Archive of Our Own ^beta

it had been three years since will had died.

three difficult years since mike had watched his bones snap and his lifeless body fall to the ground.

three years since mike had a chance of being happy ever again.

he remembers it very well, but when it happened, it felt unreal. like a dream- or a nightmare really, but he was operating fully on instinct when he ran over to his best friend and held him in his arms. unable to cry, mike just looked, tears running down his face, at the boy in front of him.

Vecna had spared his face, will’s jaw and eyes intact, perhaps as a mercy but more likely a cruel joke. his expression of sheer terror was almost completely preserved, eyes wide open, teeth gritted tightly.

mike looked into his eyes, and closed them gently. they pulled back open halfway, but it was infinitely better than making him wear the face of pure fear. how would they break the news to joyce? what would happen next?

he gradually started to snap out of his dream-like state as they made the journey home. jonathan carried will’s mangled body, silently weeping while Nancy walked as close as she could. any comfort she offered was appreciated deeply. while jonathan was grappling from the reality of his little brother’s death, mike did everything he could to distract himself.

this wasnt real, he was fine, this wasn’t real, will was alive, they had defeated vecna, it was alright, this wasn’t real.

holding himself together all the while, mike watched as johnathan took will’s body back home. steve and robin drove the wheeler siblings home, but when they got out of their car, nancy sat down on the curb, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, and lit the first of a chainsmoking session.

all mike wanted to do was sleep. he wanted this to be over. he wanted to wake up with will next to him on the mattress they shared. he made his way up the stairs, each step creaking as he walked, and opened the door to his room.

as mike surveyed the space, he lost control of his tears. will’s sleeping bag was on the ground, from the first few nights they stayed at mike’s house, will slept there. eventually, their nightmares got too heavy to deal with alone, and they decided to sleep next to each other.

mike let out a sob. on his chair was a pile of clothes that had been freshly washed for the coming week, all of which were will’s. he took off his soil-covered shirt and put on a baggy sleep shirt.

it smelled like him.

everything in here smelled like him. it was practically wills room at this point. with his drawings plastering the walls, his clean clothes next to mike’s, all of the memories they shared in here.

he choked. the basement wasn’t any better. there was no escape. this was happening. will was dead.

mike wailed, dropping to his knees and burying his face in his hands, everything hitting at once. he cried and cried and cried. he cried so hard he threw up on his carpet and didn’t bother cleaning it up. will was never coming back. all that they had done together was cleaved. it was finite. this was it.

he pulled at his hair, ripping out several locks, half screaming all the while. he wanted to bang his head against his wall. he wanted anything but this. he wanted to die.

instead, he made his way into their bed, clinging onto will’s pillow and breathing in the still-fresh scent from last night. mike sobbed until he fell asleep, too exhausted from crying to be awake any longer. sleep was a blessing.

he was dead to the world until late afternoon the next day. he woke up clinging to the pillow, and for a split second he thought will was next to him. tears sprung to his eyes as the events of the last day hit him. his nose was stuffed from crying so much, but even he could smell the vomit on his floor.

this was damage control time. his parents came home 2 hours after mike fell asleep, but there was no dinner as two of their kids had disappeared and they were exhausted. karen, ted, and holly ate tv dinners and were nowhere to be found when mike went downstairs to find the paper towels and spray cleaner.

after dealing with his carpet as best as he had energy for, mike grabbed one of will’s favorite blankets and climbed out his window onto the roof. as the sun set, he wrapped the blanket around himself and watched.

“will would love this” he thought to himself, and smiled softly as tears streamed down his red, puffy cheeks. there was a slight air of peace, which meant everything. maybe he would survive this.

everything him and will had gone through, all of the fights, all of the craziness, everything, and it was over now. mike felt insane. he had so many regrets.

there were so many times he wished he stayed up late to call but didn’t. in the summer of ‘85 he thought he had grown out of dnd, but he would give anything to be playing it right now in his basement, the whole party circled around.

oh god, did the rest of the party know? Lucas had stayed behind to protect max in the hospital, and dustin was with el and Joyce trying to destroy the upside down one last time.

there was no way Joyce didn’t know. if he had any more energy, and it was earlier in the day, he would bike over there right now. but it wasn’t, so he didn’t. instead, he climbed back into his window, ran his hands through his hair, and made his way downstairs.

his mom was stirring up dinner at the stove. he didn’t even bother looking in the pan, just going straight to the cupboard for some crackers. his mom looked at him, and her face became filled with concern

“what happened baby? you look horrible.” between his face, puffy and red from crying, his messy, dirty hair, and his lethargic movements, he knew what she meant.

he felt tears start to come to his eyes once again. “mwill’s gone. he’s dead.” he got out, his voice shaking. her face dropped, and she moved in to hug him.

“what happened?” she asked, shocked. mike closed his eyes and hugged her tightly, a sob being his only response. they stood there for upwards of five minutes, long after whatever Karen was cooking began to burn, as he cried in her arms.

later that night, he sloppily hung up wills painting on his wall, tearing down a poster to find the space, and laid down on will’s side of the bed. he would have to live with this.

-three years later-

it didn’t stop hurting for a while, but it did get easier every day that he went on. will’s drawings were still hung up on the wall, but over time he managed to bring some back into the binders and make space for his own decorations.

for months after he died, mike spent almost all of his time rotting in his room. he grappled with the fact that he was likely in love with will, and after some advice from robin he tried learning about the queer community.

he gradually began to heal, and as much as will never stopped being a central part of his life, mike was able to live as himself and make his own way