Chapter Text
Will was barely 12 when he realized his feelings for Mike were not the same as those he felt for Dustin or Lucas. It wasn't a big epiphany he had one day; it was like something had loosened itself within him, finally making sense, but somehow not fitting right in its new home. Will knew he shouldn’t feel this way about Mike, about his best friend — his father had taught him as much growing up.
So he buried it deep within himself. Painted it on a canvas and gave the credit to someone else. He knew Mike would never feel the same way, and he made peace with that when he watched Mike fall in love with Eleven. It only solidified his reasons to hide his feelings, but it didn't soften the blow.
Watching all of his friends fall in love, even fall out of it again, just made him more aware of how different he was. How wrong his feelings were. It didn't help the situation when his friends asked him about it. About first kisses or touches. None of which he had experienced.
So while his friends were already moving fast paced to the next steps without him, Will was trying hard not to care, trying hard to enjoy being alive after everything they had gone through. He had to enjoy it. If not for himself, then for Jane.
Jane, who had died at only 16 years old, and had barely even scratched the surface of what her life could’ve been like. Out of those 16 years, she hardly knew happiness for even a moment. And yet, Will envied her. Because even though Jane’s life had been filled with horrors and fear, she had also experienced the one thing Will never had. Love.
Not only love, but love from the one person Will has always wanted it from. He hated himself for being jealous of her. She was his sister, for all intents and purposes. He loved her and he wanted her to be happy, but his heart wouldn’t allow it. Seeing her be kissed, be held, be loved by the boy he so desperately wanted — it made him hate her, which only made him hate himself even more.
It made the feelings he had for Mike sour. Because how could he be envious of a girl in hell, all because she got what he could only describe as heaven?
After Jane had sacrificed herself to save them, Mike shut down completely. Will barely saw him, even when he tried. He would go over to the Wheelers and ask Karen or Nancy for Mike, just to hear the same excuses every time.
“He’s mourning, Will.” Nancy had said. “He needs time.”
So Will gave him time. He stayed away, even when he didn’t understand why Mike would need space, especially from him specifically. He knew that Dustin and Lucas had seen Mike when he hadn’t. He tried not to think too much about it. Had his speech at the Squawk revealed too much? Had Mike figured out his feelings?
It took Mike almost 18 months to act like himself again, and even then it felt like he wasn’t completely the same. After graduation, Will didn’t know if Mike wanted to see him ever again — even though they were going to the same college, a plan they had made long before everything had happened. But after their last DND game in Mike’s basement, Mike had turned to Will and said;
“I found an apartment close to campus, it's not anything fancy but we should be able to afford it if we both get a part-time job.” He seemed almost nervous.
And that was that. They had signed the lease and moved in a month later, just before classes started. The apartment was small and dingy at the edges, but it had two bedrooms and big windows, which Will appreciated for when he was painting in the daylight. It had come with a couch from the previous owners, which was used and needed new upholstery, but it was their first piece of furniture and it was free.
Will had found a part-time job at a small bookshop near their apartment. It was owned by an elderly woman named Clarke, who lived in the apartment above the store. She had taken a liking to Will right away, pinching his cheeks like he was still a kid. It was nice having someone like that, now that he was so far away from his mom.
It wasn’t the most interesting job, but it was quiet most afternoons and he could sit behind the register and draw in his sketchbook when there were no customers. He enjoyed the quiet and the smell of books, and Clarke never cared if he was late for his shift after classes.
Mike had found a job at the movie theater near campus, which kept him out of the apartment most nights. It also meant he came home with cold popcorn he had stolen from the concessions, which they would share while they sat on their inherited couch watching movies.
The change in Mike’s behavior came slowly. Before they had moved in together, he had barely spoken to Will, hardly even looked at him. They hadn’t spent more than a few moments alone since Jane had died. Only when they were waiting for the rest of the party to show up in Mike’s basement, and even then Mike couldn’t look at Will. It was like there was something Mike saw in him, something Will couldn’t exactly pinpoint. He chalked it up to Mike being uncomfortable — Mike had figured it all out, knew that Will’s crush was on him, and now he was trying to create some distance between them. Which only confused Will even more. If Mike was so disgusted by Will’s feelings, why would he want to live with him?
Two weeks after moving in together, Mike began to act a little off. He would stare at Will over their shared morning coffees with a contemplative look on his face, but he would never say anything out of their ordinary small-talk. By week three he had started touching Will. They hadn’t shared as much as a hug since that day at he Squawk, but suddenly Mike would put a hand on Will’s lower back as he moved past him in the kitchen, he would hand him his mug and let their fingers brush for longer than necessary, or he would put a hand on Will’s knee while laughing at a movie, and then just let it rest there until the movie finished.
At first it drove Will absolutely crazy. He flinched whenever Mike would touch him, like a scared animal that got spooked by a loud noise. He wasn’t used to getting this kind of attention from Mike, and he didn’t know what to do with it. But Will was also just a boy. A boy still deeply in love with his best friend, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself that he wasn’t.
After a while he started leaning into the touches. He even started reaching for Mike himself. He’d get scared at a scene in a movie and grab Mike’s arm, just to let his hand rest there until the movie ended. When Mike would let their fingers brush, Will would let his own linger. He’d lean into Mike’s hands when they found his lower back while they moved around the apartment.
It was pathetic, he thought. How touch starved did you have to be to use your grieving best friend to your own advantage? But Will was grieving too. Maybe not in the same way. He was also grieving the Mike he used to know, and now it felt like he was slowly returning to him. The sweet, caring Mike that Will was used to before Jane had changed everything. He hated that he would miss a time before her, while he was also grieving the time after her.
After the movie they’d been watching had ended, Will would retreat to his room, with a pit in his stomach and his skin feeling hot. He felt so guilty. How could he let himself indulge in this, when his sister was dead and missing out? It was supposed to be her living with Mike. Her sitting on an old couch eating cold, stolen popcorn. Mike’s hands on her lower back as he moved around her in their kitchen. Instead it was Will, and he didn’t feel like he deserved to enjoy it. Especially not when he knew Mike didn’t mean anything by it. He didn’t exactly understand why Mike was suddenly so touchy. Did he think Will’s crush was over, and now felt comfortable with him again?
Will would toss and turn in his bed, guilt eating him alive, waiting for sleep to take over. When it finally did, it was restless and left him almost more exhausted than without it at all. Tonight was no different.
Will woke up in his bed. Something felt off, like he wasn’t supposed to be here. He rubbed his eyes and sat on the edge of his bed. The faint smell of something cooking hit his nostrils. Pancakes? Mike never cooked breakfast. Will got up from the bed and walked to his door, opening it slowly. Laughter could be heard throughout the apartment. Mike’s and… Jane’s?
He walked out of his bedroom and into the small hallway and peeked into the kitchen. At the stove, Jane stood with her back to him. She was flipping pancakes carefully, giggling at something, her head thrown back. Her hair was longer, he noticed. Beside her was Mike, looking at her with bright eyes.
“Do not look at me like that, Mike!” Jane giggled.
“I can’t help it, I’m just so happy, I feel crazy,” he responded. Moving closer to her and wrapping both arms around her waist, standing flushed against her. He leaned down and laid a kiss against her neck.
Will felt like he was watching something he wasn’t meant to see, but he couldn’t look away. This was how it was supposed to have been. Mike and Jane.
“Me too, I feel crazy too,” Jane replied.
“If we're both going crazy, we’ll go crazy together, right?” Mike asked. Something stung inside Will. A deep memory coming to the surface.
“Yeah, crazy together,” Jane smiled.
Crazy together. Crazy together. Crazy together.
Just like Mike had told him. Sitting in his basement in their ghostbusters costumes on halloween night. Mike had taken him home, not the Byers’ home, but his own. Holding his hand and comforting him, protecting him.
His paladin, now turned storyteller.
“I can not believe this is our life. I love you,” Jane said, leaning back into Mike.
“I told you, just like in one of my campaigns,” Mike muttered against her neck, placing another kiss there.
“Are you still okay? About Will… He was your best friend, Mike,” she turned around to face him, putting her arms around his shoulders and her hands in his hair.
“I’m okay." He leaned into her touch. “Honestly, I’m kind of… relieved,” Mike muttered.
"Relieved?" Jane looked up at him. “Because of what he said at the Squawk?” she questioned, brows furrowed.
“Everyone could tell that he was talking about me. It was kind of embarrassing. What did he expect? That I’d reciprocate his feelings? We were friends. Just friends,” Mike said, urging that last part just like he had back in Lenora.
Will felt like he was going to throw up. Of course Mike would think that. He knew Mike would never feel the same way about him, but relieved? Relieved that he was gone? Of course he would be. He wouldn’t have to deal with Will and his stupid, disgusting feelings anymore. He could be happy with Jane. Just like he was meant to.
“I just don't understand what he expected. We’re in love. He was my friend, yes, but this is better. Just us,” Mike urged, leaning down and kissing Jane deeply.
Of course they’d be happy with him gone. It was always supposed to be them. The Storyteller and The Mage.
“Will,”
He was supposed to be gone. Be dead.
“Will, you’re having a nightmare,”
He should’ve been the one to sacrifice himself. Not Jane.
“Wake up, Will, please,”
He should have died. He wishes he had. Maybe he could still-
“Will!” Mike shook him awake, hands on both of his shoulders. Will opened his eyes, as he quickly sat up, almost knocking into Mike, who was beside him on the bed. Mike let his hands fall from his shoulders, but left one on his arm, grounding him.
Will tried getting his breath under control, but he couldn’t get the nightmare out of his head. I’m kind of relieved. In, out. He tried to take a deep breath, but choked on it instead. This is better. Tears started falling from his eyes, his chest hurt, he couldn’t breathe.
Just us. Just us. Just us.
Mike moved quickly, wrapping his arms around Will and pulling him in tight. His hands found Will’s hair and he held onto his head, forcing Will’s face into the crook of his neck.
“Breathe, Will,” Mike urged, holding him so tight that Will could feel their heartbeats thump together. Thump, thump, thump.
“It should have been me,” Will said, voice thick with tears.
“What? What should have been you?” Mike said, moving Will’s face away from his neck so he could look at him.
“It should have been me, I wish it was me,” Will sobbed, snot and tears running rapidly down his face.
Mike’s eyes searched his face as he tried to piece together what Will was talking about. Like something finally clicked, Mike’s expression changed. He looked like he was in just as much pain as Will.
“Will, no, it shouldn’t have- It shouldn’t have been you,” he urged. Moving his hands up to Will’s face and wiping away his tears, but it was no use, they kept flowing.
How did Will deserve this care and attention from Mike? It should have been Jane who got to wake up with Mike here.
He tried moving out from Mike's grip, shaking his head as he lifted his hands to Mike's chest and pushed, trying to get some distance. But Mike only held on tighter as he moved his hands from Will’s face to his shoulders. He pulled him in again, holding onto Will’s t-shirt like he was the one who needed to be comforted.
“Will, please, it shouldn’t have been you, it shouldn’t have been anyone. Please believe me,” Mike urged.
Will didn’t believe him. He didn’t think he ever would.
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When Will woke up the next morning, his eyes were almost swollen shut. He couldn’t remember when he had fallen back asleep, but when he felt the throbbing in his head, he knew it couldn’t have been too long ago. He tried to sit up, but something heavy laid over his chest, weighing him down. As he opened his eyes, he realized it was Mike’s arm, tightly wrapped over him. The realization made his skin burn. Why had Mike stayed? Had he just fallen asleep after comforting Will and never made it back to his own room? That would be the logical answer, but it didn’t explain why his arm was laid over Will, or why his nose was nuzzled into Will’s shoulder. He must’ve rolled over in his sleep. He would never purposely touch Will like this. Except he had, hadn’t he? A hand on his lower back, fingers brushing over his-
“Hmpf,” Mike stirred, interrupting Will's thoughts. Which was probably for the best, he didn’t want to get himself confused, not again.
Back before Jane had sacrificed herself, Will thought that things would’ve been different. With Jane being away at the cabin, her and Mike had become distanced. Meanwhile, Will had been living at the Wheelers, spending every day with Mike. While the two were sharing breakfasts and dinners, his sister, Mike’s girlfriend, stood alone in the woods, training for a fight nobody could prepare for.
Will had been so naive, so stupid. He had forgotten, just for a moment, that Mike wasn’t like him, that he was in love with Jane. With Mike and Will sharing so much time together, Will had become too comfortable. He started noticing things, no, imagining things. Mike would look at him longer than usual when they were sitting across from each other at the breakfast table, not breaking his gaze until he noticed Will looking back. He would do things for Will, too. Prepare his plate for him, hold the door, tie his shoelaces. All things Will could file away as Mike being helpful, friendly.
But then there were the things that confused Will. One night, they had been down in the basement watching a movie as usual. It was late, almost midnight, and Will had dozed off multiple times over the past half hour. He was sitting sideways, legs tucked underneath himself, his side against the back of the couch. He had one arm resting along the top of the furniture, nuzzling his head against it. He was right between the line of consciousness and drifting to sleep when he felt it. Featherlight touches fluttering over his knuckles. He froze, every nerve in his body suddenly amplified.
“Will?” Mike had whispered. Will stayed completely still, focusing on his breathing.
Then, when Mike truly believed that Will was sleeping, he gently threaded their fingers together. Will sat completely still, so still he almost forgot to breathe. What was Mike doing? Their hands remained intertwined until the movie was over, Will still pretending to be asleep. At the end, Mike let go of Will’s hand and got up as he headed upstairs to his room in silence. Even though Will knew Mike didn’t mean anything by it, he still felt a sliver of hope rise inside his chest.
He should have known better.
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Mike murmured something, shaking Will from his memories once again. He slowly grabbed Mike’s arm from his chest and moved it away, wiggling out from underneath it. He shivered, already feeling cold without Mike’s touch. Good, he thought. You don’t deserve the warmth. He sat up and scooted off the bed. Do not take what doesn’t belong to you. He tiptoed out of the room, grabbing some clothes and trying not to wake Mike now that he had already disrupted his sleep with his nightmare.
Will snuck out the door and closed it softly behind him. He turned and leaned against it, sighing to himself. You’re not allowed to enjoy this. He went to the bathroom and changed out of his pajamas, throwing on a pair of jeans and a faded t-shirt. He went to the kitchen, grabbed a granola bar he knew he wouldn't eat, and headed for the front door. His classes didn’t start until later, but he couldn’t stay in the apartment a minute longer knowing Mike was still laying in his bed, warm and sleepy.
Will was the only one at the art studio, the class didn’t start for another hour. He grabbed some paints and brushes, and sat in front of an easel, looking at the blank canvas before him.
This is better. Just us.
He couldn’t shake the nightmare off. It was stuck under his skin, like a simmering fire, burning its way through him. He grabbed a brush and dipped it into the paint before touching the brush onto the canvas. He tried to focus on Jane, how her hair fell out of her braid. Leaning up to kiss Mike. How her eyes had glowed, looking so alive. Wrapping her arms around his neck. How her laughter had sounded, airy and light. It should have been you.
“Will?” a muffled voice called. “Will?” it echoed, Will kept painting.
“Mr. Byers?" the voice persisted. Will’s eyes snapped up, seeing his art professor, Mrs. Waverly stood in front of him looking worried. Will blinked once, twice, trying to regain his focus. It felt like he was waking up from a dream. He noticed other students had taken their places in front of their respective easels, and realized he had been sitting there for an hour. Time had slipped away from him in his thoughts of Jane. Of the nightmare.
In front of him stood the canvas, now fully painted. Dark blues and greys covering the large space that had once been white. In the middle of the canvas sat a girl with long brown hair. Her face was distorted, unrecognizable to a stranger, but Will knew exactly who she was. His chest caved in and he felt the air leave his lungs. His entire body started burning. It should have been you. He stood up abruptly, almost knocking over the easel, and muttered a stupid excuse about a headache before grabbing his stuff and hurrying out of the studio.
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When he came home, his skin was still burning up. He went straight into the bathroom, thinking maybe a shower would help. He likes it cold. He shook the thought away quickly, turning the shower on, the temperature set as cold as possible.
He stripped off his t-shirt, throwing it to the already full hamper, but it missed. Sighing, he stepped over to pick it back up, not noticing the water had splashed onto the tiles, making the floor wet. His feet slipped, and before he could react Will fell backwards, hitting his head on the edge of the sink before everything went black.
Will woke up slowly. He didn’t remember falling asleep. The surface beneath him was hard and wet, a shallow layer of water covering the ground. He sat up and looked around, there was nothing to see. Miles of darkness stretched out in front of him. He stood quickly, panic already rising in his chest. He kept turning around himself, where was he? What was this place?
“Will,” a familiar voice called from behind him. He turned quickly, almost slipping in the water.
Standing in front of him was Jane. With her slicked back hair and that horrible wetsuit. She looked exactly the same as the day she-
“Will, I need you to listen to me,” she urged, grabbing his shoulders. She was cold.
“Jane, where are we? What is this place?” Will asked, fast and anxious.
“That is not important, you need to listen to me, we do not have much time,” she replied, looking hurriedly over her shoulder. Will could only nod, looking around, not sure what for.
“It should be you,” she said, her voice distorted. She didn’t sound like herself.
“What?” he muttered.
“Why should I be the one to sacrifice myself? I barely lived. How come you deserve to get everything I never had?” Jane said, hands clutching his shoulders painfully.
“It should be you,” she repeated.
Will didn’t understand. Jane would never say something like this, would she? But she was right. She hardly lived. Grown up in a lab and then barely escaped, just to live a life being chased. She had only known terror and anguish, the only love she had ever experienced was with Mike. Mike who would lose her now, if Will didn’t take her place.
“Will!”
Will didn’t deserve to take her place.
“Fuck, Will, wake up!”
It should be him.
“Will, oh my god,” he felt his head being lifted from the ground and onto something softer, warmer. The back of his head was pounding, something dripped from it. He opened his eyes slowly, adjusting to the harsh light before looking straight into Mike’s brown ones. They were wide and panicked, Mike’s brows furrowed deeply on his forehead.
“What happened?” Will muttered, trying to sit up, but the pain in the back of his head was too much. Mike's face paled as he noticed Will’s struggle.
“I don’t know, I heard you come home, but you didn’t say anything, so I went to look for you,” Mike answered, his hands shaking while he carefully touched Will’s head, which he now realized was resting on Mike’s thighs. “You must’ve slipped and fell, the shower was still running. I found you on the ground.”
Will tried sitting up again, he needed to get away from Mike’s touch. It was all too much, the care and attention, his thighs underneath him. It should be you.
“You hit your head, don’t move,” Mike’s hands held him carefully, making him sit up slowly, his back to Mike now. He could feel a warm trickle down his neck and further down his spine. He reached back with his fingertips, touching the spot and feeling something thick, almost sticky. He pressed into the wetness and felt the pain immediately. Will retracted quickly with a wince and looked at his hand. Blood.
“Don’t touch it, let me help,” Mike whispered behind him, his voice trembling, making his breath fan over the back of Will's bare neck. He was so close.
“No, Mike, I’m fine, leave me-”, before he could finish his sentence Mike had already grabbed his shoulders again, softly pushing him further forwards so he could take a better look at the source of the bleeding.
“I don’t think you’ll need stitches, but let me just-” he frantically moved back, stretching his arms to reach for the cabinet under the sink and grabbed the first aid kit. “Here we go, sit still,” Mike said as he moved to sit back down behind Will.
Will didn’t have it in him to argue. His head was throbbing and he could feel the dizziness setting in from the smell of iron. He allowed Mike to clean the cut, inhaling sharply whenever he felt the sting from Mike’s touch. He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve Mike; Jane did. It should be her, alive and cared for. Loved.
“I saw Jane,” Will whispered slowly, almost nonexistent. He could feel Mike’s hands freeze and his entire body go still. “I was there with her, when she was…”, he didn’t finish his sentence, but Mike knew what he meant. He didn’t have to say it.
“Oh,” Mike breathed. “What happened?”
“Nothing, she was just there,” Will lied. He didn’t want his pity, didn’t want to hear Mike lie to him and tell him that it shouldn’t have been him instead of Jane. He knew it wasn’t the truth.
It should be you. It should be you. It should be you.
After Mike had cleaned the cut and carefully wrapped a bandage around Will’s head. Mike helped him get back to his bedroom. Will asked him to leave when he got to the door, Mike kept hovering, frowning and insisting on staying to monitor him before finally, hesitantly, letting Will go. He couldn’t bring himself to have Mike put him to bed. He’d want him to stay, and he knew Mike would if he asked. That’s how much he pitied him.
Laying in his bed, he thought back to the nightmare, back to Jane. He hadn’t been there that day, but Mike had. Did she tell him the same thing? That it should’ve been Will instead of her? Mike had only mentioned to the party that she wanted him to thank them for being her friend. But when they had asked what she specifically told him, he clammed up and didn’t want to talk about it. It made Will wonder.
What had Jane said to Mike in the void that made him shut down every time it was mentioned? Were her last moments just as horrifying as her first?
The back of Will’s head ached, just like his heart. He fell asleep thinking about Jane.