Chapter Text
February 2nd, 1443
Michael flung the sponge against the castle wall. Soap splattered across the delicate lining paper, blooming into pale, abstract shapes. Under different circumstances, he might have admired them.
But not today.
Today, he was angry.
No, he was furious.
The town’s only sorcerer, William Byers, had vanished in a battle so brutal the grass was still stained days later. His friends returned with nothing but his staff, snapped clean in half.
And William?
Gone.
Just — gone.
No body. No explanation.
No one knew who had taken him. No one knew if he was even alive.
The King’s Guard had been tearing through the town ever since, interrogating anyone with a pulse, including newborns, for some reason.
Mike dragged in a sharp breath through his nose and stooped to retrieve the sponge, his limbs aching in protest.
He had been raised in this castle.
His mother cooked for royalty.
His father was head of the royal guard.
And he?
He scrubbed their floors.
Like some nameless servant.
His parents could call him a disappointment all they liked. Didn’t make them right.
A week before William got kidnapped, they’d officially disowned him. The unforgivable crime he had committed? Choosing an apprenticeship with the local scribe instead of following the glorious Wheeler tradition of war and sword-wielding heroics.
Mike had always been the “creative one,” telling ridiculous tales of knights and monsters that usually ended in some type of explosion. He’d run through the house acting everything out, while his mother yelled about him sprinting near the open flames, him completely ignoring her.
Stories were better when you really got into them.
Telling his father about his apprenticeship had been… catastrophic.
“I will not stand by and let my son waste his life writing stories about fairies!” Ted Wheeler’s roar shook the room. He shoved Mike into the nearest wall with enough force that the stone groaned.
Mike wanted to say something. Anything. But speaking up in that house was a one-way ticket to waking up three days later – bruised, battered, confused, blood oozing through the bandages wrapped tightly around his torso.
Ted’s arm had found its way onto Michael's throat, cutting off his oxygen supply, making his vision dark around the edges.
Fear was immediate. Adrenaline, sharp and biting. His heart pounded as he pressed himself further into the wall, waiting for the next strike that his father would surely take.
When he finally did speak, pointing out scribes wrote normal stuff too, his father had sneered. “Only queers have a place in the writing community,” he’d said, like that explained everything.
And of course, he hadn’t meant his writing quality, he’d meant Mike’s “problem”. That is, Michael Wheeler is about as straight as a circle. He’d come out about a month and a half ago, and while his friends had supported him, his parents had claimed he was possessed and needed to be baptized.
Mike had expected it. Didn’t make it sting any less when he got shoved out into the pouring rain.
It wasn’t like he could just control his attractions (men, more specifically, strong men), and if his parents couldn’t see that, then that was their problem, not his.
He’d taken shelter under the bakery’s tent, shivering and soaked in rain, tears, and snot.
The town's elderly pastry chef, Miss Cecily Burgess, had taken one look at him and ushered him inside. She’d made him tea. Didn’t ask any questions. Just let him cry, like liking boys wasn’t a big deal.
Thinking of her now, Mike smiled.
She’d given him a little attic bed made of straw and flour sacks, and he’d stayed, helping bake cakes for the townsfolk. Small victories.
His memory was (rather rudely) shattered at the sound of light, hurried footsteps echoing down the marble hallway. Mike roughly squeezed the sponge that had previously been chucked across the room and began scrubbing furiously, keeping his eyes on the floor.
Don’t look at me, don’t look at me, don’t look at me, he chanted over and over again in his mind.
The strides drew closer, and Mike froze.
No… It couldn’t be.
Panic rose in his chest as he glanced around for a hiding place. The mop bucket? Too small. The broom closet? Locked. His breathing quickened.
Please, let it be anyone else, Mike thought. Not Nancy.
Of course, Mike had never been very lucky, especially not when it came to hiding something, or someone, from his sister.
The footsteps stopped abruptly. Silence fell, tense and sharp.
“Mike?” Nancy’s voice softened, but it didn’t tremble. She was always good at that – sounding steady when she wasn’t. “Is that you?”
He kept his eyes on the marble floor.
“Michael Wheeler,” she tried again, closer now. “I know you can hear me.”
He exhaled slowly, quietly, through his nose.
“What do you want, Nancy.”
He sounded tired, but it’s not like he had to put on a show for his older sister. After all, she had seen him at his worst.
“I haven’t seen you in weeks.”
“You knew where I was.”
“I missed you,” she said.
“Did you?” he asked quietly. “Because last I remember, you were helping Mother throw my things into the street.”
The words were soaked with venom, and they definitely left a bad taste in his mouth, but he didn’t care. Nancy had been his protector once, the one who scared off goblins, patched scraped knees, and laughed at his clumsiness before helping him up again.
But not anymore. No.
Nancy had thrown his things out, her hands shaking all the while. His cloaks, his ink wells, even the letters Mike had written to Nancy as a child, all cast out in the rain, absorbing water as though they were parched. Nancy refused to acknowledge Mike's presence as her brother had begged her to stop.
Mike had wailed. He’d howled until his voice broke. Until the sound came out cracked and flat. He’d fallen to his knees, his hands balled into fists on the muddy road, and he’d sobbed.
But Nancy couldn’t even bear to look at him, her eyes cast downwards, shining with tears, as they avoided Mike's blubbering figure.
Mike called her name once more, hoarse, desperate, half-choking on his own breath, until all that was left of him was a shaking, weeping mess.
And when the door shut, it wasn’t the sound of the lock clicking that shocked Mike, it was the deafening sound of his heart shattering in his ears.
Now, her facial expression seemed to change in an instant. Regret. Guilt. And suddenly he hated that he had ever brought it up.
Sure, Nancy had never been the kindest sister, but she hadn’t been cruel either. He could count the times Nancy had stood up for him on one hand, but each time had mattered more than words could say.
“I did what I had to do.” Her facial expression seems to change in an instant, a cold, distant mask sliding over Nancy’s face.
“That’s what father says.”
“You think I wanted that?” she asked, voice low, on the verge of threatening.
“I think,” Mike said carefully, finally lifting his eyes to look at her, “that you chose.”
Nancy flinched.
“I was protecting you.”
“From what?” His voice sharpened. “The rain?”
Nancy swallowed, her eyebrows pinching together.
“If Father had thought you defied him openly, he would have – ”
Nancy’s voice blurred, the words smearing together until they barely sounded like language anymore.
Mike swallowed, hard. His fingers tightened around the sponge, knuckles turning white, and for a moment, the marble floor beneath him felt too far away.
Almost as if he was somewhere else entirely.
Somewhere darker.
Somewhere quieter.
Somewhere back when Nancy’s title wasn’t just older sister in Mike’s mind.
September 6th, 1442
Mike was tired, but not in the way that sleep could fix.
He was tired of watching people hurl words like weapons. Tired of his father’s disappointed silences. Tired of not knowing whether the thing that everyone thought was so wrong with him was something broken, or something they refused to name.
They were wrong, all of them. Mike wasn’t broken, and he refused to think otherwise.
Even so, the thought still felt fragile, like it might crack if he pressed too hard.
So, when Mike disobeyed his father, it didn’t feel brave. It felt unavoidable.
Coven promptly tripped over nothing.
Mike caught his arm before he hit the floor.
“Are you kidding me?” Mike hissed. “It’s almost like you’re trying to get us caught.”
“I didn’t mean to,” Coven whispered back, “Maybe if you didn’t glare at me like a cursed Kerkopes–"
Mike let go of his arm, and Coven immediately collapsed anyway.
“You literally broke a stool climbing in the window.”
“That stool betrayed me”
Mike snorted despite himself. Of course Coven would find some way to blame something else for his stumbling on thin air.
Coven's eyes found his in the dark, and Mike caught the start of a grin on Coven's face. He looked as though he were a Squonk, the way he folded over himself when he fell.
“Are you going to help me up, or continue to admire my technique?” Coven deadpanned, though the statement lacked any real poison. Mike sighed and put one hand on the wall of the hallway for support.
“Coven, you’re seventeen,” Mike whispered through a grin, just loud enough for Coven to hear. “I’m not helping you get up after I watched you trip over your own feet.”
“Well, aren’t you just a bundle of joy?” The man in question asked, groaning as he stood, popping his back and stretching his legs.
“You know, wood floors are not as fun to rest on as people say.”
“No one says that Cove.”
“How can you be sure?” Coven tilts his head, and his brow furrows.
“I- you know what? Forget it.” Mike stands up as he says this, shaking out his legs.
Coven looks at him and fakes a pout. “Awe, did I make little Mikey mad?”
“Shut up,” he snapped back. “There’s plenty more stools that could find themselves smashed over your head.”
Coven smirked and ran a hand through his hair, (or at least, Mike thought he did, he can’t see anything in this Odin forsaken hallway).
“Kinky…”
Mike squeaked as he slapped a hand over Coven's mouth.
“Real funny Cove. Oh, you know what, here’s a thought, let’s wait until my dad wakes up so you can say that a little bit louder.”
“You’re being so dramatic, Mike, I wasn’t being serious.” Coven said softly, as he gently grabbed Mike by his wrist to push his hand away from his face, “Now come on, I’m afraid your father will wake up and find us loitering about in his hallway.” Without letting go of Mike's wrist, he started pulling him along.
Mike felt his face heat up, and internally cursed himself. Coven wasn’t even holding his hand, why did he feel tingly all over? Distantly, he heard Coven say something about going into his room, and it was all Mike could do to not combust into flames.
He didn’t know what was wrong with him, Coven was his friend. His best friend, if he might say so himself. His best friend with his sharp jawline. His best friend with his hazelnut colored hair, that looked oh so soft in the dark lighting of the hallway. His best friend with his – What am I thinking?
He snapped out of his trance when he felt fingers grabbing onto his shoulder. He opened his mouth, a snarky remark already on his tongue, but then he saw Coven's eyes, and shut his mouth with a click.
They looked… worried. Worried about him, about Mike. “Hey, you okay?” Coven asked, voice soft, as if he were afraid to startle him.
“Yeah. I mean, yes, I’m good.”
“Okay, well, I think we should start moving, I’m really not looking forward to being caught by the one and only Ted Wheeler.”
Mike swallowed and nodded his head. He understood where Coven was coming from, after all, he was terrified as well. Terrified of his father, mostly, but a little part of him was, dare he say it, excited. He’s never not followed the rules of his home, so this was like an adventure, a wake up call. Almost as if he was realizing that he didn’t have to abide by his fathers control every day of his life, he was his own person, he just hadn’t come to that conclusion yet.
Another THUMP of the wooden floorboards had Mike whipping his head around, his hair coming back around to whack him in the face.
At least Coven had the decency to look sheepish this time.
“I swear to Odin-” Mike paused. A large, dark figure appeared behind Coven. Fear pooled in his gut as he recognized who the shadowy person was, his father.
Of course, Mike had thought, face going pale. Of course my father materializes every time I attempt at joy. Does he really have nothing better to do?
“Mike,” his father said, his voice gravely and quiet from lack of use during the night.“Who is this?”
Ted Wheeler, his father, was mere inches from the back of Coven. His square shaped glasses reflected the light of the moon, blinding Mike. His jaw was clenched, a bulging vein visible on his forehead. His brown eyes, burning with the fury of a thousand suns, seemed to engrave their way into Mike's memory. His face resembled the shade of a tomato, which Mike would’ve found absolutely hilarious if not for the metal pipe his father held.
“Dad it’s not-” Mike was cut off.
“Who is he?” Ted punctuated each word with a pause.
“He’s-” His mother seemingly materialized beside his father, hair a mess, and sleeping gown wrinkled.
“Mike? Honey, what are you doing up so late?”
His mother looked at him, confusion etched all over her features.
“Ted, what’s going on?”
His father turned towards his mother and sighed. “Nothing Karen, go back to sleep. I’ll handle this.”
His mother frowned, but walked back into her room.
He’d always preferred her over his father, as his father was more… intense than she had ever been. If he’d made a mistake while he was with his dad, he knew he would get beat, but when he was with his mom, he had a better chance of saving his back from the whip.
“Mike! What are you doing out here?” A feminine voice sounds from behind the corner of the stone wall. Nancy appears, looking pale and shaken. “Coven, you were supposed to meet me in the front.”
“Nancy? What are you talking abou-” The look Nancy sent his way shut him up quickly. It was almost as if Nancy was attempting to convey a message through her eyes.
“You know this boy, Nancy?” Says his father, his voice laced with confusion.
“Father, Nancy must be confu-” His father held up a hand, silencing him.
“Yes father, this is Coven, he was meant to drop off some documents regarding the court of the King.” Nancy looked at Mike, and raised her eyebrows slightly, seemingly a warning to keep his mouth shut. “He must’ve gotten lost.” She turned her eyes to look in Coven’s direction, “If you would follow me, we can get those all sorted out.”
Coven’s eyes were wide when Mike glanced his way, his mouth hanging open in shock.
“Well?” Nancy sounded impatient, almost like she was frustrated with Coven's acting skills.
“O-Oh, yeah. I’m coming.”
Coven began to walk away, but threw one last confused, scared look over his shoulder at Mike.
They lost contact after that.
And Mike told himself he didn’t care to see him again anyways.
February 2nd, 1443
Someone was saying his name.
Softly. Then louder.
Mike tried to focus on it, tried to pull himself back, but the memory slipped through his fingers like a wet stone.
“M-? –ke? Mike? Mike, what are you doing?”
Mike blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Staring back at him with concern etched all over her features was his sister. “Hey, Mike, are you alright?” Nancy asked.
She was crouching, looking down at Mike – wait, looking down?
It was at this point where Mike realized he must have fallen over. It was also at this point where Mike’s face turned a deep shade of crimson.
Nancy sighed, and nudged him with her foot. “Did you hear anything I said, at all?”
Mike grimaced, and covered his face with his hands. Nancy jabs him. Again. And again.
“Mike, I can see you.” A huff – then a thump – and suddenly, Nancy’s voice is right next to his ear.
“Are you alright?” She asks, the tone of her voice sounding far less concerned than he would’ve liked.
Mike scoffed, and rolled his eyes, while keeping his hands securely glued to his face.
“No, Nance, I just fell on my ass.” He retracted his hands from his face, dragging them down his neck to rest on his chest. He kept his eyes on the ceiling, hoping Nancy would take the hint and just leave already.
“Language, Mike.” She chastised.
I guess some things never change, Mike thought, still bitter about the kicking.
“Whatever Nance.”
He began to fiddle with the loose, dead skin on his hands, eventually folding his fingers together.
He tried to recall what had caused him to fall down, but it was becoming increasingly more difficult to focus.
Woah, he thought, seemingly mesmerized by the stone structure above him. Has the ceiling always been that far away? How is it still so clean? There’s no way anybody could reach that high up to sponge the dirt away. Oh my Odin what if they flew up there? That’s the only possible explanation! I mean, there’s not a single ladder that’s tha-
“Mike!”
“What?!”
“Oh my gosh Mike, maybe you hit your head harder than I thought.” She blinks, furrowing her brows as her eyes flicker over her younger brother, worried that his injuries were worse than a bump on his cranium.
“We may need to get a doctor,” Nancy places her hand over his bicep (probably? To be fair, he can’t really recall the names of his muscles at the moment), and squeezes. “I mean – losing consciousness, hitting your head, and now you’re spacing out? Concussions are dangerous enough, and that’s not even mentioning intracranial hemorrhage, which could quite possibly kill you in itself – ”
Mike had spaced out again.
It was pretty easy to do so as well. After she started rambling about all of the ‘necessary’ precautions they would need to take in order to make sure Mike didn’t have a seizure, he found a spot on the wall that vaguely resembled a qilin. He had named it Quincy.
Quincy the Qilin was his new best friend.
“Hey,” Nancy snaps, keeping her hold on his arm tight. “I really need you to focus right now, you can space out once I get you to the physician.”
Mike hummed, signaling to her that he was listening.
She sighed.
“Mike… well – I came to see you on purpose.” Nancy exhaled through her nose. “That is, I – uh – I have a message.”
That did it.
He turned his head slowly to look at her. Really look at her.
Her face wasn’t irritated anymore. It wasn’t exasperated.
It was careful.
His stomach dropped.
“What happened?” he asked, quieter now.
Nancy hesitated (which was never a good sign) then stood up and offered him a hand. He ignored the help and pushed himself upright using the wall, wobbling only slightly.
“The King’s Guard convened this morning,” she said.
“They do that. It’s sort of their thing.” Mike snorted, wincing slightly when his head protested at the sudden movement. “Did they interrogate any livestock this time, or are we still harassing infants?”
Nancy did not laugh, nor did she smile.
He fell silent.
She clasped her hands in front of her, almost like she was reciting something that she memorized. “They’ve decided to send someone after the sorcerer.”
Mike blinked. “After William Byers?”
Nancy jerked her head, the movement resembling a nod.
Something flickered in his chest at the name. Not emotion, exactly. More like… curiosity. The town’s reclusive miracle-worker. The boy who could mend broken bones and coax rain from dry skies. The boy everyone whispered about but rarely saw.
“Alright,” Mike said carefully. “And I assume this brave soul volunteered?” He wasn’t sure what prompted him to say that specific sentence. Maybe it was the way Nancy wouldn’t meet his eyes. The way she kept ringing her hands. The way her bottom lip kept wobbling, no matter how much she tried to still it.
Silence.
Nancy didn’t answer.
Mike’s brows pulled together. “Nancy.”
“They’ve already chosen Mike!” She blurts out, throwing her hands down by her sides.
Her eyes are wide, shining with unshed tears as she stares at Mike, looking seconds away from breaking down.
A strange buzzing began in his ears.
“And?” he pressed. His own voice sounded muffled, as though he were listening through a wall.
Her throat bobbed. Her jaw stiffened.
“Father stepped forward.”
The buzzing grew louder.
“He told the King that you’ve been undergoing private weapons training for years. That you – well – that you were eager. That you were loyal to the crown. That you would not fail.”
Mike stared at her, opening and closing his mouth, looking like a fish out of water.
“He said that,” he repeated flatly.
“Yes, Mike, I just said that.” Nancy sighed and looked down, the floor capturing her attention yet again.
A deranged laugh bubbled out of him before he could close his mouth.
It sounded wrong.
High. Sharp. Almost hysterical.
“What? But – Nance, I’m not even a knight,” he said.
“You are now.”
“Since when?”
“Since the King agreed.” She was still avoiding eye contact, obviously uncomfortable with how emotional he was getting.
Honestly, he couldn’t care less about how ‘comfortable’ she was. He was getting sent to his death, and she was more worried about Mike using more than two muscles in his face to convey his distress at the news.
The hallway felt too small. The walls too close.
“He can’t just decide that,” Mike finally said, shaking his head after a moment of silence. “He can’t just— I’ve never—”
“You don’t have to pretend for me, Mike.” Nancy cut in quietly.
That shut him up.
Because she knew.
She knew he’d never touched a blade in his life, beyond getting roped into kitchen duty with his mother, and even then, all he’d succeeded in doing was smashing the bread because he couldn’t figure out how to cut the Odin forsaken bread loaf.
“He hates me Nancy,” Mike said finally, “He wants me dead.” Mike’s fingers twitch as they lay by his sides, and he balls them into fists, willing his hand not to shake.
Nancy’s jaw tightened. “He wants you to prove yourself.”
“By sending me after a sorcerer who vanished in the middle of battle?” Mike wasn’t shouting, but he wasn’t exactly being quiet either. It was hard controlling the volume of his voice, and to be honest, he wasn’t exactly trying to be discreet.
Her gaze flickered away, again.
Mike let out a breath that trembled despite his best efforts.
“So what’s the plan?” he asked. “Do I retrieve him gently? Ask politely? Or am I meant to drag him back in chains?” Please be the second option, Mike prayed silently.
“The order is retrieval,” Nancy said carefully, afraid he would unravel if too much information was placed on him at once.
“And if he refuses?” When he refuses, he corrects himself mentally. Because sorcerers who vanished in the middle of battle didn’t just come quietly, no matter how much pleading was involved.
Silence again.
Mike’s jaw clenched, grinding his teeth together.
Of course.
Of course his father would volunteer him for something impossible. If he succeeded, Ted would claim the glory. If he failed —
Well…
That would solve quite a few problems, wouldn’t it?
Footsteps echoed down the hall for the second time that day, only this time they were heavy. Almost deliberate.
Mike didn’t have to turn to know who it was.
Ted Wheeler stopped a few paces away.
Even without looking, Mike could feel his father’s smug stare like a blade pressed between his shoulders.
“You’ve been informed,”
It wasn’t a question.
Mike turned slowly, preparing himself for the eyesore of Ted Wheeler.
His father stood in full guard attire, armor polished, expression carved from stone. He looked every inch the hero Mike had once tried so desperately to embody, but not anymore. Now, he strives to be everything his father isn’t.
“You volunteered me,” Mike said, willing his voice to stay strong, void of any emotion.
“I did.”
No denial. No shame. Not even an ounce of regret.
“You told the King I was eager.” Mike raised his hand, taking a step while jabbing his open fist in the direction of his father, but not daring to touch him.
“You will be,” Ted replied, letting no emotion bleed through his voice, but Mike knew, deep down, his father was pleased. He could see it in the way he held himself; shoulders drawn back, feet slightly pointed outwards, head titled up – as though he had a crown perched atop his balding head.
Mike’s pulse pounded in his ears. “But dad,” his voice finally cracked, “I don’t know how to fight.”
“You’ll learn, Michael.”
“Before dawn?”
“If you are my son,” Ted said evenly, “you will adapt.”
There it was.
The ever-present condition.
If.
Mike swallowed, feeling faint. “And if I don’t?”
Ted’s expression did not change.
“Then you will have confirmed what I already know.”
The words landed like a physical blow.
Nancy flinched.
Mike did not.
He forced his gaze onto his father, packing as much hate as he could into a single look.
“You’re sending me to retrieve someone you couldn’t protect,” Mike spat, his eyes not once straying from his fathers. “That’s bold.”
Ted’s brow twitched, but otherwise, he remained unbothered, refusing to let his son's words touch his mood.
“You will leave at first light,” he continued, ignoring the comment. “You will track the sorcerer. You will bring him back. Alive.”
“And if I can’t find him?” Mike countered. The only thing he feared at that moment was death. His father fell just short of that line.
“Then do not return without him.”
The meaning was clear as glass.
Mike felt something inside him shift, like a door quietly unlocking.
All his life, he had lived within these walls. Under that voice. Beneath that expectation.
Now he was being pushed beyond them.
Beyond the fields.
Beyond the forest.
Beyond everything he had ever known.
For the first time since being thrown into the rain, the future did not look small.
It looked terrifying.
And wide.
Mike inhaled slowly. Shakily.
“When do I leave?” he asked.
“Dawn,” Ted said.
Nancy reached for him again, but this time Mike stepped away on his own.
He imagined the sorcerer, William Byers, somewhere out there beyond the treeline. Alone. Missing. Maybe injured.
Maybe afraid.
Or maybe powerful enough to make kings nervous.
Mike had always written stories about knights who went on impossible quests.
He had just never imagined he would be forced into one himself.
Ted turned and walked away without another word.
Nancy lingered.
“Mike,” she said quietly, “you don’t have to prove anything to him.”
Mike turned to study her properly. She was pale, making the dark circles under her eyes stand out much more than usual. She looked tired. She looked worried. And Mike decided then and there, he would find William, if for no other reason than being able to return, and reunite with his sister.
“No,” he agreed.
He looked toward the castle doors, where faint evening light bled through stained glass.
“I think I’ll prove it to myself.”
And for the first time in a long while —
He didn’t feel small.