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This was it.
All the meticulous planning, scheming, plotting; it was futile.
Mike was going to die, and there was absolutely nothing he could do to avoid it.
He braced himself - seeking whatever comfort he could find in his sewage-soaked sleeves.
Memories of the past 4 years flooded into his mind; he never thought he’d experience the cliche ‘7-seconds-before-death-montage’, yet here he was. His mother, father, Nancy, Holly - oh god, what would happen to Holly? - he couldn’t save her.
He couldn’t save them.
His sister didn’t deserve this - none of them deserved this; it wasn’t fair. Obviously, Vecna held no regard towards what was fair or not - he was but a semblance of a man - clearly, he found no issue in taking the lives of the innocent.
Mike didn’t believe in god, yet he found himself asking what sin they’d committed to deserve such a cruel fate.
He thought to his friends: Dustin, Eleven - trapped in the Upside Down - how long would it be until they found out what happened to him? He thought to Lucas, an immediate sense of grief overwhelmed him as he realised the boy was probably in a situation akin to his. And, as he managed to avert his gaze from the Demogorgon to who lay behind it, he thought of Will.
Will, who was the ultimate victim in this war against mankind.
Will, whose life had been taken from him when he was only 12.
Will, who was a marionette in this horrific play and would seemingly never be free from the shackles of the Upside Down.
Will, who was his best friend, whom he was meant to protect.
Contorted claws, a sea of jagged teeth, and a putrid roar threatened to take his life, but Mike couldn’t afford to think of himself.
He was meant to be the ‘heart’ - the one that kept their party alive, beating. And here he was, abandoning his sacred post and welcoming death.
He had failed, his family, his friends…
Will.
He was supposed to be a Paladin - the one to guard his Cleric with his sword and his life.
But still - the oath of protection he swore was shattering under the weight of his current situation.
He wasn’t the ‘heart’ - he was a shell of what a man was supposed to be. Will’s words echoed in his mind - and he couldn’t help but wonder - what chivalry did his friend ever see in him?
Mike had never been brave - not since the day he was born. He hid behind a facade of false confidence and cockiness, but at his core, he was weak, vulnerable. He was never like his mother or Nancy - self-assured, outspoken, uncaring of others' opinions, Hell , even Holly was braver than he was.
He was never a fighter - it shouldn’t be a surprise that he was about to meet his maker.
And so, he accepted his destiny with open arms.
The skeletal entity pounced down onto him - like a predator onto its prey. Its bones threatened to penetrate its almost translucent, ashen flesh. Cascading, shark-like teeth drew too close to Mike’s—a guttural growl laced in death and agony rang out from the depths of its mangled body. Choking in the rancid air, Mike slowly shut his eyes - awaiting the sting of death, and yet…
No pain followed.
Is this the ‘sweet relief of death’ he’d heard of? Or maybe it just hadn’t hit him yet. Mike’s eyes, slowly and steadily, blinked open: something wasn’t right about this.
The menacing creature, which had just seconds ago seemed hell-bent on tearing into his flesh, now hung suspended mid-air. Was he some sort of spectre, being forced to relive the final moments of his life? Maybe…
But then its bones began to contort and twist - warp and distort in unnatural ways. Its arm-like tendrils began to resemble tree branches, cracking like twigs under the weight of snow. Legs snapped into two; a disturbing ‘crunch’ echoed as they did. Its neck whipped back, exposing the lacerated veins engulfing its throat.
And in a fraction of a second, almost as quickly as it had risen, it had fallen to its concrete grave.
A nauseating concoction of emotions washed over Mike: fear, relief, and above all else, confusion. He managed to peel his gaze from the fractured body rotting before him and focus his attention forward.
His eyes locked with those of his saviour; he expected it to be Eleven, a soldier, maybe even Vecna himself - anyone but him.
Anyone but Will.
His eyes abandoned their usual juniper hue - now replaced by a misty haze. They were focused, strong - unlike anything Mike had ever seen before.
Mike found himself unable to breathe.
It was as if time were no longer linear - it slowed to the point that every passing moment felt like a millennium.
It was Will, Will was the one to save him.
Mike felt his heart pace quicken as an avalanche of awe descended upon him. Cold, metallic air rushed into his lungs as his mouth hung agape - completely unable to comprehend what had just happened.
It was Will.
A warped, half-smile crept onto Mike’s face. His best friend, his Cleric - he was the one to save him.
His eyes, unblinking, drew daggers into the boy as he stared. Blood poured out of his nose, staining his dried lips as it did. His hand lazily rose to wipe it, staining his pale skin. Then, it dropped - slamming into the side of his person. For a moment, he stood motionless.
A beat.
He pummelled towards the floor, going a mile a minute. His body crashed violently into the rough asphalt below, with his head taking the brunt of the impact. A pained sound - like the screeching of a banshee - resounded, and then, silence.
“Will…?” Mike whispered into the quiet, forcing the air to exit his lungs.
No reply.
An overbearing sense of dread washed over him - evicting the previous astonishment he felt. His saviour lay before him, completely helpless, broken.
Mike forced himself to push out another meek attempt to call out to him.
“Will…!” The word seared his throat as it rose, its acidity lingering like a bad taste upon his tongue.
When nothing came back in return, he carefully began to approach the figure.
His legs felt like thousand-pound weights as he dragged them towards the boy. Every step he took felt laboured - painful - as if it were gradually consuming what was left of his life-force.
When he finally reached the fragmented body, his heart dropped to his knees. His legs began to tremble, weak with fear and the weight of complete panic. A pool of blood had formed around the boy, his body contorted in unnatural ways - he looked… broken. Mike fell to the ground beside Will and, with shaking hands, carefully manoeuvred his bruised head into his lap.
“Will!” His hot breath pierced the bitter cold; it hung in the air like the ghost of his hope. His right hand became entangled in the boy’s brunette locks, weaving its way through knotted strands and gliding over the clots of blood and newly-formed wounds that ran along his scalp.
The other caressed Will’s arm - in hopes of irradiating him with some sort of warmth - to, even if just for a moment, bring him a sense of comfort in this world of pain.
Silence continued to permeate the surroundings - the air became heavy with sorrow and the metallic smell of blood. Mike felt tears begin to prick at his eyes; they stung as they fell down his cheeks, dripping onto the lifeless figure he held in his arms.
“…mike…?” A shaky exhale escaped through Mike’s lips as he practically collapsed into the newly resurrected Will. He held him in a tight embrace, as if loosening his grip would mean losing Will. His face submerged into the boy’s shirt as he mumbled a series of “thank God's” and “you’re going to be okay's” into the damp fabric.
Mike bowed into his upper body, like a disciple worshipping his deity. He wept and sobbed and clung to him like a fleeting memory.
“mike..?” Realising he hadn’t replied, Mike quickly surfaced from Will’s torso and breathed out:
“I’m right here, Will, I’m right here.” his voice trembled as he spoke, but that was the least of his worries; he was just glad Will was okay - that he was alive.
“mike… could you… open my eyes for me? they - my eyelids - they feel too heavy … please…” He could feel his heart shatter as he heard the boy’s pained request. Utter guilt and woe impaled him; he didn’t know what to say. He knew he shouldn’t say it - he couldn’t…
Because staring hollowly at him were those juniper eyes Mike adored - now, however, covered in a thick film. A muted sage had displaced their vibrant, green hue. Mike stifled a sob, the agony cauterising his chest. He had to be brave - he had to be the ‘heart’ Will needed him to be.
So as a Paladin would, he spoke gently to his Cleric, hands tenderly tracing his jawline,
“I think… for now… You should rest your eyes.” His fingers softly caressed the outline of Will’s cheekbones, drawing nonsensical shapes into the hollows of his flesh.
Silence lingered between them for a few moments.
Mike hoped he hadn’t heard the wavering of his voice, or the way it fractured and cracked as he pushed it out, or felt the hot tears pouring down onto his limp body, or the way his forearm trembled in uncertainty whilst nursing the boy’s face.
He hoped Will would still see him as the same, glorified persona he had painted him to be. He couldn’t fail him - not now of all times - he had to shield his true, cowardly nature, he had to be his ‘Heart’.
“…okay… i guess some rest wouldn’t hurt.” A distorted ‘laugh’ crept its way out of the boy's lips, although it sounded more like an anguished cry. A sharp pain pierced through Mike as he heard the sound; it was bittersweet, both a sign of Will’s strength and Mike’s own defeat.
They soaked in the ‘comfort’ of the moment - if you could call it that. Will melted into the warmth of Mike’s lap whilst the latter whispered words of reassurance - sweet, low hums meant for just the two of them.
“mike….?”
He glanced at the fragile frame he held so dearly.
“Yes, Will?”
“how did i look?… i mean… did i scare you? did i look like him? ”
Mike felt his brows furrow, etching fine lines into his forehead - his lips parted slightly, the bitter wind slamming into his teeth.
How could he ever think anything like that?
Will, Will who had saved his life - now comparing himself to the embodiment of sin?
His hand reached to brush away the moist, slick hair clinging to Will’s forehead - before his hands cupped the perimeter of his face, he stared into those eyes he knew couldn’t stare back.
“How could you ever scare me? Will, you looked divine. ”
He bent his body to a ninety-degree angle; he had to make sure Will understood him. His lips grazed the smooth edge of Will’s ear - a slight tremor followed before the boy relaxed into his touch.
“Will, you were - no - you are divine, you could never be like him. ”
He lifted his head slightly, their faces now centimetres away. Despite his black curls obscuring his vision, he could still see every part of Will.
Those which he recognised: the rigid bump of his nose, the moles that peppered his skin, every pore, every shadow, every crevice of his face - now illuminated by the soft glow of fire.
And those which he didn’t: the veins throbbing under his translucent skin, the dried blood marking every inch of his face, the complete lack of light in his eyes.
However, despite everything, he was still Will . The same boy he had met on that swing set. The same boy who never failed to bring joy. The same boy whom Mike nearly gave up his life to save. The same boy who’s been at his side since. The same boy Mike has loved ever since he could remember.
Mike searched Will’s face for anything, any emotion, any sign of life. And soon, his lips began to quiver, and a slight smile began to tug at his lips. The previous disgust and fear that had stained his face was now replaced by a tinge of relief.
“that’s… good”
-
Once more, silence penetrated the small space between their two bodies. Mike quietly, gently rocked the body in his arms - serenading him with words of reassurance. The slight beat of Will’s heart against his chest and the occasional shaky exhale were enough to relax Mike.
He knew he had to find help, eventually, but for now, they’d be just fine in the comfort of their two bodies.
Until it was no longer ‘fine’.
The perpetual pulse of his heart came to an anticlimactic halt; shaky breaths were no more, and suddenly it was as if the world stopped spinning.
His breath hitched in his throat. Hands caressed no more, and Mike almost became as lifeless as the body he held. He didn’t want to speak - he couldn’t , if he did - this nightmare would become reality.
Slowly, he gathered the courage.
“Will..?” His vocal cords strained, yet only a hiss of his name emerged. He gently pressed his hand against Will’s chest, hoping - praying - a rhythmic beat would respond.
Nothing.
“WILL!” His mournful laments fell on deaf ears. He felt the heat slowly begin to evacuate Will’s body; he was cold - colder than ever before. He furiously examined his face, searching for any sign of life. Will’s lips were parted slightly - no air exited. His cheeks had paled - even behind the cover of rose-tinted blood. And his eyes, those eyes still bore holes into Mike - they remained unblinking, static. Still masked by lifelessness.
Shock seized motion from Mike. His breathing shallowed, and his palms became clammy. He had to do something; he couldn’t let Will… no, that wasn’t an option; he would save him; he was the ‘Heart’.
Mike slowly positioned Will’s body onto the ground - careful to provide him with the utmost comfort. His arms temporarily evacuated those of Will’s - he swallowed his fear.
1,2,3. Pinch the nose. Breathe. Repeat.
The heels of his hands clumsily compressed Will’s torso, and he tilted his head back, breathing hope and life into his airways.
1,2,3. Pinch the nose. Breathe. Repeat.
Mike gave every inch of his might into saving the boy's life. He furiously pounded his chest and continued to exhale into his frozen lips.
“Will please just hang on - I’ll get help, okay? I just need you to breathe.”
1,2,3. Pinch the nose. Breathe. Repeat.
Will’s chest rose, and it fell - yet nothing came of it. He was but a vessel for Mike’s breath. This was useless - Mike was useless.
1,2,3. Pinch the nose. Breathe. Repeat.
He descended unto the boy’s mouth once more - matching tears flooded both their faces. As they came to touch, the bitter fluids formed a brew of sorrow, love, and hopelessness.
Mike surfaced from Will’s lips, and he could almost scream. Why, why wasn’t anything working? He knew he was doing the right thing, so why still did Will’s body remain motionless against the cold of the night?
1,2. Pinch. Breathe.
His lips lingered against Will’s. He breathed desperate cries into the back of his stagnant throat.
“Please… Will… please ”
His woes descended into an empty void. The tips of their noses grazed; the glacial touch was unfamiliar to Mike.
This was the closest they’d ever been before. Even in his current state, Will looked beautiful. Akin to a porcelain doll, skin fair and delicate, but broken, scarred, and cracked by the burden of life.
He stared into the lightless eyes of the one who once called him his ‘Heart’. To leave him like this would be the ultimate betrayal - how could Mike ever do that?
He couldn’t bring himself to disconnect from the boy’s cracked, pale lips. It was his duty to guard and protect his Cleric - he would not abandon his post. He melted into a cold, unrequited kiss - a final, almost fantastical, attempt to resurrect his best friend.
But nothing came of it.
After all, this wasn’t one of his D&D campaigns - this was real life. And in real life, a ‘true love’s kiss’ was not enough to revive the fallen. Nothing was enough.
A harrowing, wretched wail ripped itself free from the depths of his throat. He became asphyxiated in an indescribable, overwhelming feeling of devastation and nausea. He tried, he tried, and he tried, and he tried. Every pump of the chest, every breath into his lungs - it was all pointless.
Mike was angry. Angry at the world, angry at Vecna, and above all else, angry at himself. This was all… just so unfair, why was his life so fucking unfair? His sole light and hope in this otherwise dark world was stolen from right beneath him - what grave, moral sin had he committed to deserve this?
Any hope had dispelled from Mike’s spirit. There was nothing more he could do. He had failed. He wasn’t the ‘heart’, he wasn’t some sort of hero - he was a complete failure.
The sheer pain of it all hit him like a ton of bricks - its immensity consumed Mike whole; it tormented him so badly he could almost throw up.
He was a failure.
failurefailurefailurefailurefailure
The word plagued his mind like an enroaching parasite - a constant reminder of his sickening reality. He burrowed himself into Will, drowning in his familiar scent; a brief sense of comfort washed over Mike. He was still here, Will was still here. The comfort fled almost as quickly as it settled. The odour of damp, rancid gangrene invaded - a harsh reminder that he no longer deserved to seek comfort in his friend - he couldn't seek comfort in him. Mike was fully aware of this fact, yet he couldn't bring himself to detach from the boy. He entangled himself in his limp arms, covering any exposed flesh, to give Will some dignity in his final moments; it was the least he could do. It became impossible to tell where Mike's trembling body began, and Will's limp one ended.
They remained in their conjoined state for an eternity. A twitch of the arm, a tremor of the leg, a breath too loud - it all felt unfathomable. To move from his current position would mean to accept Will's fate - and Mike couldn't bring himself to do that, not yet anyway.
I mean, how could he? This was Will: his best friend, his first friend, and - for a long time - he was his only friend. Sure, he had Lucas, Dustin, Max, and Eleven, but it wasn’t the same. As much as he hated to admit it, Will was just different from them. He was sure they all knew. They never hid it - their bond was just special , it was obvious: by the way they snuck around, or whispered softly to each other, or how one of them always knew what the other was thinking. It was something only the two of them had.
And now, it would never again be just ‘the two of them’.