Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hawkins, 1983

Will Byers was already pedalling hard when the first streetlight blew out. One moment the bulb overhead glowed amber, and the next it popped with a sharp crack, showering sparks onto the pavement behind him. Will refused to look back. He didn’t dare slow down. He pushed harder on the pedals, breath jerking, lungs burning. The woods on either side of the street swallowed the road in darkness. The night air felt wrong – thick, humming, alive. Like it was breathing with him.

Another light flickered and went out. Will’s bike hit a rut. The handlebars lurched, almost pulling him completely sideways. He steadied it and kept going. Something screamed at his back. It wasn’t an animal. It wasn’t human. It sounded like metal tearing, like something ripping the air open with sharp claws. Will pedalled faster, muscled screaming, heart thumping against his ribs. The sound came again, closer this time. Too close.

He didn’t think – just veered off the road, tired skidding through wet leaves. The path home blurred under his wheels as he tore downhill toward the clearing. He could hear it, whatever it was, crashing through the trees. The bike’s front wheel slammed into a fallen branch, and Will was catapulted forwards. He hit the ground in a long skid, palms torn, breath knocked out of him. His bike clattered down somewhere behind him. He pushed up, dizzy and shaking, and stumbled towards his front-door.

Will fumbled the key into the lock, his hands trembling too hard to aim. When the deadbolt finally clicked, he shoved the door open, stumbled inside, and slammed it behind him with all his weight. He twisted the lock, then the chain, then the second bolt his mom insisted on installing last winter. His breaths came ragged and fast, echoing in the sudden stillness of the house. For a moment he actually believed he was safe. He reached for the phone on the wall, lifted the receiver with a shaking hand, and pressed it to his ear. Nothing. No dial tone – only a soft, irregular hiss, like distant static shifting in and out of existence. He jiggled the cord, tried again. Still nothing. The line was dead.

Then a shape moved, just a thin sliver of shadow sliding across the frosted glass pane in the front door. Will froze, receiver still in his hand. The porch light behind the glass flickered weakly, throwing the silhouette into warped fragments: long limbs, a hunched tilt, something crawling rather than standing. It paused, as if listening. Will’s heartbeat roared in his ears. Slowly, impossibly slowly, the shadow’s outline stretched, rising higher against the glass, its head flattening into something broad and petal-thin. He backed away from the door, one unsteady step at a time, the phone slipping from his numb fingers and clattering onto the floor. The shadow twitched. Then it turned – toward him.

The shed.

He didn’t look back to see if anything followed. He didn’t want to know.
His feet pounded the dirt as he ran across the backyard. He grabbed the shed door, yanked it open, darted inside, slammed it shut, and threw the latch closed with trembling fingers. The light bulb buzzed overhead, flickering hard enough to strobe the entire room – on, off, on, off. Will backed away from the door, gasping for breath. Sweat dripped from his nose. His hands shook violently as he reached for Jonathan’s old rifle on the workbench. The wood felt cold, solid, grounding.

Outside, the woods went silent. Not peaceful silent, predatory silent. The light flickered again… then steadied. Will swallowed, throat clicking. A faint click sounded at the door. The latch jiggled. He froze. Then it jiggled harder, rattling like someone – or something – was trying to force it open. Will’s breath hitched. Will’s breath hitched. He raised the rifle, arms trembling under its weight. The shadows quivered. The light flickered, buzzed, stuttered. The latch shook violently. Will’s heart hammered so loud he could feel it in his teeth. He held the rifle steady. He waited for claws. For a screech. For something. And then –

Everything stopped.

The lock went still. The bulb brightened, humming softly. The air stilled. Silence settled so fast his ears rang with it. Will waited another second. Another. Nothing. He lowered the gun an inch, breath shaky. Another moment passed. Still nothing. His chest loosened just enough for him to breathe again. A small, pathetic laugh escaped him. “It—uh—okay. Okay. That was just… wind. Or something. I’m…” He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand “I’m being stupid.”
He waited – counted to three – to make sure the door stayed still. It did.

The light above him glowed warm and steady, like it had never flickered at all. Will let the rifle drop back to the workbench. His knees wobbled, but he forced himself to walk to the shed door. He hesitated with his hand on the latch, listening. Really listening. Nothing. “Okay,” he whispered to himself. “See? Nothing. I’m fine. Totally fine.”
He slid the lock open and cracked the door. Cold, calm night air drifted in. Will poked his head out, hesitating again – scanning the yard, the tree line, the shadows between the branches. Everything was still. Quiet. Ordinary.

He exhaled, laughing once more at himself. He stepped fully outside, pulling the shed door closed behind him. The familiar night sounds of Hawkins – crickets, wind, a distant dog barking – slowly returned around him as he crossed the yard toward home. He never noticed the faint tremor in the air behind him, like something had reached for him… almost touched him… before slipping away.

Not tonight.
 Not Will.

Chapter Text

Branches whipped her arms, her face, her knees. The woods blurred past in streaks of black and silver as she ran, barefoot and shivering, the hospital gown snapping around her legs. The cold had bitten at her, but fear bit harder. Her lungs burned. Her ribs ached with every breath she dragged in. Behind her, something was running – a heavy, dragging gait that bruised the earth with every step. The creature didn’t breathe like an animal. It rasped like wet metal being scraped open. The sound crawled along the base of her skull. She didn’t look back.

Up ahead, the night lit up - streetlights lining the road - flaring and sputtering, each one bursting into a single, painful flash of white before exploding. Glass rained down in tiny, glittering teeth. Eleven flinched but kept running, her feet slapping mud, roots, asphalt, then back to mud again. A scream tore from the creature’s throat. She heard it leap. Then –

A figure.

A boy. On a bike. He was pedaling hard, head ducked, shoulders shaking. The bike’s chain clicked in panicked, uneven stutters. Eleven froze behind a cluster of trees, her breath fogging in the cold air. She saw him pass – so close she could have reached out and touched his jacket. His face was pale and terrified. His eyes flicked left, right, then back again. She let him go.
But the creature... the creature saw motion. It always saw motion. It slowed. Its head tilted in that unnatural, bending, jerking way. Its petals twitched, flaring, sniffing. Eleven held her breath. Her pulse thudded in her ears. The creature’s attention slipped away from her –and slid toward the boy on the bike.

The boy must have heard something. His head snapped back. The creature screeched, crouched, and bolted. The boy kicked into the pedals, tires spitting gravel. Eleven ran too. But she was small. Weak. Cold. She didn’t have a bike. She didn’t even have shoes. Her feet were numb, bleeding. Her breath sliced her throat. Still, she kept going. The bike shot ahead, the creature tearing after it. Eleven tried to keep them in sight – just their silhouettes in the flickering streetlight – but the distance between them grew. She stumbled.

She hit the ground hard, face, arms, and chest splattering into mud. Something in her ankle twisted with a hot, wet pop. The pain was sharp at first, white-hot, then deepened into something pulsing and sick. She gasped. Rolled onto her elbow. Looked down. Her ankle was already swelling beneath grayed, stretched skin. The bone hadn’t broken the surface, but it bulged wrong, jutting at a grotesque angle that made her stomach roil. Purple spread fast, blotchy and nauseating. Mud clung to the joint, smoothing into the swelling like wet clay over something misshapen beneath.

Every pulse of her heartbeat made the joint throb. She should have stayed still. She should have rested. Instead, she forced herself onto her feet. A strangled noise escaped her throat – half sob, half growl. Her body folded, but she caught herself on a tree trunk, nails scraping bark. She hobbled forward. Slow. Too slow. But she had to go. She had to.

Leaves slapped her shins as she limped through the woods, dragging the swollen ankle behind her like a weight full of broken glass. Every wrong step sent lightning cracking up her leg. By the time she stumbled into the clearing, the boy and the creature were almost gone. She saw the boy – running now, bike abandoned – sprinting toward a small building behind a house. The creature was almost on him. He dove inside. The door slammed. The lock snapped shut. The creature hit it once, hard, rattling the entire shed.

Eleven staggered toward them. She could hear her heartbeat pounding behind her eyes. She could taste blood at the back of her throat. The lights on the house stuttered, then flattened into a steady burn. The creature hissed at the door. It sniffed, scratched. Tilted its head. Bored.
Eleven stood ten, maybe fifteen feet away, hidden in the dark. All she had to do was open the lock. She lifted her hand, fingers trembling. The air vibrated around her, humming like a struck wire. Her vision narrowed. Pressure bloomed in her skull. Pain flared behind her left eye. Her nose began to bleed, slow at first, then dripping over her lips. The metallic taste was familiar. Grounding. All she had to do was open the lock. Open it, and she could –

Her breath caught.

She couldn’t. Why should the boy be hurt in her place? Why should she live while someone else – someone who hadn’t done anything wrong –took her fate? Her hand lowered an inch. The creature scratched the door again. Harder. Louder. Like an animal pawing at a toy it was already tired of. She lifted her hand again. The lock quivered. Her vision blurred. Blood dripped. Her hand shook… and lowered again. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t let him take her place. Her fingers went slack. Her arm dropped to her side.
The creature stopped. Its head turned toward her.

It saw her.

Really saw her.

Her blood. Her trembling. Her fear.
And that boredom evaporated. The creature crouched. Eleven steeled herself.

It pounced.

Chapter Text

Will woke with a soundless gasp. For a moment, he couldn’t figure out where he was. The ceiling above him was too still, too pale. The walls weren’t breathing. No flickering lightbulbs, no buzzing electricity, no rattling latches. Just soft morning. Beams of gold light through the curtain. Birds outside. The faint hiss of the heater. His heartbeat slowed, but not much. He pushed himself up, breathing hard.

He’d been dreaming, he knew that much. But it bled away from him like smoke, impossible to hold. Just scraps remained: the colour red, thick as caramel, hanging in the air like dust caught in sunlight. And a sound. Not quite a scream. Not quite wind. Something between. He pressed a small hand to his forehead. Cold sweat. His shirt stuck uncomfortably to his back.

His bedroom door creaked open. “Will?” Jonathan’s voice. Quiet, careful. “Mom made breakfast.”
Will looked up. He must have slept in. Jonathan was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed.
“You okay?”
Will forced a half-smile. “Yeah. Sorry. Just- dreams.”
Jonathan stared a second longer. Then nodded, “Come down. You don’t wanna be late for school.”
Will got dressed slowly. Striped sweater. Jeans. His hands shook when he pulled the zipper. He flexed them, trying to calm the tremor. He didn’t like how jumpy he felt. How loud the house sounded. Every faucet. Every footstep. Every creak.

Downstairs, Joyce was at the stove, flipping something in a pan. She turned at the sound of his steps.
“Morning, baby.” Her voice was far too bright.
“Morning,” he mumbled, sliding into his chair.
She watched him, hardly blinking. “You sleep okay?”
Will nodded too quickly.
“You look pale,” she continued, brushing his hair from his forehead.
“I’m fine,” Will said, plastering a smile on. “Really. Just- late night. I couldn’t sleep.”
That wasn’t a lie, at-least. He had barely slept. Hours and hours staring at the ceiling. Listening. Waiting for that… thing to return.

Jonathan sat down across from him.
“Did something happen? Something we should know about?”
Will hesitated. He saw it, just for a second, in his mind again: the shape by the door, the stretching shadow.
“No,” he said quietly. “Nothing happened.”
They didn’t believe him, but they didn’t push. Joyce placed a plate of food in-front of him. French toast. Syrup spilling over the edges like molten amber. He ate it, but the taste was muted. Like his mouth was full of cotton-wool.

He got his backpack, and headed towards the door. His mom appeared beside him so fast it startled him.
“Have a good day, okay?” she said, pulling him into an almost-too-tight hug.
“You too,” he said with a small laugh, voice muffled in her cardigan.

He biked to school. The morning sky blushed pink, but he kept glancing over his shoulder. Every few seconds. Even when he told himself not to. The trees lining Mirkwood looked taller. Darker. He pedalled harder.

-

“Dude,” Mike said as Will approached the bike rack. “You look like you haven’t slept since, like, the Carter administration.”
Will tried to smile. It didn’t quite work.
“Rough night.”
“Nightmares again?”
“Something like that. I mean, I don’t really… know.”
Mike blinked. “What do you mean you don’t know?”
Will shrugged, pulling his backpack over his shoulder. “I don’t really remember. But it feels like I did.”

The bell rang, and they went inside. Will winced at the clang of a locker, the shriek of gym shoes on tile, the feedback squeal of the overhead speaker. Something felt wrong. Like reality was bleeding into static.
“Hey,” Mike said softly, a hand holding Will’s shoulder. “You good?”
Will nodded. He didn’t trust his voice.

-

First period: History.

Mr. Clarke wheeled in the projector.
“Today,” he said cheerfully, “we’re watching a documentary on the Cold War paranoia of the 50s and 60s – mutually assured destruction, the Red Scare, all that fun stuff.”
Students groaned. The lights were dimmed. The projector clacked on. Will stiffened.

Dust was dancing in the beam of light. Motes floating lazily through space. Just like in his dream. The air tasted metallic suddenly. He rubbed his tongue against his teeth. His thoughts buzzed. Red. Dust. A shadow. Listening. Film flickered. Grainy footage. Men in suits. Missiles. More dust floating in the projector light. But it didn’t look like normal dust. It looked thick. Alive. Will blinked.

A man on the film screen was droning on about “The threat lurking just beyond perception – one that could be anywhere, and everywhere.” Will’s blood ran cold. Because behind the man, for just a split second, something had moved. Not a person. Not anything that belonged in that film, at all. Something pale. Tall. Bent wrong. Something that flickered. As if the light wasn’t sure how to catch it right. His breath caught. Onscreen, behind a row of soldiers – just a shadow at first – then taller, stretching, it’s petal thing head unfolding.

His heart slammed against his ribs. No. No. No. It wasn’t real. It was in the film. It was in the film. Its head turned. Will stood up.
He had no memory of pushing his chair back. No memory of walking. His legs just… moved. He was halfway down the aisle before his brain caught up.
“Will?” Mr. Clarke called. “Where do you think you’re-?”

Will walked out. He didn’t run. Didn’t speak. Just left. The hallway was empty. His breath rattled in his throat. He leaned against the lockers, shutting his eyes. It followed him. Not physically. But it was here. Somewhere between memory and reality. Something in the air hummed softly. Will opened his eyes. Dust floated in the hallway light too. He pressed a hand to his chest. Felt his heartbeat stutter. He didn’t know how long he stood there. But then…

Footsteps.

Chapter Text

Eleven woke with her cheek pressed into something cold, gritty, and unmoving. For a moment she didn’t breathe. The air tasted thick – like mold and metal and dust – and that was how she knew, even before she opened her eyes, exactly where she was.

Not dead.

The Upside Down. She opened her eyes slowly. Nothing changed. The world around her was the same suffocating blue-black she remembered, the air filled with floating particles that drifted like slow, lazy snow. Her breath rose in pale clouds. Her ankle screamed before she even tried to move it. She lay still, panting, heart thrumming painfully in her chest. Why wasn’t she dead?

The Demogorgon had found her. It had seen her. She remembered its screech closing in, the way it leapt, the huge shadow enveloping her. But not the rest. She pushed herself upright, biting her lip so hard she tasted more blood. Her ankle jutted sideways, twice as swollen as before. Her hospital gown was plastered to her with cold sweat. Her teeth chattered. She listened. There. A distant screech, metal dragged across bone.

It was here. Or something was. Something big. Something hungry. She didn’t wait. Using a tree for balance, she forced herself to stand. White pain exploded behind her eyes. She staggered, grabbed a half-rotted fence post, and dragged herself forward. Each step was a stab. Her breath hissed through clenched teeth. The forest distorted around her, trees bent and bleeding black sap, vines twitching faintly. She’d been here once, but not for long. Not like this. Not alone.

The Byers’ house loomed ahead, sagging under the weight of the wrong world. Its windows were covered in pulsing, fleshy growths. Its walls breathed faintly, expanding and contracting like a slow, sick lung. But it was close. It was shelter. She limped toward it. The front door was half open, hanging crooked on one hinge. Inside, the air was dense and cold. Her feet left smears of mud and blood on the dark floorboards. The house was quiet. Too quiet. Even the creatures here made noise – wet clicking, distant skittering – but the Byers’ house was silent.

That was good.

Probably.

She moved down the hallway, shivering violently, hand dragging along the wall to keep balance. She didn’t know this house. She’d never been here in the real world. But she remembered the boy – the boy on the bike, the boy she almost sacrificed, the boy she saved instead by doing nothing. The guilt pressed sharp inside her chest. She kept moving.

A door stood slightly open near the end of the hall. She pushed it gently. It creaked like something alive was waking. Inside was a bedroom. Posters peeled off the walls. A stuffed animal lay on its side, soaked through with the dark moisture that coated everything here. The bed sagged. The boy. This was his room.

She limped inside, breathing hard. Her ankle buckled beneath her and she fell onto the bed. The springs groaned, sinking under her weight. She sucked in a breath, blinking away tears. She needed help. She needed someone. She needed-

The void. The dark place. The place where she could see things far away. She didn’t always understand it, but it listened when she called out. It showed her what she needed. She scanned the room for something she could use as a blindfold, but the sheets were slick with dark grime, the curtains coated with fungal rot. She made a small sound of frustration, grabbed the hem of her hospital gown, and tore away a strip of fabric. The rip echoed, sharp and jarring.

She tied it around her eyes, moving to sit cross-legged on the bed. She placed both hands on her knees and forced the panic down. Breathe. In. Out. The air vibrated faintly. A hum built behind her ears. Cold spread across her skin until she couldn’t feel the bed beneath her. The world around her dissolved. And then-

She was standing on nothing.
Darkness rippled outward like ink in water. The void. Her void. Her seeing place. Ahead of her, a dim shape came into view – the outline of a bed, a boy lying curled on it beneath warm blankets. The room around him was soft with morning light. So bright it hurt her eyes. She stepped closer, bare feet silent on the eternal black.

He was small. Pale. His hair stuck up in the back. His breaths were fast, shallow. His face twisted like he was dreaming something sharp. The same boy. The boy she had saved by failing. She didn’t know what words to use. She stepped closer, throat tightening. “Boy,” she whispered. “You… help.”
Her voice sounded wrong here – tiny, stretched thin. She reached out, hand trembling, and touched his shoulder. He jerked like he’d been shocked. Eleven stumbled back. His entire body thrashed once, twice, as if fighting something invisible. Then he inhaled sharply – a soundless gasp – and sat upright, eyes wide and afraid.

She froze. Her breath caught. His eyes darted around the room. He couldn’t see her. She was here, but she wasn’t. She wanted to speak again, wanted to try, but her voice died in her throat. Footsteps. A creak. An older boy stepped into the room. Tall. Worried eyes.
“Will?” he said gently. “Mom made breakfast.”
She watched Will stand, the morning light warm on his face. He left the room. Jonathan followed. And she was alone again.

A tear slipped down her cheek. Then another. She curled forward, arms wrapped around her stomach, choking quietly. She wasn’t strong enough. Not anymore. Maybe she never had been. She blinked once. The void vanished. She was back on the sagging bed in the cold, dead room. Her ankle pulsed like a heartbeat. She let her head fall back, staring at the trembling dust drifting overhead. She needed to survive until she could try again. She looked at her ankle. Gritted her teeth, and braced her hands on either side of it.

Chapter Text

Mike’s shoes squeaked on the floor as he rounded the corner and almost crashed straight into Will. Will flinched so hard he slammed back against the lockers, breath tearing out of him in a sharp, broken sound. His hands came up like he expected to have to fight something right there in the hallway. His eyes were wide, glassy, not really seeing.
“Whoa, whoa- Will, it’s me!” Mike grabbed his shoulders before he could think better of it. “It’s just me. Mike. You’re okay.”

Will blinked. Once. Twice. His chest heaved like he’d just run a mile.
“Mike?” His voice cracked in half on the name.
“Yeah,” Mike said quickly. “Yeah. It’s me. You’re okay. You’re not-” He stopped himself. Lowered his voice. “You’re okay.”
Will’s hands curled in Mike’s jacket like it was the only solid thing left in the world. His breathing slowly, reluctantly, evened out.
“Oh,” Will whispered. “Oh. It’s just you.”

Just you. Mike tried not to flinch at that.
“Yeah, sorry to disappoint,” he muttered, forcing a crooked smile. “Just your incredibly good-looking best friend.”
For a second, Will almost smiled. Almost. Then his eyes darted down the hall again, like he expected something to be unfolding itself out of the lockers. Mike noticed.
“You can’t just… take off like that, you know,” he said, softer now, but strained. “Everyone saw you. Mr. Clarke definitely saw you. You’re probably gonna get detention or, like, sacrificed to the history gods or something.”

Will swallowed. He nodded, but he didn’t look remotely concerned about any looming punishment. He looked like he was bracing for impact.
“I’m sorry,” Will said automatically. Mike’s shoulders sagged.
“That’s not what I meant,” he said, rubbing his face with the heel of his hand. “I just- you scared me, okay? You keep doing this. You get this look like you’re… somewhere else. And every time I ask, you say you’re ‘fine’ like you think if you say it out loud enough, it’ll become true.”
Will’s jaw tightened. The hallway felt too long. Too empty. Light buzzed alive in the ceiling.

Mike stepped a little closer, instinctively lowering his voice. “What’s going on with you?”
Will opened his mouth. Nothing came out. Not here. Not with the lockers echoing. Not with fluorescent lights that buzzed like something breathing wrong.
“After school,” Will whispered “Please. Not here. Not now.”
Mike studied his face. Will wasn’t avoiding him. He wasn’t hiding. He was terrified. Mike exhaled through his nose.
“Okay. After school,” he said. “But you’re not wriggling out of it this time, Byers. My patience is, like, officially on life support.”
Will let out a shaky breath that might’ve been a laugh.
“Your house,” he added quickly “Please.”
“Yeah. My house.”

-

The Wheeler basement smelled like dust and old carpet and the lingering ghost of Nancy’s old hairspray. The curtains were half-drawn, letting slanted afternoon light stripe the walls. The big lamp in the corner was on anyway, casting soft yellow over the clutter of board games, D&D books, and mismatched furniture.
Will sat on the edge of Mike’s bed like he didn’t trust the floor to stay solid.

Mike sat cross-legged in front of him, looking up, elbows braced on his knees. He waited. Didn’t rush.
“You’re not in trouble, okay?” he said, quietly. “Just… talk to me.”
Will watched the dust float in the afternoon light.
“It started last night,” he finally said.
“Okay.”
“The lights on the road to my house… they went out. One by one.”
Mike’s brow furrowed.
“Like, a blackout?”
“No. Like-” Will shook his head. “Like something was turning them off.”
The room seemed to tighten in on itself. Mike waited.
“There was a sound,” Will whispered. “Behind me. Like… screaming.”
Mike’s stomach sank.

“I went faster,” Will said. “I didn’t stop. I don’t think I even breathed right. And then it-” He dug his hands into his sleeves. “It chased me. I could hear it in the trees. I crashed. I ran…” 
Mike went very still, 
“What do you mean, ‘it’?”
Will swallowed. “I don’t know. It was tall. Too fast. It made the phone stop working. It wasn’t… human.” His voice shook. “I tried to call the cops, but all I could hear was this hissing. And then it was at the door. So I ran for the shed. I locked it. But the lock…” He exhaled, sharp and uneven. “It started moving. By itself.”
Mike’s mouth tightened.
“And then?”
Will stared at the floor.
“And then it stopped.”

Mike frowned. “That’s it?”
Will nodded, smaller now. “Well, yeah. But then, this morning…”
“The nightmare?”
“That’s the thing. It didn’t feel like a nightmare. It felt like when you to someone when you’re half asleep and then later you’re like – did that happen? Or did I make it up? But it sticks with you anyway.”
Mike leaned forward.
“I can’t really remember. I saw a red light, and there was dust. Dust everywhere. Then something touched me, and I woke up.”

The room hummed. Mike stared at the rug, doing anything to avoid looking at Will.
Finally, he forced out, “Okay. So. Just… quick question.”
Will looked at him, bracing himself.
“Have you, um,” Mike scratched at his wrist, “eaten any mysterious mushrooms recently? Because this is sounding… not very FDA-approved.”
Will stared. The joke did not land.
“No,” Will snapped. “I didn’t take anything, okay? I didn’t huff glue, I didn’t eat poison berries, I didn’t go insane overnight. I don’t know what’s happening to me but I know I didn’t make this up.”

Silence fell hard. Mike winced.
“Hey. Hey, I was- I was kidding. Bad joke. Sorry.”
Will squeezed his eyes shut.
“Do you really think I’m crazy?” he whispered. “I mean, what if something in my head just… broke?”
Mike shifted closer, voice firm now.
“You’re not crazy.”
Will opened his eyes.
“You don’t have to say that.”
“I’m not just saying it.” Mike insisted.
Will almost smiled again. Almost.

Mike stood abruptly. He marched to his closet and yanked it open. Out came two battered flashlights and the old walkie-talkies they hadn’t used properly since last summer.
He tossed one of each to Will.
“You’re staying here tonight,” Mike said, suddenly very sure of himself.
Will blinked. “Mike-”
“And then,” Mike continued, grabbing his jacket, “we go monster-hunting.”
A laugh actually escaped Will this time, thin but real.
“That’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking.”

Will stared at the equipment in his hands.
“Mike, that’s… that’s dangerous.”
“So is pretending nothing’s wrong,”
“But what if there isn’t really anything?” he asked quietly. Mike softened.
“Then we hang out,” he said. “Eat a bunch of crap. Watch something dumb. The usual.”
Will’s grip tightened around the flashlight.
“And if there is something?” he whispered.
Mike grinned, wild and fearless.
“Then we introduce it to the Party.”