Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Will put down the scissors and looked in the cracked bathroom mirror. His hair had grown again to the length where it would fall in his face and get all tangled. Based on its growth, he judged the time he had been here as 8(?) months(?). 

He couldn't exactly tell the time in a place that had no day cycle, and his watch had been broken like 17 near-death experiences ago. 

He cringed when he looked in the mirror, turning his head side to side in the dim lighting. The scissors were dull, and not meant for the task at hand. He tried not to think of the at-home kitchen haircuts his mom gave him. His stupid brain thought of them anyway like it always did, and his chest tightened around his throat. He tried not to cry - even in Hell he cried too much for someone his age. 

Despite what it looked like, she didn’t actually use a bowl to line up the cut, she just trimmed it to all one length, because it “was easier that way”. Cheaper too. 

Will tried to emulate what he had seen her do dozens of times before but evidently he had failed. He sighed hard, and fixed some janky strands haphazardly with one hand. He looked in the mirror again, trying to only focus on his hair and not his face. Whatever. It looked crazy, greasy tufts poking up at a dozen different angles, but it was out of his eyes, at least. 

Will was never one to care about his appearance, even before. 

He packed up his moldy, damp stuff in the moldy, damp backpack he had (everything here was moldy and/or damp). He was wearing all the clothes he owned (shirt, another shirt, sweater, underwear, jeans, two pairs of socks, boots). Keeping spare sweaters or pants in his bag took up vital room. Exceptions were made for underwear, because he wasn’t an animal. 

He stepped out of the backwards version of whoever’s house he had been in.

(Strangely, in regular Hawkins, the Ghadall family had been experiencing the most frustrating electrical problems for the past two weeks.)

He whistled softly. Behind him, a few monster-dogs unfolded from where they were laying outside of the house and trotted after him. He wasn’t sure where he was going, but had decided that a trip to the Hawkins supermarket was in order, at least.

Will didn’t know how things worked here in backwards-Hawkins. He just knew that some stuff from regular-Hawkins was here and some stuff wasn’t. Thankfully, the supermarket usually had bottled water and some blissfully intact cans, the same way the backwards clothing stores had a few non-holey clothing items. Sometimes items disappeared from the shelves and sometimes things just appeared. 

He had gotten over his worries about “technically stealing” long ago. He took what he could carry. 

When Will first got to backwards-Hawkins, he tried drinking from the creek by Castle Byers. He did it all the time in regular-Hawkins. That landed him curled in a ball for days after, intermittently vomiting, among other bodily functions. He thought he was going to die then. 

Unfortunately, he lived. And he learned that the bottled water here also wasn’t the best, and it was scarce, but it did its job. Same with the canned or jarred food. Most were rotted through, ransacked by monsters (who Will knew were just as hungry as he was, poor things), or somehow intact but completely spoiled on the inside. 

Of course, anything unpreserved was long gone. Will didn't really understand how the math homework he had done the night before The Night was still on the backwards-kitchen table, paper brittle and curling but still intact. However, the fresh bread they had that morning was a fuzzy deflated sack. Something in the air, he guessed. It couldn't stand to see anything organic, anything close to living without the tendrils of rot inhabiting it. 

He thought he would be the next fuzzy deflated sack. Every spore he breathed in backwards-Hawkins was working to destroy him from the inside out. The collective evil of the hellish dimension trying to claim him and scrub him from the earth. At least for the first week.

That was before It got him. The tall flower-faced monsters hunted him relentlessly at first. He ran and hid for as long as he could. But eventually, he just couldn’t survive in the toxic environment. He was exhausted, soggy, dehydrated, and couldn’t breathe. If the monster didn’t get him then, he guessed he would have had another week before he died anyway. 

Sometimes, he wished he did die curled up in Castle Byers, slowly choking, hallucinating strang children trying to speak to him, imagining his mother calling his name. 

But here he was, months(?), year(?) later. 

A monster captured him eventually.. He didn’t have anywhere to go. They had run him out of his own house, out of Castle Byers, until he was stumbling through roads he could barely recognize in their mirrored formation, crawling with thick black vines. The gray sky swirled in great oceans of demonic bats, letting him know he was never out of sight. 

He looked into the great petaled maw of the demon, shivering so hard his chest hurt, unable to muster up any kind of sound. His dizzy mind remarked that this was something out of Dungeons and Dragons. But he wasn’t a great warrior or a skilled sorcerer. He was a puny middle schooler stuck with 1 health point left and this was it. Will closed his eyes to the slimy needle-sharp teeth, ready to accept that there was no way out and no one was looking for him and maybe this is what he deserved. It was almost peaceful. 

He felt the disgusting breath of the monster on his eyelids and the tendrils of its hideous arms wrap around him, and then he remembers nothing. 

Will woke up with a vine shoved into his mouth. It hurt. He automatically tried to wrench it out, but found his arms were quite tightly attached to his sides, like he had been rolled up in a giant tube of slimy, whitish cling wrap. He was still shivering, his face was wet with tears, and his breath came in short tight gasps. Eventually everything returned to black. 

Will faded in and out of consciousness. He drifted between dreamless sleep, memories of his mom, dreams about his friends coming to save him, and nightmares where he was ripped limb from limb by scaly monsters while they all watched and laughed. During this time Backwards-Hawkins had taken a liking to him. It continued to swaddle him in coarse white fiber, pinning him against the wall.  It found him… suitable. 

WIll woke up for the last time with nothing in his mouth but his own tongue and teeth. His head was pounding and opening his eyes took him the better part of a minute. His vision shook and there was taste in his mouth that would have made him throw up if he had the strength. Eventually, the dark room stopped spinning. Will realized he was attached to the wall, but this time the fibers broke easily as cobwebs when Will struggled against them. He collapsed on the floor, which was covered in the same white fibers as well as softly pulsing black vines. 

He blinked hard as he sat up, noticing the room was warmer, and easier to see in than the last time he had seen it. It was some sort of basement, every surface covered in the tendrils of this dimension. Every tendril was centered around Will like a nest, carefully arranged to protect his spot on the wall. Will was able to stand on wobbling legs, feeling better than he had since he had been in this place. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs without a coughing fit for the first time in a week. He had no idea how long he had been there. It could have been hours or weeks.

He searched along the walls for a door but was stopped short as he saw two other people, wrapped like mummies, slumped in the far corner. At least, he thought they were people, and he wondered if that was what he looked like. A spark of something ran through him - if he was able to survive, then others would be able to as well - he worked his way through the nest to the figures, grabbing one about his size and pulling it to him. His voice was hoarse and cracked as he called out to them. 

“Hey! Hello! Are you-”

His fingers broke through the organic canvas sack and were met with an ice-cold, almost spongy material that released a foul odor into the air. Will fell backward, hard, watching as the lifeless body folded forward. A choked sob escaped his chest and he scrambled backwards. Oh god. Oh my god. 

He didn’t know what to do. The two bodies were almost skeletal, green flesh hanging off them, decomposing, unrecognizable. He wished that his family went to church, he wished he had something to say. This Hell had claimed them. It had judged them, gutted them, and cast them aside. The renewed strength that Will had felt upon waking seeped out of him. He gagged, dry-heaving. 

Trembling, he pulled himself to his feet, knowing that if he didn’t move now, it would get him again. The images of the rotten deflated bodies were burned into his vision as he clawed the vines away from the metal door they blocked. He stumbled his way out. There were exit signs, unlit and faded, but he followed them like a guiding light. He was acutely aware that at any moment a monster could round the corner but the fear coursing through his veins told him to put as much distance between himself and that room as possible. 

He threw himself at the door at the top of a stairwell, only then realizing he was inside the high school. He had been there before with Jonathan, but he didn’t even know it had a basement until now. Lucky for him, the stairwell opened into the main floor, and the wide-open cafeteria filled him with relief. 

He staggered his way out of the school, to the nearest building- a gas station. The mirrored town layout only served to make his pounding headache worse as he mentally flipped his hometown around and around in his mind to decipher where to go. 

He slumped behind the counter, crying. After several minutes, he finally focused his eyes, taking in the shelves of the gas station. To his surprise, the shelves weren’t empty and broken like he expected everything in this dimension to be. 

He hadn’t really left Castle Byers since he got here, after being chased from his home. But the gas station felt more secure than the fort in the woods. He could stay here for a while.

Will didn’t leave the gas station for a couple of weeks by his guess after that. It seemed like he had gotten used to the toxicity or something. He could breathe a little better, at least. He didn’t shiver constantly. He even attempted to clean himself up with the meager supplies that a gas station stocked. He was starting to feel like he could get out of here. NO monsters had bothered him since his escape from the school. He still saw them outside the window, though, standing, wandering aimlessly, screeching and clawing at each other. The sounds they made sent ice into his heart and Will would plaster his back against the wall, ducked out of sight, for hours until he was sure they had gone away. 

These lack of attacks gave Will confidence. Just a little longer, and he would start looking for a way out, he promised himself. He tried to maintain that if there was a way in, there had to be a way out. It was all coming together.

Until one day, when the nausea he had been nursing for the last several hours crept up his throat. He ran to the bathroom, even though it didn’t function, and vomited, harder than he ever had, into the grimy bowl. He coughed around something slick and foul. 

Something large fell out of his mouth and splashed toxic water on his face as it landed in the bowl. He gasped for breath and stared at the thick slug that sunk, slowly wiggling, in the toilet. It was about the size of two of his fingers put together. 

Will thought that it was time to leave. Now.

He screamed, slamming himself on the wall. He lunged forward to slam the lid of the toilet down so hard it cracked. He stormed out of the bathroom and the gas station, only stopping to grab a sealed bottle of water from his collection on the way out. He chugged it, swished, and spat, cleaning out his mouth. The unique and horrible taste of Backwards-Hawkings remained until the last of the water was gone. 

Shit, he was crying again

Chapter Text

That was not the last time Will found himself bent over, gagging, staring at a hapless black slug. The second one came only hours after the first, and after a few days, Will counted a total of five bouts of slug-induced nausea. Each time, he picked himself up and left as soon as he could stomach it. 

He had taken to seeking refuge in houses, almost foreign to him, mirrored as they were. He was planning on working his way back to where he had entered this rotting place- back near his house on the edge of town. On his way, he felt better behind a door, in places that still held an echo of comfort or family. He avoided his friends' homes, not wanting to realize their layouts were wrong and different and not ready to fully accept his new reality. He would see the correct versions soon, he told himself. 

Will soon learned that the slugs he vomited were actually monsters, or creatures, or whatever. When they grew, they looked a little bit like an oversized tadpole. One day, after stepping cautiously out onto a front porch, he was greeted with a chorus of squeaking and mewling, as three or four slugs teetered up the steps on newborn legs, clamoring after him. 

Will pointedly stepped over the group and walked with a purpose farther down the street. Nope. Not today, you ugly little heathens. Not today. 

The larger monsters seemed to stop actively hunting him. He still avoided them when he could, because they were prone to unanticipated aggression to anything in their sight. After an early incident that left his left arm torn open and his jeans ripped near in half, he started carrying a kitchen knife. 

New monsters showed up- hulking abominations that cantered on four legs and seemed to somehow have less intelligence than their bipedal counterparts. They needed less of a reason to fight.

The days passed, and where once WIll could step over the wriggling freaks, they had grown into their legs, slowly transforming into awkward, tiny versions of the new four-legged monsters. They faithfully followed Will, at first making him nervous, images of the fully grown monster-dog-things tearing each other apart, but they didn’t hurt Will. They just followed him. They would whine and screech and soon enough they couldn’t be ignored. 

They often ate each other, he noted, as eating made them grow faster. He didn’t know why they killed each other; as a hive mind, it had to hurt them. Will knew they were a hive mind because frustratingly, he was involved. Will knew it hurt him too. He was starting to accept that he was part of backwards-Hawkins now. To remedy the annoying pangs of pain, he opened intact cans of dog food for them. They were dog-shaped, so they would like dog food, right? They deserved a little kindness in this literal hell.

His constant fear slowed to a tiny drip in his chest. No monsters were even attacking him anymore. He started to fit in. This thought made him nauseous. So did looking in a mirror. 

Apparently being almost choked to death by evil tendrils and basically giving birth to dozens of tiny monsters has some… effects. Will first noticed his teeth, when he accidentally cut his lip on one. He ran a tentative tongue along the crowns and found that most of them had grown sharp, somehow. 

His habit of chewing his cheek and bottom lip soon became very painful. He took a proper look the next time he found a decent mirror. All of his teeth were like this. Not just the canines, but all of them, like a shark. Or, more accurately, like a monster dog. It took a while to adjust to the new mouth posture he had to maintain, and his lips became a mess of tiny accidental cuts. 

In the mirror, he also saw that his eyes looked weird as well. They looked like they had a second layer or something- they shimmered softly with a fiery light. In dim lighting, which was not hard to come by here, the effect was amplified. The monsters didn’t even have eyes, so he had nothing to compare. 

Damn, he had thought, no wonder monsters don’t bother me anymore. 

One time, he saw a flower-faced one while trying to find undamaged clothes at the department store, and it acted like he wasn't even there. 

The three monster-puppies that followed him there screeched at the taller, bigger, scarier monster though, and that definitely got its attention.

Will hid behind the checkout counter during the ensuing fight. He vaguely felt flashes of pain as he heard the screaming and growling. Only two of the dogs came back to him (and why did they always come back to him?) and Will felt a pang of sadness for the one who died. He patted one of the surviving ones, covered in dark blood, on the head. It was slimy, and Will gagged. The dog chirped.

That’s when he knew he was going crazy.

And now, months(?) later, he had stopped spitting up slugs but was constantly surrounded by dogs. At least 30. They were a lot bigger now. Just on all fours, most went up to his chest. Will had stopped feeding them dog food as frequently- he let them leap at the swarms of bats instead. Kept them out of his hair, at least. 

He didn’t name them. That would be going too far. He did train them though, with scraps of bat-meat and tuna. They really liked tuna. What else was he supposed to do, right? He was like…their mom or whatever. 

Now, they came when called, and could attack any bigger monster that thought Will looked tasty. The success of training probably had something to do with their connected minds.

All of a sudden survival felt trivial. Will had made it to his backwards-house eventually, flanked by chittering monster toddler dogs. The place was still active, dense with vines and monsters. Carefully he worked his way around the house. He let himself feel the hum of the mirror dimension and begged it to tell him where to go. Nothing. 

The house was silent, punctuated by bone-chilling screams of monsters. He looped around several times, going inside, walking the mirrored hallways, bumping into walls and counters where his muscle memory tried to take over. He looked in the shed, in the woods, over and over until it was too much. He sunk to the floor, against the dingy couch, and pressed his face into his knees. He cried. He felt like an idiot, crying for his mommy. The monster dogs pressed their faces into his bent head, whining. He realized later that they may have been able to feel some of his pain. 

(Back in Hawkins, Joyce felt suddenly frozen with grief in the living room, as if a window had been opened to the cold January night. It was almost 3 months after Will’s disappearance - not death. Disappearance. Her eyes welled up with tears and she cried, harder than usual, wanting nothing else but to pull her baby into a hug.)

He had been on the ground for who knows how long when the floor beside him creaked suddenly and the smaller monsters started growling, screaming. Will tensed, body still sore and tired from the breakdown. He found his bag and slowly, slowly, wrapped his hands around the bread knife in the side pocket. He lifted his head at the same snail’s pace. 

Standing just a step away was a flower-head monster. Will didn’t have half a second before it screamed,reaching out with it’s long talons as fast as a whip. Will drove the bread knife upwards. Aiming for any semblance of a heart. He screamed in return, a guttural half-roar that put his frustrations on display. 

The creature backed off for a moment, and Will ran. He didn’t know if the dogs were following him, and he didn’t know if the tall one was either, and he didn’t care. It felt so unfair.

He was supposed to find the exit. 

He was supposed to be Home. 

He didn’t sign up for this . He wasn’t strong enough. 

Will stopped running when he reached Castle Byer. He panted, dropping to his knees once again, and casting a weary look over his shoulder to ensure that he was alone. 

Castle Byers didn’t said “Castle Byers” above the crude entrance. It said “ƨɿɘyᙠ ɘlƚƨɒƆ”.

It brought back memories of the two weeks of hell, pre-capture. The place was a mess. He didn’t even have this going for him. He picked up a soggy comic book, anger spiking as he realized, just like everything, the text was mirrored. Of course it was. He knew this. 

He threw it back down.

Rustling behind him made the hairs on his neck stand up, instantly alert. He whipped around only to find the three young monster dogs trotting up to him. He sighed and let them push into him, finding comfort in the pressure. 

Plan A didn’t work, now what?

He was tired, and hungry. 

The time passed in an agonizing confusion. He had shaky sleep cycles to rely on and not much else, just the dreary gray sky. Will took his time scouring Hawkins, concentrating on the thrumming of the dimension that vibrated almost imperceptibly through his chest. 

Every single search ended in nothing. Nothing. Will tried to make it to the neighboring town but the roads faded into solitary strips of nothing, surrounded by ghostly trees and webs of vines for miles until Will returned back to Hawkins, on the opposite side of the town limits. He couldn't remember how long he had walked, and looking back on it made his head pound. As if this dimensional hive mind couldn't spare the resources to recreate the surrounding towns. Something was special about Hawkins, just like something was special about Will. 

So any answers had to be found in this backwards version of his hometown. Except there were no answers, just monsters and decay and that damn gray sky. And so the time passed. 

 Will thought if he really were alone here he would have gone insane in a month. At least now had someone to talk to - about his mom, and his brother, and the party. 

He spoke to them now as they walked to the store after his most recent self-inflicted haircut. It was stuff he had told them before but they didn’t have ears so it was mostly for his benefit at this point. 

“-and my name was Will the Wise. Mike was always the best DM - that means Dungeon Master- you guys would like Mike, I bet. And Dustin would like you guys for sure.” 

One of them pushed into his side in response. He stumbled with the friendly pressure - these guys were strong. He tried not to think about his friends too much. He never really lost hope that he would get out of backwards-Hawkins but every day(?) he was still here he could feel the hope decreasing. Never lost, though.

In fact, it was almost increasing; both he and the dogs had noticed something different in the air lately. They had been screeching at nothing, and Will felt a deep tugging in his stomach. He supposed the dogs did too.

So Will stocked up at the market, finding one still-sealed water bottle, a can of peaches and mandarin oranges (Will knew about the dangers of scurvy), and a can of light-tuna-in-water. Pretty good haul. He dumped it all in the black backpack he had taken from his backwards-room.

(At least, he thought it was black, but everything here was in shades of gray, or horrifying blood red, so it could have been any color. It only took a few(?) days(?) for the only color in the place, the clothes Will was wearing when he got here, to fade to the dingy, leached, color palette of backwards-Hawkins.)

It was this tug that coaxed Will out of his current hiding spot. It gave him a knot in his stomach he realized he hadn’t felt since the beginning. It was the answer Will had been waiting for, he knew it. 

Will was pulled to the outskirts of town. He stepped softly and quietly to not disturb any oozing, writhing black vines. He found himself at the barbed-wire boundary of the Hawkins Lab. He knew it existed, of course, but had never been past this point. The building loomed, concrete walls stained with the mysterious black ick that stained everything. Even back in the real world, this place always made him a little wary, with its armed guards and tall fences. 

He almost turned back. But the tugging feeling reminded him so much of something better than this world. He had to follow it. If he died, then he died. He wasn’t even sure if they even remembered him in regular-Hawkins. Maybe no one would even care. By sheer time he had almost given up on his escape. 

Woah. Don’t think about that, Will. This might be the only chance to change his circumstances. He pushed on, tired and aching (he had forgotten what it was to not be tired and aching). 

He slipped into the crumbling backwards building, his dogs following. (Yeah, they were his, he had decided. Because they came from him). The doors that were locked had already buckled under the ramming force of dozens of monsters. Will and his companions weren’t the only ones to feel the pull. 

Finally, he was there. The source of the tug. The lowest level, centrally located. 

Will was looking at a…well he wasn’t quite sure. Perhaps it was what he might think a portal to another world would look like. Vines wrapped around the jagged edges, pulling apart a jagged opening in an otherwise smooth wall. Monsters swarmed at it - interested in getting out. 

So was he. How long has this doorway been here? Maybe forever, but he was just feeling it now? He didn’t know. He didn’t care. Maybe it led back to where he hoped it would, maybe it led somewhere worse. Maybe he would try to enter it and it would rip his body apart atom by atom. 

It was some of the first real colors he had seen since he got in here. A pulsing, orangish glow, mixing and competing with a blurry, fluorescent-blue light. A thin screen was pulled tight in the opening, stopping a complete free flow between worlds. It blurred what was beyond completely. Will’s anxieties mixed with the tugging in his stomach in a nauseating dance. The idea of waiting and learning more felt out of the question - the possibility of this exit disappearing for another year or more was too dreadful to consider. Either he tried his luck now or he condemned himself to a life and slow death in backwards-Hawkins. 

Will shrugged up his bag, tightening the straps. He took a death breath. The monster-dogs that looked to him were waiting, whining, obviously eager as the others to advance. 

Wil joined the horde of monster-dogs and flower-things (he was still unsure if they were the same species or what). Together they pushed through the membranous, slimy wall and crashed onto the cold hard floor below.

Chapter Text

Will feels dizzy when he gets up. It’s like there’s pure oxygen in his lungs - he can’t remember a time when we didn’t have to take heaving or shuddering breaths, even after the backwards-Hawkins took him as one of its own. He laughs for the first time in a year. He closes his eyes and takes breath after breath. 

One of his dogs nudges him from behind. Move. He silently agrees. Will can’t wipe the smile off his face as he climbs the stairwell he came down in (in the other dimension). The lights suddenly go out and he can hear distant shouting above him. On the one hand, those are signs of life - human life, but on the other hand, it sounds like something is going down up there and he really can’t deal with it right now. 

He continues anyway, supporting himself on a dog as his adrenaline wears off. The dim lighting is nothing to him, creepy eyes and all. They burst out of the door marked [1]. It’s nighttime, Will notices through the glass doors. Then he notices the carnage. Monsters from backwards-Hawkins were everywhere - ripping scientist-types in long white coats to pieces, jaws unhinged and buried in rib cages, generally making a mess. 

Will is horrified. Backwards-Hawkins was an evil place, designed to kill, but he forgot that so were its inhabitants. 

But Will isn’t from backwards-Hawkins, and he is not evil. Most describe him as nice, or quiet, or weird, or- you know, that doesn’t matter. He will not stand for this. He decides then that neither will his dogs. He trained them better than this.

Will whistled as loud as he could - finding it much easier with full lungs. About 30% of the attacking monster-dogs looked up and trotted over. Some had the tact to look ashamed - even though they didn’t have faces, Will knew. 

Of course- not every dog was Will’s. If they were, he probably would have died spitting up slugs. He directed the ones who came over, and the ones behind him already, to take care of the ones hurting the people. He found that he could just imagine what he wanted to happen and they took care of it. 

Now it’s just him, and the dogs. He digs the tuna can out of his backpack, opens it with his teeth, and gives everyone a little bit as a thank-you. He found positive reinforcement always worked best. 

He hears footsteps coming down the hallway- at least a pair of them. He hides on instinct around the corner and lets them pass, holding a hand out to pause the monster-dogs. 

It’s a tall man and a short woman running towards the door. The man has a large gun with him. They don’t seem like scientists to Will but he doesn't care - they’re humans! They aren’t 8-foot-tall flower-monstrosities or stupid winged rats! He follows them towards the door.

The woman stops just short of it and turns, looking back for something. Will can’t make out her face at this angle. He starts creeping forwards. His dogs start wandering again. 

He pauses again as another man, shorter than the first, comes out into the foyer from the opposite side. This man is closer to Will than the woman, and his dogs become defensive. One of them starts to emerge from their hiding place. The woman yells.

“Bob!”

The man - Bob, Will guessed, turns to see the monster-dog prowling towards him. He screams and sprints towards the door.

The other man, the one with the gun - bursts back into the building - gun drawn. Will’s adrenaline makes a surprise return.

“No!” he yells, to both his dog and the man with the gun. He springs out from behind the corner he was hiding behind. The group of people all look at him, and Will thinks they feel familiar.

“Stop!” he yells again. The monster dog runs back toward him and Will feels like sighing in relief. But it’s not earned. The man with the gun turns it onto him and Will feels his veins fill with ice. He runs forward with his hands up - he knows that much.

The man looks confused. “Hurry, kid, come on!” he shouts.

“Don’t shoot! Please don’t shoot them!”

“I’m not gonna shoot you! Come on! ” he yells. He lets off a few shots at the ones farther away from Will. 

Will feels the vague shared pain in his left side. Shit. He changes tactics and turns to his dogs. 

“SCATTER!”

Will doesn’t know if they know what that word means, but they know its intention. They all take off in different directions. Will returns to the man. He holds his hands up placatingly. He knows the man didn’t want to hurt him. 

As he moves closer to the door, the man’s face changes from confusion to disbelief. Behind him, Bob and the woman also take a look. 

Will feels like someone just punched him in the stomach. 

“Mom?”

The woman - MOM - pushes gun-guy to the side and pulls him in a tight tight tight hug. 

“Will!?”

He melts into her arms, crying. He can’t believe it. He can’t believe it. Will’s afraid to open his eyes, in case this was all a dream. In case he wakes up clutching a slimy monster-dog back in backwards-Hawkins. 

His mom is crying too, trying to get sentences out.

“Oh, baby - I never stopped- oh Will- oh where have you been- my baby- my baby- I promise I never gave up- Will, is it really you?”

“It’s me, Mom,” he cries into her shoulder. He probably smells like a dump truck right about now, but she buries her face into his shoulder as well. 

She pulls him away to look into his face - and starts crying again. She squeezes him close. “Oh baby, what happened to you?”

“I know, Mom.” and he does. Along with general filthiness and malnutrition, backwards-Hawkins has an aesthetic to maintain and he was not spared when he was chosen. He tried to avoid mirrors. He pushes his face into her jacket again. Faintly, he realizes that it's warm.

Will thinks his mom looks different too - older, more tired. He hopes that time passed the same in the backwards dimension as it did here.

“Oh baby, let’s go home- oh my boy.” She can hardly let go of him to stand up. They walk together to the doors before his mom even seems to remember that there are other people with them.

Will is introduced to the chief of police of Hawkins, Jim Hopper, and to his Mom’s boyfriend ?, Bob Newman. They both looked like they were trying to comprehend a fiercely difficult math problem, but smiled at him politely anyway. 

Will leans into his mom as they walk outside. Suddenly he is so tired . He looks up at the stars. The stars . He finds the constellation Orion, and his hunting dogs, Canis Major and Minor first. He’s glad he still remembers where to look. He searches with his mind briefly, mentally touching his dogs. They seem okay, for now. Will lets the connection fade. 

The night is warm - to him at least. 

Distantly, down the winding driveway, he hears the screech of car tires and an overwhelming amount of voices. Headlights almost blind him as the station wagon skids to a halt and every door opens at once. 

Chapter Text

The next 3 hours are a fever dream. Everything seems so bright , and clear . Even though the stretch of road they drove down to get to his house (his real, regular house) had no streetlights, the waning gibbous moon seemed as bright as the sun. 

At first, Bob asked if they should go to the hospital. His mom tensed up at that question, and so did the Chief. There was a tense moment before his mom said that it wasn't the best idea. Will silently agreed. He was fine and he just wanted to go home. His mom tilted her head back to the lab and said, “Dr. Owens will know what to do.”

Again there was a tense moment and WIll could almost hear the “ if he makes it out alive…” hanging in the air. 

The mass of people that were piling out of the car were mostly familiar- Jonathan ran to Will from the driver's seat almost immediately, having recognized him from halfway down the driveway. 

There was a moment where Will was simply lost between his mom and his brother - a reunion they had all been waiting for for forever. 

Mike, Lucas, and Dustin hovered around them, trying to come to terms with his appearance. When Mom and Johnathan gave him a break, the three rushed in to take their place - crushing Will in a group hug. They were all laughing and taking turns looking him up and down to make sure that he was real . 

A few people hung back, but eventually, Mike’s sister Nancy came forward and pulled him into a hug as well. 

In addition, Steve Harrington from his brother’s high school was there, and two girls his age. Will wanted to make an introduction but Chief Hopper interrupted, telling everyone they had to go, now. 

He was surprised everyone fit in the station wagon. Chief Hopper drove, and his mom made Bob sit shotgun. That way, she could sit with Will and Johnathan in the middle row of seats. Mike’s sister sat on the other side of Johnathan. 

Everyone else rode cramped in the back - Dustin, Lucas, Mike , Steve Harrington (who Will felt bad for, back there with a bunch of kids, also why was he there?), and the two girls Will didn’t recognize. One gave him the weirdest chills though. They barely said anything the whole ride home. 

Will wanted to know why this hodge-podge of people was all together but he was too overwhelmed to ask anything. Where would he start? Hey guys I’ve been gone for a while haha have any new movies come out? He was just too tired. His fellow passengers clearly were not; he fielded questions from all directions.

The Chief seemed skeptical that he really was who he said he was. He interrogated Will from the front seat.

“Who’s the principal of the middle school?”

“Um… Mrs. Preston”

“What’s your address?”

“One Forty-Nine… Forrest Drive, Hawkins, Indiana…um...do you want the zip code?”

“Hop!” That was his mom. She shot the Chief a glare. “Leave him alone.”

Will was glad she interrupted. He forgot their zip code. 

Chief Hopper narrowed his eyes at Will through the rearview mirror, obviously sizing him up. 

“I’m just saying Joyce, we don’t know anything about that place. He could be… a spy or something.”

“Jim.” She didn’t have to say anything else. She pulled him closer to her. 

From behind him, his friends clamored. 

“Will, how are you not dead?”

“-and we called it a Demogorgon- like from dungeons an-”

“I mean- we missed you so much-”

“We had a funeral-”

“-been like an entire year-”

“Saw your body , pulled out of-”

“They tried to go in there to get you-”

“-said they saw your body again but like-”

“-thought you were dead dead-”

“-in the Upside Down-”

“-was it scary? In there?”

Will twisted his body in the seat to face them and did his best to understand what they were saying. A funeral? Demogorgon? Upside Down? He felt like he was floating-  it almost felt like too much. Some part of his body tried to tell him that none of this was real. He was an outside spectator of the conversation. But would a hallucination tell him that they named the giant flower-monsters after a DnD villain? Probably not. 

“Yeah. It was scary, “ he felt like laughing. Yeah. It was scary. “But I’m, I’m here now, right?”

They were all staring at him like he had three heads. He could make out their faces fine but hoped they had a little trouble making out his. He wished they wouldn’t stare. To be fair, he did just suddenly drop back into their lives after - what did Mike say?- an entire year. He especially wished the two girls he didn’t even recognize would say something .  

“Um…hi,” he decided to introduce himself, “I’m Will.” He added a lame little wave and immediately regretted it. He felt like a year in backwards-Hawkins had destroyed any scarce social skills he possessed. 

“I know,” said the brunette at the same time the redhead said, “I’m Max.”

Mike smiled at the brunette, and Will felt his stomach flip. “This is Eleven. She tried to help find you when you…you first went…missing,” he told Will. Eleven gave him a sad smile.

“I am sorry,” she said, “I was too late. I have heard a lot about you.” She smiled weakly at Mike. 

Will didn’t really know what she meant by finding him, but he didn’t want her to feel bad. “It’s okay! Um… I’m here now, I didn’t die or anything.”

She stared hard at him. Will suddenly felt very exposed in front of everybody. Her gaze made his gut churn like it had when he was led to the gate- but this time with no discernible direction. He wanted to tell her to knock it off, but his breath was stolen from his lungs as her stare intensified. Her stare reminded him of the backwards-dimension and filled him with inexplicable fear. 

“How did you survive there?” It was like she was looking for something in his mind. 

“What?” Will’s fight or flight took over. He felt his heart rate pick up and he took gasping breaths. His mom took his face in her hand at his distress. Breaking eye contact with Eleven stopped the feeling.  

“Elle!” Mike was shouting. He sounded upset. 

“I am sorry,” Eleven said for the second time. She looked genuinely apologetic, almost surprised.  

“It’s okay,” he said, even though it wasn’t really. The safe feeling he had at the beginning of the car ride was gone. He suddenly couldn’t wait to be home. The car started to feel claustrophobic and so he reached back out mentally for his dogs, on instinct for protection. 

They were nearby, following the car. It occurred to him that the new girl - Eleven could potentially be a threat to them. He sent a silent plea that they stay a safe distance away.

The rest of the ride, Mike had a whispered argument? conversation? with Eleven. Will wanted to talk with his friends, and knew eventually he would have to explain things to everybody. Hopefully, he would get a proper introduction to Eleven and… Max? But now he just wanted to go home. In less than an hour, he had gone from the dismal hellscape of backwards-Hawkins to the warm and clean interior of the Wheeler’s station wagon. It was kind of a lot. 

Will clutched his dirty backpack to his dirty sweater. The car pulled in front of their house at that very moment. Chief Hopper turned the ignition off and the passengers sat in silent darkness for a moment, as if taking a collective deep breath. Bob opened the door first, followed by the chief, his mom, and then the party in the back. 

His mom ran a hand through his hair as they walked to the front door.

The immense gravity of the situation finally dawned on him. He saw the wooden posts framing his porch were free of vines and the golden above-the-sink light from the kitchen was actually on. He blinked a few times just to make sure. His mom placed a hand on his back, and he realized he had slowed down. 

He was crying again. He hurriedly wiped his face before his friends could see. 

He crossed the doorway of his house. Everything was how he remembered. The old couch still had the hole in the arm, the kitchen table was still to his right, and the kitchen to his left. In a daze, he wandered through his kitchen, opening drawers and cabinets. Silverware. Cups. Bowls and plates. Pots and pans. Popcorn bowls. Junk . He remembered where each one was; Will felt like crying and laughing at the same time. 

His mom touched his shoulder, looking concerned.

“Baby? Is everything okay?”

He nodded as he reached past his mom to the kitchen sink and turned the tap. He almost fainted as water ran out of the silver faucet- clear, real, water. He put his hand in the stream. Cool, but not freezing. Yeah, it was real. This was all real. 

He didn’t know how long he stood there, letting the cold stream run over his fingers. Vaguely, he knew that the rest of the group stood around the kitchen table, watching, and whispering. He only stopped when his mom gently took his hand in both of hers. She asked him (tearfully) if he wanted to take a bath. He nodded, probably. She led him down the hall and ran the tap. She asked if he wanted help. 

Will thought about it. He didn't want to let his mom out of his sight, but he also didn't really want her to see whatever state he was in under the grimy layers he wore. Besides he was 13? now. Eventually, he shook his head. He and his mom sat on the bathroom floor in comforting silence while the tub filled. His mom added soap and swished the water with her hand. 

“Is this good, sweetie?”

Will put his hand in the steaming water. Indescribable. 

“Yeah,” he said, staring at the water. “Yes, thank you.”

His mom wrapped him in a hug right there on the tile. They breathed in sync for a long minute, until his mom broke away.

“I’ll get you a towel,” she choked out. Will watched her with his heart in his throat as she grabbed a fluffy yellow towel from the cabinet and set it on the counter, and leave.

Now alone, he felt completely naked. Suddenly, with no living anchor, he didn’t know what to do. He took deep breaths- to panic now would be of no use to him. Besides, he could hear muffled voices on the other side of the wall, he wasn’t alone. He repeated this mentally to himself as he undressed. 

First, he shrugged off his backpack, setting it far enough from the tub that it wouldn’t be splashed. Slowly, he peeled off the layers of clothing he was wearing. He dropped the two shirts and sweater on the floor, where they stood starkly dark against the cream ceramic. He did the same with his jeans and socks, and of course his underwear. The few greyish reddish wraps of gauze that were around healing wounds he shoved into the bathroom trash can. 

Now actually naked (and still alone), he shivered and stepped hesitantly into the water. It was hot, maybe a little too hot, but Will didn’t care. The cold of backwards-Hawkins had long ago seeped into his bones. Until now, he wasn’t sure he would ever feel warm again. Eager to feel the water on every inch of his body, he sank down until only his upper chest was exposed to the air. He wanted to just sit there in the warmth forever.

Every cut and scrape on his body screamed in protest as they met the water. Will paused to let them acclimatize. His head felt heavy with sleep despite his body’s complaints. He didn’t want to fall asleep in the tub - imagine he survives all the way back to regular-Hawkins only to drown in a bathtub. Embarrassing. 

So he picked up the washcloth on the side of the tub, and rubbed the grime, dried blood, and monster saliva off his body. He started with the undamaged skin, and then gently went over any wounds- most were old anyway, he hadn’t gotten into anything too sticky in a while.  Before the water became too dirty to wash with, Will washed his face, and sunk further into the water to scrub at his hair with Johnathans’ shampoo. 

He forced himself to focus on the motions of bathing. He definitely didn't think about how this was surely all a dream or some new trick by backwards-Hawkins to finally destroy him (after all he had done for it, really?). He tried to keep his eyes open.

At this point, the once-clear and soapy water was almost an opaque, darkish gray. Will pulled the plug stopper out and watched the black water run down the drain. The water left rings of dirt on the tub. 

Once the tub was empty, Will turned the faucet back on. He ran the washcloth under the tap and rang it out repeatedly until the water ran clear. He stood up and used the clean washcloth to wipe down his body one last time, and cleaned the dirt rings from the tub. 

Shivering, he washed the bottom of the tub as well, which had collected a layer of whatever had been on Will. Standing, he faced away from the mirror. 

The towel was plush and dry, and Will could have cried. He rubbed a corner on his face, before carefully drying off the rest of his body, and wrapping it around his chest. 

He couldn’t help but turn back towards the mirror. It was clouded by steam at the top but otherwise was perfectly fine - no cracks, stains, missing pieces. Will stared at the boy in the mirror. Logically he knew that it was himself but without his constant layer of dirt or ash or whatever, he looked completely different. He could see the color of his actual skin, a pale white that make complete sense- no sun in the backwards-dimension. 

The pale skin still had pink-red scrapes and purple-yellow bruises. White scars crossed over his arms and chest, patterned in the distinctive ways of the…Demogorgons’... claws and teeth. But relatively, he thought he was doing pretty good. 

Will leaned forward to look at his eyes. In the bright lights of the bathroom, they looked…normal. No weird shininess or anything, just brown. However, the teeth were the same as before. He practiced a smile and was dismayed to see that you could make out the sharp points, even though Will didn’t show a lot of teeth anyway when he smiled. 

He closed his lips tightly, watching as the boy on the other side of the mirror copied. He noticed that with his hair wet, the haircut didn’t even look that bad. 

He creaked open the bathroom door, suddenly anxious to see everyone again. He looked at his clothes in the corner- should he get dressed first? He felt like an idiot. He lived (had lived?) here. He hypothetically had a closet full of clothes that were his. But what if they donated them or something? He heard from his friends that they thought he was dead, right? 

“Um…Mom?” he called, and the horrifying thought that they had all abandoned him occurred. 

To his immediate relief, his mom appeared around the corner, with the same concerned look she had been wearing all night. 

“Yes, honey?”

“I…Um… clothes?” Will wondered when he would stop feeling so awkward. 

His mom went into her room across the hall and produced a folded stack of fabric. 

“You could probably fit into your old stuff, but this is some of mine and Johnathan's,” she rambled, “I thought that maybe you would want something from the dryer. You can get dressed in your room?”

He nodded, understanding. He scooped up his backpack and followed her. At his room’s door, his mom handed him the stack of clothes, which were warm as promised. 

“Take your time sweetie. We made sandwiches if you’re hungry?”

He nodded again. The doorknob to his bedroom suddenly felt years away. His hand trembled as he opened the door. 

Nothing had changed. Nothing. Everything was still in its place, arranged exactly how he arranged it. The bed was still awkwardly made, the way he made it on that day. Colored pencils and pens were still splayed across the desk- partially covering a half-finished drawing. 

Will got dressed. The pants turned out to be his mom’s - red plaid pajama bottoms - and the top was from Johnathan - a light brown cotton crew neck. His mom didn’t include any underwear, so Will opened his dresser and found a pair he thought was suitable. They fit okay all things considered.

The shirt and pants were way too big, as expected. Will knotted the pajama pants tie as tight as he could. He rolled up the crew neck sleeves and pant legs so his hands and feet were free just in case. 

He wandered his room. At the desk sat a piece of paper with a half-finished drawing on it. Will recognized it as Will the Wise. In backwards-Hawkins, he took this same picture from his desk and carried it everywhere - a reminder of home, and his friends. He dug the folded, torn, faded drawing out from his bag and smoothed it down as best as he can beside the original. 

He had done other drawings in backwards-Hawkins, but not with the color he loved to usually use. Graphite or charcoal worked the best down there and he worked with what was available. He took that stack of crumpled and water-stained paper out of his bag as well. The sticks of charcoal and graphite joined the colored pencils on the desk. He rolled the colored pencils in his hand, grounding himself in regular-Hawkins. He told himself to look at the color, breathe the air, that this was where he was, for real.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to unpack more of his bag. Maybe it was best to keep everything in there, just in case. 

Suddenly, he’s aware of how tired he is. The humongous relief of finally being home has caught up with him, and all he wants to do is sink into his comforter and wake up the next day, with the entire past year as just a bad dream. 

He sits on the side of his bed and tells himself he’ll just close his eyes for a little bit before joining the others  He slides between the blue comforter and space-themed bed sheets. The for once dry, unmolded, warm comforter and space-themed bed sheets. He ignores the pressing doubt in his chest and closes his eyes - just for a second…

Within a minute, he falls asleep. 

Chapter Text

Will opens his eyes to darkness; damp, moldy darkness. He’s on his feet in a second, taking stock of his surroundings. He immediately recognizes the Hawkins Lab - he’s right where the gate was. 

The gate! - he looks around in vain but the room is empty except for the vines that cover everything. Of course, he couldn’t have anything nice. 

“No,” he breathes, “no no no no no no no.”

He runs outside just to confirm. Immediately his legs crumple and he kneels on the damp pulsing ground. His arms and hands are encrusted with dirt, his clothes back on. Already he had started shivering so hard it felt like his intestines were shaking. The warm bath and bright house feel like far-away memories, already fading. It had felt so real. 

He tries to take a deep breath, but he suddenly feels more scared than he had felt since he was taken. Screeching fills the air around him and he looks up to see something that wasn’t in backwards-Hawkins before - a giant cloud that hangs unmoving among the lightning storm. It’s large, with emerging tendrils that don’t quite touch the ground, and it fills Will with unimaginable fear; he’s frozen to the spot and frantically reaches for his dogs, whistling again and again. 

No one comes. He’s alone.

Pain shoots through his entire body. It has no discernible source but for a split second Will thinks it has to be the cloud thing - until the ground opens up and swallows him whole.

His fall cuts itself short as he launches himself out of bed, into his…bedroom? He looks down at the soft brown shirt on his arms, and pushes up the sleeves. No dirt, no blood, just the normal pale, sort-of scarred forearms he uncovered in last night’s bath. Had he always had that mole? His heartbeat slows, marginally. He barely has time to realize that he’s back in the real world before more pain shoots through him, traveling like a ping-pong ball all around his body, making him clench his teeth. It mixes with the relief of being back in a nauseating combination.

It’s obviously not his own pain, but something is happening through his psychic connection to his dogs, and not just one of them. Still getting his bearings through the after-image of backwards-Hawkins and the dizzying pain, he pulls his door open. To his surprise, his mom is on the other side already, one hand poised to knock, the other on the handle. They both jump.

“What's going on?” Will asks. His mom looks scared. 

“Will, honey,” he can tell she’s trying not to worry him, “there are monsters around the house. Don’t worry sweetie, we’re doing our best, we just need to leave. Now.” 

Will just nods and lets her tuck him into his side. He was almost positive that the monsters around the house were his. He could only hope that none of them had hurt someone. 

We’re doing our best . Who’s we? Doing their best to what? \

“Mom, I think I can help.”

Joyce looks the opposite of convinced at Will’s words. Will leaves her side, feeling a little guilty for concerning her. There’s an obvious commotion in the front yard. 

As it turns out - “we” consists of pretty much everyone who was in the car last night, and “their best” consists of various weapons, homemade or not, being levied against the ring of monster dogs that surrounded the Byers’s house. 

Will comes on the scene almost blinded by the sunlight - it’s evidently the next day, but he has no idea how long he was asleep. He can make out Chief Hopper with a gun, Eleven with her arm outstretched, Steve Harrington with a terrifying nail-encrusted baseball bat, and all his friends with basically a pile of stones and Lucas’s slingshot. 

They’re all yelling, and shooting, swinging, or launching. Will has to admit they’re pretty effective if the screeches from the dogs and the flashes of shared pain are anything to go from. Lucas can really get some force with that thing.

He recognizes the monsters outside. Sure, he may not have given them names, but some of them are pretty distinctive. He knows that big one with a large knotted pinkish scar on his side, and a smallish one missing a face-flap… and the one currently getting whacked by Steve. Ouch.

Suddenly his head is very clear. 

“Wait!” He pulls on Eleven’s arm, currently outstretched. She was the closest to him. He knows by fragments of explanation in the car that she has some crazy mind powers or something. He also knows that she has some connection to backwards-Hawkins. A different connection than his but similar to the one he had with the gate. Maybe she’ll understand.

She looks confused but lowers her arm, suddenly concerned about him but oddly understanding. Will’s concerned about her - her nose is bleeding like it did last night. He hopes that his dogs didn’t have anything to do with that. The sourceless-but-everywhere pain stops when her arm is at her side.

Everyone else seems to guardedly pause their onslaught as they notice Will. 

“It’s okay bud, we got ‘em,” says a gravelly voice; Chief Hopper. He lets off another shot from his shotgun. Will cringes.

“We’ve totally killed a bunch before,” says Steve, who is still here, for some reason. He lifts the bat up and grins at Jonathan and Nancy, who nod emphatically at Will.

“Yeah, Will, I think we’re winning!” says Mike, unfortunately. 

“No, no,” Will says, shaking his head, “they’re not going to hurt you, just stop attacking.”

He’s met by a chorus of confusion. Understandable. 

“Honey, these things have been tearing up the entire town for weeks,” his mom says slowly, on the porch with him now, “we know how to kill them, it’s going to be okay.”

Will feels frustrated but he knows he can’t really blame his friends and family. They all look very concerned for his well-being, mistaking his own concern for fear of the monsters. He’s caught up in a makeshift safety circle, his friends and family on the porch occasionally shooting looks (and stones and bullets) out at the monsters while at the same time fixing him with reassuring glances. 

“ No ,” he says, a little rougher than he means to. “I promise, they’re… nice. ”

“Nice?” scoffs Hopper, “these monsters killed like 10 people already! Joyce, is he okay?”

His mom rubs circles on his back. She doesn’t answer. 

Will says, “Yeah, but not these ones. These ones are…special.” He almost said “mine” but he didn’t think that would have been the best word right now.

Hopper turns to keep shooting, but Mike puts a hand on the chief’s arm. Thank goodness for Mike.

“Will, Will, I- we believe you. You just have to tell us what you mean. We won’t fight them anymore. Just tell us what to do.”

Will sighs in relief and nods. Thank goodness for Mike. He looks at his mom, who has crouched beside him.

“Do you have any tuna?”

“Um? Yeah!” his mom stands up quickly. “Yeah, there should be some in the cupboard, I think.”

Will follows her into the kitchen, hoping it’s safe enough to take his eyes off the dogs. Jonathan comes as well, helping his mom find the three cans of Bumble Bee Tuna tucked in the pantry. 

“Thanks, Mom,” Will says, and his mom nods. Will hugs her quickly and she gives an exasperated breath that could have been a laugh. 

Will takes the cans and runs back outside before she can offer the can opener. 

He passes the group on the porch, who have admittedly slowed their attacks, for now. Hopper begrudgingly lowers the shotgun (the same one Will tried to use That Night) and groans when Will crosses into his line of fire.

“Oh, what now ?”

“Will!” Lucas yells after him as he heads towards the center of the pack, “are you insane ?”

“Yeah, this doesn’t seem like the best plan…” Dustin agrees, “what if they don’t like tuna?”

“They do,” Will says simply, back over his shoulder. It was like they forgot where he had been for the past almost-year. 

He slows down when his feet meet the grass. It feels so nice, dewy and wet in a good way, and soft compared to the hard rocks and bare ground of the other dimension. The morning sunlight combs through the trees in wide swaths like gentle blankets, and Will is almost distracted for a moment, just watching the light move with the swaying of the red-orange leaves.

Several screeches bring him back to the moment. 

The dogs recognize him, even all clean and well-rested. He makes it to a big one at the edge of the woods, who is slowly bleeding red-black sludge from a bullet graze - he guessed that while their skin was extraordinarily tough, it wasn't completely bulletproof. Will winces in sympathetic shared pain.

“Woah! Kid!” he hears an incredulous Hopper yell behind him. 

“It’s okay,” he calls back to the porch. He opens the cans with his teeth and gives his usual whistle. Unfortunately, he only counts about 20 or so monster-dogs that come running, and he knows that some of them might not have survived the night, not to mention this morning. 

“What the fuck.” Hopper deadpans. 

He’s very proud that his boys didn’t eat his friends, and he lets them know. Tuna is given bit by bit until it’s gone. He can tell some of them have eaten since they've been out, but he’s pretty sure it’s some kind of wild game and no humans. Thankfully they can go a while between meals. 

Will is compressed on all sides with their slimy bodies. Razor-sharp teeth open and close excitedly - but gently - on his arms and hands (they’ve learned that Their Boy doesn’t have the same hard skin that they do). Will pats their sides and heads in return, rubbing behind their face flaps. 

“Guys, I have to go,” he doesn’t really know what else to say.

“I’m home now.”

He feels guilty for the second time that day. There’s no way his mom will let him keep 20-something literal monsters around the house. He doesn’t know what they’re going to do. If other monsters have been killing people, then they can’t just wander around town. He wonders if they also liked the soft grass and warm sun. He won’t make them go back to backward-Hawkins if they like it better here. 

“No killing people, okay?” he looks around at them, “Or pets,” he adds on. 

But maybe once he showed Chief Hopper and Mom and the others that they were nice, they could stick around for a bit. He turns back towards the porch and gives his best smile - remembering to keep his mouth closed. One of the smaller dogs sits on his feet and leans back into him, and he scratches it absently on the chin(?). He’s going to need to change clothes.

Everyone is staring at him with expressions that range from surprised amazement (Dustin) to complete fear (Lucas) to resigned disbelief (Hopper). His mom is on the phone with someone, talking quickly and quietly. He notices it’s not their usual yellow corded phone - it’s white and new. When she looks up, he gives a little wave, and a see? nice , gesture. Her brows furrow and you can see the whites all the way around her eyes, but she gives him an encouraging smile anyway. In the stunned silence, Will is vaguely amazed to hear birds chirping. 

“What the fuck.” Hopper repeats. The gun is forgotten on the wood floor.

When Will’s back on the porch again, there’s a surprising lack of questions. The monster dogs stay a good distance from the porch, milling around or finding a nice spot to lay down. They fold up their weirdly jointed legs to settle in the grass, ready to guard Their Boy’s new hiding place. 

“Um… that was cool… how about breakfast?” Dustin offers.

Will feels beyond awkward. Mike slings an arm around his shoulders only a little hesitantly. Will finds himself steered towards the house. 

“Eggos?” Mike asks.

Will shrugs. His stomach reminds him he hasn't eaten in at least 48 hours. 

“Eggos,” says Eleven. 

The others mumble in agreement. (Hopefully, the waffles would be served with a side of an explanation .)

Chapter Text

Joyce’s October had started relatively fine . Considering. Her relationship with Bob was going well - he was great;  a pillar of stability in a squat, nerdy package. Not that she'd tell him that. When he came into her (and Johnathans’) life five months ago, it felt like just what she needed. A breath of fresh air. Maybe. 

Her job at the general store was slow and steady, Jonathan had gone off to senior year at Hawkins High a month ago, and she was getting really good at ignoring the approaching anniversary. 

She feared the coming November like she was a kid again and it was the monster under her bed. Last year’s November was a mix of vague feelings and the most vivid heart-crunching emotions of her life. It took her months to stop calling the police station every day, hoping and hoping and hoping that her little boy was just lost, that they had heard something new. Jonathan spent more and more time at the Wheeler’s house.

But she knew- she knew where he had been, what had happened. She breathed the air, she touched his skin. (If the monster hadn’t gotten him, Joyce was certain the air would have - he wasn’t the strongest breather since birth, when he had spent two weeks in the NICU). She saw her baby’s dead body twice in one week, and he wasn’t even recognizable the second time. She had his death certificate. She paid for a grave marker.

So when monsters started appearing in her town a week ago, the same faceless motherfuckers that took her baby, she didn’t back down. To think of someone else’s kid going through the same thing her Will did… it lit a fire in her. 

Bob was surprisingly accepting - once she explained the Demogorgon (a name she was slightly confused by), and the Upside Down, as explained to her by Wills’ friends, he was more than willing to help out. The only thing was, there were more than just a few sightings of the creatures like there was last year. Within days, almost everyone in town had seen one and there was no more pretending that everything was okay in their small town.  

There were new monsters too - these ones ran on four horribly jointed legs, and had long, whipping tails like rats. Joyce didn’t know if this made them easier to look at or even scarier. She went with scarier. She hit one with her car the first time she saw one (on accident) and didn’t even look in her rearview mirror as she sped away. She knew then that something had to give. 

It was around this time that she got a call from Hopper. He told her that some government doctor had contacted him, told him that he knows why the monsters are back, and he needs Hopper’s help. Well - not Hopper’s help per se, but he needed the little girl that Hopper had been keeping in his old family cabin. The problem lay in the fact that Eleven had gone missing days ago. 

Joyce knew Hopper had been harboring the little girl for a while now. She also knew that Eleven could be their only hope to stop whatever was happening. 

She was the only person who could really look for Will. Joyce had visited the run-down cabin a few past, cold nights with an array of photos. Each time, Eleven just shook her head sadly. She hadn’t been over in a few months.  

Joyce tried to control her emotions with Hopper; she knew they could get into a fight over nothing. But, personally, she would not have left her kid alone in a tiny dusty house in the woods! For any amount of time! Was he crazy? What if something horrible had happened?

Hopper, of course, maintained that his “child” has literal superpowers. 

Ok, Jim. Ok.

Joyce, Bob, and Hopper arranged to meet Dr. Owens in the Hawkins Laboratory that night. It was closest to Joyce’s house, so Hopper met her and Bob there. He looked pretty rough- unshaved, untucked, overtired. Joyce knew the feeling.

Before leaving, Joyce gave Johnathan strict instructions to stay safe and not let anything happen to the rest of them; Will’s friends had been helping fight the monsters, much to her disapproval. Whenever she saw them, she was reminded so much of Will; her brain automatically tried to fill in the blank that he left. What would he be doing right now? Would he have any classes with Mike? Lucas? Would he be in the seventh grade art show? But they seemed so gung-ho about helping Hawkins, and Joyce couldn’t deny them the same revenge that she sought out. 

            But bottom line, she didn’t want them getting hurt, and so had Johnthan or Nancy, or even Steve Harrington, who apparently helped kill a Demogorgon last year, stay with them. And they weren’t even out of high school yet. Lord help her. 

The only adults in the house took Joyce’s Ford Pinto to the lab. If, for some reason, the kids needed to go anywhere, Wheeler's station wagon, much larger than her car, was left at the Byers’ home. Steve’s car, along with the Chief’s, also sat in the yard, and Joyce was slightly embarrassed that she didn’t have a proper driveway. 

The ride to the Lab was tense, to say the least. The only noise was the funky one that Joyce’s engine made sometimes. 

“You should get that looked at,” said Hopper, sitting in the back.

“I know,” said Joyce, driving.

“Don’t look at me,” said Bob, sitting shotgun, “I am not a car guy.”

And then 10 minutes of uninterrupted silence. 

Joyce was lost in her own thoughts, anyway. She was very good at giving people the benefit of the doubt, and she was spooning it out with a very generous hand to Dr. Owens. Hopefully this wasn’t a ploy to get them all arrested for some kind of conspiracy; to capture Eleven or pry them for information for the Soviet Union. She hadn’t talked to Dr. Owens directly, and Hopper had only one conversation, over the phone. 

This whole situation felt so much like the time her and Hopper had last seen the Upside Down - and come out empty-handed, the vision of a small, already rotted body still an afterimage on their visions. She couldn’t remember if Dr. Owens was there that time. 

When they finally rumbled up the gravel drive to the gate, they were greeted by the man himself. He wasn’t what Joyce was expecting at all, to her relief: he looked like a nice, mild-mannered, aging man, in a clean white lab coat and pressed slacks. In her mind she was conjuring images of cartoonish evil scientists with unruly hair and bulbous goggles and elbow-high rubber gloves. He waved at them with a genuine smile, though his gray eyebrows betrayed how he really felt.

He leaned to look in the window, which Joyce hurriedly cranked down. 

“Chief Hopper?” he asked. Even his voice was mild.

Hopper leaned forward from the back seat, where he was riding with no seatbelt. Joyce thought he must have a death wish. 

“Yeah.”

“Hi, I’m Joyce. Byers.”

“Bob Newby, at your service!”

"Hello. Hello. I'm Dr. Samuel Owens. Call me Sam."

Dr. Owens pushed a button in the tiny security booth. While the gate was grinding open, he opened the back door and slid into the car next to Hopper, unprompted. He cleared his throat.

"I'll lead you to the back entrance, if that's alright with you, Joyce."

Joyce nodded. Dr. Owens directed her to drive past the large glass front doors, around the right side of the building. The driveway ended at what was obviously the loading dock. 

Inside, he took them up a few levels to a room filled with televisions. Joyce noticed that it was a Sunday night, but the lab was still crawling with smart-looking types in similar coats to Dr. Owens. 

There was a bored-looking technician in the room at first, but he cleared out when the doctor stepped in. The rest of them filed in after him. Once the door clunked shut behind them, there was a brief pause when Dr. Owens drew in a breath to speak but Jim beat him to the punch. 

“Where is she?” he demanded, taking a few threatening steps towards the doctor. 

“Wha- where is who ?” Dr. Owens stuttered, stepping backwards until he hit a metal table. 

“Oh, you know who I’m talking about, you bastard, what did you do to her?” He stepped forward again until the two men were almost touching. 

Joyce felt like maybe she should intervene. Behind her, Bob cleared his throat uncomfortably. Sweat trickled down Dr. Owens forehead. 

“I swear, Chief Hopper, I want to protect Eleven as much as you do, I swear,” he glanced at Joyce and Bob pleadingly. Joyce tried to look tough, for Hop’s benefit. 

“Then tell me Where. She. Is.” Hopper seethed. 

“I don’t- she- she’s missing ?” Now it was Dr. Owen’s turn to look angry and Jim’s turn to look sheepish. 

The mood in the room turned sour immediately. Jim explained quietly that Eleven had disappeared from their cabin a few days ago. Dr. Owens explained that she was basically their only hope. 

“Woah, wait, back up. Our only hope? What exactly is going on?” Joyce hoped that this meeting would improve the whole monsters-terrorizing-the-town situation. Now, she felt that hope deflating like an old balloon and falling dead at her feet. 

“There’s a gate open.”

“ Another one? ” Joyce asked. 

“Well, it’s the same one.” Dr. Owens admitted. He toggled a switch on a blank TV screen and it blinked to life, showing a fuzzy picture of the basement, where a pulsing, rotting orange gate was depicted. Scientists milled around in protective gear, pushing probes into the vines. Joyce felt her stomach twist into a knot at the sight - it looked exactly the same as when she had gone through it. Dr. Owens reluctantly turned back to face them. At their collective enraged expressions he put two hands up by his chest. “We were doing research, it was controlled. I swear.” 

Controlled, her ass. Joyce had never felt so angry. She, Jim, and Bob didn’t say anything at that. They simply waited for an explanation. 

“It’s like,” Dr. Owens played with his hands, waving them in the air to create a picture, “like, an immense pressure formed behind it. It broke open-” here, he thrust both hands forward- “and the monsters emerged. It was like they were trying to escape.”

“Yeah, I would want to escape from there too.” Jim ground out. 

Dr. Owens shook his head. “They were running from something. Something was affecting all our readings in the minutes leading up to…the- uh, exodus . But we’re almost certain it won’t happen again.” He didn’t even sound convinced himself.

Joyce tried to imagine something worse than the monsters that had already poured out into Hawkins. What could scare the more horrifying things she had ever seen? 

“Here’s where Eleven would have been important. She closed the gate before, I’m certain she could do it again. They’re - the monsters- all connected to the other dimension - closing it will kill them, we believe. Unplug their power source.”

“Well she’s not here,” Jim said, “so now what.”

“We find her.” Dr. Owens said, sounding much more confident than he looked. 

Hopper opened his mouth to probably say something sarcastic and/or unhelpful, but was interrupted by a blaring alarm. It accompanied a flashing red light above the door. 

“Fuck!” It sounded wrong coming from Dr. Owens. 

“Fuck.” Hopper agreed. 

Joyce didn’t have to ask what the alarm ment. On the screen Dr. Owens had shown them, she could see the gate bulging and splitting with shapes like giant cysts. She looked away, suddenly disgusted; she was grateful the screens didn’t have any audio attached. 

Jim pulled his pistol from the holster on his side.

“What do we do?” asked Bob. Joyce hoped he wasn’t regretting his decision to help; she wasn’t sure if this was the last time they’d be in mortal terror. She risked a glance at the screen just to see a scientist with a machine gun have his jugular ripped out. Her head spun and she turned back to Dr. Owens, sick to her stomach and trying not to show it.

Dr. Owens pulled a paper map of the lab from a shelf. It was at this moment the lights went out. The small room they were in had no windows and they paused for a second in the void. The only noise for a moment was their ragged breaths. Then, outside, she could already hear gunshots echoing down the halls of the lab.

“Oh God.” said Bob. Joyce was right there with him on that one. 

The map was illuminated suddenly with a flashlight held by Dr. Owens. He quickly explained how screwed they were, exactly. 

Bob ended up pulling the short straw on this one. They split ways after the first staircase. Hopper gave Bob his pistol, having borrowed a rifle from some poor, disemboweled guy they passed. Joyce kissed him quickly before she left with Hopper. Dr. Owens would stay in the control room and try to lock down the basement once they were out. Hopper made him promise “not to get killed, dammit.”

When the dim emergency lights come on while they are halfway down the last staircase, she could have cried in relief. She prays to anyone who would listen that he makes it back. 

Her and Hopper race out of the stairwell into an almost suspiciously empty, dark, lobby. She can see dead scientists in the faded combination of blue-ish natural light and dim red fluorescence, but also dead monsters. And those don’t look like bullet wounds. Her heart hammers so hard in her chest she’s positive Hopper can hear. But together they take advantage of the empty floor and jog to the large glass doors, towards the clear October night. 

Hopper throws open the doors, but Joyce stops short- she can’t leave without Bob. Come on , where is he? She puts one hand on the cool metal door handle and searches the shadows of the building, straining her eyes for any movement, come on Bob . 

There! From the opposite stairwell than the one that they came from, Bob. He’s limping, and Joyce can see a dark stain on the bottom of his slacks. Her gut flips in relief, but they aren’t in the clear quite yet. More motion catches her eye - from the far corner of the room, from around a hidden hallway, prowls a four-legged Demogorgon. Shit! They were so close. 

“Bob!”

His eyes are wide open as he sprints for Joyce. Everything feels like it’s going in slow motion. She’s vaguely aware of Jim running back into the building, stolen gun aloft. Bob is almost to her. 

To her horror, an entire herd of Demogorgons emerge from around the corner. It looks like they are hot on the heels of another human. This one looks too small to be a laboratory employee - hell, it’s just a kid! Or a small adult. She wonders why the hell there’s a kid in a government lab, in the middle of the night. Hopefully they didn’t have another Eleven on their hands. 

The kid’s yelling at Hopper, who can’t take a shot without potentially hitting the human among the monsters. He’s literally surrounded.

She’s momentarily distracted when Bob is back in her arms. 

“I’m okay, I’m okay.” he says, maybe to her, maybe to himself. She guides him to lean on the doors, supporting him on his bad side. She hears Jim shouting back at the kid.

“I’m not gonna shoot you! Come on! ”

Gunshots ring out and Joyce turns to watch - he better haven't have hit the kid. The monsters have all mostly gone back to the corner, but the kid isn’t running . To her surprise, he turns back, towards the monsters and screams at them. Brave. 

They all turned tail and ran. If only they did that when Joyce yelled at them. Miraculous occurrences aside, the area was finally clear and they needed to move before that changed. Let’s grab the kid and run.

Now with no visible threat, Joyce could breathe a little easier. But Hopper looked like he was finding it harder. He shoots her a gut-wrenching, horrified look. Joyce is bewildered by it. Hopper jerks his head to the kid, who was slowly approaching. She squints at the kid in the scant lighting as he gets closer, his face looking like he was afraid they were going to bite his head off. 

Something about him makes her chest hurt. She’s never liked to see children in peril, for obvious reasons. She can’t see him very well, but maybe it’s the scared expression with the big dark eyes, or the obviously self-done chunky haircut. Or maybe it’s what he says next that drives a butcher knife into her chest.

“ Mom? ”

The slow-motion feeling has returned. She takes in his face, his nose eyes hair clothes. No. Not possible. No no no no she saw his body . But now every nerve was second-guessing itself in a valiant effort to have this be real. Before she knows what she’s doing, her body has launched itself towards him. 

She’s had dreams about this moment - dreams where they find him - where he’s still in the Upside Down, curled in a ball, calling her name over and over.  Dreams where he’s there, inexplicably on the street, in their house, at the school, and she reaches out to touch him and he dissolves into a thousand mold spurs and pieces of ash. Like he did that last time she touched him. 

But this time. This time she touches him and her fingers meet firm, living tissue, wearing a rough sweater. 

“Will?”

Hopper and Bob and the potential monsters are all forgotten as she wraps her baby up in a hug. She squeezes as hard as she can, making sure he’s there, he’s solid, daring the universe to take him away. Daring it all to be a dream. Although she’s still alight with adrenaline, she’s crying immediately - blubbering really. He was just surrounded by monsters . How close was he to dying for a third time?

“Oh, baby - I never stopped-” and oh God he probably thought she wasn

‘t looking for him, “oh Will- oh where have you been- my baby- my baby- I promise I never gave up- Will, is it really you?”

Joyce had thought she had accepted months ago that she would never see her boy again, never hear his voice. It still didn’t feel real. 

Will felt real, solid. His face is buried in her shoulder and his voice is muffled when he says, “It’s me, Mom,” but it’s his voice. A little deeper, maybe, because fuck, he went through puberty in hell . Joyce’s head hurts in a terrific display of cognitive dissonance. 

She cups his face, fingers splayed in greasy brown hair and she makes sure again that it’s really him. He’s dirty, tears making tracks down his cheeks in the ashy dust that he’s covered in. He’s completely covered in the stuff- making him look like he’s in black and white, but he’s Will. A little taller, a little thinner, a little paler, a little worse for wear pretty much everywhere, but he’s Will . His big brown eyes are the same, searching her own face.

(Oddly, his teeth have changed - they look crooked or something and Joyce regrets not shelling out for braces before he entered middle school. Not the time, Joyce , she tells herself, and presses her baby boy close to her again.)

“Oh baby, what happened to you?”

She couldn’t bear to see him like this. It was better than seeing him pulled lifeless from a pond but damn it hurt . The big gaping hole that lived in her chest since his disappearance throbbed and twisted. She knew exactly where he had been this entire time- she couldn't even pretend that it wasn’t that bad. She wanted to wrap him in a blanket and never let him go. 

“I know, Mom,” Will whispers into her shirt sleeve as an explanation and her chest twists even more. He leaves a combination of gray ash and tears on her shirt. She wanted to ask him a million questions. Where were you? Are you hurt? Are you hungry? How did you get out? How did you survive? Can you breathe okay? She didn’t ask any, though, because getting answers would make it real in a way she couldn't handle currently. 

“Oh baby, let’s go home. Oh, my boy.” She feels like she would rather die than let go of him. She presses kisses to the top of his head as she stands up - her heart splintering when she realizes he was almost up to her armpit. How tall was he when he disappeared? She holds him close to her as they walk out of the lab, past Hopper and Bob. 

Past Hopper and Bob?

Hopper and Bob were there. Right. 

“Oh, Will, this is the Hawkins police chief, Jim Hopper. He helped me when you first…went missing.” 

Hopper looks suspiciously at her boy before forcing a smile that didn’t get close to his eyes. 

“And this is Bob Newman,” Joyce smiles, “my…boyfriend.”

Bob waves, obviously at least a little confused. 

“Should we go to the hospital or something?” he asked, motioning to Will. 

Joyce was then reminded that Will was legally dead. They couldn't go to the hospital without them asking a thousand questions - and no doubt it would draw attention from some shady government agency. The same people who Eleven had to hide from everyday would surely jump on a boy back-from-the-dead from the Upside Down. 

“That’s maybe not the best idea, hon. Dr. Owens will know what to do…”

Hopper grunted in agreement. Will relaxed into her side. Joyce guessed he wasn;t thrilled about the hospital idea either.

They stood there in a kind of limbo. The Pinto was parked around back - and she had no clue how many Demogorgons could be prowling around out here. She continued to hold Will close and looked to Hopper for guidance. What should they do?

Hopper just shrugs, still holding the rifle at the ready. Joyce knows he was wondering the same thing she was. 

As if reading their minds, tires screamed on the pavement. For a moment, they were blinded by headlights before the Wheeler station wagon appeared before them like a genie in a bottle. 

Chapter Text

The wood-striped doors opened as if on cue and the passengers piled out, all speaking, or rather shouting , at once. Jonathan was the first one out, and practically teleported to Will. Joyce joined their hug, tears slipping out of her eyes at the feeling of having both of her boys. Both of her boys. 

She noticed over Will’s head that Hopper and Eleven were having their own touching reunion. She felt relieved on her friend's behalf that the girl was okay. She was relieved on all their behaves that Eleven was okay - her deflated hope was rising. 

Wills’ friends wormed their way through their hug, and Joyce let them have their moment. Keeping her eyes on her son, she went to stand by Jim, Bob, and Eleven, who looked older with her eyes smudged in black eyeshadow and her hair slicked back. Joyce wondered where exactly she had been . 

“The gate in the lab is open.” Eleven stated, very matter-of-fact. 

“We know,” said the three adults in unison.

“If we close it then the monsters will die.”

“We know.”

“I can close it.”

“ We know , El,” Hopper says, “But not now. That thing just vomited, like, 100 monsters. We have to go.”

Eleven huffed and joined the group of kids. Hopper used the privacy to grab Joyce by the arms. He spoke quickly and quietly.

“Joyce, are you positive he’s…for real?”

Joyce could have slapped him. 

“For real?”

“You know where he’s been, Joyce! What if…” he couldn’t find the words, “What if it’s just pretending?”

As mad as Joyce was, the honest truth was that the same thought had crossed her mind when she first thought she recognized him. The thought that this was all a big trick being played on them by the Upside Down and Will’s face would open up and devour her. But that thought was immediately erased the second she felt her son in her arms. She just knew . 

Besides, if she let herself believe it wasn’t Will, she was positive she would keel over right then from despair. 

“You think I don’t know my own kid?” 

“His eyes literally just did a creepy flash thing with the headlights! And his teeth-” 

“Please, Hopper, I can’t talk about this right now.”

“Well, he…” Hopper trailed off as his gaze shifted over her shoulder. Joyce followed it to the far edge of the building. 

A large, towering, two-footed Demogorgon was rounding the corner. 

“WE HAVE TO GO! NOW! ” Hopper bellowed. 

Joyce directed Hopper to help Bob to the front seat while she grabbed Will. 

The ride home felt simultaneously like 5 minutes and 5 hours. 

Joyce didn’t appreciate Hopper interrogating Will in the car. It felt underhanded to have him cornered like that. She couldn't help the feelings of relief she got when he answered correctly, though. 

She let herself listen to the sound of his voice as he talked with his friends in the back, the words blurring in her mind. She thought she would never hear it again. She noticed that he spoke quietly and politely, just like before. Another tick in the box against Hop’s little theory. His quiet laughter was the greatest sound in the world. 

At one point in the drive, Will started breathing funny. He was looking towards the back, a scared look on his face. It was too dark in the car to really see what was going on; Joyce didn't know what was happening, but she took his face in her hands and made him look in her eyes. His eyes focused on her and he seemed to snap back to reality. She met Johnthan’s eyes, shining in the darkness. He looked scared too. Nancy looked concerned.

It seemed to be a running theme this week. 

Joyce didn’t know if her heart could take much more as she watched Will wander around their home like it was Disneyland, and not a dilapidated ranch with no matching appliances. He opened pretty much every drawer in their kitchen, and then stood in front of the sink, crying. Joyce’s concern spiked. 

She put a gentle hand on his shoulder, trying to gauge his reaction.

“Baby? Is everything okay?”

He nodded, still sniffing, and turned on the tap, putting his fingers in the running water. Joyce let him stand there for a while, sparing a glance at the peanut gallery that had made it all into the house by now. The kids looked concerned. Hopper shrugged. Bob smiled awkwardly. Not very helpful. 

Will looked like he was entranced by the stream of ordinary faucet water and Joyce could have screamed. If she had the power she would have destroyed the Upside Down until there was nothing left. Joyce gently (gently) folded her fingers over the smaller hand in the cold water. 

“Will, honey. Do you want to take a bath?”

Vaguely, Will nodded, still watching the tap. Joyce detached him from the sink and walked him down the hallway, hand on his back. 

Will didn’t say anything as she put in the tub plug and ran the water, pouring liquid body wash into the stream. He stared at the faucet again, following the rising steam with his eyes. For some reason it bothered Joyce. 

“Do you want help getting clean, honey?”

His eyes snapped back to hers. He blinked a few times before slowly shaking his head. Joyce nodded, understanding, even if she didn’t like it. She just didn’t want her baby (and he would always be her baby, no matter what) to be out of her sight. Will sat next to her, cross legged, as the tub filled. She added more soap, and swirled the warm-but-not-hot water with her hand. 

“Is this good, sweetie?”

Will was in a trance again. Joyce hoped this wouldn’t be a permanent thing. He put a few shaking fingers in below the bubbles and nodded. 

“Yeah, yes, thank you.”

Joyce was overcome with emotion at his wavering voice. She threw her arms around Will and held him for a long time, letting her own tears soak his sweater. She swore then and there to herself that she wouldn’t let anything happen to him again. Never. 

She got him the largest, softest towel they owned. 

Back in the kitchen, everyone seemed to be anxiously awaiting her return. Bob’s leg was clean and bandaged, and she felt a little guilty that she had forgotten about his injury. Steve Harrington was standing up, and he was the first to say something. 

“Joyce, please tell these children they have to go home.”

“I’m not leaving Will,” Mike said. 

This sentiment was echoed around the table. Joyce was touched, and pressed her lips together for a moment to swallow her tears and put on her best mom face. She interrupted their protests.

“Guys, thank you. He’s doing okay, I think. You are all welcome back tomorrow morning, I promise.” She tried to sound firm but knew she was falling short. 

“Yeah. Get out.” Jim backed her up, sounding much more stern. 

Wills’ friends grumbled but any objections were silenced with a look from Jim. 

“Henderson. Sinclair. Mayfield. Let’s goooo .” Steve said, motioning like an usher to the front door. 

“Mike.” was all Nancy said. She gave Johnathan a hug before following Steve and his three charges out the door. 

Before Mike followed, he looked at Joyce. “Please, tell him I didn’t forget - I never stopped looking, I swear. None of us did.”

“I- I know, Mike. You can tell him yourself tomorrow, okay? I know.”

“Okay… okay.”

Then it was just her, Johnathan, Bob, Hopper, and El sitting around the kitchen table. Like a dam breaking, tears fell unbidden from her eyes until she could barely see. Everything caught up to her at once and she physically couldn't handle it. Her legs shook. Jonathan was right beside her, leading her to the couch, crying himself. Hopper and Eleven sat awkwardly at the table. Neither of them have ever been very good at this kind of thing. Bob hovered as well as he could with a wrapped up leg. 

Joyce cried with tears of joy, anger, and fear. She didn’t know what came next but she knew that her baby was back and he’s hurt but he’s back but there are monsters around every corner and she doesn’t know what’s going to happen. All she knows is that it’s her job to protect him and she already failed once. It’s kind of a lot. Jonathan seemed to know this. He got up from the couch. 

“Let’s take this one thing at a time mom. Okay?”

Joyce sniffed and wiped her face on her sleeve. Okay. She didn’t know what she would have done without her oldest kid. Wherever it felt like she had finally fallen into a dark, deep pit, he was always there. She knew he was hurting too. 

“Clothes,” she said, “he’s going to need clothes when he gets out.”

She let herself be distracted by the task at hand. Jonathan gave her a soft long-sleeved shirt, and she found a nice pair of pajama pants with a drawstring in her drawers. He had pajamas in his room, but right now, Joyce felt like making him pick them out himself would be too soon. She considered getting him underwear but decided that she would probably make the wrong choice for him.   

After putting the clothes in the dryer on high, she makes two sandwiches with Johnathan’s help. The fridge is embarrassingly empty (who has time to go shopping during a monster apocalypse?) but there’s enough. Will started making his own lunches in fifth grade, but Joyce still had the muscle memory of making his sandwich exactly the way he liked. Half-mustard, half-mayo, one kraft single, three slices of ham, three slices of salami (they didn’t have salami so she substituted more ham), and usually he liked lettuce but they didn’t have that either. She cut it in half twice, diagonally, to make triangles. 

As she put down the knife next to the second sandwich, she heard a small voice down the hall. Will. Finally.

She tried not to sprint down the hallway. 

“Yes! Honey?”

“I- Um, clothes?” 

Of course. She controlled her speed as she got the warm clothes and folded them neatly. 

She could see Will much better in the hallway light than she could in the dark car. She wanted to scream. Not in fear, but in something more like frustration. Free of the filter of dirt, Will's skinny arms were crisscrossed with myriad pink and red and white scars in different stages of healing. She could see similar marks fading on his chest and up his neck. Joyce would bet anything it was the same everywhere else. Without the layer of dust she could see how pale he was - almost sickly looking. Instead of focusing on his appearance, she rambled excuses to him about the clothes. 

She turned away a little too quickly to lead him to his room, swallowing hard. She felt a little silly taking him there. Of course he knows where his room is, Joyce. She put her hand on the handle but pulled away like it burned. She knew exactly what it was going to look like inside, anyway; she couldn't bring herself to touch anything. She had stared at the work-in-progress drawing on the table for so long it was burned into her retinas. She had dusted and vacuumed and carefully cleaned around every object in his room so many times, she could navigate it with her eyes closed. 

His poor arms took hold of the stack of clothes. 

“Take your time sweetie,” she told him, a little lamely. “We made sandwiches if you’re hungry?”

Will just nodded. Joyce stepped back and let him open the door himself. He did it slowly and deliberately, and Joyce couldn’t watch. She floated back down the hallway, taking deep breaths. 

Back in the living room, Bob was asleep on the couch. Jonathan sat in the recliner, staring straight ahead. Joyce told him to get some rest and he nodded wordlessly and left.

In the kitchen, Hopper was showing Eleven the map he inexplicably had taken from the Hawkins Lab. Joyce joined them and together they made a plan for the following morning - Eleven told them she was too tired to go back tonight. It took a lot of energy to close the gate and she had apparently just been on quite the field trip. Joyce wouldn’t have gone back to the lab tonight even if Eleven was up for it. 

They planned to meet here at first light, 6:00am and execute the following: 

1. Get Eleven into the lab without dying.
2. Get Eleven to the gate without dying.
3. Have Eleven close the gate without dying. 
4. ?

The problems with this plan included: The lab was literally infested with Demogorgons. They had no idea if Dr. Owens was even alive. They had no idea if the gate had opened again. Worst case scenario, it would take a dozen men with blow torches and/or rifles to clear a path. Joyce didn’t let herself even consider a best case scenario. She wondered if Will would be up for teaching them exactly how he yelled at that horde in the lab. Whatever he did then, worked. 

But Joyce didn’t want to involve Will at all, preferably. If she had it her way, he would never have to see, hear, touch, or think about anything from the Upside Down ever again. 

They had been talking for a while now - it was past midnight. Will hadn’t come out to eat anything and Joyce’s mind immediately jumped to dark conclusions. Jim and Eleven left quickly after she excused herself and walked with immense restraint down the hallway. Her heart leapt to her throat and beat there for a moment while she cracked the door open. It settled back in her chest as she saw Will, under the covers, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. 

Poor boy, he was probably exhausted. She would put his food in the fridge for tomorrow.  Joyce could have stayed there and watched him all night ( not creepy ) but acquiesced eventually and let him sleep. Hopefully, if everything went well tomorrow morning, the gate would be closed before he even woke up.  

Of course, the Byers could never have anything nice. Joyce woke up at 5:30am, feeling like she hadn’t slept at all. She didn’t know what time she eventually drifted off, fully dressed, with the bedroom door wide open and the hallway light on, just in case . After rolling out of bed, she checked on Will- who was still sleeping, still breathing. 

Lucas, Dustin, Max, and their apparent babysitter Steve were surprisingly the first to arrive, right around 6:00. Joyce thought it was way too early for this group. Mike and Nancy came over 10 minutes later, to Johnthans relief. And of course Hopper and El (the only key players) were late. Leave it to the police chief to be on time. 

At 6:14, Joyce started to get a little upset. Right as she had half a mind to give Hop a call, there was a banging on the door like a battering ram. 

Joyce wrenched the door open. 

“ Jesus , Hop, are you trying to wake up the entire-”

“They’re FOLLOWING US!” Hopper barreled into the house with Eleven over his shoulder like a duffel bag. 

“What?”

“Who?”

“Where?”

The entire house was set alight. 

“The stupid new breed of Demogorgons, Joyce.” Hopper said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He slammed the door shut. 

“Demo- dogs ” 

“What?”

“Demo- dogs ,” Dustin repeated patiently. He put up two hands and smashed them together, “because they’re like a Demogorgon and also a dog .”

“Oh, naturally,” Hopper said with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

“Just saying.”

“Okay, well, then the demo-dogs were following us.” Hopper looked out the window and squinted in the morning light. “And we need to demo- kill them.”

“I have already killed three.” Eleven said proudly. 

“Save your energy, kid.” Hopper responded. “The rest of you, grab a weapon, they weren’t far behind. We just need to get out of here.”

Joyce wanted to object - was he really considering sending a bunch of middle-and-high schoolers into some otherworldly battle? Going off the cheers from the middle-schoolers, that was apparently the plan. There was a frenzy of activity

“Do you still have that bat?”

“Good thing I brought my wrist rocket .”

“Joyce, where’s that shotgun?”

Joyce looked out the window. Oh God.  There must have been at least two dozen of those things, creeping out of the woods around their house. She had never seen so many in one place, ever.

“Johnthan, get him the gun.”

Bob was still asleep on the couch. Joyce let him sleep - if he could sleep through this, then he deserved to. (Besides, she wasn’t positive on what he could offer to the mass destruction plans happening in her kitchen.)

While the rest of the group wreaked their best havoc, Joyce hurried to Will. 

Her hand is an inch from the handle when it starts to turn of its own accord and swings open. Will jumps, eyes wide. He looks more- normal- with the borrowed PJs on.

“What’s going on?”

Joyce doesn’t want to scare him more than he probably is right now. She gently grabs his shoulder and ushers him out of his room.. 

“Will, honey, there are…monsters, around the house,” Will stiffens next to her and she hurries to soothe him, “Don’t worry, sweetie, we’re doing our best. We just need to leave. Now.”

Will relaxes minutely but he still moves like every step hurts him. Joyce is planning on taking him behind the couch until they get some kind of all-clear from Hopper. Then it’s into someone’s car and far far away, to regroup and replan. She can’t believe it all fell apart so early. She doesn’t want Will to have to look at the monsters. 

When they get to literally the most dangerous part - crossing the kitchen in front of the door, Will stops.  

“Mom, I think I can help.”

“What?”

Will fixes her with an earnest look that is so genuine she doesn’t even protest when he heads straight for the front yard, you know, where all the demo-dogs are. He opens the door and steps out like he’s just leaving for school.

“Will!” Joyce stands alone in the kitchen, blinking in minor shock, before following. 

When she gets outside, Will is holding Eleven’s arm with a hard look of concern. She notices that, to the group's credit, the monsters are staying far back from the house. She’s still not thrilled that Will is out here though. They could be half a mile away and she would still want him inside until they were all dead. 

“It’s okay bud, we got ‘em,” Hop reassures. He shoots into the crowd of monsters, making Will jump. 

Steve notices his fear and helpfully gestures with his bat. “We’ve totally killed a bunch before.” 

Johnthan and Nancy nod with Steve, trying to give their best everything-is-okay smiles. 

“Yeah, Will, I think we’re winning!” Mike speaks for everyone there.

“No, no.” Will is shaking his head like he’s trying to rid himself of a headache. Joyce gets closer to her baby. “They’re not going to hurt you, just stop attacking.”

What? Joyce thinks that maybe things were different in the Upside Down. She thinks back to last night when she saw that scientist on the video monitor get… She couldn’t let that happen. Maybe Will is just confused. 

“Honey, these things have been tearing up the entire town for weeks, we know how to kill them, it’s going to be okay.” Joyce tries to keep her tone cheerful despite the circumstances. All she can think about is getting Will back inside and to safety. He’s obviously a little mixed-up and she wants to make sure he knows where he is.

Wills brow furrows. Joyce wants to know what he’s thinking. She feels better knowing that the people encircling him are doing their best even now to fight off the monsters. She needs to know that he thinks he’s safe, as well. 

“NO.” Will says, and the circle takes an unintentional step back before resuming their positions like a wave. Joyce is momentarily filled with fear, but it fades before her brain even registers it. 

“I-I promise,” Will says, softer this time, and Joyce leans in to listen. “They’re nice .”

“Nice?” Hopper squawks, “these monsters killed like 10 people already!”

He wheeled on Joyce, “Joyce, is he okay?!”

Joyce didn’t like his tone. Or his question. Or any answer she could give. She didn’t answer, just made hopefully comforting circles on Will’s back. Come on, Will, explain , she wanted to tell him but for some reason she couldn’t get the words out. 

“Yeah,” Will finally says, and Joyce thinks he’s agreeing with Hopper and they can go back inside, but he keeps going, “but not these ones. These ones are…special.” 

Special? Joyce is now more confused than anything. 

Hopper rolls his eyes but Joyce can tell that scared him. Mike boldly puts a hand on Hopper’s forearm, stopping him from shooting. Even though most of them had forgotten the fight in their worry about Will, the monsters were oddly staying put on the edge of the woods. Wills’ best friend addresses him. 

“Will, Will, I- we believe you. You just have to tell us what you mean. We won’t fight them anymore. Just tell us what to do.”

Will looks less scared - his face relaxes. He looks at her. 

And asks for tuna. 

Joyce is caught off guard - was he okay? She stands up anyway, certain there’s some in the pantry somewhere. She decides not to question Will right now - that can come later, when the danger is gone. At least it’ll get him back inside. 

He follows her into the kitchen, along with Johnthan. Johnthan leans close to her while they look for tuna. He whispers to her. 

“What’s going on? Will doesn’t even like tuna.”

That was true, he never did. Joyce searches her mind for an explanation but comes up short. The boy wanted tuna, she would get him some tuna. 

“I don't know,” she hisses back. 

But it seems worth it when he thanks her and gives her a hug after taking the tuna. It was such a bittersweet sensation - how many times had he done this exact thing when she dropped off his forgotten lunch at school, or gave him something from the top shelf? She let out an incredulous laugh.

“Sweetheart do you want the…”

Will was already back outside, unfortunately. 

“...can opener.”

Her and Johnthan rush back out when they hear yelling. 

Oh God. Will was halfway across the lawn, heading right towards one of the biggest monsters of the group. Joyce almost threw herself off the porch to grab him but to her surprise, Eleven grabbed her sleeve. 

“He knows what he’s doing,” is all she said. 

Somehow, Joyce was able to take a deep breath and trust both Eleven and her son. She felt like someone was knotting her intestines up. She couldn’t just stand there and watch as her boy was devoured by two dozen other-dimensional creatures. 

Will slowly walks to the ring of monsters, and they start going crazy. They’re shrieking and sort-of hopping around and Joyce feels like she’s going to faint. She doesn’t even know she’s started moving until she’s stopped by Eleven again

“He knows what he’s doing .” Eleven repeats. 

Okay. Okay, He knows what he’s doing. He's right up next to the big one, who hasn’t bitten his head off…yet. Joyce can only stare into the back of Will’s head.

“Woah!” Hop yells, “Kid!?” 

Joyce’s thoughts exactly. She watches as Will just calls back that “it’s okay” when it one-hundred percent does not look okay. She can’t lose her baby again. But it looks like… the monsters aren’t attacking at all. She hears a loud whistle, from Will, and almost faints again as the rest of the monsters come running straight at her boy. And he’s smiling at them. At the monsters. In a terrifying flash, he looks as predatory as they do, even with his floppy sleeves and rolled pant legs.  

“What the fuck,” says Hopper. What the fuck , thinks Joyce.

She can’t watch this. Her entire nervous system is screaming at her to do something but this was not covered in any Raising-Your-Teen books. She needs to make a phone call - Dr. Owens will know what the hell is happening. He said they had been studying the Upside DOwn - maybe Will had picked up a sickness or something. She digs the number he gave her from her jacket pocket and dials it with shaking hands. While the landline rings, she watches Will feed tuna to the disgusting abondinations in her front yard . You know what , she thought deliriously, at least they weren't eating him. She wonders how he got the cans open. 

The phone picks up.

“Hello?” Dr. Owens is whispering. 

“Dr. Owens? It’s Joyce. Byers?” she tries to control her tone, though internally she felt like screaming. 

“Joyce! You’re alive, good good.”

“Yes, I uh- there’s something going on with Will?”

“Will?” 

Oh that’s right. He wasn’t with them. She can’t believe they only just got Will back last night. As fast as possible, she gives him the entire background, starting with his disappearance and ending with their miraculous reunion. Dr. Owens listens silently. He’s amazingly patient. 

“And now he’s like- feeding them tuna. He- oh!” Joyce watches as the monsters put Will’s arms in their gaping, drooling, serrated mouths. This was it - this was the end. The tuna wasn’t enough to sate them and now they’re showing their true colors and her little boy is gone less than 12 hours after she got him back . 

To her building amazement, Will just laughs, and scratches them right on their horrifying face flaps. Oh what the fuck. 

“Joyce? Look-”

“They’re like dogs .” He had always wanted a dog.

“Joyce. I’m sorry about your son. I can help him later but we have more pressing issues. Have you heard from Eleven?”

“What? Oh, yeah, she’s here.” Joyce says absent-mindedly. She watches Will talk to and pet the demo-dogs. Pet them! They don’t even have hair ! 

“How soon can you get her over here? I’ve been in my office all night, I can’t make it to the exit.” 

“Um, give us two hours.” Joyce smiles forcibly at Will when he waves to her, a literal demon almost crushing him. He looks so happy is a horrific juxtaposition to the absolute terror that surrounds him. She hisses over the phone, “I’m bringing Will and you are going to tell me what the hell happened to him.”

“Two hours? Joyce, we don-”

But she had hung up already. Oh god. She feels dizzy. 

“What the fuck.” Hopper says again. Eleven smiles mischievously like she always does when someone swears. 

Someone said something about Eggos. Joyce can do Eggos. Maybe she can’t do her-youngest-son-was-trapped-in-an-alternate-dimensions-and-made-friends(?)-with-several-monsters, but she can do Eggos. 

She set the 24-count box on the counter. They know where the toaster is. Joyce rushed to Will’s side as he came in, led by Mike. She turned his arms over and over, right where the monsters had grabbed them, but there didn't seem to be any new wounds. Just thin, watery slobber - he was going to need another bath. She asked him again and again if he’s alright, and he just laughed. It would've been music to her ears if Joyce wasn’t still reeling a little bit. She turned him around in a 360 degree turn, looking for any kind of… anything out of place. 

“I’m okay, Mom, I promise.” He turned to the rest of the group, who had haltingly followed Will and Mike inside, weapons forgotten. “See? I told you those ones were nice!”

And damn if he doesn’t sound like a kid again. Like Joyce’s little boy. The group didn’t seem convinced but the way the monsters had completely settled into Joyce’s yard like guard dogs was proof enough. 

While she was checking Will, Mike had already gotten into the waffles with El. 

There’s a makeshift waffle-creation buffet in her kitchen, and soon everyone, kids and all, are seated around Joyce’s tiny kitchen table. Chairs have been dragged from every corner of the house to make them fit. Even Bob’s awake. Because she’s the mom here, she puts out a bowl of fruit on the table, just to show that she was trying. She slices an orange specifically for Will, in circles how he likes it. His eyes seemed a little too big for his stomach- Will had a three-tier waffle tower, drizzled in syrup and whipped cream, and chocolate chips. He started eating it on the walk to the table. Joyce gently told him to slow down a little - she didn’t know exactly what there was to eat in the Upside Down but she wasn’t sure Will’s stomach could handle that much frozen toaster waffle at the moment. 

When he sat down, he had three of four waffles left. The group let him devour one more before trying to approach the elephant in the room. Surprisingly, Will beat them to the punch. It seemed like seeing the demo-dogs had the opposite effect on him than on everyone else. 

“Who are you?” he asked Max, politely,  “and why is Steve Harrington here?”

You know, Joyce was wondering the same thing this entire week. 

“I helped kill a Demogorgon last time,” Steve said first, miming swinging a bat, “and now we’re besties,” he gestured to Johnthan and Nancy, who looked like maybe they were not “besties” with Steve. 

Will nodded, and looked like he was seriously considering the answer. All business, he looked at Max. 

“Oh, I’m Max, uh, Mayfield. I just moved from California, and uh, these losers were the best I could do.”

Will laughed. Lucas laughed with him, looking at Max like, well, Joyce knew. Dustin looked at Lucas, annoyed. He rolled his eyes, not very discreetly.

“Ok! Will, buddy, why didn’t those demo-dogs literally rip your head off?” Dustin started pressing, trying to ask sweetly. 

‘That was seriously scary, Will.” Jonathan used his best big brother voice. 

“Yeah, Will, I thought you were a goner for real,” Lucas added unhelpfully. Max nodded beside him. 

“Total goner,” she added. 

“Are they your… friends?” Mike asked, “like, from the…the Upside Down?” His voice went down at the end. Will looked a little less smily at the sudden barrage. 

“Sort of,” Will said around a forkful of waffle, “they, well- I met them when they were…um, babies, and I just showed them, uh- kindness and stuff?”

“Kindness.” Hopper didn’t sound convinced. 

Will nodded, “Well, um, kindness and tuna, I guess?”

“So you, like, raised them? That is so cool!” Dustin looked like he was about to start levitating. “Can we meet one? Will it eat me?”

“Um, probably,” Will looked a little bit uncomfortable, and quickly shoved more waffle in his mouth. Joyce wanted to have his friends let him eat (not too fast) in peace, but she couldn't help but also be curious.  Will was telling them that the power of kindness was the key to Hawkin’s current problem? 

“We can probably meet one or it will probably eat us?” Now Lucas didn’t sound convinced. 

Will snorted a little at that. “You can meet them. They won’t eat you, um, unless I tell them to? But they don’t want to eat you, really.” 

Unless he tells them to? Joyce thought. She had thought this was just a food-motivated don’t-eat-me kind of relationship, but apparently it went farther. 

“Unless you tell them to?” Steve asked, incredulous. “Shit man, I’m glad you’re on our side.”

Joyce could feel a silent agreement around the table. Not wanting to think about the potential for this to all go south if something happened to Will, she changed the subject. 

“Will, is it okay if you… introduce us later?” He nodded. “We really need to get down to the lab, as soon as possible.”

Joyce was halfway through the complete explanation of what Dr. Owens said when Wills’ stomach let him know he fucked up. The rest had gotten a little information from Eleven, who had apparently made a miraculous entrance late last night. She was going over closing the gate when Will suddenly stood up, knocking over his chair. His pale face looked even paler. 

“Will?” Mike asked. 

“Sorry!” he said, and ran to the bathroom. 

“Dammit,” Joyce said, and followed him. 

As she suspected, he was knelt over the toilet. Joyce seemed to have just missed the worst of it. Will’s fingers were white on the bowl and spit was still trailing from his mouth. His body shook and he leaned forward, vomiting again. Joyce pushed the hair from his face, and rubbed his shoulders. He had eaten too much, too fast.

“It’s okay, baby.” 

Will just stared into the toilet. When he finally blinked, tears made tracks down his cheeks. Joyce knelt down completely next to him. 

“Let it out, baby. It’s okay.” 

She was reminded of the times he had gotten a stomach bug (almost every year), and she had assumed this very position. She wished it were a stomach bug. These were very different circumstances. 

Chapter Text

Will was on a high. It felt like the smell of cooking waffles was going right to his brain and covering everything with a warm, syrup-flavored fog. The Eggos (apparently a favorite of Eleven) combined with the fact that (most of) his dogs were okay combined with the fact that he was finally home for the umpteeth time was a dizzying sensation. Will felt almost euphoric, but maybe he was just dehydrated. As soon as his mom released him, he poured a tall glass of water straight from the tap and drank it over the sink, water streaming down the sides of his mouth. Then he washed his hands, rolling up his sleeves and taking advantage of the surplus of water to scrub them free of slobber as best as he could. 

His sleeves, like everywhere else the dogs had touched him, were streaked with monster spit and dirt. He felt bad that the nice clean clothes his mom gave him were completely dirty again. He tried to imagine what a good solution would be if he wanted to keep the dogs around. His brain conjured the image of giving the monster-dogs a bath with a soap-filled kiddie pool and the garden hose. 

His mom had basically frisked him when he walked in the door. Will didn’t mind. His mom was very gentle, taking one arm and then the next, pushing up the floppy, soaking sleeves and flipping his hands to see every side. 

“Honey, are you alright? Show me where they… bit…you?”

His mom’s horrified tone made Will’s intestines churn. Although he couldn’t help but laugh at the thought that his dogs would ever hurt him, he tried to put himself in the other’s frame of mind. He supposed, to them, it might have looked like the monsters were attacking him, as preposterous as that seemed. He didn’t want his mom to worry about him more than she already was

 “I’m okay, Mom, I promise!” He emphasized his words with a (toothless) smile and a 360 of his (bloodless) body. Just in case any of his friends thought the same thing his mom did, he showed them as well. They still wore the same worried looks as before, and Will felt some of his confidence slipping. Will’s standard of “okay” had probably shifted front theirs - they most likely thought he was a freak or something. 

When he had walked back to the porch, it was like he was a monster-dog. Underneath everyone’s looks of confusion were eyes full of mistrust and/or fear. The few moments that no one spoke were almost enough to make the happiness Will felt completely leak away and make him run for the trees. Almost . 

In the house, Steve gave him a thumbs up, and Mike gave him his toothy grin and that made Will feel a little better. He wanted to skip this whole part and just have them understand . At least they seemed to understand now that the monsters outside meant them no harm. Will took some time to wordlessly show them his unmangled hands to prove this point. 

But finally, finally , and Will didn't even know he was waiting for it, it was time for waffles. He ignored the burn in his fingertips as he grabbed them directly from the slots. Excitedly pouring syrup over his stack with Mike and the rest of them made him feel like he was at any old sleepover, just like before. His confidence slowly returned. They even laughed together when Dustin opened the bag of chocolate chips too fast, sending a spray of semi-sweet across the counter. 

His mom puts a group of orange rings on his plate next to the sugar mountain. One of the things he missed the most in the other dimension was fresh produce - eating the canned peaches and pineapple was okay, but it made him miss the real stuff like no tomorrow. When he tried to describe how the food was on the other side to the dogs, as he often did when the cans got dismally low and disappointing, he started with fruit- oranges, strawberries, blueberries. 

His mom told him quietly to make sure he didn’t eat too fast. Will nodded but her advice was almost instantly forgotten at the first taste of hot, soft waffle and cold, sweet orange. The flavor stuck in his mouth like a film and Will had to close his eyes after the first bite to make sure he remembered to savor the moment. He forgot to savor the rest and barely registered that he only had three waffles left when he sat down. 

With his stomach egging him on, the room and its occupants seemed to disappear as he focused on real food (if frozen toaster waffles actually fell into that category). He finally broke to take a breath, feeling better than he had felt in a while . It felt like everything was going right for him. Like everything was going to be alright for him. 

Of course, it would be better if his family and friends would stop acting like he just committed a crime or gotten shot or something. He knew that scene with dogs was not what they were expecting and Will was suddenly afraid that they wouldn’t trust him. To be fair, the scene they were expecting was to massacre a bunch of monsters with little involvement from Will at all. With how they had already been reacting, he didn’t know if they would take the origin story of the monster-dogs very well. 

So before they could even ask, he started talking. Before they all hated him for creating a league of terror, he would get some introductions. He wasn’t one for starting conversations, but he made an exception.  

The nice-looking redhead’s name was Max Mayfield, newly added to the party. Will thought she seemed cool- considerably level-headed to be hanging out with this group. He mentally approved the addition. Something crawled up his throat in fear as the thought came that maybe she was his replacement . Did they still play D&D? Was she the cleric? He mentally shook his head to clear the thoughts - not the time, Will. 

At least he knew now why Steve was here. 

He could also tell that something was going on between Johnathan and Nancy? And maybe between Max and Lucas? He felt like he had missed so much , like 10 years had passed instead of barely one. They had gone through almost their entire seventh grade year without him. He was a stranger in their lives. 

“OK!” Dustin clapped his hands together, interrupting whatever Lucas was about to say. “Will, buddy, why didn’t those demo-dogs literally rip your head off?” 

All of a sudden, everyone’s eyes were locked on him. Dustin’s tone was light, but Will still felt like he was being squeezed to death, and inhaled more waffles as an evasion tactic. Everyone seemed upset with him this morning and he felt like the reason why was just out of reach - everything turned out okay! If anything, he should be the one upset with them , for killing 8 of his boys (and they were all boys, in his head, though they showed no binary characteristics). 

Also, demo-dogs ? Well if the tall ones were called Demogorgons … and these ones were like dogs … yeah, that made sense. It was maybe the only thing that did. 

Worse, Johnathan was angry at him. And his mom. And Lucas. It felt like they were just going around the table admonishing him. Even Max, a little. 

“Are they your… friends?” Mike asked him with a carefully guarded expression, pronouncing “friends” very deliberately, “like, from the…the Upside Down?” 

He almost whispered at the end of the question. The Upside Down . That name was definitely a lot better than “backwards-Hawkins” or just “there”. Upside Down, Demogorgon, Demo-dog. He would have to get used to this.

Will tried not to hesitate for too long. Of course the dogs were his friends , but how could Will describe the relationship they had- it wasn’t like he owned them like normal dogs, but at the same time there was an obvious hierarchy. 

He settled on a vague, “Sort of.” 

Here’s where he struggled. Friends don’t vomit each other out and carry each other around in makeshift slings until they grow weird frog legs. Friends don’t send commands via a telepathic link and share each other's pain. Probably.

He tried to stall with more waffle, but the table seemed to be holding in a breath for more explanation.

 “They, well- I met them when they were…um, babies, and I just showed them, uh- kindness and stuff?” After rambling through the most obvious half-truth, Will wanted to dissolve into his chair. There was clearly a something more that was missing. He hoped the makeshift interrogators didn't pick up on it. 

Everyone looked a little confused still, but the only ones who didn’t look convinced at all were Chief Hopper and Eleven. Will knew that Eleven just knew . He was almost positive that… interaction in the car was her, in his mind somehow. He also didn’t miss the way she held his mom back on the porch - something he was grateful for. Hopefully she didn’t know the entire truth. They would all know eventually, but maybe it could be in 50 years from now instead of 50 seconds. 

“Kindness.” Hopper’s tone was icy, accusatory. It did sound lame when he put it like that. Will scrambled for a response that would put him at ease. 

Kindness and tuna. 

Hopper narrowed his eyes and Will thought I’m done for but luckily before Hopper could even open his mouth, Dustin almost shrieked in excitement. 

“So you, like, raised them? That is so cool !” Will knew Dustin would like the dogs the most. He was always the one in the party who rolled to pet every stray creature during their campaigns. While Dustin was shaking with excitement, his other friends seemed at least a little bit more relaxed. At the very least they weren’t scared anymore. 

“Can we meet one?” Dustin asked, slamming his hands down on the table. This was obviously his endgame. “Will it eat me?”

Will had imagined that very scenario often in bac- in the Upside Down . He described his friends a thousand times to the dogs. In his imagination, they were all as excited as Dustin, and loved the demo-dogs as much as Will did. Confronted with reality, he wasn’t sure of a meeting. It seemed like Dustin as the only one who trusted them (who trusted Will ). 

“Um,” he said, “probably.” He was already thinking of the smallest (and youngest) of their pack. Maybe if he showed that one to his friends they would be less scared of all of them. Then they could meet the whole bunch in good time. Will hoped the baby of the group hadn’t died. He usually didn’t ask that one to do any fighting- there were larger, older monsters, along with Will himself, who could take care of it. 

“We can probably meet one or it will probably eat us?” 

Oh, oops. Sorry Lucas. “You can meet them.”

Will knew that the monster-dogs would never mess with his friends. He sensed that understanding when they first got home. They knew that these other humans were Will’s family. Will hoped they didn’t feel too betrayed when they started being attacked. He would try to explain the situation to them later, if they could understand that sort of thing. 

“They won’t eat you,” Will tried to sound confident. For some reason he tried to joke, “um, unless I tell them to.” 

Dammit, that wasn’t the right thing to say. Everyone's face dropped and Will wished he didn't exist again; it was like they were back to square one. Obviously they didn’t take that comment as reassuring or funny. 

“But! They don’t want to eat you! Really .” Will could almost feel the shovel in his hands as he dug himself into a hole. Instead he just shoveled more waffles into his mouth. Dustin looked a little less amped to meet the dogs now. 

Will just wanted them to know that the monsters outside weren’t some unpredictable predators. They were actually rather good listeners. 

At least Steve thought he was cool. He was the only one who said anything as Will could see 11 minds trying to interpret this new information. Knowing what Chief Hopper already thought he was, Will felt himself slipping in credibility in the older man’s eyes. He swallowed hard; he felt sick.

WIll thought he was going to drown in the silence when his mom broke it. “Will, is it okay if… you introduce us later?”

Will nodded emphatically, relieved that the attention was going to be off of him. His mom looked away. 

“We really need to get down to the lab, as soon as possible.”

Will took the shifting of the spotlight as a good time to finish his breakfast. Though his stomach was starting to hurt, it was too good to pass up. He refrained from licking the remaining syrup and whipped cream from the plate- he wasn’t an animal . 

He tried to genuinely listen to his mom though. He felt painfully out of the loop for what probably wouldn’t be the last time. It seemed like almost everybody had heard some variation of what was going down already.  

He had been on the other side of the situation both times something like this had happened. He knew that the gate was in the lab, and that was pretty much it. Apparently, Eleven could close this gate, and she was going to do that this morning. 

Will tried to focus on the plan- he was sure that he and the dogs could help in some way- but his stomach was threatening to make a surprise appearance up his throat. He swallowed the all-too-familiar feeling down, hoping that he could just keep it down this once. He hadn’t spat up a slug in a long while- as evidenced by all the at least almost-adult dogs in the yard. So he didn’t think it was another monster-dog, but instead maybe the events of the morning and the big breakfast catching up with him. But it felt the same and he couldn’t help but worry. 

His mom's words floated in and out of his ears and he tried to breathe out of his nose. He tried to echo the plan in his brain to force himself to pay attention… get in…eleven…close gate…out…lab…monsters…

There reached a point where it was all in vain. His mouth filled with spit. Will knew what was coming next and stood up with enough force to knock his chair backwards. 

“Sorry.” He managed to apologize before clenching his teeth and making a bee-line to the toilet. His vision was blurry but he made it to the bowl before his stomach rejected almost all of its contents. It was a strange experience to vomit such a large amount, after weekly ejection of little more than a slug or two with watery bile. 

He tried to swallow a sob. The feeling of his gastrointestinal tract abandoning him just reminded him of all the same feelings back there . He looked into the disgusting mess in the toilet bowl, searching for a dark, wiggling object on instinct. 

Another round of puke sent him lurching forward again. The chunks of golden waffle floated mockingly in cloudy water. He vaguely realized someone was rubbing his back. Mom. A tear mortifyingly dropped from his cheek and splashed into the toilet. 

She murmured to him but he was too tired to hear what she said. He sat back down on his heels, leaning into his mom. The closest thing to a hug in the Upside Down was when a monster dog (or monster dogs, plural) decided to sit on top of him. The pressure then was nice, but it wasn’t close to the real thing. 

He tried to ground himself- felt the cold tile under his legs, his mom's soft shirt under his arm. He focused on her steady breathing and not his own ragged pants. He watched the light- still golden form the morning, come struggling though the small frosted glass window to throw dappled shadows on the wall. He tried not to inhale through his nose. 

No one had been with him when this happened in the Upside Down, at least not until the first few slugs got old enough to curiously poke their twisted maws into whoever's poor backwards-toilet he had made it to. 

Now, in his right-side-up, clean, bright bathroom he felt as dirty as he had been when he came out of the gate. His stomach felt better by miles but his self-esteem was on the floor. He had dreamt and lost hope of getting back home every day for what felt like years but now that he was here he felt like he was just creating problems for everyone. He felt like he didn’t belong. 

Maybe if he was lucky, he could just sit in here for the next few hours and everything would just go back to normal. Whatever that was at this point.

But his mom gathered him in her arms like he was five again. Together they stood up and his mom filled a dixie cup with water. Will took it with shaking hands. He swished and spat. 

“Thank you,” he whispered. 

“I’m going to get you some water and some saltines, okay baby? How does that sound?”

Will just nodded. They were the things she always got him when he had a stomach bug. ( Stomach bug had such a different meaning to him now.)

Will filled the tiny cup a few more times, washing his mouth out as thoroughly as possible, and splashed water on his face. He risked a look in the mirror at his tired, pale face, and regretted it. He squeezed his eyes shut and gripped the hard edge of the sink for a few seconds, breathing deeply, and squared himself to arrive back in the kitchen. 

He killed a little more time by scrubbing his hands. Even after his bath last night and the wash this morning, there was still dirt encrusted in the lines of his palms and under his nails. Even after furiously lathering for a good minute, there were still streaks of gray remaining. 

His mom met him halfway back with a paper plate of square crackers and a glass of water. She asked him quietly- obviously to keep the people still in the kitchen from hearing- if he wanted to just go to his room and get some rest. 

Will wanted to do that so bad. He wanted to take the crackers and cover his head with the blankets and pretend that he still hadn’t woken up yet. 

But instead he shook his head. There was a pit in his stomach that let him know it wasn’t safe to rest yet.

“I can help,” he whispered back, a little hoarse. He could show his friends that he was still their Will, that he belonged here. At the same time, he hoped he and his dogs could show that they were useful. From what he made out when his mom was talking, the lab could be crawling with monsters. 

His mom looked like she really didn’t want him to say that, but she just pressed her lips together and led him back to the table. She put the plate and cup in front of his seat and didn’t take her hand off his shoulder until he had sat down next to her. 

The soft conversation trickled to a stop as Will sat down. He almost preferred their looks of fear and confusion over this overwhelming worry . He wanted to scream, I’ve thrown up dozens of times, it’s no big deal . He wanted to scream in general. Instead he mustered the courage to look around the table with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. 

“I’m okay,” he said, before anyone could ask. To prove it, he put a whole saltine in his mouth. His friends didn’t press the issue, though he could tell they wanted to.

“...Okay,” said Chief Hopper, who had pulled out a map of the lab while Will was gone. “Like I was saying, we go in through the back entrance, and the stairs are right there. They lead straight to the gate. We get in. El closes it. We get out. Done.”

Everyone, including Will, nodded their heads. They all knew the plan was definitely easier said than done. Eleven looked lost in thought. Will felt bad that the fate of their entire town rested on her. He tried to give a look of encouragement but he didn’t know if she was even seeing anything. 

Hopper suddenly stood up- it was time to get things moving. 

“Joyce, call Owens and let him know we’re on our way.” Joyce nodded. “You, you, and…you,” he here pointed to Bob, Jonathan, and Nancy respectively, “arm yourselves.”

“And me?” Steve asked anxiously, gesturing to his chest, “arm myself? Me too?”

Hopper gave him a dead look. He waved a vague arm at the tweens sitting at the table. Ouch , Will thought , babysitting duty .

“Oh come on man. You need me!”

“Wait, we’re not helping?” Dustin squawked.

“What's the deal, Hopper?” Mike asked

“No.” Hopper maintained. 

“You’re seriously taking Nancy over me? No offense.”

“She’s a better shot.”

Now everyone was standing, bar Will. He watched as they argued in a flurry of exasperated looks and waving hands. Oddly, Will realized he had missed this kind of thing. To his surprise, it was his brother that stepped in to end it.  

“Hopper’s right,” Johnathan agreed firmly, “you guys need to stay here and there needs to be someone responsible in charge-”

Steve puffed out his chest. 

“-so I’ll stay behind with Will and the others, Hop.” Jonathan finished. 

Wait, Will and the others? Now everyone was standing.

“Johnathan! I can help!” Will said. He tried not to whine. 

“Will, no offense, but you literally just got back, there's no way I’m letting you near that gate!”

“But-”

“We just need to know you’re safe ”

“ Johnathan ,” Will tried to sound like he hadn’t just lost his breakfast 10 minutes ago, “I can help, they can help.” He pointed towards the window, out of which 24 (he counted) demo-dogs could be seen. Johnathan badly hid a grimace and shook his head.

“Will, I don’t know what their deal is, but I just don’t think-”

The brothers were interrupted by ear-splitting screeches coming from outside. Will recognized the higher-toned sounds of the monster-dogs. His heart stopped when he could make out a lower, visceral scream in the cacophony. That could only belong to one of the tall ones, a Demo gorgon . 

“Guys-” He tried to warn them but Steve, getting his bat outside, beat him to it. He appeared in the doorway.

“Hey people, I don’t want to alarm you but there's another monster in the yard and I don't think this one likes tuna. “

Dustin, Mike, and Lucas looked at Will for confirmation. He was quickly becoming the authority on this. Will shook his head, no, this one did not like tuna . 

Will pushed aside his half-full plate and glass. Already, Steve was on the porch, but even for him, the visual of a field of demo-dogs and accompanying demogorgon was too much to warrant a crazed attack. He held his bat firmly but hesitantly, unsure of how he was supposed to proceed. Will followed him outside, to protests from his brother. 

“Steve, it’s okay.” Will felt kind of awkward. He didn’t really know Steve, just knew of him. 

The demodogs were already kind of surrounding the demogorgon, but Will whistled loudly anyway to make sure they were paying attention. At once, 24 faceless eyes were on him. He focused on the group and tried to pick out the strongest looking dogs who hadn’t been injured that morning. He focused on the five he chose carefully. That way, the whole group didn’t go running over. It helped when he simultaneously gave a verbal command and a mental image. 

“You, you, you, you, and you,” he shouted, pointing, echoing Hopper from earlier, “please get him !”

He thought it was very important to use manners with friends.

Five large, faceless demo-dogs sprang from the herd (pack? pride? flock?) and alighted on the tall, equally faceless demogorgon. Usually, it only took two or three of his dogs to take a big one down, but after this morning, Will wasn’t taking any chances. 

It was over as quickly as it had begun. The demodogs tore into the lanky monster with vigor. Though the monster’s skin may be almost bulletproof, it was no match for the claws that were designed for this very purpose - to rend, tear, and kill. The demogorgon went down, hard. By the time everyone could gather on the porch, they were left with only the remnants of the fight, and five blood-drenched demo-dogs. 

The only noises are the small screeches of the demodogs as the human party takes in the carnage. 

Will breathes a sigh of relief.

“Good boys!” he called to them, and they playfully screamed back. Will had a suspicion that they enjoyed this kind of thing. 

The group, back on the porch for the second time around, had surprising looks of hope on their faces. Will glowed with pride for a second. 

“See?” he told Johnathan, “I can help.”

“Yeah. He can help,” said Steve, who had seen the whole thing, “ shit , I’m glad he’s on our side.”

Will could feel Steve Harrington growing on him a little.

“Wait, why couldn’t you just tell that one to go away?” Nancy asked.

Will wanted to roll his eyes but he knew that would be rude. He just really didn’t want to try and explain everything again. Dustin and Mike seemed to be okay with it though, because they took the response. 

“Nance, literally, were you not listening?” Mike asked first.

“Yeah,” Dustin said, “he knows those ones. He can’t possibly know all of them. You don’t know the entire high school, right?” he said it like he had been totally cool with the whole thing for years. Will appreciated the sentiment. 

He nodded along and smiled gratefully at his friends. He was beyond happy that they were taking the monster-dogs in stride so well. It made him feel normal. A little.

“Okay, you can help. El will need it.” Chief Hopper finally seemed to trust him, if only a little. “But they are not riding in the car, got it?” 

Will smiled as wide as he could without opening his mouth. He tried not to laugh at the image of a demo-dog sticking its head out the car window, face flaps flapping.  

“Hey! If Will’s coming, we’re coming!” Mike announced. 

He was met by a chorus of agreement. Chief Hopper looked like he was battling demons. Will could figure that this particular group of kids had been wearing him down for a while now. Hopper rubbed a hand down his unshaved face. 

“Joyce?” he said, obviously looking to the other adult to make a decision. 

Will’s mom was biting her cheek in the doorway. Will tried to put on the face he used to make when he was begging to be allowed to sleep over at Mike’s. If his dogs were there, then his friends would be safe. 

Joyce seemed to pick up on this. 

“Well… I don’t know” she started, “I guess… as long as one of you are with them the entire time.”

She was talking about Steve, Johnathan or Nancy, who all nodded gravely. 

Will’s friends cheered. Even Eleven broke out into a grin, happy to have her friends along. It didn’t totally wipe away her knitted brow though. Will hoped that his help would make this whole thing less stressful. Despite the straight-up evisceration that just happened, the air seemed to lift, and the entire situation felt much less dire. Almost optimistic.  

Joyce, Bob, and Chief Hopper took the Chief’s pick-up. Mike, Eleven, Max, Lucas, Dustin, and Will all begged to ride together in the station wagon. Will could see that his mom was fighting to stay calm but she eventually acquiesced, so long as everyone wore a seat belt, and all three of the teens were with them. Hopper told them to try and act like this was more of a serious life-or-death scenario rather than the adventure they were treating it as. All the kids tried to look as serious as possible after that, sending each other into fits of giggles as they pulled faces in bad impressions of the police chief. 

Will was trying not to think about seeing the gate again. If everything went correctly, this would be the last time he would ever see it, ever . He tried to focus on just getting this plan completed- trying to think about the future with all the demo-dogs was too stressful. He was sure that once the gate was safely closed and they didn’t have to worry about any more monsters coming out, it was just a matter of getting rid of all the bad ones. Then , he could think about stuff like where they would sleep, or eat, or do when he went to…school.

But not right now. Right now, he was explaining the plan to the dogs as best as he could. He was never sure of their level of intelligence. Sometimes they completely understood his exact command, and sometimes shit went sideways. He tried to keep it simple. Follow him and stay hidden. Follow him and stay hidden. Once they actually made it to the lab he would give more instructions. 

While everyone was grabbing guns (Hopper, Bob, Nancy?), bats (Steve, Johnathan), provisions (Joyce), a slingshot (Lucas) and several large pebbles (everyone else), Will took one last moment with the demodogs. He was still slobbery from before, but it somehow got worse as the dogs took turns nudging him with their open faces. He pet them all in turn. 

“Hey! Will!” Dustin was shouting his name. Will looked and Dustin pointed to himself and then made a motion like he was stroking the air. 

Will laughed and nodded. “One sec!” 

He patted the smallest one, who had already taken his place sitting on Will’s feet. He motioned for the others to stay and the pair walked to Dustin. Will made sure to keep in front of the demodog as they approached, but let it settle back on his feet and lean into him when they were in the driveway with Dustin. 

Dustin’s first question was, “Does it have a name?”

“Oh, uh, no… I didn’t really name them, because I was never sure…” 

“Oh! Okay! Yeah totally, I get it.” Will didn’t think he did. 

Dustin glanced back at the rest of his friends, who were systematically destroying Joyce’s gravel driveway in their hunt for good monster-killing rocks. Will could tell that he was nervous now that he was up close. Will reached out and pet the chest-height head first, to show Dustin it was okay. 

Dustin put his hand just beside Wills’, laying just a few fingers on the demodog at first. He involuntarily shuddered. Will couldn't help but laugh. 

“Yeah, I know, weird, right?”

The tension was broken. Now Dustin was laughing, incredulously. 

“Yeah! Its…like…slimy? But like sandpaper? But smooth?”

He experimentally moved his hand back and forth. He laughed again. 

“I can’t believe I’m doing this. Oh my god. Holy shit.” 

The demodog opened its mouth flaps a little and Dustin yanked his hand back. After some coaxing from Will, though, he put it back. Like he said, the dogs wouldn’t hurt any of them, no matter how unbelievably creepy they looked up close. 

Within a minute, it seemed the rock hunt was abandoned and a small crowd had formed around Will. The demodog hadn’t ever received this much positive attention before, and pressed hard into Will, who had to take a more supportive stance. Will could tell the dog was overwhelmed, but not scared. They took turns touching its head and running fingers down the spiny back. 

“How do they even see?” Lucas asked, still a little hesitant. 

Will shrugged, “I dunno. They don't run into stuff or anything.”

“Maybe echolocation?” Dustin posed. 

“Maybe”

“Okay, everyone’s gone insane.” That was Hopper, who was obviously anxious to get this over with. He watched their little circle with a sort of defeated look. “Let’s just… lets’ go.”

Will pat the little demodog once more before letting him go back to the rest. He wiped his hands as best he could in the dewy grass (dewy grass!) and filed into the station wagon with the rest of them. 

He watched to make sure they followed as they pulled onto the road. After that, he couldn’t see them and had to rely on the feeling in his gut to tell him they were there. 

As much as Will knew the others had a billion questions about the Upside Down, they thankfully could tell that he didn’t really want to talk about it. Especially since they were basically en route there right now. 

Instead they mounted the impossible task of catching Will up on the entire year he missed within the 15 minute car ride. Nancy and Steve listened quietly from the front seats. Well, not silently- Steve jumped in every so often with his takes. 

Dustin tried to catch him up on all things pop-culture. He lost count of all the movies he missed - but according to Dustin he would have loved all of them. 

They told him that he had two funerals, but only the first one was really public. Jonathan put his arm around Will when they said that. Will had thought about what the others were doing while he was… missing, but hearing them talk about it was weird. They all got real sad, even though Will was sitting right in front of them. He supposed that just like him, they would need some time to get used to him being back. 

In other news, he learned that Eleven was originally from the lab. She had met the gang the exact night Will had been taken. She helped them close the gate the first time. Now, she lives with Chief Hopper in the woods. 

“Do you remember her coming to find you in the Upside Down?” asked Mike. 

Will didn’t know what to say. He probably would have remembered another human in the Upside Down with him. He shook his head. 

“It was right at the… beginning, and like, she saw you in your fort?” Mike pressed. 

Will kept shaking his head.

“Sorry, I… I don’t remember a lot from the… from the beginning. She might have been there?”

“Oh,” Mike said. He looked despondent. 

Eleven also noticed this. 

“It is okay,” she said, “he is here now.”

She looked at Will.

“I searched for you after that too, in the cabin. I couldn’t see you but I knew you were not dead. If you were dead, I would have seen your body. I saw Barbara’s.”

That’s rough. Will didn’t know who Barbara was but felt like he couldn't do anything but nod. Should he thank her for looking? He still had no idea how she looked for him from out here, but it probably had something to do with her powers. 

Dustin and Lucas gave him the run-down on those. Telekinesis, finding things, making people’s brains explode, etc. Max looked like most of this was pretty new to her as well. Will was just glad his friends had Eleven there when he was gone.

Lucas told them he thought there was no way the town was going to believe this, that Will was back. They had a whole assembly in school about it. Dustin said that after half of them had come face to not-face with a demogorgon, they would believe anything. 

That then led to the conversation about school- apparently they had been given temporary time off due to “unique circumstances” and would return “when the problem was resolved”. Would Will join them in eighth grade? Would he have to repeat seventh? 

“Oh god, if I have to do seventh grade? I think I might die without you guys.”

“Seventh grade was literally the worst without you , man,” said Mike. 

“It’s okay Will,” said Johnthan quickly,  “you’d probably do fine in eighth. We can talk about it later, okay?”

“Okay,” Will said, and tried to switch topics. 

“Have you guys been, uh, playing DnD at all?”

“No,” Mike said immediately. “It was, we couldn’t - just, not without you, ya know?”

Will felt like crying. He was surprised he didn’t. 

“Oh,” was all he said. 

They didn’t really say anything after that. Johnathan mentioned that Mom was going to want to take him shopping as soon as possible. Will thought that would be nice, but he could probably still wear his old clothes. 

The front gates to the lab were still open. It was weird seeing them in the daylight. “last night” felt like so long ago already. 

Will felt his anxieties mounting as the lab got larger and larger as they approached. He reached out mentally and brushed the minds of the demodogs, who were behaving very well, and already within the lab boundaries. 

The two cars parked where Will had been picked up last night. The area around the lab was eerily peaceful, with no signs of monsters from the Upside Down. At least, so far.

“Dr. Owens knows we’re coming,” his mom said, standing with Hopper and Bob in front of the doors, “he was in the office but he said he would meet us on the first level”

“Does everyone know how to get to the gate?” asked Chief Hopper. Everyone nodded. 

“Should we leave the kids out here, Hop?”

Before the Chief could answer Joyce the contents of the station wagon erupted. Of course they were going in. They didn’t make it all the way here just to sit outside. 

Will thought that as long as they stuck together, then they would be okay. Besides, it would be easier to delegate dogs if he knew where everyone was. 

“Oh- kay , guys. I get it.” Hopper put his hands up. “Joyce, I think it’ll be easier if all… twelve?... of us stay together.”

Joyce didn’t like that answer (Hope didn’t either) but she let everyone file into the lab lobby anyway. 

Before joining them, Will whistled for his dogs. They emerged from the fence line like they had been there the whole time. Will conveyed to them that they were to stick around. They were given free permission to attack any monster they didn’t know. 

The lab lights were all on in full force this time, but the lobby was completely empty. Steaks and puddles of blood sat as a reminder of what had happened the night before. Will couldn’t help but shake a little- he knew where his monsters were, but no one really knew how many other ones were still in the lab. Hopefully after the scientists were either ran out or eaten, the monsters lost interest and ran as far from the gate as they could. At least, that's what Will would’ve done. 

Hopper, as de-facto leader, put a finger to his mouth and motioned them forward. Everyone was on high-alert, casting glances around the fluorescent tile. Will brought up the rear with the demodogs - about twelve. They slowly fanned out behind the group of humans, casting similar glances (somehow, without eyes). 

Hopper’s previous signal for silence was broken by a loud shout from ahead.

“ Joyce, Hopper! Behind you!”

Everyone jumped, whipping around on instinct. Will turned as well, heart jumping over a few beats. 

Only Will’s dogs were in the lobby with them. 

“Hey! Hey! Dr. Owens, it’s okay!” Joyce was waving her arms in the air, standing in front of an old-ish man in a disheveled lab coat. It was splattered with dark blood. So this was Dr. Owens. He lifted a gun like the one Hopper had last night. 

“Woah, man,” Hopper said, “Trust us. The kid’s got ‘em.”

Will waved at the doctor.  Thankfully, he put the gun down, albeit only a little. 

“Ah,” Dr. Owens said, shakily, “I assume this is Will?”

“... yes,” Joyce said. Will waved again. 

“Ah,” Dr. Owens hummed, “Okay.”

“Any updates?” Joyce asked. 

Dr. Owens shook his head slightly. “The gate hasn’t opened again but there's still a few around here- it might be worse downstairs.”

He looked at their group with a face like someone had brought a baby on an airplane. Will assumed they probably looked insane. 

They only encountered two or three other monsters. The humans got most of the job done with their makeshift armory. Will only had to send one dog to finish off the particularly hardy demogorgon. The lack of monsters wasn’t surprising to Will- with every step closer they got to the gate, panic flowed to his chest. The demodogs were scared too, he could tell. It was like they were walking into a void. Of course they wouldn’t stick around. He didn’t know why his demodogs weren’t turning tail in a similar fashion. 

He couldn’t tell if they were actually still walking down the dim-but-florescnet underground hallway, or if he was merely floating. The fear shoved itself down his throat and each footstep felt like he was walking on an electrified floor. 

Standing before the shattered glass in front of the gate was dizzying. The demodogs stayed in the hall, pacing. His mom noticed his agitation and squeezed him in a one arm hug. She whispered something to him but he felt catatonic. The orange-ish membrane pulsated gently, sending ash whirling in the air. It was like the entire dimension was breathing.

Eleven was standing directly in front of it, cutting a silhouette in the dismal glow. Even frozen with fear, Will saw her shoulders heave as she took a deep breath and put out both hands. 

Almost immediately, Will felt a cramp in his side. It was a momentary distraction from the fear. He pushed down on the side it came from with no relief. The fear slowly regained its position and Will would have sprinted from the room if his legs worked. He knew something was coming from the Upside Down - something that didn’t belong there, but didn’t belong here, either. 

The pain in his side got worse and he bit back a groan- but each time the pain increased, the fear lessened. Through blurry vision, he could see the gate was almost a third closed already. 

Of course. The more Eleven closed the gate, the less the thing inside could affect them. At the same time, there was a connection between the other dimension and Will and the closed gate was sawing it through. Will didn’t know what would happen when the gate closed completely. 

In the far background, WIll could feel his dogs in pain as well. They were wailing in agony and he hoped they hadn’t snapped. The gate was halfway closed now, and Eleven’s arms were shaking.

There was a sudden loud boom as something tried to slam itself into the membrane. The wave of fear came back full force and sent Will to his knees, shaking. His mom was next to him, pulling his arms, cupping his face. He couldn’t see her. 

He knew that whatever was behind that gate was way worse than whatever would happen if it closed. He wanted that gate closed , now. He screwed his eyes shut and tried to imagine pulling on the pain that connected him to the Upside Down. 

He twisted it, molded it, every thought the same in a repeating mantra. 

Close, close, close, close, close.

The pain inside him shifted somewhat, and increased. He heard himself let out a scream but continued to pull. It felt like his insides were writhing around but he could feel the gate closing faster. His breathing became shallow and he was certain he was bleeding everywhere. It felt like this was it. 

Then something clicked. 

The pain stopped. 

The fear ended. 

He blacked out anyway.

Chapter Text

Will was dreaming. He knew he was dreaming but there wasn’t anything he could do about it. In the dream, he was in his room, in the Upside Down. Faintly, from Johnthan’s room down the hall, he could hear music. He didn’t remember the lyrics but they played anyway.

…Darling, you got to let me know

Should I stay or should I go?

If you say that you are mine

I'll be here 'till the end of time

So you got to let me know

Should I stay or should I go?....

He was laid immobile on the firm mattress but he didn’t really want to get up anyway. The only frustrating thing was that every time he tried to turn his head to hear the music better, it would fade from existence. He mentally tossed and turned for what felt like hours, watching the spores and ashes in the quiet(the unnatural, horrible quiet) of the Upside Down. 

For the first time in forever he felt alone. 

His surroundings blurred, the ash fuzzing and growing until his entire vision was overtaken by gray. The music faded into harsh beeps and a low hum. Garbled mutterings lay overtop the electronic noises, and Will let himself listen as he became aware of his physical body. The murmurs turned into words bit by bit, though they still sounded far away, like Will was in a deep tunnel and they were at the exit. 

“...lower than normal, but his brain activity-”

“What do you mean normal? What’s wrong?”

“Oddly enough, nothing is wrong. You see, normal body temperature is around 98 degrees, but he has consistently read lower than that every time! Look at this, ” and here, Will heard a faint rustling, “96.3, 96.7, 95.7, even 94.8 degrees. But every other bodily system is working just fine. It’s fascinating.”

“Fascinating?”

“And with the physical changes, well, I’ve never seen anything like it. If you wouldn’t mind, I could take over as Will’s primary care provider once this is over…”

Will realized belatedly that they had to be talking about him. He was sure that one of those voices was Mom, and one Johnathan's. He also realized that he was very uncomfortable. His mouth felt like it was glued shut, and same with his eyes. His head throbbed in its entirety. 

Slowly, he opened and closed his eyes a few times, and tried to lick his desert-dry lips with a tongue of similar moisture content. A blinding fluorescent room greeted him when he opened his eyes, and it took a good few seconds for the blurry figures on the edges of his vision to even appear. 

It took a few more seconds for the faces of his mom and brother to become clear in the dark shapes. Will tried to rub his face and discovered an IV line in his hand, and several wires attached to his forehead. He made a clotted coughing sound when he tried to ask where he was. 

His mom knew what he meant. She grabbed the hand with the line in it gently, and guided it back down to lay beside him on the bed- which he now saw was like a hospital bed, slightly reclined.  

“Will, Will,” she said, “It’s okay, it’s okay”.

Will didn’t even know he was trying to get up when another one of her hands put gentle but firm pressure on his shoulder. He coughed to clear his throat as the background beeping increased in frequency. He wanted water. 

“Mom?” he rasped.

She repeated herself, trying to soothe him. On the other side of the bed, Jonathan took his other hand and pushed a small paper cup of water into it. Will downed it while his brother spoke. 

“Hey Will,” he said in a voice like he was talking to someone much younger, “everything’s okay, the gate closed, you’re just at the lab, with Dr. Owens.”

Will know the words were supposed to be reassuring, but with the reminder of the gate, his mind cleared instantly. He pushed against his mom’s hand, forcing himself into an upright position. The shifting of his body against the thin blanket let him know that he was wearing one of those hospital dresses, and the odd soft pressures on his body were immediately identified as clean dressings on old cuts. 

He reached up to his chest and felt a few wires attached on a few different points of his chest, similar to the ones on his head. The realization that someone had basically taken his clothes off and patched him up was insanely embarrassing for some reason. Will felt the heat rush to his face and he fidgeted with the paper cup, now empty. Looking around, he could see the office was empty of people except for his family and Dr. Owens, who rushed to the bedside. 

“Will,” he said slowly (why did they all say it like that?) “You have to stay calm, okay? Everything is fine, you need to rest.” 

Will thought he was calm, considering he just woke up somewhere he had never been. Dr. Owens shined one of those doctor-lights into both his eyes and made an oddly pleased expression. Will blinked away the spots. He shifted up in the bed, drawing his knees up. He was attached to big machines that stood around him like sentries. He cleared his throat again. Dr. Owens checked his ears. 

“Where is everyone?” They kept telling him everything was okay, but no one was even here. What had happened? 

Will remembered the gate in the basement. He remembered that overwhelming fear- just thinking about it made his heart leap. He remembered seeing Eleven, and he remembered wanting the gate closed. Did they close it?

“They’re just at home, Will, promise.” Jonathan said. 

“You…fainted after the gate closed, you’ve just been sleeping for a while now honey, we thought they should get some rest too.”

“Sleeping?” Will asked. He felt like the gate and the pain and the fear happened minutes ago. He wanted to know where the monster dogs were as well, but he still felt weird bringing them up. 

“Almost 48 hours now, young man,” Dr. Owens said, checking his watch. “Could you hold this in your mouth, please?” 

He proffered a glass thermometer, which Will obligingly took and tucked under his tongue. 48 hours? Sleeping? So the gate…?

“I’se ereryone else orkay?” he tried to ask around the thermometer.

“Yes honey,” his mom said at the same time Dr. Owens said, “please try to keep your mouth closed for me.” 

Will nodded. He felt the tightness in his chest loosen. Hopefully they weren’t lying. Not that they would lie, right?

“Everything went well, Will,” Dr. Owens explained, if not to just stop Will from opening his mouth to ask more questions.

“You and Jane closed the portal, and by the looks of it, killed off the rest of the monsters, as expected. You both have done a great thing for Hawkins.”

Dr. Owens said this with a proud smile, but Will felt like he had been pushed down a very deep well. 

Mom and Johnathan noticed his alarm and he didn’t miss the look they shared. 

His chest re-tightened until he couldn't breathe. Killed off? Closing the gate killed them? HE KILLED THEM? The thermometer fell from his mouth as he took a shuddering breath, or tried to, as he could open open and close his mouth like a fish at the moment. Tears pricked at his eyes but his face flooded with hot shame. He squeezed his eyes shut, as if he could will himself back to sleep. He shouldn’t be reacting like this. His breath finally came in a large gasp.  

You didn’t name them for this reason. You didn’t name them for this reason. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. The tears fell anyway, and he felt his mom pull on his shoulders, but he couldn’t hear anything but the rushing of blood in his ears. He couldn’t have responded anyway; he was positive if he tried to say anything he would start sobbing. 

You have your mom, you have your brother, you have your friends. You’re back. You’re lucky you didn’t die with them. They already think you’re a monster. You deserved to die with them. His thoughts whipped around his throbbing head and he tried to pull his breathing back into his control, but all he could think about was his dogs. Were they scared when they died? Did they look for him? Did they know that he did it? The machines were all beeping and clicking with fervor now. 

Will flung his consciousness out wildly, searching for a familiar signature. They couldn't be dead. They were his. They couldn't be dead. 

He was alive, and they were his .

Then his mind was on fire with the sudden mental connection. He could feel them. All of them. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. The energy was weak, but growing stronger- and they were close. Johnathan said they were at the lab still? They must be where Will left them outside the basement and outside the building. 

A sudden pull that made his head fall back made the room flood back into his view. He was standing beside the hospital bed, surrounded by three very concerned people. The pull on his head came from the wires that started on his forehead and crept through his hair. He touched the spots where they connected, and although there was some weird slimy gel around them, they didn’t hurt. He pulled them off by the handful. The heart rate monitor was already giving one long beep, the wires on his chest having evidently been pulled off when he got up.

“Will!” his mom called out, grabbing his hand.

“I can feel them.”

“What? Honey-”

“I can feel them mom, they’re alive!”

Her face dropped. “The- mo- the demodogs?”

“Yeah!”

Will felt like he was buzzing. As he pushed ahead, another twinge stopped him. Jeez, he couldn't catch a break. It was the IV in his left hand. He hesitated- needles always made him nervous. You could give him monster bats and spoiled food any day, but the sight of something poking into his hand made him shake in his boots. 

Dr. Owens watched him freeze. Will offered his leashed hand to him with wide eyes. To his surprise, Dr. Owens didn’t order him back in bed, despite the screaming machines. He just took Will's hand in his own large ones. 

“You know, it’s just a plastic tube right?” he said, sliding the IV out and placing a small band aid where it was. “There’s no needle.”

“Oh.” Will rubbed the back of his hand. “Thanks.”

Then he pushed between his mom and brother and raced down the hall. 

Dr. Owens read the thermometer for the fifth time in two hours. The boy- Will, had been asleep for nearly a day; obviously whatever had gone down at the portal had taken a good chunk of his energy. Dr. Owens, at a loss for what else to do while Will lay in his semi-coma, had been monitoring vitals. The thermometer in his hand read similar to the dozens of other readings. 95.7. 

Dr. Owens sighed and glanced at Mrs. Byers, who he finally convinced to get some sleep, although she insisted on doing it curled in the office’s armchair. Her older son Jonathan had helped get all the other kids home, and was now helping the clean-up in town. Dr. Owens could tell that he couldn't just stand and stare at Will’s thin chest move shallowly up and down for any longer.

Dr. Owens paced from the EKG to the EEG. His dress shoes squeaked softly on the linoleum. The machines took up a good amount of floor space. Dr. Owens tweaked a wire here, an electrode there, hands finding something to do while his mind chased itself in circles. 

By all accounts, Will should have hypothermia. But aside from cool-to-the-touch skin, he showed no symptoms. The pulse was slow, but steady. His EEG showed wavering delta and theta waves. Dr. Owens had done what he could for a physical exam and had already seen things that would have put him in every medical textbook in existence. 

Will’s teeth were an oddity, for one. All the incisors were pointed like canines, like very sharp canines. Even his premolars and molars were sharp, mountain shaped. And Dr. Owens was no dentist, but he counted at least 4 additional teeth than normal. It felt slightly unethical to manipulate the boy's mouth while he was asleep, but Owens didn’t work for a shady government project because he was an ethical person. 

It didn’t end there. At the first opportunity he could, Dr. Owens checked Will’s eyes for light responsiveness in case of a major concussion. He thought something was wrong with his pen light when Will’s irises became two perfect bioluminescent circles. Dr. Owens managed to change the angle of the light to check his pupils, and filed the discovery away for later. No brain injury, by the way. 

So, putting it all together, they had a low body temperature, teeth made for ripping and tearing, and eyes with a reflective layer (corneum lucidum). With what he had studied of the other dimension, this was all adding up to be quite curious. It was like he was been re-engineered to thrive in the other world. The scientist in him itched to take more tests; biopsies, physicals, endurance, more EEGs, hearing, sight. But one look at the exhausted woman impossibly laid out in the world's most uncomfortable chair gave him a proper wake-up call. She didn’t deserve that, and neither did Will, at least right now. 

It was clear from even a basic visual assessment that Will had gone through hell in the past year. He was obviously at least slightly malnourished and dehydrated, for one. Joyce told him that he was 13, but he looked about 10. Joyce tearfully said he had always been smaller than his friends. But if time passed the same in the alternate dimension, then hopefully, with a proper diet and much less stressors, he would eventually catch up with his peers. Will’s scrawny frame was slightly deceiving, as he had wiry muscle that spoke more to a pubescent boy than a stunted one. 

And Dr. Owens didn’t miss the scars that ran up and down his arm as he placed an IV, which he hadn’t done since he was in the military. With Joyce’s permission, he cut away the majority of Will’s clothing, and found more of the same. Most of the scars looked a few months old, all roughly shaped. Dr. Owens theorized right then that the skin scarred not because  of the severity of the injuries, (which were bad, for sure), but because they did not have a chance to heal properly. There was also evidence of bones that had been fractured and healed without a proper setting. To be positive, Dr. Owens would have to get an x-ray. He added that to the growing lists of tests he wanted to run on this boy. (And he hadn’t even conducted a conscious interview! Owens was curious to see if the mental function had changed as well.)

For the still bleeding scrapes, he removed the soaked scraps of gauze, disinfected the area and applied gauze. Joyce, and even Johnathan, looked away as he did this, and he wished he could do the same. It had been a long time since he had to do any kind of field medicine. To his credit, it was clear Will had dressed the wounds pretty well considering what he had on hand. It was an odd skill for a seventh grader to have. 

Dr. Owens did all this after he managed to clear the room. It was a Herculean effort to finally wrangle the group out of the room. It took half an hour of explanations that WILL WAS FINE (relatively), and was JUST ASLEEP (albeit very deeply). 

Once Will was stable and being hydrated intravenously, Dr. Owens focused on Jane, who was thankfully still conscious, just drained. A concussion check on her showed no brain damage (and no reflective eyes either). He helped Chief Hopper clean her face of blood, and let El- Jane take a nap on the cot in his personal office (what can he say, he was a workaholic). 

While the two children slept, Dr. Owens sat with the concerned parents to talk about the next steps. Obviously, he had some pull in the government, and if a birth certificate just happened to find its way into Hopper’s cabin in the next few weeks, then no one had to know where it came from. 

Will was another story. Dr. Owens was surprised at how well the state covered up his accident; even he didn’t know. It would be difficult, but a few well placed calls could fabricate a story that wouldn't be fool-proof, but would certainly help the town of Hawkins rationalize the reappearance of the dead Will Byers. He explained this to Will’s mother and brother, carefully watching their faces for any kind of response. He was sure the cognitive dissonance this all was cuing would mess with their psyches just a bit. 

He was also planning on taking over Will’s primary care, if Joyce would allow him. He was certain she would; his normal doctor would likely have many questions that would be difficult to answer. And while medical school was forever ago, Owens thought he could get back into the swing of family medicine if it meant being able to track any further developments. He would offer the same to Hopper regarding Jane. 

After another quick check up after a few hours, Dr. Owens sent Jane and her adoptive father home with strict instructions to drink plenty of water, eat something, and go back to bed. 

And then all they could do was wait.

Almost two days after Will fainted, Dr. Owens found himself taking the boy’s temperature once again. Low music played from the Byer’s portable radio, providing a backdrop for the same result as usual. Jonathan had brought the radio in stating that he showed Will new songs all the time and that maybe he would wake up if he heard one he knew. That had been a few hours ago. Now, Jonathan sat in an extra chair dragged from an adjoining exam room and stared at his hands. Joyce, next to him, stared at Will with an unreadable expression. Jonathan finally spoke up. 

“Why do you keep doing that?”

Dr. Owens looked up, surprised. He said, “Doing what?”

“Taking his temperature. Is it changing?”

Jonathan’s tension showed in the clipped way he spoke. Dr. Owens deliberately cleared his throat, fiddling with the thermometer. 

“Well, no.”

“Then why?”

Dr. Owens realized then that he had been anticipating that Will would warm up, that maybe an increase in temperature would come as the influence from the other dimension faded. He cleared his throat again, unnecessarily. 

“Well, it’s lower than normal, but-”

Joyce, who apparently had been listening despite her distant expression, didn’t let him finish. Dr. Owens found himself on the defense, and he tried his best to explain the results in a way that reassured Mrs. Byers, but he found the scientist in him outpace the family physician. By the look on her face, she wasn’t as thrilled as he was about his observations. 

Thankfully, he was saved by the bell. And by bell, he means the speeding rate of the EKG behind him and the mild alarm that he set to go off when Will’s brain waves edged into the Alpha frequency. 

Dr. Owens felt an immense sense of relief for many reasons then, as Will blinked his eyes open. He then learned a couple of things. 

1. Will’s temperature did not increase when awake, and his eyes still did the thing.
2. Apparently, Will had some kind of mental connection to the dead monsters from the other dimension (he was surprised that the EEG instrument didn’t explode).
3. Those dead monsters are actually alive.
4. Will was afraid of needles.

Will had run out the door with surprising strength for someone who had been near horizontal for two days. Dr. Owens could only stand amidst the beeping and humming and stare at the empty doorway. Jonathan had already made chase, and Dr. Owens gave a nod to Joyce, who was still holding her hands up as if Will was still in them. He had to make some phone calls. 

If Will was correct that those monsters really were alive again, then the town must be in an uproar. Dr. Owens had studied the various flora and fauna of the alternate dimension for only a little while before the invasion, but he was pretty sure those monsters they passed in the hall, slumped and unmoving, were dead. 

But then again, the child in Johnathan’s arms was also slumped and unmoving then. 

Dr. Owens picked up the corded phone in his office and his hand hovered over the keypad. He finally dialed the number to Hopper’s cabin.

Chapter Text

As he ran, Will realized he was missing his sweater, and his pajama pants had been reduced to pajama shorts.  The cold air pushed through the thin paper hospital dress thing he was wearing instead, a contrast from the warmth of the sheets on the bed. There were large white bandages wrapped around his arms, and across his chest where he knew he had been hurt most recently. His running pulled at these wounds, sending little twinges skittering across his limbs, but he barely noticed in his single-minded manic quest. 

He was mostly focused on the radio static in his brain. It was like his head had fallen asleep and was trying to wake up, emanating infuriating pins and needles. He knew it was the dogs. Instinctively he found his way through the labyrinth of the laboratory, taking stairs five at a time despite his shaking legs. He could almost see a path leading to them. 

Although mentally, he could feel them, the physical visual of the dogs stretching and getting to their feet would fill Will with relief. To be honest, each step he took closer to them was also a step closer to the gate, and he was petrified that somehow it wasn’t closed, that it was tricking him (that whatever he locked inside it was tricking him). Seeing the monsters open their faces in yawns that exposed several layers of razor sharp teeth was a familiar sight that gave him just a little more strength. 

The area was blocked off with yellow caution tape marked with that one interlocking circle-y symbol. Biohazard. Will pushed it up over his head without a second thought. 

He didn't even have to say anything. The dogs probably sensed his presence as he did theirs. In no time at all, he was surrounded by smooth, cold bodies and slobbering faces. He touched every one as he waded through the pile. Many were still waking up, shaking their bodies and testing every joint in their limbs. He rubbed them down, massaging the numb limbs back to reality. 

When he had been dreaming, his mind had been blank. Even unconscious, he felt the lack of feeling- noticeable after months of constant background noise. He had felt naked without it, vulnerable. The growing buzz of mental activity and familiar weight in his stomach washed over him like heat from an oven, securing his shaking hands. 

He had only been down there for a minute or two at most, when he heard his name. It bounced on the cinder block walls and linoleum floors, distorting itself.

“...Will!” It came again, accompanied by the slap of footsteps.

Will scrambled to the top of the mass of monsters just in time to see Johnathan round the corner at a jog. Upon seeing his little brother, Jonathan slowed to a walk and put his hands on his knees. 

“Will!” he panted, “you can’t just…. we didn’t know…where… ran off like that”

He took in a breath. Caught it.

“Are you okay?”

Will suddenly felt like he was shrinking. Did he go a little crazy over the demodogs? Maybe. And thinking back on it, he can’t remember telling his mom or anyone where he was going. It was like they didn’t exist again. For too long of a time in the other dimension, that's how it had been. 

Will freed himself entirely. 

“I-I’m sorry! I’m fine!”

Jonathan closed his eyes for a second and breathed deeply. Will felt sick- he realized that he had felt like he was swimming this entire time. Like he was afraid to actually feel himself touch the ground and look at his friends and family. Instead he would tread water, letting it obscure his vision, waiting for the dream to end. 

But watching Jonathan stand in front of him with that so-familiar-so-forgotten expression, he felt the water start to drain. Jonathan was suddenly real. He was real. His brother was standing there and he wasn’t a dream, or a hallucination. Will was back home and his brother was real. 

Jonathan opened his mouth to speak. His breath was immediately stolen from him by a solid force knocking into him with surprising strength. (Will crashed into his brother.) He squeezed as tight as he dared. 

“I’m sorry,” he said into Johnathan’s cotton t-shirt. 

Jonathan made a sort of garbled noise before landing on: “-it’s okay.”

Jonathan’s arms returned the gesture and Will leaned into the hug. Jonathan’s shirt smelled like laundry soap that stung his nose and the same deodorant Will knew he had been using since eighth grade. Layered under it, Will could make out Jonathan’s fear and exhaustion, which he didn't know had a smell until now. 

They embraced until Jonathan’s grip tightened on Will’s hospital gown suddenly, and his whole body tensed up. Will broke away, concerned he had squeezed too tight. Jonathan’s face was set into a hard line that made him look so much older than he was. 

Will followed his line of sight.

The littlest demodog was slowly walking over to them - unsurprising, as this one was the most clingy.

“It’s okay, “ Will said, sending the same message to the dog, “Jonathan, I promise, they’re fine.”

He felt a tinge of desperation creep into his voice. The dogs had been his safety for the past half a year- but if it came to a decision between them and his brother- his family - then he knew where he would go but he didn’t want to think about it. A lump fixed itself in his chest, threatening to rise. 

“Will, I- I just don’t-”

Don’t what? Will thought, like them? trust them, trust me?

Will looked up at Jonathan, meeting his wary eyes. Will was suddenly very tired. 

“Please. I’ll explain everything.”

There was a pause full of doubt. Jonathan took a step back and Will’s stomach deflated. He knew it. Jonathan was angry. Then his brother closed his eyes again and took another breath. 

“Ok, but I need to sit down.” 

Jonathan didn’t even think for a second before tearing after Will. He hadn’t slept in two days and was running on fumes but felt a shot of adrenaline explode through him as the white blur that was Will flew off the bed. His mom’s hands gripped his own for a moment as he left the room, letting him go. Though he lost sight after the first corner (how the fuck was his baby brother so fast?) he could hear the echoes of bare feet on the linoleum. 

After watching Will’s chest go shallowly up and down and up and down for the past countless hours, there was no way he was taking his eyes off him. 

Jonathan skidded into the basement hallway where they had left all the corpses, his heart hammering, yelling Will’s name. The basement was the last place Jonathan wanted to be right now. He just saw his only brother go out cold here two days ago, and he knew the ground was littered with demodog bodies. He didn't want to think about how they would smell after two days of decomposition. 

Jonathan was glad to see Will was upright and alive, but was honestly not happy to see him in the middle of a bunch of monsters who were also upright and alive. He slowed his pace, realizing just how out of breath he was. 

His first instinct was to get Will out of there, but as always, didn’t have the correct words. He stuttered around himself before just asking if Will was alright. He had no idea what had made Will run off like that but seeing the reanimated demodogs surrounding his brother gave him an idea.

Will stood at attention and looked guilty. Will was fine - he looked fine, Jonathan guessed. Well, scratch that. Will looked fucking terrible. Seeing Dr. Owens examine, poke, prod, and put pressure on every part of Will’s body had made Jonathan’s stomach roil. Even at the distance they were at, Jonathan could make out some of the more severe scars, long and raised, from god-knows-what. 

Every day they had searched articles from newspapers some four or five towns over, looking for anything about missing children. Looking for any clues, stories, columns, that would even be close. Even though they knew , they knew where he was, they knew what had happened (she saw his body) they had just thought… maybe they were wrong. And there Jonathan was, three days ago, shown that they were wrong. They were wrong. Will was alive. Will was alive. Will was alive and here and surrounded by the very things they thought murdered him.

He tried to stop the tears from coming out, closing his eyes and drawing in a  staggered breath. If he could beat up an entire dimension, he would. It killed him to see Will standing in a sea of claws and teeth- he wanted to grab him, wrap him in a blanket, and not let him leave the house. Ever. 

(Oh god. He sounded like mom.)

Before he could make another move to enact this plan, Will rushed him. Jonathan was tackled by what felt like a linebacker. He instinctively grabbed onto Will was he was crushed in a fiery hug. 

Will whispered, “I’m sorry,” into his ribs.

 Jonathan wanted to tell him that he had nothing to apologize for. He wanted to tell him that they had never given up hope. He wanted to tell him that nothing bad would ever happen to him again. 

He said nothing. Instead, he crushed Will back, like if he squeezed hard enough, then Will would just understand. They had hugged before, when Will had come out of the laboratory, but that night was still cloudy, in both their minds, Jonathan was sure. This one felt real. They stood there for a while, embracing. Jonathan noted how cold Will’s skin was. The thin hospital gown certainly wasn’t helping. 

A few demodogs had started slinking towards the brothers. Jonathan couldn't help but feel his body tense as a spike of anxiety rushed through him. In the last weeks, he had to throw all common sense out the window. He was already intimate with the absolute horrifying nature of these things. 

He knew Will was….friends…with these ones. He knew that. But it was like his body didn’t get the memo. 

Will said it was okay. Will said they were fine. 

Jonathan knew Will never lied. 

One time, maybe 5 or so years ago, they accidentally put a dent in their mom’s bumper, after a baseball went awry. Jonathan, already thinking of what their father might do, even though he no longer lived with them, instructed Will to tell mom that their neighbor’s kid had hit it with their bike. Mom didn't like the neighbors anyway. Will had dutifully nodded. 

That night at dinner, his plate lay untouched and his face was drawn. The topic of the car bumper had come up and Jonathan relayed their cover while Will paled and shrunk. He looked nauseous.

Jonathan remembered the same expression on his face in the middle of the night, when Will had cracked his door open. 

“Jonathan?”

Jonathan had blinked his eyes open to find Will’s blurry face inches from his, tear tracks reflecting the light from the hallway. It couldn't have been 3am. 

“I have to tell her.”

Jonathan didn’t have to ask what he was talking about. Together, they woke up Mom. She, of course, pulled them both onto her bed and accepted their apology, with only a small lecture. 

That’s just how Will was. Jonathan knew that wherever Will was, he would be kind. And he wouldn’t lie. 

But that didn’t mean he had to like this particular truth. His halfhearted protest was interrupted by Will, who tugged on his arm and looked him directly in the eyes with his own large, watery, brown ones. He promised to explain in a heartbreakingly exhausted tone. Jonathan thought back to the dent in the car bumper. 

Will wouldn't lie. If he said they’re nice, then they’re nice. 

Will wouldn’t lie. He took a deep breath. He was suddenly very tired. 

They slumped together against the concrete wall of the basement. Will sat on the side closer to the demodogs, to Jonathan’s unvoiced relief. 

For a long time, they just sat there. Will tucked his legs against his chest, then stretched them out, then tucked them in again, then finally stretched them back out. Jonathan stretched his out as well. His scuffed boots fell slightly out in a V shape. 

Jonathan watched Wills’ fingers trace the light scars on his bare legs. A big ugly one wrapped around his shin, like something had grabbed and twisted. But Will was studying the small ones around his knees, tiny scratches like ones from a cat in endless hatching patterns. 

Jonathan took Will's hand in his own and just sort of held it. He didn’t have a second step to this plan, and so he settled on lowering it back between them. It seemed to break Will out of his contemplation.

Right.

Will took a deep breath, holding it at the apex for a concerning amount of time. He blew it out roughly. 

“I puked them up.”

Hmm. Jonathan thought that maybe he didn’t catch that correctly. 

“What?” 

“Ipukedthemup.” It came faster this time, but the message was the same. 

“This morning? The-”

“No-”

“-the waffles?”

“No.”

“Oh, uh-”

“Them.” Will pointed with one hand, using the other to help hide his head in his knees, which were drawn up again. Jonathan watched the demodogs pacing amongst themselves, though keeping their distance. 

“You puked them up.” Jonathan thought that maybe Will had hit his head during the fall. 

Will laughed in a nervous breath. 

“Yeah.”

“The demodogs?” Just to clarify.

“Yeah,” Another breathy laugh, muffled by knees. “Yeah.”

Jonathan couldn’t help but give an incredulous laugh of his own. He knew they were laughing but Jonathan was more scared than amused at the moment. 

“You puked…how?”

“As babies.”

Jonathan was grateful for the information, as infuriating as it was. He mentally pulled on the Kid Gloves. This seemed like it could use a little caution. 

“Alright,” he started, slowly, “as babies?”

Will unfolded his legs. He didn’t meet Jonathan's eyes, instead fixing his gaze on the demodogs. Will heaved another incredibly deep breath. Jonathan thought about placing a supportive hand…somewhere, but could only raise it a few inches, and put it back down on his own leg. He thought about how Will had vomited in the bathroom just a few days ago. 

“They used to be slugs. Like, this big.” Will moved his fingers together until he was making a shape roughly the size of a pickle - one of the big dill ones. “And- and, I would just. Literally just, cough em up… I haven’t in a long time though. I think I’m done?”

“Ah.” Jonathan didn’t want to interrupt Will as he started to open up. 

“I think, I think they were put… there, by the vines,” Will started gesturing around himself- “There were vines everywhere in the- in backw- in there. It’s like… they connected everything. Like, they were… communicating with everything? or something?”

Will fell silent at this point. Jonathan had a million questions, but couldn't voice them. 

“Like roots?” He offered, instead of “what the fuck” or “are you okay?” The way Will described how everything was connected reminded Johnathan of the ginormous root systems he had learned about in Biology. Mushrooms could have underground root systems that stretched for miles. 

“...like roots. I guess. Okay. The roots, I guess, kidnapped me. I don’t- I don’t remember what happened, really… I just- there was a- I woke up, and there was a… root. In my mouth.”

Will pushed his face into Jonathan’s side, who was trying to take in as much of this as he could. He didn’t want to imagine Will alone in that place, for so long. He didn’t even know what to imagine. Not for the first time, he wished he could go back in time. He would have been there. He should have been there. 

“I thought- I was, I thought I was gonna die. There were other people in there. In the room. They were- the roots had… I thought I was gonna die .” Will's voice was blocked by Jonathan's hoodie but Jonathan could hear it break. This time his hand found a place around his brother’s shoulders. He squeezed hard, as if to remind Will that he wasn’t there anymore. Will’s frame shook under his arm. 

“You’re okay,” Jonathan said, though he didn’t know if it was true, “you’re here now, Will. You’re here.”

Jonathan hoped he was helping. He kept repeating himself as Will’s breathing regulated. “You’re okay.” “You’re here ”. Jonathan realized he needed to hear it too. He could think of a few people who needed it. 

Will sniffed loudly and dragged his face along the side of Jonathan’s jacket, leaving a trail of snot.  

“Sorry,” he laughed, still congested. 

“What else are brothers for?” Jonathan responded. 

Will kept talking, but he stayed in the leaning position. Jonathan would have let him stay there for as long as he wanted, even though his arm was already falling asleep. 

“After that- I don’t know, they would just… come up. I hated them, at first.”

Jonathan thought that was a reasonable reaction. 

“Okay. At first?” he asked. Obviously Will didn’t hate them now. 

“Well, they started following me around- well, you know, after they got legs.”

“Right.” Naturally.

“It was soo annoying.” Will sounded like he was complaining about a kid in his class, and not a four-legged demon spawn. Jonathan tried to imagine what the things in the hallway might have looked like as babies. Nothing pleasant came to mind. 

“I would have kept running away, but-” Will faltered. There was a heavy pause. 

“But?” Jonathan prompted, gently. This story was nothing like the one he had expected. To be honest, he didn’t even know what he expected. 

“I can- we could, like- it’s like we were- are connected. I can’t explain it.”

Will stared at the demodogs, who were still pacing around the basement. Some had wandered pretty close. 

“You know when the Fourth of July Fair comes to Hawkins?”

“Mmhm.” They hadn’t gone this year. 

“And we ride the one ride that goes like this?” Will moved his hand in a smiling arc, back and forth.

“The pirate ship.”

“Yeah. And it drops, and you feel like your intestines are flying around?”

“Yeah?”

“That’s what it feels like, sometimes. When they’re around. And sometimes I can…feel… what they feel. Like pain?”

“Oh…. really?” Jonathan thought about the morning that was really two days ago but felt like two years ago. They took down a good number of demodogs before Will came outside. It made sense now. Jonathan felt like his chest was being crushed all of a sudden. They didn’t mean to hurt Will. They didn’t know. 

“...I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry!” Will looked back at Jonathan as if he could read his mind. “It’s not exactly the same. It’s dull- it’s- I know it’s happening but it really doesn’t hurt me . I promise.”

“Ah,” Jonathan felt like the worst brother in the world. 

“And it’s more than that, I think. They can also understand me? I don’t know, I’ve never tried to explain this to anyone. I think they think I’m their parent or - well, I guess I am , but you know, they always fought each other but they never tried to hurt me. They would help me. I don’t know if I would have…made it… out… without them.”

Will’s voice got softer. Both the boys were looking at the demodogs now. Jonathan watched their huge spindly bodies wind around each other. He looked at their dripping maws and giant claws and imagined them used in defense. 

“Helped you, huh?”

“Yeah,” Will tilted his head wistfully, “...and so I helped them. They like tuna.”

“So I’ve seen.”

Jonathan did notice how the demodogs kept their distance that morning. Usually monsters from the Upside Down flung themselves at you with no hesitation, and no self-preservation. These ones - Will’s, he guessed - had hung back, almost hiding in the forest. 

“Uh, can you tell them we’re sorry? For fighting them?” Jonathan blinked. “Um. Can you talk to them?”

Will laughed a little. 

“Um, not really. I think it’s more like… they’re trained? Tamed? It’s weird, it’s like they just know what I mean. I think they know you guys were just trying to protect the house.”

And you , Jonathan wanted to add. Of course.  

“I guess you were a good influence, then.” Jonathan told Will, lightly nudging him. 

“I guess so.” 

They sat in silence for a few seconds after that. Jonathan tried to digest all that he had learned in the past few minutes. There was so much he still didn’t understand, about the demodogs, about the Upside Down, about everything. But at this moment, he could see, hear, and feel Will at his side, alive, breathing, relatively okay. Months had gone by where everyone in Hawkins had lived on. They held a memorial service, without a body. They accepted flowers and cards and casserole dishes full of cheesy potatoes. Months had gone by where Jonathan and Mom had to walk past his room, see his bike, see his friends, and just keep living. Without him. The missing information would come, or it wouldn’t, but Jonathan would do whatever he had to in order to keep Will in their lives for good this time. 

“Do you want to pet one?” Will broke Jonathan’s train of thought. 

“Hmm?” 

“Do you want to pet one?” Will repeated, a little more unsure. 

Jonathan looked at the monsters now only a few yards away. In all honesty: no, he did not want to pet one. He glanced at Will’s face, then at the demodogs, then back at Will, then back at the demodogs. 

“Um-”

“It’s okay - you don’t have to! I just thought-” Will quickly cut in. Jonathan could see the hope draining from his shoulders. 

“No! No - I want to.” It was decided, then.

“Really?” Will sounded doubtful, disenchanted. 

“Really. You told me they were nice. I trust you.”

“Okay, okay.” Will sounded a little more excited. “Okay, hmm- maybe stand up?”

“Alright…” 

Will was up in a beat - you wouldn’t have guessed he had been in a near coma literally the same day. 

Seeing his excitement, Jonathan mentally doubled down on his answer. The look on Will’s face was so like how it was before any of this had gone down. Jonathan knew that it probably would never go back to how it was, but he would take anything close. And hey- if they saved his little brother’s life so that he could be here next to him today, Jonathan wouldn't mind giving one of them a kiss. 

So Jonathan dragged himself up the wall as well, standing beside Will. Will stayed between him and the demodogs. 

“Alright,” he said, “I’ll introduce you to the youngest one, I think.” 

“Do they have names?” Jonathan couldn’t help but be curious. 

“Uhum..,” Will froze in place. “No.”

Jonathan decided to leave the topic alone. 

Will gestured one demodog over. The other ones stayed put where they were but softly screeched disapproval. Jonathan couldn’t help his blood running cold at the sound. 

“Sorry, guys,” Will called to them.

The demodog that walked over was about the size of a golden retriever. Jonathan tried not to lock his knees as he struggled to not take a step back. Will immediately knelt down to its level and scratched its head. The thing sat down like a normal dog, unnatural limbs folded almost comically, and raised its chin(?), leaning into Will’s touch. 

Jonathan was just about coming to terms with this when Will waved an arm in his direction in a “come on” motion. 

Okay. His turn. 

He slowly shuffled forward until there was only about 3 feet between him and the demodog. Will put a placating hand on the demodog’s ridged back and half turned to see both Jonathan and the demodog at the same time. 

No backing out now, Jonathan . 

“Okay- okay.” Jonathan stuttered out. “Okay, what should I do?”

Will took his hand and Jonathan let himself be led closer to the demodog. The monster was still leaning into Will's other hand, and seemed pretty okay with Jonathan's approach. 

Will didn’t try to place Jonathan’s hand on the demodog. He just had Jonathan stand to where if he crouched a little he could reach it. Jonathan’s legs still didn’t want to be so close to the monster - he felt his thighs wobble as he slowly got down on one knee. 

“It’s just like petting a dog,” Will said, “they like to be scratched under the chin.”

Will demonstrated. 

The demodog’s mouth was slightly open, revealing rows of sharp crooked teeth. Jonathan was expecting it to smell like death, or worse, but it smelled mostly like smoke, and oddly something sweet. Still not pleasant, of course. 

Will was still waiting patiently, hopefully sitting back on his heels. Jonathan steeled himself - he had killed a few of these things before, and their taller, scarier relatives - but he had never been so close. In his mind, he could only imagine those razor-blade teeth rending the flesh from his arm the second he got close. 

Before Will could say anything about backing out, Jonathan closed his eyes and slowly reached under the thing’s head, tentatively placing a few fingertips below the drooling mouth. It was slimy, and cold, but smooth. It was almost soft, somehow. Jonathan, after a few beats where he didn’t feel teeth sinking into his arm, blinked his eyes open. He almost felt silly - of course he was fine. 

The demodog was looking at him calmly. At least, he thought it was looking at him - the things didn’t have any eyes - but its head was cocked in his direction and he could see its skinny chest rising and falling with even breaths. Jonathan let out a breath of his own. 

He experimentally moved his fingers up and down, feeling the demodog’s skin. It was slightly rough as he passed his fingertips across it, like it had a grain, like wood. He carefully applied more pressure, scratched like how he had seen Will do. The demodog responded by giving off a rumble deep in its chest. Like purring. 

“Woah.” Jonathan said. He laughed nervously, releasing some tension. 

“I know,” Will responded. 

Jonathan withdrew his hand and couldn't help but wipe it on his shirt. Will was staring at him with a large grin. Jonathan stared back, a little bit - Will’s teeth, always a little crooked, looked as sharp as the demodogs. They weren’t as long, of course; they slotted together like a zigzag puzzle, with a few reaching down below his lip when he smiled big, like he was doing now. Will must have noticed something in Jonathan’s face, because he clamped his lips together.

Jonathan just smiled back at him reassuringly. This whole thing, teeth and all, would take some getting used to, but Jonathan didn’t mind. He was still Will. 

“Pretty cool,” was all he said, looking back at the demodog, who had pushed closer, looking for more scratches. 

“Yeah,” Will responded absently, giving the demodog the pets it wanted. He suddenly stopped and dropped his hands to his lap, staring down at them. The demodog huffed at the pause. 

“You don’t think I’m- that this is weird ?”

Jonathan’s face fell at the out-of-the-blue question. It sounded so familiar- one asked over and over after stupid Lonnie put some stupid idea in his head. Jonathan shook his head, hard. 

“Do you remember the den of baby rabbits we found right by the shed that one year?”

Will blinked in surprise, his brows staying furrowed. “Yeah…why?”

“Well, remember how they looked all sick and we realized their mom was gone?”

“...yeah?”

“You went out there everyday for a month, to check on those babies. You fed them through a straw and put more bedding down in the nest or whatever, and made sure that Mom didn't run them over with the lawn mower. You were so gentle. In no time they were hopping all over you, remember? Even when they got big enough to leave home, they stuck around the house. Right?”

“Sure, I remember that, I was like, nine… why?”

“Well,” Jonathan gestured at the saliva-dripping beast between them. “Uh- these are just like those rabbits, I guess. You were… nice to them, and they like you. Who knows if anyone - or anything - else would have given them the same chance to be on our side, right?”

“I guess…?”

“Will, I’m telling you that I don’t think you’re weird. I think you’re… pretty cool, right? You’re kind. And smart. And good at art,” Jonathan punctuated every trait by shaking Will playfully by the shoulders. “And now you have the most badass pets in the world.” 

Will finally smiled back. He laughed, showing off his shark teeth, which Jonathan pointedly ignored again, for now.

“Annnnd,” Jonathan paused for dramatic effect, “I’m proud to be your brother. Okay?”

“Okay.” Will’s unhidden smile looked like it would break his face open. Jonathan realized that they both had tears on their cheeks. Will noticed too, and he wiped his face, laughing. Jonathan did the same. 

He rose to his feet, pulling Will up after him. The demodogs, now sensing that it was okay to proceed, started to mill around them. Jonathan watched as they sniffed curiously at his jacket and jeans, and how they pressed their spindly bodies up against Will as they passed. The biggest one could probably rival a horse, but Will took the pushes in stride. They really didn’t mean any harm.  

“Where’s Mom?” Will asked.

“Oh,” Jonathan replied, “um, upstairs, I think. With Dr. Owens.”

“Can we go back up?”

Jonathan blinked. “Of course.”

“And hey Will?” he added, as they walked towards the stairwell, dogs in tow. 

“Mmm?” 

“Everything is going to be alright, I promise. Okay?”

Will paused a second. 

“Okay.”

Chapter Text

It was his dad who taught him to shoot a gun. 

Plant your feet - no not there. Butt goes here- NO. There. Straight shot. Just take it. 

Will didn’t pull the trigger that day. Earned him a cuff on the head and a shotgun wrenched from his hands. Fine by him. 

He barely remembered most of the hunting trip - just another ploy to make him “man up”, per his dad’s words. But sometimes he could still picture the deer they had been stalking, the way the sunlight made its fur glow, the way its ears twitched. His dad had silently shoved the shotgun into his lap and growled into his ear.

Now, boy. 

Of course he didn’t pull the trigger. 

Of course, when the thing you are shooting at is actively trying to bite his head off, Will had less reservations on the subject. And he really wasn’t a bad shot. 

The shotgun was his lifeline until it ran out of ammo. Will knew that he lived in semi-rural Indiana. He knew that if he looked for 5 minutes he could find another box. He could find another gun. But by that time, he thought he was dead anyway. He knew it wouldn't matter if he found a thousand boxes or a hundred more shotguns, he was goner. 

And then, of course, the vines took him. 

Once you got over the ten-foot-tall demonic creatures and the general sense of decomposition and despair, it was boredom that Will thought would kill him. 

With no leads to an escape, no needs to be met, and the growing hoard of dogs following him around taking care of any monster that thought he might be fun to play with, Will was at a loss. 

He had already taken stock of his supplies - good. He had already bandaged his most recent scrape - just a few scratches up his shoulder from a wayward bat. The monster-dogs were curled up in various spots around Hawkins only McDonalds. 

Times like these were becoming more and more frequent. Will pulled out his sketchbook. The faded dull pages were half full already. Will liked colored pencils the best but they didn’t show up very well in this stupid unsaturated environment. He used charcoal pencils mostly, or ink if he found a working pen. The darker mediums worked well. 

He drew the DND party a lot. He imagined scenarios of future sessions, the monsters they would defeat, the plots that Mike would create. He was never good at portraits but he tried to draw his friends, his mom, his brother. Trying to maintain this hope made him tired. 

This particular day in the McDonalds, he just drew what he saw. A perspective of the dining room. A still life of the napkin dispenser. A portrait of the monster dog curled at his feet. 

Soon his eyes were heavy. One more day had passed in this dimension. One more day in an endless torture? Will thought. Or one more day closer to home?

His bouts of boredom never decreased. Will wished desperately for a working TV, video game, anything. He already tried the arcade. A handful of game cabinets flickered and made stuttering 8-bit nosies, but nothing worked. Will pressed at the buttons of each in any case, wiggling the joystick, rapidly pressing A and B. He pulled at the plungers of the pinball machines. Only one launched a ball into the dark arena, bouncing soundlessly off bumpers until it clattered into the gutter. Will didn’t even like pinball that much anyway. It was more his mom’s kind of game. 

No electronics meant no music, either. Will didn’t play an instrument, even if they were in tune. He wasn’t a good singer, like Dustin, but he tried anyway. He sang parts of songs Jonathan had shown him, and he sang songs his mom would sing to him when he was younger. He tried making up his own, but decided he sounded insane. 

So besides his sketches, Will read books. 

At first, this proved to be a real problem. Will was already familiar with the fact that this was a mirrored version of his home. He didn’t know why it came as a surprise to him that the books were mirrored as well. 

The comics and paperbacks in Castle Byers all opened from the “back”. The text started on the right side of the page. At first this was frustrating. He couldn’t have one nice thing? 

When he didn’t fear for his life at all times, Will found a small hand mirror. He grabbed a couple books from his room to start, ones he had read many times before. 

He was desperate for anything to pass the time. It was half pathetic and half comical to hold the mirror up to the pages to read. It was time consuming, and hand cramping, and Will grew angry at himself. Even the books and comics he knew he loved were a chore.  The desperation of boredom kept the mirror and books in his bag. 

Eventually he decided to ditch the mirror. Just another thing to keep track of, to take up space. Instead, he methodically went over the sentences, from right to left. He kept his sketchbook and pen handy to work out some words. He read the words aloud to the monster-dogs. 

Soon he could read mirrored text as fast as normal. It only took a book or two, worked on over several periods of nothing-better-to-do. His brain still fought him occasionally, outraged at the fact that he made his eyes go to the far right corner of the page with each flip. 

Will read old favorites. He stayed away from horror, but enjoyed sci-fi. Mostly he chose fantasy, fiction, lighthearted stories. He finished the books that they were reading in English that year. He considered trying to keep up with the curriculum in its entirety. Often he found himself at backwards Hawkins Middle School anyway - using the library or the nurses room or the cafeteria. 

Will wasn’t stupid - he was a great student, he thought. Always “a pleasure to have in class” according to elementary report cards. He liked school, at least once he really cemented himself in his friend group. He was scared now that they were going on without him. That they were glad he was gone and if he ever made it back that they would be onto the next grade and then to highschool and he would be left behind. 

He wanted to keep up if he could. However, working out linear algebra equations in dimly lit classrooms, with the numbers mirrored and warped, was something Will wouldn't wish on his worst enemy. He wrote the numbers mirrored sometimes on his paper, tired of mentally translating them back and forth from the textbook. It ended up confusing him more anyway. Was that a 5 or a 2? The textbook itself was dense, hard to understand. He gave up mostly on math for his own sanity. History and Science he could manage. It was mostly reading. Easy. 

He wished he could see what his friends were doing in class. He wondered often if the school noticed he was gone. They probably thought he was dead. Maybe they made an announcement over the loudspeaker. Maybe they had an assembly.  Maybe the day after they continued class as normal. Maybe as he was struggling through the quadratic equation with half a pencil nub, they were also in class. In a normal, fluorescent classroom with writing on the board and their math teacher actually teaching them. Maybe they could feel the ghost of his presence through the dimensions. 

He hoped they thought about him as much as he thought about them. 

It was times when he was alone with his thoughts that these scenarios came for him. Where he would convince himself that there was no way out and he was here forever and that no one was waiting for him. He kept himself busy to drive these thoughts away - to focus on survival and maintain his sanity. 

So it came to the sketchbook, the books, the textbooks, training the dogs, petting the dogs (they loved it), attempting hygiene of any sort, making lists, making plans, and wandering aimlessly around Hawkins in search of something that he knew was not there. Sometimes he was even itching for the flower faces to pick a fight. He briefly considered journaling but thought of shipwrecked Captain’s Logs and put the idea aside. He could tell people in person when he got out. 

If he got out.