Work Text:
Crash.
"Jeezus! Are you trying to break down the last remaining door we have in our home, Mike?" Nancy watched as her brother stomped over to the couch, pushed up against the furthest wall, kicking the mattresses out the way. Expectant on any kind of response, she stood with her hands on her hips, quietly and curiously eyeing her brother.
Mike muttered something under his breath, not even himself could really hear, if it even mattered, and flopped on the sofa, as a thin dust cloud surrounded him but quickly dispated.
Jonathan, having followed closely behind, put a hand on Nancy's shoulder, giving her a squeeze in what he hoped was a somewhat comforting way. He joined his heroic girlfriend in cautiously stealing a glance to the curly haired boy currently lying face down in a most pifitil expression, deeply breathing in months of surface level dust and the deeply engrained smell of childhood.
Nancy shook her head, disappointed, that the usual high energy, anti-establishment, anti-authority and anti-pretty-much-anything-i-dont-want-to-do sentiment of her brother was cast out the window at the first sign that the world is, sadly, out of their control. She took a step away from Jonathan, slipping out of his grip, and stood awkwardly next to her younger brother. Memories of comforting a much younger version of this confounding and somewhat annoying dude in front of her crept into her mind. She audibly scoffed, pondering that the last time she may have hugged her brother for longer than two seconds would have been before he hit double digits in age. Scruncing her eyes shut, she finally spoke "Mike, you have to talk to us, talk to me! What happened out there?" She imagined her breath creating dancing white mist into the cold basement air and a chill fell down her spine.
A shuffling noise alerted Nancy to the sound of her brother moving to turn over so he was facing them, no longer wallowing on his back.
Jonathan can see dried tear tracks running parallel on either side of the boy's face. To stop himself from crying like he really needs to, he squeezes his eyes open and shut and watches fresh tears begin to join the dried ones as Mike quietly weeps.
"I had him, Nance! He was right there!" He gasps for breath, thick mucusy tears clogging his throat causing his voice to quiver. "Will..." He slowly sits up, making room for Nancy on the sofa.
Nancy would rather sit anywhere but there, it's grotesque and filthy, but she sits on the edge. She's slow as free falling treacle, as she puts an arm around his shoulders. It's awkward and uncomfortable, and she sees Jonathan raise an eyebrow at the pairs stiffness in physically comforting one another. Her attention quickly turns back to her little brother as he continues.
"Will was trapped in...it was like the vines" a struggling breath, a difficult pause "he was so scared. I tried pulling the vines off" He held up his hands, palm side facing away from himself, blood and burgundy gore coated his nailbeds. "He pushed me through the gate, and I tried. I did try, I promise. I tried to get back to him... but the gate, it closed behind me".
Jonathan stepped over his own belongings, so cold they may have been frozen solid, the lack of activity and people in the house causing a deficit of heat and life. "Did he say anything? Was he hurt? Was vecna ar-".
"Jon" Nancy interrupted him, three letters one syllable, it felt like a nail to his heart.
Unfettered anger slipped through his system momentarily, before being awashed with sadness. "I know, Nance" Jonathan couldn't hide his frantic despair from his abrupt but inevitable tone.
"It's ok" Nancy nodded, her face set determined and her hand on her brother's shoulder squeezed tighter. "We'll...fix this, this wasn't our only plan" she couldn't ignore the sudden stiffness under her own hand as her brother stilled, no longer letting tears fall freely. "This isn't our ending-" she had sounded hopeful before she was interrupted.
"We aren't gonna win without Will. El tried it by herself a year and a half ago, remember? Even if we have Kali, we still need Will." Mike shook Nancy off him, turning away from his sister. Fear and anger and utter hopelessness embodied every word that left his mouth. "We. Lost." it was pure resolute.
Jonathan felt the heavy weight that always persisted sit even deeper into his chest, his wet eyes met Mike's "Can I talk to you, Mike? Alone?" He said the last word softly, begging.
Nancy shook her head almost on instinct, barely giving weight to any explanation that Jonathan could give. She watched Mike as he nodded, they briefly made eye contact, but he oddly pulled away, his face flushed. Flushed with an emotion Nancy didn't recognise in Mike. Fear? Guilt? Shame?
"Ok" Mike looked over expectantly at Nancy. Clearing his throat as he shifted away from her, he didn't look her in the eyes as he whispered "Nancy, it's ok, go check on the others".
A beat passes. She looks between the two. Before she can change her mind, she stands up and passes Jonathan to head for the stairs. Every creak on the steps are like the loudest noise the basement walls had ever heard. Before she disappears through the door, she throws one last look to Jonathan. It said everything and nothing, it was a warning and a comfort. Even if Nancy couldn't understand why.
The door clicked shut, as it's metal latch found it's home, and the sound echoed and echoed throughout the icy basement as if it were empty of items and soulless.
Jonathan meandered by his mattress, his temporary bed for the past eighteen months, feeling the silence like a pair of freezing hands at his throat. After a few seconds had passed, he took two big steps in the direction of the blanket covered, moth eaten sofa and carefully perched on the opposite side to Mike.
Mike didn't look up. His expression didn't change. His eyes stayed glued to the floor. He was suddenly trying too hard to be indifferent, to be allergic to intimidation.
There were so many words that could have been spoken. Hurtful, harsh and spur of the moment spits of pure hatred, Jonathan regretted to even consider it. But then he looks over at the young boy sat a foot away, eyes red raw, scratches cover his face that would surely scar - an apt reminder of being saved and who saved him, and the telltale shiver in his limbs. And all he can see is the boy who lovingly told his brother that befriending him was the best thing he'd ever done.
"Mike" he didn't look up. "Do you remember that day in the van? When will gave you that painting of you guys fighting a dragon or whatever?" Despite being met with nothing but perplexed silence and a raised eyebrow, Jonathan persevered with his point. "Well, er, anyway. I remember he was real secretive about it, the painting, wouldn't let anyone see it. Not even me! When I saw it finally in the van, I was confused why he was hiding a painting of a dragon for so long-"
"It's a thessalhydra. Not a dragon" Mike corrected quietly but firmly, like the distinction really mattered.
Jonathan was relieved to see he was actually being listened to. "Yeah, that. What I'm trying to say is, Mike, is...well, it's..." He trailed off, the uncertainty of saying what he shouldn't say hanging over him. When he thinks of Will, selflessly giving away his love declaration if it meant the one he loved got a happy ending but not himself, the older brother feels as if he'd give heartbreak a newer more genuine meaning. "You know he sees you as the hero in that painting, a knight... or a paladin, right?" Jonathan looks to Mike for confirmation, who simply offers a short nod. "Will believes in you, Mike. Just like you believe in him. It's mutual."
The younger boy is quiet for a while, his eyes downcast and full of carefully balanced tears that threaten to break the tension on the border of his waterline. When he next speaks, it's as if he's gasping for air and the words are refusing to come out "What if it's for nothing, I'm just not enough, what if I can't be the hero he needs?" Tears fall wildly, he loses his last composure, as he's reminded of the very fact that El broke up with him for this exact reason. Mike is not the hero she needed nor wanted. He's not the hero that anyone wanted.
Mike remembers briefly the moment he realised Will lied to him about the origins of the painting, all it took was Lucas seeing it. Marvelled by the brush strokes and bright colours, he questioned why El would comission a painting about something she actively dislikes and not even have herself in the picture. But, even then, Mike couldn't understand why. Why those words, why the heart and why give all that hard work up for El and Mike's crumbling relationship.
Jonathan shifts to face the boy and loosely places a hand on either shoulder, as if to shake him, but is juxtaposed with the gentle, sincere words that spill out. "You don't have to be." He pauses, taking another deep breath, noting that their chances of survival feel heavily weighted against this conversation "but don't you want to be?".
The words sit heavily on Mike's mind. "Don't you want to be". Contemplation sends him quiet as he thinks over everything. Every interaction, every word and every elbow bump that was shared between him and Will. It's mutual understanding. Love isn't just a word, it's an action and Mike thinks maybe he's been doing it this whole time. Loving another person isn't about being crushed under expectations and conditions. It's loving someone no matter what, fully understanding you may never get that same love back and being so fucking surprised when you actually do.
Will didn't expect anything in return from Mike, would never have asked; when he gave him that painting, when he saved him from a Demogorgon, when he said yes all the way back in kindergarten. Mike doesn't have to be the hero. But, by god, he desperately wants to be that for Will. And maybe that's enough.
An emboldened Mike suddenly gets on his feet, wiping off as much blood from his fingernails as he can off onto his clothes and used his sleeves to wipe the remaining wetness from his cheeks. He takes a deep breath for some much needed oxygen and, with his new clarity, exclaims to Jonathan "Let's go. Now! When he least expects it." He starts towards the stairs, a new determination replaces his hopeless hurt. "Immediate pushback". He's already formulating a new plan, a so batshit-insane-it-can-never-fail plan.
Jonathan follows with a small smile on his face.
The pair ascend the stairs two at a time, and disappear through the door with haste. From the basement, though it's muffled, the one and only stern voice of the curly haired Paladin can be heard over the ramble of the remaining members of the group. He says with wholehearted conviction "We're getting Will back".
The end.