Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s a Friday night in November, and Will’s voice crackles over the voice chat, making the rest of the party groan.

“Again?!” Dustin lets out, audibly slamming his hand down on his desk while Lucas continues to make distressed noises. Mike rolls his eyes. “Will, buddy, I hate to insist but you really need to get better internet. By this point, I’ll pay for it myself, even if it means mowing the lawns of every resident in Hawkins and the next three towns over.”

“Don’t be an asshole!” Mike shakes his head, while more crackling comes from Will. Mike secretly agrees, to a point—it’s ludicrous that Will has to suffer like this, but he knows better than to give him shit about it, no matter how well-meaning. “Come on, it’s late anyways. We can just end it here and keep it going tomorrow.”

“Seriously, Mike?” Lucas protests, finally dignifying his communication with words. “Seriously? I bet we don’t even have an hour left of this campaign, come on—”

Mike glances at his open Google Docs file with the hundred-page long campaign outline, humming at how he only has ten remaining to go through. But the party doesn’t need to know that; he can always beat around the bush for an hour or two next time, to make it be worth their while.

“I mean, it’s the weekend. We can try again tomorrow when Will isn’t dying, with no loss,” Mike insists, wincing as Will’s icon finally disconnects from the Discord call. Out of habit, Mike goes to grab his phone, just as the screen lights up with a phone call from Will. “Hold on, guys—Will’s calling me.”

“Oh, god, what a surprise,” Dustin snorts, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “Lucas, do you think Will even has our numbers saved?”

“Nope,” Lucas chimes in, exchanging snickers with Dustin as Mike rolls his eyes, muting his microphone. He just barely catches the rest of Lucas’ sentence. “At least we know he isn’t dead thanks to Mike’s Will Alarm.”

As Mike stands from his desk to create some privacy, even though it doesn’t really make a difference, he resists the urge to tell Lucas to shove his Hot Wheels collection up his ass and answers the call. “Will? You’re alright there?”

“My internet died again,” Will huffs, annoyance dripping from his tone. “But I guess you guys figured that out already. Sorry.”

“Hey, it’s fine!” Mike sits on the edge of his bed, sighing, and thinking again of the ten remaining pages of the campaign. “We got enough material to try again this weekend, okay? Don’t worry about it. You can come over to my house, maybe I can convince Dustin and Lucas to come over as well, and we can dust off the old board—”

“Mike,” Will breaks in, softly, so much so that he almost doesn’t catch it. Mike pauses. “I’m going over to… to my dad’s this weekend, remember? I’ll be back next Sunday.”

Oh. Shit. Without meaning to, Mike speaks out loud. “Fuck.”

Will laughs. “You forgot? It’s the whole reason we’re playing today.”

“Shit, you’re right—I’m so sorry, I don’t know how it slipped my mind,” Mike grimaces, as Will continues to laugh, and Mike can’t help that it rubs him off the wrong way. By this point in their friendship, Mike’s memorized every known cadence to Will’s voice, to his laugh. He couldn’t ignore anything off in it if he wanted to. “I—Will? Are you gonna be okay?”

“What? Yeah,” Will takes an audible breath, letting it out with a sigh. “It’s just the same old, you know? I’ll be fine. I’m always fine.”

Leg bouncing with anxiety, Mike remembers hidden bruises and cigarette burns and shaky hands, and wishes Will were physically present so he could shake some sense into him. “No, you always say you’re fine. That’s different. And Jonathan isn’t even coming with you this time.”

“It’s the last year I have to do this, and Jon has work. This internship is important,” Is all Will says, and not for the first time, Mike wishes he could just go with him. Or, even better, kidnap Will so he doesn’t have to go at all. It might be too little too late, but it’s something. “Mike, it’s okay, stop fussing. You’re behaving like my mom. I’m more worried about the campaign right now. I totally blew it.”

Mike’s being like Joyce Byers, yeah, who has a really fucking good reason to be concerned. But Mike doesn’t say that. “You did not blow it, dude, it’s just shitty internet because you live in the woods. If anything, Lucas and Dustin were being pushy—don’t tell them I said that!”

Will laughs again, and this time it feels real. Mike’s shoulders relax. “You don’t sound like an impartial DM saying that.”

“We’re playing again tomorrow, okay?” Mike abruptly changes the subject, not even trying to be subtle, but Will’s snickering tells him he’s going to be blackmailed about that comment. “It’s gonna be Saturday, and I don’t care that you have to get into a bus to the city early on Sunday—we’re doing it.”

“And if we don’t finish the campaign?” Will inquires, and Mike can picture his uncertain expression, his defeated shoulders, just from the hesitation in his tone. “Maybe we should just wait until I’m back next weekend. I’ve barely packed my bag, and I have to make sure I have everything ready tomorrow…”

“Come on, Will,” and here, Mike lets himself come off bratty and whiny, just like Lucas and Dustin. Nothing better than reckless teenage temptation to get Will a little more invested. “It’ll be fine. What’s the worst that can happen if we don’t finish tomorrow?”

“Dustin and Lucas are gonna flip,” Will starts, and Mike tries to interrupt only to get talked over. “You’re gonna run out of pages, so you’re going to make up stuff to distract us—don’t try to deny it, I know you! And your mom is not gonna be happy about us hogging the basement when she knows I have to catch a bus.”

Mike huffs. “So, bullshit.”

“Real concerns!” Will shoots back, then sighs. “Mike…”

“Will,” Mike stresses his name, trying to get his point across. Will lets out a long-suffering sigh. “We’ll be just fine. I can even steal Nancy’s car and drive you home tomorrow—”

“No, you’re a terrible driver. You’re never getting that license,” Will interrupts, and it sounds like he’s rolling his eyes. Mike can’t even be offended, because almost immediately after, Will clicks his tongue, and that’s how he knows he’s won. “Fine. Tomorrow. But I’m going home at nine at the latest, okay?”

Mike scrunches up his nose. “I don’t even know why you wanna be on time for that bus.”

“Because otherwise he’ll come pick me up,” Will sighs, and Mike’s upturned lips drop. “And, well, you remember how that went last time.”

He does. Two years ago, over spring break, Mike had slept over at the Byers', after a long, joyful gaming session, only to be awoken by the rising voices of Lonnie and Joyce, about three or four hours after the early bus for Indianapolis had already left. Mike and Will had accidentally slept in, Joyce had a late night shift, and Jonathan wasn’t home from college yet. Only Will knew Mike was in the house because the original plan Joyce was notified of wasn’t for Mike to sleepover.

It was a shock for his parents that usually responsible, sensible Will had missed his bus, which is probably why Joyce wasn't holding anything back in the first place, insults flying out freely towards her ex-husband at the denigrating comments he made about his youngest son, while Will froze up in bed, Mike watching him with wide eyes as the gravity of the situation sunk in.

Then Lonnie had opened the door to Will's room, taken in their sleepy faces, the fear already creeping into Will's expression, and Mike, up close and personal, saw him physically holding back from striking out with rage, fists tightly clenched. It confirmed every fear Mike has ever had about Will having to spend one week away with his dad.

“Be quick,” Lonnie had snapped, and then he sneered at Mike. “Thought I told you to stop hanging out with pussies, Will.”

Mike's protest was drowned out by Joyce's shrill response, forcing Lonnie back to the kitchen. Will was already changing into day clothes, rushing around his room. Mike helped where he could, handing him things he had forgotten to pack, making sure his bag was set, guilt settling in his bones because he knew he should’ve gone home, but he just didn’t want to leave Will all alone, knowing where he was headed the next day.

When they went out to the living room, Lonnie took a single look at Will, roughly grabbed him by the arm, and walked out without throwing a glance back at Mike and Joyce. Will didn't look back either, head held low. Mrs. Byers then took a deep breath and offered Mike breakfast, visibly trying not to cry.

It was an awkward meal, but Mike managed to make her feel a little better before he left. Will returned next weekend along with Jonathan and with a deep cut across his arm, and more bruises than Mike had seen since Lonnie first left Hawkins. It was held together by stitches. He claimed to have tripped and broken some glass, falling on it. Mike, Jonathan, and Joyce could all smell the bullshit, and Mike’s sure they only felt worse about it when Will got the stitch removed and he joked about only having a tiny, pale, barely unnoticeable scar for all that trouble.

Despite how long ago the incident was, Mike sometimes still bitterly, selfishly wishes that Joyce had had a better lawyer and gotten full custody of her kids. Jonathan hasn’t been obligated to go to his dad’s ever since he turned sixteen, but he always went with Will anyways, refusing to leave him alone even if it meant arriving at Indianapolis a few hours after Will had, or skipping a few classes. Until now, that is.

So, yeah, Mike can delay the campaign for Will. How could he not?

“We’ll be done by nine, then,” Mike promises, despite the still-childish part of him wanting to protest. Will mumbles a low thank you, bashful and guilty, and Mike’s resolve just heightens. “Hey, none of that, ‘kay? We’d be lost without Will the Wise anyways. There’s no way Lucas and Dustin could finish this without you.”

Will’s tone turns amused, yet indulgent in a way that makes Mike smile. “That almost sounds like you have a bias.”

“I’m just being fair, Will,” Mike rolls his eyes. “But don’t be late tomorrow!”

“Sure,” Mike can almost picture Will’s sheepish shrug. “I’m never late.”

They hang up after agreeing for Will to come over earlier than Lucas and Dustin, as per usual, mostly for pre-game prep, but also just because it’s the way it’s always been, the way it’ll probably continue for years and years as far as Mike’s concerned. They’ll watch movies they’ve already seen a thousand times already, drink too much soda, and place bets on what crazy ideas Dustin is gonna get in the middle of the campaign, as well as what Lucas’ reaction is gonna be to that.

If Will didn’t have to catch a bus, and if they were still little kids, Mike would’ve begged Will to sleepover as well. They don’t do it as often anymore, not since the summer after they turned thirteen, when Will stopped sharing so freely whatever it is that Lonnie talks to him about during their mandated time together, after Mike’s family members started getting annoying with questions about when he would get a girlfriend.

Mike’s had girlfriends, of course. Kind of. He’s kissed three different girls, at least, and it was fun, but also complicated, and it took away time from their D&D party and hanging out with Will. He’s just been… taking a break from love. Yeah. He’s happy for Dustin finding the love of his life in Suzie and for Lucas having regular attempts at dates, but Mike is fine like this. He’ll date when he wants to.

Whatever, not the point. They’re growing up, and the fact that they’re now only mostly playing D&D online is a direct result of that, as well as the dwindling sleepovers. But Mike doesn’t mind turning back the clock a little for Will. Seriously, what could go wrong?

Lucas and Dustin are messing up and being, as Mike put it, pushy, and Will is so torn but also practically vibrating with excitement.

He glances one last time at Mike as he throws the dice, nostalgia inflating his chess like a balloon because Roll20 is great, but it could never compare to playing with an actual board and figurines and getting to watch Dustin flip his chair while Lucas keeps screaming. If they all feel a little silly, being fifteen and this invested, then at least they’re doing it together, and Mike’s hungry eyes for the roll make any drop of embarrassment worth it.

The dice falls off the table just as Karen opens the basement door, calling out. “Last call, guys, it’s getting late!”

“Mom!” Mike calls back, his voice cracking on a whine. Lucas, Dustin and Will snicker as they look for the dice, because Mike’s voice hasn’t done that ever since he turned fourteen, and it earns them all dirty glares. “Close the door, come on! We’re almost done! Can’t we have some fucking privacy?!”

Karen comes down the stairs just as Will picks up his bag, knowing better than to actually try to argue. She meets Will’s eyes and smiles like she’s physically holding back from pinching his cheek as she used to when he was eleven. Will knows she’s only sparing him now because Mike whines about them not being kids anymore, but he doesn’t really mind.

“Michael, language, please,” Karen huffs, crossing her arms at her son. Mike’s started hovering over her by at least a foot—he has not stopped growing like a weed, and Will doesn’t see him stopping any time soon—but Karen sets her hands on her hips and shakes her head at him, turning Mike’s expression a mix of sour and sheepish. “You also promised to be done by nine, and it’s already nine-thirty!”

“Yeah, Michael,” Dustin starts, and Will elbows him, but it does nothing to stop him. In fact, Will gets an elbow back for his trouble, causing him to wince. Lucas comes up behind them and wraps his arms around their shoulders, settling in the middle and shooting Mike the most fake-innocent smile Will’s ever seen. He can’t help but giggle. “It’s bedtime! Don’t let us mess with your beauty sleep.”

Mike shoots Dustin a disgusted look. “You agreed to this.”

“But we know better than to argue with Mrs. Wheeler,” Lucas points out, clapping Will’s back before stepping away to also grab his bag. He shoots a wink at Karen, who rolls her eyes at the overindulgent flattery. “Don’t we, Dusty-bun?”

“Oh, screw you!” Dustin laughs, also grabbing his stuff. Mike blows them off as his mom heads upstairs with one last warning, following behind her to try to convince her to give them thirty more minutes and yelling at them to stay. Wordlessly, the three of them remaining look for the dice, and Dustin lets out a curse as he kneels behind the couch. “Aw, fuck, a seven? What happened to Will the Wise’s magic touch?!”

Will winces. “It doesn’t always work out, I guess.”

“Just don’t tell Mike,” he shoots Will a look, making him roll his eyes. Dustin points at Lucas. “We’re not telling Mike, right?”

“Dude, obviously. We’re screwed without Will,” Lucas pats his back, pulling Will towards the basement door so they can get going. Will decides to hum, unconvinced, already knowing he’s not giving them what they want—not because he wants to be mean, but rather because fair is fair, and the whole reason they even got to play today was that Mike insisted. Will owes him one. Lucas groans. “No, Will, come on, don’t do that thing where you and Mike band off against us—”

“We don’t do that,” Will snorts, only for Dustin to go bullshit! from behind them, catching up and giving Will another look. “We don’t. It’s not anyone’s fault we got bad luck today.”

“Except we didn’t get bad luck,” Dustin insists, winking at Will and getting on his bike just as Mike bursts outside, looking betrayed that they’re actually going. Lucas is already pedaling down the driveway, wishing Will good luck on his trip to the city. Dustin bikes down to the driveway, waiting for Will to wrap up his goodbyes as he high-fives Lucas.

“Man, I feel like I’m fucking eleven again. This is totally not fair,” Mike says, crossing his arms as he stands beside him. He glances down at Will, who’s humming in agreement, watching him play with his bike’s light. “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you?”

“This late at night? No thanks, I don’t want to crash,” Will jokes, and almost falls off his bike as Mike gives him a friendly push. He laughs, and Mike grumbles under his breath like he’s actually mad. When Will manages to straighten up, he sighs. “It was a seven, by the way.”

Mike raises an eyebrow. “Huh?”

“The roll, it was a seven.” Will pouts his lips, just so, watching Mike glance down at them before throwing him a frown. “The Demogorgon, it got me.”

“Damn,” Mike lets out a sigh. “I was actually rooting for you.”

The garage lights above them blink, making them both glance up, and Will feels a shiver going down his spine, goosebumps on the back of his neck. The night is quite chilly, even though it’s barely November 6th, and he would be apprehensive about riding off into the darkness if it wasn’t for Dustin and the fact that whatever the night has to offer, it can’t be any worse than the week he’s about to have. Besides, he does love a little spook, and Halloween was barely a week ago, appropriately lingering like a ghost in the air before the Thanksgiving atmosphere hits.

“Welp, see you next week,” Will sighs, and Mike’s frown deepens. Will attempts a reassuring smile, but he thinks it falls a little flat. “Hey, I’ll be back before you know it.”

“I know,” Mike’s face twitches with that concerned expression that makes Will’s heart race a little, and he has to look away, towards Dustin waving his hand at him in a come on! gesture to get him to hurry. “I’d like it if you’d come back in one piece, as well, you know.”

Will stiffens, then forces himself to relax, ignoring the too-hot, too-quick, too-intense emotions that come every time Mike acknowledges the elephant in the room. The lights above them blink again, this time more rapidly, and Mike mumbles something about changing the bulbs.

Will tilts his head back up to meet his eyes. “That’d be nice.”

Mike opens his mouth to say something, but Dustin’s yelling interrupts. “Hey, lovebirds, are you done?! It’s only gonna get later, Will!”

“Go, don’t let me keep you,” Mike rolls his eyes at Dustin’s antics, and then softens his expression, offering him a small, private smile. “Take care, okay?”

“Always,” Will nods, and pedals away to meet Dustin. Will scrunches up his nose at him. “You’re growing up mean.”

“I’m growing up impatient,” Dustin corrects him, tearing a much-needed laugh out of Will. “You told Mike about the seven, didn’t you?”

“Yep!”

“Traitor!” Dustin shakes his head, but Will can see from his peripheral vision that he’s smiling wide. “You know, I missed actually using the board. Those dice rolls feel so nice and crispy.”

“I don’t know about crispy, but it was nice,” Will agrees, and Dustin mumbles something about Will not appreciating his humor. “We can do it again next week when I’m back. For old time’s sake, and all.”

“Absolutely, I don’t care it’s gonna be a Sunday, you’re gonna be stuck with us the second you get back to Hawkins until you do that thing you do, where you fall asleep halfway through our welcome back movie marathon—”

“Like that’s my fault, sure—”

“And Mike gets all don’t wake him or I’ll kill you, and we make fun of him for it, because how could you not appreciate my movie choices—”

“You need an ego check, I think—”

“Point is, we’re totally gonna miss you,” Dustin finishes, and Will swallows the sudden knot in his throat. Sometimes, it’s hard to process how much his friends care. “I know, I say this every month, we all do, but it doesn’t make it any less true. Take that with you to Indianapolis, okay?”

“I know. I will,” Will lets out, and even he has to admit his voice is dripping with fondness. He thinks again of Mike’s wish for him to come back in one piece, and his heart swells a little more, obscuring the fear in it. He clears his throat, not wanting to make tonight even sappier. Otherwise, he’s going to spend the whole week sobbing. “Wanna race down the hill?”

Dustin barely says yes when Will takes off, laughing at the insults that follow him. At the crossroads, more goodbyes and see you soon! are yelled, and then it’s just him taking the shortcut to his place through what they’ve long-ago dubbed Mirkwood.

The road is lonely and treacherous at night, but Will feels warm with his friends’ affections, and he’s never been as afraid of the dark as he probably should’ve been as a child. He knows this shortcut and the woods around his house by heart, and he has enough hunting and survival skills to be confident he could never get lost, even if most of them weren’t learned willingly, but rather out of necessity. His dad can be extreme when he gets in a mood.

But Will tries not to think about that. Instead, he does a mental check of the things he still has left to pack, goes through the things he’s sure he’s already packed, and what he could maybe, potentially need while he’s away. The Wi-Fi is better at Indianapolis, but last time he took his old, third-hand, beat-up laptop, his dad locked it away and threatened to make him smash it with the practice baseball bat in the backyard, so that’s a big no.

His phone is allowed, but he’ll probably have to hide his sketchbooks or grab a new one that doesn’t have any incriminating drawings of Tom Holland’s Spider-man. Any sort of paint would be too smelly, so that’s out of the picture, too…

Will’s bike light starts blinking and he frowns, because Jonathan replaced the flashlight last time he was home, barely last month. Will’s been outgrowing this bike for a couple of years, but it’s kinda ridiculous that it’s deciding to start to fall apart like this—

He glances up to a dark, hovering silhouette about to collide with him, and lets out a yelp as he jerks the handlebar and crashes over the side of the road, at the edge of the woods. A growling sound reaches his ears as he scrambles from underneath the bike, making him forget his attempt to check whether he actually almost ran over someone.

For a split second, he freezes, the same cold sensation he felt at Mike’s place taking over.

Then both logic and instinct take over and he runs.

The growling intensifies behind him in a way that makes Will feel like something is about to bite at his heels, so he doesn’t look back, doesn’t stop, takes all the shortcuts he knows all the way to his house and somehow manages not to fall all over himself from sheer fear. His lungs burn as his eyes fall on his home’s porch steps but he doesn’t let relief take over for a single second; Will barely registers getting inside and locking the front door behind him, pulling out his phone from his pocket and dialing the police.

There isn’t any signal, which shouldn’t matter—but dialing nine-one-one only gets him halfway through the starting line of what’s your emergency? Before it cuts off with static and his blood runs cold.

Fuck, he thinks, running over to the landline that never works and they never even use, but the second he presses the phone to his ear he knows the line is dead as well. The lights in the house start going haywire, blinking with a frequency he’s never seen before, almost as if to mock the way Will’s shaking.

The growling comes again and Will bolts out the backdoor, ignoring Chester’s barks, locks the shed door behind him, and goes for the gun that his dad abandoned long ago, loading it up with ammo. His hands don’t shake, his survival instinct keeps him grounded, eyes wide and terrified but ready, leaning on his knowledge of how to shoot a gun. It’s something he never wanted to learn, but he can’t help but be thankful, just this once, because it might save him from whatever wild animal is chasing him.

The light above him blinks and Will’s lips tremble, staring up at it for a single second before he snaps his eyes back to the door, breathing hard, knowing that his life depends on keeping his gaze on whatever terror is stalking him, pawing and rumbling right outside the door. Still, the light starts glowing brighter and brighter, making it impossible to ignore.

The noises cease. There’s a pause. Will dares think, throat bobbing, that the animal went away, ignoring the part of his mind that’s screaming that whatever this is, it’s most definitely not natural.

And then the lock starts sliding free on its own. Will’s eyes widen.

He should’ve let Mike drive him home.

Chapter Text

Will doesn't text him around the time his bus takes off into Indianapolis.

It bothers Mike as he steals the cereal box from Holly with his free hand, ignoring her protests and whines and even her threats to tell mom. Will always texts him when he gets into the bus. Mike always wakes up to a text that soothes his nerves, lures him into a false sense of hope and security that maybe this month, Will is gonna come back to him in one piece, unharmed, not a single hair out of place.

He woke up only to Dustin and Lucas sending memes through the Discord group chat with the objective of making Will feel better. They always do that, and Will always replies, as well. It makes a sinking feeling make a home at the bottom of his belly, dread filling his chest. He tries to be logical: Will could've forgotten to charge his phone, maybe he turned it off to take a short nap during the bus ride, maybe he forgot, maybe he even forgot his phone at home, but none of that offers any ounce of comfort to him.

His mind flashes to Will's face last night, how he stiffened when Mike rather bluntly made allusions to the abuse he suffers whenever he goes to his dad's. Guilt and regret fill him; in many ways, Will is stronger than Mike, Lucas and Dustin combined. He's the toughest guy he's ever met, in order to be able to put up with what he does, to hold his chin high and ignore the disapproving whispers behind his back and the insults to his face in regards to his family situation, and those rumors about his sexuality, from both from bigoted adults and ignorant people at their school. Small towns can be so mean, and somehow, Hawkins hasn't destroyed Will, and neither has his dad, and that’s a miracle in and of itself.

But whenever Mike, or Joyce, or Jonathan—anyone, really, makes any allusions to the things that take away that strength that Will has…

Will isn't good with comfort. He would rather hide and lick his wounds by himself than be treated like glass, like the abused kid he is. Mike tries his best, but sometimes his concern becomes a vine that chokes him and he says the wrong thing at the wrong time.

There's a decent possibility that Mike hasn't heard from Will because he's angry with him, but if that is the case, then Mike can't reach out to apologize until Will talks to him first because otherwise he might make him feel coddled. Choked in all the worried glances he already gets from his mom and his brother, and even from Lucas and Dustin, who think Will doesn't notice.

Will always notices. Mike is practically vibrating, shoving cereal into his mouth as he stares at his phone, willing Will to text him. He needs to apologize.

“Michael!”

Mike jumps and spills cereal everywhere, making his mom sigh. He turns, looking at her standing under the kitchen doorway, Holly sticking her tongue out at him from behind her. Little brat.

“What is going on with you this morning? I've been trying to get your attention!” Mom sighs, running a confused, exasperated hand through her hair. Mike just shakes his phone, offering her an awkward smile. Mom relaxes, just so, squinting her eyes and looking him up and down with suspicion. “Are you texting Will?”

“Well, it's not gonna be a girl, is it?” His dad comments, appearing behind his mom. Mike instantly scowls, rolling his eyes as Ted leans down to kiss Holly's forehead as a good-morning, barely patting his mom's shoulder as he passes into the kitchen and makes himself at home at the breakfast bar, circumventing Mike's cereal mess as he goes. “You should clean that up, boy.”

Mike was gonna, but now he kinda doesn't want to, but now he has to. Fuck. He decides to ignore his dad's existence and keeps his eyes on his mom as she rolls her eyes in a way that's eerily similar to Nancy, while he gestures towards his phone again. “Will hasn't checked in, and there's only like, barely thirty minutes left of his ride. Will always checks in.”

His mom shakes her head. “Well, honey, maybe he forgot this time! His bus did leave rather early, right?”

“Well, yeah,” and now Mike feels silly for being paranoid, since it's such a simple explanation. But it's fucking Will. “But still, like—should I call him? Or—”

“And this is why you don't have a girlfriend,” Holly chimes in, making Ted laugh. Mike stares at her and she just sticks her tongue out again. Then, Holly smiles. “I like Will, though! Call him so I can talk to him.”

Ah, right. How to forget. “Holly, your crush on Will is fucking weird.”

“Michael, language!” His mom yells, and even though it's louder, Mike feels like Ted's low, clearly not meant for his ears comment of you're one to talk is the one that makes his ears ring. He ignores Holly babbling something about how every girl she's ever met has a crush on Will, too, so it's not weird. “Mike, I'm sure Will is just fine, okay? You always get like this when he leaves, and I understand why, but—”

Mike's phone rings, making only him and his mom jump. He looks down at the screen with hope, only for it to he replaced by dread the second he registers the contact name

Mrs. Byers. Shit. “Hello?”

“Hi, Mike, how are you doing? Good morning!” Joyce says, sunny and kind as always, but the pit of worry inside Mike only deepens. Something’s off.

“Um, it's all good, Mrs. Byers,” he pauses, waiting for her prompt. His mom and Holly are staring at him, intrigued by the phone, and when Mrs. Byers very clearly hesitates to continue talking in a way that reminds him painfully of Will, Mile clears his throat. “Was there something you needed?”

“Oh! I, well, Mike, you see—” Mrs. Byers sighs, sounding frustrated at herself. Mike gives her a second, and then she tries again, far more blunt. “Mike, did Will sleepover at your house last night?”

Oh god. “What? No. He left at around nine-thirty, with Dustin. You know, as usual.”

Joyce is quiet. Too quiet, for too long, and Mike leaves the kitchen, feeling a little dizzy. The silence lingers, and then Mike chokes out, as he sits on the living room couch: “Mrs. Byers, is everything okay? Is—is Will okay?”

A pause, then a deep breath. “Yeah, no, I'm sure it's fine, he's fine—! I'm sure he just… forgot a few things before he left this morning. Did he—Mike, has he texted you? Called you, maybe?”

Mike doesn't know how Joyce knows that Will always checks in with him, but right now he doesn't like that fact as much as he did yesterday. “No, actually. I've been waiting all morning. Has—Mrs. Byers, did Will…forget his phone, or something?”

“No, no,” Joyce is quick to deny. Too quick. Mike is starting to feel sick, and he glances at the living room archway to see his mom staring at him with worry. It only seems to confirm that something is very, very wrong. “I think Will must just be busy, you know? Just… enjoying himself with his dad!”

There's a sniffle to Mrs. Byers' voice that makes Mike feel like he's choking all over again. Shit. What the fuck is going on? There's no fucking way that Will could be mad enough at Mike and busy enough with his piece of shit dad to forget to not only check in with Mike, but also with Lucas and Dustin, and his own mother. No way in hell.

“Mrs. Byers, can you call me if Will reaches out?” Mike asks, hoping he doesn't sound as scared as he feels.

Joyce agrees, once again, too fast. “Yes, of course! Don't worry, Mike, I'm sure he'll be calling tonight. I'll keep you posted, okay? Say hi to your mom for me!”

Before Mike can insist that Joyce notifies him first and foremost if Will talks to her, she hangs up. Mike is left staring at his phone, processing his home screen wallpaper; an old photo from a childhood science fair with all the Party. Will was a frail, shorter-than-average kid, back then, and Mike figures he still kinda is even with his body filling out with lean muscle, the way Mike's wiry frame could never.

As eleven-year-old Will stares up at him, Mike decides he cannot sit put and fucking wait, and he's not gonna play along with Mrs. Byers' game of denial. The rational part of him knows she's only being cautious. The rest of him is having flashbacks to Will coming back to Hawkins, to him, with bruises and scrapes, burns and cuts, stitches and even a cast, way back when the divorce first happened.

“Mike?” His mom calls, and Mike finally looks away from his screen, staring at her. She approaches, reading something in his face that he's not in control of right now, and sits down beside him. “Baby, what's wrong? Did something happen to Will—?”

“Nothing happened to Will,” Mike snaps, making his mom actually recoil. He replays his tone, soaked in denial, and meets his mom's concerned eyes while taking a deep breath. “Sorry, mom, just—Will hasn't reached out. To anyone. I'm…”

Saying that he's worried would be an understatement. Will, strong Will, kind Will, talented and smart and caring Will—nothing can happen to him, in Mike's book. Nothing other than what he already goes through, because how the fuck is that fair? Having to put up with some bigoted, abusive asshole for a whole week once a month just because he contributed to your birth. It's fucking bullshit and Mike will simply not entertain the idea that something could've happened to Will to make him either forget to check in…

Or be unable to check in.

Fuck. “I'm gonna visit Mrs. Byers.”

He doesn't know at which point he stood up, he just knows he's on his feet now and his mom is staring at him in shock. “Mike, what—?”

“Sorry, mom!” Mike exclaims as he turns, rushing out as fast as he can without running. He's hurriedly going up the stairs before he speaks again. “Mrs. Byers needs me! I'll be back tonight!"

Props to Will, he is right about Mike being a shit driver.

After a quick shower and throwing on whatever clothes he touched first, Mike called Dustin and Lucas and threatened to spill all their dirty little secrets in order to get them ready and out their front doors ASAP. He stole Nancy’s car keys, thankful for the fact that she is off a college not for the first and not for the last time, and now he’s struggling to park in front of Dustin’s house because there’s a car in the driveway and sure, Mike fits, but he doesn’t want to tempt fate.

“Jesus Christ, Mike,” Lucas sighs in exasperation, holding onto the passenger’s seat grab handle, as Mike slams his feet on the break too hard and too sudden, to avoid knocking over Mrs. Henderson’s trash can. Mike had picked him up first and he’s kinda regretting it because Lucas always gets pissy about his driving skills, making him even more nervous. “You’re gonna fucking kill us, oh my god.”

“You can drive if you want,” Mike squints at the rearview mirror, ignoring the way Lucas tightens his seatbelt. “Oh, wait, you can’t, because you don’t have a learner’s permit—”

“Yeah, because I’m actually gonna take classes next summer and get my license, instead of just letting my sister give me half-assed lessons over spring break like someone else I know!” Lucas exclaims, the car lurches again, and they’re saved from the continuation of this argument by Dustin actually stepping out through his front door and sliding into the backseat. “Thank God!”

“Mike, you really need to improve your parking,” Dustin comments, foregoing a good morning—Mike figures threatening to tell his mom about Suzie changing his grades wasn’t the best way to start the day—and leaning over the middle of the front seats to make sure he’s asserting his presence. “Wasn’t your dad getting a Tesla or something? I can’t wait to see you crashing that to pieces—”

“Can we focus, guys?” Mike interrupts, feeling like he’s losing his mind, and it isn’t even ten o’clock yet. He pulls out of his shitty parking spot and starts driving towards the Byers’, but he doesn’t manage to even relax into his seat. “I’m really not in the mood for bantering this morning, so it’d help a lot if you went along—”

“Went along with what, exactly?” Lucas breaks in with a scoff. “Stalking Mrs. Byers just ‘cuz you can’t handle a day without Will checking in like he’s obligated to do so?”

“It’s not that he’s obligated, Lucas, it’s that I’m worried!” Mike doesn’t bother to hide the urgency in his tone, and he has to purposely make sure that he isn’t pressing too hard on the gas; it’s not a good idea for him to get carried away. “You didn’t hear Mrs. Byers! She sounded like she has no fucking idea where Will is. What if something happened last night?”

“Dude, he was fine!” Dustin points out. “Little shit beat me in a race and then went off to his house! Maybe Mrs. Byers is just being paranoid, just like you right now. You know she’s a bit of a… worrywart.”

Mike knows Dustin doesn’t mean it like that, but he can’t help but snap, because he loves Joyce Byers like a second mom and his patience is wearing thin. “She has anxiety, Dustin! It’s not the same thing, and may I remind you that Mrs. Byers is right more often than not? She always knows when something’s off about Will! Why aren’t you concerned?”

“It’s not that we’re not concerned, Mike, it’s just—this is really sudden,” Lucas sighs, rubbing his eyes. Mike scowls at the road. “Will went home. Maybe he actually forgot some things at home and Mrs. Byers is just worried because, hell, I—I don’t know, he hasn’t gotten a chance to call. Didn’t you say he might be mad at you?”

“Yeah, but he’s not mad at either of you,” Mike shakes his head, biting the inside of his cheek, and then says: “Try calling him, would you?”

Dustin lets out a sigh, but pulls out his phone. He dials Will and sets the call on speaker. The three of them wait for it to ring—and it does. Mike tenses up even further in his seat, forcing himself to not turn his eyes away from the road as it rings and rings and Will doesn’t pick up. Every single dial tone makes his heart beat faster, a cold sweat moistening his skin—

And then it stops. Silence. Mike swallows. “Did you lose the call, or—?”

“Uh, no,” Dustin says, and Mike’s heart climbs up to his throat. “He… Well, it looks like he picked up. Will? Hello? You there, buddy? This silence isn’t cool, man, it’s kinda creepy.”

Nothing. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Lucas yanking Dustin’s phone out of his hand to check it out, and then tries speaking for himself. “Will? Hello? You okay there?”

Still nothing. Jesus fucking Christ, Mike is gonna lose his shit. “Will?! Seriously, man, I’m fucking worried, and I know I shouldn’t have mentioned that thing last night, I’m really really sorry, but please talk to us—”

Static blares from the phone and Lucas screams his typical girly scream, dropping it onto his lap. Dustin curses him out, reaching out over the passenger seat because dude, my phone, are you insane?! and Mike squeezes the steering wheel, trying not to lose control because his hands are shaking and the dread in his chest is worse than he ever recalls it being.

“What the actual fuck, Lucas?!” Dustin yells, once he recovers his phone. The smell of burned plastic reaches Mike’s nostrils, and he scrunches up his nose. “Dude! How did you burn my phone? Are you carrying a lighter around or what?”

“I didn’t do shit!” Lucas exclaims back, turning around in the passenger seat to defend himself face-to-face. “What the hell did you do to your phone? It shocked me! I’m pretty sure I have a first-degree burn now—”

“Oh, boo-hoo, you got a little static, get over it—”

“Guys!” Mike breaks in, pulling into Mrs. Byers’ driveway and once again slamming the brake too hard. At least it gets them to stop arguing, and relief fills his chest when he sees Joyce’s car parked in its usual spot. “I really don’t care what happened to the phone, I care about the phone call. Didn’t you think that was weird?”

“I don’t know, Mike,” Dustin pats his shoulder. “Sometimes signal’s wonky, and we’ve been around the woods for a bit. Besides, Will’s phone is getting old, and mine just short-circuited thanks to Lucas, so—”

Mike considers starting the car and taking the three of them up to the quarry just to drive off that goddamn cliff. “Whatever, Mrs. Byers is here, let’s just go.”

They get out of the car, and Mike slams the door shut a little too hard, feeling like he’s going to end up vibrating out of his skin. Like a unit, the three of them move towards the front door, and Mike lifts his fist up to knock—only for the door to open on its own and reveal an equally surprised Joyce Byers.

“Mike!” She lets out, then looks at Dustin and Lucas standing behind him. For some reason, she starts looking visibly nervous, and Mike can’t help but notice the disheveled state of her hair, more-so than usual, and the dark bag under her eyes that don’t really seem to be from work stress—and how she’s still, for some reason, wearing her Melvand’s uniform. God, just how late was her shift? How long has no one known about Will’s whereabouts? “Lucas, Dustin—not that I’m not ecstatic to see you, guys, but—”

“We were worried about Will,” Mike interrupts, and watches her tense up slightly, the second Will’s name out of his lips. Lucas shifts behind him, uncomfortable, and Dustin is fidgeting in a way that makes Mike feel like they’re finally realizing how serious he is about this. “We just, we wanted to know if there’s anything we can help you with, and be around when he reaches out.”

Joyce’s shoulders and expression drop just-so, in a way that Mike wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been looking for it. She forces a smile. “Mike, I really, really appreciate your concern, but I’m sure we all have nothing to worry about, okay? It’s just—you guys can let me handle it. Besides, I noticed you drove here by yourselves, and you know, your mom really doesn’t like that…”

Silence fills up the space between them as Joyce trails off, awkward and stilled because Mike has no intentions to back down and it must be obvious in the way his expression remains impassive, and doesn’t move a single inch. Lucas pats his arm as if to tell him to relax, but Mike feels like there’s a burning fear clogging up his throat, and something about Mrs. Byers’ eyes tell him he’s not the only one that feels it.

“Have you called his dad yet?” Mike dares ask, and ignores Dustin hissing behind him, as well as Lucas taking a step back out of awkwardness. Joyce jumps as if Mike just screamed at her, but he purposely kept his voice as soft as possible, a comforting, non-confrontational tone, one he’s far more used to employing when he’s trying to get Will to open up to him. “Maybe he knows something.”

“Mike…” Mrs. Byers tries, but her voice is quivering with uncertainty. She doesn’t want to lie to them, and as Mike’s expression almost involuntarily breaks out into something pleading, her resolve crumbles. “Yes, I called him, of course I did, and I also called Jonathan—”

“Is Will missing?” Dustin asks, his voice caught with a hint of horror and plenty of shock. They all turn to look at him, and Dustin looks back at Mike like he regrets not sharing his earlier concern in the car. “It’s been like twelve hours since anyone’s seen him or heard from him, then?”

“I got home really late last night,” Joyce confesses, shifting like they’re somehow scolding her. Guilt colors her features, but her face is pale, as pale as Mike’s no doubt is. He reaches out and silently guides her inside by the shoulder, watching her run worried and worn hands over her face as he sits her on the couch. “Later than I should’ve, god. I didn’t even check his bed, and, and his bag is still in his room, all his things are there, nothing is missing—”

“Except for Will,” Lucas provides, and everyone winces. Then, Lucas pulls out his phone, looking like he hates to do so. “Mrs. Byers, we should call the police.”

“I already did!” Joyce lets out a frustrated sound, gesturing with her hands at her landline, and then pulls out her own phone from her pocket, the screen cracked and the case peeling off. “I’ve been calling all morning, but Hopper probably hasn’t even woken up, I swear to god—I was heading off to the police station to wait for him.”

“Well, let’s go!” Dustin claps, making all of them jump. Joyce presses a hand against her chest over her heart from the scare, and Mike just about refrains from doing the same, Will’s comment about him behaving like his mom from Friday hitting a little too close for comfort. “Sorry. But, Mrs. Byers, we totally have to storm the station. Sheriff Hops only gets going when you make him uncomfortable.”

Joyce tilts her head to the side with confusion. “How do you know that?”

Lucas, who most definitely knows about the time Dustin got caught breaking into the school after hours, jumps in before the subject gets derailed. “Doesn’t matter. We should go.”

“Okay, but—” Mrs. Byers pauses, looking over the three of them. Her eyes settle on Mike, and she points. “Listen, kids, if we’re doing this, I’m driving all of you, and I don’t want any complaints—!”

Not even the three of them indulging in groans and protests and acting childish about that can lift the weight off Mike’s heart.

“...well, I’ll tell you what it sounds like to me,” Hopper sighs, reclining back in his chair. He’s surrounded by Mike, Dustin, and Lucas, and being downright hounded by Mrs. Byers; Mike thinks that if he says a single other stupid shit, she might actually punch him. “The kid ran away—”

“Ran away?!” Mike and Joyce let out at the same time, identical tones of incredulity in their voices. Mike is the one that keeps talking, steamrolling over Mrs. Byers. “Are you kidding me?! Will would never run away! You’re insane!”

“Well, kid, maybe he didn’t tell you, and I would suggest you watch your tone—”

“Watch his tone? Hopper, you’re being ridiculous!” Joyce breaks in, and Hopper runs a hand over his face as her tone rises. “You don’t know Will! He’s—he’s not a runaway rebel, Jim, he’s not like you and he’s not like me, he’s—he’s a sensitive kid, okay? He would never, ever do this.”

Mike’s stomach churns at Joyce’s choice of words, but he chooses to ignore it. “What if something happened to him in the woods? What if someone kidnapped him and you’re sitting here wasting your time sitting on your fat-ass?”

“Okay, Mike, let’s not antagonize the sheriff—” Lucas tries, but Hopper speaks over him.

“Alright, Wheeler, I don’t know who the hell do you think you are, or why you think that you, as a minor, have any voice in this, so why don’t all of you go wait outside while I speak to Will’s mom—”

“Bullshit, I’m his best friend!” Mike hollers back at him, not at all backing down to Hopper’s increased tone. “You don’t even care that he’s missing! It’s been more than twelve hours, why are you being so difficult? You’re ignoring the facts!”

This time it’s Joyce that tries to calm him down, reaching out a hand to rest on his shoulder. “Mike, honey—”

“Oh, I’m being difficult?!” Hopper stands up from his chair, slamming his hands down on his desk and making everyone but Mike jump. He knows he’s escalating the situation, doing no favors to Will or to himself, but it's like his accumulated worry over the morning has finally started getting the best of him, and he can’t stop. “You wanna talk about facts? Well, fact number one, we all know that Lonnie is a disgusting pig that the jury at Indianapolis couldn’t be half-assed to lock up—”

“Jim!” Mrs. Byers tries again, not to defend her ex-husband, but rather because it’s one thing to know this, another to acknowledge it in public. Mike himself is a little stunned.

“—fact number two, that kid got rumors about him running around that aren’t doing him any favors, and that makes him a target, and who knows if maybe he got sick of it—!”

Mike’s face flares red. “You piece of shit—”

“—and lastly, fact number three, there’s no evidence whatsoever that anything even happened to him other than a weird phone call, which I can’t even confirm is real, because the phone got conveniently burned.”

Hopper takes a long second to breathe, while everyone stares at him in stunned silence. No one moves, or even breathes the wrong way. Then, Hopper clears his throat, seemingly annoyed and perhaps even embarrassed by his own outburst.

He looks at Mrs. Byers, whose expression is equally as defiant as it was when they got here. Then at Mike. He lets out a defeated sigh. “...what do you want.”

His voice is flat, and Mike can’t help but be smug as Mrs. Byers speaks out. “A search party, Jim. Obviously. God, you really need to get it together.”

Hopper grunts, then looks right at Dustin. “Where’s that shortcut you told me he takes?”

He throws them out of the office after that, only staying with Joyce, who tells them to wait so she can drive them back to her place and escort them when they take Nancy’s car back to the Wheeler household. Mike protests to hell and back, double the volume of Dustin and Lucas’ own complaints, but Hopper points at them with a finger and narrows his eyes.

“I don’t wanna see you poking around, understood?” He warns them. “The last thing we need is another one of you brats disappearing off the face of the earth as well, and God help me, if I find you driving around with your shitty permit, Wheeler, you will spend the night behind bars regardless of what anyone says. Are we clear?”

The three of them exchange skeptical looks. Hopper lets out a frustrated sigh, looking like he’d like to punch something. Or someone. He repeats himself. “Are. We. Clear?”

Mike shrugs up at him. “Sure.”

Yeah, there’s no way they’re staying put.

Chapter Text

There are two things that Will’s always hated a little bit about himself: his skill for running, and his skill for hiding.

The first wasn’t so bad, when he was still a kid. It served to get away from bullies, Mike’s sweaty hand locked up in his as he guided him through shortcuts and corners at least two steps ahead because God knows, Mike’s forte doesn’t lie in sports. It also became fun, for that one year he did track before the male locker room culture started to make his stomach churn. Since then, Will’s stuck to doing morning runs on the weekends, and every day of spring break and summer. It’s not something that’s super useful; it’s running, for fuck’s sake. But it’s something to do, something to keep his mind off what he’s leaving behind, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other.

Hiding is another story entirely. Will doesn’t think there’s been a day in his life that he hasn’t been hiding, both literally and figuratively. He was too young when he got into the habit, to the point that he doesn’t even truly remember the first time it happened. He does remember the first time he realized it was a thing that he did, that he was good at, when his dad left Hawkins and Will only found solace in isolation, running off into the woods with Jonathan on his heels.

Castle Byers has been his sanctuary for almost as long as he can remember, and he might not visit it as much as he used to, but that’s only because Will’s internalized his skill for hiding so much that sometimes he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. It’s what makes his mom so cautious and scared for him, what makes Jonathan teach him about music in an attempt to get a glimpse into his mind, what makes Lucas and Dustin always, always ask if he’s okay with something before doing it. It’s what makes Mike’s eyes soft around the corners and his voice delicate and low, and also what makes Will bite his tongue and turn to art for self-expression.

It’s a nasty thing, hiding.

But right now, as he shivers from the cold and covers his mouth with his shirt and then his hand to try and keep down the coughs that the toxic air threatens to choke him with, he can’t help but to be glad he knows how to run and how to hide.

He ran out of ammo on the monster from the shed, a humanoid thing without a face that Will is trying not to think too much about or he might actually lose his mind. He knows he didn’t kill it, that he just scared it off. Afterwards, he attempted to go outside, thinking that the shift in the air and the vines and the darkness were all just his mind being too wired, too overwhelmed with adrenaline and fear to the point of making him hallucinate.

That wasn’t the smartest choice, because Will had to face that this—the demons trying to kill him whenever he makes too much noise, the stale, unsatisfying damp air that only seems to make his lungs rattle, the overwhelming darkness—is, somehow, not a dream. Not even a nightmare; Will’s mind has only ever been humanly cruel to him, reminding him of lonely weeks with his dad, where he tried so hard to melt back into the walls and be forgotten, and the consequences of that decision.

He promptly freaked out, as one does. He could barely hold back panicked whimpers as he walked around what seemed to be his house, not a single thing out of place—well, except for the vines, and the particles floating in the air clinging to everything, and what looked like dusty, dark spider-webs. This is when he discovered that noise is bad, because that same growling sound from earlier reached his ears and Will had no better thought than to hide underneath his bed.

It was a cramped space yet it still made him feel safe, covered. He might have dozed off if it weren’t for the fact that he feels like he’s choking on fear. He doesn’t know for how long he just lays there, frozen with terror, even long after the monster goes away. The silence around him is oppressive but not nearly as much as the limited air supply underneath the bed, so, eventually, Will crawls out from under his bed and stares around his room, not knowing what to do.

He knows he isn’t thinking clearly; exhaustion is already making his vision blurry, and while he’s too nauseous to be hungry, the fear that has settled in his stomach only makes him feel even worse, heavier, slower, and stupider. He feels around his clothes, taking stock of what he has on him: a bomber jacket that he’s pretty sure he stole from Mike years ago but doesn’t do much against the cold, his phone, his house keys and a crumpled piece of gum that he has no interest in chewing.

He keeps the gum, just in case. Then, Will stares blankly at the damp blankets, his clothes and sheets, trying to find a single piece of fabric that might help with the cold, but it’s all covered in either slime, the air particles, the dust or the vines. He ignores how creepy it is to see his bedroom like this, right as he left it before he went out to Mike’s. He can’t process any of that right now, the adrenaline and horror in him helping him gloss over it, survival instinct taking over for the sake of keeping him safe.

His own clothes have already gotten damp, but there’s nothing he can do about that. He doesn’t have a lighter and he’s unsure about whether a fire would even work… whatever here is. Either way, it would attract unwanted attention from the… things.

So, really, Will only has his phone. He stares at it, swallows only to wince at how uncomfortable his throat feels, raw and tender, and as he turns it around he realizes he can use it as a flashlight. It’s a wild, unhinged thought—the darkness is overbearing but in a way that allows Will to see, as if it doesn’t want him to miss the horrors it has to offer—but it’s something to check, something to keep him sane.

He presses the button to unlock, and, somehow, for whatever reason, against all logic, the phone actually lights up. Will lets out the smallest, most pathetic and nonsensical little giggle he’s ever heard himself make, and then stares at the dialing app.

He calls nine-one-one again, only to be greeted by static. He tries several times, sitting on the floor and burying his face against his knees, the volume lowered as far down as it goes. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he has to do something, and this the only thing he can think of.

He starts calling every contact he has saved. Jennifer Hayes, the girl that used to leave notes in his locker that made him feel awkward and uncomfortable. Max Mayfield, who he shares art class with and has been steadily becoming kind-of friends with all year. Erica, Lucas’ little sister. His mom. His dad. Jonathan. The social worker and the lawyer that his mom keeps contact with even though they’ve never done anything for him, not really, and only after everyone else fails and Will’s hopes dwindle is that he dares calling the actual Party members. His best friends.

He calls Mike first, tears pooling in his eyes, emotions spilling over inside him. He calls him, over and over and over again, and the clock in his phone isn’t moving, forever frozen at nine-fifty-three p.m., November 6th. It tears him up inside that this isn’t working, and Will can almost feel the wall between him and Mike, like a barrier keeping him from crying out for help. He holds onto that thought as he calls Lucas, heartbeat pounding in his ears, his mouth running even drier. He goes for Dustin next and he really doesn’t know what is happening to him now, if he’s having a heart attack, or a panic attack or an aneurysm or a stroke.

All he knows is that his head is pounding, and then the barrier he felt before tears open, just a little, a head-splitting pain flaring from the deepest corners of his mind; he barely holds himself back from crying out in pain, holding onto that rift.

Dustin, impossibly, picks up, and Will barely has enough brain power to turn his phone’s volume back up, just enough to hear a murmur of the words, which seem to echo in the oppressive silence around him.

“...picked up. Will? Hello? You there, buddy? This silence isn’t cool, man, it’s kinda creepy.”

Will opens his mouth to speak, but his headache seems to have numbed his tongue, lips tingling. He can barely let out a whine, and Dustin doesn’t seem to hear it. He almost thinks Lucas’ voice is a straight-up hallucination.

“Will? Hello? You okay there?”

He doesn’t even try to reply. God, he’s so tired. It feels like hearing their voices is pulling every drop of energy from his body, like Will is a fountain with a leak on its side, letting the line flood with it. He’s about to give up and let himself pass out, figuring that if the monster hasn’t come back to kill him yet, then it mustn’t be that close.

But then he hears Mike, and Will straightens up with a jolt at the sheer desperation of his tone. “Will?! Seriously, man, I’m fucking worried, and I know I shouldn’t have mentioned that thing last night, I’m really really sorry, but please talk to us—”

“I’m here,” Will manages to croak out, a sob escaping with the words. “Guys, I’m here, please, help—”

Something inside Will snaps, making him drop his phone. All at once it’s like whatever was draining him stops, but it doesn’t give him any of his lost energy back. No more voices come, the call is dead, but his phone seems to be alright. A migraine settles in, but Will barely feels it over the adrenaline of what just went down—whatever it was.

A new dampness tickles his lips, right under his nose, and Will brings his fingers up to wipe it off. He looks at it, and only after a few confused seconds does he realize that it’s blood. It looks black, with this lighting, and then the smell hits him, and he realizes too late that he’s going to have to find a new hiding spot.

The growling turns into howling, from far away, which tells him that he has at least a chance to escape. Will takes just a second to wipe the blood off, hoping to leave the trail cold by using his bedsheet as a napkin, ignoring how slimy it makes him feel. Then, Will opens his bedroom window as quietly as he can and jumps out, bolting without a single look back.

He ends up at the shed again, for now.

Their incomplete party ends up getting to see at least some of the search, since the first place Hopper winds up at is the Byers’ household. Joyce insisted that she didn’t touch a single thing, other than in Will’s room. The front door was locked when she arrived, but the kitchen backdoor was slightly open, a detail that she didn’t notice until after she realized Will wasn’t in his room.

Mike watches Hopper enter the shed from the window with a frown, then turns towards Lucas and Dustin. “So, we’re totally sneaking out tonight, right?”

“I don’t know, Mike,” Lucas sighs, looking guilty as he says it. Mike clenches his jaw. “Shouldn’t we let the police handle it? We might screw something up. I know Hopper kinda sucks, but he’s proven he can do his job.”

“I’m not saying we’re going to find Will ourselves,” Mike says, crossing his arms and trying to keep his frown under control. Ideally, yes, he would love to just—stumble across Will, somehow. Get this over with. But he has to be realistic and it unfortunately means actually listening for once. At least for now. “It’s just—we can’t just sit around. The search party could totally use our help. I bet they don’t know half the shortcuts and hidden paths that Will uses.”

“And isn’t that weird?” Dustin inquires, claiming their attention. He takes a sip from the juice carton that Mrs. Byers had insistently handed out for all of them, even the cops, looking rattled and lost after calling Jonathan to tell him the news. They’re maybe a little old for them, and Mike realized he’s the only one that knew Will still drank them, judging by the expressions that Dustin and Lucas pulled. But none of them could say no. Besides, Mike thinks as he takes his own sip, they’re yummy.

“What’s weird?” Lucas gestures at Dustin, exchanging a look with Mike. “You’re making your conspiracy theorist face, man, I got a bad feeling about this.”

“It’s just—it’s Will,” Dustin says, which clarifies nothing. They stare at him, which actually encourages him to stand up like he’s about to pull a PowerPoint presentation out of his ass. “Think about it. Will knows these woods better than anyone in Hawkins because he spends all his time painting it and shit, doing all that exploring. We already know he isn’t at Castle Byers because his mom checked, but what if he’s hiding somewhere else? What if something scared him?”

“Scare Will?” Mike doesn’t hide the doubt from his tone. “He doesn’t even flinch with horror movies. He knows how to use guns.”

He’s really only afraid of his dad, Mike thinks, and doesn’t say it because that has way too many implications. Lucas sighs.

“I mean, you got a point—it doesn’t make sense for Will to get lost in the woods,” Lucas shrugs, his expression twisted like he’s torn between two thoughts. “He knows them too well. So… could he be hiding? Or do we think that, well…”

He doesn’t say it, but Mike has enough imagination to picture how that sentence ends. Do we think that someone or something put Will in danger and took him away? Mike hates the thought, hates the fact that it’s a real possibility.

“I don’t know,” Dustin says, taking another sip of his juice as Lucas leans his elbows on his knees to pay attention. “Like, what could even scare Will? Who would kidnap him? Maybe we could figure something out like that, ask ourselves the right questions…”

Mike tunes out the conversation, thinking, looking out the window again. Hopper is coming out of the shed, looking very confused and even shocked, though he does a good job of hiding it as he speaks to the other officers. Something just isn’t right, and Mike doesn’t know if he’s just biased when he thinks, when he feels, that this isn’t some normal disappearance or kidnapping. Something horrible happened to Will, and it’s only a matter of time before they realize what it is.

He almost wants Will to call him and tell him it was all a misunderstanding, that he did get into that bus but packed a different bag or didn’t take one at all, that he just got lost in Indianapolis and he couldn’t find a way to communicate. But Will is Will. He’d warn them. He’d never leave them behind. He’d always find a way.

And that sparks a thought. “It was a seven.”

Lucas and Dustin pause the debate about what kind of kidnappers could be interested in a fifteen-year-old boy—Mike is so glad he tuned them out, because he knows thinking about that would drive him fucking insane—and stare at him in confusion. At the same time, they go: “What?”

“The dice roll, yesterday,” Mike clarifies, and Dustin and Lucas look even more confused. Mike swallows, thinking about the way Will had looked up at him under the blinking garage lights, lips pouted, expression guarded, skin breaking out in goosebumps. He shivers. “Will took a risk and sacrificed himself so that you guys could keep going with the campaign. He saved you. And I know it’s—it’s ridiculous, okay? I know how this sounds, and again I’m not saying we’re gonna find Will ourselves. But we owe it to him to join that search party.”

Mike’s face feels hot, aware of fucking corny that is, but his heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest, and his lungs like they can’t hold enough air. God, he just wants to help Will.

“He’s right,” Dustin says, eyes earnest as he looks at Lucas, who is hesitating still and looking guilty about it. “C’mon, Lucas. If there’s even a single chance that our involvement helps, then we have to take it. For Will.”

Lucas presses his lips together, then sighs. “Okay. For Will.”

Just then, Hopper walks into the living room, his expression carefully blank as he looks over the three of them. To Mike’s surprise, his eyes don’t narrow with suspicion, and he grunts as he walks past them towards the hallway, knocking on the door to Mrs. Byers’ bedroom. After a few seconds, she opens the door, and Hopper gestures her inside, saying something about privacy.

They stare after him. Dustin sighs. “That can’t be good news, can it?”

“You think they found something?” Lucas asks, but Dustin just shrugs with a worried frown. Mike focuses on taking a deep breath, and on finishing his juice box.

“Maybe he’s just gonna interrogate her again,” he says, but Mike doesn’t believe his own words for a second, and it probably shows, considering Lucas’ wince. It makes more sense to interrogate them again anyway, since they’re the last ones that saw Will. Running a hand through his hair, Mike closes his eyes and wills away the headache that’s been trying to form behind his eyes ever since the car ride to the police station.

He feels sick with worry, and he figures it’s probably good that Joyce gave them those juice boxes after all. Energy and all that, and Will always did have good taste for juice—

“Mike,” Dustin calls, and he glances at him to see him holding out a pack of Reese's Pieces. Mike stares at them with a blank expression, then looks back up at Dustin, who shakes the pack until he takes it. “You look crushed, dude. You need to relax and recharge so we can be alert for tonight, okay?”

Gratitude spreads through his body, and he knows Dustin of all people doesn’t mind being a little sappy, but just for the sake of lightening the mood, Mike shoots him a half-smirk. “I knew I was friends with you for a reason, Henderson.”

“Damn, that’s cold,” Lucas laughs, while Dustin sends both of them disgruntled looks, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

“Har, har, okay, wow, glad to know you’re only using me to get candy,” Dustin shakes his head, dramatically rolling his eyes at Mike, who shrugs like he doesn’t care. It earns him an elbow jabbed on his side, right up against his ribs, and it unironically makes him double over from the sting. “Should’ve saved that for Will, he’d actually appreciate it.”

Mike gazes down at the Reese’s Pieces, a fond smile growing on his lips as he irons out the crinkled paper. “Well, this is his favorite.”

“Jesus,” Lucas mumbles, sounding exasperated yet mirthful at the same time. Mike curls a questioning eyebrow at him, which Lucas smiles at. “Are you gonna do the thing you do when Will isn’t around?”

“Which is?” Mike tilts his head, finally opening his Reese’s. He chews as he throws Lucas a suspicious look. “What are you getting at?”

“Oh, you know,” Dustin shrugs, tone too casual to actually be genuine. “If we address the elephant in the room—”

“What?” Mike frowns.

“—since Will is apparently your favorite—”

Mike’s face flares with a spotty blush, though he isn’t sure why. “I never said that—!”

“Hey, Mike, relax,” Lucas breaks in, but his shit-eating grin only makes Mike flush darker, uneasiness crawling up his throat. “I mean, it’s kinda rude that you would just sideline us like that in front of Hopper and Mrs. Byers—”

“I’m not sidelining you!” Mike protests, crossing his arms and squeezing the candy wrapper in his fist, shifting with awkwardness. “You’re all my best friends. We’re all best friends. Didn’t we have this argument already like two summers ago?”

“You mean when you were being insane because Jennifer Hayes wouldn’t stop flirting with Will?” Dustin says, and Mike’s tongue is too tied for a witty comeback, so he throws the candy wrapper at Dustin instead, missing his face and barely grazing his shoulder. Lucas bursts out laughing as Mike curses. “Seriously? Man, your aim—”

“Get to the point!” Mike cuts in. “What’s the thing I do when Will’s gone?”

“You make every conversation about him,” Lucas says, and Mike promptly chokes on his own tongue, stuttering what? and actually coughing. Lucas stares at him like he’s looking through a microscope, then seems to come to a decision, and Mike gets a feeling that he’s somehow being spared, though he isn’t sure of what. “Makes sense, though. Will’s really nice. Right, Dustin?”

Dustin looks between the two of them, then at Lucas. Unspoken words pass between them, but Mike is too busy swallowing the knot of nerves in his throat to care. Finally, Dustin says: “Right, sure. Still, Mike, can’t believe you would do that to us. I thought we had a bond.”

“No, Dustin, I obviously put up with getting Rick-rolled at four a.m. just because I really like your cat,” Mike rolls his eyes, staring at the floor. His skin prickles and he wiggles his toes with anxiety, though he’s not entirely confident as to which part of this conversation is making him feel so awkward. He decides to shake it off and looks towards Mrs. Byers’ room, squinting. “They’re taking too long in there.”

Lucas opens his mouth, brows furrowing, but the sound of a car parking outside claims their attention. They all move towards the window at the front of the house to see Jonathan’s car, with its owner getting out of the driver’s seat and approaching the front door with hurried steps. Lucas and Dustin move over to open the door, but Mike remains just a second longer, only to catch Nancy getting out of the passenger’s side.

What the fuck? Mike frowns, and watches as Nancy stares at her own car with a near-identical expression to his own. She turns towards the window, catches Mike, and then sets her hands on her hips, shaking her head at him with a clenched jaw.

“Mike?” Jonathan calls, and he turns from Nancy’s stern gaze to make eye contact with him. Jonathan looks like he hasn’t slept in a decade, which isn’t unusual—or wouldn’t be, if the last time he had looked like that hadn’t been before he went off to college. The news about Will being missing clearly hadn’t gone over well. “Hey, buddy, it’s good to see you. You doing okay?”

“Um, yeah, I mean—as good as I can be, I guess?” Mike is very, very confused about why Jonathan is asking him this. He stares at Mike, looking him up and down with a concerned expression. Mike gets the eerie feeling that he knows something he doesn’t, which he’s getting really sick of. “Are you okay?”

“What? Yeah, sure,” Jonathan pauses, clearly not okay, and the silence is a little awkward. As much as Mike’s known Jonathan for as long as he’s known Will, well—Jonathan isn’t Will, is he? And to Mike, he’s like this vague big-brother figure, someone who he can rely on to look after Will. They’ve never really known how to properly interact without Will as a buffer, and his absence is glaring now. “Hey, listen, your sister insisted in coming over, so—”

Nancy walks over, and while she doesn’t exactly push Jonathan out of the way, her presence is as usual too big for the space and he ends up awkwardly moving away as she pulls Mike into a too-tight hug. Even more confused, Mike stares over her shoulder at Dustin, Lucas, and Jonathan, who seem equally as puzzled.

Nancy breaks away and holds him by the shoulders, practically demanding an answer with her tone. “How are you holding up?”

“What is this?” Mike asks in response, but doesn’t step away. Nancy tilts her head, looking like she was expecting something else. “Why—what are you doing here?”

“Mike, your… best friend…” she starts, putting an emphasis on the words that makes Mike blush all over again, recalling his conversation with Lucas and Dustin. “...just went missing. And I know how you get about Will. I was half-expecting you to be, well—”

“Insane?” Dustin offers up, and Mike glares at him. He lifts his hands in an innocent gesture. “Hey, just saying, you kinda were.”

“He’s calmed down now because he managed to bully Sheriff Hops into organizing a search party,” Lucas offers up, ignoring the daggers that Mike is throwing at him with his eyes to get him to shut up. Instead, Lucas points Jonathan to Mrs. Byers’ bedroom. “Your mom’s in there, by the way.”

Jonathan mumbles a thanks and heads over to get caught up with any developments. Mike watches him go with no small amount of jealousy, only for Nancy to reclaim his attention by shaking his shoulders. “Mike, seriously, are you cool?”

Mike stares into Nancy’s eyes, surprised by her concern. They aren’t nearly as close as Jonathan and Will are, and while Mike’s missed her since she went off to college, he didn’t think she’d drive all the way from school with Jonathan just to check on him. He figures that she’s always liked Will, in a weird way—seriously, why does every girl he knows seem to like Will so much?—but still, it’s… new. And not really in a bad way, if he’s being honest with himself.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Mike says, his voice a lot softer than he planned it to be, and Nancy finally relaxes, giving him back his personal space. He clears his throat, awkward, not used to this stuff. “Thanks for coming, I guess. That’s, um, nice.”

“Of course,” Nancy rolls her eyes, and then gestures out the window with her head, raising her eyebrows. “My car, Mike? Are you for real? Do you have any idea how dangerous it is for you to drive when you barely got that permit? I told you not to drive without an adult!”

“Uh—” Mike scrambles for a defense, hearing Dustin and Lucas snickering in the background, no doubt enjoying his suffering.

But then the door to Mrs. Byers’ room opens up again, faster than he thought it would, and everyone inside comes out, looking grim. Mike’s heart drops, instantly getting a bad feeling about the way Jonathan has his arm wrapped around the shoulders of a very obviously distressed Joyce, who is rubbing tears out of her eyes. Mike’s heart starts pounding in his ears.

“Listen, kids,” Hopper starts, looking like he hates every word that’s about to come out of his mouth. “I talked to Joyce here, trying to figure out the best way to tell you this—if I even should, actually, but it’s too important not to. And we’d hate for you to find out through other sources.”

He’s not dead, Mike’s mind supplies, a dark thought that crawls out from the deepest corners of his mind. Will can’t be dead. If he were, well—he doesn’t think Mrs. Byers would even be breathing right now. But just because Will isn’t dead, it doesn’t mean this isn’t about to hurt.

“We found Will’s bike,” Hopper declares, and Mike’s breath catches in his throat, his body freezing. “It was off the road, around where you guys told me he takes a shortcut. There were evident signs that he crashed, and—the storm last night made it difficult, but my officers managed to find some footprints leading all the way here. We’re officially declaring him a missing person.”

No one says a thing as Joyce turns to hug Jonathan, muffling a fresh round of tears. Jonathan himself looks like he’s dying inside, eyes vacant, guilty, probably thinking of how he would’ve been home last night if he hadn’t allowed Will convince him to let him go to his dad’s alone.

Mike feels like he’s going to pass out, and he barely registers Nancy’s hand on his shoulder.

“We know for sure now that Will must have made it home,” Hopper continues, then swallows. He takes a second to work up to his next words, and Mike almost wishes he hadn’t. “Even more worryingly than all of this, though, is that a gun is missing from the shed. Knowing all of this, we can now come up with a few theories, but I gotta warn you, kids, for your own sake, in case anything happens… that we can’t rule out a suicide—”

Mike snaps, a string pulled too tight. “No.”

Every head turns his way, but Mike doesn’t care. Nancy squeezes his shoulder, trying to get him to look at her. “Mike—”

“No,” he looks around the room, at Lucas and Dustin’s terrified faces, at the Byers’ crushed expressions, at Hopper’s regretful, guilty, pitying eyes. He turns back to Joyce, and Mike knows he isn’t hallucinating or imagining the silent understanding that passes between them. “No, that’s—that’s bullshit, okay?”

“Mike!” Nancy exclaims, forcing him to turn towards him this time. She looks upset, scared, tired, but also more worried than Mike’s ever seen her. “Mike, I know you’re upset, but you need to let him finish—”

“Take me home,” Mike cuts in, swallowing the knot in his throat. His lips tremble but he’s barely aware of it, or the burning in his eyes. He avoids looking at anyone but her, fearing that he’ll break otherwise. His voice cracks. “Nancy, please, I’m not—I’m not gonna stand here and listen to that shit like, as if—what, do you want me to think that Will grabbed a gun and, and and what?! I’m—I’m not, I can’t—”

“Okay, okay, Mike,” Nancy breaks in, grabbing him by the shoulders again. She looks around at the spectators of his breakdown as Mike furiously wipes his tears, refusing to take his eyes off the floor. Nancy wraps a protective arm around his shoulders, turning him away and moving him towards the door. His feet drag. “Wait in the car, okay? I’ll take you home, just—give me a second, okay? I’ll be right with you. Take a deep breath, can you do that?”

Mike does, and it releases some of the pressure in his chest, but it’s not nearly enough. Nancy guides him to the car and all but softly, caringly shoves him in the passenger seat herself, like she used to when he was younger and brattier, going as far as to snap his seatbelt for him like they’re still kids riding in the backseat of their dad’s car.

He doesn’t know how much time Nancy takes, and he doesn’t care. His leg is wiggling and his chest hurts and he belatedly remembers that he hasn’t had his anxiety medication today, that he purposely ignored the alarm in his phone in favor of Will.

God, Will. Only thinking about Hopper’s words hurts and makes horrible, hopeless images flash in his mind. But he knows Will wouldn’t—he wouldn’t, right? He’d warn them, somehow. He’d look at Mike with those hazel-green eyes, lips quirked up with that self-deprecating smile of his, and he’d somehow let him know without words. Whether he ran away or left or, or—anything, Mike knows Will would’ve opened up to him about it, so when the time came, Mike would know exactly what was happening and he wouldn’t worry.

He barely registers Nancy getting back in the car. Mike knows she’s asking him something, or maybe telling him something, but eventually she gives up, and they ride back home in silence. There’s only one thing in Mike’s mind, right now:

The search party tonight.

He’ll go if it’s the last fucking thing he does.

Chapter Text

Mike storms up his room the second he gets home, even though his belly protests with hunger and Nancy tries to call after him. He hears the murmur of his mom’s worried tone just as he closes the door behind him, and then he leans against it for a second, sliding down to the floor and burying his face in his hands.

There’s so much he wants to do, so much he wants to say, yet Mike can barely set his thoughts and feelings straight to comprehend them on a good day, so there’s no hope for him right now, at this moment. Would this be happening if he hadn’t insisted about trying to finish the campaign? Should’ve he driven Will home in the dark, despite that probably being the worst idea he’s had in a while, considering the storm and the rain? Maybe he should’ve just called him around the time when he was sure Will must have gotten home, and this could’ve been avoided.

He just doesn’t understand—why Will? The thought keeps nagging at him, bouncing around in his head with no satisfying answer or idea. Mike sighs, rubbing at his eyes again, and embarrassment at his outburst when Hopper barely got a few words out coming over him. Fuck. He just stormed out and lost his chance to gather more information. God fucking damn it, he barely knows the time when the search party starts.

Mike knows this isn’t normal. He just shouldn’t be this irrational and erratic, not yet, at least—he should be more like Dustin and Lucas, who are also terrified and worried, but not going insane. That’s what a good friend would do, but Mike’s always been weird. Something is off about him, about the way he cares for Will; it’s the one thing he agrees on with Ted, and Mike tried to fix it that year when he kissed three girls. But that only made it worse.

God, he’s so stupid. But regardless of his oddness, Mike has a mission. He can’t leave Will to fend off on his own, so he forces himself to stand and goes around his room, grabbing a backpack and shoving things that he finds around his room that might be useful for tonight. It’s not a lot, admittedly; Mike keeps most of his things in the basement and he doesn't want to go down there right now, so all he manages to grab are a few miscellaneous snacks, his phone charger, a change of clothes because he might end up camping out at the Byers’—

His bedroom door opens and Mike lets out a groan, voice coming out in a whine. “Mom, leave me alone—!”

“Mike, shut up!” Nancy hisses, and Mike turns, watching her close the door behind her quietly. They stand there for a second, as she takes in the bag that he’s packing. He realizes she’s holding her own, and his eyes widen. Nancy sighs. “We need to talk.”

“I knew you didn’t come back to Hawkins just for me,” Mike lets out, keeping his voice down to a hush, indignation rushing through his system. He gestures sharply at Nancy’s bag. “You’re not even worried about Will, are you?!”

“Of fucking course I’m worried, Mike! I’ve known that kid since you were a little brat who cried when mom told you he wasn’t allowed to move in with us!” Nancy exclaims back, walking over to him and grabbing him by the elbow. Mike is taller than her now, towering over her own thin, wiry frame that they have in common, but Nancy actually goes to the gym and has an iron grip, so Mike fails to shake her off before she forces him to sit down on his bed. “Stop saying things you don’t mean! You’re doing that thing again where you lash out, and I understand why, but it’s not gonna help you out at all!”

“And what’s gonna help me?!” Mike snaps, raising his voice a little. Nancy shushes him, and he makes a conscious effort to lower his tone, but he feels jittery and off-balance. “Who cares about helping me? We all should be trying to help Will.”

“Yeah, and how do you plan to help him if you can’t help yourself?” Nancy asks, her glare cold with almost clinical judgment, like she sees more than Mike can even understand about himself. Mike can only glare back, feeling bare. “You need to eat, Mike. And then you need to take a nap—”

“You’re not the boss of me!”

“Yes, I am, actually!” Nancy snaps back, then takes a deep breath, closing her eyes for a second. She looks like she wants to poke his eyes like she did when he was ten and he squirmed too much. “Especially if you want my help.”

Mike narrows his eyes. “Help?”

“Hopper said he’d put on a curfew exclusively on the three of you,” Nancy explains, and before Mike can open his mouth to curse him out, Nancy continues. “He doesn’t want you guys to go looking for Will, especially not you, because you’re so rattled, Mike. Mom doesn’t want you out either. But because I’m good sister, and you will give me a very nice Christmas present after this—”

“Yeah, right, I’m pretty sure this is blackmail—”

“—I told mom I would keep an eye on you and take you with me to have a sleepover at Barb’s,” Nancy says, to which Mike actually snorts. Nancy rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I know, you would never, but she took it over letting you mope up here only to find you snuck out through the window later, so, yeah, a thank you would be nice, because I know how much this means to you.”

“So you’re just gonna let me join the search party? Just like that? While you sleep over at your friend’s?” Mike asks, skepticism coloring his tone. Something doesn’t quite add up, and the way Nancy mumbles a yeah, sure is suspicious at best. Mike crosses his arms. “You want me to cover for you, don’t you?”

Nancy pauses, trying to think of a way to get herself out of this, but in the end she gives up, throwing her hands up and almost hitting Mike with her bag. “I am gonna go to Barb’s, but we’re gonna make a few stops around town first. That’s all. I’ll join the search party afterwards and drive you home myself, okay?”

“You’re visiting Steve,” Mike realizes out loud, and Nancy blushes, sputtering a half-assed denial. Mike actually laughs, pointing at her, but it lacks any real amusement, and now he’s kinda mad again. “Are you kidding me? My best friend is missing, and you’re just gonna go make out with your stupid boyfriend?”

“He’s not really my boyfriend anymore, Mike, just so you know,” Nancy glares at him, and Mike rolls his eyes. Nancy and Steve have had this on-and-off thing ever since the second half of senior year, and it’s only gotten more annoying ever since she moved on to college, and he graduated to manager of the Scoops Ahoy that opened downtown. It’s a little disgusting. “For real this time. And, Mike, I don’t want you to think I don’t care about Will, okay? It’s just—”

“You have other priorities,” Mike scrunches up his nose, staring at her guilty, unsure eyes. Something tells him that if he asked, Nancy would stick around with him, be at the search party from the get-go and delay her own issues. But there’s something that still rubs him wrong. “Why did you ride with Jonathan? Since when are you friends?”

Nancy’s jaw clenches the way it does when she’s been caught red-handed. “We’re not friends—you know he’s working for the college paper, just like I am.”

“Right,” Mike pauses, thinking about that. Nancy has always been independent, maybe too much for her own good. He knows Ted is pissed at the way she’s chosen to go against everything he stands for; he votes republican, while Nancy votes democrat. He thinks journalism is overrated, Nancy thinks it’s a pillar of society. Ted believes that nepotism is what keeps the world turning, while Nancy refused to even take the car she was gifted with when she turned sixteen to college.

Mike knows, in the back of his mind, that Ted approves of Steve—good family, good money, good reputation, as much as Steve himself is a bit of a sorry ass right now. Mike also knows Ted doesn’t like the Byers very much. He’s heard enough of it himself. And now Nancy is willingly spending time with Jonathan, and taking the time to break up with Steve…

This is too complicated for him, though he makes mental note of it, as if putting a pin on it. “Fine, whatever. As long as you get me out of here.”

“Good,” Nancy sighs, obviously relieved that Mike isn’t calling her out on her weird behavior. Nancy sits down beside him, softly knocking their shoulders together, and softens her voice, gaze genuine. “I mean it when I say I’m worried about Will, Mike. I understand. If Barb went missing—well, we’re not like you and Will, I know that. What you have is… special. But I get it. Again, I know how much this means to you, but I promise I’m gonna help you help him, okay? Anything you need, just say the word.”

Mike swallows the sudden knot in his throat, nodding. “Okay.”

“Now, let’s just have lunch,” Nancy says, though she doesn’t sound ecstatic about it. He can’t imagine how Ted reacted at her just showing up out of the blue, skipping the classes she cares so much about and he doesn’t. Something vaguely offensive would be his guess, if he had to pick. “Try not to lose it, and I’ll do the same. Cool?”

“Cool,” Mike nods, then hesitates. He gets a flash of embarrassment mixed with gratitude, and the words feel awkward coming out of his mouth. “I, uh… thank you. Yeah, just… thanks. You… you are a good sister.”

Nancy snorts, rolling her eyes with fondness. “God, it’s like pulling teeth. I know. It’s the least I can do.”

With that, they decide to go downstairs, only to be greeted by Holly falling all over herself the second they open the door. Mike groans. “Holly! I told you to quit eavesdropping!”

“It’s not my fault you’re so loud!” Holly crosses her arms, lifting her chin with defiance. Nancy doesn’t even say anything; she raises a stern eyebrow, giving her a look like a disappointed mother, and Holly withers like a flower under shade. “Um… I can cover for you?”

Nancy tilts her head. “Really, now?”

“Yeah!” Holly insists, and Mike lets himself think that this is cute for a second. Between him and Nancy, Mike’s afraid to admit they got all the… unpleasant Wheeler traits. Holly is sweet, like their mom, with those big, innocent cornflower-blue eyes, her dirty blonde hair, her ballet skirts, and her beauty pageant crowns. It’s a contrast to Mike and Nancy’s harsh, darker features, and as they exchange a look, they silently agree, not for the first time, to conserve Holly’s sweetness. “I also wanna help Will. I can totally distract mom.”

She doesn’t mention Ted, which is fair enough. All the distraction he needs is bullshit Fox News articles. Nancy rolls her eyes fondly. “Okay, but don’t get too cocky and do as I say. Got it?”

“Got it!” Holly grins, and she’s honestly a little shit sometimes that keeps stealing his LEGOs, but right now, Mike is indescribably thankful for his sisters. “I will need some candy in return, though. Oh! Or maybe a puppy for Christmas?!”

Ah, well. A Wheeler is a Wheeler, Mike figures.

Will can tell something is up with the lights.

The particles around the lamps and lightbulbs are different, brighter—warmer, even. They tingle when he reaches for them, but they don’t exactly make him feel better. If anything, it brings out even more the other-ness of his situation, sending more shivers down his spine.

The monster is still prowling, but Will is already so tired and cold. He can tell he’s getting sick, coming down with something, though he doesn’t know with what, exactly. Pneumonia? Maybe his body is just permanently going into shock, allowing him to still have semi-coherent thoughts to keep himself alive? If so, it isn’t working out much, because at some point he got tired of the shed and stepped out, even with the beast around.

Will stared at it. It seemed to stare back, but didn’t growl. Didn’t move in to pounce like before, didn’t howl, and didn’t even go away. If anything, after a couple seconds, it started circling him, keeping its distance like some mockery of an obedient dog. He misses Chester.

Something changed, and he fears it's related to his nosebleed. Will isn’t meat for sport anymore, and maybe he never was, but that just makes a new kind of fear settle in his bones. Like the monster just wanted to keep him freaked out and defenseless with no intentions of ever killing him, and got tired of it, and is now deciding to use psychological warfare against him. He hates to admit that it’s working, because now he’s picturing himself being dragged away to some unknown, dark corner, instead of just being maimed and eaten alive.

He doesn’t know which one is worse.

Who’s to say that there aren’t other kinds of monsters around? Or, even people. Maybe even people that control them. He’s reminded of all those existential horror movies and books about beings from another planet, or another plane of reality, but he buries the thought down as soon as it comes up because it only freaks him out more. Either way, the monster seems to be biding its time.

Which means Will’s life probably has a timer on it, counting down with every second-that-isn’t, because his phone’s clock remains stubbornly frozen. He doesn’t look at it anymore, because it only gives him anxiety, and Will almost gives in to panic when he realizes he’s running out of battery despite the lack of passage of time. He’s too afraid to turn it off, as well, because he doesn’t know if it’ll turn back on.

So he focuses on the lights. He doesn’t know why—what could be the point of them? Maybe he is just going insane, but he stares and stares at the lamp in his bedroom, fingers coming in and out of the particles, like glitter floating through the air. A part of him thinks that it’s too slow. If he could ever use them for something useful, the necessity for proximity and prolonged contact would only get him killed.

He stares, and stares, then stares some more, recalling his phone call with Dustin that he refuses to believe he might have hallucinated. He has to cling to at least that bit of hope, that maybe he could find a way to communicate for sure. Ever since it happened, Will’s been aware of the punctured wall in his mind. There’s a hole, an opening, a crack he’s too scared to squeeze through in fear of what he’ll find… but that might be key for him to make it out alive.

He forces it, gazing at the lamp with half-lidded, exhausted eyes. Pain flares and he grunts, pressure building around his head, almost like a buzzing of static, but he continues. It has to work. He needs to feel like he’s doing something, even if it doesn’t pan out, because God, he doesn’t want to die here.

Will’s always been okay with dying, in a way. He always thought his dad would be a part of it, be it literally or metaphorically. Like he would somehow beat awareness out of Will, and his mind would get lost, floating in an endless sea of hurt and self-hatred. But he had the consolation that his mom and Jonathan would know what happened. They would have the opportunity and time to mourn him and go on. The Party would grieve, and then life would move on.

But this? Being stuck here, being missing, not knowing whether anyone has any clue what happened to him? He hates it, and Will can’t help but wonder why him. Doesn’t he suffer enough already? He always thought the week with his dad was hell, but apparently fate decided he should know what hell is truly like, and he figures Dante was right—it is cold. Not that Will would wish this on anyone else, ever, and a part of him is glad he’s sparing some other soul from this. Better him, broken and different, than someone less prepared to survive, to suffer, to prevail.

He can pity himself a little, though. He thinks he’s allowed that for once in his miserable life.

But—not all is bad, is it? Mike’s desperation, Lucas and Dustin’s concern… Will doesn’t usually take well to such raw displays of worry. He hates being reminded of how different he is, but it felt nice. It makes it even easier to cling to hope. And as his mind strains through that little hole, Will clings to that sprinkle of genuine affection in his friends’ voices, and uses it to pass through, to open it a little wider.

The light blinks on, just for a second, then off and on again until Will is able to get a grasp of the sudden connection between him and it—and it remains on, shining bright enough that he has to squint his eyes. He holds for a few seconds, one, two, three, all the way to seven, and then he has to let it go as the blood drips from his nose again.

It saps him of energy, and he doubles over, feeling nauseous all over again, his migraine back. This time, the monster growls from outside. But it doesn’t move, almost as if considering its choices. Will has an odd feeling that he’s being watched by something other than it, that this isn’t the same creature that cornered him in the shed, as much as it looks like it. Or, rather, like it’s just a puppet for whatever managed to open the lock by itself.

Goosebumps send another round of shivers up and down his body, and Will feels like that reaction, in and of itself, is a warning, his subconscious catching onto something he’s not ready to process yet. He has to be careful, moving forwards, in his attempts to get out. Will glances out the window as the monster prowls, and then cleans up his face with his bedsheets again, leaving his bedroom in order to get away from it.

As he steps out into the hallway, Will glances at the landline.

An idea shoots through his mind, but even with his new-found, probably misguided confidence, he’s too tired to see it through. So he walks into Jonathan’s room, lays down, and takes a gamble by letting himself drift into unconsciousness, curling himself into the smallest ball possible.

Hopefully, he won’t wake up dead.

At exactly seven o’clock, one hour after the search party has started, Nancy knocks on the basement door, and Mike pauses the stereo playing Will’s favorite playlist. He gets up, grabs his bag, and wordlessly opens the door to head out with her. As he gets into the passenger seat, Mike can’t help expressing some last-minute doubts.

“Are you sure about this?” He asks. Nancy is a rebel, sure, but this is a little ballsy, even for her. “We’re gonna be grounded forever if they find out.”

“No, you’re gonna be grounded, and Hopper is probably gonna try to send you to juvie and fail, while I’m gonna get financially cut off for like, three months, or something,” Nancy sighs, pulling out of the driveway. She doesn’t even sound truly concerned, which adds up—Mike figures Nancy has a million contingency plans for when Ted gets tired of her. If he ever manages to care, that is. “It’ll be fine. You’re not chickening out now, are you?”

“No,” Mike rolls his eyes, looking out the window. He agreed to meet with Lucas and Dustin at the scene, with the guarantee that everyone would be too deep into the woods to really notice them. “Are you sure you’re gonna pick us up? That you won’t take centuries mooning over Steve Harrington—?”

“God, no,” Nancy snorts, and her smile is a bit sad. Mike almost regrets being so careless about it, but she doesn’t look hurt. “It’s… it’s gonna be messy, but it’s gonna be fine. Besides, Barb has my back, she’ll meet me there. No need for you to worry.”

Mike pouts. “I’m not worried—”

“Sure,” Nancy winks at him, and Mike rolls his eyes, huffing. He hears Nancy mumbling something about teenage angst, but instead of confronting her he decides to turn up the speakers, shamelessly taking over the aux cord. Nancy groans as Mike continues to listen to Will’s playlist. “Jesus, you’re just gonna get antsier, aren’t you? Do you and Will ever listen to anything that isn't depressing?”

“Hey, I took my meds,” Mike shrugs, and Nancy groans in exasperation, not finding the joke funny. “You signed up for this.”

A sigh. “I sure did.”

Mike is overcome with something very close to relief the second he gets out of the car and meets up with Dustin and Lucas. They’re not exactly around the crime scene, as much as Mike hates to call it that and wishes they were, because it’s best to keep a healthy distance to avoid getting caught. They have their bikes and their own backpacks, which Dustin shakes as a greeting.

“I got us radios,” he says, to which Mike raises a confused eyebrow. Dustin rolls his eyes. “Listen, I know you think it’s a stupid conspiracy theory, but the government definitely listens to us, so who says the police doesn’t? Have you ever talked about something and instantly gotten an ad for it?”

Lucas runs his hands over his face like Dustin just told him the Earth is flat. “Right, and what makes you think that they don’t listen to radio waves too?”

Dustin falters, and Mike just snorts and takes his bag, pulling out the radios. “You just wanted to look cool.”

“Yeah, honestly,” Dustin shrugs, taking a radio for himself and strapping it to his belt, but not without first turning it on and adjusting the channels. A murmur of voices comes through it, and at the questioning looks, Dustin grins. “What? If the police can listen to us, we should listen back, don’t you think? It’ll let us know if they find anything.”

“Fuck,” Mike lets out, and Lucas is visibly stunned speechless. Mike gives out a tired, fond smile. “I knew you had in you.”

“I know,” Dustin wiggles his eyebrows, visibly smug. “Let’s go find Will, shall we?”

Lucas looks like it pains him to agree with Dustin’s genius, but he shakes himself off and nods. “Yeah, come on. I hate to think he might get caught by the rain again if he’s around here somewhere.”

Mike pushes that thought really far down, focusing only on turning on his flashlight. They cautiously break the tree line, and start looking around for the paths that Will uses, keeping an ear out for Dustin’s radio and an eye around to avoid running into the actual police search party. It starts drizzling barely an hour into it, to which Mike pulls up his jacket’s hood, trying not to think of Lucas’ early comment and squinting through the darkness.

He tries not to lose hope as the time drags on and cold seeps into his bones. Dustin’s smile has faded, traded in for a real look of concern, while Lucas subtly wipes what Mike knows isn’t rain from his eyes. Fear is starting to take over, once again, but Mike tightens his grip on his flashlight and clenches his jaw, refusing to give in.

He tries to put himself in Will’s shoes for the first time, something he’s been avoiding. It’s late at night, it’s cold, he’s making his way home and something makes him crash his bike—an animal, maybe, or perhaps even his bike breaking because it’s already falling apart from use. He goes home, bothers to lock the front door, and then goes grab the gun in the shed…

Maybe he was being followed? It sounds likely, but how could he just vanish—?

A twig audibly snaps to their right, making Mike’s heart climb up his throat so fast that he chokes, and the three of them turn wildly, almost tripping all over each other. Lucas starts screaming but covers his mouth, aware of how that could alert the police. There’s a disorganized shuffle of the flashlights, until they finally find the source of the noise.

A red-headed girl wearing a whistle and one of those emergency fluorescent vests squints her eyes, pointing at them with her own flashlight. “Jesus fuck, the hell?”

“What—?” Lucas lets out, clearly recognizing her judging by the way he tilts his head and frowns. Mike stares at her, something familiar about her freckled face and disgruntled frown, and Mike finally places her as that girl that moved into Hawkins a year back. She shares art class with Will, but her name… “Mayfield?”

Max Mayfield. Yeah, that was it; Will keeps doing all his group projects with her, even though he claims she’s only in the class for the easy credits. “The fuck are you three doing here?”

“Looking for Will. Obviously,” Mike says, already getting annoyed by her attitude. Max crosses her arms and raises her eyebrows at him, catching on to the bite in his tone. “What are you doing here?”

“Also looking for Will,” Max gestures up and down at her outfit, rolling her eyes. “What, you think I’m trying to make some fashion statement?”

“Okay, why don’t we relax?” Dustin breaks in, sensing the tension and setting a hand on Mike’s shoulder. He rolls his eyes, and scrunches up his nose when he notices Max having the same reaction. Why does Will even like her? She seems rude. “Fancy seeing you here, Mad Max—”

“Don’t even,” Max breaks in, keeping her tone judgmental. Mike opens his mouth to tell her to shove it, but Dustin elbows him in the ribs hard enough to make him let out an offended ouch! “You guys do know that the sheriff said that you were forbidden from being here, and if we found you, he’s gonna shove your asses in a cell, right? I only have to use this whistle here, and you guys are done for.”

“Well, why haven’t you?” Mike challenges her, ignoring Dustin and Lucas’ pointed looks and scowling at her. “Are you too chicken, or what?”

“Wow, I’m so scared,” Max snorts, sarcasm coloring her voice. Mike, if possible, scowls harder, making her let out an exasperated sigh. “You three are Will’s loser friends, right?”

Lucas says an affirmative, but Mike speaks over him, defensive. “Will’s not a loser.”

“I never said he was. You are,” Max points her flashlight at his eyes, making him squint away. “Will’s actually nice, you know. He’s cool, and he was the first person that wasn’t shitty to me when I moved here—”

“We were nice!” Lucas protests, reaching over Mike to tap Dustin’s shoulder, who shares his agreement. Mike rolls his eyes so hard it hurts. He hated those few weeks that they were obsessed with the girl that beat their arcade records. “You actually were super mean!”

“Yeah, because you two acted like totally creepy stalkers. Will actually talked to me,” Max huffs, and then runs her eyes all over the three of them. She stops on Mike, blue eyes illuminated by the flashlights in a way that makes him uneasy. “I figured your dumbasses wouldn’t stay put and would show up anyways, since you seem to be Will’s friends, and you probably know more about him, so—”

“You wanna help us?” Dustin asks, a smile in his voice. Mike presses his lips together, though he can’t exactly be mad about Max wanting to get their insight to help Will. “Oh, sick! We could definitely use a hand.”

“We were fine,” Mike mumbles in annoyance, only to get ignored.

“Yeah, well, the police aren't having luck either,” Max’s expression shifts into something uneasy. “This is so weird. It’s like he just kinda vanished, don’t you think? I don’t believe any of Hopper’s half-assed theories.”

Finally, common ground. “Yeah, he’s full of bullshit. Will wouldn’t, he just—he isn’t, I don’t—”

Mike chokes up all over again, which is at least ten times more embarrassing with Max here, but to his surprise, her expression softens. “Yeah, I get it. So… how much ground have you covered?”

Lucas and Dustin take over, which Mike is glad for, because he needs a second to himself. He wanders off a little, letting them catch Max up but keeping them within earshot as he gives them his back. He ends up kneeling, trying to get his heartbeat under control and wiping at the new dampness in his eyes.

Will’s been missing for a day, but Mike feels like it’s already been years. For a second, he allows himself to wonder what will happen if they don’t find him tonight, or tomorrow, or this week. Or this month. Or ever. No more D&D with his cleric, with Will the Wise. No more getting sent random, context-less Spotify playlists in the early hours of the morning to listen to on repeat all week, only to tease Will about him taking advantage of the fact that Mike added him to the Wheeler’s family plan to hide how tender it makes him feel.

No more late-night phone calls when neither of them can sleep, no more watching movies in the basement until his mom is forced to scold them at six a.m. during a very odd dinner-midnight snack-breakfast. No more sleepovers, or purposely abandoning sweaters and jackets at the Byers’ so he and Will can pretend that Mike doesn’t know he steals them for himself.

No more Will, and the thought makes Mike want to scream.

Instead, the sound of approaching footsteps makes him startle, and he stands up with annoyance, his flashlight turned towards the ground as he snaps: “Guys, can you give me a second—?”

A girl.

It takes Mike a second, wondering if he’s hallucinating—his first thought at seeing the shaved head is a boy, but the second his brain is able to process the features he’s able to tell that this person is a girl. A girl in a big yellow t-shirt, and even bigger shorts, soaked to the bone and shivering, looking completely lost as she squints at Mike’s flashlight.

A bad feeling makes him call out. “Hey, guys?! Come over here!”

Sensing the urgency in his tone, the party and Max hurry over, while the girl flinches, taking a step back like a cornered animal. Mike takes a cautious step forward, extending out a hand to make it clear he doesn’t plan to hurt her. “Hey, it’s okay, just—”

He’s interrupted by Dustin all but colliding with his back, making him grunt. “Did you find anything—?”

Shocked silence, which at least confirms that Mike isn’t hallucinating.

Max is the one that breaks the silence. “What the fuck?”

Yeah, Mike thinks, that’s what I’d like to know.

He has this horrible, terrible, horrifying feeling that finding Will is going to get a lot more complicated than he already expected.

Chapter Text

Will wakes up sick with hunger.

He wonders how long it’s been since he’s eaten, since his body is at that stage where thinking about food only makes him feel more nauseous. It takes forever to gather the energy to stand up, his mouth dry. When he manages, he sways, and he realizes he’s getting too comfortable; if he doesn’t keep himself alert, adrenaline pumping his blood, then he might as well declare himself dead.

He goes over to the landline, remembering his idea from… last time he was awake. He has to lean against the wall, shoulders slumped, forehead pressed against his arm as a pillow. Eventually, he manages to pick up the phone, and takes a painstakingly long time dialing, self-aware of the fact that he can’t hear a single tone coming from the phone’s speaker.

It doesn’t work, at first, and only then does Will remember the pain. He hesitates. He’s already doing poorly, energy-wise, and he doesn’t even know if this will work. Would this count as a calculated risk? Maybe, but Will’s always sucked at math. Mike used to help him, sometimes downright tutoring him, his words confident but soft as he re-explained himself as many times as Will needed him to.

Afterwards, they would go up to Mike’s room and laze around on his bed for hours, and Will would pretend to not be in love with the way Mike laughed at his jokes, or with his deep frown of concentration while he planned a new campaign for the Party to play, or with the wonder and admiration in his eyes whenever Will showed him a new art piece.

Jonathan would listen to Will ramble about it from time to time, when he felt brave enough to open up, though he always felt like his words were lacking, like his habit of hiding kept him from properly explaining his feelings. Noticing this, Jonathan would show him new songs to help him describe it, and most of the time, they would somehow end up making their way back to Mike.

He doesn’t know how, but the memories hurt more than the headaches, in a good way. So, Will clears his throat, sighs only to swallow a wet cough, and dials his mom.

It works. “Hello? Who’s this?”

Hearing her voice makes Will whimper through the pain, sobs rattling his weathered lungs. He can’t seem to get his tongue to work, and God, he hates himself for it, shit, shit, shit—

“Will?!” His mom calls, and if anything Will only manages to sob harder. “Oh, my god, Will? Where are you? What’s wrong? Will! God, I—Jonathan! Jonathan—!”

There’s a sound like a spark, and the line dies. Will whines as the pain of his head being split open is replaced by the now-familiar migraine, and he doesn’t bother wiping the blood from his nose this time, just licking his lips and tasting copper. He vaguely realizes that it’s warm, and he wonders how it is that he hasn’t gone all cold inside, because that’s how he feels.

That’s when he hears the voices, like an echo.

“Mom, what—phone—? The storm—no, no, relax—Will—gonna call Hops, okay?”

It’s Jonathan. The realization has Will straightening his back with a sudden surge of energy and all but slamming the phone back on the receiver. He looks around, as if somehow his brother could’ve snuck in without him noticing—and maybe he could’ve, considering his state—but only cold, perpetual emptiness greets him. He hears a few other mumbles, and has to really strain his hearing to the point where he gets frustrated and reaches with his mind again, clenching his jaw through the pain—

An image. He blinks and it's like he’s seeing hell and when he blinks again he’s back at home, watching his mom desperately try to call him back even though the phone is clearly toasted, while Jonathan fuzzes over her. He can get the gist of what he’s saying, from the flashes of sound and image; he wants her to rest, he’s gonna get a new phone, he’s gonna call Hopper.

The sheriff. Will could cry with relief and does, though he has absolutely no idea how the local police are gonna help him, but at least there’s that. And at least his family is safe, and the monster that chased Will doesn’t seem to be after them.

His head is pounding and so is his heart, his chest hurting. Will figures this is too much input for his senses, like seeing two realities at once, and closes his eyes, kneeling on the floor. He carefully pries himself off the visions, as much as he doesn’t want to, focusing on the damp air around him and the scent of blood under his nose.

He opens his eyes. Back to being stuck.

The air shifts and Will tenses up, keeping an ear out. Steps, too heavy to be human, and then the characteristic low growl of the monster outside. He locked all the doors and windows. It can’t get in, in theory, and Will’s been counting on that fact in order to believe that he has some safety, when in reality, he probably has none.

After all, that lock did open by itself, didn't it?

His nose is still oozing blood. He swallows, licking his lips, and then Will regretfully removes Mike’s jacket, goosebumps covering his skin as the cold hits him as strongly as if he just dunked himself in freezing water, only a plaid flannel and his undershirt protecting him now. He wipes his nose as thoroughly as he can, going as far as to exhale through it to get all the blood out, and then he leaves it out in the hallway as bait, just in case.

A howl, and Will’s shoulders raise up to his ears as his body gets so stiff he starts shaking. Slowly, painfully so, Will retreats back into his bedroom, sitting at the foot of his bed on the floor and covering his face with his hands.

He feels like he’s playing with fire. The monster gets more curious, the more he does things that really, really shouldn’t be possible, the more he tries to get out. Will sighs, recalling the memories he conjured up earlier, and figures he should probably do something to keep himself awake.

Ignoring the rust in his voice, Will starts humming, mumbling lyrics, trying to remember how Jonathan’s favorite song goes.

Seemingly overwhelmed by their presence, Wood Girl—as Mike has chosen to temporarily dub her—takes an alarmed step back, as if she’s about to bolt. Not wanting to spend the rest of his night chasing after an evidently lost stranger in the rain, Mike takes a cautious step forwards and offers her a nervous smile.

“It’s okay,” he tries, keeping his voice soft. Here, he hesitates, but Max steps up beside him, claiming the girl’s attention and giving him an encouraging nudge with her elbow. “We’re not gonna hurt you. Are you lost?”

The girl shifts guarded, suspicious eyes between them, visibly measuring them up. She takes a little too long to answer, so much so that when she does speak, Mike feels the collective relief of their group as the difficulty of dealing with a potentially mute person is at least partially squashed, since none of the Party knows sign language, and he doubts that Max does.

“No,” Wood Girl says, her voice scratchy like she’s been screaming—or crying. “Not lost.”

“Okay…” Max tries, trailing off. She and Mike exchange a look, in which he helplessly shrugs at her. Max clears her throat and addresses Wood Girl again. “Okay, well, do you need help?”

Another too-long pause, and while Wood Girl’s expression is stony, her eyes are expressive. It’s evident what her answer is gonna be, but Mike feels better with the verbal confirmation. “Yes. I want help.”

Max and Mike exchange yet another look, but don’t say anything more. She approaches Wood Girl, taking off her emergency vest and then her jacket, seemingly not caring about getting wet herself. The girl stares at her with wide eyes the whole time, something fascinated in her expression, like she’s never seen another girl like Max up-close before. Mike figures she does cut a unique, intimidating figure, with the eyebrow piercing and long curly red hair like a fire curtain, but he can’t relate to Wood Girl’s apparent wonder.

He vaguely wonders if that says more about himself than it does about her, and then decides to just… not examine that thought. There are other priorities, other things he’s far more worried about, and he’s not the only one.

“The fuck do we do?” Lucas asks, watching as Max covers the girl with her jacket. She’s wearing a plaid flannel underneath, along with a t-shirt, and it reminds him so pathetically of Will that even Mike has to admit he’s getting annoying about it, even to himself. It’s a good thing he doesn’t say it out loud. “She looks like she ran away or something—”

“Hey, why don’t you shut up? We’re not exactly in the ideal place for an interrogation,” Max calls out, her expression shadowed by uncertainty as she awkwardly stands next to Wood Girl, hovering as if she isn’t sure what to do. Mike agrees with her, which he’s only a little disgruntled by. Thinking like Max doesn’t sound like something he should make a habit of. “She’s obviously uneasy. Have some sympathy.”

“We can’t leave her here,” Mike provides, but his mind is already getting over the shock and shifting its focus. He wants to go back to looking for Will, and as much as he feels for the lost look in the girl’s eyes, it just—it isn’t his priority. “Maybe we just… drop her off at the hospital? People could be looking for her.”

“I agree,” Dustin says, taking off his cap and revealing wild curly hair, frizzy because of the rain. He offers the cap to the girl, who stares at it with apprehension. She hasn’t even tried to properly put on Max’s jacket, and Mike winces as she flinches when Max decides to put the cap on her herself. Yeah, they have to do something about her. “Maybe we can hand her over to Hopper? Sure, he’s gonna be mad at us, but surely the police can handle this—”

“No,” the girl speaks, bringing them all to a cold stop. The silence stretches out as they all stare at her, and she stares at the floor. She seems to battle with herself for several long, painful seconds, and then she speaks again, her voice barely audible over the rain. “No cops. No doctors. Just help.”

“...okay,” Lucas deadpans, exchanging skeptical looks with everyone. Mike frowns. “Any ideas? Do we… listen to her?”

“If she says she doesn’t want to deal with cops or doctors, then we are not taking her to either,” Max rolls her eyes, crossing her arms. “She must have a reason for it.”

“Yeah,” Dustin agrees, but he doesn’t sound thrilled. “She could be a serial killer for all we know. Or, like, part of a trafficking ring—”

“Is now really the time for your shitty conspiracy theories, Henderson?” Max snaps back, with enough venom that he takes a step back, mumbling damn, okay, just a suggestion. Max looks right at Mike, raising a challenging eyebrow at him, then at Lucas, then at Dustin. “No cops, no doctors. We can give her a chance to explain herself first.”

“Besides, the police are looking for Will,” Mike points out, and doesn’t miss the way Dustin seems to snicker for himself. He recalls him and Lucas making fun of how he makes everything about Will, but he doesn’t think he’s exactly unjustified right now. “And, like, it would kinda be counterproductive to end up in a cell tonight, you know?”

“So we wait ‘til morning!” Max declares, smug with triumph. Her expression relaxes a little, then, and her gaze turns judgmental towards the three of them, making Mike want to roll his eyes. Seriously, what does Will even like about her? “And, just for the record, I don’t like the way we’re talking about her like she isn’t right here—”

Mike can’t resist cutting her off, starting to feel hasty and jittery.

“Sorry, I know she’s uneasy, but—” He pauses, making eye contact with Wood Girl. She stares back at him with apprehension, but she doesn’t seem confused at all about what’s going on, and seems less scared than she was before. Mike frowns, thinking about how convenient it is that she was just… here. Around the place Will went missing—and just like that, Mike’s brain changes gears, and he’s barely aware of what words come out of his mouth. “Let’s go to the Byers’.”

“Uh, what?” Lucas asks, shaking his head with confusion. Mike curses his own outburst in his head, but he’s not backing down now. “You do know Hopper is probably gonna stop by when the search ends, right? And Mrs. Byers needs some rest, Mike, I don’t think—”

“It’s the closest place by, and you know that Mrs. Byers would welcome a bit of a distraction. There’s no way she’s staying put. Besides, she loves us, she loves company, and if they find something about Will, we’ll be first to know after her and Jon,” Mike counters, trying to convince himself more than he’s trying to convince the group, and he knows his intentions aren’t… the best, but he’s genuinely starting to feel so, so tired. He sighs at Lucas, shaking his head. “Look, just—I don’t wanna fight right now, okay? I feel like shit. I think we all feel like shit. We can deal with this in the morning.”

Another silence builds, and then Max stomps all over it by clicking her tongue. “Okay, then, I’m in with Wheeler. You losers up for this?”

Dustin and Lucas whine about it a little more, with Dustin insisting on just dropping her off at a hospital, but eventually they all head back to the road as a group. Max leads the girl, keeping a softer-than-expected hand on her elbow, while Mike stares after them with a frown. A part of him wants to stay behind and keep searching, despite the fact that it was his idea to leave at all. An even bigger part of him wants to get lost in the woods and see if he somehow ends up finding Will like that, all by himself, as if his sole presence could magically make him reappear.

But his gut tells him that he won’t get any answers tonight. To the contrary, his list of questions has been steadily growing all day, and even more so in the last ten minutes, so his dreams of running away to find Will are gonna have to wait.

They used to joke about it. Running away together. It started when they were kids and they couldn't possibly understand why they couldn't live together, and they've kept it up all these years, but as of recently, those conversations have felt loaded. They didn't come as easily as they used to. Mike knows that a part of them was seriously considering doing it, every single time, but they were both too insecure to admit it.

He thinks about it now, trying to picture it; ditching Hawkins, just the two of them. Taking Nancy’s car, stealing Ted's credit card, just miles and miles of road and each other for company. Mike and Will. Will and Mike. He’d make fun of his driving again, point out how Mike’s legs are starting to get too long for him to sit comfortably in the driver’s seat without adjusting it, and take charge of the music without a single sign of protest from Mike, because he’d be too happy, too entranced by having Will all to himself, to even think it.

Is this normal? These… these hopeless fantasies, his fixation with Will, how much he just wants? Something tells him that if he asked Dustin and Lucas, he wouldn’t get an encouraging response. In fact, they’d probably point out uncomfortable truths that Mike just isn’t ready for.

Fuck, he's gonna cry himself to sleep tonight, isn't he?

Max surprises them by all but smuggling them into her car, which she luckily parked far enough away from the rest of the people involved with the search party. “Well, it’s actually my mom’s, and I might have stolen it—”

“Cool,” Mike blurts out, and everyone freezes. Even Wood Girl seems surprised that he actually said something positive to Max, as she gets all but manhandled into the passenger’s seat by her, going as far as to put the seatbelt over her. Mike shakes his head, wondering if this counts as kidnapping. “Sorry, tired, didn’t mean that.”

Max snorts. “Why the fuck does Will even like you?”

Mike glares. “I was just thinking the same thing about you, actually.”

“Jesus, it’s like seeing the same person copied and pasted,” Dustin mumbles, stepping up behind him after finishing up with tying his bike to the back of the car. Lucas follows behind and snickers, clearly having heard him. Mike doesn’t even bother to glare at them. He’s too tired.

They get into the car, the three of them in the backseat, the girls at the front, and Mike gets just a tiny bit nervous as the engine roars to life, too loud to be healthy. “So, you have a license, right? You’re sixteen?”

“What? No, dumbass, I’m fifteen,” Max turns back to look at Mike, rolling her eyes. “I have a learner’s permit.”

Mike hears Lucas instantly snapping his seatbelt on, while Dustin, who is literally agnostic, starts praying to the Virgin Mary. This feels like some form of twisted karma, Mike thinks—and then Max actually starts driving and he decides that nope, no, this isn’t karma. This is straight-up divine punishment.

If Mike had to guess, he’d say that Max broke at least a dozen road safety and general driving laws in the short time it takes them to get to the Byers’. He actually comes out of the car feeling dizzy, and decides that yeah, okay, he’s gonna ask Nancy to give him some extra lessons whenever she can. Holy shit. He understands now.

They knock on the front door, and instead of Joyce, it’s Jonathan who opens the door. He looks, well—the same as he did earlier, but worse, somehow. He sees them and deflates, and then straightens back up as if coming into awareness.

He stares right at Mike. “Hey, guys. I thought you’d be Hopper. What are you doing out here? Didn’t you get put on curfew?”

“Um, yeah…” Mike starts, swallowing. He doesn’t like lying to Jonathan, not really, out of respect for Will, but it might be necessary for now. He’ll apologize later. “We just couldn’t stay put, though. So we decided to come check on you. Yeah. Maybe sleep over, since it’s late?”

Jonathan finally tears his gaze away from Mike, and then drags his tired gaze over all five of them. Then he frowns. He mouths, one, two, three… and Mike feels like shit for coming here now, because he’s clearly not thinking straight either, if he has to count heads. Well—that makes two of them, Mike figures.

“And who are you?” Jonathan asks, looking between the girls.

“I’m a friend of Will’s. From class,” Max says, and when Jonathan keeps staring in confusion, she clarifies: “From art class? Doesn't it ring a bell?”

“Oh!” Jonathan’s expression clears, and he nods in recognition. “Max, right? The skateboarder?”

“That’s the one!” Max nods, looking vaguely flattered that Will talks about her to his brother—which Mike tries really hard not to be annoyed by—and before Jonathan can ask, she points to Wood Girl. “This is a friend, she’s visiting from Cali. It’s cool if she crashes with us here, right?”

“Sure, yeah—come in, it’s starting to pour,” Jonathan says, stepping back to let them through. The Byers don’t have the best internal heating, but even then Mike shivers with relief as they’re finally free of the constant chill of the rain. He looks around the familiar living room, and his eyes catch on the landline phone laying on the coffee table, disconnected and seemingly burned. Huh. “Mind if I get your name?”

It takes Mike a second to realize he’s asking Wood Girl for her name, which they all neglected to do in the woods. Mike exchanges a panicked look with Dustin as the girl does that thing again where she stays carefully quiet, and then, puzzling them even more, she stretches out her arm and bares her wrist.

She has a tattoo. Her voice is a murmur. “Eleven. That’s my name.”

Everyone stares, and then Jonathan seems to remember himself, glancing suspiciously at Max. “Really? Like the number?”

“It’s a California thing,” Max provides, and it couldn’t be more obvious that she’s bullshitting him, but she steamrolls over any questions he might have with a smile. “So, is there a bathroom we could use? Maybe some clothes we could borrow? We didn’t come out prepared for the rain and stuff.”

“Sure!” Jonathan nods, still confused and stunned. Exhaustion clings to the drop of his shoulders and his eyes, so when he turns to look at him, almost like he’s silently crying for help, Mike doesn’t hesitate to give him a subtle nod and step closer. “Mike, do you think you can get some clothes from Will’s room? I left most of mine at the dorm, and you know your way around. I’m gonna check on mom.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Mike agrees, even though he doesn’t really like the idea of handing out Will’s clothes to a stranger and a supposed random friend of his from art class. And to girls. Ugh. “Take all the time you need, I got it.”

“Thanks,” Jonathan sighs with relief. “Take anything you need, okay? I’ll be right back.”

With that, Jonathan heads down the hallway, and Mike wordlessly guides Max and… Eleven, to Will’s room.

It hurts, being in here. He knows every nook and cranny by heart, from the faded doodles on the walls that Joyce never quite managed to wash off when Will was a kid who liked to use them as canvas, to the paintings hung all over the wall behind the bed showing Will’s progression as an artist through the years. There’s a board with little memories pinned to it, from movie tickets to pamphlets and simple drawings, some of which Mike remembers from notes he and Will passed during class, as well as birthday and get-well-soon cards, including the one that Lonnie gave Will the first year he forgot his birthday.

Embarrassingly enough, Will still has that Valentine’s Day card that Mike gave him when they were nine, before he knew it was weird to do that for a boy. His mom had helped him pick it out, and she seemed so excited for Mike, even though she insisted he didn’t tell Ted about it. Will had blushed like crazy when Mike gave it to him, along with some candy. Then Lonnie had seen it, when he picked up Will from school, half-drunk and reeking of cigarettes, and, well… Mike never gave him a Valentine’s Day card, after that. But he still gave him candy.

D&D guides as well as class notebooks rest all over Will’s desk, and Mike hurries to pick up a bit of the mess, because Will’s sketchbook is wide open and he really doesn’t care if Max has probably already seen his art; Will’s personal sketchbook is sacred, private. Mike himself rarely gets to look at it, so he’s not letting anyone else get a glimpse.

“Damn,” Max mumbles behind him, as Mike moves over to Will’s closet, looking for the clothes they need. He gets an old jacket that Will never uses anymore for Max, since she seems mostly fine, and a pair of sweatpants that Mike is pretty sure belonged to him when he was thirteen and most definitely don’t fit Will anymore, but he figures Eleven might fit fine. For a shirt, he hesitates, before grabbing one of Will’s flannels that used to be Jonathan’s. “Will’s really sweet, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Mike mumbles, not really processing the words. He blushes once it hits them, and he’s already facing Max, handing out the clothes, so there’s no way she misses it. She raises an eyebrow at him, while Eleven stops looking around the room with a charmed, happy smile to squint at him. “He is—he’s great. He cares a lot. He’s the best.”

Max hums, a little smirk forming at the corner of her mouth as she takes the clothes from him. “I didn’t know Will had a boyfriend.”

Mike sputters, and Eleven, not really understanding but still almost childishly curious, widens her eyes. “Boyfriend?”

“No, no, don’t listen to her!” Mike exclaims, which definitely gives him away, considering the way his face flames up. He glares at Max, scowling. “I’m not—Will isn’t, we—I mean, it’s not like that—”

“Wow, okay, relax. It was a joke,” Max rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t stop looking smug, and even has the gall to wink at Eleven, whose mouth opens with a little curious oh! “Bathroom?”

Mike guides them, refusing to say a single other word to Max. Seriously, who does she think she is? Mike doesn’t like it when people make assumptions about Will. He’s been dealing with it his whole life, just because he’s always been introverted and quiet—sensitive, as Joyce put it, regardless of how much the term rubs Mike the wrong way. There are spots of heat on his face, probably leftover from his blush, and Mike swallows as the door closes behind Max and Eleven’s backs.

He doesn’t get another moment to think, because that’s when Mrs. Byers comes out of her bedroom, in her pajamas, wrapped in a bathrobe. Mike winces as they make eye contact and she jumps a little, Jonathan setting a hand on her shoulder to ease her nerves. Letting out a guilty smile, Mike hopes they didn’t wake her.

“Hey, Mrs. Byers,” he says, keeping his voice low. He can hear Dustin and Lucas arguing from the kitchen in hushed voices, which only makes him even more nervous. “How are you holding up?”

“Waiting on news,” Joyce grimaces, attempting for a smile, but she doesn’t seem to have it in her. “I haven’t been able to sleep a wink. How about you, Mike? I haven’t gotten the chance to ask if you’re okay…”

“I’m fine,” he says, though it’s a total lie. He accidentally makes eye contact with Jonathan, who’s very intently staring at him, and then he snaps his eyes back to Joyce. Why does everyone keep looking at him like that? “I’m sorry I freaked out earlier, at Hopper, it’s just—it was a lot.”

Mrs. Byers steps forwards, running a hand over his arm and then taking one of his hands in hers. Her eyes are fond, and Mike can’t help but pick apart her features, recognizing Will in the gentleness of her smile. His chest squeezes; how is it fair that he keeps seeing Will everywhere, yet he’s nowhere to be found? “It’s okay, Mike. I get it, it’s not like I’m doing much better than that. Jon said you brought a few friends over?”

“Yeah, just Lucas and Dustin, and, uh, Will’s friend from art class,” Mike explains, and his eye twitches as Mrs. Byers seems to know who he’s talking about with that vague description. Has Max come over, or something? No way. Will would’ve told him, just as he tells him about what they do in art class. “Max brought a friend over, as well—she’s… visiting her from California. That’s not a problem, is it?”

“No, no, it’s okay. Do you want me to make you guys some tea?” Joyce suggests, and Mike sees Jonathan wincing out of the corner of his eyes. He clearly wants her to rest, and Mike agrees, so he shakes his head. Mrs. Byers deflates a little. “Are you sure? I got more juice boxes, if you’d like, or maybe I could prep some snacks—?”

“It’s okay, mom,” Jonathan chimes in, squeezing her shoulder once. His tone is stern, but his eyes shine with concern. “I told you I got it, okay? Remember what we talked about earlier, yeah? You need to rest.”

Mrs. Byers looks at him, and then she stares at the spot where the landline phone usually hangs, her eyes filling with moisture. She nods, then offers Mike a low goodnight as she retreats back into her bedroom, closing the door softly behind her. Mike sighs with relief, because he doesn’t fancy lying to her face when he has to inevitably introduce her to Eleven. Max can handle that instead.

“Do you actually need anything?” Jonathan asks him. “I’m not gonna get any sleep tonight, so—”

“Nah, we’re fine. Don’t sweat it,” Mike shakes his head again. Fuck, the Byers are way too nice. Maybe he should’ve just told Max to drive them to his house instead, but it’s too late now. Clearing his throat and itching for a subject change, Mike gestures at the empty wall. “What happened to the phone?”

“Oh,” Jonathan frowns, and he usually looks uncomfortable towards any sort of social interaction, but it suddenly becomes even more evident that he’d rather not speak of this, which only makes Mike more curious. “Just… the storm messed it up, or something. You know the wiring for electronics isn’t the best here. Mom is just… freaked out about it because she got this phone call…”

Jonathan stops, swallowing, visibly choking up. Mike feels a prickle of fear in the back of his mind. “Phone call?”

“Yeah, she—she thought she heard Will,” Jonathan pushes the words out like it physically pains him, and Mike’s mouth drops open, heart climbing up his throat. Seeing that reaction, Jonathan is quick to set a hand on his shoulder and shake his head, attempting a reassuring smile that only makes him look more miserable. “It was probably just a prank or something, okay? She didn’t hear any words, just—sniffling, and then static.”

“Sniffling? Like crying?” Mike questions, and Jonathan nods. “And how do you know that wasn’t Will?”

Jonathan frowns. “Mike—”

The bathroom door opens, startling them both. Max comes out with her flannel in her hand, now wrapped up in only her shirt and Will’s jacket. Eleven looks a little funny, since the sweatpants are a bit short on her and the plaid doesn’t really match it, but there’s warm and color to her face now, which Mike figures is good. He’s glad she’s looking a little less lost now, and more comfortable, because he has many, many questions.

“Are we interrupting?” Max asks, and Jonathan is quick to brush it off, practically escaping from the situation by saying something about going to check on Dustin and Lucas. Max and Mike stare after him, her curious, him riled up. She hums. “Man, can’t believe that’s Will’s cool brother.”

“He’s just shy,” Mike defends him, because Jonathan is cool. Just in private. He looks at her and Eleven, who is now curiously looking around the hallway, staring at the Byers’ family pictures. “You’re both good, then?”

“Yep,” Max nods, and then steps a little closer to him, lowering her voice and tilting her head towards Eleven. “I talked to her a little, you know. Mostly girl stuff—she called me pretty, but that’s beside the point, because I got super bad vibes about this.”

Mike glances at their guest, frowning. “How so?”

“I didn’t get much out of her, and I feel like she’s doing that on purpose,” Max raises her eyebrows a little, and Mike agrees with her silent implication that that is very off. “She said she couldn’t talk much, because bad men are after her. Men with suits.”

“With suits?” Mike pales a little. “You think she meant the police?”

“Or the FBI, or the CIA,” Max shrugs, way too nonchalant for the way Mike’s eyes widen. “Who the hell knows? But Mike—she’s scared. Terrified, actually. I really don’t think we should leave her alone.”

He opens his mouth to protest, because to him it sounds like they should be dropping her off at the nearest hospital and cleaning their hands of the situation. But out of the corner of his eye, Mike sees Eleven taking down a picture frame, and indignation rushes through him.

“Hey!” He calls, raising his voice a little, and she startles, eyes wide. Mike walks over, ignoring Max saying that he should be nice, watching the picture in her hand. “What do you think you’re doing?”

She’s holding a photo from last Halloween. The whole Party is in it, standing with their arms around each other’s shoulders. They had dressed up as Ghostbusters, in honor of the first Halloween that they were all together, since they decided they were probably getting a little old for trick or treating and agreed on it being their last year. Mike was actually smiling in this one, looking at Will with more teeth showing than in any of the pictures at the Wheeler household. Pain flares in his chest again, just looking at it, and Eleven looks between him and the picture with wide eyes.

She lifts a finger, pressing it against Will’s chest. “This is Will? He’s… missing?”

“Yeah,” Mike instantly snaps, annoyed, and then he replays the question in his head and stares at her in confusion. “Why are you asking?”

Eleven turns away from him to gaze at the picture, eyes fixated on Will. Part of Mike is frustrated—why the fuck do girls get so obsessed with Will? Sure, he’s a catch, but, uh—and the rest of him gets nervous, because they did find her in the woods, close enough to where he crashed. And just like that, Mike’s nerves get the best of him, and he’s grabbing Eleven’s elbow to get her to look at him.

“Do you know him?” He asks, his voice filled with an emotion he can’t describe—something on the edge of desperate and heartbroken. Eleven tilts her head at him, and pity fills her gaze… but also determination, and Mike barely resists shaking her as he repeats himself, raising his voice so much that she flinches. Mike doesn’t hear everyone else in the house practically surrounding them, or their alarmed voices. “Do you know him?! Have you seen him?! Please, I—I’ll help you, okay, I’ll keep you away from the cops, we won’t take you to a hospital, just—”

“He’s here,” Eleven says, her voice stronger than it's been all night. Mike freezes, and so does Max’s hand trying to get him off Eleven’s space. Eleven herself just looks at the picture again. Hangs it back up, and then turns it around, making it face the wall. “He’s here… but he’s not.”

“What—” Mike swallows, and Eleven starts walking off towards Will’s bedroom. By this point, Mike has tunnel vision, and follows behind her with hurried steps, ignoring the voices behind them. When he looks into Will’s room, Eleven is standing at the foot of the bed, staring into the empty space. “What… what do you mean?”

“He’s here,” Eleven repeats, gesturing at the floor. “But he’s upside down.”

Mike opens his mouth to ask what the fuck does she mean, but then a phone rings, and he snaps his head towards Joyce, who at some point has emerged from her room and is also staring at Eleven with wide, teary, hopeful eyes. She hastily pulls out her phone, and her face goes white when she looks at the screen.

Jonathan, behind her and thus with a view of the screen, breaks away to lean against the wall, looking faint.

“Will?” She asks after picking up, and Mike is instantly moving; only Lucas rapidly grabbing him by the shoulder keeps him from getting any closer, which is probably good, because Mike has no idea what he would do if let go of. “Oh, my God, Will? Will, baby, is that you—? Will?! Will! Are you okay? Will!”

A murmur comes through the phone and it’s barely audible, barely there, so Joyce sets the speaker, babbling reassurances at WiIl, asking him to tell her where he is, but Will’s speaking nonsense—he sounds exhausted and hurt and like he’s been crying and Mike doesn’t even question the way Max comes to hold him up by the elbow because he feels like he’s going to pass out.

Eleven elbows Mike out of the way with strength he had no idea she has, and very calmly goes: “Will?”

Silence. “...El?”

Then the phone sparks and Joyce drops it with a scream.

Chapter Text

Will had managed to doze off a little, not quite awake and not quite asleep. It soothed his mind, gave him a bit more energy to hopefully attempt communication again soon. Despite the insanity of it all, and perhaps as proof that he’s starting to lose his marbles, he started to feel good, as good as one can be when trapped in hell.

That is, until he heard the screaming.

Will sits upright, eyes wide and fear gripping his spine. It’s a gut-wrenching scream, filled with true human terror that makes him gasp, and it’s only in this second that Will realizes he hasn’t actually seen the monster in a while. He only heard it when out in the hallway, and it never came after him or the bloody jacket he abandoned. Barely aware of what he’s doing, he hurries to his feet and glances out the window, but there’s nothing in sight.

Will hesitates. And then he opens the lock on his window and steps out, almost tripping all over himself before rushing towards the tree line, following the noise.

It’s stupid. It’s so, so, so risky; Will should just mind his own business, regardless of anything that might be going on out in the woods, but he has to know. Any bit of information could be crucial; Will was never a Boy Scout, but Mike was. He hated it with all his being, and made it his mission to forget almost everything he learned in relation to the wilderness, but he enjoyed sharing it all with Will anyway. They read all his guides together, every little book and pamphlet, and Will absorbed it with greed.

It became useful when his dad started forcing him to go hunting with him. And then later, when Will took to drawing landscapes and painting scenery in his free time, as well as when he started going on runs. He knows that the most important thing to do around predators is avoiding them, but also learning their cues. Giving meaning to their behaviors to know when to stay, when to move, and when to call for help.

So Will takes the shortcut to Harrington's backyard, heart in his throat as the volume of the screams intensifies with each step—and then he stops cold by the tree line.

“Nancy!” The name echoes through the air, and Will flinches, realizing he knows that voice. “Nancy! Help! HELP! NANCY!”

Barbara, Nancy’s friend that is going to college in the city and makes the drive back and forth every day. She’d give Will a few Oreos whenever they were both in the Wheeler house, what feels like ages ago. They’d exchange eye-rolls whenever Mike and Nancy started bickering, pretending that they dislike each other, and indulge Holly whenever she tried to kidnap them, only for their respective best friends to throw a hissy fit about it.

She’s climbing the pool’s stairs, all but crawling her way out. The monster growls underneath her in a way Will’s never heard before—hungry, bloodthirsty, and angry. It freezes Will solid, so much so that he starts shaking, as he senses the danger and realizes what is happening.

The monster hasn’t been able to eat him, for whatever reason. It doesn’t seem to want to kill him, at least not yet. But it’s hungry, probably as hungry as Will himself is. It hasn’t eaten in days. So it went out to get a meal elsewhere.

Oh, god, Barbara.

Bile rises up Will’s throat and he turns away, choking, coughing, making way too much noise. His hands shake as he brings them up to his ears, covering them in an attempt to muffle Barbara’s screams. There’s the sound of something slamming against concrete, and Barbara starts sobbing. The monster howls.

Wet. Tearing. More screaming, even worse than before, burying itself deep in his bones in a way that lets Will know he’s never getting rid of this memory, never getting rid of the guilt and fear making a home at the bottom of his stomach and attempting to make him throw up. He should do something. He should’ve done something, claimed the monster’s attention or drove away somehow but the terror eats at him.

Will chokes again and he closes his eyes.

He doesn’t know where he gets the strength to leave, and if asked, he couldn't describe the walk back to his house. He doesn’t know how he manages to crawl up the window and lock it again. The only thing that makes sense is the way he collapses back at the foot of his bed, sobs and shivers tearing his body apart from the inside.

It takes a while for him to calm down. Something nudges at the edge of his mind, buzzing like energy or static, and it scares him all over again, making him look around wildly as he curls himself into a ball. It’s dangerous, this energy, but strong. Alive in a way the monster isn’t, far more powerful than Barbara’s terror to the point where Will can almost taste it.

He ignores it. If it comes for him, then fine—he doesn’t think he has it in him to deal with more right now, and he’s perfectly fine resigning to this being his end. He had a good run, fifteen-years strong. Who said he’d need more? From what little Will’s gathered from life, from what little he’s figured out, only the good people in it are worth it, and at least he would die with the certainty that it’s him in here, and not them—

How did Barbara get here?

Will lifts his head, eyes vacant as the thought rings over and over in his head. How did Barbara get here? She couldn’t have just stumbled into this hell, right? Otherwise, Will thinks there’d be a lot more people getting killed around him. Which means she was also taken. He knows, logically, that the monster must have gone out for food. But he hadn’t realized the implications of that until now. He hadn’t realized the implications of his own kidnapping.

The monster can come and go. It can drag people in, just like it dragged Will—though his memory of that is fuzzy. How, exactly, did the monster get him? By the time he realized that things weren’t right, Will had already run out of ammo and come out of the shed. It was a blink, and he went from home to being in hell.

Regardless, one thing is clear: the monster won’t attack Will, not to kill, though it hasn’t managed to even scratch him either. But it will get other people, fill them with terror… and then have its way with them, whatever that means, because Will doesn’t want to trigger another pull of his gut, or remember the couple glimpses of Barbara he got.

This means the monster can just get anyone. Anyone, whenever it wants. Will knows it's attracted to blood, because every time he’s had a nosebleed he’s heard it around him. But he wasn’t bleeding when it took him, and he doesn’t know if Barbara was, either. And that means that if his family is unlucky enough, if his friends are unlucky enough… then it can get them, too.

Oh, god, he needs to warn them. Will doesn’t care what happens to him anymore, but he can’t die without warning them first, somehow. He isn’t thinking straight any longer, running on pure adrenaline, on whatever thoughts come up first, so Will doesn’t notice the echo of voices around him this time, much less so what they’re saying—their volume, their intensity, nothing. His mind is focused on that lone thought that he needs to warn them.

He pulls out his almost dead phone from his pocket and calls his mom, unaware of his sobs, of the pain splitting his head open again, of the blood that starts dripping from his nose. He hears her voice, alarmed, worried, scared, but Will is babbling. He’s too terrified and tired and hungry and in pain to make any sense, and the buzzing in his ears only gets worse, building and building and building—

“Will?”

Everything pauses. Will goes numb with shock. Who is that? He doesn’t—what? Does he know… her?

Familiar. The presence, the energy, it’s familiar. He knows this person, but he doesn’t. The name slips in his mind like a whisper into his ear, from somewhere deep in his head, and he blurts it out, confused and hurt.

“...El?”

And then reality snaps back into focus and Will’s mind snaps, letting go of his connection to the phone, zapping him from all the energy he felt like he recovered with his earlier nap. He sits there choking back sobs, covering his mouth and nose with his hand until he’s able to breathe normally again, and then his mind starts reeling as he realizes who he just spoke to.

Will was sure he’d dreamed her up.

Not as a conscious thing, no—he has no idea who El is. But he knows her. That energy from when he entered the house again was her. The buzzing, the confusion; most of it was his panic, but the rest was her presence pushing him, greeting him, sensing him just like he was sensing her.

The world goes a little sideways, his vision blurry.

He sees El, surrounded by his family and friends. Max is there, curiously enough. But his eyes are drawn to El, and as Will stares at her back, she turns. Their eyes meet.

Will collapses back into hell, and only then does he put two and two together.

Sometimes, on the nights when Will doesn’t dream, he sits in the dark instead. Water under his bare feet, harmless emptiness around him, nothing for the eye to see, nothing for him to feel. It’s peaceful to Will, as unafraid as he is of the dark itself, though he isn’t sure if that will keep being the case once he gets out of whatever here is. Now that he’s seen what kind of monsters can hide in it, and what they can do to people.

He’s felt El before, in that darkness. A trickle of fear and nervousness that wasn’t his own, panic, echoes of sound—screams, sometimes—and a thundering heartbeat. But Will’s never felt aware enough to go search after that, to find the source, to comprehend it—hell, most of the time, Will would forget he was even there come morning, like the part of him that would be able to perceive it is there, but dormant, unable to process that reality.

Will has a feeling this hellish experience has awoken it, which would explain the strain in his mind, the odd things he's done. It makes him wonder if there's more he doesn't remember, memories about, of El that he can't grasp, but that his subconscious is somewhat aware of.

He doesn't know how to feel about that.

It seems he’d falsely assumed that the empty void in his head was his mind’s way of telling him that there was nothing to torment him with that particular night. Will took it as recess, a mercy and a respite from the nightmares of his father, and the sweetness of things he couldn’t have. But El is real, meat and bones, someone he’s never met before, yet feels like he knows. And if El is real, if her familiar presence isn’t something his subconscious made up, then it only stands to logic that the void is real, too.

He’s getting really, really tired of forcing himself to come to terms with things he can’t explain. But the less he thinks about it, the better. The last thing he wants to lose, among everything he already has—his dignity, his unawareness, the innocence of thinking that there couldn’t be an evil greater than the cruelty in his life—is his mind, his sanity. Maybe it’s rich to think he still has it, but if he doesn’t then at least he has common sense, and he doesn’t want to lose that either. 

El’s name makes Will feel like he can breathe, like the air entering his lungs isn’t toxic, damp and aiming to choke him. Like his recognition of her, his sudden ability to process her as a real person, slowly eases the strain in his mind. Puts his wits back into place, tightens the screws that have been coming loose ever since he arrived here—or rather, maybe they've been replaced by some that fit him best.

He’s gonna try his best not to lose them.

It takes him a second to blink himself back into being aware of his body; how he shivers with the cold, the strain in his lungs from the continuous exposure to this place, the exhaustion in his limbs. But now that he knows that El is here, in his room, in his home, it’s like he can think clearly again. He becomes aware of the echo of voices but doesn’t bother trying to make out the words, instead just finding solace in their existence.

From Max’s signature snark, to Jonathan’s soft cadence and his mom’s concern, El’s own awkward timing like words are foreign on her tongue, Dustin and Lucas’ bewilderment and of course—Mike’s general loud, extra self.

He’s loud enough that Will almost wants to tell him to shut up, a sad smile tilting his lips up, and doesn’t because he knows he wouldn’t hear him. He’s tired, but the now constant murmur of familiar voices around him soothes him, making him feel less alone, less hopeless. El… she knows where he is, in a way. They’ve seen each other.

Will barely knows her name, can’t quite grasp onto any memories of her, yet she gives him hope.

But they don’t know about the monster—Will wasn’t able to get a single coherent word out. And a quick glance at his phone tells him that he’s finally managed to fry it, putting too much of himself into a task that already felt like it was taking his whole soul to accomplish.

Will’s eyes fall back on his desk lamp, humming Jonathan’s favorite song under his breath again. He think he almost has all the lyrics figured out, now.

He decides to attempt to recover his energy, and try again later.

Mike enters a completely different state of shock than Joyce Byers does.

She practically hounds Jonathan for his own phone, panicking in a way Mike had never seen before, burning with so much determination and sudden energy that he can't help but be a bit scared. Judging by everyone's wide eyes, he isn't the only one that would hate being in the way of that frenzy, but Jonathan is her son and he takes it in stride, asking her to calm down and breathe, ignoring her requests with eyes like iron.

Mike? Well, he's actually glad Max and Lucas are holding him up, because the second he tries to take a step his legs go jittery and he almost trips all over himself, his limbs feeling dumb and long and inadequate in a way that they hadn't since he first turned twelve. His tongue is tied. His head hurts. His heart feels like it's gone from being stuck in his throat to plummeting to the bottom of his stomach.

He can't get Will's sobs out of his head, stop them from echoing in his ears. Back when they were kids, before puberty turned Mike into a mess of rage, anxiety, and chronic depression, before it made Will's skin thick as armor covered in thorns, they used to cry together. One time, when Will fell off his bike and broke his thumb, Mike had cried with him. Fat, ugly tears, because there had been blood and he didn't know what to do.

It's been years since Will's cried badly enough to make Mike want to sob with him. He thought he missed that innocence, that open-ness. And maybe he does, maybe he misses Will turning to him with every single grievance, he misses Will sharing his fears without prompting; maybe he misses putting a Band-Aid on Will’s knee and kissing it better, wiping his tears with the edge of his sweater and trying not to sob himself.

But this type of crying? This terror, this hopelessness? Mike never wants to hear it again, ever. He doesn’t want anything to ever make Will sound so, so—defenseless, devastated. So unlike himself. He knows how Will looks when he needs comfort, but this is beyond that. This is a cry for help unlike anything Mike’s heard before and god, he wants to give it to him, desperately so.

“You do know Will,” Is what slips past Mike’s lips, and Joyce finally seems to recover her awareness, turning towards Mike with words dying in her lips, and then looking at Eleven, who is back to staring at the foot of the bed. Mike’s voice comes out shaky and desperate. “You do, right?”

Eleven’s lips tremble with uncertainty. “I’ve seen him.”

“Who are you?” Mrs. Byers asks, shrugging off Jonathan’s hand to step closer to Eleven. She looks back at Joyce, and her expression echoes the one she wore in the woods—alarmed, lost, scared. Noticing this, Mrs. Byers softens her voice, serious but kind. “I—I just want answers. Your name is… El?”

“Eleven,” she replies, hands twisting the edge of Will’s flannel. “I know Will. But… I don’t think he knows me.”

“How is that possible? That doesn’t make any sense.” Jonathan asks, butting in with no grace, awkward words leaving his mouth, but not unkindly. Eleven makes eye contact with him, and then averts her eyes, nervousness making her shift. Jon tries again: “It’s just, I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. I’m trying to understand. You’re not from California, are you?”

Eleven looks at Max, and she sighs, her hand tightening on Mike’s elbow. “No, we… we found her in the woods where Will went missing. Sorry—for lying. We didn’t know what to do. She said she didn’t want to deal with cops or doctors.”

Joyce covers her mouth with her hand, suddenly looking like she’s aged ten years in five seconds. She looks around the room, breathing slowly, taking in Dustin and Lucas’ still-dumbfounded, wide eyes, Mike’s shakiness, Eleven’s uneasiness and Jonathan’s confusion. Then, she nods, visibly steeling herself.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do, kids,” she starts, sounding more grounded than Mike’s heard her in a while—even before Will went missing. Jonathan’s eyebrows raise, eyes going wide like he didn’t expect her to have it in her, and Mike figures they all might as well get used to surprising each other, if tonight is anything to go by. “It’s late. You guys have school tomorrow—”

Complaints echo through the group from everyone but Eleven and Jon, but Mrs. Byers doesn’t even flinch, refusing to give in a single inch this time. “I’m not hearing any of it, guys. Jonathan will drive all of you to school, and I will stay with El, okay? If you want to be involved in this you’re going to help me help my son and help this girl. Understood?”

No one says anything. It’s the first time that Mike’s seen Max look this chastised, and he doesn’t miss the look of wonder in Eleven’s eyes as she looks at Mrs. Byers. He clears his throat, because as much as he wants to scream, as much as he wants to hound Eleven for answers and force more than three words at a time out of her, Mrs. Byers looks determined. Her steadiness is infectious.

“Okay,” Mike agrees, mouth dry. Everyone stares at him, probably having expected him to fight. But the weight of the day is finally falling on top of his shoulders and it’s too much. Mike hadn’t realized how much he was piling, and while he’s not eager to take the weight off—sometimes, if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself, adults be damned—he thinks he might be able to share it. For now. “Okay, but—we’ll talk about this tomorrow, right?”

Mrs. Byers narrows her eyes, just-so, looking around the group again. She reaches out and holds Jonathan’s hand, then offers the other one to Eleven. She stares at it like she’s remembering something—a different hand, perhaps, a different situation, and the way she takes it so softly, as if it might bite, makes Mike wonder what kind of people she was around.

“We’ll discuss it all tomorrow after you’re back from school,” Joyce agrees, and then holds steady eye contact with Eleven. “But I’m going to have to tell the sheriff about this, okay, sweetheart?”

Eleven flinches, making Mike hold back his own protests, but Joyce holds onto her hand. “I don’t want cops.”

“I know,” Mrs. Byers nods, eyes sad, heartbroken. “But this isn’t—Hopper is not like other cops, okay? I’ll speak to him first. You don’t have to see him if you don’t want to. But I have to tell him.”

“Hey, she’s right,” Max mumbles, setting a hand on Eleven’s shoulder. She looks back at her, eyes teary, and Max squeezes her shoulder, speaking clearly and repeating herself. “She’s right. Hopper is like, super lame, and a big asshole, but I’ve dealt with him before. And Mrs. Byers here—he wouldn’t do anything against her wishes anyways, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

Joyce looks sheepish at that, but doesn’t deny it, instead offering Eleven a smile. “See? It’ll be fine. Okay?”

Eleven shifts her gaze around, and then, slowly, she nods. “Okay.”

Things blur a little after that. Mike sits down on Will’s bed and looks at the floor, where Eleven said he was. He doesn’t get it. He has so many questions, but his body refuses to move, his tongue remains locked. Lucas and Dustin check on him, asking him if he’s okay, and Mike mumbles back some lame answers and excuses, saying that he’s tired. They let him be.

Jonathan somehow manages to get him to stand, and even walks him into the bathroom to change into the pajamas he’d packed what seems like ages ago now. Mike only comes back into awareness in the middle of brushing his teeth, and he bends over the sink, letting the shock wash over him. Tears build up in his eyes, so he has to swallow a knot, and once again he wants to take Eleven by the shoulders and demand that she tells him what she knows. How she knows Will. How it is that Will doesn’t know her.

But Mike takes a deep breath and counts to five. In and out, as many times as needed before he’s able to straighten up and wash his mouth and look at himself in the eye through the mirror.

His hair is all curly again, probably from getting damp in the rain. He scrunches up his nose at it, and at the paleness of his skin bringing out his freckles. He looks like he hasn’t slept in a week, and it makes him sigh, pressing his fingers to his eyes and rubbing with exasperation. Mike needs to get it together. How is he supposed to find Will if he loses it every time a new piece of information is as much as implied? Even Mrs. Byers has started pulling herself back in order, and Mike knows that he’s as crazy as she is—in a good way.

He comes out of the bathroom with new resolve, and heads into Will’s room only to find it empty. Mike frowns in confusion, taking a second to text Nancy that she doesn’t need to pick him up after all, finding it odd that she hasn’t reached out yet. Then he walks his way back to the living room, and watches Lucas and Dustin settle into sleeping bags on the floor. Jonathan is on the couch, staring at the ceiling with a vacant gaze.

“Why aren’t we in Will’s room?” He asks, gaining three pairs of eyes on him. No one says anything, and Mike frowns. “Guys…?”

“I gave the girls my room, so I thought you should sleep in Will’s,” Jonathan finally says, which only confuses him more. There is a brief exchange of glances that he doesn’t understand, and then Jonathan sighs. “I thought you could use some time alone, Mike. You know, to… decompress.”

Mike snorts with no real humor. “That’s a funny way to say cry.”

“Well, are you gonna?” Dustin questions, not unkindly, but rather with genuine concern. Mike figures he isn’t the only one that’s noticed his shitty appearance. “Because you know that’s cool too, man.”

“And if you want us to camp out with you, then that’s fine as well,” Lucas offers up, shrugging at him. “It’s been a crazy night. I’m honestly—I don’t want to think about it until morning, you know? And even that is a stretch. So, you decide, man.”

Mike looks between the three of them and sighs. He doesn’t usually let people take care of him—growing up with the Wheelers is a lesson on independence from the second you’re old enough to develop your own opinions, especially with Nancy as an older sister—but this is nice. This makes him choke up all over again. So… he’ll take it.

“Okay,” Mike agrees, nodding, shooting them all his best attempt at a smile. It isn’t good, and he’s confident it isn’t pretty, but it gets him a toothy grin from Dustin and a tired cool from Lucas, as well as a tired thumbs-up from Jon. “Catch you in the morning, then.”

Mumbled good-byes follow him down the hallway, and then it’s just Mike, alone, in Will’s room.

He turns off the light and settles into the bed, automatically grabbing for the frog pillow that Will has always let him borrow during sleepovers and hugging it to his chest. It’s a private joke between them that started, as many things have, when they were children. Bullies used to have a field day calling Mike frog-related names, and then Will, with his then-childish humor, had found it absolutely hilarious when his mom had gotten him that pillow as a birthday present like some sort of cosmic coincidence.

It was funny, in retrospect, though it had taken Mike more than a few pouts and eye rolls to warm up to it, but it definitely made the comments from the bullies sting a lot less.

God, he misses Will, and just the thought makes the tears come, silent and non-intrusive, finally releasing some of the pain and tension that’s been in his chest ever since this morning. Mike closes his eyes, burying his nose in Will’s pillow. It feels a little creepy, but also reassuring.

He falls asleep holding on to the hope, the knowledge deep in his gut, that Will isn’t dead.

Mike wakes up to the sound of Max’s mom’s car startling him out of what he could only otherwise describe as a coma instead of sleep. He sits up, heart racing, eyes squinted in confusion at Will’s room, until his memories come flooding back in.

He jumps out of bed and all but rushes over the bodies in the living room to look out the window. He’s pretty sure he steps on Lucas’ hand and Dustin’s hair, complaints reaching his ears, but all he can focus on is the sight of Max in the driver’s seat with Eleven next to her, both of them still dressed in yesterday’s clothes.

“What the fuck?” Mike lets out, and knocks on the window. It gets Max’s attention, and they stare at each other blankly for a minute. Then, Max smirks and starts to pull back, leaving Mike open-mouthed as he stares at them taking the road. He repeats himself, this time with more panic. “Hey! What the fuck?!”

“Mike,” Mrs. Byers calls from behind him, making him jump. He turns to look at her, processing Lucas and Dustin’s sleepy groans and whines. Joyce is holding out a coffee mug, milky white and sugar sweet just as Mike likes it, her face twisted in a grimace. “Good morning.”

He stares, and then takes the coffee with a confused frown. “Good morning?”

“Max needs to take the car back to her mother,” Mrs. Byers clarifies, and Mike opens and closes his mouth for a second. He tilts his head, a questioning gesture, and Joyce’s expression sours just a little, the corner of her mouth tightening. “El doesn’t want to meet Hopper, at all. I would’ve made her stay, but… well, she just looks so lost, Mike. Max was already planning to skip, and she’s gonna take her shopping for some clothes, because she needs something else to wear. I let them go with the condition that she’d let Hopper meet her after school lets out and everyone is back here.”

“Shopping?” Mike repeats, incredulous, and questioning, not for the first time, why girls are so hard to understand. How does shopping make sense right now? Joyce stares blankly back at him, like she’s shocked that’s all he got from her words. “I—seriously? Mrs. Byers, I’m sorry, but I don’t think shopping is a priority—”

“Mike,” Joyce interrupts, settling a hand on his shoulder and leaning in to get across the seriousness of her words. “El is just a girl. And I don’t mean that as like, she’s a girl and she’s gonna go shopping for fun. I mean that as in she’s clearly been through things that we can only begin questioning once she relaxes, and she really does need the clothes, Mike. I won’t pretend to be the best mother—”

“But you are the best!” Mike protests, but he barely manages to make her smile a little as she continues.

“—but even I have to question the decision to name her after a number. To tattoo her,” Joyce shakes her head, the look behind her eyes speaking of immeasurable sympathy. “I’ll talk to Hopper about her, okay? We’ll see what we can find, and then we can talk to her about Will.”

“But what if something happens to Will while she’s off… shopping?” Mike points out, baffled at how okay with this Joyce seems, when last night she was losing it over that freak phone call. “Are we just gonna let that happen?”

Joyce remains silent for too long, hesitating. There’s a battle going on in her head, and it brings tears to her eyes that she quickly blinks away. And just like that, Mike feels like an asshole. Fuck. He replays all his words, and realizes he’s coming off way too condescending, especially with the shopping thing—oh, god, yikes. He sounds like Ted whenever his mom wants to get something for Holly.

Shit, Nancy would kick his ass if she were here. He has to watch it.

“El did something last night,” Joyce mutters, pressing her lips together and making eye contact. “I mean, after you boys fell asleep—she… came to my room. She promised she would help me find Will. She said… she said she would know if anything happened to him. And she showed me something.”

“Well, what was it?” Mike insists, trying to sound less like an asshole this time, but he thinks that he only half-succeeds because of his urgency. Joyce hesitates again. “Mrs. Byers, please—I’m gonna go crazy over here. What did she show you?”

“She did something to the lights,” Mrs. Byers finally reveals, and Mike blinks. Okay? “I don’t know how to explain it, Mike, she just—did something! Turning it off and on, and it was… insane. I’m not convinced I didn’t hallucinate all of it, but either way, if she knows something about Will, Mike, we have to risk trusting her.”

Ugh. Mike hates it when adults are right. “Are you sure?”

“Very,” Mrs. Byers sighs, nodding her head. Then, she gestures towards the kitchen. “I put on some toast for you guys, okay? I’m gonna get ready for the day and give Hopper a call. Scream if you need anything.”

“Sure,” Mike mumbles, defeated. Mrs. Byers leaves the living room, and Mike is subjected to Lucas and Dustin staring at him with conflicting expressions. Lucas seems hesitant, Dustin looks way too relaxed for the situation at hand. He scowls at them after taking a sip of his coffee. “You couldn’t have tried helping convince her to make them come back?”

“No offense, Mike,” Dustin starts, which makes him roll his eyes hard enough it makes them ache. “But we’re all out of our depth here. We can’t all be like you and fight every adult that speaks to us, ‘kay? Besides, it’s super early. My brain only works after nine a.m.”

“You suck,” Mike mumbles, making Dustin laugh. He looks at Lucas. “What about you?”

Lucas frowns. “This is freaky, man. And whatever the fuck happened last night? Yeah, no, I think that girl is just crazy and pulling Mrs. Byers into her mess.”

“Really?” Dustin asks, somewhere between surprised and judgmental. “You thought Will finally calling someone right after that girl claimed he was here, and also the phone getting burned just like mine did when he picked up, was just a coincidence?”

Lucas shrugs. “Yep. It happens, man. What’s her proof she knows Will? She didn’t even know his name in the woods! There was zero recognition in her face.”

“Well, Will doesn’t know any Els, does he?” Mike provides, getting annoyed at Lucas’ denial. Sure, it’s crazy, but it’s a clue, and they don’t have many of those. “We’d know. I’d know, I was his first fucking friend and he was mine. Yet he knew her name, and Eleven said that Will didn’t really know her. How does that add up?”

“Exactly!” Lucas throws his arm out of his sleeping bag, gesturing at the air. “She’s giving out conflicting information! That’s what a liar does. I really hope Mrs. Byers doesn’t go full in on this, because then we’re all fucking doomed.”

“Whatever, man,” Dustin sighs. “It’s too early to fight. I’ll tell you my theories later, it’ll totally blow your mind.”

“I don’t wanna hear your theories—”

Mike’s done listening. He steps all over them again in his way to the kitchen, thinking of buttered toast and ignoring their protests. He doesn’t know what to believe. He wants to trust Mrs. Byers, but nothing about this situation sits quite right, too much context and information missing. And when he’s conflicted like this, he’s no use to anyone, much less so to himself. So Mike focuses on eating his breakfast, and after he’s done, he goes back to the living room to shake Jonathan awake.

It takes some effort, because Jon sleeps like the dead, but always wakes up startled, sitting up within a couple seconds. It reminds Mike of when Ted falls asleep watching TV and his mom goes to turn it off. But knowing the Byers’ family history, Mike figures that for Jon it’s more about being able to sleep through loud arguments but be fast on his feet if necessary, than about dozing off watching a shitty telenovela.

Will developed the opposite trauma response; he’s a light sleeper, and slow to wake, like he doesn’t want to face reality. It kills Mike to remember it.

“You guys are ready?” Jon mumbles, half awake, and Mike snorts. A sigh, and then: “That’s a very good way to say no, Mike, thank you.”

“No problem,” Mike shrugs, even though Jonathan isn’t looking at him, but at his phone. As his eyes run over the screen, a concerned frown builds on his features, and he stands with a hurry, almost knocking Mike over. “Wow, everything okay?”

“Have you talked to your sister since last night?” Jonathan asks, and Mike frowns in confusion. He insists. “Have you?”

“No,” Mike answers honestly. “She never checked in with me, and she didn’t answer my texts last night. Why? Has she talked to you?”

Jon presses his lips together and looks around the room. He sighs, shaking his head, and Mike sees that Byers stubbornness to keep a secret settling in, which means he’s gonna get absolutely fucking nowhere with this. “It’s nothing, just—get ready quick, okay? I want us out of here within the hour, or you’re gonna be late for school.”

School.

Mike sighs. “I fucking hate high school.”

Chapter Text

Will stretches out his arms, settles back deeper into his closet—no, the irony doesn’t escape him—and closes his eyes.

He lets his mind wander, allows himself to forget about his body and his surroundings. He has no idea what he’s doing, but he has… a theory. Or, more like an idea, really. He managed to see his room last night, practically stumbling upon the image after it took him so much pain and effort to force himself to see the hallway after he used the landline. He wants to do that on purpose again, now—ideally without sending his body into shock from the input.

It's hard to pretend that he isn't suffocating a little bit inside his closet. The air remains toxic but he's gotten used to it. By now, Will's managed to cover himself in all sorts of moisture and slime, and he's gotten so cold that he can't even feel it anymore. It's uncomfortable, it's worrying. He can't tell if the paleness of his skin is because he's developing a sickly parlor, or if that's just how the way light works in this… place, makes him look. His nose is leaking mucus, and every once in a while he has to clear his throat because it feels like there's always something stuck in it.

If the monster doesn't kill him, the environment will, there’s no doubt of that in his mind. But he makes an active attempt to push those thoughts away, instead focusing on the silence, and trying to picture his house as he knows it, trying to picture his brother, his mom, holding onto the fickle hope that he might be getting somewhere with all this—

The image appears so suddenly that it almost snaps him right out. Will just about manages to settle into the feeling, feeling like his eyes are open even though he can tell that they're actually closed and moving around as he looks inside his closet—but at his actual home.

He stands, and the feeling is dizzying. He's sitting, but he's not. He's standing, but he's not. It's trippy, and not soon after, as he adjusts, a trickle of blood lands on top of his lip. He ignores it and steps out of the closet, out of his empty bedroom—the sheets are ruffled; someone slept on his bed, the frog pillow screams Mike—and out into the hallway.

His mom is speaking with someone using someone else's phone. It looks like it could be Jon's, or maybe Lucas'; borrowed, then, because Will fried hers—and he has to watch that, he can’t keep killing phones because then they’ll have a problem. There has to be another way for him to talk with them.

Mom’s words are coming out slightly distorted because he isn't attempting to listen to her; just thinking about it makes his head pound. Will stares at her for a moment, and then moves to stand in front of her. She doesn't react. Okay.

That hurts, but he figures anything else would be too good to be true. He swallows, and goes: “Mom?”

She pauses for a second, turning around, but shakes her head and focuses back in her conversation. Will frowns.

Well, it's worth a try, isn't it?

“Mom?” He tries, louder, putting more energy into it, and this time she whips around, voice caught in her throat. Her eyes widen, so Will tries again. “Mom!”

His mom jumps. “Will?”

Oh god. Okay. Okay, that's something, that gives him hope, but it's so tiring. He's exhausted already and the amount of blood on his face isn't fun, nostrils clogging with it, the scent making him dizzy. And—he could end up attracting the monster here, couldn't he? To his mom. And he can’t have that, he has to hurry.

So Will walks over to the hallway, and messes with the lights instead of trying to directly communicate. His mom jumps again, calling out, following the trail he's making by blinking the hallway lights. It's much easier to control them now, even though Will hasn’t really tried to make them light up again, and that concerns him; what does it mean that all these things keep coming to him like he’s practicing a new muscle? Was it El, somehow? Or is it just that he’s opened floodgates in his mind that he won’t be able to close back up?

He decides he can’t afford to worry about that right now; besides, what good would this be if he dies? When—if Will makes it out of here, he’ll try to figure it out. For now, he enters Jonathan’s room and stares at the stereo, knowing that Jon always has a CD in it. His mom hasn't followed him into the room, because there aren't any more lights to blink. So he reaches out, holding his breath, pouring everything into this, and touches the play button.

Music, his mom jumps, and Will gets snapped back into his hellish reality. He gasps, only to immediately cough at the toxic air. There's blood all over his face, from his nose and—his eyes.

Oh, god, is this going to kill him too? Shit.

Will is distracted from analyzing the implications of that by the sound of the monster growling, and then slamming against the walls of the house. He jumps, and presses his closet doors shut more tightly, but the monster isn't in his room—no, actually, once Will pays attention to the source of the sound…

Jonathan's room. His mom is there.

A scream echoes from a distance and Will freezes, whimpering. He closes his eyes, and a part of him wants to force himself to look again, to make sure his mom is okay, but he knows, somehow, he knows that would make the monster attack. Will gets a sinking feeling that his time is going to start running out soon. He's advanced too much—and now El is aware of him, and she could potentially help him escape.

He's being threatened, and he doesn’t even know by what. Or who.

Stay put and live.

Try to leave and die, along with everyone you love.

Lovely.

Mike can’t focus on shit at school and he makes it everyone’s problem.

It’s not that he wants to be an asshole, but he can’t help but grunt in vague acknowledgement at whatever friendly comment Dustin tries to make, and roll his eyes whenever Lucas tries to bring up how crazy he thinks Eleven is again. His mind keeps replaying the conversation they had in the car ride to school with Jonathan, to the point where his leg won’t stop jittering and he keeps gnawing at his lip, the way Will would scold him for doing.

Before dropping them off, Jonathan had handed Mike a stack of photocopies. On a quick glance, he realized they were missing posters for Will, and he couldn’t help but stare. “What’s this?”

“What it looks like,” Jonathan shrugged, lips pressed together. “We have to keep searching. I also cashed in a favor with the college paper, so they’ll put Will’s picture on their social media and stuff—I think Nancy threatened someone over at the Hawkins’ Post, as well, but those copies are for the school pinboards—”

“Sorry,” Mike interrupted, and something in his tone probably gave away his intentions, because Lucas and Dustin groaned from the back. One of them even patted his shoulder, but Mike didn’t care to check who. “But, Jon, do you still think Will’s disappearance is… normal?”

A pause, then Jonathan said: “Is this about that girl saying that she knows Will?”

“Obviously!” Mike exclaimed. “Don’t you think there’s something more going on?

“I think she’s full of bull,” Lucas provided, earning himself a glare from Mike. He only shrugged. “Hey, just being honest.”

“I don’t know what to believe,” Jonathan clarified, shooting Mike a quick look. “Like—it’s weird, Mike, but we can’t let ourselves lose focus. There’s no concrete proof about whatever happened to Will—”

“That phone call—”

“That was Will trying to reach out,” Jonathan cut in, not giving in, keeping his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes on the road. But the more he spoke, the more his voice broke with pain, with heartache, and Mike could only sit there and listen to him. “It was terrifying, okay, but it only means that he’s not safe. He needs help, Mike, and I don’t see how a girl that clearly ran away from home or something and at most might have seen a glimpse of him in the woods that night could help. And my mom—she isn’t thinking clearly! Someone has to keep their head on their shoulders and make sure that we don’t actually abandon the normal ways to look for Will, because then—what if something happens to him? What if someone finds him? What would we all have been wasting our time on? I can't just abandon my baby brother to follow clues out of some sort of, of, I don't know, suspense movie! I won't. I'm sorry, Mike, but—this is what I'm focusing on.”

It was the longest string of words that Mike had ever heard Jonathan let out, and they were all good points. No one said anything. Even Lucas, who was already opposed to the idea of trusting Eleven, couldn’t muster up an agreement. Mike stared at Jonathan’s profile, watching him sniffle, and could only feel ashamed, hurt, lost.

“I’m sorry,” he said, thumbing through the missing posters. Jonathan let out a sigh, mumbled a reassurance, but Mike was too busy staring at Will’s smiling face looking up at him. A photo from his birthday, back in March. It was cut, but Mike could see his own hand wrapped around the back of Will’s neck in it still. He choked back his own tears. “We’ll find him, okay? Whatever—whatever that means.”

“Yeah,” Jonathan nodded. “Yeah, we will.”

Now, Mike stands in front of the many pinboards scattered around school, with Dustin’s emergency stapler in hand, trying not to feel so conflicted. His mind is a mess, pulled to both Jonathan and Lucas’ side, to Joyce and Dustin and Max’s. Is Eleven really important for their search for Will, or is she just a dead-end that will lead them nowhere? Mike has no fucking idea, and he can’t decide, and doubts are starting to cloud his thoughts.

“Dude,” Dustin elbows him softly, claiming his attention. “You’re going too slow, come on. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we’ll get back to the Byers’.”

“I feel like shit,” Mike shrugs, letting himself be honest for once about his feelings. Dustin pauses, sensing this, and Lucas, who was stapling posters on a pinboard down the hallway, comes closer to listen. Words come spilling out, awkward but genuine. “I feel—lost. I just… I don’t understand why Will, you know? Doesn’t he go through enough? Who knows what’s going on with him right now? What if, I mean—?”

Mike chokes up, hesitating to put his thoughts into words, but Lucas pats his shoulder and it’s like he pushes them out: “What if we never see him again? What if I never—there’s so much I never told him, so much I want to tell him. What if he never gets to hear, just, just—how much he means to me? What if Hopper is right and he, he ran away and he doesn’t want to see us ever again, or what if he’s dead—”

“Hey, no, Mike, come on,” Lucas turns him around, making him meet his eyes, but Mike snaps his gaze towards the ground. Dustin wraps an arm around his shoulders, pulling him into his side. “You can’t think like that. None of us can think like that, okay? Besides, it’s just like you said—you know Will. We know Will, and this is so out of character for him. Something happened, and he’s been trying to reach out, so we can’t lose hope.”

“We’ll find him,” Dustin insists, squeezing him tight. “You’re totally right, we’ll find him, because Will is a fighter, yeah? We can’t lose hope over a little doubt. We’ll all see him again, and you’ll get to tell him everything you want, and then you’ll get married and have a dozen babies—”

Mike actually laughs, a wet, broken sound as he pushes Dustin away. “Dude, that’s not cool—”

“Yeah, sure, whatever—point is, Jonathan is right that we all have to keep our heads above water,” Lucas points out, and Mike sighs, smile dropping. But he nods in agreement. “Even if we aren’t seeing eye to eye, we just gotta compromise. We all just want to help Will. So we will. Cool?”

“Cool,” Mike nods, sniffles, wipes his eyes with his sweater’s sleeve and shakes his head. “Fuck, sorry, I—I totally just freaked out, didn’t I?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dustin pats his shoulder. “I’m sure we’ll freak out soon enough, too—you know, when reality crashes in, and all.”

Mike shivers. “Fuck that.”

“Yep!” Lucas shakes his head with a wince. “Fuck that. Anyways, lunch’s almost over. Let’s get the rest of these posters up.”

They keep working in silence, as a team. Mike thinks about the fears he just aired, and blushes at his own choice of words. God, how much Will means to him? Could he be more… ugh? He chooses to ignore it, discarding it as just heat of the moment stuff. He loves Will, as a friend. He’s riled up, he’s scared, and he’s stressed. It’s only natural that some things don’t come out right.

Besides, it’s the first time in a while that he’s opened up to Lucas and Dustin like this, and he has to value that, as well as their lack of judgment. Usually, it’s Will that he goes to for reassurance, for comfort. And Will comes to him, as unlikely as it is that he even acknowledges that something is off—though, Mike does feel like the kettle calling out the pot, sometimes, in regards to that.

Mike takes a deep breath, and tries to convince himself that everything will be okay—as long as he has the party, then there’s nothing they can’t do, and that includes recovering their missing member. Yeah. He can get through this.

Jonathan picks them up after school, looking disgruntled. Mike side-eyes him from the passenger seat the second he gets inside the car, only for Jonathan to grab a backpack from the backseat, as Lucas and Dustin get in, and all but shove it at Mike’s chest.

“Your sister sent you this,” he says, and then pauses, making a clear effort to soften his tone once he notices Mike staring at him weirdly. Jonathan clears his throat. “She says you forgot your meds again, and to call her if you need anything.”

“Uh, thanks?” Mike asks, frowning at him. “What were you doing with my sister? Are you… friends?”

“What? No,” Jonathan snorts, shaking his head, and then purposely schools his face into something casual. His words come out sheepish. “I mean—it’s… complicated. Call it a mutual benefit relationship.”

“Right,” Mike hears Lucas mumbling from the backseat, and Dustin snickering. “Is that a new fancy way to say friends with benefits—?”

Jonathan chokes. “We’re not—!”

“Are you screwing my sister?!” Mike cuts in, scandalized. “Dude! That’s not cool, what the hell?”

“Mike, we’re not—”

“That’s so weird, Jon, what the fuck? What about Will?”

A pause. And an uncomfortable one, at that, in which Mike feels everyone’s eyes on him. Jonathan taps his fingers against the steering wheel in a nervous rhythm, a confused, awkward expression painting his features.

“What about Will?” Jonathan asks, genuinely perplexed. Mike, for a reason that he can’t discern himself, feels his face turning scarlet. “What would Will have to do with that?”

“It’s just—” Mike shrugs, helplessly so, and blushes even harder at the awful sounds of Lucas and Dustin snickering in the backseat, having caught on to something that Mike himself hasn’t. “He’s my best friend, and, like, Nancy’s my sister, and you’re Will’s brother and it would be… weird.”

“Right,” Jonathan raises an eyebrow, skeptical, and to Mike’s torment, his mouth seems to twitch with humor. He genuinely doesn’t get what’s so funny. “Okay, well, just to… clarify things, Nancy and I are just coworkers. We’re helping each other out.”

“Uh-huh,” Mike nods, not believing a single word. But, he feels like if he pushes the issue, he might get a taste of his own medicine, so Mike switches gears. “How come she hasn’t called me?”

Jonathan’s good humor is wiped from his face. “Something came up. She said she was sorry—but she’ll probably reach out soon, alright? And again, if you need anything, call her. She was very adamant about that.”

Mike sighs, and decides to leave it be. As far as he knows, maybe Nancy and Steve got into a huge fight and she’s having a girl’s day with Barbara or something, whatever girls do when they’re upset. Mike simply doesn’t speak that language, and besides, he knows Nancy. She’ll talk to him when she feels like she can, anyways. Just like he does. It’s the way it’s always been between them, growing up with the parents they did.

Getting out of the car, Mike walks into the Byers household in a bit of a hurry, itching to get back into action—only to stop dead in the middle of the living room.

“Um,” Mike blinks, looking at the lights hanging in the hallway and tangled up towards the kitchen. “Jon, isn’t it a bit early for Christmas? And—where the hell did your lamps go?”

Jonathan, standing beside him, lets out a long-suffering sigh, and steps deeper into the house, eyes trailing on the new landline phone set up against the wall as he walks by. “Mom?! Mom!”

“I don’t think this is a good sign,” Lucas mutters from behind Mike, who rolls his eyes and shoots him a half-hearted glare. Lucas shrugs. “It’s just gonna escalate, man.”

“I mean, we gotta give it a chance,” Dustin chimes in, nodding at the Christmas lights as if he likes the added decoration. He walks further inside and sits on the living room couch, seemingly unbothered. “Who knows? At least it gets our mind off darker pla—”

“What are you doing?!” Jonathan exclaims, crystal clear from Will’s room. The three of them exchange glances, and then quickly move to see what’s up—oh, wow. “Mom, all these lamps—”

“It was Will, Jon!” Mrs. Byers gestures wildly at the lamps, and then at Jon's stereo, which she's brought over from his room. “I heard him call me! And then he—he did the thing that El did last night, I swear! Your stereo turned on by itself, and then I heard this, this—growl, this awful sound, Jonathan—”

“And the phone?” Jonathan questions, to which Joyce’s expression turns sheepish. Jonathan sighs. “Mom, I told you I would cover it, why did you—?”

“I didn’t want you to use your hard-earned money on something silly like that!” Joyce interrupts, making Jonathan run his hands through his face. Finally noticing the presence of the teens in the house, Mrs. Byers smiles at them, awkward and embarrassed. “Hey! How was school, boys?”

Mike looks at the lamps spread out in a circle around Will’s bed, specifically with a space left around the foot of it, where Eleven kept looking at last night. He hesitates, exchanging a couple looks with Dustin and Lucas.

Dustin takes it upon himself to answer, embracing the weird in stride. “It was okay! Nothing beats Mr. Clarke’s classes, though, I really miss that guy. What have you got set up here, Mrs. Byers?”

“Oh, just, stuff. For Will,” Joyce answers, a little hesitant. Jonathan, with a defeated expression, goes to sit down next to his mom, setting a hand on her back and running it up and down in soothing motions. She looks at her son, heartbreak in her gaze. “I know this sounds… crazy, Jonathan, and insane, but you don’t know, you haven’t seen what that girl can do.”

“Okay, mom,” Jonathan nods, indulging her and visibly swallowing down his own thoughts. “Just… let’s calm down, alright?”

No one points out that just because Eleven can do whatever it is that she did to the lights, it doesn’t mean that Will can do it, too. Especially when he’s simply not in the house. Mike isn’t even sure that Joyce saw whatever it is that Eleven did the right way, or if she misinterpreted it, like she herself admitted could be the case this morning. Because that would be crazy, right? As much as Mike plays D&D, he’s pretty sure magic isn’t real, or anything of the like. And if Will could do stuff like that, well, Mike’s known him pretty much his whole life. He would know, because Will would’ve told him.

God, Mike hopes that Joyce doesn’t lose it, because then he might lose it too.

Jonathan convinces Mrs. Byers to rest her eyes, guiding her back to her room and closing the door behind them. A private conversation seems to happen, indistinguishable mumbles coming through the door as he sits in silence, in Will’s room, with Dustin and Lucas.

He’s about to open his mouth to ask them what they think of all of this, when a phone call interrupts. Mike frowns, looking down at the unknown number on his screen. He decides to pick it up. “Hello?”

“Hey, loser,” Max says, instantly making him frown. “Wipe that ugly look off your face, would you? I can just picture it.”

Mike’s eyes narrow and he looks around. “Where are you? And how did you get this number?”

“I took it from your phone while you were sleeping this morning. You know, for emergencies,” Max’s voice is smug in the way that tells him she’s smirking, while Mike lets out an offended what the fuck, Max?! A sigh, and Mike can perfectly picture her rolling her eyes. “Get over it, dumbass—I’m at Starcourt with El. We need a ride back to the Byers—I don’t think El liked it here…”

Mike exchanges a look with both Dustin and Lucas. “I don’t have any car keys.”

“Get Jonathan, duh,” Max clicks her tongue. “You’re slow today, lover-boy.”

“What did you just call me—?”

“Hurry up, okay? I mean it,” And here, Max’s tone turns dead-serious. Mike pauses, shoving his annoyance and indignation down. With that out of the way, he notices the underlying impatient tone to Max’s voice, as well as the forced cheer. “It’s getting real boring here. We wanna go somewhere more fun.”

Mike squints his eyes with confusion. “What—?”

Dustin pulls the phone from his hand and talks quickly into it. “Got it great see you soon bye!”

“Dude!” Mike protests as he watches him hang up, not even waiting for a response from Max. “What the hell?!”

“That was code, Mike,” Dustin rolls his eyes, and Mike looks at Lucas, only to see him wearing a similarly perplexed look. Dustin shakes his head. “Clueless, both of you, I swear. Come on, we’ll ask Jon for a ride. And leave your phones here!”

Dustin takes off to knock on Mrs. Byers’ door, not waiting for any responses, and Mike and Lucas have no choice but to follow him. Jonathan looks baffled, but agrees to drive them to pick up the girls, and his expression gets almost comically funny when Dustin all but shoves his hands in Jon’s jeans to get his phone and also throws it towards Will’s bed.

“What the—?” Jonathan tries, but Dustin pulls him by the arm, steamrolling over him.

“No time, don’t ask questions, let’s go!”

As a consequence of their hurry, Mike ends up sitting in the backseat with a confused Lucas. It wouldn’t surprise him if Dustin has already lost it, as well. Maybe they’re all taking turns with the crazy stick, considering Mike himself hasn’t been the most straight-faced about this situation.

“The hell is up with you?” Lucas asks, once they’re on the road.

“The girls clearly need help, guys,” Dustin says, which clarifies next to nothing. He huffs, since even Jonathan pulls a skeptical face. “Max was talking in code! She said El didn’t like the mall much, and that we should hurry because she wanted to be somewhere fun! Does that sound like Max to you?”

Mike exchanges a side-eye with Lucas. “I don’t know? I barely know her!”

“She’s you in a different font!” Dustin snaps, gesturing with his hands. Jonathan curses under his breath, though Mike is not sure at what. Maybe just… his life in general. Mike, for his part, replays Dustin’s words in his head and bristles, opening his mouth to argue against that statement, but Dustin beats him to it. “No, no, see! You’re angry and pissy and doing that thing with your mouth that Will always stares at!”

Mike sputters, ears reddening. “What about my mouth—?”

“Irrelevant! Point is, Max is just as rude as you, and either way—she’s probably really scary when she’s angry. Do you want to make her angry?”

Silence fills the car, and when no one dares break it, Dustin huffs in satisfaction, and then opens up his backpack. “I knew these radios would come in handy eventually. Jon, keep one in the car at all times, we shouldn’t use our phones—”

“Man,” Jon sighs, glancing at the rearview mirror, and then wincing when Dustin all but forces one of his radios into the glove compartment. “God, who knows what mom will do alone…”

“She’ll be fine,” Lucas tries to go for a reassuring tone, but it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself of this fact. “Like, what’s the worst that could happen?”

This only seems to make Jon more concerned. “Oh, I have an idea. You guys are gonna have to get another ride if you’re gonna be taking trips like this, because I really can’t leave her alone right now.”

“We’ll get Nancy to do it,” Mike says, and narrows his eyes at Jonathan when he doesn’t even seem a little bit relieved about that. “Unless you know something I don’t?”

“We’ll call her later,” is all that Jon says, and then he speeds up the car. “Let’s just get this over with, shall we?”

“That’s the only normal sentence I’ve heard today, I swear to god,” Lucas mumbles beside him, and Mike snorts, feeling a bit out of sorts. It’s barely been two days since Will went missing, and they’re all already breaking down. Mike figures none of them realized how much they needed Will around until he was gone. Well—Mike already had an idea. But this just confirms it, in the worst way possible. “Can we get ice cream on the way back?”

“No,” Jon snaps, and when none of them respond, he sighs. “...maybe.”

Mike will take that as a win. He needs one today.

Karen Wheeler’s voice reaches his ears, and Will perks up from his spot behind the living room couch. He’s been trying to keep an ear out for the activity in the real world—though, that’s a bad moniker, isn’t it? This hell-space is just as real—and so far he’s only managed to piece together some things:

Everyone thinks El and his mom are insane. Will doesn’t agree, for obvious reasons, but he also can’t blame them for thinking that. He hasn’t wanted to risk communication with too many people around the house, going by the logic of more voices equals more noise, and freaky Poltergeist-like behavior would only make that worse with everyone’s reactions, which equals, potentially, getting the monster’s attention. And Will is not eager to get any more ideas about being targeted, and even perhaps threatened, by something or someone he hasn’t met yet.

He couldn’t care less about the puppet master behind this. Not yet, at least—there are more pressing issues, like getting out of here before he develops some odd disease as a result from the toxic environment. He can feel how the lack of proper sleep and zero meals have affected his body; he’s lost weight already. The constant moisture in the air inside the house is something he constantly has to unclog from his throat. His body is stiff with cold. Exhaustion makes him feel like every little movement causes him pain. He isn’t doing too well.

Another thing he has noticed is his mom constantly speaking to the sheriff on the phone when she’s left alone, or, rather, trying to. She keeps getting visibly frustrated every time she dials, and on one occasion she leaves a very strongly-worded voicemail in Hopper’s inbox, though Will’s had a hard time grasping about what it is, in particular, that she wants to discuss.

He figures, from logic, that it’s about him, and about El. After all, it’s an odd coincidence that Will vanished and El appeared. A part of him is worried that some exchange was somehow coordinated… but he knows El has never been here. If she had, Will has a feeling he’d be able to tell. No, El has only ever made contact through the void. The darkness.

Will’s considered trying to reach out to her through it, but he’s… scared. He has no idea what he’s doing. All he knows is that he needs El back in the house, so that maybe, together, they can talk and figure out what’s going on. Not only to get him out, but to help her. Will hasn’t recovered any memories from his unconscious times in the void, but what he has is enough. Whatever El was doing there, she didn’t like it. She was terrified of it. She didn’t want to do it, and a part of Will is concerned about who was making her participate anyway.

Just where did she come from? The thought nags at him, despite not really being in the position to worry about anyone other than himself. But he can’t help it.

For now, Will decides he needs practice with the lights before he tries to speak to his mom again. It’ll buy him time—and maybe, when the Party is back at his house, he can get Dustin or Mike to notice his attempts at Morse code, since they’re the most familiar with it. Will got lucky his bedroom is just as he left it, because he was able to get a cheat table for the language, and it might come in handy if El doesn’t come through.

So, Will closes his eyes and let’s himself view his house again, trying to not direct too much attention towards himself. Karen brought over some casserole, and his mom looks on the verge of tears because of it. They settle at the kitchen table, and Will hesitates, because he doesn’t want to freak out Karen, or, for that matter, freak out his mom in front of her, since as far as Will’s aware she knows absolutely nothing about the crazy things going on.

Which is when the unmistakable sound of a giggling Holly Wheeler reaches him, and he turns towards the hallway to see her petting Chester. He freezes, and then steps closer; Chester visibly tenses, looking his way, so Will refrains from alerting him any further. It wouldn’t do to have him barking at the empty air.

“Holly?” He tries instead, putting a little bit of effort into it, but she only looks back at the kitchen and immediately shrugs it off when it’s clear that Karen wasn’t calling. Will sighs; he isn’t bleeding yet, the whole thing feeling easier than it did before. Maybe it’s okay for him to push a little more?

Okay. A second attempt, then, and this time more pointed. “Holly, the lights.”

This time, she lets out a confused sound, and looks up at the ceiling. Will, in turn, lights up the lights in a pattern—and successfully leads her towards his bedroom. Okay. Cool. Now, what can he do with this? He doesn’t want to scare her, of course, but—

The monster audibly moves outside and Will loses focus. As Holly stands looking into his messy bedroom, the lights go haywire, the energy running away from him as he panics and starts moving back towards the living room, eyes wide.

A growl—it sounds angry, and it’s clearly directed at him. Oh, god, did he push too hard already? Shit, he didn’t think—it hadn’t reacted this fast before. Is this it for him? Is this gonna be what does him in? Fear clogs up his throat and he wheezes, feeling like he’s choking, letting the lights blink in a circular pattern because that’s easier than trying to control them again. Instead of the lights being plugged in to Will, he feels like he’s plugged in to the lights, making him dizzy, the images of the two worlds constantly switching in front of his eyes.

Will’s sight gets completely away from him, and he sees Holly staring open-mouthed at the lights, despite the fact that he’s not in his bedroom with her anymore. Her back is to the wall, so Will notices the danger first.

The wall is morphing, claws reaching out like the wallpaper is made out of clay or rubber. He freezes, and then, in a moment of panic, screams: “GET OUT!”

He doesn’t think the words are actually audible, since Holly doesn’t react for two seconds too long—but then she turns around, sees the wall, and shrieks.

Will collapses against the living room wall, breathing hard, his connection to everything that isn’t his present reality broken. He chokes out gasping breaths, his body trying to throw up, but there’s nothing for him to let out as he falls to his knees, accidentally knocking to the side a piece of furniture beside him. His face is covered in blood all over again, dripping down his chin, and it’s only after his ears stop ringing that Will hears the howling.

It’s coming from his room. Oh, god, if the monster was breaking in through his bedroom…

Abandoning any other thoughts, Will feels around the wall and on pure instinct, he grabs the edge of the crawl space behind the furniture he almost knocked over. He opens the door, gets inside, and makes himself as small as possible, holding on to the door with his nails dug in.

When he was younger, Will used to hide here, avoiding Jonathan’s attempts at comfort after his parents had another argument about him.

He doesn’t know whether this qualifies as an upgrade or a downgrade.

Will covers his mouth and noise to stifle his sobs and squeezes his eyes shut.

Maybe, in the end, it’s just extra trauma, and it doesn’t make a difference.

Chapter Text

Will flickers in and out of consciousness for what feels like centuries, locked up in his crawl space.

It’s the exhaustion, the crash of adrenaline getting to him. The only thing he remains locked on is his nails digging into the crawl space’s door, giving him splinters and little prickles of pain that he can barely even feel in his dedication to keep it closed.

God, he feels awful, and he has this horrible feeling that all this time, he hasn’t been hunted—no, Will is being haunted, misery dragging him down, fear being injected into the deepest corners of his mind and soul. If he was just prey, he’d be as dead as Barbara. The monster is a guard dog, making sure he doesn’t get too far in his efforts to make it known that he’s alive, that he’s begging to be saved, but he has a feeling that if he breaks the rules too many times, the beast will stop being so kind to him. Tears drip from his eyes just thinking about it, putting it together.

Unconsciously, he takes to singing again, just under his breath, because it’s getting harder and harder to focus when he’s not hooked up on the crazy things he’s been trying to do to communicate. It’s like only those two things are keeping him sane by this point, which he doesn’t think is necessarily a good sign.

Eventually, Will is able to free his mind from its drifting, and he decides to check in on his mom, almost desperately grabbing onto the image, since he has no idea what state things were left in after the monster tried to phase through his bedroom wall.

Karen and Holly are gone, which is a relief—and the living room is covered in Christmas lights. Like, almost floor to ceiling, covered, not just the hallway anymore. Will’s pretty sure they don’t have that many of those, which means that his mom has to have gone out to buy them, knowing what he’s been trying to do. He instantly feels bad, because that feels like a waste; Will loves Christmas, it’s his favorite holiday right next to Halloween because his dad was always too drunk to be mad, but he doesn’t see it feasible that they’ll ever reuse this many lights.

The guilt eats at him, though a part of him is touched, perhaps even relieved. Like always, his mom gets him. She believes in him. She loves him. She’ll find a way to help him, whether that means divorcing her husband and throwing him out or looking insane by setting up so many Christmas lights in hopes that he’ll reach out again.

But that’s not the only new thing in the house, however. It seems Sheriff Hopper has finally dignified to show up.

“What kind of lead were you even following?!” His mom is asking, sounding pissed. “I’ve had no word from you ever since the search party and now you’re telling me that what, Will might have snuck into a government lab?”

“I’m telling you, we found a piece of fabric near a waste tunnel. Will is growing, but he’s still on the smaller side. He could’ve gone through there,” Hopper replies, looking around the house. He seems to be silently judging the decoration, but at least he isn’t calling his mom crazy yet. “I talked to the people in charge and they’re lying through their teeth… so I decided to reach out to some… friends that could shed some light on the situation.”

“‘Friends’?” His mom scoffs. “What, like other government people? What are you saying?”

“Things aren’t what they seem in Hawkins, Joyce. It’s been under control for a few years now. I've done my best, talked to the right people, behaved like I was told to, but… something happened the night Will vanished. I’m trying to figure out what that is,” Hopper sighs, running a hand through his face. He looks regretful, worried. It’s the most sobering expression that Will has ever seen on the sheriff—save from those few times that he came to deal with his dad when his mom called the police on him, but Will tries not to think about those. “I’m worried about what Will could’ve gotten involved with. What he might have seen that night in the woods.”

A pause, and he knows what his mom is going to say before she does. He considers stopping her—maybe it isn’t a good idea to tell Hopper about El. Maybe this will just make things worse, and he’ll never be saved because he won’t be able to get in contact with her again. But Hopper looks… crushed, yet determined. Like he’s been chewed and spitted back out too many times before, yet he’s become stronger for it. Will’s always respected him; it was Hopper who separated his dad from Jon on the bad nights, the one that told Will he could take away his dad’s guns if he wanted him to, the one that would let his mom get away with breaking the speed limit without getting a ticket because she was running late to take him and Jon to school.

Most people of Will's age dislike Hopper, but that’s because they haven’t seen this side of him. Even Max seemed to hate him at first, up until she showed up to school with a bruise on her jaw and the school counselor made her speak to him in private. Max never gave him all the details of that conversation, but he knows it went well, because Max’s mocking comments about Hopper became good-spirited.

It’s a risk, but he trusts Hopper. Will lets his mom say it.

“A girl,” she starts, and Hopper frowns, eyes narrowing. “I think—I think Will saw a girl. I think he might have even spoken to her, that night, or something like that. She said she… knew him. But not really. It was—Hopper, you have no idea of the things I’ve seen these last couple days.”

“A girl? With… maybe with a shaved head?” Hopper asks, and his mom nods, exhaling out a breath as she realizes Hopper might just believe her. That he might just be able to confirm some things. For his part, Hopper glances around the living room again. Less judgmental, more cautious. “She was here?”

“Yeah,” Mom bites her lip, hesitating, and then: “And don't get mad, okay? But the boys went out despite the curfew, and they found her in the woods. They spent the night here, and… she did something—something impossible, Hopper. And she said she could feel Will. God, I feel like I’m losing my mind, and I know how this sounds, but—”

“We can decide how crazy we’re being later, okay? Where is she now?” Hopper takes his mom by the shoulders, looking down into her eyes as his thumbs press soothingly into her skin. Will blinks, raises his eyebrows, and suddenly feels really bad for eavesdropping, as important as it is for his survival. “Who is she with?”

“Max Mayfield took her to the mall, to get some clothes,” Mom sighs, pressing a hand to her forehead. She looks like she might get sick. “God, I should’ve asked them to stay, I’m an idiot—Mike was right, but she just looked so, so scared—”

“The Wheeler kid is an idiot brat, so don’t even think that,” Hopper breaks in, making both Will and his mom snort in agreement. “Okay, the girls are at the mall. Where are the boys?”

Here, his mom presses her lips together with a concerned look. “Jon actually went out with them to pick the girls up. They were in such a rush, it was fast. Maybe we should call them? Dustin seemed… panicked, even, but they left all their phones—”

“Good, Henderson is a clever kid. I’m just gonna round them up. I’ll get them all together, I’ll pick you up, so you need to pack some things—” Hopper starts squeezing his mom’s shoulders, going for a reassuring smile, but he gets cut off by his police radio going off. Will can’t make out what it says, but it has Hopper turning away in alarm, his whole expression shifting. “—okay, okay, shut up, I’ll be right there, I’m sure it’s nothing—”

Another series of mumbles, and his mom’s expression shifts from curious to confused, and even a little scared. Will feels cold sweat running down his temple as Hopper cuts the person off again, insisting that he’s on the way. Hopper turns back to look at his mom, and points a finger at her.

“Stay put. Don’t do anything crazy. I’ll go check whatever this is, and then look for the kids. If they get here first, then good. Don’t let them leave.” Hopper orders, and his mom nods with determination. “And Joyce?”

Mom swallows. “Yeah?”

“Do me a favor and smash all the kids’ phones,” Hopper says, and at first Will thinks it’s a joke, but his face is dead serious. His mom tilts her head with apprehension. “I’ll cover the cost later, okay? Just do that. Don’t question it. Every. Single. Phone. Okay?”

“Okay,” his mom nods, throwing her hands up in the air. “Okay, well. Might as well commit to insanity, right?”

“Right,” Hopper huffs, though it seems like it’s hard for both of them to find actual humor in the situation. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”

And with that, he walks out the door. Will watches his mom stare after him, something torn about her expression that he doesn’t quite recognize—and then he gets to witness her looking for a hammer in the shed, grabbing every smartphone in the house, just to go at them with it. It hurts them both to watch; they wince with each strike, but once they’re crushed, Will decides to call out. Check in.

“Mom?” He tries, and sees her tense up, then turns around. Looking for him, though Will isn’t really moving from the crawl space. Remaining cautious to avoid a repeat of last time, Will uses the lights again.

He guides her to the crawl space, and in the middle of the trip, his mom grabs a bundle of Christmas lights, shaking it in the air while looking around. Chester is barking, sniffing the ground—searching for him, which almost makes him sob. “Will, baby, if you can hear me—we can try talking, okay? Can you—can you blink these lights, once for yes, twice for no?”

Will blinks, then does as told, shining out a yes. His mom lets out a gasp, hands shaking. “Oh, thank god, Will—I, honey, are you safe?”

Will hesitates, then decides to be honest, as much as he hates to worry her, shining the lights no. His mom closes her eyes like her worst fears have just been confirmed, then centers herself once more.

“Will, do you know El?” She asks next, and Will says yes before the words are even fully out of her mouth. Mom nods, probably having expected, or rather hoped for that answer. “Where are you, Will? Can you—El said you were here, but I don’t understand—”

He can’t answer this, and his mom seems to realize that at the same time that he does. She stops, considering her possibilities, and then quickly runs back out of the house, to the shed, grabbing a can of paint and a brush. Once she’s back in the living room, his mom looks at the Christmas lights hanging over the couch and rearranges them against the wall, leaving a few inches of space between each bulb, on two different rows.

She starts painting the alphabet and Will is crying, because even without El, without the Party—of course his mom is finding a way. Of course. As soon as she’s done, the paint still fresh and dripping, mom runs her hands over her face.

“Jonathan’s gonna kill me,” she mumbles, and despite the sobs caught in his throat, Will giggles. Jonathan is going to have an aneurysm, if he hasn’t already, dealing with his friends on his own. “Okay, Will, I don’t know if you can see this—?”

He’s quick to reassure her, spelling out a fast Y-E-S. Mom sags with relief, shedding her own tears, and nods. “Good, god, okay. Will, can you tell me where you are? Please?”

H-E-R-E, Will tries, just like El told her, and then continues when his mom makes a confused expression, looking around the room again. B-U-T  W-R-O-N-G.

“You’re… you’re here but it’s… wrong?” His mom asks, and Will spells out a confirmation. “El said you were… upside down. Do you know what that means?”

Here, Will pauses, thinking about that. He doesn’t know exactly what El’s told everyone, but he’s figured that it matches his assumptions, considering that his mom has only seemed relieved by what little Will’s been able to tell her. He considers the fact that his house is here in hell, that the shed is the same, the tree line, the woods, the paths he took to the Harrington’s backyard.

It does seem like a twisted version of Hawkins, as far as Will can tell. He doesn’t know if being upside down is the best description… but he knows what El means with it. It’s… a reflection.

Will nods to himself, spells out Y-E-S. This seems to soothe his mom, but Will is only getting more and more nervous. As happy as he is about being able to communicate, he can feel the cold closing in from the back of his neck, the blood starting to drip from his nose. Fear makes him shiver, so he’s quick with his next words.

N-E-E-D  H-E-R.

“You mean El? We—you need El?” His mom asks, but something thumps against the wall outside. Will freezes. “Will? Are you still there? Will? Will!”

Something’s wrong. Will tightens his grip on the crawl space door, ignoring his mom’s cries, once again feeling the lights getting away from him. Another thump, then a growl—oh, god.

Slowly, very slowly, Will retreats from seeing his mom and peeks out the crawl space.

The monster is phasing through the wall again.

But this time it’s actually breaking through. Will can feel it; a buzzing of static in his head, and the darkness lights up, just slightly, red light reaching his eyes—

Will plugs himself to the Christmas lights again and spells out R-U-N, with enough strength that he makes the bulbs shatter. His mom screams, but Will’s overcome with the sound of his ears ringing and goes to cover them, burying his face against his knees, needing for it to stop, god, it hurts—he feels so cold, he can barely move anymore, it hurts to breathe, it hurts to think, he just wants it to stop, god, he never wants to be cold anymore, why can’t it just stop—?

Quiet. The world goes so, so quiet.

Will rocks himself back and forth, like his mom used to rock him when he was a kid, and then starts singing again.

He’s overcome by the feeling that somehow, in some way, he’s already dead.

Max and Eleven are waiting for them at the bus stop, which Mike is thankful for, because it means they don’t have to search the whole mall for them without phones.

It’s not all good, though; he’s sitting in the backseat which means that in order to fit in Jon’s car, Max all but shoves herself onto his lap in order to give Eleven a comfortable sitting spot. “What the fuck, Max, get your own fucking—!”

“Stop moving, idiot, my god!” Max spits back at him, hurriedly gesturing for Eleven to close the car door. She’s holding their shopping bags which Max immediately throws at Lucas the second Eleven settles in, making him sputter in offense. “Let's just fucking go, please?!”

Jonathan doesn't need to hear it twice, but Mike isn't done arguing. “Can you get your fat-ass off me? I swear to god—”

“Wow, Wheeler, real mature!” Max scoffs, and because she's apparently super petty, she settles back against him, forcing him to spit out a mouthful of her hair. “I'm literally just sitting here, dude, get over it!”

“It's weird!” Mike protests, and looks at Lucas for support. “Isn't it weird?! I barely know her!”

“I don't know, Mike,” Lucas rolls his eyes with a snort. “I don't see the fuzz. You're like, I swear, the only guy in Hawkins that would react like this.”

“Will wouldn't like it either,” Mike tries, only for everyone but Eleven to let out different sounds of amusement. “What? Why are you making weird sounds?”

Max has the gall to turn around on his lap, which makes Mike tense up like a board from how close to his face she gets. Jesus Christ, couldn't she have just sat Eleven on her legs or something?

“I'll have you know I've sat on Will's lap with no issue before,” she raises her eyebrows at him, and Mike—Mike loses all the breath in his lungs, something ugly twisting in his chest that burns the area around his heart as Dustin and Lucas let out identical impressed whistles. Something about that doesn't sit right with him. Mike's face is red, he can feel it twisted up with some unknown expression, and Max looks at him for a second before rolling her eyes and turning back towards the front. “Idiot. Does he always make it all about Will?”

“Yep! Don't worry, after it gets old it just gets really sad, and then really fucking funny,” Dustin grins, looking back at the four of them. Mike opens his mouth to protest his statement, but Lucas elbows him, allowing Dusting to wave at Eleven. “Hey, you pierced your ears! Pretty!”

Mike turns, looking at her ears. They're indeed freshly pierced, which must hurt like hell, and she's also wearing some brand-new clothes: high-waisted jeans, loose on the legs, and Will's flannel over a vintage-looking shirt with a band logo. It looks a lot like Max's style, only brighter; the shirt is pink, the jeans are baby blue. It clashes with Will's flannel, but overall it's an improvement from thirteen-years-old Mike's sweatpants and bare feet.

Eleven smiles at Dustin, cautious, and like she isn't entirely sure how to take the compliment, her voice a careful, insecure thing. “Really?”

“I told you you're gorgeous,” Max comments, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. Eleven looks down, and runs a self-conscious hand over her shaved head, and Max clicks her tongue. “Seriously, El. You’re really, really pretty. And like, the shaved head looks super cool, you really pull it off. You’re gonna have so many fun hairstyles because of it, just you wait. Right, guys?”

Lucas, Jon, and Dustin all agree, throwing their own compliments. Mike shrugs, offering her up a half-smile. “It's a nice change. I guess it's cool if you like it. Will's plaid is a great touch—”

Max elbows him, cursing him under her breath, and Lucas face-palms himself while muttering something about Mike being an insensitive lost cause—which is total bullshit, he's just being honest—but Eleven smiles a little wider, looking at Max.

“I told you it'd work,” she says, earnest and happy, clutching the edge of Will’s plaid between her fingers, then glances back at Mike. “Thank you.”

“Ugh,” Dustin sighs from the front, but he sounds happy. “This is so cute. Did you guys do anything else fun, or—?”

“Hold up,” Jonathan interrupts, seemingly exhausted. “Can someone explain to me why I almost broke the speed limit several times driving over here, or are we just gonna brush that off? What was the emergency?”

“Some super creepy guys were following us around,” Max offers up, which instantly brings the mood down. “El said she recognized them from where she comes from.”

Quiet fills the car for a moment, and Mike dares break it by looking at Eleven, who is very intently staring out the window, a wrinkle between her eyebrows. “Did you really?”

“Yes,” she answers without hesitation, but doesn't look at any of them. She just squeezes Max's hand harder. “I know their names. They're… not nice. Looking for me.”

“I decided not to be brave and ignore that like an idiot, so I made sure we weren't getting spied on after calling you,” Max continues explaining, and then pulls her phone from her pocket, giving it to Dustin. It's broken to pieces, clearly unworkable, the SIM card purposely torn. “All of this just gives me off vibes, from Will disappearing to just everything about Eleven and, well—Henderson, maybe your conspiracy theories aren't that far off.”

Dustin lets out a sound of delight. “Fuck, yeah. Finally, retribution.”

“Why are you thrilled?” Lucas protests, wearing an alarmed frown and pushing the shopping bags down to between his legs so he can gesture freely. “Listen, I don't really believe a thing out of this girl's mouth, sorry, El, really, you seem sweet—but this is insane. What if the government is after her? How is that good? What if she’s a criminal? Are we just gonna be accomplices now?”

“I’m not a criminal,” Eleven mumbles, palpable annoyance and anger in her tone, side-eyeing Lucas. “Not a bad guy.”

“Right, but you’re really suspicious anyways,” Lucas continues, rolling his eyes. “You’ve barely given us any reason at all to trust you. You haven’t even told us anything useful about Will!”

Max snorts, dismissive and angry herself. “Well, she hasn’t had a chance to!”

“Hey, come on, guys, don't be so mean,” Mike tries, catching the way Eleven's expression has dropped from the corner of his eye. He agrees with Lucas, in a way, for the first time ever since Eleven showed up, but he can still see Max’s point. “Like, yeah, she’s not super trust-worthy, but if she knows anything about Will, we need to figure things out and give her a chance, I gotta agree with fat-ass on that—”

“You're just gonna keep going, Wheeler?”

“You’re kinda heavy!”

“Have you thought that maybe you’re just super weak, you lanky bitch—?”

Jon audibly sighs, effectively pausing their argument, looking at them through the rearview mirror. “Listen, I’m not interested in getting involved with this—this madness, okay? If you guys want to waste your time on this, that’s fine, I’ll find Will myself, but we need to regroup and get back home either way. No more arguing. I'm sure Hopper must be waiting for us with some news by now.”

“But the ice cream!” Lucas and Dustin protest, making Jon wince. Max, clearly intrigued by this, joins in on the protest: “Dude, ice cream? It's totally on the way, we can like, get drive-through—”

“No, guys, come on, be serious—!”

“El hasn't even tried something like that before, I think!” Max continues, which then makes Lucas and Dustin come up with a thousand other similar excuses, ranging from watching Eleven react to chocolate syrup to giving her a tour around town so she can find her way around.

Mike side-eyes Eleven and catches her eye. He raises an eyebrow, and rolls his eyes in good humor, making her smile a little, though she seems mostly confused about the situation. The sun is fading, yet the remaining sunlight coming through the window hits Eleven enough that Mike is able to make out her features better, now that his mind momentarily isn’t reeling with exhaustion and shock. It gives him pause.

Eleven looks a lot like the Byers—or rather, like Joyce and Will. Huh. It’s in the shape of her chin and jaw, of her lips and even the space between her eyebrows. Maybe it's just the plaid, because the Byers are obsessed with it, but it still makes Mike scratch his head a little; here this girl is, showing up where Will went missing, claiming to know him, looking like some sort of cousin, or even some long-lost sister. His mind spirals, trying to create a logical connection in his mind.

Joyce couldn't have had a secret third child, right? No, that's impossible; Mike met her when he was a tiny child and Mrs. Byers has been single for years, after her divorce. And before it, it was known that, well…

Mike doesn't like to think about it. It was something he heard his mom discuss with Joyce when he was little, by accident, when he was coming up to the kitchen from the basement to get more popcorn for his movie marathon with Will. How Will’s birth wasn’t exactly planned or expected. How Joyce had been tired of Lonnie long before that, and the pregnancy wasn't easy. But she still loved Will so fiercely. His mom had cried with Joyce just talking about it, letting her know how much she admired her, how much she was willing to help with anything she ever needed.

But again, it's—things Mike doesn't want to think about, that he doesn't like knowing. That he feels guilty for knowing, even though Will himself seems to be aware of the circumstances of his birth, and has shared bits and pieces with Mike, most of them from when Lonnie was still around. They haven’t spoken of it in years, since it doesn’t really matter anymore, does it? Will has all the love he needs right here in Hawkins, and Mike is starting to regret not speaking more of his own out-loud, now, as much as he struggles to put his feelings about Will into words.

He decides to discard the thoughts. No, Joyce didn't have another child with Lonnie, and she didn't get pregnant again, at all. Could Will have had a secret twin, instead, then—nope, wait, Will is an awful liar, at least to Mike. It would require him to not know about Eleven, which is a line of thought that makes him nervous, because Will did call out her name, didn't he? Mike heard it loud and clear, and he still doesn't understand why. He trusts Will with everything he is, he's sure Will had no idea who Eleven was prior to the night he went missing. And there’s no way Mrs. Byers would have reacted like she did to Eleven if she was somehow her missing daughter. Just… what is their connection?

Mike looks out the window behind Eleven, just as they pass the Scoops Ahoy downtown—apparently they're not getting ice cream, which he is mildly disappointed by—and instantly straightens up in his seat, jostling the shit out of Max.

“That's Nancy's car!” He calls out, tapping Jonathan's shoulder and ignoring Max's curses. “Park here!”

Jonathan hesitates. “Mike—”

“Park! We agreed we needed someone else to drive us around anyways!” Mike snaps, and Jon resists for a few more seconds before sighing in resignation. They’re a bit off from the ice cream shop itself, but Mike doesn’t care; he all but shoves Max off his lap, patting her shoulder with a quick sorry! that probably isn’t as genuine as it should be once Lucas steps out and Mike goes to follow.

He really needs to speak to Nancy. Jon’s non-answers and her lack of contact other than packing another bag of clothes for him have made him nervous, and even though Mike doesn’t really want to admit it, a part of him could use her steady, single-minded determination and calm demeanor. Everything regarding Will’s disappearance feels like it’s been spiraling out of control, and Mike’s emotions have done the same with it. He needs—he just needs to speak with her for a second. Calm, collected, smarter-than-everyone Nancy, who has it all figured out.

Mike is the first to walk into Scoops Ahoy, with Jon and then Max with Eleven close behind. He can hear Lucas and Dustin bickering with each other over ice cream flavors, which annoys him for a hot second—how can they even find the emotional availability to do something like that when Mike feels like he’s fraying at the seams?—and then he shrugs it off because he figures that it’s just a way to cope. A way to avoid despair.

The shop is empty, though Mike is not particularly surprised about that because it’s almost closing time. The only person around is Steve’s cool co-worker, Robin, who is wiping the tables and looks up at him when he comes in.

“Hey, little Wheeler! How’s it going?” Robin waves at him, throwing him a nod, and then over his shoulder. She must be looking at Jonathan, Mike guesses, because her expression becomes sympathetic. “Jon, hey, how are you doing? I heard about Will—”

“Is Nancy here?” Jonathan interrupts, stepping up beside Mike. He’s looking towards the floor, crossing his arms, avoiding direct eye-contact. It reminds Mike of the very delicate fact that the Byers as a whole don’t take well to pity or comfort. Especially not from strangers. “Mike is hoping to talk to his sister.”

“Yeah, sure, she’s in the back!” Robin nods, looking just a little put-out about Jonathan brushing her off. Mike starts rushing over to go behind the counter, but Robin suddenly reaches out and grabs his arm, a little panicked. “Wait, Mike, you should probably wait for her, she needs a second—”

Screaming echoes from the back, unmistakably Nancy’s voice: “Oh, screw you, Steve! I can’t believe you! I thought you’d changed, you know, that you were finally maturing, but God forbid that you get some real responsibility thrown your way—!”

So much for calm and collected Nancy, huh.

“Well, Nance, you know, some of us have our own lives to worry about and can’t just bend to your desires—!”

“That’s rich coming from you—!”

Robin all but trips all over herself as she lets go of Mike and jumps over the counter, closing off the window to the back and locking it to stifle the voices. She grins at their stunned faces, awkward and visibly uncomfortable. She shoots Mike a wince.

“Yeah,” she says, and then claps her hands together, making them all jump. Mike hears Max mumble a what the fuck? from behind him, and he kinda agrees with the sentiment. “Anyways, ice cream? Does anyone want any ice cream? It’s on the house today!”

Robin all but forces them to tell her their favorite ice-cream flavors. Mike grabs his cone so hard he cracks the cookie, and the first aggressive bite he takes freezes his teeth in the most unpleasant way possible. Everyone steers clear from him, not wanting to deal with his sudden mood swing, and he’s thankful for that—but the stillness of everyone just sitting around eating their ice-creams gets to him, and he all but elbows his way through Max, Dustin and Lucas helping Eleven try out flavor samples to sit next to Jonathan, who Robin is already subtly trying to corner by giving him a huge menu item he hadn’t ever seen before. Must be new.

They both stare at Mike with expectation as he sits, and he blurs out the first thing that comes to mind. “Are we sure Will isn’t with his dad?”

Robin winces from behind Jon, who just tenses up and shrugs. “I actually stopped by his house on the way to Hawkins, with your sister. He isn’t in Indianapolis.”

Mike pauses, meeting Jon’s gaze. They both know too much, him more than Mike ever will understand, no matter how hard he tries. But it doesn’t stop him from insisting, knowing that Jon will get his need for reassurance: “Are you sure?”

“I checked everywhere,” Jon nods, glancing at Robin out of the corner of his eye before looking back at Mike, his tone dead-serious, and just a bit comforting. “Seriously, Mike. Everywhere. His old bike was there, some ancient art supplies… but nothing else. It’s fine—well, not fine. It would be nice to have a clue. But Will’s not with our dad, that’s for sure.”

“Okay,” Mike nods, swallowing, and then, to disperse some of the awkwardness left in the air and include Robin in the conversation, he looks right at her. “What’s Steve's problem now?”

Robin rolls her eyes. “I don’t know, man. Straight people bullshit.”

Mike snorts. “Right, but seriously—do you have any idea?”

“Nancy needs help with something. Something big,” Robin shrugs, turning around a chair to sit with her elbows atop the backrest. Jonathan tenses up at the words, making Mike side-eye him. “I tried to help her out, but she’s really adamant about Steve getting involved and super mad, even though last night they seemed to break-up just fine—”

“You were there?” Jonathan asks, and Robin hums with a nod. His eyebrows wrinkle. “You didn’t notice anything odd, did you?”

Robin raises her eyebrows. “Nope. To be fair, though, I was a little too high, so I went inside early. You could ask Barb about that, though, she was a ton more sober than I was, though I haven’t seen her today—”

Jonathan opens his mouth to say something, but just then the backdoor opens and Nancy comes rushing out, steps angrily echoing through the shop because of the sudden silence that falls. She doesn’t look at anyone, heading right for the exit with wet eyes trained on the floor, and Steve is right on her heels.

“Nance, please, you can’t go around by yourself!” He’s yelling, also ignoring everyone else in the shop and stopping by the counter. He hesitates, and then moves to follow, making Robin and Jonathan stand. “Can’t we talk more about this—?”

“Wow, buddy, give her a sec, yeah?” Robin breaks in, coming up to him and grabbing him by the shoulder. Jonathan, to the contrary, heads after Nancy, calling her name. Mike stands dumbfounded for a second, exchanging looks with all of his friends—and then he drops his ice-cream and follows after his sister, too.

Outside, in the parking lot, Jon has managed to stop Nancy by her car, holding onto her shoulders. They’re speaking in hushed tones, and Nancy is wiping tears from her face. As Mike approaches, he catches the tail end of her sentence.

“—don’t know where she is, I shouldn’t have just left her with Robin, she was so sleepy and she got that cut—” A hiccup, and Jonathan shushes her, pressing his thumbs against her shoulders in a comforting gesture. “—her car is still at Steve’s, her phone is out of service, and her family is worried, with everything going on I just don’t understand why she would just vanish—”

“What’s going on?” Mike asks, concern and fear passing through him. Jon and Nancy jump, taking a step back from each other like they just got caught, and Nancy hurries to turn her face into a blank expression, wiping at her eyes again. “Nancy?”

“It’s—it’s nothing,” Nancy says, but it’s probably the worst lie that Mike has ever heard coming from her. Jonathan reaches out again, holding just one of her shoulders, and Nancy relaxes a little. She finally meets Mike’s gaze, and clears her throat. “Barb is just… I don’t know where she is, okay? But I’m sure it’s totally fine, you don’t need to worry about it—”

“That’s bullshit, it’s clearly not nothing,” Mike interrupts, taking a step closer, but he and Nancy have never truly done reassurance in a very… loving way. As it is, he just tries to come across as she does; strong, put-together. He doesn’t think he quite manages it. “What if—I don’t know, what if there’s some serial kidnapper around, or something?”

Nancy covers her face with her hands, and Jon winces at the same time Mike does, because that wasn’t exactly the best attempt at reassurance, was it? Damn. He’s not made for this. Jonathan takes the wheel, shaking his head and taking Nancy’s car keys out of her hand.

“Okay, you know what? We need to call the police, and you’re in no state to drive yourself home,” Jon says, and then pulls his own car keys out of his pocket. He throws Nancy’s at Mike, who misses and has to pick them up from the ground with a curse. “I promised I would help you out with this, ‘kay, Wheeler? You got my back, so I got yours. I’m gonna drive you home right now and then head back to mine—maybe I can tell Hopper about all of this, as well. You need to rest.”

“Okay, fine,” Nancy agrees, after several seconds of standing frozen. She lifts her face from her hands, and looks at Mike with tired, fearful, worried eyes. “Are you gonna be okay, Mike? Is there anything you need? You could ride with us—?”

“I’m fine,” Mike denies quickly, which probably doesn’t do him any favors, but Jon and Nancy look too tired to argue much with him. “I just—I want to be where I can hear news about Will. And I can drive everyone back to the Byers’, or home, if they want me to, and Max is… worse than me at driving, so…”

Nancy stares and insists: “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Mike nods, this time letting his voice come out more relaxed, surer, confident. It makes Nancy relax further, which washes relief over him. “Jon’s right—you need to rest, too. And we’re probably gonna need you thinking straight to figure everything out, you know?”

A half-smile dances at the corner of Nancy’s mouth, and she nods. “Right. But if there’s anything you need—”

“I’ll call you,” Mike nods again, rolling his eyes, and Jon reaches out and pats his back as if to say good job, making him snort. Mike raises his eyebrows at him with a sigh. “I’ll see you in what, an hour?”

“Less,” Jon sighs, gesturing for Nancy to follow him to his car. “I need some good news, too. I’ll be back soon—and Mike?”

“Yeah?”

“Please don’t let them get too rowdy, or—you know, crazy?” Jonathan gestures at the ice-cream shop, and Mike swallows a half-hearted laugh.

“You’re telling the wrong person that,” he points out, and Jonathan grimaces.

“Yeah,” his tone is resigned. “I know.”

They leave, and Mike comes back inside so he can gather everyone and explain the situation. The mood changes quickly, but Mike would rather be honest than lie to all of them. He watches out for Eleven’s reaction, to see if she maybe gets a flicker of recognition, but her face remains as surprised and worried as everyone else’s. Steve is the one that seems to feel guilty, since his face twists and he storms his way to the back, Robin following after him with a sigh.

Everyone finishes their ice creams and helps out with closing up the shop, filtering out with a few final thank you’s and good-bye’s as they go outside. It’s gotten dark faster than Mike’s body is able to process; he can barely come to terms with the fact that he even assisted class today. He can’t remember a thing, which is probably gonna bite his ass much later.

Max tries to convince him to let her drive, but after a few snipping comments and the reminder that it’s his sister’s car, Mike manages to shut her down. Still, she gets into a rock-paper-scissors fight with Dustin and Lucas regarding the passenger seat and wins, a clueless Eleven witnessing this from the side, so Mike is, unfortunately, not free of her influence.

It’s when they take the turn into the woods, the radio the only sound filling the car as everyone seems too tired to make much conversation, that Mike realizes he’s seen a few too many police cars around. He frowns, wondering if it’s just the police doing their own, more private search for Will, or perhaps even Barbara, only for the next police car they pass to turn on its emergency lights and rush past him. An ambulance appears shortly after, and Mike’s heart starts to beat out of his chest.

“Holy shit,” Dustin comments, saying what everyone’s thinking as Mike slows down the car to let them pass. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t like whatever it is,” Max mumbles, arms crossed, lips pressed together. “Should we follow?”

“Obviously,” Lucas says, patting Mike’s shoulder from the back. His voice comes out worried. “You okay, dude?”

Mike hesitates, swallowing. “Yeah, sure, just—I got a bad feeling about this.”

“Me, too.” Eleven’s voice comes, which only makes Mike feel worse. He’s not the only one, it seems, because everyone goes quiet. He waits a couple seconds for anyone to back out, to have an excuse to drive straight to the Byers’, but no one provides it.

So, Mike follows the police cars.

It doesn’t take long for him to realize that they’re heading to the quarry, at which point his hands start to sweat so much that he has to tighten his grip on the steering wheel. He tries to stay out of the way of the police cars, which makes the trip at least ten times slower, making him feel like he’s trapped in a constant state of anxiety, resisting the urge to wiggle his leg.

Finally, the road clears up once they’re closer to the lake, at the bottom of the cliff, and Mike parts the car behind a fire truck. Everyone comes out in a hurry, but Mike lingers behind the wheel, dread in his chest as he notices the flurry of movement from the authorities, the sheer amount of officers walking around speaking into radios.

He looks at the rear-view mirror to find Eleven looking at him. Their eyes lock, equally as scared, and then Mike forces himself to climb out of the car. Eleven follows.

Dustin, Lucas and Max are standing not too far ahead, just enough that they have a clear view of the lake. Mike forces himself not to stop, even as he notices the way Max is covering her mouth with her hand, and Lucas is holding onto Dustin’s elbow with an iron grip. He all but forces his way through them, and ignores the sudden pull of hands, Dustin’s panicked wait, wait!

Mike’s eyes fall on the emergency team pulling something from the water—someone.

Ice fills his lungs, breath catching in his throat. Too-pale skin, a neck splattered with moles like sprinkles from a paintbrush. His own bomber-jacket, old and stolen from his closet years ago, and shoes with smiley faces painted on them, brown hair tinted black from the water. He’d recognize those weathered jeans anywhere, the way they’re shorter than they should be at the ankle, as well as the delicacy of those fingers hidden under a rough exterior—nails bitten off, scars of old painting patterns on the skin.

Will.

Mike lets out a sound, something low and terrible and broken. He takes a step back, physically recoiling as he sees Will getting strapped to an emergency stretcher, his body stiff, frozen. Hands pull him back as he watches Will getting floated to shore, a paramedic checking his pulse and hesitating, probably because they feel nothing, nothing, no heat, no heartbeat, and no chance—

“Mike, you need to breathe,” Max’s voice breaks through the fog in his brain. He looks at her but he can’t process any of her features, his eyes drawn back to Will’s body— “God damn it, Mike, breathe!”

“Can you calm down?! I don’t think yelling helps!” Dustin’s voice echoes; there comes the distant feeling of a hand taking his own, squeezing, and Mike turns his head that way.

Eleven directs teary eyes up at him, lips trembling. “Mike—”

“You said you could help him,” words slip from his lips, making the group fall into silence. Eleven’s expression twists with pain, guilt, helplessness, but Mike finally feels something in his chest other than cold heartbreak, anger firing up inside him. He’s lashing out before he can have a single rational thought, a single ounce of sympathy for this lost girl. “You promised Mrs. Byers that you would help him! You said you knew him, that you knew where he was!”

“Mike—” Eleven tries, but he takes a wide step back, breaking away from her hold. She’s openly crying now, lost and almost as visibly torn up as he feels inside, but he really doesn’t care. She glances at Will, which only makes him angrier. “I—I don’t understand—”

“No, you don’t!” Mike is yelling now, ignoring Max and Lucas trying to calm him down, elbowing Dustin out of the way when he tries to step between him and Eleven so he can look her in the eye. “You don’t understand anything, do you?! What is wrong with you? Who the hell do you think you are? You’re just a fucking liar!”

“Hey, what’s going on over there?!” Mike hears another voice, older—Hopper, which only makes him stiffen. He shifts his eyes to see him approach, and catches the sight of a sheet being put over Will—no. No. He’s out. “What the—Wheeler! Hey, kid, come back here right now, you hear me?! Hey!”

He’s barely aware of each step he takes back to the car. Several voices are calling his name and he can hear footsteps following, but Mike hurries, almost running back to Nancy’s car. He sits on the driver’s seat and puts on the child lock, ignoring the knocks on his window as he starts the engine and looks in the rearview mirror, determined to run away from this, to run from—

From Will, god.

He doesn’t know how he manages to make the drive back to his house. His eyes blur with tears and he keeps having to wipe them, focusing on the road and clenching his teeth with choked sobs. God, Will. Memories flash through his mind of all their years together, from the day they first met to that last look he gave him under the flickering garage lights. His last wide smile, during their last game of D&D, and his sleepy face when they finished their Halloween movie marathon, barely a week ago.

Mike should’ve asked him to stay. Every time he hesitated, every time the thought crossed his mind and he discarded it, he should’ve asked Will to stay and never leave him. Even that night, after he left his house—Mike should’ve made him stay. Should’ve woken up at some ungodly hour on November 7^th and driven him to his house, and then to the bus station, and hugged him goodbye with sweaty hands and red cheeks, being perpetually worried about his week away but knowing he’d come back, having certainty of it.

Mike all but stumbles through his house’s front door, ignoring the police car outside. He hears a commotion, chairs moving, Nancy calling his name. And then his mom.

“Mike?” She asks, her voice as soft and warm and comforting as it’s ever been, full of love he’s never known how to give back. She comes into view, standing in front of him, and probably for the first time ever, Mike wishes he was still shorter than her, instead of the towering mess of limbs he’s now. “Mike, are you okay, baby? What happened, what—?”

He falls forwards, arms around her middle, head buried against her neck like a child, and her arms come up in automatic, a hand running through his hair. Mike’s shaking, painful sobs tearing from his chest as his world finally comes crashing down.

He doesn’t move for what feels like hours.

Chapter Text

Mike doesn’t sleep, as much as he collapses from exhaustion after explaining what happened to his family through hiccups and sobs. Eventually he sits up from unconsciousness at around three a.m. from the living room couch—finding Nancy camping out with him on Ted’s armchair, and Holly in one of his old sleeping bags on the floor in a way that makes his face warm—to stumble his way down to the basement.

A single look at the table with the remnants of their last D&D campaign makes him feel physically sick, so Mike turns his back to it and stares at the walls instead. But there's really no way for him to escape, because Will is everywhere.

He’s in the stairs’ support beams, his height through the years marked always just below Mike’s with crayons and pens. He’s in the bottom drawer of Mike’s desk, full with damaged pairs of headphones and earphones that Dustin’s tried fixing for Will year after year after year because Will uses every pair he gets so much, they barely last a few months. He’s on the walls, on white paper, fancy drawing paper, torn up notebook pages and even canvases, his art serving as Mike’s main source of decoration.

He throws himself face down on the couch and rests there for many, many long seconds. Minutes. Maybe hours or decades, he really doesn’t care, because all he can think about is how they won't be stuffing their faces together on Thanksgivings, how Christmas is Will’s favorite holiday and he’s never gonna see the fancy paint brush set that Mike bought him, or try out his mom’s eggnog for the first time with him, Lucas and Dustin. And then, after that—no more giving Will candy on Valentine’s, and no more Mike agonizing forever, going to every single shop in Hawkins at least three times in order to get him the perfect birthday present.

Mike moves, only slightly, diving his arm under the couch to pull out several binders bursting with Will's drawing. From childish scrawling, paper yellowing at the corners, to pages torn off sketchbooks full with careful pencil strokes, of D&D monsters and their characters—or even just Dustin's cat, design ideas for patches for Lucas' basketball team jacket. The woods of Hawkins, corners of the mall and the school.

Will did it all, and Mike could only ever watch him in fascination, to the point where Will met his eyes with a knowing, bashful glance every time he finished a drawing, offering it up to Mike for if he wanted to keep it. He always did. Hell, sometimes, Will would decide he hated how something was coming out, and he'd crumple it up only for Mike to recover the drawing and point out how amazing it is anyways.

Now, Mike's never gonna get to see the way Will's eyes lit up green, happy and warm, with those compliments. He's never getting new character sheets, new sketches of Chester, or incomplete shapes meant to be something else, something Will decided could be better.

No more staring at Will's fingers covered in remnants of charcoal or paint, stuck under his nails to the point where Mike would sometimes bully him into cleaning up, only for Will to whine that he was too tired, resulting in Mike helping him out instead.

So many little moments flash through his mind now, little things he'll never get to do again. But Mike can't decide what hurts the most, through it all: never seeing Will again, or never being able to touch him at all. Not even one last time.

God, Mike didn't even hug him when he left.

A part of him is angry. So, so angry, in the most exhausted way possible; muted and gray, instead of burning red as usual. He keeps replaying the moment he recognized Will’s body pulled out of the water, expecting something to change—but those were his shoes, his jeans, Mike’s jacket. It makes no sense to him, like he can’t quite come to terms with the sight, the memory. He just doesn’t believe it, and it’s the kind of denial that will probably get him in trouble, but Mike can’t help it.

Will can’t just—he can’t just be okay one second, then missing the next, only to turn up dead. That’s not how his life is supposed to go; Mike knows this like he knows Will’s favorite song and the palm of his own hand. It’s just… it’s not right, and it’s that thought, that rising indignation suddenly overpowering every other thought and emotion in his heart that makes him sit up and walk over to the landline that the Wheeler family keeps, mostly for the sake of grannie.

He dials the Byers household without a single second of hesitation, something giving him tunnel vision. The phone seems to ring forever without anyone picking up, making Mike’s heart beat rapidly in his chest. And then Mrs. Byers comes through.

“Hello?” Her voice comes, tiny, fragile, weak and tired. Mike realizes it’s probably some ungodly hour; the sky is still dark, and he hasn’t checked a clock in forever. But as guilty as he feels, he needs to have this conversation. “Hello? Who’s there?”

“Mrs. Byers,” Mike chokes out, wincing at the wrecked sound of his own voice. There’s a whisper of his name, almost relieved, most definitely heartbroken, but Mike tries to push through the tears that the hidden understanding in that tone spring up. “I’m—I’m really sorry for calling right now, it’s just—”

“No, Mike, it’s okay,” Joyce insists, and Mike closes his eyes, covering his mouth with his hand and leaning his forehead against the wood. She speaks to him with so much warmth, so much love, like she’s his own mother, like he didn’t let Will out of his sight and now they’re here, stranded without him. “I understand, honey. Hopper mentioned what happened at the quarry—I… I can’t imagine what you’re feeling…”

Mike should be the one saying that, he thinks, considering the shake to Mrs. Byers’ voice. All that comes out is a choked, overwhelmed I’m so sorry, and then Joyce is shushing him like she didn’t just lose her baby, with not a single clue as to what happened to him.

“Mike, it’s okay,” she says, even though it’s not, it’s really not, and he says as much out loud, between renewed tears and awful sobs, ones that Mrs. Byers echoes. “You can let it all out, honey, I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere. We’re in this together, okay?”

Together. God, Mike would think that’s such a reassuring thing, if they weren’t speaking of mourning Will. “Mrs. Byers—”

“Joyce,” she interrupts, her voice the strongest it’s been since the call started. It’s insistent, leaving no room for argument. This isn’t the first time she’s made this offer… but it’s probably the first time Mike might take her up on it. “It’s Joyce for you, Mike, okay? Always, always. It’s—are you okay now? Can you breathe?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mike nods, taking a deep breath and swallowing. Joyce lets out a shaky breath, echoing his own exhale, and Mike sighs. “I just—I’m so sorry about calling, I know this is… I, I don’t know, but I know that you must be, just, so tired, and, and sad, and Jon—”

“I understand, Mike,” Joyce repeats, and he forces himself to breathe again, trying to organize his thoughts. “I wasn’t… I’m not going to be sleeping tonight, sweetheart. Jon is… he’s resting—and Hopper took all your friends back with him, so it’s just you and me, okay? No judgment. It’s okay. You can tell me anything, Mike. Anything.”

Warm, fresh tears pour from his eyes, and Mike finds himself being so, so thankful for Joyce Byers. She’s everything good that’s in—that was—in Will, and he rolls that thought around in his head for a second, trying to burn it into his brain.

“I never got to tell him,” Mike lets out, and he doesn’t know where, exactly, he’s going with this, or what he truly means, but Joyce hums in understanding, encouraging him to continue. Mike curses the landline in his head, because it’s an old-ass cord phone that doesn’t allow him to fall into a fetal position on the floor like he wants to—so he hugs the beam instead, as sad as that is. “So many things, I just—there was so much I wanted to share with him. To do with him. What am I supposed to do now?”

A sniffle. “I don’t know, honey. I wish I did. I wish I could—that I could give you that answer. But I still have hope, you know?”

“You do?” Mike questions, mostly confused. “How?”

There’s a long pause, filled with hesitation. “Honestly, I think I’m just—I’m just tricking myself, you know, Mike? Will being gone, it doesn’t feel real.”

“No,” Mike agrees, nodding to himself. “It doesn’t.”

“I don’t feel it in my heart,” Joyce says, and Mike swallows, because there’s no way he could compare to Joyce’s uncanny mother’s intuition, but he just—he agrees with that too, and maybe that’s just because he’s as insane as she is, but if that gives him at least a few more hours of hope, then he’ll take it. That’s how desperate he feels. “I won’t believe it until I see it, I don’t care how many—how many policemen come to apologize to me, how many times Hopper tells me to relax and listen to his government conspiracies about Will getting involved with something he shouldn’t have and accept reality—”

Mike raises his eyebrows at that, but doesn’t interrupt.

“—but I spoke to Will today,” Joyce pauses for a second, and Mike’s breath catches in his throat. “It was—it’s insane. Maybe I’m just crazy, Mike, but tomorrow I’m going to the coroner’s, and I’m… I’m making my choice there. I have to believe, even for just a second. I have to.”

“I know,” Mike blurts out, nodding again. He has an almost unconscious thought that they’re losing it, drowning themselves in delusion—Mike saw the shoes, his own jacket, the moles on Will’s neck that he’s poked more than once—but he just… he… “I want to believe, too.”

Joyce is crying openly now, without a single drop of the shame Mike felt while doing so, but there’s something fiery and angry about the way her next words come, something Mike can’t help but admire, the way he secretly admires Nancy’s defiant nature.

“I’m getting my answers, Mike, and maybe that just means I’ll be getting my closure tomorrow, but I—I can’t rest until I know.”

“Me, too,” Mike swallows, and rushes his question out, feeling inspired and psychotic but needing this single moment of hope. Just this once. He can deal with reality later. “Can I come tomorrow, Joyce? Please? I just—if nothing else, I… I’d like to say good-bye, at least.”

This pause is longer. This pause makes Mike realize that he just asked to look at Will’s cold, dead body, in some awful coroner’s office, surrounded by all those awful freezers and the implication of an autopsy, out of all things, and his stomach churns, but he pushes through the sensation. He thinks about Will again, closing his eyes back up, the way his eyes would turn green with sunlight, the sly edge to his smirk when he’d push Mike buttons just the right way to get the exact reaction he wanted, his brave face when it became time to leave for his dad’s for the week.

Will is—was—strong. So, so strong. Mike owes him this. He sacrificed himself for the party during their last campaign. How could Mike not say good-bye? How could he not be there for Will’s family, knowing Will would do the same for him? There are so many things that Mike wishes he’d done better, now, that Mike wishes he could go back and relive just to properly appreciate Will Byers in his full splendor. But he can’t change the past. He can't turn back the clock.

So he just waits for Joyce’s response with bated breath, and almost falls to his knees when her words finally come: “Okay. Yes, of course—we can try. If we have to scream at that coroner, so help me, Hopper will have to lock me up. But we can try, Mike. Do you think you’ll be okay to drive tomorrow? Should we pick you up?”

“I’ll drive,” Mike confirms, letting the words out in a rush. “Thank you so much. So, so, so much, Joyce. I—I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

A laugh, wet, helpless and perhaps a little charmed, then: “Knowing how much you love Will is enough, okay? You don’t owe me anything.”

Mike swallows, blushing. “Um—”

“Try to get some rest, okay, honey?” Joyce cuts in before Mike can somehow make a fool of himself, filling him with relief. He nods, hums in agreement. “I’ll try to do the same. Try to be at the coroner’s by eight, if that’s alright?”

“For sure,” Mike nods, licking his lips. “And—Joyce?”

“Yes?”

“Take care, okay? For me, and for Will,” Mike says, a little embarrassed, but pushing through it, because he means it. “It—it’d mean a lot to me, and to him. And to everyone, really.”

A sad chuckle. “I’ll try my best, Mike. Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

They hang up after exchanging soft, probably not-time-accurate good-nights, and then Mike starts reflecting for a little bit, still half-hugging the beam. There are many thoughts dancing around in his head, but he can’t pick them out. He’s too tired, and it’s with a resigned sigh that he drags his feet up the stairs, back to the living room, and settles back on the couch. Nancy and Holly are both snoring, charming sisters that they are, but Mike is, once again, more grateful for them than ever.

He spies Nancy’s phone on top of the coffee table and reaches out to grab it, unlocking it after quickly typing in the password—Nancy doesn’t know he knows it, which serves him just fine, because he’s pretty sure she also knows his own without him ever telling her, so they’re even—running his eyes over the screen.

He’s greeted with an open text conversation, with Jonathan of all people. Mike decides not to snoop, though on any other occasion he would just to have blackmail material later, but catches something about Barbara and Steve and honestly? Just seeing his name makes Mike roll his eyes. He doesn’t wanna know, as much as he sympathizes with her regarding Barbara, but with everything that’s going on Mike trusts Nancy to tell him anything she wants or needs him to know. With that certainty, he goes to the clock app and sets a seven a.m. alarm that he knows will wake everyone in the house but him, which in turn, is gonna get him woken up. All in five seconds of masterful planning, clearly.

He settles down, face on the tear-stained pillow—that he, of course, turns around—and crosses his fingers.

Mike doesn’t pray. It’s not his thing, as much as his mom and Ted try to be a good little traditional Christian marriage, but Mike dares to hope. He leaves aside his usually cynical, realistically pessimistic nature, and allows what he hopes is only temporary delusion to settle in.

At the very least, he tells himself… he’ll get to say good-bye.

Will’s pretty sure that everyone thinks he’s dead.

And not in like a, he hasn’t been seen in a couple days and they can’t find him way, but rather with a sense of finality that has him very, very confused.

Jonathan and Hopper show up with his mom and pretty much all his friends plus El a little while after the monster’s gone off, disappearing into the woods, as far as Will can tell. He’s too tired to even make out most of the conversation, by this point; he needs to recharge, but he catches a few things.

First off, Lucas is—not giving up, no, but he seems to have a pretty solid reason to want Hopper to drive him home. And Will knows Lucas, he’s probably the most logical out of his friends, the one that won’t just act without a solid idea, and the one that wants to have a back-up plan. If he just wants to go home and is fighting everyone about it, then he must have a good reason. Will manages to make out just one whole sentence, though it’s a little too out of context for Will to make sense of it:

“I’m not gonna deny what was right in front of my eyes!” Lucas lets out, voice angry. Someone else, or maybe two different people—Max and Dustin? Hopper?—try to argue with him, but whatever Lucas says in response to them is pretty final.

El is quiet, and she doesn’t seem to sense him like she did before. Maybe it’s because Will has no energy left in him. He can just about make her out, like a tiny speck of static in the far corners of his mind, but every single one of his attempts to reach out makes him dizzy. He has to save himself for later, and he’s nervous about that, because it’s barely a little while into whatever discussion everyone’s having that Hopper seems to start rounding everyone up to take them somewhere else.

Will panics, and tries a last nudge, putting his everything into it, pushing past the pain—contact. El trips; he can hear it, and the briefest flash of the crowded living room in his head shows her looking his way, at the crawlspace.

Then Will collapses and almost passes out cold.

God.

There’s a rumble, outside the crawlspace. Like a low purr, the creature knowing where he is and maybe trying to coax him out. His time is running out so, so fast, he can tell, now. Steps seem to crawl away; maybe the monster needs rest, too, but he somehow doubts it. The most glaring issue to him, however, is, well… didn’t the monster leave?

Are there several of them?

It hurts to think about. So he decides not to, and to avoid any other thoughts Will allows his lips to move on their own. He tries to recall the playlist Jon made him for his birthday, closing his eyes tight.

He’ll recover his energy and just—make one last attempt.

One last calculated risk.

And he can just… hope it turns out alright.

As predicted, Mike wakes up to Nancy shrieking at him like a banshee about to murder him regarding the alarm, so, really, it’s a job well-done, even if his ears remain ringing all through the hurried, half-assed breakfast he has.

“Mike, slow down—” His mom tries, only dressed in her sleep robe and wearing her reading glasses, hair pulled up in a messy knot. Her face lines—the few she has—are deepened this morning, with concern and worry and heartbreak, the image of Mike breaking probably still fresh in her mind. But he’s getting tunnel vision again. He needs to go. “I really don’t think it’s a good idea that you visit the coroner’s—”

“I need to do this,” Mike interrupts, then shoves half a Twinkie into his mouth. Holly makes a disgusted noise, and Mike just kicks her playfully under the table—mostly out of habit. He isn’t really thinking by this point, to be honest. “Seriously, mom, just—I need to see it for myself.”

“You already did!” His mom protests, and when Mike stands up from his stool in front of the breakfast bar she follows him all the way to his bedroom and even into the bathroom, watching him brush his teeth. “You should be going to school, Mike, there’s going to be an assembly—and I understand that you’re in pain, okay, baby? I really, really do, I can’t—I can’t imagine how you must feel, but I need you to understand that seeing Will’s—Will’s body, twice, that’s traumatic, Michael!”

“I know!” Mike snaps after spitting out his toothpaste, getting speckles of it all over the bathroom sink. His mom brings a hand up to her chest, looking like she might have a heart attack from his stubbornness, but he really has no time for this. “That’s why, I don’t know, mom, have you considered that I just—I just need closure?! That I need to do this? I saw him being pulled from that fucking lake, and he just—”

Mike chokes up, and before he can pull his emotions back under control his mom is there, pulling him into her arms. He fights it, for a single second, not feeling the same level of vulnerability that he did last night—and then Mike just lets it happen. Leans on her shoulder by bending his back, lets a couple tears spill and sniffles.

“He was alone,” Mike explains, shaking his head slightly. “I don’t know for how long, mom, but he was so, so alone—and I can’t let him lay alone at some cold table being looked at by some shitty doctor that doesn't even know him, okay? I can’t.”

His mom lets out a huge sigh, like her soul is trying to leave her body, and then nods. “Okay. I—I’ll try to understand. As long as Joyce is okay with it…”

“She is,” Mike confirms, squeezing his eyes shut for a second as he recalls their conversation from last night. “I promise she is. Now, can I—can I take a shower so I can go?”

“Yes, yeah, don’t forget to wash your hair,” his mom draws back, offering him a teary smile as she runs her hands through his by-now greasy curls. He hasn’t been taking the best care of himself, and he isn’t sure that’s gonna change. And as if knowing this, his mom purposely eyes Mike’s mirror cabinet. “Please, Michael, at the very least, don’t forget your pills, and remember the assembly—”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Mike waves it off, pouting, and she rolls her eyes, but they both know he’ll listen, as much as he hates just—everything. But, this, in particular, it’s always made him uncomfortable. He knows there’s nothing wrong with it, she knows it too, everyone in his house is fine with it except for Ted, but—still. He just doesn’t like to talk much about it. Though he had no issue doing that with Will.

Maybe it’s the anxiety that has him this wired. Maybe it’s the depression that has him buying into what’s probably Joyce’s grieving delusions. Maybe it’s just his head that is just too fucked, or maybe this is just how grief works when your best friend since you were six is torn from your life within days with no feasible explanation as to how. But whatever it is, Mike isn’t sure that he wants to know. He just… he just needs to see Will.

He takes the quickest hot shower he’s ever had, and dresses practically blind; it wasn’t for Nancy momentarily popping in to tell him that she’s driving downtown with him—or rather, driving him, because she’s annoying like that—Mike wouldn’t have noticed that he’s been trying to put the wrong shoe on the wrong foot for the last five minutes. Jesus.

He also wastes more time looking for his cell phone, only to remember Dustin forcing him to abandon it at the Byers’. Ugh. Maybe he can stop by to pick it up after, well—Mike stops that train of thought. He doesn’t knows what the fuck is gonna happen after he sees Will again. He’s too scared of what conclusions he’s going to have to drive from it. He might have to come to terms with his best friend being dead, and yeah—

Maybe he shouldn’t have had breakfast. In retrospect, that was probably a bad idea.

Nancy’s already started the car by the time Mike slips into the passenger seat, and she thankfully just pulls out of the driveway, not bothering to give him a chance to chicken out. She looks nervous herself, she’s fidgeting, and Mike knows that big part of it must be because of Barbara. Will vanished and then turned up dead. What about her, now?

“You haven’t heard from her, right?” Mike decides to ask, his tongue heavy. Nancy has the AC on full blast, which is giving him goosebumps, so he reaches out to turn it down a little, watching her furrowed expression out of the corner of his eye. “Uh, I mean, Barbara—”

“I know,” Nancy interrupts, though she doesn’t quite snap. Mike stares at her profile for a second, waiting, and he gets the feeling that Nancy must have already fought mom about this before, from how tense she is. She takes a visible breath, and then clears her throat. “Sorry, Mike, it’s just—I don’t want you to have more on your mind, is all.”

“I already got a ton in here,” Mike shrugs, pulling at a loose string at the seam of his jeans. “And, I dunno, maybe I don’t wanna think about where you’re taking me too much.”

Nancy raises her eyebrows. “You got a point there.”

“You were with Jonathan yesterday, right? He’s been helping you out?” Mike asks, trying to put together all that he knows: Nancy traveling all the way to Hawkins with Jonathan, being with him when he stopped by his dad’s in Indianapolis, sending him a bag with Jonathan after school, her text messages with him. There’s a twitch to the corner of Nancy’s mouth, and Mike blurts out: “Are you guys dating or something?”

“What?!” Nancy snaps, turning to look at him quickly shifting back towards the road, a breathy laugh torn from her chest. “No! What gave you that impression?”

“I don’t know, you guys are being weird!” Mike tries to defend himself, and Nancy just scoffs, shaking her head in disbelief, a smile growing on her lips. “What am I missing? Nancy! This isn’t funny!”

“You’re so oblivious, Mike,” Nancy snorts, biting her lip to hold back an even bigger grin. Mike lets out a whine, attempts to get her to explain, but Nancy is unshaken. “Look, it’s just… Jon and I get each other, okay? I’m not saying I don’t like him. I do like him. Maybe I could like him more—”

Mike scrunches up his nose. “Ugh, girl talk—”

“—you’re such a little a shit,” Nancy shakes her head, openly laughing now, and Mike realizes he’s breathing a little easier now. Damn. His thoughts from yesterday echo in his head, how he just… needed Nancy. It seems he was right, though he knows that the calm is only temporary. “But, well, I guess I lied. I guess Jon and I are friends, just really new ones. And he was out with me yesterday helping me look for Barb while you were in class. But… we didn’t find anything, so I decided to kinda… blow up at Steve, and you saw how that turned out.”

Nancy’s voice becomes careful in a way that Mike doesn't trust. “Are you sure you didn’t find anything?”

A moment of hesitation, a sigh. “I saw something in the woods, just—like a bear, or something, I don’t know.”

“A bear,” Mike repeats, frowning. “In Hawkins. In November?”

“Alright, Boy Scout, I already got those looks from the police, no need to be like that,” Nancy rolls her eyes, raising a hand in the air with a shrug, as if to say it is what it is. “Honestly, Mike, I’d rather think it was a bear or something, because it was… I don’t know what I saw. It was like… pale, and had no face, and humanoid… I don’t fucking know.”

“Huh,” Mike lets out, frowning and looking out the window. They’re entering downtown now, which doesn’t give them much time for further conversation, but Mike tries his best to be helpful. “Maybe it was someone in a bear suit—”

Nancy flicks his forehead with a finger, which hurts a hell of a lot more than it has any right to, but she isn’t nearly as tense as she was this morning, so Mike will take it as a win. Still, the second Nancy parks behind Jonathan’s car, all of Mike’s lifted mood drops back down again, leaving him feeling vaguely nauseous. He hesitates before opening the door, watching as Joyce and Jonathan get out of the car to wait for him.

“I’ll be right at the station,” Nancy says, making him turn her way. Her gaze is reassuring, open. It tells him he can back out if he wants to, and he won’t—but having the option coming from his sister somehow makes the situation easier to stomach. “Close by. You can tell Jon to walk you there if you need to, okay?”

“Sure,” Mike breathes out, nodding to himself, and finally wills his fingers to open the door handle. He swallows, and nods at Nancy one last time. “See you later, I guess.”

Joyce pulls him into a hug the second that he’s within arm’s reach, squeezing him so hard that Mike wheezes. He makes eye contact with Jon over her shoulder, who just attempts for a smile. It isn’t very successful.

“Did you sleep okay?” Joyce asks him, holding him by the shoulders as she breaks away. She looks—well, not ideal, herself, not any better than Jon, but Mike doubts that he’s the exception. Showers and clean hair don’t make miracles.

“It was fine,” Mike answers honestly. He had no dreams, which is probably a blessing, but he doesn’t feel well-rested at all. “I just—I kinda just wanna go?”

Joyce’s expression falls, just a little, with both dread and understanding. “Of course. Let’s—let’s get inside. Hopper is waiting for us.”

Hopper. Uh. “I didn’t know he was coming—”

They step through the threshold, and Mike almost walks right into him, stopping just short and almost tripping. Hopper holds him by the shoulder and steadies him, squinting down at him with cautious eyes, but surprisingly enough, he seems… mournful. Careful. Like he might be trying to come across as sympathetic, but isn’t quite managing it because he has a resting bitch face.

“Wheeler,” he greets him, narrowing his eyes just a little more and then patting his shoulder. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”

“You’re not gonna stop me?” Mike asks, even though he should just let it be. “You seemed mad last night.”

Hopper shifts his weights, bringing a hand up to scratch his freshly-shaved face. He has a cut right on the edge of his jaw, and dark eye-bags beneath his eyes. As much shit as he likes to give him, Mike figures it can’t be easy to find the kid you promised to bring back home dead in a lake.

“Don’t think you’re off the hook,” Hopper huffs, not unkindly, lacking his usual fire. Mike can relate. “I had to drive all your buddies home, and the girl, well—but we’ll talk about that later, okay? Go sit with Joyce. They’ll call you when everything’s ready.”

Mike doesn’t bother to ask what everything entails. He isn’t clueless; he knows bodies aren’t pretty. He knows drowning and fall victims, if any of that is what even happened to Will, are not exactly any easier to look at than any other. A body is a body, regardless of whether it’s his best friend or a stranger. He doesn’t know what to expect, but he tries to push the images he knows of Will from his head, and also the looks he got at the quarry.

He’s gonna look different. Mike has to prepare himself for that, for not everything to be just as he remembers. He sneaks a look at Jon, who’s remained so quiet; he’s staring straight ahead, eyes vacant, grasping Joyce’s hand in a dead grip. Joyce herself just lets her leg wiggle, her free hand against her mouth as she subtly bites at her nails. A look at Hopper, and Mike catches a sheer, honest look of regret and failure.

He wonders what face he’s making, if he should really be here, but Mike knows, somehow, that if he doesn’t look for himself, if he doesn’t get that second look, then he’ll never be able to come to terms with the fact that Will isn’t showing up on Sunday, back from Indianapolis, sad and a little lost, a little pained. But whole.

They get called into the room, and Jonathan goes green before he even stands. Joyce seems to forget about them, all but barging ahead, and Hopper stops Mike by the door.

“You don’t have to do this,” he reminds him. Mike looks up at him and makes eye contact, pressing his lips together. “Say the word and I’ll drive you back home, or to school. Hell, you can even ask for ice cream. I just want you to be sure, kid. You have a choice here.”

“Thanks,” he says, and something about his tone must give away Mike’s resolve, because Hopper’s expression twists with some emotion Mike can’t put a name to. He shrugs off his hand, clenching his teeth. “But I have to do this.”

Hopper lets him go. He looks sick.

To Mike’s credit, he doesn’t run away this time when the sheet is lifted off Will’s body.

Instead, he takes a sharp breath in, and steps closer to the window, as close as he can, just like Joyce and Jonathan. There’s a quiet exchange that Mike only processes sluggishly, like he’s underwater, in which Jon confirms to the coroner that, yes, indeed, that is William Byers, because Joyce refuses to open her mouth. That is his baby brother, pale, naked and dead on a metal table, after going through god-knows-what hell.

Joyce doesn’t speak a word and Mike doesn’t look at her. His heart feels frozen all over again, his lungs caught without air as he searches Will’s features. He’s only half-aware of Jonathan sniffing, gagging, and then bolting out of the room. Instead, perhaps morbidly, perhaps obsessively, he just looks at Will.

There’s nothing amiss. Not a freckle or mole out of place, not a hair that looks unnatural or wrong, which fills him with a feeling of uncanny valley that he doesn’t think he’s ever experienced before. It strikes him as strange, but he decides to take it as an indication that maybe Will didn’t suffer. As if that’s any real consolation, because he’s still dead, isn’t he? Mike lost him. Who the fuck cares how anymore?

From where he stands, Mike can see the faint scar on Will’s hand from when he broke his thumb as a kid. He can make out the familiar curve of his upper lip, the jut of his chin, the softness of the space between his eyebrows when he’s resting, making him look younger, like an echo of the frail eleven-year-old he once was.

Mike doesn’t know what he was expecting.

Will is dead. He tried to call out to them for help, and they failed him. Eleven must have just met him in the woods, like some sort of freak coincidence, and has no fucking idea what she’s talking about. Maybe she just escaped Pennhurst, and now they’ve all gone and gotten involved with her when the police are probably looking for her.

His mouth is dry and his heart is pounding. His eyes are burning, but he doesn’t know if it is because he hasn’t blinked in a while, or because he’s about to break down in tears. Joyce says something about a birthmark, but Mike is already walking out of the room with slow, agonizing steps. Walking away from Will.

Hopper is sitting with Jonathan, rubbing his back up and down as he cries softly, quietly to himself. He looks up at Mike and squeezes Jon’s shoulder before standing, watching him approach.

The weight of his hand on his shoulder is comforting. But it’s not enough. “What do you need, kid?”

Mike opens and closes his mouth for several seconds, but gets interrupted by Joyce storming out of the coroner’s office as fiercely as she went in. They all follow her outside, and she’s screaming, Jonathan is screaming and people are staring, but Mike doesn’t really bother to listen. He wants to believe that Will isn’t dead, but he just doesn’t know how to. He just saw irrefutable proof. He has no idea how Joyce can have this much conviction, and hearing Jonathan speak the word funeral out loud makes him flinch.

Hopper is still holding him, and Mike finally swallows and looks up at him. Hopper meets his gaze looking vaguely angry, though Mike doesn’t know whether it's at himself, at Joyce, at Jonathan or both for causing a scene, or just at the situation as a whole. He doesn’t really care, either.

“Lucas and Dustin,” Mike lets out, his voice uncharacteristically low, rasping in a way that seems to tear at his throat. “I wanna… just take me where they are.”

Hopper nods, dragging him away without a fight. “To the school it is, then.”

Seriously? Mike thinks, just a spark of annoyance flaring up inside him before it dies down again, leaving him as empty as before. School again?

Well. It seems he’ll be joining that stupid assembly, then.

Chapter Text

Mike has to tell Hopper to stop by his house so he can pick up his school bag, which gives him around ten minutes or so to breathe.

His heart won’t stop pounding—maybe he should stay home. He doubts anyone would be mad about it, that anyone would blame him for it, and the last thing he cares about right now is keeping up his grades or class assistance. Especially because he knows he’s not going to be able to pay attention. His mom isn’t at home but at work by now, which means he’d be by himself. He’d have time to compose himself.

And yet, at the same time, the thought of staying here all alone when each hallway is filled with memories of Will makes him want to run away. So Mike doesn’t resist that impulse; he just grabs his things, steals a few more Twinkies, and heads back into Hopper’s car.

“I have some loose ends to tie up,” Hopper says, once it becomes evident that Mike isn’t planning to open his mouth. A part of him appreciates the attempt to fill the silence. The other wishes Hopper would drive straight into traffic and end his suffering, to wipe that pitiful tone from his voice. “Some people I need to talk to in relation to the girl, and to Will—”

“I don’t care,” Mike blurts out, shocking even himself a little. He pauses, tasting the words on his tongue. Hopper waits for him, letting out a sigh that lets him know he’s making an effort to not be rude. So, Mike continues. “I don’t care about Eleven. We failed Will. Why does anything else matter?”

A pause, then: “You don’t want to know the truth about what happened to him?”

Mike bites the inside of his lip so hard he tastes blood, and then he turns from the window to glare at Hopper, finally feeling another spark of emotion—rage. “What the fuck do you mean by that? Your shitty cops already sold their theory to the press—”

“Hey, language!” Hopper cuts in, shooting Mike a raised eyebrow. “And watch your words. The offer of spending the night in a cell still stands, Wheeler, you got that? I’m just trying to help Will’s family.”

“Then, what, you’re saying you lied to them?” Mike asks, hearing himself as if through glass; he can’t quite recognize his own rising tone, the cracks in it. There’s so much emotion but it doesn’t feel like his own. Is this what grief feels like? “You don’t even believe the theory you told the Byers? Because I’m pretty sure that’s fucking neglect or like, withholding vital information—”

“If you’re gonna keep accusing me of things like these, kid, I can drive you back to your sister at the station so you can explain to her why you’re spending the night there!” Hopper interrupts again, and Mike opens his mouth as he straightens up in his seat, shaking from how much he’s seething, but Hopper cuts him off. “If you truly want to know, then no, I don’t believe that Will accidentally fell in the quarry, not without breaking his whole body! You happy about that?”

Mike hesitates with a frown, feeling vaguely nauseous at the visual image that gives him. “I—”

“I will get to the bottom of this. I can promise you that,” Hopper continues, letting out a big sigh, chest raising and falling. He’s looking ahead at the road with narrowed eyes, and Mike can see gears turning in his head, like he’s already thinking of what his next move is gonna be. “I might have failed to save Will, but—I will try my hardest to figure out why. I will give you guys closure. Do you think you’d be able to deal with that?”

“Yes,” Mike answers without thinking, without actually knowing, yet he embraces that gut-instinct. But— “Will’s still dead, though.”

Hopper visibly deflates. His voice is defeated, and it takes him a second to answer, fingers tightening around the steering wheel. “Yes. He is. I’m sorry.”

Mike decides not to say anything, because he doesn’t want to be aware of the hurt again. Or rather, more aware than he is right now. “What did you do with… Eleven?”

“Took her and the Mayfield girl to a safe place,” Hopper clears his throat, looking disgruntled. “That redhead wouldn’t leave her side. She’s almost as annoying as you—”

“Hey!”

“—and the place’s a bit dusty, but it should work. They weren’t happy about it, though,” Hopper raises his eyebrows like he’s recalling an unpleasant memory, then continues: “I got some friends looking into the girl to find out who she is, how she could be connected to it all. When the reports came in, I was hoping she was Will, but then things got messy, I got the call about Benny’s death—”

“Benny? From the dinner?” Mike asks, and Hopper grunts in acknowledgement. Mike frowns. “Eleven was wearing a shirt from Benny’s when we found her in the woods.”

Hopper seems to get his tongue tangled up at that, shooting Mike a speechless look before recomposing himself. “Right. I see. Seems I’m gonna have to press that girl for answers…”

“You left Dustin and Lucas at home, right?” Mike inquires, questioning him again, because he has a nagging feeling, in the back of his mind, knowing that Max is with Eleven, and the reluctance they both have towards the police, that Hopper is not gonna find them both in whatever place he took them to later today. “You’re sure they’re at the school?”

“They better be, I gave them their own warning. Sinclair looked… not good,” Hopper clears his throat, and Mike winces. He’s gotten so self-absorbed in his own grief, he hasn’t really considered how Lucas and Dustin might be dealing with it. “I’m glad you’re deciding to check on your friends. You kids need to stick together and stay safe. Got that?”

“Yeah, sure,” Mike agrees, but his mind is in other places. “What time is the assembly?”

“You should know this,” Hopper grumbles under his breath, but Mike is back to feeling like rolling his eyes at him, so he does. “At lunch time, and then the school is letting you out early. And it’s obligatory attendance too, so I don’t wanna hear anything about one of my boys finding you three out and about, understood?”

“Yep,” Mike’s already wondering if he could sneak out with Lucas and Dustin. Go to Castle Byers. Have their own moment without all those people that couldn’t give less of a shit about Will. “Is that all, or are you gonna keep giving out warnings like a dad?”

Hopper’s glare burns, but Mike just snorts to himself, and finds himself overcome with a little bit of relief that he’ll be out of this car when they enter the school parking lot. “Don’t mention the girl to anyone. And don’t let any microphones or cameras catch you speaking about her. Understood?”

“You’re just validating Dustin’s conspiracies,” Mike mumbles under his breath, making Hopper sigh like now he’s the one that wants to drive into traffic, but he’s taking the words seriously. Ish. Kind of. It sounds sort of ridiculous, but Mike figures that Hopper is a cop, and ex-military, and clearly knows things. Mike just doesn’t care about validating him, though he appreciates the effort, and he'll take the advice into account.

He practically jumps out of the car when Hopper comes to a stop at the school entrance. Everyone’s in class, so the parking lot is deserted, and Mike walks away very casually, giving Hopper his back because he hasn’t left. He’s keeping his eyes on him, making sure Mike gets inside the school.

He passes the bike racks and throws a few side-eyes to it. He catches Lucas and Dustin’s… and there, in the far, far corner as per usual, is Max’s ugly-ass neon yellow bike covered in band stickers. He doesn’t change his pace once he recognizes it, and not even when he goes inside until he’s able to turn a corner and be absolutely sure that Hopper isn’t watching him.

Max snuck out with Eleven. He’s hardly shocked, and Hopper is gonna be fucking pissed. He wonders where his safe place is, if Max and Eleven were just able to walk away from it, and figures it must be close to the Byers’, somewhere in the woods. There are abandoned hunting cabins, and it’s not out of the question that Hopper has access to one, even if it's as dusty as he claimed.

Mike starts pacing the hallways. He’s not sure what his plan or goal is. He’s still pissed about Eleven, at her—why would she make all those false promises? Why would she claim to know Will? Mike wants to ask her, now that he’s calmed down, that he can think a little, but he doesn’t know if he’ll actually be able to keep his cool once he sees her. He tends to do that, sometimes, when he feels unbalanced; he’ll think something in his head, plan it out, think it out, sometimes he’ll even write it down.

But when it comes to actually saying it, his feelings get the best of him. It comes out wrong. It’s happened countless times with Dustin and Lucas, and even Will. Maybe especially Will. It hurts to think, in some bittersweet way, that he’ll never get to mess up with him again and then drag himself over to his house and knock on his window until Will lets him apologize and they can go inside and play Nintendo on his old 64.

Why does it hurt so much? These past few days, Mike’s felt like he’s on the brink of some sort of, just—some discovery, something internal that he can tell is gonna freak him out. And he doesn’t want to think of it, but the feeling is there, and it’s making everything harder to focus on. Now that he knows that Will’s dead, it’s worse, so much worse, like his head is filled with cotton. But he clenches his jaw and tells himself he’s being ridiculous. He needs to speak to Lucas and Dustin, who are probably with Max. He can… they can help him figure it out. They can do their best for Will.

Mike thinks about texting them, remembers he doesn’t have his phone and curses Dustin out in his head. Then, he remembers the radios Dustin handed out during the search party, and Mike shrugs off his backpack, hoping—

Yep, there’s his. He doesn’t even remember putting it in there, in all honesty, but this is the same bag that he first took to the Byers that night. He struggles with it for a few seconds, trying to remember how to use it from his Boy Scout days, but at the very least Dustin’s already set it to a channel, so he won’t have to spend too much time looking for them on it.

He slips inside one of the boys’ bathrooms and sits himself up on the counter, pressing the right button to speak into the radio. “Hello? Dustin? Are any of you guys there? Over.”

There’s nothing for a few seconds, then: “Mike?! Thank god! Where are you? Over!”

Mike raises his eyebrows and chews on his lip before answering. “Uh, in the bathroom close to the counselor’s office. Are you guys okay? Over.”

“Oh, yeah, just fine, we’re with Max, and, well—we’re freaking out, actually,” Dustin doesn’t let go of his button, because Mike can hear ragged breathing, which doesn’t sound encouraging and makes him wonder what kinda problem they got into with Max. He opens his mouth to ask what’s up, but Dustin speaks first. “Don’t move, we’ll be right there. But Mike, don’t freak out—”

“You’re freaking me out with this conversation already, you know, I—”

“Mike!” Dustin cuts in, snapping in that frustrated way that he does so rarely. “Will is alive!”

Mike’s heart leaps up to this throat and he actually chokes on his tongue. His voice cracks so high that he sounds like a grandma. “W—what?! What did you just say?!”

“We’ll be right there!” Dustin exclaims. “Don’t move! Over and out!”

Before Mike can demand more information, the radio greets him with static, letting Mike know that he’s alone in the line. Fuck. He turns off the stupid thing and shoves it back into his school bag, impatiently drumming his fingers on the counter and poking at the holes in his jeans, absent-mindedly pulling at the threads.

Mike’s itching for comfort, and has to swallow a knot forming in his throat when he realizes that he isn’t just itching for reassurance from anyone—but from Will. He wants to turn his head over his shoulder and see him sitting beside him on the counter, kicking his legs, nudging Mike’s foot with his own before asking what’re you thinking about? like he always does. Or, well. Used to do.

Will’s dead. Mike saw. He got his confirmation, probably bought a ticket directly into a therapist’s office from the experience, if he already didn’t have one before this week. Dustin’s words echo in his head and make his ears ring and he gets so, so angry, so fast, because how can he say that? He saw Will’s body, too. They all did. And Mike won’t be able to stop the sight from plaguing his nightmares for years to come, he knows this, he can feel it. He wanted to have hope, to be insane, to trust Joyce’s instinct, but how can he do that now? Wouldn’t that be a disservice to Will?

The bathroom door opens and Mike practically jumps off the counter, nearly tripping over his feet in the process as he turns towards the door.

Max stares at him for a second, allowing them to make eye contact, and then Lucas comes crashing against her back, sending her directly against Mike’s chest and almost making them fall towards the ground. Dustin rushes in next, his hand firmly wrapped around Eleven’s wrist as the door closes behind everyone.

Silence fills the room for a few awkward seconds. Then Mike glares at Dustin, quickly sending the same look towards Max. “What the fuck are you guys doing?”

“Mike, I want you to stay calm,” Dustin starts, which only makes his anxiety spark, his shoulders raising up to his ears in defiance. Dustin rushes to keep talking before Mike can pop a blood vessel. “I need you to listen. It’s a lot, and yeah, Max and El totally shouldn’t be here but—”

“No, no, I’m gonna stop you right there,” Mike breaks in, crossing his arms and trying not to raise his voice. “What—Hopper thinks they’re at his stupid safe place! He drove me here! You do realize how much trouble we’re gonna get because of this, right?”

“That’s what I told him!” Lucas provides, and Mike thinks that he’s gonna support him here, that they’re gonna get their shit straight and go back to being just The Party, without stupid girls getting involved—so they can grieve Will the way he deserves to be. But Lucas surprises him. “But Mike, man, just—hear us out. This is so stupid, we know, I’m not happy with this at all, but shit’s gotten very real and we need to get you caught up—”

“Caught up on what?!” Mike snaps, looking around the room, eyes falling on Max, and then on Eleven. For some goddamn reason, she’s wearing a blonde wig, a cropped t-shirt with a long skirt and even make-up to the point where she’s barely recognizable, and it makes him feel like he’s going insane as he looks back at his friends. “Why are you getting involved with her? I thought we established she’s a fucking liar!”

“Shut the fuck up!” Max walks forwards, back into his space, poking his chest with her finger and making him stumble a step back. “Could you just try and listen instead of opening your mouth and being so ridiculously rude, Wheeler? I know you’re upset, we’re all upset—”

“Are you?!” Mike demands, gesturing at Eleven. “Because you’ve seemed to have a lot of fun shopping and playing dress up with this random girl who literally lied about Will being alive. I thought you cared about him! I saw his body! I went to the coroner’s today with the Byers—Will is dead! He’s dead! And you want me to calm down? You want me to buy into more lies? No one is making any sense anymore, I’m the only one acting normal, and I’m the only one who cares about Will!”

That stuns everyone into silence, and Mike realizes, as he looks around, chest heaving and eyes watering, that he fucked it up. Lucas’ expression is twisted into something sitting between guilt and indignation, while Dustin looks like Mike just kicked his cat. Max is also breathing heavily, a furious frown between her eyebrows, but her lips quiver, giving her away.

Eleven’s eyes are wide and scared and filled with guilt and horror. Mike stares at her, making eye contact, feeling ashamed of himself as clarity hits him. He doesn’t know Eleven, but she’s literally just a lost girl. A girl who should be going to school with them, that should be in their grade, that should have friends and a family and a proper name that isn’t a fucking number out of all things, that isn’t insecure about her shaved head and looking pretty.

Watching her, how she sinks into herself to make her frame smaller, Mike feels ridiculous for thinking that she’d purposely mislead them, when all she’s seemed to want ever since they found her is to get help, yes—but also to help them.

He recalls the way she looked at Will’s picture, the recognition in her eyes, the confusion and curiosity. He’s still angry, heartbroken, he still feels like he’s drowning. But maybe Mike does need to calm down. Moments like this, where his words got away from him, Will would send him this—this look, understanding and soft, disappointed but empathetic. Depending on the seriousness of the situation, he’d offer Mike an opportunity to take it back.

Or he’d storm out and leave until Mike kicked himself back into reason. Without Will here, though, it’s on Mike to take that step first. So he breathes in, breathes out. He looks at everyone again, making eye contact.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out and sniffles, running a hand over his face, through his hair, pulling slightly. His face is hot, he’s sweating, his heart is still running away and away, but Mike forces himself to put a leash on it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—I didn’t mean that. I know you care, of course you care, but I’m just—Will is—and I can’t—”

“Mike,” Eleven speaks up, taking a step towards him. Mike stares at her, as does everyone else in the room, because she should be angry, or offended. But her voice is soft and understanding, if a little nervous and evidently scared of Mike rejecting her again. It leaves him a little stunned as she continues, watching the tears in her eyes. “I understand… I am sad, too. I am sorry about Will.”

“It’s not your fault,” Max mumbles, not looking at Mike or Eleven, but there’s something about her tone that strikes Mike as bitter. He stares at Max, thinking of the few things Will shared about her. She’s rough. Closed off. But she’s genuine, and Mike has to admit she’s always struck him that way, too. Maybe she isn’t as okay with all of this as Mike assumed, which only makes him feel even worse about his outburst.

“She’s right,” Mike agrees, which gathers him a side-eye from Max. Eleven seems unsure, so Mike clears his throat, and decides to let a bit of his internal thoughts out. “Look, it’s just—I’m confused about you. I don’t know you. I know nothing about you, and I don’t have any reasons to believe anything you say, or to even want to hear you out. So I just—I don’t understand. And more than that, I don’t understand how you could. Or what you want.”

Eleven swallows and looks off, avoiding Mike’s gaze. There’s a visible struggle in her expression, like she doesn’t know which words she wants to use, and that also makes Mike feel ashamed, because while he has too many words in him, it’s clear Eleven doesn’t have nearly enough in her. And they both don’t know how to air them out.

Eventually, she manages: “I want to help Will. And you… because you are helping me. Max said that is what friends do… right?”

“Right,” Mike nods, shifting with nerves. “But friends don’t lie either, you know. And Will is dead.”

Another big pause, and this time Dustin is too impatient for it. “That’s the thing, Mike. We don’t think he’s dead. El showed us that he isn’t.”

“You’re crazy,” Is the first thing out of Mike’s mouth, which gets him dirty looks from everyone. Mike throws his hands up in frustration. “Fine, whatever, you guys are crazy and think Will is alive because she said so. What’s your proof, exactly?”

Everyone looks at Eleven, which makes Mike mad again, but he swallows it down. He was saying it before, that they needed to give her a chance to prove herself. Well, he’s fucking waiting.

“I could hear him,” Eleven explains, which immediately makes Mike roll his eyes. Sure, the crazy girl heard Will’s voice, why the fuck not. “He reached out. In his house. He is there. And… with the radio.”

“The radio,” Mike deadpans, glancing at Lucas and Dustin. “Will doesn’t even own one.”

“Just show him,” Dustin nudges Eleven, tapping her arm. She seems unsure, staring at Mike, but he just shrugs. Dustin sighs. “You can do it, right, El?”

“I… think so,” Eleven hesitates, then extends her hand out for Dustin’s radio—

It comes flying towards her hand and Mike jumps back. “What the fuck?!”

“Oh, right,” Max provides, not a drop of shock to her voice. Lucas and Dustin didn’t even flinch, either, which makes Mike feel like he’s hallucinating all over again. “She can do that, we forgot to tell you that.”

“You forgot?” Mike repeats in disbelief, ignoring how Eleven starts tampering with Dustin’s radio, switching to a channel giving out constant static and staring down at the device with a furrowed brow. “What—didn’t you think it was an important detail that she, she, this random girl we found in the woods and is being followed by bad guys has telekinesis or some shit? Is that what I saw?”

“She also has telepathy,” Dustin grins, making Mike’s eyes widen even more. What the fuck did he miss since last night? “Allegedly, kinda. That’s what it sounded like when she described it, at least. Pretty cool, huh?”

Mike opens his mouth to snap that no, actually—well, it is cool, but that’s like, his last thought on his list of concerns—because this means that they’re on some serious shit on a completely different level, which simultaneously explains and provides no justification as to why Lucas has seemingly relaxed about all of this. Does Hopper even know about this? But before Mike can air any of this out, Eleven and Max shush them harshly, saying something about focus.

Mike stares at Eleven and the radio, waiting for whatever it is that is happening right now. She’s frowning, her lips twitching with effort that Mike just can’t grasp. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone be so concentrated on what seems like absolutely nothing, and it concerns him that maybe everyone is participating in some sort of group-wide delusion—

Will’s crying. Mike straightens up, feeling faint, taking a single step towards Eleven only to get grabbed and held back by Max. It’s low, so Eleven turns up the volume on the device, and the sound becomes clearer. The quality is different; Dustin’s radios aren’t that bad, though they’re a bit old, but this is just… it almost sounds like a recording, but Mike knows that isn’t possible. Eleven’s eyebrows furrow, just so, and both the volume and the static waver before clearing back up, and Will stops crying.

He starts singing, and Mike audibly gasps, reaches out towards Eleven again only to get pulled back by Max. “Calm down.”

“What—how?” Mike blurts out, ignoring her. Eleven finally seems to break out of her concentrated state, and with that Will’s voice fades back into static. Dustin takes the radio from Eleven and sets a hand on her shoulder as she sways a little, visibly tired. There’s a drop of blood sliding down her nose, and with an air that’s entirely too casual for the situation, she approaches the sink and washes her nose. “How did you do that?”

“Will is in-between,” Eleven says, which makes absolutely no sense. Mike stares at her, but she doesn’t even look back, staring down at the water running down the drain and leaning against the counter. “He is upside down. Bad place. But right now… his mind is in-between. He is… resting. I can reach him there. But I need to reach him lower.”

“She showed us that trick earlier today,” Lucas decides to explain, because Mike remains baffled in silence. “We came here to use the AV club radio, since she said Will would wake soon, and we’ll be able to hear him better. I didn’t wanna believe it either, man, but—that’s Will, right? You’d know better than any of us.”

“Yeah,” Mike nods, then shakes his head, then nods again. Holy—holy shit. “Will is alive?”

“Yes,” Eleven says, and when Mike looks at her, he’s greeted by a worried frown that sparks a new round of fear inside him. “And he needs help. He is stuck. He cannot come back by himself.”

“How do you even know all this?” Mike asks, and he knows the question is loaded from how Eleven flinches, but he can’t help it. “What… who are you?”

Eleven stares down at the floor. “I was taught things. About where Will is. But… I don’t know me.”

Her voice wavers on the last sentence, and Mike takes a stunned step back. He realizes now, after watching all of this, after her words, that the night they found her… Eleven was running away. Escaping. She has no family, no proper name, but she can do these things, and she seems to know many more that she struggles to explain—fuck, she has a number tattooed on her wrist, like some sort of fucked up identifier. She wants help, but most of all, Mike thinks, looking at the blonde wig and her clothes… she wants a life.

Mike opens his mouth, not sure for what—apologizing for being him, perhaps—but the school bell rings, scaring all of them. They exchange looks. That’s the lunch bell.

The assembly. Fuck. Dustin speaks up. “Maybe no one will notice us in the crowd?”

Well, they try. It’s hard and inefficient, navigating the hallways as everyone filters out of their classrooms, but they manage to make it to the club area with a moderate amount of success. Only for Lucas to turn the door handle and realize it’s closed.

Mr. Clarke catches them before Eleven or Max, who apparently knows how to pick locks, can open it, and he looks absolutely devastated to be giving out his apologies regarding Will to the three of them plus Max. It’s an awkward conversation, and when he notices Eleven, Mike panics and claims she’s his cousin, filling him with instant regret when Mr. Clarke looks between them like he can tell they look nothing alike. He should’ve claimed she was Will’s cousin, or something like that, and the way Max hides a laugh with a cough just makes it worse.

And yet, he promises to give them the AV club keys… after the assembly.

Yay.

They filter last into the gym, which calls way too many eyes upon them. Eleven hides herself from view by walking by Max, behind Mike and ahead of Lucas, Dustin on her other side. It’s a little too obvious to him that she’s hiding, and that they’re flanking her, but no one seems to think twice of it.

The principal’s speech probably isn’t bad, but Mike doesn’t listen. He sits between Max and Dustin, spacing out almost instantly as he processes what just happened, and the thought hits him with a jolt.

Will is alive.

They might have a chance to help him yet. He doesn’t know how this is possible, not at all, and he saw Will’s body. He flashes back to it now, remembering how odd it was to look at him, how, how perfect his state was, how he looked so peaceful, so put-together. Like he drowned… but just as Hopper said, his body wasn’t broken. And if he fell from the quarry—Mike doesn’t remember how high that distance is, but he knows it’s supposed to be deadly. Water is like concrete at that point.

Will wasn’t even bruised.

What the fuck is happening? He doesn’t know. Just like before last night, Mike feels the situation spiraling out of control, getting bigger and bigger every time he learns something new. But hope is growing in his chest, and he knows he should stop it, that he should at least moderate it. But that was Will’s voice, and the realization almost has him in tears in the middle of this stupid school assembly.

When it’s over, they try to disperse quickly, but Mike catches the sound of people laughing and looks over to see fucking Troy snickering and whispering with his only friend, James, an asshole nearly as dumb in the head as him. He can picture the kinda shit they’re saying without much effort, because they’re notorious bullies, and they’re the ones that used to chase him and Will down.

Mike must stare for too long, because Troy notices and his eyes gleam with sick delight, stopping ahead of their group and turning towards them.

Mike curses under his breath as Troy pulls his lips into a sneer. “What’s up, Wheeler? I haven’t seen you around since the news broke. Are you done crying about your boyfriend yet?”

Lucas’ hand falls on his shoulder, trying to pull Mike towards the exit, but his mouth gets away from him. “What, so you admit you were thinking about me, Troy? Is that why you like to project so much? Are you jealous or something?”

Troy’s expression turns murderous. Dustin tries to break in. “Hey, Mike, come on, we don’t got time for this—”

“You wanna say that again, Wheeler?” Troy calls up, walking up to him and stopping just short of getting into his space. He’s a stocky guy, but Mike is taller than almost everyone in their grade, so he gets to peer down at him. Still, a sliver of dread settles at the bottom of his belly. Troy’s been a bully his whole life, and he’s gotten physical before. “You know, I’m surprised Byers found it in himself to end it first. I always thought you were the weak link, but I guess it makes sense since his family is so fucked up. Did you hear about the scene his mom made this morning? It was amazing. She’s going viral.”

Mike clenches his jaw, nails digging into his skin. “Shut the fuck up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know his family is full of freaks,” Troy laughs, a disgusting sound that curls around Mike’s ears. People are watching them now, but Mike doesn’t care, because he’s getting angry, and his tunnel vision is returning with fury. “No wonder you feel at home with them, honestly, even more so than the rest of your friends here. I see you hang out with Mayfield now—”

“Watch your fucking mouth,” Max snaps, her fists tightly clenched. She’s eyeing James, who’s been eyeing her, and Mike honestly doesn’t doubt she could take him in a fight, with how vicious she is. “Mike’s right, you know, you do have an awful love of projection. Did your mom drop you when you were a baby, or did she just not give you enough hugs growing up?”

Troy’s face goes red with fury, but it’s James who speaks up. “You’re one to talk, dyke—”

A collective gasp, but Max is instantly on it. “You wanna fucking say that again—?!”

Max takes one step forwards, towards him, but Lucas hurriedly pulls her back, wrapping his arms around her middle. Eleven looks horrified and confused, sensing the hostility. Dustin is fidgeting, nervous and looking around for a teacher.

“Let me go, Lucas, I’m gonna deck him—!”

“Max, please—”

“Guys, please, this is escalating—”

“Listen to Henderson,” Troy sneers, taking one step closer to Mike. His eyes are vicious. He smells of cheap cigarettes. When he speaks, Mike sees speckles of spit coming out of his mouth with the strength of his words. “You’re just a group of pathetic cowards and freaks. No wonder Byers couldn’t stand to be around you anymore and took the jump. Now he’s finally where he belongs, gone to fairyland, flying with all the other dirty dead faggots—”

Mike’s body moves on his own. One second, he feels frozen with rage, the feeling consuming from the inside out. The next, his fist is rising, colliding with Troy’s jaw and sending them both back several steps from the strength and shock of the impact.

Mike shakes his hand out, wincing because he’s pretty sure he just dislocated his thumb, the adrenaline numbing the pain. But then Troy looks at him, spits out a mouthful of blood, and scowls. “Get ready to meet your boyfriend, Wheeler, because you’re fucking dead—!”

Troy tries to jump him, but Max breaks out of Lucas’ hold and strikes him first, from the side, right on his nose. James immediately jumps in, going right for Max, but Mike is moving again and pushing her out of the way to take the punch for her. His face flares with pain but he’s barely aware of it because he’s so, so, so fucking angry.

Mike isn’t friends with sports, or exercise, or any physical activity, to be honest. The most he does is biking, and swimming in the summers, but he just doesn’t get along well with any of that. He’s wiry, with slow reflexes, so it’s no wonder that he soon ends up on the floor with someone on top of him—he can’t tell whether it’s Troy or James—but the adrenaline rushing through him is so strong that he can feel himself punching back.

It’s a mess. Blood fills his nostrils, both the scent and the liquid, and his knuckles hurt, slippery. People are yelling, and Max is screaming insults like a sailor; it’s quickly getting out of control because Mike recognizes Lucas helping him pry the person on top of him off, and hears Dustin’s voice above everyone else’s calling for a teacher. There are camera flashes, and he’s thinking that detention is gonna be fucking interesting—

A shrill yell, high-pitched and terrified, and everyone quiets down. Mike struggles to place the sound, at first, and then he realizes it’s right next to him, coming from Troy, even though no one is touching him since Lucas jumped as far away as possible the second he got him off Mike.

People start to scramble, either because they’re scared or because adult voices approach. Mike looks around at all his friends, noticing just in the back of his mind that Eleven’s nose is bleeding, and then he scrambles to his feet.

They book it out of the gym, ignoring people calling their names. Mike can barely breathe, as he blindly follows Dustin through the hallways, and they somehow make it to the AV club door again. They open it, and Mr. Clarke is inside. He turns, and his smile instantly shifts into horror when he sees Mike’s face.

“Kids, what happened—?” He tries, but Dustin is babbling, pushing him out, taking the key from his hand as an excuse that Mike doesn’t even process filters out of his mouth. Mike feels Lucas guide him into a chair and he collapses, starting to feel the flashes of pain. The door closes. Dustin turns the lock.

Quiet fills the room, and then Max grunts. “They deserved it. Detention isn’t that bad.”

“That’s not the issue!” Dustin exclaims, and gestures at Eleven, who’s sat down right next to Max, and is cleaning her nose with her hand, smearing blood everywhere. Mike stares at her, and then at his own hands. His knuckles are split, bleeding, and they throb with pain, already forming bruises because he’s pale as shit. He brings a hand up to his nose and hisses in pain, though he can't tell if it comes from his dislocated thumb or his face. “Everyone started recording! She shattered his arm with her mind! The government is gonna be on that shit immediately!”

“They’re already on us,” Max replies in annoyance, inspecting her own bloody knuckles. “They were following us at the mall, remember? The only reason they haven’t gone after us is ‘cuz it’d look fucking weird with Will disappearing, and then that girl, Barbara—they’re clearly more concerned about covering their tracks than causing a scene. And we keep moving places, too.”

“Hopper is helping,” Mike provides, and his voice sounds—off. His nose is clogged, and Lucas pats his arm before stepping away. He takes off his jacket and offers it for Mike to press against his nose. He winces again. He can’t tell whether his nose is broken or not yet. The only reason he's not crying is because he's too shocked. “Thanks, man—Hopper said he has friends he’s calling. Looking into this. I dunno what the fuck is happening, but they’re not gonna catch us the easy way.”

“Especially if we don’t let them,” Max agrees, shooting Mike a conspirational look. Mike finds himself nodding at it, returning it—and then he realizes he’s been getting progressively less annoyed with Max’s presence over the last few hours. Ugh. The parasite is settling in. “Besides, admit it, Troy’s scream was really funny. The sound his arm made was a little gross, though.”

Dustin sighs, and then starts to nod in agreement, but Eleven interrupts any words. “Was that… okay?”

There’s an awkward pause, and then Lucas clears his throat. “Well, El—violence is never okay.”

“Oh,” she lets out, frowning, looking down at her hands, then at Max, then at Mike. “But you…”

“We shouldn’t have done that,” Mike admits, quietly, though he can’t bring himself to be ashamed. He leans in towards Eleven, exchanging a look with Max. “In self-defense, if you’re getting attacked, or, like, seriously threatened… you can attack back, it’s just—I got really angry. Breaking his arm was—maybe it was too much.”

“But you stopped the fight,” Max provides, after watching Eleven’s resulting guilty look. It horrifies Mike a little, how she doesn’t know this. It scares him. But he figures it makes sense, considering how clueless about simple things Eleven seems to be. He wonders if she’s used to violence. What she could’ve possibly needed it for, before. Then he decides he doesn’t want to know. “We just gotta try and be more careful next time, okay?”

“Okay,” Eleven repeats, but she seems conflicted, looking away from everyone.

Silence rings out again, during which Mike stares at Max. Her lip is badly split and bleeding; she might even need stitches there, and her skin is an angry red, like she got punched across her jaw and cheek. There’s a cut on her forehead, and Mike realizes that not only did she intercept Troy’s first strike at him, but he also took a punch for her.

Jesus Christ, Dustin was right. They are the same person, aren’t they?

“Well,” Dustin claps, snapping Mike out of his existential crisis. He’s looking at Eleven, who seems vaguely uneasy, until she hears his next words and her expression shifts to something serious. Like she’s readying herself. “Shall we try to reach out to Will? Mr. Clarke isn’t gonna wait forever.”

Mike keeps his eyes on Eleven. She nods, and Dustin moves to properly set up the radio.

“Uh,” Mike breaks in, extending his hand out. “Can someone reset my thumb before we start? And—maybe my nose, too?”

“Oh, I would love to,” Max smirks, and Mike instantly regrets taking that punch for her.

Shit, it's gonna hurt, isn't it? God, what a mess.

Part of him can’t wait to tell Will about it all.

Will dreams of the void.

He’s sitting down, staring at his bare feet. For the first time ever since he’s realized this place is real, since he’s remembered it, he feels awake. He can feel El from far, far away, more so than usual, but he's otherwise alone.

Well, not quite.

Someone is staring at him. He doesn’t know how he knows this, but he does. He can feel a pair of eyes on the back of his neck, keeping him tense as a cat, coldness seeping into his skin and making a home there. Goosebumps take over his body, feeling so real that he’s shivering.

There’s no one to see. But the presence is overwhelming and it isn’t trying to hide from him. Instead, it’s closing in. Biding its time and lowering all his defenses through fear, as if it knows he’s now aware. The silence that was soothing before is deafening now, and Will feels like he can’t breathe, pressure on his chest making the task harder and harder, which is when the panic comes, and a spark of feeling washes over him.

Will starts singing, his lips moving almost on their own, his voice shaky. He can’t even make out the words, but somehow he knows this is the last song he showed Mike, just a couple days after Halloween. The memory soothes his heart like a balm. The presence retreats.

And then he’s awake.

He comes to slowly, which is unlike every other time he’s woken up while in this place. He realizes only after a full minute of consciousness that his lips are moving, and his own voice is reaching his ears, singing through broken cries. Okay, well. That’s strange, but the dream is quickly becoming fuzzy, much like the ones he's accustomed to. He doesn’t try to hold on to it; something tells him that forgetting would be easier than remembering, even if he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to put this all quite behind. Not really.

He sits up feeling stiff and tired, but determined. Whatever that dream was, or more importantly, that presence—Will doesn’t think there’s much left for him anymore. No more patience. It’s only become more and more evident, but now the writing’s on the wall, so without even checking outside, despite how risky it is—or perhaps because of it—Will opens the crawl space and comes out to the living room.

His back aches with relief, as do his knees, but it’s only momentary as circulation comes back to them, which means the cold feels like an attack on his regained senses. Will stares ahead, feeling oddly numb, unseeing. Then he closes his eyes and squeezes his hands into fists, forcing himself to focus. Forcing himself to move, to keep going, to not give in.

They’ll take him before he can be saved. A part of him knows this. A part of him wants to give in to it, even, and that makes him angry. What does he have, what could he possibly be of use for to the monsters that inhabit this place? Will knows he’s not special. No, to the contrary, he’s weird. He’s a freak. He's just an odd kid that creates visions in his mind to put on paper. He’s a mistake, he wasn’t supposed to be born, much less so like this, and the things he’s done while in this place have only served to let him know that it’s true.

His father always makes sure to remind him of these facts every chance he gets, and the only time where Will doesn’t believe him is when he’s with Mike. Which is part of the issue, maybe, except his mom insists love is never something to be sorry for and he believes her, too, and he believes Jon when he tells him there’s nothing wrong with being different, so Will can’t even bring himself to drown in self-hate properly. He can’t even get that part right, which strikes him as pitiful.

So why is he here? Punishment? Karma? A cosmic coincidence, or just another mistake?

Whatever it is, he really just—he’s not going to give this place the satisfaction of his surrender, or the sweetness of his pain and terror. Not without trying first, god, not without fighting back, even if it's just delaying the inevitable. Will just isn’t ready to die, not like this. He could’ve come to terms with it, under other circumstances, but not like this.

So Will swallows and looks around. The living room is just as he last remembers it, with the furniture he upturned still on the ground, everything cold and uninviting, the couch where it’s always been. His eyes drift, several times, remembering his suspicions of there being more than one beast, trying to pinpoint what else it is that is making him uneasy—which is when he realizes there’s a scar on the wall.

It’s not apparent, it’s not obvious. A part of him doesn’t think it’s real, but the memory of the monster phasing through flashes in his mind and Will approaches it, pressing his fingers against the unaltered wallpaper.

The scar isn’t visible. He can’t feel it under his fingertips; there’s just a wall, the same wall there’s always been. But it’s there, he knows this the way he could tell when El was in his house. Like an itch on the back of his neck, in the depths of his mind. There’s a tear here, now, or maybe there just was—the opening the monster used closed up, but it did damage all the same.

He can use this. He can try.

Will licks his lips, lets out a shaky breath, and then lets himself look into his home. His mom is in the living room. She’s napping on the couch; she seems exhausted. She must think him dead, and it doesn’t help that he has no idea how long he was out, how long it’s been since he last reached out. Everyone might have given up on him by now, so Will moves in real time, standing in front of her, and goes to wake her. He needs to get rid of that possibility.

“Mom,” Will calls, but there’s no change. He hesitates. The more noise he makes and the more effort he puts into communication, the more likely it is that one of the beasts will pop up to show its unhappiness with his actions again. But this might be his last ditch effort to escape, or, at the very least, to communicate that he’s in fact alive. “Mom, wake up. Wake up. Mom. Mom! Wake up!”

It hurts a little, but it works. His mom jolts awake, looking around with wide, terrified eyes. “Will?! Will! What, what—?”

Will moves back towards the wall, calling out for her. Doing this is giving him back awareness, making him feel all-too-connected to his emotions as a whole—the genuine fear, the desperation, the pain, the horror, the hopelessness—and it makes it harder to focus, harder to stick to a plan. But he pushes through it.

Will knocks on the wall and watches his mom jump again, and then he unplugs himself from the sight. He turns towards the wall, knocks again, and starts calling out. “Mom! I’m here!”

He presses his fingers against the wall, deep, and reaches with his mind. He pictures digging in, pouring salt over an old wound, the wall tearing apart just as it did with the monster. Words are leaving his mouth, calling out for his mom, full of gibberish, because god, it hurts. His head is pounding, and he knows, somehow, that he’s not made for this. Everything else he’s done has hurt, but not like this. This isn’t his thing, he’s not supposed to be doing this in so many levels, this is wrong, wrong, wrong—

But then the wallpaper shifts, becoming red, thin…clearing up like semi-transparent paper. It glows red and tender, like flesh, so Will digs further into the feeling of wrongness, ignoring the pain, and watches it clear even further.

His mom tears the wallpaper off the living room wall and her face comes into view. “Oh my god, Will!”

“Mom!” Will calls back, relief flooding his senses. It’s working, god, how—? It doesn’t matter. “Mom, help! I need help! I can’t—please, mom!”

“Will, I need you to tell me where you are!” His mom screams, pressing her hand against the wall, right where his own is. He can almost feel her warmth seeping through it and he sobs, pushing against the barrier between them. But it’s useless. He can already feel himself losing his grip on this thing, putting too much of himself into it. “Will! Oh, god—Will, I’m gonna come get you, okay? I’m gonna get you out! I need you to talk to me, baby, please—”

“I’m scared,” Will lets out, digging his nails against the wall, allowing himself to knock on it with his other hand just like his mom is doing. “Mom, I don’t know—please, just help, I can’t, get, get someone—”

“I can get you El!” His mom screams, quickly falling into panic and desperation. “Will, look at me, baby, please—”

“She knows where I am,” Will nods, pressing his forehead against the wall. He’s so dizzy. He’s so, so tired. “Mom, please. Help me.”

“I will! I will, honey, I’m getting you out, I’m gonna get you myself—oh god.”

There’s a pause. A terrible, terrible pause, filled with terror. Will hears the growling, and knows exactly what she’s seeing. His mom misses not a single second.

“Will, run!” She screams. Will can’t move; he’s hyperventilating. There’s a knock on the wall that rattles him, and he snaps his head upwards, looking into his mom’s terrified eyes. The wall starts closing up. “Will, I’m going to get you, please, please, run! Run! Will! Will, please, RUN!”

His mom’s final scream rings in his ears as the wall finishes closing up.

A step behind him.

Will doesn’t turn around. Instead, he glances at the window next to where he’s standing, and wonders how much it’s gonna hurt. He figures he's already in as much pain if not more, in his head, in his body, in his heart, inside—that it doesn't really matter, does it?

Will launches himself off the wall and out the closed window, ignores the prickle of glass on his skin, and bolts towards the woods.

The monster shrieks behind him, its own version of a howl, louder and angrier than he’s ever heard it. In the distance, Will can hear it being echoed by more of its kind, and this is how he knows that the haunting is over.

The hunt is on.

Chapter Text

Mike wasn’t having a good day, but he’s pretty sure it goes from shit to double shit the second Eleven breathes a sharp breath in and Will’s voice starts coming through the radio. It’s distorted and shaky, and Mike would be sure it’s just interference from a radio station if it weren’t for the familiarity with which the sound wraps around his ears—he’s too used to hearing Will’s voice crackling over voice chat not to recognize him like this, and it has his heart leaping to his throat.

Dustin is quick to adjust the volume, trying to stabilize the signal in some way, while Mike all but bolts to stand behind Eleven and Max, hands shaking. He accidentally jolts Max's shoulder with his own as he all but squeezes himself between them in order to get closer, which gets him an elbow to the gut, but he hardly cares about that as Will’s words slowly become clearer and clearer.

Eleven gasps. “No.”

“What?” Mike asks, just about resisting the urge to shake her—mostly because of the dirty look Max is sending him. “What is it? Are you—can you see anything?”

“No,” Eleven repeats, shaking her head slightly. Her eyes are shifting under her closed lids, which is rather disturbing to watch, but Mike can’t seem to tear his eyes away. “He does not… feel me. Not strong enough. Focused on his mom. Needs help.”

Mike barely holds himself back from rolling his eyes and snapping at her, biting his lips, because no shit that Will needs help, he’s needed help for several days now, and the constant repetition of that little fact is starting to make him sick to his stomach. Mike turns to look at Max, seeking to escape the burning urge in his chest to scream, and meets a worried, furrowed brow, the downturn of her lips. He stares at her for several seconds, recalling his guilt from his scene in the bathroom, the way she joined the fight with him.

Maybe he’s misjudged her. Maybe there is a reason that Will likes her, though Mike can’t quite figure out what it is yet. All he knows right now is that there’s an echo of desperation in Max’s gaze, and Mike is taken back to last year when Max moved into Hawkins, and everyone was speaking about her and her family behind her back all across town. He remembers rolling his eyes at Dustin and Lucas’ obsession, and scoffing at Will’s curious eyes. He remembers catching Max staring at Will during science and biology.

He’s missing something here. Will’s spoken to him of Max, of course, Mike just… didn’t like to think much about it. He’s never wondered why Will didn’t try to include her into any of their activities together—but now he considers his own gut-reaction to Max’s presence and feels a spark of embarrassment, because it’s quite obvious that even under normal circumstances, they would’ve clashed with each other. And, maybe, just maybe, Will didn’t even want to share Max with them, which makes him wonder, chest tight, are they—?

“…om, help! I need help! I can’t—please, mom!” Will’s voice interrupts Mike’s thoughts, jolting him out of his head, and he straightens up, barely resisting from touching Eleven’s shoulder. The sheer terror in Will’s voice steals the breath from his lungs, and suddenly Mike feels lightheaded, swallowing hard as he hunches over to listen intently.

“Holy shit,” Lucas breathes out as Joyce’s voice rings out, equally as terrified as Will’s. “Holy shit, he’s actually alive.”

Mike feels like a fool for thinking that having this confirmation would be better than thinking Will’s dead—and it is, of course. Of course it is, Will can still be saved, he can have his best friend back. But he’s never heard Will like this. He’s never felt absolutely sick with fear and worry and love for Will like this before, like the floor is about to give out underneath his feet. Will is terrified, suffering alone who knows where, and Mike can do nothing. He can only stand here and listen, frozen, resisting the urge to cover his ears as Will’s sobs fill the room.

“Can he hear us?” Dustin asks, grabbing for the radio’s microphone and pressing the button to talk. “Hello? Will! Will?!”

“No,” Eleven forces out from between clenched teeth, and her expression becomes pained, her frown deepening. A drop of blood slides from her nostrils, and she takes in a deep breath as Will goes please, just help, I can’t, get, get someone around them, every word like a stab into Mike’s heart. “I can’t—Will isn’t—he is, he’s—"

Eleven’s voice turns terrified and she whimpers, to which Max sets a hand on her shoulder, practically pushing Mike out of the way. “El? Are you okay—?”

“I can get you El!” Joyce’s voice interrupts, making them all fall into silence in order to listen. “Will, look at me, baby, please—”

“She knows where I am.” Mike swallows, and everyone’s staring at Eleven know, who’s rapidly going pale. “Mom, please. Help me.”

“I will! I will, honey, I’m getting you out, I’m gonna get you myself—oh god.”

What follows makes Mike turn away from everyone, squeezing his eyes shut. He hears Max cursing under her breath as Joyce’s voice rises, begging Will to run away. Dustin is saying something to Eleven, and Lucas is cursing freely, but Mike hears them as if underwater, only able to process Will’s ragged breaths and cries, thinking that it couldn’t get any worse than this. Until it does.

The first growl has Mike’s skin flourishing with goosebumps, sending shivers down his spine, terror making him snap his eyes open as he stares at the floor. And then the howling comes and he turns, ready to ask Eleven what’s going on with a scream, what the fuck is that because he doesn't think he's ever heard anything as inhuman and unnatural as that—

The radio cuts off with a flash, sparks, and the room fills with panicked screams. Max hurriedly pushes Eleven’s chair back, away from the explosion; Mike blinks and suddenly Lucas is holding the fire extinguisher, fumbling with it until Dustin helps him take the security off to shower the table with it.

They stare at the radio in silence as a group. The collective shock and fear feel as if it they have logged themselves in Mike’s throat, and he can barely breathe. He risks a step forward, looking at the mess, scrunching up his nose as the smell of burned plastic mixes with the aroma of the leftover blood on his face. He feels nauseous.

“What—?" He starts, pauses when a cough makes its way up his throat, and then swallows before trying again. “Eleven, what was that?”

She’s crying. Silent tears are dripping from her eyes, looking at the radio without blinking, wide with fear. It makes Mike fall into silence, a sinking feeling settling in his gut. Eleven wants to help them find Will, is clearly willing to provide proof that he’s alive… but what about her? What about the crucial information that they're obviously lacking? What about actually taking action? She looks like her worst nightmares have come to fruition, like she isn’t surprised in the worst way possible.

No one else seems to find any words, and Mike tastes hopelessness on his tongue that makes him feel unable to stay in this room any longer. He rushes out, elbowing his way through Dustin and Lucas to the door, ignoring them questioning what he’s doing as he unlocks it and all but bangs it open—

Mr. Clarke is standing outside, wide-eyed. They stare at each other for a second, and then he looks behind Mike at Dustin and Lucas, a frown coloring his features. “Boys? What is going on?”

Mike looks back at his friends, meeting their similarly panicked eyes. Dustin opens and closes his mouth, putting on a fake smile. “Well, you see—”

“This thing got busted,” Max breaks in, standing right in front of Eleven and shielding her from scrutiny. Mike can just about see her wiping her nose with the back of Max’s shirt, and Mike has a background thought that worries about the amount of blood they’re trailing around, and what the government could do about that. “Old equipment, I guess. It freaked the fuck out of everyone and we were just listening to a podcast.”

Mr. Clarke makes a face as if he isn’t sure where to start with that. “Are—are you kids okay? You should go straight to the nurse’s office, and don’t think you’re off the hook about the fight. I know you’re not in middle school anymore, but I still have a responsibility—”

“We gotta go, actually,” Lucas breaks in, shooting Mr. Clarke his best kicked-puppy look. Mike makes a disgusted, confused face at him, but Dustin just raises his eyebrows a little as if to say play along. He shifts his eyes to Max who’s looking as done with them as he feels before also changing her expression to something close to upset. “Mrs. Byers is… well, she was hoping we could help her out, you know? We kinda promised.”

Mike sighs and turns around, also trying to look sad. It isn’t that hard, really. He’s still riding high, so high he’s still shaking, on the horror of hearing Will’s explicit suffering. It’s gonna give him nightmares. Mr. Clarke’s expression turns sympathetic, but he still seems torn up about it, and keeps blocking the door.

“Look, I understand, but I can’t just let all of you walk away like this,” Mr. Clarke says, and Mike fights not to let his face twist into annoyance and impatience. He’s glad Mr. Clarke understands, but he just can’t be around the school anymore. He needs to breathe. “Why don’t I escort you all to the nurse, and I give Mrs. Byers a call—and all of your parents, really…”

Mike opens his mouth to protest, but Max beats him to the punch. “Okay, then, sure. As long as Mrs. Byers can pick us up?”

Everyone turns to look at her, Mike glaring daggers because no, that is not okay, but Max refuses to tear her gaze away from Mr. Clarke, who goes: “Great, that’s settled then, I’ll give her a call. Now, come on, I want all of you out, one by one, let’s go—”

Dustin and Lucas awkwardly filter out, since Mike remains firmly planted where he stands, seething in his head. Max whispers something to El, encouraging her to trail after the guys, and then the only thing that makes Mike move is Max literally pushing him out of the AV club room. Mr. Clarke recovers his keys and locks the door, then gestures for all of them to walk ahead of him. Mike can already smell the detention they’re gonna get, and that just makes him even angrier at Max.

She, quite surprisingly, doesn’t leave his side to walk next to Eleven, instead letting her go ahead of them with Dustin and Lucas, who seem to be checking in on her well-being, Lucas’ hand set firmly underneath her elbow and Dustin visibly trying to soothe her nerves by making her smile with a story he can’t quite hear from here.

Mike turns his head to look at Max, who side-eyes him and then turns her head as well, raising her eyebrows at him. “What?”

“What are you doing?” Mike asks, keeping his voice low enough so that Mr. Clarke has issue making every word out, and the rest of their friends don’t eavesdrop. His next sentence comes out in a hiss. “We’re supposed to get the fuck out, figure out a way to help Will. What the fuck are you—?”

“God, keep it down,” Max reprimands him, glaring at him and then looking ahead, clenching her jaw. “I’m doing the logical thing, genius. Didn’t you hear Mrs. Byers? He needs El. This is a way to get her El.”

Mike’s mouth drops open, gears turning in his head, and then he snaps his gaze forwards as well. “Shit. Okay.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Max mumbles, rolling her eyes, and Mike does the same thing back. His whole face hurts, so does his hand, and he can feel a migraine forming. He doesn’t have it in him to fight her even further, and Max’s half-hearted nudge on his side tells him she probably feels the same. “No offense, but you need to calm down.”

Mike takes a sharp breath in and shakes his head. “I need to be alone, fuck you.”

“I don’t think you should be alone,” Max shrugs, and Mike looks at her again, but she doesn’t meet his eyes this time. Her expression is impassive, tired, almost vacant, leaving Mike without steam, because it just doesn’t feel okay to fight that. “Sorry, loser, but you’re not getting rid of me even if you hate me. I’m pretty sure I’m here for the long haul now.”

“Please,” Mike scoffs. “I don’t hate you. How could I hate you when I don’t even know you?”

Max raises a single eyebrow and snorts. “You’re a weird guy, you know that?”

Mike wants to be offended, but the way she says it makes it clear she’s just joking, and well—he feels guilty for assuming the worst out of her. So, Mike just sighs and presses his lips together, going for a smile that feels more like a grimace. “You’re one to talk.”

Max looks horrified by his attempt at friendliness, her lips twitching like she wants to laugh at him, and Mike forces himself to look away because otherwise he’s gonna laugh too, and he has a feeling that the shared humor is just collective hysteria, a coping mechanism for the situation they’re now stuck in. Still, Mike figures that he can give Max a chance. A tiny one. He’s still not too happy about her constant nagging presence.

The nurse is horrified by Mike and Max’s states—well, mostly Max’s, which doesn’t seem fair at all, because Mike is the one whose hands are rapidly bruising to the point where he can barely ball them into fists, not to mention the ache from his re-set thumb. He was lucky his nose didn’t actually break or dislocate, which feels like a testament to Troy throwing punches almost as bad as his own. Everything just hurts like shit.

The nurse seems impressed by Max’s skills at re-setting bones, and Mike eyes her with suspicion, wondering how, exactly, she knows all of this. He doesn’t want to give any credence to any of the nasty shit he’s heard Troy and James say about her, or the whispers from his mom gossiping on the phone. And even if any of that were true—well, that just makes her a tough motherfucker, and he finds the nurse’s almost approving attitude rather tone-deaf.

She gives them ointments and bandages and lollipops, including one for Eleven who’s still looking pale. She seems confused by the candy, and then absolutely delighted by it, smiling to herself as she eats it. Mike considers giving his own to her, because he doesn’t really like the purple ones and Max refuses to exchange her own. He ends up giving it to Lucas instead.

The five of them are told to wait outside the principal’s office. Mike stares up at the ceiling, tapping his foot against the ceramic of the hallway as he holds an ice-pack to his swollen face. Apparently, his lower lip is busted as well and he hadn’t even noticed, considering how all of his face hurts. He has a nasty bruise forming on his left cheekbone. Max didn’t actually need stitches on her lip, and she’s holding her own ice-pack against it with a frown.

About ten minutes after Mr. Clarke goes into the principal’s office to explain the situation, he comes back out and throws a strained smile at them. “Okay, I’m gonna start calling your parents—”

“Mine are at work,” Mike interrupts, not meeting anyone’s eyes and staring at the floor. “My sister’s giving a statement at the police station. No one is coming.”

It’s a bit of a lie. His mom and Nancy would probably be able to come around for him, while Ted is completely out of the question. Still, he doesn’t want any of them to know about this yet. He’d rather have Mrs. Byers speak for him, and considering the understanding look Mr. Clarke shoots him, he knows this. After all, this isn’t the first time Mike’s been in one of these chairs, though he’s rarely actually in trouble himself, which means it’s not the first time that no one has shown up for him and Mrs. Byers has had to be the one that handles things.

Dustin and Lucas don’t have as much of a choice. They try to pull the same excuses, but Mr. Clarke knows them all too well for that, so both Mrs. Sinclair and Mrs. Henderson are called. Max mumbles something about her mom working, and then she’s just left alone, as well, though the tension in Mr. Clarke’s face is different than it was for Mike.

When Mr. Clarke finally leaves, Dustin lets out a frustrated groan, briefly taking off his cap to pull at his hair before putting it back on. “Shit! We’re so fucking screwed. What are we supposed to do now?”

“Pray?” Lucas suggests, his tone tired but trying for lighthearted. It makes Max snort, but they don’t really have it in them for much more. “Just a thought.”

“We need a game plan,” Mike declares, feeling restless. He wants out of this school. He wants to jump back into action, if he can’t have his breather. Anything to distract his mind, to get him closer to finding Will. He looks over Dustin’s shoulder at Eleven, making eye contact and leaning forward. “Listen, we can’t leave Will to his own. That fucking—that thing we heard, it was horrifying. It’s dangerous, right?”

Eleven doesn’t hesitate, nodding. “Yes.”

“And you know what that thing is?” Mike asks, scared of the answer but simultaneously needing to know. Eleven doesn’t answer verbally this time, instead visibly hesitating. Mike narrows his eyes at her, trying not to pressure her, and as if feeling the effort Mike is channeling, Lucas decides to say what he’s thinking.

“You said you knew stuff,” he starts, glancing nervously at the door to the principal’s office and then exchanging a quick look with Mike, before refocusing on her. “And we’re not trying to be assholes—well, Mike is—”

“Dude!”

“—but we’re betting a lot on you, and you want to help, right?” Lucas asks, giving Eleven a chance to speak up. She stares for an unnerving amount of time, as she usually does, but her eyes soften as she nods. “Okay, cool, then… we need you to talk to us. For Will’s sake. Do you understand that?”

“I do,” Eleven whispers, lowering her eyes to the floor. She brings a hand up to her nose, wiping at it with her fingers even though there’s not anymore blood there, but the way she stares down at both her hands afterwards leads Mike to think that there’s a lot in her mind, a lot that she’s remembering. “The thing… a monster.”

“A monster,” Dustin repeats, and then takes off his backpack, digging inside. He pulls out an ancient D&D guide, the same he used the night Will went missing for their campaign. He opens it to the creatures’ section, handing it to Eleven. “Does it look like any of these?”

Her eyes are curious as she runs her fingers over the illustrations. She particularly stares at the notes scrawled on the margins of the guide, mouthing the words to herself, turning every page with a carefulness that Mike wasn’t aware she had.

She stops at the page with the Demogorgon and pauses, unaware of the way that Mike, Lucas and Dustin exchange nervous glances, remembering their last campaign once more. “This… but different. Pale. Bald. No…”

She drifts off and gestures towards the tentacles, but it’s hardly encouraging—and then a thought strikes Mike like thunder, a gasp escaping his lips as he shoots up to his feet, dropping his ice-pack to the ground. “Holy shit.”

Lucas stands with him, raising his hands as if to calm him down. “Mike? What—?”

“Nancy saw it,” Mike lets out, freezing as the thought settles in even more and nausea makes him dizzy. “Holy fuck, Nancy saw it around the Harrington’s property, looking for Barbara. And you know how close that is to the Byers’—and Mirkwood, holy fucking shit.”

“Wait, wait, hold on—” Max claims their attention, reminding them of her presence. She stands up as well, somewhere between alarmed and skeptical. “So, what, we’re supposed to believe some sort of Eldritch horror monster is camping out in Hawkins? What the fuck? I’m willing to believe in all this telekinesis and government persecution stuff and whatever, but I can only suspend my disbelief so far—”

“You never know!” Dustin points out. “Who’s to say what’s hiding in the woods? It could have a nest—hell, maybe it’s like Alien and it came out of an egg! Holy shit, what if one of them is using Will—”

Max scoffs. “Seriously? If there was anything like that growing in Hawkins someone would’ve probably made a lame ass YouTube channel about it by now. Be serious.”

“Not Hawkins,” Eleven provides, talking before Mike can finish taking a deep breath in preparation for losing his shit. The four of them look at her, making her squirm, but she meets each of their eyes evenly. “It came here. From the bad place.”

“The upside-down place?” Dustin questions, and Eleven nods. He frowns. “And now Will is there, with that thing?”

“Did any of you listen to what I said?” Mike finally snaps, gesturing at them with his hands, resisting the need to pace the hallway. “Nancy saw it! She said it was humanoid and it had no face! There’s no fucking way that was a bear or some other wild animal. That’d be a fucking weird coincidence! We need to fucking go!”

“And what’s your grand plan, exactly?” Max asks, shaking her head with disbelief. “That we go hunting for this thing, or something? How the fuck would we do that? Use your brain, twig!”

“I don’t know!” Mike throws his hands up in frustration, and then looks at Eleven, clenching his jaw before speaking. “How did this thing—?”

“The Demogorgon,” Dustin insists, gaining a couple looks from everyone. He shrugs. “Hey, it needs a name!”

Mike decides to roll with it. “How did the Demogorgon get here, to Hawkins? It couldn’t have just popped up. Eleven, what happened the night Will got, that he—?”

His throat chokes up, his tongue refusing to let the words out, because now he knows that Will isn’t dead, but that means acknowledging the unknown, and if Mike’s being honest, there’s nothing more terrifying to him than that. Especially when it comes to Will, whom he knows like he knows himself, if not better.

“It… passed through,” Eleven says, her tone careful. She looks down at the D&D guide again, and her lips tremble as she looks at the Demogorgon. Hesitates. “It… escaped. Was not meant to.”

A second of silence, and then Dustin claps his hands together. “Okay, so the Demogorgon escaped from the Upside Down—”

“Now you’re just naming things,” Max mumbles with an eye roll.

“—I’m choosing to ignore that comment, thank you. But, guys, we need to answer several questions,” Dustin pauses, thinking of the right words. “What is that place? Is it somewhere in Hawkins? Between towns? Somewhere in the woods, or some building? And—what does the government have to do with it?”

“It is bad,” Eleven says, seemingly referring to the first question. “It is here, but… not. Can’t see it.”

“No offense, but that doesn’t actually help.” Lucas shakes his head. “We should get a map, I’m sure there’s one of Hawkins online…”

Mike closes his eyes, tunning out the conversation to clear his head, and tries to think, organizing the information in his head, remembering that first night when they found Eleven.

She’d taken Will’s picture frame and turned it backwards, towards the wall, letting Mike see the back of the picture—her own version of upside down, as she could express it in that moment. Then she’d claimed Will was in the house, and the phone call happened. She’d pointed out the end of Will’s bed, insisting that she knew him, somehow. That he was there. Mike bites the inside of his cheek, opens his eyes, and looks at the D&D guide.

What’s another word for upside down? Downwards? Backwards? Which, when referring to a place, it’s just the backside, a back door—English class prepared him for a lot, but for not for this, certainly, yet a thought tickles the edge of his mind, an idea he can’t quite grasp yet. Will is in a place similar enough to here, to Hawkins, but it’s bad. It’s wrong. They can’t see it, just as they couldn’t see Will the night they found Eleven, despite her claims of him being present. And ealier, she kept saying she had to reach Will lower.

Oh. “Wait.”

The blurted-out word calls the attention of the group, who stop their arguing about where in Hawkins a Demogorgon could hide and if the government could be hunting it, to look at him. Lucas pats his back. “Mike?”

“Will’s on the other side,” Mike says, and receives more than one confused look—but not from Eleven. She simply nods, somehow understanding, so he decides to continue with this idea. “Eleven, does the other side look like Hawkins? As in, exactly like Hawkins? Every building and stuff? Even Will’s house?”

A pause, where she squints her eyes as if trying to remember. “I saw… yes. Will showed me.”

“And it’s upside down,” Mike swallows, feeling on the edge of something. “Backwards. Flipped. Like a picture… or a mirror.”

“Holy shit,” Dustin says, catching on once Eleven nods, mouth dropping open. “It’s like the Vale of Shadows.”

Lucas’ expression clears up, and Mike’s shoulders slack with relief. Yes, yes, that’s it. “No fucking way.”

“Um,” Max breaks in. “Translation?”

“It’s a D&D thing,” Dustin explains, a grin widening his lips. “The Vale of Shadows is a dimension that is a dark reflection, or like an echo, a mirror of our world. Real nasty, fascinating stuff. Here—read this, there should be a summary.”

Dustin takes the D&D guide from Eleven and all but shoves it at Max, who rolls her eyes and opens it up, looking through the pages. Seemingly finding it, she raises her eyebrows. “’It is a place of decay and death’, damn, okay. Lovely. And Will is stuck in there, with… a demon.”

“A Demogorgon,” Lucas corrects her, earning an unimpressed look. His expression is twisted with uncertainty, though, and a sadness that makes Mike’s mind snap into place, reminding him that oh, right. This isn’t just some funny little easter egg thing for a campaign. This isn’t a detective movie. This is Will’s life. “How… how do we even get there?”

“We Shadow Walk,” Dustin says, and then, sensing the tension that’s built up between them, he presses his lips together. “Or, well, in real life, I don’t know. But there’s gotta be a way, right? Otherwise, how did the Demogorgon get here, and how did Will end up there?”

Mike is not gonna beat around the bush, so he turns his eyes to Eleven again. “Do you know how to get there?”

She doesn’t open her mouth, meeting Mike’s eyes. The silence goes on for too long, and this time he isn’t feeling generous about it, he isn’t feeling sympathetic, or like exercising patience, so he sits back down, beside her. Offers his hand, and takes a deep breath when Eleven hesitantly takes it, looking confused and even concerned, as if she can tell Mike is one badly-placed word away from falling down a rabbit hole of misery. He certainly feels like it.

“Please,” he begs, only meeting her eyes briefly before looking away, at the floor, at his shoes, at the chairs and ceiling and just about everywhere, because he feels too aware of himself, more than he’s ever wanted to be. “Eleven, El—please. If you know anything, and I mean anything about how to get there, how to help Will… you need to tell us now.”

There’s a beat. And then, Eleven squeezes Mike’s hand so hard that he winces, and then she lets out one single word: “Doors.”

Mike snaps his eyes to her face, meeting a teary gaze, but any further interrogation is interrupted by the sound of steps that makes them all try to act natural. Mike drops Eleven’s hand, feeling awkward to the point where he gives Max his chair, scooting himself over and staring straight ahead. Lucas sits on Eleven’s other side, and along with Max, the three of them start reading the D&D guide together. Dustin nudges Mike’s side as Mrs. Sinclair’s voice echoes from the hallway.

“We’ll figure it out,” he whispers, to which Mike nods, and bends over to pick up his ice-pack, pressing it against his knuckles. It’s melted a little, but that’s fine. “We’re gonna get Will back, okay?”

“Sure,” Mike nods, but there’s a dull ache in his chest. He’s hopeful, but he can’t bring himself to feel much of anything else. If he allows himself that, then he’s worried that all that will come out of his mouth is a storm of thorns and resentment and pain. “’Course we will.”

Mr. Clarke leads them into the principal’s office one by one, going with Lucas and his mom first so they can each tell their version of what happened. Apparently, Troy was rushed to the hospital, while both him and James were suspended for a month, making it a little obvious that they must’ve gotten a recording of the fight from somewhere, and now they’re just double-checking. It’s an arduous wait, which only becomes mildly entertaining when Dustin’s mom arrives and frets over the four of them that are waiting outside.

“Oh, you poor thing,” she coos at Mike, looking at his face and wincing. He can only imagine how nasty he must look as his wounds finish settling in. “Do you want me to call your mom for you, sweetheart? She must be worried sick.”

“That’d be a good idea,” Mr. Clarke says, stepping out of the office with Lucas and Mrs. Sinclair. She looks a little angry, exasperated and worried in equal measures, keeping a loving hand on Lucas’ back. Mike stares at it, and then he looks away, crossing his arms. “I haven’t been able to reach Mrs. Byers at all, and Mike, Max, I can’t leave either of you go through alone, let alone leave the school. You understand that?”

Mike exchanges a look with Max, and then looks at Eleven, pressing his lips together and trying not to wince at the sting. He comes to a decision, then. “Can you call my sister instead? She’ll deal with the three of us.”

Mr. Clarke hesitates, and then agrees with a sigh, knowing too well how Mike gets about… well, everything. Mrs. Henderson tuts at them before letting herself be guided into the principal’s office with Dustin, and Lucas waves good-bye with a tense smile that Mike only half-heartedly tries to return. Seeing as the three of them are alone now, Max takes her chance to question him.

“What do you mean she’ll deal with the three of us?” Mike looks at her, and finds her typical raised eyebrow. Mike wonders if she can feel the sting of the gash she gained, but figures she doesn’t care.

“I thought it’d be best if we all camped out with each other,” Mike shrugs. “Lucas and Dustin can’t house you right now, but I don’t think it’s a good idea that you go home with Eleven when government people already saw you with her at the mall.”

Max blinks. “You’re inviting us to a sleepover, is what you mean.”

Mike rolls his eyes so hard he almost gets them stuck. “If that’s how you wanna look at it, but you don’t have to come if you don’t want to, I guess. Is your mom even gonna show up if Mrs. Byers doesn’t? What about your step-dad?”

“Shut up, dipshit,” Max snaps, her expression turning furious, and Mike shrugs in defiance, but—well, he feels like an actual asshole. He shouldn’t have said that, shit. “That’s none of your fucking business. Besides, I never said no. I’m just… surprised.”

“Whatever,” Mike pauses, licks his lips, and then, hoping he won’t regret it: “Listen, can we just—truce? I’m too fucking tired of this aggression.”

“The one you started?” Max challenges, and Mike throws her a dirty look, not saying anything. After a second, she lets up, leaning back against her chair with a sigh. “Okay. Yeah. Whatever. Truce.”

“Well, good.”

“Good,” Max echoes, and then turns towards El. “Why are you smiling like that?”

Mike leans forwards to get a good look at her face, and sees a happy grin that he doesn’t think she’s ever seen her pull before. “What?”

“You…” she trails off, looking between Max and Mike. She opens and closes her mouth for a moment, before settling on: “You are friends.”

“What? No!” Mike and Max say, speaking over one another. They exchange a look with identical expressions of disgust, and then Max shakes her head. “Ew. No, El, we’re mortal enemies.”

“Rivals at most,” Mike agrees, ignoring the confused look on Eleven’s face. “Not friends. We have a friend in common, that’s another thing entirely.”

“All of this is for Will,” Max gestures dismissively at Mike. “Like, look at him—”

“—fucking watch it, Mayfield—”

“He’s a loser—”

“Did you not hear me? I’ll make you sleep on the porch; I swear to god—”

“And he’s so oblivious it hurts,” Max finishes with a giggle, which Eleven echoes, and Mike—God, Mike actually has to bite back a fucking grin. Ugh. Clearly, he’s not thinking straight. “Now, let’s keep reading that stupid game guide—”

“You’re not making yourself any favors with me.”

“Like I care, dumbass.”

Dustin does not want to leave them, lingering as much as he can once he’s out of the principal’s office under the excuse of keeping them company as they wait for Nancy, explaining things about D&D to Eleven. Still, his mom has very little of it, and he’s gone within fifteen minutes, whining all the way down the hallway after saying goodbye. The only extra piece of information they share is in regards to Will’s funeral, and that comes from Mrs. Henderson herself.

“It’s fucked,” Max mumbles, after they’re gone, while Mike stares up at the ceiling, hand against his mouth. Will’s funeral. God. “They have no idea he’s alive. I can’t believe that’s tomorrow. I didn’t even think about that.”

“Jonathan is organizing it,” Mike provides, the words leaving him on their own. He’s only now processing this morning and all its horrors. “He fought about it this morning, with his mom. Joyce isn’t—well, I don’t know. I feel silly for not having as much faith as her now.”

Max stares at him in contemplation for a moment, and then shrugs, changing the subject. Mike appreciates it. “Guess I’m gonna have to borrow funeral clothes from your sister, huh?”

“You should stay at the house with Eleven instead,” Mike shakes his head. “It’s safer that way. No one will notice you gone.”

“Ouch,” Max rolls her eyes. “Fucker.”

“Fat-ass.”

“You are mean,” Eleven comments, shooting them disapproving glances, and Mike allows himself to be a little amused by it. But only a little, because Max straight-up laughs, and he doesn’t want to give her the satisfaction.

Nancy arrives not long after, and gives Mike a proper tongue-lashing regarding his state. At first, she’s concerned, then she’s angry, then she’s impressed that Mike actually threw the first punch, and lastly, she’s back to angry, because he really shouldn’t have done that. The principal agrees, but Nancy being Nancy, she somehow manages to negotiate his suspension down to a week, but he’ll still be attending detention for another two after that. Ugh.

Max gets the same punishment, while Eleven watches the conversation in fascinated curiosity. Nancy keeps side-eyeing both girls, and then Mike, but she only really reacts to them when they get inside her car and Mike tells her that they’re sleeping over.

“Really?” She wonders out-loud, visibly confused. She glances at the rearview mirror, seems to stare at Max, and then relaxes a little. “Oh. Okay, that makes sense.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mike complains. Nancy shrugs, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, trying to look innocent. Mike glares. “Nancy. What do you mean?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, just—you and girls,” Nancy shrugs again, and Max audibly snorts from the backseat, unsubtly turning a laugh into a cough. Mike frowns in confusion. “You don’t mix, you know?”

Mike’s too tired for this. “Guess not.”

“Don’t sweat it, Michael,” Max calls from the back, to which Mike turns to glare at her. “You’ll figure it out some day.”

“What?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Nancy cuts in, and then sends Mike a look. She ignores it. “Now, can you explain to me, you know… your other friend?”

Ah, right. “Well, you see…”

Mike doesn’t see the point in lying. He explains everything’s that happened to Nancy in as much detail as he can, with Max occasionally chiming in with comments or corrections. His sister listens in silence, her expression becoming almost comically horrified the more they tell her. But it’s the Demogorgon that takes the cake.

“No fucking way,” Nancy shakes her head, eyes wide, skin pale. “You—you think I saw that?”

“You believe all of this?” Max asks, leaning in from the backseat. “Like, for real? Because I’ve seen it all, and I’m not even sure I do.”

“Well, when you see that—that thing, you kinda have to give your story some credit,” Nancy explains, squeezes her eyes closed for a quick second and then shakes her head again. “Holy shit. That thing… what if it took Barb?”

“She could be alive, like Will,” Mike says, hoping it’s true. “She’s just hiding—waiting for help.”

“Shit,” Nancy pauses, and then she looks at Mike with fierce eyes, coming to some sort of decision in a split second. “Mike, I need you to listen to me very, very closely, okay?”

“Uh, sure?”

“Do not get involved with this,” Nancy shakes her head, glancing at Eleven in the rearview mirror, who’s been quietly staring out the window the whole ride, a thoughtful expression on her face. Mike opens his mouth to protest, but Nancy beats him to it. “No, Mike, listen—you’re not going after some monster, okay? No way in hell. You’re not putting yourself in danger like that, I know you, I don’t want you doing that—”

“Are you kidding?” Mike protests. “Nancy, I have to help Will—!”

“You can help him from a distance!” Nancy exclaims, and the panic in her voice gives Mike pause. “Mike—if anything of what you’re telling me is true, then we’re in big trouble. Do you realize how big this is? This isn’t about Will anymore! We need to tell Hopper about this!”

“Do you really think the police will be able to do anything?” Max doubts out loud. “Like, don’t get me wrong, Hops is trustworthy, but who’s to say the government doesn’t have agents around town or something? Or someone to keep him quiet? He told Mike he’d get to the bottom of this, but how far will he truly be able to get?”

That stops Nancy in her tracks, and she remains quiet for several seconds. Then, she shakes her head again. “I need to speak with Jonathan, he—he needs to know. This is his brother we’re talking about, and I can’t make a decision just listening to you kids.”

Mike and Max let out identical scoffs, but he’s the one that verbalizes their offense. “We’ve figured out more than you have!”

“By dumb luck!” Nancy snorts, but she almost seems angry about it. “Barb is also missing, Mike! I also have several stakes in this! I’m not telling you this because I think I’m better than you, or because I don’t want your help. I’m telling you this for your safety, because you’re my little brother, and you’re my responsibility and I love you, and I won’t lose you to a demon from another dimension. Got it?!”

Oh.

“Huh,” Mike lets out, dumbfounded. He can’t seem to find any more words in himself, struck mute by Nancy’s sincerity. He stares ahead at the road, opens and closes his mouth. But he doesn’t manage much. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Nancy sighs, a deep sound that makes Mike aware of how heavy her heart must feel. “And I don’t wanna hear any more about this today, okay? Tomorrow—tomorrow’s the funeral. I had to watch Jon pick coffins for his little brother, for Will, and I just—no. We need a game plan. We’re not going in blind. We’re not going to freak out our parents with this. The most I’ll allow you to do is gather information from El, and nothing else. Are we clear, Mike?”

Mike blinks, saying nothing, and then Max pulls at one of his curls to startle him into an answer. “Yeah, sure.”

Nancy narrows her eyes. “Mike—”

“Okay, okay, I got it!” Mike snaps at her, and then turns away, towards the window, trying to hide his unhappiness. “Fine. Okay.”

“Good,” Nancy turns up the radio’s volume, and that’s that.

It’s only once they arrive home that Mike realizes how late it is, because his parent’s cars are present, which means he won’t get to avoid this particular confrontation. His mom almost all but faints at the sight of Mike’s face. Nancy explains the situation, sitting him and Max down on the living room and then kidnapping Eleven up to her room, since she’s innocent and won’t stop staring at his mom’s careful interior design with wide eyes. Nancy has no interest in defending him even further than she already did with the principal, no matter how disgusted she seemed by Troy and James herself, and she knows better than to push it with their mom and Ted.

Ted, who, of course, isn’t amused. “No gaming consoles, no car, and no internet for a month, buddy.”

“A month?” Mike repeats, incredulous. “Over a stupid fight?”

“Michael, you assaulted a classmate!” His mom crosses her arms, standing in front of him with a disapproving frown. “It’s not a stupid fight. You got suspended and got detention!”

“So what?!” Mike gestures, throwing his hands up incredulously and almost hitting Max’s face. “Mom, you think I care about that right now? With what’s happening with Will? Seriously? Do you guys even care? You weren’t there! You didn’t hear what he was saying about him!”

At that, mom’s expression becomes guilty, and she sighs. “Baby, I know you’re hurting but violence is not the answer, okay? You can talk to us, Michael, about anything you need and anything you’re going through. We’re here for you, we love you, I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide anything—”

“Whatever,” Mike rolls his eyes, clenching his jaw and swallowing. He looks at the floor, ignoring Max’s eyes, ignoring the way his mom lets out an exasperated sound at his attitude. He’s not really listening to the words, can’t bring himself to believe them when he’s heard them before. And it was just—fucking useless. Just another lie to keep up the family image. “It’s fine. Whatever you say.”

“The Walsh family could press charges. A broken arm is nothing you walk off,” is all Ted says, unhelpful as always. Mike’s surprised he even bothered to turn off the TV for this conversation. “This is serious, Michael, and you need to do some thinking. What do kids call it these days? Soul searching?”

Mike rolls his eyes. “Fuck that.”

“Hey! Language!” Mom snaps, but Mike doesn’t bother to look at her. “We’re trying to have a serious conversation—”

“Are you guys done yet?” Mike interrupts, glancing at his mom, then at Ted, then at Max, who’s expression seems… almost guilty, though he has no idea about what. The fact that she had to sit through this is so embarrassing it burns, but he figures their truce might save him from commentary on it later. He figures he kinda deserves the humiliation, considering his earlier comment about her family. “I gotta show the girls to the basement.”

“Michael, I…” Mom tries, but she can’t seem to find the right words. She always does make this same attempt, over and over. But she doesn’t always manage to hit the nail on the head. And this is one of those days where Mike just doesn’t want to deal with it.

Mike sighs, and finally dignifies to look at his mom in the eyes. “Look, mom, I get it was wrong and like, I don’t even like fighting! You know that. I didn’t do that for me, I did that for Will. And if that’s wrong then fine, I don’t care! I don’t regret it, I could never regret, that, I’ll take my punishment. Can we just go now?”

His mom looks defeated. She tries again, but he’s made up his mind. “Mike…”

“That’s two months of punishment now, Michael,” Ted chimes in, and Mike is hardly surprised, but that doesn’t keep him from feeling like his head is about to burst from a rush of rage. He bites his tongue to avoid making it any worse, and rolls his eyes as Ted stands up and starts making his way out of the room. “Soul searching, Michael! At least you finally brought girls over this time…”

And that’s really the salt on the wound, isn’t it? Rubbing it in, like he always does, and Mike doesn’t even bother trying to look calm as he grips Max’s wrist and all but yanks her up with him, storming out of the room and ignoring his mom calling his name. He guides Max up the stairs, two at a time and almost making her trip, and all but slams open the door to Nancy’s room.

Inside, his two sisters and Eleven jump. Nancy looks at him, and must read something in his expression that concerns her, because she closes the nail polish she was using to paint Eleven’s nails and stands, taking a step towards him. “Mike? What happened? Was it bad—?”

“Show them around or whatever,” Mike says, all but shoving Max into the room. She trips over Holly, and then Mike gets his little sister and Max glaring at him, but he feels nothing. “I’m going to bed. Don’t bother me.”

“What—to bed?” Nancy asks, but Mike is already stepping back and grabbing the door handle. “But dinner isn’t—”

“Don’t bother me!” Mike repeats, slamming the door shut and then hurrying to his room.

He turns the lock and takes a deep, deep breath before changing into his pajamas, letting his clothes of the day, blood-stained and wrinkled, fall onto the floor. Then, he falls into bed, knowing he should probably take a painkiller or have a look at his face but not having the will to do so. Days like this, before Will went missing, Mike would sneak out through his bedroom window and ride his bike to the Byers’.

He’d knock on Will’s window and climb inside without them exchanging a single word. Will would get him the sleeping bag and set the alarm for four a.m. Then, when it woke them up, Mike would leave after spending an inappropriate amount of time hugging Will goodbye, and everything would feel a little better. He’d make it home before his mom got up to make breakfast, grab a quick nap, and he’d be ready to face his family like nothing ever happened.

He can’t exactly do that now, though, can he? Nor can Will call him at midnight, to tell him how shitty Indianapolis truly is, and how dull and disgusting hunting gets, how much he misses Jonathan now that he’s off at college, how worried he is that his mom is always stressed and perhaps growing lonely. Mike would listen to him talk for hours. Hell, days like these, more often than not, would be when they’d joke about running away. It’s funny, Mike thinks, how your whole life can feel extremely insignificant and unimportant when the one person you care about the most is gone.

He just needs to get through the funeral. That’s all. He can deal with everything else, with this, with finding Will, once he’s out of the house.

Mike drags himself under the sheets and hopes to have no dreams.

Chapter Text

Mike spends the next morning moping and cursing life in his head.

Everything hurts, so much more than yesterday to the point where he almost, almost stays in bed. But then he thinks of Will, as he often does in the mornings when he knows he isn’t around, and remembers that he got his shit handed to him in his name—and that he’s alive. The thought instantly wakes him the fuck up, startling him into sitting up and filling him with the momentary motivation to face whatever the day has in store, in stark contrast to yesterday morning’s mood.

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, Mike attempts to gauge the damage to his features and clean up a bit, wincing both in pain and at how messed up his face looks. He runs his tongue over his split lip, and lightly puts pressure with a finger on his bruised cheekbone and nose, trying not to squint because one of his eyes is swollen. It’s not exactly the most captivating sight, and a part of him kinda regrets it because he can feel that it’ll take forever to heal. The rest of him would do it all over again, for Will.

With a sigh, he heads downstairs, following the noise of moving plates, hushed exchanges of words, and the small countertop TV that Holly uses to watch her morning cartoons. Going down the stairs hurts, as well, and Mike wouldn’t be surprised to find random bruises from the gym floor all over his body, but he decides he can worry about that later. The soreness, in a way, keeps him centered. It reminds him that there are far more important things to take care of than his hurt feelings, or his grief.

Max and Eleven are at the table, quietly having breakfast next to Holly while Nancy, with her back to him, finishes up another round of toast. The atmosphere is tense and a little unnerving, made only worse by the fact that Holly is innocently transfixed on her morning show, kicking her feet under the table.

Max looks awful, though not nearly as bruised as Mike. Her eyebrow piercing is missing, and he wonders if that’s because it hurt too much to have it on or if she somehow lost it yesterday and he never noticed. It makes her look like she’s missing some of her edge, but it’s nothing that her piercing blue eyes following him through the kitchen don’t fix. Just from that, Mike can tell that there’s something she wants to tell him, something private. He’s not looking forwards to it.

Eleven is looking at the TV with wide, distracted eyes, seemingly entranced. There’s a heaviness to her shoulders that hasn’t vanished a single bit since they found her, though. A tension in the corner of her mouth that almost makes her look miserable, though Mike has no clue as to why, exactly, that might be, out of hundreds of possibilities. He can only hope Will is somewhere near the top of that list, which he better be, because Mike reaches into an empty Pop Tarts box only to realize she has the last one on her plate. Ugh, he hates sharing.

“Mom left painkillers and antibiotics for you,” Nancy says in lieu of a good morning, turning towards him and handing Mike his breakfast plate, along with a plastic cup with a few pills in it, including his usual meds. Mike grunts in acknowledgement and sits beside Holly, starting to grab food off the table. “She’s helping out Mrs. Byers and Jonathan with the arrangements, and gave us very clear instructions to follow. They’ll meet us at the service in a couple hours, then we’ll head to the graveyard, and after that we’ll be back to the Byers’, probably for the rest of the day.”

Mike tastes the words around in his tongue for a second, taking a bite off a piece of toast and speaking while chewing, raising an eyebrow at her. “And what are you actually gonna do?”

Nancy sends him a warning look, mixed with disgust at his manners. “Jesus, close your mouth—and I’m not doing anything that you need to know. Now finish your breakfast so I can have a look at your face, yeah? You look like you got hit by a truck.”

“Could be worse,” Max comments, earning a withering look from Mike. She shrugs and shoves a bite of eggs into her mouth. “Just sayin’. Troy can’t throw a punch for shit.”

“Let’s not talk about that, alright?” Nancy scrunches up her nose, then gets a thoughtful expression. She opens her mouth, looking at Mike, seemingly to ask him something, but then side-eyes their company and deflates, drumming her fingers on the table. “God, what a mess.”

There are dark bags under her eyes, indicating a restless night of sleep. Mike wonders, bitterly, how it is that she is handling Barb’s disappearance with a lot more grace than he is Will’s, not lashing at Eleven who might know something or at anyone who speaks to her, the way he has. Then again, Nancy has always been better at regulating her emotions than him. Mike had no idea how much he admired that until now. He used to find Nancy annoying as fuck, entitled and stuck-up, self-righteous and self-centered—but then she went off to college, and Mike understood some of the pressure of being the oldest child in the house.

She’s still annoying sometimes, though. Nothing is gonna change that shit.

“Can I skip the funeral?” Mike asks, looking down at his plate so he doesn’t have to look anyone in the eye. He pushes his food around with his fork, not really hungry at all. Just the thought of having to assist makes his stomach twist with uneasiness, despite this morning’s resolve. “I don’t—I just don’t wanna do that.”

There’s a pause in which the only noise comes from the TV. The tension is thick enough that Mike feels a little nauseous, and Nancy’s eventual sigh doesn’t make it any better. “Mike, I’m sorry, but… you know we have to go, just—think of Mrs. Byers and Jon. It’s too late to stop them from doing this. They’ll need you to be there, regardless of everything that’s going on. Okay?”

Fuck. Mike shrugs and grabs the corn syrup, pouring it over his eggs and ignoring the way Max stares holes into his face in horror. “Worth a try, I guess.”

“Nancy, I don’t get it,” Holly speaks up, kicking at Mike’s feet under the table. He doesn’t have the motivation to kick back or even look away from his food, leaning his elbow on the table and his chin on his hand to keep his face low. “What happened to Will?”

Fucking hell. Of course, their parents didn’t tell her. If Mike had to guess, they completely forgot, or maybe Ted decided it just wasn’t important. Nancy struggles for a few long seconds, starting sentences that she never finishes, to which Mike decides he can’t do this. Abruptly, he stands from the table with his breakfast in hand and all but bolts to the basement, ignoring calls of his name, not wanting to hear Nancy explain to their little sister that for all intents and purposes, Will is dead. His best friend is dead and they’re going to bury him today.

Even knowing it isn’t true, Mike still feels like he might vomit just thinking about it, his eyes tearing up. The events of yesterday seek to overwhelm his senses, from the sight of Will’s dead body to his outburst in the bathroom, the fight at the assembly, then the indescribable terror of Will’s voice coming over the radio—it’s too much. Yet it appears to be the only thing he can think of right now, because he just—he wants, god, needs to help Will and it’s gonna drive him insane in more ways that he thought were possible.

His breakfast has gone cold by the time Mike finishes off most of his plate, which is fine, because it tastes like ash on his tongue anyways, no better than the pills. He’s surprised he was even able to finish it, yet glad, because he has a feeling that he’ll need the fuel. Mike doesn’t bother taking his dirty plate up to the kitchen; instead, he sets it on the table in front of the couch and immediately heads to his desk, all but yanking the first drawer on the left open to pull out one of his writing notebooks.

He slams the drawer closed and sits down, blindly grabbing a pencil from a holder as he opens the notebook to an empty page, flipping through outlines of D&D campaigns, short stories, shit self-written poetry, and drawings Will’s done on several pages for Mike to discover much later. He stares at the empty page for a second, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath to try and calm down, setting his mind straight.

Then, Mike starts writing down all they know about Will’s disappearance. First, a timeline—Will left his house at roughly nine-thirty with Dustin. They must have made it to Dustin’s house at around ten, and Will must have reached Mirkwood very shortly after that, ten, fifteen minutes at most. Something made him crash his bike; Mike makes an annotation besides that point for the possibility of the Demogorgon being the reason for that.

The police were able to determine that Will made it home and all the way to the back, into the shed, to grab a gun. And then nothing, not until they tried calling Will on their way to the Byers the next morning with Dustin’s phone. There’s a gap, after that, until they find Eleven, though Jon did mention Joyce thinking Will was calling the house, crying into the landline earlier that same night. Mike writes down every event he’s been present for since then, biting his lip, then he gathers a few extra facts on a different page:

Will was taken in what was most likely a very short window of time, leaving virtually no trace, before Joyce got home from work. Eleven must have been running around the outskirts of Hawkins for at least a day until they found her, which means that she could possibly pop up on the timeline, from who knows where, immediately after Will got taken.

Mike stretches his memory, and remembers her wearing a Benny’s Burgers shirt, as well as his conversation with Hopper before he dropped him off at school yesterday, frowning. Is it really a coincidence that Benny suddenly died shortly after Will and Barb went missing, considering Eleven saying she was being chased by bad men, after being found wearing a shirt from his place?

There’s a lot Eleven hasn’t told them still—a concerning amount, in fact. What was she doing before they found her? How heavy was her hand in all this, since she seems to know so much? She is dangerous, no doubt about that, and seems to have good intentions, but how much of that depends on her sort-of knowing Will, and on the help they’re giving her? Clothes, a bed, food, hell, a fashion makeover and even a better name.

What’s the scale here? She’s just a girl, a scared girl, Mike knows that, but he’s also disturbingly aware that there’s more to it than that. He can’t treat her as just a girl, not yet. It makes him feel guilty, an ugly, self-deprecating hate towards his own feelings about her settling in his belly. He pushes it down for now.

The rest of his annotations are poor because of all the missing information, so he tries to focus on making them as explicit as possible, jotting down theories. Eleven has explained that Will is basically in another dimension, someplace similar to Hawkins that works as a reflection of sorts. She somehow seems to be able to connect to that place, and more importantly, to connect with Will—so, how do they get him out?

Eleven mentioned doors, when Mike begged her to give them something else to work off of. Does that mean there’s a portal somewhere in Hawkins, or something similar enough to it, that leads to that place? Is something like that even possible? Mike isn’t the best at science, if this can even be explained with science at all. He feels like he needs to go over this with Lucas and Dustin, who could probably put into words what Mike can’t. Out of habit, Mike reaches for his phone, only to remember halfway through the gesture that right, fuck, it’s still at the Byers. Fucking Dustin.

He considers going upstairs to use his laptop and see if he can catch either one of his friends online, but then he remembers that he’s grounded and his mom probably took it while he slept. Not to mention, Dustin and Lucas probably got their own punishments from the fight, though the Sinclair’s and Mrs. Henderson aren’t usually as harsh as his own parents.

He sighs, wondering if Nancy would let him use her phone—probably not, but just as Mike considers using Dustin’s radio again, the basement door opens and closes to two sets of footsteps. Mike immediately groans, missing the days when the door had a lock, since it was removed long-ago as yet another punishment because of him acting out.

“What are you up to, loser?” Max asks, coming right up to where he’s sitting and looking over his shoulder. Mike instantly snaps his notebook closed and stands up in a hurried gesture, almost hitting Max with the back of his chair. “Dude!”

“Sorry,” Mike mumbles, though it comes out quite insincere, more than he actually means it to. He winces to himself, and Max rolls her eyes, thankfully not taking it personally. Still, Mike has a priority right now, which is gathering the information they’re missing. With urgency.

Eleven is standing at the bottom of the basement’s stairs like she’s unsure of what to do with herself. She looks around, eyes catching on Will’s art decorating his walls, on the D&D board with their old figurines that they used for the last campaign, on Mike’s collection of family board games and old toys. He pauses for a second, staring at the pajamas she borrowed from Nancy, her newly-pierced ears, her painted nails. That guilt from earlier crawls up again and he pushes down.

He’d feel bad about what he’s about to do if it wasn’t for Will. “Eleven. Can you sit down? I need to talk to you.”

Her expression instantly grows wary, but she nods, and behind him Max lets out a huff of air, close to a scoff, probably knowing exactly what Mike’s intentions are. He drags a chair over from the D&D table in order to transmit the seriousness of this conversation, sitting in front of Eleven as she picks the couch. Max stands beside Mike for a second, indecisive, then sits next to Eleven, close enough that their knees brush.

Mike clears his throat and brings a knee up against his chest, getting comfortable. Max looks him up and down like he’s judging his current state of dress, but Mike doesn’t care. “I have a few questions, and this time, I need you to give me all the answers. Do you understand?”

Eleven looks between Max and Mike with unease, saying nothing. Max raises her eyebrows at Mike like she’s playing lawyer. “She doesn’t have to answer everything. What if there’s personal stuff that she’s not ready to share?”

“Do you think I want to argue with you? Fuck off,” Mike snaps at her, and Max opens her mouth to probably curse his ass, but he cuts her off. He’s fed up, has been fed up ever since that terrifying radio transmission. “I’m doing this for Will, okay? That’s all I’ve been trying to do this whole time and I don’t understand why you’re all so reluctant! If she doesn’t wanna tell me shit, fine, that’s on her, but then how the fuck are we gonna save Will?! I’m trying to do something before it’s too late!”

“I—" Max presses her lips together into a line. She doesn’t try to deny Mike’s words, making him able to sit with the smug satisfaction of knowing he’s right for all of ten seconds before he starts feeling aggravated again. Eleven nervously intertwines her fingers together, staring at Max for a second before looking at Mike and nodding. It fills him with relief, though it doesn’t do much for the guilt or the impatience he’s plagued with.

“I need you to tell me what we’re dealing with here,” Mike tries to keep his voice steady, his body still, but it’s hard. His toes wiggle against his will, he can’t help but squirm, and this is already overall a shitshow in his head. He bites his lips, picking at them with his teeth and pulling the skin, trying to avoid the side that’s split. “And I mean like, who you are, where you come from, what you were doing before we found you, what else you can do with—your mind, I guess, and how Will got involved and how we get him out—”

“No,” Eleven softly interrupts, letting the word out in a single breath. She’s tense now, almost panicked from the way she looks around the room. Max takes one of her hands, trying to calm her down, and Mike bites his tongue. It’s okay. He needs to give her a chance. “Too much. No. They… they will come.”

Mike opens his mouth, probably to say something drastically rude that he hasn’t thought through, but his brain catches up before that can happen and makes him pause, analyzing that answer. “The bad men, you mean? They will come if you speak about it?”

Eleven nods and Mike closes his eyes for a second, thinking of Dustin. Motherfucker. Why is he always right lately? “Fuck, you guys should’ve stayed at Hopper’s—”

“Will’s life was more urgent to us,” Max interrupts him, jaw clenched tight. Mike stares at her, at the angry, frustrated furrow of her brows, until Max explains a little more: “Look, after you left the quarry—we were a mess. Hopper didn’t know what to do with us. Lucas was angry, Dustin was in shock, and El just, well, she kept insisting it made no sense, which only made Lucas angrier. And as we were leaving El said she could feel Will again but no one wanted to hear it. I didn’t want to hear it. Until Hopper left us at that cabin with some sort of radio and El did the thing she did at the school. Busted that radio too in the process. I wasn’t gonna sit tight and let all of you think Will was dead. Making the walk back to the road to get a bus to my place was hell.”

“I…” Mike blinks, shakes his head to get rid of the buzz in his ears from the influx of information, and then he nods. Well, that at least fills the timeline gaps a little bit. “Okay, I mean, it’s just—the government is totally listening to us. It has always been, but now we’re in actual deep shit. We can’t be sure we aren’t bugged quite literally everywhere. Why the fuck haven’t they caught us yet? Why aren’t they taking down my front door right now?”

“Damage control,” Nancy says from behind him, almost making Mike fall off his chair with a jump. He was so engrossed; he didn’t hear her coming downstairs. “It’s simple, if you think about it for a bit.”

“Well, I wouldn’t call it simple,” Max scoffs. “But what do you mean?”

“The government can’t just storm our place without causing a scene, and as far as everyone knows, Will’s death was an accident, and we all have alibis for that night. They can’t arrest us without someone calling bullshit, and now Barb is missing, too.” Nancy approaches and crosses her arms, looking down at them with a careful look. Her eyes linger on Eleven. “Not to mention, I think Hopper would rather die than willingly help them cover this up, which would make everything even harder. It’d be a media shitstorm the second a journalist gets a whiff of it. It doesn’t mean they aren’t preparing to take El back when no one is looking, though.”

“So, they’re undercover like at the mall?” Max suggests, to which Nancy shrugs. It’s as good of a guess as any. “Then what you’re saying is, that the second we go anywhere by ourselves, we’re gonna have them breathing down our backs. With force.”

“Probably,” Nancy sighs, closing her eyes for a second, then looking at Mike. “We’re going to need a plan, Mike. As much as El staying here would be ideal, our best shot is to keep moving. They’ll have an excuse to get us eventually. We can’t risk losing her before she can help Will and Barb—especially if the people that are chasing her might hurt her, too.”

“I think there’s a way to get them back,” Mike provides, figuring that it’s best to keep everyone on the same page. “I need to talk to Dustin and Lucas about it—and then get a fourth opinion, I guess, if we can’t figure it out. But it would be really useful if Eleven could tell us anything else.”

Nancy looks at the girls on the couch, staring at Eleven’s avoidant disposition. She presses her lips together and then she approaches her, sitting on her other side on the couch, cautiously setting a hand on her shoulder and making eye contact with her. Nancy offers Eleven a hesitant, careful smile, and softens her voice like she usually only does with small children. Mike is set a little uneasy by the comparison, wondering just what Eleven’s living conditions were like, for her to be seemingly his age but have little to no social skills. It makes his guilt even deeper.

“El, I know all of this is overwhelming, and that you’re scared,” Nancy starts, squeezing Eleven’s shoulder. She nods, lips quivering, pouting. Blinking moisture from her eyes. “You can’t tell us much about where you come from, not yet, not if we want to be safe. That’s okay. But you need to understand that, what Mike is trying to say, is that we need you in more ways than one. We can get you all the help that you need, if you open up to us just a little more. If you let us help you, and understand you. I know you want to help us, too, so, please, just—can you tell us a little more? For Barb? For Will?”

Mike covers his nose and mouth with his hand, trying to keep his breath steady. They’re being selfish. A part of him knows it, his conscience feeling terrible because of it, but he can’t bother to be torn up about it. And they will help Eleven. He feels uncomfortable just thinking about abandoning her after she helps them, it’s just not something that seems like a real possibility. Hopper will handle it, maybe—but if he doesn’t, with the way Nancy is determinedly looking into Eleven’s eyes, Mike knows that they will.

They’ll keep their promises, they’ll keep her safe. It’ll be okay. They just need this. They just… they just need her help first. Desperately so. And then they’ll probably thank her for it for the rest of their lives.

“Okay,” Eleven finally lets out, making Mike feel like he can breathe properly again. He looks at Max, sees the way her lips are tilted downwards, and knows that she knows how… conditional this feels. But Mike will fix it. He will. He’ll owe her big time if he ever gets to see Will again, to touch him, to hear his voice. “Okay. I… I know where the doors are.”

“Really?” Mike instantly asks, leaning his arms on his knees to get closer. Eleven leans back, looking off at the floor, so he tries to reel back his enthusiasm. “Would you be able to pin-point it on a map?”

Eleven frowns. “No?”

“Not even with landmarks?” Nancy suggests, and Eleven just turns her confused frown towards her. Max sighs and shakes her head at them, clearly indicating that this is pointless—Eleven doesn’t know Hawkins like they do. They don’t even know if she knows where the north and south are. There’s no way she could point them just like that. “Well, are there any other… details that you could tell us about these doors?”

“It’s more like a portal, right?” Mike tries, only to get another look of confusion. With a frustrated sigh, he stands and heads towards the D&D table, grabbing his book and looking for any illustration of a portal that he can find. When he does, he shows it to El, pointing at it. “Is it like this? You just—pass through, and that’s it, you’re on the other side? And other things can come out of it? Does it have a circular shape, or is it more like an opening? Like a gate instead of doors?”

Nancy says something about him asking too many questions, but Mike knows that Eleven is more perceptive than she seems. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be keeping this many secrets, or giving out so many warnings.

“I think so… I have never been there.” Eleven answers, tracing her fingers over the drawings, nodding hesitantly at one that looks like a crack on pavement, long and sharp. There’s a second of hesitation, and then Eleven wipes her eyes, pushing the book away, wrapping her arms around herself with apparent fear. Mike exchanges a look with Max and Nancy, the three of them equally concerned and apprehensive. “I… I opened it.”

Mike’s tongue dies, incapable of forming any words. Nancy hesitates for long enough for Max to ask: “You mean the gate? You opened it?”

Eleven nods, sniffling, causing Max to wrap a comforting arm around her shoulders, looking at Mike and Nancy like she doesn’t know what else to do. The gesture snaps Nancy into a similar state of attempting comfort, rubbing one of Eleven’s arms up and down as she breaks down with what seems to be guilt.

“The monster,” Eleven continues between hiccups, closing her eyes. Tears are slipping down her cheeks now, which are growing red with emotion. Mike only feels capable of staring, frozen. “It found me. It followed. I was scared. It is… my fault.”

“Hey, none of that!” Max snaps, her eyes wide with horror. She pushes herself off Eleven only to take both her shoulders in her hands, forcing her to look at her in the eyes and going as far as to shake her. “This is not your fault, okay? None of this is your fault! Whatever you did, if you opened that gate—things happen, El. It’s not like you wanted this, did you?”

“No, no!” Eleven is quick to deny, shaking her head. “Not, not me. Not me.”

“Then who did?” Mike blurts out, which he instantly regrets. He should not be asking these things when Eleven is clearly having a moment, but it’s just—he can’t help himself. He knows he’s an asshole, he’s been well-aware of how inadequate as a person he is for years, since that first anger management session when he was a kid. He hates it, especially in this moment, as Nancy winces and Max shoots him an incredulous look. “Sorry, you don’t—you don’t have to answer that. I’m sorry, just, I—I mean—”

“Let’s continue this conversation later,” Nancy cuts in, saving Mike from putting his foot in his mouth again. She looks overwhelmed, between Eleven’s tears, Max's obvious indignation at him, and Mike’s—well, Mike in general. But she centers herself, clearing her throat, and then stands up, offering Eleven her hand. “Come on, El. Let’s see what Holly is up to, yeah? You’ll feel better, I promise.”

Eleven nods, a shaky gesture that makes Mike feel even worse about this whole thing. Fuck. Eleven stands to follow Nancy, taking her offered hand, only for his sister to turn her eyes towards him one last time. “I want you, Lucas and Dustin to figure this gate thing out, okay? Whatever theories you guys come up with, we’ll need them. I’ll talk to Jon after the funeral… and we’ll figure things out from there, after getting El back to Mrs. Byers, and to Will. We’re getting our friends back.”

Mike presses his lips together, still bothered by the implication that he’s going to get benched. But he nods. “Yeah. Okay. But, Nancy—what are you even planning?”

Unexpectedly, Nancy’s eyes harden, a frown twisting her features before she shakily tries to wipe her face clear of emotion. But Mike sees a familiar fire behind her eyes, the kind that always comes before Nancy is about to go on a self-righteous path. It used to bother him, because he’s seen that look in the mirror—a little delusional and plenty angry, when its him, but somehow Nancy makes it look badass instead. It made him jealous.

“That monster,” she breathes out, clenching her jaw. “It hurt Barb, and it hurt Will. And it hurt El, too, as far as I’m concerned. So—I’m gonna hurt it, too. Got it?”

“Damn,” Max looks at Nancy with no small amount of admiration that Mike can’t help but silently echo, nodding dumbly. Eleven’s eyes are wide, getting teary again at Nancy’s fierceness. “Got it, ma’am.”

With that, Nancy drags Eleven away. Mike expects Max to follow, but she doesn’t move from her spot on the couch, instead leaning her elbows on her knees, mirroring Mike’s posture. She forcibly meets his eyes until Mike has no option but to clench his jaw, tangling his fingers together with nervousness before speaking. “Look, I’m sorry about Eleven. I’m—I don’t actually want her to suffer any more, okay? I, I just—I just say things sometimes…”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” Max snorts, the intensity of her gaze softening slightly. She narrows her eyes, then, looking Mike up and down, and visibly braces herself, logging anxiety in Mike’s chest. “Look, that’s not really what I wanna discuss right now. Sure, you’re a fucking asshole—”

“Come on, I know that, you don’t have to fucking say it—”

“—but I just wanted to… talk about last night. With your parents,” Max pauses, gauging Mike’s reaction, which she’s right to do because he’s instantly standing from his chair and crossing his arms, tensing up like a cat and shaking his head in warning. Max rolls her eyes, visibly trying to stay calm. “Dude, I’m not going to make fun of you, okay? I just—”

“You just what?” Mike takes a deep breath, squeezing his hands into fists and resisting the urge to wiggle his leg. “That was—I don’t wanna talk about it. I don’t, and like, I’m sorry about what I said about your family, I really am. I know I can be an ass but—I don’t need this! And I, I don’t want your pity either!”

“I’m not pitying you!” Max stands up, crossing her arms the same way Mike is, clearly done being cautious, if the way she glares at him means anything. “Fuck you, Wheeler! I’m trying to tell you something and you’re just jumping to conclusions! I’m not trying to be an ass to you either!”

“Spit it out, then!” Mike dares her, though something tells him he’s not going to like the answer.

That’s the thing he doesn’t like the most about Max—she sees too much. She breaks people down to their basics, calls literally everyone out on their bullshit and lets herself be called out when it's deserved. It makes him feel exposed, like she understands more than she should, more than he himself does. Mike hates lying with a passion but Max’s honesty feels like a spotlight on his skin, burning through any facade, any semblance of internal peace that Mike has previously constructed to keep himself safe and balanced.

He figures that maybe this is why Will likes her. Maybe this is why Will likes Mike, too, in a way, because he tends to be just as aggressive and transparent as Max is about things, if not more so. He also sees too much of people, more than he wishes he did because unlike her, he doesn’t have enough emotional control to deal with it.

Max’s jaw shifts from side to side, clenches, and then she tilts her head, lifting her chin. Defiant down to the bone. “How long have you been hiding?”

Confusion washes over Mike like a wave, making him forget about his discomfort for a second. “What? I’m not hiding.”

“Yes, you are,” Max rolls her eyes, raising her eyebrows at him. Dread starts to crawl up Mike’s spine. He doesn’t like this. “From your parents, from your sisters—maybe even from Lucas and Dustin and Will. And I understand why you would, okay, I really do, but you—it feels like you’re bursting with it. Like you haven’t told a single soul about it, and it’s just… not even I did that when I lived in Cali. I think I’ve hidden more in Hawkins than I ever did in Cali, actually, which I also get. It’s not exactly a nice place.”

“I don’t understand,” Mike frowns at her. Max blinks repeatedly at him like she can’t believe he doesn’t get it, but it’s just too vague. Mike shrugs. “No, seriously, I—what do you think I’m hiding from?”

Max opens and closes her mouth, her expression settling in disbelief. “Well—shit. From yourself, apparently.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mike asks, but he’s getting defensive. Something itches under his skin, something familiar by now—denial, maybe. The feeling that he’s missing some crucial piece to the puzzle that he is. The wrongness and awkwardness that invades him sometimes, when he thinks too much about himself. “You’re being too vague. I seriously don’t understand.”

“Jesus, I see how it is,” Max sighs and then points to the couch, sitting down. She pats the seat next to her. “Sit down.”

Mike lets out a nervous laugh. “What?”

“Sit down,” Max insists and Mike shrugs to himself, figuring what the hell—this is fucking weird. Still, he’s unable to relax into the cushions, unable to let his guard down. Max looks at him for a second, as if knowing she’s going to have to break through it. “You’re not going to like this, from what I can tell. I don’t want you to freak out on me, so you’re warned.”

“Max,” Mike starts, a note of panic escaping in his tone that he hates with passion. Her expression is serious, pale eyes boring into him in a way that makes him squirm now more than they ever have before. “What are you doing?”

“I’m just gonna ask you a few questions, okay?” Max says, leaning closer to him and then hesitating as she reaches her arm out to touch him. Her hand hangs in the space between them for a second, awkward and out of place until she retreats it. “Just—I don’t want to force you into anything you’re not ready to face, but I want you to think about this conversation later in your own time—”

“Jesus Christ, Max,” Mike snaps, throwing his hands up in frustration. “Can you hurry up? What the fuck is this?”

“What are Lucas and Dustin to you?” Max finally lets out, looking like she wants to give Mike a good shove while crossing her arms. Mike stares in confusion, scrunching up his face, but Max remains impassive. “Well? Hurry up, you’re the one that was all bitchy—”

“Jeez, okay!” Mike cuts in. “They’re my best friends! I thought this shit was obvious, why are you even—”

“And Will?” Max interrupts, raising her eyebrows in expectation. “What about him? What is he to you?”

“He’s my best friend too!” Mike can’t help but helplessly shrug at her, blinking in bewilderment. “We’re all best friends. That’s how this party works.”

“So, you’re like a family?” Max continues, and Mike rolls his eyes, letting out an exasperated yes! that gives her pause. Max licks her lips, hesitating again. Then she straightens her back, shrugging at him. “Will’s like a brother to you, then, by that logic, right?”

Mike lets out a snort and blurts his next words out without thinking: “What? No. No, it’s not—it’s not like that. That’d be, that’s not...”

Hold on, buddy, his brain breaks in, as he watches Max’s mouth twist in amusement at his drifting voice, this is a trap. Mike shakes his head to himself, and scoffs. A trap into what? What endgame could Max possibly have in regards to this? Mike guesses this could be her way to gather more insight into how their dynamic works, maybe to see how she’d fit into the group… maybe to gather whether she could fit in as Will’s… as Will’s what? They couldn’t possibly be a thing, right? No fucking way. Will would’ve told him. Max would’ve told them, probably, as straightforward as she is.

“But if you’re family, why isn’t he like a brother? I mean, don’t you want that?” Max continues with her questions, even though Mike is starting to get dizzy with how his mind is reeling, trying to figure out her objective. “You only have sisters. And you’re the middle kid. I would’ve thought you’d like to have boys around—I mean, like, as brothers, you know.”

“That’s more like Dustin and Lucas,” Mike lets out, not thinking about it once again. He pauses at his own words, realizing that doesn’t make sense. Max doesn’t hold back her smirk this time, provoking a glare that would’ve probably made anyone else flinch. Not her, though, of fucking course. Not her. “What I mean is—I, well, Will is just—Will and I are just different—”

“Really? Different how?” Max is crossing her legs now, turning her body fully towards him like he has all of her attention. She even goes as far as to lean her chin on her hand, putting her weight on her knee. A perfect picture of smugness, to contrast Mike’s tense confusion. “Enlighten me. I know how my relationship with Will is different, but I’d like to hear about yours—”

“Your relationship?” Mike repeats, and watches Max snort, her face twisting like she wants to burst out laughing but is making an active effort not to. “What—what relationship? Are you guys, I mean, are you dating—?”

“What is it to you, if we are?” Max shrugs, squinting her eyes at him. “Like what would that be to you? How would that make you feel if you knew that Will and I like, went on dates, and held hands, and kissed, and even did more—”

“Stop,” Mike hisses at her, shaking his head again, as if that would help. His face is heating, and something ugly is curling in his chest, mixing in with his nervousness, his panic, his fear. “I would know if you were dating. You—you’re just messing with me.”

“Would you know? Will’s allowed to have secrets, Mike,” Max points out, and Mike’s mouth runs dry. “He doesn’t have to tell you everything. In fact, I know he hasn’t told you everything, I know stuff that you don’t—”

“Like what? You’ve known him for a year!” Mike stands up, feeling jittery with energy, his voice rising. “I’ve been friends with him all my life! We’re—we’re closer than family, that’s why he’s not like a brother! He’s, we’re—we’re closer. He’s more, you wouldn’t, couldn’t possibly understand—”

“Then help me understand, Mike!” Max throws up her hands, almost as if shrugging off responsibility for the way Mike’s gotten so worked up, as if this isn’t her fault. “Why is that? What does that mean? How can you be closer than family, than brothers?”

“I don’t know!” Mike yells. “I don’t know, he just is! We just are—like, what do you want me to say? What’s the point of this, what do you want? I don’t have whatever fucking answer you want, okay?!”

“You do, though,” Max keeps her voice leveled, humor now wiped from her expression. She pats the couch again, to which Mike lets out a bitter snort, turning around and pacing the room, clenching his hands into fists. “Mike. C’mon. It’s funny to see you worked up, but you should really sit and process—”

“Process what, exactly?” Mike whips around and gestures at her, trying to every other feeling he’s having behind his anger. Clinging to it, letting it dominate the way his heart is pounding and his hands are shaking. “Just say what you want to say! You know, so why don’t you quit fucking around and just fucking tell me—”

“You’ve had girlfriends before, right?” Max interrupts, still disgustingly calm, still dead serious. The sudden question has Mike running his hands through his hair, and he considers leaving. He considers walking out. But something is keeping him rooted to the spot; maybe it’s the unsubtle understanding behind Max’s eyes. Maybe it’s the way she’s the first person that’s ever made him actively question these things. Maybe it’s just that he’s just too fucking curious for his own good.

“Yeah,” Mike says, losing a lot of heat in a single breath. “What’s that gotta do with anything?”

“The way you felt about them,” Max starts, carefully pausing to gather Mike’s state before continuing, calm as he’s ever seen her. “Was that even close to what you feel for Will?”

“What—? No, of course not—"

Mike pauses.

He stares at Max, who’s now just looking back. Gazing at him, as if she can see through him, the way she has from the start but now, somehow, just—deeper. Far more terrifying than it has any right to be. Mike feels scattered, dismantled, like she grabbed a screwdriver and started loosening all his screws, looking for one very specific switch. And it seems like she’s finally found it, because suddenly their conversation makes a hell of a lot of sense.

And Mike’s reaction is to open and close his mouth, baffled, eyes widening as he freezes up—but not quite, because he’s shaking. Cold shivers, up and down his spine, and the slightest twitch of his face as his expression tries to pull into a frown, into rejection, into a long-ingrained instinct to deny, deny, deny—

“Is that what you’ve been getting at this whole time?” Mike finally manages to ask, voice choked out to the point that he has to force himself to clear his throat. He can’t find the anger and frustration of before, can’t find a curtain to hide behind now, because Max’s tore them all apart, laying their pieces on the ground. She’s letting Mike look behind it. He hates it. “Are you serious—? I, I can’t believe this. Couldn’t you just say it?”

“Say what?” Max asks. She insists when Mike refuses to reply. “Say what, Mike?”

“You know what,” Mike presses his lips together, the words feeling like a knife against his throat. “Don’t make me say it.”

“I didn’t want you to freak out. I warned you,” Max rolls her eyes, and Mike lets out a snort, shaking his head in disbelief. This isn’t funny. Not at all. In fact, this is—this isn’t fair. This isn’t true, it can’t be, it just can’t. “I thought you wouldn’t get it because we’ve been here a while, but I guess you surpassed my expectations. You aren’t completely emotionally inept. Just, you know, partially.”

“No, no, you can’t just—” Mike pauses to swallow and breathe, suddenly finding the idea of sitting down appealing. Seems like he should’ve listened to her about that, huh? “This isn’t, Will isn’t, and I’m not like that—”

“Like what?” Max challenges, and Mike meets her eyes properly, lets her pull out the last vestiges of his sanity with a single tilt of her head. “Queer? This isn’t queer, Will isn’t queer, you aren’t queer? Is that what you’re trying to say right now?”

“Stop saying that,” Mike gives in and runs his hands through his hair, pulling slightly, then rubs his fingers over his eyes. His black eye throbs with pain, but it centers him, gives him a little more steam. “Stop—you’re assuming things. You think I haven’t heard this shit before, people talking shit about Will, about me—”

“I’m not talking shit, though,” Max cuts in, but he refuses to look at her. “I’m dead serious, Mike. I know how people in Hawkins are. I know what you’ve heard, what Will’s heard. I know, I’ve had them spit it on my face all year. I know that your parents probably don’t help it—”

Mike snaps his eyes at her, finding it in himself to glare from behind his hands. He doesn’t think she catches it. “Don’t you fucking dare—”

“I’m not talking shit,” Max repeats. He just shakes his head, feeling his eyes well up against his will. He blinks it away fast, stubborn to a fault. “Mike, it’s okay. It’s okay. It doesn’t matter what anyone says, you’re okay. This changes nothing—”

“It changes everything, Max,” Mike finally gives in and lets his hands fall from his face, lets himself fall back into the couch next to her. He looks at her, and the kindness in her expression is overbearing. It’s too much. “You don’t—you don’t get it, you aren’t, you—”

“I am queer, though,” Max provides with a shrug, and Mike stares at her, mouth open. Something in his expression must seem desperate, because she elaborates with a tired sigh, rolling her eyes. “I figured it out pretty early on. I didn’t think I liked dudes at all until a while back, actually. Shit’s complicated to figure out. No one really gave me this much shit about it in my hometown, though.”

“You—” Mike stumbles over his words, tongue-tied. “But, how did you, I mean—”

“This isn’t about me, dude,” Max rolls her eyes, and Mike frowns at her, because he—well, he’s interested, actually. Like genuinely interested, and maybe she can tell, because she offers him up a shrug. “Maybe I’ll tell you about it someday, but you need to earn brownie points with me before that.”

“Fuck you,” Mike lets out, earning a huff of a laugh. Still, feelings crawl all over him. He feels like something’s snapped, and he doesn’t know if it’s snapped into place, or out of it entirely. If he’s lost it, or if he’s far more centered than ever. His thoughts are a mess, hating so much of this on one side, feeling so, so relieved from the other. He doesn’t know what to do with this. “I don’t… I don’t want this, Max. I don’t.”

“I get that. I don’t think any of us want it at first,” Max shrugs, and this time doesn’t hesitate before taking his hand in hers, squeezing once before letting it go. It’s a little awkward, but nice, in a way. “But you’re not alone, and after a while, it gets better. Not easier, just better. Being different is not a bad thing.”

“I’ve never thought it was,” Mike whispers, staring down at his hands. He runs his fingers over the worst of his bruised knuckles and shakes his head in disbelief. “I just—I didn’t think it’d be like this.”

“It sucks when people figure it out before you can,” Max hums. “But Mike, don’t get mad—”

“That’s such a good starting line from you—”

“—but you haven’t been exactly subtle about Will,” Max brushes him off, only to render him speechless again. Max sighs and rolls her eyes, like she’s once again mentally calling him dense. “I haven’t even seen you two interact but it’s like—like you’re spreading your love for him all over—”

“Don’t say that,” Mike closes his eyes for a second, opens them to his knuckles, to tangible proof of how far he’s gone from Will. And that just felt like a stepping stone, really. He’d go even further without hesitation. “Don’t—don’t say that. I don’t… I can’t talk about that. I don’t want to talk about that, actually, like, ever in my fucking life, because that, that’s just—”

It’s wrong, a part of him wants to say, but that’s not quite it, because he knows it isn’t. Not really. His father has always been casually careless, has probably always known about him—his mom, too, maybe. He’s never internalized it, or at least he didn’t think he did. He doesn’t hate the implications of this conversation. But it’s too much, like there’s not enough of him to face that truth, that simple fact. He doesn’t want to put a name to this. Names have power. And he knows that if he named it, if he named any of this conversation for what it is, it would make it all too real. And he doesn’t want it to be real yet.

“Don’t you think you should try? Don’t you think it would help you process things?” Max inquires, her voice a soft, careful thing. Mike shakes his head. “Mike… you look like you’re doing a lot of repression, and I don’t want to butt in even more, but—”

“I don’t want to,” Mike cuts in, feeling himself growing a little cold, a little defensive. “Just… can’t it stay like this? I mean, I’m—I’m that, and I don’t want to go any deeper than that. Can’t I have that?”

“I guess, I mean—I get it. You need to go at your own pace,” Max hesitates. “But—have you ever said it? Or thought about it before? Maybe considered it once in a fever dream? It might help…”

“I don’t—I can’t remember,” Mike shrugs, avoiding her eyes. “Saying, saying—that, it’s just, well...”

“It’s not a dirty word, Mike,” Max tries, still being painfully careful. “I mean, queer was a dirty word for a long time, don’t get me wrong, and for some people it still is. But you can say gay instead, just for the sake of it—”

Mike flinches. “I’m fine. I don’t—not right now? Please?”

“God, you can’t even say it, Mike,” Max sighs, and this time it’s a sad thing. Not pitiful, but painful, somehow—like she maybe understands the feeling more than she’s let on. It makes him feel just a little better, to know she isn’t judging him. “Okay, sorry, sorry, I’m being an ass but, well—just trying to help. You’re not alone, okay? You’re a fucking bitch, but I get it. And if you ever want to talk about it, well… we go to the same school, I guess.”

A laugh leaves him, surprising even him. “Right. Yeah, sure, thanks—but, can I… can I have a moment alone?”

“Sure,” Max stands up easily, not even stopping to ask if he’s sure about that. He appreciates it. “Should probably get ready for, you know… the funeral, and stuff. Don’t think about it too much, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Mike echoes, absent-mindedly nodding. Max leaves. He remains staring at his hands for several seconds, and then he looks at his walls. They’re filled with memories of Will. There’s a binder hidden under the couch he’s sitting on, full of his devotion towards Will’s craft.

Will. His funeral, god, and Mike is, he’s—he feels like that, he’s—

Will’s in danger. That’s all that matters. Mike can’t let himself wallow like this anymore, or he’ll be of no use, too lost in his own head. So, with a shaky breath, he stands up and shakes it off—or, rather, he tucks it into a tiny little box, and locks it with a key into some forgotten corner of his mind, with many similar thoughts he’s shoved back there.

Part of him wonders if Max was right. Maybe he’s had thoughts exactly like these before, thoughts he’s shrugged off too quickly and hidden away, as if that would somehow make it all truly disappear. But there’s no time for that now.

He has a fucking demon gate to find and a best friend to save. Nothing else matters. He’ll be fine.

Chapter Text

Getting ready for the funeral feels surreal on so many levels that Mike isn’t certain he’s not the one that somehow slipped into a different dimension.

The only suit he owns that he still fits into is too short at the ankles from his last growth spurt, but Nancy forces him to wear it in full instead of swapping the pants for some dark jeans anyways. She also forces him into the tie, and cleans up his face into looking a little less grotesque, and even does up his hair. It’s so ridiculous, but he just lets her do it because he has no energy left to fight. His conversation with Max replays in his head over and over, until he eventually shelves it for the sake of at least appearing sane throughout the day.

The game plan is simple, according to Nancy. “We’ll all have to go. We shouldn’t leave El alone here. Those people after her probably already know she’s here, since they’re likely listening in.”

Mike scratches his neck, staring at how ill-fitting Max looks in one of Nancy’s old black dresses. With the bruises and the busted lip and the half-assed braid and the same red Converse she’s been wearing all this time, she looks quite ridiculous, not like her at all. Eleven, for her credit, looks a lot more comfortable in her borrowed clothes, and the wig isn’t half-bad. It’s still strange as hell, but he figures this is the best they can do.

Nancy’s done-up herself, as well, of course, and helped Holly out—they’re best dressed, no doubt, but he questions the practicality of wearing dresses when they don’t know if they might have to… what, fucking run away somewhere? Fight someone? Mike isn’t sure, and he’s having trouble staying mad at it, or feeling much more than awkward and tired and determined to get this part over with so they can go back to finding real solutions and saving Will.

“So we’ll just pretend we don’t know the government has been fucking around with a girl with superpowers and monsters from another dimension?” Max questions, pulling at a loose string of her dress, tearing it off with a snap. “Great.”

“There’s not much else we can do right now, not until we regroup and get El back to the Byers’ place,” Nancy sighs, running a hand through her perfectly braided hair and shaking her head. Mike can see the tension on her shoulders, notice the stress of the situation that shows in the jut of her jaw. He swallows, looking away, reminding himself that Nancy also lost a friend that they must save too. That she’s shouldering this because she’s the eldest and she feels responsible. Shit. “Come on, let’s not linger. I’m leaving my phone behind just in case.”

“I’ve got Dustin’s radio,” Mike offers, gesturing to his school bag slung over his shoulder. He shrugs awkwardly, clearing his throat when everyone turns to look his way. “Just in case. They might be listening in to them but—well, we’ve got to have a way to communicate.”

“Good thinking,” Nancy nods, patting his shoulder, and then she’s pushing everyone out of the front door and to her car. She closes up the house behind her, as they filter in, the girls in the backseat with Holly, him in the passenger seat. He watches Nancy looking around, as if suspicious, and Mike realizes a little belatedly that whoever might be keeping tabs on them might even be undercover—which, holy shit. They really can’t trust anyone.

He looks at the car radio with apprehension. Nancy’s car is not the fanciest thing ever, nothing like the vintage from the eighties Ted still drives around and cares for more than for his children. It’s definitely nothing like the self-driving Tesla that Ted’s been eyeing, but it is new. It has Bluetooth, Wi-Fi connection, and a touchscreen. How do they know whether it’s bugged or not? It’s the same as their phones; anyone with access to a network could’ve hacked them at any point. It makes him feel paranoid as hell, but he tries to remain calm as they pull out of the driveway. He figures they’re better off working under the assumption that the people looking for Eleven know exactly where they are at any point. This way, they can prepare themselves better.

The drive to the graveyard is quiet save from Holly quietly humming along to her favorite radio station, which Nancy puts on for her. She seems sad, a little upset, perhaps because she now understands that Will is… not okay. He doesn’t know what Nancy told her, and he’s not sure he wants to know, or how they’re going to explain to her and to the entire town that Will did not actually die when they save him. When. For Mike, it’s not a matter of if anymore.

The second they park, Mike starts feeling a little short of breath. He gives himself a moment as everyone filters out of the car, shaking his head, steeling himself before moving out. Will is alive. He repeats this to himself, as an undeniable fact, as he walks beside Max and Eleven, as they approach Dustin and Lucas, as his mom finds them and takes Holly’s hand and fusses over his tie and hugs him tight. He’s frozen, unable to return the hug. It doesn’t feel right to be here, and somehow he senses that he’ll have nightmares about Will’s funeral for several years to come.

“Go say hi to Mrs. Byers, okay?” His mom says, petting his hair, her lips pressed into a line. She presses something into one of his hands, and Mike feels bile rise up in his throat as he looks down and sees a photo of Will smiling up at him; it’s the funeral program. His mom must’ve gotten them made up and printed for Mrs. Byers, and it makes it all feel even more surreal. Mike isn’t even sure he’s awake anymore. “She asked after you. Let her know you’re still here for her.”

“Of course,” Mike mumbles, pressing his free hand to his chest, trying to rub away the tightness. “In a bit.”

She kisses his cheek and she steps away to keep receiving newcomers, keeping Holly at her side to help her hand out the pamphlets. He looks away, shakes himself, exchanges a nod with Nancy as she parts to find Jonathan, just as they’d discussed. With that, it’s only him, Dustin, Lucas, Max and Eleven left. It only makes him feel marginally better to have less eyes on him, but it’s enough to jostle him into trying to have a productive conversation.

“So, those doors Eleven mentioned,” he starts, the five of them closing in on a circle. He directs his words at Dustin and Lucas, since they’re the ones that need the update. “We talked a little, and I think they’re like portals—gates like cracks, you know? She said she opened them by accident, and we might be able to cross over through one, though she’s never been through. You guys think that’s possible?”

“I mean, that’s like—a fucking rip in the fabric of reality,” Lucas says, a little dumbfounded, perhaps a little skeptical, but he doesn’t shrug it off. “Not something easily hidden, or, you know, unnoticeable.”

“It would pull a crazy amount of energy, too,” Dustin offers up, hand to his chin. “I mean, by this point I don’t doubt whether it’s possible, I just doubt whether we’d even be able to find something like that, you know? My guess is, whatever those bad guys were doing with El, it probably wasn’t ethical, and very experimental. If she opened a portal into another dimension by accident, they must know how to keep an eye on it, probably keep people from going in and out.”

“Where did she open it, anyways?” Lucas asks, glancing nervously at her. Eleven shifts under his gaze, and Max clears her throat, throwing Lucas a pointed look. He winces, and then rephrases his question directly at Eleven. “I mean, sorry, El—just… is there any chance you know where that portal is? Where it opened, whether it’s closed right now?”

Eleven shakes her head. “It happened… home.”

“Right,” Mike sighs, resisting the urge to fidget. “Right, guys, remember she like… ran away. She obviously won’t be able to tell us from a map. Whatever that gate is, it’s probably in that same place she escaped.”

“You can’t even feel it with your powers?” Max asks her, and Eleven hesitates, shrugging.

“I could feel Will, sometimes,” she replies, her mouth twisting, her brow furrowing in thought. “But… not a gate. Not the monster, unless I’m looking.”

“Nancy and Jon need a way to get there—hell, Hopper needs to know this too, if he’s helping,” Mike shakes his head. “We gotta find it. I mean, it must be near the Byers’ place, right? Otherwise, how did Will… cross it, or get dragged into it, if he ran across the Demogorgon? How do we even track something like that? There’s not nearly enough of us to look through the whole forest, and the search party didn’t really find anything anyways, that we know of. Where do we even start?”

Looks are exchanged around the group, since the question leaves them all floored. Suddenly, this discussion feels a lot bigger, more serious than before. Because it’s one thing to believe what Eleven is saying, to believe that the government might be conducting weird experiments with time and space and children like her that can just casually rip a hole into reality—it’s another one entirely to put it together and wonder just how the fuck they can do anything about it. How do you track a portal like that in the first place? How do you cross it? What’s the Upside Down like, if it harbors creatures like that monster?

Did Will get kidnapped or did he somehow fall into it? How has he managed to survive and communicate all this time, then?

Mike sighs, running a frustrated hand through his hair. He decides that he’ll worry about the circumstances of how Will reached that place later, once he’s safe and sound. Otherwise, it’s no use. What they really need is to find that portal, ready themselves to go inside, and bring Will back from that hell.

“Oh!’ Dustin clicks his fingers, lighting up with an idea. “Hold on, we’re being dumb—it’s as I said, a portal like that must be letting out a bunch of energy, like a beacon. It’s easy to think the bad guys have the equipment to manage it, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t simpler ways. I think I saw Mr. Clarke… he knows a lot about this stuff. Maybe we can talk to him, and he might give us a clue.”

Mike perks up, his chest lighter. “Shit, you’re right. We just have to ask him, in hypotheticals, maybe—?”

“We do that,” Lucas breaks in, nodding with a hard look in his eyes. “But we should probably mingle and mix a little. People are going to think we’re weird, and the… the burial is starting soon. We should probably look sad, and try to stick together when they lower the casket.”

Not that that’s going to be hard for Mike, but he agrees, taking the first step back from the group. “I’ll stick with Joyce for now, keep her posted.”

“We’re coming with you,” Max says, pulling Eleven with her towards Mike. “Mrs. Byers has to take El home with her to keep an eye on Will, anyways. We’re only using the radios to chat, right?”

“Hell yeah,” Dustin mutters, pumping his fist in the air for a moment before Lucas pulls his hand down, scowling him under his breath as they look around for anyone that might’ve noticed that amount of inappropriate excitement. “I mean—sure, yeah, we’ll see you guys. We’ll gather again for the burial, and then we’ll find you once we’ve talked to Mr. Clarke. Watch what you say, though—Mrs. Byers isn’t alone. Lonnie came back.”

Mike’s eyes widen in shock, but Dustin and Lucas are already walking away, going to find their families again. He stares after them for a moment, and then turns together the girls, letting out a curse and resisting the urge to kick the ground. “Fuck!”

“That’s Will’s abusive piece of shit dad, right?” Max asks, crossing her arms uncomfortably. Mike looks at her in surprise, not expecting her to know exactly what kind of asshole Lonnie is, but she just shrugs, a complicated twist to the corner of her mouth that even Eleven stares at with concern. “I know a thing or two about that stuff. Shit. Well, let’s just get this shitshow over with, Wheeler. No use delaying it.”

Mike thinks back to those mean-spirited rumors about Max’s stepdad, and his stepbrother in particular, and decides not to say more, his stomach twisting. Fuck. He follows after her, figuring she’s right; there’s no way to avoid Lonnie if he came for the funeral. He’s always been a leech, sucking the joy and energy out of Joyce. He doesn’t doubt that ever since he returned, he’s not given Joyce a single moment to herself, and he can just about imagine how angry Jonathan must be. Mike winces; Nancy’s going to have a handful, too.

Joyce is standing right by the casket, and just as Mike predicted, Lonnie is there, hovering over her shoulder. She’s staring at the casket, a hand over it her expression blank, drained. She’s pale, the black of her clothes draining her of any color, deepening the bags and shadows under her eyes. As they stop just close enough, Mike is relieved to see that the casket isn’t open, that it doesn’t have a window or anything of the like. He doesn’t think he could handle seeing Will’s dead body—he isn’t dead, he has to remind himself—again. He might actually throw up then.

Joyce notices them and seems to snap back into her body, pulling Mike into her arms before he can even get a word out. “Oh, Mike. Oh, god. How are you holding up, honey?”

Mike swallows, looking behind her at Lonnie, who seems just as disgusted to see him as in his memories from years back. He just about resists the urge to throw him his own disgusted look, noticing the cigarette in his mouth, already lit, and the way he seems too relaxed for a grieving father. Piece of shit. He’s probably glad Will won’t bother him ever again, that he won’t have to keep paying child support for a couple more years—and Mike stops himself again, remembering that Will is alive.

Shit, fuck, now he has to hold back a smile, because he’d good pay money to watch Lonnie’s face realizing he still has to send his monthly check, once Will is back home. The thought is enough to lift his spirits, just a bit.

“I’m alright,” Mike answers, patting Joyce’s back, trying to be reassuring. She parts from the hug and smiles at him, a broken thing—a hopeless, resigned thing. Mike blinks; this is not the fire he recalls from the last time they were together, from the radio transmission, where she promised to save Will, to get him Eleven. He resists a frown, pressing his lips together, wondering what changed. He tests the waters: “Just—I’m better. A little bit. This is all kind of weird. I can’t—I still don’t quite believe he’s gone.”

Joyce makes a face then, something odd, hesitant, but before she can say anything Lonnie breaks in, stepping closer, way too close to Joyce for his liking. Mike remembers the bruises, and it takes everything in him not to push Joyce behind his back to get her away from him.

“Now, kid, no need to think like that,” he says, in a lazy, uninterested way that he tries to disguise for real concern. But Mike sees right through it, not trusting him a single bit. Joyce withers under his words, closing in on herself, hugging her arms around her body. The white-hot anger that flares through him leaves him breathless. “It’s a tragedy. Joyce and I, we should’ve done better with him, but Will was always so… sensitive. You know. But we’ll figure it out, and we have to accept that he’s gone. You two were close, no? That’s right. But it’s time to let him go. Thanks for coming, kid, and for taking care of Joyce and Will and all that. We really appreciate it.”

Mike is going to jump him.

He knows this deep in his bones; he can’t even point out which part of all the bullshit Lonnie just said bothers him most. But just as he takes a deep breath and attempts to move a step closer, Max grabs him by the sleeve of his suit, pulling him back, stepping up and looking Lonnie in the eye.

“I was friends with Will too,” she says, loud and clear, her words surprisingly steady. Mike stares at her, wondering where the fuck she’s going with this and why she’s stopping him. “He told me a lot about you, Mr. Byers. He was really looking forward to spending the week with you. He always said he appreciated the beatings the most out of everything—”

Lonnie’s face gets red as hell, and Joyce jumps as if electrocuted, eyes like dinner plates. Lonnie steps forwards, getting dangerously close to them, but Max just tilts her neck further back to look him in the eye, not even flinching, unlike Mike and Eleven. “Excuse me, little girl—!”

“—the beatings!” Max repeats, a happy smile on her lips; Mike can see the cruel twist to it, the satisfaction she’s getting out of riling him up. She’s speaking loud enough that people are staring and whispering, and Mike doesn’t doubt everyone in town is going to know exactly what went down by sunset. “You know, with the baseball bat?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Lonnie hisses at her, his fists clenching at his sides. “You tryin’ to disrespect me, my family, my dead son?!”

Max frowns, taken aback, a feat of surprisingly good acting. “Huh? What? Mrs. Byers, I’m sorry, I’m just—I think there’s been some confusion. I’m talking about baseball practice? You know, the games? Will always said he had a weak swing with the bat, so he appreciated you helping him out so he could beat the ball properly.”

Mike covers his mouth, trying his hardest not to laugh. Eleven looks confused as hell, and everyone is staring. Oh, this is precious. This is better than punching him, though Mike thinks he still deserves it. Still, the way Lonnie’s face twists, the way he steps away from her as if pushed, knowing he got got—it’s amazing. Max pretends to be confused and then shrugs, looking towards Joyce, reaching out with a hand to rub her arm. Joyce looks bewildered, perhaps even a little scared of Max, but her gaze is clearer.

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Byers, we’re here for you,” Max says, lowering her voice, locking eyes with Joyce—she seems to understand something, and nods, her back straightening, and Mike watches her lips tremble with unspoken words when Max gestures towards Eleven. “The three of us, we’re here for you. We’re here for Will. Okay?”

“Yes,” Joyce lets out, her voice low, baffled. But she starts nodding, slowly, slowly—then faster, energy filling her body right before Mike’s eyes, especially when she looks back at him, at Eleven again, then back at Mike. “Yes, yes, of course, I—thank you. Thank you, kids. I…”

“There’s no need to say more,” Mike intervenes, figuring they’ve done enough for now. He spares a look towards Lonnie, who’s backed up enough that it’s obvious he’s trying to shrug off what just happened, ignoring the glances around him as he lights up another cigarette. Ugh. Fucking loser. He focuses back on Joyce. “We’ll talk more later, at your house, okay? Alone.”

Joyce stares at them for a moment, swallows, looking as if she doesn’t want to believe… but Mike knows her. That encounter with Will, Lonnie coming back overnight, her and Jonathan not knowing or perhaps, still just doubting that Will is alive… it must’ve thrown her off course. That’s alright. Max is—Max is a fucking genius, and he’ll have to give her props later, but it’s alright. They’ll help her back, get her on their side, and bring Will back together as a team. As a family.

Fuck, he’s getting emotional. That’s fine too. Funeral vibes.

“We’ll see you later, Mrs. Byers,” Max continues, sparing her from an answer, and steps back. Mike and Eleven step back with her like they’re a unit, and despite his constant frustration with both of them… Mike has to admit he doesn’t dislike the idea quite as much like he would’ve a couple days—hell, just hours ago, if he’s being honest. Damn. Maybe girls aren’t that bad. “Stay strong.”

With that, they walk back to reunite with Lucas and Dustin, who immediately start praising Max for being so cool and badass. Mike limits himself to nodding along for now, still biting back a grin. Max doesn’t need any ego rubbing from him, of all people, and when their eyes meet, she makes it pretty obvious through an eye-roll that she knows exactly what Mike thinks of all this. He’ll have to thank her, somewhat, perhaps for several things, at this point, but that can come later down the line.

The burial starts. There are no speeches, not by Jonathan or Lonnie or Joyce, which Mike thinks is somehow appropriate—because Will isn’t dead and there’s no reason his family should be saying goodbye. Jennifer Hayes is sobbing her eyes out in a way that makes him want to roll his eyes so hard, they start burning. Mike notices Hopper isn’t around, which strikes him as odd, just as he notices how disconnected Jon is, even with Nancy at his side clearly trying to cheer him up. He’s unclear whether they’ve talked, and suddenly he’s worried that she might not be able to convince him to give Will a chance, still, but he figures he should trust Nancy to figure it out. He’s gotta give her a chance, and give Jonathan the space to react.

He hates it, of course. He wants to move, move, move. He wants everything to go along much faster, because every second that passes is a second that Will remains in danger. But if they don’t want it to go all wrong, then they all gotta be on the same page. They shift into the funeral home and mingle for a bit; Mike, Max and Eleven remain glued to Joyce’s side, because they don’t want her to be alone with Lonnie, and Lucas and Dustin successfully talk to Mr. Clarke, from what Mike catches before they have to depart.

Lonnie, Mike quickly realizes, is a massive issue. How the hell are they supposed to get Joyce up to date, to give Eleven a chance to connect with Will at home again, if he’s lingering around? And Hopper’s absence similarly worries him. His cabin, whatever that is, is probably the safest place for Eleven in the meantime. The original plan was for all of them to go to the Byers house later, but with Lonnie in the way it doesn’t sound like a good idea.

So Mike says goodbye to his mom and Ted—him to go back to work, her to take Holly back home—and then finds Nancy and Jonathan, everyone else following after him.

They’re in the funeral home parking lot, whispering to each other, and Mike approaches with words already out of his lips. “We’ve found a way to get to that gate.”

Nancy and Jon startle apart, him looking a little lost, her a little panicked, glancing around the parking lot for any witnesses. When she notices none, she sighs. “I haven’t caught him up on everything yet.”

Mike frowns, glancing at Jon, and goes to protest, but he barrels over him, his tone sharp. “No, no, I’m all caught up—I’m just telling you it’s nonsense.”

“Jon, just—” Nancy tries, but he shakes his head, letting out an exasperated sound.

“My brother is dead, Nancy,” Jon’s tone is final, leaving no room for arguing. His gaze is hard like steel, and he looks over the whole group tired yet angry eyes. “We quite literally just buried him. My brother, my baby brother. I warned you all that I—I can’t even consider these crazy ideas. I can’t, someone has to look out for my mom, someone has to figure shit out! Even if I believed you with this portal and superpowers thing, how do I know that whoever you’re talking to is actually Will, and not some other creature trying to trick us all?”

No one dares speak up, rendered speechless under the weight of Jon’s grief. “That creature you saw, Nancy, it—I’m certain it must’ve hurt Barb. It must’ve taken Will, just like it took here. And me, personally, I’m not going to sit here and do nothing while we trust it all on this girl, who—no offense, Eleven, but—we hardly know her! We hardly understand what she can do! We could all get hurt or worse, and if that’s what’s going to happen, then I’d rather go to the source of the issue and be done with it myself.”

“And what does that mean?” Nancy demands of him, stern. “Are you seriously gonna go hunting for this, this thing—”

“The Demogorgon,” Dustin provides, sheepish, earning himself several eyerolls.

“—because that’s crazy,” Nancy crosses her arms, licking her lips, looking at Jon like she can’t quite believe it. “Going by yourself, that’s—I won’t let you. I’m coming with you.”

“Now, hold on!” Lucas breaks in, shouldering his way to Nancy and Jon, hands raised up as if telling them to pause. “How is that any different from finding the gate? What’s the plan, just going into the woods and hoping to run into the Demogorgon? Because that is, indeed, insanity!”

“It’s even crazier to try to go inside some other dimension, if that’s you guys’ idea,” Jonathan argues, which can’t be denied. “If we hunt it down, we get rid of the issue. We get revenge for Will and Barb.”

“There might be more of them, though,” Dustin points out. “And you haven’t even heard us out! The gate is generating massive amounts of energy. We had a chat with Mr. Clarke, and he said that shit like that would disrupt electromagnetic fields—well, we just gotta get our hands on a few compasses and we can check whether they point to true North. If they don’t, then boom! We have a way to find the gate. It’s gotta be near your house. The solution from this point is simple; we go in, rescue everyone, come out and have El close the gate, just as she opened it! No one will ever be in danger again if we do that. We become heroes and move on with our lives.”

“Will is dead, Dustin,” Jonathan stresses, running his hands over his face, pulling at his skin. “I’m tired of repeating myself over and over. I’ve accepted this, why can’t you? It’s—if you had proof, that’s different, but how can I just trust your word?”

“We show you proof, then,” Max decides, a stubborn set to her jaw. Eleven nods next to her, frowning. “We got back to your place, get on a fucking radio or a stereo or whatever, and prove it to you that your brother is alive. Then we can follow Henderson’s plan.”

Jonathan falters in his conviction; Mike can see that he wants to believe, and he wants to hope for the best. He wants to give it a chance, but Mike knows Jonathan. He knows that just like Will, he rarely allows himself to believe in a good thing, instead bracing himself for the worst so he could curb his disappointment. He sees it in him now, the denial, and Mike can’t even be mad about it because what if they fail?

It’s a thought that creeps on him and keeps him quiet. It fills him with a momentary fear, an understanding of Jon, that he can’t deny himself. What if everything goes wrong, as he says? They fail and they never rescue Will and put themselves in potential life and death situations. It’s a risk. It’s a sacrifice—and that word has Mike cursing under his breath, shaking his head, because don’t they owe it to Will? Didn’t he point it out himself at the very beginning of this, barely a day after he vanished?

Will always sacrifices himself for them in some way or another, and they love Will. Isn’t this love? Isn’t sacrifice something that Will deserves to know someone else would do for him? Mike would bring down the fucking moon if he asked. He’s gone too long trying to pretend otherwise, trying to pretend he doesn’t feel this way. He understands Jon, yes, but he can’t let that stop him. He won’t let that stop him. They each have to do their own thing, find their own way to help.

“Listen,” Mike calls, interrupting the back-and-forth bickering that’s broken out around him, staring at Jon. Jon stares back and understanding passes through them, silent. “I get it. I do. You can’t do this. But we can.”

Nancy sighs. “Mike—”

“I know I promised you we wouldn’t put ourselves in danger,” Mike says, glancing at his sister, begging her to listen and understand. Nancy stares, so Mike clears his throat, determined to set this right. “I know it’s stupid and it’s dangerous to do what we want to do. Jonathan is right that this could all blow up in our faces, and we’re right that we have to take a chance on Will. In fact, I refuse to give up on him. So if we can’t see eye to eye, even then—we have to find a way to work together. Jon wants the Demogorgon dead, and we want to get in and out for Will. This isn’t mutually exclusive.”

Dustin lights up like a Christmas tree. “If we want to improve our chances, then we gotta make sure the Demogorgon won’t get in our way.”

“Exactly,” Mike nods, and his mind runs away from him, picturing it all up in his head as if this were another D&D campaign. Jon seems intrigued now, and even Nancy has no complaints. In fact, when Mike looks at her, she almost seems proud, which is embarrassing as fuck. “There are things in our way, and pieces we’re missing. I haven’t seen Hopper all day, which is weird, because last I heard from him, he promised me he would get to the bottom of this. We’ve got to catch up with him, because realistically, we can’t enter the Upside Down by ourselves. And he’s a cop, at least. That’s good for us because he’s going to know what to do more than any of us. Eleven still needs to establish a connection with Will again, because if the Upside Down looks exactly like Hawkins, then we need Will to tell us exactly where he is. Lonnie is an issue.”

“When is he not?” Jonathan sighs, but he seems invested in Mike’s idea, the elaboration of their plan. “He’s an issue because you want to check the house again, right?”

“It might not be necessary,” Lucas comments, eyes narrowed in thought. Everyone turns to look at him, and he shakes his head. “Just a thought I had. I mean, think about it—Will’s likely been hiding. We don’t know his situation, but we know he’s been in danger this whole time. El has been able to connect with him at the house because he’s been hiding there, but that doesn’t mean he’s always hiding in the house, and it doesn’t mean she couldn’t try elsewhere, where we might get less interference. Like, the AV club radio seemed to work just fine. Right?”

He directs the question at Eleven, who shrinks under everyone’s attention, looking at the floor, biting her lip—but then she looks up, giving out a half-nod. “There might be a way. I will need… supplies.”

“And Hopper can get us that, too, I would guess,” Max huffs, the corners of her lips tilting upwards. Everyone seems to be reaching an agreement, which is all Mike could ask for. “First things first, though—we can’t do any of this if we don’t know where the gate is so that El can close it. And if Jonathan is going to be hunting down the Demogorgon as a distraction so we can pass, we can’t put him in danger without knowing exactly where Will is at all times. So—”

“We gotta split,” Dustin suggests, clicking his tongue, rubbing his hands together in excitement. “Two or three teams, you know? One has to stay with El, so that she can keep a link to Will in real time. One has to be with Jonathan to attract the Demogorgon, because there’s no way we’re letting you do that alone dude—and a final team to go inside the gate, get everyone out, and leave. We’ll know where the gate is, so even if El can’t close it right away, she might be able to do it later. Perfect plan.”

“Perfect plan,” Mike repeats. “But we need Hopper. And we can’t do this without your mom, Jon. It wouldn’t be fair to her.”

He stares at them all, looking like he can’t quite believe his ears or process the influx of information. But Mike sees the release of tension in his shoulders, and knows that they’ve won him over. “Okay. So I gotta get my dad away, I need to figure out a route for this… Demogorgon thing, and we all need to keep an ear out for Hopper. How does that sound?”

“Sounds like a start,” Nancy sets a hand on Jon’s shoulder, nodding at him, then at rest of them. She looks at Mike for a long moment, and her words are as final as ever. “If you get yourself killed, Mike, I will kill you. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mike salutes her, and Nancy actually laughs, as does their group, half-sounds weighted down by the stress of their reality—of what they’re planning to do. It’s insanity, yes—but it might just work. “So… we follow the compass, identify the gate, and you guys figure out how to attract the Demogorgon away from us?”

“You got it,” Jonathan straightens up and pats Mike's shoulder, leaning in close. “Thanks, man. I know I don’t believe in all of this, but—”

“Hey, worst case scenario—” we all die, Mike doesn’t say, realizing that might not be the best way to look at things. He lets the phrase go, shrugging. “Well, whatever. We’ll all try our best.”

“Real reassuring,” Max snorts, and Mike elbows her, but he appreciates the out. “Well, let’s fucking go then. Chop chop!”

Chop chop is right. First off, they all have to go back home and change; there’s no way they’re doing this in funerary clothes, after all, and it might be a good idea to have lunch. Nancy only takes Eleven and Max with them, sending Dusting and Lucas back to their awaiting families, who by this point are probably wondering where they’ve run off to. They agree to meet later, and promise again to only use the radios to communicate.

The hours that come pass so slowly that Mike feels like his brain starts melting out of his ears. He’s full of anticipation; he and Nancy, Max and Eleven make the basement their base, working out fine details, getting a list of supplies out of El for them to gather after they’ve done some recon. At around three, Dustin and Lucas finally report in, and they all confirm their compasses are pointing them in the same direction, which is when Mike loads up her car with two bikes—one for him, one for Max—and all of them get back into the car.

Nancy drops them off right before the last turn to get to the Byers house, where she will meet up with Jon and help him with his routing around Mirkwood, the Harrington’s and the Byers’ homes, trying to figure out some way to get the Demogorgon’s attention. After they do that, they’ll be hunting down Hopper, who hopefully hasn’t been intercepted by the bad guys after them. From there on, Mike, Max and El bike their way to Castle Byers—El on the back of Max’s bike—which is their agreed meeting point with Lucas and Dustin.

They’re already there when they arrive, backpacks on their bags loaded with water and snacks—the excuse for them all had been spending the night at the Byers’ to support Jonathan and Joyce, so they’re all loaded, as if they’re just going to a slumber party at Will’s. It’s a bittersweet excuse, but one that works.

“Well, this is it,” Dustin sighs, looking at Castle Byers, then around them at the familiar woods, all of them with compasses in hand. “From this moment on, we’re all about to become heroes. I just wanted to take a pause, and tell you guys that, in case we all day over the next few days, I really love all of you—”

“Jesus Christ, Henderson,” Max interrupts him, letting out a groan and snatching the compass right out of his hand. Arm linked with Eleven’s, she starts walking away, shaking her head. “Come on! Will isn’t going to save himself, is he?!”

That’s enough to get them going.

The gate turns out to be further away than they thought, and it isn’t long before they ditch walking for just straight up biking all the way there. They end up going over the quarry, through the cliff that looks down to it, and Mike does his best to avoid looking down at the water out of paranoia. The sun beats down on them as they leave the thickest parts of the forest, and since Eleven has no bike, they all take turns carrying her so that no one gets too tired. A couple hours in, they rest for water and snacks, and Mike pulls out his old Boy Scout map of Hawkins.

“We started out here,” Dustin traces the route with a pen, from around the spot where Castle Byers sits, through the woods, up the quarry, and now nearby a junkyard that they’ll likely reach in another hour of biking, or so. “We’re here now. But I think I have an idea where we’re heading.”

“That old lab, right?” Lucas questions, passing his water bottle to Max. He looks at his compass, then around them, then at the map and points with a finger. “That research facility or whatever it is. I think they do water treatments, or pharmaceutical shit. I can’t even remember now.”

“More like human treatment,” Mike comments with distaste, tilting his head towards Eleven. “If it’s really there, then something must’ve gone wrong with whatever they were doing the night Will went missing. Eleven opened that gate. Can you tell us what happened?”

The four of them glance at her, and she still seems too scared to talk, toying with the strands of her wig out of nerves. But she swallows, all but forcing words out. “I… I got scared. Really scared. The monster found me in the dark and it all just… flowed.”

“What do you mean, in the dark?” Mike asks, remembering something else she’d mentioned before. “You mean like you said before, that there was an in-between or something. That Will was lower, but you could reach him because he was resting, so he was… higher?”

“Yes,” Eleven nods, somehow getting Mike’s point, despite his lack of eloquence. “It is a dark place. I can see and hear and feel. It connects me. Sometimes I sense Will in it, far away. There is nothing, usually, just the dark, but that time, it…”

Eleven pauses, shivering. Max finishes for her: “That time, the night Will went missing, you weren’t alone in there. The Demogorgon was in it, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, but it was more,” Eleven shakes her head, staring down at her hands for a moment before closing her eyes. Her brow wrinkles as she recalls the memories. “It was… bigger. Demogorgon… I sensed it when it was with Will. It has nothing. No mind. Just… hunger. But that night, there was more.”

“That sounds… well, not good,” Dustin winces, exchanging looks with all of them. “Like, a bigger threat than a wild Demogorgon, not good. We really need to get that gate closed.”

“Well, let’s get moving, then,” Mike sighs, deciding not to linger on it. He doesn’t quite fancy shitting his pants before they even put their real plan into motion. If they can’t confirm the gate location, they’re only going to end up wasting more time. “Sunlight won’t last much longer.”

Lucas ends up being right, because eventually, they reach the fence perimeter of Hawkins National Laboratory, and Dustin, proving to be more prepared than anyone is, actually pulls out a pair of binoculars for them to spy in.

“Look,” he says, passing them over to Lucas. “Right there, the van that just entered—Hawkins Power and Light. I swear I’ve seen that same fucking van around the neighbor a thousand times.”

“Well, they’re power and light,” Lucas shrugs, passing the binoculars over to Mike so he can take a look as well. He stares after the van, and manages to catch a glimpse of the plaque number, which he quickly memorizes. “I think it’s likely they probably do work here as well, no nefarious motives.”

“I think we should assume the worst by this point, actually,” Max says, then grabs the binoculars out of Mike’s hands. “Let’s take a look at the faces—ah, yeah, that dude was definitely following us at the mall, for sure. Ugly ass fella. There’s no way we’re not being tracked.”

“That’s it, then,” Mike shakes his head, pressing his forehead against the fence. “The gate is there. That’s our way to Will. But how the fuck are we getting in?”

“It’s gotta be with Hopper,” Lucas sighs. “We’re a bunch of teens—there’s no way they’ll take us seriously, especially if they want to get El back. They’ll just try to get us to accept Will is dead, take El away, and get over it. Silence us. The government loves to silence people.”

“You’re sounding like a conspiracy theorist,” Dustin jokes, and all of them groan, unable to deny him this victory. “Ah, it’s so sweet to be right. Well, we should probably get back. There’s not much else we can get done right now.”

“Is there anything you can sense, El?” Max asks as they all stand from their crouched positions, and Eleven pauses for a moment, frowning in the direction of the lab. After a few seconds, she sighs.

“Danger,” is her answer, crossing her arms again. “There is danger. Anger. Hunger.”

“The energy around here must be crazy,” Dustin provides, looking down at his compass again. Mike glances at his own, but it’s still just pointing straight at the lab, no matter how he moves it. “She said she’d need to be isolated to connect well-enough, right? It’s probably best if we do something like that far, far away from here.”

“I wouldn’t dare approach this place again without a fucking gun anyways,” Max makes a disgusted sound, then take the initiative to walk back to their bikes, dragging Eleven with her. “Come on. Time to find Hopper, and see if Nancy and Jon got any good ideas.”

Mike spares a last look towards the lab.

Will is in there, somewhere—yes, through a doorway to another dimension or universe or whatever, but he’s there. Just out of reach. As he reaches for his bike, he can’t help but to tighten his grip on the handle. Fuck. Fuck.

It’s okay, he tells himself, they have a plan. A good plan, he thinks, for the most part. But a plan they can’t do on their own. Mike’s always hated having to wait for adults to resolve shit, finding them slow, inefficient, lacking understanding—but he thinks back on Hopper’s quiet grief and regret, on Joyce’s determination. This time, Mike needs them more than he’s ever needed anyone ever, because he knows that between the three of them, there’s no force that wouldn’t raise hell to get Will back.

Fuck. It’s getting dark. With one last sigh, Mike pedals after his friends. They agreed with Jon and Nancy that they would all meet back at Castle Byers, and decide where to go from there.

Will just needs to hold on a little longer. Help is coming.