Work Text:
what I'd give to catch you alone
..........
Rays of sunlight filtered through the wooden panels of the barn roof, rusted red, hazy in the early-morning autumn mist. Dust danced in the soft light, drifting within in blurred beauty. Their place, perched atop the loft, allowed for a peaceful sort of serenity, removal from the mere ground on which mortals walked.
This ethereal atmosphere could only be strengthened by the way Will Byers was looking at him.
Hair, brown and soft around the edges, mused against the sharp lines of his jaw, whispy in the muted light. Sun bringing out flecks of gold in hazel eyes. A smile, a mischievous little quip, often hidden beneath an exhausted demeanor and weary doe-eyes, drawn upon his features.
And yet, this was all tinted with an underlying sense of something more, lurking in the dark of Will's huge pupils, the flush dusted across skin, still California-tanned, the breathy laughs and caught inhales as their hands brushed.
The yearning, inescapable thought of leaning ever closer and pressing his lips to Will's, pretty pink and delectable.
Mike would have averted his gaze upon the presence of such thoughts, such unholy and sinful ideas as the intertwining of hands. Yet here, in a lone, abandoned barn, dust brushing his nose, golden field painted across the horizon, air crisp and biting with the cold and the anticipation of dawning Halloween, he traced his gaze along Will's image, relishing in the shiver that ghosted over his body.
And Mike tried to pay attention to the words spun from those lips, hung in the heavy air between them, but it was near impossible. Not when Will was deliciously flushed, shoulders knocked together, warmth and the faint smell of honey admist their intermingling breaths. Not when each muted brush of palms sparked something deep within Mike, burning in an intense fury, caught on hay bails and old wood, all-consuming and scorching.
Will was suddenly quiet. The wind whistled outside.
Eyes met, and Mike drank Will in with a pounding heart and barren mind, empty as the barn in which they sat, abandoned with the exception of a dust mite or two. Soaked in his soft half-smile, head gently tilted, eyebrows furrowed and still leaning in to meet Mike, gaze darting down.
"Mike..." he whispered, a notion of a groan in the hush as Mike breathed, shakily, lips the faintest press apart, noses brushed as he gazed at Will, blurred in sunlight, chilled in autumn, through half-lidded eyes.
The barest press of lips, a shuddering breath, and Mike was melting.
The barn door opened with a dramatic bang.
"There you shitheads are," Dustin yelled, baring disgruntled frown, crossed arms, and borrowed words from Steve Harrington.
Mike had jumped away upon the slightest noise, legs sprawled in sloppily nonchalance from an opposite end of the loft. He was panting, hand dragged across his face, heart racing.
"Shit, Dustin, you almost scared me to death," he gasped, glancing at Will every few moments, between brief pauses and racking of minds.
Dustin looked between the two of them, furrowed eyebrows, chin in hand. "Well, I'm sorry, Wheeler, Byers," he said, mock bow towards each of them, effort to draw a teasing grin upon his features, letting the clutching remnants of curiosity fade into the background for the time being. "But your presence is requested elsewhere. You know, by your other friends?"
Mike rolled his eyes, pretending his cheeks weren't red and his hands weren't shaking. "Whatever man," he mumbled.
An amused huff filled the barn as Will climbed down from the loft, graceful hands gripping ladder rungs, shooting Mike a teasing grin, masking furrowed brow and wary stare.
He only smiled back, brief questions of when he'd started being so vague, surface level impressions, flitting through his mind.
"Finally," Dustin muttered, sharp eyes looking between the two with crossed arms and an exaggerated, disgruntled, air.
"You've been spending too much time with Steve," Will remarked, brushing off his pants with a gleam in light eyes.
Mike laughed, a pleased thing, as Dustin rolled his eyes, all protests and fond grins, ushering them out into the painted sky and orange trees landscape.
"It's pretty out here," Will said, awe in his voice, fingers twitching with the urge to grab a brush and create, beautiful strokes capturing the sun on the rolling fields, filtering through red leaves, silhouettes of Max and Lucas and El in the distance, their laughter carrying on the wind.
Mike tore his gaze away, something, horrific and unnamed, crawling at his chest, tearing at his heart, hyper aware of Dustin's voice as he called out to the rest of the party. Will was bathed in sunlight, angelic, soft grins and sharp words, essence of the very world he described as "pretty." This same sun was sharp in Mike's gaze. He was ill with pounding headache and turning stomach.
The three in the distance steadily neared, Lucas's joyful calls loud in the autumn quiet. A shove from Max, a giggle from El, and the party was together, limbs all awkward and knocking as they talked over one another.
A cough, and Mike spoke up. "Alright, so, Lucas, when does this party start again?"
Lucas spared a glance at his watch among overlapping murmurs.
With wide eyes, he whistled, sheepish half-smile. "Oh. Um, I think it was supposed to start, like, right now?"
Their chorus of groans sent a murder of crows flying into the horizon.
"Lucas!" Max said, shoving him to the side, nearly pushing him into the never-ending field. "We were supposed to help set up!"
Mike rolled his eyes, and Dustin shouted, "C'mon, Lucas!"
Playfully narrowed eyes, and Lucas rose his hands in mock surrender, gazing at Dustin with raised eyebrows. "Weren't you supposed to be in charge of getting us there in time, anyway? You know, cause it was such a big priority to help Mallory?"
Dustin's blush had them cackling, equal parts laughter and exasperation.
"It doesn't matter who's fault it is, assholes," Mike said, arms crossed, cutting off Dustin's perfectly logical reasoning for his somewhat illogical behavior. "What matters is that we actually get there."
A loud sigh, and Max waved a hand in tired agreement.
They rushed with stumbling steps, golden stalks brushing their arms, tripping and fumbling over limbs and words, the silver glint of Max's car gleaming in the distance. Mike watched as the rest of the party sped ahead, panting, glancing at the sky for solace. The muted sound of heavy footsteps lingered, and Mike's gaze darted, heart thundering as Will slowed beside him, shooting a crooked grin beneath tousled hair.
Mike gulped, soft smile as he swung an arm around Will, who threw his head back in laughter.
"You know it's gonna be impossible to run like this," Will said, breathless and blushing, gesturing to their intertwined arms and the lack of space between them.
A shrug, seemingly casual despite the stumble of tangled legs. "Worth it," Mike said, Will's hair barely brushing his nose, honey enveloping his mind with each breath.
Deep, tentative eyes, and Will could only laugh.
..........
Orange lights danced across Mike’s face. Everything was thrown into blurred shadow, dimmed light and a haze of alcohol.
Will stood glued to his side, cup in hand, laughing at something he'd said.
Something he'd said.
Countless teenagers were crammed together in the too-small space, pressed flush against each other, body heat dusting them red within the giddy air.
The music echoed through each nook and cranny of the house, a song Mike simply couldn't place, despite knowing he'd heard it before. Will had laughed, smiling and glowing, at his tipsy efforts.
The rest of the Party was scattered throughout the crowd, Lucas and Max and El likely giggling together in some darker corner, Dustin mingling with Mallory, channeling every piece of Steve Harrington's advice into the simplest of interactions.
It was just him, Will, and the tangible static between them.
"What is this party even for, anyways?" Mike asked, bordering on a yell over the noise.
Will returned his grin, tilted and pretty.
"Yea, it's weird, isn't it? Like, it's not Halloween yet, but it's also really close, you know?"
He was sure he looked like an idiot, nodding along, eyes glazed over, lips parted slightly. "Yea, yea. What do you think you're gonna be for Halloween this year anyway?"
A pause, letting the words settle.
"You know, assuming we're not too old."
"Ah, I think we have a few years left in us," Will said as Mike huffed, amused, stepping a bit closer, shoulders brushing.
"I don't know, though," Will shrugged, blushed pink and soft. "What about you?"
Anything you want me to be.
Mike blinked, hand tightening on his cup. An unexplainable thought, one such that Mike should likely not utter to Will Byers, cheap beer burning his throat, at a not-quite-Halloween party.
"Uh, I don't know," he said, hand rubbing the back of his neck, eyes darting anywhere but Will, face lit in soft light, eyes big and hazel, leaning up to look at him with such sweet-sour, biting, words.
His heart was pounding terribly in his chest, threatening to burst.
"Yea," and Will looked into his cup with a certain thoughtfulness, gently twirling the liquid, and Mike's breath caught.
Deep in the space between his ribs, the hollows of his skull, the slope of his cheekbones, something clawed at Mike, some sort of manifestation, desperate and ever-present.
Will's lips were chapped, from crisp autumn air and biting. Hair, soft and catching the scattered light like sun, features half-thrown in shadow. Eyes drawn to his drink, lashes brushing his cheeks.
Nauseating. Mike was nauseous.
Mike tried to breathe. He sounded like he was dying, raspy voice and choked inhales. "Shit. I'm gonna use the bathroom," he said, Will glancing at him with concern, faintly downturned lips.
"Are you okay?"
A wave of his hand, a muttered goodbye, and Mike fled. Dread tangled, intertwined with his intestines, head pounding in rhythm with the music. He reached up to wipe his nose, cursing when his hand came away bloody.
Fucking perfect.
He staggered into the bathroom, red solo cup placed on the vanity, world spinning dramatically, with a gasp, catching a small glimpse of his reflection.
He couldn't help but wince, eyes dark and frantic, shadows and pale skin and gangly limbs.
The overwhelming urge to bolt rose in his scratched throat.
Desperate, he scanned the room, heavy pants, tugging at his hair.
Window.
A tiny window, one that would take brute force to open, such that Mike Wheeler was notably infamous for lacking. A bit above the ground, a rough fall from a few feet.
Several pathetic attempts and he yanked it open, sighing at the rush of cool air hitting his face. One leg swung over, and down he went, collapsing atop fallen orange and red leaves. He giggled, sure that, at that particular moment, he was the perfect image of a tipsy high schooler.
A singular lovely second, he simply laid in the leaves, staring at the sky, moon and stars winking down at him. The breeze brushed against his too-warm body, twirling his hair, drying the blood on his face.
He stretched, limbs arching like a cat's, with a content little sigh.
He was fixed with the determination to take a stroll through the woods. A wander, to clear his mind, let his very soul be encompassed by mysterious woodland sounds and skeletal shadows instead of fluttering whispers in the forefront of his mind and Will Byers' painfully sharp grin.
He wiped away warm blood, meeting the treeline with a set gaze, pounding music echoing behind him.
In the distance, a bird cawed, and the wind howled through tree branches.
A clock chimed, and he stepped into the forest.
The crunch of leaves beneath his feet soon replaced the shaking pulse of music, the shaking pulse of his heart, and he kicked, slopply, at nothing.
His headache, though, was still shit. Not that he wasn't used to them, but damn.
Tree branches laced overhead, the moon shining through wispy clouds, and he continued on, deeper and deeper into darkness.
And he swore he'd seen that tree before.
Panic began to overtake his senses, head furiously whipping around as he realized, with dawning dread, that he had no clue where he was.
The alcohol in his veins, the sharp slice of pain through his head, blood still streaming down his nose, and fuck, maybe he'd die out here.
He rushed through the woods, panting, vision tilted as he muttered, trying to keep himself sane.
Bird caws, and he jumped, heart hammering away, as they flew into the cloudy sky.
A clock chimed. Again.
His head was being split in two and hands were threaded in his hair and eyes squeezed shut and blood dripping onto the leaf strewn ground and vicious chills racking his body and surely this was it, this is where he would die, nothing but a pile of bones and regret, sloppily stitched together.
"Mike?"
A glance up, quick and dashing hopeful, and there was Will.
Will, hair slightly mused, eyes wide beneath the scattered moonlight, lingering on the outskirts of his sight.
Mike could've collapsed. "Holy shit Will, thank God you're here. I don't know what the hell Mallory put in that punch, but I was going crazy, dude, it was awful."
A nod, short and sweet, as Mike rambled, filling the silence and the sudden absence of his headache, of bright warm blood.
"Seriously, though, I don't know how you found me, oh my God, but I'm so glad you did," Mike said, shooting Will his most charming grin, all faint freckles and curled strands of black hair.
Yet, he was met with resounding quiet.
Furrowed brow, and Mike stepped forward, reaching out to touch Will, sunken and wide eyed.
"Will? You okay?" He snapped up, meeting Mike's gaze with blank expression.
"Yea, I'm fine Mike. Just thinking."
Mike's smile fell, ever so slightly, and he swallowed strange unease. "What about?"
A shrug, Will's eyes never leaving his.
"It's just kinda pathetic you couldn't even figure out how to leave some woods by yourself, is all."
Shaky breath, fractured thoughts, and Mike said, "oh" in such an awful, desperate tone, soft and cracking, so unbearably soft.
"Yea," Will said simply, eyes dark. "And everyone's having so much fun at this party, and you had to go wander into the fucking woods like a lost cat. It's....well, I'm used to it. Covering for you. Watching your back through all your mistakes. "
His hands were shaking as he racked his mind for something to say, filing through each nook and cranny and coming up with naught.
Well, except anger. Annoyance, rather. "Well, I'm sorry, okay? I'm having kinda a rough time, Will, I'd appreciate just a little bit of sympathy, you know?"
A tsk-tsk sound, one Mike had never heard Will make, ever. "You're so needy, Mike."
"Will, I really don't know what you're talking about-"
Soft finger placed against his lips, shushing him, and he exhaled. Will was suddenly too-close, and Mike was dizzy with the smell of honey, the light reflecting in hazel eyes.
"So needy," Will whispered, a snarl on his lips, dull, dark eyes. "And yet no one needs you. You know that?"
And Mike did know that, had once seen Lucas drift apart from their Party and Max particularly disappear, Dustin latched onto Eddie while Will and El were thriving so many miles away.
He knew it well, and yet, it was a stabbing pain through his chest.
"Yea okay, whatever, alright. No one needs me, fine. Fine! I don't give a shit. Can you please just stop acting so werid so we can get back to this stupid party?"
Will's eyes narrowed, searching Mike with an underlying cold fury. Grasping his wrist, still only inches apart. Clock chimes echoed through the woods, faster and faster as wide eyes darted over his image, breath stuck in his throat.
And suddenly, Will smiled, a sickly, eerie thing.
"Ah."
Mike's vision faded to black.
..........
He came to with a heavy gasp, air crisp in his lungs, blurred lights ghosting across his features, sirens, shrill and shrieking.
The lulling sound of overlapping chatter, gentle rush of water, and he shot up.
The quarry's dark, gaping mouth stared back at him, incomprehensible horror.
Mike had taken it upon himself to avoid the quarry after...everything. Simply being near it left him with the wind knocked out of his gut, weight of sorrowful dread in his ribs, free-falling tears and free-falling body.
The exact feeling choking him now.
Yet, he knew this, the faceless cops, the sobs, the shaking dread entering his bloodstream, the haunted faces of the Party.
Oh God, he knew this.
His heart was a dull thump in his ears as he stumbled toward the edge of the water, dizzy with static and delirious agony.
The water lapped over his shoes, biting and frigid as he stared beneath the dark surface, barely aware of tears streaming down his face.
A pale silhouette, barely breaching the gripping black of the water, and Mike let out a sob.
He grabbed Will's hand-his Will, his Will, Oh God-and flinched, for he was cold and limp and terribly pale and Mike wanted to rip his bones apart.
No one stopped him as he dragged Will out of the waters, sobs heavy, snot and tears and cut breaths.
He collapsed onto the shore, Will's body sprawled across his lap, cradling him in his frail arms, and stared. He couldn't draw his gaze away.
Gone were the bright, weary life of Will's hazel eyes, pretty flecks reflected in sunlight. His skin was deathly pale, a bluish tint, hair matted. Lips cold and stiff, slightly parted. The smell of brisk chill, and nothing more.
Mike's hands, shaking, traveled across the plans of his face, down his arms and back again, trying to find evidence of life, growing desperate as his body caved in on itself, heart dragged away, into the depths of the freezing waters, with Will.
"No, no, no, no, no," he sobbed, tears falling onto Will's pale, cold cheeks, leaned over close enough to where he had once been able to see the flecks of gold in Will's eyes, stray strands of hair, quirk of his lips.
Yet he was met with resounding nothingness, so loud in its quiet.
Slouching down, curling into himself, wide, feral eyes, pressing Will's head to his chest. Rocking back and forth, everything around him blurred and reduced, nothing but background noise, for how could anything crash into him like the reality of Will's dead body in his hands?
Wait. Dead body.
Last time, or-this time, seeing as this appeared to be the same as the hellish nightmares of his past, Will hadn't truly been gone. Simply replaced, a faux, a facade, a dreadful scare that had turned Mike's blood to ice.
And Hopper had said all it took was a slice to sickly, sickly skin.
He stood with clumsy steps, Will held close, nearly sending him falling right back into the gloom.
Dashed through the silhouettes of cops and medics as though they were mere shadow, desperately searching for a glint of silver, a solace.
He found it in the pocket of a nameless officer. It may have been Hopper. Hell if he knew.
Fell to the ground, handling Will with mortal care, trembling hands held a knife. Trembling hands which pressed the blade to soft skin.
Trembling hands and breaking sobs.
Mike almost couldn't bring himself to do it, draw the harsh cut, even though he knew he was holding a fake. Not his Will, birthmarks and moles and exact shape of his lips be damned.
But, he did. Rolled the sleeves of Will's flannel up, choked on a sob, held his hand, soft and bitter-cold, pressed the tip of the knife against his forearm.
Squeezed his eyes shut, and slit.
The darkness of his mind, behind his eyelids, and yet terror began to leak into his throat, scarcely smothering his breath as he suffocated on horror.
He pried his eyes open, and screamed.
Bone shattering, gut wrenching scream, echoed through the quarry, shrill and loud and fragments of his very being lost within. The scream of a horror movie victim, of Nightmare on Elm Street and Friday The 13th, fractured by pitiful wails and the drastic lack of change around him, as though he were going crazy, grasping Will's body in a murmur of insanity unbeknownst to anyone else.
Will's body, arm stained red. The cut, seeping, congealed blood. The bile, tearing at his throat.
"STOP" he yelled, hands quaking, ghosting over Will, brushing broad shoulders and knotted hair. "STOP LYING. THIS ISNT...THIS ISN'T REAL. I...stop it."
"Please."
Screams trailed into broken whispers, punctured by tear-stained, racking, whimpers and snot, frantic stare locked on Will.
He reached out, shoulders hunched, sinking into himself, cupping Will's face with a gentle hand. Tucking him into his chest, shielding him from the crushing weight of reality, making no effort to stifle his wails.
Inhuman, the torn screams and eyes with no light, hollow and bleak.
As the world continued to move around him, cops briskly pacing, flashing light throwing the nearby woods into illusions of clarity, moon reflecting off the waters of the quarry, Mike was still, only conscious of the tears trailing down his face and the knotted hair in his hands.
Moonlight rippled, and the quarry was so dark, and so tempting. Throwing his body into its icy hell, where his heart already resided, sunk to the bottom with Will's last breaths.
God, it truly was such a fantasy, succumbing to the harsh grip of his slowly beating heart, fading into the static of his mind, never to return.
His hands threaded through Will's hair, shaking, and he let out a sob. Face buried in Will's chest, curled together, streaked in dirt and crisp air.
If someone stumbled upon them, they might think the two were lovers.
It hurt to breathe, each inhale a stabbing pain in his gut, choking on air and the stench of death.
"I never even got to say I love you," Mike whispered into the decaying air between him and Will, grip tightened as though he were waiting for a response. "How selfish is that. You're....and I can't think of anything else besides that. That I love you. That'll you'll never hear me say it. That I never said it. Oh God, I'm so sorry I never said it."
Tears fell against Will's skin, in tandem with the soft words. "I love you. I love you I love you I love you," he said, desperate, until the phrase had no meaning, for it didn't. Broken words for a corpse. That was all they were.
"I love you," and he pressed a kiss to Will's forehead, wincing at the chill, pulling away ever-so-slightly.
"I love you."
..........
"Mike!"
And he was falling, wind roaring past, bracing himself to hit dark water, bones fracturing and shattered.
Yet there was no icy plunge, nor shrill snap of bone. A burst of pain as he hit leaf strewn ground before panicked, frenzied voices clouded his mind, the space behind closed eyes. He didn't want to know what he might see if he were to open them.
"Mike, holy-holy shit, are you okay?"
He might've laughed at such a question if he weren't so intent on breathing and keeping his eyes sealed shut and the warm press of hands against his back.
"Mike-Mike, I...please, Mike say something," punctured with a sob, familiar voice, warm and soft and tainted with terror, the horrors of before.
The world blurred into focus, and he found himself splayed against Will Byers, head against his chest, arms around his middle, head tilted over his.
Tears, tracing down the plans of his face, falling onto Mike.
Will's hand lifted, frantic, shaking and flitting like he didn't know what to do with them, like he was afraid to touch.
Mike bit down the urge to wipe the tears from Will’s eyes.
"I thought I lost you," Will whispered, choked words and hoarse throat, hands laying to rest in a soft grip on Mike’s torso, afraid of something breaking, fading into nothingness.
And Mike's eyes were half-lidded with gut-punch exhaustion, blinking quick and desperate, hands wavering in the air, lingering with fear of smoke and mirrors and cold skin and congealed blood.
Gathering his courage through the haze of his mind, he placed a shivering hand on Will's cheek, warm and flushed and alive.
"You could never lose me, Will."