“𝑴𝒚 𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒐𝒏 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝑾𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒑𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒔” Radio tower rewrite scene ‧₊˚♪ word count: 1,149
⊱ ─── [ 💌 ] ─── ⊰
The ladder rattled violently against the tower’s metal skeleton, the steel rungs biting into Mike’s palms through the thin fabric of his gloves. The wind up here was vicious, howling in his ears and threatening to peel him right off the structure. By the time he hauled himself over the lip of the platform, his arms were trembling uncontrollably, and his lungs burned as if he’d inhaled smoke.
Will was already there.
He sat tucked against one of the tower’s cross-beams, knees drawn up to his chest in a protective ball, the battered metal canteen resting loosely between his hands. The crimson light of the storm clouds swirling above cast deep shadows across his face, but as Mike straightened up, gasping for air, Will looked up. His eyes, usually so guarded lately, softened instantly.
“Took you long enough,” Will said, though there was no bite in it. Just relief.
Mike bent over, bracing his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. “You try climbing… a literal death trap… with absolutely zero upper body strength.”
A genuine smile broke through Will’s exhaustion. He unscrewed the cap of the canteen and held it out. “Here. Drink.”
Mike took it, his fingers brushing against Will’s for a fraction of a second. The water was metallic and cold, shocking his system and grounding him back in reality. He took a long pull, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and handed it back. Then, ignoring the vast, terrifying drop below them, he sat down beside Will.
He sat close. Close enough that their arms pressed together, a line of warmth against the biting chill of the wind. Neither of them moved away.
For a long time, they just sat there. The tower groaned beneath them, swaying slightly in the gale, the metal singing a low, mournful hum that vibrated through their spines. Below them, Hawkins burned and rotted, but up here, in this tiny pocket of space, it was just them.
After a moment, Will shifted, running his thumb over the rim of the canteen. “I keep thinking about… earlier.”
Mike turned his head, watching the way the wind caught the ends of Will’s hair. “Yeah?”
“When I told you,” Will said, his voice barely louder than the wind. “About me.”
Mike’s chest tightened, a distinct physical ache behind his ribs. He remembered the look on Will’s face—the terror, the vulnerability. “Okay.”
Will stared resolutely at his boots. “I don’t know if I said it right. Or if I made it weird. I keep replaying it in my head, thinking maybe I should’ve waited until we weren't… you know, in the middle of an apocalypse. Or maybe I shouldn't have said anything at all.”
“Hey,” Mike said sharply.
Will flinched, finally looking up, his eyes wide and uncertain.
“Don’t say that,” Mike said, his voice steady despite the hammering of his heart. “That was… Will, that was one of the bravest things I’ve ever seen you do. And I’ve seen you stand up to shadow monsters.”
Will let out a dry, nervous laugh, shaking his head. “It didn’t feel brave. It felt like I was jumping off a cliff without a parachute.”
“It rarely feels brave when you’re doing it,” Mike countered softly. “But it was. And you were—you were so gentle about it. With me.” Mike turned his body fully toward Will, ignoring the creaking platform. “You just dropped a bomb about your life, and yet you were looking at me like you were worried about my feelings. Like you were protecting me.”
Will swallowed hard, his throat clicking. “I didn’t want to scare you away. I couldn't handle losing you. Not now.”
“You didn’t scare me,” Mike promised.
Silence settled between them again, but it wasn't heavy. It was the kind of silence that comes after a storm breaks.
“I don’t know what happens after this,” Will admitted, gesturing vaguely at the red lightning arcing across the sky. “After everything. I don’t know if things go back to normal. I don't even know if there is a normal anymore.”
Mike shifted, closing the tiny gap between them until his knee pressed firmly against Will’s. “I don’t know either.”
Will’s shoulders tensed, rigidity seizing his frame as if he were bracing for a blow, or for disappointment.
“But,” Mike continued, dropping his voice to a hush that forced Will to lean in, “when this is over—when we’re not fighting for our lives or climbing towers into nightmares—I want us to try. If... if that's something you want.”
Will blinked, the wind whipping tears into the corners of his eyes. “Try… us?”
Mike nodded. He felt exposed, terrified in a way that had nothing to do with Vecna, but he pushed through it. “Slow. No pressure. Just… figuring it out. Together. Like we figure out everything else.”
Will’s expression crumpled, just a little. “You really mean that? You're not just saying it because the world might end?”
“I do,” Mike said fiercely. “You matter to me, Will. You always have. More than anyone. This…” He gestured between them. “This doesn’t change that. If anything, knowing the truth? It makes me want to be better. For you.”
Will let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob—a sound of pure relief. “I was so scared you’d look at me differently.”
Mike reached out. His hand trembled slightly before his fingers found Will’s wrist, sliding down to wrap around his palm. The grip was tentative but sure. “I look at you and I see the same person I always have,” Mike whispered. “Just… clearer. More honest.”
Will’s breath hitched. He didn’t pull away. instead, his fingers curled around Mike's, squeezing back with a desperate strength.
The tower groaned loudly as a particularly strong gust of wind slammed into it. Instinctively, Mike’s other hand shot out, grabbing Will’s bicep to steady him.
“Hey,” Will said, his voice gaining a sudden urgency. “If something happens up there—if I get pulled into something again, or if I freeze—”
“Don’t,” Mike cut him off, firm but gentle.
“I just need to know you won’t let go,” Will finished, his eyes pleading.
Mike tightened his grip on Will’s hand, anchoring him to the spot. “I won’t. Not now. Not after. Not ever. I’m not losing you again, Will Byers. You’re stuck with me.”
Will nodded slowly, exhaling a long breath, as if he was sealing something fragile and important inside his chest. The fear in his eyes was replaced by a steel-spine determination.
He stood up, the wind whipping his clothes, and offered his free hand to pull Mike up.
“Ready to keep going?” Will asked.
Mike took it, letting Will haul him to his feet.
“Yeah,” Mike said, and for the first time since he started climbing, he actually believed they might make it. “I am.”
They turned to the ladder and climbed higher together.