Work Text:
When Will said the Upside Down was cold, Mike hadn’t realized how cold. Now that he was here, it was all he could think about. Each breath was sharp and painful, like black ice crystalizing in his chest, and he couldn’t stop shivering. Even jogging didn’t warm him up. Through his jacket, his sweat cooled instantly on his skin, leaving him clammy and chilled like he had a fever.
Will didn’t talk about it much, the week he went missing, and when he did it was always whispered, like enough volume would speak the place into existence, drag him right back down.
What Mike had been able to gather, he’d gotten in bits and pieces. He never wanted to push Will, and a horrible, scared part of himself didn’t really want to know. He didn’t want to think about all the ways Will had suffered, all the ways Mike almost lost him. It was cowardly, and he knew it. Will couldn’t hide from the memories, couldn't avoid them like Mike, pretending they just don’t exist. They haunted him, even now. They clung to him like vapor, creeping into his dreams and twisting his fears into new shapes. Mike didn’t know if Will ever talked to anyone about it or if he kept it all inside. It probably wasn’t healthy, but Mike wasn’t exactly the poster child for healthy coping mechanisms either. These days, he tended to throw himself into books and movies, anything he could do to avoid thinking about his real life. Was it a great decision? No, but it was better than Dustin, who seemed to be angry all the time now, or Nancy, who was barely ever around.
Mike tripped on a vine and tried not to curse under his breath. Will said the Upside Down was dark, but not how dark. He needed to stay quiet, unobserved, but his vision seemed to flicker the longer he stayed here, and his flashlight could only do so much. Something wet and slimy came into contact with the skin of his ankle, and he bit back a scream. Just a vine. It was just another vine.
In some ways, the Upside Down was less openly hostile than he’d imagined. Nothing chased him or even seemed to acknowledge his existence. Will said it was empty, but not how empty. There was no one for miles and miles, but more than that, there was something about this place that made Mike feel like he was terribly, horribly alone. Like a child left in a store after closing that no one was coming to pick up. Even though Mike knew why he was here, he came through the rift and could exit the same way, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d die here. If he did, would anyone find his body? Or would it rot among the ash and the vines, decaying along with everything else?
Maybe it was cold enough that it wouldn’t ever rot. Mike shivered again, wondering if adding more layers could keep him warm, or if something about this twisted place sunk right into the bone.
Mike couldn’t imagine Will in a place like this. Will always had a warmth about him, something flush and alive. The Upside Down was personified death. It coated every surface and dripped from the walls, black and oozing with a scent like spoiled flesh. When Mike first stepped inside, he gagged, immediately wanting to turn back and heave lungfuls of fresh air. Instead, he retched up a little bile and then covered his mouth and nose so he could stand it.
There was no mistaking it– this was a place people came to die. Mike thought about Will here, Will here when he was twelve, terrified and surrounded…He was so small back then, so defenceless, even with the shotgun. He’d always been a trusting kid, kindhearted and open, and the thought of Vecna seeing that, relying on it, taking Will here to hurt him, use him–
He pushed the thoughts away. He could dwell on that later, when he had enough time to lose the contents of his stomach into the porcelain white toilet bowl in his bathroom. Right now, he didn’t have time for delays. Time was his biggest enemy; he’d lost too much of it already.
Ash drifted through the air, and he muffled a cough into his sleeve. Even though it seemed like no one was around to hear him, he couldn’t be sure. And he couldn’t lose the element of surprise. Not yet, not yet.
Despite its emptiness, the Upside Down was not completely silent. It was full of strange echoes, rustling sounds and faint footsteps that never materialized. The effect was eerie and unnerving, and something instinctual inside of him screamed for him to get out now, warning him that he was prey in a place like this. But he couldn’t leave.
Not without Will.
When he reaches his destination, it almost feels anticlimactic. Nothing crawled out of the ground or the walls to stop him from entering. Nothing even seems to know he was there, not even when the door creaked quietly as he opened it.
His house looked the same as it always did, even with fungus and black mold on the walls, spores drifting and floating in the air. He walked past the same couch that his friends crowded onto for movie night, four people squeezing into a space much too small to fit them all. It even had the same stain from when Mike got neosporin on it as a kid after squeezing far too much antiseptic on a bandaid. The same photos hung on the walls, his entire family smiling at him as he crept past them towards the stairs. Their eyes seemed to follow him, even though he avoided their gaze. He knew this might be his last time to see their faces, but he needed to keep his resolve. Get in, get Will, get out.
If his family knew he was here, they would be so angry. Everyone would be. They would have wanted him to inform the others, to make a plan together. No man alone. But Will was alone, and the window to save him was so short. Vecna wouldn’t mess around this time, he knew better than to underestimate them again. He would go for exactly what he wanted, and that meant they were out of time. Will was out of time.
Mike heard voices drifting down from upstairs, and his heartrate picked up. This was exactly where he hoped he’d find them– his bedroom. It was where Will was taken, after all.
He would never forget the sight of Will’s face as he was pulled into the void, the sheer terror that washed his features white, his mouth open in a silent scream. Even worse was the hint of resignation, like he always knew it was coming, like he’d been waiting for it every day for the last five years.
It was one of his greatest fears, Mike knew that. Will once told him that part of him was always looking over his shoulder, even in his own house, that he never felt fully safe. He told Mike that sometimes he was worried this was all a dream, and he was still back there, imagining a happier reality for himself so he didn’t have to face the truth.
He’d pulled Will into a hug, and the tremor in his body gutted Mike. He’d sworn to himself then and there that he would never let Vecna take Will again. As long as he was around, he’d keep Will safe.
The promise felt like a farce now. Vecna took Will right in front of him, grabbed him in Mike’s own bedroom, and he couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t do a damn thing.
But he could get Will back.
The closer he got to his room, the louder the voice became. From the grating, deep sound of it, Mike could tell Vecna was the one talking. It would almost be funny if it weren’t so serious. Of course the villain was monologuing. If Will was here, the observation would have made him laugh.
He stayed in the hallway just out of sight, peering through the partially open door to get a quick layout of the room. He’d only get one shot at this, so he needed to make it a good one.
What he saw made his blood boil.
Will hung suspended against the far wall, wrapped up in thick black vines that slithered all over his body leaving his neck and face uncovered. His eyes were clenched shut, teeth grit, as Vecna traced a clawed finger from his forehead down to his cheek, gripping his chin.
Mike inched close enough to hear what he was saying.
“-soft and feeble-minded, and everyone else knew it. That’s why your father left, that’s why the other kids picked on you in school. You truly are the perfect vessel, William. The others were strong enough to fight, but you gave right in, didn’t you? You always do. I think you know deep down where you’re supposed to be.”
Will shook his head, unable to move much with Vecna’s hand clutching his chin. “No.”
Vecna laughed. “Why not? You think they’ll miss you? Their lives will be easier without you. If you stay with me, your family gets to mourn you in peace. You’ll be remembered as a beloved son, brother, and friend. If you go back, they’ll have to live with the shame of what you truly are. You’re a burden to your mother and Jonathan, you hold them back from the lives they deserve to be living because of your weakness.”
Tears streamed down Will’s face as he shook his head again. Mike’s fists clenched. He needed to get Will away from there, needed to rip Vecna’s hand away from Will’s face, needed Vecna to stop talking.
But more than that, he needed a weapon. He frantically scanned the room for anything he could use but came up short. Damnit, damnit, he should have brought something with him, should have paused for a second before running to the rift, frantic and deathly afraid. He could grab a knife from downstairs, but that would mean leaving Will alone here. He wasn’t leaving Will alone ever again.
“You’ll never be what they want you to be.” Vecna’s voice turned almost soft, dripping with false sincerity.. It made Mike’s skin crawl. “You aren’t like them, you’re different. Special. But they wouldn’t see you as special. They’d see you as an abomination.”
“That’s not true, they love me.”
Mike’s heart soared as Will spoke back. His voice was thick with tears, but he sounded strong. Certain.
“He will never love you the way you love him.”
Will flinched, then slumped in Vecna’s hold. The words seemed to break something in Will, drain his will to fight. “He- he… he cares, he–”
“Do you think he’ll still care when he finds out about you? What you think about in the middle of the night? I can see your dreams, William. You’re sick, just like they say. Perverted. If he knew what you desire, what you fantasize about, he would deliver you to me with his own hands.”
Will sobbed. “Mike wouldn’t… He…” He couldn’t finish the sentence.
Mike froze at the sound of his name on Will’s lips, at his faltering conviction and the spiraling implications of what they were talking about. Perverted. Dreams. Desire. Will’s eyes squeezed shut as he didn’t deny anything.
Vecna loosened his grip on Will’s chin, sliding a thumb up to his bottom lip in a sick mimicry of a kiss. “Wouldn’t he?”
Mike saw red.
There was no weapon, no plan, only a helpless rage and the burning, desperate need to get Vecna’s hands off of Will’s body.
“Get off of him!” He screamed, charging into the room and flinging himself at Vecna with all his strength. The momentum sent both of them crashing to the floor.
Will gasped somewhere behind him, but before Mike could race over and check if he was okay, he was lifted into the air by an invisible force and flung across the room into the window. Glass shattered on impact, and he landed in a heap amongst the shards. It took him a second to breathe again, and when air rushed back into his lungs it came in sharp gasps. Something warm trickled down his neck, but he didn’t have time to worry about it, didn’t have time to categorize the wound or the pain.
Vecna was already back up and walking towards Will.
His head pulsed, throbbing in his skill, but he stood up, stumbling just a little. He wasn’t done yet.
He charged Vecna again, but as soon as he got within arms length, Vecna backhanded him, sending him to the ground as the world exploded in a white hot burst.
“Is he always this annoying?” Vecna asked, but the sound was distorted, muffled like it was coming from somewhere under water. Mike’s ears rang, and a few tears clung to his eyelashes, clouding his vision. Somewhere in the room, Will was yelling, screaming his name, telling him to get up and leave, but he couldn’t think. His mouth filled with an iron tang, and his cheek throbbed from the impact.
Up. He needed to get up. Will needed him.
Shakily, he got to his feet, spitting out a mouthful of blood. Vecna wasn’t even looking at him, like he was nothing more than temporary irritation. He was back in front of Will again, and Mike couldn’t stand it. He wasn’t worthy of breathing the same air as Will, nonetheless looking at him like he got to define Will’s future and tell him who he was. Will was everything, and Vecna was nothing, nothing.
Mike threw himself at Vecna again.
“Don’t touch him!” The words came out slightly slurred, but this time he was able to shove Vecna away before he got backhanded again.
Something cracked in the fall, and he cried out as his ankle lit up in a searing, burning pain. Fuck. His head spun, and he couldn’t think clearly. He stared up at the ceiling as the room swirled around him, fading in and out of view.
“I should have known you’d be trouble.” Vecna’s face came into view as he loomed over him, twisting and red and ugly. It was strange, how inhuman he looked, like he was some sort of devil. In a way, Mike supposed he was. He tormented their childhood. He made Will’s life a hell on earth. “But you’ll be easy enough to deal with.”
“Just let him go,” Will pleaded. “I’ll go with you, I’ll do anything you want, I’ll stop fighting, I promise. Just don’t hurt him. Please. Please.”
“It’s far too late for that, William. You need to see what happens to people who disobey me. This is for your own good.”
“No!” Will screamed, thrashing in the vines as Vecna grabbed Mike by the front of his shirt.
The pain was blinding, consuming all of Mike’s senses, but the sound of Will’s anguished scream brought him back to himself enough to get a single moment of clarity. Will needed him, Will still needed him.
As Vecna lifted him up, his hands scrambled behind him, closing around something pointy and sharp.
A shard of glass.
He kept it behind his back as he was held suspended in the air. Vecna’s breath was hot and putrid, a strange feeling in a place so cold. Even now, as he held Mike aloft, looking him in the eyes, he was still focused on Will. Mike was nothing to him, as insignificant as a bug he could brush away with the wave of a hand.
Mike wished Will didn’t have to see this. He hoped Will would forgive him for coming after him and losing, for being someone else Will had to watch suffer for his sake. He didn’t regret it, he could never regret keeping Will safe. He wished he could look at Will’s face one more time, just for a second. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine it. It had to be enough.
“Say goodbye, William.”
Maybe Vecna was a devil, evil and wicked, but he wasn’t a god, even though he tried his best to make himself one. He was still mortal, still fallible, still underestimating them.
And unlike a god, he could still bleed.
Before Vecna could strike, Mike brought the glass up in a sharp upswing, cutting Vecna open from chest to face. Sure and true, the makeshift blade sliced right through his heart.
Vecna jerked back, dropping Mike, and as he thrashed his nails clawed Mike in the face, inflicting his own wound back.
Mike hit the ground, and the pain was unimaginable. It was all he could do to lay on the floor and breathe, wishing the waves of agony would pull him under and render him unconscious. Blood pooled in his left eye, and the hand that held the glass felt numb. He knew he’d cut it deep, that it would cause lasting, permanent damage, but he figured that didn’t matter much now. Hopefully he’d done enough, hurt Vecna enough for Will to eventually escape. He’d at least made it easier for Vecna to be killed. Hopefully one of the others would finish the job for him.
He closed his eyes and waited for the end.
But the end never came. The room filled with sounds of a struggle, but Mike couldn’t sit up enough to figure out what was going on. He couldn’t even open his eyes. His brain was foggy and slow, but he tried to understand what he was hearing.
A rescue squad? But no. No one even knew they were here.
“You’ve done enough!” And oh. That was Will. Mike had never heard him sound like that before, deep and controlled and filled with righteous fury. “You’ve done enough.”
He sounded so self-assured, so beautiful. He sounded free. A tear leaked down the side of Mike’s face. He’d done it, right? Helped Will, saved him? He wasn’t sure, but he hoped so.
Will let out a deep cry, and the room shook. Mike wondered briefly if the house would collapse on top of him. As long as Will got out, Mike really didn’t mind.
The house didn’t collapse, but the two bodies standing in the room did, hitting the floor with twin thumps. Mike tried to speak, but taking a sharp inhale was enough to send another wave of blinding, overwhelming pain through him.
No one came over to kill him. No one came over to check on him, either. He laid there in the glass and a puddle of what was probably his own blood for a bit, drifting in and out. He wanted to sleep, to rest his eyes just for a second, but he couldn’t. Everything hurt so bad. He sobbed a little, feeling helpless and scared.
But no one was coming to save him, and Will still needed him. He needed to move. He twitched his limbs a little, but it sent fire throughout his body so he stopped. Fuck. Okay, standing up was a no go. But maybe he could…
He swung his shoulder across his chest and used momentum to flip himself onto his stomach. It hurt like hell, especially when he jostled his hand, but he did it. He laid like that for another long moment, letting himself get used to it.
From this position, he could see Will’s body across the room. He wasn’t moving, but that didn’t mean anything, right? Maybe he was just unconscious. Mike had to know.
Using his forearms, he crawled towards him, crying out when his ankle knocked into the bedpost. Broken, definitely broken. It was a painful, laborious process and he had to take several breaks, but eventually he made it across the room.
From this vantage point, it looked like Will was sleeping. His face was relaxed, his expression free of any pain or worry for once. He looked just like he had last night, asleep in Mike’s bed for their first sleepover in a long time. He hated Vecna for ruining that, hated himself more for not inviting Will over earlier. He’d been scared, but now he wished he’d done it anyway.
The moment Will was pulled from his room, Mike understood that losing Will was scarier than loving him.
He placed his hand on Will’s throat and felt a strong, steady pulse. Alive. Will was alive. He dropped his head to Will’s chest as his body gave out.
Finally, mercifully, the darkness took him.
…
Someone was shaking Mike’s shoulder.
“Wake up. Please wake up.”
He blinked his eyes open to find Will hovering over him, tear tracks painted down his cheeks but right here, close enough to touch. He reached for him, but Will caught his hand before his fingers could brush his face.
“Don’t hurt yourself. God, Mike.” Will’s voice broke as he looked down at the large shard of glass protruding from Mike’s hand, the one he’d reached out with.
Oh. He’d forgotten about that.
“I’m okay.” It wasn’t strictly true. The way Will’s mouth tightened as he looked at the mess of Mike’s face sent a flash of fear through him. He still couldn’t see out of his left eye. “Is it… bad?” He croaked, then he coughed a few times which sent little fissures of pain through, well, everywhere.
“No, no,” Will rushed to assure him, “it’s…” he faltered. “I don’t know. But you’re going to be okay. We’ll get you back, and they’ll fix you right up, right as rain, okay?”
He felt like Will was lying to him. But maybe a little lying was okay in this situation. He didn’t know what he’d do if Will told him he looked unsalvageable.
“Vecna?” He asked, then he followed Will’s gaze over to a corner of the room where Vecna’s body lay in two distinct pieces on the floor. “Oh.” It was a gruesome sight. He thought vaguely about throwing up, but there was nothing left in his stomach.
“I tapped into Vecna’s mind and turned his own powers against him.” His face was grim, set. He didn’t seem like he regretted it. “It’s over.”
Mike wanted to comfort him, but he didn’t know how.
“If we’re following the normal D&D playbook, this should be the part where we go home to a very warm welcome and live long, happy, boring lives, right?”
“Definitely,” Will agreed, his serious demeanor softening a little as he looked down at him. “It’s gonna be so boring, we’re gonna do so many taxes, you’ll hate it.”
Mike laughed, but the sound cut off immediately when a fresh wave of agony washed through the left side of his face.
Will’s expression turned pained. “Shh, don’t try to talk,” he murmured, rubbing soft circles on the inside of Mike’s wrist. “Don’t hurt yourself. Can I— is it okay if I take this glass out of your hand? It’s gonna hurt, but I don’t want you injuring yourself even further.”
Mike nodded, then prompt lost his train of thought as Will pulled his shirt over his head. He didn’t know why Will was taking his clothes off, but he wasn’t arguing. He’d just nearly died, and if this was his reward then who was he to say no? He didn’t look away, not even when Will flushed under his blatant stare.
“I need it to grab the glass,” he explained. His chest was broad and dusted with golden hair, tan lines delineating the place his shirt usually fell on his neck and arms. Goosebumps broke out on his skin, and Mike had a distant thought of taking his shirt off too and pressing his own bare chest against Will’s to warm him up. It didn’t make any sense, but he let the daydream keep him company as Will wrapped his shirt around his own hand and gripped the glass. “It’s okay if you cry or yell. No one’s going to judge you.”
Then in one swift pull, he yanked it out. Mike hissed, his eyes flooding with involuntary tears, and Will fretted above him.
“Sorry, I’m sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you. I’m going to wrap it now, okay? It’s almost over.”
He held Mike’s hand loosely and wrapped the shirt around it, tight enough to staunch the bleeding but still so careful. Mike stared at the ceiling as Will tied it in a knot, biting his lip so he wouldn’t make any noise.
“There we go. We’ve got to get up now, okay? I’m going to lift you, and I’ll take most of your weight, but I’ll need your help standing up. Are you ready?”
Mike was not ready.
It hurt more than anything else had yet, and he would have crumpled if he didn’t have Will’s arm underneath his shoulder, supporting him.
“”I’m okay,” he said, though he definitely wasn’t. The edges of his vision darkened, and he wondered if he was going to pass out.
“What hurts?” Will asked, his free hand hovering as if he wanted to check Mike’s body for injuries himself.
The honest answer was ‘everything’, but that wasn’t very helpful. “My ankle. I think it’s broken.”
Will nodded to himself. “Okay. Okay, we can do this. The rift isn’t very far once we get out of the house. Can I… I think I’m going to have to carry you down the stairs.”
If Mike was feeling any better, he would have protested, but as it was, he kind of wished Will would carry him the whole way to the rift. He didn’t care about appearances anymore, he just wanted the pain to stop.
Will lifted him into a bridal hold with ease, and it comforted Mike to know he didn’t seem to be hurt, at least not physically. The psychic and emotional damage Vecna had caused would certainly take its toll, but he didn’t know how they’d have made it out if Will had been as injured as he was.
Each step down the stairs jostled Mike’s body, so he tucked his face into Will’s neck and breathed in the familiar scent of him.
Safe. He was safe.
Will carried him all the way through the house, only setting him down once they were both outside. His forehead shone with sweat, but he didn’t complain. Mike was endlessly, endlessly grateful. He knew he wasn’t strong enough to make it on his own.
Will looped his shoulder under Mike’s arm again, and Mike grit his teeth in determination. He could do this. They were almost free, and then they could rest. All he had to do was take a few steps forward, just a few.
And so they made their way through the Upside Down, slow and stumbling. Will kept his free hand on Mike’s chest, but whether it was to support him or to feel his heartbeat, Mike couldn’t say. Will murmured reassurances, but Mike didn’t fully hear them. Instead, he let the familiar warmth of Will’s voice wash over him, giving him the strength to take another step.
He could feel blood dripping from his face down onto his neck, but he ignored it the same way he ignored the panic mounting in his chest at the damage to his body and what it would mean for him. Almost there, almost there.
When the rift came in sight, Mike wanted to collapse in relief. He looked over at Will and saw tears tracking down his cheeks.
“Hold on just a little longer,” Will said. Both of them were breathing heavy, sweaty and chilled and seconds away from collapsing. “Come on Mike, just a little farther.”
Mike knew they’d crossed over to the other side when he could finally breathe again. It was like exiting the underworld into the land of the living, and he sobbed, turning in Will’s arms as they sunk down to the ground.
People and movement buzzed around them, familiar voices and shouts and cries, but he couldn’t think of anything except Will, clinging onto him as people tried to separate them.
“Don’t touch him!” He couldn’t tell the difference between friend and foe, hands meant to help or hurt. He only knew they were trying to take Will away. “You can’t take him!”
“I’m right here, Mike,” Will said in his ear, his arms holding Mike tight. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise. You can sleep now, it’s okay. We made it, you can rest.”
Mike pressed his bloody, brutalized face into Will’s neck and let everything else fade away.
…
Hospitals were boring and lame. Mike thought so when he woke up twelve hours ago, and he thought so now. According to his mom, he slept for fourteen hours, his body weak and recovering from its ordeal. It was a natural sleep, but he knew it worried everyone, especially after Max’s coma. He woke up to a bright blue cast on his ankle and a bandage covering fresh stitches on his face and a gauze-wrapped hand.
The doctors decided to keep him in the hospital for 24 hours for observation, and it was the most boring 24 hours of his life. The only thing he could really do was talk to visitors and reread the one comic his mom thought to grab from his room.
He got a lot more visitors than he expected. For once in Mike’s life, he was popular. Everyone wanted to see him, and it was nice that so many people cared, but the visits left him drained and exhausted.
The only person there when he woke up was Will, sleeping uncomfortably in a chair next to Mike’s bed. He was clutching Mike’s good hand, their fingers intertwined, and it calmed the rising panic that he felt when he took in his situation: hospital gown, IV drip, plastic bracelet wrapped tight around his wrist, and his left hand hidden away in white gauze and tape. But Will was here, so he was okay. He was okay, right?
He turned slightly on his side so he could see Will better. His position in the chair was awkward, his neck leaned at a weird angle, and he would definitely be sore tomorrow so Mike thought about waking him up, but if anyone deserved to sleep it was him. Instead, he contented himself with watching him breathe and counting all the eyelashes splayed on his cheeks one by one.
A nurse came in not much later, and when she saw he was awake she brought in his family. His dad had to catch Holly from jumping on him, and his mom smoothed back his hair with her and asked how he was feeling. With all the painkillers in his system, he wasn’t sure what the honest answer was, but he told her he was good anyway. Nancy gave him a lecture so scathing he thought it might actually flay the skin off his bones, but she followed it up with a hug so tight it made his bruises ache. He didn’t complain.
His friends stopped by next, filling the room with laughter and gifts. They had to be shushed by the nurses a couple of times, but Mike didn’t mind. Lucas set more comics on his lap, new issues that he missed while he was unconscious, and Dustin brought a multipack of flavored jello, just in case Mike didn’t like the mystery flavor from the cafeteria. It was the first time he laughed since he woke up.
They all signed his cast, even Max, who wrote H.A.G.S. like she was signing a yearbook. On their way out the door, El tucked a little stuffed bear into his arms along with a card that read Feel Better Beary Soon.
It was a good time but still overwhelming. He was relieved when visiting hours ended, except for the fact that it meant Will had to go home too. He’d been quiet the whole day, staying by Mike’s side as doctors and family and friends cycled through the room. He responded when spoken to and smiled at everyone’s jokes, but other than that he didn’t talk. Mike wanted to ask how he was doing, but they were never fully alone. His only consolation was Will’s hand in his, letting go temporarily when Mike hobbled to the bathroom and then quietly picking it back up when he returned.
He held Will back when everyone else filed out, and he asked the nurse if he could please stay. She looked at their intertwined hands sympathetically but told him he still had to go. They must have made a pathetic sight, because she let them have an extra ten minutes after everyone else had left. Mike used those minutes to tug Will onto the bed with him and curl into his side.
“Are you okay?” He mumbled into Will’s shirt. He still smelled slightly like dirt and blood. According to Joyce, Will hadn’t left him once, not even to go home and shower. He changed into new clothes in the bathroom, then he returned to his vigil by Mike’s bed and refused to move.
“I should be asking you that.”
Mike knew Will well enough to notice the streak of guilt through his voice.
He turned his own voice gentle and soft, the tone he used specifically for Will. “I’m okay Will, I promise. None of this is your fault.”
“It is, though.” Mike wanted to see his face, but he was too comfortable against his chest. Still, he felt Will’s tears then they landed in his hair. “All of this is my fault.”
Instead of reassuring him like he wanted, he tried a different tactic. He knew Will wouldn’t listen to him if he told him once or a hundred times that he wasn’t responsible for Mike’s injuries. He’d already decided he was.
“Hey, don’t take my heroics away from me. I saved the damsel and slayed the beast, that ought to count for something.”
Will sobbed out a laugh. “I seem to recall doing the slaying.”
“Details, details.”
Will held him tighter, pressing a kiss onto the top of Mike’s head. They both pretended Mike’s heart rate monitor didn’t spike.
“When I saw you there,” Will whispered, “I thought I was too late. You were so still, and there was so much blood. I thought I’d lost you.”
Mike was intimately familiar with the feeling.
“Hey,” he picked up Will’s hand with his good hand. “That’s my line.” He traced his fingers along his moles first, then the smooth curve of his nailbeds. He loved these hands. “When Vecna took you, my world stopped. It was just like the first time you went missing, but worse because I knew if I didn’t get there in time, he would have… he was going to…”
Suddenly, swallowing seemed impossible. He knew if he kept talking he was going to cry, and he’d already cried enough to dehydrate a small mammal. He focused on his breathing like Nancy taught him, in and out. In and out.
He almost couldn’t believe Will was actually here and Vecna was dead. Was it really over? Could it really be so simple? After Vecna died, the void was weakened, and Kali and El had been able to close it once Will and Mike stumbled through to the other side. Dustin theorized that without Vecna and the connection to their world sustaining it, the Upside Down would cannibalize itself, collapsing into nothing. Five years of fear and torment, over just like that. Could it really be true?
He stared down at his wrapped hand. The doctors told him he might not ever be able to write again, depending on how he healed from the surgery. He definitely wouldn’t be able to write for the next year. It was his dominant hand too, so he’d have to relearn to write on the other side, and typing two handed might be out of the question as well.
It was a small sacrifice to give up compared to everything they could have lost.
In a strange way, he felt more grief about the wound on his face than the loss of motor function in his hand. What if Will hated the way he looked? What if he was ugly and disfigured now? It was a vain worry, but it hovered in the back of his mind.
He’d finally, finally figured out what he wanted, and now he was… different. What if he lost Will before he even had him because his face reminded Will of the pain and trauma he went through at Vecna’s hands? What if he was never able to see Mike normally again?
What if he didn’t want him anymore?
“What are you thinking about?” Will asked, playing with a loose strand of Mike’s hair.
Mike shrugged. “Nervous about the stitches. Do you think I’ll look ruggedly handsome with a scar?” He tried to sound blasé, but he knew he didn’t succeed.
“Would you look at me, please?” Will’s voice was soft.
Mike turned under his arm so they were side-by-side, face-to-face. Will’s gaze was steady, even as Mike’s eyes nervously flickered over all his features.
Will cupped Mike’s cheek around the padding, and he looked at him with what couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than love. “You will always be beautiful to me.”
Christ, now Mike really was crying again. “Even if I’m ugly?” He said thickly.
“Not possible. Your scar will only ever be a reminder of how much I’m cared for.” He wiped one of Mike’s tears with a small smile. “Besides,” he added, “I think it’s fitting for a paladin to have a badass scar.”
Mike laughed, closing his eyes to better soak in the feeling of Will’s warmth against his skin. “God, I love you.”
He hadn’t meant to say it, but he didn’t regret it either. After everything they’d been through, how could he?
The love used to scare him, surging up inside of him with frightening intensity, overwhelming him with wave after wave of this feeling he didn’t know what to do with. But now he’d looked fear in the face, and it looked like Will choking and afraid, lost in a sea of self-loathing and shame. How Vecna could ever tell Will he was the monster was incomprehensible, but fear had a way of twisting truths into lies and rights into wrongs. Will was never alone, but because he felt alone he was alone. No one knew his secrets, so no one could share his burdens. Mike still felt so, so angry when he thought about the words Vecna hissed in Will’s ear, the lies he fed him like poisoned wine dripping down his throat.
He didn’t know what Will wanted for his future, but he couldn’t let him go another second thinking he was alone. Mike was here, and he was like him, and he loved him. Will was never, not for a single second, alone.
When he opened his eyes, Will looked stricken. “You heard what Vecna–”
“I don’t care. All of those things he said to you, I don’t care.”
“They’re true, Mike.” Will was resigned as he said it, the same way he looked when he was pulled back into the Upside Down. Like whatever was about to happen was inevitable, so he might as well accept his fate. “What he said about me, my thoughts about you–”
Mike set his jaw. “Good.”
Will stared at him in shock. “What?”
“Good. That makes it a lot less awkward to say I feel the same way about you.”
“You can’t…” Will stuttered. “You’re not…”
“Aren’t I?” He said fiercely, willing him to understand. “You think you fell in love alone? I was there too.” The words were out there, they couldn’t be taken back, and Mike’s unbandaged hand shook with adrenaline, but he didn’t take it back. It was true, and Will needed to hear it. “In every memory, I was there too.”
“Mike.”
“We can talk about it later,” Mike said beseechingly, fully aware of their timer counting down. Ten minutes was almost up. “Just– me too, okay. I feel it too.”
Will ignored Mike’s body trembling, and Mike ignored Will’s silent tears, and they sunk back into each other until the nurse said it was time for Will to go. It would only be a few hours before he could come back, but it was the hardest goodbye Mike had ever said.
The day they took the bandages off Mike’s face, Will traced the healing cut with his finger, then again with his lips. He swore up and down that Mike was even handsomer with the new addition, and even if he was lying, Mike didn’t care. He lounged on Will’s bed and let Will draw him well into the evening. Then he let Will’s hands and mouth follow the path that his pencil had taken thousands of times before, until their internal and external scars were nothing but landmarks on charted and uncharted territory.