Archive of Our Own

Mike has never liked going to church.

The last time he went was when his mom forced him to at nine years old and back then, that was just normal in his life. Nancy and Holly went, too. He was aware not everyone did, but then again, is there really anything that absolutely everyone does? He just did it, since his family expected him to.

At first, it only started to bother him because he couldn’t spend his Sundays with his friends instead of listening to an old man blabbering about rules he didn’t understand and stories he didn’t care about. After weeks of constantly begging his mom to stop dragging him along, she finally let him be, and ever since that day, he hasn’t stepped a foot into a church.

After a few years, he became glad, even. Not only had his Sundays always been free, but his soul felt lighter. Though, he never told his mom about that part. In fact, no one knows about that part. And there will never be anyone who will know, since he screwed that knowledge onto his very bones, protected by nerves, muscle and everything else that keeps him alive. He didn’t quite understand why he felt so heavy back then, but as he grew up, there was this nagging feeling, begging to be acknowledged, that grew alongside him.

There’s not much he learned in the few developmental years he spent going to church, but there‘s one thing that glued onto him like a parasite for years to come, refusing to let go; that feeling – which he definitely doesn’t have – is wrong.

So what if he feels better not going to church, where every figure on the stained glass is looking into his mind, peeking behind doors he keeps closed for a reason, and every step he makes echoes back at him like some kind of reminder that he’s not supposed to be there? Sue him, because he would never go back and decide differently.

He would like to avoid churches for the rest of his life, if he’s honest. He also doesn’t see any reason to go and visit one, because the only reason he can think of is to repent, and he has nothing to repent for. Maybe he swore too much, and he did hurt one or two – or more – people but that is hardly worth a confession. He couldn’t even recall these instances in enough detail to enter a confessional without feeling weird all over, at a loss of what to say.

Mike swallows down the guilt of one thing lingering in the back of his head. A confession, of another sort. Maybe the same, depending on who you ask.

He stuffs that thought away as quickly as it came. That’s why he doesn’t like churches. They remind him of everything he’s deliberately not remembering.

“Hey, you okay? You’ve been quiet for a while,” Will asks him as their footsteps create a crunching sound on top of the pebble – or remains of the broken ground, ripped apart after Vecna opened the fourth gate – that he has been drowning out completely. It doesn’t startle him, but his heart picks up like he’s been caught.

Caught doing what? He reminds himself.

Thinking about it, answers another thought.

“Yeah, no– um, I’m okay. Just– worried, I guess.” Will nods understandingly, but Mike doesn’t think he understands. “Maybe we should’ve taken Lucas with us,” he adds, “Three people are safer than two.”

Three people are also more of a distraction than just two. Two people, alone. Because if he thinks about it, two people including him means there’s only one person that isn’t him, and the person that isn’t him is Will, so that makes him alone with Will, which is totally cool and not worrying at all. It would be totally cooler and even less worrying if Lucas was here to divert his attention to something else. 

“I think it’s fine with just us,” Will hums, hands hooked on the straps of his backpack, smiling, “I’m a lot stronger now.”

You have been strong, Mike wants to say. There was never a time in his life where he thought Will wasn’t strong. His build may have been smaller in size than most of their peers, and he has always been soft-spoken, but weak is never on his mind when he thinks about Will – which isn’t often, of course.

He never thought that, because how could he, when Will’s own father abused him at home and he still came to school, laughing and smiling with them? When he went missing, trapped for a week in a terrifying dimension he didn’t know he would survive and now he is beside him, trying to put an end to the very same dimension? When he continues to give Mike chances after chances, when he keeps messing up their friendship?

Besides the Upside Down, which all of them have to deal with, Mike has exactly one problem he is very much aware of, and too scared to face. And he lets it flow into his words, his actions, keeps letting it rule over his behavior, until it inevitably bubbles up, right into Will’s face. Will must have an uncountable amount of problems, and yet Mike doesn’t hear him complain, or sees him act differently.

Which is just another argument for how much stronger Will is than Mike. He always has been and continues to be, now not only in mind but also fighting-wise, with his powers awoken.

But Mike can’t possibly say any of this, so he settles on the easier answer, because that’s what he does best. “You are. Which is still, like, super cool.” He turns his gaze to Will just in time to see him avert his, faint blush decorating his ears. Mike feels his own cheeks getting warmer and gulps. He blames it on the weather. November is pretty cold, after all.

Bringing his eyes back on the floor, he kicks a random stone away. “I’m worried too, you know,” Will starts, letting the compliment hang between them, unanswered, “About everyone. Especially Dustin, Jonathan and El being in the Upside Down. They– They’re strong, I know, it’s just–” He stammers, as does Mike’s heart.

Right.

El.

His girlfriend.

Or is she? He isn’t sure. They don’t kiss, or hold hands, or really talk. Or rather, they do talk and it’s fun, but those have been the most just friendly conversations he’s ever had. Much like his talks with Dustin, or Lucas, but never–

Mike gets his thoughts back on track. El has been spending most of the time in Hopper’s cabin, training to defeat Vecna. Contacting each other has been difficult, meeting very time consuming. Time that they don’t have. So, their relationship status is vague at best. No one has ever explicitly broken up with the other, but maybe this is the one thing they don’t have to talk about, and instead inherently understand.

His mind flashes to the sun of Lenora, the feeling of sitting on El’s bed while she throws his lies into his face, repeating from Mike, from Mike until he was sick of it. He understands where it went wrong. It was never right in the first place.

He loved her for the normalcy she made him feel, or for the excuse she gave him to slip away from the group, for the chance of a normal teenage romance. He loved her for helping him find Will the second he met her, and for her cool powers. He loves her for her hazel eyes, brown hair lighter than his own, for her smaller frame, which fit perfectly against him and for his soft voice–

Mike physically halts.

Her. For her soft voice.

He feels sick.

Walking a few steps further before he notices, Will stops and turns around, concern written on his face. “Are you really okay? Or did we forget something?” Mike sees him mentally go through everything they packed to figure out if they missed anything. That’s not on Mike’s mind at all, but there is no way he’ll tell him. Mike furrows his eyebrows at himself.

“No, sorry. I don’t know– it’s nothing,” he tries to convince Will, but he doesn’t look like he believes him at all. Somehow, Mike gets away with it.

“Alright,” Will says as he turns, “we’re here, anyway.” He vaguely points to the big building shadowing over the street on the opposite side. Mike keeps his mouth shut, since God seems to have granted him a favor in stopping Will from pushing.

They look around for any driving cars, which have been a rarity ever since the literal gates of hell opened. Still, better be safe than sorry, especially since getting hit by a car while there is the possibility of dying at the hands of an interdimensional monster is just embarrassing.

Before the church, they both hesitate.

Mike cranes his neck to look up, the sheer monstrosity of it making his head dizzy. Quickly, he looks back down and checks the vicinity. It looks rather peaceful, were it not for the vines creeping up the white wall. The military must’ve forgotten to remove them, Mike thinks. After the rifts, a few vines escaped the Upside Down, but they eliminated them at the same time they placed the massive steel plates over the tears.

Will’s sigh is the only cue Mike gets before he goes inside. Mike scrambles to follow him, surprised at the sudden movement. Looking around one last time, he reads a sign that says this kind cannot be driven out by anything but prayer and quickly looks away.

He can’t wait to be done here.

Mike closes the heavy wooden door behind him, as he enters the church. The creak of the door and Will’s footsteps echo impossibly loud, reminding him immediately of why he’d rather be back at the Squawk.

“So what exactly are we supposed to find here again?” Mike starts, desperate to have anything occupying his mind. He comes across a bulletin board as he walks to a table hidden on the side. On top of it stands a pouch for donations. The bulletin board holds a lot papers, which are hanging neatly next to each other. He doesn’t read them in detail, but the words faith, family, purity and respect are written on almost all of them. He averts his eyes, mouth forming a flat line. He pushes the pouch aside to make place for a few tools.

“I’m not exactly sure, either,” Will begins behind him, his voice all-encompassing, sending a shiver down Mike’s spine, “but he didn’t want me to see here. There must be something.” Shortly after, Will joins him at the table, laying down his backpack. Mike steals a quick glance of his face, seeing his eyebrows furrowed and mouth downturned.

“We’ll just take a look around. As soon as you see anything suspicious, let me know, okay?” Mike puts a hand on top of Will’s shoulder in reassurance, “You can even whisper, that’s enough in this damn hall,” he mumbles, which makes Will snicker.

“You shouldn’t swear in here.” He nudges his elbow into Mike’s side, making him flinch.

“Yeah, well,” he sighs as he picks up the metal baseball bat and a flashlight. “I’ll be over there.” When Will turns around to see Mike, he points to the general direction of the place he meant and Will nods. It’s not exactly dark, but since the windows are high up and stained, they don’t let a lot of light through. Everything is bathed in an eerie mix of blue and red hues, while some sunlight rays shine through particularly pale glass, forming lines akin to spotlights.

As he is about to leave the table, he feels a hand around his hand, making him stop in his tracks. Before he can meet Will’s eyes, his eyes pass one of many crosses on the wall. But this cross is particularly visible, as it is almost purposefully lit up. The sunlight makes it glow, stark contrast against the otherwise darker background. As if it tells him to be careful, that he is being watched, and it makes the hair on his neck stand up.

Hoping that Will doesn’t see his hesitation, he returns his gaze. “I think I would feel better if we stayed together,” Will says as soon as they face each other, eyes unusually intense and dark. Something at the back of his head scratches against the surface, begging to be let out, but Mike can’t pay attention, as all of it is on their clasped hands between them. The cross bores itself into the back of his head when he wrangles his hand loose.

“Okay. Sure.”

He waits for a moment longer until Will has all his stuff figured out, before they go deeper into the church. Mike is mindful of the distance between them. Just to be safe, who knows who could be watching. Mike couldn’t shake off this feeling ever since they arrived here.

They pass by a ton of rows of pews, all too familiar for Mike. His mother would usually drag him to the third row; slightly hidden but still exposed enough to force him to behave.

He focuses the flashlight on dark places where the sun doesn’t reach. Whatever Vecna doesn’t want them to see seems pretty well hidden. Upside Down related anomalies are usually extremely visible, glowing red and writhing. As far as Mike can tell, everything looks normal, at least in the main hall. There is another room further down the corridor, maybe they would find whatever they’re trying to find there.

Right now, he’s trying to keep his composure. “Do you see anything?” Mike asks, just to fill the oppressing silence.

Even the quiet sounds like a big revelation in the church. Like the absence of words still expresses as much as an admission desperately trying to stay hidden. But he feels like even thoughts echo here, serving the truth to everyone who’s willing to listen.

“No, nothing.” Will’s voice resounds behind him, like a cold slap of water, a reminder. “Hey, there are the confessionals. Got anything to confess?” He almost sounds cheerful.

Mike is confused, not understanding Will’s reaction. Whenever the four of them talked about everything there is to talk about, bringing up the topic of religion, Will was the quietest one among them. Mike has always thought it’s just a general dislike, or some other opinion he was too scared to express. He seems to have borderline fun right now though, so Mike is back to having no idea about Will’s stance on this.

Maybe Mike is struggling with it a lot more than Will is, because he has a secret that would make him burn in hell if God ever found out, and Will doesn’t.

“Nope,” he says, popping the p, “I’m an open book.”

Will giggles, “Oh, come on. You know that’s not true.”

Mike’s lips turn upwards as well. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t tell you if you asked.”

“Really? Nothing at all?” Will catches up the few steps he was behind, walking beside him again as he leads them around the pews to the confessionals.

Mike goes quiet for a few seconds, before deciding on an answer. “Maybe you’d have to bribe me for one thing,” he teases and immediately regrets it, hoping Will won’t insist on hearing it.

Will just smiles at him, dangerous glint in his eyes. Not dangerous in a way that rings any alarm bells, but dangerous for his composure. “Isn’t that perfect for the booth, then? Come on. It’ll be funny.” He watches as Will overtakes him, already opening one side of the booth to go inside. “I’ll be the pastor. You go and tell me your sins first.”

“I don’t know about funny,” Mike mumbles as he opens the other door, “Also, I don’t think the pastor should be my friend.”

“Just tell me something small, and I won’t press for more, okay?”

Mike gulps as he sees the big cross inside the confessional. It is dark brown, heavy, and takes up half of the wall it’s hanging on. There is a small bench beneath it, but otherwise the small space is empty. Suddenly, he feels the air press in around him, legs heavy and dread in his chest. He knows Will is just joking around, he knows he doesn’t have to say anything at all, or he can just think of something insignificant like I was the one who stole your favorite pen in second grade, because I wanted your gratitude for finding it–

Maybe Mike has no insignificant memory with Will.

Then again, it doesn’t have to involve Will. It’s just his own mind that always pans back to one topic, one word, one person, and he’s never able to stop it, because the moment he notices, it already happened. It doesn’t help that his inner voice is louder than ever against this stale silence, as if to project his thoughts straight into God’s lap and avoid any misunderstandings, just to make absolutely sure he will be punished.

Damn it, I’m not even religious, Mike thinks at his own discomfort. Churches really bring out the worst fears in him.

“You coming?” Will’s voice pulls him out of his own head.

Right. The confessional. In front of him.

He sighs and steps in, taking his place on the bench and putting down the metal bat. Both his and Will’s side is showered in darkness except for the small, warm overhead light shining above their heads. He looks over to Will, only seeing him through the grid separating them. Their gazes meet and Will smiles.

Mike’s heart sinks.

Will’s mockingly serious voice fills the air, “You may begin.”

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned,” Mike exhales dramatically, putting aside the overwhelmingly distressed feeling he has, “I do catch myself in the act of lying, at times.”

“Mike, that’s not even a confession,” Will giggles and Mike doesn’t look, even if he wants to.

“We’re on first name basis, Father?” He continues his gig, earning him another laughter. And if his heart beats just a tad bit faster than usual, he hopes God can forgive him.

Channeling the deepest voice he can muster, Will speaks up after calming down, “I’m sorry, continue.”

Mike fiddles with his hands in his lap, as he tries to think of something to say, that will both appease Will and not ruin his life. He would surely think of an idea faster, if he didn’t spend most of his life suppressing half his thoughts and feelings. He really doesn’t want to dig too deep into his brain, in fear of uncovering a thought better left untouched. But the blank door in front of him and the equally uninteresting floor weren’t going to give him a hint anytime soon, so he settles on something boring again.

“Sometimes, I secretly hope that the apocalypse lasts for a little longer.”

Oh, okay.

That isn’t exactly what he had in mind when thinking about boring.

“What?” Will rightfully exclaims, and Mike scrambles to ramble his way out of this.

“Okay, so. That sounds– Okay. Firstly, you said you won’t press further, so why are you?” Mike tries to deflect the attention away from his words, but he has a feeling it won’t be so easy this time.

His feeling gets confirmed when he looks through the grid and sees Will’s expression, all joy he may have been feeling sucked out of him. He doesn’t look like he’ll seriously answer Mike either, probably having seen through his attempt of a topic change. Mike’s throat has dried up the second he stepped inside this confessional, which makes him seriously uncomfortable right now.

Licking his lips, he tries again, “Like, obviously I want it– done. It’s just, you know. I feel like I’m only… worth something when– when someone’s in danger. And I can help.” His heart starts to beat in his ears, making his breath come out ragged. “When things are normal, I don’t– I don’t know who I’m supposed to be anymore,” he chokes out the last few words, seriously wanting to stop now.

He feels bad for ruining Will’s fun, since he obviously expected some irrelevant, lighthearted joke but Mike spoke before he could stop himself. Maybe these confessionals have a magic spell cast on them, making you want to spill your guts and innermost feelings. Like, keep Mike locked in here for a few more hours and he’ll start to admit who he saw every time he kissed his girlfriend.

But it’s true, in a way. He feels his best when he serves a purpose for people. He loves feeling needed, like there is something only he can do, like there’s something only he would be sought out for. He was needed before Will went missing, of course. He had friends and family who needed him. But it just isn’t the same. There were never any moments in which all eyes would turn on him, expectedly listening when explaining a new plan. He’s been getting treated like an important person needed to succeed. Like it wouldn’t work out without him.

And – although he would never, ever admit it out loud – he revels in the fact that Will needs him for calming down from his nightmares. Of course, he’d much rather have Will without nightmares come to his room out of his own accord and not because he is scared to death, but that would also take away his excuse of allowing Will into his bed.

After a few slow, agonizingly quiet minutes he dares to look over at Will, who has been suspiciously silent this entire time. Mike understands what he said is a lot to stomach, that it’s unfair, basically telling him hey so, the thing that completely destroyed your life isn’t so bad for me, but that wasn’t his intention at all. Truthfully, he has no idea what his intention was.

“You’re lucky, then,” Will slowly says, voice devoid of emotion, “You’ll be needed for a while longer.” And then he kicks open the door of his side of the booth and leaves it.

Mike startles at the sudden loud noise. His eyes widening, strong concern bubbles up in his chest. Did he upset him that much?

He is about to open the door to explain himself in more detail, so Will can hopefully at least try to understand where he’s coming from, when the door flies open in front of him. Mike’s eyebrows furrow in surprise, heartbeat still in his ears and steadily increasing in volume. Though nothing compares to the shock he feels when Will grabs him by the collar, yanking him out of the confessional.

He doesn’t even register what is happening until Will throws him on the nearest pew. The pain shooting up his spine is immediate and sharp, making him groan and cough a few times. Before he can begin to ask what Will’s deal is, what could possibly be causing him to react this way, he is grabbed by the collar again. Will lifts his upper body into the air, staring directly into his eyes.

And that’s when he sees it.

The reason Will’s eyes were too dark, the reason Will wanted to stay together, grabbing him and initiating contact the entire day, even though he doesn’t do that normally.

This isn’t Will.

Will’s face breaks out in a dangerous smirk at the realization on Mike’s face, and he should’ve known. This is his best friend, who he has lived with longer than without. Whose behavior and patterns are so engraved in Mike’s brain, he’s sure they formed their own wrinkle. The very same hazel eyes he misses whenever he misses his chance to see them.

And he doesn’t see them now. They are covered in black, pinning him down with his gaze alone.

Fuck.

“You’re satisfied like this, huh?” Will asks, disgust dripping from his words. It is Will’s voice and Will’s face, but the way it sounds, the way he looks – Will would never do that. It’s so wrong, Mike feels his stomach drop. He claws at the hands holding his collar, trying to free himself. “Throwing away the lives of others, just so you can prosper.”

Mike’s chest heaves up and down, still not quite grasping the severity of the situation. Possessed, his brain provides, Will is possessed. He’s possessed. Last time, they had to burn it out of him.

What the hell is he supposed to do now?

“That’s not true–” He tries to answer, but Will slams him down against the pew again, this time intentionally hurting his head. His face contorts in pain as he groans again, a hand shooting up to the affected spot immediately. When he retracts it, he sees blood. His breath hitches, as he grabs Will’s arms again. “Will, please, you have to–” Another slam.

This time, Mike has no choice but to hold his head in an attempt to ease the pain. It doesn’t work at all, but his arms wouldn’t let go. Static fills his ears as he gets lifted again. “Not true?” Will snarls at him. “My life started that day we found you in the woods. Does that ring any bell?” Will holds him so close he can feel his breath on his face, spitting his own words back at him, angry.

Unwillingly, he sees a large freezer filled with enough salt to make El float in front of his inner eye. Will’s hand right on his shoulder, urging him on to tell her that he loved her. This memory… pains him. He knows he’s barely allowed to feel hurt, he’s the one hurting everyone around him. But he was so desperate to make El fight, support her in saving Max and save herself. He had all this pressure laid on him, he was just spewing whatever came to his mind. And it’s not like he was lying entirely, he was indirectly responding to what Will had told him in the van. It hurt when his words didn’t work.

He and El just don’t understand each other like they need to.

And that’s funny, because he felt so loved by the words Will was saying to him while giving him the painting of their D&D characters. He felt seen, understood, wanted. Everything that El doesn’t make him feel, no matter how much he wants– needs her to do. If he’s not with her, all eyes will be on him. They will all find out. They will all know.

Mike shudders. He knows he can’t let him get to him, but it is difficult when Vecna is using Will’s body as a vessel. Mike has half the mind to think that’s exactly why he did it. “Will, please–” He tries again but is cut off immediately.

“Shut up. You have no right to plead for me now.” His voice low, he removes one hand from Mike’s collar and brings it up to his face instead. Mike’s breath hitches, eyes growing visibly wide if one’s paying attention.

And Will is. He’s closely observing his every expression.

A smile slowly spreads across his face, the kind Mike has to tear away his eyes from before he can do something stupid, like pull him close. With way too much care Will brushes away a curl that fell into Mike’s eye, before locking his eyes with him, whispering, “It’s your fault I was taken in the first place four years ago.” Will lets him go suddenly, making him fall onto the pew. As Mike gasps with dull pain in his back, Will climbs the few steps that lead up to the pulpit.

Mike tries to swallow down the lump in his throat. His body screams at him to do something, anything, to get out of here. His life is in severe danger, and he feels it in everything around him. It’s as if the world is playing a trick on him, suddenly growing darker, thickening the air so it’s hard to breathe. His fingers twitch to go get the metal bat he left in the confessional.

But what would he even do with it? There is no way in hell he would swing it at Will.

He was never able to hurt Will, not even as a joke. He shoved and threw Lucas and Dustin around like second nature, but whenever he looked at Will he saw him curled up on his bed, hurting and crying when the noise at home grew too loud. He saw himself comfort a too young Will, too young to know that kind of pain, too young to understand it’s not his fault. Maybe that made Will feel weak, or different, but Mike would never think that about Will. Mike likes to believe Will understood his intentions.

There may be another reason, which Mike purposefully shoves back down.

“Just like it’s your fault I am this way now, Michael. You were the reason I gained powers,” Will walks up to the pulpit, sliding his hand slowly across the edge, “I accessed them for you. And every time I continued to do so, they strengthened the connection. Made me accessible. Easy to control.”

“W– what?” Mike stutters, voice incredibly quiet and laced with shock.

Will stands behind the pulpit now, looking down at him. An evil smile graces his lips, fake concern written all over his face. Mike looks at the cross decorating the pulpit and wonders if God will allow him to leave alive, or if this is his punishment for not hiding himself well enough. For not playing his designated part with his heart, and only fulfilling it by force of habit, fear of change.

“Oh, you weren’t aware?” Will clicks his tongue, his slow steps sounding menacing against the quiet surrounding them, “Guess you’re not much of a protector after all.”

Mike can’t do anything but stare. Think, Mike, he tells himself, think.

Will doesn’t waste any time as he flips through a Bible left on the pulpit. “And you call yourself my best friend,” he almost spits those words, and Mike tries not to feel hurt, “but that’s not entirely correct, either, am I right?”

What?

Mike sits up straighter, trying to control his breathing, before he asks, “What– what do you mean by that?”

Will slams the Bible shut, taking it into his hand, before throwing it at Mike. He’s thankful for his fast reflexes as he catches it before it could hit his face. For a second, Mike is impressed by the aim. But then reality dawns upon him again, and he lowers his hands with the Bible in them to his lap and looks at it.

“Are you really asking because you don’t know?” Will’s voice rips his eyes back to him, now watching him descend one, two, three, four steps. His moves still delicate, still Will. Mike’s heartbeat picks up for all the wrong reasons.

He has half the mind to finally stand up from the pew he’s been sitting on to back up, Bible still in hand. This only makes Will’s smile wider. “You think I don’t notice it? Brushing our knees, bumping our elbows, always looking at me with such longing even though you have… a girlfriend. And it’s my sister at that,” he continues going towards him and Mike feels his body grow cold, “It’s not hard to figure out, you know? I wonder if it’s her you see when you close your eyes at night, or me.”

It can’t be.

That’s the first thing his mind reaches for, clinging to it like a railing in the dark. It can’t be that Will noticed, because Mike barely lets himself notice. Because noticing means wanting, and wanting means admitting there’s something to want. And Mike has learned not to do that. Not to linger on the way Will’s eyes visibly soften whenever he looks at Mike, or the way his own chest tightens with restraint when Will laughs, or how the space between them always feels charged with something unspoken. It’s easy to hide behind the excuse of friendship.

His grip on the Bible tightens, the edges digging into his skin, grounding him in something solid, something named. He feels stupid suddenly, exposed in a way that has nothing to do with God’s word in his hand, or the eyes of the paintings on the walls around him burning holes into his back. Like all the careful walls he’s built have been transparent this whole time. Like everyone’s already been able to see through them and he’s the only one who didn’t know.

He shakes his head, eyes big. “No, don’t– don’t say that.”

It can’t be. He has always been careful. He keeps his hands to himself. He keeps his eyes trained on the ground. He doesn’t say things out loud, let alone form a thought about it. He doesn’t let himself imagine. He barely lets himself feel anything at all.

But he already lost. Will smiles like he’s certain, and that terrifies him.

Whether Will himself had any idea at all doesn’t matter anymore, because apparently Vecna does, and so now does Will. He wonders if it’s wrong to hope that Will won’t remember this, provided they survive. Like it would make any difference, Mike thinks, Will’s spoken it into existence. Whatever he has been doing to protect his most precious relationship was ripped away from him the moment Vecna opened his mouth.

“Why not? Am I wrong, Michael?” Will’s gaze falls to his hands. “You think hiding behind that will save you?”

Mike’s eyes follow suit, the Bible suddenly extremely heavy in his hands. Like it’s pulling him down in advance, like his end is imminent and it’s preparing him to go to hell for something Mike has never even put into a whole sentence in his head before. “And don’t you think it’s funny?” Will once again tears him out of his thoughts.

Mike doesn’t dare to answer. But he lets out a startled sound when his heels hit another pew behind him. There are way too many of these here, damn it, he curses. Though, there’s no time left to change his direction, because Will already caught up to him, blocking his escape route. “It’s me you insulted. It’s me you always made out to be the wrong one. Now look at you.” Will’s face contorts in anger and next thing Mike knows, he slaps his cheek, hard. The sound reverbs throughout the hall, marking a painful reminder of the place they’re in.

He hisses as his head flies to the side, and just as he is about to hold his slapped cheek, Will grabs his jaw roughly to turn it back to him. “You can’t even defend yourself against me!” He shouts at him, voice way too loud for the proximity. Still holding his face, he balls a fist and punches him into his stomach, making him topple over in pain. Mike huffs out a painted fuck as he holds his hands over his stomach. “See? Why are you not fighting back, Micheal?”

Another punch against his temple, and he falls to the floor, hitting his head on the pew behind him, Bible sliding across the floor until it hit another pew opposite of him. He cries out in pain, staggered breathing leaving his lips. He feels his head being aggressively whirled around by a hand in his hair, head throbbing in pain. Will crouching down in front of him comes into his view. “Tell me,” he spits in his face, “because you love me?” He shoves his head to the side and lets go.

Mike’s blood freezes at his words, shuddering at the venom he used to say them. They echo in the hollow space of the church, like he announced them to the whole world from the pulpit instead of hurled inches from his face. Violent, accusing – in all the ways Mike has feared to hear them spoken. The way they’re dragged out into the open, stripped of gentleness, turned into a knife to pierce right through Mike’s heart.

Mike drags in a shaky breath, fingers curling uselessly against the floor.

Before Will can stand up Mike grabs him, shaking hand holding onto his sweater.

“Will, I’m sorry,” he croaks out, “I know I shouldn’t–”

Stop. There’s nothing to say.

He wants to shut up. He wants to stop talking because the few hits to his head have made him entirely too dizzy, the adrenaline from his body trying to keep him alive is sending his head into overdrive and he can barely think. The desperation to save Will clings onto his every move, forcing him to form at least one coherent thought to get both of them out of this, but he has had a hard time with that ever since they got here and now everything is a thousand times worse and he can do nothing about it and Vecna somehow knows something he shouldn’t and the one person he wants forgiveness from looks at him like he’s already been found guilty and–

“I– I can barely think about it myself,” Mike sniffles, not realizing that he has started crying, “I– I know it’s wrong–”

He is brutally interrupted by Will ripping himself free of Mike’s hold, standing up and kicking him against the pew, right into the same spot he has just punched him in. A terrible cracking sound echoes back at him. Immediately afterwards he grabs his collar again, making him sit up. The pain makes his thoughts come to a complete halt. Mike can’t even make a single sound, holding onto his consciousness in fear of the pain knocking him out cold.

He needs to stay present. He has no idea what could happen to Will if he doesn’t.

“Shut the fuck up,” Will snarls, “I’m going to kill you.”

Mike looks into his eyes through his half-lidded ones, and he swears he sees them change in color. His breath hitches when he realizes they aren’t pitch black anymore, and instead some of the green returned, just in tiny specks. His own eyes widen just a bit.

If Vecna was going to kill him anyway, why wait?

There is no logical reason, unless he can’t kill him. Because something is preventing him.

Because Will is resisting. 

His heart clenches at the thought of Will being a prisoner in his own mind. “Will,” he musters up, voice weak, and is that blood in his mouth?, “I’m sorry. You have to forgive me, okay?” He raises a hand to Will’s face, shortly rubbing his hand over his cheekbone before it’s aggressively swatted away. Instead, it earns him a hit right across his face. He hisses and shuts his eyes tightly for a second, waiting for the white spots in his vision to go away.

“Shut up,” Will snarls again. When Mike opens his eyes, he feels something warm drip down from his nose, but he doesn’t care. He lifts both his hands this time, grasping at Will’s arms and shoulders to pull him close, but he keeps resisting.

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, okay? I’ll stop,” Mike’s voice breaks, “I’m sorry for everything I’ve said and I’m sorry for making you feel like you are wrong.” He holds as tightly onto him as Will allows it – which is not at all – and feels hot tears roll down his already hot, hurting cheeks. He watches Will get gradually more aggressive and madder, pushing Mike away, his eyebrows furrowing together and mouth turning downwards.

Mike can’t stop. He still tries to pull him close, almost ripping his sweater as both of them shake with strength. “Let me get close to him,” Mike cries out, trying to swat away Will’s arms preventing him from doing that. “I’ll stop, okay? I’ll stop, just let him go. Let him go.” His vision blurs with tears, voice cracking pathetically.

Will is obviously struggling to move either way. He isn’t showing any sign of attacking him again, but neither is he backing off. Mike isn’t sure if his mind is finally playing tricks on him, but he swears he sees the internal fight happening inside Will’s mind by the way his expression is changing unnaturally fast. It’s subtle, Mike wouldn’t notice if he wasn’t staring at him.

“Stop what, whining?” Will laughs in his face and yanks him upright. Vecna seems to have won this time. Mike gasps with pain at the sudden movement. He must’ve broken a rib when Will kicked him, he thinks.

Something seemingly changes in Will, because he pushes Mike away from him, making him almost tumble back to the ground. The pain is unbearable. He clutches his stomach, hunched over. As the tiles of the floor multiple in front of his eyes, he sees some drops of blood landing on top of them, creating a small splash. He feels the pulsing of his stomach more than his heart at this point and–

Is there even a point?

He can’t breathe without piercing pain shooting through his body, he can’t think of any plan to save them, even though that’s what he prides himself with, and he failed to protect the most important person to him, evidently, as he’s standing before him, possessed. Again. Again. Mike let it happen again.

So, is there a point in holding back, when both of them have their fate written on their heads when he doesn’t do something?

With God’s eyes looking down on him and the literal devil before him, he thinks he couldn’t have possibly picked a worse time to take the biggest leap right into his ruin.

It feels like the walls are closing in on him, like his time is running out, like Will’s time is running out because surely, he can’t prevent Vecna from killing him for that much longer. And maybe he will just stop trying when he hears Mike’s next words, disgusted with him and glad that he’s found an escape from him, but Mike has to try because he sees no other way of helping Will. Maybe, if nothing else, the shock of it all will be enough.

With a heavy heart, he looks up in Will’s face.

The cold sunlight hits him from behind, illuminating the edges of his frame. The stained glass making it appear blueish, cold, like the Upside Down. The dust reflecting white light could honestly fool him, especially with his worsening vision. He sees some blood stains on Will’s hands and panics for a second, until he figures that it’s probably his own blood. Will’s hair is disheveled from beating him up, and ironically, Mike can’t think of any other word to describe him except for beautiful.

He's going to hell.

If his end is inevitable, he thinks, he can just expand the list of his sins and add yet another lie.

“I’ll stop loving you.”

His own voice sounds foreign to him, so fragile and drowned in tears. The ringing in his ears only gets worse. “I’ll stop loving you, so please, Will, come back to me. Come back.” The tears are overflowing at this point, staining his face and the floor. He will have to repent for leaving the sinful tears he’s spilling over another boy on this holy floor. But if that’s what it takes to get Will back, he will repent forever.

He's lowered his head back down at some point, too heavy to keep it up. It hurts so much, the tears not the only reason his vision blurs.

He’s done it now. He’s said it and he won’t ever be able to take it back. When – if – they walk out of here, it will always be between them, haunting their every interaction, their every conversation. Every touch, every look will be tainted by this. And all of his years of repressing are rendered useless, not amounting to any goal, just having delayed the inevitable.

Mike almost forgets where he is, until he hears Will snort. Loud steps towards him alert his senses and despite agonizing pain, his head snaps up just in time to see Will lung at him. There’s no time to register the fall or the ache from hitting the floor, because Will’s hands find their way around his throat and he wastes no time to squeeze. “What the fuck are you doing?” He presses down harder, “What are you doing?”

Mike’s body tries his hardest to throw Will off him, but he’s pinned by the waist. His hands naturally rush up to try to loosen Will’s grip, but it feels impossible to do so. “You disgusting, selfish bastard. I should come back to you? You want me all to yourself, yeah?” Mike can feel his head get red with effort, his throat in incredible agony. He still tries to rip Will’s hands away, but the oxygen is leaving his body rapidly.

“You don’t care about me at all. You didn’t stop to think that I don’t want your sick feelings? You’re repulsive.” Will’s face is so full of hatred, it makes it difficult for Mike to remember those are not his words. He knows, he knows, he shouldn’t feel this way about Will. It’s why he tried his best to be normal his entire life, hold Will at an arms-length and be with a girl the second the opportunity presented itself.

He's felt it all the time these past years. He’s never been able to keep a stable relationship with Will and El at the same time, because – even though admitting it is comparable to cutting his heart open and serving it on a silver platter – they take the same place in his life.

And yet, whenever he spent most of his time with El, gave all his attention to her and tried to focus solely on her, Will never left his damn mind. He had to actively shut him out, remove him from his life to be happy with El, because otherwise he would always have someone else in his heart. And it didn’t even work. It just exploded right back in his face, because of course it did. They’ve been best friends for over a decade; there’s no way he can just accept Will’s absence and expect Will to ignore his off-putting behavior.

Will’s absence isn’t just the lack of him, it’s like removing the supporting pillar of a bridge, forgetting the highlights in a painting, or looking into the night sky and seeing no stars. His presence is pivotal, completing every part that Mike isn’t. And Mike isn’t a lot of things, while Will is everything.

He honestly thinks he would prefer to live without his lungs rather than without Will. Because that’s what it feels like in this moment, his windpipe completely crushed under Will’s fingers and no oxygen entering his body. With Will’s hands not budging at all and his vision blackening out every other second, he thinks this is it.

Mike collects all the strength he can possibly muster and slides his hands up Will’s arms. If he goes out, he wants it to be in his arms. He wants Will to feel his warmth for one last time. So, he intertwines his fingers behind Will’s neck, trying to pull him down. His arms shake with insufficient strength. He’s really not doing himself any favors with this, because he’s pushing Will’s hands even tighter down on his own throat.

He forces out a sound akin to please, though there’s no way Will can understand him. It’s barely a sound at all and the movement in his throat pains him. He feels his eyes close against his will, his hands slowly loosening from behind Will.

At least he told him before dying.

In a fucked up, embarrassing way but he told him. He wouldn’t be alive for Will to tell him that they’d have to end their friendship, and he’s dying by Will’s warm hands. Mike thinks, this is incredibly merciful for a sinner like him. His only grime is that he didn’t get to hug him after all.

Just as his legs stop resisting as well, he feels something drip down on his cheek.

With the force of an army, he cracks open an eye and his heart stops. Metaphorically, for now.

Will’s face, that was so contorted with anger it barely looked like him, is now watching him with the most agonizing expression he’s ever seen. His eyebrows are turned upwards, his lips pressed together as if to contain his sobs and the drops on Mike’s cheek are his tears. Before Mike fully realizes what’s going on, the pressure on his throat lessens.

Immediately, he turns his face to the side to cough, heaving for air in between wheezes. While he’s regaining some consciousness, Will removes his hands little by little, like he has to gather control gradually. More and more air enters Mike’s lungs, and he still prefers Will over his lungs, but they are a nice addition, after all. Maybe he needs both.

When Will withdraws his hands entirely, he starts talking immediately, seemingly having gained control over his body and mind. “Mike,” he chokes out, taking his face into his hands, tenderly and soft – the difference of this touch compared to the hits he’s taken gives him a whiplash – as he turns it back to look at it, “you have to kill me.” More tears drop on Mike’s face, and his brain doesn’t quite catch up. His eyebrows furrow, still heaving for air. “I don’t know how much longer I can contain him.”

Mike can barely focus on Will’s words, because there is his voice again. Will’s voice, his tone, his softness. It’s not dirtied with this anger, hatred and disgust he’s been speaking with, and it makes Mike cry again. As if in trance, he raises a shaky hand to wipe away the tears on Will’s face. The ones he can’t catch mix with his own on his face. Will’s expression breaks even more.

“Mike, listen to me.” He softly shakes him, like he thinks Mike isn’t focusing, “You have to kill me now.” He closes the distance between them a significant amount, so Mike is forced to listen, leaving only a couple of inches between their faces. Will’s own hands shake in their hold around Mike’s face.

Today is Will’s unlucky day, he thinks. Normally, Mike would do everything for him, fulfill his every wish, every command. But Will is asking him for the one thing he could never, under no circumstances, ever do. It’s a concept so far away from any realm of possibility, Mike can’t even fully comprehend what Will is asking of him.

“No,” Mike whispers, running a hand through Will’s hair, “I can’t.”

Will sobs as he lets his head fall on Mike’s chest. “You have to, Mike. You’ll die.” The hands around his face curl in, fingernails digging into his skin. He feels his heart break apart and wander up his throat. He wants to throw up.

“I’d rather have you kill me.” Apparently, that isn’t the right thing to say, because Will takes one hand away from his face and hits his side, though with no real strength behind it. His sobs get louder.

“You’re so fucking unfair. You don’t– you don’t fight back, you just let me– hurt you,” a particularly strong sob shakes his body, “and now you want– me to– Mike, if you let me kill you, I’ll never forgive you. I swear, I won’t.”

Mike can’t bear to hear this. He pulls Will closer to him, hugging him desperately and burying his nose into his hair. He knows their time is running out, it’s just a matter of minutes until Vecna regains control, but he has to indulge himself one last time. “I’m sorry,” he breathes into his hair, “I’m sorry. I can’t live without you. I know I’m selfish, I’m sorry,” Mike cries, face wet from his own and Will’s tears. His heartbeat is so strong, he’s sure Will has heard it by now.

Will lifts himself up slightly, propping himself up on shaky arms. Mike only reluctantly lets go. He sees Will’s red, tear-filled eyes and his reflection in them. He sees all his bruises, the blood, his swollen cheek and all he can think about is how glad he is that Will doesn’t look like that. His breath comes out shuddering.

“Just put an end to this,” Will shouts at him, “You’re going to die.”

“It’s okay.”

Mike gulps. It’s not okay at all, he doesn’t want to die. But if the alternative is Will dying, he’d kill himself a thousand times over. The pain across his body also makes him feel like dying would be a nice escape.

“It’s not okay!” Will balls his fists, hammering them on Mike’s chest, sobbing, “It’s not fucking okay! Fuck, Mike.” The tears wouldn’t stop rolling down his cheeks. Mike wishes there were no tears. He holds his breath while containing pained gasps.

“It’s okay,” he forces out again. “Everyone would rather have it be me than you.” Mike knows he’s unfair. He’s trying to make it easier for Will, make it seem like he’s fine with it, when in reality, Mike is burdening Will again. 

Will clutches the front of Mike’s sweater in frustration, “What are you even saying?”

“It’s fine, Will.”

Mike doesn’t meet Will’s eyes. Maybe he would come to regret this when he fails to remember them in the afterlife. But he’s too ashamed to look into his face, when all Mike can pay attention to is Will’s weight on him and how the rush of it makes him feel alive, despite it all.

Will’s hands claw at Mike’s chest, hurting him if he were to care. But he doesn’t. Not when this is probably the last mark Will will ever leave on his body. “Mike,” he sobs, tears dripping down relentlessly. “Stop this. I don’t need you to save me.”

Still avoiding his eyes, he raises his hands to cup Will’s on his chest, shaking. He tries to touch them gently, but he fears they feel rougher than intended. That seems to be all he can do. Be too rough with him, while he should carry him in his arms, shielding him, which he failed to do so many times. “I can’t. I can’t lose you again,” he whispers, barely audible, not sure if Will even heard him.

“Mike, please!” Will isn’t just shouting anymore, he’s screeching. Begging him, but there is simply no way Mike would give in this time.

“I can’t!”

“Do it now, I feel him regaining contr–” Before Will could even finish his sentence, his hand comes shooting up at his own throat, the force of it flinging him backwards against the floor.  

Mike’s eyes widen instantly, dashing upwards so fast his head starts to spin. Wasting no time, he crawls to Will on all fours, screaming, “Will!”

His entire body feels on fire as he watches Will choke himself, tears still streaming down on the side of his face. Mike’s reaction is immediate. “No, stop! Stop it!” He slides up to him, immediately grabbing his arm to try to remove it, just like he had when it was on him. Will’s choking sounds fill the hall, echoing back at him, all around him, forcing him to listen. He resists the urge to cover his ears to stop himself from hearing and pulls at Will’s arm with all his strength.

The problem is, he keeps lifting Will’s entire body without his hand loosening even a little. “Stop it! Get off him, you fucking bastard!” He shouts, voice cracking. He hasn’t recovered himself quite yet, and it’s putting another strain on his throat to shout like that. Mike doesn’t care in the slightest, there is not a single cell in his body concerned with his own wellbeing right now.

All he’s seeing is Will, crying, writhing in pain, choking.

His heart hammers against his ribcage, feeling like it will break through. “Take me instead! Please!” He sobs hysterically, when Will’s hand keeps a steady hold on his throat. He sees Will looking at him in devastation, but he can’t pay any attention to that. He rattles Will’s arm, at a loss of what to do. He chants please more often than he can count.

When he sees Will getting weaker, resisting and moving less, his breath stops. Mike’s eyes widen in realization. “No,” he whispers, then shouts, “No! No, no, no.”

He sobs uncontrollably. He wishes he had Will’s hands around his neck again, he wishes he was lying there, losing his consciousness once and for all. Not one single punch, kick or slap hurt him anywhere as much as this moment, seeing Will go through what he went through, to see the life leaving his eyes. He meant it when he said he can’t live without him. “Please!” He cries out, whole chest heaving, “Stop it. I love him. Don’t take him away from me.”

His hands shake uncontrollably when he puts them around Will’s face, looking into his eyes. “Don’t leave me, Will. You hear me? Please,” He chokes on his tears, “Don’t leave me alone,” he watches his own tears fall on Will’s face, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I love you.” He can’t breathe.

In a desperate attempt to do anything, he closes the last bit of distance between them and kisses him.

It’s wet, salty, and not sweet at all, but it is deep. Loving. Despairing. He just hopes Will can forgive him for his selfishness. He tastes copper from his own bleeding mouth, smearing it across Will’s. “I’m so sorry,” he mutters against his lips when he breaks off the kiss, before kissing him again. His chest feels heavy with his speeding heart, feeling like he’s grieving already.

He can’t believe it just ends like this. All their preparations, all their plans, all the precautions they took so they can avoid situations like this. None of that mattered if nothing could save Will. All of that was just useless now, a waste of time. Time they should’ve used to make sure Will was safe, time he should’ve spent with him.

It all seems so fucking useless now.

They still couldn’t do shit against Vecna. Will tapping into the hivemind was a bad thing from the start, and no one noticed. Mike didn’t notice, like an idiot. He spent his time worrying about himself, about not getting too close to Will while all he should’ve done was getting closer. Maybe Will would’ve shared more with him and they could’ve prevented this.

Mike keeps his eyes vehemently shut when he stops hearing Will squirm around, holding back the worst sob that is brewing deep in his chest. He brushes his hands through Will’s hair, not sure if he’s trying to comfort himself or Will. The answer is pretty clear when–

When you think about who’s even there to be comforted.

Mike squeezes his eyes shut even tighter, not accepting any of this. This can’t be real. He squeezes Will’s face in his hands. This can’t be real.

At last, he breaks off the kiss when he couldn’t hold back his sobs anymore. He cries loudly into Will’s chest, burying his face in his sweater, gripping him with his hands. He turns his head to the side, trying to search for a heartbeat under Will’s sweater. It’s ridiculous, because he can’t hear anything right now. Static filled his ears a long time ago, his reverbing sobs drowning out every other sound surrounding him.

The crosses all around him seem to be laughing at him. Mocking him, ridiculing him, see what happens. This is his fault. It’s his punishment. He couldn’t control himself and it cost him Will. It took his life.

He pushes himself up and looks at his hands, tears immediately falling down on them. His throat is raw from screaming, his eyes burn from crying, his rib is most definitely broken, his head hurts so much it’s about to burst, and he can’t feel his legs. But as he looks back at Will, lifeless body lying down in front of him, his chest not raising, lips tainted red with sin, all the other pain pales in comparison. It’s not even close, quite the opposite even. He feels like it’s not enough.

He needs to die.

He needs to die for what he did.

Mike doesn’t even think twice before trying to squeeze the last bit of life out of himself, choking for the second time today. He looks at Will’s limp body and cries out. He squeezes harder but eventually, his own body resists and he lets go, coughing. “Fuck!” He screams, voice raw and hurting, “Just die! Die–” He rips at his own skin until it’s covered in red marks, and he finds blood under his fingernails.

He's frantically sobbing, filling the otherwise quiet church with his weeps. “Die,” He cries as he injures his skin, adrenaline pushing him further and further. He doesn’t even think anymore, sadness replaced by rage, rage at himself, at Vecna, at himself – because this is his fault. It’s his fault. None of this would’ve happened if he urged Will to stay over that fateful night, the night that changed all of their lives forever. He would’ve prevented Will from seeing horrors beyond human comprehension, from living through literal hell on earth. He would’ve kept him safe.

Maybe they could’ve lived normally, made some more friends, gone to college, had fun and be spared from all their trauma. Maybe he could’ve even gotten his head out of the gutter and faced his feelings head on, instead of letting them grow quietly in the shadows while pretending they’re not there. Maybe he could’ve let them flourish under the sun instead, scream them out into the world. Tell everyone who asked, be proud of them because Will is worth it. Loving Will might be the only thing he ever did right.

He feels insanely stupid for thinking this, as if he’s not in the very building telling him he could never do any of that. The world doesn’t want boys like him, and it doesn’t just leave him be, either. It invades his life, his mind, repeating the words you’re wrong over and over again, until he can’t stand it anymore and shuts it out. Shuts himself down, focusing on life and death, because that’s more important than his dumb feelings. He can live beside Will and pretend he doesn’t want him any other way, because at least he’s next to him. But evidently, it didn’t work. His fate was sealed the second he asked Will to be his friend on the swings.

Slowly, he stops harming his skin and just sits there, crying, choking on his tears, completely slumped over. He feels numb all over, he doesn’t feel his arms nor his legs. Something else replaced his heart, something sharp and spiky, piercing him open from inside out. With every beat it settles itself deeper, carving out holes in his body, and he feels everything and nothing at all. There’s no way to know how much time passes like this, because he honestly can’t stand to even think about any time passing at all without Will in his life.

Mike dares to lift his eyes up from the floor, filling his vision with Will’s unmoving body. He wants to vomit at the sight.

“Please,” he whispers into nothing, because there’s no one to listen. “If you are out there, God, please–” He shuffles closer to Will, lifting his head on his lap. His dirty fingers are trembling, hovering over Will’s face, not sure where they’re supposed to go. “If anyone can hear me–” He settles on cupping his left cheek with his hand, rubbing his thumb over it as he tries not to scream in agony. “Bring him back,” he finally finishes his prayer.

“Give him back to me.” The tears start to fill up his eyes again and he throws his head back, facing the paintings on the ceiling, silently crying and mumbling prayers. Ranging from I’m sorry, it’s my fault, I’ll be better to he’s never done anything wrong, he doesn’t deserve this, he still has so much in front of him–

Until he hears a quiet gasp, which doesn’t come from himself.

His eyes snap open in an indescribable speed, throwing his head over Will, eyes frantically searching for any signs of life, any signs to prove it was him who gasped. His hands all over him, he tries to feel for Will’s pulse on his throat. All while he chants please quietly to himself. Mike closes his eyes to really concentrate on his fingers against his throat, positioning them right below his jaw. He feels bad for pressing down so hard, since it must still be sore from Will choking himself, but he is barely in control of his own movements.

His heart drops down when he feels a faint pulsing below his fingers.

From here on, everything happens quickly.

Just as his eyes fly open, Will is already shooting up, hunching over while holding his throat, coughing loudly. Mike stares at his back in disbelief, watching him retch painfully until it turns into small coughs eventually. One second, he sits behind him, and the other he flings himself across the distance, gliding over the tiles to reach Will. He startles when Mike suddenly puts his hand on his shoulder, and Mike crawls in front of him, pushing Will’s legs to the side to make space for himself.

He hunches down to look up in Will’s face as he’s still slumped over, eyes scanning his face and focusing on his eyes. He releases a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding when he sees the hazel color he fell in love with, instead of the sharp pitch-black. Will coughs a few more times before he slowly raises his head. Mike mirrors his movements, hand still on Will’s shoulder and eyes not leaving his. He stares at tear-stained, red rimmed eyes and thinks he probably doesn’t look any different, maybe worse.

Somehow, he’s too afraid to speak. As if this is only an illusion his mind made up to cope, a trick of his eyes, a vision by Vecna to get him after all. As if speaking would burst it, and he’d lose Will for real. But when Will finally meets his eyes, he sees the light reflect in them. Recognition at seeing Mike in front of him dances along his pupils, watching him, looking back – alive, not spared from yet another new nightmare, but alive, and Mike loses his composure.

He throws himself at Will, holding him close to his chest with a hand in his hair. Quiet tears roll down his cheeks, and he buries his face into the crook of his shoulder. Breathing in his scent, he tries to calm down and stop his arms from shaking around Will, but it turns out to be an impossible feat, so he just lets Will receive everything. He doesn’t cover up his ragged breathing, doesn’t care about the wet trails his tears leave on Will’s sweater, doesn’t loosen his hands’ grip on his back. For once, he lets himself show himself, his feelings, presenting his thoughts and emotions for Will to see and take in without holding anything back.

And fear is what he feels.

So, he tightens his arms a little bit more, gulping down the pain it causes his upper body. With the adrenaline that shoots through his body, it remains a dull ache for now but he’s sure it will wear off faster than he’d like.

Relief is what he feels next, when Will finally raises his arms to hug him back. It’s a slow, deliberate motion, as if he’s aware of the physical pain Mike is in. He settles his arms around Mike’s waist, intertwining his fingers behind his back. Mike barely feels a pull, but it’s there, so he presses himself closer against Will. He melts into Mike’s embrace, his stiff shoulders falling ever so slightly, breathing out against Mike’s neck.

Mike doesn’t count the minutes they sat there like that, arms wrapped around each other, chests rising irregularly. The only thing he knows is that he could’ve spent the entire day like this, body against Will’s, just to make sure he doesn’t disappear from him, but at last, Will is the one to pull away first. He slowly feels him removing his hands and pushing himself away from Mike, who also slowly raises his head from Will’s shoulder. Though, he doesn’t let his hands leave his body entirely, instead he slides them down along Will’s arms until he stops at his wrists. It takes everything not to take Will’s hands into his but, considering the secret he revealed not even an hour prior, he doesn’t want to make Will any more uncomfortable than he already must be.

When he finally manages to rip away his gaze from Will’s hands, he meets Will’s eyes, who’s already looking at him. His expression is hard to discern, showing something between concern, fear, relief, and confusion. Mike isn’t quick enough to shield his own expression when he looks down at Will’s lips, laced with his own blood.

Oh God. He did kiss him. Right.

On a positive note, Will can probably not even make out the red on his cheeks – or rather the cause of it – because they must be looking pretty badly beaten up. So, he lets that thought go and concentrates on the boy sitting in front of him. Lifting his eyes back up to Will’s – fortunately, hazel and beautiful – he finally asks, “Are you okay?”

His voice comes out unpleasant, rough and way too low for him. Maybe it’s stupid of him to ask because who would be okay after this, but he hopes Will understands all the underlying questions.

Are you hurt? Do you feel weird? Is Vecna really gone? Do you need anything? Do you hate me now–

“Yeah,” Will answers and his voice breaks, “I mean, as okay as I can be, I think. I feel… alone in my head. Which is good.” Mike exhales a breath he definitely knew he was holding and closes his eyes for a second, before opening them back up.

“Good, yeah, okay. That’s good.” Will only nods in response, lips pressed against each other.

Strangely, Mike’s heart starts to pick up its pace as the silence prevails. He had so much to say just a minute ago, but now with Will catching his gaze, waiting – expectantly? nervously? – for something, he feels at a loss of what to say. So, he settles on the most obvious thing.

“I’m sorry–”

“Are you okay–” Will begins at the exact same time, and halts as well.

They stare at each other again, waiting for the other to finish.

“I’ll go first–”

“You go– yeah.”

Will cracks the faintest smile, infecting Mike as well, leading to some pressure leaving his body. After a short few seconds, Will starts to speak again, “Are you okay? You look horrible. And I’m incredibly sorry, Mike. I don’t even– I don’t know how to– How can I even make up for this?” He flexes his hand in the general direction of Mike, but it’s still held down by Mike’s, so his movement is limited. His eyes well up with tears when he looks Mike up and down, focusing on his visible injuries, probably not even aware of his rib, and Mike will do his best to keep it that way. He will only blame himself, Mike thinks.

“I can’t even feel it, don’t worry. I think I’m still high on adrenaline,” Mike tries to make light of the situation, but it only seems to upset Will further, so Mike tries again, “It’s okay. I’ll heal, and it’s not even that bad.” Mike withdraws one hand to touch his face, especially his wounded cheek, and demonstrate how much it doesn’t hurt. He hopes Will doesn’t see the way his eyes squint in pain when he presses down, but obviously Will does, and furrows his eyebrows. “Okay. It hurts. But it’s not your fault. You didn’t do this.” He squeezes the wrist he's still holding in what he hopes would be comfort.

“But I did–”

“No. You didn’t,” Mike interrupts him with a stern expression, voice leaving no room for discussion. “Vecna did this. Nothing of this is your fault. If anything, I should’ve done more.” Mike drops his gaze down to his hand, rejoining the other one on Will’s wrist. He bites down on his bottom lip, and dares to inch closer to Will’s palms, but not touching them quite yet.

“Mike,” Will quivers, “don’t do this to yourself.”

“What?” Mike starts to draw small shapes and wiggly lines with his thumb onto Will’s skin.

“Carry the burden. Alone.” Will stops his uneasy movement and takes Mike’s hands into his. “You don’t need to protect everyone to have a purpose. You–” He stops momentarily, and Mike thinks he hears him gulp, “You being you– That’s enough. And I– nobody needs anything more from you. I meant it when I said I don’t need you to save me. You’re more than your ability to protect.” His voice gradually goes quieter as he talks.

It doesn’t take long for Mike to figure out what Will is talking about. His own voice echoes in his head.

I feel like I’m only… worth something when– when someone’s in danger. And I can help.

“Okay?” Will lightly shakes their hands to make Mike look at him, and it works. “But you still saved me. You gave me the chance of escape that I needed and– and that’s the reason I’m here right now. So, don’t do this to yourself.”

Will’s voice is so incredibly soft and comforting, stark contrast to the cold floor they’re sitting on or the harsh, cold lighting surrounding them alongside the sharp corners of the crosses still watching their every move. He doesn’t register his eyes filling with tears as much as he sees it and blinks them away immediately. Will is the one who was just controlled like a marionette, and it’s still him who’s comforting Mike, instead of the other way around.

And he notices that this happens more often than not. It’s Will who’s hurting, who survives horrors, traumatizing events alongside not being safe in his own body, and it’s Will who’s saying the words Mike needs to hear the most, reassuring him at every given moment. For every selfish bone in Mike’s body, it’s a selfless one in Will’s.

Mike lowers his gaze before answering, “Yeah, okay,” it comes out barely above a whisper. “I’m still sorry, though,” he adds, and hears a quiet, breathy laugh, before his ears twitch when Will’s fingers brush against it. He’s pushing stubborn black locks to the side, seemingly to gauge the damage on Mike’s temple.

Will’s eyes squint. “Be sorry all you want, but what I did–”

“Vecna,” Mike mumbles, interrupting him.

Will takes a second to gather himself. Mike can imagine the look Will is directing at him. “What Vecna did– Mike, we need the first aid kit. You’re bleeding all over.” Before Mike can resist or miss the warmth of the closeness, Will slowly lifts himself up from the floor, careful not to topple over. Mike would fly up to help him if he could, but his body prevents him. Instead, Will stretches out a hand for Mike to take, “Can you stand up?”

“I can try,” he answers, and the unsteady hand he raises to clasp around Will’s doesn’t look promising. Will goes to tug an arm around his torso, lifting him by the shoulders. Mike can’t help but hiss, whole body sore and hurting. He closes his eyes for a second, not moving, as Will holds still, too.

Suddenly, despite the pain, it overcomes him again, warm body pressed to his side. Will is alive. He’s helping him, breathing heavily from exhaustion, but breathing, and alive.

He turns his body before he realizes, wrapping his arms around Will’s neck again. He presses as hard as he can without whitening his own vision, sighing into his neck. This time, it doesn’t take Will any time to embrace him, arms settling around his waist in a quick movement. Mike feels him bury his nose into his collarbone, cold against his warm skin.

For a few minutes, that’s all there is. The relief washing over their bodies, unfurling the tension. Will’s weight against his, the rise and fall of his chest, the grasping hands on his back. Solid, living proof that he didn’t lose him. His breath stutters out of him, half-laughing, half-sobbing, when he presses his head closer against Will’s.

He opens his eyes when Will tightens his arms. The pulpit looms ahead of them, the cross on it watching in silence. Mike has the absurd thought that his is the wrong place for this kind of closeness, that they’re standing somewhere meant for sealing vows and absolution. The very place the world celebrates the bond of two people, their love, their forever. A flicker of unease floods his body at the twisted giddiness he’s feeling.

“God, Mike, I’m so sorry,” he hears Will, muffled against his collarbone. That’s when he feels the wetness, and Will’s chest shakes with sniffles. “I need you to know–” Will starts, stops, and pulls away from Mike slightly. Not exactly letting go, but aware of the proximity. He catches his eyes, and continues, “I’m sorry for everything I said.”

“It’s okay,” Mike shoots out, because his heart skipped several beats at Will’s words and he really wants him to drop it for now. He’s aware that they’ll need to talk about the chaos they were spewing, but Mike is not ready to lose Will right after getting him back. “Let’s get the first aid kit.” Mike changes the topic, removing his arms from Will even though he could use some more minutes in his embrace. At the same time, he still tastes blood and he’s seriously getting dizzy, so getting patched up should be his priority for now.

Talking can wait. Mike really needs it to wait.

A glimmer in Will’s eyes tells him that he sees right through him, but he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he presses his lips together in a tight-lipped smile, “Yeah, you’re right.” And with that, they start moving in the direction of their bags.

As the rows of pews pass them, Mike’s shaky footsteps accompanied by Will’s steadier ones, he tries not to think about the way they’re basically walking down the aisle. Just in reverse. And without music. Or guests. Or suits. Bloody and beat up as well. Okay, so maybe they aren’t and Mike doesn’t know why he thought about that in the first place.

Except, he knows why and there’s no use denying it. If Mike were to open his mouth and say hey, doesn’t this feel like walking down – or, I guess, up – the aisle, while chuckling awkwardly, even Will would know how Mike’s brain came up with that thought. He revealed it. He seriously went ahead and revealed it. Something he spent years on forcing down – out in the open, just like that.

Mike drops his head down, biting his lip with closed eyes to get his thoughts in order. He must’ve taken one too many hits to his head.

Opening his eyes again, he sees Will watching him from the corner of his eye, worried expression on his face. Mike surely looks horrible, so he isn’t surprised. The blood leaking from his nose has dried uncomfortably on his skin, his temple throbs like it wants to start a band and be the drummer, and he can’t stand up straight for the life of him. He releases a sigh of relief when they finally managed to reach the table they left their bags on.

Will helps him sit down on the table, carelessly brushing away some of the tools Mike unpacked to make room for him. Through pained groans and gasps he manages to sit down, while Will rummages through his backpack until he finds the first aid kit. Mike watches him, sudden question popping up in his head, “Are you sure he’s gone? For now, at least. Like– you don’t feel weird at all?”

Will gets the antiseptic and some cotton pads. Mike’s face involuntarily sours at the thought of the sting he’s about to feel. Will applies some of the liquid onto the pad, and watches Mike for a second, deciding where he should begin. When he makes his way over to stand in front of Mike, he lightly taps Mike’s knee, wordlessly telling Mike to make space for him, and answers, “Uh, yeah, he’s gone.”

Mike forces down a blush when Will settles between his legs. Sitting down takes away from his height, so Will is just a little bit taller than him now. He starts to brush Mike’s hair out of the way, mumbling a quiet, “Can you hold this?” as he waits for Mike’s hand to take over holding his hair back. Mike’s heart in his throat prevents him from answering, so he nods quickly, before replacing Will’s hand on his hair, brushing their fingers.

Mike hopes it’s not too obvious when his breath hitches at the contact, space between them small and charged. Somehow, he still can’t find it in him to look away from Will’s eyes, following every expression. Will starts to wipe off the blood surrounding the wound at first, before closing in on the open skin. Mike squeezes his eyes shut at the sting. “I’m sorry,” Will whispers. Mike only shakes his head in response.

He tells himself to breathe slowly and controlled. The hall smells like dust and antiseptic, intrusive smell of copper dominating, and it feels too much. His senses are turned up too high after everything. He feels every accidental touch of Will’s fingers, every stroke of cotton against his temple. He hears a gust of wind hitting the church from outside, his own ragged breathing and Will’s flat one. Whenever Mike flinches, Will’s eyebrows twitch together like it pains him right back. It feels like quiet apologies Mike knows Will has to force down.

When Will reaches over Mike’s leg to get a band-aid out of the kit, Will’s weight presses against his leg. It stays for a few seconds, before Will leans back again, opening the band-aid. Mike continues to watch him, still holding a few strands of his hair back.

Another question fills his head, and he doesn’t hesitate, “Did Vecna say anything about why he possessed you? Or did you, like, hear anything– like, telepathically, or something.” Will just finished putting the band-aid on the wound, accidentally covering the end of his eyebrow, when Mike asks. Will stills for a fraction of a second, trying to conceal it by moving on to wipe the blood from under his nose. But he stills again when he’s about to cup Mike’s jaw with his free hand to hold him in place, hand hovering inches away from his cheek.

Will’s eyes flicker up to meet Mike’s for a short second for the first time since he started cleaning his wounds. It sends shivers down Mike’s spine immediately. He swallows, throat tight. Will watches the movement of his throat. The air feels too thick, too filled, pressing down on his chest, preventing him from taking deep breaths. Against his better judgment, his gaze falls on Will’s mouth, smudges of blood plastered on his lips and chin. His heart pounds against his ribcage, and he forces his eyes back up.

Finally, after a pause way too long to be meaningless, Will gently touches his cheek, sliding his fingers down to hold his jaw. He fumbles with the pad in his hand and slowly wipes right above his upper lip. Mike feels the tug on his lip with every swab, suddenly aware of how Will is staring at his lips to remove the blood. He ignores the urge to press his lips together.

“He did. Say something, I mean.” Will’s voice startles him, and Mike’s brain needs a few moments to catch up, already forgotten he asked a question. “When he choked me, I didn’t die. I was in this weird– trance, or something. Like, he was in my head, but not really? It’s hard to describe it,” he pauses, letting go of Mike’s face to get another cotton pad. Mike sees how red the one in his hand is. Will leans over his leg again, and Mike thinks he’ll die if Will doesn’t stop doing that.

After he adds some antiseptic, he goes back to cleaning his nose and continues, “I was trapped there. I knew that I was alive, but he held me there. He– he was menacing, I– I don’t really remember his exact words,” Will’s eyes twitch to the side, and he’s stuttering his words. He’s lying, Mike thinks, but doesn’t interrupt him, “but he mentioned someone. A girl named Patty. The way he spoke about her– I think she was his lover. And he lost her.”

Mike’s eyebrows fly up in surprise.

Will seems satisfied with his work when he musters Mike’s – now hopefully clean – nose. He reaches to get a smaller band-aid, probably to cover the small cut on the bridge of his nose. He felt it when Will brushed the antiseptic over it. “He didn’t say it like that, but I think she was his weakness. He thought– um–” Will smooths out the band-aid over his nose. “He thought that you–” Mike sees the blush rise in Will’s cheeks. His eyes widen slightly, before he feels his own blush creep back up again.

What is Will getting at?

Will backs away slightly, his eyes dragging over to his cheek. He furrows his brows at the damage he must be seeing, and it forms a funny – but very charming, damn it – expression, flickering between shyness and concern. Mike starts to fumble with his fingers. “He thought…?” He urges, no longer able to endure the tension.

“He thought you– you were mine.” Will deflates like he’s been holding a breath, new cotton ball already in hand. He turns Mike’s head sideways, so he has a better view of his cheek. Mike’s heart stops, and he chokes out his next words, “What, lover?”

Pain.

Agony even, is what he feels next, as Will’s hand jerks hard against his abused cheek, almost slapping him once more. Mike’s face contorts in pain as he yanks it away reflexively, mouthing an ow. The taste of blood in his mouth even more prevalent now.

Okay. Not lover, then.

Will immediately scrambles for an answer, “No! Oh my god, no. Weakness. He thought you’re my weakness,” he laughs awkwardly, then realizes, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.” His voice is back to being soft, and Mike’s already forgiven him. “It’s okay. Didn’t even hurt,” Mike says, voice clearly hurt, “Just a bit sensitive right now,” he tries to joke.

Will smiles sadly, “Sorry.”

“Seriously, it’s okay, Will.”

What’s hurting Mike more than his rib piercing into his flesh and his newly reinforced burning cheek is Will’s reaction. He doesn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t how fast Will flinched away from the word, like it burned him. The denial shot out so rapidly, like Will’s body had to get it out before his mind could catch up. It echoed through the hall, before it continued to echo in Mike’s mind.

He feels stupid now, for the way his chest tightened when he suggested it. He’s said it without thinking, half-joking, half-testing a boundary he already knew he was overstepping. And Will shut it down so cleanly, there isn’t any room left to pretend. Mike swallows the embarrassment, the humiliating truth of hope. Hoping for half a second, that maybe Vecna sees them as lovers, and Mike isn’t the only one with a secret.

Well, it’s not exactly a secret anymore.

The air feels awkward now. Will takes some time before raising his hands back to his face, angling it the same way he had before, and starts to wipe off the blood.

Mike can’t stand the tense silence between them. It’s Will and Mike, after all. Silence should either be comfortable, or non-existent, so he decides to drive in the knife into his heart just a tad bit deeper. “Am I?” His voice small, almost exposing his intentions.

Unexpectedly, Will smiles. The kind of smile that should be accompanied by a choir of angels singing behind him, just to catch a fraction of how beautiful he looks. The kind of smile that reaches his eyes, tinting his cheeks in a rosy color, stark contrast to his long, dark lashes dancing along them while looking down. “No,” he simply says. He gets another band-aid. “This is kinda embarrassing,” Will chuckles nervously, “you’re the opposite of my weakness.”

Mike’s ears perk up. “Opposite…?” His nose scrunches when Will brushes over a cut.

“Yeah. Opposite, as in, strength. Y’know, like I told you. You’re the heart.”

All the previous hurt gets pushed to the side almost immediately, but he has no time to dwell on it when Will continues, “That’s why he needed you dead either way. To weaken me. He wants me to join him.”

Mike’s heart stutters so hard it feels like it wants to break another rib.

His strength. Mike is his strength.

The word lands somewhere dangerous, somewhere warm and he almost hates how fast it works on him, but he’s never been anything short of intense when it comes to Will. The words ledges itself in his mind, rewriting anything that came before it, healing the sharp edges he’s just been bleeding from. He feels the urge to stop himself from internalizing it, but his pulse won’t listen.

The heart.

Mike remembers. Of course he remembers. The gorgeous art, hand in hand with beautiful words he’s felt he hasn’t lived up to for quite a while. Will says it like it’s obvious, like Mike shouldn’t doubt it even though he’s felt like dead weight the better part of the past year. And now, Will’s telling him he’s the reason Vecna failed.

You being you, that’s enough.

Will said those words. He wasn’t accusing Will of lying, but hearing solid proof, seeing proof – Will being alive in front of him, plastering a band-aid on his cheek – is an entirely different feeling. Knowing he did the right thing in talking to him in his possessed state, even though he felt so useless at the time, lets his heart bloom in a way that only Will ever achieves.

Mike is so caught up, he missed when Will began to clean up the blood under his mouth, only place left that’s dirtied. He doesn’t know why Will left it when cleaning up above his lips, but he focuses his attention there now. He reaches for another clean cotton pad, drenched in antiseptic.

Will looks mildly surprised at the lack of a response, but opens his mouth again, “It was stupid of him to think he could do it through me. I mean, you saw how I regained control. He went after me then, so I wouldn’t hear you anymore,” Will stops, gaze intense on Mike’s lips. He gulps. Mike gulps too, palms sweaty, still fidgeting.

“But then you–” Will cuts himself off abruptly, sudden silence so unnatural Mike feels like it hurt him physically.

The touch of the cotton pad against his lip burns, and it’s not only because of the antiseptic. His lower lip tugs open ever so slightly when Will wipes across it, his eyes following it. He licks his own lips as his movement gets gradually slower.

Mike’s eyes are glued to Will’s. He feels his own breath bounce off Will’s hand in front of his lips, hot and moist against the cold air. His thoughts scatter, useless and loud at once. He knows what Will was about to say. What he did when he thought he died.

But then you kissed me.

The tug of his lip feels almost deliberate for a few seconds, until Mike remembers that Will is trying to help him, and not fulfill some fantasy he’s never even dared to dream about. Mike tries to slow his breathing, chest rising and falling shallowly, like he’s afraid of taking up the space, or shatter whatever Will’s thinking about.

Except, he’s not sure if Will is thinking about anything, because his hand stills at the corner of his mouth, damp and cool, and Mike can feel every place it doesn’t touch just as clearly as where it does. His lips tingle, oversensitive, like they’re preparing for pressure.

That’s what startles him out of his trance, but not out of his racing thoughts and hammering heart. His sweaty palms stay sweaty, and the band-aids on his face feel glued onto his face. His rib still hurts beyond words, and the wound on the back of his head is still bleeding. God hasn’t stopped watching them, and the crosses still bore holes through him. Will hasn’t moved and neither has Mike.

He can keep all of this up. He can let it continue until the day he dies, plagued by regrets and feelings he never expressed, never explored. He can find himself in another situation just like today and lose Will for good. He can pretend and pretend and pretend and let it never come true. He can just take it back; say it was heat of the moment stuff and go back inside himself to hide.

The thought makes his stomach twist, sharp and sudden.

Because he almost did lose him.

The image flashes uninvited; Will on the floor, voice wrong and cruel before cold and dead. The way Mike’s chest caved in on itself when he was convinced that this was it, that he had no more time together with him, nothing to cling to.

His heart slams harder, like it’s finally had enough of being ignored.

He’s already said it. Will knows.

When has Mike ever been the hesitating type?

Fuck it.

“You know,” the movement of his mouth makes his lips brush against Will’s fingers, and he shudders, voice shaky and quieter than he intended, “when you were choking me, all I could think about was how I wanted to be closer to you.” Will’s eyes snap up suddenly, finally meeting his gaze fully. His hand shakes where it’s hovering, falling ever so slightly.

The words feel insane the moment they leave him. His heart pounds so hard it almost drowns out his own thoughts, making him forget what he’s doing. Though, he thinks he’s had no real idea of that anyway. He swallows and forces himself to keep going before he loses his mind.

“I’m sure you know–” He huffs out a breath that sounds almost like a laugh, wavering around the edges, “I mean, you were there. But I– I, uh, even pushed you down on my own throat.” His fingers find the fabric of his pants and twist around it, knuckles whitening. “Like an idiot. I mean, it hurt, man.” A second sound akin to laughter. It sounds choked up.

He shakes his head slightly, as if he could dislodge the feeling that’s been sitting in his chest for years, dormant. His eyes flicker away for half a second, then back to Will, because if he looks away now, he won’t be able to finish this. Will’s expression is unreadable, like he’s forcing himself to give nothing away.

“And even when my vision doubled because of the pain, I thought about how– how beautiful you are. I don’t expect anything from you, I swear. It’s just– You know, when you were lying before me, not moving– dead. I thought– I thought I lost you forever. Like it was my punishment for wanting you at all. I wanted to follow you right away. Actually, I think my heart ripped apart, literally. It hurt so much. So much.” Mike knows he’s rambling. He can’t stop.

“And you know how scared I was to come here in the first place?” He laughs breathily, “Pretty uncool of me, huh? But I felt like– like, a million eyes on me. This church– any church, really– makes me feel so– wrong. But like, how can choosing you ever be wrong?”

At that, Will’s expression crumbles for the first time since Mike started his – apparently – love confession. He’s about to open his mouth, but Mike isn’t done yet, “I think part of me has always been waiting for you to notice. And another part has been terrified of what would happen if you did.” Mike looks away at the pews. The crosses, paintings, statues, dimly lit confessionals. He sighs.

“Also,” Mike adds, softer, almost apologetic, “I lied.”

Silence stretches while Mike carefully picks his next words, heavy and expectant, and Mike feels on edge. He’s already halfway through the jump, if he stops now, he’ll just crash to his death. There’s no other way out of this.

“I mean, I can try,” he says, voice breaking despite himself, despite what he’s trying to convey, “if you want me to. I can pretend, shut up, whatever you’d like.” His jaw tightens, resolve cutting through the fear. “But there’s no way I’ll ever be able to stop loving you.”

Mike hears Will suck in a sharp breath, arms dangling by his own side, retracted. They aren’t touching at all anymore, but with Will between his legs, the position still feels incriminating and intimate. Mike can’t help but want to pull Will close, maybe even seal their lips together once more, without death looming above their heads. Without feeling like it’s his last chance, but just because he’s allowed to.

That’s the problem.

“This doesn’t have to change anything. I can still be normal about us, I think. Maybe– I dunno, just cut me some slack when I get, like, nervous around you, or something.” Now he’s definitely laughing awkwardly. He thinks he’s never been more awkward. He buries his face in his hands, breaking eye contact for the first time. His cheeks are warm where his hands touch them, careful not to apply too much pressure. His whole face hurt.

“Now that I’ve spoken about it– I think it’ll be a lot harder to ignore but I’ll try,” Mike adds, muffled because of his hands. He feels a familiar pressure building up at the back of his throat, eyes starting to burn, “I’ll– I swear I’ll try.” His voice sounds choked up, and he feels his hands getting wet. Before he can stop it, a quiet sob shakes his body. As quiet as it can be anyway, since every damn noise sounds infinitely louder in this hall. His hands curl into his face, shoulders slumping down, as he feels continuous sobs leaving his mouth, sharp and uncontrollable.

God, this is so stupid and embarrassing, his mind supplies uselessly. He needs to get it together. He’s said everything he needed. He promised. That should be enough.

But that’s the thing – it isn’t.

Because now it’s out there, now it’s real and between them. It hurts in a way it never did when it was just his, ignored in some corner of his heart. Pounding against the door to be let out, sure, but it was sealed away. Now, it’s hanging in the air out in the open, and all he can do is make it seem smaller than it is. Reduce his all-encompassing feelings into a digestible size.

“Man, I’m sorry. I don’t–” His voice cracks, riddled with tears, “I don’t wanna make you feel bad, or anything. I don’t know why I’m crying.” Another sob forces its way out, and he hates how helpless it makes him sound. He hates how he’s saying all of this here, in this church, agonizing over it like he did something wrong. Like all of these people were right all along.

Mike is about to force himself to look at Will again, because he’s been awfully quiet, when delicate arms wrap around him for the third time today. It’s careful, like he’s afraid of hurting him any more than he already has. Will’s hand presses gently against Mike’s head, mindful of the wound there and guides Mike’s head to rest against his shoulder.

Another sob rocks Mike’s body, face still in his hands, and melts into Will’s body like he’s been waiting for it.

“Sorry, I– I had to make sure this wasn’t Vecna’s doing,” Will whispers against his ear, and Mike stiffens, reaction involuntary, like he’s bracing himself. Will keeps talking before his fear can bloom fully, voice low and vibrating faintly through Mike’s shoulder, “This is real, right? It’s really you?”

At this, Mike slowly removes his hands, blinking through the sting in his eyes. His arms drop uselessly to his side, not daring to hug back. “Uh, y– yeah,” he says quietly, “It’s me.” His voice wobbles, betraying him all over again, “Would you prefer it– not to be? Like I said, I can–”

“No, Mike.”

Will breathes, not loud enough to echo but firm enough to cut straight through the spiral starting in Mike’s head. He sounds almost relieved. Mike’s ears must be playing a trick on him. “I would not prefer that at all, actually. I– I just can’t believe it.” Will’s voice is trembling too, not all that different from Mike’s, and Mike thinks his heart skips several beats.

Will pulls back just enough to look at Mike, hands still anchored on his shoulders like he’s afraid Mike might disappear. His eyes are bright, glassy, and fixed on Mike’s face with an intensity that makes Mike’s stomach flip. His cheeks are the same rosy tint Mike’s seen a lot today. He likes it. A lot.

“Everything you said,” Will continues, slower now, cautious, “I– I feel that too. For you.”

Mike doesn’t react right away.

It’s like the words don’t quite make it all the way through to him at first, getting caught somewhere on the way. They bounce back and forth in his head, detached from reality, concept so foreign he has a hard time understanding it. When he tries to reach for it, it dissolves at the touch like a dream you try to chase after waking up before it escapes your mind.

He can’t be hearing this right. Maybe Will didn’t understand what he was saying, what he was trying to express. Maybe he didn’t get that Mike is trying to tell him he’s in love with the boy standing in front of him, painfully so, as his shoulders burn with the touch and he cowers in the intensity of Will’s gaze.

Then again, Will is smart, and good with feelings in all the ways Mike isn’t. Surely, he understood him, if only by remembering the words he’s said when he wanted to break Will out of his possession. Mike’s brain provides only one logical solution: Will is sacrificing himself, his feelings, his comfort – so that Mike can live without the guilt of having ruined their friendship.

Mike’s breath stutters again, but his sobs aren’t the reason for it anymore.

“You–” His voice sounds like it didn’t even try to come out. He clears his throat, heart slamming against his chest, so loud he’s sure he alerted God to pay close attention to them, “You don’t have to, like– appease me. You’re way too nice.”

“Mike,” Will says his name like a prayer.

His shoulders are tense, like part of him expects to run away at any second, but his hands don’t leave Mike’s shoulders. His face is conflicted and open at the same time, like he knows what he’s doing in theory, but putting it to practice is difficult. His eyebrows are drawn together slightly, concentrating on Mike, analyzing him. The flush on his cheeks has spread, now deeper in color. He doesn’t look like he wants to hide it.

All the alarms go off in Mike’s head, trying to find out what this means, what the tone of his voice means, if he’s ever worn this expression, and if so, when–

Will himself offers the answers. “That painting. The one I gave you in the van in California. El has no idea about it. You can ask her when she’s back, if you don’t believe me.” Will releases a shuddering breath, slightly tightening his grip on Mike’s shoulders. “Everything I said that day, those were– are my feelings. You can even ask Jonathan, he figured it out by himself,” an embarrassed chuckle shakes his shoulders, “Vecna said to me, and I quote, you love him too much, you need to let go of him if you want to flourish to your full potential.” His mouth twists at that, something bitter and almost angry flashing through his eyes, “So, please, Mike, get out of your head and believe my words instead of your own.” When he finishes, his shoulders slump in something akin to relief, as he exhales, hard.

Mike froze with big eyes staring at Will a minute ago. He thinks he hasn’t breathed since then, actually. Will’s words don’t sink in as much as collide with everything – every thought, feeling, cell and bone in his body, demanding they all make place for them to settle down forever. It doesn’t feel real, with the way his stomach twists in a different way from before. This is what people mean when they talk about butterflies, he’s pretty sure. It almost feels like his brain is making up scenarios to cope, one last assurance before it blasts into a million pieces.

And it does explode, in a way – just not the way he expected. His fingers clench around nothing, as a ridiculous amount of warmth spreads through his body that he can’t stop – doesn’t want to stop. For the first time in his life, he welcomes it. The warmth’s usual accomplices – namely shame, guilt, embarrassment – are nowhere to be seen, and instead it’s sharing its space with astonishment, wonder, and a tinge of disbelief. His face feels hot, he’s pretty sure he’s smiling like an idiot, plastered with band-aids, purple bruises and hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. There must still be blood between his teeth.

This is Will – his Will – standing before him, nervously assuring him he feels the same, demanding him to believe he feels the same. He’s saying it’s so obvious, Jonathan found out without Will telling him. Mike’s vision spins. Then, Mike’s mind singles out one phrase from Will’s speech, not being able to help itself. Mike isn’t ruling over it right now – in fact, he feels like he’s watching as a third person. You love him too much. Vecna said that?

Before Mike can think better of it, or respond to literally anything else – what was that about the painting? – the words tumble out of his mouth, “You love me?” The questioning tone almost sounds desperate, but Mike finds it hard to care at this point. He shakes with the realization that he’s able to voice this question, and it doesn’t feel out of place, it’s not laced with fear and Will is still standing before him.

Will inhales a deep breath, a quick appearance of his tongue to wet his lips that Mike definitely doesn’t look at, before saying, “I do.” It’s firm, like he’s been holding onto it for a long time, rounding the edges, caring for it. He looks embarrassed, but not exactly unsatisfied. Mike’s heart drops though, as does his mouth.

Something in him loosens. It’s small and sudden and devastating in the purest way, like achieving good results for something you worked hard for, or finally scratching that itch that’s been bothering you, and everything falls into place. Breathing comes easy for the first time; their proximity feels right rather than shameful. In fact, he wants Will to step closer right now.

Mike lifts his legs, clasping them behind Will, softly edging him closer. Will stumbles forward, eyebrows raised at Mike, who has a new mission in mind. He gently removes Will’s arms from his shoulders, taking his hands into his own. “Say it,” Mike says quietly, not as confident as he would’ve liked, but it’s enough. It’s a little bit pushy, he thinks as an afterthought, but he can’t stop himself. He’s living something out, that’s never even happened in his dreams. He needs to hear it, needs it said out loud just once. Just this once, because that will be enough to replay it in his mind forever.

Will looks down at their hands, watching Mike rub his thumb over his still blood-stained hand. Mike’s eyes don’t leave Will. He sees the corners of Will’s mouth quirk up, small and involuntarily, like he’s trying and failing not to smile. Will huffs out a breath, shaking his head a little, “What? You’re embarrassing,” he says, fond despite himself.

Mike swallows and chuckles. His heart stutters in his chest, stupidly loud. He should probably leave it, but he needs to hear it. He wants to hear it. Cleanly, plainly, without room for doubt to crawl back in. Doubt, that maybe, in some fucked up way he’s misreading all of this, mishearing him, misunderstanding it. “Say it,” he reiterates, and it sounds like a plea. He could very well be on all fours, the way his voice quivered, unvoiced please chasing after the sound.

Will blinks, finally looking at him, face grimacing into something between disbelief mixed with amusement. He scoffs quietly, fingers tightening around Mike’s, as he inches closer until he hits the table with his thighs. “You say it.” A smile tugging at his lips, curving them so very enticingly, “Put in the work yourself, jerk,” he counters, eyes shining with something that makes Mike’s breath catch in his throat. Smile impossibly wide, not hiding anymore.

And Mike feels like he fell in love all over again.

He drowns in his beautiful hazel eyes for a moment, looking up at him because of his own slumped posture. His eyebrows lower themselves in earnest, and he intertwines their fingers. There’s nothing holding him back anymore. With Will in front of him, meeting his gaze with the same shine in his eyes he’s watched him with for years, cheeky grin and glowing flush, he thinks, this can’t possibly be a sin.

Here, in the smell of dust and old wood, Mike feels the weight lift off his shoulders and he feels light when he tells him, jarring contrast to the way he felt when he first did.

“I love you.”

But this time, no apology follows.

Instead, he fights the urge to repeat himself. The sense of freedom washing over him is unprecedented, and the shy expression on Will’s face is something he wishes he could write down in words, so he could read it over and over, supporting his inner eye in recreating it for the rest of his life. His mind already scrambles for words, like ethereal, gorgeous or simply lovely, but none of them are enough to compare to the sheer beauty of him; shining eyes, beauty marks living up to their name, slightly opened mouth inviting him without intending to. When Will’s eyes start to look glassy, so do Mike’s and his heartbeat is the only thing filling his ears until–

“I love you, too,” Will says, without hesitation this time.

The words hit Mike all at once. The adrenaline returning, physically lessening the pain he’s feeling and replacing it with dizzying buzz, like Will flipped a switch inside him. He lets go of Will’s hands and slides them along his waist, until they meet on his back. He tugs him closer like he’s wanted to do this entire time, and grins like an idiot. Mike can’t see himself, but if he’d need to guess, he thinks he probably looks like he’s found the last puzzle piece in a puddle of explosives without blowing himself up.

His pupils no doubt blown wide, look of love supported by the lack of light.

Mike feels the butterflies in his stomach go rampant – something he’s unfamiliar to. Like their cage was opened, finally returning them their freedom and he feels it all over. Something close to static overcoming his limbs, antsy but pleasant feeling hitting him like a wave. He feels laughter bubble up his throat, “Like, romantically,” Mike adds, just inches away from Will’s face.

So close, Will’s breathy laugh hits his face, as his hands settle over Mike’s shoulders, clasping together behind his head, “Yeah, I got that.”

“As in, I want to kiss you.”

“I’m sure.”

“Like, right now.”

“Is there any reason you’re waiting?”

Will looks him right in the eyes, flickering from one to another, expectant. Mike’s heart shoots into his throat because Will is flirting, right? He’s definitely flirting. Mike pulls him closer by the waist, “I don’t know if a church is the ideal place,” he’s whispering, because everything above that feels disturbing to the moment. The lighthearted, almost joking atmosphere passed when Mike began seeing the want reflected in Will’s eyes, and it sends shivers down his spine.

“That didn’t stop you the first time,” Will answers, equally as quiet.

Mike bites his tongue instead of explaining how totally different that was, and catches a glimpse of Will’s lips, bloodied because of Mike. The blood dried a long time ago, but it’s no less visible. His stomach churns weirdly, mix of fluttering and hurting, partly because he kissed Will, and partly because he kissed Will because he thought he’d died. He quickly throws away that thought, replacing it with the sensation of Will’s warm body pressed against his, his breath on his lips.

Thinking he’s wasted enough years with hesitating, he finally closes the distance with a tentative touch to Will’s lips. Barely brushing his lips, just to try it out. They break apart with a quiet smack, and half a second passes before Mike presses against Will again, firmly and with intent. It’s soft and careful, hot breath mixing between them. Mike opens his mouth slowly, just a little bit, and catches Will’s bottom lip. Will gasps quietly, which Mike drowns out with his mouth. He tastes the copper of the blood left behind.

The thing that separates this kiss from the last one is the pressure Will is applying right back. Before, he kissed a lifeless body, but now Will is matching the rhythm of his lips, carefully copying whatever Mike is doing. Which reminds him, this must be Will’s first – or second – kiss, right? Unless he simply hasn’t told him about anyone in Lenora.

But that thought only makes him pull Will closer, pressing harder against his mouth. Will goes on to bury one hand in his hair and the other one cups his face. A few moments pass this way, and Mike spends every last one of them with filling his head with Will’s scent, Will’s touch, Will’s taste – his head is clear, except for Will running rampant in it. He feels a tear escape down his cheek, heavy mix of everything weighing it down.

If this is what sinning feels like, his only regret is that he hasn’t done it sooner.

Every time their lips come apart, the sound of it echoes, filling the space around them alongside quiet gasps and sighs. The table shakes faintly, dancing with their movements and rattling everything that lies on top of it. That doesn’t deter Mike from running his hands along Will’s back and getting rewarded for it when Will smiles into the kiss.

The worst thing imaginable happens when Will pulls away first, quietly gasping against his mouth. His eyes are still closed when he slowly retracts his hand from Mike’s hair. Mike almost protests when Will pulls away even more, opening his eyes to look at his hand. His eyes furrow as he looks down, compelling Mike to do the same.

His hand is full of fresh blood that startles Mike. He looks up into Wil’s face again, alerted, “What–”

Will interrupts him like he knows what he wanted to say, “That’s yours. Your head is bleeding,” concern washes over his face, “we should really get going now.”

Mike whines before he can stop the sound from leaving his throat. There’s a quiet moment passing by them, where neither of them speaks, and Mike feels only slightly embarrassed, because then Will giggles and everything is okay. Keeping his bloody hand by his side, Will uses the other to cup his cheek again, bringing their faces closer once more. He presses a chaste kiss to Mike’s lips that lasts only a few seconds.

Breaking it off, he stays only a few inches away from his face, and says quietly, “I can’t lose you now that I finally have you.” His eyebrows slanted, thumb caressing over Mike’s cheekbone, “Besides, we still have a lot to talk about. And you must be hurting all over.”

Like a cue, his rib flares up and punches the air out of his lungs. The scratches he gave himself burn on his throat and one too many places throb too painfully to ignore. “You might be right,” Mike mumbles absentmindedly, staring down on Will’s lips. Sue him for searching a distraction from the seething pain. Will gives him one final look, before reaching for the first aid kit again, coming back with a bandage.

“Let’s wrap this around your head for now, okay? We can care for the rest after we’ve returned to the Squawk.” Will looks serious when he rolls out the bandage a few inches, concentration written into the slight scrunch of his nose and furrow of his eyebrows. He stops for a few seconds, eyes trained on his hand, stained with Mike’s blood. Mike sees the tremble of his fingers. His eyes flicker between Will’s face and his hands before reaching over his own hand, gently laying it on top of Will’s.

His hands stop shaking, but one, two, three tears land on top of Mike’s hand, and that’s when he sees that not only Will’s hands trembled, but his shoulders do too. “Hey,” Mike whispers, “I’m okay, you hear me? And don’t say sorry again.” He feels his rib protest against his definition of okay, but he’ll take care of that when they’re back with the others. “You’ve already patched me up plenty. When I heal, I’ll be better than ever because of your amazing nursing skills.” Mike lifts one hand to caress Will’s cheek, in hopes of comforting him. He leans into it but doesn’t meet Mike’s eyes.

“Do you know why Vecna didn’t use his telekinetic powers?” Will asks suddenly, tears still dripping down. Mike tilts his head to the side, watching him with questioning eyes, thinking, good point actually.

“Because he wanted you to feel my hands hurting you. He wanted me to know how it feels choking the life out of you. He wanted it to haunt me.” Will’s voice quivers. “Even though he didn’t get to kill you, that’s still– He still achieved part of his goal.” Tremors shake his hands again underneath Mike’s steady one, and he almost drops the bandage roll. He turns his palms up, Mike taking it as a sign to remove the roll from them, and stares.

He sniffles, words quiet, “I know what it feels like to kill you, Mike. Even if you’re going to be fine– and I know you will, okay? I know– I still– I still feel it.” His sobs pierce right through the silence and Mike’s brain, bones, heart – and he wants to see Vecna dead right this second.

He takes Will’s hands into his own, bringing them up to his lips, and places at least five kisses over them, gently, carefully. Touching his lips to his knuckles, fingers, palms. He ignores the smell of his own blood, too accustomed to it at this point anyway. Then, he looks into Will’s face again, keeping his hands close.

“I forgive you, okay? Remember this when you feel it,” he kisses the back of his hand, “and this,” another kiss to his ring finger. “When it gets bad, come to me and I’ll hold your hands.” He swallows around the ache in his throat, thumbs brushing over Will’s knuckles like he can smooth the memory out of them if he tries hard enough. Although it lessened, his hands still tremble in Mike’s, cold despite the warmth between their bodies, and Mike hates that he can feel it, hates that this is one more thing Will has to carry. “I won’t let you leave my sight anyway,” he adds, “I’ve done enough of that.”

He presses his forehead to Will’s, eyes squeezed shut. They stay like this for a while, breathing in each other’s air, hands together like they’re glued. Will’s sobs quiet down with the sun slowly setting outside, basking them in even dimmer lighting. Mike’s heart calms down for the first time in hours, maybe years. It’s not only calm, it’s tranquil, at peace.

In this moment, he doesn’t hear the annoying voice in his ears telling him loving another boy is wrong. He doesn’t think about the words sin or God or punishment – he doesn’t think about anything at all except Will. The way he wants to take care of him, more than he’s already been doing. He wants to shower him in kisses, sweep him off his feet into quiet privacy, giggling under covers, soft touches and reassuring words. He wants Will to never lift a finger again, treat him like the treasure he is, now that he’s gotten permission.

Now that he’s been shown his feelings are not only okay, but wanted.

He regrets how Will has to care for his wounds for now and already dreads the pain in his eyes when he eventually finds out about his rib. He can’t say he didn’t like being the center of Will’s undivided attention, but he wishes the circumstances were different. As soon as he heals – and they talked over the things Will mentioned – he’ll make up for all the years he didn’t allow himself to love Will properly.

Will’s breath stutters, like he’s trying to gather himself. Mike’s forehead hits a wave of coldness when Will pulls away slightly, shuffling a little before lifting his arms. Mike slowly opens his eyes, just in time to see a flash of white disappear over his head. A second later the slight pressure of the bandage surrounds his head, Will carefully wrapping it.

He doesn’t look in Mike’s eyes, nor does he talk. It’s not uncomfortable, this silence, and Mike doesn’t feel the need to fill it. He closes his eyes again, letting Will take care of him – more for Will’s sake than his own. Mike thinks he could’ve lived without the bandage, but maybe he’s wrong. And maybe this isn’t about the wound at all, because Will did tell him to trust his words, and trusting him means accepting this. Careful hands, determined concentration, letting Will ground himself in something tangible. It comes easy to him anyway. Trusting Will always has.

Not too long after, Will does some finishing touches and secures the bandage. His fingers linger for a second, like he’s checking that Mike is still real under his hands, still here.

When his movement stops, Mike opens his eyes to Will, who’s finally meeting his gaze. If he could, he would create a black hole whose sole purpose would be sucking out the pain out of Will, collapsing in on itself until there’s nothing left of it, until Will doesn’t even remember the very act of feeling hurt anymore. But he can’t do that. All he can do, is try to fill that role for him. That’s the least he can do.

What was it that he thought about starting to love Will properly after healing and conversations again? Yeah, screw that. He’ll start now.

Mike’s hands hover for a moment, uncertain now that they don’t have to justify touching. Permission still new and unfamiliar, yet he pushes through and cups Will’s face between his hands. His tear-stained cheeks puff slightly, red rimmed eyes fixated on Mike’s own. His lips are swollen and colored from crying, and Mike scolds himself for thinking how pretty he looks. This is not the right moment, but he makes a mental note to revisit this later.

Mike shifts closer to the edge of the table that’s getting increasingly uncomfortable beneath him, just to get closer. Then, he smiles. Toothy and hopeful, idiotic and in love. The bandage around his head, and multiple band-aids on his face only drive the point right home – he’s a fool for Will Byers.

Mike is so enchanted by Will, he forgot all about the church, the preachings fading from his memory, the posters behind him, the crosses in front of him. The statues might laugh at him, the confessionals might trap their words, play them on loop forever. That only proves their existence, proves their love. It proves the strength behind it, significant enough to get people mad over.

God himself could appear before his eyes and demand surrender, but Mike would stand unchanging – he has found his faith.

“I’m so in love with you,” he says, determined and firm. For the first time, he’s not put off by the echoing, he welcomes it. This way, his words make their way to Will multiple times, just like he wants them to. “I love you,” he repeats, just because he’s allowed to. And maybe he wants to see the blush replace the tear stains on Will’s cheeks.

Will’s eyes glisten, and soften. He doesn’t respond, not with words. The tug of Mike’s sweater is enough to make him move forward, and he seals their lips together. Mike melts into the kiss, sighing contently. His fingers curl where they are sitting against Will’s head, pulling him impossibly closer. When Will wraps his arms around his waist in response, Mike knows this is it – the end of his worries.

Will has answered his prayers, and the result; He’s been blessed.