Chapter Text
Will the Wise.
The world around Mike fades out, and all he can see, all he can think, all he can know is Will. Over the body of the Demogorgon, their eyes lock, and suddenly he can't breathe. His burning eyes hold Mike there, trapped, engrossed in his presence. It's like magic. It is magic. He's Will the Wise, but he's not a cleric. He's a sorcerer.
Mike's never seen anything more beautiful in his life.
Then, as if it were in slow motion, he lifts a hand to wipe away the blood from his nose, and for a single, horrible second, he realizes exactly who Will looks like.
The girl that's supposed to make him feel like how he does right now.
The real world comes rushing back to him, and he realizes Will's fallen to his knees. He stays frozen, but now not because of Will's gaze. He sees Joyce embrace her son, and he's snapped out of his trance. Mike pushes himself off the ground, ignoring the burning pain in his shoulder, and rushes up to Will, a smile emerging on his face.
Joyce releases her boy, and Mike takes her place, wrapping his arms around his best friend. After a moment, Will reruns the gesture.
But to Mike, that moment is everything. The voice in his head, the one that sounds terrifyingly like his father, tells him to pull away. So he does. But his mind and body don't always agree— his hand stays firmly planted on Will's arm, while dopey smiles appear on both their faces.
"You're a sorcer!" he exclaims, a little out of breath. "A real life, honest to god—"
"Sorcerer."
A voice, even more hauntingly familiar than the one in Mike's head. The three of them turn to see a man picking himself up off the ground. As the smoke clears, his metal armor seems to glow in the firelight. Mike's eyes stop on his chest, where a huge red heart is painted. His breath catches, and his gaze slowly trails up to a familiar face. Will gasps out a single name.
"…Mike?"