Chapter Text

Mike has a headache. 

That in itself isn’t unusual. Consistent sleep deprivation and lingering paranoia from almost being killed one too many times will do that to a person. Mike has headaches all the time. But this one is weird. Not worse, exactly, just different. More insistent. Less of a low ache and more of a sharp throb. 

It started yesterday, and no amount of aspirin or Tylenol or ibuprofen has made the slightest dent. It’s making Mike’s already less-than-cheerful demeanor downright insufferable.

Chalk it up to stress. Not that he has much to be stressed about, considering there are no monsters afoot and he’s got a whole nine days before he has to go back to school. Nine blissful days in sunny California, hanging out with his best friend and his girlfriend (who also happens to be one of his best friends thank you very much). 

His best friend and his girlfriend whom he hasn’t seen in almost six months.

Come to think of it, maybe that is reason to be stressed.

It shouldn’t be. But things with them have been… weird. He and Will have completely failed to maintain any semblance of a friendship, much less a best friendship. They’ve barely talked at all. Mike misses him so much it aches, but he can’t seem to bridge the gap. When he tries to compose a letter, he gets writer’s block. When he tries to call, he gets a busy signal. His stomach ties itself in knots when he thinks about seeing Will again. He’s not sure if it’s excitement or dread.

Things with El are fine. Except… he’s pretty sure he misses Will more than El. He’s pretty sure that’s not supposed to be the case.

(It makes sense though, right? Before this, Will had been a constant in his life for pretty much as long as he could remember. They’d never been apart for more than a few days at a time, maybe a week or two for the odd family vacation. Whereas El is a more recent addition, and her presence has been intermittent. So it makes sense that it’s not as hard to be apart from her. Never mind that El is his girlfriend and Will is just his friend. It makes sense.

That’s what he tells himself, anyway.)

Bottom line, he has no idea how to be a good friend or boyfriend or anything right now. He feels like the Upside Down has been slowly eating away at him ever since Will went missing way back in 1983, every loss and near-miss taking its toll, every nightmare doing further damage, until the killing blow in October when the last remnants of his tattered soul drove away in a moving truck. Now he’s just a hollow shell. 

He knows Dustin and Lucas have noticed it. How he’s stopped inviting people over. How he’s grown distant, disengaged. How he’s not himself. Maybe Will has too, and that’s why he hardly ever calls back, why his letters are sparse and trite. Surely El will notice too, once she sees Mike in person. 

So yeah. He’s fucking terrified of facing them. Hence the headache.

But it’s fine. Better than fine, he tries to tell himself: it’s an opportunity. A chance to chase down some of those pieces of himself he lost. Apologize for whatever needs apologizing. Claw his way back to normalcy. There’s nothing to be afraid of; in less than 24 hours, he’ll have it all worked out and he’ll be tanning on a beach or something, Will on one side and El on the other.

For now, he’s got Hellfire as a distraction. And he better get his head in the game, because Lord Vecna just came back from the dead. Shit’s about to get real.

***

He’s still riding the high of their win, one of few things lately that’s been able to reach him through the insidious melancholia, when he spots Lucas across the parking lot. Lucas is already looking his way; by the slump of his shoulders, Mike guesses the Tigers lost. Their eyes meet and Mike raises his hand in a wave, taking a step toward his friend. He hasn’t gotten far when one of the basketball guys doubles back with a big grin, putting an arm around Lucas and guiding him toward the rest of the team, who have just started a raucous rendition of the school fight song.

Not a loss then.

Lucas perks up and joins in the song, pumping his fist as teammates clap him on the back in congratulations, Mike forgotten. He seems to have achieved his goal, finally being welcomed into their ranks, treated like one of the team. He’s made it off the bench.

Mike should be happy for him. Lucas is allowed to have other interests, other friends. But it’s hard not to see it as a betrayal when he’s currently being lifted in the air by the same guy who shoved Mike’s head into a toilet last week. For all Lucas’ talk of using his new social status to grant Mike and Dustin a reprieve from the bullying too, Mike knows that’s never going to happen. Maybe Lucas can assimilate. Find the balance between jock and freak. But not everyone can do both.

Mike is starting toward the bike rack on his own, headache reasserting itself with a sharp pang, when Eddie slings an arm around his shoulder. “Looks like the conformists won their little ball game, huh?”

“Guess so,” Mike mutters, rubbing his temples in a futile effort to relieve the pain.

“You alright, kid?”

“I’m fine. Just a headache.”

“Want a ride home?”

Mike agrees, unlocking his bike and walking it toward Eddie’s van. When they get close, Mike sees Chrissy Cunningham standing by the vehicle, shivering in her cheerleader outfit and a thin hoodie. Her eyes are darting around anxiously as she picks at her nails. Mike slows, glancing at Eddie in confusion and apprehension. Mike hasn’t had any trouble with Chrissy herself, but the type of person who would date Jason Carver can’t be good news. 

“Oh yeah. We’re gonna have to make a pit stop at my trailer. Promised to get some stuff for Chrissy here,” Eddie explains casually. Mike doesn’t have to ask what kind of stuff. She’s probably bringing it to whatever party Lucas was just carted off to, although he’s a little surprised to learn that Jason and his straitlaced, corn-fed, apple-pie crowd mess with anything stronger than alcohol.

“Chrissy, this is Mike,” Eddie continues. “He’s cool.” 

Mike waves in greeting. She just glances at him, still twisting her fingers nervously. Clearly not excited to be stuck running this errand for Jason and his buddies, forced to interact with the lowly freaks. “Your carriage awaits, m’lady,” Eddie says, opening the passenger door with a dramatic flourish. Mike and his bike clamber into the back.

The ride to the trailer park is awkward. Eddie tries to make conversation—he and Chrissy seem to have an unexpected rapport, his good-natured teasing about her cheerleading routine drawing a small but genuine smile—but still her unease is palpable. Mike, too, is anxious. He keeps glancing at his watch, concerned that with the extra stop he’ll miss curfew. The trailer park isn’t exactly on the way to Maple Street—the opposite, in fact. But there should be time as long as they don’t dawdle. 

“Okay!” Eddie exclaims, lurching to a sudden stop in front of his place. “This should only take a sec, but you might as well come in.”

He lets them inside and starts rummaging around. “Sorry for the mess. Maid took the week off,” he jokes. This must be for Chrissy’s benefit; Mike’s been here several times. 

“You live here alone?” Chrissy asks tentatively while Mike makes himself at home, plopping down on the couch. 

“With my uncle. But, uh, he works nights at the plant. Bringing home the big bucks.”

Their chatter fades into the background as Mike’s headache pulses again. He bows his head and rubs his temples for a moment. When he looks up, Chrissy is staring anxiously after Eddie, who must’ve gone back to his room to look for whatever drug she’s after. Mike’s not surprised—for someone who’s basically running a business (albeit an illegal one), Eddie is hopelessly disorganized. 

Suddenly, Chrissy whirls around to look out the window behind her. Mike startles too, jumping up, instincts honed through years of monster skirmishes putting him on high-alert even though he’s not sure what she’s reacting to. 

“Did you hear that?” she asks. It’s the first time she’s addressed him directly.

“Uh… no?”

She peers out the window, eyes wide. Mike looks over her shoulder but sees nothing unusual.

“Sorry,” she mumbles. “I guess I’m just… paranoid.”

“It’s okay. I am too,” he shrugs, heart pounding. They share a weak smile, a small moment of camaraderie. She turns back to face the hallway Eddie disappeared into. 

“You can relax, you know. Eddie looks all tough but he’s a really nice dude,” Mike reassures. She doesn’t say anything, his olive branch ignored. “Okay, geez. You’d rather be anywhere but here, associating with us losers. Got it.”

She still doesn’t reply. Maybe it’s the lingering adrenaline from the false alarm a moment ago, but Mike suddenly has a bad feeling deep in his gut. Something is off. Slowly, he walks around to look at Chrissy’s face.

White eyes. Rapid blinking. Unfocused. Unseeing. 

Mike’s terror multiplies tenfold, heart rate ratcheting back up. He blinks and it’s Will standing in front of him, glaze-eyed and shaking, seizing, eyes twitching in their sockets, stuck in a waking nightmare as the Mind Flayer forces itself into every orifice. 

He blinks again and it’s Chrissy, going through the same thing. Or something very similar. 

Fuck. Not now. Not again.

“Chrissy!” Mike says firmly, urgently. He grabs her shoulders and squeezes. Snaps his fingers in front of her face. Fuck. How did they wake Will from these episodes? 

They didn’t. He woke up on his own, but only after he’d already been stalked and preyed upon and possessed. What does the Mind Flayer want with Chrissy? And who the hell opened a damn gate to give it a toehold? 

“Shit, shit, shit,” Mike mutters, scouring his memory for any idea of how to help her. They were able to get through to Will when he was possessed—or rather, Will was able to get through to them—but only after sharing a lot of deeply personal anecdotes. Even then, he was only able to communicate through a finger. 

But Mike doesn’t have any better ideas. “Your name is Chrissy Cunningham. You’re dating Jason Carver. You’re a cheerleader, and, and, and… you have an older sister, I think?”

“Found it!” Eddie calls from down the hall. “Peaceful bliss just moments away.”

Mike doesn’t stop his frantic rambling. “And you… you were in the school play one year. Alice in Wonderland, right? You played one of the flowers. And, and, uh…”

“Chrissy?”

“I think you worked at a shoe store in the mall last summer, and…”

“Mike, what the fuck is going on?”

Mike has already exhausted his well of Chrissy Cunningham knowledge. “Do you know anything about her?” he shouts at Eddie.

“Is this some kind of seizure? Chrissy, wake up!” 

“What do you know about her?! Personal details, stories, anything, please!”

“I don’t really think now’s the time for a campfire sharing circle, Mike!” Eddie hollers.

Mike opens his mouth to respond but stops short, looking around in dread when the lights start flickering. Just in case he needed further confirmation that this is not, in fact, a seizure.

Eddie seems to come to the same realization, because that’s when he really loses it, shoving Mike aside and shaking Chrissy’s shoulders, patting her cheek. “Chrissy, wake up! I don’t like this, Chrissy, wake up!”

Mike steps back, at a loss, chest heaving, eyes brimming with panicked tears. His facts are far too basic, too impersonal. He doesn’t know her well enough. Either she’ll wake up on her own, or she won’t.

That’s when he notices that Eddie’s hands, still on Chrissy’s shoulders, are rising.

Chrissy is levitating.

Eddie lets go with a jolt, crazed shouting abruptly cut off, and they both watch in slack-jawed horror as Chrissy hovers in the air. 

Mike knows, through some terrible instinct, that it’s too late for her.

Images flash through his mind: Will, writhing on the ground while vines burn in the tunnels. El, straining, bloodied, exerting so much power that she floats. Bob, relief fading into shock as he’s gored by a demodog. Billy, lifted into the air and impaled by the Mind Flayer. 

Chrissy, slamming into the ceiling. Bones snapping one by one. Arms. Fingers. Legs. Jaw.

Eddie, falling backward. Screaming.

Mike looking on every time. Helpless. Useless. 

Chrissy’s eyes are sucked back into her head with a sickening squelch. She falls to the ground, neck twisted, limbs askew. 

The lights stop flickering. For one moment, everything is still.

Eddie breaks the quiet. “Oh fuck. Oh shit. Oh fuck. What the FUCK IS HAPPENING?” he shouts, hysterical. 

Mike snaps back into focus. Now is not the time to panic, or mourn. Now is the time to think. “Eddie, calm down.”

“CALM DOWN?? Did you see what I just saw?” He scrambles up off the floor, fumbling for his keys.

“Eddie, just breathe—”

“Jesus Christ, fuck, shit, we need to get the fuck out of here—” He’s hyperventilating, eyes wide in terror.

“Eddie, please, we need to pause for a second—”

“No. No way, man, I’m out. Fucking… FUCK.” He leaves without looking back, rushing to his van. Mike follows, still pleading for him to slow down, but he’s already slamming the door and shoving the key into the ignition. 

Mike opens the passenger door to make one last plea. “Just wait, man, I know a little bit about this kind of thing, I can explain—” Wrong thing to say. If anything, Eddie looks even more freaked out, shaking his head rapidly, eyes wide and frantic like a deer caught in the headlights, frozen with his hand on the gear shift. Like he’s starting to think maybe Mike is responsible for this. Starting to wonder if he’s about to suffer the same fate as Chrissy. 

Mike holds his hands up in surrender. “Eddie,” he implores. “I didn’t do this. I can help you.”

Eddie swallows, not looking away from Mike. Not even blinking. “I don’t understand why you’re not running screaming right now, and I don’t want to know,” he says in a low voice. “Let me go. Please.” His voice cracks on the last word.

Mike turns his upturned hands into a shrug. “I can’t stop you,” he replies weakly, resigned. Eddie keeps eye contact for a beat, like he’s scared that Mike will pounce as soon as his focus wavers. Then he steels himself, wasting no more time as he peels out of the trailer park, passenger door still hanging open, a cloud of dust kicking up in his wake.

Mike takes an unsteady breath, shaken by the fear and suspicion on Eddie’s face. Hurt that, even in the haze of panic, the absence of any other obvious suspects, Eddie would ever think Mike capable of hurting him or Chrissy that way. 

Mike glances across the road to Max’s trailer, sees her peering out the window. Thank god she lives here too, or else Mike would be completely alone and stranded, his bike long gone in the back of Eddie’s van.

Mike walks back up the steps to Eddie’s trailer, averting his eyes to the gruesome scene, peering around the doorframe just enough to flip the light switch off before closing the door behind him. 

Wayne is in for a nasty shock when he comes home in the morning.

Mike darts over to Max’s trailer. When he gets close, the curtain falls shut and she opens the door, hurriedly letting him in.

“What the hell is going on?” she whispers, eyes wide. 

“Chrissy Cunningham is dead. It’s the Mind Flayer. Or… something. Something new. Definitely Upside Down. There wasn’t anything there, nothing corporeal at least, she just went into some sort of trance and then… she died.” He can’t find the words to relay the gory details just yet.

“Shit,” Max says. No shock, no fear, no anger in her tone. Just flat resignation. 

“Yeah. Shit,” Mike agrees. 

“So what do we do?”

“Get your walkie. Call a code red. We have to find Eddie.”

“Is that really our biggest concern right now?”

“They’re gonna think he did it. As soon as they find the body, there’ll be a huge manhunt.”

“So? Let him run, get as far away from here as possible! We have bigger problems!” she whisper-yells.

“He has to turn himself in!”

Max pauses, expression frozen in disbelief, before she bursts out, “Are you insane? It’s not like there will be any evidence to exonerate him! I don’t know if you know this, but the thing about interdimensional monsters is that they don’t leave fingerprints!”

There’s a creak from the next room, causing them both to startle and go quiet. 

“Just my mom rolling over,” Max whispers. “She sleeps like the dead, she won’t wake up.” Mike sees the empty bottles on the coffee table and knows that’s code for She’s passed out drunk. Mike’s mom drinks nice wine instead of cheap whiskey, but the effect is the same.

He stays silent for an extra second just in case, then picks up the thread of conversation, speaking in a low voice just above a whisper. “There won’t be any evidence against him either. It’s all circumstantial. If he runs, and more bodies show up while he’s MIA… that’d be enough to convince a jury. But if he turns himself in he has an alibi. Even if they’re still suspicious, they’ll never be able to convict.”

“An alibi? It’s too late for that, she’s already… oh shit.” Max sits back, realization dawning. “You’re hoping for more murders to clear Eddie’s name?!” she accuses.

“Not hoping for! Jesus! I’m just being pragmatic!”

“Oh, good, you’re being pragmatic about the girl that just got killed right in front of you.”

“Stop it,” Mike says sharply, fists clenching as the image of Chrissy’s mutilated body flashes vivid in his mind. He closes his eyes against it but it doesn’t help. When he opens them again, Max looks marginally more sympathetic.

“What are the odds that we figure out what’s going on and stop it before anyone else gets killed?” he says softly. “Seriously, I’m asking.”

Max hesitates. “Not good,” she admits. 

“Exactly. I know it seems callous, but… we can’t save everyone. That’s just a fact. But we can keep someone innocent from taking the fall. This is Eddie’s best shot at not living the rest of his life a fugitive, or worse.”

“Okay. Okay. So we have to find Eddie. Hang on, I’ll get my walkie.” She disappears momentarily. When she comes back, Mike is rummaging in her cabinets, tossing granola bars and bottled water into a rucksack. “What are you doing?”

“Give me that,” he says in lieu of answering, grabbing the Supercom from her and putting it in his bag. He zips it up and slings it over his shoulder. “I’m taking your bike too.”

“What? Mike—”

“People saw me leaving school with Eddie. I’ll be a suspect too. Or wanted for questioning, at least, and when I can’t provide satisfactory answers…” He shrugs and shakes his head. “Not to mention if I go home now I’ll be grounded all week for missing curfew. If I want to stay free, I need to stay hidden. I’ll put out the code red, have Dustin or Lucas call you in the morning. Then you can meet up with them and use their radios to get in touch with me.”

“What, so you’re on the run now too? You aren’t gonna turn yourself in?”

“Can’t help anyone if I’m in a holding cell.”

“What happened to ‘this is the best shot at not being a fugitive forever, or worse’?” 

Mike sighs. “Eddie’s never been a part of this before, and he shouldn’t have to be now. He needs a plan that has the best shot at letting him get on with his life. I, on the other hand, am not about to be a sitting duck while my best friends risk their lives fighting interdimensional horrors again. Worse comes to worst, at least I’m a minor. That’ll probably spare me the death sentence.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking. Don’t worry, if no one sees me they’ll probably think I’m another victim instead of a suspect.”

“Yeah, until the dust settles and you turn up unscathed.”

“I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.” He pulls the door open and a rush of chilly air flows in. “Stay here until morning so no one’s worried or suspicious of you. Try to get some sleep. We can all reconnect and figure out a game plan tomorrow.” 

“Mike, wait.” He stops halfway out the door to look back at her. She shifts her weight nervously, feeling like she should stop him from leaving but not sure what she could say. Finally she just asks, “Will you be safe out there?”

He looks at her with somber, tired eyes. Eyes that have seen far too much. (She knows the feeling.) “I don’t know what did this, or why it targeted Chrissy, but… I don’t think it mattered where she was.” It’s not a direct answer, but Max can read between the lines: walls don’t do shit when the thing trying to kill you doesn’t have to be physically there. He won’t be safe outside. But he wouldn’t be any safer here. Neither will she. 

Max swallows. Nods. Tosses a sweatshirt at him. “Take that, it’s cold as shit.” She watches him pull it over his head. Even that won’t be enough; it’s the first day of spring, but that means little in the Midwest. They’re in the middle of a cold snap and the temperature is below freezing. “Don’t do anything stupid,” she forces out around the embarrassing lump in her throat. 

She’s actually grown sort of fond of Mike over the last six months. They don’t exactly hang out much—neither of them is particularly sociable these days—but sometimes he’ll bike home with her from school, even though it’s the opposite direction from his house, or pop into the laundromat to keep her company when he sees her through the window. 

She finds she doesn’t mind his company anymore. Their mutual pessimism, their inability to shake off the events of last summer, has cultivated a strange sort of kinship. He understands her better than she ever thought possible. 

She appreciates his quiet presence next to her in math class, the way he doesn’t ever ask her how she’s feeling, doesn’t push or coddle. Doesn’t do more than she feels she deserves. Just quietly shares his snacks like he has a sixth sense that tells him when she’s skipped breakfast, or slides his homework over so she can copy it when she shows up with a blank worksheet, or offers tissues when her nose bleeds (which has been happening weirdly often this week). 

It’s nice to have someone looking out for her without being overbearing. Somehow, Mike went from someone she couldn’t stand to one of the few people she can tolerate. 

“Talk to you soon,” he assures, but his voice shakes too. 

He slips out the door, closing it quietly behind him. She watches from the window, heart twisting with dread as he hops onto her bike and disappears into the night.

Chapter Text

Nancy is up bright and early—well, not bright, the sun won’t be up for several hours, but definitely early—dragging her hastily packed (yet still meticulously organized) suitcase down the stairs. She checks her watch: 5:00 AM. It’s only an hour to the Indianapolis airport, and the flight departs at 7:00. Plenty of time. She doesn’t even need to rush breakfast. She’s just feeling harried because, until less than twelve hours ago, she hadn’t been planning to go on this trip at all.

Her mom knocked on her door at 9:15 last night, informing her that Mike missed curfew so his ticket was up for grabs. “I know it’s last minute, honey, but you were on the fence about going, right? Maybe this is a sign,” she said with a smile. 

“You were that serious about the curfew?” Nancy asked.

Karen sighed. “I wanted to give him a little more leeway but your father is putting his foot down. I don’t want the ticket to go to waste and it’s too late to get a refund, will you go?”

Nancy had agreed, even though she knew Mike would be devastated and taking his ticket felt like rubbing salt in the wound. It was his own fault for not taking the curfew seriously, she reasoned. What was he doing that could be more important to him than the trip he’d spent weeks begging for?

“Morning, Nance,” her mom greets now, serving up a plate of scrambled eggs. “Are you excited?”

“Kind of nervous, to be honest. Things have been weird with Jonathan, you know?” she says with a crooked half smile. 

“That’s exactly why you need to go see him! You’ll feel so much better when you reconnect in person.”

“Yeah,” Nancy replies noncommittally. “Did you let the Byers’ know I’m coming instead? Will and Jane must be so upset.”

“I was going to last night, but then I thought with the time zones I’d better not call so late. I only realized today that I got it backwards: it actually would’ve been early evening for them if I’d called yesterday. Now it’s the middle of the night,” she chuckles. “Silly me, I can never keep these things straight. I’ll call later this morning before you land, don’t worry.”

Nancy nods and takes a few bites before something else occurs to her. “What time did Mike end up getting home? I didn’t hear him come in.” 

Karen tuts disapprovingly. “Oh, who knows? I stayed up until midnight before I gave up waiting. I’d have liked an early night too, you know.”

Nancy furrows her brow. “So no one told him he doesn’t get to go?”

“He knew what would happen if he missed curfew. By at least three hours, no less.” 

“And he’s just… sleeping in? You think he’d at least get up to plead his case,” Nancy says, glancing up the stairs, expecting Mike to rush down and beg Mom to change her mind any second.

Karen shrugs. “I swear, I don’t know what goes through that boy’s head sometimes. It started in middle school, swearing at teachers and graffitiing bathroom stalls,” she shakes her head in exasperation. “Now he’s growing his hair out, hiding in the basement by himself. Sneaking out at night. Joining that Hellfire group.” She frowns. “I feel like I hardly know him.”

Nancy is only listening with half an ear, gears turning in her head as the second floor remains unsettlingly quiet. Mike wouldn’t jeopardize his spring break like this. Fifteen minutes late to curfew, maybe, but eight hours without a peep? 

“I think I left something upstairs. I’m just gonna go grab it before I forget,” she tells her mom.

She jogs up the stairs and pushes Mike’s door open a crack, hoping her hunch will be proven wrong. Hoping their mom is right, that he slunk in sometime last night and decided to sleep in, California given up as a lost cause.

His bed is empty. 

The bathroom door is open, so she can see he’s not in there either. She checks Holly’s room, just to be sure. Sometimes Mike ends up dozing off in there when Holly gets paranoid about monsters hiding under her bed—not an entirely irrational fear in Hawkins. (Nancy thinks Mike probably stays to put his own mind at ease as much as Holly’s. He’s grown very protective of her. It’s sweet.)

But he’s not in there today.

She heads down to the basement. Dark and vacant.

She jogs back up to the main floor. “He’s not home,” she informs her mom, worry churning her gut. 

“What? He stayed out all night?” Karen says incredulously. “Oh, that boy is so grounded.”

“You seriously think he’d do that? Tonight of all nights?” Nancy shakes her head. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Honey, I’m sure he’s fine. I’ll call around to his friends' houses when it’s not such an ungodly hour. Why don’t you finish up your breakfast so we can get going.” 

“Mom,” Nancy says, a note of betrayal creeping in at her nonchalant attitude. “You’re not worried about him?”

“I’m always worried about him. But you don’t need to be. I’ll take care of this, don’t let him ruin your spring break.”

There’s a creak on the stairs and Nancy whirls around, hopeful for a moment that Mike was upstairs somewhere after all, but it’s just Ted. “What’s this about spring break being ruined?” he asks through a yawn. 

“Mike never came home last night. Nancy is worried about him.”

“Hmph,” Ted huffs unconcernedly, yawning again. “Got no sense of responsibility, that one,” he muses in his infuriatingly flat drawl. “Reliability, punctuality? Meaningless.”

Nancy feels like crying in frustration. Is she just being paranoid, or are her parents being absurdly casual about their fourteen year old son not making it home last night? Where is their sense of urgency? “You seriously think he just blew this off? Decided he didn’t care about the trip anymore? There’s no way! Something must have happened, maybe he crashed his bike somewhere, or…” She can’t voice any of the other worse-case scenarios running through her head. 

Ted sits down, taking his time to serve himself a plate. “You know what?” he says finally, speaking around a mouthful of eggs and pointing his fork at Nancy. “I bet he realized he wasn’t going to make curfew, and instead of coming home to face the music, he decided to go straight to the airport on his own.”

Nancy blinks, processing that possibility. “That… actually makes sense,” she admits, some of the tightness in her chest easing. If Mike was running late, it would be just like him to hitchhike to the airport instead of coming home and letting himself be grounded (literally). 

“Of course, we have his ticket here, but maybe he thinks he can sweet-talk the check-in clerk into printing him a new one,” Ted continues. “Either way, if you two leave now like you planned I bet you’ll intercept him.” 

“Yes, of course!” Karen agrees. “Let’s go. Nancy, did you get enough to eat? Have everything you need?”

They head out. Nancy sits in the passenger seat, twisting her fingers nervously. Maybe she’s a bit overprotective of Mike, the same way Mike is of Holly. She knows her anxiety won’t fully ease until she lays eyes on him, confirms their dad’s theory. All the gates have been closed. There are no monsters around to abduct him. If there had been some sort of bike accident on his way home, we’d have seen it on our way out of town, or someone would’ve reported it by now. This is the most plausible explanation, she assures herself.

They arrive about 40 minutes before departure and head to the waiting area, approaching the gate agent. “Excuse me, I’m wondering if my son has boarded yet? Mike Wheeler?” Karen asks.

The agent scans her log. “No, he hasn't checked in yet.”

“Okay, thank you. We’ll just sit over here to wait for him then.”

Ten minutes pass, Nancy anxiously scanning the area for Mike the entire time. “Maybe you should board now, honey,” Karen suggests. “I’ll stay and wait for Mike.”

“No. I’m not going unless and until we know where he is.”

Karen sighs but doesn’t argue. A few minutes later, she starts feeding quarters into the coin-operated TV, watching the morning news to pass the time. 

There’s still time for Mike to show up, but the longer they sit here the less Nancy believes he will. If he missed curfew by only a little bit and then decided to come straight here, he should’ve arrived hours ago, not be walking in at the last second. 

It’s 6:54, “Last call for flight 623 to Los Angeles” warbling over the intercom, Karen urging Nancy to get on the plane, when Breaking News! flashes across the fuzzy TV screen. 

“We’re reporting live from the Forest Hills Trailer Park in east Roane county,” the journalist says. Nancy feels a jolt of fear, ice cold. That’s Hawkins. “We don’t have a lot of details right now but we can confirm that the body of a Hawkins High student was discovered early this morning.” No. No, no, no. “Police have not yet released the victim’s name but we are told that they’re currently in the process of notifying the family.” 

Karen puts a hand on her mouth in shock, eyes brimming with tears. Nancy jumps up, ears ringing, all the nervous energy she’d been barely keeping at bay now surging forward, overwhelming her. She feels a rush of adrenaline, wants to channel it into action, use it to fight, to protect, but there’s no outlet for it. Not here, in this goddamn airport. Not if he’s already—

Hawkins High student.

Body.

Forest Hills Trailer Park.

A part of her is sure that it must be Mike, the coincidence too great to brush off. 

The rest of her isn’t ready to admit that yet.

Okay. First thing’s first: gather information. She strides to the nearest payphone, ignoring her mom’s cries and the staticky hum in her ears. She lifts the phone off the receiver, then hesitates with her hand over the keypad. The police aren’t releasing the name to the public, but they’re contacting the victim’s family. So should she call home, see if they’ve gotten in touch with dad yet? Or contact the police directly?

The police could be swamped with calls already. She might not even get through. So, home. But what if there are officers there, talking to dad? Then he might not pick up either. Her brain cycles through the possibilities. 

Ultimately, it doesn’t matter. She can call either. Or both. Her indecision is just a way of procrastinating. Prolonging the time when she doesn’t know, in fear of what the confirmation will do to her and her family.

But she can’t act without all the facts.

She steels herself and dials the number for home. It rings out, her mom’s cheery voice telling her to leave a voicemail. She calls again. “Hi, you’ve reached the Wheelers!” Hangs up. Tries again. “Hi, you’ve reached—” Again. 

Ring. Fear and frustration mixing and leaking out her eyes. 

Ring. One hand gripping the cord, the other white-knuckling the receiver. 

Ring. Breath coming out her nose in short quick bursts. 

Ring. 

A groggy and distinctly annoyed voice on the other end of the line. “Who is this? Do you know what time it is?”

He just woke up. He went back to bed after they left, and the phone woke him up. It took four tries to reach him, not because he was receiving awful, life-altering, tragic news, but because he was asleep. 

Nancy almost slams the receiver back into its cradle in outrage. “Your son is missing, and you couldn’t even be bothered to stay awake? Didn’t think your wife or daughter might call from the airport with an update?” she cries. 

“Nancy, what—”

“Well, I have bad news for you. A Hawkins High student was found dead this morning. So while you’re content to assume he just ran off to the airport by himself, your son might be lying in a ditch somewhere.” 

“Woah, hold on—”

“They aren’t saying the name on the news, but the police are informing the family. I suggest you stay awake in case they stop by.” She hangs up and wastes no time dialing the number for the Hawkins police department, anger fueling her now instead of fear. It takes fewer tries to get through to the police receptionist than it did to reach her father. 

“Hawkins Police Department,” a tired yet professional sounding woman greets. “If you’re calling in relation to the body found at the trailer park, I’m afraid I can’t offer any more details at this time. Chief Powell—”

“No, listen.” Nancy speaks quickly, knowing there’s no time to lose and trying to convey the relevant information before the next wave of emotion catches her and bowls her over. “This is Nancy Wheeler. My brother, Mike, didn’t come home last night. We heard the news, and we’re worried he might be…” she trails off, choking on a sudden sob. Squeezes her eyes shut and tries again. “They said you’re in the process of contacting the family. But my mom and I are at the Indianapolis airport, so if it was… if you’re trying to reach us, you won’t find us at home.”

“Oh, hon, you must be so worried,” the receptionist sympathizes. “Okay, listen. I’m not supposed to tell you anything. But just between you and me,” there’s a pause, and Nancy imagines the woman looking over her shoulder, making sure the coast is clear. Nancy holds her breath to brace for what comes next. “It wasn’t your brother they found.”

Nancy lets out her held breath in another sob, nearly doubling over in relief. “You’re sure?” she chokes out.

“I’m sure.”

“But he’s still missing. Whatever happened to this other student, is it possible—”

“Now, that kind of speculation is not something I can engage in. It’s well above my pay grade anyway. But I will make a note of your brother’s absence, and officers will be in touch with your family soon to ask some questions and determine if the two things are connected. How’s that sound?” 

It sounds awful, being kept in this limbo. Nancy is sure the two things are connected, knows it in her gut, and wants desperately for them to be treated as such so Mike’s disappearance is taken seriously. “I need you to make sure to convey that this is urgent. My brother didn’t just run away or something. I was really worried about him, even before we saw the news.”

“I will, hon.”

“Okay.” Nancy casts around for something else to say, some way to keep the call going so she can feel productive, some relevant tidbit that might get things moving faster. “Mike hangs out at the trailer park sometimes. His friends live there.”

“That so? What are his friends names?”

“Max Mayfield and Eddie Munson.” 

A pause. “Okay, Nancy. I’ll be sure to pass that on.” There’s something new in the woman’s tone, something that sets off alarm bells in Nancy’s head. She never sounded dismissive, exactly, but now there’s an extra degree of concern, a gravity to her words. Does that mean one of them was the victim? Oh god, how many other Hawkins High students live there? What are the chances that it wasn’t someone Mike (and by extension, Nancy) cares about?

Nancy has a whole slew of new worries to process, but at least she’s marginally reassured that the police will take Mike’s probable connection to this seriously now.  

“We’ll just… head home, then, and wait to hear more. Thank you,” she tells the police receptionist tiredly, and hangs up.

When she turns, her mother is standing behind her, eyes huge and wet. Imploring. 

“It’s not him,” Nancy informs.

“Oh thank God,” Karen cries, clutching Nancy in a hug.

“We’re not out of the woods yet,” Nancy reminds her. “He’s still missing. And there’s a killer on the loose.”

***

Plan A had been for Mike to hide out at Castle Byers. It’s pretty well hidden in the woods behind the Byers’ old house, which still sits empty, so it seemed a safe bet that no one would stumble upon him there. But when he arrived in that little clearing, he found the fort destroyed. 

He just stood there for a moment, staring. He hadn’t expected it to be in tip-top shape, but this… it looked like it had been done on purpose. Someone had taken Will’s sanctuary and smashed it to pieces. Mike crept closer, poking at the debris. The moldering blankets. The sodden papers, pictures and drawings impossible to make out. The broken and scattered boards. 

The sight of the “All Friends Welcome” sign, faded and rotting under a layer of dead leaves, was the thing to finally break through the numbness. Mike fell to his knees, biting his fist to stifle a sob, somehow more shaken by the image of a ruined Castle Byers than anything else he’d seen that night. Or maybe it was just the last straw. The thing that pushed him over the edge from terrified and exhausted but keeping it together to totally one hundred percent not okay. 

He curled up into a ball, crying and shaking in the ruin of his friend’s safe haven, feeling at once closer to Will than he had in a long time—he knew Will had spent several nights in a similar state, alone and freezing in the Upside Down with Castle Byers as his only refuge—and further from him than ever. Everything about this place had always been so quintessentially Will. His presence filled the space even when he wasn’t there. Mike had come seeking warmth, comfort, and solace in that presence, and instead found a hollow wreck. 

Mike wasn’t sure how long it took to get his breathing back under control, to come back to himself from the haze of panic and despair. It was the cold that did it though, grounding him to his physical body. He was shivering, his nose, fingers, toes, and ears becoming dangerously numb. Thank god for Max’s sweatshirt—at least with it he could pull up the hood, tuck his hands into the sleeves, and burrow his face into the neck so he didn’t have any exposed skin. Still, the chill and the wind easily seeped through the fabric. He checked his watch: 12:07 am. No way could he stay out here all night.

He cracked open a bottle of water, drinking just enough to wet his parched mouth. Squeezed his eyes shut against the pain still pulsing in his head. Tried to come up with a plan B.

There was really only one logical choice: he broke into the Byers’ house, smashing a windowpane so he could reach through and undo the deadbolt. He hadn’t wanted to—it was risky, for one thing. If someone spotted the broken window they might call the police. But mostly he was worried that if seeing Castle Byers empty and lifeless was enough to send him into a spiral, seeing the house that way might completely undo him. 

It didn’t though. Maybe because he’d seen it before, on moving day, or maybe because he’d already cried all the tears he could cry on that subject tonight. Either way, he greeted the house with nothing but relief at the four sturdy walls it provided, the roof over his head. 

There was no heat, of course. No electricity. No furniture. The closest thing to a blanket was a plastic shower curtain that had been left behind. He took it out of the bathroom and brought it downstairs, remembering something Mr. Clark had said about caves in the area being 55 degrees year-round. Fifty-five would feel pretty nice right now, and a basement is like a cave, right? 

It did feel marginally warmer in the basement, though Mike could still see his breath. Maybe a few degrees above freezing. The Byers’ basement was unfinished, with cold cement floors and cinder-block walls. There was a set of rudimentary shelves on one wall, just wooden planks resting on metal struts. He took the boards and laid them on the floor, creating a sad attempt at a sleeping mat.

Curled up on hard wood, cocooned in plastic, he tried to sleep. It seemed like a lost cause at first—Mike was an insomniac at the best of times—but after tossing and turning for god knows how long, he managed to doze off for several hours. He slept in fits and starts, forcing himself to roll over and try again every time he awoke and saw that there still wasn’t any light creeping through the basement window. 

Now he startles awake for the dozenth time, joints aching, head pounding, stomach growling, appendages stiff with cold. When he squints up at the window he thinks he sees the barest change in the light, a sign of dawn approaching. 

His watch reads 7:03. Mike’s pretty sure Eddie’s uncle Wayne’s shift ended at 6:00. Police must be swarming the trailer park by now. News crews will get wind of it soon if they haven’t already. 

Time to get to work.

Relieved to be free of the purgatory of a bad night’s sleep, Mike gets up and stretches, doing some jumping jacks to warm up. After drinking some water and eating a granola bar, he goes upstairs so he can get a signal on Max’s radio. Holding the talk button is a struggle with his clumsy, frozen fingers.

“Dustin, Lucas, this is Mike, do you read? This is a code red, over.” His voice comes out thin and hoarse. He clears his throat and tries again. “I repeat, this is a code red. Do you read me?” He counts to five, listening to the quiet static. “Dustin, Lucas, this is a code red. Do you copy?” Static for one, two, three—

“Mike, this is Dustin. Reading you loud and clear.” His voice is thick with sleep yet alert, the code red a surefire way to shock him into wakefulness. “What’s going on? Aren’t you supposed to be on your way to California? Over.”

“Dustin,” Mike gasps, the relief of human connection making him suddenly emotional. “You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice. It’s the Upside Down, it’s back, something killed Chrissy Cunningham last night. It was… it was awful. I’ll tell you everything, but I need you to get in touch with Max first. I have her bike and her walkie. Over.”

“Shit. You saw this happen? What the hell were you doing with Chrissy Cunningham? Over.”

“I’ll tell you everything,” Mike repeats, “In person. Call Max, then come meet me at Will’s old house. Bring blankets. I’ll keep trying to get in touch with Lucas. Over.”

“Roger wilco.” Dustin stops speaking but Mike can tell he’s still holding the talk button, hesitant to sign off. Mike waits, listening to the fuzzy sound of his friend’s unsteady breathing for a second or two, until Dustin’s tinny voice comes through again. “Mike, are you okay?”

Mike likes to think he’s gotten good at compartmentalization. At quieting his own aches and pains, be they physical or emotional, and focusing on the important stuff. But that simple question undoes him. The tears, held at bay since last night’s breakdown, surge forward again. He puts a hand over his mouth to stifle the sob even though he’s not holding the button to talk. 

“Mike? You there?” Dustin’s voice crackles through again when Mike takes too long to respond.

“I didn’t know you were done talking. You didn’t say ‘over,’” he manages in a rough voice. “Over.”

“Ha ha,” Dustin deadpans. “Just… hang in there. I’ll see you soon. Over and out.” 

Mike feels the severed connection like a blow to the stomach, suddenly and unbearably alone without the comfort of Dustin on the line. His throat goes tight, breaths coming short and wheezy. He inhales, forces himself to hold it for a few seconds. Tries to let it out slow, but his breath hitches and he gasps, inhaling three times in quick succession. He needs a distraction.

“Whose woods these are I think I know,” he whispers, reciting the first poem that comes to mind. “His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here to watch his woods fill up with snow.” The words come out shaky and uneven, the rhythm disrupted by quick, sharp inhales as he struggles to regain control of his panicked lungs.

“My little horse must think it queer to stop without a farmhouse near, between the woods and frozen lake the darkest evening of the year.” Recalling the poem gives his mind something to latch onto apart from his own anxiety and discomfort and loneliness. It’s a strategy Mike employs often.

“He gives his harness bells a shake to ask if there is some mistake. The only other sound’s the sweep of easy wind and downy flake.” His voice grows a little stronger on this stanza, his breaths coming easier.

“The woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep.” He inhales long and slow, feeling some of the tightness in his chest ease. “And miles to go before I sleep,” he repeats, concluding the poem.

He watches the mist of his exhale billow out and dissipate into the frigid air. Looks out the window at the orange glow starting to creep up from the horizon. Tries to feel hopeful. Mostly just feels cold. 

But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep.

“Lucas, this is a code red, do you copy?”

Static.

“Lucas, this is a code red, do you copy?”

***

Dustin turns off the radio and pads out of his room to call Max. This is decidedly not how he envisioned his spring break going, but he doesn’t hesitate to spring into action, dialing her number from memory.

It only takes half a ring for her to pick up. “Hello?”

“Max! It’s Dustin.” He speaks in a low voice, hoping not to wake his mom.

“Finally! I was starting to worry that I hadn’t replaced the batteries in my walkie or something. This place is already crawling with cops and reporters. You talked to Mike?”

“Yeah, hang on, the crime scene is at the trailer park? What was Chrissy doing there?”

“I don’t know, she and Mike came here with Eddie last night.” 

“Eddie’s involved too?!” 

“Yeah, Chrissy was killed in his trailer. No doubt he's Hawkins Most Wanted right now.”

“Shit, where—” Dustin quiets when he hears his mom’s bedroom door open. 

She stumbles into the hall clutching her cat, eyes bleary with sleep. “Dusty? What are you doing up so early?”

“Heyyy, mom. Uh, Max just called.”

Her brow crinkles, puzzled. “Really? I didn’t hear the phone ring.”

“Yeah, well,” Dustin fumbles for an explanation, “She called me on the Supercom first. To keep from waking you, very thoughtful of her right? And then I called her on the phone because it’s just a little easier to talk this way, without all the ‘overs’ and the ‘copies’ you know?” he rambles. “Anyway, something happened at the trailer park, there are cops everywhere and Max is nervous so I’m gonna go keep her company, okay?”

“I don’t know, if something happened is it really wise—”

“I’ll be fine, mom,” he says dismissively. “Sorry about that, Max. I’ll meet you there in half an hour, okay?”

***

Dustin slows as he approaches the trailer park on his bike, backpack stuffed full of supplies. Max is waiting for him just outside the park, her face pinched with worry. 

“Jesus,” he says, putting a foot down on the road as he comes to a stop. “When you said ‘crawling with cops’ you weren’t exaggerating.” There’s a police officer standing by to check anyone who tries to enter, plus about a dozen vehicles crowded around Eddie’s trailer ranging from cop cars to news vans to ambulances. Little late for the ambulance, Dustin thinks grimly.

“Yeah, it’s a mess. Where are we going?”

“Will’s old house. Hop on.” Max climbs onto the pegs and Dustin kicks off and does a U-turn, heading back into town the way he came.

“Where’s Lucas?” Max calls. 

“Don’t know. Mike’s still trying to reach him.” The cold wind is making Dustin’s face go numb. “What I don’t understand is why Mike’s freezing his ass off in an abandoned house when he could have stayed at your place. Or gone home.”

“If they find him he’ll be grounded for missing curfew, then questioned by the police when they find out he was there last night. And then possibly arrested when he can’t explain what happened. He thought it’d be better if he disappeared.” Max explains.

“What about Eddie?”

“In the wind. We need to find him as soon as possible.”

They keep moving in silence, wind roaring in their ears and heavy breaths fogging the air. A block away from the Byers’ old house, Max calls for Dustin to stop. “Let’s sneak around the back. It’s getting light out and we don’t want anyone to catch on to Mike’s hiding spot.”

They do, ducking behind someone’s hedges and cutting through the woods a ways until they emerge into the Byers’ backyard. One of the glass panes on the back door is broken—Mike’s doing, probably.

“Do we knock?” Max asks as they creep up to the back door, not yet spotting any signs of life inside. 

Dustin shrugs and tries the knob, then reaches through the broken window to unlock the door himself. They hurry in, dragging Dustin’s bike with them so no one spots it outside and taking care to relock the door, useless though it may be. When they turn around Mike is there, face pale and drawn, lips blue, dark shadows hollowing his cheeks. 

“Oh my god, Mike.” Dustin rushes forward to envelop him in a hug. “You’re shaking.”

“Good. That means I only have mild hypothermia,” he jokes weakly, hugging back as tight as his stiff arms can manage, so relieved to not be alone anymore. “Please tell me you brought the blankets.”

“I can do you one better,” Dustin says, releasing Mike and crouching down to unzip his backpack. Mike and Max sit down on the floor next to him, forming a small circle. Max is so glad to see Mike safe and whole, she sacrifices a little of her pride to squeeze his hand reassuringly, and they share a weak smile. His skin feels like ice. 

Dustin pulls out items as he lists them. “Blankets, check. Coat, hat, mittens, gaiter, check.” Mike gratefully puts the extra layers on, rubbing his hands together to create friction and breathe life back into his numb limbs. “And the pièce de résistance… hand warmers!” He pulls them out with a flourish and tears open several packets, shaking them and passing them to Mike who shoves them into his mittens and shoes. 

Mike nearly cries in relief, the warmth so intense it burns. “Oh my god, Dustin, you’re a lifesaver.”

“Don’t mention it, man. Here.” He leans in to shove a couple more hand warmers into Mike’s gaiter, pulling it up so the warmers are held in place against his cheeks. It’s not a flattering look; Max would laugh at him if the situation were any less dire.

“I brought some stuff too.” Max pulls off her own backpack and offers Mike two thermoses. “Oatmeal and coffee. I hope it’s still hot.”

“I’ll take lukewarm. Hell, even room temp would feel hot right now. Thank you.” He pulls down the gaiter to take a long pull of the coffee, cradling the thermos in gloved hands.

“No problem. It’s just payback for all the snacks you’ve given me in math class.”

“I think I already took my repayment for that when I stole all your granola bars last night.”

Max shrugs. “It’s fine. We’ll call it even.”

They wait, letting Mike refuel and warm up a little. As long as he’s still stuck in an unheated house while it’s 20 degrees outside, he’s never going to be truly comfortable. Even if they could bring him inside somewhere warm, it would take hours to fully recover from this kind of cold, to beat out the stubborn chill lingering in his bones. Still, after ten minutes Mike already looks a little more alive, a little less haunted. He finishes his coffee and oatmeal and pulls the gaiter with the handwarmers back up over his cheeks, then scoots over to sit in the patch of weak sunlight coming through the window, closing his eyes and basking in it.

“Mike,” Dustin starts, hesitant to break his friend’s fragile peace but knowing it’s necessary. “We need you to tell us exactly what happened last night.”

Mike exhales a long, slow breath. It escapes through the top of the gaiter, becomes frost on his eyelashes. They wait patiently for him to find the words.

“She was jumpy,” he begins. “I thought she was just nervous about buying drugs, but maybe it was something else. Maybe she could sense she was being… hunted.” Max shivers, unsettled. Could this really have been premeditated? 

“She thought she heard something outside,” Mike goes on. “I didn’t hear anything so I don’t know what it was, if she was just jumping at shadows or if there really was some kind of harbinger only she could hear. She dismissed it, said she was paranoid. And then… all of a sudden she couldn’t hear me anymore. Her eyes went blank and white, and she was blinking a lot. It reminded me of Will, when he was seeing into the Upside Down with his True Sight. He’d go into this sort of trance, you know?” 

Max and Dustin nod, remembering how terrifying it was when Will zoned out like that, physically present but also elsewhere, unreachable in his own mind. 

“But then it turned into something different,” Mike continues gravely. “She started floating. And then…” His voice breaks and he ducks his head, resting it on his bent knees. His next words come out faint and muffled. “Then her bones started breaking. One by one. And her eyes… they were sucked backward. Into her skull. And then she fell. Dead.” 

He stops. Lifts his head and sniffs roughly, wiping tears from his eyes while Max and Dustin try to process the strange and brutal MO. “I don’t know how to explain it. There was nothing there. No demogorgon, no Mind-Flayer. I thought Will’s connection to the hive mind, his True Sight, came from being there, you know? Hopper said that when they found Will in the Upside Down, the vines were in him.” He shudders. “But when did the Upside Down have a chance to sink its claws into Chrissy?”

The trio look around at each other, at a loss.

“If something in there has figured out how to do distance attacks… with no Gate that we know of, no possessed human agents, no physical body in our universe…” Dustin begins, eyes wide with fear and dread.

“Then we’re in bigger trouble than ever,” Max concludes. 

“How do we fight that?” Mike asks morosely. “Without powers like El’s we’re screwed. It’s like Chrissy was under a spell.”

“Or a curse,” Dustin breathes. “Vecna’s curse.”

“Who’s Vecna?” Max asks.

“A dark wizard,” Dustin answers. “An undead creature of great power.”

***

“I gotta go, I need to keep the line open in case the police call.”

“Many of the residents we spoke to voiced similar concerns—”

“Mommy. Mommy. Mommy!”

“Not now, Holly.”

“How can so many tragedies befall a once peaceful town?”

“Daddy, what’s going on? Where’s Mikey?”

“Hush, I’m watching the news.”

“But where is he?”

“I don’t know and you asking me over and over isn’t going to change that!”

“Is the new chief of police Powell in over his head, or is he the very savior this town needs?”

“C’mere, Hols, didn’t you get a new coloring book last week? Why don’t you work on one of those while we wait for Mike.”

“Yes, missing, you haven’t seen him have you? And now they’re saying a student’s been murdered—not him, thank god, but I can’t help but think—”

“We’ll be here the rest of the day right here on channel nine—”

The Wheeler house is abuzz. Karen, despite her talk of keeping the line open in case the police call, has been working her way through her entire contact book, frantically calling everyone she knows. The news has been dissecting the same minimal facts and delving into Hawkins’ sordid past to fill airtime while they wait for the police to release more information. It’s repetitive and infuriating but Ted refuses to turn it off. Nancy is trying her best to keep Holly calm—her parents seem to have completely forgotten they have a six year old—but placating a child whose favorite sibling is missing is no easy feat, especially when Nancy’s close to losing it herself. 

“We got home over an hour ago and not a word. This is ridiculous,” she complains, pacing and clenching her jaw. At least she knows now that it’s not Max or Eddie who was killed; the news announced that it was Chrissy Cunningham twenty minutes ago. Still, the receptionist’s reaction to their names has her suspicious. Maybe Eddie is a suspect.

“Calm down and let the police do their jobs, Nancy,” her father says emotionlessly. 

“Do not tell me to calm down when my brother is missing,” she grits out, then whirls around on her mom. “And you! Can you please hang up so someone might actually be able to get through if they have new information?”

“I’m keeping my calls short, and I called the police myself not ten minutes ago. Trust me, I want information as badly as you do.”

Nancy huffs. “I can’t do this. I can’t just sit here doing nothing.”

The phone rings. The whole family turns to look, Karen answering immediately and eagerly. “Hello?” Her face falls. “It’s for you, Nance. Keep it short,” she says, passing the phone. 

Nancy furrows her brow in puzzlement. “Hello?”

“Hey, uh, it’s Fred. It’s like… 9:45. Aren’t you coming in to work on the paper? We have our work cut out for us with this murder thing.”

Right. She was supposed to be there at 9:30. She opens her mouth to tell him she won’t make it, then hesitates, chewing her lip. “You know what? Yeah. I am. Would you be up for a field trip?” 

***

Max and Dustin hang around with Mike, going over what they know and what their next steps could be, but after a couple hours it becomes clear that there’s not a lot they can do stuck in an empty house with no phones.

“We need to go set up base of operations somewhere else,” Dustin admits, looking apologetically at Mike. “Preferably somewhere with multiple phone lines.”

“No, yeah, I get it. I’ll be fine.”

“But where do we go? We can’t have either of our moms overhearing our conversations,” Max points out.

Dustin checks his watch. “Family Video opens at 10:00. I know Robin is working today, she was complaining about having to open on the first day of spring break. We can commandeer the store phones.”

“Commandeer?” Max repeats with a raised eyebrow at Dustin’s theatrics. 

“With any luck, Steve will be there too,” Dustin continues, ignoring Max’s jab. “Then we only have to track down Lucas, Nancy, and Eddie. And we can use the store’s database to look up Eddie’s friends’ phone numbers.”

“Makes sense to me,” Mike shrugs. He’s trying to be nonchalant, not wanting to hinder their progress with his own petty problems, but he feels a pit of dread forming in his stomach at the thought of sitting here alone all day. 

Dustin must sense his trepidation anyway, adopting forced cheer as he reassures, “I think it’s supposed to warm up this afternoon. Everyone was talking about it: nice spring weather coming back just in time for the break. So you’ve already gotten through the worst of it!”

Mike shakes his head. “Cold was the least of our problems. Things are going to get a lot worse.”

“Well aren’t you just a bundle of sunshine,” Max deadpans. 

“Right, ‘cause you’re world-renowned for your optimism,” he shoots back.

“I know you guys are chronic pessimists,” Dustin interjects, “but Mike freezing to death actually was my most immediate concern and I think we should all be feeling a lot better with that off the table.”

“I am glad to hear that,” Mike concedes. With sun streaming through the windows and proper layers on, he’s already feeling much warmer. Or at least more tolerable levels of cold. It’s a relief to know that tonight won’t be quite so frigid. “Thanks Dustin.”

“Maybe Eddie found a less shitty hideout that you can move to when we find him,” Max suggests.

“Now that’s the kind of positive thinking I like to hear!” Dustin cheers. “Okay Mike, we gotta get going but we’ll keep in touch, okay?”

They part ways, promising to call regularly on the Supercom and to stop by with more food sometime in the afternoon. Max reclaims her bike, and she and Dustin hightail it to Family Video, tearing into the store just after it opens. 

“Good, you’re both here,” Dustin says when he sees Steve and Robin behind the counter. “How many phones do you have?”

“Did you guys see this?” Steve asks, gesturing to the TV. “Chrissy Cunningham was murdered.”

“How many phones do you have?” Dustin implores, patience already expended.

“Uh, two, why?”

“Technically three if you count Keith’s in the back,” Robin adds.

“Yeah, three works,” Max nods, looking at Dustin for confirmation. He slings his backpack off his shoulder.

“What are you doing?” Steve asks flatly, uninterested in whatever antics he’s about to get dragged into.

Dustin ignores the question and slides his bag across the counter.

“Woah! What are you—”

“My pile!” Robin exclaims.

Dustin wastes no time hopping over the counter himself, swinging his legs around and sending tapes careening onto the floor.

“No, no no no no no! My tapes! Dude! What are you doing, man?”

“Setting up base of operations here.”

“Base of operations?” Robin repeats.

“Stop, get off of that,” Steve orders as Dustin takes over the computer.

“No, I need it.”

“Need it for what?”

“Looking up Eddie’s friends’ phone numbers.”

“Oh, Eddie. Your new best friend Eddie you think is cooler than me because he plays your nerdy game?”

“EDDIE, yes,” Dustin repeats, exasperated, before fully registering Steve’s question. “I never said that.”

“Seriously, you guys, maybe on a Monday you can play around in here like toddlers, but it’s Saturday. It’s our busiest day,” Robin complains while restacking tapes.

“Alright look Robin I totally empathize but this CANNOT wait until Monday,” Dustin insists, already jotting phone numbers on a clipboard.

“What, ‘cause calling all of Eddie’s friends is an emergency?”

“Correct!” Dustin shouts.

“Uh, do you want me to strangle him, or do you want to do that?” Steve mutters to Robin. 

“We could take turns!”

“Can you just—fill them in while I do this?” Dustin says to Max, aggravated.

“Fill us in on what?”

“The Upside Down is back, Eddie and Mike are murder suspects, and we need to find Eddie and convince him to turn himself in to clear his name. Steve, can you call Nancy and tell her to get over here? I’m going to try Lucas.”

“What? No way, I have… so many questions,” Steve protests.

“Just call her. She’s probably really worried about Mike so the sooner we let her know he’s safe the better. Plus she’s gonna have questions too and I’d rather not explain everything a dozen times.”

“Okay, fine.” He picks up a phone and dials the Wheelers’ number. 

“Don’t tell their parents we know where Mike is!” Max adds at the last second. 

“Yeah, yeah, I got it!”

“The Upside Down is back?” Robin asks. “Did the Russians open another gate?”

Max starts dialing Lucas’ number on the other phone. “No idea.”

“Was it the Mind Flayer thingy?”

“No,” Max answers grimly. “Something new.” 

“Vecna!” Dustin shouts over his shoulder. “We’re calling him Vecna.”

“Him?” Robin repeats in confusion.

“Heyyy, Mrs. Wheeler, this is Steve Harrington… No, I haven’t seen him… Yeah I just, I heard about the murder and I wanted to check in on Nancy. Can I talk to her?” A pause. “Oh. Well, any idea when she’ll be back or… Okay. Thanks, Mrs. Wheeler. I hope you find him. Take care now. Bye.”

“Well?” Max whispers as she waits for the Sinclairs to pick up her call.

Steve shrugs. “She left the house a little while ago. Her mom said she was frustrated with the lack of news from the police. Didn’t want to sit around doing nothing.”

“So she’s launching her own investigation,” Robin surmises. “How will we reach her?”

“I told you all to get Supercoms,” Dustin groans. 

Max gestures for them to be quiet. “Hi, Mr. Sinclair. It’s Max. Is Lucas home? … Oh, okay. Thanks… Yeah, right across the street. Scary stuff… I will. Bye.” She hangs up. “He went to a team sleepover after the game last night,” she relays. “Apparently it’s a like whole weekend team-building retreat.” 

“More like a weekend long bender,” Steve butts in. “Those parties are crazy.”

“And let me guess: He didn’t. Bring. His Supercom. What do we even have them for?” Dustin laments.

“Come on, you seriously blame him for not bringing a giant walkie talkie to his cool basketball party? Would you?”

“No, Steve, I wouldn’t, because I would never go to a lame-ass basketball party.”

Max interrupts their bickering. “Okay, so it’s just the four of us for now. Let’s focus on finding Eddie. Dustin, did you get those phone numbers yet?”

“Working on it.”

“When we call looking for Eddie, we should make sure to ask about Mike too,” Robin suggests.

“Why? We know where he is,” Steve says.

“I know that, dumbass, but we don’t want anyone else to know that. It’d be suspicious if we call around looking for Eddie and don’t act concerned about Mike, too.”

“Good thinking,” Dustin agrees. “Here’s the first few numbers. Pick up a phone and get calling.”

***

“Wait, your brother is missing? Shouldn’t you be at home or something?” Fred asks from the passenger seat of Nancy’s station wagon. 

“Trust me, I’m going to learn a lot more at the trailer park than I would sitting on my ass at home.”

“I see, you’re going full Nancy Drew. Taking matters into your own hands,” Fred nods appreciatively. “I’m in. What’s our game plan?”

“Game plan?”

“Yeah. When you and Jonathan investigated for Hawkins Post. Did you split up, or—”

“Well, first of all: you’re not Jonathan.”

“Clearly not; I’m here. Present. Accounted for…”

“I’ve gone through a lot of managing editors. Okay?” Nancy threatens.

“Somebody’s testy!” Fred teases.

“Well, that should come as no surprise considering that there’s a killer on the loose and my brother is missing. Okay? So I’m not thinking about Jonathan right now, I’m thinking about Mike.”

Fred sobers. “Right. Sorry.”

“And the game plan,” Nancy barrels on, “is for you to let me do the talking, for you to take notes in that little pad there, and for you to follow my lead at all times. Is that understood?”

“Totally and completely.” They round the bend leading to the trailer park and spot the police car waiting at the entrance. “Shit. Slow down, slow down.”

“Just. Act. Casual,” Nancy instructs.

“And follow your lead. Got it.”

They pull in and come to a stop next to the policeman. Nancy rolls down the window. “Hi officer,” she says with the best smile she can muster.

“Can’t get through here, we got a crime scene.”

“Yeah, um, I was just going to… see Max Mayfield,” she improvises. “A friend. She lives in here.” 

The officer—Daniels, by his name plate—shakes his head. “We’re restricting access to residents only.” 

“It’s just, um, her mom is working today and we would really like to check in on her.”

“We’re basically her nanny. Nannies,” Fred chimes in unhelpfully. Nancy looks at him in alarm, then turns back to Officer Daniels with a smile on her face, trying to look the picture of a concerned friend, or rather, nanny. 

Daniels squints at her, recognition dawning. “Hey. Aren’t you Nancy Wheeler? The one who’s looking for her brother?”

So the receptionist did spread the word about Mike’s disappearance. With absolutely zero updates from the police, she was starting to wonder. “Yes, we haven’t seen him since last night. So you can understand why I’m extra concerned about my friend Max here.” She hopes the officer doesn’t pick up on her irritation at their lack of action on Mike’s behalf. 

He must not, because something in his eyes seems to soften at her words. She thinks she’s got him, that he’s going to make an exception and let them through, but then his focus shifts off of Nancy to Fred. “Hey, kid.” 

Nancy turns and instantly understands what caught the officer’s attention. Fred looks like a deer in the headlights, hunched and practically cowering against the door. She shoots him a warning glare but he doesn’t respond. Nancy cringes internally. If she’d known how bad a liar he was, how jumpy he’d get around cops, she wouldn’t have brought him. He’s turning out to be a total liability.

“You alright there?” Daniels asks.

Fred jumps and gasps like he just woke up from a nightmare. “Huh?” 

“I said, are you alright, kid? You’re looking a little peaked.”

“Fine,” Fred says, voice cracking. “I’m fine.” He reaches up and runs his fingers along the scar on his cheek. The one that looks like Mike’s.

“He’s just, um, on edge," Nancy says, trying to salvage the situation. “I mean, we all are.”

Daniels sighs. “I’ll let you check on your friend, but just be fast, yeah?”

“Of course, officer, thank you,” Nancy says with a small smile, then stares resolutely ahead as she shifts the car back into gear. When they’re a safe distance away, she rounds on Fred. “Okay, what was that? I said act casual.”

“Yeah, it’s just… sorry,” Fred mumbles, still looking awfully shaken and staring at his lap. 

Some people just aren’t good in a crisis, Nancy thinks.

***

“Flight 623 just landed from Indianapolis and will be arriving at gate two.” The announcement echoes over the intercom, causing Will and El to perk up and share a look of excitement before turning to watch eagerly as passengers begin streaming off the jet bridge. 

Will cranes his neck for a glimpse of his friend, his gangly limbs and unruly black hair. Has he gotten taller, Will wonders? El said he was growing his hair out, how will that look? Will clutches his painting in nervous anticipation but doesn’t spot him yet. 

The minutes pass, the flow of passengers getting thinner. Will double checks the gate number in case they somehow misread the number two (they didn’t), then looks at Jonathan in confusion. He shrugs, and Will turns back to watch the next few passengers emerge. 

“Man, he must’ve been seated in the waaayyy back,” Argyle remarks in his trademark drawl. 

“Yeah, I’m sure he’ll be here any second,” Jonathan assures, but after a few more stragglers appear, Mike not among them, the doorway remains empty. 

“Where is he?” El asks hesitantly.

Will frowns and looks to Jonathan. Jonathan looks bewildered, but he attempts to rally and take charge as the big brother. “Um, yeah, let’s just… let’s ask someone.” They get up and approach the gate agent, Will, El, and Argyle following Jonathan like obedient ducklings.

“Excuse me, our friend was supposed to be on this flight. Mike Wheeler?”

“Let me just check my records,” she says with a cheery smile. They wait in anxious anticipation while she flips through the flight logs. “Yes, we did have a ticket registered under that name, but it doesn’t look like it was used,” she says, her smile just as bright as before.

“What, what does that mean?” Jonathan stutters, comprehension impaired by the joint he smoked before they came in.

Will rolls his eyes and answers before the woman has a chance, suddenly and inexplicably annoyed. “It means he never got on the plane.”

Will’s first thought is of course. Of course Mike wasn’t on the plane. Of course he would bail on Will, just like Nancy bailed on Jonathan. If he doesn’t bother calling, and he doesn’t bother writing, why would he bother visiting? 

Will knows that’s not fair though. Because Will isn’t the Jonathan to Mike’s Nancy, much as he’d like to be. That’s El’s role. 

“Oh. Uh, did he get on a different flight?” Jonathan asks.

“The next flight from Indianapolis arrives this afternoon. I suggest you get in touch with your friend to ask if his plans changed. Or perhaps he already left a message for you at home.”

Will wastes no time striding to the nearest payphone, hearing a startled Jonathan mumble “thanks,” to the gate agent before jogging to catch up, El and Argyle in tow.

Will calls the Wheelers first and gets a busy signal, then tries home and gets the same thing. “Busy. How are they both busy?” he complains, slamming the phone back on the receiver.

“Maybe they’re talking to each other,” Argyle gasps. “That would be, like, meta.”

Will scowls and tries the Wheelers again. It connects on the first ring. “Hello?” a frantic sounding Karen Wheeler answers.

“Um, hi Mrs. Wheeler. This is Will, I’m just calling from the airport… they say Mike didn’t get on the plane?”

“Oh my god, Will! I’m so sorry, I meant to call and then all this craziness started… honey, Mike never came home last night. He’s missing,” she explains tearfully.

“Missing?” Will squeaks. 

“Missing?!” Jonathan exclaims.

“Missing?” El repeats in a small, scared voice.

Will is immediately flooded with icy dread, mixed in with guilt for every uncharitable thought he ever had about Mike.

“Yes, and now they’re saying someone’s been murdered—”

“Murdered?!” Will gasps. The chorus of echoes follows from the group gathered behind him, now leaning in close to try to hear Karen’s side of the conversation. 

“It wasn’t his body they found. It was a girl, Chrissy Cunningham? But with a killer on the loose and no sign of him… and the police aren’t telling us anything…” She sniffles, sighs, and Will waits, gripping the phone with bloodless fingers. “Ted still thinks it’s unrelated. That he ran away and is going to show up on your doorstep in a day or two.”

Will furrows his brow. “Why run away when he had your permission to come?”

“We gave him a strict curfew last night. If he was running late and knew we’d ground him if he came home, he might’ve decided to take a bus or something instead. That’s what we’re hoping, anyway. So you stay put and let us know if he arrives, okay?”

“Of course,” Will says wetly, wishing he could do more. “You’ll keep us posted too?”

“I’ll try. I have to go in case the police call. I’m sorry you wasted a trip to the airport.”

“It’s okay, Mrs. Wheeler. Take care.”

“You too, hon. Buh-bye.”

Will hangs the phone back on its hook, shoulders slumped. “Did you guys catch all that?” 

Jonathan and El nod at him with grim, scared faces. Will looks to his big brother with wide, tear-filled eyes. “What do we do?”

Jonathan takes a deep, shaky breath. “What she said, I guess. Go home and wait.”

Will looks to El. “Is there any chance you could… find him?” 

She shakes her head morosely, looking down in guilt, wishing more than ever that she still had her powers so she could help.

“Do you think it’s…” Will trails off, glancing at Argyle, not wanting to say ‘Upside Down’ in front of him. “Do you think it’s a normal murder?”

Jonathan and El shrug helplessly. It’s Argyle who answers. “Good question, little dude,” he nods sagely. “Gotta know if you’re talking, like, your standard drive-by shooting, or some freaky John Wayne Gacy shit.”

“John Wayne Gacy?” El repeats slowly, brow furrowed in confusion.

Jonathan tries to shut the topic down. “Don’t worry about it, El.”

“He was this dude who dressed up like a clown and killed teenage boys by tying—”

“Dude,” Jonathan chides, giving Argyle a disgusted look. “Not helping.”

El’s eyes are wide, fingers twisting the fabric of her skirt anxiously. Will looks away, crossing his arms and blinking back tears of frustration and fear.

“Come on,” Jonathan says, putting an arm around each of their shoulders. “Let’s get home. Then we can call around, see if any of your friends know anything.”

They trot out to Argyle’s van in depressed silence. Some birthday this is turning out to be.

***

With nothing to occupy himself, Mike’s mind keeps returning to Will. And El, but especially Will. It’s his birthday after all, and Mike is ruining it by not being there. (Or maybe he’s saving it. Maybe Will hates him for being such a shitty friend this past year. Maybe he was dreading seeing Mike.) 

The plane he was supposed to be on is probably landing right about now. Mike is supposed to be greeting them, hugging them, presenting them with gifts: a bouquet of wildflowers for El and a carefully typed and hand-bound short story collection—authored by Mike, of course—for Will. An attempt to make up for all the letters he never wrote, never sent.

He couldn’t write to Will. Everything always came out inadequate, tinged with falsehoods and platitudes—if it came out at all. More often than not, he’d wind up staring at the page, Dear Will written across the top and nothing else. He didn’t know how to put words to what he was going through, how to speak in first person, how to explain who he’d become, the dark ache festering in his heart. But he couldn’t gloss over it and focus on the impersonal with Will either.

What he could do was write fiction. Behind the guise of another character, another context, another life, the words flowed from him with ease, and afterward he found that, ironically, his fiction writing rang more honest and true than any letter he’d ever penned. 

Maybe Will can read between the lines. Maybe he’ll understand. Maybe this gift will absolve Mike of six months of silence.

If he ever gets the chance to give it to him. It’s going to have to be a belated gift.

Mike manages about two hours of idling in the house before he can’t take it anymore. He should’ve asked Dustin to bring him a book or something. 

He sneaks back to Castle Byers instead. Crossing the Byers’ backyard to reach the woods is risky in daylight, but so be it. Mike is on a mission. 

There was a tin can full of rusty nails on one of the shelves in the basement, in a dark corner that must’ve been overlooked during the move. Armed with nails and a heavy rock as a makeshift hammer, Mike sets to work rebuilding Will’s fort.

If he can’t fix his relationship with Will today, he can at least fix this.

***

“Any luck?” Robin asks hopefully.

“No. No one from Hellfire has seen him,” Dustin grumbles as he slams the phone back onto its receiver.

“Maybe he’ll just keep driving until someone recognizes his van and he gets caught. Problem solved,” Max suggests.

“Nah, if he was still driving he’d have been brought in hours ago,” Steve counters. “He’s gotta be holed up somewhere.”

“He can’t have gone far,” Robin points out.

“Dustin, where would he go?” Steve asks.

“If I knew, do you think I’d be sitting here talking on the phone all day?!” Dustin shouts.

“I just thought since he’s like your new best friend who you know so well you might have an idea.”

Dustin throws his hands up in exasperation. “What about you Steve? Did you get a hold of Nancy yet?”

“Still not home.”

“Lucas?” Dustin asks, looking to Max.

“Nope. What about Will and El, should we fill them in? They’re probably starting to wonder where Mike is right about now.”

“I tried. No answer,” Dustin grumbles.

“So we’ve gotten absolutely nowhere,” Steve sighs frustratedly. 

“Well then,” Robin shrugs and picks up the phone again. “Keep calling.”

***

At the sound of the door opening, Joyce shoves the cryptic note into the couch cushion and jumps up, shooing Murray out of the room. He only just arrived; she thought they’d have the house to themselves for hours yet. She rounds the corner into the entryway and greets her kids with a smile that she hopes comes across pleasantly surprised instead of completely blindsided.

“What are you all doing back so soon? I thought you were going roller-skating!” Her smile falls as she notes their slumped shoulders, their tense, worried expressions. Then she does a headcount: Jonathan, Will, El, Argyle. “Where’s Mike?”

When no one responds immediately, Argyle takes it upon himself. “He was murdered,” he slurs. “By, uh, John Wayne Gacy.”

“Murdered?!” Joyce exclaims, eyes widening in horror.

“No! He’s missing,” Jonathan rushes to correct. “Someone else was murdered. And John Wayne Gacy has nothing to do with it, you were the one who brought him up, Argyle.”

“Oh. Heh. Right,” Argyle chuckles, and Jonathan facepalms, shaking his head in exasperation.

“Oh, sweethearts, that’s awful.” Joyce gathers Will and El into a hug, deep frown lines creasing her face. “Poor Mike. Do we know who was killed?”

“Chrissy Cunningham.” Will has a vague memory of her. “I think she was in Jonathan's grade.”

“I remember. I used to chat with her mom at Melvald's. God, that poor family.”

“Mrs. Wheeler said they’re not sure Mike's related. To the murder,” Jonathan adds, explaining the theory that he might’ve decided to catch a bus or hitchhike after missing curfew.

“Well, that’s good news,” Joyce says, trying to muster up some optimism. “There must not be any evidence connecting him to the case then. No signs that he was taken against his will. Let’s not worry over what could turn out to be nothing, huh?” 

She herself is very worried; about Mike, of course—because even the best case scenario of him hitchhiking across the country is dangerous for a fourteen year-old—but also about Hopper and this creepy note and how on earth she and Murray are going to deal with it without the kids catching on.

Will pulls out of the hug, tear-stained face wearing an expression of betrayal. “Mom, how can you just brush this off? It doesn’t seem like too much of a coincidence to you, that Mike would just happen to run away and disappear the same night a killer shows up in Hawkins?” 

She does think that, is the thing. She’s scared sick for Mike, who’s been such a good friend to Will and whom she herself loves like a son. But there’s nothing they can do for him here. And she sure as hell isn’t bringing her kids there, to a town with a killer at large. There’s a reason they left Hawkins. 

She hates to invalidate their concerns. But she needs everyone reasonably calm and unworried so she can deal with this Russian ransom situation. The window to stage a rescue—assuming the whole thing isn’t a hoax—is open now, but she doesn’t know for how long. She can’t put it off until Mike is found. She has to do what she can for Hopper, and hope there are enough others in Hawkins doing what they can for Mike.

“We don’t know that it’s a serial murder, right?” she says, trying to sound confident and reassuring. “Most murders are one-offs. Like… what are they called? Crimes of passion!” She snaps her fingers when she remembers the phrase.

“Normal murders,” Argyle concurs. “Not the freaky shit.”

“Right. So it’s actually unlikely that Mike’s situation has anything to do with it. Now, I’m sorry kids I know you’re worried but I actually have some important, uh, calls to make—”

“Mom,” Will implores through tears. “We can’t just do nothing! What would you do if it was me?”

That, at least, she knows the answer to. Because it’s not a hypothetical; she’s been there. “I would move heaven and earth, and cross universes to get to you,” she tells him, looking into his eyes with a fierce, loving gaze. “And then I would bring you as far away from that nightmarish town as possible. Which is what I did. I’m not bringing you right back to the belly of the beast.” 

The tears spill over, trailing down his cheeks. “I just,” his breath hitches. “I just hate feeling so helpless,” he cries. 

“I know, honey. I guess you’ve never been on this side of it, huh?” She gathers Will back into her arms, then reaches out for El, who’s been awfully quiet. “You too, El. It must feel terrible, not being able to help… the way you used to.” She keeps her language vague with Argyle in the room. “But it’s not your fault. Neither of you. Okay? Sometimes there’s just nothing you can do, and that’s not a personal failing. It’s just how it is.”

She’s not sure that’s comforting at all. But what do you say, when your son’s best friend, your adoptive daughter’s boyfriend, is missing and you’re two thousand miles away from being able to do anything about it?

And what do you say when they’re terrified and seeking comfort but you need them to leave so you can work on rescuing said adoptive daughter’s adoptive father?

She knows trying to get them to go to a movie or something to distract themselves would be a lost cause. For a brief moment Joyce considers telling them about the ransom note. Just to explain why she’s so preoccupied, so dismissive of Mike’s situation. To make it so she doesn’t have to hide what she’s working on. But then they’d be worried about her and Hopper on top of Mike, and she can’t have that. 

“Tell you what. Mr. Clayborn across the street has cable TV. I swear, he has access to every channel under the sun!” she enthuses. “If you go over there I bet you could find an Indianapolis news station to keep up with what’s going on.”

“Okay, yeah, that… that’d be good,” Will sniffles, El nodding along. 

“Great.” Relieved, Joyce gives them each one more squeeze. “I’ll call him now to make sure he’s home and explain the situation.”

She heads in to use the phone in the kitchen. On her way, she spots Murray hiding in the pantry. He peeks out and mouths what’s going on? Joyce gives him a sharp look and gestures for him to go back in. 

She calls Mr. Clayborn. Thankfully, he is home and happy to host the kids for a while. 

She returns to the morose looking bunch in the foyer. “Okay, you’re good to go. Why don’t you all head on over there?” 

“You’re not coming with us?” 

“Somebody has to stay here in case Mike shows up, right? And if I get any news from Karen, you’re only a house away. As soon as I know something, you’ll know,” she assures. After another round of hugs, she shoos the teens out the door as gently as possible. 

Once they’re gone she leans back against the door, looking up at the ceiling and exhaling a long, slow sigh. She feels awful. Why did these things have to happen all at once? And on Will’s birthday of all days. 

She gives herself a moment to mourn the happy, relaxing spring break they were supposed to have, the joy-filled fifteenth birthday Will deserves. Then she stands up straight and squares her shoulders. Time to refocus. Time to save Hopper.

***

“Good afternoon,” Chief Powell greets a frazzled Karen Wheeler. He feels similarly wrung out himself, though he can’t show it. The brutality of the murder, the incomprehensible MO… Calvin is out of his depth. It was Jim who always knew how to handle the weird shit.

“Have you found him?” Karen asks, eyes wide and terrified of the answer.

“No ma’am. We’d like to ask you some questions, may we come in?” 

She’s eagerly ushering him and Officer Callahan inside before he can finish the sentence. 

“Ted! The police are here!” she cries. 

They proceed into the living room, where the news is blaring. Ted mutes it and stands to greet the officers with a handshake while Karen futzes with the throw pillows, making a place for them on the couch. 

“Can I get you anything? Water, coffee…” 

“No, thank you, ma’am.” Powell and Callahan sit on the couch and Ted returns to his armchair while Karen continues to stand there, wringing her hands uncertainly until Powell gestures to a free spot. “Please, sit.”

This is only the latest of several tough conversations he’s had to have today—with Wayne Munson, with the Cunninghams, with Jason Carver. At least he doesn’t have to inform the Wheelers that their son is dead. 

(Yet. He hopes he never does.) 

“We understand that you haven’t seen your son since last night,” Powell starts.

“Yes, and we appreciate your time, officers, but we’re fairly certain Michael just ran away,” Ted drawls. “He’ll turn up with his tail between his legs sometime this week, if not here then at his friend’s house in California. You should focus on more important matters.”

Karen fidgets and glances over, opening her mouth to say something—perhaps to counter the disconcerting implication that Ted doesn’t find his son’s disappearance important, whether it’s connected to the murder or not—but ultimately she says nothing. 

The officers, too, ignore Ted’s protests. “When did you last see Mike?”

“Yesterday morning before school,” Karen answers. “We gave him a strict curfew. Nine o’clock. He was supposed to fly out to visit friends in California early this morning.”

“Is that typical, for you to go a whole day without seeing him?” Callahan asks.

Karen’s eyes dart toward Ted and back again, nervously. 

“It’s not a trick question, ma’am,” Powell reassures. “We aren’t here to critique your parenting. Just trying to gather information.”

“It’s… not unusual, no. He and Nancy have always been very independent.”

“Do you know where he went after school yesterday?”

“I’m not sure. I think he hangs out with friends. Bikes around town. Typical teenager stuff… then in the evening he had his, uh, D&D club.”

“That’s the Hellfire club led by Eddie Munson, correct?”

“Yes,” Karen answers, disapproval clear on her and Ted’s faces.

“How long has he been involved with that?”

“It started… sometime last fall. November, maybe?”

“What’s Mike’s relationship with Eddie? Do they ever hang out outside of Hellfire?”

Karen frowns, growing suspicious of this line of questioning. “Not that I know of…”

“It wouldn’t surprise me though,” Ted interjects. “Based on the way he’s been acting and dressing lately. He’s turning into a delinquent.”

“He does seem to sort of… idolize Eddie,” Karen admits. 

Callahan and Powell share a meaningful look. Karen leans forward. “Officers, why are you asking about Eddie? Is he… involved with this?”

“Ma’am, we have received several eyewitness accounts that your son left the school with Eddie Munson and Chrissy Cunningham last night,” Powell informs in lieu of a direct answer.

Karen puts a hand over her mouth, tears filling her eyes. Ted shakes his head disappointedly. “I knew we never should have let him join that damn club,” he grumbles.

“At this point, we do believe your son’s disappearance is connected to the case. We ask that you keep us informed if you hear anything from him or remember any other details that may be pertinent. And please keep Eddie Munson’s involvement to yourself. We’re trying to keep his name out of the press so we can run our investigation unimpeded.”

“Of course, chief,” Ted agrees. 

Karen sits numbly. She'd been hanging on to that thin thread of hope that Mike had only run away. The loss of it is hitting her hard.

Powell and Callahan rise from the couch. “We’ll do everything in our power to find your son. Thank you for your time.” 

Ted escorts them out. Once outside, Callahan turns to Powell. “So. He idolizes Eddie, huh?”

“Yeah,” Powell nods grimly. “The question now is whether he’s another victim… or an accomplice.”

***

The late afternoon sun glares in Mike’s eyes as he surveys his handiwork. Doing this alone and without proper tools was definitely not ideal, but in the end Mike doesn’t think it looks too bad. Still a bit lifeless, lacking color and personality without any photos or artwork. But sturdy. A solid foundation to redecorate and reinvigorate. 

The higher temperatures combined with the physical labor of reconstructing Castle Byers had him comfortably warm for a few hours, but now he feels the chill seeping in as his sweat cools and the sun creeps toward the horizon. His stomach is growling, the granola bars not enough to sustain him, and with no word yet from Dustin and Max he’s trying to mentally prepare himself for another long, uncomfortable night in the basement.

He hopes the temperature doesn’t dip below freezing again.

His radio, sitting on top of his backpack a few feet away, crackles to life. “Mike, this is the Video Family, do you copy?”

Mike scrambles to answer. “Yeah, I copy. The Video Family?” he repeats, skeptical of the new code name. “Over.”

“Yeah! Because our base of operations was at Family Video…?” Dustin explains.

“We tried to talk him out of it,” Max interjects, and Mike can hear her eyeroll.

“I suggested Scoops Troop 2.0,” Robin adds.

“Which would have been unfair to Max since she wasn’t part of the original Scoops Troop!” Dustin insists.

“Dude, that’s the whole point of the 2.0,” Steve says, unsurprisingly taking Robin’s side.

“Both names are stupid so I really don’t give a shit,” Max concludes. “The point is, we have a lead on Eddie.”

There’s a few seconds of radio silence. “You have to say, ‘over,’ or I don’t know to stop holding the button and Mike doesn’t know he’s free to talk!” Dustin groans. “This is why I was supposed to do the talking!”

“Sorry we aren’t all total nerds,” Max teases.

“Sorry about them, Mike,” Dustin says with a long-suffering sigh. “They don’t know the art of radio etiquette. Over,” he finishes pointedly.

Mike smiles in relief—at the news about Eddie and also at their lively bickering, a comfort after so much isolation.

“It’s okay. You seriously know where Eddie is? Over.”

Dustin explains about Max’s Reefer Rick tip and Robin’s genius idea to track down his address using the Family Video database. 

“Obviously we can’t be sure without checking it out, but it seems like a good bet. We’re going to head over there now. Over.”

“And you’re coming to get me first, right? Over.”

“Yep, already on the way. And we have hamburgers. Over and out.”

***

It’s nearing sunset and Nancy’s been hitting one dead end after another when she spots Wayne Munson sitting on a picnic table. “Stay here,” she tells Fred, and rushes over.

“Hi! Uh, I’m a friend of Max Mayfield’s, over there,” she begins, trying to avoid being seen as a journalist. All the residents have been reluctant to talk when she introduces herself as a reporter, and she has a feeling Mr. Munson is no different. 

Being a friend of Max doesn’t seem to do the trick either though, as he just takes a drag from his cigarette and continues to look off into the distance without acknowledging her at all. 

“You’re Wayne Munson, aren’t you?” she tries again, hesitant. “Eddie’s uncle?”

“That’s right,” he replies gruffly.

“I heard you found the body. The neighbors, they were—”

“Like to gossip. And I’m not interested in gossiping no more,” he says in a cracked, tearful voice. “Certainly not to a reporter.”

She flips her notebook closed, caught out, and chuckles weakly. “What gave me away?” 

She takes a chance and moves closer to sit on the table with him. “Look, let me level with you, Mr. Munson. My brother is in Eddie’s D&D club, Hellfire. And no one’s seen him since yesterday. So I’m just looking for something, anything really, about what happened last night.”

“Why? Far as I can tell, you all have it figured out already. My nephew’s a freak. He killed that girl. You probably think he killed your brother too. Ain’t that about right?”

Nancy looks down, trying to breathe through the wave of emotion that washes over her at the thought of Mike, dead. Wayne notices and softens, rubbing his chin and blinking tears from his own eyes. “Sorry. Your brother…” he appraises her. “Is that Mike?”

“Yes. I’m his older sister, Nancy.”

He nods. “You look alike. Good kid, Mike. I’m sorry to hear he’s missing.”

“You know him?”

“Yeah. He comes around sometimes. Eddie, he likes to take young misfits under his wing. He’s… real softhearted like that, despite how he looks.” He pauses to take another pull from his cigarette, inhaling and exhaling slowly. 

Nancy’s not sure what to believe about Eddie’s role in this, but if she’s learned anything from the last few years—from Jonathan, and then Steve—it’s not to judge a book by its cover. She would never assume Eddie’s guilt just based on his unconventional style and interests. 

The fact that the body was found in his trailer… now, that’s a little more damning. But when bad things happen in Hawkins, Nancy is the first to suspect that things may not be as cut and dry as they seem. That something supernatural may be at play. She knows all that is supposed to be over, that the gate was closed. But she can never fully rule out the possibility.

“I don’t know if or how Mike is mixed up in this,” Wayne continues, “but I know my nephew would never hurt him. Or that girl Chrissy. It just… ain’t in his nature. No matter what anyone says—and they will say things, believe you me—this… wasn’t Eddie. The man who did this? Who killed that poor girl? He’s… pure evil.”

“Man?” Nancy asks, eagerly latching onto that detail. “You think you know who might’ve done this?”

Wayne slowly turns to look at her. “You ever hear the name… Victor Creel?”

***

“Hello? Is anyone home?” Robin calls, poking her head into Reefer Rick’s boathouse. The other four follow after her, shining flashlights around the cluttered space.

“What a dump,” Steve remarks, nose crinkling at the musty, fishy scent permeating the air. So far, the place seems deserted. The group poke around in tense silence, a far cry from Dustin’s unrestrained yelling and pounding at the front door a minute ago, until Steve grabs an oar and starts jabbing violently at the tarp-covered rowboat. 

“What are you doing?” Dustin cries. When Steve continues without answering, he repeats himself in a hiss. “What are you doing?”

“He might be in here,” Steve shrugs, like whacking the guy they’re looking for with an oar is the most logical thing in the world.

“So take the tarp off!” 

“If you’re so brave, you take the tarp off.” Steve punctuates this with another sharp jab of the oar.

“Eddie if you’re in here, we just want to talk,” Mike calls. “I know you’re terrified but I promise we can help you.”

“Hey, look over here,” Max says softly, shining her flashlight on an empty beer bottle and several snack wrappers. “Someone was here.”

“Maybe he heard us. Got spooked and ran,” Robin suggests.

“Don’t worry, Steve will get him with his oar,” Dustin snarks.

Steve takes the oar out of the boat, setting the end on the ground and leaning on the handle. “I know you think you’re being funny, Henderson, but considering the fact that everyone in this room has nearly died about a hundred times, personally I don’t find it funny in the slightest.”

“Yeah, but Eddie’s not gonna kill us. On the other hand, you might kill him if you bludgeon him with an oar.”

“All this big talk about there being no threat but I still don’t see you taking the tarp off, huh? What’s that about?”

Dustin opens his mouth to protest further, but before he can Mike rolls his eyes and sweeps the tarp aside himself. 

A figure bursts up out of the rowboat, charging Mike and slamming him against the wall amid a chorus of startled shouts from the rest of the group. Mike freezes, the wind knocked out of him. It’s Eddie, his eyes wide and angry, mouth set in a determined line. It seems the last 24 hours haven’t dissuaded him from the idea that Mike is guilty. Mike feels the point of a weapon—a quick glance down tells him it’s a broken beer bottle—against his jugular.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, Eddie! Eddie!” Dustin yells, one hand outstretched, gesturing stop.

Steve attempts to rush forward with his oar but Dustin elbows him back. Eddie glances over but doesn’t move the sharp glass from Mike’s neck. “Stop! Eddie! Eddie.” Dustin tries to mellow his tone, to talk Eddie down. 

“What was that about Eddie not killing us?” Steve mutters.

“Shut up, Steve,” Max whispers. 

They all quiet their shouts and fall back, letting Dustin take the lead.

“It’s me. It’s Dustin! We’re here to help. Mike’s not gonna hurt you, right Mike?”

“Right,” Mike agrees, scared that the bobbing of his throat will cause the bottle to break skin. 

“These are our friends,” Dustin continues. “You know Robin, from band!” Robin half-heartedly mimes playing the clarinet. “And Max. The one who never wants to play D&D?” Max waves. “And this is Steve. Drop the oar, Steve.” There’s a clatter as he reluctantly lets it go. The noise causes Eddie to startle, his makeshift weapon pushing deeper into Mike’s neck. Mike closes his eyes and arches back, trying to create distance. He feels a trickle of warm blood on his skin. “Please!” Dustin cries, growing desperate. “Put the weapon down. We can help you, Eddie, I swear.”

Eddie looks over, his tough guy façade cracking to reveal the scared, confused, and distraught young man underneath. His brow is furrowed, eyes shining, sweat dripping off his brow even in the chilly evening. “He was there,” Eddie grits out, looking at Dustin but jerking his head to indicate Mike. “He was there, and something… someone… killed her.”

“Yes. But not him. He was just a bystander, same as you.”

“But he wasn’t—” Eddie turns to look at Mike again. “You weren’t scared,” he accuses.

“I was,” Mike whispers. “I was, I just—”

“He’s good in a crisis,” Dustin interrupts, saving Mike from having to speak. “And he’s seen stuff like this before. We all have. That’s why we’re here. We can help you get out of this.” 

Mike looks Eddie in the eyes, trying to convey that he’s just as freaked out by the situation as Eddie is. That he’s definitely not a sadistic master villain with evil superpowers. 

“Eddie, we’re on your side,” Dustin implores. “I swear on my mother! Right, guys?”

“Yes, yes, we swear,” Max hurries to agree.

“On Dustin’s mother,” Robin confirms.

“Yeah, Dustin’s mother,” Steve concurs.

Eddie looks at the group, then back at Mike, eyes still wild like a rabbit facing down a hound. Mike grits his teeth, leaning as far away as he can. This is it. Either Eddie’s been convinced to trust them, or he decides to hell with it and slits Mike’s throat right here. Under normal circumstances, Mike wouldn’t think him capable of it. But this kind of animalistic fear can't always be reasoned with.

There’s an agonizing pause while Mike waits for his fate to be decided. He thinks of Will. All these wasted months without contact. If he dies, he hopes someone finds the short story collection, carefully packed into his suitcase, and passes it on to its intended recipient. 

The pressure releases from his neck. He sags, bracing against the wall, gasping his first deep breath in minutes. Eddie stalks away, shoulders slumped, and slides down a wall to sit on the floor. He stares ahead in numb horror, the bottleneck still clutched in a shaking fist. 

“Eddie…” Dustin crouches down in front of the older boy while Max rushes to Mike, putting a hand on his shoulder. “We just want to talk.” He gingerly reaches for the weapon, but Eddie jerks it away. “Okay!” Dustin surrenders, putting his hands up. 

Robin joins them on the floor, hoping her and Dustin, as the most familiar faces in the group (aside from Mike, who Eddie doesn’t exactly trust right now), will be able to break through his shocked stupor. Steve finds a rag that seems only slightly dirty and moves to dab at the blood on Mike’s throat, but Max swats him away. “You’ll get it infected!” she whispers, and he throws up his hands in defeat.

“It’s fine, it’s not deep,” Mike rasps. 

While they hover a ways away looking for suitable first aid supplies (and finding little), Eddie finally recovers his voice. “What do you mean, you’ve… seen stuff like this before?”

***

It’s fully dark now and Nancy is still at the trailer park, growing more and more terrified with each minute that passes. First Mike, now Fred…

“Fred! Fred!” she calls, jogging up to a couple sitting on the jungle gym. “Excuse me, sorry, have you seen my friend wandering around? Uh, nerdy, glasses, scar on his face?”

“No, sorry,” the man says, and Nancy backs away, turning in circles, head darting every which way hoping for some sign of him. He was just here. She walked away to talk to Wayne for five minutes and he just disappeared. 

She can’t lose another friend. Barb already broke her, and she’s becoming more and more convinced that something awful happened to Mike too, and now Fred, who may not have been the best investigatory sidekick but he was funny and nerdy and endearing and Nancy brought him here.

Maybe it’s not only Hawkins that’s cursed. Maybe it’s Nancy. 

She keeps looking.

***

They give Eddie the cliff notes version of the last several years of Upside Down encounters. Will wasn’t lost in the woods, Barb wasn’t killed by a chemical leak, the mall fire wasn’t a fire, et cetera. 

When they finish, Eddie looks at them like they’re crazy. Mike’s worried he’s going to freak out again, that even seeing what he saw last night won’t be enough to convince him that everything they’re saying is true. But in the end, he just looks across the room at Mike (who’s been keeping his distance to avoid spooking Eddie again) and says, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” he trails off, gesturing at his own neck to indicate the damage he inflicted on Mike’s.

“It’s okay.”

“The hell it is,” Steve grumbles. Mike and Dustin both cut him sharp looks. “What? I’m just saying, as the Party’s de facto babysitter, that running away and leaving the kids alone when shit goes down is not cool. And threatening to shiv them is even worse.”

“Technically, he was threatening to glass him, not shiv,” Max points out. 

“You called us the Party!” Dustin says in delight.

“Never thought I’d say this, but Harrington’s right,” Eddie admits. “It’s not okay. You’re just a kid. And you’re my friend. I shouldn’t have suspected you, and I shouldn’t have left you there alone.”

“In your defense, ‘an invisible wizard did it’ isn’t the most intuitive solution,” Mike consoles.

“No.” Eddie shakes his head, looking down guiltily. “Don’t defend this. I’m a fucking coward. When shit gets hard, instead of buckling down and dealing with it, I just… run.”

Robin sees an opening to transition to their next order of business. “Well… we might have a way for you to make up for that.”

“To face this head on,” Dustin adds.

“But you’re not gonna like it,” Max warns.

It takes some convincing, but eventually they persuade Eddie that turning himself in is the best way to clear his name. 

“Okay. Okay,” he says, trying to psych himself up. “What’s my story?”

“Ask for a lawyer first,” Mike instructs. “Don’t say anything until they give you one. Then cooperate and tell the truth as much as possible. You were giving me a ride home, but we had to stop by your trailer first because Chrissy was buying drugs for the basketball party.”

“No, she wasn’t buying drugs for the party,” Eddie interrupts. “She was buying them for herself.”

“Really? Hard drugs?” Mike asks, knowing Eddie wouldn’t have had to search his home stash if she only wanted weed. 

“Yeah. She was really shaken up when I met her at my usual spot behind the school. I offered her weed, but she asked for something stronger. I know you wouldn’t expect this from the star cheerleader, but it seemed like she had some real demons she was trying to escape.”

“Maybe literally,” Max says. 

“Okay, so tell them that,” Mike instructs. “Not the part about Chrissy being stalked by a literal monster, but the truth about why she was at your place. Now this is where you deviate. Tell them you couldn’t find the drug, or you and Chrissy wanted to hang out longer or something. But you had to get me home by my nine o’clock curfew, so we left, and Chrissy was supposed to wait for you to come back.”

“You dropped Mike off, and you have no idea what happened to him after that,” Max continues.

“And when you got back to your trailer, Chrissy was dead,” Robin jumps in.

Dustin picks up the thread. “You freaked out and ran. It took a while for you to calm down enough to think things through clearly, but when you did you knew you had to go to the police to help them find the real killer.”

Eddie looks between them, blinking. “That’s it?” They nod. “Okay, that was a really cute little tag-team thing you just did,” he chuckles sardonically, “but the police are never going to buy it!” His voice rises to a high pitched yell at the end of the sentence.

“They will when another body shows up while you’re behind bars.” 

“Mike, man, I believe you didn’t kill Chrissy, but you still kinda scare me when you say shit like that.” 

“We know. He’s like, concerningly blasé about death,” Dustin agrees.

“When you’ve seen the shit we’ve seen, you start to get desensitized,” Steve explains in Mike’s defense.

“The fact of the matter is, more people are going to die before we can stop this,” Max cuts in. “And the longer you wait to go to the police, the more likely it is that another victim turns up while you still don’t have an alibi.”

“It’s fine if there are holes in your story,” Robin assures. “Just stick to it, and they won’t be able to prove anything.”

Chapter Text

“I want a lawyer,” Eddie repeats, bleary eyed in the fluorescent lighting of the interrogation room. He’s not sure what time it is. Too goddamn late for this, that’s for sure. Or too early. Couldn’t he have waited until the morning to turn himself in, gotten some shuteye first?

“If you’re innocent, why do you need a lawyer?” Callahan drawls.

“Don’t try to pull that crap, okay, I’m not an idiot. I know my rights, and I know how this looks for me. I want a lawyer,” Eddie demands. He’s worried about how they’re perceiving him. His tone, appearance, and body language, all noted, catalogued, and interpreted in the least favorable light. Shifty eyes a sign of guilt, not ordinary anxiety. Short temper a sign of hidden animosity, not frayed nerves and exhaustion. 

“We just want to ask you some questions, son,” Powell tries. “Where is Mike Wheeler?”

Eddie bristles at the endearment. Son, coming from someone who thinks he’s a freak and a murderer. Someone who’d like to see him convicted and sentenced to life in prison. 

Or to death.

“Are you deaf or something? I said I’m not answering questions until you get me a lawyer.” He knows he shouldn’t be so combative, but he can’t help it. 

“You’re the last person who saw him,” Callahan tries. Eddie just glares.

“This will go better for you if you cooperate,” Powell says.

Eddie clenches his teeth and grits out, “This will go better for you if you get me a lawyer.” 

Powell sighs. Though he’s trying to maintain this non-confrontational, good-cop demeanor, Eddie can tell his patience is wearing thin. Me too, man, me too, he thinks grimly.

The chief meets Eddie’s gaze, testing his conviction. Searching for signs of weakness, of remorse, of the monster they think lurks behind his eyes.

After a moment Powell leaves without a word, Callahan following dutifully. Eddie hears an aggravated shout—“Someone get a public defender here, now,”—before the door slams shut behind them.

The sound echoes in the empty room and Eddie sags, though he’s sure he’s still being watched. Tries to rub the sleep from his eyes, to swallow the dryness from his mouth. He rests his head on the table to wait, and wonders, not for the first time, if he completely screwed himself by coming here.

The godawful fluorescents stay on. 

***

Lucas opens the door, the cool dawn air a relief after the dank, pungent atmosphere in Benny’s old diner. It’s hard to believe the turn this weekend has taken, from raucous, sloppy revelry to abject shock and grief.

“When he sees all this? Sees us?” Lucas overhears Jason saying, “He’ll shit his pants and cry for mommy. This guy’s no fighter.”

“I hope he tries something. Gives me a reason,” Andy responds.

“Hell yeah,” Patrick agrees.

Lucas strides closer to see what they’re up to, and Andy greets him as he approaches. “Well, well, look who’s decided to join.”

“What are you guys doing?” 

“We’re gearing up,” Patrick answers.

Andy raises a large wrench over his shoulder. “Preparing for the hunt.”

Lucas feels a small knot of dread form in his stomach. He’s still having trouble processing everything. Eddie, a murderer? Mike missing, potentially kidnapped? Potentially killed?

And now his teammates are arming themselves for a witch hunt.

Jason senses his hesitance and comes closer with a friendly smile. “Hey man, relax.” He puts a hand on Lucas’ shoulder. “We’re not killers like Eddie. We just wanna talk to him. Get him to admit his crime. Tell us where he’s keeping that little twerp, Mike.” 

“Yeah, friendly neighborhood chat,” Andy agrees casually. He and Patrick share a knowing smirk.

Lucas feels a shiver of apprehension at their cavalier attitude. A twinge of discomfort and defensiveness at the unkind way Jason referred to Mike.

“Hey,” Jason says earnestly. “You didn’t know Chris. If you’re not up to this, you can go home. There’s no judgement. You’ll still be one of us, all right?”

Lucas considers it. He could go home. Find Dustin. Search for Mike. Jason sounds genuine; he’d let Lucas go. But this still feels like a test. An opportunity to prove his loyalty, to show that he’ll back up the team both on and off the court. Lucas doesn’t want to chicken out, not when he just started making progress with these guys. 

Plus, Lucas understands their anger. For Chrissy, yes, but especially for Mike.

Because Eddie was their friend. Someone they trusted. Looked up to. If he’s hurting Mike… maybe Lucas wants to be involved in his capture. Maybe Lucas wants a little revenge too.

“No. I’m good,” he assures Jason. “I want to help.”

***

It’s dawn when they find Fred’s body. The police forced Nancy to go home last night after they learned that he had disappeared, but she snuck back out before first light, unable to sleep, turning Wayne’s hunch about Victor Creel over and over in her mind. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation, the mind-numbing grief, the desperation for something, anything to grab onto as a possible lead, but over the course of that sleepless night she found herself becoming more and more convinced that Wayne was right. That Victor escaped, and killed Chrissy, and locked Mike and Fred away somewhere near the trailer park, and now he’s going to do horrible things to them, break their bones and cut out their eyes and leave them for dead… 

She was prepared to spend all day wandering the woods, calling their names.

Then she saw the police lights flashing on the road on the outskirts of town, and her heart stopped.

Finding Fred dead should make her feel worse. It does, of course it does. Sweet, nerdy Fred with a surprisingly sassy streak. Fred who was curious and nosy and eager to please. Fred who was her friend. And her responsibility.

She’ll spend years processing the grief, the guilt.

But, horribly, the first thing Nancy feels is relief. Because it wasn’t Mike. Not this time. Not yet. And it should’ve been, right? Two isn’t enough to identify a pattern, not really, but both Fred and Chrissy were found less than twelve hours after they were last seen alive. They weren’t held anywhere, their bodies weren’t hidden. And Mike disappeared before Fred. So if he was just another casualty in a string of victims, he should’ve been found by now. 

Nancy is reassured that whatever happened to Mike… it’s something different. Their dad’s theory that his disappearance is unrelated still feels too good to be true, but at least now Nancy is fairly certain that he hasn’t already been killed. Which means there’s still a chance she’ll see him again. Alive.

“Did you look into Victor Creel?” she asks Officer Daniels while Powell goes through the same useless questions for what feels like the millionth time. (So now they want to talk to me, she thinks bitterly. Yesterday it was all radio silence.)

“Sorry, what’s that?” Powell interjects.

“Victor Creel,” Daniels explains. “Wayne got it in her head the old nut did this.”

“Victor’s locked away tight, hon, you don’t need to worry about him, alright?” Powell says. His tone is gentle, if slightly condescending. He continues his line of questioning but Nancy hears none of it, feeling suddenly unmoored without the lead she’d latched onto like a lifeline. She’d convinced herself that Victor was the answer, that his name would be just the tip the police needed to blow the case wide open. But of course it didn’t work out that way. If a crazed murderer had escaped from the local institution, the police would know about it. And if bodies started turning up soon after, they’d be smart enough to make the connection themselves. 

Nancy’s unsure where to go from here. Is Wayne wrong about his nephew? Could it be the obvious answer?

She looks down, eyes wide and wet, not wanting to believe it. Eddie is Mike’s friend. As she ponders it, her eyes catch on something behind Powell.

A maroon BMW, pulling to a stop just beyond the police barricade. And four familiar faces stepping out, eyeing the scene with grim expressions. 

She gives a small wave, overwhelmed with relief to see some friendly faces, to not be confronting all this alone anymore. Even if they aren’t the ones she really wants to see—Mike and Jonathan are at the top of that list. Even if Dustin and Max are more her brother’s friends than her own, and Robin is more a friend of a friend, and even Steve isn't really a friend, not since they broke up… even so, these are her teammates, the ones who have her back, who fight by her side against unimaginable horrors, who understand what it’s like to endure trauma after trauma and go on pretending everything’s normal. 

And if they’re all together… here… it means she’s not crazy for thinking there’s more to this than meets the eye. 

***

Mike frowns as a drop of blood lands in his bowl of cereal. He touches his nose, brow furrowing as his fingers come away wet. 

He pushes the dish away. It’s already soggy anyway, Mike too jittery to eat much while he waits to hear from Dustin. 

Waits to hear who died this time.

The others left twenty minutes ago after a bunch of cop cars and fire engines shot past, sirens blaring. It comes with no sense of relief, no satisfaction that he made the right call by having Eddie turn himself in as soon as possible. Just the looming sense of fear and dread, heart seizing in his chest like he’s being led to the gallows himself.

At least he knows it’s not Dustin, Max, Steve, or Robin. At least he knows Will, El, Jonathan, and Joyce are safe two thousand miles away.

But Lucas. Nancy. Holly. Eddie. His mom. All his friends’ parents. Everyone else in this goddamn town: his teachers, his neighbors, the owner of the creamery who always gives him an extra scoop, the woman at the park who lets Mike pet her dog, the school bus driver who makes sure to wait an extra minute because she knows Mike is probably running late to drop Holly off, the trumpet player who’s always busking on main street, anyone and everyone who make Hawkins Hawkins, who make it home, all of them in grave danger.

Mike isn’t callous, contrary to popular belief. He’s terrified for all of them. So terrified he wants to scream, to rage, to throw up. 

Instead he sits and waits.

***

Powell runs a hand over his face, as though he could wipe away the exhaustion. “So we have another victim. And our prime suspect was in a holding cell when it happened.”

“Seems that way,” Callahan agrees. 

“Is there any possibility he killed Fred right before turning himself in?”

“Estimated time of death gives him a small window, but with the complexity of the MO…”

“Breaking every bone in that poor kid’s body would take too long,” Powell finishes.

“Not to mention his clothes are clean,” Callahan adds. “No blood, no rips indicating a struggle. And according to witnesses the clothes he was wearing when he showed up at the station are the same ones he was wearing at school on Friday.”

“So we’re looking at an accomplice. Someone to do the dirty work for him. Someone to take the fall while he has an alibi.”

“You’re thinking Mike Wheeler?”

“I don’t know,” Powell sighs. “It’s hard to imagine anyone in this town doing something like this, much less a fourteen year old kid.”

“Don’t let that cloud your judgement. We know he’s friends with—and idolizes—Eddie,” Callahan starts ticking off on his fingers. “We know he was at the Munson place on Friday night. And now he’s MIA,” he finishes with a shrug. “All signs point to Wheeler.”

***

El pokes at her soggy Eggo waffles, long gone cold. It was only force of habit and muscle memory that had her going through the motions: putting them in the toaster, grabbing a plate, dousing them with syrup, before realizing that she has absolutely no desire to eat anything. Will, sitting next to her, didn’t even bother with breakfast. Just poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot Joyce made before she and Murray left for the airport. 

Will hates coffee.

So does El, but she understands why he opted for it today. It feels like the right thing on a morning like this. Yesterday was a long, miserable limbo of watching the news and trying (unsuccessfully) to reach their friends in Hawkins—plus a very weird evening in which Murray showed up out of the blue and Joyce announced that she was suddenly going to Alaska.

After that, El hadn’t even attempted sleep. Instead, she’d retreated to her room, turned the radio to a dead station, tied a bandana over her eyes, and tried to help the only way she knew how. Eight futile hours spent picturing Mike’s face in her mind, trying desperately to establish a connection, fatigue and despair mounting, time slipping by in a haze of panic, until finally she tore the blindfold off and collapsed into exhausted sobs without even a nosebleed to show for her efforts. Outside, dawn had already broken.

Joyce poked her head in to say goodbye shortly after that, giving El a bone-crushing hug and a promise that everything would turn out okay. Later, El crept out of her room and ran into Will on the stairs. He looked exhausted yet energized. Almost manic. “It’s been eight hours since we tried calling, so there’s bound to be some news. Some break in the case overnight, a suspect, a clue, a sighting…” he rambled. “At the very least, Dustin or Lucas or someone will be home by now, and they’ll know more than they’re saying on TV.” He barreled down the stairs two at a time, eager to get to the phone. 

But it didn’t take long for his optimism to flicker out, shoulders deflating with each phone call he made. None of their friends are home. And there’s no new information about Mike, no new leads on the case. 

Just another body. 

So, coffee feels fitting. El tosses her waffle into the trash and pours herself a cup, grimacing at the strong, bitter taste. Will is wearing the same expression.

It’s nice to commiserate, at least.

“I know they’re probably just out, like, scouring the woods or whatever people do when someone goes missing,” Will starts, voice rough with emotion and fatigue, “but… I just have this feeling that there’s more to it than that. That they’re all mixed up in something horrible.”

“That it’s starting again,” El agrees. And there’s nothing I can do to help this time.

They stare sullenly into their coffee mugs. Jonathan comes in then, looking only slightly better than El feels but obviously trying to rally as the one currently in charge. “So, what do you want to do today? Back to Mr. Clayborn’s to keep tabs on things?” he asks with forced optimism.

El shrugs. Will just stares into his coffee. 

“We could go see a movie or something as a distraction?” Jonathan tries.

Will slams his mug down, suddenly frustrated. “I can’t believe mom would just abandon us! To go to, what, a fucking work conference? In Alaska?” 

“Hey, woah, it’s okay, man,” Jonathan tries.

“No it’s not! We need her right now, and she just left,” Will complains. “With, with Murray of all people? Since when does he even leave his bunker?”

“I don’t, I don’t know about Murray, man, he just does his own thing,” Jonathan blusters, “but I think mom… she doesn’t talk about it a lot, she doesn’t want you to worry, you know? But I think money has been pretty tight lately so, you know, if this trip is a chance for a bonus or a promotion or something… she probably feels like she has to take it. But I know, okay, and you know she would rather be here for us, right? She wouldn’t go if it wasn’t important.” He sounds a bit like he’s trying to convince himself as much as anyone else.

Will crosses his arms. “How important can selling encyclopedias really be,” he grumbles, but the fight has already left him. He just looks lost, eyes welling with tears. El reaches across the table to squeeze his hand, wishing that she could provide more than just comfort. That she could provide answers.

That’s when the doorbell rings.

Three heads whip toward the door, slumped and dejected forms suddenly alert. Mike?

But it’s not him. It’s Dr. Owens, along with an entourage of special agents.

Seeing him, El knows her and Will’s worst fears are true. Mike isn’t on his way to California. These murders weren’t committed by some ordinary (albeit disturbed) individual. Hawkins is in danger again, and all of their friends are right in the middle of it.

Owens confirms this. He says the evil that infects Hawkins is coming back: stronger, smarter, and deadlier than ever. He says there’s going to be a war. He says that only with El do they have a chance of winning it.

He says they can bring her powers back.

El straightens her shoulders, flooded with resolve and purpose and hope.

She can do this. She can save Mike. She can save Hawkins.

She agrees without hesitation.

***

Eddie startles out of a light doze when the door bangs open. Powell and Callahan stride in with an aggressive, urgent air, followed by a much more relaxed middle-aged woman wearing glasses and a crisp black pantsuit. 

“Munson, this is your lawyer,” Powell says sharply. 

“Hi. Eddie, right? I’m Lisa.” She reaches out to shake his hand. Her grip is firm, voice kind yet authoritative. 

“You said you’d talk once you had a lawyer. So talk,” Powell demands.

“Actually, I’d like to speak with my client in private,” Lisa says. Her tone is polite, but there’s an edge to it. Eddie gets the sense that she’s not someone to be messed with, and he’s glad to have her on his side.

Powell, on the other hand, looks like he’s sucking lemons. Eddie almost feels bad for him; the man’s just doing his best to make sense of Chrissy’s incomprehensible murder and placate a town in hysterics. It’s not an enviable job.

But he’s also pretty reluctant to grant Eddie his Sixth Amendment right. Not cool, dude.

Powell nods tersely at Lisa, and the two cops make their way out.

Lisa takes her time sitting down, retrieving a pen and a yellow notepad from her satchel, leaning back and crossing her legs like she couldn’t be more comfortable here. “So, what’s your story?” she asks once she’s settled in. “Be honest—anything incriminating will stay between us. But my job is much easier when I know all the facts.”

She probably thinks he’s guilty. Eddie feels a little sick to his stomach, likes her a little less when he realizes how willing she is to help someone she thinks committed such an atrocity. Eddie swallows his discomfort and tells her the story he’d rehearsed: he took Mike and Chrissy back to his place, he couldn’t find the Special K Chrissy was after, he left to take Mike home and told Chrissy to wait for him, he dropped Mike off, when he came back Chrissy was dead, and he spent the next 24 hours freaking out before deciding he needed to turn himself in.

Lisa looks dubious. Understandably. “So you couldn’t find the ketamine, but instead of sending Chrissy on her way you had her wait at your place while you brought Mike home?”

“I knew I had it, it was just taking too long to find. Mike had to get home before nine. I told Chrissy I’d keep looking when I got back.”

“Why not bring her with you?”

Eddie shrugs. “She could’ve tagged along, I guess, but it was cold and she was in her skimpy cheer outfit… I told her to stay where it was warm, make herself at home.”

“And how long do you think you were gone?”

“About half an hour to get across town and back.”

“You think someone was able to sneak in, do that, clean up the scene, and get out in half an hour?”

More like half a minute, Eddie thinks, but what he says is, “Apparently. Why do I feel like you’re interrogating me? You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I am. I’m just asking the questions the police—and the jury—are going to have. When you supposedly dropped Mike off, did you actually see him go into his house?”

Supposedly. She’s onto him all right. “No. I drove away as soon as he got out of the van.”

“What time was that?”

“Right around nine. We were cutting it pretty close.”

“Was it before or after nine?” Lisa presses. 

Eddie racks his brain. They didn’t cover that detail when they rehearsed last night. “After,” he chooses at random. “By just a minute or two.”

“Okay, and after you found Chrissy you freaked out and ran. Where did you go?”

Thankfully, he does have a prepared answer for this one. One that doesn’t involve giving away Mike’s hiding spot at Rick’s. “6 ½ Street. Just camped out down there until I calmed down enough to come back.”

6 ½ Street—yes, six and a half—is a secluded and overgrown dirt road that cuts through the woods on the outskirts of town and dead-ends at a creek. Used to be an access point for loggers or something, now it’s little known and even littler used. A plausible hiding spot. It was Mike’s idea—he even instructed Eddie to drive to the end of the road and back before coming to the police station, so if anyone decided to check it out the tire tracks would corroborate his story. “Don’t mention it unless they ask, though,” Mike had rushed to add. “Too much detail is a dead giveaway that you’re lying.”

Smart kid. Kind of terrifying.

Lisa makes a note on her legal pad. “I’m gonna level with you. A few hours ago, I’d’ve said ‘things aren’t looking good, the best you can hope for is a plea deal.’ But now…” She trails off, and realization dawns on Eddie, filling him with a strange cocktail of horror and relief. 

Because Mike was right. “Someone else was killed,” Eddie says.

Lisa gives him a stern look over the rim of her glasses. “You shouldn’t make leaps like that. People might think you know more than you do.”

Eddie gulps. “Who was it?” 

“Another Hawkins High student. Fred Benson. Did you know him?”

“No. I mean, I’ve heard the name. Seen him around. He was in that car accident a couple years ago, right? But we’ve never talked.”

“Good.”

“So I’m in the clear? It couldn’t have been me, I was stuck in here!”

“Not so fast. The cops aren’t going to give up on you that easily—right now they’re looking into the possibility that you had an accomplice. So I need you to tell me the truth: Where is Mike Wheeler?”

Eddie cringes internally—they think Mike is his accomplice?—but keeps his voice level. “I don’t know. Like I said, I dropped him off at home. He should be in California by now.”

“He isn’t. And I think you knew that already.”

Eddie stares at her mutely. Why the hell didn’t that kid follow his own advice, turn himself in too?

“Mike is my friend,” Eddie says dumbly. Lisa isn’t here to interrogate him, yet he feels like he’s crumbling already.

“Trust me, I know. And so do they,” she responds pointedly, indicating the police with a nod toward the pane of one-way glass behind her. “I’m sure they’ve got all kinds of theories about how you coerced him into it, how you did the first one together then turned yourself in so he’d take the fall, yadda yadda yadda.” Eddie is shaking his head adamantly. “Trust me, they still think you’re the mastermind. I can shift the blame to him, but I need to know what you know so I can come up with an appropriate defense.” 

“No. No. He didn’t do this, neither of us did this, he’s my friend,” Eddie insists.

“Yes, but you are my client. We need to convince a jury that someone else is responsible. He’s our best bet. So what really happened that night? Where is he?”

“I don’t… I don’t know,” Eddie answers weakly. “I dropped him off at home. He’s just a kid, he couldn’t have hurt Chrissy I swear.”

“Once again: I don’t actually care who did or didn’t do it, I just need a plausible alternative story. Your story—that some random psycho stumbled into your trailer and killed Chrissy in the half hour it took you to drop Mike off—is not plausible.”

Tell me about it, Eddie thinks bitterly. He wishes to god he could just tell her the truth. But of course the truth is even less believable. 

“I don’t know what to tell you, okay, it’s the truth. Maybe someone had it out for her, or, or for me, and they saw an opportunity…” 

He sees how little she believes him in the tilt of her eyebrows, the flatness of her gaze, the impatient tap of her pen on the table. He’s starting to panic. How can he keep Mike out of this? Should he just give up, confess to doing it all himself so Mike is in the clear?

He remembers what Steve said: “Running away and leaving the kids alone when shit goes down is not cool.” Maybe this is what he has to do to make up for it. Maybe this is what it means to be an adult, to take responsibility. 

He almost does it. His mouth is open, “I did it” sitting on the tip of his tongue, when he comes to his senses, self-preservation instinct kicking in. What the hell am I doing? he thinks. Since when do I take advice from Steve Harrington? 

He closes his mouth, and as the moment of panic for Mike’s fate passes, he realizes that it’s too late for that anyway. Because Fred was murdered while Eddie was stuck in here. So he can’t take sole credit for it. Duh.

Breathe, Eddie, he tells himself. Those kids know what they’re talking about. Stick to the plan.

He closes his mouth and Lisa sighs in resignation. “Fine. I’ll relay your story to the police. Right now they don’t have enough to press charges, so they’ll have to release you in a couple of days. I might be able to argue for sooner. But this would all go much smoother if you’d trust me.”

Eddie shrugs. “I do trust you. I’m telling you everything I know.”

***

“So you’re saying that this thing that killed Fred and Chrissy is from the Upside Down,” Nancy reiterates. They’re all back at Rick’s place to regroup. Nancy is standing beside the couch, hovering over Mike. She has to fight the urge to wrap her arms around him and shelter him with her body the way she would have when they were little kids. When their nightmares were all theoretical. When there wasn’t anything he actually needed protecting from. Why did they lose that closeness right when it became important?

At least he’s alive. Safe, or as safe as anyone in Hawkins can be. Everything feels much more manageable now that she knows that. Now that she’s laid eyes on him and given him a long, desperate hug, along with a punch on the arm for worrying her so much. 

“If the shoe fits,” Steve shrugs.

Dustin jumps in. “Our working theory is that he attacks with a spell, or… curse? Now, whether or not he’s doing the bidding of the Mind Flayer or just loves killing teens, we don’t know.”

“All we know is that this is something different. Something new,” Max says.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Nancy counters.

“It’s only a theory,” Dustin says.

“No. Fred and Chrissy don’t make sense,” Nancy clarifies. “I mean, why them?”

“Maybe they were just in the wrong place? They were both at the game,” Dustin suggests.

“And near the trailer park,” Max adds.

“I don’t think that’s it,” Mike says. “If Vecna doesn’t need to be present to make a kill, why would it matter where in town they are? I’m with Nancy, they must have something else in common.”

“Fred was acting weird yesterday,” Nancy muses. 

“Acting weird as in…?” Robin prompts.

“Scared. On edge. Upset.”

“Max said Chrissy was upset too,” Dustin says.

“Yeah, she was crying in the bathroom at school,” Max confirms.

“And she was jumpy at Eddie’s trailer,” Mike adds. “Like she knew something was coming.”

“Serial killers stalk their prey before they strike, right?” Robin says. “So maybe Fred and Chrissy saw this ‘Vec-man.’”

“Ven-na,” Dustin corrects.

“I don’t know about you guys but if I saw some freaky wizard monster, I would mention it to someone,” Steve points out.

“Maybe they did,” Max says, realization dawning. “I saw Chrissy leaving Ms. Kelley’s office. If you saw a monster, you wouldn’t go to the police, they’d never believe you. But, you might go to your…”

“Your shrink,” Robin concludes. They all look around at each other for a moment before jumping up, grabbing shoes and jackets, excited to have a real lead to pursue.

“I can go to Ms. Kelley, tell her I need an emergency session,” Max suggests. “Maybe she’ll let something slip.”

“Great, I’ll drive,” Steve says. “Robin, you’re with us. Dustin and Nancy, you stay here with Mike.”

“Actually…” Nancy looks at Mike hesitantly, reluctant to let him out of her sight, but she still can’t put this Victor Creel theory to bed. “There’s something I want to check on first.”

“Something you maybe want to share with the rest of us?” Dustin asks.

“I don’t want to waste your time, it’s a real shot in the dark.”

“Okay, but you know there’s no way I’m letting you go alone, right?” Steve says.

“No way you’re letting me?” Nancy repeats incredulously.

“No—I didn’t mean it like that, okay, I meant there’s no way any of us are letting anyone fly solo with this Vecna creep on the loose! It’s too dangerous, alright, you need—you need someone to—” Steve blusters, cheeks reddening as Nancy looks at him blankly. “Here, I’ll stick with Nance, alright?” he decides, tossing his keys to Robin. “You go with Max to check out the shrink. Dustin, stay here with Mike.”

“I don’t think you want me driving your car,” Robin protests.

“Why?”

“I don’t have a license.”

“Why don’t you have a license?”

Robin shrugs. “I’m… poor.”

“I can drive,” Max jumps in.

“No, no. Never again! Please, anybody but you, no.”

Dustin frowns and lifts his eyebrows suggestively, but Steve shuts him down before he can say a word. “No chance. No.”

“Well, why do I have to be stuck here?” Dustin complains.

“Just go, I’ll be fine by myself,” Mike says.

“No way,” Nancy protests.

“Really dude? After my whole shpiel about no one flying solo?”

Mike throws his hands out in exasperation. “I’m not flying anywhere, okay, I’m stuck in this musty fucking house.”

“Yeah? And what if Vecna attacks you in this musty fucking house, hmm?”

“You think Dustin’s gonna stop him?”

“Alright, this is stupid,” Robin says, tossing Steve’s keys back to him. “Steve’s right, we should follow the buddy system even if we don’t have a viable counterattack at this point. It’s just common sense.” 

“Agreed,” Nancy says. “So Steve will take Max to Ms. Kelley’s, Dustin will come with me to check out my theory, and Robin will stay here with Mike. Okay?” She doesn’t wait for anyone to object, just turns and heads out the door, only pausing to spare a last glance at Mike on her way out. Dustin shrugs and follows her.

“Dustin, wait,” Mike calls. “Leave your supercom here and have Nancy stop at the house to get mine before you do anything else. That way all three groups have one.” Rick’s house is out of range from most places in town, but it’s better than nothing.

“Good thinking. Here,” Dustin tosses his walkie to Mike and heads out.

“Be careful!” Steve calls after them.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dustin agrees perfunctorily.

“Alright, Max, with me,” Steve orders. “You two see if you can get through to the Byers,” he directs at Mike and Robin.

“I already tried, they’re still not answering,” Mike informs. “Probably Joyce’s annoying telemarketer job.”

“Well… keep trying. And don’t do anything stupid.”

Robin gives Steve her sweetest, most sarcastic smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

***

“I’m sorry, I guess I’m having trouble understanding any of this,” Jonathan snaps. “I mean, what, exactly, is going on in Hawkins? What’s doing these killings?”

“That’s what we’re trying to ascertain," the female agent, whom Will has affectionately dubbed Agent 1, says in that annoying diplomatic way of hers. El and Owens are long gone, leaving Agents 1, 2, and 3 to answer Will and Jonathan’s questions.

“What about Mike? Mike Wheeler? Where is he?” Will implores.

“I’m afraid we don’t know.”

“Please, you must at least know whether he’s stuck in the Upside Down or on his way here or, or…” He trails off, unable to say dead. “What are you doing to find him?”

“We have agents working the situation in Hawkins. I’ll be heading there myself soon enough. But right now our assignment is you.”

Will shakes his head and throws his hands up in frustration at the non-answer. 

“What about El?” Jonathan jumps in. “I mean, this training, to get her powers back, how long is it gonna take?”

“It could take weeks, it could take months,” Agent 1 shrugs.

“Months?!” Will shouts. 

“Until then,” Agent 1 continues speaking over him, “Agents Harmon and Wallace here will stay with you.”

“We’re not the ones in danger!” Will protests. “Our friends live in Hawkins, Mike is missing—”

“And I’ll work to contain the situation until Eleven is ready!” Agent 1 interrupts, her even tone breaking for the first time. “In the meantime, it is of vital importance that you do not speak to anyone about this.”

“No,” Will protests. “No, we need to call our friends, tell them El is coming to help—”

“Absolutely not,” Agent 1 orders. “I know this is difficult to understand, but there are factions within our government who are working directly against Eleven. Who are, in fact, searching for her as we speak. We can’t risk contact, and we certainly can’t risk you speaking about her over unsecured phone lines. If they learn about any of this, it will jeopardize Eleven. And if Eleven is jeopardized, so are your friends.”

“Mike’s already in jeopardy. What if he doesn’t have months to wait for El to be ready?”

The woman just looks at him, expression grim. Will feels it like a punch to the gut. They don’t have a clue where Mike is or how to help him any more than Will does. All their hopes are riding on El. 

If Mike were here right now he’d be talking back, full of righteous belligerence, all sharp limbs and sharper tongue. Will can practically hear his voice, questioning the agents’ motives, their authority. “So we’re just supposed to trust that you’re the good guys?” Will imagines him saying. “At best, I think you’re incompetent idiots who are just as in the dark as we are—or more, since some of us have actually handled this shit before—and at worst, you’re part of these so-called ‘factions’ working against El and you’re just here to manipulate and control us!”

Will almost laughs imagining it. And then he almost cries.

But ultimately, Will isn’t quite as skeptical of doctors and scientists and government agents as Mike. Ultimately, Will trusts Owens. And so does El. So even though he’s frustrated by the lack of information and sick to his stomach with worry… he lets it go, the fight leeching out of him as he flops back onto the couch. Jonathan gives him a gentle pat on the shoulder.

Agent 1 senses their questions have abated for now and rises, buttoning her blazer. “I’ll leave you in Harmon and Wallace’s capable hands.”

Agents 2 and 3—Harmon and Wallace, respectively—nod curtly as Agent 1 takes her leave. Will shakes Jonathan’s hand off his shoulder and stalks away in search of a place to cry in peace.

***

“We’re getting reports that a suspect has been apprehended for the murders of Chrissy Cunningham and Fred Benson, and the possible kidnapping of Mike Wheeler,” the newscaster announces. Lucas perks up as Jason increases the volume on the car radio. “Edward Munson, a resident of the trailer in which Cunningham’s body was found, is in police custody.”

Andy and Patrick whoop in celebration, Jason bangs the steering wheel—in triumph or in frustration that he wasn’t the one to find him is hard to say—and Lucas sags in relief. As the day wore on, he’d been starting to regret his choice to team up with Jason, Andy, and Patrick instead of going home to find Dustin. Jason has grown more desperate, more manic, more vicious with every dead end they encounter. He doesn't just want to catch Eddie, get him to confess, maybe rough him up a bit before turning him in to the police. He's out for blood. 

But now the runaway train has been halted in its tracks. Eddie is in jail. The police will take it from here, justice will be served—legally, not vigilante-style—and Lucas won’t have to watch his teammates do something horrible to someone Lucas, until very recently, considered a friend.

“This news surely comes as a relief to Hawkins residents, but Chief Powell warns not to let your guard down just yet,” the newscaster continues. “Police are now looking into the possibility that Munson had an accomplice. So continue to follow the buddy system, keep your doors locked tight, and don’t go out after dark. We’ll continue to update you here, so keep that dial tuned to 94.5 WSQK.”

The peppy synths of Whitney Houston’s How Will I Know start up, incongruous with the serious subject matter just relayed. Jason turns the radio off. He’s clenching the steering wheel tightly, knuckles white and jaw tense. “An accomplice, huh?” he says with faux casualness. “Now who do you think that could be?”

Lucas feels the apprehension creeping back in. The fear of what Jason—grief-stricken, vengeful, unpredictable Jason—might do next. 

“Gotta be that Wheeler kid,” Andy says, and yeah, never mind creeping in, the fear just barrelled in with the unstoppable force of a semi-truck going 80 miles per hour. 

“That’s what I’m thinking,” Jason agrees in a low, dangerous voice. “He was the only other person there when Chrissy was killed. We assumed he was the next victim, but now…”

“Mike wouldn’t do this,” Lucas chimes in. “He’s my friend.” The waver in his voice makes him sound weak. Uncertain. 

“I’m sorry, Sinclair, but you might want to rethink that one,” Jason says. “Maybe you were friends once, but he clearly got mixed up with the wrong people. Let that Munson freak get in his head. So: plan hasn’t changed. We’ll go talk to the rest of these Hellfire creeps. See if they know where we can find Wheeler.”

***

“Does Nancy hate me or something?”

Mike furrows his brow, looking at Robin in confusion over his cards. He discards a jack. “No?”

Robin takes his queen and slots it in with the rest of her hand. She studies the cards fanned out in front of her, toying with the corners and fidgeting in her chair. “It’s just, she kind of went out of her way to pair up with Dustin instead of me, don’t you think? Like, I know Dustin complained about being stuck here—which, kind of rude, by the way, when you’re the one who’s actually stuck here and I don’t hear you complaining—but, you know, you and Dustin are actually close and you and me aren’t, no offense, and Nancy and I are both girls and the same age so it seems like that could’ve been a cool kind of girl power bonding moment for us… not that I don’t want to bond with you, I mean, you’re cool and all, and this is a super riveting game of rummy, but I’m just… gonna stop talking now. Sorry.”

Mike raises an eyebrow. “You have to discard.”

“Shit. Right.” She tosses a card blindly. It’s the same queen she just picked up. Mike doesn’t point it out, just picks the top card from the draw pile.

“Maybe she thought it’d be best not to leave us freshmen alone. Even though we really don’t need babysitting anymore,” Mike suggests. 

“Yeah, yeah you’re probably right,” Robin agrees, though she doesn’t sound satisfied with that answer. They each play a few more turns before she speaks again.

“You don’t think she’s jealous, do you?”

“What, of you?”

“Yeah. You know. Me and Steve.” She pauses, then rushes to clarify. “Not that we’re together! We’re not. We’re absolutely one hundred percent just friends. Like, platonic with a capital P. But, you know. Maybe she doesn’t know that.”

Mike smiles in amusement at her nervous rambling. “She’s not jealous. She and Steve made, like, zero sense together. I mean, he’s definitely still in love with her, but he’s totally delusional.”

Robin chuckles. “Really? You don’t think he has a shot?”

“No way. That ship has sailed.”

“Aw, poor Steve,” Robin teases. She takes her turn, then adds as an afterthought, “I can’t really judge, though. I’m always in love with the wrong person.” 

She smiles self-deprecatingly. Mike swallows around the tightness in his throat, feeling uncomfortably seen. 

He refocuses on his cards. Draws and discards. 

“So Nancy and Jonathan are still going strong?” Robin asks as she picks up a card for herself.

“I don’t know. We don’t really… talk. But she wasn’t coming with me to visit him in California. And he wasn’t coming here. So.” He shrugs.

“Damn, I thought they were like one of those unstoppable power couples.”

“They just need to talk more. Get back on the same page,” Mike says, pointedly not making eye contact. “Long-distance is hard.”

“Right.”

“For the record, none of us think you and Steve are dating. Except Dustin, but he’s a dipshit.”

“Noted.” Robin chuckles, then sobers. “Sometimes I think it’d be easier if we were. If I did like him that way.” She discards.

Mike doesn’t know what to say to that, so he draws a card. A king. “Gin,” he declares, laying his hand face up on the table.

“Damn it,” Robin gripes, tossing her cards down as well. “Another round?”

Mike shrugs and Robin collects the cards to start shuffling. “What about you?” she asks. “Things going well with Eleven?”

Mike looks down, picking at his nails under the table. Maybe it’s what she said earlier, about loving the wrong person. Maybe it’s the fact that he doesn’t know her that well, that she doesn’t have any real stake in his and El’s relationship. Or maybe it’s this odd kinship he feels with her, the way her effusive personality and lack of filter remind him of his younger self—before he devolved into this sullen, brooding thing. Maybe it’s the sense that she understands what it’s like to be different, to be loud and brash and too much for people, to be a misfit yet wear your heart on your sleeve. 

She’s brave that way. Unapologetic. Mike was too, once, but he lost it somewhere between monster attacks and relentless bullying and friends that keep dying disappearing departing leaving him behind and feelings that just won't go away no matter how normal he tries to be.

Maybe it’s time to get some of that courage back. Maybe that’s why he decides to be honest.

“I guess… on the surface things are good. Normal. But… okay, so last summer, El broke up with me. And then all the shit went down with the Mind Flayer and then she was mourning and then she was leaving. And then she kissed me. Like, out of the blue. This was months after we broke up, right?” Robin is listening intently, cards forgotten on the table, so Mike is emboldened to continue. 

“I thought maybe that was like a goodbye kiss? People are always doing that in the romantic dramas my mom watches—they break up, and then they kiss one more time before they go. And, you know, most of El’s socialization at that point came from watching TV, so it would make sense.”

“Sure,” Robin agrees, nodding at him to keep going.

“But the next week at lunch, Dustin was like ‘How’s long distance going?’ and when I looked at him like what the fuck are you talking about, he said something like, ‘That bad, huh? Don’t worry, young padawan, I happen to be an expert in how to maintain a cross-country romantic connection.’”

“That sounds just like him,” Robin laughs.

“Right? He thinks he’s some kind of relationship guru,” Mike complains, laughing a little himself. It feels good to laugh. And to finally get this off his chest, even if it’s far from their most pressing problem right now. “So apparently everyone assumed we were a couple again. And I was supposed to just know that? I can see how it might have been implied, but we never actually talked about it. No one asked what I wanted. I mean, okay, if you’d asked me in July I’d have said, ‘Of course, yes, please take me back.’ But after three months… I’d kind of gotten over it?” 

Saying that makes him feel like a horrible person. Because El is great and amazing and badass and kind and funny in an effortless way, and what kind of heartless monster is Mike for moving on so quickly? For thinking he could ever find someone better? For wanting to reject the second chance she offered, when he was the one who screwed up in the first place? 

But Robin is nodding, eyes full of understanding and sympathy. “It wasn’t fair of her to assume you’d still want to get back together.” 

Mike sighs, feeling a huge weight lift off his chest at that simple validation. “I still like El, of course I do, but after the initial shock of getting dumped wore off I… I realized I kind of like her better when we aren’t dating,” he finishes.

Robin frowns and gives him a meaningful look. “You know you’re not obligated to stay in a relationship just because it’s what people expect, right? Or what people assume will make you happy. Or what’s normal.”

Mike swallows roughly, feeling tears sting his eyes. Expectations. Assumptions. Normality. How they crush him.

“If I break up with her…” he starts, the very idea feeling wrong wrong wrong but also inevitable, necessary, a relief, “do you think she’ll still want to be friends? I don’t want to lose her.”

Robin looks thoughtful. “I can’t really say. I don’t know her very well. But unless you’re secretly some amazing actor… she can probably feel the disconnect. Meaning she’s probably unhappy in the relationship too. So however it turns out, I think you’ll both be better off.”

Mike nods and wipes at his eyes, embarrassed to have shown so much raw emotion. “Okay, I’ll stop dumping my shit on you now.”

Robin smiles and picks up the deck of cards. “Hey, you’re talking to the queen of oversharing here. It’s nice to be on the other side for once.”

Mike chuckles wetly. “Well. Thanks. For listening.”

“Anytime.”

That’s probably the most consecutive words Mike has spoken in months. The most open he’s been. He feels scraped raw, yet he knows it’s just the tip of the iceberg. There are other things, things he doesn’t allow himself to think about, things that surface in nightmares on the rare occasions he lets himself sleep, things that come out in the form of unsent letters and stories he tells himself are fiction. 

As Mike watches Robin deal out another round of rummy, he tastes iron in his mouth. 

A drop of blood lands on the table.

***

Lucas dives headfirst through the window of Dustin’s bedroom, somersaulting off the bed and scrambling to the radio on his desk. “Dustin, do you copy? Over,” he wheezes, out of breath from his mad dash out of Jason’s car.

But it’s not Dustin who responds. It’s Max. “Lucas?! Where the hell have you been?” 

That’s strange—Max doesn’t usually have her walkie switched on. There’s no time to ask about it though. Lucas is just grateful to have reached someone.

“Just listen. Are you guys looking for Mike? Over.”

“He’s hiding out in a house on Coal Mill Road. Don’t worry, he’s safe.”

Lucas feels like he can take a full breath for the first time since the news reported Mike missing. “Thank god. I’ve been with Jason and his crew looking for him all day. They’re convinced he’s Eddie’s accomplice! Over.”

“Shit, they’re going after Mike? What the hell are you doing with those douchebags anyway?”

“I just wanted to help them find Eddie! Turn him in to the police. I thought it’d be over once he was behind bars, but then they said he has a partner… now it’s getting out of control, Jason’s on the warpath. I think some real bad shit’s about to go down. Over.”

“Who gives a shit about them? Mike’s fine, they won’t be able to find him. We have bigger problems.”

“Bigger problems than our friend being wanted for murder?” Lucas asks incredulously. “Over.”

“Yes. Lucas, you’re so behind it’s ridiculous, okay?” Max states, sharp and impatient. “Just come to the school, we’ll explain later. I’m gonna try to get Nancy and Dustin to meet us there too.” 

Suddenly Steve’s voice crackles across the receiver. “And, uh, this should go without saying, but don’t tell anyone where Mike is.” 

Lucas is reeling with all the new information. Mike is safe, Max is involved and hanging out with Steve, of all people, and apparently Nancy and Dustin are in some kind of teamup too. This is bigger than Lucas thought; all of them working together can only mean one thing.

He rolls with the punches though, saving his questions for later. “Okay. I’ll try to get to the school but I don’t know if I can get away—”

“Sinclair!” 

Lucas feels icy dread fill his veins at Jason’s interruption. Time’s up. He drops the radio receiver and quickly spins the tuning dial to static so no further transmissions can be overheard, then steels himself and climbs back out the window to face Jason and the others.

“What the hell were you doing?” Jason demands.

“I was, I was looking for clues,” Lucas improvises.

“Clues?” Patrick repeats mockingly. “What, freshman think he’s Sherlock Holmes or something?” He and Andy chuckle and high five at the jab.

Jason looks at Lucas appraisingly for a moment, then turns to leave, apparently satisfied with that explanation. “Yo, let’s go,” he orders. 

Lucas could leave it at that. But then who knows how much longer he’ll be stuck tagging along with these guys, or where their witch hunt will take them next. Time to think fast.

“I found one,” he announces. “A clue.” 

Jason stops in his tracks, looking over his shoulder. “What?”

Lucas gulps. Hopes they can’t sense his shifting loyalty, his impending betrayal. “I know where Mike’s hiding.”

***

“Now it’s getting out of control, Jason’s on the warpath. I think some real bad shit’s about to go down. Over.” There’s a moment of static before Lucas’s voice crackles through again. “Bigger problems than our friend being wanted for murder? Over.”

“How come we can only hear half the conversation?” Robin whispers during the next bout of static. “And why can’t we talk back?”

“We’re out of range for the walkies, but Lucas must be using a stronger transmitter. Probably a ham radio,” Mike explains quickly. “So we can receive his transmissions, but not Dustin’s or Max’s.”

“And our signal isn’t strong enough to transmit anything back. Got it,” Robin nods in understanding as they listen to the rest of the one-sided conversation.

“Okay. I’ll try to get to the school but I don’t know if I can get away—” 

Static. 

“Um. Should we be worried that he was cut off so abruptly?” Robin asks after the static goes on a bit too long.

“Probably got interrupted by Jason and his goons. He’ll find a way to shake them,” Mike assures. “Come on, you heard him. They’re meeting at the school. We can bike there.”

“Whoa, what? Pretty sure we, and especially you, are supposed to stay here? Lay low?” Robin reminds him, eyebrows raised. “Didn’t you hear Lucas say those guys are after you?”

“If I wanted to sit this whole thing out, I’d have turned myself in along with Eddie. Saved myself the trouble of being wanted for murder. But I stayed on the outside for a reason. Whatever breakthrough they’ve had, I want to be involved.”

“Look, I get it, it sucks to be sidelined, but going out there is idiotic,” Robin says, gesturing wildly. “It’s not just police who’d take you in for questioning, okay, those basketball guys are going fucking vigilante mode and not in the fun, comic book, masked-hero-with-a-dark-past-and-a-heart-of-gold-who-does-what-the-police-can’t kind of way!”

Mike, heedless, has already finished lacing up his Converse. “It’s going to be dark soon. I won’t get caught.” 

“You don’t know that!” Robin beseeches. “Let’s just wait here, debrief with everyone when they come back.”

But Mike, the stubborn little shit, isn’t listening at all. “I’m going and you can’t stop me. So you better tag along. Buddy system, right?” He pulls his hood up and ducks out the door.

And, yeah, he’s got her there. She hurries to follow, pulling her own shoes and jacket on. “Nancy is going to kill me.”

***

“Max, do you copy?” Dustin asks as he and Nancy rush out of the library. He didn’t realize just how much time had passed until he emerged from the archives and saw that night had fallen over Hawkins. He’s kicking himself for not coming up to check in with the others sooner—if anyone was trying to reach them, he wouldn’t have been able to receive it in the basement. But who can blame him? He was lost on a curiosity voyage, captained by Nancy. 

“Yeah, I copy,” Max comes in, voice hushed and breathy.

“So, Nancy’s a genius. Vecna’s first victims date back all the way to 1959. Her shot in the dark was a bullseye!” he reports. “Over.”

“Okay, that’s crazy but I can’t really talk right now,” Max replies. Dustin waits for her to elaborate, but nothing else comes through. 

“You have to say ‘over!’” Dustin scolds. “God, how many times—never mind. What are you doing? Over.”

“Breaking into the school to steal Ms. Kelley’s files.” Dustin can practically hear the eyeroll as she adds a perfunctory, “Over.”

“Okay, yeah, why not. We’ll meet you there,” Dustin agrees. “Over and out.”

“I thought they were talking to Ms. Kelley,” Nancy hisses. 

Dustin just shrugs. “This is more efficient?”

Nancy rolls her eyes and yanks the car door open. “I leave them alone for two hours.”

***

Lucas’s heart pounds in anticipation as they creep through the woods toward Hopper’s cabin. This ploy better work, or Lucas is going to be in big trouble.

“I knew there was something off about that kid. Creepy fag with the fugly scar. No wonder it was so satisfying when we nearly drowned him in the toilet last week,” Andy says with a smug smirk.

Lucas’s blood runs cold. “What?”

“Yeah, and remember when you kicked the shit out of him, Jason?” Patrick adds. “He was struggling so much where I had his arms pinned that he sprained his shoulder. Had to tell everyone he fell off his bike,” he chuckles, and Andy daps him up. 

Lucas halts in his tracks. He remembers that. Mike had been so casual about it, there’d been no indication—

“Quit laughing,” Jason says sternly. The smiles fade from Andy and Patrick’s faces. Jason looks at Lucas, nodding in approval. “Sinclair gets it. This is serious business. No more child’s play.” 

“Yeah, I know, boss,” Patrick assures. “He won’t escape with just a sprained shoulder this time.”

Andy flicks open his pocket knife. “Just wait ‘til I get my hands on him. I’ll reopen that fucking scar.”

Their eyes glint with bloodlust. Lucas nods along shakily, hoping Jason continues to misinterpret his shocked horror as some kind of stoic determination. He just needs to keep up the act a little longer. “We’re getting close now. Let’s stay focused.”

“That’s right,” Jason agrees, hefting his tire iron. “Time to teach this freak a real lesson.”

***

Max creeps out into the school hallway, following the eerie ticking clock, the distorted chimes like a death knell. She’s not sure if Steve can hear it. She’s not sure she wants to know. 

Her mind is reeling with what she just read. Both Fred and Chrissy were seeing Ms. Kelley. They reported headaches. Nosebleeds. Insomnia, nightmares, past trauma.

All things Max is intimately familiar with. Things that have been worsening this past week.

She continues walking as though led by some invisible force. She can’t tell if Steve is following her, doesn’t know why she isn’t calling out to him, why she isn’t running far away from whatever awful thing awaits her at the source of the noise. She rounds the corner and sees… a grandfather clock. Embedded into the wall, cracks spindling out behind it. Somehow she’s not surprised at all, like she knew it would be there. Like she’s seen it before. She stares at it, hardly breathing. And then, coming from all around her, from inside her, a terrible gravelly whisper: “Max…”

She jerks and she’s back in Ms. Kelley’s office, files open in front of her, Steve shaking her shoulder. “Max? Max!”

She braces her hands against the desk, breathing heavily, but before she can process what just happened or even assure Steve that she’s okay—more or less—there’s the sound of doors banging open and footsteps running down the hall. Max jumps and whips around. 

“Probably just Nancy and Dustin,” Steve whispers, but he’s grabbing a floor lamp and wielding it like a weapon nonetheless. Max can’t bring herself to join him at the door, her strange waking dream making her shaky, paranoid, and content to cower behind Steve at least for the moment. 

Steve peers around the doorframe as the footsteps approach and Max sees his shoulders sag in relief, arms relaxing as he sets the lamp down. “Yep, it’s them,” he assures, stepping out into the hallway. Max gets up to follow. “Hey guys, good timing. Something weird just happened to—” The sound of the doors opening again cuts him off. All four of them jump to the ready, Steve hefting the lamp and gesturing for the others to stay behind him.

“Is it Lucas?” Max whispers.

“You heard from Lucas?!” Dustin whisper-shouts back.

“Shhh!” Steve orders.

“There’s more than one set of footsteps,” Nancy points out, and they all pause to listen. She’s right; there’s two.

“Should we maybe be hiding then?” Max asks, already backing toward Ms. Kelley’s office. “If the police are here because someone broke into the school, clobbering them with a lamp might not be the best play.”

The others nod their agreement, creeping toward the office door on silent feet, when a familiar voice comes from down the hall, soft and hesitant. “Um, guys? Hellooo…”

“Robin?” Steve shouts, setting the lamp down with a clang. 

Nancy dashes forward, disappearing around the corner where the call came from.

“Mike! What the hell are you doing here!?” she shouts.

Max and Dustin rush to join them. Sure enough, it’s Mike and Robin, out of breath but otherwise fine.

“Oh, you know,” Mike answers casually. “Heard you finally got in touch with Lucas, sounded like there was some important stuff to catch up on. Didn’t want to miss the big reunion.” 

By the time he’s done talking, Nancy is absolutely fuming.

“For the record, I didn’t endorse this,” Robin interjects. “I just had to follow him because, you know… buddy system,” she explains weakly. 

Nancy gives her a sharp look, but Mike jumps back in before she can say anything. “Anyway, we made it without being caught! So no harm done. If it makes you feel better, you can lock me in the trunk on the way back to make sure I’m not spotted.”

“You say that like a joke, but I’ll do it Michael, I swear to god—”

“I know you will,” Mike replies, unphased. “In the meantime, why don’t we all catch up? Max, you look like you just saw a ghost.” 

He really is annoyingly perceptive sometimes. The whole group turns to look at her and she shifts uncomfortably, glancing at Steve. “Yeah, I… something weird happened just before you all got here. I… saw something.”

Steve furrows his brow in confusion. “In the files?”

Right. Because apparently she was actually sitting there the whole time. “No. Out here. That way.” She points down the hall. “There was a grandfather clock.” 

“A clock?” Dustin repeats.

“Yeah, a big one. Sort of… stuck in the wall.” 

“Wait wait wait, when did you see this? We were together in the counseling office the whole time.”

“I was reading the files,” Max recounts. “And then I heard something. A whisper. And a ticking clock. So I got up, and followed the noise…” she trails off, glancing in the direction her dream led her. “Follow me.”

As Max guides the group toward where she saw the clock, she hears Nancy giving Mike a whispered lecture about unnecessary risks and self-preservation and overconfidence. “You aren’t invincible, Mike! I swear I’ll call the police and have them lock you in a cell if that’s what it takes to keep you safe!” 

“It’s Hawkins, Nancy. No one is safe,” Mike says. He sounds more exasperated than anything, but Max tenses, heart squeezing in her chest at the reminder that nowhere in town is out of Vecna’s reach. That anyone could be a target.

Including her.

She stops at the corner where she saw the clock, sweeping her flashlight over a blank wall, perfectly intact. “It was here. Right here,” she insists, voice breaking.

“A grandfather clock,” Nancy says flatly.

“It was so real.” She’s still scanning the wall, like somehow it’ll appear again between one blink and the next. “And then, when I got closer suddenly I just… woke up.” 

“It was like she was in a trance or something,” Steve explains.

“Just like Chrissy,” Mike says darkly.

Max turns to face the group flanked behind her, starting to feel panicky, barely managing to hold back tears. “That’s not even the bad part.”

Back in Ms. Kelley’s office, she recaps what she learned while the others peruse the files. “Fred and Chrissy, they both came to Ms. Kelley for help. They both were having headaches. Bad headaches that just wouldn’t go away. Then the nightmares. Trouble sleeping… they’d wake up in a cold sweat. And then they started seeing things. Bad things. From their pasts. And these visions, they just, they kept on getting worse and worse until eventually… everything ended.”

“Vecna’s curse,” Robin surmises.

“Chrissy’s headaches started a week ago. Fred’s six days ago.” She pauses, forcing a deep breath through shaky lungs before revealing just how bad things are for her. “I’ve been having them for five days. I don’t know how long I have, all I know is that… for Fred and Chrissy, they both died less than twenty four hours after their first vision. And I just saw that goddamn clock, so…” The sentence ends half a sob, and she pauses a second to gather herself before declaring the ultimate conclusion of everything she’s learned tonight. “Looks like I’m gonna die tomorrow.”

Before anyone can react, a clang sounds from down the hall, making them all jump. Steve gets up first, once again picking up his trusty lamp as he creeps down the hall. The others follow a few paces behind, shoulders tense as more distant clattering reaches their ears, followed by rapidly approaching footsteps. Steve raises the lamp, ready to strike—

As Lucas sprints around the corner, nearly running into them. The whole group jumps back. Steve and Lucas scream in surprise, and Dustin thrusts his flashlight forward like a weapon.

“It’s me!” Lucas cries.

“Lucas?” Nancy says.

“It’s me,” Lucas repeats, heaving and doubling over, out of breath.

“What the hell is wrong with you Sinclair!” Steve screeches, speaking so fast the words run together. 

“I’m sorry,” Lucas breathes.

“I could have taken you out with this lamp!” He shakes the makeshift weapon for emphasis. 

“Sorry, guys. I was… I was biking for eight miles,” he says in between gasping breaths. “Give me a second. Shit.” He turns on the spot, holding up a finger. Dustin glances back at Max, probably wondering if they should tell him what Max just revealed, but Max looks away. Finally Lucas continues, “We’ve got a code red.”

“What?” Steve asks, unsure how anything Lucas has to report could possibly stack up against the mother of all code reds they’re already dealing with.

Lucas ignores Steve, stepping past him to envelop Mike in a hug. “Mike! I’m so glad you’re okay. I thought Eddie kidnapped you for sure.” He pulls away but keeps rambling before anyone can get a word in, directing all the information at Mike. “I’ve been with Jason, Patrick, and Andy, and they’ve gone, like, totally off the rails. They’re trying to capture you! I ditched them at Hopper’s cabin but now they’re going to come after me and anyone else they think might know where you are, which is all of us! You’re in terrible danger!”

“Yeah, I heard you on the radio,” Mike says. “That definitely sucks, but we have bigger problems than Jason right now.” 

Lucas glances around, seeming to notice for the first time their pale faces and grim expressions. His eyes alight on Max, but she looks down, not wanting to be the one to break the news. Not ready to say it aloud again. 

Dustin says it for her. “Long story short, Eddie didn’t kill anyone. It’s some kind of evil wizard from the Upside Down. We’re calling him Vecna.” He pauses, glancing at Max as though asking for permission before revealing, “Max is his next victim.” 

Lucas’s face falls. He starts forward, arms twitching as though to reach out to her, but he stops with several feet still between them, uncertain if he’s allowed. Max itches to reach out too but resists it, instead hugging herself, clenching her elbows with clammy fingers. She’s grateful to Lucas for taking her cues, giving her space. But at the same time, she could really use some support right now.

That’s when Mike comes to stand at her side, shoulder to shoulder but not quite touching. She finds herself once again appreciating his quiet presence, his unobtrusive way of saying I’m here for you. 

Until he opens his mouth, and says the one thing that could make her day worse. “And, uh, not to steal Max’s thunder or anything, but… I’ve been having those symptoms too.”

Chapter Text

“I, I mean, I just don’t think they’ve actually thought this through,” Will complains, pacing back and forth in his room. “If this goes on for a month, or months, and people can’t get a hold of us? They’re gonna totally freak out. Meanwhile mom’s probably having a panic attack already.”

“I know, I can’t believe they won’t let us call her,” Jonathan agrees, restlessly twirling back and forth in Will's desk chair. “She’s El’s legal guardian, at the very least she of all people should know what’s going on.”

“Right. And what about Hawkins? That lady’s just supposed to keep it ‘contained.’ Like you can contain any of this without El. And what about Mike? I mean—” Will cuts off, putting a hand over his mouth to stifle a sudden sob at the thought of his friend. He wishes he could hold onto the anger, the frustration, but he always comes back around to helplessness and despair. He keeps having flashbacks to the week he was stuck in the Upside Down, but picturing Mike there instead. Mike, shivering and alone in Castle Byers. Mike, stalked and hunted by otherworldly monsters. Mike, encased in vines, unable to breathe…

Jonathan stands and wraps Will in a hug. Will clings to him, sobbing into his shoulder. “How did you do it?” he asks between gasps. “When I was missing. How did you deal?”

Jonathan gives a wry chuckle. “Poorly. Did some things I’m not proud of. Got in a fight with Lonnie. Got in a fight with Steve. Got in a fight with mom. Then with Steve again.” He pulls out of the hug, holding Will’s shoulders gently and shaking his head in exasperation at his own poor coping. “You’re handling it a lot better than I did.”

“But at least you were doing something,” Will protests, sitting heavily on the edge of his bed. “Not all the fights, but everything else you did to figure out what was going on. To find me. How can we just sit here and leave it up to these agents we’ve never met?”

Jonathan joins him on the bed. “You don’t trust Owens?”

“No, I don’t know, I mean… he’s been good to us and good to El, but… he wasn’t able to protect me. That was you guys who saved me. That was you guys. And if the roles were reversed… if I was missing again, and Mike was here… there’s no way in hell he’d listen to some do-nothing agents who said he couldn’t help.”

Will knows that in his bones. Despite the distance, the disconnect, the doubt he’s been feeling about the state of their friendship, the nagging questions: Can we still be friends the way we used to be? Do I care too much? Am I clinging too tightly to something he’s outgrown? 

None of it matters now. In fact, it seems petty. Six months of intermittent letters and stilted phone calls? One summer of neglecting their friendship in favor of spending time with El? How could that possibly negate all the years of devotion, all the times Mike has stood by Will in the past? 

It couldn’t. It doesn’t. Will knows that when it comes down to it, come hell or high water, Mike will always be there for Will when it counts. 

“I agree,” Jonathan says. “We can’t sit this out. But we can’t call Hawkins without alerting the military, putting El in danger. So we’ll just have to go to them.”

“Go to Hawkins? How?” Will feels a trace of apprehension, thinking of the armed agents that have taken up residence in their living room.

“What are you worried about? Ponch and Jon out there?” Jonathan jokes. “They’re half asleep right now watching golf.”

“Jonathan, I mean, we don’t have a car, or money…”

“Then we’ll hail ourselves a ride,” Jonathan says, holding up the Surfer Boy Pizza flyer with a satisfied smirk. “A cheap one.”

Will looks at him in bafflement, fear and exhaustion making him hesitant. As much as he hates this helpless feeling, hates being kept in the dark, his instinct is always to play it safe. To complain, but ultimately defer to those in charge. 

But a little voice in his head says what would Mike do?

That’s easy: he'd do it in a heartbeat. He’d show up for Will the way he always has. 

It’s time for Will to return the favor.

***

“Figures it’d be us, huh,” Mike says to Max as he dabs at his latest nosebleed. They’ve sequestered themselves at a round table in the corner of Rick’s living room, taking as much distance as their slightly overbearing friends will allow. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know. Of course the evil wizard would target the two most unpleasant, reclusive, and abrasive Party members.” 

“Speak for yourself,” Max snarks. “I’m an absolute joy to be around.”

“Right, sorry. You’re a real ray of sunshine.”

Max gives him a sarcastic smile. He gives her a real one back. 

“Ew, stop it. Don’t go getting sappy on me just because we’re about to die.”

“Hey, I’m not the one who dedicated some of my last hours on earth to writing this heartfelt letter,” Mike jokes, holding up the envelope addressed to himself. 

Max snatches it back from him. “How do you know it’s not hate mail?”

“Good point. Since I’m on death row too, do I get to open it now and find out?”

“Nope. You’ll have approximately 24 hours after I’m gone to read it before your number is up. No sneak peaks.” 

“Must not be hate mail then, or you’d be itching to see my live reaction.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be watching from beyond the grave.” 

She goes back to her latest letter. Mike has only read enough to see that this one is addressed to Lucas. It’s taking her longer to write than any of the others so far. The pile on the table already includes letters to himself, Dustin, Will, El, and Steve. 

Despite the threat of a gruesome death looming—Chrissy’s last moments keep replaying in Mike’s mind, now with the added horror of knowing that’s Max’s fate, that’s my fate—Mike feels warmth in his chest. At the knowledge that he’s important enough to her to warrant a letter—even if it does turn out to be hate mail—and at the show of trust in letting him sit with her while she writes them. They really have come a long way since last summer.

He wishes his visions had started first. Wishes they had more time to save her.

“You know you don’t have to sit here with me,” Max mumbles after a moment. “You can go hang out with Dustin and Lucas. Soak up as much time as possible with your actual friends before… you know.”

Mike rolls his eyes. “You really want to keep pretending we aren’t friends?”

“No,” Max huffs, “I just… I’m not great company right now.”

“You never are,” Mike says, and Max flicks his arm. “Neither am I!” he rushes to explain. “That’s, like, our whole thing. I would never force someone else to endure the displeasure of my company, but you…”

“Wow, I’m honored,” Max deadpans. She’s smiling a little though, so Mike thinks she gets it.

They sit in companionable silence while Max continues writing. It’s the quiet solidarity of two people who know their time is short. Who know they’re going through something no one else could understand. Maybe Mike should be writing letters too. His last chance to leave something behind for the people he loves. To say he’s sorry. To say thank you. To say goodbye.

But he wouldn’t know where to start. He’s been having enough trouble writing letters as it is. Instead, he idly tunes in to Steve, Dustin, and Lucas’s conversation across the room.

“The Upside Down has probably been around for thousands of years. Millions,” Dustin says. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it predated the dinosaurs.”

“Dinosaurs? What are we—” 

“Okay, okay.” Lucas interrupts Steve before they can go on a prehistoric tangent. “But if a gate didn’t exist in the fifties, how did Vecna get through?”

“Oh, and, how’s he getting through now?” Steve adds.

Lucas jumps back in. “And why now?”

“And why then?” Steve goes on. “Just pops out in the fifties, kills one family, he’s like, ‘Eh, I’m good,’ and poof, he just disappears, just… gone? Only to return thirty years later and start killing some random teens? No, I don’t buy it,” Steve sighs. “Straightforward, my ass. You know what, honestly, Henderson, a little humility every now and then? It wouldn’t hurt you.”

“Sorry,” Dustin says, chagrined. The conversation trails off, Steve sitting heavily in an armchair, his copy of The Weekly Watcher rustling in his lap. Mike looks down at his own copy, rereading the blaring headline: Victor Creel Claims Ancient Demon Killed Family. He’s with Steve on this one. It’d certainly be nice if Victor, the apparent sole survivor of Vecna’s curse, could share what it was that spared him and end this thing just like that. But Mike has no hope that it’ll work out so neatly. If they even get to speak with Victor—and that’s a big if—whatever he has to say will grant them a stay of execution at best.

Mike senses eyes on him and looks up. The others are leaning in, speaking in hushed whispers, glancing in his and Max’s direction periodically. “Have they slept?” he hears Dustin say.

Lucas answers. “I mean… would you?” 

Before Mike can tell them off for talking as though he and Max aren’t right here, the sound of an approaching car reaches his ears. He peeks through the blinds, confirming that it’s Nancy and Robin returning from their errand and not Jason and his posse coming to exact their revenge.

Moments later, the two girls rush inside. “Okay, so… we have a plan,” Nancy announces, breathless with excitement. Mike leans forward to listen but doesn’t leave Max’s side. She’s still lost in her head, writing steadily.

Nancy hands folders to Steve and Dustin while Robin explains. “Thanks to Nancy’s newspaper minions, we are now rockstar psychology students at the University of Notre Dame.”

“I’m now Ruth,” Nancy introduces.

“And I’m Rose.”

“Nice GPA,” Dustin comments as he skims the fake school records.

“Thanks,” Nancy says, clearly proud of herself. “So we called Pennhurst Asylum, told them we’d like to speak with Victor Creel for a thesis we’re co-writing on paranoid schizophrenics—”

“To which they said no,” Robin interjects.

“But, we landed a three o’clock with the director.”

“Now all we have to do is charm him and convince him to let us talk to Victor.”

“And then maybe we can rid you of this curse,” Nancy finishes, looking across the room to make eye contact with Mike. He keeps his expression blank. They make it sound so easy, but all Mike hears is maybe. 

“Yeah, uh, about that,” Steve starts. “We’ve been doing our Victor Creel homework, and, uh… we got some questions.”

“Lots of questions,” Lucas emphasizes.

“So do we,” Nancy agrees. “Hopefully Victor has the answers.”

***

Eddie sips a glass of water and picks at the toast he’s been provided. “Shouldn’t I talk to the police? Show them that I’m willing to cooperate?” Lisa has been handling all the communication thus far, passing on information as she sees fit.

“Nope. Bad idea. They are trained and practiced in the art of getting you to incriminate yourself. Showing ‘cooperation’ will not save you.”

“What about Mike, has he turned up yet?” He hopes he sounds like a concerned friend, not a cold-blooded killer checking up on his accomplice.

“No sign of him. His parents have completely flip-flopped. Mom used to be all ‘my son didn’t just run away, I know his disappearance is connected with these murders.’ Now she’s the one insisting he’ll show up in California any second with absolutely no idea what’s going on here, meanwhile his dad is convinced you gave him the idea to kill those people. He’s weirdly eager to believe his son is a murderer, but hey, it helps us out. His statements, contrasted with your uncle’s glowing reviews of you, are really helping our case.”

Eddie feels sick to his stomach. Mike’s own dad is lambasting him to the press? He knew Mike felt stifled by his picture-perfect suburban family, but he hadn’t realized things were that bad.

“I don’t want you to pin this on him,” Eddie says.

“I’m not pinning anything on anyone. I’m just shifting blame. Dividing public opinion. Presenting viable alternatives. I dropped a tip to one of the news stations that it was her boyfriend. Jason. He saw her leave the school with you, thought she was cheating on him, followed you and waited until you left with Mike, then killed her in a jealous rage,” she explains with a casual shrug. “Hopefully they run with it.”

“Lisa… you scare me sometimes.”

“Just doing my job,” she says, unbothered.

“You think that’s enough to convince them I wasn’t involved?”

“Probably not. Unless we get a real smoking gun pointing to someone else, people in this town are always going to think you did this. But as far as the police are concerned, you’re innocent until proven guilty. And they have no proof. So you just continue to exercise your fifth amendment right, get out of jail, then get out of Hawkins. Settle down somewhere nobody knows about this. Capiche?”

***

Love, your shitty little sister, Max. 

Max puts the pen down, her final letter completed. Mike is playing solitaire next to her, their backs to the rest of the room. Without looking up from his game, he mutters, “You think they think we can’t feel them staring at us?”

She smirks a little, turning her head to glance at Steve, Dustin, and Lucas through her peripheral vision. Sure enough, they’re sitting shoulder to shoulder on Rick’s gross saggy couch, blatantly observing the pair across the room. Nancy and Robin left an hour ago, having only stopped by to give the group a quick rundown of the plan before heading to Pennhurst. (Steve was not happy to be left out of their plan to infiltrate the asylum, stuck on ‘babysitting duty’ once again.)

“We know you’re watching us,” Max announces loudly. It’s almost comical how they all scramble to look busy.

“What, sorry?” Dustin says, grabbing a magazine from the table.

“You said you needed something?” Lucas asks, looking up from a newspaper he’s pretending to read.

“Just hanging out,” Steve says as he tosses a ball in the air.

Max sighs as she stuffs Billy’s letter into an envelope and gathers up the stack. “How you think your eyes boring into the backs of our heads is protecting us from Vecna, I don’t know.” She gets up and strides across the room to them, Mike following dutifully. 

She stops in front of the couch, waiting for the trio to acknowledge her, but they’re determined to keep up their nonchalant act. Mike walks up to Dustin and shoves him aside, squeezing onto the couch next to him. “You can look now, dipshit.”

“Thank you,” Dustin says, closing his magazine in relief.

“Sorry,” Steve and Lucas both say as they put away their own diversions. Max feels suddenly awkward and nervous with so many people watching her expectantly, especially with three of them radiating sympathy and concern to a suffocating degree. 

“Hey,” Mike says, stretching a long arm across Dustin’s chest to snap his fingers in Steve’s face. They all turn to look at him instead, and he grimaces as their dewy-eyed expressions are directed his way. “Can you guys chill out for a minute? She’s not gonna drop dead right this second.” They cringe at the word ‘dead,’ and Mike rolls his eyes. “Just… be normal.” 

They school their expressions and turn back to Max, looking marginally more casual. Mike shrugs in a way that says I tried, and she nods at him gratefully, taking a deep breath before she begins.

“For you,” she says, offering an envelope to Dustin, who takes it with wide eyes. “For you.” Steve takes his with a small smile. “And, um, you,” she concludes, handing one to Lucas. Mike already has his tucked in a pocket.

“Oh, and um… give these to El and Will. If you can ever get a hold of them again.” She passes the extra pair of letters to Lucas as well. Steve and Dustin begin opening theirs.

“Hey, what, what are you doing?” Max protests while Mike swats their hands away. “No, don’t, that’s not for now, don’t open it now.”

“Don’t—okay,” Dustin shrugs. They all look at their letters with furrowed brows for a moment. Then Dustin holds his up, “I’m sorry, what is this?”

“It’s, um…” Max looks down, swallowing around the lump in her throat. “It’s a fail safe. For after. If things... if they don’t work out.”

The teary, heartbroken expressions are back as they look at their letters with new reverence, eyes wide and mouths agape. 

“Wait, whoa, Max,” Lucas implores. “Things are gonna work out!”

“No!” Max says sharply. “No, I don’t need you to reassure me right now, and tell me that it’s all gonna work out, because people have been telling me that my entire life and it’s almost never true. It’s never true.” This is why she spent all morning with Mike. His blunt acceptance of their fate may seem morbid, his ‘we might come up with a solution in time but I wouldn’t be surprised if we didn’t’ attitude pessimistic, but to her it’s a comfort. She’s tired of false hope, tired of reassurance and platitudes and cheering up. She just wants someone to sit with her while she does what she needs to do to prepare for the worst. 

Steve, Dustin, and Lucas look down, chastened. Mike looks at her steadily. She understands what he meant, when he said of course it would be them. She really should’ve seen that one coming.

She looks away, spotting the walkies on the table. “If we go into town, will this still reach Pennhurst?”

“Of course, yeah,” Dustin answers.

“Wait, why are we talking about going to town?” Steve asks. They all just stare at him until he puts it together. “No. No. No!” he protests. “Nancy will kill me if I leave Mike alone. No.”

“Don’t leave me alone then,” Mike says, eyebrows raised as though to say duh.

“If I leave you without an adult guardian,” Steve clarifies. 

Mike throws his hands up in exasperation. “Like that means anything, Nancy’s barely an adult herself—”

“The point is,” Steve says, talking over Mike, “I’m responsible for all of you, and I say we’re not splitting up and we’re not leaving this house and that’s final.” 

Max ignores him, grabbing her bag and heading out the door. She doesn’t want to ditch Mike, but she needs to do this. He’ll be fine; his execution isn’t scheduled until tomorrow. 

“Max. Max. Seriously!” Steve calls, following her outside. “Seriously, I’m not joking, okay, I’m not driving you anywhere.”

“Steve, if you think I’m going to spend what is likely the last day of my life in the armpit that is Reefer Rick’s living room, then you’re out of your mind. So either take me where I need to go, or you’re gonna have to tie me down which is technically kidnapping of a minor. And if I live to see another day, Steve, I swear to god: I will prosecute.” She stops at his car and tries the door. Locked. “Open the door.” 

“Uh, no.” 

She stares him down. “I know a good lawyer.” 

They face off. Steve blinks first, shaking his head in resignation as he pulls out his keys. “Sinclair, Henderson, stay here with Mike.”

“No way! You’re crazy if you think I’m not sticking by Max’s side today,” Lucas objects. Max feels a burst of warmth in her chest, followed by a pang of guilt at the undeserved loyalty. “No offense, Mike,” he adds.

Mike shrugs. “None taken.”

“Alright, fine, Sinclair with me, Henderson stay here.”

“I thought I needed an adult guardian,” Mike reminds him.

“Right, well, I can’t be in two places at once, so since Max insists on leaving—”

“You said we’re not splitting up and we’re not leaving this house. Now you’re gonna do both?” Mike asks, shaking his head in mock reproach. “Shame on you.”

“Are you seriously trying to convince me to bring you with us, Wheeler? Because that’s never gonna happen.” Mike just stares at him, eyebrows raised. “No. Have you seen the news lately? This whole town is looking for you. Lucas said Jason wants to kill you.”

“He also said that Jason is going after anyone who might know where I am, so I don’t see why I alone should be stuck here when all of you are in danger too.”

“That’s why all of us should be staying here!” Steve screeches. “But apparently Max’s dying wish is to go to town, and I’m just trying to—” He cuts himself off, clenching his fists and groaning in exasperation. “You know what, forget it, let’s just go. If Nancy doesn’t like it, she can take babysitting duty next time,” he grumbles, giving up and pulling open the driver’s door.

Before he gets in, he points a stern finger at Mike. “But you’re staying in the trunk!”

***

Lucas looks pensively out the back window of Steve’s sedan as they wait for Max to finish her visit to Billy’s grave. The sun is making the car uncomfortably hot—Steve and Dustin are leaning against the hood outside to get some fresh air—but Mike, as promised, is stuck in the trunk, and Lucas wants to take the opportunity to speak with him one on one. 

“Mike?” he asks quietly.

His friend pokes his head out the hatch that connects the trunk to the backseat. “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry I spent so much time trying to win over Jason and the rest of the basketball team.”

Mike furrows his brow. “It’s okay, man.”

“No, it isn’t,” Lucas insists. “I thought they were just regular guys. Nice guys. I thought you were being unreasonable, letting Eddie’s bias against the ‘conformists’ get to you. But it turns out… they’re total psychopaths! I mean, some of the things they said about you yesterday, the way they’ve treated you…” He trails off with a shudder, remembering their horrible comments. He’s sure Mike can fill in the blanks. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Mike doesn’t answer right away. Quiet rustling and a soft thump emanates from the trunk as he shifts around. Lucas can only imagine how uncomfortable he must be, trying to squeeze those long limbs in such a cramped space. And if it’s hot up here, it must be hell in there. 

“Mike?” he prompts again. 

When Mike finally answers, Lucas’s heart breaks a little. “I thought you knew.”

“Mike—”

“Not all of it,” he rushes to add. “But, you know. Enough.”

Lucas looks out the window, checking on Max as he gathers his thoughts. “Is that really the kind of person you think I am? Someone who, who’d act like your friend and then go hang out with the guys who just beat the crap out of you?” 

“I thought that was your whole plan. Befriend those guys, bridge the divide between jocks and nerds… stop the bullying. I thought it was naive, but hey, who was I to stop you?” Mike’s tone is deceptively light, the hurt hidden underneath.

Lucas shakes his head. “I had no idea it was that bad, you have to believe me. I thought it was just… getting excluded from parties. Shoulder-checked in the hallway. Maybe called a few names sometimes. If I knew what they were really doing, I would’ve quit the team, I swear.”

Mike sighs. “I know. It’s not about you, okay, you’ve always been a great friend. Logically, I knew you’d never stand for it if you knew how bad it was. But I just… I have trouble believing people would want to put me first.”

“You’re one of my best friends, Mike, of course I’d put you over those assholes and a stupid sport!”

“But you shouldn’t have to! I know I complained when basketball got in the way of Hellfire and stuff… but I can see how much you enjoy it. It’s not just some stupid sport, it’s important to you. I’m sorry I was such a jerk about it.”

Lucas shakes his head. “I can’t believe you’re apologizing to me right now. For, what, for being unsupportive of my hobbies? Meanwhile you were being tormented by the guys that I idolized. I feel like such a dick.” 

“You didn’t know.”

“I should have.”

“I should’ve told you. I should’ve trusted you to have my back. Call it even?”

Lucas sighs. It doesn’t feel even. It feels like he failed two friends this year. Two friends who were struggling in silence, who didn’t come talk to him because he was too busy trying to climb the social ladder. Two friends who grew more and more distant because he was too focused on a dumb popularity contest to see what they were going through. Two friends he might lose because he didn’t try hard enough to help, didn’t think he knew how.

How did he fail them so badly? What could he have done differently to make them feel safe to come to him for help? And how can he ever make up for it? 

Will he even get the chance to?

Before he can say anything else, Steve’s voice filters in through the open doors. “Alright, it’s been long enough,” he says, pushing off the car and striding toward Max.

“Steve, just give her some time,” Lucas protests, rising from his seat. 

Steve turns around, walking backwards while he looks at Lucas. “I have, alright Sinclair? I’m calling it. She wants to get a lawyer, she can.”

Lucas looks at Dustin for support, but he doesn’t offer any. Steve approaches Max with his hands on his hips, then crouches down next to her. Lucas expects to see her snap at him to leave her alone, or reluctantly get up… but she doesn’t move. Lucas tenses, hairs standing on end.

“Hey, hey hey hey,” Steve shouts, clapping in Max’s face. “Max, wake up!”

Shit. 

“What’s going on?” Mike calls from the trunk. 

“Something’s wrong,” Lucas declares.

“Max! Wake up!” Steve calls again. “Guys!” 

Lucas and Dustin come running.

***

Jonathan’s not sure how everything went to shit so quickly. They were supposed to be sneaking away from friendly agents, not fleeing from a firefight. 

“Move! Move!” Agent 2 orders, gesturing for him and Will to cross the entry hall. They do, ducking and skittering across the exposed area while the agent covers them, shots ringing out as he attempts to keep the soldiers entering through the front door at bay. 

They make it to the other side, pressing up against the wall, hyperventilating and clutching each other’s arms.

In this moment, Jonathan wishes more than ever that Mike had made it to California. Maybe that’s selfish—clearly he wouldn’t be any safer here at this point. If Jonathan were a better person, a more sane person, he would never wish for another kid to be here, getting shot at on Jonathan’s watch. 

But for better or for worse, Jonathan doesn’t see Mike as another kid to look out for. Jonathan sees Mike as an ally. His number one partner in the battle to protect Will. And this situation requires all hands on deck.

It’s not like Will’s some helpless damsel. He’s brave and resilient and tough as nails. But he’s also gentle and sensitive and trusting, and the world has been out to get him his whole life. Sometimes someone like that needs someone harsher, sharper, more uncompromising to step in. 

That’s Mike. For ten years, Jonathan has been able to count on Mike to have Will’s back, to put Will’s safety and wellbeing ahead of his own, from schoolyard bullies to shady government agents to faceless monsters from hell.

There’s always been an unspoken understanding between them, a mutual respect that comes from a shared goal, an alignment of priorities. 

Maybe they’ve both been slacking on the job a bit lately—Jonathan has been dealing with his own shit, getting high a little too often to be healthy, and Mike’s been a little single-minded when it comes to El. But when shit hits the fan, Jonathan knows what’s most important to him, and he knows Mike would be on the same page.

He could really use that kind of backup right about now. Because while Jonathan is focused on peering around the next corner, plotting an escape route… he takes his eyes off Will. And Will, who is good in a crisis but maybe not equipped for this particular brand of catastrophe, leans forward to poke his head around the other corner. Back into the line of fire.

Jonathan happens to glance over his shoulder just in the nick of time, tugging Will back behind the wall right as a bullet whizzes by, so close to his face it rustles the hair of his bangs. 

Too close.

If Mike were here, that never would’ve happened. If Mike were here, he’d have acted as a human shield, kept Will pinned against the wall. If Mike were here, Jonathan could trust him to never take his eyes off Will, leaving Jonathan free to look forward, plan ahead, get them out.

He’s not sure how to do both things at once.

“Follow me!” the agent shouts, and Jonathan and Will fall in line behind him, single-file, Jonathan clutching the back of the agent’s shirt and Will clinging to his. All Jonathan can think is Will’s back is exposed, who’s watching his six, why didn’t I go behind him until another smattering of gunfire straight ahead causes their little human chain to break, Jonathan and Will ducking around a corner while the agent guns down another soldier.

The next few minutes (seconds?) are a blur of barked instructions (Stay there! Get down! RUN!) and screams and shots, sprays of dust and spatters of blood. Will is clutching his head, tugging at his hair, hysterical. Jonathan isn’t far off, the only thing grounding him his singular focus: protect Will, save Will, but that’s not such a manageable goal when he’s only one person and the danger is coming from a hundred different directions. How do I shield him from all sides at once? How do I keep an eye on him and on the enemy? Is it safer for him to be in front or behind? 

There’s no way to know. 

But somehow, they make it outside. Somehow, the agent is the only one who got hit, as far as Jonathan can tell. Somehow Argyle arrives at the exact right moment for them to hop in and make their escape. 

It all feels a little too much like luck for Jonathan’s taste. That, and the skill and courage of the agent, whom Jonathan has a sinking feeling they won’t be able to rely on for much longer. 

At least they don’t have to feel guilty anymore for sitting on their asses while their friends in Hawkins are on the frontlines. They thought they were going to go to the fight, but it turns out the fight has come to them.

***

“Nancy, you better not have gotten yourself arrested for impersonating a college student, I swear to god,” Mike grits out. He’s been trying to follow proper protocol—short messages followed by ample time to receive a response—but as the minutes wear on his transmissions have gotten more colorful. It doesn’t help that he was already a little peeved that no one thought to let him out of the trunk before running off. He had to clamber out through the hatch into the backseat to reach Dustin’s walkie. For once he’s glad he’s built like a twig.

“Nancy, come in.”

He looks over at Max again. Not floating yet. That’s good. How long did Chrissy’s trance last? He should’ve timed it. Stupid, useless—

It’s a long shot that they even found a solution. Mike knows this. If it was his own time, he’d be resigned to it, but Max? 

“Nancy! Robin! If you don’t report back right now with Victor’s magic Vecna cure I swear Max and I will haunt you for the rest of time.”

“Mike! It’s Robin, we copy.” 

Mike doesn’t waste time with snipes about how it took them long enough. “Max is out of time. What do you have? Over.”

Moments later, Mike is grabbing Max’s backpack, unzipping it as he runs across the cemetery to the group crouched around Billy’s grave. Thank god she brings her Walkman everywhere, he thinks as he tugs it out of the bag before dumping the rest of the contents unceremoniously onto the ground.

“What are you—what is this?” Lucas asks as tapes clatter in front of him.

“A lifeline. Supposedly,” Mike answers quickly. “What’s her favorite song?”

“Why?” Dustin asks.

“It doesn’t matter!” Mike yells, already arranging the headphones on Max’s head. “Lucas!”

Lucas fumbles through the pile of tapes with shaky hands. Steve and Dustin start searching too.

“Which one are we looking for?” Steve asks.

“It’s right here, it’s right here! I got it!” Lucas cries. 

“Give it to me, give it to me,” Dustin urges. Lucas takes the tape out of the case and passes it over. Dustin slams it into the player, and the tinny sound of Kate Bush’s Running Up That Hill starts, barely audible as it leaks through the headphones. They all sit back on their heels, waiting, wishing, praying for something to happen.

Something does. But not what they were hoping for.

Max’s legs unfold from their criss-cross position as she rises into the air. The boys all fall back, then scramble to their feet, crying out for her. 

“Max! We’re here!”

“Wake up! Please!”

“Fight him! Max!”

Mike can’t find his voice. His lungs feel choked, strangled. He knows what comes next. He has the the urge to cover his ears in anticipation of the snapping of bones, the squelching of flesh. To squeeze his eyes shut to avoid one more horror burned into his brain. 

But this is his friend. Dying. The least he can do is bear witness. He tilts his head back, watching through tear-filled eyes, bracing for the final moment, when—

Thud. It’s not the sharp crack of broken bones, but the dull thump of Max falling back to earth. Not the wet squish of her eyes being liquified, but the welcome sound of her heavy breathing and panicked cries.

Lucas drops to his knees, wrapping her in his arms. The rest gather round, forming a protective barrier against the rest of the world. 

In the background, Kate Bush sings on.