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“Will,” Mike says, ignoring the hand on his face. “I know you’re in there. You’re strong; you can fight him, I know it.”
The hand caressing Mike’s face draws back, forming a fist. Mike’s head snaps to the side with a resounding crack, blood trickling from his busted cheek.
“Will,” he whispers, his lips moving around the word, breathing it like a prayer, like it’s something sacred. “Will.”
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Or: Alone in the abyss, Mike and Will have no one left to save them when Vecna arrives, not when one of them is clutched in the arms of the monster.