He missed the dingy AV room with its tacky science posters on the walls and the black shelves that made your fingers stink of metal if you touched them for too long.
But most of all, Will Byers missed feeling at home.
Lenora was nothing but dry conversations at the dinner table, sitting under the kitchen light that burned Will’s eyes and made him feel like he was under a microscope, and days of worrying about his mom's new job, how Jonathan was doing, and how to help El from walking into Angela’s crosshairs.
Lenora was dim, eternally faded blue skies and tan stucco buildings and the looming, lingering heat of the desert air.
Nights in his bedroom, with warm sunshine yellow walls were the only time he could find any solitude.
He would lay awake at night, staying up late staring at the wooden blades of his fan, committing every detail of Hawkins to memory.
But now that he was back in Hawkins, there was no solitude to come with his return. A giant Earthquake had ruptured and ravaged the town, slicing through the library Will treasured, among hundreds of other buildings and homes like a knife through butter.
Though of course, because why could anything ever be normal for him, the source of this “Earthquake” was, yet again, something from the Upside Down. The Mindflayer was not dead, but instead of it just being it’s own individual fearsome creature, something so terrifying was only a puppet for something much worse: Vecna.
It felt like he was trapped in another one of the Party’s old campaigns, where Mike would reveal one bigger, badder baddie that they would have to fight.
It felt like everything was out of his hands, and it didn’t matter if he cast protection or fireball.
This (very much real) big bad baddie was a telekinetic like El, yet so much unlike her.
He craved a new world order; not afraid of who or how many he hurt along the way.
He had put Max in a coma after snapping her bones into odd angles, and the same to others who were not so lucky to still be breathing.
And, because there was always an and, the fault lines courtesy of Vecna didn’t lead down into the earth's crust, but something much closer to Hell; the Upside Down. The very same reality that had been so close to killing him all those years ago.
Now, when Will stayed up at night, he would be left so nauseous with fear debated running to the toilet to vomit, praying another tentacle wasn’t growing in his stomach like a parasite or leech.
He never did, though. Doing so would wake Mike, whose room he was sleeping in, or alert either El or Jonathan downstairs with Argyle that he was awake, and not doing well.
Even Nancy seemed wary of him sometimes, but no matter who, getting up or moving too much would wake up at least one person, and he’d have to insist that he was fine, even when he wasn’t.
Tonight was one of those sleepless nights, where Will kept panicking right as he fell asleep, because his mind was telling him that the moment he closed his eyes, Vecna would reach out and finally lay claim to him.
He hadn’t had any of the pounding headaches or nightmares (that were out of the ordinary) like the party had warned him, but still.
He was afraid..
He rolled over as quietly as he could in his sleeping bag laid out on Mike’s floor.
The rest of the van group was staying in the Wheeler's basement. They had all dragged their heavy legs down the sets of stairs, Jonathan and Argyle having a half-asleep debate on pizza toppings, and El and Will following behind like zombies. From behind him, Mrs. Wheeler asked if Mike would rather Will stay in his room. He only replied with a nod, and so Will followed him up the familiar staircase to a now unfamiliar room.
Mike nodded around his room, flourishing his hand.
“Repainted it since you were here last.”
Will had noticed without Mike having to say it out loud.
The walls were a deeper, more saturated blue, and a few colorful posters lined the wall, along with (oddly enough) a traffic sign.
“Looks nice,” Will said with a smile. It felt almost… plain, like it would take some getting used to.
“Yeah?” Mike gave a small smile, reaching up to grab something from his closet.
“Yeah.”
The more Will looked around, the more it made sense for it to be Mike’s room.
The desk chair had a spring for the back bar, and Will could almost hear Mike trying to convince his parents to let him get something that looked so different. A small sprinkling of rebellion.
The traffic sign felt like a Mike Wheeler special; something he must have spotted in passing but immediately decided he had to have.
Mike pulled a bright yellow sleeping bag from his closet, laying it out on the floor.
Will watched as he languidly brushed out the wrinkles, his dark curls falling in his face. He brushed one side behind his ear with his long fingers, and looked up to Will.
“Need anything else?”
“No, that should be good,” Will replied, hoping the blush on his face wasn’t too obvious.
Will appreciated the fact that Mike had laid out the sleeping bag for him, but now, Will laid awake, his mood souring more and more the longer he stayed awake. And the more his mood soured, the harder it was to fall asleep.
It was their second night in Hawkins.
He had reunited with his mom yesterday, to reveal that Hopper was alive, and had been taken by the Russians.
The two of them wouldn’t be staying at the Wheelers, but at Hop’s cabin as they cleaned up the place for El.
Will missed his mom already.
The hours past had been filled by discussions of where to go from where they were at the moment.
Lucas had barely been talked out of leaving Max’s hospital room, and Dustin was distant, mourning the loss of someone Will had never met. He had been the head of the Hawkins High DND club, and sucked into their team of adventurers by witnessing Vecna’s first gate-opening murder.
He had sounded like an incredible man, if Dustin, Lucas, Mike, Erica, and even Steve Harrington all doted on him.
Grief hung heavy in the air, and there was little to make light of.
Will had shifted to face the window in Miles’s room, watching trees across the street sway in the cracks between Mike’s blinds.
He had begun to cry at some point, embarrassed by how easy it was these days.
He sniffed and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, debating getting up from his spot on the floor to grab a tissue and risk waking Mike.
Eventually, he decided on it, moving as slow as honey dripping down the side of a bottle shaken by an impatient holder, watching the boy as he slept to make sure he didn’t wake him.
Will couldn’t help himself look away, freezing with his hand halfway in the air between him and the tissue box.
Will watched, to see if his breathing changed. It didn’t, but he seemed to be having a strong dream, his brows furrowed like he was frustrated at something, even in sleep.
Mike had been quiet, unusually so still after their time in the Surfer Boy Pizza helping El. For supposed datemates, they had barely spoken to one another, and Mike couldn’t seem to bring himself to even look Will in the eye.
It stung.
It felt like everything Will said; every centimeter of leeway he had made with him was all pointless.
His entire conversation where he showed Mike his painting was all for nothing. He had even told Mike the painting, the one thing Will had for himself,unbothered by anyone else, was commissioned by El!
How stupid was that?
How much more stupid could he be?
His eyes had started to well up again. Will leaned forward to grab the box.
As his fingers gripped around the papery texture of it, Mike started to shift from his bed.
Will froze, as the blankets shifted loudly in the quiet air.
Then a moment later, a half whispered: “Will?”
Will debated pretending to be asleep and just ignoring Mike’s call.
“Will, are you awake?” Mike's voice crackled like a young kid. He sounded so much smaller than his normal quiet grandiose and bullheaded pride he normally had.
So with just those four words—three if you didn’t count his name— Will’s bitterness flew out the window momentarily.
“Yeah, I’m up,” he whispered back, praying his voice wouldn’t reveal how he had been crying moments ago, “are you okay? Do you need something?”
Mike was silent for a moment. Will’s eyes were well adjusted to the dark of the room, and he could see Mike swallow hard. His eyes were wide too.
Finally, Mike broke the silence.
“Can you… can you come here?”
Will nodded, though he didn’t know if Mike saw him do so.
“Yeah.”
He slid out of his sleeping bag, and walked over to Mike, standing next to him.
Mike’s hair was a mess from tossing and throng, and his eyes darted around the room in a confused yet frenzied way.
“Did something happen,” Will asked, taking Mike’s glass of water off his nightstand and holding it out to him. Mike took it quickly, swallowing down the whole thing in only a few gulps. Something was clearly wrong, and had scared Mike cleanout of his what-had-looked-like peaceful slumber.
“Mike,” Will questioned again, trying to pull Mike away from whatever phantoms were still lingering in his mind. His words seemed to have snapped Mike out of whatever daze he was in.
He looked up to Will with his brown eyes, now wide with panic not-yet faded away. He opened his mouth to say something, eyes scanning Will’s face. His mouth closed for a moment as he seemed to search for the right words.
“Could you just… stay here with me?” He winced at his own words, but still he looked at Will with a genuine look in his eyes.
“Yeah, I’ll go grab my sleeping bag.” He began to turn around to pull it up next to Mike’s bedside, when a voice, followed by a gentle arm on his upper arm stopped him.
“No, I mean…” he trailed off. But after a moment, Will understood what he meant.
“I get it.”
He let out a small smile and walked around the bed to crawl in on the other side.
The sheets and blanket were cool from lack of use, much softer and smoother than the old fuzzy Star Wars comforter that Mike had used before Will moved.
He rolled onto his side to look at Mike, who was staring up at the ceiling with such a rapid fervor that it concerned Will, and chilled him to his core.
In the back of his mind, he thought: Vecna. But right now, Mike needed to know he was safe, not crowded by several worried friends.
What exactly did Mike see?
“Hey,” Will said quietly, putting a hand on Mike’s shoulder.
Mike's rapid looks around the room stopped, replaced by him blinking several times to shake himself out of something. He rolled over to look at Will.
His eyelashes were shining and clumped together.
“I… I saw something. It wasn’t Vecna, I don’t think. I’m not sure actually—“ Mike’s eyes narrowed as he thought for a moment, “—just a nightmare.”
He swallowed harshly, eyes darting between looking at either of Will’s green ones.
Will didn’t even have to prompt him to continue before Mike started talking again.
“Nancy was driving us, and she had her shotgun on the dash, and there was a flash of lightning,” Will's stomach dropped. He wanted to ask if there was any color to it, like the telltale red or blue of the Upside Down, but waited for Mike to finish, or at least wait till morning, “and she… she drove us into one of the gates, or fault lines, or whatever in the shit they are. And she was laughing! Laughing at me like she knew something, but I didn’t know what!”
Mike squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, and he took a deep shaking breath as he reopened them.
Will felt his heart clench in his chest. It had always hurt for Will to see anyone cry, but Mike especially. And it hurt because Will cared about him more than anything.
“It wasn’t real. And you’re okay now.” He tucked a strip of Mike’s hair that had fallen in his face behind his ear, gliding his fingers along his scalp.
Mike leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering shit for a moment.
“It felt so real. And I felt so trapped.”
Mike opened his eyes again, his look softened, reading Will’s face. His concern must have bled harshly into his face, because Mike’s open expression hardened into something much more reserved. His open mouth shut, and his brows settled low on his face.
“Sorry, I’m scaring you. It doesn’t mean anything, anyways. Just me being stupid.”
Mike began to roll over, pulling in a breath of air with a stuffy sniff of his nose.
“No, it matters, Mike.”
He laid a gentle hand on Mike’s shoulder from where it stuck out above his checkered blanket. Mike stilled, reluctantly rolling back over to face Will, face scrunched up.
Before Will could stop himself, caught up in wanting to soften the harsh furrow in Mike’s brows, he whispered: “You matter to me, Mike.”
Mike’s eyes lit up, like someone putting a candle up to a brown glass bottle; like the first beams of sunlight shining off muddy puddles after a several-days storm.
Will lifted his hand from Mike’s shoulder to slide it up his neck to hold his cheek.
Hot embers settled in his stomach in time with the jolt of his heart, like someone hitting the log in a fireplace with a poker. The way the two were, Mike’s eyes fixed onto Will’s, and Will unable to look away, felt like breaking a rule.
It was the same bubbly jitters from when he used to hop fences when he was young to look around parts of the woods left unexplored. Mike had always been there with him to help toss their bikes over the chicken wire. Now it felt like Will was making him his accomplice to something else.
But Mike didn’t look away, and he didn’t scold Will or pull his face from his gentle touch, so Will continued.
“You matter to me,” he repeated, voice hushed as Will felt out of breath.
Even after all their recent arguments, and Mike’s many months having not called, Will couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe Mike had a really good reason for it. It felt like there was much more under the surface, and Will was going to find out, eventually.
But for now, he could shelve it, and be present for the Mike Wheeler that was there for him now.
It was then that Will realized that a heavy silence had fallen between the two, the air between their heads filled with spider webs that you could get tangled up in.
He had almost wondered if he had said too much, that he had made it too clear to Mike where his feelings lied, and that Mike would grab the hand playing with his hair and tell Will that it was disgusting how he felt about him.
He could almost hear Mike’s voice ask him: “What are you? A fairy?”
He would say it as a joke, but it wouldn’t land with his audience.
Will braced himself for Mike’s outburst, but it never came.
Instead, Mike looked like he was relishing the fingers in his hair softly brushing through his slight curls.
His eyes were unfocused, staring out the window past Will’s head, blinking lazily. There was a small smile on his face, and his breathing was evening out into soft exhales that felt like butterfly wings brushing Will’s cheeks.
A more peaceful silence settled upon the two as they laid there. After a moment, Mike’s eyes lowered to look at him. Will didn’t even have a moment to panic, and to realize that they were laying too close, or Will would regret being so open in the morning, or any other excuse, because Mike’s eyes were on his.
The bed was warm, but not stifling, and for the first time in what Will knew was much longer than eight months, he felt at home.
Outside in the hall, a pair of shuffling footsteps came into earshot, the volume of each step increasing.
Will and Mike both shot up, sitting up in bed.
The hallway light turned on, and after a moment of loud footsteps, a shadow appeared underneath Mike’s doorway, appearing before walking past.
A light knock was heard on the room next door; Nancy’s bedroom.
“Who is that,” Mike whispered, his voice sharp and quick.
The two heard Nancy open her door, her soft voice filtering into the quiet house.
“Hey!”
“Hey,” a lower hushed voice replied.
Will relaxed at the sound, laying back down.
“Who is it?”
“Just Jonathan,” Will replied, finding it funny how quickly he and Mike had sat up upon hearing the slightest noise, as if they were caught in the middle of something.
Then Will’s heart jolted in his chest again.
Were they?
As kids, Mrs. Wheeler, nor his mom batted an eye at the two sharing a bed. It was just an innocent thing, a way to save space.
But now that they were older, and had heard words flung around: Fairy, fruit, queer, homo, and the one that Will hated the most; fag, things were different.
What were still innocent acts of comfort or compassion were now labeled as something “sinister” or “sinful.”
And it was clear from the glares from Ted Wheeler had given Will when he waited for Mike to come down from his room to go bike somewhere, or hang out in his basement, that these sayings weren’t foreign to Mike’s ears.
Will wanted to clear his throat and sit up. He worried that Mike had finally come to his senses, and all the words pestering him over the years would finally catch up to him.
The two sat in silence a moment longer, the only sounds were hushed conversation between Nancy and Jonathan and the hum of the tv downstairs that Mike’s father must have left on.
Mike’s eyes began to grow droopy, and he began to struggle to keep them open when he blinked.
“I can go back to my sleeping bag now, Mike,” Will whispered after a particularly long period of time ofMike fighting to keep his eyes open.
Mike's brow furrowed softly, even with his eyes closed. They opened with a flutter of lashes.
“No… please… please stay,” his voice was gravely from approaching sleep, soft and sweet.
Will had always had low resolve when it came to Mike, but especially now with the pleading look in Mike’s eyes and the warmth of being underneath his blankets warming his bones.
Will just let out a laugh through his nose, and sunk deeper into the pillow he was laying on.
“Okay. I will.”