Chapter Text
The taste of blood was still fresh in his mouth when Mike visited the market that evening. His visits to the tavern had become frequent, the fights that he ensued even more so. Cobble crunched under his steel-toed boots as he made heavy steps in the direction of the health supply shoppe. He was beginning to think he might be their new favorite customer.
The bell rang upon his entry, notifying the saleswoman in the back with shoulder-length brown waves. Her coworker leaned over the counter, flirting shamelessly with a maiden, despite the fact that he was on-duty. Mike greeted the pair with a nod before collecting medicine from the sagging wooden shelves.
“Mike, back again I see,” she said, a tone of sarcasm present in her voice. Even after everything, she gave Mike the same treatment. She was kind, he gathered, at least kind enough to start charging him less and less for his egregious demand of various healing potions and bandages. Kind enough to stop pressuring him into explaining his actions. He brought his items up to the desk, looking down to count the coins he owed her. His dark waves fell in his face, hiding the eyes reflecting the shame of his actions earlier that night.
He’d really done it this time. Got lost in his own anger, throwing punch after punch just to feel his knuckles split. No matter how hard Mike tried, he always found himself back at the tavern. He could pray away the vice all he wanted, but nothing provided a deeper sleep than a good beating. The brawls used to come after a sorry excuse of heroism, defending a “damsel in distress” from her slightly off-kilter, drunken husband. It didn’t matter anymore. He didn’t need a reason.
Everything used to be so simple, all he had to do was cast a spell of self-healing, and it’d be over and done with. Wounds closed, aches soothed, bones mended…now look at him…strolling through the village shops at dusk, hunting for remedies and cheap liquor to heal his ailments. It was pathetic, pitiful.
The oath of a Paladin is holy; upheld to the greatest standards of the gods above, stopping at no cost to follow the principles of a Mike Wheeler that no longer exists, a Mike Wheeler that died along with his promises.
He took up the holy vow when he was 12, after the first time his family was harmed by monsters native to his kingdom. He felt so small, helpless, and afraid, looking up to his sister. Nancy had always been a fighter, efficient in weaponry and even more in intellect. She never looked scared, or backed down from a fight, even when she should have. Mike wanted to be just like her.
“Thank you, Robin,” Mike mumbled after paying, already halfway out of the door. He stumbled home through the heavy night. Clouds loomed above him, silent and judging, not too different from the gaze of a famous Cleric, Will the Wise. It’d become a part of his routine at some point to visit the mural. It was done beautifully, with once bright purples that faded into pink from the sun, and an orb of light obscuring the face of the figure. Stars surrounded him, yearning to be in his holy light. Sometimes he would whisper secrets, or confessions, to it late at night, as if the wise embodiment of the boy would grant him forgiveness for his actions.
Breaking the oath of a Paladin is no small matter. When he returned home from the losing battle, he wasn’t welcomed with sympathy or concern, just disappointment. If they knew the truth, maybe things would be different. But they don’t. And they never will.
Mike didn’t know what time it was when he reached his quarters. Calloused hands lifted the armor off his shoulders, he traced the ruby red heart etched into the side of the silver metal with his thumb, rubbing the symbol clean.
Only in sleep could he escape his actions of self-sabotage. As soon as Mike’s back hit the hard cot of his bed, his mind retreated into his fondest dream, his only dream as of late. Where the air smelled of lavender and firewood, and his face felt warm. Those familiar hazel eyes fixed themselves on him, they creased at the corners. They were smiling—whoever they may be—they were laughing. The sound filled his ears, high-pitched and pleasant.
Mike wished he could hear it all the time, use it to drown out thoughts of regret and anguish. He wanted to meet them, hold them, love them. Mike had never been in love before, but if he wasn’t in it, then he wasn’t prepared for the real thing. But even those harmless desires went against his oath, and what sin is greater than the sin of a boy who knows better.
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The following afternoon, he found himself sitting among the last two people who still believed in him. The Inn smelled strongly of aged wine and hearty meals. The walls were plastered with papers announcing news, and missing posters for the royal twins peeled back from the wood with age. They looked so young in the pictures, Mike pondered if anyone would even recognize them now.
Warm light emitted from the candles hanging from the ceiling, casting long shadows in every direction. Dustin and Lucas shared looks of distress when he arrived, looks that Mike knew all too well.
The three boys met at a young age, forming a group of outcasts. It was natural. Like fate, the team was drawn together by their differences and hardships. The Bard spoke up first, his voice low and serious.
“Mike…I spoke with Robin last night,” Dustin took a cautionary pause, “she said you’ve been fighting again.”
Mike could’ve laughed. His friends were smart enough to know he never stopped. Every time they met, he had a new bruise, a purple-yellow burst on his cheek worn like a twisted badge of honor: See look, I don’t need healing powers or gifts from the gods to fight.
“Why does it matter?” Mike replied. His armor clinked as he leaned against his seat, crossing his arms.
“This behavior is reckless, Michael,” Lucas stated.
“That’s kind of the point Lucas.”
Mike’s voice was bitter, it made his friends furrow their brows. He’d gone through phases similar to this, pushing people away, making excuses to partake in thoughtless activities. In the end, they’d all come back together, stronger and better than ever. His friends thought that after everything, maybe, just maybe, Mike would finally open up to them.
Yet here they sat, pleading silently for Mike to just say what they all know, to give up the false bravado of never-ending strength and invincibility. Lucas tapped his knuckles on the table, filling the silence with the rhythmic drumming. Dustin straightened his back before speaking.
“In good faith, I think I have the perfect quest for you.” Mike’s ears perked up. Lucas shot Dustin a look.
“I thought that-”
“Let him have hope won’t you?!” Dustin cut him off, returning his gaze to Mike.
“A quest?” He asked.
“A myth.” Lucas corrected.
“We don’t know for certain–” Dustin took out a map and book from his satchel, shoving aside half-empty cups of tea and mead to make room on the table “--but I think we know where the Luck Blade is.” Mike’s eyes widened slightly, he leaned forward, elbows on the table. He studied the map, it was wrinkled and had clearly suffered from some major water damage, but it was readable nonetheless.
The Luck Blade was a legendary sword that, when acquired, could grant the wielder one wish. It was the only way Mike would be able to regain his oath, restoring his glory as a sacred Paladin.
“How did you obtain this?” Mike’s hands shook as he took the paper in his hands, running his fingers along the frayed edges.
“Traded with some fool who didn’t even know what the Luck Blade was, it’s too easy these days!” Dustin laughed as they spoke, a smug grin filled his face, Lucas rolled his eyes.
“For all we know, it could be some kind of trick Mike. I don’t think we should entertain ourselves with this idea too much.”
Every word they said from then on went in Mike’s right ear and out the other. The mere thought of regaining his purpose sent a shiver down his spine. The Paladin’s oath wasn’t just something he desired, it was what had kept him fighting all these years, his reason for living. He could protect everyone once more, giving his party the strength they needed to go on through thick and thin. It would re-enforce his relationship to the gods, banishing sin and evil from his life forevermore. His breath quickened, and he interrupted whatever Lucas was saying denying Dustin’s quest proposal.
“I have to leave now.” Mike stood, strapping his sword to his hip and slinging his shield over his back. Dustin’s brows furrowed.
“Whoa, whoa, Mike, we’re not even ready yet! We haven’t even discussed the route, or the-”
“You both know I must undertake this journey on my own,” Mike said quickly, shutting up the boys sitting across from him. Dustin eyed the map, now rolled up and clutched in Mike’s bruised fists, turning his bloody knuckles white.
“This is a dangerous quest! You don’t even possess your…” Dustin bit back the words. Mike clenched his jaw, the unsaid implication hitting him like a ton of bricks to the chest.
You don’t even possess your powers. It echoed through his ears.
He was used to the townspeople looking down on him, noticing his lack of muscle and pitying his downfall, but his best friends? It felt worse tenfold. Dustin knew he had misspoken as soon as Mike averted his eyes, focusing on the plates of hot food barely touched by the three of them.
“How much do I owe you? For the map?” Mike asked sharply.
“Take it…you’ll need it,” Dustin responded, voice quiet with the burden of defeat. Lucas opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it before getting up to pat Mike on the shoulder. Mike gave him a half smile and nodded. He wished he’d said more to them that day, it could’ve been his last.
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The fallen Paladin didn’t wait another day before setting off into the thick, foggy woods. He rode on horseback, his trusty steed named Poppy cantered through the trees in the direction of the Luck Blade.
Maybe if the Luck Blade was farther, it wouldn’t have bothered Mike so much, but it was only a 2 day travel. It felt like a cruel joke, how close the solution to his every problem felt at that moment. Outside of the neighboring kingdoms he’d fought in with his previous status, Mike hadn’t ventured outside of his home in years. The map before him showed a path unprecedented, weaving through dense forests, active battlegrounds, leading up to an abandoned dungeon. It was a daunting quest, but one he needed to complete.
Creases and a newly added tea stain made the map difficult to read, not to mention the outdated location titles and roads that hadn’t been walked in decades. Mike traced the path leading to his last hope, checking his compass often in fear of losing the track completely. He made it considerably deep into the forest before he heard that familiar haunting sound.
Screeech
Mike’s stomach dropped.
He quickly dismounted Poppy, unsheathing his sword and scanning the area. He tried to walk quietly, but the clink, clink, clink of his armor made it an impossible task. Leaves crunched beneath him, the smell of fresh blood wafted through the air, making his face screw up in discomfort. He knew that smell, he knew that awful sound. It’s hard to forget the traits of the monster that made one a Paladin, right before ripping that same title away.
He didn’t even hear it sneak up behind him.
The Demogorgon pinned him down, opening its face to unleash another piercing screech. Mike stabbed it in the arm, causing it to reel back in pain. When he withdrew his sword, flicks of black blood stuck to his face, his nose screwed up at the putrid smell. He stood quickly, attempting to prepare himself for the next attack.
The gaps in his armor seemed to widen in that moment.
Claws sank into his side, tearing the flesh cleanly and sending Mike flying into a tree. He slumped against the bark, groaning in pain. Warmth spread across his side, trickling down in hot red drips. His head hurt so badly, he thought he was seeing stars.
A bright light stunned him, Mike’s ears rang, his vision blurred, eyes filling with tears. The Demogorgon screeched again, not in anger or hunger, in pain.
He never heard anything like it.
The leaves around him crunched, insinuating that he still wasn’t alone. The footsteps became louder, running towards him with fervor. Hazel eyes were the last thing to grace his vision before he fell into a deep slumber.
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Everything was hazy.
The air carried the aroma of fresh herbs. He felt warmth all over, he lay in a bed much softer than his own, so soft he figured he must still be dreaming. Those thoughts were confirmed further when he saw him.
It felt surreal.
The eyes were the first thing Mike noticed, they always were. They were rounder now, filled with concern. The green speckles seemed more prominent than usual, it must’ve been the rays of sun that lit the boy's face.
Oh God his face.
Mike’s heart fluttered. It was almost as if he were crafted by the gods themselves, perfect lines of smooth skin, wrinkled with worry for him. His thick brows were furrowed, slightly covered by the dark brown hair that swept across his forehead. Mike wanted to brush his fingers through it. When he stirred, the boy leaned back in the chair next to the bed, letting out a relieved sigh.
“You’re awake, don’t worry, you didn’t sleep for long,” he said, getting up and walking across the room. His long robe dragged behind him on the wooden panels of the floor, sweeping up dust in the process.
Mike attempted to sit up, using his forearms as leverage, before a sharp pain burst across his side.
Definitely not a dream.
He groaned quietly, lifting his linen shirt to assess the damage. He’d been bandaged, but his blood seeped through the cloth, painting it a deep red. The color stained his fingertips when he touched it and hissed in pain.
“I wouldn’t move too much if I were you. I haven’t put on the healing ointment yet.” The boy said, still busying himself with something by the window.
“Who are you?” Mike asked with a coarse voice, unaware of how sore his throat had become whilst not in use.
“He speaks,” he turned from the window to smile at him, “My name is Will.”
“Will as in…”
“Will the Wise.” As soon as Will confirmed his identity, Mike’s breath quickened.
Will the Wise, a name that haunted his kingdom, and many others. Known for the power it brought to those in trouble, and the danger it brought to the oppressors who had the misfortune of crossing his path. The Cleric had the intuition only comparable to the gods. He was thought to be a myth, someone who only appeared in people’s dreams, some more than others. Mike inhaled deeply, catching another whiff of whatever Will had brewing over there.
“My name is-”
“Michael…Mike.” Will walked back over, paying more attention to the bowl in his hands than the injured boy before him. “I know.”
“Of course you do.” Mike huffed out a small laugh, trying to sit up once more. Will put a hand on his chest, pushing him back on the bed. His palm felt warm and heavy, when he took it away that same warmth lingered, burrowing down to the center of his heart.
Mike wondered if Will knew about his dreams, and the part he played in them every night for the past 3 years. He pushed the thought down as quickly as it surfaced, he shouldn't torment his savior with his own guilty pleasures.
“This should assist with your wounds.” Will gestured to the bowl of green-brown mush before gently pulling up Mike’s shirt, reaching for the bandages.
“Allow me,” Mike said more sternly than intended, face rosy in the cheeks. Will’s hands had done enough, and they hadn’t even reached bare skin. Plus, he already felt weak enough, he didn’t need the Cleric to undress him like a child. Will nodded hesitantly and waited until Mike’s side was exposed enough to smooth on the ugly paste.
The chill that followed was worse than the initial pain. Mike inhaled sharply, and Will muttered a sorry under his breath. He re-wrapped the bandages himself and laid his head back on the pillow.
Despite the situation, he felt comfortable here. Everything was soft, a haze fell over the entire room, it felt just as ethereal in reality as it did in dreams.
His curls felt damp and matted, he wondered if he’d sustained a head injury as well, but he was more concerned about the way Will was staring down at him.
When Mike met his eyes, the Cleric looked away immediately, feigning interest in the cloth of his robes. They were a deep purple, a color only someone of immense importance or royalty would wear, seemed suitable. Stars of gold and yellow thread dotted his sleeves, every part of him radiated light, mirroring the mural Mike cherished so dearly.
A sudden thought crossed Mike’s mind, sending panic to his lungs.
“Is Poppy alright?” He burst out, too loud for the quiet stillness of the room.
“She’s fine, I led her to the fence right outside,” Will pointed to the window across the room, “she’s not going far.”
Mike nodded thankfully, squinting his eyes to see his beloved pet grazing in the pale grass.
Will glanced at the cup of tea on the bedside table.
“Thirsty?” He asked, picking up the mug of warm liquid. Mike took it without hesitation, he didn’t realize how thirsty he was until the solution was presented. He gulped it down quickly, not caring for the burn in his throat.
“Thank you…” The Paladin looked around the room, taking in his surroundings fully for the first time.
The source of the flowery smell seemed to originate from the plants hanging from the ceiling, the windowsill, the doorframes, and about any other place they’d fit. A painting of a woman hung on the wall above his feet.
She smiled softly, wisps of brown waves interfering with her dream-like features. Her lips were soft and pink, her eyes were painted with tenderness and care. He wondered if it was Will’s lover. He tore his gaze from the portrait, it made his stomach churn with guilt, longing for a boy whose desires clearly laid elsewhere. Will noticed his observations, clearing his throat before speaking.
“That is Lady Jane,” he looked at her fondly, “she’s been gone for a while now, but she’s always had her own battles to fight. She’s stubborn, much like you.” He turned back to Mike, who bit the insides of his cheek.
“Would you let me help you on your journey if I asked?” Will questioned, tilting his head slightly. Mike found it incredibly endearing, smiling softly before realizing that he didn’t say anything about a quest to the boy.
“Do you know everything about me?” Mike replied, forcing his eyes to look into Will’s once more.
“Just the things that you’ve told me…in confidence…in dreams…”
So he does know.
“You’re usually a lot kinder when you’re not bruised and beaten,” Will continued, “but I don’t blame you, Demogorgon’s hit hard.” His words caused Mike to nod in agreement.
“Hell yeah they do.”
A lull of silence fell over the room. Mike had so many questions he wanted to ask, but he decided against the notion.
Why do I have those dreams?
Did you choose me?
Why me?
Did I choose you?
What do they mean?
“But would you? Let me accompany you?” Will pressed once more, Mike was hoping the boy would forget about it, leave it in the corner of his mind like a forgotten book.
The idea of Will tagging along seemed good in theory. He was known to be extremely powerful, wielding magic harnessed from the gods, able to destroy anything that came in his path. But, then there was what Mike thought of him.
And Mike thought a lot about him.
His hands were too soft, his face too perfectly expressive, his care too forward and genuine. It simply wouldn’t do. Mike was trying to right his wrongs, not bring them along for the ride.
“No.” He said, not wanting to elaborate further. Will’s face saddened, his bright eyes becoming duller upon the refusal. Mike sighed.
“You don’t understand, I must do this on my own-”
“I could be of great help to you!”
“I don’t need your help!” Mike squeezed his eyes shut, regretting how loud his voice became. “Listen, I appreciate the offer, I do,” the Paladin reassured more quietly, nodding his head, “but I have to prove it to Nancy—to all of them—that I can be good, and heroic, and that I can save myself.”
His head shook around while he spoke, as if his emotions were channeled through the small movements.
Mike could feel their pitiful gazes now, burrowing into him like worms in fresh mud, searing off his flesh to reveal the weakness and desires within. They knew his natural state, the fragility that plagued him as a sick child, before he took the sacred oath.
The gods had made him strong, given him the powers to fulfill his destiny. Mike supposed they had the right to take it away. They should’ve long before the fire, blood, and ash. They should’ve taken it away after his first dream of him, of Will. The Cleric frowned, disappointment etched on his face.
Every time Will looked into Mike’s eyes, his soul felt bare. Mike felt more seen in the first moments of knowing the Cleric than he had with any of his friends back at home. Still, he stayed grounded in his decision.
“Sleep on it, will you? If you feel the same in the morning, you’re always free to leave.” Mike nodded as he spoke, although he had no intention to follow his advice.
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The injured Paladin waited for the moon to shine through the window before stepping out of bed. The floor creaked beneath him, covering the groan pulled from his mouth when he stretched the fresh wound on his side. He lifted his shirt once more, pulling down the discolored bandages wrapped around his waist. His eyes widened at the sight, the wound was nearly gone, the scar already beginning to form. Mike never doubted the Cleric’s abilities, but the sight of magic before his eyes, coursing through his skin, was a different kind of feeling.
Like Will’s touch, it lingered, spreading a leftover chill on his stomach. Mike welcomed the feeling, he was scared he was starting to like it.
The room had one door, he assumed it led to the rest of the house, maybe even Will’s bedroom. Before he could reach it, a glint of metal in the pale moonlight caught his eye.
Mike’s armor lay on the floor at the edge of his bed, freshly shined and cleaned of any dirt and grime that’d previously tainted it. Will was too kind. If he truly knew Mike, what he’d done, the unholy thoughts he carried for the boy, he surely wouldn’t act in such a manner.
If he knew, Will would’ve kicked him out by now, allowing the Demogorgon to swallow him whole without mercy. Maybe then Mike would finally learn his lesson.
After strapping each plate into place, he made his way back to the presumed exit. When he entered the next room, his eyes snapped onto his Cleric caretaker, who was curled up on the couch by the fire.
His breath caught in his throat. Had Will given up his bed for him?
Mike had assumed the room belonged to Jane, acting as a guest room in her absence. Knowing he’d been sleeping in Will’s bed, staining his sheets with the blood of a failure, made his heart sink.
Despite his confusion, Mike couldn’t help but admire Will. His lips parted slightly, breathing in and out, mirroring the subtle movements of his chest. A hand fell over the couch, knuckles grazing the floor gently. He did everything gently.
Mike thought about going forward with his plan. He thought about walking past the sleeping beauty and pushing open the door that stood between him and his glory.
He could leave.
Right now.
And Will would have no clue.
Yet his feet stayed planted to the ground. He couldn’t betray his kindness, not like this, in the dead of night, like a snake, the guilt would haunt him forever.
He sighed, weighing the options in his mind.
Would it really hurt so badly to wait until morning?