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Dark vines, morbidly twisting and gluttonous in nature, entangle themselves entirely around Will Byers. They do not stop until nearly every inch of his body is tied and covered up with them, constricting and suffocating. He feels, once again, much like the small boy of twelve who was made to survive down in this wretched place all by himself, with little concept of time or safety.
He gives up on struggling to free himself the moment Vecna- No, wait, this is Henry,- comes into blurry view. There is no longer any use squirming, he realizes. He feels his consciousness beginning to weaken, and knows he will not be able to make it out in time. He is scared not of death, but of the secrets in the crevices of his mind that are far worse, that he knows Vecna will utilize to his advantage when the time comes, very soon.
"Do you remember this place, William?" The voice has a chill running down Will's spine, but his body is far too confined to even be able to shudder. He continues gasping raggedly for air, still desperate for a way out of this nightmare, even if he knows better than anyone that there is not one.
In answer to Henry's question, though, he does remember. Of course, he does, he more than remembers; he has never once stopped being trapped in this place, at least, not in his mind. He is persistently haunted by the memories of his infamous childhood trauma, of all the inflicted pain, both physical and mental, that he still so vividly feels. He hates the question as soon as it leaves Henry's lips, and he hates Henry's voice nesting inside his ears, and he hates how mocking it all feels, and he hates, and he hates, and he hates. He would feel seethingly angry if he were not so scared, not so cold, and not so desperate to be warm and held.
"No, no, no...," Will is crying harder than before, and trembling down to his fingertips, the denial all he has for a weapon. Though there is less denial that seeps from his voice, and more of a pleading, a pleading that he does not wish to remember.
"Does it..." Henry moves closer, step by step, approaching Will and keeping their eyes locked the whole while. Will continues muttering a helpless symphony of 'No, no, no's' under his breath, as if they will somehow repel him. They do not.
"Bring back..." Henry treads on, and then, in just one tap of his foot on the vine-covered ground and a blink of Will's eyes to dispel his tears, he is no longer Henry. He is Vecna, and now, now Will is entirely more afraid than he thinks he ever has been, because he knows what is coming. He knows, but he is not ready.
"Memories?" Vecna finishes the question, and he is horrifyingly close, but it is apparently just the push Will needs to allow himself a moment of futile rage.
It takes a strenuous amount of effort for him to find his voice in his throat, hoarse and raspy with ache. "Max, Holly...," Will feels lightheaded, not enough air filling his lungs, but he pushes on. He will not give in without a fight, even if it is only verbal. "They got away, didn't they? Did the leg slow you down?"
Their gazes are still just as intensely locked. Vecna glares down at Will with an inhuman, monstrous emotion. It is grotesque. "You think you are clever, don't you?"
Will doesn't think he is much of anything, but he does not say this. He's pretty sure Vecna knows that much already, anyway.
"But remember, I am the one," Vecna growls his words lowly, "The one who invited you in."
It is yet another thing Will has never forgotten, and it feels insulting that Vecna thinks he needs reminding. He does not think he ever will, for as long as he lives, be able to forget the feeling of cold darkness encapsulating his entire body and mind whole, of his hands being dirtied with a monster's blood. It is, after all, a hard thing to forget about your own possession.
"You were my vessel," Will shakes his head feebly. Once again, he does not want to remember, "My spy," Will thinks of all the lives that were lost because of him back in that hospital, "My builder."
"Builder?" Will does not want to hear anymore, but the question still slips from his tongue. He is responsible for so much, and he does not wish to be, but he should know, at the very least.
Vecna supplies an answer that is, very unsurprisingly, much to his horror. He was expecting nothing less. "How do you think the tunnels came to be, William?"
Will swallows, knowing the answer without needing to speak it aloud. He can only stare, with tears, and guilt, and sickness, and his desperate wish to be anywhere else but here glistening in his eyes.
"You built them, each and every night you slept." The guilt is overtaking him, eating him from the inside out. He wishes he were still small enough to curl up and hide.
He shakes his head, over and over, and over again, but Vecna does not shy away. He extends his fleshy hand out until it is cupping Will's cheek, and it is all Will can do not to throw up. His tears are not stopping, but increasing in their flow, and it hurts, it all hurts much more than he can bear, because he knows what is coming. He has always known.
"There is much power within you. But make no mistake, boy," It is dangerous, the way Vecna's voice sounds now. "They are my powers, and they are stronger than ever before. Much stronger." Will does not have a doubt in his mind about this.
"Now, it is time, time for my vessels to lead us to a new world. A better world."
Will is disgusted, nothing if not appalled. He miraculously finds his voice past the burning of his lungs, speaking with as much venom as he can possibly muster. "Too bad your world will never exist, now that Max has one of your vessels."
Vecna does not seem deterred. "There are ways to smoke a fox from its den, William. And you are going to help me. You are going to be my spy, one last time."
"No," Will shakes his head, because he can't, he absolutely can't do that, he won't, "Never."
He knows this is not what Vecna wants to hear, not what will satiate his endless, immoral hunger. For Will, however, it makes little difference; he knows he will fall victim to the clutches of the very nightmare he's been dreading, any moment now, regardless of what action he takes. He is entirely at Vecna's mercy.
"The more you resist," Vecna snarls deeply, sounding every bit unforgiving, "The more this will hurt." This demeaning threat, horrifically vile enough to make Will sick all over himself, is all that his unprotected mind processes before he is all too heavily hyperventilating, with nothing but revolting dread flooding throughout his system.
His entire body shoots with white-hot pain, pain so sharp and overflowing that death would surely, surely be better. There is liquid trickling down from his eyes, stinging red and hot, and everything is so painful, and he, he does not wish to feel anymore. He is groaning and whimpering until the sounds erupt into a singular horrible scream, and then, then, he is obediently finding Max. He is Vecna's spy, once more.
When he is hopeful it might finally be over, now that he has found Max and finished his spying, Vecna still does not let him go. He does not free Will's body or mind from the vines and pain, but if anything, turns a dial to intensify it. Will feels every little emotion Vecna wants him to feel, abhorrent guilt overtaking him more than anything, deep shame and worthlessness, and everything in between. He wants to run, he wants to get out, he wants to hide.
He cannot hide from this.
It is starting, everything Will has been dreading, everything he already knows Vecna is going to show him, things he does not think he will be able to stomach. The very thoughts were pushed to the back of his mind for good reason.
It starts before he can even try to resist. There is a flash of white, of millions of images flipping behind his retinas, and then he is very suddenly staring at his mother, at Jonathan, at Mike, and at the rest of the party. They are sitting in front of him, expectantly, and the confession comes forward from his throat far too quickly, as if someone is forcing it out.
"I... I don't like girls," his heart sinks. He is not ready to say that, he is not ready, but he's just said it, and the eyes on him from everyone he loves feel so real he forgets for a moment that this is just a vision, a vision Vecna is forcing upon his mind.
He cannot read their stares, not through the blur of tears that are now dripping down his chin, but he does not need to. The silence is telling.
His mom speaks first, her voice soft, but not in the warm and reassuring way he needs. It is soft with something like pity, and concern for him, like he is something fragile and weak for who he is. "Honey...," she starts, and Will's tears clear up just enough for him to see her frowning at him worriedly, "Are you... You're sure?" She asks, and Will, he can't take this, he's going to be sick, he's going to-
She shakes her head after receiving no response. "No. No, I still love you, okay? I'm just worried, baby," her voice still does not sound reassuring to Will. It is a poor imitation, but it is everything he fears. "You've always been bullied, and I don't want things to be harder for you. Do you understand that? I want you to be able to live a normal, safe life, sweetheart."
Normal. Will's bottom lip is trembling, throat tight with all the choked tears he is failing to fight back. His mom would not say this, she would not say this, but when it is right in front of him like this, it is hard not to believe it.
"No, yeah, I understand, mom," he manages out, but his voice is so weak and small he wonders if she even heard him. He cannot breathe, and he is dizzy with all the shame he's been trying so hard to unlearn. There is something wrong with him, something horribly disfigured and broken inside him for being different.
He has nearly forgotten his mom is not the only one here in this room with him. He only remembers when he feels his brother put a hand on his knee from his other side, a sympathetic look in his eyes. He sees the others, too, the rest of the party, and if his heart wasn't broken before- It is now. They aren't even looking at him. Lucas, Dustin, and Max, their gazes are all on their laps, and the two who are looking, he wishes they weren't.
El, she just seems confused. It isn't at all surprising. Will does not blame her for this; he could never blame her. She is his sister, and if what he is confuses her, it is solely his fault for being that way.
Mike, though, is looking directly at him with his brows furrowed, lips slightly parted as if there is something he wants to say, but Will isn't so sure he wants to hear it. He does not know how to read Mike's convoluted expression, but Will chalks it up to 'reluctant acceptance'. There is a chasm building between them the moment their eyes lock. Mike is not like him, and it was a disgusting, shameful fantasy for him to ever even entertain the thought he possibly could be.
Just as the horrible pain of it all is starting to numb into a dull ache, the scene around him shifts and disappears into a cloud of smoke, until a new one is built in front of his eyes. It is years later, and he knows this because he is alone. Alone, in a place he doesn't recognize, sifting through old photos in a scrapbook his brother gave him a couple of years back. They are photos of him and the party. He and Mike.
His thumb is slowly brandishing over a photo of just the two of them, messy with dirt, and playing carefreely just outside Castle Byers. They are small, happy, and Will is smiling at Mike like he is the only one in the whole world, even though Jonathan must be standing right there, taking the photo. It does not make him nostalgic; it makes him wish he could have a redo of it all, because Mike is no longer in his life, save for the awkward reunions where they do not speak, no more than a simple glance across the room, which neither of them is very hesitant in breaking.
Will hardly sees his own mother anymore. She wants to see him; she would never want to be apart from him, but Will, he's good at creating distance. He's never thought of himself as very good at anything, but this is something he's honed down to perfection.
It hurts. It all hurts more than his body can handle, but his heart has grown tired of its painful throbbing, and he does not know how many more tears he has left to give. He does not know how much more of himself he has left to give. It feels real, too real, and Will has forgotten all about Vecna, about it all only being a twisted nightmare, and he is falling entirely victim to it, until,
His eyes open. He awakes abruptly, panting, heaving, choking on his own saliva, and just barely processing that he is not the isolated man from his nightmares, but the Will Byers of his present time. He only fully realizes this and is shaken awake from his panic when he feels hands, warm hands on him, and hears the sound of his sister's voice lulling him back into reality.
"Will, it's okay, it's okay, I'm here," she repeats over and over, and there are tears bubbling up in Will's eyes; for once, they are relieved. El is pulling him into her arms, hugging him close, and he is not sure he's ever felt so warm and safe in his life. "El... El," he gets her name out in trembling breaths. He is hugging back, holding onto her with the little strength he has, fingers curling tight as he can manage around the fabric of her shirt, because he is out of the nightmare, and he is not alone.
The relief, however, unfortunately, does not last long. He had not expected it to, but it still has him feeling cold and helpless when it dissipates, now that he is remembering what preceded the visions from his own nightmare: Max.
"I tried to stop him, but I couldn't," his throat feels all too torn up, and each word is more strained than the last, but he must, he must tell El, "He saw."
El keeps a firm hold on him, which Will is more than grateful for. It is grounding him, keeping him safe even when everything else seems so bleak in retrospect. "He saw? What did he see?" she asks, and Will's heart breaks just a little more.
"Max. He knows where she is now," his words are practically a whisper, the guilt of what his spying has done overwhelming him. Bloody tears are slipping down from his eyes. "And he sent them after her. They're coming for her. In Hawkins."
Will is sitting on the edge of a bed, hands clasped down by his knees. His mind painstakingly spins out reminders of what Vecna showed him earlier, no matter how hard he tries to block them out. He has never been good at suppressing trauma, which is really no good, considering just how much of it he has.
His palms are sweating, but he cannot stop fidgeting with his hands. "You are going to be my spy, one last time." he does not want to keep crying, but his eyes are watering over and over, and he is not sure when they will stop. He feels so guilty, so dirty, so shameful for letting it happen.
"Will," he hears his name spoken by a familiar voice, a warm voice, and it promptly snaps him out of the horrifying recollection. It is his mom.
He looks up with relief, and she approaches, sitting down beside him on the bed. He is relieved, not scared or filled with certainty that something is wrong with him, because this is his mom, not whatever false illusion Vecna tried to show him before.
"Hopper just radioed. Max is safe. She got out."
Will lets out a breath he thinks he must have been holding in for hours. If nothing else is going to be okay, he at least knows he does not have his own friend's blood on his hands.
He does not stop fidgeting, though. There is still so much guilt within him, and his mom must notice, because she rubs his back and reassures him, "This is good news. None of this would have happened if it weren't for you."
He wants to say that Max wouldn't have been discovered in the first place if it weren't for him, but his mom is already telling him that everything is going to be okay, and he just doesn't have the heart. So he settles halfway, shaking his head simply.
"For how long, Mom? If Lucas is right, today is the day, the day Vecna's gonna act." It sounds final coming from him, and it is final. "I thought I had him. But the truth...," his mind supplies the visions of him rejected, alone. "The truth is, I never stood a chance. And he knew it. He's always known it."
"That's why, out of everyone in Hawkins, he chose me," Will remembers what his mom said before, about Vecna underestimating him, but he's never believed that for a second. He is weak.
The rest of the conversation is futile on his part, it seems, because his mom is not having any of it. She pushes through on her reassurances, even though Will cannot find it in himself to believe any of them. "So many died because of me," he insists, the guilt he has been holding inside for so long finally flowing out bit by bit.
"You listen to me," his mom follows up without missing a beat, "None of what happened is your fault. Do you hear me?"
But Will didn't; he didn't hear her, and whatever else she had just said in an attempt to make him feel better is lost on him entirely.
"You're wrong. You're wrong, Mom," he's shaking his head again, feeling as his throat closes up, "It's my fault."
He falls into his mom's arms, every inch of his body and every bit of his soul aching with pain that cannot be described in words, pain that is being dug up from many years ago and resurfacing only now that everything is collapsing. His mom is holding him, and he is holding onto her, and he is trying, trying so hard to cling onto her warmth and safety.
Later on, much later, when Will is soothed enough to not be crying anymore, and after he has talked things through with everyone- Talked with Max, most importantly- he goes to find his mom again. He needs to talk to her, really talk to her.
He remembers what Max said during their conversation: "I guess we're all scared of something, right?" It rings true, especially for him. It is something that hits far too close to home, and now that he knows the roots of all his shame and all his fears, he wants to come out on top of it all rather than to be buried with it. If the world is going to end, he at least wants her to know.
Will finds his mom rather quickly, staring pensively out at the others by the door. He approaches as quickly as he can, so he won't lose his nerve. "Mom? Um...," when she turns to look at him, his legs turn to jelly. He is using all his strength just to stay upright. "Earlier today, when you asked me what happened in Vecna's mind, I... I didn't tell you everything."
It is a miracle in itself that he's able to push out those words alone, no matter how wobbly his voice sounds in saying them. It is hard, it is so hard, all the feelings of filthiness and shame and fear of what might happen threatening to overtake and stop him from telling her, but he won't let those feelings win; he is going to tell her, and he is going to tell her of his own choice. Of his own volition.
She walks him over to where they can be alone, and they sit down together. Will's heart is pounding in his chest, and he is scared, but his mom's gaze on him is reassuring and kind, everything the nightmare version of her had failed to be. He wants to hug her, and he wants to tell her, but not like in the dream. He knows she will not make him feel like a mistake.
"When Vecna attacks," he starts to explain, already feeling lightheaded and sweaty, "He weakens you by turning your own mind against you, by bringing out everything inside you that hurts."
He no longer wants to think about the things that hurt, but he will push through with this if it is the last thing he does.
"So, I fought back by focusing on happy memories," he thinks again about first meeting Mike on the swings, of Castle Byers, "Memories from when I was a kid, and when I wasn't scared, and when I felt most happy."
Will would give anything, anything to have that back, but wishing for the past is going to get him nowhere now.
He continues to explain how Vecna works, how he takes control of your mind and finds what will maim you most mentally, and she listens to him without interruption.
"He found a way past," he is getting to the point, stomach twisting in sickness and nerves, "And he showed me things, Mom. He showed me the most awful things."
"No, listen," his mom finally speaks, "Whatever he showed you, it's not real. He plays tricks. He tells lies."
Will is expecting her to say something like this, so his rebuttal is immediate, "No, he doesn't. What he showed me... It didn't come from him. It came from me."
He hates hearing it out loud, but it is the truth, and it is what he needs his mom to hear.
"He sees everything, Mom," he's starting to breathe unnaturally heavy again, close to the hyperventilation he'd felt before Vecna overtook him entirely, "He sees my thoughts. He sees my memories, and... he sees my secrets."
He thinks about the knowledge Max has given him, and he feels renewed desire to finally let it out, to someone, to at least one person he trusts with all of himself. He is not telling his mom for Vecna, not because he feels that he has to, but because he wants her to know who he is. He knows she will love him, no matter what he says next. She will never shun him or tell him he is wrong.
Will feels a familiar stinging in his eyes, for what must be the umpteenth time just this day. It burns, but he will take that over cold and emptiness any day. "You need to know... I think you need to know the truth."
There is no interruption. The room is dead silent for a moment, his mom simply taking in everything Will has told her thus far, and then she leans over, taking both his hands in hers. The tears start to fall; he loves his mom, he loves her so much, and he is going to tell her, and it is going to be okay.
"Will, sweetie," she rubs her thumb over the backs of his hands, pleasant and soothing, "You can tell me anything. Anything, and I mean it."
Her voice is firm, leaving no room for argument. Will nods. He knows he can. If he is certain of nothing, he is certain of this. "I know, Mom," he uses up all his effort to give her an unsteady smile, "I know."
She nods gently in return, squeezing his hands in hers, and Will swallows hard so he can find the words he needs in the back of his throat.
"I've just...," he tries to start, but it is still hard, and his voice is shaking like there is no tomorrow- Which, well, he supposes there might not be. "I've held onto this, for a long time, I've always... known, but," he stops to take a breath. His mom does not interrupt; she only continues to stroke the back of his hands with her thumb patiently. She loves him.
"I... I'm different," he finally manages the hardest part out, "I'm different, and, I just pretended like... like I wasn't, because the alternative would've hurt too much, and I didn't want you, any of you, to see me differently, but I am. I am, and that..."
He trails off, almost uncertainly. He has gotten this far, and he will finish, but his chest is swimming with oceans of shame. It is not so easy to just come out and say it, after all this time, even if he so badly wants to.
His mom sees the hesitance, and even though she is not quite sure where he is going with this yet, her gaze locks on him firmly. She does not look the slightest bit pitying, and this is what renews Will's courage. "I will never see you differently, baby. Never."
Will nods again, a little quicker this time. He takes another deep breath. "Yeah," he breathes out before continuing, "So... So, the truth," his heart somersaults, "What I want to tell you, is that I... I..."
He is going to say it. He is going to say it, he is going to say it, he is going to say it.
"I don't like girls. I'm... I mean, I... I like guys."
He's said it. For the first time, he has said it aloud, and not only to himself, but to his mom, and he is searching her expression for any hint of pity or ugly concern, but all he finds is the corners of her lips twitching up into a relieved smile of her own. She tugs him wordlessly by his hands into a close, warm hug before anything else, and his heart, his heart is slowly mending.
"Mom," he sobs brokenly against her shoulder, seeking her comfort and receiving it in the form of a kiss to his hair.
"Will, baby," she holds him so gently, the way only a mother can, and her words are everything Will needs to hear, "It's okay. You're okay, I'm so proud of you, and you'll never lose me, never, no matter what, okay? Do you hear me?"
Will does hear her, this time. "Okay," he just barely chokes out, his voice breaking the more he uses it. He needs to know one last thing, though, he needs to know.
He tries to brace himself for the question he wants to ask, but knows it will not be enough, so he just comes out with it. His voice has never sounded so small. "You don't... think there's something wrong with me?"
The motion of his mom pulling back from the embrace at his nearly inaudible question is immediate, wholly abrupt, and her hands are on his shoulders before he can even think about it. She is gripping him tight, so tight, and gives him a look that says he'd better listen to what she's going to say.
"There is nothing wrong with you," her voice is dangerously unyielding, "Absolute nothing, there never has been, there never will be, and I will never, ever, think of you differently. You're my boy," she squeezes his shoulders to make sure he is listening, "You're my boy."
Will nods again, and he is sobbing again, full on sobbing, and his shoulders are shaking beneath his mom's hands. He is pulled back close into the embrace, his chest struggling between its choice to ache familiarly or finally lighten, now that he has let it all out, and he has not been rejected for who he is.
It takes several minutes, and what feels like hours, before Will finally grabs a hold of himself and pulls away for the last time. He does not have the need to lift his arms and wipe away his tears because his mom does it for him, smiling at him as she handles it. He returns the smile, albeit weakly.
Whatever alleviation this moment may have just given him, though, is quickly replaced with a horrible sinking sensation in his stomach, because it is not over. It is far from over, and his mom, she is so, so good to him, but it isn't enough, is it?
"I have to tell everyone, Mom," he finds his voice again, and he sounds so distressed and helpless to even himself, because he does not want to. He is not ready, not ready at all, to tell the others.
His mom frowns at him, as if she does not understand the sentiment Will is speaking. "What?" she shakes her head, and she is disapproving, but entirely for Will's sake, "No. You don't have to do anything, baby."
But he does, he does, and even though it is the last thing he wants to do, it's all he can think of. "But I do, Mom! If I don't, Vecna, he'll-"
"-He'll die. Tonight," his mom cuts him off, then holds up a hand before Will can try to interject any further.
It works because Will falls silent. She lowers her hand, then takes only one of Will's in hers, bringing it up to his heart. He bites his cheek, the feeling of his heartbeat stuttering rapidly beneath his palm enough to make him start crying again.
"You," her voice softens and grounds him, "You keep your feelings protected, okay? Right here."
Right here, he thinks, right here, in my heart, where I am safe.
He is biting his cheek hard enough now to draw blood because he really does not want to cry again, but his heart is slowing and easing into a steady rhythm now, and he is coming down from a torturous, pain-filled high.
"Okay," he says, and he is nodding without reluctance because he means it. He understands.
"I will."
Will gets up to leave the room after one more prolonged hug with his mom, legs feeling as if they are ready to give with each and every step; he barely notices, though, because his heart feels all that much lighter. He turns the knob of the door, stepping out, until-
He nearly walks head-on into Mike, Mike of all the people he could run into here and now, who is turning the corner at exactly the same time he is, and it is only quick reflex that he has to thank for them not having a very painful collision.
"Holy shit," Mike stumbles backward, clutching at his chest, "Sorry! Sorry."
Will shakes his head, but his own heart has started to race again. This time, it is for something entirely different than mere nerves. "Holy shit," he slowly agrees, chewing at his bottom lip, "No, that's my bad. What's wrong?"
Mike blinks at the question as if the sight of Will is enough cause for him to completely forget himself, then regains his composure just as quickly. "Oh. Oh, yeah, sorry- Hop, we just heard from him, he's 15 minutes out. So, we should probably leave in five."
Will gives a steady nod at the information, and the two of them fall into what can only be called an awkward silence, one of many they'd shared as of late. There is palpable tension in the air, but Will does not know what name to give it.
"Is everything..." Mike is the first to break the silence, "Are you okay?" his voice is much softer, now, the way Will remembers it from childhood, and oh, oh, he is not okay, if only for realizing this simple fact. He has completely forgotten how red and puffy his eyes must still be, and the fact that the front of his shirt is probably stained with the wetness of his tears. He cannot simply lie to Mike and say it is all fine, that he's fine, because the evidence is all over him.
"Mike, it doesn't matter, we don't have the time-"
"No, it definitely does matter," Mike's voice cuts Will off unexpectedly, and it seems to surprise even Mike himself. He blinks another few times, then continues, "Whatever it is, it does matter. Hop can wait, you're important too, okay?"
"Mike," Will can barely manage his name out now, and it sounds almost too pleading when he does. He wishes Mike would stop saying such honeyed words to him, as it will only make the unrequited feelings he holds for him hurt much, much worse once they end up torn in shreds. In heartbreak.
"Will," Mike echoes his name back, then takes a step forward and grasps Will's wrist. His heart fails him for a moment; he is weak, too weak for this: "Come with me."
Mike has pulled him into yet another empty room. The silence is deafening at first, and Will cannot remember the last time he has been alone, really alone with Mike.
He takes a deep breath. Mike is letting go of his wrist, and as much as he wants to reach for it back, he stays rigidly still and in place. Mike is not like him, and he knows this; he knows. He should stop selfishly wishing for anything else.
Even after he has pulled his hand away, though, Mike stays close. He is looking at Will as if positively drinking in the sight of him. His head tilts the slightest bit to the side, eyes tracing the tear tracks running down Will's face, and Will does not have to mourn the loss of contact for much longer, because Mike Wheeler is pulling him fully into his arms, pulling him into a hug that has him both melting and falling, falling even further in love than he already is.
It is all he can do not to start sobbing again, right then and there. Mike is hugging him, and it is not brief, or fleeting, or awkward; it is intimate and filled with apology, and all the unspoken words they have not been able to share with each other for so long.
One of Mike's arms is wrapped snug around his waist, and the other is raised for him to hold a hand in Will's hair. Mike's hand is in his hair, fingers curling carefully into the soft strands, and oh, his heart is more than just pounding now. If Will is not simply fabricating things inside his mind now that they are so close, Mike's heart is, too.
Their embrace is comfortingly silent, filled with intimacy, and it is only for them. It is the balm to Will's pain, and it is the sole moment he would choose to stay in forever, for the rest of his life, if given the choice. He is in love with Mike Wheeler, so in love that it is painful.
It takes even longer for this hug to break than the one between him and his mom, and when they are finally pulling apart, Mike's hands remain still on him, only the one in his hair falling back down to his side. "Do you want to talk about it?" Mike asks, and Will can do little but nod, because he does. It is quite possibly the scariest thing he has ever wanted in his life, but he does, he does want to talk about it with Mike.
He remembers clearly what his mom said to him, bringing a trembling hand back up to his beating heart. Protect this, he thinks, protect my feelings.
With Mike, even if he maybe, really shouldn't... Will trusts him with his feelings. All of them. He thinks it is only fair that Mike knows, and he wants Mike to know, just as he wanted his mom to know.
"Could you," he gestures down shyly to the arm on his waist, too embarrassed to pry it off himself, "Maybe give me some space?"
Mike's eyes widen almost comically at the request, and he jerks his arm away with a faint hint of pink dusting over his cheeks. He steps back with a small, "Oh- Oh, shit, sorry," and Will has to do his very best not to laugh at the stumbling, awkward mess he's fallen so stupidly in love with.
"It's okay, Mike," Will rolls his eyes with a small grin, then lets a quick beat of silence pass before he continues, "I need to... to tell you something."
Mike nods, expression shifting into one that is serious. He is listening wholeheartedly, and he needs Will to know.
Will does know. It is precisely why it feels like the hardest thing he has ever done to press on, because he is telling him, he is telling the boy he loves, that he shouldn't love, the shameful truth about himself he has kept hidden for so long. If Mike ends up hating him, or worse, thinking of him as something fragile because of it, he would have to stomach that fact for life.
No, Will tries inwardly to reassure himself, even if his stomach is twisting in knots and his mind is replaying visions of losing Mike forever, of never feeling those warm arms around him ever again. No, he wouldn't react like that. He won't.
Will blinks himself out of the self-deprecating thoughts. He has decided to tell Mike, and he will, even if it proves to be not so easy as telling his mom, which had already been quite hard, mind you.
"It's... About what Vecna showed me," Will shudders; he does not know how he is going to get through this, not when Mike is staring at him so expectantly from across the room, and they are technically on a time crunch. "He... He didn't just fabricate stuff. He used what's already inside me, and he showed me a future, a future where- Where we've grown apart-"
"Whatever he showed you is bullshit," Mike interrupts heatedly, and Will, well, he should've expected that. Mike is not as patient as his mother, it seems.
"Mike, just listen." Will's tone of voice makes it sound like he is almost begging, which he might as well be.
Mike frowns deeply in comeback, but resigns to simply crossing his arms. "Sorry. Go on."
Will nods, and he does, he does go on. "This future, it didn't just happen. It happened because of something, because of me, because I'm... I'm different."
He sees Mike open his mouth to object again, but holds up a hand just as his mother did to him, and Mike shuts himself up before he can even begin.
"I am. I am different, Mike," his voice is trembling but as firm as it can get when he says this, "I, I tried so hard not to be, I wanted to be just like you guys- You and the party, I mean- I just wanted to be normal."
"I couldn't be, though. I just couldn't be, no matter how hard I tried, I realized I really just couldn't, not fully, at least. I'm- I am like you guys, in so many ways, but,"
Will is bracing himself, hard as he can, but he knows, he knows it will never be enough. Mike is watching him, he is waiting, he is hanging onto his every word, and Will, he-
"I... I don't like girls," he starts, but then goes even further, says what he really is.
"I'm gay."
And there, there it is. He confesses it for the second time this day, and it is out, it is out to the most important person he can imagine, and he is exposed, and bare, and vulnerable, and ready to face disgust on top of whatever else will be thrown at him. He thinks he is going to vomit, seriously vomit, because there are so many feelings rushing throughout him all at once, now that he has said it again, but this time, to Mike Wheeler.
He is surprised the tears have not started up again. Or, maybe they have, but he is already too dizzy, swaying on his feet to notice if there is something else clouding his vision. Will feels he is going to trip forward and fall, and he certainly starts to, but Mike is there so fast, catching him before he can.
"Oh," Mike breathes, and Will can feel that his hands are trembling with formidable effort as he holds him up, just barely keeping them both steady, "Will, breathe, I- I don't think-" Will hears Mike groan to himself immediately when he can't find the right words, and this, much like his mother's firm gaze from before, is what starts to ground him. Mike is not disgusted, and he is not pulling away, but instead, rushing to Will's side without hesitation.
"You're amazing," Mike lands on, and Will shoots him a questioning look of disbelief while he is still having to lean into his grip to stay steady, "I mean it. You're so- Without you, we'd all fall apart. Not without me."
Will swallows hard because he knows what Mike is quoting, and he is reminded of the painting, and he is reminded of everything he'd said in the van. Is Mike going to connect the dots? He- He doesn't know if he can handle that, not right now.
Luckily enough for Will Byers, though, Mike Wheeler is not that smart.
"Um," Will's voice is little more than a barely audible breath of air, "What?" he asks, and then curses himself internally for how stupid he sounds.
Mike laughs brokenly, grasping Will more tightly still and pulling him back into another hug, but this time, it is not paired with silence, and Mike is leaning his head down against Will's shoulder, their bodies fully flush together. Will can feel now that Mike's legs are also shaking, and he thinks that both of them would collapse if not holding onto the other.
"I'm not good with words, you know that," Will can practically hear Mike's pout in his voice, "But, I... I guess what I'm trying to say, is... I'm sorry."
"Will, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
It is not Mike's first apology throughout this conversation, not his second or his third, but it is the only one that holds so much weight. It is sorry for what he told Will in the rain that day when they were fourteen, it is sorry for letting distance grow between them afterward, it is sorry for neglecting Will when he needed his company most, and it is sorry, sorry, I'm so, so sorry, for every time Mike Wheeler has hurt Will Byers.
"Mike, it's..." he does not finish what he is about to say, and is not given the chance to finish. He feels something wet on the side of his neck; Mike is crying, and his tears are falling directly onto Will's skin.
"Will, it's not," Mike finishes Will's sentence for him, "It's not okay, I know it's not, and I'm- Holy shit,"
Will has never heard Mike's voice tremble so much in the countless years of his life they have known each other, never seen him sob so guiltily. He is more in Will's arms now than Will is in his, and even though he can't exactly see Mike's face, his heart is already breaking at the thought of it.
"Don't cry," is all Will can manage, "That's my job."
The joke seems to very much land, because Mike laughs wheezily again through his tears, then squeezes Will impossibly tighter, closer. "No. No, it's definitely mine. You- You deserve to punch me, seriously," Mike pulls apart now, swaying like he seriously might fall, so Will grabs hold of him the way Mike did before. There is not much distance between them now.
"Punch me." Will can see Mike's teary face now, the way his bottom lip is trembling and the way his chest is heaving up and down with shaky breaths, but his heart is only slightly breaking now because of the ridiculous words coming out of Mike's mouth. He's dead serious about them, too.
"You want me to punch you?" Will is the one who laughs now, and the sound is so genuine that his chest feels almost completely light once it escapes him.
"Yeah," Mike nods, like it's the most obvious course of action in the world, "Yeah. Punch me!"
Will laughs again, and again, shaking his head, and he feels now as if he might split his side from how actually crazy stupid Mike is being. "I'm not going to punch you, Mike. What exactly would that solve?"
"Everything?" Mike tries hopefully, but then he is laughing too, and both of them are laughing, way, way, too hard, and they are falling into each other's arms until there is nothing but the feel of them pressed together and the sound of their endless giggles echoing throughout the room.
"You're," Will chokes out through his laughter, "You're such a fucking idiot, Mike," and he is laughing, he is laughing, and clutching onto Mike for dear life, and Mike is clutching onto him for dear life, and it seems like this blissful moment will never end. He doesn't want it to, and Mike doesn't, either.
Eventually, however, as unfortunate as it is, their laughter does come to a halt. Both of them are on the floor now, their legs having long since given way, gasping for air, and still holding onto each other to the point Will would very much be in Mike's lap if he scooted only an inch forward.
"I think we're both idiots," Mike grins, and Will still feels breathless, because he is beautiful, Mike Wheeler is so beautiful, and Will loves him. He is far past the stages of puppy crush, of contained affection, of childhood yearning; he loves Mike Wheeler, fully and with all that his heart has to offer.
The action is subconscious, and yet it comes from both of them. They lean forward until their foreheads press together, and Will can feel every breath exiting Mike's lungs touching down against his skin. They are close, so close, and ah, this, this is all Will needs. This is all he needs.
"I can live with that," Will breathes out softly, eyes flitting briefly down to Mike's lips. It is because of this that he doesn't notice Mike's gaze being similarly drawn down to his.
Their hearts sync, skipping the same beats together, and if the tension in the air was palpable before, it is now electrically charged. Will tilts his head. Mike follows. They are close, they are together, they are-
Interrupted.
The door swings open, and they both spring apart, choking on thick air and just barely coming to their senses, heads whipping in the direction of the now open door. It is Joyce peeking in.
"Sorry-" she blinks in apology, then shakes her head, continuing, "We need to go, we've all been looking for you two- I'm sorry, baby," she adds in Will's direction, almost knowingly, and his face is burning entirely red hot.
"Yeah- Yeah, we're coming," Mike says this, and scrambles to his feet, so Will does the same, but before following Mike out the door, he shoots his mom one last look.
A look that says, 'Mom, I love you, but you really have the worst timing.'