All on me | byler

6

tw: !mention of self-harm!

It had been a week since Mike and Will's argument, and neither of them have talked to each other between now and then.

They were supposed to leave for New York in the morning, and Will could only contemplate if he should still go or not. But at the end of the day, he knew he had to. Well, not only because of the scholarship, but because he had a point to prove. He had to prove to Mike that he could take care of himself, and he didn't need him around all the time.

Ok, well maybe he didn't need Mike around, but he did want him around. He hasn't gotten one phone call from Mike, and he was getting pretty worried. But right now, he had to focus on packing his last few possessions from his room that he would take with him.

As he was going through the drawers of his night stand, Will found a tiny black notebook that seemed familiar.

Oh... yeah. That.

His little notebook where he wrote down all the threats he made to himself. All the times he had self-harmed, or even thought about going further. Shit. That was the last thing he needed to be reminded of right now. What if he went back to that? What if there was no one to save him next time? Would there be a next time?

What if there was a next time?

Immediately, Will felt himself get choked up by the air around him. His breathing hitched. He was having a panic attack; that hadn't happened in a while.

He felt like the walls were closing in on him, the air was getting thicker as if he were suffocating from the inside. He fell to the ground with a thump, trying to get ahold of himself.

"Will? What was that noise?" Joyce called out. No reply. "Will!?" She was instantly worried, always paranoid about her son. She ran to his room to investigate the noise.

"WILL!"

She found her son curled up in a ball by the foot of his bed.

"Honey what's wrong!? What happened!?" She asked in a panic.

"I can't do it, I can't do it, I can't do it." He repeated over and over in a cry.

"You can't do what? Will, talk to me!"

"I can't do it mom!"

Joyce wrapped her son into a hug and patted his back. "You're ok honey. You're ok, alright?" But it wasn't working.

Not wanting to leave her son's side, Joyce went over to the phone in Will's now somewhat empty room. There were a list of numbers written on a paper, taped to the bedside table. She dialed in Mike's

It took a few rings before there was an answer.

"Hello?"

"Yes, Nancy? This is Mrs. Byers. Could you put Mike on the phone please? I know it's early but it's an emergency." She asked as calmly as she could.

"Oh, yeah of course!"

There were a few moments of silence before the phone was picked up again.

"Yes?" Mike answered.

"Michael, hi! Listen, I know you and Will aren't on the best terms right now, but I really need your help. He's on the floor crying right now. He can't breath a-and- nothing I'm doing will work! Could you please tell me what to do? I think he needs you, Mike!" Joyce cried out.

"Ok uh- just keep talking to him, make sure he knows that you're there ok? I'm on my way." The phone call ended abruptly. 

Joyce went back over to Will who was still breathing heavily. "Hey, it's ok Will. I'm right here; I'm not leaving you, alright?" She soothed.