[He's heard the story before. A small fleet of lifeboats, pinpoint lights in the distance, cold rocks more welcoming than a mother's arms. It's what the rest of them saw while he flecked away like bottom of the sea, before he woke up sputtering cold salt onto the floor. There's no ocean this time, unless the fog counts, but even it seems to be held back by the strange, displaced building, spinning out a light that disappears like smoke into the void.]
I guess... this is it.
[The tug is stronger here, like a rope around their waists. He doesn't ask what Will senses on the other side, whether it's the Mind Flayer's voice or those of his friends, trying to call him back from behind his own eyes, back into his own body.
Mike, for one, hears howling.]
K-kind of anticlimactic.
[He flexes his fingers around the crutch, and resists the impulse to put his leg down. The bag weighs too heavily on his back, full of items he couldn't stand to leave in a doomed house. They'd forced Nancy to take the pets through with her, just in case it might work; most likely, they'll never know. A few minutes from now, all of this will be less than a memory. A vivid dream, reduced to ash.]
Kinda. Yeah. [Will doesn't really remember the lifeboats. He was sort of in a haze of grief and horror for a good two or three days, letting Jonathan steer him around and make all the choices. That's not really an option now, though. Any decisions that are going to be made will be under his own volition.
He hates that. He's never been the leader, never wanted to be. Lucas and Mike had always butted heads a bit about that, and even Dustin had forged off on his own a few times. But not Will. He'd always been content to stay half a step behind his friends, tagging along, trying to keep up.
Absently, he reaches up and rubs at the back of his neck, where his antler tattoo is. The irony of it being there, right where he could always feel the icy touch of the Mind Flayer and hear its whispering, hadn't occurred to him before now. Or maybe he's close enough now that whatever fragments of the monster left inside him are waking up, ready to return to the world where it holds power. Everyone from after them had said they win, they get the monster out, that Will is himself again.
He hadn't thought about it long enough to doubt, before.
Will glances over at Mike and his huge backpack, resists the urge to offer to carry it. If they're going right back to when they left, it wouldn't make sense for Will to suddenly have all this stuff in the shed. Mike, at least, can claim its more monster fighting supplies, down in the tunnels.]
You'll be shorter. Back there. [It's a stupid comment, because they won't know he's shorter. And besides, the lack of old injuries and scars, the restored fingers and all, would probably be a little more jarring.]
[His fingers fumbles out for Will's in the dark, eyes not yet brave enough to do the same. They're locked on the lighthouse's weathered door, at the rusted knob that somehow stays still against the clamoring behind it. But it's more than the baying dogs, the more he thinks about it. Lucas is behind there, and his mom. His wooden bunk beds with the striped sheets. The dingy, yellowed basement that he's only seen in Will's memories. All of the friends who've already left this place, heads emptied of Deerington's horrors. Mike's chest aches with the need to see them, to climb under his old blankets, to feel his mom's arms around his shoulders.
He can't make himself move a muscle.]
Or maybe it won't work, and we'll have to make something up. [The weakest twist of his mouth, the shadow of the shadow of a smile, empty and pained.] Just hunch and hope no one notices.
Only a little. [Will says this with a hint of actual humor, sort of amused at the idea of losing his hard-won two or three inches of height when they go back.] I won't shrink a whole foot like you will.
[His hands are empty, bringing back nothing but himself, all his art supplies now liberally splattered across the flaking-away buildings of the town behind them. So he grabs onto Mike's hand with both of his own, gripping tightly so it isn't as evident that he's shaking all over.
Will tells himself what's behind the door, what he's missed for all this time -- Lucas, and a house that won't crumble into nothingness, and the woods with no monsters or sinkholes, and his mom and Jonathan and Dustin and El and Max. And Mike, smiling and whole and without the tight, pained look on his face that he's wearing now. Mike, however Will can have him, however they can stay together.
He steps a little closer, worried about the crutch, worried about the injuries that haven't fully healed, that are probably causing Mike more pain than he's letting on. He focuses on that so he doesn't have to think about the door.] Do you -- want me to go first? Or -- behind, so I can...make sure you don't fall?
[Unless it happens as soon as they open the door. Unless they get torn apart immediately.]
[Mike swallows, then squeezes Will's hand. A few seconds of silence, as his eyes trace the rattling door. Close enough to make out the grain in the wood, beneath cracked, sloppy paint.]
You first. I don't- [I don't want you to get left, he means to say, but it sticks in his too-dry throat. It's stupid, really. By now they've had enough of these arguments for him to know which ones Will won't accept.] I want to make sure you get through.
[He shakes with the effort of staying upright, but everything in his body rebels against the idea of moving forward. Even after the drive up here - the Camaro sputtering on its last dregs of gas - and the endless wade through the thick fog, he feels like it's been cut short, like they've rushed to the ending too fast. There's more he meant to say, so much more, but now that they're here, he can't think of it.]
... Everything I was gonna say, I'm pretty sure you already know.
[I won't get left, don't be silly is what Will almost says. But of course, it isn't silly. There's no guarantee, after all, that they're even going the same place. What if there's some tiny, inconsequential difference between their worlds that they hadn't thought to mention, something like a discrepancy in Lucas's birthday, or a slightly different sequence of events, no, we went to the movies and THEN the arcade that day last May, don't you remember? that'll result in the Mike he sees upon waking up being a different Mike? Not his Mike?
It won't really matter, Will knows. Whichever Mike it is won't remember Deerington, and neither will he. But like this, standing at the edge, he's suddenly thinking of all the worst possible outcomes.
To distract himself, he looks away from the door, looks at Mike instead. Squeezes his hand and tries to put into his own awkward, faltering teenage words everything brimming in his chest.]
I know. I -- it's not going to change. For me. No matter what happens, no matter what you...do or don't do or say or don't say. [He exhales, looks down at their entwined hands, burning them into his memory.] It didn't change here either. [No matter the fights or the failures or the myriad ways Mike's picked himself apart and found all the flaws.] Okay? It's -- always been you.
[More than anything, Mike wants to echo it back. He wants to be able to make the same assurance, the same promise, but he can't. It feels like a betrayal.]
Okay. [Pathetic and watery, his lip startling to tremble. He swallows back the grief and clenches his fist around the crutch. This isn't his sorrow to bleed out, right here at the end. Will's the one who's going to have it harder, on the other side. Will's the one who's going to keep the loneliness, the pain, even without his memories intact.] I- okay.
[He laces their fingers tighter, as tight as they'll go, like it might make the door go quiet, or make the fog roll further back. Maybe, if he holds onto this moment as hard as he can, it will stick in the back of his mind somewhere, back in the corners where old dreams go. Maybe he'll catch it on a stray thought one day, or in the blurry edge of sleep. Not enough to recall the foggy mountains and leaf-littered streets, but enough to feel another boy's palm against his own and think, Oh. And even if he loves someone else, even if he's happy with El, at least Will won't have to be alone with his secret anymore. That's worth something, right?
Still holding down tears, Mike leans over and down, and kisses him. Once, twice, quiet and slow. Then, their faces still a breath apart: ]
[I don't want to, I changed my mind, don't make me, don't make me leave you--
Will nods, bites at his lower lip, face still warm, that happily helpless fluttering in his stomach against all odds. They're at the end of the world and his heart is still skipping at how close Mike is, at the still-new-feeling sensation of being kissed. That can't just vanish, can it? Even if he remembers it as a dream or pure wishful thinking, it'll stay with him, right?
Another nod, and Will stands as tall as he can, squares his shoulders and reaches with his free hand for the doorknob. It goes still under his hand, warm and solid, like it's the first real thing he's touched in years. It turns so easily, the door opening inward on silent hinges, into darkness. He slowly steps forward, clinging to Mike's hand as long as he can, until his fingers go slack and slowly slide free.
[It takes Mike a second, once the door swings closed, swallowing Will with it. All at once, the whole world seems so quiet, a vast silence closing in from all angles. Like the ocean pressing down on the glass walls of Rapture, so heavy he could feel it in his ears. Solitude, he recognizes. That's what he feels, squeezing his chest. For the first time since he was thirteen, he's actually, utterly alone.
Fitting, when he's about to be thirteen again in a few moments.
He hobbles forward and grabs the doorknob, trying to feel where Will's palm just touched it. The crutch is unwieldy, and after a short struggle he has to lay it against the lighthouse's weathered siding. And then, all too quickly, it's time. He grits his teeth, scrunches his eyes closed, thinks one final time of Brianna and Lev and the Peters and kissing Will, and kissing Will some more- and...
Mike opens his eyes with a scream in his throat, and something wrapped around his leg. He jerks back on instinct, gloved hands biting into cold dirt, and for a few terrifying moments, he can't figure out what's going on. The world is dark, and there's something on his face, blurring his vision and stifling his breath. A fresh tug tears another yelp out of him, threatening to pull his leg from its socket, but then-
A thick whack, then two, and all at once the thing coils back. The vine, he realizes, blinking dumbly. He's in the tunnels. And standing over him are-]
... Lucas? [It's too hesitant, too full of awe, but it doesn't matter. His friends drown it out with their commotion as they lean down to help him, passing hurried questions - You good? You okay? - into the tense air. Mike just nods dumbly, letting them tug him along, but when they get him to his feet he flinches, feeling weight shift unexpectedly onto his bad leg.
... Wait. He nearly gasps with the realization, chest flooding with prickling adrenaline. He remembers his leg. He remembers his leg, and- Ten fingers. He has ten fingers, but he remembers he shouldn't. His thoughts hurtle, racing for checkpoints, blurring past Castle Road and Brianna's face and Fizzgig, until he's breathless and gasping behind his bandana. Max gives him a look, quick and wary, and he wants to hug her out of sheer relief, except-
Dart, Dustin's saying, a couple of feet away, and then everything goes to shit again.]
[It's nearing one in the morning when the Camaro finally hurtles back up the highway. Mike taps absently on the back of the front seat until Lucas snaps at him, and it's the most wonderful sound he's ever heard, but he can't calm down. His whole body is buzzing with fear and excitement and urgency, and his thoughts are an endless loop of memories, trying to cling to each one in case this is temporary, somehow. The Lord of the Rings movies, with the guy who looked like Bob Newby. The horrible smell of the alley behind Peter's Pizza. The dizzy taste of a joint between his lips, and Brianna's sleepy laugh next to him.
The feeling of kissing his best friend. His best friend, who has to be okay right now. He can't let himself imagine any other possibility. This can't be some alternate world, or a cruel trick. He won't let it be, not after the miracle that's happening. Himself, looking out the car windows at Hawkins, Indiana, with every memory of Deerington still planted firmly in his head. It's all he wanted, all he begged for in the last months.
He's out of the car before Steve's even pulled the keys from the ignition, throwing the front door open so hard it strikes the wall. And there's Jonathan, and Mrs. Byers, and Nancy - ("You weren't supposed to leave, asshole! We thought something happened!") - and he wants to ask if they remember but he can't, because his heart is in his throat, and Will's bedroom door is right there, light pouring from the crack, and-]
Will?!
[He bursts in, panting and rumpled and caked in dirt, rest and recuperation and confused eavesdroppers be damned.]
[Once he steps through the door, Will's experience of becoming himself again isn't quite as jarring, because for a good couple hours he isn't himself. He's thrust back into that liminal dark space, not conscious, not present, just not, while the Mind Flayer surges back into full control. The moment of clarity -- C L O S E G A T E -- has passed, and Will Byers is, for all intents and purposes, lost to the world.
And then: he comes back. In bits and pieces, feeling a burning pain in his side, at his wrists and ankles, overheated and exhausted and confused. He reaches out for -- the gunsword, for Frodo's soft fluffy fur, for Mike's three-fingered hand -- his mom, Jonathan, Nancy, a splintery ceiling and walls and a narrow bed he's tied to. There are bruises on Joyce's throat as she enfolds him in her arms and a choked sob escapes Will's hoarse throat, because he remembers.
He remembers and feels Jonathan at his side and his throat is torn to ribbons from screaming and there's a burn mark from a red-hot poker and Nancy is hurrying to untie the other restraints and Will remembers and remembers. His mom is hovering over him like a fretful, protective stormcloud, and he remembers her in Deerington and Nancy is grabbing water and Jonathan looks beside himself and Will's past and present and dreamworld are layered over themselves like he's caught between slides in the strangest viewfinder ever. Everyone keeps asking if he's okay, even as the lights around them flicker and he can feel El's victory from the other side of town, feel it along with the emptiness in his mind, the sense of being fully alone in his head for the first time in (two years) days.
Are you okay, baby Joyce asks again and again, and Will looks up at her, tries to find the recognition in her face. He can't tell if he sees it or just pure relief, can't tell if she's welcoming him back from the monster or from the dream. He knows Nancy couldn't remember, or Jonathan, they're from after. Later. But Joyce was before, and Mike was from the same time and --
And Will is already telling himself to not hope too high, not dare to believe they both remember and he's already failing at it.]
[It's so strange, sitting in the back of the Pinto, cracked leather seats and bug-splattered windshield and the one headlight that sputters once or twice before firing up. Will keeps craning his neck to look at the passing scenery, watching the long-ago-familiar buildings and scenery appear out of the nighttime gloom, even though it makes his whole body ache to move too quickly. It's a mild ache, though, especially compared to the memory of drowning and being attacked by monstrous birds and turning into a monster himself. Compared to all that, it's nothing.
Jonathan jokes that he's acting like he's never seen Hawkins before, and Will stares at him for a beat too long, wondering wildly if he knows, but no, it's just Jonathan's awkward, unsure humor, one hand reaching out to fluff up Will's hair. It's too long again, shaggy and soft and in his eyes, and the hand he reaches to fix it is unscarred and uncalloused and so, so small. He's so small now, tucking easily under Jonathan's protective arm, and he almost says I was taller, before, I was almost as tall as you, and you had horns and there were monsters and Nancy and I sat on the front porch and shot them out of the mist and talked about how we missed you, I missed you, I missed you so much.
The house appears in the headlights, and it's old and shabby and familiar like a place he'd been to years before, the walls are still papered with the drawings Will only vaguely remembers making, and the front window is broken to shattered bits and none of it feels like home. Will tries to stand, tries to walk, but he thinks of Castle Road, of Frodo and Marshmallow and Brianna and Shiro and Lucille and everyone else and he thinks never again, I will never see them again and it makes his knees buckle. Jonathan has to carry him and he's so small now that it's easy. It's so easy.
Joyce fusses over him, tucks him into a bed that belongs to a child Will doesn't know anymore, and he almost says I had the strangest dream, Mom, I had the strangest, most wonderful dream and I'm afraid to sleep because I'll wake up and I'll lose it again. He doesn't. He lets her fuss, lets her stroke through his hair and looks at the bruises on her neck and thinks I did worse, before. I did so much worse.
And then -- the slamming of the door and the footsteps pelting across the floor and the bedroom door flinging open. For a moment Will sees him as he was outside the lighthouse door, tall and ungainly, long hair curling to his shoulders, nearly, eyes dark and shadowed, scarred hand reaching out as the door closed behind Will, red string stretching taut between them. Then it vanishes, and it's Mike, Hawkins Mike, Mike from before, but he's looking at Will like he's Deerington Mike, because he is, he is.
Will croaks, out of a ruined throat, tears welling in his eyes, heart and soul all singing it at once:] Mike.
[He closes the door behind him - habit, another blessed trace of the last two years - and crosses the few feet to the bed, and then he's climbing up and collapsing against Will's tiny, shivering frame, and he doesn't even care if he's got it wrong, if he's misread something in his best friend's eyes and this is the wrong version, because he's okay. They're both okay.]
I- [It's muffled against hair still damp with sweat, and Mike pulls back, but the words are lost already, swept away in a crash of incredible, beautiful relief. Will's face, pale and exhausted but unscarred, unweathered, swamped by pillows that still smell like they used to, looking up with so much hope and joy and love that it must be true. Mike must be right.
Before he can ask, there's a clamor in the hallway, their friends swarming and buzzing and asking why they can't go in, why they closed the door. For a second Mike freezes, waiting for the turn of a knob, but - thank fuck - Mrs. Byers ushers them away with soft words ("Give them a few minutes, okay? They both had a long couple days.") until the rest of the house is just white noise in the background.
Then, Mike turns back and asks, barely above a whisper:] What- what do you remember?
No, wait, come back. [It comes out sad and a little pathetic as Mike pulls away, and Will lifts an arm, reaching out weakly. He's trying to use muscles that simply don't exist anymore -- he'd never realized how much fighting and running for his life had resulted in him getting stronger. His reach is off too, counting on a few more inches of arm length that's also vanished.
Frowning, he tries to push himself upright, hissing softly as that pulls at his burned side. Nancy had bandaged it as best as she could, apologizing all the while, but moving has it firing up with a dull ache again. Giving up, Will just reaches out again, bruises ink-dark around his wrists. Like they were when he first arrived in Deerington.]
Everything. I remember everything. [He says it, tremulous and stunned and awed, then again:] Come back.
[The panicked strain in Will's voice feels like a punch to the stomach, and Mike quickly curls back against him, one arm wrapped around a chest that wasn't this small, this fragile, a mere hour ago. Beneath a distantly familiar shirt, Will's heart beats steady and frantic, and it's wonderful. It's like waking up on Christmas morning.]
I'm here. I'm right here, okay?
[He toes off his filthy sneakers, letting them drop to the carpet, and wrestles the goggles out of his (soft, short) hair with his free hand. Then, with an exhale that trembles from relief, he slots his face into the crook of Will's neck, nose (straight, unbroken) under jaw, the same way he has every night for a year and a half, the same way he did this morning as Mrs. Byers cooked their last breakfast in the Castle Road kitchen. Five more minutes, and then five more, until it was finally time to let go of each other
Except... except-]
I'm not going anywhere. [A quick pause.] Not 'til tomorrow, at least.
[Tomorrow, when he's going to ride his bike - his old bike - home, and see his parents for the first time in more than two years. Nearly two and a half, now. Just the knowledge that his mom is right across town puts an unexpected ache in his chest, one that nearly wells up into tears.]
[Only an hour -- maybe, barely -- but Will is still shivering all over with the relief of having Mike cuddled to his side again. Even younger and smaller, he fits just right, and that feels the most like home out of anything so far. He'd been so ready, he thought, first to forget and then to be the only one who remembered. But like this, mustering up all the strength in his scrawny arms to hold onto Mike and bury his face against his hair, Will knows for a fact that it would've killed him. Losing the memories would've been nothing to being the only one remembering.
He's exhausted, and Mike smells like dank tunnel dirt and smoke, but Will could so easily fall asleep right there, unafraid of what he might wake up to. It's okay, Mike's there, he's safe, just like at home--
Out in the hall, someone walks by, doesn't even stop by the door, and Will remembers where they are. An old, dormant instinct wakes up again, and for the first time in two years, he pulls away from Mike's touch.]
You -- your mom. You have to see her. [It's sort of a diversion, because the old fear is rising up again, and Will's blissful happiness is draining away in the face of it. It takes him a moment to figure out how to say it, how to be gentle, but honest.] And we...have to start...being careful. A-And decide what we. What you want to do.
[Because when it comes down to it, Mike is the one with the burden of changing the course of the next year. Will's life wouldn't change much, not externally, but Mike's absolutely would. He can either live out what they've heard happens, or decide to sneak around, living a secret, until they can figure out who is and isn't safe. It's...not a choice Will envies.]
[Mike blinks, confused at first, and then solemn. He drops his head to the pillow, vaguely aware he's getting the linens dirty but too distracted to care. Only one thought in the world matters, and it's contained between the two of them in the glow of the bedside lamp.]
... Do about what? [A bit slow on the uptake, but the gears are working behind tired, wild, adoring eyes.] I don't- I'm not gonna date El, if that's what-
[His tongue fumbles, certainty faltering, not about his wants but about Will's. Something anxious and fretful starts to stir in his chest, right where that reserve of fear always lies in wait.]
You- I still want to be your- boyfriend. [His voice drops on the last word, barely over a hoarse breath.] Even if it's a secret again.
[Will lies down too, head resting on the pillow, almost nose-to-nose with Mike. Realistically it's not any less close than they were before, but this way he can roll away easily if someone barges in. He can also reach out, take Mike's hand -- the one he's used to having fewer fingers, accustomed to the feel of scar tissue against his knuckles every time he reaches out. It's smaller too, and the fragility of it is scary in a way that makes Will want to wrap Mike up in blankets and safety for the rest of time.
The stammering, stubborn words get another of those brilliant, smitten smiles from Will, and he nudges forward to bump their foreheads together.] I do too. Of course I do. But... [A frown, now, and he looks down at their hands.] But we have to figure out how to be safe. If something...bad happens here, we aren't just gonna wake up in a week.
...plus we have to figure out how to tell El in a way that doesn't make her sad. [Will's very firm on this fact. It's never been about "winning", or hurting El. Especially not now that he's gotten a chance (in Deerington, but still) to actually get to know her.] And what to tell the rest of the guys, and how to be careful and keep it secret and -- how to fix things and save everyone too. [He breaks off in a yawn, covering it with his free hand and repeating, in a voice of wonder:] We can fix it. We can save everyone.
[It's... a lot. More than a lot. For all they know about the next year, it stretches out like a chasm in front of them now, full of pitfalls and mistakes. A treacherous story without a narrator, where every choice could be linked to the ending Steve described. Or rather, the one Billy did, once Mike finally found someone willing to give him the whole, awful truth.
But it's more than just the mall, and the monster made of people-sludge. That's the part Mike anticipated, the part he knew he'd be facing. Navigating the rest of it had fallen to the wayside, behind the certainty that his memories would be wiped clear. There was never a sure path where he got to keep this part of himself, and now that he has it... he feels paralyzed by its weight.
So, he tables it, at least until the morning.]
Maybe we could stop Billy getting possessed at all. [A long shot, but it's been a night for miracles. Why not suggest another one?] I should've asked him more questions.
[Will nods emphatically-- well, he tries, but his weaker, smaller muscles have been through enough tonight, and all he manages is a slight shift down, then up.]
We'll have to watch him. He never told me how it happened, but we know it's in July, right? So we have some time to plan. [Another of those big, jaw-creaking yawns, one Will doesn't bother to cover.] Lots and lots of time.
[Reminding himself of this helps, and Will let's himself relax, pulls Mike's healed, whole hand to his chest and holds onto it tight.] ...you remember everything too. Right?
[Mike tucks himself in close - a less arduous puzzle than normal, with his limbs about half the size he's used to - and laces his fingers through Will's. His own exhaustion is lagging a ways behind, still too caught up in adrenaline, but he'll lay here and keep watch if Will wants to nod off. Warn away loud visitors, if nothing else.]
Everything. [From the second he awoke in that town, alone and terrified, to the last step he took through the lighthouse door.] I'm gonna write it all down, tomorrow. The important stuff, at least. In case it goes away.
You're a good writer. [Will says this emphatically, like he's mid-argument with someone about it. He isn't, he's just tired. His whole body is exhausted, like he's been wrung out. He shifts closer, realizing that a room-sized blanket fort is much more conducive to cuddling than a single-sized bed. He wonders if he'll wake up when Mike goes. He wonders if it'll take a long time to get back to sleep.]
It won't go away. [His eyes are closed now, just for a second. Just a second.] It can't. It's never stayed this long before. [A pause, then Will forces his eyes open, sleepy and bleary, but intently fixed on Mike.] If I forget, you have to remind me. You have to. Okay?
[Well, that's assuming someone actually manages to get Mike to leave, which won't be an easy task. As anxious as he is to see his parents, that will only be after Nancy has to physically drag him out of Will's bed and halfway across town.]
I'll tell you every single day, if I have to. Like that stupid movie from the future that Steve liked.
[That gets a sleepy snort of a laugh.] If you're a boat I'm a boat. Or something. Right?
[He's quiet for a moment, almost long enough to have fallen asleep, then his eyes open again and he bumps his nose against Mike's.] Bird. If you're a bird I'm a bird. [Stupid movie. Nonsensical, sad when it didn't need to be. But he'd liked that part.]
[Mike gives a snorting, sputtering laugh, one that rattles into life and fills up his whole chest, shaking the both of them. He hears Mrs. Byers usher someone else away from the door and wonders again if she knows - and if she knows - but it doesn't matter. Nothing else matters. They get to keep each other. Whatever happens after this, they're going to face it together.]
I'll write down all the movie endings I remember, too. We can pretend we're psychic.
Shhhhhh, don't be so noisy. [Will says it around a giggle that makes his sore muscles ache, one he has to bury against his pillow. It hurts to laugh, but the giddiness in his chest can't be stifled. They did it. They're back and together and they did it.]
Spoil the endings of all the movies. Dustin will be so mad.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
the lighthouse.
I guess... this is it.
[The tug is stronger here, like a rope around their waists. He doesn't ask what Will senses on the other side, whether it's the Mind Flayer's voice or those of his friends, trying to call him back from behind his own eyes, back into his own body.
Mike, for one, hears howling.]
K-kind of anticlimactic.
[He flexes his fingers around the crutch, and resists the impulse to put his leg down. The bag weighs too heavily on his back, full of items he couldn't stand to leave in a doomed house. They'd forced Nancy to take the pets through with her, just in case it might work; most likely, they'll never know. A few minutes from now, all of this will be less than a memory. A vivid dream, reduced to ash.]
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He hates that. He's never been the leader, never wanted to be. Lucas and Mike had always butted heads a bit about that, and even Dustin had forged off on his own a few times. But not Will. He'd always been content to stay half a step behind his friends, tagging along, trying to keep up.
Absently, he reaches up and rubs at the back of his neck, where his antler tattoo is. The irony of it being there, right where he could always feel the icy touch of the Mind Flayer and hear its whispering, hadn't occurred to him before now. Or maybe he's close enough now that whatever fragments of the monster left inside him are waking up, ready to return to the world where it holds power. Everyone from after them had said they win, they get the monster out, that Will is himself again.
He hadn't thought about it long enough to doubt, before.
Will glances over at Mike and his huge backpack, resists the urge to offer to carry it. If they're going right back to when they left, it wouldn't make sense for Will to suddenly have all this stuff in the shed. Mike, at least, can claim its more monster fighting supplies, down in the tunnels.]
You'll be shorter. Back there. [It's a stupid comment, because they won't know he's shorter. And besides, the lack of old injuries and scars, the restored fingers and all, would probably be a little more jarring.]
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[His fingers fumbles out for Will's in the dark, eyes not yet brave enough to do the same. They're locked on the lighthouse's weathered door, at the rusted knob that somehow stays still against the clamoring behind it. But it's more than the baying dogs, the more he thinks about it. Lucas is behind there, and his mom. His wooden bunk beds with the striped sheets. The dingy, yellowed basement that he's only seen in Will's memories. All of the friends who've already left this place, heads emptied of Deerington's horrors. Mike's chest aches with the need to see them, to climb under his old blankets, to feel his mom's arms around his shoulders.
He can't make himself move a muscle.]
Or maybe it won't work, and we'll have to make something up. [The weakest twist of his mouth, the shadow of the shadow of a smile, empty and pained.] Just hunch and hope no one notices.
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[His hands are empty, bringing back nothing but himself, all his art supplies now liberally splattered across the flaking-away buildings of the town behind them. So he grabs onto Mike's hand with both of his own, gripping tightly so it isn't as evident that he's shaking all over.
Will tells himself what's behind the door, what he's missed for all this time -- Lucas, and a house that won't crumble into nothingness, and the woods with no monsters or sinkholes, and his mom and Jonathan and Dustin and El and Max. And Mike, smiling and whole and without the tight, pained look on his face that he's wearing now. Mike, however Will can have him, however they can stay together.
He steps a little closer, worried about the crutch, worried about the injuries that haven't fully healed, that are probably causing Mike more pain than he's letting on. He focuses on that so he doesn't have to think about the door.] Do you -- want me to go first? Or -- behind, so I can...make sure you don't fall?
[Unless it happens as soon as they open the door. Unless they get torn apart immediately.]
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You first. I don't- [I don't want you to get left, he means to say, but it sticks in his too-dry throat. It's stupid, really. By now they've had enough of these arguments for him to know which ones Will won't accept.] I want to make sure you get through.
[He shakes with the effort of staying upright, but everything in his body rebels against the idea of moving forward. Even after the drive up here - the Camaro sputtering on its last dregs of gas - and the endless wade through the thick fog, he feels like it's been cut short, like they've rushed to the ending too fast. There's more he meant to say, so much more, but now that they're here, he can't think of it.]
... Everything I was gonna say, I'm pretty sure you already know.
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It won't really matter, Will knows. Whichever Mike it is won't remember Deerington, and neither will he. But like this, standing at the edge, he's suddenly thinking of all the worst possible outcomes.
To distract himself, he looks away from the door, looks at Mike instead. Squeezes his hand and tries to put into his own awkward, faltering teenage words everything brimming in his chest.]
I know. I -- it's not going to change. For me. No matter what happens, no matter what you...do or don't do or say or don't say. [He exhales, looks down at their entwined hands, burning them into his memory.] It didn't change here either. [No matter the fights or the failures or the myriad ways Mike's picked himself apart and found all the flaws.] Okay? It's -- always been you.
Okay?
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Okay. [Pathetic and watery, his lip startling to tremble. He swallows back the grief and clenches his fist around the crutch. This isn't his sorrow to bleed out, right here at the end. Will's the one who's going to have it harder, on the other side. Will's the one who's going to keep the loneliness, the pain, even without his memories intact.] I- okay.
[He laces their fingers tighter, as tight as they'll go, like it might make the door go quiet, or make the fog roll further back. Maybe, if he holds onto this moment as hard as he can, it will stick in the back of his mind somewhere, back in the corners where old dreams go. Maybe he'll catch it on a stray thought one day, or in the blurry edge of sleep. Not enough to recall the foggy mountains and leaf-littered streets, but enough to feel another boy's palm against his own and think, Oh. And even if he loves someone else, even if he's happy with El, at least Will won't have to be alone with his secret anymore. That's worth something, right?
Still holding down tears, Mike leans over and down, and kisses him. Once, twice, quiet and slow. Then, their faces still a breath apart: ]
Go on. I'll be right behind you.
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Will nods, bites at his lower lip, face still warm, that happily helpless fluttering in his stomach against all odds. They're at the end of the world and his heart is still skipping at how close Mike is, at the still-new-feeling sensation of being kissed. That can't just vanish, can it? Even if he remembers it as a dream or pure wishful thinking, it'll stay with him, right?
Another nod, and Will stands as tall as he can, squares his shoulders and reaches with his free hand for the doorknob. It goes still under his hand, warm and solid, like it's the first real thing he's touched in years. It turns so easily, the door opening inward on silent hinges, into darkness. He slowly steps forward, clinging to Mike's hand as long as he can, until his fingers go slack and slowly slide free.
He doesn't look back.]
1/3
Fitting, when he's about to be thirteen again in a few moments.
He hobbles forward and grabs the doorknob, trying to feel where Will's palm just touched it. The crutch is unwieldy, and after a short struggle he has to lay it against the lighthouse's weathered siding. And then, all too quickly, it's time. He grits his teeth, scrunches his eyes closed, thinks one final time of Brianna and Lev and the Peters and kissing Will, and kissing Will some more- and...
He turns the knob.]
2/3
Steve, pull him out!
Mike opens his eyes with a scream in his throat, and something wrapped around his leg. He jerks back on instinct, gloved hands biting into cold dirt, and for a few terrifying moments, he can't figure out what's going on. The world is dark, and there's something on his face, blurring his vision and stifling his breath. A fresh tug tears another yelp out of him, threatening to pull his leg from its socket, but then-
A thick whack, then two, and all at once the thing coils back. The vine, he realizes, blinking dumbly. He's in the tunnels. And standing over him are-]
... Lucas? [It's too hesitant, too full of awe, but it doesn't matter. His friends drown it out with their commotion as they lean down to help him, passing hurried questions - You good? You okay? - into the tense air. Mike just nods dumbly, letting them tug him along, but when they get him to his feet he flinches, feeling weight shift unexpectedly onto his bad leg.
... Wait. He nearly gasps with the realization, chest flooding with prickling adrenaline. He remembers his leg. He remembers his leg, and- Ten fingers. He has ten fingers, but he remembers he shouldn't. His thoughts hurtle, racing for checkpoints, blurring past Castle Road and Brianna's face and Fizzgig, until he's breathless and gasping behind his bandana. Max gives him a look, quick and wary, and he wants to hug her out of sheer relief, except-
Dart, Dustin's saying, a couple of feet away, and then everything goes to shit again.]
3/3
The feeling of kissing his best friend. His best friend, who has to be okay right now. He can't let himself imagine any other possibility. This can't be some alternate world, or a cruel trick. He won't let it be, not after the miracle that's happening. Himself, looking out the car windows at Hawkins, Indiana, with every memory of Deerington still planted firmly in his head. It's all he wanted, all he begged for in the last months.
He's out of the car before Steve's even pulled the keys from the ignition, throwing the front door open so hard it strikes the wall. And there's Jonathan, and Mrs. Byers, and Nancy - ("You weren't supposed to leave, asshole! We thought something happened!") - and he wants to ask if they remember but he can't, because his heart is in his throat, and Will's bedroom door is right there, light pouring from the crack, and-]
Will?!
[He bursts in, panting and rumpled and caked in dirt, rest and recuperation and confused eavesdroppers be damned.]
1/2
And then: he comes back. In bits and pieces, feeling a burning pain in his side, at his wrists and ankles, overheated and exhausted and confused. He reaches out for -- the gunsword, for Frodo's soft fluffy fur, for Mike's three-fingered hand -- his mom, Jonathan, Nancy, a splintery ceiling and walls and a narrow bed he's tied to. There are bruises on Joyce's throat as she enfolds him in her arms and a choked sob escapes Will's hoarse throat, because he remembers.
He remembers and feels Jonathan at his side and his throat is torn to ribbons from screaming and there's a burn mark from a red-hot poker and Nancy is hurrying to untie the other restraints and Will remembers and remembers. His mom is hovering over him like a fretful, protective stormcloud, and he remembers her in Deerington and Nancy is grabbing water and Jonathan looks beside himself and Will's past and present and dreamworld are layered over themselves like he's caught between slides in the strangest viewfinder ever. Everyone keeps asking if he's okay, even as the lights around them flicker and he can feel El's victory from the other side of town, feel it along with the emptiness in his mind, the sense of being fully alone in his head for the first time in (two years) days.
Are you okay, baby Joyce asks again and again, and Will looks up at her, tries to find the recognition in her face. He can't tell if he sees it or just pure relief, can't tell if she's welcoming him back from the monster or from the dream. He knows Nancy couldn't remember, or Jonathan, they're from after. Later. But Joyce was before, and Mike was from the same time and --
And Will is already telling himself to not hope too high, not dare to believe they both remember and he's already failing at it.]
2/2 (take...take 2)
Jonathan jokes that he's acting like he's never seen Hawkins before, and Will stares at him for a beat too long, wondering wildly if he knows, but no, it's just Jonathan's awkward, unsure humor, one hand reaching out to fluff up Will's hair. It's too long again, shaggy and soft and in his eyes, and the hand he reaches to fix it is unscarred and uncalloused and so, so small. He's so small now, tucking easily under Jonathan's protective arm, and he almost says I was taller, before, I was almost as tall as you, and you had horns and there were monsters and Nancy and I sat on the front porch and shot them out of the mist and talked about how we missed you, I missed you, I missed you so much.
The house appears in the headlights, and it's old and shabby and familiar like a place he'd been to years before, the walls are still papered with the drawings Will only vaguely remembers making, and the front window is broken to shattered bits and none of it feels like home. Will tries to stand, tries to walk, but he thinks of Castle Road, of Frodo and Marshmallow and Brianna and Shiro and Lucille and everyone else and he thinks never again, I will never see them again and it makes his knees buckle. Jonathan has to carry him and he's so small now that it's easy. It's so easy.
Joyce fusses over him, tucks him into a bed that belongs to a child Will doesn't know anymore, and he almost says I had the strangest dream, Mom, I had the strangest, most wonderful dream and I'm afraid to sleep because I'll wake up and I'll lose it again. He doesn't. He lets her fuss, lets her stroke through his hair and looks at the bruises on her neck and thinks I did worse, before. I did so much worse.
And then -- the slamming of the door and the footsteps pelting across the floor and the bedroom door flinging open. For a moment Will sees him as he was outside the lighthouse door, tall and ungainly, long hair curling to his shoulders, nearly, eyes dark and shadowed, scarred hand reaching out as the door closed behind Will, red string stretching taut between them. Then it vanishes, and it's Mike, Hawkins Mike, Mike from before, but he's looking at Will like he's Deerington Mike, because he is, he is.
Will croaks, out of a ruined throat, tears welling in his eyes, heart and soul all singing it at once:] Mike.
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[He closes the door behind him - habit, another blessed trace of the last two years - and crosses the few feet to the bed, and then he's climbing up and collapsing against Will's tiny, shivering frame, and he doesn't even care if he's got it wrong, if he's misread something in his best friend's eyes and this is the wrong version, because he's okay. They're both okay.]
I- [It's muffled against hair still damp with sweat, and Mike pulls back, but the words are lost already, swept away in a crash of incredible, beautiful relief. Will's face, pale and exhausted but unscarred, unweathered, swamped by pillows that still smell like they used to, looking up with so much hope and joy and love that it must be true. Mike must be right.
Before he can ask, there's a clamor in the hallway, their friends swarming and buzzing and asking why they can't go in, why they closed the door. For a second Mike freezes, waiting for the turn of a knob, but - thank fuck - Mrs. Byers ushers them away with soft words ("Give them a few minutes, okay? They both had a long couple days.") until the rest of the house is just white noise in the background.
Then, Mike turns back and asks, barely above a whisper:] What- what do you remember?
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Frowning, he tries to push himself upright, hissing softly as that pulls at his burned side. Nancy had bandaged it as best as she could, apologizing all the while, but moving has it firing up with a dull ache again. Giving up, Will just reaches out again, bruises ink-dark around his wrists. Like they were when he first arrived in Deerington.]
Everything. I remember everything. [He says it, tremulous and stunned and awed, then again:] Come back.
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I'm here. I'm right here, okay?
[He toes off his filthy sneakers, letting them drop to the carpet, and wrestles the goggles out of his (soft, short) hair with his free hand. Then, with an exhale that trembles from relief, he slots his face into the crook of Will's neck, nose (straight, unbroken) under jaw, the same way he has every night for a year and a half, the same way he did this morning as Mrs. Byers cooked their last breakfast in the Castle Road kitchen. Five more minutes, and then five more, until it was finally time to let go of each other
Except... except-]
I'm not going anywhere. [A quick pause.] Not 'til tomorrow, at least.
[Tomorrow, when he's going to ride his bike - his old bike - home, and see his parents for the first time in more than two years. Nearly two and a half, now. Just the knowledge that his mom is right across town puts an unexpected ache in his chest, one that nearly wells up into tears.]
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He's exhausted, and Mike smells like dank tunnel dirt and smoke, but Will could so easily fall asleep right there, unafraid of what he might wake up to. It's okay, Mike's there, he's safe, just like at home--
Out in the hall, someone walks by, doesn't even stop by the door, and Will remembers where they are. An old, dormant instinct wakes up again, and for the first time in two years, he pulls away from Mike's touch.]
You -- your mom. You have to see her. [It's sort of a diversion, because the old fear is rising up again, and Will's blissful happiness is draining away in the face of it. It takes him a moment to figure out how to say it, how to be gentle, but honest.] And we...have to start...being careful. A-And decide what we. What you want to do.
[Because when it comes down to it, Mike is the one with the burden of changing the course of the next year. Will's life wouldn't change much, not externally, but Mike's absolutely would. He can either live out what they've heard happens, or decide to sneak around, living a secret, until they can figure out who is and isn't safe. It's...not a choice Will envies.]
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... Do about what? [A bit slow on the uptake, but the gears are working behind tired, wild, adoring eyes.] I don't- I'm not gonna date El, if that's what-
[His tongue fumbles, certainty faltering, not about his wants but about Will's. Something anxious and fretful starts to stir in his chest, right where that reserve of fear always lies in wait.]
You- I still want to be your- boyfriend. [His voice drops on the last word, barely over a hoarse breath.] Even if it's a secret again.
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The stammering, stubborn words get another of those brilliant, smitten smiles from Will, and he nudges forward to bump their foreheads together.] I do too. Of course I do. But... [A frown, now, and he looks down at their hands.] But we have to figure out how to be safe. If something...bad happens here, we aren't just gonna wake up in a week.
...plus we have to figure out how to tell El in a way that doesn't make her sad. [Will's very firm on this fact. It's never been about "winning", or hurting El. Especially not now that he's gotten a chance (in Deerington, but still) to actually get to know her.] And what to tell the rest of the guys, and how to be careful and keep it secret and -- how to fix things and save everyone too. [He breaks off in a yawn, covering it with his free hand and repeating, in a voice of wonder:] We can fix it. We can save everyone.
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But it's more than just the mall, and the monster made of people-sludge. That's the part Mike anticipated, the part he knew he'd be facing. Navigating the rest of it had fallen to the wayside, behind the certainty that his memories would be wiped clear. There was never a sure path where he got to keep this part of himself, and now that he has it... he feels paralyzed by its weight.
So, he tables it, at least until the morning.]
Maybe we could stop Billy getting possessed at all. [A long shot, but it's been a night for miracles. Why not suggest another one?] I should've asked him more questions.
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We'll have to watch him. He never told me how it happened, but we know it's in July, right? So we have some time to plan. [Another of those big, jaw-creaking yawns, one Will doesn't bother to cover.] Lots and lots of time.
[Reminding himself of this helps, and Will let's himself relax, pulls Mike's healed, whole hand to his chest and holds onto it tight.] ...you remember everything too. Right?
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Everything. [From the second he awoke in that town, alone and terrified, to the last step he took through the lighthouse door.] I'm gonna write it all down, tomorrow. The important stuff, at least. In case it goes away.
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It won't go away. [His eyes are closed now, just for a second. Just a second.] It can't. It's never stayed this long before. [A pause, then Will forces his eyes open, sleepy and bleary, but intently fixed on Mike.] If I forget, you have to remind me. You have to. Okay?
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I'll tell you every single day, if I have to. Like that stupid movie from the future that Steve liked.
[He means The Notebook. We're going there.]
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[He's quiet for a moment, almost long enough to have fallen asleep, then his eyes open again and he bumps his nose against Mike's.] Bird. If you're a bird I'm a bird. [Stupid movie. Nonsensical, sad when it didn't need to be. But he'd liked that part.]
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I'll write down all the movie endings I remember, too. We can pretend we're psychic.
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Spoil the endings of all the movies. Dustin will be so mad.