Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

If Will Byers were a light sleeper, he might have been awakened by his ceiling opening up and a medieval knight in shining armor tumbling out of the rift. Unfortunately, as soon as his head met a soft pillow, he was as good as dead to the world until shaken awake, so he didn’t actually wake up until the mattress shifted and he felt himself being scooped into the iron-covered arms of said knight.

It was the middle of an unusually hot summer, and Hopper had never installed any kind of HVAC system in the cabin. Normally, Will didn’t mind this one bit—he ran cold and he showered in the mornings, anyway, so waking up drenched in sweat didn’t delay his morning routine at all. (Though most of the time, it was the nightmares that had him waking up this way, and not the heat. Not that Will could really tell the difference.)

To Will, the roar of a fearsome dragon gave way to a clanging of metal and the sensation of being carried. “Fear me not, wyrm,” Will heard himself mumble. Blearily, he blinked his eyes open and found himself face to face with, surprise, surprise, a medieval knight. To make matters even more confusing, the hollow, metallic clatter that pulled Will from a fantastical, adrenaline-filled dream had revealed itself to have come from Mike Wheeler, once his knight’s helmet was removed. Will knew he probably needed glasses, but that couldn’t really explain why he seemed to be looking into the eyes of a Mike Wheeler who, for the first time, looked at Will in the very way Will had once looked at Mike.

“There is no wyrm. Thou art safe. It cannot find thee here,” Mike promised.

For all intents and purposes, this could easily have been his best friend in a beautifully elaborate costume of his player character in Dungeons & Dragons. Clad in chainmail and iron from head to toe, a sword strapped to his waist and a cape hanging off his back, he held himself valiantly and more confidently than Will had ever seen him do before. He also had Will cradled in his strong arms—had Mike ever carried Will period, let alone like he was some dainty princess? Not outside of a dream.

Mike pressed his forehead to Will’s. “I found thee,” he breathed, wearing a grin as wide as Will had ever seen it. It did something fluttery to his stomach that he was clearly too tired and out of practice to ignore.

Will glanced over at the clock on his nightstand, which read 3:09 A.M. He looked back at Mike. “Mike, is everything okay?”

But Mike wasn’t looking at Will anymore. Mike was looking behind him, gingerly setting Will back down on the bed. Will continued blinking in the darkness as he struggled to understand how his vision had gotten bad enough to convince him that he was now looking at Mike kneeling before him, lips pressed to Will’s wrist.

Will could do nothing but wordlessly gape.

Mike rose swiftly to his feet, squeezing once before removing his hand from Will’s. He turned his back, drew his sword, and glanced tactically around the room.

“What—”

Mike turned back briefly, a finger to his lips. He began circling the room, sword raised carefully in front of him. Will waited where he sat for Mike to return to him.

Once he finished sweeping the perimeter, Mike sheathed his sword and grabbed Will tenderly by the upper arms. “Be not afraid,” he said. “Nothing hath followed us. We can make our exit post haste.”

For nearly three in the morning, Mike was being far too theatrical. “What are you doing?” Will groaned.

“Mine heart, speak not to me like this. We are alone.” In the darkness, Will could have sworn he saw a flash of hurt on Mike’s face.

“Like what? Mike, you’re the one talking like Yoda.”

“Thou knowest me,” He urged desperately, voice weak and desperate. “It was only yesternight that I lay with thee—”

“Hold on, please,” Will interrupted, rubbing his eyes. “It’s three in the morning. I can barely understand you.” It almost sounded like Mike had said lay with thee, and Will was too sleepy to engage with his antics at the moment.

“‘You,’” Mike repeated, wrinkling his nose. “As though we do not profess our love for one another each eve before we share the night together. As though our history means nothing. Will, what wicked spirit hath cursed thee?”

Will groaned softly. “You know I got, like, a C in our Shakespeare unit, right? This is really impressive and all, but could this maybe wait until the morning?”

Mike lifted a hand to his mouth, which had fallen open to form a small O. “Thy spell—” He cut himself off and nodded solemnly. “Thou needst sleep,” he finally agreed. “Thou shalt be returned tomorrow.”

Will wasn’t sure exactly what Mike was trying to say, but he decided the best course of action was to get back to sleep immediately. If this was a dream, hopefully going to sleep within it would let him start a new, less confusing dream. “Yes, thank you,” he said, peeling back the covers.

Will plopped his head back on his pillow and began to cover himself again, ready to drift back into a dreamless sleep, but stopped abruptly. Mike had begun to remove his armor, and Will was finding it all a bit distracting. By the time Mike’s state of dress had been reduced to a thin linen shirt, Will put a hand out to stop him from continuing the striptease. This was too much.

“...Were you going to stay here?” Will asked.

Mike froze, and Will hesitated. He didn’t feel like waking up his mother and Hopper to take Mike home, and the couch in the living room wasn’t nearly long enough to support his outstretched form. Besides, something was clearly up with Mike—drunk, maybe?—and Will didn’t want to think about how he’d gotten here in whatever state he was in. If only Will could drive… “Did you drive here?”

Mike narrowed his eyes slightly in confusion, but smiled, and knelt back down to Will’s eye level. He cupped Will’s face preciously by the jaw. “Sleep, dearest. I shall keep watch while thy spell runneth course. If I could find thee here, it may not take long for the beast,” Mike said, and removed one of his gloves to stroke Will’s cheek.

Not okay to drive, then.

Will lay back with a resigned sigh. “You can, um, take the floor,” he suggested. Since Will had come out to everyone, he’d opted out of every sleepover the Party had. The mere idea that they might have any hesitations that they were simply too polite to voice bothered him so badly that he’d preemptively taken it upon himself to relinquish this familiar comfort. No one—especially not Mike—had ever pressed the matter. Will wasn’t sure if that made things easier or if it hurt him more than letting them strike first.

Well, no one had pressed until now.

“What?” Mike looked affronted. “How couldst the cold ground be safer for thee? Could I guard thee as capable from below? Will, please do not make this grievous for thyself.” He was pleading, his eyebrows drawn up in concern.

“I—” Will started. “We’re not five anymore, Mike. And you know we don’t have a spare room.” If they did, Will certainly wouldn’t be sleeping in El’s old room.

His ability to look even more wounded than he normally did when Will stood up to him apparently did not diminish with the light.

Will sighed, deciding to give in. Whatever. “Fine. Share my twin bed, then. But you’re like, a million feet tall, and you know your feet are gonna hang off the edge.”

But Mike was already sliding in next to him. Actually, he motioned for Will to take the other side of the bed so that he would be furthest from the door. Will didn’t have the energy to refuse this odd request.

Mike gathered Will into his arms and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. “Sleep. Thou art safe with me, I promise thee.”

“…Right,” Will said, blushing. His ability to articulate had completely left the building, which Will recognized as a common tell that he was dreaming. A dream within a dream, he thought. His dream self, much like his real-world self, rarely succeeded in voicing his true thoughts. Not really knowing what else to say, he decided again to give in and respond with, “Thanks.”

This was probably the strangest dream Will had ever had. All he could do was let himself succumb to sleep.

In the morning, when Will awoke, he had almost forgotten what happened, his sleepy fantasy having dissipated like lifted fog. That is, until—

“How farest thou?”

Will blinked. Rubbed his eyes. Mike stood before him again. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, his hair was mussed, and his skin looked sallow, but his face displayed an expression of desperate worry. (Will knew this expression well.) His gaze dropped to Mike’s clothing, and he experienced a moment of shock at the sight of what appeared to be a knee-length chainmail garment protecting what was underneath. And then, like he knew what he’d find, he turned his focus past Mike and saw armor laying on the ground.

The memory of last night’s not-a-dream returned to him at once: waking up to the noise of Mike, dressed as a literal knight in shining armor, holding him protectively as he slept. Putting him to bed. Kissing his hand. Kissing his forehead…

Will’s throat was painfully dry. “Mike, oh my god,” he rasped. He cleared his throat. He felt the urge to tell his best friend off for this odd behavior, or at least for drinking enough to still be this drunk in the morning. “I...fare fine,” he replied eventually.

Mike exhaled relief. “Good. What is this place?”

“You mean, the bedroom...?” (He couldn’t call it my bedroom. Not when El had slept here. Not when the ghosts of whatever Mike and El had done in this very room still haunted him. Not when he didn’t know what it felt like to have ownership over anything at all, much less an entire room his dead sister had spent the better part of two years in.)

“Not thy bedchamber,” Mike said, scoffing.

Will swallowed, his throat tight. Right.

Mike stepped momentarily into the light, and Will saw his face for the first time in full detail. Lines of raised pink flesh raked the left side of the man’s face, spanning the distance of his forehead to his chin. Freshly healed scars, Will realized.

Before Will’s sense could catch up to him, he was reaching out to touch the marks. Mike did not flinch at his touch, but rather, leaned into it. Gently, Will stroked the scars with his thumb. This was not the Mike he knew, but there was something so irrefutably Mike about him that his heart ached to see the evidence of healed wounds on his friend’s face. “What happened?”

Now, Mike tensed.

Will’s mind reeled. It was not unlikely that he had removed himself from Will’s bed the minute he sobered up and, now that he’d seen the room in daylight, was feeling the inevitable shame and embarrassment that follows a night of heavy drinking. Will was gay and Mike had spent a sleepless night here. Probably not the first sleepless night Mike’s had in this room, he reminded himself.

Sheepishly, Will withdrew his hand, then held it close to his own chest. Hiding it.

Mike’s expression softened. As he looked around the room, his eyes caught on something and brightened. He quickly went to grab it, and before Will had had a chance to recover, Mike was bringing it back to Will and kneeling before him again. In his hands, he held Will’s conical purple wizard hat. Smiling, he presented it like an offering. “Remember?” he asked, voice shaky and eyes sanguine.

Will eyed him skeptically, but took the hat anyway. “Yes, of course,” he answered. Mike looked so hopeful that Will felt the urge to do something silly, like they used to. He put the hat on his head, then lowered his chin and put a commanding arm out as though he were casting a spell. “I cast fireball,” he intoned with aplomb.

Mike’s eyes brightened, wide with wonder. “Oh, love—”

Will quickly removed the hat, a lump forming in his throat. “Mike,” he pleaded. “Stop.”

Mike’s eyebrows drew together in concern. “Stop what, my love?”

“Don’t be mean,” he said.

The other boy cocked his head in confusion, and reached out toward Will.

Will flinched away from the touch, swallowing the lump in his throat. He could feel his heart rate pick up. The familiar sting of hope reverberated through his limbs, threatening to trigger a relapse of his old weakness. No. He was better than this, now.

Bravery began to rise within him, and he didn’t try to quell it. His heart pounded in his chest now, and he began to speak calmly, but firmly. “This isn’t you, Mike. You don’t act like this. I don’t know if it’s some sick joke, or if you’re too drunk to understand what this does to me, but it needs to stop.” Will closed his eyes. “If you’re playing around—fine. You succeeded. But this has to stop. I’m not strong enough. You know that.”

Mike blinked a couple of times in quick succession. “That spell truly went awry,” he whispered.

Will scoffed. “I can’t believe you—” He paused mid-sentence, considering the man in front of him. This didn’t seem like a practical joke anymore—this was far more sinister. A demon, his mind supplied. A demon who knows exactly how to get to you. Will knew Mike, and this wasn’t Mike. His heart began to hammer in his chest, and he felt the hairs on his arms stand up.

“Where did you come from?” he asked, speaking slowly and carefully.

For once, the creature wearing Mike’s face answered without words, instead craned his neck to face the ceiling above Will’s bed.

Will followed the boy’s gaze. To his horror, he found the ceiling fractured—like it had been split in two and grown unevenly together again, a scar forming where the wound had been. It looked…like a gate had been opened and then closed.

Will’s stomach turned. Though it had been years since he and his friends had destroyed it, memories of the Upside Down were as fresh as any. “You came from there?” Will asked, stupidly. What was this thing? He had to play it cool.

“Yes,” the creature whispered. “I followed thy magic.”

Will nodded. “Okay.” The wheels turned in his head, no real destination in sight. “But where– what’s on the other side of the gate?”

“Our home,” the boy said simply. “Hawk’s End.”

Will giggled in spite of himself. Perhaps it was the nerves, or perhaps it was the pure ridiculousness of the situation. “Hawk’s End?” he repeated. “Which end?”

Creature-Mike nodded again. “Our small village in the realm of Roane,” he elaborated, a smile beginning to form before stopping abruptly. “Dost thou remember naught?”

Will shook his head, mouth open to form words he couldn’t conjure. “I...” He put his head in his hands.

“Honey,” the knight said, and rose at once to gather Will in his arms.

The embrace was warm and tight and familiar. Will leaned into the touch, and was rewarded with even tighter arms. No creature or demon could imbue a hug with as much love as this one had. A Mike could, though.

After a moment, Will sighed and wriggled out of this Mike’s grasp. “I’m calling Lucas and Dustin,” he said. He hoped they could put their heads together and figure this out.

“Can they hear us through the gate?” other-Mike asked.

Will chuckled. “Come on,” he said, grabbing one firm, muscled arm. He led the man out of his bedroom and urged him to take a seat on the couch. He complied, and Will proceeded calmly to the kitchen where the phone hung on its hook. He dialed Lucas’s number first.

He picked up on the second ring. “Byers,” Lucas said, in lieu of a greeting. His mouth was full, and loud crunches played directly into Will’s eardrum. He grimaced at the offensive noise.

“Lucas, I think something’s really wrong with Mike,” Will said, cutting to the chase.

There was silence on the other line. “Don’t worry about Mike,” Lucas dismissed.

Will looked over at the boy he’d left in his living room. He was standing awkwardly in front of the television, staring with intense concentration, despite it being powered off. “Yeah, I think I’m going to anyway,” he said.

“No, seriously,” Lucas said, another crunch sounding. He finished chewing, then continued. “Mike’s here. He’s looking right at me, and he’s fine, I promise. A little weird, maybe, but not more than usual.”

Will froze. Stole another glance at the Mike looking right at him. “Are...are you sure?” he asked stupidly.

Lucas laughed. “Did you have a nightmare or something? Yes, I’m sure. Come over and see for yourself, if you want. We’re not doing anything.”

Will’s stomach turned, but he knew better. The idea that both Lucas and Mike could be in on some cruel practical joke was not one he wanted to consider. “Can I talk to him real quick?”

In lieu of direct response, the loud thud of Lucas plunking phone-to-table battered his poor ear. “Phone’s for you,” he murmured, sounding distant. There was a rustling, and then—

“Will? Is everything okay?” Mike’s voice.

Will’s blood ran cold.

He stared at his iron-clad friend, the one standing in front of the couch in the living room, messing with the knobs on the television. “M—Mike?” Will stammered into the receiver. “Is that you?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” came Mike’s voice through the receiver. His tone grew concerned. “What’s wrong?”

Will took a deep breath. “Please come over. Right now. And bring Dustin and Max.”

“Will—”

After hanging up the phone, Will turned back to Mike—or whoever was now stiffly seated atop the sofa cushions. Demon, his brain reminded him unhelpfully. Demon or not, this Mike clearly needed help. “Mike? Er— Sir?” he called cautiously.

Not-Mike turned around. “Thou charm’st the strangest of objects,” he said.

Will ignored this. His stomach growled, bringing him back to his body. Eating would help. He walked over to the pantry deciding that he would make himself a bowl of cereal. A sugary one, hopefully. Then, he remembered his manners. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

The knight stood. “Hast thou any bread?”

Will opened up the pantry, scanning the shelves. “Um, I don’t know...oh! Oh...”

Mike was by his side in an instant. “Thou canst not reach?” the boy asked, looking up at the loaf of bread in the direction of Will’s gaze.

Will laughed, embarrassed. “No, I can’t. Could you...”

He didn’t even have to finish his sentence before not-Mike was grabbing the loaf from the top shelf with ease.

“Alas,” he remarked, disappointment in his voice.

Will peered closer at the bread. “What? Is it moldy?”

Not-Mike shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “‘Tis sliced.”

Will burst out laughing. “It’s supposed to be,” he said. He took the bread and set it on the counter. “I’m going to make us some toast. Go...sit down or something.”

The knight dutifully took a seat at the kitchen table, and Will put two slices of bread in the toaster. Waiting, he used the opportunity to observe his guest, who sat erect in his seat, facing away from Will. He realized that he still hadn’t gotten a long enough look to satisfy his curiosity, because if he had actually taken the time to pay attention to the person in front of him he might have noticed that this wasn’t the real Mike much sooner. Whoever this man was (not a demon. Not a demon. Not a demon), he certainly wasn’t recognizable as Mike from a distance.

His good posture was one such example. The Mike that Will had grown to know and love couldn’t keep his spine straight even while flat on the ground. His haircut was different, too. While still short, it was much wilder and dirtier. Soft curls framed his scarred face. And then there was his build. There was a broadness to this Mike that he knew couldn’t have appeared overnight. He probably ate more, too.

Will put two more slices of bread in the toaster.

Of course, parts of him were still recognizably Mike. He was bouncing his knee; a telltale sign that he was being made to sit still at a time he wanted nothing less. His untamed hair revealed the pink tip of his ear. His face, though scarred, was decorated with a spattering of freckles. The scowls and faces he pulled—all Mike.

He decided that this was Mike, even if another one was supposedly headed to his house right now. Even if he spoke in what was practically a foreign language and pressed his lips to Will’s skin. A copy of Mike, or a twin; one that Will had manifested from his dragon-slaying dream, one that freely showed him affection and devotion. A blessing, perhaps…or a curse. Will could feel his face heating, and he turned back toward the toaster in shame.

The toast shot up, Will flinched, and Mike drew his sword and rose so quickly that his chair toppled over to the ground. Will held his hands up in front of himself in an attempt to hold Mike off. “It’s just the toaster,” Will said. “It’s okay.”

“The toaster,” Mike repeated, the word sounding foreign on his tongue.

Will nodded. “Yeah. See?” He picked up a slice of toast and held it out. “Toast—ah—” he dropped the slice on the floor, too hot to hold between his fingers yet.

Mike swiftly sheathed his sword. “Will!” he exclaimed, taking the injured hand in his own. “Art thou hurt?” His voice was laced with concern, and Will’s stomach did a little swoop.

He yanked his hand away. “I’m fine,” he assured Mike. “The toast was too hot.”

“The toaster?” Mike asked.

Will side-stepped so that Mike could get a better view of the contraption.

Cautiously, Mike approached the toaster. He reached out to touch it.

“Careful,” Will warned. “It’s hot.”

Mike nodded, retracted his hand, and leaned over it. Just then, the second round of toast popped up, and Mike jumped, hand instinctually going for the hilt of his sword.

Will laughed, and Mike grinned at him. “Sorcery,” he remarked, beaming.

“Science,” Will corrected.

“Will the Wise, dost thou practice science?” Mike asked, raising an eyebrow, lips forming into a smirk.

Will scratched his head. “No, um, I didn’t make the toaster...” His eyes widened as he remembered their breakfast. He spun around and began preparing their plates, dressing his own with a heavy dusting of cinnamon sugar. Without thinking, he spread a generous portion of peanut butter on Mike’s slices. Would this Mike like peanut butter? Would he even know what peanut butter was?

As Will nibbled his cinnamon toast, he watched Mike carefully. Mike examined the piece of bread before taking a bite. His eyes fluttered shut, and a terribly sensual moan escaped his lips.

Will blushed. Okay, so maybe this chainmail-wearing version of Mike might not be so different from the one he knew.

“Why did you crawl in bed with me last night?” Will asked, suddenly feeling brave. Well—either brave or impulsive. Assuming there was a difference.

Chainmail Mike chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed. “Thou didst not expect me to share thy bed?”

Will shook his head. “No, we haven’t done that since we were kids.” He spoke right as the other boy had shoved about half a slice of toast into his mouth, and Will gawked at him. “Mike!” he chided.

The knight winced apologetically and hurried through the bite. “Soon thou shalt remember the bed we share every night,” he said. “I hope. Dear Gods, I hope.”

At that moment, a knock sounded on the door. Mike stood with Will, and he considered telling him to stay put, but thought better of it. He didn’t want to waste a single second. As Will approached the entryway, Mike grabbed him by the arm, halting him. He spun around to meet his eyes and found him much closer than expected.

“Please,” he said, voice soft. “Let me.”

Mike, it seemed, wanted to protect Will. Which was silly, because it was only their friends at the door. Still, he motioned for Mike to go ahead, who bravely proceeded to turn the knob and pull. It didn’t budge. Mike yanked again, harder this time..

“It’s a lock,” Will explained, reaching forward to unlock the deadbolt.

“Thanks,” Mike said, then swung open the door.

Dustin spoke before Will had even made eye contact with him. “What the everloving fuck?” he exclaimed.

“Hi,” Will greeted them, but his friends didn’t spare him more than a glance.

Mike—the ironclad one beside Will—opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted before he could even speak.

“Holy shit,” Max said. “A knight?”

“A paladin,” breathed Mike—the one in Levi’s standing on Will’s porch—eyes wide and lips parted. He pushed past the others and crossed the threshold, looking his mirror image up and down.

Of course. Suddenly, Will felt like an idiot for not making the connection.

He’d been dreaming of their characters, and when Mike played, he played as a paladin, the knightly order of warriors who swore oaths. Will had drawn Mike’s paladin dozens of times, and looking at Paladin Mike anew he began to recognize the subtle details that should have revealed this fact.

But most of all, this Mike showed Will devotion like it was his purpose. It should have been obvious.

Will decided to look upon the paladin through the eyes of his friend Mike. He stood tall—taller than the other Mike—and confident. There was that fading scar bisecting one of his brows, which made him look a bit more rugged and worn; and signs of a bit more facial hair than Will thought Mike could probably grow.

The paladin’s elaborate costume—he wore his linen tunic beneath a dull hauberk, a coif hanging off his neck like a hood. He looked like a knight. A real, proper knight. Will’s breath hitched. There had been moments before, last night and this morning, that had awakened a long extinguished flame in Will’s heart. To look upon Mike now—this paladin version of Mike—caused Will to feel a stirring he had hoped would never return.

Lucas swiveled his head back and forth between the Mike dressed in chainmail and the Mike admiring it.

When the twins—no, clones— made eye contact, the stronger Mike standing beside Will quickly stepped in front of him protectively. “Hence away, demon,” Mike warned, hand on hilt, eyes narrowed. He was speaking to the other Mike—the real Mike.

The real Mike’s expression morphed from one of obvious awe to clear disappointment. “You’re calling me a demon? Who the hell are you?”

“I am Sir Michael Wheeler, Paladin Knight of the—”

“Oh my god,” Dustin said, clapping a hand over his mouth.

Will stepped out from behind Sir Michael, grabbed Lucas and Max by the hands, and led the group to his couch. Mike—Sir Michael—followed dutifully, and though Will could not see his eyes, he knew he was shooting daggers at the real Mike.

Lucas continued to look between the duo. “I think we have to take him down,” he whispered to Dustin as they took a seat next to one another.

It might have been a joke, but bells went off in Will’s head. “No! No, it’s Mike,” Will pleaded. “Look at him.” Although he knew that this wasn’t the Mike he’d grown up with, the one he’d fallen for the summer before high school, the pull Will felt for him was the same. Renewed, even.

“I’m right here,” the real Mike said, the hurt in his voice obvious. “This is just—I don’t know, my clone or something.”

“He’s too cool to be your clone,” Max said, crossing her arms. She looked him up and down, circling around him. “You’d have to start going to the gym if you wanted to fit into his clothes.”

Mike rolled his eyes. “Shut up,” he countered weakly, unable to hide his clear admiration of—or perhaps envy for— the paladin before him. Will couldn’t blame him; he couldn’t imagine his own reaction being entirely different if he’d seen the personification of Will the Wise. His character was everything that he wanted to be, everything he couldn’t be. Strong, resilient, and confident, Will the Wise never shied away from danger. He never ran. He never hid. He didn’t call for help. It would be an incredible sight to behold, but…humbling, nonetheless. Invidious.

“Sir Dustin,” Sir Michael began, stepping toward Dustin.

Dustin grinned proudly at the honorific. Lucas nudged him.

“We must make our prompt return to Hawk’s End,” Michael said, tone taking on a commanding affect. He took the time to look each of their friends in the eye, holding their gaze. It was an extremely effective method of impressing the severity of a situation—something the other Mike had also mastered. Lucas, Dustin, and Max honestly looked moved to comply. Whenever Mike spoke with this confident determination, he could convince anyone to do just about anything.

When Michael locked eyes with Will, his expression softened. “William’s mind is transfigured so. He doth not remember...” Michael trailed off, swallowing hard. “There is much he remembers not,” he amended.

Transfigured? The raw emotion in Michael’s voice gave Will the urge to put a comforting hand on him. He suppressed it, though he probably would not have resisted this had they been alone.

Dustin tapped his chin thoughtfully, then turned to Will. “Does he speak English?”

Will made an ambiguous gesture. “I mean, he is speaking English,” he allowed. “But yeah, no, he only talks like this.”

Dustin nodded. “But how can he understand us if we can barely understand him?” he wondered aloud. “English has added, like, a million words since the Middle Ages.”

“Not without great difficulty,” the paladin chimed in, sighing. He shrugged, staring at the ground in front of him. “I understand the countenance of some with more ease than I doth others.” The message wasn’t lost on Will. Michael understands me best.

Dustin furrowed his brows. “‘Countenance’…Mike, didn’t you say you wanted to major in English?”

Mike frowned. “Yeah, but I’m not an English major yet.”

Dustin sighed, leaning close into Michael’s face. “HOW. DID. YOU. GET. HERE?” he asked, over-enunciating each word.

The paladin rolled his eyes. Will chuckled at the familiar sight. Despite the many noticeable differences between the two Mikes, the facial expressions and impatient attitude must transcend time, space, and reason. “God, man, thee knoweth that I am not deaf.”

Lucas laughed excitedly, pointing at him. “Yeah, that’s Mike, all right.”

“If Mike were more verbose,” Dustin added.

“Mike’s verbose,” Max said. “He’s just not this…articulate.”

Mike rolled his eyes and shook his head with frustration. Unfortunately, he did not attempt to articulate a rebuttal. “How did you find him?” Mike asked instead.

Will spared a glance at Michael, then shrugged. “I don’t know—he found me, I think. I mean, I woke up and he was just...there.”

“This morning?” Max asked, looking worried.

“No, in, like, the middle of the night.”

“And you waited to call us until the morning?” Lucas asked.

Will shrugged, frustrated. “I thought I was dreaming! I just had been dreaming. And then I was tired, so I went back to sleep...”

“I kept watch,” Michae proudly chimed in.

“Did you sleep?” Max asked him. “You look awful.”

Michael shook his head. “I did remain awake for most of the night. I could not leave our William to the mercy of the beasts who may be seeking him.”

“He came through a gate,” Will explained. “It’s sealed up, now, but…it looks like a gate. To the Upside Down.”

The group sat in shocked silence for a moment, processing the potential bomb that was just dropped into their laps. Dustin turned back to Sir Michael. “Sorry, you said beasts were seeking Will?”

“Demowyrm,” Michael supplied. At the Party’s blank expressions, he elaborated further. “A scaled, wing-ed creature which breathes fire.”

“Dragon,” Mike breathed, and looked at Will in wonder.

Michael nodded. “Dragon,” he agreed.

“How did you get here?” Dustin repeated his earlier question more politely this time.

Michael cleared his throat. “The Lady Jane, William, and I fought together against the Demowyrm,” he explained. “William cast a dark spell to break the bones of the beast from within—but the beast cast him away, weakening him. We tried to stave off the Demowyrm, but it had captured William and flown him miles away to what I presumed to be its secret lair.

“I mounted my steed and gave chase, but Jane stopped me. Insisted that I could not survive the quest. I told her that my survival was worth nothing without our sorcerer and, after much persistence, she opened a portal and instructed me to find him within. Alas, when I crossed through, I did find him as he slumbered. I did not mean to wake him, for I knew he would still be healing from the spell.”

Will gasped softly. “Just like my dream.” To think that Mike had lived the very thing that Will had been relieved to realize was only a nightmare.

“Thou dost remember.” Michael looked at Will with tenderness, and Will had to look away.

Dustin’s eyes lit up. “Aha!” he exclaimed. “Many worlds!” He looked to his friends for acknowledgement, or at least a flicker of recognition in their faces. Mike blinked dumbly at him, Lucas and Max exchanged a confused look, and Will smiled apologetically. Dustin sighed. Evidently, seeing no such reaction, he continued. “He’s from a parallel universe. Remember what Mr. Clarke told us?”

Will shook his head. “Sorry, Dustin,” he apologized, shrugging. “Can you maybe explain it more?”

“To be fair, Will, you weren’t there when Mr. Clarke told us about this,” Lucas said. “He told us at your funeral.”

“Funeral?” Michael asked, whipping his head around to face Will. “How didst thou have a funeral?”

Will opened his mouth to answer Michael’s question, but fortunately, was saved from that burden.

“We thought he died,” interjected Mike. “He was taken by a monster.” His voice grew hard on the word monster.

“They found a body,” Lucas added.

“It wasn’t really him, though,” Dustin said. “It just looked like him. The government faked it because we were asking too many questions.”

“That’s why they held a funeral. We had to go and act like we were mourning him, but we knew better.”

Michael had gone very still, his eyes hard.

“We knew he was still out there,” Mike explained, seeing the need to quell the worries so obviously present on Michael’s face. “El—Jane—helped us look for him. We were able to rescue him.”

“They saved me,” Will said, throat tight. He’d never been able to thank them properly for that. Sometimes, he wasn’t sure he wanted to. In case they tried to do it again.

“Anyway,” Dustin cut in, “Mr. Clarke explained the Many Worlds Interpretation to us then—that every choice you make or don’t make creates an alternate reality. For example, theoretically, there’s a world out there where we all had normal childhoods and never fought monsters.”

“There are worlds without monsters?” Michael asked, voice full of awe.

Will smiled at this. “I mean, this world isn’t even supposed to have monsters,” he said. “The ones that came here are from another one.”

Dustin “Yeah, sort of, except the Upside Down wasn’t a parallel universe, it was a wormhole—like a bridge to another planet in another dimension.”

“You’re just confusing him,” Max said to Dustin.

He ignored her and turned back to face Michael. “You came through a gate. You look just like Mike here—” he gestured to Mike’s permanent scowl—“And you talk about us like you know us. You know our names. Like there’s copies of us in your world, too. So you’ve got to be from a parallel universe.”

Michael took a deep breath. “Ye are not Sir Dustin, Sir Lucas, Lady Maxine, and William the Wise?”

Will shook his head. “We don’t have any nobility titles. We only pretend to, in D&D.”

Michael’s full attention was on Will. He held his gaze for a moment, and Will wondered what was going through his mind. He did not have to wonder for long. “Thou hadst a funeral,” Michael whispered. His voice, though soft, betrayed panic and distress.

Will blinked in surprise. “I…I wasn’t really there,” was all he could say in response.

The idea that there had been a funeral for him, and that everyone he knew had been there, was sometimes difficult to think about. To have so many mourn him, bury him, send meals and flowers to his family, only for him to reappear a week later because he didn’t yet know how to save himself…made him feel too many conflicting emotions at once. He’d feel sorry that he’d put everyone through that one second, and then embarrassed that he thought so highly of himself to assume (or hope?) that they’d care that much that he was gone the next, and then guilty that he’d allowed himself to think so little of his friends, who were the most caring people in the whole world.

“Yes, it’s sad, and we were devastated, Will, but we can talk about that later. We need to agree—is this Mike from a parallel universe?” Dustin cut in.

“Michael,” the paladin corrected, but gave no confirmation to the question at hand.

“That’s the obvious answer,” Lucas said. “He’s another version of Mike from a parallel universe.”

Max rolled her eyes. “Yes, that’s the ‘obvious answer.’ He barely looks like Mike,” she said, gesturing to all of him.

“He’s Mike the Brave,” Mike said, an odd note to his voice that Will couldn’t place. He was struggling to read Mike as well as he usually could.

The paladin narrowed his eyes. “Michael,” he corrected. “Sir Michael the Brave.”

“Fine—Michael. Whatever. Anyways, can I see your sword?”

Michael raised an eyebrow. “Thou wisht to meet my blade?”

Mike’s eyes widened. “No, not like that, not to fight you. I don’t even have my own sword. I mean— I do, but it’s more like a toy.”

Michael brandished his sword with a smirk. It was somewhat tarnished, but not enough to miss the intricate designs on the blade, highlighted as it caught the light. Awestruck, Will let out a small, involuntary gasp.

Mike reached for it, and Michael hastily re-sheathed it before he could make contact.

“Sorry, I—uh—” Mike stuttered, reddening. “I was just, uh, because I thought you might—not that you said—well—”

Will’s heart panged in sympathy. Mike’s rambling was a telltale sign that he was nervous. For whatever reason, it appeared he was trying to impress the other Mike. Unfortunately, he was failing terrifically.

“I believe in the parallel universe theory,” Will volunteered, trying to cut the awkward tension that threatened to take hold of the room.

Dustin looked pleased with himself. He turned back to Will. “So let’s retrace our steps, shall we? You said you were asleep in bed. Right when you woke up, he was there?”

Will nodded. “Yeah, he was just…hovering there,” he said, altering the truth a little. He carefully avoided eye contact with Michael.

“Did you see anything weird before that? You said you were dreaming, right?” Dustin asked.

Will leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. “Um, yeah, I was dreaming about D&D,” he said, remembering. “We were all playing, except—”

“—Except it was real,” Dustin finished. “I love those dreams.”

Lucas and Mike nodded in agreement, all four boys recalling an experience shared amongst the group. The sprawling fantastical epics that sprung in states of reverie or R.E.M. were common after long campaigns. Of the few that Will had developed himself, most had at least a few elements inspired by such dreams. To them, Dungeons & Dragons was an escape from reality, a coping mechanism, an ideal to live up to, a practice round for real life, and sprawling fantasy epic dream fodder. There was nothing quite like it, and Will was going to miss it sorely when they parted ways.

Mike the Brave got to live it every day.

“What if Mike…el, Michael the Brave…came from the dream?” Lucas asked cautiously.

“How?” Will asked.

Lucas shrugged. “I don’t know. How does any of this happen? Maybe you were dreaming about him and, like, made a wish that came true.”

Mike glared at Lucas. “A wish?”

Lucas shrugged again. “We’re dealing with two of you. There’s not a lot of precedent for something like this.”

“What didst thou dream?” Michael interjected, ignoring the exchange between the two Venkmans. Every bit of his focus was in on Will.

The memory started to come back to him. They had been in some sort of battle, and Will had been casting spells, he and El working together to protect Mike (not that he needed much protection anyway). “The dragon,” he said, looking at Michael.

Michael nodded encouragingly. “It took thee...him away. Jane believed she found him through her void and sent me to thee.”

“Yeah,” Will agreed. “I think we...talked,” he said, remembering. It was the strangest feeling, to have memories that revealed themselves only as Michael relayed them. Memories of a dream that felt more real than any others ever had. El had told him...well, whatever El had told him was just beyond Will’s grasp.

“So you brought Mike the Brave back with you,” Lucas theorized. He looked between the two Mikes again. “Mike, this kinda is your clone.”

Mike scowled again. “How do we put him back?”

“What woudst thou have with me?” Michael said, voice dripping with venom.

“What? Speak English, dude,” Mike retorted.

“Please,” Will said, extending his arms to keep a healthy distance between the two of them. They both relaxed where they sat.

“Hold on,” Max interjected. “I think I know what’s going on here.”

“I mean, I think I already figured that out,” Dustin mumbled.

Max ignored him, turning to Will. “So you dreamed about some campaign, right? And when you woke up, you’d brought Mike the Brave back with you.”

“Michael,” the paladin corrected again. Will eyed him strangely. He hadn’t corrected Will once each time he’d addressed him as Mike. Come to think of it, Michael had only started referring to him as William now, in front of their friends.

“Sure,” Max said, waving a hand. “Michael follows you home, vows to protect you from some ‘beast’, and grows increasingly militant in Mike’s presence. It’s so obvious. Mike is the beast!” She turns to her nemesis, smirking. “You know what this means, right? There can only be one. A fight to the death!”

Michael stood, towering over Mike. “Turn and draw,” he said, hand once again going to his sword. The latter paled, and Will’s hand shot out to grab the hilt before the former could withdraw the blade. He wordlessly accepted the protest.

Mike rose to his feet, and stood straighter than Will had ever seen him stand. “I’m not fighting you,” he snapped. He turned to face Will. “Can’t we just send him back?”

“Then you alone will remain,” Michael offered. “William, Sir Lucas, Sir Dustin, and the Lady Maxine shall accompany me henceforth.”

Mike’s hands balled into tight fists. “No! That’s ridiculous. You’re not stealing my friends,” he argued.

“I’m not going anywhere they call me ‘Lady,’” Max added, wearing an unsubtle expression of repugnance.

Michael stopped suddenly, looking around curiously. “Where is your Lady Jane?” he asked.

The silence that followed chilled the summer air. Will swallowed the tears pricking the back of his throat.

Dustin spoke first. “No…no, our Jane is dead.”

Michael’s jaw tightened, and he immediately put a hand on Will’s. Squeezed. Will braced himself for whatever tantrum was about to come crashing down on the novelty of the situation.

Instead, Michael just said, “I give ye my condolences.” He sounded genuinely sorry.

“So your Jane...?” Mike trailed off.

Michael nodded. “She does live,” he confirmed.

Will’s heart panged. The idea that El was alive in some other universe, but not his own—Will couldn’t bear it. A tear slid down his cheek, and Michael wiped it away gently. Hot, thick rivulets followed, falling from his eyelids beyond his control. Michael turned fully toward him and took his face in his hands.

“Thy sister awaits thee in Hawk’s End. Let me take thee now,” he said softly. “Will, thou art safe in my protection. Jane’s abilities are every bit as powerful as thine. No harm shall come to thee as long as we live, William. I can promise this. We can promise that we shall protect thee.” He looked back up at the group, urging them to agree with his eyes.

Instead, they all wore similar dumbfounded expressions, exchanging confused glances once the paladin turned back to face Will.

“…Once we determine how to reverse thy spell that hath caused their memories to vanish,” Michael amended.

“Our memories are completely fine,” Mike spat. “It’s a parallel universe, remember? None of us are going anywhere with you.”

Michael laid a protective, comforting hand on the small of Will’s back. Will sank into the touch.

“Uh,” Mike said, clearly gaping in the direction of Michael’s hands on Will. Though his back was not visible to Mike, it was probably obvious what was happening.

Dustin and Lucas looked as though they, too were very deliberately trying not to look at Michael’s display of affection.

Embarrassed, Will reluctantly shifted away, shaking his head. He wiped away his own tears, sniffling. “We can’t,” he admitted.

“Just William, then,” the paladin amended, eyeing the group. “I will bring him home.” His tone was clear: this was a promise.

Will blushed. Deep down, some part of him wanted to go. He wanted to give himself over to this Mike. (Michael, he corrected himself.) This tender, passionate version of his oldest friend, who protected and followed him from one universe to the next.

Most of all, he wanted to live freely, just as he was. As the version of himself that he always hoped he could be.

“No way!” Lucas exclaimed. “Will belongs here, with us.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Will assured him, trying to hide the note of sadness in his voice.

“Good. It seemed like you might for a second,” Lucas said.

Max narrowed her eyes on Michael. “Listen,” she sighed with faux complacency, “You can’t take Will, but— if you have to take someone— I guess you can have Mike.”

Both Mikes put on an identical expression of disgust.

Mike scowled at Max. “What is your damage?” he demanded.

Max just shrugged in response.

“I still kinda want them to fight,” Lucas said in an aside to Will. “Ten bucks on the knight.”

Will stifled a giggle. The image was a funny one, but he wasn’t sure he could trust Michael not to take it too far. He had a wildness about him, and it was exhilarating but terrifying all the same.

After delivering a lethal glare to Mike, Michael had turned to face Lucas. “This hateful fool shall perish on my sword,” Michael promised him.

“I believe you,” Lucas said solemnly.

“Okay, no one is fighting anyone,” Will said. “Michael, we have to get you back home to Hawk’s End.”

“Hawk’s End?” Max and Dustin repeated in unison.

“His village,” Will supplied.

“Did you come up with that in your sleep?” Dustin asked, impressed.

Will shook his head. “No, that’s just what he told me. Well—maybe.”

“So you really just believe whatever he says, huh?” Mike accused. “What if he is from the Upside Down and this is all just some ploy?”

Will’s stomach twisted. “It’s...possible,” he admitted.

“What?” Mike said.

“Well, the gate...” Max reminded them.

Will gulped. “Maybe I should just show you guys.” He led them down the hall to his room. In the daylight, the scarring on the ceiling was much more apparent.

Max gasped.

“Holy shit,” Mike said.

“A gate,” Dustin breathed. He turned back towards Michael. “You did come through a gate.”

Michael nodded. “I cannot truly say how I came to be here,” he admitted. “I followed William’s magic hither. I know it better than mine own mind. Lady Jane showed me the way. And then, as promised, there he was. Asleep.”

“You keep saying you followed me,” Will said, furrowing his brows in confusion. “But I was here the whole time.” He gestured to his bed.

Michael ignored him, focusing his attention on Will. “I followed thee,” he said. “Thou toldst our party to run before thou casteth thy conjured flame. The beast took thee anyway, and I nearly fought Jane to come to you. She told me that if I taunted the fire-breathing beast that I would meet my end in its roaring flames, not living to see thee freed.” He stepped closer to him, taking Will’s chin in his hand. Lowering his voice, he whispered just to Will: “But run through fire I will for thy sweet sake.”

Will’s heart skipped a beat.

“…Will, can I talk to you for a minute?” Max said abruptly, tapping him on the shoulder and startling him.

Will and Michael separated, and Will felt his face heating. He glanced between his friends and the two Mikes.

“They’ll be fine,” Max assured him. “Right, guys? You’re going to respect Will’s wishes and no one’s going to fight? Especially when I’m not there to witness it?”

Mike rolled his eyes. “This is so fucking stupid.” His eyes widened suddenly, catching on something in the distance. “Holy shit, is that your shield?” Mike pushed past Michael and beelined for the broad piece of iron Michael had shown up carrying. He lifted it, straining a little.

“Come on,” Max said, pulling Will away. She led them into the bathroom and shut the door.

Will’s gaze lingered on the door, but a shake of his shoulders brought his attention back to Max.

“Earth to Will,” she said, waving a hand in front of his face.

He swatted it away. “What?” he asked. He could only hope she saw through him less easily than he was surely making it.

“Oh, we’re playing dumb. Got it.” She nodded exaggeratedly. “Your knight in shining armor is flirting with you.”

Will swallowed. He looked back at the door as if he could see through it. “I thought I was just imagining things.”

“Not this,” Max said with a grin. “He’s being pretty obvious.”

Will blinked a few times in quick succession, letting her words sink in. “What should I do?”

“What do you want to do?” Max asked. “Besides go with him. And don’t you dare say ‘go with him’ because you are not leaving me.”

Will gave a sad laugh. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s an option, anyway.”

Max frowned. “He seems to think it is.”

Will shook his head. “He also… seems to think I’m… the other Will.”

Recognition colored Max’s face as she digested this.

“Yeah,” Will said sadly.

“I guess it makes sense there’s another Will. If there’s another him, and another me.”

“And another Lucas and another Dustin,” Will tacked on.

Max sighed. “We have to tell him, you know.”

Will nodded sadly. “I know.”

“Aw, Byers,” Max said, rubbing his arm soothingly. “If you want, I can do all the talking.”

Will shook his head. “No, it should be me. I can do this.”

“You know, for a moment there, I thought you were over him,” Max confessed.

“I was— I am,” Will said. “It’s just…”

“…Hard to resist that kind of devotion?” Max suggested.

Will nodded sheepishly. “I’ve never had that.” He swallowed the tears that threatened to choke him. The expression on Max’s face was so full of pity and woe that Will almost felt a bout of anger rising within him. He looked away, chest heaving. “Not in this universe, at least. Not this version of me.”

The unmistakable schwing! of a sword leaving its sheath caught their ears.

“Mike,” Will whispered in horror.

Hurriedly, Max and Will clambered out of the bathroom and rushed towards the source. There, they found Michael, sword drawn and held against Mike’s throat, pinning him against the wall.

“Michael, no! Stop!” Will yelled, running up to his side and pulling fruitlessly at one strong arm. “Let him go.”

“I can handle this on my own, thanks,” Mike wheezed, his hardened, fiery eyes locked on Michael. Even pinned, he was clearly raring to go. “What’re you gonna do— challenge me to a duel? Spit on me?”

“Would thou wert clean enough to spit upon!”

Will gaped. “Mike, Michael—please, can we all take a moment and talk this out?”

Michael spared a wary wayward glance towards Will, begrudgingly lowering his weapon.

“Jesus Christ, man,” Mike panted, rubbing his shoulder.

“What did you say to him?” Will demanded.

Mike had the audacity to look put out. “What did I say to him? This piece of shit came at me for no reason!”

“Not without reason,” Michael corrected. “I know an apparition when I see one.”

“Apparition?” Mike chortled incredulously. “I’m realer than you are.”

“Silence, demon,” the paladin spat. “Thou art as valiant as a slithering snake.”

“He’s not a demon,” Will said, sighing, but he couldn’t blame Michael for assuming that Mike was the very thing Will feared he was. “He’s Mike. That’s our Michael. He’s my oldest friend.”

Michael looked wounded. “Will,” he breathed. “Remember me, please.”

Will shook his head. “I can’t,” he said. “There are no memories to find. I’m not your Will.”

Michael knelt at Will’s feet, grasping his hands again. “Thou art bewitched, my love.”

Though Will could not see them, he could feel the reactions of his friends. It had been ages since he had felt so embarrassed, so naked— and he yanked himself away from Michael’s grip. “I’m not bewitched.”

Michael rose to his feet, but leaned down to fix himself at Will’s eye level. “Thou speaks’t not in thy natural tongue. Thou cowerest away from me, because thou rememberest our love not.” Michael’s arms were flying as he passionately listed all the ways that a gradual absence of Mike’s friendly affection had affected Will. “Thou art bewitched to forget,” he impressed, pausing after each word for emphasis. His eyes traveled past Will, towards the others. “All ye are.”

“You’re in the wrong universe,” Dustin said, approaching them. “If anything, you left your Will there. You left your—er, us there.”

Michael paled. “It is possible,” he allowed. “And if this be true, I must make my exit swiftly. But I cannot leave Will here with him.” He nodded at Mike.

“What did Mike do?” Lucas asked, exapserated. “Really! What did he do to you?”

Michael shook his head, thinning his lips. “‘Tis not what he hath done to me, but what he hath not done for Will.”

“And what is that?” Max asked, crossing her arms.

Michael slowly approached Mike. His footsteps seemed heavier with each step he took, his spine straightening. He looked impossibly tall, though he stood eye-to-eye with Mike.

“Thou recognizedst me upon thy first gaze,” he said. “Thou knew’st at once that I am a paladin.”

Mike nodded, confused.

“But thou art no spectre,” he continued. “Thy friends look upon thee with love and admiration.”

Mike stayed silent.

“But I do not,” Michael said. “I see thee for what thou art. A paladin who hath broken thine oath. I see now that it was not thee I fear’d— no, it was myself. ‘Twas the knowledge that I could ever be so cowardly as to deny not only mine own true self and honor; but my love.”

Will watched Mike’s jaw clench, Adam's apple bobbing hard. Again, he didn’t reply. The others looked on in quiet anticipation.

“I swore an oath to protect my sorcerer no matter the cost. To follow him wherever he leadeth, and to lead him in turn when he is lost. I did this because I love him. This love is part of mine oath.

“And I look upon thee, and I see that either thou didst not swear such an oath, or thou hast broken it to its very foundation. If thou lov’st him true, thou wouldst keep thine oath. As such, to relinquish Will to thy care would be to break mine own.”

Will’s heart skipped a beat.

“And you know I cannot do that,” Michael added quietly. He covered his mouth with his hand, closing his eyes. He was self-soothing. Will wanted to hold him, wanted to comfort him. He stayed put.

“You keep saying I’m a paladin,” Mike said. “But usually when we play as a group, I’m the DM. The, uh, dungeon master.” At these words, Michael looked momentarily scandalized. Mike quickly elaborated. “I mean— the storyteller. I tell the story.”

Michael relaxed. “And when thou spinst a yarn— tell the story, as thou framed it—thou canst be paladin?”

Mike shook his head. “No— did Will not tell you about Dungeons and Dragons?”

Will confirmed that he had not.

Michael shrugged. “So this is what, theatre?”

“No— I mean, kind of. It’s a role-playing game.”

“A game,” Michael repeated.

“Yeah, where we act like characters, and I write the plot that everyone tries to follow. We defeat monsters and go on quests—”

“Ye play-act my own life?”

Max chuckled. “Ridiculous, isn’t it?”

Mike nodded at Michael, ignoring Max. “I mean, yeah. Yeah, we kind of do. My character is Mike the Brave, and Will’s is Will the Wise. Lucas is a ranger, and Dustin is a bard. Max— she plays as a zoomer, which doesn’t really exist, but I sort of just let her play as a modified rogue.”

Michael considered this. “What is a zoomer?” he asked.

Mike smiled. “I don’t really know,” he admitted. “She made it up.”

Michael rolled his eyes, and Mike laughed. They shared a smile, and Will felt something akin to hope… or dread.

“And how does Jane play-act?”

The hope dissipated.

“Oh,” Mike said, biting his lips nervously. “She…she never played, actually. She didn’t really get it. But I have a character for her. A mage.”

Michael nodded in agreement. “A mage she is, in my realm, too.”

“Yeah,” Mike said.

They all sat in silence for a moment. Will played with the fraying seams of his jeans.

Then, Michael spoke. “Might I ax a question?”

Mike gestured for him to proceed.

“Will said that your Jane is dead,” he said carefully. “How…when…?” He took a deep breath. “And, I am sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” Mike replied awkwardly.

Michael nodded in acknowledgement, and fidgeted with the rings of his chainmail garment. He looked like he had more to say. “How did she die?” he asked again.

“She sacrificed herself,” answered Max.

“She saved us all,” Dustin added.

Will didn’t say anything—Michael was looking at Mike for the answer. Mike seemed to know this, too, because he was breathing slowly and audibly in that way he sometimes did, like he was trying to inhale courage.

Finally, Mike spoke. “We—I destroyed this…bridge to the Abyss. And she got on the bridge.” He cleared his throat. “She believed she couldn’t live a free life here. That she was this burden. I tried to stop her, but—”

“How long ago?” the paladin interrupted.

“Almost two years ago,” Mike answered.

“Didst thou see—” Michael stopped himself and took a deep breath. Furrowed his brows in determination, then spoke: “Didst thou see the corpse?”

Mike’s jaw dropped. “Well…” he trailed off.

“Why?” Lucas asked, skeptical.

Will could feel bile rising in his throat.

It should have been him. He was who Vecna wanted. Will had already lived a happy life, and he likely wouldn’t have the opportunity to finish it that way. El had experienced only fleeting moments of joy in an excessively tragic childhood. She deserved to at least try. And here Will was, sleeping in her bed and pining for every version of her boyfriend.

Michael seemed to clock Will’s reaction, and reached out to him. The touch soothed him instantly. “Because I may have the final piece to our riddle. And a reason for all of thee to follow me to my realm.”

“No,” Mike confessed. “No…corpse.” Before anyone could say anything, Mike continued. “I’ve thought about that before. There was something impossible about her escape.”

“Mike, no—” Dustin interjected. The one story he could never tell.

But Mike ignored him. “I think she could still be out there, somewhere. I hope she is. I hope she’s finally free.”

Michael nodded with understanding. He looked firmly into Mike’s eyes. “She is,” he said.

Mike smiled sadly. “I’d like to think so.”

The paladin shook his head with mild frustration, and leaned closer. His voice turned deadly serious. “I know she is, because she liveth in Hawk’s End.”

Will’s stomach swooped. Michael was sometimes hard to understand, but surely he wasn’t implying…?

Mike cocked his head. “Yeah, your El didn’t die, we know.”

“Oh my god,” Max said, hand coming to her mouth.

The rest of the Party seemed to be realizing quicker than Mike was.

Michael closed his eyes and sighed. “Not just that. I believe it is your Jane who liveth freely in my realm.”