Chapter Text
Hawkins turning into the hellscape every crackpot on the news had mythologized it to be had material implications Will Byers wouldn’t have predicted. The ground had splintered open beneath them hours before and people were making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and taking blankets to the Hawkins high school gym. The world was ending and his family and friends were making sleeping arrangements.
It didn’t feel like the impending disintegration of space and time as he knew it, it was more akin to those nights his mom and dad would fight. Sometimes, without even a call ahead, he would be carted off to the Wheeler’s, as he knew it, Mike’s house, where he would be welcomed warmly by Mike’s mom and less invitingly by Mike’s father. When he came early in the night, Mike would be in the basement with sleeping bags ready and the TV warm with the promise of momentary distraction. When he came late in the night, Mrs.Wheeler would fetch him at the door in her robe with a tired smile. Sometimes, she’d reach for his hand when they walked up the stairs. It made Will feel small and embarrassed but he’d take it anyway. Later he knew it was more for her sake rather than his, to feel as though she could help him in some small way, regardless of how true it was. They would walk to Mike’s door. Mike, barley conscious, would lift his comforter and Will would crawl in beside him. Mike would pat his shoulder or run his hand up and down his arm, soothing them both to sleep. Will learned a wisdom then that he recalled now, that when life as you know it is crumbling like dry clay between your fingers, you don’t get to revel, you have to make accommodations.
The Wheelers were quick to accommodate Will and Jonathan, just like they always had. Though Will was now more acutely aware that it was Karen’s kindness and Ted’s morose passivity that allowed him to stay there, it probably always had been. His mom, El, and Hopper, were all staying back at the cabin to clean up and make it safe for El to hideout for the foreseeable future. Mike, Jonathan, Nancy, and Will rode silently to the Wheeler house as black snow fell from the sky.
___
“I can’t remember the last time I slept over here.”
Mike Wheeler’s bedroom was lit softly by two yellow lamps. The walls were the same blue, but Will didn’t recognize some of the posters. His room had obviously changed since he’d been here last. Much more teenage. A road sign hung over his closet that implied a possible incident of harmless theft. He tried not to feel too much about that. Mike had only seen his room in California recently. He turned his eyes towards him.
Mike looked far away, as if the words had barely reached him. His face gave Will no perceptible emotion to go off of. His lips produced a lackluster, “Yeah.”
A silence, uncomfortable and heavy fell over them. Will hated how easy it was for the air between them to suddenly become suffocating, awkward. He formulated his best attempt to cut through that thick haze he found so heartbreaking.
“Mike, it’s going to be okay, really. I promise. She’s going to be alright. She’s done it before, she’ll do it again.”
“I don’t really want to talk about it.” Mike said, struggling to even get the words out. Will could tell he was holding back annoyance like a rubber band about to snap.
Will gave him a dim smile. “Ok. Well, I’m always here if you do.” He said, trying his best not to let Mike perceive the hurt in his voice, as it always seemed to set him off more.
Mike gave a simple nod acknowledgment. “Do you want the bed or the floor?”
Will let the question settle in his mind. “Um,” his voice cracked, “You still have those sleeping bags from when we were kids?”
“We still are,” Mike said with an off-putting sternness in his voice.
“What?”
“Kids. We’re still kids.”
Will coughed, not understanding the sudden urge to make the somewhat strange semantic distinction.
“Right, yeah. I just mean from when we were smaller.”
Another moment passed before Mike seemingly remembered the question. “But yeah, I’ve still got them in the basement. I got a bigger one for Christmas last year. I’ll go get it.”
—
Mike closed the door on his way out, quietly moving down the steps and towards the basement where Jonathan was likely making himself comfortable for the night. His mom of course wouldn’t let him and Nancy share a room. Though Mike figured that was a moot point at this stage in their relationship. He didn’t like to think about it.
He made his descent into the basement, finding Jonathan moving some pillows around on the couch.
“Hey Mike,” he greeted, his voice sounding softer than it had in the car. His hair still hung in that disheveled way, longer than it had ever been when he lived in Hawkins. Jonathan was tall, somewhat lanky. Mike had always wondered if Will would look like Jonathan when he got older. But Mike noticed now, looking at him, that Will still had a much softer face than Jonathan had had at fifteen.
Mike felt relief that Jonathan seemed less irritable now. He greeted back in kind, “Hey Jonathan. Just grabbing a sleeping bag for Will. You need anything?”
“Yeah, actually. You got any extra blankets?”
“Yeah, over here in the linen closet.”
They both made a motion towards it. Jonathan stepped aside and Mike pulled down the blankets and sleeping bag. He handed Jonathan a thick flannel blanket and a quilt. The quilt, handmade by his mom, was an object most of the party members had used at some point or another. Wether it be on their own accord, reaching for it in the cool draft of the basement while watching a movie or Mike draping it over them after they’d fallen asleep. He smiled briefly at the memory of when things were simple.
“Actually, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.” Jonathan said, rather solidly.
Jonathan’s words ripped him out of the daze. Mike found himself surprised. Jonathan was always a person of few words. He’d usually just give Mike the simple hey man before picking up Will or coming to see Nancy. Mike had always liked that about Jonathan. He was soft spoken, kind, unlike Mike’s father or the early iteration of Steve Harrington. If his best friend, his sister, and his girlfriend all had to spend time around a guy, Mike felt privately lucky that it was Jonathan and not someone like Billy.
Nevertheless,
Mike met his eyes, “If it’s about Nancy I’m really not in the mood right-“
He shook his head, “It’s not about Nancy.”
“Is about El? Because I get enough shit from Hopper man. I-“
“It’s not, just,” Jonathan sighed, seemingly struggling to find the right words.
Mike’s eyebrows furrowed, prompting Jonathan.
“I’m sorry I was kind of a dick to you in the car.”
Mike felt an unexpected wave of relief wash over him at that. “Man, seriously don’t worry about it. High stress situation and you were driving.”
“Yeah,” but to Mike’s chagrin, that doesn’t seem to be the end of it. “Look, I know things are weird. I know better than anyone how hard it is being away from your girlfriend.”
Mike’s face recoiled in some adolescent combination of disgust and embarrassment, “Dude-“
Jonathan held up a hand in protest “Just let me finish.” He breathed in deeply, closing his eyes. He seemed to not want to have to say whatever it was almost as much as Mike didn’t want to hear it.
“My point is that I know everything’s hard when all of us are apart. Even before all this. I remember how it felt when I was your age.” He took a pause, “But please don’t take it out on Will.”
Mike felt a sudden rush of anger at the accusation, his face screwed up, “What?”
Jonathan began again, a certain desperation in his voice. “He really cares about you. You’re still his best friend, it really hurts him when he thinks you’re mad at him or ignoring him.”
Mike threw his hands up, flailing them as he exclaimed, “I’m not mad at him and I’m not ignoring him! I don’t know why everyone is trying to make me out to be the bad guy!”
He really didn’t know where this was coming from. Everyone had been so on his ass, he couldn’t seem to make anyone happy. He felt the need to defend himself, sick of being angled as some sort of villain when his worst offense was maybe being a little distant. Which was normal! They were all growing, changing. Mike was just trying his best to-
“Mike! Jesus, please just listen.”
Jonathan’s exclamation made him settle his eyes back on him.
Jonathan softened his voice again, “Will’s different. He’s always been different. He doesn’t get along with everyone.”
Mike thought of Will at school, even before the whole “zombie boy” nickname really took hold. Before they had met the other members of the party, just him and Will. The names kids would call him that made Mike’s stomach twist. They were crueler than any word thrown at Mike, though as a seven year old, he didn’t understand what they meant, he only knew the instinctive nausea that hit him when he heard them. All Will had done to egg them on was sit on the swings or color or stand in the hallway or play with Mike. He shook his head, rejecting the memory. “None of us do. We’re all freaks.”
“But you and me reject people. We push them away. We punch back at people who call us freaks. We don’t want their approval anyway. We like it that way.” Mike can see tears filling up in Jonathan's eyes. He squirmed internally, wanting to hide underneath one of the blankets from the closet. Shame he could not accurately name a source for ate at him. “I’ve never known Will to reject anyone, push anyone away. But he’s always been rejected.”
Mike suddenly cut his eyes away from him.
Jonathan paused, “Please don’t make him feel that way, if you really care about him.”
Mike instinctively rolled his eyes, evading the conversation.“Whatever man. Ask Nancy if you need anything else.”
“Mike, don’t be an asshole.”
“I’m not being an asshole! I don’t know why everyone-“
Nancy suddenly appeared at the bottom of the stairs, her hair disheveled, her face clean and chapped. Neither of them had noticed her descent. “What’s going on?”
Jonathan and Mike glanced at one another, Jonathan electing to speak, “Nothing. I was just talking to Mike.”
Mike gave his best unassuming smile, “Yup. I have to bring this up to Will. Goodnight, keep it PG.”
“Mike!” Nancy called after him as he ran up the stairs, knowing she’d eventually give up trying to yell at him from the basement.
——
Mike opened the door, making Will visibly jump.
“Did you tell Jonathan you were mad at me or something?”
Will shook his head, his face blank and confused.“No. Why?”
Mike had a sudden moment of hesitance. Will watched his face soften, instead of flying off the handle in loud exclamations, he seemed to drop it.
“Never mind, it’s nothing.” He gently handed Will the sleeping bag, offering it like an olive branch. He took it, looking for something in Mike’s eyes as he did. Mike turned away quickly. He turned towards his old oak dresser, opening the drawers and shuffling clothes around. After a moment, he handed Will a pair of shorts and a fresh t-shirt. The shirt was large and black. It was old Dark Crystal t-shirt Will recognized as one of Mike’s old pajama shirts that had always been too big on him. He half smiled.
“Here, I wouldn’t want you to sleep in the clothes you’ve been in for the last 36 hours,” Mike said.
Will felt his face redden. “Thanks. Is it okay if I shower? I feel gross.” He looked down at himself, mostly to break eye contact.
Mike weakly laughed, “Yeah. I probably should too. But I’m too tired.”
“Okay, I’ll be fast so you can get to sleep.”
Mike nodded, unlike before, softly rather than dismissively.
Will reentered the room a little while later, Mike was still laying up, staring at the ceiling with one of the lamps still on. He sat up and noticed Will move across the room. His hair appeared longer wet, a little curled at the ends. He was noticeably taller than he was last summer. The gray shorts Mike had given him showed his long, slightly pale legs. Mike found himself oddly transfixed by the sight of him, bigger, more grown into himself. He hadn’t noticed in California, but Will really did look different. He felt an odd lump in his throat. Why was this all so uncomfortable? Will had slept over hundreds of times. Maybe this felt a little too close. Mike had sometimes felt this way around Will, it wasn’t a totally foreign discomfort. He remembered feeling this way at the end of the period where he and Will would sleep in Mike’s bed when they were younger. One of the last times it had happened, Mike woke before Will and caught a glimpse of Will’s sleeping face, he suddenly felt choked up, strange but unable to look away. His long eyelashes laid against his pale face. The sight wasn’t unpleasant, but the pit in Mike’ stomach certainly had been.
Those same dark brown lashes flickered, Will’s large brown eyes suddenly looked up at him and gave a gentle smile. Mike realized he was just blatantly, silently staring at Will.
“Um, was the shower ok?” Jesus Christ.
“Yeah, it was nice.” Will’s voice was soft, it was late.
“Ok. Cool.”
Will started to make himself comfortable on the floor, shimming into the sleeping bag, next to his bed, Mike still observing him as he did so. Will looked up to meet his eye, pulling Mike out of his daze again. “What?”
Mike shook his head with red cheeks, “Nothing. Nothing.”
Will softy pursed his lips, eyes looking sad? Disappointed? Mad? Mike couldn’t read him. Will turned his back to Mike. “I can go sleep in the living room-“
He felt a twinge of guilt, the urge to hide under the covers. Will could still read him like a book. He didn’t want Will to leave, really. But he was obviously, noticeably acting weird. And Will thought it was his fault.
“What? No. No.” He said quickly, “I mean, unless you want to.”
He looked to Will, back still turned.
Mike took a deep, shuttering breath, suddenly feeling weightless and heady, attempting to ground himself. He tried to be honest. He shut his eyes tight, “I don’t want to be alone right now. Do you?”
"No.” Will said softly.
The air in the room felt heavy, Mike couldn’t seem to catch his breath nor collect himself. He couldn’t quell his racing heart, he swallowed thickly. “Will you um,” he started, to his own surprise.
“Will you just come up here?” He squeaked, his voice sounding tense, high.
Will seemed paralyzed for a moment before wordlessly getting up and walking to the other side of the bed. He slowly laid down next to him, on top of Mike’s comforter, facing him.
Mike felt the wind knocked out of him, staring into Will’s eyes. The space between them felt impossibly small but somehow deep, like a canyon. Mike wouldn’t dream of reaching out to touch him, but his hands seemed to burn, a physical need to carry out the motion. He placed them under his head.
Will’s eyes were wide, blown out.
“Um, you can get under the covers if you want.”
“Oh, um yeah.” Will shifted, slowly tucking himself in.
They resumed staring at one another, both seemingly unable to break the eye contact. Will’s body was bigger than it ever had been but he looked impossibly small, balled up and tense. The chill spring whispered through the window.