Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The demogorgons weren’t supposed to be here. 

They were supposed to remain the story that lay hidden in the depths of Hawkin’s history, something passed on over crackling fires, a scar you only traced when you felt your bones ache, and you couldn’t sleep. That is what they had all thought. 

That they had closed the book, when the looming shadow had been defeated, and for four years, it had been quiet. 

Quiet enough that you could almost convince yourself it had never been real at all. 

They weren’t supposed to claw their way back through tunnels that still laced the underbelly of the town, crisscrossing like old veins beneath asphalt and kitchen floors. They weren’t supposed to rip open the night with that wet, impossible shriek. 

But they had, and they were, and Mike Wheeler watched one of them tumble backward like a flimsy ragdoll, thrown around, not by a bullet but by something invisible and furious. 

It hit the ground at Will Byers’ feet with a sickening thud.  

Will stood there in the eye of the storm. His hair was plastered to his forehead, jacket hanging open, breath fogging in the air that shouldn’t have been cold enough to fog. The snow had come down in a single bewildering sweep, as if the world decided if there was no longer going to be ash falling from the sky, it would settle with the soft white dust. It coated the chainlink fence, and the blood stained bright red. 

Shadows jumped in the snow. 

Mike watched, transfixed. 

Electricity crackled along his arms, pricking the fine hair there, as a roar of energy swept through the clearing. It didn’t sound like thunder, but it felt like it rushed through their bodies. 

And Mike couldn’t tear his eyes from Will. 

Something in Mike’s chest unfolded, something that had been buried under years of fear and friendship and the constant, exhausting work of surviving. It carved itself out from beneath his ribs, warm and reverent, blooming through bone and blood, and it started to flood through him. 

He couldn’t believe what he had seen in front of his eyes. 

Will. Powerful and taut, arms straining under his jacket. The line of his shoulders, and his jaw clenched. His eyes glittered with an awful kind of focus. 

Mike felt it reverberate through him, a sick unsteadiness, as if the ground itself was shaking. He has powers. He was incredible. 

He looks… beautiful. 

Mike blinked, shaking himself like he could dislodge the thought. His throat was dry enough to hurt when he swallowed. 

“What?” He breathed, because the snow was all wrong, and the air felt stifling. It was only October, and the sun had been shining this morning, and he still couldn’t tear his eyes away from Will, too bright in the center of all this. 

“Did everyone feel that earthquake?” Max yelled from the other side of the field, worriedly. She had blood on her forehead, Lucas was bracing her with one arm, eyes hard and scanning the treeline. 

Mike’s gaze flickered widely, searching for the others and then another roar of energy swept through the grounds again, and it felt like the world was genuinely splitting. 

It was a seam in the thread of the universe that cut open, nothing like they had seen before. It glowed at its opening, lush green fields and towering lines of oak, leaves feather-fine and sunlit, impossibly bright against the snow and floodlights surrounding them. The smell hit him a heartbeat later: the warm soil, and rain. 

Then, something stepped through. 

A tall figure ran toward Will, armor-clad, a frayed blue cape flowing behind him. A sword was strapped to his back, real, gleaming, and his steel armor caught the moonlight and scattering it into pale flashes.

Mike doesn’t recognize him. 

The armoured stranger didn’t hesitate. He crossed the space between them in seconds and immediately wrapped both arms around Will. 

“My liege," the man said, breathless, voice roughened by relief, and he buried his face for half a second against Will’s hair. 

Will made a strangled noise, half laugh, half startled gasp. “Uh—” His arms were by his side. 

“Hey!” Mike shouted, his brain still not catching up to his mouth. “What the hell are you doing?”

Lucas started forward, grip tightening on the bloody bat in his hands. “Get off him, man.” 

Still reeling, off the brunt of the battle, Mike felt blood roar in his head, still. Stranger. Villain. His brain supplied. 

The armored man pulled away only enough to look at Will’s face. He didn’t let him go, his eyes fixed to him intensely. 

“I am sorry,” he said, as if to Will only, and everyone around them didn’t exist. “I am acting in haste. I could not bear to be apart from you any longer than we have already spent.” 

“Okay,” Mike snapped, heat rising in his throat, “that is really enough. Who is this guy—”

The man’s hands went to his helmet. He tugged it free and shook his hair out. 

Will gasped loudly. 

Mike stopped stone-cold. 

Because the face under the helmet, shaking out his dark, dark hair— was Mike’s face. 

He looked older, but not by much. The same dark eyes, and sharp shadows carving out his face. His mouth was pursed open wide, and his freckles dotted across his face. There was a thin pale scar near his brow. His hair was longer, curling damply at his temples. 

Mike couldn’t hear anything. The others were muttering in disbelief, but it felt like the world had gone quiet. He couldn't fathom what he was looking at. 

Then the armoured Mike dropped to one knee. 

Mike stared in complete, and utter shock as he saw himself, head bowed, holding his sword up flat on his palms, towards Will. 

“Oh, what the fuck is this.” Dustin whispered. “Did he just come through a portal?”

El blinked rapidly. “Will has never been able to use his powers so effectively. He couldn’t move the Pepsi Can a couple of weeks ago. This is…” She wiped under her nose. 

“Mike?” Will said, voice thin with disbelief. 

The kneeling Mike—Knight Mike, or something, tilted his face upward and grinned crookedly, horribly familiar. Will inhaled sharply. 

“I have been trying to convince you to speak informally for years,” he said, still kneeling. “If I had known it would have taken only a week of separation, perhaps I would’ve taken the wound.”

Will stared at him, like he could almost understand what he was saying. “What—what?”

“It has not been so long,” Knight Mike murmured, “that you have forgotten yourself, my liege. You must be disappointed.” His voice dropped, softer, almost ashamed. “I will not rise until your command.”

Will blinked fast. “Uh—” He looked like someone had pulled the floor out from under him. “Rise?” 

“Is this—” Lucas began. 

“I think this might be kind of my dream.” Dustin mused. 

Mike suddenly found his voice, and growled. “That is not Mike, Will. I am.” He stepped forward, heart hammering, wrongness screaming through his brain. 

Knight Mike rose smoothly, and his eyes did not leave Will. “You look changed,” he said to Will, reverent. His hand went to Will's waist, gently looking into his eyes. There was unabashed, pure, devotion in his look. He gently took his thumb and wiped the stream of blood under his nose. 

“Oh, that is wild.” Max muttered. 

Will stared, starstruck. 

Then his gaze flickered and landed on Mike. The grin vanished, just as quick as it had appeared. His posture shifted and tightened, and he narrowed his eyes protectively. “What is this?” 

Mike glared back because he didn’t know what else to do, and the guy had a goddamn sword, and Mike didn’t know how to trust anyone who was looking at Will like that, or holding Mike like that. “Are you going to let go of him? Or—?” 

“What is going on exactly?” Lucas demanded, stepping closer. “Why does Mike have a doppelganger dressed like some sort of knight?”

“This is not Eryndor,” Knight Mike breathed, looking around. He turned his head, taking in the lights, and the silhouette of the buildings behind them all. His eyes tracked over the snow with visible confusion. “We are someplace else,” he said voice tightening, “aren’t we?” He looked to Will for confirmation. 

Will’s mouth opened, then closed. He took a half-step nearer, instinctively. “Mike—” Will started, and the name hit Knight Mike, again. His cheeks flushed in response, his eyes darkening as he looked at him. 

“You— You speak so familiar.” He flushed. 

Lucas put his hand against the knight’s breastplate. “Who are you?” He asked firmly. 

Knight Mike’s eyes snapped to Lucas, and he straightened. “Warden.” He said, his head jerking back. “Ranger.” Then, he looked around again, his mind swimming, he swallowed. “How—how can you be here—”

Lucas stepped backwards in shock. 

“This is so fucked.” Max followed behind him, her arms crossed, her voice flat, the same tone when she was nervous. She narrowed her eyes at him. 

Will let out a small, startled laugh that sounded too high. “Oh. Oh my god.” 

Mike’s stomach sank, the wonder-struck sound of Will’s laugh ringing through his ears. 

Will leaned toward him, scanning his armour, the lines etched into the steel, “Paladin.” He said his voice was steadier now. “You are a paladin, aren’t you?” Will looked at him curiously. 

Paladin Mike pulled off his glove, so carefully, and curled Will’s forearm with his bare hand. “Yes,” he said softly. “Of course, my light.” 

Will flushed, again. His eyes watched the sharp lines of Paladin Mike's hand grab his arm. He had calluses on his palm, and his scars lining his fingers. 

Mike’s breath came out sharp. “Oh, Jesus,” he muttered. The faded leather straps, the deep blue frayed cape edges and the sword hilt suddenly started to look sickeningly familiar. 

Paladin Mike. He was a goddamn paladin. Mike was going to throw up. He probably should turn around and leave right now, because if he didn't he was certain he would projectile vomit all over this alternate version of himself that Will was staring at, unbelievably charmed. 

Dustin's hands flew to his mouth. “This is unbelievable. Fucking unbelievable.”

“Oh, my god.” El realized, her eyes widening. 

Mike felt his hands curl into fists. He didn’t trust him, he didn’t know him. “Why are you here? Who are you working with?”

“Working with?” Max huffed a laugh. “You think Mr. Knight over there is with the CIA, or the lab or something?” 

Mike turned to her and glared. “We haven’t seen anything from the Upside Down in four years. This guy turns up, Will suddenly has goddamn powers and conveniently we are attacked by three Demogorgons? You don’t think that’s odd?”

El examined him. “It— isn’t. He isn’t from the lab.” She shook her head. 

Lucas pursed his lips, eyes flicking between Will and the knight. “We did also see him come through a portal.”

The knight stared at them, confused. “I do not know these creatures,” he said slowly. His gaze drifted to the bodies that lay in the centre of the field. “But I know this—”

Will’s voice cut in, gentle, steady. “Those guys over there,” he said, pointing. “They haven’t been here in a long, long time. A very long time.”

Paladin Mike’s hand settled on the hilt of his sword as he stalked toward the corpses. His boots pressed indents into the snow. His eyes widened as he took them in. 

“Blightborns,” he whispered, horrified. He then turned to Will, his eyes glistening with approval. “You defeated them? That is the surge of power I tracked here.”

“What borns?” Lucas asked. 

“Interesting.” Dustin raised his eyebrows. “If we are going off the assumption this is our D&D Mike, then, wouldn’t they just be called Demogorgans in that world too?”

“That is not D&D Mike.” Mike snapped, his skin crawling. “That— that is someone else.” 

Will flushed. “Well— I, uh. My sister helped.” He tilted his head towards El. 

“Magic flows through your veins. I bow down to the bounds of your power.” Paladin Mike told Will, sincerely. 

“Bow down to the bounds of your power…” Dustin muttered. 

He then turned to El. “You name this Lady as sister?” His gaze flickered to the blood beneath her nose, to the way she stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Will, instinctively protective.

“I did not know.” Paladin Mike said. He looked distraught. “My Lady, apologies.” He bowed his head to her. “You are Storm-born, as well, then. I am honoured to make this acquaintance to your oath-kin.”

El nodded approvingly. “Thank you.” She turned to squint at Mike, judgementally. 

Mike glared at her. “You guys are being fooled.” 

Max raised her eyebrows. “Really.” 

“These are from the hallowed grounds,” Paladin Mike said finally, turning back toward them. His voice tightened, furious and disbelieving. “They live in the Blightlands. They should not be here, in these lands.”

“We know.” Mike says, dryly. “That is the problem. You are the only other variable here."

Paladin Mike stared at him, unimpressed. "You think I brought the Blightborn here?"

"Yes. I do think you brought the Demogorgan." Mike glared at him.

Max snickered. "This is kind of funny. I like that the two Mike’s aren’t meshing." 

Will turned to Mike, his eyes pleading. “I don’t think they are his fault,” Will said softly. “We should all get someplace safe, don’t you think?”

Mike met his eyes and tried to nod, but his gaze betrayed him, flickering away. Because he didn’t trust him. Because the man wearing his face was staring at Will like Will belonged to him, like Will was the axis of the world, and Mike was just supposed to be okay with it. It was… wrong. 

“Mike,” Will said softly, his voice careful. “Are you okay?” His eyes were watching Mike, knowing leaking out of his eyes.  

Mike nodded, jerky. “Yeah,” he said, voice too loud. “Okay. Yeah. I’m okay. We should go.” He took a deep breath. 

Paladin Mike’s gaze shifted between them, something dark moving behind his eyes. His voice came out low. “Why do you address him,” he asked Will, “as you address me.” 

Will winced, just slightly. 

Max choked, making a sound “Oh, come on.” Lucas gave her a chiding look, apprehensively glancing back at them. 

El snickered, almost under her breath. “Here we go.”

Will’s throat bobbed. “Because,” he said carefully, “his name is Mike.”

Paladin Mike’s eyebrows drew together, insulted. “His name is…” He paused, then said, “Micheal?” 

Will nodded. “Yes. But, we call him Mike.”

“We?” Paladin Mike looked around at them, voice sharpening “You all refer to him so intimately? Even you?” He said disappointedly to El. 

She grimaced, shrugging. 

Mike frowned. “Yes, I go by Mike. I am the original Mike, by the way.” 

Paladin Mike’s attention snapped fully onto Mike, his eyes narrowing. “What are you?” He asked. 

Mike took a step forward, refusing to be intimidated by someone who looked like he was wearing a costume, and was ridiculous, and pretentious and had a goddamn sword, actually. “I’m Mike.” He said. “I’m The Mike. And you’re—” he gestured vaguely, “fake Mike, clearly. Dressed like a damn Halloween costume.” 

Dustin choked.

Paladin Mike’s expression flickered, puzzled, then offended. “If you speak of All Hallows Day, Allhallowtide nears. It is not a costume. I do not know this Halloween,” he said. “But I know this.” His eyes hardened. “You stand too close.”

Mike’s mouth fell open. “Excuse me?”

“You stand too close,” Paladin Mike repeated, voice dangerously calm. “To him.”

Will made a strangled noise. “Okay everybody needs to calm—”

“Literally, who are you?” Mike pointed sharply at Will, as if that would help. “We’re— we’re friends. We’re—” His throat tightened. We are more. The words caught in his throat, raw and humiliating. We are more than friends.

Lucas looked at Mike, encouraging. 

Mike inhaled sharply. He didn’t know why they were stuck in his throat like that. It was a truth that had been settling under his bones for a long, long time now. He knew it, had known it since he had known Will. Yet, Mike still couldn’t say it. 

Paladin Mike’s gaze slid to Will’s face. Then to Mike’s face. Then back to Will, like he was checking for damage.

And Mike realized, with a sick drop in his stomach, that Paladin Mike wasn’t just confused. He was jealous.

"This is a strange land." Paladin Mike said. 

Will stepped between them, palms out. “No one is—” Will started, then stopped, because, Mike assumed, there was no easy sentence for I am not a prize, there is a couple evil interdimension, wicked creatures out to get us and also, you guys are literally alternate universe versions of the other (the latter being entirely untrue, but perhaps their identical faces might lead him to incorrect assumption). 

Lucas stepped closer. “Okay. We need to get someplace secure. He clearly knows something about them. We should talk about this at home.” 

Paladin Mike’s gaze swept the perimeter, assessing. “Somewhere safe. Stone walls,” he murmured, as if thinking in maps. “A hold.”

“You mean a house,” Max said.

Paladin Mike looked at her, confused.

Max jerked her chin toward the distant lights. “We are going to a house. Indoors. Where people live.”

Mike smiled at her. He never considered that her distaste for current him would also transfer over to Paladin Mike. He felt grateful, all of a sudden, that Max had an evil bone in her body. 

Paladin Mike’s eyes flickered, then he nodded once, like he was accepting a foreign dialect. “In door. I agree. A hearth-hold,” he decided.

“A hearth-hold.” El repeated, something pleased in her voice. “Pretty.” 

“He’s kind of poetic.” Dustin observed. 

Max rolled her eyes, “I think he's kind of insane.”

“Thank you!” Mike complained. 

Will took a breath. He looked at Mike, really looked, eyes softening. Then he looked at Paladin Mike.

“Okay,” Will said, voice steady, because Will Byers had been through hell itself and apparently that meant he could manage this too. “We’re going to my house. Lucas, you’re driving.” 

Paladin Mike’s shoulders loosened with visible relief, and he nodded, finally. 

“—are we to ride these iron wagons?” He broached, as they walked. “I am uncertain about this arrangement. I fear I have never come across these.” 

“They’re safe, don’t worry.” Will grinned at him, walking next to him.  

His body was tilted towards Will, protectively. “For you, I will battle any circumstance.”

“Oh.” Will mumbled, and Mike could see the flush drift right up to the tips of his ears. 

Mike felt his shoulders crawl up to his ears. He couldn’t believe how annoying this guy was, and how Will was — falling for it. He was irritated.

_______________________

Hopper and Joyce stared incredulously at the group clustered in the living room. 

Dustin’s hair was full of twigs, bits of dark green pine caught in his curly hair. Max had dried blood smeared along her cheekbone. El’s jeans were torn at the knee, fabric ripped open to skin. And behind Will, too close, unmistakably close, stood a man who looked exactly like Mike.

A straighter, armoured, almost taller version of him (and the only reason he was taller was because of the helmet, and he probably stood up straighter or something, Mike was certain). 

Will smiled nervously at Joyce, tightly. 

Hopper’s eyes flickered over the room. “Alright,” He said, voice like gravel. “I am about to lose my mind. Why is there another him?” 

Paladin Mike looked at Hopper. To Mike’s surprise, Paladin Mike’s posture shifted in recognition. 

“Warden of Hawcrest,” Paladin Mike said slowly, as if the title fit Hopper’s role. “Oath of Protection.” He nodded his head respectfully. 

Hopper’s eyes widened, as he blinked. “The hell did you just call me?”

Joyce flickered between the two of them. “Who are you?”

Paladin Mike’s head snapped toward her and his face softened in immediate respect. “Mother of the hearth,” he said, and bowed his head, once again. “Greetings, again. I hope the evening tide has suited you.”

Joyce stared. Then she stared harder. Then she said, very slowly, “Okay.” She nodded. 

Will looked at him, his mouth hiding a smile. “I think she’s amused.” 

"Why is he always bowing his head?" Mike complained. “It’s so weird.” 

“So, you found him after the Demogorgans attacked?” Hopper frowned. “But he knows what they are?”

El nodded, explaining calmly. “We saw him come through a portal after Will and I had defeated them.”

“A portal?” Joyce cut through. 

Dustin nodded eagerly. “It was an actual portal. Can confirm.” 

Paladin Mike tilted his head. “The crossing was torn. I did not realize I was coming through the breach. I was only following the trail.” He was standing behind Will, stiff. 

Hopper frowned, eyes cutting back to him. “Why is he standing over him like that?”

“I can seat myself, if my liege wishes so.” Paladin Mike inclined his head, his helmet still clasped in his arms. 

Will flushed. “Oh. Sorry. Yeah, you can sit.” He patted the spot next to him, awkwardly. Mike frowned.

Paladin Mike gently sat down next to him, carefully sitting himself down. His armour shifting, clinking. His hand settled on Will’s knee, familiar and protective. 

Will immediately flushed. Mike’s eyes narrowed at his hand, and he felt the irritation begin to bubble inside him again. 

El suppressed a smile. “Oh, dear god.” 

Hopper’s eyes narrowed even further. “What is this? Is this—?” He then, actually turned to Mike to look at him quizzically. 

Mike glared, gritting his teeth. “I don’t know.” Then, to the asshole: “Why are you touching him? You don’t own him.”

Will dropped his head into his hands. “Mike, oh my god—”

Paladin Mike’s jaw tightened. “I do not own him,” he said immediately. “He is—” He stopped, swallowing. His eyes went back to Will softening, and that softness made Mike hate him even more. He could recognize the look, and saw it mirrored in his own eyes countless times. 

He hated him the most when he could see that he adored Will, inexplicably. He couldn’t fathom how it came so easily to him, his hand resting on his knee, his body tilted towards him. Mike longed, and longed and ached. He felt it shudder through him. 

He desperately wanted to sit next to Will, to pull him into his arms and protectively hold him. He wanted to protect him. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t even look Will in the eye, had sat across from him, as if he was afraid of him. He was. 

“He is the Light. By your oath, I am bound to him. My liege.” He bowed his head slightly toward Will, his mouth wrapped around the word like it was a prayer. “My cleric.” He said after, softer. 

“Oh my god.” Will flushed, impossibly. “That is crazy. He is actually crazy." 

Max, who had been standing with her arms crossed behind them, muttered, “Jesus Christ,” under her breath.  

El’s mouth was wide, her eyebrows raised. “Oh, wow.” She said, amused. 

Lucas whispered, “I understand the Paladin stuff. But this is crazy. Mike the Brave was never bound to Will in that way, was he?”

“Actually—” Dustin considered. “I guess we never really dived into that part. Technically, he should be, but I think he was unbound. Mike could never decide.” 

Mike looked at Dustin, betrayed. “Come on.” 

Will flushed. “Okay,” He said quickly. “Okay. Um. Everybody— just… breathe.” 

“How did you get here, honey?” Joyce asked gently. 

Paladin Mike’s blinked back, his brows knitted. He looked around the room, taking it all in. His eyes lingered on the lamps and the lights flickered on the roof. The television was on, humming in the corner, along with the radio, buzzing quietly under all the noise. 

“I tracked my vow. I have been searching for my liege for six days, through the Hawkenwood, across Indovar. He has been missing from Cindralis for two moons.” Paladin Mike blinked at the lamp. He reached out and gently touched the lightbulb. He didn’t wince from the heat, instead pressing his gloved hands against it. 

“Your realm binds lightning,” he said, awed and suspicious at once, looking at the lights. “And you trap it in glass. That is peculiar."

Mike’s temper spiked. “Stop calling it a realm,” he snapped. “It’s just— we are just in Indiana.”

Paladin Mike’s eyes slid to him, cool. “Indovar,” he corrected automatically. “It may have a different face, but it exists in the same reflection.”

Dustin whispered, “Oh, that is so weird. He is doing his translation thing. Do you think there are alternate versions of us, all sitting here, doing the same thing? Or are they living different lives? If there are D&D versions, whose to say we don’t have Star Trek Dustin’s and Lucas’s.” He looked ecstatic.  

Lucas looked faintly sick. “Stop.”

Dustin couldn’t. “No, because you know, that means he’s not just a doppelganger, he’s a— he’s a parallel iteration from a reflected creation that shares—”

El interrupted, “Dustin.”

“I wish Nancy was here.” Mike said, frowning still. “She would know what to do.” 

Joyce pursed her lips. "Did you want to get more comfortable Mr— um, Mr. Paladin? You can put the armour on the couch if you want." 

Paladin Mike's eyes widened. He shook his head, shocked. "I cannot. The danger has not yet passed. I am bound to protect those who cannot. Bound to protect the one I serve." He said, clearly. “The one I have sworn my oath to.” He said, a small smile on his face as he turned to Will. 

Will melted into his couch, covering his face with his hands. “I don’t know if I can handle this.” 

"Oh." Joyce stifled a laugh. "Okay. That’s fine then.” 

"This— this is the best thing to happen in years." Max nodded eagerly. "I think this one might actually take the cake." 

"Should I oath you?" Lucas turned to Max, wiggling his eyebrows. “We could be bound.” He made a kissy-face. 

Max crinkled her nose, grinning. “Ew. You’re so gross.” 

"It is not a game." Paladin Mike told him, seriously. “Keeper of the Greenwood, you swear to…” He turned to Max, scanning her. “Shadow Runner. You are bound to land, and she is free. It is a burden.” He told Lucas. 

Max muffled a laugh. 

Lucas pressed his lips tighter, wincing. "Uh—okay. Sorry, man. I was thinking about it."

Paladin Mike nodded seriously. “I understand. We are torn to those we give our hearts to. I have never meant to become a Knight-errant. I do not believe I am, but those in the Birch will still talk. If it is my duty, I will give it all.” 

Lucas’s mouth was open. “Oh. Thanks.” 

Max pursed her lips. “You know what?” She turned to Will, nodding. “He is kind of romantic. Fair enough.” 

Will pressed his lips together. “He– he isn’t mine.” He whispered, embarrassed. His face was red, but his eyes were glittering nonetheless. 

Paladin Mike turned to Will, his eyes hurt. “I am yours, my liege.”

“Oh.” Will’s mouth fell open. “Right. Okay, sorry.” He swallowed. “Sure.” 

Paladin Mike nodded, and pressed his lips to Will’s hand. “You are unsure. You will witness.” 

“Oh my god.” Mike grumbled. “This is getting ridiculous. I thought we were here to figure out the damn problem.” 

Hopper nodded. “Maybe we should get back to the point.” 

“That’s too bad. Mike is literally steaming right now. I think there is actual fire coming out of his ears.” El complained. 

Mike glared, his arms crossed. “No I am not.” 

“Let’s establish basic facts.” Dustin started, already reaching for a pen. “Paladin Mike—” 

“That is not my title,” Paladin Mike said automatically. 

Dustin stared at him. “Wow. You really are just like our Mike.” He exhaled through his nose. “Fine. Knight Mike.” 

Paladin Mike’s mouth tightened. “Paladin,” he corrected, and bowed his head slightly, toward Will, as if the correction was for Will’s comfort, not Dustin’s.

Will’s lips twitched, like he was trying not to smile. 

Mike looked between them, his stomach sinking, deeper and deeper. He wasn't sure he was going to make it through the night. Not the way Will kept basically giggling, hiding his smiles behind his hands, and the stupid, fucking, hunk of metal looking like a doofus, staring at Will like that. 

"Doofus?" Lucas whispered, from next to him.

"You heard that?" Mike turned to look, his eyes wide.

"You are muttering to yourself." Max told him. "I hope you know that. Not even that quietly.”

Dustin tapped his pen. “Paladin. You said Will is a cleric.”

Paladin Mike’s gaze softened immediately. “He is the Cleric of the Threshold,” he said, voice reverent. “The Touched Faithful.”

Joyce mouthed, Touched Faithful, her eyebrows raised. El nodded at her, shaking her head in confusion. 

Will cleared his throat. “Okay. That’s… a lot.”

Paladin Mike’s eyes flicked down, contrite. “Forgive me,” he murmured. “It is a habit. I realize these titles make you uncomfortable."

“Habit,” Mike repeated, eyebrows shooting up. “Of calling him, what, a Touched Faithful?”

Joyce tried gently, “I know you kids had stories. That’s where the names for these creatures came from. But— he can’t possibly be from your stories, can he?”

Mike gritted his teeth. “He isn’t.” 

Dustin shrugged. “We don’t really know. But to be honest, the only similarities is that a lot of our classes match up from our games. He recognizes us as our characters. If there are infinite parallel dimensions…” 

“It would mean that this is just one of them.” Lucas agreed, nodding. 

“But—” Joyce began. “So you have your own Will. This— this cannot be the one that is in your world?” She asked him. 

Paladin Mike’s eyes searched Will’s face. They slid over his soft brown hair, pushed back now, and his favourite light blue jeans (the ones EL bought him from a mall year ago, the ones Will loved so much he tried not to wear them too often because he said he didn’t want to ruin them). 

Mike tried not to burst into tears. He didn’t know him. Not like Mike knew him. He couldn’t. 

“You do not understand,” Paladin Mike said. 

His gaze returned to Will. “He is—” He stopped, swallowing. “You do not wear his sigils, or his rings. The same runes do not trace your arms.” 

Paladin Mike’s gaze flickered, as if he was trying to work something in his brain. Then he exhaled like giving up. “There may be two ‘parallels’ as you say, but there is only one soul.”

Mike’s brain stuttered. “What?”

Paladin Mike turned his gaze back to Will, the rest of them were irrelevant. “You are him,” he said softly. “Reflected, and veiled, certainly. You have lived different existences. I realize that now. But—” His eyes brightened with something desperate. “But you are him.” 

His eyes flickered over to the photographs lining the walls, Jonathan and Will pressed together, El wedged between them, Hopper and Joyce giggling in the background, arms slung and tangled. Over summer road trips, to the new house, roomy enough for them all. Joyce’s new shop, and the proudness glittering in all of their eyes. 

Will’s mouth parted, caught between amusement and something deep, aching inside him. 

Mike’s chest tightened, because Will’s eyes had gone soft. He looked tempted, and it made Mike want to die. 

Hopper rubbed a hand over his face, “So you’re saying you think kid—” he gestured at Will, “—is the same person as your Will.”

Paladin Mike didn’t even hesitate. “Souls are not so easily severed. We do not believe this in our world,” he said. “You think souls are different. In your world, you have stories of echoes. Mirrors. Names carried through bloodlines.” His jaw set. “You know this, even if you pretend you do not.” 

Dustin’s pen hovered. “That’s… That’s really interesting.” 

“It’s bullshit.” Mike growled.

Will interrupted gently, “Mike.” Then, to Paladin Mike, soft. “But your Will is back there.”

Paladin Mike’s eyes flickered, pain, quick and bright. “Yes,” he said, voice rough. “And you are here.” He was blinking at Will, and Mike could see the look in his eyes. How it was soft, and tender. How it looked like he couldn’t breathe either. 

Mike’s throat went dry. 

Will swallowed. “Okay,” he said, careful. “Okay. I hear you. But… you can’t just decide that.”

Paladin Mike’s gaze softened. “I can,” he said simply. “Because I already did.”

Will’s shoulder tensed, slightly. Mike watched him. Will was bracing himself, on instinct, to be the problem. He made himself smaller, slightly. He was worried, anxious about this. Mike started to move closer to him, but before he could, Paladin Mike pressed his shoulder to Will’s. He looked at him, and nodded knowingly. It’s okay. His eyes said. 

Will’s breath eased out.

Mike felt something twist in him, worse than before. Jealousy, yes, of course, but also this awful dawning, that he knew Will in the same way. He didn’t know what the fuck Paladin Mike was moaning about, twin souls or reflections, but he couldn’t deny that the knowledge and instinctiveness in his bones matched the ones that Mike knew. 

He knew his survival responses, the worst moments that Mike knew with certainty that he had witnessed with his own eyes, he had been so certain that there couldn't be anyone who knew his Will better than him. He stared at his own hands and felt suddenly far too young.

He longed to protect Will, be older, and enough. He shut his eyes tightly, and exhaled sharply. This was so fucked. He was losing his mind. He seriously needed to focus. He could not let this— this renaissance fair idiot genuinely convince him that he deserved Will. 

Dustin, unable to bear it any longer, blurted, “Okay so—like—is there also a Will in your world in the same way there’s a Mike? Like, is there a Modern Will there? Or is it like one-to-one or—”

But Paladin Mike’s gaze flickered, briefly, to Dustin, and his expression softened. “Lore-bearer,” he murmured. “You ask important questions.” 

Dustin sat up straighter. “Thank you. I love when he does that." He whispered to Lucas hushed. Lucas nodded, agreeably. 

Paladin Mike looked back at Will. “There is a Will,” he said, voice getting gentle. “My Will. My cleric. The one I swore to. The one who said my oath was… ‘excessive,’” he added, and there was the faintest hint of a smile. “He thought I was foolhardy. And then kissed me anyway.”

Will’s breath caught. 

Mike felt his stomach turn once again, and he gritted his fingernails into his palm. He could see the longing on Will’s face. The selfish, human part of him lighting up and Will, calm, and kind as always couldn’t hide it fast enough. 

Mike’s jealousy surged so hard, it made him dizzy. He was certain he might genuinely fall over, if he wasn't scowling in the corner. It felt like someone was reaching into his chest, and squeezing, dripping the blood out of his heart into a puddle on the floor. He couldn’t believe that this, this imposter, was coming in here, and Will didn’t hate him. 

“Mike is going to explode.” Max whispered to Lucas. 

Lucas sympathetically reached over, and patted him on the back. “Get your head in the game, man. You are losing.”

“This is so unfair.” Mike said miserably. 

Will blinked once, then twice, and smoothed his expression back into that careful calm. “Okay,” He said lightly, voice deliberately normal. “Well, great. Um— We are not that, so. Okay. Anyway.” 

Joyce looked fondly at Will. 

Hopper pointed at Paladin Mike. “You,” he said. “No kissing in my living room.”

Joyce said, “That’s my living room, really.”

Hopper corrected, without missing a beat, “No kissing in Joyce’s living room.”

Will’s cheeks went pink again. He tried to look irritated, but he failed miserably.

Paladin Mike bowed his head slightly, solemn. “As you command, Warden.”

Hopper muttered, “Stop calling me that.”

Paladin Mike looked genuinely confused. “But you are,” he said.

Hopper pinched the bridge of his nose. Mike felt like he was going to crawl out of his skin. He felt so peculiar, and he felt irritated, and annoyed, and even mad that Hopper was exasperated at that fake, and not at him. He shook his head, exhaling a loud breath. 

Now, he was certain. He had gone mad. The only thing to do was to bury himself deeper into the hole. Lucas patted his back encouragingly again. 

Mike turned to Will, voice low. “Can I talk to you?” He paused. “Alone?”

Will’s gaze flickered to him, attentively. “Yeah,” He said gently. “Okay. Of course.”

El raised her eyebrows at Will, wiggling them. He glared at her. 

Will went to stand and Paladin Mike moved too.

Mike snapped, “No. Seriously, no.” 

Paladin Mike stopped dead, eyes narrowing. He turned to Will, his eyes searching his. “Leige?”

Will sighed. “Mike,” he said, and it wasn’t clear which Mike he meant.

Paladin Mike softened immediately anyway. “Forgive me,” he murmured, and stayed where he was, watching him. “I will remain.” 

Mike grabbed Will’s wrist and tugged him toward the hallway.

Will went willingly, and Mike didn't know if he felt relieved, or guilty. He could still take Will, that he could still be his, even the slightest. 

_______________________

They ended up in Will’s room. 

The posters lined the walls, and canvasses lay smudged with paint. His room smelt like it always did. Acrylic and dusty, the covers thrown back. The window was open, and there was a layer of snow on the windowsill. It made the room cold, crisp air settling over them.

Mike turned, words already at the tip of his tongue, sharp and messy. He turned to meet Will’s eyes, and they died just as quickly. 

Will’s face was calm, but his eyes were bright. A little too bright, when he holds himself for long hours, late into the night. He looked tired, all of a sudden. 

Mike’s anger faltered. “Are you okay?” He asked, voice rough.

Will blinked, then nodded, slowly. “Yeah,” he said. Then, he paused. “I don’t know. It’s weird.” 

Mike swallowed hard. “Will—”

Will lifted a hand. “I know,” he said softly. “I know this is… a lot.”

Mike laughed once, humorless. “A lot?” he echoed. “There’s a version of me in armor downstairs who thinks you’re—” Mike’s throat tightened. “—his.” 

He hated it. He hated how the hate seeped into his voice, clearly. He hated that he couldn’t hide the genuine irritation that soaked into him. 

Will’s mouth tugged at the corner like he was trying not to smile at the absurdity. He failed a little. “He doesn’t think I’m his. He just says… He’s mine.” 

Mike felt something else carve out in his chest, painfully. He hated it. He just couldn’t stand the feeling. He stared at him. “That’s not any better.” He threw back. 

Will’s smile faded, replaced by something else. “I’m not stupid,” Will said. “I know he’s projecting. I know it’s not fair to his Will, or whatever. I know it’s not fair to—” He stopped, gaze flicking to Mike’s face, as if testing something. 

Mike’s stomach twisted. “You like it. You like—” He said, barely above a whisper. 

Will shook his head. “It just… it just feels nice Mike. I don’t know how I feel.”

Mike flinched. He felt terrified, for some impossible reason. His head was spinning and he couldn’t focus on one single thing. Will was saying words, and Mike felt like each one was worse than the last. How could he say that? How could he possibly believe that? I can be way better than him. I can make you feel nice. His words rung in his head. 

Will rushed on. “We’ll get him back home. That’s the plan, of course. It's just nice. He looks at me like—like, I help him be safe or something. I don't know. It’s just different.” 

Mike’s throat burned. 

Because Mike had looked at Will with fear so often, fear of losing him, fear of him slipping away again, fear that he would hurt him like he had so many times before. He knew it burned into every word he said to him. 

Mike didn’t know if he’d ever looked at Will like safety. He felt like he did, but did he know? Was he as certain as he could be? Was he as certain as the block of metal downstairs, following him around, impossibly? Mike let out a frustrated sigh. 

Will exhaled slowly. “I don’t know, Mike.” He added, voice steady. “But it’s not like I’m going to run away with him or something.” 

Mike’s mouth opened automatically. “Good.”

Will blinked. “Mike.”

Mike rubbed a hand over his face. “Sorry. I—” He forced himself to breathe. “I just—” His voice cracked in frustration. “Why is he like that with you?”

Will tilted his head. “Because,” he said carefully, “you saw. He loves his Will. And he thinks I’m—”

“One soul,” Mike snapped. "Yeah, I get it. He said that, and apparently it just makes it true." His words came out sharp and brittle. 

Will didn’t flinch, his expression softening instead, which made it, so, so much worse. “Well, it doesn't matter if it's true. He believes it.”

That did something ugly to Mike’s chest. His jealousy surged again. “And you’re just, what— okay with that?”

Will’s gaze held his. “I don’t know what you want me to say, It doesn’t matter whether I am okay with it. He does believe it.” 

Then Will stepped closer. The front of his shirt brushed Mike’s chest, a whisper of contact, that Mike could feel across his body. Mike’s breath hitched immediately, his body betraying him before his mind could catch up. Will was right there, close enough that Mike could count his lashes, close enough to see the faint color in his cheeks, the soft pink of his mouth as he spoke.

Mike felt dizzy. Genuinely dizzy. Like the room had tilted, and turned completely, utterly upside down and then decided to stay that way.

He swallowed, loud in the sudden quiet.

“Why are you so mad?” Will asked softly. “Why are we fighting right now?” 

Mike’s mouth twisted. “Because he’s—” He gestured vaguely, helpless. “He’s acting like you belong to him.”

Will’s brows knit, faintly. “Okay. So what?” He looked confused, and unsure. 

“So what?” Mike repeated, incredulous. “Because—because you don’t.” He spluttered, his words tripping over each other now. “You don’t belong to him.”

Will studied him. His jaw tightened, and his clenched once at his sides, then again, like he was bracing himself. "Okay." He said finally. "Who do I belong to then?" 

Mike stared at him. He swallowed roughly, and Will was still staring at him, knowing soaked into the way he held himself. He understood more than Mike ever could, and it made him sick, because he wished once that he could catch up. He always felt like he was running behind Will, trying to keep up with the magic of his mind. He just wanted to understand, he just wanted to run with him. 

“Do I belong to you?” Will asked quietly, if he wasn’t going to. 

Mike froze. The answer rose in was immediate, and ugly and reverberated through every part of him. It ripped through him, before he could even try to convince himself otherwise. 

Yes. 

Of course, you do. 

It was there in his bones, running through his blood. How could he explain to him? How could he explain that he felt an ugly scream in his chest every time he laid his eyes on him. In the way his chest ached every time Will entered a room. In the way his attention tunneled, and he would track him across the room, the house (—the world, if Will would just let him). Will was the first thing Mike could remember warning, the first person he ever learned how to protect, the first of all of his memories, of every version he had been. 

Mike felt it burn through him, My Will. It was possessive and terrifying, and Mike didn’t know how to form the words around his mouth.

Mike traced Will’s face helplessly. The slope of his nose, and the softness in his smile lines. He had survived everything that had been thrown at him, and the strength that he held in his body was unrestrained. He was… everything, and Mike couldn’t even say the fucking words. He was a coward. 

“I don’t—” Mike started, then stopped. His chest was heaving, and he couldn’t breathe, still. 

Will’s eyes searched his patiently. If Mike squinted, maybe he could see Will blink the pain away. 

Mike’s voice came out raw. “I just don’t like him touching you,” he said. “I don’t like him looking at you like that.”

Will’s lips parted, breath catching. He sighed, audibly. 

Mike kept going because he couldn’t stop now. “I don’t think it’s fair. He doesn’t know you,” he added, desperate. “Because I’m not, I don’t own you. But, don’t you think there is a little bit of each other we hold—” He gestured between them. “Between ourselves? Am I crazy for saying that?—”

“You aren’t crazy Mike.” Will said. “But what do you want? What do you want from me?” Will’s voice stayed gentle when he asked it.

Mike stared at him. He was sure he had forgotten to breathe, because it felt like he was choking. 

Outside the open window, snow hissed against the sill in soft, dry grains. The air smelled cold and paint and that faint, familiar dust of Hawkins that never really went away, no matter how many times you tried to scrub it out of your lungs.

Mike’s hands were shaking. He hated that Will would notice. He hated that Will always noticed.

“I want—” Mike started, and his voice did the thing it did when he tried not to cry. “I want you to stop looking at him like he—”

Will’s eyebrows twitched. “Like he what?”

Mike swallowed so hard it hurt. His eyes flicked down to Will’s mouth, and then snapped away as if it burned.

“Like, like you’ve been waiting for him or something.” The words came out harsher than he meant to, biting. “Like he gets to— claim you or something, with this paladin bullshit and you’re just— what? Letting it happen?”

Will’s throat bobbed. He didn’t flinch, but something in him tightened anyway. “I’m not letting him do anything. He’s you. You know that right?”

“He isn’t.” Mike said instantly. “He is nothing like me.”

Will didn’t respond. His gaze went distant for half a second. “Yeah. I guess he isn’t.” 

Mike realized then, with an awful clarity. Paladin Mike breathed devotion to Will, and Mike couldn’t even say the words. 

He couldn’t even stomach it. 

Will’s voice softened. “Mike,” he said, careful, “he’s not taking anything from you.”

Mike’s laugh broke, his voice cracking. He pressed the heel of his hand into his eye, hard, like he could shove the jealousy back into its cage. “Okay,” he said, voice raw. “Then why does it feel like he is?”

“I— I don’t know.”  Will’s breath came shallow. He searched Mike’s face. “Are you scared?”

Mike’s head snapped up. “No—”

“You are,” Will said, firmer. “I don't think you know of what. But you can’t lie to yourself.” 

He saw, suddenly, every moment he’d bitten his tongue until it bled. Every time he swallowed something tender because he thought it would destroy the careful foundation they had built, the layers of love and friendship. He was terrified. Every time he’d watched Will walk away and told himself it was fine because at least Will was alive. He was terrified to lose him. 

Mike’s voice cracked. “I didn’t—” He shook his head once, hard. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Will’s eyes brightened. He blinked fast, as if he could keep it from spilling. “I know,” he whispered. “Is that all Mike? Do you know what you want?” 

Mike stepped forward before he could think. The space between them vanished. His hands hovered at Will’s sides, close enough to feel warmth through fabric. 

“I know. I know what I want.” Mike said, the confession scraping itself out of him. “I don’t want anyone else. I don’t want—” He swallowed, throat burning. “I don’t want you to be someone’s anchor or liege, or whatever the hell he keeps calling you. I just want you to be Will.” 

My Will. The thought hit him so hard, he felt like he was gagging on it. 

Will’s brows pulled together, confused, in a way that Mike ached. It hurt, it hurt to look at him like this. 

Mike’s voice went smaller. “Because Will is—you’re—” He squeezed his eyes shut, like that would help, like a kid. If he couldn’t see it, maybe it would go away. “You’re my—”

He couldn’t say it. He’d said it a thousand ways, with his body, with his panic, with the way he’d always stood between Will and anything that could hurt him. But couldn’t say it to the one person who should hear it the most. 

Will waited, still. His eyes wide, and his mouth parted. 

Mike forced himself to breathe. His lungs felt too tight for it.

“You’re my home,” Mike said finally, and it sounded stupid, childish, compared to everything the other one was, and too much and not enough all at once. It was all he could manage. The silence after was unbearable. 

“Okay.” Will tried, voice breaking, and he huffed a short laugh like he couldn’t believe this was happening. “You can’t just say that and not say anything else. What does that even mean?”

“You know what it means.” Mike said, desperate now. “Please, Will.” 

Will swallowed, hard. “Mike…”

Mike’s hands finally settled, careful, at Will’s elbows. His eyes dropped to Will’s mouth, and Mike felt the longing, unrestrained now. It pounded through him, and he wanted to press his mouth against him, desperately. Feel his hands around his waist, pull him against his body, and away from that stupid, goddamn knight.

Will’s breath hitched. Mike watched, hypnotized, watching Will’s throat work. Mike felt like his ribs were going crack open, tear open and flood everything he had been desperately trying to hold together. 

“I—” Mike swallowed. “I don't have—” His throat felt tight, and far too small. He didn’t have the words. He felt so, so stupid. Compared to Paladin Mike, who waxed poetry to Will at every turn of the second, Mike couldn’t even beg Will that he needed him so desperately. 

Will's eyes fluttered close, instinctively. Mike’s thumbs were brushing the edge of his sleeves, and met Will’s hand, the softness in the underside of his wrist. His eyes dropped to Will’s mouth, and he blinked. Will’s lips were parted, just barely. Mike was breathing shallow bursts, and he could feel his exhales on his mouth. 

He felt utterly wrecked, and Mike was terrified. He could feel the warmth of Will’s skin, and the tremble in his inhale. 

“Mike— What do you mean? What do you want?” Will asked, the words dissolving in the air. His eyes flicked back to Mike’s mouth, and back. 

Mike felt the moment crack open, their foreheads practically touching. He could count the soft brown freckles that lined his nose. If Mike leaned forward, their lips would brush, and Mike knew in an awful, possessive part of him that it would never be enough. He couldn’t just press his lips against Will, and not take more, take and take, until he couldn’t breathe. He was horrible, and the ugly thoughts spewed through his brain, piling up and up. 

The lights flickered. They heard movement downstairs, and muffled yelling. There were rushed footsteps downstairs, and thumping against the wood. 

Will’s hand jerked away from Mike’s chest, and his hands dropped. They stared at each other. Will’s cheeks were flushed, and his eyes were glassy and wide. 

Will’s hand instinctively tightened on Mike’s wrist. “We have to go. I think— I think something is happening.”

Mike’s blood turned to ice. “There are more?"

“I don’t know. The Blightlands, maybe. We should go check downstairs.” 

He dropped Mike’s hand, and it burned where the outline had wrapped around his wrist. The fact he used Paladin Mike’s word without thinking made Mike’s jealousy flare again, then fade, swallowed by fear. He felt unsteady, and slightly furious, that they were so close to the precipice. It was on the tip of his tongue, and maybe it was Mike’s fate— if it was Paladin’s destiny to find his Will in every turn of the page, it was this Mike’s to lose him at each and every moment, because he couldn’t stomach it, the guilt and the fear, the terror that overwhelmed him with every exhale. 

Will opened the door, and Paladin Mike was standing in the hallway, waiting patiently. He straightened seeing Will, and gaze was locked on Will’s face. He flicked to Mike’s mouth, and then his wrist, which Mike rubbed, and then back to Will, as if he was scanning for evidence. His eyes narrowed. 

Mike’s cheeks burned.

Will’s expression was calm. “Were you listening?” Will asked mildly.

Paladin Mike didn’t even flinch. “You were in danger,” he said simply. “I had to make sure.” 

Mike snapped, “We were not—”

“The Blight stirs,” Paladin Mike said softly, and his eyes sharpened as if he could hear it under the floor. “I felt it.”

Will’s face tightened. “Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”

Paladin Mike’s gaze softened, and then, because Paladin Mike was apparently incapable of not being dramatic, he bowed his head slightly. “My light,” he murmured, voice thick with something. “We will be okay. I’ll make sure of it.” 

Mike bristled. “Stop calling him—”

Will cut in calmly, “It’s fine,” but he looked at Paladin Mike with a warning in his eyes, albeit amused. 

Paladin Mike’s gaze flickered between them. “I understand.” He said finally. He turned to Mike, and scanned him. “You are still weak. You need to find your courage.” 

Mike looked away, his face burning. 

“I was too, once.” Paladin Mike told him. “I was too.” 

Mike’s throat tightened. Then the cold surged again, harder. Will’s breath hitched.

Paladin Mike’s hand slammed to his sword hilt at the exact same time Mike’s own hand twitched toward his waist— and, right: nothing, because Mike didn’t have a sword, just stupid human hands.

Paladin Mike looked down at Mike’s empty grip, then back up with a faint, scandalized expression.

“You are unarmed,” Paladin Mike said, horrified. “Are you not a—”

Mike snapped, “Yeah, welcome to the 80s. We don’t actually have goddamn swords. Guns are much more convenient." He trailed off. 

“Which you also don’t have.” Will offered, amused, despite it all. 

Mike let out a huff of amusement. “Yeah. Which I don’t.” 

Hopper’s voice boomed from downstairs. “Will!”

Will stiffened. “Coming,” he called back, then looked at both Mikes. “Okay,” Will said quietly. “Let’s go.” 

Paladin Mike bowed his head. “By your word,” he said. 

Mike gritted his teeth. “Fine.”

Will’s gaze flickered between them, amused despite everything. “Good,” Will said, and led them downstairs like he wasn’t walking into a nightmare.