Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s eight p.m. when the phone rings.

Will is lounging on the couch, curled up into Mike’s side as they mindlessly watch Friends. Neither of them are really paying attention, but it’s become a bit of a habit for them these past few years. It’s always on after dinner, once Mike has finished grading his seemingly hundreds of worksheets and quizzes for the day. Will knows that Mike enjoys turning his brain off after that, just sitting in the dark under a cozy blanket and simply being. Will likes being. Especially with his long term boyfriend.

Life partner, as Mike would say. Will would say that sounds stupid. He’d rather just call him his husband. Soon, he hopes. With the public outcry in response to the Defense of Marriage Act a few years ago, Will can only predict the fight for marriage equality getting stronger. Either way, he doesn’t need a piece of paper to tell him what he already knows— Mike is his, forever and always.

Unfortunately, he thinks, as Mike nudges his ankle with a socked foot, otherwise not moving a muscle. “Are you gonna get that?”

“Are you gonna say please?” Will retorts with a small smirk, reaching over to grab their home phone off the table to his right anyway. He presses to answer it, lifting it up to his ear. “Hello?”

It’s no surprise who’s calling. It’s after eleven in Hawkins— much past his mom’s bedtime, especially now that she’s a grandmother of two. Max and Lucas have their hands full with a kid of their own, and another on the way. Dustin and Suzie are even worse off with a set of twins. Will is fully anticipating it as El’s worn voice filters through the speaker.

“Hey,” she says with a sigh. Will can practically hear her flop down on her bed. It’s understandable— she just got off work at the children’s emergency center a few minutes ago. He doubts she even had dinner yet.

“Long day?” he asks, wordlessly putting her on speaker phone as per usual. El loves her job— everyone knows that. It didn’t surprise a single soul when she told them she wanted to help kids in dangerous situations. She sees herself in them— trapped, hurt, looking to find someone like Hopper was to her. They’re her children. It’s her dream to place them in the right homes. But that doesn’t mean it’s not work.

El sighs again, and Mike shoots him a look, eyebrows raised to his hairline. She’s dramatic today. “It’s one of my kids.”

“Getting on your last nerve?” Mike guesses. At the end of the day, El deals with a bunch of screaming, hyper kids. Will does not envy her, no matter how cute they might be.

“No, the opposite actually. There’s this boy. His name is Mason. He’s been with me since he was five— about seven years now. He just— he can’t seem to stay in a home. It’s like, every few months there’s another issue. I thought I had found a good one. He was there for almost two years— the longest he’s ever been placed— but they dropped him back off today. I’m just… worried.”

“That’s awful,” Will says, feeling a wave of sympathy for the boy. No one deserves that. Especially not a child.

“I know,” she replies, a hint of something in her voice. Hesitancy, maybe. Guilt. He isn’t sure exactly why, though. “Anyway, I called to ask for a favor.”

Oh. That’s why. He knows instantly what she’s going to say without her even needing to voice it. “El,” he starts, his tone warning.

“Will, please,” she begs, rushing her words as if they would cut her off before she could finish. “You know I wouldn’t ask it of you if I had any other option. You live close by, and I know I can trust you guys.”

He turns to Mike, who seems just about as unsure about this as he is. “You want us to foster a kid?” Mike finally speaks the request outloud, disbelieving. Will is half convinced that El will laugh in their faces, clearing up the misunderstanding with a, “No, silly. I want you to water my plants.”

“It doesn’t have to be forever,” El says. “Just until I can find another home for him. I can’t stand him living in the shelter anymore. Not right now. He needs emotional support. And don’t lie to me— I know you two have been wanting kids. This can be a trial run.”

Will can’t deny it— he’s always wanted a kid. He and Mike haven’t talked about it— haven't deemed it necessary, since they can’t have any of their own— but he knows that Mike wants one as well. Will has seen the way he acts with their nieces and nephews. It’s been hard, watching their friends have families of their own while they’re stuck on the sidelines. Any mention beyond understanding glances just seemed cruel.

It’s not only biological kids that are a barrier; adoption would be just as impossible. It’s hard enough for an unmarried couple to get approved for adoption, but a gay one at that? Forget it.

So Will understands the look of consideration on Mike’s face. He’s sure his is doing the same. This is our chance, his eyes say as they meet Mike’s.

“You said—” Mike begins after a short moment, clearing his throat. Will can feel El’s hope rising from the other side of the phone. She knows she’s breaking through to them. “You said he keeps getting sent back. What exactly would we be getting ourselves into?”

Will knows Mike’s resolve is cracking. He’s grasping at straws here, finding any excuse to say no. Because if there aren’t any reasons to say no… what’s stopping them from saying yes?

“He’s a good kid,” El promises. “He’s really sweet, I swear. Sweet, but feisty. People don’t like that. He reminds me a lot of you, Mike. He doesn’t get along well with overbearing authority figures. And it’s not always that he’s ‘sent back’ either; sometimes he runs away. He’s not a huge troublemaker. He just… needs someone.”

“What makes you think we can give him what he needs?” Mike asks.

“Because I know you,” she answers simply. “You don’t need to be perfect. You just need to be there.”

Will grabs Mike’s hand, giving it a squeeze. He takes a deep breath, avoiding Mike’s gaze as he says, “We’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I ask,” El replies, before Mike reaches over to click the end call button.

The silence is deafening. Mike leans forward, head in his hands and elbows on his knees. “She’s crazy,” he says, but it sounds more like he’s convincing himself.

“She is,” Will nods, his tone suggesting a “but…”

“You agree with her,” Mike states, almost accusatory. It’s bullshit. Mike is on the exact same page as him right now— Will doesn’t know why he’s being so defensive about this.

“He’s just a kid, Mike.”

“A kid!” Mike exclaims, throwing his arms out. “Not a— a dog that we can leave chained outside! This is a lifelong commitment, Will.”

Will is more than willing to make that commitment. They both are. They’re twenty-nine, for crying out loud. They’ve been together for twelve years. They’ve been ready for this. “El said it’s just temporary,” he tries anyway.

“Will,” Mike levels him with a look that says be serious. “You and I both know that it won’t be. If we take this kid—“ If. If they take him. Mike is folding. “We’re not giving him back.”

He knows that. He doesn’t think he would be able to. Not after what he’s heard. That would just be evil. Will intertwines their fingers, staring into Mike’s conflicted eyes. “You want to do this. I can tell.”

“Of course I do!” Mike says, frustration bubbling out of him. “I’ve wanted kids since forever ago, Will. I just—“ He cuts himself off, glancing down at his lap.

“Hey,” he mutters softly, rubbing his thumb over the back of Mike’s hand. “What’s wrong? What’s holding you back?”

“What if he doesn’t like us?” he asks. “Or— we suck at being parents. I mean, we didn’t have the best fatherly role models growing up. And what about money? And his room? And doctors appointments, and driving him to school, and—“

“Mike,” Will sets a hand on his chest, forcing him to stop for a breath. “We can figure it out. We’re not short on money. We have four jobs between us, and no kids to spend it on. He can have the guest bedroom— or the office, but I’d prefer to have somewhere to work. And I really don’t think rides are an issue. I go into work, like, once a month. We’re okay.”

“We’re okay,” Mike repeats, nodding to himself. He gets like this, sometimes— stressed over finances and safety issues that really aren’t issues at all. He once installed a third lock on their front door when Will was out grocery shopping because he heard that the neighbor’s car was broken into. Will thinks it’s sweet; Mike always feels the need to be the provider of the house. The protector. “I still think we should hold off. I mean, we can’t just rush into this. It’s a big decision.”

Will agrees. This is the kind of idea they need to sleep on. No one is making any finalized decisions just yet. “Of course. And Mike— if you don’t want to do this, we’re not doing it. I’m not having a kid with you unless you’re a hundred percent on board.”

“I know,” he assures, giving him a small smile. He leans forward, wrapping Will up in his arms and nuzzling his nose by his ear. “And I do want a kid with you. By the way.”

Will inhales deeply, enjoying the comfort of Mike’s embrace. He loves his little family, just him and Mike. He loves their little house, and their nice little life out here in California. He’s satisfied. But he doesn’t think he’ll ever be fulfilled.

He knows that Mike feels it too. Their home is always just a bit too empty. It was silly to buy a three bedroom house, and a dining table with four chairs. They have couches and loveseats galore for the company that comes over once in a blue moon.

Scared as they might be, this choice was never really that: a choice. Will saw it on Mike’s face the second El suggested this. No matter how long they wait, the outcome will always be the same.

They’re fostering a kid.

Chapter Text

“Do I look alright?”

Mike turns around to see Will worrying at his lip, his fingers fiddling with the cuffs of his flannel. They’re standing right outside of El’s shelter, where Mike had just nearly worked up the courage to open the door after way too much deliberation.

“Of course you do,” Mike says, taking a step toward him and grabbing his forearms.

“I feel underdressed,” Will admits, looking down at his jeans and sneakers. Mike’s outfit isn’t much better, with only a t-shirt and Converse. It’s not like they’re going to meet the queen. They’re visiting a twelve year old child— it felt dumb to wear a button down and slacks. What kid would want to go home with a stuck-up fancy pants? They have to be cool. Hip. Swagger, or whatever. Fuck, he’s old.

“You look dashing,” he assures, kissing Will on the nose. “Now come on. Let’s do this.” Mike grabs his hand.

Will nods, his breath as shaky as Mike feels, and they finally make their way into the lobby. It’s ridiculous, he thinks. He hasn’t been this scared of a preteen since middle school.

It’s been a few days since the call. They gave themselves the weekend to think it over, and Mike has done nothing but grow more and more fond of this boy he’s never even met. He needs this to go well. He can tell that Will feels the same— he’d fallen in love with the kid from the second he heard about him.

Mike had tried his hardest not to get attached on the off chance that Mason refuses to come home with them, but it was no use. He couldn’t be more attached if they were fused together. That only means one thing— he’s going to do everything in his power to win over this kid’s heart.

Mike walks up to the little receptionist’s desk in the corner, arm-in-arm with Will. If she has anything to say about it— well, she’s just a receptionist. El is the one that they have to impress here.

“Hello,” she smiles warmly at them, not giving their display of affection a second glance. Mike likes her, he decides. She was a good hire. The previous one had not been so polite— surely the reason she’d been fired just a while back. “What can I do for you?”

“We’re here to see El Hopper,” Mike says.

The lady presses a button on her desk and leans forward to talk into a little microphone. “El, you’re needed at the front.”

“On my way,” El replies through a small speaker.

The receptionist reclines into her chair, turning back to Mike and Will who have been watching her awkwardly. She doesn’t seem to notice the tense aura in the room— or, if she does, she’s grown used to it after working at the shelter. Nervous families must come here all the time. “So, are you here for a kid?”

“Yeah. Mason.”

At this, she gets a funny look on her face. Mike isn’t sure he likes it. It’s almost pitiful— but whether it’s aimed at Mason or them, he doesn’t know. Either way, he feels a bit offended. “El already found a home? He just got back.”

“Well— we’re her family,” Will clarifies. “She didn’t find us so much as she gently persuaded us.”

She gasps, eyes lighting up in recognition. “Are you the brother?”

Will and Mike exchange a glance, eyebrows raised in amusement. That was… enthusiastic. “I am,” he replies, a bit tentative. This lady might be nice, but she’s frankly a bit strange.

“Oh, El has told me so much about you! Seriously, it’s constant. I know more about you than I do her.” Mike chuckles, feeling some of the tension drain out of his body. She’s a friend of El’s. His initial impression of her had been correct: she’s a decent person, at the very least. “And you must be the husband,” she tells Mike.

He’s not going to correct her. If she wants to call him Will’s husband, he’ll be Will’s husband. That’s certainly better than the time some old man thought Nancy was his wife.

Mike rests his elbows on the desk, leaning forward with glee to ask, “Does she talk about me, too?”

“Definitely,” she nods, laughter lacing her voice. Mike is so going to bring this up later. El loves them.

Before their gossip session can continue much further, the glass doors into the main hallway open up. El freezes as she sees them standing in the lobby, then breaks out into a run to give them both a hug, arms around their necks. “You came?”

“Of course we did,” Will says. “You knew we would.”

El pulls back, smiling. “I have been told that I am very compelling. Now come on,” she grabs both of their hands, dragging them to the hallway. “Let’s go to my office.”

Mike and Will have been to El’s office dozens of times throughout the years, for lunches and fundraisers and all sorts. Never like this, though. Never as customers. Customers? Is that the right word? They’re not purchasing a kid. Clients? Patrons?

Whatever. It’s a cozy room— one that both El and the kids spend a lot of time in. Mike supposes it has to be comfortable for this very reason. The children and families require an inviting, relaxing environment while meeting each other for the first time. He thinks she nailed it, to be honest, with the two small couches facing each other and a coffee table in between. Along the back wall is a desk and two folding chairs, where he presumes El handles most of her paperwork. This is where she leads them to sit.

“So,” El hops in her swivel chair, clasping her hands in front of her. She has on the giddiest grin in the world— Mike can’t help but feel some of his nerves turn to excitement along with her. “You’re sure about this? You really want him?”

“We’re not going to get much surer,” Mike shrugs. It’s not that he’s not ready. He’s just… scared out of his mind? Terrified for the future? But that’s never stopped him before. He’s found that the things he’s most afraid of in life are the things that turn out the best. Being with Will, for instance. Absolutely petrifying for seventeen-year-old him, but definitely worth the risk.

“Good. He just got out of school, if you wanted to meet him today. But we should probably go over some stuff first.”

Mike feels a sudden bout of anxiety swirl in his stomach. Meet him? Now?

This is pathetic. He’s pathetic. They literally came here with the intention of meeting him. Mike is like a teenager with a stupid crush. Please just let him like me. Please let him think I’m cool.

“What stuff?” he asks, instead of something embarrassing like, “Do I seem like a loser?”

El opens a drawer and pulls out a thin packet of paper, all stapled neatly together. She’s so good at her job— Mike barely manages to print out worksheets during his prep period.

“The essentials,” she says, sliding the papers over to them. Mike picks them up, flipping through them. House inspection, background check, emergency safety protocol— geez, there’s a lot to do. “He needs a bed. That means a mattress, sheets, blankets, pillows— I know you have the guest room, so it shouldn’t be an issue. There’s also the small stuff, like a toothbrush, shampoo, more clothes would be nice. Anything that you use yourself. It’s all listed in there.”

Will nods along, reading over his shoulder. He suddenly pauses Mike’s page turning with a hand to his forearm. “Character references? What’s that?”

“You don’t need to worry about that,” El dismisses. “I will call up Mom and Dad for you. They just need to write up letters ensuring that you’ll be a safe home for the kids. I’m not too concerned.”

“And how long will this take?” Mike questions. Just waiting the weekend to come here was hard enough. He’s not sure he can last months and months.

“Quicker than usual, with me here. I will conduct the home inspection myself— I can come as soon as Friday. Mostly we just have to wait for the paperwork. I would say no longer than three weeks.”

“What’s that— the first Tuesday in September?”

“We would have to wait for the next weekend,” El tells him. “Moving in is a lot of work, and he has school.”

Right. School. Mike also has school. He’s getting ahead of himself— the kid hasn’t even said yes yet.

“You want me to call him in?” she asks, as if reading his mind.

“Yes please,” Will says, rising out of his chair as El does. Mike follows him, setting a hand on his shoulder.

“I’ll be right back,” she announces, which is really just a polite way of implying that they can’t join her. “You can have a seat on the couch, if you’d like.”

As soon as the door closes behind her, Mike lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, running a hand through his hair. Will seems to be doing about as well as he is, immediately wrapping him in a side hug. Mike spins around in his grasp, letting Will bury his head into his chest.

“I’m so nervous,” Will says, muffled.

Mike rubs up and down his back. For the last few days, Mike had been the one freaking out about this. He’d been a mess, trying his best to plan out every single thing that could possibly go wrong. He wanted to be prepared for every outcome— God forbid something happens to this child under his care. Will had been there through it all, reassuring him after every what if. It’s Mike’s turn to comfort him now. “I am too. But no matter what happens, we have each other, yeah? If this falls through, we can try again with another kid.”

“I want this kid,” Will mumbles, definitely pouting into his shirt. Mike is proven correct as he sets his hands on either side of Will’s head, tilting it up toward him.

“Hey,” he says, staring deeply into Will’s sad, sad eyes. Mike would give him the world if he could. “We’ll get him. I’ll make sure of it.”

He knows damn well he can’t promise that. Unfortunately, he does not condone kidnapping— even if it would please the love of his life. He does still have morals. That doesn’t mean he won’t try his hardest to charm the shit out of this kid.

Mike leads them to the couch on the right, pulling Will nearly on top of him. He wraps his arm around him, tugging him close. “It’ll be okay,” he whispers, planting a kiss on the top of Will’s head. Will sighs, relaxing into him.

Their peace doesn’t last long, as they both spring up at the sound of the door opening. El pops her head in first, sending them a soft smile, the hand not on the doorknob out of view behind her. She steps into the room, revealing a small boy that she’s guiding by the shoulder.

Time seems to stop the moment Mike sees him. He’s tiny, barely reaching to El’s chin where she stands at 5’3”. He reminds Mike of Will in that way. A lot reminds him of Will, down to the way he’s hunching his back like he wants to disappear. He has brown hair and deep brown eyes, and his skin is just a few shades darker than Will’s, even with his California tan.

He also looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here.

“Mason,” El says, gesturing an arm toward them. “This is my brother, Will Byers, and his boyfriend, Mike Wheeler. Will, Mike— this is Mason.”

Mason furrows his eyebrows, turning to El. “They’re gay?”

Oh. Right. That. Mike had completely forgotten about the fact that Mason could very well be homophobic. Or, at least, put off by the idea of being taken in by a gay couple.

“They are,” El replies, short and simple. She narrows her eyes at him slightly, like a mother daring to be challenged. A silent I raised you better than that. “Is that going to be a problem?”

“No,” he shakes his head quickly, blushing. It’s cute how close the two of them are. She really has raised him. “I just thought that your brother would be, like, old. With a wife and kids.”

“That’s my other brother,” El corrects.

“Jon is not old,” Will protests, laughing. “He’s thirty-two.”

“How old are you?” Mason asks him, scrutinizing them with a distasteful look on his face. Damn. Tough crowd.

“Twenty-nine,” Mike answers with a polite grin, despite wanting to cover himself up with a blanket and hide away from Mason’s brutal judgment forever.

Mason’s gaze turns skeptical. “You’re seventeen years older than me?”

“Uh— yeah, I guess,” Mike says upon doing the math in his head. Is that weird? Are they too close in age to be taking care of him? That’d make him a teen dad, technically. If that’s how it works.

Will quickly sticks out his hand, changing the subject before Mason can call them out for being unfit parents. “It’s nice to meet you, Mason.”

Mason rolls his eyes, ignoring him completely as he flops down on the couch across from them. Will glances over at Mike, wordlessly asking, “What was that? What do I do?” Mike just shrugs. They’re in completely over their heads right now. Will awkwardly lowers his hand as they sit back down.

“Mason,” El warns, taking the seat beside him, but Mike shakes his head at her. It’s fine. This is a stressful situation for all of them. He can’t blame the kid for being a little on edge right now.

“So, um— I guess we should tell you a little about ourselves,” Mike says. “I’m a middle school teacher— English and Physics. It’s a bit of a weird combo, but I enjoy it. I also write on the side. I have two books published, and I’m working on a third. I’d love to make a career out of it, but an author’s salary on top of an artist’s is just— nothing, really. Will is a comic book illustrator, but he paints commissions for extra cash. Uh— we like fantasy, and sci-fi, and this game called D&D, I don’t know if you've heard of it.”

Mike is aware that he’s rambling, but he can’t seem to stop. He feels that if Mason just gets to know them— if Mike can just get one more word out— he’ll agree to come home with them. There has to be something they have in common; he just needs to find it.

“Do you like Star Wars? Lord of the Rings? Music? What music do you like?”

“Mike,” El says. “Slow down.”

“Sorry,” he forces himself to take a breath, immediately calmed by Will’s hand that’s found his. “What do you like to do? Do you have any hobbies?”

“Not really,” Mason shrugs, staring down at his lap.

El nudges his shoulder gently. “Yes you do.”

Mason sighs, as if answering their questions is the most tiresome thing in the world. “I play video games, I guess. There’s an N64 in the common room.”

Mike immediately perks up. “We like video games! We have an N64 and a PlayStation at home. You could use them any time you’d like.”

Mason seems to let his guard down a little at this, his crossed arms loosening ever-so-slightly as he looks at them from the corner of his eye for the first time since he sat down.

Will takes this as an opportunity, asking him another question before he can shut down again. He leans forward on his elbows, eyes soft and kind. “What else do you like?”

“Cars.”

“Cars! Cool!” Will says, sharing another look with Mike. They know absolutely nothing about cars. Mike has learned just enough to be able to take theirs down to the shop for an oil change without being tricked into buying a new set of tires. It’s fine— he’s just glad Mason told them anything at all.

“Can I go now?” Mason complains, throwing his head against the backrest. It seems that their momentary connection has been lost. Mason has placed the loose brick back onto his emotional wall.

“God, he really is like Mike as a kid,” Will marvels. He is not. Mike wasn’t this bad, was he? His aunt called him a little terror, but surely she was exaggerating. He had manners, right?

El nods, giggling. “I told you. Will you be able to handle two of them?”

“Oh, definitely,” Will agrees, eyes wide in emphasis. “I chose Mike for a reason. His attitude is endearing.”

He does not have an attitude.

“You still want me?” Mason asks, visibly confused. Mike’s heart breaks a little. Of course they still want him. Meeting him was never going to change that. They’d made up their minds a long time ago, and they don’t intend to go back on their word. Even if he is a bit… what was the word El used? Feisty? If anything, Mike wants to take him home even more now. Will was right— it’s endearing. Mike is endeered. He has personality. Spunk.

Mason has a past that they’ll never understand fully. Leaving to go live with a couple strangers after meeting them once? Mike would be terrified. He doesn’t expect this kid to run at them with open arms. He would put up his defenses too. So yeah, maybe they are a bit similar in that way. In Mike’s opinion, this only makes Mason even more correct in his actions.

Truthfully, Mike has a sneaking suspicion that it’s fake; an act to scare them away, so he’ll be allowed to stay at the shelter for a while longer. A purposely botched interview.

“Absolutely,” Will says. He smiles, gentle and sweet. “I really like you. I would love it if you agreed to let us foster you, but if not, no hard feelings. Alright?”

That’s a lie, and Mike knows it. If Mason turns them down, they’re both going to have to work through a lot of hard feelings.

Mason’s face flickers through a myriad of emotions before hardening once again, unreadable. El sets a light hand on his shoulder, telling him, “Let's talk it through.”

“Do I have a choice?” Mason scoffs, standing off the couch.

“Of course,” El says, leading him to the door. “It’s up to you.”

Once they’re alone, footsteps retreating down the hall, Will turns to Mike. “Do you think that went alright?”

“I think you did alright,” he says, self-deprecation bleeding into his voice. “I was a mess.”

“You weren’t a mess,” Will denies, worry etched onto his face. He grabs both of Mike’s hands in his. “You were great. I didn’t even know what to say to him.”

“Are you kidding? Will, you were a natural. You were so good with him. It really looked like he trusted you. I think I scared him away with all my questions. I’m just— I’m a lot.”

“You’re not a lot,” he assures adamantly. “You’re… excited. And enthusiastic, and animated, and friendly.”

“So, a lot,” Mike concludes, the corner of his lip quirking upward.

“‘A lot’ is better than ‘not enough,’” Will says, kissing the tip of his nose. “You give a hundred percent. At least you’re not like your dad.”

Mike chuckles, swatting Will’s head away where it had begun pressing kisses all over his face. “Fuck, I hope not.” If there was one thing his dad taught him growing up, it was how not to live. He’d been the perfect role model, completely by accident. Mike makes sure to always split the household chores evenly between them, so Will won’t be stuck doing everything while he sits on his ass. Mike cooks, Will does the laundry, and they alternate grocery store trips.

“Seriously though,” Will continues, straightening out Mike’s shirt where it’s bunched near the shoulders. “Do you think he’ll say yes? He was kinda… reluctant.”

“I’m not sure,” Mike answers honestly. “I hope so. You seemed to get through to him there at the end.”

Will sighs, leaning into Mike for a hug. There’s nothing they can do now. They just have to wait it out and trust that El knows what she’s doing.

El leads Mason back to his room, shutting the door behind them. She sets her hands on his arms, leaning down so they’re eye level. She finds that trust is gained easier when you aren’t towering over someone.

“What did you think?” she asks hopefully. It hadn’t been looking great in there— but with Mason, it never does.

“They were alright,” he shrugs, eyes somewhere to the right of their shoes. This is a good sign. It’s the first time Mason hasn’t immediately disapproved of a couple.

“You can say that you like them,” El teases, a playful smile on her lips. “That is a good thing. I want you to like them.”

“I don’t like them,” Mason grumbles, genuine annoyance seeping into his words. He’s putting up a good fight. El knows that convincing him won’t be easy, but she has to try.

“Look— Mason,” she starts, quieting to a near whisper. “I can tell that something happened in your last home. And I’m really sorry about that— I never wanted that to happen. Whatever it was, you can tell me, okay? But I need you to trust me here. Will is my brother. I’ve known them both since I was your age. If I thought there was any chance that they might do something to hurt you, I wouldn’t be sending you with them.”

Mason finally glances up at her, his expression melting away into something a little more vulnerable. He seems to pause in thought, knitting his eyebrows in confusion. “You’ve known your brother since you were twelve?”

“He’s my step-brother,” she says, then hurries to clarify, “but we are still really close. Most people call us twins. He is the kindest person I know.”

Mason seems slightly put off by this revelation, biting his lip in worry. El is sure he would feel much safer if Will had been raised with her. Luckily, it doesn’t look like the progress she’s made has been set back too far. “They still have to be approved, right? If I said yes, that’s still not a guarantee.”

“I am confident that they’ll pass,” El replies. She’s not sure which answer he would have preferred. “I will be doing most of the review process. As long as they don’t have bottles of alcohol laying around during the home inspection, they will be fine. Which they won’t— they don’t drink anyway.”

“They don’t?” he asks, brightening up just a little.

“No. Maybe some wine on special occasions, but nothing bad.” She feels a bit guilty revealing this next thing without Will’s permission, but she knows that it will help put Mason at ease. He’s been through a similar situation, after all. “Will’s dad drank a lot. He was a bad man. Will doesn’t like alcohol that much anymore.”

“His old dad, or his new dad?”

“Old dad. My dad is very nice,” she assures. “And so is our mom. And Mike’s mom. They come from great families. There is no one you have to worry about.”

“And… Mike’s dad?” he asks, struggling on Mike’s name, as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to say it.

“He’s there,” El says simply. That’s really all she can say. “He won’t notice you long enough to do anything bad. He wouldn’t, either way.”

Mason nods a bit absently. El can tell that he’s conflicted. He’s tempted, but unsure. She can work with that. All he needs is a little push.

“Hey,” she bends down further, trying to catch his eyes once again. “Let’s make a deal. If they don’t work out, we don’t have to do this ever again. You can stay here with me in the shelter until you turn eighteen.”

He perks up at this, eyes shining with hope. “Really?” El hates that this is his goal. This place isn’t suited for him. He needs someone to take care of him— more than El can in the forty hours a week that she’s here. He needs a loving home; a real guardian.

Still, she nods. It's better than nothing. “Yes. I promise.” She sticks out her pinky, awaiting his answer.

Mason stares at it, considering. He looks back up to El’s face, mouth pinched in contemplation, before slowly hooking their fingers together. “Alright. If you think it will work.”

“I do. I really do.” She wastes no time in pulling him in for a hug. “You can call me anytime, alright? If you’re unhappy, I’ll pick you up. And I visit them at least once a month, so you’ll be seeing a lot of me.”

Mason squeezes her tight. “Okay.”

She can’t believe she actually did it. The hard part is over. She really didn’t think he’d agree that easily— especially with his troubled relationship with men. El knew it was a risk asking him to live in a house with no women, but she knows there’s no danger for him there. It’s better than taking a shot on a random couple like last time.

Untangling herself, she smiles proudly at Mason before walking them back to her office. This is the part she loves— uniting new potential families and watching their expressions as she tells them the happy news.

Mike and Will spring up the second El opens the door, hands clasped between them, eyes wide. She pulls Mason after her, positioning him in front of her with her hands on his shoulders. “Do you want to tell them?” she whispers in his ear. He shakes his head minutely.

Mike’s face falls a little, presuming that this was his official answer. Before he can get too disappointed, El cuts in, trying— and failing— to keep a straight face. “Buy everything on that list by Friday. And clean your house— I would like to be as honest in this assessment as possible.”

Will’s eyes widen impossibly further. “He said yes?”

El nods, a wide grin breaking through.

Mike quickly spins in Will’s direction, arms out to hug him. Will immediately complies, throwing himself at him. “He said yes,” Mike repeats like he doesn't believe it, sounding shocked to his core. “Holy shit.”

El will wait to scold him for cursing in front of a child. She wants them to have their moment.

Will giggles happily, looking up at Mike with pure love. He moves his arms up to wrap around Mike’s neck, pulling him down for a sweet kiss. “We did it.”

El glances down at Mason to see him grimacing. That is probably the typical reaction of someone who isn’t already used to them being sappy. Unfortunately for him, Mike and Will are a very affectionate couple. There will be a lot more where that came from.

Mike suddenly turns to Mason, taking a step forward. “Can I hug you?” he asks, to which Mason looks even more uncomfortable. Noticing his hesitancy, Mike says, “That’s cool. We don’t have to. How about…” he pauses, holding out a closed fist.

Mason slowly returns the gesture, bumping their fists together. Mike smiles like he just won the lottery.

Mason raises an eyebrow at El, like “Really? This is the guy you want taking care of me?” El just shrugs.

Will joins the three of them, kneeling in front of Mason. “We’re really glad you decided to give us a chance. We’ll be back in a few weeks, alright?”

Mason stares off to the side. “Fine. Whatever.”

This has been a lot for him. These appointments always are. This one was particularly draining, having almost no time to recover after being dropped off at the shelter last week. There are a lot of emotions right now, even if he isn’t showing them. El can see the signs that he’s about to spend the rest of the day locked in his bedroom, hiding under the covers.

“I’ll call you,” El tells Will and Mike, practically ushering them out the room. She doesn’t want to be rude, but she also doesn’t want to risk another Mason incident. “Mason incidents” occur when an interview is going perfectly well, the couple ready and excited to take him home, before Mason snaps. Sometimes he curses them out, and other times he’s just plain rude. That’s the main reason El had stopped doing interviews with him, choosing to send him off blindly to whoever volunteers— given that they pass all the investigations, of course.

“Alright, well— we’ll see you soon,” Mike says as she and Mason walk down the hallway, El waving behind her as they go.

El breathes out a sigh of relief as they round the corner. Step one has been completed. Now all she has to do is make sure that her brother is prepared to raise a child. How hard can that be?

Chapter Text

“Dresser? Check,” Will reads out, ticking the designated box on the list El gave them. “Mattress, check. Comforter, check— Mike, I think we have, like, everything on here.”

It’s the morning after they’d met Mason, and they’ve cleared the entire day to set up his new room. Mike even took off work for this, assuming that it’d take longer than a quick trip to the corner store for an extra hair brush. With the spare guest room that’s just been sitting here collecting dust, it seems like that might not be the case. They don’t really have anything left to do.

“Let me see,” Mike grabs the clipboard, scanning over the items. Taking another glance around the room, he shakes his head disapprovingly. “Will, this room is boring. Why is everything so monochromatic? What were we thinking when we designed this?”

“We were thinking that my mom and Hop were going to be the only ones staying here, and old people love beige,” he jokes, resting his head on Mike’s shoulder. Will sees what he means— it looks like a hotel in here. “I guess we could paint the walls? And buy a new comforter? And he’d probably like a desk, right? For homework?”

“I don’t think he’d like doing homework, but yeah. That’s smart. God, I just wish we knew more about him. Some posters would be nice, at least. We’re working with video games and cars here.”

Video games…

Will gasps, clutching onto Mike’s arm. “We have that old TV— the 22 inch. We could hook up the N64 in here!”

Mike pouts. “I like the N64.”

Will rolls his eyes, swatting him lightly in the stomach. “Deal with it. He needs it more than you do. And if we move the dresser…” he drawls, searching the room until he finds the perfect spot, against the wall facing the foot of the bed, “here, we can put the TV on top and he can play from his bed. Or we can move it to the corner of the room, and buy him a bean bag!”

He is so excited. He’s completely in his element here. Mike had practically let him design their whole house, and he thinks he did a pretty decent job, if he says so himself— besides the guest room, of course. He can see it all mapped out in his head right now; lava lamps, cozy blankets, a mini-fridge— okay, maybe he’s going a bit too far. He just wants to give Mason the room he dreamed of himself as a kid. Snacks and mood lighting and forts— a safe haven for a teenage boy.

“You want your sketchpad?” Mike asks, reading him like a book. Will has been told that he gets this far-off look in his eyes whenever he’s itching to draw something. Must be true.

Will nods, dazedly taking a seat on the bed as ideas flash through his mind, covering his vision. Before he knows it, his sketchbook is being placed in his lap, and his hands are moving without his instruction.

Will gets a couple quick drawings done, nothing more than light, sloppy lines; not perfect, but enough. He shows the options to Mike. “One, or two?” he questions, flipping between the pages.

“Hmm,” Mike hums in consideration, squinting at each of the sketches. “I kind of like the second one,” he decides, tapping it with his finger. This one depicts a desk opposite the entryway, on the wall adjacent to the closet with sliding mirror doors. On the far end of the wall is the dresser, TV on top with a beanbag positioned below. The bed remains in its place in the middle of the room, beside the door and between the desk and dresser. “The bean bag is nice. But— do you think the TV will be too high?”

Will considers this, tilting his head. Now that he’s thinking about it, maybe staring at a screen five feet in the air while you’re sitting on the floor is a bad idea. He can only imagine the neck cramps and eye strain. “Well, maybe the dresser can go in the closet,” he suggests. This room really isn’t the biggest, especially with most of the space being taken up by a queen-sized bed. “And we can buy one of those… cubby things as a table. You know— like the one we use as a bookshelf with the square dividers.”

“Genius!” Mike exclaims, kissing the top of his head. “This is why we live together.”

“This is why? Not your undying love, or emotional support, or cuddles, or kisses—”

Mike cuts him off with a hand on his jaw, lips pressing against his. Will melts easily into it, smiling all the while. Mike pulls away so their foreheads are resting together, nuzzling their noses. “Kisses are nice, I guess,” he jokes, bringing Will back in for another.

Will quickly loses himself in it, letting him kiss him silly. Mike runs his tongue along his lips, and Will grants him access. He can feel himself slowly slip away, drunk on the feeling of Mike all around him. Will hums, patting him twice on the shoulder. When Mike doesn’t seem to notice, Will leans just out of his reach, stopping him with a hand on his chest when he tries to chase after him.

“Mike!” he laughs, as he puckers his lips obnoxiously and attempts to peck Will on the mouth. “We need to leave before we get carried away.” Will knows that if they spend another second in this house, they’re never leaving.

Mike holds him close by the waist, backing him up against the wall with a goofy smile on his face. “You don’t want to make out with me?”

Will tips his head up at Mike, glancing down once at his lips. He’s tempted to throw all their plans out the window. “We have a busy day,” he says instead, showing an impressive amount of self restraint as he gently pushes Mike off of him. “Come on. In the car. I need your muscles.”

Mike snorts to himself, muttering something like “what muscles?” under his breath, grabbing the keys off the kitchen counter on his way out the door anyway.

Their first stop is Home Depot, where they stare blankly at a wall of paint swabs for no less than thirty minutes. Mike was right— it’s hard to design a room for a kid you’ve met exactly one time. They don’t even know his favorite color— or, more importantly, his least favorite color. If Will woke up one day and found that his house had been painted magenta, he’d flip out.

“What do you think?” he asks Mike for the millionth time.

“Will, I told you,” he replies, exasperated. “I don’t know. Paint is your area of expertise. I’m just the muscles.”

“Should we ask someone?”

“I mean, we can,” Mike shrugs, not looking too keen on the idea. They don’t have anything to lose— it’s not like they know any more about Mason than an employee would. At least they’d have professional insight on painting bedrooms. “I usually ask the lesbians for help, but it looks like only old men are working today.”

“‘Usually?’” Will teases. “Because you come here so often?”

“Hey, I fixed our sink that one time,” he protests. Technically, he and Hopper fixed the sink, with an emphasis on Hopper. “And the toilet. And I made that birdhouse. I’m like a regular patron here.”

Will chuckles. “Sure.” He takes a step forward grabbing onto one of the swatches. “What about blue? He’s a preteen boy— you can’t go wrong with blue.”

“I’m perfectly happy with blue,” Mike says, no doubt just glad that Will has made any progress at all. He’s been starting to get restless, rocking back and forth on his heels while Will loses himself in thought.

“What shade?”

Mike visibly holds back a groan, taking a deep breath to calmly reply, “Medium?”

Will tries not to laugh at his frustration. He’s being so nice and patient— Will is going to have to reward him with a kiss when they get to the car. “Medium isn’t a shade, dear. But that’s cute.”

Mike blushes lightly, screwing his mouth to the side to suppress a smile. His restless energy seems to subside a bit. Hopefully that’s enough to tie him over until Will is done.

After a bit of internal debate, Will decides to go with Hacienda Blue, which he hopes is “medium” enough for Mike. They buy two cans of it, and Mike happily carries them both to the car, fulfilling his only duty as the muscle. As promised, Will gives him a sweet peck on the cheek for his efforts.

At the second store of the morning, Mike takes charge as he wanders up and down the isles for new bedding. Their cart is already full of trinkets— hangers, a toothbrush holder, yellow curtains to replace the old tan ones, a nightlight, just in case, and a beanbag box laying flat on the bottom rack.

They pass stacks and stacks of white, cream, and gray comforters, and now Will remembers how they came up with their guest bedroom’s color scheme.

“Why are all the queen options so boring?” Mike complains, scrunching up his nose at the lack of choices. “Why can’t adults be fun?”

“Do you think we should buy him a twin bed?” Will asks. “It would give him more space anyway.”

“And put the old one where?”

“In the attic?” he suggests, shrugging. “Or we could donate it. It’s not like we really need it anymore.”

Mike’s jaw drops in shock. “We have an attic?”

“You can’t be serious,” he deadpans. Will hopes he isn’t serious. Their roof is triangular, and their ceilings are flat. He can’t be that dumb.

“Where’s the opening?” Mike presses, and yeah— he’s serious.

“Our closet, Mike. The little square in the ceiling? You know, next to the light?”

“Why have we never explored in there? What if there’s a dead body? Do we have a basement too that you forgot to tell me about?” he rambles, extremely distraught, as if Will had been keeping this big secret from him that was literally written in the house listing.

“If you want to clean out all the cobwebs, I’d be happy to explore the attic with you. Now let’s look at the twin comforters,” he says, grabbing Mike’s arm and leading them to the next aisle over.

This is better. There’s princesses and pirates and flowers— everything a kid could ever want. Moving more towards the ten and up section, Will finds patterns more suitable for Mason. He thinks. Probably. Plaid, solid blue, stars— there. Perfect.

Will grabs one of the packages, showing it off to Mike. “Do you think race cars are too young for him?”

Mike takes it, flipping it over in his hands. “I mean, you had planes on yours at his age,” he reasons.

“Yeah, well I got mine when I was six.”

“That’s true,” he says. “But the navy matches the room. And look— it’s reversible. The back is solid red. If he hates it, he can just use the other side.” Mike flashes him a smile, proud of himself like he just worked out a difficult puzzle. Will finds that incredibly charming.

“Alright,” Will concedes, placing it into their cart. “I guess we’re buying a bed.”

When he and Mike told their family and friends that they were getting an apartment together in college, they were always met with the same warning: “Be careful. Moving in with your partner can cause serious strain on the relationship.” Will had called bullshit. His relationship with Mike was stronger than ever. They knew each other like the back of their hands— surely they could avoid arguments by simply not doing things that they knew would annoy the other.

For the most part, he’d been correct. Moving in together had only strengthened their bond. However, he severely underestimated just how annoying Mike could be. While fights are rare between them, they do still happen. Like right now, for instance, as Will sits idly by with a screwdriver in hand as a clearly frustrated Mike stares at their IKEA instructions with a furrowed brow.

“Mike—” he starts, for what feels like the hundredth time since they’ve begun putting this stupid bed together.

“I got it,” he snaps, again, for the hundredth time.

“Someone can come put it together for us,” Will says, feeling a headache creeping in from the paint fumes he’s been breathing in. “Or we could just call Hopper.”

“I can do it,” Mike reiterates, scowling at him. “I don’t need Hopper. What’s he gonna do from Indiana, anyway? I’ve been stuck for like, two minutes, Will. Can you just calm the fuck down?”

You calm the fuck down, Will thinks, sticking out his tongue at Mike when he glances back down at the page. It has not been two minutes. Five, maybe. Excuse him for wanting to be done with this before dinner. He’s hungry, and they still have to decorate.

Another couple minutes slip by, and Will can’t hold his tongue anymore. “Just— why should we make this harder on ourselves?”

“Will!” he groans, shoving his head in his hands and dragging them down, stretching the skin on his face. “Can you quit challenging my intelligence? I build Legos for a hobby. I can figure out a stupid little bed.”

“I’m not ‘challenging your intelligence,’” Will rolls his eyes. “I just want to be done so we can eat.”

“You are!” Mike yells, a hint of incredulous laughter in his voice. “You’re stressing me out! Go order food or something if you don’t want to help. I can handle it myself.”

“Fine,” he says shortly. “What do you want?”

“Whatever. Doesn’t matter,” Mike replies quietly, eyes immediately returning to the instructions.

Will stomps over to the door, but before he reaches it, he turns back to see Mike hunched over the newly-built desk. He feels kind of bad, honestly, leaving him all alone. Mike has done most of the work— pretty successfully, too. And Will is grateful for that. Don’t get him wrong— he’s still ticked off. But he can’t help the fact that Mike looks sort of pathetic.

Will steps his way over, wrapping his arms around Mike from the back. He presses a kiss to his neck, feeling Mike’s tense muscles relax a bit. “You don’t need to prove that you’re smart,” he mumbles into Mike’s skin, then walks back to the door.

As he moves into the hallway, he hears Mike mutter what he thinks is a, “Call Hopper. Pft.” Will suppresses another eye roll. What’s wrong with calling Hopper? He’s great with tools. And besides— they haven’t seen each other in forever. They haven’t even talked in forever. It’s been a couple weeks since his mom’s last phone call, and—

He freezes.

Then he runs back to Mike.

“Mike,” he says, standing in the doorway, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. Mike turns to him, pretending to be annoyed, but Will can see the worry on his face. “We forgot to tell my mom.”

Mike sputters a laugh, covering his mouth with one hand. “Oh, you’re screwed.”

Great. Will is glad he’s enjoying this. “We’re screwed. Mike, what do we do? She’s never going to let it go if she finds out that we waited days to tell her about her new foster-grandbaby.”

“Will, calm down,” he replies, like it’s that easy. He sets his hands on Will’s shoulders. “We’ll just… say we didn’t want to tell her until it was confirmed. So she didn’t get her hopes up, or something.”

“You want to lie to my mother?” Will asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Well,” Mike tilts his head back and forth, as if saying sort of. “More like stretching the truth. I wouldn’t have wanted to tell her before today anyway, so it’s technically not a lie.”

Will looks at him skeptically, before shaking his head in defeat. “You know what? Whatever. Fine. We can lie.” Glancing at his watch, he adds, “We should do it now, before she goes to bed.”

“That’s fine. Call her up.”

Will pulls out his cellphone, hesitating as he brings up her contact. He turns to Mike, biting the side of his cheek in thought. “You know she’s gonna want to fly out the second Mason is in our custody.”

“Then we’ll tell her no,” he answers simply. “He needs time to settle in. Meeting more people isn’t going to help that.”

Will agrees. He wants Mason to be comfortable here. He wants him to trust them, and that won’t happen if they bombard him with family members. Selfishly, Will sort of wants to show him off like all the others got to do with their babies. But that’s the difference— Mason isn’t a baby. He’s not even theirs. Will isn’t sure how well their family is going to understand that.

“Hey,” Mike whispers, grabbing Will’s forearms and pulling him closer. “It’ll be okay. I love you.”

“Love you, too,” he says, tipping his head forward as Mike plants a kiss in his hair. He’s right. It’ll be fine. No matter what happens with this kid, they’ll always have each other. Will sighs deeply, shaking out his head as he presses the call button on his phone. He meets Mike’s eyes while it rings, waiting for the click on the other side. Here goes nothing.

Chapter Text

The next few weeks fly by painfully slowly— which might sound contradictory, but it’s the truth.

The home visit went well, Mike thinks. That’s what El told them at least, though she might have been trying to spare their feelings. Either way, they passed. Their family and friends all sent in their character references— that Mike was not allowed to read beforehand to check if he needs to drop anyone in his life— and they’ve been long processed by now. They got the call on Wednesday saying that they’d been approved.

It might have been the best day of his life. He’d been pointlessly trying to ignore the clouds of anxiety hovering above him, telling him that “it’s not over yet. What if something goes wrong?” He felt an immediate pressure lift off his shoulders when he heard the news, phone on speaker with Will sitting next to him, hands clasped in a death grip.

They’d gone for a celebratory dinner after that, at a fancy restaurant downtown that they save for special occasions. He’d like to bring Mason there someday, he thinks. Tonight, even, if he wants to.

Mike holds open the door for Will, following after him into the familiar emergency shelter that they've visited dozens of times before. This time, he has a bit of a spring in his step; Will had made sure to bully him for it on the walk from the car, even though he hasn’t stopped smiling all day himself. Hypocrite.

Mike nearly runs straight into his back, having to steady himself with a hand on Will’s shoulder as he suddenly freezes in his tracks. Mike is about to complain, asking him why the fuck he decided that two feet in front of the door was a good place to stop, when he notices that Will’s gaze is locked on something across the room.

Mason is already waiting for them, sitting on a bench in the lobby with a displeased frown on his face. El is right next to him, hand on his back in comfort. They’re both staring directly at Mike and Will, likely having looked up the second they walked in.

Mason had been sitting at the door waiting for them with his adorable little suitcase. Mike could cry. Or yell. Or sing. He wants this. He wants this so bad. He wants someone to be eager for him to come home— to ask for his help with homework, or to play catch, or whatever else normal fathers do with their sons.

Not that Mason is their son. Or will ever be their son. They’re fostering. Potentially for a short period of time, if Mason hates them. Mike can’t get too attached.

“Hey,” Will says quietly with a tiny wave. He must be feeling exactly how Mike does right now— like the moment is so fragile that any sudden movements might break it.

“Hi,” El replies, smiling wide. She stands up, tapping Mason when he doesn’t follow. He rolls his eyes, begrudgingly allowing her to lead him over to them. “He’s all packed.”

Mike glances down at Mason’s tattered suitcase that he’s gripping onto like someone’s going to rip it out of his grasp. The only other bag is the near-empty backpack on his shoulder. “Cool. Is the rest in your room? Do you need help bringing it to the car?”

Mason glares at him like he just killed his cat. “There’s nothing else.”

Oh. Okay. Bad start.

Is that really all he owns? Just one suitcase? There can’t be room for more than five outfits in there— not to mention any space taken up by books or toys or personal items. God, Mike is going to spoil this kid. He doesn’t care how much money it’ll take.

“Right,” Mike says, embarrassed. “Sorry. Well, did you want help with…” he points to the luggage, trailing off as Mason narrows his eyes even further, rolling it protectively behind him. “Nope, alright. That’s fine.”

“Mason,” El grabs onto his shoulders, bending down to his height. “When you go with them, I want you to be on your best behavior.” Mason gives her a distraught look, like she made some impossible request. “Decent behavior,” she corrects. She leans close to his ear whispering, “Go easy on them. They’re new.”

“Hey,” Mike warns, a sad crease forming between his eyebrows. Will calls it a pout— which it is not. “I heard that.”

El only grins at him, showing him that it was one hundred percent intentional. She turns back to Mason, pulling him in for a hug. “I’ll visit soon. I promise.”

Mason wraps his tiny arms around her waist, tucking his head into her shoulder. Mike is only a little jealous. It makes sense— El has known him a lot longer than Mike has. Obviously he’s going to feel more comfortable being hugged by a woman who’s known him almost all his life than a strange six-foot-tall man. He’s still envious though.

“I’ll walk you out,” she offers, grabbing Mason’s hand and leading him to the car. They’re only parked a couple slots away, but Mike feels like he’s moving in slow motion. He fumbles with the keys, nearly dropping them on the sidewalk. It’s one of those moments that hardly feels real— like time is syrupy, and he’s viewing himself from outside his body.

They’re taking home a kid. A real kid. Mason is going to get in their car and live with them for the foreseeable future. He’ll be entirely their responsibility. It’s so strange. This is what Mike imagined it was like when he believed that storks dropped babies off on parents’ doorsteps.

Once they get to the curb, El goes in one last time, squeezing the life out of Mason.

“I’ll be back soon,” he grumbles, trying to wiggle his way out of her grasp. That one, Mike doesn’t think he was supposed to hear.

“Have faith,” El tells him, before standing up straight. “Are you guys alright? Do you need anything?” she asks Will and Mike.

Will shakes his head. “No, we’re good.”

El steps over to him, wrapping him in a one-armed hug. “Call me.”

“We will,” he replies into her hair. With a wave to Mike, and a final one to Mason, El slips back into the building.

A painful silence follows. What do they do now? They’re in possession of a child. What do you do with a child? What do you say to a child? It’s not like Mike lacks experience with them— he talks in front of a huge crowd of them for six hours a day. But rarely one-on-one. Rarely alone. Somehow this is scarier.

Will cracks first, opening the car door for Mason. He holds out a hand. “Do you want me to put those in the trunk for you?” he asks, referring to his bags.

Mason keeps the same sour look on his face, shoving his suitcase in the backseat and climbing in beside it.

“Oh, alright,” Will mutters, clearly taken aback. He gazes over at Mike, who can only shrug. Will shakes his head, crouching in front of the open door. “You know we’re not gonna take that from you, right? It’s yours. You can keep it,” he assures gently. Mike almost melts. Will has always been amazing with kids.

Mason crosses his arms, turning his head the other way.

Well, it looks like they’re getting nowhere with that. It seems like Will is going to say more, but Mike cuts him off with a hand on his shoulder. Will tilts his head back at him, and upon seeing his face of defeat, stands up off the ground. Mike shuts the back door, making his way to the driver’s side.

Glancing in the rearview mirror at Mason’s tense posture, he can’t help but crack a joke as he starts the ignition. “You got stacks of money in there?” Mason meets his eyes, and jeez they’re cold. “Drugs? A body? I won’t tell, I promise.”

“Clothes,” he corrects, like Mike is stupid. Hey, it’s better than nothing. Mike can handle being perceived as stupid. He can’t handle being invisible. That’s why he opens his big fat mouth all the time when the situation definitely does not call for it. Like five seconds ago, for instance.

“Right. Well— hey, are you hungry? We can go get something. Or cook— anything you want. Pretend it’s your birthday,” he says, and then upon realizing he isn’t positive that’s not the case, adds, “Oh shit— when is your birthday?”

“August third.”

Damn, they just missed it. That was barely a month ago. Next year they’re going all out— if they even make it a year, which, judging by Mason’s current mood, doesn’t seem likely.

“We’ll keep that in mind,” Will smiles softly, spinning around in his seat to face Mason. “How do you feel about pizza? We don’t even have to leave the house.”

Mason hesitantly nods. “That’s fine. I don’t care.”

“Cool. What kind do you like?”

“Anything,” he shrugs, turning to the window. “Whatever you eat.”

“Oh, come on,” Mike says, not believing it for a second. “You have to have a favorite. Toppings, pizza place— give us something.”

Mason scrunches up his nose judgmentally. “Favorite pizza place? It’s all the same.”

Mike gasps, hand on his heart. When he sees Mason jump at the noise, he lowers his voice. “It’s not ‘all the same.’ All pizza is not created equal.”

Will laughs quietly at him, setting a hand on his arm to calm him down. “There’s a Little Caesars down the road from us. How about we go there?” he asks, settling their argument before it could get too heated. And it would have; Mike is very serious about his pizza.

Mason mumbles a “sure” from the backseat, resuming his sightseeing out the window next to him. None of them attempt to make conversation after that, letting the radio fill the silence between them. They soon pull into their driveway, and Mike makes sure to let Mason grab his own bags on the way in.

Mike adores his house— mostly because it’s his. It’s not huge— just a simple one-story with cute little windows and a small flower bed out front. There’s a tree they planted a few years ago, still far from fully grown, and dying grass from the California sun. It’s painted a soft yellow, which was about as crazy as they could go given the neighborhood’s annoying regulations. All adults are allergic to fun, apparently.

They make their way to the tiny porch, home to a patio swing and a couple plant pots sitting on the railing. Mike unlocks the light brown door and pushes it open, stepping to the side to allow Mason to enter first.

Mason drags his suitcase up the lip of the door, keeping his eyes on the floor in front of him as he slows to a stop in the middle of the living room, not bothering to look around. He turns to Mike and Will, watching them impatiently, like he’s waiting for something. A tour, Mike supposes. They should do that.

“This is the living room,” Mike motions a hand to his right, smiling nervously. “There’s the couch, and the TV, and the bookshelf we use mostly for movies.” Mason spares a single glance in that direction, looking for exactly two seconds, before returning his gaze back to Mike with that unenthused expression again. He wishes more than ever that he could read minds right about now. What does this kid want?

“Um, that’s the kitchen,” he continues, undeterred, pointing to his left. “Help yourself to whatever you want. That’s the guest bathroom,” he says, gesturing to the door on their right as he leads them down the hallway, and then to another just ahead of it. “The office. Directly across is your bathroom. No one else will be using that one, so everything is yours. And finally,” he stops in front of the first door on the left, barely containing his excitement as he lays his hand on the knob. “Your room.”

Mason practically pushes past him in his hurry to get in. So that’s what he wanted. Makes sense— a teenage boy needing privacy. This time, he does take the opportunity to look around. Mike thinks they did a pretty good job setting everything up, if he says so himself. The ceiling only has a little paint on it, thanks to Mike’s inability to color within the lines, but Will’s section looks great. The bed has been made, complete with the red, blue, and yellow quilt that Joyce made Mike over five years ago. The spare TV has been set up in the corner, complete with a yellow bean bag. It reminds him a bit of his basement back in Indiana.

“I hope you like it,” Will says, slowly following Mason into the room. “If not, just let us know.

Mason doesn’t really seem like he’s listening all too much, grabbing the open door to peek behind it. “There’s no lock,” is all he says, turning back to them expectantly.

“No, just our room and the bathroom,” Will confirms, his eyes flashing with worry. “Do you want one? We can get you one.”

Mason nods, returning his attention back to the rest of the room. Mike and Will share a look of concern. That was really the first thing he noticed? Out of everything in this house, his first words were requesting a lock?

Contrary to popular opinion, Mike isn’t actually stupid. Not even he wanted a lock on his room this badly when he was a kid— and he had a nosey mother. This is for Mason’s safety. He deems it necessary to have an emergency system in place to protect himself from them. Mike knew he must have gone through some stuff before, but… this is troubling.

“Is that an N64?” Mason breaks Mike out of his thoughts, suddenly a lot more expressive than he had been previously.

“Yeah,” Will says, grinning, definitely giving himself a pat on the back for that one. “We thought it might be nice for you to have it in here, so you don’t have to go out into the living room every time you want to play. The TV isn’t connected to cable right now, but it could be, if you want.”

Mike almost thinks he sees Mason smile for a second, before he turns his back to them, looking at the gaming setup instead. Mike gives Will a low-five for that one.

Mason makes his way back over to them, sitting on his bed. “So what are the rules?” he asks with a small sigh, as if he’s been dreading bringing this up.

“Rules?” Mike quirks a brow, confused.

“Yeah, like, of the house,” Mason says, like it should be obvious.

Rules. Right. They… did not think this far ahead. Mike quickly looks over at Will, who doesn’t seem to have any ideas either. “Uh… let us know when you’re going out?” Mike finally answers. He thinks that’s reasonable enough.

“And?”

“And…” he stalls, recollecting all the rules that his mom set for him when he was a kid. No back talking, no leaving the dinner table early, lights out by ten. They all seem so… restrictive. Especially for a kid they just met. Mike doesn’t want to overwhelm him on his first day.

“Look, can I be honest with you?” he asks. When Mason nods, he kneels down on the floor in front of him. “We don’t really know what we’re doing. We’re kind of trying to follow your lead here. We want to adapt to your life, not the other way around. I know moving can be really stressful. Trust me, when we bought this house I was freaking out. We want to make this as easy on you as possible, alright? So no rules. If you need us to do anything different, just let us know.”

Mason stares at him for a long moment, blinking. Then, he slowly nods.

Mike smiles, standing up. He thinks that went alright. That might have been the first thing he’s said that Mason reacted well to— or, didn’t react badly to. “Cool. We’ll leave you alone now. Our room is at the end of the hall— the one with the double doors. Come get us if you need anything, okay?”

Mason nods once again, and Mike follows Will outside, shutting the door behind them. Will leans up against the wall, breathing out a sigh of relief. Mike laughs out the remainder of his nerves, scooping him up in a hug and kissing him on top of his hair. “That went… not horrible.”

“Better than I thought it would, actually,” Will agrees, tipping his head back to peck Mike on the lips. “So did you want to get the pizza, or…”

Mike groans, setting his forehead on his shoulder. “Can’t we order delivery? I’m exhausted.”

Will chuckles at him, petting the back of his neck. “That’s fine. But you’re calling.”

“Deal,” Mike says, interlocking their pinkies by their sides. He lifts their hands to his mouth to plant a quick kiss to Will’s knuckles, before pushing off of him and walking over to the phone.

The food arrives about twenty minutes later, interrupting his and Will’s Saturday cuddle time. He can’t even complain about it— he’s starving. And besides— they’ve had hundreds of those over the years. It’s the start of an era. Time for new traditions to begin.

“Thank you,” he tells the delivery driver, handing him a twenty dollar bill. He takes the boxes out of his hands, and closes the front door with his foot. “Can you get Mason?” he asks Will over his shoulder.

“Yep.”

As he sets the pizza down on the counter, he hears a soft knock from down the hall, and muffled voices that he can’t quite make out. Whatever Will said to coax him out of his room must’ve worked, as Mason trails behind him towards the kitchen.

“Hey,” Mike says. “We got a pepperoni and an everything, I hope that works.”

Mason doesn’t reply— he just grabs a paper plate that Mike had set out and begins loading it with pepperoni pizza. If he’s eating it, it has to be okay, right? Mike can cross pepperoni off the list of foods that Mason hates.

“Can I eat in my room?”

Can he? Should Mike be allowing this? He had expected them to have their first celebratory dinner together, but if Mason isn’t feeling it, he shouldn’t force him. It wasn’t a rule, after all. He turns to Will for support.

“Sure,” Will decides after a moment. “Try not to make a mess.”

Mason spins around to head back to his room. This is probably the last time he’s going to show his face all day, especially since he has his very own gaming console in his room. That was probably a mistake on their part.

Mike stops him just before he reaches his door. “Hey, don’t stay up too late playing video games, alright? We’re going shopping tomorrow.”

“Shopping?” Mason asks, scrunching his nose. “For what?”

“Whatever you need. We definitely missed some stuff when planning. Have a look around tonight and make a list.”

“I don’t need anything,” he argues, disappearing into his room.

“He’s not making a list,” Will says, shaking his head.

No, he’s definitely not. He’s prideful, that’s for sure. And headstrong, and opinionated, and determined. Alright, maybe he is a bit like Mike. Anyway, Mike likes him. This has to work out— no matter how difficult the journey will be. He’ll get Mason out of his shell— he’s sure of it.

Chapter Text

Will wakes up the next morning to a gentle hand carding through his hair. He hums, snuggling closer to the mass of heat in front of him, surrounding him on all sides.

The mass shakes, a puff of breath escaping its nose in a quiet laugh. “Morning. Did you sleep well?” it asks, entirely too amused for the early hour. At least, Will assumes it’s early.

Will tilts his head up, opening one eye and squinting against the light streaming through their windows, only to see Mike staring down at him lovingly. “Shhh,” he says, burying his face back into Mike’s chest to block out the sun.

Will generally tends to wake up later than him most mornings— not because Will hates mornings, and certainly not because Mike likes mornings, but because school, unfortunately, starts at eight. Mike gets ready at around six-thirty, while Will doesn’t have any such obligations. He prefers starting his day after sunrise.

Days like these are somewhat rare, where Will doesn’t awake to a cold, empty bed. He treasures them, basking in the warmth of Mike’s embrace for as long as humanly possible— or, in most cases, until their stomachs pull them away. Will could stay wrapped up here forever.

Which is why he’s annoyed when Mike calls his name, nudging the side of Will’s head with his nose.

“What?” Will groans.

“We should get up,” Mike whispers, maddeningly soft. How can Will be angry at him when he’s being so sweet? “It’s after nine. I don’t know if Mason would get breakfast on his own.”

That’s a good point. Damn. He can’t even argue with it. If Will was staying at a stranger’s house, there’s no way he’d raid their kitchen. Looks like their lazy mornings in are behind them. The payoffs of raising a kid, he guesses.

Will sighs, stretching his arms and back until they turn a pleasant fuzzy feeling. Mike smiles down at him, muttering,“Cute,” before kissing him on the forehead. Will retaliates by surging up to connect their lips, gross morning breath and all.

“Come on, then,” Will says, pulling back the blankets and swinging his legs over the side of the bed, revealing his old man flannel pajamas that Mike always makes fun of him for.

Mike stands and walks to the foot of their bed, holding a hand out. “Let’s go, grandpa,” he jokes, and see? Will gets relentlessly bullied in his own home.

They head out into the hallway, stopping at Mason’s door to see if they can detect any noise coming from inside. Silence. Will debates peeking inside for a quick second to make sure he’s still sleeping, but decides against it. The last thing Mason needs is them invading his privacy; he’d never trust them again.

“What do preteens eat again?” Mike asks as they enter the kitchen, whispering so he doesn’t wake up Mason. He opens the cupboard doors, bending down to the third shelf on the left, where they keep all their breakfast.

Will doubts that Mason would particularly enjoy their usual yogurt and granola. Mike barely tolerates it, but there’s no way Will was going to let him eat Pop-Tarts into his thirties. Their other options are pretty hit-or-miss as well. Oatmeal, toast, eggs— is Mason vegan? No, he had meat last night. He really knows nothing about this kid, huh?

“What about pancakes?” Will suggests, stepping up behind Mike and pulling the box mix off the shelf. “Everyone likes pancakes.”

Mike grabs the box out of his hand, turning to give Will a quick kiss. “Genius. Chocolate chip?” he questions as he makes his way over to the stove. He opens the drawer beneath it, pans clattering as he pulls out the largest one at the bottom of the stack. So much for not waking Mason.

“Obviously,” he replies, getting the chocolate chips out of the cupboard. What’s the point of having pancakes without them? If they’re having a special breakfast, they’re going all out.

Mike moves to fill up their measuring cup with water, but his hand pauses on the tap. “How many should I make?”

“I… don’t know,” Will answers honestly. They usually make ten for the two of them, but how much would a twelve-year-old eat? He’s a growing boy— he probably has a large appetite, right? But is that compared to a child, or an adult man? Could Mason really eat more than them with his tiny stomach? He doubts it. “Fifteen?” he guesses. If they have any left over, they’ll have no problem eating the extras.

Mike nods in acceptance, adding the water accordingly and scooping up the batter. He sprays the pan with cooking oil and begins pouring out the mixture, making four pancakes at a time. Will offers to get another pan and help, but Mike refuses, stubborn as ever. Will is ordered to sit his ass down and relax, so that’s exactly what he does, grabbing a chair and setting one leg on either side of the backrest, rather than just spinning it around so it’s facing forward. He folds his arms over the top, resting his head on them as he watches Mike skillfully wield his spatula.

They stir up a random conversation as they wait for the pancakes to get done, Mike complaining about the office staff at his school— particularly the vice principal.

“I mean, she gives me these eyes— like I set her house on fire, or something. I don’t know if it’s because she somehow found out that I’m gay, or what, but she clearly despises me. Honestly, she’s been bitter since Wyatt was promoted to principal instead of her. Wonder why, lady. Maybe because half the kids are scared—“

Mike immediately snaps his jaw shut as a door creaks open down the hallway. He looks over his shoulder at Will, eyes wide and panicked. He’s here. It’s time.

“Act casual,” Will mouths, gesturing for him to turn back to the stove.

Mason appears moments later, hair tousled and eyes blinking sleepily. He stops the second he sees them, and stands motionless in the entryway. He stares blankly at them, the way he has many times since he arrived yesterday. It’s like he’s waiting for instructions— or maybe even permission.

“Hey,” Will greets, waving him over. If Mason needs an invitation, that’s exactly what he’ll give him. Will isn’t going to let him feel like a stranger in his own home. Mason slowly shuffles his way over to the table, still placing a few feet of space between them. “We’re making pancakes, is that alright?”

“‘S fine,” he shrugs, entirely unconvincing.

“Are you sure? Because you can have something else if you want. It’s no big deal.” Will completely understands where he’s coming from. Growing up, Will was taught “you get what you get and you don’t throw a fit— because if you do throw a fit, your dad will throw a bigger one.” He still struggles with that mindset today, finding it hard sometimes to tell Mike when he doesn’t like a meal that he cooked. Once, he went a whole week eating mushroom soup before Mike discovered that he hates mushrooms.

“No, I like pancakes,” Mason confirms. Will can’t tell if he’s lying, or if he’s just trying really hard to come across as nonchalant. Either way, there’s not much he can do about it unless Mason speaks up.

“They’re almost done,” Mike says. “Have you brushed your teeth?” Mason shakes his head, grimacing as he anticipates what’s coming next. “Go do that and then we can eat, alright?”

Mason sighs, spinning dramatically as he makes his way back to the hallway.

“We haven’t brushed our teeth yet,” Will reminds Mike quietly.

“Shhh,” Mike says with a smile. “He doesn’t need to know that.”

Mason returns a couple minutes later, just as Mike has started plating up the last few pancakes. “Take a seat,” he motions to the dining table behind him. It looks like Mason isn’t getting away with eating in his room this morning. Will sort of agrees— syrup would be a nightmare to clean off the carpet.

Mason sits in the chair closest to the entrance of the kitchen, on the left side of the table to Will. Will turns in his seat to face the table properly as Mike sets the large stack of pancakes in front of them. He grabs three extra plates and utensils, handing one each to Will and Mason.

“How many do you want?” Mike asks Mason, arm out and ready to scoop some onto his plate.

Mason just looks at him, face completely expressionless as if he hadn’t even heard the question. Clearly that isn’t the case, as he responds with a muttered, “I dunno.”

“Okay, well,” he starts, clearly hesitant in how he should go about this. What they don’t tell you when you’re about to have a kid is how to guess the needs of a child who can’t make up their mind. Will owes an apology to his mom; he used to think he was helping her by not being fussy, but apparently he just made her job ten times harder. “How about we start with three? Do you think you can eat that much?”

Mason nods immediately, barely taking time to register the question. Mike slips him three pancakes before giving himself and Will four— less than they would usually eat, but leaving enough wiggle room in case Mason wants more than his share.

Mason picks up his utensils, stabbing his fork into the stack and using his knife to rip it apart. Mike and Will share a look. That’s… an interesting way to cut food.

“Do you want me to cut it for you?” Mike offers.

“I got it,” Mason snaps, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Will makes a mental note to teach him how to properly use a knife in the near future. For now, though, he’ll let him eat in peace.

“Hey Mason?” Will asks as the boy pours syrup all over his plate. Mason freezes for a second, looking up at him with wide eyes, like he’s scared that he’s in trouble. He’s not, obviously, and Will makes sure to quickly let him know that. “Do you have any allergies?”

Mason shakes his head, continuing to drown his pancakes. That’s good. It makes their jobs easier. Less to worry about in terms of potentially fatal disasters.

“What about foods you don’t like?” he continues. “Anything that you won’t eat?”

Mason shakes his head again, shoving a bite into his mouth. Will doubts that’s true— though, it could come down to his own wording of the question. He probably would have said no as well at his age. Will would’ve eaten anything as a kid, even if it made his stomach turn.

“Oh, come on,” Mike prods. “Nothing? You like every food?” Mason remains silent, never allowing his mouth to be empty for more than a second. That’s a Mike tactic— can’t answer his parents’ questions if he’s in the middle of chewing. Mike notices his discomfort at the topic, and lowers his voice to that honey-sweet tone it takes on when someone is in need of reassurance. “I have a whole list of foods I hate. Do you want to hear it?”

Mason doesn’t answer, but he swallows his mouthful and doesn’t move to take another bite. That seems like a tentative “yes” to Will.

“It’s long,” Will warns him, smiling to show that he’s joking. “We’ll probably be here all day.”

“It is not, shut your face,” Mike retorts, kicking him lightly under the table. Turning away from a giggling Will, he tells Mason, “I hate pickles. They’re wet and slimy and bitter. Also parmesan cheese, because it smells like crap. And avocados, and fish, and jello, and pork chops, and raisins, and things that are deep fried when they don’t have to be. And cilantro. I hate cilantro. Your turn,” he says to Will, whose laughter has only gotten stronger at the absurdity of the list. That must be only half, because he can think of a few things Mike missed off the top of his head.

“Tomatoes,” Will states simply. “And mustard.”

Mike leans across the table, cupping his hand over his mouth. “You’re making me look bad,” he whispers loudly.

“You did that yourself,” Will whispers back. “What about you?” he asks Mason. “Can you think of anything?”

Mason thinks for a few moments, scraping his empty plate with his fork, before finally landing on, “Vegetables.”

“Great answer,” Mike says, holding his hand out for a high five. Mason smiles— he smiles— timidly, softly tapping him on the palm. That’s the most expressive he’s been since they met him— the most comfortable, too. This is real progress. “I hope you know that you’re not getting out of eating vegetables entirely, though. Are there any in particular you hate more than the others? Or any that you can stand?”

“I don’t like tomatoes. Or peppers,” he replies, somewhat quietly. Peppers— that must be what he didn’t like on that other pizza yesterday. They’ll steer clear of that from now on. “Carrots are okay. And apples and bananas.”

Will isn’t going to mention that half of those are fruits— he got his answer, and that’s all that matters. “Cool. Thanks for telling us. When we go shopping today we can stop by the grocery store to pick up some food for you. Cereal, snacks— whatever you usually eat.”

“Do you want some more?” Mike asks, gesturing to the four pancakes still on the plate.

Mason looks between them, eyes conflicted. “It’s okay. You can have them.”

“No, no,” Mike says, shaking his head. “If you want them, take them. You’re the kid. You come first. If we want more, I can make more.”

Mason bites his lip, taking one last glance at both of them before slowly reaching forward and grabbing a pancake.

“Take as many as you want,” Mike urges, and Mason places a second on his plate as well, looking down embarrassedly. “There you go,” he grins proudly at him. Mike splits the remaining pancakes between him and Will. “Tell me if you want more, okay?” he says to Mason, who nods in response.

After all the food has been finished, and the dishes have been placed in the sink for Will to take care of later, Mike tells Mason to go get ready for their day out.

“Why are we even going shopping?” he complains, and it looks like their time with sweet, shy Mason has come to a close. It was nice while it lasted. “I have everything I used at the shelter.”

“Well, for one, we want to buy you a phone,” Mike replies. “El mentioned that you don’t have one. We’d like a way to get in touch with you when you’re at school, or if you’re home alone.”

Will swears that Mason’s eyes literally shine as he trains them on Mike. “A phone?”

“Yeah,” Mike confirms, smirking as he obviously notices Mason’s sudden interest as well. “Is that alright with you?”

He nods rapidly.

Will chuckles to himself. “Alright, then get dressed so we can go.”

Much more energized than before, for some weird, unknown reason, Mason retreats back into his bedroom. Huh. Who knew that bribing kids makes them more compliant?

“Is he… excited?” Mike teases, looking at Will in shock.

“Seems like it,” he shrugs, wrapping his arms around Mike’s waist side-on. Will leans his head back and stares up at him, smiling. “Today’s going pretty well. Maybe this whole parenting thing won’t be so hard. He probably just needed time to adjust yesterday.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Mike agrees.

Will shouldn’t open his mouth ever again. Thirty minutes later, as they’re pulling into the outlet mall parking lot, Mason throws his head back onto the seat behind him. “Why can’t we get the phone first?”

Parenting is hard. He never should have doubted that. That was a stupid, stupid mistake. Of course this won’t be easy. Mason would never let them enjoy a nice day out shopping— why would he? It’s his job as a teenager to test their limits, pushing and pushing and pushing until they go crazy. This is only phase one.

“Because, if we got you the phone first, you’d bug us to take you home,” Mike explains, much more patient than Will had expected. He doesn’t have a great temper— not with people other than Will. Luckily, the exception seems to transfer over to anyone he regularly takes care of.

Mason sighs— or, more like groans. “How long is this gonna take?”

“Well, if you made your list, it should take no time at all,” Will says, knowing for a fact that he hasn’t opened a single drawer in his room. “Otherwise we’ll have to go up and down every aisle and point at each item to ask if you’ve got it.”

“Why does it matter?”

At this, Will takes a mental step back. Mason really doesn’t understand. He’s not being argumentative just for the sake of it— well, not entirely. He genuinely doesn’t know what it’s like to have people care for him. Or, if he does, it’s certainly not the norm.

Mason is going to push against them. They’re just going to have to push harder.

“Because we want you to be comfortable,” Will answers. “We set aside a lot of money for this trip, and you’re going to use all of it. We’re not going home until you spend every penny. Got it?”

Mason slides down in his seat, crossing his arms. “Fine,” he mumbles.

True to his word— if only to make a point— Will quite literally drags him down each and every aisle. From an outsider’s perspective, it would almost look like he and Mike were kidnapping the kid. And for what? Because they want to buy him things? If Will was his age, he’d be thrilled about this. All life experiences are different, he guesses, but come on. It’s stuff. Everyone likes stuff.

“Socks?” Mike asks, gesturing to the display as they walk by.

“I have socks,” Mason rolls his eyes, like that was a stupid suggestion.

“Do you want more? We can get more.”

“No,” he says adamantly, for the millionth time today. Their cart is still pretty much empty, and Will can tell that he’s getting sick of this.

“How about a winter coat?” Will tries.

Mason scrunches up his nose in judgement. “It’s summer.”

“Well do you have one?” he presses. Mason shakes his head. Oh, thank god— not that he’s been going cold for the past however many winters, but that they at least have somewhere to start. “Then we should be prepared. Just look at them, okay? If you hate them all then we can come back in fall.”

Mason reluctantly agrees, stomping over to the jacket rack. He begins sifting through them with a scowl on his face. Will sort of feels like he’s torturing him. As much as he wants to, he has no idea how to make things more enjoyable for Mason.

Will shakes his head, making his way to the opposite side of the rack to sort through his own wall of jackets. He doesn’t think he’s moving the process along any quicker since he has absolutely no clue what Mason’s taste in clothing is like, but it’s something to do to pass the time. Mike joins his side, not doing much but observing over his shoulder.

“Mr. Byers?”

Will nearly doesn’t look up, barely recognizing that as his own name. When he does, Mason’s eyes are already on him. He’s holding up a red puffer jacket with cute little yellow pockets. “Is this alright?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Will nods, rounding the display to stand in front of him. It’s not the warmest jacket, but it’s the only thing Mason has shown genuine interest in since they got here. If they need to buy him an actual coat later on, he’s totally okay with that. “Whatever you want. Does it fit?” Mason shrugs, so Will takes the hanger out of his hands, pulling the jacket off. “Here, let’s try it on.”

Will slings it around his shoulders, and Mason slides his arms through the sleeves. It’s slightly too big on him, but Will presumes that’s a good thing. Winter isn’t for another few months anyway. It gives him room to grow. Honestly, he would have bought it even if it was three sizes too big. Mason looks adorable in it. Red is definitely his color.

“It’s cute,” Will says, and Mason grimaces to distract from the blush on his cheeks. “And you can call me Will, you know. You’re not staying with us as a guest— it’s your home, too. We want you to feel welcome.” Not to mention the fact that Will barely even lets his doctor call him Mr. Byers. That will always and forever be his father’s name.

Mason nods. “Okay… Will.”

Will gives him a private smile, before Mike comes up behind him, completely oblivious. “Hey, I completely forgot!” he says to Mason, eyes bright and excited. “It’s almost Halloween! We should get your costume while we’re here. What were you thinking?”

“I’m not dressing up,” Mason replies.

“What? Why not?”

“‘Cause,” he shrugs casually, the embodiment of cool and uncaring. Will remembers what it was like being in middle school, and the pressures everyone felt to grow up faster than they had to. He guesses Mason is at that age where trick-or-treating is out. But then Mason lowers his voice, as if he’s worried someone might overhear, and says, “I don’t have anyone to go with.”

Oh. Now Will is going to cry. “You don’t have any friends?”

Mason’s face is still stoic, but he can see a sliver of embarrassment shine through. He’s putting on a tough act, but Will can tell it bothers him. He is a good actor, that’s for sure. “No. Friends are dumb.”

Will glances at Mike, who looks just as brokenhearted as he does about this. They never got along great with their peers, but at the very least they had each other; they had their friends. School wouldn’t have been possible without them. Will can’t even imagine it.

“Well, hey,” Mike sets a hand on Mason’s shoulder. “We can go with you. How about that?”

Expecting Mason to light up at the idea, Will is surprised when he stares horrified at Mike, like he just suggested they roll around in dog poop. “No way.”

“What?” Mike asks, equally as shocked. “What’s wrong with that?”

“You’re lame,” he says, like it should’ve been clear— like it’s an obvious fact. In hindsight, maybe it was. Mason is still twelve, and they’re still in their late twenties. Going trick-or-treating with adults at that age is like a death sentence, parents or not. Will was begging Jonathan not to join him at the ripe old age of thirteen.

“I am not!” he protests, genuinely offended. “You’d really rather not go at all than be seen with me?”

“Yep.”

“Let it go, Mike,” Will says, consoling him with a pat on the back. “We’re old now.”

Mike frowns at him, opening his mouth to argue, when Mason interrupts. “Can we get my phone now?”

Will eyes the baren cart and sighs. It seems like that’s as good as they’re getting. At least they have some stuff in there. If Mason needs more later, he can tell them. (He won’t, but saying it will help Will sleep at night.) “Fine, that’s good enough.” He adds Mason’s new jacket to the pile, pushing the cart towards the checkout. “You know, back in Mike’s day they didn’t even have cell phones.”

“Oh, shut up. Don’t start,” Mike chides, shoving him in the arm. Will just laughs, staggering to the side to stay upright.

It turns out, buying a phone isn’t nearly as exciting as Mason had expected it to be. He spends the entire time either fidgeting restlessly by Will’s side, or wandering around the store while Mike discusses payment plans with the worker that’s assisting them. It takes nearly an hour before Mason even gets to choose a phone. When the time comes, he’s prepared, immediately walking over to a display case and pointing to one in the middle.

It’s red, of course, with black detailing. A Nokia phone that came out last year— definitely within their price range, but even if it wasn’t, they would have bought it anyway. Mason deserves it, after being so patient all day.

Exiting the shop with a bag in hand, Mason practically sprints to the car. He’s smiling again, this time lasting for longer than a couple seconds. Improvement.

“You want to set it up?” Mike asks as they settle into the car.

Mason wastes no time reaching into the bag, pulling out a box. He opens the lid, removing the thin sheet of styrofoam, and lifts out his shiny new phone. He looks over all the buttons, eyes wide with wonder, and presses one in the middle. His face literally lights up as the screen powers on. He kneels behind the center console, extending his arm between the front seats to show them his phone. “How do I use it?”

“First things first, I want to put our numbers in,” Mike says, making a motion for Mason’s phone. He hands it to him. “Call us whenever you need, alright?” Mike navigates the settings, furrowing his brow when he realizes he made a mistake somewhere, having to go back a couple pages and start again.

Mason nods, waiting patiently for Mike to finish typing out his and Will’s numbers. When he’s done, he hands it back to Mason, who scans over Mike’s work curiously.

Will does the same, noticing that he only added their cell numbers. He turns to Mason, contemplating asking for the phone, but he feels like that would be cruel. He just got it back, and he’s clinging onto it for dear life. “Do you want to try adding one?” Will tries instead. “Our home phone?”

Mason mutters a “sure,” attempting to copy Mike’s actions of a few seconds ago. He manages to pull up a new contact, waiting for Will to tell him the number. He types it in correctly, pressing the arrow key to scroll over to the contact name. “There’s no keyboard,” he says, looking up at Will in confusion.

He points to the number pad. “Do you see those letters down there? That’s your keyboard. You’ll need an H. Can you find it?” Mason searches the buttons until he lands on the number four, pointing to it. “Yeah!” Will confirms proudly. He realizes that he might be coming across a little condescending. He sounds like he’s a protagonist in a show for three-year-olds. Mason doesn’t complain though, so Will continues.

“See how it’s the second letter? You need to press it twice.” Mason does just that, except his comes out as two g’s instead. He frowns, glancing up at Will expectantly. “Do it faster. Two in a row,” he explains.

Mason presses the backspace before trying again, successfully typing an H. “I did it,” he smiles, before realizing that he did so and dropping it immediately.

“You did,” Will replies happily, patting him on the arm. “Now do the O.” Mason pinches his mouth, finding the correct button and getting it first go. He hesitates after that, scanning for the M. “It’s another six,” Will tells him, pointing to where his finger is already settled. Mason ignores him, instead moving his thumb down and to the left, pressing two times. U.

Will stays silent, watching as Mason completes the word “house.” It’s not a big deal— a synonym, really. But obviously it’s a big deal to Mason, who went out of his way to go against Will’s instructions. Their house is just somewhere to live for him. A shelter. Clearly, it’s not his home.

“Alright, good,” Will mutters. He’s not bothered by it. And he definitely won’t let Mason think he’s bothered by it. He needs time— Will gets it. It’s whatever.

“Can I have Miss El’s number?” Mason suddenly asks.

Will nods immediately. “Yeah, sure,” he responds, a bit surprised. He knew they were close, but not sharing numbers kind of close. Mason pulls up another contact, gaze on Will, who freezes, turning to Mike instead.

“You don’t know your sister’s number?” Mike asks incredulously. Will shrugs, guilty. So maybe he doesn’t have it completely memorized— why would he? He has it down in their mini, handwritten phone book. Besides— this is Mike’s job. Will keeps him around for a reason. Mike sighs, shaking his head, and switches his attention to Mason. “818-555-2738.”

Mason hurries to punch it in, saving her contact as MISS ELLE. That might be the sweetest thing Will has ever seen, especially given the way he’s softly smiling down at his work.

“Do you want to give her a call?”

Mason lifts his head back up, meeting Will’s eyes. “Can I?”

“Of course you can,” he replies. “I’m sure she’d love to hear from you.”

He instantly presses the call button in the corner, lifting the phone up to his ear as it starts to ring. On the third round, Mason’s face shifts into near fear as the line goes quiet, before El’s muffled voice cuts through. “Hi,” he says in response to something Will can’t quite make out; hello, probably. Mason listens silently before rolling his eyes. “I’m fine. No, they’re here.”

Mason is talking about them. Them! El asked, but still. They’re a part of his life now.

“Put her on speaker,” Mike whisper-shouts obnoxiously, cupping his hand around his mouth as if it’s some top secret piece of information.

Mason scrunches his nose, pulling the phone away as he leans forward to hear better. “What?”

Mike makes grabby hands for the phone, and Mason passes it to him slowly, looking at him like he thinks Mike is absolutely insane. Mike ignores it, pressing a single button and holding the phone out between them. “El?”

“Oh, hello Mike,” she says. “What’s going on? This isn’t your number.”

Will nudges Mason lightly on the shoulder, mouthing, “Tell her.”

“I got a phone,” Mason answers, almost shy. He’s so sweet. Will can’t help the huge grin that breaks out on his face.

El breathes out a sigh or relief. What had she thought was happening? That he was kidnapped? Or that they were stranded in the middle of nowhere and were calling from a phone booth?

Or Mason was calling from a phone booth. Alone. She did say that he frequently runs away. Is that something she’s worried about? Should he be worried about that?

“Really?” she asks. “That’s nice. Did you say ‘thank you’ to Mike and Will?”

Mason lowers his head, avoiding their gaze. “Thanks,” he mutters, barely audible. Will doesn’t mind. He didn’t even need a thank you. It never hurts, though. It’s nice to be appreciated— and to know that he actually is appreciated by Mason. Will gets that it’s been hard on him, but sometimes it feels like he and Mike have done nothing but mess up since he came home with them.

“You’re welcome,” Will replies genuinely. “Did you maybe want El to visit? Next weekend, or something?”

“Tomorrow?” Mason proposes instead, staring at Will with big, hopeful, devious eyes. Damn. He can’t say no to that.

“If El is free, I guess that’s fine,” he concedes. He could probably argue something about a school night, but he really doesn’t care enough. Mason is setting his own bedtime for the time being, and Will doesn’t want to impose a new rule unless it becomes a problem.

El laughs through the phone. “I’m sure I can get off a couple hours early. But you have to make me dinner.”

“Duh,” Mike says. “You steal our food all the time.”

“Shush, I do not,” she playfully denies. “Don’t you have a kid to look after?”

“Don’t you have fifty?” he retorts.

“Seventeen. And yes. So I’m going to hang up now. I’ll see you tomorrow, Mason, alright? Have a nice day at school.”

“Yeah,” Mason says. “See you tomorrow. Bye.”

“Bye,” she returns, before the line cuts out.

Will gives him a small smile as he grabs his phone back from Mike. “You ready to go home?” Home. To the place they abide. To the property that they own. Mason’s potentially temporary housing. That’s all he sees it as, anyway.

Will knows Mason’s answer before he says it— even though he has been saying it all day. Constantly. “Yes. Please.”

That was a successful trip, wasn’t it? For the most part, at least. Mason seems to be in a better mood than yesterday; if they keep improving like this, he’ll feel at home in no time. Right?

It’s only a matter of time before they really click.

Chapter Text

The next morning is definitively more chaotic than the one previous. It’s Monday— Mason’s first day of school since moving into his new home. Mike set his alarm thirty minutes early last night to make sure that he has enough time to help Mason with whatever he might need. Breakfast, mostly, if he hasn’t already started eating the new cereal they bought him.

Will yawns, rubbing his eyes as he sits up. Mike pauses with the covers pulled halfway off, his legs already swung over the edge of the mattress. “No— hey. You sleep in,” Mike tells him. “I’ll be back after work.”

Will sleepily shakes his head. “It’s his first day. I want to help.” His body betrays his words as he lets out another yawn, eyes repeatedly blinking shut. Still, he forces himself out of bed.

Mike does them both a favor and admits defeat. Will is the most stubborn person alive; not even the flu could keep him in bed today.

They make their way into the kitchen, stopping when they see it’s empty. Huh. The bathroom light wasn’t on either. Is he getting dressed?

“He’s up, right?” Mike asks, as if Will would know any better than he does.

“I… don’t know,” he admits. “Is that our job now?

“I assumed he had an alarm clock back at the shelter. Shit, should we have bought an alarm clock?” This is a disaster. How have things already gone wrong? They should have asked Mason what his morning schedule was beforehand. He’s a horrible guardian.

“Well, I mean, it’s not late,” Will says. “We can just wake him up now, and plan better for tomorrow.”

Mike nods. “Right, that’s a good idea.” When Will stares at him expectantly, unmoving, Mike realizes what he was really trying to suggest. “I’ll go get him.”

“Yeah, you do that,” he says, laughing at Mike behind his back as he hurries down the hallway.

Mike stops outside Mason’s door. He knocks, to no reply. Mason is asleep. Or ignoring him. That’s a definite possibility. Either way, Mike creaks open the door, slowly popping his head inside in case Mason is in the middle of changing, or something. He isn’t. He’s fast asleep on his bed, curled up into a tight ball with his blankets hugged up to his chest.

He might be the most adorable kid Mike has ever seen in his life— and he has a lot of nieces and nephews.

Mike kneels down in front of him, reaching a hand out to shake his shoulder. He pauses. Should he touch him? Mason has never seemed to be very comfortable with that. It feels like a bad idea.

He drops his arm to the mattress, tapping it a couple times instead. “Mason,” he whispers. “Mason, wake up.”

Mason slowly blinks open his eyes. As they meet Mike’s form hovering beside him, they snap wide, and he flinches back in alarm.

“It’s just me,” Mike says quickly, resisting the urge to reach out again. Poor kid; what has he been through to make him jump like that? Mike supposes that his reassurance doesn’t mean much to him— it’s people like him that scared Mason in the first place.

Mason seems to relax slightly as Mike sits back on his heels, removing his hands from the bed and hiding them behind his back. “It’s 6:15,” he continues. “I didn’t know if you wanted to start getting ready now.”

“Okay,” Mason says, then stares at Mike blankly. Okay as in yes? Is he agreeing? Is he simply acknowledging Mike’s statement? “Can you get out?”

Right. Of course. He should have guessed that from absolutely nothing. “Yes, sorry,” he apologizes anyway, rising to his feet. He shakes his head as he leaves the room. Teenagers are so confusing.

“How’d it go?” Will asks as he joins him at the kitchen island.

Mike gives him an exasperated look. “I couldn’t tell you.” For all he knows, Mason could be pissed at him for waking him up so early.

Will laughs, patting him on the back sympathetically. Giving him a once over, he smirks and quips, “You going to work in your pajamas?”

Shit. He has to get ready too, doesn’t he? He pouts, leaning his head onto Will’s shoulder. “Can’t I? The kids wouldn’t mind.”

“The kids would bully you for the rest of eternity. Now come on. I’m making coffee.”

Mike instantly perks up. He sniffs the air, glancing over to the counter, and sure enough, there’s a fresh pot of coffee brewing. He turns to Will, wrapping him up in his arms, and nuzzles their heads together. “I love you. You should wake up with me more often.”

“Yeah, no,” Will declines, removing Mike's arms from his waist. He spins him around on the spot, and gives him a light shove. “Get dressed.”

Mike looks over his shoulder, betrayed. Will got up for Mason. Why can’t he do the same for his loving boyfriend? “You like Mason more than me,” he accuses.

“Yeah,” Will responds easily, shrugging. “Now hurry up.”

He’s so rude. Why did Mike ever agree to move in with him?

A polo and a pair of jeans later, Mike re-enters the kitchen with freshly brushed teeth and hair. He notices that Will has already downed half a cup of coffee, not bothering to wait for him to return. That’s just cruel.

Before he can complain, the door to Mason’s bathroom opens, and he steps out into the hallway. He slowly moves into the kitchen as Mike takes a mug out of the cabinet and pours himself a cup.

“Hey,” Will says from behind him. “You look nice. Are you excited for school?”

Mike goes to answer, until he hears Mason reply, “I guess.”

Wow. He really does like Mason more. This is betrayal. Twenty-four years down the drain, all for a kid they met last month. Mike spins around, offended. “Are you not going to tell me I look nice?”

Will rolls his eyes, grabbing Mason’s cereal from the pantry. “Do you need me to?”

“I don’t think I should need my boyfriend to make me feel loved,” he huffs, turning his nose up indignantly.

“I’m sorry I’m paying more attention to the twelve-year-old,” Will says sarcastically. “I figured you could go a few seconds without affection, but I guess not.”

“You’re so mean to me. We used to be so happy together. When did you fall out of love?”

Will opens his mouth to rebut, but pauses as he catches sight of Mason. Mike turns to see what’s wrong, only to discover Mason frozen in fear. He’s watching them with wide eyes, still as a statue, as if moving would cause them to take out their frustrations on him instead.

Mike knows that look. Will has worn it way too many times.

“We’re just kidding,” Will is quick to assure him. “It’s not a real fight, I promise. It’s just a joke.”

“Yeah, totally kidding,” Mike agrees. Mason snaps his head in his direction, still frightened like a deer in headlights. “We love each other a lot. Right?” he asks Will, who nods in response. Mike emphasizes his point by leaning in for a quick peck to the cheek. “We just like to play around sometimes for fun. We can tone it down, though.”

Mason shakes himself out of it, putting on his mask of disinterest once again. “It’s fine. I don’t care.”

He does. Obviously. Mike hates that he feels the need to hide this from them— that he feels like he’s not allowed to be scared.

Mason hurriedly takes a seat at the table, pouring the cereal Will set out for him. Will hesitates before sitting in the chair next to him. “You know, I hate when people argue, too. It’s really scary.”

“I’m not scared,” Mason grumbles, stirring his bowl.

“Okay,” Will says. Mike can tell that he doesn’t believe him, but he doesn’t press further.

By the time breakfast is finished, it’s nearly 7:30. “You changed my address on record at the school, right?” Mason asks as he puts his packed lunch into his backpack.

Mike glances over at Will, who looks equally as lost at him. Address? For what? Packages?

“For the bus?” Mason adds, like it should be obvious. Knowing their answer already, he groans, tipping his head toward the ceiling. “I can’t walk. I don’t know where I’m going.”

Walking? The bus? Why would he need the bus if Mike is already heading out to work anyway? “No, I’m driving you to school,” Mike clarifies. He guesses that Mason is used to taking the bus to and from the shelter. It’s not like El could have taken him.

“Really?” he asks, surprised. This shouldn’t be that big of a deal. Have no other homes ever driven him before? Did they all have early morning jobs?

“Yeah, of course,” Mike says, grabbing the keys off the counter. “I’m picking you up, too. 3:25 at the latest. I know it’s a bit of a wait, but kids like to ask questions after class, and the parking lot is a nightmare.”

“That’s okay. The bus comes later.”

“I’ll see you two after school,” Will says, pulling Mike in for a quick goodbye kiss. He only smiles at Mason, waving.

“Bye, love,” Mike replies. “Have a nice day. I’ll miss you.” With a final barrage of air kisses, he slips out the door behind Mason.

Mike always despised school growing up. At least, he hated middle school. High school was arguably worse, but junior high always held a special place of hatred in his heart. Which makes it extremely ironic that this is how he decided to spend the rest of his life.

It might have been a silly career choice, but he’s ultimately happy where he is. He had a special teacher growing up; one that made fifth through eighth grade bearable. Mike doesn’t think he would have made it without Mr. Clarke. He ignited his passion for science, and, truthfully, saved his life. Middle school was genuinely the lowest he’s ever been.

That’s why he even chose this path to begin with. He wants to be that teacher for someone. He wants to be the guy kids come to when they’re bullied. He wants to be a safe space to eat lunch when the cafeteria isn’t an option. He wants to be a teacher for kids who genuinely care about learning.

The issue is that most kids don’t care. Some do. Some are beacons of light, making each day worth it. Most just don’t understand him.

And that’s fine. He’s used to being the weird kid. Some things never change. He’s a middle school outcast, and he always will be. All that matters is that the other outcasts have a place to be themselves.

It does mean, however, that he’s pretty exhausted by the end of the day. The ends are the best part, though. His favorite kids all crowd around his desk to chat while waiting for their parents to pick them up. He probably shouldn’t have favorites, but he’s not going to lie about it. Some children are more likeable than others.

“Guys, I’d love to talk, but I have to go pick someone up,” Mike says, rising from his desk.

“Your foster kid?” a girl to his left asks. Sarah. She’s a bright one.

“Yes,” he replies, after a short pause. He regrets ever telling them about Mason. He was just excited, okay? It was new, and the class was asking why there was a sub last month. But they won’t stop begging for weekly updates, and now that Mason is really here, Mike feels like he’s invading his privacy by gossiping about him to a room of thirty children.

The few students still left gasp in excitement. “Why doesn’t he go here?” another inquires.

“And why doesn’t your wife pick him up?” Sarah adds.

“Because his school is closer to where he used to live, and it’s not necessary to move him. And my partner has work,” he answers, grabbing his shoulder bag from the ground. “Now what did I say about questions?”

“Sorry.”

Mike shakes his head, smiling. He can’t blame them. Kids are naturally curious— especially those with a passion for learning. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye, Mr. Wheeler,” Sarah says, waving.

He waves back, stepping out the door. He begins the short walk to the parking lot, where a sudden influx of cars have parked. Even worse are the ones sitting directly behind his own, waiting for their slow children to stop talking with their friends, without a care in the world for the people they’re holding up.

Mike sighs, fiddling with the radio since he knows he'll be sitting here for a while. He makes it to Mason’s school by 3:27– oops. Hopefully Mason isn’t a stickler for punctuality. Will is, and Mike doesn’t go a day without getting an earful from him.

Mike pulls up to the drop-off lane, shooting Mason a quick text to let him know that he’s here. It takes less than a minute for the passenger door to open, Mason hopping right in. He’s probably too short to safely ride up front, but Mike lets it slide. He’s a careful driver anyway.

“Hey dude,” Mike greets as Mason buckles his seatbelt, internally cringing the second his own ears hear it. Dude? They’re not buddies. That’s his temporary kid. “How was school?”

“Fine,” he shrugs, crossing his arms. Mike drives away as soon as it’s safe, because he's a rational person who doesn’t take up precious parking space just to chat.

“Just fine? That’s all I get?”

Mason just shrugs again.

“Come on,” Mike goads. “What did you do? Learn anything interesting? Make a new friend?”

“No,” he replies, annoyed, though Mike doesn’t know which part he was referring to. He feels like his mom right now, desperately trying to pull any bit of information out of a kid who wants nothing but to be alone.

“Well my day was great,” he tries instead. “We’re starting velocity in physics, which is my favorite unit. And we’re reading Much Ado About Nothing, which I don’t really enjoy that much, but it’s not bad.”

“Is that Shakespeare?”

“Yeah!” Mike says enthusiastically. He’s conversing! He’s actually trying! “You like him?”

“No, I hate him.” Oh. Well, it’s still something. No kids like Shakespeare at his age.

“It can be a little boring,” he admits. “But wait until you get to Hamlet. It’s my favorite. What are you guys reading? Seventh grade, right?”

Mason nods. “Just short stories. We’re working on essays and grammar.”

“That’s important. Your eighth grade teacher will thank you. We do a lot more writing.”

“More?” Mason groans, sinking into his seat.

Mike just chuckles. “Yes, more. It only gets worse from here. Just wait until college— ten page papers will be nothing to you. You know how many I needed to write to get my credential?”

“How many?”

“Fifty.”

“No way,” Mason says, shaking his head. “You’re lying.”

“I am not,” Mike defends. He would never. He spent many sleepless nights worrying about that paper. “Fifty pages in one semester. I wanted to quit teaching altogether.”

“I’m not going to college,” he decides.

“Oh, come on now. I didn’t say it wasn’t worth it. I had a lot of fun in college. There were parties that I didn’t go to, and girls I didn’t date, and drugs I didn’t do. It was a blast.”

Mason furrows his eyebrows at him, confused. “What was even the point, then?”

Mike barks out a laugh. Of course that’s all he cares about. “An education? Living on my own? Cooking my own food, making my own choices? I got to move into a little apartment with Will, and we adopted a dog. We unwound together every afternoon, and went on dates on weekends. It was amazing. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

Mason goes quiet for a minute, considering. “What happened to the dog?” he finally asks.

“She was old. We adopted her from a shelter. It was a good couple years, though. The best.” Mason nods, silent. Mike gets it; it’s not the happiest story. He misses Daisy every day. But she lived a good life with them, and that’s all that matters. “Hey, why don’t you pick out some music,” he suggests, gesturing to the glovebox. “Anything you want.”

Mason opens it, pulling out a black CD pouch. He unzips it, sifting through the pages lined with dozens of CDs they’ve collected throughout the years. “Who are these people?” he asks.

Mike casts a quick glance over, catching a glimpse of Ziggy Stardust. He immediately understands what the issue is. “Oh, that’s Will’s,” he says. “You probably won’t know much in there. Mine’s on the top shelf.”

Mason switches out the cases, bursting into laughter the second he opens it. “Madonna?”

Okay. He doesn’t appreciate getting bullied in his own car. “So what?” he asks defensively, as Mason continues to giggle. Mike cracks a smile of his own, just glad that Mason is having fun. “It was a gag gift from El. You can thank her for that. She says my music taste is ‘basic.’”

“Madonna’s dumb,” he states matter-of-factly.

“Oh yeah? What do you listen to then, if you think your taste is so much better?”

Mason shrugs. “I don’t really listen to music.”

“What?” he exclaims, so loud that Mason jumps a little. He lowers his voice, adding, “Are you serious?” Mason doesn’t reply. Mike nods to the CD case in his hands. “Put that in, then. You have to start somewhere.”

Mason looks at him amusedly, like he’s questioning Mike’s life choices. He only encourages Mason further, gesturing to the CD player.

Mike bangs his head over-enthusiastically as the song begins spilling out of the shitty speakers. Mason bites back a laugh, but Mike saw that smile before he could hide it. He thinks he’s funny.

“I’ll never be an angel,” Mike sings, earning a mortified look from Mason. “I’ll never be a saint, it’s true.”

“You know the words?” he yells, rudely interrupting Mike’s jam. Alright, yes. He listens to the album. It was a gift. It’s only polite. “You’re so embarrassing.”

“Who am I embarrassing you in front of?” Mike challenges. “Your classmates? Come on, live a little.”

“No,” he says, but a small grin peeks out behind his mask of distaste. “Stop, please.”

“Here’s my story!” Mike sings even louder, definitely out of pitch. “No risk, no glory!”

Mason rolls his eyes, sliding even further down his chair. This is fun. They’re having fun.

Pulling into the driveway, Mike notices a familiar car on the street. Mason must not, because he would probably jump straight out of the moving vehicle if he did. Instead, he slowly grabs his backpack from between his feet, trudging his way to the front door behind Mike.

Stepping into the house, Mike’s eyes land on El, who’s talking beside Will on the couch. Mason does the same, pausing in the door frame before sprinting over to El, wrapping her in a tight hug as she stands to greet him. “Miss El! You’re already here!”

Mike isn’t jealous. He isn’t.

“I am,” she says with a smile. “I took the day off work. I didn’t have any meetings lined up, so I just filled out paperwork at home. How was school?”

Mason pulls back with a shrug. “Fine.”

Ha! So it wasn’t just Mike. El doesn’t get any details either, and they’re best friends. Maybe he and Mason are closer than he thought. At least they had a karaoke party. Well, Mike had a karaoke party, and Mason tolerated it.

“How has it been living with these guys?” she asks, gesturing to him and Will, who’s gotten up to greet Mike with a side hug. “Not too bad?”

Mike holds his breath for a response. He knows that this dinner was just an excuse for El to complete her official check-in with Mason, to make sure he’s not being abused, or anything; not necessary to do on her own brother, but understandable. It comes with the job. If Mason is seriously unhappy here, it’s only fair for her to take him away.

“I guess,” Mason says, unenthusiastic.

That… could’ve been worse. Mike will take it. It’s not grounds for losing custody, at least.

El hums in thought. Uh oh. “Mason, do you want to show me your room?”

“Sure,” he agrees, walking in the direction of the hallway, El following after.

That’s just part of the process, right? Checking his living conditions? Or is she just trying to get him alone? To see how he really feels, without the threat of his caretakers hearing and getting angry? He’s going to complain about them behind their backs, isn’t he?

No. They’re making progress. They had fun today. He wouldn’t do that to them. Right?

“Hey,” Will says, snapping Mike out of his thoughts. “How was work?”

“It was alright,” he replies noncommittally. “Nothing crazy to report— thankfully. But, you know, back to school is coming up. That’s always fun,” he says sarcastically. Having to give a presentation to a room of fifty parents and having to engage in small talk afterwards? Absolute hell.

“Yeah,” Will clicks his tongue sympathetically. “And with Mason?”

“Honestly… it went kind of well.”

“Really?” he asks, surprised. Mike doesn’t blame him. He was secretly really nervous about being the one to give Mason rides everyday. Neither of them had been alone with him for more than a couple minutes at a time before. To tell the truth, Mason is sort of scary.

“Yeah. I think I’m really getting through to him. He laughed with me. And we had a whole conversation without him shutting me down!”

Will grins at him proudly. “Well now I’m jealous.”

“Don’t be. I’m sure you’ll get your bonding time with him,” he assures. “Or you could come with us. You could be our personal chauffeur.”

“Nice try,” Will says, turning his back on him to take a seat on the couch. “I’ll just steal him away another time.”

As Mike goes to plant himself beside Will, El walks back into the living room, Mason-less. She moves over to the two, sitting on the chair perpendicular to them. Predicting the question on the tip of Mike’s tongue, El explains, “I told him that I’d hang out with him later if he started his homework. I wanted to check in with you guys first. How has it been going? Not too hard?”

Will turns to Mike, and they share a look. “It’s… been alright,” he answers, unsure.

Mike leans in, adding in a low voice, “Yeah. I mean, it’s not easy. But we didn’t expect it to be. We’re not regretting it, if that’s what you mean.”

“I didn’t think you would,” she says, with a knowing smile. She did choose them for a reason, Mike supposes. Maybe they're just the committed type of guys. “But he’s been alright then? Not making your lives a living hell?”

Will shakes his head, laughing quietly. “No, he’s a sweetheart. The only harm he’s done is on our egos. Mostly, I’ve just been struggling with boundaries. I want to become best friends right away, but I know he needs a bit of space. I’m worried that we’re coming on a little too strong.”

Mike agrees. Mason is too likable. It’s hard not to demand that he spend time with them 24/7. Mike wants to know everything about him. He knows that wouldn’t go over well though, if the way Mason recoils at their touch is anything to go by.

“He’s a bit skittish, isn’t he?” Mike whispers to El. “I mean, obviously I get it; his parents must have been awful for him to end up in the system. And you probably can’t even tell us anything, but I was just wondering— what exactly happened?”

El throws a quick glance over her shoulder at Mason’s bedroom door. Closed tight. She bites her lip in consideration, then suddenly stands up. “Follow me,” she demands, walking over to the exit that leads to their backyard.

Mike and Will obey, stepping out into the warm afternoon air. They shut the door behind them, sealing them off from the light hum of their air conditioner.

El sighs deeply. “You are right— I shouldn’t tell you anything. That’s why you cannot mention this to him, alright? He’s really secretive. But I don’t think he would tell you otherwise.”

Mike nods rapidly, leaning forward in anticipation. Is it bad? Who is he kidding? It’s definitely bad. They wouldn’t have had to go outside if it was as simple as a baby abandoned on a doorstep.

“His parents suck,” El states simply. It’s a surprising choice of words for her; usually, she’d go with something more professional— kind. It would almost be funny, if it weren’t for the grim expression on her face, entirely too serious. “He was placed with us because he showed up to school with a handprint around his neck. His dad’s. As far as we know, there was no evidence of physical harm on his mother’s part, but Mason told police that she would stand by and let it happen.”

Jesus Christ. That’s just… horrific. To a five-year-old? Little Mason had to talk to the police about this? Mike can’t even picture it. How could a person be so cruel?

“He’s been in a few good homes since then,” she continues, after their stunned silence. “Reliable ones that we work with frequently. They were always meant to be temporary though; helping kids get on their feet while we look for something more permanent. He wasn’t happy with others. The last one… it was hard on him. He’s been thinking about it a lot— I can tell.”

“Did they hurt him too?” Will asks, brows drawn in concern.

“I’m not sure,” she regretfully replies. “There were no signs— on him or their other kids. I wouldn’t ask him about it. He can’t know that you know anything about this.”

“Got it,” Mike says. He wishes he could talk to Mason. He just wants to help. If he knows exactly what happened, he’ll know what to avoid. With Will, it’s loud voices, slamming doors, and thrown objects. Mason’s history seems a little more complex.

“Okay, good. Now act natural.” El turns around and opens the door, walking in like nothing happened. Mike isn’t so unfazed, stealing a glimpse at Will, who looks just as worried as he is. Will grabs his hand, giving it a squeeze. It’ll be okay. Mason is with them now. He’ll open up to them, and they’ll be one big, happy family.

“We should start dinner,” Will suggests, staring at Mike in that soft way he does when he can tell something’s on his mind.

El nods in agreement. “And I promised I’d play with Mason. Come and get us when it’s ready?”

“Sure, yeah,” Mike agrees absently. He drags his feet all the way to the kitchen, leaning up against the counter and blowing a harsh breath out of his mouth. Will stands in front of him, still holding his hand. “This sucks.”

“Yeah, it does,” Will says. “I mean, I could have guessed, but that doesn’t make it easier to hear.”

“I just feel so bad for him.”

“Me too.” In the following silence, Will fiddles with Mike’s fingers— something he’s grown very used to in the years they’ve been together. It’s comforting. “Hey,” Will kicks his shoe, gaining Mike’s attention. “What’s up?”

Mike sighs, staring down at their hands. He hates making this about him. Mason is the one who was hurt. Will is the one who has to dig up bad memories. But Will stays quiet, unrelenting. He won’t let it go until Mike spills his guts. “I wish I could have been there for him.”

He watches the floor as Will takes a step closer, planting his feet between Mike’s. “You were barely seventeen when he was born, Mike. What could you have done?”

Beaten up his dad? Killed him? He’d done worse at twelve. He could have saved Mason, if he’d known. He’s sure he could have.

But Will knows what this is really about. He’s always been great at reading between the lines. “You were five when you met me, Mike,” he says. “That wasn’t your responsibility.” It feels like his responsibility. He feels like a curse. Why did both of the people living under his roof have to go through such horrible experiences while he was a happy, oblivious child? Will lifts a hand to his cheek, raising Mike’s head until they’re eye-to-eye. “We didn’t need you to save us back then, alright? We need you now. And you’re great at protecting us now.”

“Really?”

“Definitely,” Will nods, circling his arms around Mike’s waist, pulling him close and resting his head against his shoulder. “I feel very safe with you. And Mason will too. That’s what he needs. To heal.”

Okay. Mike can do that. He can be Mason’s safe space. It might not be as good as preventing the hurt in the first place, but it’s something.

“Thank you,” Mike whispers, kissing the top of his hair. “I love you.”

“Love you, too. But we really should make dinner,” he says, stepping away. He leans down, opening the cupboard and pulling out a pan. “I’ll even help. Because I’m such a good person.”

“Wow, how generous.” Mike walks up behind him as he turns to the pantry, caging him in a back hug. Will squeaks as Mike tightens his arms, peppering the side of his face in kisses.

“Gross,” a voice says from behind them. They spin around, surprised to see Mason standing at the entrance of the kitchen, nose wrinkled in disgust. El is next to him, sporting a similar unimpressed look.

“We were going to play a card game in the living room, but maybe we should not,” she jokes, retreating to the couch anyway.

Mike rolls his eyes, planting one more smooch to Will’s cheek. “We’re done, we’re done. I’m not allowed to kiss my boyfriend in my own home,” he grumbles to himself, grabbing celery from the fridge.

Will pats his shoulder sympathetically. “Well… have fun with dinner.”

“I thought you were helping!” he exclaims, throwing his arms out in offense.

Will gestures over to the coffee table, where El is dealing out a deck of cards. “But they’re playing games,” he argues, and that is a good point.

Mike doesn’t admit that, though. Instead, he huffs, faking a pout. “Fine. Abandon me. Have fun with your stupid sister.”

Will just smiles, pecking his cheek. “Love you!”

He watches as Will sits down beside Mason, quietly asking to be dealt in. It seems like his request is granted, as Mason begrudgingly nods his head.

Maybe they aren’t the closest yet— but they will be. It’ll just take a bit of time. All hope isn’t lost. Mason will warm up to them eventually. They just have to gain his trust.

Chapter Text

“Can’t we go with you?”

“Will,” Mike says, with a surprising amount of patience for someone who’s already answered that question about fifty times today. “It’s back to school night. You two will be bored out of your minds. I’ll be bored out of my mind. It’s just one afternoon. You’re not that scared of Mason, are you?”

Will is not scared. He’s just… never been alone with him before. Not in the five days they’ve lived together. What should he even say to him? “How are you liking your stay, sir?”

“No,” Will denies with an eye roll. He rocks forward on his toes, grabbing Mike’s arm and looking up at him flirtatiously. “I’m just gonna miss you.”

“Sure,” he says sarcastically, not believing that for a second. “That might have actually worked on me ten years ago. Come on, you’ll be fine.”

“What if he hates me?”

“He won’t hate you,” Mike assures. Then, he softens his gaze, grabbing Will by the shoulders. “Hey. He won’t hate you. Just be yourself.”

“You sound like my mom,” Will grumbles. “It’s easy for you to say. You’re great with kids. The only time I’ve ever taken care of one was when we babysat for Jon and Nance back in New York. Literal baby-sitting. Barb was still crawling when we left. It’s not like she could backtalk me or call me names.”

“Mason won’t call you names. He’s not mean.”

Will levels him with a look. “He called you lame to your face.”

“Yeah, well…” Mike trails off. He has no argument. Will is right— as always. “That wasn’t even that bad. You can handle being lame. Come on,” he says gently, nudging Will’s foot with his. “For me? I can’t miss it. Just one dinner.”

He sighs, accepting defeat. He’s being ridiculous. It’s not like Mike has a choice. “I know. I’ve got it. Go do your stupid job.”

Mike smiles, leaning in for a quick peck to the cheek. “Thank you. I have to go. I’ll be home by nine. Love you!”

“Love you,” Will echoes as he slips out their bedroom door. It sucks— Mike is all dressed up tonight and he doesn’t even get to enjoy it. He’s even wearing a tie; overkill, in Will’s opinion, but Mike is paranoid about making a good impression on the parents.

It’s fine. Mike’s right— tonight won’t be completely horrible. It’s his chance to bond with the boy living under his roof for the foreseeable future. He’s going to make the most of it.

Will walks over to Mason’s door, knocking twice. He hears the boing-ing of Mario’s jumps come to a stop, before a voice replies, “What?”

Will pokes his head in, Mason staring back at him impatiently, controller in hand. “It’s time for dinner.”

He doesn’t reply— he just looks back to the screen, powering it off and setting the controller on the table. Without saying a word, he stands up, pushing past Will into the hallway.

Alright. Will sees how it is. It’s gonna be a fun night.

Will lets out a deep breath, turning out the door. He catches up to Mason in the kitchen, opens the fridge, and dishes up last night’s leftover soup. He isn’t even going to consider cooking dinner— this is going to be stressful enough as it is, there’s no need to throw potential food poisoning on top of that.

(He really isn’t that bad. He’s just so worried about getting salmonella that he’s overcooked every egg he’s ever made. Which is why Mike handles the food.)

Will pulls their bowls out of the microwave, setting one on the table in front of Mason and taking a seat across from him. Will shoots him a small, awkward smile as he picks up his spoon. Mason just stares back. Finally, as Will goes in for a bite, Mason drops his burning gaze and begins to eat.

It’s silent, save for the scraping of spoons on ceramic. Will ordinarily loves that sound; it’s comforting during lulls in conversation when he’s having dinner with Mike. Now, however, it’s like nails on a chalkboard. It’s teasing him— an echo in his mind telling him “you have nothing to say to him. He doesn’t want to talk to you.”

He needs to say something. Anything. Mike always has something to say. What would he do in this situation?

“Did you get your homework done?”

Really? That’s it? Will is going to badger him about school while he’s trying to eat? Out of everything? How’s the soup? Do you like living here? Who’s your favorite president? Literally anything else.

“Most of it,” Mason mumbles, eyes focused on the soup he’s slowly stirring in front of him.

Right. Cool. Glad they got that sorted. Change the topic now. “And you’re going to complete it after dinner, right?”

Why? Just shut up. Will isn’t Mason’s dad— why is he bugging him about this?

Mason glances up, meeting his eyes. He hesitates for a moment, as if he’s considering lying, before admitting, “It’s too hard. How am I supposed to do my work if I don’t understand it?”

Wait, is this actually working? Are they having a conversation? Fuck yeah. Will isn’t going to complain— he’s got to roll with it. “You could just ask us for help. Me and Mike have both been through college, you know.”

“Mike and I,” he corrects. “Clearly you need a refund.”

Okay, smart guy. There’s no need to be so rude. Still, Will thinks it’s charming. He loves the fact that Mason feels comfortable enough to engage in banter like this. Mean banter, but whatever. “See, I have a hard time believing that you’re struggling in school. You’re a smart kid,” Will says.

“I’m fine with English. It’s just math that sucks.”

Will feels him there. Math was always his toughest subject growing up. “Well, lucky for you there’s a math genius in the house.”

Mason gives him an incredulous look.

“Not me,” Will clarifies, and Mason nods like that makes a lot more sense. That’s kind of offensive. Why does he assume that Will sucks at math? He does, but still. Is it his face? Does he have a big, dumb, idiot face? “Mike teaches physics, remember?”

“Isn’t physics science?” Mason asks, a little pinch forming between his eyebrows. It reminds him of Mike, when he was a kid. “Like, gravity?”

“It is. But gravity is also math. Speed, friction, electricity— it’s all numbers. I hate it, but Mike is obsessed.”

“Does he know pre-algebra?”

That’s cute. Mike, who’s taken several years of calculus. Will grins amusedly. “I’m sure he can figure it out.”

“Cool,” he nods, returning to his soup. There’s a moment of quiet that Will is scared might last forever, before Mason speaks up again. “Are you really an artist?”

“I am,” he replies, somewhat surprised. Mason hasn’t shown interest in anything since he got here. Why this? “Do you like art?”

Mason shrugs, looking off to the side coolly. “I mean, I was just wondering. Because you do comic books and stuff.”

That was pretty casual. Like, weirdly so. Almost bored. Will has a suspicion that Mason cares more than he’s letting on. “Yeah, it’s cool. It’s always been my dream,” Will says. “One of these days I’ll actually convince Mike to write one with me independently. We’ve been talking about it for ages, but we’re pretty busy. You can be our test reader, if you’d like.”

Will swears he sees a sparkle flash in Mason’s eyes. “Sure,” he answers quickly, before his face hardens back up to its uninterested facade. “That’s fine.”

“Great. It’d be a big help. And maybe I can show you around the art studio sometime,” he gestures down the hall to the office. “Or you can explore it on your own. You know, you don’t have to get permission to go anywhere in the house, alright? It’s all yours.”

“Okay,” Mason nods.

The rest of the dinner goes alright. There are a few silent patches, but there are equally as many solid patches. Mason learns that Will loves tigers, and Will learns that he believes in ghosts. Thankfully, Mason informs him that their house is ghost free— the shelter, on the other hand, is not. They have an old woman in their basement named Marie.

Will is settling down on the couch for the night, having just loaded the dishwasher, when Mason pops into the room with a notebook in hand. He walks to the arm of the couch, and Will looks up at him, waiting.

“This is due tomorrow,” he says, holding out the book labeled “Math”.

Of course it is. Will glances at the clock. Mike won’t be home for over an hour. He doesn’t want to keep Mason waiting all night.

“Let me see,” Will tells him, patting the coffee table.

Mason takes a seat on his left, opening the notebook to a loose worksheet that’s been stuffed inside. It’s half-complete, though Will doesn’t know how much of that is correct. The latest problem is covered in a million pencil marks, drawn and erased over and over again. At least he’s been trying, right?

Oh. Oh no. This isn’t going to happen.

“Fractions?” Will asks, making a face of disgust. He quickly hides it once he remembers that he’s supposed to be setting a good example for Mason.

No— he has to do this. Mason is counting on him. Sure, he went home in near tears every time they learned fractions at school, but he can figure it out. It can’t be that hard, right? He’s a grown man.

“Alright. Well, I definitely learned this…” he trails off, skimming the equation. The top is the numerator— he knows that much. The bottom is the denominator. Do you need a common denominator for multiplication? You just multiply straight across, right? Easy. So for division, you’d do the same but just… divide.

Right?

Will grabs the pencil, kneeling down on the floor. “So fifteen over two, divided by twenty over eight,” he mutters as he writes, “would be… fifteen over twenty over two over eight? That can’t be right. Can you put decimals in fractions?”

“That’s not what she taught us,” Mason says, a hint of attitude in his voice. Jeez. He’s trying his best. It’s been a few years, alright?

“Well, how did she teach you?”

“I don’t remember.”

Great. He’s done.

Will stands up abruptly, turning away. “What are you doing?” Mason asks.

“Calling someone who can actually help,” he answers, picking up the phone and dialing a number he’s long since memorized.

Will almost expects it to go to voicemail after four long rings. Just when he’s giving up hope, the other line clicks through. “Hello?”

He breathes out a sigh of relief. “Hey, Lucas.”

“Will? Hey, man. What’s up?”

“Too much,” he jokes, and Lucas lets out a laugh from the other side. “Sorry, I know it’s late for you guys. Did I wake the baby?”

“No, he’s been staying up late recently. The terrible twos are a nightmare. He’ll throw a fit if we make him go to bed before nine-thirty.”

If there’s one thing that being gay has over straight people, it’s that he doesn’t have to raise a baby. Not that he hates babies— he just isn’t fond of losing sleep, or spit up, or loud crying, or changing diapers. Other than that though, he’s all in.

“Have you tried tiring him out? Chase him around the house a bit until he drops.”

“He won’t drop, trust me,” Lucas says, exasperated. “We’ve tried everything. He just does not run out of energy. Anyway, did you need something? Not that I don’t love our chats.”

“Yeah, actually. Do you know anything about fractions?”

There’s a moment of quiet confusion, before Lucas asks, “Why?”

“Homework.”

“I didn’t know you were in fifth grade,” he teases, and Will rolls his eyes.

“Seventh. And it’s not for me, idiot. I’m helping.”

“How is the boy?” Lucas inquires. Will can picture him stroking his beard, resting his feet up on his table. “Everything going alright? He hasn’t burnt the place to the ground?”

“I’m more worried about Mike,” Will jokes. “But no, it’s good. We should catch up. It’s been a while.” When he feels a nudge to his shoulder, he turns to see an impatient looking Mason. “After he helps us, don’t worry,” he assures.

“Is he there?” Lucas asks excitedly. “Can I talk to him?”

Maintaining eye contact with Mason, Will decides that he’s not in the mood to chat with a stranger. He looks annoyed enough as it is. “No,” Will denies, returning his gaze back to the paper. “Not now. Just please tell me you know how to divide fractions.”

“I do,” he replies, sounding somewhat disappointed. It’s understandable. If Lucas had a new kid staying under his roof, Will would be dying to meet him. It just isn’t the right time. Mason isn’t even used to them yet. There’s no way he’s going to want a whole bunch of friends and family swarming him. “Isn’t this your husband’s job? Where is he? Out having an affair?”

“Back to school,” he answers shortly, as Lucas cackles a laugh. “Not funny. Please, Lucas. You know how I feel about fractions.”

“Alright, alright. It’s easy.” Will almost rolls his eyes into the back of his head at that one. Nothing about this is easy. “Flip the second fraction upside down and multiply across.”

Oh. Maybe it is easy. “…That’s it?”

“Yeah. Like I said. Simple.”

“When did they change that? Because it was definitely impossible in middle school,” Will argues. He’s sure of it. Breakdown-worthy problems, he swears.

“It’s always been like this, Will. You just sucked at it.”

“Alright, shut it. I’ll call you back in a bit,” he says, before abruptly hanging up. He looks at Mason with a smile. “Lucky for you, they made math easier,” he lies, because he lies to children now. His ego will not survive this blow. He picks the pencil back off the table and gets to work. “So fifteen times four is sixty, and two times three is six, so the answer is sixty over six. I think.”

“You have to simplify,” Mason reminds him.

Why don’t they simplify math? Will thinks bitterly as he writes down 10 on the page and boxes it in. “There. All done.”

Well, done with one problem. They still have about five more to go. It shouldn’t take too long, though— roughly fifteen minutes, in fact. Mason gets it down around problem three, and it’s smooth sailing from there.

Just as they’re about to pack up, Mason turns to him with sad eyes and says, “I’m sorry.”

Will immediately springs into alert. Sad boy. Oh no. “For what?”

He shrugs, staring down at the couch. “Making you help.”

“Hey.” He taps the cushion beside Mason’s leg, prompting him to look up. Will is all too familiar with guilt— feeling sorry for inconveniencing anyone in the slightest. He’ll do anything to keep Mason from experiencing that too. This is his own fault; he’d been too negative about this whole ordeal. “I hate fractions— I don’t hate you. I’m happy to help. Whatever you need, alright? I had fun.”

Mason’s lips twitch up minutely. “Okay.”

Just then, the front door opens. Mike pauses as he sees them sitting there, then makes his way over, pulling off his coat. “Is this a party?”

“Homework,” Mason corrects.

“Ah.”

“Actually, can you check this?” Will asks, holding out the worksheet. “I’m not very confident in my teaching skills.”

Mike quirks an eyebrow, scanning the page. “You did this?” he questions, looking at Will, surprised. Will hates that it makes him blush. They’ve been together for twelve years, dammit. It’s just a little attention.

“Well, we did,” he answers, gesturing to his left.

Mike smiles wide, wrapping Will up in a big hug and kissing the top of his head. “I’m so proud of you! You too,” he adds, when he turns his gaze to Mason. “I’m proud of you too. But this is super impressive for him,” he tilts his head toward Will.

Will shoves him away, glaring. “You’re a jerk. Why do you guys act like I’m stupid?”

“You’re not stupid,” Mike assures, grabbing Will’s biceps lovingly. “You just really suck at fractions. What’s one half plus two thirds?”

“Shh, be quiet. I don’t want to hear it,” he dismisses immediately, causing Mike to let out a chuckle. Truthfully, he probably could solve that. The issue is that he doesn’t particularly want to. Mike pulls him in for a hug, and Will sinks into it. He missed him an embarrassing amount. “You’re early.”

“I said by nine. Eight-fifteen is technically before nine,” Mike counters, like a smartass. Will doesn’t mind.

“If you’re nice I’ll make you dinner,” he offers. Mike leans back, giving him a questioning look. “I’ll heat you up some dinner,” he corrects.

Mike grins, miming zipping his lips.

“You guys are gross,” Mason says, grabbing his notebook and storming out of the room. Oops. Will isn’t used to dialing back the affection in his own house. This is usually the one place they can be affectionate.

Mike smirks at Will playfully. “He thinks you’re gross.”

Will steps out of his reach, rounding the table into the kitchen. “He thinks you’re gross. He thinks I’m delightful.”

“Oh yeah? He said that?”

“He implied it,” Will responds, grabbing a bowl, even though Mason said nothing of the sort.

“Really?” he challenges, unconvinced. Rude. Will can be delightful. “So it went well, then?”

Will spins around to face Mike, who had walked up behind him. “Yeah,” he answers honestly. “I think it did.”

“Good,” Mike decides, reaching for his hand. “I guess that means I was right.”

“Oh, shut up,” Will says, batting his hand away. “Let me have this win.”

Mike smiles, leaning in for a quick kiss. “Okay, fine. I really am proud of you, though. For the fractions, and for facing your fear of little boys.”

Will rolls his eyes again. “I’m going to take the compliment. And I’m proud of you for facing your fear of big, scary, middle school parents.”

“I’m not scared of them,” Mike whines. “They just… they might bully me.”

“You’re almost thirty. I promise you they won’t,” Will says, kissing his cheek. “Now come on. I told Lucas we’d call.”

“Yes, dear,” he replies with a quick nod, grabbing his soup from the microwave, nearly spilling it straight on the floor in the process. Children. Always a handful.

Chapter Text

“Mike.”

Mike groans, swatting away the hand that’s shaking him awake.

“Mike!” the voice repeats, quiet but urgent. He slowly blinks open his eyes, rubbing a tired hand against them.

Worry immediately settles in his stomach as he comes face-to-face with Will, eyes wide and panicked. He’s standing next to the bed, bent over Mike’s sleeping form. They should both be sleeping right now. It’s the middle of the night. What’s wrong? Is there a fire? Did their parents call? Is someone in the hospital?

Worse.

“Mason’s gone.”

Mike shoots up from the bed. What does he mean, “Mason’s gone?” Gone where? Missing? Taken? Oh god, not again. This can’t happen again. Not for a third time. Will, then Holly, and now…

Mike can barely hear Will over the ringing in his ears as he continues talking. “I woke up and I suddenly had a really bad feeling, so I went to check on him. I think he ran away.”

Ran away? Why would he run away?

“Are you sure?” Mike asks, rising to his feet. “He’s not in the bathroom?”

“I’m not stupid, Mike. I checked. And the kitchen, and the living room. He’s gone.”

Mike hurries to Mason’s room, Will hot on his heels. He throws open the door to an empty bed, sheets tossed aside. He’s really gone.

“His shoes aren’t here,” he notes. He definitely left out of his own free will. Mike isn’t sure whether that’s better or worse. They’ve dealt with abductions— never with impulsive teenagers that want nothing to do with them.

Will suddenly grabs his arm, looking up at him with a hopeful expression. “Call him.”

That’s it! They can call him. Will is a genius.

Mike practically sprints back to his nightstand and grabs his phone, dialing Mason immediately. He brings it to his ear and holds his breath for one, two, three rings. By the fourth, his heart drops to his stomach as he registers an echo coming from down the hall. He follows it to Mason’s bedroom, where his phone is buzzing on his table.

Goddamn it.

Mike slams his phone shut, throwing his head toward the ceiling and letting out a deep breath. He’s not sure whether he’s more scared or mad. This was so irresponsible. It was irresponsible and Mike is going to throw up.

“We have to go after him,” Will decides. “Shit— he could be anywhere by now. Should we call the cops? He could be in trouble.”

Mike looks around the room in a panic, trying to ignore his racing heart. “No,” he says, faking the sureness in his voice that he knows Will needs to hear right now. “No,” he repeats as a plan forms in his brain, grabbing Will by the shoulders and meeting his eyes with determination. “We’ll go out. There’s only one place he would go.”

Will seems to come to the same realization. “The shelter,” he breathes out in relief.

“Exactly. It’ll be okay. The ladies will take care of him until we get there.”

They rush to the living room, hastily slipping on some coats from the rack. Mike grabs the keys from the table and shuts the door behind them as they walk into the cold night air. The street is eerily empty when they back out onto it; it must be close to 2 a.m.

The radio annoyingly blasts some happy pop song. Mike reaches to the dash and turns the volume all the way down. The silence isn’t much better, strangling him until he can’t breathe. It makes it easier to hear his own thoughts, which haven’t stopped screaming at him since the minute he woke up.

They roll down the road at a snail’s pace, staring out their side windows for any sight of Mason. He can’t have gone too far. It’s a two hour walk to the shelter, minimum.

“Is this it?” Will asks suddenly.

Mike glances over at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Is what it?”

“This. Us. Mason. El said that if he didn’t like living with us, she’d take him back. I think he made his decision pretty clear. Even if we do find him… will we get to keep him?”

To be honest, Mike isn’t sure. The agreement was that Mason could leave at any time. They never really had any control over that. This may very well be the end. But Will doesn’t need that right now. He needs reassurance— a rock. Mike can be his rock.

He slows the car to a stop and reaches over the center console for Will’s hand. “We will,” he assures him with a conviction he hopes is believable.

“How can you be sure?”

“I can’t,” Mike answers honestly. “But I’ll do everything in my power to get him back. We’re not losing him without a fight.”

Will takes a deep breath and nods, squeezing Mike’s hand as he returns his gaze back to the road. Mike squeezes back, lifting his foot off the break, and continues down the street.

They make it all way to the shelter with no signs of Mason anywhere. As expected, all the lights are off— some people get to sleep in the middle of the night. Mike and Will walk up to the front door, hesitating before knocking three times. It’s deafening in the stillness of the night, and Mike can only imagine how loud it must be echoing through the building.

Still, no one answers. They wait, and wait, and wait, until the last drop of hope runs out, and all they’re left with is a sinking feeling in their gut. This was it— their only lead. He could be anywhere.

“We could break in,” Mike suggests as a last ditch effort.

Will shakes his head. “We can’t break in, Mike. We’ll get in trouble if we’re caught.”

“That’s never stopped us before,” he points out, grabbing a decently sized rock from the ground. He holds it out for Will, raising his eyebrows as if to say, “See? You know you want to.”

“This is the real world. Not Hawkins. We can’t just crawl into the home of a bunch of children.” That is true. That wouldn’t be a very good look. Will’s eyes well up with tears as he adds, “Besides. If we can’t get in, neither can he. He’s not here. Just give it up.”

No. He’s not going to give up. They crossed dimensions to get back the people they care for. This is not going to be the thing that breaks them. He’s not going to let Will down.

“Hey, what’s with the negativity?” Mike asks, stepping forward to cup Will’s cheek. He wipes away a stray tear with his thumb. “You never give up. We never give up. We’ll find him, okay?” Will drops his head, looking toward the ground, but Mike lifts it back up again. “Let’s get in the car. We’ll drive around for a bit. Maybe he took a wrong turn somewhere.”

Will nods. “You're right. That’s probably it.” He sniffles, pulling Mike in for a hug. “I can’t lose him.”

“I know,” Mike says, tucking his chin over Will’s head. “Me neither.”

Will lets out a watery laugh of disbelief. “How are you so calm? I’m losing my mind over here, and you’re just so… confident.”

Honestly, Mike is barely holding it together. His mind is definitely nowhere to be found. But he’s Will’s rock. One of them needs to be thinking clearly here, or they’ll never find him. Mike is the leader— the decision maker. He’s always the one people turn to in a crisis. He’s got this.

Mike shrugs, putting on a fake smile. “I’ve had plenty of practice. Now c’mon. We’ve gotta get going.”

They head back to the car without saying a word. Nothing they can say will be able to reflect the true gravity of the situation. The quiet is uncomfortable, but it’s appropriate.

They drive around for what must be close to an hour, down side streets and alleyways that Mike hopes Mason didn’t cross. From the looks of things, he never did. There’s no sight of him anywhere. Mike isn’t religious, but he’s praying that no one got to him before they could. The last time a twelve-year-old boy he knew was alone at night, he was kidnapped by a monster.

“Mike,” Will finally speaks up. “I think we should go home.”

“What?” he exclaims, confused. “Why would we go home? We can’t quit now. He needs us.”

“I know, I know. But— come on, let’s be realistic here.”

Realistic? What’s realistic? Giving up? Bullshit. Mike is the logical one. Will is running on emotion right now. He’s too scared to keep going. But not Mike. Mike will keep searching until the sun comes up, because that’s what needs to be done.

“No— Will, are you serious? He’s out there somewhere. He’s cold, and scared, and he’s waiting for us to come find him. I’m not stopping until he’s home.”

“He’s not waiting for us,” Will says, like he’s sure of it. It makes Mike mad. Will never rolls over so easily. He’s the most determined person he’s ever met. What’s with him today? Why is Mike the crazy one here for wanting Mason to be safe?

“How do you know that? He could be stranded on a street corner after running from some guy’s basement.”

“He wasn’t taken, Mike. He ran away.” There’s no proof of that. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was happy living with them, and he was stolen peacefully in his sleep.

Will sighs. “Pull over, Mike. Please.” He begrudgingly complies, stopping the car in the middle of the road. It’s not like anyone is going to come up behind them. Will turns to him with an almost pitying look in his eyes, like he knows something that Mike doesn’t. “He ran away,” he reiterates. “We have locks on our doors and windows, and there was no sign of entry. You think that wasn’t the first thing I checked? I get it. But he left out of his own free will.”

“But maybe—“ Mike starts, before getting cut off by Will wrapping a hand around his.

“Mike. You can talk to me, you know?” he says gently, a soft, sad smile on his face. Mike doesn’t like it. He’s treating him like a wounded deer. He’s not wounded. He just wants to keep looking for Mason. “I’m here. We’re in this together. You don’t have to be strong for me. I know you’re not okay.”

“I’m fine,” he denies, turning away from Will to stare intently at the steering wheel. He hardens his jaw, trying not to cry. This is so stupid. He’s fine.

“Mike,” he goads, leaning in closer. It’s not going to work. Mike stays strong, pulling out of Will’s grasp to cross his arms. “Baby.” Damn it. Asshole. He knows that always gets him to crack. “Tell me things.”

A tear runs down his cheek as he looks back at Will. “I can’t do this again,” Mike confesses, crashing into Will when he opens his arms for a hug. First his best friend, then his sister, and now his foster child? It’s too much.

“You don’t have to,” Will soothes, rubbing up and down his back. “It’s not like what happened before. He’s safe.”

“It’s so hard,” he sobs.

“I know. I know,” Will whispers, planting a kiss to the top of his head. Mike almost forgot how good Will is at comforting him. He feels stupid for even trying to hide this from him. It’s a bad habit he picked up from when he was a kid. When the world is ending, there’s no time for tears. “You can lean on me. I’ve got you.”

Mike pulls back, determined. “We need to find him,” he says. He doesn’t care if Will thinks he’s crazy. He is crazy. He was also crazy in the fall of ‘83, and look what that got him. A living boyfriend.

“We will. We’ll find him. I promise,” he assures, throwing Mike’s own words back in his face.“Maybe not today, but we will. We should go home in case he comes back. And if he doesn’t, we’ll call the police.”

That’s a good plan; one made by a very sane, rational person. Not Mike. Mike doesn’t think he can make any good decisions right now. So instead, he just nods, reaching to shift the car into drive.

Will stops him with a hand to his arm. “How about I take us home?”

Mike would be offended that Will assumes he isn’t in any condition to drive, but he’s one hundred percent correct. Again, he agrees, unbuckling his seatbelt and walking over to the passenger side.

Will turns up the radio a tad, just enough for some background noise. It’s sort of nice— it settles the nerves in his stomach just enough to be bearable. By the time they arrive back at the house, Mike has accepted defeat. They’ll call the cops tonight and head back out in the morning; for now, there’s nothing they can do.

He almost gets his hopes up when he sees the light shining through the windows, before he remembers that they never turned it off in their hurry to leave. Head held low, he opens the front door— which he also forgot to lock— and steps inside.

He freezes when he notices a boy with wide eyes standing in their living room.

Mason. Holy shit, he’s okay. Mike immediately feels a wave of relief crash over him. And then, stronger, one of anger.

Will beats him to the scolding, only by a second. “Where the hell were you?”

Mason puts on a mask of nonchalance, loosening up his tense shoulders with a shrug. The difference is insane— he went from a scared kid to a rebellious teen in a matter of seconds. “Out.”

“Out?” Will repeats incredulously. “Out where? It’s three in the morning!”

“Just— out,” he says, as if he’s annoyed at them. “It’s fine.”

Fine? They just searched for his ass for over an hour. No— Mike tried to be the nice guy. He wanted to give Mason time to adapt. Lax rules, no restrictions; but if Mason wants rules, he’ll get rules.

“Sit down,” he orders, gesturing to the couch. Mike stands in front of him, pacing back and forth with his arms behind his back. “Where were you?” he asks again.

Mason’s confidence wavers as he stares down at his hands in his lap. “On a walk.”

“Why?”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

He couldn’t— what the fuck is wrong with this kid? Who does that? Who takes walks in the city in the middle of the night for fun?

Mike sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “So— what? You couldn’t… read a book? Play video games? Count sheep? It’s dangerous out there. You could’ve gotten yourself hurt.”

“I didn’t,” he rebuts, rolling his eyes. Mike would love it if he dropped the sass right about now. Oh god— he’s turned into his mother. Maybe she was right about some things. Maybe.

“We gave you one rule,” Mike continues on, ignoring Mason completely. “One rule! And you couldn’t follow it. Just let us know when you’re leaving. That’s it! You could have at least written a note. And where’s your phone? On your dresser. That’s just— irresponsible. We had no way of reaching you. What were you thinking?”

“I thought I’d be back by the time you woke up,” Mason mumbles, looking up at him with the most adorable puppy dog eyes, and a grumpy little pout that almost makes Mike melt on the spot. No. He’s mad. He should be fast asleep right now, but instead he has to reprimand a sweet little child.

“Mike,” Will cuts in, with a hand to his elbow. He shakes his head minutely, then tilts it towards Mason. Mike gets the signal— no more yelling. Normally, he would protest. Mason deliberately went behind their backs— he deserves this. But Mike also knows Will, and Will knows what it’s like to be Mason. He understands Mason’s past more than Mike ever could, and if Will thinks he’s at his limit, then he’s at his limit. Yelling would only make it worse.

Will steps forward slowly and sits beside Mason. He lets out a shaky breath and turns to him with watery eyes. “You scared the shit out of us. Like, really badly. We thought we lost you.”

Mason’s expression turns empathetic. He’s no longer the stone-faced, angry boy he was minutes ago. It’s as if he’s just realized that his actions could have an effect on other people. “Sorry,” he says, and somehow, Mike believes him.

“Good. You should be. We’re very mad at you,” Will tells him, his voice stern but gentle.

Mason’s eyebrows pinch together, hurt, like that was the most painful thing Will could have said. He pulled the disappointment card; evil, yet effective. “Miss Jess is working the overnight shift today,” Mason informs them, completely out of the blue.

“What?” Will asks, equally as confused as Mike.

“Do you have her number?” he carries on, not answering the question in the slightest.

“No? What— why do we need her number?”

“To take me back home?” Mason explains, like it should be obvious. Does he want to go home? Not home— to the shelter. This is home. Is he asking to go back?

“No— we’re not sending you back, Mason,” Will clarifies, clearly concerned. Is that what he meant? He really thought they’d kick him out for this? One mistake?

Mike takes a seat on Mason’s other side. He smiles softly at him, carefully reaching out to grab his hand. When Mason doesn’t pull it back, he adds, “We just drove around all night trying to find you. You think we’re giving you up after that?”

Mason shrugs, avoiding eye contact.

“Just… don’t leave the house at night, alright?” Mike says. “And please take your phone when we’re not with you. That was the whole reason we bought it for you. There’s no point in even having it if we can’t get in touch with you.”

“Are you going to take it away?” Mason asks.

That’s not a bad idea. He needs to be punished somehow. But Mason sounds so sad about it that he can’t bring himself to do so. Sparing a glance at Will, he doesn’t seem to have any idea how to go about this either.

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” he decides. Mason’s phone is one of his greatest treasures. It’s not like he has many treasures. Taking it away would just seem cruel. Besides— it was a gift. Gifts shouldn’t be conditional. They gave it to Mason, which makes it rightfully his. He already seems overly possessive of his belongings; they shouldn’t take away what minimal things he has just because he broke the rules.

Before Mason can celebrate too much, Mike continues. “But! You’re still being punished. Right?” he looks to Will for backup.

“Right,” Will agrees, nodding with fake confidence. Mike sees right through him. He’s just as lost as he is.

“What is it?” Mason asks, apprehensive.

“Um,” Mike glances around the room for inspiration. “Dishes,” he lands on. “Wash the dishes for a week.” Is that enough? That doesn’t seem like enough. “And— no allowance. Do you get an allowance?”

Mason shakes his head.

“Oh. Well, starting now you do. And I’m taking it away for a month.”

There. That’s good, right? He has to wash dishes and he’s gaining an allowance. Wait a minute—

No. It’s fine. He’s the guardian. He made his decision.

Mason nods rapidly. Damn it. He’s happy about this.

“And,” Will pipes up with a mischievous grin. Oh, fantastic. He’s got this. “You have to join me for work. Every Saturday, you’re doing art with me.”

Mason’s eyes shoot wide, a look of distress on his face. “What? No,” he groans, like he’s just been sentenced to death. How is this worse than dishes?

Will lets out a small laugh. “I know, it’s torture. You want to get away from us so bad? Now you’re stuck with me forever.”

Mike leans over Mason’s head to whisper, “You’re evil.” Spending time with lame old people? Truly, the worst punishment.

“Thank you,” he replies happily. “He’ll think twice before crossing us again.” Turning to Mason, Will says, “Now get some sleep. We have a fun day ahead of us.”

Mason complains as he stands up, Mike and Will following behind him. They push him all the way to his room, just to ensure that he actually goes there.

“Hey,” Mike says, just before Mason can close the door. “If this happens again, you’re gonna be in big trouble. Got it?”

“Got it,” Mason nods.

“‘K. Sleep tight. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

With that, Mason shuts himself in his room. Mike releases a sigh he didn’t know he was holding onto. He’s exhausted. He’s so glad it’s the weekend— he’s sleeping in until twelve.

Will and Mike make their way to their bed in silence. Today was a lot— for both of them. They climb under the covers, and Mike makes the executive decision to leave the bedside lamp on. He knows that Will needs it tonight.

“Well that was…” Mike trails off, unsure how to finish that sentence. Horrible? Nightmare inducing? The most terrified he’s been in over a decade?

“Yeah,” Will agrees instantly. He gets it. He always does.

“We did handle that alright, didn’t we?” he asks, turning his head toward Will. “Were we too hard on him? I don’t want to scare him, or anything.”

“He should be scared. Mike, you’re really sweet, but you can’t baby him right now. He messed up, and he deserves to be punished— no matter how he was treated in the past.”

“I know,” Mike says, a little confused. “I did punish him. Why does it feel like you’re hinting at something?”

“Because I know you,” he answers. “And I know how you like to pretend you’re not giving me special treatment, even though you clearly are. You’re not caving with Mason. No matter what he says or does, he’s seeing his punishment through.”

Should he be offended? He’s kind of offended. He can be strict. He’ll be the strictest guardian Mason has ever seen. Well— maybe not that far. But he can be strong. And mean. And unrelenting.

“Goodnight, Mike,” Will says, giving him a light peck on the cheek. He lays down, pulling the covers up to his chin. “And by the way, I think you did a great job today. I couldn’t have gotten through this without you.”

Mike smiles down at him, before leaning in to kiss his forehead. “Right back at you.”

Mike has no idea how to be a parent. It doesn’t help that he’s been thrown into the deep end with a rebellious preteen. He wishes he could have started with an adorable little baby, who doesn’t yet have the ability to talk back or escape into the night.

That being said, he doesn’t think that went too badly. He laid down the law just like the man of the house should; well, one of the men. He can do this. He can really raise a child with Will and not majorly fuck them up.

Tonight was horrible. Possibly the worst night he’s ever had. But, to be honest, it was a win in his book.

Chapter Text

Breakfast is relatively stilted.

Will, for one, is exhausted. He can’t speak for Mike— well, actually, he can, since Mike hasn’t stopped complaining since they woke up around nine. Mason isn’t doing much better, judging by the eyebags set deep on his face. Good.

It’s quiet, too. Will’s still pretty pissed off, and clearly, so is Mike. It might seem like they’re overreacting, and hey— maybe they are. Maybe they’re blowing this way out of proportion, and it was all a silly little mistake. But you don’t go through what they did in middle school without coming away with some trauma. Sue him if he doesn’t like his foster kid disappearing into the night, when who-knows-what is waiting out there for him.

They can’t tell that to Mason, obviously, so now they look like the bad guys. God, he must think they’re absolutely insane. Then again, Will can’t help but feel that they went too easy on him. They can’t let Mason walk all over them. This is just… a mess.

Mason silently finishes up his plate, stashing it in the sink and rushing toward his room. Before he can get far, Mike exclaims, “Hey! Where do you think you’re going?”

Mason turns back around with the most phony innocent expression Will has ever seen. “My room?”

“Nuh uh. Dishes, remember?”

Mason throws his head back with a groan. “I don’t know how,” he complains.

“Oh, well boo-hoo,” Mike says sarcastically. “We’ll teach you when we’re done. Give us a sec.”

Will hates to admit it— and this is definitely not the most appropriate time to bring it up— but he finds Mike’s angry side very attractive. Lucky for him, he gets to see it often. Mad, frustrated, annoyed— it’s all stupidly pretty on him. The petty quips, the crease between his brows, the way his jaw sets and extenuates the sharp angle even further…

He’s dead. He’s in heaven. It’s a shame that Will’s happiness comes at the price of Mike’s.

Once the two of them finish their food— which Will thinks Mike took extra long on, just to piss off Mason— they make their way over to the sink. “Okay, so this is a sponge,” Mike tells him, holding out their old beaten up one that they should probably replace. After this week. Mason does not get the privilege of being the first one to use the brand new sponge. Will calls dibs.

Mason rolls his eyes obnoxiously. “I know that.”

“Yeah, well,” Mike shrugs, pretty much telling Mason to suck it up and deal with it. “This is a plate. You take the plate and scrape all the exess food into the trash,” he explains as he does just that. “And then you put a drop of soap on it— just a drop— and scrub it until it’s clean. Then rinse, and put it in the dishwasher.”

“Why do I have to wash it if you have a dishwasher?”

“Because I said so,” Mike simply states, handing Mason the next plate. “Have fun, dishwasher.”

“This is gonna take forever,” Mason whines.

“Oh, please. It might take an hour over the course of the entire week. And hey— what a coincidence! That’s about how long we spent looking for you last night.”

Will takes a step back and leans against the island, unabashedly checking Mike out. The way he’s taking charge like this, the firmness in his voice, how he’s not letting any bullshit fly— he’s hot. Mike is hot and he’s not afraid to say it.

Mike looks back at him questioningly. His face is intense, but Will knows that the anger isn’t directed at him. Maybe that’s why he loves it so much— because it never is. Still, his annoyance shines through his words. “Are you going to help?” Bossy. Gorgeous.

“Nope. I’m good,” he replies with a smug smile. He doesn’t even try to hide it when he gives Mike a once-over.

Mike quirks an eyebrow in surprise. He knows exactly what’s going on now. Blushing, Mike clears his throat and turns back to the sink. Sneaking a glance at Will over his shoulder, he slyly rolls up his sleeves to his elbows.

Will chuckles under his breath, shaking his head. Unfortunately, Mike’s antics are working for him. He’s never looked more attractive wielding a sponge.

Mike finishes helping Mason clean off the spots he’s missed, and teaches him how to load the dishwasher. Ignoring the fact that Mike is probably doing a majority of the work, this seems to be a pretty effective punishment. Mason looks like he’s having the worst time of his life. He’s glaring at the dirty dishes like they personally offended him. All according to plan.

Will guesses that he’s never been punished like this before. Judging by his reaction last night, he probably just gets shipped off every time he acts up. That, or hit. A bit of pain, and then it’s over with. Speaking from experience, Will would much rather do dishes— but it would probably take a bit of getting used to, having the punishment spread out like this. Prolonged torture, rather than a one-and-done.

Which is why it brings him great pleasure when Mason finally breathes a sigh of relief, only to fall into the hands of Will. Figuratively, of course. He’d never touch Mason without warning.

“Ah ah,” he says as Mason starts toward his room once again. He reaches out a hand and bends his pointer finger in a come hither motion. “You’re mine now.”

“No,” Mason pleads, puppy dog eyes galore. “Why do I have to?”

Why— isn’t that the question? To be completely truthful, he’s doing it for Mason’s benefit. A gift disguised as a penalty.

See— Will has a feeling that Mason secretly enjoys art. He might not know it yet, but the spark is there. Will saw it the moment Mason asked about his job. The light in his eyes, the curiosity in his voice; there’s an artist somewhere deep inside him. Will just has to find him.

Plus, Mason hates the idea of spending all day locked in a room with him. It’s a win-win, really.

“Because I said so,” he says with a smirk, echoing Mike’s words. He turns on his heels and walks into his office, his easel set up in the corner with Mike’s computer in the one opposite. A table takes up the middle of the room. That’s Mason’s work desk today. “What’s your medium?” he asks, opening the cupboard that’s stacked with art supplies of all kinds.

“Medium?” Mason repeats from where he’s hovering in the doorway.

“Yeah. What do you want to use? Colored pencils? Paint? Charcoal?”

“Aren’t I just watching you?” he asks, finally stepping into the room. Will gestures toward the table, and Mason takes a seat at one of the little wooden chairs that Will often finds himself drawing in until long past sunset.

“No, that would just be cruel. I don’t want to bore you to death.”

“This is cruel,” Mason mumbles, setting his chin in his hand. Will pretends not to hear him, though it’s not like he’s surprised. That was the goal, after all.

“Here,” Will tosses one of his many sketchbooks onto the table, alongside a set of drawing pencils. “We’ll start with this. Draw to your heart’s content.”

He moves over to set up his easel, leaving Mason to sit in silence. He’s working on a commission today— a rare but delightful treat. They don’t sell for nearly as much as the amount of time he puts into them, but it doesn’t matter to him. That’s the point of having a second job. He loves being a comic book illustrator— it was always his dream— but sometimes dreams change. Learning to paint opened up a whole new world for him. Now, he can’t live without either.

Will pours a drop of blue paint into his yellow, trying to get that perfect mix of green that covers the majority of the canvas. He lets out a deep, relaxed breath. It’s always peaceful when he paints.

…Too peaceful.

He glances over the top of his canvas to see Mason slouched in his chair, watching Will without moving a muscle. “You have to draw, you know,” Will tells him. “It’s part of your punishment.”

How punishing it is. Will wishes he was his own dad. He probably would have tried to get in trouble more often.

“Draw what?” he asks, his voice dripping with exasperation. Even when Will is mad at him, he can’t deny how endearing his attitude is.

“Anything you want. It’s up to you. There are no wrong choices in art. It’s a great way to express yourself.”

Will ignores the look of disgust that Mason involuntarily produces. Yeah, yeah. Teenage boys and feelings don’t get along. Whatever.

“Feel free to flip through there for inspiration,” Will adds, nodding to his sketchbook. “I’m sure something will catch your eye. Even just a flower is good enough for me.”

Mason does just that, grabbing the book off the table and opening it to a page somewhere in the middle. Who does that? A heathen. An absolute heathen. Just as Will is about to dip his brush back into the paint, Mason looks up and asks, “Who’s this?”

Will sets his brush down, rounding the easel to stand beside Mason’s chair. He tilts the book closer to Will, who squints down at the page. “Oh, that’s Aunt Max,” he says without thinking, then immediately curses himself. Aunt Max? To the kid who would probably throw a punch at anyone who so much as hints at Will being his dad?

Mason reacts about as kindly as expected, instantly going rigid and narrowing his eyes. “Sorry,” Will tries to amend. “Force of habit. All the kids call her Aunt Max. Max Sinclair— our friend. We met in middle school.”

“The kids?”

“Yeah,” Will nods. Correct him if he’s wrong, but Mason actually seems interested. He’s making eye contact, he’s listening, he’s not actively leaning away from where Will’s hovering over him. Just then, he gets a great idea. “Here, I’ll show you.”

He walks back over to the cabinet, reaching up to the top shelf, where he keeps all his crafting supplies. He wraps a hand around a thick, leather bound book— their scrapbook. He pulls up a chair next to Mason, and sets it down on the table in front of them.

When he flips open the cover, it reveals a yellowed photo of him and Mike on the first day of kindergarten, with the words “WILL & MIKE’S BOOK OF MEMORIES” spelled out in puffy stickers.

“Them?” Mason asks, his fingers ghosting over the corner of the page, as if he wanted to reach out and touch, but thought better of it.

Will chuckles quietly. “No, not them. You don’t recognize those guys?”

Mason studies the picture closely before seeming to come to some sort of realization, turning to Will. “You?”

“Uh huh. And who’s that?” he points to a toothless Mike. Will doesn’t think there’s a single picture of him from the ages of five to eight where he has all of his teeth. He always seemed to lose them faster than the rest of their peers.

“Mike?” he answers with uncertainty.

“Yup! Cute, right?”

Mason deliberately ignores his question, instead asking, “You’ve known each other since you were little?”

Will’s used to that— the shock that comes with the explanation of how he and Mike met. High school sweethearts are one thing; elementary school sweethearts are another. (Though, technically, they didn’t start dating until junior year, but that’s neither here nor there. They were in love, and that’s all that matters.)

“We have. I remember it like it was yesterday, though. We met on the first day of kindergarten. It was recess, and I was never really good at making friends. It seemed like everyone else just clicked, like they’d known each other all their lives. I saw that the swings were open, so I decided to spend the rest of my day there.

“But then two little feet came into view, and when I looked up, there was this boy with a neatly ironed polo and mud on his pants. I remember thinking that his dad would be furious when he found out that he ruined his nice clothes. That’s when Mike stuck his hand out like a tiny little businessman and introduced himself. We’ve been best friends ever since.”

“You’re, like, really in love then,” Mason figures, startling Will from where he’d been smiling down fonly at the photo.

“Yeah,” he replies sincerely. “Really, really in love.” He turns to the next page, then the next, then the next, because he tends to go through his books in chronological order, unlike someone. They pass kindergarten graduation, picnics, a couple first days of school, until they come across a face all too familiar to Will. “Lucas Sinclair. Uncle Lucas, as the kids call him. Best friend since ‘78. Mike’s old neighbor.”

“He’s married to the girl?”

“He is,” Will confirms, impressed. He’s really paying attention. “Nice catch.” He flips the pages a few more times until he gets to the picture he wants. Truthfully, he can navigate this book with his eyes closed. He goes through it every time he gets homesick— which is more often than he’d like to admit. “Dustin Henderson. He joined the Party in fourth grade. He’s a cutie, huh? I just want to squish his little cheeks.”

Mason pulls a face. “Ew.”

He’ll get it when he’s older. Once you turn twenty-five, you gain this urge to pat kids on the head and tell them how big they’ve grown. It’s scary.

Will smirks as he catches a glimpse at what’s next— their eight grade dance. “I’m sure you know this girl,” he says, slowly turning the page.

“Is that Miss El?” Mason nearly jumps out of his chair, shoving his face closer to the picture.

“It sure is. That was the year after she joined the group. And the girl next to her is Max. This is the first picture we ever took with all six of us.”

Will feels a strange sense of nostalgia for this moment. It was one he hated at the time. He was miserable dancing with that girl, and even more miserable watching Mike dance with his. But Will wouldn’t trade it for the world. They were happy then. Not that they aren’t now, but there’s a blissful innocence that’s lost in teenage years. Even more so when they spent most of them fighting monsters.

Back then, they thought it was over. They closed the gate. They didn’t live in constant fear of that thing coming back. They don’t have that same luxury anymore— no matter how many times they shot that man in the head. They will forever be on their toes.

“Her hair is so short,” he hears Mason say.

Will clears his throat, plastering on a small smile. “It was. She had a buzzcut a couple times, if you can believe it. She was pretty badass. You should ask her about it sometime.”

They pass through the early stages of Mike and Will’s relationship— fresh, intimate moments caught on camera thanks to Jonathan. Their third kiss, that movie night with Will’s family where they could finally cuddle up under the blankets, the time they accidentally fell asleep on the bed, with Will lying on Mike’s chest and a comic book dropped open on the floor.

They get to prom, and graduation, and college move-in day. Their first apartment in New York, their dog, their monthly game nights when their friends and family weren’t scattered across the country.

Finally, it’s here. The birth of Barbra Byers. One of the craziest days of Will’s life. The day he became an uncle.

“That's Barb,” he says quietly, almost a whisper, as if she could be woken up in the photo. “My niece. She’s seven now. You probably recognize her dad from the pictures before. That’s my brother, Jonathan. And his wife is Nancy, Mike’s sister.”

Mason furrows his eyebrows, turning his head toward Will. “Your siblings are married?”

“Yes,” he sighs. He already knows what’s coming. He’s been through this many times throughout the years. “And no, that doesn’t make us brothers. We are not related.”

Mason stifles a laugh, clearly not buying it. They aren’t incestuous— no matter how many waitresses say that they’re glad to see brothers getting along so well. They’re holding hands, Debrah.

Will flips through the Barb section until one baby becomes two. “This is Abigail, their youngest daughter. She just turned five this summer.”

“Wait,” Mason says suddenly. “Your siblings aren’t related to your friends, right?”

“No, they aren’t. Why?”

“Then how are they uncles and aunts?”

“You don’t have to be blood related to someone to be family,” Will explains. “We’re very close to our friends. We spend the holidays together under one roof. Mike and I have a really big family, even if it’s usually just the two of us here.”

Will can’t tell if Mason disagrees, but he mutters an, “Oh, okay,” and returns his attention back to the book.

“Dustin had the twins next, with his wife, Suzie,” he says, pointing to a picture of them holding one baby each. A girl and a boy— Charlotte and Timothy. “I doubt they’ll have any more. Suzie grew up with a houseful of kids, and twins run in the family. I don’t think they want to risk it. Finally, Lucas and Max had their little demon a couple years ago. He’s a menace, so watch out for him. I hope this next one is a girl for their sake.”

“Is she pregnant?”

“Mhm. Six months now. It’s due the second of December.”

“So she’s fat?” Mason asks, with the most serious look on his face. Will can’t help but let out a loud cackle.

“Yes, I imagine she’s pretty big by now. Why?”

“I’ve never seen a pregnant lady before,” he reveals, blushing lightly at Will’s outburst. “Only on TV.”

“Well, you’ll see her on Thanksgiving,” he says. “Assuming the baby isn’t premature.”

“I’m going to Thanksgiving?”

“Well, yeah,” Will replies. “We’re not leaving you here. We fly out to Indiana for fall break. Is that alright with you?” He hopes it’s alright. If not, they’ll have to cancel on their family. They’ve all been so excited to meet him. But if Mason isn’t ready, they won’t go. Simple as that.

“It’s fine,” he shrugs noncommittally. Will would love a definitive answer every once and a while. He’d hate to put Mason through stress just because he was too scared to speak up.

“Alright then. If you change your mind, let us know,” Will tells him, though he figures that he won’t. “And now that we got through all the kids, do you think you’re ready to start drawing?”

Mason sighs, nodding.

“Good. I’ll be right over there if you need me, okay?” he points to the easel in the corner. With another nod, Mason picks up his pencil and opens the sketchbook to a blank page.

Will smiles, standing to his feet. He’s got this— Will can tell. He has artistry in his blood. Will returns back to his own painting, filling in some missing bushes.

He quickly loses himself in his work, and before he knows it, over an hour has passed. Oops. He really didn’t mean to keep Mason this long. Maybe thirty minutes at most. He’d kind of expected Mason to bug him when he’d finished his picture, but there hasn’t been a peep from that side of the room for a long while.

Shit. That’s definitely concerning.

Will peaks at the table. Mason’s gaze is focused downward, and he’s scribbling something on the page. Then he erases it. Then he scribbles again. A process that Will is all too familiar with.

“Hey,” he says, stepping over to Mason, who lifts his head in surprise. “Are you making good progress?”

“Yeah,” he replies, pulling the book toward his chest so Will can’t catch a glimpse of it. “I’m almost done.”

Will figured he’d be long done by now. Of course, his instincts are never wrong. Mason is an artist. He loves drawing. He just needed a push.

“Can I see it?” he requests, holding out an arm.

Mason hesitates, then shakes his head.

“That’s alright,” Will assures gently. “Some art is private. There are lots of emotions involved. I don’t let people look at a lot of my work either.”

“No, it’s not— there are no emotions,” Mason is sure to correct, scrunching his nose as if the mere mention of emotions was enough to disgust him.

“Then why can’t I see?”

“Because,” he answers, eyes trained on the desk in front of him. Will doesn’t think he’s going to elaborate, until he adds, “It’s not good.”

That’s bullshit. Will knows it’s good. He can feel it in his bones. “I’m sure that’s not true,” he says. “And it wouldn’t matter either way. Art is about expressing yourself, not being good. I won’t judge, I promise.”

“But you’re an artist. You’re really good. Mine looks stupid.”

Will isn’t sure whether to be flattered or offended on Mason’s behalf. He thinks he’s good. And sure, Will draws professionally. Dozens of people have told him that before. He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t have a little bit of talent. But Mason thinks so, too— and suddenly, no one else’s opinion matters.

Will pulls the chair out next to Mason and sits down. “Can I tell you something?” Mason nods. “When I was a kid, I never thought I’d be good enough to be an artist. I always compared myself to the professionals. And that wasn’t fair to me, because they were grown ups. You know how long I’ve been practicing? Twenty-nine years. Your drawings aren’t going to look like mine. I don’t expect them to. Mine didn’t look great at twelve either. I’m just proud of you for trying.”

Mason glances up at him apprehensively. Then, he slowly hands Will the sketchbook.

Yes! He didn’t think that would actually work.

Will looks down at the page. It’s a drawing of the room— the view Mason sees from his seat. Will did say to look around for inspiration, he guesses. Fair.

It’s surprisingly detailed. The lines are a bit wobbly, there’s no shading, and the perspective is off in a couple places— but it’s good. Impressive. Far above what Will would expect from a beginner.

“This is incredible,” Will tells him.

“Really?” he asks, like he doesn’t quite believe it.

“Really,” he reiterates. “There’s a lot of potential here. Do you draw on your own at all?”

“No. I’ve tried before but it always turns out bad.”

“You want to draw, then?” Will asks. Mason shrugs, then nods. Perfect. He’s fallen into his trap. “How would you like lessons? I can teach you everything I know.”

Mason opens his mouth to respond, then pauses, unsure. Finally, he says, “Okay.”

Okay! Holy shit, he actually agreed. Not very enthusiasticly, but still— he said yes. “Cool! We can start now, if you want. And you can keep the sketchbook. I have way too many that I never fill up.”

“Okay,” he repeats, with a small smile on his face. “Thanks.”

Will is so excited, he could scream. He has a mentee. He’s never had another artist in the house before— not since El. He’s going to stuff this kid with so much art knowledge that his head will explode.

Looking back at Mason’s paper, he tries to determine where exactly to begin. He notices the shaky lines that are entirely too dark, and how his eraser did nothing but lighten things slightly. He’s way too tense— he needs to loosen up his grip.

“Okay, first things first,” Will starts, leaning in close, trying to keep the giddiness out of his voice. “How to hold a pencil.”

Mason groans, banging his head on the table. He’s definitely already regretting this.

Chapter Text

Things, for the most part, calm down after The Incident. Mason finished up his week of dish washing without much complaint, and, more surprisingly, didn’t even pull a face when Will dragged him into his office last Saturday.

Of course, Mike’s heard all about Will’s evil plan. He’s one hundred percent on board with molding Mason into the best artist he can be— though he isn’t too happy about the fact that the only part of his punishment that was actually punishing has now turned into something he enjoys. It’s fine. Mike isn’t even mad anymore. Mason deserves solely good things for the rest of his life.

Maybe Mike is a pushover. He can’t stand his ground against a cute face. He should have known after the countless times he ran back to Will on his knees when they got into a fight.

Anyway— they’re cool now. Mason hasn’t tried to leave, and, if anything, he seems to like them more. Which still isn’t much— Mike wouldn’t even use the word “like,” honestly. Tolerate, maybe. Slightly annoyed by.

He engages in conversation when Mike bugs him, and joins them for dinner without fuss. Small improvements, but improvements nonetheless.

It’s to the point that when Mike asks a question, he actually expects a response. He’s getting spoiled, he knows. It’s a luxury he takes for granted. So when Mike pulls into the pickup line at Mason’s school and asks him how his day was, he prepares himself for the scraps he usually receives.

“Fine,” Mason replies shortly, keeping his gaze on the backpack he sets between his feet.

Uh oh. Bad day. Mike can tell by the way he won’t meet his eyes, purposefully turning his head in the other direction. That doesn’t stop Mike from trying, craning his neck around to catch a glimpse of Mason’s troubled face. Whatever it is, Mike can help. He just needs to be let in.

That’s when he sees it— a bruised cut right beside his eye. The kind of injury Mike thought he’d left back in 1989.

Someone hurt him.

“Woah, hey,” Mike exclaims, stupidly reaching a hand out to graze his cheek. Mason, predictably, pulls away with a jolt, swatting down his arm. That’s Mike’s bad. “What happened? Is someone picking on you?”

How dare they. Mike will kill them. Seriously— he will march right out of this car and beat some poor child into the ground. They do not get to lay a hand on Mason. Not that sweet boy.

“No,” he denies, though he’s clearly lying. “I swung my locker into my face. It was stupid,” he mumbles, still looking anywhere but Mike.

Yeah, right. More like he got shoved into a locker. Mike, sadly, considers himself an expert on bully-induced injuries. The amount of force needed to create this bruise is more than little Mason could produce.

He’s hiding this from him. Mason should never need to hide anything from him. But Mike gets it. It’s embarrassing. He would have died before telling an adult what happened to him as a kid. He was supposed to be the tough one. He could handle it himself.

Then he grew up, and he realized just how isolating that had been. It’d taken a huge toll on his self-esteem. Without his friends by his side, he doesn’t know how he would have dealt.

That’s why Mike decides to play along. If he confronts Mason directly, he’ll surely scare the kid away. But he can’t just ignore it— Mike has to let him know he’s not alone. Mason needs someone right now— even if he’ll never admit that.

“Ah, yeah,” Mike clicks his tongue sympathetically, nodding. “I hate lockers. You know, I had issues with lockers when I was in school.”

Mason furrows his eyebrows, confused, like he’s surprised that his excuse worked; and probably that Mike is stupid enough to struggle with lockers. “You did?”

“Mhm. All the time. I wasn’t very cool back then, believe it or not. None of my friends were. I’d come home with black eyes, scraped chins— you name it.”

It seems that now is when Mason realizes that Mike hadn’t fallen for his trick at all. He averts his gaze, blushing.

Mike continues on, softening his voice. “Don’t let the lockers get to you, okay? They’re mean, and they hurt like hell, but they’re really just dumb old hunks of metal. You’re cool. You’re way cooler than they’ll ever be. I mean, look at me— I’m awesome! They were clearly wrong about everything.”

Mason gives him a doubtful look, scrunching up his nose playfully. “I don’t know…” he teases with a small smile.

“Don’t be a locker now,” Mike rebuts, smirking. At least he got Mason to cheer up a bit. He’ll take a small blow to his ego.

When Mike arrives back home, Will is locked away in his office. Right on cue, the door swings open and Will emerges, hair messy from combing his fingers through it, the way he does when he’s particularly frustrated about a drawing.

They have a routine down pat by now; Mike and Mason get back from school, and Will comes out to greet them at the sound of the lock, like a loyal dog. They make Mason a small snack before he goes and starts his homework. They don’t see him again until dinner, and then he disappears for the remainder of the night.

What doesn’t typically happen, however, is Will freezing in the entryway the second he gains sight of Mason. “Oh my— what happened?” he exclaims, rushing forward toward the both of them.

Mason turns to him, eyes pleading. Don’t tell him.

And… Mike can’t. No matter how much he hates lying to Will, he can’t betray Mason’s trust like that. “Someone slammed their head into a locker like a dummy,” he says instead.

Will’s eyes widen minutely, taking a second glance at Mason’s injury. He’s not buying it. Mike knew he wouldn’t. Judging by Will’s suspicious face, he knows that Mike doesn’t believe his own words either. “Well that’s not good,” he replies, cautiously going with it. “You alright?”

Mason nods, relieved. “I’m good,” he confirms, then starts toward his bedroom.

“Mason, wait,” Mike says, and he pauses in his tracks. He looks back with a grimace, like he’s expecting to get called out on his story. He’s not. Mike would never. “We gotta clean that up first, okay? You cut yourself on rusty metal. Just take a seat— I’ll be right back.”

Mike heads to the bathroom, where he pulls a first-aid kit from behind the mirror. He walks back into the living room, and kneels in front of Mason on the couch. He grabs an alcohol wipe, telling Mason, “This might sting, okay?”

He nods, and Mike slowly raises his hand up to the scratch. It’s not horribly deep— more bruised than anything— but he’d rather be safe than sorry. He gently dabs at it, his touch as feather-light as possible.

Mason still cringes, pulling back slightly. “Sorry,” Mike whispers, trying again. This time, he holds still. Mike tosses the wipe to the side, pulling out a tube of Neosporin. He places a drop on his finger, and carefully spreads it over the cut. Then, he opens a large bandage and smooths it over Mason’s skin.

“All done,” he says quietly, leaning back with a soft smile on his face. Mason stares back at him with a look Mike has never seen on him before— vulnerability, maybe? Trust? Bewilderment? Anyway, Mike likes it. It’s sweet. “Anywhere else?”

Mason thinks for a moment, before nodding slowly. He rolls up his pant leg to reveal a bloody knee. His pants are torn. Mike can’t believe he hadn’t noticed it before. This one was clearly no locker; this was cement. He was pushed to the ground. And Mason decided to tell him, even though it went against his own story.

Mike doesn’t mention it. He grabs another wipe from the kit, and gets to work. Placing a bandage on Mason’s knee, he almost feels like he’s treating the wound of a four-year-old boy that fell off his bike. It’s everything Mike wants. A kid that he can comfort, and heal, and protect. Someone that can come to him when he’s in trouble. Someone to pick up when they fall— a son.

“There you go,” he says, swiping a thumb over the bandaid with a sad smile. “You’re free to leave, if you want. I won’t keep you captive any longer.” Mason goes to stand, before Mike holds his arm out in front of him. “And— hey,” he whispers, keeping his voice low enough that it stays between the two of them. “If this happens again, you come to me. I won’t let them get away with hurting you.”

Mason nods, squeezing out from between Mike and the sofa. Before he makes it even two feet, he pauses, glancing over his shoulder. “Thanks,” he mutters, continuing toward his room.

Mike feels a tug on his heart as he watches him leave. It takes everything in him not to ask Mason to stay. This is bad. He’s way too attached. Mason doesn’t even like them, and Mike is falling head over heels. It’s like he’s being forced to watch him from behind a glass, so close but always out of reach.

With a sigh, he raises himself off the ground, packing up the first-aid kid. Will stands right up next to him, whispering lowly, “He’s being bullied?”

So he does know. Figures. “Yeah,” he confirms, sneaking a quick glance at Mason’s shut door. “He wouldn’t admit it, but yeah.”

“Poor kid. I just wanna put him in my pocket and protect him from the world.” Yeah, Mike knows the feeling. He wants to pat Mason’s little head and tell him that it’ll all be okay. “He’s been through so much already. This just feels like the cruel cherry on top.”

“Yeah,” Mike repeats. It seems like that’s all he’s capable of saying right now. What did Mason do to deserve this? Why is everyone against him? He’s literally the sweetest boy Mike has ever met. And maybe that’s a bit biased, seeing as he’s Mike’s boy for the time being, but it’s the truth.

He always thought that parents were a bit too braggy about their kids— no, Sharon, Liam is not the next Picasso— but now he gets it. Everything Mason does is incredible. He brushes his hair, he changes his clothes, he eats his dinner— and suddenly, those have all become Olympic sports. Mason is a gold medal winner in his eyes.

Mason is perfect, and he deserves the world. Now, Mike doesn’t support beating up children, but if someone hurts his foster kid again, he will not hold back. They messed with the wrong guardian. He’s killed.

After a peaceful dinner, Mike’s protective instinct has still not worn down. What can he say— he’s a natural caretaker. And clingy. He needs to be around Mason, and he’s scared he never won’t. He’s turned into his mother— annoying and invasive.

It’s about this time that he and Will would settle down for the night, turning on some show or movie that they’re both going to end up talking over. Today, Mike has a better idea. A way to watch over Mason and make sure that he’s alright. (A way to keep Mike from worrying, to make sure he’s alright.)

“What are the chances that Mason would want to join us tonight?” he asks Will, as he dumps a bag of popcorn into a large bowl.

“Slim to none?” he replies, raising an eyebrow. Mike is familiar with what that look means. What are you thinking? You know the answer already.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Mike concedes. It’s no use. He’ll obviously say no.

“But…” Will prompts. He knows Mike too well.

“But we should ask, right? To be polite.”

Will throws his hands up in surrender, flopping down on the couch. “Knock yourself out. I’d love to have him. Just don’t be too disappointed.”

Mike shoots him a grin, pecking him quickly on the cheek. Too late for that— his hopes are through the roof. He practically skips down the hallway, raises an arm, and knocks on the door.

“Come in,” Mason says.

Mike peaks his head into the room. Mason is sitting on his bed with a book, a little girl drawn on the cover. Homework, he assumes. It’s good conversation anyway. Mike nods his head toward it. “Is that for school?”

“No,” he answers, to Mike’s surprise. He’s reading a book. Willingly. He didn’t even know that Mason liked to read. This is fantastic. A scholar in the household. Someone to trade book recommendations with. At least, once he ages into the young adult section. “Miss El got it for me a few years ago. It’s not just for girls,” he informs Mike, as if that’d been something he himself was worried about when he was gifted it. El must’ve reassured him when he’d thrown a fit over the girl on the cover.

Mike laughs softly. “I know. Books aren’t for boys or girls— they’re for everyone. I love reading books about girls, personally.” Little Women is one of the best. He was basically raised on Nancy’s hand-me-downs, so he’s very familiar with female protagonists. “Is that one any good?”

Mason nods. “It’s my favorite,” he says, tilting the cover so Mike can see it. Matilda. He’s never read that one, despite its popularity. Maybe he should.

“Cool. Well, I didn't mean to interrupt you, but Will and I were wondering if you’d like to join us for movie night? You can choose, if you want.”

Mason screws his mouth to the side in consideration, glancing down at his book, then back to Mike. “Okay,” he finally decides.

Wait— what? He agreed? He’s spending time with them on purpose?

Mike tries to bite back the huge smile that’s broken out on his face. “Okay, yeah. Great. Yeah,” he blabbers, like a complete idiot. Mason seems to think so too, with the amused— and somewhat judgmental— look he’s giving him. “Hey— maybe we can do this all the time. Like, a weekly movie night.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Mason says as he rises off his bed and walks out the door.

“Right. Of course.” Too much, Mike. Dial it back, he scolds himself as he trails behind Mason like a lost puppy. Be cool. Don’t be a doof.

He doesn’t care. He’s on top of the world. He just can’t believe that Mason agreed. Whatever— he’ll take the win. And he’ll be a proper first-date gentleman and leave a six inch gap between them at all times.

Chapter Text

October 6th— the first Friday of the month. Aka, laundry day.

Technically, every Friday is laundry day— but the first is special. Well, not so much special as it is a pain in the ass. Today is deep-cleaning day. Where normally he’d only have to deal with clothes, now he has to deal with everything.

He wakes up at eight precisely, and starts a load of whites. Then, he brushes his teeth and takes a quick shower. By the time he’s done with breakfast, it’s time to switch the laundry to the dryer and put in another load of darks.

He wipes the counters, scrubs the stove, and strips their bed, throwing their comforter in the wash. He sweeps, and vacuums, and mops, and adds in their sheets. He bleaches the bathrooms, and trades the sheets for their towels. He has a bit of lunch, folds their clothes, and tosses in any spare blankets they have laying around. Finally, he makes their bed, and takes a long nap in it.

Safe to say, he doesn’t even bother picking up a pencil on the first Friday of the month. Today’s his day off; the perks of working from home. He’s practically his own boss— besides the fact that he has to get his drawings approved before he can submit anything to the comic company he works for.

So Fridays are a win-lose— especially now that he has another person living under his roof. That’s a minimum of two more loads of laundry. He better get started.

Will decides to get all of their clothes out of the way first. They’re the priority, after all. He does his and Mike’s together as usual, while keeping Mason’s on their own. He’s sure Mason will appreciate the privacy, even in the washing machine.

Next, he strips all the beds. He figures that he might as well put Mason’s sheets in with theirs; no one has to know. He throws his own comforter on the floor, basketing up his sheets and pillow cases. Then, he makes his way to Mason’s room, tossing his extra blanket over a chair before untucking the comforter and pulling it back.

Will drops it to the ground, turning to remove the sheets. He freezes. There’s a large, light stain in the middle of the bed.

Oh. Uh oh.

Did he have an accident? Does he have accidents? Frequently? Poor baby. Will can practically feel his heart breaking. Little Mason— the boy that always tries to act so tough. He’s really just a kid.

Will wonders if he has nightmares. Maybe that’s why. He only hopes that this happened later in the morning. He’d hate it if Mason had to sleep in this mess all night.

He was probably too embarrassed to say anything. Will wishes he had. He doesn’t need to feel ashamed in front of them. He must be stressing over how to bring it up tonight. But that’s okay. Will can clean it up, no problem. It can be their secret— no awkward conversations necessary.

Will balls up the sheets and throws them in with the others. He takes Mason’s clothes out of the dryer and neatly folds them back in his basket. Once all the blankets are done, he makes Mason’s bed right back up again, placing the basket on top. Finally, as a finishing touch, he writes a little note and sets it on the freshly-washed clothes.

All clean :)

There. Nice and tidy. His bed looks a lot neater than it did this morning. They really should start getting him to make it soon. And to clean his room, too.

By the time Will finishes his chores, it’s past three. He barely gets thirty minutes of relaxation on the couch before Mike and Mason come strolling through the front door. Will’s two little men are back from school.

He makes to rise from his seat to greet them, but sinks back down when his muscles protest. They can come to him, he decides. He won’t be moving for the rest of the night.

Mike, predictably, compensates without question. He walks over to the arm of the couch and leans over to peck Will on the cheek. “Missed you, my love. Hard day?”

Will nods, faking a dramatic sigh. “The hardest. I’m starving. Wanna start cooking dinner?” he asks, with the most innocent voice he can manage.

Mike sees through him, sporting an unamused look. “It’s a bit early, isn’t it?”

At some point in their flirtatious conversation, Mason has trekked across the living room and slammed his own door shut behind him. Will isn’t surprised— that he didn’t stick around to hear any more of their sap, or that he didn’t say hi.

Will grins up at him shyly, giving a one-shoulder shrug. “I washed your socks,” he argues, and that’s all the convincing Mike needs. He bends down to kiss the crown of Will’s head.

“Is lasagna alright with you, my lord?”

Will lets out a small laugh as Mike retreats to the kitchen. “I suppose it’ll do,” he replies in a disappointed tone. Mike knows he’s kidding. He loves Mike’s lasagna. It was one of the first dishes he ever learned to make, back when they were living off of fast food and turkey sandwiches.

Will turns back to the TV that’s playing some stupid reality show as Mike pulls out a large pot and fills it with water. Before he can get too comfortable, a door swings open and little feet stomp over to the couch.

“Did you go in my room?” Mason accuses, crossing his arms at Will. Right. He must have discovered his clean clothes and made bed. Will almost forgot about that.

His face is strangely unreadable, despite the fact that it’s displaying more emotions than Will thinks he’s ever seen on it. The set jaw and harsh voice are easy enough to discern— anger. Not exactly the reaction Will was expecting. His eyes, on the other hand, seem somewhat… worried? Anxious? His tense shoulders seem to confirm that. Or maybe he’s just really furious.

This isn’t about going into Mason’s room without permission. Will does that every week, setting the laundry basket in the same spot each time without complaint. This is about the bed.

Will is confused. He thought Mason would be glad. Maybe a little nervous, sure, but thankful. Will took care of everything for him. Why is he upset?

Will glances over at Mike, who’s shooting him a quizzical look. He turns back to Mason, placing a hand on his shoulder and whispering, “How about we talk in your room?” He doesn’t figure that Mason would want an audience for this conversation.

Coming to the same conclusion, Mason reluctantly nods, still glaring at Will.

Will leads them down the hall and into solitude, shutting the door behind them. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, then pats the spot beside him.

Mason drags his feet over, slowly sitting down on his designated seat, as if he’s scared it’ll explode out from under him. It seems like most of the anger has left his body, and all that’s left is a scared little boy.

“You’re mad at me,” Will states anyway. It seems like the most pressing issue.

Mason nods, as if he just remembered that fact. His gaze hardens once again, but it’s not as intense as before.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” he says as gently as he can. It’s the kind of tone that Mike sometimes takes on when Will is having a particularly bad day, and he believes that everyone is mad at him for the smallest things. “I won’t touch your stuff anymore. But you’ll have to do your own laundry from now on, deal?”

“Deal,” Mason replies, quiet and meek. He’s avoiding Will’s eyes like the plague, choosing to stare down at his comforter instead. The tough act can’t last forever.

“Good. Now— can we talk about it?”

Mason pouts adorably, though it was probably meant to come off as more of a scowl. He looks defeated, like he’d been dreading that question.

“Hey— I wasn’t going to bring it up unless you did,” Will defends, raising his arms in surrender. Mason visibly shrinks in on himself, ashamed. Whether it’s at the issue itself, or for mentioning it at all, Will isn’t sure. “You know no one’s mad at you, right?” he asks, leaning in closer. He tries to meet Mason’s eyes, to no avail. “I’m definitely not judging you. It’s alright. Accidents happen.”

Mason flushes dark red. Will immediately cringes at himself once he realizes how that sounds. “Sorry, poor choice of words. I just mean— sometimes, things go wrong. It’s just how the world works. There’s nothing we can do but fix it. And luckily, this was really easy to fix. So there’s no problem, alright?”

Mason doesn’t look sure, but he gives the tiniest of nods.

“Okay, good,” Will says with a smile that he hopes is reassuring. “So does… this,” he gestures to the bed vaguely, “happen often? Or was it just a one time thing?”

“It’s… sometimes,” he mutters, barely audible. The blush hasn’t left his cheeks.

Sometimes. Alright. “And how often is ‘sometimes’? Everyday? Once a year?” If this is a serious problem, Will would like to know. Maybe they could get him some help. Or, at least, find a temporary solution so he doesn’t have to keep cleaning his sheets.

“No, like,” Mason fumbles around for a bit, picking at the skin on his fingers. Will wants to pull his hands apart. “Once a month?” he guesses.

That’s not horrible. He should be washing his bedding that often anyway. “Okay. Thanks for telling me,” Will says. “And did this happen this morning, or last night?” Will hopes that Mason knows he can wake them up in the middle of the night if he needs to, but he doubts it. It won’t hurt to remind him, anyway.

Mason’s blush grows impossibly darker. He murmurs something incomprehensible.

“Hm?” Will turns his ear in his direction, leaning in to hear.

“Tuesday,” he repeats, only marginally louder.

What? There’s no way Will heard that right. He must’ve said today. But taking another look at Mason, he knows that’s not true. Shame coats his features, and his eyes shine like he’s going to cry.

Will can’t help but lay his hand over Mason’s. “Honey, you can tell me when things like this happen. That’s why I’m here. It’s my job to help you. I would have cleaned everything up for you.”

Mason remains silent. Will still can’t believe it. He hates the thought of Mason returning to this bed every night, too embarrassed to mention it to either of them. Surely he knows that they wouldn’t have blamed him, right?

“I want you to be comfortable, okay?” Will continues. “And this couldn’t have been comfortable. If you need anything, come to me. Alright?”

Still, there’s nothing. Will gets the feeling that he’s fighting back tears. He shouldn’t have to. He’s so private about everything, like he’s under some sort of ridicule. He’s not. He never will be, when he’s with them. He has to know that.

“Sometimes I get embarrassed about stuff,” Will tells him, resting his weight onto his arm casually. “Stuff I don’t need to be embarrassed by. Did you know that I still sleep with a nightlight?”

Mason finally looks up, surprised. He shakes his head.

“Well I do. And it’s embarrassing, you know? Because I’m almost thirty, and I sometimes think that nightlights are for kids. But they’re not. They help me with nightmares, and that’s all that matters. Mike doesn’t judge me for it. He’s good at that— being supportive. Understanding. Sometimes it’s still embarrassing. And that’s okay too.”

Will sends him a small smile, but Mason doesn’t return it. He doesn’t think that’s a bad sign, though. While Mason’s face is blank, his eyes are full of emotion. Acceptance, Will thinks. Gratitude. Or maybe it’s nothing at all.

“Did you tell him?” Mason asks suddenly.

Will pauses for a moment, confused. “About the nightlight? I mean, it was kind of hard to hide. We share a room.”

Mason shakes his head, once again staring down at his lap.

Oh. Will knows what he means. Did you tell him about me? “No,” he answers honestly. Mason nearly sags in relief. “I didn’t think you’d really want me to.”

“I don’t.”

Will hates keeping things from Mike. He’s told him everything, from bathroom trips to work drama, for the past twelve years. Some things, though, aren’t really his to tell. “It can just be our secret, then. How’s that?”

“Okay,” Mason agrees with a nod.

There’s a quiet lull in the conversation, but it’s not uncomfortable. Well, maybe it is for Mason, but Will takes this time to really think. He has a way he can help— just a little. Mason isn’t going to like it. He contemplates bringing it up and ruining the nice moment they had, and ultimately decides that Mason’s health is worth it.

“You know,” he starts slowly. Calmly. “They make stuff for kids who have… problems with this. To wear. So you don’t have to keep doing laundry every time.”

Mason knits his eyebrows in confusion, before his expression turns horrified. “I’m not wearing a diaper,” he whisper-yells, offended at the suggestion. Will assumed he’d react like this.

“There’s no shame in it,” Will tries, though he knows it’s pointless. “It’s just like my nightlight. If it’ll help you, I think you should use it. But no pressure. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

By the look on Mason’s face, he can tell that he definitely does not want to. Will sighs. “Alright. It’s up to you. But I should probably show you the laundry room then, huh?” He stands from the bed, holding out a hand. Mason deliberately ignores it, walking out the door with a huff.

Will trails after, guiding him into the guest bathroom. He opens a second door on the far wall, revealing a tiny room with only enough space for a washer and dryer, and a mini counter for folding. “Do you know how to run the machines?” Will asks.

“Yeah,” he confirms, glancing over the list of settings they have available. Not many. They aren’t rich.

“Okay, good. Our detergent is in here,” he says, opening the cupboard above the washer. “Just one scoop. And there’s fabric softener and dryer sheets if you use them.” Will doesn’t think he does, but they’re there anyway.

Mason just stares back at him. Not a cruel stare, like before. This is his okay, what now? stare.

“Wanna go check on dinner?” Will suggests.

“Okay,” he agrees, and lets Will set a hand on his shoulder blade as he leads them back into the kitchen. Will is just glad that he isn’t angry anymore. Sometimes it feels like he’s a bomb, one spark away from exploding. Will thinks they’ve been doing pretty good at stamping out any flames. Other times, not so much; but they’re always there to rebuild anything that might have been destroyed.

That night, Will heads out to the store. He tells Mike that he ran out of drawing paper, which is a stupid excuse, but he falls for it nonetheless. Really, he’s there to pick up two things— a mattress cover, and absorbent underwear that are not diapers, because Mason might throw a fit, ironically, like a baby.

Even if he hates them, this is Will’s job. He needs to help keep Mason safe and comfortable in any way he can. If he just ignores this… that’s like, neglect, right? He can’t let his baby sleep in filth.

He puts the bag next to Mason’s bedside table when he’s asleep. Unsatisfied, Will heads back to the kitchen to write a small note. He leaves it resting on top of the bag.

Use them if you want <3

Will doesn’t know how Mason reacts to the gift, because he doesn’t mention it the next morning. In fact, he doesn’t say much at all. He mostly just keeps his head down and eats his breakfast in silence. Will doesn’t bring it up, and Mike doesn’t notice anything is off.

But Mason can’t avoid them forever, because come afternoon, they’re at his door to bug him. It’s Saturday, which means that Mike is off work. It also means that El isn’t, because she works Friday through Tuesday. They try to take her out to eat whenever they can— or, whenever they can be bothered. They’ve been a bit busy with Mason lately, but they think it’s time now. They’ve been planning it all week.

“What?” Mason calls out. It lacks his usual hostility, though Will might just be hearing things.

Mike pokes his head in, offering a smile. “Hey. We were heading over to the shelter to visit El. We thought you might want to join us. It’s totally up to you though, if you’d prefer the house to yourself.”

Mason’s up in a heartbeat. “Really? I can go?”

“Of course. Get ready, we’re leaving in thirty minutes.”

Before Mike can fully close the door, Will can see him rush over to his closet. “He seems excited,” Will says, and Mike laughs in agreement.

“Yeah, definitely. I thought it’d take a bit of convincing.”

“It’s El,” Will shrugs. “He has a soft spot for her. You did too, at his age. Hey— why do all the guys in my life love El before they love me?”

Mike smiles guiltily, wrapping his arms around Will’s waist. “Because your sister is cool, but you’re too cool to let go of?” he tries, unfortunately successful.

Will kisses the side of his head. “Nice one. Now put on your shoes.”

They get to the shelter at around 3:30– just before El’s “lunch” break. Will thinks she’s lucky that she doesn’t have to clock in until noon, but her meal times are all screwed up.

Mike holds the front door open for Mason and Will, because he was raised like a gentleman. Will gives him a peck on the cheek as a reward. What can he say? He doesn’t like opening doors. He might as well train himself a doorman. The past decade has proven this method effective.

The new receptionist is sitting at her desk as expected. She sends them a smile when she sees them walk in, but her features suddenly grow sad as she notices Mason next to them. Why? What’s there to be sad about?

And then Will gets it. She thinks they’re returning him. This same scenario must have played out dozens of times before. Will is sort of offended— both that the receptionist thinks Mason is bad enough of a kid to get returned, and that she doesn’t believe in their abilities to care for him. She thinks they’re evil enough to take him back here. Logically, it’s a reasonable conclusion to come to, given Mason’s past. Still, it hurts that she would think they’re capable of something like that. Not that they’re friends, or even really acquaintances.

Mason seems to come to the same realization as she did only a second later. He stills next to them, muscles going rigid. He thinks they’re tricking him— that they told him they’re going to get lunch, only to lure him back to the shelter without a fight. He probably assumes that it’s because of the incident yesterday. Like they would ever do that. Will has to reassure him— fast.

As Mike goes to speak with the receptionist, Will turns to Mason. He grins softly, meeting Mason’s fearful eyes. Will can hardly stay looking at them; it’s like they’re pleading with him. No. Don’t do this. Please.

Mason surprisingly allows him to set a hand on his head. Will plays with a strand of hair as he says softly, “Where did you want to eat?” Translation: we’re going out to eat.

Mason shrugs, eyes cast downward. “I don’t care.” It didn’t work. Mason must still think they’re trying to trick him; subdue him. Or maybe he thinks they’re going out for one last meal before they drop him back off with El.

“Okay. Well, you can decide later. And then we could get some ice cream, how about that?” he suggests. Mason only seems to get more uncomfortable at that. What was Will thinking? Ice cream and his choice of restaurant? This must look like a bribe. “We can take it back home, if you want. Watch a movie? Or maybe play video games?”

At the mention of home, Mason appears to relax a little, letting out a breath. “Sure, yeah,” he agrees mindlessly. Did he really just promise that he’d spend time with them? Will is holding him to that, even if he is a little out of it right now.

While marginally better, Mason still doesn’t seem positive about their intentions, so Will continues. “And tomorrow, maybe we can have our art lesson. I noticed that you skipped today.” His voice is unnaturally gentle— it’s clear that he’s trying to calm Mason down. Mason doesn’t complain about it though. For once, he’s allowing himself comfort.

He nods, just as El walks into the lobby. She immediately locks eyes with Mason, running toward him with her arms outstretched. “Mason! I missed you!” she exclaims, hugging him tightly.

Mason mumbles something back to her.

“Oh, wow, nice to see you too, El,” Mike says sarcastically.

El gives him a look. “If you walked into a room with me and Mason, who would you go to first?” This shuts Mike up. The answer is obvious. She smirks, satisfied, then peppers the top of Mason’s head with kisses.

He groans, trying to lean back, but her arms are secured around his waist. It’s somewhat satisfying knowing that Mason protests physical affection from everyone, not just them.

They all head out to the car, where they drive to a local restaurant only a few minutes away. Will and Mike have been here before, on previous lunch outings with El, but this time it was recommended by Mason. Apparently, the kids at the shelter go here sometimes as a treat.

It’s nothing fancy— just a little diner with sandwiches and hamburgers. They choose to sit outside on the patio, since the weather is starting to drop and they aren’t in danger of melting out of their seats.

Mason seems to be in a better mood now that El is here. He really trusts her. He knows she’d never lie to him— especially not with that big smile on her face. She’s a horrible liar.

After ordering their food— which Mason lets them do for him— the four of them catch up as if they haven’t seen each other in years. Well, the adults do. Mason mainly just plays with his meal while they ramble on. El manages to get him to answer a couple questions, but he seems mostly content just sitting there. Will wants to pull El to the side to ask if she knows anything about Mason’s bed wetting, but he figures that’s an invasion of privacy.

“So what’s up with your receptionist?” Will brings up eventually. The question has been on his mind for a while, but he didn’t want to seem rude. She and El are friends, after all.

“What do you mean?” El asks curiously. One of the things Will loves about her is the fact that she always assumes the best in everyone. It’s extremely hard to offend her; which is good for Will, who seems to accidentally offend everyone he’s ever talked to.

He shrugs. “Well, she’s new, right? And you two get along?”

“Oh, she’s not new,” El laughs. “We moved her from the morning shift after we fired Gertrude.” The old receptionist was not named Gertrude— that was the code name they gave her so they could talk about her on the phone while El was at work. El thought it sounded like an old, evil nanny’s name. “She’s nice, though. We’ve been friends for years.”

“Oh, okay,” Will mutters to himself. He doesn’t mention the incident with Mason an hour ago; mostly because he’s sitting right beside him, but also because El likes her. She must have just been looking out for Mason. If she’s been at the shelter for a while, she must know him pretty well. Maybe as well as El does. If El had seen Mason’s foster parents walk in with him, she’d probably have the same reaction.

“I don’t like her,” Mason says abruptly.

“What?” El asks, surprised. “Why not?”

He wrinkles his nose. “She always looks at me weird. Like she feels bad for me, or something. It’s annoying.”

That. That’s what’s been rubbing Will the wrong way. He hates that. He’s experienced it his entire life— the pitying glances, the tiptoeing, the being treated like glass. It is annoying. It made Will feel like no one believed in him— like they didn’t think he could do things on his own. Everyone meant well, but it just made things worse.

El just further backs his point. “She means well,” she defends, but doesn’t have much to say after that. The “but I agree” is silent, yet heard.

Will meets Mason’s gaze when El isn’t looking, mouthing, “I don’t like her either,” with a shake of his head. A hint of a smile appears on Mason’s face.

Mike fakes a sigh, standing from his chair. “I guess I should go pay,” he says, pausing to look around the group. No one else volunteers. Mike doesn’t mean it anyway— he’d protest the second El pulled out her wallet.

As Mike turns to leave, Will catches sight of El across the table. She does a quick motion with her eyes, then nods toward Mason, who doesn’t seem to notice. Go away, she’s saying. I want to talk to him.

“I’ll come,” Will announces, locking arms with a surprised, but pleased, Mike.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Will shrugs. “Because I’m really nice,” he lies, steering him toward the doors. “Let's go.”

He isn’t sure what El needs to talk to Mason about; he thought everything was going great. Maybe it’s just official foster business. Whatever it is, Will can take a hint. He knows when to fuck off.

Something happened. El can tell. Mason is acting… different. She hasn’t seen him like this since he was younger than eight. Maybe even ever.

It’s a good different. He looks almost relaxed. He’s never relaxed. He let Will touch his hair, and Mike his shoulder, without attempting to pull away. He hasn’t even talked back once all day. No eye-rolling, no huffing, no glares. There’s a strange softness on his face that El only sees when they’re alone.

“You like them,” she accuses with a knowing grin.

Mason looks up, mouth dropped open in offense. He stares at her like she’s crazy. “I don’t like them,” he strictly denies, arms crossed.

“You do,” she pushes, leaning over the table. “You stopped fighting with them.”

“That doesn’t mean I like them.” He glances down at his fingers, trying to act cool. “I just— I’m going to be staying with them, so.”

“So?”

“So I might as well deal with it.”

“You’ve never ‘dealt with it’ before. You always put up a fight,” El points out. No matter how hard it made Mason’s life, he never gave his foster parents what they wanted. He never surrendered. “What makes Mike and Will any different than your past foster parents?”

Mason is quiet for a moment, thinking. Finally, he answers, “They think I’m cool. Everyone else treats me like they’re above me. Like— I don’t know. Like teachers. I have to follow their rules, because I’m in their space and they’re just babysitting me for a while. And it sucks because their kids always get priority since they’re their kids, and I can’t talk back to them because they’re letting me live under their roof,” he shrugs, playing with the plastic wrap on his sandwich. “But— Mike and Will try really hard to get my attention. Like I’m the popular kid, or something. It’s really funny.”

“You like watching them embarrass themselves,” she says. She isn’t sure whether to scold him for playing with their feelings, or to be proud of him for messing with them.

“I mean, yeah,” he admits, smiling down at his plate. “I don’t know why they’re obsessed with me.”

“Because you’re a good kid,” she replies easily. “It’s hard not to be obsessed with you.”

Mason scoffs, disbelieving. It hurts. A lot.

El sets a hand over his. “You’ve heard it from me a million times, but you really are amazing. You’ll find your people, I promise. Your parents will love you for you.”

“I don’t want parents. I want to turn eighteen and get my own place.”

El knows this. She’s also heard it a million times. She knows that’s not what he needs, though. Everyone deserves parents— especially him. And with the way things are going, who knows? He just might get some. “Keep an open mind. You still have years to go. Maybe someone will come along.”

“Doubt it,” he says under his breath, just as Mike and Will return with a to-go box. Mike sets it down in front of Mason’s half-eaten sandwich.

“I can finish it,” Mason argues, but it’s not very convincing. He’s been slowly grazing at it for the past thirty minutes like it hurt to continue.

“Don’t force yourself if you’re full,” Mike says. “We’ll take it home.”

El knows why Mason does this. It’s not like they have a shortage of food at the shelter, but every bit counts. They’re always instructed to finish their plates. The rule is, if you can’t finish it, don’t grab it. El doesn’t like that rule, but she also isn’t in charge of the kitchen.

Mason complies without a fuss. See? He’s being weird. He totally likes them, even if he doesn’t know it yet. Whatever they’re doing, it must be working.

Chapter Text

Mason is acting weird today. Happy, almost. Excited. Mike has never seen anything like it.

It started when Mike asked him how school was. Mason had replied, “Good,” which was strange enough as it was, but then the unthinkable happened. He smiled— like he was giggling to himself about something. Mike was about to press, but then some asshole cut him off and he got carried away muttering insults under his breath.

Even now, eating his afternoon snack in the kitchen, he’s still being odd. He keeps looking like he’s about to say something, before deciding against it— opening his mouth, glancing around, then shutting it with a blush. Mike just wants to put him out of his misery already and ask him what’s up.

Mason should know that he can just say it. He doesn’t need permission to speak— certainly not with them. If he wants to rant about his day, he has every right to do so. If he wants to brag about a test grade, or tell them that he watched a movie in English, they’d love to listen. He shouldn’t need to be asked.

Still, after a fourth attempt at speaking up, Will gives up with a sigh. “Alright, spill it. What’s your news?” So he sees it too. Good to know that Mike isn’t crazy.

Mason glances up from his plate, surprised, and a little embarrassed. “What do you mean?”

“You’re all jittery. And… smiley,” he replies, like it’s the most absurd thing in the world. It is. “So what happened at school?”

There it is. The question Mason has been waiting for. His eyes shine with happiness, before he ducks his head with a shrug. “It’s not really that important.”

Oh, come on. Why does he have to be so difficult? He wants to tell them, they want to listen— what’s the problem? “I had a ham sandwich for lunch,” Mike says, apropos of nothing. Mason looks at him, confused. “Now you know an unimportant fact about me. It’s your turn.”

Instead of rolling his eyes like Mike expects him to, Mason drops them down to his hands. He bites back a smile like an absolute weirdo, and finally says, “I made a friend.”

“Really?” Mike asks hopefully. A friend. He has a friend. Mike was starting to get worried. He knows that Mason is likable— he just needed other people to see that.

“That’s so important,” Will exclaims, a wide grin on his face. “We’re so proud of you!”

Mason scrunches up his nose, but he’s visibly blushing. “Stop.”

“What? We can’t be proud of you now?”

“No,” Mason says. “It’s weird.”

Mike scoffs, shaking his head amusedly. He takes a seat on the stool across from Mason. “Indulge me,” he requests, folding his hands in front of him. “Who is it? What’s their name?”

At this, the wrinkles on Mason’s face iron back out. That odd little grin is back, no matter how hard he tries to hide it. “Kyle. He’s new.”

Ah, new kids. A blessing for those with shitty reputations. Mike would know— it’s how they met Dustin.

“The teacher made him sit by me because it was the only seat left,” he adds. “He had to share my textbook.” The way Mason says it makes it sound like he’s almost proud of that fact. It’s cute. Poor, sweet boy.

“That’s great, honey,” Will says. Honey? Are they doing pet names now? Is Mason allowing pet names? Apparently so, as he doesn’t protest against it, and Will carries on. “What’s he like? Do you guys have anything in common?”

“Yeah,” Mason nods. “He likes superheroes. He said that your job was cool,” he tells Will, to both his and Mike’s surprise.

He talks about them. To his friend. They’re important to him. They’re people in his life. The fact that Mason heard Kyle mention superheroes and automatically thought of Will is so… heartwarming. Does he think about them when they’re not around?

Will smiles, seeming just as touched about this revelation as Mike is. “Well, tell him I said ‘thank you.’ Did you say that you were an artist as well?”

Mason scoffs, giving Will a dismissive look. “I’m not an artist. You just make me draw.”

Will raises his eyebrows as if to say who are you fooling? “Mason, I hope you realize that your punishment has been over for a long time now. You don’t have to join me anymore.” Mason’s expression turns bashful, signaling that he’s well aware. “And besides— you’re definitely an artist. You’ve been getting so good!”

“Have not.”

“Uh, you most certainly have,” Mike interjects, pride filling his chest. He walks over to the fridge, where Mason’s latest masterpiece hangs from a souvenir magnet. Mason was so embarrassed when Will insisted on showing it to him, and even more so when Mike made a big fuss and placed it where everyone could see. Not that anyone other than the three of them, and occasionally El, are ever here. “Look! This should be in a museum.”

“Not again,” Mason groans. Will just laughs beside him, all too familiar with Mike’s adoring enthusiasm. “Does he ever stop this?” Mason asks him.

Will shakes his head. “Don’t worry— you’ll get used to it. It’s nice, after you get over the mortifying self-consciousness.”

“I’m not self-conscious,” Mason obviously lies, face already bright red.

“Uh huh,” Mike says sarcastically. “Admit that you’re a good artist, then.”

Mason sputters a bit, opening and closing his mouth for a response. “But— I’m not,” he doubles down, crossing his arms. Someone’s insecure. “You’re just exaggerating. You’re a liar.”

Mike tilts his head, screwing his mouth to the side in thought. “Hmm,” he feigns consideration. “Would you say that you’re currently very conscious of how your artistic abilities are being perceived?”

Mason pauses for a second, then glares at him. “Shut up.”

“Alright, stop bickering,” Will says warningly. He grabs Mason’s now-empty plate of apple slices and honey and carries it to the sink. “Any other news?” he asks as he returns, leaning his elbows onto the island.

“Nope,” he answers dryly, swinging his stool back and forth.

“School still boring?”

“Yup.”

Great. Cool. Very informative.

The mention of school has Mike perking up. He forgot— there was a question he meant to ask Mason on the way home today. “Hey— when do you guys get your report cards back, anyway? We send out quarter grades this Friday.”

Mason shrugs. His eyes have taken a very sudden interest in the countertop in front of him. Suspicious. Mike thinks he’s going to have to wrestle an answer out of him, before Mason mutters a small, “Last week.”

“You have your report card now?” Mike asks, bewildered. Why would he just not mention that? Mason nods in confirmation. “Well, go get it then,” he gestures to Mason’s room, where he left his backpack.

“Why?”

“So we can look at it?” Surely people have asked to see his report card before, right? If not his foster parents, El at the very least. At Mike’s school, signatures are required at quarterly check-ins; that way, kids can’t hide their cards in their backpacks like someone.

Mason lets out a defeated sigh, scampering off into his room.

Mike is concerned. Clearly, Will is too, as he meets his eyes from across the island. Okay— think this through logically. Obviously Mason doesn’t want them to see his report card. Worst case scenario, he’s failing all his classes. The good news is, there’s time for improvement. If he can get his grades up in the next couple months, it’s no big deal. Best case scenario, Mason is a secret whiz kid, and is ashamed of being a nerd.

Mason comes back with an envelope in his hand. The seal has already been broken, ripped in at least five different places. It’s obvious that it was opened by Mason, lacking the precision of an adult.

“We have a letter opener, you know,” Mike quips as he’s begrudgingly handed the paper. Mason doesn’t even bother to roll his eyes, training them on the ground instead. He looks mad, jaw set and gaze hardened, but Mike can’t figure out a reason why he would be. And if he was, he’d definitely be spewing insults by now.

Mike shakes his head. He’s not even going to ask. He pulls the paper out of the envelope, unfolding it. He sets it on the counter between him and Will, who’s joined him at his side. Bracing himself for the worst, he looks over Mason’s grades.

It’s… not great. Not horrible, either. Somewhere in the middle. Mostly C’s. Glancing up at Mason, he refuses to make eye contact. Mike now understands the tension in Mason’s body; he thinks they’re going to be angry with him.

Mike is certainly not mad. He knows what it’s like to be badgered about his grades when they’re the last thing he’s thinking about. How can someone worry about an upcoming test when it feels like their world is falling apart? It makes it impossible to focus. Home life takes precedence— and Mason doesn’t have the best one.

Mason is a smart kid— Mike knows he can do better than this. But that isn’t his concern at the moment. He’d much rather ensure he feels comfortable living here.

Mike chooses instead to focus on the positives. “You like English?” he asks, taking note of the only B he received.

“English is easy,” he dismisses with a shrug.

“Not for everyone. Trust me, I’ve seen many kids struggle with text comprehension. You did really well. B’s are very impressive.”

Mike has a hard time believing that himself, but there’s no way he’s leading Mason down the path he went on. He grew up in a house with Nancy Wheeler. 4.0, extra curriculars, miss popular— he was screwed from the start. He always hated report card day. His mom would gush over Nancy’s perfect little self, and then immediately turn to her disappointment of a son. B’s earned him a fake smile, and a sympathetic hug. C’s earned him a sigh that she didn’t even try to hide.

“Not so fond of math, though,” Mike adds jokingly. Mason makes a face of disgust. Luckily for him, a D is still considered passing in middle school. “I can help you out, if you want. We don’t want it to drop any lower.”

Mason hangs his head in shame. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” Mike hurries to assure. “You’re passing all of your classes. Good job.” He holds his hand out for a high-five, which Mason hesitantly reciprocates.

“I’m more concerned about the ‘needs improvement’ on your behavior score,” Will says, shooting Mason a look. “What’s that about?”

“It’s nothing. They’re just annoying,” Mason grumbles.

“Are you talking back to your teachers?”

“Only if they deserve it,” he answers quietly. He clearly knows he’s in the wrong. How to get him to stop is the real question.

“Mason,” Mike warns. “We let you do that here for a reason. Get it all out of your system. Don’t give your teachers a hard time. If you need to complain about them, do it with us, not to their faces.”

“Fine,” he concedes with a dramatic sigh.

Mike smiles at his reluctance. Adorable. “Good. Now, how do you feel about ice cream for dinner?” This gains Mason’s attention. He straightens up, looking at Mike hopefully. Unfortunately, it also gained Will’s attention, who turns to him and raises a challenging eyebrow. “As a treat!” Mike defends. Will doesn’t waver. “We’re celebrating.”

Truthfully, Mike just can’t be bothered to cook. And he wants ice cream for dinner. Sue him.

Will relents with a fond shake of his head. Mike says a small, “Yes!” under his breath, pumping his fist. He meets Mason’s excited eyes and nods his head, victorious. We won.

Will steps around the counter to place a hand on Mason’s shoulder. He lowers his voice, leaning slightly closer to ask, “You know we really are proud of you, right? For making a friend, and for your grades. You did good.”

Mason looks at him like he doesn’t believe him.

“Seriously,” Mike agrees. “We don’t whip out the ice cream for any old occasion.” They do, but Mason doesn’t need to know that. “Now— are we going out, or eating here?”

Mason glances at Will, then back at Mike. To Mike’s surprise, he decides, “Going out.”

Alright then. They’ll go out. For only the second time in the past month; the first without El. Mike kind of assumed Mason was a homebody who hated the idea of eating out unnecessarily, but who knows? Maybe he really is warming up to them.

They head to the ice cream place at around six, a local little shop with a cozy interior and an even more beautiful exterior. There’s a patio where Mike and Will like to sit on summer evenings, watching a perfect view of the sunset. A little fountain lays in the middle, providing peaceful background noise during small lulls in conversation.

The bell jingles above them as they push open the front door. A man stands behind the counter, ready to take their order, but other than that it’s empty. That’s not unexpected for this time on a Thursday, though the store is usually pretty lively. It’s a vast change from Indiana, but here in LA County, even family-owned businesses get crowded with customers.

Mike comes to a stop in front of the counter. “What are you going to get?” he asks Mason.

Mason mulls over the choices in front of him. For a small store, there are quite a few options available. Cheesecake, butterscotch, cotton candy— and then the absurd ones, like lemon and vanilla. Who in their right mind would ever pick those?

“Chocolate peanut butter,” Mason says with confidence. A fine decision.

Will thinks so too, as he sends Mason a smile. “Good choice. I think I’ll get that as well.”

“I think,” as if Will doesn’t get that every time they come here. He never shuts up about the bits of chocolate fudge hidden inside, and how Reeses should be taking notes.

Mike tsks in mock disappointment. Mint is obviously better. “How about toppings? Anything you want. We’re celebrating you.”

Mason looks over at the plastic containers filled with sprinkles and gummy bears and candy galore. “Chocolate and caramel sauce,” he says after a moment. “And Oreos.”

“Going for all the flavors, I see,” Will jokes. He turns his amused gaze to Mike— such a “you” thing to do, he’s thinking.

Shut up, Mike thinks back. It’s true though. That does sound delicious.

Aloud, Mike pats Mason’s shoulder and tells him, “Atta boy.” He moves a couple steps forward and begins letting the worker know their orders.

After everything is scooped up and paid for— Mike’s and Mason’s cups overflowing with various toppings, Will’s with a single cherry— they head outside to take a seat by the fountain. The area is shaded with trees and bushes, though it doesn’t matter much, as the sun is not even close to being overhead.

As always, Mike swoops his spoon into Will’s cup when he’s distracted, stealing a small bite. Will’s right— this is amazing.

“You ass, I was saving that part,” Will chides, because he’s a freak who eats around all of the best bits and hoards them until the end. He retaliates by taking an even larger spoonful from Mike, obnoxiously exaggerating his movements as he puts it in his mouth and chews. Mike doesn’t care— he ate all his toppings first like a normal person, because they were on the top. He has nothing important to lose.

Mike considers taking a bite of Mason’s just to mess with him, but decides against it. He’s protective— especially with his food. It’s like resource guarding with dogs. Attempt to take it from them, and they’ll get vicious. Besides— it’s Mason’s. He earned it. Mike would like to stay on his good side, if at all possible.

They leisurely finish their cups, watching the sunset beyond the horizon. Once it starts getting chilly, they decide to pack up and go home. Today was a good day, Mike thinks. He hopes he gets plenty more like this in the future. More celebrations for Mason’s accomplishments; being there for Mason’s accomplishments.

He can only dream.

Chapter Text

Mason does end up joining them for weekly movie nights, because he’s a liar.

A couple Fridays ago, Will had informed Mason out of courtesy that he and Mike were going to watch a movie. Mason had responded with an eye roll, and a sharp, “Fine, I’ll come,” walking out of his room and over to the couch like it was some big bother. Will hadn’t even asked him to join.

Last week, all Mike had to do was knock on his door and ask, “Movie?” before Mason gave in. Today, they didn’t say anything. Mason just strolled right into the living room with a blanket and flopped onto the couch, waiting for them. Will had stared at him in surprise from where he was kneeling in front of the VCR.

It’s baffling. Will is afraid to tease him about it— especially after the glares Mason sent him when he sat down. It’s clear that this arrangement will only work if they keep their traps shut.

They’re watching Jurassic Park this evening, because apparently Mason has never seen it. It didn’t take much convincing to get him to watch a movie about dinosaurs. He seems to like it so far, and he only gave Mike a mildly judgmental look when he began to sing along to the iconic background track.

They’re nearing the end when Mason’s phone starts ringing in his pocket. He pulls it out almost instantly, checking the name, then shoots up from the couch and rushes down the hall. “Hello?” he says right before he closes the door to his room. Will just about catches the bright smile on his face as he disappears.

Will turns to Mike with an amused smirk as Mason’s excited voice continues, just quiet enough to not be intelligible. “Talking to his new friend?” he guesses.

“Seems so,” Mike answers. Will is glad. Mason deserves a friend more than anyone. “Should we, like, meet his parents or something? Set up a playdate? I don’t know how this works.”

“I think Mason would kill you if he ever heard you refer to anything he does as a playdate,” Will snarks with a raise of his eyebrows. Mike winces in agreement.

“Yeah. You know, I’m gonna let him take the reins on this one. He can make his own… hang outs, or whatever. He seems to be doing pretty well,” he says, leaning over the armrest to better hear their conversation.

Will smacks him on the arm. “Don’t eavesdrop. He’ll never trust us again.”

Mike gives him an accusatory look. “Oh, I see you don’t care about Mason’s feelings. You're just in it for your own gain.”

He rolls his eyes with a smile, shaking his head as he returns his attention back to the TV. Before long, Mason comes hurrying out of his room with wide, nervous eyes. There’s an excited energy radiating off of him as he stops at the arm of the couch. Mike tilts his head up at him in question.

“Is it too late to get a Halloween costume?” Mason asks, looking at them hopefully.

Mike's face, predictably, breaks out into a wide grin. “Of course not! We’ll go right now.” He rises off the couch, before Will pulls him right back down.

Mike gets a bit overly enthusiastic about Halloween; it’s his favorite holiday after all. Will can’t blame him for wanting to share that with Mason. But what they’re not going to do is go shopping at nine at night when Will is all comfy in his pajamas.

“Tomorrow,” he says, wrapping his arms around Mike and resting his head on his shoulder. His human pillow.

And that’s exactly what they do. The next morning, Mike drags them out of bed bright and early, much to Will and Mason’s dismay. He happily makes them pancakes, which he attempts to shape like pumpkins, but fails horribly. They eat their blobs as Mike rattles on and on about every costume he’s ever worn; the devil to Nancy’s angel in his toddler years, Han Solo, a Ghostbuster, and about five renditions of a knight. Will’s personal favorite was when Nancy made baby-Mike into her black cat when she dressed as a witch. Mike strangely leaves that one out. He also omits the very revealing Little Red Riding Hood outfit he wore in college after losing a bet with Lucas.

“You’ve been trick-or-treating before, haven’t you?” Mike asks, after minimal input from Mason during their conversation. Not that he had much of a chance, as Mike barely even stopped for a breath.

“Yeah,” he nods, taking a bite of his food. “The ladies take us sometimes. Especially the kids.”

That’s good. Will would hate it if Mason missed out on a holiday entirely. It’s probably not the same though, going with a group of children who aren’t your siblings or friends, and being led by practical strangers who have no real attachment to you.

The earliest Halloween that Will can remember was when he was four. He was dressed as a court jester, Jonathan as a prince. He isn’t sure who came up with those costume ideas, but he’s certain it wasn’t him. His dad was at work, which he wasn’t all that disappointed by, but his mom was always at their side. She took them door to door, reminding them to say “thank you,” and chatted away with any neighbors she recognized. At the end, they all went home and dumped out their pillow cases, Will giving his mom the candy he didn’t like— which, at that age, was most of it.

He never really cared about the candy. The most enjoyable part was always walking around the neighborhood with his family or friends, pointing out the fun costumes and decorations. It was watching scary movies past the time Mike’s mom said to go to sleep. It was going costume shopping with his mom at the thrift store, attempting to find pieces that could match well enough with his friends’ store-bought ones.

Mason’s never had that. Will is sure as hell going to try his hardest to give it to him.

They pull up to Party City a little after ten— still too early in Will’s opinion. “So,” Will says as he grabs a cart, “I assume you’re going trick-or-treating with your friend, then?”

Mason confirms this with a nod. “He invited me to go with him.”

“Are you guys doing a matching thing, or are you going solo?” Mike asks, wordlessly taking over cart duty. Such a gentleman. He never lets Will do little tasks like this. It’s like he doesn’t even have to think about it before he’s guiding Will away from pointless labor.

“Uh,” Mason pauses, then turns to Mike in concern. “I don’t know. Should we? Do most friends match?”

He gives a one-shouldered shrug. “Some do. Some don’t. It’s not required, or anything. I liked matching, personally. But it doesn’t sound like you’ve discussed it.”

Mason shakes his head.

“It’s best to dress separately, then. Come on. Let’s find something you like.”

They head over to the back of the store, where costumes line the entire wall. There’s more choices than a kid could ever need— more than Will had, that’s for sure. Some of the characters he doesn’t recognize; they must be from popular shows for the generation below him. God, he’s old. He’s buying a Halloween costume for the child he’s taking care of. The preteen he’s taking care of.

It’s so strange. He’s used to the holidays being centered around him. His mom buying presents for him. Sewing a costume for him. Cooking for him. Always making sure he’s having a magical time, even if she isn’t. Now, he has to do that for someone else. He’s shopping for costumes, but he won’t be the one wearing it. He won’t be getting candy— none that he didn’t buy himself. He had to get the box of decorations from the attic, and he’ll be the one to put it away.

He doesn’t mind it. He likes it, even. It’s a lot more exciting than when it was just him and Mike. He’s glad Mason is doing this. Holidays were just starting to get boring.

“What do you think?” he asks Mason, who’s staring blankly at the wall. “Anything stand out?”

Mason doesn’t answer, clearly overwhelmed. Mike takes this opportunity to grab a costume off the rack, clearly too small, and holds it up to him. “I think you’d look cute as a vampire.”

That earns him a glare. “Say that again and you’ll regret it.”

Mike raises his hands in surrender, then places the hanger back on its hook. “Alright, alright. Jeez. Relax, will you?” As Mason turns his back, Mike mouths, “Adorable,” over his shoulder. Will agrees, but he won’t risk putting that thought to words.

“Maybe we could match with you,” Will jokes, just to see that precious little divot between his eyebrows deepen.

It does, to his delight, before Mason’s face straightens out, morphing into something more serious. “You’re not going with me,” he tells them, though it’s more of a question for clarification. The, “Right? Please tell me you’re not coming,” goes unspoken, but not unheard.

“Oh, we’re coming,” Mike informs him.

“No— you can’t. Come on. Seriously?” he whines.

“Seriously. It’s dangerous. You’re too young to be going out on your own.”

“I’ll be fine! I’m almost a teenager— I can handle one night. And I won’t be alone.”

“Are we that embarrassing?” Will asks, though he knows the answer. Mason gives him a look, as if saying duh. If he’s trying to get on Will’s good side, it isn’t working.

Alright— he gets it. He remembers how great it was when Jonathan cut him a break that one time and let him go off on his own. But he was thirteen, not twelve, and he was with friends that he trusted with his life, in a neighborhood he knew like the back of his hand. Mason doesn’t have those luxuries. His safety is Will’s number one priority.

Will sighs, setting a hand on Mason’s shoulder. “I’ll tell you what— we’ll talk about it.” A large smile breaks out on Mason’s face. He’ll be severely disappointed later on. There’s no way Will is letting him go on his own— but they can compromise. Maybe he and Mike can follow a good twenty paces behind them, no cross-communication allowed.

In the end, Mason decides on being a pirate. Will barely refrains from calling him cute when he imagines him in that outfit. A little eyepatch and bandana— how can he not coo over him?

They go through the isles of miscellaneous accessories, looking for anything that might put his costume over the top. The plastic gold necklaces are kind of tacky, and Mason is a bit hesitant about wearing jewelry. They find a collection of plastic swords in one of the bins, and immediately add one to their cart. Will grabs a couple sheets of stick-on jewels to decorate the handle with.

Browsing the makeup isle for glitter— or pixie dust, as Will insists— he gets a great idea. He turns to Mason curiously. “Would you let me put eyeliner on you?”

Mason scrunches his nose. “Like, what girls do?”

“Like pirates do,” he corrects. Maybe he’s fudging the truth a little, but come on. He really wants to see Mason in eyeliner. “It’s tough. You’d look… dashing.”

Mason gives him a side-eye, scrutinizing him. “Maybe,” he says finally. Will smiles victoriously, throwing a pencil in the cart.

They check out shortly after, and with a bit of convincing, Mason lets them take him down to the shoe store for some boots. He only has his sneakers, and those would clash horribly with the costume. Plus, as a bonus— or their secret intention all along— Mason will gain a second pair of shoes. And more socks, while they’re there.

Buckling into the car— after spending fifty dollars more than they were expecting today— they start the quick drive home. Mike puts on an old mixtape of Halloween-ish songs he’s found over the years. He always complains that there isn’t an abundance of Halloween music like there is for Christmas, but he’s managed to scrounge up a few.

Just as Will begins to enjoy the intro to This is Halloween, Mike makes a sharp right turn. He immediately assumes that they’re going to get in a crash— Mike must have swerved to avoid another driver— but he finds them safely in a parking lot. Will looks over to a smiling Mike, and snacks him across the arm. “What the hell was that?”

Mike doesn’t answer. He spins around in his seat with the same stupid grin and asks Mason, “Have you ever carved a pumpkin?”

That’s when Will realizes where they are— a pumpkin patch. There’s one on their route home; Mike probably saw it at the last second and decided to risk their lives.

“No,” Mason answers, clearly just as startled as Will. His eyes are wide as he takes a couple rugged breaths.

“Come on,” Mike undoes his seatbelt, exiting the car. He opens Mason’s door and holds out a hand for him to grab. Mason ignores it, stepping to the dirt-covered ground all on his own.

Will makes the very difficult choice of not killing Mike today. He quite likes the pumpkin patch. He also didn’t bring his wallet.

They head through the front gate, Will inhaling deeply as the floor turns to straw, and hay bales come into view. He can almost pretend he’s at one of the pumpkin patches back home. Those were on real farms, with real petting zoos where the animals didn’t have to be shipped from a neighboring county. There were none of these fancy fair rides— only horse rides. This is certainly not home. But that’s why they moved here, isn’t it? Being homesick does not outweigh the safety he feels every night.

Mason, on the other hand, wrinkles his nose. “It smells like cow.”

Will laughs, patting his back consolingly. “You should never move to the country.”

Mike comes up behind them both. “Did you want to go on any of the rollercoasters?” he asks them, though he’s talking more to Mason than Will. He knows Will would love to— but he’d rather save their money for real rides, like at Six Flags.

“Not really,” Mason replies, glancing around in distaste. They do all seem a bit young for him. Suddenly, he lights up. “Do they have a haunted house?”

Mike meets Will’s eyes warily. They don’t do well in haunted houses. Mike tries to swing at everything in sight, and Will doesn’t like the dark. He’ll crawl into the nearest hiding spot if anything sneaks up behind him.

But they can do it. Will can be brave. If Mason wants a haunted house, he’ll get a haunted house.

“I’m sure they do,” Mike says. Glad they’re on the same page. They’re doing this. “I’ll go get us some tickets. Be right back.”

Will turns to make conversation with Mason as Mike wanders away from them. “You like haunted houses, then?”

He shrugs. “I’ve never been to one. I always wanted to, but the last time I went to a pumpkin patch I was on a kindergarten field trip, and my teacher said I was too young.”

“Yeah, I’d have to agree with her,” he jokes, nudging Mason’s arm with his elbow. “It’ll be fun. I loved haunted houses as a kid.”

Mike returns with three tickets in no time. He hands one out to each of them. Before letting Mason grasp onto his, he pulls it just out of his reach. “Are you sure about this? They can be pretty scary. I don’t want you to get nightmares.”

“Yes, I’m sure. I’m not a baby,” he says, rising to his tiptoes to rip the ticket out of Mike’s hand.

Ouch, okay. No need to shame.

“Alright,” Mike relents. He leads them confidently over to the far side of the event, where the ticket lady must have pointed him. They stop outside a large, ominous black tent. Last chance to turn back.

Mason doesn’t seem to have the same reservations that Will does, as he goes to stand in the back of the short line. He watches them impatiently where they stand glued to the floor. Will glances over at Mike, and they share a look. There’s nothing we can do.

Will grabs his arm, tugging him the rest of the way. The line, unfortunately, moves pretty quickly, and before he knows it, they’re practically at the entrance. “Here,” Will says, pushing Mason forward a step. “You go in front. We’ve been to several of these things— you should get to enjoy it.”

Does Will feel a little pathetic hiding behind a twelve-year-old? Yes, admittedly. Guilty, too. But it’s better than making Mason witness him cowering in the corner like a child, or, worse, holding onto Mike’s hand.

Will wants to bolt the second he steps foot inside. Mike's hand finds its way to his, and he can tell he feels the same. They slowly, painfully, crawl their way along, making sure that Mason doesn’t stray too far ahead.

The music is loud. It’s a constant, eerie drone, like the backing track of a horror film. In real life, Will knows that the only music playing when you’re running for your life is the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears. He isn’t sure if he would have preferred a soundtrack, or if it would have made things more suspenseful. The only thing worse than an instrumental crescendo is pure silence.

The first room is full of vampires. That’s fine. Will isn’t particularly frightened of those. Even the jumpscare of a man breaking out of his coffin isn’t too bad. The ghost section is tame enough as well. The real issue comes from the room full of dolls.

Now, Will doesn’t have a fear of dolls. Not as much as Mike does, who finds anything that resembles a lifeless human slightly unsettling. The thing is, in the middle of the attraction sits a large grandfather clock. And it’s loud. He can hear every click of the second hand, slow and taunting, counting down to the hour.

The chime startles him so bad that he gasps, freezing in place. It’s rigged— it has to be. Set to go off at short intervals to scare guests. There’s no way he’s that unlucky.

And with a perfectly timed jumpscare, a man pops right up in his face and growls. Will is done for.

He just barely manages to contain his scream, if only by the fact that the air was knocked right out of his lungs. He hides his face in Mike’s neck, holding onto him like his life depends on it. It does. He’s going to die.

Mike’s hands grip Will’s jacket so hard, he thinks it might rip. He isn’t sure whether Mike is afraid of letting him go, or if he’s trying to resist the urge to punch the guy. Probably both.

It’s only then that Will notices that Mason is several paces in front of them. They’re lagging behind. It’s alright. It’s not real. It’s just a silly haunted house. They need to get moving; Mason can’t know that they’re scared, or they’ll never hear the end of it.

Will creeps forward into the next room, clinging onto Mike’s arm. Mike takes the lead slightly, pulling Will behind him, like the brave knight he is. If Will was in any capacity to swoon, he would.

They eventually make it to the last section without any more disasters. Will sags in relief as he sees daylight shine through the opening in the tent. Mason, on the other hand, seems disappointed. He really made it through there like a trooper; Will doesn’t think he jumped once.

“Aw man. Is that it?”

“You didn’t like it?” Mike asks. He better have liked it, after all they went through.

“Well, yeah, but it was so short. Can we go again?”

Mike looks to Will, then back at Mason, unamused. “No,” he decides after a beat, hurrying away from the attraction.

Mason follows quickly behind him, trying his best to catch up with Mike’s long legs. “You’re scared?” he questions, almost shocked. It’s good that Mason holds them in such high regards. They are too cool to get scared, aren’t they? And they wouldn’t be, if they hadn’t been targeted by monsters all throughout their teenage years.

“No,” Mike denies— an obvious lie. “We’re just— not as young as we used to be. Our hearts can’t take it anymore.”

“You’re not ninety,” he argues, very reasonably in Will’s opinion. His heart is in great condition, thanks Mike. Then, Mason’s face turns smug— a more terrifying sight than any of the gimmicks in that haunted house— as he adds, “You’re, like, only halfway there.”

Mike stops in his tracks, spinning on his heel. “Hey!” he points an angry finger at Mason, who tries to contain a smile. “Watch it, mister. I’m not even a third of the way there. Now go pick out a pumpkin before I make you walk home with it.” He kicks the ground, sending some hay in Mason’s direction.

Mason laughs, running backwards to escape the attack, and hides behind Will. It fills Will’s chest with warmth. He doesn’t know if he’s ever seen Mason so… playful before. So happy. For once, it doesn’t feel like they’re forcing Mason to be here with them— like it’s some chore he has to complete. Maybe it’s because of his new friend. Maybe it’s because of them. Or maybe, he just really likes Halloween.

They wander around the main area for a while, rating the quality of any pumpkin that catches their eye. Usually, Mike and Will buy two pumpkins on the afternoon of Halloween, and have a pumpkin carving contest while they wait for trick-or-treaters. Since they don’t exactly dress up anymore, the time between school and festivities drags on. This way, they can put on a movie or two while they carve away in their cozy kitchen.

This year, they decide that their attention will be too divided for them each to carve a pumpkin. Instead, Mike will be on scooping duty, while Will demonstrates how to carve perfect shapes. Mason is getting his own little pumpkin to try out by himself, when he feels that he has it mastered.

“We want one with a smooth, flat surface,” Mike instructs him, bending down to examine a rather large pumpkin. “No scratches or bumps. See this?” he points at a divot. “That’s no good. This is an ugly pumpkin.”

Will kicks the sole of his shoe, causing Mike to yelp. Drama queen. “What did we say about bullying the pumpkins?”

Mike rolls his eyes playfully. This was the cause of an argument early in their relationship. Mike is always absurdly cruel to the precious pumpkins. They did nothing to hurt him. “I’m sorry,” he says, petting a hand down the pumpkin’s side. “You’re beautiful. In your own way.”

Mason walks over to another one nearby. “What about this?” he asks, tilting it in every direction. Looks perfectly acceptable to Will— though, he isn’t the pumpkin critic.

“That’s a fine pumpkin there,” Mike confirms, crouching down next to him. “Is that the one?”

Mason gives it one more glance over, then nods.

“Great choice. Now, let’s just find mine and Will’s, and then we can get going.” Mike lifts the pumpkin into his arms, rising from the ground. Thankfully, it’s not huge. Will would hate to see Mike stumble over his own feet and land directly on top of the pumpkin, smashing it to pieces. That would be truly horrible, and not at all funny.

Will thinks this might be the best Halloween season he’s had in a long while. Maybe they can go home and put on a spooky movie— one suitable for children, of course. Maybe The Nightmare Before Christmas. Not that Mason wouldn’t be able to handle a proper horror film; clearly he has the guts of a warrior.

Chapter Text

Mason looks unfathomably adorable in his costume. His little boots, his sword on his hip, the eyeliner that Will eventually talked him into— Mike wants to pinch his cheeks.

He’s so excited, too. Mike doesn’t know if he’s ever seen him this enthusiastic about anything. He changed into his costume almost immediately upon arriving home from school, like a proper kid and everything. He even let Mike fiddle with his hair, pulling a couple strands out from the bottom of his head scarf.

They said goodbye to Will just after sunset to sit on the curb outside their house. Will is back inside, handing out candy to all the children, while the two of them wait for Kyle and his mom to get here. That was part of the agreement; Mason is allowed to go off on his own if Mike and Will talk to Kyle’s mom first. Mason was able to negotiate it down to just one of them, hence why Will has been banished to the house. Mason also had to promise to stay in the neighborhood, keep his cell phone on at all times, and call if he got lost. It’s not perfect, but Mike can live with those terms.

Mason pulls out his phone for the tenth time tonight.

“You know,” Mike says. “If you keep checking the time like that, you’re gonna drain your battery.”

“I’m not,” Mason huffs, stuffing it back in his pocket.

Mike breathes an amused puff of air out of his nose, choosing to ignore his attitude. He’s just grumpy that his BFF isn’t here yet. Someone’s anxious to get going. “We have plenty of time,” he reminds him. “We could still be sitting on the couch if you hadn’t dragged me out here thirty minutes early.”

“You were being slow,” Mason mutters, but Mike notices the light blush on his cheeks. God forbid someone finds out that he’s capable of excitement.

Mason returns his gaze back to the street, where he looks onward hopefully. He turns his head both ways, then sighs disappointedly, fiddling with the straps of one of his boots. He’s so excited.

“Hey,” Mike nudges his arm. “I brought you something.” He reaches into his jacket pocket and holds out two Snickers bars. Mason looks up at him questioningly, and Mike nods toward them, encouraging him to grab one. “I snuck them out of the bowl when Will wasn’t looking. He never lets me take any before the trick-or-treaters come— says I eat them all before they can get any. Which is so not true, by the way. I save them the Three Musketeers.”

“Thanks,” Mason says as he unwraps his. Mike does the same.

“So,” he starts, through a mouthful of chocolate. “What’s your favorite candy?”

Mason shrugs, predictably. He can never make a firm decision, can he? “I like everything.”

That’s a lie if Mike ever heard one. It’s like his food preferences all over again. “Come on. Even licorice? Candy corn?”

He scrunches up his nose. “Not licorice. Candy corn is okay.” Incorrect on both fronts, but alright. “I don’t like anything too chewy. Like Tootsie Rolls. Or Milk Duds— I hate Milk Duds. They take too much effort and they just get stuck in your teeth.”

“That’s the best part! It’s like, chocolate gum.”

Mason pulls a face, obviously disagreeing. “It’s gross.”

How dare he question Mike’s candy choices? He only ever has correct opinions. That’s fine— he accepts the challenge. He’ll get Mason to come around. “Alright then— dark chocolate, milk chocolate, or white chocolate?”

“Milk chocolate.”

“Wrong. Obviously dark chocolate.” Upon seeing Mason’s look of disgust, Mike asks him, “Have you ever had dark chocolate with sea salt?” Mason shakes his head. A shame, really; it’s only the best combination in the history of the world. “We’ve got to get you some. Trust me— you’ll change your mind soon enough.”

Mike manages to distract him from glancing at his phone for all of twenty minutes. To be fair, he didn’t think he’d have to distract him for this long, so it’s honestly kind of impressive. It’s nearing 7:15 when Mason finally checks the time.

“He’s late,” he says. Mike can tell that he’s starting to get nervous, though there’s no reason to be.

“Barely. He’s a kid,” Mike states, as if that’s an explanation all on its own. “No offense, but you guys haven’t really developed punctuality yet. His poor mom is probably running around, searching for his lost shoe, or something.”

Mason nods, still not seeming convinced.

“Why don’t you call him?” Mike suggests. “Put that phone to use. He’ll probably tell you that he’s on his way.”

Mason instantly brightens up at the idea, powering on his phone once again. So adorable. He clicks a couple buttons, then lifts it up to his ear as the dial tones start up. After only a couple rings, they stop. See? He answered immediately. Must be in the car.

“Hi,” Mason greets, his smile growing bigger. “Are you almost here?”

Kyle says something inaudible on the other line. Mason’s face drops.

Oh no. Something came up. Kyle isn’t going to make it.

“What? Why?” Mason asks, in a voice so small and disappointed that Mike can feel his heart shattering. Shit. He feels so bad. Mason had been waiting for this day all week. He must be crushed.

Mason stays silent for a long while as Kyle presumably explains his situation. As time goes on, Mason only looks more and more upset, the dent between his eyebrows deepening. At one point, Mason nearly breaks. His face morphs into shock, then anger, and then worst of all, sadness. As his lip begins to wobble, he quickly hangs up his phone, stands to his feet, and rushes back to the house.

Mike follows, hot on his tail. “Mason!” he calls, with no success. Mason keeps pushing forward, up the front steps and through the front door. By the time Mike enters the house, Mason has slammed his bedroom door behind him.

Mike stops beside Will, running a stressed hand through his hair.

“What happened? Is everything okay?” Will asks, rightfully concerned. Mason just stormed past him in a rage when he was supposed to be out having fun.

“Kyle canceled on him,” Mike explains. “I think he’s taking it pretty hard.”

“Oh,” Will says sympathetically, staring in the direction Mason had run off. “Poor kid. Should we check on him?”

Mike is sure that Mason won’t be happy with them if they bother him right now; Mike is even more sure that he doesn’t care. If he gets yelled at, screw it. He’s not going to leave Mason all alone right now.

He walks carefully over to the door, and knocks. There’s nothing but a sniffle from the other side. Mike will break this damn door down. Instead, he tries the handle— unlocked. Mike takes this as an invitation. If Mason truly wanted to be left alone, he would have locked it like he has many times before. Mike finds this door locked more than it isn’t.

He slowly pushes it open. Face-down on the bed is Mason, head buried in a pillow. It might muffle his cries, but it can’t hide his shaking shoulders.

Mike takes a seat on the edge of the mattress, right by his head. Will sits a bit further down, at his legs. In a wordless agreement, they decide to let Mike do the talking. He isn’t sure that’s a good idea. In his unbiased opinion, Will is much better at comforting people.

“Hey,” Mike says softly. “He can’t make it, huh?” Mason shakes his head. “I’m sorry. That really sucks. I know you were looking forward to it.” Mason inhales sharply, as if choking back a sob. He’s really putting up a fight to make it seem as if he’s not crying. He’s practically smothering himself in that pillow. Mike is scared he might hurt himself.

So, he does what he does best; he rambles. “You know, it’s okay to cry. We’re not going to judge you for it. Everyone gets upset sometimes. And it seems like you have a pretty valid reason to be upset. I’ve cried so many times— even when my favorite characters die in movies, because I’m a big baby. You don’t have to pretend you’re not sad in front of us, okay? We get it. We’re here for you, whenever you need us.”

Suddenly, Mason lets out a big sob, lurching toward Mike. He buries his head in Mike’s hip, and wraps his arms around his waist in a tight hug. Mason is hugging him. For the first time.

Mike doesn’t know what to do. He holds his arms out in shock, not sure where to place them. Slowly, he lowers one down to Mason’s hair, delicately cradling his skull. He pets his head as tears soak into his jeans.

Mike remembers being comforted similarly when he was a kid. His mom, brushing her hands down his hair, whispering reassurances as he cried. It’s all a bit fuzzy in his memory, but he does know that it helped. Mike lets the spirit of his mom take over him.

“Shhh, it’s okay. It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re alright, baby.” Mason only begins to cry harder. Mike moves his hand down to rub circles on his back. “I know. I know, it hurts. Let it out. I’m here.”

For such a little boy, Mason can produce a lot of tears. Mike thinks he’s surely run out by the time they start tapering off, going from a wail to a slow trickle. It takes a while, but he’s finally calming down.

“What did he say on the call?” Mike asks in a near whisper. It feels too suddenly quiet to do anything else. “Was there a reason he canceled?”

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, as Mason’s cries begin again. Maybe he should just shut his mouth. Mason obviously doesn’t want to talk about it.

Will finally speaks up, patting the spot on the bed between him and Mike. Good thing, too. Mike is screwing this up. “Can you come here for a second, sweetie?” Mason removes his head from his hip, looking at the space between them. His eyeliner is all smudged, and his nose is bright red. His hair is sticking out in every direction, both from Mike’s fingers and the scarf that’s been thrown on the floor. He’s an absolute mess; Mike feels horrible.

He complies with Will’s request, sitting up and scooching next to him. Will offers him a small, sad smile. “Hey. Can I give you a hug?” Mason thinks for a moment, then nods. Will wastes no time bringing him into his arms, and Mason goes easily, resting his head on his shoulder. “What did he say?” Will asks softly.

“He can’t come,” Mason says wetly. Mike figured as much. They covered that already. “He was never going to come. He’s with Tony.”

What does he mean, never going to come? Why would he tell Mason he was going to? Something’s not right. Mike leans in, furrowing his eyebrows in concern. “Who’s Tony?” Mason doesn’t answer; he meets Mike’s eyes, then hurriedly pulls them away. Mike has a feeling he knows the answer already— he’s just afraid that he’s right. “Is he the one who picks on you?”

Mason nods minutely.

That asshole. Mike doesn’t care that he’s a child— Kyle is a fucking asshole.

Mason begins to sob, clinging onto Will harder. “He wasn’t my friend— he was just pretending. He was laughing about it with Tony. They said— they said that they couldn’t believe I fell for it, ‘cause no one likes me.”

Mike will be going to jail tonight. What kind of jerk befriends someone as a joke? Who would lead someone on like that? Middle school is cruel, but this is just evil.

“I like you,” Will is quick to assure. “Look— don’t listen to the bullies, okay? They’re just trying to get under your skin.”

Mason shakes his head. “They’re right.”

Will pulls back to stare him in the eyes, affronted. “They are not right. They just know you’d believe it. They’re preying on your insecurities— it’s what bullies do. When we were young, they made fun of me for being gay, and Mike for his face.”

“What’s wrong with Mike’s face?” he asks, confused. Mike hates where this is going. Even after all these years, this is still a bit of a sore subject for him. He'd rather not bring it to Mason’s attention.

“Exactly,” Will says, as if that’s any answer at all. “You don’t think Mike looks bad, do you?” Mason shakes his head again. That might be the nicest thing he’s ever said about him. “But Mike does. Or, he did when he was little. The bullies knew that. That’s why they made fun of it; not because it was true, but because it’s what would hurt Mike the most. It’s the same with my sexuality— not necessarily a bad thing, but I thought it was. You’re likable, Mason. Very much so. Those guys are just jerks.”

“But they are right,” Mason argues. “No one ever likes me. My parents didn’t even like me. I can’t get along with people for only a few months!” he exclaims. His voice cracks with emotion as he adds, “Everyone always leaves.”

Mike shuffles closer, squishing Mason between him and Will. Will relinquishes him from his grasp, choosing instead to wrap a loose arm around his waist. Mike takes the opportunity to engulf Mason in a hug of his own. The poor angel. How could he ever think he’s unlikable? How could anyone abandon him?

“Hey— that’s not your fault, alright?” Mike says, tilting Mason’s head up with a hand to his cheek. His eyes are watery as more tears spill over. “They weren’t right for you. I don’t think foster parents understand how much work it will be to take care of a kid— especially ones that have been through so much. If they aren’t willing to put in the effort, they’re stupid. You’re so worth it.

“We will never leave you. You have to believe me when I say that. You can stay with us as long as you’d like. Until you’re thirteen, eighteen, or fifty— we don’t mind. We’d love to have you.” Mike swipes his thumb below Mason’s eye, brushing away some of the tears. He considers leaving the conversation there, but he feels that it’s necessary to let Mason know where their heads are at— even at the risk of scaring him away. He deserves complete and total transparency. It’s only fair. “And, just so you know, adoption isn’t off the table. Not even close. We just… didn’t want to rush into anything.”

Mason scoffs, bristling up. “In case you start hating me?”

“No,” Mike rushes to clarify. Shit. That’s not what he meant at all. “In case you hated us. You’re going through a lot right now. We don’t want to push you into something you’re not sure about. We’re taking it slow. And if you don’t get absolutely sick of us, we’ll talk. If you want. No pressure. We’d be happy just fostering you, if that’s what you’d like.”

He and Will have had this discussion many times. Obviously, they’d like a son eventually. But if Mason doesn’t want to be that son, then they simply won’t have one. If they’re foster dads for the rest of their lives, so be it. Mike has a feeling that if they asked to adopt Mason today, he’d say no. Hopefully, that will change with time.

Mason considers this for a moment, then nods. He snuggles back into Mike’s chest, melting his heart into a puddle of goo.

“You know,” Mike starts. “If you wanted to go trick-or-treating, our offer still stands. We’d love to take you, even though we’re old and embarrassing.” Mason looks at him doubtfully. “Come on. I know you were dying to go. Don’t let them ruin today.”

“I can’t go out there with you,” he says. “Not after that. They’ll never let it go.”

Will jostles him, coaxing Mason to glance over. When he does, Will replies, “Then they’re immature. Believe it or not, cool kids don’t care who other people go trick-or-treating with. Once you get to college, hanging out with guardians is admired. I love my mom, and I’m not afraid to say it. Only children care about stuff like that. You’re just ahead of the game; anyone who’s worthy of your time will know that.”

“And if we see them,” Mike adds, “we’ll sprint in the other direction. But I’m sure they’re not anywhere near here. We’re not close to your school.”

This seems to win Mason over. “Okay,” he agrees, smiling slightly. “We can go. I guess.”

Good enough for Mike. “Alright,” he removes his arms from around Mason, standing up to offer him a hand. “Grab your bag and we can go. Before all the good candy is taken.”

“Hold on,” Will says. “Let me fix your eyeliner first. It’s all runny.” Mason makes an embarrassed swipe at it, but there’s no difference. Will places his hands on his shoulders, and pushes him back onto the bed. “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”

He makes a quick escape, returning with a wet rag and eyeliner pencil. He rubs at the bottom of Mason’s eye, scrubbing until the skin is redder than it already was. Once it’s (mostly) clear, he grabs Mason’s chin and reapplies the makeup with a steady hand. It’s impressive. Though, Will has had a bit of practice, that one time Mike dressed as a rockstar for Halloween. He insisted that he couldn’t put the eyeliner on himself, just so that Will would have to be all up in his face. It was a good night.

“Beautiful,” he says as he pulls back, admiring his work. Mike thinks he’s talking more about Mason. “Ready to go?”

Mason nods, rising to his feet. Mike grins at him, and leads them to the front door, where Mason finds his candy bucket. Mike slips a packet of M&Ms into his pocket, passing it over on the way to their first house. Mason takes it, smiling gratefully before beginning to eat it.

They start with their neighbor— a nice little old-lady named Mrs. Morrison. Mike comes over here sometimes to feed her cats when she’s away visiting her grandkids. She’s sweet and friendly— generous, too. Just what Mason needs to kick off his night.

He stops just before the path leading up to her door. Mason pauses as well, watching him. Mike tilts his head toward the door. “Go on. We’ll be right here. She’s nice, I swear.”

“You’re not coming?”

“I didn’t think you’d want us to.”

“Well, I can’t go alone,” Mason tells him, exasperated. Mike is confused. All he ever talks about is them leaving him alone. Shouldn’t he be happy? “That’s even more lame than going with you guys.”

Wow. Alright then. Second-to-last choice isn’t the worst, he guesses. Still not great, but hey— he’ll take it.

“After all we do for you…” Mike mutters jokingly.

Will laughs quietly, rolling his eyes. He smacks Mike on the stomach. “We’d be honored to go up with you,” he says to Mason.

They make the journey up the steps, and Mike encourages Mason to ring the doorbell. They wait for only a few seconds before Mrs. Morrison opens the door with a bowl of candy in hand. “Oh, boys!” she exclaims as she sees Mike and Will. “How have you been? It feels like forever since I’ve had you over.”

“We’re good,” Will responds. “A bit busy, lately.”

“I’ll bet.” She turns her attention to Mason. “You must be their foster child. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

When Mason doesn’t say anything, Mike nudges him in the side. “You too,” he grumbles out, eyes on the floor almost shyly.

“Here,” she holds out the bowl. “Take some.” Mason reaches in and grabs a fun-sized candy bar. “Oh, come on. Grab a handful. I have plenty. Besides— these young men help me put up my Christmas lights every year.” She gestures at Mike and Will with her eyes.

Mason hesitantly puts his hand back in the bowl, scooping up as much as he can. He dumps it in his bucket with a clang. This is a pretty decent start, if Mike says so himself.

“Thanks,” Mason says, without even needing to be prompted. A miracle.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. Take care!” She waves as they turn off the front porch.

They hit all the houses on their street by 8:30. Many are beginning to turn off their lights, but Mike can’t bring himself to force this night to end. Mason’s bucket isn’t near full; if he wants to go down the next row of houses, so be it. They can stay out until midnight.

“What’s this?” Mike asks as he steals a packet of Nerds from his candy stash. Mason makes a swipe for it, but Mike is too quick, ripping open the box and dumping almost the entire thing in his mouth. He tries not to grimace too much as he bites down.

“Hey!” Mason yells, feigning a frown. It’s fine. Mike learned today that Mason doesn’t like sour candy that much. He’s definitely more of a chocolate guy.

“Too slow,” he shrugs, pocketing the trash. Will gives him a disapproving look, but doesn’t get a word out before Mason suddenly falters behind them. Mike turns around to see that Mason has stopped walking altogether, staring at something in front of him.

Mike glances in that direction, noticing a group of obnoxiously loud boys in the distance, heading their way. Although Mike his never met them before, he knows exactly who they must be.

Why are they here? Surely none of them live in this neighborhood. They wouldn’t register under Mason’s school district. Unless that was their school of choice, which, let’s face it, wouldn’t make much sense, since Mike’s school is obviously better.

Mike feels a shiver run down his spine; they must have been watching them. They wanted to see Mason’s face when he called.

Mike hates being stalked. He’s dealt with it enough already. If someone wants to watch him, they better show their damn faces.

Mason takes a step back. Mike rushes forward, holding him in place with a hand on his arm. He leans in close to whisper, “Which one is Kyle?”

His eyes widen and he shakes his head desperately. “Please don’t do anything. You’ll make it worse.”

Mike isn’t just going to let them get away with this. They’re going to pay. No one hurts his baby. He locks his eyes intensely with Mason’s. “Do you trust me?”

He doesn’t acknowledge the question. He doesn’t have to. Instead, he says, “The blond one. Dressed like a vampire.”

Mike straightens up, honing in on his target. He’s just as stupid-looking as he’d predicted. His costume is clearly half-assed— a disgrace to everything Halloween stands for. He isn’t worthy of candy. If he showed up at Mike’s door, he’d send him away empty handed.

Mike quickly formulates a plan. He can’t punch a kid, no matter how much he’d like to. He probably can’t bully him either. He’s a grown man— a foster parent to the boy these kids are picking on. A parent.

He knows just what to do. He has a superpower now— one that he’s fallen victim to several times throughout his childhood. He’s reminded of it constantly by Mason. It’s the entire reason he was barred from Halloween in the first place. Now, he can use it to his advantage.

For the second time tonight, Mike allows the spirit of his (very much alive) mother to possess him.

Placing a considerable amount of space between him and Mason, he calls out, “Kyle?” in his highest, most annoyingly-shrill voice. Kyle lifts his head up at the sound, confused. The others slow to a stop beside him, giving him strange looks. “How are you, honey? Oh my goodness, you’ve grown so much! I haven’t seen you since you were young enough for me to change your diaper!”

Kyle’s face reddens in mortification as his friends begin to chuckle around him. Perfect. The most effective weapon against a self-conscious teenager— humiliation in front of his peers. “Do I know you?” he asks.

“I’m a friend of your mother’s,” Mike explains. He can only hope that his mother is still in his life. “You wouldn’t remember me, but we go way back. You’ve turned into such a handsome young man!”

A boy next to Kyle— who Mike would presume to be Tony, leading the pack and all— bursts into laughter. “I think you have the wrong person,” Kyle says.

“I get it. I’m embarrassing you. Well, I’ll let you be on your way, then. Have a nice night!” Mike smiles innocently at him, then strolls down the street. He doesn’t dare turn around to see if Mason is following until they’re long past the group. When he does, Mason and Will are giggling behind his back.

“How was that?” he whispers, giddy off the adrenaline.

“Impeccable performance, my love,” Will replies, kissing him on the cheek. “Karen taught you well.”

Mike laughs. He’s just glad that they didn’t recognize him as Mason’s guardian. “Yeah, she definitely prepared me. Though, she never did it on purpose.” He looks at Mason. “That’s what they get for messing with my darling little boy,” he says, pinching his cheeks like a grandma.

“Ugh, gross,” Mason bats his hands away, pulling a face. He can’t hide the smile creeping up on it.

He’s grateful. Mike can tell he is.

He pats Mason on the arm. “We should get back home, yeah? We have to sort through your candy. Make sure it isn’t poisoned. I’ll taste it to check.”

Will slings an arm around Mason’s shoulders, steering him back toward their house. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t,” he promises.

Mike would like to see him try.

Chapter Text

Will has woken up way too early.

He and Mike usually stay up late on Halloween night for a horror movie marathon. Strangely, it’s not nightmares that keep him from a restful sleep this time— it’s worry.

Mason is getting bullied— bad. Will can’t stand the thought of him returning back to school today without his supervision, though he knows he has to. He’s sure that Mason can stand up for himself well enough— way better than Will was ever able to— but he’d rather not risk it. Emotional damage can hurt just as much, if not more. God knows he’s had enough of it.

But the law is the law. Mason can’t stay here forever.

So Will puts himself to work. He gets out of bed before the sun, turning off Mike’s alarm clock in the process. He’ll wake him up later— might as well let him sleep in. He goes to their closet, laying out Mike’s work clothes. Then, he makes both of their breakfasts— yogurt and fruit— and sets out Mason’s cereal. He starts their coffee brewing before settling on the couch with a book.

By the time he gets up to wake Mike, he’s already finished a couple chapters. He moves to Mike’s side of the bed, shaking him lightly. “Mike,” he whispers.

He blearily opens his eyes, squinting into the morning light. He glances around him, confused, before finally landing on his alarm clock. “Shit,” he mutters, pushing off the blankets in a hurry. “Did I oversleep?”

Will sets his hands on Mike’s shoulders, coaxing him back down onto the mattress gently. “I let you sleep in,” he corrects, to Mike’s befuddlement. “I took care of everything, don’t worry. Just get yourself dressed.”

“Oh,” Mike says, blinking up at the ceiling a couple times. “Thanks. I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Well, you’re just never normally this nice, so…”

Will squawks in offense. “I’m always nice.”

“Not before nine o’clock,” he replies, sitting up slowly. He starts making his way to the closet, before noticing the clothes laid out on the bed. “Alright, what’s this? Why are you up? It’s not our anniversary, right?”

Will rolls his eyes. Mike knows when their anniversary is. “No. I just… had some trouble sleeping.”

Mike steps up to him, forehead creased with worry. He reaches his hands out, placing them on either side of Will’s face. “What’s up?”

He sighs, leaning into his touch as Mike swipes a thumb along his cheek. “It’s Mason. I don’t like him being at that school. It’s dangerous.”

“I know,” Mike says. “Actually, I’ve been thinking…” he pauses, then takes a deep breath, meeting Will’s eyes determinedly. “That’s not his local school anymore. He could switch easily. If he was with me, I’d be able to protect him.”

“You want him to go to your school?” Will asks. It’s not a bad idea. He'd definitely feel a lot more comfortable if Mason had someone looking out for him. A fresh start wouldn’t hurt either. And it’s not like Will hadn’t considered this option before. They’d debated switching him over before he even started staying with them, but they didn’t want to take him from his friends. Now though, it’s clear that those people are not his friends.

“I mean, it wouldn’t hurt to ask. He might say no; I’m embarrassing after all. I don’t know if he’d appreciate me crowding his space.”

That’s true. Mason would probably pretend that he doesn’t know Mike.

“Okay,” Will decides. He’s right— it wouldn’t hurt to ask. “We’ll talk to him tonight.”

“Speaking of the little booger,” Mike says. “Did you get him up?”

“Not yet. I was about to.” He starts heading out the door, stopping for a moment to say, “Your breakfast is on the counter.”

“I love you!” Mike shouts as he enters the hallway.

Will slowly opens Mason’s door. He tries not to audibly swoon as he sees him fast asleep on his pillow, his blankets tucked up to his neck. As Will gets closer, he notices that he’s drooling. Adorable.

Will kneels down on the ground in front of him. As much as he hates to wake him, it has to be done. He carefully raises a hand to Mason’s head, brushing the hair out of his face. “Sweetheart,” he whispers. Mason begins to stir, pulling the blankets close to his chest. “Hey. It’s time to get up.”

Mason blinks open his eyes with a pout. He groans, shoving his face back into his pillow. Will just laughs.

“I know. Come on, you need to get ready for school.”

“Don’t feel good,” he says, his voice muffled.

“I’m sure,” Will replies sarcastically. He’s not stupid— he’s played that trick dozens of times before.

Mason rolls over to look at him. “No, seriously. I think I’m sick.”

Will frowns, setting his hand on Mason’s forehead. It feels cool. He’s definitely not sick. He doesn’t think he’s lying, though— not on purpose. Will felt sick this morning as well. “No fever. I think you’re just nervous. That can make you all nauseous sometimes.”

“I’m not nervous,” he grumbles. “I’m sick.”

Will seriously doubts that. When he was a kid, he’d be sent home from school near weekly for complaining about his stomach. Turns out he just had debilitating anxiety, even as a seven-year-old.

“Well, you can stay home if you’d like,” he offers. He’s not cruel— if Mason doesn’t feel safe there, he won’t make him go. Today. Unfortunately, Monday is just around the corner. Even if he switches schools, he’ll have to attend while they get the paperwork ready. “But you need to go back eventually. You can take the weekend off and let the bullies win— or you can get it over with now. Walk in there with your head held high, and show them that they don’t affect you.”

Mason considers his words for a second, then sighs. He pushes his comforter back, and stands to his feet. Will smiles; he’s going to be okay.

After breakfast, Will follows him and Mike to the door to see them off. He puts Mason’s lunch in his backpack, zipping it up as Mike ties his shoes. Will slings it over Mason’s back, helping his arms through the straps. When he’s settled, Will leans in close, telling him, “If you need to come home, call me, okay? I’ll pick you up.”

Mason nods, and soon enough he and Mike are out the door, leaving Will all alone. Just him and his stupid anxiety. Maybe he should take the day off work.

He doesn’t. He spends the morning on half-productivity, barely managing to get a couple panels done before lunch. Honestly, that’s sort of a miracle in itself, seeing as he wasn’t paying attention to anything his hands were doing at all. He could have drawn a guy with three legs, for all he knows. At least he’ll have working legs; Will can’t promise the same for Mason after today.

He could be hurt. He could be hiding in a bathroom right now, crying his eyes out. Will should have forced him to stay home. He knows how ruthless middle schoolers can be— he’s been a victim himself countless times. What will El say if she runs into a beaten, mangled Mason?

No. He has to trust that everything will be fine. Mike distracted the kids last night. Mason is old news. They wouldn’t bother with him.

Will’s internal rambling screeches to a halt at the sound of a ringtone. Oh no. Mason’s calling. He’s in trouble.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, checking the number. Not Mason’s. Thank fuck. He doesn’t know what he’d do if Mason was hurt because of him. He presses to answer it, lifting the phone up to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” a cheerful voice replies. From what Will can tell, it’s a middle-aged woman on the other line. “Is this William Byers?”

“It is,” he says slowly, prepared to politely decline whatever this telemarketer is trying to sell him. He always tries to be nice to them, unlike Mike. This was his mom’s job for a while, after all. She’s just trying to make a living.

“Hello, Mr. Byers. This is Stacy Wilson from the nurse’s office. I have Mason with me— he said he felt sick in class, and he has a small fever. He told me that you’d be available to pick him up, is that correct?”

Shit. Maybe Will is just an asshole who forces sick kids to go to school. Or— maybe those kids started picking on him again, and he went to the nurse so Will would have to come get him. Either way, he feels awful.

“Yes, thank you. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” he says, grabbing his coat from the wall. He opens their junk drawer, finding the keys to his first ever car that barely runs, but that he never bothered to get rid of. It’s not like they ever use it, anyway. It just sits in the driveway for emergencies like this, so Will isn’t stranded if Mike is off at work.

He manages to make it to the school without it breaking down, parking it in the nearly-empty lot. He walks up to the office, pushing the door open carefully. The last time he went to the office was when his own mom picked him up in high school for a doctor’s appointment. He never thought he’d be on the other end of that. It’s intimidating, having all eyes on him as a grown man wanders into a room full of office ladies and children.

He heads straight for the front desk, awkwardly setting his arms on top as he leans in to ask, “Where’s the nurse? I’m here for Mason.”

The woman points to her left. Will gazes in that direction and finds a small hallway with several doors, only one of which is open. He chooses to go toward that one.

Peeking inside, he finds another woman typing away at a computer with Mason sitting on a bench behind her, resting his eyes. As he hears Will’s footsteps, they immediately snap open. Will sends him a wave, and he’s up in an instant.

Will meets him halfway, wrapping his arms around Mason. He, surprisingly, allows this, but doesn’t attempt to hug him back. “I told you I was sick.”

“I know,” Will says, tucking Mason’s head under his chin. “I’m mean.”

The lady, who is presumably the nurse, goes to stand next to them. “Are you Mason’s dad?” she asks. Mason tenses beneath him. Will has a feeling that he hates when people make that mistake.

“I’m his foster dad, yes,” he corrects. It manages to get Mason to unwind a tad. The nurse sends him an apologetic look, but Will shakes her off. Instead, he asks quietly, “Does he really have a fever?” He wouldn’t put it past Mason to make the nurse lie for him. She nods in confirmation.

Will can practically feel the resulting eye-roll on his chest. “Yes!” Mason exclaims as he pushes himself away. “Why do you never trust me?” he complains, but Will can tell that he’s kidding.

“Because I was twelve once. And you’re a little trouble maker.” He reaches up and ruffles Mason’s hair, to his dismay. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed, grump.”

“I’m not a grump,” he mutters, trailing after Will into the main office. “And I’m not tired.”

Will stops at the front desk to check him out. When the woman at the counter asks for his driver’s license, he fishes his wallet out of his pocket. “You’re sick. You’re taking a nap.”

She gives them the go-ahead, and Will says a quick, “Thank you,” before leading them out to the car. Mason is clearly a big fat liar, because he falls asleep nearly the moment they roll out onto the street. Will just smiles fondly at him, turning the radio down to let him nap in peace.

As they pull up to the house, Will briefly considers carrying Mason inside so he won’t have to wake up. He doesn’t get the chance, seeing as Mason opens his eyes the second Will arrives at the passenger-side door to grab him. “We’re here?” he asks, voice drowsy and scratchy. Will wants to pet his hair like a puppy.

“Mhm. Can you make it to your room without collapsing?”

“Yes,” he says, annoyed. “I’ve been walking for a few years.”

Alright, geez. Someone gets angry when they’re sick. He’s like the opposite of Mike, who turns into a giant, helpless baby. He would have already been hanging onto Will’s shoulders by now— and whining that he had to walk in the first place.

After making their way into the house— which Mason does manage to do without dying— Will stops off in the kitchen. “Go get into your pajamas, okay? I’ll be right there,” he tells Mason, who’s started toward the hallway.

He nods, disappearing into his room.

Will quickly gathers all the supplies he needs— a glass of ice water, a cool rag, and the cold and flu medicine from the bathroom. He knocks on Mason’s door, hearing a faint, “Come in,” from the other side. He enters, attention immediately drawn to the large lump burrowed under the blankets.

Will kneels down beside the bed, setting the stuff on the table next to him. He feels Mason’s forehead for the second time today, but this time he’s burning up. “You feeling gross?” Mason nods, and Will clicks his tongue in sympathy. “I’m sorry, baby. Here— sit up for a minute. Take some medicine.”

Mason makes a face of disgust. “No. I’m fine.”

“You have to take some before you go to sleep,” Will orders. He hates bossing Mason around, but when it comes to his health, he’ll be the bad guy. If his mom never forced him to take his meds as a kid, he probably wouldn’t be here right now. “No arguing; if it was bad enough to come home from school early, it’s bad enough for medicine.”

Mason grumbles under his breath, but sits up anyway. Will pours him a capful of disgustingly purple liquid, which he accepts begrudgingly. He tilts his head back, downing it in one. As he swallows, face scrunched in a grimace, Will hands him the water, and he gulps it down like he was dying of thirst.

Will rubs his arm comfortingly. “Good job. I know it’s gross, you did well. Thank you for listening.” He lays Mason back down onto the mattress, then grabs the wet rag. He moves Mason’s bangs out of the way, and sets the rag on top. Mason tenses for a moment at the sensation, then begins to relax. “Stay here,” Will says. “I’m going to get something. I’ll be right back.”

Mason nods, closing his eyes.

He hurries out the door, heading to his own room and opening the closet. He finds what he’s looking for in a small chest filled with blankets and pillows and soft plushies; their nighttime chest, Will calls it. For emergencies. Who knows when one will need to make a pillow fort or have a snuggle?

Will mainly keeps this stuff for sentimental reasons. His childhood toys, his baby blankets, the neck pillow his mom got him when he flew to California for the first time— how could he throw those away? It smells like home.

He grabs what he needs from the box, shutting the lid. He returns back to Mason, who is just about keeping himself awake, and holds out a little red dragon that has definitely seen better days. “Here. His name is Smaug. Like from The Hobbit.”

Mason furrows his eyebrows, confused. “Why do you have that? I don’t need a stuffed animal. I’m not a baby.”

Will ignores the baby comment; stuffed animals are for people of all ages. Comfort is not aged out of. “He’s here to make you feel better. I got him at the hospital when I was twelve. We bring him out whenever one of us isn’t feeling well. Trust me, his healing powers are magical.”

Mason reaches out hesitantly, then pulls it into his grasp. He snuggles into it, closing his eyes and hugging it to his chest. “‘K,” he accepts easily. Will thinks he must be too tired to argue.

He looks so sweet like this. Will wants to lean down and kiss his little head. He refrains, with much difficulty. Instead, he pulls the covers up to his chin, and steps out of the room so he can rest.

Thankfully, he remembers to shoot Mike a text, telling him that Mason doesn’t need to be picked up today. Then, he hides away in his office for the remainder of the afternoon. He gets a lot more work done in the second half of the day than he did in the first. With Mason home safe, it’s so much easier to focus. Will’s mind can finally relax knowing that he’s tucked up in the other room, asleep.

Will never really understood why his mom was so protective over him. Yeah, it made logical sense— he was kidnapped, for crying out loud— but surely she was doing too much. Surely, any other parent wouldn’t hover as much as she did. Surely, he was just the weird kid with the crazy, overprotective mom.

He owes her a huge apology. He severely underestimated just how important children can be. If Mason ever went through what he did— Will can’t even fathom it. He’d probably go insane. He can’t imagine the toll it would take on his psyche, knowing that Mason got hurt under his supervision. Just him having a sniffle is enough to make Will a mother hen.

A shuffle from the hallway breaks him from his thoughts. He hears the door to Mason’s room click open and shut, followed by the door next to it. Mason’s up.

Will leaves his office to wait outside the bathroom. He refuses to follow in his mother’s footsteps completely, and decides to sit there patiently instead of barging in like a lunatic. Mason will come out on his own. And he does, only seconds later, after, to Will’s relief, the sound of the faucet running. He’d hate to raise one of those kids who go to the bathroom without washing their hands.

Mason jerks back in surprise when he sees Will hovering outside of the door. “What the hell?” he exclaims, visibly unnerved and concerned for Will’s sanity.

Yeah, okay. Maybe this was a bit too far. Perhaps his mom is crazy, and owes him an apology for passing it on through her genes.

“Sorry,” he says, raising his hands placatingly and taking a much needed step back. “I just— I was going to check on you. Did you get sick?” he gestures to the bathroom.

Mason narrows his eyes, questioning. He shakes his head slowly. “I had to pee.”

“Right.” That’s good— that he wasn’t sick, not that he had to pee. That’s sort of neutral; though, he’s glad he’s staying hydrated. “Are you hungry? You missed lunch.”

“Yeah, I guess,” he shrugs. Will smiles, leading him into the kitchen.

“How about toast?” he suggests, already reaching into the cabinet for bread. “Maybe with some cinnamon? My mom used to make that for me all the time when I wasn't feeling well.”

“Sure,” Mason answers, indifferent. He takes a seat at the dining table as Will prepares his food.

It’s not long before the bread gets toasted and buttered. Will sprinkles a generous amount of cinnamon on top, and fills a cup full of chocolate milk as a treat. He sets it on the table in front of Mason, who offers a small, “Thanks,” before digging in.

Soon after, Will hears a key pushing into the lock of the front door. It swings open to reveal Mike, handsomely making his way inside with his book bag and rolled up sleeves. He stops when he sees them, toeing off his shoes before heading over to the dining room. “Hi,” he says with a smile, pecking Will on the cheek. He turns his attention toward Mason, placing a hand just below his neck, giving his back a rub. “Hey, kid. Sick, huh?”

Unlike Will, he says it with sympathy and not a hint of suspicion.

Mason nods with a mouthful of toast.

“Sorry, that’s probably my fault. I’m around kids all day— they spread germs like a wildfire.”

“We gotta get you your flu shot,” Will thinks out loud, twirling a strand of Mason’s hair around his finger. “Both of you.”

Mason and Mike groan in sync.

“Do I have to?” Mason whines.

“Yes. And Mike, stop complaining. You have to be a good influence on him.” Mike pouts, unfairly. He’s not even the one with a fear of needles; he has to hold Will’s hand every time they go to the doctors. Will pats his cheek condescendingly. “I know you can be brave.”

Mike glares at him, then suddenly brightens up, a mischievous grin overtaking his face. Oh no. This can’t be good. “Maybe we should get ice cream afterwards.”

This peaks Mason’s interest. Great. Just what Will needed. Now they’ll never get him to go without the promise of ice cream.

“You can’t keep bribing him with ice cream, Mike! This is so unfair, you just want to be his favorite.”

Mike leans down to Mason’s ear with a smirk. “I’m the good guy,” he whispers. “You like me more. Will is evil and never lets us have any fun.”

Maybe it’s the fever, but Mason straight-up giggles. It’s the sweetest thing Will has ever heard.

Mike smiles, squeezing Mason’s cheeks between his fingers, hand cupped under his chin. “Look at him,” he says to Will, giving him his most convincing puppy-dog eyes. “He’s precious. Don’t deny him ice cream.”

Will crosses his arms with a huff. When Mason continues to laugh, the sound delightfully distorted in Mike’s grasp, he rolls his eyes. He can’t stay strong when he’s up against that. “Fine. But I’m paying. Because I’m the nice one.”

Mike releases his hold on Mason. “Sure, yeah. Pay with the credit card from our joint bank account.”

Whatever. The card has Will’s name on it. That’s his money. He earned it. He’s Mason’s favorite, not Mike. He’ll buy this kid buckets of ice cream if that’s what it takes.

Chapter Text

Mason remains sick over the entirety of the weekend. Saturday got the worst of it— he was barely comprehensible with his stuffy nose and scratchy throat. Surprising no one, he spent the majority of the day locked in his room. Will even let him eat in bed.

He starts clearing up a bit by Sunday, but he’ll probably still need another day or two to rest. Shockingly, neither Mike nor Will have begun to feel under the weather— though, Mike knows it’s only a matter of time. Kids spread illnesses easy enough in a classroom— sharing a home with one is another story.

At lunch, Mike makes Mason a bowl of soup, just like he did yesterday and for dinner the day before. Mason seems to like it, and Mike’s mom always insisted that it helps sweat out a fever. He’s not entirely sure that’s true. Either way, Mason could use the heat. He’d been shivering his ass off on Friday, wearing nothing but pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. When Mike had told him to put on a sweater, he replied that all of his were too small.

This obviously made Mike very upset; at Mason, for not telling them that he needed new winter clothes, and at himself for not realizing it before. Luckily, it’s only early November; they have several weeks until it drops below 70 degrees, which is plenty of time for Mason to recover and join them on a shopping trip.

Until then, Mike insisted that Mason take some of his own sweaters. They’re much too big for him— nearly hanging off his shoulders— but they keep him warm, and that’s all that matters. And besides— he looks absolutely adorable in them. Mike had gone into his room yesterday to check if he was awake, and caught sight of Mason snuggling with Smaug the dragon, his sleeves engulfing his hands as he slept.

Mike had almost combust.

Today, as Mason finishes up his bowl and sets it in the sink, he doesn’t immediately retreat into his room. Instead, he shuffles his way over to the armchair, flopping back on it dramatically with a sigh. Mike smiles at his theatrics; they’ve certainly ramped up in the past couple weeks. Where before he’d spew insults at them without a care in the world, still as a statue and his face betraying no emotion but annoyance, his criticism is now accompanied by large movements and loud noises. Mike likes it. He’s learning to take up space— to be seen and heard without fear.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, setting a hand on Mason’s forehead.

“Tired.”

Mike clicks his tongue sympathetically. “Maybe you should have a nap, then.”

“That’s all I’ve been doing!” Mason groans, tipping his head back. “I’m bored!”

Is this an indirect invitation to spend time with him? Does Mason want to use them for entertainment? Hell yeah! Mike has so much he wants to do. They can complete a puzzle, or build Legos, or make a pillow fort, or tell each other their deepest darkest secrets.

And all of those sound like great options, if Mason wasn’t on his deathbed. They need something low energy— something mind-numbing and relaxing. Mike knows exactly what they should do.

“Well,” Mike starts, moving his hand from Mason’s forehead to his hair, petting it down gently. “I know you weren’t feeling awake enough for movie night on Friday. Do you think you’re up for it now?”

Mason nods, relieved, like this is what he’d been hinting at the whole time.

Mike beams at him. “Great! What do you want to watch?” Before Mason can even begin to reply, Mike shouts, “Wait!” and hurries off to their movie shelf. He grabs the bag that he stuffed behind the wall of DVDs, hidden for a later surprise. Later meaning now. He returns to his place in front of Mason, pulling out the shiny new— used— copy of Matilda. “I saw this on sale when I went to the bookstore. Would you want to watch it?”

Mason stares at it in awe. “There’s a movie?”

“Yeah! It’s pretty popular, too. So— what do you say?”

“Yeah,” he replies, a small smile appearing on his face. “That one.”

Good. He’s glad. Mike is pretty excited to watch it. Of course, he knows the basics of the story— he’s an English teacher after all. A girl who uses superpowers against her evil parents; not too different from El, he guesses. But, to be honest, he’s also a bit worried. This might be triggering for Will, let alone Mason.

Mason has read the book, though— he knows what he’s getting into. If he couldn’t handle it, he wouldn’t ask to watch.

Mike calls Will into the living room and fills him in on the plan. He happily takes a seat on the couch, patting the spot next to him for Mason, who accepts his offer. Mike puts the DVD into the player, fiddling with the settings on the remote until he gets to the channel he needs. Then, he grabs the blanket off the back of the couch, sits beside Mason, and drapes it over the three of them.

Mike can practically feel the excited energy radiating off of Mason as the film begins.

The first scene already has Mike a bit uncomfortable. Will, on the other hand, must find it amusing, as he snorts and points to the screen. “Hey, just like my dad,” he says, watching baby Matilda get left in the car.

“That’s not funny, Will,” Mike shoots back. Mason seems to think it’s funny, laughing under his breath.

“It’s fine, my mom found me in time,” he dismisses, like it’s no big deal that his father is a neglectful, abusive asshole. Mike hates it when he does that. Will calls it a coping mechanism. Mike calls it not valuing yourself enough to admit when something hurt you.

“Joyce also said that you almost died,” Mike reminds him, an eyebrow raised. “You were in there for an hour.”

Will shrugs, like what can you do? “That’s my father.”

“I’ll kill him.”

“Sorry, my mom already called dibs on that,” he jokes, grinning at Mike to lessen his scowl and ease his muscles to unclench. He and Will have an agreement to never speak of Lonnie unless strictly necessary; it makes Mike unfathomably angry. Recounting old stories is bad enough, but when one Mike has never heard of comes out…

They just simply don’t talk about him. It’s best for everyone.

It’s okay. It’s fine. Will is fine. And if Mike ever sees that bastard again, he can knock the shit out of him.

Mike leans back down to watch the movie, just as the dickwad dad that reminds him of someone walks onto screen with badly bleached hair. He takes this as a chance to lighten the mood— even though Mike thinks he’s the only one bothered right now. “You ever do that?” he nudges Mason in the arm, gesturing to the screen where Matilda is putting glue on her dad’s hat.

Mason goes to say something, then pauses. “I popped my foster dad’s tire once,” he reveals eventually.

Mike looks at him sternly. Pranks are one thing— this is a crime. “Was he an ass?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright. Good job, then.”

Mason gives him a small, bashful grin. What? Just because something is against the law, that doesn’t mean it can’t be justified. A starving man stealing food from a multi-million dollar company, punching a sexual assaulter in the face, vandalizing property of a shitty foster parent— all valid decisions in Mike’s book

“You’re much braver than me,” Will tells him. “I was scared to breathe too hard in front of my dad.”

Mike, politely, bites his tongue. Instead, he chooses to ask, “Did you get away with it, at least?”

Mason doesn’t answer. He sits there, motionless, wearing a blank expression. His eyes have a haunted look to them, as if remembering something particularly unpleasant. Something horrifying. Mike knows that look. Mike has dealt with that look— on himself, on Will, on all of his family and friends.

He did not get away with it. Whatever happened, he definitely does not want to remember it.

Mike reaches down to squeeze his hand, just for a second, then pulls away. “It’s alright,” he whispers. “We can just watch the movie.”

Mason takes his offer graciously, turning back to the screen.

He can understand why Mason likes this story. Mike is kind of surprised how similar it is to his life. Bad parents, bad school; all that he’s missing is the telekinesis. Mike thinks that might be why he likes it— to fantasize about all that he could do with powers. It’s cathartic for him to watch a little girl get her revenge. Here, the bad guys always lose.

Still, Mike can’t help but feel worried. Mason’s posture is extremely tense, and he looks sort of uncomfortable every time Matilda is with her parents, or her violent principal. Why would he choose to put himself through all this, just for a bit of satisfaction?

And then the teacher appears on screen, and Mason’s reaction is instant. He goes from the boy they first brought home— stiff, on edge— to the kid who currently lives under their roof. His guard falls down, and his body relaxes into the couch incrementally.

Mike gets it. Miss Honey is El— the only person Mason is truly comfortable around. The woman he goes to in a crisis. His saving grace in the chaos of the shelter. This is why he likes Matilda so much; it’s a story about him and El.

It’s when Miss Honey leads Matilda to her cottage that Mike feels the weight of a head land on his shoulder. He almost doesn’t pay it any mind, until he realizes something: Will isn’t the one sitting next to him.

Mason initiated physical contact. Voluntarily; and his brain isn’t clouded by emotional distress this time! Mike doesn’t dare breathe. He doesn’t move a muscle. He has to play calm— like a hunter stalking a deer.

Mike counts to ten. When Mason doesn’t give any indication of retreating, Mike slowly wraps his arm behind his back and hovers it around his waist. Still, Mason doesn’t pull away. Mike quietly sighs in relief, then carefully lowers his arm, putting pressure on Mason’s skin.

He’s cuddling with Mason.

Mike tries with all his might not to look at him. He’s scared that if he does, Mason will get embarrassed and sit back up. He keeps his eyes trained resolutely on the screen, where Miss Honey is explaining how the evil principle is her aunt. Huh. Plot twist.

Mason’s head doesn’t leave his shoulder as Matilda and Miss Honey illegally break into a mansion, or as the school gets haunted by ghosts. He thinks. Honestly, he kind of lost the plot a bit when Mason shook his world upside down.

He definitely understands the final scene, though. He’s honestly a bit surprised by it. Not that the movie ended with Miss Honey adopting Matilda— since that would probably be the logical conclusion if he’d paid attention to a single second of it— but about the Mason of it all.

This is Mason’s favorite book. Mason’s favorite book ends with the little girl getting adopted by a kind young woman. A woman with a broken family— an abusive guardian. A woman who is healing her childhood trauma by starting a family that she’s always wanted.

That’s not El. Unless Mason wants El to adopt him— which Mike doesn’t think is the case, since El has made it abundantly clear that she does not want kids of her own— this is about someone else.

Miss Honey is Will. She has to be. They’re a perfect match— caring, compassionate, gentle, nurturing. It’s him.

Of course, Mason liked this story long before he met Will; but the fact that Mason likes it at all is enough evidence for Mike. Mason wants this. He wants a Miss Honey. And Will is perfect for that role.

As the credits begin to play, he turns to Will, who glances down at Mason with a giddy smile on his face; Will can’t believe it either. Mike can’t believe that Mason hasn’t pulled back and ran to his room yet, pretending that this never happened. “Is he asleep?” Mike mouths over his head.

Will leans forward to sneak a glimpse of Mason’s face. He looks back to Mike and nods.

No wonder he hasn’t stirred since the haunted house scene. Poor baby. He must be so sick.

Suddenly, Will jumps up from the couch. “Don’t move, I’ll be right back,” he orders, rushing off somewhere down the hall. It’s not like Mike has much of a choice. He’d die before waking Mason.

He returns with a small digital camera in hand— a gift from Jonathan years ago. In his words, even a dummy like Will can use it.

“Will, be careful,” he warns. “Is the flash off?”

“Yes,” he rolls his eyes, then subtly presses a button. Liar. “Come on. You guys look cute. I want to remember this moment.”

Will knows how he feels about pictures. He’s always so awkward in them. Still, he doesn’t think he’d mind taking one with Mason. They barely have any of him anyway. Mike can take one for the team. “Fine,” Mike says, reluctant. He looks down at Mason, his mouth slack open in sleep, eyes shut tight. He’s ridiculously adorable. Mike doesn’t think he can take it. “God, I love him so much.”

He returns his focus to the camera, and Will presses down on the shutter with a click.

Will seems to realize what Mike said at the exact same time he does, as his expression drops into one of stunned shock, the camera slowly lowering to his side. “You what?” he asks, shaking himself out of his reverie, a small smile creeping onto his face.

Mike loves him. He knows it’s true, even though the words have never crossed his mind before. Is this a recent development? Perhaps he loved Mason the second he walked through their door. He thinks the latter is more likely. This feeling is not new. Mason had nuzzled into his heart from the moment they met.

“I love him,” Mike repeats, dazed. He has no doubt in his mind. “I love him more than anyone else in the world. And you,” he adds on after the fact. “I love you, too.”

Will just laughs, crouching onto the ground in front of them. He grabs Mike’s hand and gives it a firm squeeze. His eyes are shining with happiness and, as he brushes a strand of hair from Mason’s face, tears.

“No, Will, don’t cry,” Mike says gently, reaching an arm out to grasp his shoulder, and Will lets out a sob. “You’ll make me cry.” Mike figures it’s probably too late for that. The waterworks are coming. He can’t stop the tear that runs down his cheek. He’s so emotional today. Maybe he’s finally getting sick.

Will waves a hand in front of his face. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You just— you guys are so sweet. I love you both so much.”

Now it’s Mike’s turn to stifle a sob. They love each other. They’re like a real family. Now all that’s left is Mason— if he ever comes around. Mike is way too attached. He could never recover if Mason ever left them.

Will scoots back a bit, bringing the camera up to his eye. A hysterical laugh bubbles up in Mike’s throat as he takes another picture. His face must be blotchy and red, but he doesn’t care. This is his baby. His love.

Mike thinks off into the far future— maybe Mason’s eighteenth birthday— where they give him a scrapbook of their time together. It’s foolish. He should never plan that far ahead; not when everything is so uncertain. The image is so clear, though. A photo of the two of them glued to the page, with Will’s handwriting underneath reading, “Dad’s first ‘I love you.’” He wants it. He wants it so bad he could cry— more.

Will sets the camera down on the coffee table and sits back down on the couch. He wraps an arm behind Mason’s head, hand resting on Mike’s shoulder blade, and sighs deeply, wiping his eyes. Mike drags the hand that isn’t trapped under a hundred pounds of teenage boy up and down Mason’s arm, who still doesn’t wake. He’s knocked out completely. “Interesting movie,” Will says after a minute of peace, both of them watching Mason nap like creeps.

“Yeah, it was,” he agrees. “Good though.”

“Mhm.” They remain in silence for a bit, and Mike wonders if Will is going to bring up the elephant in the room— Mason, and Matilda, and his parents, and Will. They’re both thinking it. They have to be. “So you’re totally Miss Honey, right?”

What? No— that’s not what Will was supposed to say. Where did he get that idea from?

“Huh?” Mike exclaims in his best whisper. “No, you’re Miss Honey. You can relate to him with your dad and everything. And she’s way too nice to be me.”

“You’re nice,” Will argues, a little angry crease between his eyebrows. “And come on, Mike— you’re a teacher.”

He is, isn’t he? But that still doesn’t make him Miss Honey. Will is golden, and pure, and gentle, just like Mason needs. Mike is fine being second favorite, as long as Mason likes them both; as long as he has a safe space here.

“Fine,” he relents anyway. “We’re both Miss Honey. Or neither of us are, and he hates the both of us.”

Will chuckles to himself, running a hand through Mason’s hair. “Fair enough. Seems pretty fond of you right now, though.”

Mike smiles down at him with hearts in his eyes. Is this what moms feel like after giving birth, when they hold their babies for the first time? “Yeah, I guess so. Should we carry him back to bed?”

“Or…” Will drawls with an evil smirk. “We can stay here with him. Forever.”

Mike likes that idea. Forever is good.

Mason’s fever doesn’t break until the next afternoon. He still complains about a sore throat, but his forehead is cool to the touch. Of course, Mason tries to convince them that he should stay at home just one more day, in case he’s contagious. Mike can read between the lines. Please don’t send me back to that place.

He figures that now is as good of a time as ever to bring up what he and Will have been discussing. They meant to tell him sooner, but then he got sick, and it didn’t feel fair to spring it on him like that when he was barely conscious.

Mike sighs, gesturing to the couch. “Mace, can you sit down for a second?”

Mason goes to comply, then turns back with an eyebrow raised in question. “‘Mace?’”

He mirrors his expression in a challenge. “Would you prefer Masie?” he asks, already knowing the answer. He’s getting a nickname goddamnit, if it’s the last thing Mike does.

Mason quickly shakes his head, nose scrunched in disgust, and sits sideways on the couch, one leg tucked under the other.

Mike takes the cushion next to his, and Will the one behind that. “We wanted to talk to you about something,” he tells Mason after a beat.

“What did I do?”

“Nothing,” Will clarifies, brushing a hand against Mason’s knee. “You’re not in trouble.”

“We have a proposition for you,” Mike continues. “Your school is…” Awful. Horrible. Cruel. “Out of the way,” he settles on. “It’s not your local school district anymore. And, well, mine is only a couple streets over. We could save a lot of time in the morning if you wanted to, you know, transfer.”

Mason’s face goes from confused to surprised in an instant. “You want me to switch schools?”

“Well, only if you want to. It’s no big deal if you don’t— I’d happily make the drive if you didn’t want to leave your… classmates,” he says, instead of what he intended to. Friends. That he doesn’t have. “It’s just— I don’t really get the impression that you like your school that much. I don’t like your school that much. I hate the possibility of you getting hurt there. And with me as a teacher, you’d always be safe. I’d look out for you there; or pretend like I don’t know you, if that’s what you’d prefer.”

Mason thinks for a few seconds, before slowly nodding his head in agreement. “Okay. Yeah.”

“Really?” Mike exclaims, smiling widely. He wasn’t sure if he’d actually say yes. “You’ll love it there, trust me. The kids are really nice. I know a few seventh graders who would be perfect friends for you.”

“Don’t set me up with friends,” he warns with a glare. Yeah, okay. That’s fair. Mike would be pretty humiliated if Mr. Clarke introduced him to his friends because he was sitting all alone in class.

“Mason,” Will says, grabbing his attention. “There are still some choices you have to make. Would you like to switch now, in the middle of the semester? Or do you want to wait until January?”

Mike can see the cogs turning in his brain. Neither are great options. Transfering in the middle of the semester is just asking for unnecessary rumors and attention. Did he get kicked out? Suspended? Did his parents kill someone and move states? Or, Mason could choose to stay where he is. Where his past is already known, and the bullies have no problem reminding him.

“I’ll stay,” he eventually decides. That was certainly not what Mike had expected him to pick. Honestly, it’s not what he wanted him to pick. But it’s Mason’s decision. Mike will respect that.

“Okay then,” Mike grins, and this time it’s a little fake. “We’ll see you next semester.”

January isn’t too far away. Just a couple more months. Mason can hang on that long, right?

Chapter Text

Will can’t remember the last time he got a decent night’s rest. It must have been sometime around Halloween, while Will was too distracted with Mason’s friend, and school, and sickness to notice his nightmares starting back up. They’ve been plaguing his dreams all month; the shed at his old house, the sound of inhuman screams, chasing his mother’s voice all throughout town as she yelled his name, but never quite being able to reach her. Not being able to see her.

Will remembers what it was first like entering the Upside Down. He thought he died. He really thought he died, because that must have been hell. He was in hell, just like his dad told him he would be. If only he could have been born differently— if only he could have tried to like girls.

The demons taunted him. They impersonated the chief of police, his teacher, his neighbors, all calling out for him. But no one was there. No one was ever there. He followed their voices through the woods, echoing all around him, over him, through him. He was in the right place— but there was nothing to find. He would be stuck forever.

Will wakes with a start, his back shooting off the mattress in an instant. His ragged gasps are loud enough to make Mike stir, as much as he tries to quiet them. It’s the same routine as always.

“Hey,” Mike mumbles sleepily, sitting up to wrap his arms around Will as he begins to hyperventilate. “Shh, it’s okay. You’re here, you’re right here. I’ve got you. Nothing can hurt you now.”

Will shifts in his embrace, burying his face into Mike’s shoulder, and sobs. Mike continues babbling reassurances in his ear, rubbing his back; “It was just a dream,” and, “You’re safe,” and, “Just breathe.” Will can barely make out what he’s saying, but his words are grounding nonetheless. He tries his hardest to force air through his lungs, copying the rhythm of Mike’s own chest.

“That's it,” Mike whispers as Will’s brain starts functioning somewhat decently again. He registers the fact that he’s panting, but at least that’s better than the wheezing he was doing before. His breath is fast, but deep. He cracks open an eye as Mike sets his hands on either side of Will’s face, pulling him up close.

Mike plants a kiss to his nose. “Hey.”

“Hi,” he manages to reply. “How long was I gone?”

“About ten minutes.” Shit. That was his worst one this month. He rarely even gets panic attacks anymore. His dreams rarely affect him this bad. Usually, his brain conjures up events that never happened— his mom dying, Mike dying, the world ending. Those are easy enough to shake off— Mike just reminds him that everyone is fine, and he can go back to sleep within the hour. These, though— the memories, the real thing— they’re harder. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Will shakes his head. It’s nothing Mike hasn’t heard before. He doubts talking about it will do any good.

“Okay.” Mike kisses him again, this time on the forehead. “How about I go get you something to drink?”

He nods. Mike smiles gently at him, standing up and starting toward the door. Will quickly rises off the bed; there’s no way he can be left alone right now. “I want to come,” he says when Mike gives him a quizzical look. Luckily, he allows it and doesn’t force Will back into bed like a concerned mother.

They make their way to the living room, Will sitting on the couch while Mike heads to the kitchen. “Water? Tea? Hot chocolate?”

“Tea,” Will answers, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders and settling into the cushions. Mike is such a prince. He closes his eyes, trying to will away the flashes of memory that come alive with the darkness. He knows he isn’t sleeping tonight.

He can hear the faint noises of Mike fiddling around in the kitchen. It’s soothing. Peaceful. Domestic. He has half a mind to tell Mike to go back to sleep, that he has work in the morning and he needs the rest, but he doesn’t. He knows Mike would only refuse, as he has many times before. Will has learned to accept the help when necessary.

He startles at the loud hissing that sounds from the kitchen. He sees Mike wince, turning the stove off and yanking the kettle away as quickly as possible. Will would laugh if it was just the two of them, but instead he glances toward Mason’s bedroom door. “Mike!” he whisper-yells. “He’s asleep!”

“Sorry!” he responds over his shoulder, pouring the water into Will’s favorite mug.

It’s too late. Mason’s door swings open seconds later. He wanders out, looking frightened and confused, until he sees Will on the couch. He walks up to him slowly. “What are you doing?”

Damnit, Mike. Will has managed to keep his nightmares a secret this entire month. He muffled his sobs, and plastered on a fake smile every morning. He pretended that last week was completely normal, like he slept more than four hours a night.

He doesn’t want to worry Mason. This isn’t his issue to deal with.

“We’re having some tea,” Will answers, flattening a wild lock of Mason’s hair.

“Why?”

Will gives his best reassuring smile. “Just a nightmare. It’s alright. You can go back to bed.”

Mason’s feet don’t move. His eyes widen, surprised, before he furrows his brow in concern. “You get nightmares?”

Great. He’s not getting out of this one. It looks like they’re talking about this. Maybe this is Will’s job now— to be vulnerable in front of Mason, to let him know that it’s okay for him to do the same to Will. To show Mason that nightmares happen, and there’s nothing to be ashamed of— that things do get better, but it’s alright to still be afraid of the past. Sometimes fear does win, but that doesn’t make him weak.

“Yeah, I do.”

Mike suddenly appears at the coffee table, setting the mug on a coaster to cool. “Would you like to join us?” he asks Mason, who’s still hovering awkwardly.

Mason slowly nods, taking a step closer as Mike sits beside Will, leaving a child-sized gap between them. Will reaches out and grabs Mason’s wrists lightly, searching for any small bit of comfort he can give. Mason stares down at him, a worried crease on his forehead. Sweetheart. Will’s eyes fill with tears. “God, you’re as old as I was. Was I really this little?”

“Littler, probably,” Mike answers sadly.

He knows Mike doesn’t like thinking about it any more than he does. Maybe even less. Will doesn’t give him enough credit. If this kid went missing, Will doesn’t think he’d ever have faith in the world ever again. He’s just a boy. So tiny. Will felt grown when everything happened— like he was practically an adult. Then again, he felt like that at eight, and at five. He doesn’t now. He knows nothing.

Mason squints at him in question. Will just pulls him onto the couch, hugging him tightly. He doesn’t try to struggle out of his grasp— he just lets himself be held, as if he knows how much Will needs it. “What’s wrong?” he finally asks. “What happened when you were my age?”

There it is— what Will had been waiting for. What he had been dreading since Mason first arrived here, but expected nonetheless. He knew he wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret forever. Everyone in Will’s extended family knows what happened to him— it was only a matter of time before Mason learned as well.

Will sighs, taking a long sip of his tea. He needs a moment to gather his thoughts— to plan his words. He won’t hide his past, but Mason is far too young to hear the real story. Monsters are not suitable for twelve-year-olds. Luckily, Will and the others have a backup; a half-lie they tell to therapists, and doctors, and distant friends. A version of the story they can believe.

“Are you sure?” he checks, first and foremost. “I don't want to give you nightmares. You have school in the morning.”

“I’m sure. Just tell me.”

“I was kidnapped,” he says simply, returning to his tea. He lets the words sink into Mason’s brain. Will can feel his eyes boring into the side of his head, wide and startled.

“Kidnapped?” he squeaks, voice high with shock. “Seriously? Like, in someone’s basement?”

“Not their basement, but yes. I was taken to their home. He was an evil, evil man. Don’t worry, he’s gone now— you’re perfectly safe. I just have dreams about it sometimes. About everything.” Will looks out into the distance, eyes locked on something that doesn’t exist.

“But you were saved?”

Will snaps back to reality, turning to Mason to give him a smile. “I was saved. By this one,” he kicks Mike’s ankle. Mason looks at him in awe. “And my mom. And my brother, step-dad, and friends. And El,” he adds, watching as Mason’s eyes sparkle with excitement. Will is glad he’s enjoying the story— not like it ruined his life or anything.

“Miss El was there? She helped?”

“She was a big help,” Mike confirms. “Couldn’t have done it without her. She’s really brave, you know. That was around the same time she escaped her own shitty father.”

“Woah,” Mason breathes, almost star struck, before ducking his head and blushing. Time and place, Mason. “Sorry.”

Will laughs quietly. He’s feeling better already. “No, it’s fine. She’s pretty cool.”

He nods in agreement. “He was caught, though? The bad guy?”

“Sort of.” Will’s expression drops, his gaze moving to his hand around the warm cup. It’s almost too hot for comfort, but it’s grounding for him. “The police thought he was killed. Turns out that was just his… assistant. The real kidnapper— he was still out there. I thought he was; I could sense it. I felt like I was going insane— seeing him around me, in places he shouldn’t have been. My school, my house, around every corner. I should have trusted my gut. He was stalking me. And eventually, he cornered me.”

Mason tenses beneath his arm. Will’s hand tightens around the cup, Mike’s around his shoulder. He knows when a story needs to end.

“I think that’s enough for tonight,” he tells Mason, to his dismay. “You can hear the rest when you’re older.”

“No! What happened?” he asks frantically, grabbing onto his arm in anticipation. “What did he do?”

There’s something in his eyes— something Will can’t read. They search him, like the answer is written on Will’s face. Maybe Mason understands without him having to say it. What happens next, what Will was put through— the fake version, at least. Though, the story was always based in reality.

“You’re too young to hear it,” Will says anyway.

“I’m not,” he insists, the look in his eyes intensifying.

Will takes a deep breath, shaking his head. “I’d rather not, if that’s alright. I don’t really like talking about it.”

Mason hesitates for a moment, clearly disappointed, but nods. “Okay,” he says.

He sets his mug on the table beside him, then wraps his other arm around Mason, tugging him closer to his body. “Thanks,” he whispers, laying his cheek on top of his head. “For staying with me. You’re such a sweetheart.”

Mason shrugs dismissively. “I just didn’t want to sleep,” he says. Will knows that’s a lie.

“Well, thanks anyway. You make good company.”

Surprising absolutely no one, the three of them are all walking zombies the next morning. Will didn’t manage to fall back asleep. He, at least, doesn’t have to go anywhere. Mike and Mason, unfortunately, had to head to school, even if it’s only a half-day.

Thankfully, tomorrow is the start of Thanksgiving break. Though, that does mean hopping on a plane before noon, so maybe he shouldn’t count himself lucky. And of course it’s Friday, which means that Will has a shitload of chores to do— including laundry, so everyone actually has clothes to pack. It’s a mess. Will can’t wait until he sees his mom, if only to be the baby of the house again.

He does miss his mom, in all seriousness. He saw her last July for their annual month-long vacation, but that feels like forever ago. He didn’t have a child in his care back then. Will thinks he’s aged ten years in these past few months— he’s an entirely different person than he was before Mason came into their lives. He wonders if his mom will even recognize him.

Of course he misses his friends as well, and he’s looking forward to having everyone all under one roof again. Will just can’t help but worry about Mason. Is this going to be too much for him? Meeting their parents and siblings is one thing— meeting all of their friends is entirely separate. Will knows he has a large family; it’s something he prides himself in. Growing up, it was just him, his mom, and Jonathan. Now, he has nieces and nephews and sister-in-laws and step-dads. There’s barely enough room in Karen’s house to fit them all. Will loves it.

Mason will hate it. He knows he will. And still, he hasn’t complained once. Will worries that he’s pushing Mason too fast. He’s just gotten comfortable around them— maybe they should hold off until Christmas. Or New Year’s. Or Easter.

Will knocks on Mason’s door that afternoon. He enters at the small, “Yeah?” spoken from the other side, eyes finding Mason sifting through his laundry basket, suitcase on the ground.

“Hey,” Will says, peeking his head through. When Mason looks up at him, he steps into the room and closes the door behind him. “You need any help packing?”

“No. I’m good,” he answers, not unkindly. Will has a sudden flashback to the day Mason first came here, when he treated his little suitcase like it held all the treasures in the world. Will would never have been allowed this close to it, and Mason certainly wouldn’t have let him insinuate that he doesn’t know how to pack on his own. Will never realized just how much things have changed.

“Well, can I talk to you while you do? I wanted to let you know what to expect this week— so there are no surprises when you get to my mom’s.”

Mason pauses his movements for a second, then nods. Will takes a seat on the ground as Mason kneels beside his suitcase. He takes a shirt from Mason’s pile and begins folding it for him— mostly to help, but also because he’s anxious, and he needs to do something with his hands.

“You know that we’ll be staying with my family, not Mike’s, right?” he asks, and Mason nods again. “Good. Normally we spend Thanksgiving with Karen and Christmas with my mom, but Jonathan asked to switch. He wanted you to have El with you this week.”

This gains Mason’s attention. His head snaps up, eyes shining with interest. “Miss El is staying with us?”

Will smiles at his excitement. “Of course— they’re her parents, too. Her room is right across from Jon’s, where you’ll be staying. But she isn’t coming until Wednesday. You know how she loves to spend as much of the holidays at the shelter as she can.”

“She’s usually at Thanksgiving with us,” he confirms.

“Yeah. I think she was supposed to work this year as well. Between you and me,” Will leans in to whisper lowly, “she took off to spend Thanksgiving with you.”

“She did?”

“Mhm. But don’t tell her I said that.”

Mason tries to bite back a pleased grin, but Will sees it anyway. He’s so cute. Will hopes that he can make Mason that happy one day, just at the mention of him.

“You know,” Will starts, placing a shirt in the suitcase. “It’s not too late to cancel. If you wanted to.”

Mason thinks for a moment, chewing his lip. Will holds his breath, not daring to hope. It’s Mason’s decision. If he doesn’t want to go, they won’t. Will refuses to let himself be disappointed. “It’s okay,” he says finally. “We should go.”

Will doesn’t feel relieved. He doesn’t, because he isn’t selfish. “Alright. If you’re sure. You’ll have your own room, anyway. If you ever get overwhelmed, or you just want some alone time, you’re welcome to lock yourself inside. You’re not expected to be out there with us all the time.”

“Okay,” Mason says, looking a bit more relaxed than he did a second ago. “Who’s going to be there?”

“Tomorrow, just my mom, step-dad, Jonathan, Nancy, and their kids. But Jon and Nance will be gone by dinner. On Sunday, we’re going to Mike’s parents’ house to meet his family. Wednesday is friendsgiving at my mom’s, which will be everyone except Mike’s family, but my parents will probably hide away in their room for that one. Thanksgiving will be both of our families, and on Friday, all of our friends gather one last time at Mike’s place.”

Mason just stares at him, deadpan. He can try to hide it, but Will can tell he’s scared.

“I know,” Will says. “It’s a lot. Don’t worry— if you’re not feeling up for something, we don’t have to do it. Everyone knows to give you space.” Mason looks down at his hands, pulling tightly at the fabric of the pants he’s attempting to fold. Sensing his distress, Will scoots closer, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Hey. We’ll be there the whole time— whenever you need us. I know that might not be the most reassuring thing to hear, but, well, El will be there too, eventually.”

Mason turns in his grasp, hugging Will’s waist. Will buries his nose in his hair, breathing deeply. He rubs at Mason’s arm comfortingly, and continues talking. “I’ll never really understand what you’re going through— but I do know that this is hard for you, and I’m really proud of you for trying. If you want to share some of your worries, I’d love to hear them. Maybe I can help.”

Mason’s quiet for a moment. Will waits patiently for him to speak— or not to. Either way is fine. Eventually, he murmurs a small, “I don’t know anyone.”

“No,” Will replies sympathetically. “I do, though,” he adds, as if it would help. “Do you trust me?”

Will doesn’t know what he expects. A not really, or something along those lines, probably. I guess, at best. Mason says none of those things. Instead, he only nods.

Mason trusts him. Fully, and without hesitation. It’s the biggest honor Will could ever ask for.

In all honesty, Will always feared having kids of his own. Genetics are tricky. He’s heard all his life that he’s the spitting image of his mother— but she was only half of the equation. He’s his father’s son, whether he likes it or not. Alcoholism runs in his blood, just as high cholesterol does from his mom’s side. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Will was afraid that he’d turn into his father. He didn’t trust himself. It was one of the reasons he never brought up fostering to Mike before, despite having connections at the shelter.

That fear isn’t gone; but if Mason can trust him, even after all he’s been through, maybe his father’s genetics aren’t as strong as he thought.

“I would never hurt you, Mason,” he says, and for the first time, he actually knows that for certain. “And more than that, I would never put you in a situation where you would be hurt. Everyone we’re going to see— they were all there when I went through what I did. They’re the reason I’m still here. They’re the nicest, most protective people I know. There’s absolutely no danger with them. And if they ever do lay a hand on you, I’ll never talk to them again.”

Mason glances up at him, a curious expression on his face. “But they’re your family.”

“And you mean more to me than any of them,” he answers easily. “But I know for a fact that it won’t be a problem. Especially with my immediate family. My mom is the nicest person you’ll ever meet. A bit of a helicopter parent though, so watch out— you might need a break from her sometimes. And if Mike and I are ever apart from you for some reason, you can always go to my brother. I trust him more than anyone. Whenever my dad was being… my dad, Jon was always there to protect me. The others might seem a bit intimidating, but not him. He’s the only calm one in that house.”

Mason offers up a weak smile. Will was going for a laugh, but he’ll take it.

Will shakes him a little. “You alright? Feeling a bit better?”

“Sort of,” he says, letting go of Will; it shouldn’t fill Will with as much confidence as it does. As Mason backs away to continue packing, he looks up hopefully, like a brilliant idea just popped into his mind. “Do they have video games?”

Will chuckles, standing from the floor. “Not anything from this millennium. Or the decade before, actually. Maybe I can teach you how to play on my old Atari, if Mom hasn’t gotten rid of it.”

Mason pulls a face, half intrigued, half dubious. “It’s older than me?”

“It’s almost older than me,” he says, just to watch Mason’s expression grow incredulous.

“I’ll bring a book,” he responds. Will just laughs, shaking his head. He’s really not that much older than Mason.

Whatever. Mason can think whatever he wants. He’ll be an old man— that still doesn’t change the fact that Will is going to be thirty-five when Mason enters college.

Will retaliates by ruffling his hair before rushing out the door.

Chapter Text

Mike arrives at the Indianapolis airport by 4 o’clock. They made decent time, all things considered. There was only a fifteen minute delay before takeoff; this might be the fastest he’s ever made the trip. He has serious bad luck with flying.

Mike grabs the duffle bag of travel necessities from the overhead compartment. He stuffs it back up with his book, neck pillows, and Will’s blanket that he packs for when he inevitably gets cold. He takes his third coffee of the day from his cup holder, planning to throw it out once they finally get off this stupid plane.

He hates flying. Packing, waking up at the crack of dawn just to get to the airport twelve hours early, staring into the distance for the entirety of those twelve hours while sitting in the most uncomfortable seats imaginable, because Will has some irrational anxiety about missing flights. Boarding the flight with plenty of time to spare, feeling his ears clog as they rise higher into the sky, being jet lagged for the rest of the trip…

It’s a nightmare.

And no, this isn’t about Mike’s fear of heights. That he doesn’t have.

Mason, amazingly, hasn’t complained since they took off. Apparently he’s flown before, a couple winters ago, to celebrate Christmas with his foster parents’ extended family. Mike never considered the fact that Mason must have met several foster families before this. It makes him feel… he’s not exactly sure. Sorry, maybe— that they’re making him do this once again, when he’s clearly not looking forward to it. Jealous, definitely. What right do they have to introduce Mason to their loved ones? They didn’t even love him in the first place. They got rid of him. Families are forever— not to be taken lightly.

He hates the idea of Mason being dragged along to family events, not because his foster parents wanted to include him, but because they had no other choice. They couldn’t leave him behind, and they weren’t willing to sacrifice their own holiday to save Mason from being hurt. Meeting family is a big deal; if they weren’t serious about Mason someday being a part of it, they shouldn’t have introduced him at all. That’s just cruel.

Mike shakes off his annoyance. He’s here to have a good time. With Mason. Because he loves him.

He slings an arm around Mason’s shoulders, guiding him into the line of passengers slowly trickling their way outside. “You ready, babe?”

Mason shrugs, not meeting his eyes. He looks more tired than he has all day; Mike doesn’t think it’s from the time change. He’s been hiding his nerves well enough up to this point— but he can’t pretend forever.

“Hey,” Mike jostles him until Mason glances over. He ducks his head closer, wearing his most assuring smile. “They’re going to love you.”

Mason’s face makes a sudden shift, the worry lines on his forehead disappearing and his eyes turning hard; expressionless. It’s the kind of thing Mike hasn’t seen for weeks— maybe months. Something he didn’t realize had left at all. “I know,” he says, with a cocky bout of confidence.

Mason has put up a wall. Just like he had back in September, he’s shielding his real emotions from view. It leaves Mike feeling scared. They worked so hard to break down that wall. He can only hope that this is temporary— that they won’t have to start from scratch once they get back home. Surely this is just an act for the others.

Mike has to remind himself that this isn’t because of him. He isn’t the one being frozen out right now. It’s not his fault. It’s not.

Slowly but surely, they make their way down the steps. Like a magnet, Mike’s eyes gravitate toward the one familiar face in the crowd. Joyce.

As soon as she meets his gaze, her face lights up in a bright smile. She waves excitedly at them, just as she does every year. This time, however, her vision drops slightly down and to his right— to the adorable bundle of sweaters and jackets under his arm. Her eyes instantly soften, and she takes a step toward them.

Will is quicker, practically sprinting the short distance to wrap her up in a hug. She switches focus easily, arms curling around his waist, patting him on the back. “Hi, sweetie,” she says into his shoulder as he and Mason come to a stop beside them. Mike thinks she’s inhaling him— which wouldn’t be the first time. “I missed you so much.”

“Missed you too, Mom.”

Mike chuckles under his breath, turning to Mason. “Aww, look at them being cute.”

As if just remembering that he’s there, Joyce lets Will go in favor of hugging Mike instead. “Oh, shut it. I haven’t seen you two in forever.”

As much as Mike would love to make fun of Will some more, Joyce is very comfortable. Her hugs are warm like no other. They make him feel like a child again— like he’s somehow smaller than her while simultaneously towering over her.

Eventually, Joyce decides to relinquish him. She turns to Mason with interest, adoration shining through her expression. Mike knows that look— it’s her mother look. The same one she sported whenever Will dressed up for a school dance, or Jonathan came back from a date with Nancy with lipstick on his cheek. “Hello, Mason,” she says casually. Mike knows she’s holding back with all her might. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Mason, for his part, shows no emotion. He’s still as a statue; Mike is mildly concerned that he isn’t breathing, until his chest rises slightly. Mike is suddenly glad that it’s only Joyce here today. That was their agreement— only one parent allowed at the airport. Mason has been through enough— he doesn’t need a 6’3” Hopper breathing down his neck from the moment he steps off the plane.

They already went through a list of boundaries with everyone before they left home. No hugging, no roughhousing, no touching in general— and, most importantly, give Mason space when he needs it. Don’t force him out of his room like they would if it was Mike or Will hiding away, and don’t make him participate in any activities he doesn’t want to.

Everyone else’s requests were upheld whenever they brought a new baby to the group— feeding and naptime and whatnot. This isn’t any different. It’s Mason’s first holiday this time. They’re playing by his rules.

Mason, of course, doesn’t know this. And he doesn’t need to. If he did, he’d probably throw a fit.

For now, he’s scared shitless. Mike quickly steps toward him, placing a hand on his back. “Mason, this is Joyce,” he says. “Will’s mom. We’re coming with her, alright?”

Mason drops his gaze, nodding. He mutters a quiet, “Yeah, whatever,” like he doesn’t even care. Like he isn’t bothered at all. Mike believed him once upon a time; not now.

Joyce, it seems, is unfazed— or if she isn’t, she hides it behind a smile. “You’re dressed like you’re ready for the snow,” she teases, regarding Mason’s many layers of new clothes they bought specifically for this trip. “I wouldn’t get your hopes up. It’s been a dry year.”

“He’s a Californian,” Will explains with a guilty grin, fixing one of Mason’s many collars as if the biting wind of the airport would make him chilly. “I didn’t want him to get cold.”

“I won’t get cold,” he mutters to the floor, an angry pout on his face.

Will levels him with a look. “It’s thirty-five degrees here.”

Mason’s head shoots up. “Fahrenheit?” he exclaims, disbelieving. Poor, innocent baby. That’s the high for today. The coldest Mike has ever seen California was mid-forties, in the dead of winter. He’ll admit— even he brought some extra layers. He’s gotten too comfortable with the sun.

Will just laughs, ruffling his hair. “Don’t worry. I have your hat in my bag.”

After grabbing their luggage from the baggage claim, the four of them make their way out to the parking lot. Joyce leads them to her car, where they stuff their suitcases in the tiny trunk. Wordlessly, Mike encourages Will to sit in the front to catch up with his mom, as he climbs in the back with Mason. Mason takes the seat behind Will, farthest from Joyce, though that’s not a surprise.

It’s not a terribly long drive— thirty minutes, not including traffic. He’s gone further for late night takeout. Joyce, bless her, tries to keep a conversation going. She asks them how their year has been, whether they’ve done anything fun recently, and if Mike ever took up gardening like he’d been thinking about. Most of the questions are answered by him and Will, even when they’re clearly directed at Mason. She glances back at him through the rearview mirror, but Mason either doesn’t notice or ignores it. Mostly, he just stares out the window.

That is, until he’s met with a question he can’t pass off as someone else’s. “Mason,” Joyce says, trying to grab his attention. She doesn’t relent until Mason finally turns toward her. “Is there anything you wanted to do while you’re in Indiana? Whatever you’d like. I’m sure everyone would be happy to show you around.”

It’s a nice sentiment, but Mike knows exactly what Mason wants to do while he’s here: sit in his room for hours on end. No interruptions.

Mason scrunches his nose in a mix of confusion and judgment. “The only things here are cows,” he rebuts, pointing out the window. And— okay. That’s not entirely true. Indiana has lots of fun things to do. But, admittedly, they have passed quite a few farms, and little of anything else. This isn’t California; if Mason is expecting theme parks around every corner, he’s going to be severely disappointed.

“You’re not playing right,” Mike interjects, smiling when Mason looks at him, absolutely lost. Mike gets that a lot. Sometimes he can spin the conversation in a completely unrelated direction without realizing that his reply was off-topic. Not this time; he’s absolutely on-topic. Mike shuffles closer to him, as far as his seatbelt will allow. “You have to call it out whenever we pass a cow,” he explains, nodding to the window. “Otherwise we’ll all miss out.”

“You want to see the cows?”

Mike laughs at his disgust. “Yeah, of course. Cow!” he exclaims as another farm flashes into view.

“Horse!” Will adds from the front seat. Dammit. Double points.

“Come on,” he urges Mason. “You can’t let him win. He sucks at this game.”

“Hey!”

Mike ignores Will's cry of protest, and his failed attempt at a shove. Will ignores Joyce’s scolding to face forward, continuing to swing at Mike until he retaliates with a kick to the seat. Mike blames it on Mason.

Joyce sighs deeply. “Mason, what’s it like being the most mature person in your house?”

For the first time today, Mason smiles. Mike thinks that Joyce’s wrath is worth it.

Mason doesn’t end up calling out any cows, unfortunately, but he also doesn’t complain when Mike does. Mike switches to the middle seat at some point, since he was practically sitting in it already. Will calls him clingy, which he is so not. He just likes being beside Mason. Will responds with, “Okay, Mr. Cling,” and promptly starts cracking up at his own joke, like a loser. Mike doesn’t laugh, because it’s not funny.

When they pull up to the Hopper-Byers’ house, Mason is noticeably in a better mood. Mike has been in slightly less of one since they entered Hawkins, unhappy memories flooding his brain, but he pushes past them. He continues making silly comments with Will, reaching for his hand on the center console once that familiar discomfort cracks through his mask. They both smile through it.

Mike gets out of the car first, rounding it to grab the bags from the trunk. Joyce offers to take them in for him, but Mike shakes his head. He knows that Mason would like to be the one handling his own stuff.

Nancy’s car is already in the driveway, along with Hopper’s. It’ll be a full house. One glance at Mason tells him that he already knows that.

Selfishly, Mike is looking forward to Mason meeting everyone. He knows they’re all going to love him. And, even more selfishly, Mike wants to show him off. Can he be blamed? Mason is something to be proud of. He’s sat through way too many holiday baby reveals to not be smug about his superior kid.

Mike and Will hurry to the door— half because they’re excited to see their family, and half because they haven’t been in a house since seven in the morning. Before he even has the chance to fully step through the entryway, Mike is scrambling to catch a little girl running full speed toward his legs. He manages, barely, and lifts her up to his chest.

“Uncle Mike!” Abigail squeals, wrapping her little arms around his neck.

“How’s my favorite middle niece?” he asks, smiling brightly. He missed her so much, he could eat her up.

Abigail, completely ignoring his own question, asks, “Where’s your baby?” Mike almost wants to laugh. Clearly, Nancy had tried to brief her on the Mason situation. Unsuccessfully. There’s only so much a five-year-old can comprehend. She’s not wrong, though; he is his baby.

Mike glances over his shoulder, where Mason is hovering awkwardly behind him. He rotates so that Abigail can see him clearly. “Right here.”

She tilts her head curiously at him. Then, she waves. “He’s big,” she whispers loudly in Mike’s ear, as if Mason can’t hear her.

Mike can’t help but chuckle. “Yeah. He’s twelve. That’s bigger than you!”

“Is he my brother?”

“Abby,” Nancy suddenly appears in front of them, taking her from Mike’s arms. Or maybe she’s been there the whole time. “Let him breathe, will you? And no, he isn’t. Uncle Mike is my brother. If he had a kid, they’d be your cousin. Like Corey and the twins.”

Abigail twists in her grasp, trying to look over at Mason once again. “I have an older cousin?” she asks joyfully.

“I’m not your cousin,” Mason snaps. Mike nearly jumps at the unexpected voice, loud in his ear.

Abby looks startled. Upset. Mike knows that she hates being yelled at, but he can’t bring himself to scold Mason for raising his voice. She made him uncomfortable; he has every right to correct her. As much as Mike would love for them to be cousins, they aren’t. If Mason doesn’t want them to be, then they won’t.

Mike plasters on a fake smile and brushes a hair out of Abigail’s eyes. “You’re not related, Abs. We’re just looking after him.”

“Oh,” she says, disappointed. Mike gets it. He is too.

Nancy sets Abby down on the ground, pushing her gently in Will’s direction. “Go say ‘hi’ to your better uncle,” she demands, and Abby complies easily, wrapping around Will’s legs in a tight hug.

Mike is then met with Barb, who had been previously catching up with Will. “Hey, favorite oldest niece,” he says, crouching down to kiss her hair. “Anything new with you?”

Barb nods shyly, then breaks into a wide smile. A wide, toothless smile.

“Wow!” Mike exclaims. “Where’d all your chompers go? How are you going to eat?”

“The tooth fairy took them!” she answers, excited but quiet. The difference between her and Abigail is astounding; they’re polar opposites. It’s not hard to tell who took after whom. Barb is reserved— happy to go off on her own without any adult supervision. And she doesn’t need any, either. She’s an angel. Abby, on the other hand, is a clear Wheeler. Adventurous, loud, extroverted— she needs constant attention. Mike has been told that they’re practically the same person on more than one occasion.

Abigail has already moved on from Will, bouncing from one person to another. She’s now at Jonathan’s side, rattling on about something or another. He listens intently until she’s finished, then grabs her hand and pulls her further into the living room. “Guys, why don’t we let them get in the house?” he says to the room as a whole, an instruction for Barb but a command for Abby.

Finally, Mike can breathe. He can only imagine how suffocated Mason must feel right now, even with Mike as a human shield. Joyce shuts the door behind them, and they’re able to spread out a little as she moves to pull the kids into the kitchen.

Will immediately walks over to Jonathan, leaving only Nancy available to talk to. Unfortunately. He supposes she’s better than nothing.

“Oh, hello dear brother. I missed you, too. So nice of you to greet me first,” she says sarcastically, even as Mike goes to embrace her.

“I didn’t see you rushing to the door for a hug,” he snaps back. Abby will always be better than Nancy. Always.

Nancy rolls her eyes. He can’t see it, but he knows she does. “Introduce me to Mason. I’ve been waiting for months.”

With a dramatic sigh, Mike backs away to pull Mason to his side. His muscles are rigid beneath Mike’s arm, so he squeezes Mason’s shoulder gently. “Mason, this is Nancy. She’s annoying, don’t go near her.” This time, Mike can see the eye roll. He ignores it, gesturing to Jonathan. “That’s Jonathan, my favorite brother-in-law. He’s much nicer. Honestly, I think he settled. He can do a lot better.”

He expects the punch in the arm from Nancy. He still yelps, clutching the spot that will definitely bruise. “Be glad you don’t have siblings,” he tells Mason. “They’re a nuisance.”

Before Mike can enact his lightning-quick reflexes, Nancy pulls him down into a headlock, digging her knuckles into his scalp. No. Not the noogie. “Ow!” he screams, twisting and turning in her grasp. It’s no use. He catches a sideways glimpse of Will and Jonathan watching them amusedly, and reaches out a hand. “Will! Help!”

Will crosses his arms, considering. “No,” he eventually decides, like an asshole. What a traitor.

Evidently, Nancy has deemed his punishment enough, as she releases Mike from her grip. He stumbles back from the force of it, rubbing his head. “Jerk,” he mutters.

“Buttface,” Nancy retorts.

“You’re thirty-two.”

“You’re still a buttface.”

“Alright,” Will interrupts, grabbing Mike by the arm. “Can we show Mason his room now?”

Right. Mason. Oh god, he just got a noogie from his sister in front of Mason. He’s never going to live this down.

Jonathan says a quick “goodbye” to them as they start down the hallway, because he’s nice and not a jerk. They stop at Jon’s old room, identical to how it looked when he left for college over a decade ago. The same can’t be said about Will’s room, which is now upgraded with a queen-sized bed that Mike gets to share, because he’s a grown man and married. In spirit.

“Here you are,” Mike says as he swings the door open with a flourish. Mason takes his time looking around as he walks in, leaving his suitcase by the wall. Mike takes a hesitant step forward as well, and when he’s not met with protest, continues toward the bed. He gestures for Mason to take a seat, and he kneels on the ground in front of him. Will closes the door behind them as he settles next to Mike.

Mike sets a hand lightly on Mason’s leg, who amazingly doesn’t pull away at the contact. “I wanted to talk to you for a bit. Is that alright?” Mike asks at Mason’s apparent confusion. He nods. “Alright. I just wanted to say that I’m proud of you. I know they can be a lot, but you’re doing really well. Tell me if you ever need a break, alright?”

Mason seems surprised, like he doesn’t think he’s been on his best behavior. Okay, well, maybe that’s true— he has seen Mason’s best behavior, and it certainly isn’t this— but Mike doesn’t expect that from him right now. He’s nervous, scared, and on edge. He’s doing great for the circumstances he’s in.

“You’re not mad?” he questions, a worried crease on his forehead. This is the Mason he knows— the Mason that was left in California. Mike is relieved to discover that his emotional walls aren’t permanent; they’ll drop again when it’s just the three of them.

Mike can’t, for the life of him, figure out why he should be mad. Mason hasn’t killed anyone— his back-talk has been shockingly minimal, and he hasn’t even shared Mike’s deepest darkest secrets yet. He’s been an angel.

“For the cousin thing?” Will guesses. Mason nods, eyes down in shame. Will shuffles closer, putting a hand over Mason’s. “Baby, of course we’re not mad. You’re right— you’re not cousins. If you don’t want to be called that, that’s perfectly fine.”

Mike gives his knee a squeeze, coaxing him to glance up. “Do you want us to correct people? If they say something like that? That we’re related, or your parents, or whatever?”

Mason considers this for a moment, then mutters a small, “Yeah.”

Okay. That’s fine. If he doesn’t want to be Mike’s kid, that’s alright. It’s up to him. Whatever makes him the most comfortable. Clearly, adoption doesn’t have a place in Mason’s mind right now. Mike can deal with that.

Is he disappointed? Yes. Upset? Maybe. But this is about Mason— and Mike would never let those feelings show.

“Alright, then,” he says with a smile, rising from the ground. He gives Mason’s hair a ruffle knowing full well he’ll get swatted away. He laughs when he does, and pulls Will up with him before starting toward the hallway. “We’ll be next door if you need us, alright? We’ll come and get you for dinner.”

After a quick nod from Mason, Mike shuts the door behind him with a sigh. Neither he nor Will ever bring it up. They both know how the other feels. More importantly, they know how Mason feels.

Mike distracts himself by unpacking his suitcase. He always feels at home in Joyce’s house. Even though Will only lived here for a few years before they went off to college, Mike has countless memories in this place; most of them involve making out on the bed, but still.

“Do you remember that time your mom walked in on us?” he asks over his shoulder, watching Will fold a pair of pants.

“Yes,” he replies, shooting him a look that says we agreed never to bring it up. “The most humiliating moment of my life? Of course I do.”

“It wasn’t that bad. It was just a kiss.”

“A kiss a mother should never have to see,” Will says, placing the jeans into his dresser. It was pretty heated— for a couple of seventeen-year-olds. Back when they thought anything other than a peck was scandalous. Kissing with tongue? Just lock them up now— they’re heathens.

Sometimes Mike misses those days, when everything was new to them. Holding hands, sleepovers in the same bed, gradually becoming more and more comfortable showing affection in front of friends and family. He felt so in love at the time that he thought he’d explode with it. He’d sort of been scared that those feelings would dull by the time he got to his current age. In a way they have; he’s no longer riddled with nerves every time he so much as speaks to Will. But he certainly doesn’t love him any less.

What felt like a storming sea of emotions, flowing and crashing and spilling over, has turned into a frozen river. Solid. He’s not afraid of what they have anymore— not afraid that they’ll break up at the smallest fight, and he’ll lose Will forever. Will is his. For life. He knows that. He can rely on it like the ice beneath a skater’s feet. He knows how he feels, and when he’ll feel it; the warmth when Will wakes up with him in the morning, or the shame when he yells at him for something he did. He might miss the turmoil, but he loves the structure.

And it’s not like things never change; there are new challenges to their relationship all the time. A kid, for example. One day, he’ll probably look back on today and feel nostalgic— for the uncertainty, and the fear, and the longing. Mike knows he needs to enjoy this holiday to the fullest. He owes it to thirty-five-year-old him. Old man.

Mike startles from his thoughts at the sound of the doorbell. Hell yeah— Joyce already ordered pizza. He’s starving; he had only eaten a few snacks for lunch because he knew the time difference would throw him off.

He journeys over to Mason’s room with a spring in his step. He knocks a couple times, then tries the knob. Locked. He’s definitely having trouble adjusting. “Mason. Food’s here,” Mike calls, to no response. Trusting that Mason will come out on his own time, he says, “Meet us in the living room,” and heads there himself.

The sight he faces when he arrives isn’t what he’d been expecting. Not at all. Even worse, it’s not what Mason is expecting.

“Mom, what are you doing here?” Mike hisses quietly, glancing behind him to make sure Mason hasn’t actually followed them. His mom stops her conversation with Joyce to look at him in confusion. There should be no confusion. They had a plan. A schedule. He spelled it out clearly to everyone over the phone. They went over it five times.

This is all wrong. Everything is falling apart. Mason is going to hate them. He won’t trust them again. He’ll never want to be their son now. Never.

“I’m here to meet my grandson,” she replies, as if it’s obvious. Mike is going to strangle someone.

“Not your grandson,” he corrects, like he promised he would. It doesn’t feel as horrible as he imagined it would. Not right now. Not when his mother is the last person he wants to see.

Mike’s ears perk up at Will’s voice, a low whisper behind him. He looks back to see him carefully tossing an arm around Mason, who has suddenly appeared in the doorway, standing stock-still and staring at Mike's entire family. Great. Everyone’s here.

Apparently that was the wrong move, as his mom’s eyes find Mason. He watches in horror as she struts up to him and wraps him in her arms before Mike can even blink. “Honey, it’s so nice to meet you!”

Mason stiffens in her hold, arms twitching at his sides, like he can’t decide whether to push her away or stay frozen. His gaze meets Mike’s from over her shoulder. Mason’s grimace is all it takes for Mike to intervene, pulling his mother off with possibly too much force.

“Mom, no,” he says, unnaturally level, yet full of so much anger that even she knows to step back. It’s a tone that he rarely uses— hates to use. Worse than yelling, worse than hitting his sister upside the head. It means he’s serious. He’s not acting on emotion or adrenaline; his brain is perfectly clear, and everyone knows not to cross him. The room goes silent— or maybe it always has been. “What did we talk about? You don’t get to do this. We had a schedule.”

“Well, I hardly think it was fair,” she replies, like it matters at all what’s fair to her. “I’ve been waiting to see him for months. I’m not just going to sit in my house until tomorrow when he’s right here.”

“Mom—“ Mike starts, and then lets out a frustrated sigh. “That wasn’t the agreement. There was a reason we were waiting another day.”

“I don’t see how this is hurting anyone. Unless Joyce doesn’t want the extra guests—“

“Can you just listen?” he snaps, and now he’s yelling. “For once in your life, can you listen to me? Believe it or not, you don’t know him better than I do.”

Mike doesn’t listen to her response; he can’t. Instead, he turns on his heel and starts toward Mason, intending to hide him away in his room. As he takes his first step forward, Mason flinches back. It was a subtle movement, but Mike saw it clear as day.

Mason is scared of him.

He’s an ass. He was too much. Mason hates raised voices, and what does Mike do? He attacks his own mother. And the worst part is, he doesn’t even feel bad for her. He’s just… gutted. Gutted that Mason could ever think he would be a danger; gutted that Mike could ever make him think that.

He’s the worst. He doesn’t deserve Mason— not ever, but certainly not now. Not when he’s this mad. If Mike thought his chances at a happy ending were shot before— he’s just sealed his fate. He’s done for. Mason will never trust him again.

Mike bites his lip to stop the tears that are threatening to pool in his eyes. He turns back to his mom, but doesn’t look her in the face. “Stay for dinner if you want,” he says quietly, the fight instantly fading from him. “I don’t care.”

He can’t stay here. Not with her. Not with him. He quickly escapes into the hallway, sighing deeply as he leans against the wall, head tipping toward the sky. He hates himself.

The peace doesn’t last long. When he opens his eyes, he finds Hopper standing in front of him, just watching. He jumps nearly out of his skin. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters. When did he even show up at the house? Was he here the whole time?

Hopper just motions for Mike to follow after him. “Come on.”

Come where? What are they doing? Mike wants to be alone.

He doesn’t voice any of that— doesn’t think he can. He trails mindlessly after him in a way that’s entirely uncharacteristic of him. Hopper leads them to the door of the garage. It’s his own secret hideaway— though, it’s not really secret at all. Joyce banishes him here every time he gets on her nerves. It’s cozy, yet still a little cold. There’s a portable heater and a radio, which is all Hopper really needs to be happy.

Hopper walks over to a small mini fridge, pulling out a beer. He holds it out to Mike as an offer, but he shakes his head. Hopper shrugs, then takes a seat on an old armchair in the corner. He gestures toward the foot stool, and Mike supposes that Hop expects him to sit on the thing he rests his dirty shoes on everyday. He does, so he can’t really be too offended.

“You’ve always reminded me of myself, you know,” Hopper says. Now that— that’s offensive. “I guess that’s why we used to butt heads. I didn’t think you were good enough for El. You were hotheaded, and impulsive, and you had some serious anger issues. That worried me. But, in all honesty, it was myself that I didn’t think was good enough for El. I took that out on you, and I apologize for that.”

Mike doesn’t know what to say. He’s not wrong— he knows he wasn’t good enough for her. He’s not good enough for anyone. But for some reason, Will chose him.

“You seemed to scare Mason a little,” Hop continues. He’s aware. He let his anger get the best of him, just like Hopper predicted. He hurt the one person he never wanted to. “Do you yell at him like that?”

Mike lets out a bitter laugh. “God no. If I ever do, please take him away from me.”

“Then you’re a better man than I am.” Hopper pops open his bottle of beer, reclining into his chair. Mike furrows his brow in question. “El was easy for me. She was… a menace. Just as short-tempered as I am. Traumatized, and scared— but I don’t think Brenner ever really yelled at her. It was so simple to just… bicker with her. She’d push me, and I’d push back. It was how we worked. But with Will—“ he pauses, shaking his head. “I had no idea how to handle him. The first time we got in a spat, I think Joyce almost threw me out. He just— shut down. He was shaking like a leaf, I didn’t know what to do.

“You did, though. You fixed him like that,” he snaps his fingers. “You always did. I knew then that you were right for him. You’re gentle, in a way I’ve never been. I hadn’t noticed it before.” Hopper sits forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He meets Mike’s gaze with conviction. “You’re going to be a good dad. More than I ever was, that’s for sure. Just give Mason a bit of time— he’ll come around.”

Humiliatingly, Mike’s eyes fill with tears. Hopper is quick to bring him into a hug, and Mike buries his head into his shoulder like a child. Hopper is, shockingly, one of the only people who has ever seen him cry; sob, really, just as he’s doing now. Mike finds that he actually trusts him. He’s a big, tough, manly man— and more of a dad than Mike’s own has ever been. Secretly, all he ever wanted was his approval. And if Hopper thinks he can do this… well, maybe he can.

“Mason hates me,” Mike says, muffled in the fabric of his jacket.

“He doesn’t hate you,” Hopper argues with a scoff.

Mike lets out a couple stuttering breaths, attempting to calm himself down. It doesn’t work. Crying seems like all he can do at the moment. He hadn’t even realized he was this worked up about everything. It’s just— so much. He was thrown into this parent thing without any warning or time to prepare. Maybe he wasn’t ready. “I’m so scared that I’ll mess him up.”

“That’s kind of inevitable,” Hop replies, which really isn’t helping. “You’re going to screw that kid up so many times that you won’t even remember today. I think I bumped Sara’s head on the doorframe twice in the first month.”

That doesn’t fill him with much confidence, seeing as Sara’s dead. He pulls back, staring at Hopper incredulously.

“Alright, maybe that’s not the best example,” he admits, chuckling lightly. “I also made El run away from home. And Will nearly puked when I saw you two holding hands for the first time, so clearly I was doing something wrong. The point is— kids are hard, and no parent is perfect. But I think you’ll make a pretty damn good one.”

Mike gives him a watery smile, then wraps him in a hug. Hopper tucks his chin over his head, patting his back. “For what it’s worth,” Mike starts, “I think you’re a great dad. Most of the time.”

Hopper laughs, pushing him away. “Alright. Get out of here. Go take care of your own kid.”

Mike stands, wiping the remaining tears from his eyes. Hopper is right— even if he fucked up earlier, he has a responsibility. He can still be there for Mason now.

He stops just before he reaches the door, glancing over his shoulder. “Hop? Thanks.”

“Anytime, kid.”

And with that, Mike steps back inside the house.

Will and Mason are waiting in the kitchen when he gets there. It’s just them, Jonathan, and Nance at the moment, though their siblings are separated from them by the island. Will has his hands on Mason’s shoulders. He still looks a bit frazzled from their earlier encounter, but Will seems to have succeeded in making him relax.

Mike hesitantly maneuvers himself between them, watching Mason’s body language for any resistance. He doesn’t find any, even as he tucks an arm around his waist.

Will hugs Mike side-on, rising on his toes to whisper in his ear, “He feels bad about rejecting you earlier.”

Mike turns to Mason, his forehead wrinkling in protest. Mason won’t meet his eyes. “Hey,” he says quietly, trying to coax him to look up. It works, kind of. “Don’t ever apologize for your feelings, okay? It was my fault. I’m sorry I yelled.”

Mason makes an aborted movement, angling his shoulders slightly toward him. Mike takes that as a request for a hug, and gently wraps his arms around him. Mason barely returns it, resting his hands lightly on his lower back. He’ll take it.

Mike strokes his hair, speaking lowly so only he can hear. “That wasn’t on you, alright? It was all me. I’ll do better. I promise.”

Mason nods, hunching in on himself so his face is buried in Mike’s chest.

Mike loves him. So much.

Pizza actually arrives a little later. There are enough boxes to feed a village, so Mike presumes that his family is really staying. He sort of meant that as an empty gesture, but whatever. He did miss Holly.

Mike refuses to introduce anyone new to Mason. He’s sticking to his schedule, whether his mom is here or not. He’ll just pretend that she isn’t.

Dinner is awkward, despite Joyce’s attempts at making it less so. She has on her biggest, fakest smile, offering them all plates and telling them to help themselves. Mike appreciates the effort, but he can’t bring himself to be any less hostile.

Joyce brings out her folding table, adding it to the length of the other so they can all fit comfortably. It’s difficult with the twelve of them, but they’ve managed Thanksgiving before. Though, typically it’s held at Mike’s parents’ house. They really switched everything up this year to ensure that Mason has a room he can retreat to any time things get to be too much.

They eat mostly in silence, broken only by cursory questions from Joyce; how is Nancy’s work, is college going alright for Holly, how much money is Barb getting from the tooth fairy? Mike doesn’t participate in the conversation. Mason and Will don’t either, who are both sitting to his right. Not that Mike expected Mason to be a chatterbox today; he doesn’t even like talking during their dinners.

That’s why Mike is surprised when Mason taps on his shoulder a few minutes later. “Can I eat in my room?” he asks, pleading with his puppy-dog eyes like he doesn’t expect Mike to agree.

Of course he’ll agree— he isn’t a monster. “Yeah, sure,” he says, and Mason shoots up right away, victorious. As he grabs his plate from the table, Mike tugs slightly on his sleeve, prompting him to bend back down. When he does, he whispers, “Do you want some company?”

He’s going to say no. Mike knows he’ll say no, but it doesn’t hurt to ask. Unbelievably, Mason nods. It’s unsure and tentative, but it’s still a yes. Mike beams at him, rising hastily from his chair. He looks to Will and gestures his head toward Mason’s room, encouraging him to follow. Will's expression is as shocked as Mike feels when he joins them on his feet.

“Where are you going?” Mike’s mom asks, like she can’t believe their rudeness. Mike is so done with her entitlement.

“To eat with the cool kids,” he answers with a triumphant grin. Yeah, he wants to rub it in his mom’s face that Mason chose to share a meal with them. So what? Mason chose them.

Mike hurries after Mason and Will, closing the door behind them as they enter his room. He takes a seat on the carpeted floor, and signals for Mason to do the same. Will sits beside him, knees knocking together, while Mason chooses the spot across from them, resting his back against the foot of the bed. They finish the rest of their pizza in silence, but it’s much more comfortable than the kind that was taking place in the dining room. Mike understands why Mason felt the need to leave. It was suffocating him, too.

Mike sets his paper plate between them all, Will following his lead immediately after, and Mason last. Mike blows out a breath, leaning backwards and propping himself up on his hands. “Well, today was eventful, wasn’t it?”

Mason nods, eyes wide with emphasis. His fingers are playing with the carpet in front of him, back curved like a C. Mike uncrosses his legs to nudge him with his foot. “Hey. I’m really grateful for you. You were… a dream today. Thank you for being so good.”

Mason shrugs off the compliment.

“I understand if you’re mad,” Mike continues. “I’m mad. My mom is… old fashioned. She believes in the nuclear family— anything other than that, she just… doesn’t understand. She tries. And it’s not like she’s homophobic— she loves Will and everything. It’s just… she’s been pushing us to adopt a baby since we moved to California. She even tried to get Nancy to be our surrogate— as if I want to be the uncle of my own child.

“She doesn’t get us— doesn’t understand raising a kid from anything other than birth. She wants us to follow a straight path— literally. Fall in love, face no social consequences, get married, get pregnant, have two little angel babies and raise them in a house with a picket fence and huge yard and a dog—“ Mike cuts himself off. He feels Will set a hand on his elbow, and it forces him to take a deep breath.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t be talking about this with you,” he says, giving Mason an apologetic smile. “I just— she tries. She’ll try her hardest to be supportive of our situation, but she’ll never really get it. We just have to learn to deal with it.”

Mason nods, looking defeated. Mike thinks he might have misspoke. He didn’t mean that he’s going to let his mom get away with behavior like this— he’s just going to need to correct her more often than he’d like. The right way, this time. He’ll sit her down and have a chat. Again. Ten times if he needs to. Whatever it takes to get the information into her head.

“Hey, Mason,” Mike sets a hand on his knee, staring deeply into his eyes. “I’ll talk to her, okay? This won’t happen again. And if I think it might, I won’t let her near you. I promise.”

Mason looks up at him, unsure. Slowly, he seems to relax. “Okay,” he says, lips turning up ever-so-slightly. Good. Mike thought he might never see that smile again.

Mike returns the grin.

A knock on the door grabs all of their attention. It opens to reveal Jonathan, sticking only his head through the crack. “Hey bud,” he says once he locates Mason on the floor. “We’re about to leave. We wanted to say that it was nice meeting you. I’ll see you tomorrow, if you still want to come over.”

Mason doesn’t reply, so Will does for him. “Bye Jonathan!” He waves enthusiastically, and receives one back before the door closes once again.

Will turns to Mason with a smirk on his face. “Uh oh. You have ‘bud’ privileges.”

Mason wrinkles his forehead in confusion. “What does that mean?”

“It was his old nickname for me,” he explains. “It means he likes you.”

He scrunches his nose, clearly disagreeing.

“No, he’s right,” Mike says. “I think Jon has a new favorite little boy.”

“I’m not a little boy!” he exclaims, crossing his arms. Mike and Will share a smile; that’s the most expressive he’s been since the airport.

Mike crawls over to Mason on his knees, sitting beside him and throwing an arm around his shoulders. He pulls Mason closer, laughing when he tries half-heartedly to get away.

They’ll be alright, he thinks. Even with their crazy family, Mason is still right here.

Chapter Text

“Did you want to stay home today?” Will asks Mike after swallowing a bite of his breakfast. Hopper had snuck out earlier this morning to buy them all donuts, which Will is immensely grateful for— even more so for the coffee. The whole house— minus Mason, who’s still sleeping soundly— is eating around the kitchen island. It reminds Will of weekends in high school when Mike would stay over for the night. “After, you know. Your mom.”

Mike sighs through a mouthful of jelly donut. He doesn’t like jelly donuts, but, well— that’s what he gets for insulting the man who bought their food by making a joke about donuts and cops. “You know that would just make her worse.”

“That doesn’t matter to me right now,” he says quietly, ducking his head to catch Mike’s downcast eyes. He can see his mom and Hop avert their gaze, trying to give them the illusion of privacy. Will doesn’t pay them any mind. He sets a hand over Mike’s. “I don’t care about her feelings. I care about yours. If you aren’t feeling up for it, we won’t go.”

Mike flips his palm up, interlacing their fingers, and gives him a sad smile. “Thanks. But it’s not up to me— it’s up to Mason. If he isn’t completely put off by her, we’ll go. If he can forgive her… I guess I should man up as well.”

“Your opinion matters, too,” Will tries, but he knows it’s no use. Mike has always seen himself as less valuable than everyone else. Stupid self-sacrificial idiot

He shakes his head. “Not right now— not this week. I’ve dealt with my mom for almost thirty years. I can survive one day.”

Whatever. Will won’t fight him on this. If they do end up going, he’ll just have to keep a close eye on Mike. If he starts getting even the slightest but uncomfortable, they’re leaving. He doesn’t care.

It takes another half-hour for Mason to leave his room— jetlag, presumably— but when he does, Will notices him immediately. His steps are slow; hesitant. He creeps his way into the kitchen like a prey on full alert, keeping his eyes trained cautiously on Hopper and his mom. Will offers his best reassuring grin, waving him over. As soon as Mason turns his attention toward him, he makes a beeline to his side.

“Morning,” Will greets, hooking onto his waist and pulling him in close for a hug. He buries his nose in Mason’s hair and inhales deeply, because he’s a freak. Mason, half asleep, doesn’t even attempt to get away. Will is suddenly hit with the deep desire to press his lips to the spot right above his ear. He shouldn’t— he knows he shouldn’t— but Mason is so warm and soft, and he smells like Will’s shampoo, and he loves him so much. Will just can’t help himself; the urge is too strong. But he’s not a complete maniac, so he does manage to whisper, “Can I kiss your head?”

Mason tenses beneath his arms. Will is concerned that he pushed too far until Mason pulls his head back, eyes wide and face bright red. He’s so flustered, it’s honestly adorable. He casts a quick glance at Will’s parents, then harshly whispers back, “Don’t embarrass me.”

Will can’t help the chortle that escapes him. Mason only blushes harder, glaring at him. He forgot— the worst thing that could happen to a kid is receiving affection from a caretaker in front of others. Once Will’s mom dropped him off at the movies with a kiss to the cheek, and he never forgave her. “Sorry,” he says. “I won’t. Later though?”

Mason looks away, staring resolutely at the counter in front of them, and shrugs. It’s not a yes, but it’s also not a no. Will thinks he might actually agree when they’re alone.

Will grabs the box of donuts, holding it out to Mason. “Here. Take some.”

He reaches in and grabs a chocolate bar, setting it on the plate Mike hands him. He takes a bite, glancing up as Mike says, “Mason. We wanted to talk to you about something.”

“What?” he asks suspiciously, cheeks full of food like a little chipmunk.

“How are you feeling about going to my mom’s? It’s totally alright if you don’t want to. She’ll understand.”

She won’t, but Will doesn’t mention it.

Mason just shrugs again, shoulders hunching. He peels off a chunk of his donut, but he looks like he just lost his appetite. If he’s this nervous about it, they shouldn’t go. They have a long week ahead of them— Will would hate it if Mason got burnt out on day two.

Joyce walks slowly around the island, coming to rest a few feet from Mason. She doesn’t try to get any closer, and Will is grateful for it. “Will, sweetie,” she says. “Do you think Mason would want to see your secret hideout?”

Will and Mason perk up at the same time. Castle Byers. Of course. He has to show that to Mason. He’d love it. Will rarely visits it himself anymore, especially after the move. Instead of being right outside his yard, it’s now a ten minute walk through the woods. That might be in Mason’s favor. Secluded, hidden, far from obnoxious relatives— it’s perfect.

Will turns to him, excited. “What do you think? You up for an adventure?”

He nods quickly, shoveling the rest of his food in his mouth. Will is just relieved that he actually seems enthusiastic about something on this vacation. No one can be miserable in a fort.

“You’re going to love it,” Mike says, gesturing wildly. “It’s incredible. We practically lived in there as kids. Does it still have the old comics we made?” he asks Will.

“It should. If they haven’t been destroyed by the rain.” Castle Byers is surprisingly water proof— especially the second edition. Jonathan built this one all by himself with the skill of an eighteen-year-old. It came with an insulated roof and everything.

Mike rises from his stool to stand behind Mason, setting his hands on his shoulders and shaking them. “Prepare to have your mind blown,” Mike whispers into his ear, a wide grin on his face.

They leave the house about thirty minutes later, after Mason has been properly bundled up. Everything but his hands are covered in multiple layers of clothing. Should they have bought him gloves? Yes, right? What if his fingers get cold? Maybe his mom has some laying around.

Mason starts to head for the backyard, but makes a face of confusion as Mike slings an arm around him, turning him in the other direction. “Is it not a treehouse?” he asks, allowing Mike to guide him down the driveway.

“Oh, no,” Will says, suppressing a smile. “If it was, Mike wouldn’t be coming with us. He’s terrified of heights.”

“I’m not terrified,” Mike rolls his eyes. “I have a tiny fear. I’m not going to die from climbing a tree.”

Mason bites his lip, trying to muffle the laughter that bubbles out of him.

Mike removes his arm from his shoulders, bumping into his side. Mason staggers into Will’s grasp, but it only makes him laugh harder. “Hey, don’t make fun of me,” Mike complains. “You try going through what I did.”

His giggles die down as he tilts his head curiously. “What did you go through?”

Mike opens his mouth to answer, then pauses. He looks to Will as if he’d have a way to get out of this. No. Mike dug himself into this hole— he can dig himself out. If he didn’t want to share, he shouldn’t have brought it up. “You’re definitely too young for that story.”

“I am not,” he argues, forehead creasing in genuine anger. “Stop saying that. I’m not a baby.”

Mike glances back at Will, who only shrugs. He sighs in defeat, clearly trying to come up with some sort of cover story on the spot. “I… fell,” he finally says. “Off a cliff.”

“You fell?” Mason repeats, skeptical. “No way. You would be dead.”

“I’m serious! I would have died if I wasn’t caught right after I slipped off the edge.”

Mason raises his eyebrows, but seemingly accepts his story. “Alright,” he mutters, kicking a stone down the dirt path.

They arrive a few minutes later. Will spots it first, hurrying to cover Mason’s eyes until the structure is clearly in view. He removes his hand and waits for the gasp of delight, but it never comes. Of course it doesn’t— it’s Mason. Instead, he walks up to it slowly, running his fingers along the rough branches that make the walls.

“Do you like it?” Will inquires after a long silence.

Mason nods, then lifts the sheet that covers the doorway. He ducks down to crawl inside, Will following closely behind him. Mike pokes his head in, then makes the astute observation, “I don’t think there’s enough room for all of us.”

Unless Mike wants to kneel on the hard, filthy floor, no, there isn’t. Will shrugs, unbothered. “Guess you’ll just have to wait outside.”

Mike's jaw drops in mock offense. “Why me?”

“Because my name is on the door.”

“I thought we were married!” he exclaims. “I’ve been doodling ‘Mike Wheeler-Byers’ in my notebook since high school!”

Will grabs an old stress ball from the table next to him and raises it up as if he’s about to throw it. Mike shrieks, blocking his body with his arms before scrambling away from the fort. “Take a walk!” Will yells, beaming, then claims a seat on his old makeshift bed. Mason joins him at his side, looking around at all the nicknacks scattered throughout the place. “This thing is filthy,” he gestures to the blanket they’re sitting on.

Mason makes a mild face of disgust, but ultimately decides that he doesn’t care. Will didn’t either at his age. “Is this really all yours?”

“Mhm,” Will nods. He can see Mason’s eyes shine with wonder, even if he tries to pretend that he’s not impressed. “I probably spent more time here than in my own room. It’s a good place to hide. I don’t visit much anymore, though.” Will watches as Mason continues to search around in fascination. He nudges Mason’s arm. “You know, this place could use a new owner.”

“Really?” he asks, surprised. He’s excited— Will can see it in the way his spine straightens with anticipation.

“Definitely. You can come here any time. Just not at night— it isn’t safe. And keep your phone on you in case you get lost.”

Mason nods furiously. He rummages through a small box containing a bunch of Will’s old games— cards, jacks, candyland for when the Party came over. It's mostly full of interactive books, like Mad Libs and crosswords. Not sudoku. Will hates sudoku.

“So,” Will says after a minute. He scoots a little closer to Mason, who looks at him suspiciously. He’s completely valid in that. Will is absolutely cornering him now that he seems more relaxed. “Have you thought about whether you want to go to Karens?”

Mason shrugs, suddenly avoiding eye contact.

“Can you tell me what you’re thinking?” Will requests. “I want to help you, but I can’t if you don’t let me. If there’s something in particular you’re concerned about, maybe I can clear it up.” Mason stays silent, toeing at the ground. Whatever it is, he’s ashamed to say it; and there are very few things that Mason is too ashamed to speak about. Vulnerability, for one. Emotions. Will sets a hand on his back. “Are you worried about upsetting us?”

Mason just shrugs, his cheeks reddening slightly. He cares about them, even if he won’t admit it.

“I promise we won’t be disappointed if you want to stay home. You matter more to us than Karen and Ted, alright? And— can I tell you a secret?” Will whispers, leaning in close to his ear. Mason nods. “I don’t think Mike really wants to go anyway.”

“He doesn’t?”

Will shakes his head. “He’s a bit mad. But he wants to support you. If you want to give it a try, we’ll stand by you and make sure nothing happens. If you want to watch movies with me and Mom all day, we’ll do that instead. Whatever you’re comfortable with, alright?”

Mason purses his lips in thought, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Will lets him mull it over in peace, dragging his hand up and down his arm. Eventually, Mason speaks up. “We can go.”

“Really? Are you sure?”

“You won’t leave me by myself?” he checks, eyes soft and pleading. As if Will could if he wanted to.

He can’t take it anymore. Will brings his palms up to his cheeks, brushing his thumb along Mason’s beautiful skin. He pulls him slowly closer, his grip loose enough for Mason to back away easily if he wants to. He doesn’t. Will angles his head down as he tilts Mason’s upward, and hovers his mouth just over his bangs. “I would never leave you,” he promises, before pressing his lips to his forehead.

Mason’s face goes hot under his hands. Will doesn’t laugh about it, because he’s nice like that; he hides his smile in Mason’s hair.

“If we’re going to Karen’s, we should probably leave now,” Will tells him. “We’re supposed to be there by twelve.”

Mason nods, moving to stand up. He pauses halfway to his feet. “Where’s Mike?”

Will smiles knowingly. “Michael!” he calls, not much louder than Mason's voice had been.

Instantly, the sheet pulls back to reveal his face, staring innocently at Will. Eavesdropper. Will shoots Mason a look. Get a load of this guy.

“Do I need to catch you up, or did you get all of that?” Will asks, unenthused.

Mike furrows his eyebrows, opening his mouth to defend himself. He closes it again, before finally saying, “I wasn’t listening.” Likely story. “Anyway, we should go, yeah? Let’s not give my mom another reason to complain.”

Will rolls his eyes fondly, standing with a little help from Mason. God, he’s getting too old for this place. His joints are creaky.

They decide to drive to the Wheelers’, because Will would not like to walk forty-five minutes in pitch-black darkness tonight. Especially considering what happened last time he did that. Especially especially considering they have a twelve-year-old with them. He’d rather not tempt fate.

They make the short journey back to their car, pointing out little landmarks to help Mason find his way over here again. Mike has his arm around Will’s waist, and Mason is wandering away every so often to kick rocks or stomp on twigs. Will pretends, just for a moment, that they’re a real family. They’re taking a walk in the woods with their son, like normal parents would. Maybe they’ll stop for a picnic, or swim in the creek. But they won’t mind when they get back home; they don’t fear the end of each day, like it’ll be their last. They know that Mason will be there in the morning, because he’s theirs. For good.

For the first time since he was a teenager, Will thinks about how much easier life would be if he were only a girl. He used to think that it would make Mike happier if he was— that he might have a chance with him, or a chance with any guy for that matter. He’d gotten over those stupid insecurities long ago, but now…

He’s heard it all his life; “It’s not natural. It’s not what God intended. You can’t produce children with another man.” He’d always brushed it off before, because it was a stupid argument. It still is. Romantic love isn’t dependent on having children. And besides— he knew that if he ever wanted kids, an adopted one would be just as much his child as anything else. But it’s been fucking difficult. He wishes Mason could have been theirs from the start. They would have raised him well— he knows it. They could have been a happy family.

Will’s mood is ruined by the time they ring the Wheelers’ doorbell; at least he understands how Mike and Mason are feeling now. They’re in this one together.

Karen opens the door with a wide grin. Will plasters one on as well, just as fake as hers. Mike doesn’t bother.

“Boys!” she exclaims, opening her arms wide.

Mike just scowls, pointing a finger at her as he pushes past. “Touch him again and we’re leaving.”

Karen’s eyes linger on him for a moment, hurt creeping onto her face. She quickly shakes herself out of it, turning back to Will. “Hi, honey.”

“Hey,” he replies, shooting her an apologetic smile as he steps up for a hug. He feels like a traitor. Mike is furious with her— rightfully so. And it’s not like Will isn’t either. He just always has this urge to play nice— to pretend that he isn’t upset for the sake of others. He has a bad habit of lumping Mike in with that as well, invalidating his emotions in the process. “Sorry, I’ll try to get him to behave.”

“No, it’s alright,” she says, pulling back. She looks in Mike’s direction wistfully. “He’s mad at me. I deserve it. Nancy gave me a bit of a talking to last night. I’ll be the one trying to behave today.”

Good. Will is glad. Honestly, he never thought he’d see the day where Karen admitted her faults. He loves her, most of the time; but it’s very clear where Mike gets his stubbornness from.

Will would appreciate it if she told all of that to Mike, but he knows it’ll never happen. Mike’s family doesn’t apologize. It’s just not something that happens. They’d much rather pretend that nothing happened than admit that they argued in the first place. Some bullshit perfect family. Will can’t imagine his mom hurting his feelings and not immediately telling him that she was in the wrong. Mike never got that. It’s a wonder he turned out as emotionally intelligent as he did.

Jonathan is waiting for him by the stairs when he walks in. “Hey,” he says, wrapping Will in an embrace. “You came.”

“Yeah. We thought we’d give it a shot. How has Mother-in-law been? Is she… angry at all?”

Jonathan tilts his head back and forth in a “sort of” motion. “At first, yeah. I think she understands now.” His eyes drift somewhere beside Will’s shoulder, before he leans in to whisper, “You have someone on your tail.”

Will turns to see Mason startlingly close behind him, like he’d been trying to hide in his shadow. He gestures him forward with his head, and settles an arm around his shoulders. “You’re sticking with me today, yeah?”

Mason nods, almost shyly. It’s so weird. Will has never seen him act shy before. Even when they first met, Mason was insulting them left and right. Why is he suddenly scared now? Because he doesn’t want to make a fuss in front of their family? Because El’s not here? Because there are too many people to fight at once? Or maybe he trusts Jonathan, like he’s learned to trust them.

Will squeezes his arm to grab his attention. “You remember who this is?” he asks, pointing in front of him.

Mason nods again, surer. “Jonathan.”

“Good. Actually, I don’t think I introduced you to—“ Will pauses as he looks around, finding his target nowhere in sight. He turns back to Jonathan. “Where’s my favorite Wheeler?”

“In the kitchen,” he answers. “She’s been baking for you guys all day.”

Will loves that girl. He can’t wait to try whatever she has for them this time. Last year she made a chocolate lava cake for Christmas dinner. Will would have asked for the recipe if he had any baking skills whatsoever.

Karen, having apparently overheard their conversation, yells, “Holly! Your brothers are here!”

Holly is bounding around the corner in an instant, headphones around her neck and hands covered in dough. Will might be concerned about the hygiene aspect of that, but her food is too good to complain. “Will!” she exclaims, practically jumping on him. She keeps her hands hovering as she hugs, which he’s grateful for.

“Holls! It’s been forever!” Technically they saw each other last night, but with everything going on they didn’t really get to talk. Mike’s family was banned from Mason, and Will never left his side.

Holly definitely inherited the Wheelers’ height. She towers over Mason at almost 5’7”, a fact made glaringly obvious as she sticks her hand out to greet him. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Mason stares at her questioningly. He’s definitely judging her formality as he limply returns the handshake, then wipes his palm on his shirt. He totally thinks this family is crazy.

Holly doesn’t seem to mind as she continues speaking. “We’re friends now. It’s required. I think we’re the closest in age.”

Are they? She and Mike are nine years apart, and Mason is… eight? Something like that. Wow. That’s… strange.

“Alright weirdo, don’t freak him out,” Mike suddenly says from beside him. Will almost jumps. Holly beams as Mike steps forward, slinging an arm around her. “Missed you, squirt. What’d you bake me?”

“It’s all for Will,” she says, but hugs him tightly all the same. She pulls back, grabbing Mike and dragging him toward the living room. “Come on!”

Mike bites a piece of dough off his hand as he sits down on the couch. There are already more desserts than Will can eat on the coffee table, and he knows that Holly must have at least two more in the kitchen. She takes her hobbies very seriously.

“That has egg in it,” she chides, but Mike only shrugs and licks his palm. Will grimaces, passing him a napkin from the table.

“Wash your hands, young lady,” Karen says, taking the seat directly to Mike’s left. He tenses immediately, so Will sits on his other side, Mason planting himself between him and the arm of the couch. Ted takes his recliner— or maybe he was always there. Did he get up to greet them?

“Where are the girls?” Will asks Nancy as she and Jonathan claim the loveseat across from them.

“Napping, I hope,” she answers with a sigh. “Barb is, at least. We told Abby that she can only play with you guys if she slept for a bit. She’s been up since six.”

“So you’ve been up since six,” Mike concludes. He has a smug grin on his face that Will knows Nancy is dying to smack off of him.

“Yes, so shut up. We know— you have a teenager. You’re so lucky, yada yada.”

“Nancy,” Karen scolds, like her daughter isn’t in her thirties.

“Oh, come on, Mom. You try raising an overactive five-year-old who wakes you up at the crack of dawn.”

“I have,” she replies, looking pointedly at Mike.

Mike scoffs, crossing his arms, but it’s not entirely hostile. There’s a hint of humor in his eyes that Will can tell he’s trying to fight. This is good. Maybe they can have a civil evening after all.

Holly returns less than half an hour later with a batch of brownies in hand. She sets the plate along with the others and flops down in the last remaining chair. “Cinnamon rolls are in the oven.”

“Jesus, Holls,” Mike says. “Are you baking for the whole town?”

“You guys eat like you’re a whole town,” she retorts under her breath, but Karen still hears it. She gives her a sharp look.

Will just laughs, picking up a brownie. They’re still warm. He holds it out to Mason in offering, who jerks his arm as if he’s about to reach for it, but changes his mind. “Go on,” Will urges, bringing it closer. “Have whatever you want. I think this is lunch.”

“Yes, probably,” Karen says, looking ashamed; like anyone here is complaining about loading up on dessert. “I was going to make sandwiches, but I think we have enough food.”

“Definitely,” Will agrees. He grabs another brownie for himself and bites into it. Delicious. Best thing he’s ever had. Holly should run a bakery. That reminds him— “Holls, you’re a sophomore, right?”

“Mhm,” she nods, eating one of her cookies.

“I can’t believe you’re twenty. You can start drinking next year. Mike, are we old?”

“Yes,” Mason answers without a second thought. Nancy laughs loudly at that.

“I like him,” she declares. She holds a brownie up to him in cheers.

“Back off, Nancy,” Mike says, then asks Holly, “How’s psychology? You think you’re going to stick with it?”

She nods enthusiastically. “I love it. I might take a minor, though. It’s free if I register before next summer.”

Mason, suddenly bored of the conversation, pokes Will in the ribs. “Will.”

“What’s up?”

“Can I go upstairs?”

“Yeah,” he replies, shifting his weight forward, preparing to get up from the couch. “For sure. You want me to come?”

Mason shakes his head. “I can go alone.”

“You’re welcome to stay in our room,” Jonathan offers. “It’s the first door on the right when you get to the top of the staircase. But I think you might like the basement more. There’s lots of games in there.”

Mason turns back to Will, asking, “There’s a basement?”

Perfect— Mason will love the basement. He points to the hallway at the other end of the room. “Just through there. We’ll check on you in a bit, alright?”

Mason nods as he retreats down the hall. Will hopes he’s okay. He’s probably just a little overwhelmed. They’ll give him time.

The girls come pattering down the stairs soon after, Abigail obviously leading the charge. Nancy just sighs, waving them over. She mutters something about an easier bedtime tonight.

Once Abigail makes it down the huge, dangerous steps, she runs straight to her uncles with her arms wide. She more flops down onto their laps than actually hugs them, but Will pulls her closer anyway. “I don’t think she slept,” Will says to Nancy.

Abigail raises her head, practically vibrating with energy. “Where’s your baby?”

“He’s in the basement,” Mike answers. Abigail instantly spins on her heel to run in that direction, but Mike is too quick. He catches her by the waist and hauls her into his lap, ignoring her squeals. “Oh, no you don’t. I think he wants to be alone right now. How about you stay here with me?”

She nods easily, obviously not bothered that she has to spend time with her favorite person.

Barb joins them as well, taking Mason’s old seat by Will’s side. She answers his questions about second grade and her friend Lisa, who Will thinks is kind of a pathological liar, but no one needs to know that. (Except for Mike, who absolutely agrees with him.)

“Mason is seriously adorable, though,” Nancy says.

“Oh my god, I love him,” Holly vehemently adds. “He’s so precious. I want to keep him here.”

Will startles as the lump in the chair next to him begins to speak for the first time since he arrived. “He reminds me of Michael,” Ted says, gesturing their way.

Mike stares at him in disbelief, eyes slightly widened. “Me?” he points to himself. It’s not a new revelation— both El and Will have said it numerous times. But coming from Ted? He must have paid enough attention to both Mike and Mason to have made that observation. It’s a shocker to everyone.

He just called Mike a cute kid. It’s a complement— even if indirect. It’s still more than Mike usually receives.

“Absolutely,” Karen says. “When he rolled his eyes I swear I was taken back in time twenty years. The spitting image.”

“Although, I think he might have been left in the oven too long,” Ted replies.

“Ugh, Dad,” Nancy complains, scrunching up her nose. “Don’t make race jokes. It’s the twenty-first century.”

“What?” he asks, raising his arms in the air defensively. Will hears Karen scoff, and knows she’s shaking her head in disappointment. He’s glad to see they’ve all got their backs on this. “I’m just saying— why not pick one that looks more like you?”

Mike raises his eyebrows, and Will can feel the appreciation Ted earned earlier fade away. “Why? I don’t think anyone assumes that Will or I gave birth to him. This isn’t a video game— I’m not choosing the character that looks the most like me.”

Karen sets a hand on Mike’s arm, sending him a soft smile. “Ignore him,” she says, doing just that as Ted makes a noise of confused protest. “How has parenting been going? Is he giving you any trouble?”

Mike’s posture relaxes at the shift in conversation. Will can hear the amusement in his voice as he lets out an unsure, “Umm…”

Will knows exactly what he’s thinking. Memories flash by in his own brain; ones of long nights, harsh insults, a general lack of cooperation for literally anything they ask of him. Trouble? Yes. He’d say so.

“Teenager stuff?” Jonathan guesses.

“Yeah, I think,” Mike nods. “He’s not been that difficult, to be honest. Not Barb easy, but better than I was at his age, for sure.”

“He’s a sweetheart,” Will says. “But he definitely has a bite. Don’t get on his bad side and you’ll be fine.”

“Oh— so like Mike, if he was actually as scary as he thinks he is,” Nancy quips. Mike scowls at her, the ferocious beast he is. Like a puppy.

“Will, honey,” Karen says, and he turns his attention away from Mike’s cute pout. “Why does Mason call you ‘Will?’”

His eyebrows draw together in confusion, head tilting to the side. What does she mean? “Because that’s my name?”

“Well yes, exactly. Why are you allowing him to use your names?”

Mike cuts in before he can reply— which is good, because he doesn't really have one. “What else would he use? ‘Sir’? ‘Mr. Byers’? That just sounds weird.”

“No, Michael,” she says, like it should be obvious— like she’s judging their parenting skills. It feels patronizing, even to Will. Mike stiffens up next to him. Will is aware of how much he despises being treated like he’s incompetent— especially by his mom. “He should be calling you ‘Dad.’”

Fuck. That’s not going to go over well. She struck a sore spot— for Will, but especially for Mike. Not only is she reminding them that Mason doesn’t want them to be his dads, she’s also playing third guardian again. She’s telling Mike how to care for Mason again— as if she knows better than him, because she’s clearly right about everything.

Mike is still as a stone. The room is silent as they wait for the outburst, but it never comes. His voice is calm and steady when he replies, “I’m not his dad.”

Will knows how painful that must have been for him to say. He also knows that a calm Mike is much, much worse than an angry Mike. It means he’s holding back some very intense words. Will wonders if Karen is aware of this— if she knows her son enough. How well can she read him?

Not very, apparently. “I mean, it’s only a matter of time. You’re going to be his father eventually— he should get used to it. You can’t let him walk all over you. He needs to show you some respect.”

Fucking hell, that woman. She’s pushing his buttons at this point. Will can’t blame him for whatever happens next. He’s backing Mike up, no matter what.

Mike lets out a disbelieving laugh. He runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. He meets her gaze, his eyes shining with so much genuine pain that Will wants to look away. “Has it ever occurred to you that I don’t want to force my children to respect me? I don’t want stuffy family dinners. I don’t want them to lie to me when they mess up because they’re scared of how I’ll react. I don’t want them to feel awkward in their own house because they’re worried about tracking in dirt or de-fluffing the pillows. I don’t want to be you.

“Mason has never been a guarantee for us— you have to get on board with that. He’s not our son. I’m sorry that we don’t meet your expectations of the perfect suburban family, but that’s not us. We’re not a family. We’re not his dads. And we never will be if you keep this up. I need this trip to go well. So please just— back off.”

Mike stands up in haste, walking toward the kitchen without glancing back. Will follows immediately. He doesn’t stop— doesn’t apologize to Karen for Mike’s outburst, or for making a scene in her home, like he usually would. She and Mike get into petty fights all the time; this is not one of those instances.

Mike heads straight for the fridge, grabbing a beer. “I need to be drunk five fucking minutes ago,” he grumbles, searching the utensil drawer for the bottle opener. When he finds it, he gulps down a quarter of the contents in one go.

They’d all been planning on drinking a little tonight; it’s a Thanksgiving weekend tradition. Not enough to get inebriated— just to make them laugh a little harder than they should. There’s no harm in Mike starting a little early, right?

Except there is— because Mike never drinks to get drunk. Ever.

Jesus, this is bad. They shouldn’t be here; it’s not good for him. They should’ve just stayed home.

“We can leave, you know,” Will says cautiously. “Don’t force yourself to stay.”

Mike shakes his head, tipping it back as he takes another swig. “Mason wanted to come.”

“And I’m sure he wouldn’t mind going.” Will steps closer to him, linking his arms through one of Mike’s. He places a kiss on his shoulder. “You’re sure you want to drown your sorrows in your dad’s beer?”

Mike’s eyes snap to his, suddenly filled with interest. Damn it. That’s his idea face. “You’re right,” he says, rushing over to the cabinet beside the sink in four long steps. “I’ll drink Mom’s expensive wine. You know, I never thought I’d say it, but I actually like my dad more right now. Who knew that his detachment from anything and everything would come in handy?”

He grabs a large bottle from the top shelf, brand new. Mike takes the liberty of breaking the seal, pouring an honestly improper amount into one of Karen’s wine glasses. He raises it to his lips with a self-satisfied smirk before pausing, forehead creasing in worry. “Are you able to drive us back?” he asks Will.

He snorts, shaking his head. Of course that’s what he’s focused on right now. “I think I can manage. Now drink up, party animal.”

Mike doesn’t have to be told twice.

They decide to take things to the basement, since they would much rather hang out with Mason than risk a confrontation with Karen. However, when they get there, they find the room empty. They don’t panic, because they’re responsible adults with clear, logical brains, and are not thinking about sending a search party when they come across a note saying that Mason went out to the backyard. What a good kid. Someone’s learning.

Mike downs two glasses before Jonathan and Nancy come to join them. Apparently they managed to escape Karen, and consequently, her complaining about a son that doesn’t appreciate her advice. Luckily they’re on Mike’s side, and Jonathan convinced Nancy not to say anything she’d regret.

Mike offers them wine in thanks, to which they only accept a glass each. Karen might be watching the grandkids, but they still should be somewhat coherent if something happens.

Mike doesn’t have any similar reservations. He’s currently sprawled out in Will’s lap, affectionately rubbing his head into his neck. Will loves when he’s drunk. He always gets so clingy and sedated, like there isn’t a care in the world; the exact opposite of how he was earlier this afternoon.

Will scratches his nails along Mike’s scalp, further relaxing him into a pile of goo. He deserves it; this is his time to forget about responsibilities and family and stupid holidays. Mike sighs contentedly in response, tilting his head up to watch Will in adoration.

Suddenly, Mike wraps his arms around Will’s neck, pulling them close enough together that their foreheads are almost bumping. Mike stares deeply into his eyes, switching back and forth between them, his breath coming hot out of his mouth and onto Will's own. If only fifteen-year-old Will could see him now. “You’re pretty.”

“Thanks,” Will says, amused. “My boyfriend thinks so, too.”

Mike smiles widely, leaning forward just enough for their lips to brush with every word. “I think boyfriends are meant to be kissed.”

Will doesn’t get the chance to close the distance, as Mike does it for him. His lips are wet with wine, and from his own tongue licking at them— a habit he engages in every time he drinks, because alcohol makes them numb.

It’s not a good kiss— Mike’s movements are sloppy and uncoordinated— but Will pulls him in by the collar anyway, because it’s his boyfriend and they’re kissing. He lets out a pleased hum, smacking his lips as he pulls away. “You taste nice.”

Mike's eyes widen as he nods emphatically. He reaches for the near-empty bottle on the table beside him. “It’s really good. Do you want some?”

Will chuckles, shaking his head. “We have a kid to look after, remember?”

“Oh, right,” he says, bumping himself on the head as if he actually forgot. His voice sounds far away— dreamy. “Where is our kid? I want to see him.”

“Outside. Probably climbing a tree.”

“You sure you want him to see you like this?” Nancy calls from the table across the room. She and Jonathan evacuated the couch as soon as Will and Mike started getting all lovey-dovey. “You’re wasted. You’ll embarrass yourself.”

“I am not wasted,” Mike protests, narrowing his eyes and slurring his words slightly. He points a finger at Nancy accusingly, and would have fallen off the couch if Will’s hands on his waist weren’t keeping him in place. “I’m tipsy.”

“You passed tipsy a glass ago, love,” Will tells him. Mike half-pouts, half-glares in offence. “Nance is tipsy, you lightweights. It’s alright, though. You’re a cute drunk.”

“I’m not cute! I’m— I—“ he trails off, at a loss for words. “I’m drunk,” he settles on finally. He groans, ducking his head into Will’s shoulder. Will just laughs, patting his back.

Will’s eyes snap up as the door to the basement swings open to reveal the boy of the hour. Mason’s gaze immediately latches onto them. He starts toward them casually as if Will isn’t cradling Mike— as if this is just a normal day for them. His steps falter when he notices Nancy and Jonathan in the corner, but he must deem them trustworthy because he continues for the couch.

Mike smiles brightly at him, jumping off of Will’s lap. “Mason!” he exclaims, like he’s astonished to see him, and opens his arms wide. Will tries to conceal his snickers, biting his cheek as he stands beside him.

Mason suddenly pauses. No— he freezes. He doesn’t move a muscle, save for the unnaturally controlled rise and fall of his chest. His breaths are inaudible, and his pupils have overtaken the brown of his eyes. He’s scared. And he’s looking at Mike.

Will yanks Mike by the collar as he tries to go for a hug. Mike glances at him in confusion, frowning as he rubs at his neck. Will shakes his head harshly, motioning to Mason with his eyes. Of course, he doesn’t get it. Sober Mike would have understood without a second thought.

Will places his palm on Mike’s shoulder, preventing him from following as he slowly creeps backwards toward Mason. “Stay,” he demands, pointing at Mike’s feet. He listens. That’s one thing Will loves about drunk Mike— he’ll do whatever he says without question. He’s a perfect gentleman at respecting Will’s boundaries, especially given his past. If Will needs breathing room, he gets breathing room.

Mason eyes him warily as Will turns back toward him. He holds his hands up placatingly. “I didn’t drink,” Will tells him. Mason gives an almost imperceptible nod of permission, so he closes the final distance and wraps an arm around him. Will leans down to his ear to ask, “Are you alright?”

Mason doesn’t answer; he keeps his vision trained on Mike, like he’s scared he’ll jump out and attack him.

Understanding seems to dawn on Mike, his mouth dropping open and eyes widening. His words suddenly come out a lot clearer than before. “Shit. Are you scared of alcohol? I’m so sorry— I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have— I’m sorry. I’ll go puke it out.”

“Mike!” Will hisses as he makes a movement toward the bathroom. Mike stops at the disapproving look Will gives him. He is not going to make himself throw up. Fucking selfless, self-sabotaging— all the other self words— idiot.

Will knows how long it took Mike to get comfortable drinking around him. Even still he sometimes feels guilty about it, ignoring Will’s assurances that it’s fine, and he won’t die, and Mike, you’re being ridiculous. It’s eggnog. He’s not starting this from scratch.

Idiot is right, since Mike clearly doesn’t know when to stop talking. “I shouldn’t have drank. I’m sorry. Do you want me to leave? I’ll leave. Please don’t hate me, I’m sorry.”

Finally, Will snaps. “Michael! Shut up, yeah?” Mike does, his jaw closing with a loud click of his teeth. He waits for a scolding with his stupid, sad, brown eyes. “It’s not your fault— you couldn’t have known. You’re allowed to drink. Why don’t you go finish up the bottle with Nance and Jon, and I’ll take care of Mason? Like we planned.”

“Yeah,” Mike nods, nearly tripping over himself in his haste to get away. Will loves him, but he’s really making a big deal out of nothing. “Yeah, sorry. Goodbye.”

“Bye.” Will waves as he walks all of five feet, plopping himself in a chair. He shouldn’t be this endearing right now. Will shakes his head at Mason, rolling his eyes.

Mason cracks the tiniest smile.

“Here,” Will leads them over to the couch, pulling him close. “I’ll protect you from Mr. Disaster over there,” he gestures to where Mike is staring at them longingly, chin propped in his hand. Mason stays silent, but he allows himself to rest his head on Will’s shoulder, taking a deep breath. Will pets his hair, whispering quietly, “You know, he’s actually harmless. Sober Mike wouldn’t hurt a fly, but drunk Mike? He’s a big teddy bear. He’s ridiculously gentle; it’s honestly a bit embarrassing. I’d be more worried about him damaging your reputation.”

Mason looks up at him, his eyes calculating. “You don’t like him drinking either, right? Because of your dad?”

Will pulls back a little, a shocked smile forming on his face. “My dad? How do you know that?” Mason at least has the decency to look sheepish about gossiping behind his back. Will doesn’t mind. It’s not like he didn’t want Mason to know. “Has El been sharing my secrets?” he teases, and laughs at the blush on Mason’s face. “It’s fine. And yes, my dad was an alcoholic. I don’t like when people drink— especially men. But I’ve mostly grown used to it. Mike was never my concern, though. He’s a really sweet drunk. I trust him completely.”

Mason directs his gaze over to Mike, who’s making half-assed conversation with Nancy. “Miss El said you guys don’t drink.”

“We don’t, usually. We’re not really into it. I think Mike just says that for my sake, but whatever. We usually save it for anniversaries, or holidays after the kids are in bed— but Mike got into a fight with Karen today. He’s a bit upset.”

“Again?” Mason asks.

“Yeah, again.” Will sighs. He wishes Mason could have a better first impression of their family. “Karen is a good mom— she really is. It’s just— kids argue with their parents sometimes. Parents can make mistakes, too. It’s how it is. You caught them on a bad week.”

Mason nods in understanding. He seems deep in thought, so Will allows the silence to overtake them. He rubs Mason’s arm, nuzzling his nose into his hair. Eventually, Mason says, “If he’s upset, you can go with him. I can stay here.”

Will lifts his head, squinting down at him, affronted. No. No way. He’s not abandoning Mason while he’s so scared. He made a promise. He’ll never leave him. Ever. “You’re funny, you know that?”

“I’m not joking.”

“I know you’re not,” Will says, squeezing him in a tight hug. “Neither am I. Mike is a grown man. He can sit by himself for a few minutes— even if he acts like it’ll kill him.”

“Well,” Mason starts, his fingers playing with the seams of his jeans— his nervous habit. “He can come back, then.”

Will sets a hand under his jaw, angling Mason’s head toward him and ensuring that their eyes can lock together. “You don’t have to do that,” he tells him, his voice low and serious. He doesn’t think he’s ever said anything more important. “Don’t feel required to do that. Nothing else in the world matters right now except your feelings.”

There’s fear and uncertainty swimming in Mason’s eyes, but he maintains the contact with a strange confidence. A faith. He speaks slowly, quietly, but determined. “You said you trust him?”

“With all my heart,” Will answers, no doubt in his mind. He knows Mike. If he ever thought he could hurt Mason, they wouldn’t be together. The instant Mike raises a hand to him, they’re through.

“Then I want him here,” he declares. If anyone else was listening in on this conversation, they’d probably think that Mason was certain of his decision— that his concerns had all been washed away, and a brave boy was all that remained. He is a brave boy, that’s for sure— because Will can still see the tension in his jaw, the fright hidden in the corners of his face. Will knows the risk he’s taking right now. He’s so proud.

Will kisses him long and hard on the temple. He leans back with a soft smile that only widens as he turns to Mike, who’s already watching them. He gestures for him to come forward. “Michael. You’ve been invited back to the party.”

He’s up in a heartbeat, rushing over to stand in front of them. He stops abruptly a few feet away, as if reminding himself to hold back. “Hi,” he says, looking at Mason with so much hope and glee that Will could swoon. He does.

“Hey,” Mason replies. Mike doesn’t seem to mind his short response, because his grin doesn’t falter. He drops to the ground, crawling forward slowly on his knees. He sits back on his heels once he’s in reach of them both, but keeps his hands on his lap.

“I missed you,” Mike tells him. “Those guys aren’t any fun. They haven’t been the same since they had kids. Jonathan keeps finding random Barbie shoes in his pockets. You know what he used to find in there? Weed.”

“Alright,” Will warns, covering Mason’s ears as he gapes at Mike in shock. “He doesn’t need to know that.”

“He did drugs?” Mason exclaims, a little too loudly for Karen’s basement. Will glares at Mike. See? This is what happens. Fucking talkative drunk. “Why? They’re bad for you.”

Mike sneaks a glance at Will, guilty. Will glares harder. He is not about to tell their foster son about the time they stole from Jonathan’s stash. Times. Whatever. “Yeah,” he says, entirely unconvincing. Will rolls his eyes, resisting the urge to bury his head in his hands. “Yeah, drugs are bad. Don’t do them. That’s— good job. Up top.”

The second Mike raises his arm for a high five, Mason flinches violently. His eyes squeeze tightly shut, and he rotates his entire body toward Will’s, curling inward. Will reaches across him to wrap around Mason’s side, shielding him from Mike’s harmless form. His other hand finds its way to Mason’s cheek, stroking it gently.

“It’s alright,” Will tries, tucking a piece of hair behind Mason’s ear as he pries open an eye. “You’re okay. It’s just Mike. He’s not going to hurt you.”

Mason seems to realize what Mike had intended to do, slowly pulling off of Will. He stares down at his lap, his face reddening in embarrassment. He shouldn’t need to be embarrassed about this— it was a natural response. Especially with Mike smelling like he does right now. Will knows from experience— smell can overwhelm more than any other sense. It turns perfectly happy moments into terrifying flashbacks.

Mike, brain lagging behind from the alcohol, finally drops the stupefied expression off his face. He inches closer, lowering both his voice and his hand. “Low-five, then?”

Mason looks between him and his outstretched palm. His lips twitch upward as he lightly taps his hand against Mike’s. Mike grabs onto it, keeping it in his hold. He raises it up to his lips and presses a kiss to Mason’s knuckles.

The rest of the evening is spent with Mike on the floor, head in Will’s lap, both of his hands curled around Mason’s.

Chapter Text

Mike and his mom don’t make up. They rarely do. She usually just bullshits some half-assed excuse about why it wasn’t her fault that she was a massive jerk, and Mike is expected to accept it. He does, most of the time. He knows what she means by, “Let’s put this behind us,” or, “It’s how I was raised. Times are changing too fast for me to keep up.” It’s a hidden apology, and Mike has learned how to be satisfied with them.

He loves his mom ninety-nine percent of the time. She’s great; she’s always been supportive of his dreams and ambitions. When he wanted to go to college for English, she was the one who convinced his dad it was a good idea, and even helped with his back-up plan. When he came out to her, she pulled him into a hug so fast he got whiplash; he even started going to her for relationship advice.

She treats Will like family, and Mike couldn’t be happier about that. He just wishes she’d stop treating Mason like family.

So when she stopped him on the way out of the house on Sunday to apologize, he understood. “Michael,” she had said. “You have to know that I’d never want to do anything to hurt your chances with Mason. You were right— it’s not my place to question your parenting choices. It’s just that— I’ve wanted a grandbaby from you for so long. And now that it might actually happen, it’s hard to hold back.”

It was both infuriating and gratifying. Karen Wheeler telling someone that they were right? Mike can count on one hand the amount of times that’s happened to him.

But on the other hand— the one that keeps track of his mom’s bad apologies— it’s incredibly frustrating. Mike doesn’t care how long his mom has waited for him to have kids. He doesn’t care how much she wants it. He wants it more. It’s his life. She could never understand how difficult it is being queer. She complains about every little roadbump like they’re her issues. “I wish you could bring Will to Grandma’s,” and, “I can’t believe I won’t get to plan your wedding,” and, “Your babies would have looked so cute.” He knows. He fucking knows, and he hates that she can’t see how much it hurts him too.

He can’t help but feel like she’s blaming him for it. If only he liked girls— then he could be the son she wanted. He knows that’s ridiculous; she loves him for who he is, and she wouldn’t ever change him. He’s heard it before. He just wants her to think of his feelings before she speaks.

He guesses he forgives her. He trusts that she won’t overstep again, and that’s really all he cares about. But he’s aware that she’ll never truly understand why he was upset in the first place.

Anyway— that doesn’t matter. He’s decidedly not worrying about that right now. This is the day he’s been looking forward to all month; a day without any parents at all. The day he’s finally reunited with his friends.

They should all be here at around noon for lunch— which is not going to be takeout that Mike picked up from a random Italian place. Whatever. They’re getting fed for free, they should be grateful.

Dustin arrived in Indiana last weekend, same as Mike. He flew out to see his mom the second fall recess started at MIT— Mr. Fancy-Pants professor that he is. Lucas and Max are driving out this morning, since they only live in Chicago. Lucky bastards. Though, he guesses he shouldn’t complain— three hours in a car with Corey and a pregnant Max sounds like a nightmare.

El had a six a.m. flight, so she should land any minute. Hop is already waiting to pick her up at the airport. On an unrelated note, Mason looks noticeably brighter today.

“Are you ready?” Mike asks him, bending over and setting one hand on each of his shoulders. He stares at him intensely, grave and resolute, like he’s preparing Mason for battle.

Mason just gives him a judgmental side-eye. “I guess.”

Mike nods curtly, patting his arms. “Stay strong, soldier. It’ll be rough.” He can feel the eye roll coming before it does. Mason’s getting predictable. “Seriously, though. If you need to tap out, just head back to your room. Don’t feel obligated to stay the whole time.”

Before Mason can bite out some snarky response, the doorbell rings. Mike, who’s been keeping guard of it for the past thirty minutes, rushes to open the door behind him. “Dustin!”

“Mike!” he replies with just as much enthusiasm, opening his arms wide for a hug. He has that same toothy grin on his face that Mike is all too familiar with; it feels like home.

Mike crashes into him with force. Dustin gives him a couple harsh pats on his back; they echo down his spine and throughout his entire body, but he doesn’t mind. Mike only pulls away at the sound of a throat clearing. He looks up with a guilty smile. “Hey, Suzie.”

“Hello, Mike,” she says, terse but not unkind. The twins are hiding behind her, surprisingly shy for people with half of Dustin’s DNA. Suzie nods at something over his shoulder. “Will.”

At the mention of his boyfriend, Dustin’s attention is quickly ripped away, and he quite literally shoves Mike out of the doorway. “Byers! Get the hell over here!”

Will cackles as he’s almost tackled to the ground, despite being a good few inches taller than Dustin. Mike isn’t bitter— about any of it. It’s not like he waited by the door or anything.

“Oh, stop your pouting,” Dustin says as he glances back at him. He’s not pouting. “I was only saying hello. Speaking of—“ he turns to Mason, who he nearly ran over in his hurry to get his grubby little paws on Mike’s partner. He sticks out his arm. “Hi. I’m Dustin. Pleased to meet you.”

Mason looks down to his outstretched hand, then back to his face. His expression is skeptical— confused? Maybe because Dustin’s own is the pinnacle of friendliness— eyes crinkled in the corners, his smile not faltering for a second. No one is ever that happy. No one but Dustin. That might take some getting used to.

Dustin, ever patient, jiggles his arm. “You’re supposed to shake it.”

Mason meets Mike’s gaze in question. Mike can practically read his thoughts: what is wrong with this guy? He’s honestly not sure— they never figured it out. Mike motions his head toward Dustin. Just indulge him. Mason obeys, grabbing his hand tentatively.

Dustin shakes it, hard. “So, are you going to be playing with us?”

Right— their annual D&D session. It’s Mike’s favorite part about Thanksgiving. It’s the only holiday that he can rely on everyone to attend. Summer break is spotty— family vacations get in the way of pre-made plans, because unfortunately, parent-kid relationships take precedence over childless brothers. Christmas will be overrun with newborns, just like it was two years ago. Today, though— he has today.

When Mike initially told Mason about their tradition, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to participate. Mike understood; it’s a complicated game. It’s not for everyone— especially not a kid that will already be overwhelmed with new faces and names. He doesn’t need to be memorizing characters’ as well.

“Um…” Mason looks to Mike once again.

“We’ll see,” he answers for him.

Dustin nods, patting his shoulder. Mason winces; someone seriously needs to teach him how to control his strength. “Well, I hope you do. You’d love it,” he assures, as if he knows anything about Mason.

There’s another knock at the door about half an hour later. Mason rises from the couch just as Mike does, trying to catch a glimpse of the visitor through the window. He looks so hopeful and excited that Mike is almost disappointed when he discovers that it’s only Lucas and Max. That’s not an unusual reaction to seeing Max, but Lucas? He feels like a failure as a friend.

Their entrance is infinitely calmer than Dustin’s had been. The first thing Lucas does upon Mike opening the door is hold a single finger up to his lips, pleading. Corey is sitting in his other arm, head resting on Lucas’s shoulder. Oh. He’s asleep. He just fell asleep, it seems. Mike can only imagine how horrible the drive over must have been.

Of course, there’s only one thing Mike can do. “Hello, friends!” he yells. Max looks just about ready to murder him, but he’s not too worried. She’s not really a threat with that balloon stomach of hers. “How nice of you to join us!”

The reaction is instant. Corey’s cries flood the room at an alarming volume. Max steps up to him with a scowl, grabbing Corey from Lucas and shoving him into Mike’s arms. “You deal with him, then. If you think you’re so fucking funny.”

He does. He really does.

Mike glances down at the toddler in his hands. Now, he’d consider himself to be pretty good with kids— especially babies. But this one? He’s never figured him out. Luckily, that’s what grandparents are for. “Joyce,” he says, turning to the woman that’s busy catching up with Dustin. He passes Corey over to her. “I have a present for you.”

Joyce just raises her eyebrows, unimpressed. She stands with a sigh. “Why did I let you host here?” she mutters as she starts toward the kitchen.

“You’re the worst son-in-law,” Lucas tells him, but he’s smiling.

Mike shrugs. “She knew what she was getting into when she gave me her blessing.”

“Don’t make her regret it,” Will warns him as he passes on his left, walking toward Lucas. He wraps his arms around him, saying, “Missed you guys,” then does the same to Max. He pulls back with a smile, then pokes her softly in the stomach. “How’s this one? Almost done?”

“God, I hope so. I heard second babies come earlier— which better be the case, because I am not holding this thing in for fourty-two weeks again. Anyway— where’s your kid?”

“Right behind me,” he answers, gesturing for Mason to step closer. He does, slowly, until Will can put both of his hands on Mason’s shoulders. Max tracks the sound of their movement, turning in Mason’s approximate direction.

Mason stares at her for a moment when she doesn’t meet his eyes, then whispers loudly in Will’s ear, “She’s blind?”

Max cackles a laugh, shaking her head. “I like you. Do you want to talk shit about your loser guardians together?”

Mason lights up like a Christmas tree. “Yeah,” he says excitedly. Damn it. Mike is so screwed. Why would he ever introduce his worst bullies?

“Good,” she replies with an evil smirk, starting toward the couches. “We have much to discuss.”

Fucking hell.

Lucas, covered in duffel and diaper bags galore, pats Mike on the shoulder in greeting. “Dude!” he exclaims, motioning to Mason. “You didn’t tell me he has melanin! Up top, man,” he says, crouching down to Mason’s level. There’s a tiny smile on Mason’s face as he returns the high-five. Huh. Is this the first time he’s been happy when meeting someone new?

Mike shrugs, taking Lucas’s bags and setting them on the far wall. He sits back down on the loveseat, Mason automatically returning to the spot beside him. “I didn’t think it was important.”

“Of course is important,” Lucas says emphatically, taking his seat next to Max on the couch perpendicular to them. “I’m all alone in this nightmare household. All I have is a toddler that can’t even speak full sentences yet.”

“That’s not true,” Dustin pipes up. “Isn’t Will Latino?”

Mason’s face scrunches up in clear disagreement; he absolutely does not believe that for a second. “No, he is not,” he argues, at the same time that Will says, “No, I’m not,” both with an affronted tone.

Lucas looks at Dustin with a calm, disappointed expression. “There are so many things wrong with that sentence.”

Dustin throws his arms out defensively. “What? What’s wrong with it?”

“I’m Spanish, not Latino,” Will says. “And, like, barely.”

Mason stares at him in surprise. “You are?”

“Mhm. Only a quarter, on my mom’s side. Her maiden name is Maldonado. Mom!” he yells, waiting until she crosses through the doorway from the kitchen, Corey sitting quietly on her hip. “Tell Dustin that Grandpa was not Latino.”

Joyce gives Dustin a funny look, like he should have known better. He should have. They all found out together in fifth grade when Will’s grandpa passed away, and Joyce practiced her eulogy in perfect Spanish. It’s not really a secret within the Party.

“My grandparents were born and raised in Spain,” she says, handing Corey back over to Lucas. He goes without a fuss; Joyce really is a baby-whisperer. “They came to America to have my dad. I thought I told you this story.”

“You did,” Mike confirms. “Dustin’s just an idiot.”

“I forgot!” he protests. Mike ignores him.

Joyce, who’s a lot nicer than him, just smiles at Dustin. “We’re also French, but I don’t speak it as well. Do you know Spanish, sweetie?” she asks Mason.

“When would I have learned Spanish?” he snaps. He immediately presses his lips together, lowering his head slightly, as if he regrets it. Mike wonders why he would. He never seems to feel guilty about yelling at people.

Joyce takes it easily, shrugging. “I learned as a baby. I assumed you probably hadn’t, though. If you’re taking it in high school, I’d always be open to tutor— although, my Spanish might be a little different than what they teach. And Will should be able to help as well, right?” She shoots him a knowing look.

Will just grins at her, ashamed. He does not know any Spanish. As much as Joyce tried to teach him, it never stuck. Living in California has made this very clear; a man tried to ask for directions one time, and Will fumbled his way through a messy explanation. Even Mike knew he got a couple words wrong.

“‘Kay, that’s enough, bye Mom!” he waves, urging her out of the room. And Mike is the bad son?

Once it’s clear that El isn’t getting here any time soon, Mike reheats the food and brings it out to the living room for everyone to enjoy. Mason doesn’t eat much; he mostly just picks at his plate and watches the door, sighing every time it doesn’t open. “Hey,” Mike nudges Mason’s knee with his. “She’ll be here, alright? Her flight probably just got delayed. It happens all the time.”

Mason nods sadly.

Mike pulls out his phone to send a quick text to Hopper, asking if El has landed. He doesn’t reply right away, which isn’t unexpected for him. Joyce has been trying to get on him about it, which means that Hopper is likely either driving or in a place with no cell reception. Mike hopes he’s driving.

After everyone is finished, Mike collects the dishes like a good son-in-law. He joins back in the discussion circle, where Dustin is explaining some new secret technology in the works at MIT. Mike tries to pay attention, but he can only focus on Mason. Luckily, it seems that he’s moved on from the door.

Mason’s gaze hasn’t left the bulging of Max’s stomach since Mike took his plate. Every time Mike goes to make conversation with him, his eyes drift back as soon as he’s done talking. It’s honestly getting a bit creepy, and Mike knows that if Max could see him, she would have called him out ages ago.

Will is clearly thinking the same thing. “Mason,” he hisses, smacking him gently on the arm. “Stop staring at her.”

Obviously, since Max is an evil witch with evil witch powers, she easily picks up that he’s talking about her. She raises her eyebrows challengingly, but it doesn’t have the same heat it usually would. Maybe because Mason is a child, or maybe because Mike threatened them all if they ever messed with him. “What? Never seen a blind person before?”

And that’s… a fair conclusion to make, but also wildly off base. Mason might have a talent for getting on everyone’s bad side in social situations, but he’s not an ass.

“He’s never seen a pregnant person before,” Will corrects.

Max is quiet for a moment. Then, to Mike’s relief, she laughs. “Oh my god. I must be like a zoo animal to you, huh? You can feel it if you want.” She extends a hand to him in invitation.

Mason looks to Will, then to Mike for confirmation— as if he needs their permission to do anything. Mike nods, encouraging him. Mason slips off the couch and slowly walks over to Max, reaching out cautiously.

Max feels around, her hand gripping his wrist loosely as soon as she makes contact. “Here,” she murmurs, guiding him down.

Mike’s vision is mostly blocked by the back of Mason’s head, but he still catches a sliver of the face of disgust he makes as his hand hits her stomach. Mason doesn’t pull out of her grasp, though. He continues to explore with sick fascination, pushing in experimentally. He finally steps back with a groan as the bump caves in. “Gross.”

“I agree,” Mike says, pulling him back down, resting his head on top of Mason’s. “Max is gross.”

“Shut up, Wheeler. You try carrying a baby around for nine months.”

“Don’t need to. I can just take someone else’s.”

Max doesn’t get the opportunity to voice her retort as the door swings open, revealing a ridiculous mountain of a man. Mason’s up before El can even be seen. He runs to her the second she walks through the entryway, dropping her suitcase to catch him in a hug.

“Miss El!” he exclaims. There’s more emotion in those words than Mike thinks he’s heard from him all trip.

“Mason! I missed you so much! How have Mom and Dad been? Are they treating you well?”

Mason nods. “I missed you, too,” he says quietly, like he’s embarrassed about it.

El smiles at him, ruffling his hair. “I’ll be right back— I’m going to put my stuff in my room. Wait here?”

“Can I go with you?”

She tilts her head at him, sneaking a glance at Mike and Will. She won’t find anything. Mike isn’t jealous that Mason ran to greet her, like he never has with them. He doesn’t care that he’s attached to her hip. “Yeah, of course. Come on.” She grabs his hand, leading them down the hallway.

Lucas leans in closer to them, whispering, “He’s a hugger? I didn’t get that impression.”

“He’s not,” Mike says, not at all bitter. “He only really gets that way with El.”

If their friends notice the way he crosses his arms when Mason chooses to sit beside El as they return, they don’t point it out. Mike is glad— because he’s not jealous.

As El eats her late lunch, Mike starts setting up the dining table for their D&D session. Unlike usual, he’s not the DM this year. He asked Dustin to take over for him since he was too busy this fall to really plan a campaign. It’s weird readying the head of the table when he knows he won’t be the one sitting there, but honestly, he’s kind of looking forward to the change. He loves DM-ing more than anything, but it’s been a while since he actually got to be a player. It’s not like he and Will could play at home with just the two of them. They’ve tried— it’s painfully boring.

To Mike’s surprise, Mason pries himself from El’s side to watch him.

“Hey, hon,” he says, without needing to look at Mason’s hovering form behind him. “Did you decide if you wanted to play or not?”

Mason steps closer, setting his hands on the chair beside Mike. “I don’t know the rules.”

“Well, I’d teach you the rules,” Mike assures him. “It’s actually easier to learn as you go. If you have any questions, I’ll be right next to you. It’s not like a card game where you have to keep your hand a secret. We’re on the same team.”

Mason goes silent in thought. Eventually, he nods. “Okay. I’ll play.”

“Really?” Mike looks up, grinning widely. He seriously didn’t think he would agree. He’s so excited. If Mason likes it, they might finally have enough people to play back home. Maybe this is what parents are talking about when they say they want their children to follow in their footsteps. “You’ll love it. Alright— first things first. You’ll need a character. Come here.”

Mike opens his folder as Mason stands beside him. Yes, he still brought his folder. Just because he isn’t technically in charge, that doesn’t mean he’s not going to come prepared. He pulls out a few pieces of paper. “I have spare— you never know when you might need one. Here. You can choose whichever you want.”

Mason glances them over. “I don’t know what any of this means,” he says, clearly overwhelmed. That’s not good. Mike can’t have him changing his mind before they even start.

“That’s alright. Here are the weapons,” he points to one of the boxes. “Here’s how smart and strong they are. These are their personalities. And this one,” he taps the paper on the right, “has spells. If you like those. Just pick the one that sounds the most fun.”

He lets Mason take his time reading through them. He knows which one he’s going to pick before he even says it. “I want spells.”

Mike pats him on the back. “Good choice, Mr. Druid. Alright, here’s what you need to know: Dustin is going to lead us on a quest. We’re all going to decide what to do together. If your character wants to do something, you need to roll some dice. If you get high enough, Dustin will allow it. If not, we’ll try something else.

“Your character is clever and charming. That means you get boosts on your roll when you ask to do something that requires intelligence or charisma. But you’re not very healthy or strong. I wouldn’t try to lift heavy objects. You have a bow, a sword, and some spells; but spells are limited, so don’t use them all the time. Any questions?”

Mason looks directly into his eyes. “Yes,” he says, deadpan.

Mike squeezes his shoulder. “Good,” he states, then walks back out to the living room to gather the others. This is going to be incredible.

Dustin makes himself at home at the head of the table, spreading his notes out behind the screen. The twins are off at Joyce Byers’ daycare facility, along with Corey. Mike would feel bad for sticking them on her if she hadn’t suggested the idea herself, practically the moment he asked if she could host. She loves the babies; he heard that it was some sort of empty-nest thing.

Mike takes the seat to Dustin’s right, because he’s still the second in command; the Party can take that from his cold, dead hands. He, obviously, saves the chair between him and Will for Mason, for no other reason than that he needed to help him with the rules. It’s not because he loves him or anything. That would be pathetic and ridiculous.

Lucas and Max sit facing them, Suzie to Dustin’s left. She was a great edition— after she got over the whole “monsters are evil, you’re worshipping the devil” thing. Moving out of Utah was good for her.

Not sitting beside Will for once in his life might take some getting used to, but he can’t say he minds. He’ll just have to remember that he can’t insult the others under his breath and expect a laugh in return. Or maybe he can. Mason’s a good sport.

Dustin suddenly clears his throat, signaling everyone to quiet down. Mike shifts in his seat; he forgot how thrilling it is to be on this side of the screen. He’s so used to knowing how everything plays out. Now he remembers why he let Will DM so much. Also because he’s madly in love and too weak to say no.

Dustin scans the crowd, an unusually serious look on his face. “It was a dark and stormy night.”

Mike scoffs. “Really? I give you free reign for once and that’s how you’re choosing to open?”

“Shut up and listen!” he yells back, then starts from the beginning. Mike just rolls his eyes. Incompetent. All of them. “It was a dark and stormy night— which is a perfectly fine opening, because it’s an accurate description of the setting. You wake up to the feeling of cool water droplets slowly hitting your face. When you open your eyes, all you can see is a canopy of trees above you. You can’t remember how you got there, but you’ve awoken on a forest floor.”

“Well, obviously we should explore, right?” Max asks the group. And yeah, Mike would agree with that notion on any other day. However, this isn’t any other day; they have a special guest.

“Let’s have Mason choose,” Mike decides for the table as a whole. They let him, just as they always do. He turns to Mason and asks, “What do you want to do?”

“What can I do?”

Mike grins. This is his favorite part about new players— introducing them to a world of endless possibilities. “Absolutely anything.”

Mason’s eyes light up with mischief as he gets an idea. “Can I stab you?”

Of course. Of course that’s the first thing he wants to try. Not explore the jungle, not climb a tree— no. He wants to kill Mike. Mike glares at him warningly. “Think about what you’re doing. Do you really want to stab the guy who’s teaching you the rules?”

Mason smiles cheekily at him. He shrugs. “Kind of.”

“Alright,” Will interrupts. “I’m going to look around before we break out in a civil war.”

“Can we?”

“Mason, we’re on the same team,” Mike says. “Jesus Christ, you’ll love Lord of the Flies.”

“Don’t worry, Mason,” Max says conspiratorially. “I’ll be on your side.”

Luckily, they don’t end up killing each other in the first five minutes, only because of Will the mediator. Mike is starting to regret making Mason’s character lawful good, because there’s no way in hell he can pull that off. Mason, being on decent behavior for hours on end? Yeah, right.

Together, they discover a hidden cave, and foolishly— purposefully— head deep inside. It’s not long before they get into a battle, because Dustin is a lover of adventure. Mike mindlessly picks up his die and rolls it, earning himself a seven. As the others all do the same, Mason turns to him, lost. Oh— he almost forgot. Mike passes him his D20. “This is to determine who goes first.”

Mason nods and rolls a fourteen, landing him in third place. El, as always, goes first. Mike isn’t entirely convinced that she doesn’t alter the dice with her powers, but he won’t complain— not when she rolls high every time they’re in a sticky position.

El manages to do a decent amount of damage to the offending bear, and Lucas misses it with an arrow because he’s garbage. As it approaches Mason’s turn, he looks to Mike for instruction. Of course, Mike knows what he would do in this situation, but this isn’t his decision. Still, Mason is pretty clueless— it won’t hurt to lead him a little.

“What are you thinking?” Mike inquires, pointing to his list of available weapons. “Which do you want to try?”

He just shrugs, eyes pleading for help.

“Can I give a recommendation?” Mike asks, and Mason nods vehemently. “You’re a level one. You don’t have much HP. You should probably stay back with your bow; let me get ahead of you so I can tank the damage.”

It doesn’t seem like Mason understood half of what he said, but he agrees anyway. “Okay. How do I do that?”

“Roll your die again,” Mike explains, and he does just that. Eight. Not promising. “Alright. Now add this number here. Next to the bow.”

“I have to add?” he whines. He sounds so distraught about it that Mike almost laughs.

“Yes. It’s two single-digit numbers, I’m sure you can manage. Unless you want Charlotte or Tiny Tim to come in here and do it for you.”

Mason sighs dramatically. “Twelve,” he reluctantly answers. Was that so hard?

Mike waits in anticipation for Dustin’s analysis. He really draws it out, glancing down at his paper then back up at them, emotionless. “Barely,” he concludes eventually.

“Yes!” Mike says, pumping a fist. “You hit it. Now roll this one to see how much damage you do.”

Mason takes the D8 nervously. Good— Mike is glad he’s nervous. It means that he’s as into the game as everyone else. “Four?” he says with a wince, as if that’s not good enough. It’s plenty.

“That’s great!” he assures. “But you have to add another two. Do you see where I wrote that? Next to the die you need? Oh, don’t give me that look,” Mike says as he sees his unimpressed face. “It’s not that much math.”

“So six?” Dustin interrupts, impatient as ever. “Max?”

Max picks up her custom-made braille dice and starts her turn.

Mike only pays it half a mind, leaning closer to Mason to whisper, “Good job. You’re a natural.”

His eyes shine in a way that Mike has come to learn as his version of a smile.

Mike goes second-to-last, only preceding the bear itself. He doesn’t miss with a three, because he’s a skilled veteran of this stupid, dumb game. As a mathematician, he doesn’t believe in superstition— but he absolutely blames his bad rolls on the fact that they’re playing in a different location. Mike chooses to place himself directly in front of Mason, practically using himself as a human shield. It’s a good thing too, as the bear does a bit of a number on him.

At the end of the round, he reflexively reaches for Will’s hand to calm him down. It feels weird— smaller than normal. Clammy, when they’re usually cold.

It takes Mike glancing down at it to realize. “Sorry,” he whispers, immediately dropping Mason’s hand. “I forgot you're not Will.”

Mason stares at him, surprised, but he doesn’t seem angry. Mike takes that as forgiveness, returning his attention back to El’s attack. Hit, unremarkably. Who could have guessed?

He startles slightly as the warm palm comes back into contact with his, little fingers wrapping around him. Mike turns to his right in shock, but Mason isn’t looking at him; his eyes are trained resolutely on the figures scattered around the table, but there’s a blush high on his cheeks.

He’s holding Mike’s hand.

Mike smiles at him, even though he can’t see it. He gives Mason a squeeze of reassurance. Yes, he can hold his hand. Yes, he wants this.

Mike doesn’t realize that Lucas has finished his attack until Mason tugs on his arm. He picks up the D20 and holds it out to Mike in question. He nods; Mason is catching on so quickly.

Before he can begin to roll, Mike holds his free arm out to stop him. “Are you shooting it again? Or do you want to stab it?”

Mason glances between him and the die. “I don’t know. Does it matter?”

“If you’re worried about dealing damage, yes. If you just want to stab everything in sight, that’s fine too. Personally, I would use the bow. Your sword can only do a maximum of six damage instead of eight. And since it uses strength rather than dexterity, you won’t get to add anything on top of it.”

“I won’t have to do math?” Mason asks, suddenly interested. Is that the only thing he got from that whole spiel?

Mike tries to repress a sigh. “Not for that part, no. If you want to save your arrows, go ahead and slice it. You need to step forward a bit, though.”

“The bear is going to eat you if you don’t hurry,” Dustin not-so-gently reminds him.

Mike sends him a glare. “Not helping.”

He throws his arms up placatingly. “I’m just saying. Thirty seconds has long passed.”

“The timer is bullshit,” he mutters, reaching across the board to move Mason’s piece. Can they just get back to the matter at hand?

“You insisted on having one,” Dustin points out.

“Yeah, because you guys kept arguing each round for five minutes straight. This is entirely different. Just— shh. Shut up and let me work.” Mike turns back to Mason, putting on his best fake smile. “There. Now you’re in position. Go ahead and roll.”

Mason does a whopping one point of damage for all that trouble. It doesn’t matter in the end, because Will finishes the bear off right after. Mason comes out of his first battle unscathed— it’s a win in Mike’s book.

The cheers around the table suddenly die out as Dustin says a grave, “Uh oh. Do you hear that? An angry roar echoes through the cave. If you thought the bear’s cry of death was loud, it’s nothing compared to this. A second growl joins in with the first, deeper than all the rest. You’re not alone.” Dustin slowly reaches his hands around his screen, placing new figures onto the table. “Two more bears appear from the shadows— and you just killed their baby.”

Groans fill the room. Great. Lucas is already half-dead. If they get killed in the first twenty minutes he’s going to be so annoyed.

It seems that Mike’s luck has turned around, as he ends up going second. They all do sufficient damage on the beasts before Mason’s turn comes around, this time last in the order.

Mike settles a hand on his shoulder. “What’ll it be?”

Mason doesn’t reply; he stares down at the board as if it’ll give him all the answers. Five seconds pass. Then ten. Then fifteen.

“Tick tock,” Dustin says. Mike thinks he might punch him.

“Dustin,” he snaps. “Seriously. You’re not helping.”

“There are rules. If he doesn’t take his turn, I have to skip him.”

“He’s new!” Mike exclaims. He tries to keep his volume as low as possible, but he’s not sure he succeeds as Mason’s hand tightens in his grasp. He takes a deep breath and starts again, calmer. “And twelve. Let him think things over.”

“We had a time limit at twelve.”

Mike is going to lose it. How can he not see that this is clearly different? Mason doesn’t know them. He doesn’t know the game. There’s so much at stake for him right now. If Mike flubbed a round as a kid, no big deal. Lucas would slap him on the head and move on. Mason is scared of them— and if Dustin thinks that pressuring him is going to help at all, he’s an idiot.

“After four years of practice,” Mike says. “Mason gets to take as long as he needs. End of discussion.” He gives Mason’s hand another squeeze under the table. “Take your time,” he whispers into his ear. “Dustin’s stupid. Don’t mind him.”

Mason nods, but his eyes are wide and startled. “I want to shoot them,” he says, and his voice only shakes a little. Mike doesn’t think the others notice it, but he certainly does.

“Good choice,” he replies, gentle and kind. “Which one?”

“The dad.” It’s the only thing he’s sounded sure about all game.

Mason deals ten points of damage.

Halfway through the next round, Mason’s hand suddenly slips out of his. “I’m bored now,” he tells Mike, scooting his chair back with a screech. He stands, starting toward the hallway.

“Mason,” Mike calls, but he doesn’t stop. Mike stands hastily from his own seat, turning to Dustin. “I’m calling time out.”

“We’re in the middle of a battle!” he whines, and Mike doesn’t want to hear it. Mason isn’t bored— Dustin made him leave. He’s sure of it. “You can’t just call time out.”

“Yeah? Well I did, so.”

“You can’t—“

“Dustin, I swear to god. I will stab myself in the fucking heart,” he threatens, picking up his dice.

“Alright!” Dustin says quickly. “Alright, time out.”

Mike rolls his eyes, hurrying off to Mason’s room. He knocks, to no answer. He slowly cracks the door open, catching a glimpse of Mason lying on his bed. “Knock knock.”

Mason looks over at him, then back toward the ceiling. Mike doesn’t see any tear tracks on his face, so that's a good sign. He takes Mason’s silence as permission— if he wanted Mike to fuck off, he’d definitely say so. Mike steps into the room, shutting the door behind him. He grabs the rolling chair from Jonathan’s desk, sitting backwards on it.

“You weren’t having fun?” Mike asks.

Mason shrugs. “I guess.”

Mike rolls himself closer to the bed, gazing down at Mason from over the backrest. “You wanna tell me how you’re really feeling? Or are you going to pretend that everything’s fine?”

He sneaks a glance at Mike out of the corner of his eye, then bites his lip in consideration. “I just didn’t want to ruin it,” he reveals quietly.

Mike is absolutely murderous— but he doesn’t let that show in his voice. He reaches out, tucking a hair behind Mason’s ear when he doesn’t flinch away. “You’re not ruining anything, baby. That was the most fun I’ve had playing in a long time. Everyone was super excited that you joined us— I can tell.”

“Not everyone,” he mumbles under his breath.

Mike sighs. As much as he doesn’t want to defend Dustin right now, he can’t let Mason think that this was his own fault. “Look— Dustin can get… intense. Especially with things he’s passionate about. He really likes to follow rules, and sometimes he doesn’t understand when they shouldn’t be applied. He really did want you to play— he just got a bit too into it. He wasn’t trying to be mean, I promise. But he was. And you can be mad if you want.”

“I’m not mad,” he says, weak and quiet. Mike can tell he’s telling the truth.

“No,” Mike agrees. “You’re upset. That’s alright. We don’t have to play anymore. Let’s just stay here, yeah?”

Mason shakes his head. “You can go play.”

Is he kidding? Like Mike wants to play after that. “If you think I’m ditching you for Dustin, you’re crazy.”

“No, really,” Mason presses. “I’m fine. I was going to head to the hideout. Can I?” Mike has to think about it. Castle Byers? In the woods? Alone? In November, of all things? As if sensing Mike's reluctance, he adds. “Will said I could.”

Of course he did. Well, he can’t really say no now, can he? “Alright,” he says. “Be back by dinner. No— sundown. And bring your phone.”

Mason smiles— a real, genuine smile. He sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the mattress. “Deal. And— can you not tell Dustin?”

Mike’s eyebrows draw in confusion. “About upsetting you?” he asks, and Mason nods. “Why not? He deserves to know. I think he’d like to know, honestly.”

He shrugs, avoiding eye contact. “I just don’t want him to be mad at me.”

“He won’t be,” Mike says, growing concerned. Does Mason really think he could get in trouble for having emotions? That he’d be hurt for it? If Mike ever upset him, he’d want Mason to tell him immediately. Would he not? Has he not?

Mason doesn’t seem willing to budge on this one, so Mike reluctantly agrees. If it makes him feel safer, then he’ll try. “Alright. It’ll be our secret.” Mike rises to his feet, wrapping Mason in a hug. He wants to kiss Mason’s head like he saw Will do the other day, because apparently they do that now, but he’s a coward. Instead, he rubs gently at his back. “If you’re not in the house by dark, I’m sending a search party. I’m serious.”

Mason tilts his head up at him, recognition dawning on his face. “Will was kidnapped here?”

“Mhm. The guy was lurking near those very woods. But he’s gone now— you don’t have to worry. I saw him get… detained.” Is Mike trying to scare him into staying? Not particularly. But it wouldn’t be an unfavorable side effect.

“I’ll be careful,” Mason says. He really is fearless.

Mike sees Mason out the back door, then returns to his awaiting friends. Will, noticing a distinct lack of little boy, slides into the chair Mason had been occupying. “Is everything alright?” he whispers as Mike sits back down.

Mike nods. “He’s at Castle Byers.”

Will visibly relaxes— the exact opposite reaction Mike had when hearing that information. “I already yelled at him for you,” he says, gesturing to Dustin.

“Well, he’s getting another,” he mutters, tucking his chair in. Mike only promised Mason that he wouldn’t reveal his feelings— he never said he’d let Dustin off the hook. He looks straight into Dustin’s eyes, telling him, “You’re an asshole.”

Dustin, to his credit, actually seems worried. “Did I upset him?”

Mike considers his words carefully. The last thing he wants is for Mason to be angry at him. “You upset me. You don’t get to talk to him that way. Jesus Christ— is everyone trying to get on my nerves this week?”

“I’m really sorry,” he says. He sounds genuine enough, but Mike doesn’t really care. “I’ll apologize to him when I see him.”

“No— don’t. He’s not mad.” That, at least, is the truth. “Just— let’s play, alright? For Mason.”

Mike is starting to really, really hate Thanksgiving. He just hopes that Mason’s experience hasn’t been tainted forever.

Chapter Text

Will wakes up to a cold bed.

Normally, he wouldn’t think twice about that— but Mike doesn’t have work today. Mike left him in bed, freezing and alone, during Thanksgiving break of all things. What happened to waking up huddled together on chilly November mornings? What happened to staring into each other’s eyes like lovestruck teenagers? What happened to his human radiator?

Will tosses the blankets off of him, determined to find the asshole. Immediately, he realizes that was a mistake. As cold as the bed was, it’s nothing compared to the morning air. He shivers, throwing one of his mom’s hand-knitted blankets around himself. He creeps out into the hallway, honing in on Mike’s voice filtering from the kitchen.

He stomps up angrily, pausing only when he sees Mason’s hunched form sitting at the island, quietly eating a stack of pancakes. His mom is chatting with Mike as she pours a new batch onto the pan. Will can’t help but smile a little at the scene. It’s so… domestic. He would wake up to a million cold beds if it meant he could walk in on this every time.

His mom waves him in as she notices him hovering in the doorway. “Morning, sleepyhead. There’s breakfast on the table for you.”

Will’s stomach rumbles at both the sight of his full plate already at his seat, and the smell of pancakes wafting over from the stove. He ignores it; instead, he moves straight to Mason. Will presses his chest to his back, wrapping his arms around Mason’s waist. He’s warm— unlike Mike. Will is getting his morning cuddles somewhere. “Hey, baby. Sleep well?” he asks, pressing a kiss to Mason’s temple.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t shove him off. If that’s because Will’s mom isn’t looking in their direction, or because Will is also warm, he isn’t sure. “Alright,” Mason shrugs.

Will ruffles his hair before sitting down beside him, tucking into his own food.

Mike makes a noise of offense from the other side of the counter. He doesn’t even need to look up to know the expression he’s wearing. “Do I not get a hug? A hello?”

“Sorry, who are you again?”

Mike rolls his eyes. “Very funny, Will.”

Will resolutely ignores him, continuing on with his hilarious bit. “It’s just— I know you’re not my boyfriend, because he sleeps in the same bed as me. You weren’t in my bed when I woke up, so you can’t be him.”

Mike stares at him, deadpan. Someone’s finally catching on. “Seriously? You’re mad?”

Seriously— like Will isn’t completely valid and right about everything, all the time, no matter what? Oh, Mike picked the wrong battle.

Will shrugs, lifting his glass of apple juice to his lips. Try him.

He eats a very peaceful meal— and by peaceful, he means one that was interrupted every five seconds by an extremely annoying man attempting to gain his attention. Will doesn’t crack; he’s had a lot of practice at this game. The fastest way to get under Mike’s skin is to pretend he doesn’t exist.

He chats with Mason and his mom, going quiet every time Mike chimes in on the conversation. Will tries his best not to laugh at his little huffs of indignation. He knows he won’t keep this up for long— but he might as well have some fun, right?

“Am I up before El?” Will asks his mom after placing his dishes in the sink. He’s surprised— and maybe a little proud. El is a certified early bird. She rarely gets up after the sun when she has the option. If it wasn’t for work, she’d probably be in bed by eight every night.

“Please,” Mike scoffs. Will glares at him with twice the strength as usual— that’s two strikes for him. “She was out the door before I got up. Went to see Jonathan, I presume.”

“Oh, before you got up, huh? Must have been pretty early, then,” he mutters, not intending for Mike to hear it, but still hoping he does.

He gets his wish. Of course he does— Mike always notices when Will has something to say. “I had to pee!” Mike exclaims, throwing his arms out defensively. “Am I not allowed to pee anymore? What is this?”

Will crosses his arms. “Yeah, you sure look like you’re peeing.”

Mike, at least, seems sheepish about getting caught in his lie. He opens and closes his mouth like a fish, before stuttering out a reply. “I— heard voices. I got curious. I had to make sure that Joyce wasn’t… killing Mason, or something.”

Now that— that’s surprising. Will assumed that Mason had joined Mike and his mom for breakfast, not the other way around. Mason was here first? Alone? With his mom?

Will turns to Mason curiously, who has a strangely nervous expression on his face. “You were hanging out with my mom?”

“Why are you acting so shocked?” his mom asks, moving the dirty pans to the sink. “I can be fun. We had a great time.”

“It’s not that, it’s just—“ Will cuts himself off, stepping up to Mason to give him another hug. “I’m proud of you,” he whispers into his ear. “Was she alright? You were alright?”

Mason nods, leaning into his embrace but not returning it. “Are you and Mike play-fighting? Or real-fighting?”

Will sets his hands on either side of Mason’s face, staring into his eyes. Is that what he’s worried about? That he caused an argument between them? “Play-fighting, sweetie,” he says, brushing a thumb against his cheek. “Sorry, it’s just pretend.”

Mason’s muscles relax into his touch for just a moment before his entire body tenses back up, tighter than before. His face hardens, eyes wide and alert. He quickly pushes Will off of him, turning back to his empty plate, head down and hidden behind an arm he’s pretending to rest on.

Will stumbles back a couple feet from the force of it. He’s confused until he hears heavy footsteps behind him.

Hopper is here.

He’s terrified of him, isn’t he? It would make sense— Hopper is sort of huge. If Will didn’t know him so well, he’d be scared too. He’s an idiot— of course Mason isn’t sure about him. How had he not noticed earlier?

But why was Will pushed away? Wouldn’t Mason want him around? He can protect him.

Will thinks about his own father— what he would do if Lonnie saw him being coddled by some man. Maybe Hopper, or Bob, or one of his uncles. Will would shove them away too. He remembers what happened whenever he got caught being comforted by his mom. He was told to man up— that he was a weak, pathetic baby. Will gets it; Mason can’t let Hopper think he’s weak.

“Mornin’,” Hopper grumbles, moving across the room to give his wife a kiss. Gross.

Will sidesteps over to Mason, nearly close enough to bump shoulders. He doesn’t touch him, though— he just stands there, arms braced on the counter, keeping guard. He knows it isn’t needed, but the slight slump in Mason’s posture is reason enough to stay.

Hopper doesn’t even look over, starting his coffee maker in the corner. When his back is turned, Will taps out a quick message onto Mason’s hand. I’m here. He doesn’t think Mason even knows morse code, but he seems to get the idea anyway. They should teach him sometime.

“Well, would you look at that?” Mike says, suddenly right beside him. “Normal couples kiss in the morning. Wouldn’t that be nice? If only I was loved.”

He’s absolutely insufferable. Will spins on his heel, grabbing Mike harshly by the collar of his shirt and yanking him in for a rough kiss. He pulls back to see Mike looking way too wrecked for the short peck that it was. “Are you satisfied?”

Mike nods dazedly.

“That’s disgusting.”

Will turns back to Mason, who’s wrinkling his nose like he smelled something awful. How dare he? They’re sweet. What kind of person thinks that it’s gross when other people kiss? Only someone childish and immature.

The Wheelers— and Jonathan and El— arrive in the early afternoon. Mike, surprising even Will, greets his mom first with a hug. When did those two make up? Last he heard, Mike was still pretty pissed.

Will has a feeling they haven’t made up. That was it— that was their truce. Neither of them will ever mention it again.

Karen, for her part, treats Mason with the utmost respect. She says a quick “hello” to him, asking how his day was from a good couple feet away. Mason is pretty mature about the whole thing, answering in kind; well, as kind as he gets. Alright, he was short with her. But not an angry sort of short— it was more of an “I hate that stupid question” short.

Will is glad that he isn’t holding this against her— both of them. Maybe that was why Mike forgave her— for Mason’s sake. To show him that Karen isn’t a bad person. Someone has to be a good influence.

They manage to cram all thirteen of them into the living room— minus the grandmas, who are busy doing whatever in the kitchen. Will has tried to help them cook before, but he was shooed out for getting in the way. Karen has a method— one that Will isn’t knowledgeable of.

Jonathan is, though— which is why he excuses himself to check on dinner, leaving a sudden gap on the couch beside El. She shuffles over to the arm to give them all a little breathing room. Now there’s no excuse for Will to be pressed up against Mason’s side. Will wonders if Mason will stay anyway— if he likes the proximity enough to tolerate it a little longer.

He doesn’t. Mason scoots closer to El, because she’s his favorite.

If Will has learned one thing over the countless years of Thanksgivings, it’s that dinner will always be late. If his mom says they’re eating at three, he plans his meals to be hungry by four. Which is why he isn’t concerned that his mom hasn’t called them in yet at 3:45. Mason, on the other hand, is looking a little antsy.

When he can’t take it any longer, he tugs on Will’s sleeve. “I’m hungry,” he tells him quietly.

“Soon,” Will promises. “They’re probably just warming stuff up.”

Mason sighs, flopping back on the couch dramatically. He’s silent for all of five seconds, before asking, “Is there pie?”

“‘Course there’s pie, babe. It’s Thanksgiving. Why? You like pie?”

“Oh, he loves pie,” El chimes in, a fond smile on her face. “I try to bring some for Thanksgiving dinner. He always begs me for seconds.”

“It’s good,” he mumbles, embarrassed. “I like your pie.”

“I buy it at the grocery store.”

Will chuckles at the blush rising on his cheeks, even as Mason shrugs like he doesn’t care. He wraps an arm around Mason. “You can have all the dessert you want today, how about that? And probably tomorrow. And the day after. We always have way too many leftovers.”

Mason can only nod excitedly before Jonathan walks in to announce dinner. Mike is up in an instant, practically dragging Will out of his seat. He loves his mom’s stuffing; every year, he rushes to the front of the line like they’ll run out. They never do.

Usually, he ends up getting cut by Nancy, who argues— validly, by the way— that her children should be served first. This year, Mike grabs Mason by the shoulders and steers him to the plates. When Nancy gives him a look, he just shrugs back at her, mock-sympathetic, saying, “Sorry, newest kids eat first. I need to help him find everything. You know— in case he has any questions.”

And— okay. Will has no issues with patience. He would be perfectly fine waiting at the end with El. But then again, why waste an opportunity? He saddles himself right up next to Mike. What? Mason might need help.

Will thinks his mom might have made even more food than usual to compensate for their extra guest. She really did not need to. Every year they have to convince her that they don’t want to bring bags of food onto a plane. Mason’s only little— he doesn’t eat that much. In fact, Will hopes he’s coming back for seconds with how he’s barely filling the plate.

He’s got the basics— mashed potatoes, stuffing, ham— but when they get to the vegetable section, he skips over it completely.

“Hey,” Mike nudges him, pointing to the bowls on the counter. “I want to see at least one vegetable on your plate, got it?”

Mason groans, like he just asked the world of him.

“One vegetable, Mason. It won’t kill you.”

“Fine,” he grumbles, reaching into one of the pots and scooping up a singular slice of carrot. “There. Happy?”

“Alright, smart ass,” Mike says, rolling his eyes. Will thought it was pretty funny, at least. He did follow directions. “You know what I meant.”

“But it’s not what you said,” he argues. Again, that’s fair. “You said one.”

Nancy slaps Mike’s back from her spot in line behind him. “I can’t feel bad for you for that one. You totally deserve it. That was revenge twenty years in the making.”

Karen nods in agreement, looking equal parts amused and pleased. “Now you know what it was like raising you. Not easy, is it?”

Mike sputters in offense, obviously trying to come up with some sort of rebuttal. He won’t find one. Mason is acting exactly like Mike had as a child.

He’s floundering out there. Will needs to step in. “Alright, new deal,” he says, grabbing Mason's plate from him and clearing a decently sized space with his fork. “You can either stop listening to Mike— just in general— and eat this many vegetables, or I can put a spoon in the pot of carrots and have that be your dinner.”

Mason pouts at him, but does as he says. That’s how you do it, Michael. He’s great at being strict. Maybe he learned something from his father after all.

Mike stares at him, expressionless. “Why do you hate me?” Will tries his hardest to bite back a grin at his tired disappointment, but fails as he continues complaining. “Both of you. I’m being bullied.”

“You make it easy,” Mason shrugs, not looking up from the plate he’s loading with bread. Will can still see the smile that cracks through his mask of indifference. He pats him on the back for that one.

Mike scoffs indignantly, arms thrown out as he gapes at them in offense. He’s doing a great job at keeping his composure— Will can tell how hard he wants to laugh. Mike is proud of that one, too.

Nancy pushes past him to scoop up some broccoli. She smirks, big-sister arrogance rolling off of her in waves. “You’re letting them walk all over you. If you want them to stop, you have to put them in their place.”

Mike lifts a hand to his chest, outraged. “How dare you?” he asks jokingly. “He’s just a baby!”

Mason kicks at Mike’s shoe. “I’m not a baby.”

“No, don’t worry,” he says with an evil, evil smile. “I was talking about Will.”

Will takes his turn kicking at Mike’s shoe. He might accidentally miss.

Mike yelps, grabbing his ankle. He turns on Will, angry. Instead of trapping him in a headlock or tackling him to the floor, like Will had expected, Mike grabs a roll from the table and prepares to chuck it at him.

“Alright!” Will’s mom interrupts before the house can break into a food fight. “Make a mess of my kitchen and you’ll be on the streets tonight, got it?”

“Yes ma’am,” Mike mumbles, dropping the roll to his plate. Will snickers, running off to the dining room, away from Mike’s wrath.

Dinner goes, frankly, better than Will had expected. To be honest, this was the part he’d been the most nervous about before coming here. He thought it might be awkward— no one sure exactly how to communicate with a kid that’s not really their kid. Or, worse, everyone bombarding him with questions.

It seems, however, that they’ve all gotten their bad behavior out of their systems. Jonathan gets asked about his photography business, and Mike his book. Mike’s answer is the same as it had been last summer— he’s halfway through the first draft. To be fair, he hasn’t had much time to work on it lately. Hopper goes on about his newfound boredom in retirement, while Will’s mom tells him— for what is presumably the millionth time— to pick up a hobby. Ted asks Holly to pass the gravy.

It’s almost like normal— like Mason isn’t even here. But he is. Will can see him pushing his carrots around right next to him. Wait—

“Eat them, or no pie,” Will warns quietly in his ear.

Mason huffs, but stabs one onto his fork anyway.

Apparently, that draws Karen’s attention. “Mason,” she suddenly says. Will holds his breath. “How’s school going for you? Do you like it?”

Mason turns to Will, looking conflicted about how to answer. Will doesn’t know what to tell him; it’s up to him how much he wants to share.

Will watches Mike lean in close to whisper, “It’s okay. She expects you to lie.”

“Michael,” Karen chides as Nancy laughs beside her. “I do not expect him to lie. I was asking a genuine question.”

“School’s great,” Mason says, biting down on his bottom lip to contain his smile. Mike has to hide his mouth behind his fist. See? Mason’s fitting in with the Wheelers already.

He doesn’t fit in so well with the Byers. Will learned early on that he can’t just lie to his mother and get away with it; she’s way too perceptive for that. She narrows her eyes at Mason suspiciously, taking a bite of her ham and chewing it slowly. “Is something going on at school?”

Then again, maybe Will is just a shitty liar. Mike seems to avoid her scrutiny just fine. “I mean— he doesn’t like it,” Mike shrugs, not at all panicked like Will would be. “What kid does, right?”

And that’s that. Will needs Mike to teach him his secrets of deception.

Mason gets fidgety near the end of dinner, as do Barb and Abby. Will gets it— they talk too much. He lets Mason excuse himself early as long as he brings his dishes to the sink. There’s no point in keeping him here.

Will gravitates toward the couch once they finish, too full to do anything but close his eyes. The cushion dips beside him, a head coming to rest on his shoulder. “We always eat too much,” Mike says.

Will just hums. He’s done. He’ll be in a food coma for the rest of the night. He’s not moving. Damn their mothers’ cooking.

It’s not until around five-thirty that he starts feeling human again. He tunes into the conversation around him— something about Barb’s tennis lessons. Since when was she taking those?

Another half-hour and he’s joining in on their chat. Nancy is complaining about her supervisors and the frustrating lack of evidence on the topic she’s been assigned to write an article about. Will suggests going out into the field herself, and Jonathan shoots him a glare. Clearly, this isn’t the first time she’s considered it.

Will glances around the crowded living room. Half of the people are forced to sit on dining chairs, and there are about three separate conversations going on at once. He can barely hear himself think over all the noise. He hates the sound of chatter— it makes him feel super overwhelmed. He knows it’s the same for Mike, who normally would be shouting over everyone in the room, but is now oddly silent. That can only mean one thing: it’s time to split off somewhere quieter.

Will stands, pulling Mike to his feet. “I can’t hear you guys,” he tells Nancy and Jonathan. “Do you wanna talk somewhere else?”

“God, yes,” Jonathan agrees easily. “I swear, Hop’s voice carries through the entire house.”

Will chuckles as they head into the kitchen, his ears finally getting a break. He feels like he can suddenly breathe again after being dunked under water.

Mike seems to agree, letting out a sigh of relief. “Do they ever shut up?”

“Let’s just be glad that your obnoxious friends aren’t here as well,” Nancy says, leaning up against the counter beside the sink. Jonathan attaches himself to her side, like always, while he and Mike stay on the opposite side of the island. Will minds his own business, resting his arms on the countertop, but Mike clearly has other ideas. He steps behind Will, caging him in a bear-hug.

Oh, great. He’s in a clingy mood today. He always is, when he’s full and happy. Will supposes he can deal with it. If he must.

Will turns his head— which is all he really can turn— as his mom suddenly appears in the doorway. She hovers there, as if waiting for an invitation. “Is this a sibling-only meeting, or am I allowed to join?”

“If we held a sibling meeting without the girls, I think they’d kill us,” Jonathan replies.

She seems to take this as permission, walking into the room. Will thinks it’s stupid that his mom even asked for permission. “Speaking of girls,” she starts, glancing around the room pointedly. “Where are your children?”

Nancy looks to Jonathan, as Will does to Mike. No clue. “Somewhere,” Nancy shrugs, unbothered.

“You’re a great parent,” Mike says sarcastically.

“Says you! You don’t know either!”

“I’m technically not a real parent,” he argues, which Will isn’t sure he agrees with. If anything, that means that Mike should keep a closer eye on Mason. “And I do so know where he is. He’s in his room. Probably.”

“Probably,” Nancy echoes, unimpressed.

“Yes, probably. Either that or Castle Byers, but he wouldn’t leave the house this late without telling me.”

Nancy raises her eyebrows at him, surprised. “You have a lot of faith in him.”

“Yeah,” Mike says, like it should be obvious. “It’s called trust, Nancy. You should try it sometime.”

Will elbows him— gently, he swears. “Stop bickering. We left to get away from the noise.”

Mike gasps dramatically, tightening his hold on Will's waist uncomfortably. “Did you just call me loud?”

“Yes,” he replies, pushing against Mike’s arms and trying to wiggle free. “You are. Now let me go— I can’t breathe.”

Mike only squeezes harder. Alright, he might have been exaggerating before, but now he’s at serious risk of asphyxiation. “Take it back.”

“Never,” he chokes out, strangled. He would rather die.

“Then you leave me no choice.” By some miracle, the pressure around Will’s lungs lessens to nothing. He takes a deep, reviving breath, too distracted to realize that the mercy is too good to be true. Then comes the assault. “Apologize,” Mike says between kisses to the back of his ticklish neck. He moves up behind Will’s ear, and over to his cheek, flushed with joy.

“Mike! Stop!” he squeals, but he knows he’s smiling like a mad man. He tries to tilt his head away nonetheless, if only to protect his dignity— and to get away from the slobber. “You’re so weird.”

“Apologize or perish.”

Will’s retort dies on his tongue as he notices two new figures in the doorway. They both look on at them with something akin to disappointment, but not surprise. El pushes the boy under her arm into the kitchen, but doesn’t make a move to follow. “Mason was looking for you.” Then, she spins back around and walks away. Fair.

“Mason!” Will reaches out a hand desperately, motioning for him to come closer. “I need to tell you something.”

Mason watches him, skeptical, but does so anyway. As soon as he’s close enough to grab, Will pulls him in by the wrist. Mike takes the bait easily, releasing Will in favor of the new victim.

Will steps to the side with a sigh of relief, feeling only slightly guilty as Mason gets trapped in the arms of Mike. “Sorry,” he says when Mason looks at him in betrayal. “He’s your problem now, too. You live with us— we have to take turns dealing with him.”

Mason gapes at him in dismay, attempting fruitlessly to escape. Mike just smirks like the cruel man he is, and nuzzles his nose into the top of Mason’s hair.

Mason halts for a moment, glancing back at Mike to ask, “Did you drink again?”

Mike freezes, dumbfounded, arms loosening around Mason in the process. Will waits for Mason to take this chance to push away, but he doesn’t. “What? No!” he exclaims, face reddening in embarrassment as he looks up at his mother-in-law. Will can read his thoughts as if they were his own. It’s not like that. You can trust him with me, I swear. I’m not like that asshole.

All she does is raise an eyebrow at him, shocked. Will gets it— it’s unusual for Mike to get drunk. Especially in front of the kids. Will knows his mom isn’t judging him— is more a gesture of concern, if anything.

Mike doesn’t try to defend himself— not yet. Instead, he turns back to whisper in Mason’s ear. “That was a mistake, alright? It’s not going to happen again, I swear. Not now that I know.”

Mason nods, trusting his word as the truth. He continues to squirm around in Mike’s embrace, even though Will is sure he could simply step away if he wanted to. Mike would never restrain him like that— not if he thought he was drunk.

“Then why are you doing this?” he asks, as if he’s being extremely inconvenienced by Mike’s hugs.

“Because I love you,” Mike answers simply.

Mason stills. His entire body seems to tense, an unreadable expression on his face. The room goes dead silent, understanding the severity of the situation almost instantly. This is bad. Will wishes he could tell what Mason is thinking— on a scale from one to ten, how much will he hate them?

It takes Mike a moment to register what he said. When he does, he closes his eyes, cringing to himself. That’s twice now— twice that Mike has accidentally confessed his love for Mason. When will he learn to think before he speaks?

Mason slowly turns around to face Mike. “What?” he asks, voice carefully void of emotion.

Mike seems to be at a loss for words; Will is as well. What can you say to come back from that? Mason takes a swift step to his right, but Mike is quicker, catching his wrist before he can run away. “Mason, wait. Please. I’m sorry.”

Suddenly, the three of them are the only people in the room. Will has no idea when the others left, but he’s grateful for it. Mason glances to the door, probably debating on whether he should make a break for it as well. He doesn’t. Instead, he looks up at Mike expectantly, deciding to hear him out.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I know that’s not what you wanted to hear, and you’re probably mad, and put off, and you might want to leave us, but just— please don’t. I do listen to you, okay? I understand. I know that you don’t want us to love you. You just need a place to stay— I get that. I’m sorry. I’ll never say it again, alright? I’ll never push your boundaries, I swear.”

Reluctant tears start dripping down Mason’s face. No— please no. Don’t cry. Will wishes he could take his pain away. Mason tries his hardest to hold them back, but it seems to be no use. Carefully, he asks, “Did you mean it?”

“Yeah,” Mike admits, even though it would’ve been smarter to lie. How could he? Not about this. “I meant it.”

Mason suddenly crashes into him, wrapping his arms around Mike tightly. He sobs into Mike’s chest, clinging to the back of his shirt for dear life. Mike hovers a hand over Mason’s back, startled. Will feels the same. Is he not mad? Does he not hate their guts?

“I’m sorry,” Mike repeats. “Did I hurt you? Are you upset?”

Mason shakes his head, burrowing further into him. No? He’s not upset? Will finds that hard to believe, seeing as he’s crying his eyes out. Either he’s lying, or… or those are happy tears.

Mike apparently comes to the same conclusion as he sets a hand in Mason’s hair, combing through it gently, the other rubbing circles on his back. “Hey,” he says, voice honey-sweet. “I meant it, alright? I meant it. Of course I did.”

That only makes him sob harder, pushing impossibly close to Mike, who’s starting to produce tears of his own. Will finds that he is as well. He’s just so— surprised. He never thought Mason would want this. He’s always been so distant. Even though he started opening up to them, he’s never given any indication that he does more than tolerate them. He’s made it abundantly clear that he hates the idea of them becoming a family— of being more than a roommate to them. Why is he not yelling?

“Are you sure you’re not mad?” Mike checks. Mason nods, then shakes his head, then shrugs. “That’s okay. That’s fine. It’s alright to be confused right now. Just— can you try to tell me what you want? How can I help you?”

Mason mumbles something into his chest. Will thinks he can make out the word “again.”

He must be right, because Mike’s eyes widen slightly in surprise. He stares down at the top of Mason’s head before saying, “I love you, baby. I love you so much.” Then, he leans down to plant a kiss to Mason’s hair.

Will can’t help it. He covers his mouth to muffle the sob that escapes him. It’s no use— Mike notices anyway, giving him an odd look. “Why are you just standing there watching us like a creep? Come here.”

Will quickly shuffles over, practically throwing himself on top of them both. “I didn’t want to interrupt your moment,” he says through another wave of tears.

Mike flicks his head. “Don’t be an idiot.”

Will can’t stop the smile from spreading over his face. He’s stupidly happy. This is everything he’s ever wanted. Even if Mason never loves them back, he’s still allowing them to love him. That will always be enough. “I love you too, Mace,” he whispers, kissing his temple. He might be imagining it, but he thinks Mason leans into the touch.

It takes a while for Mason to calm down enough to pull back, but when he does his face is all red and splotchy. Mike’s shirt has a bit of snot on it, but he doesn’t mention it— he just brushes Mason’s bangs off his forehead, settling his hand behind his ear and tilting his head up, so Mike can gaze down at him in awe. He plants another peck to the now-exposed skin as Will runs to grab a paper towel. “You alright?”

“I think so,” Mason replies. Will returns to his side, dabbing underneath his eyes and rubbing his nose. He looks better, but still a mess.

Mike tilts his head, as if suddenly remembering something. “You came to find us. What did you need?”

Mason looks down at his feet, a shy smile creeping up on his lips. Will is glad. It seems like forever ago since he’s last seen him smile. “I wanted pie.”

“I think they’re waiting for us to get out of the kitchen first,” Will tells him. “You ready to go back out, or do you need a minute?”

He takes a deep breath, then says, “I’m ready.” As they start toward the door, Mason suddenly pauses in his steps. Will and Mike look back at him in question, and he narrows his eyes at them. “I still don’t like you.”

Will rolls his eyes, scooping up Mason’s arm in his. Of course he doesn’t. Will definitely believes that, after the scene he just made. For sure. Liking them? That would be too much.

Will understands now why Mason ate so little at dinner— he was saving room for dessert. Mason must eat his weight in pie. He takes a large slice of every flavor they have. Will doesn’t stop him; he can’t just go back on his word. Mason had his singular vegetable— he can do what he wants.

Only now, he’s the one in a food coma. He wanders into the living room after Will, plopping down on the couch next to him. Will pats his arm in sympathy, and Mason only moves closer, resting his head on Will’s shoulder.

So they’re cuddling. Literally cuddling, as Will slides an arm behind him, Mason curling his own around Will’s waist. He isn’t sure if it’s the full belly making Mason act this way, or their earlier discussion. Either way, he’ll take it.

“Tired?” he asks, softly petting his head.

“Mhm,” Mason nods, causing his cheek to nestle into him. Will might combust.

Before Will can tell him to take a nap, Nancy returns from whatever she was doing in the other room. Probably washing dishes or something, along with Mike. She moves to sit beside Jonathan on the love seat next to them, but slows as she meets Mason’s eyes.

“Geez, kid. Relax,” she says, tossing her arms up in surrender. “I’m not going to steal him from you.”

What? What does she mean? Will feels little arms tighten around him. One glance down at Mason’s face answers his question; he’s practically glowering at Nancy, even as she sits a good five feet away from them.

Is Mason… jealous? No. He couldn’t be. Protective, maybe. Still, Will can feel butterflies swarm in his stomach at the prospect. Mason is getting territorial— over him. Sure, maybe it’s because Will is acting as his pillow— but he has a feeling that’s not the real reason.

Will rubs at his arm until he relaxes, turning his gaze from Nancy. He eventually closes his eyes, and Will keeps one ear on his breathing as he starts up a conversation with Jonathan. It doesn’t take long to even out; it’s been a long day for all of them.

He checks once to make sure he’s actually asleep. Yep, his eyes are definitely still shut. He’s so adorable like this— at peace. Will never thought they’d get to the point where Mason would be comfortable sleeping in front of them, let alone their families. He’s so proud.

Will startles at the sound of Jonathan’s voice, quiet as it may be. “I haven’t seen that look on you in a while.”

He furrows his eyebrows in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“When you and Mike first got together, you had this look of… adoration. And— astonishment, almost, like you couldn’t believe that you finally got to hold him like that. It’s nice, seeing it again.”

Did he? He never realized. He knew his feelings for Mike were obvious, but not that much. He guesses that if anyone were to notice Will’s lovestruck expressions, it would be Jonathan.

“Yeah,” Will says, sneaking another peek at Mason. “It’s nice feeling it again. I don’t make it easy on myself, do I?”

Jonathan laughs. “I think you’re allergic to falling for people who already love you. You like the challenge.”

Maybe he does. Or maybe he’s just really, really unlucky. He doesn’t feel unlucky. Not at all.

It’s when the girls find their way into Jonathan and Nancy’s arms, fast asleep in seconds, that they get up to say their goodbyes. Will bids his farewells from the couch, apologizing for not giving them a proper hug like usual. Jonathan shakes him off, saying that he understands what it’s like to have a kid dose off on him. He nods to his own chest, where the proof is evident.

It affects Will more than he’d expect it to. He’s bonding with his brother about having children— about dad things. He can relate to dad things, even if he isn’t technically a dad. He has the experience; no one can take that away from him.

Once the house has finally lowered to about half its previous capacity, Mike wanders back into the living room. He stops as he sees them, Mason still attached to Will’s side like a koala. Will lifts a finger to his lips, as if Mike needs any warning.

Now he’s wondering how he’ll even get the little man to his bed. Should he wake him up? That seems a bit cruel. Will could probably— definitely— carry him. Would Mason complain if he caught them? Say that they’re embarrassing him, or something?

Will can take a bit of whining, he decides. He felt so jealous all those times he watched Jonathan pick up his daughters from the couch and tuck them into bed. It’s, like, a father’s right of passage. And if Will is playing honorary father, he’s tucking Mason in, goddamn it.

Will slides to the edge of the cushion, hooking one arm below Mason’s armpit, the other under his knees. He shifts his weight, testing his grip. He can do it, easy. Mike hurries close to him as he stands, making sure Will doesn’t fall flat on his ass. He won’t; Mason is almost startlingly light.

As Will makes the short walk down the hallway, he swears he sees Mason smile. But that’s impossible— he’s clearly asleep. No child would ever fake sleep to be carried into their bedroom.

He shakes his head fondly, turning to Mike. “Thank god Mason isn’t awake. ‘Cause now I can go on and on about how much I love you and want to kiss you, and no one is around to tell me not to.”

Mike, catching on immediately, steals a glance at Mason. His expression has turned to a grimace, and he’s definitely fighting to keep his eyes closed. “Oh, that’s right,” Mike says, pushing open the door to Mason’s room. “You look very handsome in your sweater that you stole from my side of the closet.”

Alright, when did this turn into nitpicking every single thing Will does? They’re supposed to be bullying Mason here, not him.

Will rolls his eyes, setting Mason onto his mattress as Mike pulls back the covers. He smoothes them back over his shoulders, leaning down to peck him on the cheek. “Night, love. Sweet dreams.”

That time, there’s definitely a smile.

Will doesn’t think sweet dreams were really in the cards tonight. Well, not for everyone. Will himself doesn’t dream at all. He barely even remembers falling asleep; which is why it’s such a shock to his system when he’s shaken awake at what must be early morning.

His eyes shoot open in a panic, his heart both accelerating and settling as he sees Mason hovering over him, a nervous expression on his face. “What’s wrong?” he asks blearily, instantly going to sit up.

Mason looks down at the floor in what seems like embarrassment. Will can’t even bring himself to wonder why. He’s fucking tired. “Where’s the laundry room?”

The laundry room? It’s— 1:33 a.m. Why would he need the—

Oh. Okay. Laundry room. Right.

Will pulls the blankets off of him, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “I’ve got it. Don’t worry.”

“No,” Mason says loudly, holding his hands up to Will’s chest. He winces, peeking over at Mike’s sleeping body to see if he shifts. He doesn’t. “I can do it. It’s okay. You can sleep.”

Will doubts he really means that. He understands not wanting to feel like a burden— like he made a mess for someone else to clean up. He just wishes that Mason didn’t think like that as well. Will wants to help him. He wants Mason to lean on him— to trust him.

He sighs, setting a hand on Mason’s cheek. He swipes a thumb across it, finding it unnaturally cold. He’s been crying. Poor baby. It had to happen today? While they’re on vacation? Away from the safety of their house? “Have you showered?” Will asks. Mason shakes his head. “Alright. Why don’t you do that, then? I’ll take care of everything else. Is that okay?”

Hesitantly, he nods. Good. That’s good.

Will stands, guiding Mason out of the room and into the hallway. He stops by the bathroom, instructing Mason to leave his clothes in a pile outside the door. Then, he strips Mason’s bed clean, starts the load of laundry, and grabs a rag from the cupboard to scrub as much of the stain from Mason’s mattress as possible. He thinks he just succeeds in soaking it through with soapy water.

Mason returns not long after, dressed in brand new pajamas. “Hey,” Will says breathlessly, straightening his back from where he’d been hunched over the bed; the bed that’s not exactly fit for sleeping at the moment. “Uhh…” he looks between it and Mason. “Do you want to stay with me and Mike tonight?”

Mason raises his eyebrows, scandalized. “Like, in your room?”

“Yeah, well— your bed’s kind of wet. Sorry. I guess you could put your comforter over it? But then you’d be cold. There’s always the couch, if you’d prefer to be alone. But, I mean, we’d be fine sharing with you. It’s probably the most comfortable option.”

Will feels like such a liar. There’s nothing he’s really lying about— the couch is uncomfortable, and Will would be worried about the water seeping through any blankets they put down. He can’t say he isn’t unbiased, though. He wants Mason to cuddle with them. Is that a crime?

With only a moment’s consideration, Mason agrees. “Alright.”

Wow, okay. That was easy. Will grabs him by the hand— again, way too easily— and leads them back to his own bed.

Mike, apparently having stayed fast asleep the entire time he was gone, only stirs as Mason starts to climb in. “Hey,” he says, voice slurred and groggy. “What’s up?”

“Nightmare,” Will lies. Well, actually, it’s probably a pretty accurate guess. “Mason’s sleeping with us tonight.”

“Oh, ‘m sorry,” he replies. “You wanna talk about it?”

Mason shakes his head, pulling the blankets over himself.

“Alright.” Mike reaches for Mason, slinging an arm around his waist and dragging him in close, back-to-chest. Mason only looks up at Will in exasperation.

If he thinks Will is going to save him, he’s poorly mistaken. He should know by now that getting caught by Mike is a death sentence. He’s stuck there now.

Will smiles down at them, then flops back onto his still-warm pillow. He throws his arm around them both, and curls into Mason’s front. There— caged in on either side. Mason is truely fucked now.

And Will— well, he has a full bed. What more could he want?

Chapter Text

Mason doesn’t seem too pleased about returning to the Wheelers’ house on Friday. Mike, for once, is. This is the last time the Party will be together all year. Besides— they never exactly finished their campaign the other day. Mike was obviously in a rotten mood, Will and El were both worried about Mason, and Suzie was shooting Dustin angry looks. Dustin decided to call it a night after only thirty minutes.

Mike feels kind of bad— Dustin has been working hard on that campaign for weeks. Then again, he can’t really offer up that much sympathy, given why they even had to stop in the first place.

Dustin did end up apologizing to Mason. He explained that he was only trying to treat Mason as he would anyone else, but he forgot that they didn’t really know each other well enough to joke like that. Mason glared at Mike accusingly, but he just innocently threw his hands up; he really didn’t tattle.

Mike hopes today will run smoother. He’s decided to give Dustin another chance, because he’s super generous and forgiving. Obviously, he wants Mason to join them again, but he tries to keep his expectations low.

“Hey,” Mike says to Mason as Dustin begins to unpack his notes. He crouches down in front of the couch, where Mason is chatting away with El about something or another. He promptly stops his conversation, shifting his attention to Mike. “Would you want to maybe try playing with us again? You don’t have to— you can just watch. Or you can tune us out completely. It’s up to you.”

Mason chews his lip in contemplation, watching the set-up carefully. He looks back at El when she sets a hand on his elbow. “I’ll be playing, if that helps. And if anyone’s mean, I’ll tell them to knock it off.”

“I’ll tell them to go to hell,” Mike adds. It seems to work, as Mason’s lips quirk up in a small smile.

“Okay,” he says eventually. “It was kind of fun.”

“Really?” Mike asks, pleasantly surprised. He didn’t think he enjoyed it that much. Mason should not have admitted that; who knew he was a secret nerd? “Good. I’m glad. And, you know, if you want to play when we get back home, we can definitely do that. Just us and Will.”

“Can Miss El come?”

Mike and El share a smile. Mason really does love her, doesn’t he? For some reason, Mike isn’t envious of that this time around. Maybe it’s because his feelings are out in the air; Mason hasn’t rejected his love while accepting El’s. They can both love Mason at the same time. El isn’t going to take his place, because their relationships are entirely different.

If they ever become a family— a real family— wouldn’t that make El his aunt? Mike wants that. He wants Mason to have an aunt. He wants Mason to have family other than them— for him to become integrated with their family. Mike can feel any lingering jealousy float away at the thought.

“She’s more than welcome,” Mike tells him, but he’s still staring at El. “If she agrees to come. She always turns down our invites, but I’m sure she’ll drive over for you. I guess Will and I aren’t cute enough for her anymore.” He fakes a dramatic sigh.

El rolls her eyes, smacking him on the arm. “You were never cute enough for me. Come on, Mason,” she stands from the couch, holding a hand out to help him up.

That’s just rude. Not entirely incorrect, but still.

Mike trails behind them to the table. He stops right behind Mason, setting his hands on his shoulders. “Hey,” he says to the others, but it’s mainly directed at Dustin. Will has already claimed the corner seat nearest to him, Max on Will’s other side. Mike doesn’t know what they’re gossiping about, but it’s probably him. “Deal us in.”

Dustin doesn’t seem to find his joke funny, raising an eyebrow at him. His face lights up as he sees Mason, though. “Oh, hey! I’m glad you’re joining us. The story was just about to get interesting.”

Mason watches Dustin with a nearly neutral expression, but Mike can see the hesitance. Mike pulls out a chair— leaving the one across from Will empty for himself— and encourages him to sit. When Mason does, gaze still locked on Dustin, he tucks him into the table.

“Don’t worry,” Mike says, narrowing his eyes at his so-called friend. “He’ll be on his best behavior. Won’t you, Dustin?”

He nods rapidly. “Definitely. I’ve learned my lesson.”

“That’s right. And if you aren’t?”

Dustin sighs, hanging his head. “Banishment from the basement.”

Mike grins brightly, straightening up to full height to ruffle his hair. “Good boy.” He evades Dustin’s resulting swat with his cat-like reflexes, ducking into his chair. His foot instantly finds Will’s, ankles hooking under the table with practiced ease.

Lucas laughs from across the table, taking a seat of his own. “Alright, ladies. Are we playing or not?”

Dustin snorts, setting their character pieces on the board. “You sound like Erica.”

“Hey! Don’t be a jerk.”

“You’re seriously offended by that? Man, you should wish you were like Erica. I don’t see you skipping Thanksgiving to work on your doctorate.”

“I’m an engineer! I don’t need a doctorate— I’m getting along fine with my masters.”

Mike sees a shadow creep into his vision on his right, and looks over to find Mason leaning in. He tips his head downward to lend Mason his ear.

“Are they always fighting?” he whispers.

Mike chuckles under his breath. “Yeah, pretty much. You get used to it.”

The argument must have come to some sort of conclusion— Mike wouldn’t know, because he’s learned to tune them out— as the room is suddenly ten times quieter. Lucas is now watching Mike with a strange look; disgust, maybe, which he doesn’t appreciate. “Well that’s cursed,” he says without preamble, pointing a finger along Mike’s entire side of the table.

“What is?” Mike asks, not lacking on the attitude front.

“You three,” he explains. Mike looks down the row, just now noticing that El has placed herself on Mason’s other side. “You and El sitting there with a kid between you. This is, like, the bad ending.”

Really? He dated her for two years when he was thirteen. Are they ever going to let that go? Every damn time. He’ll be bullied for eternity.

“Damn,” Max joins in, like a traitor. “Left out again, Will. Is this your nightmare scenario?”

Will suddenly snaps to attention, dragging his eyes away from Mike and toward the direction of the noise. “Huh?”

The others snicker around them. Mike will strangle them all.

Before he can, he receives a swift kick to the shin. He yelps.

“Oh— they’re playing footsie!” Max says, voice full of disdain. “This really is like old times, huh? Stop cheating right in front of your wife, Michael.”

“She’s not my wife! That was one time!”

“One time that we all had to suffer through,” Dustin says. Alright— that’s not necessary. No one suffered more than Mike. Except maybe El. And definitely Will. But they weren’t that awful to be around.

Mike cringes at the shriek that comes from beside him. “You kissed Miss El?”

He turns his head slowly, afraid to face the expression Mason must be pulling. It’s impressive, honestly. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone so horrified. “We… dated. A while,” he replies.

Impossibly, Mason becomes even more traumatized. “Gross!”

“He didn’t know?” Max asks, absolutely giddy. Mike is so screwed. “Mason— I have a lot to tell you.”

“Alright,” Mike interrupts. “We’re done. Let’s play now.”

“I don’t know,” Will says with a wicked grin. “I was kind of enjoying it.”

Wow. Mike gets how it is. He draws back his foot with a huff.

The actual game goes fine, to Mike’s surprise. There are minimal arguments, and Dustin remains silent on each and every one of Mason’s turns. Lucas and Will even give him a couple pointers of their own.

They must be nearing the end as Barb and Abby come down after nap time. They aren’t really fans of D&D— they’d much rather play with dolls or whatever little girls do— so Mike expects them to immediately head back upstairs with their parents.

Abby doesn’t. She walks up next to Mike and sets her little hands on the table, peeking over the top. “What are you doing?”

“Playing our game,” he answers, smiling at Abby’s disappointment. “What, not interesting enough for you?”

“I wanted to play with you,” she complains, tugging on the sleeve of Mike’s shirt as if he’d just ditch his friends at the drop of a hat. He would, but not right this moment.

“You can,” Mike says, grabbing onto her waist and hauling her up into his lap. She squeals a laugh— always so ticklish. “There. Now you can play.”

“Not like this! Do my game.”

“Not right now, babe.” Mike leans down to kiss her hair, then grabs his dice from the table. “Maybe later. You can roll for me, though. Here. Get a high number.”

Abby takes them from his hand, dumping them all at once. It doesn’t really matter what the results are— there’s nothing to roll for right now anyway. “Did I do good?” she asks, excited.

“Oh, absolutely. You did great. Up top.” Mike holds out his palm. When she smacks it, he brings it back down to hug her tightly. He wishes that Mason would let him do this. Abigail makes it so easy. He’s not looking forward to her teenage years; she’ll never allow this again.

She keeps up her duty as dice roller for the remaining thirty minutes of the session. She’s not great; some of the worst luck he’s ever seen, nearly getting him killed twice. The damage he does do against the dragon is minimal. He’s starting to think that rolling is a skill after all, and Abby is painfully bad at it.

Will manages to just about keep him alive until the dragon is dead. The others call favoritism, which Mike can’t even argue with. He smugly agrees. They should get a magical healing boyfriend if they're so jealous.

Mason in particular does great, which Mike comments on multiple times. He doesn’t seem too pleased with the praise, but Mike chalks that up to him being an embarrassing loser. Teenagers.

Eager to stand and stretch, they begin to clean up the table— and by “they,” Mike means the adults. Mason instantly retreats back to the couch without a second thought, and Abby most likely heads to the huge bucket of his old toys.

Except, when Mike turns around, Abby is the one on the couch. Panicked, he scans the room until he finds Mason huddled away in the far corner, sifting through his old bookshelf. He breathes out a sigh of relief. Mason hasn’t run off into the night. Or— the afternoon. Mike seriously needs to work on his separation anxiety.

He lets Mason do his own thing, sitting beside Abigail and pulling her into his lap once again. “So— have any fun?”

She shrugs, like she wasn’t smiling the whole time. Mike knows this tactic— she’s going to ask for something. “Can we watch a movie?”

He shouldn’t give in— he’s too clever for that. But if he says no to this, he’ll have to play with her later. On the cold, hard floor. He’s comfortable here; and he really wouldn’t mind a movie.

He agrees— not because he’s spineless in the face of adorable nieces, but because he wants to.

They put on The Little Mermaid— again, because Mike wants to watch it. He loves mermaids, and princesses, and abandoning your friends and family for a guy you saw literally two times. It’s great. Great messaging.

For the second time today, he’s forced to remember his relationship with El. Chucking everything he loved out the window for a stupid summer romance that would never last, an angry man throwing a tantrum because he’s over-protective of his daughter, thinking that romance is the be-all end-all? He really was insane. And Ariel really is a child. Maybe King Triton was in the right the whole time.

Mike barely notices when Abigail wanders off; not until he hears Mason’s voice, still hidden in the corner. “Go away.”

Suddenly, the movie is the last thing on his mind. He swivels his head to see Abby standing in front of Mason with a set of Legos in her hands. “Play with me,” she says, holding them out to him.

“No.”

“Abby,” Mike calls out. “I don’t think he wants to play, hon. Come back— I’ll build something with you.”

She, of course, doesn’t listen. She turns back to Mason immediately, flashing her best puppy-dog eyes. “Please? You can help me and Uncle Mike.”

Mason visibly clenches his jaw. Maybe Mike should step in before they really start bickering. He shifts his weight forward, slowly preparing to stand. “You’re so annoying.”

Alright— that’s a bit mean. Abigail doesn’t seem to think so. Apparently, she takes his stubbornness as a challenge. She rises on her tip-toes, pushing the box further into his space. “Please, please, please, please—“

Mason shoves her. Hard. She staggers back a couple steps before finally losing her balance and falling onto her butt.

Now that is too far. “Hey!” Mike exclaims loudly. Mason flinches; it’s barely perceptible, but Mike notices. He doesn’t care, frankly. Mason does not get to lay his hands on someone and get away with it. “Nuh uh. Come here,” he demands, stern and angry.

Mason crosses his tense arms. “No.”

That’s how he wants to play this? Mike would have let him off with a warning, but if he’s going to be an ass about it he can deal with the consequences. “Mason Santiago Montoya. Get your butt over here.”

He sees a frustrated tongue poke into Mason’s cheek, but he complies anyway, starting toward Mike with clenched fists. Mike can hear someone laugh in the background, whispering, “Someone hurt his princess,” and it takes every ounce of restraint not to throttle them. Not the time. This isn’t funny in the slightest.

Mason’s cheeks are burning when he finally stops in front of Mike, but he isn’t sure whether it's from embarrassment or rage. Either way, Mike lowers his voice, but his tone isn’t any nicer. “Drop the attitude. I don’t want to see it. You aren’t allowed to have an attitude right now.”

Mason rolls his eyes, but keeps them trained on the ground.

Mike, politely, ignores him. “We don’t hit.”

“I didn’t hit her,” he argues, still with way too much sass.

“We don’t shove, either.”

“She’s fine,” he grumbles.

She is. He’s lucky she is. If she had gotten hurt, Mike doesn’t know what he’d do. She’s a tough kid— didn’t even cry or anything. Just picked herself back up and wandered over to Suzie for sympathy hugs.

“I don’t care. She might not have been,” Mike says. Mason's expression doesn’t change. They won’t get anywhere like this— not when he’s putting on his tough act. “Upstairs. Now.”

Mike stands, catching Will’s eye from the sofa, then looks to the doorway in a silent request. He needs all the help he can get. Will quickly joins them on their feet, gluing himself to Mike’s arm as they start toward the stairs. Mike can always count on him to be supportive.

“You better be following,” Mike says to Mason without turning back. He stomps up the steps to the first floor, and then the second. Before he can reach for the handle of his old room, Mason pushes past them both and slams the door in their faces.

Mike just stares at it, open-mouthed and dumbfounded. He points a finger at the closed door, turning to Will with furrowed brows. “What the fuck is wrong with him?” Mason can be difficult, but he’s never this difficult.

Will just levels him with a look, like he should be well aware of what’s going on. He isn’t— not in the slightest. “Mike.”

“What?” he asks emphatically.

“Come on. You cannot be that dense.”

He is. He is that dense. And Mike doesn’t appreciate being treated like an idiot. He hates whatever stupid game they’re playing. Just fucking tell him. “Will, what the hell are you talking about?”

Will sighs, like he’s the one being messed with here, and shoots a glance at the door. He grabs Mike’s arm, pulling him back a step, then leans in closer to whisper, “He’s jealous, Mike.”

What? No. How? Of what? “Of me?”

“Of Abby. She’s obviously your favorite in the family, and you treat her like it.”

“She’s not my favorite,” Mike protests, crossing his arms defensively and dropping his eyes to his feet. He doesn’t have favorites. That’s not fair. He likes everyone in their own way. Sure, maybe he gets along with Abigail better than he does most. And maybe Abigail has a bit of a preference toward him as well. And maybe the family teases them about it a little too much.

Oh shit.

Mike looks back up at Will, whose eyebrows are raised expectantly. He seems to be waiting patiently for Mike to come to some sort of realization. Bastard. He has, but still. “You really think he’s jealous?” Mike asks.

“I mean, yeah. Mike, you’ve been all over her this whole trip— since the moment we arrived at my mom’s. It’s easy to understand why he’d be lashing out at her. She’s your baby. Trust me— I know what it’s like to be jealous over you. This is it.”

Huh. Mike should feel guilty, right? And he does; his gut sinks like it’s full of rocks. He’d gotten so angry at Mason, when it’d been his fault the whole time. He hurt Mason without realizing it. How could he not realize it?

But another part of him— a secret, selfish part— is thrilled. Mason is jealous— because Mike is spending time with another kid. He’s possessive of Mike’s attention. He wants his attention.

“Okay,” Mike finally says. “But that doesn’t mean what he did was okay. Starting an argument is one thing, but this? It’s too far.”

“I completely agree,” Will says, gesturing toward the door. Mike is glad— he thought he might have been overreacting here. He does tend to lead with his emotions when it comes to Abigail. “Do your worst.”

Oh, he will. Mason has a big storm coming.

When Mike enters the room, Mason is sitting on the bed and glaring at the wall in front of him. His hand is gripping the comforter like he wants to tear a hole in it. He doesn’t look over as Mike wanders in, or as he perches himself on the side of the mattress.

Mike takes a deep breath. He’s pissed. The only time he’s ever come close to being this upset with Mason was when he ran away— and back then, his feelings were mostly clouded with fear. He was way too anxious to scold him properly. Mike could do a lot of damage right now. He needs to be careful; levelheaded.

He feels a hand settle on his lower back, and finds Will standing beside him. He sends up a grateful smile. He can do this. Calm. Collected.

“Hey,” Mike taps on one of Mason’s knees. He still doesn’t pay him any attention. “What you did was wrong, okay? I know you were annoyed, but you don’t just get to shove people. Especially not kids who are younger than you. Or girls. Or people you love. Now, if it was that bully who had been picking on you, maybe I’d look the other way.”

Will nudges him with his elbow.

“No, I wouldn’t,” Mike corrects himself. It’s a lie— he totally would. “Don’t shove people. Period. We use our words to fight. Got it?”

Mason doesn’t answer. He just mutters a quiet, “I don’t love her.”

“Well I do,” he replies. Mason rolls his eyes. Right. That probably wasn’t the best thing to say. Mason knows Mike loves her— that’s the entire problem. “So does Will,” he tries instead. “And Nancy really loves her. If something happened to Abby, she’d actually kill me. And then Will would get all depressed because I’m the love of his life and he can’t live without me. Then where would you be?”

Will doesn’t seem to like his joke very much, because he elbows him once again. Aren’t they supposed to be teaching Mason that violence isn’t the answer?

“Seriously though,” Will says, valiantly attempting to get the conversation back on track. “To Abby, you’re a big scary man. You don’t like it when big scary men hurt you, do you? So don’t do it to her.” Will crouches down on the ground and reaches for Mason’s hand. “I know you hate to talk about it, but you didn’t grow up with the best role models. I don’t want you to think that this kind of behavior is okay. Child abuse is a cycle— and we do not fall into that cycle. Your dad was a bad person. Don’t be like him.”

Will’s voice is firm and caring at the same time. Mike has no idea how he manages to do that; he feels like he can never find the balance between yelling and being a total pushover.

Mason still doesn’t say anything. The anger has seemed to drain from him, at least. His glare has softened into a look of regret, and his head hangs slightly in shame.

“Mason. Eyes on me,” Will tugs on his hand until he glances up. “You do this again and there will be consequences. Understand? You’re a good kid. Make good choices.”

Will’s eyebrows pinch together as a tear slips down Mason’s face. “Hey,” he says gently, wiping it from his cheek. “What’s the matter, sweetie?”

Mason shakes his head, averting his gaze. He sniffles loudly as he begins to cry in earnest.

Mike sets a hand on his jaw, tilting his head back toward him. “Mason, what’s wrong? Were we too harsh? Did we hurt your feelings?”

He shakes his head again, holding back a sob.

Mike doesn’t know what to do. He’s completely lost. “Can you talk to us? Please? Just tell us what’s going on.”

He takes a couple ragged breaths. “Do you still—“ he starts, before cutting himself off. Will scoots closer in encouragement, squeezing his hand. It takes another few seconds for Mason to finish his thought, so quiet that Mike almost doesn’t hear it. “You don’t love me anymore.”

It’s not even phrased as a question— like Mason knows they could never love him after this. And that’s just— so outrageous. It’s so wrong that Mike scoops Mason up in the tightest embrace he can muster.

“Of course we still love you, baby. We’ll always love you— no matter what. There’s nothing you can do to change that.”

Mason squeezes him harder than he thought possible. Mike just rubs soothing circles on his back as Mason cries into his shirt. He feels another arm wrap around him, and hears Will’s voice loud in his ear. “We’re mad. We’re going to be mad at you in the future, too— but that doesn’t mean we love you any less. Our love is never conditional, got that?”

Mason nods, and Will kisses the top of his head.

As he begins to settle down, Will decides to sit on the bed as well, sandwiching Mason between them. They continue to hold him, one arm each around his waist. “So,” Mike starts, once he thinks Mason can hold a conversation. “Are we going to talk about why you’re really upset?”

“What are you talking about?” Mason asks, but it doesn’t sound convincing in the slightest.

“You’re telling me that you shoved Abby to the ground because she got in your face a bit? Come on.” When Mason doesn’t reply, Mike bumps his side. “You can be honest. I can’t help unless I know what’s going on.”

Mike wants to hear him admit it. He wants Mason to trust him enough to come to him with this. Even just a fraction of Mason’s thoughts would be enough.

“You like her,” he says eventually, arms crossed.

“I do,” he agrees. Mason only scowls at the floor. “But not any more than I like you. It’s just… a different kind of love. She’s my niece. I see her maybe two or three times a year. And she’s growing up so fast; I want to squeeze in as much time with her as possible. She’s not the one coming home with me. She’s not the one I make lunch for every day. She’s not the one I’m sitting with now, even after she got knocked to the ground by an asshole.” Mike lifts one of his hands to flick him lightly on the temple. Mason cracks a small smile. “It’s not comparable. It doesn’t mean I love either of you any less— it’s just different.”

Mason leans into his grasp, resting his head on Mike’s shoulder. “I wanted to play your game with you,” he admits softly. Man— now Mike feels really guilty. He fucked that up, didn’t he? That was supposed to be their special bonding moment, but he handed it over to Abby. Now that he thinks about it, that’s when Mason started acting a bit distant.

“I’m sorry. That was shitty of me. I promise I’ll try to divide my attention more equally from now on. D&D can just be our thing. We’re going to play back home, yeah? No little girls?”

“Yeah,” he says. He sounds content enough with that.

“Alright. But I will still have to hang out with Abby. I’m her uncle— I can’t just ignore her. Do you promise to let me know if you’re getting jealous? No more violence?”

“I’m not jealous,” Mason says defensively. Mike jostles him. He sighs, defeated. “I promise.”

“Good,” Mike smiles, ruffling his hair. “We need to teach you how to share.”

“I know how to share. I share everything. I just don’t like to.”

Well— yeah, Mike guesses that’s true. He used to live in a building with over a dozen kids. That might get a little frustrating. Is that why he’s so territorial over his stuff? Because he doesn’t want to share it?

Maybe sharing his foster parents is a step too far. Mike can work with that.

Mike gives him another lingering kiss to the head. He doesn’t retreat back— just nuzzles his nose in closer. “You know I’m yours, right? You come first, always. Abby has her own parents— she loves them more than she loves me. And that’s fine; it’s how our relationship works. You and Will are my everything. If you wanted to go to college in Europe, I’d pack up and move in an instant. My world revolves around you now— not anyone else.”

Mason is silent for a while. Mike assumes that he’s thinking things over, until he sees Will’s sleeved hand reach out to wipe under his eyes. He pecks his cheek, then wipes that away as well when Mason reaches up to do it himself. “Love you,” Will whispers.

Mason sniffles loudly. “I’m sorry.”

“I know you are,” Will says. “Thank you for apologizing. But we’re not the ones who need to hear that.”

He groans, pulling away from Will and tucking himself into Mike’s chest. Mike doesn’t know why— it’s not like he’s on Mason’s side here. “Do I have to?”

Mike pats his back with faux-sympathy. “Unfortunately. Your actions do have consequences. I think an apology is the least you could do.”

“Fine,” he pouts, pushing himself to his feet. Good. This will be easier than Mike thought.

As they reach the bottom of the first flight of stairs, Mike catches a glimpse of Abigail sitting on Nancy’s lap in the living room. He grabs Mason’s wrist to stop him from running away, and calls out, “Abby? Can we talk to you for a minute?”

Nancy picks her up before she can hop off the couch, carrying her over to the staircase with a wary look on her face.

“I know, Nance,” Mike says as she steps into the hallway. “Just— trust me.”

Evidently she does, because she sets Abby on the floor in front of Mason. She crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow expectantly. Mason mirrors her stance, glaring down at the floor. His pride is about to be wounded, but Mike honestly doesn’t care. He’s not even going to tell Nance to walk away, to spare Mason some embarrassment.

After several seconds of nothing, Will elbows Mason in the side. He huffs a breath out of his nose, but untenses his jaw enough to speak. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

Mike kind of wants to force a more sincere apology out of him, but he doesn’t want to push his luck. He claps Mason on the back. “Good. Abby? Do you forgive him?”

She nods, moving in for a hug. Mike quickly throws his arm out in front of Mason, stopping her before she can make contact. She frowns at him, confused; this is what Mike gets for teaching her that hugs come after apologies. He crouches down to her eye level, holding her by the shoulders. “Thank you— that’s very nice of you. But Mason doesn’t really like hugs, alright? Can you try to give him a bit of extra space? And if he says ‘no’ to something, can you respect his wishes?”

She tilts her head in that way she usually does when Mike uses too big of words. Then, slowly, she nods again. Great. Glad they’re done with this mess. He pats her arms, standing back up. Before he can turn to leave, Abigail grabs his hand. “Can we play now?”

Shit. He doesn’t want to go back on his word— especially not after she fell. But he also doesn’t want to abandon Mason after all the promises he made. Unless—

Mike smiles mischievously. This is perfect. Mason could use a punishment anyway, right? He’s being a responsible guardian.

“Would you like to color, Abs? Mason is a really good colorer. I’m sure he’d love to show you.”

Mason turns to him, horrified, as Abigail gasps in delight. “Yes! I want to play with Mason.”

Will hides a laugh behind one of his hands, then bends down to carry Abby on his hip. “And he wants to play with you. Isn’t that right, Mason?”

Mason stares at him in betrayal. Will sends him a look that says, agree, or you’ll be dealing with much worse. He grits his teeth, managing to choke out a spiteful, “Yes.”

“Good. Let’s go, Abby,” he says as he leads her down to the basement.

Nancy gives Mike a smile before retreating back into the living room. He would think she was almost proud of him if he didn’t know her better.

“Why do you always punish me with art?” Mason complains, turning to follow after Will.

“Because you act like it’s the end of the world every time,” Mike says. “Clearly it’s working.”

When they step into the basement, Will is lowering Abby to her feet. He and El are having some sort of conversation with their eyes that Mike didn’t catch the first half of; probably asking if everything went alright. Mike thinks it did.

Mike moves over to the coffee table, maneuvering his legs into criss-cross on the floor. He motions for Mason to join him. “Would you like to sit on my lap?”

Mason scowls at him, plopping down onto the carpet beside him instead. “No,” he grumbles, reaching for a pack of colored pencils that Will has brought over. He’s avoiding his gaze as if trying to get back at Mike for his punishment. Unfortunately, he’s succeeding. Mike hates it.

“Alright. Abby is going to, then. Is that alright?” he asks, hovering his hands over her waist to pull her down.

Mason’s head snaps toward him, the frown lines on his forehead deepening. He looks hurt— genuinely hurt. Mike doesn’t have any idea why he would be. He thought they cleared everything up. Mike is going to continue his affections towards Abby as normal, and Mason is going to tell him when to stop. If he isn’t comfortable with this, he can just say so. “Stop making fun of me.”

Mike’s hand shoots out to grab Mason’s, eyes widening. “I’m not making fun of you,” he says quietly, suddenly aware of all the people in the room. How could Mason ever think that he would? In front of all his friends? He might be cruel, but he’s not a bully. “I’m asking. Is it alright if she sits on my lap?”

Mason searches his face for any traces of dishonesty. Mike knows he won’t find any. When he doesn’t, he glances down at his lap and purses his lips guiltily. “No.”

Mike squeezes his hand. Alright then. A boundary. He can respect that.

Mike looks up at Abby, patting the spot beside him. “We’re going to sit here today, alright Abs?”

If she has any complaints, she doesn’t voice them, taking her place easily. Mike passes her a piece of paper and crayons, and she immediately reaches for the pink one. Will kneels behind Mason, forearms resting on his shoulders as he watches him work. Mason isn’t bothered, sketching away with his red.

“Is this your big punishment?” Lucas asks from the armchair behind them, Corey asleep in his arms. When the kids came down here, Mike has no idea. “Drawing? Man, you guys suck at this.”

Mike spins around, raising his eyebrows at him as if to say, oh yeah? Watch. He turns back to Abigail, and in a gushing voice, tells her, “Wow! That’s a really pretty picture! You think Grandma would want to hang it up on her fridge?”

She smiles brightly at the idea. “Yes! She has all my pictures on there.”

“Yeah, she does,” he agrees, trying his hardest to hold back a laugh. He looks at Mason expectantly.

Understanding quickly dawns on his face; he is not happy about it. “No,” he says, horrified, like displaying his artwork is some kind of death sentence. “No way.”

“Come on. I’m sure my mom would love to receive one of your drawings.”

Mason seems like he’s about to argue, but instead, he just looks behind him and whines, “Will!”

Will isn’t going to save him. Mike doesn’t know why he keeps running to the other person when one of them tries to punish him. They’re a team. They agree on all matters except ice cream.

Will leans in closely to whisper in his ear. “One drawing. Or I sentence you to ten kisses. Right here.”

Mason gapes at him, offended, but ultimately gives up. He releases an angry breath as he returns his attention back to his paper. Mike smugly sticks his tongue out at Lucas, who raises his hands in surrender. Call him a bad guardian again— see what happens. Mike knows his baby— and more importantly, he knows how to piss him off.

Mike manages to sneak off somewhere between Abby’s fifth and sixth drawing. He feels a bit guilty for abandoning Will with them, but that’s what almost-marriages are for. It takes sacrifice and compromise— and a little selfishness.

He heads into the living room where his family is watching TV, and drapes himself over his mom like a rag doll. “Hey.”

“Hello, Michael,” she says, amused, as she pats his arm. “What’s the matter?”

“Kids are exhausting. I’m sorry for every time I got into a fight with Nancy.”

She laughs, running her fingers through his hair. He sighs, relaxing into the touch. It’s nice being the kid again. He hopes Mason feels like this with them— all warm and safe. “Is he driving you crazy?” she asks.

“Who, Mason? He’s never caused trouble a day in his life,” he replies sarcastically. He exhales a deep, frustrated breath. “How do you punish a child without making them hate you afterwards?”

“I’m not the person to ask,” she tells him. “I couldn’t ground you without you screaming that you hate me.”

“Well, yeah, but I didn’t mean it,” he says, rolling his eyes. Alright— maybe he was a bit harsh on her as a kid.

His mom just shrugs. “Then I’m sure Mason wouldn’t mean it either. He’ll get over it— whatever it is. You always do,” she adds softly. Mike knows that she’s referring to last weekend. And— yeah, he guesses that’s true. No matter how mad he gets, he’ll always come crawling back to her just like this. Because she’s his mom.

Mike isn’t Mason’s dad, though. It’s not the same. They don’t have that inseparable bond between them. Mason can walk away at any time with no repercussions— go find another family to settle down with. They don’t have history— they don’t have blood. There’s no reason for Mason to stay with them at all.

But he has. Why has he? He could have left months ago with a singular phone call. And yet…

With the amount of times Mike has fucked up this week, he’s surprised Mason isn’t running for the hills. If they can survive Thanksgiving, they can survive anything. Right?

Chapter Text

Arriving back at Will’s own house is bittersweet. He misses his bed, and his privacy, and the warmth of California— but that’s nothing compared to how much he’ll miss his family.

Sometimes he regrets moving so far away. As a kid, he never understood why his mom took them out here. They had no friends, no family; it was unbearably lonely. He knew his mom felt that too— though, he supposes Hawkins wouldn’t be any different for her.

Now that he’s grown up, he thinks he finally gets it. Hawkins was destroying him. It was nightmare after nightmare, even at eighteen. When he packed up and moved to New York, everything went silent. He was happy there— truly happy. He never really noticed it until he completed his bachelor’s degree, and was faced with the decision of where to go next. He needed to get a job— a permanent one.

The thought of returning back to Indiana for good made him sick. He couldn’t do it— and luckily, Mike agreed. They had the whole world in front of them— why limit themselves to the midwest?

They thought long and hard about their options. In the end, Will’s mind kept drifting back to California. He had really loved it here. The weather, the beach, the way he was only mildly scared for his life as a gay man. They moved to a slightly more progressive area than the hell that is Lenora Hills, but that wasn’t their main concern. He’s never felt farther from everything that happened to him— like it was a lifetime ago, not twelve short years.

He’s also never felt farther from his loved ones. Sure, they can call. They can email, and send postcards like a bunch of tourists. But still, every year without fail, he manages to cry at the airport. This time was a whole lot worse, because he knows he won’t be seeing his family until June.

They’re staying home for Christmas. It was a choice they made months ago; they’ll bring Mason out for either Thanksgiving or Christmas, not both. It’s Mason’s vacation too— he deserves to relax and spend some time away from all that stress.

And that’s alright. Will is looking forward to it. They never spend Christmas here. Every year they decorate, just to abandon it all a week before the actual celebration. He wants to know what his living room looks like on Christmas morning, when he gets dragged out of bed by Mason, or Mike, or both, to sit around the tree and open presents. He wants to fill stockings at midnight like a proper parent.

If Mike could use a child to justify still celebrating Halloween, Will is going to do the same for Christmas. This is his holiday— and he’s going to show Mason that it’s superior.

That’s why, on the Friday after Thanksgiving break, Will corners Mike and demands that they go out as an almost-family. Mike gladly agrees, because December first is a perfectly adequate time to begin planning for Christmas. It’s a great improvement from when they just started dating, when Will would completely transform the apartment the day after Halloween. He’s holding back here.

Will practically skips up to Mason’s door, knocking in a likely obnoxious pattern. He cracks it open, peaking his head in with a huge grin on his face. Mason is sketching something on his bed, but tilts the pad away so Will can’t see what it is. “Hey. We’re gonna pick out a Christmas tree, if you’d like to come. Actually— you don’t really have a choice. What I meant to say was: grab your coat, we’re going out.”

Mason doesn’t seem to mind, if his excited smile is anything to go by. He quickly slams his sketchbook closed and swings his legs off the bed as Will backs out of the room. Will looks out the window at the darkening sky, despite the fact that it’s only five o’clock. Perfect for tree hunting. The string lights will definitely be on by the time they get there.

Mason emerges minutes later wearing the outfit he went to school in, thin black sweatshirt and all. That won’t do— won’t do in the slightest. Will doesn’t want to bring back a human popsicle. Even Mike is bundled in his thickest sweater and has his corduroy jacket on his arm, and he tends to run hot.

“Your coat, babe, not your sweatshirt,” Will says, smoothing out the hood.

Mason throws his head back dramatically. Will doesn’t think this moment is really head-throwing worthy. “What’s the difference?”

“The difference is that you’ll freeze to death in that. The big one, with the buttons. And your hat!” he calls as Mason starts toward his room with an eye-roll.

He comes back, noticeably, without a hat. Though, he did cave on the coat, so Will counts that as something at least. Still, he raises his eyebrows challengingly. Mason gives him a guilty look— a look that says I lost something. Of course he did. “In your suitcase,” Will tells him.

“It’s not there.”

Will sighs deeply. “Two weeks, Mason. We bought that two weeks ago.” It’s not a big deal— Will doesn’t really care about wasting the five dollars it cost— but he has to admit, it’s kind of impressive. “Alright— come on. You can borrow one of Mike’s.”

“Why do I need a hat?” he asks as Will leads him into their room. Mike lifts a big plastic bin from the top shelf of their closet and dumps it onto the bed. “It’s, like, sixty degrees outside.”

“Not where we’re going,” Mike replies, pulling out a multi-colored scarf and tossing it to the side. Finally, he reaches a big pile of beanies. He scans Mason up and down, then grabs a red one that matches his shirt. Mike places it on his head, tugging it over his ears, then takes a step back to examine his work. “It’s a bit big, but it’ll do. Mason— have you ever gone ice skating before?”

He shakes his head, the top of the beanie flapping around loosely.

Mike smiles, then turns back to the bin to snag a pair of gloves. “Oh, trust me. You’re going to love it.” He hands them to Mason, then pulls the hat off of his head. “You might want to keep the jacket off for now, too. It’ll be hot.”

Mike passes a bright yellow beanie to Will, just to embarrass him, and keeps a navy one for himself. “Why do you have so many of those?” Mason asks. A fair question. Mike has one in every color imaginable.

Will cuts in before Mike can try to protect his dignity. “Because he was super cool in college. He wore these things everywhere. Drove the girls crazy—“ he lifts his arms to protect himself from the smack of Mike’s gloves.

“Alright,” he says over Will’s laughter. “I get it. It was a bad phase. I didn’t see you complaining about the leather jacket or the ear piercings.”

“You have your ears pierced?” Mason exclaims. Will can’t tell if he’s impressed or horrified.

Mike just stares at him, then shakes his head disappointedly. “Wow. I see how much you pay attention.” He pulls his hair back and turns to the side, showing off the two small hoops in his cartilage. “I let the lobes close up— not really my thing.”

Mason looks up at them in awe. Will fights back a grin, crouching down next to him. “Cool, huh?” he says, reaching out a finger to boop one of the earrings. He almost died when Mike got them done. He was the worst bad-boy in the world, but man did he look pretty trying.

Mason wrinkles his nose, sputtering a quick, “No.” He crosses his arms, his defiant gaze locked on the carpet below him. Really, he can admit they’re not entirely lame sometimes. It won’t kill him. Mike is more free with his self-expression than almost any of Will’s friends— and he was an art major. Sure, he dresses like a middle school English teacher most of the time, but he can be edgy. Sometimes he even cuffs his jeans.

Will just lets out a huff of amusement, wrapping an arm around Mason’s shoulders. He leads them to the front door and down the driveway, assuming Mike is following after with the keys. “So— how do you feel about Christmas? You like it?”

Mason nods. “Yeah. I mean, it’s cool, but I like Halloween more.”

“Not for long,” he says ominously, before claiming his seat on the passenger side. Will is going to Christmas the hell out of him. He’ll turn Mason to the dark side if it’s the last thing he does.

The ice rink isn’t far— just a ten minute drive— and the tree farm is right next door. Great marketing, Will thinks, on both their parts. He obviously switches the radio to one of the many stations playing Christmas music, as he does every day of December. Mike immediately starts belting along with Let It Snow, and Will can’t just pass up the amazing opportunity to annoy Mason, so he joins in.

After a couple songs, Mason has slid so far down his seat that it must be a safety hazard. Will wasn’t intending to take pity on him, but Mike is clearly the nicer one of the two, because he turns down the volume until they can’t hear it well enough to sing the words. Will pouts, but doesn’t say anything.

“Alright, I have an important question for you,” Mike says, glancing into the rearview mirror. “Fake trees or real trees?”

Mason sits up so that the seatbelt isn’t choking him anymore, and shrugs. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a real one.”

“What?” Mike exclaims, affronted. Will has to tap his hand to bring his attention back to the road. “Never? Like, ever? All your homes had fake trees?”

“Well, the shelter always has plastic ones so they don’t have to keep buying them. I’ve spent most Christmases there. If people are planning on giving me back, they usually do it before the holidays so they don’t have to buy me presents. I don’t remember about my real parents, but my first Christmas after that was with an old lady. I don’t think she could carry a real tree. And my last family had a plastic one too.”

Well that’s… fucked. Not just that people would rather give away a child than spend a couple hundred bucks to make their Christmas, but that Mason is aware that that’s what they were doing. He’s been exposed to far too much for someone his age. There’s nothing left of his naivety or innocence.

Will isn’t sure what to say. He meets Mike’s eyes for a moment, and it doesn’t seem like he’s faring any better.

Mike recovers first, knuckles whitening around the steering wheel as he manages to say, “Well, they must be idiots then, because real trees are clearly better. Don't worry— you’ll be smelling Christmas in no time.”

They all hop out of the car as Mike parks perfectly between the lines, after only three attempts. Well— maybe not perfectly. He’s between the lines is all that matters. Will helps Mason get back into his hat, and pulls the fronts of his jacket tighter around him. There. Snug.

Inside the ice skating rink is always colder than Will remembers. It’s stupid, because he’s experienced worse October afternoons in Indiana, but for some reason, the artificial cold is what gets him. Maybe it’s because the air hits him all at once the second he opens the door. Whatever the reason, it’s fucking freezing in here.

Mike heads straight for the counter, buying their entry tickets and their skates— two tens and a five. As soon as the man behind the booth turns to retrieve them, Mason tugs on Mike’s sleeve. “I’m a five-and-a-half,” he says.

Mike thanks the worker as he sets their shoes on the counter. Mason glances back and forth between him and the man urgently, but Mike just leads them to a secluded bench. “Trust me,” he says when Mason looks fully prepared to march back and order his own shoes. “You want a five. Bowling shoes and skates— always size down. That’s valuable wisdom there. Don’t forget it,” Mike points down at Mason, who’s already sitting on the bench. He just rolls his eyes.

Mike helps Mason lace his boots as Will does his own. Mason, of course, complains that they’re too tight— whether that’s out of principle or because they’re genuinely uncomfortable, Will isn’t sure. Mike pushes his thumb down on the toe of his skate and calls him a liar.

Standing appears to be a difficult task for Mason, so Will graciously hooks an arm around his waist. For Mason’s sake— not because he was waiting for an excuse to be close to him. Not at all. Will briefly considers getting him a walker for new skaters, but that’d mean that he wouldn’t get to help Mason himself.

They hobble over to the nearest entrance, pausing just before they hit the ice. Will sets his hands on Mason’s shoulders, leaning down to his height. “Don’t be scared, alright? I’ll be right next to you. Just hold onto me or the railing— anything but Mike. He’ll drag you both down.”

“Hey!” Mike yells in offence. “I’m a great skater. I’ve improved since college, you know.”

“Mike, you say that every time, and then you spend the first half of the evening glued to the wall.”

“Not the first half,” he mutters, but doesn’t deny the rest of the claim. “I just need a minute to get my bearings.”

“Right,” Will says. “So let me help Mason while you take care of your bearings.”

Will waits for a large enough gap in the skaters to back out onto the rink, holding his hands out for Mason to grab. He does so, taking a slow step forward. His eyes widen as his foot makes contact with the ice; he probably would have fallen to the floor if his other wasn’t planted on firm ground behind him.

“Slippery, huh?” Will teases. Mason doesn’t even glare at him— he just inches his back leg up until he’s completely on the ice. “There you go. You’re doing fine. I’m going to pull you along now, alright?”

He nods. Will can tell he’s nervous, but Mason is still putting his full trust in him. It’s an honor he never tires of.

Will turns, gliding slowly forward, with both of Mason’s arms wrapped around one of his. Mason is completely hunched inward, his butt sticking out and face almost buried in Will’s shoulder. It’s throwing his balance way off center. “Mason, sweetie— that’s not going to work. Grab onto the rail with your other hand.”

He shakes his head.

Will slows to a stop, waiting for Mason to uncurl himself. He does, barely. “Good,” Will says, then pries his rigid arms off of him. He laces his fingers with Mason’s, then guides his other hand to the wall. “Here. We’re going to do it like this. Back straight. You won’t fall, I promise. Take a very small step, then leave your foot down,” he says, as he demonstrates just that. They aren’t going very fast, but Mason still acts like they are. He squeezes Will so hard that he can feel it even through the numbness settling in. “Come on— move your feet.”

Mason gazes up at him, unsure, but ultimately decides to listen. The second his skate leaves the ice, his whole body begins to wobble. Will flexes his arm, holding him upright, but Mason still continues to teeter back and forth. Will doesn’t laugh, no matter what the witnesses might say.

Once he’s finally regained his balance, Mason glares at him.

“What?” Will asks, definitely smiling way too hard to look innocent. “See? You’re fine. I told you that you’d be fine. It’s impossible to fall.”

“I almost fell.”

“Oh, you did not. I had you the whole time,” Will says. Mason’s glare doesn’t dim, but at least he starts directing it toward his real enemy— the ice. “If you flail like that, it’ll make it worse. Just try to stand up straight again. Find your balance.”

Before Mason can make a second attempt, another skater comes right up behind them, too close for comfort. Will feels a hand land on his shoulder, and now he has an unsteady skater on both sides. Great. “Hey!” Mike says with a stupid, proud grin on his face. “Just lapped you. Who’s slow now?”

“Great job, Michael!” Will calls after him as Mike pushes off once again, immediately gravitating toward the wall in front of them. “You beat a twelve-year-old!” He rolls his eyes fondly, then turns back to Mason. “Are you going to take that?”

The corners of Mason’s lips raise just slightly. “No.”

“Good. Let’s go show him up.”

Mason slowly learns how to lift his feet without falling on his ass, and it’s really all uphill from there. He gains enough courage to let go of the wall, but not Will’s hand. Will isn’t going to complain about that, though.

They pick up a bit of speed, but unfortunately, Mike has already started skating circles around them by that point. Will doesn’t mind. Mike can have this victory.

Declaring a truce, they take Mason into the very center of the rink with the try-hard skaters, each holding one of his hands. For balance, obviously. Mason squeals as they pick up the pace, matching the speed of the others. Will is a little surprised that Mason can keep up with them, and even more surprised that Mike can.

When Mike nearly trips over the air, Will decides they should probably be done for the day. He would not like a husband with a broken nose. They exit the rink, sitting back on their bench to peel off their skates. Yup— Will’s toes are frozen solid. He should have worn his fuzzy socks.

After returning them to the front, Mike and Will take an automatic right, heading away from the doors.

“Hey— where are we going?” Mason asks, trailing behind them.

“To get hot chocolate, obviously,” Mike answers. No one goes skating without buying a hot chocolate afterwards; that’s where this place gets the majority of its money. They stand at the back of the long line, which only further proves his point. “I’m assuming you want one?” Mike asks Mason, but it’s mostly rhetorical. Of course he wants one.

Shockingly, Mason shrugs.

Will furrows his eyebrows in confusion. “Do you not like hot chocolate? You have chocolate milk all the time.”

Mason just looks to the ground and shrugs again. “I don’t know,” he says, sounding almost embarrassed.

And that’s when it clicks for him; he’s never had hot chocolate before. Never. In his twelve years. How is that possible? Does the shelter not have a microwave? Milk? What about his past homes? Has no one ever offered it to him?

Alright. Will has a bone to pick with El. Who can deny children happiness?

Mike seems to come to the same conclusion, as their eyes meet above Mason’s head. He looks just as puzzled as Will does, but once again comes to his senses much faster. Mike sets a hand on Mason’s shoulder, guiding him forward as the person at the front of the line finishes their order. “Well, we’ll get you one anyway, alright? You can try it— but I already know you’ll like it.”

Mike orders them three larges; they don’t skimp out on hot chocolate. Once they scoop them up from the counter, they step over to an empty booth. Will sets his on the table and removes the lid to blow on it. He’s about to tell Mason to do the same, when he suddenly lifts the cup to his lips.

“No, don’t—“ Will shoots his hand out to stop him, but it’s already too late.

Mason yelps, yanking the cup away from his mouth. He grimaces in pain, scraping his tongue with his teeth.

“Hey, congrats!” Mike says with a smile, clapping him on the back. “You’ve now officially drank hot chocolate! That’s a universal experience— everyone has to burn their tongue at least once.”

Will can’t help but let out a giggle. “How’s it taste?”

“Hot,” Mason replies, his face twisted up in disgust.

Mike pops the lid back onto his own cup, then starts toward the exit. “Well, I should hope so. That’s one of the two ingredients.”

Mason doesn’t find his joke funny. Will might have chuckled a bit.

Walking out of an ice skating rink is almost stranger than entering. The sky is pitch-black, but he still warms by a solid thirty degrees. He definitely won’t complain about the weather, though. In fact, he’s half tempted to rush back to the heat of the car and forget the tree altogether.

He doesn’t, obviously, because some things are worth sacrifice— like killing a tree and decorating its corpse in tinsel. Instead, he grabs the hand of Mason’s that isn’t curled around his cup, and leads him to the small outdoor shop next door.

It’s beautiful— it always is. If Will wasn’t an artist, he’d want to work at a place like this. You know, if it paid well. And if he didn't have to do any manual labor. But other than that, it would be perfect for him.

Mike takes a deep breath in. “It’s good, right?” he asks Mason.

He nods. “Like Miss El’s candles.”

Will snorts. He remembers when El first discovered candles. That’s all he got her for Christmas and her birthday for three years straight. He thinks she burned through them in a month. “Is she still on that? I feel like that’s a fire hazard with all those kids around.”

“It only almost started a fire once,” Mason says. That— alright then. Will isn’t going to criticize El about child safety when he can barely keep one kid safe. Maybe he should buy her a candle warmer this year.

Mike starts down a row of trees, searching until he finds the section of Balsam Firs. He points to them, then turns to Mason with a serious expression on his face. “Now, these are the good kind. Do you know what we look for in a tree?”

“A big one?”

“Absolutely,” Mike replies, reaching forward to ruffle some of the branches. “But not too big— it has to fit in the house. About eight feet is what we aim for. And— do you see here? This one has a bunch of bald spots. We want it to be full.”

Mason nods along, then starts creeping down the aisle, judging each tree as he passes. He’s a harsh critic, that’s for sure. Even ones that Will would stop to consider are passed by. Finally, Mason pauses. He scans the tree up and down, scrutinizing it, then glances over at Mike and Will. “Is this one okay?”

It’s a good choice. A great choice. Will can’t see any obvious flaws at all. It’s tall and wide— even Mike will have a hard time getting the star on this one. This would have been Will’s pick as well.

“That’s a fine tree, good sir,” Mike says, wrapping his arm around Mason’s shoulder, his other hand on his hip. He has that cute pinch between his eyebrows that appears every time he does his horrible British accent. “A mighty fine tree indeed. Shall I bring the chariot ‘round to carry this back over yonder?”

“Alright,” Will interrupts. “Now you’re just saying words. Go get the guy.”

Mike does, walking over to the counter to talk to the worker. They come back seconds later, and the man lifts the tree as if it weighs absolutely nothing. Will can tell that Mike is a little too impressed, so he kicks his shoe to gain back his attention. Mike looks exasperated at his jealousy for all of two seconds, then kisses Will’s cheek anyway.

They pay for it at the front, and when the worker asks if they need any assistance taking it back to their car, Will denies it. Not because he wants to keep him and his muscles away from Mike, but because he can very well carry his own tree to the car, thank you. And he succeeds, with only a little help from Mike.

Tying it to the roof is always a hassle, but they somehow manage. Bringing it into the house is even more of a hassle, and it leaves a trail of pine needles through their entryway, but that’s future Will’s problem. For now, he goes into his closet and opens the hatch to the attic, pulling the ladder down with it. He grabs the Christmas box that he leaves right by the door, because he does not want to crawl into that spider-infested hellhole.

Mike seems to have taken care of the needles by the time Will returns, which he’s immensely grateful for. He sets the box on the ground, popping off the lid. Lying on top are the outdoor lights, which Will is going to have to set up tomorrow. He pulls out the tree lights, handing them over to Mike. These, he can do— no tall, rickety ladders involved.

While Mike works on stringing the tree, Will rummages through the rest of the decorations. He waves Mason forward, who joins him on his knees. Finding his favorite snow globe, Will winds it up and shakes it, holding it out for Mason to see. Jingle Bells plays over the scene of a group of kids having a snowball fight. It reminds him so much of the Party; he bought this one night he was particularly homesick.

He smiles at the memory, then sets it on the side table behind him. “This goes here. Anything else is up to you,” Will tells him.

Mason peaks into the box, shoving aside rolls of tinsel and packs of ornaments. He starts pulling out all their stuffed Santas, snowmen, and penguins; their advent calendar, their wreath, and their Christmas hand towels. Then, he stands, scanning the room in thought. He seems to have some sort of plan in mind, because he gathers the decorations in his arms and begins scattering them around the room.

Will sits back to watch for a moment, before kindly helping Mike with the tree. Mason hovers behind him soon after, and when Will turns around, the entire house is covered in Christmas. There’s a Santa on top of the fridge, and a sleigh is dangerously close to running over one of the snowmen, but Mason looks amused enough at his editions that he lets it slide.

“Cute,” Will says, only half sarcastic. “I guess we should do stockings. Oh, shit— we still need to buy you one, huh?”

“Oh!” Mike suddenly perks up, extracting his hands from deep in the branches to hold up a single finger. “I almost forgot. Wait here,” he says, before scampering down the hallway. Alright then, weirdo.

He comes back moments later with a plastic bag in hand. He stops in front of Mason with a proud look on his face, and pulls out a red and white stocking. “I saw it at Hallmark when I was buying Hop’s birthday card. Thought it might be useful for you to have. And also,” he reaches back in, slowly handing over a white box. “I’m not sure if you’ll like it, but I thought it might be funny. We don’t have to put it up if it isn’t.”

Mason flips the box over, revealing the image of a small picture frame ornament, with “Baby’s first Christmas” written on the candy cane border. Will agrees with Mike— he isn’t sure that this is something Mason would want at all. In fact, Will definitely wouldn’t have bought it himself. Mike’s always had a more… adventurous sense of humor than him. He won’t lie— it is funny. It’s just not a joke he would have made.

“I was thinking we could put your school photo in it,” Mike continues, like he isn’t at risk of a punch to the face already. When Mason doesn’t reply, he raises his hands in surrender. “Or I can just go fuck myself. That’s cool too. We can give it to Lucas and Max, or something.”

“No,” Mason says finally. His expression is unreadable, and he hasn’t taken his eyes off the box. “It’s funny. We can put it up.”

Wow. That actually worked. He can’t believe it.

Mike smiles, clearly surprised as well. “Really? I mean, yeah, it was hilarious. I came up with it.”

Will shakes his head, stepping over to the kitchen to grab one of Mason’s few remaining wallet-sized photos. He must have sent about ten to his mother. What she’s going to do with ten miniature pictures of Mason, he doesn’t know.

He opens the backing of the ornament and sticks it inside. Mason has a less-than-enthused smile on his face in the photo, but it’s adorable nonetheless. He steals a spare hook from the Christmas box and loops it onto the frame, then passes it back to Mason. “Do the honors,” he says, gesturing to the tree.

Mason moves forward, tucking the hook onto one of the branches at his eye level, front and center. It looks perfectly in place there. The first ornament on the tree. It feels right. Mason is exactly where he needs to be.

Chapter Text

Mike is sorting through the mail when he finds it: the embodiment of Christmas.

No— not a Christmas card. Not bills or junk like the rest of the stack. Well, maybe junk. Advertising for sure. But this kind of consumerism he can get behind.

“Mason!” he yells loudly, enough to make Will jump slightly from his spot on the couch.

“Jesus Christ,” Will says, with a hand to his heart. “He’s right next door, not halfway across the block.”

Mason stomps out of his room, already rolling his eyes. “What?” Damn. Someone’s grumpy. Guess he doesn’t want any presents.

Mike doesn’t let his moodiness dampen his smile. He stands from the dining table and gestures to the couch. “Sit. We’re going to do something.”

Will looks just as confused as Mason does when he takes a seat beside him. Mike grabs a marker from their junk drawer before plopping himself down on Mason’s left, sandwiching him in. He lays the magazine in his hands onto the coffee table in front of them.

“This is a Christmas catalog,” he explains, passing over the marker. “It shows you all of the toys this store has to offer. Basically one big ad— but in a fun way. We’re going to go through it so you can circle what you want.”

Mike and Will have been stressing over what to get him. Of course they know his basic interests; they could probably do a decent enough job on their own. But Mike doesn’t want to be decent. He doesn’t want Mason to have another mediocre holiday.

They were going to have him write out a Christmas list, but this is so much better. Mike can speak from experience; his own family did this every year. Mike would circle almost everything they had, while Nancy would only ask for a couple of dolls, or whatever it was she played with.

Mason flips open the cover to a page full of teethers and alphabet blocks. He turns to Mike with an amused eyebrow raised.

“Alright, not that one,” Mike says with a laugh. He shuffles through the pages until he sees the section marked 8-12 years. “There. Circle away.”

He doesn’t. He scans each page meticulously, but passes over each and every toy available. His forehead is scrunched in concentration, like he’ll die if he chooses the wrong thing. Mike doesn’t think it’s that serious. If he changes his mind, he can always cross it out later.

Mason’s expression becomes almost pained as he discovers the video game section. Mike wants to help him out somehow, but he thinks he might just overwhelm him further. This is Mason’s first time, he reminds himself. He’s probably never seen this many toys laid out in front of him.

Eventually, Will sets a hand on his shoulder, speaking gently. “Mason, honey. Just— anything. Anything at all.”

Just when Mike is starting to think that he hates every single item in that catalog, Mason suddenly uncaps his marker, circling The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask. He clicks the top back on resolutely, setting it down on the table, as if saying that his decision is final. He looks at Mike expectantly.

“That’s a great choice,” Mike assures him, because he feels like Mason might need it. “But you’ll have to invite me into your room so I can play it.”

“Is that really all you want, though?” Will asks. “Nothing else caught your eye?”

Mason turns to Will in surprise. “I can do more than one?”

Is that why he was so hesitant to circle anything? Because he thought he only got one shot? What kind of assholes would they be if they only got Mason one present? With their income? No way.

“Of course,” Mike says. “One suggestion won’t do us much good. Anything you like. As much as you’d like.”

“That doesn’t mean we’re going to buy everything,” Will cuts in. “But it’ll give us some options. Why don’t you put a star next to this one so we know it’s your favorite?”

Mason nods excitedly, doing just that. It should be cute seeing him so giddy at the prospect of receiving more than one gift, but it’s honestly just depressing. Mike knows that it’s the expectation for kids staying at the shelter during Christmas. He’s going to shower this kid in so many presents that he explodes.

Mason seems to know exactly what his second and third choices were, because he finds them again immediately: a miniature telescope, and a skateboard. Mike will note that for later.

He does end up circling quite a bit. Mike lost count at about ten— maybe closer to twenty. About five of those are just various video games, though that isn’t surprising. What is surprising is the star projector.

“I didn’t know you were into space,” Mike says.

Mason just shrugs, not taking his eyes off the page. Mike is suddenly aware of just how little he really knows him. Mason has lived under their roof for— what? Three months? It feels like so much longer. How many of these little fascinations is he ignorant to?

“Are you done?” Mike asks when no movement has come from his direction in a while. Mason doesn’t answer— he keeps his gaze locked on the same spot of the catalog that it has been for several minutes. He’s eyeing something, but Mike doesn’t know what. “If you’re debating it that hard, you clearly want it. You can write ‘maybe’ next to it if you aren’t sure.”

Mason shakes his head. “It’s expensive,” he says, quiet enough that Mike almost doesn’t hear it.

Will squeezes Mason’s shoulder, coaxing him to look up from the table. “Don’t worry about that. That’s the adults’ job. You’re a kid— your job is to want things. If it’s too much, we won’t buy it— but there’s no harm in circling it.”

“What about… a million dollars?” Mason asks, a hint of a smile creeping up on his face.

“Mason,” Mike starts, amused. “If you want a million dollars, you can ask for a million dollars. You sure as hell aren’t getting it, but you can try.”

The item he was debating turns out to be a buildable remote control car. It’s a little over a hundred dollars, which, yeah, is pretty expensive. Certainly not crazy, though.

Mason pauses for only a moment afterwards, then quickly flips back to the electronic section and circles the PS2. That’s definitely out of budget, unless Mason really does just want a single present; and a console with no games wouldn’t be much fun. Maybe for a birthday gift.

He closes the catalog and hands it back to Mike, who takes it gratefully. He and Will send Mason on his way, and lock themselves in their own room to plan. They should go shopping tomorrow night, before the Christmas rush really starts. Who would be out buying gifts on a Wednesday afternoon? Them, he guesses.

Thankfully, that’s El’s day off. They send her a quick text asking if she can come over and watch Mason for a few hours. He’s probably old enough to be left home alone, but Mike wouldn’t like to risk it. She agrees, and makes fun of them for not having started their Christmas shopping yet. Apparently, she already has Mason’s present planned out. Show off.

Once that’s taken care of, Mike sets himself down on the carpet. Will grabs their big, important finance box from the office, and drops it on the ground in front of him. He sits across from Mike, sifting through papers until he seemingly finds the ones he’s looking for, spreading them across the floor.

“Alright,” Mike says, leaning backwards and propping himself up on his hands. “So, how much are we thinking of spending?”

“I…don’t know,” he admits. “I don’t think we really need a hard limit. We’re doing fine.”

“How much is left in our Mason budget for this year?”

Will checks the paper, then looks up at him with raised eyebrows. “A thousand.”

“A thousand?” Mike asks, mimicking Will’s expression. They really set aside too much, didn’t they? “Well, it’s not like we have to use all of it. We can add some to the funds for next year.”

“Right, yeah. That’s a good idea. Let’s move… a hundred of that into shelter donations. We should save most of the rest. I think, realistically, we could spend about two-fifty? Three hundred max.”

Mike nods. “That’s reasonable. Still quite a bit, but, I mean, he’s an only child. And it’s not like we can’t afford it.”

“Exactly,” he agrees, but it sounds more like he’s trying to justify it to himself. “A bit extra won’t hurt him.”

“So,” Mike pulls the magazine into his lap, and grabs an extra piece of scratch paper. “Zelda, definitely. Telescope, skateboard— what else?”

“We need to leave stuff for the family,” Will reminds him. “They’ll definitely want to mail something over. Two for our parents, one for Jon and Nance.”

“Okay, yeah. We should call them before we plan anything out. But first, is there anything that we want to get for sure? Because I call dibs on Zelda.”

Will smiles, huffing a breath from his nose. “Of course you do. I don’t think your mother would choose that anyway.” He takes Mike’s list from his hand, reading over all the items Mason has requested. “Honestly, I don’t really care. I’ll let them pick.”

“Okay. But— I was also thinking,” he trails off until Will meets his gaze curiously. “He doesn’t really have a way to play music. We listen in the car, but he doesn’t know any of the artists. I just thought— maybe he’d want to develop his own taste. He’s probably sick of 90s pop.”

“I know I am,” Will jokes. Mike pokes him hard in the gut with his socked foot. He doubles over with a pained yelp. “I’m kidding! And I think it’s a great idea. CD player?” he asks, clicking the pen and holding it up to the paper.

“Yeah. And some money to buy music. Maybe twenty bucks?”

“Sure,” he nods, adding it to the bottom.

They call Nancy first, exchanging both of their lists at the same time. Unlike them, Nancy is actually organized in her gift planning, and has already picked out exactly what she wants Mike and Will to buy. It’s a princess nail salon for both Barb and Abby to share. Mike thinks she saved them the girliest thing on the list just to annoy him. It worked.

Afterwards, Mike puts his mom and Joyce on a three-way call, so they can fight to the death themselves for the best present. He is not getting involved in that. Once Will has officially crossed off three items, they start to plan their own gifts.

“I can’t believe how fast we reached $245,” Mike says, staring at the list in his hands. That can’t be right. He must have added wrong somewhere. “There’s like… six things on here.”

“Well, almost half of that is from the car,” Will points out. “But I guess it wouldn’t hurt to get something else, too. We haven’t quite reached our minimum yet.”

“I vote for another video game. I think he’d get the most use out of it.”

“Mike,” he says, deadpan. “You want to add a fifty dollar video game? Out of everything, that’s what you choose?”

“Well—“ Mike says, then splutters, throwing his arms out. “You said three hundred max! This would bring it just under.”

“Clearly you’ve never heard of tax.”

Screw Mike for trying to make Mason happy, right? He wants video games— Mike wants to get him video games. It’s not his fault that Will is stingy and hates joy.

“What’s the harm in going over a little?” he asks. He will fight for Mason’s right to game until the very end. And then Mason will run into his arms and declare him the best foster dad in the history of the world— way better than Mr. Grinch over here.

Will sighs his deepest, most dramatic sigh. “Fine. But that’s it. No more.”

Mike smiles, giving him a two-fingered salute. “Copy that.” He politely ignores the way Will mutters that he’s a dork under his breath.

The doorbell rings just after four o’clock the next day. Mike straightens up from where he was lacing his shoe, opening the door to reveal El on the other side. He welcomes her in with a hug. “Thank you so much. You’re a lifesaver. I know we could probably just leave him alone, but— I mean, he didn’t seem too upset at the idea of you coming over, so.”

She quickly waves him off. “Don’t worry about it. You know I’d love to spend time with him. And besides— when was the last time you two got out? Have you even had a date since Mason arrived?”

Mike and Will glance at each other, grimacing. Romance hasn’t really been on their minds lately. They love each other, definitely. But it’s not like they’ve had the opportunity to do anything more than cuddle on the sofa in their dirty old pajamas.

“Let’s make this a monthly thing— at least,” she offers. It feels more like a threat.

Mike isn’t going to complain. Free babysitting and an excuse for date time? He’s not going to turn that down. “You’re off New Years Eve, right? Is that too early?”

“Off New Years, working Valentine’s Day and Easter,” she confirms with a nod. “I’d be glad to watch him. Why? Are you going partying at midnight?”

“Definitely not. We’ll be back long before midnight. We do have plans, though.”

Will turns to him, perplexed. “We do?”

“Yeah,” he says, grabbing his hand. “We do now.”

“Alright, get out,” El tells them, pushing Will toward the door as she steps further into the house. “It’s my Mason time. Stop hogging him.”

Mike rolls his eyes, but obeys her command anyway.

Their total price at checkout ends up being $318. Now, Mike wouldn’t feel too guilty about that if the extra eighteen was just tax. It was not.

It just so happened that a lot of Mason’s items were on sale, bringing their total down a good forty dollars. They could have left it at that— celebrated their win and went home. But, of course, they didn’t. They went and bought another two cheap presents that had caught their attention, as well as a few nicknacks for Mason’s stocking.

Forty-five dollars. They spent another forty-five dollars.

But— in all fairness, that doesn’t even count. It’s free money. They were supposed to spend it anyway. So really, who’s the smart one here? He’s outsmarted the corporations.

They sneak back into the house while Mason is being distracted by El, and stash all of the bags in their closet until Saturday, when they go on a crazy wrapping spree. Mike personally hates wrapping presents, but Will loves it. Not to mention, he’s way better at it. Mike mostly just acts as a helper, ripping off a piece of tape when needed, or lending a finger for the bow. The one gift Mike is in charge of ends up in a gift bag. He doesn’t think Mason will care.

When all nine are under the tree, they take a step back and admire their— Will’s— work. It’s incredible; their tree has never looked so full before. He’s glad now that they bought so many. Who cares if they went over a sane person’s budget? They never claimed to be sane.

Hungry from all the rigorous labor he did, Mike warms up last night’s leftovers for lunch, yelling for Mason to join them. When he does, he stops still in the entryway of the kitchen. He’s staring at the tree in what looks to be awe, but it’s hard to tell with him sometimes.

Mike closes the few feet of distance between them, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “Impressive, right?”

Mason doesn’t answer his question— he just asks one of his own. “Are those for everyone?”

“‘Everyone’ who? Me and Will?”

“No, like,” Mason gestures vaguely with his hand. “Your family.”

“Oh, no. We don’t put those under the tree. That would make us feel incredibly lonely— and pathetic,” Mike says. They tried it once, back when they first moved here. Twenty presents, but only a few were actually for them. It just leads to disappointment. Mike is really looking forward to having a Christmas morning last more than ten minutes. “No, those are just yours. I haven’t even put Will’s out yet.”

Mike swears that Mason’s eyes nearly bug out of his head. “They’re all mine?”

“Yeah,” he says cheerfully. The smile drops from his face as he’s hit with a sudden realization. “Oh shit, are we the snobby rich family? I mean, we definitely aren’t struggling, but— are we better off than your past families?”

“Not really. They were rich, too— but they had a lot of kids. I usually only got a few presents.”

Mike would like to argue with that “too,” because they definitely are not rich, but he decides to drop it. He knows that Will would side with Mason; it’s a losing battle.

“Well,” Will says from across the room. “Since we’re so rich, we’re going to buy toys for El’s donation drive. You wanna come?”

Mason nods rapidly.

“Will,” Mike whispers loudly, cupping his hand around his mouth as if it would block the sound from reaching Mason’s ears. “Those are from Santa,” he says, mouthing the last word silently— or, he thought he did.

Mason scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I’m not five. I know he’s not real.”

Oh. That's kind of disappointing. It’s not a big deal in the grand scheme of things, but— isn’t that the best part of having a kid on Christmas? Maintaining the magic? Laying out cookies on Christmas Eve? Jingling bells at midnight so they’ll run up to you the next morning, saying that they heard Santa’s sleigh?

He’d been looking forward to that part of parenting for a while— because even though he isn’t innocent and wide-eyed anymore, the kids are. Mike missed it. He missed that part of Mason’s life. He missed so much of the parenting experience, and he doubts he’ll ever have it.

Will doesn’t seem too surprised by this revelation— like he knew it the whole time. Mike guesses that he should have realized sooner, given Mason’s age. “See if he gives you any presents with that attitude,” Will says in a loosely veiled threat. “Now sit and eat, then grab your coat. We’re stopping at the shelter first.”

The shelter partakes in a yearly Angel Tree knockoff, courtesy of El. Every child writes a wishlist to “Santa” on the first of December. El takes their wishes and transfers them onto little cards with their names on the back, taping them to a Christmas tree. Anyone is welcome to pull a name and choose whichever gift they’d like to buy them.

They have quite a few repeat donors they can rely on, and there’s always the odd person that walks by on the street. They might not get the kind of success that the big charities do, but El would sacrifice that for the control. The kids are her babies— she doesn’t want anyone else in charge of their Christmas.

When they arrive, El is already chatting with the receptionist. Lazy. Doesn’t she have a job to do?

“Hey, guys!” she waves, lighting up when she sees them. She ducks under the counter to pull out her mini tree without even needing to be told. She knows why they’re here; it’s the same routine every December.

“Hey,” Mike replies, resting his arms on the desk. He examines the tree closely— still pretty full. “Slow year?”

El nods. “Gladys hasn’t stopped by yet. I’m hoping she will eventually. If not, we’re going to have a lot of overflow.”

“Right,” he says guiltily. He thinks he might be about to ruin her day. “About that. Not to make things a whole lot worse, but we were only planning on doing one kid this year. We’ll still help with any leftovers of course, but with Mason…”

El holds up a hand, effectively cutting him off. “Mike. I understand. I expected it. And you are not helping with overflow. We’ve got it covered. Sandy agreed to pitch in this year.”

“Are you sure?” Will asks. “We can if you need us to.”

“Don’t you dare. Now— who’s your target this time?”

Mike nudges Mason with his elbow. When he looks up questioningly, Mike nods toward the tree. “Your choice. Whichever name you want. You know any of them?”

That’s a stupid question— he lived with them. Of course he knows them. What Mike meant was, are any of them particularly friendly? Anyone who’s good in Mason’s book is good in his. They deserve the biggest present of them all.

Mason leans in closer, tilting his head in every direction to see all around the tree. His eyes pause briefly over a name, but he passes it by for the one beside it. He hands it to Mike, who reads El’s neat calligraphy out loud.

“Nathan.” He glances at El, assuming that this is someone of significance, and wanting an explanation. He knows Mason wouldn’t give him one.

“That’s a good choice,” she tells Mason with a soft grin. Alright, so maybe El isn’t going to spill either. Screw Mike, then.

Before he can throw a fit in the middle of the lobby, Will butts in. “Who’s Nathan?”

“His roommate. Little boy— eight years old. Super sweet.”

Well that’s cute. Mike didn’t even know he had a roommate. Of course he did— this place doesn’t have twenty bedrooms. Well, in any case, Mike would be honored to buy this little boy a present. He probably does still believe in Santa. Perhaps he can provide one kid with Christmas magic this year.

“And what does he want?” Will asks.

Please don’t be something crazy, like a flatscreen T.V. Mike would get it for him, of course, but his bank account would feel it in the morning.

Mike closes his eyes, praying to no one in particular, then peers down at the card. “Toy dinosaurs,” he says on a relieved exhale. “Easy. And candy, apparently. El, do you not give your kids sweets? What is this?”

“I give them plenty,” she protests. “He’s already finished his stash from Halloween.”

Good taste, this kid. Mike likes his style.

“But no hot chocolate?” Will asks, like he’s personally offended by it. “What kind of monster are you?”

She just shrugs. “No one’s ever asked for it.”

“Alright,” Mike interrupts, before they can get into a full sibling-style fight. No one wants to see that. “We’ll get dinos and candy. Mason,” he says, turning to him and pointing at the tree. “Who were you looking at? Before you grabbed Nathan’s card?”

Mason suspiciously averts his eyes, locking them somewhere on the desk in front of him. “No one. Just him.”

“No— you saw someone. Who? If there’s someone else you want to shop for, we can take theirs as well. I mean, if we’re not doing overflow this year, we can definitely afford it.”

Mason watches his expression carefully, as if Mike would have any reason to lie about this. He seems to find his intentions pure enough, as he reaches out toward the tree. He tugs off a paper and passes it over to El, blushing lightly and not looking directly at her.

“Stacy,” El reads, eyebrows raised slightly in surprise. There’s a teasing lilt to her voice— barely detectable, but there. Oh?

“Stop,” Mason says, unamused.

She lifts her hands in surrender, but Mike can see that she’s fighting to keep the corners of her mouth down. “Stop what?”

“I hate you.”

“Who’s Stacy?” Will asks, looking very interested. He’s wearing an almost identical expression to El’s, only his is very clearly mocking.

“My friend,” Mason answers shortly. His reddening ears say otherwise.

“I’ve never seen you talk,” El says innocently. Mason glares sharply at her. If Mike were in her shoes, he would wisely shut his mouth.

But he isn’t in her shoes, so he bursts out laughing instead. Mason shoots him the most betrayed, most adorable pout in the whole world. His eyebrows slant at an angle Mike didn’t even think was possible, and he’s completely helpless to it. He melts on the spot.

He pulls Mason closer to him, squeezing him in a sideways, one-armed hug. “Alright, we’ll stop picking on you. She sounds nice. I’m glad you had friends here.” Friends his ass; he doesn’t believe it for a second. Still, he knows how to play nice. “We’ll get her something, too— no teasing, I promise.”

Mason narrows his eyes at him for a moment, then tentatively agrees. “Alright.”

Mike doesn’t know why he’s so hesitant. He would never break his promise— out loud. To his face. But as they walk out the door, Mason under his arm, Mike meets Will’s gaze and mouths, “He likes her.”

“Definetly,” he mouths back with an exaggerated nod.

“So what kind of dinosaurs does Nathan like?” Mike asks once they get to the store, entering one of the many aisles of boy’s toys. This one has a giant Jurassic Park sign above it, so he thinks it’s a pretty safe choice. And— yup. It’s full of dinosaurs.

“Brontosauruses,” Mason replies, scanning the shelves intently. “He already has a bunch of little plastic ones. He plays with them all the time.”

“Are we thinking big, then? Like—“ he runs over to a T-Rex that must be more than four feet tall, patting it on the head— “this guy?”

“Oh, and it’s only a hundred bucks,” Will says sarcastically. He walks down to the more reasonably priced— and sized— toys, stopping when he gets to a red box, about a foot in each direction. A happy medium. “How about this?” He picks it up, turning the opening toward Mike and Mason. There’s a chubby, blue-grey Brontosaurus inside, with what looks like a button on its chest. Mike, obviously, presses it, and it lets out a loud roar.

“Yeah,” Mason confirms with a satisfied smile. “That one.”

Mike glances down at the price tag. Regretfully, he tells Will, “Twelve bucks.”

There’s a worried crease on Mason’s forehead as he asks, “Is it too much?”

“No,” he says, almost too quickly. He doesn’t want Mason concerning himself over money. Ever. Even if they couldn’t afford it, he would still buy it. He could go without Christmas gifts himself for one year. “El set a minimum of ten dollars per donation, because people kept handing in only socks and underwear. We try to do at least twenty. It’s no big deal— we’ll just need to find something else to add.”

Mason nods in understanding. “The socks were annoying,” he agrees. “I got them two years in a row. Once they bought an entire outfit with it, which was cool I guess. But I get clothes for free at the shelter anyway, so,” he shrugs, like what can you do? He doesn’t even seem that disappointed by it— as if he’s already come to terms with the fact that Christmas presents suck.

Mike thinks it’s incredibly unfair. Clothes aren’t gifts— they’re necessities. Giving a child— who only gets one present a year— clothes for Christmas is insane. “That sucks. Just so you know, if we bought you clothes, we wouldn’t tease you with them by wrapping them up. We’d just give them to you.”

Mason just shrugs again. “It’s cool.” It’s not cool, but whatever. “I did get a pretty good present a few years ago, so I think her plan worked.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“Race cars. They came with a track and everything,” he says, his face lighting up as he talks about it, as if the thought of his toy alone has made his day. Mike remembers that gift. He bought it himself, along with a weird crawling doll for one of the girls, and a door-attachable basketball hoop. He remembers all the gifts he’s bought.

Mason’s expression drops significantly as he adds, “But I don’t have it anymore.”

“Where’d it go?” he can’t help but wonder. Not because he wants to know if Mason threw away the one thing that connected them before they even knew each other. That would be selfish. He’s simply curious.

“I took it with me to my last foster house because I wanted to keep playing with it. It’s probably still there; I didn’t get to pack all my stuff when I got returned,” he explains. He’s clearly trying to keep the sadness out of his voice, but it doesn’t work in the slightest.

What does he mean he didn’t get to pack? Did they not warn him beforehand? Did they stuff his suitcase full of clothes and kick him out the door? What kind of assholes was he staying with? Mike knew they must have been bad, but he was never sure how exactly. He doesn’t know if he wants the specifics. He feels sick.

“But you guys seem like good shoppers,” Mason says. It’s obvious that he’s attempting to change the subject, but Mike will allow it. He’d prefer not to talk about those jerks either.

Mike fakes a smile, cracking a joke and hoping with all his might that it lands. “That’s because we’re lame. This is the highlight of our year. It fills the child-sized gap in our heart.”

“Yeah, you are lame,” he says, and Mike never thought he’d be so relieved to hear those words. He’s not too upset to make fun of him, obviously.

“Shut your mouth,” he retorts, but he really means the opposite. Don’t ever change. “Do you want to get Nathan another dinosaur? Or do you have something else in mind?”

Mason ponders this for a moment, brow scrunched in thought. “He likes Pokémon. And Mario.”

“Right,” Will says, walking over to the next aisle. He stops at a large Pokémon section, and surveys his options. Dinosaurs they can handle. They know dinosaurs. Mason would probably say that they lived during the same time period. Pokémon, though— that’s a bit out of their age group. “What about… cards? That’s what you guys do, right? You collect them?”

Mason makes a show of rolling his eyes. Not necessary. “Yes. Obviously.”

Will smacks the side of his head lightly with the cards as he drops them into their cart. “Watch the ’tude, mister. You forget who has the power to take your presents away. No pony.”

He rolls his eyes again as Will pushes the cart back into the main walkway. Mike, politely, doesn’t snitch on him. “Where would we keep a pony?” Mason mutters, just loud enough for Will to hear.

“In your room. Like a big dog. Where am I going, Mike?”

Mike checks the back of Stacy’s paper, reading off the only item she listed. “The new Madonna CD.” He expects some sort of scoff from Mason beside him, but nothing comes. Offended, he shoves his shoulder. “Why can she listen to Madonna, but when I do it, you bully me?”

Will answers for him, even though he wasn’t asked for his opinion. “Because you’re not a twelve-year-old girl.”

“Fourteen,” Mason corrects. Oh, he totally likes her. An older girl? That’s so sweet. He has no chance, but it’s sweet. (And if he did have a chance, Mike would scare that girl off so fast she’d get dizzy with it. Fourteen. Cute.)

Still, there’s no harm in playing into a crush, right? For Mason’s sake.

“What color does she look good in?”

“What?” Mason splutters, face pinkening. “I don’t know.”

Liar. “Mason. Come on. I promised, no teasing.”

He huffs, crossing his arms. Mike doesn’t think he’s going to tell him, until he mutters, “She likes purple.”

Mike makes a sharp turn to the right, starting toward the beauty section. He finds the aisle that he gets forced into every time he goes shopping with Holly, barrettes and hair ties galore. He picks up a pack of multi-colored clips, holding them out to Mason. “Would she wear these?”

Mason stares at him for a long second, lost, before saying, “Yeah, probably. Why?”

Mike tosses them into the cart, then grabs a box of lavender headbands. “Because, unfortunately, I know fourteen-year-old girls. I was friends with them, I lived with them— I know what teens who listen to Madonna like. And,” he pauses as he bends down to examine the nail polish, looking up at Mason with a grin. “You get to see her wearing them. Trust me, Padawan. I’ve got this.”

Mason goes from horrifically embarrassed to confused in an instant. He squints at Mike as if he just spoke another language. “What?”

There’s no way he doesn’t understand that reference. He’s been living under their roof for months and Mike never realized that he hasn’t seen Star Wars? He doesn’t know if he’s more disappointed with himself or with Mason. “Alright, well we’re watching that as soon as we get home,” Mike tells him, grabbing two different shades of purple. “Uncultured, I swear.”

Mason throws his arms out, making a noise of protest, but doesn’t defend himself. He probably doesn’t know what he’s defending himself against.

“Stop fighting and let’s get the CD, yeah?” Will suggests, but it feels more like a warning. “Mike, are we getting you a copy, too?”

Mike glares at Will’s stupid smirk. “Shut up. And you know El’s already going to do that.” Same shit, every year. He thinks he has her whole discography by now.

Mike ignores Mason’s taunting snickers. He knows what CD he’s making Mason spend his Christmas money on first. He’ll see— he messed with the wrong guy.