Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sometimes, when Steve wasn’t running for his life from the monster with no face and the screeches carried on wings in the distance, he liked to go to school. Not a sentiment he’d really ever expected, but sometimes he could hear the sounds of laughter like a distorted echo and pretend, just for a moment, that…

Wow, that was pathetic. He was pathetic. Stuck in some alternate, freaky Hawkins, living off of canned sludge and adrenaline, in willful denial of the way his head swam when he stood up or the way his lungs burned after even a brisk walk, listening to the faded joy of a community it was growing more apparent he hadn’t really been part of even when he was there.

But even so… sometimes he could hear Nancy Wheeler’s voice asking and answering questions in chemistry and remember the way she smiled at him in the halls before ducking her head into her books. He could picture the way she tucked her hair behind her ear every time he asked her a question. He could remember when he’d seen her over summer break, chasing her brother through Melvald’s, the way she’d sworn like a sailor at the kid, and her mortified expression when she and Steve had made eye contact. He could remember the pinched horror on her face melting into a chagrined smile when he fucking beamed at her because it must be nice to have a little brother and because it was the first time she’d seemed real. He could close his eyes and think of the secret smile they might have shared if he was actually there, if things were normal and he wasn’t… dead or whatever he was. He didn’t really know. He tried not to think about it too much.

---

It happened on a moonless night in August, two weeks before school was supposed to start, and Steve Harrington was taking a walk. His parents had just left again and they couldn’t have been bothered to… He swiped at his eyes. It was dumb. He’d had a good day. His parents were supposed to come home tonight or tomorrow and the house had been spotless. He’d gone for two hours, two stupid, fucking hours, to grab a milkshake with Tommy and his on-again off-again girlfriend Carol. He’d been gone for only two hours and come home to a new note on the counter with a promise to be back in six weeks, a stack of cash, and instructions to buy something ‘presentable’ for school.

So, predictably, his parents had come and gone without a backwards glance. Even more predictably, Steve somehow hadn’t predicted that and had allowed himself to… to what? Get excited? Clean the fucking house top to bottom like they’d be around long enough to fucking check for dust? Fill the fridge with ingredients to cook a fucking five-star meal like they’d actually be there to eat it? What a goddamn joke.

So, yeah, maybe it wasn’t a great idea to go waltzing around in the dark, but Steve couldn’t stomach another night in that empty house. It was really just his luck that a hulking monster lumbered out of the woods and directly onto his driveway. Just his luck that he threw enough parties when his parents were gone that the neighbors had long tuned out any noise that came from his yard. Just a nice cherry on top of the fucking cake that, even if anyone did hear him screaming when claws tangled in his jacket and pulled, Steve honestly wasn’t sure they’d have cared enough to bother anyway.

Go figure the thing that actually ended up saving his ass was some asshole’s leftover broken bottle tangled in the underbrush. He was flailing, screaming, hands raking the ground for purchase when his fingers circled on jagged glass. He swiped it back and something howled. Steve rolled right out of his jacket ready to swing at, God, he didn’t know what he was expecting, but it sure as fuck wasn’t some elongated corpse without a face. Something straight out of a movie or a nightmare.

“No, no, no. no, absolutely not happening!”

Steve bolted right the hell out of there. He ran without actually seeing, straight to Benny’s. Benny was a good guy, had been giving Steve milkshakes since he was ten. He’d let him hang out until Steve calmed the fuck down and… he didn’t know. Called Tommy and invited himself over like a baby?

It was only after standing in the diner entrance catching his breath that Steve started to notice things were wrong. And honestly… how hadn’t Steve noticed it was unusually quiet for early evening? That there was absolutely no one in the diner? That the only thing holding up the crumbling walls were sprawling vines? That the dots in his vision weren’t clearing because there was shit floating in the air? That his breath was puffing in front of him in little clouds because it was freezing?

Nope. No. Steve squeezed his eyes shut. He took a steadying breath and opened them again.

Still the same.

What the hell?

So there might have been some initial panicking.

Steve may or may not have run around the diner shouting like an idiot for someone to hear him. He definitely heard the echo of voices in the kitchen and burst through the door, practically vibrating with relief and fading adrenaline only to trip over more vines and tumble into yet another empty room. The lights buzzed overhead, flickering. But nothing changed, and there was no one there.

God, it was cold.

Steve picked himself off the floor. Totally not panicking because this was definitely normal. This was definitely on his list of expectations for the day. He absolutely woke up this morning and thought, yes, my plans for today are wake up, get ready, clean the house, get a milkshake, see mom and dad, get ambushed by a monster and end up in….

...Monster.

Shit. Had that… actually been real? Looking down at his torn, dirtied jeans and the dirt packed under his bloody fingernails, Steve had to admit to himself that it could have been. The lights flickered again, and he could see the hairs on his arms visibly standing. The bell on the diner door sounded, and Steve was seconds away from going to check before he heard the rumbling growl. Deliberate, heavy steps dragged in the restaurant just outside the kitchen, stalking.

Fuck. It had been real.

Steve crept through the kitchen towards the back door, partly sealed shut by vines. He grabbed one and pulled. The second he did, a primal cry rang through the diner. Steve slammed his shoulder into the door, vines be dammed. It gave way after a few tries, and Steve tumbled through, onto the street behind the diner. It was just as deserted, like a discarded afterimage. Something crashed behind him and Steve didn’t really have time to think about anything other than running after that.

Awareness filtered in like settling dust and found Steve huddled behind the locked door of his bedroom. Coughing the spores lodged in his throat and shaking from the cold, Steve forced himself into some clean, warm clothes. He crawled over the vines on his floor and tucked himself under his bed like he used to do when he was five and the small space felt safe from the world. Maybe if he closed his eyes long enough, he’d wake up to one that made sense again.

Chapter Text

Steve smacked into the underside of his bed with a thud. Groaning, he peeled his eyes open, blinking up at the wood frame in confusion. What the heck was he doing here?

He rolled onto his stomach and shimmied out, face nearly connecting with a vine tangled around the bedpost. He stared at it, this vine pulsing like a living thing, wrapped around his space in a stranglehold. His breath caught, and Steve forced himself to take stock of his surroundings. His room was just as it had been in what was apparently not a nightmare after all. Quiet in a way he never left it, always leaving the radio on whenever he was home.

He peeled himself off the floor and, because he was an idiot and his priorities reflected such, flipped on his radio. Static, then nothing. The light switch nothing. The clock beside his bed, though plugged in, read nothing. Steve tried to calm his breathing, stepping carefully over the creepy vine that maybe had just moved. He tried the tap in his bathroom- nothing.

Okay. Okay, this was fine. So, like, Steve was in his house… but it wasn’t his house. And nothing worked and no one was here, and that was messed up. And he’d deal with that eventually. After he found something to eat.

Opening the fridge turned out to be a terrible idea. The stench of rot slammed into him like a fullbody tackle, leaving him reeling. He gagged, throwing the door closed and stumbling back. He’d just bought groceries yesterday; there was no way. But there was also no way monsters were real or that he’d slept through the apocalypse or whatever, so he wasn’t about to open that door again to double check.

He ended up choking down a can of sliced peaches. They swam in thick, near fermented molasses and went down his throat like soggy mushroom, but after opening six other cans, they were the only thing even remotely edible. Steve drank the liquid down, too, grimacing harder than he had after his first shot of vodka.

There were probably enough cans to survive off of for a few days, maybe a week if he rationed. His habit of cooking his own meals meant nothing kept, not with however much time had passed. He would have to figure that out well before then.

---

He did not figure it out before then.

Over the next few days, Steve hovered between action and denial. He spent his time oscillating between holing up in his room, jumping at every creak and whisper of sound, and brazenly combing through the neighboring houses for signs of other life the next. The results varied. Two days in found his neighbors arguing over paint colors. He followed the voices like a beacon, but though they echoed through the walls, their house was completely empty.

That was how Steve discovered that he had not, in fact, slept through the apocalypse. The apocalypse was not full of invisible people who argued about the merits of periwinkle. The more he explored, the more certain he was that life was moving on without him somewhere he couldn’t see. He could almost guess time, in a way. A neighbor shouting about their lost car keys in what had to be morning, a group of kids chattering as they passed by, probably on bikes, signaling afternoon. He’d tried to find them, at first. He’d followed every wisp of sound, every scrap of conversation, only to see no one and for no one to see him. Maybe he'd died. He might be a ghost. He might be in hell. Purgatory? He didn’t really feel dead- he was pretty sure dead people didn’t get hungry, didn’t have to wrap their mom’s fancy dinner napkins around their mouths just to breathe without coughing. On the other hand, at least there was no sign of the grotesque walking corpse trying to kill him.

Of course, that kind of positive thinking only invited disaster, so, naturally, the monster caught up with him on day four. Really, it was almost his own fault for getting complacent. Idiot.

Steve had started to chart out differences between Hawkins and its pale imitation. He was combing through the once yellow house three doors down, now faded gray with ash and rot. Inside, it was a lifeless husk, flooring torn up by sprawling vines and walls crumbling. Through the decayed remnant of a pantry sat bottles and bottles of Perrier. (“Who’d be moron enough to spend money on water?” “Bet your parents would.” “ Ha ha, Tommy. I’m just saying it’s dumb, is all.”)

And Steve, tongue heavy and lips chipped and peeling, had never seen a more beautiful collection of glass. They were wrapped under a tangle of the same vines that spread like a network over everything. Steve tore at them, yanking a bottle free. It was stale, and had lost most of its carbonation, but it was water. And while Steve sat in a tangle of torn greenery, getting stupidly emotional about fucking water, a nightmare climbed in through the broken window.

He’d almost convinced himself that he’d imagined it, but there was no denying it now. It drew itself tall, pale, mottled flesh pulled taught over sinew, framed in the bleached light of window. Its arms stretched into long claws, stained dark and crusted at the ends. It angled its head, listening. Listening because, now that Steve could see it, it had only discolored skin, twisting into a spiral where a face should be.

In a blinding moment of panic, Steve could only stare. He knew he should move, should run, but what if it detected movement? What if moving was the thing that damned him? Sweat beaded his brow and fear froze his limbs. It was huge. How had he escaped that, earlier? How was he not dead? Maybe dead wasn’t as ruled out as he’d like it to be, but that was a problem for future-Steve. Present-Steve would like very much to not be mauled by a zombie. Numbness trailed up his arms, prickling in his forehead, and his chest squeezed. His breath puffed out in a long exhale- he hadn’t realized he’d been holding it.

The head swiveled his way, alerted by the sound, and peeled into jagged flesh and teeth. The monster screeched and fuck, it knew he was there. Steve’s mind shorted out in terror, but his body moved. He hurled the bottle clutched in his hand straight into its open mouth, and years of sport and training saw that it was a clear hit. The monster’s gaping maw snapped shut around the bottle, sending glass flying with the force of it. It screeched again, this time in pain, sparkling shards dropping to the floor and blood pouring from its open mouth. Steve bolted.

When the panic faded and he stopped feeling his heartbeat in his ears, Steve had crossed wood and road and train tracks. He’d been headed for home before hearing howls carried through the heavy air, and he veered sharply away. Now he stood in the shadow of Tommy Hagan’s doorway heaving gulping breaths through the fabric of his mom’s shitty cloth napkin. On autopilot, he fished out Tommy’s spare key. His hands shook so hard he dropped it twice before finally managing to twist it into the lock.

He pushed inside, closing the door firmly behind him and twisting the lock. Tommy’s house was in about the same state as most of the other houses he’d seen so far, but the vines seemed to thin the further away he traveled from his house, so he only had to step over a few per room. The couch was miraculously clear of them and Steve let himself drop into it, sagging into the cushions.

---

Steve woke to the sound of Cara’s voice in his ear. Tommy’s mom was a gossip, trading secrets like stolen pearls.

‘You know, I saw her going into Hideaway of all places. No respectable woman would go into a bar unaccompanied. She has to be seeing someone. Oh, I wonder if Clem suspects. Maybe that’s why he was so sour during registration.”

Tommy’s mom was a piece of work, but the familiar voice was a balm to his frayed nerves. “Mrs. Hagan?” he asked.

‘Yes, dear?’

His heart lurched. She could… she could hear him? He rolled off the couch, crouching next to her usual spot, gripping his knees. “Mrs. Hagan, can you hear me?”

‘Darling, I can’t hear you. How many times have I told you not to shout across the house?’

“I’m not- I’m right here. I’m right next to you. I’m here. Well, not where you are, but like. Also where you are.” He huffed a disbelieving laugh. “Oh my God, you can hear me. This is fant-”

‘Tommy -I swear, Lauren, this son of mine, give me a minute- Tommy, what?’

‘Jesus, mom, you said I could call Carol. Get off the phone already.’

Steve rocked back on his heels, hope dropping like a lead weight. She hadn’t… heard him. His throat constricted, and Steve was torn between crushing disappointment and comforting familiarity at the sound of Tommy’s voice. After a brief argument, Tommy was huffing up to his room, Steve trailing after the sound of his stomping footfalls.

“Tommy, can you hear me? It’s Steve.”

Tommy said nothing.

“I could really use your help right now, man. I’m freaking out here.”

‘Hello?’

“Oh God. Tommy?”

‘Yeah, can you get Carol? Thanks Mrs. Perkins.’

Steve should have guessed. He flopped on Tommy’s bed with a sigh, staring at the cracking ceiling. He let his friend’s voice wash over him, piecing together the one-sided dialogue. He passed the conversation guessing what Carol might be saying on the other line. Steve could almost pretend he could see Tommy bouncing one leg and drumming his fingers on the other. He could almost pretend it was him Tommy was talking to. Could almost pretend he wasn’t sat in hell, cold and achingly alone.

Chapter Text

Steve was blowing Tommy off again. Not that Tommy was surprised by the radio silence. The Harringtons were supposed to be coming back into town - maybe they were actually sticking around for a while.

They didn't usually stay for more than a few weeks at a time, and Steve was weirdly unpredictable when they did. Bastard waffled between showing up at Tommy's place daily or completely dropping off the grid, probably spending every second groveling for their attention. This time, Steve was probably playing 'perfect son' again. He'd been going on about the fucking dinner he was planning for his shit folks like he hadn't fucking drunk himself into oblivion after the last time he'd played Betty Crocker and they didn’t show. Tommy was fucking justified in calling him out. Carol agreed. It wasn't their fault Steve was an easily offended little bitch.

So this time, Steve was either sucking up to mommy and daddy dearest, or he was sulking again. Either way, Tommy hadn't heard from him in about a week, which was just about the third longest he'd ever gone off the deep end. (Tommy willfully didn't think about the longest, or the way Steve wore long sleeves three weeks into summer afterwards.)

Tommy wasn’t all too worried, though. He and Steve didn't exactly have a call-each-other kind of relationship. It was more of a show-up-at-the-door kind of relationship. When they were kids, there had been phone calls, at least when Steve's parents left him alone for long stretches. But man, did Tommy's mom love to hog the phone. She could sit for hours with a glass of wine, twirling the phone cord in her index finger and gossiping about whatever latest scandal or fashion faux pas.

So Tommy didn't really get many chances to use the phone. And what little phone time he did get had long been transferred over to Carol. For as disinterested as she tried to act, the girl was needy. And Steve was fine with it. He'd just show up at the house instead, usually with some stupid, suck-up gift for Tommy's mom.

So what if Steve hadn’t met up at class registration? It was only junior year, so it wasn’t that big a deal. And, yeah, sure, Tommy’d been expecting to compare schedules like they always did, but if the Harringtons were in, they probably went bright and early to make appearances without brushing elbows with the rest of this Podunk shithole. Probably perfectly coiffed and styled, Rolex and pearls, crisp clothes and white teeth – look at us, Hawkins, we’re better than you.

Let Steve have his little moment. If he thought Tommy was about to come crawling to him from a little distance, he’d better think again. He’d turn up soon enough, all smiles, fidgeting like he did when he was nervous, and neither of them would mention a damn thing.

---

It took just shy of two weeks and nearly losing a leg for Steve to figure out the vines were trying to kill him. Granted, everything was trying to kill him, but the plants were new. Actually, apparently not new, just new to him. Things finding him no matter where he hid made so much more sense now.

He narrowly escaped his first encounter with a pack of mutant dogs, braying after him with their heads bent low, faces splitting open in toothy snarls. Son of a bitch, he really couldn’t catch a break, could he? He rode that close call out in some stranger’s house, a noisy kid and a mom who called him dumb pet names. The kid bitched about it with clear affection, obviously not as bothered as he tried to sound. Their interactions left Steve feeling conflictingly fond and bereft. He didn’t stay long.

His second encounter with attack-of-the-mutant-killer-dogs was not as lucky. Or: Steve had made what he thought was a genius discovery. Probably not one of his better moments. He filched some candy bars, a thermos, and a knife from nerd-kid’s house. He filled the thermos with fermented juicy juice and pocketed a probably uselessly small knife, but it was the only one in their collection that had its own sheath.

It was a day after that and Steve was feeling fuzzy and lightheaded. The boozy juice had done him no favors, and it left his mouth drier than it’d been before. He stumbled through more woods, trying to ensure he didn’t keep to one place too long. Vines hung between the trees they choked, sagging like a hangman’s noose. He was thirsty.

Dragging his feet in exhaustion, one caught, tangled in the vines and underbrush. Steve went down hard, head cracking against the trunk of a tree, scraping a fresh layer of skin off his cheek. He lay in a bit of a daze, waiting for the spots to clear from his vision. When they didn’t, he huffed. Just more floating spores. Yippie. He started to roll himself up, but met resistance. He tried again, feeling something around his ankle squeeze.

What?

Steve shoved himself up, crashing down again when his leg did not come free. He caught himself this time, palms scraping in the dirt and leaves. Heart thudding in his chest, Steve looked down to his leg and saw a vine coiling around his ankle. Coiling. Moving. With an undignified yelp, Steve stabbed it with his shitty kitchen knife, slicing it right where it connected to the tree. Steve peeled the part still connected from his foot and eyed the severed vine warily. It flopped against the tree trunk like a dying fish, oozing sluggishly.

And, okay. Maybe it wasn’t Steve’s brightest moment, but something was coming out of those vines that were maybe alive and he was so thirsty. He sawed off a chunk of fabric from the bottom of his shirt and stretched it over the now empty thermos, tucking it under the now still vine. The liquid pooled on the fabric, dripping slowly into the thermos. Steve licked his lips. His tongue felt like sandpaper.

He eyed the contents of the thermos- the liquid looked clear. He drank the contents of the thermos.

In retrospect, sitting and staring at the vine for the fifteen minutes it took to fill the thermos a second time was probably only slightly less dumb than drinking killer plant mystery liquid, but, well. Steve wasn’t known for his stunning intellect. Those fifteen minutes cost him.

He was twisting the lid of the thermos shut when something snapped to his left. That was all the warning he got before a thousand needles tore into the flesh of his leg. Steve let out a ragged scream, instinctively jerking. The needles in his leg pulled and his vision whited out in a burst of static. There was snarling now, all cause for stealth abandoned. Oh, God, the needles were teeth. Wrapped around his leg like a vice was the petaled maw of one of the dogs he’d encountered before. It tugged again, pulling another scream from Steve. More growls came from his right, from behind him, and it hit with sudden clarity that he’d only ever seen them in packs.

He felt almost removed from his body, looking at the blood pooling through the jaws clamped on his leg. This wasn’t like a normal dog where he could pull free, even if it cost a chunk of flesh. This was wrapped clear around- there was nowhere to pull. There was only one way it was letting go.

Sending a silent prayer of thanks to God and annoying chatty kid, Steve slammed his knife into the creatures neck and ripped. It screeched, teeth ripping out of him in a violent motion, and he screamed with it. Fuck he was going to draw just about everything in a mile radius to him at his rate.

The creature stumbled away from him, black blood spurting from its open neck, before collapsing at the feet of another. Shit. The new one lunged, and Steve slashed at it mid jump, slicing its outstretched foreleg. It probably didn’t do much more than startle it, since it landed on its feet, hissing and crouching low. Another cry sounded behind him, and Steve whipped around, one hand digging into the ground for purchase. He needed to get up. He forced himself to stand, weight firmly on one leg. He snarled at the dog, brandishing the bloody knife. Either the knife or sudden shift in height must have been at least a little unexpected, because the dog seemed to hesitate.

The third one (fourth? Did the dead one count? Holy fuck, he’d just killed something.) emerging from the woods did not have any such issues. Steve tried to shift his stance and nearly toppled, pain shooting up his leg. Two of the dogs hunched, muscles rippling and ready to leap. He couldn’t block both and there was no way he could run from them. He was fucked.

The trees rustled on his right. Please, he thought, no more. Please.

Adding to his theory that a) the universe hated him, or b) he was in hell after all, the pale monster lurched into sight. Dread settled heavy in his stomach, warring with resignation. He was just a teenager; how did he think this would end? Honestly, he should be proud he’d lasted as long as he had. Instead, he just felt tired.

He gripped the knife tighter. Well, he thought, shuffling on his good leg, at least he’d go down fighting instead of slowly shriveling to dehydration.

What happened next was wholly unexpected.

The monster’s head cracked sharply to the side, its body turning to the corpse of the first dog that’d come for him. Its head peeled back into a toothy macabre flower and it descended on the carcass, blood flying. The dogs shrieked at it, slowly retreating, creeping backwards on silent claws.

What the everloving fuck.

Somehow, definitely unintentionally, the monster that chased his waking and sleeping hours had saved his life. Steve bent slowly, scooping the thermos that had thankfully rolled in the opposite direction. He crept back, glancing behind him for the movement of vines or the misshapen dogs. He backed away, trying to block out the wet tearing sounds. He kept backing away until he could no longer see anything but the red trail his leg was leaving as he walked.

Shit, he was making himself a walking COME EAT ME advertisement. He knelt, heartbeat thrumming in his forehead and in his ears, and rolled up what was left of his jeans. His leg was a pulpy mess at the ankle, weeping blood and bits of shredded skin. His stomach twisted, and he violently heaved up stale 3 Musketeers. Gagging, he uncapped his hard-earned water, pouring it sparingly down his leg.

He swallowed a scream, grinding his teeth until his jaw throbbed. He ripped more fabric from his shirt – it was already fucked anyway – and wrapped it tightly around the oozing wound. He choked on a sob and tied it off with shaking hands. His fingers were tingling, slightly numb with shock.

Move, Steve. Move or you’re dead.

He continued to back away, eyes trained to where he knew the monster still tore into the carcass he’d left behind. There was no telling how long it would take to finish its meal. No telling how much effort it would feel like putting into finding its next.

Steve kept his slow, backwards pace long after his feet had hit pavement. He felt uncomfortable in the sudden open space of Cornwallis, lined with streetlamps and cars instead of brush and trees. In the woods, the silence felt almost… normal. Out on what should be the busiest street in Hawkins? The silence was like damnation.

The cold air on his abdomen sent him shivering. Looking down, the blood on his leg was already starting to pool through Steve’s poorly tied off shirt remnants. He needed way better than a shirt for this. For the first time since he’d been dragged, screaming, into hell, Steve had a destination.

He made his way slowly to the hospital, the sound of ripping flesh and gnashing teeth echoing through his mind like a phantom.

Chapter Text

Steve huddled on a rusting hospital bed, piled high with haphazard stacks of medical supplies. Blood was fully soaked through the sagging bandage of his shirt, trailing down where he propped up his leg. He knew he needed to clean it. The longer he left it, the more likely it was to get infected. The longer it bled, the more likely it was to attract attention. He just needed to clean it.

How the fuck was he supposed to clean it?

He had one thermos, only half full of water. He hadn’t found the kitchens in his brief hunt through the hospital. There could be more. There could be nothing. He did have a pile of everything he could carry that looked vaguely useful. He only managed three trips before collapsing. He had to make do with what he had because he didn’t have it in him for another foray.

Soap and water was pretty much out, he thought, pulling on gloves. He shook out nearly an entire box before finding some that hadn’t been exposed to whatever sediment or spores haunted the air. Hands shaking, he cut away the bottom of his jeans and tugged off his shoe. It was a mangled mess of punctures, and it was probably the only reason Steve still had a foot. He peeled the wrapped fabric from his leg. The one advantage of the bite still bleeding was that the fabric hadn’t dried on yet. Hooray.

Steve’s vision tunneled, something uncomfortable straining in his chest.

It was bad. It was so bad.

What skin was left was shredded, pieces of it hanging loosely like threads off of frayed jeans. Some of it clung to the make-shift bandage, coming free with a wet, sucking sound. The wound stretched clear around his lower leg and ankle, bits of dirt and denim embedded in tiny punctures. How many teeth did those things have?

His breath wheezed out in little ragged gasps. He couldn’t breathe. His mom’s stupid napkin was suffocating him. Shit. Shit.

Blood was pooling on the hospital linens, streaming down his leg now without the pressure of fabric to bind it. You’re losing it, Steve. Get a grip. Don’t punk out now.

He grabbed a bottle of rubbing alcohol with dread. No soap and water- it would have to do. Did he just… pour? He needed to pick out the dirt and debris. Did he do that first? After? He’d just have to do both. A spore drifted by like a jellyfish, swimming through the air. God, this place was so unsanitary.

Steve draped one of the extra linens he’d piled on the bed over himself. It made it harder to see, but it should keep out the floaters. He tugged his mom’s napkin down from around his nose and wadded it into his mouth. He dropped his leg over the side of the bed with a groan, leaned over, and poured.

Everything went out in a burst of static, and Steve screamed into the wadded up napkin. He had only enough presence of mind to tip himself back onto the bed before his eyes rolled back into his head and he faded.

---

Steve sputtered around something blocking his air, slamming into the world again, face pressed into a pile of wrapped gauze. He’d passed out. He spat out his mom’s wadded up dinner napkin with a grimace and dropped it over the side of the hospital bed.

Someone was chattering beside him, warbling echo like an underwater serenade. It almost sounded like 3 Musketeers kid’s mom, gentle and chiding.

His leg was numb and he was cold.

He blinked up at the make shift linen tent above him. He’d passed out and he was still bleeding. Idiot. Was he trying to die? His dad was right, he was a fucking joke. He pushed himself back upright. The world tilted again, and he willed himself to ignore it. He pulled his mangled leg back up with a whimper.

Pulling out a set of tweezers from the supplies he’d gathered, Steve poured rubbing alcohol on them as a disinfectant. His stomach rolled at the smell and the memory of pain.

Picking the bits of dirt, foliage, and fabric out of his ruined leg was a painful process. He wadded a clean bundle of gauze into his mouth to keep from screaming again, tears leaving cold tracks down his cheeks. More than once, he pulled still attached skin, thinking they were bits of his shredded jeans, driven into flesh by ripping teeth.

He felt dizzy and lightheaded. From pain, from shock, from losing probably too much blood, Steve didn’t know. What he did know was that he needed to wrap this up (ha) fast. The last thing he needed was something to find him now.

When he was done, he had a small pile of dirt and gore and more to add to his growing collection of nightmares. His leg was too ruined to stitch. Even if he knew how, there wasn’t enough left of it. So it was time to disinfect again, bandage, and hope for the best. Steve pulled out some fresh rolls, hand knocking into a bottle of iodine solution in the box.

He groaned. On the one hand, he couldn’t have found that before using the alcohol? But on the other, he felt such palpable relief at not having to go through the agonizing process again that he couldn’t even stay upset. Steve set to work, saturating cotton pads and dabbing them along the ruined expanse of his leg. The contact still knocked his breath right out of him, still sent his ears ringing and vision spiraling, but not enough to send him over the edge.

He focused on the quiet echo of the nurse’s voice as she flitted around the room listening to vitals, listening to her assurances that the hospital food was not as bad as rumors suggested and anecdotes about her son Dusty. (Who named a kid Dusty?) He latched on to her stories like a man drowning, pulling the last bit of leaf from a weeping puncture just as she finished telling a relatable story about Dusty nearly burning their kitchen down in an attempt to make macaroni and cheese. At least she was actually home to put it out for the kid so he didn’t run around in a blind panic until he remembered that fire extinguishers exist. (Steve had been a little less lucky, but at least the only damage had been to the pan and stove.)

Once finished plucking out debris, he scrubbed the rest of his leg up to the knee, just in case, and bound the wound tightly. His muscles spasmed, body shaking with exhaustion. He couldn’t stop yet. He had to… had to clean up. Before the blood drew the monster’s attention. If it hadn’t already.

Steve moved as if underwater, sluggish and with resistance. He piled anything remotely bloody into a bundle of linens and dropped them into a contractor sized trash bag. He stripped down, pulling off his bloody clothes. His destroyed shirt and jeans went into the bag with them. He made a choice to keep the shoes- the danger of trying to navigate the vines barefoot a greater threat.

He used a scrap from another linen to sponge himself off with more alcohol, choosing to save the iodine for his leg. Not like there was a shortage in the hospital, but Steve was going to conserve anything he could. He hissed when he reached his face- forgotten scrape flaring sharply in reminder.

Steve rubbed ointment on his face and stuck a large bandage over his cheek. He pulled on some borrowed scrubs and scrubbed the blood out of his shoes and jacket sleeves as best he could with more alcohol. He could probably find some peroxide later, but hopefully the alcohol would kill the smell. He cleaned the rest of the mess, deciding to double bag it to hopefully avoid the stench of blood drawing anything nearby. He dragged himself to the bed, remaking it with fresh sheets. Thank goodness he’d been so cold he grabbed a whole stack of them.

If he were less delirious with pain and blood loss, Steve would probably move himself to at least a different room. Would probably barricade the doors and tuck himself into a defensible position. As it was, he barely managed to down some children’s Motrin – the only thing labeled with a name he could read in his quick search- and tuck himself under a too-thin blanket. Shivering, he layered more until they swaddled him like a cocoon. He closed his eyes and dreamed of teeth and blood.

---

Steve woke to heat radiating from his leg. He took more Motrin, taking small sips from his thermos. He shook with the cold and tugged his jacket back on. He needed to find medicine- real medicine. The thought of moving on his leg had him almost curling right back up and leaving that problem for future-Steve. But if the red puffiness above his bandage was any indication, it was either present-Steve or no-one. Steeling himself, Steve laced his shoes back on and stepped gingerly from the bed.

He picked his way through the ground floor, stumbling and leaning against the wall to keep weight from his leg. He found a pair of crutches discarded on the floor of a waiting area. One was trapped under vines and Steve was not about to make that mistake again. He could make do with one. He shivered, wrapping his jacket tighter.

After three rooms, two closets (one a janitor’s and one with biometric equipment), Steve found a floating nurse’s cart. Using his stolen kitchen knife (thanks, Dusty), Steve picked at the hinges on the door until they popped. It was full of medicine. Medicine Steve did not understand the names of. He rifled through half the cart before sopping, vague recognition pausing his hand next to one labeled Amoxicillin. That was an antibiotic, right? He grabbed two full bottles, tucking them into the pockets of his scrubs.

The room spun when he pushed himself back up, and he had to brace himself on the cart until it stopped moving. Once he felt steady enough, Steve pulled himself onto his lone crutch and started the search for food.

The hospital kitchens, as expected, were swallowed in rot, the air thick with ash and putrescence. Steve wretched, but his stomach was too empty to bring anything up. Small blessings. He hobbled slowly, carefully stepping over vines. It was agony to know a source of water was so close and also know he couldn’t survive what came with it, not barely able to stand. The kitchens may have once been sterile, but there was little he would be able to use, here. He pushed away from the fridges, not daring to open them and have a repeat of his own kitchen, and towards shelving on the far wall, stacked with cans.

He pulled a can opener from a hook by the shelf and tried a few. His energy waning, he settled for green beans and Gatorade. The green beans tasted more earthy than rotten, and the Gatorade slightly sour, but he still found his face wet with tears of grateful relief.

Weak, his father’s voice whispered in his ear. How often will you cry over your mediocre successes?

Steve took off his jacket and tied the sleeves around his neck in a sling. He loaded as many cans as he could fit, prioritizing the Gatorade, and crept laboriously back to his nest. He was forced to stop several times to catch his breath, leg on fire, head pounding and body shaking with chills, worse now without his jacket. He eyed a wheelchair tucked away by a set of double doors, longing pulling at him like a lovesong. There would be no navigating the vines in a chair- it didn’t offer enough maneuverability. He forced himself to keep going.

By the time he made it back to the room he’d claimed as his own, Steve was on the verge of collapse. His chest heaved with exhaustion. Sweat beaded on his brow, pooling in his shirt collar and at the small of his back. All from such a simple excursion.

You can’t even walk across a single wing of a building.

Trembling on fawn-weak legs, he carefully moved back to his bed. He unloaded his pockets and jacket sling, each can feeling heavier than the last. He pulled the jacket back on and downed one of his newly obtained antibiotics.

He tucked himself back into his nest of blankets, shoes and all. He tried to elevate his leg as best he could, the searing pain diminished slightly, dampened by either medicine or exhaustion. While he waited for the familiar chatter of the room’s assigned nurse, Steve allowed his head to sink into the the thin, folded pillow.

He lost the next three days in a haze of fever and sweat.

Chapter Text

Tommy stormed into first period English twenty seven minutes into class. He threw open the door like a man possessed, jaw working in barely contained fury. Carol trailed behind him, working her lower lip.

Ms. Vickers interrupted her overview of the syllabus to give them a lecture on the importance of punctuality. Carol ignored her, sideling up to that bimbo Amy in her seat. “Um, yeah. I don’t know if anyone’s told you before, but that seat is mine, so be a dear and move.”

“Sorry, you’re the one who’s late.”

Oh no, bitch, not today. Carol was not in the mood. “Oh, thanks for switching with me,” she said, pitching her voice over Vickers’ lecture, “I work better from over here. You’re such a gem.”

“Wait, I never-”

“Here, let me help you move your stuff.” Carol leaned over her desk, and woops the lid of her coffee cup just happened to be unsecured. Lukewarm coffee sloshed out, pouring directly down bimbo bitch Amy’s blouse, pooling in her lap.

Amy screeched, jumping out of Carol’s desk.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I’m such a klutz. You’d better go wash that before it stains.”

Bimbo bitch Amy ran out of the room, crying over her little outfit. Pastel blue in August? Honestly, Carol was doing her a favor. It had nothing to do with the rumors she’d spread about her and Steve Freshman year. (As if she were his type.)

“Looks like you better go help your bestie. It might take a while,” she said to the girl in Tommy’s desk one seat over. She dropped Amy’s books in front of her. “Maybe bring her her stuff, too.”

Desk thief looked like she might either cry or piss herself. She packed up her supplies and quickly excused herself. Spineless coward.

Carol settled into her desk, Tommy sliding next to her, thunderclouds brewing over his head. He was in a mood. Carol didn’t blame him; she was in a mood too. She’d sat outside her house, waiting for Steve’s familiar BMW for a full twenty minutes before calling Tommy. He answered, spitting curses into the phone. They caught a ride with his mother, and Tommy had made her drop them off a block away. Carol had not been wearing walking shoes, asshole.

They hadn’t heard from Steve since they’d gotten milkshakes about two weeks ago. She’d been busy- back to school hair, nails, summer shopping, fucking Tommy, getting appointments out of the way, last minute family trips, so she didn’t really think to check in on him. When she thought about it, Steve was usually the one who did the checking in.

He hadn’t checked in with Tommy, either, apparently. Tommy said that was normal when his parents were in town, but it seemed a pretty dick move to not pick them up. Especially after planning together all summer to show up in style. Whenever she tracked him down, Carol would give Steve a piece of her mind.

---

Tommy Hagan and Carol Perkins were bitching loud enough for half the cafeteria to hear, and Eddie Munson was delighted. It wasn’t every day that karma took a shot at school royalty, and today it had a bazooka.

See, if there was one thing Hawkins High had going for it, it was that its rumor mill was legendary. In the city, no one really cared what anyone else did, but Hawkins was a busybody’s wet dream of small town energy. Naturally, by the time third period let out, everyone in the school knew that Tommy and Carol had walked up to the school well into first period, Carol had dumped coffee on some bimbo named Amy, Tommy H had tripped two freshmen and slammed Jonathan Byers into a locker, and Steve Harrington was MIA.

Ohhoho, trouble in paradise on day one? Say it ain’t so.

Rumors were conflicting on that one. Either Harrington and Hagan were incommunicado after some argument, Harrington was skipping because who wants to spend an entire day reading 6 different class syllabuses (syllabi?), he was studying abroad at some fancy boarding school because his parents decided Hawkins was beneath them, he dropped out, or he got arrested for drunk driving. Eddie’s money was on the DUI. And sure, a Harrington free year might be a little bad for business, but there was always another rich kid and another empty house.

He watched Tommy knock some poor red headed sophomore's lunch tray out of her hand and turned back to the rest of Hellfire. Not his posse, not his problem.

“So, I was thinking we start our next campaign on Thursday...”

---

"Well,” Barb ground out, throwing herself into the seat next to Nancy with a fresh new lunch tray, “Tommy H is being even more of a dick than usual. What do you think his problem is?"

Nancy frowned. "I don't know. Usually Steve stops him before he goes too far."

Barb rolled her eyes. "Ugh, Steve. I hardly think 'come on, man' counts as stopping anyone."

"Well, he does stop, doesn't he?"

Point: Nancy. Barb wrinkled her nose in distaste. Nancy's little crush was honestly gross. Well, okay, maybe it was sweet, and it would be cute if it were on anyone who wasn't a total ass, but seeing as it was on Steve Harrington, anyone could forgive Barb her skepticism.

Nancy, on the other hand, looked happily proven right by Barb's silence, lips pinched in that smug little smile of hers. "Where do you think he is, anyway?"

"Who?"

"You know who."

"Tommy?" Barb asked innocently, eyes alight with mischief.

Nancy shot her an unamused stare.

Barb huffed, shrugging. "He probably just has a different lunch this year." At Nancy's dejected little slouch, she added "But I'll let you know if he ends up in any of my classes?"

Nancy brightened, perking up like a sunflower. "Thanks, Barb."

"Sure, sure, I'm the best, you love me, you can't imagine life without me. Now hurry up and eat your potatoes before they get even soggier."

---

“What do you mean he wasn’t at registration?”

“Geeze, chill, Tammy. I was stuck there all day because mom volunteered. He never showed.”

Robin Buckley nibbled on the end of her pencil, listening in on the hushed conversation of the most beautiful woman in Hawkins High. Tammy Thompson was gesturing wildly, tousled hair falling just so around her eyes. She had blue eyeshadow today and it sparkled like starlight.

“Never- he always shows!”

“Okay, but this time he didn’t. No one’s had him in any of their classes. Maybe he transferred.”

“Transferred?” she cried, perfect face twisted in distress.

“Ms. Thompson,” snapped Mrs. Click, “do you have something to share with the class?”

“Oh, no ma'am. It’s just,” she twisted her hands, “is Steve Harrington on your roster? No one’s seen him today.”

Mrs. Click’s manicured eyebrow arched, but she glanced at her clipboard. No one could be immune to Tammy Thompson. Perfect, sun and starlight Tammy Thompson. Divinity itself Tammy Th- “I’m afraid not. I don’t believe he is attending this year.”

Tammy leaned back in her seat, which was a shame, since she was wearing a very low cut blouse. And sure, she was probably wearing it for that loser Harrington, but could you blame a girl for noticing?

A few of the girls scattered around the room heaved dejected sighs. Robin rolled her eyes. They’d be over him in a week, ready to fawn over some other dumb jock. It had only taken about a week for everyone to get over middle school heartthrob Kennedy Manchester starting a shiny new life with his family in Indianapolis. Jason Carver was pretty popular, maybe he and Hagan could duke it out for the title. Robin could always use a little entertainment.

Chapter Text

Steve didn’t want to open his eyes. Here, bundled under blankets and almost warm, he could just float. If he didn’t open his eyes, he could be tucked into his bed. If he didn’t open his eyes, he could be draped over Tommy’s couch, surrounded by half eaten snacks, throw blanket draped over him.

If he opened his eyes, he’d be awake. If he were awake, he’d be a ghost on on a rusting hospital bed, sweat-damp and aching. If he were awake, his leg would be a mangled mess of flesh with bandages that needed changing. He’d done it twice already, numb to the pain and horror in his fevered haze. Now, fever broken, he was aware. He didn’t want to be aware.

He laid in his cocoon like a petulant child until the voice of his favorite nurse echoed in the room.

Well, I think he likes his classes so far. He and his friends are starting their little AV club again soon, you know how they like to let them settle a bit before clubs start. He’s such a smart boy, my Dusty. So we just need to get you up and out of here so you can help your Hannah pick her clubs, don’t we?

School had started back up?

His parents had come back just about two weeks before school started. By the sound of things, the first week of school was already well underway, which meant he’d been lost to this hell just about three weeks. Had it really been so long?

Had it really been so little?

He sat upright, and wow it was nice to do that without the whole world tilting, even if it sent a shock of pain lancing through his leg. If school had started, people would have to notice he wasn’t there. Would they start looking for him? Had they already been looking for him? Part of him was burning to find out, to see for himself and maybe see if there was a way to reach out somehow. Realistically, even without the fever, Steve could barely stand. He certainly wouldn’t be able to escape anything he might encounter on the way. Besides, he was safe here, with a bed, food, Gatorade, and medical supplies. While he knew he would need to move on eventually, Steve also knew his limitations. He needed to take advantage of the reprieve for as long as it would last.

He set his jaw and reached for the bottle of iodine solution. Time to get to work.

---

Steve’s leg itched.

He was going on day seven or eight in the hospital. It was hard to keep track of time, but he tried to gauge it by when meals were delivered to the scattered patients. He swallowed the last of his antibiotic pills with a swig of more stale Gatorade. That was probably a full course. He wasn’t a doctor, and he really had no idea the dosage he should have been taking, but he figured messing up his stomach was probably better than losing a leg to infection. There were more pill bottles, but he should probably give the leg a bit of time before jumping straight into them.

He was at the point where it was probably safe to start adding ointment to his routine. He probably should’ve done it from the beginning, but at the time, the idea of touching any part of the mass of pain more than necessary had his gut churning and his hands shaking. Honestly, he still got a little queasy every time he needed to change his bandages, but at least skin was starting to grow back in patches. And while Steve knew there was no way to prevent a gnarly scar, he couldn’t afford to lose mobility to stiffness and scar tissue.

Steve had taken to slowly walking the hallways. He wasn’t quite ready to put weight on the leg yet, weaving through the vines with his single crutch. The movement stretched the skin and muscle of his leg painfully, and he might have been moving too soon- how was he supposed to know? He was doing the best he could, but even at his best, he couldn’t just sit still for days. He was restless, and since his invisible roommate had been discharged, Steve’s regular nurse had stopped coming by. She didn’t have a dedicated patient right now, so she constantly moved throughout the hospital at a pace Steve couldn’t match, even if the floor hadn’t been covered in a woven network of definitely-trying-to-kill-him vines.

Steve was pretty sure those vines were the reason the monster kept finding him. Every time he’d grabbed them, moved them, tripped over them, cut them for water, something found him. He couldn’t risk his one safe haven just so he could feel a little less lonely.

Steve had other ways to amuse himself, he supposed. Nurses, it turned out, loved to gossip as much as high school students, so if he hovered near the reception desk, he got to hear all about Merril drunk driving his tractor, the potluck recipe Janice stole from Marge, or the fact that Chief Hopper had royally pissed off the town librarian because.... Ew, he did not need to hear about the Chief’s love life. Gross.

---

It had been twelve(?) days without incident and Steve was getting paranoid.

His leg was still far from healed, but it had stopped leaking puss. He was probably slowing the healing down by not letting it open to scab over properly, but Steve had spent too long watching those spores float around like discolored snow flurries. He was not risking one of those things getting into his leg.

Steve had taken to carrying some supplies with him at all times, tucked neatly into a commandeered first aid tin. He kept the basic emergency supplies, along with the alcohol and iodine, needle and surgical thread, and his thermos. The knife he kept in his jacket pocket.

While Steve knew he was careful, now more than ever, he was never blessed with good luck. Right now, his luck had been uncharacteristically good, which of course meant that something was about to fuck him over.

The universe did not disappoint.

The halls around him burst to life, echoing in a sudden flurry of noise and activity, footsteps pounding and commands overlapping. There was apparently a major crash on the interstate up to Indianapolis, just a few miles outside of Hawkins. It'd been a rush hour pile up, and ambulances came screaming into the unloading zone. He could almost smell the burned rubber from skidding tires, the blood from the invisible gurneys shooting down the corridor. There was a charged energy to the air, and Steve pressed flat against the wall, as if it actually mattered whether he was in the way.

He limped outside to the hub of activity as more ambulances rolled in. Hawkins didn't even have that many; they had to be coming from a town or two over.

The EMTs moved with impressive efficiency. Steve could hear them unloading cargo, their clipped voices exchanging information. This is how lives are saved, he thought.

He was so wrapped in admiration and morbid curiosity that he almost missed the beating sound in the air, thrumming under the siren's echo, still sharp for all the Hellscape distorted it. Would have missed it entirely, had one of the drivers not shut their siren off. In the sudden absence of the distorted wail, Steve heard the new sound, like rolling clouds before a storm.

Insides twisting in anticipation, he searched the distance before spotting a dark ribbon cutting across the sky. It swarmed, moving erratically towards them. A distant screeching carried just beyond the beating, and Steve realized it was the sound of wings.

On today's episode of The Universe Hates Steve Harrington, it turned out there were bats. Surviving in a frigid, desolate wasteland, watching the ground every step, checking every room before entering, and turning at every sound clearly wasn't enough of a challenge. So of course there were bats. Why the fuck not?

Steve set his jaw and turned abruptly back inside. Maybe they’d just fly along on their merry way. But given that everything Steve had encountered so far had been trying its very best to eat him, Steve was not about to take that chance.

He’d hobbled about halfway towards his little safe room when the bay door shattered behind him, a chorus of shrieks piercing the air. Shit.

He wouldn’t make it to the room on time. He pushed himself into a file closet, windowless and cramped, and closed the door as softly behind him as adrenaline allowed. He jammed his crutch behind the handle, rotating it to bar the door. Not that it would probably matter if they decided to get in, but it was something.

Steve wedged himself between two file cabinets and wrapped his arms around his knees, trying to slow his racing pulse by force of will.

The furious sound of wings tore through the halls beyond the door, overpowering the distant flurry of hospital activity reverberating through the halls. Something hit the wall just outside his door with a thump, and Steve jolted. He strained his ears, but it was hard to hear over the chorus of feral cries and the rush of displaced air.

Steve eyed the bandages on his leg with trepidation. The jagged bite had stopped weeping blood and pus, but how healed was it really? Healed enough not to attract attention from the eyeless predators of hell? He set down his tin, pulling out the small bottle of rubbing alcohol and uncapped it. The sharp smell of it pierced through the surgery mask he’d snatched from an OR. Hopefully it might mask the smell of hey-I-probably-taste-delicious he apparently gave off to everything in this wasteland. Or, with Steve Harrington luck, they might like the smell. At this rate, nothing could surprise him anymore.

Though it was likely only a few minutes, it felt like hours before the frenzy subsided. The beating of wings grew distant along with the waning hospital activity in Hawkins itself. Still, Steve hadn’t survived so far by acting recklessly, so he made no move to leave the cramped alcove.

His caution paid off this time, because after the wings had faded beyond hearing and silence had settled like a heavy blanket, Steve heard the familiar dragging sound of long claws. They scraped on broken tile like a chef with a honing rod. Intent. Predatory.

Shit. Fuck. Had he touched any vines? He’d been so careful. Had he forgotten to tie off the bags where he threw his daily bandages? Could it smell past the open rubbing alcohol, through his bandages and scrubs, to his still healing wound? Was it tracking him in other ways he didn’t know? Shit. Shit shit shit. He palmed his little kitchen knife like it would help him stand more of a chance. The monster's arms had at least a foot more reach without the claws. 

Steve heard the sharp sound drag in the opposite direction, towards the ER. Further from him.

What?

He listened, ears straining to catch sound beyond the low rumbling growl.

Jason, will you quit messing with the lights? I’m trying to work.

It’s not me, Shona, it’s the damn wiring again. I’m telling you those guys keep messing it up.

Mmm hmm. They keep messing it up specifically when I need to enter in surgery charts.

It’s not me!

I’ll figure out your secrets, Jason, just you wait.

Could- could the monster smell blood in Hawkins? Was that what had attracted the swarm as well? They had come and gone in torrent of motion, like they were looking for something out of reach. He’d thought it was him- what if it was whatever was on the other side of Hell? If that was true, Steve thought, he’d set up shop in what might be the most dangerous place in all of Hawkins. It was a miracle there hadn’t been any major injuries rushed to the hospital while he was recovering in a fevered delirium.

He couldn’t stay here. Obviously, he wasn’t planning on making a home here, but... Steve's mind wandered to his nest of blankets, piled onto the corroded metal bed. He thought of the voice of his regular nurse, a bright spot of warmth in the cold and the dark, and he smothered a pang of grief. It was stupid. It wasn’t like he could actually miss someone he never interacted with.  It's just… For the first time since realizing this hellscape was real and not just a waking nightmare, he'd felt almost safe. The thought of leaving it all behind left him feeling hollow.

Knees still tucked against him, Steve sat alone in the dark, listening to the echoes of quiet conversation and the rustle of turning pages. He stayed there, leg cramped and spasming, until long after visiting hours ended the halls had gone quiet.

Chapter Text

Steve missed the sun. He pulled his jacket tighter around him, a picture of misery. Scrubs, it turned out, were not very warm, even when doubled up. He probably looked like a blue marshmallow.

He shuffled down Cherry Road, crutch firmly under one arm and first aid tin thudding softly against his leg with every step. It was a slower trek than Steve liked, and the tin was a clunky hindrance, but the supplies were necessary. The crutch definitely dragged his pace down, but it had decent range and could probably be used as a makeshift weapon if he needed it. And though he hated to admit it to himself, walking unassisted still sent pain tearing through his frayed nerve endings, shooting up his leg. He needed to save his energy.

He was slowed even more by frequent stops, navigating twisted vines and scanning the road and sky for movement. Hawkins High grew closer on the horizon, silhouetted in the forever dimmed light of his new existence.

He’d meant to go to his house for warmer clothes, but the idea of the longer journey had his leg aching at just the thought. Worse, with his slow pace, there was a greater chance he’d run into something unpleasant on the way. Steve refused to admit to himself the third reason- he was lonely. The pull to hear just one familiar voice called like a siren’s song.

The schoolgrounds sat in empty silence. Time was distorted here, bleeding around the edges like the melting clocks in the painting hung up in the back of their middle school art room. Without the floating echoes of distant conversation, Steve had no way of knowing it. It could be after school. It could be the middle of the night. It could be the weekend.

Steve made his way inside, the dull sound of his single crutch resounding through the empty halls. Silence was the hit single on the soundtrack of his new life, but it was unnerving in a place normally so full of life. A “WELCOME BACK, TIGERS” sign hung limply across the entryway.

“Good to be back,” he said to no one, stepping over a crumbled section of wall.

It rang hollow.

---

Steve was transferring the contents of his emergency tin into a yellow backpack when sound started filtering through the halls. He’d seen the bright spot of color when digging through a pile of donated backpacks in the principal’s office. Seeing as nothing he’d encountered so far had eyes, Steve figured the shock of color wouldn’t really be an added threat. In a world where everything was blacked with ash and rot, the sunny bag was like a smile, and Steve could really use a reason for one of those.

Principal Murphy’s voice rang by the door, jovial ‘good morning!’ muffled across worlds.

By the time he finished carefully tucking away the last of his rolls of gauze, the chatter of students was gradually growing. Steve felt almost giddy with anticipation. He followed the voices into the halls, letting them wash over him.

‘-wouldn’t believe what Lindsey just told me.’

‘When did you say the album was coming out again?’

‘Did you actually do the homework?’

‘so I said ‘gag me with a spoon,’ right to his face and went over to...’

‘Too early. Need coffee.’

‘I can’t believe Kaminsky is giving a test after a three day weekend.’

Three day… Labor Day? It was already Labor Day? That marked almost a month, he thought with a detached emptiness. Had anyone been able to find clues about what happened to him? It had to be hard to search with no leads, and Steve was pretty sure ‘abducted by walking corpse monster’ would not be high on the list of explanations.

But he’d just heard Tommy’s voice cutting across the hall, so Steve would table that line of thought for later.

‘-said, that locker’s off limits.’ The sound of books hitting the floor. ‘Go pick yourself a different one.’

A chorus of oohs followed what was probably some unfortunate nerd getting a taste of high school hierarchy. Steve found himself wincing in sympathy at the sound of creaking metal, and he could picture a small body pressed up against a far locker.

‘They assigned it to me, I have the tag right he-’

‘Listen, shit for brains. I don’t give a fuck. Find a new locker if you want to keep your face.’

Steve trailed closer. For all the venom in Tommy’s voice, Steve found himself missing it terribly, even though it sounded… different. Cold.

‘Okay. Okay! Put me down.’

‘What was that? Didn’t hear you.’

‘I- I’ll find a new one.’

Something slammed and freshman yelped. Jesus, Tommy. Why wasn’t anyone saying anything?

‘A new what now?’

‘Locker! I’ll find a new locker. Please let go.”

The distant sound of the morning bell was a saving balm. The metal creaked again and something dropped to the floor with a thud.

‘I better not see your face again, freshman.’

Footsteps trailed away, the gathered student body herding to their classes and leaving behind the probably terrified kid. Was it always like this? Did people really just walk on by when Tommy was acting out? One set of footsteps approached instead of fading, and Steve let himself sigh, relieved someone was here to help.

‘Fuckface.’ a girl growled under her breath.

The freshman snorted.

‘Seriously, Gareth, he’s an asshole. Just, like, avoid him, okay? Or find someone to walk with you to class.’

‘No kidding. Ow… Maybe I can find a senior to adopt me.’

‘Whatever keeps you alive in the trenches, huh?’ The sound of rustling cloth, maybe nameless girl was helping the freshman to his feet.

‘Thanks, Robin.’

Assured the freshman was in decent hands, Steve hobbled after Tommy, keeping tabs through the trail of hey!s and squeaks for fear, followed by hurried steps out of the way.

This was all wrong. Tommy had a temper, sure, but not like this. Maybe he lashed out with cruel words often enough. Steve himself had been the recipient of them more times than he could count. But he understood Tommy, understood that his friend lashed out when he was hurting, when he was feeling more than he could handle. In those days, Steve hung close, quick with a nudge or a joke until the furrow in his brow smoothed and tension bled from his shoulders.

But this Tommy? This Tommy was something new. Or maybe he wasn't something so new, but now Steve was around to hear the fallout left in his wake. He wasn't sure which idea bothered him more.

---

Four classes into the day, Steve hadn't heard his name mentioned once. There was the general high school love life gossip, talk about assignments, chatter about some killer Labor Day parties, but no one seemed too concerned about one missing Steve Harrington.

With gnawing dread, he realized that he'd been dragged to this hell four days before registration. With no proof that Steve was meant to be there, people probably assumed... Assumed what? His parents gave a damn? It might make sense for teachers, but everyone in the student body knew about ‘Big House, No Parents’ Steve Harrington. It was right up there with his equally stupid monikers ‘The King’ and ‘The Hair’. They counted on ‘Big House, No Parents’ Steve for every three day vacation. And here they were, coming off of Labor Day weekend with not one whisper of his name.

Which okay he wouldn't lie, felt like his chest had been carved out and stomped on, but it paled in comparison to hovering by Tommy and Carol through lunch without so much as a passing word.

They chatted about... how lame the parties were that weekend. And yeah, Steve didn't expect the world to stop turning just because he wasn't in it anymore, but... Had they really not thought to check on him when he never showed? Never noticed the car in the driveway and wondered? Stopped and said to themselves, ‘hey, Steve hasn’t been by in a while. Maybe we should go make sure he’s not dead.’ Which, granted, he might actually be, but he was pretty sure ghosts couldn’t be mauled, so it was a slightly less likely theory.

Instead, Tommy and Carol commented on nothing, really. Trading insults, listing reasons why different teachers pissed them off, making plans for the next weekend. Plans that did not include missing friends.

They're just at school, Steve justified. They just don't want to make a big deal of things in front of the gossip mill.

His mind filtered back to Tommy's lashing voice, the forbidden locker that was probably Steve’s . Clearly, he’d noticed Steve was gone. He and Carol were Steve’s best friends, of course they’d noticed. But just because they’d noticed, didn’t mean they were looking. As Steve stood alone in the empty cafeteria, the hope he had been holding for some misguided search effort crumbled under the weight of Carol’s laugh.

No one was looking. No one would be, not until his parents came back and tried to find out if he was upholding the family name properly. Normally, the thought would leave him spitting with indignation, but if their constant disapproval meant finally having a shot out of here he’d never complain again. Six weeks, they’d said. He could do that. He only had two more weeks to kill before then, if they didn’t kill him first.

---

“You’re in a good mood today, Chief.”

“I’m in a fantastic mood, Callahan, thanks for noticing.”

Chief Jim Hopper swiped his stapler back from Callahan’s desk, and not even stolen office supplies could dampen his spirits.

“Okay, I’ll bite,” Powell said from his desk, leaning back in his seat. “Why are you in a fantastic mood?”

“Notice anything about this weekend?” Jim asked, dropping the stapler back onto his desk before coming back out. “Anything exciting?”

“Most boring Labor Day of my Goddamn life.”

Jim clapped his hands together. “Exactly!”

“I’m not following,” Callahan said, braver now that Jim wasn’t going to throttle him for the stolen stapler.

“A boring three day weekend? In Hawkins?”

Powell snapped, realization lighting his eyes. “No parties.”

“No parties!” Jim agreed. He made his way to their shared coffee pot. Just because he was well rested didn’t mean his morning had to be flavorless and sad. “Alright, technically, yes, there were parties, but no ragers. No public disturbances. No noise complaints. Just peace.”

“Well I’ll be damned,” Callahan muttered. “You must’ve scared ‘em straight, Chief.”

Jim thought back to the last summer party he’d cleared out, teens scattering into the woods behind Harrington house. He thought about the resignation in the set of the boy’s jaw when they’d been caught and everyone else bolted, the surprise in his eyes when Jim pressed the coffee cup Flo’d forced on him for the busy weekend into his hands. They’d sat on the hood of Jim’s patrol car in silence, Harrington trying to sneak glances at him between sips of his coffee. ‘You’re burning out, kid.’ ‘I know.’ Thought of wanting to ask where are your parents? but instead saying ‘next time you’re bored for the weekend, we could always use some extra help at the station. Just an idea.’ ‘I-’ ‘If not us, find something. You can’t keep this up forever.’ Fingers curling tighter around the cup, a contemplative silence that stretched, a murmured, ‘Okay.’

Now, Jim wasn’t fool enough to think the lesson would stick for good- he’d been a teenager once, too. But a temporary reprieve was better than nothing, and they could all use a break. Good for you, kid.

“You bet I did,” he said aloud, all Police Chief swagger.

Jim would hold onto the awkward little wave Harrington had given as a send off, paper cup loose in his other hand and eyes a little less hollow, would keep it tucked away with the things that got him through the bad days. And it’d be no one’s business but his and Harrington’s.

Chapter Text

Steve was leaning about his peers in fragmented pieces. Little bits of personality slotting together like a forgotten puzzle left to sit and collect dust.

Jonathan Byers had a dry and cutting wit, but he only ever talked in art classes, like photography. He kept to himself, for the most part, but when he talked about his little brother, his voice curled soft sound the edges.

The freshman Steve had encouraged to try out for basketball last year, a sophomore now, was planning to go for it. Steve clung to the reminder that he'd made some impact, however small. He hoped the boy made the team with everything he had.

The kid Tommy had knocked around had found himself a senior to adopt him after all, a noisy fuck named Eddie. Steve knew little about Eddie, aside from Hawkins High's worst kept secret that he dealt. Well, and that people called him a freak. But hearing his easy voice, a constant escort beside the freshman, consistently reprimand for being late to his own classes because of it, Steve thought they all may have misjudged him.

Barbara Holland was a treasure trove of sardonic humor. He'd never paid her much more attention than labeling her 'Nancy's Friend,' which was a shame because it turned out she was a hilarious master of observational comedy. She and another girl, Steve thought maybe the same one who helped the freshman earlier, narrated the many idiosyncrasies of their teachers and peers. They were pretty spot on with some of the sophomore teachers, actually. The girl – Robin- did an impression of Kaminsky that left him wheezing with laughter.

Nancy Wheeler wasn’t just beautiful, she was driven. Motivated in a way Steve’s parents only dreamed he could be, Nancy was a force of nature. He remembered Carol complaining about how many questions she asked in class, but as a ghost on the wall, Steve could hear that they were good questions. She kept a study calendar- Steve could hear her muttering dates along with the scratch of pencil over paper, and she freely included anyone who felt like they were falling behind.

Arcade Keith was… well, okay, he was weird. He made off comments about girls in every grade, and disparaging ones about almost every guy in the room. He was smart, sure, but, well. Steve couldn’t magically like everyone.

He tried not to creep around his ex, Laurie, but curiosity was a temptress. They’d had a detached, easy relationship. Bright eyed sophomores walking to class together, stolen kisses under the bleachers, frequent dates to get out of the house. She was pretty and actually listened, so it was only a matter of time before Steve got invested. It just turned out Laurie didn’t want invested. It wasn’t really a bad breakup or anything, but he’d still gotten drunk off of self pity and cheap beer afterwards. ...And hooked up with Becky. Not one of his better moments.

Still, listening to Laurie chat about visiting her big sister in Indy and their plans to open a bakery once she graduated, Steve realized he never really knew her at all. He hoped she’d get there one day. Promised himself if he made it out of this place that he’d be her biggest advocate- he could probably convince coach a bake sale would be a great fundraiser.

Heather Holloway tutored after school. She was great at it, all patience and warm encouragement. They'd always got on well- she was a fiercely competitive swimmer, and she was damn good- but this was a softer side he’d never known. Steve wondered if she tried to hide it or if he’d just never bothered to notice.

Steve collected those little puzzles- memorized hums on the way to class, reads out loud, doesn’t like pickles, wants to be an actress, plays nerd games, loves animals, parents beat him. He cataloged the name of that last sophomore, carved it onto his heart. If Steve ever saw the sun again, Patrick McKinney wouldn’t spend another damn night in that house.

---

The first time Steve heard someone say his name, he had to bite down on his fist through his grimy mask to silence the ugly, heaving sobs that shook his frame.

The girl from earlier, Robin, Barb’s friend who’d helped the freshman, played the trumpet. Steve sat on top of a dilapidated upright piano in the band room, cleaning and re-bandaging his leg again. It was still gruesome, the flesh rigid and pink, but his stomach had stopped churning at the sight of it. In the two nights he’d camped out at school, it had finally started to scab. He was tucking his supplies back into the yellow backpack when he heard it.

‘Ugh, he’s so cocky. He’s even worse than Steve Harrington, gross.’

He couldn’t really see anyone, but when the girl said his name, he could imagine she rolled her eyes, maybe her whole nose crinkled. And Steve thought maybe he loved her, just a little, for caring he existed enough to dislike him.

He felt his throat constrict, and the room blurred. The reminder that he’d once been a part of this world, this life passing him by, hit like a gut punch. He hadn’t realized what not having a name anymore could do to a person. It was like he’d been completely erased. The reminder that some part of him still remained after all… Yeah, he cried. Steve figured being trapped in hell gave a little leeway to be emotional.

His sobs had tapered off into scattered hiccups by the time the bell rang. Steve stayed on the piano, sapped of energy. He was touched that he was enough of a fixture to be part of someone’s casual conversation, but heavy with the knowledge that to the people he needed, he was still an afterthought. Steve smothered that line of thinking as the next class filtered in and listened to the god awful warm-up of freshmen violins.

---

The fact that his Capri-Sun didn’t taste like shit was a little concerning. Steve wondered how much actual juice the drink contained, if the pouch hadn’t fermented into molasses like everything else. But seeing as the only other drink carried by the school cafeteria was boxed milk, and there was no way Steve was ever opening a refrigerator in this nightmare land ever again, Capri-Sun would have to do.

It didn’t satisfy much, and his mouth still felt like he was chewing cotton for gum, but it was better than nothing. It helped keep him on his feet while he did laps around the gym, crutch leaned against the bleachers.

If Steve had learned anything so far, it was that he could only stay in one place so long. He’d have to move on soon, and if he kept relying on his crutch, he wouldn’t be able to move when it really counted.

Steve grit his teeth, having to slide his full weight onto his bad leg to step over a raised vine. Pain flared under the skin, sharp and seizing. Any athlete knew improvement didn’t come without pain, but Jesus Christ this was another level. Suck it up, Harrington. Getting eaten will hurt a hell of a lot worse.

After about an hour, though, he was well beyond the sucking it up threshold. Sweat damp and aching, he sprawled on a vineless section of bleachers, leg propped up as best he could manage. He tugged a stolen notebook out of his bag, flipping past chem notes until he reached a blank page.

He had probably a week and a half until his parents made it back. As careful as he was being, Steve was pushing his luck staying at school more than a few days- he’d probably need to move at least two more times before then, maybe three. He scrawled a frankly hideous and probably inaccurate map of town on the page. It was patchy and missing most landmarks, but he marked places he’d explored: Benny’s, his house and the surrounding ones, Tommy’s, pockets of woods, a line of houses up Cornwallis, stopping at nurse-mom and Dusty’s place, the hospital, the school. He added in a few other places close by, the church across the street, the station, a couple stores.

His best bet would be to head over to the northwest part of town and recover a little more there, and he marked the corner of his crude map with a circle. If he could manage to walk well enough, he could lure the creatures there. It would be a risk, but it would also leave him more time to linger once his parents arrived. Time had likely erased any evidence of struggle outside his driveway, so when they reported him missing, there would be nothing for the police to go on. He only had one chance to get a message through to them… somehow.

---

Steve made two stops on the way north. The first sent him tumbling through the busted window of a decrepit boutique in the strip mall next to the Radio Shack. He managed to find some clearanced winter clothes hiding amidst the summery florals and was quick to swap out his scrubs. The colors did not go together, mauve turtleneck paired with a bold geometric sweater in navy and hot pink. Vanity had him searching a little longer, but it was still technically summer. Jeans were for every season, but he was lucky to find anything with long sleeves. He completed the look with a scarf in a saturated emerald green, Carol’s favorite color, wrapping it around his nose and mouth in place of his ruined hospital mask. He wasn’t able to find shoes his size, which was a shame. The punctures in his ruined one left little room for warmth. He’d have to deal until he could make it back home.

Steve’s second stop had him creeping through the shattered bay door of the hospital at a snail’s pace. He grabbed some fresh bandages, shoving them hurriedly into his backpack as soon as he made it back to his former hideaway. He snagged the last two remaining Gatorade cans from his stockpile and set sights on what he’d actually come here for. Tied off bag of bandages in hand, he forced himself not to linger.

---

He passed three days in a nondescript house at the intersection of Gloucester and Maple, making use of some stay-at-home mom’s home gym. Most of the equipment was inoperable with rust, but a few weights were accessible. It felt good to do some activity that wasn’t painfully retraining himself to walk or running for his life. The familiar burn was a welcome hurt, one he chose. And, if his plan didn’t work out, he’d need all the strength he could get.

---

The house Steve picked for his next stop was dripping in yellow. The walls of near every room, those not lost to the discoloration and decay, were a fading whisper of yellow, and Steve knew the color must be truly saturated in Hawkins proper. It was garish, but homey.

The kitchen was a mess of clutter, loose coupons, scraps of stationary, an open and molding loaf of Wonder bread, children’s drawings pinned to the fridge with magnets. Plates sat circled on a small table opposite the kitchen, waiting for a shared family meal. Steve felt like an intruder. There was a closeness that bled through to even this hell, tangible in a way the white walls and dated wallpaper of his own house would never be.

The vines were thinner on Maple, all the way at the north end of Hawkins, and Steve was grateful he had open access to the couch- while an actual bed would be nice, the thought of stairs was too daunting for even him. It meant this stop wouldn’t quite work with his plan, but Steve needed to move a few more times before he tried it anyway, so he figured it would be alright.

Sometime in the late afternoon, the family of the house swarmed through the door in a tornado of noise.

‘-are not watching The Last Unicorn again!’

‘Uh, yes we are. It’s my turn to pick, butthead, and I pick unicorns.’

‘This is the third time! Mom! Can we please put a limit on repeat viewings?’

‘Remind me again how many times you’ve rented Star Wars again, nerd?’

‘Mom!’

‘Lucas, honey, it is Erica’s turn. We can discuss limiting repeat movies after tonight, but we can’t take away her choice now. Settle in for some unicorns.’

‘Daaaad,’ the boy whined, clearly getting nowhere with his mother.

‘I support your mother,’ the father responded without hesitation, amusement pitched in his tone. His voice had an easy way about it, and his footsteps moved toward the kitchen. ‘Come help me make some popcorn, son.’ In a stage whisper, he added, ‘We can give Erica all the burnt kernels.’

‘Hey!’

‘Oh leave the boys to it. Erica. We’ll take all the pillows.’

‘If I get one burnt kernel,’ the girl raised her voice, presumably shouting to her brother and father in the kitchen, ‘I'm taking Lucas’s room.’

The whole affair was so full of life. The family all congregated in their living room, probably piled onto the couch and large armchair beside it. Steve perched himself on the arm of the couch. The thought of someone sitting in the same place as him like a watermark made him feel too much like a spirit haunting the place. He was pretty sure he might actually be haunting the place, because the kids kept complaining about the lights flickering. At one point, the TV shorted out, Lucas trying to convince his sister it was the movie’s doing in a series of lightheaded jabs. Young Erica gave as good as she got- better, if Steve were being honest- and they continued bickering off and on throughout the movie. Still, for all his complaining, when the movie ended and Erica begged to watch it again, Lucas was awfully quick to make another batch of popcorn.

---

A day or two before Steve’s parents were due back, Steve hiked out to Skull Rock. The uneven terrain was harder to traverse, but he couldn’t in good conscience lure every bloodthirsty creature for miles into a residential neighborhood. Not if there was a chance those claws could pluck another child from a home that would actually miss them.

Trembling with nerves, Steve unsheathed his little kitchen knife and cut open the sealed contractor bag. Bloody cotton swabs and strips of his torn up shirt tumbled onto the ground, and he was hit with the cloying scent of blood and decay. Seeing the rust colored fabric, Steve was struck by the sheer volume of blood he must have lost. How was he still alive?

Feeling his chest tighten and pinpricks licking his fingertips, he shook his head and forced himself to look away. He needed to hurry. He seized a cluster of vines stretching underneath Skull Rock. They shifted in his grip, pulsing like a living thing. He steeled himself and sliced.

It was honestly a pretty anticlimactic affair. For all the vines felt alive, there was no screech of sound, no change in the air- they barely even moved once he dropped them. Steve liked to think he’d learned his lesson by this point, though, and he pushed himself away. He moved away as quickly as he could manage, pushing past the ache of stiff skin and strained muscles.

He’d probably made it about half a mile out before he heard the frenzied beat of wings and cries pierced the still air. He tucked himself under the largest branch he could find, gripped his knife, and held his breath, praying for them to pass. Miraculously, they did, the sound continuing overhead towards Skull Rock.

It worked.

Holy shit, it worked!

Steve only allowed himself a moment of awe, because obviously, the bats were the fastest thing here, but what followed wouldn’t be far behind.

Knife in a white knuckled grip, Steve continued his long hike through the woods and across town. He kept to the woods as long as he was able, willfully ignoring the braying echoing through the trees along the way.

His leg was a spear agony by the time he hit developed land, ducking between buildings and under awnings at every sound. His backpack felt like a lead weight, and sweat soaked his clothes and his hair, making them cling to his skin. He knew it had been hours- for as hard as he was pushing himself, the frequent stops did no favors, and he was probably moving at half the speed a healthy person could. His kitchen knife never left his grip. Somewhere along the trip in an effort to stave off a wave of panic at the sound of howls in the distance, he’d decided to name her Jolene. He blamed it on Nicole, who’d been humming it in the halls for days while he haunted the school. Jolene held tight, Steve didn’t breathe properly until his driveway was in sight, rusty Beemer taking shape from a distant spec on the horizon.

Soon enough, he was closing his front door behind him, wide eyed and huffing with exertion.

He was alive.

He was home.

In a haze, Steve stepped over the vines crisscrossing the floor and into his living room. The couch was lost to them, but the loveseat was alright. He crossed the room, fingers still curled around Jolene like a vice, and dropped into it.

It worked.

The monsters were distracted, at least for a little while. His parents would be home in a day, maybe two. They’d have to notice the car in the driveway and the son who didn’t accompany it. And maybe, once people were looking, they’d find out what happened. Find a way to reach him.

Holy shit.

In the rush of fading adrenaline and frayed nerves, Steve threw his head back and laughed.

Chapter Text

Two days later than promised, Steve’s parents came home. He’d tracked the days as best he could, holding onto the promise made on once-lilac stationary, now brown with grime and his blood. But today, finally today, he heard the rumble of his dad’s Lincoln pulling into the driveway, presumably next to his BMW.

Six weeks. Six weeks. Six weeks of running, six weeks of hiding, six weeks of survive, survive, survive. Finally about to come to an end. Finally, his parents would have to notice, if even just the dust coating the counters and the food rotten in the fridge.

Steve hovered by the door like a pathetic housepet. He could feel his heartbeat in this throat.

The lock clicked.

He wiped his palms on his jeans.

The door creaked open.

Steve ran his fingers through his hair, trying to tame it. Though it hadn’t really grown more than half an inch since he’d been here, it was unfortunately nowhere near presentable. A manic laugh bubbled in his throat. No one could see him or his hair. Even if they could, his hair was the least of his worries. Even with a fresh change of clothes, he was still layered in soot, spores, and dried blood.

‘Because, Ronald,’ his mother’s voice cut through the silence, slashing and full of ire, and God if it wasn’t the most beautiful sound he’d heard in weeks, ‘if you had budgeted your time properly, then we would have been respectably early for dinner instead of-’

‘Just go get dressed, Eveley, or it won’t be my fault we’re late.’ Ronald Harrington followed his wife closely into the house, and Steve could hear the rolling suitcases behind them. Steve’s whole body sagged with relief- if they were bringing in their suitcases, they were staying long enough to do laundry, maybe even unpack, maybe even-

‘Of course, nothing is ever your fault.’ Her voice rounded past him, the clipped echo of her heels dancing in the air around him.

“Mom,” he tried, wincing at the sound of his voice.

‘Get dressed,’ his dad said over him. ‘We leave in twenty.’

‘Twenty?’ his mother was already up the stairs, clearly paying no mind to the silent house, despite the car in the driveway. ‘I can’t possibly be ready by then.’

‘Then you’ll be taking a cab,’ his dad growled, fighting with suitcase and stairs.

“Dad.” Steve followed after him, forcing most of his weight on the hand rail.

The man swore, suitcase thumping onto the upstairs landing after him.

“Dad. Hey!”

Footsteps carried into the master bedroom, and Steve paused at the threshold. The last time he’d been allowed into the master bedroom at the same time as his parents, he’d been small enough to slot between them on a full sized mattress. Back when they’d lived on Old Cherry, before some business investment paid off and they’d suddenly become the richest family in Hawkins. Before the Harringtons bought the biggest house on the market and ran to Europe to pretend luxury was a life they were born into. Before they left behind anything that reminded them otherwise, including old friends and scabby kneed progeny, and never looked back.

Steve took a deep breath and stepped over a tangle of vines and into the room.

The only indication it was occupied was the sound of rustling cloth from the closet. His parents, tired of each other’s company, got ready in silence. Steve spent the entire time trying to grab their attention- calling them, knocking on walls, jiggling clothes hangers.

Thirty-five minutes of stifling silence later, they both left together.

It was okay that they went out, Steve told himself. They’d be back. They were clearly planning to stay the night. They would notice their son wasn’t home, even if his car was. They’d at least notice the dust, wouldn’t they? Was six weeks enough time for dust to layer?

By the time they came home, uneven footsteps signaling they were well beyond buzzed, the sounds of the neighborhood had long faded to silence. The Harringtons tumbled into their room together, Eveley laughing something sharp and with teeth. Steve did not really feel like listening to what he was pretty sure was coming next, so he dragged himself to his room and passed the night counting the stripes on his wall.

---

The next morning, the Harringtons went out to brunch.

Steve woke to the sound of voices in the hall with a stiff neck and sore back. He’d fallen asleep upright sometime during the night, head lolling to the side.

‘-akfast?’

‘Does it smell like there’s any breakfast?’

Steve pushed himself to his feet, meeting the voices in the hall. He was usually the one to make breakfast in the morning while his dad read the paper. Sometimes, Steve would force himself up early enough to struggle through the pages beforehand, and they’d be able to carry a decent conversation while he scrambled eggs. It was an after-trip tradition.

His dad huffed. ‘Fine, I’ll make coffee.’

Steve pulled his swapped out jacket tighter around himself and limped down the stairs after him, zigzagging past the trailing vines on the way down. The kitchen, like everything, was still a decaying tangle of vine and drywall. Steve brushed some floating spores from the air and tried calling for his dad again. It was a pretty useless attempt- it was obvious no one could hear him. He’d have to keep trying to find other methods, and in the meantime, rely on them noticing.

It couldn’t be long now, before the pieces started slotting together. The car in the driveway, the quiet house, the lack of breakfast and ready-made coffee, the money they left in August still on the counter...

Steps echoed through the kitchen, and Steve heard the faint hiss of the coffee machine. He swallowed compulsively. What he wouldn’t give for a cup of coffee, the warmth of the mug in his hands.

A sound of visceral disgust cut through his thoughts, his dad swearing loudly before Steve heard the slamming of the refrigerator door. The food! What felt like a lifetime ago, Steve had prepped for the dinner he’d planned on making. He’d carefully prepped steak in a marinade of diced vegetables and garlic, herbs and spices, red wine and brandy. While steak could marinate for a few days, six weeks was definitely going to be noticeably rancid.

‘That boy,’ Ronald Harrington snapped, footsteps storming out into the living room,‘never does anything.’

Wait.

‘Hm?’

‘We’re going out to eat.’

What?

‘Are we? I thought we were eating here.’

No.

‘We’re going out. Let’s go.’

Stop.

His mother sighed, and Steve heard her legs sliding off the couch. ‘Let me get my purse.’

No, no, no. “Mom. Dad. Wait.” Steve hated the way his voice cracked on the word, and he smothered a wave of self loathing. Later, Steve.

‘Get the number of your cleaners,’ Ronald called after her.

‘Coming, coming. Why do you need it?’

‘Because this place is a sty. I told you, the boy needs to learn responsibility.’

“Dad, no. Dad. Dad, stop. I’m not… Jesus, I’m not slacking, I- Dad.” When had the house ever been anything less than spotless when they’d come home? When had Steve ever been anywhere other than at the door waiting for them if his car was in the driveway?

His mom walked back into the room, steps a sharp staccato. ‘I’ve called them. They’ll be here at eleven. They have a key.’

‘It’ll come out of his allowance.’

She sighed. ‘Just freeze his card when we get back, Ronald. Can we go now? I’m famished.’

Steve stood in the kitchen doorway, staring after their voices in mute horror, unable to bring himself to move when their steps faded out the front door.

They didn’t return until long after the sounds of the hired cleaners had tapered into silence and the sky was the color of blood.

---

A day passed. His mother invited some ladies over to socialize with too much wine. His father spent the whole time on the phone, spitting curses at whoever was on the other line.

Another day passed, and Steve wasn’t proud of it, but he begged. He shouted and shook the furniture until the lamp by the couch shattered. His father called the power company to demand reimbursement.

Another day passed. His mom did her laundry and repacked her suitcase in what he knew would be crisp, neat rolls.

When the door closed behind them the following morning, after the sound of his mom’s heels carried down the driveway and their car was long gone, Steve could only blame himself for thinking they would do anything different.

---

Tommy walked down the street, arm tossed comfortably over Carol’s shoulder. It was Friday night, and they had some time to kill before their movie. They’d debated on seeing the sequel to Enter the Ninja, but decided against it, leaving unspoken the fact that Steve fucking loved that movie, and seeing the next one without him felt like a betrayal. Whatever, they’d just pick something to ignore- there were plenty of other things to do in a dark room.

They were walking past Enzo’s when Carol stopped abruptly, staring through the window.

“Babe, what are you doing? Come on.”

Carol pressed her face to the glass, eyes narrowed.

“Carol.” Was this her way of hinting she wanted nicer dates? Because Tommy was just in high school, Enzo’s was one, boring, and two, expensive as shit.

“It’s the Harringtons,” she said, still peering through the window.

What? Tommy cupped his eyes to the window, peeking in. Sure enough, Ronald and Eveley Harrington sat in all their finery, jewels glittering on Mrs. Harrington’s neck. Their wine glasses were already near drained, and the bottle sat on the table, waiting to be consumed. “Fuck me, it is them.”

“Table’s set for two- ew, they’re on a date,” Carol said, flipping off the posh waiter glowering at them from the host stand.

“We should congratulate them on a safe trip,” Tommy said, rocking back from the window. He turned to the door and tugged it open.

“Are you insane? I’m movie ready, not Enzo ready!”

Tommy ignored her and marched right by the prissy maitre d’, marching himself all the way to the Harrington’s table. “Hey there, Mr. and Mrs. Harrington, welcome back.”

“Mr. Hagan.” Mr. Harrington's upper lip curled in contempt, and he somehow managed to look down on him despite the fact that he was sitting and Tommy was standing. Man, Tommy fucking hated his guts. “You are under dressed.”

“Have a nice family trip?” he pressed, ignoring the disgruntled stares from other patrons.

“Yes, it was lovely,” answered Mrs. Harrington, teeth flashing white in a sharp smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Just get back?”

“About four days ago.”

“Good, great.” Four? What the hell, Steve? Four fucking days and you couldn’t be bothered to call? “Listen, is Steve around?”

“Obviously not,” Mr. Harrington huffed and gestured to their table set for two.

“I'm sure he's around, Thomas.” Mrs. Harrington said, laying a hand on her husband's forearm before looking up to Tommy. “If Steven hasn't reached out to you, he has probably chosen to spend his time elsewhere and with other company. Now if you don't mind, that's our waiter coming by with more wine. It was lovely to see you.”

Tommy’s brain shorted out somewhere, because next thing he knew, he was back outside, Carol tugging on the sleeves of his jacket.

“-mmy. Tommy!”

He blinked.

“What did they say? Hey! Tommy, I swear to God-”

“He ditched us,” Tommy answered, numb.

Carol sucked in a breath.

“He fucking ditched us.”

She waited, uncharacteristically silent, for him to continue.

“They’ve been back four days,” he continued, betrayal curling hot in his stomach, twisting into something unpleasant and dark, “and he hasn’t said a damn thing.”

Carol glanced at the Harringtons through the window, laughing their fake laughs over their wine.

“Lets just go.”

“What?”

“Let’s go.” Fuck them. “We’ve got a movie to watch.”

She shot him pointed looks the whole way to the movies, and he was pretty sure she was seconds from chewing his head off, but for the life of him, he didn’t know why. He didn’t ditch anyone. That was all Steve.

He marched up to the ticket stand, shoving some nerd in line out of the way.

“Three for-” Fuck. Fuck. “Sorry, two for Revenge of the Ninja.”

Carol, huffing by his side, twisted to look at him, surprised.

Tommy ignored her, eyes hard, and tried to rip away the memories of Steve climbing on every wall he could, ‘like a ninja, man’. He handed over his ID and cash, pocketed the offered tickets, and tried to steer Carol away. She was frowning at him, eyebrows creasing down the middle.

Wordlessly, Tommy handed her a ticket and walked into the theater. They were going to watch ninjas on their own.

Fuck you, Steve.

---

“Tommy, the door!” Tommy’s mom shouted at him, like he couldn’t fucking hear it.

“You’re closer!”

“Tommy, the door. Now!”

Tommy stomped out of the kitchen and threw the door open. If it were some fucking salesman he was going to punch them in their ugly fucking-

Carol. And… Nicole?

“What the hell are you guys doing here?” he snapped. Carol knew better than to come after him when he was pissed. And boy was he pissed. Friday’s movie did nothing to make things better- if anything, they only fueled his desire to break everything in sight. Tommy kept turning to grin at Steve at some cool action sequence the whole fucking time, and he was so fed up with it all that by the time the movie ended and his mom picked them up, Tommy was ready to smash all the windows of their car.

He shut himself in his room the entire next day, avoiding calls from Carol who should know better. He glowered at her, and she glowered right back. “I’m not in the mood, Carol,” he said, closing the door.

Nicole’s foot jammed in the doorway, and Carol seized his wrist in a vice.

“Carol, what the fuck?

“Tommy, language!” his mom called halfheartedly from inside.

Her fingers tightened on his sleeve, and Carol yanked. “I’m so fucking done with both of you. Come on.”

“Carol, what?”

“We’re going to Steve's.” Nicole said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Carol called me for a ride. Come on.”

“What? No.”

Carol pulled, undeterred. “I am so sick of your shit, Tommy. Whatever this little bitchfest is, you two are going to sort it out.”

“I’m telling you, Stevie boy’s too good for us now, Carol, and we don’t need him. Quit it.”

“Okay,” Nicole said, climbing into her car, “so we go over. If they’re still home, we drag him out by the ear. And if he left again without saying goodbye, then at least you’ll know, right?”

Except Tommy didn’t want to know.

Underneath the churning betrayal, Tommy feared he’d pushed one time too many. Their worst fight over the summer a memory he tried to bury. Steve’d acted like he was over it- hanging out at the pool, the arcade, grabbing milkshakes after, but… What if he really was done with them? What if Tommy’s last stupid words to him really had pushed him over the edge? Tommy… really didn’t want to find out.

Carol shoved him into the car, and Tommy went.

And in no time, they were idling on Steve’s driveway next to his Beemer, the Harrington’s Lincoln nowhere in sight. The Beemer glistened in the sun, looking freshly waxed. Of-fucking-course it was. She was Steve’s baby- he’d definitely be making sure she was spotless on a visit back home.

Carol was already knocking on the door before Tommy managed to peel himself out of Nicole’s backseat.

No one answered. Either Steve wasn’t home, or he was in there, ignoring them.

Tommy marched up and joined her, pounding on the door so hard he felt his knuckles bruise. When no one answered again, he jammed his hand into his pocket, grabbing the spare key Steve’d made him. Fuck this.

“You missed 'em by about a day,” someone called. Tommy whipped around to see the neighbor’s gardener leaning against their mailbox.

“What?”

“The Harringtons. Left ‘bout a day ago. They were having electrical problems, I think. Lights were on and off all week. Finally stopped last night, though. Funny, they coulda just ridden it out.”

Tommy nodded, trying hard to look like he gave a fuck. “Steve with 'em?”

“Come again?”

“Steve?” Carol called over. “Was he with them?”

“Oh, their boy. Maybe so. Someone was loading their bags up the other day. That's usually him that does it, innit?”

Of course it was- suck up little bitch. Looks like he was finally getting his wish after all.

“He really left?” Carol asked next to him, face pinched.

“’fraid so, little lady. They peeled outta here bright an’ early yesterday. Prolly won’t be back again for another month or two.”

Tommy nodded and shuffled back into Nicole’s car, Carol hot on his heels.

“Well,” Nicole said, voice soft as she backed out of the driveway, “now you know.”

“Yeah,” Tommy muttered, fist curled around Steve’s house key. Now he knew. He wished he didn’t.

---

Steve was hanging on by a frayed thread by the time he shuffled into Tommy’s house again. He always found himself here, when his parents crushed what little flames of hope he tried to nurture. Tommy was right. He always was, when it came to them. Steve just… never listened.

He hovered by Tommy’s couch, tracking mud on the decaying floor and trying to figure out a way to communicate something to his only friend in the world. His parents were never going to notice anything, but maybe… Tommy might. Hell, even Carol might. Mr. and Mrs. Hagan tended to go out on weekends, so she was usually over.

He turned out to have guessed right. He could pick out their voices, talking quietly to each other. They weren’t usually the sort for long silences and quiet conversations, but what did Steve know? He heard a long drag and an exhale. Oh. That explained it, then.

Steve couldn’t see it, but he knew from memory that Carol probably had her feet up in Tommy’s lap, head hanging off the couch, smoke curling around her lips as she said, ‘Hey, Tommy?’

Tommy hummed, probably a little further gone than he should have been this early on a Sunday night.

‘What do you think happened to Steve?’

Steve’s breath felt stuck in his throat; his eyes stung. It had taken seven weeks. After seven weeks, maybe someone was finally-

‘Fuck if I know.’ There was a long exhale- yeah, he was definitely smoking alright. Unbothered. ‘Either mommy and daddy Harrington decided to give a shit and take him with them for a change, or he decided to drop out or drop dead.’

Steve could hear him shrug, like he and Steve hadn’t spent the summer together making plans for which college they’d get into when they finally got scouted. Like he hadn’t cried into a tub of melting vanilla ice cream in Steve’s kitchen the first time Carol had dumped him. Like they hadn’t wrapped each other’s bruises the first time Hopper called their parents about the lukewarm beers they’d snuck into the Snow Ball, back when they were kids trying to impress anyone who would blink in their direction. Like he hadn’t just dismissed nine years of what Steve had thought was friendship. ‘Not like it matters one way or another.’

Carol took another drag and held it. And Steve knew they didn’t have an overly intimate relationship, but he’d be lying if he pretended what she said next didn’t gut him. ‘Maybe you’ll have a shot for team captain now.’

‘Yeah, maybe.’

Steve never saw her red-rimmed eyes sliding over Tommy’s face before ghosting back to the ceiling, never heard Tommy’s choked sob, warring grief and betrayal. By the time Tommy’s shoulders slumped in on themselves and Carol’s hand gripped his, shaking and white knuckled, Steve had already fled.

Chapter Text

Steve sat at the edge of Sattler Quarry, feet dangling over the edge, watching spores float in the frigid air. The chill pushed through his bones, biting and cold, but Steve was already numb. He hadn’t had anything to drink in two days, and the bandages on his leg needed changing. Steve wasn’t sure he cared anymore.

He knew he needed water- could feel the swelling in his tongue, how sluggish his movements were getting. Knew he needed to clean his leg, rub ointment into the cracking mess of scabs to keep them from breaking open, but...

What was the point?

What was the fucking point?

In the darkness of this hell, Steve couldn’t make out the bottom of the quarry. Without the water, the rock jutted further than it did in Hawkins, walls tapering off into shadow. Spores drifted around him like snowfall, fluttering over the edge. He wondered how long a fall it would be, if he joined them. He just needed to muster the energy for one push.

It would hurt less than being eaten.

It would hurt less than being forgotten.

The rumbling of a truck engine cut through the stillness, breaks scratching before it cut off. Steve heard a door thump open, boots hitting ground.

‘Sittin’ a little close there,’ came the familiar voice of Chief Hopper.

Steve blinked, brow furrowing.

Someone hummed on Steve’s right, and he startled. How long had someone been there, just out of reach?

‘Hi, Hopper.’

Jonathan Byers? What was he doing out here?

‘Why don’t you come back this way a little, kid?’ There was an uncharacteristic wariness in the Chief’s voice.

Steve’s heart lurched. Oh, no. No. Why was Byers here? He had a family. A real one. A mom who actually cared enough to show up to school events. A little brother he adored.

“Byers,” Steve plead to no one, grief hollowing out his chest. “Listen, man. Don’t. Don’t.” He could hear the faint rustle of fabric tugged by movement or maybe the wind, picture the quiet boy teetering on the edge. “You can’t-” Frustrated tears pricked his eyes, and Steve had never felt more powerless, never wanted to reach through worlds more than this moment.

‘Oh. Uh. It’s not what it looks like.’

The Chief gave a disbelieving huff, and to Steve, it sounded high and on the edge of hysteria. Steve could get that, because it sounded like Jonathan Byers was right on the edge of the quarry, and that could only mean one thing. Steve ignored the fact that he was also on the edge of the quarry, and what that said about him.

‘No, really. I’m just taking pictures. It’s almost sunset.’

The Chief breathed out in a whoosh of air, and Steve felt himself do the same. ‘Jesus Christ, could you maybe not take pictures with your feet hanging over the ledge?’

Steve could relate. His heart was still pounding. He raked a hand through his matted hair, still trembling with anxiety. Thank God. Thank God.

‘Sorry,’ said Byers, sounding not at all sorry. Steve wanted to punch him.

‘Christ,’ Chief Hopper muttered again. ‘Just… scoot back a bit for an old man’s peace of mind.’

‘You’re the same age as my mom, Chief.’

‘I know better than to respond to that.’

Byers laughed, and Steve heard his feet sliding back up over the ledge before something scraped the floor, probably him scooting back.

Steve heard the Chief let out another shaking sigh, shifting on his feet. ‘Gotta say, when I got a call about a kid on the edge, never pictured it’d be you I’d find.’

‘No?’

‘You never know, these days. Christ, you damn near gave me a heart attack, that’s for sure.’

The Chief’s steps approached, and Steve heard him sit, joining Byers and Steve’s ghost on the stones. A companionable silence settled, broken only occasionally by the sound of Jonathan’s camera.

Finally Byers asked, with forced nonchalance, ‘So, who were you expecting?’

‘What makes you think I had someone in mind?’

‘Just a feeling. Anyone I’d know?’

‘You know I can’t tell you that.’

‘Worth a shot.’

The Chief was silent, save for a grunt of acknowledgment.

‘… Someone I should be keeping an eye out for?’

‘Not gettin’ a word outta me, kid, quit pushing. Jesus, you’re just like your mother.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Wasn’t a compliment.’

‘I think it was.’

The Chief grumbled.

Steve was fascinated.

Byers was playing the long game.

After another stretch, it was the Chief who broke the stillness. ‘You come out here a lot? To take pictures?’

The rustle of cloth- Byers probably shrugged. ‘It’s peaceful.’

‘You’ve never seen anyone else out here, have you? Sittin’ on the edge?’ There was a quiet urgency to the chief’s voice.

‘This close? Nah, just me.’ A pause. ‘You’re worried about someone in particular.’

‘Wouldn’t say that.’

A shutter clicked. Silence.

‘Just a feeling,’ the man murmured, an echo of Byer’s earlier words.

More silence. Byers was a genius. Steve, whose pulse was still fluttering with the last dregs of his earlier anxiety, figured the Chief was probably feeling the same way. That itch bubbling under the skin. Byers probably knew it too.

‘It’s been... quiet, is all. It’s probably nothing.’

Jonathan hummed.

‘Believe it or not, I do actually give a damn about you kids,’ Chief Hopper trailed off, but in the stretched silence, added to himself,‘and he’s not usually this quiet.’

A shutter clicked. ‘So it’s a him.’

Steve caught the Chief’s muttered shit under his breath and snorted a laugh. It wasn’t funny, nothing about this topic could ever be funny, but Steve had to respect Byers.

Jonathan seemed to agree that it wasn’t that fun after all. Sobered, he continued, ‘I don’t come up here too often, but I really haven’t seen anyone else.’

Chief Hopper groaned, sounding very much done with this conversation. ‘Well for the sake of this not-that-old man, let me give you a ride home so I don’t have an aneurysm. I know your mom’s got your car.’

‘Hers won’t be out of the shop for a few more days.’ Byers grunted as he climbed to his feet, camera thudding softly against his chest. ‘Alright. If you don’t mind stopping by the 7-11 on the way?’

‘There is no way I’m letting you eat gas station hot dogs for dinner. Come on, we’ll stop at Benny’s.’

‘I-’

The Chief huffed. ‘Get in the car before I change my mind.’ Steve knew he wouldn’t change it and felt a swell of affection for the gruff man.

The truck door thudded shut, and Steve was sure the Chief had gotten back in until he heard a radio crackle next to his ear.

‘Everything good, Chief?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, all good.’

‘What’d Harrington do this time?’

Steve froze, wide eyed, feet catching mid-swing.

‘Who said anything about Harrington?’ the Chief snapped.

‘You did, ‘fore you ran outta here like a bat outta hell. What was that call about?’

‘Oh, Christ,’ he muttered.‘False alarm; don’t worry about it. Just gonna give Byers a ride home.’

‘Byers? You running a nursery?’

‘Come off it, Callahan, or you’re on traffic duty for a month.’

The radio but faded into static, then silence.

Chief Hopper sighed. ‘Glad it wasn’t you, kid’ he said, so quietly Steve might have been imagining it.

“Chief?” he asked tentatively.

But the steps were already fading, the car door already creaking open. Before long, the engine rumbled away, and Steve was alone again.

He sat at the edge of the quarry for a long time after, thinking about the panic he’d felt when he thought about Byers on the ledge. He wondered, not for the first time, if anyone would care that it was Steve Harrington on it, instead. Steve watched spores continue to drift by as lightning crackled like red fire in the distance and thought Chief Jim Hopper just might.

He swung his feet back over onto solid ground and climbed slowly to his feet. Limbs stiff with the cold, but something tentative and warm fluttering in his chest, he grabbed his yellow backpack and disappeared back into the woods.

---

There had been a few close encounters, in the days that followed. Which, now that Steve had decided he didn’t actually feel like dying, were just another nice ‘fuck you’ from the universe.

Some days later, rushing from distant howls, Steve had left himself exposed under open sky. He didn't realize his mistake until long tendrils circled under his arm and around his neck in a grotesque impersonation of a headlock. Steve wheezed as they pulled at his scarf, jostling it from his nose and mouth and pulling it tighter around his neck. The vine-like tails constricted, fabric squeezing around his throat in turn, and Steve felt his lungs compressing and shoulders seizing as his feet started to lift off the ground.

Wings beat overhead, and a shriek tore through the air.

Just one.

That was how Steve learned that the bats were smart enough to have scouts.

Struggling against the pressure on his neck and ribs, Steve grabbed Jolene and slashed wildly above him. It took several passes before the bat dropped him, and he crashed, heaving gulps of air.

He slashed through its neck, black blood splattering across his face and hands, but judging by the screeching in the distance, he'd been too late to stop it's summons of the others.

Steve ripped the scarf from around his neck, deciding the immediate danger of being strangled with it outweighed breathing in the floaters.

He'd come up with something else after he'd covered enough ground.

By the time he made it to shelter, ducking into the husk of the Radio Shack, his lungs were burning almost as much as his leg.

Maybe a week after that, Steve wasn’t really sure, he almost had his head swiped off by the towering stretched corpse. Out of all the horrors he’d encountered, Steve figured the dogs should probably terrify him the most, but he couldn't help the way his body froze at the sight of the pale monster. Maybe it was the almost human appearance, the predatory set to its shoulders. Maybe it was the mottled reminder of approaching death, like a waiting reaper.

He’d been gathering supplies from Melvald’s, tucking them into his beat up backpack, when he heard the grating scrape of long claws. His mind turned to blank static, thoughts and movement stuttering to a halt. Glass crinkled underneath heavy steps and a low growl reverberated through the frigid air.

With trembling hands, Steve forced himself to zip the backpack, timing slow tugs of the zipper with each footfall to mask the sound. Heartbeat in his throat, he slid the bag back over his shoulders. Crouching low, he peeked around the endcap of the aisle, trying to get a better vantage point on the monster.

The store was empty.

Steve’s breath hitched- where did it go?

Above him, a crumbling greeting card display exploded in a clash of sound and a flurry of discolored paper. Claws slashed mere inches above where he crouched. If he’d been standing, Steve would be dead.

“Jesus!” he cried, throwing himself back into a roll and tumbling back to his feet. His leg burned in protest, but it held- thank god.

Element of surprise lost, the monster shrieked from the neighboring aisle, and Steve saw its long arms pulling itself over the shelves rather than bothering to go around.

Shit.

Steve ran.

The monster gained.

Steve wove through the aisles, knocking goods over as he ran. The edge of something sharp caught his shoulder, and Steve felt blood slide down his arm, hot against his skin in the frozen air. He yelped and threw himself down the next aisle.

The thing behind him screeched, deafening in his ears. Jolene would be useless here- the creature’s reach was double his, even with the added weapon. Its claws alone were twice the little kitchen knife; Steve wouldn't stand a chance.

He could faintly hear a woman shouting ‘Jeffrey! Get the circuit breaker! I don’t know what’s wrong with these lights, but do something before they explode!’ as he lunged over the counter. The display behind it was coated in vines and soot, but behind that, was the discreet display of Mace pepper spray, tucked away underneath packs of cigarettes. Steve only knew it was there because he’d specifically hunted it down after some asshole tried to get a little rough with Carol at a party. He knew she kept the one he’d bought her clipped on the inside of her purse. He prayed this one worked as well as advertised, that it worked at all in this hell, and pressed down.

The spray came out in clumps instead of a continuous stream, but it still coated the monster’s open maw. It bellowed in outrage, swiping blindly at the air.

Steve jumped back, and the claws went wide. It couldn’t smell him.

Steve shoved two more canisters into his pocket, grabbed the stapler on the counter by the register, and hurled it as far from him as he could. The monster shrieked and whirled towards the sound. Steve forced himself not to bolt and climbed carefully over the far side of the counter, breath caught in his chest. Heart hammering, he slunk through the store entrance, one hand clamped on his shoulder to stem the blood welling between his fingers. He kept the pace for about two more storefronts before throwing himself into a run.

He’d run until his legs gave out and he barely managed to catch himself before sprawling onto a tangle of vines. Taking refuge in a small house at the end of Oak Street, he cleaned and bound his shoulder and treated his leg.

It was there that Steve decided that while his knife had saved him more than once from the smaller monsters, he needed to find something with a little more reach if he ever hoped to survive another encounter with the corpse-like monster.

As he was thinking it, the handle of a baseball bat caught the pale light filtering through the window, gleaming like buried treasure.

Yeah, he could work with that.

---

Steve had stopped marking time after the quarry. He knew a decent amount had passed, but didn’t know what day that made it now. He only knew that it had been… He swallowed the hurt, buried it deep where it belonged. It had been long enough for him to know that no one was looking for him and no one was going to start. If he wanted out, he’d have to do it himself.

At least he was walking with less of a limp, now, and able to carry his full weight on both legs. Sure, it still hurt like a bitch, but each day he changed his bandages, the skin looked more and more like skin. Patchy, disfigured skin, but… well, he might be in pain for the rest of his short life, but he probably wasn’t going to lose his leg, so that was a bonus.

So time moved on, and while there were a few more scars, a few more nightmares, Steve had settled into a rhythm.

He dropped a bucket under a tangle of vines, stretching an extra shirt over it. He pulled out Jolene and sliced clear through the lot of them. Clear liquid beaded out, and he dropped them right above the bucket, watching the water soak the fabric.

He shoved himself back to his feet and left it behind. He knew better than to wait for it to fill.

In the past few days… weeks? who knew? Steve had set up about five water stations. He figured he could rotate them, as long as they were spread out far enough. It’d been mostly working so far.

He coughed, rubbing at his chest. Time to head back to the school again. Between the water system he’d set up across the street, the stash of Capri-Sun, and barely palatable canned fruit in the cafeteria, Steve would be able to pass a few days there before moving on.

In the distance, something moved through the underbrush. Newly spiked bat in one hand and Jolene in the other, Steve pressed his back against the rotted shell of an oak tree. He waited, breath puffing in front of him and heartbeat thudding in his ears, but it moved on. Steve did, too.

---

It was pretty much impossible for Steve to learn without being able to see the board, but sometimes he tried anyway. Mr. Mundy’s class was pretty much impossible, but history was interesting enough, and mostly lecture, so it was easier to follow along.

Steve’s surprise favorite subject was band. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed music. And, well, it was only October, so it wasn’t like the an unpracticed high school band was polished yet, but there was a fullness to it that was lacking everywhere else in hell. The faded buzz of brass, echoed breathy flutes, the beating drums- they crept through the air and surrounded him like a remembered embrace. Everyone made fun of band kids, and Steve would be the first to admit a tuba case made anyone look dumb, but, well, he got it now. Got the frustration when notes didn’t line up- well, Steve honestly couldn’t really tell, but he felt for the geeks when their teacher ranted about it for five minutes instead of letting them play through it. And he could feel their triumph when they played through a phrase perfectly, the shock of electricity that followed. That was pretty cool.

Steve tried to avoid Tommy and Carol as best he could, but it wasn’t easy. Tommy prowled the halls like a vengeful God, coiled and spitting. It was hard to ignore the squeaks of fear and the increasingly frequent cries of pain that followed him. He attacked much of the student body with words and fists, and Steve could do nothing. He didn’t know this person anymore. Maybe I never did, he thought. It seemed like that was a recurring theme: Steve the Idiot who never knew anyone or anything. No wonder no one missed him.

Perched on the edge of one of the cafeteria tables, he tipped back a can of mixed fruit, choking past the taste of rot. He’d stopped getting hungry some time ago, but he tried to eat anyway. He wasn’t sure if that was normal, but…. Well, there wasn’t really a baseline for normal when you’re the only one in hell.

And yeah, lately every breath felt more and more wet. He probably should be a little more concerned about that, but honestly, he had bigger things to worry about, so he just shoved that concern right down in the same box with the loneliness and the hurt. TBD. To be dealt with… later. Never? Never seemed pretty good.

---

Before he knew it, it was the Friday before Halloween. The school was buzzing with the energy that always came with the holiday. He smiled wistfully at the stampeding feet and the peals of laughter, the conversations about costume plans and parties.

The smile dropped, though, when someone mentioned a party at ‘Casa Harrington’. Big House, No Parents Casa Harrington. What a great party it was going to be. Absolutely no supervision. Anything goes. BYOB. The perfect place for a Halloween rager.

What.

The.

Fuck.

Chapter Text

Lately, when Eleven was forced into the cramped room, the one with no light and no sound and no warmth, and there was nothing to do but drift, she dreamed of a a boy with hollow cheeks and sad eyes.

He looked scared sometimes, running from things Eleven never saw. Sometimes she heard them, invisible snarls chasing the boy, but they stretched in the darkness, and she could never see what made the sounds.

Eleven knew he was lonely- saw it in the hunch of his shoulders. Felt it in her chest. Eleven understood him. She was scared and lonely, too. She hoped one day she would meet him, and they could be scared together, maybe, but neither of them alone.

---

“Mom, you told me we could do Halloween here this year.”

“I know I said that, Tommy, but your father is going to need quiet this weekend- he has to finish his presentation before Monday. Which, by the way, is Halloween. You can do it then.”

“Mom. You can’t have a Halloween Party on a weekday.”

“Well, Tommy, I don’t know what to tell you,” his mom said around a long sip of wine. “You’re going to have to figure something out. Maybe Carol can host this year.”

“Mom, you know Mrs. Perkins won’t go for that.”

“Why can’t Steve do it again this year?”

Tommy grit his teeth and took a long breath. Do not. Yell. At mom. “Steve fucked off wi-” woops. “Steve’s out of the country, mom.”

“Right,” she said, absently. Tommy knew he’d told her before, but Steve had always been a regular fixture in the house, and it was hard to yank out the pieces of him invading the fabric of their lives. Fucking asshole.

Tommy stopped, catching sight of his keys hanging by the wall, and the dark thing that had coiled in his stomach the day they’d run into the Harringtons and never left reared its ugly head.

“Actually, I think I have a place we can do it after all. Thanks, mom.”

---

“Because it’s a terrible idea, Tommy.”

“Word’s already spread, can’t take it back now.”

“Carol,” Nicole hissed, “tell him it’s a bad idea.”

Carol shrugged, playing very hard at uncaring. “Steve was always gonna host it this year. So we’re really just following through.”

“What’s the big deal, anyway?” snapped Tommy, fist curled around his keys in his pocket, shoulders stiff. “It’s not like the Harringtons will be home. I’ve got a key, I know where everything is, and who else in Hawkins has a heated pool?”

“And you think Steve’s going to be okay with you just trashing his house while he’s gone without asking?”

“Who said anything about trashing? We clean up!”

“Steve cleans up,” Nicole countered. “Look, Tina has a big house, and her parents probably won’t care. Can’t we just-”

“Maybe,” Tommy said sharply, “if Steve left us a fucking number like an actual friend, I’d be able to call and ask.” He slammed his locker shut, and the sound of it echoed through the hall. “But seeing as that’s not an option, he’ll just have to deal.”

“Besides,” Carol said, popping her gum, “He’s probably having the time of his life. Bet he won’t even notice.”

---

Steve was not having the time of his life.

He almost hadn’t come. He almost had enough self control to leave well enough alone. Steve knew nothing good would come of this. For his own peace of mind, he should stay the hell (ha) away from this latest sucker punch from the universe.

No, nothing good could come from walking through the front door of the shell of his house. So, naturally, Steve stood shivering in the hallway. Cool light filtered through the windows, lighting the shadows of vines, highlighting the drifting movement of the floating spores. Truthfully, he had resolved not to come back to this place again, but here he was. Instead of the usual empty silence, the walls were buzzing with distant life.

The sounds of base, probably pounding in Hawkins, were a hushed thrum. Above that, Steve could pick out very little conversation, dozens of voices layering over the music and each other. He could pick out a few familiar ones, Tina, Becky, most of the basketball team and half of swim, Nancy Wheeler? Jesus fuck, how many people were here?

Steve drifted through his house like a wraith, ignoring the echoes of ‘What the fuck, who’s messing with the lights?’

Everywhere he went, the overlapping chatter seemed to spare little thought to the house they inhabited or its missing host.

Oh, sure, he caught his name on a few lips. A few snatches of ‘whoa, Harrington’s got a nice pad’ and ‘wicked cool of Steve to let us use his house,’ and ‘all that money and this is the best beer Harrington has around the house?’, but no one seemed overly concerned.

And while Steve knew there was no way they could know he was stuck in a frozen land of nightmares and blood, there were actual real-world reasons people could disappear. No one seemed too worried about those. He knew that wasn’t fair. Who’d think anything could happen in a sleepy town like Hawkins? But, well, it sucked.

Someone shrieked, a shrill cry ringing out from by the pool. Blood freezing in his veins, Steve rushed outside, jumping over the grid of vines and throwing open the sliding door. Laughter followed.

Right. Party.

Steve scoffed at himself. Even if someone had actually been in trouble, what could he do about it? He was a ghost, for all intents and purposes. He was stuck, listening to the chants of his peers, the hiss of opening cans, raucous cheers, drunken jeering over the sounds of some argument.

Which, now that he caught it, Steve could hear Tommy’s voice at the center of it. He smothered the embers of betrayal, because Steve knew perfectly well who was responsible for this party in his absence. Later. Deal with it later. He crossed the patio, following the sound.

‘-re the one who asked me to come, man.’

‘To bring your shit and leave.’

‘And miss out the chance to feast in Harrington’s Palace?’

‘Keep his name out of your mouth, Munson.’ Tommy’s speech dragged, just short of slurred, but the venom in it was no less because of it.

Munson wheezed. Tommy must’ve grabbed him. ‘Gotta say, if this is how lame King Steve’s little parties were, I haven’t missed much.’

Next to Steve, a light voice whispered urgently, ‘Jason, do something.’

‘He shouldn’t be talking about Steve,’ answered Jason Carver. That’d make the girl Chrissy Cunningham. And while Steve was a little flattered that Jason seemed to be worried about his honor or whatever, Steve mostly just wanted someone to keep Tommy from wrecking a dude’s face in his backyard.

‘Open your mouth one more fucking time.’

‘Or is it all just you, huh? Trying to make a play for the throne and failing miserably. No wonder Harrington dropped you.’

A wordless cry of rage cut across worlds, and Steve heard the sound of flesh hitting flesh. The jeers of a gathered crowed layered over it all.

‘Jason,’ Steve heard Chrissy’s insistent call. ‘Jason, please.’

Carver sighed. ‘Tommy, let up on him.’

Tommy did not let up, and the jeers were permeated by Munson’s pained yelps.

‘Hagan!’ Carver shouted, this time sounding panicked.

Another strike filled the air, and this time the yelp that followed was startled and high. Chrissy. The crowd fell silent immediately, weighted hush settling like a blanket.

‘Ow.’

‘Shit, Chrissy,’ said Tommy, sudden clarity in his voice. ‘I’m so-’

‘What the hell, man?’

‘It’s okay, Jason,’ Chrissy said. ‘I’m the one who grabbed him. He just winded me a little. Um.’

‘Shit, sorry. Chrissy, I didn’t mean to-’

Munson groaned, and the peal of a siren cut through the air.

Various shouts of ‘Cops!’ rang all around, and a frenzy of footsteps followed, streaking from the house and leading to the surrounding woods.

---

Jim Hopper pulled to a stop in the familiar driveway of Ronald and Eveley Harrington.

Halloween weekend was always a busy one, and Callahan and Powell had their hands full with disorderly conduct and party calls of their own. When Flo’d radioed him about a complaint at the Harringtons’ place, Jim was pretty sure only she noticed that he’d been a little quick to volunteer.

So what? He should be ready to bring down the law on some unruly brats, and Harrington was a regular. Jim’d predicted that his little breakthrough wouldn’t last.

Was it bad that he was relieved?

Not relieved that the kid was causing trouble, but hey. Annoying news was better than no news, so Jim would take what he could get. He wouldn’t even complain about the paperwork.

He took his time walking up the driveway, the thump of party music playing somewhere inside washing over him. When Jim pounded on the door, no one answered.

Alright, we can play it that way, he thought, crossing over to the back yard.

Empty.

Well, empty of people. Definitely full of trash and discarded beer cans. Which… American Colonial? Really? Disgusting and overpriced.

But priorities, Jim.

He walked into the house through the sliding door, but the inside was much the same. Blaring music loud enough to bust an eardrum and empty except for the mess of party trash. Wincing, he turned off the radio. The light overhead flickered, and Jim squinted at it. There had been a surprising number of complaints about electrical problems lately, and it seemed like the Harringtons weren’t spared either. He’d probably have to lean on the power company a little more, get them to check the grid.

No sign of the party host yet. Jim rounded upstairs. There was nothing there except some open windows. He sighed – kids would do anything not to get caught – and closed them. Still no sign of Steve Harrington.

The lights in the upstairs landing were wavering as well. Jim shook his head and was making his way back downstairs when Flo’s voice cracked through the radio.

‘We’ve got another one on Mulberry, just down the street from the Hideaway.’

Of course they did.

Stepping over more party trash, he made his way back to his patrol car. No sign of any of the kids, but at least the noise was stopped, which was all the neighbors really cared about.

Jim could brush aside the kernel of disappointment that Harrington had bolted with the rest of the kids, but he figured the kid was maybe a little embarrassed after their last conversation. That’s what Jim told himself as he got back in the car.

But as he drove away, porch lights seizing in his rear-view mirror, Jim couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.

---

Nancy Wheeler stumbled through the woods, cursing herself for being so dumb. Going to Tommy and Carol’s party? Even though she knew how they treated Barb? Just for a chance to see Steve Harrington’s house? For an even tinier chance that he might be in it? Worst of all, she hadn’t even told Barb.

That would be great for when she got arrested and her mom called Barb’s asking why she hadn’t come come yet.

Nice going Nancy.

Actually, the real worst part of it all is that it hadn’t even been fun. Sure, the music was nice, but Nancy’s skin prickled every time someone laughed around a can of beer or someone blew out from what she knew was not a normal cigarette.

All that, and Steve wasn’t even there. Which meant, of course, that Tommy and Carol had, what, broken in? That made them even bigger assholes than she’d thought. Barb was definitely right, as usual.

Everyone had scattered into the woods in groups, and here Nancy was, all alone.

Someone moved up ahead, long limbs silhouetted in the pale moonlight. The hairs on her arms prickled, and she thought of a few guys that had tried to chat her up at the party, the reek of alcohol on their breath.

Heartbeat thudding in her ears, Nancy froze, pressing herself to a tree.

It was dumb. Here she was, getting lost, and hiding from probably a very nice, normal, maybe a little drunk but probably not evil classmate instead of asking for help. She was just paranoid because she was feeling guilty for being somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be, that’s all.

The shape moved toward Steve’s house, rather than away from it, and she squinted, trying to see who it was in the faded light.

Something snapped, and the person spun, line of sight just a few feet to her left. Except… Nancy’s stomach lurched. He had no line of sight. He had no face at all.

She held her breath. He didn’t seem to see her, and after what felt like the longest moment of her life, he turned back towards Steve’s house.

As soon as he was out of sight, Nancy gasped for breath, spun on her heels, and ran into the night.

---

On the one hand, Steve thought, it sucked that everyone used his house as a party crash pad while he was, you know, trapped in hell. It more than sucked, if he were being honest with himself, but Steve was getting very skilled at not doing that, so… On the other hand, his parents should be back in a few days. The disaster the party goers had undoubtedly left behind might piss them off enough to make them hunt him down just to yell at him.

Realistically, they’d probably just call the cleaners again and write him out of their will (if they hadn’t already).

Steve didn’t feel self destructive enough to hang around for that particular brand of disappointment, so as soon as he tied another of his mom’s dinner napkins around his nose and changed into a fresh set of clean clothes, he’d left his house behind.

Now, he lay sprawled on the basement couch of a house three doors down, staring at the vines on the ceiling. Alone with his thoughts, Steve tried to force the jeers of his classmates from his mind and end the replay loop of Tommy’s wordless rage. Eventually, he drifted into fitful sleep, dreaming of cruel laughter and a girl with buzzed hair and sad eyes.

---

One week after the party, something shifted in the air. Something electric buzzed under Steve’s skin, and even the monsters of hell seemed to agree that something had changed.

---

One week after the party, a girl with a number inked onto her wrist screamed until something tore between worlds.

---

One week after the party, a young boy rode his bicycle in the night.

---

One week after the party, Will Byers breathed in the frigid air of hell.

Chapter Text

Tommy spent the week after Halloween feeling a different type of unpleasant, flashes of Chrissy Cunningham’s surprised face after being thrown to the floor among scattered cans and cups eating at him. He and Chrissy didn’t really interact, but she was at pretty much every practice, either working through routines with cheer or waving at Jason from the bleachers. There wasn’t really anything anyone could dislike about Chrissy, except that maybe she was a little too peppy sometimes. But the energy worked for a cheerleader, and it was hard to be annoyed at anyone who brought cookies to practice.

When his brain wasn’t looping on Chrissy’s face, it decided to play Tommy’s greatest fuck-ups. The the whole Halloween party disaster, the freshman he’d almost eviscerated when he’d caught Steve’s Ray Bans on his head- knew they were Steve’s from the scratch Tommy’d put in the corner one summer at the pool, when Steve had been playing lifeguard-in-training. He’d snatched them from the kid and stuck them on his own head, fully intending to put them back later, but… well, here he was, eight days later and still wearing them.

And now they were reminding Tommy of every time he blew Steve off, the voicemails of ‘hey, just checking in. Call me whenever?’, their stupid fight in June.

In retrospect, it wasn’t really anyone’s fault, the reason it started, but, well. Some things were said that couldn’t really be taken back, and all of them came from Tommy.

He and Steve had been shooting hoops on Tommy’s driveway, Carol perched on the hood of Steve’s Beemer. Tommy’s parents had just bought tickets to Dublin for Christmas. He’d only been over twice, and only once while old enough to remember it, and he was stoked for a chance to visit his grandmother just outside Galway, maybe meet some extended cousins or some shit. He told Steve, over the moon and wanting to share. Steve had reacted poorly.

“Galway?” Basketball slipping from his lax fingers, Steve stared at Tommy in open mouthed disbelief.

Tommy shrugged. “Folks wanted to visit Nana for Christmas. Not like we had anything to do over here other than freeze our asses off.”

“Right,” he said, voice clipped and looking like he’d sucked on a lemon.

“Damn, what's got your panties in a twist?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing my ass.”

“No, it’s… Congratulations, man. Now let's play.”

“Not till you tell my why you're bitchfacing at me.”

“Tommy, you've got shit for brains,” Carol droned from the hood of Steve's car, parked at the end of Tommy's driveway.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing- Carol, quit it- it's fine. I'm glad you get to go see your Nana. Now can we drop it?”

“Tommy,” Carol said, sweetly. Oh, she was annoyed. Damn, what was he missing here? “Who did you invite to spend Christmas with you this year because their parents are fucking garbage?”

Oh.

Oh.

Shit.

Steve picked up the basketball from where it had rolled into the grass, refusing to meet their eyes. But Tommy, who never dealt well with remorse, turned outward. “Really? That's your reaction, you selfish bastard? I tell you something nice about my family and you're jealous?”

“What the fuck, I literally just said I'm happy for you.”

“Yeah, and it was so sincere."

Carol, who knew Tommy's moods better than he did, called his name in warning.

It only made him more pissed. She was supposed to be on his side, not Steve's. It wasn't his fault he actually called people out on their shit. It wasn’t his fault he didn't internalize all his problems like Steve did. He wasn't a pussy, that's all. “What, can’t handle that I actually have people who want to see me on Christmas?”

Steve's head snapped up, wide eyes meeting Tommy's.

Too far.

Tommy ignored the churning in his stomach that told him to just shut up already and doubled down. “If your parents ever actually invited you anywhere, you'd be lapping at their heels.” Double or nothing, Tommy boy. “Don't be a pussy just because mine actually give a shit.”

“Tommy, the fuck?”

Too far.

Steve’s expression had closed off entirely, jaw clenching and unclenching. He stood stiffly, shoulders pulled taught and his knuckles white where he gripped the ball.

Tommy opened his mouth, not quite sure what he wanted to come out of it, but knowing he couldn’t leave it at that.

Steve cut him off. “Carol. Get off my car.”

“Steve.”

“Get off my car, Carol. Please.”

Carol shot Tommy a look that promised violent death and slid off the hood.

Steve dropped the ball into her hands and himself into the driver's seat.

Tommy’d fucked up.

Steve was looking at him with those sad little puppy eyes before he noticed Tommy watching and scowled.

I’m sorry, Tommy thought. Instead of saying so, he turned his lips up into a sneer.

Steve drove away.

The basketball had slammed into the side of Tommy's head. “I'm going to murder you.”

She hadn't, of course. But she had left him with blue balls for two weeks, which was arguably worse.

Steve forgave him the next day, which only pissed Tommy off even more. If he avoided Steve for a week after, it was because Steve was a little bitch and not because he felt guilty. Hagans didn't do guilt, because guilt was for little Nancy boys.

All this to say that maybe this little disappearing act was Steve's revenge plot. Maybe his parents had invited him somewhere for once, and he'd taken off without a backwards glance. Maybe any day now, Tommy would get a postcard from fucking Paris or Amsterdam. Steve's dad was in Amsterdam a lot. For "business".

Tommy thought about the Beemer in the driveway and the dust settled through the house like a burial shroud. He thought about empty rooms and long silences. He thought of Chief Hopper's Anything you boys wanna tell me? when he’d broken up one of their last ragers. He thought about yellowed bruises hiding under jacket sleeves and polo collars. He thought about what might happen to Steve if his parents came home to scattered beer cans and plastic cups.

That last thought was what had Tommy shoving plastic cups into a bag held in Carol’s outstretched arms. Yeah, Tommy might be pissed at Steve, but… Well, while Tommy was starting to realize he might be a shitty friend, there were things even he wasn’t shitty enough to do.

“Think that’s the last of it?” asked Carol, tying off the bag.

“Think so,” he said. “But the floors are kinda gross. Fill a bucket for me?”

Tommy mopped the kitchen while Carol vacuumed in the other room. It didn’t take them too long to do the rest of the house, but he was still glad they’d decided to save it for the weekend so they could have a full day.

He was just dumping out the last of the dirty water when he heard a car pull into the driveway.

Fuck.

“Carol,” he hissed. Thank God she’d finished vacuuming. Thank God they’d parked down the block.

She raced into the kitchen. “It’s the Lincoln,” she hissed right back.

Tommy looked at the very full trash bags piled in the corner of the kitchen. “Out the back!”

They scrambled to drag the bags to the pool deck, and Tommy was just sliding the glass door shut when the front lock clicked. He pressed himself to the wall, trading glances with Carol.

The low buzz of voices entered the house, and Tommy wanted to rush inside and shake Steve by the shoulders, or maybe punch him in the face, but he’d have to save that for later. “They probably won’t come out back. Let’s just leave these and come back la- Carol!”

Carol’s face was smooshed against the edge of the glass. Nosy bitch was going to get them caught.

Except instead of yanking her back, Tommy found his face pressed right next to hers.

Ronald and Eveley were closing the door behind them, suitcases in hand. They looked like they were having some sort of argument, big surprise. Eveley rolled her eyes and threw her hands up at something and Carol whispered next to him, “Where’s Steve?”

Tommy was about to answer that he was probably bringing in more bags, but the door did not open again, and Ronald reached back to lock it. The Harringtons started immediately for the stairs, rolling luggage behind them. No sign of Steve.

Something heavy settled in his gut, and the unease that had buzzed in the back of his mind since August stirred into a frenzy. “Maybe, he’s at some school over there,” he whispered.

“They just left him alone in another country?”

Would that really be a surprise? “You think, maybe… he didn’t want to go with them?” What if they hadn’t given Steve a choice? What if they’d just dragged him off to some fucking fancy prep shit to mold him into their perfect son?

“Shit,” Carol said, quietly. She wiggled away from the window, knocking into the bags they’d dragged outside with them.

And that made Tommy remember why they’d come to clean up in the first place. It made Tommy wonder, with growing dread, if Steve ever hid more than just a few bruises. He swallowed thickly, and the shadow of the silent house looming above them felt cold.

“Come on,” he said, grabbing two bags in each hand, “let’s get out of here before they decide to go for a swim.”

As they drove away, trunk and backseat packed with party trash and sun sinking red in the rear view mirror, Tommy thought of Anything you boys wanna tell me?

Yeah, he decided. I’ve got something to tell you, Chief.

After taking Carol home, he dropped the trash in the dumpster behind the movie theater. When he called the station, tucked away in his room for the night, Flo told him the Chief had gone home for the night. She offered to take a message, and he hung up. No way. He’d just have to bail on practice after school tomorrow and go down to the station himself.

The next day, though, Will Byers went missing, Chief Hopper was suddenly the busiest man in Hawkins, and the statement Tommy’d written with shaking hands sat on Officer Callahan’s desk for about twenty minutes before being lost to missing persons fliers and newspaper ads.

Chapter Text

“Watch your- watch your step! Jesus, kid, don’t step on the fucking vines! Christ, you’re going to give me a heart attack. Fuck, not that way - the dogs hang out in the junkyard - shit, _fuck, shit - keep moving, God dammit, kid. Left. I said left!”

How did this happen?

How did Steve Harrington go from a forgotten sad sack of a castaway, adrift in hell, to some supernatural, Goddamned (possibly literally) babysitter?

---

It happened like this:

He was moving through the woods to refill his thermos with water. There was an itch he couldn’t quite place- bubbling under the surface. Something had changed in the atmosphere last night. Steve wasn’t sure what, but it left the air charged and the hairs on his arms prickling with unease. Whatever it was, Steve wanted to be prepared. He would fill his water as quickly as possible and move on.

He’d lingered near his own house too long. It was dumb, because he knew his parents were due back any day now, could be there even now. He’d resolved not to go there, but for some stupid reason, he couldn’t bring himself to leave either. So he lingered just out of reach, which was probably just as bad as if he ripped off the band-aid and just went there to listen to witness how little Ronald and Eveley noticed they had a son at all.

Sometimes, Steve could admit to himself it got a little lonely being stuck in hell. And sometimes Steve wanted to hear voices he knew instead of echos from people he didn’t. He couldn’t quite bring himself to go back, though. And, well… After a good chunk of the student body had been living it up in his house without him, Steve didn’t really feel like hanging out at school, either.

Pulling the battered thermos out of his backpack, he crouched by the cracked red bucket he’s used as a water station, filled it, and drank. Maybe he could go to back to the house where he’d gotten the thermos in the first place. He’d stopped there once, about a month ago, on a day he’d felt particularly alone. He’d spent a nice evening drifting off to the chatter of a family dinner before forcing himself to move on. It should be safe enough to go back over for a bit.

Steve was just capping the thermos after filling it a third time, ready to cut a new set of vines when he heard it. Something tearing through the woods. Too loud to be one of the dogs, too fast to be the monster. Unless...Had the monster gotten faster?

Shit.

Steve could probably make it to shelter before it caught up, if he kept cutting through the woods. The trees slowed him down probably more than they slowed the monster, but he’d learned his lesson about running under uncovered skies.

He could dive into the first place he found, could bar himself behind wood that splintered and cracked when the monster was on his trail. It might not hold, but it was better than nothing. He spun on his feet, ready to bolt when he heard a thud and a yelp and then –

Every thought in his head jolted to a halt.

A… yelp?

He replayed the sound in his mind, but there was nothing else it could have been.

An honest-to-God actual… voice?

Apprehension flaring in his mind, Steve faltered. Okay, so maybe he was always a complete idiot, because he was definitely walking towards the unknown noise in the woods. Thermos tucked away, backpack slung over one shoulder, and walking. He hadn’t even realized he was moving.

Yeah, that was definitely something an idiot would do.

But it really wasn’t his fault. Okay, yes it was probably his fault, but... Steve could admit he was lonely. If Halloween was about a week behind him, that meant three months had passed at this point, cut him a break. Steve was so fucking lonely that the sound of an unfiltered, actual human voice was all it took to lure him into what he hoped wasn’t some new trap. If the monster had learned to immitate a human voice, he might as well just die now. Wouldn’t that be the way to go? Here Lies Steve Harrington: Dead Because He Was an Idiot. Not that there would be anyone in hell to bury him, let alone write an epitaph. Not that anyone cared enough to try in Hawkins proper, either.

Spiked bat held tight in a two handed grip, Steve stalked through brush and trees until he came across a yellow and orange lump sprawled at his feet. A yellow and orange lump with arms and legs and a mop of hair. He blinked, vision blurring around the edges.

“Um.” The word cracked, half stuck in his throat. Not his greatest moment, but it was his first sign of human contact in over three months, cut him some slack. He thought of the last time he’d had cause to use his voice in earnest, tried not to remember how it had cracked when he’d pleaded with ears that had gone deaf to him long before he’d been dragged into hell. He could almost convince himself it had done so from disuse, then, too.

The lump scrambled to its feet with another yelp, and oh, it was a kid. A bowl cut sporting, hideous night time visibility vest wearing kid.

“Um,” he said again, and it was almost a question.

“Um,” the kid said back. His eyes were blown wide with fear and his face was smudged with dirt, and Steve had to will away the lump in his throat and the sting in his eyes.

“I’m, uh. I’m Steve.”

The kid gave him a once over, and Steve respectfully ignored the way his chin wobbled when his eyes lingered a little too long on the bloody patches on Steve’s clothing. Or maybe it was the dark crusted fucking spiked bat he was still clutching. Way to be nonthreatening, Steve. The kid seemed to be made of sterner stuff, though, because he raised his head, hazel eyes locking onto brown. “Will,” he said at last.

“Hey, Will,” Steve tested the name out. “Are you o-” He stopped abruptly because really, he should have paid attention to the fact that the kid had been running before he fell. Something moved in the bushes behind the boy. Deliberate. Stalking. “Shit!” Steve reached over and latched onto the kid's arm, yanking him hard in the opposite direction, because boundaries didn’t really matter when trying not to be mauled to death. “Move!”

Kid was smart, because he didn’t question it. He ran, and wow, either the kid was a track star in the making, or Steve was really damn tired. Maybe both. They tore ass through the woods, past Steve’s house and kept going. They ran past Benny’s burgers, towards the tracks.

Adrenaline coursed through Steve, filling him with a new thrill he hadn’t felt in weeks, maybe longer. He was running for his life again, big surprise, and yeah, his leg and lungs were burning, but for the first time in a while, it felt like it actually mattered. Because that hideous safety vest was bobbing in front of him, and the kid was tripping over himself again.

“Shit.” He yanked him up by the back of the vest with the hand not holding a bat and shoved. Steve kept the boy in front, at least one body away from the claws he knew were behind them. “Keep going! Head for the tracks.”

The kid, Will, looked back, eyes huge and face white with terror.

“Christ, don’t turn arou– Keep moving!” Steve shouted. Wow, he’d forgotten he could do that. Kinda nice to know he still could, scratchy as it sounded.

Will, to his credit, didn’t argue and kept running.

Good thing, too, because it was less than fifteen seconds later that claws raked across the backpack slung over Steve’s shoulders, slicing through one strap and part of his upper arm. Steve screamed and swung the bag at the monster’s open maw. It hit with a wet thud, and the monster gurgled when the remaining strap caught around the back of it’s head. Steve swung his bat at its chest and sent it toppling backwards. It lurched away with a wet squelch, black blood spurting and with Steve’s yellow backpack still caught around its face.

Aside from the knife tucked in his pocket, that bag contained everything Steve owned. 

Maybe he could snatch it back. Unlikely. Steve might be able to take the walking corpse, and he itched for a chance to put an end to the monster once and for all, but he could hear the kid stumbling through the woods up ahead. He spun the bat in his hand and the pale monster screeched, flailing on the ground, claws ripping at the bag. They might take each other out, he and the monster, but... Safety Vest didn’t know where he was going. Didn’t know about the dogs or the bats or to keep his nose covered or how to get water. Probably didn’t know how to stitch himself up, either. Steve couldn’t risk leaving him to learn the same way he’d had to.

Steve had no illusions that one hit would do any lasting damage, and he wasn’t about to wait around for it to get back up. He tore after the kid.

Honestly, Steve had no idea how he caught up. Maybe because Steve was pretty familiar with how to move through the woods around Hawkins by now. Maybe because the kid, Will, was just smaller. Maybe because the kid was trying to wait for him. Steve hoped the kid wasn’t that stupid. They’d have to stop, soon, so he could wrap his arm and prevent his blood from advertising to all of hell like a beacon, but first, he had to make sure the kid didn’t get himself killed. Which… it looked like he was about to do because, now that he’d heard Steve thundering behind him, he actually tried to stop and wait for him. It would’ve been adorable if it weren’t likely to get him killed.

Steve definitely yelled at him a little, blood thrumming in his ears and high on fear, until the kid turned back around. They kept running, and Steve didn’t let the kid stop until they’d hit the tracks and veered left, breath coming in gasps.

“Fairgrounds,” Steve said between gulps of air, lungs burning, “or trailer park.”

“Trailers,” huffed Will.

Steve nodded, and they made their way down the tracks, through more woods, and into Forest Hills Trailer Park. Only after they’d picked a trailer at random and barricaded the doors, just in case, did Steve let his knees go weak. He slid to the floor, woozy from exhaustion and giddy from fading adrenaline. He’d probably have to get up soon and deal with his latest mauling, but for now, he was still alive and no longer alone.

Not alone, he thought, as little Will eyed the red spreading down Steve’s arm in growing concern.

Not alone, he thought, near delirious with relief.

“Um,” said the kid.

Steve should probably tell him it wasn’t even bad enough for stitches this time, but he couldn’t formulate the words. Collapsed on the floor like a discarded toy, Steve tilted his head back to the ceiling and laughed until he cried.

---

For Will Byers, it happened like this:

Will spent the night alone in his room, knees curled into his chest and shivering. He waited for Jonathan to trudge to his room, drunk with exhaustion. He waited for his mom to get home, set up the coffee for the morning in a haze. He waited, tucked in the safety of his room, until his eyelids grew heavy.

In what must have been the morning, Will woke to the sound of his mom’s voice calling his name. It was still dark, and he took in the crumbling walls and the vines crawling over them. Her voice rang by his door, but there was no one there.

‘He came home last night, right?’

‘He’s not in his room?’ Jonathan.

Will tried to reach them, but his words fell on deaf ears. By the time his mom hung up on Mrs. Wheeler, Will had accepted that she couldn’t hear him. He slipped out the door, unable to stomach his mother's distress and Jonathan's guilt.

Though it should be daylight, the world outside their home was bathed in dusk, pale like moonlight with no moon to be found. The air was cold like early winter, and flurries drifted in the air. Curious, Will tried to catch one on his tongue, and it turned out they weren't snow after all. Gross.

The woods around the house seemed thicker, scarier. The trees were stripped of leaves, branches cutting across the sky like clawed fingers. Was this really the same place? It couldn’t be.

Feet catching on the network of vines hidden in the rotting leaves and grass, Will stumbled towards the tree line. It cast a cloud over the already dim hellscape, branching out in scattered penumbra with no clear light source.

The Vale of Shadows.

Will shivered, only partially because of the cold. The Vale of Shadows was a land of monsters. He thought of the looming wraith, the deafening crack of his mom's rifle, the smell of gunpowder.

Should he try to find a way out? Should he stay put?

I'm the end, a rumbling growl made the decision for him.

Will ran, and the growl behind him turned into a wail, high like the roar of a Tie Fighter. Tree branches cracked behind him, maybe gaining. Will couldn't tell; he just knew he needed to run.

He successfully jumped over a fallen tree, but his shoe caught on either a nearby vine or its roots. With a startled cry, Will toppled to the ground.

Dazed, he lay in the undergrowth, spitting out a mouthful of leaves.

Somewhere in front of him and slightly to his left, a branch snapped.

Will froze.

Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no. There were two? Get up. Get up!

Will forced his arms underneath himself. Footsteps approached, and Will shoved himself to his feet to face this new threat, arms windmilling.

Veiled in pale light and silhouetted by drifting ash, stood a man coiled like a spring. He was tall and lean, arms hefting what looked like a spiked baseball bat crusted over with something dark. His hair lay in matted clumps, hanging limp over a coarse cloth tied over his nose, the line of a strong jaw barely visible underneath.

Will's heart flipped in his chest. Whoa, he thought.

The man's grip on his bat slackened. "Um," he said, and suddenly, Will realized he wasn't a man at all. He was a teenager.

Will stared, more dumbstruck now than afraid. "Um," he said back, very eloquently.

There’s a person here. Someone can see me!

He probably looked a sight, dirt stained and with half rotted leaves sticking out of his hair. They locked eyes, both still tense with anticipation. The teen lowered his bat further, and Will tried not to stare at the dark stained matter flaking off the ends of the embedded nails.

The teen's voice was as rough as his appearance when he introduced himself. Steve. And the relief that flooded Will left him weak in the knees. He didn't know where he was, or what had happened, or how he'd gotten here, but he wasn't alone. He could do this. He straightened, determined to not look as overwhelmed as he felt. "Will."

Steve crouched down, meeting Will’s eye level. “Hey, Will,” he said, and his eyes swept over Will’s the way his mom’s did when he fell off his bike. Just as he was asking if Will was okay (which he wasn’t), Steve’s head snapped up. He was on his feet in an instant, swearing. He seized Will’s arm and Will had to stop himself from crying out, because he could hear the noises behind them, now. Steve practically hurled Will away from it, shouting “Move!”

Will did.

He ran as fast as he could, branches whipping past, tearing at his face, his clothes. He could hear Steve behind him, and something larger, too. Forests, two-thirds the normal rate of movement, Will thought. Did that apply to this monster, too? His foot caught again, the frozen world tilted, and he tumbled to the ground with a cry.

Will barely had time to reorient himself when a strong hand pulled him back to his feet, and the world tilted back into place again. Steve pushed him forward again and Will could hear the cracking of branches behind them, louder. He turned around and instantly regretted it.

Snarling its way through a break in the trees, the long limbed nightmare emerged. It was skin stretched over bone and sinew, its claws gouging deep grooves in the trees as it pushed itself through them. The Demogorgon.

He was frozen. He couldn’t move. He was going to d- Steve shouted him back into motion, his rough yell to keep moving jolting Will out of the pit his mind had slid into. He spun back around and ran again.

He was barely a few feet ahead when he heard a snarl, and then Steve screamed. Will’s heart lurched. Please don’t let him be dead. The Demogorgon’s roar stopped abruptly behind him, Steve bellowed a war cry, and something went thunk.

The Demogorgon screeched again, but Will was too far ahead to hear Steve, now. His steps faltered. What if he was hurt, he thought in dismay. This teenager just saved his life, and Will had left him there. Who did that? He stopped entirely. He had to go back. Will had just squared his shoulders and turned around when his savior burst through the trees.

The bat he’d carried before was coated in something dark like oil. The same black liquid was splattered over his chest and neck, and flecks of it even dotted the cloth tied over his nose. The bag he’d had earlier was gone from his shoulder, replaced by a spreading patch of red. “Jesus fu– keep going!”

Will swallowed his fear and together they ran. Well, almost together. Any time Will tried to match his pace, Steve steadfastly rebuked him. He barked directions and warnings at Will between heaving breaths, staying firmly behind. The only other words between them were an option. Will latched onto it. What did they need? Fortifications. Places to hide. Maybe people to try to contact? He could barely squeeze enough air from his lungs to answer, “trailers.”

Forrest Hills Trailer Park was already worn and weather-beaten in Hawkins. Here, it was near consumed. Vines lay in a network, and Will remembered Steve’s warning not to step on them. They picked one of three trailers in immediate view that weren’t overrun. Though the sounds of the Demogorgon had long left them, Steve didn’t let up until they were inside.

They grabbed whatever furniture they could find and piled it in front of the door. When they finished, Steve groaned. Next thing Will knew, he was on the ground. Will felt his heart flip in his chest, the knot of tension twisting. How much blood did he lose?

“Um,” he started, unsure. Maybe he could find a first aid kit somewhere.

Steve tipped his head back, coming free from the cloth tied around his nose. His face was haggard, cheeks gaunt and lined with soot, but his eyes crinkled at the corners, and his lips twisted into a grin. He looked young and old at the same time.

Will picked his way to the lone bathroom in the trailer, digging around in the cabinet for a first aid kit. Steve’s laughter bubbled in the air. He’s probably Jonathan’s age. Will wondered if they were friends.

If not, he thought, maybe they could be.

Chapter Text

“You shot it?” Steve sputtered, dabbing ointment on the newly cleaned gash on his upper arm. He could feel where the edges of it overlapped the jagged pink scar on his shoulder in some misshapen X.

The boy, Will, flushed all the way to his ears, pink tint visible even in the faded light. “I only hit it once,” he muttered, ducking his head and handing Steve a roll of gauze.

“Okay, back it up.” Steve took the roll and started binding the gash with a grimace. “You’re telling me you shot the, what did you name it again? The–”

“Oh, um. Nothing, it’s from a game I play with my friends.”

“Work with me here. It’s better than calling it ‘monster’ forever.”

“Oh. The Demogorgon.”

Huh?

Will seemed to deflate at the lack of a response, and that made Steve feel enough like an ass to try to say it. “Demogarden?”

Will snorted. “Gorgon,” he corrected softly, tearing off a piece of medical tape and holding it out.

Steve plucked it from the boy’s outstretched hand, finished tying off his arm, and secured the gauze. He was having an out of body experience. In the past hour, he’d spoken more than in the past three months combined. He swallowed past the lump in this throat at the fact that there was a living, breathing person next to him helping him bandage himself up.

Holy shit.

That person was also a literal child. One who was so small and so scared and Steve didn’t really know what to do with that except keep talking like an absolute moron. Kid seemed a little less scared by the minute, though, so maybe Steve could count that as a point in his favor. “So, you’re telling me you shot the Demogorgon and you don’t think that’s a big deal? You’re a total badass.”

The tentative smile on the kid’s face lit the whole fucking room.

Steve bundled his now bloody shirt and jacket into the plastic grocery bag on his lap. “Lesson one,” he said, tying them away with the dirty cotton swabs and antiseptic wipes. His shoulder pulsed, most of the sting gone and faded to a dull ache. “The Demogorgon? Not the only thing that lives here. None of them are friendly, and they all smell blood.”

The smile dropped from Will’s face, and didn’t that make Steve feel like an ass? Still, better scared than dead.

“That’s why we have to make sure to clean up fast.” He pushed himself to his feet, only wobbling slightly on his bad leg. “Lesson two, the air here sucks. You wanna keep your face covered all the time.” He gestured to his own shitty dinner napkin and the strip of his own shirt tied around Will’s nose. He hadn’t really explained why he made Will tie it on before he would accept any help patching his arm up. Will hadn’t asked, but Steve had seen the puzzled crease between his eyebrows. “We can find you something better than that.”

“This is fine!” Will said, shaking his head. He grabbed the hand Steve offered him and stood as well, still clutching the first aid kit in his other hand. He made to let go, but Steve didn’t loosen his grip. Couldn’t until he was sure Will knew lesson three.

“Lesson three,” Steve said, gesturing to the encroaching vines, “Those things are part of some kind of network or something. You know, like when a fly lands on a spiderweb and the spider just knows? Only the web is a bunch of vines and there are a lot of fucking spiders.”

Will stared at the vines, eyes wide. “Hive mind,” he said, nodding like this made perfect fucking sense. One fucking day and the kid was already adapting faster than Steve had in weeks.

“What now?”

“A hive mind,” Will said again. It didn’t make any more sense this time, either. “Almost like a bunch of creatures that share a brain,” he added helpfully.

“Sounds about right.” Steve shivered, the cold making his hairs stand on end. Will looked a little cold too. “Let’s grab some clothes or something before I turn into a popsicle.”

“Are those all the lessons?” Will asked, trailing after Steve as he picked his way to a closet in the hall.

“Not by a long shot, kid.”

---

Something was going on with Nancy.

At first, Barb thought she was maybe just stressed about their upcoming test in chem. Nancy tended to over-stress for tests even though she had nothing to worry about, after all. But Nancy was generally predictable in her stress- chewing her thumbnail, walking the halls flipping through flashcards or with her head stuck in her notebook, silently mouthing along to whatever she read. Routine. For the past week, Barb's friend had been anything but.

For the past week, Nancy had been almost jumpy. She zoned out in class at least once a day, and once, when Barb had jogged over to her after school, she’d actually screamed. If Barb were being honest with herself, it was more of a squeak than a scream, but for Nancy it was alarming.

Barb had tried to broach the subject a few times, but Nancy dodged expertly. So, now, Barb was about to overstep. She took a bracing breath as Nancy opened the passenger door and slid into the seat beside her.

She waited until Nancy was buckled in and the car was in motion before she said, “Nancy, I need you to talk to me.”

“Barb, we just started driving”

“Not about that. About what’s been going on with you.”

“Nothing’s been going on with me.”

“Nance. I know you don’t think I’m stupid. You’ve been weird since Halloween.”

Nancy scoffed.

“What happened on Halloween?”

“Nothing happened on Halloween.”

“Before Halloween?”

She flinched. Oh.

“Nancy,” Barb hedged, waving a van in front of her at the stop. “You can talk to me.”

Nancy chewed her lip, staring longingly at the car door. Barb knew it was a bad move to wait until she was trapped in a moving vehicle, but, well… If it got Nancy to talk, she’d make that bad move with pride. “I-”

Barb waited.

“It’s so stupid.” Nancy leaned back with a groan, pressing her fingers to her face.

Barb waited.

“So I went to the party-”

“You didn’t.”

“Barb.”

Right. Less judge-y. She could do less judge-y.

“I was just thinking, you know, everyone was going, and I just wanted to see what it was like, and,” she twisted a lock of hair around her finger before adding quietly, “maybe Steve would be there.”

Barb bit her tongue to keep from groaning. Supportive friend. We’re being a supportive friend today. “Okay.”

And the dam burst. “And ugh, Barb it was the absolute worst. You would have hated it. I hated it. Everyone was drinking, and Tina didn’t even show, so the only person I could talk to was Chrissy, but she spent almost the whole time with Jason, and Tommy H. was seriously awful.”

“Surprise, surprise,” Barb couldn’t help muttering.

“I mean it. He made a freshman cry, he beat up a senior, and he even hit Chrissy.”

“He did what now?”

“Well, I think the last one was an accident, but then the police came, and-”

“The police?” Barb’s voice definitely went up an octave. Had Nancy been arrested? She wouldn’t hide something like that from her, would she?

“And then everyone ran off into the woods, you know, the ones that go right to the edge of Steve’s house.”

No, I don't know, I've never been to King Steve's house, she wanted to say. Instead, she said, “Please tell me you didn’t run off in the woods alone at night.” Barb pulled to a stop at the curb outside Nancy’s house, turning to face her fully.

Nancy ducked her head.

“Oh my God, Nancy.”

“Everyone already ran ahead, and I couldn’t stay when there were police, so…” she shrugged, helplessly before shrinking in on herself. “And then… when I was in the woods, um. There was this… man?”

Barb felt suddenly doused in ice water. Please don’t let this turn into the kind of story it sounded like it was about to turn into. Not Nancy.

Nancy swallowed thickly. “I didn’t really get a look at him, it was so dark, and there were so many trees, but he, Barb, you’re shaking. What?”

She stared at Nancy with wide eyes, horror washing over her. “Nancy,” she croaked.

“Barb, what is it?”

Hot tears spilled from Barb’s eyes, fogging her glasses and blurring Nancy’s face. “Did someone hurt you?” she asked, fiercely. Fuck. Fuck.

The puzzled frown on Nancy’s face gave way to a surprised little ‘o’ before melting into something soft. “Barb,” she said, softly, taking her hands. “No. He kept going. I promise.”

Barb sucked in a breath, chest burning. “Nancy, I swear to God-”

“I promise.” Nancy squeezed her hands. “He just really, really, scared me.”

Barb couldn’t help the hysterical laugh that bubbled from her throat. “Don’t scare me like that.” She squeezed Nancy’s hands in return before pulling hers away to flip her glasses onto her head and rub at her eyes, blue eyeshadow and mascara smearing over her hands.

“Sorry,” Nancy said. She clicked off her seatbelt, but made no move to get out. “At first, I thought it was someone from school, but he was just so tall. And then when he got closer – don’t worry, he didn’t see me – I swear, it was almost like he didn’t… have a face? It sounds dumb, I know.”

Barb stared at her, incredulous. “You saw a masked creep in the woods, Nancy, I would be scared of my own shadow. Oh my God, Nancy, you could have died, or…”

Nancy shuddered. “I just keep seeing him when I close my eyes, and… and it’s so dumb, right? Because obviously it was someone playing a prank and I fell for it.”

Barb sniffed, and Nancy’s expression softened.

“Hey.”

These are the things you’re supposed to tell your best friend, Barb wanted to say. But Nancy was scared enough and guilty enough and Barb couldn’t dump that on her, too.

“Hey. Come inside for a little bit? We can do cocoa. I have marshmallows?”

Barb nodded, and the two of them made their way inside. They were sitting in her room, chatting over cocoa when the news of Will Byers’ disappearance broke over the radio. Barb’s mother called, minutes after. Woops, Barb hadn’t told her she was over.

“I have to go,” Barb said. “My mom is freaking out.”

“I’m sure mine will be, too,” Nancy said.

“Do you want me to stay until you talk to her?”

“About what?”

“Um, hello, you saw a creep in the woods and and now there’s a kid missing?”

“Oh, absolutely not. They’re not even related!”

Barb reeled back in disbelief. “Nancy, we have to tell someone.”

“What? No way. Barb, my mom would ground me for life. It was just a dumb prank. ”

“Nancy, this is serious!”

“Barb, they have nothing to do with each other.”

“But what if they do?” Barb pressed, meeting Nancy’s eyes. As scared as Nancy might be of getting in trouble, Barb knew without a doubt she’d do the right thing.

True to form, Nancy heaved a defeated sigh and scooped up the empty cocoa mugs. “I’m telling you you’re wrong. But… just in case,” she murmured and made her way down the stairs.

Barb’s heart swelled with pride.

---

Trailer Dude had shit taste in music, but he was good at it.

Steve listened as he alternated between plucking on a guitar, drumming on random things, and distracted humming that vibrated through the air. It honestly sounded a little creepy, with the way the air around distorted the sounds, but Will liked it, and Steve liked seeing the kid even a little relaxed. Will sat nodding his head along to the disjointed echos of strummed notes while Steve raided the cabinets for snacks. Trailer dude’s food was mostly processed and unhealthy, but that made it less likely to taste like rot in hell, which was a bonus.

Steve was at least ninety percent sure it wasn’t actually hell, though. On his darker days, it didn’t seem too out of the realm of possibility for an asshole like Steve, but there was no way a kid like Will would end anywhere near it. Add to that the way Will described running into the Demo...gorgon, and it added up to something Steve still couldn’t process.

“So, Will,” he said, tossing Will an only slightly questionable can of Hi-C. “Got a last name?

Will caught it and tugged down the scrap of fabric over his nose with a grateful smile. “Byers.”

Steve choked around the sip he’d just taken, coughing roughly. “Byers?” No no no no no. “As in Jonathan Byers?” It made sense. They lived nearby, didn’t they?

Will took a long sip. “You know Jonathan?” he asked, eyes bright. “That’s so cool! I thought you might! Are you guys in the same grade? Do you have any classes together?”

Holy hell. “We didn’t really run in the same circles before…” He gestured lamely to the walls around them. “But I could hear him, sometimes, talking about you. You’re his favorite person, you know.” And being without you is going to destroy him.

“He’s my favorite person,” Will said earnestly. “And my mom.” He drained the rest of the juice, pulling the rag back over his nose. He wrapped his arms around himself, the overlong sleeves of a leather jacket flopping over his hands. “They were so worried this morning. And I know he thinks it’s his fault for taking an extra shift at work, and I tried to… but I couldn’t… they didn’t hear me.”

Steve crossed over to Will, laying a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Hey,” he said gently. “They might not be able to hear us, but they know something happened. They’ll be looking for sure.”

Will leaned into him. Christ he was so small, just a kid. “Your family has to be even more worried,” he said. “How long have you even been here?”

Steve stilled, unsure how to answer. He didn’t want to lie, but he couldn’t stomach the thought of telling Will it had been months… that it might still be months more. He settled on a partial truth. “My parents just left town for a trip when… Well, same thing that happened to you, I guess. I was on my way home, and then I was here.” After being, you know, dragged screaming by the lumbering wraith from hell or whatever. They could leave that implied.

Will hummed. Trailer Dude was singing some hideous baseline in the background. “Have you tried to call them?”

“Um. Pretty sure phones don’t exactly work here, baby Byers.”

“Have you tried?”

“Well, no, but–” He made a sweeping gesture to the room as a whole, shaking the drifting spores from where they’d made trails on the sleeves of his stolen flannel. “I don’t think anyone’s been paying utilities.”

Will hopped from the stool where he sat, carefully skipping steps until he reached the phone. “We won’t know unless we try, right?”

It would hurt nothing to humor him, so Steve waved him on.

---

The phone was ringing.

Kinda killing the vibe, but if he listened just right, Eddie could almost make it hit on with the guitar. Maybe if he switched to E minor- heck yeah, that sounded better. Maybe up an octave? Or–

“You gonna get that, Ed?”

Wayne sat by the TV, tying his boots on. His eyes crinkled at the corners, lips ticked up in amusement, and he gave a pointed look to the phone less than two steps away from where Eddie leaned on the counter.

The phone rang.

“Huh?”

“The phone, Eddie.”

Oh. Huh. The phone was ringing. He should probably answer that. “Oh, damn, sorry Wayne. Yeah, one sec.” Eddie snagged the phone, just managing to grab it before it stopped ringing. “Thank you for calling Casa Munson, this is your host Eddie, how can I help you?” Behind him, Wayne huffed, trying his best to look long-suffering. Eddie saw right through that and shot him a shit-eating grin over his shoulder.

On the other side of the phone, silence.

“Uh, hello?” There was some static, then… was that breathing? Ugh, not another prank call. Eddie was not in the mood for today’s flavor of Harass the Freak. There was another garbled sound layered in with the breathing. Eddie had some very choice words to say to whoever was on the line, but Wayne was there, so he probably shouldn’t tell them to fuck off. Instead, he said politely, “Yeah, sorry, you probably have a wro-”

And then the fucking phone crackled and fucking went up in actual fucking flames. And, see, Eddie had been smooshing it in the crook of his neck so he could keep messing with his guitar, so when the fucking phone decided to spontaneously combust, the ends of his hair lit up like a goddamn Christmas tree.

Eddie shrieked, dropping the phone like a hot potato, and holy shit he was on fire, fuck fuck he was on fire, thank fuck he was next to the sink, holy fucking shitballs. He threw his whole head under the tap and just… let it run.

Son of a bitch, their phone just exploded. What the fuck.

Uncle Wayne’s hand was on his shoulder, brushing the hair from Eddie’s neck. He felt rough fingers sweep across his skin, gentle and prodding. It didn’t hurt, so… no burns somehow. Yippie. His uncle seemed satisfied and stopped poking at him, thumping Eddie solidly on the back. “Well,” he said, voice tipped in mirth, “that’s one way to do the dishes.”

Oh gross.

There was definitely spaghetti sauce in his hair. Why, oh why hadn’t Eddie done the dishes when Wayne’d told him to? Ugh. Head still under the tap, Eddie flipped him off because fuck you.

Wayne cackled.

Thrumming with electricity and flickering, the lights felt like they were laughing, too.

---

“Holy shit, Will! You’re a genius!” Steve lifted the boy clear off the ground, spinning him with a whoop.

“It worked!” Will cheered. “It actually worked! We can use the phone. I can- I can call my mom!”

They would have to test a few more times, maybe stop at a few places on the way, but… Holy shit. He ruffled this brilliant boy’s hair, grinning ear to ear.

For the first time in months, the first time since Maybe you’ll have a shot for team captain now, Steve felt something like hope.

Chapter Text

“I think we got a solid twelve seconds on that one.” Steve dropped the cracked phone back on its hook, frayed cord bouncing against the wall.

Will scribbled the time on a scrap of loose paper from where he sat on the counter, legs swinging.

Hopping over a particularly gnarled tangle of vines, Steve crossed over to him.

“So that’s an average of… twenty seconds.”

“Five second lady hung up, she doesn’t count.”

“I didn’t count her,” Will said, scandalized.

Steve held his hands up placatingly, hissing when the movement made the cut on his arm flare. “Okay, so… think it’s enough?”

Will shrugged. “Maybe?”

“It’s a pretty big risk for a maybe.” And see, that was the thing. So far, the phones didn’t dial out. If they wanted to call someone, they had to use the phone where they wanted it to ring in Hawkins.

Will met his eyes, a determined set to his jaw. It made him look older, and Steve hated it. “My mom is looking for me.”

“Of course she is,” Steve said, running his fingers through his hair, or trying to, anyway - they mostly just caught on matted stands. But just because she was looking in Hawkins didn't mean… He gave up on his hair, shoving his hands into the pocket of his jeans instead and leaning on the counter. “It's just... I'm not trying to scare you, man, but the Demogorgon is probably still in those woods. We might have to wait a few days before we go back t-”

“No!” Will cried, throwing down the pencil he’d been clutching.

The outburst caught Steve off guard.

“You didn’t hear them this morning, Steve.” He turned big, pleading eyes towards Steve, and well, damn. How could anyone say no to that? “I’ve been gone a whole day now. Mom’s going to be even more worried, and- and Jonathan. What if they think something bad happened to me? I can’t do that to them!”

Something bad did happen to you! Steve wanted to shout. You’re stuck here in hell! With me! Was there any worse condemnation? How could he possibly hope to keep this boy safe? He could barely keep himself safe. “I know, Will, I know, but… Listen, if it’s out there… If something happens, I…” he cleared his throat to cover a cough, and Will took his cue.

“You said you distracted it before, right? Can’t we just do that again?”

Steve paused. It had worked in the past, the distractions. The only issue was that Steve didn’t have only himself to worry about. He couldn’t bring Will along for a distraction, but he also didn’t want to let the boy out of his sight. “I –” How could he possibly keep him safe?

Spores drifted lazily through the air, settling like ash on Will’s hair and clothes. The boy shivered, cold biting through even the added layer of his new leather jacket. How could Steve subject him to this place any longer if there were even a chance they could… he didn’t know. He swallowed thickly, throat dry. Rescue seemed like a fantasy, but… Well, maybe Will deserved a fantasy.

Steeling himself, Steve wrapped shaking fingers around the canister in his pocket. He’d forgotten about it in the rush this morning, but… only one of them had been in his backpack. He pressed the Mace into Will’s hands. “Ever use one of these?”

Will shook his head.

“So this is the deal. You wait. Here.”

Will opened his mouth to object, but Steve cut him off.

“Uh-uh, no buts. Jesus, I can’t believe I’m even considering this. So I’ll go set up shop over the tracks, do my thing. You wait for me until I come back and we go together, got it?”

Will nodded.

“The only exception is if something finds you. It probably won’t! But if it does, I want you to use that, okay? Point this end away from you and squeeze here, that’s it. They don’t see, remember? If they can’t smell you and they can’t hear you, you can get away. So you’ve gotta be stealthy, got it? Like a ninja. Can you do that?”

“Ninja,” Will echoed, nodding again.

“If I’m not back in…” he reached over to a magazine peaking from a messy pile on the counter, “the time it takes you to read this TV Guide, you go without me, okay? Don’t come look for me.”

“What? No-”

“I need to hear a yes.”

“I don’t-”

“I need a yes, Byers, or no deal.” Will was scowling and wringing his hands, but Steve wasn’t budging on this. “You go straight to your house, you keep to the trees, and if you hear anything, you get out of there. As quiet as you can.”

“Steve-”

“There’s a water station in the woods between my house and the lab.”

“Wait, Steve-!”

“It should still have some water in it.” He started testing the cabinets to see which ones might be able to be opened without dislodging the vines around them. “I don’t have my thermos anymore, but bet this place’ll have one. We’ll find you one before I head out, yeah?”

“Steve, stop, we’re going together-” Will begged, growing more distraught with each word.

Steve plowed on. “Remember when you try the phones at your place you’ll only have a few seconds, so make sure you hear your family home first. Make sure they’re close. Don’t waste time on hello, you tell them right away. You’re gonna have to think of how to explain it fast because I’ve got nothing. Your brother’s smart though, he could maybe fi-”

“Steve!”

He froze, the pain in that little voice finally breaking through to him. Gently closing the under sink cabinet, he straightened back up. He must’ve done it too fast, because the room spun like a twisting kaleidoscope. He shook his head to clear it before turning to face Will once more. The boy’s eyes were flooded, shining tracks making their way down his cheeks and collecting in wet splotches along the makeshift mask he wore.

Oh.

“We’re going together,” Will said again, a whisper in the stillness.

Steve closed his eyes, pushing past the sudden pounding in his head. Jesus, he was so fucking young. It wasn’t fair. “Will…”

“No,” Will said, voice shaking, but growing stronger. “We’re going together. You don’t split the party.”

“I’m not changing my mind, kid,” Steve said softly. “I know you want to reach out to your family. I get it. But it’s not safe right now. This is how I can make it safe.”

“But-”

“I’ve survived here for-” Shit. “Look, I’ve got a little practice getting around without being seen.” He flipped his kitchen knife out of his pocket and used it to gesture at the spiked bat propped against the wall. “And if that doesn’t work, I’m not totally defenseless either.”

The boy’s face pinched, and he opened his mouth to protest.

Steve nudged him gently. “I know you don’t like it, but those are your options. We wait a few days or I distract the creepy crawlies. Final offer.”

“And then you come get me and we go together?”

“And then I come get you and we go together.”

Will clutched at the TV Guide, the sound of the crinkling pages echoing through the room. “Okay.”

---

Steve walked through familiar woods, marveling at how much and how little had changed. It was the same routine he’d been doing for weeks – months? – but there was purpose behind his actions again. And sure, there was still the buzz in the back of his mind, like a distant alarm keeping him on constant guard, but there was more, now, than just survive.

Lightning thundered on distant clouds, streaking red across the frozen hellscape.

This wasn’t a place for a kid.

It wasn’t a place for anyone, really. Before, when it was only Steve, he had been an anomaly. A phantom haunting the world like freaking Scrooge watching Christmas present, only there was no ghost and no lesson and no waking up with a chance to re-do his miserable life. But if someone else were here? It wasn’t just some divine punishment, some cosmic joke throwing in his face how little he’d made good with the life he’d been given. Now, it was a problem that needed a solution. Now, because of Will’s genius and youthful optimism, there was a small, tiny sliver of a chance that a way out might actually exist. Steve could work with that.

He coughed, the force of it leaving him lightheaded, and pulled the oversized flannel tighter around him. It hung loose around his frame, and he had to roll the sleeves up again. There had been another jacket, denim with sherpa lining peaking out from under it, but it had been snared in creeping vines. The flannel was warmer than nothing.

Without a bag to carry it, Steve clutched his spiked bat. There hadn’t really been anything salvageable in the trailers they’d been to so far. When they made it back to Will’s place, he or Jonathan might have one lying ar-

‘-ers!’

‘Will!’

Steve halted abruptly, straining to hear the sound. A distant chorus of voices echoed, discordant in that way he knew meant they were in Hawkins rather than here. The calls were spread out, echoing in different voices. They were looking for Will.

‘Will Byers!’

They were looking for Will! They’d been right, after all. Steve had to hurry, to let Will know that he was missed. His family looking for him – all of Hawkins was looking for him. Will deserved it. Any kid deserved to be safe, not lost and scared and alone, but Will especially. The kid was just… so good. Steve wasn’t any good with words, but he’d probably describe Will as a sunbeam or some poetic shit. Not bright, like being out in the summer, but the kind that came in through the window on a winter's day. The kind someone might move their chair into just to feel it on their back, and forget it was cold outside until a cloud rolled by and the light was no longer there.

‘Will!’

Will deserved it all. And Steve? Well… He…

Fuck.

He was happy for Will. He was. He was so happy for the kid wanted to shout. But he couldn’t shake the hollow feeling that snaked underneath, the whispers of his own insignificance. And he’d already known, had been slapped in the face with that truth enough, but… Well, it never got any easier.

He swallowed past the lump in his throat and rubbed at his chest. Here was as good as spot as any. He pulled Jolene out of his pocket and plucked a hanging vine from a series of low branches.

Alright, Will. Time to get you home.

---

Will did not like waiting.

A repurposed soap dispenser sat on the counter beside him. Steve had foisted it on him, the only vaguely bottle shaped vessel with a lid they could access. He made Will promise to carry it for water if he had to run. Will wasn’t entertaining that idea.

He was on his second pass through the last page of the TV Guide, trying not to think of worst case scenarios. Steve couldn’t have known Will was the fastest reader in his grade other than Dustin. So maybe when he said ‘the time it takes you to read this TV Guide,’ he really meant the time it takes you to read it twice.

But Will had promised. The Mace sat like a lead weight in his pocket.

Steve wasn’t back yet.

Will flipped back to the beginning of the TV Guide. Of course, it couldn’t really be considered as read if he hadn’t finished the puzzles. So, really, he hadn’t even finished it once! If Will squeezed the pencil a little too hard and took a little longer than he needed to, no one needed to know.

---

Sweat poured down Steve’s brow as he neared the trailer park, sucking in air in painful gasps. Once again, the run back had stabs of agony lancing up his leg, his head swam, and his arm throbbed like a second heartbeat. Still, though he felt sapped of energy, operation distraction had run into little resistance.

He wiped at his forehead, moving the hair plastered to it out of his eyes. Will might still be waiting for him. He hoped he hadn’t scared the kid too much; he probably underestimated how long it would take to get back.

Once he felt he’d managed to gain control over his breathing, he pushed open the door to the trailer he’d last left Will. “Will?” he called, stepping inside.

Something slammed into his side, knocking him against the door frame. The bat fell from his grip, and he had a moment of panic before he registered the tumbling words filling the air.

“-ait a little longer, and then you still weren’t here, and I was going to listen, but I-”

“Whoa, slow down.” Steve peeled Will off of him so he could check the boy over. He seemed alright. “You okay?”

“Are you okay?” Will asked shrewdly.

“Peachy.” Steve ruffled his hair. “Come on, grab your stuff. I’ve got some news- I’ll tell you on the way.”

Will’s ‘stuff’ was just the Mace, the repurposed soap container, and a flashlight that didn’t work. He grabbed them all and followed Steve out the door. “So it worked? We’re clear?”

“Mostly. We still have to be careful, but we should be home free for now.”

They picked their way through more woods. Will was a quick learner, hopping between vines to avoid stepping on them. Steve trailed after him, flagging.

“What’s the news you wanted to tell me?” Will asked from up ahead.

“It’s good news, actually.” Steve pushed past the ache and turned his brightest smile towards Will. Kid couldn’t see it under the rag around his face, but Steve was sure Will would hear it in his voice. “They’re looking for you!”

“They are?”

“Search parties and everything! Sounded like half of Hawkins.”

Will crossed back over to him, tugging his hand. “This is great, Steve! Maybe they’ll find a portal!”

“A… portal.”

“Mm hmm, that’s how you move between planes. Like a door or a gate to different worlds.” He said it so matter-of-fact, like this was common fucking knowledge.

Steve stared at him, dumbstruck. There were supposed to be… doors?

“It’s probably how we ended up here,” Will added.

“So… What do they look like?”

Will made an aborted motion to chew on his fingernail, stopping when his hand met the fabric tied around his nose. His brow furrowed in thought. “Like swirling masses of energy?”

“And, uh,” Steve licked his dry lips. “What does a swirling mass of energy look like?”

The boy shrugged. “I don’t know, a ball of light, I guess. Nobody ever goes into detail when they write about them, and the movies always cut away…”

The absurdity of it all struck Steve- were they really basing their chances of survival on books and movies and fairytales? On some game? Could he really discount it, though, when Will had already established some sort of contact in less than a day because of it? “Okay, so fill me in here baby Byers. I wanna know everything about this Shadowland-”

“Vale of Shadows.”

“-and planes and portals. Basically anything from your dragon game you think might be good to know.”

“You want to know about Dungeons and Dragons?”

“Uh, yeah, dude, if it gets us out of here, it’ll officially be the best game ever made.”

Maybe Steve should have asked sooner, because Will was gesturing wildly, eyes bright as they continued to walk.

“Okay so, there’s the Prime Material Plane- that’s got to be home. And…”

---

Steve regretted everything.

Okay, maybe not everything, but also… everything.

He’d zoned out sometime during the breakdown of the many different outer planes. Why were there so many? And why were there like entire universes where everything in them was the same level of good or bad or-

“This is it!” Will exclaimed from up ahead. Sure enough, Steve could see the husk of a house just ahead.

“Hey, go slow, ok?” he called, in part because you never knew what could be around, and also because his entire body felt like lead. Between the running with Will this morning, the running from the howls drawn by his earlier distraction, his stinging leg, the growing headache several days in the making, and the burning in his lungs, Steve was not having a good time. He blinked away the spots in his vision and pushed on after Will, who was already racing inside.

Steve could hear a hushed conversation when he pushed through the door. Will stood rooted in place at the edge of a floral arm chair in what must be the living room. As he approached, he could hear the sound of quiet sobs.

‘-at is it, honey?’

‘Nothing.’ It was Jonathan. Steve could feel the grief rolling in waves, even here.

‘Tell me. Tell me. Come on. You can...’

‘No. It's just... I should've been there for him.’ Oh, Jonathan, no. There wasn’t anything he could have done against a literal monster from hell.

Steve met Will’s eyes, seeing the same grief mirrored there as well. He tilted his chin towards the phone on the wall, relieved when resolve settled over Will’s face instead.

Will strode over to the phone on the wall, picking it up with trembling hands. Sure enough, the hushed conversation silenced entirely, and Mrs. Byers rushed to the phone.

‘Hello?’

Steve started counting.

“Mom! It’s me! Mom, can you hear me?” Will said in a rush.

‘Hello?’ Mrs. Byers asked again. ‘Lonnie?’

Steve frowned. Could she not hear them?

“No, mom, it’s me, Will. Hello?”

Steve walked over to Will, not sure what to do, but wanting to be there for support. It sounded like he’d need it- Mrs. Byers was getting more distraught by the second.

‘Who is this?’

“Hey, let me try?” Steve asked, reaching out for the phone. Will was just about to hand it over when Steve heard a familiar low rumble at the nearby window.

He froze, turning to Will. Shit. Had the distraction not worked as well as he’d hoped?

‘Will? Will?’

A scratching sounded along the wall just outside.

Don’t move, Steve mouthed. Will stared longingly at the phone, and Steve shook his head.

‘It's Will? Mom, it's Will?’

Steve pressed a finger to his lips, darting his eyes pointedly to the window. He reached out and plucked the phone from Will’s loose fingers, dropping it silently against the wall. We gotta go, he mouthed.

Will shook his head, desperately reaching for the phone. Steve grabbed his hand and turned the boy to face him. He tilted his head towards the exit. Tomorrow.

On the other side, Mrs. Byers was screaming into the phone. Will wouldn’t move, so Steve made an executive decision. He gathered Will into his arms, biting back a groan, and stepped out of the room.

‘Give me back my son!’

I’m sorry, Will, Steve thought. He wanted it to work, and it had worked, but keeping Will alive now was more important. He could feel hot tears dropping on his back, and spared a moment of gratitude for this child who was trying so hard not to make a sound.

He shifted Will’s weight to one arm and snared the spiked bat with the other, ignoring the way it pulled at the cut.

‘It was his breathing. I know it was his breathing.’

Steve walked them outside, leaving behind the sound of sobs. He pressed Will closer to him, checking the woods for any sound. Something was out there. The scratching had been too measured to be one of the bats or the dogs. Shit.

They didn’t have enough supplies for this. One bat and one knife and one canister of Mace wasn’t going to cut it. And there was one house Steve knew had supplies, close enough to reach fast. One where he knew where everything was and how to get to it.

Well, damn. Looks like he’d have to go home after all.

“Will,” he whispered, taking the risk. “Listen up, okay? I need you to get the Mace ready.”

Will clung to him like one of the fucking vines.

“Will,” he hissed. The scratching was circling the house. Fuck. “I’m gonna get us out of here, but I need Byers the Badass right now, okay? You got my back?”

Will sniffed, shifting in his arms. “Yeah,” he said, voice wobbling. But Steve could feel him digging the Mace out of his pocket, and when he spoke again, his voice was steel. “I’ve got your back.”

Steve ran.

Behind them, the Demogorgon shrieked.

“What’s my range?” Will asked from where he was still slung over Steve’s shoulder.

“The what?” Shit, this was too much running for one day. Steve was so fucking tired.

“The range! Of the attack!”

Huh?

“How far can it shoot?” Will shouted.

Oh. Between gasps for breath, Steve managed, “I think… fif...teen… feet. How… close…?” He could hear branches snapping behind them, something snarling over the sound of his pulse in his ears.

“Keep going.”

Which didn’t answer the question, but gave Steve a pretty good idea. He kept running, branches whipping past them. The scratch of claws and thundering steps behind them was growing louder and Steve cursed himself for not being faster.

Will was moving on his shoulder, and Steve knew he was probably jostling the kid like a sack of potatoes. It was hard not to, with one hand taken up by the spiked bat. He tried to brace the boy as best as he could, and it must have been some divine perfect timing, because Will muttered “Got ya,” and Steve heard the hiss of the canister, followed by the enraged wail of the Demogorgon. Shit, how close had it been?

He thundered on a few more steps before skidding to a halt, pulse hammering in his ears. He set Will down carefully and tried to slow his breathing. “We… quiet,” he tried. He really tried, but it was so hard to speak. His chest was on fire.

Will was looking up at him with wide hazel eyes. He looked over his shoulder towards the clearing they must have left the Demogorgon behind in, then back to Steve, who was still struggling for air. His brow creased, and he took Steve’s hand and pulled.

Steve followed, stepping carefully over vines along with Will. He only needed to point Will in the right direction twice, and soon enough, they emerged from the tree line by Steve’s pool. There wasn’t a key for the back, so Steve steered them to the front door and ushered Will inside. He was amazed his legs were still working enough for him to reach the living room.

A can of peas pressed into his hand, replacing the bat he’d managed to cling to through their entire run. “Thanks, Will.”

Will slid next to him, and Steve could see that he was still shaking. “Y-yeah.”

They passed the can between them. It tasted awful, but it was at least a little hydrating and something to fill their stomachs.

“We’ll try again tomorrow,” Steve said, grimacing after swallowing another mouthful. He passed the can back.

Will stared at it, dejected. “I made them even more worried.”

“Hey, none of that,” Steve said, bumping him with his shoulder. “You know what worried means? It means hopeful. They haven’t given up on you. Yeah, we haven’t been able to tell them where you are, but they know you’re somewhere. Hey, man, look at me. Your mom knew it was you. She recognized your breathing.”

“She’s always been like that. She can always tell if it’s me or Jonathan even before we say anything. It’s like her mom superpower.”

“Alright, so… trust in her mom powers, then.”

“This is your house, right?” Will asked.

Steve blinked at the question, seeming to come from nowhere. “Um, yeah.”

“Maybe we can try your mom, too?”

Steve closed his eyes and hoped Will didn’t see the way he flinched. “I think she’s still out of town.”

“Oh… when does she get back?”

“Um… probably soon?” If she hadn’t come and gone already. In reality, his parents probably had come and gone, and they probably still hadn’t noticed their missing son. Will didn’t need to know that, though. “Try to get some rest. We’ll grab some supplies and go back tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay. Do you want me to take first watch?”

“Uh…”

“You know, like sleeping in shifts.”

“Oh. Oh, no, I’m not tired yet. It’s been a long day for you, Byers.”

“I’m not sleeeepy,” Will said, but he sabotaged himself with a yawn.

“Mmm hmm, nice try.” He let Will lean into him, carding his fingers through the boy’s hair the way he thought he might remember his mother doing, when she’d cared. He was pretty sure she cared, once. God, he hoped so. “You can sleep,” he meant it to sound strong, a promise of security. He was pretty sure the hoarse whisper didn’t quite hit the mark, though.

Will burrowed deeper into his side, breath ghosting over his arm like a sigh. “Okay.”

Steve choked on a laugh. Kid was a godsend. Steve wouldn’t have believed that for a second, if the tables were turned. Wouldn’t trust his life to some knobby teenager he'd known only a day, covered in blood and who knew what else. But Will’s breaths had already gone even, and if Steve clutched at him until his knuckles turned white, well, at least the kid wasn’t awake to notice.

Chapter Text

Jim Hopper nursed his mug of coffee, head resting against his steering wheel. There was not enough caffeine on Earth to get him through the day.

In his mind, Joyce Byers’ words replayed in an endless loop.

Wouldn’t you know your own daughters?

He downed the coffee, letting it burn its way down his throat and wishing it were something stronger. Before she’d said those damning words, though, Joyce had said something that stuck with him.

It was Will. And he was scared. And there was someone else there, and, and, and sneakers, Hop. I heard sneakers. Like someone was running or fighting, and then something –

Sneakers.

He massaged his temples. It wasn’t enough to go on, not with just sneakers and nothing else, but he’d filed it on paper and in his mind anyway, even if he was mostly sure it was some asshole prank call. Groaning, he climbed out of his car and rejoined the search party.

---

Will dreamt of stretched, mottled arms and rows of teeth. Disjointed limbs tore through a rotting forest, long claws leaving gouges in their wake. Trees crumbled like bones behind them, oozing black rot. A large, petaled face was open and screeching, the same black rot dripping from rows and rows of jagged teeth, and they were getting closer and closer-

“Will!”

He startled awake, eyes searching the darkness for teeth and claws.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay. You’re okay. There’s nothing here. It’s only me.”

Will trembled, trying to blink away the afterimage of oncoming death. It had felt so real. It had been real a few hours earlier, slung over Steve’s shoulder. He rubbed at his eyes.

“You’ve been doing amazing, Will,” Steve said. His fingers started combing through Will’s hair again. It felt nice.

“I-”

“No, seriously. You’ve managed to kick the Demogorgon’s ass two out of three times.”

It didn’t feel like kicking its ass. “I was so scared,” he admitted, the soft scratches against his scalp tugging him back towards sleep.

Steve took a while to answer, and Will listened to the sound of his breathing and tried to match it. “I’m scared every time I see it,” Steve admitted, finally.

“Really?” Will asked, yawning and burrowing closer into Steve.

“Yeah, dude. Thing’s terrifying. I had nightmares for weeks.”

Will’s breath hitched. There was something in that… “Weeks?”

Steve’s mouth snapped shut.

“Weeks?” Will asked again, trying to fight past the fog of sleep. He needed Steve to stop messing with his hair because it felt so nice and it was making him so sleepy.

“Go back to sleep, kiddo. I’ll be here.”

Cheater.

Will’s eyes fluttered shut, and when he drifted to sleep again, he dreamed of a girl with haunted brown eyes.

The next time he woke, it was to the weight of an arm draped over him. He blinked his eyes open, half expecting the light of day, but the world around them was still faded and gray.

“Hey there, kiddo.”

Oh. They were still at the edge of Steve’s couch. Will’s head had dropped onto Steve’s lap, which couldn’t be comfortable for Steve. Will looked up at him, bleary eyed. “You didn’t wake me up.”

“You were dead asleep, dude. You needed it.”

Will pushed himself into normal sitting position, stretching. “You need ‘t too,” he said around a yawn.

“I’m alright.”

Will tried his best to give him the look. It must’ve been at least a little like his mom’s, because Steve sagged against the cushions. “Yeah, okay. You’ll be okay?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Wake me up in an hour.”

“Okay.” There wasn’t really a way to tell time, but Will figured he could make a guess.

“Don’t leave the house.”

“I won’t.”

“Remember to watch out for the vines.”

“I know.”

“There should still be a few cans left in the pantry, you can-”

“Steve, go to sleep. I’ll wake you up in an hour.”

Steve nodded, eyes closed and head tipping back. “One hour.”

“One hour,” Will agreed.

Soon enough, Steve’s breaths had evened out. Will disentangled himself from the older boy, letting his arm drop against the cushions.

Weeks.

Will hadn’t dreamed that, right?

He stared at Steve, hard. Took in his dirty hair, his chipped, uneven fingernails, the deep circles under his eyes, the hollow cheeks Will knew lay under the cloth tied around Steve’s face. It was hard to see more under the oversized flannel, and maybe Steve had always been skinny, but… Will wondered about that, too. Despite the cold, Will thought he looked a little flushed.

Maybe he could find Steve a blanket upstairs. Will left the couch and picked his way up the steps, careful of the vines crossing the floor like a net. When he reached the landing, though, Will could swear he heard… voices? He followed the sound down the hall.

‘-nference is tomorrow. We should already be there.’

‘Ronald, you know we can’t miss brunch with the Klines.’

Steve’s parents?

‘You could have had it without me. Why did you tell him I would be there?’

‘You backed out last time to go to Amsterdam, and I told him how sorry you were to miss it. It would look bad for both of us if you missed it again.’

‘Then we should have scheduled it for yesterday.’

‘I did try, but he’s a busy man, you know.’ Will heard the woman sigh. ‘We can go directly to the airport afterwards.’

The man huffed, and Will could hear the sounds of a bag zipping shut. ‘You’ve finished packing?’

Airport?

Packing?

Will searched the room, frantic. There was a phone on one of the nightstands, and he scrambled towards it. He practically threw himself across the bed, seizing the phone from its place. Please work, please work.

‘Can you get that, Ronald?’

Yes!

Steve’s father swore under his breath, and Will heard the click of a phone coming off the hook. ‘Hello?’

“Hello, Mr. Harrington?”

‘Who is it?’ Mrs. Harrington asked from across the room.

‘Just some static.’

“Wait! Wait, my name’s Will. It’s about Steve-”

The line went dead. Will stared at the phone in his hand. It hadn’t shorted out, had it?

‘What did they say?’

‘Something about Steven, I think, but they had a godawful connection. The phone lines here in Hawkins are useless.’

‘Mm,’ Mrs. Harrington hummed.

They heard him! Will pressed the hook of the phone down and let go, waiting for it to ring again. Please pick up, please pick up.

‘Leave it, we’re going to be late,’ said Mrs. Harrington, sounding bored. How could someone sound bored at the name of their missing son? ‘Can you pass me that shawl? No, not that one, the- yes, that’s the one. You’ll have to load the bags yourself, dear. I’ll be right down.’

That couldn’t be right.

But somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered weeks, weeks, weeks.

Mr. Harrington grumbled, and Will heard footsteps and wheels fading out of the room. Mrs. Harrington finished getting ready, and the click of her heels followed after Mr. Harrington when came back for her suitcase. Will trailed after them.

‘Ronald, wait.’

‘What?’

‘Steven…’

‘Steven, what?’

Behind Will, Steve snuffled in his sleep. Will didn’t know if he should wake him or not. Should he try the phones again?

‘His card is still blocked isn’t it? Don’t forget to leave him some cash where he can see it, I don’t have time to write a note.’

Ronald Harrington trudged into the kitchen and back out again, grumbling all the while. ‘There, happy?’

Will didn’t get the chance to try the phone again. Instead, he listened to Mr. and Mrs. Harrington walk out together and to the fading echo of Mrs. Harrington’s heels clicking down the driveway.

---

Steve woke to something poking into his shoulder. He sat upright with a start, tearing his knife out of his pocket and brandishing it with a snarl.

His eyes met Will’s, wide and startled.

Shit, shit.

They boy held his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, you wouldn't wake up.”

“No, I’m- Jesus, sorry, Will. I could’ve-”

“You didn’t,” Will interrupted.

Steve opened his mouth to further object, because Holy Christ, he could have fucking gutted the kid. Fuck, fuck-

“I’m hungry,” said Will, cutting through Steve’s spiraling.

His thoughts ground to a halt, not quite able to keep up with the abrupt shift.

“So… can you help me pick what will taste…”

“The least like shit? Yeah, uh. One sec,” he said, forcing himself to tuck away the knife. He had to peel back the folds of a… blanket? Had he – ? Ah. Will. This fucking kid. He swallowed thickly and pushed the blanket aside, shivering at the sudden lack of warmth. “Let’s see what we can find.”

What they could find was not very much, if Steve were being honest. There were maybe about five salvageable cans left in the pantry, and Steve was not exactly hopeful for the state of the bloated looking can of chili. He settled for chickpeas and a can of mushroom soup.

“Five star dining choices,” he said, holding them up. Will pulled a face that pretty much summed up Steve’s level of enthusiasm for their options. Still, by this point, Steve was more familiar with the taste of rot than the taste of food, so it made little differences what brand of disgusting helped them survive a little longer. “Chickpeas might be your best bet. I’ll take the soup.”

Will accepted that with a relieved exhale, so Steve added probably doesn’t like mushrooms to the pieces of Will he was putting together.

The kid made it about halfway through his can before he stopped, the pensive frown that’d been sat on his face the whole time deepening. “Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“How long have you been here?”

Ah.

Steve had hoped Will wouldn’t remember that detail when he woke up. He sighed, and forced down another bite, wishing he’d picked something he could pretend to be chewing for more time. “It’s not really that important.”

“Your parents were here this morning.”

And wow, okay, that was exactly what Steve had been hoping to avoid. “Oh,” he said lamely, unable to hide a wince. “What did they…” Shut up Steve, you don’t want to know. He switched questions and hoped Will either wouldn’t notice or wouldn’t call him out on it if he did. “They head back out again?”

“Some sort of conference,” Will confirmed. He was staring at his can of chickpeas like it held the answers to the universe.

Steve nodded absently. That checked out.

“They didn’t… I tried to…” Will looked up at Steve with an expression that was too fucking old for a twelve year old. “How long have you been here?”

Something twisted in Steve’s gut. He put that expression there. He wanted to be honest with Will, but he couldn’t take away even more of this boy’s hope. “Couple weeks,” he muttered, finally. Months had weeks in them. It counted. A couple could mean thirteen(?) just as well as three.

“Steve.”

“Look, it’s okay. Well, maybe not okay,” he hastened to add at Will’s disgruntled expression, “but I’ve been alright. Sure, it sucks, but I’m still alive. And besides, now I’ve got this little genius with me, so I’ll be out of here in no time.”

The deflection was a moderate success. Will looked like still had more to say, judging by his still stricken expression, but didn’t argue the point and took another reluctant bite. His face contorted in disgust, but he swallowed. Kid was a trooper for sure.

Steve went back to his own can, letting his mind wander away from the congealed glop. He’d been right after all; he wasn’t even an afterthought to his parents. He couldn't bring himself to feel anything but resigned at just another confirmation of what he already knew all along. Will, though? Will had people waiting for him, and they would try to break through to them again today.

Just when Steve had gotten comfortable with the lull in conversation, Will said suddenly, “Your parents are asses.”

Steve choked on a mushroom.

---

Jim sat in his office with the lights off, forehead pressed against the cool of his desk.

The door creaked open. "Chief, there's something else," Flo said, tentatively approaching his desk.

Jim groaned. He just needed a minute. One goddamn minute to process that his friend was dead before he got back to the increasingly grim search for a missing child. “What now?”

“Karen and Nancy Wheeler came by while you were…” At Benny’s was left unsaid. "I didn’t want to interrupt, so I got Lou to take the statement, but…” She slid the file over his desk, and Jim stared at it, uncomprehending. “Well, you should read it.”

Jim pulled it over to him, scanning the page.

Masked man? What the…?

Jim straightened in his desk. With the news of Will Byers broadcasting on every TV and radio station for miles, there had been false leads on false leads… But a lead in the woods near the end of Cornwallis? That was a little too convenient to ignore.

---

“Nancy!”

“What?” Nancy called down the stairs from her room. She was beyond grounded. So much for doing the right thing. And why was she the only one grounded, when Mike had been home when they’d gotten back from filling out paperwork at the station? He’d clearly skipped school and was being even moodier than usual, but of course he didn’t have to be responsible.

“There’s an officer here to speak with you.”

“Coming!” Nancy answered, and promptly screamed into her pillow, cursing Barb in her mind. This was so stupid. It was just a prank. A stupid Halloween prank. She adjusted her sweater and headed down the stairs. Once she reached the living room, though, it turned out the ‘officer’ was Police Chief Jim Hopper. She straightened. The Chief?

“You had some questions for me?” she asked after her mother ushered her to a seat across from the Chief.

Chief Hopper took a sip of the coffee her mother had given him. It looked like he hadn’t slept in a year, so he probably needed it. “Your statement said you saw a man in the woods about a week ago. Care to elaborate?”

Nancy shifted, eyeing her mother from where she stood by the sofa, arms crossed. She wished Barb here here. “There’s not much more to say.”

“Work with me here.”

Nancy fidgeted. “I was at a Halloween party.” Well, it wasn’t like she could get more grounded for life. “And it got pretty loud, so someone called… you? And everyone ran away through the woods, so I…” She’d already told all of this to the officer at the station, but her mom looked just as unhappy as the first time.

“So you…?”

Right. “I was trying to cut over to Cornwallis. I, um, left my bike a few blocks away.”

“You did what?” her mother interrupted.

Nancy cringed. She’d left that detail out of the original retelling. “Well, I…”

Chief Hopper shot an annoyed look at her mother before waving Nancy on. “Back to the woods, Wheeler.”

“Right,” she said, fidgeting with her hands. “It was dark out, but I saw someone ahead of me in the trees? And he was tall. More than normal. And when he came closer… I couldn’t see… He must have had a mask or something one over his head.”

Chief Hopper leaned forward. “This mask. What did it look like?”

“It was dark,” she said again, frustrated.

“He didn’t say anything to you?”

“No. I don’t think he saw me.”

“And no one else saw him?”

“I didn’t exactly ask around.”

The Chief pinched the bridge of his nose. “Miss Wheeler. You realize you saw this man in likely the same exact place where Will Byers disappeared –”

Her mom sucked in a sharp breath.

“– and right now, you’re one of the only leads we’ve got. I need you to remember anything you can.”

After a week of trying to bury the image from her mind, Nancy found it surprisingly difficult to drag it back to the surface. “It looked... like it didn’t have eyes? I don’t know how he could see, but… He just kept going.”

“Which way?”

“Back towards Ste – er, towards the party.”

The Chief sighed, setting his drained mug down on a coaster. Nancy waited for why didn’t you report this sooner? Why did you wait so long? But it didn’t come. “You did the right thing, getting out.”

“Does it… help, though?” she asked.

“It’s a lead,” the Chief said, standing. “It could’ve been a Halloween prank, but I’m not ruling anything out at this point. It’s more than we’ve got so far. We’ll redirect more of the search party that way. If you remember anything else, Wheeler, I want you to call the station and tell Flo. She’ll radio me directly, alright?”

Nancy nodded numbly, the reality of it all starting to sink in.

She barely heard her mother showing the Chief out, or Dustin bursting through the door and shouting for Lucas and Mike. She desperately hoped her mother wouldn’t say anything to them. How could she look any of them in the eyes? Their friend was missing, and if she hadn’t been so selfishly afraid of being grounded, she might have been able to stop it.

---

An hour after dinner, Mike was the first to notice El glide over to the game table, intense stare unwavering. Dustin and Lucas shifted beside him, following her movements.

“What’s the weirdo doing?” Lucas asked.

Mike got it; they didn’t trust her. He could do without the hostility, though. El was just a kid like them, except alone and scared just like Will might be, somewhere. They didn’t get that. Besides, she might be their only chance to find Will.

El sat at the table, fingers splayed over the game map, eyes closed but somehow focused, like Jean Grey.

“El?” he asked. Was she using her powers to find Will?

El’s face was pinched in concentration. Mike could see her eyes moving behind her eyelids, like she was searching for something. When she opened her eyes, she stared at his miniatures with a puzzled frown. Her fingers ghosted over them. She plucked Lucas’s barbarian from the board, staring at it intently. She held it up for inspection, but her frown deepened, like it wasn’t quite right. Obviously it wasn’t, Will was a wizard.

Like she’d read his mind – could she do that? – El reached for Will’s miniature. “Will,” she said.

Holy crap, she knew it was Will’s! Mike was sure he hadn’t told her which character Will played.

Beside him, Dustin muttered, “Superpowers.”

Mike slid into the chair beside El. “Did you see him? On Mirkwood?” he asked. This had to be why El had been brought to them – she was the missing key to finding Will! “Do you know where he is?”

El met his eyes briefly before looking back at the board. She swiped her hand across it, knocking everything on it to the side. Mike traded looks with Lucas, who looked as uncertain as Mike felt. El reached across the table and flipped the board. She stared at the two figurines still in her hand, before placing Lucas’s barbarian on the board. She frowned at it, but then slammed Will’s beside it. Mike felt his stomach drop.

“Shit,” Dustin said behind him. “The bad men got Will. Shit, shit, shit.”

“Shit,” Lucas echoed.

El shook her head. “Friend,” she said.

Dustin and Lucas went quiet.

“I don’t understand,” Mike said. What friend? “Who is that?”

Something like frustration flitted across El’s face. She pointed to the barbarian again. “Friend.”

“We’re Will’s friends,” Lucas said, frustrated to match. “And we’re right here!”

“Yeah,” Dustin agreed. “Why is there some random guy with Will?”

El’s eyes hadn’t left the two miniatures. “Hiding,” she said.

“Will is hiding?” Mike asked. He, Dustin, and Lucas traded looks. They were getting somewhere!

El nodded, intense gaze still locked on the table.

“From the bad men?” he continued. When El shook her head, he pressed, “Then from who?”

El placed a new miniature onto the board. She reached across the board again, and slid the barbarian between the wizard and the new figurine.

The Demogorgon.

Shit.

---

Jonathan was looking for tracks. Snapped twigs. Broken branches. Anything that might have been missed. He knew search parties had probably come this way before, but… he couldn’t sit and do nothing. Not if Will was out there.

He’d held on to some hope that Will had run away to Lonnie. It would have been horrible, it would have meant Will needed something Jonathan and his mom couldn’t provide, but it would also have meant Will was safe. But Will wasn’t with Lonnie, and Will wasn’t safe.

He snapped another photo of some broken branches on the forest floor. Was he imagining it, or were they leading in the same direction?

He followed what was starting to look like a buried trail- snapped branches on trees, some littering the ground as well. Decomposing leaves layered over the floor made it harder to follow, but every time Jonathan thought he might have lost the trail, he found another branch, another twig… sometimes a large depression filled with leaves – was it paranoia to think they could be lingering tracks? With the rain they’d had… probably. Jonathan followed them anyway.

They led him to the backyard of a large house with a pool. It sat silhouetted by the glow of street lamps from the road beyond it, cutting a dark line through the trees. The trail, if it was one, stopped here, without trees to shield the ground from the rain. He snapped a picture of the house. Could Will have come this far?

Jonathan crept to the house’s pool deck. Nothing seemed particularly out of the ordinary. He snapped a few more pictures, the whine of the flash cutting through the silence. He reached the sliding door, trying to peer inside. The house was dark, no movement to indicate anyone might be home.

Jonathan sighed. What was he doing? He pulled back, swearing when his jacket caught on the door. He tugged it free, and the glass door inched open with it.

Bad idea, Jonathan. This was a bad idea.

He glanced at his watch. It was only seven. He could spare some time before his mom started to worry. It could be nothing, but… What if Will had gotten spooked and found an empty house to hide in? Jonathan slid the door open wide enough to squeeze himself through and shut it again.

The house was huge, a sitting room larger than their family living room leading into a large and open foyer that might have been bigger than his entire house. Streetlight filtered through the windows, and what little of the house he could see in the dark was sparsely decorated.

“Will?” he called, stepping fully into the expansive foyer. A large family portrait hung by the fireplace. Curious, he walked over to it. Steve Harrington’s face smirked back at him, stiff and formal and arrogant beside parents who looked just as haughty.

So this was the famous Harrington manor. It certainly lived up to expectations. It also meant that Jonathan probably didn’t need to worry about anyone being home.

A light flickered by the stairs.

“Will?” he called again, louder. He crept towards the flickering lights, but there was nothing there. The hairs on his arms prickled with anticipation, and Jonathan scolded himself for letting the atmosphere get to him. He climbed the steps, and the lights in the upstairs landing pulsed.

Each of the bedrooms felt like a dry interior decorating catalog and came with its own connected bathroom, which fit pretty much everything Jonathan expected of the Harringtons. All were all empty, and smelled faintly of commercial cleaning products, like the school after a long weekend. Figures they would have professional cleaners.

It was a surprise they didn’t have someone here to fix their electrical problems, though, because the lights were flickering in almost every room he explored. It made it easier to investigate each room, so Jonathan could voice no complaints. The phone ringing beside him in the master bedroom nearly made him jump out of his skin. His eyes caught the alarm clock next to it. He should probably head out before his mother started to worry.

He trailed back down the stairs and did a sweep of the main floor and basement – no Will. It had been a long shot, anyway. He hoped the Harringtons had an answering machine, because whoever had been trying to call was persistent. With a sigh, Jonathan crept back out of the house, the shrill ring of the telephone echoing in his ears as he slid the door shut behind him.

Chapter Text

“It was a good try,” Steve said, tugging the straps of his middle school backpack snug around Will’s shoulders.

“He didn’t even try to answer it,” Will said with a dejected sigh.

“Would you answer someone else’s phone?”

“Well, no, but…”

“He’s probably heading straight to your house,” Steve added, shoving his can opener into the backpack along with the last two passable cans of food. “Is that too heavy?”

“Mm-mm.”

“Okay, just two more things,” Steve said. He tucked a plastic gym bottle into the bag and zipped it shut, spinning Will around to face him. He placed Jolene in Will’s hands, surprised at how parting with the little kitchen knife felt like a physical blow. “This is Jolene- don’t laugh, she’s saved my ass so many times it’s not even funny. Keep her in your pocket, okay? At all times.”

Will tucked Jolene into his jacket pocket almost reverently. “What about you?”

Steve waved him off. “I’ll grab one from the kitchen.”

“I could just take one from the kitchen,” Will countered, seeming to lock in on Steve's attachment to a fucking kitchen utensil. Why did this kid have to be so perceptive?

“My knives don’t have sheaths, so I’ll have to keep it in this bad boy.” He hoisted up last year’s backpack, which was was filled with half of his own first aid kit, an extra sweater, the bloated can of chili from earlier, and his own bottle. “Besides, I have this gal to keep me safe,” he added, gesturing to his spiked bat.

Will always looked a little uneasy at the sight of the bat. Steve figured the black goop crusted on it didn’t do any favors. He strode into the kitchen, familiar enough with the pattern the vines made to step over them with barely a glance. Will followed behind him as he pulled their good chef knife from its block on the counter – thank God they didn’t keep their knives in drawers, since they were wrapped in sprawling vines. The knife he picked was a little rusted, here, but it was still plenty sharp. Steve bundled it in his extra sweater and shoved it in the front pocket of the backpack with the handle peaking out, easily accessible. He shoved the bat into the large pouch, and zipped around it. “Alright, I think we’re-”

Something crunched outside.

They both froze at the sound. A familiar rumbled sounded from by the sliding door Jonathan had left not half an hour ago. Steve bit back a groan. Why again? He used to go days, sometimes weeks between run-ins with the pale monster. This was relentless. Steve didn’t think he’d be able to run again, not so soon on such little rest.

Beside him, Will pulled Jolene from his pocket, the knife shaking in his little hands.

Hell no.

In no universe was Steve going to let Will close enough to the Demogorgon to use a knife. They didn’t have anything with a longer range than his bat, and he pulled it slowly back out of his backpack. He thought about Will whimpering in his sleep, face twisted in fear, and the haunted look in his eyes when he awoke.

Absolutely not.

Steve glanced around the kitchen, struggling past the brain fog of exhaustion for anything that might get them out of this. His eyes swept the room, sliding over the rusting refrigerator.

There was an idea. Not a very appealing one, if he were being honest with himself, but…

Steve tiptoed over to it, and waved until Will looked his way, face pale, but eyes alert. Steve gestured to his face and mimed pinching his nose shut. Will’s brow furrowed, but he mimicked the gesture. Steve took a deep breath and pulled open the refrigerator door.

The inside of the fridge was a putrid mass of decay, brimming with blacked, congealed lumps of rot, and the sight alone made Steve balk. He hoped the Demogorgon wasn’t attracted to the smell of rot- hoped he hadn’t damned them both. Steve backed away, bat held at the ready, and slotted himself between Will and the kitchen entrance.

Will gagged next to him, and Steve was only a few seconds from not being able to hold his breath anymore, either. He braced himself for the rancid stench of spoiled meat, but it still hit like freight train. He retched, but forced himself into silence. He slung his backpack over his shoulder, wincing at the temporary sensation along the cut on his arm. He flagged Will forward, and once the boy nodded, led them into the living room.

Every inch of him was itching to tear out of the house, away from the rot and away from the Demogorgon, but right now, it was too close. They needed time, distance.

Will perched on the arm of Steve’s couch, looking seconds away from spewing his guts all over the floor.

Alive there? he mouthed, and instantly regretted it. The smell was definitely not confined to the kitchen and oh gross it was in his mouth.

Will nodded miserably, keeping his lips firmly pressed shut. Smart kid.

Steve mimed at his wrist to a watch he wasn’t wearing and held up both hands. He flashed his fingers twice – twenty minutes, at least. Not like he could really tell, but they could maybe come close. It might give him time to catch his breath, which had already been hard to do before the extra reek of rot and spoiled meat.

They sat in joined misery, letting the drifting spores and stench of rot settle around them. Steve had no real way to tell if twenty minutes had indeed passed, but… it felt long enough, maybe. He stood and waved toward the front door. Will slid from the armrest and followed. I’ll check, he mimed, gesturing to himself and then the door again. Will gave a jerky nod, and Steve gripped his bat tighter and pushed open the door.

The street outside stretched into the dark, devoid of life and movement. The husk of his Beemer sat rusting on the driveway, but otherwise, it was all empty. Steve nodded and stepped outside. He took a few experimental steps, pausing to listen for any sound in the stillness, but all he could hear was the sound of his and Will’s breathing. He looked back at Will, and the boy joined him on the front step, closing the door behind him.

“I think we’re clear,” Steve whispered.

Will looked up at Steve, determination slotting across his face. “Let’s go.”

---

“Moment of truth, buddy.”

The trip to the Byers home had been uneventful. They’d even had time to fill their bottles at Steve’s water station. They hadn’t been able to reset it, since Steve didn’t want to draw any unwanted attention by cutting a new set of vines, but they had enough water to get by for now.

He stood in the Byers’ living room with Will, ready to try the phones again.

“What if the phone’s still broken?”

“I guarantee you your mom’ll have bought another one.”

Will jerked his head in a single nod, and pulled the phone from its hook. It didn’t even finish its first ring before the sound of scrambling and a frantic ‘Hello?’ echoed both in the air and through the phone.

“Mom!”

‘Hello – who is this?’

Will’s fingers flexed on the phone, and Steve marked it as the subtle hint of distress it was. Will was anxious and trying not to be. Steve settled a hand on Will’s shoulder, and the boy took a deep breath in and out.

‘Will? Will, it's me,’ Mrs. Byers sobbed. Steve’s heart clenched at the sound of her distress. He couldn’t imagine what this was like for Will.

“Mom!” Will said again, louder.

Mrs. Byers made a hysterical sound. ‘Will! Yes, Will, it’s me! It’s me! I can hear you!’

Holy shit! Steve’s fingers curled into the leather of Will’s borrowed jacket. Holy shit.

“Mom, I’m here!”

‘Will,’ Mrs. Byers sobbed. ‘Just tell me where you are, honey. I’ll come find you. I’ll find you! Please.’

“Here!” Will said. “It’s like home, but it’s dark. We-”

Electricity crackled, and Mrs. Byers screamed.

“No no no!” Will cried. In Hawkins, Mrs. Byers did the same.

Steve couldn't bear it. Neither, it seemed, could Will. He dropped the phone and pushed away from the wall. Steve recognized the determined set of his shoulders and followed him down the hall, stepping carefully over the web of vines sprawling through the house. Mrs. Byers whimpered behind them, but… her footsteps followed?

‘Jonathan?’

Will marched into what must be his room, looking around. He crossed the room to a stereo perched on a desk against the far wall, and hit play. Music thrummed to life, blaring that Should I Stay or Go song.

“How did you do that?” Nothing Steve had tried to turn on had ever worked, other than random lights, if people complaining at school were any indication.

“I don’t know, it was glowing,” Will said.

Glowing? Steve stepped into the room after Will. It was such a kid’s room. A smart kid’s room, with all the books, but the shelves were lined with toys, the walls scattered with pinned drawings and posters and some weird glowing thing…

Steve stared at it, eyes narrowing. “Hey, Will? What did you say those portals looked like?” He advanced towards it slowly, wary of anything unexpected in this hellscape.

‘Will? Will, is that you?’

Will stood across the room with his hands on a lamp – what was he doing? – and turned towards Steve. “Hang on, I’m trying to talk to-”

The glowing section of wall pulsed in front of Steve, and the edges of it started to shrink inward, leaving crumbling drywall behind. “What to the portals look like?” he demanded, gesturing to the wall.

Will’s eyes probably doubled in size, and he dropped his hands from the lamp, scrambling over to Steve’s side. “Like that! They look like that! Oh my gosh, Steve!”

The glowing section of wall continued to shrink with each pulse of light. But it was covered in vines, and Steve wasn’t sure he trusted it. What better way to bait them then a possible way out? He opened his mouth to voice the concern, but Will was already pressing his hands in the spot between vines. “Will!” Jesus, this kid!

“It’s… sticky,” Will said, voice strained as he pushed against the pulsing red patch. It continued to shrink.

“Will, it’s getting smaller, move your hands!”

“Well, then help me!”

This was so stupid, this was so stupid, but Will wasn’t, so Steve joined him, shoving his hands at the maybe portal, maybe death trap. Sticky was an understatement. It was cold, which was saying a lot, since everything here was cold, and lined with some thick, mucusy substance. It clung to his hands and the fabric of his sleeves as he pushed.

Mrs. Byers started screaming.

Which… could she see something?

Will pushed harder, almost all the way to his shoulders, and the wall stretched around them. The vines on the wall pulsed in time with the strange light, and Steve saw one of them shift, coiling towards Will’s head.

“Will!” he shouted. Will kept pushing. Steve reared back and grabbed Will by the backpack, yanking him away from the wall. He came out with a wet squelch, strings of whatever had been coating the maybe portal trailing from both their arms. They toppled to the floor in a tangle of limbs.

“What are you doing?” Will cried, straining back to the wall. But the pulsing glow had been steadily shrinking, fading, and vines slid over the space.

Steve clung to Will. “Will, stop. It’s not safe.”

“No! My mom is right there!” Will was still clawing at the air, reaching for the wall in front of them. But whatever the glow was, it had faded, leaving more vines in its wake. Will sagged against him, fight gone.

“I’m sorry, Will.”

“We could have gotten out. We were so close! Why would you do that?”

“I couldn’t risk it, I’m sorry.”

“Let me go!” Will shoved Steve and yanked himself out of his arms.

Steve wheezed, the shove catching him in the stomach. He tried to suck in a breath, but Will must’ve caught his diaphragm because it felt like a knife.

“S-Steve?”

He wheezed again, letting himself fall back. He’d had the wind knocked out of him enough to know it’d pass, but right now, all his brain could register was that it wasn’t getting enough air. He pinched his eyes shut and tried to focus on his breathing.

“Steve!”

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

“Steve!”

He felt Will’s hands on him, frantic and tugging. He peeled his eyes open to see Will kneeling above him, expression twisted in distress. “’m fine,” he tried to say, but instead, he coughed, which really made everything worse. He rolled himself to his side, tucking his knees.

“Steve, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, please be okay!”

Shit, he was really freaking the kid out. Steve managed to force out an “Okay,” before wheezing again. Well, wasn’t like his breathing hadn’t been screwed already. He gripped Will’s hand to stop him from tugging at Steve’s jacket again, and focused on breathing. It took a few minutes, but it eventually started returning to normal. Well… as normal as it’d been earlier, anyway. “I’m okay,” he said, looking up at Will again.

“I’m sorry!” Will’s face had guilt written all over it, eyes lined with tears.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, pushing himself into a sitting position. “I mean… I’m not sorry I pulled you out, but… I’m sorry it didn’t work.”

Will shook his head. “I shouldn’tve-”

‘Will?’ Mrs. Byers called, voice shaking. She had come back. This woman was incredible.

Steve pat Will on the hand, trying to communicate that it was fine- he was fine. They had something else to focus on, now. “Let’s try your thing with the lights again.”

---

Joyce rubbed her eyes, trying to force the exhaustion out of them. She’d stayed up all night, talking to Will. It had to be Will. She didn’t know how she knew, but her son was trying to reach her, she knew it. But their means of communication were so limited, and maybe Will was getting tired, too, because the lights had been slower and slower to respond as the night drew in. They hadn’t even blinked at her last question.

“Sweetheart, can you hear me?”

Nothing.

“Will Please. Will It's me. It's me. Just talk to me.” Was he even still there? “Talk to me. Just say something.”

“Mom?” Jonathan’s voice called from the doorway.

Joyce looked up at her eldest, the veil of confusion settled over his face. Joyce knew how it all probably looked, but she still called him over.

“Mom, what is this? What's going on?”

“It's Will,” she said, gesturing to the lamps she had set up throughout the room. How to explain this? “It's Will, he's trying to talk to me.”

“He's trying to talk to you?”

“Yes, through through the lights.”

“Mom.” Jonathan said, looking at her exactly how she was afraid he might.

“I know, I know,” she said. She did. It sounded absolutely insane. But Joyce had always believed her intuition and knew what came from ignoring it. She wasn’t about to risk that when it came to her son. Jonathan, though, was the practical sort who needed proof. “Just watch,” she said to him. She turned to the lights, praying Will was still listening. “Will, your brother's here. Can you show him what you showed me, baby? Please.” Two lights blinked at her, but so much less bright than they’d been before. Whatever way Will must have found to reach her must be fading. Still, it was noticeable enough that she pointed it out to Jonathan.

“It's the electricity, Mom. It's been acting up all over town.”

“No, it’s more than-”

“The whole town is having problems. Everyone at school has been complaining for months. Even last night at… anyway, it's just the same thing that fried the phone.”

“No!” How could she make him understand? “It is not the electricity, Jonathan. Something is going on here! Yesterday, the wall –”

“What? What about the wall?”

But Joyce knew at this point that she’d lost him. Jonathan wouldn’t be swayed by anything she had to say. And maybe she did need to get some sleep, but Joyce knew what she’d seen. Knew something was going on – that she’d spoken to Will. She just… didn’t want to think about what it might mean that he could communicate through lights and stereo – through things intangible and unseen. Jonathan left to go make breakfast, and buried the terror at the thought that Will might be permanently out of reach.

---

Jim watched the security footage playing out before him with growing apprehension. “This is the night of the sixth and seventh we're seeing here?” he asked, pretty sure what answer the desk jockey in front of him would give.

Desk jockey didn’t even look up, but head of security who’d been showing them around said, “That’s correct,” proving Jim right.

The tapes kept rolling for only another minute before the guy stopped them.

“Is that it?” Alarm bells were ringing in Jim’s head. That was definitely not enough footage for one full night, let alone two.

“Like I said,” Head Asshole of Security said, “we would have seen him.”

Jim searched the screens playing before him. Lying bastards. There was no way those tapes showed the past two nights. His eyes caught on one screen on the top right, watching someone in a hazmat suit cross the screen. The light glinted off the suit’s mask, making it look…

Like there wasn’t a face.

Jim kept his face carefully neutral until he, Powell, and Callahan had made it back to the patrol car.

“The night of the seventh,” he said, once he was sure they were in the clear, “we had a search party out for Will. You remember anything about that night?

“Not much to remember,” Callahan said. “Called it off.”

“'Cause of the storm,” added Powell.

“Yeah,” Jim said, “a lot of rain that night.” He paused, resting his hands on the hood of the car. “You see any rain on that tape?”

Powell shifted, understanding crossing his face. “What are you thinking?”

“I don't know,” Jim said. “But they're lying.” They climbed into the car, and Jim turned to head back to the station. He drummed his hands on the steering wheel. There was that one other detail. And Jim wasn’t sure, but… “You see any of the suits on the tapes?”

“Sure, place was fulla suits – got that federal paycheck,” Callahan muttered.

“Not those suits. The white ones.”

Powell frowned next to him, and Jim could almost see the gears turning while the man filtered through the tapes in his mind. “Hazmat?” he asked, not sure if he trusted his own memory.

“Something like that.” Jim drummed his hands on the steering wheel.

“Hazmat,” Callahan said from the back seat. “Those kinda look like they don’t have a face… right?”

Powell’s eyes shot over to Jim, and he met them briefly before turning back to the road.

“Bingo.”

---

It was the end of school on Wednesday, and Tommy was just about ready to climb out of his skin. He'd been a mess of nerves the past two days, waiting for someone from the station to come follow up. But the town had gone crazy over that missing Byers kid, and no one had bothered.

Tommy slammed his locker shut so hard it dented.

“Jeez, Tommy,” Carol exclaimed beside him.

He tried counting to ten. Fucking Chrissy Cunningham of all people had approached him the Monday after the party, on Halloween proper, with a glittery hand drawn post card that read ‘Don’t sweat it! Count to 10!’ He’d ripped it up and thrown it away because he didn’t need that shit, but he found himself counting more and more often throughout the week. He’d been doing it like a prayer since the Harringtons had come home and Steve… hadn’t.

“Wanna blow practice?” Carol said beside him. “We could ditch this whole shithole and go to mine.”

What would Tommy do without Carol?

“Hey.” Tommy looked up to find Nicole approaching down the hallway, looking unnerved.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“I saw… something weird,” she admitted.

Carol leaned against the lockers, arms crossed over her chest. “Weird, how?”

Nicole glanced up and down the hallway, chewing on her lip. “You know the darkroom?”

“The thing you use for your photography shit?” Tommy asked.

“Yes, the thing I use for my photography shit,” Nicole said with a huff. “I saw Jonathan Byers-”

“That is weird.”

“Will you let me finish? Jonathan had pictures of Steve’s house.”

Tommy froze. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that he had pictures of Steve’s house. From all kinds of angles. I don’t know what he was doing with them, but he was hanging them up to dry.”

Byers always gave Tommy the creeps, and yeah, he’d joked with Carol about how the guy might’ve offed his little brother, but… but this was some stalkery shit. He grit his teeth. Everything kept circling back to Steve, and none of it was good. “Why don’t we go ask nicely?”

It didn’t take long for Byers to show up at his car. Tommy leaned against it with Nicole, Carol sat up on the trunk, until the guy slunk over.

“Hey, Byers.”

Byers, at least, looked appropriately wary of them. Good. “What’s going on?”

Tommy stepped towards him, and Byers took an instinctive step back. That’s right, freak. “Nicole here was just filling us in on some of your, what’s the word? Extracurriculars.”

Carol popped her gum. “Mm-hmm. We’ve heard great things.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about – hey!”

Tommy snatched Byers’ ratty old bag from him, shoving him hard and tossing it to Carol when Byers made a grab for it. Byers stumbled back a few steps, and Carol dug through the bag.

“Aha!”

Tommy shoved Byers again and stalked over to Carol, who had pulled a series of photos from his bag and was looking over them with Nicole.

“She was right- these are all Steve’s house,” Carol said, separating a stack of the prints from the rest. “Wow, he got right in there. That’s not creepy at all.”

“Let me see.” Tommy peered over Carol’s shoulder, Nicole looking over the opposite one, while she flipped through the evidence. At first, there were just a few branches with Steve’s house in the background, but as Carol flipped through the stack, the photos got closer, focus shifting from branches to the actual house. “Why the fuck were you on his pool deck?”

“I was looking for my brother-”

“And you thought your brother was in Steve’s house?” Carol asked, voice sharp and biting. She turned to the next photo, and Tommy saw red.

Framed in a halo of either moonlight or streetlight, hung that fucking hideous Harrington family portrait. The one Steve spent fucking hours shopping and doing his hair for, only for Mrs. Bitchington to immediately run through his hair with a wet comb and force him into a bland blazer. The one hanging up in their bland, flavorless livingroom.

“You were inside his fucking house?” Tommy lunged, seizing Byers by the lapels of his coat. “I will end you-”

“What’s going on here?” Nancy fucking Wheeler interrupted, walking up to the group with her tag-along redhead friend.

“Mind your own business, Wheeler,” Tommy ground out.

“It’s kind of our business when you’re assaulting a classmate in the parking lot,” redhead said. She was obviously trying to look tough, but she was shaking like a leaf.

“This creep broke in to Steve’s house and took pictures,” Carol added.

“Nancy, Barb… you should just go,” Nicole said. Barb, that was redhead’s name.

“Let me go.” Byers was wriggling in Tommy’s grip – not a chance.

Tommy spun them both and slammed Byers into the side of his own car. “Where do you think you’re going, Byers?”

“Let me go-”

“Not a fucking chance. Why were you in Steve’s fucking house? Did you do something to him? Answer me!”

“Tommy, let him go,” Wheeler said. And if Steve hadn’t had the hots for this prissy bitch, Tommy would shut her up right here.

“What are you talking about?” Byers tried to shove him off, but he was delusional if he thought he had any chance against Tommy. “He’s not even in Hawkins!”

“That still doesn’t explain why you were there,” Nicole said, looking up from the stack of pictures she’d finished going through. She sounded torn, but she’d always side with them over a creep like Byers.

“And don’t give us that bullshit about your brother,” Carol shot at Byers, jostling his bag in front of his face.

That Barb girl stepped forward, feeling a little braver now with Miss Priss backing her up. “Oh, you’re one to talk.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re getting on him for being somewhere you threw a party at a week ago?” she pressed, crossing her arms.

“That’s not the same.” Why was he even bothering to defend himself against this nobody?

“Breaking and entering is breaking and entering,” Wheeler said, obnoxious and morally superior.

Tommy laughed and turned his head to her, baring his teeth. “Yeah, well I think I recall a certain someone pissing around the party like the rest of us.”

Wheeler crossed her arms, matching her friend’s posture. They made an odd united front, stiff shouldered and coiled like springs. “You’re right. I was there. And so were you, and so was Nicole, and so was Carol, so you don’t get to harass other people for doing the same thing.”

While Wheeler was making a case for Byers, the creep in question was waiting for his chance. While Tommy was distracted, he wrestled out of his grip and jumped back a few steps. Wheeler and Barb moved to stand on front of Byers. Figures – creep couldn’t even fight his own battles.

“Whatever,” Tommy growled. The game was about to start. “You got lucky today, Byers,” he said, holding his hand out to Carol. She tossed over Byers’ ratty shoulder bag without a word, and Tommy fished out his camera.

“No, wait, not the camera-”

“Maybe think twice before you creep around people’s property, then,” Carol hissed, ripping up the printed photos in her hands.

She flung the shreds to the ground, and Tommy dropped Byers’ camera to the floor along with them. He tossed the old bag next to it, and stepped towards the school, Nicole and Carol following close at his heels.

“And Byers?” Tommy called over his shoulder, catching Byers hunchbacked and kneeling by what was left of his camera, “If I ever hear even a whisper of you going near Steve’s place again, it’ll be your fucking face I break next.”

---

“Dude, your mom is incredible.”

“I know!”

“But I have no idea what she’s doing.”

“I – um. I don’t really either.”

“I mean, am I hallucinating?” Steve gestured to the glowing strands starting to wind their way across the walls of the Byers house, networking like their own version of the vines that covered Hell. Or… Shadowvale or whatever. “Is she stringing up lights?”

“I think so?” Will trailed his fingers along the shining tendrils. “It kinda tickles.”

“Just be careful.” Steve rubbed at his eyes, trying to clear the spots in his vision. He was exhausted from the all-nighter they’d pulled trying to talk to Mrs. Byers.

‘Will?’

Will’s head shot up. “Mom?”

“Whatever it is you’re doing, keep doing it!”

‘Good good good,’ Mrs. Byers said from against the wall. ‘Blink once for yes, twice for no. Can you do that for me, sweetie?’

Steve and Will traded looks of nervous excitement and hurried to where the voice echoed loudest. Was this real? As Steve watched Will coax the sparkling glow into a response, he wondered what he could possibly have done to deserve a pair like Will and Joyce Byers.

Chapter Text

“Will, get out of the way!”

“My mom-”

“Will be fine! Get out of here!”

“Why does it keep following us?”

“I don't know, but run!” Steve shouted. He whirled with his baseball bat, slamming it into the back of the Demogorgon's calf. “Head to Benny's! You know the way?”

“I’m not leaving y-”

The Demogorgon howled and lurched away from the wall. It jerked Steve with it, the spikes of his bat still lodged in its muscle. He yanked the bat out of its flesh, and it ripped out with a fountain of black blood. “Go!”

Will looked torn.

Steve jumped back and roared at the towering monster, pulling its attention from Will. It wasn’t even standing, but God it was terrifying. Fuck. Fuck. But.. but there was Will to worry about. He adjusted his grip on the bat and sunk into a lower stance.

Will seemed to realize that running was the best thing he could do for Steve, and dashed down the hall. Steve prayed he remembered everything he’d taught him about traveling undetected.

Behind the Demogorgon, the wall was knitting itself together. It had tried to break through the same place the glow had been the day before, and Steve noticed that the pieces of wall rebuilding after the monster had ripped through it were glowing that same pulsing red. Apparently, when it carved a tear between worlds, the Demogorgon left a doorway behind.

That could be their way out.

Still, he’d have to deal with that after the immediate danger of the stretched corpse mauling him to death, or worse, going after Will or Joyce on the other side. He didn’t have any more Mace, no rotted fridge to distract, no other meals for it to consume instead. There was no way he could outrun it again as it was now.

The Demogorgon drew itself to its full height. Dark blood oozed down the back of its leg, pooling onto the floor, and Steve realized it was listing just slightly to the side, favoring the other leg. If he could get just one hit in on that leg, it might slow it down enough for him to get away. The creature bellowed again, the petals if its face flaring wide, and charged.

Steve dropped to the ground, slid his bat along the floor, and tumbled under the Demogorgon’s swiping arm, movement loud and clumsy with the added bulk of his backpack. Gleaming claws whistled through the air above him, and Steve rolled into a crouch, away from the wall and from Mrs. Byers. The Demogorgon whirled towards him, and he barely had time to grab the bat again before lunging out of the way, the whole motion sending a jolt through his arm and his leg.

Shit, it was fast. How was he going to get behind it?

So if you want me off your back

The Demogorgon’s head snapped towards the crackling of the radio, and Steve felt his heart sink. Will, no.

Well come on and let me know

“Hey! Over here!” Will’s voice called over the music.

No.

The monster turned, angling toward the hallway.

No.

“Will, I told you to run!” If he hadn’t been so stupid, Steve would have noticed the hallway Will had disappeared down was in the opposite direction of the door. Will had never intended to listen, not this time.

“Come and get me!”

Goddammit, Will! The song continued to blare, and Steve’s head was pounding in time with the drums. With a sudden burst of movement, the Demogorgon lurched into hall. Steve didn’t give himself a second to think and lunged after it, slamming the bat against its side. “Get out the window!” he yelled, praying the kid actually would. “I’ll meet you outside!” Please, Will.

The creature shrieked, and the shrill sound sent his hairs on end. It left dark stains in its wake, black blood still streaming down one leg. The Demogorgon swept at him with its claws, but the narrow walls of the hallway made it difficult to swing, long arms knocking against the walls. Steve heard the jumbled sound of what he hoped was Will listening, a series of thumps over the music. “Hey!” he shouted to cover the sound, and leapt back, puffing.

The Demogorgon took the bait, staggering back towards the living room. Steve pressed himself to the wall against the hallway entrance, and when it burst fully into the room, he slammed the bat down into the meat of its other leg. He used one hand to reach behind him, feeling for the handle of his knife. Ripping it from his bag, he drove the point of it through one of the Demogorgon’s feet and into the ground. It roared and Steve barely had time to drop under the claws that swiped back at him.

The Demogorgon continued to shriek, jerking its pinned leg. At this rate, the sound was going to summon everything within earshot. He needed to get to Will.

He dashed outside, stumbling over a few vines – there wasn’t much point avoiding them on the way out, not when he’d been tumbling over them in the house. Shit, he was not looking forward to having to run again. At least he’d come away from this encounter with only a few more bruises.

“Steve!” Will was circling from the back of the house at a run.

Steve didn’t know whether he wanted to hug the kid or throttle him. He’d decide later, when there wasn’t a monster roaring behind them like a wounded lion. “Go, go, go!”

They took off down Cornwallis at a pace Steve found himself struggling to match. Over the sound of his heartbeat in his ears, Steve thought he heard the drumbeat of wings. Fuck.

“Get – trees!” he just managed, gesturing wildly to the gnarled husks lining the road.

Will shot Steve a concerned glance, but he did listen. Steve veered after him. The combination of dense underbrush and tangled vines hanging from rotting branches slowed them considerably, and Steve was secretly grateful for the new pace. The beating of wings grew louder still, and it wasn’t long before a frenzy of cries joined them. Will froze, peering up through the reaching branches. “Are those the-”

“Jesus, don’t stop.” Steve herded Will further into the trees, hoping the bare branches would be enough to cover them.

“There are so many.”

“Tell me about it.”

Will glanced nervously up one last time, but the cloud of wings was beating in the direction they’d already left and paid them no mind. He glanced at Steve with an unreadable expression, and Steve wondered what he was thinking about.

“What, no freaky bat monsters in your dungeon game?”

Magic words.

Will spent the rest of the trip to Benny’s explaining how common or uncommon bats should be for different terrain or whatever, and the other types of bats. Steve really hoped fire bats were not a thing. Christ, what happened to simple games like Connect 4? Still, while it made his head spin to keep up, it served the intended purpose of distracting the kid. If Will was wise to what Steve was doing, he played along well.

When Benny’s loomed in sight through the trees, Steve ruffled Will’s hair, and they made their way inside.

---

Coward that he was, Jim put it off as long as he could, sweeping the Byers house for the bogeyman Joyce claimed came out of her wall. But he was the Chief of Police, and some duties were his responsibility whether he liked it or not.

For once, Jim was grateful for the recent incompetence of Hawkins Power and Light. So fucking grateful the downed lighting meant he didn’t have to see in detail the expression on Joyce Byers’ face when he told her her son was dead.

“Whoever you found, is not my boy. It's not Will.”

God. He could do this. He could. “Joyce.”

“No, you don't understand. I talked to him a half hour ago.” Joyce stumbled over to a low cabinet, pulling out a string of lights as dead as the rest of the power in the house. “He was here. He was talking with these.”

“Talking?” Jim had been prepared for denial, but the delusions were a harsh reminder of his own struggle after… He could do this.

Joyce made a breathy, struggling sound. “Uh-huh. One blink for yes, two for no.” She gestured to the alphabet wall that Jim was trying not to dignify with the comparisons running through his mind, ones that Callahan and Powell had already voiced in quiet whispers as they helped him search the house earlier. Joyce, oblivious to their disconcerted expressions, continued her rambling. “And then I made this so he could talk to me. 'Cause he was hiding from that thing.”

Jim was out of his depth, and he cursed Lonnie fucking Byers for not being here for Joyce. Jim wasn’t cut out for this, not for the aftermath, when there was nothing he could fix, nothing he could solve, nothing he could do. But… Jim could be gentle with a grieving mother. He had practice with that, at least. “The thing that came out of the wall? The thing that chased you?”

“Mom, come on, please. You've gotta stop this.” Jonathan was trying so hard to be strong. Jesus, he was just a kid too. Too young to have to shoulder his grief and his mother’s. Jim cursed Lonnie even more.

Joyce clung to Jonathan before gripping Jim’s arms, frantic, and insisted Will was in danger from… “What exactly was this thing? It was some kind of animal, you said?”

“No,” she said, gesturing wildly. “It was almost human, but it wasn't.” Her face contorted in fear at just the memory of whatever phantoms haunted her. “It had these long long arms and… it didn't have a face.”

Wait.

Jonathan fled the room, Joyce’s breakdown finally too much for him to bear.

Jim, though… Jim was reeling. His eyes snapped to Joyce, and he gripped her arms to ground her and led her to her couch. “It didn't have a face?”

“It didn't have a face.” She was still seeing something else, looking wildly around the room.

He knelt at eye level, trying to force her gaze to him. “Joyce, listen to me.”

She whimpered, wide eyes still scanning the room.

“Listen to me.” He switched back to Chief of Police, and Joyce’s head snapped up.

“Joyce, I’m going to tell you something I was on my way to tell you when we got… the call.” Joyce flinched, but he pressed on. “We got a report yesterday – I can’t tell you who gave it, don’t ask – about something similar. This person, they were out at a Halloween party, took a shortcut to get home, and they claimed to see someone in the woods. Tall. Long arms. No face.”

Joyce inhaled sharply.

“The person who gave the report thought it was a Halloween prank, someone with a mask trying to scare them. We already searched the area, but with the report coming after all that rain… I know it’s not much, but it’s something to go on. Right now we have no signs of forced entry, and no sign anyone was here. But if this masked person was in the woods, then maybe…” Maybe Will’s death wasn’t an accident after all.

“No, this wasn’t a person, Hop. This wasn’t human! And it’s still after him!”

“Joyce.”

“I know it is! He’s still out there! He needs me-”

“Joyce.” It was all he could do to keep his own voice from cracking on her name. “I was there. I saw him. You might be right about this man, and we won’t stop until we have answers, but-”

Joyce interrupted with a frustrated yell. “You’re not listening, Hop! I talked to Will. He’s still out there.”

“Joyce…” Jim sighed, taking her shaking hand in his. He spoke to her about Sarah, pushing past the pain it always brought to do so. Spoke to her about his own grief, and how hard it was to fight through it. She wasn’t receptive, but he had to try. For her. For Jonathan. The reality was, though, Joyce needed closure. And that wasn’t something he could give her. “Listen, I think you should go to the morgue tomorrow and see him for yourself. It'll give you the answers that you need…”

“Oh, God.”

“… and the autopsy will give us the answers we need. I will do everything I can to find out what happened, Joyce. But right now, I want you to try to get some sleep, if you can.”

He left her sobbing on the couch, and headed straight for his car. Callahan and Powell were long gone, cowards. Jim was mentally, physically, and emotionally wrung dry. He wanted nothing more than his own bed, but he wasn’t about to leave the Byers alone in the dark with either a potential murderer on the loose… or an extensive government cover up. He leaned back in his seat and prepared to wait out the night.

---

Eleven sat in the fort Mike had made for her, trying to find a way to communicate that Will was still alive. He hadn’t spoken to her on the way to his home, and he had not let her speak, either. She wouldn’t have known what to say, even if he had.

The Boy would know what to say, she thought. Ever since she had started looking for Will, Eleven had never seen them apart. She saw them in fragmented pieces, and she still hadn’t caught his name, but she worried for him. She knew Will did, too. He looked so much thinner than he had when Eleven had first started seeing him, and moved slower. But even moving slower, Eleven knew he would not have let anything happen to Will.

Eleven tried to clear her mind, to search for them and make sure they were alright. To show Mike they were alright. But it was hard to concentrate, now that Mike had decided to start speaking to her again after all.

“You made me think Will was okay, that he was still out there,” he yelled, “but he wasn't. He wasn't!”

How did she make him understand?

“Maybe you thought you were helping, but you weren't. You hurt me. Do you understand? What you did sucks.”

Eleven opened her mouth to speak, but no words would come.

“Lucas was right about you all along.”

Dismayed, Eleven gripped the walkie and closed her eyes. Static cut through the room again, but this time, the Boy’s voice cut through along with it.

‘-ust saying… if it has feathers it’s… a bird.’

‘It has bat wings! And it drinks blood.’

‘Bats don’t have fe- Don’t give me that face, it can’t… taste that bad. See? We’re not eating for flavo – Christ that’s disgusting.’

The sound of Will’s breathless laughter flooded through the walkie. ‘I told you.’

Mike sprang from the couch, coming to kneel by El. He was pale, and his eyes were glued to the walkie. Eleven strained to maintain the connection, feeling the warm blood seep from her nose.

‘Shut up,’ the Boy said, but without any bite. He gave a sputtering cough and made another noise of disgust. ‘I still say it’s a bird.’

She held the radio out to Mike in offering, and he took it with shaking hands.

Will groaned. ‘Stirges aren't birds. More like a... mosquito bat.’

‘Ew, that’s even wor-” The Boy coughed again, and kept coughing.

‘Steve! Here, drink this –’

“Will, is that you? It’s Mike! Do you copy? Over.”

Eleven lost her hold on the pair, the connection slipping like water through her fingers. The Boy had a name. Steve.

“Will, are you there? Will!” Mike shouted into the walkie. He turned his searching eyes to Eleven. “Was that…? Was it-”

“Will.” Eleven took in her new friend’s face, the hope brimming once again in his eyes, and decided she wanted it to be there, always. She wanted to see it in all her new friends’ faces. Wanted to see it for Will and for Steve. “Steve.”

---

Barb absently folded the corners of her notebook, staring at the empty seat to her left. Nancy had never come to class, but she’d been in third period… Where did she go? Cutting class was not something Nancy would do, not when she was going for perfect attendance.

The door to Mr. Hauser’s class opened, and the class looked up to see who interrupted. Barb definitely wouldn’t have expected it to be Robin Buckley.

“Hi, Mr. Hauser!”

“...Hello, Robin,” Mr. Hauser said her name like a question.

“Ooh, sorry, were you in the middle of a chapter? I’m so sorry to interrupt,” Robin said, gesturing wildly with her hands the way she always did when she talked, “but, um, can I borrow Barb for like a minute?”

Barb stared at Robin, incredulous. Could this not wait until sixth period?

“Robin, we’re in the middle of class.”

“I know! And English is totally my favorite so you know I wouldn’t interrupt unless it was, like, super important-”

“Robin.”

“But it is super important, and Barb’s probably already read like three chapters ahead anyway, so, um. Can I?”

Barb tried to catch Robin’s eyes, shaking her head. She hoped Robin would catch the please stop embarrassing me in class for the love of all that is holy written on her face.

“It’ll have to wait until after class, Robin.” At least Mr. Hauser seemed too bewildered to even be upset.

“Please Mr. Hauser. It’s um. Girl stuff?”

So much for not embarrassing her, Barb thought, sinking into her seat. Mr. Hauser just looked uncomfortable.

“Thanks, Mr. Hauser!” Robin rushed, without waiting for a yes.

Barb tried to shake her head at Robin, but on the other hand, Robin wouldn’t be so bold if it weren’t, in her mind, important. She sighed, and stood up, feeling the eyes of her classmates swivel in her direction.

“Can you, um. Bring your stuff?” Robin added.

Barb grabbed her things and tried very hard not to stomp her way out of the classroom. As soon as the door closed, she hissed a whisper at Robin. “What was that? You couldn’t wait until sixth period?”

“Sorry, sorry, but-”

“If this is about that stupid rumor that the band room is haunted again, I swear-”

“Hey, that’s not a rumor, it is haunted – ask anyone in band and they’ll tell you-”

“Robin.”

“It’s about Nancy.”

Barb scowled. Robin complained about Nancy every once in a while, but she wouldn’t be petty enough to interrupt class over it, would she? “What about Nancy?”

Robin chewed her lip, glancing up and down the hall. It was still the middle of class, though, so they were empty. “She’s crying in the theater dressing rooms.”

“What?”

“We have solo practice today, and I asked if I could practice in the auditorium, you know, for the acoustics? And when I was going back there, I heard like… crying by the drama wing. And I wasn’t going to check, because, you know. Haunted? But I thought maybe I could just take a tiny peek, and then I saw Nancy Wheeler on the floor, just like totally sobbing her eyes out. And we’re not really cool like that, and I didn’t really know who else to get, because I’m pretty sure she’s skipping, but I figured you’d know what to do, so, um.” She shrugged helplessly.

Barb listened to Robin ramble with both growing affection for Robin, and growing alarm for Nancy. She shouldn’t have doubted Robin’s heart- it was always in the right place. “Thanks Robin.”

“Come on. I’ll walk you there, but if Mr. Stein walks back and doesn’t hear me practicing, I’m going to be in serious trouble.” Robin led them through one of the dressing hallways behind the chorus room, the faded sound of Christmas carols ringing through the wall. “It’s just down that way,” she said, pointing to a door at the end of the opposite hall. “I’ll be by the stage if you need me.”

Barb watched her amble down the hall, almost tripping on her own feet. When Robin was out of sight, she pushed open the door and stepped inside.

Nancy was huddled on the floor in a ring of discarded school supplies, face pressed into her knees.

“Oh, Nancy.”

Nancy’s shoulders hitched, but she didn’t look up.

Barb crossed the room to her friend. She set her bag on the vanity before kneeling beside her. “Are you okay?”

Nancy shook her head, but remained curled on the floor.

“What happened?”

Nancy sniffed, and her fingers tightened around her knees. “Nothing happened,” she said in almost a whisper, voice wavering.

Oh no you don’t. “Hey,” she said, touching Nancy's arm. “Talk to me.”

Nancy sobbed.

Barb reached over to the vanity and grabbed the tissue box resting on top. She sat on the floor, knees pressing into Nancy’s, and let her cry. Nancy looked up only when Barb offered her a tissue. She looked terrible, blotchy faced and puffy eyed.

Barb wasn’t sure how much time passed before Nancy stopped, but eventually, she said, “Will is dead, Barb.”

Oh. She’d heard rumors circulating, but she had hoped they were just that. Poor Will. Poor Jonathan.

“And it’s all my fault.”

“What? No it’s not Nancy, how could you say that?”

“Yes it is! I – I saw that thing in the woods, and I didn’t say anything, and now-”

“Whoa, Nance. Nancy, stop.”

“- now a little boy is dead and the last place he was ever alive was my house, Barb! Mike s-saw. Mike saw, Barb. And that’s on me and I-”

Oh God. Mike had seen…? That poor boy. But that could be addressed later. Barb seized Nancy’s hands in hers. “Nancy. Look at me. That is not on you. Everyone is saying it was an accident at the quarry.”

“But-”

“But even if it wasn’t, Nancy, it still wouldn’t be on you, okay?”

“I-”

“Okay?”

Nancy pressed her lips together, eyes still swimming with tears.

“If Mike had seen something while trick-or-treating, would it be his fault?”

“Of course not!”

“And if I saw something, would it be my fault?”

“No, but-”

“So why is it your fault?”

Nancy’s mouth opened in that little ‘o’ she always made when she didn’t have words.

“Okay, so since you have no evidence to support your case, the verdict is: it is not your fault.”

Nancy didn’t laugh, but she looked a little less miserable. “I can’t believe it he’s gone. He was such a sweet kid.”

Barb thought of the boisterous little gang that hung around in Nancy’s basement, the sounds of their laughter ringing up the stairs. Thought of shared pizza dinners before Mrs. Wheeler let them start taking their food up to Nancy’s room. Will always made sure to hide a piece with pepperoni from Dustin for her. “Yeah,” she said, feeling tears prick her own eyes. Fuck. “He was.”

They sat on the floor together until the bell rang.

“Come on,” Barb said, climbing to her feet. “We’re gonna miss fifth period.”

Nancy sighed, but started gathering her books, hands still trembling.

“Hey, do you need a…”

Nancy dropped them, notebooks scattering and loose papers flying. Among them, were some ripped pieces from Jonathan’s stock the other day. Nancy must have forgotten to give them all back. Barb knelt again, trying to help Nancy gather everything back together. They both met one one strange fragment, the blurry outline of a long, pale shape visible by a forest pine.

“Is that?”

Nancy looked up at her, wide eyed, and nodded. “It’s still out there.” She pulled the image closer, and her eyebrows drew together.

Barb knew that expression well. And while she had never cut class before, she guessed there was a first time for everything. Because as Nancy met her eyes, Barb could read the message there. And it’s not going to get anyone else.

---

“Shepard, come in. Confirm comm.”

Dr. Martin Brenner gazed in fascination at the gate, pulsing with red light behind the living membrane knitting itself together at an incredible pace. He needed to know what lay on the other side. All that stood in the way was access, and they needed Shepard to bridge that gap.

“This is Shepard. Confirming, over.”

The confirmation was like a sweet symphony. “Shepard. Where are you? Can you describe to us what it is you see? Over.”

“It's low visibility. I'm about one klick south of the rift.” Static crackled over the comms, and they all waited with baited breath. “Everything's still here, but it's all eroded, covered in... what's this?”

“What do you see?” Dr. Brenner leaned forward in anticipation. The technician next to him shot him a glance of disapproval. Ah. He hadn’t let Shepard finish before interrupting.

“There's... a backpack. It's covered in blood... and something darker. Over.” They would need that.

“And the contents? Over.”

“...Mostly medical supplies – bandages, antibiotics? Some canned beans, a beat up thermos... A map? Looks hand drawn. What do you think I'm looking at? Over.”

“Fascinating. Can you bring it back for study? Over.”

They could hear the sound of a zipper and the rustle of cloth while Shepard likely clipped it to his belt. “Yes s-” He stopped abruptly, the sound of harsh breathing cutting through with static. Something low rumbled over the radio.

“Shepard? Do you copy? Shepard? Can you hear me?”

When Shepard spoke again, terror laced his voice. “There's something else . . . There's something else in here!”

“Reel him back in.” Dr. Brenner wondered if it was the same thing that had frightened Eleven. An indistinct growl echoed through the speakers, and though Dr, Brenner wanted answers, they would have to try again. “Reel him back in!"

The technicians scrambled to comply, winding the cord as quickly as they were able.

Shepard grew frantic on the other line. “There's something else in here! Pull me out!” All composure lost, Shepard was well and truly terrified. He screamed the phrase like a mantra, but it grew progressively harder to hear him over the growing sound of something else.

The cable that had been moving erratically, fighting with their attempts to reel it, suddenly went slack. The men made their calls to Shepard, but it was a pointless endeavor. Shepard was lost. Dr. Brenner watched as his men continued to wind the cable, eyes trained on the rift. As the cable pulled in, the form of a dark stained school bag appeared with what was left of the harness.

Yes, Shepard was lost, but certainly not in vain.

Chapter Text

Steve was not happy.

Will could tell because he was pacing back and fourth in the lobby of Benny’s diner, making aborted motions towards his head, like he wanted to drag his fingers though it. He had that face moms got when they were about to give a lecture, was still heaving for breath long after Will was sure the adrenaline should have faded. It didn’t help that he’d been coughing more often, and he wouldn’t drink much of the water Will offered him.

Will waited.

“Do you know how dangerous that was?”

There it was. Will pressed his lips together, because he did know how dangerous it was. That was why he did it.

“I know you want to compare it with what you know, but this isn’t a game.”

“I know it’s not.”

“Do you?” Steve demanded, slashing his hand through the air. “Because it sure doesn’t look like it!”

Will thought of the way Dustin always stood his ground when Lucas and Mike were being difficult, and tried to do the same. He crossed his arms and set his jaw. “I’m not sorry.”

“I’m serious, Will! That monster? It’s not just trying to scare you, it wants to kill. And I’ve been trying not to scare you, but Jesus fucking Christ kid, maybe you need to be scared. If that thing gets you, that’s it, Will. No do-overs, no magic potions; game over. You can’t risk your life-”

“But you can risk yours?”

“Yes! Did you forget the part where you’re a kid?”

“You’re a teenager.”

“Will-”

“No! I know it’s dangerous, Steve. And… and I know if I fought it, I…” I’d die. “But – but it’s dangerous for you too! And it’s not fair that you get to help me, and I don’t get to help you.”

Steve pinched just above his nose. “It’s not about fair, Will. I’m trying to keep you alive.”

“Maybe someone needs to keep you alive, too.”

Steve got a strange look on his face. If Will didn’t know any better, he might think it looked like Steve was about to cry. “Come on,” he said, turning sharply on his heel and stalking into the kitchen, “Let’s see what we can find to eat.”

They did not attempt to open any of the fridges, but there were some canned vegetables and some cherries in syrup they split for dessert. Dessert that tasted more like his dad’s vodka smelled, but they could pretend.

“Thanks,” Steve said, massaging his leg through his jeans. He did that a lot, Will realized.

“For the cherries?”

“Those too,” Steve shorted, “but no. As much as I wish you’d listened to me… you probably saved my ass back there. I’m not happy about it, but… thanks.”

“That’s what friends are for,” Will said with a yawn, starting to feel more than a little sleepy.

Steve flashed him a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. It made him look tired and sad. If he’d been here a couple weeks, he must be worried about how his friends were doing in the real Hawkins. Will knew he was. Eventually, Steve pushed himself off the counter where they sat. “Let’s get some sleep.”

Will didn’t even try to protest and followed Steve back out to the diner. He had a sinking feeling that Steve might spend the night stewing instead of sleeping. “Wake me up, okay?” Steve looked like he might object, so Will added, “Please let me help, too.”

And Steve definitely didn’t look happy about it, but he said, “yeah, okay.”

Will could take that. They would both sleep, and they could try to see his mom again tomorrow. And this time, they’d get to the wall before the Demogorgon could.

---

In the morning, after they’d eaten a delicious breakfast of fermented beans, Steve worked up the nerve for the conversation he’d been dreading all night. “We can’t keep going back, Will.”

Will looked at Steve like he’d started speaking in Latin or something. “This is the closest we’ve ever gotten! We can talk to her, Steve! With the lights-”

“I know-”

“So why would we stop?”

“We’re making an obvious pattern, and it’s learning.” Steve paced. Even after forcing himself to let Will take watch for a few hours, he was exhausted. He needed to keep moving to keep awake. “Every time we go back, no matter how well we cover our tracks, it finds us. We’re putting ourselves and your mom in danger.”

“But-”

“Will, I almost didn’t… If I’d been just a little slower when it ripped through, I-” Steve tried not to think of Mrs. Byers in tandem with the gleaming of claws and the acrid scent of blood. It had come so close. “If we keep trying the same thing, next time we might… not be so lucky.”

“Well, then we just need to distract it better. Maybe we can go all the way to Maple, and you can show me how you did it last time, and then we can-”

“The distractions aren’t working on it anymore. We’ve pissed it off… I’ve…” Steve stopped. Will hadn’t pissed it off; Steve had. This whole time, he’d thought he was the one protecting Will, but… was he just putting the boy in more danger? Maybe it wasn’t Will’s house. Maybe… maybe it was Steve. Fuck. Fuck.

“Last night, you said something about the portal,” Will said, latching onto Steve’s sleeve.

The touch pulled Steve from his spiraling thoughts. He realized he was heaving thin gulps of air in the middle of Benny’s decrepit lobby, the sweat-stiff fabric around his nose and mouth adding an unwelcome resistance. They’d have to swap them out again soon, but Benny’s wasn’t exactly a cloth napkin kind of establishment. Not that that would matter if Steve went and got them both killed by acting as a fucking walking target. He shook his head to keep from spiraling again. “I…”

“I don’t want to put mom in danger,” Will continued, letting his hand drop now that he had Steve’s eyes, “but she’s the only person we can talk to. I know she’ll help get us out. And… and she won’t be worried.”

Oh, kid. She’s going to be absolutely fucking worried until she has you wrapped up in twenty blankets, thought Steve. What he said was, “the Demogorgon… I think it’s what’s making the portal in your wall. The first time we saw it… remember how the vines started shrinking around it?”

Will made a face that said he definitely remembered.

“Well, last time, the portal in your room was gone, right?”

Will nodded.

“But when it busted through your living room wall to go after your mom, and your wall started coming back together, it was red.”

“If it’s new, do you think it might be safe to go through, now?”

“Nothing is safe,” Steve muttered. But if there was a chance his presence was making it even less so for Will, then… it might not matter whether or not it knew they went to the Byers home at all. “But… maybe we can try one more time.”

---

Carol was trying very hard not to yell at the secretary on the other end of the phone. Couldn’t call someone a skank and expect them to give up helpful information. “Well, Mrs. Harrington won’t be at that conference, will she?” Tone, Carol. Tone. “I really just need the hotel phone, ma’am. Yes, I’m aware. Mm-hmm. Thank you so much.” Bitch.

She scribbled the number the secretary provided on the notepad balanced on her knee and hung up the phone. What the fuck was +33 supposed to mean? There wasn’t even a plus on the phone. Well, what did she care? She tried a few different combinations before some woman answered the phone in French.

“Uh, no. English, please?”

The next twenty minutes were as painful as the conversation with Mr. Harrington’s secretary. As expected, Mr. Harrington was still at whatever conference rich people went to, and Mrs. Harrington wasn’t in her room. The hotel refused to tell her if anyone else was staying with them, unhelpful dicks. They did offer to take a message, but though she left one, Carol knew better than to hope for a follow-up.

The next hour after that was just as useless. She called the library and the only travel agent in town, neither of whom had any information on Parisian international boarding schools. Carol was just about ready to hurl her phone across the room when there was a clattering outside her window. Hm. Tommy’d taken a little longer than expected. He must’ve walked when she hadn’t shown up for school. And maybe she hadn’t called him and told him she was planning to skip, but well, she was pissed at him for being an ass lately.

She did feel a little bad, though, when she threw open her curtains and saw the look on his face, wild eyed and frantic. When he saw her, though, it quickly switched into a scowl. “Fuck you, Carol. Let me in.”

“Yeah, fuck you too, Tommy,” she said, but she opened the window and stepped aside for him to climb in.

He slammed her window shut and drew the curtains. When he turned back to her, Carol could see he was shaking. “Seriously, Carol? You couldn’t call? Fuck. You. Fuck you. Fuck you.”

Oh, he was worried about her. Carol thought, in retrospect, that maybe it’d been a bit careless, what with Steve missing and the Byers kid turning up dead. She could imagine Tommy pacing outside the school until the bell, checking Ms. Vickers’ class, and then hoofing it straight to her room. “Paris,” she said, instead of I’m sorry.

His anger turned into confusion. “What?”

“I’m amazing. They’re in Paris.” She shoved her notepad into his chest. Even though Tommy had fucking refused to talk about Steve since Sunday night (minus his near beat-down of Jonathan Byers), it was obviously eating at him. Any time she tried to press him, Tommy dodged the issue.

Good thing Carol was a crack shot.

“So we just need to find out, like, how many fancy boarding schools are in Paris, and then we can call them. I was thinking we start with the library in Indianapolis or Chicago. Since you’re here taking up space, you might as well be helpful. You can call for me.”

Tommy gripped the notepad, staring at it. “Carol…”

“Don’t Carol me. We’re done sitting on our asses.” She grabbed the phonebook from her desk, flipping through the pages. “Three, one, sev- Tommy, grab the phone.”

Tommy started. “What?”

Carol sighed, and pointed at the phone by her bed. “Get. The phone. Okay, ready? Three, one, seven…”

To his credit, Tommy did call. He caught the pencil she threw at his head and started scribbling next to her notes. The librarian must’ve put him on hold at least five times, because Carol had enough time to leave her room to wash her face, check back in, get dressed, and make eggs before Tommy hissed her name.

It turned out there were only two schools in Paris that accepted international students. “Did you grab the numbers?” she asked.

“Duh. Your parents are going to lose their shit when they see the phone bill.”

“Do I look like I care?” she asked, handing him a plate.

“Nah. Fuck ‘em,” he said around a mouthful of eggs.

Another hour and a half later, all they knew was that neither Ermitage or Notre Dame International Schools had ever heard of one Steven Harrington.

“Augh, this is such bullshit,” Carol groaned. They were right back where they started. “Did the librarian give you any other schools?”

Tommy was staring down at the notepad again, but his eyes were vacant and glazed over.

“Hello, Earth to Tommy.”

“Carol...”

The sudden change in tone caught her off guard. “What?”

“I don’t… think he’s in Paris.”

“What the hell, Tommy? I literally just called the hotel before you got here.” She gestured to the papers in his hand. Seriously, was it so hard to believe she could do some, what was it called? Investigative journalism or whatever when she wanted to?

“Did any of those people say Steve was there?”

“No,” Carol huffed. “That’s why we need to keep digging. And I swear to God, if you’re about to give me any more of that bullshit about Jonathan Byers again-”

“Nah. He’s still a creepy fuck, but...” Tommy shrugged, still staring at her notes. “I don’t… Carol, why do you think Steve never invites us over when his parents are home?”

“Uh, because they’re never home. And they’re assholes.”

He snorted in agreement at that. “My dad’s an asshole, and you’re over all the time. We’ve been friends with Steve for nine years, and we’ve only ever been in the same house as them twice, on accident.”

Carol didn’t mention that Tommy had been friends with Steve for nine years. Carol had only been around for about seven of those. But she had to admit, all other – rare – times she had encountered the Harringtons had been at showy community events. “Okay?”

“They’re more than just assholes. I don’t… Carol,” he looked up at her with an expression Carol had never seen on his face. She couldn’t place it, but it left her breathless. “I don’t think he’s okay,” he finished in a whisper.

She sank down next to him, heart doing something weird and fluttery in her chest.

“I wrote a statement about it-”

“What? When?” What the fuck?

“On Monday, after school. But then…”

“Byers.” Of course the town would go nuts for a missing kid. Honestly, Carol couldn’t really blame them for prioritizing, but… “No one followed up?”

He shook his head.

And Carol was on her feet. “What the actual fuck?” There was a missing, now dead kid and another kid reported maybe missing, maybe not, and no one at Hawkins PD thought it would be a good idea to ask a few fucking questions?

Not like she or Tommy had asked any of the important ones until… God, please don’t let it be too late. She stomped over to her closet and shoved her feet into a pair of sneakers. “Come on.”

“To where?”

“Where do you think, dumbass? The station.” She snatched the notebook from Tommy and shoved it in her purse. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this, and I’m going to absolutely murder you later, but right now, we have more important things to do, so get off your stupid ass and let’s go. What are you doing? No one’s home, you don’t need to go back out the window! Tommy, I will fight you. Just – stop. We can steal my shitty neighbors’ bikes. They’ve been getting rides to school since, you know. Hurry up.”

Tommy jogged after her, and it wasn’t long before they were on their way to give Hawkins PD the worst afternoon of their fucking lives.

---

Jonathan stared at the options laid before him, numb. He knew he had to make a decision, but… how could he? He knew the director was speaking, but he everything sounded like it was underwater.

“-th a crepe interior.”

It was all Jonathan could do to nod along. To stop the visions of Will Will Will and suspend everything in his mind rioting with resentment that he was the one here to make these choices. The only hidden silver lining that at least the samples were adult sized. Jonathan didn’t think he’d be able to handle any of this otherwise.

“...we have copper and bronze.”

He was hanging by a thread as it was. Something moved in his peripheral, and Jonathan looked up to see Nancy Wheeler and Barbara Holland standing tentatively in the doorway. He excused himself from the funeral director and stepped over to them. “Hey,” he said, confused, but grateful for even a brief escape.

“Hey,” said Nancy. She and Barb exchanged glances, before she continued. “Your mom, um, she told us you’d be here.” She seemed hesitant, and Jonathan didn’t blame her. What possible reason was there for either of them to come here? “Just… can we talk for a second?”

“Obviously now’s not a good time.” Barb looked a little green at the room of coffins, and Jonathan could understand that. “We can come ba- we can stop by your place later.”

But Jonathan’s mind had been screaming to get out since the second he walked into the room, so he seized the opportunity. “No, sure. Um, but… Maybe let’s…” he gestured to the hallway behind them.

The girls both agreed and the three of them stepped into the hall. Nancy and Barb sat, and Jonathan dragged a third chair over to them.

“So… what did you need?”

Nancy dug in her bag, fishing out a few papers. When she held one out, Jonathan realized it was a piece of one of the photos Tommy H and Carol had ripped to shreds. “Do you, um… in the corner of this one… can you see… What does that look like to you?”

Jonathan stared at it, considering. He could see a weird sort of silhouette, if he looked close enough, but it was blurred and undefined. “It looks like it could be some kind of perspective distortion, but I wasn't using the wide angle. I don't know. It's weird.”

Barb shifted. “You were by Steve Harrington’s house, right?”

Chagrined, Jonathan nodded. “I know, I shouldn’t-”

“No, we get it. You guys live on the same woods.”

Jonathan felt his eyes sting and stubbornly blinked. Fat lot of good his snooping did. He earned nothing except bruises, and Will was still…

“Did… you see anyone else out there?” Nancy asked.

“No, the Harringtons have been in Europe pretty much all semester.” Jonathan frowned, not quite sure what she was getting at. “Why?”

Nancy and Barb shared another look.

“Around Halloween… I went to Steve's…”

Jonathan wouldn’t have pegged her for the party type, but what did he know about Nancy Wheeler?

“Look,” Barb said when Nancy faltered. “We know the time frames don’t match up, but Nancy saw something in those woods.”

Nancy sniffled. “I wish I’d said something earlier, but after the party, I thought I… saw something. Some… weird man or... I don't know what it was.”

Weird man…? What was she trying to imply? Will had…. The quarry… hadn’t he?

“I'm sorry.” Nancy stood up in a rush. “I... We shouldn't have come here, not today. I'm... I'm so sorry.”

Barb pursed her lips together and stood with her.

“What'd he look like?”

Both girls stopped. “What?” asked Barb.

Jonathan met Nancy’s eyes, and realized for the first time that she looked like she’d been crying for some time. He remembered his mother’s wide, red rimmed eyes, the way her voice pitched when she spoke of monsters and walls. “This man you saw in the woods. What’d he look like?”

Nancy chewed on her lip. “I don't know. It was almost like he… he didn't have…”

“Didn't have a face?”

They both started, and Jonathan felt his pulse start to race.

---

This was it. The moment of truth.

Dustin watched Mike work the dials on the Heathkit, vibrating with nervous energy. This was their shot, their Cerebro, their chance to find Will. Will and… whoever Steve was.

None of the party knew who this random guy could be, but the weir- er, El, insisted that he was a friend. Mike didn’t exactly say the same, but he’d told Dustin and Lucas he thought he was talking about D&D with Will, so he had to be awesome. If Will was lost... or actually trapped somewhere, at least he had Strider on his side.

El closed her eyes, concentrating, and the AV club light shattered. Dustin could hear the radio crackling with static. “Holy…” Holy shit, was she really doing it?

Something was clashing through the speakers, something ominous like... like drums in the deep. But it wasn’t drums at all.

“What is that?” he asked. He, Lucas, and Mike crowded around the table, circling El and the Heathkit. They leaned in, straining to hear over the crackling static that flooded the room.

‘Mom?’

It was Will.

Dustin had said he believed supergirl, and he had believed her, but maybe not as much as he thought, because at the sound of that voice, Dustin felt his knees go all wobbly, and he had to lean a little more of his weight against the table. It was Will. Alive.

“No way!” Lucas said next to him, pretty much voicing Dustin’s thoughts out loud.

Dustin couldn’t hear whoever Will was talking to, but it sounded like it might actually be Mrs. Byers. Dustin wasn’t sure how, since she didn’t have a girl with actual superpowers helping them. That was less important, though, than Will’s voice through the speaker.

Dustin caught Mike’s eye, then Lucas’. A snarl tore through the room, a voice Dustin didn’t recognize bellowed a (super badass) war cry, and soon Will was shouting over the sounds of a struggle. Shouting, Dustin realized, over the sound of the Demogorgon.

Shit.

---

“Come on! Talk to me!” Joyce shouted to the room, to the walls, to the Goddamned universe for having the audacity to touch her son. “I know you’re here!”

She paced the room, blasting the radio until the could feel the sound pulsing against her skin. Fury drove her steps. Joyce Byers was not going to be a bystander in this nightmare anymore. Will was here. She was done listening to anyone who would dare say otherwise. She could feel him, feel his fear, his worry, his heart, his soul, resonant in the walls that surrounded her. She was going to find him.

Over the frenzied chorus of The Clash, something thudded, just off the beat. Joyce shut off the music, listening, and it sounded again, like a distant pounding. It sounded… like it was coming from the wall, just like it had earlier, in Will’s room. Her memories flared with flashes of tearing claws and mottled skin, a distorted ripple of flesh that could have been painted into her house by Salvador Dali himself. But Joyce found her feet pulling her towards the wall of their own volition. Shaking, she approached. The was something in that sound. Something…

‘Mom?’

She gasped, the sound of her son’s voice tearing through her like lightning. She closed the remaining distance, pressing her hands to the wall. “Will?”

‘Mom, can you hear me?’

Joyce felt her knees wobble. “Will!” she cried. She dashed outside, nearly tripping over herself in her hurry. Will, Will, Will, Will, Will. But there was nothing outside except abrasive sunshine. Frantic, she ran back inside. “Will!” Where was he?

‘Hello?’ Will called again, voice urgent. Distantly, she heard something crash.

“Will, I’m here!” There was nothing except the wall. She clawed at it, nails digging into the seams of the wallpaper. Oh God, Will. Please. Please. The paper tore, and instead of wall, the was met with a pulsating membrane. Will called to her again, and Joyce ripped the wallpaper away with a manic energy. A sort of opening appeared, translucent and emitting a dull red light. A shape shifted behind it, and through the blurred red, Joyce could make out the outline of a cheek she kissed every night before bed, the bridge of a nose that crinkled when she told bad jokes, disappearing under a tattered fabric, the outline of eyes wide in astonished relief.

‘Mom!’

She almost dropped to her knees. “Oh, thank God. Baby!” She pressed as close as she could, and Will mirrored the action.

‘You found me!’ he said.

Joyce pressed her forehead to the wall, squinting past the tears that blurred her vision, soaking him in. This was real. This was real. This was Will. It had to be. “Tell me where you are!”

Something crashed behind Will, and he jerked his head to look over his shoulder before turning back. ‘It’s like home, but it’s not,’ he said urgently. ‘It’s dark and it’s so empty. There’s no sun, and it’s so cold. I can’t cut through!’

A cave? “How do I get to you?”

The crashing sounds were growing louder, and Joyce heard a hoarse voice she didn’t recognize.

‘Oh no, it’s here.’

“What’s there, baby? What’s happening?”

‘-gotta go, kiddo!’

‘Wait! Mom, help me cut a hole!’

‘There isn’t time,’ the stranger grunted.

“Who are you?” she shouted at him. Suddenly, she remembered the scuffing of sneakers on the other side of that distant call. “Get away from my son!”

‘I can’t keep holdi-’ A ragged scream pierced through the wall, and Joyce heard a crash like thunder.

“Will!” she shouted, and Will was shouting something, too.

‘-ve!’

Joyce heard what might have been a pained groan, but it was overshadowed by an unearthly roar. Will was no longer facing her, but she could see the horror in his posture, and she knew what must have found him. “Listen to me! I swear I'm gonna get to you, okay? But right now, I need you to hide.”

There was another crash like thunder, and the wail of something wounded and inhuman. A dark shape barreled into Will.

Will shrieked, reaching for her.

“No!” she screamed, pounding on the wall. The concrete was shrinking on the edges. No, no, no! “Will!”

‘I’m sorry.’ The shape stopped, and Joyce stopped with it. A hand pressed to the wall, and Joyce could see the outline of Will draped over thin shoulders, a mop of unruly hair flopping around a cloth mask.

“Wait! Who are you? I-”

‘I’ll keep him safe.’

Her stomach plunged. How… how had she read the situation so wrong? “Please…” The wall was closing before her eyes, the texture changing beneath her fingertips.

The boy, and Joyce felt sick at that realization, offered a curt nod, and ran. As the pulsing red glow dimmed, and the wall shrank around it, the last of her son Joyce could see was the sight of his fingers clamped on the stranger’s side, something dark welling between them.

Chapter Text

Officer Calvin Powell nursed the dregs of his fifth cup of coffee, trying to comb his way through the backlog of paperwork that had been growing on his desk since the disappearance of Will Byers. Now that they… didn’t need the search parties, everyone could play catch up on both work and sleep. He wished he were doing the latter.

“Cal, can you please turn the radio down.”

“The second I do, I’m falling asleep at this desk. You want music or snoring?”

Calvin rubbed his temples and reread the form heading for the seventh time. Maybe a power nap wouldn’t be such a bad idea. He set the paper down and was just getting ready to stand when he heard Flo shout a startled “hey!”. He pushed his chair back and whipped toward the door. Callahan lowered his radio to a whisper and did the same. Calvin wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t two thirds of the terrible teenage terrors.

“Young lady! Young man! Excuse me, you have to sign in. You can’t just walk back – Excuse me!”

Next to him, Callahan muttered, “Well, shit.”

“Which one, Tommy?”

“Officer Dickbag over there.”

The Perkins girl stomped right into the room. Everyone in the office, similarly bewildered, let her right on by, and didn’t even protest when Hagan tromped in after her. They were cutting a straight path through the room, and Calvin followed the line of it straight to Callahan. His partner looked a little green in the face, which was normal for him when faced with angry women, but what Powell didn’t get was the flash of what looked like guilt that accompanied it. Hagan and Perkins stopped in front of Callahan’s desk, and then man practically shrank into it. What in the world?

“Officer,” Perkins paused, making a show of reading Cal’s nametag, “Callahan. I’m sure you know why we’re here.”

“Well, I sure as hell don’t.” This was ridiculous. Normally the Chief would deal with this, but the man had gone to the morgue with Byers that morning, and… Well, Calvin knew the man well enough to know that was going to bring up some unpleasant shit. Not to mention the man was probably running on nothing but caffeine and determination. He cleared his throat. “Care to explain?”

Hagan scoffed. “Sure you don’t,” he said, lips curled into a sneer.

“No, I don’t,” Calvin said, slowly rising from his chair. “And I think you should watch your tone, kid. You’re talking to a police officer.”

“Maybe when I see a real police officer, I will.”

“Listen, here-”

“Hey! You can compare dick sizes later,” Perkins cut in, slamming a notebook into Cal’s chest. He sputtered, too in shock at her brazen attitude to even comment. Calvin found himself similarly speechless. “Where have you gotten with Tommy’s report, asshole?”

“Er…” Callahan glanced at the mounds of papers on his desk, some even spilling onto Calvin’s own.

“You fucking lost it?” Hagan whirled on Callahan, stepping up to him and effectively boxing him into his desk with Perkins on the other side.

“Not lost, just-”

“Did you even look at it?” Perkins demanded.

Phil’s head was whipping back and forth between them. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’ve been a little preoccupied here.”

“Yeah, well, funeral’s tomorrow, so great fucking job you’ve done so fa-”

“That’s enough!” The whole station was still in mourning – hell, half the town was. Where did these kids get the gall? “You two need to back up a few steps, yes I mean physically – now, thank you, and tell me what the hell is going on here, because I’m afraid you two have me very confused. And if you can’t do it civilly, then you’re going to get out, got it?”

Both teens looked thunderous, but they took a step back. Hagan stood with his hands curled into fists, Perkins with hers shoved into her coat pockets. Cal eased himself from the edge of his desk and shot Calvin a relieved look.

“Thank you.” Calvin met Flo’s eyes from across the room and gave a pointed look to the radio at her desk. She nodded, and grabbed it. As much as he didn’t want to bother the chief, if these kids got out of hand over whatever teenage drama or stolen bicycle this was about, the extra hand might be necessary. “Well?” he said expectantly.

Hagan and Perkins had some complex, somehow still belligerent, conversation with their eyebrows, before Hagan inhaled and squared his shoulders. “I told this fu… this officer my friend was in trouble on Monday. It’s Thursday,” he added with a scowl at Callahan. As if Calvin couldn’t read a calendar.

“What kind of trouble?”

“The missing kind of trouble!”

Calvin shot an alarmed look at Callahan, who raised his arms in defense.

“Whoa, hold on, you didn’t say missing, you said his parents came home without him.”

Perkins’ eyes flared, and she took a step towards Callahan, arm slashing through the air. “That’s the same thing, you useless waste of-”

“Hold on.” Calvin felt dizzy and lightheaded. Another one? What the hell was going on? “I'm going to need a little more information here. Who’s missing?”

“Steve!” the duo barked in tandem.

Calvin dropped right back into his chair. Chief wasn’t going to like that. “Harrington?”

Hagan looked at him sideways, sliding into one of the chairs Lou brought over for the pair. “You really didn’t know?”

Calvin shook his head and sent a pointed glare at Phil, who was digging through the piles on his desk. “And he did?”

“Hey, hey! Like I said, he never used the word ‘missing’.”

“Why the fuck should that matter? You had four fucking days to find out!” hissed Perkins. She seemed too wound up to take a seat, choosing instead to hover behind Hagan.

Callahan threw his hands up. “Everyone knows they’re overseas. Remember? Mayor Kline made that big speech about local business and international representation just last month.”

Calvin did remember. They’d been stuck on mayor babysitting detail, courtesy of the Chief-Who-Couldn’t-Be-Bothered, not that Calvin could blame him. The mayor was insufferable. Calvin glanced back over to Flo to see if she’d made any progress getting Hop on the line. She gave a helpless shrug and shook her head. Looked like the Chief was unavailable. “So if they’re out of town, what makes you think he’s missing?”

“Give me that,” Perkins said, snatching her notepad back from Phil. She tossed Calvin the book, turned the empty chair that had been set for her to face his desk, and sat, giving Callahan her back. Cold. “They’re in Paris for a conference. Steve isn’t. We checked.”

Phil scoffed. “You checked all of Paris.”

“Yeah, fuckface, we checked all of Paris.”

Perkins didn’t even acknowledge Callahan, gesturing to the notepad. “We called the hotel where the Harringtons are staying. They never checked in with Steve, just the two of them. Which, you would have known if you’d checked!”

“Have you confirmed that with his parents?”

“Well, no, but-”

“You ever think that maybe he just doesn’t want to hang around you moody brats anymore?” Phil muttered.

Hagan lurched out of his chair. “Well maybe if you had done your fucking job when I reported it, you would have been able to ask them yourself while they were still in Hawkins!”

“Mr. Hagan, I’m going to have to ask you to sit down or sit outside. Take your pick.” Hagan scowled at Callahan, but threw himself back in his chair. “Good. Now I’m afraid if Harrington’s out of the country, that’s a little outside our jurisdiction.”

“We just told you-”

“He’s not in Paris, yes. But the Harringtons also do business in Brussels. And London. And Amsterdam.” He barreled right on over whatever Perkins was trying to object. “So you understand we’re going to need a more specific timeline here. While Officer Callahan finds your statement,” he emphasized, shooting Callahan a long look, “I’m going to need you both to lay out exactly what makes you think we have another missing persons case on our hands.”

---

Steve hissed, pulling the needle upwards. The room spun, which he should have been used to by now, but it was getting harder to see past the blurred vision.

Will hiccupped next to him, bundling away the remains of Steve’s bloody shirt and coat.

Steve swore again, shaking hands tugging the thread going through his side. Was he doing it right? He had no fucking clue. But the gash hadn’t stopped bleeding, and if it kept at it, Steve would be a walking buffet sign.

They hadn’t been able to get far enough away. Steve knew that. But his legs had nearly given out twice and he’d had to put Will down to take off his coat and press it into his side. It was fucked anyway, and he couldn’t keep wearing bloody clothes. At least Will’s sleeves were leather, so he could wipe that off.

Will had led them to some sort of fort, and Steve had stumbled the rest of the way in a daze, wheezing. Now he leaned against the wall of some ramshackle clubhouse, stitching himself up like a TV action hero. “Rambo made it – fuck – look so easy,” he said through his teeth. “Did it… one handed and everything.”

“Mom didn’t let me watch it,” Will said, voice wobbling as he handed Steve an antiseptic wipe.

“Good mom.” Everyone talked about how great the action was, but… Steve thought it was one of the saddest fucking movies he’d ever seen. He wiped the edge of the cut clear of blood and almost blacked out. Almost there. There were only about… four or five stitches left. He could – fuck, that hurt – he could handle that. He groaned and nearly dropped the needle.

“Y-yeah.”

At that, Steve looked up from the bloodied gash. Will was crying in earnest, clutching a grocery bag piled with red stained cloth. Oh, kid. “We- we’ll get you out to her. I’m… sorry we couldn’t.”

Will sobbed.

“Shit, are you-?”

“I’m sorry!” Will cried. “You told me we shouldn’t go back and I didn’t want to listen. I should have listened. And, and you were trying to w-warn me when you heard it coming, but I still didn’t!” His small shoulders shook, and tears streamed down his face. “And now you’re hurt because I-”

“Because a monster was trying to eat us,” Steve said. He grit his teeth, trying to reach the rest of the gash. He couldn’t, really, and every time he twisted, it pulled at the skin and set his whole side on fire. “We were going to run into it sometime. At least… this time it still had a limp. ‘Sides, it’s not that-”

“Bad? Yes it is!” Will’s eyes flicked from the still healing cut on Steve’s upper arm, ghosting over older scars before settling on the uneven row of stitches in Steve’s side (the row Steve was supposed to be wrapping up but didn’t have the range or energy to finish stitching). “You keep getting hurt, and and you’re sick, I know you’re sick, and you keep hav-having to take care of me and I keep making it harder. I just want us to go home.”

God, Steve wanted to hug him. “We’ll get there,” he said tiredly. He had to make a conscious effort not to say he’d had so much worse, because while he knew he had, that probably wouldn’t help the situation. And if Steve were being honest with himself, he felt pretty shitty at the moment.

Will whimpered, hunching in on himself, tears still flowing freely down his face. It made Steve hate himself for what he was about to ask.

“Will, I…” The room spun again, and he had to catch himself on the cluttered nightstand. “I can’t reach, and if I keep bleeding, they’ll find us… if they’re not on their way already. I’m going to… need you to…”

The look of abject horror on Will’s face wasn’t one Steve ever wanted to see again. His eyes were locked on the slick needle in Steve’s shaking hand, and he swallowed convulsively. “Steve.”

It was too much to ask. Of course it was, the kid was twelve, what was he thinking? “Sorry. Jesus, sorry Will. I wasn’t thinking. I can-”

Will rested a hand on top of Steve’s knee, and Steve realized it was still stained red with his blood, as much as Will had tried to wipe it away with what was left of Steve’s shirt. The boy held his other hand out in waiting. “You’re gonna have to tell me how to do it.”

Steve heaved a shaky sigh of relief and immediately felt guilty. “I’m… pretty sure I’m doing it wrong, but…” He set the needle in Will’s outstretched palm and dropped the hand that was pressing the antiseptic wipe into his side. “You just have to go under and then loop back around up top. Should… should only need about four more. Maybe five? Might have to get a new wipe so you can see what you’re doing.” His breath felt ragged, pulling his skin and in his chest, and the room was starting to gray at the edges. Shit. “When you’re done, just loop the thread around itself a few times to knot it. Then we’ll wrap it up. Okay?”

“Okay.” Will nodded, wide hazel eyes stark against his pale face. He was too young to be doing this, but what choice did they have? “Okay,” he said again, stronger this time.

Steve turned his side to Will, bit down on his once again ruined cloth mask, and nodded the go-ahead. Will set to work, and it probably wasn’t long before he finished, but it felt like one agonizing eternity to Steve. Still, he was managing, mostly, forcing himself to take regular, shallow breaths.

He was managing, at least, until Will tied off the last stitch. The movement jerked the thread, pulling sharply on the inflamed skin along his side. Steve’s breath caught, and he ground his teeth together through the fabric to keep from crying out. The room flared, and he only had enough time to spit out the fabric and groan, “Clean… th’ blood,” before he slumped over, the world fading to gray.

---

This was stupid. This was illegal and stupid. This was illegal and stupid and borderline insane. Actually, it was so far beyond borderline there’d probably be a nice cell next for him next to Victor Creel if he were wrong. Jim knew he should stop before he crossed a line from which there was no coming back, but…

But he stood over the corpse of a child whose smile had been as bright as his mother's eyes. A child who was the same age Sarah would have been had the world had been less cruel. Blue veins stood stark against pale skin that was still damp and reflecting the dim hall lights the way it had reflected the moon when they'd pulled it from the quarry. Jim lay a hand on that small chest in silent grief. He froze. The flesh was dry and… not exactly warm, but nowhere near as cold as it should have been.

He flipped open his knife and had to swallow back the bile that surged in his throat. Had to strangle the bits of his mind screaming this was a child, this was wrong wrong wrong because everything about this situation was wrong, and the only thing Jim had the power to do now was seek the truth. He steeled himself and pushed the knife into what should have been the soft flesh of a stomach, but met unexpected resistance. It pulled like tough leather. Like silicone. Like a lie.

When Jim pulled back the rubbery layer and his trembling hands met cotton instead of blood and innards, the conflicting horror relief triumph rage almost sent him to his knees.

He focused on the latter emotion, let the cold anger fuel him all the way into Hawkins Lab. He’d shut off his radio that afternoon when he’d gone for O’Bannon, and he kept it off still as he pulled to a stop outside the gate.

He let that fury drive him through the halls and nearly cripple him when he stumbled across a child’s cell, memory flaring with every article he and Powell had read about Terry Ives and MKUltra and Martin fucking Brenner. He thought about Joyce’s insistence that she’d heard someone in the room with Will over the phone, of Nancy Wheeler’s horrified telling of a man in the woods, of Joyce’s certainty that something had invaded her home. He thought about O’Bannon shaking in his grip and the watching vehicle and the faceless hazmat suits in every other room.

He thought about a lot of things, right up until the glowing doorway in a destroyed room, snarled in tangled vines and hanging webs, like something out of a nightmare. He thought, maybe, that Will might be on the other side of that door, and then there was a flash of movement, and a pain in his neck, and then Jim thought of nothing at all.

---

Jonathan wanted nothing more than to sock his father right in the face. As soon as he had seen Lonnie’s car in the driveway, his chest had seized with discomfort. When Jonathan pushed open the door to see his mom disheveled and shaking under a blanket, eyes red rimmed, and a half empty vodka bottle on the table, he’d almost lost it entirely.

Until now, Joyce had been a raging fire, albeit one Jonathan hadn’t understood. He had been too blinded by logic and by grief to appreciate it, but Joyce had never wavered. Trust Lonnie to come in and undo his mother in a matter of hours. The woman who hunched on the couch now was not the same woman who had screamed defiance at the world not even a day ago. What had happened? What had Lonnie done to her?

And why was there a tarp on the wall?

“What happened?” he said, ignoring Lonnie in favor of rushing to the wall, moving it back to find a gaping hole in the wall. His mind raced back to the dark room, to Nancy and Barb in the dim red light, to the lifeline of hope that maybe… maybe his mom was right after all. “Mom… that thing you saw before, did it come back?”

His mom, normally quick to engage, only stared open mouthed, and Lonnie took it as an opening to interject his opinions. She let Lonnie take the lead, shrinking into her hunched shoulders. If Jonathan didn’t get her away from Lonnie, he would never be able to tell her what he and Nancy and Barb might have found.

“Can we talk?” Jonathan asked his mother. “Alone?”

She nodded, eyes empty, and made to set her drink down, but Lonnie stood, deliberately misunderstanding the request. Bastard.

“Sure we can, let’s let your mother rest.” Lonnie patted her knee, and Joyce swayed where she sat. Jonathan wanted to scream.

As soon as Lonnie shut the door to Jonathan’s room, he whirled. “You need to leave.” And Jonathan tried, he really tried, but as much as Lonnie tried to act like he was here for them, like he cared for them, Jonathan couldn’t stop thinking of the way his mother’s hands shook around her mug. When Lonnie started talking about his great aunt Darlene and how Jonathan needed to stop feeding into his mother’s delusions, Jonathan decided he was done listening to a word the man said. But when Lonnie mentioned that those ‘hallucinations’ involved seeing Will through the wall with some boy… Jonathan was definitely listening then.

“What did you say?”

“I said your mother needs help. I talked to her abou-”

“No, about Will.”

“She said she talked to him through the wall. Said some boy was there and promised to keep him safe.”

That was new. “What boy?”

“I don’t know. She’s clearly trying to invent someone watching over Will to, I don't know, ease her guilt or something. I’ve already found someone in Indianapolis she can talk to. They’re not cheap, but-”

Jonathan’s mind was whirling. First the phone, then the lights, then a monster in the wall, then Will, then a boy? But… but Nancy and Barb had seen the photo, had pulled him out of what might have been the darkest moment of his life and given him something to cling to, and he’d be damned if he let this go when there was a chance his mother had been right. He only wished he’s listed sooner, had helped her feel less alone. Lonnie gave him some bullshit about behaving at the funeral – like Jonathan would be the one to make a scene – and left to go suck whatever hope Joyce had been grasping from the world.

As soon as Lonnie left, Jonathan stomped out to the living room and grabbed their new cordless phone. He clutched it, feeling the lump in his throat growing tighter. The phone had probably cost almost a week’s salary, but he hadn’t paid attention to what Joyce was willing to do and to give to bring Will back to them.

Jonathan was done doubting her.

He dialed the station, but Chief Hopper wasn’t there, and Jonathan didn’t really know how he could explain the situation to anyone else. When he pulled a crumpled paper from his pocket and Hopper’s personal number rang into nothing, Jonathan made a choice of his own. Tomorrow, he was going to find out exactly what this monster was and what it had done to Will, with or without his mom or Lonnie or Hopper, and… he had at least two people he knew would help.

---

Leaves crunched under Will's feet, the crisp sound ringing sharp in the cold air. He stepped over a tangle of vines, scanning the surrounding forest. He was pretty sure the water station Steve had shown him was this way. There wasn't a sun to tell direction, but Will had been marking his way, and if he was doing the math right, he was almost there.

Will had left Steve alone in Castle Byers, tucked under Will’s borrowed leather jacket and an extra tarp, since the comforter had been snared in vines. It had been a hard decision, but... Will had needed to use their water to clean the blood from his hands and from Steve. The teen’s skin had been too hot against Will's hands, and the sound his breathing made… Will wasn’t stupid; Steve was getting worse. They’d only been trapped together a few days, but Will could hear the way Steve tried to cover his coughs and the way his breaths came harder, could see the flush on Steve’s face and the way his ribs stood out more than they should. Steve had promised Will’s mom he would keep Will safe. He’d been doing so for days, and it was about time Will returned the favor.

Steve’s house was close by, and the lab as well. Will couldn’t have been walking more than half an hour, but by the time he made it to the water station, he was jumping at every sound. So far, Steve’s advice for moving undetected seemed to work okay, but Will still didn’t want to leave him alone more than necessary. He just needed to grab the water and go back.

But when Will crouched by the bucket and pulled their bottles out of his backpack to fill them, the bucket was empty. And it was then that Will remembered they hadn’t had a chance to refill it. He remembered Steve saying that resetting the station would probably draw more than one monster to it. But with Steve injured… maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. Will could lure them away from Castle Byers, and then he and Steve could walk somewhere safer until Steve had a chance to actually rest.

It was a bad idea.

A really bad idea.

An even worse idea than leaving Steve behind in Castle Byers, even if it was only for a little bit.

But Steve needed water. Will needed water, too. And this was the way to do it.

Will drew the little kitchen knife Steve had given him from his pocket. Jolie? It wasn’t really as elegant a name as Andúril or powerful as Glamdring, but it was nice that it had a name. He pulled a few vines that seemed whole and cut through them. Steve had said he’d need to be fast, so Will filled the bottles first and dropped the vines into the bucket. Hopefully they would be home before they needed water again, but Will had been raised not to waste. He capped the bottles, shoved them back into the backpack, and ran back towards Castle Byers and Steve.

The silence of the surrounding forest was broken not long after, the braying of the dogs he had never seen echoing distantly through the trees. Will kept running. They weren’t coming from Steve’s direction, but… but he’d left him alone. And while Will knew he was a light sleeper, had seen him startle awake at the slightest noise, teeth bared and ready to fight, Steve was hurt, and Will couldn’t risk his new friend’s safety more than he already had.

He pushed himself faster still, trying to create more distance in case the dogs weren’t the only thing coming, when his foot caught a protruding root. He went down hard. Will tumbled to the ground, biting back a startled yelp and catching himself clumsily. The fall tore the fabric of his shirt, and he only just managed to keep his face from scraping along the decaying leaves.

He lay there in a moment of stunned silence, trying to regain his bearings. Which way had he been coming from? Which way was back to Steve? There! Thank goodness he’d marked the trees. He tried to push himself up, but met resistance. Something had tangled around his leg. He tried to tug free, and whatever had him snared moved. He stifled a cry and jerked his leg harder, craning his neck for a better look. One of the vines was coiled around his ankle, climbing his leg. He tried to sit up, to grab at the vine and pull, but found his arm pinned to the forest floor, another vine rising from where it hid in the underbrush.

Will kicked at the vine around his leg, terror seizing him. If he couldn’t get free, the Demogorgon wouldn’t even need to try. He tugged his arm, but the grip there only tightened. The vines seemed to react to his struggle, climbing higher up his calf and his wrist. Something brushed behind his ear, creeping towards his cheek, and Will jerked his head to the side with a yelp.

No!

Heart pounding, he tried to think of a way free. If he let the vines overtake him, it would be the end of Will Byers. He thrashed again, and the vines pressed him into the ground in retaliation. He felt something in his pocket dig into his thigh. Will remembered, then, the warmth of Steve’s hands as he pressed the kitchen knife into Will’s hands, the seriousness in expression when he ordered ‘Keep her in your pocket, okay? At all times.’

He wriggled his free hand from where it pressed into the dirt and snared the knife from his pocket. The vines continued to snake their way up his limbs, and the one near his head dug into his cheek. Will ripped the knife from his pocket, raised his arm in an arc, and brought the point down onto the vine trapping his wrist. It retreated with a jerk and what he could have sworn was a hiss.

Will didn’t allow himself to waste time, lurching into a sitting position, slashing the vine around his ankle, and throwing himself to his feet. The momentum almost sent him toppling again, but he righted himself in time to see the thick, barbed vine that had been near his head move toward him. He stabbed down into it, and this time it definitely made a sound like something dying and convulsed on the forest floor.

Will stared at it, horrified, shaking with shock and adrenaline. Will had been, somewhere in the back of his mind, still a little resentful that Steve had pulled him from his first attempt through the portal in his bedroom. He hadn’t understood the teen’s fear that seemed, at the time, like paranoia. Now, watching the barbed vine shudder with the last of its death throes, Will realized he owed Steve more than he could ever repay.

He hitched his backpack higher onto his shoulders, and took off at a run towards Castle Byers. Getting Steve water would be a good first step. The next would be getting them home.

Chapter Text

Lucas and his loser friends were acting weird. Well, weirder than usual, anyway. Erica Sinclair had never been to a funeral before, but she was pretty sure you were supposed to be sad. Lucas had been sad, the saddest she’d ever seen him, and now he… wasn’t.

Two nights ago, he’d sneaked out with his friends on their bikes and come home. Erica had been debating whether she should use that for blackmail material when she’d heard quiet sobs coming from his room. She had definitely not been worried at that, just… curious. Little girls were supposed to be curious. So she had curiously crept into his room, and when her big brother had broken down and told her Will was dead, she begrudgingly kept him company for the rest of the night. And she definitely hadn’t cried with him or held his hand until they both fell asleep, because that was something only sissies would do, and Erica Sinclair was no sissy.

All that to say that Lucas on this fantastic (not) Friday was not the same person as Wednesday night Lucas. Here they were, all dressed in black, standing around a bunch of crying grown ups and grown ups pretending to cry but checking their watches – disrespectful – and Lucas and his nerd group were smiling. Well, they tried to look serious, but their eyes were smiling. Erica could tell. Which meant they knew something she didn’t.

Erica didn’t like not knowing things. She was way smarter than those losers, even without being a nerd herself (girls could be smart too, Lucas). So what was their secret?

They weren’t the only ones acting weird. Will’s brother and Mike’s sister and her friend were being suspicious too. That was too many suspicious people for Erica. And where there were suspicious people, there were suspicious actions. Erica watched Lucas and his weird friends scramble over themselves to catch their science teacher before the reception – unsuccessfully because they were losers – and Will’s brother sneak off with Mike’s sister. That was a way more interesting development. Were they in love? Mike’s sister seemed too popular for someone like Will’s brother. Maybe it was a secret romance. They were acting very sneaky about it.

The redhead friend was definitely in on it, and maybe helping them keep it a secret. She was casting looks around and fidgeting like an amateur. Her eyes slid over to Erica. Oooh, she saw her. Erica raised her eyebrows, looked over to the mystery maybe couple, and back, crossing her arms. The redhead bristled and actually ran after them. Definitely hiding something.

So Lucas and company were hiding things, and not being very sad at their friend’s funeral, Will’s dad was talking to everyone before Mrs. Byers could say anything, there were some weird power company vans at the edge of the cemetery even though the power lines were on the total opposite side of the field, and Mike’s sister was either part of a forbidden romance or, based on the jumpy redhead, about to do some illegal shit. But that was none of Erica’s business.

---

Dr. Brenner frowned in irritation, the sound of shouting children grating in his ear. The transmission his men had intercepted was of unfortunately poor quality. Eleven was clearly not in an optimal setting, free from distraction. But it was enough to gather that Will and Joyce Byers had managed to make contact, and that now at least three children knew about it.

That would need to be addressed immediately.

But there was another, equally pressing matter. I’m sorry. I’ll keep him safe. Who had spoken those words? This confirmed what Shepard’s findings suggested. Dr. Brenner recalled the crude, hand drawn map of Hawkins, the misshapen markings indicating ‘dusty,’ ‘school’, a cross that was presumably the hospital, and ‘home.’

“I want everything you can find on every house between Cartersville and Kerley,” he said, pushing back his chair. While his men could have names, addresses, passport numbers, even shoe sizes before day’s end, there were too many loose ends to wait that long. “I need all activity from Sunday to present. Immediately.”

The creature had pulled someone else beyond the gate along with Will Byers. He might not know just who that might be yet, but his men would find out within the hour if he pressed enough. And when they did, Dr. Brenner would make sure to seal that loose end as tightly as Will Byers’ coffin.

---

“Hey, Chief!”

Jim’s heart nearly left his body when someone pounded on the door. His pulse was already thundering and erratic, the room too hot and too cold all at once. Whatever they’d drugged him with hadn’t completely made its way out of his system. If they’d changed their minds and decided to finish the job, he wouldn’t get far on his shaky legs.

“Hello?” a muffled voice called from the door. Oh. Callahan.

Jim almost bought it, but his pulse that wouldn’t slow and the sweat beading his brow and his back and his everywhere reminded him not to trust only his ears. He threw open the door, gun in hand, and scanned the lot for potential unfriendlies. It was only Powell and Callahan, and there was no sign of anyone else in the vicinity, no tire tracks that hadn’t been there when he’d cased the yard that morning after waking up in an aching fog to a needle mark in his neck and a bugged trailer.

He listened while they briefed him on what he missed, knots in his stomach tightening with the knowledge that Dale and Henry were also missing. There were too many coincidences here.

Will.

Benny.

That scrap of fabric on the pipe.

The fake tapes.

Brenner.

The mysterious faceless man.

O’Bannon and the mystery car. The mystery car that may have housed an agent or a hired killer. Maybe one who wore a mask.

The fake body.

The lab.

The hazmat suits and hidden, glowing doors.

The drugs in his system.

The bug in his lights.

Now, Dale and Henry. Near Kerley. Mirkwood, as the boys called it.

Everything pointed back to the lab, no matter which angle Jim looked at. His mind was whirling with thoughts too fast to process. They slid through his brain like drops of water he couldn’t quite catch. “You go back to the station,” he said. He needed to flush whatever he’d been injected with out of his system. “I’ll take care of this, all right?”

“Are you sure?” Callahan looked strangely relieved at Jim’s admittedly tactless dismissal.

“Yeah, leave it,” Jim said, hoping they’d take a hint already.

But Powell cleared his throat loudly, glowering at Callahan. That was an expression he hadn’t seen on the man’s face since his first Christmas as Chief, when Callahan re-gifted a gift Powell had given him for their office dirty Santa exchange.

Jim sighed and stepped back out of his trailer. “Yes?”

Callahan fidgeted.

Powell crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows like a fucking grandmother.

“We, uh. Got another report yesterday, Chief.”

Jesus. If this one also ended up being related to the lab, Jim was going to end one Dr. Martin Brenner. “What kind of report?”

“Tried to call you about it yesterday, but your radio was off, and then you wouldn’t answer your phone, and you weren’t home…”

If they’d gone out of their way to actually stop by his house then, too, it had to be something just as serious as Henry and Dale. Christ, what was happening in this town? “What kind of report, Cal?”

“It’s…” Callahan shifted on his feet, and Jim knew whatever he was about to hear wouldn’t be good. “It’s Harrington.”

Jim’s stomach dropped, Nancy Wheeler’s face swimming in his mind, voice shaking at even the memory of whatever… whoever she’d seen in those woods. ‘Back towards Ste – er, towards the party.’

Towards Steve’s.

He swore. It had been almost two weeks since that party. Two weeks.

“It gets worse, Chief,” Powell said, uncharacteristically solemn.

Jim could be wrong. He could be jumping to conclusions – paranoid from the latest developments with the lab. They could be about to tell him something completely unrelated. He could be wrong. Please be wrong. “Worse how?”

“You might wanna sit down first. You’re not looking too great.”

Jim thought of the current state of his trailer. There would definitely not be any sitting down. “Just tell me,” he said through clenched teeth.

“It’d probably be better if you…” Callahan trailed off, holding out the folder he had been carrying.

Jim checked the safety on his gun and tucked it into the waistband of his jeans. He wiped his sweat-slick palms on his rumpled jeans and took the folder. Heart slamming against his rib cage, Jim flipped it open, scanning the pages inside.

Two weeks two weeks two weeks two weeks

He read further, and found it suddenly very hot and very cold and very hard to stand. He leaned heavily on the door frame, the air turned to thick molasses. He would kill Brenner. He might actually do it. Steve Harrington was gone. Steve Harrington had been gone. Steve Harrington had been gone, and Jim had no idea for how long…because until now, no one had ever reported him missing.

---

Steve blinked awake to an unfamiliar ceiling, disoriented. Faded light filtered through strung together scraps of wood, catching on a series of hand drawn scenes that looks straight out of a storybook.

“-and then Dustin tried to pour it in a bowl, only the bowl was plastic, so it melted everywhere.”

Oh. He was in Will’s fort. Had he fallen asleep? He must have. He felt strangely well rested. He tried to sit up, and his side immediately flared in pain. He hissed, and Will’s head immediately whipped towards him.

“You’re awake!”

Steve groaned, pushing himself very slowly into a sitting position. Will’s Jacket flopped into his lap from where it had been draped over him. He looked down at it, then back to Will, brain still playing catch-up. “What…?”

Will crossed the short distance of the fort over to him, touching Steve’s forehead with the back of his hand. Whatever he found had him frowning, brow creasing down the middle. “How’s your side?”

“Hurts like a bitch,” he answered without thinking. He winced, in part because it did, in fact, hurt like a bitch, and in part because he’d told himself to watch his language around Will and was very consistently not doing that. But, well. That was probably the least of their concerns.

“Here,” Will said, shoving one of their bottles at Steve.

He took it automatically, and the painkillers Will thrust into his hand immediately after. He washed the pills down with a few small sips. The water felt like heaven on his sore throat, and he had to force himself to stick to rationing it. “How long was I – what the hell happened to your face?” Steve lurched forward, ignoring the way the room shuttered and his side flared in pain, cupping Will’s cheek with both hands. It was scraped and crusted with dirt.

“Um.”

Alarmed, Steve scanned the boy and was dismayed to find him smudged over with dirt, the fabric on his knees and elbows torn. “Will.”

Will fidgeted, refusing to meet Steve’s eyes. “I dunno, I just let you sleep until you woke up.”

“Are you okay?” Steve pressed. He dropped his hands from Will’s face and started checking him for injuries. “What happened? Did something find us? Are you hurt? Why didn’t you wake me up?” If something had happened to Will because Steve wasn’t reliable anymore…

“I’m okay, Steve,” Will said, stopping Steve’s hands with his own. He gave them a gentle squeeze and let go, picking up the bottle from where Steve had let it fall to the ground. “I… went to get us water.”

Steve’s breath caught. Will had… gone out alone?

“I only went to the one by your house, like you told me. It’s not very far away, probably only a mile.”

Steve had no words. His mind was flashing worst case scenarios: shadows and gleaming claws descending on Will, gnashing teeth and beating wings and tangling vines and Will alone and calling for help that wouldn’t come because Steve had been careless enough to get hurt while Will needed him and–

“But, um. You should put this on.” He held out the extra sweater Steve had shoved into his backpack as an afterthought the other day with one hand, using the other to rub at his eyes. He must have stayed up through the night… or, well, their version of night, and he must not have slept while Steve was… incapacitated.

“Don’t,” Steve begged. “Don’t just change the topic. I need to know, Will. I'm not an idiot. I know something happened. Please.” He needed to know just how badly he’d failed this time, how lucky he was to have Will breathing next to him. Shit. If this was even a fraction of what Will’s mother felt knowing her son was in danger, Will would be lucky to leave her sight ever again. Steve had just promised to keep her son safe, and he’d already failed.

Will shook his head. “I’m okay. I promise.” He pushed the sweater at Steve again. “And I promise to tell you, but you’re shaking.”

It took a moment for Steve to register that, yes, he was shaking. It was absolutely freezing without his shirt or jacket. “Thanks.” He took the sweater from Will and gently tugged it over his head. What felt like a lifetime ago, Steve had almost thrown it out because it had been getting snug around the shoulders. Now his arms slid through the sleeves with ease, and it hung loose around his shoulders. He… hadn’t realized. He shook his head to clear it and handed back the leather coat that had fallen to his lap.

“I have my vest,” Will said, gesturing to the hideous safety vest he’d kept on under the jacket. “You should have it.”

“Will-”

“Two layers for each of us. That’s fair.”

What was it with kids and fair? He opened his mouth to argue before he realized that Will had quite expertly changed the topic. Little punk. He scowled and slipped his arms through the leather jacket, hiding a wince as the motion shot through his side. “What happened while I was out?”

“Er…” It was Will’s turn to wince. “About that…”

And then he launched into a story that gave Steve several dozen heart palpitations. How was Mrs. Byers a functioning human being? Steve was already clutching at his chest before Will got to the part where the fucking vines almost got him. At that detail, Steve let out a strangled cry and choked on it, and it took an embarrassingly long time to get his breath back under control.

“But I had your knife,” Will continued after Steve sagged back against the wall. “And I cut myself out! I don’t think I’d have gotten away if it weren’t for you.”

That wasn’t as reassuring as Will probably thought it was. Will could have died. Obviously, every day in this hell was a day either of them could die, but… Steve wasn’t going to be able to protect Will forever, and at the rate things were going, there would be a point where his presence would make things worse and not better. That left Steve with basically two options: leave Will, or get them home fast.

“Steve?”

As much as it was a knee jerk reaction to just throw as much distance between them as possible, to lure the Demogorgon away and finish the job, that didn’t even scratch the surface of all the other things that could kill. Leaving Will alone to those dangers and to numbing loneliness wasn’t really an option at all. Which meant… they had to get out. As it was, they were letting themselves be hunted, and Steve wasn’t confident in his ability to escape another surprise encounter.

But if it wasn’t a surprise…

“I have an idea.”

The apprehensive look on Will’s face shifted to one of curiosity. “What kind of idea?” he asked, leaning forward.

“The Demogorgon. When… when it hunts. When it eats. It gets stuff from the other side, right?”

A haunted expression settled on Will’s face. No doubt he was remembering that visceral fear the Demogorgon invoked, remembering being ripped from everything he ever knew and tumbling into hell itself. “At least... sometimes.”

“Okay, so. If it has a way to hunt on the other side… like actually break out, then it has to have a way to do it, right?”

“That’s kinda how those things work."

The little shit was making fun of him. Steve felt something fond swoop in his stomach. He’d give anything to make sure the kid could smile for real. If… if this was why Steve was here, maybe it would be worth it after all. “Ha, ha. Work with me, kid.”

Will nodded magnanimously.

“So we follow it out.”

Will's tentative smile disappeared, and Steve only felt a little bad. “You want to follow it?”

“Well, not exactly. Hear me out.” Suddenly alive with renewed energy, Steve climbed to his feet, the idea taking shape in his mind like lightning. “The portal at your mom’s house – the Demogorgon made it, right?”

“I think so… But it was closing up when we left.” Will’s eyes lit with understanding. “What if that wasn’t the only one?”

“Exactly! I was thinking... The bastard got me from right outside my house-”

“And it came for me in the woods before it followed me.”

“Right. So it can’t only be coming from your house. It’s been all over those woods, and I’ve seen it as far from here as Melvald’s.”

Will blanched. “That’s where my mom works!”

“It… it was definitely not focusing on anybody in Hawkins at the time,” Steve said with a grimace. But the thought of that monster having the ability to cross over in a store crowded with people just trying to live their lives… It made him uneasy. Even if – even when they got out… would they really be safe?

“So if we find where it usually hunts, maybe we can find a portal home and use it to get out.” Will gripped the fabric of his jeans, knuckles white against the fabric. “Won’t that be… dangerous?”

“Yeah, it will be. Not gonna lie about that.” Steve stopped pacing the small space and knelt beside Will, breath hitching at the movement, but wanting to reassure Will any way he could. “But even if we could get through to your mom again, the portal at your house already closed. If we want out, we’re going to have to find another one.”

While I still have the energy to try.

Will’s face was a combination of excitement and fear. Steve could relate. The boy searched Steve’s face, and whatever he was looking for, he must’ve found, because he nodded once, climbing to his feet. “Okay. Let’s go home.”

---

The rusted tracks of metal felt strange under Eleven’s feet. They were both uneven and regular, thudding against the bottoms of the… sneakers Mike had given her. Papa and the other people in the lab wore shoes, but they did not look like sneakers. Eleven had always wondered what it would feel like to wear shoes. But now she knew they made her slow. Dustin and Lucas were walking further ahead, stopping often to wait for her, which they did not seem to like. Mike stayed by her side, trying to match her stumbling pace, but Eleven could tell he wanted to move faster. Wanted to walk with Dustin and Lucas to find the gate, but was kept back by her. She did not like shoes, Eleven decided.

They did make a nice distraction, though, from the terror roiling through her with every step. Dustin and Lucas and Mike were trying to find the gate. They had not stopped talking about Will and the ‘badass’ protecting him. His presence brought them comfort because they did not understand the danger. Or… maybe they thought it did not apply to him. But Eleven… Eleven had seen the darkness on the other side of the world. She had seen the Boy – Steve – stumbling through the black, bloodied and terrified for months and wondered. Now, Eleven knew what hunted him. She wished she didn’t.

She wished the monster did not exist. She wished Steve and Will had never been taken. But she did not wish her new friends to die. If… if they tried to find the gate, Steve and Will would not be the first thing they saw. First, they would… they would have to go to the lab.

They would meet Papa.

Eleven thought of the kind man who had given her food on her first night of freedom. She thought of the sound of a silenced gun and the thud of his body when it hit the floor, the echo of the bad men running, and Papa’s slow, steady footsteps behind her.

Eleven had wanted nothing more than to free Steve for months. Sometimes, she dreamed that she would save him from the nightmares that hunted him, and that he would, in turn, save her. And they would be free together. She wiped the blood trailing from her nose away, guilt tearing holes in her chest the way the monster tore through worlds. Now there were people who also wanted to save Steve, and to save Will, and she wanted to help them do it, but…

But she did not want them to die.

And if her friends met Papa… Eleven knew that they would.

---

“I’m not missing my history test for this.”

“Nobody’s asking you to – just drop us off.”

“Who gives a test on Friday, anyway?”

“When you asked for a ride, I thought you meant to school, not so you could go creep around like Jonathan Byers.”

“We’re not creeping around!” Tommy hissed, fists clenched. “We’re just looking into something.”

“And you can’t tell me what that something is because…?”

“It’s personal.”

“Oh my God, please tell me you did not skip school and call me for a ride to Steve’s house so you could screw in it while he’s gone.”

“Nicole!” Carol squawked.

Tommy didn’t bother correcting her. He wasn’t sure how much of Steve’s business he should be airing out to the world, but he also didn’t trust Officer Maybe-Competent or Officer Dickbag to actually look into shit. Now that Will Byers’ funeral was probably over, he just wanted to make sure they actually showed up instead of making a bunch of empty promises.

“Steve’s definitely not going to appreciate you using his place like a private motel.”

“Funny, I don’t remember you complaining when you were drinking his booze on Halloween.”

“Tommy, knock it off,” Carol huffed, turning in the passenger seat to scowl back at him.

Tommy bit his tongue. Nicole was doing them a favor. He could play nice. “Look, can you just leave us here? We’ll walk the rest.”

Nicole pulled over, nose wrinkled in disgust. “I don’t have time for this – lunch is gonna be over soon. When you get your heads out of your asses, let me know.”

Carol patted her arm in a way that was both genuine and condescending at the same time. “Thanks for the ride, Nicole, you’re a doll.”

Nicole rolled her eyes, but it got her to stop scowling at least. “You owe me.”

“When will I ever stop?” Carol chirped, climbing out of the seat.

Tommy got out after her, offering Nicole a wave. “Lunch on us.”

“Yeah, okay. Don’t cheap out!” She waved back, pulling away from the curb, and sped away.

They waited for her car to disappear around the bend before turning to walk down Cornwallis. The familiar path felt… off, somehow. Carol clutched at his hand while they walked. Whatever it was, she felt it, too. And Tommy wasn’t really sure why, but when they got closer to Steve’s, he tugged her from the road and into the surrounding trees.

“Tommy, what the hell?”

“You wanna deal with nosy bitches asking why we’re playing hooky?”

“Whatever,” she said with a huff, but she started forward through the woods, and some of the earlier tension in her shoulders seemed to settle a bit.

The crunch of the autumn leaves under their feet echoes loudly in the air, and Tommy realized with a start that it was the loudest sound around. They were walking along what should be a busy area in Hawkins, even if it was just houses this far down. But as they continued walking, the only cars they saw on the road were some fucking work vans.

When Steve’s house came into view, it was full of them. There were two vans in the driveway, boxing in the Beemer, three lining the curb to either side, and one across the street. Hawkins Power and Light. Maybe they were fixing whatever had been wrong with the power lines the past few months. Steve’s house was close to the plant.

“Since when do those assholes get to wear fancy suits?” Carol asked, peering at Steve’s house. Sure enough, two men were circling from the backyard, both in crisp black suits. They exchanged words, and then one of them fucking broke into Steve’s car.

What the fuck?

Carol made a strangled sound behind him, and Tommy lurched forward. He didn’t make it far, before a hand clamped down around his mouth and yanked him back. He thrashed against whoever was behind him. What the fuck what the fuck what the actual fuck-

“Will you quit- don’t let them see you, get down!”

Tommy froze at the familiar voice. It was one he’d heard lecturing him and Steve after every busted party and wild night for the past four years.

“Dammit, Hagan, I said get down!” the voice hissed.

A hand circled Tommy’s arm and yanked, sending him sprawling on his ass. He spun around, wide eyes locking on Carol’s. She sat, dumbstruck on the forest floor, staring up at the man beside them both.

Chief Jim Hopper crouched before them, ashen faced and wild eyed and out of uniform, mouth pressed into a thin line. He was looking over Tommy’s shoulder, and in one quick motion, he pulled his fucking gun out of its holster.

“Christ!” Tommy yelped, scrambling back towards Carol.

She gripped his arm, and a tense silence settled over them. Tommy followed her eyes, and the Chief’s, back to Steve’s house. One of the suits was sifting through Steve’s glovebox, and Tommy noticed the door to the house was cracked open. What was happening?

“...Chief?” Carol asked in a hushed whisper, voice shaking.

Chief Hopper was breathing heavily. When the suits carried on with their normal business, he tucked his gun away and turned to them, eyes simmering “You two shouldn’t be here.”

“What the fuck is happening?” Tommy forced himself to whisper, to match their volume, but inside he was screaming. What was going on?

“Are those the Feds?” Carol hissed next to him. “Why can’t we let them see us? What’ve they got to do with Steve?”

The… Feds? Tommy’s mind was whirling. Missing cases were local, right? Tommy didn’t know much about law, but he was pretty sure the FBI didn’t get involved in small town shit… not unless something bad happened. Tommy found it suddenly hard to breathe. Was Steve – was he – no. No.

The Chief’s face was grim. “I don’t know yet. But I’m going to find out.”

“Is…” Tommy hated how fucking small his voice sounded. “Is he-?” He couldn’t get the question out. Couldn’t give voice to the yawning terror that had been steadily consuming him whole.

The Chief clasped a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “We haven’t found anything to suggest that. But these guys have been hiding something.”

Carol picked a stray leaf from her hair. “So… Steve got caught up with the Feds?”

“I’m not even sure they are the Feds,” the Chief muttered.

Tommy didn’t think he was meant to hear that, but he must’ve reacted visibly, because Chief Hopper drew his hand back. “You two should go home.”

“Then give us some answers.” Carol demanded. “Steve is in trouble. You can’t just expect us to sit here while-”

“That is exactly what I expect you to do. I expect you to go home and let me do my job.”

Tommy bit back a snort. “Because you’ve been doing a great fucking job so far.”

“I didn’t know. …But I should have.” Something complicated flashed across the Chief’s face, something unspeakably wounded that left Tommy reeling. “There’s a lot I should have done. So let me make it right.”

“But-”

“I’m not putting more kids in danger. I need you two to go so I can find Steve and Wi-” he cleared his throat. “And with you two here, I’m not going to be able to do that.”

Tommy flexed his fingers, eyes sweeping back over to Steve’s house. The Suit from the car had finished whatever he was doing and was walking back down the driveway to meet a new Suit walking up. This one had well styled white hair and carried himself the way Mr. Harrington only wished he could.

“You’ll let us know? When you find him?” Carol asked. Tommy envied the sureness in her voice. The certainty in that ‘when.’

“I’ll make the call myself.” Chief Hopper helped them to their feet, freezing when his eyes tracked over to the house behind them. When he spoke again, Tommy got the distinct feeling he wasn’t talking to either of them. Instead, his eyes were following the white haired man walking through Steve’s open door, a stony mask settled over his face. “And believe me, when I say I’m going to do something, I follow through.”

Chapter Text

Barb watched Nancy walk ahead with Jonathan Byers, sunlight glinting from her hair in rays that dotted through the trees.

She spoke animatedly, arm waving through the air, and Jonathan stole glances at her every so often. Not that Barb could blame him - Nancy on a mission was radiant. Gone was the desolation that drew her face and hunched her shoulders. Nancy needed purpose, and the monstrous creature Jonathan had managed to capture in that camera of his gave her one.

It wasn't that Barb didn't also want to find Will. Of course she did. But if she were being honest... She didn't think the responsibility for that should rest on three teenagers. She'd tried to convince them to go to the Police, and they'd both refused flatly. Well... that wasn't quite fair. Jonathan had tried Chief Hopper's personal number last night and again that morning. He just refused anyone else.

Barb didn't want to be here. They had just been to a child's funeral that morning. She wanted to go home and hug her parents and disappear into a book until she couldn't keep her eyes open anymore. Instead, she was hiking through unfamiliar woods with Nancy and Jonathan Byers of all people.

“-eady. What do you think, Barb?”

“Uh, what?”

“About starting at Steve's house?” Nancy asked her. She had stopped to wait for Barb while Jonathan walked ahead.

It made sense, since that was where Nancy had first seen the creature in Jonathan's camera. It was a good thing none of the Harringtons were ever home anymore, with a monster maybe living in their backyard. "I still think we should just get the police."

“You want to tell the police we think monsters are real and they live in Hawkins?”

Barb rolled her eyes. “Oh, don't do that. It's a better idea than three teenagers walking in the woods where there might be either a monster or a psycho killer without telling any adults where they went!”

Nancy looked away, eyes following Jonathan's retreating back. “Maybe it is a bad idea, but... if it were Mike that was missing, I…”

Oh, Nancy.

Barb softened. “You’re a good sister, Nancy.”

Nancy snorted and started walking again. “Maybe I used to be, but I haven’t… Barb, I haven’t even talked to him about this. He has to be feeling so alone.”

Barb thought about Will’s three friends clinging together at the edge of a small coffin and felt her chest tighten. “How’s he handling things?”

“He’s… not, really.”

Barb deflated in sympathy, eyeing Jonathan who walked ahead. He hadn’t exactly been open about his own emotions on the subject, but he wasn’t the only one who cared about Will. “It’s gotta be hard.”

Nancy sighed, steps dragging through the fallen leaves. “Will’s one of his best friends. He’s… he’s just a really good kid. Sweet.”

Barb raised an eyebrow, stifling a laugh. “Mike? Sweet?”

“No, gross.” Nancy shoved her lightly. “Will.”

Barb tried not to focus on the weight of the baseball bat in her hands, or the way Nancy seemed so comfortable with the weight of a stolen gun in hers. It was such a welcome change from the way she’d looked, shattered on the dressing room floor that Barb would welcome even the slimmest of chances. “Do you really think we’ll find him?”

Nancy’s eyes were trained on Jonathan Byers’ back.

“Nancy? Hello?”

No response.

“Nance.”

“Huh?”

“You’re staring?” Barb said, lips quirking into a smile.

“I am not.”

“Oh. My mistake.”

“I was just… thinking.”

“About Jonathan Byers.”

“About Will.”

“What’re you two talking about?”

Barb almost walked straight into Jonathan, who had doubled back to meet them.

“Mike!” Nancy said at the same time that Barb said, “You.”

Nancy shot her a glare, brushing invisible dirt from her new jacket. The one she’d bought to impress one Steve Harrington before school started. Huh.

Jonathan gave them both a skeptical look, but didn’t address either of their answers. “Harrington’s house should be just ahead. We can search the area and then head towards my place.”

Barb bit her lip. “Won’t that leave us out here until after dark?” Nearby, a bird launched itself from an overhead branch and Barb shrieked, dropping Nancy’s bat and clutching at her chest.

Barb had never really seen much emotion in Jonathan Byers. No one had, really, which is probably where the whispers he’d had something to do with his brother’s disappearance had come from. But the look of understanding that crossed his face before he picked up the bat and handed it back to her was so real it was almost tangible. “If you want to go home, I can-”

“I’m staying.” She didn’t really want to be here, but… Nancy wasn’t going to leave any time soon. What kind of friend would Barb be if she left?

Nancy shot her a concerned look. “Are you sure?”

No. Barb looked between them both, straight backed and resolute, and wished she could share their confidence. She wasn’t at all sure about this – wasn’t sure she believed in monsters and make believe. But Barb believed in Nancy Wheeler, and Nancy believed in Jonathan Byers. That was good enough for her.

---

“Go away Lonnie!”

The door pounded again, insistent. Joyce growled, throwing down the lights she had been trying to untangle. Asshole. Bastard. How dare he?

The pounding continued.

And Joyce… Joyce was tired. She did not have the energy for this man today or ever again. There was no room in her life for the shadow he cast on her life. She stalked over to the door, ready to shout him out of her life once again, only to be met with DON’T SAY ANYTHING and one disheveled Jim Hopper.

Baffled, she could only stand to the side as he pushed into the room. He blanched when he saw the lights strung throughout the room, going paler than he’d already been, and then he started taking them apart with manic energy.

She tried, haltingly, to ask him what was going on, but he refused to answer her. Only after he’d unscrewed the last bulb did the frenzied look leave his eyes, and he dropped into their floral armchair, panting. “Okay. Should be okay, I mean... I can't guarantee it, but it should be okay.”

Joyce was at a loss for words. First, Jim couldn’t be bothered to show up to her son’s funeral or… or at least act man enough to tell her he couldn’t come, if it brought up too many memories, and now, here he was, acting like a madman in her living room. “What the hell is going on, Hopper?”

He was still casting his eyes around the room, seeing something that wasn’t there. “They bugged my place,” he said breathlessly.

She tried to get him to elaborate, but he just dove right into some story about the government watching him. Was this how she sounded to other people? Should she give him the benefit of the doubt? Joyce wasn’t sure, but she could try. “You gotta explain this to me, 'cause I am not-”

“I went to the morgue last night, Joyce.” He met her eyes and held them, no longer searching the room.

Every thought fled Joyce’s mind. “What?”

“It wasn't him. Will's body, it was a fake.” He leaned forward in his seat, still holding her eyes. She couldn’t look away from them. “You were right. This whole time, you were right.”

Tears pricked Joyce’s eyes, her heart fluttering in her chest. She had known it. She had felt it. She had let Lonnie make her doubt herself and her intuition. She had almost believed everything he said about her. She… she had almost stopped looking, even after she had spoken to Will, spoken to-

Her stomach plummeted, and Joyce seized Hopper by the arms, horror gripping her chest and squeezing. “There was someone else there.”

“There’s something e-” He had been just starting to speak when Joyce had surged forward. His eyes sharpened, piercing hers. “What?”

“I talked to Will. Really talked to him – I saw him Hop, and then Lonnie said-”

“Forget what Lonnie said!”

“I know that now. But Hop. Hop.” Dread flooded her. “There was another boy with Will.” Had that been real? It had felt that way, until Lonnie… She waited for Hop to tell her it was impossible – that no one else was missing. She waited so she could refute any condemnation that she was inventing protectors to watch her son where she could not follow, but instead, the color drained from Hopper’s face entirely.

“Where?” he croaked.

Joyce was alarmed to feel his arms shaking under her hands. She let him go and gestured to the poorly repaired hole in her living room.

“This boy. You saw him? Spoke to him?”

Nausea threatened to overtake her. “Hopper. Is someone else missing?”

Joyce could see Hopper working his jaw, the muscle of his neck flexing as he stared at the nailed planks on her wall.

It was all the confirmation Joyce needed. She sank to the floor. Real. The boy had been real. It meant Will wasn’t alone. If those early phone calls were any indication, he never had been. Someone was watching him. A boy was watching him – had gotten hurt to protect him. How had she not known someone else was missing? Why had no one told her? “Hop?”

He turned from the wall to meet her eyes, and there was a fierce look to him, one Joyce recognized in herself. “First, I need you to tell me everything.”

---

Things had been busy at the plant lately. Complaints across the town had increased exponentially over the past few months, and Wayne Munson had had to pull more than his share of double shifts. It was a blessing and a curse, really. He rarely saw Eddie, and he was bone tired every day, but it brought extra income. Brought enough to put actually decent food on the table with enough extra to set some aside for Eddie when he went to college. Or not. When he graduated, it would be his to do with as he wished.

It also kept Wayne busy, and he sure as hell needed to be. The past two weeks had been hard. He’d come home the weekend before last to find Eddie beat to hell, and remarkably closed lipped about who’d done it. The boy had been sullen for days afterwards, withdrawing to his room for everything but their shared meals. It had taken Wayne calling in ‘sick’ and taking Eddie on a drive to nowhere for him to bounce back. It had been a good day, wind whipping at Eddie’s curls and music ringing through the open windows. There had been a few days of what felt like normalcy, after that.

And then Will Byers had gone missing.

Wayne, like many of the town, had spent his free hours the days after joining in the fruitless search for the Byers boy. He had been left reeling in the wake of Benny Hammond’s suicide not one day after that. Benny had been a friend, had helped him look after Eddie when they boy was too young to stay home alone and Wayne still needed to put food on the table. And for years after, he’d undercharge them when they came into the diner. Benny had been the best sort, and now Benny was dead. The week hadn’t gotten any better after that – not when they’d pulled Will Byers out of the quarry and there were two lives to mourn instead of one.

So Wayne was perfectly content to take the extra hours and keep his mind occupied. They would weather the latest issues with the grid, and the city would get back to normal.

“Hey Munson!”

“Yeah?” Wayne looked up at the man in the doorway. Jerry was too old to be working, but he didn’t seem keen on retiring any time soon, either.

“You remember sending guys out to Cornwallis?”

“Last I checked they were replacing wires by the library.”

“See, that’s what I said. But Clint said there was a whole line of vans turning down Cornwallis on ‘is way in, said the whole road’s blocked off from Benny’s to the 7-11.”

Wayne frowned, flipping through their logbook. “Nothing’s scheduled.”

“Well color me shocked.” Jerry dropped into the seat next to Wayne, coffee sloshing over the edge of the mug he set down, and snatched the logbook. “Those first shift bastards always leave us in the dark.”

“Third time this week they’ve skipped logging.” Wayne reached over and plucked the mug Jerry had left for him off the table.

“Well, if they can fix it, I won’t complain.”

Wayne raised his mug in salute. As frustrating as the lack of communication between shifts might be, it sure would be nice not to hear about flickering lights for a change.

---

The monster was hunting prey, and Steve and Will were hunting the monster. Okay, so maybe hunting wasn’t the right word. They were tracking. At a distance. ...With a blood-crusted, nail-spiked bat.

Steve was tired. He pretended not to be for Will, but… Every breath was like trying to get a too-thick milkshake through a straw, and he knew it wasn’t only from needing a cleaner scrap of fabric over his nose. Steve was just… Tired. He was tired and his side sent little knives shooting through him whenever he moved too fast, which wasn’t really a great state to be in for a budding career in monster hunting. Just one more point for team Harrington. Steve would just keep ignoring it until he couldn’t anymore.

It was nighttime in real Hawkins. The world around them got a little darker, and a little more awake. There was a reason Steve usually tried to keep them sheltered at night. Screeches bounced through the trees, the thrumming of wings beat above the canopies, and howls echoed at their backs. Still, they were distant enough not to be an immediate concern. The immediate concern was the Demogorgon they tracked through the woods.

They had spent the first half of the day resting and planning, but now that they were actually following through, neither of them seemed to want to address the very real danger. The air between them was thick with apprehension, and Will was looking a little too pensive for his own good. Steve bumped his shoulder. “First thing you’re gonna do when we get out, go.”

The boy only stumbled a little, flailing his arms. He looked up at Steve searchingly, and Steve knew Will could see right through his attempt to lighten the mood. Still, tension bled from his shoulders, and when Will answered, his tone was similarly light. “I dunno, this would make a pretty awesome campaign.”

Steve sputtered. “Are you serious? You’d make- Shit, Will, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to sleep again, and you’re ready to make this whole thing into one of your games?” Steve mussed the kid’s hair. “You’re a certified badass, Will Byers.”

Will’s answering smile was a ray of light. Jesus, the kid was adorable.

“So,” Steve continued, “What would I be, in this game of yours?”

“You’d play with us?” There was an uncertainty in Will’s voice Steve wasn’t used to hearing when the boy talked about his interests.

Steve wondered who had made him self-conscious about the things he liked. It definitely wasn’t Mrs. Byers or Jonathan. “I get to beat up monsters and eat free snacks? Yeah, man.”

Will’s eyes met his and wow, forget ray of light, that smile was the whole fucking sun. Will was quiet a moment, but at least the lightness in his steps seemed less like playing along, and at least a little genuine.

Steve watched the trees, wary of the thickening vines that coiled more densely the deeper into the woods they traveled. Some were slashed through, deep gouges cutting into the rotting bark of the trees they clung to. They were getting closer.

“Well, first I thought Paladin...” Will finally answered.

“A what now?”

“Paladin,” Will repeated. “It’s like, um. A type of fighter. Like a knight.”

Steve’s breath hitched, and not just from the toxic air catching up to him. Christ, a knight? That was… wow. No pressure.

“But then,” Will continued, “a Paladin has to always follow the rules-”

“Definitely not me.”

-so I think Ranger. They’re good at tracking and surviving. They’re smart, and strong, and wise, and good. They can handle almost everything.”

Steve swallowed. No pressure, no pressure. “Alright, so when we get out of here, I’ll be the most badass…”

“Ranger.”

“… ranger you’ve ever seen.”

Will huffed a wet laugh, eyes bright. “Promise?”

Steve chewed his lip, but was saved from having to answer by the sound of a scream. He jolted towards the sound, the movement sending knives through his side.

Beside him, Will pivoted towards the noise as well, hazel eyes wide in shock. “It got someone.”

Shit.

“We have to help!”

Shit. Of course they did. There was no way they could leave someone to the monster. “Okay. Stay here. I’ll-”

Will took off, expertly jumping over vines as he raced towards the sound.

Steve swore and forced himself to run after Will’s hideous safety vest, focusing on everything but the pain. If Will got there before he did…

Another scream ripped through the trees, closer and to the left. “-ancy!”

Steve almost barreled into Will, who had jerked to an abrupt halt. The trees had parted into a small clearing, and through the branches, Steve could see pale light glinting off the Demogorgon, outlining its shoulders and the tendons in its neck. Fresh blood dropped from its claws onto the rotting leaves. Steve grabbed Will’s shoulders and tried to pull the boy quietly behind him.

Will shook his head, eyes pleading, and pointed.

On the opposite ends of the clearing stood not one, but two bodies. Two hands twitched towards each other, desperate for comfort, but too far apart and too afraid to move. Two pale faces stared up at the approaching monster, and with a jolt, Steve realized he recognized them both.

Separated by gnarled vines and rotting trees, a waiting reaper between them, stood Nancy Wheeler and Barbara Holland.

---

“Do you see any more blood?”

“No,” Nancy scanned the underbrush, but whatever had taken the deer had disappeared. Moonlight streamed through the arching trees, washing the woods in a cool blue light. Even without the flashlight, the blood should be visibly reflective.

Barb clutched at her own flashlight, voice shaking as much as her hands. “Why would we go towards the blood?”

Jonathan didn’t answer, searching the woods with grim determination in his step.

“Come on, Barb,” Nancy said, following the displaced leaves. Was it a trail?

“No, wait. Jonathan, come back! Nancy, wait!” Barb stomped after her, not even bothering to hide her footsteps. “Nancy! We need to stay together! Will you wait?”

“Barb, we’re not going far. What are you so worried about?”

“Oh, gee, I don’t know Nancy, why would any girl be nervous about strange noises in the woods at night when people are going missing? I would love to know your opinion.”

Nancy heard her words, but they didn’t register. The leaves had made an indented trail, which stopped at the base of a tree. A hollow had been carved into it, and something wet lined from the opening. Nancy peered at it, crouching to get a better look.

The opening smelled like rotting meat, putrid stench emanating from whatever viscous liquid dripped to the floor. It seemed like some sort of burrow or tunnel, stretching back further than the thickness of the tree trunk should allow. Nancy wondered…

“What are you – Nancy!” Barb hissed behind her. “It could be living in there and you’re going face first, are you crazy? Nancy!”

She pushed her way through the tunnel, a tacky membrane clinging to her skin as she pushed through vines or some type of hanging roots. The air on her face felt suddenly cold, and as she emerged through the other side of the tunnel, she could see snow floating all around.

Her flashlight flickered, casting long shadows in the pale light. She shivered, some unspoken apprehension ghosting through her. The sudden quiet was unsettling, only her breathing and her heartbeat and a scraping behind her and Barb’s hushed voice, suddenly behind her ear.

“-upid, this is so stupid, I can’t believe you. If you die I’m going to kill you.” Barb crawled through the tunnel, thick webs clinging to her hair. Grimacing, she stood up, trying to wipe some of the slime from her palms. Her glasses were impossibly smudged, and she wiped at them with her sleeves, which only made them worse.

“Here, let me,” Nancy offered. She took the glasses and rubbed at them with her undershirt until they were at least moderately acceptable.

Barb took them, sliding them on and glancing around. “Where are we?” she whispered. She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering in the cold.

Nancy wanted to answer back that they were clearly in the same forest, except… Had the trees always been so rotted? Had their branches been choked by decaying vines and covered in dripping, web-like membranes? Had the air been thick with floating particles – certainly not snow – and almost painful to breathe? Her flashlight continued to flicker, Barb’s face shuttering in and out of focus. “I don’t know,” she whispered instead. Something inside screamed in warning for her to keep her voice low. “But there’s the blood again.”

“Nancy, we should go back.”

“You can go.”

“I’m not leaving you alone.”

“I’ll just be a minute,” Nancy promised. She stepped after the blood dotting the leaves, paying no mind do Barb’s increasingly frustrated Nancy!s behind her. There was something here. If Nancy could just find it, could just see it, she could prove to herself that what she had seen had been real.

Jonathan had said his mother was sure Will was alive. That he was somewhere beyond reach. Was this that somewhere? If she could find any hint that it might be, she could tell Jonathan, and then they could-

Something snarled to her right, and Nancy spun towards the sound. There, crouched in the decaying leaves, knelt a creature from nightmare. Nancy didn’t know how she could ever have mistaken it for human. Its arms were impossibly long, gleaming claws digging into the leaves. Its legs splayed behind it, and the cords on its back stretched and pulled as it tore at what was left of the deer from earlier. The wet sound of ripping flesh echoed through the trees, drowning the sound of her heartbeat in her ears.

Nancy backed away, mind blank with fear. Barb had been right. Why had she gone through the tunnel when she had left the gun with Jonathan? She was woefully unprepared. As she inched further back, something crunched under her foot, and the creature’s head shot up. Its eyeless face was open like a flower, and the light shone from endless rows of jagged teeth, all dripping fresh blood.

She screamed and reflexively dropped her flashlight, terror numbing her grip, and ran. Which way had she come from? Which way was Barb?

“Nancy?!”

Oh, thank God. Nancy dashed toward Barb’s voice, coming from near the opposite direction she had been running. “Barb!” she screamed. There was no need to be quiet, anymore.

“I’m coming!” Barb called.

“No!” shrieked Nancy. “It’s here!”

Somewhere through the trees, Jonathan screamed her name.

“Jonathan!” she cried. The trees all looked the same, and the choking vines blocked her vision. “Barb!”

“Nancy!” Two voices shouted back, both in opposite directions. She froze, not sure which way to go. Jonathan had the gun. If she ran to him, if the monster was behind her, then he could-

Barb screamed.

Nancy felt her stomach plummet. Not Barb. She ran towards her friend’s cry. Not Barb. Not Barb who had cautioned so strongly against their ill-advised nighttime hunt. Not Barb who came anyway, not because she agreed, but because she couldn’t let Nancy do it alone. Not Barb who Nancy should have known would follow her, would be in danger because of her.

“Nancy!” Barb’s scream choked off into a sob.

Hold on! Nancy could feel the panic in her throat. She was weaponless and terrified and not sure what she could do, but there was no universe where she would ever abandon her friend. She tore through the trees, skidding to a halt at the edge of a break in the trees.

In front of her, towering well overhead at its full height, the monster advanced towards a trembling Barb. At the crush of Nancy’s feet in the leaves, it stopped, listening. Nancy caught Barb’s horrified eyes, wide with panic. She clutched at Nancy’s bat, the one she had dropped on the floor before crawling through the tunnel, but made no move to lift it, fingers shaking around the handle. They were too far apart to reach each other before the monster, with its long limbs.

‘Nancy! Barb!’ Jonathan sounded far away. ‘Where are you?’

Nancy didn’t dare answer him, not when it might spur the monster into action. Not while its body was still turned towards Barb.

Something crashed through the trees behind the monster, and Nancy wanted to cry. Were there more? She was afraid to look, so afraid to take her eyes from the monster, but Barb’s breath hitched, and Nancy let her eyes flick away just for a second.

Across the clearing, behind the looming monster, was Will Byers. He was disheveled and smeared with dirt, and half his face was covered by some type of bandanna, but he was wearing the same vest he had left her house in on Sunday night.

Will. She felt her knees wobble, relief so strong it nearly knocked her on her back. He was alive. He was there, and breathing, and gesturing to… a person who stood behind him, one hand gripping the fabric of Will’s shirt.

Who…?

There was a man next to Will, maybe young. It was hard to tell. His hair was limp and matted, hanging in tangled clumps. His eyes were wide with alarm and something else, recognition maybe, but Nancy couldn’t say the same. A cloth wrapped around the bottom half of his face, obscuring his features. He was just as disheveled as Will, maybe more so, dirt crusted onto his clothes and what little of his face was visible.

‘Nancy! Barb! Come on!’

All four of their heads jerked towards the sound of Jonathan’s voice, and the monster, sensing the distraction, lunged at Barb.

“No!” Nancy screamed.

Barb threw herself back, screaming and swinging wildly with the bat in her hands. The monster swatted it away, sending it spinning through the trees, and Barb landed hard on her back. Nancy tried to rush forward, to help in some way, any way.

“I’ve got it!” the man called. He lurched forward, whipping a bat from the bag slung over his back. It was nailed through with viscious spikes, dark and crusted with blood. He had clearly fought this monster before. That suspicion was further validated when the monster whirled at the sound of his voice, rearing up and screeching in rage. “Will! Get Barbara!”

Will, who had been frozen in a daze, either in fear of the monster or at the sound of his brother’s voice, roused at the man’s shout, small body dashing out of reach and around the monster’s swiping arm. He passed barely inches from its claws, and Nancy realized with a start that it was calculated. He knew instinctively how long its arms were. The idea made Nancy’s stomach roil. How many times had they faced it?

The man ducked under one of the long arms, swinging his bat into the creature’s stomach. He leapt back, pain flashing across his face at the motion. The creature bellowed in rage and advanced in his direction.

Nancy took the distraction for what it was and rushed over to Barb, whose leg was tangled in a thick vine. Little Will was at her side, sawing at the vine with a small kitchen knife while Barb tried to stop it from snaking up her leg like a living thing. “Barb!” Nancy dropped to her knees beside them, helping tug at the vines.

‘Barb! Where are you? Nancy!’

Jonathan. “Here! We’re here, Jonathan! Please!” He had the gun. He had the gun.

With a triumphant cry, Will severed the rest of the vine, and Barb pulled her leg free.

“Oh God,” Barb said, voice shaking. She coughed, heaving shallow, panicked breaths. “What is that thing?”

“Demogorgon,” answered Will, sliding his knife back into a plastic sheath and tucking it into his pocket.

“What can we do?” Nancy asked, climbing back to her feet and holding a hand out to them both. They took one each, and Nancy pulled. Behind her, the monster snarled, and she turned to see the man tumble away from another sweeping attack.

His brow was pinched, eyes flashing with pain, but he adjusted his grip on the bat and readied it again.

Except… the monster turned towards them.

Still gripping onto Will and Barb’s hands, Nancy took a shaky step back.

‘Follow my voice!’

Jonathan’s voice had been steadily coming from their left, and Nancy jerkily herded them in that direction.

The man was looking at her across the clearing, at her hands joined in Barb’s and Will’s. Haunted brown eyes met hers, shining with a desperate plea.

The monster stepped toward the three of them, and Barb hissed “Nancy, we can’t fight this. We have to go.”

Nancy was still staring into the man’s eyes, unable to look away. He held her gaze, and there was something almost... familiar in his eyes. She shook her head. Surely he couldn't be asking-

“Take him!”

That removed any doubt. Nancy felt herself trembling. And leave him behind? What kind of choice was that?

He slammed his bat into the monster’s leg and it wailed in pain and outrage. He yanked the bat free and blocked the slash it made in retaliation, the force of the blow pushing him back, heels sliding in the dirt. He landed hard on his feet, and one of his legs nearly collapsed. “Get him out!”

“What? No!” shrieked Will, trying to tear his hand from hers. In a blind panic, she seized it, stopping him from running to help. Will could not go against this monster. Not Will, not any child.

‘Barb! Nancy! Where are you? Follow my voice!’

When Nancy looked to Barb, she was watching the man across the clearing with an assessing gaze before nodding once, fear in her eyes replaced with an eerie calm. Barb bent down, grabbed Will around the stomach, and lifted him clear off the ground. He thrashed in her arms, trying to get free, but Barb only adjusted her grip and shouted, “Jonathan! We’re coming! Where are you?”

Will continued to scream.

‘Is that Will? Barb, where are you? Where is he? Will?’

It was then that Nancy saw the tunnel, pulsing a dimmer red than before, the thick membrane from earlier stretched over it once again. “There!” she shouted, clutching at Barb and pointing. One of Will’s elbows nearly took her out, and she jumped away.

Barb was deaf to Will’s protests, and barreled towards the tunnel. “Nancy, I’m going to need your help here! Jonathan look for the glowing tree! We’re coming out and we’re going to need you!”

‘What’s going on?’

“Just get ready to pull!”

Nancy was frozen, eyes darting between Barb and the clearing. The monster seemed to realize it was about to lose three meals, because the man had taken the offensive. But the creature was closer to them than it had been moments before, and the man was clearly flagging.

Barb threw herself and a still screaming Will into the opening. “Nancy, help me!”

The desperation in her voice cut through the fog clouding Nancy’s mind, shocking her into action. She dashed to the tunnel and threw herself at Will’s flailing legs. She ignored his frenzied struggle and shoved them into the tunnel Barb had disappeared into.

“No!” he sobbed. “Let me go! Stop! You can’t leave him! Steve! Let me go, let me go!”

But Nancy had blocked out the sound. Jonathan was shouting on the other side, and  she blocked that out, too. They had Will. Getting him out was the first priority. There was a tearing sound, and they suddenly lurched forward. She gave Will a final shove, and then she tumbled into warmth and fresh air.

Jonathan was flat on his back, arms wrapped under Barb’s, who had Will’s upper body locked in a bear hug. Will didn’t seem to realize any of this, struggling against Barb.

Nancy’s heart thundered in her chest, and she pushed herself to her feet. “Jonathan, give me the gun.”

Winded, Jonathan looked at her in confusion. “What?”

“The gun!” she shouted. “Give me the gun!”

Jonathan slid his arms out from under Barb’s, who rolled to the side, still gripping Will. He sat up, sensing her urgency, and yanked the gun from his waistband, holding it out to her automatically.

Nancy took the gun, Barb yelped, and Will scrambled to his feet and dove for the tunnel.

Jonathan threw himself forward, grabbing Will and pulling him back.

Something shifted in the air, and Nancy watched in horror as bark slid over what had once been a glowing tunnel, sealing it away as if it had never been.

Chapter Text

Jonathan clung to a sobbing Will in shocked disbelief. He still shook with the lingering panic from when he’d first heard Nancy scream, made worse by Barb’s own shouts, and then Will. He’d thought he might’ve imagined it, but then there had been shouts, and words, and then Barbara Holland’s back had pressed against some barrier at the base of an old tree and she had shouted at him to pull.

And then she dragged a screaming Will out with her, and Jonathan lost the ability to think. Before he’d had a chance to process any of it, Nancy had shouted at him for a gun, tone so urgent that he obeyed automatically. But then Will had launched himself towards that tree, and though Jonathan didn’t know what was on the other side, he could remember the sound of an otherworldly howl and the fear in Nancy and Barb’s screams, could see the terror on their faces and the slime and viscera that coated them even now. He would not lose Will again. It would kill him.

Jonathan couldn’t understand why Will was so desperate to go back, but he knew it had been the right call. Whatever gateway had been open in that tree, it slid itself shut. If Will had gone through, none of them would have been able to follow.

Will wailed, straining to get free.

All Jonathan could think was that it was Will. Will. Will. Alive. Will’s face, Will’s voice, Will moving and breathing and so far removed from the last that Jonathan had seen of him – or, thought he had seen of him – that Jonathan couldn’t breathe. Tears pricked at his eyes at the memory of that too still corpse, of the coffin lowering into the ground, and he clutched Will tighter, burying his face into his brother’s shoulder with a sob. Warm. Alive.

“You left him!” Will sobbed, beating at Jonathan. “You left him!”

“Left who?”

Barb crawled over to them and Nancy dropped into the dirt, all fight gone from her. He looked at them over Will’s head and saw that they were both crying.

“Th-there was someone… someone else there,” Nancy said.

“What?”

“He saved us,” Barb said, quietly, voice thick with emotion. “The monster, it… we wouldn’t have made it out if he hadn’t fought it.”

“H-he told us to take Will, and so we…” Nancy trailed off, voice shaking as she watched Will sob, an anguished expression on her face. “I thought we could go back with the gun, but then…”

Will wailed, the fight having left him, too. He sagged against Jonathan, heaving great, hiccuping sobs.

Barb clutched at Nancy’s hand for comfort, and the three sat in stunned silence.

Jonathan was helpless. They should move, should put as much distance between the tunnel and themselves as possible, should get Will home and then to a hospital. But he was numb with shock. He could only rub Will’s back in an attempt to soothe him while his own mind was reeling. The boy Lonnie had mentioned, he remembered in dark foreboding. The one his mother said had promised to keep Will safe.

Thank you, Jonathan thought, clinging to his sobbing, breathing brother. Thank you.

The boy had kept that promise after all… and he might have just paid for it with his life.

---

Joyce sat at her kitchen table with Hopper, sharing a moment of mutual horror. Two children missing... a lab with a dark history of child experimentation. An area Hop believed could have been used for said experimentation, and at least one attached ‘room’ that had clearly been occupied longer than the week Will had been missing.

What did it mean?

The boy Joyce had seen was too old for the child’s drawing Hopper described, which meant there was now a third child involved. If that boy was in fact Steve Harrington, as Hopper feared, he was Jonathan’s age. Still a child himself. The thought made Joyce sick. She had been so focused on Will that she had missed the signs. Even in that first phone call, the one where she had been able to hear Will’s voice, he had said we before the line went up in flames. When she had asked him with the lights if he was safe, he had immediately responded one blink before seeming to reconsider and the lights flashed twice. He had felt safe. This Steve made him feel safe.

And no one had ever reported him missing.

Actually… it was worse. He had been reported missing, the same day she had reported Will, and no one other than Phil Callahan had known until today. The rage she felt when that detail came to light was only salvageable when it was clear Hopper felt it tenfold. But they had to be practical. Had to bottle those feelings and shove them down to focus on what was important.

“What about… the other room? The one with the glowing?”

Hopper ran a hand over his hair, fingers spasming. “I… You’d have to see it. It was… the whole room was freezing, polluted with some kind of dust, and there were vines everywhere like a goddamn rain forest. There was this hole in the wall, covered in webs or something. It was almost… like it was glowing.”

“What color?”

“What?”

“What color was it glowing?”

“Red,” he answered immediately, no longer phased by her constant interruptions.

Joyce was grateful to him for that in a way she would never have realized if Lonnie hadn’t shoved his ugly face back into her life. “Like my wall.”

“It wa-”

Someone pounded on her door, and they both jumped. Hopper’s gun was trained on the door in an instant, and he shook his head at her in warning.

The door rattled and whoever it was pounded on it again.

“Mrs. Byers, are you home?” With how loud the knock was, Joyce had been expecting something different that the hushed, urgent question of a young voice. Who on Earth…?

“Jonathan, which pocket is your key in?” another voice asked. Was that… Nancy Wheeler?

She heard her son mutter, “right, jacket.” His voice was choked and hoarse, like he’d been crying. Of course he’d been crying. Today had been his brother’s funeral, and she hadn’t even talked to him about it. But… Why couldn’t he get his own key?

“Jonathan?” Joyce clamored to her feet, heart in her throat. She forgot the warning look Hop had given her, forgot the need for discretion, or caution, or anything except that Jonathan was outside and crying and maybe so hurt he couldn’t get his own key. She threw open the front door and nearly lost her ability to stand.

A young woman in mud streaked clothes stood with her hand poised to knock again. Behind her, a similarly disheveled Nancy Wheeler had her hand in Jonathan’s coat pocket, who couldn’t dig it out himself because his hands were occupied with…

“Will!” Joyce cried, stumbling forward. Will was slumped in Jonathan’s arms, clothes torn and stained. Aside from his vest, they were different clothes than the ones he’d worn when he left, but… but they were also his. His hair was matted to his face, slick with some thick liquid – the same one that coated Nancy and the other girl. He was thinner than when he’d left them, and… he wasn’t moving. “Oh my God, Will!”

Jonathan shifted Will’s weight, his eyes meeting hers. They were red-rimmed an haunted, but alive in a way they hadn’t been since that fateful Monday. “We found him, mom,” he croaked, voice cracking on her name. “We- he’s home.”

Nancy and the other girl stepped respectfully to the side, and Joyce threw herself at her sons with a sob, wrapping her arms around them both. Her legs gave out, and Jonathan sank to the floor with her, Will cradled between them.

Footsteps approached from behind, normally so sure, but now, uncertain. “Is he…?”

“Sleeping,” Nancy Wheeler said softly.

Joyce felt Will’s body pressed into hers, warm and alive, and she could feel his breathing expand and contract against her. Her baby. Jonathan wrapped his arms around her, around them both, and let himself cry in earnest for the first time since everything had begun.

“Let’s go inside,” Hopper said from above them, voice soft and full. Three sets of footsteps faded, and Joyce just savored the moment, the feeling of her fractured family whole once again.

---

Steve staggered through the doors of Hawkins high, hand pressed into his side. It blazed in agony, which was almost a nice distraction at this point. His exhaustion was bone deep, and the stabbing pain might be the only reason he was still on his feet. It also kept him from dwelling on the yawning emptiness of the missing presence beside him.

He’d had to run again, and though nothing was seeping through his sweater at the moment, Steve was… pretty sure his stitches hadn’t held up. Not after the confrontation that should have killed him. But whatever portal the Demogorgon had made in that forest was gone now, and any chance the creature could get to Will gone with it, so Steve had been able to run instead of trying to bait it away.

He stopped in the doorway of the empty band room, the last of his footsteps echoing through the empty halls. There was no life here. Of course not; it was probably still night. The silence beat at him like a physical thing. Maybe coming here had been a bad idea, but… but this room had been one of the only places where Steve hadn’t felt so alone. Inside, the the piano stood proud in the faded light, and Steve let himself drift over to it in a daze. He didn’t have the energy to climb on top of it for his usual perch, and let himself sink onto the floor beside it.

They had done it.

Will was out.

He might never forgive Steve, not for this. When he closed his eyes, Steve could see the betrayal in Will’s hazel eyes, shining with anguish and horror. But he was safe. If given the chance, Steve would make the same choice every time. It had been a nice fantasy, the idea of seeing Will in his element, being part of his life while he shot for the stars. He knew Will had wanted that too, against all odds. Steve might have broken his trust, but… well, at least he hadn’t lied. Not about that. Couldn’t break a promise he’d never made.

Not that it really mattered anymore. Will was out, reunited with the people who loved him. Steve had heard Jonathan’s voice through that tunnel. Will would be safe. Mad as hell, but he’d have his family to help him. Steve groaned, resting his back against the piano. He should probably check his stitches, but if the ones that had torn were the furthest back, there would be no way to reach them. He would be better served leaving them and maybe wrapping a tighter bandage and hoping for the best.

He dug what little first aid remained in his backpack. He’d have to raid the Nurse’s office for more later, but he was too drained to move. He’d been running on fumes and now even those had run out. He forced himself to wrap what was left of the gauze around his side and choked down some Tylenol with a sip of the water Will had risked his life to get him.

Shit.

He was happy for Will. He was so fucking relieved and grateful that Will would never have to endure this hell again, that Mrs. Byers and Jonathan would not have to face the agony of an empty home, of missing a part of their souls. He was. But… fuck, he was a selfish bastard. What right did he have to miss a boy who hadn’t known him five days ago?

Steve let his head fall back against the piano and closed his eyes, wet breaths pulling at the inflamed skin on his side. Who was he kidding? Anyone who got to know Will would miss him; it was no wonder all of Hawkins had been searching before day's end. Now Will was home, reunited with his family and the friends he’d talked so much about. Home and warm and safe and loved.

Happy endings for everyone.

---

Jim stepped back into the Byers home in a tumult of conflicting emotions.

Nancy Wheeler and Barbara Holland followed, staring wide-eyed at the chaos of lights around them.

“Does he need an ambulance?”

Both girls exchanged glances before Nancy Wheeler answered. “I don’t… I don’t know. He was okay when we found him. Well… maybe not okay, but…” She shrugged helplessly.

Jim could hear Joyce and Jonathan’s sobs drifting through the door. Will was alive. They deserved this. They deserved this reunion more than anyone could deserve anything. He had needed this happy ending for them, had raged against every ounce of his own skepticism to try to bring it to them. In the end, he had done nothing to bring that into fruition. Not that that mattered, when it meant Will safe and alive. No, that wasn’t the reason for the tempest in his mind.

Will Byers was found.

And Steve Harrington wasn’t.

Jim had paid careful attention to the description of Will Byers in the missing persons report. He could recite it from memory, and often had on late nights and sleepless mornings. Black sneakers with white laces, light blue jeans, white thermal, navy flannel with white, yellow and orange plaid, safety vest in standard yellow and orange. The Will cradled between Joyce and Jonathan Byers had only kept the vest and shoes from that list, instead bundled in dark jeans and a once-white sweater underneath the vest. If he’d been lost in the woods… where had he gotten a change of clothes?

And if he hadn’t been lost, where had he been? And… who had been there with him?

Jim led the girls to Joyce’s table and gestured for them to sit. There were questions that needed answering. Or… that had been the plan, until Jim took one good look at them. Holland and Wheeler were shivering and covered in a thick tar-like substance, hair plastered to their heads. Both huddled together, chairs slid side by side with their knees and shoulders touching, desperate for comfort. Their eyes were haunted in a way Jim had seen often enough in the city, but never in Hawkins. A quiet grief where there should have been accomplishment.

Where did you find him? Why did you go alone? Did you see anyone else? “You both doing okay?”

Holland’s eyes grew bright, and she swallowed. Children, these were just children.

“I’ll be right back.” Jim took a deep breath to calm his frayed nerves and stepped into Joyce’s kitchen. He dug his way through her cabinets until he found a pot to boil water. Gathered some mugs. Raided her pantry for honey and the box of that tea with the bear on it – tried not to remember making it for Diane and Sarah on cold nights – and set himself on the familiar task. It was an easy and automatic task, one that let him stop the warring tumult of joy and grief from clawing its way up his throat. In what felt like both a heartbeat and a small eternity, he set two mismatched mugs in front of Holland and Wheeler and three others on the table.

“Drink,” he commanded when the two made no move to take them. They did so automatically, and Jim gave them time to soak in the warmth and gather their thoughts. After a few minutes, he was gratified to note their shaking subside, and a little color return to their faces. Wheeler leaned her head on Holland's shoulder, looking young and small and miserable.

“Now,” he said, gentle but firm. While he wanted to let them have this, to let them sit and savor and recover from whatever horror they had seen, Jim had a job to do... and maybe even a life depending on whether or not he did it. “I'm sorry I have to ask you this, but I need to know what happened.”

And they told him.

In true teenage fashion, they started the story far too early, and included borderline illegal activities he had to strongly recommend they skip, and veered off into too many tangents that needed course correcting before finally getting to the description of the glowing, membrane covered hole in a tree.

His breath stuttered, his own encounter in Hawkins lab slamming into the forefront of his memory. He couldn’t even rage at them when Wheeler admitted to crawling through it. He’d been just as careless in his own failed raid of Hawkins Lab, likely would have done the same if he hadn’t been forcibly interrupted.

“There was… a place on the other side. A different place.” Wheeler whispered, eyes growing distant. “It was… it was so cold. And the trees… it was like somewhere else. They were all dead. Everything was dead. And there were these… these vines over everything. And I… the blood. I followed it, and then… then I saw-”

The creature she described was one of nightmare. The horror in her voice so much greater than when she’d told him about the “man” in the woods. It turned out not to have been a man at all, but something far worse. But how could he have known? (He would have, had he listened to Joyce the first time, a treacherous voice whispered).

Holland had to take over at a couple points, painting a terrifying picture of two children trapped, hunted by some horror that would see them dead. It was a wonder they survived. How had Will? And… had…?

Outside, Will Byers started to wail.

Jim shot to his feet, and grief shuttered behind Holland and Wheeler’s eyes, but they did not look at all alarmed.

“Will!” Joyce cried, her voice hoarse from her earlier sobs. She stepped inside the front door, a filthy, sobbing Will cradled in her arms. Jonathan trailed behind, eyes red-rimmed and tears still trailing down his face. Joyce made her way to the table, and Jim stepped into the kitchen to leave a seat for her and for Jonathan. “Baby, baby, you’re safe. You’re home. It’s me! It’s mom. You’re safe now.”

Will was inconsolable, face pressed into the crook of Joyce’s shoulder, whole body shaking. “Steve,” he choked the name on a sob. “Steve.”

And suddenly, the world stopped turning. No.

Joyce pressed Will to her, fingers tangled in his hair, and met Jim’s eyes, her own wide in anguish. ‘Steve?’ she mouthed.

“He, uh. He wouldn’t stop screaming…” Jonathan wet his lips. His eyes took on that distant haze Jim had seen on Holland and Wheeler. “He kept trying to go back to…” His voice shook, and Jonathan looked helplessly at the girls, who watched with sad, knowing eyes. “There… there was someone else there mom. I didn’t know until…”

Will sobbed harder into his mother’s neck.

It made too much sense and none at all. Whatever that creature Holland and Wheeler had described… whatever that place was… Will had not faced either alone. Jim had guessed as much, but the pieces had been disjointed and surreal. Now, though, the truth was unavoidable. There had been someone there to protect Will. Someone… named Steve. Jim had to lean against the counter for support, feeling like all the air had been squeezed from his lungs.

“Not,” Holland said after a moment, trading looks with Wheeler, who had lost any color the tea had restored to her. And then she asked a question Jim wished he hadn’t already known the answer to. “Not Steve Harrington?”

---

“Will, sweetie, I need-” his mom’s voice went high, the way it did when she was holding on by a thread, “I need you to go to the hospital. You, you. We need to make sure you’re okay. I just want you to be okay.”

“Steve’s not okay,” Will shot back. His hands shook around the mug she’d pressed into them. He refused to drink. He refused to sit here swaddled in this fluffy, soft blanket, in this too-hot room, at this table with its warm lighting and it’s fresh air and this stupid tea when Steve was trapped. Trapped in tattered clothes in the cold and the dark and the choking, suffocating air, fighting to stay alive where he would have to risk monsters he couldn’t even run from anymore if he wanted to get any more water because Will had kept the full thermos, if Steve were even still…

He blinked back a fresh wave of tears and stared hatefully at Nancy and her friend Barbara. "Steve’s. Not. Okay. And we just left him! We were supposed to get out together, we were supposed to, to-” He stopped, the lump in his throat threatening to choke him. “We have to get him out.”

His mom shot Mr. Hopper a helpless look. Will hated it. Hated the way they tried to act like he was small and fragile and helpless.

Jonathan raced out of his room, socked feet skidding across the kitchen floor, and slammed a yearbook onto the table. “Is this him?” he asked. No soft voice or pitying look. Will loved him. Will loved him so much. And he couldn’t even be happy to see him because all he could think about was how he might have gotten along with… with…

Jonathan opened the book to a splash page of the Hawkins High basketball team and slid it across the table. Will stared at the page for only a second before brushing a trembling hand over one of the players. He was perched on the shoulders of the team, a trophy held high like a movie poster, eyes shining in victory. His hair was shorter, and it looked fluffy and soft, curling around his neck where the sweat soaked it. He was healthy and strong-jawed and not covered in blood, but Will knew the tilt of that smile, the creases at the corner of his eyes. Will lost the battle against more tears. “Steve.”

Mr. Hopper sucked in a breath, and when Will looked up at him, he was surprised to see his own grief reflected in them. The man opened his mouth to say something, maybe ask a question, but then turned and stalked out of the room.

Jonathan looked sick, and Nancy and her friend Barbara had gone very pale. Barbara placed a comforting hand on Nancy’s arm, and Will almost threw his mug at them. What right did she have to be sad and comforted when she had been to one to leave him? When they both had? When they might have just taken the only door out and slammed it shut behind them with Steve on the other side, alone, and sick, and and hurt because he’d been trying to buy time for Will, and he’d torn his stitches again, Will could see the way he’d been moving, could remember the way his face had pinched, and that monsters could smell blood, and if Steve’s stitches ripped enough to bleed and he couldn’t reach them again and Will wasn’t there to help him, then- then

Will leaned over and vomited up the goopy stale chocolate pudding Steve had saved just for him. He remembered the tired grin Steve had given him when he pulled it from his backpack before they left to hunt the Demogorgon. ‘Swiped it from Benny’s. Good luck pudding.’ ‘You’re making that up.’ ‘Hey, you love made up stuff, you don’t get to knock the good luck pudding.’ Steve had barely eaten any. Will had eaten all their luck and now – and now-

He retched again, and there was a hand rubbing circles on his back. It was bigger than his mom’s, taking up half his back.

“You’re alright kid. Breath in. And out. In. Out.”

Will struggled to follow along, vaguely aware of his mother cleaning up after him. Somewhere down the hall, someone had turned on the shower, and pretty soon, Will was carried in, Jonathan practically dropping him under the spray of warm water.

When he shuffled back out, grudgingly clean and bundled in soft clothes since Jonathan had taken away his other ones, the adults and teens were all bent around the table, heads pressed together.

“-didn’t even seem phased by the bat.”

“I thought, maybe with the gun, but now I’m not so sure.”

“How many people did you say had gone mis- Will!”

Will blinked owlishly at them all. He wanted to scowl and rage at them, but he was so tired, eyes burning and heavy.

“Feeling a little better, sweetie?” his mom asked. Will stared at her, and at the papers all over the kitchen table between them.

“Are you making a plan to get Steve?”

“Of course we are,” she said instantly, fiercely. “We all are.”

“We could really use your input, kid,” said Mr. Hopper, pulling out a chair for Will. “You’re going to be our best source of information.”

“We have to hurry.” His eyes burned, but he was finally out of tears.

The group waited for him to continue.

“I think,” Will whispered, thinking of sad eyes and too-thin wrists and sharp cheekbones that looked nothing like the smiling yearbook picture, “That he’s been there a long time.”

Mr. Hopper looked aggrieved, like he was fighting with himself. When he turned to Jonathan and Nancy and Barbara, it wasn’t with a question in his eyes so much as a grim need for confirmation. Of what, Will didn’t know. “When was the last time you all saw him?”

Oh.

All three of them exchanged equal looks of horror, and Will braced himself for heartbreak. How long? How many weeks had Steve been alone?

“Chief,” Jonathan croaked, his words strangled. “He never. He. He…”

Nancy’s mouth opened and closed, but her eyes swam and it seemed like the words were stuck.

Something heavy and cold settled on Mr. Hopper’s face. His hands curled into fists, the knuckles turning white before he took a deep breath and released it, forcing his hands to relax. “How long?”

“August,” Barbara said, voice small. “I thought… everyone thought…” She took a steadying breath, wringing her hands. “No one’s seen Steve since summer, Chief. He never came back to school.”

And Will shattered.

Chapter Text

Eleven startled awake, a scream dying in her throat. She shot upright, sun filtering through the sparse trees around her, and tried to remember to breathe. Echoes of the nightmare she had seen that night filtered through her memory, and she buried her face in her hands.

She had been plagued through the night by disjointed visions, her mind too loud even in the dark and quiet of the woods to see clearly, though she had tried. She tried when she saw Steve flagging behind Will. She tried when she saw the two (pretty) girls stumble into the Upside Down, tried to see the faces of two more people she would ultimately fail. She tried with everything in her to see them all. She tried. But the images slipped away from her like the water from the sky she had tried to catch on those first nights after her escape. She could only see flashes of Steve fighting and Will screaming screaming screaming and scared faces and shouting and she tried to focus her dreams, she tried to see what was happening, but no matter how desperately she reached for them, they faded away into the dark, and Eleven woke up sobbing, blood pooling on the floor under her head.

She had scrambled to a new spot underneath the stretching trees because the blood... the Demogorgon could smell the blood, and she could still see those gleaming claws, stained red. Eleven felt her insides coil tight with the same feeling from earlier, when Mike had yelled at her and she had hurt Lucas for being right. If she were brave enough to let the monster come, maybe it could take her to Steve and Will. Maybe she could find them and she could save them. But… but she was too scared. She had never been more scared of anything in her life than the towering, rotting flesh and shining teeth dripping blood, that sound that cut through her mind, and that feeling of wrong wrong wrong.

No, Eleven couldn’t bring herself to try. Instead, she had climbed to a new spot on top of a hill, where she could see anything coming from far, far away, and slept fitfully through the night, trying and failing to find Will or Steve again.

Now it was morning, and Eleven stumbled to the edge of a pond. She drank the scummy water until it hurt, letting it sit heavy in her stomach. She had no idea whether Steve or Will or the girls had survived. No idea if maybe they might have, if only she had tried harder to help them. She stared hatefully at the coward staring back at her from the surface of the water and screamed.

---

The Byers home was quiet, sleep folding over the home like a blanket. Nancy Wheeler blinked awake, gummy eyes trying to focus on the Christmas lights swimming above her. Barb huffed in her sleep next to her, one leg draped over Jonathan’s. Though his face was still blotchy, Nancy thought Jonathan looked the most at peace she had ever seen him, face smoothed over in sleep. He was sprawled on the floor just a breath away, Will curled in his arms, head tucked under his chin.

Will looked so small.

They had stayed up well into the night, the six of them, gathering everything Will knew of that… that place, and everything Chief Hopper knew about the lab.

It made Nancy sick to know Will had been forced to endure so much. She could never regret taking him from that place – she knew she and Barb had made the right decision. Or… Steve had made the decision for them, and they had listened. Nancy scrubbed at her eyes, trying not to remember the ones she had stared directly into and not recognized. She had desperately wanted Will and Chief Hopper to be wrong. Everyone knew Steve was in Europe with his parents. Besides, Steve was a common name. What were the odds of two people she knew being snatched by a monster from nightmare? There could be plenty of Steves. A whole world of Steves.

That delusion hadn’t held up long. She knew even before Will confirmed it by the way his face had crumpled at the sight of the yearbook. Steve Harrington had been the stranger in those woods. He’d been unrecognizable to her – tattered and thin and pale and haunted.

August.

Their brief encounter at Melvald’s that summer seemed so long ago, now. How long after that had he been dragged to that place of shadows? While she had been shopping and laughing and complaining about the mundanities of life, had he been fighting for his? How had no one noticed? Surely his parents must have – must have…

Nancy untangled herself from Barb, thoughts too full to stay still any longer. They had failed Steve. They had all failed Steve. And instead of taking his maybe one chance of freedom, he had given it up for Will and for her and Barb, too. Had he… had he even survived? He’d been hurt, according to Will. Hurt badly enough to need stitches he’d had to give himself – Mrs. Byers had made such a wounded sound at that revelation, and everyone else had looked as sick as she had felt.

It made her sick even now, Nancy thought as she washed her face in the Byers’ bathroom. She shuffled back out towards the living room in her borrowed clothes to see Mrs. Byers and Chief Hopper slumped over at the kitchen table. A blanket had been draped over them sometime in the night, probably by Jonathan. They had dark circles under their eyes – clearly they had stayed up to plan further after Will had finally nodded off and she and Barb had gotten the chance to wash off the grime of that horrible place.

When she had gone to bed, joining Will and Jonathan and Barb in a pile on the living room floor, they still had nothing cohesive. What could they really do against something so all-encompassing? It was hard to process that… that their government knew about that place, had known or at least suspected Will was trapped there, and had… made a… a fake body to keep that information from the public.

Nancy hadn’t understood the Chief’s reluctance to immediately take Will to the hospital if he was (relatively) unharmed – he and Mrs. Byers had fought about it with their eyes. Nancy had argued with him herself when he’d refused to let her call Mike and tell him it had all been a misunderstanding and that Will had been found. But after learning about the lab and the fake body… What would they do with the information that Will was back? What would they do to keep that information from getting out? What would that mean for her brother? And… if it caused the lab to shut down… What would that mean for Steve?

He… he hadn’t been well. Nancy could tell even before she knew who he was, before Will described their time together with dead eyes and halting sentences. Now, Nancy knew there was a whole range of creatures waiting to kill him. And if this Demogorgon had a vendetta against Steve specifically… It would catch up, sooner or later.

Which meant that they needed to take it out before that happened.

---

“He'll call, Tommy.”

“Well, he should've done it by now.”

“It's been less than a day.”

“That's more than enough time to-”

“Will you give it a rest? We just need to wait. Stop acting so, so... Whatever this is.”

“Like you're one to talk!”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Don't think I know you’re still trying to call the Harringtons at their fancy hotel?”

“And how would you know that, asshole?”

“Because I tried too, okay? I tried too, and they were still fucking unavailable and all the hotel staff did was complain about ‘all the Americans’ that kept calling them.”

Carol sighed, head falling back against Tommy’s couch. “This sucks.”

Tommy was silent, and she glanced over at him. He sat there, working his jaw, a storm behind his eyes. It would have been incredibly hot if Carol weren’t so preoccupied with everything else.

They knew… even less now than they did before. They had no idea which countries the Harringtons had been to in the past three months – Mr. Harrington’s bitchcretary was no help on that one – or whether or not Steve had gone with them on any of those trips. Chief Hopper was nowhere to be found at the station that morning, and Officers Barely-Tolerable and Useless-Fuck-Who-Should-Be-Unemployed were apparently following up on two more people who had gone missing, though neither she nor Tommy had been able to wheedle any information on who. So that left at least, what, four people missing? One of whom was dead, two mystery men (or women), and… Steve.

As if that weren’t enough, there were the Maybe-Feds at Steve’s house, too. So… Was Steve’s absence related to his asshole parents, or was it related to any of the other three disappearances? Or was it something else entirely that would involve the Feds? Like… like some serial killer shit?

Carol stood abruptly to keep from that train of thought. Steve was fine. Steve had to be fine. Well… maybe not fine – fine would be with them, getting to be the absolute idiot that he was while Carol just rolled her eyes at both him and Tommy and their stupidity – but… But anything else was just not acceptable.

“So… What else can we do?” Tommy asked, voice tight with frustration.

And Carol was usually the one who decided these things, but for once, she had… no idea. No idea where to start. It was like actually trying to pay attention in class for once after slacking all year, where nothing made sense because there was so much information in the middle that was just missing, and no amount of listening now would make up for everything else, so why bother? Only giving up didn’t just mean losing half her break to summer school. In this case, giving up meant…

There was a sharp knock on her door, and she and Tommy nearly jumped out of their skin.

What the fuck?

Who would bother showing up at Tommy’s house in the middle of the day? His parents had keys, and she was already over.

“Maybe it’s The Chief,” Tommy whispered, scrambling to his feet. He rushed to the door and threw it open. “Did you find-”

Only when Carol walked up beside him, it wasn’t Chief Hopper standing at the door. It was a sharply dressed woman with a stern face and short blonde hair that swooped over her forehead and curled around her chin.

Beside her, Tommy scowled. “Can I help you?” he said in a tone that very much hinted that the answer should be Wrong house, nevermind.

The woman did not seem ruffled in the least, giving them both a once over that made Carol feel like she was breaking dress code. Outside of school. On a Saturday. Carol decided she fucking hated her guts. “Mr. Hagan, I presume?”

“Who wants to know?” Carol ground out, crossing her arms over her chest.

The woman reached into her coat pocket and flashed an honest-to-God badge at them. She tucked it away quickly, before Carol could even really read it, but not quickly enough for Carol to miss the flash of metal at her hip under the jacket.

Shit.

Shit.

The Suit smiled at them, flashing white teeth. Behind her, two men, also in suits, we stalking up the driveway, wearing easy smiles that did not meet their eyes. “We have a few questions we’d like to ask, if you don’t mind.”

Carol clutched at Tommy’s sweater behind the open door, heart beating against her ribs so hard she thought it was going to break them.

“Yeah, sorry, my folks are out to brunch right now. You got a card I can give ‘em when they get back?” Tommy said in clear dismissal. Carol could have kissed him.

“Actually, our questions are for you,” said Suit Bitch. “And Miss Perkins as well. Can we come in?”

Shit. Fuck. How did she know their names?

Tommy grit his teeth, but matched her shark-like smile with one of his own. “Wish I could, but I promised I wouldn’t have anyone else over except Carol.”

“I’m afraid I must insist,” Suit Bitch said. “It’s a matter of National Security.”

Carol could hear the little hitch in Tommy’s breath, but his expression gave away nothing. “Well in that case… Carol, think you could call your mom and ask her to wait an extra fifteen before picking us up for lunch?”

Carol hoped she wasn’t visibly shaking because it felt like all the blood had left her head. She didn’t want to let Tommy out of her sight for a second, except… Tommy was being so fucking stupid and so fucking brilliant it hurt. “Sure thing, babe,” she said with forced nonchalance. She just prayed her mom answered and didn’t ask questions when she insisted on being picked up late for a lunch they never planned.

Tommy waited for her to start walking into the kitchen and grab the phone before opening the door fully and stepping aside, conveniently blocking Carol from the Suits that pushed their way inside. Carol dialed in a rush, trying to breathe in time with the ringing on the line.

‘Hello?’

Oh thank God.

“H-hi mom.” Over her mom’s frustrated questions, Carol tried to listen to whatever was being said in the other room, blood rushing in her ears. “Look, mom, I have to go. Can you- can you just come here? Please?”

She ended the call in a rush, if slightly raising her voice at ‘See you soon, mom,’ and hurried back into Tommy’s living room.

“Welcome back, Miss. Perkins.” Suit Bitch said, looking up from Carol’s usual seat on the couch, eyes shining with intent. “Now that both of you are here, I just have a few questions I need to ask you.”

Carol tried to keep from just grabbing Tommy’s hand and running screaming out the door and perched on the arm of the couch instead.

“We’re listening,” said Tommy, which was definitely more polite than the Get on with it, hag Carol had been about to hiss at her.

Suit Bitch leaned forward in her seat, eyes gleaming and predatory. “What can you two tell me about Steven Harrington?”

---

“I’m sorry, you want to what?”

“Kill it, obviously.”

“I got that part.”

“It’s what you and Hopper were working on all night, right?”

Joyce cast her eyes over to Hopper, drinking coffee like it was a lifeline, dark circles like bruises under his eyes. She probably looked similar herself. They had stayed up long after the children had lost their battle with sleep, fueled by horror and desperation.

The land of nightmares Will had described left Joyce wanting to cling to him and never let go. The thought of her baby breathing in poison air, of struggling against some living thing in choking vines just to get water, of dog-like creatures that howled in the night and hungry swarms in the skies, of enduring biting cold with no hope of seeing the sun made her almost dissolve into tears. If she hadn’t seen the monster dragging itself through her wall with her own eyes, Joyce wouldn’t have even been able to comprehend even a fraction of it all.

And Steve Harrington had endured it for months.

Months spent alone and without anyone ever reporting him gone. Had he spoken to a single soul before her Will? Had anyone even cared? He must not have thought so, if he were so willing to throw himself away for the sake of her son. And Joyce was grateful, so grateful to him for that, but… But he was a child too. One hurt and alone and hunted. And while he had to know they would come for him, how likely did he think they were to succeed?

So she and Hop had stayed up well into the night, calculating how to get him out. It had been a tense and emotionally draining few hours, and they had relatively little to show for it other than a relatively detailed map of Hawkins lab, no idea how to get to the gate undetected once inside, and no idea where to find Steve once they were. And that wasn’t even considering the monster, the condition Steve would be in if- when they found him, and their likelihood of getting out just as undetected.

Then along came Nancy Wheeler blazing with an energy Joyce wished she could still muster, head full of plans to lure out the… Demogorgon, Will had called it.

“Our focus is on getting Harrington out. Without engaging anything we don’t have to.” Hopper stressed, setting his mug down with perhaps more force than necessary.

“You don’t understand. Will said it was hunting them,” Nancy pressed, folding her arms. “That means if you go to find Steve, you’re probably going to find it.”

“What I’m not understanding,” Joyce cut in, giving Nancy an incredulous look, “Is the part where you think we would let any of you near that – that thing!” Children. They were all just children playing at adulthood. Normally, Joyce would happily encourage that exploration, but not when doing so might get someone killed. There was already one precious life at risk, and she’d be damned if she added more.

“Will was near it.”

Joyce looked up to see Jonathan and Will shuffling over to the table, all wrinkled pajamas and sleep-mussed hair. Barbara, wrapped up in one of her blankets, followed behind them, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

“And that will never happen again!” Joyce said hotly. She pushed back from the table and pulled her sons into her arms, breathing them in.

“What’s this about, Nancy?” Barbara asked, picking at a borrowed set of Lonnie’s old pajamas. She pulled out one of the spare chairs and dropped herself into it.

“Wheeler has some big ideas for drawing out that monster, and that it would be a good idea to involve herself and you lot in it.”

“Why would we want to do that?”

“So it’s distracted from Steve?” Jonathan asked, uncertain, pulling himself from Joyce’s arms. He passed into the kitchen, patting Will’s hair affectionately on the way, and set about to start a very late breakfast for them all.

Will leaned into the touch. Joyce could feel him sagging in her arms, still drained. She pressed a kiss into his hair and breathed him in, praying he would be willing to eat a little this morning.

“Exactly! The longer it has a chance to focus on him, the better its odd of…” Nancy cut off her words, and Joyce was grateful because Will flinched at the implication alone. Hard.

“That’s why we’re planning to go get him,” Joyce said, arms still wrapped around her boy.

The quiet sound of a whisk beating eggs died, and Jonathan looked over his shoulder at them. “Don’t you think it would have the advantage in its own territory though?”

“And what indication do we have that it would be any weaker here? None. It’s out of the question.”

Will trembled against Joyce, and she looked up at Hopper beseechingly. She could understand that under his harsh tone, he was struggling. He was a man of action, and right now, there were too many variables in the way for him to take any. But every moment they wasted was one where Steve Harrington was alone in hell. He knew it, she knew it, the kids knew it… and Will had lived it.

“We don’t exactly have a lot of options! Two people alone might not be able to take it. If all of us are waiting for it…”

“What if you can go through whatever portal it opens here?” Will asked, voice muffled against Joyce.

She unwrapped her arms and knelt in front of him. “What do you mean?”

“That’s what Steve and I were… We were trying to follow it, so if it broke through, we could…”

Joyce’s heart stuttered. They had so deliberately put themselves in danger for a chance to escape. From Will’s description of Steve, he wouldn’t have been so quick to risk Will’s life for such a slim chance. Not unless he felt there was a need for urgency. Joyce remembered the haunted look in Will’s eyes when he’d told them Steve had probably torn his stitches, the way he looked at his hands, seeing something else. Steve had been hurt badly enough to need stitches, likely on that night she’d seen them through her wall, and there hadn’t been anyone to do them except… Oh how she ached for them both.

“You’re not serious, are you?” Barbara stared at them, aghast. “You want to, what, lure the monster here on the off chance that it rips one of those tunnels or portals big enough for us to go through and we can kill it before it closes?”

“If we all work toge-”

“Even if we can kill it,” Barbara continued, “What do you expect to do when you’re on the other side? How long would it take you to find Steve? Assuming you don’t run into anything else on the way.” Will scowled at Barbara, and her expression softened in understanding. “We have to plan this right the first time. If anyone just goes in now, they’ll just be more people trapped there.”

“But we’d know where the gate to get out is,” Nancy countered, as if Joyce and Hopper would ever allow her to go inside that place again.

“The gate in the middle of a lab run by shady, heavily armed people who have no problem faking a child’s death?”

Joyce and Jonathan collectively sucked in a breath, and Barbara at least had the grace to look chagrined.

“Faked…?” Will looked at her with wide eyes.

“Oh, sweetie.” Joyce said. “There was a… Well… The people at the lab wanted us to stop looking for you, and now we know why, but… There was no way I would ever stop looking for you when I knew you were alive. So… so.” How could she do this? How could she tell her son that they’d buried him? That someone wanted him to stay dead badly enough to pretend he was so his grieving family would stop looking?

“So those bastards made a fake,” Nancy and Jonathan swore simultaneously. They traded heavy glances, eyes swimming in remembered grief, before Jonathan turned back to the stove.

“And Mike…” Nancy said, voice choked. “He, he saw-”

Will jerked back, horrified. “They think I’m dead?”

Joyce closed her eyes and willed away the wave of dismay washing over her. Karen hadn’t mentioned that Mike had… had… Oh, Mike. Joyce hadn’t checked in on any of the boys, too preoccupied with finding Will. And at the… the funeral… she should have talked to them. Should have said something, anything to those boys that might as well have been her own.

“Everyone does,” Barbara said, quietly.

Will scrambled to the phone on the wall, reaching for it, and Hopper leapt to his feet and seized the phone from its hook.

“What part of they are listening are you all not getting? No phone calls.”

Will scowled, but Joyce had to side with Hopper on this one. No one could know. Not until Will and Steve were safely checked very publicly into the hospital.

“But-”

“I get it." Hopper said softly. "I do. But one more day won’t hurt them, and the wrong people knowing could.”

Instead of arguing, Will’s face had smoothed out in thought, the familiar gleam in his eyes making Joyce’s eyes sting. This was her son, and oh how she had missed him. “They could help us look.”

“Look for what?” Jonathan set a plate of eggs and bacon down in front of everyone except Will, who he handed a bowl of oatmeal. Joyce felt her eyes sting. She hadn't even had to say anything to Jonathan for him to know bacon would have been too heavy after the little food Will had been able to consume the past week, and with however contaminated it probably was. Her boys had both suffered so much. Please eat it.

To her immense relief, Will took a bite from the outer edge. His eyes misted over, and his voice was thick when he answered. “For Steve.”

“How could they do that?” asked Nancy.

Will gestured to the lights strung up around the house. “You can hear people in Hawkins on the other side. Remember how we tried to talk to you, mom?”

How could she ever forget? “Or course I do. You both were so smart and so brave.”

“Steve can talk to us through the lights if we find him. We just have to be in the same place so he can hear us.”

Nancy nodded along. “The more people, the more places we can cover.”

“And if we can find out where Steve is, then maybe we can… summon the monster and get him out through that opening before it closes. No lab required.”

Joyce was torn, and Hopper looked like he felt the same. It wasn’t the worst idea, and… and it seemed like their time – Steve’s time – was more limited than she would have liked. They needed to find this boy to whom she owed so much and to let him know he was so, so appreciated. But to risk Jonathan and Nancy and Barb and… and Will or his friends?

“Information only.”

The children’s heads all collectively swiveled to Hopper, and Joyce found herself doing the same.

“We split up and try to find out any information on where Steve might be. That’s it. Do not engage. Do not try to bring out any monsters. Do not make any phone calls. We find Steve, tell him to hold on, and then Joyce and I will do the rest.”

There was an explosion of protest.

“We can help!”

“You can’t really expect us to sit back and do nothing!”

“We’re already involved!”

“What if we don’t call?”

Hopper frowned. “Say that again? ...No, not you, Wheeler. Will.”

Will, her beautiful, wonderful, precious, boy, met Hopper’s eyes. “What if I can ask them for help without calling?”

---

Lucas followed the listing arrow of his compass, jaw clenched in remembered anger. If Mike wanted to waste his time looking for El while Will was fighting for his life against a Demogorgon, then he could go right on ahead. Some friend he was, caring about some random liar instead of their friend. Even that Steve guy sounded like he got hurt helping Will. El hadn’t even given them any information about him when they’d asked, just that he was a friend. So Will was trapped, and whoever Steve might be was trapped, and the traitor wanted to leave them both to die so she could hide out in Mike’s basement forever.

And Mike didn’t see it.

What was worse, Dustin seemed to be on his side. Well, that wasn’t exactly fair – Dustin wanted them to stay together. But when push came to shove, Dustin had gone with Mike, and Lucas was alone. And that was fine! He would find the gate on his own. He would find it and… and… he didn’t know what, yet. But Will was alive, trapped in the Upside Down, with the dark and the cold and the Demogorgon, and Lucas wasn’t about to sit back and leave him there for anything or anyone.

Maybe Mike didn’t remember what it had felt like to watch those men pull Will’s body out of the water, but Lucas did, and Lucas was never going to feel that way ever again because Lucas was going to find Will – and Steve – and he was going to do it on his own if he had to.

‘ke?’

His walkie fizzled, static slipping past his ear. Lucas frowned. He wasn’t sure what he was picking up, but if it was Mike trying to beg him to come back, then Mike could think again. He kept peddling, heading further south towards Mirkwood. The gate had to be that way. It just had to.

The walkie hissed again, and Lucas could faintly make out some garbled words over the rush of wind past his ears. He pulled his bike over to the side of the road and stopped, balancing on the tips of his toes. Nothing.

He groaned. Obviously it was nothing. Mike was too proud to radio him, and Dustin was with Mike now.

‘Come in Mike. Lucas. Dustin? Come in. It’s me. Over.’

Lucas nearly fell over, pulse hammering in his ears. It sounded like Will. He blinked back the sudden sting in his eyes, hurriedly untying his walkie and scrambling to answer it. “Byers?” he asked. It came out as a garbled croak. Please be real. Please. Please please please please please-

‘Lucas? Is that you?’

It was Will. It was Will it was Will it was Will. “Y-yeah, it’s me,” he answered, voice wet.

There was an audible sigh of relief on the other end. Will Will Will.

“How did- are you- where did,” Lucas could barely speak past the lump in his throat. He sniffed, scrubbed at his stupid traitor eyes, took a deep breath, and tried again. “I'm here. I'm coming. Where are you?” The gate had to be close if he could hear Will from here. There was no telling how long the signal would last coming through the Upside Down, but if he was fast, he could-

‘My house. Can you come over? I… we need your help.’

His... house? He was out? Lucas blinked at the sky until he forced his eyes to stop being stupid. He didn’t know what was going on, but… but that was definitely Will, and he was asking for help. There wasn’t really anything else Lucas could do except to answer, “I’m on my way.”

Chapter Text

Everything hurt.

Everything hurting wasn’t especially a surprise to Steve at this point, but now that he didn’t have a reason to pretend it didn’t, Steve found it significantly harder to ignore. And now that he wasn’t ignoring things and had all the time in the world to take stock of his current state, Steve could finally admit to himself that he was not feeling entirely optimistic. Between the sloshing in his head and the crushing heaviness in his lungs. breathing felt like he was underwater. There was a constant, dull ache in his head and a weight to his limbs. The cut on his shoulder from the day he’d met Will was mostly healed at this point, though the skin still pulled uncomfortably when he moved. He couldn’t get warm, no matter how many laps he did around the band room or how tightly he wrapped the leather jacket hanging off his shoulders. His leg felt like someone had been kneading it with glass, and worst of all, there was a familiar, pulsing heat radiating from his side. Which meant Steve had to decide what he was going to do about it now, before whatever he chose wouldn't matter anymore.

And the thing was, Steve had decided months ago that he didn’t want to die. He didn’t think he particularly wanted to even now, but… it was starting to seem like an inevitability, and Steve wasn’t sure it was one worth fighting against. Still, lying down and waiting had never really been his style, which was why Steve found himself standing, against his better judgement, under the awning outside Hawkins High, peering into the darkness down Cherry Road.

The hospital was close enough to reach, and the road lined with enough buildings for him to hole up inside along the way. Steve peeled from the wall he was leaning against and forced himself to take slow, staggering steps into the hazy road. Only a few blocks to medicine. Only a few blocks to more antiseptic. And… if the Byers had taken him for immediate treatment… maybe only a few blocks to Will. Steve wondered how he was doing. Hospitals were scary for kids, but at least he’d have his family with him. Hell, hospital food probably tasted like five star dining compared to what they’d been eating. He hoped Will was eating, hoped he was letting himself be cared for.

He ducked under the crumbling overhang of a gutted Family Video, sweat beading down his forehead. He just… needed to catch his breath a little. He closed his eyes and tried to listen to the moviegoer traffic flow – talk of date nights and movie plans. Some dude was renting The Thing even though Halloween was already over. A few kids were dragging their parents around begging to rent The Muppets again. A familiar voice was arguing with the clerk, ‘Oh, so you’ll carry Enter the Ninja, but not The Hidden Fortress? No accounting for taste in this town.’ That one earned mixed amusement and indignation because Steve actually liked Enter the Ninja, and who’d ever heard of The Hidden Fortress, anyway? And instead of continuing down the road, Steve lingered to listen to the girl bemoan the lack of ‘cinematic literacy’ and how she’d have to go to Chicago again for quality. Steve turned to ask Will if he liked ninjas, but there was no one there. Which was good. Great. The best possible outcome. But suddenly the chorus of voices filtering through the shop were just a little too much of a reminder of what Steve would never have again. He stepped away from the building, feeling heavier than he had moments before.

And right into the line of sight of the Demogorgon.

Or he would have, if it had sight. It was about a block ahead, dragging something behind it, claws scraping against the broken asphalt. Steve froze, breath caught in his throat. A person. A person who… wasn’t moving. A corpse.

...Parts of a corpse.

Steve’s heart stuttered in his chest and he fought back the scream fighting to claw its way out of his throat. Of course he’d known on a visceral level what the Demogorgon was capable of, but… but it was another thing to see it. To know that could have been him or – or Will, to know that the monster was hunting other people and that Steve wouldn’t be the last, to know that whoever that had been was never going to be found or buried, and Steve could do nothing except back away slowly as the creature continued to drag what was left of the body.

It had to be holing up somewhere further up the road if it planned on… saving the rest for later. Steve couldn’t know where that was, and he couldn’t risk staying out long enough to find out, which meant anything further up the road was out of the question. Including the hospital.

Steve crept back to the school on shaking legs, fighting his growing nausea the entire way. He would have manage with whatever he could find at the school and hope it would be enough.

---

The Byers living room was silent with tense anticipation. Will hovered by the couch, unable to bring himself to sit down. Behind him, his mother sat folding laundry, if only to have something to do with her hands, and Nancy and Barb were sitting next to her in their freshly washed clothes. Jonathan was staring intently at the lights strung around the living room, though they remained dull, and Mr. Hopper kept checking the windows, fingers twitching like he wanted to grab his gun.

All six of them jumped at the screech from outside the door, followed by a clatter and stampede of footsteps. Will raced to the door before his mom and Jonathan and Mr. Hopper could tell him not to and threw it open.

“Byers!” Lucas barreled straight into him, all elbows, and they both went clattering to the floor.

His mom squawked a Be careful! behind him, but neither Will or Lucas paid her any mind. Lucas was shaking against him, and Will clutched at his friend’s jacket, bursting with warmth. “Hi, Lucas.”

“You’re okay! How did you get away from the Demogorgon? We were – we tried to find you, but we didn’t know where the gate was. Where was it? How did you get out of the Upside Down?”

Mr. Hopper shut the door behind them both and Lucas drew back, taking in the house and the lights and the pile of blankets on the living room floor and his mom and Mr. Hopper and Jonathan and Barb and Nancy, brow furrowed underneath the camo headband he wore. “Uh…”

Mr. Hopper cleared his throat, sharp eyes honing in on Lucas with suspicion. “How do you know about all that?”

Lucas eyed him with equal distrust, gripping Will’s wrist. “How do you know about it?”

“Lucas, honey, can you let Will up for me?” his mom said, waiting for Lucas to climb to his feet. Once Will took Lucas’ hand and pulled himself up, too, she patted the space Nancy and Barb had made next to her. “Come sit down so we can talk.”

“You first,” Lucas and Mr. Hopper said at the same time. Will’s mom glared at Mr. Hopper, who glared right back.

“We don’t have time for this,” muttered Barbara.

Will agreed, but he was still mad at her, so he didn’t answer. Instead he took a deep breath and began, “I was riding down Mirkwood…”

Lucas listened, but didn’t respond with any of the same reactions the other five people in the room had the first time he’d told his story. When Will got to the next morning, words stuttering in his throat at the memory of-

“Steve?” Lucas asked.

This time, not even his mom could hold Mr. Hopper back. “You know about Harrington?”

Lucas frowned. “Harrington?”

“Steve.”

“Oh. El told us about him.”

Will fought past the grief choking his words to ask, “Who’s El?” The question was echoed by five other voices.

So Lucas told them. Lucas told them all about the girl with superpowers who knew about the Demogorgon and called the Vale of Shadows the Upside Down. A girl who knew about the gate and about Will and about Steve. And… and Will remembered dreams in that place. Remembered Steve’s fingers tugging through his hair while a face swam behind his eyes like the faded echoes of a long gone memory. “Did she have brown eyes?” Will asked. “Short hair?”

Mr. Hopper and his mom gave each other the we know something look.

“Could you see her when she looked for you?” Lucas asked.

“Looked for him?” Jonathan asked, settling in the flowery armchair across from the couch.

“She can see into the Upside Down. That’s how she showed us Will. She used the walkie first, but the signal was no good, so we busted into the AV club and used the HeathKit, and we heard Will and…” he paused, looking at the faces around the room and seeming to realize there wasn’t a new one there. “And Steve. Is… is he…?”

“This girl,” Mr. Hopper interrupted, bulldozing past Lucas’s question and saving Will from having to answer. Will couldn’t help but be grateful, even if Mr. Hopper was being short, because it meant he wanted to help Steve. “Can she find out where in the… the Upside Down someone is?”

“I think so. She brought us over here one night and I- I thought she was just lying to keep hanging around Mike, but… but you were here, weren’t you? Just in the Upside Down.”

“We both were. Is she still with Mike?” Will turned to Lucas with pleading eyes, mind swimming with hope. “Do you think she could help us find him?”

“He’s still there?”

“He helped us get out,” Nancy cut in. She gestured to herself, Barb, and Jonathan. “We found a gate, and we didn’t… I didn’t know what it was, and I went through. The… Demo… the monster was there, and so were Will and Steve. He bought us enough time to get out, but…”

But you left him behind! Will wanted to scream at her. She and Barb had left Steve behind, alone. He had protected them all and now he had no one to help protect him except, maybe, El.

His mom scooted towards the edge of the couch, clasping her hands. “Lucas, do you know if, um. El? would be able to- to find Steve? We might have a way to get him out, but we need to be able to find exactly where he is, first. Can she do that?”

Lucas nodded, but his face was clouded over. “She could, but… I don’t know where she is. We- we had a fight. She was… it doesn’t matter. Mike and Dustin went to find her, but I don’t know if they did.”

“So we find her,” Mr. Hopper announced with conviction. He was holding Will’s walkie, turning it over in his hands. “What’s the range on these things?”

“Maybe a couple blocks. It doesn’t even get to Dustin’s house from mine.”

“So we split up,” Mr. Hopped said. He waved between Will’s walkie and the door where just outside, Lucas’ own was still strapped to his bike. “Two walkies, two teams. We start at opposite ends of town and meet in the middle. They’ll hear one of us.”

“What if they haven’t found the girl yet?”

“Then we’ll cross that bridge when we get there. You in, kid?” Mr. Hopper asked Lucas.

“Uh, he helped Will. Yeah, I’m in.”

Will shot to his feet. This was something to do. “Okay, let’s go!”

“Oh, not a chance, kid.”

“Will, you have to stay here.”

“But we need to help Steve!”

“Did you forget the part where the lab is still watching us? If they see you, there’s no telling what they’ll do. You’d be putting yourself, your mother, Jonathan, and Steve at risk.”

“That’s not fair-”

“This isn’t about fair! This is about getting Harrington out.”

“Will.” Jonathan’s hand on his shoulder felt warm and solid, and Will leaned into it, wishing it would give him the comfort it usually did. “Hopper’s right. You need to rest. We still only have two walkies. More people won’t make a difference here.”

“But I-”

“So save your energy up for when it can. As soon as we find them, we’ll all regroup here and you can help this girl find Steve, yeah? In the meantime, you should rest. Don’t think I didn’t hear you coughing last night.”

“Sweetie, you can’t take care of others if you don’t take care of yourself, too.” His mom cupped his face, tucking his hair behind his ear. “I’ll stay here with you, okay? We can try the lights… in case.”

But Will knew Steve wasn’t here. He’d have sent Will a sign before now if he were. Maybe he’d just gone further away from the Demogorgon. Will hoped he had.

“Okay.” Nancy was already by the door, tugging on her boots. “What are our teams?”

“Mike will listen to Nancy,” Barb added, slipping her feet into her own shoes. “And it wouldn’t be weird for her to be reaching out to him if anyone’s listening in.”

“Who’s listening in?” Lucas asked. Oh. They hadn’t told him yet.

“The lab.”

“What lab?”

“You come with me,” Mr. Hopper said to Lucas. “I can fill you in on the way. Your friends might not pick up for me, but they’ll listen to you. ”

So Jonathan, Nancy, and Barbara all piled into Jonathan’s car, and Lucas gave Will a tight hug before jumping into Mr. Hopper’s, and Will was left standing in the doorway blinking the sun out of his eyes and trying not to cry.

“We’re going to find him,” said his mom.

Will scrubbed at his eyes, watching the cars disappear down the road. “But what if-?” What if they were too late? What if Steve was too hurt? What if he was already-

“Look at me.”

Will did.

“We’re going to find him.”

“How do you know?” he whispered.

“Moms always know, honey. I knew you were alive. Deep down, in here, I knew.” She put her hand over her heart and then over Will’s. “And if you listen, you can feel it too. Maybe he’s hurt and scared, but he’s a fighter. He kept you safe for me. He fought for you, Will. Now it’s our turn to do that for him.”

---

Tommy bounced his leg on the floor, waiting for one of the Suits to respond. He wasn’t telling them shit unless they answered his questions first, which were mainly: Why were they looking?

National fucking Security, my ass. What importance could one missing person have on the security of the nation? None. It’s not like the Harringtons were important figures, though Tommy knew they liked to think they were. And Steve was just a teenager. Right now, all they’d gotten out of the agents sitting in his living room was that they were monitoring a “situation” Steve might be involved in. No word on what the situation might be or how Steve was potentially involved or how it was related to them.

Instead, all they were doing was asking questions. Questions like: How would you describe Steven? When was the last time you saw him? Has he tried to contact you in any way? Have you tried to contact him? Would you consider Steven a patriot? Would you consider yourself a patriot? Have you noticed any unusual activity around the town? Have you seen any strange individuals around the town?

The last one had Carol pushing back like a viper. “Besides you?” she had said, voice saccharine.

Tommy had gripped her knee, fingers spasming in his effort to appear collected. Maybe don’t piss off the people with guns, Carol. The tense silence lingered like some fucking Mexican standoff, except there was no fucking Clint Eastwood and neither Tommy or Carol had guns. The agents weren’t budging, and Carol looked torn between bolting and ripping the blonde lady’s hair out. He should… probably say something before she made up her mind (because he was pretty sure she was leaning towards the latter). “Might help if you told us what kind of unusual activity you mean?”

“Anything out of the ordinary,” the lady in the suit said. “Any unfamiliar faces, even a child. Strange sounds, electrical irregularities…”

“What, like the power sucking?”

“Among other things.”

“Lady, you’re asking the wrong people. The power’s been shit for months.”

“Months?”

“Well, yeah. But what’s that got to do with Steve?”

“We’re just trying to build a better understanding of Hawkins. I understand there has been a lot of turmoil lately, between the tragic loss of Will Byers and Benny Hammond.” Tommy’s confusion must’ve shown on his face because Suit Lady folded her fingers, resting her hands on her knee. “With two relatively high profile funerals just yesterday, Hawkins has drawn a bit of attention. We are just trying to keep that number down.”

“What are you saying?”

“That your Steven might be in danger of becoming the third.”

Tommy felt like the couch, the floor, the Earth dropped out on him. Of course, he’d known in his gut that something wasn’t right, that Steve was in danger, but what did these people know? And… would giving them what they wanted help them to find Steve? If he and Carol kept their mouths shut, they were going to keep going in circles. Should they talk?

“So tell us why,” hissed Carol.

“I’m afraid we can’t do that.”

“Why the h-” Tommy squeezed Carol’s knee in warning, and she took a long breath. “Why not?”

“That’s confidential, miss,” said one of the goons.

Tommy thought about Chief Hopper’s pinched expression in those woods by Steve’s house, about ‘I’m not even sure they are the Feds,’ about the fire in his eyes as he watched the white haired man walking into Steve’s house like he owned it. If anyone were to ask who he trusted more between the suspicious breaking and entering assholes barging into his house with guns or the local cop who seemed like the only one actually looking for their friend? No contest.

The squeak of unoiled breaks rang through the windows, and Tommy thanked every star in the sky for Carol’s mom insisting her husband should be the one to take it in to the shop. “Looks like our ride is here. Wish we had more to tell you. Maybe you should talk to his parents.”

Irritation flashed across the woman’s face before it smoothed over into a blank mask. “I’m sorry to hear that. I had heard you were Steven’s friends. It seems I was misinformed.” Don’t take the bait. “A shame he doesn’t appear to have any.”

Don’t take the bait.

“He’s a popular guy. I’m sure you’ll be able to find something,” Tommy said, standing and taking Carol’s hand. It was slick with sweat, and he could feel her fingers spasming in his.

“If either of you remember anything,” the woman said, holding out a card, “please give us a call.”

“We’ll be sure to do that,” Carol said through her teeth. She took the card and shoved it in her pocket without reading it just as the chime of the doorbell rang through the house. “Oh, that’s my mom outside. We’ll show you all to the door.”

Tommy pulled Carol towards the door, his hairs standing on end having the Suits behind his back. He pulled open the door to greet Carol’s mom, who looked very perplexed at the sight of the three strangers behind them. “Hey Mrs. Perkins, great timing. These guys were just leaving.”

It was almost in slow motion that he caught her eyes slide over to Carol’s face, and her confused expression turned suddenly alarmed. Carol gave her some sort of look, maybe, because Mrs. Perkins dragged them both into a hug, leaving Tommy with a facefull of stiff, heavily styled hair. “Oh, good! Lunch is already waiting, and I can’t remember if I turned off the oven. We’d better hurry. Don’t forget to lock up, Thomas. Ma’am, gentlemen.”

The blonde lady nodded her head, teeth bared in a crocodile smile, and the three Suits filed out of Tommy’s foyer and into the sun. No one exchanged any more words as they all climbed into their cars, and Mrs. Perkins made sure to sit in the driveway until the Suits started down the road.

“Who were those people?”

As Tommy watched the car disappear, he noticed two power company vans parked at different houses down the street. Shit. “Can you take us to the station, Mrs. Perkins?” he asked, the words strangled.

Carol followed his eyes and hissed.

“The station?”

“Yes, mom! The station!”

“It’s real important, Mrs. Perkins.”

Carol’s mom eyed Tommy through the rearview mirror, assessing. Bitch probably thought he did something to get the Suits breathing down their neck. But he guessed he couldn’t really call her a bitch since she came to save their asses, no questions asked. It was unexpected, since he’d been with Carol for almost five years at this point, and Tommy couldn’t remember having a single real conversation with the woman beyond generic pleasantries. Turned out Mrs. Perkins might be alright. “Okay,” she said, backing out of the driveway. “But one of you better tell me what’s going on and why you need to go to the station.”

Tommy watched Hawkins Power and Light disappearing in the mirror, unease pooling in his gut. “Just gotta tell the Chief something important.”

---

“Seriously, don't do it, man!”

Dustin wanted to stop existing. He wanted Mike to stop walking. He wanted Troy to drop dead. He wanted to be braver or stronger or anything better than he was now, helpless and scared while Mike walked to his death because he was too slow and weak and scared to get away from Troy.

Mike stood at the edge of the quarry, wind tousling his hair as he looked down at the water below. He was too close. Too close too close too close.

“Seriously, don't!” He struggled against Troy’s grip, but Troy was stronger and Dustin was a coward.

James was even trying to bargain with Troy, trying to get him to stop, and Dustin should have used that distraction to do something, but he couldn’t. Even with Mike at the edge, seconds from jumping, Dustin was petrified of the knife at his throat. He’d tried to tell Mike his teeth weren’t worth his friend’s life, and he meant it, he did, but Dustin couldn’t get his body to listen. He should stop fighting, should just let Troy do what he wanted and leave, but the switchblade was by his neck. All Dustin could see was Mike Mike Mike, but he couldn’t move. He screamed for Mike again, but Troy only pulled him back, fingers spasming around the knife in his hands.

“Dentist's office opens in five…”

No.

Mike, no. Stop moving, stop moving. Dustin shoved against Troy, trying to get loose, to get to Mike, to stop him from moving, but Mike was still at the edge, Troy was still counting, and Dustin was still useless. “Mike!” he screamed. But it didn’t matter, because Troy made it to one and Mike made it off the ledge. And suddenly all Dustin could see was flashing red and blue in the dark, bodies in the water pulling something with them, something floating, something small and wet and Will, only now it was Mike, too still and too pale in the moonlight, and there would be no Demogorgon to fight, no Upside Down to save him from because Dustin had already had his chance to save him and he’d failed.

Troy’s hand fell away, and Dustin was shoving past him, racing to the edge of the quarry, racing even though it was too late and Mike was- Mike was - was… Floating?

“Holy shit.”

Arms cartwheeling, hair beaten by the breeze, a third of the way down the drop that should have killed him, hovered Mike. If he was saying anything, the sound was carried away by the wind. Instead of getting further away… he was… getting closer? Falling backwards like a movie on rewind, limbs flailing, and Dustin couldn’t tell what was happening, but how could he question it, if it meant Mike was alive? Alive and getting closer and closer, and soon Dustin would be able to reach out and grab him and pull him back. But Mike kept going, higher even than Dustin’s arms could reach, and sailed right over their heads before landing gracelessly on the dirt.

Dustin could only stare, wide eyed. Mike’s freckles stood sharp against his pale face, and Dustin followed his line of sight and the sound of approaching footsteps to see El stomping towards them, wrath and vengence and the promise of retribution. James was thrown backwards and Troy. Dustin could hear the crunch of bone as his arm snapped, the switchblade toppling from his hand. Troy screamed about his broken arm, clutching at his jacket.

“Go,” El commanded, and it was the most awesome, badass word of Dustin’s life, and there would be no way Lucas could possibly think her a traitor after this.

Troy and James ran away, Troy whimpering about his arm, and Dustin didn’t feel the least bit of sympathy, because a broken arm was nothing compared to what would have happened to Mike if not for El. “Yeah, that’s right! You better run!” he shouted after them, spitting threats at their backs. But then there was a thud behind him, and Dustin whipped around to see El collapse into the dirt, blood pouring from her nose and ears. Shit.

She’d overdone it. She’d pushed herself too far, and now she was crying in the dirt, choking on her guilt, claiming to be a monster like she hadn’t just chased one away. Like she hadn't spent days trying to help them save Will and learn about Steve so they could save him too. Like she wasn’t the reason Mike wasn’t shattered at the bottom of the quarry and Dustin hadn’t witnessed a murder. Shaking, Dustin dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around them both, whole and warm and alive. Thank you, he thought to whoever was listening.

They knelt there on the rocky ground, clinging to each other until something hissed in Dustin’s backpack. He drew back, glancing at Mike. “Lucas,” he said, swinging his bag from his shoulder and tearing it open.

‘ke? Are you there, Mike?’

That… wasn’t Lucas.

“Nancy?”

‘Mike I swear to God, if you don’t pick up.’

“It’s your sister.”

“What do you think she wants?”

‘Mike, we need you to answer.’

‘Tell him code red, they use that.’

‘Right. Code red, Mike, this is a code red. Pick up.’

“Was that Jonathan?” Mike asked, brow furrowed.

“You don’t think…?” Dustin looked from Mike to El, only to find her sitting ramrod straight, staring at the walkie, eye’s wide in… recognition? She shifted her gaze from the walkie to Dustin’s eyes, expression open and pleading. Did… did she know Nancy?

“Dustin, wait-”

But he was already answering. “This is Dustin, over.”

‘Dustin! Dustin this is Nancy. Is Mike with you?’

Mike snatched the walkie out of Dustin’s hand even though he had a perfectly good walkie in his own backpack. “This is Mike.”

---

Jonathan pulled his car to a stop at the edge of Mulberry, trying to calm his nerves. More than anything, he wanted to be back home with Will, wanted to hear his brother’s rhythmic breathing fill the air, wanted to feel the warmth his joy brought every corner of the room. But… the reason those things were still part of his life was still trapped in the – what had Lucas called it? The Upside Down? And out of all the people Jonathan could have owed his very soul, he would never have expected it to be Steve Harrington. Steve Harrington who he had disdained every time he saw him, had written off as the popular asshole with all shine and no substance.

Turned out Steve Harrington was the kind of guy who would go hungry so a child wouldn’t, who would share stories, and fight monsters, and play martyr so others could have a shot at survival, even if it meant throwing away his own. Jonathan… Jonathan didn’t know what to do with that information. Didn’t know what to do with that knowledge and with Will’s agonizing grief except to make it right. Except the only way to make it right was to somehow find Steve in the chaos of another world… and the only way to do that was to find a child experiment with a number instead of a name. One who had been working with Will’s friends to find him before Jonathan or Joyce even had an idea that another world existed.

“I think that’s them,” said Barb, eyes locked at the edge of the woods.

Sure enough, Mike, Dustin, and a small, dirty child were making their way down the hill, two bikes in tow.

“Is that my dress?” Nancy popped open the passenger door and jumped out, jogging to meet them on the way down the hill. “Mike!” She cried, scooping her brother into a hug.

Mike made an indignant sound, bike clattering to the ground.

Jonathan and Barb climbed out to meet them. “You guys okay?” Jonathan asked.

“Yeah,” said Dustin. But he looked over at the girl in the group, and Jonathan noticed the blood dried on her nose and her ears.

“Jesus,” said Barb. “What happened to her?” Then, seeming to realize she was talking about the girl like she wasn’t there, she addressed her directly. “What happened to you?”

Nancy inhaled sharply, clearly just noticing the blood herself.

“Um,” said Mike and Dustin at the same time. The girl, Eleven, looked to both of them for guidance, eyes wide.

“Lucas already told us everything,” said Barb.

“You talked to Lucas?”

“Is he okay? Did he find the gate? He told you about the gate, right?”

“Yeah, Dustin, he’s okay. This isn’t exactly about the gate, but… we need your help.”

“To find Will?” asked Eleven. Her fingers flexed around the over-long sleeves of her jacket. She looked so small.

Right. They didn’t know. Jonathan turned to the three, Nancy and Barb drawing up beside him. When none of them made a move to speak, he took a steadying breath. “Actually…”

Chapter Text

“Watch it!” Barb said when Dustin’s elbow dug into her side for the third time. The back of Jonathan’s car was not designed for four people, even if three of those people were small.

“Sorry.”

Outside, Jonathan slammed the lid of his trunk down. Miraculously, he’d managed to jam both bikes in there after taking out the rear wheels. Nancy sat in the front with both of them on her lap. Barb would have happily traded places with her, but here they were.

The kids had raced to the car once they’d heard Will was home, demanding Jonathan take them to him immediately. Nancy had needed to point out that their bikes wouldn’t fit, and they had bickered about it until Barb pointed out they could just take them apart.

But now the easy distraction of bicycles and storage was gone, and Mike and Dustin and little Eleven (God, what kind of monsters would label a child with a number) were clamoring for more information.

“Is Will okay?”

“How did he get out?”

“Did Lucas find the gate?”

“It’s too soon, he couldn’t have.”

“Well, how else would he have gotten out?”

“I don’t know, that’s why I asked Mike.”

“He’s fine,” Jonathan said, sliding into the driver’s seat. “Or he will be. Nancy and Barb found him in the… the Upside Down and got him out.”

“Nancy? No way!”

El, who had been silent, looked at Barb with large, watery eyes. There was blood dried under her nose and crusted in her ears and God Barb wanted to hug her. “Steve?” she asked, voice small.

Dustin and Mike fell silent, eyes wide.

Barb swallowed thickly.

Nancy ran her hands over her face, drawing composure. “He… that’s why we need Eleven’s help. He distracted the- the monster so we could get Will out, but…”

“You left him?”

“It’s not like we had much of a choice!”

Oh, Nancy. Her voice was on the edge of breaking, and Barb could tell she felt so, so guilty, even though Barb had been the one to make the call and Nancy had only reacted. It meant Will was out, reunited with his family, and Barb couldn’t bring herself to regret it. “We had a chance to get Will out. We took it,” she said. “And now, with your help, we have a chance to get Steve out too. Can you do it?”

Eleven nodded. “I will help Steve,” she said, stiff and formal and young.

“Good,” Jonathan said, turning the key. The car jumped to life, and Mike and Dustin kept talking over each other, asking questions about Will and Steve and the Demogorgon. “Thank you, um, Eleven.”

The girl sat stiffly in her seat, eyes too old for her face. But when she looked at Mike and at Dustin, there was a hint of something soft there, buried underneath. “El.”

---

“That’s who El meant when she was talking about the Bad Men.”

“The bad men?”

“Yeah. She told Mike there were bad men after her. Bad men with guns.”

Jesus Christ, this was worse than Jim had thought. Or… really about on par with what he’d thought, but he’d wanted to be wrong. He had wanted so desperately to be wrong in all this. But he was right. And for once, Jim was so damn tired of being right.

He’d been right about the fake tapes, right to suspect the lab, right about the fabric on the pipe, right about the body – although he owed that one to Joyce – right about the bug in his lights, right about… Right about Steve Harrington.

God, he’d wanted to be wrong about Harrington.

Harrington had been so quiet the past few months and Jim, in his overinflated sense of self importance, had stupidly thought it was some sign of his own influence, thought maybe the kid had listened, done some self-reflecting, figured out he wanted a different future after all, or at the very least, didn’t want the cops knocking on his door again. So, Jim guessed, he had been wrong about Steve Harrington.

Wrong until he started feeling, somewhere in the pit of his stomach, that something wasn’t right. But he’d ignored it, and Harrington had paid the price. Had paid it for months. And that made Jim so sick he could scarcely breathe. Months. Will had described his time in the Upside Down with the understanding of a child, but… But Jim could read between the lines. He could understand that no one could see or hear either of them while they were trapped, and that before Will, Steve had been alone. Back in New York, Jim had seen what even a couple weeks in solitary could do to a man. Months? For a kid? All while fighting for basic survival?

Jim could see that Will was already thinner from eating rotted food scraped from cans for less than a week, and Harrington had been doing so since August. And he could hear the little wheeze in Will’s chest and knew it was probably nothing compared to the cornucopia that had to be going on in Harrington’s lungs. He could understand that if Harrington carried around supplies for stitches on the regular, he was operating under the assumption that those kinds of injuries were a daily threat. And… God he was just a damn kid. His biggest worry should be grades or the latest movie or how to ask a girl on a date, not… not balancing whether he was more likely to die by thirst or blood loss.

The second Powell and Callahan had brought that report to his trailer, Jim had known. Jim had known and hadn’t wanted to believe it. But then Jonathan and Nancy and Barbara had come crashing in, Will in tow, and everything else had come crashing down with them. Did the lab also know about Steve? Had they known there was someone fighting for their life and kept it to themselves since no one had bothered to report anyone missing? Had they known there were two lives they were condemning to death to keep their secrets? Jim thought if that were the case… he might need to lose his license to carry. Especially if these people were trying bringing out guns to reclaim some girl. Guns they… they had probably used to kill Benny. Benny who had found their little science experiment, their child with a number. What would they do to Steve, if given the chance?

“Chief?”

“Sorry, kid.”

“It’s Lucas.”

“Right. Sorry, Lucas. Say that again?”

“Why would the Bad Men want to stop us from saving Will and Steve?”

“Isn’t that the question of the hour,” Jim muttered. But he was man enough to admit when he was at a loss, so he gripped the steering wheel and said, “I don’t know. Obviously they don’t want anyone knowing about this Upside Down place and their experiment.”

“El.”

Don’t give her a name. Don’t make him face the reality that there was a child running around who had been raised to never see the sun. If he thought of her as only a byproduct of the lab, an unknown variable, he could lock that horror away to deal with later. Later when he didn’t have so many other horrors to overcome. But that was just pain avoidance, wasn’t it? Yeah. Jim was real good at that. “Right. El.”

“But now a whole bunch of people know, so…”

“Yeah, well, until we can get Harrington out, let’s keep that to ourselves, okay? Try the walkie again.”

Lucas did, calling for Mike and Dustin over the line, but neither of them answered. “How do you know him, anyway?”

“Huh?”

“Steve. I get how Will knows him, and Nancy and Barb and Jonathan go to school with him, but why do you care?”

“I care about a lot of people.”

“Mm hmm.”

“I do!”

“Okay, well, why this person?”

Damn perceptive little brats. All of them. “There’s not, uh. Not really a reason.” It wasn't like he was going to mention drunken ragers. “I just know him. He’s a good kid. Acts stupid sometimes, but he’s got a good heart. He just needs to know he’s got someone in his corner.”

“Well,” Lucas said after trying his friends on the walkie again. “Now he’s got us.”

Jim swallowed the unexpected lump in his throat at that and messed with his car radio just for something to do. It sizzled to life, sound cutting over the lull of the local music station.

‘Hopper, pick up.’

Oh not now. It could wait. It could absolutely wait.

‘Hopper, come in – Hey!’ The feedback on the radio screeched along with Flo’s yelp, and Lucas jumped so hard he dropped his walkie. What in the world?

‘Chief, you better fucking answer, I am not in the mood right now.’

Was that… Tommy Hagan? Dumbstruck, Jim pulled over and grabbed the radio.

‘Young man, you hand that back this instant-’

‘Back off, broad, this is important.’

‘You can’t just barge in here, this is a police station.’

The sheer audacity of these kids left Jim dumbstruck, but the urgency he could hear in Hagan’s voice had him answering in an instant. “This is Hopper, over.”

‘Yeah, well the only decent cop isn’t here, and we need to talk to him.’

‘Tommy, I think he just answered.’

‘Well, I ne– get off my desk this instant. Excuse me!’

“I said this is Hopper. What do you want, Hagan?”

‘Calm down, lady, I just need to talk to him and then we’ll be out of your hair.’

‘Tommy! That. Was. Him! Ugh, give me the radio.’

‘Absolutely not, young lady. Mr. Hagan, you give that to me this instant. Ma’am. Ma’am is this your son?’

‘Not mine, I’m afraid,’ said an unfamiliar voice. Whoever she was, she seemed largely unconcerned about two children overthrowing the police station. Jim could hear Flo trying to argue with her in the background.

“Hagan. Perkins. Come in or I’m turning this damn thing off.”

‘They showed up at our house.’ It was Perkins this time, closer to the radio and clearly out of breath. Scared. Shit. Why was she scared?

“Who did?”

‘Why else would we bother to come here? Them! They showed up at Tommy’s asking questions about Steve!’

Shock shot through Jim like a harpoon, leaving a gaping hole in its wake. “They what?”

Lucas looked up from his walkie with wide eyes, mouthing ‘the lab?’ and Jim could only nod.

‘They showed up. At Tommy’s. House. They tried to ask questions about Steve. Please tell us you found something.’

‘We didn’t tell them shit, so they left. Now the… the streets are covered in vans. You know which ones.’ Hagan added, voice distorted by distance. ‘They’re everywhere. They’re looking for something and I think they found it.’

“El,” whispered Lucas.’

Shit.

‘You’d better be close, Chief, because whatever you’re doing? Whatever you found? They’re coming.’

‘Don’t let those fuckers catch you.’

Jim could hear Flo saying something sharp, and the radio fizzled. She’d shut it off to stop the two from, in her mind, annoying the chief, but he needed that information. Or… well. Jim supposed he had all the information he needed. The lab was out in full force, and if Jonathan, Nancy, and Barbara hadn’t found the kids already, they might well be too late.

“Better check that seat belt, Lucas,” Jim growled, throwing the car into drive. They were at the edge of town, so there was really only one direction to go in, now. With a squeal of tires, Jim threw the car back on the road.

Lucas screeched beside him, gripping the door.

“Get them on that radio, now!”

“I’m trying! They’re not answering!”

“Well, keep trying! We’re going to keep getting closer.”

“Who were those guys?”

“Steve’s friends.”

“They know about the Upside Down?”

“No!” Jim took a sharp left, tires screeching. A car blared its horn at them. “And we’re going to keep it that way because it looks like the lab knows about them. The less they know, the better! Keep trying that radio!”

“I am! They’re not in range! Come in, Mike! Dustin! Nancy, Jonathan, Barb. Anybody! This is a code red! Do you copy? Pick up! This is a code red!”

Jim took another sharp turn, gunning it. Probably not the best for avoiding attention on a Saturday afternoon, but he actually couldn’t see any of the vans Hagan had mentioned. Which meant they were probably all congregating in the same place. Son of a Bitch.

“The bad men are coming! Do you copy? Hello? Do you copy?”

There was a hiss of static, and suddenly Wheeler junior was on the radio. ‘Slow down! We copy.’

“Mike!” Lucas cried. “The bad men know about Eleven! They’re coming!”

‘What?’ a voice echoed next to him. Holland, maybe.

“Give me that,” Jim said, snagging the walkie from Lucas. The boy shouted in protest, but Jim needed to get through. “This is Chief Hopper. Are you with Jonathan? Over.”

‘Yeah?’

“Put him on! Or if you can hear, say something, Byers.”

‘I copy, Chief. What’s going on? We’re heading back to mine.’

“Negative, kid, they’re on to you.”

‘What?’

“Do you see any power vans near you?”

‘Do I what?’

“Power and Light! The Lab is pretending to be the power company. Do you copy?”

‘Shit, I see them.’

“Turn around.”

‘There’s one behind us, too,’ Nancy Wheeler said from somewhere in the car.

“Where are you?”

‘Mullberry!’

“Turn on Cherry Oak!”

‘That’s the opposite of where we need to go!’ Jonathan shouted in protest.

‘Well there’s one in front of us, so turn!’ Holland’s shout was drowned out by the screech of tires and a chorus of screams in the background as Byers no doubt took a sharp turn.

‘Chief, there’s more of them. I-’

Jim swore, not bothering to censor himself in front of Lucas. “Hold your course. We’re on our way.”

‘Go, go, go, go, go!’

‘They’re cutting us off-’

‘Dustin! Sit back d- put your seat belt back on! I swear to God-’

‘Shit, shit, shit, holy shit, shit…’

‘What should I do?’

“Can you make it to Cherry?”

‘I don’t know.’

“We’re coming. Hang on.” Jim threw his truck into the next turn, his own tires screeching and smoking up. Lucas cheered loudly.

‘Shit,’ said Jonathan on the radio.

That wasn’t good. That wasn’t good. “Why shit? Talk to me kid!”

‘We’re boxed in. I – I don’t. They’re not stopping, shit -’

What did he mean not stopping? Did they intend to ram a car full of children?

‘Hang on!’ cried Wheeler, high and terrified.

Suddenly the radio was flooded with screams, the sound of impact and the crash of shattered glass. No. No no no. Lucas went silent next to him, eyes wide and horrified, and Jim forgot how to breathe. “What just happened? Somebody talk to me!”

There was another agonizing moment of silence before a young voice flooded the line – this one must be Dustin. ‘She just flipped the van! Holy crap, did you see that?’

‘No, I missed it. Yes I saw it!’

‘She flipped a van. How did… how did she do that?’

‘Oh my God.’

“Are you kids alright?” Jesus Christ, he’d just lost about three years off his life.

‘Y-yeah.’ A shaky Jonathan answered, voice thin. ‘We’re all here.’

“Ok. Get off the road.”

‘Chief, this car isn’t exactly meant to go off road.’

“Get off the road.” Jim growled. “Head towards Loch Nora. I’ll meet you there. Over.”

‘...Copy.’

Jim breathed a sigh of the deepest relief and pulled his truck off the road and into the woods. It was by no means a smooth ride, jostling the car like a busted washing machine, but they wove through trees until they could see the sun glinting off the hood of Jonathan’s Ford up ahead.

He rumbled to stop, and Lucas tore out of the passenger seat, leaves flying from under his feet as he ran across the clearing. Jonathan’s car stuttered to a halt, and the rear doors flung open. Mike and Eleven poured out of one side, and Dustin tumbled out the other, climbing over a disgruntled Holland’s lap and landing in a heap. He scrambled to his feet and threw himself into a run, and the four children collided, limbs knocking together and sending leaves flying.

“Guys!”

“Lucas!”

“Holy shit, you’re okay!”

“I thought they got you guys!”

“Oh man, you should've seen what she did to that van.”

“I didn’t see it, but I heard it!”

“Oh man, oh man, holy shit, it was, it was-”

“Awesome,” Lucas said breathlessly, giving the girl a meaningful look. “It was awesome.”

So this was El, Jim thought, looking at the dirty child kneeling in the dirt, making tearful apologies to Lucas. She was… damn, she was just like them. Just a kid. Scared and too-thin, looking like she hadn’t eaten a real meal in days. A child. A goddamn child these people were hunting like an animal. It would have been so much easier if he could just put that aside for now so he could focus on Harrington. God, this wasn’t some tool they needed, some formless map to find Harrington, this was a child. But Jim needed to lock that away for now. Right now, the situation called for Chief of Police Jim Hopper, any other hats would stay firmly tucked away.

“You all okay?” he barked.

Jonathan exited his car on shaking legs, clinging to the door. “H-hey, Hop.”

Wheeler and Holland joined him, pale and trembling as well.

“S-she, she…”

“I heard,” he said, sparing Wheeler from her stuttered explanation. “Alright kids, switch!”

“Huh?” Wheeler Jr. said from where he and Lucas were shaking hands in some sort of truce.

“Get in the truck!”

“Chief, what?”

“I’m going to take them,” he said, watching the kids scramble towards his truck, bickering over shotgun.

“Are you sure that’s…”

“We can’t go to yours, Byers. They saw your car.”

Jonathan paled. “Mom. Will.”

“Right now, I think they’re more focused on the girl. I need to get the kids out first. I have a place we can go. Shake them first, then head down past the fairgrounds and turn on Denfield. Almost immediately you should see a big oak tree. Turn left. Keep going even when you’re pretty sure you took a wrong turn. Can you get your mom and Will there?”

“I-”

“We can,” Wheeler said, steeling herself. The fire was back, fear boxed away. It wasn’t a skill any of these children should be forced to learn, but Jim would be lying if he said he wasn’t grateful for it.

“Alright. Meet me there. Ninety minutes. If you’re not there by then, I’ll go myself.”

“But the kids-”

“Ninety minutes.”

“Got it,” Holland said, tugging on Jonathan’s sleeve. “Oak tree. Denfield.”

Jim took one last look at these three teens – kids – clinging to each other in the middle of the woods, small silhouettes against the backdrop of towering trees. How had they gotten involved? How had he let them get involved? But there was no turning back now. There were four smaller lives now involved in this mess waiting in his truck, and one more waiting between worlds for help that wouldn’t come if Jim didn’t accept help from all of these children. Risking only himself was a luxury he could no longer afford. He clapped Jonathan on the shoulder, jogged back to the truck, and didn’t look back.

“Ninety minutes!”

They could do it. He’d just have to trust them.

---

The bright lights of the new Joust machine called like a beacon, a taunting siren’s song of temptation. Eddie stared longingly at the bold, flashing colors and heaved a dramatic sigh. Really, it was his own doing. He was the one who had told Hellfire he was unavailable for the day, so they’d all made their own plans. He’d blocked out the whole day to spend with Uncle Wayne. But because Eddie’s luck was a universal constant, his uncle had called and said he had to work a double. Apparently, they were being audited at the plant or something – some higher-ups demanding grid records of all the power bumps from the past few months.

And well, Eddie normally had no shortage of ways to entertain himself, but he’d already blocked the day off for human interaction in his brain, and the lack of it left him feeling strangely bereft. So here he was, at the arcade, only the one game he wanted to play was co-op, and there wasn’t exactly anyone lining up to play with the freak who came in alone. Not to mention that after a while, single player got a little old.

Eddie sighed. He was just about to head home and treat himself to some high flying adventures, when the bell at the door jangled and in came the most unlikely combination Eddie had seen in a good while.

Preps Nancy Wheeler and Barbara Holland made sense – those two were always around each other, and their names were on enough NHS posters around the school for Eddie to know them, now, but Jonathan Byers was unexpected. The dude never hung out with anyone that Eddie knew of, neither in school or out of it. And he definitely wasn’t the sort to be palling around at an arcade the day after his brother’s funeral. Maybe the girls adopted him as some sort of charity project, Eddie thought with disdain. If that were the case, maybe he should go rescue him. Or maybe it was none of his business, what did he know?

Except… Well, damn, Byers looked pretty disheveled, peeking out the store windows every few seconds like he wanted to be anywhere else, and if that wasn’t a universal sign, Eddie didn’t know what was. He heaved another dramatic sigh because being the better person was honestly such a chore, and started over. As he got closer, though, he could tell the three were in some deep conversation and clearly had no interest in actually being at the arcade at all.

“It’s a bad idea,” Byers hissed.

“No it’s not; they don’t know about me,” said Holland.

Oh, gossip. Eddie’s lips curled like a cat and he casually leaned himself against an out of order pinball machine, straining his ears towards the three heads pressed together.

“She’s right, Jonathan. Your car is pretty distinct.”

“Are you forgetting we have only an hour left?”

An hour left for what, Eddie wanted to know. This was all very mysterious and honestly way more exciting than round four of Dig Dug.

“Seventy minutes, actually.”

Byers glowered at Holland and carried on. “How are we supposed to get there?”

“It’s not that far.”

“And you think no one will see us walking?”

What illicit activity could the Wonder Twins be up to with Jonathan Byers? The perfect prep duo, up to no good? The shock! The horror! The intrigue.

“We could ask for a ride,” Wheeler suggested.

“Who are we supposed to ask,” Byers hissed, waving his arms out to the arcade around them, “A bunch of twelve year olds?”

Holland and Wheeler followed his sweeping gesture with their eyes.

“There’s got to be someone older,” Wheeler said.

Holland didn’t say anything, though, because her eyes had locked directly onto Eddie’s, and he realized he’d been caught.

Shit.

Eddie jolted, knocking against the pinball machine with a thud and tried to slip away. They wouldn’t want to be affiliated with him. There’s no way they would want to involve him in whatever crazy plans honors students and loner kids got into.

“Munson,” Holland called.

Shit shit shit.

“Uh, yeah, that’s me,” he said, and god damn, did his voice just crack? He was a fucking grown senior, his voice did not just crack. Three sets of footsteps approached, and oh, wow, yep, that was definitely a crowed right there, yes it was. “H-hey there. Sorry, no public places, you know? Maybe try after school?”

“You have a van, don’t you?” Wheeler asked. Points for directness, Eddie would give her that.

“Er, yes, but-”

“And I don’t see it out front, so did you park it in the back?”

“Listen it’s a Saturday. The place was packed when I got here. I don’t know how you all got a space-” What was he doing? Why was he still talking? Do not involve yourself, Munson. Do not engage. Abort. Abort.

“We need a ride to Barb’s car,” Wheeler said like the steamroller she apparently was.

“You all literally just got out of Byers’ car.”

“Well, it’s dead. Battery, you know?”

“Oh, well if you guys just need a jump, I mi-”

“No, I’m pretty sure it’s the alternator. Won’t do us any good.”

Well if that wasn’t a bold faced lie. Nope. No, no way, Eddie was going to stay way the fuck out of whatever this little Scooby Do party was up to. “Uh, well, actually, I just got here, and-”

“You have a roll of tickets sticking out of your pocket,” Holland interjected, the keen eyed traitor.

“I don’t even know you-”

“Eddie,” Byers said, and shit he was doing the fucking sad eyes. And fuck if any of them had a chance at convincing Eddie to take pity on them or whatever, it was definitely Jonathan My Brother Just Died Byers. “Please. It’s important.”

Fuuuuck me.

Eddie muttered expletives the entire way to his van, Wheeler, Holland, and Byers in tow, wondering when he was going to grow a spine, if ever. The three peered over their shoulders the whole time, scanning the backlot before climbing into his van and tucking themselves on the floor in the back like a bunch of fugitives.

“Not that I’m one to judge a little law breaking between friends, but did you guys fucking kill someone?” Eddie couldn't stop himself from asking. Which he probably should have asked before climbing into the driver’s seat and shutting the door like a goddamn moron. At least the indignation was real when they all squawked ‘No!’ at him. “Can’t blame a guy for asking. This is all very mysterious.”

“Um.”

“Just drive.”

“Wait, am I being kidnapped? This feels a lot like kidnapping.”

“Munson-”

“You know, anyone else might be bothered at being ordered around in their own car-”

“Drive!”

And like a complete pushover, Eddie did.

He pulled away from the arcade, passing Byers’ parked and definitely not broken car, weaving past a HPL van idling in the lot. He wondered just how many people they had working doubles this week – it felt like he was seeing them everywhere lately. He offered a quick wave of solidarity, but the man didn’t really acknowledge him. Which, given the fact that he was probably running on nothing but stale coffee, wasn’t much of a surprise.

Byers, Wheeler, and Holland hadn’t moved from their spots on the floor, coiled and tense, and stayed that way even after he’d turned onto the road.

“You know, still can’t help feeling like this is a bit of a hostage situation,” he grumbled after a minute.

“Munson. For the love of God, can you please go faster?”

“None of you are wearing seat belts.”

“Of course the drug dealer is a safe driver. What is happening right now?”

“Hey, I’m not trying to get people killed.”

“Listen Eddie, I don’t even know how to thank you, but, uh. Could you please just-”

“Nope, no no no. Don’t ask me for anything else because then I’m going to want to do it, and Byers, you don’t get to play that card more than once. Holland, where do you even live?”

Holland gave out her directions, and Eddie followed them.

“There’s no one following you, right?”

“That isn’t ominous at all.”

“Munson.”

“No, Wonder Twins, there’s no one following me. You think I wouldn’t be checking with you all acting like discount James Bond?”

“Just checking.”

“Are any of you going to tell me what this is actually about?”

“…”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“It’s not that. It’s just… complicated, man.”

“Alright then, Byers. You can keep your secret for the present, if you want to be mysterious,” Eddie said, turning the wheel with a flourish. In no time, he was pulling to a stop next to a little blue Cabrio. “I believe this is your chariot, m’lady?”

Holland perked up like a meerkat, peering out one of his windows. She glanced up and down the street before heaving a sigh of relief. “We’re clear.”

The three pushed open the back doors of the van the second Eddie stopped, not even waiting for him to put the van in park. Rude.

“Thanks, Eddie. We really owe you one.” Byers at least had the decency to stop. Holland had already thrown herself into the driver's seat of her car and was reaching over to unlock the other doors.

And maybe this was all just one giant, elaborate prank. Maybe they were doing some mystery LARP or something. Maybe he was on Candid Camera. But just in case…

“Listen,” Eddie called, leaning out his window. “Whatever you guys are up to? I don’t know anything. But also, please don’t die. I would be very bummed out if you died.”

Byers gave him a wave and hopped into the backseat of Holland’s car, leaving shotgun for Wheeler, who was still hovering by Eddie’s van.

“Thanks, Eddie,” she said. And then she kissed him on the cheek and climbed into Holland’s car. As soon as she buckled in, the three of them were peeling into the street, and Eddie was left stunned and very, very confused.

---

“Can you stop pacing?”

“They should be here already.”

“He said ninety minutes, Dustin, it’s only been like an hour.”

“It doesn’t take that long to get to Will’s place.”

“It does if you’re trying to lose a tail!”

“What if they got caught? What if the lab people found them? What if the lab people are on their way here right now?”

Mike groaned. “If you don’t sit down, I’ll throw this pillow at you.”

“Hey, hey! No one is throwing anything. Can you all just sit down and be quiet?”

“That’s what I sa-”

“Ah, ah ah. No. No this is what we’re not going to do. You’re all going to sit down quietly, and if you have something to say, you’ll say it one at a time, understood?”

“But-”

“Wh-”

“N-”

“Understood?”

The Chief’s voice echoed off the walls of the broken down cabin, filling the small space like thunder. Mike, Lucas, and Dustin quieted in an instant, and El, who had been quietly wiping at her face with a damp rag, shifted closer to Mike, knees pressing into his.

“You’re scaring her,” Mike said, scowling at him. Honestly, what made the Chief think shouting would help anything? Bad men with guns were chasing them, and maybe chasing their friends, and for sure chasing El. She didn’t need someone yelling at her! A small part of Mike reminded him that the Chief was yelling at them, not El, but what did that matter, if the end result was the same?

The Chief pinched the space between his eyes, muttering what Mike was sure were curse words. He took a great big breath and let it out, and oh, his eye was definitely twitching. “Look. Mike and Lucas are right. They still have time. I’ve filled you all in on just about everything I could. Will is on his way, and if there are any gaps, he’ll fill you in.”

The idea that Will was on his way, that they’d be seeing him soon, alive, whole, had Mike bursting at the seams, too. He could understand the itch under Dustin’s skin. And he believed the Chief and Lucas, of course he did, but he also needed to see Will for himself, to know that he was here, that El had been right and he hadn’t been chasing stars. He needed. He needed-

The crunch of stiff leaves cracked through the air. The Chief drew his shoulders up, and his gun was suddenly in his hands, and Mike was reminded again that these were dangerous people they were hiding from. That there was a reason El was so afraid, and it wasn’t just the Demogorgon.

Dustin grabbed at Mike, dragging him down and behind the beat up couch where he and Lucas and El were hiding, and Mike wanted to see, but he let Dustin pull him.

“Hop?” Mrs. Byers called from outside.

Everyone let out one huge sigh. The Chief cracked open the door, gun still in hand, but he must’ve been satisfied with whatever he saw because soon he was tucking the gun away and opening the door, and there was Mrs. Byers looking so much better than she had yesterday at the funeral, looking alive again and… and…

“Will!” Dustin squealed, actually squealed in his ear, rolling out from behind the couch and stumbling to his feet, tripping over himself as he barreled out the door.

“Dustin!” Will cried. He didn’t even get to hug Dustin back, because Dustin had him trapped in a full bear hug, spinning him right there at the steps of the cabin.

“Hey! Easy there, Dustin! Be careful with him!”

Dustin let Will’s feet drop back onto the ground, laughter bubbling between them. He pulled back, checking him over. And he seemed okay, mostly. But Mike could see Will was… thinner than when they’d seen him last, his eyes less bright. But… but he was alive. Alive, and breathing, and not a still body in the water, and Mike didn’t care if Mrs. Byers wanted them to take it easy.

“Will!” he shouted, and then he was running too, eyes burning. Even though he threw himself at Will with far less force than Dustin had, Mike needed tangible confirmation that this was Will, Will was here, and that he was going to stay. They teetered slightly when Mike collided, trying to find balance between the three of them, but they managed it okay, clinging to each other in the fading afternoon sun.

“You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay,” Dustin was saying, mirroring exactly the mantra in Mike’s head.

Footsteps shuffled behind them, and Mrs. Byers let out a quiet little Oh. Mike untangled himself from Will and nudged Dustin until they were both giving Will room to breathe, room to meet the newest addition to the Party.

Lucas was leading a shaking El by the hand, pulling her towards the group. Her eyes were stuck on Will, and Mike couldn’t tell if she was awed, or scared, or about to cry. Maybe all of them.

“This is El,” Lucas said, stopping just a few steps from Will.

Will was silent, eyes fixed on El, and he took a step forward.

“Will,” whispered El, eyes shining.

“Hi,” Will said back. He brought up his hand, running it over El’s hair with a familiarity that just didn’t make sense to Mike. Had… had Will met El before? She would have said, right?

“Hi,” El said, voice watery. “I…” She sniffed loudly, the sound echoing in the woods around them. “I’m sorry. The gate. I – Steve.”

And then Will’s eyes were watery, too. “Can you help us find him?”

Everyone was watching El now, Mike saw. Will, and Chief Hopper, Mrs. Byers, Jonathan, Nancy, Barb, Dustin, Lucas. Mike knew El wasn’t used to so many eyes because she was shaking, or maybe that was from flipping a van, or maybe it was all of it, all at once. But El was the most amazing girl Mike had ever met, and she lifted her chin, and pretended she wasn’t shaking, and said, simply, “Yes.”

---

Jen was fairly sure she managed to hide her sigh of relief when the phone rang, but it was a near thing. She loved Scott, but screaming monsters and melting faces might be her limit, even if it was just gum and plastic. Still, if one awful movie could help occupy Scott’s mind for even a little while, Jen supposed she could manage.

This whole week had left Scott raw and bleeding, and Jen had not been able to decide the best approach. Scott pushed himself until he burned out, finally coming undone Friday after the funeral. A week playing teacher, search party, and grief counselor for his students had ultimately caught up to him. Scott had not allowed himself to grieve, not fully. The whole town mourned the death of a child, but Will Byers had been Scott’s. Every ‘how was your day?’ for the past year and a quarter included mention of that boy, so much so that Jen knew which toppings he and his friends ordered on their pizzas during AV club meetings. And Jen didn’t particularly like kids, but Scott adored his. Losing one had chipped away something Jen was not sure he would regain.

She paused the television just in time to hear Scott’s pitch change to something alert and concerned. “Dustin? Is everything okay?”

Oh. That was one of Will’s friends.

Jen strained to hear, ready to grab her shoes and go wherever they needed to go, but whatever it was must not have been urgent, because Scott’s shoulders relaxed.

“It’s nine o’clock on Saturday. Why don’t we pick this up-”

It was at this point where things started to get… weird.

“Sensory deprivation?”

What.

“What is this for?”

Yes, that’s what she wanted to know.

“Okay. Well… Why don’t we talk about it Monday? After school, okay?”

No, Scott, that was when you asked to talk to a child’s parents and ask them what the hell their child was doing asking about sensory deprivation? Weren’t Scott’s students in middle school? They were too young to have seen Altered States – it was rated R, wasn’t it? - and certainly too young to be trying to replicate it.

“Dustin-”

Let me talk to your mother. It was so simple. Jen leaned forward on the couch, waiting for those words. What she heard instead of those words was her brilliant, intelligent, caring, stupid boyfriend sigh into the phone and then… start telling a twelve year old child how to build an isolation tank.

Jen listened in shocked disbelief, processing approximately nothing while Scott sat against the edge of the dining table detailing step-by-step the process for something most adults had no business knowing, let alone children. Jen spared a very brief, minuscule moment to be minorly impressed – and maybe even a little turned on by this man’s encyclopedic knowledge of trivial information – before firmly reminding herself that no, this was actually very bad. Even if Scott wanted to indulge his grieving students, he was still supposed to be a responsible adult who ideally did not teach small children the stepping stones of early experimental psychology.

In the end, after contemplating just walking out on this disaster of an evening and wiping her hands of any culpability, Jen’s curiosity got the better of her after all. She pulled her legs up to her chest, socked feet digging into the cushions, leaned back onto the arm rest, and tried to follow along.

Why she liked this man was anyone’s guess, but, against her better judgment, she did.

---

It was cold. Every time El faded into the Upside Down, even a little, the first thing she felt was the cold. Little waves bumped her feet, and she walked in darkness.

“S-Steve?”

There was a building in front of her, made of rectangle blocks. Like everything in the Upside Down, it was destroyed by vines. They made El feel slimy, even though she did not touch them. She stepped over one and pushed through the broken doors in front of her. Drops of water echoed around her, breaking the silence.

The grinning face of an orange cat greeted her, striped and black with white whiskers. “Welcome Tigers,” she read.

The school where she was had tigers, too. This tiger was different. Bigger.

El walked through empty hallways. Rusted metal boxes lined the walls, tattered books hanging out of the ones that were broken or had been forced open by vines.

El followed the tug of connection, that familiar tangle of soft and scared, of gentle warmth and aching loneliness. Her steps carried her to a set of double doors. She pushed them open.

The room was large. In the middle, there was a big, splintered wooden box. El could see a row of chipped little squares in black and white. She stepped inside the room. It was faded at the edges. Her powers did not fill the space. They did not need to fill it because they no longer needed to. El could see what she had come to find – who she had come to find.

Steve was sitting on the floor, leaning against the back of the large box. He was wrapping something white around his middle, face strained. She didn’t get to see his whole face very often, but she could now. He looked worse than the last time El had seen him. His hair was damp and clinging to his neck, his face pinched, cheeks pink. He was pale under the dirt and grime, and there were big, dark circles under his eyes. El ached for him, wanting to reach out.

“Steve.”

Son of a bitch.

Steve pulled a strip of gauze tight over the butterfly bandages he’d found, grimacing at the flare of pain that ripped through him. His head throbbed in time with his side, and if this was what it felt like on painkillers, Steve was not too optimistic about his prospects once he ran out. There was enough to last a few days, maybe more of he was careful. There was still plenty of Gatorade in the cafeteria, too, so… so he could do this.

Probably.

Something was buzzing in the air around Steve, an itch prickling his brain like a memory. The ringing in his ears kicked up again, a dull whine like feedback on a radio. He’d stopped tracking symptoms a while ago – what was the point? – but this one was probably one of the most annoying. He ripped at the gauze with his teeth, trying to focus.

Steve did not hear her.

El stepped closer, trembling. What if he did not see her? What if he did see her and did not trust her? What if she could not help him? What if – what if…?

No. She could do this. She could hear Will’s mom whispering soft assurances, little it’s okay’s floating around her like raindrops. She collected them all, breathed them in.

“Steve,” she said again, louder.

His forehead pinched, and El was sure he had heard her. She stepped closer, and called his name again.

Steve heard someone speak his name, or he thought he did, but who would be here to say it? It wouldn’t be the first time he’d invented someone talking to him, although usually he could tell when he was doing it.

Steve, someone said again. And even though he should have known better, he still looked up. Except, instead of empty air, someone was there.

Oh. Hallucination girl. It had been a while since he’d seen her.

She was wearing a tattered pink dress, and she looked faded around the edges, like a ghost.

“Oh,” he said. “Did I die, then?” Even though he’d had plenty of time to get used to the idea, Steve found he was… unexpectedly disappointed.

She took another step and knelt beside him. Close up, he could see she was probably about Will’s age. He hoped she wasn’t a ghost. That would mean she’d died young – too young. Was this what happened to victims of the Demogorgon? If another child been taken – had been killed – and Steve hadn’t noticed… that just might break him beyond repair. He should have noticed. He should have been looking instead of hiding for all those months. He should have-

“No,” said Maybe Ghost, Maybe Hallucination Girl. “You are in the Upside Down.”

“The… what?”

“The Upside Down. This place.”

That was new.

“Chief Hopper is coming. A-and Will’s mom. They want you to know.”

Ah. So a hallucination, then. A ghost wouldn’t know about the Chief or Will’s mom. It meant he was probably losing it, or maybe dying after all, but at least another child hadn’t had to suffer. Thank God.

He did not believe her.

She could see it in Steve’s face. El had not considered that as a possibility. Distraught, she took his hand in hers. “They are coming.”

He jumped when her skin touched his, sucking in a deep breath. El could hear it rumble in his chest. Steve looked at her strangely, like he was just now seeing her for the first time. His eyes were bright, and his fingers closed around El’s hand, shaking. “Are you real?” he asked. El could barely hear it even in the complete silence of the bath.

“Yes,” she said, squeezing his hand back.

“Oh.” Steve said, voice tight. “Is Will okay?”

“He is very worried.”

“Y-yeah?”

“He says you need to come back.”

“He can hear me?”

“Yes. Everyone can.”

“Who’s everyone?”

“Mike, Dustin, Lucas, Will, Will’s mom, Hopper. ...Jonathan? And Nancy and Barbara.”

This… this was real?

There was no way Steve could ever come up with this. Even months ago, when he still fantasized about his absence being noticed, maybe Chief Hopper mounting a search, he wouldn’t have ever thought so many people might be involved. He never would imagine Will’s friends would be involved – not children. Not in this. But… Nancy and Barbara had seen him, and they must have told the adults. It… it could be real. God, he wanted it to be real.

“I… I-” he was at a loss. He had no idea what to say. Thank you, I’m sorry, help me, don’t waste your time, why isn’t Will in a hospital, please help me, I’m so tired, keep away from this place – there were too many thoughts.

“There is a plan,” said Not A Hallucination Girl. “Where is this place?”

“Oh, uh. The band room?”

“Yes. Stay there. Arm yourself. They will come.”

“Arm myself – what? No, if this plan is dangerous, forget it.”

“Stay.” The girl was starting to bleed away like a runny watercolor painting.

“Wait!”

She could feel Steve slipping away.

El had never stayed in the bath this long before, and she had already used so much of her power. The piano was starting to fade, white mist curling around it. Steve clutched at her sleeve, and El willed her powers to let her stay just a little longer. Just a little bit.

“Just hold on a little longer.”

“Tell them it’s not safe. It, the Demogorgon, it’s got some kind of base nearby. Towards the hospital. Please-”

El could hear the man, Hopper, fierce and spitting on the other side. “They will handle the Demogorgon,” she told Steve.

“No- wait-”

“Stay.”

“What’s your name?”

It was the first time El had an answer to this question. Because of Mike. Because he had been good and kind and had given her something she never realized she was missing. She was not Eleven anymore. Now she had a name and friends and El wanted Steve to be one of those. “El.”

“Please, El – all of you – be ca-”

Whatever Steve had been trying to say was lost in smoke. A rushing sound roared in El’s ears, and she tried to find him again, calling his name. But the band room was gone. Steve was gone. And El was cold again, choking on darkness.

Warm hands gripped her, solid and real and warm, and she clung to that warmth and pulled herself out of that darkness, gasping. Will’s mom folded El in her arms, whispering soft assurances in her ear. And El knew she’d done what they had set out to do, but she had also left Steve hurt and alone. She hadn’t been enough. She was so tired of not being enough. She clung to Will’s mom and wept.

Chapter Text

“Steve.”

El’s voice rang through the gym, the sound bouncing off the water and the walls, filling the space. Will held his breath, trembling. He could feel Jonathan’s shoulder pressing into one side and Mike’s leg pressing into him on the other, grounding and real and there. They might have been the only thing keeping him from screaming.

Had she found him?

“Steve,” El said again. She was scared, though, her breaths coming in shallow little gasps. Will remembered moments caught in dreams turned to nightmares. Those moments just before anything happened, but fear started to seep into all the cracks, making a little home and spreading. A tingle in the skin, a quickening of the pulse, raised hairs on the back of the neck. That was the feeling of the Upside Down. That was what Will had felt before Steve had found him. It was probably what Steve was feeling now.

They all waited with baited breath, gravitating closer to the pool in their anticipation. The walkie they had propped up crackled like dying embers, and then, and then.

‘Oh.’

It wasn’t much, but it was Steve. It was St-

‘Did I die, then?’

His mom made a wounded sound, and Will could feel a hot sting in his eyes. Steve’s voice was scratchy like it got after he’d been coughing, and he sounded… tired. Tired and resigned.

“Oh, kid.” Mr. Hopper, who usually looked so serious and angry, was watching the walkie from across the pool. Maybe it was because everyone was watching El and not him, but his expression was unguarded for once, twisted into something between sadness and pain.

Everyone else looked uneasy, the relief from initial contact bleeding from their faces before it had even had a chance to settle. And why wouldn’t they be worried? How hurt was Steve if he thought he could be dead? That El had to tell him he wasn’t?

Mr. Hopper leaned forward, fingers curling into fists. “Tell him we’re coming.”

His mom mirrored the Chief, leaning over too, fingers flexing where they gripped the edge of the pool. “He won’t stay there another day.”

El told him, voice shaking. Steve didn’t answer, and for a moment, El floated in silence, little ripples lapping at the edge of the pool. Will found himself clutching at Mike’s sleeve, searching for something grounding, and Mike knocked their knees together softly.

Static buzzed from the walkie again, and even in the complete silence, Will almost missed Steve’s whispered, ‘Are you real?’

Yes, Will wanted to tell him. When Will had been with Steve, he had always seemed so confident. Even when he was tired or hurting or asking questions, Steve talked like he believed everything he said. When he said he would keep Will safe, Will knew he would. When he said they would make it out, Will believed him. That Steve… wasn’t the Steve on the other side of the radio.

The Steve on the other side of the radio sounded painfully unsure. And then the first thing he did when El assured him she was real was ask if Will was okay. Will, for whom he had sacrificed his chance to leave the Upside Down. Will, who never really got hurt because Steve did instead. Will, who was warm and fed and surrounded by people who loved him while Steve was hurt and alone.

“You’re the one who-” Will was so tired of feeling seconds away from crying. It wasn’t fair. Jonathan rubbed a hand across his back, and Will leaned into him. “I’m okay. B-because of you. And I just… I just need you to be okay, too. Come back. Come back.”

El told Steve, and Will was so, so grateful for her. He would be grateful to her for the rest of his life. Steve was quiet, mostly, after El told him they were all here for him. Will could hear his rattling breaths through the walkie, and he noticed Barb and Nancy shoot each other concerned looks. They heard it, too.

“We need to know where he is,” Mr. Hopper said. He was back to the stern faced man Will had gotten used to, direct and straightforward. Will thought he probably hated sitting and doing nothing. Steve was like that, too. “Can you ask him?”

“There is a plan.” El’s words echoed in a round. They dragged from her lips, stilted and flat, but through the radio, though rough with static, Will thought her voice sounded softer. “Where is this place?”

‘Oh, uh. The band room?’

Will saw Jonathan mouth the word ‘band,’ clearly surprised.

“That’s perfect!” Nancy said.

Barb nodded. “We won’t even have to go anywhere. We can do everything here.”

“Not here,” Jonathan, his mom, and Mr. Hopper said at the same time.

“Obviously not,” Nancy agreed, waving a hand at where he and Mike were sitting. “But close.”

“Aw. I wanted to see the Demogorgon,” Dustin muttered.

No, you don’t. Will never wanted to see the Demogorgon again. Ever.

Lucas shoved Dustin. “You don’t even have a weapon, dummy.”

“But I do,” said Mr. Hopper. “Tell Steve to get ready. Arm up – just in case – but stay where he is. We’re coming.”

Steve sputtered a protest, complaining it was too dangerous. Too dangerous for nine people – two of them grown ups and one of them a trained police – but not too dangerous for one hurt teenager?

Obviously, El agreed, because she told Steve to stay, her words solid and unyielding. If Will had been able to talk to Steve like that, would they both be here, now?

‘Tell them it’s not safe.’ Steve pleaded. ‘It, the Demogorgon, it’s got some kind of base. Please-’

He sounded so, so scared. Desperate the way his mom sounded every time he tried to reach her from the Upside Down. For them.

“God.” Will didn’t think he was meant to hear Jonathan say that, the word strained like it had been forcibly dragged past his lips.

Mr. Hopper had no such reservations. “To hell with the Demowhatever. We’ll deal with it. He just needs to Stay. Put.”

El tried to tell Steve, and it sounded like she was successful, but her voice was thinner and thinner through the radio, and barely a whisper in the pool next to them. Steve was asking her something, begging for something, but it was more static than sound. El trashed in the water, ripping the goggles from her face and trying to sit up like she’d woken from a nightmare. Maybe she had.

Will’s mom pulled her to the edge of the pool, wrapping her arms around El while sobs shook her whole body. His mom’s soft whispers filled the air, smoothing over El’s cries. Mike and Jonathan’s warm presence on either side filled the space. None of it was enough to drown out the hiss of static from the radio. None of it was enough to fill the silence that replaced it.

---

The shrill ring of the telephone cut through the Henderson household, jarring Claudia from her doze. Normally, she and her Dusty would watch a movie together on Saturday nights, but he was spending the night at the Wheelers’ house. Claudia ached for her son and the loss he must be struggling with. She hoped the boys might find some comfort in each other.

The phone rang again, and Claudia hauled herself to her feet, shuffling from her armchair to pluck the phone from its hook on her wall.

“Hello?”

‘Oh, good evening Mrs. Henderson. It’s Scott Clarke.’

“Mr. Clarke?”

‘I’m sorry to bother you so late, it’s just… It’s about Dustin. Is he home?’

Her Dusty? Claudia straightened. “No, he’s staying the night with the Wheelers. Is everything alright?”

‘For the most part,’ Mr. Clarke continued. Somewhere near him, a woman’s voice was talking. Claudia couldn’t quite make it out. ‘He called me about an hour ago with a rather odd request that I feel should be brought to your attention…’

Claudia listened, aghast, as her son’s teacher informed her that her son and his friends were likely spending their weekend building some sort of sensory deprivation tank. “Why on earth would they want to make something like that?”

‘Ah… I thought they might be trying to communicate with Will, if I’m being honest.’

Oh, Claudia thought, heart sinking. Her Dusty had a big imagination and a bigger heart. That… wouldn’t be at all out of character for her son.

‘And I thought it would be harmless to let them try, but… considering some of the, ah… other applications and possible uses, we – I – thought it might be best you were informed.’

“Goodness, thank you for calling. He’s been spending all his time with his friends. I just thought they needed to be together after…”

Mr. Clarke was silent for a moment, the unspoken reality between them a tragedy too great for words. ‘Children grieve differently. I can’t pretend to know what they must be going through, and I apologize if this is overstepping, but… perhaps he may need a little intervention.’

Claudia shook her head. “No, no, thank you for calling. I hadn’t realized. He always came to me after his father… Well, it's just… he’s been so distant, and I…” Mr. Clarke was right. She couldn’t keep waiting for Dustin to come to her. “Thank you, Mr. Clarke. I’ll give Mrs. Wheeler a call.”

‘It’s my pleasure, Mrs. Henderson. Please, if there’s anything I can do…’

“Mr. Clarke, you have done more than enough,” she said, feeling her throat start to constrict. Don’t start crying again, Claudia. “You’re the only one of Dustin’s teachers to reach out, did you know? I cannot begin to thank you enough for being there for him.”

‘I…’ There was a long pause on the other line, and Claudia used it to blink furiously at the ceiling until her eyes stopped misting. ‘I care a great deal about your son and his friends. Please don’t hesitate to reach out.’

“I won’t,” she promised. “Thank you again for calling. Have a good night, Mr. Clarke.”

‘Goodnight, Mrs. Henderson.’

Claudia took a steadying breath, letting the dial tone wash over her like a balm. She knew Dustin was with his friends, but… her son might be getting into more than was safe. He had to be hurting, all of them must be, but time in each other’s company couldn’t be enough for any child to cope. Resolved, she pushed the hook on the phone to reset it and dialed Karen Wheeler.

---

“A bat, Jonathan?”

“I put spikes.”

“That does not make me feel better!”

Clouds drifted slowly over a quarter moon, wreathing the woods just outside Hawkins Middle School in faded blue light. The trees cast long shadows on the ground that swayed like dancing skeletons, the spindly finger-like shadows of branches moving across the faces of the three children who should not be here.

Jonathan, Nancy, and Barbara had followed her and Hopper into the woods where they planned to draw out this Demogorgon and stubbornly refused to go back to the gym with the younger children. They had come with their own make-shift weapons – when had they even found the time to make them? – planted their feet, and told the adults they were ready, as if that had been the plan all along. So here they were, Nancy with a gun, Barbara with a long corn knife, and Jonathan with a spiked baseball bat, and Joyce with approximately thirteen aneurysms.

“It worked for Steve!”

“That definitely does not make me feel b-”

“You know what would make me feel better?” Hopper cut in, “Killing the thing. Can we get on with that?”

“Hop-”

“Joyce, we don’t have time to keep arguing with them.”

“I’m not going to risk their lives-”

Next to Jonathan, Nancy dug in her heels. “Steve risked his! Steve risked his for us. For y-” For your son, Joyce read between the lines. “For Will. Let us help.”

“Mom, please. The more of us there are, the better chance we’ll have.” Jonathan twisted the bat in his hands, and Joyce could understand the helplessness he must be feeling, but… but… “I can do this. We can do this. We have to try.”

“We have to try,” Joyce said, gesturing to herself and Hopper. “Not you. Not you, not Nancy, not Barbara. Us.”

“And what if it doesn’t work?”

“Then we keep trying.”

“I don’t… I don’t think Steve can afford to wait for you to keep trying.” Barbara Holland, Joyce was discovering, didn’t usually take charge of a conversation. She was generally an observer, comfortable gathering information, but when she spoke, it was with a keen insight Joyce could rarely refute. If whatever Barbara had heard through that radio had managed to change her mind…

Joyce had heard the same conversation they all had. Steve Harrington had not sounded well. His voice had been strained, words uneven as though spoken with great effort. He had not sounded like someone patiently waiting for backup. He… He had sounded like someone waiting to die.

Joyce kept that thought to herself, but she knew Hopper had noticed. She could read the urgency in his movements, in his expression, in the way he wasn’t telling these children to leave when they had already agreed it would be just them. And Joyce could understand he cared for Steve, but… but they couldn’t save one child at the expense of three others.

“Then we’ll get it the first time,” she snapped. They could do this without them. They would do this without them. “I said no, Jona- Nancy, honey, what are you doing? Stop-”

A wet sound sliced through the silent clearing, and blood welled from an open gash across Nancy’s palm, dropping onto the leaves. When had she even gotten a knife? Barbara’s breath stuttered, and when Joyce turned to look at her, she had sliced her own hand as well.

“Sorry, Mrs. Byers,” Nancy said unapologetically.

“Wait!” Joyce barely had room to think before Jonathan followed suit, dragging the proffered knife across his skin. Dark droplets fell at his feet, staining the ground like spilled ink. No, no, no. “Hopper,” she plead – for what, she didn’t know. They were marked, now. Even if she sent them away, the monster would follow their blood, wouldn’t it? And if it did den nearby, then it likely wasn't far.

“Get ready!” Hopper barked instead. The click of the hammer on his gun snapped through the grounds like a crack of thunder, dancing in a round as Nancy mirrored the action.

The axe in her own hands felt small in the face of the unknown, in the knowledge that there were three children to protect here and now before they could even consider the ones tucked away in the gym or in a world of shadow.

The lantern at her feet flickered.

She jerked away from it, heart pounding. “W-where-”

“I don’t know!” Nancy hissed, knotting a wrapping around Jonathan’s hand. It looked like Jonathan had already helped with hers and Barbara’s. They had clearly come prepared regardless of what Joyce wanted. The flashlight in her free hand pulsed like a heartbeat.

“Back up,” Jonathan said, stepping away from the blood coated leaves. Joyce reached for him, tugging him to her side with shaking hands.

“Everybody circle up!”

They were all quick to comply with Hopper’s command, squeezing at each other’s backs, anticipation surging through them like lightning.

“Do you see anything?”

“It used the trees last time, watch them.”

“Can it tell we’re waiting for it?”

“Do you really think it would care?”

And Joyce had a sinking thought. What if it did? The Demogorgon seemed to only go after single targets, or double in the case of Steve and Will, but only once Steve was already flagging. What if it decided they were too many and too big a threat? What if… it decided to go after a nearby, easier target? What if they had just led it right to Steve Harrington’s door?

---

Nancy squeezed herself between Jonathan and Barb, heart pounding. Her flashlight surged sporadically with light, and she flipped it in her grip, bracing it under the gun the way she had seen Chief Hopper do before he moved to her back.Her fingers itched against worn steel – Jonathan’s father clearly handled his weapon regularly. It was solid in her grip, and between the weight of the gun and the four bodies pressed against her, Nancy felt like they could actually do this. They could take on the wraith without a face.

Barb was tense against her, and she kept readjusting her grip on the corn knife she’d taken from the. Byers’ shed. “I think it’s working.”

The lantern by Mrs. Byers buzzed, flickering again. The trees shuddered in and out of focus in the changing light, making it hard for Nancy to really see. “I don’t s-”

At her back, Chief Hopper fired.

Nancy jumped at the roaring sound, sweat pricking under her skin at the chittering hiss that followed, barely audible through the ringing in her ears.

It was here.

The Chief swore. This was the first time he’d seen it, wasn’t it? “Son of a bitch is fast.”

“There!” shouted Jonathan. Like a living shadow, the Demogorgon launched itself from the trees, gleaming claws reaching for Barb, who still hadn’t quite settled on the right grip. She yelped, and Jonathan threw himself from their huddle, swiping at the outstretched arm with his spiked bat.

The Demogorgon seemed intimately familiar with that particular type of weapon and reared back just as Jonathan slammed down into empty air. Its roar shook leaves from the trees, and Jonathan threw himself back into formation with a muttered curse of his own. The monster was learning.

It was terrifying.

A deafening crack split the air behind her right ear, and the Demogorgon jerked once.

“Wheeler, shoot it!” Chief Hopper’s gun was trained on the towering creature, and his arm jerked as he shot again, the sound ringing like a thunderclap.

Nancy snapped back to reality, to the snarling, open face and the shining teeth, braced her arm, and pulled the trigger. Black blood sprayed from the creature’s neck where it met the shoulder, but it didn’t even slow the monster down. She pulled the trigger again, the force of it traveling up to her shoulder, but held steady. The Demogorgon walked straight into the shot and kept coming. She fired again, chest seizing in panic.

“Hold, Wheeler,” said Hopper. “You’ve only got three left.”

How could she hold when it was coming right at her? When it filled her vision and all she could see was muscle and sinew and claw and blood?

The Demogorgon lunged, its jaws opening wide again. “Now!” shouted the Chief, and she could see his arm tick upwards, aiming for the open mouth.

Oh. She aimed again and fired.

Black blood went flying and an otherworldly screech pieced the air, one Nancy felt under her skin, but the Demogorgon seemed more angry than pained. How was it still going?

The Demogorgon circled, spindly limbs jerking, and lurched forward, launching itself at Mrs. Byers. The woman shrieked, chopping down with her axe as Jonathan slammed his spiked bat into its side with a shout of his own. The Demogorgon threw itself back, the bulbs in all three of the lights sputtered out, and the clearing plunged into darkness.

It took them all a panicked moment to adjust to the moonlight, and when they did, the Demogorgon was nowhere in sight.

“Where did it go?” Jonathan asked, voice shaking. He hovered near his mother, trembling. Nancy supposed if the Demogorgon had almost taken off her mother’s head, she would be a little shaken, too.

“Don’t know. Get back here, Byers. It’s not over yet.”

A flash of movement darted from the corner of Nancy’s eye, and she pivoted just in time to see the Demogorgon hurl itself at the only person who hadn’t attacked it yet.

Barb screamed and slashed down with her corn knife and Nancy didn’t even try to make a clean shot. The Demogorgon was going after Barb, and she fired her remaining two shots in the same exhale. The bullets didn’t make a difference, but Barb’s knife did.

The blade tore through the skin on the monster’s arm, not enough to sever, but enough to spurt inky blood across Barb and Nancy’s faces and clothes, enough for the Demogorgon to screech in agony. Enough for it to rear back and disengage. It jerked away from them, and it was as if it leapt into shadow itself. There was no trace of it, no flash of movement, no rumble of sound, no pressing malevolence, unspoken and all-consuming. There was nothing at all.

Silence settled like heavy snow, leaving Nancy shaking and cold.

“Did it just leave?”

“H-how is Steve still alive?”

“Oh my God, I thought we were about to die.”

“Everyone calm down! We don’t know if it’s going to come back. Wheeler, reload for Christ’s sake.”

“I-I,” she tried, but her voice was trembling. She hadn’t even realized she was shaking.

Hopper’s expression thawed, just a little, and he broke formation to approach her. “Here,” he said, holding a hand out for the revolver. “I’m not gonna ask where you got this, but this is your cylinder release, here.” He walked her through the steps, curt, but not harsh, scanning the trees every few seconds.

Aside from the gentle sway of leaves, nothing moved and the only sounds were their own.

“I think it’s gone,” Jonathan whispered, shoulders sagging.

Mrs. Byers was looking around the clearing, axe still firm in her grip. “Where did it rip through?”

Right. The whole reason they had summoned the creature.

“Over there!” Barb was pointing to a faint glow of color in the trees, pulsing red against the shadows. The light was dim, and when they all made their way over to it, it was barely big enough for Nancy to fit through.

“Maybe I can fit.” She absolutely did not want to go alone, but Steve was waiting for them and they hadn’t even managed to kill the Demogorgon.

“Absolutely not!”

“Not a chance!”

“No way, Nance.”

“I don’t think you could,” Jonathan said, eyes fixed on the tear. The glowing edges were already drawing in on themselves, shrinking.

“We just made it mad," she protested. "We made it mad, and now it’s closer to Steve!”

Chief Hopper swore, and Mrs. Byers looked stricken, swaying where she stood. “We need to check on the children.”

“Will,” Jonathan gasped, and without waiting, he turned and tore out of the clearing.

“I thought we talked about going anywhere alone!” Barb called after him, throwing up her free hand.

Nancy was torn between the portal and Jonathan’s retreating form. There was no way she could fit through it now, but… but…

“We’ve got a plan B,” Chief Hopper said, dropping a warm hand on her shoulder. His grip was harder than it needed to be, but Nancy found comfort in it. “Let’s get back to the kids, group up,. We’ll rework this. We’re still getting him out tonight.”

Nancy nodded, dizzy with the last dregs of fear and adrenaline. They had underestimated the Demogorgon. Not even the five of them had been enough to finish it. Her only consolation was that maybe it was hurt enough to spend some time licking its wounds. She hoped it was enough.

It had to be.

---

“What do you mean it didn’t work?”

“Hey!” Lucas squawked when Dustin jumped up from his seat on the bleachers, knocking into him.

“Bullets didn’t even slow it down,” Barb said, ashen faced and trembling.

“S-so it’s still alive? And Steve is… Steve is… he-” Will swayed where he sat, and Lucas braced him with the arm that wasn’t rubbing El’s still damp back.

“He’s a sitting duck,” Mike finished, just as pale as the returning party. “We have to do something!”

“They did do something, and it didn’t work!” Dustin cried. “Oh man, oh man, this is bad. It’s gotta be so pissed.”

Will shrank in on himself with a choked sound.

“You’re not helping, Dustin!” Lucas snapped. He got that Dustin was worried – he was worried too! But Dustin wore his worry outside, and that wasn’t helping Will.

“Alright, everyone just calm down,” Chief Hopper shouted. He shouted a lot, Lucas thought. “We know where Harrington is, we know which weapons actually work, and – hold your damn horses for a minute, Henderson, I’m still talking – and we know where another gate is, alright?”

“Oh, you mean the one in the lab with all the bad guys with guns?”

“Will you shut up about the guns already?”

“They’re kind of a big deal, Mike!”

“Only if they catch us.”

“What do you mean us? You’re not coming, Mike.”

“I’m not just going to sit here-”

“Yeah, we’re coming!”

“We have to help St-”

“Everyone stop talking!”

The gym fell silent, the echoes of Hopper’s roar reverberating through the space. In the sudden stillness, Lucas noticed what he hadn’t moments before.

The lights.

“No,” Mrs. Byers said, low and… and scared. “No, not here.” She pushed next to Will, holding her axe in front of them both.

“Everyone away from the bleachers!” Jonathan yelled.

Lucas, Mike, and Dustin scrambled away, but El and Will sat frozen, staring at the flashing lights.

“El! Will!” Mike cried, latching onto both of their arms and trying to pull.

They didn’t budge. Maybe they were too scared.

Lucas dug into his backpack, feeling for his wrist rocket. He should have had it on him. What had he been thinking? “Guys, come on!” Why weren’t they moving?

Mrs. Byers reached for Will’s other arm, trying to pull him towards the group gathered on the gym floor. “Will!”

Will just looked at El. She had a puzzled frown on her face, but now that Lucas looked at her, she didn’t seem afraid.

“Flashlight,” El said in that flat voice of hers.

“What?” stammered Mrs. Byers, a little hysterical.

“Flashlight,” said El.

“I don’t…”

“Nancy, can I have yours?” Will asked, calling across the gym. Puzzled, Nancy tossed it to Will, gun still at the ready. When had Mike’s sister gotten so cool? Will caught the flashlight and flicked it on, the beam lighting up a perfect circle on the ceiling.

What was he doing?

Lucas was glad he wasn’t the only one confused. Nancy and Hopper still had their guns out, Mrs. Byers was ready with her axe, Jonathan was clutching a bat with spikes, and even Barb had a long knife. Lucas tried to ignore the dark stains on the last three weapons and turned his attention back to the bleachers.

Will and El scooted together, holding the flashlight between them like a secret. It flickered again, and Will smiled.

---

The roar of the Demogorgon had been pretty hard to miss when the world around him was dead and silent. Steve was getting pretty tired of hearing the rattle in his lungs, anyway.

He pulled himself to his feet and tugged his backpack carefully over one shoulder. When he wore it properly, it brushed against his bandaged stitches where they stretched around his side towards the back. Unfortunately for him. Even under layers of wrapping, the area was a lot more tender than it had been. Typical Harrington luck. Or, well, Steve Harrington luck, anyway.

Another wail ripped through the stillness, raising the hairs on his arms and neck. It sounded pissed. Whatever plan Hopper and Mrs. Byers and the others had been working on, Steve wasn’t sure if it was working. The sounds of the world around him had died out like they always did when the Demogorgon was near. The other creatures tended to avoid it. Stay, Elle had told him. And she’d meant it.

Steve had never been any good at standing still.

He scooped his spiked bat from the floor, feeling the chill seeping into his bones through his torn leather jacket. They could be in trouble. The Demogorgon had been growing more and more active lately, and they had just given it new targets.

He made his way through the halls and out the double doors into the night, ears straining for the crunch of claws, the howls of the pack, the drumming beat of wings, but there was nothing. No Demogorgon, yes, but no one else, either. Nothing moved aside from the lazy spores floating by, ever-present and smothering. Steve felt his hear pounding. Had anyone been hurt?

The echo of racing footsteps crashed by and Steve threw himself towards the wall, almost stumbling into creeping vines. He stopped just short, heaving with fear and exertion.

‘Jonathan!’ Mrs. Byers’ voice rang through the air, pouring out from the trees behind the school. ‘Jonathan, you need to wait for the group!’ She stopped, desperately out of breath and trying to regain it.

More footsteps thundered from the trees, and Steve thought maybe he could hear more from behind. ‘We’re coming!’ called Barbara Holland. ‘Go check on Will and the others!’

Will? Will and what others? Not… not the kids. They couldn’t have brought the kids near the Demogorgon. They wouldn’t risk them for his sake. But Mrs. Byers sucked in a breath like she was about to dive deep underwater and her footsteps raced away.

Horrified, Steve followed. Not Will. Please not again.

He couldn’t keep up with Mrs. Byers, but Barbara and the two sets of footsteps behind her weren’t far behind. They overtook him easily enough – Steve couldn’t move as quickly as he’d like, not if he didn’t want to pull his stitches again – but it was enough to point him in the direction of Hawkins Middle School. He stumbled through empty halls he hadn’t seen in years. He passed Tommy’s old locker, untouched while his own crumbled, suffocating next to it in strangling vines. Unbidden, memories of shared laughter burned into him and Steve forced himself to keep walking. He… didn’t want to think about Tommy. He couldn’t afford to if Will and the others were in danger.

The echo of frantic conversations led him to the open expanse of the middle school gymnasium, where several voices were talking over each other at once. Steve threw himself forward, pulling on whatever reserves of energy he might have left.

‘-down!’

The barked command was the first thing Steve heard when he squeezed himself through the doors, stepping over more tumbling vines. The overlapping voices quieted for the most part, but he could still hear the squeak of pacing sneakers and a familiar child’s voice repeating oh man, oh man.

Steve stood, panting, trying to gauge where the Demogorgon might be, but then…

‘We know where Harrington is, we know which weapons actually work, and–’

His name hit him like a punch to the face, and he physically staggered back. That was… that was Chief Hopper. That was Chief Hopper. Elle had told him they were coming, but even though he knew, the rumble of the Chief’s voice twisted something Steve had thought long buried. His heart lurched unexpectedly. The kid who’d been chanting in the background was still at it, and Steve couldn't quite place it, but he knew it from somewhere.

‘Hold your damn horses for a minute, Henderson, I’m still talking – and we know where another gate is, alright?’

‘Oh, you mean the one in the lab with all the bad guys with guns?’

The voices that had gone quiet all started up again – this many people were looking for him? – and Steve stumbled forward towards the cacophony of sound. Lab? Guns? It was all over his head and going too fast, adults and children bickering amongst themselves, but one voice Steve didn’t hear was the one he needed the most.

Where was Will?

He stepped closer, brushing the stuttering buzz of electricity that seemed for follow the voices. Soft light swirled at three points. Steve remembered Will’s small hands brushing along the lights in his room, Mrs. Byers’ relieved sobs carrying them through that night they’d discovered they could use them to communicate.

There were no lamps here, not strung up lights, but maybe…

‘Everyone stop talking!’ Hopper shouted. Steve found himself jerking his hand back in response even though he knew the Chief wasn’t talking to him. Or… or maybe he was? Elle had said they could hear him, hadn’t she?

“Hello?” he tried, waving his hand in the general space where the others might be.

‘No,’ Mrs. Byers moaned. Steve couldn’t help flinching at the horror in her tone. That fear was one he recognized to his core.

It seemed to spread, and Jonathan shouted for everyone to get away from… from him. There was an explosion of noise and shouting, the scattered beat of footsteps and jostling bodies.

‘Flashlight,’ said a young voice. Steve recognized it as Elle, soft and solemn.

Mrs. Byers answered with helpless confusion, but Steve thought maybe, just maybe, Elle might… might be able to…

“Can you hear me?”

‘Flashlight,’ Elle said again, words overlapping Steve’s. It was almost an answer. She couldn’t hear him, but… maybe she could tell he was here. Steve stepped over the sprawling vines and towards the bleachers, drifting towards the sound of her voice.

‘Nancy,’ came a request from beside Elle. It had been, in reality, not much more than a day since Steve had last heard Will’s voice, but by the staggering relief he felt, it may as well have been years. He was okay. ‘Can I have yours?’

Steve could hear Barbara and Jonathan anxiously asking each other if they saw anything, and Will’s friends trying to convince him to join them away from the bleachers. Still, it seemed like Nancy must have listened because a little spot of glowing embers hovered just in front of him. Steve was so relieved his knees wobbled, and he dropped to the lowest of the bleacher benches, angling himself to the flickering light.

“Hey there, kiddo,” he said, tapping the tiny spot of warmth in the darkness. It flared under his touch, sensation dancing across his fingertips.

‘Hi, Steve.’

Chapter Text

The explosion of sound that followed Will’s quiet greeting was overwhelming and actually a little endearing, if Steve were being honest. Will’s friends were the loudest, the boys’ sneakers squeaking against waxed flooring as they scurried over.

‘Wait, that’s Steve?’

‘How do you know?’

‘Is he here?’

‘Scoot over Lucas, I wanna see.’

‘What do you want to see, a flashlight?’

‘Shut up.’

‘You shut up.’

‘Do you think he can hear us?’

‘He can hear us, right, Elle?’

‘I don’t know, why don’t you ask Will?’

‘Or you could just ask him.’

‘Right. We can do that. Can we do that?’

‘Oh, man. Oh man, I wanna try! It’s like Contact Higher Plane, right? Yes or no? Do you think we could go insane?’

‘This isn’t real D&D, no one’s gonna go insane.’

‘I was just asking.’

‘Well ask something less stupid, Dustin!’

Dustin… Dusty? Holy shit. And the other kid firing back at him… wasn’t that one of The Last Unicorn kids?

‘Obviously that’s why I wasn’t asking you-’

‘Or you could give Will some goddamn room to breathe and ask questions one at a goddamn time!’ The Chief’s bark cut down the chatter, the manic energy of the children dying down and the babble Steve had heard from other voices in the background cutting out, too.

‘Will, honey,’ Mrs. Byers said from somewhere to Steve’s right, ‘You know how this works better than anyone. Well, you and Eleven.’

Eleven? What…?

‘Elle.’

‘He can hear us,’ Will said, the sound of his voice a soothing balm. ‘One for yes, two for no?’

Steve’s shoulder sagged. He could do this. This was familiar. He tapped the floating ember once.

Cheers erupted on the other side of the world, and Will gave a watery laugh.

‘It worked!’

‘Holy shit, this is cool.’

‘Ask him if the Demogorgon is close by.’

‘Will just said we could ask him ourselves.’

‘Oh yeah. Hey, i-’

Steve tapped the light twice, letting the feeling vibrate through his skin. He hoped that was the right answer, anyway. He’d be pretty screwed otherwise.

One of the boys gave a delighted laugh, and Steve was reminded again how young they all were. Thank God he’d been able to get Will out. If nothing else, he’d done at least that right.

‘Steve, honey,’ came Mrs. Byers’ voice again, closer this time, ‘We’re all working on a way to get you out. We… we tried something and it didn’t work, but we have other options, okay? We just need you to hold on, can you do that?’

Steve took an embarrassingly long time to tap out a yes. Obviously, he could hold on. He’d been holding on for months. He could push past a little exhaustion, a little pain.

‘Thank you for taking care of my boy,’ she added, voice thick. Steve felt his own throat constrict in response. ‘Thank you for getting him home.’

‘And for us, too,’ said another voice softly. And Steve would have recognized Nancy Wheeler even before he’d been dragged to hell, but it was even more of a surprise to hear her now. Seeing her and Barbara had been a surreal experience, but really… he owed Will’s freedom to both of them.

‘Harrington.’ Hopper muttered his name, and Steve latched onto the familiar rumble. ‘Jesus, kid, I…’ The man’s breath stuttered, like the words were too big. He cleared his throat, and when he spoke again, he was solid and sure and Chief Hopper. ‘Since you’re here, I’ll break down what we know. Just the basics so we can get on with it, alright? We tried to get that Demo-’

‘Gorgon.’

‘– thank you, Mike – to open one of those gates near you, but it closed too fast to be useful. There’s a stable one in Hawkins Lab. I’ve seen it myself. You think you could get over to it?’

The torrent of thoughts going through his mind were threatening to drown him. A stable gate? How long had it been there? How long had a way out been hanging just out of reach?

But thinking about that wouldn’t help help anyone, and Steve had gotten great at locking away things he didn’t want to think about. Mostly. He did have to answer Hopper’s question, even if that meant taking stock of some things he’d rather ignore.

Steve thought about how painful the trip over to the school had been even with the flood of adrenaline numbing his thoughts. He thought about the way it felt like he was burning from the inside out and all the other ways he felt like shit. He’d dealt with those things for long enough, and he could probably deal with them a little longer to cross the town one more time. The bigger issue, really, was that, like the group had pointed out, the Demogorgon was still out there. The Demogorgon was out there, making a home base for itself just down the road, and it was royally pissed at Steve.

So while he might be able to make it to the lab if absolutely everything went his way, Steve was more than acquainted with the fact that either the universe had it out for him or he had the worst goddamn luck on the planet. If the Demogorgon or a dog or a bat so much as sniffed in his general direction, Steve wouldn’t even be able to run.

Resigned, he tapped out a no.

‘That was two, right?’

‘I saw two.’

‘Why not?’ Jonathan Byers asked, shuffling somewhere close to where Steve thought Will was sitting.

‘Maybe he doesn’t know where it is?’

‘Oh shit. He’s hurt. He probably doesn’t think he can make it that far.’

‘Dude!’

‘What?’

There was a rustle of limbs as some of the boys bickered and had some sort of wordless conversation with flailing limbs.

Hesitantly, Elle’s voice broke through. ‘Steve? Is that true?’

It wasn’t exactly far off the mark, and Steve didn’t really… have a way of clarifying. He brushed his fingers against the fragile glow once in a reluctant yes. Will made a distressed sound and several voices swore at once.

“Sorry,” Steve said to no one.

‘Okay, that’s okay, sweetie. We’ll just use the other gate.’

‘You mean the one with the guns? That other gate?’

That was the second time Steve had heard them mention guns. What were they talking about?

‘You let me worry about that,’ said Chief Hopper. ‘Kid, you still listening?’

Steve was listening, but listening and understanding weren’t exactly the same. What did the lab have to do with anything? Even if this were all some weird experiment gone wrong, why did they sound like they were getting ready for war? He couldn’t ask any of that, though, so he settled on a single blink.

‘I’m coming in to get you. Unless that Demogorgon comes knocking, I’m going to need you to stay where you are this time. It’s about… an hour’s walk from the lab, so it shouldn’t take me more than two to get in and over to you. You still following?’

Holy shit. Two hours? With a shaking hand, Steve confirmed.

‘Good. Now listen. If that thing comes around, you get out, okay? You don’t worry about me or anything else. You get out and you hole up somewhere safe-’

‘Like the arcade!’

‘That’s closer to the hospital.’

‘So?’

‘So he said the Demogorgon, like, lives close to there!’

‘Okay, not the arcade.’

‘How about his house?’

‘That’s too far, he said he can’t make it.’

‘He could try the church?’

‘Good idea, Barb, that’s really close.’

‘Okay, the church. You got that Harrington? Stay put unless you’ve got no other choice. If you have to move, get over to the church and I’ll find you there. You should be able to keep talking to the kids while I’m gone. Anything changes, they’ll let you know. Understood?’

Steve was at a loss for words, not that they could hear if he’d had any. He… he might actually be getting out. Someone was coming to get him. Hopper was coming to get him. Hopper – all these people – had rallied together, had put their lives in danger… for him.

‘That’s a yes or no, Harrington. Understood?’

Fuck. He swiped his arm across his eyes, forced in as deep a breath as he could manage, and brushed his hand against the floating spot of warmth in a single yes.

‘Alright then. I’ll see you soon, kid.’ Hopper grunted the way adults did when they stood up after kneeling. Steve heard the slide of fabric, probably tugging on a jacket, before heavy, booted footsteps moved away.

‘Hang in there, sweetie. We’ll be there soon,’ Mrs. Byers said, and it was with such warmth that Steve didn’t know what to do with himself. She jogged after Hopper, hurrying to catch up, and Steve heard another set of footsteps trail behind her.

Steve stayed where he was, conscious that on the other side of this little, floating light, Will was there, safe and surrounded by love. Maybe Steve wasn’t safe, and maybe these people here didn’t know him, but… aside from Will, it had been a long time since Steve hadn’t felt alone. It was a nice feeling.

---

Karen Wheeler twisted the cable of her phone around her index finger, the bloodless skin peeking between the loops in sharp contrast to her pulsing red fingertip.

“No, she’s still not back.” She twirled her finger from the cable for what may have been the hundredth time that evening and tried not to scream. “Can you just call me if she shows up? Thanks, Marsha.”

With shaking hands, Karen hung the phone back onto its hook. Two missing children.

Two.

When had she become such a failure of a mother? How had it taken government agents at her door for Karen to wonder at the fact that she hadn’t seen her son since that morning? Claudia and Sue hadn’t been home to answer her calls, and Karen and Ted had already… already signed papers preventing her from asking anything meaningful even if they had. Why had she let Ted talk her into signing anything before she had her son in her arms?

And in her worry for Mike, in her fruitless hours driving around the town looking for three little bicycles or a girl with a shaved head, Karen hadn’t spared a single thought for her daughter. After dark, they decided to stay home in case Mike returned, and Karen had sat by the phone for a small eternity until Claudia had called her.

Apparently, Mike and Dustin were meant to be having a sleepover, only neither Mike, nor Dustin were here. After a quick call to Sue, who answered this time, it was apparent that none of their children were home. After dark. Less than a week after their friend had disappeared and been found dead. Karen had rushed upstairs to ask Nancy if she had seen her brother, but Nancy’s room had been empty, the bed unslept in. She had called for her daughter around the house, but Nancy hadn’t answered.

Karen realized with a jolt that she hadn’t actually seen Nancy since the funeral on Friday. But it was fine. Nancy was grown, and she often had Friday night sleepovers with Barb. It was fine. Nancy was fine. She was with Barbara giggling about whatever boy she happened to like without telling her mother, two weeks after sighting a strange man in the woods.

Oh, God, Karen was a terrible mother. Running around all day after Holly was not even close to an excuse.

She ran to the phone and dialed Marsha Holland, heart hammering in her chest. Pick up, pick up, pick up, pick-

It hadn’t taken long to ascertain that neither of the girls had spent the night prior and neither of them were there now. Alarmed, Marsha asked after the last time Karen had seen the girls, and she’d had to truthfully answer Friday afternoon. The only consolation was that Barbara’s car wasn’t home, so wherever the girls were, they were likely together. Barb was sensible. She wouldn’t let Nancy get into trouble if she could help it.

But if she couldn’t…

“Ted.”

“Yes, honey?” Ted called absently from the living room.

She stepped away from the phone with a strangled sob. “Ted,” she called. She looked up, and her husband met her at the doorway.

“What happened?”

“Nancy.”

“What about Nancy?”

“She’s missing, Ted! Two of our children are missing!”

“She’s not with Barbara?”

“I just called; she’s not there, and she wasn’t there last night, either, Ted. Ted-”

Ted stepped forward and caught her by both arms. “I’m sure she’s fine. She’s probably just sneaking out to do teenager things. Maybe see that boy she went to that party over. When I was her age, I-”

“We should still know where she is! And it’s so late and Mike isn’t-”

“Do you want me to go out and look for them again?”

Karen peeked over Ted’s shoulder and into the living room where Holly was curled up on the couch, a little blonde tuft of hair peeking over the cushions. “I…”

“I’ll just drive around a little, see what I can see, and you can stay here with Holly in case they come home. How’s that sound?”

Karen was torn. Did she go out and do something? Did she wait? Was this gnawing feeling how Joyce Byers had felt? It was the worst feeling of her life. “Check back in an hour?”

“Sure.”

---

“Nancy, and I say this with all the love I have in my heart – are you insane?”

Barb loved Nancy, she did, but it was growing increasingly apparent that her friend had no sense of self preservation, and Jonathan Byers, it seemed, wasn’t far behind.

“I’m just being practical-”

“No. No, nothing about what you just said is practical, Nance! Do not tell me you agree, Jonathan.”

Whatever words Jonathan had been about to say died in his throat. Barb could see thoughts churning behind his eyes before he gathered them. “I know we might not be able to kill it-”

“See?”

“-but I still think we should try.”

Why did everyone around her have some sort of death wish? “Please explain.”

“It’s just…” Jonathan peered over his shoulder, watching the children gathered on the bleachers talking animatedly to a fluttering light. His eyes lingered on his brother, on his wobbly smile and the tears tracking down his face, and it really hit Barb that they had been at that boy’s funeral a day ago. “My mom and Hopper are going into the lab. All five of us weren't able to take that thing out. I don’t like the odds of the two of them alone. And… And if – when – they find Steve, he's going to be hurt. Slow. If it comes after them, he... he might not...”

Oh. Barb knew they were working with limited time, but… but she had been so focused on everyone finding a way to get to Steve that she hadn’t really considered getting him out. It was all still a bit surreal, if she were being honest with herself. Never in her life did she think she would be risking her life to help Steve Harrington, King of Hawkins High and even more surprising, finding… he might actually be worth it. But worth alone didn’t make a bad plan a good one. “There’s got to be another way. We can’t kill it.”

“Well, someone has to!” Nancy hissed. “What’s going to stop it from hunting again? What’s going to happen the next time some farmer shoots a deer? What’s going to happen if – if Mike falls off his bike on the way home one night? We can’t just leave it.”

“I’m not saying we leave it! I’m saying maybe people who are actually trained to handle things like this should do it.”

“No one is trained to kill monsters, Barb!”

Jonathan shifted on his feet. He didn’t really insert himself into conversations much, but Barb was getting better at telling when he wanted to speak, she thought. She bit her tongue and waited. He didn’t disappoint.

“...Maybe we don’t have to.”

Nancy’s eyebrows shot up, incredulous.

Jonathan continued, undeterred. “All we need to do is keep it busy.”

“Did you see the same monster I saw?” asked Nancy, slashing out her arms in agitation. “How are we supposed to keep it busy? That’s even harder than killing it.”

She had the right point, but was coming to the wrong conclusion. The Demogorgon was a terrifying force of nature. There was no way there teenagers could occupy it long enough to keep it busy, but there was also no way they could kill it, either. “Jonathan, it’s too fast. The way it moved-”

“So we stop it from moving.”

“How are we supposed to do that?” asked Nancy.

“Same way anyone stops a dangerous animal,” Jonathan said. “We trap it.”

“With what?” Barb really needed to know what he thought could possibly contain that nightmare.

“I don’t know, a bear trap would probably work.”

“Where are we going to get a bear trap at…” she glanced at her watch, “eleven thirty on a Saturday?”

“There are a few around Lover’s Lake.”

“You, Jonathan Byers, hang around Lover’s Lake.”

“It’s a good picture spot,” he said with a noncommittal shrug. “And it’s popular for camping, so there are plenty of traps in the woods. We could just… borrow one for a little while.”

Nancy nodded along with Jonathan, and her eyes had caught that fire in them again. “Look, do you want to help Steve or not?”

“Of course I do, Nancy, but-”

“Then we have a plan! If we can stop it from moving, then we don’t have to worry about it getting us.”

“Am I the only one who remembers that we almost died?”

“Barb-”

“We almost died. Five of us against one monster. And you both want us to, what, to do the same thing again, only with fewer people? I want to help, but I did not sign up to watch you get killed. How is that helping anyone?”

“There’s no one else to do it, Barb,” said Jonathan. “I know we’re not the best choice, but we’re the only ones who can. You heard Steve’s voice – you’re the one who said we didn’t have time to waste.”

He was right. He was right. They didn’t have time to waste. Steve seemed to be occupied with the kids for now, but flashing lights didn’t really give any insight into the state of his health, and Barb could tell it had been bad. She knew that, and she’d been on board with their plan before, however reluctantly, but now all she could see was moonlight reflecting off slashing claws and gnashing teeth, and she was scared – she was so scared – that they wouldn’t come out of another encounter unscathed.

How could they want to face that monster again?

...How could they, in good conscience, sit back if they had a chance at making sure the boy who had risked everything for them didn’t have to?

She squeezed her eyes shut, breathing past the panic squeezing her heart in her chest. A featherlight touch settled on the back of her left hand, just over the impromptu bandage. She opened her eyes to see Nancy’s hand, stained dark and just as bandaged, and followed the line of her arm until she met her eyes.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to come,” Nancy said, softly. “But I… I need to do something. If something happens, if someone gets hurt because I didn’t, I…” She dropped her hand from Barb’s, glancing at the bleachers, at the huddled children listening to a wildly gesticulating Dustin. “You can watch over them.”

“I…”

“We’ll be back in no time,” said Jonathan, offering a lopsided smile, a fragile thing in the light of what they were about to do. “Think we could borrow your knife, though?”

Numbly, Barb only handed it to him.

Nancy wrapped her arms around Barb, and Barb didn’t even have time to reach up and do the same before Nancy was letting go and hurrying out the gym doors, Jonathan following close behind. Barb couldn’t stop them. She wasn’t sure she should.

She glanced at the small group occupying the bleachers, at El, who looked so small in Chief Hopper’s oversized flannel. She watched the way the light played across Will’s wan face, fluttering like a candle in the wind. She thought about how, days ago, she wouldn’t have thought twice if she’d never heard of Steve Harrington again. She thought about Will, screaming in her arms, of the phantom feeling of a child clawing in desperation to get back to that monster if only to be by Steve’s side. And here she was, afraid to engage it for even a moment, armed and on her terms.

She couldn’t help being afraid. But she could help Nancy and Jonathan.

She just hoped she wouldn’t be too late.

Barb dashed for the doors, throwing them open, Nancy’s name in her throat, and collided right into Jonathan, sending them both toppling onto the ground, limbs flailing. He made a winded sound and Barb scrambled off of him. “Sorry, sorry!” She reached down a hand and pulled him up when he took it.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jonathan said, brushing off his clothes.

“Barb?” asked Nancy, footsteps echoing on the asphalt of the parking lot.

“You both… waited for me,” Barb said, oddly touched.

“Well…” Jonathan wore a chagrined expression, shuffling uncomfortably on his feet.

“What happened?”

“Honestly?” he said, “I forgot we took your car.”

Maybe it was because of the sheepish look on his face, or maybe it was because of the absurdity of her life at the moment, but despite her nerves – or maybe because of them – Barb burst into laughter.

---

“And then she flipped a van with her mind!”

The flashlight fluttered in Will and El’s clasped hands, lights twinkling in maybe acknowledgment. Will could almost see Steve sitting with them, eyes shining, listening to Mike, Lucas, and Dustin tell their story – how they’d met El, how they’d looked for Will and then Steve together. Will had heard some of it from Lucas, but there were new things in the retelling he hadn’t heard before.

He listened while they described their harrowing escape from the power vans and how the group decided to use the pool to reach out for Steve.

“And that’s how El found you,” Mike added, voice bright with pride.

The light pulsed, neither a yes or no, but El seemed to understand. Her fingers squeezed Will’s around the flashlight, surprisingly gentle. “I am… happy you are safe,” she said.

Steve wasn’t safe, but… but here was here, and that was a start.

“Steve…” Will absently thumbed the textured grooves on the flashlight. Why did you tell them to take me? Why didn’t you come with me? Did you get hurt after? Did you rip your stitches? Were you ever going to tell me how long you were trapped? ….Did you ever plan on getting out at all? Will had asked none of these things while his friends filled Steve in on everything they knew and he didn’t ask them now. “Are you actually okay?”

There was a long pause without the light blinking at all, and then it blinked once, almost hesitantly. Will didn’t really trust Steve’s idea of okay when it came to himself. It seemed like Steve didn’t, either.

“Really?”

Will could practically feel the shrug in the answering pulse of light, a glimmering thing somewhere halfway between a yes and no. Will could almost hear the reluctant maybe not, but I will be. There was a lot Steve had kept from Will, and part of Will wanted to be mad at him for it, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel anything but relief that even a world apart, Steve was here, alive if not okay, and soon he’d be back for real.

Soon he’d be back, and they could both get better together, and maybe Steve could stay with them. He and Jonathan would be friends, and the party would teach him how to play Dungeons and Dragons, and Steve wouldn’t have to go back to his big empty house.

“I miss you,” he murmured, flushing only a little when Mike met his eyes. He wouldn’t be embarrassed.

The light pulsed in his hand and El, eyes closed, said, “He misses you, too.”

“You can hear him?” Lucas asked.

El shook her head. “Feel,” she said, tapping her head and then her chest.

“Wild,” said Dustin. “What’s he thinking about now?”

“She can’t read minds, Dustin!”

“Yeah, but he’s gotta be feeling something, right?”

El paused, eyes closed, breath evening out. “…Warm.”

Will’s eyes stung again. He wished he could offer something in response, something he could touch, but Steve was beyond reach. El wasn’t, though. Will pressed his shoulder just a little into hers. He felt her sag against him, leaning her weight on his shoulder. Oh… reading feelings used her powers, too.

Dustin seemed to notice, too, and stood.

“Where are you going?” asked Mike.

“El needs a recharge! I think I know where Lunch Lady Phyllis hoards the chocolate pudding,” Dustin said before trotting out of the room.

“El’s superpowers need charging,” Lucas explained, scooting closer to Will and El and the flashlight. “Usually she eats Eggos, but I guess pudding could work.”

It probably would. Will tried not to think about good luck pudding… but, actually… “Maybe we should help him look.” If they found it, they could tell Steve where it was. He could probably use a recharge, too. One that didn’t taste so much like slime and rot.

“Yeah, okay,” Mike said, helping El stand. She wobbled a little unsteadily and held his hand all the way down the bleachers.

“Come look with us,” he said to Steve. The flashlight buzzed in response. “Don’t worry, my mom and Mr. Hopper are gonna find you in no time.”

“Yeah,” agreed Lucas. He hopped off the bleachers, the sound of his landing ringing through the empty space. Grinning, he slung an arm over Will’s shoulder, and he and Will and Mike and El (and somewhere on the other side, Steve) started to make their way towards the cafeteria. “He’s a cop, so he’s gotta be great at sneaking. There’s no way they’ll get caught.”

---

Jim should’ve figured they’d get caught.

It shouldn’t have been much of a surprise, but Jim had seen all their security footage. He knew where cameras were and where they weren’t. He’d been fairly confident they could sneak through undetected. Turned out either the lab had added more cameras or they hadn’t shown him all of their footage. Really, he’d been a fool to expect anything less, and now he was paying for it.

Searing pain shot through his neck, traveling through his body in jerking spasms, the smell of burnt flesh and the crackle of electricity flooding the cell. He groaned, riding the waves of pain that lingered long after the current stopped. It might not have been one of his best ideas to tell them he knew everything, knew about their tapped calls, child experiments, Benny’s murder, Will’s faked death, the other dimension, the monster they unleashed, and one missing Steven Harrington. And sure, he might have been bluffing out the ass when he told them he’d taken it to the press, but if this didn’t work, maybe it would be enough to deter them from just… making sure Harrington disappeared.

Head Asshole of Security pulled the taser from his neck and helped haul Jim into a chair. Jim went, limbs flopping uselessly, still twitching with residual convulsions. “You’re just a junkie,” Head Asshole said, leaning into Jim’s space. Not enough to block the sight of the agent behind him loading up a syringe from an unmarked vial. “A small town cop who had a really bad week. Took one too many pills this time.”

The blonde woman who had been watching impassively stepped forward. Jim had seen her right alongside Brenner at Harrington’s house. “You made a mistake coming back here,” she said. She was stiff, calculating, but if Jim were reading her right…

“No, I didn’t,” said Jim. “Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna let me and Joyce Byers go, you’re gonna give us anything we need, and we’re gonna find her son and Steve Harrington.” He met her eyes, both a challenge and a recognition of her authority. Authority he could tell she craved. “And then we’re gonna forget that any of this ever happened.”

She straightened in response, neck elongated and shoulders pulled back. “Oh, is that right?”

Bingo. “Yeah.That’s right.”

---

“Where are we with your analysis on that thermos, Owens?”

This night was thoroughly trying Dr. Brenner’s patience. It was past midnight and they still hadn’t found the Harrington boy or recovered Eleven. Some of staff were complaining about extended hours because they could not see the importance of their mission. He supposed he was fortunate that Dr. Owens had been working in California less than 24 hours ago and was still operating three hours behind.

“I’ve already told you I’m not a biologist-”

“It’ll take another week to get anyone else with the proper security clearances. You have to have some findings.”

“All I can really say for now is that it’s not saltwater. None of our findings indicate there is any water on the other side at all. We’re not sure where he got it fro-”

Heels clacked sharply on tile before the lab door pushed open and Agent Frazier stepped inside. “Dr. Brenner. Dr. Owens.” She offered a cursory nod to the man before turning back to Dr. Brenner. “Chief Hopper and Byers are ready to proceed.” She held herself stiffly, words toneless and clipped. She clearly had opinions on the matter.

“You disagree with my decision.”

“I think it’s a mistake to risk exposure, sir.”

“There is no risk,” he said, turning from Owens who sat pouring over notes.

“If they find the boys?”

“I am counting on it.”

“I’m sorry – what?”

“We have expended enough resources tracking the Harrington boy. If your reports are correct, he has months of information. We need him.”

“And the others?”

Dr. Brenner only glanced at the gun at her hip, meeting her eyes once again. “A liability.”

Chapter Text

Silence settled over the Perkins household like an untold secret, heavy and waiting to be broken. Cassandra Perkins gathered three matching floral mugs steaming with tea (one with a generous pour of bourbon) and looked to the living room where her daughter and her boyfriend Thomas sat in sullen, exhausted misery.

The day had been the most bizarre and… humbling of her existence. Cassandra lived a good life. She was no Eveley Harrington, but she liked to think she was doing rather well for herself. She had her youthful complexion, a nice house, a husband who paid the bills, a beautiful daughter with a popular boyfriend, and the envy of half the women in Hawkins. What she didn’t have, apparently, was an ounce of meaningful involvement in her daughter’s life.

She added another shot of bourbon to her mug, took a swig directly from the bottle, and padded to the coffee table. She carefully handed a mug to Carol and Thomas, taking another long sip of her own before lowering herself onto the couch beside Carol.

“You’ll go to bed after this.”

Carol scoffed. To be fair, Cassandra hadn’t given her daughter a bedtime in the past, oh, eight or nine years. It was well past the time where she could start enforcing one now.

“If anyone from the station were going to call, they would have done so already, sweetpea,” she said, patting Carol’s knee.

“But what if-”

“That’s why phones ring, Thomas. If someone calls tonight with news about Steven, one of us will hear it.”

It hadn’t been until they had arrived home all three of them, the screech of her breaks sharp in the quiet of their suburban home, that Cassandra had dragged the story from the two teens. To say that she had been shocked would be an understatement. News that her daughter’s friend might be missing was staggering. She would like to think that she’d simply thought he was enjoying his new car or that he and Carol and Thomas had a falling out, but the truth of it was, Cassandra hadn’t thought of him at all. She didn’t spend much thought on any of Carol’s friends, truth be told. Once Carol hit middle school, the girl had worked hard to separate home and everything else, and Cassandra had been fine with that. She had needed her own space when she was Carol’s age. Space to grow, party a little, make some bad choices and learn from them – Cassandra wanted Carol to have that luxury. Clearly she’d been a little too removed, given her daughter a little too much space, because it seemed the only time her daughter would reach out to Cassandra for support was almost literally at gunpoint.

“Can we sleep out here?” Carol asked, fingers wrapped around her mug. Her nails were uneven and bitten down, the polish chipped. Cassandra thought she had grown out of that habit, but well, they could touch them up in the morning after everyone had gotten some beauty sleep.

“You’ll destroy your neck that way.”

“Please?”

It was such a quiet thing, all worry and exhaustion, and Cassandra was reminded of her daughter’s sheet-white face at Tommy’s that afternoon. She took another long sip from her mug, feeling it sear its way down her throat. “Well, alright. But only sleep. You know last time he stayed the night you woke your father-”

“Mom!”

It was Thomas’s turn to snort into his cup, choking back laughter.

“And I had to tell him we had a raccoon in the attic-”

“Oh my God, kill me,” Carol moaned, mortified.

Cassandra shrugged. Carol had been with Tommy for years. She and her daughter had had their talk ages ago. “I’ll get some sheets for you, Thomas. If we haven’t heard word by morning, we’ll head back to the station. Does that sound alright?” she asked, brushing Carol’s hair from her face and tucking it behind her ear.

“Sure, mom,” said Carol, leaning into her hand. “That sounds alright.”

---

Her son had been in this place.

Her son had been trapped – for a week – in this place.

The cold pressed down on Joyce, heavy like the darkness, leaving her feeling brittle and broken.

Steve Harrington had been trapped here for months in a cold she could feel through the fabric of the protective suit she’d been forced to wear because the air was toxic. No wonder his voice had sounded like crushed gravel. Every new piece of information Joyce learned about this Upside Down world made the pit in her stomach grow.

Something moved through the trees ahead, and Joyce nearly screamed when Hopper took her arm.

“In,” he said again, “Out.”

She took a deep breath. Joyce hated that she needed his comfort, hated being unable to come down from the edge of panic when her little boy had endured so much worse. She released the breath in one long exhale, the glass pane of her suit fogging up and blurring her vision. She squeezed Hop’s hand to let him know she was alright.

There was a quiet horror in his eyes, something distant and sad and tinged with guilt. It was one Joyce wished she couldn’t recognize, but she supposed it was a horror only a parent could know – one she wouldn’t wish on her worst enemy. “The school is this way,” he said quietly, once whatever had moved through the trees seemed to be gone. “Let’s – watch your step – let’s get moving.”

Joyce nodded. “I didn’t expect there to be so many,” she whispered, stepping over another tangle of vines. They were so densely packed that it was hard to step. She felt like a child in grade school playing hopscotch.

“Will said they thinned out a little outside of the woods. Shouldn’t be too much longer.”

He was right – after about ten minutes of walking, the vines thinned somewhat. They still strangled the trees, choking off what little ambient lighting there might have been, but she was able to make mostly consistent steps. Now that she was spending less attention on just walking, Joyce had time to think of… other things.

“Hopper… What do you think they’ll do when… when we come out with Steve and not Will?”

“I’ll handle it,” he said tersely.

If Joyce could see past the bright yellow of the suit he wore, she would see the tense line of his jaw. She could almost read the set of his shoulders, knew that this wasn’t something he wanted to think about, but it wasn’t something they could just ignore, either. “We need a better plan than just handling it, Hopper. I’m involved in this now. You can’t-” she jumped, words dying in her throat. A series of shadows swept by from overhead, and they both waited in tense silence until they passed. “I need to know what to expect.”

He started forward again and Joyce was sure he wouldn’t answer her at all, the bastard, but when she fell into step beside him again, Hopper spoke. “I don’t know,” he murmured, the bare branches casting jagged shadows on his face through the glass. “This is unfamiliar territory for me, too. They might ask questions about it, but I’m hoping they won’t be there when we get back out.”

“Why wouldn’t they be there?”

Hopper was silent. Joyce didn’t like that silence.

“Hop. Why wouldn’t they be there?” The white haired man with a politician’s smile had seemed far too interested in what she knew to just… leave. He was clearly interested in her boy, and though he hadn’t outright alluded to Steve, Joyce had the impression he wouldn’t be so easily distracted. Hopper stepped over rusted railroad tracks that cut through the trees, offering Joyce a hand. She glowered at it and stepped over unassisted, meeting his eyes with a challenge.

“Joyce-”

“Don’t Joyce me, Hopper. I know there’s something you’re not telling me and I have had it up to here with secrets! What if, God forbid, something does happen to you and I’m the one who has to get Steve out? Don’t you think I should know what I could be walking into? You don’t get to make these choices! Not for me, and not when that boy’s life is on the line!”

That was his major motivating factor, really. For all his gruffness, Hop cared about children. He had searched for her Will with a bullheaded fierceness none of the other officers had matched. When Steve Harrington had been added to the missing, he had raged against the world the same way she had, spitting defiance until it brought back her boy. So even if he wanted to keep his secrets out of some misguided desire to protect her, Joyce knew he would share them if it meant protecting Steve.

“They don’t expect us to make it out, Joyce. I don’t know if you noticed the blood around the gate, but however many people they’ve sent in have clearly not come back. That room of suits was full of empty hangers.”

...It had been, hadn’t it? Joyce had seen the blood staining the walls and floor around the gate, had tried to put it out of mind, but she hadn’t even considered what those empty hangers might mean. She’d been too frazzled by the raw skin of her wrists, the burn marks on Hopper’s neck, the vomit on his shirt, the scientist’s disinterested toxic toxic toxic.

“They took my gun and gave me one with only two bullets,” he growled. “They don’t know we’ve talked to Will. They don’t know we have any idea how to survive.” Distant howls cut through the night as he stepped over another tangle of vines. “They sent us here to die, Joyce.”

Her stomach rolled again. It made sense, the casual dismissal, the detailed instructions they were given before going in, the lack of information about what to do once they were out. She hadn’t seen. Hadn’t wanted to see.

But Joyce Byers was done being told what she could and couldn’t do. “Then they’ll be in for a surprise.”

“Surprise of the century,” Hopper agreed.

Joyce followed him, tuning out the distant howls, and the fact that he hadn’t really answered her question, not completely, never crossed her mind. She would kick herself for that in the days to come.

---

Jonathan tried not to cough from the reek of gasoline as he tossed the empty red can to the side. His mom would probably not appreciate the soaked carpet… or the fire he was about to burn through her living room, but Jonathan looked at the boards badly nailed to their living room wall and figured she wouldn’t have much room to talk.

“Got the batteries,” Barb said. Nancy helped her down from the wobbly stool she had used as a ladder to take out the fire alarm. “Is that everything?”

“I think so,” he said, looking to Nancy for confirmation.

She nodded. “Remember the idea is to just push it back to the trap. We’re not going to engage, alright?”

They reviewed the plan one more time, and Jonathan flicked the lighter, the small flame dancing. The last time he’d used it, it was to light his mother’s cigarette. Now he was camped at his house in the midnight hour, getting ready to kill a demon with Nancy Wheeler and Barbara Holland to save Steve Harrington. “You both ready?”

Barb looked distinctly not ready, but she nodded right along with Nancy. Wincing, she pulled the wrapping from her hand, stained dark with blood. “How to we want to do this, exactly?”

Jonathan stared at the cut across his palm and wished they had thought to cut somewhere less inconvenient. It had made gripping the bat harder when they’d fought the Demogorgon. Still, there was no point in making a new one when they could just… use what was already there. He flexed his hand a few times to see if it would open back up. Pain shot through his hand. Shit it definitely hurt worse now than it had before.

“I think we’ll have to re-cut,” Nancy whispered.

“Nah,” Jonathan said, pulling his fingers back like he was cracking his knuckles. His palm felt like it was on fire and he felt hot blood running across his skin. “Hasn’t had time to close yet.”

Barb looked a little green, but to her credit, she followed along even before Nancy, whose bright blue eyes watched her friend, calculating and beautiful. Nancy copied the movement, and she must have cut deeper than Barb had because it opened easily, her red blood spilling on the carpet.

“How long do we…”

“I don’t know,” Nancy answered. “It only took a few minutes last time, but we were closer. Let’s wait a bit before we wrap back up.”

Jonathan nodded and shuffled to the couch and the first aid box he had laid out on the coffee table. He pulled out new gauze and antiseptic wipes they hadn’t thought to bring with them the first time around. The girls joined him, holding their old bandages under their hands to stop the dripping, and the minutes passed with all the speed of a wilting flower.

After what felt like a small eternity, Jonathan ripped open one of the wipes and pulled Nancy’s hand towards him. It was small in his and he hated that he was hyper-aware of how soft her skin was when there were so many other things to focus on. He wiped the blood and wound gauze tightly around her palm. She didn’t so much as flinch. When he finished, she wordlessly took the roll from him and turned to Barb who watched them with a knowing smile. Jonathan flushed and looked away, busying himself with opening another antiseptic wipe for his own hand.

He was still struggling with the awkward wrapping when Nancy leaned into his space. “Here,” she said, grabbing his hand and the fresh roll of gauze. She tugged it tighter than he had been able to, winding it in neat lines. “Is that too tight?” she asked, voice and features soft in the quiet night.

“No, it’s… it’s fine.” More important things, Jonathan. There were more important things than a pretty girl. Get it together. Her best friend was sitting right there.

Nancy taped the gauze in place and he busied himself with packing the first aid away, like having a tidy space mattered when there was an alphabet on the wallpaper, a hole in the wall, and gasoline soaked through the carpet. He could feel eyes on him, maybe Nancy’s, maybe Barb’s. He couldn’t bring himself to look up to check. He could feel the heat in his cheeks and hoped it wasn’t visible on his face.

“Do you think they’re already in?” Barb asked, either out of curiosity or because she took pity on him.

“They have to be. We took forever to find that trap.”

“Finding it wasn’t the problem.” Jonathan flushed, this time in indignation. It had been hauling it through the woods back to Barb’s car without making enough noise to wake the nearby campers.

“What I meant,” Nancy soothed, “was that they’re probably already on their way to Steve. So all we need to worry about is-”

As if summoned – and Jonathan supposed it had been – the lights danced overhead, bathing the room in a sea of color.

The Demogorgon.

“It’s here.” Jonathan jumped up from the couch, grabbing the bat propped against the table. His father’s gun flashed in Nancy’s hands and Barb grabbed her knife from the table.

“Where is it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Watch the walls!” Jonathan cried. When his mom had seen it in the past, she’d said it had pushed through the wallpaper like tar. The lights were blinking sporadically, an erratic kaleidoscope of color, leaving flickering imprints behind his eyes every time he blinked.

“I don’t see anything-”

“Me neither-”

They grouped together like they’d done in the woods by the school, pressed against each other. Jonathan could feel the girls trembling at his back, or maybe that was him, or maybe it was all of them. The walls were still, even as the lights spasmed, but Jonathan could hear the rending of something, muffled but close.

The ceiling cracked.

The ceiling they were directly under.

They scrambled away, dashing towards the hallway just as the ceiling crumbled in an explosion of plaster and a pallid arm stretched through, tendons flexing.

Someone screamed, and Jonathan honestly didn’t know if it was him or one of the girls because all he could see was that nightmare creature pulling itself into his home, claws shining a rainbow as the Christmas lights flared. The Demogorgon dropped from the ceiling, its rumbling growl filling his ears until the crack of a bullet filled the space instead.

Nancy’s mouth was set in a grim line as she shot until the Demogorgon’s face peeled back and it let out a screech.

Well, that was one way to get its attention. “Come on!” he yelled, grabbing Nancy around the waist and pulling.

They dashed down the hall and into Will’s room, slamming the door behind them.

“Reload!” called Barb. Her hands were shaking around the corn knife.

“Working on it!” Nancy hissed over the snap of metal. She’d practiced the motion over the short drive to his house. It wasn’t a long enough time to really commit the action to memory, but she’d gotten faster at it.

Jonathan turned to the door, skin prickling in anticipation. He could hear movement on the other side, low growls and the long scratch of claws, and then nothing at all.

“What’s it doing?” asked Nancy.

“I don’t know,” he answered.

“It’s hunting,” Barb whispered.

“Hunting?”

“That doesn’t make any sense. Will said it’s made portals in his room before. If it didn’t follow us, why isn’t it just… trying to get in here?”

Barb’s eyes stayed fixed on the door, waiting. “It’s baiting us out.”

“We’re still better off in a more open space,” Nancy reasoned. “The walls are closer here, and if it can come through any one of them…”

Jonathan couldn’t help the shudder that ran through him at the thought. The room suddenly seemed too small, too cramped. “Let’s not wait to find out,” he said, gingerly opening the door. The hallway was eerily silent, cast in multicolor shadow.

Nancy and Barb crept behind him and into the open living room, stepping carefully over the trap and the dark stained patches of gasoline. The only sounds he could hear were their footsteps, erratic breathing, and the electric buzz of lights.

“Where did it go?” Nancy asked, hushed and scared.

Jonathan didn’t know. He couldn’t… couldn’t feel things on the other side, not in the way Will and El seemed to be able. All he knew was that somewhere between worlds, the Demogorgon was waiting. Waiting to claim him and these two brave women the way it had his brother and Steve Harrington. The way it might his mother and Chief Hopper if they didn’t stop it. “Come on,” he shouted. “Come on, you son of a bitch.”

The lights danced like a carnival and Nancy and Barb pressed against him once again, guarding his back. Spots of color flared bright, the hiss of electricity surging, and the room plunged into darkness.

A low growl sounded somewhere behind him and Barb shouted at his back. “It’s back!”

He heard a wet, slicing sound and the shriek that would haunt his nightmares for years to come. He spun around to see the Demogorgon shrinking back from Barb, pulling a bleeding arm towards its chest and spared a moment to be a little impressed.

Nancy fired at it before it could return its attention to Barb, and Jonathan seized the distraction to throw himself forward with a shout, swinging with the spiked bat. The Demogorgon jumped back, screech lancing through the room and sending his skin crawling.

“Remember it relies on sound!” Barb said, batting away the clawed hand that swiped towards her.

Right. He’d basically telegraphed his location to it when he shouted at it.

Nancy moved to the side away from him and fired again. The bullet seemed to do next to nothing, but the Demogorgon’s head whipped to the sound, giving Jonathan another opening. He slammed the bat into it, pushing it back towards the hall.

The Demogorgon screeched and lashed out, long claws slashing forward. Jonathan dropped, swiping the bat at its ankles. Nancy shot again when it made to claw at him again and Jonathan jumped back. He wasn’t quick enough to avoid one of the claws catching on his forearm, tearing through his jacket and into his skin. He bit back a cry, remembering Barb’s warning, and hoped that it would be too distracted by the sound and the overwhelming gasoline fumes to single him out.

Another shot cracked through the hall and the Demogorgon jerked back with a shrill wail. Another arm flailed towards Jonathan and while the monster reached for him, Barb sliced her corn knife out, catching it in the forearm in a near perfect mirror of the bleeding wound on Jonathan’s arm. Inky blood spurted from its arm and it staggered back another step. It was in the hallway now. Nancy threw herself into the hall after it and shot.

How many was that now? Five? Six? Shit. Shit. Blood trailed down his arm, mingling with sweat and making the bat slippery in his grip. They were almost there. They could do this. They could.

Jonathan slid through the doorway, hurling himself between Nancy and the snarling Demogorgon. The lights had started up again, casting everything in intermittent shadows and making the creature’s movements jerk like a broken marionette. Barb was waving at him, trying to catch his eye. When she saw that she had his attention, she waved at one of its feet, stained and crusted over with that black blood. Right. The limp. In the frenzy of it all, Jonathan had forgotten how to breathe – things he should have remembered fled his mind at the first flicker of lights. He nodded to her and she turned back to Nancy, whose mouth pressed into a thin line.

Then Barb screamed and hurled her knife at the Demogorgon. It whipped its head towards her and bellowed back, the petals of its face open, rows of dripping teeth shining in the pulsating lights. It batted the knife away and Nancy shot into its open maw. It jerked back one more step and Jonathan slammed the bat into its injured foot. It staggered back with a screech and there was a crack of metal as the trap snapped shut.

“It’s in!” Barb cried.

Jonathan dropped the bat, fumbling for his lighter, trying to see it in the inconsistent light.

“Jonathan!” Nancy shouted. He could hear the clack of dropped bullets as she tried to reload with shaking hands.

His fingers met cool metal and he nearly dropped the damn thing before he could even light it, but finally the little flame burst into light and Jonathan tossed it into the darkened trail of gasoline.

The reaction was instant, the carpet catching and spreading in seconds, and Jonathan was so thankful they’d moved back far enough. The wail the creature made was deafening, and they all threw their hands up to cover their ears.

“Ugh!” Barb was coughing behind him and he wasn't far behind because what came immediately after the earsplitting sound was the smell. “It’s in my mouth.”

Jonathan ran for the fire extinguisher, the cries of the Demogorgon still vibrating under his skin. “Get back!” He doused the creature before the flames could lick the walls and spread higher, and they should have opened windows first, he thought belatedly, because he couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t see and it was suddenly, jarringly quiet.

Coughing, eyes tearing from the smoke, Jonathan batted at the air. He could hear Nancy and Barb coughing beside him as the smoke thinned. He brandished the fire extinguisher in front of him and waved at the air again. He needn’t have worried.

The Demogorgon was gone.

Chapter Text

Steve walked the empty halls of Hawkins Middle, following the amber light that bobbed ahead of him. Animated chatter filled the silence and painted the shadows warm. Steve let the voices wash over him, wrapping him with vibrancy and youth and life.

Nancy’s little brother (Mike?) was trying to explain pudding to Elle. Steve thought about her stilted speech and the way she seemed to think carefully before choosing words and wondered what country she must have come from that didn’t have pudding. Or maybe she just didn’t know the word for it here.

Will and Lucas narrated their school life to him and it was mundane in a way Steve hadn’t realized he needed. Suddenly, he wasn’t cold. Wasn’t fighting pain with every breath. Wasn’t too tired to move and burning from the inside out. He was walking sunny halls teeming with life, passing busy classrooms, noting ‘Jennifer Hayes’ at her locker (he pictured a blonde), seeing brightly colored fliers for the Snow Ball. It was a vision based on story and memory and he knew it wasn’t real, but it felt it.

The light turned into the cafeteria and Steve had to force himself to remember to check his steps for vines, so enamored was he in the world they were building for him, in this gift Will was giving him.

‘Dustin, are you in here?’

‘Gimmie a second!’

‘What are you even doing?’

‘I told you, I’m looking for pudding! For stamina!’

‘...Stamina?’

‘It means energy. Fuel.’

‘She’s gotta have it in here somewhere. Don’t just sit there, come help me!’

Mike and Lucas grumbled, but four sets of footsteps followed the light to the kitchen, so Steve followed them there, too. Steve could hear the clatter of cans being moved, refrigerator doors opening and shutting, silverware clattering.

‘Yeah, she’s definitely going to keep pudding with the forks.’

‘Uh, hello? What are you going to eat the pudding with, your fingers?’

‘Ew, gross, asparagus. I’m packing lunch Monday.’

‘Me too.’

‘What’s wrong with asparagus?’

‘Did you seriously just ask that? It’s disgusti-’

‘Aha! Found it!’

‘Where was it?’

‘In the fridge! Help me grab some!’

‘Coming!’

‘Comi- hey, Will,’ said Nancy’s brother, tone laced with concern. It made Steve’s stomach and smile drop. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Y-yeah.’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing!’

‘Friends don’t lie,’ said Elle with all the seriousness of a child.

‘Sorry, Steve… you probably won’t want to open the fridge.’

Steve wished they had a code for it’s okay, but settled on a slow double blink of the lights. He was definitely not putting himself through that again, but there were plenty of cans in the kitchen. Meats were generally quicker to spoil, so he avoided the corned beef and opted for kidney beans instead. And maybe he’d been a little interested in the pudding, but Steve figured it was more from the kids’ enthusiasm than the product itself.

‘Oh boy, Elle, are you in for a treat!’ cheered Dusty… Dustin.

‘Come on,’ Mike said, and Steve could picture him taking Elle’s hand and leading her back to the tables. It was cute, the way he looked after her. Steve remembered his middle school crushes with amused fondness. He’d felt so big then, so grown when he showed off to Abby Davis, acting like he was too cool to blink in her direction, grinning like an idiot when he heard her giggling with Anna Jacobi when they thought he couldn’t hear. Mike was already way ahead of him as far as making his intentions known. Unfortunately for him, Elle seemed a little oblivious. Poor kid.

They settled around one of the round cafeteria tables. The one they picked was covered in vines, which they had no way of knowing, so Steve perched on top of an adjacent one, resting his feet on the bench so he could face them.

Steve heard the scrape of foil peeling back and the children chatted about the likelihood of getting a snow day and something about stolen salt. It didn’t make much sense to Steve, but it was just nice to hear their voices. He swallowed a cold, ashy mouthful of rotted beans, chewing without interest.

Hopper and Mrs. Byers were coming. He had to make sure he had at least enough energy to make the trip back with them. He probably could as it was, but… but just in case. He drank a pouch of Capri-Sun, absently tearing the little plastic straw covering into strips.

‘-ight join our next campaign!’

‘What?’

‘No way!’

‘That’s awesome!’

‘What would he be?’

‘A fighter?’

‘Paladin!’

‘What, are you crazy? He’s definitely a fighter.’

Oh. Steve knew this one. He hopped off the table and tapped the dormant flashlight twice.

‘No?’

‘See? He’s totally a Paladin.’

Jesus, these kids didn’t even let Will get a word in, did they? He tapped twice again.

‘No,’ said Elle.

‘Oh come on! Then what is he?’

‘We talked about it sometimes,’ Will said. He was the only one whose mouth didn’t sound full – had he eaten? ‘I think he should be a ranger.’

‘What is… ranger?’

Mike made a sound of objection until Elle showed an interest and then launched into an explanation on rangers. His voice was animated, and he clearly knew a lot about the game, but he was surprisingly patient with the girl, clarifying easily where she had questions. They were good at explaining things, Will and his friends. When teaching Steve about their game, Will had never been patronizing, even when it was clear he knew way more at twelve than Steve did now.

‘You’d be a mage, Elle,’ said Dustin around a mouth of pudding. She must’ve looked like she wasn’t sure, because he continued, ‘A magic user. They can cast spells and they’re the most powerful out of everybody. Will likes to play magic users too, he could help you pick spells.’

‘Oh!’ Will sounded surprised at the sudden attention. ‘If you want! We could pick ones that balance the party out. So you’ll want some good support spells…’

Steve listened as he finished the rest of his meal. Elle didn’t ask many questions, but seemed to be absorbing the information, imprinting it into memory. Steve thought maybe, somehow… she was as intimately familiar with loneliness as he.

That was further solidified when the topic eventually changed to the other, non dragon killing things they might all do together once Steve was back (they said it like such a sure thing). Their conversations… where the hell had Elle come from that the promise of regular food and – and a bed was something extraordinary?

‘...they’ll take care of you. They’ll be like your new parents,’ Mike promised.

Steve’s pulse skipped. He thought of Elle’s sad eyes, a fuzzy dream-like memory of her in a faded, scratchy gown, her uncertain speech, her buzzed hair, the disheveled state of her when she’d appeared before him hours ago. They kids had talked about the people from the lab, their interest in Elle, but Steve had thought… he didn’t know, just that they had maybe recently discovered a kid with powers and wanted to use them, not… not…

The image growing in his mind was one that left him just as cold as the world around him. The kids – because how many times was the universe going to remind him that these were just fucking kids – kept their conversation light, their chatter focusing instead on the little parts of their lives they wanted to share with Elle – and with him. Movie nights and buttery popcorn, pizza and arcade games, jumping in piles of leaves and just… living. Steve wanted that. It seemed like Elle did, too.

‘Nancy,’ Mike murmured, and the conversation died suddenly. ‘Hold on, I’ll be right back.’

Steve didn’t remember the kids telling any of the teens they were going on an adventure to find pudding, so Nancy, Jonathan, and Barbara were probably worried.

Will breathed a sigh of deep relief.

‘See? They’re back,’ Lucas said. Back from where?

‘They still shouldn'tve gone.’

Gone where? What was Steve missing here?

‘Probably not,’ Dustin agreed, ‘But they did, and they’re okay, so let’s just go say hi. My mom always says-’

‘Guys! Guys!’ Mike’s voice was urgent, and Steve was instantly on alert.

‘What is it?’ asked Lucas.

‘They found us,’ Mike said, panting.

The table screeched as the kids scrambled, Dustin and Lucas swearing.

‘Come on,’ Will said quietly, probably to Elle.

‘We’ve gotta go!’

‘Steve, come on!’

What the fuck was happening?

Footsteps scrambled from the room, the light bobbing erratically. Distantly, Steve heard the crash of doors slamming open. Steve followed as best he could, heart racing.

‘Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit-’

‘Move!’

‘This way!’

‘We can go out by the art room!’

It was a good idea – there was an emergency exit that way, and the alarm on it never worked. Steve had used it to cut class with Tommy and Carol all the time. The kids veered down a side hall. He couldn’t keep up with them well, the vines making it so he had to scramble his steps, and he was falling behind. Not that he could do much anyway. Steve couldn’t even scout ahead and warn them because even if he could hear which direction was safe, he had no way to tell them. He was useless.

‘How did they find us?’

‘I don’t know, but they knew we were in the gym.’

‘Lando.’

‘What do you mean, Lando?’

‘We got set up!’

‘Who would set us up?’

‘I don’t know! But how else would they know?’

‘Maybe they-’

A door slammed open, and two spots of light much like Will’s flared ahead.

A man’s voice called, ‘Got ’em!’

Five sets of feet skid to a halt, and Mike yelled, ‘Go, go, go, go, go!’

‘Shit!’

‘Come on!’

The kids scrambled, wheeling back towards Steve. Christ. Christ. Men were shouting, distorted echoes of voices filling the crumbling halls, getting closer. Shit! He lunged at the light, swiping his hand through it as Will ran past. It flared.

Will noticed, bless him. ‘Wait! Not that wa-’

‘There they are.’

‘Freeze!’

Mike shouted for them to turn around and go back, but it didn’t matter. There wasn’t a direction they could run, Steve realized. The echoes were coming from everywhere, the shouts louder and present. They were surrounded.

A cluster of steps approached, the sharp click of heels a stark contrast to the heavy thud of boots. Three lights danced in front of him. The children froze and Steve heard the click of something metallic – the cocking of a gun. What the fuck?

A woman’s voice spoke. It was cold, calculating in that way Steve had heard his entire life, and maybe just a little surprised. ‘Will Byers.’

Two more men were approaching from behind the group, blocking off any escape. Jesus, they were just kids. What did these people want? What would they do? Something… heavy stirred in the air, a pressure in his ears like diving to the bottom of a pool. The lights flared, pulsing.

There was a wet sound, like something being crushed, choking, and four heavy thuds. The lights dropped to the floor along with… God, what was happening? What was happening?

Something else dropped to the floor, this one next to him.

‘Elle, are you okay? Elle! Something’s wrong.’

Shit. Elle.

‘She’s just drained,’ said Dustin.

Will made a quiet whimper, and Steve honed in on it. ‘Is she okay?’

‘No, no, no, she won’t wake up. Elle!’ Mike cried. She must’ve used her powers to… Christ! ‘Elle! Elle!”

Steve could hear more footsteps approaching and tapped the light urgently. Please notice. God, they needed to get out. Steve couldn’t help them here. There was nothing he could do, no enemy to fight, just footsteps and floating lights.

‘She’s barely breathing.’

‘We gotta go,’ hissed Lucas.

‘Okay, help me gra-’

‘Leave her,’ a new voice commanded. ‘Step away from the child.’

‘No! You want her, you have to kill us first.’

Steve’s heart seized. “Mike!” he couldn't help shouting. Did they not realize the situation they were in? Christ, he was encouraging dangerous people to fucking kill him and his friends. People who didn’t seem to have any issue hurting children.

‘That’s right!’

‘Y-yeah!’

‘Eat shit!

Fuck. Fuck. Don’t join him. Steve could barely breathe. Shit shit shit shit. There were more heavy footsteps, this time behind. Soon they were on the kids, fabric rustling, the sounds of struggle.

‘Oh, no! No, no!’

‘Hey! Let go!’

‘No! No! Get off me!'

‘Let go of me!’

‘Eleven?’ the man asked from next to Steve. He was unconcerned with the boys – Steve didn’t even think he’d noticed Will among them. He hoped he wouldn’t. ‘Eleven, can you hear me? Eleven?’

Steve didn’t know what he’d expected, maybe an agent crackling to life on the other side of a radio, maybe for one of the men to respond, but never a child’s voice – never Elle, voice broken and small, asking, ‘Papa?’

The man fucking cooed. ‘Yes, yes, it’s your papa. I’m here now.’ It made Steve's skin crawl.

‘No!’

‘Get offa me!’

‘Let her go! Let her go, you bastard!’

Elle – Eleven? – whimpered, and Steve raged. There was no way this man was her father. He felt sick. The man whispered syrupy sweet platitudes, some fucking promises to make her well again when the only reason she wasn’t was because he’s brought fucking armed goons to come after children in the dead of night.

Something clattered down the hall again. Steve had been so focused on the sounds of struggle that he hadn’t heard…

Dragging steps. Scraping claws. A low growl.

The Demogorgon.

Heart in his throat, Steve shoved his hand through the spots of light behind where he figured the children might be, trying to get their attention. Shit. Shit, shit. He couldn’t fucking say anything. He had to try.

‘Bad,’ Elle moaned, and she sounded so fucking fragile, so different from that commanding presence that had ordered him to stay without hesitation. ‘Bad.’

Will sucked in a breath. ‘G-guys?’

‘Mike,’ cried Elle. ‘Mike. Mike.’

A screech cut through the air and Steve lurched back instinctively. He could see the lights starting to flare, the sounds getting closer. Paling, he reached back and readied the bat from his bag, for all the good it would do. He was in no condition to-

‘Blood,’ said Will and Mike simultaneously.

The Demogorgon burst from a side corridor, coiled and full of wrath. Its limbs were blackened and oozing, the smell of burnt and rot slamming into Steve. It screeched in outrage, charging. It would kill him, Steve thought grimly. It would kill him here, and the kids would never know, not until it came for them next.

‘What?’

‘Blood.’

Steve gripped the bat tighter, palms sweating. The Demogorgon slammed into one of the hallway walls. It screeched, reared back, and slammed into it again.

What- no. No.

Whatever Elle had done on the other side, the creature had decided Steve wasn’t a main course dish. It slammed into the wall again. Steve shook. He couldn’t – he – fuck, the kids were on the other side. Fuck. Fuck.

“Hey!” he shouted at the Demogorgon.

It slammed into the wall again.

“Hey!” he screamed again, louder.

It slammed into the wall again, concrete and plaster flying. It was breaking through. Swearing, Steve sent a silent prayer to whoever the fuck might be listening and launched forward with a cry. The Demogorgon threw itself into the wall again, ignoring him completely. Steve swung down, but he’d telegraphed too much, and the creature swiped backwards at him like he were a fly. He staggered back, barely avoiding a sweeping claw, and the Demogorgon slammed into the wall again, tearing through.

Steve leapt up, knees shaking, and immediately had to throw himself to the floor as a spray of bullets tore through the now broken wall, sending plaster flying over his head. Steve could hear screams, screams of the dying, and gunfire, and the Demogorgon, children shouting. Bullets were still flying, and Steve dragged himself across the floor in an army crawl, bat in one hand, choking on toxic air and plaster dust.

Bullets stopped flying through the air above him, but the screams continued. Steve pulled himself, shaking, to his feet, staring at the wall in front of him. It lay broken and destroyed, crumbled remnants which once read CUBS with pride. Through it… a mirrored hallway.

Hawkins.

It… it was a gate. A thin membrane oozed from the shattered wall, not yet glowing red, too fresh to have sealed. Pieces of it stretched towards each other like a living thing, a wound seeking to close. Screams cut through the air, sharp and no longer distorted through time and space, but real, and oh God. He had to get the kids out of there.

Steve tucked the bat back in his backpack and dove for the wall, pushing through the choking, cloying slime. He clawed at it the way he and Will had in Will’s bedroom, and Steve didn’t fucking care about anything except getting through. His lungs burned, pulse thundering in his ears, and one hand broke free. He thrust the other through the opening, pulling himself out, inch by inch. With a cry, he broke through, sucking in huge gulps of air, and tumbled to the floor.

Steve forced himself to stand. The room spun and he fought a rush of vertigo from the sudden change in equilibrium. The air seared his skin, sweltering like deep summers at the pool even though it was a November night in an unheated building.

He swayed.

He... He was... He was out.

It was stifling and disorienting and he trembled where he stood, blinking spots from his eyes. Screams filled the halls, so much louder on the right side of the world, and Steve could hear the clatter of bullets in the distance.

No.

Fear squeezed at his lungs. Now that the room had stopped spinning, Steve realized he stood in a sea of corpses.

The walls were stained with blood, the bodies on the floor leaking out from their eyes, ears, and mouths into pools of red. Their deaths had not been gentle. No one deserved to die like that and no child deserved to see it. God, they’d seen this. They-

For one paralyzing moment, Steve had to – had to check – But there were no small forms among the dead, and Steve remembered how to breathe. A spray of bullets exploded down the halls, the lights seizing, halls ringing with shouts, and above them, Steve could hear the roar that haunted every nightmare he’d had for three long fucking months. The kids. It was after the kids.

He ran, worn shoes skidding on the blood slicked tile, leaping over discarded limbs like he would vines and it was so much worse because holy fuck the kids the kids – where were the kids? He rounded a corner and narrowly missed a bullet, the heat scorching past his cheek and smashing into the wall behind him.

“Jesus!” he cried on instinct, throwing himself past that hall. He felt sick. Dizzy and out of breath and Jesus Christ, Jesus fucking Christ were these people even watching where they were shooting? There were fucking kids – a groaning man was crawling towards him on the floor, uniform stained dark and saturated with blood. His leg was hanging on by maybe a muscle, maybe just the fabric left and Steve’s stomach lurched. Fuck fuck shit fuck –

“H-hang on, man,” he croaked. He dropped to his knees, trembling, but what the fuck was he supposed to do? “Hang on,” he said uselessly. The soldier was crying openly, staring up at him like he fucking knew there wasn’t a shot in the dark, and maybe there wasn’t. Steve grabbed at the man’s belt and yanked it from his uniform, sliding it under the ruined leg and around the thigh. He pulled it tight and the man screamed. Steve looped the belt as best as he could, but he wasn’t a fucking doctor and it was so slick with blood he had no idea if it’d hold. “Listen – the kids–”

The man’s breathing was uneven, his eyes were unfocused, but he lifted a trembling hand and pointed it down a side hallway Steve would have blown right past.

“Thank you,” breathed Steve. More men were shouting, some urgent and some in pain. With a sinking feeling, Steve realized the only gunshots he could hear were coming from down that same corridor. He tore down the hall, whipping his bat from his backpack, and cursed himself for not grabbing any of the unused guns earlier. There wasn’t time to double back now, not when he could hear a garbled scream cutting off, a sudden silence where gunfire had once been.

Oh God.

He nearly tripped over a soldier slumped against the wall, chest carved open. Just beyond him, a door was thrown open, and -

The familiar roar.

“Go, go, go, go!”

Nancy’s brother.

Shit. Shit. The kids were in that room. Steve shook away his vertigo with sheer force of will and ordered his body to keep fucking moving. With one final push, Steve skid to a stop in the entryway of his old science classroom.

Will, Jolene clutched in one hand, was helping Elle climb down from one of the tables. Blood flowed freely from her nose and even her ears and Christ she was so little in an oversized flannel. Behind them, three boys crowded together, screaming and scrambling for something in a backpack.

Growling with intent and between him and five terrified children, the Demogorgon advanced.

---

The sharp staccato of guns cracked through the air as they ran, sneakers skidding on waxed floors. The school lights were flaring erratically, dropping them in and out of darkness.

“This way!” Will shouted over the noise, and they all sprinted as best they could.

“Come on, come on!”

“Oh my God, oh my God,” Dustin said, struggling with El behind them. She was stirring in his arms, eyes unfocused.

Screams were ringing through the school, men shouting. Will squeezed the flashlight, trying not to cry. Steve had been trying to warn them, he was sure. Where was he now? Had the Demog-

A soldier stepped into their path, blocking the way to the exit they’d been heading towards. His gun was trained down the hall, arms shaking with the recoil of the spray of bullets he was firing. Will made the mistake of following with his eyes, just in time to see mottled flesh and gleaming claws launching from a high point on the walls, using them to spring itself onto a soldier in a spray of blood.

“Come on!” Mike’s hand closed around Will’s wrist and pulled, and Will realized he must have frozen, the image seared into his eyes. “Will!”

“In here!” cried Lucas, throwing open the door to Mr. Clarke’s room.

“Sorry. Hold on, we’re almost there,” Dustin was saying to El as he staggered into the room, arms shaking. “We’re almost there.”

They piled in, Lucas locking the door behind him. They helped Dustin ease El onto one of the back tables. Her head listed to the side, eyes searching their faces. She reached for Mike, and he took her hands. “He’s gone. The bad man’s gone.”

As much as Will wanted to join in comforting her, they had to… had to get out of here. He looked around the room, searching. Steve’s voice shot through his mind, a memory of when the Demogorgon had cornered them in his house. Get out the window! Will ran to the wall, climbing on the counter. “Guys, help me!” he shouted, pulling at the blinds.

Dustin scrambled over, and they both tried to pry the window open. It didn’t budge. “It won’t open!”

“Did you unlock it?” demanded Lucas, eyes blown wide. The screams were getting louder. Closer.

“Of course we unlocked it! It’s stuck!”

“Then break it!”

It was a good idea. Will waved an arm at Lucas. “Grab a chair!”

Lucas grabbed a chair. “Move!”

Will and Dustin scrambled off the counter, and Lucas smashed at the window. The chair bounced back, not even making a dent. The windows were thick. It might take a few tries.

Will was about to grab at another chair when the world outside the room fell suddenly silent.

Dustin stared at the door, face pale. “I-is, is… is it dead?”

Something cold and heavy was settling over Will, the hairs on his neck standing up. No, he thought, looking at El and the blood dried on her face, ad the proof of how far she would push herself to help them. With shaking hands, Will set the flashlight down on the counter and pulled out Jolene.

“Will?” Lucas asked.

The door crashed into the room, splintered wood flying. Dripping blood and viscera, the Demogorgon crouched in the doorway, the tense line of its muscles predatory and full of intent.

They were out of time.

“Go, go, go, go!” shouted Mike, scrabbling back, spinning towards Lucas.

“Get the wrist rocket,” Dustin screamed, “Get the wrist rocket now!”

El was still on the table, trying to slide her legs down. She was closest to the door. She was closest to the door and she was covered in blood. “El!” Shaking, Will rushed forward. He grabbed at the fabric of Mr. Hopper’s flannel.

“Will,” she whispered. She’d been crying, tears choking her voice.

The Demogorgon screeched, the piercing sound making his heart slam against his ribs. Mike, Lucas, and Dustin were shouting behind them, frantically tearing through Lucas’ backpack.

“Come on,” he said, tugging at El until she was upright. She was swaying and disoriented, but she grabbed at his arm and started to climb down from the table.

“Get the rocks!”

“I’m getting the rocks!”

“Hey!” shouted a different voice. Will’s head shot up in recognition, searching.

The lights cut and in a blur of movement, something slammed into the Demogorgon, sending it stumbling back. When the lights flashed again, Will could see him clearly. Coated in blood and panting with effort, sweat beading down his flushed face, was-

“Steve!”

The Demogorgon roared, sweeping at Steve with its dark stained claws. He ducked under them, too close to leap out of range, and swung at its knees.

“No way,” Mike exclaimed.

Dustin and Lucas clamored behind him. “Badass.”

“That’s Steve?”

“Yeah!”

“Get ‘im!”

The Demogorgon slammed its arms down, bellowing in outrage, and Steve threw up his arms, blocking the strike with his bat. The Demogorgon’s forearms sank into the nails of the bat and it screeched, lurching away. The bat, still embedded in its arms, ripped from Steve’s grip, leaving him weaponless.

Will’s mouth went completely dry. The Demogorgon wasn’t interested in them anymore, not when Steve was next to it, covered in blood Will prayed wasn’t his. Not when it hated Steve, had hunted Steve, apparently for months. The muscles in its neck flexed as its head swiveled towards Steve.

Dustin sucked in a breath, and Will could feel Jolene heavy in his hand. Steve didn’t have a weapon, but Will did. He started forward, only to be jolted back before he could take a full step. He looked at his arm where El’s fingers twisted into his jacket.

“El, let go! We have to help him!”

Her face was pained when she gave the smallest shake of her head, but her jaw was set and she didn’t let go. “Not safe,” she whispered.

The Demogorgon sprang forward, throwing itself bodily at Steve and lashing out with both arms. The bat ripped from its flesh with a wet squelch and clattered to the floor as Steve yelped, throwing himself to the side. He crashed against one of the desks at the front of the room, tumbling to the floor.

Mike gasped, finally breaking out of whatever shock he’d been in. “We have to help!”

“Come on!” Dustin dumped out his entire bag in a clatter of supplies, tired of feeling around for ammunition.

“Give me one!” Lucas shouted.

Dustin snatched a rock from the table and slammed it into Lucas’ waiting palm. Lucas slotted it into the wrist rocket, pulled back, and released. It sailed through the air, clattering against the side of the Demogorgon’s head as it made another swipe for Steve.

It was enough of a distraction that its arm went wide, just catching the fabric of Steve’s backpack as he rolled away.

“Steve!” Will shouted. El’s shaking hand still latched onto him like a vice. “El, please!”

“H-he will try to protect you.”

Oh.

It wasn’t safe for Steve.

Mike was shouting frantically, Dustin and Lucas still scrambling to reload the wrist rocket. Lucas launched another rock and Will sucked in a breath, the metallic tang of blood sharp in the air, and flung his knife towards Steve, sending it sliding across the floor.

It hit the leg of a desk, spinning off course and away from Steve. Will heard El’s breath hitch, and suddenly it spun back on course. Steve stretched out his arm, fingers closing around the hilt, and when the Demogorgon stepped towards him after batting away Lucas’ rock, Steve slashed at the back of its foot, cutting into the tendon there.

The sound the Demogorgon released had all of them throwing their hands over their ears, heads ringing.

Steve rolled away from another swipe of claws, fingers closing around the fallen bat. Wincing, he staggered to his feet. “Can you get out?” he called. His voice sounded terrible, cracking around the edges.

“It’s stuck!” Lucas shouted back, loading the next rock Dustin thrust at him into his wrist rocket.

Steve swore, then swore louder when the pale head turned towards them at the sound of Lucas’ voice. “No you don’t.” He swung the bat again and the Demogorgon reared back with a shriek. Another rock clattered into the side of its head.

“Keep going!” Mike shouted, thrusting another rock at Lucas. “Kill it! Kill it!”

“It’s not doing anything-”

“It’s making it miss Steve, so it’s doing something!”

“Okay, give me another one!”

Steve waited, letting the Demogorgon snarl at him with all its grinning teeth. He was puffing for breath and Will saw him shake his head, matted hair flipping back into place. And it had seemed, for a moment, like he was going to win this final confrontation. But Steve’s face was twisted in pain and he was listing to the side like Will’s dad after too many beers. When the Demogorgon lunged for him again, he barely stepped out of the way. He might not have made it at all, but the Demogorgon must have been off balance from the cut to its leg because it stumbled as if it had been pushed.

It whirled back with a cry of rage and slashed at Steve, claws gleaming. It was close – too close because Steve had barely managed to dodge, and its claws ripped through Steve’s bat. He held firm, and instead of it sailing from his grip, the top half severed completely, flying against the wall with a sharp thunk.

“Shit!” yelled Dustin.

“El,” begged Will, horrified. She could help. She had to help. Or – or let him help. Let them do anything other than stand uselessly back while Steve–

“Hit it again! Come on!”

Lucas shot another rock at it, and the Demogorgon growled, its head jerking toward them. It stepped towards the center of the room.

“Hey!” yelled Steve, an edge of panic in his voice. He hurled the stump of his bat at it. It clattered to the floor uselessly.

“Go, go, go, go!” Mike was yelling.

“Last one!”

Lucas nodded, carefully taking the rock from Dustin. He took careful aim at the advancing monster. Will felt El squeeze his hand and let go, stepping away from him. When Lucas fired his last rock, something heavy settled through the room, and the Demogorgon crashed into the chalkboard, long limbs flailing.

Mike started, wide eyes following El, taking stock of the fresh blood. “Eleven, stop!”

Mike tried to run after her, but she threw out a hand and he flew back, skidding against the cabinets with a scream more of shock than pain.

“Wait!” Will cried, trying to grab at her. Blood was pooling in her ears, trailing down the side of her face and Will realized with a start that she had been helping Steve in little bursts the whole time – a swipe gone wide, a pivot too slow, Steve hitting with more force than his broken body should have allowed. But she’d been drained – so drained – and Will didn’t know if she’d be able to actually hold the Demogorgon.

She crossed the room in slow, deliberate steps to where the Demogorgon thrashed. It wailed, fighting against an invisible hold. El turned to them, something final in her face. Mike seemed to see it too, tears shining on his face, a familiar pain twisting his features. And Will knew that pain, had felt it viscerally when Steve had damned himself to the Upside Down in Will’s stead.

“Kid, El, wait-”

“Goodbye, Mike,” she said softly.

Behind her, the Demogorgon thrashed. And El… El was distracted. The Demogorgon surged from the wall, pushing off with its feet, long arms swiping for her.

They all screamed, horrified, and El spun around – too slow, too slow, too-

Steve threw himself forward, leaping onto the Demogorgon’s back with Jolene in his fist, stabbing the knife into the monster’s chest with his arms wrapped from behind.

El scrambled back, eyes wide, searching.

“Do it!”

Not again.

“No!” Will cried, dashing forward. Two pairs of hands caught him by the arms and around the waist, pulling him back.

The Demogorgon screeched, sending the lights spasming harshly, casting the room in writhing shadows. It swiped an arm back, narrowly missing Steve. He twisted the knife, grunting with effort, and clung. “It has to stop!”

El flinched as if struck.

No no no no no no no no no.

“Steve! Steve, stop! Please!” Will fought against Dustin and Lucas, voice shrill and broken by sobs. “Stop! Stop trying to die!”

And Steve didn't even refute it, didn't even say he wasn't trying to die. He just gave Will a sad little smile, like this was what was always meant to happen, like he wasn't just throwing his life away for them, for Will, again – like this was right and good and just a normal, expected goodbye. And then he looked at El who had turned to look back at them all with her too-old eyes. It was the only time Will had ever seen regret on Steve’s face and it wasn't even for himself.

El breathed deeply, jutting out her chin and squaring her shoulders. “No more.”

“No!” Will sobbed. No, this wasn’t right! Why wasn’t he doing anything? Why weren’t any of them doing anything? “Please.”

El’s eyes slid past his to Steve’s, who still struggled to hold the thrashing Demogorgon. She held his gaze with the same regret, eyes shining. Steve’s chin bobbed in one short, near imperceptible nod.

And then she lifted her hand.

The Demogorgon roared, swiping at its back, and El screamed, and the claws slashed back, and then Steve screamed, startled and pained, but kept holding on. Will fought to get to them, but Dustin and Lucas and now even Mike grabbed at him, and he was so tired of people keeping him back when Steve needed someone, anyone, to care about him first, and then they were all screaming. Blood poured from El's eyes, from her nose, her ears, from between the Demogorgon's claws, from Steve, and then the Demogorgon was dissolving into clouds of ash, and the air was cold, cold, cold. Will strained to see through the swirling gray flurries, but he couldn’t track anything through the pulsing darkness in the flashing lights. When the screams stopped and the blackened swirls cleared, only a broken chalkboard remained. There was no El, no Demogorgon, and no Steve.

It was quiet.

The world was quiet and still and warm again, except for Will, who was still cold inside and still screaming and didn't think he'd ever stop.

Chapter Text

The gym was empty.

Of course it was.

Jim’s skin prickled with foreboding and something twisted uncomfortably in his gut. He knew it had been too easy. He and Joyce had made their way through the Upside Down slower than he would have liked, movements slowed each time they heard howls, time lost ducking underneath barren canopies and torn awnings at the beat of wings. But slow or not, they’d made it unobstructed. He should’ve known there’d be a catch.

A dark undulating cloud circled the school from above, frenzied cries piercing the frozen world. The winged creatures made no move to approach. Like they were afraid. Like they were waiting.

“Maybe… he went to the church,” Joyce suggested after they had circled the empty space. It was half a question, one she didn’t seem to believe herself.

But it wasn’t just Steve’s absence that struck him. The gym was too quiet, none of the chatter of young voices. Will had said they should be able to hear through to Hawkins, but the the sound of his footsteps rang hollow through the space. He wouldn’tve stayed in one place either, if he’d been one of the kids, Jim tried to console himself. “Maybe they went wandering. Let’s-”

An agonized shout resounded through the quiet gym, both distant and sharp.

“What was that?” Joyce hissed, head snapping toward the doors leading into the school.

“Joyce, wait-!”

She was already rushing toward the doors, throwing them open. The only sight that greeted them was an empty hallway, crumbling with more vines and broken plaster, lockers hanging from ruined and rusted hinges. Jim could hear the distant sobbing of men, overlapping cries of torment.

Something had happened here.

“Hopper,” Joyce whispered, desperation shaking her voice. “What- W-where are-”

Jim fucking Hopper had happened.

Those other kids, those boys? You’re gonna leave them alone. Then I’ll tell you where your little science experiment is.

What choice did he have, when Joyce had been ripped from his side to the mercy of men who had given her a drowned corpse instead of a son and watched her crumble? What choice did he have when the only way to reach Harrington was through the gate only those men could access? What choice did he have when there were three other boys on their radar who they might be just as tempted to make disappear?

It wasn’t a choice at all.

Six lives for the cost of one and his soul.

Or so he’d thought. The boys were meant to be safe. Jim had consoled himself with that knowledge and the belief that after the immediate danger had passed, they could find a way to help that small girl he’d left swathed in his flannel overshirt. She was an asset to the people at that lab; she wouldn’t harmed. The boys wouldn’t be harmed. Everybody wins.

Except the halls of a school were filled with the dead and dying. No one was winning anything here.

Gun at the ready, Jim shone his flashlight through the barren halls and stepped forward. “We’re going to find them,” he said, voice stronger than he felt. He stepped over a winding cluster of vines and into the halls. The groans and sobs were still distant, like the quiet conversations of an upstairs neighbor. Joyce was breathing erratically next to him, eyes wide and horrified. He grabbed her hand and squeezed.

“Joyce,” he said, “I need you with me, okay? We’re going to find them and we’re going to find Steve, and we’re going to get him out of here. But I need you with me.”

She took several shuddering breaths. “What happened here, Hop?”

“I don’t know.” It wasn’t even a lie. This sounded like a goddamn battlefield, not a quiet extraction. Something had gone wrong, but what could have led to this?

“I- Will!” Joyce swept past him, fingers tightening around his and pulling. “That’s Will!”

Jim didn’t know how she’d heard him from by the gym, but about four hallways later, he heard a keening wail broken by bitter weeping. Oh God. They hurried after the muffled sound, lumbering and awkward in their oversized protection suits.

‘Will, we have to go.’

‘She’s not here, Mike. Come on, we gotta-’

Dustin and Lucas sounded so goddamn young, voices breaking as they tried to appeal to their friends. Jim could barely hear Wheeler’s hiccuping over Will’s unrestrained sobs.

‘Please, Will. I’m sorry.’ Dustin sounded close to tears himself. ‘I’m sorry, but we’ve- w-we – we can’t stay here.’

They stopped outside a classroom, its door hanging from its hinges, obstructing the view. He stepped in front of Joyce, trying to hide the way his hands were shaking, and pushed it open.

Harrington and Eleven lay crumpled on the floor, clothes soaking up blood.

Neither was moving.

“Oh, God!” Joyce cried, pushing past Jim. Jim who was frozen, eyes seeing a different girl lying pale and still. Joyce dropped between the two forms, knees nearly crashing onto the splayed hands that looked as if they’d been reaching for each other, fingers almost touching.

Distantly, Jim could hear the overlapping voices of the children on the other side of the world, calling for the girl, for Steve, begging each other to leave whatever nightmare they’d seen behind.

He had done this.

This was on him. Christ, he’d tried to save them and instead he’d-

“Hopper!”

He crashed to his knees beside her, a wet thump in the blood seeping from underneath Harrington’s mangled backpack. “Don’t do this to me, kid.” Jim tried to undo both straps from the ruined bag, but his fingers kept fumbling the material, clunky gloves slick with blood.

“Is he…?”

The boy was painfully thin, hair clumped and matted, right hand curled loosely around a small knife stained black with blood. Jim swore, ripping the gloves from his hands and tossing them aside. Please don’t let it be too late.

Heart in his throat, he pressed his fingers to Harrington’s neck. A murmur of a pulse thrummed against his fingers, thready but present. He nearly wept with relief. “Check on her,” he ordered, panic clipping his words. Joyce, bless her, didn’t call him on it or on the tremble in his arms as he undid the straps and peeled the bag away from Harrington. It had been cut all the way through, long gouges carved through the bag, through the leather of the boy’s jacket and into his flesh. Jim swore again and fumbled forward, easing the knife from Harrington’s slack grip. He nearly dropped it when the girl sputtered violently next to him, coughing and gasping for air.

“That’s it, honey!” Joyce reached out for her, drawing the girl into her arms.

The girl whimpered, shivering and clinging to Joyce, and a knot of tension released somewhere in his chest. He glanced over at them both, at the girl so small in Joyce’s arms, dark eyes old and afraid. Later, Jim.

“Get me bandages!” he barked, using the knife to cut the shredded jacket and sweater underneath from Harrington’s back.

“Steve,” the girl whispered, pushing the name out with all the air in her lungs. She scrambled over Joyce’s lap to his side, taking his limp hand in hers. He didn’t stir.

“Joyce!”

“Did we bring any?”

“Of course we – shit – left pouch!” He peeled the fabric away, exposing the ragged gashes ripped into Harrington’s skin. They cut diagonally across his back through an old bandage wrapped around his waist and to the opposite shoulder. They didn’t look deep, but they were still bleeding steadily. Shit. Shit. That backpack was probably the only reason Harrington was still alive. Christ but there was a lot of blood. “Your left!”

Joyce thrust a bundle of gauze pads at him. They were smaller than he would have liked, and when Jim pressed them to Harrington’s back, he could feel the kid’s goddamned spine through the fabric. They soaked through almost immediately. He pressed another layer down.

“I need more!”

“There aren’t more!” Joyce cried.

The girl stared wordlessly at the latest layer of gauze blooming red under Jim’s hands, her face wet with tears.

“Get them from mine!”

Joyce fumbled through the pouch at his hip. “Here!”

Jim tossed aside the top layers of gauze and pressed two new rows down. The bleeding wasn’t stopping. “Come on, kid,” he said through gritted teeth. Not now. Not after everything. Not before he’d had a chance to make this right. He pressed harder.

Harrington spasmed under his fingers, a rolling shudder traveling through his limbs.

“El, honey-”

Jim spared a moment to look up at the girl, still pressing down with all his weight. She was gripping Harrington’s hand so hard her knuckles were turning white. She had that intense look in her eyes, and Jim realized with alarm that her nose was leaking fresh blood.

Harrington spasmed again, a low whine bubbling in his throat.

“El…”

Her eyes were reddening, a visible sign of whatever effort she was exerting. The last layer of gauze was still seeping through, but so much slower than it had been. Harrington jerked again under his hands, breath quickening, eyes rolling under their lids.

“El, honey, stop,” said Joyce suddenly, pulling her hand from Harrington’s. The girl’s ears were shining with fresh blood and he could see dried stains crusted under her eyes. How far had she been pushing herself? “That’s enough. You’ve done enough, baby.”

Harrington sucked in a shuddering breath, eyes snapping open. He jolted once, back flexing under Jim’s hands, and cried out, voice breaking. Jesus. “That’s it, Harrington. I know it feels like shit, but hang in there.”

Bleary eyes flitted to Jim’s face. “Hop…?”

Thank you thank you thank you thank you “You don’t do anything by halves, do you, kid?”

Harrington blinked, trying to force his eyes into focus. It didn’t seem like he was altogether successful, though, because he kept blinking rapidly. “You came.”

Oh.

“Aw, kid.”

“Of course we did, sweetie,” said Joyce, voice thick. “We’re so sorry we couldn’t get here sooner.”

“...kids?”

Jesus Christ. The kid was bleeding out and his first thought was to ask after everyone else. Had he always been this way, or had three months of isolation broken him down until he believed he was nothing? Jim bit back a swear. “They’re alright, Harrington.” They’d probably left the classroom since Will’s bitter sobs had faded away, and Jim was grateful that Steve was at least spared that much.

Harrington sighed, the movement pulling at his skin. His breath hitched and he groaned, eyes squeezing shut. Jim glanced up at Joyce imploringly and bless that woman, she understood, pulling out a roll of bandages. That the lab felt the need to supply them with so many should probably have been an indication of their chances of survival, but right now Jim would not be complaining. Harrington rode out whatever wave of pain that sweeping through him, going almost slack under Jim’s hands, and Jim hated that he was about to make it a whole lot worse.

The boy opened his eyes again, swiveling his head towards the girl who knelt beside them. “H-hey El,” he said softly. “R-real badass move… back there. Y’did good.”

Her lips wobbled into a tearful smile, and she shook her head. “You were… bad-ass,” she said slowly, like she was trying the word out. Christ. She swayed where she knelt, wiping at her nose.

“Steve, honey?” Joyce cut in. “We’re going to move you. El helped us stop the bleeding, but we need to wrap you up.”

“It’s gonna hurt like a bitch,” Jim warned.

Harrington snorted, and Jim could practically hear him thinking it already hurts, but the boy only murmured a quiet, “Kay.”

Jim pressed his forearm across Steve’s back, leaning his weight on it so he’d have a free hand to start the wrapping, and Harrington screamed. “I know. Jesus, I know, I know. Hang in there, kid.” Joyce helped him to lift the boy’s torso – God, he was so much lighter than he should be – and between the two of them, they were able to wind the bandages tight enough to secure the gauze in place. By the time they finished, Harrington was slumped against him, wheezing breaths rattling from his lungs. His face wet with tears, eyes screwed shut. He clutched El’s hand, the fabric of Jim’s flannel flopping over their joined fingers.

“I’m not-” A shudder ran through Harrington, and he licked at chapped and peeling lips. “Don’t think I’m gonna be able t’ walk outta here, Chief.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Jim snapped. Joyce shot him a warning look. “I’ve got legs, don’t I?”

“’ll be like carryin’ a dinner sign.”

Joyce paled, as if only now registering the red that coated them. The swarm outside seemed too afraid to do more than circle the school, but… they had to leave it somehow.

“Let me worry about that, Harrington.”

“B-”

“I’m thinking!” The blood would wipe off the suits easily enough, but El and Harrington had been lying in the pool that should have stayed in Harrington’s body, clothes saturated with it. He swore, stopping just before dragging a bloodied hand through his hair. “What’ve we got to wipe this off?”

“Mmm… some peroxide… bag.” Harrington flopped his free hand toward his discarded backpack.

Saint of a woman that she was, Joyce was already pulling the bag toward her. She didn’t even need to unzip it, just sticking her arm through the tears. She pulled out a bottle that had been cut through. Jim swore. He and Joyce had maybe two disinfectant wipes each. Enough to clean their hands, but not much else.

Joyce turned a plastic bottle over in her hands, about a third filled with water. It wasn't much, but maybe they could… Okay. Okay. That could work.

“Kids get the suits.”

“What?”

“Kids get the suits,” he said again. His and Joyce’s clothes were untouched. Sure, the suits were designed to keep away the taint of the Upside Down, but the reinforced seams and airtight seal of the helmets would also keep anything inside them contained.

Like the smell of blood.

“Switch with her,” he said to Joyce.

She blinked at him, glanced down at the bloodsoaked floor, and stood, offering a hand to the girl. “Come on, sweetie. You’re going to wear this suit, okay? Can you come this way with me?”

El looked helplessly at Harrington’s fingers intertwined with hers, and Jim saw them squeeze in reassurance. “Yes.” She took a shuddering breath, set Harrington’s limp hand gently in his lap, and reached out for Joyce. Joyce pulled her to her feet and she nearly toppled, catching herself with an exhausted stumble. They stepped aside, and Jim could hear them talking quietly over the movement of stiff fabric.

He turned his attention back to Harrington, whose eyes were sliding out of focus. Shit. “Gotta say, you shaved about ten years off my life this week, kid.”

He blinked blearily, visibly struggling to keep his eyes open. “Sorry.”

“Might not feel that way in a minute. We’re gonna stand up, alright?” Harrington hummed, and it reminded Jim of the times he’d hauled the kid around when he was drunk off his ass. It seemed like so long ago, now. “I’m gonna need you to stay with me. Harrington. Hey. Harrington. Steve!”

“’m up.”

“We’re going to stand up. You ready?”

“’s it matter?”

“Not really,” Jim said, dragging them both up to stand.

“Fuck,” Harrington hissed, and it was the most reaction Jim had heard from him yet. He groaned, knees collapsing, and Jim had to tighten his hold to keep him from slipping. By the time Jim helped him about five steps out of the pooled blood, the kid was shaking and heaving uneven, wet breaths.

Jim swore and pulled off the helmet of his suit, peeling the stiff material down and stepping out of the yellow suit. The cold struck him like a wall of needles and it was almost enough to distract from the stench of blood and rot. Harrington had survived this hell alone. For months. Not even ten seconds in, Jim was ready to crawl out of his skin.

He helped maneuver Harrington into the hazmat suit, wishing he had Joyce’s talent for reassurance. “You ready to get the hell out of this place?”

“Yes.”

Christ, if that broken whisper didn’t shatter something Jim thought long lost.

The clunking sound of sloppy footsteps drew both of their attention. The girl, Eleven, El, stood in the comically oversized protective suit. Joyce was using the harness to secure the freshly wiped down fabric she had bunched around the girl’s waist so the legs wouldn’t drag, but there was no stopping the arms from flopping down to her knees. She flapped them at Harrington and that awkward movement, more than anything, cut through whatever walls Jim had been trying – failing – to keep in tact.

She was a child.

Logically, he knew she was a child, but… Christ.

Harrington huffed what might have been a laugh, still shaking like a leaf and leaning the entirety of his weight on Jim. “Hey, lil’ penguin.”

El brightened, something young and alive in her face. Now that Jim had acknowledged it, it was all he could see. “Penguin,” she agreed, flapping her arms again. That the recognition of such a simple word held so much weight for her was both endearing and unbearably sad. “We are matching,” she said.

“Guess so.”

“I’m not done yet, sweetie, hold on.” Joyce finished strapping the belt. She shivered in the biting cold and grabbed the helmet.

The delighted recognition El had worn shuttered into something small and afraid at the sight of it and she stepped back.

“What’s wrong?”

“B-bad.”

“Hey,” Harrington said quietly, pulling her attention to him. He tugged the helmet from Jim’s hand, and with visible effort, slipped it over his head. It’s not so bad, his eyes said. You’ll be okay. What his mouth said was, “How do I look?”

And wasn’t that typical Steve Harrington?

Goddammit.

Jim blinked back the sudden sting in his eyes.

“Not,” El said, still trembling but trying, “Like a penguin.”

Harrington gave her a tired smile. “Still gotta match,” he said, voice muffled through the suit. Jim couldn’t hear his breathing anymore. He hoped the filtered air would offer some relief to the kid’s lungs.

El took the helmet with shaking hands and fitted it over her head. Joyce shot him a devastated look over her head, one of shared grief and horror for what these children had been forced to endure and would need to endure still.

“Alright kids,” Jim said, clearing his throat. Later. He could unpack all of this later. Right now, they needed to move. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

It was almost a perfect plan. Or at least the best they could do on short notice. It would’ve worked out alright, if Harrington hadn’t taken an experimental step and immediately crumpled, entire body going slack. Joyce and El shouted, and Jim barely managed to catch the boy’s head before it clacked against one of the desks. Son of a bitch just couldn’t sit still and let Jim help, could he? Had to do every goddamn thing on his own, did he? Jim tried not to think about how long it had taken anyone to report the teen missing and how he’d probably been used to doing everything on his own for a lot longer than three months.

Despite Jim’s commands and (probably not as gentle as intended) jostling, Harrington didn’t stir again, head lolling with each shake.

Joyce’s hands stopped him from shaking the boy again.

“Help me get him on my back.” When Jim looked up at her, he hoped she saw resolve instead of terror. “It’s time to go.”

---

They drove in silence, the uptempo synthesized ring of late night dance music too grating for any of them to tolerate.

Nancy’s hand was throbbing.

She looked over at Barb who was driving one handed and subtly resting her arm against the driver's door, keeping her left hand elevated. She didn’t complain – she rarely did, not about herself – but Nancy was sure she was feeling it just the same. She glanced at Jonathan through the mirror. He was staring out the window, leg bouncing with nervous energy.

“We’re almost there,” Barb said more to fill the silence than anything else.

“I know,” he answered. “I just… I have this feeling. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Nancy countered, turning in her seat to peer over at him. “Everything’s been so crazy. It’s hard to believe it’s over.” She could see Barb biting her lip out of the corner of her eye. “You’ll feel better when you see Will.”

“Yeah,” Jonathan said. Moonlight filtered in through the window, casting half his face in shadow. Nancy thought even so, it made his eyes gleam.

It was peaceful out this late. Nancy had never been out after midnight when the world was still and waiting for the sun. How strange to know that while Hawkins slept soundly in their beds, three teenagers fought a demon and won.

“Do you think they’ll be mad?”

“...Probably. But-”

The car slammed to an abrupt halt, jerking Nancy forward in her seat with a startled shout. She turned back around in her seat to see what on Earth made Barb slam on her breaks, but there was nothing in the road. “What the heck, Barb?”

“Guys,” Barb said in a hoarse whisper, raising her hand to point to the school parking lot through her windshield.

Yes, they were at the school. That’s where they were supposed to…

The lot was full of cars that should not be there.

The school had been empty. Mike had been there. “Oh my God.” They had left them alone.

“What do we do?” Barb asked.

Jonathan shot her an incredulous look. “What do you mean? We have to go inside!”

“Shouldn’t we talk about this fir-”

Jonathan threw the door open.

“Jonathan, wait!” Nancy called after him.

“I’m not waiting-”

Oh… this was what Barb probably felt like when Nancy tried to run headfirst into things. She grabbed the walkie resting at her feet and waved it at him.

Shoulders sagging, he took it from her, turning it back on. “This is Jonathan checking in. Come in, over.”

Static.

“This is Jonathan. Come in, Will. Hello?”

Static.

“That’s it,” he growled, tossing the walkie back to Nancy and leaping out the open door.

“What are you doing?” Barb hissed. Groaning, she pulled the car into the lot, not even bothering to pull into a space, and turned off the car. Without really talking about it, they both climbed out after Jonathan, who was already running towards the gym in a full sprint.

The cars in the lot were not like the power company vans. As they passed several unfamiliar sedans and large trucks with canvas tarps, Nancy realized they looked like military convoys. No. She had left Mike alone. They had left all of them alone.

They burst through the doors of the gym and Nancy wasn’t sure what she expected to find, but the room was empty. Jonathan stood by the bleachers, checking under them with a flashlight.

“Anything?” Barb asked once they jogged over to him.

“Nothing. But the doors… they were definitely kicked in. They’re not here,” he said, an edge of panic to his voice. “They’re not here.”

“Okay. Okay.” Barb muttered, dragging a shaking hand through her curls. “We need to find them. But Jonathan, we can’t just run in-”

“If they have Will-”

And Barb had a point. They did need to be smart about it. But… but Barb was an only child. She would never feel terror squeezing the air from her lungs at the thought of anything happening to the most annoying, precious part of her life. While Barb and Jonathan exchanged heated whispers, Nancy edged toward the internal gym doors leading into the school. She wouldn’t leave without them, just take a little peek to see what they were working with.

Her shoes squeaked on the wax floors. If she closed her eyes, she could almost believe she was heading to her locker to grab her books before the next class. The metal bar on the door was cool under her hands, and she cautiously pushed it open. Or… she tried. It met immediate resistance. She pushed at it again. It didn’t budge. She reached for the adjacent door and pushed. It opened a few inches before meeting similar resistance. Frowning, she shoved at it, throwing her weight forward. The force dislodged whatever had been in the way and sent Nancy stumbling into the hallway. She almost slipped on wet floor and clutched at the door to keep upright. She was standing in something wet and dark. She followed it with her eyes, a high whine shorting through her brain when it led her to an eviscerated corpse slumped against the door, face twisted into a permanent mask of terror.

She screamed leaping back into the gym and letting the door slam shut in front of her like it could make what she’d seen disappear. Oh God, oh God, oh God-

“Nancy!”

She stepped back again, nausea pooling in her stomach. That man had – had been – had –

“Nancy! Nancy what is it?” Jonathan and Barb were suddenly beside her, Barb’s hand on her arm, spinning her around. Nancy shoved her away and managed to stumble away all of two steps before being violently ill on the gym floor.

“Hey.” There was Barb again, present and grounding and undeterred by the tang of vomit next to her feet. “Talk to me, what-”

“D-don’t.” She squeezed her eyes shut. They burned almost as badly as her throat. “Don’t open-”

Jonathan swore. He’d opened the door.

“What?” Barb called over to him, hand rubbing circles on Nancy’s back.

Jonathan stared into the hall in wide-eyed horror, frozen.

“Jonathan!”

He retreated back to them, ashen faced and shaking. “You both stay here. I’ll find Will and the others.”

“Stay here? Why would we-”

“Barb,” he said, soft and urgent. “Stay with Nancy. Don’t open the door. I’ll b-”

“No.” Nancy snagged his sleeve with shaking hands. She had escaped a frozen hell. She had fought a demon. She would not cower in an empty room when her brother-

Panic seized her.

Mike.

“Jonathan,” she croaked, “Jonathan.”

“I know.” She nearly wept with gratitude when he didn’t argue with her. When he looked at her with understanding and said, “Let’s go.”

They started for the door again. Barb looked between them, glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose the way they did when her face crinkled in worry. “Guys, what-”

“It’s bad,” Jonathan said, palms resting on the doors before pushing them open. “It- I don’t… You just need to be ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“We didn’t kill it,” Nancy answered, voice shaking. “We didn’t kill it, and our brothers are somewhere out there and… and the others. We need to find them.” They had to be okay. There was no alternative Nancy would accept. She didn’t wait for Barb to answer before pushing the door open with Jonathan.

“Mike!” she screamed into the hall.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be ye-” Barb’s breath hitched, words dying in her throat.

It was so much worse than Nancy had thought. The entire corridor was stained with blood. She could see more bodies sprawled on the ground further ahead. “Mike!” she yelled again.

“Will!” Jonathan yelled, voice high and as panicked as Nancy’s probably was.

“What if it’s still here?” hissed Barb.

Then it would pay attention to them instead of the children they had abandoned in their quest to play God. Nancy wanted to vomit all over again. Oh God oh God oh God if Mike had been hurt – if any of them had been hurt because they’d left them alone and unprotected, she would never forgive herself. She would never be able to look Jonathan or Mrs. Byers or her parents in the eye ever again.

She started down the hall. “Mike!”

“Shit- Nancy!” she could hear Barb and Jonathan running behind her.

About halfway to the second corpse, a familiar voice echoed, “Nancy?”

“Mike,” she sobbed, knees going weak.

“Will?” Jonathan shouted behind her.

“Guys!” That was Dustin. He sounded on the verge of tears.

Nancy sprinted, jumping over the leg of a soldier whose glassy eyes she tried very hard not to look at. Lucas was the first one to step into sight, eyes roaming the hall, a loaded slingshot clenched in his hand. Mike stumbled behind him, Will’s arm thrown over his shoulder. Mike’s eyes were red, and Nancy knew he’d been crying. Will wasn’t even bothering to hide his tears, letting Mike guide him through the halls as he shuffled forward with glassy eyes. Dustin followed behind them, holding some sort of short jagged club by his shoulders like a baseball bat.

“Mike!”

“Will!”

Nancy closed the rest of the space and threw her arms around her brother. “Oh my God, Mike!”

Mike sniffled, tense and stiff in her arms for only a breath before sagging into her with a sob. He didn’t hug her back, arms hanging limp by his side, but she didn’t care. She was surrounded by blood and bodies and nightmares, but Mike was alive. Her eyes stung and she squeezed him tighter.

Jonathan knelt next to her, tentatively reaching for Will. “It’s okay, Will. You’re okay. You’re okay.”

“Oh thank God,” Barb whispered, stopping next to them, panting and out of breath. “Are you guys alright?”

Dustin and Lucas exchanged looks that seemed far too old, too tired. “We’re not hurt,” is what Lucas seemed to settle on. Will sobbed. Poor boy. They had clearly escaped the Demogorgon. He must have been so afraid. It must have brought up awful memories.

“We should get out of this hallway,” Nancy said, releasing Mike. “Come on, let’s go back to the gym. You need to tell us what happened. If we still need to worry about-”

“You don’t.” Will spoke, voice hollow. Dead.

“Don’t what?”

“Need to worry.”

Jonathan shot Nancy and Barb a concerned look, eyes skipping over the body just behind them before settling back on his brother. “Why don’t we need to worry?”

“It’s gone,” Dustin said, looking a little green in the face. Nancy followed the line of his eyes to one of the dead soldiers behind her and had to fight down her grief and rage. They shouldn’t be seeing this. They should never have had to see this.

“El a-and Steve, they…” Lucas stared down at his wrist rocket, blinking furiously.

Mike buried his head in her shoulder and Will gave an agonized whine before sobbing again.

Oh.

Oh no.

Not… Not after everything. They’d been so close. They had – Steve was almost – and now – Frustrated tears pricked Nancy’s eyes, and she scrubbed them away. Not now.

“L-lets get back to the gym,” Barb whispered. Gently, she took Lucas and Dustin by the hand, forcing them to lower their makeshift weapons. “Look at me, okay? Don’t look at anything else. You can even close your eyes if you want to. We’ve got you.”

Jonathan lifted Will into his arms and followed, and Nancy took Mike by the hand and did the same, stomach churning. She was sure the boys had walked past many more bodies on the way back if the number of vehicles outside was any indication of how many people had come to the school. She tried not to think about whether any of them were alive – a small part of her hoped some of them were, and that they were suffering for what they’d done to her brother, for what they let be done to Will and to Steve. She squashed that thought the second it entered her mind, squeezing Mike’s hand. He was here. Dustin and Lucas and Will were here, and all of them had just seen… God.

They reached the gym doors and the disemboweled soldier slumped against them. “Don’t look,” she murmured, forcing her own eyes to a fixed point on the ceiling. “Don’t look.”

Barb let go of Dustin’s hand and pulled open the door. They all filed in, letting the door swing shut behind them. The sounds of their footsteps reverberated in the empty space as they made their way to the bleachers.

“Can you-” Dustin stopped, unsure. He glanced at Mike, chewing his lip before turning back to Nancy and Barb. “Some of… I heard… I…” He took a deep breath, little hands squeezing what Nancy now realized was a stump of a baseball bat. “Some of the soldiers are still alive. Can you guys call an ambulance?”

Oh.

Oh, they had to actually deal with this, didn’t they?

They couldn’t just… let school start on Monday and have the staff walk in to… to…

“I’ll call,” Jonathan said, stepping back from where he’d deposited a vacant eyed Will.

“I can-”

“I’ll call,” he interrupted.

“But-”

“There isn’t a phone in the gym,” he said in a voice that brooked no room for argument. …Which meant he’d have to wade through the halls of corpses to reach an office or classroom with one. When Nancy opened her mouth to object, he cut her off. “Can you stay here with them?”

It was the only thing she couldn’t argue against, and he knew it. She scowled at him, but nodded.

“Of course we will,” Barb answered.

“Thanks,” he said. And then he squared his shoulders, drawing himself up they way he’d done when they were getting ready to fight the Demogorgon, and stalked out of the gym.

While they waited, Barb tried to draw the boys into conversation. That was how Nancy found out that somehow the lab had come to claim El. That El had… had crushed the life from some of them before the strain proved too much, that some man who called himself her Papa (and didn’t that make her skin crawl) had tried to take her back… that the Demogorgon hadn’t been defeated, but simply drawn to the feast El had inadvertently left for it when she tried to save them all. That the Demogorgon had ripped its way through the concrete and plaster and world, slaughtered the men who dared lay hands on these children, and cornered them in a classroom. That was how Nancy learned that Steve Harrington had clawed his way out of the Upside Down just in time to throw his life away once again for the sake of her brother and his friends. How he and El had worked together, how Dustin and Lucas had tried to help with the wrist rocket – she kept to herself that not even a gun had phased the monster, their rocks would have done nothing. That Steve had stabbed the Demogorgon through the heart and held on until El used her powers to erase its existence… and theirs.

Lucas and Dustin had carried the bulk of the conversation. Mike added some commentary, but he was far more subdued than Nancy was used to seeing him. Will sat in stony silence until they reached the ending of the story. When Dustin described Steve’s final intervention, Will’s face crumpled and he heaved a choked, broken sob before burying his face in his hands, shoulders shaking.

“I’m so sorry Will.” Nancy felt her own eyes burn for what felt like the hundredth time that night and climbed the bleachers to sit next to him. He had been through so much. “So sorry.”

“He didn’t even try,” Will cried. “It’s like he didn’t want to- to-” He looked up at her, face contorted in so much hurt. “He was out. Why did he-? He was out.”

“Oh, Will,” Nancy pulled him to her, wrapping his shaking form in her arms. He screamed into her neck and she let him, rubbing at his back. Dustin, Lucas, and Mike looked torn between wanting to comfort their friend and give him space and dealing with their own private grief. “He wanted to protect you.”

“No one was protecting him,” Will sobbed.

He was right. He was so right. And it hurt… it hurt so badly to know that the choice had been so easy for Steve to make. That when he’d helped them escape in that forest and when he’d rushed to that classroom, his own survival hadn’t even been on his list of priorities.

It hadn’t… been on theirs, either. Not when there were children at stake. And she knew that had been the right call to make, but the realization that… that the only one who really considered putting Steve first was a child who had known him less than a week when he had friends and parents... when Nancy and Barb and Jonathan had known him since elementary school… God. None of them had really ever known Steve Harrington. And now none of them ever would.

The door to the gym opened softly, and Nancy looked up to see a grim faced Jonathan walking back to them.

“Phones are dead.”

“Of course they are,” Barb groaned.

“What do we do?” Nancy asked, rubbing her hand across Will’s back.

“Did you try the walkie?” asked Dustin.

“Nobody answered,” Jonathan confirmed.

“Do we wait here?” Lucas sat with his arms wrapped around himself, looking like he’d rather do anything else.

“We won’t all fit in my car.”

“We could take one of the other ones.”

“Dustin, I’m not stealing a government car.”

“They tried to kill us and I think that’s pretty illegal, so…”

Jonathan’s head whipped over to Dustin. “What do you mean they tried to kill you?!”

Right. He’d missed that. I’ll tell you later, she mouthed at him. “One of us can walk over to the church and try theirs.”

“At two in the morning?”

“It’s a church,” she said with a shrug, “they don’t lock it.”

Barb sighed. “Okay, I’ll go. That way if theirs is dead too, I can drive somewhere else. Someone needs to be here to explain everything…”

“Yeah, they’re going to believe a Demogorgon did it.”

“Well, we need to tell them something!”

“Don’t you think we should try to get a story together before then?”

“What story are we going to use?”

“I don’t know, maybe a bear?”

“Yeah, because a bunch of soldiers with guns couldn’t handle a bear.”

“I think the bigger issue is that a bunch of soldiers came to a middle school with guns on a weekend than the whole bear thing.”

“How are we supposed to explain that?”

“I just said I don’t know!”

“Okay, okay, stop!” Nancy’s head was spinning. “It’s not our job to come up with the story, okay? We just call the ambulance, tell them there’s been some sort of incident at the school, there are casualties. When they come, we don’t know anything. You were doing a science experiment and heard screaming and guns and you called us on your walkies.”

“But-”

“We don’t know anything else until Chief Hopper and Mrs. Byers come back. Got it?”

It was a testament to how overwhelmed and exhausted they all must have been that they agreed without further argument.

“Okay,” Barb said, climbing to her feet. “I’ll be right back.” Nancy watched her glide across the gym to the external doors, hand still bandaged, curls wild and sticking out in a way she would have fussed over for hours just last week. Had three days really changed them all so much? Nancy watched her friend walk away. She watched her brother, face still wet with tears, lean against Will, trying to offer him some comfort. She watched Dustin and Lucas scramble beside them, pressing together like the world might pull them apart. She watched Jonathan Byers standing guard, a clearly stolen gun at his hip, waiting for the world to keep turning while his mother walked another dimension and his brother mourned someone he’d probably once hated.

Nothing was ever going to be the same again.

---

Brenner had not returned, and Dr. Sam Owens had made some reckless decisions.

He stood alone in the containment chamber, all warmth being leeched from the space and his body by the pulsating gateway before him. The white hazmat suit did little to retain warmth, and Sam wished he could blow on his hands to keep them from tingling uncomfortably.

A child had been on the other side of that gate for a week, another for… The documentation was unclear, but Steven Harrington had never registered at Hawkins High that fall, nor had had any flights international or domestic been issued in his name. Reports on power issues had spiked in August, the earliest reported surge of note coming from a nearby diner on the eighth. That… that would be ninety-six days.

How had he survived?

How had no one noticed?

God, he and Cathy had near lost their minds when Peter had gone to a friend’s after school without telling them first, and Conner’s mother had called them as soon as she’d gotten home from work. His wife had been on the verge of a breakdown after two hours – how could… how could anyone who called themselves a parent miss…

He has months of information. We need him.

And the others?

A liability.

There was only so much a man could ignore before he became complicit. Sam... Sam had been complicit in more than he’d ever care to admit before he became a father. He hadn’t… hadn’t known everything Brenner had done because he chose not to know. But he did now, and he could never return to blissful ignorance again.

He could do something about it, though.

Something rattled on the other side of the gate.

Sam’s fingers twitched on the gun he was surprised he remembered how to use. One didn’t really forget, but it had been decades. He hefted it up and braced it against his shoulder, eye trained on the dimly glowing webbed membrane..

The first thing to emerge was a gun pointed at his face.

Or rather, the first thing to emerge was a suitless man. This must have been the Chief of Police Jim Hopper, sweat-slick and damp with whatever slime covered the portal, gasping for breath. He wore the expression of a man with too much to lose, one hand itching on his gun and the other steadying a body in a yellow suit hanging limp from his shoulders.

Sam lowered his weapon with a breathless sigh of relief. “Welcome back.”

Chief Hopper eyed him with apprehension, never lowering his weapon. “Never seen you before,” he said gruffly, scanning the room.

“I’m Dr. Sam Owens.”

“That supposed to mean something?”

“Is that Harrington?”

“What’s it to you?”

“He’s in danger-”

The safety clicked audibly. “That so?”

Sam could see the boy’s head lolling to the side, tangled hair falling over his eyes and blood smeared across his cheek. His face was twisted in pain and his lips were pale and bloodless. “He needs a hospital,” Sam said slowly, holding up his hands. “I can help you get him to one.”

‘Hopper?’

Ah. Mrs. Byers. Sam had wondered when she would make herself known.

“Stay back, Joyce,” Chief Hopper called, still keeping his gun trained on Sam. “What’s the catch?”

“There isn’t o-”