Chapter Text
Mike Wheeler is normal.
Alright, so, he may routinely organise missions to hunt down the interdimensional monster that has haunted him and his friends (literally and figuratively) for the last four years, and stuff like that. But, otherwise, Mike considers himself a pretty ordinary guy. He goes to the arcade on the weekends or watches Star Wars for the hundredth time while eating an entire large pizza by himself. He gets decent grades (except for Spanish, which he can never seem to quite grasp, even with Will tutoring him). He doesn't watch The Outsiders and wonder what it would feel like to run his hands down Sodapop's bare chest. He certainly doesn't watch his best friend's lips curl into a smile and consider why he never wanted to kiss his girlfriend as much as he does Will. Okay, the jury may still be out on those last two facts, but now is not the time to dwell on that.
Mike used to think of El as a superhero and even joked that she was a real-life Superman before she aptly scolded him that that was not the compliment he thought it was. Mike himself has no powers to speak of, or any extraordinary features, really, but he does relate to the fictional hero in a way. He, too, has a point of devastating weakness, his own kryptonite. Nothing as objectively cool as radioactive matter, but in Mike's opinion, something that is just as all-consuming.
His kryptonite is a one Will Byers. Mike is painfully reminded of this fact as he turns the corner to the party's makeshift base of operations, aiming to fetch Will and his mom so they can begin their final stand against Vecna. Upon further thought, maybe Mike does have a superpower. The ability for his eyes to instinctively gravitate towards Will Byers. No matter what. Mike meets Will's eyes, noting the stream of tears currently leaving them. In that moment, like Superman exposed to kryptonite, Mike feels so unbelievably, terrifyingly human.
Will is crying. Mike's mind turns this one thought over and over. He wants nothing more than to race forward, to gather Will into his arms and make everything better. Somehow. A cruel voice in the back of his head reminds him why that is impossible. Mike had made sure of that when he gave Will a fucking pat on the shoulder when they reunited in Lenora so many months ago. Things have been better recently, the two drifting closer together again during the Byers' time at the Wheelers'. But there was still that bit of distance. Stupid. The voice in the back of Mike's head taunts him.
Mike lingers in the entrance. He briefly explains Hopper's plan, his eyes flickering over Will's face all the while, as if he would find the answer written somewhere between the beauty mark above his lip and the contour of his brow. Mike's heart constricts. Who was he kidding? He hadn't been able to reliably read Will for a long time. Not since 1984, probably. And whose fault is that? Mike quashes these thoughts, battling them in an attempt to keep a neutral expression.
"Is everything okay?" Mike's voice instinctively adopts a softer tone. Joyce responds, telling him they'll be out in five and giving Mike a short nod. If she were anyone else, he might be tempted to push back, to stride over there and comfort Will himself. However, Joyce was almost a second mother to Mike, and he understood the message she was trying to convey. This was serious. And private. Mike forces his feet to carry him back the way he came but doesn't get very far before another voice rings out.
"Wait." Will's slightly choked voice acts as something similar to a brick wall in the way that Mike immediately stops in the face of it. "I think you need to hear this too. Everyone does." Mike's brain unhelpfully supplies images of Will screaming towards the sky, usually vibrant hazel eyes misted over with white. He wonders if Will had entered another one of Vecna's trances while everyone was distracted with preparations. They were just about to deal what would hopefully be the final blow to the asshole; Mike wouldn't be surprised if Vecna has thrown yet another curveball into their plans. But something in Will's face makes Mike doubt this theory. He looks almost... resigned? Maybe some of their telepathy remained. Mike could tell this was something important. Forcing his only enquiry to be the question in his eyes, Mike leaves. This time, no one stops him.
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Will's hands worry the sleeves of his hoodie. He breathes deeply, but the way his exhales quiver betrays undeniable nerves. Every fibre of Mike's being longs to reach out and still Will's hands in his own, but with the audience now gathered around his friend, he knows that would likely do more harm than good.
"I... I haven't told any of you this because... because I... I don't..." Will looks up, tears gathering along his waterline while he searches for words. "I don't want you to see me differently." Concern rouses Mike. The words stir something in him, a memory he can't quite place tugging at the corner of his mind.
Will continues, inhaling a trembling breath as if to steel himself. "But the truth is I am. I am different." Realising what Will's current words reminded Mike of, he was suddenly no longer in the Squawk. It was spring of 1986, and he was in a musty pizza van that reeked of weed, hurtling desperately across the country. When you're different, sometimes you feel like a mistake. Mike turned over this parallel in his head. But he quickly ran over a pothole. If Will had been talking about El in that moment, why were the words sounding so similar now?
"I just pretended like I wasn't because I didn't want to be. I wanted to be like everyone else." Mike's heart jolts. He feels selfish for relating to Will's words, for reading into applicable they are to his own life. But Mike can't help but be reminded of how desperately he tried to make his relationship with Eleven work. How much he wanted to be like other teenagers, like Lucas with Max and even Dustin with Suzie. And how crushing it was to finally realise that Mike didn't, couldn't feel that way no matter how hard he pretended, and how all he had done was make himself and the people around him miserable.
Will had continued while Mike mulled this over. "I'm like you in almost every way. We... we like playing D&D into the night..." Mike's lips curl into a smile at this, a flood of memories coming to mind, both good and bad. Will, on the night he was taken, admitting that the roll was a seven. Will, in a homemade wizard costume, begging his friends to once again play a game they all loved. Mike, celebrating at Hellfire Club after Erica rolls a 20, distracted by thoughts of how much sweeter their victory would have been if Will had been by his side. Thoughts of his conversation with Will in the van remind Mike of something else. A painting. The whole party, as their D&D alter egos, united against the thessalhydra. Mike feels like he is on the precipice of a breakthrough, but he doesn't quite have the right clues to piece everything together. He wishes he had the bravery of his counterpart in the composition. Will heaves a shuddering sigh, snapping Mike from his thoughts. The sound feels like someone heaving a blunt, rusty saw through Mike's chest.
"I just... I just... I... I just. I... I... I..." Will pushes forward, and it seems like he has to fight with everything he has to get the words out. A tear rolls down his cheek. Mike wants to die. Will looks at him. The action appears like it pains him.
"I don't like girls."
Mike stops breathing. His lips part involuntarily, and he feels his eyebrows creep up. He forces himself to blink like a normal person but probably just ends up looking like he has an eyelash stuck in his eye. I don't like girls. I don't like girls. I don't like girls. Will likes boys. Mike chooses not to analyse why his heart speeds up and something like excitement crackles in his chest. Instead, he wonders why the words sound familiar. And then he's 14 years old, standing in his garage in front of his best friend, pretending. Always pretending.
"You're ruining our party! And for what? So you can swap spit with some stupid girl?"
"El's not stupid! It's not my fault you don't like girls."
Fuck. Mike feels a wave of guilt wash over him. Turns out, he was right. He usually loves being right, but this brings no satisfaction, only anguish. No wonder Will rode off into the storm. No wonder he destroyed Castle Byers. No wonder he didn't tell Mike earlier—no. Mike halted that train of thought immediately. This was Will's secret. And he was so brave for sharing it. God, Mike is so, so conflicted. He just sits up straighter, refocusing on Will just as he begins to continue speaking.
"And I, uh, I had this... crush on someone, even though I know... I know they're not like me." Will drags his eyes towards Mike at this, almost pleadingly. What? Could he be talking about—no. No way. Mike was projecting. His brain was running too fast, and he was thinking too much, and there was just no way Will was talking about him. People like Mike don't deserve people like Will Byers.
"But... but then I realised he's just my Tammy." Will chuckles wetly, and Mike sees him share a small smile with Robin. "And by Tammy, I mean it was never about him. It was... it was about me." Mike's brain completes his memory from earlier. If she was going to lose you... she'd rather just get it over with quick... like ripping off a bandaid.
Mike finally gets it.
El said Will made a painting for a girl he liked. Will doesn't like girls. Will gave Mike a painting. Will said El commissioned said painting, even though she hadn't ever played D&D and they broke up less than a month after that. Will said El (he) needed Mike, and she (he) always would. But Mike knows that isn't true. Because he finally understands. He was Will's crush. Past tense. Will has finally ripped off the bandaid. Mike was too late. Mike purses his lips, desperately trying to contain the sheer mass of emotions bubbling up inside of him. He desperately wants to cry.
"And I thought I was finally okay with myself." Will chokes down sobs as he describes the vision Vecna showed him. A world where Will tells them what he is telling them now, where some of them worry for him. So much so that Will feels like there's something wrong with him. (When you're different, sometimes you feel like a mistake.) Will's beautiful hazel eyes are clouded by tears.
"So I push you away. And for the rest of us, we just drift apart more and more and more and more and more until I'm alone." Mike can't look away from Will. He can't imagine how hard it would have been to go through all of this and not be able to tell anyone, not be able to have someone hold you and tell you that it's going to be okay. Right now, Mike hates Vecna more than he ever has before. Any reality where he loses Will is a reality that he cannot exist in.
"It just felt so real. It felt so real." Will chokes the words out, his breaths coming in harshly, as they do in the build-up to a full-blown panic attack, something Mike is all too familiar with. Mike wants nothing more than to reach out. To be that person who tells Will that he could never be alone, not as long as Mike still stands. But something stops him. Not just the fact that they were in a room full of people, but something else. Fear. Will was brave enough to verbalise his deepest secret despite attempts by the whole entire fucking universe to bring him down, and yet Mike can't do something as simple as comfort his best friend.
Joyce grabs her son's shoulder. "Will. You gotta listen to me. That will never ever happen. You'll never lose me. Ever."
Will nods weakly, fruitlessly attempting to stifle his sobs. "Okay. Okay." He sounds like he is trying to convince himself that he believes her words.
"And you'll never lose me." Heads turn to the back of the room as Jonathan strides across the room, enveloping his little brother in a tight hug.
"Or me." Lucas wraps his arms around the pair, followed by Dustin, who repeats the phrase. Shit! Mike was being weird. He's meant to be Will's best friend, but he's been so caught up in his own crisis that he's just been stationary for the last few minutes while Will sobs in front of him. Stupid.
"Or me." Mike hates himself a little. He wishes he could say what he really wants to; wishes he could tell Will how proud of him he is. He wishes he could reassure Will that nothing could change the fact that Mike loves him, every part of him. (Mike does not stop to consider what exactly he means by that word.) He wishes he could gather Will into a hug, just the two of them, and show him how much he means to Mike. He wishes. He wishes. He wishes. Mike joins the other boys in the hug and is soon cocooned by El.
Robin makes a joke about truth serum that only she and Will seem to understand. Mike extinguishes the guilty spark of jealousy that ignites at the reminder of their closeness. Stupid. Will likes boys. He just doesn't like Mike. Mike silences his spiteful inner voice. Will hugs Max, and Mike sees Steve inexplicably wipe a tear when he thinks no one is looking. Huh. Mike knows the people he associates with aren't the type to ostracise someone because of who they love. The party have grown up with Will, heard the names bullies called him, and Mike thinks he can speak for the rest of the party in his assumption that none of that ever made them view Will any differently. If anything, it just makes them even prouder of him for constantly being so kind and good. Mike knows this. But to see such open support... he feels emotional. For so many reasons. He's so happy for Will. But also, he sees now that what Will did... is an option. That it's okay. But also, and Mike hardly wants to admit this to himself, he's also emotional because he now knows. He now knows that there's someone else... He can barely stand to finish the thought. Someone like him.
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Mike looks back at Will after what feels like a million years. He has now moved to a more central position in the room and is addressing El. A burst of pride erupts in Mike's chest. Will seems lighter. Freer. A thought comes unbidden, chasing out the pride in his chest with panic. I love him.
"I need to be there. And I'm ready. I'm ready to show him I'm not afraid anymore." At his last sentence, Will's eyes meet Mike's. Mike nods. I love you. Will returns the gesture. It feels like there are a million things left unsaid hanging between the two of them. And Mike knows what he has to do. Not just for Will, but for himself as well. He needs to rip off the bandaid. Mike wants to stop being afraid. It's about damn time.