Chapter Text
Michael was not supposed to fall through a door. William was not supposed to open more than one. They were supposed to close them.
The Hawkborne Realm lay in ruins behind them—fields burned to glass, rivers steaming where dark magic had touched the water. The sky above the Citadel of Veils was split open with a thousand shimmering wounds, each one a doorway to somewhere that did not belong.
Jane stood at the center of the circle, twin to William in grace and power. Her hands burned with spell-light, purple and silver and screaming against the pull of the Dark One’s world.
“Hold the line!” Jane shouted.
William did. He always did.
He stood at the edge of the doors, staff planted into cracked stone, eyes glowing faintly as he reached between realities—threading them back together, sealing one world from the next. Each door closed with a sound like a heartbeat stopping.
Michael stayed at his side, shield raised, blade wet with shadow.
“You’re doing too much,” Michael warned, already seeing the tremor in William’s hands. “You’re opening more than you’re closing.”
“I have to,” William said. “He’s slipping through. If I don’t widen them, I can’t find him.”
Jane turned, fear sharp in her eyes. “William, don’t—” The Dark One laughed. Not a sound. A feeling. Cold and vast and pleased.
William reached.
And the world answered him with too much. The doors didn’t just open. They multiplied. Reality shattered into a thousand reflections—worlds stacked on worlds, skies on skies, each one bleeding into the next. Michael felt the pull immediately, like gravity had chosen a new direction.
“William!” he shouted, grabbing for him. Jane threw a binding spell, light lashing through the air.
Too late.
One door flared brighter than the rest—thin, sharp, wrong.
William stumbled. Michael felt his hand slip from William’s cloak. For half a second, William was there—eyes wide, mouth forming Michael’s name.
Then he was gone.
Jane screamed.
The Dark One vanished with him, laughing through the collapsing doors as the worlds began to seal themselves in a wild, uncontrolled chain.
Michael didn’t think. He ran. Jane caught his arm. “We need to follow the Dark One. William would want us to follow. We can find him after I search for the right door.”
“You can handle that part. I am not losing him,” Michael said, voice breaking for the first time in any war he’d ever fought.
“Michael, no—!” Jane pleaded, but there was nothing that would change his mind.
He wrenched free and jumped.
The door took him like a tide takes a man who can’t swim.
Light. Dark. Silence. And then... Cold air. Wet ground. A sky without magic. Michael landed alone. William was nowhere. Jane was nowhere. The doors were gone.
Michael lay there in the dirt, armor cracked, sword dim, staring up at a world that had stolen his lover and given him a strange place.
“I’m coming,” he whispered into the empty night. “I don’t care how many worlds it takes.”
The world he landed in was wrong in all the quiet ways. The air smelled like rain and metal instead of magic and leaves. The sky above him was dark and red, not star-scattered, but heavy and low, clouds swallowing the moon whole.
He rolled, armor scraping against rock and root, and came up on one knee, sword raised, runes flaring bright in the dark.
“William?” he called.
The name echoed back at him from the trees.
No glow answered.
No staff.
No soft voice whispering at the edge of his mind.
The forest around him was dense and tangled, branches clawing at the sky like they were trying to pull it down. Somewhere far away, a low, mechanical hum drifted through the night—steady, unnatural.
Michael’s chest tightened.
He turned in a slow circle, taking in the strange, dim world. There were no ley-lines in the earth here. No pulse of magic beneath the soil. Just… quiet.
“Okay,” he muttered, forcing the word out like he could anchor himself with it. “Okay. That’s fine. I’ve walked into worse.”
But he hadn’t walked into any of those without William at his side.
He sheathed his sword halfway, then stopped, leaving it glowing—just in case. The symbol of his home caught on the blade’s light, reflecting back into his eyes.
“I will find you,” he said, not to the forest, not to the sky, but to the space where William should have been. “Whatever door you fell through, whatever world this is… I will cross it.”
A distant crack of thunder rolled over the trees.
And somewhere, deeper in the dark, something answered.
That’s when he heard the screams and the desperate cries for help. Michael ran toward the sound of war. Not away. Never away. An instinct embedded into his core since before he knew it, blossomed by his devotion to his beloved cleric.
The night split open as he burst from the tree line, and for half a breath, he thought the world had mirrored itself.
Because there was him.
Standing in the chaos, framed by red lightning and falling ash, was a boy with Michael’s face.
Same dark hair, same sharp-boned jaw, same stubborn set to his mouth. The only difference was the way this version of him held himself—no armor, no blade, no weight of battle in his stance. Just raw fear and fierce, stubborn love in his eyes.
Michael faltered. The sky screamed. He tore his gaze away as another figure stepped into the open—a thin boy, trembling, hands raised to the bleeding wound in the clouds toward monsters frozen in mid air.
William.
Except not.
This one wore William’s face, but not his magic.
And then the world answered him anyway.
The air bent. Metal screamed. The red lightning recoiled like it had been struck. The beast in the air bent in forms he was sure they were not meant to be bent.
Michael watched the boy become something else—something dangerous and bright and terrible all at once.
“A sorcerer,” Michael breathed, awe and fear threading together in his chest.
The tear in the sky sealed shut. The beasts that were suspended in the air cracked in ways Michael was sure was not due to their own free will. They screeched as they fell lifeless to the floor. The boy collapsed. Michael moved.
He crossed the battlefield in a handful of heartbeats, armor and muscle and training carrying him through smoke and falling debris like it was nothing. He caught the boy before he hit the ground, gathering him up like he’d done a thousand times before in a thousand different wars.
“William,” he whispered. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
The boy’s eyes fluttered open. They were the wrong color. The wrong fear.
“Who are you?” the boy rasped. “Mike?”
Michael stiffened.
Behind him—
“Will!”
Michael turned.
The other him was running toward them.
And up close, it was worse.
They were the same.
Same hair. Same face. Same voice when he spoke. Only Michael was taller, broader, armed with muscle and armor.
Michael stood broader in the shoulders, built by steel and shield and battlefield marches instead of bikes and basements. He stood like the ground itself had decided to take human form and keep people alive by force if necessary.
They stopped a few feet apart and stared.
The world held its breath.
“This is a trick,” Mike said finally, eyes flicking over the armor, the sword, the runes still glowing faintly along the blade. “This has to be some kind of… Upside Down thing. Vecna’s taken over our minds. Stay away from him, don’t hurt him.”
Michael tilted his head. “Hurt him? Have you misplaced your wits.”
The moment shattered as a woman’s voice broke through.
“Will! Oh God—Will!”
She ran to them, hands trembling as she reached for the boy in Michael’s arms. Michael shifted instantly, lowering Will so she could touch his face, check his breathing.
“He’s alive,” Michael said. “The power only drained him.”
She didn’t question how he knew. She just clutched Will’s hand like it was the only solid thing left in the world.
“Please,” she said to Michael, voice breaking. “Please get him somewhere safe.”
Michael didn’t hesitate. He turned and Mike stepped into his path.
“Hold on,” Mike said, planting his feet. “I don’t know who you are, or why you look like me after a Renaissance fair, but you’re not just carrying him off.”
Michael tried to move around him.
Mike shifted to block him.
Michael gently put a hand on Mike’s shoulder and moved him aside.
Not shoved. Not thrown.
Just… relocated.
Mike stumbled two steps back anyway, eyes wide.
“…Did you just paladin me?”
Michael blinked. “I do not know what that means. But your presence is starting to be a plague upon my peace.”
Joyce made a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh.
“Just—help,” she said. “Please.”
Michael nodded, already turning toward the road, Will steady in his arms like something precious and breakable.
He glanced back once.
At the boy with his face.
“You look weak. You should stay close,” Michael said quietly. “This world feels like it’s still bleeding.”
Mike stared after him, chest tight, brain spinning, watching his double walk away with the person he loved most in the world.
“Awesome,” he muttered, jogging to follow. “Now I have an interdimensional, snarky, combat-trained version of myself that thinks he’s better than me, stealing my best friend. Love that for me.”
Michael did not slow down.
Not when the ground shook under distant thunder. Not when the air still tasted like burned lightning. Not even when Mike kept pace beside him, panting and glaring like the universe had personally offended him.
“Okay,” Mike huffed, pointing ahead. “The radio station. That’s our hideout. It’s got walls. A roof. Doors. You know. Modern miracles.”
Michael nodded once. “Lead.”
They didn’t get far before a voice cut through the smoke and sirens.
“Mike! Mike—over here!”
Michael turned sharply.
Two figures stumbled out of the fog.
One of them was tall, moving on pure willpower, one hand clamped to his chest. Dark blood soaked through his fingers, spreading across his shirt in a brutal, blooming stain.
The other stayed close to his side, one arm slung around his back, her own face smeared with dirt and bruises blooming purple along her cheekbone and jaw.
“William—” Michael started, trying to wake William up, out of habit, then caught himself. Michael's William always cast a healing spell on injured allies, it was his most intuitive reflex.
Mike was already sprinting. “Lucas!”
Michael followed without thinking.
Lucas swayed just as they reached him.
Michael caught him before he hit the ground, easing him down with practiced care. His hands were already moving—checking the wound, assessing the depth, pressure, breathing.
“This looks bad,” Mike said, voice tight.
Michael shook his head once. “It’s not fatal. But it will be if he keeps walking on it.”
Lucas squinted up at him. “Why do you look like—”
“Save it,” Mike said. “We’ll do existential crises later.”
Robin huffed a weak laugh, then winced immediately. “Ow. Yeah. Later.”
Michael tore a strip of cloth from the inner lining of his cloak without hesitation and pressed it firmly over Lucas’s chest.
“You,” he said, meeting Lucas’s eyes, voice steady and commanding. “Stay with me. Breathe slow. You are not dying tonight. I will not allow it.”
Lucas swallowed and nodded, like he believed him. Like he had to. Robin blinked at Mike. “Is he always like this?”
Mike sighed. “How should I know? I just met the guy.” Michael slid one arm under Lucas’s shoulders and lifted him like he weighed nothing.
Robin stared. “Okay, wow. I take back everything I was about to say.”
Michael looked at her. “Can you walk?”
“Yeah,” she said, straightening. “I’ve been through worse. Probably. Actually, no. This might be top three.”
“Stay close to me,” Michael said. “If something comes back, it will come for the wounded first.”
Mike scowled. “Hey, that’s my job.”
Michael glanced at him. “Then we share it.” They moved fast.
The road to the radio station cut through back streets and broken fences, the town half-lit by flickering streetlamps and distant emergency lights. Somewhere far behind them, helicopters still thundered through the sky like restless gods.
Lucas groaned softly in Michael’s arms.
“I’m sorry,” Lucas muttered. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Do not apologize for surviving,” Michael said immediately. “You fought. You are still here. That is enough.”
Lucas stared at him, then nodded. Robin jogged beside Mike, breath coming fast. “So. Just to check—are we not going to talk about the fact that your… twin… is a medieval superhero?”
Mike pinched the bridge of his nose. “Please. Not right now.”
They reached the radio station in a rush of scraped knuckles and rattling doors. Mike threw it open, ushering them inside. The building smelled like dust and old electronics and something faintly burned. Michael laid Lucas down carefully on a long table, kneeling beside him again. He pressed his hand over the wound, then hesitated—feeling for something that wasn’t there.
He did not have magic. That was always William’s department. And with this world’s William draineded out, they had no healing light. Just blood and breath and time.
His jaw tightened.
“Hey Big Mike,” Robin said softly. “He okay?”
Michael nodded once. “He will be. If we keep pressure and keep him warm.”
Joyce rushed in behind them, Will still supported at her side, eyes fluttering open and closed like he was caught between worlds.
Will looked up and froze. Because Michael was there. Same face as Mike. Different posture. Different presence. Different weight in the room. It had not been a Vecna induced vision.
“Mike?” Will whispered.
Michael turned at the sound of his voice. For half a heartbeat, his face broke.
“William,” he breathed.
Mike stepped between them without even meaning to. “Hey. Hey. That’s—he’s—his name is Will.”
Will’s eyes flicked between them, confusion and exhaustion tangling together. “Why are there… two of you?”
Michael lowered himself slowly, like approaching something fragile.
“I am not the one you know,” he said gently. “But I would like to be someone you can trust.”
Will studied him, really studied him. Then, weakly, he nodded. Robin leaned toward Mike and whispered, “I feel like we just unlocked a new side quest.”
Mike didn’t answer.
He was too busy watching Michael press his cloak tighter around Lucas, standing guard like a knight out of time in a room full of broken radios and scared teenagers.
And for the first time since the sky tore open Mike felt something dangerously close to hope.
Michael turned back to Lucas, adjusting the pressure on the bandage, grounding himself in something solid and real.
Michael knelt beside Lucas like the ground itself had asked him to stay.
The radios along the walls whispered with soft, empty static, a sound that made the air feel thinner than it should have been. His hands were steady, pressing cloth and pressure against the gash in Lucas’s chest, counting breaths without meaning to.
One.
Two.
Three.
The numbers felt familiar. Comforting. Like a rhythm he’d learned somewhere else.
Then Michael looked up.
“William,” he said.
Will startled at the name, still wrapped in Joyce’s blanket, still half in another world. “Yeah?”
Michael gestured toward Lucas. “Heal him.”
The room went still.
Mike sucked in a breath. “Okay, let’s not—”
“I can’t,” Will said quickly. “I don’t have powers like that. What happened out there was—I don’t even know what it was. It just happened.”
Michael studied him, brow furrowed, like he was trying to remember something written on water.
“That is how it always feels,” he said slowly. “Like you are stepping into a place that already knows you.”
Will blinked. “That’s… not reassuring.”
Robin leaned against a desk, arms crossed. “I mean, he did close the sky and take down those demos. I feel like that earns him at least a trial run.”
Lucas groaned weakly. “If the sky-closing sorcerer wants to try, I am very pro sky-closing sorcerer .”
Will looked at all of them, then back at Michael. “I don’t know how to do this.”
Michael rose and crossed the room, careful, like he was walking across thin ice. He knelt in front of Will instead, armor creaking softly as he lowered himself.
“Neither did I,” Michael said. He paused, confused by his own words. “I mean, I’m not magic, but I don’t remember how I learned most things. I just remember the moment before I needed them.”
Will frowned. “That’s… also not reassuring.”
Michael gave a faint, crooked smile.
He reached out and took Will’s hands.
His touch was warm. Steady. Not demanding—inviting.
“Close your eyes,” Michael murmured. “Don’t think about healing. Think about keeping him here. Think about not letting the story end yet.”
Will swallowed.
He closed his eyes.
The radios hummed.
The lights overhead flickered, just once.
Will felt something bloom in his chest—not sharp, not hot. Soft. Like a door opening instead of being forced.
“Mike,” Robin whispered, “tell me you’re seeing this.”
Mike didn’t answer.
A pale glow shimmered faintly around Will’s hands where they rested in Michael’s.
Mike had always been a little in awe of Will, of how gentle he was without being weak, how brave he was without trying to be seen, how he kept choosing people even after the world kept choosing to hurt him.
He remembered Will drawing dragons that looked alive. Will sitting beside him when no one else did. Will surviving things Mike couldn’t even imagine and still smiling like the world hadn’t taken anything from him.
The glow just made it impossible to pretend that feeling was something else.
Mike’s throat tightened.
And of course Michael was the one holding Will’s hands.
Mike’s jaw flexed.
Didn’t Michael have his own William somewhere? His own person to look at like that? Why did he get to be the one standing there, steady and sure and close enough to feel the warmth of Will’s hands when Mike had been standing beside Will his entire life?
It wasn’t fair.
The admiration in Mike’s chest tangled with irritation, sharp and protective. His fingers twitched at his sides, the impulse to step in and replace Michael so strong it almost pulled him forward.
He didn’t move.
But he couldn’t look away either.
It showed in the way his shoulders softened despite himself, in the way his eyes followed Will’s every movement like gravity had decided Will was the center now. The feeling wasn’t hidden anymore—it sat plainly on his face, unguarded, almost reverent.
For once, Mike Wheeler didn’t try to cover it with a joke or irritation or loud confidence.
Will’s breath hitched. “I’m not doing this.”
Michael’s grip tightened for half a second.
Not in fear.
In encouragement.
“Let it guide you,” he said quietly.
Michael guided Will’s hands back to Lucas’s chest. Will hesitated, then placed them over the bandage.
Lucas sucked in a sharp breath.
“Oh. Oh, that’s—yeah, that’s definitely new.”
The bleeding slowed—not gone, not healed—but steadier.
Will yanked his hands back like he’d touched a live wire. “I didn’t mean to! I don’t know how that happened.”
Michael stared at him like he was seeing a sunrise he couldn’t quite remember.
“The world’s greatest sorcerer,” he said softly. “And he doesn’t even know where the door is yet.”
Will’s face went bright red. “Please stop saying things like that.”
Michael didn’t.
He reached up without thinking and brushed a curl out of Will’s eyes, thumb gentle at his temple.
“You feel… familiar,” Michael admitted, confusion threading through his voice. “Like a memory I almost have.”
Mike stiffened.
Robin’s eyes narrowed just a little.
Before either of them could say anything, Robin clapped her hands once, breaking the moment.
“Okay,” she said. “Knight in shining emotional vulnerability, my turn.”
Michael turned. “Yes?”
She pointed at him. “Who are you?”
“And where,” she added, “did you come from?”
Michael opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
He frowned, like he’d reached the edge of a road that simply… wasn’t there anymore.
“I remember preparing for a battle,” he said slowly. “I remember standing with the boy I love. And his sister. The world felt… heavy. Like it was about to break.”
He shook his head.
“I don’t remember leaving,” Michael admitted. “I don’t remember choosing this place.”
He looked at Will again, something unsettled in his eyes.
“I think I fell between moments,” he said. “And this world caught me instead.”
The room went quiet.
Lucas stared. Joyce pressed a hand to her mouth.
Robin lowered her arms. “Okay,” she said softly. “That is officially the most poetic and terrifying origin story I’ve ever heard.”
Mike didn’t laugh.
He was watching Michael watch Will—like he was trying to find something he’d dropped a long time ago and only just realized was missing.
Michael turned back to Lucas, pulling his cloak tighter around him, grounding himself in something solid.
“Rest,” he said. “You are still here.” Lucas nodded weakly, eyes fluttering shut.
Michael straightened and faced William, Will, again. “You trusted me,” he said softly. “When you had no reason to. You truly are the universe's greatest sorcerer.”
Will opened his mouth, probably to say something sensible and normal and not catastrophic.
Michael didn’t give him the chance. He took Will’s hand—careful, reverent, like it was something borrowed—and bowed onto his knee, he leaned just enough for his lips to brush across Will’s knuckles in a brief, gentle kiss.
It was over in a heartbeat. The room bloomed with surprise.
Mike made a sound somewhere between a cough and a growl. “Okay—nope. Absolutely not. We do not let random interdimensional knights just kiss my best friend’s hand. We don’t even know this guy!”
Robin choked on a laugh. “Oh my God, he went for it.”
Lucas, eyes still half-closed, muttered, “So cool.”
Joyce blinked, startled, then pressed a hand to her mouth, torn between shock and something dangerously close to a smile.
Will, meanwhile, had gone completely red.
“I—he—you—what—” he sputtered, pulling his hand back and immediately not knowing what to do with it, tucking it into the blanket, then pulling it out again, then just holding it in the air like it might betray him.
Michael watched him with open, unguarded fondness.
Mike stepped forward. “Hey, man, back off. He just saved our lives and passed out like ten minutes ago, you can’t just—”
“Oh, come on,” Robin cut in, grinning. “If someone in armor from another universe told me I was the world’s greatest sorcerer and then kissed my hand, I’d be riding that high for years.”
“Speak for yourself,” Mike snapped.
“I am,” Robin shot back. “With confidence.”
Michael raised his hands slightly, palms open. “I meant no offense. Only gratitude.”
He looked back at Will, softer now. “And honesty.” Will’s brain appeared to short-circuit.
“I don’t—there’s—Mike, say something—”
Mike opened his mouth.
Lucas beat him to it. “He’s got a point. That was kind of… epic.”
“Traitor,” Mike muttered.
Michael tilted his head, studying Will’s face like it was a constellation he half-remembered.
“William always looked best when he blushed,” Michael said thoughtfully. “I am relieved to see that holds true across worlds. My god, is every version of you just divine?”
Will made a small, strangled noise and buried his face in the blanket.
Robin laughed so hard she had to lean against the wall. “I cannot believe this is my life right now.”
Joyce shook her head, still smiling despite herself. “I don’t know who you are, Michael,” she said gently. “But you certainly make an entrance.”
Michael inclined his head in a small, formal bow. “I try to honor the moments that deserve it.”
Mike crossed his arms, glaring at his double. “Yeah, well. Maybe honor them… from, like, six feet away.”
Michael met his eyes. There was no challenge there. Just something like understanding flickered across his eyes as he observed Mike.
“Thou does misjudge me greatly, but…,” he paused, “As you wish.” He complied.
But when he looked back at Will—still hiding his face, still very obviously flustered—his smile returned, quiet and fond and utterly unapologetic. And for a brief, strange moment, even Mike had to admit, the universe had very bold taste.
He didn't get to dwell on it for too long. The door banged open.
“Okay,” Erica said, striding in like she owned the place, eyes flicking from Lucas on the table to the flickering lights to Will wrapped in a blanket to the guy in actual armor. “I leave for ten minutes and now there’s a Renaissance fair in our hideout. Someone start talking. Slowly. With pictures.”
Robin pointed at Michael. “He fell out of the sky.”
Mike pointed at Will. “He closed the sky.”
Lucas lifted a weak hand. “Will controlled the demos, not before I got stabbed by them.”
Erica blinked. “Wow. Concise. You guys are learning.”
Her gaze landed on Michael. She squinted. “Why do you look like Mike if Mike went to the gym and also, like, war?”
Michael inclined his head politely. “Greetings.”
Erica’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I like you. You’re polite and mysterious. You’re my new favorite Mike.”
Mike spluttered. “Hey!”
Erica waved him off. “You had your chance.”
Robin clapped her hands. “Okay, recap speedrun. Big red monster sky thing—Vecna—military tried to shoot it, didn’t work. Will went full Final Boss and scared it back into the other dimension. Then Sir Doppelgänger caught Will, kissed his hand—”
“It was a form of gratitude, a thank-you,” Michael said.
“—and now we’re here,” Robin finished. “Questions?”
Erica stared at Will. “So you’re a sorcerer now?”
Will went bright red. “I—I don’t know! It was a fluke, I don't know how to do it.”
Erica stared at Michael. “Do you agree with the sorcerer?”
Michael considered. “No.”
Will groaned. Erica folded her arms. “Okay, medieval Mike. Explain.”
Michael paced once, thoughtful. “In my world, when magic behaves strangely, it usually means one of three things. Either a door has been opened that should not be. A bond has been tested. Or someone is standing where they are not meant to stand alone.”
The room went quiet. Lucas blinked. “That was…still way more poetic than I expected.”
Robin grinned. “I told you he was hot.”
Mike groaned into his hands. Erica tilted her head. “Bond, huh? Like a friendship thing?”
Michael hesitated, then simply: “Like true love.”
Silence dropped like a brick.
Will squeaked. Actually squeaked.
Robin’s jaw dropped. “Oh my God.”
Lucas’s eyes went wide. “Oh my God.”
Mike froze. “Wait. What.”
Erica pointed between Michael and Will. “You two?”
Michael shook his head. “Not this William.”
Will nearly fell off the couch. “Th—this William?!”
“In my world,” Michael continued gently, “William the Wise and I are lovers.”
Robin slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing out loud.
Lucas stared at Mike. Slowly. Deliberately. “Damn, dude. Even your alternate universe version is... nevermind,” he trailed off.
“Wow,” Erica added. “Imagine losing to yourself.”
Mike found his voice. “I am standing right here.”
Will waved his hands frantically. “We’re—we’re just friends! He’s not—this isn’t—”
Michael nodded immediately. “Yes. I understand. Different worlds. Different stories. I have a hard time imagining there’s a world where William and I are not lovers. It does not make sense. You say one thing, but I have to wonder.”
He paused.
“The bond I see feels… similar.”
Will made a sound that might have been steam escaping. Robin leaned in toward Mike. “So what you’re saying is, in another universe, you have a sword and a sorcerer boyfriend.”
“I hate this place,” Mike muttered.
Erica snapped her fingers. “Wait. Wait. If you’re lovers, does that mean—like—magic love powers?”
Michael brightened slightly. “Ah. Yes. True love’s kiss.”
Mike choked. “I’m sorry, what?”
Michael gestured calmly. “During our first mission, William and I were trapped between closing doors. The magic would not respond to spells or steel. Only to devotion. So we declared our devotion to each other, and he kissed me. It was the best day of my life. I have sworn to protect William, that oath transcends dimensions.” He bowed to Will who might as well be a tomato at this point.
Robin lost it. “Oh my GOD.”
Lucas wheezed and spared Mike a glance. “That’s so unfair.”
Will buried his face in the blanket.
Michael continued, oblivious to the chaos. “It stabilized the rift. We survived.”
Mike shot to his feet. “Absolutely not. Nope. No. You’re not kissing Will to save the world. That is not a rule I - we are okay with.”
Michael tilted his head. “I never said it had to be me.”
Dead silence. Will peeked out of the blanket. “I’m going to pass out again. I can feel it coming.”
Erica stared at Mike. “Wow. You got real intense real fast for a ‘just friends’ guy.”
Mike flushed. “It’s—it's platonic concern. He’s my best friend.”
Robin smirked. “Uh-huh. Very loud, very emotional, very platonic.”
Lucas nodded. “Bro went from zero to medieval duel in three seconds.”
Michael looked between them, thoughtful. “This is why I am confused. In my world, that look means love.”
Mike pointed at him accusingly. “Stop diagnosing me with feelings.”
Will made a small, helpless sound and hid his face again.
Erica clapped her hands. “Okay! New rule. If the universe needs someone to kiss Will to save reality, we draw straws. Because this?” She gestured wildly at Mike. “This is already a lot.”
Michael smiled—soft, fond, and utterly unapologetic.
“Whatever this world requires,” he said, “I will help you face it. No need for straws. I would do anything for any version of William,” He glanced at Will, eyes warm. “Even if it blushes the sorcerer into another dimension.”
Will groaned. “I hate you all.”
Robin beamed. “We know. It’s mutual.”
Erica dragged a dusty whiteboard out from behind a stack of crates and slammed it down in the middle of the room. “Okay. Meeting in session. Agenda: how do we not die next time the sky decides to fight us and Vecna unleashes his monsters upon us.”
Robin grabbed a marker. “I volunteer to write the bad ideas. There will be many.”
Michael studied the board like it was a war table. “In my world, we begin by naming the enemy. It gives shape to the fear.”
“Cool,” Erica said. “His name is Vecna. He’s ugly, psychic, and has a thing for dramatic entrances.”
Michael nodded solemnly. “A tyrant who feeds on the mind. We have faced such things. They rarely fight alone.”
Mike leaned over the table. “We know he uses gates—rifts—to move. He pulls power from the Upside Down. If we can cut that connection…”
Robin scribbled: SEVER THE SOURCE and underlined it three times.
Will shifted on his seat, blanket slipping from his shoulders. “When he was… in my head, it felt like he had anchors. Places. People. The more he’s tied to this world, the stronger he gets.”
Michael looked at him sharply. “Anchors can be broken.”
“Yeah,” Lucas said. “We tried that. It made him mad.”
“Good,” Michael replied. “Anger makes tyrants careless.”
Erica tapped the board. “So option one: find his anchors. Option two: find his door. Option three: kiss Will until the universe behaves.”
Robin snorted and added: OPTION 3: KISSING (TENTATIVE)
Will groaned. “Please erase that.”
Michael smiled, completely unhelpful.
Mike pointed at the board. “We’ve got allies out there—Dustin, Eleven, Max, everyone. We can’t just sit here. We need to tell them what happened. Especially about—” he gestured at Michael “—this.”
Michael cleared his throat. “In my world, when the field is wide, we divide the party.”
Erica lit up. “Yes. Strategy boy. I like him.”
Robin nodded. “We send teams. One group updates the others. One group scouts for weird portal energy. One group stays here with Lucas and Will.”
Michael added, “And one prepares for the moment the door opens again. It always does.”
Will shivered. “You say that like it’s a fact.”
Michael hesitated, then nodded. “It is.”
They all fell quiet for a beat.
Lucas broke it. “Okay, but how do we fight him? Like, actually?”
Michael thought. “Steel rarely harms a mind-tyrant. Faith, connection, memory—those wound deeper.”
Robin stared. “Are you saying we defeat Vecna with friendship?”
Michael tilted his head. “Love is a sharper blade than most people realize.”
Erica raised a hand. “I would like to formally apologize to every cheesy D&D campaign of yours I’ve ever mocked.” She looks at Mike.
Mike rubbed his face. “Great. So our plan is emotional damage.”
Will looked up, serious now. “He hates it when we don’t break. When we remember who we are. Who we have.”
Michael met his eyes. “Then that is your weapon.”
Robin added to the board: WEAPON: NOT GIVING UP ON EACH OTHER
Erica stepped back and squinted. “Wow. That’s disgustingly wholesome. I’m mad about it.”
Joyce cleared her throat gently. “We should call the others. Let them know you’re safe. Let them know what we’ve learned.”
Lucas grabbed a walkie. “Yeah. Dustin’s going to lose his mind when he hears about the knight.”
Michael leaned in, curious. “What is a Dustin?”
“A lot,” Robin said. “You’ll see.”
They split up fast after that—Mike and Erica on comms, Robin and Lucas comparing notes about where Vecna had last been felt, Joyce making sure Will stayed upright and warm.
Michael lingered near Will.
“Does your head hurt?” he asked.
Will nodded. “A little.”
Michael lingered near Will, closer than he meant to be, like his body remembered a distance that no longer existed.
“Does your head hurt?” he asked softly.
Will nodded. “A little.”
Michael lifted his hand without thinking—and then paused, catching himself. For a heartbeat, he saw his William instead. A dirt-smudged cheek, split lip, the familiar constellation of small cuts that always followed a battle.
The habit won.
His fingers brushed Will’s face, slow and careful, tracing the faint scratches along his cheekbone and temple. The touch wasn’t hurried or searching—just gentle, practiced, the kind of care that came from long familiarity rather than intention.
Will stilled, surprised, but not sure how to proceed.
Michael realized it then, his hand faltering mid-motion. “I—” He swallowed. “In my world, I do this for William. After fights. In a world of magic, trickery is convincing. It’s how I make sure he’s still here and it's really him.”
Something in Will’s expression softened. Clearly Michael needed this moment, it was bigger than Will’s awkwardness.
“You don’t have to stop,” Will concluded quietly.
So Michael didn’t.
He adjusted the blanket around Will’s shoulders, the movement easy and instinctive. “Tell me if it gets louder,” he murmured. “The pain. The world. Anything.”
Will looked up at him. “You really think I can do this. Fight him.”
Michael’s thumb lingered at Will’s jaw, warm and steady.
“I don’t think you’re going to,” he said gently. “I think you already are.” His palm lingered on his cheek and his eyes left no place unseen.
“Okay,” Mike said loudly from across the room, entirely too fast. “That’s—uh—enough of whatever that is.”
Both of them turned.
Mike was standing stiffly near the doorframe, arms crossed, jaw set in a way that made it very clear he’d been watching longer than he wanted to admit.
Michael’s hand dropped at once. “I did not mean—”
Will frowned. “Mike.”
Mike opened his mouth. Closed it. “He’s hurt. He's recovering. He doesn’t need—” he gestured vaguely “—extra stuff to worry about.”
Will shifted, irritation sharpening his voice. “He’s fine. And you don’t get to decide what I’m okay with.”
Mike blinked. “I—”
Will sat up a little straighter, blanket sliding down his shoulders. “He was helping. You don’t have to interrupt just because you’re uncomfortable.”
The word uncomfortable made Mike flush. “I was just—looking out for you.”
“I know,” Will said, softer now but no less firm. “But you don’t get to bark every time someone’s trying to help but you don’t understand it.”
Silence stretched.
Michael stood very still, eyes flicking between them like he was watching a familiar storm form.
Mike exhaled slowly, teeth gritted in annoyance. “Sorry,” he muttered.
Will nodded once. “Okay, but like you mean it please.”
Michael cleared his throat gently, stepping back to give them space. “I will… give you both the room,” he said.
Will shook his head. “You don’t have to leave.”
Mike sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah, okay I’m sorry. Just—don’t sneak up on me like that again.”
Michael’s mouth twitched, almost a smile.
“Understood,” he said.
Will shot Mike a look. “And don’t sneak up on me with your tone.”
Mike grimaced. “Fair.”
Michael lingered where he was for a moment longer, then spoke—quietly, not defensive, not sharp. Just honest.
“I understand,” he said, looking at Mike this time. “I would not be pleased either.”
Mike stiffened. “Pleased about what?”
Michael gestured vaguely between himself and Will, then back at Mike. “If someone who was not me stood that close to my William. If they touched him like that.”
Will’s ears went red immediately. “It’s not—”
“—it’s not like that,” Mike cut in at the exact same time.
They glanced at each other, then away.
Michael’s expression softened, almost fond. “You need not explain,” he said. “Affection often wears many disguises before it learns its own name.”
Mike scowled. “We’re just friends.”
“Yeah,” Will added quickly. “We’ve always been friends. Best friends.”
Mike nodded, grateful for the assist. “I’ve just—looked out for him. Since forever.”
Michael hummed thoughtfully. “Since childhood?”
“Since childhood,” Mike repeated, a little defensive.
Michael smiled—gentle, not teasing. “You are blessed,” he said simply. “To have known him for so long. To have grown up beside him.”
Will’s frown softened. “You didn’t know your William before?”
Michael shook his head. “No. I did not meet mine until I was sixteen. By then, he already carried scars I did not know how to name yet.”
Something in Will’s chest twisted at that.
“And yet,” Michael went on, voice warm, “you learned Will’s scars as they were being made. You learned how to stand beside him before the world taught you what it might cost.”
Mike swallowed. Will shifted closer to him without realizing it. Michael noticed. He always did. In every world, universe, dimension, he would always notice.
“I do not begrudge you your closeness,” Michael said. “I envy it. A little.”
Silence settled—not awkward this time. Reflective.
Mike cleared his throat. “Well. You still don’t get to—” he gestured awkwardly “—just do that.”
“Mike—” Will warned.
Michael inclined his head, before Will could get upset again. “Fair.”
Will huffed a small laugh. “You’re both ridiculous.”
Michael smiled at that, warm and knowing. “Perhaps. But not wrong.”
The three of them stood there, caught in something unspoken but no longer ignored.
“You should go help Robin or something,” Will suggested.
Mike scoffed, but went anyway. Michael stayed by Will’s side.
Across the room, Robin kept catching Mike watching them.
She smirked. “You gonna be okay with Sir Alternate-You over there inspiring your best friend?”
Mike scowled. “I don’t like how convincing he is.”
Erica’s voice crackled over the walkie. “Dustin, you are not going to believe this, but we have a literal paladin in Hawkins. Yes, like with a sword. No, I am not joking.”
Michael looked around at the maps, the notes, the mismatched group of kids and parents and a knight from another world.
A party. A quest.
He rested a hand on the hilt of his sword, not in readiness, but in resolve.
“Whatever door Vecna opens next,” he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else, “we will be there first.”
Will, flustered and brave and still very much blushing, nodded.
And for the first time since the sky had torn open, it felt like a plan.
The door to the radio station slammed open in a rush of cold air and familiar chaos.
Dustin burst in first, talking too fast to breathe, Steve close behind with a hand on the frame like he’d wrestled the night itself to get here. Robin slipped past him, eyes bright with relief, and then El—quiet, steady, carrying the Upside Down in the way she held herself.
Michael straightened at once, like a bell had rung inside him.
“Everyone’s alive,” Dustin declared. “Which is, statistically, a miracle. Also—”
He froze.
“Why does Mike look like he joined a medieval cult?”
Michael inclined his head. “Greetings.”
Dustin stared. “I like him. He’s weird.”
They gathered around the table again, the maps and walkies shoved aside to make room for something bigger—fear, hope, a plan that barely deserved the name. They talked about Vecna’s retreat, about the gates pulsing and quieting like wounded things, about Max lying still in a hospital bed, vulnerable.
Michael listened, hands resting on the pommel of his sword like it could keep the room steady.
When the talking slowed, he spoke.
“In my world, William and Jane are twins.”
El looked up in wonder, intrigued.
“Twins in magic,” Michael continued, “do not only share blood. They share reach. When one steps into the dark, the other holds the line. Together, they can walk where neither should walk alone.”
He looked at Will, and didn’t bother to hide the warmth in his eyes.
“You already stand at the edge,” Michael said. “You listen to the places where the world thins. That is not a weakness. That is a calling.”
Will flushed. “You make it sound… bigger than it is.”
Michael shook his head. “You make it smaller because it scares you.”
Dustin snapped his fingers. “Okay, but what if—what if we use that? Will and El. Psychic power couple. Two minds, one door.”
Erica crossed her arms. “I hate that that makes sense.”
Lucas nodded. “If Vecna’s hiding, we go where he is.”
El met Will’s eyes first—steady, unflinching, the way she always looked at him when she was asking him to trust her with something that mattered.
“Together,” she said.
Will hesitated.
The word echoed louder in his head than it should have. He could still feel the way the power had moved through him earlier—unfamiliar, heavy, like wearing someone else’s coat that hadn’t quite settled on his shoulders yet.
“I don’t—” He swallowed, fingers curling into the fabric of his sleeves. “I don’t really know how to use it. What if I do something wrong? What if I open something I can’t close?”
El didn’t look away.
“You won’t,” she said simply. “You never do. And if it gets hard, I’m there. That’s what brothers and sisters do.”
The term “brothers and sisters” landed gently, grounding instead of pressuring.
Will nodded, still nervous, but steadier now. “Okay,” he breathed. “Together.”
Michael was already moving, clearing a space on the floor with deliberate care—chairs shifted aside, crates nudged back, the room reshaped into something that felt intentional, like the beginning of a ritual or the edge of a battlefield.
He looked at both of them, expression serious but not grim.
“Listen to me,” Michael said. “I do not know everything Vecna can do. In my world, he would be called a tyrant—one who rules by breaking the will, not the body. From what I’ve gathered, he takes minds. Twists them. Makes them fight themselves.”
He knelt, placing one hand flat on the floor as if anchoring the moment.
“But I have faced something like him before,” Michael continued. “A foe who wore thoughts like armor and fear like a crown. William and I survived because we did not face it alone.”
His gaze softened as it returned to Will.
“If Vecna reaches for you, your body will still be here,” he said firmly. “Your breath will still move. And we will be here to call you back.”
Will’s shoulders loosened, just a little.
“You are not crossing alone,” Michael finished.
Joyce’s hands tightened together.
Mike stepped closer, but Michael lifted a hand—not to stop him, just to slow the moment. “Let him choose,” he said gently.
Will nodded. “I’m ready to try.”
Will and El sat facing each other, knees nearly touching. Their hands met.
“Breathe,” Michael murmured. “Do not chase him. Let him reveal where he hides.”
The radios hummed.
The lights flickered.
The air thinned, like the room had learned how to hold its breath.
Will’s shoulders tensed.
Then—
His body went rigid.
“Will?” Mike said, panic spiking. "Will!"
Will didn’t answer.
His eyes were open, unfocused, staring at nothing. His hands twitched, then clenched, knuckles white. His whole frame shuddered, a quiet, helpless convulsion running through him like a storm he couldn’t speak about.
El gasped and reeled back, clutching her head and her chest. “He’s—he’s gone. I can’t reach him. Vecna pushed me out”
Michael moved instantly.
He knelt in front of Will, grounding himself in the space between Will’s shaking knees and the floor. He didn’t touch him—not yet.
“His mind is elsewhere,” Michael said, calm and fierce. “Not taken. Held.”
Mike’s voice broke. “What does that mean?”
“It means he can still hear us.”
Michael leaned closer, lowering his voice like it belonged inside Will’s chest.
“William,” he said, slow and clear. “If you can hear me, listen to your body. Feel the floor. Feel the air. You are not alone.”
Will’s fingers twitched.
Michael nodded. “Good. That’s the line back. Hold it.”
Inside the mindscape, Will stood in a vast, red-lit nowhere, the ground like cracked glass under his feet. Vecna’s presence pressed in from every direction, cold and vast.
Still trying to be brave? the voice whispered.
Scenes flickered—old lockers, empty hallways, shadows of fears that had once ruled him.
Will stood his ground.
“I’m not afraid of who I am,” he said, voice shaking but real. “They know me. All of me. You can’t use my secrets against me anymore.”
The visions faltered.
Vecna’s tone sharpened. Then I’ll take what you love.
The world rippled.
In the radio station, Will’s body convulsed harder.
“Michael! Help him.” Joyce cried helplessly.
Michael didn’t look away. “He is being tested,” he said. “Not broken.”
He took Will’s hands now—firm, warm, anchoring.
“Listen to me,” Michael said. “He will show you pictures. He will show you pain. Do not answer them. Answer with what you protect.”
Will’s breath hitched.
Michael leaned closer. “Name it, William. Out loud. Even if it’s only in your head.”
Will whispered, barely moving his lips, “My friends. My mom. Mike. Max.”
The room shuddered, like the walls had felt it.
El gasped. “I—I can feel him again.”
Michael nodded. “Good. Follow that, remind him he is not alone.”
The mindscape cracked.
Vecna snarled as the red lightning splintered around Will, breaking apart like glass.
Will stumbled—
And fell forward, back into his body.
Will collapsed into El’s arms, gasping as they both escaped their own trapped minds.
Mike was there in a second, hands hovering, afraid to touch and needing to touch all at once.
Will looked up, wild-eyed. “Max,” he panted. “He’s going after Max. She’s vulnerable. He knows she can’t fight back.”
Lucas didn’t hesitate. “Steve. Robin. We have to go.”
They were gone in a rush of footsteps and slamming doors, the night swallowing them whole.
Michael stayed kneeling in front of Will, one hand still wrapped around his.
“You did it,” Will whispered.
Michael shook his head. “You came back,” he corrected. “That is the harder part.”
Outside, thunder rolled.