Will slams the door, and the noise rattles in his ears. He doesn't have space to be embarrassed, that he'd slammed the door like a toddler having a tantrum, because there's such an overflow of emotion that his face floods with a burst of colour, and the tears come silently. He hates it. He doesn't want to be upset, or angry, he doesn't want to feel anything anymore.

He kicks at the frame of the bed, and the whammy of the pain feels good, distracting, so he does it again, and again. He grips his hair hard to bite back the scream he wants to let out.

Then, he hears a hiss coming from just outside the room. Jonathan. He feels inflamed with panic (what are they talking about?), so he goes silent in an effort to overhear.

"That's enough, Mike. Leave him alone,"

Was, was Mike going to come in here? He thinks incredulously. To do what, to say what?

But Will can only feel thankful for Jonathan because whatever Mike would say to him, it couldn't be anything good, right? Not after processing what… what Will had whispered to him.

Will feels a sudden rush of terror.

"Because you can't stand what I am, right? That I'm a freak… that I'm a boy who likes other boys,"

It almost feels surreal, and Will sits on his bed with his hands pooled in his lap, the itch in his cast and at his wrist a distant annoyance as his mind whirls. It's unreal that his secret isn't a secret anymore – a secret he's been hiding for as long as he could remember, from himself, from the bullies, from his peers, from friends and family both.

He feels stupid. Why had he been so convinced that Mike knew? Will can see him clearly in his mind's eye: Mike's aghast face, like he'd had no idea, his frozen posture, the slackening grip on his arm, his mind working overtime and scrambling to form words. It was clear to Will now, that Mike hadn't known. But Will doesn't understand, can't understand. Why else would Mike choose to not talk to him, not send letters, be desperate to talk to El those few times he was on the phone to Will?

The confusion tastes bitter on his tongue.

Well, if Mike hadn't hated him before, he sure does now.

And that shakes resoluteness into Will's heart, and all he feels is cold.

His eyes track along El's room. It still feels untouched, dust still coating certain shelves, nothing much for clutter. He hopes, he hopes he'll see it more lived in, once they survive this. If they all survive this.

There's a lump in his throat that he can't clear, and it feels permanent, like no matter how hard he tries, there's always something plaguing the people he loves. And there's nothing he can do about it.

But he spies an open bag in the corner, one he recognises. The bag Will had pulled with him into the Upside Down, sillily as a comfort at the time, like just it being present with him would give him more courage.

Because it has his rolled-up painting inside.

He grips his hands together tighter, but he slides down to a kneeled position to search for it.

When he unfurls it, there's something in his chest that unwinds, the cloying hope he'd had when he made it, the idea that when he showed… when he showed Mike, their friendship would renew, it would serve as a reminder of what they used to have, and the staleness would disappear.

He used to imagine that he'd see Mike smile a genuine smile. One aimed at Will, like old times.

The coldness gives over to a small kindling bittersweet warmth, and Will sits on the floor with it, and he sees a tear drip on to the page, a splash, and it settles on Mike's face that stares right back at his kindergarten self on the swing-set, their bright expressions and their happiness something that Will longs for once again. But Mike's face blurs, and the brightness dulls.

Sometimes he thinks that if Will back then knew what was to come, he wouldn't have even bothered to paint this.

And fleetingly, Will has the idea to rip it in half. But Will's weak, and the thought leaves as soon as it came.

He just crumples it up to shove back into the bag, instead.

Will…

Spooked, Will jumps up, looks around the room erratically, (he's hearing things, it's not him, Vecna's gone), but he strains his ears anyway, like a switch in his mind demands he bring his full attention to this.

Like he's in danger.

Oh, Will.

The voice sounds patronising.

"What?" Will says with trepidation coating his tone, heart beating out of his chest.

He feels like a cornered animal.

Suddenly, he blinks his eyes open to the Upside Down, and the breath he's been holding in is let out with a whoosh. "No, no. It's not happening, not again. Please." His voice breaks, and he feels hysteria taking over every thought, as he turns around to see–

Eroded walls, vines twitching under a blue, deathly glow. Lightning flashing outside of the window (his mouth goes dry and his face pales further, as he spins and spins, but he doesn't blink back to El's room, the comfort of his sister's few old belongings). Then, a black shadow appears as he circles back around, and he sees the same spider-like legs, the looming black head.

In flashes of bright red light, it advances. Will scuttles his back into the bedroom door, and then leaps away at the disgusting squelch upon contact, and he fears an attack of the vines, but as he looks, they wriggle in excitement instead, and Will reels back in alarm away from them.

They say Will, Will, Will, Will! And he has to clutch at his ears, even though the deafening noise is coming from inside of his head, so he tears his gaze away, and then watches in horror as the particles invade the room, spinning around him.

And before he runs, (damn the vines, he needs to get out of here!), right out of El's room, like the devil is chasing him, well, the particles scatter out of view, and the other voice comes back anew.

Don't.

Will stills.

It wasn't attacking him? But why?

Abruptly, he remembers the group talk from earlier in the day.

"When Will falls asleep, maybe he can ask it questions? You said it talked to you, right Will?"

So, with that in mind, Will asks his first question, albeit trepidatiously, "why shouldn't I?"

Talk to us.

The voice demands, and Will fixes his hands into fists, stubbornly stays quiet. He wants to know why it wants to talk to him, but it's clearly wishful thinking because of course he won't get answers. He never does. And it's too smart to give things away.

You spilled your secret?

Wil gasps, the question from it unexpected, and he steps backward cautiously, hands outreached behind him to near the doorknob, "h-how?" How does it know?

We see you, Will. We always see you.

"How? What do you mean?"

There's a trill of sound, and Will interprets it. It's like a note of confusion, like it doesn't understand why Will doesn't know the answer.

Will opens his mouth, frown present in the lines of his face, "well, it's not like I can see you."

A moment passes, and then wind picks up around him, and it starts to whip at the lengths of his hair, his clothes start to flap, and cold seeps through to his bones.

The particles. They pull together messily, morphing slowly into a gooey-like – almost reminiscent to tar – texture, springing apart and pulling between each other, and it takes shape into a figure of his own height, into a dark curly mop of hair framing a pale freckled face, dark brown unblinking eyes, red lips pulling into a familiar smile.

See now? It asks, the mouth of his best friend unmoving, and it sends chills down Will's spine.

"Yes," Will says, trying to ignore the shakiness of his own voice, "I see you now."

The smile widens. The eyes keep staring at him, wide and fixated.

"Will." It talks now, using Mike's voice.

"Stop." Will says it sharply, and its new face twists, settles again.

We… apologise. We thought you would like this?

The words ring sincere, like it really thought that it could use Mike for its own agenda, and Will wouldn't get angry.

"It's okay." Will says it quickly, head reeling. He tries to wipe the so, it doesn't know everything and the maybe I can use this? from his head, lest it catches on. "Why do you think I'd… like that?"

Because of your secret. But no longer a secret, now.

Will thinks it's been practising, trying to use Vecna's tactics for itself. But why with Will? What does it want?

"No, it isn't." Will says in an acknowledging tone, mind elsewhere whilst he does so.

You are… angry.

Attention restored, Will gulps.

Angry at him?

He hesitates, nods.

Mike's face gleams with satisfaction, and it strides forward.

"Don't come near me!" Will shouts, stumbling backward, panic flaring.

NO!

The vines suddenly spring forward and wrap around Will's arms, and he's dragged kicking and screaming toward it.

Talk to us, talk to us, talk to us–

"Okay! Okay!" Will cries out, and the vines let him go in a heap on the floor, and they swing right back up to the ceiling. He scrambles back up on to his knees, feeling a vine squirming right underneath his left hand, and he looks up with wet eyes.

Mike returns his gaze, head tilted down at him (but it's like a caricature of Mike, now, Will feels the ingenuine taint, the sign of a monster in human skin). Its eyes flash with warning.

Don't do that again.

Will's lips tighten, a blue hue to them. He shivers.

It frowns, not long now.

It's going to let him go soon, before Will freezes. Will doesn't know why he knows that.

It reaches out, two fingers to hook under his chin as Will tampers down the resulting flinch, and they make eye contact, "what do you want?" Will whispers.

You.

"Me? Why, why me? You want me dead? Will you leave them alone, if I do? My friends, Jonathan, my mom-,"

It growls, and Mike's face moves menacingly closer as it bends at the hip. Not dead. You belong with us. He was a fool to try to kill you, we are glad of his passing–

The face of Vecna flashes before his eyes, as Will feels like he sinks deeper into the eyes of the Mind Flayer, but he's snapped out of it as the fingers let go and it turns away.

"Y-You want me?"

It turns back around, with a widening grin.

"Okay. Why?"

You are part of us. We run through your veins. Your legacy is with us; we are your legacy in return. And we feel it, how they hurt you, they are–

It cuts off, as if the thought is closed off to Will for a terrible reason. It's omitting something, something Will won't like.

Will feels a hatred burning deep, though, something darker than Will's feelings of anger, of pain, and Will traces it back to a corner of his mind, hidden away, like a deserted box separated away from what makes Will, Will.

It's a hatred for his family, his friends, for Mike, that's what Will can feel emanating from that corner, from the connection, from the being standing in front of him. Startingly, Will realises that the Mind Flayer, it will never leave them alone, not if Will doesn't join him, not if Will does join him (which, sick at the thought, he would never do).

Yet, still, all it wants is for Will to come home. And to do that it needs to lie.

"They do hurt me. You're right. Maybe, maybe I do belong with you."

A plan is forming on the outskirts of Will's mind, kept away, far away, from the connection.

The tucked away box in his head bulges with feelings – anticipation, eagerness, greed – and that's all it's about, isn't it? The Mind Flayer has always wanted ultimate control, power – to consume. And it had Will, at one point, and to lose Will – it was torture, a disgrace, want him back, he's ours.

So yes, all it wants is to consume Will, for Will to come back home. But also, it wants to spread further. There was no such thing as making compromises (like giving himself over to save his loved ones – a stupid idea Will had entertained only moments ago), and there was no such thing as forming an agreement with the Mind Flayer.

So, Will would take it down by playing into that greed. The Mind Flayer would be the cause of its own downfall if this worked.

It talks again, come home, Will. Your life, given in exchange for theirs… they'll be safe…

A lie. A lie to entice him. Now Will understands the Mind Flayer for what it is. A creature that won't stop at this world, or the next. But will consume for eternity.

Tomorrow, Will. A choice between your life, or their deaths. Is that not a choice made easy? Is that not fair?

What have you to lose?

Will looks right back into those eyes, the eyes sliding across his face in electrified hitches, mouth open like it would soon drool with the greed, the need to consume him.

Will swallows down the disgust brewing in his stomach, and he nods.

"My life for theirs."

"Mike loves Will?" El asks, eyes wide with shock, feeling just short of deceived.

El and Max had been walking back, after talking thoroughly about Mike's sporadic behaviour, his attempt to smooth things over going south quickly.

"I don't need you anymore!"

El regrets the words keenly, but the meaning behind them… it was honest. Delivered cruelly. Mike's wretched expression, one of loss, of panic. Of course, it had crushed her. But he needed to understand, that El had to be on her own, now. It's what she'd learned properly over the last week, from way back at the facility, and thinking about it, right down to her friendship with Max. El had to find out who she was, discover things about herself she'd not had chance to.

She no longer wanted to be characterised by monster, by Angela's bullying words dampening her self-worth by the minute, by the lonely child without a family, in the clutches of people who were using her.

She wanted to be free.

And the fact of the matter was: she didn't feel free when she was Mike's girlfriend. And she hopes being friends again will stop the guilty and remorseful soup of emotions that she felt when around Mike, when she wanted him to look at her like Jonathan looked when he talked about Nancy.

She wanted something real if she ever found someone again. But to do that, she needed time to be herself, to figure out what she liked and didn't like, to gain confidence, and to learn more about the world…

And yet, Mike just said he loves Will. She pushes back more tears.

"El…" Max says, hushed, imploringly. El resolutely keeps her eyes trained on the back of Mike's head buried in Jonathan's shoulder. It squeezes her heart inside her chest to see him like that, but more than anything she feels sad for herself.

She jokes flatly, so Max stops looking at her with pity, "Mike doesn't like when we ease-drop."

Max looks confused, and then, "eavesdrop, El. And you're right. He doesn't. So, even more reason to, right?"

That makes El smile faintly. She nods, and Max takes up her hand in hers. It's warm and comforting. El squeezes back.

They watch as Jonathan pushes Mike away slowly, clutching his shoulders, and they hear Mike sniffling (El has never seen Mike cry like that before, she thinks, and the upset feeling triples).

"Mike, tell me. Do you love Will…" And Mike's head snaps up, "do you love Will, like how I love Nancy?"

So, this is why Mike couldn't say he loved her. She lets a tear fall, tries to shake the no one will love her, she's unlovable, Papa made it so, she's a monster...

She knows none of it's true, not anymore, wasn't ever true. Because she's not a monster. Because Mike does love her, but just… maybe not like how she wanted. And she realises with a surge, maybe she didn't love him the same way either, not like Jonathan loves Nancy, and Nancy loves Jonathan.

Why else would she long for that connection with someone if she was supposed to have it with Mike already? It was never the same love.

After Jonathan says it, Max gasps beside her. El looks at her questioningly because Max has her mouth dropped open, something written all over her face that El can't read.

But as all the thoughts are developing in her head, her 'turning point' of understanding (the words came to her from a memory of a recent English class, and it makes a small swell of pride rise through her body), El goes back to watching Mike's figure (and okay, it's maybe also because Max doesn't seem to acknowledge her unspoken question either).

Mike seems to slump, and Jonathan gets closer to whisper, a soft tone she recognises with how he uses it with El sometimes, or with Will, when he wants to be caring and nurturing and helpful. El doesn't move a muscle, as Mike runs a hand through his mop of hair, and she sees him nod.

Max tugs on her arm now, "let's go."

El goes, questions on the tip of her tongue at Max's still-staggered face.

They're where they were, before, when El had to get away from that look on Mike's face.

It's a quiet little woodsy area, the trickling of water can be heard nearby, and they're sat on a fallen log, legs touching slightly.

El asks the question that's sat dancing on her tongue for the whole walk, "why… did you react like that, to what Jonathan asked?"

Max looks at her through the curtain of her hair, "what do you mean? Do you mean to say you weren't shocked?"

"I-I was. I didn't know Mike loves Will. And that that was probably the reason he couldn't say it to me. But I've had that feeling for awhile now, that Mike wasn't… in love with me."

El pauses, "actually, I don't think I love him that way, either."

And then Max turns her full body to her, leg sliding against El's roughly, "what?"

At El's taken aback face, Max calms down a tad, "I mean. Sorry. I'm just… confused."

"It's, it's okay. I just realised, I just wanted to have that, that feeling of being loved and loving someone else, like Jonathan with Nancy, and you and Lucas… I wanted it so much that… I ignored it when Mike wouldn't say I love you, when he'd sign only From, Mike in all of his letters." She breathes a sigh, and catches Max's wide eyes, "I know it might not make sense."

Max starts, "no. no, I guess it does. When I think about it, anyway. You've had a hard life, El. Maybe you felt you needed a boyfriend to feel wanted, to feel loved?" Max looks saddened by that.

But El just smiles at her, "right." And then, "it just seemed to me that you were shocked by something else, instead."

Max seems reluctant to explain, "uh…"

El raises her eyebrows, nudges her.

"Okay. How do I explain this?" It looks like she's asking the sky, and El tilts her head at her, "it's just. It's unusual. For a boy to like a boy, well. To be in love with another boy," more hesitantly, Max continues, "or a girl to be in love with another girl."

El's face scrunches up with confusion, "why?"

Max shakes her head, "I mean, I don't know. Most people are straight, y'know?"

"Straight?"

Max quickly explains, "not gay, when a guy only likes women, or women only like men. Straight."

And before El opens her mouth again in confusion, Max goes, "and gay, it's just, liking the same gender. Like how Mike is… in love with Will, apparently." Her face grimaces in apology to El, thinking that might have been a little insensitive.

"It's okay, Max. I don't mind. It only bothers me that he never said anything. All this time..."

El attempts to strangle the pang of betrayal – it's not like she hadn't lied to Mike, too. Although, that's not to say that she didn't still want him to explain himself (she thinks she deserves that, at least, and she's sure if Max could hear her thoughts, she'd insist on a lot more – probably something like grovelling for forgiveness).

"Um, it's not as easy as all that."

So that's why she does not expect Max to say that.

"What do you mean?" El's voice comes out small, and Max immediately backtracks.

"Like, in a good world, of course Mike should have just, come out with it, right? But maybe he didn't know himself? Or he was fighting himself?"

El doesn't know what Max is saying.

"-I'm sorry, I know when you're giving me the judge-y, I do not understand look, okay? Um, so, when I said it's unusual because it doesn't happen a lot, well, that's true, but it's also not the only reason it's… unusual."

"Max, slow down." El grabs her hand, and though Max thinks she looks slightly annoyed, very much perplexed, she's still got that calm edge to her voice, that steady, patient gaze.

Max takes in a sharp breath of clean fresh air, "some, a lot of people, really. They think it's unnatural, for someone to be gay."

"Why?"

Max's leg is jiggling with nerves. "They think it's wrong because they think it should only be boys and girls, men and women… who date. Because that's what God intended, and it's a sin otherwise." She says the last part with a put-upon voice, and El vaguely recalls God being mentioned in conversations about religion. But the God she learned about in school wouldn't be so... hateful. Not to people whose supposedly only sin was to love each other.

Therefore, that particular thought fuels her next words, "but if boys can love other boys, and girls can love other girls?" She continues at Max's jerky nod, "then, why would it be wrong for them to date? The Bible teaches love. I learned it at school." El matter-of-factly states, and she likes talking about what she's learned, so the pride seeps through a little.

Max stares at her with glossy eyes when she says this, and El... doesn't understand the wavering fear she sees, how it fades away little by little.

"I don't know what to say. That's just what they think, El." Max shrugs, biting her lip.

"Well, I think they're stupid."

It startles a laugh out of her, and El beams.

"Yeah?" Max says it sort of tearfully, "well, you're right. They are pretty stupid."

El notices as Max wipes at her eyes, and inquisitively, something burning at the back of her mind, she questions slowly, "are you and Lucas dating again?"

Max sharply nods, sobering, "yeah, we are. Going strong." And Max's face goes a little sunnier, again.

So, El wonders out loud, a hunch that's been brewing, and pointedly she does not look at Max as she asks, so as not to make her uncomfortable, "so, then, can someone fall in love with boys, and with girls? Can someone like both?"

Max's brain stutters to a stop, and she glances at the side of El's face, her throat tight, but she manages to reply anyway, "yeah, they can."

El still doesn't look at her, but loudly she says, "I think that is okay, too."

And Max looks down at her shoes through her legs, and a slow warming smile takes up her face, and she whispers back emotionally, "yeah, y'know what? You've never been more right." The smile sent her way makes a bubble of happiness burst in El's insides.

Max likes both, El recognises, and she slides her hand into Max's to squeeze supportively, lovingly.

"Will, c'mon, man. Open up." Lucas' voice is at the door.

When Will opens it at the rapid succession of knocks, he's sure he still looks deathly pale.

He sees Lucas' face hesitating, his hand still up in position to knock again before he drops it quickly to his side, "that was… a lot before, huh?" Lucas' smile looks flimsy at best.

Max would most definitely give a sarcastic comment here, probably a comment like no way, you're not kidding?

But Will just shakily smiles back, "yeah, something like that."

Lucas pulls him in with an arm slung over his shoulder, "well, you'll soon be forgetting all about it, I promise. Look, Mike's an idiot, we know that, you definitely know that… We already placed bets on him making a scene when he comes to beg for your forgiveness, so I wouldn't worry too much, and it's movie marathon night! Big day tomorrow, so we insisted. Hopper tried to pretend to be annoyed, but in my opinion? Big softie, seriously."

Will takes it all in with wide eyes.

"What was that, Sinclair?" Hopper says smarmily, and they see him standing with his arms crossed, his lips pursed.

"Shit."

Hopper shakes his head at him, "sit down, boys."

Will sees his mom tut at the language, but she doesn't say anything, just watches him move cagily across to the couch, sinking right into the middle between Lucas and Dustin.

There's dragged chairs that sit to the left, presumably for his mom and Hopper, and distantly Will thinks there's definitely something there between the two (the exchanged looks he's seen between them were decidedly not platonic, and he swore he saw them holding hands at one point earlier that day).

Will asks the elephant-in-the-room question, "where's Mike?" A moment, and his face flushes, "uh, and Jonathan?"

The quiet is awkward.

Dustin fills it with a cough, "uh, they'll be back soon," Will gulps, "with a few hand-picked films from Mike's basement, at that."

"They went together?" That doesn't add up in Will's head, at all. He thought… Jonathan would be the first to want to talk to him. About the fight. He sags down into the couch further.

"Uh, and Argyle. They went in the van. Jonathan wanted to go with to pick up Nancy. I think he's got withdrawals," Dustin whispers conspiringly, and he and Lucas high-five over him whilst they snicker, and Will scoffs with a smile whilst Joyce looks at them disapprovingly.

He guesses that explains it, and maybe Jonathan wanted to give him space? Will knows he probably… yelled at Mike, so it's not like he's sided with him.

But… what if Mike told Jonathan what he'd confessed? Will makes a sharp little panicked noise, and Dustin puts a hand on his shoulder, "what's up?"

Will struggles out a, "uh, bit my tongue."

And that was definitely a very suspicious look shared between his friends. Will's not thinking about it, seriously not thinking about it, don't think about it.

His mom naturally chooses that moment to insert quickly, "Will, before they play, um, what's it called?" She scrunches her face.

Dustin interjects with a toothy smile, raising off his seat a little to look at her excitedly, "The Goonies!" Dustin's favourite film, of course.

"Right, before we start The Goonies, just, come outside with me for a minute, just for a little chat?"

Will knows when his mom's voice brooks no argument, and Will knew that it was an inevitable talk (eventually his mom would grow tired of waiting for him, and so he doesn't blame her for wanting to pull him aside).

Dejectedly, he says, "sure," and he stands up.

"So, you and Mike?" She starts, and Will grimaces, "you've been having problems?" She says it in her concerned tone of voice, the questioning lilt of why didn't you tell me?

"It's… been complicated." He shrugs, looks off to the woods.

The sun is hiding behind the clouds, now, and vaguely Will thinks that the darker lighting fits the sombre mood.

"You gonna talk to me about it?" He's never heard his mom's voice to be strung together so… insecurely.

So, he looks at her in the eyes, lets out a stuttering breath for courage, and he nods.

But the thought that this might be it, this might be the last meaningful conversation he'll have with his mom tangles up in his head, and he's nervous to begin.

"It started last summer," his mom's face suddenly blooms bright and hopeful, and the guilt twinges (she's been waiting for him to be honest, to come to her, he realises), "we just, grew apart, I guess. I wanted things to go back to the way they were, before," it's left unspoken, but they both know what he was going to say: before the Upside Down, "and Mike and Lucas, they… grew up."

He's no longer angry about it, of course. Mike… he was right, in a sense. Will needed to grow up, but at the time, he didn't want to. He wanted to be a kid, where his only concern had been having fun with his friends, playing D&D without a care for what still felt like trivial things, like girlfriends. But maybe that was just a Will problem, because he'd never want a girlfriend, and therefore he couldn't reconcile the fact that they did want girlfriends, because he didn't want the constant reminder that... that there was something wrong with him.

And that wasn't their fault.

"Mike and I had a fight, one night. And we both said some, hurtful things."

What Will doesn't get is if Mike hadn't had the faintest clue about Will, why did he say what he said that night? Just because he knew it'd hurt, because it's what Will's bullies would target him for?

"And then, when we moved to California, Mike and I… we didn't talk much."

Joyce sadly sympathises, "oh, Will…"

"It's fine. It's why it was so awkward when he came to California. But it all stems from the lack of communication, of the past year, the fights between us I mean."

Will isn't being completely honest, and he grinds his teeth as his eyes water. His voice breaks, "but there was something else, too."

Joyce puts a hand to his face, wiping at a stray tear, "what is it, Will?" Her voice soothes him, but the fear remains, and his heart tip-taps against his ribs.

"I-I, it was like I convinced myself that he was mad for a certain reason," he says cautiously, "and I just blurted it out, just like that, and it turned out that I was w-wrong."

Joyce peers into his face, "what were you wrong about?"

Will sees his reflection in her eyes, also sees how her face is warm and open to hearing him out, but still, he's… He's so scared. Always so scared.

"Mom, please, d-don't hate me, okay? Just don't hate me for what I'm about to, about to say," he stammers out, and he can taste salty tears at his mouth, and his mom just continues to wipe them away with her thumbs.

"Oh, baby. I could never hate you. Do you understand? Nothing could ever make me hate you. I love you so much, Will. Please, tell me." She says desperately.

"I thought… I thought he knew I was gay," again, Will says it in a quick hiss, like it's a dirty word, and doesn't dare to look at his mom's face as he continues, "and that's why it was radio silence from him all year, and I just, I blurted it out in our latest stupid argument, but-," Will stops when he feels his mom's hands still on his face, a pause in her ministrations.

His heart thuds with terror, and he feels himself go numb.

And then he's enclosed into a big hug, "Will, you–." Remotely, Will hears his mom crying too.

"God, I would never hate you for that. Never. And, and Jonathan wouldn't either. And if Mike ends up doing so, then good riddance," she says it harshly, and Will's shocked, because she's always loved Mike, like a second son–

She pulls back to look right into his face, "I will always be on your side, Will. In everything, no matter what."

Oh.

"Yeah?"

She nods resolutely, smiling through the emotions. And then her expression goes shrewd, "but Will, I don't honestly believe for a second that that boy," Mike, Will's mind fills in the blanks, "could ever hate you, not for that, not for anything."

Will goes to interrupt, face hot.

"And I might be wrong, I know you certainly think so. But, promise me you'll hear him out, for me?"

"I have already," Will says it childishly, but then tightens his lips reproachfully when he realises.

His mom laughs, still teary-eyed, "well, hear him out again. I know Jonathan's talked to him, and if it was anything as bad as you're no doubt thinking, I personally don't think Jonathan would voluntarily want to ride in an enclosed space with him. Do you?" Her eyes are twinkling, and Will looks away, a tad thoughtfully.

"Maybe not." If Will's learned anything today, it's to not overthink these fights with Mike, because apparently he has no first clue what Mike's thinking anymore.

"Okay, mom, I will." He'll hear him out one more time. But after that... Will doesn't think he'll have any more second-chances to give; it'd hurt too much.

He rolls his eyes as she ruffles his hair, and they get set to watching The Goonies with a very passionate Dustin munching heartily on a bowl of buttery popcorn (that an irritated Lucas yells at him for hogging).

Will also sets out to hear the van pull up first, to prepare himself as well as he can for Mike to enter the cramped cabin.

But he doesn't think he'll ever be as prepared as he wants to be, mostly because the nervous butterflies dancing at the pit of his stomach turn into a swarm of bees as time rolls on.

And then they collectively jump when they hear the inevitable rap of a knock at the front door, and Dustin pauses the not even half-finished movie with a hurried glance at Will.

Let's hope this goes well, Will thinks. Because if not... he's going to die knowing the boy he grew up with, the boy he loves with everything in him, well, he doesn't care even half as much about Will in return.

At Hopper's assistance, the unlocked door creaks opens, and Will holds his bated breath.