Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A clock chimes, low and resonating.

The air is thick with fear and guilt.

Shadows creep in and out… pawing, searching…

Faintly, he hears a child’s voice. It can hear his song, too. It’s The Boy. The one they want. Shadow engulfs him.

The shadow splits. It exists everywhere, in both of them. It sees it all. So can It’s Host.

It can see his family, his sister, his love… he knows It wants them… but It wants The Boy… It will bring The Boy back home… It will give him so much fear, then take it all away…

The Boy pushes back. It is thrown, back, further and further, into him, out of him, deeper and deeper…

Until it’s gone.

— — —

“Tell me, have you ever heard of something called Project Rainbow?”

His head shakes, an uneasy feeling creeping up inside. People are watching him from all sides.

“In the 1940s, a ship was the subject of a government experiment…” the Doctor begins, his words wisping away in small plumes of smoke, mirroring the hazy tiled walls and floor of his cage.

Even the thoughts in his head were floaty. He could see, he could hear, but the connection is dim and outside of himself, like the tether pulling him into his body is fraying. Is wrong.

A new man–a uniformed man in a chair–comes out with the Doctor. Eyes blank, mouth parted, spirit long gone. Small tremors course through his body, through his body, and the connection strengthens, the tether pulls him. No, stop.

“He came back changed.” Dogs with no eyes. “Even his blood type was different.” Boys with no eyes.

The Doctor recalls a spy in their facility, how he escaped with something powerful, how he was found in a cave system, next to…

“I wasn’t there, it wasn’t me.” He needs to tell him, tell the Doctor, before it’s too late, and the shadow grows too strong. He trusts the Doctor. His only family, the one who stayed throughout the struggles and pain and fear, because he wasn’t afraid, he knew that.

Strong arms wrap around him, but the comfort they bring is fleeting, as they grip and guide and trap him into doing whatever he wants, because that’s all he can do, isn’t it, just do whatever it wants-

Shadows return, and the room melts and stops and freezes and changes, and he’s begging, pleading for them to stop, all of them, because he can’t, please, he can’t-

“Let us in.”

His tether loosens. He falls away from control, only to be caught by another’s. Arms latch onto him again, but they’re different, they’re sharp and dangerous, and pulling him away, away from safety, away from home.

The Doctor vanishes, clouds of smoke twirling around, reshaping the pristine laboratory into something darker and heavier. Vines curl around trees, the air is thick with decay and despair, and he rips himself free from the monster’s grasp before it can drag him to his demise.

He feels himself running, but it isn’t his body that’s moving. Or maybe it is. His feet move, but he’s floating above it all, alone and afraid.

But then he’s back, and he sees a boy, a young boy in a red vest, laying on the rotting leaves, shivering in the cold of the World, surrounded by old wooden planks. Hunger and wanting swirl around. It’s The Boy. He reaches out, then stops himself, because why is he reaching out? That boy is him, no? What is his name?

…kay…

Looking down at his body, all that’s there are clouds and streaks of shadow, white and pale, and lifeless, because what is he, if not a shadow. He has no control.

…hey, ar… where…

Suddenly, The Boy begins to sing. A familiar song, one that he knows, but how can he know? He isn’t even human. He is nothing.

You can help us. Stop fighting.

Desperation fills his body. It is demanding. He is pleading.

…ill…you…why…

Who is he?

Come home…

The song blares louder, and the boy begins to shake. What were once sparkling hazel eyes are now milky white, streaks of blood run down his cheeks, painting his face in red, painting my face in red, because he is-

No name, or family, or place in the world, either world. What happened? Where did he go?

I live in Hawkins. I have a family.

Your family hates you.

hey…where…on…

That’s not true.

…Will…

They’ll never love you. Come with us. We love you.

His soul is torn in two. Where does he begin? Where does the other end?

Get out.

“Will!”

Oh.

A lot of things happen at once. Darkness envelops his vision, the smoky form of his figure blowing away, disintegrating along with the boy, the rot, the wooden barricades. The hazy feeling evaporates so suddenly it makes him dizzy, and he is flung back into his own body with a jolt. The music doesn’t stop, but instead blares loudly and staticy from a nearby radio.

Will–because yes, he is Will, Will Byers, and just Will Byers– gasps as his eyes fly open. Horrified, as he feels blood running down his face, from his eyes (no, not blood, he remarks as he scrubs the moisture away. Just tears. Blood only drips from his nose, which he hastily wipes off), he looks around, only just realizing that he lays on the ground of Castle Byers, not his sleeping bag, where he vividly remembers going to sleep just a few minutes ago. His unease grows when he turns and sees an old radio blaring Should I Stay or Should I Go, a song he no longer listens to on account of the memories of time possessed by the Mind Flayer. He doesn’t even have the tape, so how–

The blue tarp made door of the fort flies open, revealing a frazzled Jonathan, dressed in his pajamas and a jacket. Will’s eyes, still fresh with tears, meet his brother’s. Jonathan quickly moves to come into the shelter, ducking his head and squeezing himself to even fit in the small sanctuary they built all those years ago.

Mind still cloudy and disjointed, Will stays pliant as Jonathan pulls him up into a sitting position, the only indication of consciousness coming from his teary eyes and rapid breaths. Jonathan scans his face, worry growing at Will’s state.

“What happened?” he demands, one hand on Will’s back, the other on Will’s cheek. “We couldn’t find you. Why are you sleeping out here? Did you have a nightmare?”

What did happen? Will tries to remember, but a wave of exhaustion so dizzyingly strong hits him suddenly, sending his head toppling forward onto Jonathan’s shoulder, eyes drifting closed.

“Shit,” Jonathan whispers, readjusting his hold on Will to lay him back on the ground. Or, at least, that’s what Will assumes he’s doing, if the increase in solid ground beneath him is any indication. Will lets out a relieved sigh, feeling some of his vertigo dissipate.

The radio cuts in and out, The Clash interrupted by bursts of static interference. Will peels one eye open, just as the radio stops entirely. Jonathan’s head whips over, expression frantic.

“Oh god, is– is this Vecna?” He looks back at Will, who now has both eyes open, dizziness fading.

This is not enough for Jonathan, however, who places both of his hands on Will’s face, thumbs shakily wiping the tears away.

“Will, you need to tell me what’s going on,” Jonathan says, voice breaking. “Are you okay? Is that blood on your hand? Did Vecna get you? Do we need music?”

Will opens his mouth to speak, but Jonathan interrupts by dropping his face and grabbing the radio, turning the dials with trembling hands, frowning when nothing happens. The cassette tape is empty as well, and as Will becomes more and more aware, he realizes he has zero explanation to provide.

“What,” he breathes out. “Will, how was this– this radio doesn’t even work.”

“I,” Will begins, slowly pushing himself back into a sitting position. “I don’t know. It just… did, I guess. I’m fine.”

Jonathan, clearly less than enthused with his answer but placated enough now that Will is speaking, places the radio back down and moves to sit next to Will. After one last examination, he nods to himself, satisfied. He wraps an arm around Will, pulling him into his side to lean on for support. Will lets out a grateful sigh, letting his head fall onto Jonathan’s shoulder.

“So it was Vecna,” Jonathan says, with no room for argument. “It must’ve been.”

Will starts to agree, but frowns.

“I… I’m not sure,” Will starts hesitantly. “Vecna attacks with people’s worst fears. Like, he shows them visions and stuff. To hurt them. I just…”

How is he supposed to explain what he saw? Will decides better of it. His brother is already worried enough.

“I think it was just a nightmare.” He looks up at Jonathan, who looks unconvinced. “Honestly, it– I was back in the Upside Down, like, when I was trapped there.”

Will’s voice falters, remembering how much Mom had cried when she explained it to him. The images became so vivid in his mind; a scared little boy, curled up, alone and dying. Jonathan straightens up, almost as if gearing up for the eventual brotherly comforting speech he’s given so many times before. His hand rubs small circles on Will’s arm. 

“It was when I was hiding from the monster. When I hid here, in Castle Byers, and you guys were trying to find me.”

“When El talked to you. Through the radio.”

Will frowns a bit. Yes, of course that happened. A picture forms in his mind, of a young girl with a shaved head reaching out to him through the void. Of course. Did Mom mention that? She must’ve, if Jonathan was saying it. 

So he nods and carries on, ignoring the nagging in his stomach. “But, I was sort of watching it happen? Like, I could see myself laying on the ground. And I was scared, but…”

He trails off, unsure of how to continue. Jonathan, ever supportive, squeezes his arm in reassurance.

“It sounds stupid.” Jonathan makes a little noise of disagreement. Will sighs and continues. “It does. It was like I was scared, but the fear wasn’t mine. Like, I felt afraid watching myself dying, but not because I was afraid of dying.”

Will sneaks a glance at Jonathan, whose concern has been veiled with inquisition.

“It’s not stupid.” Will gives him a look. “It’s not. None of your feelings are stupid, Will. You’re allowed to feel things.”

There’s something in Jonathan’s tone that Will does not like. At all. Too knowing, or too supportive, or whatever. Will tears his eyes away from Jonathan, embarrassed.

Jonathan exhales. “Especially now, with everything that’s happening, you need to make sure to share what you’re feeling. All of us do. How can Vecna kill with secrets if we’re all honest with each other, right?”

Will looks back at Jonathan, incredulous. “What, so we all should just tell each other our deepest, darkest secrets?” He definitely is not on board with that plan.

Jonathan rolls his eyes, giving Will a little shove. “Not everyone, smartass. But, you know, it wouldn’t hurt to tell someone.”

He pauses. Will’s heartbeat speeds up.

“You know you can tell me anything, right? I meant what I said at the Surfer Boy last year. I’m always here for you, Will.”

The tears Jonathan cleaned off his cheeks have returned, and dammit, why is he always crying?

“I meant it, too,” Will whispers. “I’m here for you, too.”

Jonathan smiles, a welcome sight on his tired face. “I know, bud.”

“So,” Will starts, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “What’s your big secret?”

Jonathan scoffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “Wow, okay.”

“I’m serious! It’s for your own safety,” Will pesters, poking his brother in the shoulder.

“And why is it that I have to go first?” Jonathan teases. “I asked you first, so you should go first. It’s only fair.”

Will raises an eyebrow. “It was your idea.”

Jonathan’s reply is interrupted by another set of footsteps approaching the fort. Will tenses instinctually, breaths quickening in fear. His brother places a protective arm in front of him as a light pierces through the wood.

The tarp flies open to reveal Mike Wheeler, also dressed in nightclothes, but lacking a jacket. His hands shiver around his flashlight.

“Jesus, there you are,” Mike says, relieved. He’s looking at Will. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

A question enters Will’s mind.

“How did you guys even know I left?” Will asks, confused. “Isn’t it the middle of the night?”

Mike frowns at him. “Yes, it is the middle of the night. Obviously. Which is why it was weird when you ran off into the fucking woods!”

“Yes,” Will says, frustrated. His energy had almost fully returned. “But how did you know I left? Did you see me?”

Mike looks gobsmacked. “What, are you trying to run off again tomorrow night? You want to make sure I can’t see you leave or something?”

“Jesus, it was just a question,” Will mumbles. Thankfully, Jonathan steps in.

“Mike, stop it.” Mike squawks in indignation. Jonathan turns his head away to hide his smirk.

“Mike woke up and saw you weren’t there. He came to the basement to make sure everything was okay, but saw you weren’t with me either, so he woke me up and we left to go find you.”

Will’s face heats with humiliation. “You didn’t need to do all that.”

“Well then you shouldn’t have left,” Mike grumbles, arms crossed. He looks like a moping child.

Jonathan shoots Mike another look, but does say to Will, “He does have a point, Will. You know it’s dangerous to go running off in the middle of the night. Especially alone.”

“And into the goddamn woods,” Mike butts in.

“Yes, thank you Mike,” Jonathan says, a patronizing lilt to his voice. “We should probably start heading back now. Mom would throw a fit if she knew we were all the way out here this late.”

At the mention of his mother’s wrath, Will’s blood runs cold. “Please don’t tell her, Jonathan. Please. She has enough to worry about.”

Jonathan sighs. “I won’t. As long as you promise to talk to me when something’s up. And that we will talk about this in the morning. Deal?”

“Deal,” Will agrees, relieved.

Mike, however, is not so easily appeased. “What do you mean, when something’s up? Is something up?”

Will exchanges a glance with Jonathan, whose head is turned away from Mike. He rolls his eyes exaggeratedly. Will gives him a stern look. He much prefers overbearing Mike to the rude, dismissive Mike he dealt with last year.

“No, Mike,” Will says. “Nothing’s up.”

---

Afternoon sunlight pierces through the blinds of Mike’s room. Will groggily rubs a hand over his eyes, wondering why he’s so tired, then recalling the strenuous events of the night before.

Walking back to the Wheeler’s house was no easy feat. Will’s concern for how he got all the way to Castle Byers only grows when he realizes just how far of a walk it is. Mike, ever the logical thinker, took his bike, but since neither Jonathan and Will had their own, was left walking it back through forty minutes worth of woods and empty streets. He complained almost the entire time. Will barely noticed, too caught up in his own thoughts. The minute they stepped back into the warmth of the Wheeler house, Mike ushered Will upstairs and back to bed. With a quick reminder that they will be talking about this come morning, Jonathan headed down to the basement, Mike and Will upstairs, all three collapsing in exhaustion after their excursion.

Will hauls himself up from his sleeping bag, making his way downstairs slowly, still beat from the previous night’s adventure. Upon entering the kitchen, he sees Mike sitting at the counter, eating what appears to be untoasted Pop Tarts, and Holly, swirling her cereal around with her spoon.

“G’morning,” Will yawns. Mike’s head shoots up.

“Hey, Will,” he says. “How’re you feeling?”

Will sighs. “I’m fine, Mike. Just tired. Long night, you know.”

“Yep.”

Will gives him a look, and Mike subtly gestures towards Holly, still playing with her cereal. Will nods in understanding.

“Have you seen Jonathan at all yet?” Will asks. Mike shakes his head. “Alright.”

“He probably went with Nancy to the hospital,” Mike says, mouth full of Pop Tart.

Will grimaces. “First of all, chew with your mouth shut. You’re setting a bad example.” He looks over at Holly, who clearly couldn’t care less about whatever they’re doing.

“Yeah, okay,” Mike snorts. “When have I ever been a good example?”

A frown forms on Will’s face. “What?”

“Nothing,” Mike says, swallowing the last of his Pop Tart. “I’m pretty sure he did go with Nancy. His car is gone so she probably asked for a ride or something.”

Will nods. Nancy had started volunteering at the newly setup hospital sector at the Downtown Hawkins Military Base, now that the whole town was essentially stuck in government mandated quarantine. “Better to take them down from the inside,” she had said. Will wasn’t sure if one person could take down the entire United States military, but if anyone could do it, he thinks it’d be Nancy.

Plus, they had transferred Max to their facility as well. Now that the government was in the know–at least about the Upside Down and some crazy murderous lunatic who lives there–all precautions were being taken to contain the story to those who already knew. All of them had been thoroughly interrogated, sans Eleven and Hopper, who both had immediately gone into hiding per the demand of Owens’ team. None of them gave her up, obviously, but it still broke Will’s heart a bit seeing the tears in her eyes after everyone vowed to protect her.

“Will?” Mike looks at him in concern. It seems to be the only look he gets anymore.

“Fine. Sorry, just spaced out,” Will replies. “And you’re probably right. He’ll probably be back soon.”

Mike hums in agreement. “Do you want– I mean, should we wait for him in the basement?”

Will, of course, understands Mike’s words are really code for ‘we need to talk in private right now.’ As much as he doesn’t want to, Will agrees, and the two make their way downstairs.

The Wheeler basement has been converted into a temporary living space for Jonathan and Joyce (and previously Will, before Mike insisted he move upstairs), the table replaced with an old air mattress, the couch converted into a messy bed. The air mattress is cleanly made; Joyce hadn’t been staying with the Wheelers full time, usually opting to be with Hopper at their hideout. Will didn’t mind; if the love of his life had been dead for a year and then suddenly came back to life, he’d probably do the same thing.

Mike flops down on the couch, sprawling himself out across all three cushions. Will gives him a deadpan look, before sitting on the edge of the mostly deflated air mattress. He might as well be sitting on the floor.

“Whatever you want to ask me, just ask,” Will says. “I don’t want this to be a whole thing.”

Confusion spreads across Mike’s face. “What does that mean?”

“You know what I mean, Mike,” Will sighs. “Like, the whole emotional, heart-to-heart thing. I don’t know.”

“There’s nothing wrong with a little emotional heart-to-heart every now and then,” Mike says, a small smile on his face. “Heart of the Party, remember?”

Will rolls his eyes with a grin as Mike gestures to himself. “Be careful. Your ego is showing.”

“I don’t think so,” Mike smirks, but his face falls just as fast. “Has… has your mom said anything to you about how El is doing?”

Will feels his heart deflate. His eyes leave Mike’s as he shakes his head, and the other boy quickly backtracks.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin the mood or anything.” Will looks up in confusion, but Mike carries on. “It’s just, with her having to hide at that old radio station, and school starting up again, and the military constantly on all our asses… It’s just hard.”

Mike pauses, eyes distant. Will heaves himself up from the floor and goes to sit on the arm of the couch by Mike’s feet.

“You can talk to me about it. If you want,” he says quietly. “I know it must be hard for you two to be apart so much.”

Mike opens his mouth, clearly ready to vent everything onto Will, but catches himself.

“You’re deflecting!” Mike says, aghast. “We’re supposed to be talking about you right now!”

Will should laugh at his friend’s antics, but instead feels himself grow angry.

“I- I’m not deflecting, Mike!,” Will sputters. “Nothing even happened, there’s nothing to deflect!”

“Nothing?” Mike repeats, disbelief all across his face. “Will, you were sleeping in Castle Byers at one in the fucking morning yesterday! You seriously think that’s nothing?”

Will’s anger only increases. “Yeah, Mike, it’s nothing. Have you ever considered I just wanted to get out of this house, out of your room, have some damn privacy for once?”

“Bullshit,” Mike snaps. “I know you’re lying, Will. I could tell you’d been crying. Something obviously happened; you need to talk about it!”

Heat floods Will’s face at Mike’s words. “Okay, fine!” He is almost screaming now. “Maybe something did happen. Maybe I do need to talk about it! Have you considered that maybe I don’t want to talk to you about it?”

Will wishes he could take the words back the second they leave his mouth. Mike stops short as if he’d been slapped. Will closes his eyes, trying to regain his composure, and pressing his palms into them when he begins to feel angry tears forming.

“Shit,” he whispers. “Mike, I– I didn’t mean that. You know I didn’t–”

“Yeah,” Mike chokes out, and Will is mortified to hear Mike holding back tears as well. “I know, Will. I shouldn’t have pushed, I’m sorry.”

Will uncovers his eyes. Mike is turned away from him, one knee pulled up to his chest. Will can still see his lip wobbling.

He makes his way over to the couch, hesitantly sitting down next to Mike, who curls even further away. Slowly, Will wraps an arm around his best friend’s shoulders, unsure what to do. He’s rarely seen Mike cry, and never about a fight with Will. He feels Mike’s shoulder’s tense at the contact.

“Is… Is something else going on?” Will tries. “I don’t– you’re usually not this upset.”

Mike sniffles, his breaths catching. He doesn’t speak for a long moment, and Will doesn’t rush him.

“Just, everything,” Mike begins with a wobbly voice. “Everything with you, and– and with El last spring. You told me she needed me, and– well, I don’t know.”

Will’s heartbeat stutters, not at all liking the direction they’re headed.

Mike continues, more study in his words. “With the painting, you said she thought I was the heart. Like, the one everyone can rely on, or whatever. But… she doesn’t need me. She has her powers, and– and Hopper, and you now, and she’s never actually, like, talked to me–”

His voice breaks. “Mike…”

“But you always came to me too, Will. And now, it’s like, I have to beg you to even be around me! I had to bring up you sleeping upstairs, and–” Will sees tears escaping from Mike’s eyes now, even as he tries so hard to suppress them “–and now, you don’t even want to tell me what’s wrong! And I get it, I’m just– I wasn’t there for you, I was a terrible friend, I am a terrible friend, a terrible boyfriend too–”

“Mike,” Will cuts him off, his own eyes misty yet again. “Mike, stop. You’re just making yourself more upset.”

Mike pushes Will’s hand off him, standing up from the couch, back turned to Will.

“I should be upset!” Mike yells, so loudly yet choked up that Will can’t help but flinch. “What– What am I even doing here, Will? What am I supposed to do when Vecna comes back, and something happens to you, or– or El, or anyone? Just stand there and– and do nothing?”

Even with his back turned, Will can see the pained expression on Mike’s face, can hear his heaving breaths, still picking up in speed.

Will cautiously stands up, and lays a gentle hand on Mike’s shoulder. Upon not being immediately pushed off, he turns Mike around so the two are facing each other, though Mike keeps his head angled down. The level at which Mike is suppressing his tears is quickly hurtling his breathing towards hyperventilating, and Will pulls him into a soft embrace, careful to make sure he’s not crossing any boundaries. His heart skips a beat when Mike leans into his shoulder, even with his hands still glued to his sides.

“Mike, you need to calm down,” Will mutters in his ear. “You’re going to make yourself sick.”

The only reply he gets is another choked breath and a shake of his head.

“You can let yourself cry.”

Another shake. Will sighs.

“Mike, it’s okay.”

But Mike, stubborn as ever, resists. Will listens in anguish to Mike’s labored breathing, still holding his friend in an unreciprocated embrace.

Upstairs, the creak and bang of the basement door opening startles them both. Mike shoves Will off of him as footsteps come down the old stairs. Moving to see who it is, Will mourns his chance of talking with Mike further when he sees Jonathan approaching. Upon seeing Mike, back on the couch with his head in his hands, taking loud, deliberate breaths, he gestures back upstairs.

Should I come back in a minute? Jonathan mouths to Will, who turns to look at Mike again.

“Uh, yeah, just– give us a sec, I’ll come upstairs–”

“I’m fine.” Mike’s voice is thick and clearly not fine. His hands still grip his hair.

Will shakes his head. “Mike–”

One more steadying breath and Mike looks up, determined. “I’m fine, Will. We need to talk about what happened last night. That’s more important.”

“You’re important, too, Mike. Don’t you realize that?”

Mike looks away. To Jonathan.

“You came down here to talk, right? Let’s talk.”

Jonathan, clearly not used to playing middle man between the two (and especially not used to siding with Mike), gives Will a quick, apologetic glance before nodding and sitting down.

Will gapes at his brother. “Jonathan.”

“Look, Will. Let’s just talk about what happened last night, like you promised–” Jonathan adds at Will’s scoff. “And then you two can get back to, uh, whatever you were doing.”

Knowing he can’t win this argument, Will stomps over to the couch, sits as far from Mike as possible, and crosses his arms in exasperation.

“What do you want to know?”

Jonathan and Mike exchange a glance. “Uh, just start from the beginning, I guess.”

Hearing Mike’s voice, quiet and sad and so unlike him, dissipates Will’s irritation. Mostly.

“I’m not sure where to start.” Will gazes at the floor, a debate raging inside his mind. Should he tell them the truth? All it’ll do is worry them both more, and it’s now glaringly obvious to Will that Mike does not need anymore to worry about. Especially when it comes to him. But Will could never deny Mike’s requests of him, with his gentle voice and doe eyes.

Will concedes. “I woke up in Castle Byers. I must’ve had a nightmare and went because it’s– comforting, I guess. So I fell asleep there, and, well, had another nightmare, but this one was in the Upside Down.”

“In the Upside Down?” Jonathan interjects. “Like, like when you were–”

Will quickly reassures him. “No. Nothing like when I was, uh, spying.” Calling himself ‘possessed’ still leaves his throat dry and skin cold.

“Wait,” Mike interrupts. “But why did you go to Castle Byers in the first place? You know how dangerous that is, Will. You can’t just wander off in the night.”

Now that he really thinks about it, Will realizes he still has no recollection of how or why he traveled to his childhood fort last night. The thought doesn’t worry him as much as it probably should.

“I told you, Mike, it was a nightmare. I was tired and not thinking straight. I just wanted some air.”

Mike huffs. “Well, how about you try the backyard air next time instead of wandering all the way across town?”

“Noted,” Will says earnestly. That does seem like a better plan in the future. Mike leans into the couch a bit, satisfied.

Will continues, choosing his words carefully. “It was different from my usual nightmares. It started out just like a regular dream, I guess. About something random. Doctors and stuff. A scary dream, but nothing with any of the… the bad stuff I usually see. Just the same feeling. And then it morphed into me in Castle Byers. When I was hiding from the Demogorgon. It was cold and dark, but I wasn’t cold. It was like I was watching it all happen…”

He trails off. Jonathan comes over, kneels in front of him.

“So there weren't any signs of Vecna? Anything indicating you might be a target? Just– just you reliving the Upside Down?”

Will shrugs. “I guess so.” But another detail comes to him. “There was this… other voice. Speaking to me. Asking me to come home. It was scary, but… I don’t know. I thought it was just Mom. Calling out to me. Right?”

Jonathan furrows his brows. “Did it sound like her voice? Wait, did you talk to her at all? When you were hiding in Castle Byers?”

Will opens his mouth to assure Jonathan that yes, he obviously did, when he stops short. Did he? Allowing his thoughts to travel back in time, to the Upside Down (an activity he tends to avoid), he frowns when he draws a blank.

“I– I don’t know. Mom never told me about that.”

"But... do you remember talking to her?"

"I don't know."

No. The answer is no. Why can’t he remember? He was on his bike, riding home, and… and…

And he was in the hospital. With Mom and Jonathan.

Mike scoots closer. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

Panic begins to run through his veins, speeding up his pulse and his breathing. “I can’t– why don’t I remember it? I don’t remember any of it.”

Mike blanches. “Any of what, Will?”

Jonathan’s hand is on his knee. Both of them are too close. He can’t breathe.

“The Upside Down. I… I can’t remember any of the Upside Down.”

Chapter Text

“So… are we gonna talk about it?”

Will should’ve expected this. He knows that. 

After his whole… erm, breakdown, yesterday, Mike has been acting extra protective. As he always does when something goes incredibly wrong for him, which tends to be quite frequently nowadays. 

The moment the words had left Will’s mouth, Mike wanted to run to the phone and alert the rest of the Party, but somehow Will had convinced Jonathan to wait until their full extended Party meeting tomorrow. Or, today, now. 

Clearly, Mike had other plans. Him suggesting the two walk to school rather than grab a ride from Nancy or Jonathan, or even take their bikes, was so far out of character for his best friend, Will should’ve known it was a trap. Now, Mike has at least a half hour of uninterrupted time to interrogate Will, no excuses to escape possible.

“We already agreed to talk about it at the meeting tonight, Mike,” Will says bluntly.

Mike is staring at Will, who is finding the pavement beneath their feet very interesting all of a sudden.

“Yeah, but… isn’t there anything you want to tell me?” Mike’s voice is timid and uncertain. “Like, without the rest of the Party around?”

Will tenses involuntarily. His head shoots up to look at Mike. “What? What does that mean?”

Mike visibly deflates. Will feels like he’s an outsider to whatever secret Mike is hiding, which both terrifies and confuses him. He racks his brain, trying to think of what secret Mike could possibly want him to say, pointedly avoiding thinking about the largest secret he’s locked in the back of his mind. It gives him a headache. 

“Nothing, I guess,” Mike sighs. “Just wanted to offer. I know your– nevermind.”

Will relaxes, only somewhat. He catches Mike’s eyes for a fleeting second before he, too, breaks his gaze away to stare at his shoes. Is this all that they did now? Is everything going to be this awkward?

Exposed and vulnerable, Will flips the script. “What about you? Do you want to talk about what happened yesterday?”

Will swears he can hear Mike’s heart skip a beat. “I– yeah, of course I do, that’s why I offered.”

“Mike.” Will doesn’t know how to approach this. At all. “You know what I’m talking about.”

Mike doesn’t respond. Will doesn’t really expect him to. 

They walk in silence all the way to school. 

---

Even though little movement from Vecna has been detected since The Earthquake, as it has been so eloquently named by local news outlets (along with The Birth of Hell, The Punishment, The Return of Satan… Will thinks Earthquake is the least accurate of the choices, but what does he know), the extended Party still attends bimonthly discussion and information sessions at the radio station to share any new findings or concerns. Honestly, Will thinks the meetings are more for their benefit than that of Hawkins. He appreciates the company of those who understand what’s really going on in this twisted town, who share the same trauma he does… to an extent.

He hadn’t had anything to bring up in the meetings for a while now. Which is good, of course. And good things never last long for Will Byers.

He sits in Ms. Warren’s History class, only half listening, still exhausted from the past few days. Will lets his eyes fall closed as she drones on about some pointless bullshit that’ll never be useful to him since he’ll never graduate high school anyways. Honestly, Will cannot believe he still has school when there are portals to Hell at every intersection of the town, but nothing keeps Hawkins High closed, apparently. 

Mike sits to his left. The two share a table in the back of the classroom to avoid bullies the best they can, but something about Will just attracts them. Sometimes, he finds it funny; how even after moving to California, being off the radar for a whole year, and returning when Hawkins has been split open by demons, he remains as much of a target for harassment as he was when he was thirteen. 

Ms. Warren carries on. He blinks his eyes open, trying to stay awake, but it’s useless. Vaguely, he thinks about how he’s still drawing in his notebook, but that thought drifts away with the remains of his consciousness. 

---

A prickling sensation in the back of his neck jolts him awake. The classroom is gone. Surrounding him on all sides are dark shadows and slithering vines; the temperature has dropped, but he isn’t cold. 

He’s faintly cognizant of the fact that he no longer has a body. The world around him is misty and unshapen, except for a small boy, shaking and terrified in front of him. He’s hiding. He’s very scared.

Why is he scared? He probably shouldn’t be scared. The Boy’s fear is contagious, because he feels it like it’s his own.

Even though he has no body, his form can still float around, through the shadows of the trees and vines. A faint buzzing sensation echoes through him as he feels himself being ripped and torn apart. Flashes of people and sensations, emotions, flicker through him at a rapid pace. 

He’s afraid. He doesn’t know what’s real. 

“Will?” 

He knows that voice. It’s Love, and Warmth, and Happiness. Some of the fear dissipates.

“Are you okay? Will? ”

There it is again. Like Home. Why should he be afraid if he’s Home?

The Boy agrees. He likes Home. He wants to go home, very badly.

Around him, the misty scene dissolves into plumes of smoke. He feels himself being pulled away, out of his own being…

The shadow is lurking. He doesn’t know what to do, how to stop it. Every day, every thought, he knew it was getting stronger. He couldn’t stop it. 

Faintly, a clock chimes. Pain surges through him. 

“Hey, Will?” Home, again. Much fainter now. 

“Hello, Will.” A low voice. A deep growl. 

No. 

“Why are you hiding from the truth, William?”

Get out. Leave. 

He feels It. Everywhere. He feels It in himself, in the creatures, in the very ground he stands on. And he forces it to listen. With all his might, all his strength, all his pain.

He pushes it so hard, he feels himself flying back with the force of it. He flies straight into the shadow. It surrounds him, it consumes him. 

For a brief moment, everything is much clearer. Red glow consumes his vision. Fear no longer pulses through his veins. He looks around, because he has eyes, and sees his own body. The shadow swirls around him still, but it isn’t attacking anymore. It simply lives, waiting to feed. Just like it did on the ones before, right there: first his mother, then his sister, then the Gates, they were much better… he sees them all. One, two, three–

Angry red overwhelms his vision. Fear strikes him, but it isn’t his fear. Not anymore. 

“What are you doing in here, Will?”

The shadow roars to life, back out of his command. Will fights back with all his strength, trying desperately to regain control, to get out . He is thrown backwards at startling speed, back into the shadow, through the darkness, out of his own mind– 

“Will, wake up.” Will startles so bad his knees hit the desk, causing the entire class to turn and face them. A class. He’s in a classroom. Gone is the red glow and dark shadow. He hadn’t realized how quick his breathing had gotten, or how his hands shook around the pencil he held, leaving chicken scratches on whatever he’d been doodling. The woman at the whiteboard pauses her lecture. 

“Everything alright, Mr. Byers?” she asks, and it takes Will a second to remember that’s his name. 

“Uh, I-“ Will can’t get the words out. It feels as though someone rearranged the pieces of his mind, the chronology of his life all out of sequence, mixed in with something else. 

“I think he might have the cold that’s going around,” the voice to his left, that Will now recognizes as Mike—his friend, his best friend—says. “I’ll take him to the nurse.”

Mike leaves no room for objection, and the teacher doesn’t offer any. Evidently, the teachers at Hawkins High had been informed about Will’s… situation, just like the ones up the hill at Hawkins Middle after he died. He died? Wait, no, he thinks. After he- what happened to him? Missing, a whisper. Kidnapped, a louder whisper.

His thought is cut off as Will feels himself being hoisted up by lanky, uncoordinated arms, a grounding comfort to the disconnected sensation that has rooted itself in his mind. Mike ushers him out, guiding him away from the judgmental stares of their peers. Neither boy says anything as they walk down the hall, Will tripping over his own feet. The taste of blood fills his mouth.

By the time the two make it to the bathroom, Will’s head is still reeling, but the shakes in his body are replaced with bone-deep exhaustion. Mike still hasn’t let go of his waist and shoulder, and the contact leaves his skin feeling electric. 

Will snaps out of his hazy thoughts, and he pushes himself away from Mike’s grip, stumbling over to the sink. He holds on for dear life, head bowed and breaths labored. All he wanted was to sleep. To be done with all of this. He’s tired.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Mike do a check of the stalls, making sure they’re alone. Once he’s satisfied, he makes a beeline back to Will.

“What the hell was that?” Mike demands. His tone leaves no room for bullshit, and Will is too tired to lie anyways.

“I don’t know,” Will slurs, his voice heavy with exhaustion. He sees Mike’s eyebrows furrow with concern. “I… I don’t know.”

Mike is not convinced. 

“Was it a flashback? Like… an Upside Down flashback? Why– Why are you so tired? Oh fuck, you’re bleeding.” Will can feel his anxiety, can hear it in the way he lowered his voice and shifted his tone. 

Sloppily, he moves a hand under his nose, only for it to come away coated in red.

He closes his eyes, and thinks back to the memory he experienced. It wasn’t his memory. But why did it feel like his own? Was it? It must’ve been himself in the Upside Down, at least at first, he reasons. All the sensations, the feelings, the monster always lurking… Will felt like his head was splitting in two. Like his very soul was being pulled out of his body and shoved somewhere else. 

Will presses his hands to his eyes, trying to shove his jumbled thoughts back into his head. He feels himself slipping away from reality, into another world, a world he thought he’d escaped. 

His knees buckle, and without hands to catch himself, Will feels the world tilt, feels himself fall into the arms of whoever was standing next to him, and whoever it was really needs to work on their upper body strength, because the weight of his body sends them both tumbling to the floor.

“Holy shit, okay,” the body holding him—Mike, it’s Mike—, mutters, voice veiled with worry. Will groans, his hands leaving his eyes and falling to his sides. His head lolls to the side, leaning into the crevice of Mike’s neck. He’s so warm. 

“You’re freezing,” Mike whispers, concern growing. 

“Mmm.” 

Mike pulls himself away from Will, and maneuvers them so he is kneeling in front of Will, who is now sitting with his back against the tiled wall. Hands grasp Will’s face, and Will’s head is held up by Mike, who’s frantic eyes meet his own half lidded ones. 

“Is this- is this One? Aren’t nosebleeds one of the symptoms? Your eyes look normal, I think. Actually, maybe they’re a little bit darker than usual. Are you, like, you? Do you feel possessed? Holy shit, were you possessed the other night, too? Shit, do we need music? Hang on, I think I have a mixtape-“

Mike’s rambling helps bring Will back into his own body, the familiarity of his worry proving to be an odd but welcome comfort. 

“Relax, Mike,” Will interrupts wearily. “I’m still me, it’s all fine. Just a… bad memory.” 

“You’ve never passed out into my arms from a memory before, Will.” 

Will grimaces at the phrasing of Mike’s statement, his face reddening with embarrassment. 

“Okay, I didn’t pass out into your arms,” Will argues meekly. “And I’m just tired, alright? It’s been a long, you know.” He gestures with his hands. 

“Year?” Mike grins, some of the stress leaving his face at seeing Will regain his strength.

“Try decade, maybe.” Will shares his smile. Mike moves to sit next to him on the dirty bathroom floor. Which, ew. Now that Will is more aware, he realizes just how gross it is to be lying all over the grimy filth of the Hawkins High Boys Bathroom. Mike doesn’t seem to share his sentiment, seemingly unfazed as he shuffles his way next to Will.

“Please talk to me,” he says, voice quiet. “Was it a memory of the Upside Down? Are you starting to remember things? Is Vecna making you?”

Will wrings his hands. “I… I think so, yeah.”

Mike tenses immediately. “So we do need music? You have your tape in your bag right? Can we–”

“Mike,” Will cuts him off sternly. “Relax. Please. You’re stressing me out.”

He deflates when he sees Mike’s face fall. “Right, sorry. Would… would you rather talk to Lucas, or I could call your mom-”

“No,” Will says firmly. Or tries to; his tone is diminished by the lingering exhaustion he’s fighting off. “No, Mike. That’s not what I meant. I want to talk to you. I– I like talking to you. It’s just hard, I guess.”

Mike doesn’t reply. He doesn’t have to; they’ve always had that unspoken understanding between them. 

“Look.” Will leans his head back against the wall. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I didn’t mean what I said. Any of it. I don’t even know why I said it.”

Mike turns away from Will, who’s heartbroken to hear Mike's voice wavering yet again. 

“We’re still best friends, right?” 

Will nods enthusiastically, then dials it back a bit when he realizes just how enthusiastically. Good thing Mike turned away and can't see how red his cheeks are becoming. 

“Yes, of course, Mike. We’ll always be best friends. Always.”

Facing him again, Mike gives him a small, caring smile, which does nothing to quell the blush already burning on Will’s face. “Cool.”

“Cool.”

A quiet moment passes. A nice quiet, one filled with comfort and connection. Mike is good at that; making Will feel less hopeless just by being there. He’s the Heart. Or, at least, he’s all the good (and all the bad) parts of Will’s heart. But, as usual, good things don’t last for Will Byers.

“What did you see?” 

Unsure of what to say, Will opens his mouth, hoping it’ll formulate a reply for him, but is saved the struggle by the shrill bell indicating the start of their lunch period. Will sighs, and hoists himself up from the ground, Mike quickly standing with his hands outstretched as if concerned Will’s going to nosedive right back to the floor.

“Jesus, Mike. I’m good. I promise.” Mike still doesn’t look convinced, but drops his arms all the same. Will washes his hands, giving Mike a look as he stands behind him and waits. 

“Really?” Will raises an eyebrow at him. Mike gives him a questioning look. 

“What?” he asks. Will rolls his eyes. 

“You just sat on the bathroom floor, Mike. Wash your damn hands.” 

Mike exhales a small laugh and moves to do so. 

“Already have enough energy to insult me, I see. Glad to know you’re feeling better,” Mike teases. Will chuckles quietly. He doesn’t feel any less tired, but at least the weird, split-soul feeling has been extinguished. 

Mike gives him a look. “Are you sure I shouldn’t call anyone? We could go home. Your mom wouldn’t mind.” 

Sometimes, Will wishes Mike wasn’t so good at reading his mind. As much as he yearns to just go home and sleep for a week, he knows his mom would be concerned, and that’s the last thing he needs right now. 

“Or I could go get Jonathan.”

A much more tempting offer. Although Jonathan had already graduated (and by graduated, he means just passed the classes enough to get a diploma in the mail), the Hawkins High gymnasium was still being used as a volunteer site for donations and food, and Jonathan frequently offered his assistance. Will knows he would be there today, but he also knows how overprotective his brother can be, as well as how overdramatic Mike is when he recounts stories.  

“Nah, it’s fine,” Will assured. “I’ll be okay. Promise. Plus, we’re meeting with the others for lunch, remember?”

Mike’s smile falters a bit, but he nods and gestures for Will to leave. “Fine. But you’re telling us all what’s been going on.” 

With a small sigh and a nod, Will exits the bathroom, Mike trailing behind until they reach the lunchroom. 

Walking inside the crowded space makes Will wish he went home. The sudden onset of loud noises and moving bodies just overwhelms his already scrambled brain more. Mike notices his change in demeanor. He turns to Will with a small frown. 

“Hang on, I’ll get Dustin and Lucas. We can eat at the benches.” 

Will opens his mouth to agree, but promptly shuts it when he spots Dustin at a table across the cafeteria, waving his arms from across the room, beckoning them to join. 

“Don’t worry about it, Mike,” Will says, starting to walk over. Mike begrudgingly follows behind. 

Will’s intense focus on making it to the table paired with his immense lethargy clearly have an impact on his peripheral vision, since three large senior boys shove into him, effectively sending him toppling to the ground. 

“Oh, shit,” Mike grumbles, moving to help Will up, but one of the boys shoves him before he gets the chance, snickering. 

“Watch it, freak,” one of them spits out. Will can’t tell which one. They’re all the same to him. Especially these ones; the basketball jocks. Even all these months later, the team still holds a grudge against Eddie Munson for supposedly murdering two of their teammates, and Will has come to learn that their grudge extends to him as well. Between that and the gym being used as a community service hub, they’ve effectively placed a target on all of the Party’s backs. 

Around them, students have gone quiet, engrossed in the scene unfolding before them. Out of the corner of his eye, Will sees Lucas and Dustin getting up from their table to come help.

“What, you trying to help your boyfriend?” Even after years of torment, comments like those still sting his heart. But as he looks up, he realizes the boys weren’t talking to him. 

Mike’s cold stare wavers just slightly. “Do you guys seriously still get off on beating up underclassmen? Seems a little pathetic that you can’t take on someone your own size. Go take on the quarterback first and then we’ll talk.”

One of the boys kicks Mike hard in the stomach, effectively shutting him up. Around them, students gasp and awe like they’re watching some TV show instead of real people getting hurt. 

Will hauls himself off the floor and shoves the guy away from Mike. Behind him stand his two friends, both squared up for a fight. Will braces himself. 

A lot of things happen at once. Dustin runs at full speed towards the jocks, sending two of them falling to the ground. Mike goes to stand up, clutching his ribs. Lucas gives him a hand, and Mike is almost on his feet, before catching an elbow to the face from one of the guys on Dustin and sending them both tumbling back down. Someone is throwing punches. Students are cheering. Across the room, a teacher storms in. Will backs up, but trips on someone’s leg and falls to the floor, crushing another person. He hopes it’s not Mike or Dustin. 

The teacher finally makes it over, hauls Will off the pile of bodies and back on his feet, and breaks up the fight (which is really more like six guys rolling around on the floor) with Will’s help. Or, maybe help is a strong word. He just stands, gaping, offering a hand to Dustin when he pulls himself up.

His Hellfire shirt is torn at the collar, but other than that Dustin appears unscathed. Lucas only has a scratch on his hand. Mike, however, wasn’t as lucky; he now sports an angry bruise on his cheek and a matching split lip. Will counts himself lucky, but the guilt already begins to gnaw away at him. Mike wouldn’t have gotten hurt if it wasn’t for me. 

At some point, a second teacher must’ve joined in, because there are two adults separating them from the basketball players. Will is surprised to see them with a few marks on their face as well; Dustin must’ve got a good hit or two in. 

“That’s enough,” the teacher barks out. “All of you, knock it off.” 

“Bullshit, all of us!” Dustin yells. “These assholes started it!”

“Oh, did we?” One of the players sneers. He’s being forcibly held back by one of the teachers. Will backs up a bit on instinct. “You and your little cult murdered our friends. You opened a portal to Hell in our town.”

Even though he was never a member of Hellfire, he heard all about Eddie Munson and the amazing campaigns he orchestrated from Dustin and Lucas. Will’s anger rises. Beside him, Dustin is fuming. 

“For the last time,” Mike says, teeth clenched, just as angry. “It’s a goddamn Dungeons and Dragons Club. It’s a game.”

Taking a step forward, the senior replies, “Yeah, sure. A game that involves Satanic sacrifice. Just ask Sinclair.” He smirks, turning to Lucas. “We all saw what happened to your little girlfriend.”

Tension spikes in the room immediately. Will can feel like pure rage emanating from Lucas in waves. Carefully, he places a hand on Lucas’s shoulder to try and ease the strain. It doesn’t work. 

“Lucas, just leave it,” Will whispers, voice calm and steady. “They’re fucking insane, they don’t know what they’re talking about.”

“No?” Another senior steps forward. Will briefly notices the third boy hanging back, looking torn by the new direction the conversation has taken. “I mean, we all heard what happened. How you tried to snap her bones and gouge her eyes out just like Munson did to the others. Following in your leader’s footsteps, huh?” 

Finally, the teachers do something, shoving both antagonizing boys back and directing them back to their table. But not before they get one final shout across the hall. 

“Beware of the freaks, everyone! Unless you want to end up like all the others. Fucking ritual sacrifice!”

Another hard push towards their table shuts them up. Will’s hand still rests on Lucas’s shoulder, which is now trembling from repressed sobs. Mike looks about ready to follow after them, but Dustin, who too is holding back tears, stops him with a shake of his head. 

“Come on. Let’s just leave," he says, already moving to gather their things from the table. Mike follows closely behind, hand pressed to the bruise on his forehead. Lucas doesn’t move; his head still hangs low, his shoulders shaking. 

Will doesn’t know what to say, what he could possibly say to make his friend feel better. While he wasn’t in Hawkins when Vecna attacked Max, he was given the rundown shortly after they’d arrived. While Will had never been as close with Max as he was with the other members of the Party, seeing her frail body wrapped in casts and bandages, unmoving in the sterile hospital bed made him want to throw up. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how Lucas had felt, holding her dying body in his arms, begging her to stay with him. 

The picture forms itself clear in his mind: Max’s body, broken and bloody, surrounded by vines and red decay. Her lifeforce is small, she may as well be dead. But she was always a fighter. Regardless of her physical form, her mind is lost, just like all the others.

Just like you will be soon, Will.  

“Will?” The image dissolves away. Will comes back to himself, his hand clenching tightly onto Lucas’s shoulder. Will’s eyes fill with tears, his brain still reeling with all the ways Max must’ve suffered. Lucas looks at him with more concern than he’s ever seen from someone in his life. 

“I,” Will chokes out. “I’m just sorry. I’m really sorry, Lucas.”

A few tears slip out of Lucas’s eyes, running down his cheeks. He quickly wipes them away, eyes darting around to see if anyone was still watching them. While a few nosy students sneak some glances at the two, most have gone back to their own discussions now that all the interesting stuff is over. 

“Thanks, man,” Lucas says, voice thick with tears. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Mike and Dustin rapidly heading back towards them, both carrying a lunch tray and a backpack. 

Mike hands the tray and bag to Lucas, who mumbles out a “thank you” as the four quickly exit the cafeteria. Both Lucas and Dustin return their trays on the way, no longer hungry. 

Luckily for them, the hallways are mostly empty, sans a few stragglers going through their lockers, or couples making out on benches. Dustin leads the pack, walking with purpose. He’s ranting about something, probably the basketball players, but Will isn’t listening. His thoughts keep drifting back to that image of Max, broken and alone, trapped in the Upside Down. All the descriptions of Vecna’s mind and the alternate dimension have clearly manifested themself into some horrific nightmare in Will’s brain. He hates it. 

Dustin pushes the doors to the field open with a bang, snapping him out of his thoughts. He sees his sister’s Missing poster plastered on the glass. Eleven currently stays as the Number 1 Most Wanted person probably in the whole country. But the government, of course, doesn’t want to send the message that they’re on a manhunt for a fifteen year old, so all search efforts have been under the guise of helping a missing teenager. Will finds it repulsive, just like everything else the military has done to him and his family. 

He picks up the pace, noticing he started to lag behind his friends. But Mike slows down, letting Lucas and Dustin walk in front of them. Will thinks back to the cafeteria, and embarrassment floods his whole body as he remembers what the jocks had said to Mike. 

“I’m sorry they were mean to you,” Will begins. When Mike gives him a confused look, Will makes a little ‘you know’ gesture with his hands. 

Mike still doesn’t get it. “What do you mean? They were being assholes to all of us, Will.”

Anxiety fills his body. Should he specify what exactly he’s apologizing for? Would that be too obvious? 

Will pushes on. “I mean, when they were… when they were calling you my…” He can’t even say it. Mike’s eyes widen with realization, and Will swears he sees his cheeks redden. 

“Oh.” Will vaguely registers Dustin and Lucas halting their own conversation to listen in. 

“Don’t worry about it, man,” Mike says with a small, forced smile. “They’ve always been like that. You know.” 

“Well, yeah,” Will replies meekly. “To me. But they’ve never said stuff like that to you.” 

Dustin turns around, a reply already on his lips, but a sharp look from Mike shuts him up real quick. Will looks between the two, confused, but they both staunchly avoid eye contact with him. Will looks to Lucas, who just mouths later and continues walking. Will huffs, but nods anyway. 

As usual, the picnic table is deserted. Not that many people ever came before Eddie supposedly murdered Chrissy, but the gossip of them having met at this very table the day she was found dead had definitely deterred students from visiting. 

Dustin and Lucas drop their bags on the bench, the former immediately digging through and pulling out some sort of large paper. When he spreads it out over the table, Will recognizes it; the roadmap of Hawkins and its military bases. Over the past year, the extended Party had been operating under the radar to try and locate Vecna. However, with the military now positioned at every gate in Hawkins, as well as roaming the streets at all hours of the day, it’s been a lot harder. 

Luckily, Owens’ little faction had been very beneficial in helping them out, providing them with as much information as they could, as well as the WSQK radio station (or The Squawk, as Dustin had dubbed it), a formerly abandoned building out in a field that they had converted into a hideout for El as well as a base of operations for their mission. Located on the very edge of Hawkins, and far away from the gates, the military doesn’t feel the need to go investigate it. As far as anyone knows, the Party had applied for jobs at the station, and based on their previous AV Club experience, it wasn't very hard to believe. 

Owens had provided them with as much information as he could, his reluctance to involve children in this plan withering under El’s gaze. He gave them files, maps, names; anything he could scrape together in his one visit to Hawkins last summer. Since then, he’s been off the radar except for the occasional coded broadcast or letter. Will thinks that’s for the best. 

“Okay, so,” Dustin begins. “We know the military is planning to do something big soon. That’s clear from the broadcast Steve and Robin intercepted. The question is, is it Vecna related? Or just regular alternate-dimension-bleeding-into-our-world activity?”

Steve and Robin, both out of school and desperately searching for a new job after the Family Video had been demolished by the Earthquake, had opted to run a real radio station out of the building so as to not raise any suspicion. Murray even helped them make t-shirts. It ended up coming in very handy, as they had ample opportunity to tune into private military frequencies, searching for codes or clues as to their plans. At their last group meeting, Steve had given them a rundown on what they’d heard; something about a large-scale attack to quell rising activity from the gates. Which was concerning, to say the least; however, as the Party waited with baited breath for something to happen, they were anxiously surprised to find nothing major having happened yet. 

Of course, they had all asked Eleven if she had seen anything in the Void, to which she said no. And then they turned to Will, asking if he had felt anything, to which he said–

“It’s Vecna.” Dustin stops, turning to face Will. Lucas and Mike do the same. “I… the connection is getting stronger. He’s becoming more powerful. I can feel it.”

Will hates the way his voice shakes as he says it. He hates the way Lucas’s eyes fill with despair, the way Mike looks at him like he’s fragile and weak. But he hates Dustin’s inquisitive gaze the most. It sees right through him.

“What happened?” he asks bluntly. “Did he show you something? A vision?”

Before Will can even reply, Mike jumps in. “We found him outside in Castle Byers last night. And then, today in class, he had another episode.”

“Woah, what?” Lucas’s head whips towards Will, who refuses to look at any of them. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Dustin makes a noise of agreement. “Have you been having headaches? Nightmares of trauma? Nosebleeds? Anything like that?”

“Yeah, he has,” Mike replies. “He said he went to Castle Byers after he had a nightmare, and it was of the Upside Down, but he also said he can’t remember the Upside Down, so.” 

Agitation flares in Will. “Shut up, Mike.” 

Mike’s eyes widen. Lucas’s and Dustin’s do as well; they’ve never heard him sound so angry, especially at Mike. 

“Stop talking about me like I’m not standing right in front of you,” Will bites out. “You don’t even know what you’re… I can’t…” 

Will presses his palms into his eyes again. His emotions are all over the place. His head is pounding.

“Well, maybe if you weren’t so pathetic, I wouldn’t have to always be taking care of you.”

Will freezes. Because that’s Mike’s voice. Mike’s voice just said those words. Called him pathetic.

He looks up, frightened by what he sees; his three best friends, all looking at him like he’s some virus, malicious sneers etched into their faces. Will takes a step back. His whole body runs cold, like someone had just dunked him in ice water. 

“We don’t need you, Will.” Lucas. “All you do is hold us back. You should be grateful we still put up with you at all.”

Dustin cackles, an evil sound, so different to his usual cheery laughter. Will swallows a sob, hands shaking. 

“Wha– I don’t understand,” he chokes out. 

Mike scoffs, shaking his head with a mocking grin. “Don’t you get it, Will? None of this would be happening if you just died when you were supposed to. In the Upside Down. We could’ve been so happy.

“But you just had to survive, didn’t you? Come back and ruin our lives. Ruin my life.” 

Dread creeps up Will’s spine. His neck prickles. 

“Why don’t I tell them how you really feel?” Will stops breathing. 

“Mike, please,” he begs, unaware of the woods melting away, the vines creeping up the decaying trees. 

Mike takes a step towards him. “Don’t they deserve to know, Will? How evil you are, how badly you wish to disappear… how badly you wish she would just disappear.”

“No,” Will whimpered. “I never wanted that, I swear.” 

“Oh, but you do,” Mike continues. The bruise on his face grows bigger and bigger, the cut leaking blood. Red pours down his face, running into his eyes and mouth. Will suppresses a gag. “You wish it could all go back to the way it was before. When she wasn’t here. When you could have me all to yourself.

“I can give you all that you want, Will.” Raspy. Dangerous. Finally, it clicks. That’s not Mike.   

A clock chimes. Will slowly turns around, and sees it; carved into a tree, looming over him. It chimes again. He takes a step towards it against his will, like a magnetic pull beckoning him.  

“You can’t keep me out forever.” There’s an undercurrent of something new in Vecna’s voice, something Will had never heard before. Agitation. 

The pieces fall into place. Will understands. The connection, the memories, the shadow. The control. His control. 

Another chime. It felt mocking. He turns back to face Vecna, still wearing Mike’s face. Rage boils in his stomach. 

“Watch me.”

He hears Vecna, but Mike's mouth doesn't move. Sinister, foreboding laughter echoes throughout his mind.

“Just you wait, William. You’ll be home soon enough.”

Will prepares himself to fight back, but in the blink of an eye, he’s back at the picnic tables. His friends are staring at him with worry and confusion. Frantically, he looks around; everything looks normal enough. All the trees are in the right places, all clock-free. 

“Uh, Will? You alright, man?” Lucas asks. Will just nods, still trying to get his bearings. 

Dustin gives him a look. “...you sure? You looked pretty zoned out there for a second.”

That gives Will pause. “Wait, a second? How long was I– were you talking, or– what happened?”

Lucas and Dustin exchange a worried glance. Will looks between them in frustration. How much longer will his friends be treading on eggshells around him? 

Mike, however, reaches over the table towards Will, hand outstretched. Will involuntary flinches back, still not fully out of the vision. Mike’s hand retreats, but his gaze, determined yet sad, doesn’t waver. 

“Fuck,” is all Will can say. His friends just watch in horror as his shaking hands wipe tears off his cheeks. 

“I’m Vecna’s next target. He’s back, and he’s getting stronger, and– and he’s trying to kill me. Did I already tell you that?” 

Will looks at Mike, whose dread is radiating off him in waves. “Whatever. That’s what happened yesterday. In Castle Byers. And why I can’t remember anything– I don’t know, maybe that’s him too? He was, well, he showed me– and in class today, it was, I don’t know, I fought him off, but I can’t–”

Will’s rambling is cut off by his own sob. He presses a hand to his mouth to muffle it, already embarrassed enough from earlier in the bathroom with Mike. Around him, the woods are silent, save for the rustles of leaves in the autumn breeze and his own hitched breathing. He startles when he feels a strong arm wrap around his shoulders, but relaxes when he pries his eyes open and sees Lucas wrapping him into a cautious hug. Will falls into it, his arms holding tight onto Lucas’s back, his head buried into his neck as he cries. 

“We won’t let him get you,” Lucas vows, a few tears leaking from his eyes as well. “I promise.” 

Dustin walks towards the pair, leaves crunching beneath his feet, and forces his way into the hug. Will chuckles a bit, wrapping one arm around Dustin as well. Carefully, he looks up at Mike, who still stands across the picnic table. He looks nervous and uncertain, shifting on his feet. Will understands why; he wasn’t sure if he had actually snapped at Mike, or if that was just part of Vecna’s trance, but he definitely flinched away from his hand earlier. Will gives him a small nod, and Mike bites his lip to contain his smile and he comes to join their group hug. 

For a moment, everything is calm. It reminds Will of what his life was like before it all went to shit four years ago. Just him and his friends against the world.

But all good things come to an end much too soon, and Will breaks away from the hug, dissolving the illusion of serenity. Reality comes crashing back. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he says to Mike. “I didn’t know– or, I guess I just didn’t want it to be true.” 

Mike nods. “I know. I get it, Will. And I’m sorry, too. For being all… overbearing, I guess.”

Will shakes his head, playing with the sleeve of his jacket. As much as he wishes he could be mad at Mike, he can’t. He never can. His life would be so much easier if he could. But one look at Mike’s big, sincere eyes crumbles his defenses. 

“Don’t be sorry,” Will says. “I should’ve told you. And it’s nice to know that you care about me.”

Mike blushes hard, and Will registers what he just said. Oh God. 

He backpedals, hard. “I– I mean, all of you. It’s cool that, uh, you all are such good friends. To me. I appreciate it.” Nice save.

Lucas raises an eyebrow, taking a seat on the table. Dustin looks between Mike and Will like they’ve each grown an extra head. Mike opens and closes his mouth, face still beet red. He kind of looks like a goldfish. 

“O-kay…” Dustin says slowly, as if trying to put the pieces together before he finishes the word. “How about this. No more secrets within the Party. If something is wrong, we must always tell our fellow Party members as quickly as possible.”

Mike nods, looking thankful for the topic change. “And if any of us are in danger, we’ll make a plan to rescue said person at all costs.” Will doesn’t miss the way Mike’s focus drifts towards him. 

He reaches his hand out over the table. A pact. “At all costs.”

Lucas immediately follows suit. “At all costs.”

Will hesitates. He knows he’s the only one of the four with a massive target on their backs. The pact is obviously for his sake, and he’s unsure if he wants their pledge. Does he really want the Party to rescue him at all costs? Definitely not. But they can’t know that. He looks over at Dustin, who is moving closer to the group, hand outstretched. Not hesitating. 

Well, okay then. Will puts his hand on Lucas’s a second before Dustin places his hand. 

“At all costs,” Dustin agrees.

The three turn to Will, who grits his teeth and replies.

“At all costs.”

Chapter Text

Will should get an award for “Most Gifted at Weaseling His Way Out of Important Conversations.” He’s three for three. 

Naturally, his friends (i.e. Mike) tried their best to push him on what he saw during his Vecna visions, but Lucas swooped in, whispering something about knowing how destructive and personal they could be without meeting his eyes. Will knows he’s thinking about Max. 

Mike, being Mike, kept urging Will to talk. “No more secrets! Remember? We literally just agreed on it?”

Will pushed back, reminding Mike of their full Party meeting tonight, and how Mike had already agreed to wait for everyone to debrief. Lucas gave Will a little smirk when Mike retreated, grumbling something about double standards. 

A beep of his watch pulls Will out of his thoughts. He looks down, reading 11:35. 

“We should head back,” Will says. “We’re already late.”

Dustin agrees, and starts to pack up his bag. “So much for planning, huh?”

Will gives a half-hearted smile. He knows they wouldn’t have made much progress, anyways. There’s only so much you can do with a few maps during a thirty minute lunch period.  

Bag fully packed, Dustin leads the way. Will goes to follow, but a hand grabs his own, halting him. He tenses involuntarily, but urges his body to relax when he feels Mike’s calloused fingers gripping his own. It’s easier said than done. 

“Will, are you sure you’re okay?” Mike’s eyes are pleading. “You don’t have to go back to class. I’ll go get Jonathan and he can drive us home.”

Mike’s phrasing, particularly his inclusion of ‘us,’ is not lost on Will. Butterflies swarmed in his stomach, their wings fluttering in time with his erratic heartbeat. 

Will must have some stupid look on his face, because Mike’s gaze shifts from one of worry to shame very fast. He quickly drops Will’s hand, who tries not to mourn the loss of contact. Mentally, he makes a note to ease up on prolonged physical contact with Mike; it’s obviously making him uncomfortable, and a target for increased harassment. Will does his best to ignore the self-hatred rising inside, like a swarm of angry wasps ready to kill the peaceful butterflies. 

Will pushes his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Yeah. That sounds good, actually.”

Worry and relief mix into Mike’s expression; Will bets he wasn’t expecting him to concede so quickly. Honestly, Will wasn’t either. He much prefers to just tough it out, get through each day, persevere through the night, and do it all over again. Sometimes, he wonders why he even bothers. Then he shoves that thought into a drawer in his mind to ignore as long as he could. 

“Here, Will.” Lucas reaches out his hand, offering a Walkman and headphones. “Which tape is yours again?”

Will accepts the Walkman, hooking it into his belt loop. “Uh, Boys Don’t Cry. The Cure.”

One of the first things addressed after the Byers’ and Mike had returned from California last year was favorite songs. Nancy called their first ever assembly as a full team in order to learn and locate every member’s preferred music in case of another Vecna attack. Will’s tape and Walkman lives in his backpack, somewhere at the bottom under mountains of papers and notebooks. He hadn’t needed it; none of them had. Lucas, though, insisted on having not only his own, but every other Party member’s tape with him at all times. No one tried to stop him. 

Lucas digs through his bag, and pulls out a stack of music. Sifting through them, he locates the right one. ‘Will’ scrawled on it in black marker, but having lived in Lucas’s bag so long, the word has faded into basically nothing. 

“Here,” he says, handing it to Will. “You should have it playing at all times. In case he comes back.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m going home then,” Will jokes awkwardly. “Might be hard to focus on class with The Cure blasting in my ears.”

Lucas gives him a sympathy laugh, which he appreciates, and claps him on the back. He walks ahead to catch up with Dustin, who stands a few paces away, watching. Mike watches Will carefully as he inserts the cassette. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Mike asks. Will bites back a sigh. 

“Yes, Mike. I’m fine,” he says. “Well, as fine as I can be under these circumstances, I guess.”

Mike’s face contorts, like his thoughts are becoming so much they’re trying to crawl out of the pores of his skin. The increased worry, while sweet, is quickly becoming way too much for Will to handle on top of everything else. As much as he wants to tell Mike to lay off, that he can’t deal with making sure Mike thinks he’s okay on top of actually trying to be okay, he doesn’t.

“Come on,” Will continues, following Dustin and Lucas. Mike grunts in acceptance and walks after Will, the ghost of concern still on his face. 

---

By the time they make it back to the school, fourth period is already halfway done. As the four debate about whether or not to just skip it, they’re saved the trouble by Jonathan approaching with a stern look on his face. 

“Jesus, there you guys are,” he asks Will, exasperated. “Where the hell have you been? Mom told me about the fight, are you okay?”

Will furrows his eyebrows, looking around at his friends, who are equally confused. 

“Wait, what?” Mike interjects. “How does she even know?”

Jonathan gives him a look, like a watch your goddamn tone kind of look. He reminds Will of Nancy, and Mike must share that sentiment, since he shrinks back with a mumbled apology. 

“I’m fine,” Will hesitates. “But… how does she know?”

Jonathan runs a hand through his hair, an anxious tic Will has noticed him doing a lot more now that they’ve been back in Hawkins (and now that he no longer has an unlimited supply of Purple Palm Tree Delight from Argyle). 

“They suspended you. All of you guys,” Jonathan says with a glance at Will’s friends.

Will’s stomach drops. He gapes at Jonathan, and he can see Lucas doing the same. Dustin just runs a hand over his face, groaning. 

“That’s such bullshit!” Mike might as well have smoke coming from his ears with how mad he is. All reservations about checking his tone have vanished. “Those assholes started it, we didn’t even do anything!”

Jonathan raises his hands placatingly. “I know you wouldn’t start a fight intentionally.” He looks at Will. “And Mom isn’t mad. Just concerned. Those guys had some pretty bad injuries.” 

Mike scoffs, shaking his head. “Bullshit. I got it the worst out of any of us.”

He gestures to his cheek, which is bruised purple and still bloody. Will resists the urge to wipe it off his face with his sleeve.

“None of the guys looked that hurt, Jonathan,” Lucas says quietly. “Mike is right, he definitely got the worst injury, and it’s just a scrape on his face.”

Mike makes a face. “Well, okay, hang on a second-”

“Regardless,” Jonathan interrupts loudly, a pointed look at Mike. “Those guys were pretty mad. And so were their parents. You know how things are here right now. People aren’t on our side.”

The underlying message, and they never have been, is left unspoken. Will still hears it. 

“Did they tell you why the fight started in the first place?” Dustin asks. 

Jonathan shakes his head. “I mean, they probably told Mom. I only heard about it from her and some kids talking about it in the halls. She called me right after the school called her and told me to come find you.”

“I wonder how they even called her,” Will mumbles. “Like, we don’t have an address or anything. We’ve been staying at the Wheeler’s.” 

“Probably called there, then,” Jonathan says.

Mike groans. “Great, that means my mom definitely knows, too. Just perfect.”

Will suppresses a smirk. “Did you expect them to not find out?” 

“It would’ve been nice,” Mike grumbles. “I already know I’m never hearing the end of this.”

Lucas and Dustin both make noises of agreement, their faces contorted in worry thinking about their parent's reactions. Will counts himself lucky. 

Jonathan gives them a sympathetic smile, before looking down at the Walkman on Will’s hip, and back up to the headphones around his neck. His smile drops instantly. 

“Wait, did something happen? With Vecna?” He gestures to the Walkman. All eyes look to Will.

Well, there’s no point in hiding it anymore, he thinks. “Yeah. But I’m okay, I promise.” 

Jonathan’s eyes widen. “Will, that’s the second Vecna-vision in the past two days. That’s not okay.” 

“Third,” Mike says under his breath. Will gives him what he hopes is an accusatory look. 

Jonathan whips his head towards Mike. “Third? There was another one? Will, what the hell? You can’t just not tell us things like this!”

Will looks down. As much as he wants to be angry, he’s so tired of fighting all the time. He doesn’t know if he even has anger left in his body anymore. 

“I know,” he says, voice laced with guilt. “And I’m sorry. Really.” Jonathan softens a bit. “I was going to tell you, I swear. It literally just happened.”

Lucas verifies this with a shaky nod. “We barely even noticed,” he says quietly. “Will just kind of, zoned out, I guess, only for a minute. He didn’t float or anything.”

Dustin, who’s now leaning on the wall of lockers, snaps his fingers. “That’s what happened to Max, too.” Carefully, he looks at Lucas, who wavers only slightly. “Uh, before… when we were in Ms. Kelly’s office. Before you got there. She also just spaced out for a minute. And then said she saw a clock down the hall.”

Will, obviously, was already aware of Vecna's target on him. But hearing it spelled out so plainly, that his fate will soon mirror Max’s, that it already does, chills his blood and turns his breathing ragged. 

A cautious hand brushes against his own. Will startles, but Mike’s fingers just grip his palm tighter. 

“We won’t let him get you,” he vows. Mike’s voice is so sincere, Will almost believes him. “I promise.”

Jonathan glances down at their now intertwined hands, then back up at Will, then at Mike. If he’s trying to mask his confusion at the scene, he’s doing a terrible job. 

“Uh… there is something else,” Jonathan hesitates. A small group of students, likely ditching class, pass by them, their frenzied whispers echoing through the otherwise quiet hallway. Mike pulls his hand away, refusing to meet Will’s eyes. It shouldn’t hurt, but it does. 

“What?” Will’s afraid to know the answer. 

Jonathan wrings his hands together. “I haven’t seen it or anything. But Mom told me that the school… well, she said that you and Mike left Warren’s class early today because you weren’t feeling good?” Will nods, anxiety growing. “Okay, uh, well you both left your stuff at your desks. Someone else in the class picked it up, I guess, and they saw your notebook, Will.”

Will waits for the bomb to drop, but Jonathan doesn’t say anything else, just looks at him in concern. He turns to Mike in confusion, wondering if he’s the only one missing something. 

Mike just stares at Jonathan like he’s crazy. “Okay? What, did they take his history notes or something?”

More students walk by, some opening lockers across the hall from them. Quietly, they chatter amongst themselves, but as soon as one person notices the group, it’s as if everyone’s brain is rewired to only gossip about them. Will hears his own name thrown around, as well as the usual insults. A few brave souls even point at them before cheerfully calling them murderers and Satanists and, occasionally, dirty queers under their breath. Jonathan takes a quick glance at the clock, a stony expression masking his fury. 

“Come on,” he says, teeth clenched. Will only has it in him to be slightly embarrassed by his brother hearing the names they call him. “Bell’s about to ring. We should go.”

Will nods, and Jonathan leads the way down the halls, back towards the gymnasium. His pace and brisk and strong, and Will almost has a hard time keeping up. None of them say anything as they traverse the halls, pointedly ignoring glances or taunts hurled their way. He hears a mumble or two from Dustin, but nothing loud enough to be picked up on by anyone else. Which is probably for the best; the last thing they need is to get suspended a second time before the first one even starts.

By the time they make it to the gymnasium doors, Will’s heart is hammering. From nerves or fear or three minutes of speedwalking, he’s unsure. He spares a glance at Mike, who is trying and failing to inconspicuously catch his breath. Lucas bites his lip to contain his smile, and Will snorts at them both. 

Mike’s eyes dart between them. “Oh, shut up. We couldn’t all grow massive muscles over the summer.”

Jonathan raises an eyebrow at Mike, whose eyes are trained on Will. He wishes his brother would stop with the weird looks; now Will doesn’t know what to do or where to look as his cheeks blush red. Lucas doesn’t notice, instead flexing his arms dramatically. 

“We can’t all be so lucky, right, Will?” Lucas makes little finger guns at him, arms still positioned to show off his impressively defined biceps. Will isn’t staring. He isn’t. He just has an appreciation for athleticism like any other human being with working eyes.

“I guess not,” he says, ignoring the flush creeping up his neck. He tries to copy Lucas’s silly pose and fails miserably. “I definitely don’t have arms like yours. I just got taller.”

On his other side, Dustin pokes him in the arm. “Nah, you’ve definitely gained some muscle, Byers. Like, when you got back from California? I thought you must’ve joined basketball or something like Lucas. You were all buff and shit.”

Will can’t help but laugh. “I’m flattered that you guys think I could survive on a basketball team.”

“Will’s arms do look really good,” Mike says airily. Four sets of eyes turn to look at him. His face erupts in flames, eyes wide.

“Not in a weird way!” he stutters out. “Wait, no, not weird. It wouldn’t be weird. It’s not weird, but… uh…”  Jonathan’s eyebrows knit together in bewilderment. “It was just an observation. It wasn’t like… yeah.”

Will wants the ground to swallow him whole. A thought flies through his mind that maybe this is another one of Vecna’s visions, but he doesn’t think Vecna would be capable of crafting a nightmare this uncomfortable even with full access to his mind.

“Uh, no one said anything, dude,” Lucas grimaces.

Somehow, Mike turns even redder. “I never said- you all were looking at me! I was just being nice!”

Jonathan’s hand covers his mouth. Will’s not sure if he’s laughing or so painfully embarrassed on their behalf he feels the need to conceal it. He’s also not sure which is worse.

“We were looking at you because you were talking, Mike,” Dustin says slowly. “Not because we thought you were being weird.”

There’s a moment of tense silence. Blood rushes to Will’s face so intensely he can feel the warmth blooming on his skin. He doesn’t want to know what Lucas and Dustin are thinking of him right now. 

“Okay, well… anyways,” Jonathan, for the first time maybe ever, takes pity on Mike, and changes the topic before it can get too far. “Will, Mom wants you to stay here with me and help with volunteering, since she can’t come to pick you up until later. You three are free to leave, I guess. I haven’t heard anything from your parents.”

Will is incredibly thankful for the shift in conversation, and he does his best to not stare at Mike, who is still bright red, looking on the verge of tears. Will hates that he’s the one who made Mike feel so uncomfortable. Maybe if he wasn’t so obvious with his stupid crush, Mike wouldn’t feel as weird paying him compliments like any other friend would. 

“Alright,” Lucas turns to Dustin. “I think I’m going to try and visit Max for a bit.”

Dustin nods, eyes sad. “I’m going to see Eddie.” 

They both turn to Mike, who’s shoved his hands in his pockets. He rocks on the balls of his feet slightly. “Uh, I'm supposed to pick up Holly today. Mom said she was busy with something and she doesn’t like her biking by herself.”

The bell rings. Luckily, they’re far enough away from any classrooms to be swarmed in a sea of students, but some stragglers and volunteers breeze down the hallways. No one pays them any mind; or, if people are staring, they’re doing a much better job at hiding it. 

Jonathan turns to Mike. “You can hang here for a bit, if you want. That way you’ll be closer to Holly’s school when you have to go pick her up.”

“And,” Will smiles shyly. “You won’t have to deal with the wrath of Ted Wheeler for a few more hours.” 

Luckily, Mike chuckles at that, and some of the tension leaves Will’s shoulders. He quickly brings his guard back up, though; he can’t risk Mike becoming more nervous around him, or even worse, finding out how Will really feels because he can’t keep his crush in check. The last thing Will wants is for all of Mike’s discomfort around him to be justified. 

“Yeah,” Mike says. “You’re right. Plus, volunteering, you know. It’s good.”

Will holds back a laugh. Lucas snorts, not having the same restraint. “Yes, it’s very good, Mike.”

The gymnasium doors suddenly bang open, causing all five of them to jump. It’s a girl, around Jonathan’s age, with stacks of donated clothes in her arms. Her leg is outstretched from kicking the door open, and she wobbles slightly, trying to regain her balance while also keeping the clothes balanced. 

“Shit,” she curses, the pile of clothes tipping. Jonathan rushes to help, grabbing half of it before it tumbles to the floor. She lets out a grateful exhale. 

“Ugh, thanks, Jon,” she says. “They want these brought out to the service van in the front. Do you mind?”

Jonathan glances back at Will. “Uh…”

Will just nods with a reassuring smile. “We’ll be fine. Mike and I will find something to do. Some good volunteering.”

Mike rolls his eyes with an embarrassed groan as Lucas and Dustin laugh. Jonathan relaxes, telling Will he’ll be back in a minute before following the girl down the hall. Lucas looks after them. 

“Actually,” he says. “I should be heading out that way, too. My bike is at the front.”

Dustin hums in agreement, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “Same. See you guys at the meeting tonight?”

“Yeah, of course,” Will smiles halfheartedly. God, what is he even going to say at the meeting? That he’s Vecna’s next victim? That he woke up in Castle Byers with no memory of how or why he was there? That one of his Vecna-visions wasn’t even his own? Now that he’s thinking about it, really thinking about it, Will finds himself baffled by what he saw, and moreso, how he saw it. A doctor, a shadow, something called Project Rainbow… 

“...Will?”

He jumps, whipping around to face the source of the voice, unconsciously taking a few steps back. It’s just Mike. Will takes a deep breath, steeling himself. The constant thrum of anxiety pulsing through his body sucks, especially since Mike’s eyes are now wide in concern.

“Shit, that was Vecna again, wasn’t it?” Mike briskly walks over to Will, all prior embarrassment forgotten. Will registers that Dustin and Lucas are both gone, leaving just him and Mike alone in the hallway. 

Mike carefully reaches a hand out towards Will’s face. For a fleeting moment, Will thinks he’s about to do something crazy, like caress his cheek or run a hand through his hair. But Mike’s fingers wrap around the headphones, gently grazing the back of his neck, sending chills down his spine. These chills were different, though, than the familiar cold prickling that warns of danger. This was a whole other kind of danger. Mike’s hand made Will feel warm and the breath catch in his throat. It was familiar, yet so foreign. Anxious and dangerous. Terrifying. 

Voices chatter loudly inside the gymnasium, but Will tuned them out long before Mike placed the headphones over his ears. One of his hands rests on Will’s ear, over the wiry headphones, while the other goes to press play on the tape. Will meets Mike’s eyes. Something stops him before he can click the button. Maybe it’s Will’s doe-eyed gaze, looking into Mike’s eyes with what he only hopes is perfectly concealed longing. Or maybe it’s how close they are, Mike’s face only inches from his own, one hand still resting on his cheek. Possibly how Mike glances downwards for a mere second, only to look back into Will’s eyes, lips parted, breaths nervous. 

“Mike,” Will whispers, the name barely more than a breath ghosting his lips. “What are you doing?”

Something about Will’s question snaps Mike out of whatever trance he was in. He blinks harshly, before shaking his head and dropping his hand from Will’s face. Immediately, Will wishes he kept his mouth shut, to allow that moment to last just a minute longer. He knows it’s wrong, and the guilt already begins to creep through his body, but right now he doesn’t care. All he wants is one more second of living in his selfish, delusional fantasy before it shatters to reality. 

“Sorry,” Mike breathes out, muffled by the pads over his ears. A faint click sound comes from his walkman, and suddenly The Cure is blaring, the telltale guitar strum signaling the end of whatever small moment just passed between them. 

Will moves one of the headphones off his ear, not knowing what to say but knowing he needs to say it. But Mike has already turned his back to Will, moving towards the gymnasium doors in long strides. And Will understands; he’s made Mike uncomfortable again. The suppressed guilt bubbles up with vigor, and he tries hard to hold back his tears. Where Mike had just laid his hand on Will’s cheek now feels dirty and gross, like Will had exploited something kind and mangled it into something wrong, unrecognizable. It burns with shame. 

Before Mike can push the doors open, he angles his head ever so slightly back towards Will. His eyes stay trained on the floor. 

“You coming?” he asks quietly, so quietly that Will wouldn’t have heard it over the sound of Boys Don’t Cry. 

Will doesn’t answer, just breezes past Mike and walks into the gymnasium, a burning tear replacing the gentle warmth of Mike’s hand on his cheek. How ironic. 

---

His song has played God knows how many times now, and Will is thinking he might need a new one soon. What used to be an enjoyable opening guitar riff now sounds like nails on a chalkboard. Will’s pretty sure he can single out each string and its note individually now. Or maybe he’s just going insane. 

Him and Mike got positioned at separate ends of the gymnasium: Mike on sandwich packaging duty, Will folding donated clothes. Jonathan is close by, placing said folded clothes into boxes, occasionally running them out to the cars outside. Will knows Jonathan wants to continue their conversation from earlier, but the sheer number of people who could be listening prevent them from doing so. And as much as Will hates talking about his emotions, how it always leads to someone’s pitying stare piercing through him like he’s made of glass, he can’t help but find himself wanting to continue his talk with his brother. Particularly, about his notebook–which he still had not gotten back, mind you–and why it was so important that the school brought it up to his Mom. 

Will thinks back to being in class, but nothing out of the ordinary surfaces in his mind. Other than the Vecna-possession bit, but he isn’t sure if even that can be classified as ‘out of the ordinary’ anymore. He laughs at his own stupid thought. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees another volunteer walk up beside him with a box of unfolded clothes. Will ceases laughing instantly, not wanting to be seen as even more crazy than everyone already thinks he is by laughing to himself over a pile of unfolded t-shirts. 

Will flits his eyes up to gauge the reaction of the new person next to him. It’s a boy, around his age, with swooping dark hair and olive skin. His face is familiar to Will, but he can’t quite place it. That is, until the boy angles his head to the right and the two make eye contact. 

It’s one of the basketball guys from earlier, clad in a regular long sleeve instead of his usual Letterman jacket. Will’s hands halt their folding, his body entering fight-or-flight mode instinctively. A part of him wants to scream for Jonathan to come save him, but a larger part keeps the words trapped in the back of his throat. 

The guy maintains eye contact with Will, and to Will’s surprise, they show no malice or hateful rage, only thinly veiled remorse. But Will has never been one to let his guard down so easily; his stare doesn’t waver, and Will hopes he looks the slightest bit intimidating. Either it worked or the guy just felt very sorry for him, since he breaks his gaze away and reaches into the box for a shirt to fold. 

Will… isn’t sure what to do now. His cassette needs rewinding, but he doesn’t think he can listen to one more Boys Don’t Cry today. Plus, he wants to stay alert, in case this is some kind of surprise-revenge-ambush for getting them all suspended. 

Both boys stand in silence, Will pretending so hard to be uninterested in what the other is doing that it backfires severely. He has never felt more harshly judged in his life, and Basketball Guy (Will still doesn’t know his name) isn’t even looking at him. If he had a knife, he thinks he could cut the tension in the air and serve it on a platter of donated shirts.

Will can’t help himself; he giggles at his own dumb humor again. Basketball Guy turns to face him, and Will shrinks back, ready to run or eat a punch or get pushed over.

“What’s so funny?” Basketball Guy asks with a cautious, but rather charming, smirk. Blood rushes to his face in embarrassment. So much for not looking like a freak. Will tries to maintain his stoic indifference, but he feels the mask slipping just a bit at the sincerity in Basketball Guy’s face. 

“Uh, nothing,” Will mumbles. “Sorry.”

Before it can get more awkward, Will goes back to the clothes, his eyes fixed on the shiny floor beneath him. Basketball Guy sighs in resignation. 

“No, I should be the one apologizing,” he says, fully dropping the clothes and turning to face Will. The words pour out of him, like he’d barely been holding them in and the dam had finally broken. “We shouldn’t have done that. Let it get that far, I mean. Some of the shit they were saying…” 

Woah, talk about whiplash. Not sure what to make of this sudden shift in demeanor, Will keeps his eyes down. Basketball Guy’s shoes crease where he shifts on his toes. 

“I’m just sorry. They’re assholes. I guess I am, too.” Basketball Guy lets out a self deprecating laugh. Will finally looks at him, searching for any signs of deception. He finds none. Vaguely, he recalls seeing one of the jocks standing back a bit during their fight, and concludes that it must’ve been this guy. 

Will doesn’t want to respond, but he can’t help but ask. “You were the one behind the teachers. When they were saying things to Lucas. Right?”

Basketball Guy nods solemnly. “That was fucked up, man. I mean, I don’t know. Sinclair and I were on the same team for a couple months, and he never shut up about that girl. I just… it’s hard to believe he could do something like that to her.”

“He didn’t,” Will affirms with more confidence than he’s felt in ages. “He didn’t hurt Max. He would never. It was–” Will catches himself before he can say too much. “Uh, the earthquakes. When they split the town open. She got caught in one of the fissures. Lucas was with her.” 

Will can see it all in his mind: Max’s broken and bleeding body, cradled in Lucas’s arms; the fissures tearing through Hawkins, glowing red emanating from the ground; four chimes of a grandfather clock…

“Uh… you good, man?” Will blinks the image out of his eyes, horrified to find himself blinking back tears as well. Great, just great. 

Will turns his head away, trying to conceal his watery eyes. “I’m fine. It’s…” He trails off. 

Somehow, Basketball Guy still gets it. Will spares a glance back at him, only to find him staring sadly at the box of clothes in front of him, folding forgotten. 

“I lost my Dad in the earthquake, too,” he says, voice hesitant and vulnerable. Will keeps himself very still, like he’s trying not to startle a frightened animal. This is the absolute last thing he expected to come from this conversation, but he’d take emotional heart-to-heart over getting his ass kicked any day. 

Basketball Guy swallows. “It’s been really hard. Mom’s been in the hospital since it happened, too. The doctor says she has trauma or something. From watching him die.”

Will clenches his jaw. He knows that feeling all too well. But he’s always had someone to lean on, someone to help him through the bad days and the even worse nights. Thinking about Basketball Guy going through that all alone makes his heart ache. 

His silence must read as indifference, since Basketball Guy shakes his head with a nervous laugh. “Shit, sorry. You definitely don’t care about any of this, I’m just ranting.”

“I’m really sorry,” Will says quietly. “That must be horrible for you.”

The paranoid part of Will thinks that everyone must be staring at them, whispering about why a cool, popular jock is even speaking to a disgusting freak like him. He’s half expecting to be ambushed from behind, learn that this was all one big joke to prove he really is as weak as they say. But no one says anything, does anything. 

“Thanks, man,” Basketball Guy forces a smile. Will musters his own, and for a moment he doesn’t feel like a freak; he feels like a normal boy, sharing a conversation with another normal boy. It’s weird for him. 

The conversation is done, now. It should be done. But Will hasn’t spoken to anyone outside of the Party circle in over a year, and he wants to hang on to that little sense of normalcy for a little longer. Even if it is with a bullying, asshole jock. Basketball Guy doesn’t seem as bad as his friends, at least. 

Will’s not good at this. Talking to his friends is one thing (and clearly he’s doing a bad job at that as well, the image of Mike’s sad face materializing in his mind), but total strangers? What are you even supposed to say to a total stranger? Basketball Guy and him don’t have anything in– oh!

“Uh, what’s your name?” Will asks, forced indifference lacing his voice.

Basketball Guy’s smile doesn’t waver, but it feels less curated and more natural now. He extends a hand to Will. 

“I’m Chance. You?” Will takes his hand, praying his own aren’t sweaty and gross, and gives it a quick shake. 

“Will. Byers. Will Byers.” Basketball Guy–Chance–chukles, releasing his hand.

“Well, it’s nice to formally meet you, Will Byers.” Something in his tone of voice leads Will to think he definitely already knew his name, but Will appreciates the gesture. It’s an odd feeling, to just introduce himself as Will Byers. Not Zombie Boy, or Satanic Murderer, or dirty or gross or… any other names. Separate from all that, he’s just Will Byers. 

Unfortunately, Will Byers is now out of questions to keep this conversation going. He tries to rack his brain, but nerves flutter in his stomach and make his head feel cloudy. Not an unfamiliar feeling, but never one he’s experienced with anyone other than Mike. His face flames with embarrassment. Pull it together.  

Thankfully, or maybe unfortunately, Chance notices his dilemma and takes pity on him. “That’s your brother over there, right? Jonathan?”

Will just nods, not even bothering to look in the direction Chance is facing. Jonathan’s probably there, and the last thing he wants to see right now is his brother’s disappointed expression as he absolutely botches this conversation. 

“Yep, that’s him,” Will says. “We moved back from California, so he didn’t go to college yet. Because of the earthquakes and stuff.” Why is he still talking? “Yeah, I don’t know if he even wants to go. Him and his girlfriend Nancy got into a fight about it, I think. It’s… yeah.”

Will has never been more mortified in his life. He’s worried his clothes might catch on fire from how hot his skin burns. 

He tries to salvage it. “Um… do you have any siblings?”

Thank God, Chance’s face lights up. Will mentally pats himself on the back. 

“Yeah, actually,” he says, eyes glimmering. “I have a little sister. Her name is Debbie. She’s great.”

Chance’s happiness is contagious, and Will can’t help but smile himself. His stomach does a little somersault. 

Chance hesitates, unsure of whether or not to keep talking. But Will is enraptured, fully taken in by his deep voice and radiant joy. Almost imperceptibly, he nods for Chance to continue.

“She’s only 10, but she’s very outspoken and confident,” he says, reluctance melting away. “I mean, after everything with our parents, I was kind of afraid she’d lose her spark, I guess? But we live with our grandparents now, and she’s been really good about making the most of it. Better than me, even.”

Across the room, Will hears something shatter. A glass, or maybe a plate. Will doesn’t care, or let commotion break their moment; his eyes stay fixed on the boy in front of him, thrilled to see Chance doing the same. 

“I wonder how she does it,” Will says, almost to himself. All of them had been coping in their own ways, he supposes. Lucas makes Max mixtapes and reads her books, or sometimes with Erica’s help, braids her hair. Dustin visits Eddie’s grave often with a rag and cleaning products to remove any vandalism that often defaces it. He brings his own campaigns to read for Eddie as well; Will considers it an honor to be able to work on them with Dustin. Eleven’s focus rests mainly on locating Vecna and saving Max, but when she isn’t training her powers, Will has occasionally sat with her over a table, drawing pictures of anything their minds can imagine. Those moments with El are precious to him; any time he can see her smile is a treasure, really. 

Mike picked up the guitar when Will had moved to California (something Will was totally and completely normal about when he found out) and has continued to practice almost daily. Every now and then, he’ll invite Will to hear a song or two he’s been working on, but usually Will finds himself standing outside of Mike’s door, holding his breath as he listens to Mike softly strum his guitar, humming along with the melody. 

Even Holly has picked up new hobbies. She’s been trying for months to convince Mike to let her join in on a game of Dungeons and Dragons with them, a request that Mike had repeatedly denied. Will understands, of course; playing DnD in this town puts an irreversible target on your back, but Will’s heart broke a bit at seeing her watery eyes after Mike’s refusal. 

Will knows Mike feels bad as well, but his stance on the matter of her playing is unwavering. However, Mike and Will have been helping her develop her very own character, much to Holly’s delight. Just the act of creating her persona has been enough to keep Holly placated and included. Holly the Heroic, she calls herself. Will helped her think of the name during breakfast at the Wheeler’s once, and felt a swell of pride when she loved his suggestion. 

“I want to be a cleric,” she had said, eyes wide in excitement. “Like Will.”

Always the younger sibling, Will never understood why Jonathan would be so protective over him. But with Holly, he gets it. Her joyous smile and unbridled goodness bring some light to a town cast in shadow. So when Mike asked Will if he could commission him to make Holly her very own character statuette, he agreed without hesitation. Excitedly, he opened his mouth to tell Mike that it was his first ever art commission, but caught himself when he caught sight of his painting from last year hung up on Mike’s bedroom wall behind him. Every time Will sees it, he feels sick. It might as well just be a poster that says “LIAR” in bright red letters. But Mike loves it, loves that Eleven thought of such a perfect gift for him, so he bites his tongue and smiles.  

Chance’s voice snaps him out of his daydream. “I do too, man. Childhood whimsy. She’s gotten really into fantasy stuff recently.”

Will perks up at that. “Oh, yeah?”

Chance nods. “Yeah. Not like, you know, Satanist fantasy stuff–” he cuts himself off. Will’s cheeriness dissipates slightly. “Sorry, sorry. I just mean… she likes to play pretend. Like, she plays with her imaginary friends. Does quests with them.”

He makes a vague gesture that Will supposes indicates ‘quests’ but it looks more like he’s swatting at flies. 

“Interesting,” he says. “What kinds of quests does she do?”

“Hell if I know,” Chance says. “One of her imaginary friends gives her missions. She calls him Mister Whatsit. Apparently he’s like a… I don’t know. Wizard or something? Or a King? A God? Debbie never really explained any of it to me.” 

Will hums, ignoring the uneasy pit forming in his stomach. The implication of following missions from a controlling God reminds his subconscious of the Mind Flayer, or something. 

Will’s concern must manifest itself onto his expression, because Chance is quick to reassure. “Nothing dangerous, or anything. Just, like, making potions in the backyard out of leaves and shit.” 

A laugh bubbles out of Will, anxiety momentarily forgotten. “Careful, you never know what she could be brewing in those potions.”

Chance laughs too. A real, genuine laugh that makes Will’s heart soar. “Trust me, I check my dinner every night to make sure there aren’t any dead bugs or dirt sprinkled in there.”

Will spares a glance over to where Jonathan is stationed, and unsurprisingly, he’s unabashedly sharing at the pair with a baffled smile on his face. When he sees Will looking back at him, he shoots him a questioning thumbs up, which Will reciprocates with his own dopey smile. Jonathan grins at him, raising an eyebrow in a manner that makes Will blush. He shoos Jonathan away with a desperate yet subtle wave of his hand, and his brother just smirks before turning back to his own tasks. 

“You two seem to have a good relationship, too.” Chance looks between them, a small smile on his face. Will’s even more embarrassed to know Chance just watched that entire interaction, mentally vowing to remind Jonathan to stop teasing him in public.

“Yeah, we do,” Will says anyway, trying to play it cool. “I mean, he’s always been protective of me, but after–” after I went missing dies in his throat. He doesn’t want to ruin their lighthearted, normal bantering by rehashing all his childhood trauma. 

From the way Chance’s eyes dart to the floor, Will can tell he already knows about what happened to him four years ago. Of course he does. Everyone does. Why did he expect anything different from this random guy who literally attacked his friends like three hours ago?

“I get it,” Chance says, eyes downcast. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Will wants to tell him it’s okay, that he’s used to it, that he deserved whatever punishment the universe gave him. But for some reason, the words felt different coming from this boy’s mouth. There was no obligation, no fear of Will’s imminent death or being hunted by the government egging him on. Just a normal apology for shitty behavior. He lets himself internalize it, process the words and their meaning and how they make him feel.  

Maybe I do deserve an apology. 

“Thank you, Chance,” Will says sincerely. “I appreciate it.” 

Simple and concise reply. It’s all he needs to say. Those two words, thank you, conceal much more than what even Will understands. 

Chance nods, looking calmer than Will’s ever seen him. “You know, you’re not what I thought you’d be like, Will Byers.”

Will just sighs contentedly. “I’m glad.”

“What the fuck are you doing?”

All the serenity of the moment vanishes in the blink of an eye. Will finds the giddy and floaty sensation replaced by his typical anxious misery, not even registering when an arm shoves him to the side to stand toe-to-toe with Chance. 

Mike gets right up in his face, and Chance raises his hands in surrender. 

“Hey man, I wasn’t–”

Mike shoves him hard, sending Chance stumbling a few steps back. Will reaches a hand out. 

“No, Mike, stop–”

Mike ignores him, clenching his fists and squaring his shoulders. “You already got us suspended. Now what? You wanna fight again? Didn’t get enough the first time?”

Much to Will’s relief, Chance doesn’t mention how he could absolutely obliterate Mike in a fight if it came down to it, or how he barely even threw a punch during their lunchtime scuffle. 

“Cool it, Wheeler,” Chance says, collected as ever, though his eyes glimmer with suppressed anger. “We were just talking.” 

Mike scoffs. “Yeah, okay. Like Will would ever want to talk to someone like you.”

“Mike. Enough.” 

Mike finally turns around to face Will, incredulous. “But, Will he was just–”

“He was just apologizing for what happened earlier, Mike,” Will takes a slow, deliberate breath. “Chance and I were just talking, alright? Nothing to worry about.”

Mike looked like brain couldn’t compartmentalize what his ears had just heard. His big brown eyes were scrunched up in confusion and, even worse, disgust. A surge of protectiveness courses through Will for this boy he had just met. 

“God, Mike. Seriously,” Will insists. “We were just talking.”

“You shouldn’t be talking to him,” Mike asserts, just a tad calmer upon seeing Will unharmed. Behind him, Chance furrows his eyebrows. 

“Shit, I didn’t know you had your own personal guard dog, Byers.” 

…

Goddamnnit.

Mike whips back around, all Will’s words flying right back out of his ears. “Maybe I just don’t want my friends hanging around mouthbreathing trash like you.” 

Chance’s calm demeanor wavers. “I already said I was sorry. Maybe Will doesn’t want you policing who he can and can’t speak to. Ever think of that?” 

Will is at a loss of what to do. Never in his life did he have two guys fighting over his attention before. He really did not understand what all the fuss was about. 

On one hand, he gets where Mike is coming from; Chance’s friends had said some pretty fucked up things over the past year. Hell, over the past twelve hours. But Chance’s question to Mike rings like a resonant bell in his mind. 

Maybe Will doesn’t want you policing who he can and can’t speak to. 

And… yeah. Will doesn’t want that. However much he yearned for Mike to care about him, his overprotective side only came out when Will was face to face with mortal danger, and it sucked. Will wants to be normal, talk to other people. Explore other options, his traitorous mind supplies.

Rationally, Will knows damn well the chances of him finding anyone like him in Hawkins are subzero, but even the illusion of hope hurts less than living in a constant loop of pining, care, and neglect. Every time Will thinks he’s made peace with his affections towards Mike, his best friend always throws some sort of curveball into their relationship, opens the door of possibility barely enough that Will can peer inside, and just when he’s about to push it open, slams it right back in his face. 

“Don’t you dare act like you know what’s good for Will!” Mike is practically yelling now. Will can sense more than see Jonathan making his way over as multiple pairs of eyes focus their attention on the commotion unfolding. 

Chance raises a taunting eyebrow at Mike. “That’s all you, Wheeler. I’m trying to let Will decide what’s good for Will.”

Finally, someone presses the PLAY button on Will, and he forces himself between the two boys just before Mike can do something reckless. He extends one of his arms outward, hard, and Mike stumbles back at the strength of it. 

From his new position, he can see Jonathan frantically pushing through innocent volunteers to get over to them. Will catches his eye, and tries his best to convey I’ve got this. Thankfully, Jonathan has always been good at understanding him. Halting in place, Jonathan raises his eyebrows in surprise, but doesn’t push. 

“Mike, stop,” Will demands. “You’re making a scene.” 

His friend’s face drops, a horrible mix of betrayed and shocked and really fucking angry taking over. It feels like a punch in the gut. For good measure, Will speaks over his shoulder at Chance. 

“And you, too.” 

Chance, ever so cool, just nods. “Sorry, Will,” he says, genuinely apologetic.

Will raises an eyebrow at him. 

Chance grits his teeth and puts a strained smile on his face. “Very sorry, Wheeler.”

Placated, Will twists back around to Mike, who sneers. “Yeah, whatever.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Mike,” Will runs a hand through his hair in exasperation. “Just say you’re sorry.”

“Will, that was clearly sarcastic!” Will gives him a deadpan stare. 

Chance lets out a disbelieving laugh behind him. “Would you rather I got on my knees and begged for forgiveness?”

Nostrils flaring, Mike takes a step forward into Will’s hand. “Maybe I would, asshole.”

“Jesus, Mike,” Will pushes him back before Chance can get any ideas about meeting him head on. “What the hell is wrong with you? What are you trying to do?”

“I’m protecting you, Will!” Mike implores, hands waving frantically.

Will looks at him in disbelief. “Protecting me from what, exactly? Friendship? Happiness?”

Jonathan, who had inched closer and closer to the trio, snorts out a laugh from where he’s ‘casually’ standing behind a table. 

“Oh, so he makes you happy, now?” Mike jeers. “Wow. Just because you think he’s hot doesn’t mean he could make you happy.” 

Everything freezes. Chattering voices echo throughout the gymnasium, but Will can’t hear them over the rush in his ears. It’s as if someone had stripped him naked and plunged him underwater to drown in his own shame. His breath catches in his throat and tears pool in his eyes against his will. 

Mike’s eyes widen in horror, his own words finally registering in his brain. 

“No, Will, fuck. I didn't–” 

“Screw you, Mike.” 

Will can barely utter the words out, all his energy going towards keeping his tears at bay. He doesn’t turn around to see Chance’s reaction. He doesn’t need to; his mind supplies the image for him clear as day. 

Will pushes past Mike, away from the tables and towards the door. Each step he takes is quicker than the last, matching the speed of his breath, until he’s running. He runs and runs and doesn’t look back.

Chapter Text

Will was never one for smoking, but those cigarettes balanced carefully between the fingers of the couple on the bench across from him look oh so appealing. Or maybe weed would be better. That way, he could forget all his troubles from the past sixteen years of his life. Like the seedpods of a dandelion blowing in the wind or whatever the fuck his brother used to say. 

Rather than a cigarette in his fingers, he twirls the lace of his sneaker, if only to have something to do with his hands. Beneath him, the cool wood of the bench outside Hawkins High proves to not be as grounding as he had hoped. 

He tries his hardest to not let his mind wander back to what just happened in the gymnasium because he knows he’ll just break down in tears. People must be talking about him, about how gross and disgusting they find him. He wonders if they’ll even allow him back into the volunteer space, or if they’re worried about him contaminating their clothes with his sinful hands. At the very least, Chance is absolutely never speaking to him again, which shouldn’t hurt Will as much as it does. Not that he ever saw them being anything more than reluctant allies, but it would’ve been nice to conclude their conversation on half-decent terms. 

Possibilities fly through his mind of what could happen, each accompanied by increasing anxiety. Would Chance tell everyone what Mike said? Have people already begun to spread the rumors? Or worse, have people started gossiping about Chance and Will together? There’s no surer way to ensure Will gets his ass kicked than that. 

To his left, Will hears the heavy door of the school push open and tenses involuntarily. Rapid footsteps come to a quick halt. The possibilities fly through his mind; is it Mike? Jonathan? Chance? All three would be equally horrible for different reasons. 

Cautiously, the person approaches him. As much as he wants to turn and see who it is (and what sort of conversation he’s in for), he doesn’t. 

“Hey.” 

It’s Jonathan. Will should’ve known. His brother has always been good at finding him when he’s trying to hide. 

Will doesn’t reply, the words caught in his throat. Feelings are lost on him; should he be strong and unbothered, prove that Mike’s words don’t mean anything to him? Or should he be sad and tell Jonathan that Mike’s opinion means more to him than he would ever care to admit out loud? Right now, there’s nothing but the default anxious fear he finds himself plagued with on a daily basis.  

Will continues to fiddle with his shoelace. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jonathan take slow steps towards his bench before plopping down next to Will, who shifts in his seat, resting his chin on his knee. His brother’s silence is heavy and forced, and Will’s fingers tremble slightly around his laces. Briefly, the couple smoking glances at the two with intrigue, before going back to their own chatter. A light breeze wafts the cigarette smoke in Will’s direction, and the familiar smell intermingled with the crisp autumn air and gentle fallen leaves grazing the pavement relax his mind. 

“Mike shouldn’t have said that,” Jonathan says quietly. He’s treading on eggshells, and it makes Will want to rip his hair out. 

“Yeah,” he replies, the word barely more than a whisper in the breeze. 

His brother sits up, leaning his elbows on his knees in an attempt to meet Will’s eyes. 

“No, seriously,” Jonathan presses. “That wasn’t okay, Will. It really wasn’t. Especially not in front of people–”

“I know, okay? I get it.” Will doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything. 

Jonathan runs a hand through his hair. “Can you look at me, please?”

Will does not, the glowing and fading orange of the girl’s cigarette providing a welcome distraction. A few leaves of the same warm color brush over her shoes. 

“Will,” his brother whispers. “We agreed. No more secrets, remember?”

No more secrets. The weight of the Walkman feels heavier around his neck. 

“What do you want me to say, Jonathan?” Will finally drops his shoe and faces his brother. “What secret do you think I’m keeping from you?”

Jonathan’s inhale of breath gets lost in the wind, but Will hears it all the same. This is dangerous territory, and he knows it.

“That’s not what I mean,” he says carefully. “All I’m trying to say is…”

His brother trails off. Each beat of Will’s heart echoes in his body, speeding up as Jonathan’s stiff silence continues. 

“I know that you, uh, really care about Mike–” Will’s breath gets stuck in his throat. Is he really doing this? “–but he hasn’t been a good friend to you lately, Will. And you’re way too willing to forgive him for treating you like shit.”

Oh. 

Will thinks back to Mike’s almost-breakdown in the basement, and a surge of protectiveness flares up inside him. 

“That’s not fair,” Will says, hostility clear. “He’s been having a hard time recently.”

“And that makes it okay for him to take his anger out on you?” Yes.  

Will’s silence must be answer enough, because Jonathan’s hand is back in his hair, pulling the strands exasperatedly.

“He’s been acting like this for years, Will. You don’t deserve that.”

“Don’t I?”

It’s only after the question leaves his mouth that Will realizes he spoke it aloud. Jonathan’s face falls, and Will hugs his knee closer to his chest, resting his cheek on top to angle himself away from his brother. 

“I’m not a good person, Jonathan,” Will’s voice quivers, and he buries his face deeper into his leg. “There’s something wrong with me.”

“Hey, no. Will, c’mon,” Jonathan’s hand finds its place on his shoulder, and Will leans into it involuntarily. “Don’t say that. That’s bullshit.”

Will sniffles. He isn’t even sad anymore. Just numb. The tears are more of an impulse than an expression of sadness. That’s what he tells himself, at least.

Jonathan’s own voice shakes slightly over his response. “Please don’t say things like that about yourself, Will. There’s nothing wrong with you. I promise.” He hesitates, choosing his next words with care. “And even if there was, which there isn’t, I would still love you no matter what. Nothing will ever change that, remember?”

He does. And he trusts his brother more than anyone else in the world, but he can’t help the whispers in the back of his mind that insist he’s lying. 

But Will murmurs out a quiet “thanks” regardless, lifting his head slightly. The couple smoking has left, thank God, but Will can still see small wisps of gray smoke rising from their crushed cigarette on the concrete. 

“You know,” Jonathan starts, hesitant. “If you did find him, er, that boy… uh, hot–”

“Don’t,” Will says sharply, genuine fear rising within him. He’s not ready for that conversation. Especially not right outside of Hawkins High School. “Please.”

Jonathan nods, thankfully understanding. It’s pathetic, really; Will knows, and Jonathan knows, and Will knows Jonathan knows, and now Jonathan knows that Will knows that Jonathan knows. Avoiding the topic at this point is just stupid, but Will wants to live in his fantasy for just a little while longer. 

Unfortunately, his fantasy is shattered by the sound of the door slamming open yet again, only this time, Mike emerges from the school rather than Jonathan. Will groans, burying his head back into his leg. He really can’t catch a break. 

Jonathan leans in closer to Will. “You okay? Should I tell him to fuck off?”

Will can’t help but huff out a laugh at Jonathan’s whispered threat (even though he’s fully aware his brother is 100% serious) and he can’t help but laugh even more at how proud of himself Jonathan looks.

“I’ll be fine, Jonathan,” he says quietly. “You can go.”

Luckily, Jonathan doesn’t argue, just gives Will a pat on the shoulder and stands up from his seat on the bench. Mike stands frozen in front of them, and Will can’t help but notice his eyes are tinged red.

Jonathan walks right up to Mike and whispers something quietly into his ear. Mike looks down in shame, nodding minutely. His brother walks off, glancing over his shoulder at Will one last time before reentering the school. Mike immediately jumps to speak. 

“Will, I didn’t mean–”

“Mike, just forget it, please,” Will says reflexively. His friend goes to protest, but Will doesn’t let him, standing up from his spot on the bench.

“Please, Mike.”

Reluctantly, Mike concedes, but his eyes do nothing to hide his desperation. Jonathan’s voice echoes in his mind. You’re way too willing to forgive him for treating you like shit. The truth of his brother’s words slap him in the face. Has he ever stood his ground with Mike? He thinks back to his conversation with Chance, at how willing he was to apologize. 

Maybe I do deserve an apology. 

“Actually, fine.” Mike snaps up, hopeful and terrified. “You want to apologize?”

Mike nods hesitantly, clearly unsure if he’s walking into a trap.

“Okay,” Will says, crossing his arms. “Go ahead.”

The silence is deafening, and Will uses every ounce of resolve in his body to stand unwavering. Mike looks like a fish out of water, the scene so unfamiliar to him. Will feels equally out of his depth. Never once has he asked someone for an apology, let alone Mike Wheeler, who’s notoriously terrible at dealing with emotions. 

“Uh…” Mike stutters, shifting on the balls of his feet. “Uh, Will, I’m really sorry. What I said wasn’t cool.”

Will waits for Mike to continue, but he quickly discovers that what he just heard is his full apology. Honestly, he’s not sure why he’s surprised.

He can’t help the sarcasm that seeps into his reply. “Wow, thank you, Mike. I really appreciate it.”

Totally oblivious, Mike exhales, relieved. Will physically restrains himself from smacking that stupid look right off his face. 

“So we’re good?” Will just looks at him with what he can only assume is a painfully deadpan expression, because Mike’s face falls instantly. 

“Why do you look upset? You just said we were good!”

“No, Mike, you said we’re good,” Will responds tightly. “I mean, seriously, is that all you can say? Do you even understand what you said back there? People heard you, Mike. It’s one thing to– to say things like that to me when we’re alone, but–“

“I don’t say things like that,” Mike says quietly. Will just stares at him, baffled. “Okay, well, I don’t mean to say things like that! It’s just… he was bullying you, Will! And I don’t know why you’re too blind to see that, so I just assumed it was because he’s cool and attractive or whatever-“

Will cuts him off sharply. “I never said he was attractive, Mike. You’re the one who keeps bringing up how attractive he is.”

Caught off guard, Mike stutters over his words, a distinct pink hue tinting his cheeks. “I– well, he– I don’t think he is. I just thought–”

“That I do?” Will snaps. “Jesus, Mike. You can’t seriously be this clueless.”

Mike just stares at him, eyes wide and sad. Will’s thoughts drift back to two years ago, when the two stood in the Wheeler’s garage and Mike threw his biggest insecurity right back in his face. Looking back on it, Mike never did apologize for what he said. With the Mind Flayer and everything, Will didn’t have the time to think much of it, but he certainly did during those lonely hours in California, crying over a gift for a boy who never even bothered to call. 

“You know what they say about me, Mike.” Will’s voice, soft and broken, sounds unfamiliar to his own ears. “It’s different for you. I already get called–” His voice gets caught in his throat. “–get called names. You don’t know what that’s like.”

Mike's eyes fall downcast, towards his shoes. Will waits expectantly for a response, but nothing comes out. His mind drifts back to earlier in the lunch room, when the seniors were calling them names, and he realizes with a small “oh.”

“They do. Because you hang out with me. Don’t they?” 

Mike shakes his head, but Will knows he’s lying. Between what he witnessed a few hours ago, and Lucas and Dustin’s reluctance to elaborate on the topic afterwards, the pieces all come together. Now Will just feels immensely guilty. 

“Did you…” It hurts to even form the question on his lips. “Did you say that about Chance so… so people would stop thinking we were…”

A couple? Together? Gay? Will isn’t sure what to say, or what he even means to say, but Mike gets the message all the same.

“What? No, Will, of course not,” Mike insists, taking a step closer to Will. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know what I was thinking. Just, I don’t know. I was angry?”

It comes out as a question more than a statement, and from the lilt in his voice Will almost thinks he’s lying. But he can’t imagine why Mike would lie about this. 

“It’s just, he’s such a dick, Will.” He can’t help but snort at that. Mike takes this as a good sign and continues his complaining. 

“I mean, he’s on the basketball team, and he’s friends with all those losers, and–”

“Lucas was on the team, too,” Will interrupts. “There’s nothing wrong with playing basketball, Mike.”

From the grimace on his face, Mike appears to disagree. “I mean, yeah. But still.”

“And Chance was actually sorry. He felt really bad about what happened today.”

Mike clenches his jaw. “You don’t know that, Will. He could just be lying to try and humiliate you!”

Will can’t hold back a scoff. “Is it really that hard to imagine someone just wants to be friends with me?”

“What? No, Will, you know that’s not what I mean!” 

“Then what do you mean, Mike?” Will snaps, on the verge of outright yelling. “You don’t want me talking to him because he’s a bully, or because he’s attractive, but no, he’s not attractive, you just think I find him hot? Damnit Mike, you sound just like them, don’t you see that? And then you barely apologize for saying that in front of an entire room full of people, when you know I already have to deal with rumors about– about things like that on a daily basis. And not only that, but now you’re getting Chance involved, who happens to be best friends with all the people who hate us, so they’ll definitely hate us more now that you’re screaming from the rooftops that the local queer finds him hot!”

Tears are pouring freely down his face now, and Mike’s expression is absolutely heartbroken. Will presses a hand over his mouth to try and quell the sobbing, but it does very little. Cautiously, Mike places a hand on Will’s shoulder, and he can’t help but fall into Mike’s arms when his friend pulls him into a hug, clutching tightly to the fabric of his shirt. Will hides his face in the crook of Mike’s neck, his dark hair tickling the skin of his cheeks. 

“I’m really sorry, Will,” Mike whispers, right into his ear. “I swear, I’ll never be that stupid again. I promise.”

Will sniffles wetly. “Never say never. You do stupid shit all the time.” 

“Shut up,” he mumbles, and goddamnnit, Jonathan was right. He’s way too forgiving with Mike. 

A gust of wind blows a few leaves into the pair, and it’s enough of a distraction for Will to break away from the hug. He discreetly wipes some of the cool tears from under his eyes, hoping it isn’t too noticeable that he’s been crying. It definitely is. Mike watches him carefully, still unsure where they stand. 

“Thanks for the apology,” Will chokes out. “I forgive you.”

It should be what Mike wants to hear, but his face is twisted in upset. “You shouldn’t. You’re right, it was really out of line. Don’t say you forgive me until you mean it.”

Will rubs a hand over his face. Why does Mike always have to make things so difficult?
“I do mean it, Mike.” 

Mike shakes his head. “Well then don’t forgive me until I earn it.”

Another drift of wind sends shivers down Will’s spine, and he pulls his hands into his jacket sleeves for warmth. Reluctantly, he agrees, and Mike smiles softly, satisfied. 

Faintly, sounds of an engine revving reverberate through the open air. They grow steadily louder, until Will spots a fancy looking car swerving into the parking lot at law defying speeds. Tires burn against the pavement as the vehicle screeches to an abrupt stop. Inside are two older boys, both in Hawkins High varsity jackets. 

“Shit,” Mike murmurs. “Come on, let’s go back inside.”

Will doesn’t need to be told twice. Both boys turn to the door, but it flies open before they can get there. Another boy in a varsity jacket emerges, his hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders hunched. 

“Chance,” Will says, but really, it's more of a broken exhale. “I’m so sorry–”

Will lets out a small grunt as Chance shoves right by him, striding quickly towards the car with his teammates, who hurl a few insults their way. None of them register in Will’s brain. All he can hear is the rushing of blood in his ears, like the static of a radio.

Chance climbs into the backseat of the car, but not before glancing back at Will and Mike, face unreadable. His expression isn’t one of anger. It’s something worse, something that Will can’t quite place. Especially not since he’s gone a moment later, zooming through the parking lot with his real friends.  

“Shit, Will,” Mike utters softly. “I’m really sorry, this is my fault–”

“Like I said,” Will mumbles. “No one wants to be seen with the town queer.”

Mike’s face falls, devastated. “Don’t say things like that about yourself, Will. You’re not– it’s not good for you to talk like that.”

Even though Mike stopped himself, the rest of his sentence was clear as day. 

You’re not like that.

But he is, isn’t he? Hawkins has always known, even before he did. His own father called him names before he learned what they meant. No one bothered to tell him about what Hawkins thought about his disappearance, but he read all the newspaper clippings that were shoved into his locker. Suspected murder, potential hatecrime, possible suicide. Those articles were seared into his mind for years. He kept them in one of his sketchbooks under his bed, crumpled up with old drawings of Zombie Boy and inter-dimensional monsters. Sometimes he would reread them, late at night, when he knew his family was asleep. Most are unreadably now, splotchy from tears. 

“Do you know how many people heard you?” Will asks quietly. 

Mike swallows thickly with a shameful expression. “Uh, not many. I don’t think anyone was really paying attention besides Jonathan. I didn’t, like, yell or anything.”

For the sake of his own sanity, Will chooses to believe Mike is telling the truth. After all, what are a few more rumors? Not like it’ll be anything new. Either way, he wants to ask Jonathan the same question when he has a moment. Just to know what he’s got to look forward to.

“If anyone says anything to you, I’ll kick their ass,” Mike vows, exuding unearned confidence. 

Will raises an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? How’d that go last time?”

Gesturing to Mike’s bruise, Will smirks. Mike gapes at him. 

“Hey, that was an unfair fight! I’ll be ready next time, I swear.”

“Oh, I bet,” Will pokes at Mike’s arms. “Varsity jocks have got nothing on these bad boys.”

Mike squawks, offended, and Will giggles uncontrollably. 

“Yeah, yeah, real funny,” he says indignantly, but there’s a glimmer of mirth in his eyes. 

Will is full on laughing now; real, genuine laughter, unrestrained in a way that he would usually never allow himself, but he’s tired and stressed and sad and crying and goddamnnit, he just wants to be happy for a minute. Tentatively, Mike begins to laugh at Will, who in turn finds the whole situation even funnier, until the two are leaning against the cold bricks of the school, hunched over in fits of giggles. For a moment, they’re just Mike and Will, without any of the drama, or awkwardness, or the supernatural demons from Hell trying to kill them. Just two kids, dealing with run-of-the-mill high school bullies, fighting them off together as a team. It warms Will’s heart in a way he hasn’t felt in years.

They laugh together until Will’s chest begins to hurt and his throat is dry and sore. Taking deep breaths, he composes himself, and sees Mike doing the same while wiping a stray tear from his eye. Mike’s beaming, his brown eyes twinkling with something that causes Will’s stomach to do little flips. 

“I really missed you, Will.” 

Will wants to make a snarky comment about how they’ve been living together for a whole year, but the earnestness of the admission is striking enough to leave Will speechless. He hates that Mike still has that effect on him. How he probably always will. 

Above them, the bell rings, shrill and loud. Both boys startle at the sound.

“We should go before everyone gets out,” Mike clears his throat. “And I still have to pick up Holly.”

“I’ll come with you,” Will suggests. “If you want.”

“Yeah, of course,” he replies softly. “We can drop her off, then head to The Squawk?”

“Sounds good.” 

Side by side, the two walk over to the bike racks, and Will lets himself enjoy the moment. 

---

Mike went to get Holly from inside Hawkins Elementary over fifteen minutes ago, and Will is starting to get nervous. Kids pour out of the building in droves, many holding onto their parents hands, a few getting onto bikes alone. Will definitely looks out of place, standing by the entrance with both his and Mike’s bikes, shifting his weight impatiently. 

Fleetingly, Will wonders if any of the girls biking off alone are Chance’s sister, Debbie. One of them must be, he reasons. Then he scorns himself for thinking about something so stupid. Him and Chance are not friends. There’s no reason he should be thinking about him or his family. 

A sudden chill in his neck sends Will’s hand instinctively feeling it, nerves skyrocketing. It’s… different than usual. Usually, his heightened senses alert him to imminent danger or threats from the Upside Down. This light fluttering in his neck doesn’t threaten him, however. Not like it did at the benches, or in the classroom, or when the Mind Flayer preyed on him and his friends. This is anticipatory, cunning, like the evil lurks in the shadows, in no rush to strike. It’s terrifying in a way Will has not experienced. 

As calmly as possible, he looks around for any signs of a clock, or vines, or evil, murderous monsters. But there’s nothing out of the ordinary, other than himself. Kids continue their strolling with their parents, laughing and whining and moping. But one girl, with dark hair and large glasses, freezes by her bicycle, her large eyes staring straight at him. Will immediately knows she’s Debbie; it’s like seeing an old friend, one who you know from a brief meeting years ago. He doesn’t have the time to process how or why her face is known to him before she gets on her bike and speeds away, not looking back. 

The tingling in his neck is gone, and Will removes his hand, taking a few deep breaths to quell his nerves. He debates rewinding his tape, just to make sure, but Mike emerges from the doorway a second later, Holly trailing behind him. Shaking it off, Will picks up his and Mike’s bicycles from the ground. 

“Hey, Holly,” he says, and Holly smiles wide, her hands gripping her bike. 

“Hi, Will!” Her energy is contagious, and Will finds himself grinning.

Mike takes his bike from Will’s hand, leading the way out of the crowded area. Trailing behind him slightly, Will navigates his own bicycle through the sea of people, and Holly does the same, occasionally waving to someone on their way.

“How was school?” he asks. 

Holly’s face drops slightly. “It was okay. Some of my classes are really hard.” 

Mike, who still walks a pace ahead of them, angles his head slightly back. His brows are drawn down in confusion. 

“Since when are you struggling in your classes?” he questions, suspicious. Will suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. Jonathan was the same way with him whenever he came home from a rough day of school, or presented their mom with a low test score. 

Holly just shrugs. “I’m not struggling. It’s just boring.”

“So are they hard or boring?” Will shoots Mike a look, but his friend doesn’t back down. 

“Both,” Holly quips, throwing one of her legs over her bicycle, pushing the other off the ground. She begins to pedal away, and Mike grumbles something about annoying younger siblings before racing off after her, Will following closely behind. 

Together, the three bike down the streets of Hawkins, passing by rows of stationed soldiers, broken houses, and the occasional smoking fissure in the ground. Even after a year, Will’s not used to seeing his childhood hometown like this, torn to shreds in every sense of the word. Downtown Hawkins in particular hurts; he used to spend summers biking around with the Party, stopping for lunch at Melvalds with his mom. Sometimes, she would even let them take a candy or two if her boss wasn’t there. Him and Mike would always share, Will giving half his Reeses Pieces, and Mike, half his Kit Kat.  

He smiles sadly to himself at the memories. Now, Downtown has been entirely revamped, the sidewalks he used to ride down lined with rows of soldiers and tanks. Somehow, Melvalds still stands; Will can see it from the window of the makeshift hospital there when he visits Max. 

Mike passes Holly, leading the group through the windy roads of rural Hawkins. There’s more soldiers than usual out today, some positioned outside houses. They even pass a tank driving in the opposite direction, back towards the school. 

Frowning, Will pedals faster, passing Holly to ride parallel to Mike. His friend also looks perturbed by the increased number of military men. 

“Do you think this is about whatever message Steve and Robin picked up?” 

Mike nods warily. “Must be. Should we take the long way? Pass Downtown to see if anything’s up?”

Will hesitates, glancing back at Holly. “With her? Is that really a good idea?”

“Is what a good idea?” His tires swerve off to the side to avoid Holly, who squishes her way in between the two. They’re now biking side by side across two lanes of road, and while there aren’t many cars about, Will falls back to avoid any potential accidents. 

“Nothing, Hols,” Mike says. “Just thinking about taking a little shortcut.”

“Through Downtown? Where the soldiers are?”

Will grimaces when Mike looks back at him, resigned. Clearly, they aren’t very good at speaking quietly.

“Yeah. You up for it?”

Holly agrees enthusiastically, her blond hair whipping behind her as she speeds ahead. Groaning, Mike stands to pedal faster, not wanting Holly to fly head first into an active military zone. 

“Mister Whatsit promised me an adventure,” Holly beams. “This must be what he was talking about!”

The name is familiar, and Will recalls his conversation with Chance, and his sister’s imaginary friend. He deduces that the two must be friends. Maybe that’s why Debbie was looking at him weird earlier.

“Uh, who?” Mike asks, concerned. The roads are much narrower in this area of town, so the three slow down to prevent crashing into anything. Without the wind rushing by his ears, Will can hear them both much clearer. 

“He’s a character in some fantasy game,” Will explains. “Chance told me about it earlier.”

Holly brakes her bike hard, sending Will swerving off the road and toppling into the grass to avoid slamming into her. 

“Jesus,” he mutters, tires caught in the grass of someone’s front lawn.

Mike quickly brakes and steps off his bike, moving to help free Wil from under his bicycle. “Holly, what the hell?” 

She stares at him, angry. “He’s not a character! He’s real! We’re friends.” 

Will flinches back, never having heard Mike’s sweet younger sister so furious before. Mike glares at her, both irritated and confused by her sudden outburst as well. Her windswept hair bolsters the crazed look in her eyes, and Will is struck by the fear of her actually attacking him.

“Sorry,” he blurts out hastily. “I’m sorry, Holly. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Beside him, Mike offers him a hand, pulling Will to his feet as he picks leaves from his jacket. Holly's expression has softened, thankfully, but a lingering threat still sits behind her eyes. Mike doesn’t seem to care, walking towards her with purpose now that Will is okay. 

“He shouldn’t be the one apologizing!” Mike’s tone is clipped and offended. “I mean, seriously, Holly? You’re lucky he didn’t go crashing into the street!”

He doesn’t mention that they haven’t seen one car pass for miles. When Mike promised Will he’d stand up for him against bullies, he didn’t really have Mike’s ten year old sister in mind. She shrinks back under his stern scolding, hanging her head low. Her brother completely towers over her, and the whole sight is pitiful. 

“Mike, c’mon, stop it,” Will says. “It’s fine, seriously.”

“No, it’s not fine, Will!” Mike snaps. “Stop letting people walk all over you.”

Will scoffs, more annoyed than offended. “Walk all over me? She’s ten, Mike. If this is about earlier, don’t think I can’t retract my forgiveness."

Mike, at least, has the decency to look guilty. Before he’s able to stutter out another apology, Holly bursts into tears beside him. Will shoots him a ‘look what you did’ glare, and Mike runs a hand through his wavy hair, sighing. 

Apologize, Will mouths to him. Mike rolls his eyes, but kneels in front of his sister. 

“Hey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped like that.” Holly looks up, cheeks splotched with red. Will is impressed; usually, Mike’s apologies aren’t so concise.

“But you still need to apologize to Will. You shouldn’t have yelled at him over your make-believe game.” 

Or not. 

Holly sniffles and shakes her head frantically. “It’s not make-believe, Mike! Mister Whatsit promised he’d protect me on my mission. He said he needs me!”

Exchanging a wary look with Will, who also isn’t sure how to navigate this situation, Mike shifts his stance so he’s resting on the balls of his feet. The whole thing reminds Will of when they had to break the unfortunate news to Holly that she isn’t allowed to play Dungeons and Dragons with them. 

An idea comes to Will, and he gestures as best he can to Mike’s pocket, then to Holly. He finished her character figurine not too long ago; Mike had been looking forward to presenting it to his sister as a gift, ranting excitedly to Will about how amazing his artwork is. He smiled like a lovesick idiot the whole time. 

Mike’s eyes widen in realization, and he reaches into his pocket with a small grin. 

“Will made you something,” he says, pulling out a small statuette, which is now attached to a beaded necklace that Will realizes Mike must’ve made himself. His chest swells with affection at the thought. 

Holly the Heroic has a light blue dress and yellow hood–Holly’s two favorite colors–and brandishes a magic wand, used to ward off evil. Usually, Will isn’t one to brag about his own art, but for a first time sculptor, he thinks it turned out pretty decent. And if the way Holly’s eyes light up with joy at the sight is any indication, she agrees. 

“She’ll keep you safe. Promise,” Mike says. “She’s a cleric, which means she possesses Divine Powers. She can cast spells of protection to ward off evil spirits; even cooler, she can cast a Dimension Door, which can teleport you anywhere you visualize. I mean, come on. Can this lame-o Mister Whatsit do any of that?” 

Will can’t hold back his smile at Mike’s rambling. This is the Mike that he loves; nerdy, protective, real. The same Mike who helped him create his first DnD character, the one who saved him from the evil, the one who found his flaws beautiful, made him find his strength in being different.

“Don’t call him lame,” Holly says, but there’s little bite to her words. She’s transfixed on her present, turning her over in her hands, taking in every detail. Will blushes in spite of himself, not used to his creations being so carefully examined.

Holly turns to face him, a stray tear rolling down her cheek. “Thanks, Will.”

“Of course,” he replies softly. “Like Mike said, she’ll protect you no matter what.”

Tenderly, Holly unhooks the necklace, hands moving around her neck to fasten the clasp. With a small click, Holly the Heroic is in place, resting gently on her chest, close to her heart. She moves a hand up to feel it again.

“You promise?” she asks tentatively. Both Will and Mike nod earnestly, relieved her usual cheerful mood is returning. 

“Promise.” Mike pokes her in the knee. “Ready to get going?”

She nods, and remounts her bicycle with a newfound vigor. Will and Mike do the same, and the three continue on their path back home. 

It takes the trio another ten minutes to reach Downtown Hawkins, the military presence increasing the closer they get. Not only that, but the pull of the gates becomes stronger as well, much stronger than it has felt any of the previous times Will has paid a visit. Usually, it’s easy to ignore, like a faint tugging in the back of his neck. This time, however, it’s as if a rope is attached to his body, physically yanking him closer and closer to the portals. It’s extremely unsettling, and Will grips his hands on the handles of his bike to quell their shaking. 

They follow their usual route along the mostly straight roads, but are stopped short by a new fence blocking their path, guarded by a row of armed soldiers. Mike pumps the brakes, slowing down, and Will and Holly do the same, observing the new setup carefully. A large sign at the front gate reads: Prohibited Area. Road Closed. Do Not Enter. 

“Shit,” Mike mumbles to himself. “Holly, stay back, alright?”

One of the soldiers approaches the group, and the three dismount their bikes. Will moves himself in front of Holly, blocking her the best he can from the soldier's view. 

“This area is restricted, kids. You’ll have to go back and around.”

“We bike through here all the time to get home from school,” Mike lies. “Why’s it closed off today?”

The soldier’s face hardens. “None of your damn business. Go around.”

Mike doesn’t back down. “Don’t I have a right to know as a resident of this town? You’re blocking my way home.”

Will notices how the grip on the soldier’s weapon tightens, and takes a step forward, pulling on Mike’s sleeve. 

“I’m not asking again, kid. Go. Around.”

“Mike, seriously, let’s go,” Will pleads. “We need to get Holly home.”

With one last defiant look at the soldier, Mike surrenders, quietly muttering “douchebag” under his breath. Holly giggles, but her nerves are evident, eyes trained on the man’s rifle. She gets on her bike and kicks off, putting as much distance as she can between herself and the fence. Will and Mike pursue her just as hastily, riding side by side. 

“Well, they’re definitely doing something,” Mike says, pedalling down the bumpy street. “The only question is what.” 

---

The WSQK Station is quiet when they approach, the neon sign dimmed. If it weren’t for the branded van and multiple other cars sloppily parked outside, the whole place would look abandoned. Nestled deep in the woods at the border of Hawkins, Will wouldn’t be surprised if most people thought it was. That is, if they even knew it was there. 

Interestingly, there’s a shiny silver antenna sticking out from the roof of the van. It looks brand new, unlike the handmade creations they’ve been operating with for months. 

Mike and Will brake their bikes, some rocks from the gravelly path flying up into his shoes. Once Holly was safely back at the Wheeler residence, the boys sped off to the station, Mike wanting to put off the inevitable confrontation with his parents for as long as possible. Plus, it’s a rather long ride, and they’re already running behind due to their Downtown detour.

After both bikes are securely leaning on the side of the station next to the others (which Will recognizes as Lucas and Dustin’s), they make their way inside.

As far as secret radio stations go, the Squawk cleans up pretty nice. The whole place is a single room plus a basement, but even still, the Party have all done their share of work to bring some life to the old building. Currently, though, all the blinds are drawn, and the evening sun filters through the broken slats, reflecting off the shiny metal of the radio. Piles of tapes and haphazardly thrown together radio parts are scattered all over the tables in the main room, the only organized sector being the one where Steve and Robin actually run the show from. Organized is a stretch, actually. Will distinctly remembers everything being much more put together the last time he was here. 

“Damn, it looks like a bomb went off in here,” Mike mumbles. 

Will hums. “Do you think something happened?”

Voices carry up from the basement below, their tone angry and sharp. One of them is Steve, Will is almost certain. 

They exchange a glance. “Sounds like it.”

Cutting through the room to the basement entrance, Will notices stacks of tools and tape shoved into a corner, right beside a table with some sort of homemade radio antenna on it. It vaguely reminds him of Dustin’s Cerebro that was destroyed by the fissures, except smaller and noticeably worse quality. 

The door to the basement is ajar, and Will can make out Steve’s words distinctly now, progressively clearer as they descend the narrow stairway. 

“Bullshit, Dustin! We should call the fucking police–”

“And say what, Steve?” Dustin. Will’s taken aback by how defeated he sounds, voice small and meek. “They aren’t on our side. You know that.”

Will tilts his head to gauge Mike’s reaction, who is two steps behind him and just as in the dark. A shiver runs down Will’s spine as he makes it down the last step, the concrete basement doing little to warm the brisk autumn air from outside. 

Although the basement is much less outwardly appealing, most of the Party’s efforts had gone into making it feel like a home, or whatever equivalent they could manage. There’s mismatched furniture Steve and Jonathan nabbed from a government sanctioned tag sale; couches, chairs, a desk. So many people decided to pack up and run, leaving all their stuff behind, that the military decided vacated or destroyed homes were fair game for Hawkins residents, particularly displaced ones. Will didn’t bother to question the legality of that. 

Since both Hopper and El have been forcibly living here for over a year, with little to do but train El’s powers or assist Steve and Robin with the radio, everyone had gone out of their way to try and make the space feel homey. Posters are tacked to the walls, as well as some drawings of Will’s. Eleven had even put up a few of her own, but she prefers to keep them in her makeshift bedroom rather than in the main area. 

A low hum comes from the various breakers and overhead lights around the room, electricity coursing through the walls and ceiling. It’s a buzzing undercurrent to the heated argument currently taking place between Steve, Dustin, and what looks to be Robin, Lucas, and Eleven as well. Dustin’s back is to the doorway, so Will can’t see his face, but the back of his trenchcoat is caked with dirt. Steve and Lucas look absolutely furious, and while El and Robin are much better at concealing it, their pursed lips and heated stares do little to hide the truth of their feelings. 

“Okay, so screw the cops,” Steve flails his arms around wildly towards Dustin. “I’ll go beat the shit out of them myself.”

Mike nudges past Will, who’s standing frozen in the doorway. “Woah, what’s going on?”

Robin, Lucas, and El’s eyes lock onto them, looking oddly startled by their arrival to this scheduled group meeting. Taking another step in, Will spots his mom and Hopper sitting at the desk in Hopper’s bedroom, which is essentially an offshooting closet with a mattress and table. They’re reviewing a large sheet of paper intently, but look up at the sound of Mike’s voice.

“Nothing,” Dustin grumbles. “Steve’s just being dramatic, as usual.”

Scoffing, Steve runs a hand through his hair, taking a few steps back to compose himself. Lucas crosses his arms and leans back against the table with their projector on it. 

“Dude, have you seen your face? It’s not nothing.” Robin nods in agreement from where she’s weakly attempting to calm Steve down, who’s still pacing like a madman.

“What happened?” Will asks. 

Dustin pivots around, head hung low, and Will can’t hold back a mortified gasp at the sight of his face. If he thought Mike’s injury was bad, this is ten times worse. Dried blood crusted under his nose and lip, where deep wounds cut through his pale skin. Each of his eyes sport similar colored bruises, an angry mix of red and purple. But worse than all that is the expression on his face, defeated and somber, so unlike the passionate rage Will saw earlier today. 

“Holy shit,” Mike says under his breath. “What the hell happened?!”

Dustin avoids eye contact. “Those guys weren’t thrilled we got them suspended.”

Will’s heart sinks. Across the room, Steve slams his hand onto the table. “And that gives them the right to fucking assault you at a cemetary?”

Robin moves herself closer to Steve, carefully placing her hand over his. “He didn’t say that.”

“He’s right, though,” Lucas says solemnly. “A three on one fight is just fucked up.”

“Wait,” Will cuts in, stomach sinking. “Three?” 

Lucas and Dustin both nod in confusion, and he hears Mike’s quiet inhale of realization. 

“Uh, yeah,” Dustin says. “Same three guys from the cafeteria earlier. From the basketball team. I was just cleaning Eddie’s gravestone. Someone had written…”

He trails off, but Will already knows. Countless Hawkins citizens, teenagers and adults alike, visit Eddie Munson’s grave for the sole purpose of defacing it. That part isn’t shocking. But seeing Dustin’s face, knowing Chance had helped do that to him… 

Joyce emerges from the side room, Hopper trailing close behind. Matching worried expressions grace their faces, and both their hands full of papers. 

His mom rests what she’s holding on the table, next to the projector. 

“Hey, sweetie,” she says, pulling him into a quick hug. Will reciprocates half-heartedly, mind still elsewhere. 

“Hi, Mom.”

Joyce pulls away and raises an eyebrow at him. “That’s it? All I get is ‘Hi Mom’? After I got a call from the school saying you were suspended for fighting today?”

“It really wasn’t much of a fight, Mrs. Byers,” Mike jumps in, and he’s damn lucky Joyce takes kindly to him, since any other parent would be appalled at his audacity. Will can see Hopper already glaring from where he stands next to El.

“Watch it, Wheeler,” he warns. Mike sputters, gesturing to his face. 

“It wasn’t! Look at my face, Hop. They attacked us first!”

“You still got suspended.” 

“I was protecting Will.”

“Regardless,” Joyce cuts in, effectively shutting them up. “You shouldn’t be getting into fights.” She looks to Dustin and Lucas. “Any of you. You kids already have enough on your plate.

“But,” she continues. “I know you didn’t mean to. And I know how hard it is for everyone right now. So I won’t ground you this time–” Will holds back a quip about how he’ll be stuck in Mike’s house either way now that he can’t go to school. “–but all of you need to be more careful. It’s dangerous out there.” 

The Four Party members mumble their agreement, Mike a tad reluctantly. Satisfied, Joyce plants a kiss on Will’s cheek before making her way back to the projector. 

“Mom,” he whines, wiping it off his face. She just grins at him.

“Did you see Nancy or Jonathan?” Dustin asks Lucas, jumping on the change in conversation. “We have a lot to discuss today.”

“Hang on, Henderson, we aren’t done–”

“Steve,” Robin says emphatically. “C’mon, man. Give him a break.”

Reluctantly, Steve concedes, but not before telling Dustin that they “will be finishing this later, Henderson,” and plopping himself on the seat next to El. 

Lucas slowly shakes his head. “I didn’t see them. Something’s definitely happening Downtown. They’ve upped the security like crazy. I don’t even think they wanted me in there, but it would’ve been suspicious if they didn’t.”

“We passed by when we were bringing Holly home from school,” Will says. “They redirected us before we could even get too close. They’ve expanded their boundary.”

Hopper hums in agreement. “We’ve noticed that. Everything from Woods Lane to Downtown is barricaded now, right?”

Mike nods. “And they’ve got, like, a shitload of new equipment. Tanks, guns. People.”

Heavy steps echo from the stairwell, and Murray steps through the doorway, clad in a construction helmet and lopsided toolbelt.

“Well, I finished fixing the antenna on the van.” He throws the keys to Steve. “All yours, Harrington. Should work like a charm now.”

Pocketing the keys, Steve thanks Murray, who informs the group he has ‘other business’ to attend to and won’t be present for tonight's meeting. Murmurs of acknowledgement come from about half the group, and Murray throws his toolbelt and hat into the corner of the room before taking off back upstairs. Will can faintly make out the grind of his car’s tires in the dirt above. 

“Alright then,” Mike blinks, crossing the room to sit next to El. His arm naturally drapes over her, and she leans her head onto his shoulder. Will looks away and hates himself for it.  

Joyce moves to the back of the room, pulling out a chalkboard from its place against the wall. Lucas goes to help her, and the two position it across from the projector. 

“Thanks, hon.” Lucas shrugs it off with a small smile, going back to his place against the table. Will realizes he’s still awkwardly standing by the doorway, and goes to sit on the empty table across from him. 

The telltale sound of car doors slamming alerts the group of Nancy and Jonathan’s arrival. A moment later, the two come barreling into the room, Nancy still in her uniform. Jonathan’s hands are full with two rolled up maps. 

“The military is doing a burn on the vines tonight,” Nancy exclaims, eyes excited. “They blocked off more space because they don’t want anyone to know. Their main targets are the library and the outer portions of the fissures, but we’re pretty sure they think doing all of it at once is their best bet.”

“Slow down, Nance,” Jonathan smirks, placing the maps down. “Not all of us can keep up with your brain.” 

Nancy gives Jonathan a playful swat on the arm. “Or maybe it’s just you who can’t keep up.”

Rolling his eyes, Jonathan gestures for her to continue. 

“Jonathan helped me, uh, borrow some maps from their facility,” Nancy says, and Will cranes his head forward to see the large sheet of paper she’s unrolling on the ground. It’s a detailed composition of all the streets and buildings currently being utilized by the Downtown base. Thick red lines indicate the borders, and Will assumes the large X’s scattered throughout are gate locations.

Nancy pulls a marker from her apron, circling sections on the map. “Here, here, and here are the main targets. But like I said, we think they’re going for them all at once.”

“And this is happening tonight, you said?” Nancy nods, and Hopper sighs warily. “Alright. We should probably try and stake it out the best we can in case something happens.”

General agreement comes from the group, though none of them are too thrilled about it. 

“Hey, at least if we’re out all night, we won’t have to wake up for school tomorrow.” 

No one laughs, and Will can’t help but snicker at Mike’s annoyance.

“Damn, okay. Just trying to lighten the mood.”

Nancy frowns at him. “What are you talking about?”

“Uh,” Mike hesitates. “Temporary suspension.”

Nancy’s eyebrows shoot up. “What the hell, Mike? What happened?”

“You didn’t tell her?” Will asks Jonathan, surprised.

Jonathan shakes his head in exasperation. “We were a bit busy.”

“He told me about what happened with you, Will,” Nancy’s expression softens, briefly glancing at the Walkman still on his belt. “Speaking of, are you okay?”

“Wait, what?” Joyce’s eyes follow Nancy’s, and she gasps when she sees the device. “Will, did Henry… did he–”

“Yeah,” Will admits quietly. “But I’m okay, I promise.”

Her eyes well up with tears, and Will lets himself be pulled into her embrace, just as much for his sake as her own. He sees El sit up straighter in her seat. 

“He showed you the clock?” she asks tensely. Will nods into his mother’s shoulder. “You are his next target. Henry must be gaining his strength back.”

Nancy lets out a long breath. “To open more gates?”

“Maybe not.” Mike looks to Will, who is no longer being smothered by Joyce. “You should tell them everything. Now that we’re all here.”

Dammit. As much as Will would rather do anything else, he knows he has to. He made a promise, after all. And, of course, the information could be vital to all their survival. 

“Yeah,” he breathes out, but doesn’t say anything else. 

An uneasy silence hangs in the air as they wait with bated breath for Will to say something. Anything.   

“Okay,” Dustin claps his hands, mustering up as much fake enthusiasm that he can. “Start from the beginning, Will.”

Will takes a controlled breath, steadying his hands on his knees. All pairs of eyes in the room are on him; even with his own glued to the floor, he can feel their anxious stares, hear their quiet breaths of anticipation. 

“Um, yeah. Okay,” Will stumbles out. “It’s… kind of a lot. Can everyone just, uh, not ask questions until after?”

Murmurs of agreement and soft “yeah”’s come from each person in the room, and Will looks up to find nothing but concern in the faces of his friends. Next to him, his mom rubs a hand on his knee in encouragement, and he forces himself to smile reassuringly. Judging by the way her face slightly falls, it’s not very convincing. 

“Thanks guys,” Will says. “Um, alright. I guess the first weird thing that happened was me waking up in Castle Byers two nights ago.”

He hears a small sound of protest from his mom upon hearing he waited two days to share this information, but she mercifully doesn’t say anything. 

“I had this weird dream on Saturday, about some Doctor and… and the Upside Down. He was talking to me about some shipwreck experiment, or something. I don’t know what happened, but Jonathan found me there. Sleeping. So, uh. Yeah.” 

Will takes a moment to try and find the clearest way through this story, but his brief silence opens the floodgates for questioning. 

“Sorry, I know you said no questions,” Robin says bashfully. “But why were you sleeping out in the woods? And not telling anyone?”

“I don’t know,” Will replies, nervousness growing. “I don’t remember how I got there.”

And that’s not the only thing I don’t remember. “Uh, and also… I told Mike and Jonathan this already, but all of my memories from being trapped in the Upside Down are gone.” 

The words messily stumble out of his mouth, because if he starts overthinking any of this there’s no way he’ll be able to say it.

“What?” 

“Wait, you can’t remember any of it? How did this not come up earlier?”

“Holy shit.”

“Like a trauma response?”

So much for no questions. Will hides his head in his hands, the sudden onslaught of voices too loud and invasive. 

“Guys, knock it off. He literally just said to not ask questions.”

Raising his head, Will shoots a grateful look to Mike, whose arms are crossed indignantly. Everyone listens, miraculously, and Will nods to himself before continuing.

“Okay, yeah. I can’t remember any of it. I’m not sure how that happened, and yeah, I don’t know how I didn’t realize earlier. I think… Well, I still have nightmares about it, uh, all the time, so I guess I just got them confused with reality? But when I try to remember specific details, or real things that happened, it’s just blank.”

This time, no onset of questions barrages him. A tense, contemplative silence fills the room; some, like Dustin, are deep in thought, brows furrowed in concentration. While others, (particularly Robin) look extremely worried. Will heard about their little escapade to the Upside Down last year, and a sudden striking detail resurfaces. 

“Wait, Nancy.” Her thoughtful eyes meet his. “Didn’t you say that the Upside Down is… is stuck? On the day I went missing?” 

“Holy shit,” Dustin mutters simultaneously with Nancy’s agreement. “That has to mean something, right?”

Will never gave too much thought to why the Upside Down is frozen in time. In the grand scheme of things, it never seemed to matter very much, especially since they’ve been blocked from accessing the other dimension for over a year. But now, it seems like the most vital detail of all time. 

“Wait, so when little Byers disappeared, or got kidnapped or whatever, it like… froze time?” Robin asks, wide eyed. “Man, that’s crazy.”

“Actually–” Lucas starts, but then shakes his head. “Never mind. Sorry. It’s stupid.”

Dustin shrugs. “All theories are more than welcome. We’re operating with basically nothing right now.”

Lucas’s face twists uncertainly. “This might not make any sense… but why would the Upside Down freeze when Will got taken there? Like, what about Vecna’s first victims? Why didn’t they stop the clock?”

“Maybe because they were already dead,” Nancy reasons, though her brows are furrowed in thought. “Will was taken there alive.”

“Sorry,” Robin interrupts. “Hate to interrupt again. My apologies. But, uh, why exactly is that? I don’t think we ever established the why before.”

The room is silent, each person processing the fact that they are way more in the dark about all this than they initially realized. Will’s head is spinning. Why did the Demogorgon take him?

“Damn,” Dustin whispers. “How did we never think to ask this?”

Jonathan runs a hand over his face. “Could it just have needed someone? For…”

He doesn’t know. None of them do. 

“I think,” Will starts, voice shaky. “I think it wanted me. It let me run away, at least at first. Well, it wasn’t very fast. But it didn’t need to be, I guess. It knew I couldn’t run away forever.”

His mom rests a comforting hand on his leg, and Will leans into it. 

“It wasn’t very fast?” Hopper asks. “Damn, I can’t imagine one of those things moving slow.”

Will frowns. “I mean, I didn’t really see it. It probably was. I don’t know.”

“Do you remember it taking you?” Mike’s leaning forward in his seat now, hands pressed into his knees. 

Will nods. “Yeah. I mean, most of it, I think. I was on my bike, saw a figure standing in the road, so I swerved off into the woods.” He pauses to collect himself. “Uh, it was really scary, and I was pretty close to home, so I just ran. I got home and locked the door, but I could still see it coming. So I tried to call the police, but the phone didn’t work. Then… then it opened the lock, so I hid in the shed because I knew there was a gun in there. And then–”

Will stops. “I don’t know. That’s all I… sorry.”

He bites his lip, face flushed with embarrassment. His mom’s hand moves from his leg to around his waist, and Will gratefully leans into her side, not caring if anyone’s judging him for it. 

“What do you mean,” Eleven begins, confusion spread across her features. “That it opened the lock?”

“Like, it slid open from the inside,” Will replies. “Kind of like how you–”

Holy shit. “Kind of like how you can with your powers.”

Dustin’s mouth falls open. “You don’t think–”

“Henry.” El says shortly. “It has to be.”

Horrified silence fills the room. Will doesn’t know what to think. He knew this would be a rough meeting for him, but he never imagined there would be this many truths to uncover. So many hints that this, all of this, is his fault. 

“Fuck,” Mike whispers, and it’s a testament to how tense everyone is that no one calls him out for his language. Usually, Steve and Hopper would be all over him for it. Now, they clearly share his sentiment. 

“When we found you,” Hopper hesitates, cautiously looking at Will. “You weren’t… Well, you were dead, but only just. And there was some sort of vine, or– or a snake in your mouth. Down your throat.”

Jonathan looks sick. “Hop, really?”

“I’m just saying,” he presses on. “I don’t think it wanted to kill you, Will. Otherwise, it would’ve. Like it did with the others.”

Nancy looks down at the floor, still ridden with guilt about her friend’s death. 

“It was keeping you alive for a reason.”

Will feels his mom’s body shake with suppressed sobs, but he can’t find it in himself to try and comfort her. 

“I just need to remember,” Will says dejectedly. “I– why can’t I remember?”

From the couch, El lets out a tiny exhale. “Papa told me I lost my powers because of ‘repressed memories.’ And that I needed to remember so I could bring them back. Maybe it is the same for you. You forgot because you are scared.”

“But Will doesn’t have powers,” Steve chimes in, before hesitating and turning to Will expectantly. “Do you?”

“Not as far as I know,” Will mumbles. “Where would I have acquired magical powers, Steve?”

Steve grumbles to himself, and Robin gives him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. 

“It’s the same concept, though,” Lucas reasons. “El couldn’t remember things because they were traumatic, that has nothing to do with power–”

Mike perks up. “He kind of does, though. True Sight?”

“Hang on,” Dustin stands up, pacing the room with his patented Thinking Face on. “Will, what did you say you heard in the dream? From the Doctor? What did the Doctor say?”

Will exchanges a glance with Mike across the room, who looks equally as unimpressed, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Something about government experiments on a shipwreck crew.”

Dustin groans. “Wow, thank you, Will. In more detail, if you please.”

Will rolls his eyes at his sarcasm, but thinks back to his odd dream, trying to recall as many details as possible. “Uh, he was talking about how a ship went missing, and that the one person who survived the shipwreck had, like, problems. When they found him. And the government ran tests on him, I guess. There was something wrong with his blood.”

Dustin halts his pacing, all attention focused on Will. It makes him uneasy, but not because of the usual fear of judgment that comes with scrutinizing eyes; no, this is worse. Something burns in his friend’s stare, like the embers of a realization are being stoked more and more by Will’s words. 

“And you said he was talking to you, right?” Dustin urges. “Like, directly to you?”

Will nods, and one more detail surfaces. “He said the name of the experiment, too. He called it Project Rainbow.”

In Will’s opinion, that’s the least relevant piece of information he’s shared so far. But from the way Dustin perks up, he can see he’s thought wrong.

“Dammnit, Byers, why didn’t you open with that?” Dustin claps his hands together in excitement, turning to the rest of the group. “If that was a real government experiment, we can definitely find it! Maybe it has something to do with the Upside Down–”

“He called it Project Rainbow?” Dustin’s enthusiastic rant is cut short by El, who is staring at Will with such intensity he shrinks back with a small nod. 

El sits up straighter on the couch, and Mike’s arm retracts from its place on her leg. 

“In the Lab, with my brothers and sisters, they had a room for us. Where we could train and test out our powers.” She turns to Dustin. “Papa called it the Rainbow Room.”

It’s as if Will’s heart plummets from his chest into his stomach. Everyone else shares the same sentiment if their gaping mouths and worried exhales are any indication. 

Robin picks at her nails anxiously. “You think there’s a connection there?”

El doesn’t answer, but her thoughts are evident from the way she hunches over, deep in thought.

Dustin grabs a chalk and frantically begins scribbling words on the chalkboard. 

“Project Rainbow was a shipwreck… maybe an experiment? And everyone died except one person. They were used for government testing… their blood type was different…”

“Maybe that’s how they survived?” Robin interjects. Dustin hums in agreement and adds her theory to the board.

“And now we know there’s a connection between that experiment and Eleven’s experiment–” Dustin grimaces at his own phrasing. He shoots an apologetic look at El, who’s wholly unbothered, still lost in her own mind. “Sorry. The experiment that gave Eleven her pow– wait, El, how did you get your powers?”

This time, it’s Hopper who butts in. “Human experimentation. On her mother.”

Quickly, Dustin scrawls that onto the board as well. “Okay, so it’s safe to say that Vecna also got his powers from that same kind of experiment. Right?”

General sounds of agreement come from the Party, except for one. 

“Those experiments would have to have been happening all over the country,” Joyce frowns. “Hop, remember when the Creel family moved here? And all those animals were found dead across town? Without eyes?”

Nancy inhales sharply. “Just like Vecna’s victims.”

“Yes, exactly. Those kills were his, too,” Joyce continues, and Hopper’s usual stoic nature wavers slightly.

“So he must’ve already had his powers before moving to Hawkins.” Joyce nods at Hopper’s affirmation of her theory.

A headache is building behind Will’s eyes, the absolute onslaught of information proving to be extremely overwhelming. In an attempt to relieve the tension, he briefly presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. It does little to alleviate the stress, but the pain is a welcome respite if only for a moment.

Unlike Will, Dustin is overjoyed by the excess of new information, excited to be making any sort of progress after almost a year of nothing. Even with the bruises littering his skin, his face is still alight with wonder and … 

“So either Henry Creel was experimented on before he moved to Hawkins, got powers, and then went on a killing spree once he got here, or he…” Dustin trails off, unsure.

Contemplative silence fills the room. The tension is palpable, but not awkward; Will can tell that they’re close to some sort of breakthrough, and everyone is antsy to get there.

“Henry,” El starts, voice strained. “He told me that we’re alike. In the Lab.”

Hopper crosses over to her, kneeling in front of her spot on the couch. “You’re not. You’re nothing like him.”
Mike nods and goes to hold her hand in his own. Even from his spot across the room, Will can see his sister tense at the contact. Frowning, Mike pulls away, wringing his hands together on his own lap instead. Hopper exchanges a confused glance with Joyce, who shrugs with a small shake of her head. 

Will thinks back to Mike’s confession from the other night. How he’s worried El doesn’t need him anymore. That he’s useless. Anxiety flares up inside him, and he subtly wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans. El definitely needs Mike. It’s obvious. Even if the painting was technically a lie, it’s nothing that El wouldn’t have told her boyfriend eventually. The logic is sound enough for Will, but he knows he needs to speak with his friend about this eventually, just to make sure he doesn’t end up caught in a web of his own lies and ruins his sister’s relationship. 

Dustin places the chalk down. “He’s right. You’re nothing like him, El.” He pauses. “Well, except for the powers aspect. I guess his mom was experimented on, too?”

“No,” Nancy and Hopper say at the same time. Dustin narrows his eyes in confusion. 

“But didn’t we just establish that that’s how Eleven got her powers?”

Nancy shakes her head. “Yes, but Henry killed his mom and sister after they moved to Hawkins. Do you really think the government would just let her leave after experimenting on her?”

Steve shrugs. “NDA’s exist.”

Beside him, Robin rolls her eyes. “Maybe for stupid, inconsequential little experiments, dingus. Not for large-scale human superpower testing.”

“Plus,” Hopper continues. “Those experiments…” He glances briefly at El. “Didn’t go very well for the mother.”

Eleven looks down at the floor in sadness, but she conceals it well. She is by far the strongest person Will knows, both physically and emotionally. He hopes she knows that.

“And Alice Creel seemed perfectly normal,” Joyce adds. “I don’t think his mother would’ve been able to have another kid after those tests.”

Dustin runs a hand over his face in frustration. “Okay, fine. So Vecna got his powers in a different way? Some sort of beta-test experiment?”

“Why does any of this even matter?” Mike cuts in, annoyance palpable. “We’re supposed to be talking about Will!”

Dustin sighs. “And that’s what we’re trying to do here, Mike. Can’t you see there’s a clear connection here?”

“What connection, Dustin?” Mike stands up, pushing past Hopper and stomping towards the chalkboard. “None of this has anything to do with what’s been happening with Will!”

“And what makes you so sure?” Dustin asks accusingly. “You’re the one who said his nose was bleeding in class, and that he was unnaturally tired in the bathroom. Doesn’t that sound familiar?”

Various expressions of confusion meet Dustin’s question. But Mike and Lucas both turn their eyes to El, who is staring at Will intensely. 

“How did you get Henry to leave your mind?” she asks. 

Will bites his lip, not sure how to explain the sensation. “I don’t know. It was like… I could feel him all over. Like, when you’re in the shade, or a shadow, and the sun is blocked out. You feel really cold even though you know it’s warm?”

That didn’t make any sense. Will’s about to apologize, try to reexplain, but Nancy interrupts before he can. 

“It felt like that for me, too,” she says, expression dark. Jonathan entangles their fingers, and Nancy grips onto him tightly. 

Reassured, Will continues, voice shaky. “I could feel him searching in my mind for something. I don’t know what. But it was like the shadow was able to… paw around inside you.” 

Will shudders at the memory. Violating is the most accurate way to describe the sensation, but that word is too strong, too real for Will to think about right now. 

“I tried to fight him off by pushing the shadow out. Kind of like… telling it to leave. Because it isn’t welcome. I don’t know if it worked.” Beside him, his mom wipes a tear from her eye, and Will turns his head away before he starts crying too. 

Memories of a red, foggy Hell fill his mind. “Actually… I think I was able to push him out of my mind. I ended up somewhere different. It was dark and red and… I don’t know, broken. And there were the Gates, and– and the people it wanted me to kill–”

“Woah, hang on,” Mike interrupts his rambling. “Will, who did it want you to kill?”

Jonathan mirrors Mike’s worried expression, and he bets his mom does as well. It’s reminiscent of that day in Hawkins Lab, when he was under the control of the shadow monster. When it made him kill the soldiers.

Will just shakes his head, a few stray tears escaping his eyes. He doesn’t bother to push them away. 

A comforting hand rubs small circles onto his back. “Will, baby. Please try to remember.”

His mother’s soft voice, cracking with suppressed grief, is what does it for him. She wipes the moisture from his face, and Will meets her eyes. He does his best to relax, eyes falling closed. The room goes completely still and silent, the only audible sound being Will’s quivering breaths.

Slowly, as if he were approaching a rabid animal, Will allows himself to not only recall the memory from earlier today, but to open his mind to feeling it again as well. Power, hunger, fear. They swirl around him, throughout his blood, into his brain and soul.  

Something awakens inside him, evil and cunning. Something waiting for the opportunity to strike. An invitation, he realizes. Much too late. 

Red overtakes his vision, and he falls out of his own body, into the shadow, back into the darkness. Faintly, he can feel his physical form, still in the radio station, tense up under the now flickering lights, a thin stream of blood running from his nose. Worried shouts of his name from his friends melt away into the rush of air as he plummets through the void. 

---

As soon as the fall starts, it stops, and Will hits something hard and powerful. A wall of some kind, he rationalizes. Built from the energy of the shadow as a way to keep him out. 

Out of impulse, he extends a hand towards the barrier, hoping to make a connection. He doesn’t know why. Never once has he tried to reach out to the shadow, willingly letting it inside. But something is telling him that it’s safe, that everything will be okay if he can just push through this–

Blinding pain encompasses him, and Will retreats. The shadow does not want to be controlled. It is the one doing the controlling. It’s content with the human vessel It’s using right now, and would never dream of bending to the will of such a creature. But Will knows he can control it regardless; there’s a connection between them, ever since it first invaded his body on the field. 

Bracing himself, he tries again, this time with increased desperation. He fills his mind with happy memories, lets go of all his fear, and pushes. 

Let me in. 

And the shadow bends to his command. 

On all sides, the walls of shadow crumble down, rebuilding themselves into a sea of thoughts, feelings, fears, bodies. The sensation is overwhelming, to say the least, and Will fights to maintain his flimsy hold over the shadow. Humans don’t get to restrain It. Will knows that. But he’s going to damn well try. 

Who does Henry want to kill? The question extends itself into the shadow’s web of control, and Will exerts as much of his own energy as he can to find an answer. Wrangling the shadow for this long is already taking a toll on him, but he’s so close to finding the missing puzzle piece, the solution to all of their problems, that he perseveres through the torment.

Wisps of shadow present him with Henry’s mind, an entity so powerful Will is unsure if he can even get a glimpse at his memories without being killed by the sheer force of it. Taking a deep breath, he extends himself out, opening the door to enter his mind. 

The sudden sound of guitar strumming startles Will so badly that he yanks himself back, his handle over the shadow slipping. Quickly, he wrangles the now writhing shadow back, maintaining some semblance of power over It while he tries to reach back to the real world. Focusing hard, he holds the shadow with one half of his being, and sends the other hurtling out.

Reentering his physical body is indescribable. He’s still in the shadow, but his consciousness splits itself to accommodate for his presence in two planes at once. It’s absolutely exhausting, but not impossible, at least for now. Vaguely, he’s reminded of his time under the shadow’s command, when he saw the Now-Memories from the Hivemind simultaneously with his own. He can sense his body more than he can see it; he knows his mom’s hands are on his shoulders, begging him to wake up. He knows his brother and his best friend are standing right behind her, matching looks of worry plastered on their faces. And he knows his sister has a bandana covering her eyes, ready to come save him from Vecna’s attack. 

Real-Will lifts his hand up from where it rests on the table, and clicks the pause on his Walkman. Gone is the sound of The Cure, now replaced with the frightened voices of his friends. They all blend together into one frantic plea, and Will doesn’t have the energy to spare to listen to them. 

He forces his mouth to open, and pushes the words out the best he can. “It’s not Vecna. I’m controlling it. I’m fine.”

Will’s pretty sure only half of his statement actually comes out of the mouth of his real body, but it must be enough, as the voices of his friends quiet to mumbles of confusion and the music doesn’t start up again. 

Will, what’s going on?

Mike. His voice is so loud in Will’s mind that Will whips around to see if he’s really there with him. But nothing surrounds him except more shadows and scattered memories.

As much as he wants to answer Mike, tell him that he’s okay, Will can feel his control of the shadow slipping as It grows more and more agitated at being commanded by a human. Reluctantly, Will releases the tether to his physical body entirely, focusing all his energy on restraining the shadow. He’ll apologize to Mike later. Turning back to Henry’s mind, Will extends a hand yet again, bracing himself for the inevitable pain and resistance. 

But there is none. No agony or fear or suffering, just a dizzying sense of vertigo as Will is thrusted into a mind that is not his own. 

It’s indescribable. There are no individual memories, like scenes from a movie played out in chronological order. Instead, it’s as if Will experiences a hundred years worth of emotions and pictures all at once and not at all. Like he’s seen them all before, but they’re all brand new. Names and faces fly through his vision. He sees his family. His girlfriend. His Doctor. His bullies. His friends. And he feels all their emotions: love, hope, determination, grief, all clouded by insurmountable fear. Because he doesn’t want to hurt them, but he knows he will. He already did. 

Get out.

Around him, the shadow roars with fury, and Will’s head feels like it’s being split in two. With a jolt, he’s thrown out of Henry’s mind, landing harshly back in the mind realm as someone else grapples for the shadow. Maintaining control over the beast is hard enough, but wrestling for dominance over it whilst Vecna opposes him is infinitely harder. 

Fear pulses through Will, and he knows his time is up. Henry has a much stronger grasp of how to manage the shadow than he does, and Will is already shaking from overexertion. He tries to turn back, get out of Henry’s mind, but it’s too late; new walls are already being built, only these aren’t to keep anything out. 

They’re to keep him in. 

Frantically, Will pushes all his remaining life into keeping the shadow away from consuming him whole, but he knows he’s egregiously outmatched. He’s not sure what’s happening with his real body, but he knows it’s nothing good. Blood runs down his face in the shadow world; he can feel it warm on his cheeks, and he can only imagine it’s the same back in the radio station. 

Henry’s hold on the shadow grows stronger and angrier, and Will knows he has to let go. Closing his eyes, he braces himself, any terror for what’s to come overshadowed by crippling exhaustion. He lets go. 

All the fight drains from his body, and Will collapses on the smoky ground, his blood intermingling with the gray plumes. His eyes drift closed, and the shadow clamors with rage all around him, furious at Will for using It, hungry for revenge. 

As Will lay there, weak and alone, he waits for the attack from the shadow. Or for Henry to grace Will with the honor of his human form, wanting to watch the life drain from Will’s eyes himself. 

But none of that happens. Tremors fill the void as the shadow is forced to retreat, this time not by Will’s hand. Screeches of rage and anguish reverberate through the plane, and if Will could find it in him to lift his heavy arms, he would cover his ears. 

You. 

“Will, get up! Please, Will, you need to go!”

Her voice sends his eyes flying open. Through his blurry vision, the clear figure of his sister stands, hands outstretched, fighting against the shadow. Her nose drips red, and her fingers are trembling, but her stare is unwavering. 

Eleven locks eyes with him. “Get up, Will. You need to run!”

Running sounds like the absolute last thing Will wants to do right now, but he knows if he doesn’t, El will be battling against the darkness until he does. So he shakily hauls himself to his feet, stumbling on each step as he wills himself to stay upright. His breaths are more like heaving pants, and he can barely see through the blood in his eyes, but Eleven’s encouragement and bravery are enough to keep him going. 

Will dazedly looks around for anywhere to run, but sees nothing but the rippling gloom of the shadow surrounding them. El is holding it at bay the best she can, but Will can tell her strength is waning. She looks between him and the swirling darkness desperately, before moving one of her hands towards Will, the other still fiercely holding the shadow at bay. 

“Will, run!” She yells, dropping to one knee. Will wants to help her, but a shrill scream from the shadow echoes behind him. Turning to face it, he sees a small opening in the swirling darkness; Eleven has made him an opening. He hesitates, not wanting to leave her here to fight all alone. 

She sees his restraint, and yells out once again. “I can fight. Will, go now!”

So he does. Will runs, or his best equivalent of running in his current state, towards the small exit in the shadow. It feels like ten miles, but it can’t have been more than fifty feet. Each smack of his feet on the ground feels like a gunshot, pain rippling through every inch of his body. Still, he runs, pushed by the cries of his sister fighting behind him. 

When Will finally makes it to the barrier, he doesn’t hesitate. He throws himself right into the opening El has created, and immediately finds himself in a freefall. Eleven’s cries and the howling wind of the shadow fade away into nothing, until all Will can hear is his own body falling through the darkness. 

He’s unsure how long he falls for, but the weightlessness provides a much needed relief from the all encompassing pain that he’d felt previously. Scattered thoughts drift through his mind, but he’s too tired to latch onto a single one. Without the lingering threat of the shadow, Will finds himself relaxed enough to finally close his eyes, consciousness fading as he falls into nothingness. 

---

Will peels his eyes open only to be greeted by more darkness. His limbs are heavy, like someone tied weights to his hands and feet, and his head is immediately pounding. For a moment, he lets himself lay there in the shallow pool of water, only vaguely registering it as such. It’s cool around his head, rippling against his hair. Everything is calm and serene. 

More and more time passes by as Will lays splayed out on the ground, and his thoughts slowly knit themselves back together. Concern and energy grow parallel with one another, and Will pushes himself into a seated position. Wiping a hand over his face, he’s not surprised to see it come away stained red with blood. 

Memories of El screaming out flood back, and Will looks around the void, hoping to see her. 

“El?” he calls out, but his voice is hoarse and raspy. “Eleven?”

No reply comes. His voice is stagnant in the pitch black realm, unsettlingly so. There’s no echo, no depth. 

A small splash behind him sends Will spinning around, now fully on his feet. There’s someone else here with him, sitting cross-legged in the water, her long, red hair falling in waves down her back. Will stops short, barely believing what he’s seeing. 

Another splash. He sees her arms move only slightly. Will cautiously approaches, but feels his legs speeding up on their own accord. He moves in front of the figure, kneeling down to try and meet her eyes. 

“...Max?” The name feels foreign on his lips, like a taboo has been placed on the word. “Max, are you there? Can you hear me?” 

Max’s hand falls back into the water again, and ripples extend from where her palm meets the surface. She doesn’t reply to him. Her fiery hair drapes over her face, blocking Will from seeing her crystal eyes. 

Tentatively, Will lifts his hand to her face in an attempt to move her hair from her eyes. His fingers make contact with her wavy hair, and he threads them through the strands. Nothing about her feels manufactured by Vecna, or a memory from the shadow. She’s real. 

A hand flies up to grab his wrist, and Will gasps out in pain and shock. Max’s fingernails dig into the flesh of his arm, and Will yanks himself back, but to no avail. Her grip is too strong.

“Max, can you hear me? It’s Will,” he begs. “Please, Max, you’re hurting me.”

Her head whips up, revealing a face Will hadn’t seen out of slumber in so long. Max’s features are alight with life, but an eerie sort of life, one that could be compared to a ghost or a zombie. Gone, but not entirely. Pale flesh, deep purple bruises, white lips.  

But her eyes are what strike a pang in Will’s heart. Because they’re the exact same eyes of the girl he knew before her coma. Piecing blue, once a gateway to a pure and human soul. Only now, they’re shiny with tears, the creases in the corners deep from sadness rather than laughter. 

Above all else, they're empty. 

Will snaps himself out of his stupor. “Max, is it– can you hear me? It’s Will.”

A vague sense of recognition flares in her otherwise soulless stare, her lips forming the shape of his name. Encouraged, Will tries again. 

“It’s Will Byers. From Hawkins. We’re friends, remember?”

Her dull gaze drifts away from his own, and slowly assesses the void they’ve found themselves in, poking at the water hauntingly. “Max, where are we? How do we wake you up?”

Suddenly, she freezes, her grip on Will relaxing. He doesn’t dare move his wrist. 

Max gasps, loud and afraid, and frantically darts her eyes around the darkness until they land on Will. Her eyes no longer reflect the vacant void around them. Now, they shine with fear.

She focuses on Will, finally seeing him. And Will can’t help the tears that fall from his own eyes.

“W– Will?” 

Her voice, so familiar yet foreign, is hoarse and scared. The blues of her eyes are clouded with an unnatural sheen of dread, but just hearing his name from her mouth is enough for Will to upturn Will’s lips. 

“Yeah, yes, it’s me, Max,” he chokes out. “Do you– how can we get you out of here?”

“Will…” Max’s grip on Will’s wrist tightens yet again, and he rests his free hand over hers in an attempt to calm her down. 

Around them, the void starts to tremor, and Will darts his eyes around warily, making sure the endless blackness isn’t collapsing in on them. Water splashes up his heels, the serene ripples growing into something larger. 

Below them, deep in the water, a red light glows, extending further and further. Not a light, Will realizes. A gate. 

It cracks open, growing into something menacing and deadly, just like the ones splitting Hawkins. Max doesn’t seem to notice, her eyes still focused intently on Will’s face, her hand still tight around his arm. 

Will doesn’t know what to do. He can barely stay upright, the ground shakes so violently. Freezing water soaks him almost entirely. 

“Max, please,” he begs. “How do we save you?”

Something wraps around Will’s torso–something from the gate–and pulls. His arm is yanked out of Max’s grip, and he doesn’t get to gauge her reaction because he’s drowning, choking him from all sides. The water is no longer shallow and placid, but miles deep, and Will can’t breathe as it drags him further and further into its depths. Max’s form is quickly out of sight, what must be miles above him, as the plane around him shifts from black to glowing red. 

Will holds his breath as long as he can, kicking frantically against the entity coiled around his body. But he can only hold out so long, and his lungs inhale instinctively, but much to Will’s horror, they can’t. It’s as if thousands of tons have been placed on his chest, simultaneously sinking him deep into the water and halting his vital organs. 

He tries again, begs his body to work, to let him drown, because God, it would be better than this. His efforts are in vain, and Will’s quickly losing his strength to fight back against the crushing pressure. His consciousness is fading rapidly. 

Will’s last thought is of the Party; he hopes they’ve turned away, aren’t watching him drown to death in the trenches of his own mind. But that thought is swept away in the waves, and as his eyes flutter closed, he thinks no more. 

Chapter Text

Waking comes quickly, like a jolt rather than a peaceful coming to. Darkness evaporates in a blink and is replaced by a red-tinged face in his vision. There's voices saying something, loud and panicked, but the only thing Will can focus on is how he still can't breathe.

But he can breathe, because the water and darkness are gone, mercifully replaced with cool, vital air. He feels it on his face, his hands, his toes. Ice chills his skin and runs through his veins, but at least there is air.

Will heaves in a breath, then two, until his throat is raw and sore from the strain. Physical sensation rushes back into his body; he's laying down, head resting on something soft and firm and moving. Focusing his eyes, he sees the distressed face of his mother looming above him, staring down with such worry that Will wants to sit up and comfort her. But his limbs are like lead, aching and heavy, and he doesn't have the energy to do anything but inflate his lungs.

"Will, oh my God,'" her voice trembles as she strokes his cheek. It sounds a million miles away, like he's still drowning in the vast ocean of darkness. "Just breathe. Breathe, it's okay."

He does. Slowly, he becomes more aware of his surroundings. He's still on the table he was sitting on during the meeting. Mike and Jonathan stand closely by his side, sporting identical worried expressions. Or, at least, Will thinks they look worried. His vision blurs and twists from a mix of disorientation and blinding fluorescent lights above.

"Holy shit," Jonathan frets. "Will, are you okay? Can you hear us?"

He tries to nod, but his head is too heavy on his neck. Will focuses his eyes the best he can on his brother, but the effort is too great, so he lets them slip back closed instead. The darkness soothes his headache minutely.

"Will, hey, stay awake."

"What the hell is wrong with him?"

Sharp, annoying pokes to his face replace his mother's comforting ministrations. He frowns, curling away the best he can. Through the dull ringing in his ears, Will can hear a new set of footsteps approaching, light and quick.

"Here," a soft voice says. "Is he okay?"

It's Nancy. There's some soft mumbling between her and what must be Jonathan, but Will can't find it in himself to care about listening to their conversation because there's a sudden cool dampness on his face. What's left of his tired brain reasons it must be a cloth of some kind; slow, rhythmic motions stroke under his nose and eyes, and Will involuntarily flinches away, the coolness doing nothing do quell the biting cold within him.

Nancy retracts the cloth. "What's wrong? Does that hurt?"

"'s cold," Will slurs out, rolling his head further into his mom's leg. Opening his eyes is too much, at least for the moment, but he feels himself inching back towards reality.

"You're cold?" his mom frets from above him. A warm hand finds it's way onto his forehead, as if she's checking for a fever rather than an inter-dimensional possession. "Did it… did it get you?"

Even in his dazed state, Will suppresses a whine at his Mom's worrying. But he supposes this time it's justified, since there's blood running down his face while he lay in her lap, barely able to peel his eyes open after what he only assumed looked like an attack from Vecna.

Across the room, another voice chimes in. Tired and stressed, but powerful.

"No," El says. "I fought the shadow, but Will was holding it back. It listened to him."

Will's breathing, back at a reasonable speed, hitches at the mention of the shadow. Sure, he held it back for a minute, but El very well could've been injured. She sounded alright, but Will blinks his eyes open to make sure, relieved to see his vision returning to normal.

She's on the floor, back against the couch and leaning on Hopper's shoulder. He has a protective arm slung around her, and a bloody tissue in his hand.

"El," Will chokes out hoarsely. "A- are you okay?"

Before she can answer, Mike kneels down right in front of Will, blocking his view of his sister. Blocking his view of everything, actually; Mike is so close to Will they're practically nose to nose. Will can see each freckle dusting his cheeks, each worry and smile line etched into his skin. The proximity startles him enough that he flinches back, but Mike either doesn't notice or doesn't care because he makes no effort to move away.

"Will? What happened? Are you okay?" Mike reaches a hand out to touch Will's face, lightly brushing his thumb under his eye, over his cheek. "Can you hear me?"

And wow. Will can definitely hear him, the static in his ears now replaced with blood rushing to his face. He's worried his mom might be able to feel his heartbeat speeding up, since each pulse sends a shockwave throughout his body. Now wide awake, Will can't do anything but nod. It's like Mike shut off the receptors in his brain that allow him to perform basic functions. And that thought alone makes him even more embarrassed.

"Okay, okay good," Mike says, mostly to himself. "What happened? Are you hurt? Do you need music? You turned it off before, do you remember that? Or was that One?"

The sudden onslaught of questions paired with Mike's extremely close proximity is much to overwhelming for Will, who still aches like he got hit by a train. But he can't make his mouth form a request for Mike to back up, or leave, or move a few inches away from his face.

Thankfully, Jonathan has always been good at reading his mind (or maybe he can see how red Will's face has become, even under the streaks of blood), because he lays a tentative hand on Mike's shoulder.

"Mike, why don't you give him a little space, yeah?" Jonathan says, an interesting glint in his eye that Will can't quite decipher. Worry, of course, but there's a hint of something else under the surface; inquisition? Analysis? Will isn't sure, and doesn't have the emotional or physical energy to care at the moment.

Mike, for some reason, turns a similar shade of red at Jonathan's words, as if he just became aware of how close he's positioned himself to Will. Mike yanks his hand from Will's face like it burned him, and Will knows he's gaining his strength back by how he feels the pang in his heart.

Underneath him, his mom shifts their position so she can sit them up, Will leaning heavily against her chest, head tucked under her chin. Mike stands from his spot on the floor, brushing off his knees. Beside him, Jonathan crosses his arms, thoughtfully glancing between Mike and Will.

"'m alright, Jonathan," Will croaks. "Just a bit tired."

El appears from behind Mike, sick of him blocking her view. "What happened, Will? I saw you run from the shadow monster, but you did not wake up when I left your mind. It was like… you were gone. Were you controlling it?"

Will shivers, his energy level increasing. "I— yeah. It listens to me. Not willingly, or anything. It's almost like… I don't know. It's moldable. Like clay."

Furrowing her eyebrows, El looks to Mike, who looks equally as worried by Will's description.

"So, what, you can shape it?" Mike asks. "Like a sculpture, or something?"

His mom tightens her grip around his waist slightly, pulling Will closer to her. He leans into the touch; her warmth is comforting after the constant cold of the last few minutes.

"Sure," Will says, a hint of uncertainty lacing his tone. "But, it's more like, like the shadow can show me things. Memories." He angles his head to face his mom. "You told me to remember. Remember who it wanted to kill."

Will maneuvers himself so he's sitting up on his own, but Joyce's arm still wraps around his side. Her eyes are shiny with unshed tears.

"The shadow showed me who," Will mutters. "It showed me all of them. His family. Brenner. Patty."

Hopper, who had been silently observing up until this point, rises to his feet from the couch.

"Patty?" he asks. "Patty Newby, you mean?"

Will doesn't know a Patty Newby, but yes. The name is correct. Her face is as clear as day in Will's memories. Dark hair, fierce and fiery personality. Unwavering trust in him.

In Henry, he reminds himself. The memories are separated in his mind, like thinking back on scenes from a movie or film. But they're so vivid, so present, Will can't help but feel he lived them himself.

"Yeah," he whispers. "She was his girlfriend at school. And Bob's sister. I remember."

Will isn't aware he's shaking until a hand rests on his own against the table. Without removing his hand, Mike sits himself on Will's other side, opposite Joyce on the table. It's probably too weird if Will links their hands together, he assumes, but he doesn't push Mike away. Having the additional contact with someone is grounding, and Will appreciates the gesture immensely.

“Our connection,” Will says shakily. “It’s getting stronger. A lot stronger. When I used the shadow to get into his mind… it’s like I let him in.”

Wary looks are exchanged within the group. El moves back to sit with Hopper, who runs his hand through her hair soothingly when she sits on the floor in front of him.

"Let him in?" Hopper asks. Will knows what he's thinking. 

He shakes his head. "No. I had control over the shadow monster. Henry didn't like that. I was able to see into his memories, his mind, because the shadow is in there too. And it listened to me."

Across the room, Steve's eyebrows shoot up. "Hang on. You're telling me you have more power over the Upside Down than Vecna does?"

He hesitates. "Uh, not exactly? He's still really strong. I think I just caught him by surprise."

"How is any of this even possible?" Mike interrupts, head shaking wildly. "Will doesn't have powers like El or One!"

"Well, yeah," Dustin says, somehow still at the chalkboard. "But he has True Sight. Like you said. He's been connected to the Hivemind for years."

Mike shrinks back, carefully avoiding looking at Will, who tries not to be upset at the action. After all, it is a bit insane to learn that someone you've been sharing a bedroom with for the past year might be psychically linked to a monstrous demon who plans to kill them all. And that said person has now enhanced said connection.

"El," Mike says. "What do you think?"

Her knees are curled up to her chin, her face resting on top. Will hates how defeated she looks, her face sad and tired. He wishes there was something he could say to lighten her spirits, but there's nothing. There never is.

"When I lost my powers," Eleven starts. "I had to relive the past to get them back."

"Yeah?" Mike swallows nervously.

El's eyes shift to Will. "Maybe the reason you can control the Mind Flayer is because you do have powers. They are just… gone. Because you cannot remember."

"But that's crazy!" Mike insists, running a nervous hand through his hair. "How, and why, and— and when would Will have gotten powers? It doesn't make any sense!"

But Will takes a second, for the first time, to humor the possibility that there might be something extra inside him besides True Sight. The way he held back the shadow, how he was able to enter memories, how he could find—

"Max."

The group turns to him with wide eyes, but one person in particular perks up the most.

"What— What about Max?" Lucas asks, a sad mix of wary and poorly concealed hope in his voice. "Is she okay? Did something happen?"

Will's breathing speeds up. "Holy shit." How did he not say anything earlier?

"Will, did you see Max?" El demands with wide eyes. "In the darkness?"

Barely able to speak, Will just nods, almost imperceptibly. But Lucas sees, jumping to his feet and standing right in front of Will, placing firm hands on his shoulders.

"Where is she? Is she okay? Could you talk to her?"

Lucas's grip is tight and strong, and the pressure reminds Will of Max's own, when she grabbed his arm with that horrible, scared look on her face. Tears form in his eyes, and a few slip out as he tries to blink them away.

El joins the group, her head peeking over Lucas's shoulder as she nudges him over.

"Will, you need to tell me what happened." Her tone is intense and unwavering, though her eyes betray her, a visible undercurrent of fear present. Will can't help but curl back into himself.

"Guys, back off," Mike demands harshly. "You're stressing him out."

Will spares a glance at his best friend, who is in full protector mode, eyes alight with purpose. Butterflies flutter in Will's stomach involuntarily. Mike's hand has not left his own, and that alone is enough to send Will spiraling. But, in the grand scheme of things, his stress levels are inconsequential. This is important, and he knows it.

"It's okay, Mike," Will assures him, pulling his hand away from Mike's own. As much as he loves it, how close they've become again, Will doesn't know if he could have this serious discussion with Mike's calloused hand warmly pressed into his own. Much too distracting.

Unfortunately, Mike looks equally as disappointed by Will retracting his hand, and Will can't help but feel guilty. He really doesn't want to offend Mike, especially since they're back on good enough terms to be this close.

He wouldn't want to be your friend if he knew, a little voice whispers in the back of his mind. If he knew how you looked at him. What you thought of him.

That alone is enough for Will to stand firm in his decision, putting as much space as he can between the two. Which isn't much, given the circumstances. But he refuses to lose his best friend again just because he can't control his stupid crush.

El snaps him out of his spiraling thoughts. "Will, is Max okay?"

As badly as he wants to say yes, Will would never forgive himself if he gets their hopes up.

"I don't know," he says honestly. Lucas removes his hands, taking a step back in desperation.

Each member of the Party is looking at him expectantly from around the basement. Will steadies himself. Is Max okay? She didn't seem like it. But she was there, and real, at least from the looks of it. That's more than they've had in over a year.

"When El created an opening in the shadow," Will begins nervously. "I ran through it, because I thought it was how I could escape. Like a portal, kind of. But when I made it… it was like falling off a cliff, into darkness. I don't know how long I fell for."

Without looking up, Mike replies, "You were shaking for a few minutes before El went in to save you. When she woke up, it was like you passed out, or something. Your eyes were twitching, and your hands. We didn't know what to do."

Will nods minutely. "Yeah, that's— that makes sense. That's probably when it happened. I did black out for a minute when I was falling. When I woke up, I was… uh. I don't know where, really. It was a big, dark room. There was water everywhere. Like, on the ground."

"The Void," El states. "That sounds like where I go when I am looking for people. Or memories."

"Right," Will mumbles, unsure how he feels about that particular connection. "Well, when I got there, it was really quiet, and I was alone, or I thought I was. But when I turned around, I saw her."

Dustin, who's been furiously scribbling notes onto the board thus far, halts his progress. "Max?"

His voice is disbelieving, and Will can't blame him. Months upon months, El has been searching high and low for Max, to no avail. And then Will accidentally finds her in what appears to be the same Void El has been looking in?

"I know it sounds insane," Will says. "But yes. I'm certain it was her. I could touch her, and talk to her. She was moving—"

"What did she say?" Lucas begs. "Was she hurt? Is she safe? Can she hear us?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Will sees Mike shoot a warning glare at Lucas, but he can tell there's no real bite to it. As much as Mike and Max have argued, Will knows his friend has been equally as hurt by her absence as the rest of the Party. They're not complete without their Zoomer.

"I don't know," Will repeats sadly. "She didn't look hurt. But… she didn't look good, either. Like she was sick with the flu, or something. Really tired, kind of out of it. But she said my name. She recognized me."

Lucas lights up with hope, and a surge of guilt rushes through Will, coiling in his stomach. The very last thing he wants is to get his friend's hopes up, only to crush them instantly when he can't provide any additional information.

"So you think she can hear us?" The ghost of a smile forms on Lucas's face. "Do you think you could find her again, Will? Get her back?"

And isn't that the question.

"I don't know." Will might as well be a broken record. "I don't even know how I got to her in the first place. I'm sorry."

El grabs his hand, holding it in her own. Will can't help but compare it to Mike's; how El is gentle and comforting with her grip, whereas Mike is protective and steady. It's odd, how close he feels with El now. Their time in Lenora cemented them as siblings, at least in Will's mind. He wishes his heart would let him feel the same way about Mike.

"Will, we need to understand where you got your powers from," El says. "If I couldn't find her in her mind, but you could—"

"She's not in her mind," Will's stomach drops as the realization hits. "She's in Henry's."

Lucas sits down, his legs wobbly. El's hold on his hand tightens.

"Jesus," Steve mutters. Dustin grunts in acknowledgment, hastily copying onto the board.

"I don't think Henry got his powers from any government experiments." Will takes a shaky breath. "I think they came from the Upside Down itself."

A few mouths open to refute his theory, but snap closed upon realizing it very well could be possible. The Party is operating with so little information about Vecna, virtually anything could be a possibility.

"Well," Dustin breaks the silence. "That's definitely something worth looking into. Do you think there's any record of him anywhere? Or his powers?"

"The Lab," El mutters, releasing Will's hand to join Dustin. "He is One. The first. Papa made my brothers and sisters to be like him."

Nancy and Jonathan exchange a weary look. Will knows why; Hawkins Lab was completely gutted after they leaked the tapes of Owens. All the information and research must've gone somewhere, but Will certainly has no idea where, and he knows the others don't either.

"There's nothing left in Hawkins Lab," Hopper frowns. "Plus, that place is swarmed with soldiers nowadays. We couldn't even get close."

Robin snaps her fingers. "Maybe we could cause a diversion? Like, what if we set their base on fire—"

"What are you talking about, we can't set a military base on fire."

"And why not, Steve?"

"Wait." Steve and Robin go quiet, giving their attention to Will. "What about the Upside Down?"

Nancy's eyes widen in realization. "Holy shit. If we could get into the Upside Down, Hawkins Lab will be stuck in November of 1983. Everything would still be there, and there wouldn't be any guards. Will, you're a genius!"

Will flushes at the praise, shrugging. "Do you think we could do it?"

"How about we get through tonight first," Hopper says, but there's a glimmer of hope in his eyes at the prospect of them having a real plan for once. Excitement buzzes throughout the whole room, everyone itching to begin putting an end to all of this.

Joyce nods, reaching out her hand. Hopper smirks, walking over to her, linking their fingers together. Will supposes most kids would be grossed out at their parents showing any kind of affection, but his mom deserves love more than anyone else he knows. She's spent her whole life giving hers to him; it's nice to see her finally receive some of her own. Plus, Will knows Hopper would do anything to make sure she's safe.

"Speaking of," Joyce starts. "We were thinking having two groups, one here and one at the base. That way we have someone working the radio to ensure communication stays active between everyone."

"I can take the van out," Steve says. "So we have a mobile antenna. That way communication will be easier, and I can intercept broadcasts from multiple locations."

"And it won't look as suspicious if you're driving around," Dustin adds. "Good thinking. I'll go with Steve."

Will smirks at Steve's little salute to Dustin. The two remind Will of himself and Jonathan in a lot of ways, except Will and his brother at least have some commonalities; Steve and Dustin have absolutely nothing in common, but somehow still work together perfectly.

Although Will never knew Eddie personally, he knows how important he was to Dustin, and how hard losing him has been on his friend. It's obvious he's extra protective over Steve now as a result, spending any free moments he has out of school at the station or visiting Eddie. Steve, for his part, seems equally fearful of losing Dustin, never complaining when they're paired together for missions or discussing theories. Sometimes, Steve will even drive to Hawkins High to give Dustin rides home or to the cemetery, an occurrence that Will imagines will become much more frequent given recent events.

"Okay," Joyce says. "I'll be here with Will running the main radio. We'll need to have people stationed around the military base. At least three, I'd say."

"I'll go," Lucas states, leaving no room for argument. Will isn't surprised. It's understandable he wants to be as close as possible to Max in case something happens. He just hopes Lucas won't try anything reckless to get to her tonight.

Jonathan raises his hand. "Me too. I can drive."

Reluctantly, Joyce nods, looking less than thrilled of the prospect of her son going out on a military spy mission. Hopper gives her hand a squeeze.

"I can go with him." She looks up, wide eyed.

"Hop, you can't. No one even knows you're alive. If they see you—"

"If all goes to plan, they won't even know we were there. I'll lay low in the car, just in case they need backup. Your son isn't exactly the best with a gun."

Snickering, Nancy gives her boyfriend a playful look. Jonathan smiles shyly; even after Hopper's lessons last year, Jonathan still could barely hit the target ten feet away. He always said he leaves it up to Nancy, who's grown to be the best shot in the group, besting even Hopper himself.

From her place on the floor, El sighs. "He is right. Hop can keep them safe if something happens." Her gaze shifts to Will. "And I will stay here, in case something happens with Will."

The sudden attention makes Will blush in embarrassment, but he agrees all the same. After his encounter with Vecna, as well as him continuing to be a target, he knows there's no way in hell they'd let him go anywhere tonight. Or ever again, if his mom has anything to say about it.

"I will too," Nancy adds. "I have my guns here, for physical protection. In case something happens with Will and El can't fight."

"Same here," Robin chirps. "I mean, not with the guns. I don't have any of those. But I can stay here, too. So I can, uh, run the radio station."

Steve snorts, and Robin smacks him on the head. But Will gets it; choosing between the safety of the radio station, spying on an active United States government base, or being trapped in a tiny van with Steve and Dustin would be an easy decision for anyone.

"Wait," Mike sits up straighter. "Who's the third person spying then? If Hop has to stay in Jonathan's car."

Joyce and Hopper share a look. "Well, I think you would be the last one without a position, so—"

"No, I'm staying here," Mike says, like he's stating an obvious fact and they're all stupid. "I'm staying with Will."

Will can't control the swooping sensation in his stomach at the certainty in Mike's words. Like suggesting he'd be anywhere else is laughable. Logically, he knows Mike is just worried about him because of Vecna and the Mind Flayer, but for a moment, it's easy to pretend his concern stems from a place of love rather than fear. It's a nice thought, even if it's fantasy.

"But then we have too many people here and not enough at the base," Dustin explains. "Plus, you and Lucas both have bikes here. You'll be able to get out quickly if something goes wrong."

Mike sputters, looking at Will for backup. "But— but Will needs me here! He almost died, Dustin. I can't just leave, are you crazy?"

Will isn't quite sure what to do with himself. On one hand, having Mike here with him, to protect him, because he wants to be here to protect him, is something straight out of Will's dreams. Knight in shining armor and all that. But on the other hand, the knight does the fighting, and the saving, not just for the good of himself, but for the good of the whole Party.

"He didn't almost die, Mike, jeez," Dustin rolls his eyes, which does nothing to calm Mike's steadily growing agitation.

Will sighs. "He's right, Mike. You should go."

Although the words come out politely, the way Mike's face falls makes it feel like Will just told him to fuck off and die. Immediately, he wants to retract his statement, tell Mike it's okay, that he can stay with Will. But he can't be selfish, not when the fate of the world very well could rest on the outcome of this operation.

"El will be here in case anything happens to me. And so will Nancy and my mom," Will says quietly, only to Mike. The others can hear, he's aware, but this moment is just for the two of them. He doesn't care what they think.

"But…" Mike's voice is trembling. "Will, what if Vecna tries to get you? El barely fought off the shadow last time, what if she can't do it again?"

Oh. The pieces fall together in Will's mind, and years of fighting off the familiar disappointment growing in his chest allow him to keep his expression neutral.

"I promise I won't let anything happen to El, Mike," Will says sincerely. His honesty conceals his envy, or at least he hopes it does. "We'll look out for each other."

Mike frowns, ready to reply, but is interrupted by El, who threads her fingers through Mike's. Will turns away, not wanting to interrupt their moment (a moment he was certain was between him and Mike, but it never is, is it?). Swallowing, he keeps his head purposefully down. The last thing he needs is another heart to heart with Jonathan, whose eyes are boring into his head. Will just knows it.

"You don't have to worry about me, Mike," El says softly. "I can fight. I have to fight. And you know I will protect Will."

Will raises his head at Mike's lack of response, only to find his friend's eyes still locked on him. Gently, El lays a hand on Mike's cheek, guiding his gaze to meet her own.

"I promise. Nothing bad will happen." Mike leans into her touch. He hears Hopper make a small grunting noise, and hears his mom shush him even louder.

Mike concedes, though his expression hasn't changed. '"Fine. But don't do anything stupid, okay?" He turns to Will. "Either of you."

El smiles softly, giving Mike a quick peck on the cheek before nodding her agreement. "We are not stupid. I promise."

Half-heartedly imitating Steve's mock salute, Will agrees. "Nothing stupid."

Dustin claps his hands together. "Perfect. Let's get going."

- - -

"Are we sure this is a good idea?"

It's the fifth time Robin has repeated that question in a panic, and her nerves are starting to rub off on Will.

Both spying groups, faithfully dubbed 'Squawking Eagles' and 'Spies' (named by Dustin and Hopper respectively) departed the radio station around an hour ago, ready to get in position. Jonathan and Steve had fixed the roof antenna before they left, Mike and El going with them to have some time alone before the plan. Will had to physically restrain himself from asking El what they talked about. It's getting exhausting, constantly worrying about whether his lie will be uncovered. Luckily for him, El seemed content when she returned, a tiny smile gracing her weary face. It's a welcome sight for Will, even if his suppressed jealousy makes it hard for him to be truly happy for her.

He knows how horrible that is. She deserves to be loved. Much more than Will, anyway. And it's nice that two of his favorite people have found love in each other. Truly. 

Will hasn't moved from his spot on the table, but thankfully his energy has returned. El sits on a chair next to him, her elbows resting on her knees. He can feel her anxiety almost as strongly as his own.

"It will be fine, Robin," El reassures shortly. "Everyone is in position. They are safe. We are just waiting for the burn to start."

Robin, who's sat herself very close to Nancy on the couch, bounces her leg, jitters wracking her whole body.

"Well, yeah," Robin continues. "But what if something—"

Her impending tangent is cut off by the radio, manned by Joyce, crackling static.

Mike's blurry voice comes out of the speaker. "Everyone all set? It looks like they're starting something. Over."

"Squawking Eagles are in position. Over." Will can practically hear Steve's eye roll at Dustin through the radio.

"We're good, too," adds Jonathan, who's stationed with Hopper on the far side of the Downtown base in his car. Will would love to know what the two of them have been discussing for the last hour.

"Same here. Over," Lucas confirms. El exhales next to him. Everyone's in position.

Joyce holds down the button on the microphone, moving closely to the device. "We're is good here, too. We'll be ready if anything happens. Stay safe, everyone. Uh, over."

Smirking, Will glances at his sister. Listening to his mom and Hopper try to keep up with their silly code names and lingo has been a small bit of levity over the last year of bullshit.

Sometimes it's hard to believe the Party used to be just the four of them playing Dungeons and Dragons in Mike's basement, and now it includes his mom and Mike's sister and Steve Harrington fighting against the United States government. There's always going to be that thought in the back of his mind, taunting him with the possibilities of what could've been. But Will has accepted that they all have grown up, that he'll never get his childhood back. Dwelling on the past is pointless.

"Alright." Nancy snaps Will out of his reverie. "Will, can you feel anything? From Vecna?"

Yes. "No."

Will knows he should tell the truth about the shadow stirring inside him. But something is stopping him, forcing the lie from his lips.

It's probably nothing, he reasons. Worrying his friends before they attempt their riskiest mission since the Earthquakes would just be cruel. Besides, the shadow lives in a constant state of cunning. This new sensation is no different. Just amplified, likely from Will's strengthened connection with the Upside Down.

A thought floats to the surface: should he be letting the shadow in? It doesn't have possession of him, of that much Will is certain. But he knows he's playing with fire, wrangling a supernatural power that never takes kindly to direction or control. It's a slippery slope, one that could end catastrophically, but… they've never even come close to finding Max, let alone achieving actual contact with her. If Will was to be honest about how he's strengthening his bond not only with Henry, but with the Mind Flayer, the others would tell him to stop.

He can't take that risk.

Nancy nods, satisfied. "Okay, good."

"The soldiers are in position," Lucas informs, voice hushed. He must be close. "There's a leader. They all have flamethrowers, aimed at the library gate. Over."

"Can confirm, I see them too," Mike says. "Lucas, you have your binoculars, right? Over."

"Affirmative. Over."

"Okay. I can see your position from where I'm stationed. Keep a close eye on them, and use your other hand to count down when they start. I'll relay it to the others. You copy? Over."

"Copy that. Over and out."

"Jonathan, are you all set? Over," Dustin chimes in.

"Yep."

"I'm sorry?"

Jonathan sighs. "Yes, Dustin. Over."

Will can hear Dustin's shit eating grin through the radio.

"Copy that. Mike, Squawking Eagle's are in position, ready to fly if needed. Waiting on your countdown, over."

Another tense moment passes as the group waits for the burn to begin. An uneasiness grows in Will, but he pushes it down, not wanting to fan the tense flames even more.

"Lucas just did the signal. Countdown is on. Over." Mike reports. Will sits up straighter on the table.

"Copy that. Get ready. Over." Dustin's enthusiastic voice crackles through the radio.

"Burn commencing in five…"

El's focus lies on the radio. She's fiddling with the bracelet on her wrist absentmindedly.

"Four…"

Nancy shifts in her seat, briefly glancing at the rifle leaned against the wall.

"Three…"

Robin takes a few deep breaths, leg bouncing anxiously.

"Two…"

Joyce may as well be a statue, back straight and eyes sharp. Determined.

"One…"

Will can feel the heat before it begins. Prickling at his skin, in his bones, in the shadow that runs through his veins with his blood. It's painful, but not cripplingly so. More like a light pinch, or a tiny cut.

But him and El are attuned, moreso than most, since she recognizes his shift in demeanor instantly, shooting up from her seat.

"Will? Can you feel him?" she demands, clouded with concern. The others turn their attention to the pair as well, equally as worried. Joyce's hand rests on the radio, ready to alert the rest of the Party.

"Yeah…" Will replies nervously. "The burn is hurting him, but—"

An intense chill rolls through him, and Will stumbles to a standing position. 

"He's planning something," Will mutters. "He's going to attack."

His sister grips his hands tightly in her own. "What attack? What is he doing, Will?"

"I don't…" Will trails off, pulling his hands away as he tries to think. No corporeal images form in his mind; it's all a jumble of shadow and rage, spinning out of control into a web of thoughts, fears, and memories.

I need to go back.

He doesn't want to. Inside the shadow is scathing and brutal, and almost got both him and El killed just mere hours ago.

But it's the only option left. Henry's mind is open to him now, like the shadow has gifted him an all-access pass. If he's using the distraction of this burn as a ploy of attack, Will's the only one who can stop him.

So he closes his eyes, just as he did before, and lets the shadow consume him from the inside out.

- - -

Falling into the shadow this time is much easier, but increasingly painful. It's almost like sliding through Clearly, the burn is doing something; how effective it actually is at destroying the vines, Will is unsure, but it certainly is pissing off Henry and the shadow.

Henry's mind no longer is barricaded by walls of darkness. This time, it's like an open door, practically begging Will to enter. That alone makes Will nervous, but time is precious. He can't afford to waste any being nervous of what could go wrong. He extends a hand, closing his eyes.

Let me in.

Around him, the world melts away, and Will feels the sensation of falling, but his feet don't move. Keeping his eyes pressed firmly shut, he reaches out into the shadow, hoping to maintain a steady control, but there's no need. It's as easy as breathing; there's no resistance, no fight from the monster. It's disorienting in a way Will can't even begin to describe.

It's nothing like when the Mind Flayer possessed him, used him as nothing more than a puppet to do his bidding. That was violating and invasive, like Will was watching his body function from outside. But now, it's almost as if the shadow is a part of him, in his very bones, something he can control like walking or blinking.

Like El's powers, a little voice whispers in the back of his mind. He staunchly ignores it.

With a jolt, Will lands, even though he never fell in the first place. He blinks his eyes open, adjusting to the light of the new, yet strikingly familiar atmosphere.

The Wheeler's kitchen looks the same as it did when he left for school this morning. Plates stacked in the sink, a box of cereal on the counter, scattered toys of Holly's on the floor.

Looking down at himself, Will realizes he has a physical form. Briefly, he wonders if he somehow teleported himself to the Wheeler's, just like how he supposedly did to Castle Byers. He reaches a cautious hand out to grab the cereal box, only to find himself phasing right through it.

His eyes widen in amazement, gaping at the way his skin dissolves and re-materializes around the box. It's akin to dipping a hand in glue, he supposes. Or wet paint. There's resistance, like something should be there, but barely.

Will's jostled out of his awe by the rapid flickering of the lights above him. Dread pools in his stomach, replacing the initial shock of his newfound abilities. Bolting out of the kitchen, Will finds himself in the living room, desperately scanning for any signs of danger.

He stops short, choking on his own breath when he sees him. On the floor, next to his La-Z-Boy, is Ted Wheeler, a large gash in his gut, red blood pouring from his lifeless body. If Will wasn't a spirit projection, he would've thrown up on the spot. Mr. Wheeler's face and limbs are spotted with cuts, almost like teeth marks. Almost like claws.

Oh, shit.

A low growl echoes down the stairs, and Will understands. The lights, the anger, the pain. The mission. Holly.

Will tears himself away from Ted's prone form, not wanting to waste another second dwelling on someone he can't save. He practically flies up the stairs, following the sound of the Demogorgon's prowling snarl. It isn't hard to track; spots of blood build a trail right to its next victims.

Briefly, Will considers attempting to contact El and the others, maybe enlist some help. But the exertion alone might debilitate him, especially since he's already done the splitting-consciousness trick once today. It's likely his body can't handle that again, and he doesn't want to test that theory. Still, he tries to exert what little energy he can, while hoisting himself up the stairs two at a time, to send a message to his mom and El at the station.

Will's heart drops when he realizes he has no idea how. He extends himself outward like he did last time, but there's no pull, or split, or anything. It's just him, somehow projected to the Wheeler's. The shadow realm was nothing like this, created out of fear and memory. This is real, happening now. And Will needs to fight alone.

He turns the corner at the top of the stairs, and is greeted by the sight of a fully grown Demogorgon, white and slimy, moving slowly into what Will knows is a bathroom. Fight or flight kicks in, hard. Will pushes himself past his frozen fear and sprints into the bathroom.

The monster looms over the filled bathtub, long claws outstretched, ready to kill. Will doesn't hesitate to block it's path, running straight at the creature, and just like with the cereal box, phasing right through it. Luckily, or so he hopes, the Demogorgon recognizes Will's presence, and is temporarily distracted from it's mission.

From this new angle, Will can see Holly and Mrs. Wheeler hiding within the bubbly water of the bathtub.

"Run!" he shouts at them, praying his words travel past whatever psychic barrier he's in right now. "Please, you need to run!"

Beside him, the Demogorgon screeches in fury, and Will can feel the shadow angrily biting at him, chilling him to the core. Henry knows he's here. Will can feel it. His frustration, his delight.

Holly peeks her head out of the tub, and upon seeing the monster facing away from the tub, the soapy water mixing with her frightened tears. She pulls on her mother's sleeve, who comes out of the water too, holding onto Holly protectively.

Will centers his energy, directing it all into the Demogorgon, hoping it's enough to keep it distracted for another minute until the Wheeler's can escape. Above him, the overhead light explodes in sparks of yellow, and the portable radio whirs to life, emitting a loud static frequency. Jumbled voices cut through the noise, but Will can't identify them or the words they speak.

As quietly as they can, Holly and Mrs. Wheeler climb out of the tub, their movements slow and cautious. Will wishes they'd hurry up; he can only distract for so long.

"Hurry," he says through gritted teeth. "Holly, run."

The youngest Wheeler finally extracts herself fully from the tub, but instead of bolting, reaches out her arms to help her mother do the same. Unfortunately, the Demogorgon decides them to be a much more interesting target now that they're free from the water, and breaks itself away from Will to attack.

"No!" he screams, reaching out a hand to stop it. Mrs. Wheeler does the same, shielding Holly the best she can.

"Holly, run, now," she trembles. "Go get help. GO!"

Thankfully, she listens; Holly books it out of the now unblocked door, her mother standing her ground to buy her some time. Will admires her courage immensely, putting every ounce of his power into holding the monster back.

It's not enough. The Demogorgon slashes it's long arm at Karen, ripping open her gut with a sickening sound. Will chokes on his scream as she collapses to the ground, gasping in agony.

Without another glance, the Demogorgon steps right past her, moving towards where Holly had run, cementing Will's theory that this isn't a random killing spree. It's a calculated attack.

As badly as he wants to check on Mrs. Wheeler, he knows it's a lost cause. Not only can she not see or hear him, but he can provide no medical aid in his current state. Plus, he knows she would want him to save her daughter if given the chance. So Will follows the Demogorgon, phasing right through it in the hallway and darting into Holly's bedroom.

The monster is checking each room carefully, inspecting it for any sign of the young girl. Will mercifully guessed right the first time; Holly is curled up, her knees pulled to her chest, clutching onto Holly the Heroic still tied around her neck.

Hello, Holly.

Will whips around, looking for the source of the voice. Holly does the same, removing her hands from her necklace but still shaking like a leaf. It's not deep and gravelly like Vecna's; rather, it's human, warm and welcoming. The sincerity is equally as menacing.

Extending his arms to block the door, Will steadies himself the best he can, ready to block any attacks that come her way. He knows his options are limited, given he has no physical body, but he'll damn well try his best.

The lights intensify in their flickering, and a sudden rush of déjà vu floods through Will, so severe that it sends him stumbling back a few steps.

"H-hello?" Holly cries, voice timid and scared.

Are you ready for your mission?

Holly's eyes widen, and she slowly stands up from her ball in the corner.

"No! I don't want to play anymore!" she yells, much steadier than Will knows she feels.

Above them, the lights burn brighter. A low growl of the Demogorgon carries through the hallway, and Will's heart skips a beat. Still, he holds his ground.

Don't want to play anymore? the voice taunts. But I need you, Holly. You're my Cleric.

The Demogorgon appears in the doorway, it's movements slow and menacing. Will can barely focus, his thoughts muddled and confused. Inside him, the shadow writhes, chilling him down to the bone.

His vision is overtaken by blinding white light, and all of a sudden he's not in the Wheeler's house, he's not with Holly, he's not sixteen years old.

We're going to do such beautiful things together, Will. Such beautiful things.

---

Will Byers is standing in his shed, pistol in hand, alone. He's twelve, and scared, and shaking. Light surrounds him on all sides, his skin prickles with the surge, hands trembling with fear. His fingers curl around the trigger of the gun, aimed at the flimsy wooden panels of the door. It won't do much, but it might buy him some time.

White light fills the tiny shed, the electricity buzzing over the sound of a wet growl. Will turns around slowly, the fear almost paralyzing. It looms over him, like a shadow. Destructive and deadly. His arms go limp, the gun pointing away from his enemy. He can't do anything but watch.

His vision is overtaken by light, and suddenly he's falling and rising and living and dying all at once. Memories are shattered and rebuilt, his brain is torn in two, making room for something extra. Something evil.

Oh, yes. Such beautiful things…

It's violating and painful, and Will knows he won't survive it. Already, it's too much to bear. But the shadow is unrelenting, clawing its way into Will's body, his mind. His thoughts drift to his brother, and how he'll come home to find Will's lifeless corpse in their shed, no doubt murdered by some mysterious killer. How his mom will cry and beg for him to come back.

How much he loves them both.

Inside, the shadow roars in agony, twisting through the feeling called love, trying to expel it from Will's mind. It's tainting him, corrupting the vessel. But Will persists, holding onto the good as hard as he can.

Listening to music with Jonathan.

Bike rides with Dustin.

Movie nights with Lucas.

Christmas's with his mom.

Sleepovers with Mike.

His smile, his laugh, his love.

They're his heart, and his home. Will just wants to be home.

Around him, within him, the shadow howls in rage, but Will understands now. It can't hurt him if he doesn't let it in. It swirls and twists and writhes, but Will holds strong in his resolve.

I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home.

The falling stops abruptly, and he collapses to the ground, rifle dropping from his grip. Will's vision clears, and he finds himself back in the shed. Only this time, it's coated in vines, darkened by shadows. The monster stands before him, towering over his small frame.

Will finally gets a good look at the creature. White, taut skin, stretched unnaturally over lanky, humanoid limbs. It reminds Will of the creatures he fights in Dungeons in Dragons, like the one's he was just fighting at Mike's house thirty minutes ago. Will the Wise would fireball him, send the monster reeling back in anguish as Mike's Paladin delivers the killing blow.

But Will Byers isn't Will the Wise. He's a scrawny, undersized preteen, who can barely stand up to his bullies at school. The only way he's been able to escape them is hiding; in bathroom stalls, in storage cupboards, under the bleachers.

Cold stirs in his gut, dredging these past memories to the surface. One thought rests at the forefront of his mind.

Hide.

Will gapes as a sudden rush of darkness sweeps the monster away into a wisp of shadow. The shed quickly follows, and Will doesn't realize he's moving until he's stopped.

Gone are the monster and the shed, replaced by an all-too familiar fortress. Will only has time to register his apparent teleportation to Castle Byers before his legs give out, and his vision is overtaken by familiar darkness. 

Chapter Text

"Burn commencing in five…"

Radio is set. All communications are up.

"Four…"

Mike's voice is steady. Assured.

"Three…"

A soft tapping of Robin's foot against the floor becomes the anxious heartbeat of this operation.

"Two…"

Electricity buzzes around them.

"One…"

Nothing happens at first. Joyce stays still on the radio, waiting for further updates from the Spies. It's a bit anti-climactic, really.

Suddenly, El jolts up to stand right in front of Will, who's paler than he was just a few minutes ago (which is already a frighteningly low bar).

Her son really can never catch a break.

"Will?" El's tone is tight and stressed. "Can you feel him?"

Hovering over the button on the radio, Joyce tenses in her seat. They didn't plan for what to do if the burn angered Henry, or worse, if it hurt Will.

Shakily, Will nods. "Yeah. The burn is hurting him, but—"

Just as El did, Will pushes himself off the table, wobbling slightly as he nervously glances around the room, almost as if seeing something the rest of them cannot. Joyce's hand hovers over the button, ready to warn the rest of the group.

"He's planning something. He's going to attack."

Nancy and Robin stand as well, worriedly moving closer to Will and El.

"What attack?" El begs, Will's hands clutched tightly in hers. "What is he doing, Will?"

"I don't…"

He rips his hands away, pressing them into his eyes. El spares a look to Nancy and Robin, who are both hovering warily by the projector. Joyce doesn't know what to do; even if she informed the others, it's not like they can stop the military's plan. Especially without getting caught.

"Mrs. Byers," Robin wrings her hands. "Should we warn the others?"

"Any updates, Spies? Over." Joyce startles at Dustin's voice crackling through the speakers.

El starts towards the radio, preparing to answer herself, but is cut off by an abrupt surge of static from the machine paired with the rapid flickering of the lights above them. Wincing at the volume, Joyce fiddles with the knobs of the radio, desperately trying to turn it off. Looking around in confusion, Robin and El both move to help, but Nancy cuts them off before they can.

"The lights," she says to El, horrible realization dawning on them both.

"Shit," Robin curses under her breath. "Byers, what is he—"

She cuts herself off, and Joyce looks up from the radio to find her boy standing frozen, twitching, eyes rolled up into his head, just like they were a few hours ago.

"Oh, God." Radio static forgotten, Joyce throws herself out of her chair and towards Will, whose neck muscles are spasming erratically, his legs locking him in an upright position. Her chair crashes behind her, but the sound barely registers in her ears.

Nancy, Robin, and El crowd around Will. Joyce shoves them aside as politely as she can manage, gripping his shoulders and face anxiously. Up close, his skin's pallor becomes strikingly more visible, accentuated by the dark bags under his eyes and crimson blood dripping from his nose.

"Spies—his—over." Between the interference and high-frequency whining of the radio, whatever message someone is trying to transmit is lost in the noise.

"Robin," Nancy tilts her head. "Go try and fix the radio. We need to warn the others."

Nodding minutely, Robin crashes into the table at her haste to follow Nancy's demand. Following closely behind, Eleven reaches out a hand in an attempt to reroute the electricity, hoping to center the power back into the machine.

"Something is wrong." Joyce tears herself away from Will to see El concentrating intently on the radio, mirroring Will in her bloody nose and tense disposition.

Robin turns the knobs desperately to no avail. "It's completely out of control! We can't—"

"Run!"

Both El and Robin startle back from the volume of the speaker, cutting through the white noise like a knife. Joyce, too, gapes in shock, but not from the strength of the sound.

"Please, you need to run!"

Nancy's eyes widen dramatically. "Wait, is that—"

Will's lips haven't moved, parted slightly just as they were when he entered this trance. But there's not one doubt in Joyce's mind of the owner of the voice on the radio. She knew it back in 1983, and she knows it now, the pleading desperation all too familiar.

El's hands shake around the dial. "Maybe I can reach him? Through the radio?"

She doesn't wait for permission, closing her eyes and extending her hand with expert focus. Low, buzzing power adds onto the established overload of noise filling the basement, and Joyce's fingers grip Will's shoulder's tighter.

Directly above the two, a light bursts in a downpour of burning white, and Joyce instinctively covers Will's face the best she can. It's much harder now that he towers over her height, but no amount of physical distance could ever stop her from keeping her boys safe.

"Hurry… Holly, run."

All attention turns to Nancy, whose terror is clouded by pure confusion. Before she can say anything, El opens her eyes with a gasp, a few tears slipping out.

"I couldn't…" she sobs. "He's blocking me out."

"No!"

Crackling emits from every light in the room, and Joyce can only assume the exterior of the building mirrors the strobing in it's LED sign and fluorescent overheads.

"Holly, run, now." Someone new, a woman, cries desperately out. "Go get help. GO!"

Any trace of puzzlement leaves Nancy's face immediately, replaced by unadulterated terror. She grips the sides of the radio shakily.

"…Mom?"

Real Will chokes on a whine in the back of his throat, his breath catching as his convulsions intensify. His eyes roll impossibly further into his head.

Deafening waves of sound emit from the smoking radio. All four women in the room cover their ears at the high-pitched frequency, and Joyce tears herself away from Will to help mitigate the noise.

Before she can do anything but turn around, quiet envelops the room, so sudden it's almost as jarring as the frequency. The air has a new weight to it that has Joyce more on edge than she was during the frenzied panic. Judging by El's darting eyes, her thoughts are in a similar place.

"Hello, Holly."

Chills run down Joyce's spine at the new voice. It's male, certainly, but not Will's. Instead of the anguished, broken cries of her son, this man speaks calm and collected, as though he has no care in the world. It's unnerving and wrong and somehow strikingly familiar.

Nancy's eyes go wide, look to El with desperation. Her mouth opens to form words or a cry or a scream, but nothing comes out besides a tortured gasp.

"Are you ready for your mission?"

Broken pieces of a young girl's voice break through the speaker, but her words are choppy and indistinguishable. But Joyce's years as a mother have attuned her to the cries of all her children, by blood or by principle, and there's not a doubt in her mind that the child yelling out in desperation is Holly Wheeler.

Even after over ten years of friendship between Will and Mike, Joyce really never spent a whole lot of time at the Wheeler home. It wasn't until their relocation from California that Joyce had become reacquainted with her old friend Karen, and by extension, her daughter Holly. Not like Joyce hadn't known her at all; there were plenty of pickups and drop-offs for sleepovers or playdates where she gave the little girl a smile or wave in passing.

But now, Holly might as well be one of her own children. While she prefers to stay with Hopper at the station, plenty of Joyce's nights have been spent on the rather stiff air mattress in the Wheeler's messy basement. The best of those sleepovers include family movie nights orchestrated by Holly, who rounds up as many people as she can manage to watch her favorite Disney animated film. Raising two boys, Joyce never really rented movies like Snow White or Cinderella for her kids. Will enjoyed them when he was younger, gushing about how amazing it was that the drawings could move and talk like real people, but slowly lost interest after kids at school made snide remarks about his love for girly things. Joyce physically restrained herself from marching down to Hawkins Elementary School to have words with those little shits.

Holly possesses no such restraint, happily talking through entire movies about which characters she finds cool or funny or pretty. Her favorite is Cinderella, as she unnecessarily told Joyce during their fifth rewatch of the film. Somehow, she had convinced Will and Mike to join them that night, the latter scoffing dramatically when Holly complained about how much she related to the princess.

"You don't have to do any chores around here," he said. "If anything, I'm Cinderella. You and Nancy are the evil stepsisters."

Nancy, who was laying against Jonathan on the couch, had lobbed a pillow at him from across the room. Mike chucked it back with added force.

"Actually, Will is the most like Cinderella," Nancy huffed. "He doesn't even live here, and I still see him cleaning more than you do, Mike. You're the evil stepmother that makes him do all your dishes or whatever."

Will blushed profusely while Holly squealed in laughter at the chaos she'd created. Joyce was glad she could find levity in all the misery surrounding them on a daily basis.

Hearing that same young, joyful voice produce such terrified pleads breaks Joyce's heart like it's one of her own children suffering. She covers her mouth with her hand to suppress a sob. Nancy has no such reservations, tears flowing freely down her face, hitting the floor in tiny droplets.

"Don't want to play anymore?" the voice questions menacingly. Above them, the lights stop flickering, their power surging to an all-time maximum. Every inch of the basement is bathed in white light so overwhelmingly bright, Joyce has to squint her eyes to even keep them open.

"But I need you, Holly. You're my Cleric."

Vaguely, Joyce recognizes the title as a Dungeons and Dragons class that Will had told her about who knows how long ago.

"We're going to do such beautiful things together, Holly. Such beautiful things."

The frequency returns, peaking at an impossibly high level, before cutting out entirely.

One bulb above them explodes. Then, like a switch being flipped, all the others do the same, bursting in a shower of illuminating sparks. The radio suffers the same fate; Joyce hears Nancy yelp in surprise as the machine surges and cracks, going up in flames. Robin rushes to the fire extinguisher on the corner wall of the basement.

El wipes her nose on her sleeve, anxiously looking around the room for any signs of imminent danger. When her gaze reaches Joyce, her eyes widen in fear, and she quickly realizes El's staring right past her.

"Will!" she cries. Joyce whips around immediately to see her son standing on weak legs, no longer seizing, but looking far worse than when he was.

All at once, the tension leaves Will's body, his eyelids stop darting sporadically, and he collapses with an echoing crack where his skull hits the floor. He doesn't move. But El does, dropping to her knees in an instant to help her brother.

Joyce moves with equal haste, nudging Eleven aside just slightly so she can, at minimum, make sure he's alive. Her heart beats in her throat, anxiety pulsing through every vein in her body.

"Will, Will," she pleads, cradling his head in her hands. "Will, can you hear me, baby? Will!"

But Will doesn't answer, completely out cold. It's eerily different to the way he was earlier, still twitching and blinking even when slumped over on the table. Now, he appears dead, as lifeless as he was that night she found him in the Upside Down. His skin has a similar pallor, and the purple bags under his eyes are the same tone as the veins running through his skin.

A few tears fall from her face onto her son's cheek, and Joyce almost wishes they were his own. At least his pain would be a sign of life. She moves her ear down to his nose, and relaxes just barely when small puffs of air tickle her skin.

"What's wrong with him?!" Joyce wishes she could answer Nancy's frenzied question. As it stands now, there's a multitude of things that could be wrong with him, each one leagues worse than the last.

"The radio is fried!" Robin yells from across the room. "I'll try the one upstairs!"

With the radio fire put out, there's an unfortunate absence of any light in the underground den. Through the darkness, Joyce can barely make out the figure of Robin beside the radio, the last orange flames ebbing out into dull blackness. Putting down the fire extinguisher, she runs up the stairs, taking them three steps at a time. Both El and Nancy have kneeled down beside Joyce, who pulls her son fully into her lap. She pays them no mind, continuing to shake Will's shoulder and hold his slack head.

"El, is something wrong with Holly?" Nancy pleads. "Or my Mom? Did it get Will, too?"

Shaking hands lightly rest on Will's as the girl replies. "I don't know… the voice… it sounded like—"

She cuts herself off, a realization dawning on her in agonizing waves. Extending one of her hands to comfort her daughter, Joyce furrows her brows in concern.

"What? What is it, sweetie?" she asks with a trembling voice.

Her hand never reaches El, however, as she launches herself up, grabbing Nancy's gun from it's resting place.

"We need to go, now." El leaves no room for argument. Cold dread spreads through Joyce at her urgency, and more terribly, her fear. "Joyce, call the others and tell them we need help at the Wheeler's."

Nancy shoots up hastily, snatching the gun from El's grip with fervor. Even without the lights to illuminate her, Joyce can see the shiny tears streaming down her rosy cheeks.

Upstairs, Robin calls out. "Power is out up here, too! All the radios are down!"

With a tense exhale, El squats back down to Joyce's level, her face close enough that Joyce can see her misty eyes in the dark.

"Stay here with Will," El says firmly. "Keep him safe. Nancy can bring me to the Wheeler's."

Joyce's hold on Will tightens. "Honey, you can't leave. If they find you—"

"They won't." El's confidence is powerful, and Joyce can't help but nod in agreement. Once Eleven has her mind set on something, there's no stopping her. "Keep Will safe. Try to reach the others. I need to help."

Joyce bites her lip nervously. "Be careful, sweetie."

El straightens her legs and rushes to the exit, where Nancy is already shifting uneasily on the balls of her feet. Joyce can see her shadowed figure rocking slightly in the moonlight of the stairwell.

"El, what's going on?!"

El runs right by her, barrelling up the stairs. "We need to get to your house. Now. Can you drive?"

Their voices fade as they speed upstairs. Joyce can make out the distressed overlap of the three girls until the front door slams shut, leaving her and Will in silent blackness.

Her son hadn't even shifted out of the uncomfortable angle Joyce had positioned him in, with the back of his head against her chest and arms splayed off to the side. She readjusts him the best she can, letting his head rest on her thigh and tucking his arms into his body. As much as she wishes she could lay him on the couch, Joyce doesn't think she could physically lift an unconscious Will up and walk him across the room alone.

"The power's shot." Joyce startles at Robin's raspy voice echoing through the room. "Eleven told me to just, like, stay here? With you guys?"

Robin pauses, awkwardly hovering in the doorway. "Is there anything I can do?"

Taking a deep breath, Joyce hums. "Yes, actually. Help me get him on the couch? Then we can try and get the power going."

"Yeah. Yeah, of course."

Jittery footsteps approached her. Robin dropped to her knees on the other side of Will, carefully inserting her arm under his neck.

"Should we try and get him upstairs?" Robin asks.

Joyce's first instinct is to say no, but the moonlight would provide her with a much better visual of Will and his apparent injuries. Plus, they're much more likely to get a radio signal connection on ground level.

"Probably," she says warily. "We can try. But be careful, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Very, very delicately, the two are able to maneuver Will onto his feet, his arms around their shoulders holding him up entirely. One of Robin's hands grips the boy's waist, while Joyce holds his chest, right over his heart. Faintly, she can feel the organ beating beneath his skin. It brings a small comfort.

Moving is difficult, but the stairs are infinitely more challenging than Joyce thought. Somehow, they manage, with Joyce going first, arms wrapped around Will's torso, and Robin lifting his legs. A small mercy comes in the moonlight brightening the stairway. At least they aren't operating in pitch blackness.

By the time the trio reaches the ground level, both women are panting, and Joyce can barely feel her arms. Luckily, navigating to the small, plush chair tucked into the corner of the room is light work compared to the Olympic sport that was the flight of stairs.

Joyce gingerly places Will down across the armchair, repositioning his lolling head to be gently resting against his chest. He hadn't budged at all during their relocation, and his prolonged unconsciousness is beginning to worry Joyce. Now, with the outdoor light, the whiteness of his skin contrasts much stronger with his dark hair and dripping blood. She rests a hand over his chest to make sure his heart is beating.

Robin puts Will's feet over the other side of the chair, then folds over, heaving in breaths.

"Oh my God," she groans. "Man, I'm so out of shape."

Her wallowing is cut short by a deep noise reverberating through the field outside. Joyce frowns, unsure if it was a mere gust of wind, but Robin tenses as well.

"Uh… did you hear that?"

Joyce doesn't respond, crossing to the window hastily. Her heartbeat is resounding in her ears, each beat synced with her and Robin's steps.

Peering out the glass, Joyce's heart drops when she sees the rapidly approaching figure of what can only be a Demogorgon; tall, lanky, superhumanly fast. In the darkness, its skin can almost be described as luminescent, the glow of the moon reflecting off the eerily white flesh. From her sharp intake of breath, Robin sees it as well.

"Oh, fuck," she mutters. Usually, Joyce would reprimand her language, but… yeah. Fuck.

With El and Nancy—their only two capable, conscious fighters—gone, and all their communications completely out, Joyce needs to think of a plan, and fast.

"Robin." Her eyes meet Joyce's, wild and afraid. "Can you use a gun?"

Robin makes a face, which Joyce assumes is meant to be reassuring but comes across as poorly concealed apprehension.

"Uh… a bit?"

"Never mind," Joyce runs a frenzied hand through her hair as the Demogorgon roars yet again, much closer this time. "Protect Will. Stay inside. Try and get the power back on."

"What?!" Robin's eyes comically widen. "Are you going out there? Because— well, I've never fought one of these, but I can infer from all previous experience that that would be a really bad idea—"

"Stay here," Joyce repeats, forced calm infusing her tone. "Protect Will."

Grabbing a hand pistol from their weapons cabinet, Joyce throws it to Robin, who misses the catch. It clatters to the floor, and Robin hastily bends down to pick it up, fiddling with the safety.

"Oh God, okay," she mutters to herself, pointing the gun away from Joyce and towards the window. "I've got this. I've got this."

Steeling herself, Joyce grabs one of Nancy's rifles, loading it with ammo as she pushes open the heavy entrance door. It's been a minute since she shot a rifle, and even longer since she hit a moving target, but at the very least, she can buy them time.

The Demogorgon spots her, it's flower-shaped mouth opening wide as it roars with purpose. It slows down it's approach, evidently wanting to savor it's hunt for prey. Joyce holds the rifle steady, waiting to strike.

With a final screech, the Demogorgon charges at full speed towards the station. Joyce fires a shot, then two, then three, but they do nothing to slow down the beast. She braces herself, readjusting her gun to hit it with the blunt end. It won't do much, she thinks, but she's not going down without a fight.

Blinding, artificial light suddenly fills the field, a blaring car horn following, and both Joyce and the Demogorgon spare a glance to see the source of the commotion.

Joyce barely has time to shield herself before the blue WSQK van comes barreling into the monster, sending it flying back at least ten feet. It slams into the side of the creature, turning a sharp 180 degrees to face back where they came from.

With the driver's window rolled down, Joyce can see the hysterical face of Steve Harrington, gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles are white. He's dripping in sweat, and his usually put-together hair is flying out at odd angles.

"Get the others, let's go!" he shouts, slamming his hand on the outside of the car door.

Someone climbs out of the passenger side door, and the entire field burns with the orange glow of fire. Joyce recognizes the manic screaming of excessive curses that follows as Dustin, who, for some ungodly reason, has been granted access to a flamethrower.

"Eat this, you ugly piece of shit!"

The back doors of the van swing open, and a girl in a pink candy striper uniform hops out of the vehicle. Joyce has never seen her before; her hair is bright red and tousled, and her eyes are wild and fiery.

"Wha- Vickie?!" Robin exclaims loudly behind her. "What are you doing here?!"

Steve slams the door again. "We'll explain in the car, we've got to go!"

Joyce spins around, pushing back inside.

"Help me with Will!"

Robin yelps as Joyce shoves past her, but follows her lead, wrapping an arm under the unconscious boy's shoulder. The two managed to get him to his feet before Steve barges in.

"Go, go! I got him," he says, and Joyce reluctantly passes her son over to him.

Steve easily loops an arm under Will's legs, another across his back, and leads the charge out of the station. Joyce and Robin are right on his heels.

Outside, Vickie stands by the back door of the car, watching Dustin's flame attack with her mouth gaping.

"Little help here!" Steve yells. Vickie springs into action, taking Will from him and loading him into the car with the help of Joyce. The four end up sprawled across the hard bottom of the car. Given there are no seatbelts, Joyce can only hope for the best.

"Wrap it up, Henderson!" Steve shouts. "Let's go, let's go!"

Dustin, who is still screeching like a madman, shoots one last blast of burning fire at the retreated Demogorgon before hopping back into the van, crashing into the main console.

"Drive, Steve!" he yells. "Drive!"

"I am!"

Vickie has just enough time to slam the doors shut before Steve floors the gas, sending Joyce ramming into the wall of the van. Due to the massive radio setup that takes up the entire back of the car, the four of them have very little operating room.

"Holy shit," Robin exhales. "Holy shit, holy shit."

"Robin, what the hell is that thing?!" Red-haired girl, who is apparently named Vickie and already friends with Robin, asks with a horrified expression.

"Hang on, where am I going?" Steve interrupts loudly. "It's gonna be right on our tail."

Joyce racks her brain, trying to think of anywhere they could all stay safe and secure. Hopper's cabin could work, but they're way too far out. Plus, the last thing they need is their remaining safe-house for Hop and El to be compromised.

"Uh, my place, maybe?" Vickie replies. "My family is home, I think, but we have a barn, so we could hide there, I think? And it's pretty close. Just, uh—"

She crawls forward to look out the front window.

"Keep straight here."

Steve nods, hitting the gas even harder. Vickie flies back, catching herself before she slams into the radio.

"Cool it on the gas, lead foot," Robin quips, frenzied. "You're gonna kill us."

"Actually, that is gonna kill us," Steve says, gesturing vaguely behind them. "I am going to save us. You're welcome."

"Again, what is that?"

Dustin tuns around in his seat, dripping in sweat. "Demogorgon. Evil monster from another dimension."

Vickie gapes at him. "Yeah. Okay, sure. Why not."

"Guys, what the hell is going on?!" Lucas's frantic voice comes over the speakers. startling everyone. "There's Demogorgons escaping the facility here. Does anybody copy? Is everyone okay?"

Robin's eyes briefly drift to Will, who hasn't so much as twitched in his mom's arms. She grabs the microphone, pressing down the button to reply.

"Uh, I'm good. So is Mrs. Byers." She continues to stare at Will with worried eyes. "I think something happened at the Wheeler's. Nancy and Eleven went. We're with the Squawking Eagles."

"Wait, what?" Mike, clearly out of breath, cuts through the interference. "At my house? What? What about Will?"

"El left the station?" Hopper interjects.

"Hang on," Jonathan's faint voice comes through. "Mike, Lucas, we need to get you out of there. Where are you?"

The van hits a sharp turn, and Joyce clutches onto Will as they all go flying to the side. Vickie slams into Robin, and she instinctively wraps an arm around her waist to steady her.

"Dammit, Steve, stay on the road!" Robin yells, Vickie almost fully in her lap. Both girl's faces are as red as her hair.

"The road ended, Robin!"

Still on Robin's lap, Vickie calls out, "Go down Crescent, turn, then past Pine onto Watermill. There's a, like, dirt road that leads into the woods. Go there."

"Squawking Eagles, what's your status?" Mike asks wildly. "And what's happening at my house?!"

Dustin turns back, extending a hand for Robin's walkie. She hands it over, pushing herself and Vickie up into seated positions, but her arm never leaves Vickie's waist.

A barely audible whimper comes from below Joyce. Will's eyebrows are knit together in pain, but his eyes remain closed. She carefully runs her fingers through his wet brown hair, not caring if her skin is tinted red from his blood. From inside her smock, Vickie pulls out a small white rag. Joyce gratefully accepts it, pressing it firmly onto the bleeding cut where Will's head hit the floor. He whines louder this time, and she shushes him gently, rubbing soothing circles on his forehead.

"Uh, we aren't sure, exactly—" Dustin starts, before noticing Will's condition. "Is Will okay? Is something happening again?"

"What?" Mike's pitch is much higher. "What's wrong with Will? What the hell happened?!"

Joyce strokes a hand over her son's cheek. "You're okay, sweetie, just hold on."

Steve hits another turn, going straight over the curb, and Will groans again as they're thrown into the side of the vehicle.

"For God's sake, Steve!" Dustin screams. "I don't even have a license and I bet I could drive better than this shit!"

"Lucas, we see you," Hopper chimes in over the radio. "Pull of the road and put your bike in the back. We've got to get out of here."

"Shut up, Henderson, I can barely see anything!"

"Mike, where are you?"

"That's what the headlights are for, Steve!"

"I see the car, hang on."

"Vickie, am I turning up here?"

"Uh…"

"Is Nancy with El?!"

"What happened with Will?"

"Mike, where are you?"

"Yes, turn now!"

If Vickie wasn't practically on top of her, Joyce wouldn't have heard her command over the cacophony. Thankfully, she did, and Joyce braces herself for the turn this time, one hand on the radio table, the other on Will. Robin and Vickie do the same, only their free hands are linked with each others.

"Ungh… Mom?"

Will's eyes blink open slowly, clouded and unfocused. Voices continue their frazzled communication over the radio, but Joyce no longer pays them any mind.

"Hey, hey sweetie," she whispers, resting a hand under his neck. "You're okay, I promise. You're okay."

Shuffling slightly, Will's eyes dart around, searching. His breathing picks up, and he weakly presses his hands into her legs, attempting to push himself up.

"Will, don't try and move," she says, pushing him back onto her lap. "You need to rest, okay?"

A high, upset wail crawls out of his throat, and Joyce's heart breaks.

"Mom, he's— they're killing him— I can't—"

His rambling is cut short by a dry sob, his body too exhausted to produce any tears. Will's chest stutters as he takes unsteady breaths, his cloudy eyes darting around, unseeing. Joyce comforts him the best she can, whispering false reassurances while continuing to stroke his temple. He calms down enough that his breaths are full and almost steady, which is good enough for Joyce under the circumstances.

"Uh, everything alright back there?" Dustin asks worriedly, focused on Will.

"We're fine," Joyce replies. "How much farther?"

Vickie sits up again, never letting go of Robin's hand. "Just up here, Harrington. The dirt road leads straight to the barn. My house is in front of it."

Steve glaces back, a tiny grin lifting his lip when he sees the girls' interlinked fingers.

"Got it. I think we lost that thing, too."

Joyce isn't so sure, but accepts their freedom for now.

"Hey, does this place have an address?" Dustin inquires. "So we can tell the others?"

Vickie narrows her eyes. "How many others?"

"Just a few," Robin says quickly. "Our radio station is out of power. We— well, we kind of live there now. Not all of us. But some of us that work there."

A smile tugs at Vickie's lips. "That was the Squawk?"

Robin furrows her eyebrows slightly, confusion mixing with her nerves.

"Yeah. Yeah it was. What, you a big fan?"

She says it in jest, but Vickie smiles even wider.

"Of course I am, Rockin' Robin."

Steve snorts as Robin's face blushes somehow even deeper red.

"Tell them to take the third right off of Watermill," Vickie says to Dustin. "It's the same way we went. There's a front entrance, but if you're bringing company, you should take the side street to the barn. I don't know if you saw it, but there's a sign on one of the trees."

"Turnbow Farm?" Steve confirms.

Vickie nods. "That's the one."

- - -

One painful parking job later, Joyce and the others exit the fan to arrive at a large wooden barn, surrounded by fields and pastures. In the distance, lights shine from the interior of what has to be one of the biggest houses Joyce has ever seen in her life. She can't help but stare in awe at the sheer magnitude of the mansion.

"Holy shit," Dustin mutters. "You live here?"

Vickie looks down in embarrassment. "Yeah. It's a bit much, I know."

"It's awesome," Robin exclaims wondrously. Vickie blushes again.

Will, who thankfully is lucid enough to stand (with the assistance of Steve), is gawking as well, his eyes more focused than before as he stares at the two properties. He doesn't say anything, though, and is leaning onto Steve much more than he should be by Joyce's standards.

"Can we get him inside?" Joyce asks Vickie. "He should be laying down, I think he has a concussion."

"'m fine," Will slurs. "'s e'ryone okay? Where's El?"

Vickie opens a red door on the side of the barn, moving hastily with Robin to get the lights on. But when she swings it open, light pours out of the building, and sets of footsteps rustle the dirt inside.

Steve and Will follow the pair, and Joyce enters last, closing the door behind her.

"Derek?" Vickie's tone is laced with shock. "What are you doing out here? And who is this?"

"Wait, Erica?!" Robin exclaims, and Joyce peers around her to see Erica Sinclair standing next to a similarly aged boy in a rainbow striped outfit.

"Robin? What the hell are you guys doing here?" Erica raises an eyebrow. "Let me guess, your little government spy mission went horribly wrong?"

Her sass is replaced with genuine concern as she spots Will, who Steve is resting tenderly against one of the wooden columns. Blood has returned to his face, at least, so he looks less like a ghost and more like a seriously ill human. Baby steps.

"What's wrong with him?" Erica questions cautiously.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" Vickie asks expectantly.

"This is Erica," Rainbow Stripes answers. Derek, Joyce reminds herself. "She's a friend. She came over for dinner."

"Dinner in the barn?"

Derek shrinks back. "We ate at the house, Vickie. Then came to the barn."

"Okay, but-"

"Steve." Will's urgent interruption silences Vickie's retort. His eyes are focused again, and he's sitting up tensely; it's like someone flipped a switch in his brain, rejuvenating his muscles and mind. "You need to go to the Wheeler's. Get Eleven and Nancy out."

Steve stares at him, wide-eyed. "What?"

"Go! They need help!" Will insists frantically. "Please, you have to help them! They'll die! Please!"

Dustin slaps Steve on the arm, who breaks out of his stupor with a shake of his head.

"Okay, okay," Steve trails behind Dustin, who's already halfway out the door. "What's wrong, Will? Are they okay? Is it Vecna?"

Will trembles. Joyce rushes to his side, pulling him close to her chest.

"I don't— you need to save them. Please."

Will's voice breaks on the last word. Steve still hesitates, much to Dustin's disdain.

"Bring everyone back here. We need to hide," Will insists. "Go."

"Steve, you heard him, c'mon!" Dustin waves his hand commandingly.

Reluctantly, Steve nods, following Dustin out the barn door at a brisk pace. Will slumps back against the post, holding his head in his hands.

Erica clears her throat. "Did I miss something?"

Paying her no mind, Joyce seats herself next to Will, leaning his head onto her shoulder. He falls into her touch, eyes pinched shut.

"Are you okay, sweetie?" Joyce murmurs into his ear.

Will shakes his head. "I saw… at the Wheeler's… something happened. With Vecna. And then—"

"What's Vecna?" Derek butts in. "Oh. Sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt. Sorry."

Vickie levels a look at him, but matching curiosity is written all over her face. Robin and Joyce exchange a brief glance, silently debating whether or not to tell them, but Erica makes the decision for them.

"He's Mister Whatsit," Erica says plainly to Derek. "He has to be."

Joyce frowns at her; Erica is well aware of Vecna's true identity, having regularly attended the group meetings at the station, and of course having helped in the failed plan to defeat him last year.

Beside her, Will tenses. "Mister Whatsit?"

Derek wrings his hands nervously. "Kids at school keep talking about him. How he's giving them missions and—"

"And then they start acting all weird," Erica finishes. "Almost like they're possessed, or something. They talk about him like he's God."

Vickie unconsciously inches closer to her brother. "So there's some guy running around talking to children about missions? What kind of missions? And what does that have to do with that… thing back there? Or the ones Downtown?"

"Wait, there were more of them?" Thoughts of hundreds of Demogorgons swarming Downtown Hawkins fill Joyce's mind. She knows Hopper can take care of himself and the kids, but the idea of them fleeing what could only be a massacre sends frightened chills down her spine.

"Not many, at least from what I could tell," Vickie reassures. "I mean, there were at least five that I saw. Everyone was freaking out and setting them on fire… well, setting everything on fire, actually. Most of them seemed to be scared away or killed by that, but a couple hopped the fences and escaped."

"A couple?" Robin's hands clench onto the pistol. "How many is a couple?"

Vickie bites her lip anxiously. "Uh… at least two? Maybe three? Once the alarms went off, I booked it. I was able to nab a flamethrower too, in case one of those things tried to grab me. Once I made it outside, I saw Steve's little van chasing one of them down the street. I flagged them down because I thought the flamethrower might help, and I wanted to get the hell out of there. Monster attacks weren't in the job description."

Erica crosses her arms, looking her up and down. "You're a nurse?"

"Volunteer." Vickie gestures vaguely over her outfit. "Candy striper. Clearly."

"Hang on." Both girls turn to face Joyce. "So, this Mister Whatsit guy is stalking kids, but you also think he's Vecna, and he… let the monsters escape from the Downtown facility?"

"And why is he tricking kids into doing things for him?" Robin adds. "Can't Vecna just, like, I don't know, use his superpowers to do whatever he wants?"

Erica shrugs. "That's what we've been trying to figure out. All we know is that a ton of our classmates have been talking about doing missions for him and acting super weird about it. Even the government knows about him. They were taking kids out of class for interrogations yesterday."

"They talk about him like he's real." Derek pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "But he's just some fantasy character. He has superpowers and magic tricks."

Will, who Joyce realizes has been uncannily silent, inhales sharply. Before Joyce can even ask what's wrong, he's on his feet, stumbling to the middle of the room.

"It's coming."

Joyce follows him, hovering apprehensively in case his newfound strength fails him. But Will's feet are planted, unwavering. The only unsteady part of him is the hand that reaches up to caress the nape of his neck.

Joyce doesn't have to ask what's coming.

"Vickie, are there weapons here? Guns, knives, anything?

Derek nudges his sister worriedly when her face morphs into a steely expression. Vickie grabs his hand, pulling him through the barn and up a set of rickety wooden stairs.

Erica crosses to follow them, but stays on the ground level, peering out the window.

"Did you idiots lead one of them here?!"

Pulling her away from the glass, Robin clicks the safety of her pistol. "Not on purpose, Erica!"

A loud clatter almost sends Joyce jumping out of her skin. Robin and Erica both yelp as well at the sudden axe landing hard from where Vickie dropped it on the balcony.

"Is that good? We really only have farm tools."

It's not a very sturdy axe, but it'll do. At least it's not a rake.

Taking a step forward to grab the weapon, Joyce motions for Erica and Robin to move away from the window, back towards where Will has situated himself. Flickering yellow light engulfs the space. A familiar monstrous cry resounds in the distance.

"Mom, you can't—" Will's plea is cut short as something rams into the locked doors of the barn, rattling the wooden panels. Dust drifts down from the ceiling.

"Stay back," Joyce orders, readying the axe. Above her, she can hear the muffled shuffling of Derek and Vickie, observing cautiously from the overhang.

If there's one thing Joyce knows how to do, it's protect her children. It used to be just her and her boys against the world. Braving everything together, from cold winters in Hawkins, huddled around the decrepit space heater when money was tight, all the way to inter-dimensional demons and possession from another plane of existence.

But her family has grown beyond her own flesh and blood. El was the first addition, even before Joyce became her legal guardian. When she first held her cold, shivering body in the kiddie pool of Hawkins Middle School, Joyce vowed to be the mother Eleven was never allowed to have, provide her the love that those awful men stole from her.

Then came Hopper, who Joyce has known for so long they may as well be family already. Losing him hurt in ways she'd never experienced, even when Will went missing. Because this was final. Joyce watched him die.

Except she didn't. Even after Hopper's watered down recount of what happened, she still barely understood his story. But one thing was for certain; he was not dead when she ran from that Russian bunker. Somewhere, burned and injured, his body lay waiting for capture. And she had ran.

She will never fail anyone else like that ever again.

Axe in hand, Joyce shifts her stance; knees shoulder width apart, arms raised and steady, breathing controlled, just like Hopper taught them.

Another rattling thud sounds into the barn door, and the wood splinters with the force of it.

"Mom," Will's weak voice breaks on the word. "Mom, please, we need to run."

"We can't outrun it forever," Robin says from her opposite side.

"It can't get through the door," Vickie says shakily, leaning on the old railing by the stairway. "I don't think—"

Thump. The wood splinters even more, and Vickie cuts herself off with a shriek.

"Everyone, quiet."

Silence fills the barn. Outside, the Demogorgon has stopped it's incessant slamming against the doors. Joyce takes a cautious step forward.

With a resounding bang, the Demogorgon breaks down the wooden door. It wastes no time charging straight at her, long arms slashing to kill. Joyce evades the attack, hacking the axe into its side, drawing a guttural cry from the creature. Behind her, she can hear the kids scrambling to help (or perhaps just screaming nonsense at each other. Either way, there's lots of screaming).

Slamming the blade into it's neck, Joyce ducks for cover when the monster's clawed hand sweeps down to slice her face. It misses, but an elbow catches her side, sending her crashing to the ground, back flat against the floor of the barn. The axe slips from her grip, and before she can secure the handle, the Demogorgon is leaning over her, practically on top of her.

A flowery face opens to reveal a gaping mouth full of razor-sharp teeth, dripping with thick saliva. Joyce coils back, arms extended to keep them away from her face. Around her, the kids are screaming in horror, voices blending together in a cacophony of fear. The Demogorgon's roar reverberates through the wooden barn, its clawed hand raising above her to strike.

Across the room, Robin takes some shots with the pistol, even landing a few hits, but to no avail; Joyce remembers how immune these things are to anything but fire. Or, of course, Eleven's telekinesis. Vickie attempts to throw rocks over the balcony, but they do nothing except bounce off its taut flesh. She's grateful Erica and Derek keep their distance.

She closes her eyes tightly, whole body tensing as she prepares for the claws to tear her flesh. A memory surfaces; Bob, at Hawkins Lab, meeting his end the same way. Leaving his life behind, sacrificing himself for her and her family. Joyce promised to never let his heroics be in vain. She hopes he's proud.

"Let go."

It's a familiar voice, from a familiar person. Someone who Joyce has only ever associated with warmth, kindness, and love. Anger pulses through the barn in shockwaves, sourced from the words of a boy who feared ferocity like a malicious disease.

Pointed claws miss her skin by mere inches as the Demogorgon writhes in discontent, pulling off her completely with a staggering step back. Joyce's arms fall away from it's body, and she pushes herself back, away from where she dropped the axe. Continuing to flail in pain, the Demogorgon lets out a mighty roar, steadying itself towards the source of the demand.

Will's gaze is unwavering as he faces the Demogorgon. From the way his head tilts down slightly to the energy vibrating through the airwaves around them, Joyce may as well be watching someone else puppet her son's body. Never has she witnessed him so livid, so powerful.

It's cognitive dissonance in her mind; her sweet, sensitive little boy, who draws fantasy dragons and cries at his friends' plights, standing down an evil hellbent on destruction and decay.

And the pieces fall together. This is Will, the same Will who creates and builds and cries and loves. The same Will who would never let anything happen to his family, even if it means facing the Devil itself.

With a flick of his outstretched wrist, the monster wails, collapsing to the floor. Joyce takes the opportunity to sprint to where Robin and Erica stand huddled in the corner, the older girl's arms protectively blocking her young friend. Yanking the pistol from Robin's grasp, Joyce fires quick shots into the opened mouth of the Demogorgon, hoping to cease it's continued screeching and give Will an out to escape. Although his stance is steady, Joyce can tell from the way his eyelids flutter that he's growing tired, whatever newfound connection he's harnessed draining his already weakened vitality.

The Demogorgon notices as well, mustering up its strength enough to throw itself at Will, toppling him to the ground. His gaze does not waver, eyes locked onto the monster firmly, arms outstretched and quivering. Joyce takes another shot, but the Demogorgon is dead set on her son. It roars angrily, dripping saliva and slime all over Will.

Vickie appears from the stairway, witnessing the scene unfolding before her with a crazed expression. Her eyes dart between the Demogorgon, Will on the floor, Joyce with the pistol, then finally to the axe resting on the ground. A split second decision is made, and Vickie runs to the axe, picking it up without stopping before slamming the blade into the Demogorgon's head at full speed. She moves so fast, Joyce hardly has the time to register what just happened before the creature howls in defeat, collapsing right on top of Will, who is equally as fast at pushing it off of him.

"Holy shit," Robin says, staring unabashedly at Vickie. "Nice hit."

Smirking, Vickie drops the axe. "Thanks."

Joyce hands the pistol back to Robin, making sure to click the safety before directing her attention to the boy on the ground. Thankfully, Will appears unscathed, his hair and clothes strewn with an unlucky combo of hay, sand, slime, and blood. He sits up to remove his battered jacket, panting heavily.

"Will, oh my God," Joyce cries, wrapping him in a bone-crushing embrace. She doesn't care about the excess of grime that gets transferred onto her. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

He shakes his head into her shoulder. "I'm okay. Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," she exhales shakily. "I'm okay. We're safe now."

Joyce can feel the piercing stares of the others on her and Will, but pays them no mind. All that matters is that her boy is safe in her arms where she can protect him.

"Can someone please explain what the hell just happened?" Erica breaks the silence.

"What do you think, genius?" Robin says sarcastically. "We almost got massacred by a monster, that's what happened!"

"What is that thing?" Derek, who had made his way down from the balcony, hovers nervously behind Vickie, wide eyes glued to the slaughtered Demogorgon. "Is that one of Mister Whatsit's creatures?"

Erica ignores him. "I think I gathered the monster attack for myself, thank you. I meant what the hell just happened with him."

Joyce pulls away from the hug to find Erica pointing shamelessly at her and Will. A surge of protectiveness rushes through her as Will shrinks back into her hold.

"You're right," he says hoarsely. "Mister Whatsit is Vecna. And he's angry. I don't know what he wants with the kids, but…"

Tears well up in his tired eyes.

"But what, sweetie?" Joyce urges gently, rubbing circles into his trembling shoulder.

Will shakes his head, hiding his face in his palms. Barely audible, he chokes out the words.

"It got Holly, Mom. He got her. I couldn't stop him."

He dissolves into sobs, and Joyce can't help the few stray tears that slip down her cheeks in sympathy. Worried conversation sparks between the other four hovering around them, but Joyce can't hear them over the screaming thought in her mind.

She will take Henry Creel down, no matter what it takes.

Chapter Text

Visions of Holly's terrified face haven't left Will's mind since he regained consciousness. Such a youthful and joyous human is not meant to suffer like that, ever.

Well, no one is meant to suffer at all, regardless of age. Will knows that, and believes it wholeheartedly. But he also believes in how such trauma can ruin a child's life on account of firsthand experience.

Derek and Vickie had gone back to their house to fetch Will and Joyce fresh clothes, not wanting them to sit around in slimy filth. The gesture is much appreciated, but the quiet of the barn is starting to weigh on Will.

No one has said anything about Holly, or the Wheeler's in general, after Will's confession that Vecna got their youngest daughter. He physically can't make himself say that Ted, and likely Karen, are dead. It's like someone placed a rock in his throat, blocking anything from escaping. If he says it, it's real.

Plus, Nancy and Eleven have definitely figured it out by now. That is, if nothing has happened to them. No one has made it back yet, not even the Spies. Everyone is on edge, even Erica, who Robin had provided a summarized debrief to.

A pit grows in Will's stomach at the thought of not warning the others before sending them into a bloodbath. But they're still cut off, all working communications in the radio van. His mom shares his feeling, evident by her nervous pacing and fretting over his condition every thirty seconds. No matter how many times he assures her that he's all good, that whatever happened was a simple, one-time fit, she obviously doesn't believe him.

And why should she? From her perspective, Will not only saw Vecna attack the Wheeler house, but also has some sort of superpower that caused him to blow up Squawk's power entirely and halt a Demogorgon in its tracks. There's something there, some sort of ability or power or connection that he would do anything to ignore. But from the wary side glances Robin and Erica are darting his way every few moments of their hushed conversation, he doubts they agree.

"Will?" His mom snaps him out of his spiraling thoughts, her worry palpable. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Will says shortly.

Joyce stares, unbelieving. Her lack of trust hurts more than it should.

"Why don't you believe me?" Will's voice cracks on the last word, not helping his already unconvincing argument. He hangs his head, resting it on his knees. "Don't answer that. I'm sorry."

The barn door bangs open, and Vickie enters with a pile of clothes in her arms. Derek trails behind her, a jug of water in his. Seeing the drink makes Will realize just how thirsty he is, his throat raw from all the crying, no doubt.

With the help of Joyce, Will gets on his feet, thanking the siblings for their help before taking a massive swig of the water.

"Here." Vickie hands the folded clothes to Joyce. "I don't know if any of this will be the right size, but I think it should fit well enough."

She gives Will a quick once over. "Our older brother left some old clothes here when he went to college. You're about the same height as him."

"Great," Will says through coughs as he chokes on the water he's chugging. "Where should we…"

Derek gestures to the stairs on the side wall, where he and his sister ran up to get the axe.

"There's a room up there you can use," Derek says. "It's not very nice, but—"

"Thanks, hon." Joyce leads Will away, up the stairs without letting him finish. They've been rotting in slimy shirts for too long, eager to get into something fresh. Plus, Will would greatly appreciate some time alone, ready for a break from the lingering eyes boring into his head.

Upstairs isn't as bad as Will would've thought a farm bedroom would be. While there are many more farm tools and gardening supplies than one would find in a typical bedroom; instead of posters lining the walls, storage shelves house bags of mulch and shovels. But there is a dusty bed built into the corner, one sad blanket thrown overtop.

Joyce hands him whatever Vickie had pulled from her brother's room, which looks to be a white long sleeve, a rather simple blue top, and dark red pants. The artist in him can't help but grimace at how the colors clash.

"I'll step out so you can change," Joyce says. "Will you be okay?"

He can't help but frown in annoyance. Overbearing pity might be his least favorite side effect of his extensive trauma.

"Yes, Mom."

With a tight-lipped smile, Joyce steps outside, shutting the cracked wooden door behind her. Will slowly discards his jacket and shirt, wincing as the grime streaks his clean skin.

Overall, the clothes fit pretty well. They're obviously not his size, being too tight in some spots while too lose in others, but at least he's not ruminating in his own sweat and Demogorgon slime. He ties his jacket around his waist, not bothering to do the same with the flannel and pullover.

A loud gust of wind rattles the tall window across the room, and only when Will approaches to investigate does he realize it's part of door, closed with a rusty metal clasp.

With a gentle effort, Will pushes it open, and is met with a frigid autumn breeze, refreshing and crisp. Outside, there's an unstable looking balcony, with stairs leading down to the grass below. Chills run through him, and Will shivers as he makes his way further out.

"Will?" His mom's worried question comes from behind him before he can reach the stairs. Her lips are downturned in concern. "Where're you going?"

"I just wanted some air," he says honestly. Joyce's frown deepens.

Will holds back a sigh. "I swear, that's all. I'm not trying to run off or anything."

Joyce bites her lip nervously, testing the waters. "Can we talk, hon?"

It's not an unreasonable request, given everything that's happened. And it's not even that Will doesn't want to talk, his body is just strained and his mind is exhausted, an absolute insane amount of new input being channeled through him today. But his mom deserves an explanation.

"Yeah, sure."

- - -

Wood boards creak beneath Will every time he shifts where he sits on the balcony. It's not the least bit comfortable, but the breeze through his hair soothes his growing anxiety.

"What happened back there, Will?"

Isn't that the question. A sinking feeling has grown larger in his gut since the Demogorgon attack. He knows what happened.

"I don't know."

Will curls into himself, bringing his knees further into his interlocked hands.

"Will…"

If he had any more tears left to cry, they would've poured from his eyes at the helpless desperation his mom poured into that single word. Will's hands tremble around himself.

"In the station, during the burn, I saw…" Will takes a deep breath. "I saw a Demogorgon. At the Wheeler's. It was attacking them, but I couldn't do anything. I just had to stand there and watch."

Vivid pictures of Ted and Karen Wheeler, mauled and bloody, invade his mind. Will presses firm hands into his eyes to try and push them out.

"And then it went after Holly, and I tried to stop it, Mom, I really did—" He chokes up, but now that he's started, he can't stop the words from pouring out. "But Vecna was coming for her, and she was scared, and all of a sudden it was like he was coming for me all over again. And I saw myself, when he took me… I couldn't save her either, Mom."

He's rambling, too many repressed worries spilling out now that the dam has broken. A gentle thumb strokes his leg, and his mom's sympathy is palpable in her expression. It's more than he could ever have asked for.

"I think El was right," Will admits nervously. "About the memories and powers thing. I think remembering the Upside Down has…" He looks down, ashamed. "When I saw Holly getting attacked, I remembered that night I went missing. When Henry took me. I think I— I strengthened my connection to it. That's why I was able to stop the Demogorgon."

If Joyce is put-off by Will's confession, she doesn't show it. Her expression is contorted by worry and sadness, but not fear or anger. Somehow, it's more disconcerting than her recoiling in fright; at least Will would understand that. But his mom has never been one to back away from anything, especially when it's plaguing her family.

"That night," she starts carefully, testing the waters. "When you went missing. I think about that night all the time, Will. What I could've done differently, how we could've prevented it all in the first place. I regret it, every single day."

Guilt floods through Will, but Joyce continues on.

"And before you start apologizing, I don't blame you. I could never blame you. What happened that night, and every day after, none of it is your fault. Okay? And neither is what happened to Holly. It's Henry's."

Joyce tugs Will closer, holding his hands gently. There are times when Will questions how she maintains her resilience through everything, how she never wavers in her love for him when he knows it isn't easy. Sometimes, Will thinks she lies to him, only saying he's not a burden as to not make him feel worse than he already does.

But her gaze exudes care and love, and Will can't believe he ever let that thought fester in his mind.

"Will…" Joyce's arm drapes over his neck. "At the Wheeler's… you said it was an attack. Are they…"

Each syllable has an apprehensive lilt. Will closes his eyes, not wanting to see the fall of his mom's face when he tells the truth.

"It got Mr. Wheeler," Will whispers. "And Mrs. Wheeler. But it didn't kill her. She was really— there was a lot of blood."

In the darkness of his vision, Will relives it all over again. Karen Wheeler, torn open and bleeding onto the pristine tiles of the bathroom floor. Holly running for her life, cowering in the safety of her bedroom. Alone.

A bright, blinding light. Particles of air buzzing around him. A sudden jolt, and she's in the Upside Down, running for her life from a man who called her his friend.

"Holly's alive." His declaration is certain as flashes of her rainbow outfit zip through his memories. "She's… She tried to run from him." Vines. Screams. Echoes of pain. "But he got her. He doesn't want to kill her, though…"

Joyce covers her mouth to suppress her anguished breathing.

"I don't know what he wants," Will confesses. "But I think I can find out. If I go back into the shadow, I think I—"

"Absolutely not," Joyce says firmly, back in full protective mode. "Will, you've already pushed yourself way too hard today. You need rest."

Rest does sound amazing. Will can barely believe it was just this morning that he and Mike we're walking to school, fighting with the jocks in the cafeteria. His heart stings a bit at the thought of Chance, but he can't dwell on it.

"Mom, Holly needs my help," Will says. "I can't just leave her there, with him—"

"Will." She cuts him off softly. "When you went missing, I barely ate, I didn't sleep. I spent every hour of every day trying to bring you home. And I don't regret it, at all. I'd do it again in a heartbeat. But you know what I didn't realize?"

She blinks away tears.

"There were so many people who wanted to help, who did help. And I still tried to do it all on my own. It wasn't until Hopper believed me that I could finally breathe, let him carry some of the stress for me. But, Will, you are not alone. You will never, ever be alone. I promise."

Will sits up, turning away. "But my powers, I can—"

"Do you think El should be looking for Henry 24/7? Or does she deserve some time to take care of herself?"

What kind of question is that? "Of course, she deserves time to herself. She's not a machine."

Joyce gives him a knowing look. "So why don't you?"

Oh. "That's different. El's been through so much. She's been fighting her whole life. And she's special. We need her." Mike needs her. "I don't… no one needs me."

Will should take the words back, if Joyce's crestfallen look is anything to go by, but he can't. No more lies, he thinks bitterly.

Joyce tugs him into her arms, but with their current positioning he ends up falling into her lap, his head resting on her leg as she clings to him.

"Will, baby, please don't say that," she says. Tar droplets fall onto his skin. "We all need you so much. I don't know what I'd do without you. And Jonathan, and— and Mike, they need you, too. So much."

She's lying, Will.

A chill runs down his spine, from the nape of his neck to his lower back. Will shoots up, tense and alert. He surveys the surrounding woods, but there's nothing except the rustling of leaves and hum of exterior lights.

"Will? What's wrong?" Joyce, equally as on edge, retracts her hands. "Is it him? Is he here?"

Will waits for the chime, or the visions, but nothing comes. Gone are the chills and the fear, leaving Will panting anxiously over nothing.

"No," he says. "No, it's fine. You're right, I just need some rest."

Reluctantly, Joyce nods, and the two make their way back to the barn in silence. If she sees Will glancing over his shoulder every few seconds, she doesn't mention it.

- - -

Will can't have been asleep for more than ten seconds before he's awoken by a light scratching on the nape of his neck.

It should be concerning, but the touch is loving and fragile and Will can't help the way he leans into it, softly sighing. It reminds him of how his mother used to comfort him when he was sick as a child.

His change in breathing must be noticeable enough to alert whoever's brushing his neck, because the hand stills in place. Will whines at the loss.

"Will? Are you awake?"

He wasn't before, but he definitely is now. That is not his mom's voice. It's deeper, more hesitant, and much more shocking.

Will rolls over, and the hand pulls away from his neck.

"…Mike?"

Through his blurry vision, Will can see the familiar silhouette of his best friend, kneeling beside his dusty bed. Will blinks the sleep from his eyes, and Mike's image clears up; besides the sweat dampening his hair, he looks the same as he did when he departed the station for the burn, still clad in his silly camouflage solider gear.

Will is pulled into a fierce hug, and he's squeezing back before his body can even register what's happening.

"Oh my God, I thought you died," Mike says into his neck. Will shivers involuntarily.

"Wha— why would you think that?" Will grips the back of Mike's jacket. He smells like smoke and dirt.

Mike pulls away enough to meet Will's eyes. "Over the radio, no one would answer me when I asked about you, and then with everything at my house, and the attack, I just…"

He blinks, and a few tears drip down his cheeks, onto the bed. Bile rises in Will's throat at the reminder of what happened with Mike's family. How both of his parents are very likely dead. How his sister is gone. Suddenly, the air itself is suffocating, and Will doesn't know how to behave.

"Oh, Mike," Will brushes a thumb across his face, salty tears wetting his hand. "I'm so sorry, I'm really sorry."

Mike bites his lip, hard, suppressing his sobs so strongly it looks painful. With a few tears of his own, Will hugs him twice as forcefully as before, pouring as much comfort into the embrace as he has left. Mike clings to him hard enough Will thinks it might leave marks on his skin.

But still, Mike doesn't cry. Not really, anyway. It frustrates Will how staunchly Mike has committed himself to this facade of composure, even with his best friend, who Mike should know would never judge him for something as menial as crying, especially given the circumstances.

"I really can't lose you, Will." Mike's face is buried into Will's shoulder, muffling the words into barely more than vibrations into the fabric. Will hears him all the same, whether physically or emotionally.

"You won't."

Mike squeezes him tighter. Will does the same.

"I'll never leave you again," Will vows. "I promise."

"You can't promise that." Mike's eyes are downcast, and the dim lighting of the room reflects how they shine with unshed tears. "You can't— you don't know that."

Will could tell Mike that he does know, that he'll never allow them to be torn apart ever again. But Will can't bear to tell Mike another vicious lie, one with even less certainty than his stupid painting.

"Okay," Will whispers. "I promise you'll always have me, no matter what. Even if something happens. I'll find my way back to you."

The gravity of his words crash down onto Will a second too late, and his face flames with humiliation as he prays for the ground to swallow him whole. Whatever confession just escaped his traitorous lips was one that even Mike couldn't possibly write off as strictly platonic.

But Mike seems none the wiser, the usual tender gleam in his red-rimmed eyes unwavering as he nods at Will's admittance. They flit downwards briefly, towards his lips, but Will's come to realize that's just something Mike does with him, whether consciously or not. He's never had the courage to ask.

"I'll always find you," Mike says. "I found you in the Upside Down, and when the Mind Flayer had you, and…"

Mike trails off, shaking his head. "Sorry, I'm being all sappy."

"In Kindergarten, too." Will smiles softly at the memory. "I was lost and alone. But you found me. As always."

This brightens Mike's expression exponentially more than Will thought it would, and butterflies flutter in his stomach against his will. For a moment, it's almost like they're those same kids, lonely and scared, finding solace in one another. Will can see that same kid, trapped behind Mike's sad eyes. The longing aches worse than usual.

"Yeah," Mike breathes out. "I did.”

A knock rings through the wood, and Mike jumps back to his feet, stumbling into the opposite wall. Will doesn't bother hiding his disappointment.

"Will? Mike?"

His brother's muffled voice comes through the wall, and relief floods through Will, cleansing an anxiety he didn't even realize he had. Shooting up from the bed, he barrels into Jonathan's arms just as the door swings open. His brother wobbles back with a grunt, but wraps his arms around Will nonetheless.

"Will, holy shit," Jonathan says. "Mom told us what happened. Are you okay?"

Is he? Probably not.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. Are you okay?"

The two break apart, and Will gives him a quick once over. No visible injuries. Good enough.

"I'm alright." Jonathan's eyes focus past Will's head, towards Mike, who's lurking awkwardly behind them. "Mike, Nancy was going to head to the Memorial Hospital, to visit…"

Jonathan trails off, but Will perks up. "Mrs. Wheeler? Is she okay?"

Mike, too, is interested, moving closer so he's positioned right next to Will. All things considered, they're standing much too close for it to be normal, but when have they ever been normal? Plus, Mike has had probably the worst day of his entire life. Will can't help himself; he laces his fingers with Mike's, who squeezes back twice as hard.

Almost imperceptibly, Jonathan's eyes dart down to their intertwined hands. "She's alive. I don't know anything about her condition, but Nancy said… well, she was really shaken up after she went to the house. Steve and Dustin got her and El out of there before paramedics showed up, but—"

"Is El okay?" Will can't help but interrupt. "Did anyone see her?"

This time, it's Mike who responds. "She's okay. Her and Nance got back here right after we did. With Steve and Dustin. But they took the van back out to bring El and Hop to the cabin, since the station's power is apparently fried."

Mike obviously has some questions about that, but Will's not going to bother answering unless Mike asks directly.

"Right," Jonathan continues. "I'm gonna give her a ride in a few minutes, Mike. You're free to join us."

Muddy shoes scuffle the wooden floorboards as Mike trains his eyes downward, shifting restlessly. "Yeah, actually. Thank you."

Jonathan purses his lips in a solemn caricature of a smile. "Of course. We're leaving in a few minutes, alright? I'm just gonna talk to Will quickly."

Frowning, Mike looks between them, understanding Jonathan's obvious message that Mike is not to be joining them in their talk. But Will doesn't pull his hand away, waiting for Mike to break the contact himself.

"We'll be fast, I promise." Jonathan's eyes yet again go to their joined hands. "I think Nancy could really use you, Mike. She's really upset. Would you mind—"

"Of course," Mike agrees instantly, the need to help his family outweighing his own discomfort. Letting go of Will's hand, Mike gives him one last brief hug.

"Promise me you'll be okay?" Mike's plead barely escapes his lips. Will sees Jonathan raise his eyebrows slightly as he takes a step back, aware this moment is just for the two of them.

Will tucks himself into Mike's neck. He can't help but smile at how well they fit together, like a puzzle of discarded pieces that rearranged themselves into a strange, beautiful image.

"I promise. We find each other, remember?"

They break apart. Will feels colder.

"Yeah. Always."

Wood creaks where Jonathan leans against it, watching the scene unfolding before him like some shitty, tragic drama. Mike clears his throat, wiping his hands over his shirt to smooth the creases. No words are exchanged between the two as Mike exits, even when he throws one last look over his shoulder at Will.

Once he's fully gone, Jonathan shuts the door, and Will stares expectantly. When it's clear Jonathan isn't saying anything, Will moves himself back to the bed, resting at the edge.

"Is something wrong?" he asks, the silence shifting from typical to uncomfortable.

Jonathan picks at his nail. "No. Not wrong."

Will furrows his eyebrows. "But there is something?"

Instead of replying, Jonathan lets out a long sigh. Will's already over whatever this is. He's had enough bombshells for the day, thank you very much. The last thing he wants is crushing anticipation building up what could only be more bad news.

"Whatever this is, just say it, Jonathan. I can't—"

"Hopper wants to marry Mom."

Will physically recoils in shock. That was not even on his radar of potential shocking information Jonathan could've told him.

"What? Seriously?"

"Yeah," Jonathan says, tone unreadable. "Before the burn, he asked me. Wanted my blessing, or whatever." Will's eyes widen. "I thought I should ask you, too."

"Oh."

"Yeah. I mean, I think Hop wanted to ask you himself, but… I don't know. I thought it'd be better if I did. I don't know."

"Hmm."

Will's thoughts are reeling. Sure, he likes Hopper, and he wants his mom to be happy, but married? Maybe it's just his avid disdain for change, or discomfort surrounding other men in their house, but the whole thing seems insane.

Jonathan picks up on his hesitation, running a hand through his hair in worry. "I can tell him, no, I guess, if you're uncomfortable—"

"No. It's fine," Will says. "I'm not. It's just… wow."

His brother huffs out a laugh. "Yeah, tell me about it."

Will narrows his eyes in thought. "Wait, what did you say? To Hop?"

"Um," Jonathan looks away, not meeting Will's eyes. "I said I'd have to ask you first, but… I said yes. That he should do it. He makes Mom so happy, I thought it'd be good for everyone. Plus, with El and everything—"

"Of course." That makes sense. Will actually breaks the idea down, piece by piece, and really, it's not so bad. Hop already is with them, especially Mom, on a near daily basis. She'd been sleeping in an old radio station just to be near him, and he'd been nothing but protective and loyal from what Will could see.

Plus, asking Jonathan for permission in the first place seems respectable. Will doesn't know much about marriage, but including the family must add some bonus points, or something.

"I'm fine with it," Will says. "You're right. I think she'd be really happy."

Sighing in obvious relief, Jonathan relaxes against the wall. Will didn't even notice his tension until it left his body.

"Alright, cool," Jonathan says. With a slight shake of his head, he smiles disbelievingly. "Can you imagine a wedding in all this?"

Will chuckles, not even close to having thought about the actual wedding yet. "I know. I wonder if they'll even want a big wedding. Or if they'll just get the papers signed, or however it is people get married."

"Yeah," Jonathan breathes out. "I don't know, I think a wedding might be good for everyone. Boost morale, maybe?"

"Huh." Will never thought about it like that. Maybe because the concept of a happy, lavish wedding has never been on his radar. He knows marriage isn't for people like him. "Maybe."

Jonathan frowns at Will's seemingly random drop in demeanor, but Will must be painfully easy to read because he inhales sharply in realization a second later.

"Do you, uh…" He scrambles for the words. "Do you ever want to get married?"

Usually, questions like that would send spikes of fear through Will, causing his palms to sweat and his face to pale. Now, it's just annoying. He's too tired to worry about lying anymore.

"I don't know. Does it matter?"

"I mean, I just think— if you ever did, you know—"

"Why are you doing that?" Will asks flatly.

Jonathan shifts in his stance. "Doing what?"

"Pretending like you don't know." Will's shocked at his ability to meet his brother's eyes so strongly. "You obviously know. Everyone knows."

His brother hides his surprise at Will's boldness extremely poorly. "No one knows anything, Will. Including me. I don't know anything until you tell me."

What must be an hour of silence passes between them.

"But if I did know something," Jonathan tries, nerves palpable. "I would know that I have the coolest, most awesome and caring brother in the world. And that nothing would ever make me like—"

"I'm gay."

Jonathan freezes in his tracks, mouth still formed on his last word.

"Oh."

Fear begins to crawl up Will's spine, infecting all the muscles in his body.

"Oh? That's it?" He can't help the waver in his question. Did he read this all wrong? Did Jonathan actually not know?

Shaking his head furiously, Jonathan pulls himself together. "No, no. Shit. Sorry. Thank you for telling me, Will. That was really brave. I love you so much."

Broken laughter at his brother's fumbling comes before the crying. Will has no idea how he's able to produce more tears, but lo and behold, wetness coats his cheeks for the hundredth time that day. Jonathan seats himself next to Will, unabashedly pulling him into a warm hug. His shirt dampens instantly as Will buries his head into it.

"I love you so much, bud. Forever, no matter what. You got that?"

Will nods, sniffling. Gross.

"Yeah. Thank you. Thank you so much."

Jonathan leans back, and Will is shocked to find his eyes shiner than before.

"Don't thank me, Will. I didn't do anything."

"Bullshit," Will says. "Not everyone would act like… y'know."

And he does know. Of course he does. Will counts his lucky stars that his family is the most accepting and loving one in all of Indiana.

"Yeah," Jonathan agrees sadly. "I know. Still, I could've done better, I think."

Will shrugs, grinning. "Eh. You got there in the end."

He falls back onto the mattress, laughing, as Jonathan gives him a playful shove.

"Shut up," he whines. "I just didn't think you were gonna tell me like that, is all! I wasn't expecting it."

Raising an eyebrow, Will gives his brother the most deadpan stare he can muster through his smile.

"So you did know."

Will bursts into giggles at Jonathan's stricken expression, like a deer caught in headlights. He would usually feel bad, but watching him flounder is all too enjoyable for Will, who's still lightheaded from the adrenaline rush.

"Uh, no, what? I didn't—" When he sees Will isn't angry—quite the opposite, in fact—some of the tension leaves his shoulders. "Oh, whatever."

Clattering from downstairs sobers Will up pretty quickly. He clears his throat, raw from tears and laughter.

"Do you think," Will wrings his hands. "Do the others know? Is it actually obvious?"

"No, no," Jonathan insists. "Will, I promise you, no one will know until you tell them."

Will brings back his stony stare. "You did."

"Well, I'm special. I'm your brother, I'm supposed to know these things," Jonathan says. "But the others? They don't know anything, Will. But I know that they'll be supportive when— if you decide to tell them."

Will isn't convinced, picking his nails worriedly. His eyes are glued to the door, where commotion bleeds through from downstairs.

"Is there anything else?" Will snaps back to Jonathan, who has a scarily knowing gleam in his eye. "That I should know?"

"What do you mean?"

Jonathan can't hide his smirk. "I don't know, maybe about a certain someone?"

Groaning in embarrassment, Will flops down onto the bed, covering his burning face with his hands. "Oh my God, shut up."

A finger pokes at his hand, trying to move it away from his face. Will resists, not wanting to be anymore exposed than he already is.

"I've missed out on sixteen years of teasing you about crushes, Will," Jonathan says. "I gotta make up for lost time."

"You really don't."

Will uncovers one of his eyes, meeting Jonathan's. "Do you think he knows?"

His brother doesn't bother asking who, which only increases Will's humiliation.

"I guarantee you he doesn't," Jonathan says, a rather irritated tone seeping in. "He's so clueless, I wonder how he even gets his shoes on the right feet in the morning."

Will slaps Jonathan's hands away, but his laughter negates any bite it might've had. "Don't bully him. He tries his best."

Jonathan doesn't agree, if his scowl is any indication. "I'm glad that you two made up. Even if you definitely forgave him too easily."

"Whatever," Will grumbles. "He apologized."

Contemplative silence fills the room. Jonathan flits his gaze around nervously, biting his lip as he debates whatever thought is itching to come out.

"Did you ever tell him?"

"Huh?"

"About the painting."

Will shoots up at lightning speed. "How do you know—"

"You wouldn't let us see it, Will. El had no idea what you were making. And I don't think she ever talked about Mike being the 'heart of the Party,' either."

Shit. "Yeah, but it's still true."

Jonathan gives him a knowing stare.

"I was only trying to help." It comes out broken and sad, and Will is not crying again. "He wouldn't care if it came from me."

Jonathan's face falls, and he doesn't say anything, just pulls Will into another embrace, this one tender and considerate. Like Will is made of chipped glass, one blow away from shattering entirely.

"I'm sorry," Jonathan mumbles into his hair.

"'s okay."

"He's a dick."

Will snorts, shoving his brother back. "You just hate him."

"Because he's a dick."

Sighing, Will leans back against the wall. "Be nice to him, okay? He's had a rough day."

Jonathan nods, a somewhat guilty frown tugging at his lips. "Yeah. Shit, I'm sorry."

Satisfied, Will relaxes against the wall. Small splinters of wood press into his head, but he doesn't bother moving.

Telling Jonathan about his sexuality took a burden of his shoulders Will didn't know he was carrying. Only now does Will remember that he's never actually said the words aloud before. Sure, he's known he didn't like girls for years now, and he's had a crush on Mike since before he understood what it meant, but there's a new kind of freedom that comes with speaking the words aloud, into the universe. A finality that both scares him and relieves him of the pressure.

"I should probably go," Jonathan says reluctantly. "You'll be okay?"

His smile is less forced than Will would've thought it to be. 

"Yeah, I'm okay."

- - -

Misty droplets turn into frozen bullets on his skin as Will bikes down the slippery streets of Hawkins. Trees and houses pass by him in a blur, meshing into a watercolor of orange and brown. Will doesn't think about nor care where he's going. It's Hawkins; even in unfamiliar territory, he knows he won't get lost.

After another couple restless hours of sleep, Will trudged downstairs to ask Vickie if there was a bike he could borrow. She gave him Derek's old one, albeit extremely reluctantly, but the brown walls of the barn were starting to feel like a prison cell.

Nobody wanted him to leave, especially with the newfound knowledge of Vecna's resurgence fresh in everyone's minds. But he's overwhelmed and scared and honestly, just needs a break from pretending to be okay for his friends.

Because Will is not okay. Not in the slightest. Witnessing Vecna attack the Wheeler's, people who are basically his second family, and being utterly helpless to stop it brought a unique, sickening sort of pain, one that he hoped would pass with a few hours of sleep. It did not. Even his conversation with Jonathan, while reassuring and overall quite happy, isn't enough to outweigh the doom lurking over his head.

Not only that, but the newfound power buzzing under his skin feels like a constant itch he can't quite scratch, like it's natural and invasive all at once. It's terrible and gross and he wants it gone. But when does Will ever get what he wants?

His vision goes foggy, and Will knows it's not from the increasing downpour outside. One hand leaves the handlebars of the bike to wipe the moisture from his eyes. At the same time, his tire gets caught in an unfortunate pothole in the asphalt, and his inability to steady the bicycle sends Will careening off balance, his feet caught in the pedals. The wheels swerve to the side, and Will goes flying off the bike, face first to the ground. He braces himself to catch his fall, but the slick road makes it difficult; Will hits the ground hard on his face, only barely managing to slow the impact.

"Fuck," he hisses as his palms scrape the rocky pavement.

Will's bike crashes into a heap on the sidewalk, tires spinning mockingly. He lays next to it, not bothering to push himself up. Fatter droplets of rain begin to fall from the treetops above him, landing on his face and muddy hands.

Tenderly, he presses onto the bridge of his aching nose, wincing when his hands come away stained red. Will sighs heavily, letting his arms rest at his sides as the rain continues to pour over his body. He knows he should stand up, find somewhere to wait out this growing storm. But the rustling of autumn leaves paired with the sibilant rain made for such a relaxing ambiance, Will can't bring himself to move. Cool water soaks the back of his borrowed shirt. It's more refreshing than uncomfortable. Grounding, he thinks.

Time passes, slowly or quickly. Will isn't sure, nor does he care. Freezing rain washes his worries away, into the streams of water pouring into the sewers. If only he could keep it that way.

Eyes closed, Will hears the car approaching rather than sees it. No need to pry them open. He's far enough off the street that anyone can steer around his pathetic form.

Will's mind feels like a cloud, so empty and floaty that he doesn't realize whatever vehicle sharing the road with him has parked directly in front of him, headlights beaming and engine growling.

Even when the driver flounders out of the door, sneakers splashing into the puddle under their car, Will does not look up. He's too content to stay in the rain forever, melting into the Earth. Never worrying about monsters or feelings or imminent death again.

Footsteps approach him, the heavy splattering of water puddles becoming more distinctive among the rainfall. Will hears the person's sharp inhale as they observe what can only be his terrible condition. Terrible seems to be his default lately.

"Jeez." The driver is a man. His voice yanks Will out of whatever daze he's in, because the voice is oddly recognizable. It sends nervous chills through Will's already shivering body.

"Hey, you okay— wait, Will?"

And then he places it: Chance, from the basketball team. Now he really doesn't want to open his eyes, not wanting to see the look of absolute disgusted confusion on Chance's face as he scoffs at Will's prone form soaking in the rain like an idiot.

Only when a calloused hand brushes across his hair do Will's eyes fly open, confusion overtaking any fear of embarrassment. Chance hovers uncertainly above him, fully kneeling on the wet pavement. Shiny droplets of rain drip from his long eyelashes onto Will's own, replacing the rain that Chance now blocks from landing on him. Creases cut into his tan skin in worry, concern etched into each inch of his face.

"Will, are you okay?" His gaze flits over to the toppled bicycle. "Shit, did you crash? Can you hear me?"

Chance's fingers move from his hair to the gash on his nose, lightly applying pressure to the bruising mark. That makes Will flinch, finally producing a response in the form of a low groan.

"'m fine," Will mumbles, pushing Chance's arm away. The other boy is not deterred, not moving from his place above Will.

"Why are you out here in the rain? Did you hit your head? Can you walk? Woah, you're freezing."

Before he can reply, Chance tucks an arm under his neck, and in one smooth motion, pulls him up into a seated position. It's a good thing Will isn't actually concussed, otherwise he likely would've keeled over from the sudden shift. Even so, Will takes a second to refocus his gaze on Chance, their faces mere inches apart with the new proximity.

Chance shifts so he's on one knee, never letting go of Will's neck.

"Come on, you need to warm up."

Another arm loops around his waist, and Chance doesn't bother asking before hauling Will to his feet with ease, walking him back to his car. Will doesn't know why he goes along with it, or leans into Chance's warm side, or says nothing. It's all a blur, and he is quite cold. That must be it.

One strong arm breaks away from Will to open the car door, and a wave of warm, dry air sends another shiver down Will's spine. For some reason, Chance feels the need to practically set Will down on the seat, rearranging his limbs so they fit comfortably. Will still can't understand why he isn't stopping him.

"Hang on, I'll— just hang on." Chance slams the door, running back to fetch Will's discarded bicycle. From the looks of it, there's no significant damage. Thankfully. Will wouldn't want to explain that to Vickie or her parents.

Will watches in the mirror as Chance shoves the dirty bicycle in his backseat, covering the pristine leather in filth and leaves.

He says nothing as he reenters the drivers seat, shifting the car into gear and driving away. His mother's disappointed voice reprimands his stupidity in his mind, letting this strange boy he spoke to once drive him wherever in the pouring rain. But it's cold outside and warm in the car, and while Will can admit to his apprehension, he doesn't feel unsafe. What he does feel, though, is angry.

"Dustin told us what you did," Will rasps. "At the cemetery."

Silence.

Will scoffs. "Are you gonna beat me up, too?"

"I wouldn't hurt you."

Will tries to meet his eyes, flabbergasted, but Chance is locked on the road, expression unwavering.

"Are you kidding me? You already did when you hurt my friends."

"I didn't hit him. I just… held him."

Rage flares through Will like fire.

"Held him so your asshole friends could beat him to death."

Chance finally has the decency to look ashamed, momentarily breaking his steadfast stare at the road.

"They were never gonna kill him," Chance mumbles. "He was at Munson's grave. Who knows what kind of ritual sacrifice he was doing there?"

Only when Chance angles towards him does Will notice the small, silver necklace clasped around his collar. Off the thin chain is a shining cross pendant, reflecting the glow of the interior lights.

"Is that what they're telling you?" Will asks, genuinely curious. "At whatever church you go to?"

Chance meets Will's eyes, startled, a hand unconsciously gripping the silver around his neck.

"That's not… they aren't saying anything."

From the hesitant lilt in his tone, Chance doesn't even believe the things he's telling Will. Scoffing, Will faces the window. Trees fly past them in a blur, muddled by the rain and fog. Whatever area of Hawkins they're in is not recognizable to Will.

"Just let me out," Will says sullenly. "I'll walk home."

Instead of responding, Chance turns the car onto a desolate side street. It looks more like a hiking trail than a road. He puts the car in park, but when Will goes to open the door, he finds it locked.

"Unlock the door, Chance." Will isn't asking, nerves rising. He continues to try the door handle, but it won't budge.

"Was Wheeler telling the truth?"

Confused, Will halts his attempts on the door. "Huh?"

"Y'know… when he was talking about you. And me."

Will freezes, all the air sucked from his lungs.

"I don't… what?"

Chance twirls his necklace. "When he said you think I'm hot. Was he lying?"

Suddenly, the car no longer is a safe respite from the rain. The warmth isn't comforting, it's suffocating, and Will registers for the first time that he's alone with this man he doesn't know with nowhere to escape.

He saw what Chance and his friends did to Dustin, regardless of whatever excuse he pulled out of his ass. How could he be so stupid as to get in his car, let him drive them to God knows where?

"Wha- I don't know what you're talking about," Will stammers. He's shaking in his seat. Adrenaline induced dizziness morphs into borderline nausea.

Chance doesn't reply. His expression is hideously unreadable, and Will's vaguely struck by the thought that he could kill him if he so chose to. Tears build up in his eyes against his will, and he takes a steadying breath to calm down. Awareness is key in life or death situations, Hopper had said.

"If you did…" Chance grips the wheel tighter. "I don't mind."

…

What?

Everything in Will is screaming that this is a trap, that he should run… but this type of attention is one he's never even witnessed, let alone experienced. And something binds him to his chair. His heartbeat pounds in his ears.

"What?" It comes out as barely more than a whisper, a breath of caution.

One of Chance's hands leaves the steering wheel, resting on the center console. Rain continues pouring outside, but the silence of the car overpowers the pattering drops on the windshield. It's the loudest silence Will has ever heard.

"I don't mind," Chance repeats, surer this time. "It doesn't bother me if you think… that."

His phrasing gives Will pause. Could this be a poor attempt at flirting, or an even poorer attempt of Chance solidifying himself as a queer ally? Either way, Will's stuck between a rock and a hard place. Never has he even imagined himself in this scenario, especially with a boy he's known for all of two days.

Chance hand wanders closer to Will, fingers lightly brushing his thigh.

"I don't— what are you doing?"

His hand inches further, towards his knee, where Will's own is resting. Too stunned to articulate the question, Will just accepts it when Chance's fingers interlace with his own, resting joined on his leg. His other hand moves slowly towards his necklace, tucking it into his shirt in one smooth motion.

Will can hardly call himself religious, but that alone makes him feel like a sinner.

"Tell me to stop." Chance's words are barely more than an exhale as he inches closer and closer to Will. "Tell me to stop and I will."

No thoughts are in Will's mind. Not one. It's as if Chance had hit the off switch for his brain and body, and he's just an empty shell of a person, watching some hot basketball player lean in to kiss some random nerd. That would never happen to him.

Lips press onto his, and Will comes back online, buzzing energy rippling through his veins, and wow, it is happening to him. Him, Will Byers, is having his first kiss with a cute guy in a parked car in the woods. It's like one of his fantasies come to life, only this time the phantom press of lips on his own is solid, and tangible, and real.

Will leans into the kiss, unsure of what exactly to do, but hoping kissing comes naturally to people in the moment. He must be right, because Chance only pulls Will closer, deepening their kiss even more, his free hand coming up to hold Will's cheek.

And Will begins to understand the appeal of kissing. It's oddly comforting, in a way, to have someone be this conscious of him and his body. His lips part slightly, and Chance jumps on the opportunity to bite into his lip, and Will's hand instinctively tugs on his hair.

Chance retreats for a fraction of a second, just enough time to mutter out, "God, you're beautiful." Will blushes furiously as he's yanked right back into a much more heated kiss.

Will doesn't remember the last time someone has called him beautiful. Or if someone has ever said that in the first place. He might as well be floating for how lightheaded he is, groaning softly as Chance weaves his fingers through Will's hair, brushing the nape of his neck with his thumb. Time slips by. Will loses track of whatever is not inside this crammed car in the woods.

Wow, he thinks. No wonder Mike and El do this so often.

Mike. Just like that, all the enjoyment is sucked out of the car. Will can no longer focus on the handsome man in front of him, not without comparing each and every one of his features to another dark-haired boy's.

Chance must notice the change in demeanor, since he pulls away instantly.

"Hey, you okay?"

Will can't even form words. His brain is like mush, overloaded and powered down all in the span of five seconds. Tingles buzz on his swollen lips, and Chance's worried eyes are the only thing that allows him to formulate a response.

"I should go," Will says, breathless. "I'll walk the rest of the way."

Evidently disappointed, but nodding all the same, Chance finally unlocks the door, his hand not having untangled itself from Will's. A blast of freezing air hits them both as Will pushes open the heavy metal, and Chance tightens his grip.

"Here." He reaches into the backseat. "Take this so you don't freeze."

It's his Varsity jacket. Green lettering spells out his name, Chance, stitched mockingly into the fabric. Almost like a tag, or a deed. Wearing it feels like Will giving Chance a level of ownership over him that he's not entirely comfortable with.

But as another gust of wind wafts through the car, sending shivers through Will's freezing body, he concedes, wrapping the jacket cautiously around his shoulders. Chance watches, unwavering, so intensely that Will's face heats up at the attention.

"It looks good on you," Chance says, the smallest hint of a smile on his face. "I'll have to stop by soon to pick it up though, yeah?"

There's no denying the implication in his words. Will shrugs, conflicting feelings battling within him as he extracts himself from Chance's hold and the vehicle.

"I guess so," he says, pulling his bike out. "See you, Chance."

"See you, Byers."

With a slam of the door, Will shuts the last hour away, locks it into a filing box so far in the back of his brain he doubts he'll be able to find the key later on.

Only when the rumbling of the tires becomes a faint hum does Will realize how insane he's acting. Here he is, in a secluded car with a handsome boy, an athlete, who just confessed he's totally into Will, kissed him, and gave him his customized basketball jacket. And somehow, Will's found a way to twist it into something negative, something sad, when he should be over the moon. Isn't this what he wants?

Why does he feel like shit?

He knows why. He's always known why. He knew it when Chance's lips were pressed against his own, sweet and wanting, and all he could think about was the boy he can never have.

Has he really resigned himself to a fate of unrequited love for the rest of eternity?

Mike's soft gaze flashes through his mind. His gentle eyes, parted lips, silky hair. And Will knows the answer without giving it a second thought.

---

In hindsight, he probably should've asked Chance to drop him off a bit closer to Crescent. Will's been riding his bike for what feels like hours, only just finding the back entrance to the Turnbow Farm.

What he thought would be optimal time to mull over the last day's events became Will stewing in his own misery for however long he's been pedaling this damn bike. Thoughts of Chance and Mike fly through his brain like blurry trees in his periphery. Unfocused and undefined, but always there, no matter how badly he tries to look straight ahead.

His brain can't seem to compartmentalize his feelings about either of them. Well, it can, but there's painful dissonance overriding them both.

Because he enjoyed kissing Chance. Physically, it was a good kiss. Not that he has any mode of comparison, but Will liked it enough.

But emotionally? It was weird and odd and wrong, and Will knows exactly why. Anger lurks behind his sadness and confusion. At himself, at Mike, at the world for bestowing him with cursed love.

Will shakes his head, hoping the buzzing thoughts will fly out of his ears. There are much more pressing matters than his emotional crisis. He hopes Mike is back with Jonathan. Maybe his brother could knock some sense into him. Or maybe Mike could… just be there. That always seems to help.

As he approaches the stretch of dirt road, Will spots a van parked on the tree line, with puffs of white smoke wafting up from its back tire. An older woman kneels next to it sadly, fiddling with a wrench in her hand. From her saddened expression, she has no idea what to do to fix the leak.

Will's heart clenches in sympathy for her, and he brakes his bike, walking the last few paces to reach her. A small part of him is thankful for the distraction.

"Uh, Ma'am?" The woman looks up at Will's voice. "Do you need some help?"

Now that Will has a clear view of her face, he gauges that she must be sixty-ish years old, with a short haircut and stern eyes. If she wasn't so obviously upset, Will might've been afraid of the intensity she radiated.

"Oh, thank you, young man," she says with a grateful smile. "I'm just trying to get this delivery up to my farm, but I think I hit a pothole, or a branch back there."

She hands Will the wrench, taking the bike from his grip so he can examine the tire. He's never been very good with cars, not like Jonathan, but enough lessons with his dad had given him the general idea.

"Wait, your farm?" Will questions. "You live here?"

The woman shrugs. "So-so. Family owned, you know? I'm in and out. Are you a visitor?"

Will stutters on his movements, not sure how much information is safe to reveal. He opts for as little as possible, knowing that was the Party's usual rule.

"Uh, kinda," Will says. "Just going for a bike ride. Trying to clear my head, I guess."

"I hear that," the woman replies. "So much going on in this town, you never know what could be coming next, huh?"

Will chuckles. "For sure."

Something sharp pokes into his neck, and Will swats it away, blaming the woods for the influx of bug bites he'll most definitely have. All he hits is his own skin.

Humming in agitation, Will refocuses on the tire, but it weirdly feels like someone has turned the sun up a few thousand degrees. Ripples of heat distort the image before him, and he frowns as a black blob replaces where the deflated tire should be.

"I actually don't…" Will's vision fades out, and he rubs a hand over his eyes to recenter himself. "Uh…"

Without meaning to, Will drops the wrench, his hands too weak to tighten his fists around the tool. Terror courses through him as he looks back at the woman, expecting her to have similar symptoms. Maybe it's something from the smoke emitting from the car?

But she appears steady on her feet, even through Will's blurry vision. Too steady, even. Her expression shows no level of concern that Will would expect from someone witnessing a stranger having what must be some sort of allergic reaction.

"Shit, I— sorry." Forming words is an impossible task. His very little remaining energy is focused solely on staying awake, which Will quickly learns won't be possible for much longer.

"I… should go," Will slurs out, falling flat on his ass as he attempts to stand.

The lady's lip curls up in a malicious grin as she squats down beside him. Now on his back, Will can see the bright light of the sun breaking through the swirling clouds.

"It's okay. You just need some help, don't you?" Nothing about her tone suggests sincerity, and Will musters up enough energy to realize he's been tricked.

"Don't worry, Will. We're going to help you."

And there's no time to concern himself with who she is, or how she knows his name, or the fact he's being abducted, before the sunlight burns bright enough to blind him, his vision dimming out into nothingness.

Chapter Text

"How much longer do you think it'll be?"

Nancy drifts out of her light doze at her brother's painfully loud question from the chair to her right. The words may as well bounce around the pristine white waiting room walls of Hawkins Memorial.

"I don't know, Mike." Jonathan, who sits to her left, answers for her, much quieter than Mike. Nancy is grateful; she's been two seconds away from crying for the past five hours.

Sprinting into her house to find her dad dead, torn apart and bleeding, was one of the worst experiences of her life. The image is all too clear in her head, burned into her retinas like a branding. Eleven, ever the Superhero, lead her away the best she could, only for them to find Nancy's mom in a similar state upstairs. Her heart had only just stopped, and with the joint effort of El's powers and Nancy's pure determination, Karen Wheeler's heart was beating when the ambulance arrived on the scene.

Holly was gone. They didn't need to discuss who took her. Both girls pieced it together, with the radio station and Upside Down slime staining her bedroom carpet.

Once Steve and Dustin got them out, it all became a distorted blur. Processing everything can wait until she's alone, where she doesn't need to be strong for her little brother. Mike hides it well, better than Nancy does, but she can tell how close to breaking down he is. Since the three had arrived at the hospital, he's been anxious and fidgety, barely able to stay in the waiting room chair for more than ten minutes at a time. Soon, he'll need tape to keep his drooping eyes open, his tiredness creeping up to overpower his nerves.

"Should we ask again?" Nancy can hear the persistent tapping of his foot on the tile. "I mean, what if something happened—"

"Mike," Nancy cuts him off, opening her puffy eyes blearily. "We need to let the doctors work, alright? They'll tell us when we can see her."

Mike slumps into his chair, continuing to tap his foot. His expression is painfully upset, and Nancy's heart clenches.

"Do you want to go ho— uh, back to Vickie's place for a bit? Or Hop's cabin? Jonathan can drive you. I'll call if there's any updates."

Jonathan sits up, eyebrows pinched, clearly not on board with her proposed plan. In all honesty, she doesn't really want him to leave, either. After their first encounter with the Upside Down, she promised Mike she'd be there for him no matter what. That they'd be there for each other. Nancy isn't so sure she lived up to that promise.

But now, Mike is all she has left. And she's all he has, too. Of course, Jonathan and the Byers and all their friends will be there for them (she can tell Jonathan's fighting an internal battle, wanting to be with both her and his brother right now), but it's not the same as her own family. There's a connection there that can't be replicated.

"No," Mike says. "I'm not leaving."

With his little side-eye to Jonathan, Nancy gathers he especially is not leaving with just Jonathan.

Exhaling loudly, Jonathan sits up in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees to get right in Mike's face. "We could be waiting here for hours, Mike. A full day, even. If you're going to wait here, at least try and get some sleep. You don't look good."

Nancy can hear the unspoken 'and, it'll keep you quiet.'

"Wow, thanks."

Jonathan levels a look at him. "Seriously. At least try."

Stubborn as ever, Mike does not. He leans back in his hard, plastic chair, arms crossed over his chest and eyes comically widened.

"I'm not tired," he grumbles.

Eyebrow raised, Jonathan shrugs."Whatever. You know if you close your eyes you'll be asleep."

"Will not."

"Okay, Mike."

"Wanna bet?"

"Sure."

Mike's asleep within five minutes.

"I don't know how you do that," Nancy whispers, eyes trained on her brother's sleeping face. His features are contorted in stress, even resting.

Jonathan huffs out a laugh. "Lots of practice. Will had a hard time sleeping for years. Even before everything."

"Yeah." Nancy wants to reach out, brush a hand through Mike's hair. "Makes sense."

A delicate arm wraps around her, and Nancy leans into her boyfriend, resting herself on his shoulder.

"Do you want to try and get some sleep, too?" Jonathan murmurs.

Nancy hums. Sleep does sound nice. A worn clock on the wall reads 3:31. She's been up for almost twenty hours.

"I don't know if I can," she confesses. "After everything… with Dad, and Holly—"

Tears well up in her eyes, and Jonathan tucks her closer into his embrace.

"I get it," he says. "But—"

"I can't, Jonathan."

He surrenders with a quiet acknowledgement, content to hold her in his arms for as long as she needs. Nancy lets a few tears slip from her eyes, tilting her head slightly to make sure Mike's still asleep.

"I need to be there for him," she says, more to herself than Jonathan. Her brother's head is leaned back against the wall, mouth parted. It can't be comfortable, or good for his neck, but Nancy's just glad he's getting a break from everything in sleep.

"You'll both be there for each other," Jonathan insists. "And everyone else, too. We're all here for you, Nance."

"Yeah," she mutters halfheartedly. "Yeah, I know. Thank you."

Jonathan's quiet for a moment. "Is there something else?"

Nancy's eyes are still on Mike. "I don't know. I'm worried about him."

Frowning, her boyfriend's eyes drift to her brother. "Did something happen?"

Nancy levels him a look.

"Sorry, bad question. Did something else happen? Like, before?"

She moves her hand to lace through Jonathan's, and the firm pressure of him squeezing her palm is enough encouragement to open up.

"Maybe? He just seems… sad." Nancy shakes her head. "That sounds dumb. Of course he's sad. We all are."

Jonathan sits quietly, waiting for Nancy to continue if she wants to. She's always been grateful for how attuned they are, how much comfort Jonathan provides without ever saying a word.

"I feel like he's pulling away. Or… hiding something that's weighing on him. I can tell he's upset, but I don't know how to talk to him. We're not like you and Will."

Jonathan starts to reply, but now that Nancy's started, she can't stop.

"And I feel like if I don't find out what's wrong, he's just going to keep repressing everything, and now with all of this added on, it'll be too much and he'll just—"

"Nancy." She stops as Jonathan sits up, holding her face gently in his hands. A delicate thumb brushes away the moisture coating her cheeks.

"Sorry," she whispers, bowing her head. "Everything's just… overwhelming."

"I know," Jonathan says. "But you don't have to carry it all alone. I'm here; I'll always be here."

"You don't know that." Nancy can't help it. The floodgates have opened, all her fears spilling out. "You can't promise that."

Jonathan's hands find her own. He presses them to his lips.

"I can't," he admits. "But I can promise that I'll fight to stay by your side, no matter what. And even if I'm not there, I promise I'm always in your corner. Forever."

Both are openly crying now. Nancy presses their foreheads together, the gesture somehow more intimate than a kiss.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

They resume their embrace, with Nancy curled into Jonathan's neck even closer than before. She feels a need to continue the conversation, savor these fleeting moments she has with Jonathan (and provide herself with a distraction so she has no time to think of grief and misery).

"How's Will? And your mom?" Nancy blurts out. "It's been so chaotic, I haven't been able to ask how you're doing."

Jonathan pulls back and gives her a little look, like how he's doing is inconsequential at the moment, but shrugs nonetheless.

"Mom's okay, I think. She's always been tough, you know." He hesitates, pulling his lip into his teeth.

Hoping she's not overstepping, Nancy tentatively asks, "And Will?"

Briefly, his eyes dart to Mike, who's still soundly asleep, drool spilling from his open mouth.

"It's been hard for him," Jonathan says. "His connection to the Upside Down has always been difficult, but now… it's like it's growing, or something. You saw what happened at the station."

So much has happened, she almost forgot how Will had displayed his own sort of powers while apparently fighting Vecna.

"Is he okay?" Nancy asks. Unnecessarily, she realizes; Jonathan wouldn't be here if he wasn't.

"Okay enough," he says, dejected. "Mom told me how he passed out after killing the power in the station. And about the Demogorgon. I just…"

He trails off with a shake of his head.

"I'm sorry," Nancy says. "He deserves better."

His lips upturn for a moment in a fleeting, sad smile. "Yeah. He does."

Again, his eyes drift to Mike. Nancy knows why; her brother had been ignoring Will for months after their move to California. Jonathan had told her during a rather angry outburst on one of their phone calls. Nancy said she'd talk to Mike, see what was up. After one poor attempt during a ride to school that only resulted in a mumbled "I'm fine, Nancy," she'd given up. Mike clearly had no interest in talking, especially not to her.

The waiting room goes silent except for the incessant ticking of the clock on the wall. It's uncomfortable to listen to. None of them are huge fans of clocks anymore, but Nancy especially can't stand them. After being in Vecna's trance, hearing that God-awful chime, she removed her analog clock from her room and started using a digital.

A question surfaces in her mind. "Did Will tell you anything about what Henry showed him? At school?"

Jonathan stiffens. "We haven't really had a chance to talk yet. He wasn't playing his music when I saw him, though."

"Maybe it was like what happened to me?" Nancy certainly hopes not. "He just wanted to show him something?"

"Why wouldn't he tell us?" Jonathan's hand moves through his hair. "We said we wouldn't keep secrets anymore. When I found him in Castle Byers, we agreed to tell each other things. Why wouldn't he tell me?"

"Speaking of," Nancy shifts the conversation, too many unanswered questions racing through her mind. "Did he ever tell you what happened? Like, how he got there?"

With a shake of his head, Jonathan replies. "No. But it makes more sense now, I think. There was a broken radio that was playing music, and Will's nose was bleeding, and he was really tired. I thought it was Vecna, but…"

"You think it was him?" Nancy asks quietly. "His own powers?"

Almost imperceptibly, Jonathan nods. Nancy glances at her brother.

"Do you think he told Mike?"

Nancy had noticed the two boys had grown closer over the past year back in Hawkins, similarly to how they were back before Will's disappearance. And right after it, she supposes. Mike had always been protective over his friends, but Will was different, someone who Mike could be overbearing towards and not worry about push-back or judgment. She could always tell they had a special relationship, one uniquely them.

"Maybe," Jonathan says. "They've definitely been closer lately. Actually, the morning after the whole Castle Byers thing, Mike was, well, he looked like he was about to cry. And Will was trying to comfort him, I guess, but, well… I don't know."

Gears are turning in Jonathan's head for reasons unknown to Nancy. He looks much more puzzled than he should be, given the conversation.

Ever the investigator, she prods. "Why do you seem so confused? Aren't they best friends? Wait, why was Mike crying?"

Jonathan hesitates, glancing nervously between her and her brother. "I don't know why. I mean, he wasn't like, crying, but he looked really upset. And Will did, too. But not like they were fighting. A different kind of upset."

Mike shifts a bit in his sleep, his head lolling onto Nancy's arm. She removes herself from Jonathan's hold enough to allow Mike to lean on her shoulder, into her neck, and warmth floods through her as he nuzzles into the touch.

"See? You're good with him," Jonathan says with a smirk. "Don't compare yourself to me and Will. You love Mike just as much."

"Yeah," Nancy agrees, the sadness sneaking back in. "But do you think he knows that? How much I love him?"

"Of course, Nance." Confidence is clear in his tone, and Nancy can't help but match his sincere smile. "He's just… difficult, sometimes."

She can't argue with that. "Why does he hate you so much?"

Jonathan rolls his eyes at her playful smirk. "Hell if I know. Too protective over Will, probably."

That makes sense. Both Mike and Jonathan have been ardently watchful over Will for years, making sure his feelings are taken care of, his every need is met.

"Probably," Nancy agrees. "Mike's like his second brother. You have competition."

Jonathan chokes, his face contorting into a vaguely disgusted expression.

Nancy frowns. "What?"

"Uh, nothing," Jonathan says with a grimace. "Just… had something in my throat."

For emphasis, he clears said throat exaggeratedly. Nancy furrows her eyebrows in confusion, feeling more and more like there's some piece of this puzzle she's missing.

Mike stirs a bit on her shoulder at Jonathan's annoying fake coughing. Large, unfocused eyes blinking open hazily.

"'s 'appenin?"

"Nothing, Mike," Nancy says, shooting her boyfriend an irritated glare. "Go back to sleep."

"Mmkay."

Exhaustion must've finally caught up to him, because he says nothing as he leans back into Nancy's jacket, sighing contentedly as he drifts off again.

"Sorry," Jonathan stage-whispers, not sounding very sorry. Nancy can't help the way her smile returns at the way his eyes twinkle.

"Sure you are."

Nancy leans back into Jonathan's side, careful to not jostle Mike. For a moment, she can forget about the Hell raining down outside the window, the red glow of the Upside Down and the tragedy plaguing her family for the rest of their lives. Right now, she has the two most important people in the world by her side, and that's enough.

- - -

By the time they're allowed into Karen Wheeler's room, rain has begun to downpour outside, battering harshly on the windows.

Visiting her mom was even harder than Nancy thought it would be. Luckily, her surgery went well enough, but she'll still be in a medically induced coma for however long it takes to make a recovery. If she makes a recovery. The doctors think it's miraculous that she's even alive in the first place, so Nancy counts her lucky stars.

Mike, on the other hand, doesn't seem to feel the same way, lashing out in anger at the poor messenger of said news. Jonathan physically holds him back, clutching onto his arm tightly so he doesn't go swinging at the doctor and get them all thrown out. He calms down after seeing their mom, at least, and Nancy almost prefers his heated rage to the small, sorrowful expression on his face when they enter her hospital room.

They were only permitted to stay for thirty minutes her condition 'too sensitive for outsiders,' even family, to be invading her space for very long. Again, Mike was unhappy, but greatly subdued by seeing his mother in such a state. Nancy held back her tears at his expense.

Jonathan's car is quiet as they drive through the streets of Hawkins. Nancy opted to take the backseat with Mike, despite his insistence that it was completely unnecessary, and that he was totally fine.

"I know," she said. "But I'm not."

He kept quiet after that.

It's Nancy who breaks the silence after fifteen minutes. "Can we stop by Hop's cabin?"

Pivoting in his seat, Jonathan meets her eyes with a slight frown. "Right now?"

"I want to talk to El," Nancy adds. "About Holly."

At the mention of El, Mike sits up a little straighter in his seat. Nancy sometimes forgets their dating, with how little they're able to see each other lately. It must be hard for him to be so close, yet so far away from his girlfriend. God knows how bad it was for her and Jonathan being long-distance.

"I need to talk to her, too," Mike says. "About Will's powers. She could have some information that could be useful."

Oh.

"Uh, okay." Jonathan faces the road, turning them around so they can reroute to the cabin.

Nancy turns to Mike. "Are you and El okay?"

Immediately, his defenses rise, whole body tensing.

"Yeah? Why wouldn't we be?" he spits out. Nancy's taken aback by his sudden tone shift.

"Jeez, sorry," Nancy says, arms raised placatingly. "Just wondering. You only mentioned wanting to see her to talk about Will, so…"

Mike's eyes widen, and he curls into himself, crossing his arms stubbornly over his chest. "We're fine, Nancy. And I do want to see her."

There's something hidden in his words, something Nancy can't quite place. As badly as she wants to push him and find out what's really happening between them, she knows it's not her place. Mike's had a hard enough week.

"Okay," Nancy concedes. "But I'm here if you ever want to talk, alright?"

Mike briefly meets her eyes with a curt nod. "Yeah."

His gaze drifts out the window, where the rain continues to pour down. Clearly, their conversation is over.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Jonathan watching them in the rear-view mirror. When they make eye contact, he snaps his attention back towards the roads.

The rest of the ride is spent in comfortable silence. Nancy rests her head against the cold glass of the window, letting the soft pattering of raindrops occupy her thoughts. Paired with the steady rocking of the car, it's soothing enough for her to drift off for what must be ten seconds, before Jonathan stops the car with a jolt.

"Sorry," he says sincerely, as he observes her resting form. "We're here."

Because the rain hasn't let up, all three of them get absolutely soaked as they approach Hop's cabin. Mike leads the charge, basically sprinting in his haste to get to the door. He fiddles with the knob, only pulling harder when it doesn't open. Nancy pushes him aside with a roll of her eyes.

"Seriously, Mike? You think they're keeping the door unlocked?"

Grumbling, Mike takes a step back as Nancy knocks solidly on the door three times. Curtains shift inside, and a set of brown eyes peer through the glass. A second later, the door flies open on its own.

Dark bags stand out against Eleven's pale skin, and stress lines are carved deep into the creases of her forehead, but compared to when Nancy saw her last, she's looking better. Instead of her previous gray outfit, she's in a comfortable sweater and pants. A tired smile graces her face as she sees the three of them.

"Hi," she greets. "We were not expecting any visitors. Are you okay?"

Mike shoves Nancy aside to approach his girlfriend, throwing his arms around her without saying a word. Eleven hugs back, but her expression morphs into sadness.

"Are you okay?" she asks gently, not breaking their embrace. Mike nods where his chin rests on El's shoulder.

Nancy exchanges a quick look with Jonathan, who awkwardly shrugs. Before they're able to ask if they should step out for a moment, give them some space, Hopper trudges in from the kitchen, rifle in hand.

Mike immediately backs away from El, eyeing Hopper nervously.

"Relax, kid, it's not for you," Hopper says with a grin. "Just a precaution. We didn't know you were coming."

"Sorry about that," Nancy says. "Mike wanted to talk to El."

Hopper nods, and El's eyebrows downturn questioningly.

"About Holly?" El guesses, and gazes at the floor when Mike confirms.

"And Will, maybe." Mike wrings his hands. "If you have time. You're probably tired. I just—"

"No, it's okay," El says. Judging by her clipped tone, it's certainly not okay, but Mike doesn't seem to notice. "Can we talk first? About something else."

Nancy sees Jonathan wince at the way she delivers the question, and she can't help but do the same. Nothing about El's tone indicates a happy, loving discussion waiting to happen.

Mike, to his credit, picks up on this just as quickly. He shuffles nervously. "Yeah, of course."

Hopper watches with confusion as the two make their way into El's old bedroom, even moreso as she fully closes the door behind her.

"You know what's up with them?" he asks Jonathan, who shakes his head, equally as perplexed as he stares at the closed door.

"Is she okay?" Nancy can't help but ask. Last time she saw El was at her house, when she saved her mom's life, hands and clothes covered in blood.

Hopper glances back at the shut door. "She's tough. Is he okay?"

"He's tough," Nancy mirrors. "At least they have each other."

Humming, Hop turns away from the door, making his way back into the kitchen. "Want some water? We don't really have anything else yet."

Only when he says that does Nancy register the dryness of her throat. "Yes, please. Thank you."

Jonathan grabs Nancy's hand, leading her towards the torn couch. Puffs of stuffing explode out of the rips like clouds, and Nancy sits carefully to avoid them. Jonathan doesn't have the same reservations, flopping down over a large tear in the fabric, frowning when he falls right through it.

Nancy can't help but giggle at his antics, and Jonathan smiles brightly, happy to hear her laughter even at his own expense.

With two glasses of water in hand, Hopper reenters the makeshift living room, handing one to each of them.

"Sorry about the mess," he grunts, seating himself on a sofa chair. "Haven't had much time to reorganize the place."

Hop takes a sip of his own water, focus lingering on Jonathan. "Have you, uh, talked to your brother at all?"

His question comes out with a level of hesitancy so unnatural for Hopper that Nancy does a double take as she glances between the two. Clearly, there's more than simple pleasantries being exchanged, if Jonathan's fiddling hands are any indication.

"Yeah," Jonathan says with a small smile. "He's cool. If you want to talk to him at all, I bet he'd appreciate it."

Hopper's lips upturn in a similar grin, and he tries to fight it as he takes a sip of his water. "Cool. That's good."

Nancy nudges Jonathan lightly, conveying her question through her eyes. He looks at her, then back at Hopper, then back at her with a forced smile.

"Uh…"

"It's fine, kid," Hopper interjects. "I'm planning on proposing. I wanted Jonathan and Will's blessing before I did it."

Nancy's eyebrows shoot up to her hairline, her mouth falling open slightly. "Oh. Wow."

Hooper chuckles. "Yeah. You think she'll say yes?"

"Of course!" It's unthinkable that Joyce would ever say no. Nancy almost laughs at the very idea. Since Hopper's return to Hawkins and subsequent hiding, Joyce has barely left his side. The two are inseparable.

Jonathan nods in fervent agreement. "Hop, you're crazy if you think she'd say no."

From the way he readjusts nervously in his seat, Hopper doesn't feel the same way. "I don't know, with your dad and everything— I just don't know."

Disbelief must have infected Nancy shocked expression, because Hopper grins slightly when he sees her face. "Don't look so shocked, Wheeler."

Nancy doesn't mean to, she really doesn't. "How can you think she won't say yes? You two are… you're perfect for each other, Hop. And with El, and— and Will—"

She can't finish her sentence, trailing off with a wave of her hands. Jonathan picks it up for her.

"She's right," he adds. "You're nothing like Lonnie. I know that. Will knows that. Mom knows that."

It's odd, seeing sparkling tears in Hopper's eyes. They look out of place on his usual stoic expression, always the rock, the anchoring point for them. But Nancy loves how much he loves Joyce, and how good he is to her kids. Jonathan and Will deserve a dad like him.

"Thanks, guys." Hopper doesn't give them a chance to reply, before he's on his feet to refill his water.

A startling bang resounds through the cabin, and Nancy jumps as El's bedroom door flies open, Mike emerging from the room in long strides. He walks straight out the door, slamming it behind him.

"Mike?" Nancy calls after him. There's no response from him, but a timid voice comes from El's room.

"I think I upset him," El says sadly, staring at the front door. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

Hopper marches back into the living room, darting between El and the door with wild eyes.

"What just happened?" he demands. "Where's Wheeler?"

El gestures at the entrance. "Outside. I broke up with him. I think he's mad."

Heavy quiet fills the cabin. Nancy must've heard incorrectly. But as she glances between Hopper and Jonathan, their gobsmacked faces match her own.

Eleven broke up Mike. 

Nancy practically flies to her feet once it finally registers. "Wait, what?"

In a similar state of shock, Jonathan gapes at Eleven like she's grown a second head. "El, what? Are you serious?"

Solemnly, El nods. "I still like him, but… We don't work. Together. And I need to focus on Henry, and now Holly, and Will. It is too much. I cannot rely on his love to control my powers."

She takes a second, considering her next words carefully. "And I don't think he loves me. Not in a boyfriend way. He kept talking about his heart? And a painting I made for him? It told him to say he loved me, but I never made a painting."

Jonathan's eyes widen uneasily. "El—"

"He told me Will made it." El's attention is on Jonathan with a piercing stare. "Was it the same painting he was hiding from us? For the girl he liked?"

A girl he liked? Nancy didn't know Will had a girlfriend. He never seemed as interested in all that, especially not compared to his friends. Will always preferred to stick with the Party, stick with Mike. Come to think of it, Will didn't seem to be a fan of Mike and El from the get-go. Or girls in general. He was the happiest when he was with Mike.

...

Oh.

Oh.

Realization crashes down onto her, the pieces of the puzzle falling together perfectly. Almost too perfectly, judging by Jonathan's terrified expression.

"Nancy," he says carefully. "Maybe you should check on Mike?"

He tilts his head down in a way that conveys all the words he can't say with the others in the room. Don't say anything.

She hopes she's able to express her sincerity through her quick agreement, as she follows her brothers path out to the porch.

- - -

Despite the creak of her shoes on the wooden floorboards, Mike doesn't move when Nancy approaches, not even bothering to spare a glance in her direction. He's leaning on the railing, head bowed in his hands, taking calculated, deep breaths.

Nancy does the same, positioning herself right next to him with her palms splayed on the wooden beam. She's way out of her depth here, but Mike needs her. So she'll be there.

No words come out of his mouth, though; only shaky exhales. Nancy takes a second to reorient herself and her reeling mind in the quiet of the woods, the only sounds being Mike's breathing, the hum of wildlife, and the slowing droplets of rain hitting the roof.

So, Will likes Mike. As more than a friend.

Honestly, she isn't as surprised as she should be. It makes perfect sense. Will and Mike. Mike and Will. They're a package deal, really.

After that first day of school, over ten years ago now, Nancy had seen the way Mike's face lit up with excitement whenever he mentioned his 'best, best friend' Will, whom he had met that same day at recess.

"We're gonna be friends for life," Mike told them on the ride home, practically vibrating with energy. "Forever and ever and ever."

Nancy had to hear about Will for the next two weeks at dinner before she finally got the chance to meet him. Mike begged and pleaded to let him stay over for a sleepover, but settled for a few hours at their house when their mom wouldn't budge.

Will Byers looked a lot like his older brother, Jonathan. He was in Nancy's class. She thought he was sort of weird; always sitting in the back, never raising his hand to answer questions. But there was a time when the two got paired for a presentation together, and he pulled his weight, did all the work Nancy dolled out for him, so she couldn't complain.

Similarly to Jonathan, Will was quiet and shy when he arrived at their door, clutching onto his mother's leg while Nancy welcomed the two inside. He reminded her of a baby deer. Scared, big eyes. Timid.

All that vanished when Mike came barrelling down the stairs, much too loudly for a tiny five year old.

"Will!" He screams right next to Nancy's ear, shoving right past her to reach his best friend. Instantly, Will detaches himself from his mom, lighting up with joy when Mike pulls him into a hug. "Come on, I have so many cool toys to show you!"

Mike doesn't give Will a second to say goodbye to his mom before he's grabbing his hand, yanking Will up the stairs to his room.

"I'll be back at four!" Mrs. Byers calls out after the pair, but they aren't listening, too far gone in their own little world. Squeals and laughter echo throughout the house, even with Mike's door closed.

Nancy's going to have a long day.

Later on, at 4:45, once Will's mom had finally convinced him to let go of Mike's hand with the promise that they'll "see each other again tomorrow, come on Will," the Byers had left, and Nancy found herself with a chattering Mike on her bedroom floor.

"We're gonna get married," Mike declared proudly. "Then we'll never have to convince Mom and Dad to let us play! We can play whenever we want."

Nancy scrunched up her face. She didn't think two boys could get married.

"Why not?" Mike asks after she voices her concern. "Mom and Dad are married, and they do all the same things me and Will do! They eat dinner together and— " He hesitates, thinking. "And live together. Well, they don't share a room, but they share a house. Me and Will could share a house, too! And a room. If we ever had a sleepover, he could have my sleeping bag, and then we could share a room! Or, no, he could share my bed! We'd both fit."

Mike continues to ramble on and on about his best friend Will Byers until he's yawning dramatically, slumped over on her carpet. Nancy lets him sleep in her room that night.

For years, Mike and Will continued to be stuck like glue. Will stayed with them when his parents fought. Mike write stories for Will to draw sketches of. They worked perfectly. Even when they befriended Lucas Sinclair down the street, and the new kid Dustin Henderson, Mike and Will were always Mike and Will. A pair. A duo.

That is, until Eleven came along.

Nancy remembers how infatuated Mike was with the strange girl living in their basement. His very own Superman, straight out of one of his many comic books or fantasy campaigns. A new best friend. Someone to protect, to care for.

A replacement.

Because the same week they met was the week Will went missing in the woods. Eleven helped her brother find him, helped save them all, only to be lost just as the battle was won.

Then Will was back, and El was gone, and Mike fell right back into his old role of Will's overly possessive best friend. She remembers hearing from Jonathan about how Will was struggling to readjust. With him, with their mom, with his friends.

But not with Mike.

Overbearing protectiveness was nothing new for Mike, especially when it came to Will. For them, nothing had changed, and Will could cling onto that semblance of normalcy, that little bit of before.

No wonder Will fell in love with Mike. He's Will's protector, his knight in shining armor, always there to save the day from whatever evil monster is poised to attack them this time.

And then El came back, and the balance was thrown off again.

Maybe Mike was just bad at regulating his emotions, but he could never seem to manage his relationship with both Eleven and Will simultaneously. It's always one or the other for him.

She wonders why that is.

Her time for pondering comes to an abrupt end when she looks up to find present-day Mike's eyes on her, scrutinizing. "Did you come out here to stand with me in silence?"

Nancy snaps out of her memories to frown at her brother. "Do you want to talk?"

"I dunno," Mike shrugs, looking back at the leaves on the dirt.

Nancy fully angles herself to face Mike. "Okay, fine. I want to talk."

He sighs. "About what?"

"Why did Eleven break up with you?" The words come out before she can stop them. In hindsight, it probably wasn't the best thing she could've said. Mike raises an irritated eyebrow at her.

"Because I'm a shitty boyfriend, I guess," he mumbles, kicking one of the posts of the railing.

"I don't think that's why, Mike," Nancy says, as softly as she can manage. "El said she needed time, to focus on herself—"

"So she just doesn't need me anymore?" Mike whips around, teary eyes meeting her own. "Last year, she got all upset with me because I didn't tell her I loved her, but then I did and she was still distant, and now Henry is coming back and he's after Will and El doesn't want me there to help her fight?!"

Nancy's frozen in place as Mike's ranting grows louder. "Why am I even here, Nancy? If El doesn't need me— doesn't love me, I can't even support her while she's fighting, because she doesn't want me there—"

"Mike," Nancy cuts him off quietly. Cogs are turning in her head.

Somehow, Mike hears, taking rapid breaths but otherwise quiet.

Nancy takes a deep breath, writing and rewriting her sentence in her brain. It has to be perfect, or Mike'll snap. "Don't get mad at me, okay? But…"

His hard gaze wavers slightly.

"Do you want Eleven to love you, or do you want her to need you?"

Mike sputters, blinking harshly as he tries to get an answer out.

"I don't— it's— I mean, it's the same thing, Nancy!"

"No it's not, Mike."

It's too quiet. The rain has stopped.

"Well, no one loves or needs me, then." Mike can barely form the words, his throat choked up from suppressing his tears. "That's great. Thanks, Nancy."

"I never said that, Mike." She takes a step towards him, hand out like she's approaching a wild animal. "And I would never say that, because it's not true. I love you. We all love you."

Mike breaks, dissolving into painful, full-body sobs, and Nancy wraps him into the tightest hug she can muster. Her jacket sleeve soaks through with tears almost instantly, and Mike's heartbreaking cries and wails are right in her ear.

Nancy holds him through all of it, his hiccuping sobs and sniffles. Holds him until his knees buckle under the emotional strain, and they both end up kneeling on the rough wood of the cabin deck.

She can't remember the last time she's seen Mike cry. Really cry. Or the last time the two exchanged a real hug, not mandated by their parents. But it feels so natural to console her little brother like this, to be that shoulder for him to cry on. Nancy mourns those years lost, where she should've been there for him.

Mike's breathing begins to veer from hitched and shaky to borderline hyperventilating, and panic strikes in Nancy as she runs what she hopes is a soothing hand over his back.

"Calm down, Mike," Nancy says into his ear. "Take some deep breaths, okay?"

Nodding frantically, Mike tries, but his attempt cut off by another pathetic whine. Nancy exaggerates her own breathing, lifting her whole body with each inhale, slumping on the exhale.

"I- I can't—" Her brother barely stutters the words out through his heaving sobs, shaking his head wildly as he breaks away from the hug. "Nancy, I can't—"

She grabs his hands, pulls them to her chest. "You can. Just breathe."

Without Mike's head blocking her view, Nancy spots Jonathan's nosy brown eyes peeking through the drawn curtain, staring down at the siblings in concern. As subtly as possible, Nancy shooes him away.

Thankfully, Mike doesn't notice, still focused on remembering how his lungs work. Tears coat his entire face, and the morning sun reflecting off him gives his skin an almost radiant glow.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Mike repeats his apology over and over, even as Nancy shushes him.

"Just try and breathe, Mike. You're okay."

Nancy loses track of how long they stay there, breathing together. She'd wait all day if it meant her brother was safe.

Eventually, Mike's sobbing quells to quiet crying, his breaths steady enough for Nancy to resume her usual breathing. She doesn't drops his hands, even as Mike leans against the posts of the balcony, eyes closed.

"You okay?" She gives his hand a squeeze.

Without opening his eyes, Mike hums. "Yeah. Sorry. That was embarrassing."

Even without the usual fire of Mike's voice, Nancy can tell he's genuinely ashamed of his breakdown. She understands, but at the same time—

"Don't apologize," Nancy says. Mike pries an eye open, tries to pull his hands away. Nancy doesn't let him. "You can't apologize for having feelings, Mike. It's not a crime to be sad."

Mike stares at her, sniffling. "But—"

"Nope," Nancy states. "No buts. We need to be there for each other. All of us. I need you. And even if you don't think so, so does Eleven."

She pauses, thinking. "And Will."

At the sound of Will's name, Mike perks up, all too similar to that Kindergartener at the dinner table.

Nancy takes this as a good sign, and presses on. "With Henry on the rise again, Will is going to be having a rough time. You know that. He knows that. And he's going to need you to be there for him."

Uncertainty takes over Mike's spoltchy face, his eyes red and sad. "He lied to me, Nance. He said El would always need me. That she asked him to make this awesome painting for me as a present. But she doesn't, and she didn't. He just… made it up."

Nancy… isn't sure what to say to that. The Will that Mike is describing—a liar, a fake—is not the same kindhearted, loving soul Nancy has watched grow up over the last ten years.

"He… he told you El made a painting? For you?" Mike nods, and Nancy furrows her brows in confusion. "What was it?"

In spite of himself, Mike's lips quirk up. "It was the Party. Fighting a dragon. I was leading everyone, and I— Well, Will told me I was the heart of the Party. And he just lied, about all of it! El said she never even saw the painting."

Sometimes, Nancy can't stand how oblivious her brother is. It's insanely irritating.

But right now? She couldn't be more grateful that even with the answer staring him right in the face, Mike still couldn't figure it out. The last thing Will would want is for Mike to find out his secret.

Or, at least, Nancy thinks he wouldn't want that. If he gave Mike a painting with El's name plastered on top, there's no way Will would ever want Mike to know it's from him.

Her heart aches in sympathy.

"Huh." Nancy says, in lieu of any real response. She doesn't know what to say. How to fix this without ruining Will's lie.

Think.

"He probably just wanted you to feel better, Mike." Her brother looks up at that. "And just because El doesn't need you as a boyfriend, doesn't mean she doesn't need you at all. I mean, she needs all the support she can get."

He ponders for a moment. Nancy waits with bated breath.

"Yeah?" Mike finally, finally, looks hopeful.

"Yeah," Nancy agrees. "And when we get back to the barn, you and Will can talk it out. I'm sure he didn't mean to hurt you. And I'm definitely sure he still needs you."

Inside the cabin, voices begin to chatter, and there's a distinct sound layered on top of them. Radio static, and a distorted voice.

"El's walkie." Mike answers before she can even ask the question. "The others are probably wondering where we are."

Grinning, Nancy pulls herself to her feet. "Well, it has been a minute, hasn't it? We should probably go back soon; we could all use the sleep."

She extends a hand to Mike, who pushes himself up, stumbling slightly. "Woah. Think my foot fell asleep."

Nancy chuckles. "See? We're all tired."

The conversation inside the cabin grows louder, more panicked. The Wheeler siblings exchange a look. Nancy goes to open the door, but it slams open before she can reach the handle.

Jonathan's face is twisted in fear. Familiar fear. Fear Nancy hasn't seen on him in a long time.

It only takes two words from his mouth for everything to come crashing down around them yet again.

"Will's missing."

Chapter Text

It's been three days since Robin's friends infiltrated her barn.

It's been two since one of them disappeared.

It's been one since Vickie learned about an alternate dimension invading her town.

And today, she has to go back to work.

With such a wealthy family, Vickie never had to work in high school. Which was nice, for sure. She doesn't know how Robin was able to manage a job and band practice for three years.

But the sense of purpose it gives her, having something to get her out of bed in the morning in this hellscape of a town, makes the early mornings worth it. Or it would, if she wasn't already working a full-time job hosting a slew of government-evading children in her family's barn.

Some of them are okay; Robin, of course, is always super cool. Her odd friendship with Steve Harrington makes Vickie wonder if there's something more between them, despite Robin's ardent insistence that they're nothing more than platonic. Vickie doesn't know why the idea of them dating bothers her so much. Robin just deserves better than him. She shouldn't settle for someone like Steve Harrington.

Lucas and Erica Sinclair are nice enough. Vickie likes that Derek has someone his age to hang out with throughout all this. And Erica is nice, if a bit intimidating at times. There's no doubt in Vickie's mind that Erica could kill her in a verbal or physical fight if it came down to it. It's a bit scary, but Vickie still thinks she's awesome. Plus, Lucas always offers to help her out around the barn, in spite of the two returning to their own home to sleep at night.

Mike Wheeler, on the other hand, is starting to grate on Vickie's nerves. Scratch that; he is grating on her nerves, and has been since he started sleeping in her spare bedroom. He's been through a lot, Vickie knows that, and she tries so hard to be sympathetic. When she had first called the others with Sinclair's walkie-talkie, informing Superhero-Eleven and Jonathan Byers of their brother's failure to return home, Wheeler was the first one to freak out.

"What do you mean, Will is missing?!" His hoarse voice travels through the speaker, angry and terrified. Vickie hadn't even known Wheeler was with them. "He's been with you all day, where did he go?"

Vickie gave a quick rundown; how Will asked for a bicycle to get some air, how he was gone for much longer than he promised, how she found the tire tracks of the bike and another vehicle on the dirt road. Joyce Byers barely held back her sobs as she recounted her findings. She felt terrible for giving Will the bike in the first place, but he just looked so dejected. Like he needed the break.

"It looks like someone took him," Vickie says, barely loud enough for the receiver to pick up. "Mom told me there were cars lurking around all day. Said she wanted to call the cops if they didn't leave.

"They're gone now."

Joyce fully breaks down at that. Not only has her son gone missing again, but he's likely been kidnapped. Intentionally.

All of it is quite overwhelming. Robin gave a rambled, hectic recap of the events of the last 24 hours. Between the Downtown attack, the Wheeler family attack, Holly Wheeler's disappearance, and now Will Byers' disappearance, Vickie's just about ready to pack her bags and split town.

Mike felt the opposite. He had barged into the barn that day, followed closely by Jonathan and Nancy, and sped over to Vickie immediately to begin his interrogation on Will's whereabouts.

She tried to be sympathetic. Really. It isn't easy to lose your parents, sister, and best friend all in one day. But Joyce and Jonathan were crying, the other kids were anxious messes, and Vickie need to think, needed to help. She isn't a complainer, she's a problem solver.

"Don't tell me to calm down!" Mike yelled right in her face. His eyes were so glassy and spiteful, Vickie doubted she really saw her. "Will— Will's gone, he's gone, and I wasn't there—"

After enduring over ten straight minutes of Mike tearfully screaming at whoever could hear, to the point where his words were barely coherent, Lucas and Dustin pulled him aside to the spare bedroom to try and calm him down.

"I already lost him once. I can't do it again." Though muffled, Vickie could still pick up Mike's choked up confession. All his fight is gone. "I just can't, I don't know what I'll do, and Holly, too, I can't…"

Vickie stepped outside after that, letting the boys have their private moment. Robin had followed her. For once, the girl said nothing. Just sat beside her on the damp grass, arms pressed together. It felt right.

Which is why Vickie agreed instantly to Robin's request to join her and Nancy in their volunteering Downtown once she received word that the base is reopening for outside volunteers. Well, not all outsiders; non-working, recreational visitation is still on hold, much to Lucas's dismay.

"Can you please check on Max for me?" He had asked Nancy and Robin quietly. "Just, with what Will saw and everything—"

"Of course," Nancy agreed. "First thing."

The past two days were spent relentlessly searching for clues and leads about Will and Holly. Nobody had found anything, not even Eleven, who can apparently locate people via telepathy all over the world. Vickie doesn't ask more questions about that despite her biting curiosity. She's worried her head might explode.

"I can't find them," Eleven's young, broken voice cracked over the walkie speakers. "Either of them. It's just dark."

So Vickie and Nancy agreed they would resume their positions Downtown on schedule. There might be some clues, Nancy had reasoned.

Derek and Erica went over some of their findings with Vickie as well, about a man named Mister Whatsit who's allegedly the creepy demon-man committing mass murder and opening the rifts in the ground to kill kids. Derek warned her that he presents himself as a welcoming, nice man, who then tricks children into doing his bidding for him.

"Just keep a lookout," Erica had said. "He already got Holly Wheeler, we don't wanna lose anyone else."

Vickie agreed shakily. Mister Whatsit, Will Byers, Holly Wheeler, Max Mayfield. She could handle this.

Or, at least, she hopes she can handle this. The past few days swirl like a distorted mess in her mind as she packs her work bag and ties her apron. Nancy wants to get Downtown early today, which Vickie learned unfortunately means six in the morning. Somehow, she had convinced both Robin and Jonathan to come as well. Vickie isn't so sure Jonathan will be allowed inside, given he doesn't have any proper clearance, but that's a problem for later.

Two light knocks sound on the wooden doorframe. "Uh, Vickie?"

She turns, surprised to see Mike Wheeler standing in the doorway of the side room. He had gone to the Sinclair's to sleep last night, but from the looks of his wild hair and sunken eyes, he hadn't got much.

"Oh, hey, Mike," she greets lightly. "I didn't think you'd be here so early today."

Mike shuffles, embarrassed. "I couldn't sleep. I biked over."

Vickie nods slowly. "Okay… do you need something? From me?"

"Uh, I don't know." Mike bites his lip. Vickie waits. "I'm sorry. About blowing up on you the other day. I know it's not your fault, with Will. I was just so scared, and sad, and… I'm really angry, too, that I wasn't there, and you were there, so I blamed you, and I realize that was super shitty and I've been wanting to say something but we were all so busy so I thought I'd just wait but you've been so helpful with us and Mrs. Byers, I just—"

"Mike, wait." Vickie's head is spinning from how quick Mike talks. "You don't have to apologize. I know it's been really hard for you lately, and I know you didn't mean to be rude."

He just stares at her, mouth gaping.

Damn, I'm an asshole, Vickie thinks. She feels horrible for ever being annoyed with him.

"Thanks," Mike whispers. "Sorry for— just sorry. Again. Between my— my family, and Will, and my girlfriend broke up with me, too, I don't know if I mentioned that—"

"Yeah, Nancy told me," Vickie says. "I'm sorry. You've had a long week."

"Actually, I think it's good she broke up with me," Mike says, with confidence Vickie hasn't heard from him thus far. "I mean, now she can focus on finding Holly and Will, and fighting Henry, and I can also focus on helping Will without having to also worry about being a good boyfriend."

Vickie snorts. She can't help it. "I hear that. I used to have this boyfriend, last year. His name was Tyler, and it was just exhausting. Every time I saw him, it was like I had to… I don't know. Play a character, I guess? The perfect girlfriend!"

She waves her hands sarcastically.

"Exactly!" Mike nods vigorously. "I don't know how Nancy does it all the time. And Jonathan. Like, having to deal with all the relationship bullshit on top of all this? It's impossible."

Vickie frowns slightly. "Well, relationships aren't supposed to be draining like that. Tyler and I were not made for each other, at all. We had nothing in common, nothing to talk about, nothing we liked to do together. It was all performative bullshit. Good relationships should be uplifting and natural. Make you feel happy, not emotionally exhausted."

Mike is silent for a long, painful minute, long enough that Vickie is worried she overstepped. She definitely did. They barely know each other. Why is she ranting about her ex-boyfriend to a sixteen year old?

"Not to say you and your girlfriend were like that!" Vickie scrambles. "There's plenty of other reasons people can break up. Don't listen to me."

"No," Mike says, staring at the ground. "No, you're right. I mean, we started dating before El had even experienced real life. She barely knew what a friend was, let alone a boyfriend. I think… I think it's good we both have some time to be on our own."

Vickie smirks, impressed. "That's very mature of you, Mike. Not all your little friends would be so reasonable."

"Will would," Mike says immediately. "He's always been good with emotions and stuff. You kind of remind me of him, actually. Mature, or whatever. You two would get along, I think."

That's high praise from Mike, and she knows it. "Thank you. I hope so." She smiles to herself. "You kind of remind me of Robin, you know?"

"Robin? Really?" Mike doesn't look upset, just surprised. "We haven't really talked a lot."

Vickie chuckles. "Yeah, well. You're both really protective, really strong. Talk a lot. Good friends, loyal."

"Thanks," Mike says sincerely. "That's really, uh, that's really nice of you. Especially since we, like, barely know each other."

"I heard my name?"

Mike jumps out of his skin as Robin materializes in the doorway, swinging herself into the room. Vickie smiles involuntarily at Robin's bouncing energy at this hour.

"Oh, you know," Vickie says coyly. "Just talking shit. You know how it is."

"Of course, of course," Robin nods with a mock serious expression. "But I am very loyal and very strong. That part was true."

Vickie's face erupts in flames at Robin's teasing. "I left out really humble, clearly."

"Obviously." Robin's cheeks are a bit pink as well.

Mike looks between the two in confusion. "Well, anyways. Good luck today. Keep us posted if you find anything."

"Promise." Vickie holds out a hand for a pinkie promise, and Mike rolls his eyes good-naturedly as he links their fingers. "And try to get some sleep today, alright? You look beat."

Mike's face falls, his thoughts drifting back to his lost friend. Robin steps up, patting him on the shoulder.

"We're going to find them, Mike." Vickie doesn't think she's ever heard Robin's voice so soft. Her heart skips a beat. "I swear, we'll find them, and then we're going to burn his fucker to the ground. Got it?"

Mike's teary eyes meet Robin's, and he nods shakily. "Yeah. I know, I'm sorry. It's just hard without them. Like, I always go to Will for advice or— or just to talk, but now everything's gone to shit and he's not here—"

"We will find him, Mike." The promise escapes her lips before Vickie even registers she's talking. "We will find him, and Holly, and everything will be okay. But when we do, you need to be there for them, yeah? They're going to need you, Mike, so you should make sure you're well-rested and ready to help when they get back."

It's a pathetic attempt, but Mike's face lights up ever so slightly in determination. "Okay. Yeah, you're right. Thanks guys."

He gives them one last smile and a wave before heading back downstairs. Robin turns to Vickie with an inquisitive glint in her eyes.

"Did he come back here last night?" she asks quietly. "After he went to Lucas's?"

"No, he came this morning," Vickie says under her breath, waiting for the click of the entrance door to sound. "Said he couldn't sleep. He's had a rough week."

"Totally," Robin agrees. "He's really going through it. Him and Little Byers are, like, really close."

There's something… extra, in her voice. In the way she punctuates close, in the way her eyes go distant with thought.

Vickie dares to ask. "What?"

But Robin shakes her head, effectively dissolving whatever electric tension began to brew. "Nothing. I just feel bad for them. At least we're fully grown adults. They're all just kids. And, I mean, Will? He's been dealing with this shit for years. Remember when he went missing in '83? That was the Upside Down crap, too. Poor guy can't catch a break."

Vickie distinctly remembers the absolute upheaval this town faced when Will Byers went missing. She shared a class with Jonathan Byers, who everyone whispered and murmured about even more than usual. Name-calling and insults were thrown around by students and parents and even some of her teachers.

"His mother raised those boys wrong." She overheard her Calculus teacher say to a fellow faculty member, who nodded along in agreement. "Letting her son run around acting like a queer. Can't be surprised when shit like this happens."

Of course, Vickie had heard of queers. She knew the term. It was dirty and bad. Her classmates used it all the time in the cafeteria.

"Did you hear about Byers' brother?" A boy said loudly over lunch to his friends that same day. "My dad told me some other faggot took him out to the quarry and killed him."

"I heard he did more than that," another one snickered. All the boys laughed.

Vickie left before she threw up her cafeteria bagel.

She had seen Will Byers around. His mother worked at the general store. His brother went to school with her. He was short and small, with large eyes that were constantly widened at one thing or another.

And she had heard the rumors, even before Will Byers went missing. That he was gross, defective, queer. Words that she quickly learned were synonymous with each other.

Queer is when a boy likes another boy. Or a girl likes another girl. That's what her mother had said when she'd asked for the first time at eleven years old.

"Don't say that word around Daddy, okay?"

Vickie nodded, because she didn't know what else to do. It was confusing. She had friends who were girls. She liked them. Is she queer?

"No, sweetie. Not friends. Like the way me and Daddy love each other, right? How a man and a woman should love each other."

Oh. That makes sense. Every now and then, Vickie noticed a girl was very pretty. Girls have nice hair, and skin, and eyes. Sometimes, she thought about spending the rest of her life with her best friend. They could get a house together. Maybe a dog.

But she wasn't queer, obviously. Because queer is bad, and Vickie is good. She brings home good grades, good friends. She has a good family.

Plus, everyone thinks girls are pretty. Her classmates talk about their favorite celebrities all the time, with their fashion and makeup and bodies.

Well, the girls usually stick to makeup and fashion. Boys are the ones who Vickie notices make the remarks about the girl's bodies. Their curves and faces and whatever else they snicker about in the back of homeroom.

Whenever a thought of a similar vein flew through her mind, Vickie was always quick to brush it off, ignore it, push it away. Because she is good and perfect, just like her father always tells her.

Sometimes, she wonders if Will Byers really is queer, or if they just want him to be bad. Vickie met Will Byers, officially, only three days ago, and nothing about him seemed bad. Other than the unfortunately relentless stream of bad things that seem to follow his every move. But Will himself was selfless, protective. Kind. Vickie couldn't imagine him ever being bad.

And the more she's grown, the more she's realized her family may not be right about everything they believe. Truth varies from person to person: A lesson she learned very fast living through the apocalypse in Hawkins, Indiana. Some people believe there are Satanic rituals being performed on each street corner, others think an alternate dimension is bleeding into the world through a fissure. Both parties are convinced their truth is the truth.

Vickie's truth is different than the truth around her. She's different. Not like her classmates, not like her friends, and certainly not like her perfect family.

"Vickie?"

It isn't until Robin's voice breaks her spiraling daydream that Vickie becomes aware of the stinging in her eyes. Hastily, she runs a hand over her face to quell the emotion. She presses hard enough to shove the sadness back into her soul through the pores of her face.

"Sorry. I'm fine." She takes a deep breath, ignoring Robin's worried frown. "Just… God, do you remember what people used to say about him?"

A new stiffness takes over Robin's body; practiced stillness, calculated. Not to say her anger is any less palpable. Vickie can see it in the way her hands tremble in her pockets. She can see it in the way it looks like she's staring in a mirror.

Fresh, exhilaratingly terrifying sparks ignite under her skin. Vickie can barely contain her nerves.

"Yeah," Robin says, barely more than a whisper. She clears her throat. "Yeah. Shit, it was so fucked up."

"Yeah."

It's quiet for a long moment. Too long, even. Robin is never this quiet. It's unsettling, in a way that makes Vickie afraid to breathe to not interrupt the stillness.

"Y'know," Robin starts. "People used to call me names, too."

Vickie's heartbeat thrums in her ears. "I'm sorry."

Robin tries to shrug it off, but her shoulders barely move. "S'okay."

Their conversation isn't over. She can tell. It's stuck in the mud, waiting for someone to take the risk and push.

Vickie takes a cautious step to the bed. She sits. Beckons Robin to join her. Not that she needed to; Robin followed regardless.

"Sometimes," Robin starts, and Vickie hold her breath in the silence. "I wondered how they knew. About me."

All the air is sucked out of Vickie's lungs and straight out of the room. She's worried if her heart beats any faster, it might explode out of her chest.

"What…" Vickie musters up the courage. She can do this. "What did they say?"

Too late, Vickie worries she might've overstepped. Why would Robin want to share any of this with her? They're friends, sure, but this—

Lips on her own pause any and all thoughts spinning in her mind. Vickie can't move, let alone kiss back, too stunned to fully register what's going on before Robin pulls away.

"Shit," Robin says at her frozen face. "Did you not— oh, shit, I read this all wrong—"

Her growing panic resets Vickie's scattered brain. She quickly reaches out to grab Robin's hand before she can stand up and run.

"No, no. It's fine," Vickie stutters out. "Just— wow, you surprised me, is all. I'm not mad."

That's not true. There's definite anger stirring in her heart, but not at Robin. Robin is nice and funny and caring. She's not bad. But she kissed Vickie, so she must be queer. And Vickie really liked it. So she must be queer, too.

Robin's chest continues to rise and fall in a panic, and her eyes are wide and shiny. Tentatively, she laces her fingers through Vickie's.

"Yeah?"

Vickie pushes down all the negative thoughts; all the names, the insults, the hatred. And she lets herself nod and smile at Robin's hopeful grin. This moment is just for them. The bad can wait until later.

"Yeah."

Fuck it.

This time, it's Vickie who initiates, pulling Robin in by the back of her neck, almost tipping off the bed with the force of it. Her soft mouth quiets any questions she might have had about herself. Robin is gorgeous and beautiful and their kiss is the same. Why would anyone waste their lips spreading hatred when they could be doing this instead?

Robin pulls away slightly, and Vickie can't resist chasing her away to continue their kiss.

"Wait, wait." Vickie backs off, worried she did something wrong.

"Shit, sorry," she says, breathless. "Did I— are you okay?"

Robin's bright, disbelieving smile is telling enough, but Vickie needs verbal confirmation. Her head is reeling.

"Uh, yeah? I'm great. More than okay." Robin's smile drops ever so slightly on her last word, and Vickie squeezes her hand in reassurance. "Just… what is this? Like, what are we, now? Sorry if that's a dumb question, I don't know…"

She trails off, eyes falling to the floor. Vickie opens her mouth to reply, but no words come out. What are they? The question itself is simple, only three words, concise and to the point.

If only simple meant easy.

Girlfriends, is the first word that comes to her mind. But girlfriends, two girlfriends, together, in the town of Hawkins? It sends frightened chills down her spine. What would people say about them, about Vickie and her family?

But… the world is ending. There's demonic creatures rising from literal, physical Hell. Vickie just watched a sixteen year old use telepathy to stop a seven-foot-tall slimy monster from eating all their faces off.

After all that, Vickie can't waste her energy on pointless hypotheticals, on fictional people who might have something to say. And even the real people, ones who would give them disgusted looks, call them slurs or worse… why should they care what she does?

Plus, Vickie can't lie and say kissing Robin wasn't in the top five best experiences of her life, at least. It was nothing like kissing Tyler, all forced and gross and fake. This was real; pure, genuine want manifesting itself into human connection. It's all she ever wanted.

She's been quiet for too long, and Robin swallows worriedly. "Sorry, I shouldn't have asked."

"No, no." Vickie grips Robin's face tightly in her hands. "I was just thinking."

Some of the hope returns, and Vickie would do anything to keep that expression on Robin's face for the rest of her life. It's how she's meant to be; happy, in her arms, safe and hopeful.

"And?" Robin asks, barely more than a whisper.

Vickie rubs her thumb over her cheek, and Robin's own hands come up to rest over Vickie's. She can feel the slight tremble in her fingers, the moisture on her palms.

"Girlfriends?" Vickie says, as nonchalantly as she can manage. Like it's any other simple question, not one that would change the trajectory of their lives forever. "If you want?"

Robin giggles, nodding like a madman. "Yeah, yeah. I want. I mean— I would want. That. If you do."

It's exhilarating and terrifying all at once, and Vickie vows to work through whatever fucked up self-perception she has to keep Robin this happy forever. And to keep herself this happy. Everything else comes second.

"Yeah," Vickie smiles honestly. "I do."

- - -

It's hard not to hold Robin's hand in the back of Nancy's car, but with Jonathan and Nancy so close, Vickie restrains herself.

She isn't necessarily worried about snide remarks from either of them, especially not Jonathan, who Vickie knows has fought tooth and nail to defend his brother from bullies.

Jonathan Byers never really spoke to Vickie in school, but she never found him as weird as everyone said he was. He was quiet, kept to himself. Nothing wrong with that, even if Vickie couldn't say the same about herself.

Today, it's like she's seeing a completely different person in his body. While high school, Jonathan's quiet stemmed from a place of shy insecurity, this Jonathan is silent in defeat, in mourning. His posture is slumped and empty in the front of the car, face cracked and red from tears.

Nancy glances over at him every few seconds. Vickie can't believe how strong she is; losing her parents and sister, her brother and boyfriend breaking down, and still holding herself together enough to be there for them all. The two aren't friends, not really, but Vickie hopes they can be. Nancy looks like she could use a listening ear.

The ride is silent up until they arrive to the entrance to the Downtown base.

"What the hell," Nancy murmurs, and Vickie sits up to look out the front window. Rows of soldiers line the gate, long rifles clutched tightly in their hands. The sections of the fence destroyed by the monster invasion a few days ago have been sloppily rebuilt out of scrap metals. It looks ridiculous, but much more fortified.

"Since when are there this many guards?" Robin asks. "It's like the entire United States military is here."

"Usually there aren't," Vickie says. "This is new. Probably extra security after the burn."

Jonathan doesn't say anything, but he sits up straighter in his seat as Nancy pulls up to the entrance gate, rolling the window down to speak to the man operating the booth.

"Hello sir," she greets with practiced politeness. "We're volunteers."

"Identification?" He's obviously exhausted and bored, and Vickie hands over her volunteer keycard to Nancy without a word.

He looks over her and Nancy's cards, handing them back curtly. He looks between Jonathan and Robin. "And you two?"

Robin shoves herself up to the front seat, her entire upper body sticking out to reach the window. "I'm Robin Buckley. I applied a few days ago?"

"Hmm." His attention turns to Jonathan. "You?"

"Jonathan Byers," he says, voice raw. "I come here a lot to help out and drive Nancy."

The man tenses at Jonathan's reply, narrowing his eyes threateningly. Vickie notices the way Nancy mirrors his body language, ready to bolt if something goes wrong.

"Wait here." The man goes back to his booth, dials a number into a cellphone, and slams the door.

"Wonder what stick he's got up his ass," Robin mutters, leaning back into her seat. "Early mornings suck."

Nancy frowns at Jonathan, who sports an equally concerned expression. "Do you think they're trying another burn or something?"

"No idea," Jonathan says, staring at the closed door of the booth. "Security's never been this tight here, though. No hospital visitation, extra clearance for volunteers…"

With a bang, the door flies open, and Vickie jumps as the man approaches the car again.

"You can go in," he says to Jonathan. "But you will be sticking to Sector Zero." He motions to Nancy. "You too. Stick together. You will get a visitation badge."

He leans on the car to peer to the back where Vickie and Robin sit. "Ms. Buckley can pick up her uniform and card at the desk. But you two will also be sticking together so she learns how things work around here. Got it?"

"Got it," Nancy repeats. But the man doesn't move, eyes on Jonathan.

"Uh, got it," Jonathan says.

Nodding, the man walks away from their car, back into the booth to open the gate.

"That was so weird." Nancy huffs out a sigh at Jonathan's words.

Vickie turns to Robin. "You get to follow me around all day. How exciting."

"I can't wait," Robin smirks. In the rear-view mirror, Jonathan looks between the two curiously.

Nancy pulls into the empty lot, and the four shuffle out. There's a faint scent of smoke still in the air, the aftereffects of the burn still lingering. It's eerily vacant; the only other car in sight is an old van parked in the corner, close to the main building.

"Nice, we got here first," Nancy says. "Okay. We're here to work, obviously, but we're also looking for any signs of Henry, or Upside Down activity, or Holly—"

"Or Will," Jonathan adds quietly. Vickie's heart hurts.

"Or Will," Nancy agrees quietly. "They clearly know something, and we're going to find out what it is. We'll be in Sector Zero, but I'll see if I can scope out 2 and 3 as well."

Vickie nods. "I work in 5. We'll let you know if we see anything suspicious."

"Good." Nancy locks the car. "We'll meet at lunch, see how long we should stay."

With one last agreement, the two pairs split off, Jonathan and Nancy going left to Sector Zero, Vickie and Robin going straight for the main reception.

It's a quick affair; a bored desk worker hands Robin a volunteer card and a pink uniform, and directs them over to the bathroom across the hall so she can get changed. Vickie stands outside, picking at her nails while she waits for Robin to change.

Her thoughts wander back to an hour ago, when her and Robin had officially declared themselves as girlfriends. She can't believe it's only been an hour. Actually, probably less; it's only been one car ride. Vickie feels like they've been together for years already with how comfortable she is.

Inside the bathroom, Robin lets out a groan of frustration.

"You okay?" Vickie calls. Her answer comes in the form of Robin throwing the door open, looking miserable as ever in her pink striped uniform.

"This outfit is terrible." Vickie has to smirk as Robin tugs on the thin straps of the apron. "How do you wear these all day?"

She shrugs. "Policy."

"Fuck policy," Robin grumbles. "How can you even help anyone in these things?"

A quick once-over tells Vickie exactly why Robin is so uncomfortable. She can't contain her snort of amusement.

"Well, for one thing, you're wearing it backwards."

A fierce blush crawls up Robin's neck as Vickie looks her up and down. She groans loudly while she checks the tag on her neck.

"Dammit."

With a little sympathetic pat from Vickie, Robin turns around to renter the bathroom. When she comes out a second time, her uniform is on correctly and her irritation has fizzled out.

"Better?" Vickie smirks.

Robin rolls her eyes. "Yes, it's better. What would I ever do without you?"

It's said in jest, but Vickie blushes regardless. "You won't have to worry about that. I'll always be here to make sure you can get your clothes on right."

Her eyes sparkle with adoration. "You will, won't you?"

Vickie shrugs jokingly, grabbing Robin's hand to pull her along. "Come on, we should get going. I usually work in Sector 5. This way."

Once they make it to the main hallway, the two drop hands, knowing they can't draw any sort of unwanted attention. Vickie's hand tingles in Robin's absence.

Soldiers and doctors pass by in blurs, discussing protocols and experiments and whatever else. Downtown is always overwhelming. Vickie's learned to get used to it; she's able to tune out everything that doesn't directly concern her. It's a needed skill, otherwise she'd be so overwhelmed she could barely think, let alone work.

Unfortunately for Robin, she hasn't quite gotten there yet. "Is it always this… this much?"

"Yep," Vickie says. "You get used to it eventually, don't worry."

Robin warily eyes a group of armed soldiers marching past them, rifles in hand. "Uh-huh."

As they approach the door for Sector 5, Vickie frowns as she spots two armed guards on either side of the door. She slows her walk, and Robin does the same, hanging a pace behind her.

"Uh, hi." Vickie shows her volunteer card. "I work in here?"

One of the men squints at her keycard, then shakes his head. "This area is closed to volunteers at the moment. You'll be relocated to Sector 2."

His tone leaves no room for argument, and Vickie nods slowly, despite how odd the whole encounter is.

From down the hallway, Vickie can make out the sound of heels clicking, and she turns around to see a woman strutting towards them at a brisk, purposeful pace. Her hair is short and her eyes are sharp. She exudes confidence and authority, and Vickie unconsciously steps out of her path.

The other guard nods curtly at her. "Doctor."

"Good morning," she greets, clipped and soulless. Her eyes narrow as she spots Vickie and Robin pressed against the wall. "Volunteers are no longer needed in this sector. Your services would be appreciated elsewhere."

"Who are you?" Vickie blurts out. Her eyes narrow."Sorry, I just… haven't seen you around before."

The woman stares them down. "What's your name?"

Vickie swallows. "Vickie. Vickie Turnbow."

Her stony expression falters, but only just. "Turnbow? Turnbow Farms?"

Robin and Vickie exchange a confused glance. "Uh, yeah? That's the one."

"Hmm." She turns away, holds out her card to scan. "You could make yourself useful in Sector 2. I suggest going there."

"Have the kids been moved?" Vickie asks. She's pushing it, for sure, but she has to know. "I usually help out the same few children, and I wanted to make sure—"

"You are relocated to Sector 2," the woman snaps, and Vickie flinches back, shutting her mouth. "What you will be doing there is none of my concern. But you will not be lurking around restricted areas like a pest. Do I make myself clear?"

Both Vickie and Robin nod, and the woman huffs in irritation before entering the heavy metal door. Neither girl waits around for the guards to tell them off.

"That was terrifying," Vickie mumbles once they're out of earshot. Robin hums in agreement. "Sector 5 has never been a closed off ward. Like, ever. It's mostly for children. The whole thing is just rooms for sick or displaced children."

Robin furrows her brows. "Maybe they're renovating?"

"Maybe," Vickie says, but she's not convinced. "And that woman… I've never seen her around here. Ever. I've been volunteering here for months. I know everyone who works inside this building."

Robin starts to reply, but Vickie continues. "And, Sector 2 doesn't even open until, like, nine. It's not even a medical ward. It's like… the break rooms and storage and stuff. What would we even be doing there?"

"Which sector is Max in?" Robin asks, brushing her hand gently. "Maybe we could visit her? While we wait?"

Vickie takes a deep breath. She has to calm down before people start to notice. Or worse, hear her talking.

"Sector 1," Vickie replies. "For general patients. It's not open to visitors until nine, either, but we should be fine getting in."

Robin smiles lightly, and the two make their way across the building to Sector 1. Sometimes, Vickie forgets just how massive this place is. Briskly walking from Sector 5 to 1 was an unwelcome reminder; the only Sector further away is Sector Zero.

Unlike Sector 5, there's no armed soldiers stationed outside of the doorway. Vickie scans her card, and the light flashes green. She lets out a relieved sigh, and Robin does the same. With one push, the door opens, and the florescent hall lights turn on automatically.

"First ones here, clearly," Robin says. "Who else would get to work at six in the morning?"

Vickie chuckles, linking her arm with Robin's as they walk. No one is here, so who cares? It's worth it for the way Robin's hair brushes her cheek when she leans down to place a delicate kiss on the top of her head.

They stay linked together all the way through the hallway until they reach Max's room. Out of habit, Vickie knocks lightly on the door before pushing it open.

Max Mayfield isn't a patient that Vickie sees much of, but her condition hasn't changed since four months ago, when she was last in Sector 1. Her skin is pale and sickly, a striking contrast to her red hair, which is the only difference Vickie can notice. It's in two French braids now, neatly pleated on each side of her head.

"Lucas asked me if I knew how to braid," Robin says, reading her mind. "I don't, but someone must've taught him."

"Erica, maybe." Vickie's voice is quiet, as to not disturb Max. It's silly; there's been no change in her condition for over a year. Still, it feels respectful.

Two chairs are positioned next to each other next to her bed, and Robin and Vickie sit, hoping to provide some sort of comforting presence for Max. The likelihood she can sense them or hear them is lower than low, Vickie knows. But what else can they do?

- - -

It's been two hours, and Vickie has run out of stories to tell. She leans on Robin's shoulder, dozing off as her girlfriend (wow, girlfriend) recounts a time where she forgot her music during a band performance. It's animated and fun, and Vickie hopes Max can hear her.

Robin finishes her story, leaning back in her chair to catch her breath. "Wow. I just talked for—" She glances at the clock. "—twenty straight minutes. Might be a new record for me."

Vickie hums. "I don't think so. You talk a lot."

"Rude," Robin says, smirk clear in her voice. She wraps an arm around Vickie, who snuggles in closer. "You love it."

"Yeah," Vickie agrees. "I love seeing you happy."

Above them, the lightblubs flicker, dimming and pulsing. Robin is on her feet instantly, and Vickie knows why; lights are one of the telltale signs of the demon-man coming to kill them.

"It could just be the wiring here," Vickie tries. "This whole place is, like, really poorly made—"

Max's heart monitor begins to speed up, going from the steady, rhythmic beeping it's been at for the past two hours to a rapid, frightening speed.

"Oh, shit." Robin grabs one of Max's hands. Her body hasn't so much as twitched, stuck in her catatonic state. It doesn't make any sense.

Flickering evolves into flashing, and the ground beneath them trembles violently. Vickie stumbles, holding onto the wall for dear life. Robin comes over to throw herself over Vickie, shielding her as they're both sent tumbling to the ground.

"What the hell is happening?!" Vickie yells. She clutches onto Robin as tight as she can, barely able to make out her terrified face. Above Max, the lights explode in blue sparks.

Energy thrums through the room, and blinding red mixes with the blue lightning. Particles of the ceiling mesh with the portal, and bright, luminous crimson shines through an opening to… something. Vickie's eyes are glued to the scene.

"Oh my God." Robin's voice is shaking. Her hands tighten on Vickie's back.

The portal expands, growing over the entire ceiling. Crackles of lighting spark off, hitting the walls. One hits the clock, which explodes in a shower of glass and plastic. Vickie ducks her head, and Robin shields her the best she can.

Neither of them can see Max's face, but her body shakes violently. From the earthquake or something else, it's unclear. Vickie tries to get up, to get to her. But the tremors are too violent, and Robin's hold is too tight. All she can do is wait and hope.

Suddenly, everything goes silent. The portal closes in a blink, leaving nothing behind but a fried lamp and broken clock. The tremors cease, and they're left in still, heavy darkness.

Robin slowly gets to her feet, stepping carefully towards Max's bed. Vickie follows, letting her girlfriend lead the way to her bedside.

It's dark in the tiny hospital room. But not dark enough to cloak the way Max continues to shiver and convulse.

Or the way her icy eyes are opened.

"…Max?" Robin says disbelievingly. "Max, are you there?"

Cloudy, blank irises meet Robin's, and Vickie can only stand in shock. Never once had she seen Max Mayfield's eyes open. It's eerie and wrong, the sheer emptiness pouring out of her dead gaze.

Max's face twitches. Her mouth opens and closes, and Vickie jumps back when a strangled sound comes from her throat.

"We need a doctor," Robin says sternly. "Vick, we need a doctor, now!"

The two sprint out of the room, shouting for help, for anyone in the sector. Two people, a man and a woman, both dressed in white lab coats, are jogging down the hall.

Around them, alarms go off, but Vickie ignores the blaring siren, hurrying back into Max's room with the others closely behind.

"Please, you have to help her!" Vickie begs. She slams Max's door open. "She just woke up and she's choking—"

Vickie stops short in the doorway when she sees Max. Unmoving. Eyes closed and peaceful.

Like nothing had happened.

"Wha—" Robin looks between Max and the doctors, who are severely unimpressed. "She was just awake, I swear."

"Isn't this the Mayfield girl?" One of them asks. "Who's been in a coma since last March?"

Anger flares through Vickie. "Yes, and she just woke up! She must've—"

"She clearly did not just wake up." One of them moves to her bed, doing a quick once-over. "Her condition hasn't changed."

"But—" Vickie starts to refute them, but Robin grabs her wrist. Shakes her head.

Vickie gets the message.

"Sorry," she mumbles. "We must've been seeing things."

Both doctors hurry out, Vickie and Robin only a pace behind. When the emergency alarm goes off, it usually means they have to exit the building. And without express instructions to do anything else, that's what they do.

Outside, hoards of soldiers and doctors alike are gathered in groups, some more concerned than others. Vickie scans the crowd for Nancy and Jonathan, and locates them towards the back entrance, near the library. She can't help but notice the significant damage done to it since the burn; crumbling bricks, chunks ripped out, climbing vines slithering around the base.

"Jesus," Vickie mutters. "It looks a lot worse than it did before."

At the same time, Nancy spots them, and her and Jonathan speed-walk as inconspicuously as possible to meet them.

Vickie scans the crowd again. The woman from Sector 5 is missing.

"Oh my God." Nancy pulls Robin into a fierce hug, which the other girl reciprocates with equal passion. "Are you both okay? Did you feel the earthquake?"

"Oh, yes," Robin sighs, exasperated. "Not just an earthquake. This is going to sound crazy, but on the ceiling, I'm pretty sure we saw—"

"A gate?" Jonathan finishes for her.

Robin's eyebrows fly into her hairline. "Did you…?"

They both nod, exchanging wary looks with one another. "We were pretty sure it was. Except it looked a bit… different, than usual? Like, it was still red and glowing, but there was this other energy there, too."

"Blue lightning?" Vickie asks, already knowing the answer.

Nancy bites her lip worriedly. She's not as shocked as Vickie would've thought she'd be. "Yeah. They must be doing some kind of experimentation with the Upside Down."

"Uh, that's not all we saw…" Vickie gives Robin a nervous look, trying to silently ask if they should tell the pair about the other odd occurrence they witnessed.

Jonathan does a quick glance around, but none of the wandering staff are paying them any mind. "What happened?"

Robin leans in closer, and Vickie does the same. Nancy and Jonathan both take the hint, angling themselves similarly.

"We were in Max's room when it happened," Robin starts, taking a deep breath. "And… and she woke up."

Nancy audibly gasps, and Robin is quick to clarify. "Only for a second. We went to get help, and when we got back, she was asleep again. Like nothing had changed."

"But she was moving during the earthquake," Vickie chimes in. "Convulsing. Like she was having a seizure, almost."

"Holy shit." Nancy takes Jonathan's hand. "We have to get out of here, tell the others."

Vickie doesn't need to be told twice. Together, the four walk briskly towards the Sector 5 building, right next to which is the gate leading to the volunteer parking.

Usually, Vickie wouldn't be so reckless. She's not stupid.

But she is curious.

"Hang on," she says, stopping in her tracks. The others do too, regarding her with curious expressions. "You guys get the car. I need to check on something quickly."

"Uh, what?" Robin asks. "What do you need to check on, exactly?"

"It's probably nothing," Vickie shrugs, casual as she can. "But I think… it might help. I need you to trust me on this."

She unties her apron and hands it to Robin, who's gaping at her like she has three heads. "Vickie, what are you talking about? Where are you going?"

"Robin." She grabs her girlfriend's hand, clasps it in both her own. "I need you to trust me, okay?"

A gentle kiss pressed into Robin's knuckles is all it takes for her to concede (and for Jonathan's mouth to drop open in realization. She'll deal with that later) and back off with a reluctant nod.

"You have five minutes," she says wetly. "And then I'm coming after you."

Vickie grins. "Deal."

- - -

Sector 5 remains as isolated as it was before. Vickie takes small, quiet steps, hoping to not alert any unsuspecting wanderers.

She's on a spy mission, after all.

She takes two lefts and a right, and finds herself back at the entrance to the blocked hallway from before. A quick peak around the wall shows her exactly what she thought she'd see: the woman from earlier, deep in conversation with one of the two soldiers guarding the door.

Their words are hushed and quick, and Vickie knows she'll have to get closer if she wants to hear anything. She waits for an opening, then takes three long strides to the open door in the middle of the hallway. It's an old storage room; Vickie used to get new medical supplies from there.

By some sheer luck, the blaring alarm sirens cease at that moment, and their words are perfectly audible in the thick silence of the hall. Vickie holds her breath.

"The power is there," the woman says, with more passion than Vickie has heard from her thus far. "We just need to figure out how to control it. Channel it."

"Should we really have those teenagers lurking around?" The soldier's gruff voice asks. Vickie has to grip the wall to steady herself. They're talking about them. "I mean, the Turnbow girl, and especially that Byers kid… With all this going on, do you really think—"

"What I think," the woman interrupts. "Is that you should worry about your own job, and I will worry about mine. The Byers' are not a concern of mine. Neither are there pesky friends. Just keep them all out of this area, and we'll have no problems. Understood?"

"Loud and clear, Doctor."

Heels and boots click, and Vickie launches herself further into the room when she realizes they're coming towards her. A hand flies over her mouth, suppressing her breaths as much as possible. Her heart thrums in her chest, so loudly she's terrified they'll hear it.

But the steps continue on and on until they're out of earshot. Vickie gives it another minute before peeking out. No one is there. She takes her chance and books it back the way she came. Her legs are weak with nerves.

What the hell has she gotten herself into?

Chapter Text

"Should I stay or should I go now…"

It's the same verse, repeated over and over. Each time, the words get harder to stay. The cold freezes his tongue and burns his skin, but he keeps singing.

"Should I stay or should I go now…"

It's a new world he's found himself in. Dark, cold, dead. Undead. Growling creatures prowl around Castle Byers day in and day out.

Will can't tell if there is a day here, or if he's forever trapped in smoky night.

Time may not exist at all. He could've been here for three days, or three years. Who's to say.

"If I go there will be trouble…"

It's only been a day. He doesn't want to be here longer than a day.

"And if I stay, it will be double…"

Sometimes, he wishes he would just die. He wonders why he won't.

- - -

"Hello?!"

Castle Byers is dark and scary and different. Will doesn't know what to do. Shadow engulfed his vision merely a second ago, and now he's in the woods, miles from home. Alone.

Will cautiously pushes aside the makeshift door of blue tarp. Outside is nothing like his Hawkins, while also being an exact image.

If the image was created by shadows.

He takes a step out, already shivering from the freezing air. Or maybe it's just him, frozen to the bone. His very blood feels like ice. Like a reptile.

Around him, the world is red and black. Rotting and dying. 

His dad always told him he'd go to Hell. This must be it. 

"H-hello?" he calls again, meeker this time. No one answers.

But someone brought him here. Or something. His skin burns where the monster grabbed him, tingles where the darkness entered his body. The details are blurry, but he knows his home is here. Somewhere.

"Mom?"

Nothing.

"Jonathan?"

Nothing.

"Mike?!"

A wind rustles the trees. But nothing.

"Dustin? Mike? Anyone?"

Will looks around, taking a few deep breaths to calm down. If he gets scared, he won't be able to think or plan or find a way out of here. Back home.

I just want to go home.

- - -

The Byers' house is just how Will remembers it, down to the smallest details. Dishes in the cabinet above the sink. Grocery bags below. Dining table set for breakfast.

It's picture perfect. Will wonders how this place replicated it so well. Or if it's always been this way.

He also wonders how he got here so fast.

It is perfect, Will.

Will jumps out of his skin, grabbing a kitchen knife from the rack and brandishing it wildly.

"Hello?" he whispers, hands shaking. "Is— is someone there?"

A low, snarling growl comes from behind him. Will whips around, holding out the knife, gripping tightly for dear life. If it's that monster again, he isn't sure he can fight back.

Though foggy, Will can make out the monster through the window, slowly creeping towards him at that same slow, agonizing pace. Fear shoots up his spine, and Will drops the knife. It clatters to the floor.

Will presses himself up against the cabinets, as far away from the door as he can without losing sight of the beast. He can hear its claws at the door, it's wet, gurgling breaths reverberate through the wood.

It wants to kill him. That's why it's here.

Death isn't a foreign concept to Will. He's thought about it before. How he'll die, when he'll die. Whether or not it'll be alone.

He really doesn't want to die alone in this dark, scary place.

The door goes flying off its hinges. Will jumps, pressing himself further into the wall, hoping he'll melt right in.

Dangerous, hungry snarling sounds throughout the house, echoing off the rotting wooden panels and moldy furniture. The monster walks in, long legs bent awkwardly to fit, fervently sniffing out its prey.

Tears are running down Will's face now, and he presses a firm palm to his mouth to suppress the sobbing breaths.

Not soon enough.

With a sharp pivot, the monster turns its faceless head in Will's direction. Will's eyes widen, then snap shut. If he's about to die, he would rather not see it. He's not religious, but he prays it's painless.

Are you afraid, Will?

The voice. Sweet and taunting. With his eyes closed, Will can hear it better. Like the dulcet tones can only thrive in the darkness.

Good.

A lurch in his abdomen sends Will's hands flying forward outside of his volition. Black, raging shadows overtake his already somber vision, and Will can't make out where he ends and the shadow begins. It's pawing at his insides, his best memories and deepest fears, clawing through to make room for itself within.

Go away. Leave me alone. Die.

Will's trapped within his own body. Something else is puppeteering, calling the shots, making the choices. It's violating and terrible but Will can't stop it.

When he finally comes back to himself, able to move his hands and shake his head of his own accord, the monster is sprawled out on the floor, lifeless if not for its shallow, wet breaths.

And Will is fucking exhausted.

He can't run anymore. He can't hide. He can't do anything.

Years ago, his mom went through what to do in dangerous situations. Will can hear her anxious voice in his head: Run, hide, scream, fight.

Call for help.

Blearily, Will makes out the blob on the wall that is the phone. He stumbles over with shaky legs, thoughts muddy and clouded by shadow. Nothing but fear swirls inside his brain. It's eating him alive.

Channel your strength. Harness your gifts.

Will probably should've dialed a number into the pad, but he's too exhausted to care. As he presses the receiver to his ear, no sounds emits from the speaker but a faint electrical hum. He doesn't know what to do.

He's so scared.

Use it. Use the fear.

What? Will tries to reach out, ask the voice what it means. He can't. It's too far away, out of his reach.

He tries anyway. Will leans into the fear, channels it all into the palm of his hand. It's somehow the most exhausting task yet. His chest heaves with the exertion of it all.

"..ill? Will?"

He knows that voice. Mom.

On the floor, the creature stirs, a faint screech coming from its mouth.

"…who—give…me—"

It's all static and shadow and Will can barely remember his own name. All his energy, his thoughts, his life, go into the phone. Towards his mom.

With a shock, Will drops the phone, leaving it hanging on the wire.

His energy is zapped. There's none left to worry about the monster beginning to awaken.

Will collapses to the floor. He's not cold anymore.

- - -

Waking comes slowly. The first thing Will registers is the shooting pain in his neck. Like someone had jammed a blade into the flesh, torn him open from the outside.

Light comes next. Not bright, warm sunlight, but a dull and cold luminescence. It gives him a headache.

Or maybe the headache is just the third thing Will's consciousness supplies him. It's pain like Will has never felt before in his life, and he can't help the groan that escapes his lips.

"Ah, you're awake."

A voice. The fourth thing. It's familiar, but only just.

Footsteps. Clicking of heeled shoes.

His eyes, peeling open to see a gray, metallic ceiling. Overhead lights flicker brokenly.

And a face, intercepting his vision. Blurred by the halo of white from above, her features are indistinct to Will, but even so, her presence elicits visceral fear inside him, and he tries to shrink away the best he can. Will only ends up more afraid when he realizes he can't move his limbs.

It all comes rushing back. Biking home, the lady with the tire, a poking in his neck. His eyes widen in fright, and above him, the woman's lip upturns knowingly.

"I apologize for the theatrics," she says. "But getting you here was no easy feat, I will say."

As his awareness returns, Will surveys his surroundings the best he can. From what he can tell, he's underground, or in a cold, dark building with no windows. He's resting on an uncomfortable cot, pushed against a fortified wall. He can make out a table and shelves with an assortment of items stacked on them, but his sight won't focus properly enough to tell what they are.

Everything else is blocked by the woman, whose faux-smile only widens at Will's growing distress. She reaches out a gloved hand to graze his neck, where a small bandage is taped, and Will whimpers at the blinding pain surging through his head. His blood itself feels different in his veins. Colder.

"You seem to be recovering nicely. Very good. We can get to work even sooner than I initially planned."

Number six and seven come to him simultaneously: fear and cold. Like he had been dunked in a tub of ice water, soaked and chilled to the bone. Strands of damp hair rest against his forehead, and Will realizes he is soaking wet, dressed in the same borrowed clothes from Vickie's older brother.

"…wha' d'you want?" Speaking is a battle like Will has never known, but he's terrified and kidnapped and can barely string his thoughts together. "Where 'm I? Who… 're you?"

She crouches down, mere inches away from Will's face. A light shines in his eyes. He flinches back.

"Doctor Sarah Kay," she says. "Pleasure to officially meet you."

Will stares.

"All I want," Doctor Kay continues, brushing Will's wet hair out of his face. "Is to help you. And I believe we can help each other very much. Well, we would've preferred the girl, but from your record you seem to be just fine."

The girl. Eleven. Genuine, raw terror claws at Will, and his breaths speed up as he pushes himself away. There isn't anywhere to go; he ends up curled against the metallic wall.

"No," Will bites. "I'm not… you'll n'ver find her. I won't 'elp you."

It's the most secure he's felt thus far, even if his tone is muddled by his uncooperative tongue. He would rather die than give up his sister.

"No, no," the woman says, waving her hand dismissively. "We won't need her. Not with you behaving so well already."

Now Will is actually confused. All he remembers is some nightmare from the Upside Down. When did he behave well?

"Huh?"

With long strides, the woman goes over to one of the tables across the room, and only then does Will notice the multiple other people scattered around, all working on various tasks.

She picks up a file and notebook from the table, flipping through it deliberately. "Let's see here… William Byers, born 1971… went 'missing in the woods' for a week in 1983… showcased signs of psychosis, severe anxiety, repressed trauma, hallucinations…"

Will's blood runs cold, though he isn't sure why. None of what she's reading is new information to him. He remembers all the doctors, the medicine, the tests. All his abnormalities, mistakes, laid out so cleanly on a sheet of paper.

"Oh, yes," she clicks her tongue. "Possible psychic connection to extraterrestrial beings, as well as assumed control over unidentified 'shadow parasite.'"

She closes the folder with a flourish, and stares at Will condescendingly. "Is that all correct, Mr. Byers?"

"Uh…" Is there any point in lying? Whoever this Doctor Kay is clearly already knows everything about what happened to him.

She doesn't give him the chance. "Says here you were responsible for the deaths of upwards of twenty Hawkins Lab employees. Is that right?"

Horrible, twisted images of dead doctors and soldiers run through his mind like slides. Will can barely think. His brain is still reeling with visions of the Upside Down.

"Well." Doctor Kay takes a seat on Will's cot, unceremoniously shoving his legs aside. "We weren't sure if you maintained your abilities, of course. You showed no indication of any connection for years."

Will doesn't know if he's meant to reply. Everything about this situation reeks of a trap. An interrogation.

Doctor Kay pulls the notebook from under the file, and only then does Will recognize it as his own notebook, the one he left behind in class after his episode. The one Jonathan said the school had found.

"Wha—" Will cuts himself off when Doctor Kay raises a hand in his face as she flips through the pages.

"But then, you made this." She turns it around, holding the paper inches away from Will's face.

It takes a second for his eyes to focus, but when they do, Will's stomach drops to his feet. There, scrawled over his History notes, is a gruesome depiction of a human body with long hair and splayed limbs, mangled and twisted from Vecna's curse.

And behind it, looming over it all, is the Mind Flayer. Messy and scratchy from his broken pencil, it might not be perceptible to anyone else.

To Will, it's all he ever sees. In his nightmares, in his daydreams, in his blood and soul.

"Looks familiar. Doesn't it?" Doctor Kay pulls another paper from the file. It's a copy of his drawing from that autumn. His original Mind Flayer, lurking dangerously above the field by his house, scribbled in colored crayons.

Will swallows. "I don't— I didn't make this—"

"Oh, but you did," Doctor Kay smiles. "And now, without that thing in your neck dampening your abilities, you can finally be of some use to us. You'll strengthen your connection, your abilities, and finally be able to channel all that potential of yours."

"Memories?" Will repeats shakily. "What just happened—?"

"Was a memory. Presumably. And not 'just,' that was twelve hours ago."

Will chokes. How long has he been gone?

Doctor Kay gestures to a large, metal fixture in the middle of the room. "Theory suggests that exposure to sensory-evoking stimuli related to forgotten memories will help… retrieve them, so to speak. It's common with amnesia patients."

Doctor Kay snaps her fingers, and two of the men standing against the wall walk quickly towards them. Both reach out towards Will, who can't even fight them off when they each grab one of his arms, hauling him to his feet. His legs are weak and unsteady, and he would definitely be faceplanted on the ground if it weren't for their support. Still, he tries to wiggle out of their grip, thrashing and whining pitifully.

They lead him over to the center contraption. From this new angle, Will can see a pool of water inside, feeding out to a series of tubes and wires. Trapdoor-style panels rest on either side of the open top.

"This." Doctor Kay appears from behind them. "Is what allowed you to remember."

It looks like a more complex version of El's pizza dough freezer, between the water and the imposed darkness.

"Sensory deprivation tank?" Will asks. His knees still cannot hold his weight, but being upright is helping him regain some clarity in his fuzzy mind.

Doctor Kay hums. "Not exactly. Think of it more as… a sensory enhancement device. Water can be used to dull the senses, yes, but in our case, it's a conductor. A way to channel your energy outward, into something usable."

She kneels down by one of the tubes. Will feels sick.

"Luckily, we have easy access to materials from the earthquake rifts. The ones that lead into your other dimension. Exposure to said materials causes certain reactions in parts of your brain. Hypothalamus, amygdala."

Doctor Kay stands up with a tight-lipped smile. "Doesn't matter. Point is, you have serious power, Will. And by remembering, and now having this hideous suppressant out of your neck—" She reaches into her pocket, pulls out a small, red object. "—the sky's the limit. We can do wonders together. You'll be our greatest asset. Our weapon. Just think of the possibilities."

"No." Despite his best efforts, Will cannot free himself from the doctors' hold. He opts to go completely limp instead, forcing them to hold his entire weight. "I'm not helping you. I would never."

Doctor Kay smirks. "Don't worry, Will. You don't have to do anything except remember."

"No," Will repeats, firmer. "Let me go. Let me out of here. Let me go."

Adrenaline pulses through his veins, and Will can feel the cold running through each individual vessel of his body.

Like he's living in his memory.

That thought sends Will spiraling even further, shaking harder and wilder in the doctors' arms. He can tell he's almost free. If he just keeps pushing, he can get out. He can escape.

Doctor Kay's face is unreadable. She could do whatever she wanted to him.

He's powerless here.

Darkness overtakes Will's vision. Cold floods through him from head to toe. Energy pulses in his hands. Pain surges in his neck. Blood pours from his skin.

Will's hands fly out to each side to push the men off of him. Just like he did with the evil monster trying to kill him all those years ago.

Both doctors release his arms. They collapse to the floor.

Will's vision clears, and only then does he realize it's because they're dead.

Chapter Text

When Lucas wakes up, Mike's sleeping bag is vacant. A quick glance at the alarm clock tells him it's only 6:15 AM, much too early for any normal person to be awake and moving. He shoots out of bed, scrambling to tear his blankets off.

Lucas swings around the doorway to his bedroom, narrowly avoiding Erica's door across the hall. The last thing he wants is to wake her up at this hour. Luckily, he's gotten good at moving quiet and fast over the past few years of evading certain death, and is able to make it downstairs without waking anyone else up.

A million possibilities run through his mind. Could Mike have ran away in an attempt to find Will? Maybe he visited the hospital to see his mom? The cabin to see El? Could it have been Vecna? Will and Holly were already gone, maybe Mike was the next target?

Wafting from the kitchen is the smell of coffee and soap, and Lucas flies around the corner to see his dad at the kitchen table, newspaper in one hand, mug in the other. Across from him, slumped in a chair, sits Mike Wheeler, thank God. Lucas exhales shakily.

"Oh, good morning, son," his dad says, none the wiser to Lucas's racing anxiety. "You're up early."

"Yeah, well." Lucas levels a look at Mike, who isn't meeting his eyes. "Mike wasn't in the room when I woke up. I wanted to make sure he was alright."

Alive, more like.

Mr. Sinclair nods, eyes on his paper. "Mike decided to go out for a bike ride this morning. Get some exercise in. Isn't that right?"

Mike mumbles an agreement, gaze glued to the table. Whatever nerves had dissipated upon seeing him safe come back in full force when Lucas observes him closer; dark circles under his eyes, pale, sunken skin, faded red streaks down his face. He looks like a living corpse.

Losing Will again has been hard for all of them, but Lucas knows Mike has been taking it the worst. Between Will and Eleven and his family, Mike has had a terrible week. Lucas and Dustin tried to be there for him at the Turnbow Farm a few nights ago, letting him rant and wail and whatever else he needed to feel better.

"I don't know what I'll do," Mike had said, practically vibrating with the stress of holding back tears. "And Holly, too, I can't— I can't lose anyone else. I barely have— I don't—"

Dustin wrapped a gentle arm around him, and it was a testament to how poorly Mike was truly feeling that he leaned into it, not allowing himself to cry, but letting himself be held. Lucas knows he's not big on… emotions, lately.

Except, of course, with Will. But Mike's always been different with Will. Lucas thinks it would be odder if Mike started treating him the way he treats Will.

"It's gonna be okay, man," Dustin promised, giving Mike a reassuring shake. "We'll figure it out. We always do."

Lucas just muttered words of agreement, letting Dustin handle Mike for the time being. That's his favorite thing about their Party; how well-connected they are. How they always know when their friends are struggling, and how to be there for one another. Lucas considers them all to be his family now, even the 'extended' members outside of their little group. It's nice.

Seeing Mike brooding at the dining room table, Lucas knows it's his turn to step in and support his friend, just like Mike would do for him.

"Mike?" Lucas gestures back towards the stairs. "Wanna come back upstairs? You look beat, man."

Mr. Sinclair looks up from his paper, observing Mike while taking a sip of his coffee. "It wouldn't hurt for you to get a few more hours of shut-eye. It's been a long week."

Mike shrugs standoffishly, sinking further into his chair. "I'm not tired. Plus, I have to finish this."

His hand waves around his coffee mug, filled to the brim and resting on the table.

"C'mon, Mike," Lucas sighs. "You aren't even drinking that coffee."

Again, Mike shrugs, arms crossed over his chest. "I had a bit."

Over his paper, Lucas's dad raises a questioning eyebrow, but says nothing.

"Well, I wanna talk," Lucas insists. "Will you be a good friend and talk to me?"

Scoffing, Mike finally pushes himself up out of the chair. "Fine. Since you're so insistent."

"I am."

Lucas reaches out a hand to steady Mike when he almost trips over his own feet trying to cross the room, but Mike just waves him off, floundering past Lucas towards the stairs.

"Get some sleep, boys." Lucas shoots a small smile and thanks over his shoulder to his dad. He's glad his parents have moved past his suspension from high school so fast; Lucas would be extra miserable if his parents were mad at him on top of everything else. Luckily, when he explained what had happened, both his mom and dad pulled him into a hug, proud of him for standing his ground against bullies (even if his mom wished he could've verbally fought them instead).

The two make their way back upstairs, taking careful steps as they pass by Erica's bedroom. Mike stumbles a bit, falling into the wall, hopefully not loud enough to wake up Lucas's mom or sister.

"Sorry," he whispers.

Lucas motions for Mike to enter his room, and Mike sits on his rumpled sleeping bag from the night before. With a soft click, the door is shut, and Lucas exhales a sigh of relief.

"Where'd you go this morning?" Lucas demands. "And don't give me any of that bike ride bullshit."

Pulling his knees to his chest, Mike mumbles incoherently.

"What?"

"I went back to the barn," he says, clearer this time. "To talk to Vickie and the others before they go back to the Downtown base today. That's it."

Lucas sits down on his bed, resting his head in his hands. "Why didn't you wake me up? I would've gone with you."

"I dunno." Mike won't meet his eyes. "Just wanted to clear my head, I guess."

Sympathy tugs at his heart. Lucas knows how hard it's been for Mike, really. He was the same way when Max got attacked by Vecna; those first few months, all he wanted to do was pull away and hide. He's lucky to have had such good friends and family to be there for him, that helped him navigate the sadness before he drowned in the depths.

"I get that, Mike," Lucas says gently. "Seriously. You know I do. But… Will disappeared when he was biking by himself near the barn. We can't be wandering around those woods alone."

"He didn't just vanish, he was kidnapped," Mike retorts angrily. "Haven't we already established that?"

Lucas knows that is their current working theory. But he's never been one to jump to conclusions, especially not with the Upside Down infiltrating their town.

"It seems like it," Lucas says slowly. "But we don't know anything. Not really."

Mike's voice is concerningly dead when he replies. "You think Vecna took him."

Lucas chooses his words carefully, not wanting to upset Mike further. "I don't know. I just don't think we should rule it out so quickly. I mean, the only real evidence we have is Vickie's family saying they saw cars driving around. Is that really enough? Like, to draw a real conclusion?"

Palms pressing into his eyes, Mike takes a labored breath. "It's all we have, Lucas."

Immediately, he feels terrible for bringing it up. What Mike needs is hope, not reason. That's what everyone used to say to Lucas, too. You have to have hope.

If he was operating solely on logic, Lucas would've listened to the doctors hushed whispers that Max's condition was irreversible, that none of their extensive efforts showed any signs of improvement. Logically, that would be the path to take.

But with everything happening? Everything that has happened? Logic isn't enough, because the rules of the world itself bend like rubber, shaping and reshaping Hawkins into something that defies rationale. Hope is what they all need.

Mike had hope Will was still alive when he went missing, even after seeing his body pulled from the quarry.

Dustin had hope his pet Dart would stay loyal to him, even after discovering he was a Demodog.

Max had hope she could defeat Vecna, no matter how hard the fight would be for her to endure.

"You're right." Lucas moves to sit on the floor with Mike, leaning his back against the side of his mattress. "And it's a good starting point. Shit, maybe Nancy and the others will find something today Downtown, and we'll have Will home by tonight."

Mike pulls his hands back from his face. "Really?"

Lucas forces a smile. "Yeah, man. Will's tough. If someone did take him, there's no way he isn't fighting like Hell to get out."

A real smirk tugs at Mike's lips. "Yeah. Definitely. He is tough."

This time, Lucas's grin is genuine.

Progress.

---

It took a while, but somehow Lucas had gotten Mike to go back to sleep. Usually, this empty space in his day would be when Lucas would journey Downtown to see Max. Read her a book, tell her a story, just talk about what's been going on while she's been asleep. But with these new rules implemented, Lucas can no longer freely visit his girlfriend. Not without official clearance.

He hoped more than anything that Nancy would find a way for him to be allowed back in. Unlike Robin and Jonathan, Lucas doesn't meet the age requirement for volunteering. Despite his extensive begging, they wouldn't budge on their rule.

At this point, though, if Nancy doesn't find a new way to get him clearance, Lucas might scale the walls of the base and break in himself, consequences be damned. Three days is the longest he's gone without seeing Max, not only since her coma, but since he's known her. Even throughout their breakups, arguments, and distance, they were never really distant.

Lucas couldn't stand not seeing Max around the hallways of school. It was bad enough when she wasn't speaking to him last year. Now, he would take her cold shoulder any day of the week. At least then he could see her crystal blue eyes again, even if they were glaring at him dismissively.

Lucas's eyes flit briefly to his nightstand drawer. Carefully, he leans over, pulling it open slowly as to not wake Mike (judging by his deep, heavy breathing, it would take a lot more than that to startle him awake). A stack of envelopes sit neatly above everything else, all sealed and named just as they were last March.

Max's letters. Lucas never opened them. Never even thought about it. And he wouldn't let anyone else open them, either. They were a fail-safe, as Max had called them. Only to be opened if something happened to her, if she couldn't voice her thoughts herself. If she died.

Steve and Dustin didn't hesitate to hand over their letters when Lucas asked. The others didn't even know they existed. Lucas intends to keep it that way, at least until Max wakes up and she can decide what to do with them herself. Because Max is not dead, therefore her letters are unnecessary.

At the very top of the pile sits the envelope addressed 'Lucas' in Max's scratchy handwriting. Lucas pulls it out. Not to open, just to hold. It's the closest he can get to wrapping Max in a hug.

Lucas doesn't know how long he lays there, clutching Max's words to his heart as if absorbing her love through the paper. The sun is burning brightly through his blinds, shining a ray of light across the otherwise dreary room.

He's just drifting off to sleep again when Mike shoots up, panting heavily, startling Lucas back to a sitting position. Mike's eyes are unfocused, darting madly around the room as his hands instinctively try and push the blankets off him. His breaths verge on panic, and Lucas places Max's letter back in the drawer before going to help.

"Woah, Mike." Lucas drops to the floor, keeping enough distance between the two as to not scare him further. They all have nightmares, so frequent that comforting one another has almost become second nature.

Lucas reaches a tentative hand out, snapping his fingers in front of Mike's face. His fearful eyes lock onto him instantly, and a few stray tears slip down his cheeks.

"Just breathe, man," Lucas says, exaggerating his own inhales for good measure. "You're alright."

After a few minutes of breathing together in silence, Mike is lucid enough to feel the weight of his exhaustion, leaning back on his palms heavily. Quickly, he wipes his face on his borrowed t-shirt, embarrassed at his emotional distress.

"Sorry," he mumbles. "Nightmare."

Lucas hums knowingly. "Don't apologize. Wanna talk about it?"

Mike freezes, biting his lip nervously. Lucas backpedals. "We don't have to—"

"No, it's fine. Just…" Mike hesitates, glancing around yet again. "It's stupid. It's not even real, so…"

"Doesn't matter if it's real," Lucas insists. "We all have nightmares. They're not stupid."

With a sigh, Mike relaxes, leaning back against Lucas's wardrobe. "It was about Will. In the Upside Down. Like, when he went missing the first time. Which is stupid, because I wasn't even there, and I don't know why I'm even dreaming about it—"

"You're worried about Will, man," Lucas interrupts. "That's not weird."

"Well, yeah, but…" Mike trails off, voice smaller than Lucas has ever heard. "It felt so real, I just, I don't know."

Lucas frowns, patting Mike on the shoulder firmly. "We're going to find him. And Holly."

"I know," Mike says uncertainly. "I know. Shit, I'm sorry. I'm being dramatic."

"No, you're not, and that's not what I meant." An idea hits him suddenly. Lucas stands up, pulling a groaning Mike with him. "Let's go, we're watching a movie. Distraction time."

"Lucas, really—?"

"Yep. Hurry up."

Music plays faintly inside Erica's room, so Lucas doesn't bother trying to be quiet. Him and Mike trudge down the stairs, the latter lagging behind slightly, and into the empty living room. Movie nights are almost always in Mike's basement, so Lucas doesn't have that many good ones here, but he knows he can find something.

Behind him, Mike flops onto the couch, still a bit out of it from his nightmare. Lucas hopes something to take his mind off it all will be helpful. He doesn't know what else to do; it's too early for anyone to be back from Downtown yet, Dustin and Steve are with Murray doing repairs on the station, and El and Hop are stuck in the cabin. Not many fun options.

"How about…" Lucas shuffles through the tapes. "Empire Strikes Back? A classic."

"Fine," Mike says with a small grin. "Not like we've watched it a hundred times, or anything."

Lucas starts the movie, shoving Mike's legs aside to sit beside him on the couch. Thankfully, his plan seems to be working; the movie goes by smoothly, with Mike focused on the screen enough to hopefully forget his pressing worries for a minute. Lucas tries as well. He isn't sure if it's working or not.

About halfway through, three resounding knocks at the door startle them both. Lucas pushes himself off the couch with a groan.

"One sec. Probably more people preaching about the end-times, or whatever."

Nothing could've prepared him for the face that greeted him when he opened the door.

"Uh, hey." Chance runs a hand through his wavy hair, shifting awkwardly on his feet.

Lucas blinks. "Hey..."

Nightmare after nightmare pass through his mind. Could this be an elaborate trap? Lucas obviously heard about what happened with Dustin. Are the rest of his old teammates lurking in the shadows around his house, ready to get revenge?

"Is something— uh, why are you here?" Lucas stammers, frozen from the puffs of autumn air from outside and the sheer insanity of this situation. As discreetly as possible, Lucas peers around Chance's towering body. No one else is in sight, but he doesn't relax.

Chance bites his lip, looking down. His hands are in his jean pockets, likely to combat the chilly weather. He's lacking his signature Hawkins Tigers jacket, leaving him only in a flimsy long-sleeve.

"Is, um, is Will here?"

Of all the things Lucas thought Chance would say, that is the absolute last of them. Especially in such a timid tone, with nervous eyes and downturned brows.

"Will? Will Byers?" Lucas repeats. Chance nods. "No. Why? Have you seen him?"

"Not for a few days, no. But—"

As if summoned by the words 'Will Byers,' Mike darts into the hallway, hackles up immediately upon seeing Chance.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Mike demands, pushing Lucas aside to get right in Chance's face. "Why are you talking about Will? Did you do something to him?"

"Mike, hang on—"

Chance takes a step back, hands up in surrender. "Chill out, Wheeler. He just, uh, he borrowed something of mine a few days ago. I wanted— um, well, I wanted it back."

Mike's eyes narrow. "Borrowed what?"

All the blood drains from Lucas's face. "A few days ago? How many, exactly?"

"Um… three? The same day of that big storm," Chance replies.

Shit.

Lucas reaches out a hand to grab Mike's arm as a precautionary measure. And good thing, too.

"What the fuck did you do?" Mike screams, thrashing in Lucas's hold. Chance jumps, eyes wide and confused at the sudden outburst. "Did you hurt him? What did you do?"

Thankfully, Lucas is much stronger than Mike, and is able to pull him back before he can attack Chance and inevitably get his ass beat. "Mike, oh my God, you need to chill out."

Mike wriggles in his grip. "Lucas, let— let go of me."

He tugs harder, but Lucas doesn't flinch. "Calm down."

"Let go of me."

"Not until you chill out. This isn't helping anyone. You're acting like a lunatic."

Chance watches the two, mouth agape. "I feel like I'm missing something here—"

Mike decides he doesn't need both arms free to berate Chance. "Actually, I'm pretty sure you have all the information we need."

"Mike, enough." Finally, Mike shrinks back, adrenaline petering out. Without letting go of his forearm, Lucas turns back to Chance.

"You saw Will three days ago?" Chance nods nervously. "When?"

"…Three days ago?"

Mike scowls. "What time, moron."

Chance shuffles, hands reentering his pockets. "Whenever the rain started to really pick up. I was driving back home. Will was out on his bike."

There's an upward inflection to his words that Lucas doesn't like at all. By Mike's increased shaking under his palm, he notices it as well.

"What else?" he bites out.

With a long sigh, Chance continues. "He crashed his bike, and he was soaking wet, so I offered to give him a ride home. That's all."

Chance won't meet their eyes.

He's lying. Lucas knows it.

"Chance," Lucas starts, words laced with caution. Never did it cross his mind that Chance would have any involvement with Will's disappearance, but now it's impossible to rule out. "Where did you bring him?"

"Watermill," Chance answers, concern growing. "Like he asked me to. What's going on? Did something happen?"

"I don't know, did it?" Mike snaps. "You're obviously hiding something."

Rocking on his feet, Chance shakes his head. "I'm not."

From the way his body tenses and fidgets, even he doesn't believe it.

Lucas bites the bullet. "Will never made it back after the storm. He's been missing for three days. Do you know anything about what could've happened?"

Mike whips around to face him, betrayed and shocked. "Lucas—"

"Maybe now we'll get a straight answer from him," Lucas reasons.

"Hang on," Chance interjects, nerves replaced by layered confusion. "What do you mean, missing?"

"Are you stupid?" Mike asks, sounding genuinely curious under the layers of anger. "What do you think it means, Chance?"

Lucas finally lets go of Mike's arm, feeling the thrum of his pulse settling down enough that he's not worried about Mike jumping the jock in his doorway.

"Obviously I know what the word means, Wheeler," Chance says through gritted teeth. "I mean, how did he— I dropped him off, like, at the driveway, basically. Where did he go?"

"How long were you with him? In your car?" Lucas asks, not at all liking the direction they're headed.

Chance tenses, and a practiced neutrality glazes over his face.

"I dunno. Long enough to give him a ride back, I guess."

"You're lying." There's a barely concealed threat under Mike's words, so potent that even Lucas's heart skips a beat in fear. "Why are you lying?"

"God, what's wrong with you?!" Startled by Chance's outburst, Lucas takes a step forward, placing himself subtly between the two. "He was freezing and soaking wet, Mike! I let him warm up in my car for a bit. We talked. Is that what you wanna hear?"

"Talked about what?" Mike isn't deterred in the slightest.

Chance rolls his eyes. "Does that matter?"

Lucas can't stop Mike as he shoves right past him, pointing a finger right in Chance's face. "We haven't seen Will in three days. You are the last person who saw him or spoke to him. You tell me if you think it matters."

"Wait," Chance takes a step back, eyes widening. "I don't— I didn't do anything to him! Is that what you think?!"

His horrified gaze turns from Mike to Lucas. "Lucas, c'mon, you know I—"

"Dustin told us what happened," Lucas says quietly. "At Eddie's grave."

Shame floods over Chance's face, and he takes a step back. "I know, I know. And I apologized— well, to Will, at least, but— but whatever! Why would I come here looking for him if I was the one that did something?"

He had a point. None of them had even known Will and Chance saw each other after their scuffle at school. It's not like they would've been after him as a potential suspect.

"Okay, fine." Lucas glares at him expectantly. "Why are you looking for him, then?"

"I told you," Chance says, giving a dirty look to Mike, who hasn't moved from his fighting stance right in front of him. "I let him borrow something. I wanted it back."

"What was it?" Mike demands. Clearly, he's not as willing to give Chance the benefit of the doubt as Lucas.

With scripted nonchalance, Chance shrugs. "My jacket. He was cold."

Lucas doesn't bother hiding his confusion. Him and Chance were on the same basketball team for an entire season, and never once did he let anyone wear his Varsity jacket. None of the boys did; it's like a crown, a way to declare themselves Kings of Hawkins High. Only the players who had girlfriends would occasionally let them borrow theirs, especially on game days or at after-parties to show off.

"Your team jacket?" Lucas needs clarification before jumping to conclusions.

Chance's face, already red from the biting cold, darkens even further. "It's the only thing I had, man. I didn't— I wasn't gonna let him freeze."

Lucas tries to gauge Mike's reaction, expecting the same general bewilderment expressed on his face. Instead, all he finds is betrayal.

"Will wouldn't—"

"Well, he did." Chance looks straight past Mike to Lucas. "I swear, I don't know what happened. He told me where to drop him off, and I let him out and drove away. That's it."

Lucas believes him. Out of all the basketball guys, Chance was always one of the nicer ones. Not to say he didn't have his moments; if it came down to it, Chance would side with Jason over him any day of the week. Still, Chance was not as prone to violence as the others.

"Okay." Mike whips around in disbelief at Lucas's resignation. "Mike. Why would he come here asking where Will is?"

"I tried your house first, Wheeler," Chance chimes in. "But it was, like, surrounded by cops, so…"

At the mention of his family's home, Mike shrinks back from Chance, who clearly notices, taking a tentative step back himself.

"Sorry," Chance says. "I'll go. Didn't mean to bother you guys."

He hesitates on the steps. "When you find Will, can you let him know I stopped by?"

Lucas exchanges a weary look with Mike, who appears ready to either burst into tears or actually murder Chance on the spot.

"Yeah, sure." Chance gives Lucas a small smile, before turning away to go back to his car.

"Wait!"

Footsteps bang on the stairs, and Lucas barely has time to steady himself as Erica barrels past him, out the door towards Chance.

"Uh…" Chance stares down at Erica, unsure what to do. He looks around to make sure she's speaking to him, and not some other random person in their front yard. "Yeah?"

Lucas follows her outside, ready to stand between Chance and his sister if necessary. Not that he thinks Chance would do anything, but Lucas will never forget that asshole who tackled his little sister to the ground last year at the Creel house. He's never letting that happen again.

"You're Chance, right?" Erica demands. "Debbie's brother?"

Recognition sparks in Chance's eyes. "Oh, yeah. You're friends?"

Completely ignoring him, Erica continues on. "Is she okay?"

Mike takes a step forward, not bothering to close the door behind him. Anything that might relate to Holly, he wants to hear. Lucas knows about Erica's efforts to locate Mister Whatsit, and how Holly, too, was speaking to the entity before her disappearance.

Chance's eyebrows pull together worriedly. "What? Why wouldn't she be okay?"

Erica sends a nervous look back at Lucas. "Uh… just wondering. I haven't seen her in a few days."

Relaxing slightly, Chance replies. "Oh. She's been feeling a bit sick recently, but nothing too bad. Our grandma brought her to see a doctor today, so. She should be fine."

"What doctor?" Erica presses. "At Hawkins Memorial?"

"No…" Chance glances quickly at Lucas, giving him his best 'what the fuck' stare. "The new place. Where the library used to be."

Lucas hears both Mike and Erica's sharp inhales. Oh shit.

Chance must've heard, too. "What? Is something wrong?"

"No," Lucas blurts out before Erica can say anything else. "Nothing's wrong. Right, Erica?"

"Right," she repeats, not meeting anyone's eyes. "Right. Everything's fine. Just wanted to make sure she's okay."

Slowly, Chance nods, backing up towards his car. "Alright, well, uh, let me know about— yeah."

"Yeah. Get home safe." Lucas waves half-heartedly. Chance does the same, getting into his car and driving off.

Once his car is safely out of sight, Lucas grabs Erica by the shoulders. "Is Debbie—"

"One of the kids talking to Mister Whatsit? Yeah."

Erica scurries back into the house, shoving past Mike and up the stairs. When she returns a moment later, she's holding a backpack in one hand, and Lucas's walkie in the other.

"Come on," she says, throwing the walkie at Lucas. "We're going to Derek's."

Knowing better than to argue, Lucas follows his sister to grab their bikes, leaned against the back of their home.

"Shit," he mutters. They only have two. "Erica, can we ride together? That way Mike can have his own?"

Erica raises an eyebrow. "Why can't you nerds share?"

"Because, we're both fully grown adults who need their own bikes."

"You're sixteen."

"Same difference."

"Uh, no—"

"Lucas." The siblings cease their bickering at Mike's interruption. His arms are crossed, and he's hunched in on himself anxiously. "You two go. I'll stay here for a bit. If that's okay?"

"What?" Lucas had never seen Mike intentionally stay away from the action. Ever. Between that and his standoffishness, Lucas's suspicion grows immensely. "You don't wanna come?"

"Nah," Mike says. "I haven't been getting enough sleep lately. I think it'd be good if I got some rest, don't you?"

"Who are you and what have you done with Mike Wheeler?"

Mike snorts, raising his hands placatingly. "Weren't you the one telling me I needed to sleep?"

Lucas stares at him with scrutinization. This is a trick. It must be. Mike is too calm, too passive. So unlike the Mike that he knows.

"Lucas, you heard him," Erica pulls at his sleeve, dragging him along to the driveway. "He wants to stay."

"I don't know…" Lucas glances back at Mike, who's lingering in the doorway. There's a tiny, soft smile on his face. It's disconcerting.

"Go," Mike insists, motioning them off with his hand. "I won't break anything, or throw any parties. Promise."

Erica pulls in his shirt again, this time with much more force. Reluctantly, Lucas concedes, even if he's still extremely unsettled by Mike's behavior. Together, he and Erica push off on their bikes, pedaling onto the rough pavement of their street.

He turns back to face his house one last time, only to see Mike shutting the front door, safely inside. Maybe he really is worried for no reason.

Lucas turns back to the road, keeping pace with Erica as they speed towards the Turnbow Farm.

Chapter Text

It's funny, how time works.

Sometimes, it flows straight, in sequence, like the rules suggest.

Other times, it goes backwards, whenever a memory is brought to the forefront of the mind.

Right now, Will thinks it has decided to move sideways, across a plane of reality separate from his own.

How long has he been here? He isn't so sure. The same frigid, deathly air surrounds his cowering form on all sides. Pressing into him like a strangling embrace.

Will knows this isn't real. Not anymore, anyways. The Upside Down exists, and these memories exist, but he's not living them in real time. They're just that: memories, awakened by some technological development Will didn't have the opportunity to comprehend before getting thrust back into the tank.

They gave him no time to process his new abilities. Or those he used them on. Probably for the best.

This newfound level of conscious awareness, Will assumes, comes from the lack of suppression of his powers. Doctor Kay gave some scrambled, messy explanation, more to herself than anyone else, about Will now being able to manifest reactions physically separate from the beings in the Upside Down.

"Without that device in him, he won't need to rely on outside forces for his abilities," she muttered to the fellow doctor holding Will down as they prepared him to reenter the memories. "He'll be like the girl. Fully operational and controlling his own progress. Fascinating."

Will was too dazed to ask any further questions. Not like he'd get a real answer, anyways. The general gist of it was clear, though; all his previous showcases of 'power' were solely from his psychic link to the shadow monster. Now, he won't only have that to worry about, but powers unique to himself and his own body, gained who knows how and who knows why. Just another shitty thing to add to the list.

Even if he wanted to test them out, see what he could do, Will's completely unable to do anything but sit, shivering, in his Upside Down living room. That's the worst part of reliving these horrors consciously; being frozen within his own body, not able to change anything because it's all happened already.

He's been able to hear his mom's voice again, at least. It was terrified and broken, but at least she's okay. Will tries to remember what else happens, what else he can do to try and get back—

"Will?"

He's on his feet in an instant. Her voice is back. Looking down at the phone, shattered from their last conversation, Will knows he needs to think of another way to talk to her.

An idea hits him suddenly. His walkie-talkie.

Will darts to his bedroom, burning brightly with a false hope that maybe this could be it. They could find him.

As he pushes open the door to his room, Will's mind is flooded with nostalgic memories. Sleepovers with the Party, listening to mixtapes with Jonathan, hugging his mom after a nightmare. So much has happened in this space, so much good, and it's all been ruined. 

He wants that back. He wants that here.

Around him, golden particles swirl, and the room begins to transform into Will's real bedroom, free from the vines and spores. It's homey and comforting and everything he so desperately craves.

Will knows he's the one doing it. He just doesn't know how.

He channels his energy the best he can into keeping the world the way it is now. A quick glance out the window tells him this power can only extend as far as the boundaries of his home, maybe even just his room. Like flashes of lightning, the other place returns in his vision, dark and scary, a stark contrast to the comfort of his bedroom. He holds on as hard as he can.

Think of the good memories, he reminds himself.

Beside him, the radio clicks on, blasting Should I Stay or Should I Go so loudly he jumps. His and Jonathan's favorite song. A bleary smile tugs at Will's lips. In the light-world, Will's real world, he sees his mom hesitantly enter the room, no doubt afraid of the supposedly sentient radio.

He needs her to know it's him. Frantically, Will searches around the room for something, anything he can use. His walkie is concealed by the vines wrapping around the underside of his bed. The phone is fried. What else?

The lights. His mom had told him about the lights. Maybe that'll prove it? Extending a hand, Will splits his focus, pushing his remaining energy into the lamp beside him. It feels almost second nature, like he's been able to do this his entire life.

Sparkles of gold envelop the lamp, and Will can see his mother pick it up in her hands, hardly wanting to believe it.

"…Will? Is that you?"

Yes!

Newfound energy courses through his veins. The light burns brighter. Will can almost reach out, he's so close—

It disappears. All at once, it's gone. His mom, his music, the light. Will's back in the darkness, surrounded by a mockery of the world he loves. It's silent and dead, and Will can't do this anymore.

Letting his legs give out, Will collapses to the ground, tears pouring freely down his face. His fists bang into the ground hard enough to draw blood. How much longer can he handle this? Each passing minute here drains his body and soul, distorting him into something completely new and different and wrong. He knows he needs to stay happy, stay hopeful, just so he doesn't lose his mind. But this place doesn't feed hope. He's not happy.

It makes him miserable. It makes him angry.

Will doesn't even have the chance to prepare himself when a monster lumbers into his room, low growls rattling the thin walls. It must've broken through the door while the music hid its approach. 

Rage floods through him like never before. He was so close. This thing took him, ruined his life, trapped him in a Hell so similar to his desires. And he wants it to pay.

Will can kill. He's done it before. Many times, now. When the shadow was in control of his body, all It wanted was to kill.

The monster snarls, hungry for his blood.

It wants to kill.

Only this time, so does Will.

With a flick of his hand, the monster goes flying through the room, right into the rotting wall by his window. The glass cracks with the force of the hit. Pressed painfully into the wood, the creature screeches in pain, but Will can't find it in him to care. Death isn't enough. He wants it to suffer. He loves it.

Darkness clouds his vision, roaring in his brain. Will's pretty sure he's screaming by now, but his own voice is drowned out by the surge of energy in his ears. He vaguely realizes how rapidly his view is changing, flickering between worlds. Music plays in his world, or the other, or both. Nothing makes any sense anymore.

The monster cries out again, louder this time. Specks of darkness rise from its chest, burning red and black. Will's tearing it open from the inside.

Die. He thinks he may have snarled the word aloud. 

Thump. Will releases his hold as the monster goes limp, body mangled and torn, bleeding and dying. Dead. 

Manic cackling fills the room. His own.

It takes the last of his dwindling strength to stop himself. Pressing a hand over his mouth isn't enough. He wants to rip out his own throat.

Red stains the monster's chest. Will's vision blurs into a sea of thick crimson and white.

He hits the ground hard, feelings drifting away into the dark.

- - -

"…talk… please, Will…"

He can't. He can barely force his lungs to take breaths.

"Will… your brother is here…"

His brother. Who is his brother?

He thinks. He knows his brother.

Jonathan. His brother, Jonathan Byers. Jonathan is here?

He wants Jonathan to know he's okay. He tries to bring back the shining gold, channel his light into their world. A faint hum surrounds the lamp, like a flickering match. He can't do it. He's stuck.

Hopeless and defeated, Will succumbs to the blackness again.

- - -

He doesn't know how long he stays in the dark.

It could be hours, or days, or years. Maybe even no time at all.

Will pries open his eyes slowly, but nothing changes. It's just black. Darkness for as far as his eyes can see. Below him, Will can hear the sloshing of water, puddling around his shoes and wetting his ankles. He's standing. Somehow.

Puzzled, Will whips around, only to find his house completely gone, replaced with the same encompassing darkness. Dread begins to pool in his stomach.

"H-Hello?!" Will screams. It echoes off nothing. "Hello?"

"Hello."

Timid and small, the word comes from right behind him. Will stumbles back in shock, tripping over his own feet in his haste to distance himself from the unfamiliar girl's voice.

Well, unfamiliar to twelve-year-old Will Byers.

"Who are you?" The question escapes his lips, because it has to. Even though sixteen-year-old Will trapped inside knows her very well. Shaved head, curious eyes, kind soul.

She holds up her left arm. A small, black tattoo is etched into her skin.

"…Eleven?"

"Yes." Eleven looks him up and down, frowning at his battered, slimy clothing. "Who… are you?"

"I'm Will. Will Byers."

She repeats the word, unfamiliar on her lips. "Will."

Will looks around the empty void. He reaches out towards her, but stops when she recoils. "Are you real? Where are we?"

"The bath," she says plainly, eyeing him uncertainly. "I am… looking."

Hope rises in Will's chest. "For me? You're looking for me?"

Eleven's eyes water. Her breathing speeds up. "Who—"

Her demeanor changes suddenly, and her head whips around, like she's looking for someone else. Will does the same, ready to fight, but there's no one there.

"Eleven?" he asks fearfully. "What is it? What's happening?"

"Papa," she whispers. "He says—"

Will doesn't get to hear whatever Papa said, because the next second he's falling into the water, drowning, and Eleven is evaporating into plumes of angry shadow.

- - -

This time, Will opens his eyes for real, lurching up with heaving breaths. Small particles from the dirty air get lodged in his throat, and he dissolves into a coughing fit so bad his body shakes with the force of it.

By the time he regains control over his lungs, Will's so mentally exhausted he can barely think. Between the strain of talking to his mom, the hope melting into bitter despair, and the monster—

It's still there, dead and rotting on the floor of Will's bedroom. Now that he's awake, Will can really assess how badly he injured the being before ending its life. A large, angry gash tears through its chest, exposing dark innards that leak onto its pale skin. Bones are broken, cuts tear through flesh. It's sickening. 

Will wants to throw up. He did that. He killed a living creature, willingly. No shadow, no possession, no accidental outburst. Just him.

And he enjoyed it. He wants to do it again. 

See, Will? You can do great things here…

Buzzing static envelops his mind. His thoughts are muddled by shadow. Will can't even panic because it's blocking his thoughts, intercepting his consciousness, controlling every molecule of his body.

Fear hits him in devastating waves. He can't fight it. He doesn't want to.

A faint voice, a new voice, calls his name, pleading for… something. It's jumbled and distorted by rings of shadow, memories of pain and fright. But the desperation in its begging cuts through all that hurtful noise. It sounds safe. It sounds like love and warmth and home.

It's a lifeline. Will reaches out desperately, trying to cling onto that security-

But he doesn't deserve safe. And this is his new home.

Welcome home, Will…

The lifeline starts to slip from his grip. Will can't pry himself away. It only clings tighter. Around him, the shadows encroach in. Surround him in an inescapable prison. 

Falling back into the darkness, Will lets it consume him whole, lifeline forgotten. Just like he deserves. 

Chapter Text

Maybe if Mike hadn't lied to Lucas, he wouldn't have had to make this walk by himself. It was a stupid plan, in hindsight.

The streets of Hawkins are barren as ever. Occasionally, the odd car zips past him, speed limits long forgotten. Mike is envious. It's been over an hour, and he still is yet to reach his destination. Hopefully, Lucas and Erica are caught up at the farm, and Mike can make it back to their place before they even notice he left.

He takes a right onto the familiar dirt road, wiggling through dense patches of unkempt grass and orange-leaved trees. It's been a while since he's been down this path, but Mike remembers it like second nature.

In the distance, Mike can see the faint brown outline of his destination, looking just as it did two years ago. He picks up the pace.

The Byers' old home hasn't changed a bit, even after the new owners purchased it from Joyce. Mike's surprised anyone bought it at all, given the rough history behind the place. Cops, crazed mothers, missing children brought back from the dead.

At the very least, whoever owns the house never moved in. Mike would come here every so often, especially right after the Byers' moved away, just to scope out who would be taking the home of his second family. People were in and out, but there were never any moving trucks, or happy families that took residence inside. He's always been secretly glad for that. It would be weird to have anyone other than Will living here. Like they'd be writing over his childhood memories and replacing them with new ones.

Little damage was done from the earthquake, as far as Mike can tell. Though whoever had been doing routine checkups in his stead must've up and left after the catastrophe, if the dirty windows and messy yard are anything to go by.

Thankfully, the new owners left the door unlocked, likely assuming no one would bother to break in to an abandoned house on the outskirts of town. Mike steps in slowly, a wave of sad nostalgia washing over him. Even after two years, the warmth hasn't faded from the living room. Faint smells of cigarettes and burning candles linger on. Or maybe that's just Mike's wistful imagination.

His eyes drift to the interior wall, right above where the family had their couch. The same one Joyce had used to communicate with Will through the painted letters and Christmas lights.

The same one Mike had seen in his dream last night.

Moving further inside, Mike takes a seat on the dusty wooden floorboards, eyes focused straight at the blank wall. The memory is clear in his mind; Will in the Upside Down, making the lights flash as he begged for help. And Joyce, right where he is now, doing her best to talk to her son.

It's not Mike's memory. That's why the dream unsettled him so bad. Mike never has nightmares about other people's trauma. He has plenty of his own to deal with.

Even so, it felt so real. Like he was really there with Will. When he woke up, his disoriented brain half expected Will to be sleeping next to him, under the warmth of his own sleeping bag on Mike's bedroom floor, arms extended for a comforting hug. There's been an emptiness inside him ever since Will disappeared, but after having him so close, just out reach, it's been almost unbearable.

Maybe that's why he's here. Talking to walls.

"Uh, hey, Will." Mike cringes at his own voice piercing the silence of the empty house. "I— shit, this is so stupid."

Mike should just get up and leave, go back to the Sinclair's and stay put like he promised. But something is keeping him glued to the floor. The smallest sliver of hope.

"I know I'm just talking to myself in an empty house, and that you can't actually hear me, and that this is definitely super pathetic," Mike rambles. "But the only person I can really talk to is you, and you're not here, so…"

Tears burn in his eyes. Mike forces himself to not wipe them away.

"Well, anyways, I thought this might be the closest I could get to talking with you. I thought about going all the way out to Castle Byers, but, y'know, it's far. And the woods are dangerous.

"I actually rebuilt it. I never told you that. After the storm two years ago, when I found you out in the rain? It was ruined. And you never bothered to fix it because you were moving away, which makes perfect sense, of course. We— you barely used it anyways, right? It was, like, for kids. But I couldn't just leave it like that. It was wrong, all torn apart and- and broken. I spent weeks working on it. I thought maybe I could surprise you when you came to visit. I don't know. It's dumb. I'm being stupid."

Mike waits for a moment, a traitorous, delusional part of him hoping his best friend will materialize out of thin air, laugh at how ridiculous he's being, tearfully talking to himself on an old living room floor. That he'll come home.

Nothing happens. Obviously. More tears slip from his eyes.

"God, I'm such an idiot," Mike chokes out, hiding his face in his hands. "I was such a horrible friend to you, and a bad boyfriend to El—oh, El broke up with me, too, you've missed a lot—and now I've lost both of you and I just don't know what to do anymore."

He presses his palms harder into his eyes, and for a brief moment, he sees Will, young and afraid, hiding in the Upside Down replica of this very room. Just like in his nightmare. The picture is so startlingly clear that Mike retracts his hands like they've burned him. Looking around frantically, Mike's nerves skyrocket, even though nothing has changed within the vacant room.

"Will?" His name slips from Mike's mouth before he can stop himself. "Will? Are you— are you here?"

Silence is his only reply. Mike's face flushes with embarrassment. What the hell is he doing?

"Well, good talk," he mumbles to himself. He's already been gone long enough for Lucas and Erica to get home if they were moving fast.

Just as Mike starts to push himself up from the ground, a low, persistent buzzing comes from above him. He freezes in his tracks, turning his head up towards the source of the noise.

The overhead light pulses dimly, barely more than a golden flicker before it's out. But Mike saw it. Without thinking, he runs to the light switch, flipping it on and off repeatedly. Nothing happens.

"Will?" Mike tries not to be too optimistic, but this is the closest they've gotten to a lead yet. Even if that lead potentially means Will is trapped in the Upside Down, hiding away like he did years ago.

Another slightly more concerning thought hits him. What if it isn't Will? What if this is Vecna? They had all been warned of the signs of Vecna's approach: chiming clocks, nosebleeds, nightmares…

Mike had a nightmare last night. It brought him here. Could this all be an elaborate trap to lure him away from the safety of his friends? Kill him where no one can find his body?

It could be. But it could also be Will. And that's a gamble Mike is willing to take.

"Will, are you there?"

Faintly, the light illuminates yet again, soft and gentle. Mike has to resist from literally jumping for joy.

"Oh my God, holy shit," he mutters. "Holy shit. Okay. How— what do I do?"

This time, there's no reaction. No warm glow to guide him. Mike tries not to panic.

"Will, if you're there, please… talk to me. Help me find you."

Mike closes his eyes, letting his hope overtake his uncertainty. Worst case scenario, he reopens his eyes to find himself right back in the Byers' old living room, talking to the walls like a psychopath. Best case scenario? He isn't really sure.

Without warning, Mike's body lurches, like someone picked him up and spun him around a hundred times. The world tilts on its axis, and Mike is overcome by a crippling darkness. He's floating and sinking, flying and falling all at once. Nothing surrounds him but the shadows, but he tries to cling on to something, anything, just to save himself from drowning. A small light. A lifeline, so he doesn't drown in the depths of the night. There's no time to panic or scream or wonder what the fuck is happening right now before it's over, and he's crashing to the ground with a yelp.

Mike blinks his eyes open, trying to quell his vertigo. The view that awaits him almost makes him throw up anyways.

He's still in the Byers' house, but it's no longer sold and dusty. All their familiar furniture is just where it was in Mike's memories, homey and safe and perfect.

Or it would be, if not for the dark, creeping vines wrapping around the couch, up the walls, over the ceiling.

"Oh, fuck," Mike breathes out.

He's in the Upside Down. With no weapons, no backup, and absolutely no idea how he got here or how to get out.

From across the house, there's a resounding bang, followed by hectic shuffling. Mike pushes himself against the wall, right next to the door, ready to run if he has to. Not that he'd get very far against a Demogorgon, but there's no way in hell he's going down without a fight.

A door—Will's bedroom door, Mike remembers—swings open, and Mike braces himself for the Demogorgon, or the bats, or even Vecna himself to come charging in for the kill. But rather than sinister, evil snarling, weak and terrified breaths sound through the hall. A child's breathing.

Mike's legs almost give out when he sees Will run out from the hallway, stumbling over his feet as he runs into the living room. Because this Will Byers dons a pair of worn out jeans, a plaid flannel, and red vest.

And is twelve years old.

Frozen in shock, Mike just stares as young Will closes his eyes, concentrating hard on his breathing. Around him, the world itself flickers, and Mike watches in awe as Will is replaced with Joyce, staring at the alphabet wall with a crazed look in her eyes. The two flash between one another so quickly Mike can hardly make out their faces.

"Baby— talk— where— you—?"

Joyce's words cut in and out like radio static, muffled by the flipping between dimensions. Little Will's head is bowed in concentration, his tiny body wracked with labored breaths as he flashes each corresponding light. Somehow. Mike watches as the sparkles of yellow light surge over the correct letters, but Will isn't doing anything to elicit such a response.

R-I-G-H-T-H-E-R-E

All the tension leaves Will's body, and he falls to one knee on the ground. Mike wants to go to him, help him, but something is keeping his feet rooted firmly to the floor. No matter how hard he strains, his legs won't budge. 

Joyce's voice echos through the house again, but this time, it's faint and indecipherable. Mike can still see her, though, clear as day as the image holds on her world. Shadows encroach in on him, coating the Byers' wooden floor in a sheen of darkness.

Mike holds back a gasp of horror as the wallpaper itself begins to stretch and break, as if it's made of elastic. Slowly, Joyce turns around, letting out a terrified scream as she takes in the sight before her.

A long, sickly-white arm breaks through the house, and Mike watches in horror as a towering Demogorgon pushes itself out of the portal. Briefly, his vision flashes back to Will, who is curled up on the Upside Down floor, sobbing as he witnesses the scene unfolding.

"Mom…" he whines, trying to reach out to her through dimensions. It's no use.

Joyce tries to run, but the Demogorgon is much faster. Mike can hear Will's wails echo in his ears as he watches the monster attack his mom, rip her limb from limb, leave her motionless and bloody on the floor of their house.

The sight is graphic and terrible and makes Mike sick to his stomach, the whole thing worsened by Will's deafening screams and pleas for her to run. Mike's eyes are glued to the sight, remembering Joyce telling them all about talking to Will through the lights. It didn't end like this, that's for sure. Will had told her to run through the lights, and Joyce had escaped the Demogorgon's potential attack.

Shadows from the floor creep up her body, coating her whitening skin in a thick blackness until she's washed away into nothing. They dance around Mike's eyes until he's back in the Upside Down with a sobbing, traumatized Will.

Mike tries lifting his feet to no avail. It's as if he's stuck in concrete, trapped in his worst nightmare: being forced to watch as Will suffers, unable to do anything to help him.

"Mom, please, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—" Will weeps, hands gripping his hair so tight Mike's worried he'll yank it out. "Please come back, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"

"No one to help you now, huh?"

Both boys jump as something bangs repeatedly at the front door, hitting hard enough to rattle the windows and dent the wood. Mike raises his arm protectively in between the noise and Will, now thankful for where his feet have decided to plant themselves. He won't be much use if something actually breaks in, given his immobility, but his positioning in front of the entryway could at least allow him to buy Will some time.

"Open this damn door, boy!"

The doorknob jolts and clangs. Behind him, Will lets out a terrified whine, backing away from the door as much as he can, hands crossed in front of his face to brush away his tears before his dad can see.

Another thunderous bang. Lonnie Byers kicks down the door, shattering the wood into fragments of shadow. Will cries out behind him, and Mike watches in horror as he stands in the doorway, sneering and drunk, a cold impassivity radiating from his being.

"Look at you, cowering like a fucking fag. Pathetic. Mommy isn't here to save you now, is she?"

Mike knows Lonnie's voice; his slurred words, biting insults and jabs. This isn't it. Sure, it's close, but it's similar in the way a distasteful impression would be. A distorted, worse version of the real thing.

Kill him, Will. You know you want to…

Mike startles at the sudden new voice in the room. It's not from Lonnie, and it's certainly not from Will. This one is deeper, gravelly and haunting, like a predator on its prey.

Will shakes his head, holding his hands up to his ears as he falls to the ground in fits of tears. "No, no, I don't—"

You can make him pay… Pay for what he did to you… Just let us in Will. Let us in…

"Will, don't," Mike says. Will doesn't react—he can't hear him—but Mike isn't giving up. "Will, please, I know you're there. It's just a nightmare. Can you hear me? It's Mike. It's me."

Little Will meets his eyes. For the first time, he sees Mike. Really sees him.

"…Mike?"

In the blink of an eye, the Byers' house melts away, and Mike feels a dizzying vertigo as shapes form and reform around him, morphing into somewhere new.

They're no longer in the Upside Down; sun beats down on Mike's face, and fresh green grass tickles his ankles. Children squeal and yelp with laughter all around him. For a moment, Mike's worried he accidentally teleported himself out of whatever nightmare he was in, leaving Will behind.

Colors blend together, and the scene finishes painting itself out. Mike recognizes the place immediately; the parking lot outside of Hawkins Elementary, exactly where he was with Will and Holly a few days ago. Everything looks normal enough. Parents call for their children, cars pull in and out of spaces.

It's almost too perfect. Maybe that's why Mike can't shake the unsettled feeling in his chest.

Taunting, jeering laughter comes from around the corner, and Mike, thankfully able to move his legs again, goes to investigate.

Peering down the alleyway, Mike watches a small boy get picked on by three others. It only takes a second for Mike to see the boy is Will, younger even than he was in the Upside Down. The other boys are equally as recognizable; even now, seeing Troy and James makes Mike's blood boil with rage. A third boy stands behind them, but he's obscured by the other two.

"What, you gonna cry?" Troy taunts, looming over the cowering Will.

James shoves Will, hard. He hits the ground with a wince as his hands scrape the dirt.

"Look at him, whimpering like a fucking baby."

Will's doe eyes fill with tears. Mike's heard enough. He'll beat up a nine year old if he must.

With long strides, Mike makes his way over to the boys, fists clenched hard enough to bruise. Troy and James laugh with each other, taking a step back from Will as they high-five proudly.

Mike stops dead in his tracks as he sees the face of the third boy.

"Nothing to say?" Will's eyes widen in betrayal as a younger Mike Wheeler smirks sarcastically down at him. "Just gonna sit there and take it like a little fairy?"

Troy and James roar with laughter. Young Mike preens at their praise, joining in with the high-fives and gloating smiles. Will shoves a fist in his mouth to suppress his sobbing.

Real Mike knows he should step in, but his feet are cemented to the ground. And not in any supernatural way, either.

Look at yourself, Will. How weak…

Will coils himself into a tighter ball. Fake Mike's scorning insults grow louder and louder.

You're nothing to them, Will… they don't love you…

New laughter comes from behind real Mike, back down the alley. Joyce and Jonathan Byers stand there, cackling unnaturally, eyes glassy and empty. Will's face falls impossibly farther when he sees them.

You can hurt them, Will… you know you want to… make them pay.

Will tucks his knees into his chest, pressing his head between them to try and block out the noise. The laughter, the voice, the fear. His hands are shaking uncontrollably over his ears.

"Please go away, make it stop, please, please, please—"

Hearing Will's tearful begging snaps Mike out of whatever stupor he was trapped in. He runs towards his best friend, ignoring the horrible sound of his own childish voice hurling hurtful words for his own sanity.

"Fight it, Will. Block it out."

Will's head shoots up. His young eyes are foggy and full of tears. "…wha'?"

"You don't have to listen to it. C'mon Will, it's me. It's Mike."

"Mike…" Will's eyes widen with recognition. "No… go— go away, I'll hurt you— I don't wanna hurt you—"

His lip quivers with terror and misery, and Mike shakes his head resolutely.

"You won't, I promise. Just— relax, okay? I'm right here."

Will tries to look around Mike, back at the bullies, but Mike won't let him, positioning himself so all that Will can see is him. The real, safe Mike.

From the corner of his eye, Mike can see the scene around them dissolving, melting away into something new. Fear bleeds out from the veins of the world itself; Mike doesn't know how he can tell, but he can. It's working.

"That's it, Will, focus on me. He's trying to get in your head and- and scare you. Don't let him."

Will whimpers, shoulders trembling. "'m scared…"

"Don't be scared. I'm right here. I won't let anything happen to you."

Cautiously, Mike reaches a hand out to the young Will. He eyes it warily, breaths heaving his chest, so afraid it makes Mike nauseous. All of a sudden, Mike is a child again, comforting a frightened Will after a nightmare, holding his hand while they watch a scary movie, running away from both pretend and real monsters.

"Do you trust me?"

Will nods without hesitation, even though his eyes linger uncertainly. "Yeah."

Warmth rushes through Mike. He extends his arm slightly closer to Will, a silent plead for him to take it. Will does. And everything comes crashing down.

One minute, Will's hand is gripping his own, and the next, Mike is falling yet again. Only this time, he isn't falling into darkness. He's falling out, going somewhere new.

Mike hits the ground hard, again, groaning in pain. The first thing he notices is the lack of Will's hand is his own.

"Will—?"

Mike trails off, the word dying as his mouth drops open in horror at the sight before him.

Sparks of red and blue… something twist and writhe in what looks like a gate, or a portal to the Upside Down. Maybe he really was in the Upside Down? But then where's Will?

Mike stares in horror at the massive expanse of blue energy above him as it rapidly dissipates into nothing but scattered crimson sparks.

"What's going on? Why are we losing connection?"

Out of thin air, a man appears beside him, dressed in a long white lab coat and thick glasses. His hands are running over an electrocardiograph machine, concern written all over his features.

Another doctor appears, this one donning safety goggles and a mask. "We need to get him out, now. Something's wrong."

With a magnificent swirl of shadow and cold hues, the rest of the space builds itself in Mike's vision. It's some sort of enclosed room, constructed entirely out of metal and concrete. Doctors and scientists scramble wildly around, pushing levers and pressing buttons on a large, metal device in the center of the room.

Mike can barely process what he's seeing until two of the doctors extract a body, soaking wet and trembling, from the machine. His heart plummets to the floor upon seeing his face. A face he just saw, only now, he's four years older.

"Will! Oh my God, Will—"

Even between the two men, Will's body cannot hold still, wracked with violent shakes and tremors. His face is streaked with smudges of blood, and though Mike can't be sure, he's almost certain tears mix in with the water dripping from his skin. They place him on a table, Mike hot on their heels. Doctors flood towards them, diodes and syringes ready.

"Please, help him," Mike begs one of the men. "I don't—"

A doctor passes right through him to get to Will. Mike chokes on his words. Looking down, he feels faint when he sees the floor through his legs and feet. Like he's a ghost.

"What…" He waves a hand in front of their faces. Not a single person pays him a glance.

"Hi, Mike."

It's his Will's voice. Older, real Will. His Will. But his Will is on the table, surrounded by doctors, mouth shut tight in a pained grimace.

Mike whips around, only to find Will standing a few feet behind him, arms crossed and defeated. He's dressed in the same outfit he was in when Mike saw him last, both at the barn and one second ago on the table.

"Will— what— what's going on? How are you— Are you real?"

Just to make sure, Mike examines the boy on the table again. It's Will, he's certain of it. Same messy hair, same worried eyebrows, same smooth skin. He'd recognize him anywhere. His eyes dart between the two Will's. Both are there, but the Will speaking shares a similar transparency to Mike; the wall is visible behind him.

"How are— am I dead? Are— are you dead?"

"Not yet," Will says, leaning further into the wall. "But… I don't know how much longer I can do this, Mike."

Mike's stomach drops. "Do what, Will?" He reluctantly leaves the Will on the table with the doctors to join the conscious Will across the room. "What can't you do? Where are we?"

Behind Will, a door swings open, and an older woman followed by three soldiers enter the room, walking straight through Mike and Will. Upon seeing her, Will noticeably flinches, and Mike instinctively puts himself between them.

"How is he?" Judging by her commanding presence and firm tone, she's the one in charge here, wherever here is. "What's happening?"

"Uh—" A younger doctor, probably around Nancy's age, is sweating as his hands hover over Will's unconscious, shivering body. "Well, we had a very positive reaction for a moment there—"

"Lots of energy output," another one adds, clutching onto his clipboard nervously.

The woman narrows her eyes. "So what happened? Why did it stop?"

"We're not sure—"

"Some sort of interference, or—"

"Fix it. Put him back in."

She leaves no room for argument. The two doctors exchange a worried look.

"Doctor Kay, if we try this again, it… it's likely the physical stress alone will kill him."

Will lets out a small whimper beside him, folding into himself more. Mike raises a protective arm over him, momentarily forgetting neither of them are visible, and Will's real body is surrounded by these lunatics.

"If it kills him, it kills him," Doctor Kay states plainly. "We've got eyes on the girl. We'll try again with her if needs be."

The girl. Eleven. They know where Eleven is.

"Plus," Doctor Kay adds, oblivious to Mike's inner turmoil right beside her. "The other children are secure and awaiting further examination. If we must, we can redirect our attention to them and their insight."

A third doctor speaks up, albeit nervously. "Ma'am, the— the 'Mister Whatsit' theory— well, the leads are barely even leads, and all this equipment and setup would be useless—"

Bang. Glancing down at his white coat, the doctor's words of reason die on his lips as he sees the growing patch of red staining his chest. Mike covers his own mouth in horror as the man stumbles to the ground. Unmoving.

Doctor Kay reholsters her pistol. No one moves. Other than Will's choked breathing, the room is deathly silent.

"Any other objections?" she asks coldly. More silence is her answer. Some of the staff are holding their breath, too afraid to alert Kay of their existence. "Good. Figure out what the anomaly was and wake him up. We're trying again."

With that, Doctor Kay takes her leave, soldiers flanking her on all sides. Leaving those in the room to deal with the dying body leaking blood on the stone floors.

"You heard her," the doctor with the clipboard says shakily. "Wake him up."

Another shakes their head. "We can't. We— we're going to kill him, don't you realize that? He's just a kid!"

Mike's eyes drift to the body on the ground. So do everyone else's.

"It's him or us. Make your choice."

With that, the doctors get back to work. Even the ones who expressed reluctance fell into line, crowding around Will's body and doing God knows what.

Mike wants them all dead.

Something shifts in the atmosphere, and the floor beneath their feet begins to tremor. Mike extends his arms to keep himself steady on his feet, but when he looks down, his feet are no longer there. He's fading away, and Will notices too, shaking his head with wide, teary eyes.

"Please don't go," Will pleads through sobs. "Please, Mike, I'm scared, I don't wanna die here alone, please, Mike—"

Mike reaches out to hold his hand, pull him into a hug, anything. But Will's skin is translucent and fading, and Mike's arm goes right through.

"I'm gonna find you, Will," Mike vows, pushing all the sincerity he has into his words now that his body is unusable. Around them, the scene begins to dissolve, doctors fading into plumes of smoke. They're running out of time. "I swear to you, I will find you. You just have to hang on for me, okay? Just for a bit longer."

"I can't," Will cries. "Mike, please, I can't fight it—"

"You can," Mike insists. "You're stronger than them, Will. All of them. You have to promise me you'll fight."

Will collapses in a heap on the floor. Mike follows suit, kneeling beside Will, almost sobbing himself. He has to stay strong for Will.

"Promise me."

When Will lifts his head, Mike can only see that twelve-year-old boy in his eyes, scared and vulnerable, alone in the Upside Down. Mike wants to take his place, to kill all those people who've hurt him, one by one until no one remains that can cause him anymore harm.

"Mike…" A sudden jolt rocks them, jostling both Will and Mike to the side. Mike can feel himself becoming fainter, getting pulled from whatever nightmare they're trapped in. Will's outline becomes barely more than a blur. But he's not leaving until Will says it. He can't.

"Promise me, Will!"

"I— I promise." The vow is said with no certainty, no hope or resolve. Mike knows Will doesn't believe he'll survive, but he knows that he'll try. And that's enough for Mike.

Because whether or not he admits it, Will's a fighter. One of the strongest there is. He's faced down the worst evils imaginable, over and over, and still is the best person Mike knows.

"I'll find you," Mike swears, the pulling getting stronger. "I promise, Will, I promise—!"

Mike is yanked back hard, flying away from Will at a rapid pace. It's as if someone attached a wire to his back and tugged on it strong enough to put miles of distance between them in mere seconds.

He can only hope that Will can keep his promise long enough for Mike to find him.

- - -

Mike sits up with a gasp, coppery blood coating the inside of his mouth and down his throat. Coughing, he tries to reorient himself, mind still spinning with everything that just happened. He’s back in the Byers’ house, free of vines and scary monsters. Shards of broken glass are everywhere; in his hair, on his face, on the ground. From his place on the floor, Mike can see the overhead light bulb has shattered, leaving nothing but a charred filament behind. He wipes a hand under his nose, staining his sleeve crimson.

Pushing himself to his feet, Mike's heart drops when he sees the orange glow of the sunset through the window, the tall pines casting long shadows over the open field. How long has he been here?

"Shit, shit, shit." Mike stumbles over his own steps, running out the door at record pace. Will's in danger. El's in danger. Mike's been missing for what must be a full day, hopefully not longer.

Reeling, Mike looks around for his bike, only to be hit with the awful realization that he fucking walked here like an idiot.

Without hesitation, Mike breaks into a run, kicking up dirt from the tiny road as he sprints back to the others. He needs to find Will, now. Mike made a promise.

And there's no way in hell he's letting himself break it.

Chapter Text

Someone must've split open Will's head with a woodcutters axe. There's no other explanation for the sheer amount of pain he finds himself in as the light breaks through his eyelids. Try as he might, he can't suppress the pained groan that leaves his lips as soon as his consciousness begins to return to him.

"Finally."

His eyes blink open slowly to be greeted by a blinding flashlight mere inches from the end of his nose. Will flinches away from the assailing light, only to find himself in more pain at the tension in his face.

"Come on, get up. I don't have all day."

Get up? Will would rather gouge his own eyes out. Unfortunately, he doesn't seem to have a choice, and finds himself being hauled to his feet by two sets of strong hands. Good thing for their strength, too; Will can't even feel his legs, let alone force them to hold his weight.

His chin touches his chest, head hanging low enough to pull the barely-healed scar on his neck. Doctor Kay's face is barely more than a distorted mass in his vision; Will's unable to focus is eyes, his head aching so painfully that even the dim lights in the room hurt like puncture wounds.

Kay's hand harshly grips Will's chin, lifting his head up in one sharp motion that almost makes him sick. With her so close, Will can better make out the pinch of her brows and her downturned lips, examining him with such disdain.

"What interrupted the procedure?" Kay demands. "We had significant progress for hours until an apparent anomaly broke our connection. What was it?"

Even if Will could muster up the energy to reply, there's no way in hell that he'd tell this lady anything. Especially not with Mike and the rest of the Party now getting involved. And Eleven, who they seemingly have located, according to Kay's 'backup plan.' He can't risk anything happening to her if he reveals the truth of his conversation with Mike; that he might have a chance of getting out of here, wherever here is.

Nails cut into his flesh as the hold on his chin tightens. Kay narrows her eyes expectantly as Will shakes his head, letting out a low whine as his jaw aches from her grasp.

"Fine. Don't tell me." Her hand leaves his face, and Will's head falls forward yet again, the force of it sending his whole body leaning towards the floor. Whoever holds his arms readjusts them, forcing Will back upright with unnecessary aggression.

Something silver and shiny gleams in Kay's hand, reflecting white off the dull ceiling lights. Will's anxiety skyrockets when he realizes it's a syringe, filled with whatever they've been repeatedly injecting him with before throwing him back in that tank.

She wants him to go back.

"No, no…" Will struggles with everything he has left, but he's entirely outmatched by the men holding him up. "No, stop, I can't—"

His words convey all his desperation, despite how they slur together into one jumbled mess. Doctor Kay doesn't pay him a second glance, continuing to fiddle with the needle and other various equipment in her hands.

In his frenzy, Will unintentionally caters to his fears, and calls upon the shadow waiting dormant within him. It surges to life, clouding his sight in a sea of black and red, filling him with abnormal, otherworldly energy. His arms move on their own accord as he throws the men off of him, launching them clear across the room and into the wall.

Will collapses to the floor once the steadying hands are gone, groaning in agony as his head hits the concrete hard. It does nothing to quell the swimming shapes in his vision.

Instantly, Doctor Kay's gun is out from her belt, pointed unwaveringly at Will's head. There's no trace of hesitance in her gaze. She's ready to kill.

"Very good, Will," she praises, undercut by the lack of mirth in her words. And the gun in her hands. "Your progress is quite remarkable. I would prefer if you stopped lethally injuring my employees, but sacrifices are unavoidable."

"Le'me go." Any fire the demand is meant to have is weakened considerably by Will's drained, barely conscious body splayed across the floor. "Lemme go."

"No," Kay replies smoothly. "You're going again."

Will whines into the concrete, pleading for his limbs to cooperate enough to try and run out of here. Nothing works. He's fully drained, the shadow retreated back into the pits of his thoughts.

"Pl'se…" Will slurs. "I c'nt…"

Kay squats down, resting the barrel of the gun firmly on Will's forehead. If it was something other than a pistol, maybe the cool metal would've been relaxing on his sweating forehead. But he's already scarily cold, chilled down to the bone, and the sharp digging of the metal provides no semblance of relief.

"You either try again—" She clicks the safety. "Or I kill you right now. Your choice."

Will could use his powers. He could snap her neck right now. But these people are like a Hydra; kill one, and two more would appear in her place. There's no way he could make it out of here, not while he can barely stand on his feet.

And even though this woman has played a role in his seemingly endless suffering, another one of many who have slowly ruined his life, Will doesn't want to kill her. He doesn't want to kill anyone else. It's a horrible feeling, watching something living drain into something dead, all reflections of vivacity fading away into nothing, and knowing he's the one responsible.

Promise me you'll fight.

It would be so easy to give up. Let her kill him, surrender to the pull of the darkness. Everything could be over right now.

But Mike made him promise. And Will doesn't break his promises, especially not to Mike. All he has to do is buy more time.

With a small nod, Will lets his hope in Mike overtake his own fears. He has to try.

"Okay. I… I'll try again."

- - -

The Upside Down is just as depressing as it was last time he was here, and every time before that. At least there's the small mercy of the lack of the shadow's presence in his mind, waiting quietly for an opportunity to strike, but not actively warping and twisting his every thought into something killer. Small victories.

It's still there, of course; now that Will's aware of Its existence within him, he's sure It'll be taking residence inside him for the rest of his life. It's a train of thought he's not quite ready to address any time soon, or ever, if he can help it. 

Undoubtedly, though, the most disconcerting part of Will's newest excursion into his past trauma is the absence of any chronological timeline. Last he remembers, he was attempting to save his mom via her Christmas lights, the world tainted by nightmarish, fabricated memories. This time, he has no clue where he is, surrounded by rotted trees on all sides.

The forest behind his house. It comes to him the moment the question enters his mind, like pulling from childhood memories. Which, he supposes, is accurate.

Will has no idea how or why he came out here; if it was an attack on his home, he probably shouldn't go back. Faintly, a memory surfaces, where Will was holding back a monster from breaking through the wall with his powers. He can't tell if it's real or simply a figment of the shadow, but any chance of the Demogorgon waiting for him at his home is enough to deter him.

As if summoned by his passing thought, a low, all-too-familiar growl breaks through the quiet trees. Will backs himself up against a tree, pressing a firm hand over his mouth to suppress his panicked breaths.

Will looks around frantically, searching for an escape route. Peering around the tree only reveals another monster, prowling dangerously. They're surrounding him. Trapping him. 

Both his sides are blocked by Demogorgons, hungry for his blood. Will clutches harder into the bark.

An idea comes to him. A stupid one, certainly, but his options are limited, and the clock is ticking fast.

His eyes drift upward. It's a tall enough tree, with branches sticking out at odd angles. Climbing trees certainly isn't Will's forte, at least not anymore, but his years of practice as a child might, hopefully, come in handy.

Holding his breath, Will carefully grips the nearest limb, pulling himself up as silently as he can to not alert the beasts. Somehow, by some absolute miracle, Will makes it high enough that when the monsters sniff around the roots, there's no indication that they notice him hiding directly above their hunting noses. He places his foot on the uppermost branch, ready to wait it out until the creatures get bored and leave.

Will places his full weight down, arms moving to hug around the tree.

He should've been more careful.

A sickening crunch reverberates through the silence. The branch cracks under the strain, snapping clean in half, the broken piece landing just next to the monster. Will stumbles to regain a sturdy hold, but it's too late. Whipping its head, the Demogorgon roars in triumph as it spots Will, clinging desperately to the remaining branches with unsteady hands. He stumbles as he tries to get higher on the rotting tree, but Will quickly sees there's nowhere left to climb. He's out of hiding places. He's out of time.

With practiced haste, the Demogorgon digs its pointed fingers into the bark, hauling itself up the tree at lightning speed.

Will panics. Now he's really trapped himself, surrounded not just by monsters, but by open sky. There's nowhere to run.

The Demogorgon launches itself up the rest of the tree, a hand outstretched, poised to kill. There's another tree a few feet away. Below him is a twenty foot drop.

A split second decision sends Will flying off the tallest branch, arms flailing for purchase as he soars across the space between. Behind him, the Demogorgon screeches in rage, the shrill sound masked by the boom of lightning from above.

For a moment, Will is free. Flying through the air, away from all the monsters. 

It doesn't last long. The next branch is too far. There's no way he can make it. All relief of escape gone, Will lets out a startled yelp as he's free-falling back towards the solid ground. Towards the monster.

No, no, no…

Will just wants to be home. No more fighting, no more running and hiding and crying.

Bring me home.

It's his voice. But it's darker, commanding, blurred by the onyx haze coating his being.

Either way; it listens. Reality bends, twists and morphs, and Will's falling, but not from the sky. He's falling into the world, becoming one with the shadows as they bow to his wish.

He doesn't feel when he hits the ground. Nor does he have to open his eyes to know he's back in Castle Byers, where he always seems to end up whenever threatened with mortal danger.

His Home.

Very, very good, Will.

It's the last thing he hears before the monster's scathing hands break down the walls of Castle Byers, and the world is overtaken by blackness.

- - -

Will's eyes blink open slowly, his brain hazy with pain and exhaustion. He tries to move, gain his bearings, but his limbs are immobile.

A distressed once-over alerts him that his arms and his legs are bound by vines, tied to whatever harsh surface he's shoved against. Will can barely contain the shaking in his hands as the vines squeeze tighter, feeding on his fear. A window reflects ominous, pale moonlight onto the rest of the room. Bookshelves line the walls, each coated in thick slime. 

"Hello, Will."

It's the voice. The one from his visions, in his head, in his nightmares.

Only now, Vecna's haunting greeting comes from a real, physical body, one constructed of vines and rot and talons.

His heart races, pulse and breathing spiking fast enough to hear the thrums in his ears. Will's never been more afraid in his life. He knows about Vecna. Eleven and Nancy (with some help from Steve and Robin) gave them all the full rundown last year, with Will even drawing his best approximation to show the others.

Nothing compares to seeing him in person. Humanoid as he is, Vecna emits an aura of danger, of fear itself. While not lacking vitality, the total absence of life in his mangled form send chilling waves of terror down Will's spine. He quivers in his place against the slimy wall.

It's not real, he repeats in his head like a mantra. It's not real, it's not real…

"Not real?" Vecna's low growl shakes the room. Will's breathing quickens as it dawns on him. This isn't a memory. "Do I not look real enough for you?"

Vecna moves slowly towards him, each step sending a jolt of terror through Will's heart. Claws curl on his elongated fingers as he approaches, his left hand reaching out towards Will's face.

Fight. He needs to try and fight. Like he promised Mike. Use the shadow, his powers, his body, anything. But Will's mind stays blank and empty, as if Vecna's mere presence wiped him of all conscious reason. All he can do is tremble in his binds, waiting for the inevitable.

Will cowers back into the slick wall as Vecna stops in front of him, barely an inch away from his face. He can count every vine interlaced with his skin, every spore and every claw. In his chest, a large, open wound is held together by root-like sticks, woven through his stomach and up to his shoulders. As Vecna turns his head, Will watches in horror at the way his body reshapes itself, molding into whatever it needs to be.

A sharp clawed hand strokes the side of Will's cheek, and he lets out a small sob. Vecna tilts his head to the side, his reddening eyes narrowing. Will's vision goes fuzzy, distorting Vecna into a dark blob of color, watery and fluid like smeared paint.

When Will's able to refocus his eyes, Vecna has disappeared entirely, replaced by a youthful blonde man with sharp features and a welcoming smile. His skin glows with manufactured perfection, his blue eyes alight with false spirit.

Will's tension dissipates unnaturally fast as he takes in the curated, illusionary form of Henry Creel, donning a two-piece brown suit and odd matching hat and glasses. His clean, perfected image stands out in stark contrast to the rest of the world around them, the only consistency being the obvious evil radiating from every corner of the space.

"Does this form better suit your reality?" Henry asks, withdrawing his smooth hand from Will's face. "I know my other form can be… off-putting, for some. I must say, for someone so well-aquatinted with our world, you carry an odd amount of apprehension towards it."

No shit, Will thinks. Nothing can ever make the Upside Down more palatable. Not even the presence of the shadow weaving into the crevices of his brain can mend the gaping wound of dread this place has created.

"We are not the shadow itself, no matter how connected you may feel," Henry replies, evidently reading his thoughts. "Think of it like a symbiotic relationship—"

"It's a parasite," Will interrupts hoarsely, his voice finally returning. His words have no bite, no threat, but at least he can speak. "I never wanted a— a relationship with it. I never wanted any of this."

"Sometimes, we're burdened with purpose to great for our own mundane minds to comprehend," Henry states easily. "I've accepted my responsibility. One day, you will as well. Those gifts you have? Never treat them parasitical. They're no disease. They're the cure, the very key to fixing this mess of a planet we inhabit."

Will strains against the vines. "No, no, El was—"

"Eleven," Henry sneers, like the name leaves a bitter taste on his tongue. "Is not what this world needs. If you put aside your pathetic fondness for her, surely you could see that."

"You're wrong," Will insists. "Eleven didn't hurt anyone. She didn't do anything. You're the one who—"

"Who tried to help her?" Henry looks down at him. "Tell me, please, what she's said about me?"

Will doesn't have to. "I know you. I've—I've been in your mind. I know about what you did to her, and your family, and— and Patty."

Henry's face drops frighteningly fast, contorting from dismissive apathy to genuine rage. Will knows he's fucked up. He shrinks back into the vines the best he can, but they only squeeze him tighter, hard enough that Will's lungs constrict.

"What you know," Henry grits his teeth, taking a menacing step towards Will. "Means nothing to me. The image you've created of me in your mind can be erased as quickly and easily as it was formed."

A devious smirk quirks up his lip. "Well, you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?"

Tension leaves the vines, and Will heaves in desperate breaths. "Wh-What?"

In a fluid movement, Henry tilts his head to the side, and the scene changes. When it rematerializes, Will can tell it's still the Upside Down surrounding them, only now it's ten times worse than it was before. Logically, Will knows it's not real, and that he's been here for God knows how long, yet somehow his body cannot acclimate to the disturbingly dark atmosphere. Like someone is injecting him with processed, artificial terror. His pulse speeds up, racing in his chest as spikes of adrenaline zip through his bloodstream.

"Afraid?" Henry inquires, eyebrow quirked. "Good."

Will's heart races, and he tries to steady himself, taking deep, controlled breaths. It doesn't work. From the smug glint in Henry's eye, he's well aware of Will's plight. His gaze turns outward, and Will's eyes can't help but follow.

Only then does he realize where they are: Hawkins Middle School. In the field, outside of the main building. Where a colossal, spidery shadow looms overhead, hunting for its prey.

"No." Will can't do this again. Anything else, he could handle. But this? Losing his agency, his body and mind, his very skin tainted with the lingering presence of something invasive and wrong? He can't. Death would be a sweeter fate.

The Mind Flayer grows in size, casting gloom over the barren, dying field. Beside him, Henry takes a step back, leaving Will to face the monster alone.

His breathing catches, and Will knows he needs to run. It's what he should've done last time. Really, it's what he's best at. But his feet are planted to the floor, stuck in layers of invisible mud.

Screams echo in the barren field. Will's pretty sure they're his. A callous hand rests on his shoulder, and Will thrashes, writhes himself the best he can to escape.

"Stop."

Henry's command is issued to more than just Will. Around them, the shadow halts in It's descent, lingering in the air like some overbearing pest.

"Don't be afraid, Will." Henry's nails dig into his shoulder, tethering him to the scene. "It's not here to hurt you. We only want to help."

Will wants to spit out a retort, something witty and confident to prove he's got this under control. The nails cut deeper.

"The shadow, as you call it, was never sent to kill you. On the contrary; It knew your place is here, so it sought to retrieve you. To bring you home, where you belong. I admit, there was a time where I found myself concerned for the condition of your fragile human form after prolonged exposure to this plane. You seemed, well, resistant, I suppose, to reacclimating back to your world of origin. By nature, you wished to see the dimensions you had created become one holistic being. So you expanded the roots."

Memories flip like slides. Frantic scribbling. Broken crayons. A haphazard, messy map taped to his walls.

"Very clever idea to plant the seeds, I must say." Henry tilts his head in mock sympathy as the Will tries to maintain any semblance of composure. "Creating a system of tunnels under Hawkins, so you'll never find yourself too far from where you truly belong… quite the feat. And, of course, you became so much more than just the idea, Will. You were my vessel. My spy. My builder. You constructed a vision—a universe—so perfect that even I surrendered to its glory."

It would be a compliment, if spoken from any other lips, regarding any other piece. As it stands, Will feels anything but pride. Each new revelation sends a fresh wave of horrific, destabilizing guilt through his weakened body.

"The tunnels…" Mauled soldiers. Innocent people hurt. Countless dead. "I— I did that?"

"You did." Henry turns him around, resting a second hand on his shoulder. It's familial, in a way, paired with his eerily proud smile. "And produced such a wondrous creation here, don't you think?

Bile rises in Will's throat, the implications of Henry's words crashing down on him. "But— but Eleven opened the Gate—"

"To my world, yes," Henry affirms. "When she sent me to that… other place, all those years ago, I could only do so much. It was barren. Desolate, but brimming with potential. I knew I needed a fresh, youthful mind to shape the world into something beautiful. And you, Will? You created your own place; one composed of memory and light, even in such immeasurable darkness. It's quite the talent."

"Wait." His heart is pounding in his ears. "So— The Upside Down—"

"Is of your creation, yes." Henry says, pride evident. "You wanted to be home, so you shaped the very core of reality to bring you where your heart desired. Cut the fabric of the universe, sewed it into what you wished. Something even I, myself, have trouble with. I believe it requires a sense of childlike innocence. Inventive imagination. Only from there do such wondrous dreams spawn. Before humanity can squash that innocence out of you."

Henry's smile falters slightly. "I tried to harness your ability for myself, I must admit. I kept you here, once your world was complete, as an… energy source, shall we say? Much like what that doctor seems to be doing right now.

"Funny, isn't it? How doctors are meant to help us," Henry sneers resentfully. "Regardless, my plan had one fatal flaw that I had not previously considered. Your consciousness. Your imagination, your memory. What initially created such beauty in the first place. Just as I was beginning the process of acclimating your feeble, human body to this world, your mother had to come in and steal you away from me."

Will feels sick. A million jumbled thoughts fight for priority in his mind. "I was dead. They told me— you killed me."

“Killed your body, maybe,” Henry corrects. “Same as myself. I don’t need your physical form. As long as your vision exists in a mind, we can have this beautiful world. Whether it be in mine, yours… whoever you so choose.”

Henry brushes off his polished suit, and walks. Will knows he's meant to follow; even if he didn't want to, his feet move on accord. One step turns into another, and suddenly they're back in the library, like they've taken steps out of one thought and into another. It's both incomprehensibly unsettling and the most natural thing in the world.

"But then I thought, why stop there?" With a wave of his hand, a door appears within the folds of the decomposing bookshelves. Carved from wood, almost like it's part of a tree, the entrance itself looks remarkably out of place in the ominous red gleam of the Upside Down. Chips of bark stick out from the sides, around the silver handle, and glowing blue energy radiates around it.

"What—" Will's transfixed on the seemingly magical doorway. Henry notices, and gestures for Will to open it.

"Remarkable, what stories can create. After you," he says, icy eyes twinkling.

Will knows he shouldn't. But the pull is too strong. He grips the handle, closing his eyes tight as he yanks the door open.

Dizzying vertigo overwhelms him, ending before Will can register he's falling in the first place. He blinks once, twice, only to find himself in a dense forest, all green and earthy. It's uncanny, how perfect it looks. Twisting vines running up and down the ancient trees, a clear blue sky, sun shining off the dewy grass. No traces of the library are in sight. Nor any signs of his demonic companion.

Henry didn't follow him. Will's alone.

A rustle of the leaves comes from his right, and Will raises his arm to fend off the oncoming threat. But there is no threat; through the brush and leaves sprints Holly Wheeler, donning her same outfit she was in the last time Will laid eyes on her. Only this time, with an additional flowing cape clipped to her neck.

Holly the Heroic, he thinks. Maybe his dumb little present really did help her. It sends pangs of fear and relief through his heart. She's alive.

"She is alive, yes." Henry's sinister claim echoes in his ears, even without his physical form present. Will almost jumps out of his skin. "But not in the way you imagine. Not everyone possesses your unique ability, Will Byers. Some can only imagine these worlds in their minds. Not in reality."

A massive, fiery dragon appears in the sky. A mighty roar rustles the leaves on the trees, and Will nearly tumbles over with the force of it. Right in its path stands Holly, who has stopped in her tracks, and is staring down the creature with a determined glint in her eyes. Will runs to her, but before he can make it, Holly raises her hand, and a silver wand materializes within her grip. With a flick of her wrist, a large sparkle of blue magic hurtles toward the flying beast, sending it reeling back. A protection spell.

She takes off running yet again, long cape billowing in the wind behind her. Will tries to follow, but his feet are cemented to the ground.

"See?" Will can hear the smirk in Henry's voice, no doubt reveling in Will's utter shock. "Holly Wheeler exists only in her own memories. She was one of the stronger ones I've tried, no doubt, but none of them come close to your skills."

Henry appears from behind one of the trees, looking after Holly with fondness. "I thought, maybe, if I found others of similar mind—children, outcasts—I could replicate what we did with you, Will. Build something better. Expand. Not just your redrawing of Hawkins, but countless possibilities. Reshape the world as it is meant to be. In my vision."

"So what?" Will dares to ask. "You just steal their ideas and keep them trapped forever?"

"Forever." Henry shakes his head in pity, the very notion laughable. "Time is a human construct, Will. It doesn't matter to people like us. Just as easily as we can control the flow of water can we control the flow of time."

Four, resonating chimes reverberate through the space. A grandfather clock flashes behind his eyes, hands spinning wildly.

"See?" Henry smiles. "Time is but a means of measurement. Just like memory. Both can be easily altered, rearranged, erased…"

Frighteningly, Henry's soft smile morphs into cunning. "Tell me, Will, when exactly were you born?"

The way Henry poses the simple question, with that knowing, arrogant smirk, makes Will irrationally angry. Of course he knows the day he was born. What kind of stupid question is that?

"I—" Will stops, mind blank. He knows the date. Why can't he say it? "It's— I was— Wait, I— what did you do? Why— why don't I know?!"

Scratch the Mind Flayer. Of all the terrors he's been subjected to, this is by far the worst. Throughout all of this—the pain, the trauma, the suffering—Will's one constant has been himself, the security in knowing he can hide away in memories of a better time.

Tears pool in his eyes. Will hates how satisfied Henry feels. Hates that he can feel it, too.

Chuckling, Henry's gaze drifts away from him. "Like I said, Will Byers. Memory—" He snaps his fingers. "Is delicate."

March 22nd, 1971. It comes back to him, like it never left.

"Don't do that," Will says shakily, almost on the verge of begging. His palms press into the sockets of his eyes, as if trying to shove his sense of self back inside. "I— fuck. Don't do that."

Again, Henry merely laughs. "What? You think my power draws its limits at the creation of memory? Minds and visions can be built as easily as they're destroyed, just like anything else crafted by mankind. They're mailable. They can be given, they can be shared. They can be taken away. The mind itself isn’t as secure as most would think. Entering and exiting thoughts and feelings is… as easy as going through a doorway. Incredible, isn't it?"

This time, there's no tangible opening into another world. Flashes of other dimensions zip through his soul: a young girl, running through an old village; a boy fighting monsters on the battlefield; a castle surrounded by puffy green clouds.

They go by so fast, Will can hardly appreciate what he's seeing before it's gone. His brain goes fuzzy with all the input.

"I can bring their dreams to life," Henry purrs, voice lofty and distant. "Build palaces within the mind. Isn't that beautiful?"

"Yeah," Will feels himself mutter, totally entranced by the palace of artistic memories Henry shows him. "Beautiful…"

He's content to stay here forever, drifting in-between worlds. Thousands of possibilities run through him, millions of enchanting potentials, and Will can tell he's floating away from his reality, lost in the space between.

It would be so easy to drift away. Give up. Surrender to the pull of the mystical universe. He's not strong enough to resist it.

Let go, Will…

Everything is puffy and cloudy. Letting go sounds nice…

You need to fight. Fight.

Will's thoughts stutter; Mike's words cut through the noise. His message isn't soft and comforting. It's hard and demanding, yet infused with more love than any delicate persuasion could ever have.

Henry's visions flash faster, brighter, more intense. Will finally comes back to his senses, Mike's promise fueling his soul.

Hands raise from their limp position at his sides, and Will extends every ounce of his energy into the tips of his fingers.

All the dimensions vanish from his mind, and Will's knees buckle, head sore and disoriented from Henry's mental distortion.

Will groans, pushing himself up weakly. He can see Henry doing the same, although much bouncier, looking more impressed than pained.

"Huh." Henry straightens himself, brushing off his suit with practiced swipes. "You have even more control than I initially accredited you with. Very impressive, Will."

"Let me out of here," Will snarls, newfound confidence thrumming under his skin. "I'll never join you. Ever."

Henry waves him off. "From your very first encounter—" Will's abduction replays in his mind like a low-resolution horror film. "—the shadow bestowed your talent upon you. Your powers, so to speak. And if those doctors had not suppressed them as they did, your full potential could've been unlocked much sooner. Such a shame, really.

"Nevertheless, your abilities showed no bounds, even back then. Fueling the new realm you created was an unconscious practice that slowly began to manifest into physical symptoms. Episodes, as you call them. And with the developing creation of the tunnel system, I knew it would be a perfect way to… kill two birds with one stone. I get you, Will Byers, back into the collective consciousness of our world, and am granted unrestricted access for my servants to do our bidding."

Servants. Will shudders. "The Demodogs—"

"I'm aware of the idiotic title you've bestowed upon my creatures, yes," Henry bites. "Your passageways gave them a brilliantly simple means of traveling. I must thank you. If it hadn't been for the closure of the gate… well, let's just say all of this would've been much simpler."

Will can't help his grin. "What, Eleven kicked your ass so hard you needed two years to pull yourself back together?"

It's more nerveracking that Henry's calm demeanor doesn't waver in the slightest at Will's taunting. Instead, he simply plasters that same subtle smile back on his lips, maintaining his passive gaze.

"Hmm." He clicks his tongue. "I've never been one to undermine Eleven's abilities. In fact, I was the only person who saw her true potential. No one else gave her a second glance. I saved her, Will. Saved her from a gruesome fate, offered her protection and closure… only to get faced with betrayal in the end."

This time, Will can see the cracks in Henry's facade start to shine through. Eleven told them all about how Henry had betrayed her, killed their brothers and sisters. Not that Will needs to hear it anymore. The memory is just… there, now. Lurking in the back of his mind.

"All she did was delay the inevitable," Henry concludes with a sigh. "Once she's out of our way, there's no opposition to sully our plans."

Scoffing, Will crosses his arms as a new wave of boldness rushes through him. "You're out of your mind if you ever think that would happen. Eleven's beat you before. She'll do it again."

Henry arches an eyebrow. Images of Hawkins burning, bones snapping and crunching, Max dead on the floor, bloody and broken— they all hit Will at once, hard enough to send him stumbling a few steps back with a choked gasp.

"If you consider that a victory, than I applaud your arrogance. Truly."

Will's hands tremble with uncontrollable nerves. "Why do you need me? I- I already made the Upside Down."

By the way Henry lights up in anticipation, Will isn't sure he wants to hear the answer.

"Have I not made myself clear? Your talent is immeasurable, Will, able to create something even more profound than even I can. Between your blood providing you with physically manifested powers and the shadow residing within you that allows you control over the realm's consciousness, you're more than just an asset. You're my creator. Harnessed correctly, your abilities combined are unstoppable."

There's an undercurrent to his words of something much more sinister. Will swallows nervously, mentally preparing himself for the final ball to drop. "So why are you even telling me this? I already told you I won't help you. If you're gonna force me, why waste your time?"

Henry smirks, and Will's stomach churns. "Unlocking memory is powerful but tedious process. Maybe I've grown tired of patiently waiting for your powers to manifest themselves."

A low surge of energy shakes through the earth. "Or maybe, I'm just stalling for time."

Everything vanishes in the blink of an eye. They're back in the library, Will imprisoned by the vines in the same place he was before. Blonde, perfect Henry is gone, Vecna in his place.

Clawed hands reach out over his face, and Wills throat burns with his own screams as the world crumbles around them.

Pieces of earth fall into themselves; sinkholes and tremors rack the town of Hawkins, and Will loses all sensation in his body, existing only in his mind, in the mind that Vecna shows him. Memories of open tunnels, underground vines and monsters zip across his twitching eyelids.

Will's screams morph into sobs as the reality of what's happening sets in. It's like someone is ripping his soul into pieces, using him without regard for his life or his wishes. Henry's hands barely even ghost the skin of his face, but they might as well be digging into his heart, tearing it out through the skin of his chest.

Tunnels spread under Hawkins, piercing through the dirt and rocks of the town, just like they did all those years ago. The ground tremors with the force of it, and through the collective consciousness, Will can see town residents stumbling, grasping onto whatever they can to stay upright as the earthquake pulses with rage. Kids swerve off bikes, glasses smash onto tiled floors, animals run for cover. Will sees it all, feels it all, as he continues to grow the decay through his home.

You need to fight.

Blurry memories of Mike intercept the crushing pain, and a small prick of light breaks through Vecna's forced darkness. The shadow writhes inside him, fighting for control over Will's mind. But Will's fought it before, and he can do it again.

With all the strength he can muster, Will reaches into the pit of himself where the shadow has taken residence, and pushes back against Henry's control.

Stop. Let go.

Screeching and flailing, the shadow resists his command, bending under Henry's powerful rule. Will can feel his own control slipping, can feel the darkness consuming his soul. He can't fight, not against Vecna. Him and the shadow are practiced, working towards the same goal. A surge of Henry's vicious satisfaction infiltrates his psyche, delighted that Will can no longer wrangle the shadow from his possession.

Will's trapped in Hell, surrounded on all sides by inescapable horrors. He can't stop them, he can't fight them.

He needs to get out.

Visions continue to flicker in his peripheral mind, recognizable faces melting into the mix; Eleven and Hopper fighting military in the junkyard, Jonathan and Nancy holding on for dear life as the earth shakes beneath them, Mike staring in shock at the open chasm to the tunnels in the street.

Memories. They're doorways into other worlds. Safer ones. Henry can make doors. Why can't Will?

Instead of reaching for the shadow, Will extends his mind outward using his own telepathic abilities; picturing where he wants to go like a new painting, creating it from stratch.

An opening forms. It's not physical, nor is it a door like Henry's, but it's something. Will doesn't even know where it leads, if he'll end up dying by taking the leap. But he has to try.

Will channels all his power into walking through the gateway; his soul tears, his consciousness fades and rebuilds itself, and he feels himself slipping from his own body.

Vecna notices a second too late. By the time he can order the shadow to stop him, Will is already gone.

- - -

His body convulses in the tank, electric blue lightning shooting out from the metal. Doctor Kay is flanked on all sides by soldiers, guns raised unnecessary at the cavernous portal tearing through the ceiling. Glass bottles clank on the shelves, some smashing to bits as the earthquake upheaves the base.

"We need to stop!" One of the doctors yells, tripping over her own feet to reach a kill switch on the side of the machine.

"No, it's working," Kay raises a hand at her, and the soldiers refocus their aim onto the doctor. She releases the lever in an instant, raising her palms in surrender.

Kay shoves herself through the soldiers, past Will's apparitioned form, and to where he's seizing in the water, icy spikes freezing around the walls.

"Doctor, we're recording high levels of sysmic activity." One of the men calls.

"His vitals are spiking!" Another glass shatters. "We can't just leave him in there—"

"Yes, we can." Electric shocks burn the walls, leaving black spots of ash in the concrete. "We're getting out. Everyone, out!"

Around half of the staff obey instantly, flocking towards the opened exit. Nervous looks are exchanged by the remaining doctors, wary to leave an innocent child behind to die. Another booming crackle of electricity makes up their minds for them.

Speckles of dark overtake Will's vision. The door slams. They left him here, alone, to die.

As his consciousness wanes, Will's can only hope he's strong enough to fight until Mike can keep his promise.

Electric sparks rain from above. Everything goes dark.

Chapter Text

Watching Nancy load at shotgun at Vickie's in-home bar might be in Robin's top ten best memories of the past week.

Only because it's just so fucking cool. Learning that Nancy Wheeler is not, in fact, the stuck-up priss that everyone made her out to be in school, and instead one of the most badass people she's ever met, was an absolutely welcome surprise.

Jonathan seems to have similar thoughts, watching his girlfriend like she hung the moon and stars while fiddling with stable sticks of dynamite in his hands absentmindedly.

The only thing cooler than Nancy Wheeler shooting better than anyone in Hawkins is the fact that Robin's totally awesome girlfriend has literal sticks of dynamite in her house.

"It's from an old construction job," Vickie told the bewildered group when she pulled it from a locked safe. "From when we did more realty stuff. I'm not even supposed to know the combination. Guess it comes in handy now, doesn't it?"

Vickie's smile was playful and mischievous, and Robin couldn't help the way she melted at the grin. Definitely in her top three moments. She's almost certain her number one moment of not just the week, but of her life, has been solidified as having her first real kiss with the most beautiful, amazing, best girl that Hawkins, Indiana has to offer.

It's hard to believe that their first kiss was only this morning. They've been girlfriends for just over twelve hours, and already ventured in and out of a government facility, nearly died via Upside Down portal, and, in Robin's case, almost had a heart attack when her aforementioned girlfriend snuck into a restricted section of said base alone with no weapons or backup. Seeing her come back of that door might've been the most relieved Robin's ever felt in her life.

"These should be all set," Vickie says, pulling the stick of of Jonathan's hands. "Once we put fuses in them. Which we should probably wait to do until we actually have a use for them."

Robin smirks. "Are we not just breaking back in and blowing the place to kingdom come?"

Matching her sarcasm, Vickie shrugs jokingly. "As tempting as that may be, I think we might need a slightly more cohesive thought than that."

"A pity, truly."

Nancy looks between them with light fondness, fiddling with the trigger of the shotgun.

"So, what's the real plan?" Robin leans on the bar, careening forward into Nancy and Jonathan's faces. "Like, besides busting back in with sticks of dynamite and a dream?"

Barely suppressing her smirk, Nancy places the gun onto the counter, keeping one hand resting on the barrel. "We should probably call the others. If we really think that they're doing some kind of… supernatural experiment on Max, we're gonna need all hands on deck."

"Agreed," Jonathan says, shocking no one. If Nancy's on board, so is he. "My mom is at the radio station with Murray, I think. I can call."

"Steve and Dustin, too," Robin adds. "Unless they've left. Which, well, let's hope they didn't. We could kill, uh—" She counts on her fingers. "Four birds with one stone!"

Vickie arches an eyebrow. "You had to count for that?"

"Shut up," Robin mumbles, nudging her on the shoulder.

Nancy looks between them. "Okay. Well, let's start there. Vickie, is there a phone we could use?"

As Vickie starts to respond, an abrupt jolt sends all four of them pitching forward, thrown entirely off balance. Nancy raises the gun immediately, eyes narrowed in focus.

All four of them look around for what could've caused the disturbance. Robin's eyes drift behind Jonathan's head, to where the alcohol is stored. Glasses on the shelves begin to rattle, the liquids inside them rippling in steadily growing waves. Before Robin can point out the oddity to the group, the entire room begins to shake in earnest, almost as bad as when the rifts were splitting open last year. Vickie's hands grip onto her in an instant, and both girls duck under the bar for shelter as the tremors grow progressively more intense.

"What the fuck is happening?!" Vickie screams over the noise. Robin just holds her tighter, the same question at the forefront of her mind. Above them, the chandelier lights flicker and flash, a few of them exploding into bursts of sparks. She can hear shattering glass from behind her, as well, and can only hope Nancy and Jonathan are safe on the other side of the bar.

It couldn't have been more than thirty seconds before the tremors slowed down, but Vickie and Robin stay under protective countertop for at least another minute, just to be safe. The ground continues to rumble underneath them, but it feels farther off, like whatever earthquake just struck decided to run away and terrorize some other house.

"You guys okay?" Jonathan, flustered and winded, calls from over the bar.

Robin and Vickie slowly pull themselves up, careful to avoid any broken glass or fallen weapons. Nancy and Jonathan are already on their feet, the shotgun held securely in Nancy's grip.

"We're good," Robin says, breathless. Vickie nods in agreement, taking inventory of the damage.

Jonathan's eyes flit downward to their still interlocked hands, brief enough that only Robin notices. They lock eyes for a second, and Jonathan's lip quirks up slightly before falling back into his regular resting face. Blushing, Robin squeezes tighter onto her girlfriend's hand.

It's weird, being open with these little signs of affection. But the world is ending, earthquakes are hitting, and Robin's almost positive that Jonathan's younger brother is gay anyways, so it's not like he would say anything mean.

"Right," Nancy says, none the wiser to Robin and Jonathan's little exchange. "Definitely should call the others."

- - -

Only moments after the tremors cease, Derek comes down from his room in a frenzy, and Vickie pulls him into a crushing hug. He holds on just as tight, clearly shaken by the spontaneous earthquake. Robin watches the scene with a small smile on her face.

Lucas and Erica arrive shortly after, sweating and covered in dirt. When asked why, Lucas explains how the tremors sent both of them swerving off the road, crashing their bikes into a dusty ditch.

"Well, Lucas crashed," Erica elaborates with a grin. "I fell, but I didn't go completely on my ass like he did."

Rolling his eyes good-naturedly, Lucas gives his sister a playful shove, which she reciprocates with increased fervor. Robin's definitely noticed they've gotten a lot closer over the past year; when she met Erica and Lucas separately at Scoops, she didn't even know they were siblings. It wasn't until they all joined together as a massive group that she finally began to understand the overly complex dynamics everyone's got going on.

Speaking of, Steve and Dustin arrive almost right after in Steve's tiny brown car. For who knows what reason, he's installed a radio antennae to the roof. It looks ridiculous, and Robin can barely resist making fun of the stupid display.

"You're laughing now," Steve waves a finger in her face. "But you won't be when we need to communicate on the run."

"Whatever you say, buddy." Vickie chuckles at Robin's sarcasm, and her heart lights up with adoration.

Raising an eyebrow, Steve nods his head back at Vickie, who Robin is very thankful cannot see the stupid grin on his face.

"Going well with the missus, I see?" Steve prods with waggling eyebrows.

Robin can't help the stupid smile that takes over her expression. "Can it, Harrington."

"Hey, guys?" Lucas calls from across the room. "Uh, was this always here?"

Vickie is at his side in an instant, squinting at the floor with a deep frown. "No. Shit, that's probably from the earthquake."

Robin and Steve make their way back to the rest of the group, who are examining the crack in the ground with thinly veiled concern. It's not even a large break, just weird placement; nothing fell onto the wood, as far as Robin can tell. And it's strange that such an earthquake would cause only one sliver of damage.

Dropping to one knee, Steve knocks lightly on the wood, tilting his head curiously when a faint echo can be heard.

Hesitantly, he turns to Vickie. "Can we… take these apart? There might be something underneath."

"Underneath?" Vickie repeats, confusion spread across her features. "We don't have a basement, or anything like that."

Steve winces, not sure if he should say what he actually thinks is below the floorboards. "Humor me?"

With a long, reluctant sigh, Vickie nods. "Fine. But please try to not make a mess. There's a wood saw in the back shed. You can use that. But be careful, we need to put them back after."

Dustin and Steve turn to go out the back, completely ignoring the end of Vickie's sentence. Grumbling, she sulks back over to Robin, who gives her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. Dealing with Steve Harrington's nonsense is exhausting. She knows that better than anyone. Except maybe Nancy, who's looking after where they left with a vaguely irritated frown.

"What now?" Erica asks, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Do we just wait?"

Her question is answered instantly. Outside, a car door slams, and Robin steps closer to Vickie when her whole body goes tense as a board.

"Shit," she mutters.

Derek, who's peering through the curtains, scurries away nervously. "It's Mom and Dad! Vick, they're gonna kill us—"

"Relax," Vickie says, gripping Robin's hand with a tight-lipped smile. "Ready for some stalling?"

Robin exhales nervously, shaking herself out of her nerves.

"Let's do it."

- - -

"Vickie!" An older woman, dressed in a pristine purple outfit, is guided out of the car by what Robin assumes to be her husband. "Oh, how lovely to see you, darling. I wasn't sure if you'd be back from your volunteer work yet."

"Hi, Mom." Vickie allows herself to be pulled into a hug. Her mother brushes a hand through her hair, then places a loud kiss on her cheek before pulling away. "Hi, Dad."

Mr. Turnbow has what Robin considers to be the ugliest blue top on that she's ever seen, but otherwise looks fairly normal. It's nice to be able to meet Vickie's parents, even if they'll probably never consider her as more than one of Vickie's many friends.

"Are you going to introduce us?" Like he's reading her mind, Robin snaps herself out of her totally disrespectful staring to find both pairs of Turnbow parents' eyes on her.

"Oh, yeah, sorry," Vickie stutters. "This is—"

"Robin. Buckley. Hi. I'm Robin Buckley. Nice to meet you!"

She should probably shake their hands. But which one should she extend first? Is it rude to shake the woman's hand first? Is that emasculating? Or, no, it probably makes more sense to let the lady go first, then the man, because that's usually how society works, and Robin would rather be a feminist than appeal to men, but at the same time, these are Vickie's parents—

Both of her hands reach outwards, in a gesture that almost simulates a hug. Mr. Turnbow stares at her extended hand with a furrowed brow, exchanging a not-so-subtle look of confusion with his wife. Even so, he grips her hand and gives it a firm shake, and Mrs. Turnbow does the same to her other hand with a strained smile. Robin blushes furiously as her arms move up and down in tandem. 

"Okay…" she says. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Robin. Vickie didn't tell us she had company over."

"Well—"

"Sorry," Vickie interrupts Robin with a short laugh. Probably for the best. "I didn't think you'd mind."

Painfully loud buzzing sounds come from inside, intense enough that Vickie whips around in confusion. Robin, too, has absolutely no idea what could possibly be making such aggressive noise, but knows they have bigger problems to deal with right now. Mr. Turnbow arches an eyebrow, looking past Robin and Vickie towards the window.

"What's that noise?" he questions, suspicion rising.

"Uh…"

Derek and Erica burst out of the front door, disheveled and breathless.

"Vacuum!" Derek blurts out. "It's, um, we're vacuuming the house. To… as a thank you for letting us have friends come over?"

Erica nods enthusiastically. "Good to see you again, Mr. and Mrs. Turnbow. I really appreciate the hospitality."

Mrs. Turnbow lights up upon seeing Erica, pulling her into a very enthusiastic embrace. "Oh, of course, darling! You know you're welcome any time."

Robin doesn't think she's ever seen such a polished, perfected smile on Erica's face before. "Thank you very much, Mrs. Turnbow. You're too kind."

Before Mrs. Turnbow can reply, Vickie steps forward, right into her parents' faces.

"By the way," Vickie says with mock concern. "Some men came by earlier today. Said they were looking for you two?"

Both Turnbow parents freeze, brows downturned in confusion.

"Some men?" Mr. Turnbow repeats. "Why? What did they say?"

Vickie shrugs meekly. "I dunno. But it seemed important. They really wanted to talk to you two."

Behind her, Derek nods fervently, and Erica plays along with him as well. "Yep! You should probably go find them."

"Where did they say to go?" Mr. Turnbow fiddles with the ring on his finger, much like Robin used to do when she was anxious in school. The mannerism looks out of place on him, but Robin's probably overthinking it.

"Uh…"

"The Station!" The words are out of her mouth before the thought has fully formed in Robin's brain. Too late to go back now. "Yeah, the radio station? Towards the edge of town? Apparently they had some very urgent business to discuss. About... the crops. At the farm."

Robin cringes at her own flimsy excuse. It doesn't make any sense, she knows that. Hopefully the others will have enough sense to hide before Vickie's parents find them dismantling their expensive flooring. 

Mrs. Turnbow sighs. "Surely, it can wait until tomorrow—"

"No, no." Robin is shocked at Mr. Turnbow's willingness to up and leave, and with how much ease he believed her. "We'll go tonight. Might as well get it out of the way, right?"

Bewildered, Vickie and her brother share a side-eyed glance, not daring to believe their luck. Their mother glares at her husband, who remains passive and calm under her scrutinizing stare.

"Okay…" Mrs. Turnbow runs a hand over her silky blonde hair. "If you insist. Vickie, I trust that you'll take care until we get back?"

"Of course," she says easily, placing a careful mask of certainty over her surprise. "Um, get there safe!"

The car starts again, engine still warm, and the four stand outside until it's vanished from sight. Whatever 'vacuuming' going on in the house has ceased, leaving them all in silence, other than the blowing breeze.

"That was so weird," Vickie mumbles. "How did they fall for that?"

"Who cares?" Derek chirps with a wide grin. "That was awesome!"

Rolling her eyes, Vickie gestures for Robin to do the honors of going first back into the mansion. She throws open the front door to find the group all standing awkwardly over an enormous, cleanly cut hole in the living room floor. Robin can't hold back her wince upon seeing Steve, hair tousled, wielding a massive electric chainsaw.

"What the fuck, Harrington?!" Vickie screams. "I said you could make a hole, not a goddamn crater!"

Steve looks up, confused. "You told me to use the saw!"

"The wood saw." Vickie's eye twitches. "The wood saw. Not the gigantic fucking chainsaw!"

"How was I supposed to know?!" Steve yells, frazzled. "Looks like it cut the wood pretty well to me!"

"Dad's gonna kill us," Derek whines, staring at the splintered wood. His eyes look extra large in his dark-rimmed glasses.

"I think we've got bigger problems than that," Dustin mutters, locked onto the gap in the floor.

Robin takes a few steps forward in order to see into the chasm. Vickie does the same, leaning over dangerously far, and Robin puts a guarding arm over her girlfriend's waist to make sure she doesn't tumble in.

"Holy shit," Vickie gasps. "What the hell is that?"

Under the floorboards is what appears to be an entirely hidden room, constructed out of white, drop ceiling tiles. Just through the opening Steve has cut in the ground, Robin can tell the area expands wider than what they can see.

More concerning than that, though, is the mass of vines and slime poking through the bottom tiles, pushing them outwards to reveal a large pool of slithering black vines, crawling over the tiles with ease.

"Jeez, Vickie, what the hell is your family doing?" Robin shoots Dustin a glare, which he easily ignores, focus still locked on the weird room and portal.

"I don't—" Vickie's mouth opens and closes, completely at a loss for words. "I don't know. I've never seen this before. I didn't know we had a basement, let alone—"

The back door slams open with a bang, startling every single one of the group. Jonathan has to shove Steve back so that him and his chainsaw don't go plunging into the mystery room.

From the doorway, Mike basically collapses into the house, panting and dripping in sweat. His face is panicked, eyes wild and unfocused, and Robin's mind immediately thinks of monsters. Running from monsters that are chasing. An attack.

"Mike?" Lucas is at his side in an instant, Dustin and Nancy a few steps behind him. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Between heaving breaths, Mike manages to choke out a few words. "Will— El— in danger."

Not under attack, then. Or, they're not.

"What?" Nancy places a hand on her brother's shoulder. "Mike, what happened? Where were you?"

He leans into her hand, shaking his head. "We— we need to find— Will, they're— gonna kill him."

Vickie glances at Robin nervously, still clutching onto her forearm.

"We know we need to find Will, Mike." Dustin's tone is forcibly calm, veering on condescending. "And we're working on it, but—"

"No," Mike says, breathing much steadier. "No, I saw him. He— well, I didn't see him, but he showed me—"

"Mike," Nancy says softly. "How about we go lay down for a bit, okay? I think you had a nightmare."

She tries to guide him up, but Mike shakes his head again, this time with much more resistance.

"No, no. Will showed me where he is. I know where he is. I was at the Byers' old house and— and—"

Tears begin to stream down his face, leaving clean streaks in the dirt coated over his skin. Nancy, subtle as ever, motions blatantly for the others to leave. Jonathan, who's standing a few steps behind the group, taps Derek and Erica on the arms, nodding towards the door. Erica eyes Mike uncertainly, but lets Jonathan usher them out. Steve follows behind, which Robin appreciates; it's good to see him and Jonathan getting along better.

She takes a step back as well, pulling Vickie with her as Mike continues to ramble.

"Nancy, they're gonna kill him!" Mike sobs. "There was this machine and— and electricity, and these doctors—"

Vickie and Robin both stop dead in their tracks.

"Hang on," Robin says, and Nancy gives her an exhausted stare. "Sorry, sorry. Just— Mike, what do you mean, doctors? Like, at the Byers' old house? There were doctors there?"

"I don't know where," Mike mumbles. "But I know it was real. Nancy, please, you have to believe me."

"Mike—"

Vickie kneels down next to Nancy and Mike, and Dustin raises an eyebrow at Robin, evidently confused by the whole situation.

"Did you see anything else?" Vickie presses. Nervously, she glances back at Robin. "Did— one of these doctors, was one of the doctors an older woman? Short hair?"

Mike perks up, nodding frantically. "Do you know her? Do you know where she is?"

"Hang on," Nancy says, shifting between Mike and Vickie. "Back up. Mike, what happened? Start from the beginning."

Jonathan and Steve renter the room just as Mike finishes his extremely fast summary of events, from what happened at the Byers' house all the way to him tripping down a hill when the earthquake hit.

"And Will, he's trying, but I don't know how much longer he can fight with those— those assholes torturing him—"

"What?" Jonathan says unsteadily. "Do we actually know where Will is?"

Robin bites her lip, anxiety thrumming through her body. "That woman that Mike's talking about… she works at the Downtown base. Vick and I ran into her when we were all there, and she was like, super standoffish and irritated—"

"And," Vickie adds. "She was going into Sector 5, which is totally blocked off right now. Like, armed guards and everything. It used to just be another care area, for children and stuff. Now, it's almost as high security as the library."

Steve looks between the two girls curiously, and Robin shoots him her best 'don't you dare say a word about anything' glare. He takes the hint, for once.

"So we think Byers is at the military base?" Steve asks drily. "And that they're doing freaky experiments or some shit?"

On the floor, Mike clenches his hands into fists. If he had superpowers, Robin would worry he's about to explode Steve's tiny brain with his mind. Honestly, she's still a bit worried of the possibility, regardless of Wheeler not having powers.

"Yes, Steve," he bites. "And if we don't get him out soon, they're gonna kill him, and then they're going for Eleven, and—"

"Max," Robin blurts. Lucas's eyes are on her instantly, wide with concern.

"What? Max? Did something happen with Max?"

All eyes turn to Robin, who curls back slightly at the sudden attention. Vickie rises from her spot next to Nancy, moving to stand next to Robin reassuringly.

"Yeah," Robin says. "Uh, when that blue lightning started? That you were talking about? Her eyes opened, and she like, I don't know, it was almost like a seizure, or something."

Vickie quickly continues upon seeing hopefulness rise in Lucas. "By the time we got back from getting the doctors, she was asleep again. Like nothing had happened."

Lucas's face falls, and Robin can feel the heartbreak radiating from him in heavy waves.

Across the room, Jonathan runs a hand through his hair. "You think that the portals we saw at Downtown—?"

"Are what woke up Max? Yeah."

"And they have something to do with Will," Mike reminds them. "In the vision, or memory that he showed me. It was there, too. I think… I think they're trying to use him to access the Mind Flayer. Or find Vecna."

"The Spy," Dustin says, horrible realization dawning. "Holy shit."

"Wait, wait, so what does that mean?" Jonathan, who looks one step away from a total breakdown, moves closer to the rest of the group. "Will's locked in some facility, and these people are just running experiments on him to open gates? And it's— killing him?"

His final words come out as more of a breathy, terrified whisper than a question, and Robin's glad when Nancy extends a hand for him to take.

"I don't know who it is or why they took him," Mike emphasizes. "All I know is that we need to find Will now. He— he promised me that he'd fight, but I don't know how long he can…"

More tears slip down his cheeks, and Mike buries his face in his hands to hide in embarrassment. With her free hand, Nancy rubs gentle circles into his shoulder.

"Okay, Mike," she says, softer than Robin's ever heard her. "We'll call the others, make a plan—"

"You don't understand!" Mike slams his hands down on the floor, and everyone goes silent. "We can't wait for some bullshit plan. We need find Will tonight."

"Okay," Nancy repeats. "Let's at least get Mrs. Byers and El here, alright? That way—"

"El!" Mike jumps to his feet quicker than Robin can even process. "Shit, they know where El is! The government people, the ones that have Will."

Him and Robin lock eyes. "The woman, the one you were talking about. She knows where El is."

"Shit," Dustin mutters. "Shit, that's not good. Can we call them? Or walkie?"

"No time," Steve says, pulling his car keys from his pocket. "I'll go. You guys wait here, I'll get them out."

"I'm coming with you." Dustin leaves no room for argument, and Steve doesn't bother trying. "Nancy, you have an extra one of those?"

He motions to the gun laid on the floor next to the scattered sticks of dynamite. Nancy frowns.

"No, and I wouldn't give you one even if I did." She takes another long look at Mike, who's still shaking and sniffling on the floor, before standing up and walking over to Steve. "I'll come with you. It would be good to have at least one capable fighter other than El."

Steve scrunches his face in disagreement. "Well, okay—"

"Nance, what?" Jonathan looks between Steve and Nancy cautiously, and Robin barely holds back a grimace.

Nancy leans down to pick up her gun and a few sticks of dynamite. "I'll be okay. We just have to get them somewhere safe."

"You can come, too, Jonathan," Dustin says, pointedly ignoring the disapproving glare Steve is sending him. Robin physically cannot suppress her smirk at Steve's annoyance; it's been way too long for her to have any sympathy left for Steve pining after Nancy. Especially when most of the girls in Hawkins would sell their left arm for a chance with him. It's entirely unfair.

Jonathan looks between Mike and Nancy, torn between staying with his girlfriend or potentially locating his brother.

"Better decide fast, Byers," Steve says, tone clipped. "Because we need to go, now."

"Okay," Jonathan concedes, walking over to take Nancy's free hand. "Let's go. Keep us posted on what's happening with Will, okay?"

"Of course," Lucas agrees easily. "Stay safe."

"You too," Nancy says. "We'll be back as soon as we can."

Dustin pulls a blue sweater from his backpack, tossing it to Lucas. It's WSQK branded, much like almost all of their other emergency clothing.

"Here." Dustin grins as Lucas catches the sweater with one hand. "You look like you could use it."

Lucas grins, brushing a hand over the dirt on his current jacket. "Thanks, man."

With that, the four file out of the house, leaving Robin and Vickie as the only remaining adults. Shit. Her anxiety skyrockets, not used to leading the group. She can already feel her mouth moving quicker than her brain can even dream of.

"Um… alright, kiddos." Vickie presses her lips together to fight her smile, not making any effort to help. "Time to plan. I know that some of us—" Her eyes go briefly to Mike. "—would prefer to charge in there, guns blazing, which, I will say, would also be my preference, but my lovely girlfriend here has decided that—"

"Girlfriend?" Lucas repeats, eyes wide and puzzled.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

"Um…" Holy shit. Robin can't believe she just did that. Not only did she out herself, she outed her girlfriend, who definitely isn't her girlfriend anymore, because there's no way Vickie will stay with her after—

"Yeah, girlfriend. And if you have a problem with that, feel free to leave my house."

Robin's mouth drops open in shock at Vickie's bold admittance, standing with her head held high and hard gaze unwavering.

Lucas shakes his head vehemently. "No. No, uh, no problem. Sorry. I— wow. I didn't mean to interrupt."

Vickie nods, scanning over the rest of the group with searching eyes.

"I already thought you two were dating. No offense," Erica says, smirking it Robin.

"None taken." Robin finally finds her voice again, even though it's shaky and full of nerves, her elation at being accepted so wholeheartedly is taking over the fear. "I'm flattered you thought I could woo the prettiest girl in Hawkins."

Vickie rolls her eyes, nudging Robin with a tiny smile. Tears glisten in her eyes, and Robin's pretty sure there's a few in her own, as well. Happy tears.

"Huh." Derek's arms are crossed, and he looks deep in thought. "So that's why you hated that guy so much last year."

"Well, partly, I guess," Vickie says, amused that her brother's first thought is one of critical analysis rather than shock. "But he was also just an asshole, so."

"Yeah, he sucked," Derek agrees. "Robin's a lot cooler."

Robin blushes at the casual compliment, and even more so when Vickie smiles.

"Yeah," she says. "Much cooler."

She's so distracted by the pure and whole positive energy taking over her body that Robin barely registers that there's one member of their little group who has yet to say a word.

Mike looks like he just saw a ghost, or maybe a really difficult puzzle. There's gears turning in his brain, Robin can tell, but his blank, unabashed staring at her and Vickie is veering towards uncomfortable rather than contemplative.

"Uh, Mike?" Lucas says emphatically. "Anything to say, man?"

He doesn't respond, continuing to stare at Robin like she's grown an extra eye.

Erica takes the liberty of smacking him on the back of the head, startling him enough to break out of his trance.

"What?" Mike yelps, rubbing the back of his head. "What was that for?"

"Stop being weird," Erica says bluntly. "You're making it awkward."

Robin begins to deflate a bit at Mike's lack of acceptance, and she can feel Vickie's energy shifting as well. They couldn't expect everyone to accept them, obviously, but Robin is a bit surprised at this reaction from Mike, of all people.

"No, I'm not!" Mike defends himself, pulling his arms over his chest. "I— I didn't even do anything!"

"Exactly," Erica deadpans.

"It's fine, Wheeler," Robin says, the words strained and tense. "You don't have to say anything. It's all good."

Finally, Mike turns his brain back on, and shakes his head eagerly. "No, no! I'm sorry, shit, I don't wanna be weird. I'm not like, homophobic, or anything, I was just—" He swallows heavily. "Uh, just thinking. I'm happy for you, seriously. That's— wow. That's pretty cool."

Lucas and Erica share a bemused look behind Mike, and Robin can't help but wonder what he could've possibly been thinking that hard about.

"Thanks, man." Now free of the burden of hiding, Vickie pulls Robin's hand into her own, with the widest smile she's ever seen lighting up her beautiful face. Robin wants to see that same smile for the rest of her life.

"Alright, enough with the goo-goo eyes," Erica nags with a teasing smile. "We've got planning to do."

"Fine, if you insist," Vickie says, dragging her girlfriend to two of the open dining room chairs. They sit next to each other, never breaking their hold on one another.

"Okay, so—"

Yet again, the back door bangs open, only this time, a frenzied Joyce Byers charges into the room, looking more disheveled than Robin has ever seen her. In her hands, she's holding a bag full of various papers and rolled up blueprints.

"Sorry, I thought you kids would be out in the barn," Joyce rushes out, dropping the papers onto the table. "I— what is that?"

Mike's on his feet immediately, pulling Joyce's focus from the hole in the dining room floor. "Mrs. Byers, thank God, we know where Will is, we need to save him—"

"What?" Joyce nearly trips over her feet in her haste to get to Mike. "We know where Will is? Did you find him?"

Her voice cracks, and Robin can already see the desperate tears forming in her eyes. Robin really, really hopes they actually do know where Will is, for Mrs. Byers' sake.

"He's in the Downtown base, we're pretty sure," Vickie chimes in. "They were doing some kind of test, or something, earlier today. When we were there. And Max woke up, and now we're all pretty sure that it has something to do with the, um, what is it?"

"Upside Down," Robin answers.

"Right, yeah," Vickie says. "Okay, well, we think it has something to do with the Upside Down, because Max was awake for, like, a minute, and there were these portal things—"

"And I saw Will," Mike cuts her off, running a hand through his dark mess of hair. "He showed me where he was, like— like a vision, and they were really hurting him—"

Joyce chokes out a sob, covering a hand over her mouth. In a similar state of distress, Mike wipes a hand over his eyes, pressing hard enough to leave indents on his skin.

"I'm sorry, I tried to help him," Mike sniffles. "But I couldn't do anything. He promised me he'd fight. I tried to help him, I swear, I just-"

His tears flow freely now, and Joyce doesn't waste another second, pulling Mike into a strong, secure embrace, standing on her tip-toes to loop her arms around his shoulders. Mike falls into it easily, bending down enough that he can hide his face into her jacket.

"Thank you, Mike," Joyce whispers, stroking a loving hand over his hair. "Thank you for always being there for my boy."

Mike's hands clutch tighter into the brown fabric as he leans into Joyce's hands. Everyone gives them a moment, waiting silently until the two pull away from one another. Joyce brushes a hand under Mike's eyes to wipe away his remaining moisture, and he looks ready to break down into tears all over again at the gesture.

"Um, yeah," Robin cringes at her own overly upbeat voice. "Well, uh, like we were saying, between Mike's thing and what we all saw Downtown, we're pretty sure Will's there. Like, almost one hundred percent kind of sure."

"We just need to figure out how to get in," Lucas says, shoulders slumped in defeat. "That place is like a prison."

The room goes quiet, everyone deep in thought.

"What about us?" Erica pipes up, gesturing to Derek. "We're both in the age range that Vecna's been targeting. If we say we've started seeing him—"

"They'd let us in," Lucas finishes, pushing himself upright. "Like with Chance's sister. He said they brought her Downtown. Holy shit, Erica, you're a genius!"

"I know, nerd," Erica snarks back, but Robin can see the glint of prideful satisfaction in her eyes.

"Wait, we're using children as bait?" Not that Robin's any stranger to child endangerment, but she can't say she's a fan. "What if they, like, figure out we're lying? And they take you guys for— for experimentation, or something?"

Vickie nods, glued to Robin's side. "She's right. It's really risky."

Everyone goes silent, thinking.

"What about the tunnels?" Mike suggests timidly. "I mean, it might be a bit stupid, but, like, if there's a tunnel running underneath the base, maybe we could sneak in through there? Be the backup? And it could provide an easy escape, too."

Joyce nods thoughtfully. "That's… not a bad idea."

Hope lights up Mike's eyes, and for the first time, Robin has some faith that this operation might actually work.

- - -

In theory, using the tunnels to get into the base was a good idea. A great one, even.

Except for the fact that it took so fucking long to get anywhere.

"Are we sure this'll even work?" Robin asks for the hundredth time. "Like, there's no proof that these even lead into the base at all."

Mike ignores her, keeping his brisk pace four steps ahead of her and Joyce. "It'll work. I know it will."

Robin wishes she could share that same level of enthusiasm. Really. Maybe it would liven her dampened spirit after being stuck in this Hell-tunnel for the last hour. As thrilling as it is to put her life in the hands of Mike Wheeler, she can't help but loathe Vickie and the others, who got to drive all the way there in a nice, not-demonic car.

The plan consisted of two main parts: Robin, Joyce, and Mike sent to locate Will, and Vickie, Lucas, Derek, and Erica to get Max out of the hospital undetected. Whoever finds the missing children first gets to deal with the extra responsibility.

Definitely not the strongest plan they could've made, but the clock is ticking, and they've got to work with what they've got.

Mike leads the way, a flashlight in one hand, and a map of the Hawkins Downtown Base that Joyce had brought in the other. Thankfully, the tunnels have seemingly random openings every few miles, carved into the dirt, and Vickie had been able to drop them off relatively close to the base.

Well, relatively might be a stretch. Robin thinks it's been way too long already. But at least they didn't have to walk all the way from Vickie's house like they initially thought.

"Wait." Robin halts instantly at Mike's command. Beside her, Joyce does the same.

Squinting at the map, Mike traces his finger along the black lines, mumbling something under his breath. He looks up, then down, then back up, shining the flashlight above them.

"If Vickie was right, this is the general area that they're keeping the kids in." Mike rolls up the map, taking leaping steps ahead with his flashlight, searching desperately for an opening. "I think— here, I think this might work!"

Following his light, Robin sees a small patch of tunnel that is slightly less colored than the surrounding area. Still dark and ominous, of course, but with a hint of something more.

"You have the lighter, right?" Robin nods, pulling it from her pocket to show Mike. "Okay, good. Try this one. I'll go on ahead and see if I can find another entrance."

"What?" Joyce gasps. "Mike, honey, you can't just wander off. It's not safe."

Tossing the map back to her, Mike starts backing up, completely ignoring Joyce's warning. "I'll be okay, I promise. You guys try this, and I'll go on ahead and try to find Will."

"But—" Joyce sighs, resigned. She's known Mike for longer than Robin has, by years, and is clearly aware of how stubborn he can be. "Mike, you need to be careful. Don't do anything stupid. Find an entrance and wait. We'll meet you there and get Will together."

Faltering slightly, Mike meets Robin's eyes. She knows damn well that if he finds Will, there's no way he'll be waiting for either of them to come help.

"Stay safe, Mike," Robin says emphatically. "Be smart, alright?"

"Alright," Mike agrees. "You too."

Joyce and Robin watch as Mike's light grows dimmer and dimmer, until he's fully overtaken by the dark gloom of the tunnels.

"Alright." Robin claps her hands. "Here goes nothing."

Robin shoves her foot into one of the grooves from the vines, hoping that they don't alert Vecna of their ventures in the tunnels. At this point, though, Robin has definitely stepped on at least five, and nothing has happened so far. She's willing to take the chance.

It's difficult to climb high enough to reach the top of the cylindrical passage, but once she has a solid hold on herself, Robin clicks the lighter, holding it up to the small opening.

Writhing, the vines disperse, revealing what appears to be a gray steel sheet, poorly secured by four nails. Using the knife, Robin is able to poke out holes in the metal framing, enough to push the panel out from it's secured spot. Three sets of startled eyes await her, spooked and intrigued at the sudden random girl emerging from the dirt.

The three eyes belong to three young children, no older than ten or eleven, sitting on plain cots in a gray, dull room. One of them—a girl with pink square glasses and a colorful outfit—stands hesitantly to approach Robin, who tries her best to appear as welcoming as possible.

"Uh, sweetie, what's your name?" Robin asks, head poking out of the underground tunnel.

The girl tilts her head, skewed glasses amplifying her wide eyes. "Debbie. Do you— work for Mister Whatsit?"

Erica never fully explained what Mister Whatsit is, other than Vecna's weird alter-ego who likes to prey on children. 

Robin nods enthusiastically, plastering a fake smile on her face. "Oh, Mister Whatsit, yep! I'm… one of his elves? Magic… elves…?"

Improving was never her strong suit. If only this prison break needed someone on the French Horn.

Debbie narrows her eyes, uncertain. "Did he send you here?"

Behind her, the two other children peer over from their cots, staring down Robin with way too much intensity for ten-year-olds. Robin pushes herself out of the opening entirely, arms shaking with the effort. By the time she makes it to a seated position on the ground, legs dangling into the tunnels, all the kids are glaring at her distrustfully. She can't help the red flush in her cheeks at being judged by a bunch of toddlers.

"What are your names?" Robin asks, catching her breath. They exchange a wary look at Robin's question.

"Wendy."

"Thomas."

Robin exhales. "Okay, Wendy and Thomas. And Debbie. Mister Whatsit sent me to, uh, complete your mission."

All the kids perk up, eyes alight with excitement. A heavy groan echoes through the tunnels below them. Below her, Joyce is gesturing for Robin to hurry up, peering out into the darkness warily.

"But!" Robin claps her hands. "If you want to impress Mister Whatsit, we need to leave right now. That way, he'll know you're super serious about your— uh, responsibilities!"

Miraculously, the three kids jump to attention immediately, eager to follow Robin to complete their quests. She admires and fears their trust in random strangers.

Thomas goes first, dropping into the tunnel with the help of Robin and Joyce. Her motherly instincts must take over upon seeing the distressed children, since Robin can hear her repeating gentle reassurances to Thomas as he looks around the scary tunnel.

It only takes another minute to get Debbie and Wendy through the hole, leaving only Robin in the desolate metal prison they call a bedroom. Joyce and the three kids look up at her.

"Robin, let's go," Joyce insists, holding up a hand to help her down.

The overhead lamp flickers once, than twice. In the blink of an eye, all the lights in the room go out, and Robin is left in pitch darkness, barely able to see the skin of her hands in front of her eyes.

"What the hell?" she mutters, squinting to try and make out Joyce's face below her. Her frame is shrouded by shadows, but Robin can still hear her heavy, worried breathing.

"Robin," Joyce says nervously. "Robin, what's going on? Why did the lights go out?"

"I don't—" Robin is interrupted by the sudden blaring of alarms, loud enough that her hands fly over her ears to suppress the noise. At least the wailing is accompanied by red, flashing sirens, spinning in panic on the walls of the room, so Robin can make out Joyce scrambling to wrangle in the panicked kids.

"What is that?!" One of the children screams, their squealing voice barely audible over the blaring.

Outside the heavy door, Robin can feel more than hear the synchronized footsteps of what must be five soldiers at minimum, heavy feet slamming into the floor. Her heart skips a beat as a shadow is casted from under the door, the figure of a person's legs cutting into the red glow.

She makes a split second decision. "Mrs. Byers, take them and go. I'll cover the entrance from this side so they can't follow."

"Absolutely not!" Joyce yells, "Robin, they're—"

"Not looking for me," Robin insists. Her hands are shaking, her voice is unsteady, but she knows that she can buy the kids some time. "I'll be fine. Just get them out."

Robin doesn't wait for an answer. In one swift motion, she pushes herself to her feet, pulls the metal slab back over the opening, and rearranges one of the cots to be on top of the haphazard disguise.

It won't work for long, but at least it'll give them a head start.

Soldiers barge in, guns at the ready, and Robin's hands instinctively fly into the air in surrender. Not like she can do much else with her pocket knife and lighter against six fully armed men.

Leading the charge is that same woman who Robin and Vickie saw in Sector 5, somehow with an even angrier expression on her face. Robin didn't know a frown could be so severe.

"You," she snarls, gun pointed. "Couldn't resist snooping around, I see."

"Guess not," Robin quips anxiously. "Y'know, I wouldn't have had to snoop around if you didn't kidnap, like, ten children. Maybe don't do snoop-provoking things if you don't want people snooping."

Why is she still talking? The woman's eyes narrow to slits, and she gestures towards Robin with a harsh shake of her head. Three soldiers are on her immediately, gripping her arms and shoving the sharp barrel of a gun into her back.

They lead her out the door, and Robin lets them; if it keeps the focus off Joyce and the kids, it'll be worth it.

She tries to glance over her shoulder at the remaining soldiers ransacking the room, but thankfully, they don't seem to find anything.

Or maybe not thankfully, as that means they have the entirety of their attention to spare on Robin. And the fact that Robin has totally and utterly messed up whatever plan they had with these abducted children.

"Let go of me, you assholes!" Robin thrashes in their grip, but it's no use. She's dangerously outgunned and outmanned. Even if she could escape their restraint, the likelihood that she'd be shot on sight is higher than 100 percent.

At least they're not after Mrs. Byers and the kids, she repeats to herself. Startling déjà vu hits her, and suddenly she's back in that Russian base, tied to a chair with Steve 'The Hair' Harrington so that Dustin and Erica could escape the wrath of the infiltrating soldiers.

All this because she decided to get a summer job scooping ice cream. It's laughable, really.

Otherworldly roars echo down the vacant halls, and Robin tenses immediately in the soldiers' hold.

A scampering beast whips around the corner of the hallway, charging at the group at full speed. A Demodog. Robin's never actually seen one in person, only the taller, humanoid versions, but she's heard enough to put two and two together.

The hands on her arms disappear, going for their guns instead, and Robin takes her chance to run. She books it down the hallway, not daring to look back as the gunshots ring out.

Her heartbeat ringing in her ears almost drowns out the screams of the soldiers as they are seemingly overpowered by the monster. Or monsters; Robin knows if there's one, there's a whole army right behind.

She turns a corner, not even sure where she is in the building anymore. Memories of giant spiders and demonic bats flash through her frazzled brain, and Robin tries to remember the layout of this godforsaken place.

In front of her, a door gets slammed open, flying off the hinges. Robin stumbles back, panting under the flashing red lights. Four Demodogs shriek in glee upon seeing their prey, alone and vulnerable, and charge.

"Oh, shit."

Robin frantically looks for an escape, but there's no other way to go except back from where she came from. There's a few scattered doors in the hallway, and Robin takes the gamble, sprinting towards the nearest one and praying it isn't locked.

The Demodogs barrel towards her at lightning speed, and Robin's hands shake around the doorknob as she tries to pull it open. With one hard push, it swings open, and Robin tumbles into the room, slamming the door hard behind her.

Back pressed against the metal, she can feel the thunderous booms of the Demodogs ramming into it, trying to break through with all their might. Robin presses her eyes closed hard enough that tears leak out, her lips salty and quivering.

Eventually, the Demodogs give up; or, by the muffled cries of pain and sporadic firing of guns, found more interesting meals to devour. Robin doesn't even consider going back out that door, regardless of whether or not the creatures have gone. Whatever room she's found herself in is filled with boxes and shelves of assorted equipment, as well as a massive generator, which explains how there seems to be lighting other than the red alarms. Flashing with Upside Down presence, but illuminating enough that Robin can see what she's doing.

"Okay," she mutters to herself. "Okay. Okay, okay, okay. This is fine. We're fine."

She's in Sector 2. That much is clear from the abundance of storage space. Vickie had said that was what it was used for. Robin wracks her memory, doing her best to paint a mental image of the facility.

"Sector 1 leads out— then 3, which is next to 5, which is furthest from 1—"

It's not working very well. But what she does remember is that Max is in Sector 1, so Vickie and Lucas are likely also in Sector 1, or at least nearby.

Not much to work with, but at least it's a start.

Robin makes her way slowly through the rows of barrels and boxes, hand around the knife in her pocket. Blaring alarms have been going for long enough that Robin barely registers they're still screaming, warning her of something she's going to ignore.

Pushing open another door, Robin holds her breath as she goes into the next room. Lights are on, but there's a distinctly lack of sirens. The quiet is almost more off-putting than the noise.

And, even better, it allows for Robin to hear the unmistakable sound of prowling Demodogs, hungry for fresh meat. From her current position, she can't see any, but they must be close by.

Chills run down her spine. Robin's ready to turn around, hide back in the other storage room until the coast is clear, but as a Demodog turns the corner, she freezes in her tracks, standing deathly still, hand gripping the silver handle so hard she can see the bones of her knuckles.

Somehow, it doesn't see her, even though it surely should be able to detect her very visible frame right in the open doorway.

The Demodog sniffs along the floor, it's head perking up in glee as it catches onto a scent. A million thoughts fly through Robin's conscious mind, each one more fleeting than the last, but she has enough sanity to put together that these Demodogs are definitely not after soldiers. Those attacks are quick, vicious, and messy. This feels calculated and controlling. Like they're looking for something.

Robin doesn't think twice after that. There's only so many people on the metaphorical chopping block, and she's pretty sure all of them are her friends.

At full speed, Robin charges towards the Dog, kicking it in the torso hard enough to send it flying across the room. By some miracle, her intuition was correct; Vickie, Erica, Lucas, and a comatose Max are all huddled behind the storage unit, staring wide-eyed at Robin's display of heroism.

The Dog roars from across the room. It's friends do the same, ready to kill.

"Up, up!" Robin screams, grabbing Vickie's hand and booking it to the door. "Let's go, come on!"

Erica's way ahead of them, seizing the opportunity to escape. Over the cries of the Dogs, Robin can hear Lucas's footsteps, heavy and nimble as he sprints after them with Max in his arms. Once all five are out of the storage room, Robin slams the door behind them, trapping the angry creatures within.

All of them ram their full bodies into the metal, and Robin knows they're pressed for time.

"Vick." Her girlfriend's messy red hair falls in damp curls around her wild eyes, meeting Robin's own with ever-growing panic. "Can you get us out of here?"

"I don't—" Her breath catches, nearing hyperventilation.

"Vickie." Robin places both her hands on Vickie's shoulders. "Can you get us out?"

Almost hysterically, Vickie nods. "Y-Yeah. Yeah. I can."

Continuous bangs on the door shake the walls and ceiling, and Lucas uses his free arm to shield Erica.

"You've got this." Robin pulls Vickie into a searing kiss, not caring if anyone sees. This could very well be the final few minutes of her life. Might as well make it count. "I know you do."

With newfound confidence, holding Robin's hand in her own, Vickie takes off running, with the Sinclair's and Max hot on their heels. None of them dare to look back towards the door, where the monsters are more than likely almost through the shining steel.

"Left up here!" Vickie screams, probably more for her sake than theirs.

Her feet ache, her legs burn, but Robin is nowhere close to slowing down. Adrenaline unlike anything she's ever felt before is fueling her movement, like she's operating on autopilot, letting Vickie steer the plane.

Vickie's pace begins to quicken, dragging Robin along with her. "We're almost out!"

Glancing back, Robin is thrilled to see Erica, Lucas, and Max in his arms, barely two feet behind them. They're going to make it.

A soldier flies through one of the many doors in the hallway, landing on the ground with a gurgling scream as two Demodogs bite holes into his neck and abdomen. Robin and Vickie freeze in their tracks, Erica and Lucas doing the same behind them.

"Shit," Vickie whispers. "Go back, we'll—"

Another five Dogs sprint down from where they came from, slowing down as they approach the five. They're cornered, for real this time.

Robin shouldn't have spoken so soon.

"Fuck." Lucas tugs Max closer to his chest, one hand going to cradle her head against his neck. Erica sticks close to her brother's side, her usual confidence replaced by consuming terror.

On the ground, the soldier has stopped writhing in pain, his gaze vacant and glassy. Both Dogs turn to the small group huddled against the wall, bored of their deceased meal. The five of them are next in line.

"Robin," Vickie's voice cracks, on the verge of tears. "What do we do?"

"I don't…" She has a lighter and a pocket knife. Theoretically, she could try and stab one of them to buy some time, but the likelihood of the knife even piercing their thick skin is not strong. Fire is a weakness, Robin knows that for sure. She isn't sure her tiny flame on the lighter could do any damage other than piss them off even more.

Her hold on Vickie's hand is unshakeable. She can barely feel the blood circulation in her wrist anymore. Or maybe that's just the fear.

She braces herself. If she's going to be brutally murdered by monsters, at least it's with Vickie. It was nice to get to spend her last day alive with her girlfriend of probably around twenty hours by now. 

Abruptly, all the Demodogs halt, heads rising in interest as if hearing some silent code. Robin holds her breath, waiting for their inevitable onslaught. But it never comes.

Spurred into action, every Demodog runs straight past them, back towards the main junction of the facility. Not once pays them a second glance, bounding off with newfound purpose.

"Wha—" Vickie stares in awe, her heart hammering fast enough that Robin can feel each beat. "What are they doing?"

"Hivemind." Lucas strengths his hold on Max, traumatized. "They're going after something else."

Erica takes a cautious step out of their huddle, eyes glued to the path the Demodogs took. "Should we follow them?"

"We can't," Robin says firmly. "We're not risking Max's life. Or yours."

Reluctantly, Erica agrees, and the group darts down the remaining hallway, out the doors and to their freedom.

They did it.

Robin can't help but heave in breaths of crisp autumn air, the towering walls of the Downtown base casting moonlit shadows over their panting selves.

"Jesus, that was scary," Vickie pants, hands on her knees. "Never, ever doing any missions like that again."

"Hate to break it to you, but that was definitely one of our tamer operations," Erica says with a grimace. "You should've been there for the Vecna fight last year."

With a tight-lipped smile, Vickie shakes her head. "Such a bummer I missed it."

"Where's the car that you came in?" Standing around, so close to the entrance of the base, makes Robin horribly antsy. "We need to get back to the barn. Or the station. Actually, anywhere that isn't here would be quite nice."

Lucas winces. "Inside. Like, on the opposite side, I'm pretty sure."

"Great," Robin mumbles. "Walking it is."

No one complains, thank God. She isn't sure she can handle any complaining right now.

Barely a minute passes before a wailing, growling, barely comprehensible pitch rings from the base, intense enough to quiver the leaves on the ground around their feet. Faint screams can be heard through the noise, and Robin doesn't want to know whose they are.

"God," Erica's hands fly over her ears. "What is th—"

She never finishes her question.

Even from outside, Robin can see the warm, radiating bloom of hot light shine in the air. Fire crawls up the walls of the base, bursting into a burning explosion in the sky, raining back down just as quickly.

"Holy shit," Lucas mutters, bringing Max's lolling head closer to his own.

Heat slams into them like an electric field, almost knocking Robin down with the force. She stares at the glowing inferno, swirling in a twisted ball above the center of the base, reflecting blinding orange and yellow into her eyes.

"How…?" It's impossible, the way the fire moves, suspended in midair by nothing at all. 

There's no time to figure it out. Vans full of backup begin to flood the streets, pouring into the base in large droves. They can't stay here, not with Max.

Robin can only hope that the others made it out alive before the fire falls from the sky, turning Downtown Hawkins into a blazing, fiery explosion.

Chapter Text

Mike's pretty sure that the tunnels are able to change location and form, because he's definitely already passed this dark corner before.

His flashlight provides little comfort in the everlasting, thick blackness, but Mike can't bother to worry about his feelings. There's no energy to spare on things like fear. Not when Will needs his help.

Frustrated, Mike stops where he is, shining is light around the vacant tunnels for any signs of life or landmarks. Nothing but crawling vines and moist dirt await him.

Unlike the tunnels from the last time that brought decay and destruction, these ones seem to be much calmer, brought about as a means of transport rather than a ploy to kill. Mike isn't reassured that this prolonged adventure within them will not alert Vecna of their exact whereabouts, but it's a risk they all chose to take.

Mike nearly jumps out of his skin when a faint noise sounds behind him, quiet and small, but ever so loud in the eerie passageway. His light shines on the source of the echo, only to find a small puddle, ripping with water. Another droplet hits, and Mike turns his attention upwards, where a metal pipe is angled out, leaking a thin stream of water into the tunnels.

Sign of life. Mike can't help the smile that crosses his face as he holds the light between his teeth, climbing up the walls of the tunnel to reach the metal.

Balancing is tricky, but with a kitchen knife from Vickie's in one hand and his other bracing on the wall, Mike is able to make a large enough opening around the pipe to see a blaring red alarm through the dirt.

He throws the knife up into the hole, followed by the light in his mouth. Carefully, Mike uses his now freed hands to pull himself through the gap, yelping in pain when he slams his head onto the cold steel.

"Shit," he mutters to himself, rubbing his head as he takes in his surroundings.

Whatever room he's in must be abandoned; cobwebs stick to the corners of each wall, right next to where the blaring sirens spin red, lighting the room in a neon warning.

Above him, another pipe seems to have been severed by the impact of the tunnels, spraying a steady mist of water directly onto Mike's head. He moves out of the stream, brushing a hand through his now soaking hair.

Some scattered boxes are thrown haphazardly around the small room, but Mike ignores all of them, making a beeline for the doorway. He pries it open slowly, double checking for any signs of military before inching his way out, jumping into a full sprint the second he's out in the hallway.

Mike slams himself through closed doorways, barely losing any speed at the impact. He can't afford to. Loud, blaring alarms ring out, echoing in the narrow passageways of hallways. Every few feet there's another alarm, red and spinning and terrifying, but Mike doesn't have expendable energy to spend on fear. It's all dedicated to his one mission.

Find Will.

With Joyce and Robin in charge of locating the missing children, it's the one thing occupying his mind. If only the facility wasn't so goddamn big, he wouldn't have to charge at full speed to make it to his destination, which, unfortunately, he doesn't even know the exact location of.

"Will!" Mike yells out, not caring if anyone hears. "Will, where are you? Will!"

No answer. Mike can't say he was expecting one, but it doesn't hurt to try.

Or maybe it does, because two soldiers turn the corner at the end of the hall, barrelling down towards him. Mike barely has enough time to throw himself into the nearest open door before they see him. Thankfully, years of outrunning imminent death has taught him how to be quite quick on his feet, and they don't pay Mike a glance as they run past the door and towards whatever quarrel they've been called to.

Panting heavily, Mike takes a moment to collect himself. They reviewed the maps briefly earlier, he knows that, but this place is much more complicated to navigate in person rather than a 2D paper reference. It's not helped at all by the fact he's massively outgunned if he's caught, having nothing but the kitchen knife clanking around in his coat pocket. It's completely useless against the hundreds of tons of military artillery owned by the enemy, but it makes him feel a bit better about himself.

From what he remembers, he's currently in Sector 5 of the base, very close to where they've assumed Will to be. Mike trusts Vickie's maps and their joint efforts in locating him. He has to.

With the power off, Mike realizes with a grin, all the safety locks are down, allowing him free entry wherever he pleases. Bracing himself, Mike pushes the door of whatever room he was just in open, peering out to make sure he's alone. There's no soldiers to be seen, but Mike knows it's inevitable that they'll return.

He continues down the hallway, frantically checking each room as he does. Most are manually locked, and the ones that aren't have nothing but old equipment and miscellaneous materials stored within them.

Mike makes it to the end of the hallway, envisioning the layout in his mind as he does so. He turns left, and knows it's the right way to go. Not just from the map, but a strong pull in his gut that's guiding him. 

Unlike the previous stretch, this one does not have rows of doors, or frantic sirens screaming at him. Here, it's quiet, almost eerily so, and Mike takes a second to compose himself, the dramatic shift in atmosphere strangely overwhelming.

There's a single door across from him, and Mike realizes this must be some sort of transitional room, a final security check before entering somewhere important. His heart stutters with both nerves and excitement at the thought; he's definitely made it somewhere they don't want him to be. Hopefully, that means Will, and not some secret Upside Down monster they've been hiding.

Mike flips the knife in his fingers, ready to use it to break in the handle lock, but sees no need to do so. The door is wooden and normal, like one Mike would see at his own house. Hesitantly, he turns the knob, and it swings open, completely unguarded. Doubt rushes through him; surely this must be a trap. But all that is washed away instantly when he sees what's occupying the room.

Each wall is covered in machinery, most of which Mike can't even begin to identify, but some have what looks to be light and sound boards. There's tables haphazardly covered in files and vials, syringes and bloody towels. An unmade cot is tucked into a corner, the pillow thrown on the ground beside it. In the dead center of the space, a water tank of some kind has been haphazardly installed, surrounded by wires and light bulbs.

It's the same place from his dream-memory at the Byers' house. The same place where he saw Will.

"Oh my god," Mike whispers, barely believing what he's seeing.

There, laying in the water, is Will. His eyes are closed, his face lax and devoid of color, his body unmoving. A jolt of fear surges through Mike. He looks dead.

Mike doesn't hesitate. Tripping over his own feet, he sprints across the room, practically throwing himself up and into the water. It's only up to about his waist, but having to haul himself over the side and into the tank sent him tumbling, completely drenching him head to toe. It's unnaturally cold, but Mike can't bring himself to care.

Will doesn't react to Mike's presence at all, even as the freezing water rushes over his face at Mike's movements. There's… something attached to his head. It looks like a fancier version of the electrodes and wires they hooked him up to back when he was possessed by the Mind Flayer. The resemblance sends a horrified chill down Mike's spine, and he doesn't hesitate to rip it off his head, revealing his damp brown hair. A small part of Mike is relieved it wasn't shaven off like El's. It wasn't fair to her, and it wouldn't be fair to Will, either.

Mike grips onto Will's face, pulling him out of the water enough that his face isn't submerged. Although faint, Mike can feel the rhythmic exhaling of breath from out of his friend's nostrils. He let's out a tiny sigh of relief, but his reprieve is short lived.

"Will," Mike's voice breaks on the word. "Will, can you hear me?"

There's no response, but Mike notices his eyes twitch slightly. He isn't sure if that's a good or bad sign.

"Will, please," Mike begs. "Wake up, c'mon Will."

Nothing. Mike vaguely recognizes the tears escaping his eyes, rolling down his cheeks, getting lost in the waters below them. He lets go of Will's face, rearranging himself so his hands are hooked under Will's armpits, and maneuvers the two of them to the edge of the tank.

Getting out proves to be just as difficult as Mike thought it'd be, but he's able to pull himself from the tank before Will, making sure his unconscious friend isn't hurt in the process. Carefully, Mike navigates the two of them to the ground, with Will's head resting gently on Mike's thigh, his legs splayed out on the cold floor.

Mike suppresses the panic rising within him. Because this is his job; protecting Will. It's what he's made to do, what he's best at. What he loves doing. He's the Paladin, the Heart. And now is his time to prove it.

"Will, wake up," he urges, lightly tapping on his friend's cheek. "You need to wake up. Can you hear me? Will?"

Ever so slightly, Will shifts in Mike's grip, head falling into Mike's stomach. Butterflies flutter in him at the contact, but Mike pushes them aside. Will's breaths speed up enough that Mike can see the rise and fall of his lungs.

Will's eyes blink open slowly, dazed and unfocused. Mike lets out a sob of relief, unable to resist pushing Will's wet hair back comfortingly.

"…'ike?" Will mumbles, very out of it. His eyes are cloudy and wandering, not meeting Mike's own. But he's alive, and responding, and Mike couldn't be happier.

"Yeah, it's me, Will," Mike chokes out, a few stray tears running down his cheeks. "You— you're okay. Just relax, I've got you."

Will whimpers quietly, and Mike shushes him, his hands continuing to brush through Will's hair.

"Mike," he repeats, clearer this time. "Wha…"

He cuts himself off with a wince as his entire body tenses in Mike's arms, eyes pinched shut in agony.

"Hurts…"

A tear falls from Mike's face onto Will's cheek, getting lost in the glistening moisture from the tank. "I know, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. You fought really hard, I promise. You did so good. We're gonna get out of here, okay?"

Another violent shake from Will has Mike gripping his arms even tighter, anxiety spiking as commotion outside grows louder. All at once, the tremors stop, and Will's body goes entirely limp in Mike's arms, his eyes rolling back into his head.

"Will?!" Mike shakes him, much harder this time. "Will, what's wrong? Can you hear me?!"

Thankfully, Will isn't fully unconscious, responding with a weak, barely audible whimper. He doesn't look good, at all, but Mike is grateful for small mercies. Getting out of here with a completely unresponsive Will would definitely pose a larger challenge.

"Okay… okay." Mike looks around for anything useful to him. There's nothing but mysterious syringes and abandoned equipment. "Okay. Can you stand? Do you think you can walk?"

In what Mike hopes is an encouraging gesture, he situates an arm under Will's shoulders and pulls him up into a half-seated position, his legs still splayed across Mike's lap. The movement sends Will's head falling forward, chin resting on his chest.

"Shit," Mike mutters. Making Will walk out of here would not only be cruel, but downright impossible in his current state. "Will, we have to get out, alright? Your mom is here, uh, somewhere, and she'll help us get home, yeah?"

"Mom?" Will mumbles, lifting his head in a daze. His eyes look around, unfocused, and Mike's concern skyrockets. "Where…?"

"C'mon," Mike says, linking his elbows through Will's. "We have to get up. We'll go get your mom, okay?"

"Mm…"

There's no way Mike should be able to lift Will to his feet while supporting his entire body weight, but the combination of stress, adrenaline, and sheer willpower allows for him to straighten his knees and steady his stance as he helps Will balance on shaky legs.

"You okay?" Mike asks nervously once they're both somewhat standing.

Will doesn't reply, his fluttering eyelids barely visible through the mass of wet hair falling into his face. From the way Will's head is angled down, like the muscles in his neck refuse to cooperate, Mike can only assume the answer would be no.

Gunshots ring over the sirens, and Mike knows time is precious. Regardless of whether or not Will can walk, Mike is getting them out of here, even if he has to carry Will himself.

Slowly, much slower than Mike would like, the two exit the awful room, and make it back out into the main area of Sector 5. Will's soaking wet sneakers drag behind them with a high squeaking sound that blends in wonderfully with the whirring sirens. Each step Mike takes is one step closer to freedom, and he keeps repeating that to himself as Will does his best to raise his legs enough to take steps forward. All he manages is a rather unhelpful extending of his knees, which only puts his feet back further behind them. Mike doesn't say anything, happy that Will's aware enough to comply with instructions.

Each wing of the building feels longer than the last, as gunshots begin to grow in frequency outside the window. Every shot sends a small shiver through Will, who's already freezing against Mike's damp skin.

Will's head lolls onto his shoulder, and Mike's grip tightens around his waist.

"…f'nd me."

Startled, Mike halts them in their tracks, focusing all his attention to Will's quiet voice. He can barely hear himself think over the alarms, but he'll make sure he can hear whatever Will needs to say.

"What?"

With what little energy he has, Will lifts his head enough to meet Mike's eyes.

"You… found me," he repeats with a weary smile. "L'ke you… you promised."

Mike's stomach swoops, his heart thrumming faster in his chest. Feelings surge through his veins, ones he can't even place. Warm and buzzy.

"Yeah," he replies, teary-eyed. "I did, and now I'm never losing you again, alright? No more going missing."

Will hums into his neck, sending little chills down Mike's spine. A fresh boost of confidence hits him, and Mike picks up the pace, letting Will lean fully into him for support.

It's a sluggish, uneasy journey, with Mike glancing back over his shoulder every ten seconds to make sure they're not being followed, but eventually, they make it to an exit. Will's still exhausted, carried entirely by Mike's hold on his upper body, but his breaths are regular and even against Mike's neck.

Mike kicks open the door with his leg, barely balancing himself and Will enough to squeeze through. Cold autumn air blows over them, and Mike's chilled to the bone instantly, the water on his clothes and hair not doing any favors. He knows Will must be faring worse, though; Mike can feel the frigid skin of his arms shivering against his own.

He tucks Will closer into his body, hoping to provide the smallest amount of comfort. Will whines softly, his head curled into Mike's shoulder. His hair is so cold it might as well be icicles pressing into his neck, but Mike doesn't mind. Not when Will needs him.

Across the courtyard, Joyce stands with Derek, as well as two other children that Mike hasn't seen before. She looks extra frazzled, one hand tugging at her hair in aggravation as she uses the other to seemingly scold the three kids.

Mike offhandedly registers an odd lack of guards and soldiers around the perimeter, but decides not to question their luck. A group of them are gathered near the library, gunshots firing in rapid succession. Roars and screeches bounce off the walls of the facility, and Mike picks up the pace when he catches a glimpse of a stray Demodog leaping towards a fleeing doctor.

Adjusting his hold on Will, Mike hastily guides them down the stairs, towards where Joyce and the kids are huddled. Derek spots them first, his eyes lighting up behind his foggy glasses as he tugs on Joyce's sleeve. Exasperated as ever, Joyce huffs out a sigh before turning to see what he's gesturing at. Upon seeing Mike holding a barely conscious Will, her tense annoyance melts into fierce worry.

"Mike, oh my God." Joyce rushes towards them, her hands outstretched to embrace her boy. "What happened? Is he okay? Will, can you hear me, baby?"

Her hands find his face, gently angling it upward so she can fully examine any damage. From what Mike can tell, Will isn't doing any better than he was ten minutes ago, his eyelids fluttering and heavy over clouded irises.

One of the kids, likely Chance's sister Debbie, takes a nervous step forward. "What's wrong with him?"

Mike loosens his grip on Will, letting Joyce hold the majority of his weight. His arms and legs burn with the stress of holding up another person his size for so long, but Mike barely notices over the adrenaline surging through his veins.

"Was anyone following you?" Mike asks Joyce, who shakes her head tensely, her attention still on Will. "Okay, good. We need to get out before they find us."

"What about Erica? And Vickie?" Derek is shivering and clearly terrified, somehow having gotten separated from his sister in the chaos.

Mike's sympathetic to his fears, but he has to be realistic. "I'm sure they're okay. Vickie's tough, and Erica and Lucas will look out for each other. Right now, we have to worry about making sure we're safe, okay?"

"Okay," Derek agrees meekly, looking around warily. His eyes widen drastically as he stares right over Mike's shoulders. "Wait, are those—"

It all moves quite fast after that. Out of the corner of his eye, Mike spots a group of Demodogs burst forth from the brick wall of one of the empty Downtown stores, charging straight at a gaggle of soldiers.

At the same time, rough hands grab his biceps, and he sees men grab onto the children beside him as well. Mike is yanked back by soldiers, pulled with such force he can barely orient himself. Debbie and Derek scream beside him, as they, too, are restrained.

A group of men do the same to Will and Joyce, attempting to pry him out of her steady arms. But Joyce is not budging, staying firmly on the ground, her whole body draped over Will's protectively. Demodog roars echo over the courtyard as they notice the scene unfolding before them.

"Stop it! Let me go!" Mike screams, thrashing violently as the soldiers continue to pull him away from Will and Joyce. "You fucking bastard, let go of me!"

Doors to one of the other Sectors burst open, and a hoard of men wielding automated rifles and oversized flamethrowers burst out into the courtyard, poised for the attack. Leading the charge is Doctor Kay, her face easily recognizable given how many hours Mike has fantasized about punching it.

"Open fire!" Her command booms over the base, and all the men raise their weapons.

For the first time, this woman might actually be doing something useful. Mike is glad the kids are held back, away from the swarms of Demogorgons and Dogs. He's ready to watch them all get sliced into pieces by bullets.

His heart stops when he sees that the soldiers aren't pointing their weapons at the monsters.

Fifty guns turn towards Will, who's barely able to push himself to a kneel without the help of Joyce. Mike can see her being restrained by four fully armed soldiers, and even they can barely keep her down.

Every nerve in his body lights up, his vision red with pure hatred, as he thrashes harder than he ever has in the soldier's grip.

"NO!" Mike screams, punching one of the men right in the face. "Let go of me, you fucking cowards! He didn't do anything, you can't— you can't— don't hurt him, please don't."

Mike's foot slams down hard, and he can feel the crack of bone through his shoe. Whoever's toes he just broke thankfully loosens their grip on Mike in shock, and he seizes the opportunity to push all of his strength into freeing himself and booking it.

Running straight into an active firing line would typically not be something Mike would enjoy doing, but right now it's the best feeling in the world. Because he can protect Will. He can help him.

Only a few steps of freedom are granted to him before Mike is restrained yet again, this time by the cold press of rifles into his chest. Next to him, the children are stuck in a similar plight, terrified and trembling at the sight of such large weapons. At least Joyce seems to have also broken out of the soldier's constraint; through the line of men, Mike can see her on the ground with Will, pulling him close into her chest as his face contorts in agony. At least thirty guns remain pointed directly at them, the others at Mike and the kids.

Before Mike can brace himself for another fight, a shuddering bang comes from under the ground below them. The soldiers look at each other in confusion as a second, much more forceful thud hits.

Beside him, Derek jumps as one of the many metal screws that assemble the facility's floor flies up in a blur, landing a few feet away with a small clank. As the soldiers move to investigate, Mike can see Will, still in Joyce's arms, begin to tremble violently, his eyes rolling into his head so far he can see the whites.

"Shit—"

His back hits the ground hard as the metal sheet explodes off the blocked gate, a fully grown Demogorgon leaping from the opened fissure. Open firing on the creature begins immediately, commands thrown left and right. None are heeded. It's every man for himself as the monsters begin to flood through in earnest.

Beside him, Derek and the other two kids are in tears, scrambling away from the wall of military. A surge of protectiveness rushes over him. They're Holly's age. They're his age when he started all this, much too young for so much suffering. 

Mike couldn't be there for Holly, but maybe he can be there for these children.

"Guys, c'mon," Mike says, pushing himself back enough to reach them. "We've gotta go, now! Get up, let's go!"

Derek doesn't need any more convincing, already acquainted with the bloodthirsty monsters. When his friends see him heed Mike's instructions, they're quick to do the same, hauling themselves up and putting as much distance between them and the military as they can.

Fully distracted by the siege of demonic creatures, none of the soldiers pay them a second glance. Mike looks around for any escape and finds none. Every exit is filling with soldiers, armed and aiming right at the gate.

"What are those things?!" Debbie screams as three more Demogorgons emerge from the red fissure.

Over the portal, Joyce has her arms under Will's, dragging him away from the onslaught of monsters. Will's entire body is seizing with painful convulsions, his eyes twitching and leaking tears.

"This way, come on!"

Mike doesn't wait for the kids, knowing they'll follow behind him. Although the military is barricading the gate right now, Mike knows they have little time until the men are overpowered by the steadily increasing number of Demogorgons. He runs around the wall of soldiers, weaving in and out as more men file into place. Bullets fly right past his ears, but Mike doesn't slow down.

He spares a glance back, relieved when he sees the three kids close on his heels. Joyce has managed to get Will far enough away from the gate that the military aren't paying them any mind. Dead soldiers lay on the ground around them, hit with stray bullets or sliced by Demogorgon claws. Mike can hardly believe their luck, that neither Joyce or Will, both of whom are unarmed and vulnerable, hadn't been attacked.

Demogorgons have overrun the soldiers, Dogs and monsters alike bursting from the gate, devouring anything in sight. Mike slows his pace, urging the kids to go in front of him so he can keep tabs on the rabid creatures. They're flocking out of the gate in hoardes, sprinting in all directions. Except at Will and Joyce.

By the time Mike and the kids make it to the duo, Will's convulsions have slowed down to small shakes, and his tears have gone from clear to red. Mike drops to his knees next to Joyce, his hands hovering nervously over Will's body.

"What's happening to him?!" Mike flinches as Will's breathing hitches, his inhales sharp and pained.

"I don't know," Joyce sobs, holding him closer. "Mike, we need to get him out of here. Can you—"

"Guys!"

Derek's terrified wail cuts off Joyce's plea, and Mike follows where his trembling hand points to find a fully grown Demogorgon mere feet away from them, walking slow and menacingly.

Mike is on his feet in an instant, pulling the knife from his jacket pocket and waving it threateningly at the creature. It doesn't do much of anything. The Demogorgon shows no signs of fear or stopping.

"Joyce, run," Mike says with forced calmness. "Get them all out of here, I'll hold it off."

"Mike—"

"Joyce, please." His voice is shaking, the knife is unsteady in his palm, but maybe Mike could buy them enough time to hide.

The Demogorgon raises a hand, opening its mouth in a loud roar. Mike closes his eyes, bracing himself for the pain.

It never comes. Prying one eye open, Mike watches in shock as the Demogorgon halts in its tracks, freezing in place with its hand still raised. He cautiously lowers the knife as the monster relaxes its posture, dropping its clawed arm to its side.

A particularly violent wheeze from Will has Mike whipping back around. His body is tensing rapidly, his eyes darting behind their closed lids. Blood continues to pour in a steady stream down his face.

With another mighty roar, the Demogorgon runs off, going to attack another ill prepared soldier instead.

"Wha—" Derek looks after the creature, wincing when it mauls the face off one of the men.

"The Hivemind," Mike mutters. "Will's controlling them. He's stopping them from attacking us."

Joyce's grip tightens around her son's arms, now relaxing from the strain of manipulating the shadow. Will lets out a choked, miserable whine as his head falls back into Joyce's chest.

"Woah, he can control the monsters?!" Debbie exclaims, much too excited for their current situation.

Mike ignores her as Will's eyes slowly blink open, red and blurry. He looks around, unable to focus his vision. Tears pool unnaturally fast, and Mike's heart aches in his chest.

As he whimpers softly in his mother's arms, Mike drops back to his knees, wiping a thumb over the red stains on his icy skin. "Hey, Will. It's okay. You're okay. Can you hear me?"

Almost imperceptibly, Will nods, and Mike can see the way Joyce's hands relax around her son. She strokes soothing circles on his cheek, replacing Mike's hand. Will manages to lock his wandering eyes onto Mike's, and they immediately fill with tears.

"Mm… 'ike, I—"

Will whimpers in pain, clutching onto Mike's hand. His grip is borderline unbearable, strong enough to cut off Mike's circulation. Mike doesn't move his hand, squeezing back reassuringly.

"You're okay, you saved us," Mike says, voice cracking over the words. "We're almost out. Just hang on a bit longer, okay?"

Mike's only response is a muffled groan, but at least it's an acknowledgment. Him and Joyce exchange a brief glance before both moving to help Will to his feet.

Will's barely even sat up fully when the earth begins to rumble, knocking all three of them back down to the floor. Mike looks around for the source of the commotion. It's not hard to spot.

Melvalds isn't too far from the library. When they were kids, Joyce would sometimes let Will and Mike run over from the general store, since she could still see them through the window when they left.

Even with the new military takeover, the distance holds true. Mike has a perfect view of the cavernous red gash down the center of the library, guarded on all sides by rifles and tanks and flamethrowers. Pieces of wood and crumbling bricks fall from the building as the Upside Down vines slither out from the portal.

As the thin layer of slime peels open, Mike's eyes widen on a creature he's only ever heard about. From El, from Nancy. He's seen Will's drawings, crafted by their descriptions. Even then, he never felt real. Just a myth, or a legend.

Vecna, in all his repulsive glory, breaks out of the portal, void of all humanity sans his shape and his eyes. That's what frightens Mike the most; not his slimy, viney body, or his abnormally large left hand. But his eyes. Human eyes. The one attribute that maintains his prior existence as Henry Creel rather than the demon Vecna. Even through the red haze, Mike can see them, distinctly blue. They remind him of Will's, in a way. He isn't sure why.

"Fire!" someone shouts, and before Mike can even brace himself there's an outpouring of gunfire aimed steadily at Vecna.

If the bullets have any effect on him, he doesn't show it. With one flick of his hand, half the soldiers crumble to the ground, unmoving. New waves emerge to replace them, but Mike can tell they're wary to try anything, fingers ghosting above the triggers of the weapons.

"Joyce, we need to go," Mike kneels next to her. "He's here. Vecna's here. We need to get Will and the kids out, now."

Joyce looks up, towards where Vecna is standing, menacingly reaching his hand out at a group of soldiers. If he turns ever so slightly to the right, they'll be right in his line of sight. The thought sends a jolt of fear through Mike, and he begins to pull Will to his feet.

"Will, can you run?" Will peels his eyes open, blinking wearily, but nodding all the same. Mike doesn't believe him, but also doesn't have any time to not believe him, so he nods and, with Joyce's help, pulls Will to his feet.

Immediately, it's clear that Will cannot, in fact, run. The second he's on his feet, his knees give out, sending him tumbling back into Joyce's arms. For someone so little, Joyce has what Mike can only assume to be superhuman strength, since she barely stumbles at the weight of her fully grown son crashing into her. She wraps one of his arms around her neck, placing one of her own around his waist for support.

Will groans, his head lolling into his mother's neck. But he's on his feet, and that's good enough for Mike.

"What do we do?" Debbie asks nervously. Mike's asking himself the same question. 

"And what is that?" Derek's voice is high pitched and terrified as he looks at what Mike only assumes is Vecna. Mike can't blame him either.

"We have to find a way out," Mike repeats urgently to Joyce. "I think… We get get out from that way." He points towards the Sector 1 entrance. "Can you help him?"

Joyce nods resolutely, arm tightening around Will's waist. He knows he should use the map in Joyce's pocket, but having both hands free seems like the best idea, especially with Will out of commission. Mike braces himself for the incoming battle.

Debbie and Derek are flanking his sides, the third kid trailing a bit behind, closer to Will and Joyce, as the group navigates through the mass of monsters and men. Mike can see the exit, they're so close—

Invisible force sends Mike flying to the side, landing roughly on the ground. His palms sting where they dug into the rocky floor, leaving small cuts across the skin.

As quickly as he fell, Mike is back on his feet, turning around with his arms outstretched to shield the others. For some reason, he's the only one Vecna felt the need to slow down, with everyone else standing securely on their feet. Unfortunately, the children all stopped in place with him instead of continuing on to escape. They trust Mike will lead them out. It's a responsibility he knows he's not worthy of.

"What do we have here?" Vecna's low, growling voice booms over the courtyard, as he takes leisurely steps towards the group.

Mike backs up one step at a time, and can see the others doing the same. He knows it's pointless; if Vecna wants them all dead, he'll kill them right now and barely break a sweat. But there's no way that Mike is letting them go down without a fight.

Soldiers continue their barrage of bullets, but Vecna's created some sort of force field around himself that sends them all flying back the way they came. With the Demogorgons continuing their attack as well, the military gives up on Vecna, redirecting their attention to the monsters.

"What do you want?" Mike demands angrily, with much more strength than he thought he had in him.

Vecna's disfigured face morphs into what Mike assumes is his approximation of a smile. "Mike Wheeler. What a welcome surprise."

His name sounds warped and vile coming from the lips of Vecna, and Mike's skin prickles with discomfort as his stance wavers slightly.

"I said, what do you want?!"

At the library, a group of soldiers are thrown back, landing flat on their asses several feet from where they stood. Mike instinctively looks towards the commotion, and notices Vecna doing the same with an inquisitive hum. Another wave of energy sends more men hurtling towards the wall, and a human-shaped blur soars into the sky. 

Eleven flies over the sea of soldiers, launching herself right at Vecna with one of her hands outstretched. She's able to send him flying back at least ten feet, landing with practiced grace in front of Mike and the kids.

"Go, get Will out," El says firmly as Mike's mouth opens and closes in shock. "I will distract him. We have a trap, in the Upside Down. He'll follow me. You have to—"

Before she can finish, Eleven is sent flying back towards the library gate that she came from, and hits the ground twice as hard as Vecna did when she threw him. Mike can see Hopper run out of the gate, towards his daughter, ignoring the screams of government soldiers shouting to detain her.

"Run, now," Mike tells the children, pointing at an emergency exit next to one of the buildings. "Don't wait for us. Get somewhere safe."

None of them need to be told twice. Debbie leads the charge, running straight at the door. The boys are hot on her heels; Derek spares a brief glance back at them, but doesn't slow his pace. Relief crashes over him when he sees Debbie pull open the door, the three vanishing behind the heavy metal. Mike lets out a sigh of relief, happy the kids are out of harms way, and even happier that he can direct his full attention to helping Joyce and Will get out.

As Mike assists Joyce with Will, he watches in awe as Eleven knocks down an entire line of soldiers with her powers, a thin trail of blood running from her nose. Hopper stands behind her, gun raised threateningly, but seems to realize they're quickly becoming overpowered, even with Eleven's superhuman abilities. The two run back into the Upside Down, with almost half the soldiers following in close pursuit.

Vecna lifts himself to his feet, uninjured, but severely irritated, by Eleven's attack. Hope rises in Mike. This must've been El's plan; to get Vecna's attention by using herself as bait, only to get him right back into the Upside Down, where she can trap him with the help of Hop, Nancy, and the others.

One of Mike's hands rests on Will's waist, the other under his shoulder. Joyce is the same, and while the height difference is inconvenient, the three can move much faster without the added burden of watching the children. They start to move towards the door, almost home free.

Mike's stomach drops when he sees Vecna's eyes lingering on them. Not on the gate, not towards Eleven.

On Will.

Eleven expected Vecna to want her, not Will. She's disappeared back into the Upside Down, to whatever clever trap they've constructed, leaving Mike and Joyce alone with the murderous monster. 

"Joyce, take Will and run," Mike murmurs quietly, extracting himself from Will. "He's not after me, I'll be fine."

That's a lie, and Mike knows it. Joyce knows it too, and her eyes fill with tears as she shakes her head.

"Please," Mike insists. "Go."

In Joyce's arms, Will groans quietly, pushing all his strength into raising his head. Half-lidded, heartbroken eyes meet Mike's own, and it's almost enough to keep his arms wrapped around Will.

"Mike, no… please, don't," Will slurs out, trying to pull himself free from his mom's hold.

An unspoken communication passes between Mike and Joyce. She knows what they need to do. Without a word, Joyce turns on her heel, moving with a newfound haste. Will continues wriggling in her arms as she leads him away, trying to get back to Mike.

"No, no, stop—" Mike can hear Will's pleas grow fainter and fainter as Joyce pulls him away, too weak to fight her. "Mom, please, stop, no—"

"How touching," Vecna snarls, and Mike snaps back to attention, pulling his focus from Will before he bursts into tears. "Heart of the Party, was it?"

Hearing those words from Vecna's ugly mouth, the words Will said to him with so much affection and care, fills Mike with a rage so strong he can put aside his terror.

"Don't use his words," Mike warns. "I'm not letting you hurt him anymore. I'll fucking kill you."

Vecna chuckles, tilting his head menacingly. An invisible string yanks Mike forward, mere inches away from Vecna's scowling face.

"Will you, now?" he taunts, stroking a clawed finger across Mike's cheek. White hot agony flares through his head, like someone had split it open with a chainsaw. He can barely see, his vision a blur of red and spotty darkness. "Hmm. I can't say I feel too threatened."

"There, get him!"

A blast of heat wafts over the courtyard, and Vecna releases his grip on Mike, who tumbles to the ground with a groan. Mike rubs a hand over his eyes to shield from the blinding brightness. His other arm is on fire, the sleeve disintegrating into speckles of ash and string, and Mike unconsciously pats it out, his brain not even registering the pain.

When the orange glow dissipates, Mike sees two soldiers, flamethrowers at the ready, pointed directly at him and Vecna. As bad as the military is, Mike can tell that these two men aren't keen on burning a teenager alive if they can help it. He accepts the mercy, crawling away as best he can to get out of the line of fire.

Vecna, whose bodily vines are alight with orange flames, turns to the soldiers with thinly veiled fury. Both men hold down the triggers of their weapons again, sending waves of flames right at his already scorching body. Mike can see backup coming in to help, all aiming steadily at the monster before them.

But this time, Vecna's prepared. He raises his long hand, blocking the fire with ease. It swirls into a spiral, spinning right into Vecna's control. Mike continues to push himself away, praying Vecna's preoccupation with the military can give him enough time to escape.

When Vecna turns his head back to Mike, he already knows he's screwed.

Fire pools in Vecna's grip, his telekinesis shaping the blaze into a solid form. A solid, controllable form, that he's aiming right at Mike's cowering body. As the soldiers continue to throw fire at their enemy, the burning mass of flame only grows.

Mike stops moving, knowing it's pointless. Vecna's fire is double the size of his body, and only getting bigger. If he stays here, maybe the flames won't reach Will and Joyce.

Closing his eyes, Mike prepares himself for the burn, ready to die if it means saving his friends. He hears Vecna throw the fire, feels the heat getting hotter and hotter, rapidly approaching…

It stops. The heat is there, but as far as Mike can tell, he isn't engulfed by flames. He blinks open his eyes, squinting at the bright hotness. It's held in place, barely a foot away from Mike, as if someone had pressed the pause button on the strike.

Mike whips around to see Will, with a bloody nose and vengeful eyes, breathing raggedly behind him. He has both arms extended, fingers splayed around an imaginary circle, as if holding the ball of fire in his own two hands. Mike watches in astonishment as Will raises his arms, bringing the fire from the flamethrowers up higher and higher, until it's an inferno hovering right above their heads.

For a second, Will's eyes leave the mass of fire, going to Mike, who's still laying on the ground in shock. With a swift tilt of his head, Mike goes hurtling backwards, his body dragging across the entire courtyard, until he's at least thirty feet away from Will.

Mike watches in amazement, glued to the floor, as Will holds the fire in the sky, casting light onto every shadow in the base, brightening the darkness with his glowing flames.

Will's skin is luminescent, the wetness of his cheeks shining in the orange glow of the fire. He's bleeding, and pale, and fighting against one of the worst creatures they've ever seen.

He looks beautiful.

That's the last thought in Mike's mind as he watches Will drop his hands with a deafening scream, and all of Downtown Hawkins is enveloped by searing fire.