Chapter Text
Dustin's Hellfire shirt may as well have been a beacon for the number of stares it drew in the halls of Hawkins High. Whispers sounded from every corner of the cafeteria. “Cult,” “Murder,” “Satanic.” The words followed Dustin everywhere these days.
Will didn't know Eddie, and sometimes it was hard for him to understand Dustin's insistence on wearing the shirt to school day after day when the attention it drew did more harm than good.
The way Will heard it, Eddie died to buy the others enough time to try to kill Vecna. He may not have met him, but he was pretty sure Eddie would rather Dustin put his energy into finding Vecna rather than… whatever it was he was trying to do with the Hellfire club.
“For the hundredth time, we aren't restarting Hellfire. We need to keep our heads down.”
It was only their first day back from winter break, and yet Dustin was already starting this again. Will hated confrontation, and he hated that Dustin was grieving, but Lucas was right.
He glanced across the cafeteria table to Dustin and Lucas, staring each other down, both waiting for the other to break. Meanwhile, Mike just looked mildly annoyed, as if this whole thing was an inconvenience that was getting in the way of him eating his bologna sandwich.
“Listen,” Mike started, “I miss Eddie too, but restarting Hellfire, it won't… fix anything.”
Dustin’s jaw ticked, and for a moment, Will thought he might get up and leave.
“Fine,” Dustin ground out. “Then I want to start a new campaign. Not here. Not Hellfire. At home.”
Will could practically feel Mike drawing in a breath to protest beside him, and he quickly interjected, “I think that's a great idea.”
Mike turned sharply towards Will, his eyes searching Will's in that way they always did when he disagreed with him, but was trying to understand anyway.
“I haven't played a proper campaign in years. I miss the party,” Will stated, holding Mike's gaze, trying desperately to communicate with Mike through that look alone. Dustin needs this. Let him have this one thing.
“Guys, we don't have time for DnD right now. We need to be focusing on Vecna.”
“No,” Mike cut off Lucas, finally tearing his eyes from Will's with a small sigh. “Will is right. It's a good idea. If we can't play at school, we should play at home. It'd be nice to have a little bit of normal between crawls.”
Lucas rolled his eyes, but didn't put up more of a fight. It was three against one.
“I can start planning for the campaign tonight,” Mike began.
“No,” Dustin cut in. “I'll be the Dungeon Master.”
The rest of the party shared a hesitant look. Dustin had never run a campaign in all their years of playing Dungeons and Dragons. It was almost always Mike; occasionally Lucas.
The one time Will tried to plan a campaign… well, it hadn’t gone how he hoped.
“Are you sure?” Mike asked. “I really don't mind.”
“I'm sure.”
And that was that.
-.-.-.-.-
The next evening, the party gathered in Mike's basement to fill out character sheets and start laying the groundwork for their new campaign. There was a chill in the basement that always seemed to linger this time of year, only slightly offset by the space heater in the corner.
Will sat wrapped in a thick blanket, though none of the other boys seemed to mind the chill, chewing on the end of his pencil as he glanced over his character sheet.
“Well, I’m obviously going to be a paladin,” Mike stated, twiddling absentmindedly with his mini-figure of “Mike the Brave”.
“A human paladin, no doubt,” Dustin said dryly.
“What’s wrong with that?” Mike scowled.
“I’m also going to be human,” Lucas interjected before the two could start bickering.
It seemed all Dustin wanted to do these days was fight.
“A human ranger,” Lucas clarified.
“Goody,” Dustin said, leaning back in his chair with a look of boredom edging on agitation. He turned his gaze to Will with a slight scowl, his eyes dark in that way they never were before Eddie’s death. “And you’ll be a wizard?”
“Actually,” Will chewed his lip, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders, as if keeping out the chill could also keep out the disapproval he knew he was about to be met with. “I was thinking of switching things up a bit.”
All three boys raised their eyebrows in response, and Will squirmed under their scrutiny.
“I, uh… well, I thought I might be a cleric this time. An elf cleric, so not so different from our last campaign. Still a magic-wielder, just a different kind of magic.” Will knew he was rambling, but he couldn’t convince himself to just say it.
Mike’s gaze turned piercing, with that stupid, knowing look that always found its way to Will. Will shifted uncomfortably under his hard stare, suddenly too aware of his own body, of the way every small movement gave him away. Mike always saw right through Will in a way the other boys never did.
“Why are you acting like we would have a problem with that?” Mike asked, his eyebrows drawing together.
Will cleared his throat and rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly, his eyes skating across the basement walls in an attempt to look anywhere but at the expectant faces of the party. “Well, this character, she’s-”
“She?” Lucas suddenly cut in, bewildered. “Did I hear that right? Why do you want to play as a girl?"
Will’s face instantly warmed in embarrassment, and suddenly, he didn’t feel so cold. He had known this was a bad decision. He knew they would react like this. Even still, he cleared his throat again, trying to sound confident in this decision.
“I just feel like, sometimes, all our campaigns can feel really similar. Our party has always been made up of male heroes, and if El has taught me anything, it's that girls can be just as badass as boys.”
Lucas didn’t look convinced.
“I also wanted the chance to paint a new mini-figure that isn’t so similar to the ones I’ve painted in the past,” Will added, his gaze flicking to Mike, because god, he could handle Lucas disapproving, but if Mike thought it was weird, then he’d just throw the idea out the window and pretend he’d never even brought it up.
He found an odd sort of conflicted look on Mike’s face, his eyes searching Will’s face as if he knew he could find all the answers there, and Will’s stomach twisted. Mike opened his mouth to say something, but Dustin beat him to the punch.
“I like it,” Dustin said, his shoulders a little less tense than they had been a minute before. “Eddie always encouraged us to think outside the box with our characters.”
Will smiled, letting out a little sigh of relief while trying to ignore the way Lucas’s face screwed up in disapproval. He didn’t look at Mike again. He couldn’t. Even still, he unconsciously held his breath, waiting for Mike to say something.
“We always use our real names, though,” Lucas interjected, as if this point would make Will realize what a dumb idea it was. “Will the Wise, Mike the Brave, Lucas the Cunning, Dustin the Charming,” he listed, trying to drive the point home.
Lucas looked at Will expectantly, eyebrows raised.
“Well, I was thinking, maybe Wilma? Wilma the Enlightened. You know, because she’s a cleric, and she has divine power...” Will trailed off, his confidence in his decision melting under Lucas’s scrutiny.
Lucas scowled. “That doesn’t roll off the tongue.”
“I like it too,” Mike finally spoke up, and finally Will could release that breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding, his shoulders drooping in relief. There was still that strange look on Mike’s face that Will couldn’t quite read, but he tried not to overanalyze it as Mike continued. “It’ll be nice to mix things up.”
Will grinned appreciatively at Mike, but Mike quickly turned his gaze away from Will, leaving him feeling strangely cold.
“Fine, whatever,” Lucas finally gave in, huffing in disapproval before returning to his character sheet.
The rest of the evening passed quickly, with Dustin working on campaign details while the other boys put finishing touches on their character sheets.
At nine, Dustin and Lucas said goodbye, and Will began gathering his painting supplies to work on his mini-figure. He thought Mike had already headed back upstairs, and with Jonathan not home yet, he was glad to have the basement to himself to work in peace.
A moment later, however, the toilet flushed in the bathroom, and Mike emerged. Will’s eyes widened momentarily in surprise, but he quickly covered it, shuffling things around on the table for no real reason other than to do something with his hands.
Mike stood at the bathroom door for a moment, his eyes drifting over Will’s art supplies. There was a quiet tension radiating off of Mike that Will could feel without even looking up, like radio waves pulsing through the chilled air of the basement and straight into Will’s chest.
“I was thinking,” Mike began, settling himself beside Will on the couch and absentmindedly picking up the blank mini-figure that Will had bought at the comic store the day prior, turning it in his fingers.
“Uh oh,” Will teased, trying to pretend that he didn’t feel the strange weight in Mike’s tone. “That’s never good.”
Mike gave him a small glare with no real heat behind it.
“Ha ha. As I was saying,” he paused, even his fingers stilling for a moment before he continued. “You should draw our characters for this campaign. I mean, I know we’re going to have our mini-figures, and you usually draw the party anyway, but it’d be nice to have a drawing of our characters to keep with our character sheets.”
“Oh,” Will forced himself to stop watching the way Mike’s fingers turned the mini-figure over and over, dragging his gaze to meet Mike’s eye. There was an intensity there that didn’t quite match his request, and Will felt like he was trying to put puzzle pieces into holes that were the wrong size, his brain trying to catch up with what Mike was asking.
“Don’t you think the drawings would be pretty similar to the ones I’ve made in the past? I mean, you’re playing the same character.”
Mike held Will’s gaze, shifting his body towards Will subtly until their knees touched. Will’s breath caught, the way it always did when Mike touched him in these small, insignificant ways that meant nothing and everything all at once.
“You’re better now, though. Like you said, it’s been a couple of years since we all played together, and your art has improved so much. I want to see my character through your eyes.”
Will’s face flushed at the compliment, and he had to physically bite his tongue to stop himself from looking down at their knees. “I- yeah, I can do that.”
Mike grinned, standing suddenly. “Cool.”
Will felt the absence of the other boy's knee pressing against his like ice prickling under his skin.
“I’ll let you work on your mini-figure then. I know you prefer to paint in private.”
It was like whiplash, the sudden shift from the warm press of Mike's knee and talking about Will's art as if it was something extraordinary, to suddenly standing at the bottom step of the stairs, not quite meeting Will's eye.
“Uh, yeah,” Will tried not to sound so disappointed. “Yeah, thanks.”
-.-.-.-.-
“The ghoul leans over Sir Mike, grinning with jagged, yellowed teeth, now red with blood. Wilma the Enlightened, make your move.”
Dustin’s eyes were sharp, focused. He looked more alive than he had in months, likely since Eddie's death. The shift in his mood was palpable and strangely contagious. There was a buzz in the usually stale basement air, like static electricity snapping between the boys as they bounced off one another and advanced through the game.
Will's eyes roved over his spell sheet, trying to decide how best to balance healing the party with making a move against the ghoul.
“I cast blindness on the ghoul and move to Sir Mike's side so I can bonus action healing word, granting,” Will paused, rolling a four-sided die. “Five points of healing.”
“Blinded and confused, the ghoul stumbles backward as a healing light surrounds Sir Mike, bringing him back from the brink of death.”
Mike flashed Will a grateful grin as Dustin moved Mike's mini-figure back into a standing position.
“Sir Mike kneels at the foot of Wilma the Enlightened, bowing his head in gratitude. ‘I am indebted to you, Lady.’”
Lucas rolled his eyes at the gesture, but Mike continued.
“Sir Mike turns, brandishing his sword with a flourish before driving it down into the blinded ghoul. Empowered by the healing magic of the cleric, he uses his Divine Smite to deal nineteen points of damage.”
“The ghoul falls under the mighty sword of Mike the Brave, and the young maiden re-emerges from the barn, weeping as she thanks the party for their bravery in saving her child. She has little to give the party as a reward, but she offers all that is in her pockets.”
“Five gold and,” Dustin placed a crumpled paper on the table with a grin. “A detailed map of the region, which includes the mountain pass you believe to lead to the Keep of the Crimson Order, where the Red Dragon Highlord has been gathering his most loyal knights.”
Will had been pleasantly surprised to find that Dustin took to DMing naturally. It was nice having someone new telling the story. It made it harder to predict what might come next.
“Nice. Now we can finally stop running around like idiots and find those bastards,” Lucas said, reaching for the hand-drawn map that Dustin had placed in front of the party. “That was kind of dramatic there, though, Mike.”
“What?” Mike’s face contorted in indignation. “I killed the ghoul. What are you talking about?”
“I’m indebted to you, Lady,” Lucas mocked.
“It’s a tabletop role-playing game, I’m role-playing,” Mike stated, bristling at Lucas’s words.
“You can’t expect our storyteller not to tell a story, even as a player,” Will added.
He didn’t really understand why Lucas had an issue with it. Mike had always gone over the top with his storytelling. It was what made him such a good Dungeon Master. Mike used his words to breathe life into his stories, and to him, this was another story regardless of his role in it.
Lucas turned to Dustin, “Back me up here. It was a bit dramatic to add all of that mid-combat.”
“Mike has a point,” Dustin conceded with a shrug. “You can’t blame him for role-playing in a role-playing game.”
“Whatever,” Lucas sighed.
“Mike! Dinner is getting cold! Wrap it up!” Mrs. Wheeler’s voice carried down into the basement, and the party let out a collective sigh.
“It’s okay, this is a good stopping point,” Dustin said, shuffling through a couple of papers before looking back up at the party. “Is there anything you guys want to tie up before we end?”
Mike’s eyes lit up as he straightened his spine and chose to forgo responding to Dustin, instead jumping straight into his storytelling voice.
“Sir Mike goes to Lady Wilma once camp has been set, kneeling before her once more. ‘My lady, I wish to offer a small token of my gratitude for saving my life today.’ And I give her the Ring of Protection that I found in the cave.”
The last part was said in Mike’s regular voice, his dramatic “Mike the Brave” voice falling away.
“Lady Wilma accepts the gift graciously,” Will responded, a slight smile on his face. “I have nothing to offer you in return,” he said, trying to put on a more feminine voice, which only resulted in an embarrassing voice crack that made Mike chuckle before he continued.
“You owe me nothing. May you wear this ring and face battle without fear.”
There was a short pause, and then, “Are the lovebirds done flirting?”
Both Mike and Will turned sharply to Lucas, who was looking very unimpressed.
“I didn’t need the ring, so why shouldn’t I let one of you use it?” Mike asked with a scowl.
“You could have just given it to her,” Lucas said matter-of-factly. “You didn’t need all the ‘Oh, Lady Wilma, please accept my gift.”
Mike threw up his hands in frustration. “Sorry that I like there being an actual story to accompany our actions.”
“Okay!” Dustin interjected. “You set up camp for the night and rest.” His voice came out sharp as he flipped his binder shut with a thump. “Are we still good for next Saturday?”
“We’ll be here whether you guys come or not,” Mike joked, albeit a bit tensely, gesturing to himself and Will.
Lucas opened his mouth as if he might say more to Mike, only to decide against it with a slight shake of the head and a sigh as he swung his bag over his shoulder. “Yeah, see you guys at school.”
-.-.-.-.-
Glass clinked loudly as Will stacked dinner plates, helping Mrs. Wheeler clear the table like he did every night. Every so often, his eyes darted to the open archway, looking out at the stairs, waiting for Mike to appear. He was in the living room watching something on the TV with his dad, or pretending to, but Will knew it wouldn’t be long before he found an excuse to escape to his bedroom.
Will brought the plates into the kitchen, setting them to the side of the sink for Mrs. Wheeler, before returning to the dining room to collect the last few dishes. Finally, he caught a blur of what could only be Mike heading towards the stairs out of the corner of his eye, and he nearly dropped the cup he had just picked up.
He set it back down quickly and stepped into the entrance hall, bracing himself as he watched Mike move up the stairs, losing more of his courage with every step of the other boy’s feet.
“Hey,” he called hesitantly, before he could talk himself out of it.
Mike paused halfway up the steps, turning to Will with wide eyes.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“I, uh,” Will fidgeted with the hem of his shirt sleeve, suddenly wishing he hadn’t stopped Mike at all. “I had something I wanted to show you. Down in the basement. I’m almost done helping your mom if you want to meet me down there in a minute.”
Mike’s eyes flashed with some emotion Will couldn’t decipher.
Mike had always been hard to read. He spoke more with his eyes than with his mouth, and yet even in his eyes, his emotions were guarded.
Will, on the other hand, felt like just a glance from Mike cracked him in two.
“Okay, yeah, I’ll wait down there for you,” he said, turning and stepping back down into the entrance hall beside Will.
“Cool,” Will replied lamely.
“Cool,” Mike parroted, the smallest smile gracing his lips before he turned to make his way towards the basement.
Will returned to the dining room with a sigh, clearing off the last few dishes with shaky hands. He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous. Maybe because the last time he gave Mike a painting, it had been a veiled love confession.
He placed the final dishes beside the sink, where Mrs. Wheeler stood washing the ones he had brought in before.
“Thank you, Will. You’re so much more helpful than my children,” she joked, glancing around the kitchen, which was empty save for the two of them.
“I’m happy to help,” Will smiled softly. He lingered for a moment, half to see if she needed more help and half to put off meeting Mike in the basement.
Mrs. Wheeler was practically a second mother to Will, given the countless hours he had spent under her roof over the years. Now that he literally lived under her roof, he wanted to do his part to show that he appreciated the hospitality.
A moment passed, and then she gave him a knowing, warm smile before nodding her head towards the door.
“I have it from here, dear. Go on, I heard you talking to Mike. My son is many things, but patient is not one of them.”
Will chuckled halfheartedly, even as his face contorted into a grimace.
He left the kitchen slowly, dragging his feet as he reached the basement door. He had no reason to be so nervous. It was illogical. He took a deep breath in, trying desperately to calm his nerves as he opened the door and descended the stairs.
“Oh, hey,” Mike’s head lifted as the stairs creaked under Will’s feet. He was sitting on the couch, holding Will’s mini-figure again, and he lifted it for Will to see. “This looks great. I wish I had your attention to detail.”
“Thanks,” Will flushed. “I think your mini-figures always look great, though.”
Mike shrugged. “I’m not an artist like you.”
Will walked to the desk in the corner of the basement that he had turned into a makeshift art station and began shuffling through a stack of papers.
“I don't know why Lucas was being so weird today. I think he's still annoyed about my character.”
He could feel Mike’s gaze on his back like a brand, and he wondered if he knew he was stalling. If he could read the nervousness in the tight lines of his body.
“I actually kind of like when we lean more into the role-playing side of the game. Sometimes the combat gets monotonous.”
When Mike didn't respond, Will turned hesitantly, holding a paper to his chest.
“I was going to give this to you before we started playing today, but I felt kind of bad that I hadn’t gotten around to drawing Lucas’s character, too.”
He breathed in deeply before holding the paper out to Mike. He hoped Mike wouldn’t notice the way his hands shook softly, the paper trembling in his grasp.
If Mike noticed, he didn’t say. He took the paper gently, his eyes falling across the careful brushstrokes of the artwork.
Will knew he should sit on the couch too, act normal, but he felt frozen, standing just off to the side, watching, waiting. His heart beat erratically in his chest, and he knew it was ridiculous. Mike had never once had something negative to say about his art.
“Will, this is…” Mike trailed off, his fingers brushing featherlight over the page. “This is amazing.”
Will blushed slightly at the compliment, and finally, his legs were capable of moving again. He sat beside Mike, but not too close, because something about the way Mike looked at the painting made him feel raw and vulnerable.
He wondered momentarily if the feelings he tried desperately to shove down showed in the brushstrokes. If Mike could read the words he could never say aloud in the details.
“I really did want it to be different from my other drawings of Mike the Brave, so I used the new watercolors my mom got me for Christmas,” Will explained. “I’m still getting the hang of using them, so it's not my best.”
“No,” Mike cut him off, finally tearing his gaze from the painting and meeting Will’s eye. The intensity of the look nearly made him turn away, his breath catching in his throat.
“No, this is incredible, Will. This is incredible.” He said it firmer the second time, as if to make sure Will heard the truth of it. Mike looked back down at the painting, and the air returned to Will’s lungs.
“Is this how you see me?”
Will's chest tightened because yes. Yes, that was exactly how he saw Mike. Mike was a piece of art all on his own, with his sharp cheekbones and dark curls, his strong nose and heavy eyelashes.
Will had studied that face for the better part of ten years, committing every edge and freckle to memory.
Before he could reply, Mike continued.
“You make me look… brave.” Mike huffed a small laugh. “I guess that’s the point. It is his name after all.”
“You’re brave too.” For some reason, the sentence had inadvertently come out as a whisper, as if Will was sharing a secret. “Not just in DnD. You’re one of the bravest people I know.”
Mike laughed again, but it came out as more of a sigh. A forlorn breath of laughter that made Will wonder if he’d said the wrong thing.
“I don’t feel brave,” the other boy whispered in return, meeting Will’s eye.
The sea of emotions that raged behind Mike’s eyes left Will feeling like he was missing some integral piece of the puzzle. Like there was something obvious staring him in the face that he was too stupid to see or understand. But before he could ask Mike what he meant, he was standing, moving away from Will like he always did.
They were like ships passing in the night. Each time they got close, each time Will thought Mike might open up, he was already drifting away again.
Mike held the painting with a kind of reverence, his gaze remaining on the artwork, not meeting Will’s eye again.
“Thank you,” he said softly, so softly. In that voice that made Will feel like he meant something.
And then he was gone, back up the stairs, and Will was alone.
-.-.-.-.-
“After another battle won, the party finds itself tired and wounded. You must make a choice. Continue on your path, or settle for the night and risk losing the trail of the red masked mercenary.” Dustin sat behind his DM screen, his eyes alight as he watched the other boys.
The basement was still chilly; it had been snowing for days, but the moment Mike had seen Will shiver and pull his jacket tighter around his shoulders, he had dragged the space heater to sit directly behind Will’s chair, blasting him with hot air that made sweat trickle down his spine.
Still, he would rather feel like he was sitting in an oven than deal with the cold. He had experienced enough cold in his life. Part of him almost missed California, if only for the fact that the weather never sent him back to his worst memories.
Mike drummed his fingers on the table, never able to sit still, as his eyes scanned the board as if it would tell him the right path.
“We should keep going,” Lucas said. “He was obviously hired by the Crimson Order, and he’ll lead us right to the Keep.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m out of spell slots,” Will sighed, shifting uncomfortably under the heat but refusing to remove his jacket all the same. “If we don’t rest, I won’t be able to heal either of you in another fight.”
Lucas let out a frustrated groan. “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you when we can’t find the mercenary or the Keep in the morning.”
“As you stop to set up camp and dress your wounds, is there anything you’d like to do before you rest?” Dustin asked, gaze shifting between the three boys sitting around him.
Will liked this about the way Dustin DM’d. He was always leaving doors open for the party to drive the story forward in their own ways.
Will sat up straighter, hoping to appear confident despite his nervousness after the way Lucas had responded to Mike the previous week. Will was enjoying the fact that Mike was bringing more story to the campaign, and he wanted to lean into the roleplay more himself.
When they were younger, their campaigns largely revolved around combat. There were obviously story elements that drove their decisions and led them to that combat, but they didn’t interact as characters all that much.
Something had shifted in that dynamic, though, and Will wondered if it was from the other boys playing with Eddie. Or maybe it was just because Mike was a player now, and he didn’t know how to turn off being a storyteller.
Will cleared his throat. “Lady Wilma approaches Sir Mike as he makes camp.” Mike’s head shot up in surprise, turning sharply to Will. He clearly hadn’t been expecting this.
“I would like to repay your kindness in gifting me the Ring of Protection, which has helped me greatly in battle. I believe you will find more use in these than I.” Will had given up on trying to talk like a girl, instead adopting a slightly airy inflection.
“And I am giving you my Boots of Striding and Springing,” Will said to Mike directly now.
“Sir Mike bows deeply to Lady Wilma. My lady, you are too generous. My sword is yours to command.” Mike was smiling now, a glint in his eye that made Will flush slightly.
“Not you too,” came a soft grumble from Lucas, his eyes set on Will.
Will turned to Lucas with a smirk. “And for you, Lord Lucas, I offer a potion of invisibility as a token of my gratitude for your assistance in battle. May it aid you in your desire for stealth.”
Lucas sat up straighter, his eyebrows raising.
“See? Role-playing benefits the whole party.” Will quipped.
Lucas grumbled under his breath before letting out a begrudging, “Thanks.”
“As the sun sets,” Dustin began, looking around the circle of boys once more.
“Wait!” Mike interjected. He worried his lip between his teeth, seemingly contemplating whether to say whatever he wanted to say. His eyes flickered between Will and the grid map on the table before them a couple of times, and Will shifted hesitantly in his seat.
He saw it the moment Mike made the decision, his eyebrows drawing together in resolution.
“Sir Mike approaches Lady Wilma and kneels at her feet. Lady, I wish to complete an Oath of Fealty to you.”
Will blinked in surprise, staring at Mike for one moment, and then two, before finally responding. “Sir Michael, you are sworn to the Highlord. You cannot serve two masters.”
Had he forgotten his character’s lore?
“I was blinded by my loyalty. The Highlord has betrayed my trust and is undeserving of my allegiance. You have proved your own loyalty to the party in battle, and I wish to swear my sword to you.”
Will paused, glancing up at Dustin with wide, uncertain eyes. Was this even allowed?
He had known Mike would break his oath eventually; he had sworn himself to the very man they were trying to overthrow, after all. But he had never heard of a paladin changing their oath before.
Why would Mike want his oath to be to Lady Wilma? When had he decided this? Will felt off kilter, like he’d been tossed into a play he didn’t have a script for.
Dustin quirked his head to the side, considering. “I’ll allow it,” he finally said.
“Uh,” Will turned back to Mike, still a bit stunned. “I would be honored,” he said tentatively. He wasn’t quite sure how this was supposed to work.
Lucas shifted uncomfortably, his eyes narrowed, but didn’t say anything.
“Okay, give me a minute. Mike did not run this by me earlier,” Dustin said with a pointed look in Mike's direction. Mike smiled sheepishly, but stayed quiet as Dustin scribbled down notes on a scratch piece of paper.
“This is for you,” he said, passing the paper to Mike. “It’ll make the ceremonies go way quicker if I don’t have to feed you the lines. Feel free to add some Wheeler flair.”
Dustin proceeded to lead Mike through a ceremony to break his initial oath with the Highlord before shifting his focus slightly, turning to address both Mike and Will.
“Sir Mike the Brave,” Dustin began, “You may now complete your Oath of Fealty to Lady Wilma the Enlightened.”
Mike cleared his throat, straightening his spine and turning to directly address Will. He felt caught in his gaze, a breath catching in his throat.
“Lady Wilma, I swear my loyalty to you, freely given and freely kept. I will place your cause above my own, and your safety above my pride. I will defend you against all who would bring you harm, with my blade, my strength, and my life.”
As Mike read through the oath, his stare became more intense, sharper. Will was transfixed by the fervor in Mike’s voice. Suddenly, the heat from the space heater was unbearable, singeing Will's skin with every word that flowed from Mike's mouth.
“I vow to stand at your side, in light and in shadow, in victory and in defeat. This I swear, from this hour henceforth, until my final breath.”
There was something in the way Mike spoke, in the way his gaze bored into Will’s skull as if he could read every thought and feeling buried inside, that made the line between reality and fantasy begin to blur.
For a moment, it no longer felt like it was Sir Mike speaking to Lady Wilma. It felt like Mike laying himself bare.
“Sir Mike,” Dustin said, ripping Will from his thoughts, “you now serve Lady Wilma with your life and sword. You conclude the ceremony as the sun dips below the horizon, and you go to your individual tents to rest for the night.”
Will swallowed thickly, trying to regain his composure, but he couldn’t erase the look on Mike’s face. The earnestness with which he had spoken the oath.
Will pushed that thought down. It was role-playing. Mike was just… good at it. Maybe he should be an actor instead of a writer. He had certainly been convincing enough.
Besides, Dustin had given him that paper. He’d probably just been reading off what Dustin wrote. It was just part of the story.
Dustin flipped his binder shut with a thump, startling Will from his thoughts, before turning on Mike with a pointed look.
“Maybe next time, run your major story decisions by me before the session. I never dumped stuff like that on you.” He huffed, though there was a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips.
Mike simply shrugged. “Guess I’m a better DM than player.”
“Okay, I’m not criticizing the role-playing or whatever, but,” Lucas began, hesitating as his gaze shifted between Mike and Will. “That was weird, man.”
Mike scowled, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. “We all knew he was going to break his oath. That was pretty much inevitable.”
Lucas raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, that wasn’t the weird part,” he stated, glancing Will’s way once more before closing his own binder.
Will’s face flushed as Lucas’s sharp gaze landed on him. He didn’t know why Lucas was looking at him. He hadn’t even said a word through the whole ceremony. It had all been Mike. Will quickly broke Lucas’s gaze, swallowing thickly.
Had it been obvious? The way that the oath had affected Will?
Mike huffed, scowling slightly at the other boy. “It’s good storytelling,” he stated, as if that was explanation enough.
Will stayed quiet, forcing his gaze down as he collected his notes; away from Mike, who was acting completely normal despite the events of their session. Will was clearly reading too much into things.
The other boys were still speaking, but Will felt like his head was underwater, the words muffled by the pounding of his own heart.
Why was he reacting like this? They were playing a game, and Lucas’s look hadn’t meant anything. Lucas was always finding things to complain about. He didn’t know about Will’s feelings. He couldn’t.
Will heard the stairs creak, and he realized the party was beginning to make their way upstairs, Mike and Lucas still bickering, and then, Will was alone.
He carefully closed his binder and slid it onto the shelf beside the others with shaky hands.
Lucas and Dustin were staying for dinner, so he unfortunately couldn’t hide away in the basement until Jonathan got home like he desperately wanted to.
He waited a moment, his hand lingering on his binder, tucked in beside Mike’s. He tried to shove down the volatile feeling building in his gut, but it lingered still.
He just couldn’t help but feel that, at some point, they had pushed past the boundaries of the roleplay. Mike’s words had bled through into reality and left a stain on Will that he couldn’t wash away.
He took a deep breath, steadying himself, and followed the party up the stairs.
-.-.-.-.-
After dinner, the four boys crowded into Mike's bedroom to see the Lego set his parents had bought him for Christmas a few weeks prior. It was a somewhat small castle, but Will knew that, even so, it must have cost Mike's parents more than all of Will's presents combined.
The little grey castle blended right in with the rest of Mike's room, which was covered in nerdy movie posters, posters of DnD monsters, and a number of Will's drawings from over the years.
This last part, Will tried not to focus too hard on, even as his eyes drifted across the walls and landed on the painting he had just given Mike the week prior.
His eyebrows bunched momentarily, thrown off guard. Hadn't Mike said he wanted the painting for his character sheet?
He already felt emotionally raw after the way their session had ended, and seeing the painting of Mike the Brave pierced something in him, splintering the dam he’d spent years building up and neatly hiding his feelings behind.
“I thought Legos were for kids,” Lucas teased, despite the fact that he was closely inspecting the little castle.
“Are you kidding me?” Dustin interjected. “I'd kill for a Lego set like this. How long did it take you to build?”
“A couple of days,” Mike answered. “I would have built it sooner, but you know, we were visiting my Nana for Christmas.”
“Does the drawbridge actually close?” Lucas questioned, lightly plucking at one of its strings.
Mike's eyes lit up. “Yeah! Check this out.”
Will dragged his eyes away from the painting as Mike shuffled around the other boys to mess with some mechanism on the castle that couldn't be seen from the front, raising the drawbridge to cover the front entrance.
It wasn’t long before Will's eyes drifted back to the painting of Mike the Brave, as if by their own accord. He thought of the way Mike had held it with such gentle reverence when Will gave it to him. He thought of the tone in which Mike had spoken the oath.
Will shook his head softly, trying to disperse that line of thought. Mike hanging the painting didn’t have to have some deeper meaning.
Maybe Mike just thought it was too good to put in his DnD binder. Will had spent hours on it, and glancing around at his other artworks that littered Mike's walls, he had to admit that Mike was right about his improvement.
It was then, as Will’s gaze drifted across Mike’s walls, that his eyes settled on another familiar painting, gifted only months ago. A painting that now made Will want to physically recoil. He froze, his breath catching harshly in his lungs as a trickle of panic traveled up his spine.
“Don't you think, Will?” Mike's voice broke through Will's thoughts, and he flinched harshly, as if he had been caught doing something he ought not be doing.
His face grew warm as he stuttered a cracked, “What?”
Mike made a face as his eyes glanced over Will. He looked as if he might ask what was wrong, but Lucas beat him to the punch.
“You okay, man?”
“What? Why wouldn't I be?” Will's chest burned with the need to turn and look at that painting again, but he forced his eyes to stay on Lucas.
He didn't know Mike had hung that painting back up. He was almost certain it hadn't been hanging even just a week ago when he had come up to Mike's room to read comics.
Why did he put that one up? Of all the paintings? Mike and El weren't even together anymore, and as far as Mike knew, El had commissioned the painting.
Had they… gotten back together?
Surely Mike would have told him if they had.
All three boys were looking at him strangely now, and Will coughed out a short, “I, uh, I just need to use the restroom,” before rushing from the room.
He shut the bathroom door behind him with a soft bang. His hands were shaking. Why were they shaking?
Will looked at himself in the bathroom mirror and cringed at the sight reflected back at him.
He was pale, his eyes wide and panicked. He looked like he might vomit. He felt like he might vomit. No wonder the party had been looking at him so strangely.
He was being unreasonable. There was no need to get so worked up over a painting. So what if that painting represented his feelings towards Mike? It wasn’t like Mike knew that.
But why had he hung that painting back up?
Will took deep, slightly gasping breaths, trying to rein in his erratic heartbeat. He had been in the bathroom too long already. He should go back to Mike’s room before the party started to worry.
He schooled his features into what he hoped was a believable light expression, and with a final deep inhale, he turned and opened the bathroom door.
His practiced composure fell almost immediately as he was met with Mike, standing just outside the door, hand raised as if he had been about to knock.
“Oh,” A small breath punched out of Mike as his eyes raked across Will, as if assessing for damage. “I was just coming to see if everything was alright.”
“Sorry, I was feeling sick.” It wasn’t a complete lie, more like a half-truth, seeing as that painting had made Will feel queasy and lightheaded.
“Are you okay?” Mike asked gently, so softly. His eyes were wide with concern. “Do you want me to go see if your mom is back yet?”
Will swallowed thickly. “Maybe I should just go down to the basement and lie down.”
Mike’s eyebrows pinched together, and he shook his head slightly before gently reaching out to grab Will’s wrist. “Come here,” he said softly, tugging him back to his room. The other boys were gone, and Will wondered for a moment how long he had been in the bathroom.
“Sit,” Mike said firmly, nudging Will towards his bed. “I’ll go check if your mom is back. If not, my mom is home. Do you need anything? Water? I can ask my mom to make soup.”
Mike’s genuine worry made Will feel guilty for the partial lie, but he couldn’t help smiling at all of Mike’s fussing.
Mike would never admit it, but he loved fussing over people. Loved taking care of people.
“I’m alright,” Will whispered with a small smile.
Mike hesitated for a moment, as if he might say more, before sharply turning and leaving Will alone in his room.
There was a moment in which Will thought he might have the willpower to resist looking back at that painting, hanging just above Mike’s small, cluttered desk, but in the next moment, his eyes were searching for it once more.
He had been so stupid last year. So stupid to make that painting. So stupid to shove all of his feelings onto El and think it would fix things. In the end, Mike and El still broke up, and Mike never knew what the painting really meant.
The funny part was that, looking at it in hindsight, he knew that even if Mike and El had already broken up then, he still never would have been able to tell Mike what that painting meant.
He had painted it knowing full well he would never explain it to Mike. So why even give it to him? Now, the painting sat fixed to Mike’s wall, mocking him.
Mike cleared his throat from the doorway, pulling Will sharply out of his spiraling thoughts, his head jerking towards the sound. Mike had followed Will’s gaze and was now looking at that cursed painting too.
Mike rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly. “Oh, yeah, I hung that back up the other day. After you gave me the new painting of my character.”
He came to sit beside Will on the bed, and Will stiffened slightly. He did not want to talk about this. About that painting.
Mike continued, “You made me look so brave, and it reminded me of this one. I took it down after El and I broke up, but I was thinking about it, and even if El commissioned it, you still painted it. It just felt like a waste to leave it sitting rolled up in the corner collecting dust.”
Mike turned to Will then, a soft sort of vulnerability in his gaze. “It never really made sense to me. Why Eleven commissioned that painting,” he admitted softly.
Will bit down on his tongue, trying desperately to hide any sign of emotion.
“I guess we were both trying so hard to hold on and fix things. In the end, it didn’t really matter.”
Will said nothing. What was there to say?
Something shifted in Mike’s expression then, so minusculely, Will hardly registered it. Mike cleared his throat suddenly, looking away from Will.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to get all self-pitying. Your mom is on her way home from work. I told my mom you said you didn’t need anything, but she insisted on starting a pot of chicken noodle soup,” he informed Will, a strange tension in the statement.
Will nodded, swallowing thickly. “Thanks. Sorry for running out earlier. I didn’t mean to freak you out.”
Mike looked almost affronted, the previous tension melting away. “What are you apologizing for? I’m just glad you’re okay. You looked like you’d seen a ghost. You kind of still do.”
That was one way to put it, given the way that stupid painting had come back to haunt him. He didn’t want to think about that anymore. God, he wanted to pretend it didn’t even exist.
“I thought you wanted me to paint your character for your character sheet,” he said suddenly, trying to divert his thoughts elsewhere.
Mike’s cheeks tinged pink, and he smiled sheepishly, looking down at the carpet. “I did, honest to god. But then you gave it to me, and it was so good. I just couldn’t imagine closing it off in my binder never to be seen again.”
He turned then, meeting Will’s eye with a small, mischievous smile. “Make me another, but make me look worse. Then I won’t feel bad putting it with my character sheet.”
Will rolled his eyes. He wanted to say no, but he knew that he would do it. He would do just about anything for Mike.
“You’re an idiot,” he teased softly, lying back into Mike’s bedsheets and closing his eyes. He felt the bed dip beside him, and he knew that Mike had lain down too.
Their shoulders were touching, just barely. Will kept his eyes closed because he couldn’t bear to look at Mike. Not like this. Not with that painting looming over them.
“Will,” Mike’s voice came softly, barely a whisper.
Will braced himself before opening his eyes and turning his head.
His breath caught in his throat. Mike was already turned towards him, their faces mere inches from each other. Their eyes met, and Will couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. He could count every freckle on his face like this. Draw lines and form constellations.
“Will…” Mike said again, a look in his eye akin to sorrow. “I-”
A knock sounded on the door, and the two boys shot up. The sudden distance made Will feel dizzy. Out of breath. It was ridiculous, really, because all Mike had done was say his name. But there was something in the way he said it. Something that scared Will.
“Knock knock,” Will’s mom’s voice carried through the door. “Can I come in?”
Will took a shuddering breath. “Yeah, Mom, you can come in.”
Joyce opened the door, peering her head around the corner.
“Hey, sweetheart. Karen said you weren’t feeling well.” She entered the room, her gaze raking over her son, and Will got a sense of deja vu. He almost smiled at the thought that his mom and Mike worried over him in such similar ways, but it was stifled by the pounding of his heart.
“I felt a little sick earlier, but I’m feeling a lot better now,” Will said, side-eyeing Mike. He hated it when his mom fussed over him in front of people. It made him feel ten years old again.
She grasped his shoulders gently, looking closely at his face. “You do look a little pale.”
Joyce placed a hand against Will’s forehead. “Hmm, well, you don’t have a fever. Why don’t you come downstairs? Karen made you some soup.”
Will rolled his eyes. “Mom, I’m fine, really.”
But even as he tried to reassure her, she wrapped her arm around his shoulders and guided him out of Mike’s bedroom.
If Will had turned and looked back at Mike, he might have seen a sharp, calculating look in his eye. He might have realized that something had shifted.
But Will didn’t turn back. Instead, he allowed his mother to drag him down to the kitchen for chicken noodle soup. Mike never joined them.