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Mike is beginning to realize there is no end to the shield that stretches around the clearing and he is starting to get desperate. Distantly he can hear the thudding steps of the massive Fang Dragon that has made himself the keeper of the surrounding area. Mike has no idea how much time he has left. All the knights the king had sent had reported being attacked and mauled before they even had the chance to think. Mike isn’t sure if it’s a curse or a blessing that he’s lasted this long without detection.
He has to get into the clearing. He has to. Not for his king, who had demanded his son back, but for himself and his foolish heart that still beats for the prince trapped inside the boundaries of the shield
Mike still remembers clearly the panic that swept the kingdom of Hawkins when King Lonnie announced the kidnapping of his youngest son at the hand of a cruel and vicious Fang Dragon. Mike remembers hearing the news himself. He had been in Hawkins to visit his family and had escaped to the streets to avoid his mother’s incessant badgering at him to find a wife, only to be immediately stopped in his tracks by a herald announcing Prince William’s disappearance. Mike’s world had slowed to a stop and he had remained in spot until a concerned passerby had shaken him out of his thoughts. Since that moment Mike’s thoughts have revolved exclusively around the young prince. Around Will.
It’s nothing new. There was a time when Mike’s whole world had centered around Will, a hapless planet caught in the orbit of the sun. He had spent his days at court, running wild until the evening, playing games of hide and go seek and tag. Over the eight years they had spent at each other’s sides, Mike had been granted a view of Will no one else got to see. A Will that was kind and sweet and brave. A Will that found beauty in every part of life, that put that beauty on canvases in a way that Mike revered. A Will that was so full of life that it had made Mike ache.
That all changed when Will fell ill.
It happened quickly, one day he was fine and then the next he was bedridden and barely coherent. His body temperature had dropped at a terrifying rate and he refused any and all warmth that was offered. He spent the next week bedridden and sweating a worrying amount, voice quiet and small. Mike had stayed by his side throughout the whole week, entertaining him with dramatic stories and card games, behaving foolishly if only to earn the brief smiles Will would crack at his ridiculousness. It was the seventh day when Mike was barred from Will’s room entirely. The guards had informed him that there were healers working on Will and no amount of pleading or prodding would change their minds. Mike had walked away dejected that day but determined to see Will again soon. He had hoped the healers would help, that Will would be cured of his strange malady. He hoped Will would be well enough to play games again soon.
A week later, after much badgering, Mike received a letter in Will’s loopy handwriting ordering him to stay away from him. Mike had almost believed it to be the work of Will’s father if not for a singular line alluding to one of the stories he’d told Will the week prior. The letter stated that Will had to step into his shoes as the prince and that he could not spend his days with the second child of a lesser noble house. It had seemed to cruel to be Will at first. Will with his kind eyes and his declarations that he would never grow up and forget Mike. Mike had refused to accept it at first. Much to the delight of his mother he agreed to go to every social event she tried to drag him to, desperately trying for a moment alone with Will to no avail. Much to the annoyance of his father, he followed him to the palace every day under the guise of learning the ins and outs of court. It was then that he tried to enter Will’s rooms and was informed by the guards that the prince did not wish to speak to him under any circumstances.
He stopped trying after that. He stopped attending social events unless dragged by the ear, he refused to have anything to do with the court, and at fourteen he began training to join the ranks of the paladins of Torm, instead of the knights as he had originally planned. He avoided Hawkins whenever he could, and when he couldn’t he fled from the possibility of even catching a glimpse of the elusive Prince William .
Every memory of the young prince came rushing back at the news of his kidnapping. Mike was ruined by the simple idea of Will being in danger, and thus without so much of a consideration, extended his stay in Hawkins. He went to court and mingled and tried to gather what information he could. What he had planned, Mike himself could not say. All he knew was that Will was missing and he needed to do something .
The something had ended up coming to him in the form of a summons to see the king. Mike had walked away from the meeting with an oath and a simple command: Bring him home safe.
And now Mike was so close to victory, halted at the finish line by the murky gray of the protective shield that spread across the clearing like a dome, like nothing he’s ever seen before. He had stupidly believed himself capable of finding a way past the shield. Stupid stupid stupid . Tears pricked at the corner of Mike’s vision as he paced around the outside of the dome, the pretense of looking for a crack given up. He’s been at this for hours. If he hadn’t already found what he was looking for, he certainly wouldn’t now.
Had enough, Mike spins on his heel and lashes out at a stump in front of him with his foot, a curse ripping itself from his throat. Stupidstupidstupidstupidstupidstu-
“Are… are you alright, sir?” a soft voice questions from behind him, startling Mike out of his mood.
Mike’s heart leaps into his throat, hand immediately going to the hilt of his sword as whirls to face the intruder, who upon noticing his weapon takes a step back, hands raised in a placating gesture, “Easy, easy. I am not here for a fight.” the stranger’s voice is reminiscent of the higher noble houses of Hawkins. Crisp, clear, and infuriatingly obscured of any noticeable emotion. Mike is immediately on edge. Nothing good could come from someone like him this far out in the wilderness.
Mike takes a moment to study the stranger. He appears to be around Mike’s own age, about seventeen. He is dressed in what appear to be fine quality robes, with stars painted over the vibrant purple fabric. They remind Mike of constellations, though he doesn’t recognize any familiar ones on the robes. The boy is a few inches shorter than Mike, with broad shoulders that Mike tries not to linger on for too long. His brown hair looks soft and falls across his forehead in an endearing way. Upon noticing the boy's eyes, a deep dark brown, Mike feels his heart rate slow. Will’s eyes are hazel. This isn’t him. Shit .
It is only after his own examination that Mike notices that the boy had been studying him back, an inscrutable look in his dark eyes which had drifted down to the sword at Mike’s hip, wary. Mike tenses, he doesn’t know this man, he doesn’t like how close he is to the shield, how the boy isn’t even flinching at the thundering steps of the dragon beyond. Shifting anxiously, Mike finally speaks, voice sharp as the blade of his sword, “What brings you here?”
The boy startles, having been lost in thought. His eyes snap to meet Mike, and Mike watches his throat bob as he swallows deeply. The boy takes a step forward stopping when he notices the dangerous look on Mike’s face. Mike’s grip tightens on his sword, going white-knuckled.
After a moment the boy simply says, “I went for a walk,” He holds up the pack attached to his hip for examination, voice suspiciously calm, “there are good supplies around if you bother to look for them,”
Mike’s eyes widen, “Have you not heard the dragon? ” A thundering roar echoes from inside the dome and Mike barely restrains a flinch.
The boy raises his eyebrows, “what dragon?”
Mike scoffs, cheeks warming, and falls silent, kicking at the grass lightly. This boy must be an idiot . To flaunt about as if his very life was not at stake, or at least his well-being. No lives have been lost to the dragon since the prince’s disappearance. Every knight that has tried to rescue him had simply been attacked and fallen unconscious, only to wake up hours later, healed of their most grievous injuries, but still abandoned too injured to fight. It had confused Mike when the king had told him this, Fang dragons weren’t exactly known for their mercy. He had been planning on figuring it out once he arrived, which very clearly wasn’t turning out well.
“You’re looking for the prince, aren’t you?” Mike’s head jerks up to find that the boy has stepped closer to the shield.
Apprehension fills Mike’s body as he gives a curt nod in response. The boy seems to know something. He’s unfazed by the deadly monster nearby and there is a glint of wariness in his gaze that Mike wants to prod at.
The boy regards Mike for a moment, trailing his eyes over his face with an intensity that warms his cheeks, “D’Artagnan will not harm you,” the boy says gravely.
Mike’s cheeks turn redden further, caught off guard, “What?”
The boy frowns glancing quickly at the shield before meeting Mike’s eyes once more, “The dragon. D’Artagnan will not harm you,” and then as if he had not just said the most insane thing he possibly could, “but I suggest you set up your camp in a safe location anyways. The woods can be dangerous at night.”
“ What?”
But the boy vanishes into the dome without a response, leaving Mike standing alone in the middle of the forest, cheeks burning bright red in embarrassment. He stands there foolishly for a while, his brain almost running faster than he can keep up with. The boy had stepped into and through the barrier without flinching, he wasn’t unnerved by the dragon or anything . Mike finds himself stepping closer to the shield, reaching out a hand and coming up short of being able to reach through it. The shield was solid to him in a way it clearly wasn’t for the boy.
Mike’s face collapses into a deep frown, stepping carefully away from the barrier. He would take the boy’s advice and set up camp, but he sure as hell wouldn’t be letting his guard down. He would eat and rest and then tomorrow he would begin the process of looking for a way in all over again, only this time he wouldn’t be played for the fool. He has a lead, all that’s left to do is follow it to where it leads.
———————
The next day passes by much the same as the first, which is to say rather uneventful. Mike paces around the dome, searching for a crack in the shield, something he could pry open or even slip through. He finds no success.
In the monotony, Mike finds himself thinking about Will again.
It has been four years since Mike last even laid eyes on him and he… he just misses him. Some of the older members of his order sometimes talked about how they could feel pain in their missing limbs long after the injury. Mike feels like that about Will. Even years after he cut him off he’s still there, invading Mike’s thoughts at any given moment no matter Mike’s attempts to strike him from his mind.
He wonders if Will will be glad to see Mike again. If maybe the years and a kidnapping had softened him towards Mike. If maybe he changed his mind and wants Mike back in his life. Mike wonders if he’s pathetic for knowing he’d say yes without hesitation or thought.
Then there’s the other part of Mike that worries about Will spurning him again. Graciously accepting his aid and then slipping away when they stop to make camp. Or worse, being perfectly cordial until Mike faithfully delivered home to the palace and then never speaking to Mike again. Mike doesn’t know if his heart can take losing Will a second time.
Just as the sun starts to slip beneath the surface, the boy makes his reappearance.
Mike had stopped for a brief rest on a rock but scrambles to his feet quickly at the sound of twigs snapping. The boy emerges from the trees, shadows moving across his face in a way that Mike really tries not to think too much about. He is not here to admire this stranger.
The boy spots him and freezes, eyes going wide, “Oh.” he says, eyes going to the sword that Mike slowly unsheathes to hold out in front of him, “you’re still here.”
Mike knows that he has very little chance in a fight against a magic user powerful enough to create a shield that massive and that perfect, but he has theories to prove. He needs to know for certain that this strange, unusual boy was the one to create the freak of nature before him.
Before he can second guess himself, Mike lunges at the boy swinging his sword in a wide arc before he hits a solid barrier and goes flying back into the grass and the dirt, his sword clattering from his hands. Wincing, Mike raises himself up onto his elbows, taking a look at the scene before him just in time to catch the boy’s murky gray shield as it dematerializes. Fuck .
The boy shakes his hands out, then strides over to Mike. Mike looks around wildly for his sword before spotting it a foot or so away. He lunges for it before being stopped by a sharp pain in his hand. The boy removes his foot from Mike’s hand and swiftly kicks Mike’s sword out of reach. Fuck. Shit. FUCK.
The boy moves to stand overtop of Mike, and Mike can’t help himself from tracing his eyes slowly up his chest to meet his eyes. The boy furrows his brows, seeming almost disappointed in Mike like he expected him to be smarter or to run and leave Will behind. Fuck that . Mike meets his gaze head-on with a glare, “Get off of me,”
“Don’t be stupid ,” the boy blurts, not moving an inch, “what were you thinking?”
Mike shifts a little bit, but freezes when the boy tenses, “You kidnapped the prince, didn’t you? You’re the one keeping him captive here.” Mike says breath coming out in furious bursts.
The boy just stares at him, something unreadable in his eyes, “If I step away from you are you going to try and kill me again?”
Mike says nothing, scowling at the boy. He’s changed his robes from yesterday, moving from deep purple to sapphire blue, with intricate silver threads weaving their way across the fabric. His deep brown eyes continue to scrutinize him, and Mike can almost imagine light glowing from behind his irises.
Apparently making a decision, the boy carefully takes a step back and Mike’s shoulders slump in relief. He doesn’t make a move for his sword, that might as well be suicide right now, but he isn’t about to just let the boy leave again, not when it could lead to Will getting home safe, “I want him,” Mike blurts.
The boy stiffens, cheeks going a pretty cherry red, “ What? ”
Mike doesn’t really understand why the boy had such a reaction to that specifically but okay whatever, it’s probably to his advantage. Or something. Mike is very much not thinking about how good the blush looks on the boy’s face. He’s dangerous, he’s keeping Will prisoner. Mike needs to remember this, “The prince.” he says as if this wasn’t obvious, “I want to take him back home,” Mike hesitates slightly, “I need to make sure he’s safe.”
The boy swallows thickly, blush not straying from his face. There is something in his eyes that seems familiar almost. Something kind. Mike pushes that thought away quickly. This boy (Wizard? Warlock? ) is dangerous. That’s all there is to it.
The boy stares at Mike for a second more, causing Mike to shift uncomfortably under the intense gaze before he walks past Mike towards the barrier. Mike twists to face him, watching him move, and so catches the exact moment he pauses before breaching the shield. He turns around to face Mike, raising an eyebrow at his awkward twisted position, “What do you think of the king?” he asks suddenly, taking Mike off guard.
Mike swallows hard. In truth, Mike despises him. King Lonnie Byers of Hawkins is a ruler known for his brutality. Executions have risen rapidly since he first took charge and his temper is legendary, even among the commoners. Mike knows from his days spent with Will that it doesn’t only extend to his enemies. Mike hesitates, weighing his words. He can’t tell this stranger the truth, not if he wants to keep his head when he returns. “He is very invested in the kingdom’s safety.” He decides on. Neutral. Safe. Briefly Mike wonders why he’s even entertaining the boy’s question when Will is so near.
The boy nods in acceptance at his response, a sad smile flickering across his face, “Yeah,” he sighs.
The boy turns around to leave and Mike fights very hard against the urge to pout and cross his arms like a child, but once more the boy hesitates at the edge and turns back around. Mike is pinned beneath his stare. The boy inhales deeply before speaking slowly and carefully, the accent of court, “I didn’t kidnap the prince–” the boy cuts himself off with a shake of his head, “sorry I don’t think I caught your name?”
Mike finds himself speaking without stopping to consider whether it's a good idea, “Michael. My name is Michael.” his voice comes out far too breathless for his liking, still caught in the boy’s pretty eyes.
Mike shoves the thought of the boy monster’s eyes back to the dark recesses of his brain. He needs to focus.
The boy’s lips twist up in amusement. Mike isn’t exactly sure what’s so amusing about the situation at hand, “Well, Michael ,” Mike tries to stamp down a blush at the sound of his name from the boy’s lips, “I didn’t kidnap your prince.” the boy gives him one last smile before he disappears into the shadows of the shield once more.
Huh. I didn’t kidnap your prince . Your prince. Yo– that’s not important. If Mike thinks about it, it sounds like total bullshit actually. The stranger’s shield had appeared the same colour as the dome, that wasn’t bullshit. It’s pretty obvious that the stranger created the shield that is currently a massive pain in Mike’s ass. This means that the stranger has something to do with Will’s captivity and Mike needs to be wary.
It’s later that night when Mike’s skinning a squirrel for dinner that he remembers another piece of the conversation. What do you think of the king? It came out of nowhere almost, unless… Maybe Will had been in danger. Mike would never put it past the King to be cruel and if Will had been threatened and had ran …
Mike’s knife slips cutting into his palm. He barely feels the sting. He thinks he needs to talk to the boy again.
———————
Mike actually sees the dragon for the first time on the third day.
He has already given up the pretense of looking for a crack in the shield. Whoever the boy is, he’s a talented magic user. The shield remains whole and intact, a perfect murky grey. Mike has even tried pushing his way through, to no avail. The boy must be able to enter through the use of his magic, something that Mike sorely lacks ability in.
He’s been thinking of the boy a lot since they last parted, of his strangeness, the way he seemed to be laying a puzzle out in front of him for Mike to solve. He claimed to have not been the one to kidnap the prince, yet entered the place Will was known to be kept without a second-thought. He had apparently named the dragon that brought so many to the brink of death. There is no doubt in Mike’s mind that the boy is the key to freeing Will..
And yet…
I didn’t kidnap your prince he had said, quiet and careful… Mike had never claimed to be the best at reading people, at reading strangers . He had despised his brief time at court because of it. He had hated the way people spoke to try and entrap you, to beat you in a game. Mike much prefers the presence of his friends, Max and Lucas, and eventually El. He knows what makes them tick, how they act when they’re sad, when they’re hiding something, when they’re mad at Mike for something. He knew Will once. He knew how to comfort him when the king lashed out, he knew when Will was trying to act fine when he wasn’t, and he knew exactly how to make Will laugh the bright giggling laugh that had always twisted Mike’s stomach upside down. And yet this boy was a stranger to Mike… and he wanted to believe him.
Did that make Mike insane? Was he letting his guard down only to await a blade in the base of his skull? Mike knew he was letting his… feelings for the mysterious boy interfere in his investigation and yet he couldn’t help but believe the boy was who he said. That he was as kind as his eyes. That his sparing Mike had been an act of compassion, not strategy. It was at least a little bit strange that Will’s supposed kidnapper had spoken with Mike directly and the boy had kept his promise that the dragon wouldn’t harm him and with Mike’s new theory on Will’s dis–
Mike runs into a cold hard surface and stumbles back quickly. He looks up and if he was the boy he was when he first started his training he would’ve screamed until his throat tore.
Mike’s eyes skate over the steel grey scales that seemed to stretch for eons above him. Breath quivering, his eyes finally land on the snout of the dragon. D’Artagnan his brain supplies unhelpfully. All of his muscles tense into action, his hand going to his sword out of habit. He is woefully underdressed for the occasion. Having bought into the boy’s promise, Mike had lightened his armor load considerably to just his breastplate, wrist-guards, and greaves. Mike tries not to wince as his bandaged palm comes into contact with his sword.
He supposes it’s understandable that the boy has finally grown tired of Mike’s antics. He had tried to kill him yesterday after all. He had just hoped he would have had more time to reach Will before he was attacked and taken out of commission. Pity that his imminent injuries would only slow him down. He wonders how many times he would have to come back to the outskirts of the shield before the boy and the dragon decide to cross the line and kill him. Mike fully intends to test that.
Mike waits on edge for the dragon to make a move. He searches his mind desperately for a plan, but he knows that the second the dragon decides to attack, the fight would be out of Mike’s hands, he can only hope to react to what the dragon does.
The dragon which… doesn’t seem intent on moving at all. In fact, it just stands there staring at Mike with wide curious eyes that almost make Mike feel guilty about raising his sword against the creature.
The stare-off between the two of them lasts for a few moments more before the massive beast blows steaming hot air through its nose in something that could almost resemble a sigh if Mike were to read too much into it, and slowly lowers its massive body into a laying position, its wings curling close to its body. Mike gapes in absolute bewilderment. The dragon… isn’t trying to kill him? The dragon stares at him expectantly and Mike felt uncomfortably like the fish that his mother keeps in their manor’s pond, existing solely for entertainment.
“Uh, hi?” Mike tries, wondering if the beast understands any human language at all.
It seems to as its enormous tail wags like a dog . Mike watches in stunned silence as it takes several trees to the ground in its arc. What. The. Fuck.
“D’Art!” a voice calls distantly to the right of the dragon and Mike whirls to face it.
The boy stops in his tracks at the edge of the tree line. Mike watches his exasperated expression at the sight of his dragon (pet? Friend? Mike can’t be sure) fall into confusion at the sight of Mike standing awkwardly next to the beast, sword held limply at his side.
The boy steps closer, brows pinched, “ Michael? ” He comes to a halt a few feet away from Mike, glancing back and forth between the dragon and the paladin, “What are you-” he cuts himself off turning to face his dragon companion, hands on his hips, “D’Art, really? ”
Content that he is not in trouble Mike almost doesn’t notice the nickname the boy uses.
Almost.
“Did you nickname your dragon?” Mike can’t believe his ears. The idea of having a domesticated dragon that apparently decided who to eat or main based on your own whims was strange enough, but to nickname him like he was equivalent to a common household pet? Mike can hardly comprehend it.
The boy’s lips twitch up slightly in a half smile, his hands going to rest on the beasts… on D’Artagnan’s snout. The beast leans into it andMike’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead. The boy’s smile makes its way into a grin. Pretty , “I mean, he’s not my dragon. He’s a friend.” the dragon huffs and Mike briefly experiences the equivalent joy of sitting directly in front of a furnace, “Sorry, um, a friend of a friend,” the boy directs his grin up at the dragon and Mike desperately reminds himself that this boy is a potentially dangerous magic user that is potentially keeping his former best friend trapped against his will. Potentially. But just because Mike has a working theory doesn’t mean he can just throw himself at this strangely intriguing boy.
He looks nice today, dressed in billowing yellow robes stained at the hem with dirt. He looks good in yellow. Mike needs to stop looking.
Mike squints at the boy’s side, “How do you befriend a dragon? ”
The boy glances at Mike then leans in and whispers something to D’Artagnan. The dragon huffs once more and for a moment almost seems to be… pouting? Mike is pretty certain at this point that the fearsome dragon that halted many knights with far more experience than Mike had in the art of fighting in their tracks was an… overgrown puppy?
After a moment the boy smiles brightly at the dragon and pats its snout good-naturedly. Then with a swish of its tail, the dragon unfurls its wings and takes to the sky, gliding back into the safety of the shielded clearing. Mike sheathes his sword then turns to the boy, lips turned downwards.
The boy stands with his arms crossed, eyes glinting with amusement, “To answer your question, nougat.”
“Nougat,” Mike says slowly.
The boy nods, “Nougat.”
“Nougat,” Mike repeats incredulously, widening his eyes in awe. Nougat . What the fuck was even happening right now.
The boy laughs, deep and bright and Mike is filled with a sense of accomplishment. He made him laugh . Mike purposely chooses to ignore the fact that he didn’t mean to. Dragons like nougat. What the fuck?
The boy smiles gently at him, face flushed, “I didn’t fare much better when I found out,” his eyes dart over Mike, drinking him in, “my friend is known for exag-” the boy freezes suddenly, gaze locked on Mike’s bandaged hand.
Shit . Mike really doesn’t want to embarrass himself in front of the boy. He tries to quickly hide his hand behind his back but it's too late and the boy is already closing the distance between them and taking hold of Mike’s hand pulling it out in front of him. The boy is… really close actually. Mike feels his cheeks warm as the boy gently holds his hand between them and Mike is almost too distracted by their proximity to notice how warm the boy’s hand is. Abnormally warm.
“Michael,” the boy says, shaking his head, “what did you do?”
Hands shouldn’t be this warm right? Lucas generally runs warm, but never this warm. It feels like Mike’s hand is being cradled by a mug of hot chocolate. The boy is really close , “Um…” Mike answers intelligently.
The boy runs his thumb up and down the side of Mike’s hand. He glances up at Mike through his lashes and Mike almost loses all coherent thought, “did… D’Art didn’t do this to you, did he?”
Mike shakes his head quickly. The boy had sounded worried . “No, I uh cut it actually,” Heat rises to Mike’s face. Please don’t ask please don’t ask please-
“You cut it?” the boy asks slowly.
Mike sighs. Damn it, “Yeah, when I was you know,” Mike uses his free hand to make a sawing motion, and the boy’s mouth twists upwards ever so slightly, “skinning?”
The boy has stopped caressing the side of Mike’s hand and the only thing halting Mike from demanding he continue is the desire to leave this confrontation with at least a little of his dignity still intact. Wishful thinking surely, “Hey you’re uh… you’re really warm,” Why did he say that.
Mike watches in fascination as a deep pink flush spreads across the boy’s cheeks. Now that Mike’s closer he’s noticing a lot he didn’t before like how long his lashes are or that he has a splattering of moles across his face that… yeah. He has one mark right above his upper lip, which reminds Mike eerily of- stop that. Lots of people have beauty marks. Will’s eyes are a golden hazel and this boy’s eyes are a deep mesmerizing brown. If the boy was Will he would’ve recognized Mike by now. Mike literally gave him his name .
Mike thinks he would very much like to know the boy’s name. Later. He needs to focus.
The boy resumes his stroking of Mike’s hand, moving on to fidget with his fingers, “It’s a long story…” he says and isn’t that intriguing.
Mike clears his throat and tries for what he hopes is an encouraging smile. The boy has yet to look directly at him since he made his comment, “Well, I’ve got time,” he tilts his head encouragingly.
With a deep sigh, the boy brushes the very warm tips of his fingers across the center of Mike’s palm, pausing to hover slightly over the bandages, “I’m more like you than you think,” oh.
“You’re a cleric?” Mike asks, words jumbling together in a rush.
The boy smiles wryly, “Yeah, you could probably say that,” he glances away from Mike with a deep weary sigh, “when I was younger I had a… curse laid upon me, by… by someone I should not name,”
Mike’s heart lurches in sympathy, “A curse?” He questions softly.
The boy’s eyes fix their gaze firmly on Mike’s hand, “I…” the boy hesitates briefly, “By a wizard… a coveter of great and terrible secrets,” the boy lifts his head to make eye contact with Mike, searching deep in his eyes for… something , “and I had a lot of secrets.” Mike swallows thickly in response, wishing he could understand what the boy wants him to.
The boy’s fingertips ghost along the side of Mike’s hand, feeling for the edge of the bandage. Mike idly wonders if this is the ache sailors feel when they are under a siren’s spell. The boy begins unwrapping Mike’s bandage, seemingly oblivious to the effect he’s having on Mike, “I was going to die and everyone knew it… I did die for a little bit,” the boy’s hands lightly brush against Mike’s sending sparks shooting up his arm, “but then I didn’t and when they went to feel my temperature I was… warm, unbearably so. They thought that something else had managed to go wrong.”
Mike manages to momentarily find his voice, “you just… became warm?”
The boy rolls his eyes and unravels the last of the bandages, shoving them into his pack. His brows draw together at the sight of the wound and Mike urges to smooth out the expression with his fingers, “I didn’t just become warm,” he says like it should be obvious. Mike is endeared, “I was blessed,” in a startling move the boy completely covers Mike’s palm with his own, his other hand coming to rest on the back of Mike’s hand, almost cradling the injury, “By Pelor.”
Pelor, the god of healing and the sun. Mike suddenly understands the situation a lot better. “Pelor… he put his sun powers in you?”
The boy laughs and Mike thinks his idea has merit, “In a way. The curse caused me to grow very cold. the only way it could be flushed out was if that was reversed,” the boy raises his eyebrows in question and his words catch at some sharp edge on Mike’s brain, “May I?”
Mike nods slightly, thoughts racing. The boy bows his head in acknowledgment and begins reciting a prayer. The curse caused me to grow very cold. Mike thinks of a boy he knew once with hazel eyes, and ice-cold skin. He thinks of healers and nurses whispering gravely to each other just out of earshot. No. No fucking way.
The boy’s prayer trickles out and Mike’s skin knits over, removing all signs of injury. He barely feels it. No fucking way . He can’t move, he can’t speak, he can only stare in complete and utter horror.
The grin spreading across the boy’s face is far too knowing and for the second time that day Mike feels like no one’s stopped to inform him that he’s the evening’s entertainment. Quick as an asp, the boy drops Mike’s hand and strides over to the edge of the shield before Mike can even put a coherent thought together. The boy pauses right before it, a new daily routine between the two of them. “I’ll see you tomorrow!” He calls over his shoulder brightly and then he’s gone leaving Mike chilled to his very bones in the evening breeze.
———————
It is day four of Mike’s quest to enter the inner clearing and he has finally given up on finding a way in on his own. If he is to bypass the shield it is to be on the not-quite-a-stranger’s terms. So instead, Mike spends his day thinking.
In his expert opinion, he has a lot to think about. An endless amount even. He lets the thoughts swirl through his mind like a windstorm as he paces laps around the edge of the clearing. How foolish he had been to take the strange magic user at his word. Had he just been a game to the boy? Had he ever even mattered at all?
The sun has just started to sink below the ground, twilight coating the forest in purple hues. Mike finds himself slumped against the trunk of a tree, lightly thudding the back of his head against the wood, some part of him hoping that he would eventually hit his thoughts into place in a way he can make sense of. He thinks he might hate him. He loves him. He wishes that he never met him.
The snap of a twig alerts Mike to another presence and he raises his head to find the boy coming out of a cluster of trees, dark green robes almost blending into the landscape. The evening shadows dance across his face and Mike’s chest aches . He rises to his feet slowly, limbs twinging in pain. The smile that had first lit up the boy’s face at the sight of Mike fades at the look on his face.
“Mi-” the boy swallows deeply, cutting himself off, “Michael.” His eyes dart over Mike’s face and he has the nerve to look concerned . Maybe once Mike would’ve believed that, but that was before the letter and the lies and the warm hands against his own. His foolish traitorous heart pounds relentlessly against his chest.
Mike desperately wishes he could pretend his voice doesn’t tremble, “Will.” one single word that tears Mike in two, even years later.
Will’s eyes widen as he steps into the dying light and Mike wishes he was capable of hating him. Tears prick his eyes. He pictures a boy with paint-splattered fingers extending a pinky toward him. Friends don’t lie they had promised each other once upon a time, how foolish Mike had been to believe that. His vision blurs, “You lied to me,” he hates how childish it sounds.
Will freezes in his steps and holds out a placating hand out in front of him, “I-you’re upset?” he winces, shoulders going to his ears. Mike sees red.
“What did you expect me to be?” Mike hisses stepping closer to Will who tenses as if he’s about to bolt, “You lied to me. You messed with me, with my feelings. You knew that I was worried for you and you just-” he would not cry he would not cry , “Was I just a game to you?.” Mike folds his arms across his chest, a shield.
Will takes a step closer, closing the distance between the two of them further. His eyes are wide as saucers and Mike can just barely make out the dark colour of his irises, so unlike the Will he knew. Some remnant of the curse that had been laid upon him certainly. Will opens and shuts his mouth a few times like he’s weighing what he wants to say. Finally, he seems to come to a decision, “Mike, I’m sorry I didn’t mean it like that,” Will studies Mike, something wild in his eyes, “I-I wanted you to find out,”
Mike doesn’t miss the way Will switches from his full name to his nickname, “Then why didn’t you just tell me?” he’s trying desperately to control the volume of his voice. Will never liked when people yelled around him.
“I knew you’d figure it out,” Will’s voice wobbles noticeably and Mike fights the urge to wrap him in his arms, “I just wasn’t sure that you’d stay.”
“You were missing. I wasn’t going to just leave you, ”
“I didn’t know that, Mike!” Will is distractingly close now, his voice rises, echoing throughout the silence of the night, “I didn’t know if I could trust you to-”
“You were the one that left me!” Mike blurts, hands unwinding from his chest as he closes the last of the distance between them, almost chest to chest with the other boy.
Will has to look up to keep eye contact and Mike’s breath stutters to a stop in his chest. He can feel the heat emanating from Will and yet he’s not close enough. Mike’s eyes dart across Will’s face before drifting to rest on his lips. He sways forward slightly and it takes everything in him to stop himself from falling forward into Will.
Will’s breath hitches and his voice comes out achingly soft, “I didn’t want to. Please know that I didn’t want to,”
Mike forces his eyes away from Will’s lips, making them trail back up to Will’s eyes, which are fixed somewhere on the lower part of Mike’s face.
Mike’s chest lurches and he shakes his head aggressively, stepping back. He needs to remember who he is. Who they are. He remembers the letter and being turned away at Will’s door. He remembers the years of silence and avoidance. He remembers that he cannot have this. Will’s eyes follow him in his retreat. The distance between them seems unbreachable. A chill works its way through Mike’s body.
The silence almost seems tangible when Mike finally speaks, low and fragile, “Then why?” He remembers a young boy desperately searching for his friend’s face in the corridors of the palace. He remembers years of fleeing from the boy in front of him.
There are tears in Will’s eyes, Mike realizes with dawning apprehension. He can’t help the part of him that still wants to run to comfort him. He reaches an arm out towards Will ever so slightly before letting it drop between them. Will fiddles with the sleeves of his robes and Mike tries to keep his eyes trained on his face.
“He made me do it, Will whispers, yet the sound echoes in Mike’s ears like a clap of thunder. Will fixes his eyes somewhere to the left of Mike’s face, “He said he’d hurt you if I didn’t.”
“Who did?” Mike asks softly, the anger beginning to drain from him. The wizard maybe? The bastard seems to have left something behind in Will.
“No…” Will shifts his gaze back to Mike and Mike knows, “My-my…” Will trails off with a deep swallow, swiping at his eyes and this time Mike can’t stop himself from reaching out a hand to gently cup Will’s cheek.
Will freezes like a startled deer. Mike sighs deeply, the fight gone from his body. He swipes away the tears trailing down Will’s face and Will lets out a strangled noise at the motion. Mike’s heart squeezes painfully, “The king made you do it,” he states.
Will nods, leaning into Mike’s touch, “Mike you don’t… He trapped me there. He kept me prisoner, forced me to practice using the curse for his own ends,” Will grasps Mike’s wrist, “I couldn’t do it, Mike. I couldn’t.”
“That’s why you ran,” the realization comes accompanied by a burning feeling in Mike’s chest. He has never hated his king more.
“I couldn’t do it and everyone keeps trying to bring me back to him,” Will’s hand squeezes around Mike’s wrist as he rambles, voice coming out squeezed and watery, “And I didn’t know if you still cared about m-”
“I always cared.” Mike doesn’t mean to say it but it’s true. Every time he avoided an event he knew Will would be at, every time he avoided court, every time he avoided returning home, he’d thought of Will. Mike had known even as a child that there was very little he wouldn’t do for Will. If Will wanted him to stay away he would. He did. He just couldn’t stand the idea of seeing Will in person and knowing that he could never have him back in any way.
Will’s breath hitches in the space between them and his thumb brushes Mike’s inner wrist provoking a shiver from him. Mike lifts his other hand to Will’s flushed cheek, cradling his face between his hands. Will stares at him and Mike feels stripped bare.
“I’m sorry,” Will says after a moment, “I didn’t mean to trick you I just… I knew you were smart enough to figure it out if you stayed,” Mike’s cheeks warm at the admission, “and if you didn’t… I guess I thought I would’ve gotten the answer to another question,” Will lets the statement hang in the air between them and Mike makes a decision.
“Were you going to stay here forever?” he asks, already running through a plan in his brain.
Will sighs deeply, the tears have finally slowed their course, “Not forever… just until he stopped sending people after me.”
Mike nods. He expected this, “I made an oath to him.” he says solemnly and Will’s face falls into despair.
“I’m not going back, Mike.” He says firmly, stepping away from Mike who lets his hands fall to his sides.
“No. You’re not.” Mike responds softly.
Will’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, hands going back to his sleeves. Mike wishes he had pushed more when Will had turned him away. He should’ve found a way to sneak in to his rooms. If he had maybe they wouldn’t be here. Maybe they’d still be in Hawkins trapped in separate ivory towers. Maybe they’d be somewhere far away from here where no one could ever hurt Will again. It’s not too late, he thinks.
“Mike?” Will is looking at him with barely restrained hope and Mike thinks of two young boys running up and down the palace halls, hands interlocked.
He drops to one knee, head bowed. He hears a gasp from in front of him. This moment feels deathly important, like the moment they met all over again. When he speaks it's with surety, “I made an oath to bring you home safe. It’d be breaking it to bring you back to the king.” Mike raises his head to take in the sight of Will, cheeks flushed and mouth agape, “Wherever… wherever you want to go, I’ll follow. Just don’t leave me again, yeah?”
Will nods quickly, eyes trained on Mike with an intensity that makes Mike flush, “I mean we might have to stop back at Hawkins to complete the second part of my oath, but we’ll be careful and I’m sure your mom and Prince Jonathan will want to know you’re safe but-”
“I’m already home,” Will says quiet and cutting as the swish of a knife. The words hang in the air between them heavy with their weight. Mike feels like he’s floating, like this moment can’t possibly be real. Will’s blush deepens as he amends, “but I would like to see my family again.”
Mike nods deeply, “We’ll be careful,” he reassures.
Then Will is offering him a hand which Mike uses to pull himself to his feet, ignoring the feeling of electricity crackling across his skin. They stand front to front and Will doesn’t let go of his hand, running a thumb over the palm, eerily reminiscent of the day before, “Let me grab my stuff,” Will murmurs and Mike leans in to catch his words, “I need to talk to D’Art.”
Mike lets out a short burst of laughter, “I guess D’Art would be mad if you just left without saying goodbye.”
Will rolls his eyes, “You’re making fun of me,”
“Me? Never,” Mike grins and twists their hands to be palm to palm, interlacing their fingers and letting their intertwined palms hang between them.
Will stares at their hands for a second, something like awe on his face, “He likes you, you know,” Will tears his eyes away from their hands to lock eyes with Mike, “he seemed really smug about getting to meet you,”
“Well, who wouldn’t be?” Mike says just to draw a laugh out of Will. He’s rewarded with a snort that warms him to his very core.
“Idiot,” Will says fondly as he begins tugging Mike toward the barrier.
At the edge Will pauses, like Mike has watched him do daily, only this time he doesn’t trudge forward or stop to speak to Mike. He simply raises a hand and mutters a spell under his breath and Mike watches with bated breath as the shield vanishes in a wisp of smoke.
Lying beyond the shield is a clearing, with blue and yellow flowers littered throughout. In the center lies a small wooden hut, surrounded by a farm where some plants have started to take root. Beside the hut D’Art lounges, chewing on the bloody corpse of what appears to be a deer. He raises his head at the intrusion and wags his massive tail back and forth at the sight of the two of them, almost hitting Will’s hut. Will winces next to Mike, who squeezes his hand just because he can. Will is here. Will is safe and didn’t want to lose Mike as kids as much as Mike didn’t. Mike can’t help the rosy glow of happiness from filling him.
“I expected a tower,” he comments idly.
Will glances at him out of the corner of his eye, “How would I have even built a tower?”
Mike hums, “Well I thought someone else would’ve built it, like your kidnapper for example,” At Will’s exasperated laugh, Mike continues, “Besides, all of the stories have towers in them.”
“All of the stories are about knights rescuing maidens from towers with big scary dragons keeping them prisoner. I don’t think that’s what’s going on here.” Will responds gesturing loosely to D’Art who is staring at the two of them with wide curious eyes, ever the excitable puppy.
Mike laughs lightly, “I mean that’s what I thought was happening here.”
Will’s eyes bore into the side of his head. His next words are said carefully enough that Mike is set on edge, “I’m not a maiden.”
Mike turns to face him, studying Will who glances to the side of him, face deepening in a blush. “No,” Mike says overly casual, “You’re not.” He doesn’t really understand the question, part of him wonders if Will has managed to see through Mike’s chest and ribcage straight to the beating of his heart.
What he doesn’t say is that when he read those stories, when the other paladin initiates he bunked with talked about their impending futures of rescuing beautiful women from danger, Mike had always pictured Will. Even after years of separation and attempts to forget about the boy that had once been his best friend, Mike had never met anyone he has wanted to protect as much. No one else he would genuinely wish to rescue from scary dragons and evil wizards. No one else he would wish to play the hero for. Sure, he loves being able to protect people, he would go to dangerous lengths for his friends and family, but Will was– is the only person that has ever made him want to be the hero of the story. He used to daydream about taking Will’s hand and bringing it to his lips the way the knights do to the noble ladies of the court. He could do it right now. It would be so easy to just–
Will pulls away and Mike lets out an embarrassing noise of protest. Will’s smile has shifted into something pleased and soft. He turns back to look at Mike and this time Mike knows he won’t disappear on him, “I’ll be right back,” he says and Mike has never heard anything sweeter.
He makes another oath then, a silent one though just as meaningful, that no matter what comes next, no matter what he has to face, he is never going to stray from Will’s side ever again.