Chapter Text
Mike could feel him. To be fair, he always could. But here.. here he felt haunted by him. Mike could feel Will’s presence all around him, as if he were standing right next to him, but Mike just couldn’t see him. Mike came here a lot nowadays. Something about the three rickety oak walls and the faint smell of the fall air surrounding Mike made it so Castle Byers always put him at ease. And Mike had desperately needed some way to calm his nerves the past few months. With both the military lockdown in Hawkins and Vecna still being in the loose, Mike had barely slept or eaten or smiled about anything the last few weeks. He wanted to find something to celebrate so incredibly bad, but he couldn’t think of a single thing. Part of him even wanted to believe that Vecna was dead. That maybe Nancy and Steve and Robin had flayed that bastard until he was ash. But Mike knew that he couldn’t trust that. Vecna was out there. And he wanted revenge. Mike glanced around at the numerous drawings of Will the Wise and Mike the Brave stapled to every free surface in Castle Byers, desperate to distract himself from his thoughts of impending doom. He took in all of the colors from every single one of the drawings, and nostalgia hit him like a freight train. He remembered the way Will would put so much intention into every crayon stroke, patiently layering color after color of the waxy substance until the shading was just to his liking. Will would create masterpieces at the Byers kitchen table as Mike rattled on about some stupid random fixation, and it was perfect. Their friendship was perfect. Why couldn’t it have been Mike?
The sound of crows in the trees above him pulled Mike back into the present, and his eyes fell on one of his favorite drawings of Wills. It wasn’t as perfect as the others, at least, Will wouldn’t have thought so, Mike thought it was amazing. It was from before Mrs. Byers had gotten him the giant set of crayons for his birthday, so Will had worked with limited colors. Mike reached out to touch the now weathered drawing, the colors having faded from the sun and the paper now delicate and yellowing from being out in the elements for so many years. But despite the drawing having aged considerably, Mike remembered Will making it like it was yesterday.
Just three months after the pair had sat on that blue and yellow swingset, and Mike had worked up the courage to ask Will to be his friend, they sat in the Wheelers basement on a rainy Sunday afternoon. Like usual, Mike was blabbing about some random topic and Will sat next to him drawing and listening intently.
“Han Solo is my favorite character, Will. He’s cool. And he’s good at flying the Millennium Falcon. You think I could fly the Millennium Falcon? I think I could.” Mike droned on, kicking his feet wildly under the table. “I think you would be Luke Skywalker. Luke and Han Solo are best friends so it’s perfect for us. And Luke Skywalker has these powers. Maybe you’ll have powers someday. That’d be really cool. You don’t have a Yoda to teach you how to use those powers though. Maybe my dad? He’s old enough. Maybe not wise enough though. Maybe we can find somebody else to be your Yoda. And then we can find someone to be my Princess Leia. My dad says I should try and find someone like Princess Leia. Maybe he’s right. What do you think Will?”
Will simply nodded in response, then he gestured for Mike to look at his now finished drawing.
“Woahh.” Was all Mike could muster. His mouth that had just been overflowing with words now hung uselessly agape in a perfect O. Mike studied the two characters that were so carefully drawn on the paper. Standing side by side, one had sloppy brown hair covered by a purple pointed hat, and a purple cape covered in yellow stars, and the other had a messy mop of curly black hair, a gleaming sword, and a chest plate with a striking red heart emblem in the middle. “Is that..” Mike said finally stuttering out a few cohesive words “is that us?”
Will gave an enthusiastic nod before pointing to the open DnD guidebook sitting on the table in front of them. Will and Mike had just started getting into DnD two weeks prior, but they were already obsessed with the game. Mike more so, as he would excitedly spout out ideas for campaigns to Will whenever they hung out. Mike knew they didn’t have enough friends for a party yet, but why should that stop him from making stories? Most of the time he thought of ideas for his two favorite roles in DnD; the Paladin and the Cleric. He would talk nonstop about all their crazy antics and adventures and how they were best friends and would stay best friends forever. So when Mike realized that Will had drawn them as just that, the Paladin and the Cleric, he was ecstatic.
“THAT’S SO COOL!” Mike was smiling wildly now, bouncing up and down in his seat in excitement. “You made us look so cool!” He studied every single detail of the drawing, fingers brushing slightly over the Clerics cape, feeling the wax beneath his fingers. His eyes gleamed with wonder, soaking up everything he could as if somebody were about to take the drawing away from him.
“I like your Cleric outfit. Since you’re a Cleric, you actually have powers like Luke Skywalker now! Still no Yoda though.” Mike paused abruptly before a puzzled look stretched across his face. “Does your character have a name.”
Will shook his head and shrugged.
“Hmmmmm.” Mike pondered, rubbing the nape of his neck, deep in thought. “What about, ‘Will the Wise’?” As he proposed the name, Mike stretched his hands out in either direction dramatically, announcing the idea like a Hollywood movie pitch.
Will nodded enthusiastically, and then pointed to the Paladin and raised an eyebrow as if to ask ‘what about you?’
Mike shrugged and smiled back at Will. “I don’t know yet. That doesn’t matter though, since your character has a name and that’s more important.”
Will looked back at him, a slight smile forming in his face. “Mike.” He said very matter-of-factly. “Mike the Brave.”
He wasn’t sure how to respond to this. Mike had never heard Will talk before. Mrs. Byers had said that Will was just a quiet boy whenever Mike had asked, and she left it at that. Mike didn’t mind anyways. They were Mike and Will. Mike talked, Will listened. Mike made story’s, Will drew them. It was perfect. Despite the balance that had just seemingly been broken by Will speaking, Mike couldn’t be happier to hear his voice. Since Will is his best friend and Mike is his, it only made sense that Will wants to talk to him, even if he’s quiet. At least, that’s how Mike viewed it. To Mike, this only confirmed that they were definitely, for sure, 100% best friends. And what more could Mike want? Right? Mike quickly tried to conceal his shock, but he’d never been good at hiding his emotions and his surprise sat blatantly on his face. Mikes shocked expression caused Will to blush slightly and fiddle with his hands that were folded in his lap.
“Yeah,” Mike spoke finally, having finally muddled his surprise. “Mike the Brave.” A smile once again broke on Wills face, and Mike met it by smiling until all of his baby teeth were on full display.
“Cool.” Said Will.
“Cool.” Mike replied.
Mike came back to reality as he felt a single tear roll down his cheek. He still sat in the middle of Castle Byers, fingers brushing gently against the faded purple crayon of Will the Wise’s cape. It had been 4 long years since he’d last seen Will. If only he hadn’t let Will bike home by himself that night. Maybe if he had insisted on biking Will home then he would’ve been the one that fell. Maybe he would’ve been able to die happy if he had been there to save Will from falling to his demise. Why couldn’t it have been him? Maybe he would be dead now, but at least he wouldn’t be haunted by the guilt of not being able to save Will. Mike sat there with his thoughts for a long time, replaying all the things he could’ve done or said differently that might’ve saved Will. He heard their last conversation playing through his mind like a movie he couldn’t stop.
“It was a seven.” Will had said to Mike, mounting his bike. “The demigorgon, it got me.” Looking back at it they were so young. It was so long ago, and they were so innocent. Will was so innocent. It wasn’t fair, none of it was fair. It should’ve been him. Mike fought with his mind, trying desperately to remember Wills voice just as it was, time had become an enemy as it started ripping his final, precious memory of Will away from him.
Mike covered his ears and shut his eyes tight. He knew that he looked like a child. A scared, defenseless child. Just like he was the day they pulled Will’s body out of the quarry, and just like he was the day El killed the demigorgon. But he didn’t care. Nobody was here to witness his pathetic burst of grief, so why should he feel ashamed of it? Pathetic. The voice inside him jeered. Fag. It should’ve been you. The voice distorted, sounding like his dad, then Troy, then a demigorgon growling. And then it was Will. Sweet, innocent, too young to die Will. It should’ve been you. The voice repeated.
Mike tucked his head between his legs and screamed into an old blanket. “GO AWAY.” He demanded, begging the voices to let him forget. Your fault. Wills voice responded. Mike writhed in pain, drowning in his misery just like Will had drowned in the quarry. “GO AWAY. GO AWAY. GO AWAY.” But they wouldn’t. Mike stayed hunched down in Castle Byers for a long time, fighting a losing battle with the voices in his head. Finally when everything went quiet, he looked around. It was dark out, and the once crisp fall air now bit at the skin on his arms. Damn he should’ve worn more than a T-shirt and jeans. The voices were gone, for now. But Mike knew that they would come back. They always came back. He glanced around the castle, making sure nobody had seen his outburst, even though he knew nobody was around to witness it.
Mike reached up and felt the tears that had streaming down his face only moments prior. Humiliated, he wiped them away with the back of his hand. He’s such a pussy. He’s such an embarrassment. How could he act like this? This time the only voice speaking inside of him was his own, reminder him of what a failure he is.
Mike finally began packing up to leave the fort, grabbing an old battery powered lantern from the corner so that he could see what he was doing. He flicked it on, watching as it bathed the area in ghostly pale light. Mike then grabbed a pile of old comic books that he and Will had read when they were little, and shoved them into his backpack to read later. Just as Mike zipped up his backpack and started to leave the fort, he heard rustling outside. He knew it was probably just Johnathan coming to kick him out of their backyard, but his heart still started to race slightly.
”Hello?” Mike called into the night. Nothing. Maybe it wasn’t Johnathan, maybe Mike was just hearing things. Whatever it was, he couldn’t worry about it right now, he had to get home. Just as Mike reached down to grab the lantern for the walk back to the Byers house, the lantern started glowing. Nothing like it had just been glowing, a cold shallow light in the small area, it was now a bright yellow light, flickering the Castle Byers walls in golden specks of warmth. Mike cocked his head to the side, seemingly entranced by the light. Part of him knew that this wasn’t normal, that he should turn on his heel and run back towards the Byers house as fast as his legs would take him, but most of him felt drawn to this anomaly. Something about the light was weirdly comforting, familiar even. Mike studied the flickering light, smiling slightly at the sight of its playful shadows on the walls. The hair on the back of his neck was standing straight up now, but not in an alarming way, in a way that felt so familiar, so close, that it caused mikes heart to thump in his chest. His eyes bored into the lantern now, and he felt an overwhelming sense of longing wash over him. Like his heart was yearning for something that he couldn’t see or hear or touch. But it was there. Mike couldn’t place it, but there was something so close, something that he so desperately wanted, that it physically hurt him not to have it. For the first time in years, every voice inside Mike ceased. He couldn’t hear his dads, or Troy’s, or Will’s, or even his own. “Hello?” Mike called out again, this time full of curiosity and desperation. He needed something to answer. He needed it, whatever it was was, to answer him. And then just as quickly as it got there, it was gone. Like the lantern had been splashed with cold water and was now back to casting its chilling faint light. Mike looked around the fort distraught. The voices were already back. Pathetic. Pussy. Queer. Your fault. Had he imagined it all? Had he finally started to lose it? No, Mike could feel the difference. Castle Byers felt emptier now. Like something, someone was missing. But what?
”Mike!” He heard Nancy call in the distance, interrupting his thoughts. She must’ve been done hanging out with Johnathan by now and ready to return home. He didn’t want to leave, but he knew that Nancy would lose patience fast, and he in no way wanted to walk home. He spared one more glance at the faintly glowing light of the lantern, before reaching down and extinguishing its life. Then he turned and pulled the curtain out of his way to exit the sanctuary that is Castle Byers. He started his trek back towards the Byers house, glancing over his shoulder every few strides to see if maybe, just maybe the warm light was back. And yet every time, it wasn’t.
The drive home was quiet. Mike stared out the window of Nancy’s car, still doing everything in his power to block out the voices, without any success. As they passed by row after row of streetlights, Mike found himself desperate for one of them to be brighter than the others. Even just barely. Anything to prove that he wasn’t going crazy.
“Hey.” Nancy said quietly, breaking Mikes focus on the streetlights. “Are you ok.”
”Yeah. Fine.” Mike spoke as emotionless as possible. If Nancy knew about his outburst early he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.
”Okay,” Nancy said apprehensively. “It’s just, I know this time of year is hard on you.”
Its true. In two days it was going to be November 6th, the day Will went missing. Every year on November 6th the voices get worse. They hammer into Mike’s skull, calling him the worst things imaginable. It should’ve been you. They taunt. Mike knows they’re right. That’s the worst part. Last year on November 6th he biked up to the quarry. He thought about what it would feel like to hit the water below. How it must’ve been for Will. How maybe he should find out what it feels like. Just like the day that Troy had cornered him and Dustin there all those years ago. Sometimes he wished El didn’t save him. The voices would be gone if she didn’t save him.
But he doesn’t say any of that to Nancy. He can’t look weak. That’s pathetic.
”It’s hard on all of us.” Said Mike, keeping his voice monotone.
“Mike.” Nancy’s voice oozed with sympathy. “He’s your best friend.”
”Was. He was my best friend.”
The rest of the car ride home was silent.