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Will didn’t say anything at first.
He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it’s safer than looking at her. Joyce knows that look. She’s seen it before—after the Upside Down, after nightmares, after the kind of fear kids aren’t supposed to carry.
She kneeled in front of him anyway.
“Hey,” she said softly. “Talk to me.”
He shook his head. Just once. Like if he moves too much, it’ll spill out wrong.
“I can’t,” he whispered.
Joyce’s voice doesn’t change. “You can.”
That’s what does it.
His face crumpled—not fast, not dramatic. It’s slow, like something giving way after holding too much weight for too long. He presses the heel of his hand against his mouth, trying to keep the sound in, but it comes out anyway. A sharp, broken breath. Then another.
“I’m scared,” he spoke, and it sounded small. Younger than he was.
Joyce pulled him into her immediately. No hesitation. He folded into her like he’s been waiting for permission. His shoulders shook, and for a moment he tried to apologize for it—tried to pull back—but she held him tighter.
“It’s okay,” she murmured into his hair. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
He clutched her jacket like it’s the only solid thing left in the world.
“I thought it was over,” he choked out. “I thought once Vecna was gone, my head would be quiet again. But it’s not. He—he showed me things, Mom. Not monsters. Not fighting. Just… moments. Normal ones.”
Joyce stiffened slightly, but she didn’t pull away.
“What kind of moments?”
Will swallowed hard.
“Me talking. Me telling the truth.”
A beat.
“And then everything going wrong.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, like he can still see it.
“He keeps making me think that if I say the wrong thing—if I say one thing—people will look at me differently forever. Like there’s something about me that ruins everything.”
Joyce pulled back just enough to look at his face. It’s wet with tears, red and exhausted and so achingly familiar.
“Will,” she said firmly, cupping his cheek. “There is nothing about you that ruins anything.”
He shook his head again, faster this time.
“But what if there is?” His voice cracked. “What if he’s right about this one thing?”
Joyce pressed her forehead to his.
“Listen to me,” she said, steady and fierce and gentle all at once. “Vecna does not get to decide who you are. He doesn’t get to tell you how people will love you.”
Will’s breathing stuttered.
“But what if I lose you?” he whispered. “What if I lose Jonathan? Or Mike?”
Joyce’s answer is immediate.
“You won’t.”
He looked at her then. Really looks. Like he’s searching for proof.
“I don’t know how to say it,” he admitted. “I don’t even know where to start. I just know I can’t keep it inside anymore. It hurts too much.”
Joyce pulled him back into her arms, rocking him slightly like she did when he was little.
“Then you don’t have to say it yet,” she said. “You don’t have to say anything until you’re ready. You’re safe here. You hear me? You’re safe with me.”
Will nodded against her shoulder, crying quieter now—but still crying.
For the first time in a long while, he let himself believe her.
“Vecna..” Will whispered, voice small. Anxious.
Joyce didn’t reply. She didn’t have to. She knew.
“He showed me things, mom— and- and… I don’t want it to happen, so I just thought I’d tell you.”
Will’s breath started to change before he had realized it did.
Initially, it was just a little faster—shallow pulls that didn’t quite exactly reach his chest. He pressed his hands together, trying to ground himself, but his fingers felt numb. Like his hands— like his body, didn’t belong to him anymore.
in.
out
in—
it doesn’t work.
his lungs skipped, grabbing at the air like they’re afraid it might run out. Each breath came quicker than the last, thinner and sharper, catching in his throat.
his chest tightens until it almost hurts, like there’s a band pulled too tight around his ribs.
joyce noticed immediately, “hey” she spoke softly, moving closer. “will, look at me.”
will tried to answer, but all that came out of his lips was a broken breath. his shoulders rose and fell too fast now, panic crept in, hit and dizzy. the room felt smaller. louder. like it was closing in on him.
“i—i can’t—“ he gasped, fingers digging into the fabric of his mom’s shirt.
joyce took his hands, firm and steady.
“okay. that’s okay, sweetheart.” she whispered, “we’re gonna slow it down together.”
joyce stayed with him until his breathing had evened out. she didn’t rush it. she never did. when his grip on her jacket loosened, she smoothed his hair back the way she used to when he was little. careful. grounding.
“there you go, baby.” she murmured. “just breathe.”
will nodded against her shoulder, eyes swollen, lashes clumped with tears. there was a strange clarity that settled in—like he’s finally reached the bottom of something dark and deep and had stopped falling.
“i don’t think it’s going to stop,” he spoke quietly, the nervousness rising in his tone.
his mother stilled. “what isn’t?”
“the fear,” will swallowed. “not unless i tell you.”
joyce didn’t pretend to not understand. she exhaled slowly, steadying herself, then cupped his face again.
“you don’t owe anyone anything,” she said, stroking his cheek. “you hear me? you don’t have to say a word if you’re not ready.”
“i know, mom.” he whispered, “but i think i am. to you, at least.”
the words hung there between them. heavy and fragile—
creak.
there was a soft creak in the hallway.
jonathan.
he hadn’t meant to listen in. he never did, but he had heard the crying— sharp, unmistakable— and something in him had just stopped. frozen. he now stood in the doorway, unsure whether to interrupt, unsure whether to leave.
joyce looked up first,
“jon,” she called out gently. not accusatory. an invitation.
jonathan stepped inside, slow. he took one look at will’s face, and his own expression cracked—not panicked, not shocked, just deeply, instinctively concerned.
“hey,” he greeted gently, “you okay?”
will shook his head, not even bothering to pretend.
jonathan nodded like that was fine. like it was allowed.
he sat on the edge of the bed, close but not crowding will in, his knee brushed will’s. jonathan didn’t ask questions. he just stayed.
after a moment, will spoke again.
“i’m scared. i’m scared of what would happen after—“ he admitted, taking a breath. “not just— not just saying it. after everyone knows, vecna showed me this version of things where… i’m still alive. but i don’t belong anymore.” he added, voice quaking.
jonathan’s jaw tightened.
“yeah,” he said quietly. “he does that. takes the thing you’re most afraid of and makes it look inevitable. you told me all those years back.”
will looked between them. between his mom, and his brother. the people who had always come back for him.
always.
“i don’t want him to be right,” he murmured, “i don’t want to… i don’t want to keep letting him decide what i’m allowed to be afraid of.”
jonathan leaned forward, forearms rested on his knees.
“then don’t do it alone,” he said. “whatever it is.”
a beat.
joyce’s glanced out the window,
“mike’s outside,” he added softly, “he’s been pacing like this for the past ten minutes. he knows something is wrong.”
“yeah, his mikey senses, or something.” jonathan joked, earning him a breathy laugh from will.
he closed his eyes.
this is it. not yet exactly— but close enough that his chest tightened.
“i don”t want to do it wrong.” he admitted, “i don’t want to say it and realize i should’ve kept it to myself.”
joyce took his hands in hers. warm. solid. comforting.
“there is no wrong way to tell the truth, sweetheart.” she smiled, her voice grounding. “and there is nothing wrong you could say that would make us stop loving you.”
jonathan nodded, “nothing.”
he let that sink in. he let it press back against everything vecna had shown him.
“okay,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “okay.”
he retracts his hands, wiping his face with the back of his sleeve. shaky, but determined. will stood— not steady, but upright.
“i want mike here,” he mumbled, looking at the floor before glancing back up to meet their eyes. “i don’t want to do this twice.”
jonathan nodded, then rose.
“i’ll go get him. you two don’t move.”
he paused at the door, looking back at his brother— older now. braver.
“we’re right here, will.” he reminded him.
the door opened.
will sat back down on the bed, his heart pounding, hands clenched together so tight they ached.
this is the moment before everything changes.
and this time, vecna doesn't get to speak first.
**********
mike sat on the floor in front of will, legs folded awkwardly, like he didn’t even think about it—just ended up there because being lower felt right. he looked up at will, eyes wide and intent. like will is something fragile and important and worth every single second of his attention.
will felt his breath starting to quicken again.
nit fast like before. not panic. just… unsteady, like his lungs didn’t know how much air they’re allowed to take.
his chest rose too quickly, then stalled, then rose again. he pressed his hands into his thighs, ground him himself.
mike didn’t say anything
he just stayed there, looking at him. waiting. like he had all the time in the world.
will swallowed. his throat felt tight, raw. being looked at like this—like he matters this much—almost hurts more than the fear. vecna’s voice flickered at the edge of his thoughts, whispering that this is the moment before everything breaks.
but mike is still there.
still looking at him like he’s worth listening to.
will dragged in a shaky breath. then another. his shoulders tense, then slowly lower as the air settled in his chest. with his mom on his right, solid, and jonathan on his left, steady. but it was mike’s eyes that kept him here, now.
“i’m trying,” he said quietly. his voice trembled, but it doesn’t disappear. “i just… i need a second.”
mike nodded immediately. no impatience. no confusion. not like how he would’ve acted two years ago.
“take all the seconds you need,” he said, soft. certain.
will exhaled.
for the first time, the fear doesn’t rush in to fill the space.
mike was still sitting on the floor, looking up at him like he was waiting for something sacred. will hated how much that made his chest ache.
his breath stuttered once. then steadied.
“i’d been trying to say this for a long time,” will started. his voice was low, rough at the edges. “and every time i didn’t, i told myself it was because i wasn’t ready. but that wasn’t really it.”
mike didn’t interrupt. he didn’t move.
“it was because i was scared,” will continued. “scared that once i said it, you’d see me differently. like… like i’d ruin something just by being honest.”
he pressed his thumb into his palm, grounding himself.
“i don’t feel the way i’m supposed to,” he said. “i never have.”
a pause. long enough that it almost broke him.
“i liked boys.”
the words landed softly. they didn’t echo. they didn’t explode. they just exsit.
will forced himself to keep going before his courage ran out.
“vecna showed me this moment,” he admitted, his voice trembling now. “he showed me you looking at me like i wasn’t… worth staying for anymore. and i didn’t know if that was a lie, or just my worst fear.”
he finally looked at mike.
“i didn’t choose this,” will said. “and i wasn’t confused. i just—I couldn’t keep pretending anymore. not with you. not after everyhting.”
the room was completely still.
will’s breath came shallow again, waiting for the moment where something broke. where mike looked away. where the future vecna promised finally snapped into place.
but mike didn’t move.
he stayed right there on the floor, eyes shining, like will had just handed him something fragile and priceless.
“hey,” mike said softly.
just that. one word. steady. certain.
will’s breath shuddered as he let it out.
and for the first time since vecna showed him that future, it felt wrong.
will swallowed, throat tight again. the silence stretched, heavy but not sharp. mike was still there, still looking at him like he wasn’t waiting to leave.
“there’s more,” will said quietly. his voice shook, just a little. “and i need to say it before i chicken out.”
mike nodded once. slow. like he was bracing himself, but not pulling away.
will stared at the floor. it felt safer than saying it while being seen.
“i tried,” he said. “for a long time. i really tried to feel the way i was supposed to.” his fingers curled into the fabric of his jeans. “i kept thinking maybe i just hadn’t met the right person yet. maybe i was late. maybe i was broken.”
his breath hitched, then steadied again.
“but i don’t like girls,” he said. softer than before. almost apologetic. “i never did.”
the words sat there. simple. unavoidable.
will waited for the drop in his stomach. waited for the look vecna had shown him. the disappointment. the distance.
he didn’t get it.
mike’s expression didn’t change—not shock, not confusion. just focus. like he was memorizing every word.
will risked a glance up from the ground, eyes glassy.
“i just needed you to know,” he said. “because pretending that part wasn’t real… it was killing me.”
his shoulders sagged slightly after that, like he’d finally put something down.
and mike was still there.
will hesitated, the words catching in his chest like they didn’t want to come out anymore. his heart was beating too loud again, each thud reminding him how much this mattered.
he looked at mike, really looked at him, searching his face for anything that might prove vecna right.
“please,” will said quietly. his voice shook despite his effort to keep it steady. “don’t tell me this chnages everything.”
the word sat wrong in his mouth, crooked and fragile.
he swallowed hard. “i don’t think i could handle it if it did,” he added, barely above a whisper. “i really couldn't."
for a moment, no one spoke.
joyce moved first.
she stepped closer and wrapped her arms around will from behind, careful and sure, like she’d done it a thousand times before. will leaned back into her without thinking, his shoulders sagging as if his body had been waiting for permission to give up the fight.
“oh, honey,” she murmured, pressing her cheek against his hair. “nothing you just said changes who you are to me. nothing.”
will squeezed his eyes shut, his breath hitching again. he nodded, but the fear didn’t leave all at once.
jonathan came closer too, crouching down so he was level with will. he rested a hand on will’s knee, solid and grounding.
“yeah,” jonathan said quietly. “you don’t lose us for telling the truth. okay? you never have.”
will’s chest tightened at that. he let out a shaky breath, then another, trying to believe it.
mike was still on the floor, still looking up at him. not like he was waiting for something to break—like he was holding space for whatever came next.
will wiped at his face with his sleeve, embarrassed but too tired to stop himself.
“i just—” his voice cracked. “vecna showed me this version where this was the moment everything fell apart. where i said it and you all just… pulled away.”
joyce tightened her hold. “that future isn’t real,” she said firmly. “this is.”
jonathan nodded. “he doesn’t get to decide how this ends.”
will finally looked down at mike again, eyes red and shining. “i didn’t say this to make things harder,” he said. “i just couldn’t keep lying. not to you.”
his breath was uneven, but he wasn’t panicking now. just scared. just human.
and no one let go of him.