Chapter Text
The Wheeler house was quieter than it had ever been.
It wasn’t the kind of quiet that felt oppressive, like the shivering silence that used to hang over Hawkins whenever something from the Upside Down seeped into the world. No—this quiet was soft, warm, and felt truly earned. The kind that settled only after too many long years fighting for it.
The wind outside tapped gently at the window of Mike’s bedroom, a sound so familiar that it had stopped being ominous years ago. It was just wind now. Just nature. Just normal.
Normal. God, what a luxury.
Mike lay on his side, his face buried against the head of hair of the boy breathing slowly next to him. Will’s back pressed gently against Mike’s chest, and their legs were tangled under the same blanket—Mike’s blanket, but Will had claimed it halfway through the night with a sleepy, mumbled “mine,” and Mike had just kissed the back of his shoulder and let him. Will loved sleeping like this, surrounded by Mike in a way that made him feel secure and safe, and hell - Mike could stay here for the rest of his life.
Somewhere down the hall, Karen and Ted slept. Holly’s night-light glowed under her door. Nancy was out at with Jonathan doing who knows what. Everything was still, safe, whole. Hawkins was finally just Hawkins again, and Mike didn’t know how he ever slept without Will beside him like this.
He tightened his arm a little around Will’s waist, fitting his chin into a warm patch of skin just behind Will’s ear. Will exhaled softly in his sleep, almost in response, like his body registered Mike even if his mind stayed in dreams.
Mike loved that. Loved that their bodies communicated even in sleep. Loved everything, actually—though he would never admit it out loud without turning red.
He’d wanted this for so long. Not just the relationship. Not just the kisses or the hand-holding or the way Will always smiled into his shoulder shyly when Mike said something dorky. What he wanted most was this peaceful normalcy: Will safe. Will happy. Will alive and in his arms.
Mike drifted in and out of sleep, tightening his hold around Will whenever he shifted. Each time, Will settled immediately, his breath warm and steady.
That's the thing about their lives - is that, no matter how hard they tried to forget, the remnants of the past always managed to find their way back into the cracks of their minds - especially Wills.
It started with a twitch. Just a small one, a flinch under Mike’s palm. Mike barely noticed it at first, half-asleep.
Then Will made a sound. Quiet. Strained.
A whimper.
Mike’s eyes opened.
“Will?” he murmured into his curls.
Will didn’t answer. His breath came faster now, too fast. His fingers curled tightly around the blanket, gripping it like a lifeline. His shoulders tensed under Mike’s arm. A soft, broken noise slipped out of him—pain, fear, something raw.
Nightmare.
Shit.
Mike lifted himself up onto one elbow. “Will? Hey—hey, it’s me. You’re okay.”
Will tossed, eyebrows furrowing, legs pulling toward his chest. Mike reached up gently, brushing his fingers over Will’s cheek.
Will flinched.
Not from Mike—but from whatever he was seeing, whatever memories his mind was reliving. Mike could tell. He’d spent years learning the difference. Mike swallowed, looking down at his boyfriends sleep-driven, terrified expression. “Will, you’re dreaming. I’m right here. You’re safe.”
But Will gasped suddenly—sharp, terrified—and his eyes snapped open. For a second, they didn’t look like Will’s eyes. Just wide, distant, panicked. Like he wasn’t in Mike’s room, but somewhere cold and dark and far away.
His eyes slowly began to focus, staring at the concerned look on his beloved boyfriends face. “Mike?” Will choked out. Mike cupped his face instantly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m here.”
Will scrambled up fast, sitting against the headboard, chest heaving. One hand clutched the collar of his shirt. The other shook uncontrollably. Sweat clung to his forehead and temples.
“Hey,” Mike whispered, moving slowly so he wouldn’t startle him. “You’re okay. You’re out. Nothing’s here.” Will squeezed his eyes shut. “I—It felt so real, Mike.” His voice cracked. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t move and I was alone and—God—”
He didn’t finish. His breath hitched again, sharp and painful. Mike crawled closer, kneeling in front of him on the bed. “Look at me,” he said softly. “Just me.”
Will tried. His eyes flickered open—and a lamp on the nightstand flickered too. Mike noticed.
Shit.
His powers.
“Okay,” Mike said quickly, not moving closer. “Will, breathe with me. Slow. We’re gonna slow everything down, okay?”
Will nodded shakily, pressing a trembling hand flat over his heart like he was physically trying to keep it from bursting out of his chest.
But the room seemed to hum faintly.
A vibration.
A warning.
Mike held his breath.
“Mike—” Will started, but his voice broke mid-word.
And so did the glass.
A faint crack, then a sharper one—like a bullet of sound. The empty water glass sitting by Mike’s alarm clock shattered cleanly, exploding into tiny shards that danced across the nightstand. Will jerked back against the headboard as if he’d been the one struck.
“No!” he gasped. “No no no—shit—I’m sorry—”
Mike ignored the glass entirely and reached for his hands. “Will, hey—hey, look at me. It’s fine.” Will stared down at the shards, eyes filling fast with tears. “I didn’t mean to—I didn’t even touch it—I didn’t—”
“Will,” Mike said, firmer this time. “It’s okay.”
But Will was already folding into himself, shoulders curling inward, breath coming in choked, panicked bursts.
Of course. Of course his powers reacted to fear—they always had. But he’d worked so hard to get them under control. Months of training with El, months of convincing himself he wasn’t dangerous, that nothing inside him could hurt the people he loved ever again.
And then one bad dream, one spike of instinctive terror—and a glass exploded.
“It’s nothing,” Mike insisted, reaching up to cup Will’s cheeks. “Just a glass. Just a stupid glass.” Will shook his head miserably. “I scared you.”
“You didn’t,” Mike said quickly. He had flinched—just for a second. But not because he feared Will hurting him. The noise was just loud and unexpected. “To me it felt like… like the Mind Flayer again,” Will whispered, trembling. “Like when I’d see things before they happened. Like when it took over. What if—what if that part of me isn’t gone?”. Mike’s heart cracked. He shifted closer, taking Will’s cold hands in his warm ones.
“Will,” he whispered. “The Mind Flayer is dust. Literally dust. You’re not connected to anything anymore. That was you. Just you. And you’re safe.”
“But—what if I hurt you one day?” Will murmured, voice breaking.
“You won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
Mike leaned his forehead against Will’s. “Yeah, I do.”
Will’s eyes finally met his—wet, red, hurting. “Because you’ve never once hurt me,” Mike continued, quieter. “Not even when you were possessed. Not even then. You fought it the whole time.”
Will’s lip trembled. “I wasn’t strong enough.”
“You were,” Mike said immediately, eyes looking intensely into his boyfriends. “You’re the strongest person I know.”
Will’s breathing slowed—just a little, but enough that Mike saw relief flicker in his expression, even if faint. He brushed his thumb under Will’s eye. “Let me help you, okay? Just breathe with me.”
Will nodded shakily.
Mike inhaled slow and deep, exaggerating it so he could follow. Will tried. His breath wavered—but it followed.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
The faint hum in the room faded.
Will’s shoulders finally slumped as the tension drained from him, leaving him exhausted, shaky, but present, Mike didn’t let go of him for a second. They sat there for a long moment, faces close, breaths syncing - the pieces of glass glimmered faintly at the edge of Mike’s vision, but he ignored them.
Will wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve, embarrassed. “Sorry,” he whispered.
Mike frowned. “Why are you apologizing?”
“Because I woke you up.” Will’s voice was thin. “Because I freaked out. Because I broke something. Because— I don’t know—because I’m always the one who needs—”
Mike cut him off by clasping his jaw gently. “Hey. Don’t talk like that.”
Will blinked. “Like what?”
“Like you’re a burden.”
Will looked down.
Mike waited.
Eventually, Will whispered, “Sometimes I feel like I’m… too much. Too much trauma. Too many nightmares. Too many memories that won’t leave me alone. And now powers that… react when I don’t want them to. I feel like you have to take care of me all the time.” He couldn't look Mike in the face, too ashamed.
“I want to,” Mike said instantly.
Will looked up again, startled and a little confused.
Mike swallowed, willing himself not to fumble the words. “Will, I love taking care of you. I love being here with you. I love you.” He felt his cheeks warm. “You’re not ‘too much.’ Not to me.”
Will’s eyes softened, guilt flickering. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t,” Mike repeated. “You scared you. And that’s something I want you to talk to me about next time. Don’t hold it in.”
Will’s hands fidgeted in his lap. “I didn’t know that would happen. The glass.”
“Will,” Mike said softly, “you shattered a glass. Not the room. Not the house. Not my brain. One glass.” A very small, reluctant smile tugged at the corner of Will’s mouth. “Still. That’s… not normal.”
“You’re not normal,” Mike said, leaning forward to press a kiss to his forehead. “Thank God.”
Will let out a strangled laugh—one that sounded 90% like a sob but still a laugh. Mike kissed him again, slower this time, letting their foreheads rest together afterward.
“You’re not dangerous,” Mike whispered. “You’re not broken. And you’re definitely not a monster.” Will’s eyes filled again—but softer this time. Less panic. More emotion.
“I know,” he whispered. “I just… sometimes I forget.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” Mike murmured. Will chuckled slightly at the cheesy line.
Mike crawled forward until he could pull Will fully into his lap. Will came easily, pressing into Mike’s chest like gravity existed only between them - fitting in right where he belonged. Mike wrapped both arms around him and felt Will melt into the embrace. He tucked Will’s head under his chin, running his fingers gently through his curls. Will pressed closer, inhaling Mike’s scent like something familiar, grounding, necessary.
“You can wake me up anytime,” Mike whispered into his hair. “Even if it’s a dream. Even if it’s nothing. Even if you just feel off.”
Will nodded against him.
Mike pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “You’ve done that for me before. Even when I wasn’t ready to admit I needed it.”
Will’s voice was muffled against Mike’s shirt. “Yeah, but you weren’t—”
“Scared?” Mike finished.
“Dangerous,” Will whispered.
Mike exhaled through his nose. “You’re not dangerous. You listen to your powers. You try really hard. And you're still learning!.” He smiled gently. “Besides, if you ever accidentally break the house, that’s on me. I’m the one who keeps inviting you to sleep over.” Will laughed again—quiet, breathy, but real. Mike felt it against his chest and held him tighter.
After a while, Will leaned back just enough to look at him. His eyes were softer now, but rimmed red, cheeks flushed, curls tousled.
Beautiful.
Mike brushed a thumb across his cheekbone. “You okay?”, Will nodded slowly. “I think so.”
“Wanna talk about the dream?” Mike asked gently. Will hesitated. “It’s… embarrassing.”
“It’s just me,” Mike reminded him. “I’ve seen you puke slugs.” Will huffed a laugh. “Okay, that’s fair.” He shifted a little, drawing his knees up. Mike’s hands remained on his waist. “It was the shed,” Will finally whispered.
Mike’s heart dropped. “Oh.”
“I know it’s stupid,” Will said quickly. “It’s been years. And everything’s gone now. But it still shows up. The cold. The shadows. It was the first time I ever.... you know..... felt something?.”
Mike shook his head. “That’s not stupid. That’s trauma. You lived it. And it doesn’t go away just because the monster is dead, or-or time passes.”
Will’s eyes flickered. “I just thought I’d feel better by now.”
Mike pressed their foreheads together. “Healing isn’t a race.” The smaller boy exhaled slowly.
“And hey,” Mike added with a small grin, “if you ever want me to beat up your nightmares, I totally can.” Will giggled, actually giggled, and Mike felt like he’d won a prize.
Mike pressed a soft kiss to his lips, Will leaning into it desperately, hands curling around Mike’s shirt. The kiss was gentle but strong—no urgency, just reassurance and warmth and the kind of affection Mike still couldn’t believe he got to give. He pulled back only when Will needed to breathe. “Let’s try to go back to sleep,” Mike murmured. “If you want.”
Will’s fingers tightened around his shirt. “Can you… could you stay close?” he whispered shyly.
Mike could feel his heart breaking, like it was being punctured by the pieces of glass still sitting on his nightstand. “Always,” he said.
He guided Will back down onto the bed, settling behind him again. Will curled immediately into Mike’s chest, taking a deep breath of him, his head tucking into the juncture of the others neck. Mike wrapped his arms around him, one under Will’s head, the other around his waist.
“Mike?” Will whispered.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
Mike smiled into his head of curls. “You never have to thank me for loving you, weirdo.” Will’s breath hitched at that—but in the good way. He snuggled closer (if possible) into his boyfriends arms, content and tired, a faint smile on his shy lips.