Chapter Text
Something was wrong with Will.
Yes, Vecna was no longer alive. There wasn’t an incessant chill that crawled under his skin, snaking along his spine and wrapping around his neck with a vice grip, whispering Vecna’s unwavering presence to him. He wasn’t connected to the hive mind, as it had died with the mind flayer, and he didn’t have to dread being forced by the connection to betray his loved ones. He didn’t have to spy, and he definitely would not be spied on.
But there was still something there. Not necessarily a physical connection to the hive mind, but something about him that resonated with it. He hated it, wanted to play it off as lingering trauma and an unwanted psychological bond between himself and the upside down that he couldn’t sever. But he felt changed, and not in the way the others had.
Will attempted to bring it up at times to the party—never Jonathon or his mom, as they worried about him enough already—but the way they related with their trauma and how it changed them just didn’t resonate with what Will felt. Yes, he could feel that same apprehension they felt that something would happen, that something always happened and that even with Vecna gone something could still be huddling in wait, a missing piece to the puzzle that they hadn’t solved coming back to haunt them. The anxiety, while easing after the upside down all but collapsed a week ago, still never fully went away for any of them.
But this was different. This wasn’t a chill that ran under his skin, his skin was just always chilled. There was no whisper of Vecna’s presence, of even the upside down, but there was a feeling of familiarity with the upside down that it had, like he had through some way felt this but not as himself. And it wasn’t anxiety that pooled in his stomach, but a bone-dry hunger that violently lashed at his abdomen and crawled its way up his throat. It was viciously aggressive, and entirely insatiable. No matter what he tried to eat his body rejected the food. Every perfectly good meal violated his nose and tastebuds, and his stomach revolted it, attempting to expel it from his body the second it slid down his throat.
And his nose. It could smell everything. The laundry detergent his mom used two floors down in the basement. The perfume Jane wore modestly, just a single light spray against her wrist. The faint smell of weed in Jonathon’s room hidden in a shoe box under his bed. Every smell assaulted his nose, like he could taste it before even knowing it was there. He felt like a bloodhound, sniffing out things he shouldn’t have ever had the capacity to smell all the way from his room.
What was even weirder, and something he had a harder time ignoring, was how clearly he could hear. It was almost too much. He’d started turning his music louder in his room to drown out the constant hum of the house. His mom cutting fruit in the kitchen. Hopper flipping a page of the morning paper. Jonathon’s music playing through headphones. Jane stroking a thin brush of paint against a canvas. How the hell could he possibly hear such small sounds from across the house, let alone tune it all out?
And then there was the even bigger concern staring angrily at Will in the mirror. Just above his collarbone, wrapping around his shoulder in an irritated red was a bite mark that refused to heal. He could still feel a ghost of the razor sharp yet jagged teeth lacerating and clamping down on his shoulder even through his shirt, the bark of pain registering too late to rip the demo-bat off before its jaw had locked with an unwavering grip around his shoulder. It wasn’t just like getting stabbed, it burned too. But not like fire. He knew how fire burned, how it seared and blistered, the heat wrapping around the skin with a blinding white-hot pain. This wasn’t fire, but ice that he swore struck bone deep. Not just a chill, but as if someone had taken dry ice and injected it into his veins—like his very bones had been turned into the dry ice, and it was pure torture. Will remembered hearing blood curdling screaming and distantly realizing it might have been coming from himself. He remembered clawing his fingers at the winged creature latched onto his neck, and it clawing back as it resisted Will’s attempts to detach it. He hadn’t even realized someone else was screaming or known until later that it was Mike who beheaded the creature and then proceeded to manually unlatch its jaw and pull out the teeth that had been buried into Will’s shoulder. By the time he had come to, he definitely did not remember how he had gotten from the upside down back to Hawkins, only registering that he was being held up by the aggressive hands of two military men he was bleeding onto.
And then the upside down had collapsed, and he had been patched up and ordered to rest his shoulder so that it would heal—which it very obviously was not doing. The blood never fully clotted, the incisions from the teeth still open and bleeding through the bandages he constantly changed.
Will grunted at the brush of the wet cloth he hesitantly cleaned the wound with— a shoot of pain stabbing at his shoulder at the contact of something against the mutilated flesh. It still looked like it had the day he got it, not healed in the slightest. The ice-cold burn was there, a milder ache now that he could almost tolerate, leaving the skin surrounding the wound clammy and colder than the rest of his body—which was definitely already too cold. He had been trying not to think too much into that. He patched a new bandage onto the wound, minding his shoulder as he pulled his shirt back onto his body and grabbed at his toothbrush.
Will winced as the bristles scraped over his gums, noting he probably needed to floss more if his gums were going to bother him every time he brushed his teeth. His gums had hurt more lately, and he frequently found himself grinding and clenching his teeth together to stop the incessant ache. He felt like he was teething like a toddler; the constant urge to bite something festering until he found himself gnawing at his pencils until they broke or chewing on his fingernails until they bled. It was likely the hunger he’d been subjected to from everything under the sun being the last thing he’d ever want to eat. He didn’t understand how he could be so unbelievably famished and yet utterly turned off by any and all food. Even a starving man wouldn’t turn down bad food, let alone perfectly good food that he had enjoyed his whole life. And with it being almost a whole week where Will had practically eaten nothing, he was starving.
He could tell his mom had noticed he wasn’t eating properly. A worried look scrunched up her face when he left his plate almost entirely untouched, even when she had started cooking his favorite meals. He blamed it on the nausea and the low appetite from the pain, even though the hunger pains were almost entirely surpassing the pain from his shoulder. But her worry still crept up with every meal he turned down, and it being almost a week since he’d eaten properly was certainly not sitting right with her.
He had kept mostly to his room. He wasn’t entirely bedridden, but his mom wouldn’t let him do anything exciting with his injury, and his high school career had already come to a close. So, he spent most of his days listening to whatever mixtape Jonathon had put together for him and drawing aimlessly in his sketchbook. He’d been experimenting more with charcoals, though his family frequently complained about the black fingerprint smudges on various walls and surfaces. He liked the way the material blended, the way he could really put his hands into his art as he tormented the paper with various blenders, erasers, and his own fingers to shape something definable out of the smoky matter. He’d started some drawings with filling the entire paper with charcoal, using an eraser as a pencil instead. They mostly came out to nothing exceptional; mindless etchings of objects, faces, and body parts—and occasionally a monster, one or two with wings and sharp teeth. Some of the anatomy drawings were familiar, some of the faces almost too on the nose of who they were really supposed to be. He’d gotten better at drawing realism and worse at hiding from his sketchbook the true object of his affection.
And occasionally, that object of affection would stop by.
A knock on the front door, a warm greeting from Will’s mom, heavy footsteps—likely from big, scuffed combat boots—edging up the stairs. Will could smell the velvety, woody scent clinging to Mike’s freshly washed skin before he heard the soft knock at Will’s bedroom door.
“Come in,” Will hummed, slapping his sketchbook shut and tucking it under the comforter. Mike edged open the door and creeped his head into the room, locking eyes with Will.
“Hey, it’s me,” he chirped. His eyes skimmed over Will, glancing down at his shoulder and back up to his face.
“I know, you can come in.”
Mike had shown up a few times after his injury, always lingering outside the room before Will gave him permission to enter. Mike had been coming around more frequently, and while it was unusual it was never unwelcome. He thought maybe it was because Mike wasn’t dating Jane anymore—according to their confession to the party after the upside down collapsed, they hadn’t been dating since they came back from California, and they had apparently assumed it was obvious enough to not speak on it with the world just about ending. So, Mike probably had more free time now that he didn’t have a girlfriend or a mission to save the world and decided worrying about Will was a useful way to spend that time. Will could tell he had been worried about him and had a small inkling that in some way Mike might have been coming around more out of guilt.
Will had been lucky the demo-bat had chosen a moment just before Vecna’s death to attack him, as any moment earlier would have left him useless to the party, risking their victory. Everyone had practically circled around him the moment the demo-creatures had descended on them, Mike barking at the party to not let a single one of them slip through and get to Will as he was vulnerable while ransacking Vecna’s mind. But when one had inevitably slipped through the cracks of their human barricade protecting him, Will had known no one was to blame. The party was outmanned by the winged and four limbed creatures—who were tremendously faster and more savage—even with the help of Nancy’s gun collection. She hesitated to let Mike take one of her guns but was left with no other options in the sprung attack with the creatures rapidly closing in, and after a sharp look of “don’t make me regret this” flashed towards Mike, Nancy threw one of her shotguns at her brother with instructions rushing past her teeth while she loaded ammunition into her own.
Mike had learned how to load and shoot the gun quickly, his fingers shaking at first to load the shells into the chamber and aim but steadying after his sister snapped at him to take a deep breath and focus. But he hadn’t accommodated for his gun jamming at the precise moment a demo-bat beelined for Will.
Will would never blame him for the demo-bat slipping through, and he would never have blamed any of them even if it had been worse. But he could tell Mike had blamed himself, and even though he felt guilty about letting Mike feel responsible over him he couldn’t help but enjoy his company. So, Will let Mike linger and fuss over him, the guilt silently between them aside, which was the only good thing about the bite taking forever to heal—the fact that Mike would keep coming around.
Mike stepped into the room, softly closing the door behind him. He carried a small stack of comic books clutched under his arm and a paper bag gripped in his hand. His eyebrows pulled together over his slightly widened eyes as he took in Will huddled under his comforter, pale and clammy with dark circles under his eyes that were starting to turn into craters.
“You’re not getting better,” Mike sighed. Will glanced down to his shoulder, which was now slowly seeping blood through his bandage and shirt in tiny red specks.
“It’s fine, just taking longer to heal,” Will huffed.
Mike gave him an apprehensive look and trudged over to him, plopping down onto the bed and kicking his boots off while tossing the paper bag into Will’s lap.
“What’s this?” Will narrowed his eyes at Mike. He could smell what was in the bag. A share-size bag of Skittles, a can of sour cream and onion Pringles, and a can of Coke.
“Your mom mentioned you weren’t really eating, so I picked up some of your favorites,” Mike mumbled sheepishly. He picked up one of his comic books and began skimming through the pages. Will definitely remembered Mike reading those at least twice already.
“Thanks, I’m not super hungry right now though,” Will sighed. And then, as if on cue, his stomach released a loud angry rumble into the silent room. It could have almost been funny, the comedic timing of it all, if Mike hadn’t whipped his head up at Will, offense torn across his face.
“Why are you lying?” Mike demanded.
“Mike, seriously, i’m not lying. I mean, i’m hungry I just don’t really have an appetite right now.”
“No, really, what gives? Why aren’t you getting better? Because from the looks of it, you’re getting worse, and now you aren’t even eating. You’re scaring the shit out of me,” Mike pauses, huffing his toothpaste breath at Will. The mint tingled against Will’s tongue. “I mean, out of all of us.”
Will worried his lip between his teeth. He really didn’t know why he wasn’t getting better, and why he seemed to instead be getting worse. The bite wound remained exactly the same, not even slightly healing, and yet he felt as though he was changing. He couldn’t explain in words the insatiable appetite he had, and why no food could fill the pit digging deeper and deeper in his stomach. He felt he was growing entirely encompassed in the hunger, as though he was letting it eat at him instead.
There was no explanation he could give to Mike that would make him receive anything more than a crazed and worried look. There was no way of explaining this to Mike, or his mom, or the party, or even himself. He had no clue why his wound wouldn’t heal, and why his body rejected all food he tried to force down his throat, and his body felt relentlessly cold, and he could hear and smell everything, and why his gums and stomach and throat would not stop fucking aching. All he did know was that it had something to do with that demo-bat.
Mike continued to study Will with his narrowed eyes, still expecting some kind of response.
“I don’t know, okay? I don’t know what’s happening to me and i’m scared too. I just feel,” Will sighed, looking down at his chewed-up charcoal-stained fingernails. “Different.”
Mike swallowed, and Will’s eyes snapped up to follow the bob of his throat. He could practically feel the heat off of Mike’s warm body without even touching him, like a heater that was pushing fuzzy warmth against Will’s chilled skin and all he wanted to do was curl up against it. He could hear the slightly fast beat of Mike’s heart against his chest as it pumped the blood through his veins, wafting his natural musk through his pulse points as though it was bottled up as a perfume and sprayed ad nauseam in Will’s room. It was sickly sweet, and it flaunted against Will’s tongue with a delicate, enticing brush. Saliva pooled in Will’s mouth as he sucked in the scent through his nose.
“What do you mean different?” Mike whispered. His voice had softened, almost like he was making himself smaller, and Will realized he had been staring at Mike’s throat for just a little too long.
He peeled his eyes away, catching Mike’s gaze. He had unease scrunching his eyebrows together, his teeth sucking in his cheek to gnaw gently at it. He looked genuinely worried.
“It’s nothing, you don’t need to worry. I’m sure my appetite will come back once the bite heals,” Will huffs, and skims his hand under the blanket in search of his sketchbook. He pulls it into his lap and flips to a blank page, tracing his pencil along the paper to distract himself from Mike’s unwavering stare.
Mike shifts in the bed, crawling from the end of it up to right beside Will. He stiffens as Mike squeezes in between Will and the wall his bed is pushed up against, the small space making it impossible for their arms and legs to not brush up against each other. The warmth from his body is a searing heat, seeping through Will’s clothes and burying under his skin as Mike’s scent floods around him so viciously that he could practically gulp it from the air. It takes everything in Will to push down the groan crawling up his throat as he swallows down the saliva gushing in his mouth.
He was drooling like a dog—a wild, ravenous dog ready to pounce—over Mike’s scent? Well, this was certainly a new way of pining over Mike. He’d appreciated Mike’s scent before, along with other things. He’s run his eyes over the long, lean structure of Mike’s body whenever he wasn’t looking, licking his gaze over his broad shoulders and long neck, his lean muscled arms and slender fingers. Especially his long, slender fingers. Mike could at times appear to be cut from stone, a uniquely elegant structure of his bones captivating Will every time he peered at his sharp features. His nose and cheekbones were focal points of his face, almost impossible for Will to perfectly capture on paper but he’d come to reflect them with practice. And enough staring. Whatever.
He had certainly admired Mike before—with a twinge of guilt that he’d gawked at his best friend this way without him knowing, but he’d tried endlessly to push aside the guilt over the years—but he’d certainly never drooled over Mike before, or at least not this much. This felt almost different from the way he usually felt while admiring Mike. It wasn’t just an incessant yearning that hallowed his chest, it was almost a primal need for Mike, burying itself into that pit in his stomach and screaming at his throat. He was almost physically holding himself back from pouncing on Mike and… well he didn’t know what. Will ground his teeth together, tightening his jaw until he thought he’d chip a tooth.
“You know you can talk to me, right?” Mike strained. Will turned to meet his gaze, still worried but softer from lack of the previous irritation. That longing, sad puppy dog look that he pulled out whenever he so pleased, and Will found it almost impossible to not give in to.
“I know,” he sighed, dropping his pencil in his lap to prevent from chewing on it. He shifted his eyes over to the paper bag resting between them and reluctantly snatched it into his lap to pull out the snacks. “Look, i’ll try to get these down, okay? Now quit looking at me like that,” Will grumbled. Mike snickered and turned back to his comic book with a partially satisfied sigh.
Will ripped open the can of Pringles and was immediately assaulted with the smell and sight of them. Mike was right, they were one of his favorite snacks, but now the thought of eating them made his throat constrict in disgust. He exhaled through his nose and held his breath, snatching one of the chips out of the can and shoving it into his mouth, chewing it aggressively fast. It could have been dry wall for all that it did to his tastebuds, but he held back the urge to spit it out and forced his throat to push it down. He almost gagged at the sensation but withheld it in light of needing to prove to Mike that he was perfectly fine.
Mike gave a satisfied hum, plucking one of the chips from the can and plopping it into his mouth, chewing and swallowing with ease like it didn’t taste horribly rotten. He felt a twinge of helplessness when even his favorite snack was assaulting to his tastebuds. Will set the can between them, turning his head imperceptibly towards Mike to breathe in his scent again. It wrapped around his tongue and danced through his nostrils, taunting his senses and in comparison, made the Pringles smell like bile.
Mike fidgeted at the book he was reading, scanning his eyes over the last comic panel before gliding his fingers over the page to turn it.
And then it hit Will like a train. His throat constricted around the smell, his teeth clamping down on air as his stomach lurched towards it. His throat emulated a desert of dry grit, like suddenly he’d never been hydrated in his life—never even known thirst, and yet he’d stumbled upon the purest stream of spring water that sung to him a bewitching drink me. His muscles locked into place, somehow mirroring him to a deer caught in headlights, as though in this scenario he could be an innocent in the trappings of danger. But this smell was danger, and this craving lulling him towards it was deadly, but he felt far from the innocent.
Mike had barely finished turning the page before Will had expelled himself from the bed and slammed into the wall opposite Mike, shaking like a leaf and constricting his intake of air with a hand clamped over his aching throat.
Mike recoiled, eyes shooting up to meet Will’s that were so big they could’ve popped out of his head. His breath caught in his throat as he stared wide-eyed at Will and then flinched down at his finger that he had belatedly registered to have a small incision— a paper cut, that was now slowly trickling blood down the pad of his finger.
Will knew now where he had felt this before. Not through himself, but through the eyes of a much hungrier, much less human beast. It could smell fresh blood not like a bloodhound, but like a shark, because that’s what it did; that’s what it ate. It was a primal, vicious predator that tore through flesh down to the bone before it’s prey could even consider a means of escape—and it could find that prey all from a drop of blood. Will had heard these primal compulsions in the head of the demo-creatures when he had seen his mother, Robin, Mike, and Lucas through the mind of the monster. He heard how the Demogorgans wanted to rip through their flesh, tearing through their tendons and muscles down to the bone to greedily pour the fresh blood pulsing through their warm bodies. He’d never described the vile feeling of the Demogorgans thirst to anyone—how terrifying their vicious craving felt, and how repulsively appealing the blood was when he was in the mind of the monster.
But there was no Demogorgan now; only Will with no powers to breech the mind of the monsters and know their appetite. It was Will who felt that intense craving for the blood that slid down Mike’s finger as though he were watching condensation race down a crisp glass of water in a heatwave. It was Will who was the vicious predator, staring down his prey with pupils blown wide with hunger.
“Will?” Mike croaked. Will’s eyes tracked a trickle of blood as it glided down Mike’s finger and padded against the comic book. Mike’s limbs were frozen still, but his throat swallowed dryly and cleared. “Will, what’s wrong?”
“Get out,” Will choked. He refused any intake of air—the oxygen in his lungs straining to push out the warning, but as his lips had opened to spill the words the thick fragrance invaded his mouth, caressing his taste buds and curling around his tongue. A pool of saliva swarmed his mouth. The warning scratched against his throat, a betrayal against every instinct screaming at him to pin Mike down and trap him. He pushed the urge down, locking his limbs in place with a vice grip around his self restraint. Leave, he cried over the urge. Please leave before I hurt you.
Hurt flashed against Mike’s face, his limbs finally loosening enough for him to shift towards getting up. “What? Will, what’s wrong?”
A snarl ripped past Will’s lips as he barred his teeth at Mike. “Don’t move,” he spat. Mike froze in place, fear striking his eyes as he stared up at Will.
“Will,” he whispered, his voice shaking in the rigid air, “what happened to your teeth?”
The hand around Will’s throat flew to his mouth, fingers breaching past his lips to stroke against his teeth in search of a deviation. His thumb and index finger caught against his canines, now evidently longer and razor-sharp—almost identical to the teeth that slid into Will’s shoulder with ease. A gasp startled in Will’s throat, his hand clamping around his mouth as he tore away from the wall and spun around to conceal himself from Mike’s gawking.
“Please. Please just go,” Will groaned. Mike shifted again, shuffling out of the bed. He padded against the floor, but his footsteps did not retreat towards the door, instead edging towards Will with a hand extending towards Will’s shoulder.
Will had Mike pinned to the wall in less than a second, his hand locking around the wrist Mike had extended and holding it against the wall, his other hand gripping Mike’s shoulder. Mike inhaled a sharp gasp, wide eyes locking with Will’s. Their bodies pressed together, chests colliding with every heaving breath from Mike that mingled in the small space between them as Will had him sandwiched between himself and the wall. Mike’s eyes shot down to Will’s gaping mouth, grazing over the sharp teeth poking out from behind his top lip, and then returned to meet Will’s crazed stare.
“Will?” Mike whispered. A glimpse of anguish cast upon Will’s face before he dropped his head to Mike’s heaving chest, pressing his forehead flat against the constrained and bewildered boy. A groan vibrated in his throat as he shook his head. Then, he stilled.
Will dragged his forehead against Mike’s chest, shifting until the tip of his nose grazed delicately against a collarbone peaking out from the neck of his shirt. Mike took a small, sharp intake of air at the contact and then held his breath as his body stilled. Will paused, then skimmed his nose over the bone and hesitantly glided his nose up Mike’s throat, hair tickling Mike’s chin as he traveled up to below his jaw and allowed himself to softly inhale.
The visceral reaction charged under Will’s skin instantly. The sweet, velvety scent pooled in his mouth and glided down his throat to lurch at his stomach, leaving a burning ache behind every part of Will that it traced and leaving his brain buzzing in static. A whimper slipped past Will’s lips as his grip on Mike tightened, pushing him firmer against the wall. A hunger Will had never before had the displeasure of knowing tore through his nerves, squeezed at his abdomen, and traveled a dry ache from the top of his tongue down to his core. He could almost feel his veins rub resistantly together, his entire body lit ablaze from the parched burn. He had never felt so empty in his life. Will wanted to ravish Mike; latch his mouth onto his neck and sink his teeth into the taut skin straining over his throat to coax out the warm nectar rumbling in his veins. He almost moaned at the thought of what it would feel like against his tongue as it flowed down his throat; the thick, sweet liquid satiating the burning, dry ache as it filled the emptiness seething inside of Will that begged for just a single taste of what danced under Mike’s heated, milky skin.
Mike swallowed dryly, his throat pushing slightly further against Will until it gently brushed his top lip. It had been less than a second, a touch near impossible to perceive, and yet it had shot through Will like he’d been electrocuted.
He ripped his body away from Mike, catching the backs of his knees against the bed and stumbling slightly onto it. He dug his hands into the bed sheets and locked his fingers, the fabric straining against the stretch and giving in a small tear in his left hand. Mike sagged against the wall, his wrist falling back to his side as his head dropped. Will distantly realized that Mike had been baring his neck to Will, as though he were inviting him to indulge, yet he didn’t even know what craving Will so desperately wanted to indulge in, nor how dangerous it would’ve been for Will to give into it. The realization tormented Will’s self control.
Mike released the heavy, shaky breath he’d been holding as Will had nuzzled at his neck, and now Mike appeared to be breathless and entirely flushed crimson. He stared up at Will with a look almost mirroring his, as though Mike had a hunger of his own thrashing against his chest the same as his heart that Will now heard pounding rapidly against his ribcage. His fingers twitched at his sides, a look of apprehension crossing his face. And then, before Will could decipher the look of calculation lurking behind Mike’s eyes, he had crossed the distance between them in a single stride and fisted Will’s shirt in his hand, yanking him forward as he smashed his lips against Will’s.
Shock thrashed through Will’s core, a sound that was half gasp half moan flying past his own mouth only to be drowned in Mike’s. His eyes remained wide open, gaping at Mike eagerly feasting on his mouth, then squeezed shut as Mike’s scent thrashed against Will’s nose full force and flooded past his lips. Mike pressed deeper into his mouth, stroking his tongue against Will’s bottom lip in a hungry, pleading request.
Will shuddered, his hand flying to Mike’s chest with a shove, causing his feet to stumble backwards as his fist dropped from Will’s shirt. Mike’s pupils were blown wide, his eyes even wider as his mouth fell open, incoherence stumbling past his lips.
“I-I. Will, I’m so… I don’t know why I did that. Will, please, i’m sorry I… I thought—” Mike’s rambling stopped abruptly, his wide eyes dropping to aimlessly roam the floor with his mouth gaping as though words were wedged behind his tongue, refusing to push past his lips.
“You don’t know why you did that?” Will uttered in disbelief.
“No, I know why I did that. I don’t know why… why you pushed me away. You were…I thought…” Mike paused, his teeth digging into his bottom lip. “I misunderstood, I thought you wanted to…”
“Mike,” Will whispered. He dragged his eyes back to Will, gazing from under his eyelashes in a way that made Will feel like he’d just stepped on a dog’s paw. “I wanted to. Believe me I find it painful that I ironically have to push you away right now when that was all I have wanted for years.” Mike’s eyebrows scrunched together, shooting a mix of astonishment and confusion at Will, who was just as confused at what Mike had just done. His brain muddled into a haze, overwhelmed by the kiss and pounding with indecision on whether he wanted to pull him back to latch his lips onto him or his teeth. He was certain though that it was taking every ounce of energy he had left in his tired body to shackle himself to the bed and not pull Mike back. He distantly felt there were many questions he needed to ask, many things that were submerged in the fog of his brain, but all he could muster up in thought was a repetitive and determined Mike Mike Mike that pounded at his skull in the same rhythm as the ripping ache in his abdomen.
“I don’t…Will, I don’t understand what’s happening at all. Why were you…” Mike trailed off, glancing at his feet as a blush of red trailed over his cheeks.
“Something happened to me,” Will choked out. Mike’s eyes shot back up to Will. His fingers were still clutched in the sheets, steeling himself to the bed as he took air into his lungs to push out the words. The blood on Mike’s finger had quickly dried, but the aroma still flooded the room and slammed into Will’s face with antagonism. “The demo-bat—when it bit me it must’ve done something to me. It’s why I can’t eat, and probably why the bite isn’t healing, among other things,” Will grit out through clenched teeth.
“Will, I already know about—”
“No, you don’t,” Will hissed. “There’s something else. Something that’s changed about me. I can’t eat food anymore; my body won’t even choke it down. I couldn’t understand how I was so hungry but couldn’t even bare the sight of food. And there was this craving there that I knew I felt before, but not from myself. Not as me. I couldn’t place where it was from until you…” Will’s eyes dropped to Mike’s finger; the blood crusted against the wound stopping the flow. Mike’s eyes followed his gaze, and he raised his finger to inspect the cut. Confusion strained his face again as he glanced back to Will. His eyes loomed over Will’s teeth, eyebrows furrowing closer together.
“When I cut my finger?” Mike murmured. His eyes searched over Will, the information slowly piecing together on his face as Mike tried to understand what he meant about being changed.
“Your blood,” Will whispered, barely audible even in the quiet room. He squeezed his eyes shut, his face warming at how insane he felt to voice the craving. Mike’s eyes flashed up to Will’s face, narrowing in on his mouth, then towards the bite on Will’s shoulder, and back to his finger.
“You want my blood?” Will flinched, mortified from Mike’s clarity. He shifted his eyes, avoiding Mike’s pressing stare as he hesitantly gave a slow nod with his head. Mike inhaled sharply, taken aback by the confession and still utterly confused. “What like, you want to…drink it? Like a vampire?” The word echoed inside Will’s head. Zombie boy. Sorcerer. Vampire. Will was struck with the sudden dooming feeling that he could never escape what happened to him, and he would never be able to escape these names. They shadowed him, clinging to him like a second skin wherever he went. Will could never leave behind the tragedy that was his childhood, as it carved its own place inside of Will and rooted itself into who he was. He could never be normal when his development was anything but. He could never be normal when he’d seen through the eyes of a monster and known those morbid instincts— and now that those thoughts had burrowed inside his own mind, he was now a monster too.
Zombie boy. Sorcerer. Vampire. Freak. Monster. The words pounded against Will’s skull, his mind pooling into a further haze. His body lulled to give into the craving, and his mind thrashed in refusal of becoming what he feared. It was all too much.
“Mike, you need to leave.” Will’s eyes dragged back to him, locking on him with a plead. “I can’t… I don’t want to hurt you,” Will’s throat scratched out.
“What? I’m not… how did this even happen? How do you know for sure that you… that you want that?”
“Because it’s the exact same feeling that those things had when they looked at all of you when they hunted. I could hear it; I could feel it, Mike. I felt what their hunger was like, and what it craved, and I can feel it now,” Will grit out. He didn’t know how much longer he could lock himself in place with Mike standing so close and so vulnerable. “So, you need to get out. Because I have never been hungrier than I am right now, and I can not hurt you.”
Mike’s eyes were practically popping out of his skull. His eyes were trapped on Will, locked in a state of bewilderment, but they hardened, brows lowering in the way they did when he had set his determined and unyielding mind on something.
“No,” Mike uttered. Will’s eyes flinched as Mike took a small step towards him.
“Mike,” Will pleaded. “I’m serious.” Will’s fingers tightened his grip in the sheets as he leaned away from Mike.
“No, you’re hungry. You haven’t eaten in almost a week, and you need to heal,” Mike croaked. His fingers found the sleeve of his jacket, pulling it up his forearm to expose his pale wrist. “And I can help.”
Will’s eyes widened at the insinuation, his mouth flying open. “Mike, no.”
“You won't hurt me.”
“Yes, I will. You can’t know that I won’t.”
“And you can’t know that you will,” Mike countered. “I know you. I trust you. Just let me help you,” Mike snapped.
“You can’t always help, Mike. Not with this. You’re not responsible for what happened and you don’t need to fix it,” Will barked. Mike’s face faltered, eyes falling to Will’s shoulder where the blood from the wound had fully seeped through Will’s t-shirt. His expression fell, guilt sneaking across his face. Will’s face fell too. “I know you blame yourself for it, but it was inevitable that something would happen. It was never your fault, and i’m not your problem to handle. There was nothing you could have done,” Will voiced softer.
“You are never a problem, Will. And whether it was my gun that jammed or Nancy’s, I would still be here. I would still offer you this. Because even if I couldn’t do anything then, I can do something now,” Mike murmured. He stole another step closer to Will, staring down at his wide eyes as their knees almost touched. The closer Mike edged the more Will’s instincts flared to pounce, muscles convulsing and stiffening as Will tried helplessly to control himself from taking Mike’s reckless invitation. “Let me do this,” Mike softly begged, “please just let me do this for you.”
“Mike,” Will whispered; a plead. His unwillingness grew weaker as Mike shifted closer. He sat to Will’s right, his body shifting to face him as he raised his left wrist towards Will. His nose started to burn, and Will realized he was beginning to tear up, but couldn’t place which particular thing had caused it—if it wasn’t everything. Mike had kissed Will and he had pushed Mike away. Will was like one of those monsters now. Will wanted to hurt the people he loved. Will wanted to hurt Mike.
No. Will could never want to hurt Mike, nor the other people he loved. His instincts wanted to hurt Mike, but Will had wanted desperately for him to leave, and Mike had stayed and bared his trust in Will to take what he needed. And Will, with every vibrating molecule in his body, needed it.
Mike’s body radiated warmth beside him, a projection of tranquility that lulled Will closer for more. He wanted to reach out and curl against the warmth; to drag himself in and seep below the surface. He could feel the flow of the red warmth underneath Mike’s skin, and as Will still feebly tried to constrain himself from it, he felt as though he were huddled in a boat that fought tirelessly against the current of a ruthless ocean. He’d deemed the boat his safe harbor, but the struggle against the current washed away his courage and he wanted desperately to dive into the untamed waters that made it its endeavor to consume him. How cruel that he was still so entirely consumed by Mike, and still hopelessly fighting against it for Mike’s sake.
Will swallowed down the saliva that pooled in his mouth, yet it did nothing to ease the dry burn scraping against his throat. Mike’s scent completely encompassed him, extinguishing anything in Will’s mind that was not Mike Mike Mike. His skin felt ignited, every nerve on edge and smoldering in anticipation. His muscles spasmed; partially from malnourishment that cramped around his abdomen, but also from his instincts straining desperately to override his self control. It was like trying to keep your leg from jolting when the doctor tapped on your knee; his reflexes strained against his endeavor, aching to give in to the pull of Mike’s thickly sweet scent.
Mike’s eyes locked with Will’s, his lips softly curving upward as he gave a small nod and shifted his inner wrist closer towards his mouth. Will’s lips trembled, eyes burning as tears threatened to spill past his waterlines.
“It’s okay,” he cooed, “I promise.” Mike lightly brushed his wrist against his lips, and a whimper spilled past Will’s mouth. The touch was overwhelming to his senses, his throat contracting in a choke as Will squeezed his eyes shut and broke his hands free from the sheets to grasp Mike’s arm. A short huff of surprise rose from Mike’s throat, but he kept his arm perfectly still in Will’s hands as the grip tightened, holding Mike’s wrist in place just a hair’s width away from his lips. Will shuddered a breath against the pale skin and pressed his lips against the warmth. He could almost taste the blood flowing under, yet it antagonized him rather than satiated him. He pried his eyes open to drag them to meet Mike’s and was taken aback by how collected he seemed. He met Will’s gaze gently, his head giving in a small nod to coax him.
Will’s lips parted, grazing against Mike’s wrist until his teeth were barred. His canines softly glided against the warm, milky skin; jaw begging to clamp down. But he didn’t want to hurt Mike, so he resisted biting down with as much force as his jaw instinctually thought to do. Instead, Will stared into Mike’s soothing eyes and with a painstaking slowness he sank his teeth into his wrist. The razor-sharp teeth broke through the delicate skin with ease, making Mike steal a small, quick intake of air, only to be sealed behind tight lips.
Will felt as though a star had erupted inside of him. His eyes rolled into the back of his head as the blood slid past his lips and pooled in his mouth, caressing his tastebuds in a velvety, sweet embrace. He had never been aware of every tastebud that lined his mouth, but now he couldn’t have known them more even if he’d taken a microscope to them. They burst around the flavor, exploding in bliss around the thick confection that ravished them. His entire mind melted into a puddle that he submerged himself in; swimming in the warmth and light of the sun that he’d just touched to his tongue.
The blood seeped to the back of his mouth, and he guided it down his throat with an eager swallow. It hugged against the walls of his throat with a tender caress, extinguishing the dry burn that had scorched and trailing behind a sated hum of ecstasy. Will moaned against the feeling, the blood gargling in his throat as is pooled into his stomach. His grip around Mike’s arm pushed his wrist further against his mouth that now latched onto the warm, pale skin incessantly. The wildfire that tore at his abdomen and flared through his veins finally eased, the blood flowing through his system alleviating any pain he’d endured. He was mewling at the sensation of the blood filling him, sating his eternal hunger with a warm embrace, and if his mind weren’t a puddle of bliss he would’ve died of embarrassment.
His cheeks were wet with tears that had slid past his waterline; not from the previous turmoil he had felt but rather from overwhelming pleasure. The hole that he felt had been ripped through his core now slowly filled with the blood, and his body began to warm with a tingly buzz like a thick blanket had been wrapped around his soul.
“That’s it, you’re okay,” Mike purred. His other hand reached out to Will, wiping a tear that had snuck down his face. “Do I taste good, Will?” he asked softly. Will moaned against his wrist, body shifting closer to Mike’s warmth. Mike began to move his arm, repelling a whine from Will’s throat until he brought his other hand to the back of his head. “Shhh, it’s okay. You don’t need to stop,” Mike eased. He brought his wrist to himself with Will still latched on, spinning him around and pulling Will into his lap. Will pressed his back into Mike’s chest, his head tucked under Mike’s chin as he continued to drink at the blood from Mike’s arm that now hugged around him. Mike brought his other hand back to Will’s hair, comfortingly stroking at it as Will hummed in satisfaction.
He was a mess in Mike’s lap, melting into his embrace and whimpering as he drained the blood from Mike’s veins. He was encompassed in a comfortable warmth, heat radiating from Mike’s chest into his back as the blood filled his core and finally soothed his body.