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Chapter Text

how tf do you spell prolouge

June stepped off the bus, the late afternoon sun warming her face but doing little to lighten the heaviness in her chest. Hawkins looked the same, quiet streets, familiar storefronts, the faint smell of freshly cut grass lingering in the air but to her, it all felt slightly out of reach, like a photograph faded from too much time.

She had left Hawkins a year before will disappeared.

Two years of uncertainty and silence stretched behind her like a shadow she couldn't shake. No one knew exactly where she'd gone she hadn't even told many people but now she was back. Not quite ready to come home.

Dragging her worn duffel bag over cracked pavement, she walked the few blocks to the Byers' house. The screen door creaked as she pushed it open, the familiar scent of peppermint candy and old wood washing over her, mixed with something sad like the house itself was holding its breath.

Her mother stood in the kitchen, trying to smile but looking tired.

"June," she said "You're home."

June nodded, forcing a small smile. "Yeah. I'm here."

Jonathan was at the kitchen table, eyes flicking up with a quiet hello. Will sat nearby, thinner, paler than she remembered, but unmistakably alive.

"Hey," Jonathan said, voice low.

"Hey," June answered, her smile faltering.

The three of them sat in a silence thick enough to drown in.

Later that night, June sat cross-legged on her bed, tracing the edges of her Labyrinth poster, worn from years of retelling Sarah's story to herself. The girl who fought through a maze to save her brother a journey June wished she knew how to take.

Outside, the faint hum of a distant TV drifted in through her open window. The world kept turning, even if hers felt stuck.

The next morning

The early morning light slipped through the worn curtains in June's old bedroom. She lay still for a long moment, staring at the ceiling, tracing the cracks in the plaster with her eyes like a map she once knew by heart.

Outside, the familiar sounds of Hawkins woke the neighborhood—the distant rumble of a car engine, a dog barking somewhere down the street, the faint hum of a lawn mower starting up. But inside the small Byers house, everything felt heavier than it should.

June rolled over and blinked the sleep from her eyes. Her brown hair fell in soft waves over the pillow, tangled from a restless night. For months, she had been away gone without much explanation, drifting between relatives and other towns. Now, she was back.

The thought felt strange.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet touching the cool wooden floor. The room smelled like it always had peppermint candies in a jar on the dresser, a faint hint of pine cleaner, and something older, like memories dusted thick with time.

June pulled on a faded band T-shirt, the one she had bought during her last summer before she left Hawkins. It was a little big, soft around the edges, with a picture of a dragon curled in flames. She liked that it felt like armor something fierce to protect her inside.

Next, she grabbed her favorite jeans, worn at the knees and a little frayed at the hems. She slid her feet into scuffed sneakers, tying the laces tightly. The outfit was simple, but she liked how it made her feel. grounded, ready.

In the mirror, June caught sight of herself—quiet eyes framed by thick lashes, a small freckle just above her lip. For a moment, she hesitated, as if waiting for the reflection to say something new. But it was just her. Just June.

Downstairs, the kitchen was already waking up. The soft clink of dishes and the low murmur of voices drifted upward. She took a deep breath and headed down.

The kitchen was a snapshot of everyday life sunlight spilling through the window, warm and golden, dust motes dancing in the light. Her mother was at the stove, flipping pancakes, the scent of syrup mixing with coffee brewing nearby.

Jonathan sat at the table, eyes half-lidded, his hair still messy from sleep. Will was there too, smaller, paler than she remembered, stirring his cereal slowly.

June paused in the doorway, the scene suddenly unfamiliar and yet painfully known.

Her mother glanced up and gave a tired smile. "June. You're up early."

"Morning," June replied softly.

Jonathan's eyes flicked up briefly. "You're back."

Will didn't look up, but June could feel him watching her out of the corner of his eye.

She moved to the counter and poured herself a glass of orange juice, the cold liquid refreshing in her dry throat.

"Pancakes," her mother said, nodding toward the table. "You want some?"

June hesitated. "Yeah. Thanks."

She sat down at the far end of the table the same spot she'd always had. the edge of the family picture, the middle child pushed to the side.

Jonathan was already eating, eyes still tired but attentive. Her mother watched her quietly, and Will sat beside Jonathan, chewing slowly.

The room was quiet, too quiet. Like everyone was waiting for something to break the silence.

June bit into a pancake, the sweet syrup sticky on her fingers.

"So," she said, trying to fill the space. "How's Hawkins?"

Her mother smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "The same as ever. Quiet, mostly."

Jonathan snorted. "Quiet except for all the weird stuff no one talks about."

June raised an eyebrow. "Weird stuff?"

Jonathan gave a half-smile, but his eyes were serious. "You know. Strange things. People going missing. Lights in the sky."

Will looked down at his bowl.

June swallowed, her stomach twisting. She forced a half-joke. "Maybe Hawkins is just an alternate dimension that forgot to check its calendar."

Jonathan chuckled despite himself. "If only."

Her mother frowned, but said nothing.

The conversation stalled, and June looked down at her hands. She felt the distance between them. like they were speaking different languages, memories and fears tangled beneath the surface.

Jonathan leaned back in his chair, breaking the silence. "How've you been?"

June shrugged. "Here and there. Not really sure where I was half the time."

"Any trouble?"

"No. Just... needed to get away."

Jonathan nodded slowly, understanding more than June wanted to say.

June looked around confused. usually the feel of a slobbery mouth and yellow hair would be on her leg by now as she slipped a piece of food under the table.

"Wheres Chester?" June voiced, her brows furrowed confused. Where was that reliable dog?

Faces cast looks downward Joyce's mouth opened and closed trying to find words. in the she cleared her throat and muttered a small "He died while you were away".

Well...

So imforming June that her dog died while she was away was not at least on the weekly checklist? not even through the calls they talked through? Not ONE single person thought this was important enough to even MENTION?! Were they just going to let her continue on with life not even KNOWIN-

The sound of the school bus outside snapped June from her thoughts.

"I should get ready," she said, standing up. her chair scraped roughly against the floor. June goddamn hoped that it stung their ears.

Her mother nodded. Not even visibly bothered. "There's clean clothes in your room." She said with a kind smile.

June shot a small smile though it did not reach her eyes. She dumped her plate in the sink and ran some water on it before she trudged upstairs, footsteps echoing in the quiet house.

Back in her room, June pulled open her dresser drawers. The clothes inside were familiar but worn hand-me-downs and staples she'd outgrown before she left.

She settled on a soft blue sweater with tiny embroidered flowers near the collar and a pair of dark jeans. It was simple and comfortable the kind of outfit that made her feel invisible, but also safe.

As she dressed, June caught her reflection in the mirror again. The face staring back was tired, but there was something stubborn in her eyes. something determined.

She thought about the family photos she remembered from before she left—how she was always on the edge, pushed just slightly out of frame. Today, she wanted to step closer.

Downstairs, the smell of coffee and pancakes still lingered. June took one last look around before heading out the door, unsure what the day would bring but knowing she had to face it anyway.

Outside, Hawkins waited. quiet, strange, and full of secrets.

And June was back.

Chapter Text

The walk to school felt longer than June remembered.

Her backpack thumped softly against her shoulder, and the crisp autumn air tugged at her sweater sleeves. She kept her eyes on the sidewalk, dodging cracks and fallen leaves, the kind of things you do when you're trying not to think too hard.

She hadn't set foot in Hawkins Middle since last spring. Now, it felt like stepping into a stage play she'd been written out of and dropped back into halfway through the show.

She reached the entrance just as the bell rang. The rush of students flowed around her like a current laughing, talking, shoving, moving on. She felt like a ghost drifting through it.

Locker 119 still had her name scribbled in sharpie under the vent.

As she fiddled with the lock, a voice behind her chirped, "June Byers?"

She turned to see Carol Perkins, dressed in a pink denim jacket and chewing a wad of gum like it owed her money.

"Hey," June said, trying to sound casual.

Carol gave a dramatic once-over. "You have been gone forever. We thought you transferred or, like, died."

"Just wandered into an alternate dimension," June replied dryly. "Pretty standard Hawkins stuff."

Carol raised an eyebrow and popped her gum. "Cute." Then her voice softened. "I'm glad you're okay."

Before June could respond, Tommy Hagen appeared beside Carol, tossing an apple into the air.

"Back from the void," he said with a grin. "Thought you ran off to California or something."

June shrugged, the corners of her mouth lifting just slightly. "I was considering it. Decided I missed the humidity and cornfields too much."

Carol giggled. Tommy looked vaguely impressed.

They weren't friends, not really—but June appreciated the gesture. It was more than she expected.

The cafeteria. (boss music)

The cafeteria was too loud, too fluorescent, and smelled vaguely like bleach and ketchup.

June didn't know where to sit.

Everyone had their own spots, their own unspoken rules. She could feel eyes brushing past her, recognition flickering, but no one waving her over. She wasn't gone long enough to be forgotten, just long enough to be other.

She spotted an empty seat near the vending machines and made a quiet beeline.

But just as she turned the corner, someone barreled around the same corner from the other side, nearly knocking into her.

"Whoa- shit-sorry " he said, steadying himself with a hand on the wall.

June staggered back a step, blinking.

Steve Harrington.

The hair. The leather jacket. The golden boy grin that didn't quite reach his eyes today.

He looked at her, brow furrowed for half a beat, then softened.

"You okay?" he asked, voice low.

She nodded. "Yeah. You?"

He smiled, lopsided. "You came out of nowhere."

June raised an eyebrow. "So did you."

A pause. Something flickered between them.

A spark.

Then someone called his name some guy across the room waving him over.

Steve glanced back at her, just once, like he might say something else.

But he didn't.

He just offered her the smallest of smirks and kept walking, slipping into the crowd like it never happened.

June stood there a moment longer, heart ticking too fast.

She didn't even know what just happened.

But something had.

The hallway smelled like gym socks and bad deodorant.

June kept walking. She didn't look back.

She could still feel the echo of his voice, the curve of his smirk playing on loop in her mind.

"You came out of nowhere."
"So did you."

Ugh. What even was that?

She pressed her fingers to her temples and tried to erase the moment. It refused to leave.

As she rounded the corner toward the old English wing, she spotted a group huddled by the vending machine one combat boot kicked against the metal, one person perched on top like a goblin, one cross-legged on the floor with a sketchbook balanced on their knee.

Her people.

Rina spotted her first.

"JUUUUUNE!" she bellowed, nearly knocking over a kid with a trumpet case as she flung herself into June's side. "We thought you died."

"I heard you joined a cult," Moss said, completely monotone, pulling his headphones down.

Ellie looked up from her sketchbook. "I thought you were in New York."

"I thought you were in space," Rina added. "Or jail."

June raised an eyebrow. "Is this how we greet people now?"

"You left us with freshmen, June." Rina clutched her like a mother reunited with her war-bound child. "Do you know what I've been through?"

June laughed, the tension loosening in her shoulders for the first time all day.

"I'm back," she said.

Rina stepped back, holding her at arm's length. "You better be. Lit Club is down to four people and the new guy thinks Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy is overrated."

"He's not wrong," Moss mumbled.

Ellie frowned. "You're both wrong."

June smiled. It was easier with them. Less pretending.

The bell rang. They didn't move.

"Let's skip fifth," Rina said. "Let's go to the auditorium and climb the catwalks."

Ellie shook her head. "I have a test."

"Lame."

"I have radio," Moss added, adjusting his headphones.

"I have to pretend to care about Biology," June said.

Rina groaned dramatically. "You're all so boring."

"We'll hang after school," June promised.

"Fine," Rina said. "But if you ditch us again, I'm starting a smear campaign."

"I already have the posters printed," Moss added.

As June walked to class, the hallway buzzed around her. She wasn't invisible. not exactly. But she'd spent so long on the edge of things, she wasn't sure how to step back in.

And then there was Steve.

Her fingers brushed her locker as she passed it, like it could anchor her.

She wasn't sure what that was between them.

But something had started.

And she had a feeling it wouldn't be easy to forget.

The school day ended with the same screech of chairs, slamming of lockers, and the chaotic shuffle of sneakers that always made June feel like she was underwater.

She had survived. Barely.

But now it was their time.

Out back behind the school past the tennis courts and the half-burnt shed no one talked about sat a concrete picnic table surrounded by ivy and cracked pavement. It was unofficially theirs. Claimed during freshman year with a Sharpie and a broken cassette tape Rina had buried like an offering.

June dropped her backpack onto the table and slumped onto the bench like she'd just fought a war.

Rina was already there, legs up, chewing a pink sucker like it had personally offended her. Ellie had her sketchbook open and was using a leaf as a stencil. Moss arrived last, headphones on, drinking a root beer like it was whiskey.

"This place smells like dead leaves and gym socks," Rina said.

"I missed you too," June replied.

"We're doing a séance later," Rina added casually. "Ellie says the veil's thin this week."

Ellie didn't look up. "It is."

Moss muttered, "Of course it is."

"You have to come," Rina said, pointing the sucker stick at June. "As tribute."

"Tribute?"

"To the ghost of our GPA."

June smiled but felt a shiver pass through her spine. Not cold. Not fear. Just... wrong.

Like something brushing the back of her neck.

They talked about nothing and everything.

Movies. Teachers they hated. Rina's latest theory that the gym teacher was a lizard in a tracksuit.

The sun dipped low behind the trees, casting gold through the branches. Shadows stretched longer than they should've.

June zoned out for a second, watching the breeze twist a wrapper across the pavement.

The bridge was a bad idea.

That's why they loved it.

It stretched long and rust-red over the ravine outside Hawkins, past the woods and the junkyard far enough from school, parents, and anyone with good sense. The locals called it "Dead Man's Drop," but June didn't think anyone had actually died there.

Yet.

Rina had found it first. Of course she had. And now, whenever the town got too small or the walls at home closed in too tight, this is where they went.

It was after school. Thursday. Too cold to be out. Too windy to be on a bridge.

They were going anyway.

"Are we gonna die this time?" June asked as they ducked under the chain-link fence that marked the 'no trespassing' zone.

"Hopefully," Rina replied, grinning, slipping through with the ease of someone who's broken every rule twice.

Moss said nothing, but helped Ellie climb over. June went last.

The wind whipped harder here, funneled through the stone supports like the bridge was breathing. Below them, the river churned grey and white, frothing over jagged rocks.

They climbed down the metal scaffolding on the side a rusted catwalk bolted underneath the bridge, barely wide enough for four teens and a backpack full of candy and cassette tapes.

They sat with legs dangling over the drop, the wind tugging at sleeves and hair, the world spinning quietly below them.

"Okay," Rina announced, pulling out a bag of sour straws. "Truth or dare."

"No," Moss said immediately.

"You have to play or I expose your mixtape stash to the entire school," she countered.

"You don't even know where I keep it."

"I don't, but June might."

"I do," June said, unwrapping a candy. "He hides them in a hollowed-out biology book labeled Fungus and You."

Ellie snorted. "Of course he does."

Rina beamed. "You're all disgusting. I love it. Truth or dare?"

"Truth," Ellie said.

Rina smirked. "Have you ever had a dream about Mr. Peters?"

Ellie turned bright red. "What-?! No!!"

June cracked up. "This feels like bullying."

"It is, but it's wholesome."

Moss rolled his eyes and tossed a rock into the ravine.

"Okay, my turn," June said. "Rina. Truth or dare?"

"Dare."

"I dare you to hang from the crossbeam like in that movie."

Rina's grin widened. "The Lost Boys? Done."

"Rina-" Ellie started, but she was already shimmying out to the beam, feet planted, arms dangling over the edge, laughing like a gremlin.

"This is how I want to go!" Rina yelled into the wind.

"Stop manifesting it!" June yelled back, half-laughing, half-horrified.

Moss leaned over slightly to film it with the camcorder he definitely wasn't supposed to have borrowed from AV club.

Ellie tugged on June's sleeve. "Don't let her die. I like her."

"I like her too much to let her haunt me," June muttered.

Eventually, Rina climbed back up, breathless and flushed from the cold.

They passed around the camcorder, rewinding and replaying her stunt, voices overlapping, laughter echoing under the bridge.

It felt normal.

It felt like theirs.

And yet...

June glanced down.

The river blurred.

And just for a second- only a second- she heard it again.

"...June..."

The whisper threaded through the wind. Low. Almost gentle.

Her smile faltered. She turned her head slowly, scanning the pillars beneath the bridge, the tree line in the distance, the water far below.

Nothing.

But her ears rang.

The kind of silence that follows something unspeakable.

"You good?" Moss asked, nudging her with his boot.

She blinked. "Yeah. Just... thought I heard something."

"Probably the wind."

"Yeah."

But the whisper had known her name.

They stayed for another hour, mostly doing nothing. Talking about dumb movies. Complaining about teachers. Rina painted her nails with liquid eyeliner. Moss took pictures of the sky with a camera missing its lens cap. Ellie wrote something in her notebook and wouldn't show anyone.

The sun bled out slowly, turning the sky a burnt orange. The river below darkened.

The bridge groaned under their weight, old metal shifting with cold.

June felt it again. that almost-sound. That tug in her chest.

But this time, she didn't say anything.

Because if she did, it would become real.

They walked home in near-silence, tired and wind-whipped. The sky was a bruised purple by the time they split off down separate streets.

June was the last to walk alone.

Leaves crunched beneath her shoes. Her sweater didn't feel warm enough.

And when she passed the old billboard near the railroad tracks, she didn't see the graffiti until she turned back for a second glance.

A spray-painted shape in silver paint.

A circle.

Twisted inside itself like a spiral. Like a labyrinth.

And just beneath it, in jagged black letters:

"I SEE YOU."

June stared.

Her breath clouded in the air.

She didn't know what it meant.

Not yet.

But something in her bones did.

Chapter Text

The sun was almost down by the time they reached the edge of town.

June's boots scuffed the sidewalk. Moss walked beside her, headphones around his neck, cord trailing like a tail.

Neither of them said much.

They never really needed to.

Their silence had a rhythm. Shared for so long it had its own shape. June liked that about him. The way he didn't fill the space with noise or pressure or expectation.

Just... presence.

Constant. Steady.

Like gravity.

"You still collecting tapes?" she asked suddenly, breaking the quiet.

Moss nodded, pulled one from his pocket like it had been waiting there.

No label. Just a cracked plastic case, worn edges, and the faintest trace of Sharpie on the spine.

He held it out to her.

"What's this?" June asked, taking it.

"Side B."

"Of what?"

"Doesn't matter."

She turned it over in her hands. "That ominous on purpose?"

He shrugged, but his lips quirked slightly.

"Is it gonna curse me?"

"No more than usual."

June smiled, small but real. She slipped the tape into her jacket pocket without asking if she could keep it.

Moss didn't ask for it back.

They reached the fork in the road-her street and his.

She slowed a little. So did he.

For a second, neither of them moved.

Then:

"You're different," Moss said.

The words weren't judgmental. Just... observed.

June tilted her head. "Since when?"

"Since you came back."

She didn't answer right away.

Then: "You would be too, if you spent three months listening to your dad rant about Reagan and why girls shouldn't read Stephen King."

Moss didn't laugh, but his eyes warmed.

"I missed this," she said quietly.

"This?"

"Us. Hawkins. My room. Our weird haunted bridge."

He nodded, like he understood all of it.

Then added, "We missed you."

June glanced over, surprised.

"You mean Rina missed me."

Moss looked at her. Steady. Unblinking.

"I mean me."

The air shifted.

Just slightly.

Like something unspoken had stepped between them and sat down.

June blinked. "Well. That's gross. You're gonna ruin your whole brooding reputation if you keep being sincere."

He didn't smile. Just adjusted his headphones.

"You'll keep my secrets."

She pretended to zip her lips. "Cross my heart."

They stood there a moment longer.

Then he nodded toward her street. "Go. Before your haunted bedroom gets lonely."

June hesitated, just for a second.

Then she turned.

"I'll listen to it," she said over her shoulder. "The tape."

"You should," he said. "It's all the songs I think of when you're not around."

She froze.

But when she looked back, Moss was already walking away.

Headphones on.

Hands in his pockets.

Like he hadn't just ripped open the universe a little bit.

The tape was still warm in her pocket.

June kept one hand in her jacket as she walked, fingers curled around the cassette Moss had given her.
It didn't buzz or whisper or bleed like a cursed object—thankfully—but it had a weight. A hum. The kind of thing you couldn't just un-feel.

She didn't listen to it.

Not yet.

Instead, she met Rina, Ellie, and Moss outside the gas station at dusk, the sky all pink smears and power lines.

"You took forever," Rina said, crunching on sour straws and leaning dramatically against the ice machine like a rejected music video girl.

"I was having an emotion," June deadpanned. "You wouldn't understand."

"I understand that you're late and I'm cold," Ellie mumbled, buried inside her oversized denim jacket. "Do we have to go to the arcade?"

"Yes," Rina said. "We're bonding. We're teens. It's the 80s."

Moss had his headphones on, as usual, but met June's eyes for a second.

She looked away first.

They walked.

The streetlights came on. Patches of dry leaves skittered down the sidewalks like nervous rats. Halloween decorations had started going up around town—plastic pumpkins, tangled orange lights, some kid's attempt at a paper ghost melting in the mist near the pharmacy.

The Palace flickered in the distance like a neon campfire.

"I heard that Madmax girl hangs out here," Rina said, hands deep in her jacket pockets. "You think she'd fight me?"

"Probably not," Ellie said. "She'd win."

"I didn't ask if she'd win."

"I'm just saying, maybe we don't start a fight in public this time," June added.

Rina smirked. "Where's the fun in that?"

Inside, the arcade was alive.

Light. Noise. Energy.

A boy screamed near Galaga. A girl elbowed her way to the change machine like she was training for combat sports. "You Spin Me Round" blasted from the speakers at just the wrong volume.

It was perfect.

The group split off naturally-Rina straight to Frogger, Ellie drifting toward Qbert*, sketchbook in hand.

June wandered, half-lost in the flashing colors, until she felt someone at her side.

Moss. Again.

He didn't say anything.

He handed her a soda.

"Thanks," she said softly.

He nodded, hands in his pockets again. "You like Space Invaders, right?"

"Love it."

They went to the machine. Played in quiet sync.

Her laughter when she beat his high score was low, full-bellied, and warm.

He didn't mind losing.

Later, the four of them shared candy on the floor by the photo booth, backs against the wall.

Rina had glitter on her face for no reason. Ellie was drawing people in the arcade without their permission. June was lying flat, eyes on the ceiling tiles.

"This is kinda nice," Rina said. "Like, Hawkins hasn't imploded in three weeks. That's gotta be a record."

"Shhh," Ellie warned. "Don't jinx it."

"I'm serious," Rina went on. "We could freeze this moment right here and just-stay."

"Forever?" June asked, teasing.

"Or until the machines unionize and demand we stop stealing their souls."

June laughed again. It echoed slightly.

Moss wasn't laughing.

He was watching her.

Not in a creepy way. Not even in a sad way.

Just... like someone who knew a good thing was on borrowed time.

Chapter Text

They stayed at the arcade until the glow of the screens felt like it had burned into their skin.

By then, the crowd had thinned. Most of the middle schoolers had been scooped up by older siblings or annoyed parents, and the machines buzzed a little quieter. Slower. Like they were sighing into rest mode.

June lay stretched out across the floor, one boot thudding lazily against a nearby cabinet. Her half-finished soda was sweating beside her. Rina had taken over the photo booth, forcing Ellie into a round of badly lit, badly posed black-and-white snapshots.

"Okay, now make a face like you just found out your teacher's an alien."

"What-why is that your go-to?"

Moss had returned with a half-stolen basket of fries from the corner food stand.

"They were abandoned," he said flatly, handing one to June.

"You're the Robin Hood of questionable carbs," she said, taking it without question.

He almost smiled.

Almost.

Rina and Ellie returned with the strip of photos, still damp.

One of the shots showed Ellie mid-blink and Rina sticking her tongue out.

The other three?

June was in them.

Which was strange, because she hadn't been in the booth.

"Wait-did you-?" June asked, sitting up.

Rina tilted her head. "What?"

She held up the strip.

There she was. Same jacket. Same face. Same crooked grin. Stuck between them like she'd been there the whole time.

"...Weird," Ellie said, eyes narrowing. "We didn't hit the timer..."

June stared at it.

The image didn't glitch. It wasn't distorted. But something about her eyes in the photo felt-

"-wrong."

The word echoed in her head, unspoken. Like the memory of a whisper.

She stuffed the strip in her pocket and shrugged. "Guess I'm just haunting stuff now."

They left not long after. The night had cooled down, their breath fogging in the air as they walked. Halloween was just days away, and Hawkins was gearing up. Skeletons on porches.

Cobwebs in the school windows. A massive pumpkin display outside Melvald's General Store.

"You guys doing anything for Halloween?" Ellie asked as they crossed the street.

Rina snorted. "Other than steal candy from children?"

"I heard the boys are doing Ghostbusters," Moss said.

June raised a brow. "Boys?"

"Will's group. Your little brother and his weird nerd crew."

"Oh." A pause. "I didn't know they were doing that."

"You gonna go with them?" Rina asked.

June hesitated. "I mean... I wasn't invited."

"You don't need an invite to crash your brother's childhood," Rina said. "That's your legal right."

Moss glanced at her.

Then looked away again.

"Could be fun," he said.

Something in the way he said it made her heart flicker.

Not race.

Not skip.

Just... flicker.

They reached her house first.

The porch light was on. Someone had left the radio playing in the kitchen. Through the window, she could see Will's Ghostbusters costume laid out across the couch. Black jumpsuit. Proton pack. Homemade, but good.

Joyce was humming.

She hadn't heard her hum in months.

"Night," June said softly.

Rina gave her a one-armed hug. "Call me tomorrow. We'll plan something stupid."

Ellie waved, halfway through sketching something on her hand.

Moss didn't say anything.

But as she turned to go, she felt something press into her palm.

The tape.

He must've taken it back, rewound it, relabeled it in his way.

Now it read:

"FOR WHEN IT FEELS TOO LOUD."

She looked up.

But he was already walking away.

Inside, she put the tape on her nightstand.

Didn't listen.

Just stared at it in the dark until her eyes got too heavy.

Somewhere in the house, Will mumbled in his sleep.

And outside, in the rustling trees, the wind almost sounded like a voice.

Chapter Text

June stared at her closet like it had personally wronged her.

Joyce was yelling something from downstairs about the trick-or-treat bowl being half empty, and Will was running around the house in his Ghostbusters costume, still missing one boot.

And June?

June was standing in her socks, holding a white blouse like it was a live animal.

It wasn't exactly a costume.
Not really.

But it was Sarah's blouse.

Big sleeves. Soft buttons. A little puffed in the shoulders. The one from Labyrinth. The one she used to try on when no one was home, pretending she was racing through a fairy maze with a goblin king breathing down her neck.

She hadn't thought about that in years.

Not until tonight.

She yanked it on anyway.

The jeans were easy. Her old boots, beat to hell, were already by the door. She threw on a jacket, left her hair as it was - a little messy, a little curly - and grabbed the only accessory she needed: a small glass marble from her dresser drawer.

Not quite a crystal ball.
But it would do.

"JUNE!" Joyce yelled from the kitchen. "IF YOU'RE LEAVING, LEAVE! THE CANDY ISN'T GONNA HAND ITSELF OUT!"

"ON IT!"

She bolted down the stairs, nearly colliding with Will.

He blinked at her. "What are you?"

June tugged on her sleeve. "I'm sarah. What about you?" she knew exactly what he was having watched the film with anya in atleast five times.

Will stared. "...Oh. That's kinda cool. I'm a ghostbuster!" He pointed his proton packs gun at her.

"Nooooo" June said slowly crumpling to the floor in defeat

She kissed the top of his head and ran for the door.

Outside, Rina's car looked even worse than usual.

A rusted station wagon that rattled like a haunted soda can and smelled vaguely of nail polish remover and bubblegum. Stickers covered the bumper: one said HONK IF YOU'VE MADE QUESTIONABLE LIFE CHOICES. Another was just a cartoon possum flipping off the world.

Rina leaned out the window in a black tutu and fishnets.

"You took forever. Who died?"

"My standards," June muttered, climbing in.

Ellie was already in the back, dressed like a jaded mime, sketchbook in her lap.

"You're late," Ellie said without looking up.

"You're both lucky I'm coming at all," June shot back.

Rina smirked. "That's what she said."

June groaned. "Please let this car crash.

They hit the road.

The heater didn't work, so the windows fogged. The radio played only static, so Rina hummed to fill the silence, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel.

"Where were you, anyway?" she asked eventually. "Last year. After Will went missing."

Ellie glanced up, eyes flicking between them.

June hesitated.

Then:

"With my dad." Lie.

"You hate your dad," Rina said.

"Yup." True.

"You ran away to Lonnie's?"

"I didn't run, exactly. It was more like a slow, depressive shuffle." Half truth half lie.

Ellie raised a brow. "Why?" June knew exactly why.

June shrugged. Bitch

But it wasn't casual.

"It got too loud here," she said finally. "Like... everyone was forgetting and didn't care. Like there wasn't room for anything else." True.

They were quiet for a moment.

Rina didn't say anything. Just reached out and turned up the heater like it might fix something.

By the time they pulled up to the house, the party was already glowing from inside - red lights in the windows, a fake skeleton hanging by the porch, and music thumping like a monster heartbeat.

"Last chance to bail," June said, pulling at her sleeves.

"Too late," Rina said, dragging her by the wrist. "You're already tragic and hot. Let's go make mistakes."

The music was louder inside than it had any right to be.

It pulsed through the walls like a second heartbeat, shaking the floorboards and making every plastic Halloween decoration look like it was vibrating in place. The kitchen stank of cheap beer and nacho cheese. Someone had already thrown up in the laundry room.

June adjusted the collar of her blouse and told herself this was a good idea.

That following Rina to a high school Halloween party- despite being fifteen and emotionally allergic to social environments like this-was fun.

That her boots didn't hurt.
That her sleeves weren't ridiculous.
That the boy with the plastic devil horns definitely hadn't just winked at her.
That the girl with a David Bowie lightning bolt painted on her face totally didn't check her out.
That the drinks were definitely spiked.

"You're doing that face again," Rina shouted over the music, leaning in. "The one that says, 'This was a mistake, Rina, I hate you forever, Rina.'"

"Probably because I'm thinking it."

"Too bad! We're here. We're hot. And you look like a ghost from a romance novel, so we're staying."

June rolled her eyes but said nothing. She did feel like a ghost-soft white blouse, jeans, boots scuffed from the walk. The Sarah costume had seemed clever at the time. Now it just felt like a spotlight.

Ellie appeared beside them, face painted like a sad clown, sipping Sprite from a Solo cup.

"This is the worst," she said flatly.

"Right?" June whispered.

They moved through the crowd in a loose formation-Rina greeting everyone too loudly, Ellie scowling at the state of the furniture, June caught in the middle like a balloon on a string.

She tried to stay near the wall.
Out of sight.
Invisible, just like always.

And then she heard it.

From the hallway. The kitchen maybe.

A voice she recognized.

"You don't love me? That's fine. Just say it."

June froze.

It was Steve Harrington.

The Steve Harrington.

The voice was sharp around the edges. Not angry, exactly-but cracked. Like something old was finally splitting open.

She didn't mean to listen.

Really.

But her feet stayed put, and the hallway was just dark enough to disappear into.

"You're just drunk, Nancy."

A pause.

"No, Steve. This is Bullshit. Your bullshit. We're bullshit."

Another pause.

The silence hit harder than the words.

When she heard the door slam, June stepped back before she could stop herself.

Too late.

Steve Harrington turned the corner.

His sunglasses were pushed up in his hair. His fake gun holster hung loose on his shoulder. He didn't look like a party king. He looked like someone who'd walked in on the punchline of their own joke.

They almost collided.

June stepped back, bumping into a fake spiderweb.

Steve blinked at her. Took in the boots, the blouse, the wide, deer-in-headlights eyes.

"You lost?" he asked.

His voice was tired. Blunt. Not mean.

June shrugged. "Just haunting the place."

A beat of silence.

Then he looked her up and down - not in a gross way. Just... curious.

"Who are you supposed to be?" he asked.

Her heart jumped.
This is dumb, she told herself.
Don't say it. He won't get it.

But her mouth said:

"Just a girl trying to get her baby brother back."

Steve blinked again.

And-God help her-he smiled. Just barely. Just at the corners.

June stared at the wall.

He nodded, slowly.

Then-

"You do that often?"

"What?"

"Lose him?"

She glanced at him. "More than I'd like."

"Then maybe don't stop trying."

Her breath caught.

It was nothing. A dumb thing to say. A nothing exchange. But his voice was soft now. His eyes weren't looking through her. They were seeing her.

It was too much.

She looked away.

He did too.

A pause. Just long enough to almost mean something.

Then Steve turned.

"I'll see you around, Sarah," he said.

"Sarah."

He'd watched the greatest movie of all time. Oh my god he is an educated man.

She didn't answer.

Didn't breathe until she heard the back door creak open and shut.

Then, with her face flushed and her heart somewhere in her ears, June sank onto the stairs and put her hands in her face.

"Why," she muttered into her palms, "am I the worst person alive?"

Behind her, the party raged on.

Plastic bats, red lights, and boys in bed sheets pretending to be ghosts.

Somewhere in the kitchen, someone spilled a drink and blamed it on a spirit.

But June just sat there, blouse wrinkled, hands in her hair, trying to remember how to exist in her body again.

Chapter Text

This day was going to be just as boring as any of the others had been.

June stared out of her window in dismay, her reflection ghosting back at her in the grimy glass. The Halloween party was a bust that left her illegally driving her drunken friends home afterwards and having to walk through the dark dingy woods that paved the way from Moss's house to hers. The memory of stumbling through those twisted branches still made her skin crawl with delight, every shadow seeming to reach for her with gnarled fingers. It was exhilarating.

It was hardly even her house anymore.

The Byers residence felt like a museum of someone else's life - Joyce's life. June had only been back in Hawkins for only three days, but already the walls seemed to close in on her like a trap. Every family photo on the mantle was a reminder of the years she'd missed, the birthdays she'd skipped, the phone calls she'd ignored. Will's drawings covered the refrigerator, innocent depictions of castles and monsters that made June's stomach twist with guilt she couldn't quite name. Actually she could. She just chose to pretend like she always did.

She was greeted last night by an annoyed Joyce waiting by the door, arms crossed and worry lines etched deep around her eyes. Joyce had pestered her about wandering through the woods by herself, her voice rising with each word about how she should never walk alone, especially at night, especially not in Hawkins where things that shouldn't exist had a habit of crawling out of the darkness.

"You don't understand what's out there," Joyce had said, her hands shaking as she reached for June's shoulders. "This town... it's not safe. Not anymore."

June had responded with an incoherent grumble, shrugging away from her mother's touch. She'd wanted to say that nowhere felt safe anymore, that her last stop - Vegas had its own monsters lurking in neon-lit alleys, that running away hadn't solved anything. Instead, she'd trudged upstairs and collapsed onto her bed fully clothed.

And now she sat exhausted on her bed watching the sun rise up from behind the misty treetops, painting the sky in shades of amber and rose that reminded her uncomfortably of the strange lights she'd glimpsed flickering between the trees last night. Within her first few days back, she had heavily considered leaving again at least five times. The Greyhound station was only a twenty-minute walk from downtown Hawkins. She could be back in Nevada by tomorrow night, crashing on her friend Tara's couch and pretending this whole homecoming disaster had never happened.

But she couldn't do that without leaving behind the eight people she loved the most.

Joyce, despite everything, despite the years of silence and the awkward conversations that felt like walking on broken glass. Will, who looked at her with such hope in his eyes, like having a big sister back might somehow make the nightmares go away. Jonathan, who'd grown up too fast in her absence but still saved her favorite cereal in the kitchen cabinet. Rina who was an active suicide risk not because she hated herself and the world but that she would do just about anything to make life exciting. Ellie with her dramatic hamlet plays and weird clothes made her targeted by practically everyone and her antisocial behaviour was sure to get her in trouble. And Moss who bless his heart would just never. And her dog chester- wait nope. Just seven people nevermind.

And Vegas sucked anyway. The desert heat, the constant noise, the way everyone seemed to be running from something but never quite fast enough. At least Hawkins was honest about its weirdness.

June sighed as she begrudgingly tossed her legs over the side of the bed and stalked to her closet where yet again it offended her with its meager contents. Most of her clothes were still in boxes, and what little she'd unpacked seemed to mock her with their colorfulness and pizazz. Definitely would cast some downward eyes in the oh so great town of Hawkins.

She dragged out a pair of jeans - dark wash, ripped at the knees from a motorcycle accident she'd rather not think about - and a red sweater that had belonged to her friend Anya in California. -God California was great- the sweater smelled like cigarettes and vanilla perfume, a combination that was both comforting and suffocating. Anya was great too. Her beat-up old sneakers completed the ensemble, black Converse that had walked her through three states and countless bad decisions. Multiple rips and hastily done stitching decorated the outside of them. She better replace those soon. Not easy to run with one shoe on.

She didn't glance sideways as she grabbed her backpack - a faded black Jansport covered in patches from bands she'd seen in dingy clubs - and grabbed a pad of paper and a pen from the second drawer of her nightstand. The drawer stuck, warped from humidity and age, and she had to yank it twice before it surrendered its contents. Quickly, she scribbled down something, her handwriting sharp and angular like broken glass:

Gone for a walk. Don't freak out. Back before dinner. - J

It wasn't much of an explanation, but it was more than she'd given Joyce in years.

June left the piece of paper on her unmade purple bedspread - another relic from her childhood that Joyce had preserved like a shrine - and hastily wrenched open her window. The frame was covered in cobwebs and sealed shut, probably from all the rain that had been pounding Hawkins for the past week. The wood groaned in protest, paint flakes drifting down like snow as she forced it upward. The morning air rushed in, crisp and clean with an undertone of something else, something that made the hair on her arms stand up.

Something that smelled like ozone and burnt metal and fear.

June tossed her backpack out first, watching it land with a soft thud on the dew-soaked grass below. Then her legs followed, and with a grunt that would have made Joyce lecture her about something, she landed safely on the ground. The impact sent a jolt through her knees, a reminder that she wasn't twelve anymore, that her body carried the weight of too many late nights and poor choices.

She picked up her backpack and tossed it over her shoulder, adjusting the straps with practiced ease. The familiar weight was comforting, like armor against whatever the day might throw at her.

Screw having someone with you at all times, she thought, casting a defiant glance back at the house where Joyce was probably just starting to stir, reaching for her morning coffee and cigarettes.

But as she turned toward the tree line, where the woods stretched out like a dark mouth waiting to swallow her whole, she couldn't shake the feeling that in Hawkins, doing your own thing might be the most dangerous choice of all.

The trees seemed to whisper her name as she approached, their branches swaying in a wind she couldn't feel. And somewhere, deep in the shadows between the trunks, something glittered like crystal and called to her with a voice that sounded almost like home.

"I wonder if Rina is awake yet?"

The walk to Rina's trailer was pleasant. June made her way through the curved woods and munched on a rouge peach she found in her backpack.

By the time June reached cherry road the peach was finished and the sun was glaring down at june. It was around 6:03. Rina's got to be up by now.

June made her way through the trailers and eventually made her way up to the one with little doodles all over it and decorated boots coating the lawn. her car was in the exact same place that june had left it the night before.

June sighed and walked up the short stairs to knock the the door. Though june doubted that rina was awake just yet.

To her surprise the door opened instantly with a red eyed birds nest haired rina stood infront of her.

"Juuuune.... Why didn't you stop me last niiiiiiiight" Rina whined grabbing junes still outstretched arm and dragging her inside the trailer.

Inside it was littered with fabric and records. The occasional sketchbook on the floor.

"I tried to but you didn't exactly listen to me did you" June responded as Rina flopped onto the couch grabbing a pair of sunglasses from the chair that was used as a coffee table.

"Ugh, my head feels like it got run over by a freight train," Rina groaned, dramatically throwing her arm over her eyes. "And don't even get me started on what happened with Tommy H. God, why do I always make terrible decisions when I'm drunk?"

June kicked aside a pile of fabric scraps and settled into the armchair across from her, noticing a half-finished painting of what looked like David Bowie propped against the wall. "What exactly happened with Tommy?"

"Oh god, where do I even start?" Rina sat up slowly, her sunglasses sliding down her nose. "So you know how he was dressed as some generic vampire, right? Well, I may have told him his costume was 'aggressively heterosexual' and that he had no imagination."

"Rina, no," June laughed despite herself.

"Rina, yes! But wait, it gets worse. Then I started going on about how Carol's witch costume was actually really creative and how she looked absolutely stunning, and I may have gotten a little too detailed about exactly how stunning she looked." Rina buried her face in her hands. "Tommy got all confused and asked if I was hitting on his girlfriend, and I said 'maybe' because apparently drunk me has zero filter."

"Oh my god, what did he say?"

"He got all flustered and was like 'but you've dated guys!' and I told him that bisexuality exists and his tiny brain couldn't compute it." Rina peeked through her fingers. "Then I think I gave him a whole lecture about the Kinsey scale while doing shots with Eddie Munson."

June was full-on giggling now. "I can't believe I missed this."

"Trust me, you didn't miss much. Just me making a complete fool of myself in front of half the school." Rina flopped back down dramatically. "Although Eddie was pretty cool about it. He just kept nodding along and supplying me with more alcohol, which in hindsight was probably not helpful."

"At least someone was supportive?"

"Yeah, he's surprisingly chill for someone who looks like he could summon demons." Rina adjusted her sunglasses again. "Oh, and I definitely told your brother jonathan that his photography was 'hauntingly beautiful' and that he had 'soulful eyes.'"

June raised an eyebrow. "You complimented Jonathan? He must have turned bright red."

"Like a tomato! It was actually kind of adorable. He just mumbled something about 'thanks' and disappeared into the kitchen." Rina grinned. "I also may have gotten into a heated debate with Emily Hopkins about whether Bowie or Prince is the superior artist."

"What was her stance?"

"Team Prince, which I respect even though she's wrong." Rina paused, looking thoughtful. "Oh, and I think I told Steve Harrington his hair looked 'absolutely magnificent' and asked if I could touch it."

June felt her cheeks warm slightly at the mention of Steve. "Did he let you?"

"Obviously. It's Steve Harrington. His hair is like his whole thing." Rina's eyes sharpened despite her hangover, catching June's reaction. "Speaking of Steve, you're blushing."

"I am not," June protested, but she could feel her face getting warmer.

"You totally are! Oh my god, do you have a crush on Steve Harrington?" Rina sat up straighter, suddenly looking much more alert.

"Can we please focus on your disasters instead of my non-existent love life?" June deflected.

"We are absolutely coming back to this," Rina pointed at her with a grin. "But fine, I have more embarrassing stories. I'm pretty sure I also told Moss that he had 'really nice hands' and that he should consider hand modeling."

June winced. "Poor Moss. He chose the wrong friends in kindergarden."

"God, I really need to pay more attention to these things when I'm sober."

"What about Ellie? Please tell me you didn't traumatize our antisocial artist friend."

"Actually, Ellie and I had a really deep conversation about the societal expectations of femininity and how her vintage aesthetic is both a rejection of modern beauty standards and an embrace of timeless elegance." Rina paused. "Or at least, I think that's what we talked about. It might have been about fabric patterns. The details are fuzzy."

"That sounds like something Ellie would actually enjoy discussing," June said. "She's probably the only person who could keep up with drunk philosophical you."

"True. I swear, between her vintage goddess aesthetic and Carol's witch costume, I was having a very confusing night appearance-wise."

"Sounds like you were having revelations left and right."

"You could say that. But enough about my disasters and sexual awakening." Rina's expression grew more serious. "How was staying with your dad? Please tell me Lonnie's mellowed out since the divorce."

June's stomach dropped. She'd been dreading this moment, though she lied as easily as she breathed she could've just said the same as yesterday but sitting here in Rina's chaotic, comfortable trailer, surrounded by evidence of her best friend's creative soul, she knew she couldn't keep lying. "Actually... I wasn't with Lonnie the whole time."

Rina's head snapped up, suddenly looking much more alert despite her hangover. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I was there for maybe two and a half weeks, and then I couldn't take it anymore. He was still the same selfish asshole he's always been, Rina. He kept trying to turn me against Mom and Will and Jonathan, talking about how they were holding me back, how I needed to 'toughen up' and stop being so sensitive." June's voice got quieter. "So I left."

"Left? Like, left left?" Rina sat up fully now, pushing her sunglasses up into her messy hair.

"I got on a bus and I just... drove. I've been traveling around America for months, Rina. Vegas, Los Angeles, San Francisco, all these little towns in between that you've never heard of." June couldn't meet her friend's eyes. "I should have told you sooner, but I didn't know how to explain that I just ran away from everything."

The trailer was quiet except for the distant sound of someone's radio playing in another unit. Rina stared at June for a long moment, and June braced herself for anger, for hurt, for accusations.

Instead, Rina let out a low whistle. "Holy shit, June. You actually did it."

"Did what?"

"You lived the dream! Do you know how many times I've fantasized about just getting in a car and driving until I hit the ocean?" Rina's eyes were bright with something that looked like admiration. "What was it like? Tell me everything."

June blinked, surprised by the reaction. "It wasn't all glamorous road trip stuff, Rina. I slept in my car more nights than I can count. I worked at this awful diner in Nevada where the cook kept hitting on me, and I had to wash dishes at a truck stop in Arizona just to afford gas."

"But you were free," Rina said softly. "You were actually free."

"I guess? But I was also terrified most of the time. And lonely. God, I was so lonely." June finally looked up at her friend. "I missed you every single day. I'd see something cool or weird and my first instinct was always to tell you about it, but you weren't there."

"What kind of cool and weird stuff?" Rina asked, leaning forward with genuine curiosity.

June found herself smiling despite the heavy conversation. "There was this vintage clothing store in San Francisco run by this old hippie woman who told me I had 'good aura' and gave me a discount. Ellie would have died - they had authentic 1950s dresses and everything. And in Vegas, I saw this street performer who could juggle fire while riding a unicycle. Oh, and there was this tiny town in California where everyone painted their houses these bright, crazy colors - it looked like a rainbow exploded."

"That sounds amazing," Rina breathed. "I can't believe you saw all that and I was stuck here in boring-ass Hawkins, going to the same parties and dealing with the same small-town drama."

"Are you mad at me?" June asked quietly. "For lying about where I was?"

Rina was quiet for a moment, considering. "I'm hurt that you didn't trust me enough to tell me the truth. But mad? No, I'm not mad. I'm proud of you for getting out, even if it was scary." She paused. "Though I am a little pissed that you didn't invite me along for the adventure."

"I thought about it," June admitted. "So many times. But I didn't want to drag you into my mess."

"June, my life is already a mess. At least your mess involves seeing the country." Rina gestured around the cluttered trailer. "My mess involves getting drunk and accidentally coming out to Tommy Hagan."

They both laughed, and some of the tension in June's chest eased.

"So what made you come back?" Rina asked. "Did you run out of money? Get homesick?"

"Both, kind of. But mostly I realized that all those amazing things I was seeing didn't mean as much without someone to share them with. And the people I wanted to share them with were here." June met Rina's eyes. "I missed my best friend. I missed Jonathan and Will. Hell, I even missed Moss following me around like a lost puppy. Even though i do miss the friends i made along the way. i missed you guys too much "

"And Steve Harrington?" Rina asked with a knowing smirk.

June felt her cheeks heat up again. "Shut up."

"I knew it! You do have a crush on him!" Rina clapped her hands together, then immediately winced. "Ow, okay, loud noises are still not my friend."

"It's not a crush, it's just..." June trailed off, realizing she was only digging herself deeper.

"Just what? Just that you think he's gorgeous and charming and has great hair?" Rina grinned wickedly. "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me. Though I have to say, your taste in men has definitely improved since middle school."

"We are not discussing my taste in men," June said firmly, though she was smiling.

"Fine, but we're definitely coming back to this later." Rina glanced at the clock on her wall and her eyes widened. "Oh, fuck! Speaking of later, don't we have school in like twenty minutes?"

"Oh shit!" June jumped up. "We absolutely have school and you look like you crawled out of a grave."

"Thanks for the pep talk," Rina muttered, but she was already standing. "Come on, let me get ready. We can't have me showing up to Hawkins High looking like an extra from Night of the Living Dead."

"Especially not when you have to face Tommy Hagan and everyone else you scandalized last night," June agreed.

They made their way to Rina's bedroom, which was somehow even more chaotic than the living room. Clothes were everywhere - hanging from the ceiling fan, draped over her easel, stuffed into corners. Art supplies were mixed in with records, books, and what appeared to be several half-finished craft projects.

"Jesus, Rina, how do you find anything in here?" June asked, stepping carefully over a pile of paint tubes.

"It's organized chaos," Rina defended, though she looked around with a slightly embarrassed expression. "I know where everything is... mostly."

"Uh-huh." June started picking through the clothing disaster, looking for something that was both clean and school-appropriate. "Okay, first things first - shower. You smell like a brewery had a fight with a cigarette factory."

"Rude but accurate," Rina agreed, grabbing a towel from what June hoped was the clean laundry pile.

While Rina showered, June continued her archaeological dig through the bedroom. She found a pair of ripped jeans that looked intentionally distressed rather than just dirty, a vintage Blondie t-shirt that was soft from years of wear, and Rina's favorite flannel - the blue and green one that brought out her eyes. She located Rina's combat boots under a pile of sketchbooks filled with drawings of faces June didn't recognize, mixed with landscapes that looked suspiciously like places she'd described from her travels.

"Were you drawing the places I told you about in my letters?" June called toward the bathroom.

"Maybe!" Rina called back over the sound of running water. "I wanted to feel like I was there with you, even if I was stuck in this stupid town! Ellie helped me with some of the architectural details - you know how she is with historical accuracy."

June's heart clenched with affection and guilt. She continued tidying up, finding Rina's backpack buried under a mountain of fabric scraps and making sure her friend's homework was actually inside it.

When Rina emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, her hair damp and her skin flushed pink from the hot water, she looked significantly more human.

"Better?" she asked, toweling off her hair.

"Much better. Here." June handed her the assembled outfit. "This should work for your 'I'm definitely not dying from a hangover' look."

"You know me so well," Rina said, getting dressed quickly. She caught sight of herself in the mirror and winced. "Okay, I still look like death, but at least I'm clean death."

"You look fine," June assured her, though she grabbed Rina's makeup bag from the dresser. "Here, a little concealer under your eyes and some mascara will help."

"Since when are you a makeup expert?" Rina asked, but she sat still while June dabbed concealer under her bloodshot eyes.

"I learned a few things on the road. There was this girl in Los Angeles who worked at the diner with me - she taught me some tricks. I think that was amy" June focused on blending the concealer, trying not to think too hard about how close she was to Rina's face, how she could smell her shampoo.

"Amy, huh?" Rina's voice had a lilting tone. "Was she pretty?"

"Rina," June warned, but she was smiling.

"I'm just saying, you spend months on a cross-country adventure, you must have met some interesting people. Any romantic encounters I should know about? Any people you could set me up with?"

June felt her cheeks heat up. "There might have been a few... encounters."

"Ooh, scandalous! I want details later." Rina grinned, then winced as June applied mascara "Moss is probably so happy that you're back so he can go back to staring at you longingly from across the cafeteria."

"He does not stare longingly," June protested.

"June, the boy once walked into a door because he was too busy watching you laugh at something I said. It was both hilarious and deeply sad."

June couldn't help but laugh. "Okay, fine, maybe he stares a little."

"A little? Honey, if staring were an Olympic sport, Moss would have a gold medal." Rina ran a brush through her damp hair, scrunching it to encourage her natural waves. "But he's sweet, even if he's completely hopeless."

They gathered their things and headed out to June's car. The morning sun was getting stronger, and Rina immediately put her sunglasses back on as soon as they stepped outside.

"Keys," June said, tossing them to Rina. "I still don't have my license, remember?"

"Right, because you've been too busy living your best Kerouac fantasy to take your driving test," Rina teased, but she was smiling as she slid into the driver's seat. "We're definitely fixing that soon, by the way. I'm not being your chauffeur forever."

"Deal," June agreed, buckling her seatbelt.

The drive to Hawkins High started quietly, both of them lost in their own thoughts. Then Rina turned on the radio and "Don't Stop Believin'" came on, and she immediately started singing along, her hangover apparently forgotten in the face of good music.

"Come on, June!" she said during the instrumental break. "You know you want to sing!"

June couldn't help but join in, and soon they were both belting out the chorus with the windows down, Rina's hair whipping around her face as she drummed on the steering wheel.

"God, I missed this," Rina said as the song ended. "Just... driving around, singing badly to classic rock."

"We did this like three times a week before I left," June pointed out.

"Exactly! Do you know how boring my drives have been without you? I've been reduced to having deep conversations with myself. It's tragic."

As they pulled into the school parking lot, June could see groups of students clustered around cars and on the front steps, probably dissecting the events of the previous night's party. She spotted Tommy Hagan near his car, gesticulating wildly while talking to a group of basketball players. Across the lot, she could see a familiar figure in a vintage-style dress leaning against a tree with a sketchbook.

"There's Ellie," June pointed out, feeling a mix of nervousness and excitement about seeing her friend again.

"And there's your brother," Rina added, nodding toward where Jonathan was walking up the front steps with Nancy Wheeler, camera bag slung over his shoulder as always.

"Oh god," Rina groaned, following her gaze to Tommy. "He's probably telling everyone about my bisexual awakening speech. I'm never going to live this down."

"Hey," June reached over and squeezed her friend's hand. "Anyone who has a problem with who you are isn't worth your time anyway."

Rina squeezed back. "When did you get so wise?"

"Months of sleeping in my car and contemplating life, I guess." June grinned. "Plus, I've always known you were into girls too. You're not exactly subtle when you stare at Madonna music videos."

"I do not stare!" Rina protested, but she was laughing.

"Rina, you once rewound the 'Material Girl' video six times in a row and claimed it was because you 'appreciated the cinematography.'"

"The cinematography is very good!"

They were both giggling now, the nervous energy of facing school after Rina's party antics dissolving into familiar, comfortable friendship.

"You know what?" Rina said, grabbing her backpack and opening the car door. "I'm glad you're back, June. Even if you did abandon me for the open road, even if I have to face the aftermath of my drunken honesty hour, I'm just glad you're here."

"I'm glad to be back too," June replied, getting out of the car. "Ready to show Hawkins High what they've been missing?"

"With you here? I can face anything." Rina adjusted her sunglasses and shouldered her bag. "Come on, let's go remind this boring town what chaos looks like."

They walked toward the school entrance together, June's travel stories and Rina's party disasters behind them, ready to face whatever small-town drama awaited them inside.

Chapter Text

The day at Hawkins High had been surprisingly normal, all things considered. June had spent most of it catching up with Moss and Ellie. June conffessed about where she had actually been finally and told them about her road trips. Ellie, dressed in a perfectly coordinated 1940s ensemble complete with victory rolls, had simply nodded approvingly and said, "Road trips build character. You look different. More... substantial." Which, coming from Ellie, was practically a declaration of undying friendship.

The four of them had spent lunch period sitting under the bleachers, June regaling them with edited versions of her cross-country adventures while Rina nursed her hangover with chocolate milk and aspirin. Moss had hung on every word, his brown eyes wide with admiration and something deeper that made June's stomach twist with guilt. She'd caught him staring at her hands while she gestured through a story about getting lost in the Nevada desert, and had to resist the urge to hide them under the table.

"So you just... drove through the night?" Ellie had asked, sketching absent-mindedly in her ever-present notebook. "Weren't you afraid?"

"Terrified," June had admitted. "But also... free? It's hard to explain."

"I get it," Moss had said quietly, speaking up for the first time in twenty minutes. "Sometimes you have to do something scary to figure out who you really are."

The way he'd looked at her when he said it made June wonder if he was talking about more than just road trips.

Now, driving home in the late afternoon sun, June felt a strange mix of contentment and unease. It was good to be back, good to slip into the familiar rhythms of friendship and small-town life. But something felt off, like a song played in the wrong key. Her friends had been almost too eager to fill her in on everything she'd missed, their chatter bright and brittle, as if they were trying to cover up something darker underneath.

And then there were the looks she'd gotten from some of the other students - not curious or gossipy, but worried. Sympathetic. Like they knew something about her family that she didn't.

June pulled into the driveway of the small house on (insert the street the byers live on), noting that Joyce's car was there but Jonathan's wasn't. The house looked the same as always from the outside - a little shabby, in need of a fresh coat of paint, but home. She grabbed her backpack and headed for the front door, already planning to raid the kitchen for whatever leftovers might be hiding in the fridge.

But when she opened the door, she stopped dead in her tracks.

The living room was unrecognizable. Every available surface - the walls, the coffee table, even parts of the floor - was covered in papers. Dozens and dozens of sheets, all covered in dark, frantic drawings that seemed to writhe and connect in an endless, maze-like pattern. The drawings were all in Will's distinctive style, but there was something wrong with them, something that made June's skin crawl just looking at them.

"What the hell?" she whispered, dropping her backpack with a thud.

"June?" Joyce's voice came from the kitchen, tight with stress. "Honey, is that you?"

"Mom?" June called back, still staring at the walls in shock. "What... what is all this?"

Joyce appeared in the doorway, and June's heart clenched at the sight of her. Her mother looked exhausted, her hair disheveled and her eyes red-rimmed with worry. She was wearing the same clothes she'd had on yesterday, and there were dark circles under her eyes that suggested she hadn't slept.

"Oh, sweetheart," Joyce said, her voice breaking slightly. "I was hoping you wouldn't... I mean, I wanted to explain before you saw..."

"Explain what?" June's voice was sharper than she intended, fear making her defensive. "Mom, what is going on? Where did all these drawings come from? And where's Will?"

Joyce looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time, taking in the chaotic sprawl of papers that had transformed their home into something alien and frightening. "He's in his room. He's been drawing for hours, honey. I can't get him to stop."

"Drawing what?" June moved closer to one of the walls, studying the intricate patterns. Up close, they looked like tunnels or veins, all connected in a vast underground network. The lines were thick and dark, pressed deep into the paper with an urgency that made her stomach turn.

"I don't know," Joyce admitted, wrapping her arms around herself. "He says they're from his episodes. The doctors at the lab, they said he might have some lingering effects from... from what happened last year."

"What happened last year?" June turned to face her mother fully, something cold settling in her chest. "Mom, what aren't you telling me? Everyone at school keeps looking at me like they feel sorry for me, and now Will is covering our house in creepy drawings, and you look like you haven't slept in days. What the hell happened while I was gone?"

Joyce was quiet for a long moment, her hands twisting together in a gesture June recognized from childhood - the same nervous habit that had appeared during the worst fights with Lonnie, during the months when money was tightest, during every crisis that had shaped their family.

"Sit down, honey," Joyce said finally. "Please. This is... this is going to be a lot."

June perched on the edge of the couch, pushing aside a stack of drawings to make room. Her heart was beating too fast, and she had the sudden, irrational urge to get back in her car and drive away again, to return to the simple problems of finding gas money and a place to sleep.

Joyce sat down across from her, taking a shaky breath. "Will didn't go missing last year, June. Not the way we told everyone. He didn't just get lost in the woods or... or run away."

"What do you mean?" June's voice was barely above a whisper.

"There's another place," Joyce began, her words coming slowly, as if she was still trying to make sense of them herself. "Another dimension, I guess you could call it. It's like Hawkins, but... wrong. Dark and cold and full of terrible things. Will got taken there by this creature, this monster that the kids call a Demogorgon."

June stared at her mother, waiting for the punchline, for some indication that this was an elaborate joke or a stress-induced breakdown. But Joyce's eyes were steady and serious, filled with a pain that was all too real.

"Mom," June said carefully, "that sounds..."

"Crazy. I know how it sounds, believe me. But it's true, June. All of it." Joyce leaned forward, her voice gaining strength. "The government has been doing experiments here, at Hawkins Lab. They opened a gate to this other place, and things started coming through. Will was trapped there for a week, and when we got him back, he had this... this thing inside him. "

June felt like the room was spinning. "A thing inside him?"

"They got it out," Joyce said quickly. "I don't know what happened but soemthing happened at school, and he's been drawing these tunnels that he says exist under Hawkins. Real tunnels, June. And I think... I think something's wrong again."

The silence stretched between them, filled only by the sound of pencil on paper coming from Will's room - a constant, frantic scratching that June was only now noticing.

"Why didn't you tell me?" June asked finally. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"Because you were safe," Joyce said, tears starting to fall. "You were away from all this madness, and I wanted to keep it that way. I thought if I could just handle it, if I could keep you out of it..."

"But I'm his sister," June said, her own voice breaking. "I'm supposed to be here for him. For both of you. Instead I was off playing some stupid road trip fantasy while my little brother was dealing with monsters and government conspiracies and... and whatever the hell this is." She gestured at the drawings covering the walls.

"You couldn't have known," Joyce said softly. "And maybe it was better that you were gone. Safer."

"Safer for who?" June stood up abruptly, pacing to the window. Outside, Hawkins looked exactly the same as it always had - quiet suburban streets, autumn leaves scattered on lawns, the kind of boring normalcy she'd been so desperate to escape. "I left because I thought this place was suffocating me, because I thought nothing ever happened here. And the whole time, Will was fighting for his life against actual monsters."

The scratching sound from Will's room stopped suddenly, and both women froze.

"Will?" Joyce called out. "Honey, are you okay?"

There was no answer. Joyce started toward the hallway, but June was already moving, her protective instincts overriding everything else. She knocked gently on Will's door.

"Will? It's June. Can I come in?"

"June?" Will's voice was small and confused, like he was waking up from a dream. "You're back?"

"Yeah, I'm back." June opened the door slowly, not sure what she'd find.

Will was sitting on his bed, surrounded by even more drawings, a pencil clutched in his hand so tightly his knuckles were white. He looked thin and pale, older than his thirteen years, with dark circles under his eyes that matched their mother's. But when he saw June, his face lit up with the first genuine smile she'd seen since coming home.

"June!" He scrambled off the bed and threw himself into her arms, and June held him tight, feeling how small and fragile he seemed.

she could see the fear still lingering in his eyes. "Did Mom tell you? About the Upside Down and the Mind Flayer and everything?"

"She told me some of it," June said carefully. "Why don't you tell me the rest?"

They sat down on his bed, and Will began to talk. The story that spilled out was even more incredible and terrifying than what Joyce had told her. He spoke about being trapped in a dark, cold version of their world, about hiding from a monster that hunted by sound, about being found by a girl with psychokinetic powers who had helped save him. He told her about the thing that had been inside him, controlling him, making him do things he didn't want to do.

"And now it's back," Will said quietly, his hands shaking slightly. "Not inside me, but I can see it again. I can see that place, and I can see these tunnels that go all under Hawkins. They're real, June. I know they sound crazy, but they're real."

June looked around at the drawings covering his room - the same dark, interconnected patterns that filled the living room. "These tunnels?"

Will nodded. "I can see them when I have the episodes. It's like I'm there, but not there. And something's happening in them. Something bad."

"Will," June said gently, "when you have these episodes, do you remember what you're doing here? In the real world?"

"Sometimes. It's like I'm watching myself from far away." Will picked up one of the drawings, staring at it with a mixture of fascination and fear. "I know it's scary, June. I know it doesn't make sense. But I'm not crazy, I promise."

"I know you're not crazy," June said firmly, taking his hand. "And I'm sorry I wasn't here before. I'm sorry you had to go through all of this without me."

"It's okay," Will said, but she could hear the hurt underneath his forgiveness. "You didn't know."

"That's not an excuse. I'm your sister, Will. I'm supposed to protect you, and instead I was off feeling sorry for myself and having adventures while you were dealing with actual nightmares."

Will was quiet for a moment, then looked up at her with eyes that seemed far too old for his face. "Do you want to know a secret?"

June nodded.

"Sometimes, when things got really bad, I would pretend you were there. I would imagine what you would say, or what you would do, and it made me feel braver." Will's voice was barely above a whisper. "I used to think about how you always stood up to Dad when he was being mean, and how you never let anyone push you around, and I would try to be like that."

June felt tears burning her eyes. "Will..."

"I'm glad you went on your trip," Will continued. "I mean, I missed you, but I'm glad you got to see things and be free and have adventures. I just... I'm really glad you're back now."

June pulled him into another hug, holding him tight against her chest. "I'm not leaving again, okay? Whatever's happening, whatever comes next, we're going to face it together."

They were interrupted by a sharp knock at the front door. June heard Joyce's footsteps in the hallway, then the sound of the door opening.

"Mike?" Joyce's voice carried down the hall. "Honey, what are you doing here? It's getting dark."

"I need to see Will," came Mike Wheeler's voice, high and urgent. "Something's wrong. I can feel it."

June and Will exchanged glances. "That's Mike," Will explained.

"Yeah i'd remember that nerd anywhere I went" June said. Will frowned up at her

"It's a joke"

They made their way to the living room, where Mike Wheeler stood in the doorway looking around at the drawings with wide, frightened eyes. He was a skinny kid with dark hair and an intense expression, wearing a backpack that looked like it weighed more than he did.

"Will," Mike said, his voice cracking slightly. "What is all this?"

"I've been drawing them," Will said simply. "The tunnels. They're everywhere, Mike. Under the whole town."

Mike moved closer to one of the walls, studying the intricate patterns. "These are maps?"

"I think so. I can see them when I have the episodes, and I have to draw them. I can't stop."

Another knock at the door interrupted them, and Joyce opened it to reveal a cheerful-looking man with glasses and a receding hairline.

"Bob!" Joyce said, and June could hear the relief in her voice. "Thank god you're here."

"Hey, Joyce," Bob said, stepping inside with a warm smile. "I brought those movies I was telling you about, and I thought maybe we could-" He stopped mid-sentence, taking in the drawings covering every surface. "Wow. That's... that's a lot of artwork."

"Bob, this is my daughter June," Joyce said quickly. "June, this is Bob Newby. He's... he's been helping us out a lot lately."

Bob extended his hand with a friendly grin. "Nice to meet you, June. I didn't know you had a daughter joyce. You never mentioned"

Junes eyebrows shot up and she turned to Joyce with a tight lipped smile. Joyce turned away. ashamed.

June shook his hand, studying his face. He seemed genuinely kind, with laugh lines around his eyes and an easy manner that was completely at odds with the tense atmosphere in the room. "Nice to meet you too."

"So," Bob said, looking around at the drawings again, "this is Will's work? It's really quite impressive. Very detailed."

"Bob used to work at RadioShack," Joyce explained. "He's good with... technical things."

Mike had been studying the drawings intently, and suddenly he looked up with excitement. "Wait. Will, these aren't just random tunnels. Look." He pointed to a section of the wall where several drawings connected. "This is Hawkins. See? There's the lab, there's the school, there's your house."

Will moved closer, his eyes widening. "You're right. I didn't realize, but... yeah. It's like a map of the whole town, but underground."

Bob adjusted his glasses, looking at the drawings with new interest. "May I?" He moved to the wall, tracing the lines with his finger. "If this is accurate, this is an incredibly complex tunnel system. It would have taken years to excavate something like this."

"They weren't excavated," Will said quietly. "They grew."

The room fell silent. June felt a chill run down her spine at the matter-of-fact way Will had said it, like he was discussing the weather instead of impossible underground growths.

"Will," Mike said carefully, "when you're having the episodes, can you see what's in the tunnels?"

Will nodded slowly. "Sometimes. There are... things. Moving through them. And there's something else. Something big, in the center of it all."

"Can you see where the center is?" Bob asked, his scientific curiosity overriding any fear he might have felt.

Will studied the drawings for a long moment, his eyes moving from wall to wall as if he was seeing something the rest of them couldn't. Finally, he pointed to a spot where several tunnel lines converged. "There. That's where it all leads."

Bob pulled out a pen and began making calculations on one of the blank spaces on the wall. "If this is to scale, and if this really is a map of Hawkins..." He worked for several minutes, muttering to himself. "That would put the center right about... here." He marked an X on the drawing.

"Mom," June said slowly, "where's Hopper? Shouldn't the police know about this?"

Joyce and Bob exchanged a look that made June's blood run cold.

"Hopper went out this morning," Joyce said quietly. "He was supposed to call hours ago."

"And he hasn't?" June asked, though she already knew the answer from her mother's expression.

"No. He hasn't."

The room erupted into worried chatter, everyone talking at once about what might have happened to Hopper, what they should do, whether they should call for backup. But June found herself watching Will, who had gone very still and quiet in the middle of the chaos.

"Will?" she said softly. "What is it?"

Will's eyes were unfocused, staring at something none of them could see. "He's there," he whispered. "In the tunnels. He's hurt."

"Who's hurt?" Mike demanded. "Hopper?"

Will nodded slowly. "I can see him. He's unconscious, and there are... things... moving toward him."

"We have to go get him," Joyce said immediately, already moving toward the door.

"Joyce, wait," Bob said, catching her arm. "We need a plan"

"Hopper could be dying!" Joyce snapped.

"And we'll all be dead if we go in there unprepared," Bob replied calmly. "But I think I have an idea."

For the next hour, they planned. Will pointed to the place where hopper was and Bob calculated that it was somewhere around the farm.

"Okay we've figurd out where hopper is. now we just need to get there"

"And then what?" June asked. "Wander around in monster-infested tunnels hoping we stumble across Hopper?"

"Will can guide us," Mike said. "Right, Will? You can see the tunnels."

Will nodded, though he looked pale and frightened. "I think so. When I'm having an episode, I can see everything."

"Absolutely not," June said firmly. "Will is not going anywhere near those tunnels."

"June's right," Joyce agreed. "Will, you're staying here."

"But Mom—"

"No arguments," Joyce said in her no-nonsense voice. "You and June are staying here where it's safe."

"I'm not staying here either," June said. "If you're going after Hopper, I'm coming with you."

"June—"

"Mom, I just found out that my family has been dealing with actual monsters for over a year. I'm not sitting on the sidelines anymore." June's voice was steady and determined. "Besides, you'll need someone to watch your back."

Joyce looked like she wanted to argue, but Bob placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "She's right, Joyce. We could use the extra help."

"Fine," Joyce said reluctantly. "But Will stays here with Mike."

"Actually," Mike said, "I think Will should come with us. His connection to the Upside Down could be useful."

"Mike!" June snapped. "He's thirteen years old!"

"So am I! And I've been dealing with this stuff longer than you have!"

Eventually they compromised and everyone went. Will lead them to where hopper was using his 'now memories' and they ended up on someones farm. A pre dug hole was already there and all it took was a sharp poke from a shovel to break the surface.

Currently June stood with Will and Mike. Making really bad small talk.

"So uhhh." June picked up a round stone and tucked it into her pocket. (we love rock collecting june) "How's school? Is Miss Reynolds still kicking it?"

"Yeah" responded Mike he cleared his throat.

June felt really awkward. Yet she persisted. "You guys do anything fun lately? seen any movies"

Will responded this time. "Yeah. We went to the arcade the other day. Haven't seen all that many movies lately"

"Cool"

Silence engulfed them all for a brief moment. June moved to collecting cool plants.

"You went to disney-land right? What was that like?" Asked will with bright eyes.

Before June could respond, Will suddenly went rigid, his eyes rolling back in his head. He began to shake, his whole body convulsing as if he was having a seizure.

But this wasn't a medical seizure. June could see that immediately she'd seen many a seizure or different seizing of any kind. Will's eyes were open but unseeing, and he was making small, pained sounds as if he was being hurt by something none of them could see.

Will's convulsions intensified, and he began to scream - a high, agonized sound that made June's heart feel like it was being torn in half. She grabbed his shoulders, trying to hold him steady.

"Will! Will, can you hear me? Mike get in the car!"

But Will didn't seem to hear her. His screams grew louder, more desperate, and June could see tears streaming down his face.

"What? No! Will needs help!" Mike shouted over wills cries.

"He does but you can find the med kit or something in there just something to help him!"

Mike immediately ran over to the car and pulled out a small medical kit and threw it into June's shaking hands. June frantically pulled out object after bandaid and bandaid.

"We have to do something!" she shouted over Will's groans of pain.

"Theres nothing in here! just stupid bandaids and bandages and stupid-" June tossed the bag to the floor

Will's screams reached a crescendo, and he began to shake violently.

"Will!"
"Will!"
Both June and Mike shouted.

As if summoned by their words, the sound of vehicles approaching filled the air. Through the window, June could see black SUVs pulling up next to them, men in military gear climbing out.

A group of people in lab coats and armed with medical equipment spilled out huddling in a circle as both Mike and June screamed at them to let go of him.

They didn't of course.

FADE TO BALCK

BLACK

Chapter Text

"June, don't-" Joyce started, but she was cut off by the sound of alarms blaring throughout the facility.

Red lights began flashing, and an automated voice echoed through the corridors: "Code Red. Containment breach. All personnel to emergency stations."

Dr. Owens went white. "That's impossible. The barriers should have held."

"What barriers?" Hopper demanded.

Before Dr. Owens could answer, the lights went out. Emergency lighting kicked in a moment later, bathing everything in an eerie red glow. And in that crimson darkness, June heard something that made her soul shrivel with terror.

Howling. Dozens of voices, inhuman and hungry, echoing through the ventilation system.

"Demodogs," Mike whispered. "They're in the building."

"It's a trap! It's a trap!" Mike began to scream running out the door.

Eventually mike returned and june missed what he said. She stared at the floor thinking

Man i really should have gone to New york-

She was cut off by will screaming "HE'S LYING! HE'S LYING! HE'S LYING! HES LYING!"

June covered her ears and stared at the tiled floors until she could hear him silent.

"We need to move," Hopper said, already heading for the door. "Now."

Bob appeared in the doorway, his face flushed from running. "The exits are blocked," he panted. "Those things are everywhere."

The howling was getting closer now, accompanied by the sound of claws on metal and the screech of tearing steel. June could hear screaming from other parts of the facility - scientists and guards being torn apart by creatures she couldn't see but could imagine all too well.

"There's another way out, but we need the system to deactivate" Dr. Owens said, consulting a map on the wall.

Hopper was already moving, scooping the unonsious Will up in his arms "Let's go. Stay close, stay quiet."

They moved through the corridors like ghosts, the red emergency lighting casting everything in hellish shadows. June kept Mike close beside her, one hand on his shoulder as they followed the adults through the maze of hallways. Behind them, the sounds of carnage grew louder - metal being torn apart, inhuman shrieks, and the wet sounds of things she didn't want to think about.

They reached a stairwell and began descending, their footsteps echoing in the confined space.

"How much further?" Joyce whispered.

"Two more levels," Dr. Owens replied.

That's when they heard it - the sound of claws on concrete, coming from below them. Something was climbing up the stairwell.

"Back up," Hopper hissed. "Go back up."

But as they turned, they could hear more sounds from above - the crash of doors being torn off their hinges, the skitter of multiple sets of claws on the floor above them.

They were trapped.

"This way," Bob said suddenly, pointing to a door marked 'Sub-Level 2.' "There should be a room we can lock ourselves in."

They pushed through the door into a narrow hallway lined with pipes and electrical conduits. The air was thick and humid, and June could smell something organic and rotten that made her gag.

"Stay together," Hopper commanded, but even as he said it, June could see the group beginning to spread out in the narrow space. Joyce and Dr. Owens were in front with Bob, Hopper was in the middle carrying Will, and June and Mike were bringing up the rear.

The corridor branched ahead, and in the confusion of the red lighting and the maze-like layout, The sound of faint rumbling stopped them all in their tracks.

"Run." said owens.

Everyone took of into a bolt following behind him. June lagged at the back she was a good runner. But already exhausted from days of not sleeping waiting by wills side she couldnt even run.

Owens turned the corner and so did everyone. June glanced behind her for barely even a second to see if anything was behind them. But when she turned around they were gone.

"Mike?" she called softly. "Mom?"

No answer.

June felt panic rising in her chest. She was alone in a government facility overrun with monsters, and she had no idea how to get out. She tried to retrace her steps, but all the corridors looked the same in the emergency lighting.

That's when she heard it - a low growling sound coming from behind her.

June turned slowly, her heart hammering against her ribs. At the end of the corridor, silhouetted against the red light, was something out of a nightmare. It looked like a dog, but wrong - too big, too many teeth, with skin that seemed to writhe and pulse with its own life. Its eyeless head turned toward her, and she could see rows of razor-sharp teeth gleaming in its flower-petal mouth.

A Demodog.

For a moment, they stared at each other. Then the creature let out a shriek that seemed to come from the depths of hell itself and charged.

June ran.

She sprinted down the corridor, her sneakers slipping on the polished floor as she took corners at full speed. Behind her, she could hear the creature's claws scrabbling for purchase as it gave chase, its howls echoing off the walls.

She burst through a door into what looked like a laboratory, knocking over equipment as she ran. Glass shattered around her feet, and she could smell chemicals burning where they'd spilled. The Demodog crashed through the door behind her, sending it flying off its hinges.

June grabbed a metal stool and swung it at the creature's head as it lunged for her. The impact sent vibrations up her arms, but the creature barely seemed to notice. Its claws raked across her shoulder, tearing through her jacket and into the skin beneath. She screamed in pain and terror.

The creature prepared to lunge again, but June was already moving. She grabbed a beaker of some kind of acid from a nearby table and threw it at the Demodog's face. The creature shrieked and reeled backward, its skin smoking where the chemical had hit.

June didn't wait to see if it would recover. She ran for the far door, but as she reached for the handle, another Demodog burst through it. She was trapped between two of the creatures, both of them advancing on her with predatory intent.

"No, no, no," she whispered, backing against a lab table. Her hand closed around something metal - a scalpel. It was pathetically small against these monsters, but it was all she had.

The first Demodog, its face still smoking from the acid, opened its flower-petal mouth and prepared to strike. June raised the scalpel, knowing it was useless but refusing to go down without a fight.

That's when the lights went out completely.

In the absolute darkness, June could hear the creatures moving, their claws clicking on the floor as they tried to locate her. She held her breath, pressing herself against the lab table and trying to make herself as small as possible.

A sound to her left - one of them was close. Too close. She could smell its rotten breath, could hear the wet sound of its breathing. In the darkness, she couldn't tell where it was, couldn't see it coming.

Something brushed against her leg, and she bit back a scream. Claws scraped against the floor inches from her feet. The creature was right there, hunting for her in the dark.

June's hand closed around something on the lab table - a Bunsen burner. With shaking fingers, she found the gas valve and turned it on, then fumbled for the ignition switch. Please work, please work, please—

The flame burst to life, casting dancing shadows around the room. Both Demodogs recoiled from the sudden light, their eyeless faces turning away from the fire. June grabbed the burner and held it out like a weapon, backing toward what she hoped was another exit.

"Stay back!" she shouted, though she knew the creatures couldn't understand her. "Stay back!"

One of the Demodogs, braver than the other, began to advance despite the flame. June swung the burner at it, and the creature jumped back with a snarl. But she could see it gathering itself for another attack, and she knew the small flame wouldn't hold them off for long.

She backed through a doorway into another corridor, still holding the burner out in front of her. The Demodogs followed, stalking her like cats playing with a mouse. June's shoulder was bleeding freely now, and she could feel herself getting weaker with each step.

The corridor ended in a heavy metal door marked 'Emergency Exit.' June's heart leaped with hope, but when she tried the handle, it was locked. She pounded on the door with her free hand.

"Help!" she screamed. "Please! Someone help me!"

The Demodogs were getting closer, emboldened by her obvious desperation. One of them crouched low, preparing to spring. June pressed her back against the door and held the flame out with both hands.

The creature leaped. June swung the burner in a wild arc, and by some miracle, the flame caught the creature across its face. It shrieked and rolled away, its skin burning. But the second Demodog was already moving, and June's makeshift weapon was running out of gas.

Just as the creature's claws reached for her throat, she ducked to the side but not fast enough and its claws sunk into her shoulder. A third Demodog rounded the corner at the smell of blood and ran down towards her.

June had no idea what to do. She clutched her bleeding shoulder as she stepped back into a wall. She was cornered. There was no escape.

The two Demodogs jumped at her and June ducked down quickly. Dodging the attack, she rolled onto the floor and ran. She ran as fast as she could, turning down hallways and going through open doorways.

Eventually she found a dead soldier and she reached down and grabbed the gun still clutched between his severed arms.

June turned the corner and found another Demodog waiting for her. It stood still and they both stared at each other. A mutual understanding, if you may.

It walked the other way.

June had never been that relieved since Anya escaped.

She wasn't out of the woods yet though. She ran and ran through the halls, avoiding Demodogs and giving small shouts for Joyce and the rest of the group.

She lay collapsed against a wall, resting for a second before she would take off.

Her shoulder was bleeding. Warm liquid pooling out of it. June picked at a stray piece of skin that floated aimlessly. A tooth was lodged in there too.

June sighed, standing up as she calculated a plan in her head.

That plan would come to be useless within a few seconds.

A Demodog pounced up from behind her, sending the gun flying out and June onto the floor. June turned around to punch at the creature and screamed out as it sunk its teeth into her skin, right through one of her favorite shirts too.

The pain was excruciating - worse than anything she'd ever felt. The creature's teeth tore through fabric and flesh alike, creating a gaping wound along her side that sent fire shooting through her entire body. June reached out frantic hands as the Demodog continued to ravage her side. June eventually found the cool feel of the gun and grasped it. She faced it at the creature and pulled the trigger - the bullet landed right in its head, sending its body flying backwards.

June was quick to react and stood up, though she cried out as she collapsed to her knees. The pain was agonizing. It echoed out through her body, sending unwanted signals to STOP!

She stood up again, shaking uncontrollably. Blood was seeping through her jacket now, warm and sticky against her skin. She pressed her hand to her side and felt the torn fabric of her shirt, soaked through with blood. The wound was deep - deeper than her shoulder - and she could feel herself getting lightheaded.

She stumbled through the corridors, using the wall for support, leaving a trail of blood drops behind her. Her vision was starting to blur at the edges, and she had to stop every few steps to catch her breath.

Finally, she saw familiar faces in the emergency lighting - Joyce, Hopper, Bob, Mike, and Dr. Owens, all looking at her with expressions of relief and horror.

"June!" Mike threw his arms around her, and she held him tight, both of them trembling. He wasn't a complete nerd.

"Where were you?" Joyce demanded, her voice breaking. "We looked everywhere. You shouldn't have run off like that."

"I got lost," June gasped, still trying to catch her breath. "There were... there were two of them. They almost..."

"You're bleeding," Hopper observed, looking at her torn shoulder. June's jacket covered the crater of a wound on her side.

"It's not that bad," June lied, though she could feel blood soaking through her jacket and could see the spots clouding her vision.

"We need to keep moving," Dr. Owens said urgently. "The exit is just ahead." Owens tossed a radio to Hopper and said, "I'm going back. I'll let you know if there's any trouble."

They helped June to her feet, and she leaned heavily on Mike as they continued down the corridor. Will was still unconscious in Hopper's arms, his face peaceful in a way that was somehow more disturbing than when he'd been possessed and screaming.

They reached another heavy door, and Bob worked frantically at an electronic keypad beside it. "Almost got it," he muttered. "Just need to reset the security protocol..."

Behind them, June could hear the sounds of pursuit - multiple sets of claws on metal, inhuman howls echoing through the ventilation system. The Demodogs had found another way around.

"Bob," Joyce said urgently. "Hurry."

"Got it!" The door clicked open, revealing a stairwell that led up toward what June hoped was freedom.

They climbed as fast as they could, June gritting her teeth against the pain in her shoulder and stomach. Behind them, the sounds of the creatures grew louder. They were close now, too close.

They burst through the final door into the main lobby of the lab. The place was in chaos - overturned furniture, broken glass, and dark stains on the floor that June tried not to think about. Emergency lighting cast everything in hellish red shadows.

"The exit's that way," Hopper pointed toward the main doors.

They ran across the lobby, their footsteps echoing in the vast space. June could see the doors ahead, could see the parking lot beyond them where their cars waited. They were going to make it.

That's when the Demodogs burst into the lobby behind them.

There were at least six of them, moving with terrifying coordination as they spread out to cut off the group's escape routes. Their flower-petal mouths opened in unison, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth.

"The doors!" Hopper shouted. "Get to the doors!"

They ran, but the creatures were faster. One of them leaped over a reception desk, landing directly in their path. Another came at them from the side, its claws extended.

Bob, who had been bringing up the rear, suddenly stopped running. "Go!" he shouted to the others. "I'll hold them off!"

"Bob, no!" Joyce screamed.

But Bob was already moving, grabbing a fire extinguisher from the wall and spraying it at the nearest Demodog. The creature recoiled from the chemical foam, giving the others precious seconds to reach the doors.

June looked back to see Bob fighting desperately against impossible odds, the fire extinguisher his only weapon against creatures that belonged in nightmares. He caught her eye for just a moment, and she saw him smile - a brave, sad smile that told her he knew exactly what he was doing.

"Take care of them," he called out, and then the Demodogs were on him.

Joyce screamed Bob's name, but Hopper was already pulling her toward the doors. June grabbed Mike and ran, not looking back even as she heard Bob's final, agonized cry echo through the lobby.

They burst out into the parking lot, the cool night air hitting June's face like a blessing. Behind them, the lab was in chaos - alarms blaring, lights flashing, and the sounds of destruction echoing from within.

"The cars," Hopper said grimly. "We need to get out of here."

They piled into two vehicles, June ending up in the back of Hopper's truck with Mike and the still-unconscious Will. As they drove away from the lab, June watched the building recede in the rearview mirror, its windows flickering with unnatural light.

Bob was gone. Sweet, kind Bob who had just wanted to help, who had smiled at her when they first met and brought movies for Joyce to watch. He was gone, and it was June's fault for getting separated, for making them come back for her.

"It's not your fault," Mike said quietly, as if reading her thoughts.

June didn't answer. She just held Will's limp hand and watched Hawkins blur past the windows, wondering how many more people would die before this nightmare was over. The pain in her side was getting worse, and she could feel blood still seeping from the wound, but she kept quiet. They had enough to worry about without adding her injuries to the list.

The Byers house had never felt so crowded. It seemed like half of Hawkins was crammed into the small living room - Joyce and Hopper, Nancy and Jonathan, a group of kids June didn't recognize, and Steve Harrington, who looked like he'd been through his own personal war.

June sat on the couch, still holding Will's hand while he lay unconscious beside her. The house buzzed with urgent conversation as everyone tried to figure out what to do next, but June found it hard to focus on anything except the steady rise and fall of her brother's chest. The pain in her side was a constant throb now, and she had to concentrate on not letting it show on her face.

"So the Mind Flayer is still connected to Will?" Nancy was asking.

"It seems that way," Joyce replied, her voice heavy with exhaustion. "Every time they hurt the hive mind, Will feels it."

"Then we need to find a way to sever the connection," Jonathan said.

June tried to follow the conversation, but black spots were dancing at the edges of her vision. She pressed her hand more firmly against her side, feeling the sticky warmth of blood that had soaked through her jacket. She needed medical attention, but she couldn't leave Will's side. Not now.

"June?" A gentle voice interrupted her thoughts. She looked up to see Steve Harrington standing beside the couch, his brow furrowed with concern. "You okay? You look really pale."

"I'm fine," June said automatically, but her voice came out weaker than she intended.

Steve's eyes narrowed, and he crouched down beside the couch to get a better look at her. Up close, June could see that he was even more attractive than she remembered from Middle school - all sharp jawlines and perfectly tousled hair, with kind brown eyes that seemed to see right through her. God damn it steve!

"You're not fine," Steve said quietly, his gaze moving over her face with surprising intensity. "You're hurt."

"It's just my shoulder," June protested, but even as she said it, she could feel herself swaying slightly.

Steve's eyes dropped to where her hand was pressed against her side, and his expression changed. "June, is that blood?"

Before she could answer, a wave of dizziness hit her. The room tilted sideways, and she felt herself falling. Strong arms caught her before she could hit the floor, and suddenly she was looking up into Steve's worried face.

God, he was beautiful. Even through the haze of pain and blood loss, June couldn't help but notice the way his hair fell across his forehead, the concern in his dark eyes, the strength in the arms that held her. If she had to collapse, she thought dimly, at least it was into the arms of the most gorgeous guy in Hawkins.

"Shit," Steve muttered, his hands moving to examine her injuries. "Joyce! We need help over here!"

"What's wrong?" Joyce appeared beside them, taking one look at June's pale face and the blood seeping through her jacket. "Oh my god, June! Why didn't you tell us you were hurt?"

"Didn't want to worry you," June mumbled, her words slurring slightly. "Will's more important."

"You're both important," Steve said firmly, carefully lifting her in his arms. "Come on, let's get you to the kitchen where there's better light."

Being carried by Steve Harrington was like something out of a dream. June found herself studying the line of his jaw, the way his muscles flexed as he carried her, the concentrated expression on his face. She'd be happy to die right here in his arms, she thought hazily. There were worse ways to go. She'd already experienced some of them.

"Stay with me, June," Steve said, noticing her eyes starting to drift closed. "Don't you dare pass out on me."

He set her down gently on the kitchen counter, his hands steady and sure. Joyce appeared with the first aid kit, her face white with worry.

"How bad is it?" Joyce asked.

Steve carefully helped June out of her blood-soaked jacket, his touch gentle despite the urgency of the situation. When he lifted her shirt to examine the wound on her side, his breath caught.

"Jesus Christ," he whispered, staring at the deep gashes that ran along her ribs. "June, what the hell did this to you?"

"Demodog," June said weakly. "Got me good, didn't it?"

The wound was worse than anything Steve had seen - four parallel gashes that went deep into the muscle, still bleeding steadily despite the time that had passed. The edges were ragged and torn, and he could see what looked like teeth marks in the deepest part.

"This is bad," Steve said, his voice tight with worry. "Really bad. You need a hospital."

"No hospitals," June protested. "Can't explain... monster attacks."

"Then we patch you up here," Steve said grimly, already reaching for supplies. "But I'm not gonna lie to you - this is going to hurt."

June nodded, gritting her teeth as Steve began cleaning the wounds. The antiseptic burned like fire, and she had to bite back screams as he worked. But through the pain, she was acutely aware of his hands on her skin, gentle despite the circumstances.

"You're cool" Steve said quietly as he worked, his voice filled with something that might have been admiration. "Fighting off Demodogs by yourself... that's badass."

"Didn't feel brave," June gasped. "Felt terrified. Shit my pants"

"Being brave doesn't mean you're not scared," Steve said, echoing his earlier words. "It means you do what you have to do even when you are scared."

He looked up at her then, and their eyes met. June felt her breath catch at the intensity of his gaze. There was something in his expression - concern, yes, but also something deeper. Something that made her heart race despite the pain.

"You could have died," Steve said softly, his hands stilling on her side.

"But I didn't," June replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

"No," Steve agreed, his thumb brushing gently over uninjured skin. "You didn't."

The moment stretched between them, charged with something June couldn't quite name. Steve was so close she could smell his cologne, could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes. Her heart was beating faster, and she wasn't sure if it was from blood loss or something else entirely.

"Steve?" Dustin's voice called from the living room. "We need you in here!"

The spell was broken. Steve stepped back, running a hand through his famous hair. "I should... they need me."

"Of course," June said, sliding down from the counter carefully. "Thank you. For this." She gestured to her bandaged side.

"Anytime," Steve said, and the way he looked at her made her believe he meant it. "But June? Next time you're bleeding out, maybe mention it sooner?"

June managed a weak smile. "I'll keep that in mind."

They returned to the living room, where the group was still gathered around Will's unconscious form. Joyce was stroking his hair, her face etched with worry.

"Any change?" June asked, settling back down beside her brother despite the pain in her side.

"No," Joyce said quietly. "He's still out."

June took Will's hand again, squeezing it gently. "Come back to us, Will," she whispered. "Please. I just got home. I can't lose you now."

Around them, the others continued planning their next move, their voices a low murmur of strategy and determination. June listened with half an ear, but most of her attention was focused on Will's pale face, willing him to wake up.

She glanced across the room and caught Steve watching her with a soft expression. When their eyes met, he smiled - not the practiced charm he was famous for, but something genuine and warm that made her stomach flutter.

June smiled back, feeling something settle into place in her chest despite everything that had happened. She was home. Finally, truly home.

And maybe, just maybe, she wasn't the only one who felt the spark between them.

Chapter Text

The Byers house felt different in the afternoon light – smaller somehow, as if the walls were closing in under the weight of what they were about to attempt. June stood in the living room, watching Joyce pace back and forth across the worn carpet, her movements sharp and agitated. Will sat slumped on the couch, passed out, those horrible black veins still visible beneath his pale skin like a roadmap of infection.

"We need somewhere safe," Hopper said, his voice cutting through the tension that had settled over them like a heavy blanket. "Somewhere it doesn't know."

Joyce stopped pacing, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "The shed," she said suddenly. "Will's barely been out there since... since everything happened."

June followed the group through the back door, her boots crunching on the frost-covered grass. The shed squatted at the edge of the yard like a forgotten memory, its wooden walls weathered gray and its single window clouded with dust and neglect. When Hopper pulled the door open, it creaked on rusty hinges, releasing the smell of motor oil, old wood, and something else – something that reminded June of something.

The interior was cramped and cluttered, filled with the detritus of suburban life. Garden tools hung from hooks on the walls, their metal surfaces spotted with rust. Paint cans sat stacked in one corner, their labels faded and peeling. A workbench ran along one wall, its surface scarred with years of use and scattered with screws, washers, and other small hardware.

"We need to make it so he can't recognize where he is," Mike said, his voice tight with determination. "Cover everything that might look familiar."

They scattered throughout the house, gathering newspapers and magazines. June found herself in the kitchen, pulling old issues of the Hawkins Post from a drawer, scanning headlines about Reagan's policies and local high school football scores. It felt surreal, using these mundane pieces of everyday life as weapons in their war against an interdimensional monster.

Back in the shed, they worked with desperate efficiency. Joyce tore pages from a magazine, her movements sharp and precise as she taped them over a calendar on the wall. Jonathan covered the workbench with sports sections, the black and white photos of basketball players and baseball statistics creating a strange collage. Nancy worked on the windows, blocking out any view of the familiar backyard.

June found herself smoothing newspaper over a pegboard where tools had once hung, her fingers tracing headlines about the Cold War and economic policies. She wondered if any of the reporters who had written these stories could have imagined they would end up as camouflage in a battle for a boy's soul.

Mike was covering a shelf of paint cans, his face set with grim determination. "This has to work," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

"It will work," Joyce said firmly, but June could hear the uncertainty underneath her words.

When they finished, the shed looked like the inside of a recycling bin. Every familiar surface was hidden beneath layers of newsprint and magazine pages. The walls were a patchwork of headlines and advertisements, sports scores and weather reports. It was disorienting even for them – June hoped it would be enough to confuse the Mind Flayer.

They brought a chair from the house and positioned it in the center of the transformed space. Along with Will's unconsious body. They tied him up with some cord that had been bought at some point when june herself was a kid.

Hopper doused a cotton ball with some kind of chemical and shoved it under wills nose. Will sat up with a jolt, his eye's wide a gasp for air escaping his lips.

"Why am I tied up?" Will asked. Though June knew it wasn't really him asking.

JOyce spoke next. Trying to approach him like he was a scared cat that needed to be cornered.
"Will sweetie-"

"Why am I tied up?"
"Why am I tied up!"
"Let me go"
"Let me go"
"Let me go!"
"LET ME GO!"
"LET ME GO!"
Not-Will's shouts filled the small shed and everyone cowered away. Well almost everyone. June stepped forward and gripped Will's shoulders firmly. She stared into his inky eyes through to his soul and shook him lightly.

"Snap out of it." June said, her face had contorted with her brows brows furrowed and her mouth in a thin line. "She just want to talk to Will. You are going to shut up and listen"

Will stared into her eyes. It looked like he was looking at something amazing with how wide his pupils were. But that wasn't the truth.

June let go of his shoulders and stepped back. Joyce stared at her in a funny way. Mixed emotions?

"Okay, Will," Joyce said, kneeling in front of the chair now. Her voice was gentle but urgent. "We're going to talk to you, but I need you to tell us how to help you. Can you do that for me?"

Will's eyes focused on her with visible effort, and for a moment June thought she saw a flicker of recognition cross his face. But then his expression went blank again, and she knew the Mind Flayer was still in control.

Joyce started with memories from when Will was small. Her voice took on a warm, storytelling quality as she described building Castle Byers in the woods behind their old house. "You were so proud of that fort," she said, smiling despite the tears in her eyes. "You spent weeks planning it, drawing up blueprints like a real architect."

She told him about his first day of kindergarten, how he'd been so nervous that he'd hidden under his bed until Jonathan coaxed him out with promises of chocolate chip cookies. About the time he'd tried to surprise her by making breakfast and had somehow managed to burn water. About Christmas mornings and birthday parties and all the small, precious moments that made up a childhood

Jonathan joined in, his voice soft with affection as he shared his own memories. He talked about teaching Will to ride a bike, running alongside him in the empty parking lot behind Melvald's until Will finally found his balance. About late-night conversations when Will couldn't sleep, when they'd lie in their shared room and talk about everything and nothing.

"Remember when you wanted to learn guitar?" Jonathan asked, his voice cracking slightly. "You practiced 'Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star' for hours until Mom threatened to hide my stereo if you didn't take a break."

Mike stepped forward, his young face serious and determined. "Do you remember the first day that we met? It was the first day of kindergarten. I knew nobody, I had no friends and I just felt so alone and so scared, but I saw you on the swings and you were alone, too. You were just swinging by yourself and I just walked up to you and I asked ... I asked if you wanted to be my friend. And you said yes. You said yes. It was the best thing I've ever done..." He said.

He talked about Will's artwork, how he could capture entire worlds in his drawings. About his kindness, his loyalty, his quiet strength that held their group together. "You're not just our friend," Mike said, his voice breaking. "You're our brother."

June listened from her position by the door, keeping watch but also feeling strangely separate from this intimate sharing of memories. She had her own Will stories – the way he'd shyly shown her his latest drawings when she got back from school, how he'd patiently explained the complex relationships and history of their D&D campaigns, his gentle humor that reminded her so much of Jonathan at that age. But somehow it didn't feel like her place to share them. She was still the outsider here, still finding her place in this family despite being there since the beginning.

Throughout it all, Will's expression remained blank and distant. The Mind Flayer wasn't giving an inch, wasn't allowing even a flicker of recognition to show through. June could see the desperation growing on Joyce's face, the way her voice was becoming more strained with each story.

Then, just as Joyce was starting to look truly hopeless, Will's hand began to move.

It was subtle at first – just his index finger tapping against the wooden arm of the chair. But the rhythm was deliberate, purposeful. Short tap, long tap, short tap.

"Wait," June said suddenly, stepping forward from her position by the door. "Look at his hand."

They all turned to watch as Will's finger continued its steady tapping pattern. June felt her heart rate pick up as she recognized the rhythm.

"Morse code," Hopper breathed, understanding immediately.

June was already pulling out her notebook, her pen poised over a fresh page. She'd learned Morse code years ago, during one of their many moves when her father had been going through his survivalist phase. It was one of the few useful things he'd ever taught her. She had used it with her friend Anya a year ago while they were in chemistry class together.

The tapping continued, and June translated as fast as she could write, her pen scratching across the paper:

C... L... O... S... E... G... A... T... E...

"Close gate," she read aloud, her heart pounding with a mixture of relief and terror. "He's saying 'close gate.'"

Suddenly the phone rang.

Will's body went rigid in the chair. His back arched, his hands clenching into fists, and his eyes rolled back until only the whites were showing. When he looked at them again, there was something cold and alien in his gaze, something that made June's skin crawl.

Joyce was fumbling in her purse, pulling out a syringe filled with clear liquid. "This will knock him out," she said, her hands shaking as she prepared the injection.

She plunged the needle into Will's arm, and within seconds his eyes rolled back and he slumped forward, unconscious. The alien presence was gone from his face, leaving only a pale, sick little boy.

They carried Will inside and laid him carefully on the couch. He looked so young, so vulnerable, with those black veins standing out against his pale skin like cracks in porcelain. Joyce checked his pulse, her face tight with worry.

"How long until he wakes up?" Nancy asked.

"Twenty minutes, maybe less," Joyce replied, smoothing Will's hair back from his forehead.

Twenty minutes to prepare for whatever was coming.

June moved through the house, taking inventory of potential weapons. The Byers family wasn't exactly well-armed – they had kitchen knives, a baseball bat that had seen better days, and Nancy had brought her gun from home. Hopper had his service weapon, and Mike was clutching a brass candlestick like his life depended on it.

June settled on a large chef's knife from the kitchen, testing its weight in her hand. The blade was sharp and well-maintained – Joyce might not have much, but she took care of what she had. It wasn't much against a demodog, but it was better than nothing.

"You know how to use that?" Steve asked, appearing beside her with his nail-studded bat slung over his shoulder.

"Pointy end goes stab stab" June replied, trying for levity despite the fear clawing at her chest.

Steve almost smiled, but the expression didn't reach his eyes. "Good strategy."

They positioned themselves around the living room like pieces on a chess board. Nancy and Hopper flanked the front door, their guns drawn and ready. Steve stood near the couch with his bat, ready to protect Will if anything got through their defenses. Mike clutched his candlestick with white knuckles, trying to look braver than he felt. June positioned herself near the kitchen doorway, knife held low and ready, her body coiled with nervous energy. Lucas, Max and Dustin huddled together holding weapons. Max also sported a kithen knife.

"Hey, Matching!" June said poking Max in the shoulder with her non-knife-weilding hand. Max gave a small smile in return. June really has to work on her coolness factor.

The waiting was the worst part. Every creak of the old house made them jump, every gust of wind against the windows sounded like approaching footsteps. June found herself counting her heartbeats, trying to stay calm and focused.

Then they heard it – a low growling from somewhere outside, like a dog but wrong in every possible way. The sound seemed to come from multiple directions at once, circling the house like predators stalking their prey.

"Positions," Hopper said quietly, and they all tensed, ready for whatever was coming.

The growling was getting closer now, and June could make out individual voices in the chorus. At least three, maybe more. Her grip tightened on the knife handle, her palms slick with sweat despite the cool air.

"Stay calm," Hopper murmured, his gun trained on the front door. "Wait for my signal."

The living room window exploded inward in a shower of glass and splintered wood.

The demodog that came through was a nightmare made flesh – all teeth and claws and impossible angles. Its face flopped opened like some hellish flower, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth that gleamed in the lamplight. It landed on the wooden floor limp. June approahed it slowly and crouched down.

Her knees cracked and her heartbeat picked up as she gave a hesitant poke with her knife.

It was dead.

A short haired girl walked in like she owned the place.

Her eyes swept the room, taking in the dead demodog sprawled across the coffee table, the broken window with its frame of jagged glass, their makeshift weapons held at the ready.

"Did I miss a chapter? Who is this?"

TIME SKIP

Okay so June totally wasn't freaking out. Here she was. In her house with chunks of her body ripped out and still profusly bleeding through the bandages along with a possesed little brother and a hell dimension right under her feet aparently.

Oh and also this girl is called Eleven apparently.

She also has telekinetic powers.

WOW.

"Crazy world..." She muttered aloud.

Jonathan slowly approached her. he sat down on the couch and winced at her now exposed still bleeding but nicely-bandaged-by-steve shoulder.

June stared at him. Why the hell is he sitting next to her? The audacity is strong with this one apparently.

"What do you need?" June stated. Jonathan was stunted but cleared his throat.

"June, I..." He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture she remembered from their childhood. "I wanted to apologize. For earlier, and for... well, for not being the brother I should have been. I know I've been distracted with Will and everything that's been happening, but that's not an excuse for ignoring you."

"Jonathan." June held up a hand, stopping him mid-ramble. "You're seriously apologizing for caring about your little brother who was possessed by an interdimensional monster? Really?"

"Well, when you put it like that..."

"Look, I get it," June said, trying to keep her tone light despite the hurt she'd been carrying. "Will needed you. Mom needed you. I'm not exactly high-maintenance in comparison to a kid with a shadow monster in him." June tried to over it up with humor.

Jonathan looked like he wanted to argue, but June continued before he could interrupt.

"Besides, I've been handling my own shit for years. I'm not about to start needing a big brother now, especially not in the middle of an interdimensional crisis. We've got bigger problems than my abandonment issues."

"But—"

"No buts," June said firmly. "We'll deal with family therapy later. Right now we need to focus on saving the world."

Before Jonathan could respond, Mike's voice carried from the kitchen, urgent and determined: "We have to close the gate!"

They gathered around the kitchen table as Mike explained what Will had told them during their conversation a few days prior. His face was animated with the fervor of discovery as he laid out the connection he'd made.

"He said the Mind Flayer likes it cold," Mike said, his hands gesturing as he spoke. "That's its thing – cold. That's why it's in the Upside Down, because it's freezing there. But what if we made Will too hot for it to want to stay?"

June felt the pieces clicking together in her mind like tumblers in a lock. "Body temperature," she said, understanding flooding through her. "If we raise his core temperature high enough..."

"We make him uninhabitable," Mike finished, his eyes bright with shared understanding. "Like a fever burning out an infection."

Joyce looked between them, hope and fear warring on her face. "You really think that could work?"

"It's basic biology," June said, her mind already racing through the possibilities and potential complications. "Parasites can't survive in environments that are hostile to their physiology. If we raise Will's body temperature enough, create conditions that are antithetical to the Mind Flayer's nature, it might not be able to maintain its hold on him."

"But we'd have to be incredibly careful," Nancy added, her practical nature asserting itself. "Too much heat could cause brain damage, organ failure..."

"Then we monitor him closely," Joyce said, her voice gaining strength and determination. "We do whatever it takes to save my son."

The plan came together quickly after that. They would split into groups to maximize their chances of success. Hopper and Eleven (the psychic powers girl) would go to Hawkins Lab to close the gate – the source of all their problems. Steve would stay at the house with the kids, ready to defend them if more monsters showed up. And June would go with Joyce, Jonathan, and Nancy to Hopper's cabin to attempt the dangerous process of making Will uninhabitable for the Mind Flayer.

As they prepared to leave, gathering supplies and weapons, Steve caught June's arm gently. "Be careful out there," he said, and there was something in his voice that made her look at him more closely.

"Always am," she replied, but her usual sarcasm was muted by the genuine concern in his eyes.

"I mean it, Byers. Don't do anything stupid or heroic. Just... be smart, okay?"

"Stupid? Me?" June managed a small smile. "I'm hurt by the implication, Harrington. Wait how did you even get into this mess?"

But Steve didn't smile back. His expression remained serious, almost vulnerable. "Long story. Just come back in one piece, okay? I don't want to have to explain to Rina why Her favorite babysitter got herself killed fighting monsters."

There was something in his eyes that made June's chest feel tight, something that spoke of feelings neither of them was ready to name. "I will," she said, and meant it with every fiber of her being. "I mean, I have to survive now so i can hear that story huh? Can't just leave me hanging like that" June punched him in the shoulder lightly. Steve chuckled.

The drive to Hopper's cabin felt endless. Will remained unconscious in the backseat, his head pillowed on Joyce's lap while she stroked his hair and whispered soft reassurances. Nancy drove with white-knuckled concentration, navigating the dark country roads while Jonathan provided directions from the passenger seat.

June stared out the window at the passing forest, trying not to think about all the ways their plan could go catastrophically wrong. They were essentially going to torture a sick child in the hopes of driving out a monster that might decide to kill him rather than give up its host. The margin for error was razor-thin, and the consequences of failure were unthinkable.

Hopper's cabin materialized out of the darkness like something from a fairy tale – small and rustic, with warm light spilling from its windows. It looked like the kind of place where people went to escape from the world, not to fight interdimensional monsters. But it would have to do.

They carried Will inside and laid him carefully on the bed in the back room. The cabin was sparsely furnished but comfortable, with the lived-in feel of a place that had been someone's refuge. June could see signs of life – books stacked on a side table, a few items of clothing folded neatly on a chair.

"We need heat sources," June said, taking charge of the situation. "Space heaters, lamps, anything that generates significant warmth."

Joyce and Nancy scattered through the cabin, gathering every heating device they could find. There were two space heaters in a closet, several high-wattage lamps, and even a hair dryer that might help raise the ambient temperature.

Jonathan was checking on Will, monitoring his breathing and pulse. "He's stable for now," he reported. "But I don't know how long that sedative will last."

June knelt by the fireplace, examining the cold ashes and scattered kindling. The cabin had a proper wood-burning fireplace, which would be their primary heat source, but there was a problem.

"There's no firewood," Jonathan said, looking around helplessly. "How are we supposed to build a fire without wood?"

June was already moving toward the door, grabbing an axe that hung beside the coat rack. "I'll get some."

"June, it's pitch black out there—"

"I can handle it," she said, testing the weight of the axe in her hands. "Just get everything else ready."

Outside, the night air was crisp and cold, her breath forming white clouds in the darkness. June found a fallen log near the edge of the clearing and set to work, the axe feeling solid and reassuring in her grip.

She'd learned to split wood during one of her many moves, when she'd lived in a drafty cabin in the Colorado mountains for a few months. Her friend had been going through one of his self-sufficiency phases, convinced that modern society was on the verge of collapse. Most of his survivalist teachings had been paranoid nonsense, but some skills had proven unexpectedly useful.

The rhythmic thunk of the axe biting into wood was almost meditative. Split, stack, split, stack. Her muscles remembered the motion, the precise angle needed to cleave the wood cleanly. Sweat began to form on her forehead despite the cold air, and she found herself falling into the familiar rhythm of physical labor.

When she returned to the cabin with an armload of split wood, Joyce and Jonathan were staring at her like she'd just performed magic.

"Where the hell did you learn to do that?" Joyce asked, her voice filled with amazement and something that might have been pride.

June shrugged, already arranging kindling in the fireplace with practiced efficiency. "You pick things up when you move around as much as I did.I lived in a lot of places without central heating."

She struck a match and held it to the tinder, blowing gently until flames caught and began to spread. The fire took hold quickly, filling the small cabin with flickering light and growing warmth.

Jonathan shook his head in wonder. "Is there anything you can't do?"

"Apparently I can't keep my little brother from getting possessed by shadow monsters," June said dryly, feeding larger pieces of wood to the growing fire. "So there's that." June contempted for a second.

"Actually I don't think I can peak french"

You could hear the crickets outside.

They worked quickly to transform the cabin into a furnace. Space heaters were positioned around the bed, their heating elements glowing red-hot. Every lamp in the place was turned on and aimed toward Will, their bulbs adding both light and heat to the small room. The fireplace roared with carefully tended flames, and soon the temperature was climbing steadily.

Will began to stir as the heat started to affect him, his eyelids fluttering and his breathing becoming more labored. When his eyes finally opened, June could see immediately that it wasn't Will looking back at them.

"What are you doing?" The voice was Will's, but the tone was completely wrong – cold and flat and utterly alien.

"Getting you out of my son," Joyce said firmly, reaching over to turn up the nearest space heater another notch.

Will's body began to convulse as the temperature continued to rise. The black veins under his skin seemed to pulse and writhe like living things, and his back arched off the bed as he fought against the restraints they'd used to secure him.

"You're hurting him," Jonathan said, his voice tight with anguish as he watched his little brother suffer.

"We're hurting it," Joyce corrected, but June could see the pain in her eyes as she watched Will's body contort with agony.

The thing wearing Will's face turned its attention to June, and she felt a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature outside. Those weren't Will's eyes looking at her – they were something else entirely, something cold and ancient and utterly inhuman.

"You," it hissed, focusing on her with malevolent intensity. "You think you understand what you're dealing with, but you know nothing. He will die because of this, and it will be your fault. His blood will be on your hands."

"Will's stronger than you think," June said, stepping closer to the bed despite every instinct screaming at her to run. "And you suck. Possession hasn't been the thing for at least a hundred years."

Will's convulsions grew more violent, his body straining against the ropes that held him to the bed. Sweat poured down his face, and his breathing became rapid and shallow. Then, suddenly, one of his hands broke free from the restraints.

His fingers wrapped around Joyce's throat with inhuman strength, and she gasped as he began to squeeze. His grip was like iron, far stronger than any thirteen-year-old should be capable of.

"Mom!" Jonathan lunged forward, trying to pry Will's fingers loose, but the Mind Flayer's supernatural strength was too much for him to overcome.

June didn't hesitate. She grabbed the fire poker from beside the fireplace and thrust it deep into the flames, watching as the metal tip began to glow cherry-red with heat.

"Hey!" she shouted at the thing controlling Will, her voice cutting through the chaos. "You want to hurt someone? Try me instead fucker!"

She pulled the poker from the fire, its tip glowing like a small sun, and pressed it firmly against Will's forearm – not enough to cause permanent damage, but enough to send a massive shock of heat directly into his system.

Will's scream was inhuman, a sound of pure rage and agony that seemed to come from somewhere deep and dark and utterly alien. The sound raised goosebumps on June's arms and made her teeth ache, but she held the poker steady until she saw what she was waiting for.

Black smoke began to pour from Will's mouth, thick and oily and wrong. It writhed and twisted as it tried to escape the unbearable heat, forming shapes that hurt to look at directly. The shadow particles filled the air of the overheated cabin before dissipating like morning mist, leaving behind only the smell of ozone and something else – something that reminded June uncomfortably of rotting vegetation.

Will's body went completely limp, his hand falling away from Joyce's throat as his eyes rolled back. For a terrifying moment that seemed to stretch into eternity, June thought they had killed him. Then his chest rose and fell with a natural, unforced breath, and his eyes fluttered open.

Brown eyes. Warm, familiar, completely human brown eyes.

"Mom?" he said weakly, his voice hoarse but unmistakably his own.

Joyce was crying as she pulled him into her arms, her whole body shaking with relief and residual terror. "I'm here. I'm right here. You're okay. You're going to be okay."

Jonathan joined the embrace, and after a moment's hesitation, June felt Will's free hand reach out and pull her into the group hug. They held each other in the stifling heat of the cabin, all of them crying and laughing and trying to process what they had just been through.

"Is it over?" Will asked, his voice small and uncertain.

June looked toward the window, where she could see strange lights flickering in the distance – probably from the direction of Hawkins Lab, where that cool kid was hopefully in the process of closing the gate that had started this entire nightmare.

"Yeah," she said, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she actually believed it. "I think it really is over this time."

They stayed like that for a long time, holding each other in the warmth and safety of the cabin while outside, the final battle for Hawkins reached its conclusion. June thought about Steve and the kids back at the house, about Eleven and Hopper at the lab, about all the people who had risked everything to save one small town from an interdimensional nightmare.

They were going to be okay. All of them. Finally, they were going to be okay.

Chapter Text

June watched Jonathan disappear into the night with Joyce and Nancy, her chest tight with worry. She wanted to go with them, to help save Will, but someone needed to stay with the kids. And honestly, after everything that had happened, she wasn't sure she trusted anyone else to keep them safe.

The Byers house felt different now, smaller somehow, as if the walls were closing in under the weight of what they'd all been through. The broken window let in cold air that made the curtains flutter like ghosts, and the smell of blood still clung to their clothes and hair.

"Okay," she said, turning back to the group assembled in the living room. "What's the plan?"

Mike was pacing again, his nervous energy filling the small space like electricity before a storm. His hair was still damp with sweat from their escape from the tunnels, and there were dark circles under his eyes that made him look older than his thirteen years.

"We can't just sit here," he said, his voice tight with frustration. "While El and Hopper are at the lab, those things are going to attack them. We need to help."

"Help how?" Steve asked, still gripping his nail bat like a lifeline. "We're a bunch of kids with makeshift weapons going up against an army of interdimensional monsters."

June had to admire his honesty, even if it wasn't particularly encouraging.

"We create a distraction," Mike said, his eyes bright with the kind of desperate determination that had gotten them this far. "Draw the demodogs away from the lab so El can close the gate."

Dustin looked up from where he was struggling to shove the dead demodog into the Byers' refrigerator, having to rearrange containers of leftovers and condiments to make room for the creature's twisted body. "The tunnels," he said suddenly, his voice cutting through the tension. "We go to the hub, the center of it all, and we torch it. The hive mind will feel it, and every demodog in Hawkins will come running to investigate."

"Absolutely not," Steve said immediately, his voice sharp with panic. "No way in hell are we going back down into those tunnels. Did you forget what just happened down there? We barely made it out alive the first time. My job is to keep you shitheads alive and I'm gonna do just that" He pointed a tea towel at them menacingly. June had to suppress an evil cackle.

June had to agree with him. The memory of those writhing vines, the spores that burned their lungs, the way the tunnels seemed to pulse with malevolent life – it was enough to make her skin crawl. "That's suicide, Mike. We'd be walking straight into their territory, on their terms."

"It's the only way to help El," Mike insisted, his voice cracking with emotion. "She's risking everything to close that gate. She's facing the Mind Flayer alone. The least we can do is give her a fighting chance."

Before anyone could argue further, they heard the rumble of an engine outside, followed by the slam of a car door. The sound cut through the night air like a gunshot, making them all freeze.

June moved to the window, her injured shoulder protesting as she lifted the curtain to peer outside. A blue Camaro was parked in the driveway, its engine still ticking as it cooled. The driver's side door was open, and a tall figure was stalking toward the front door with purposeful, angry strides.

"Shit," she muttered under her breath.

"Who is it?" Max asked, but her voice was small and scared, like she already knew the answer.

June had seen Billy Hargrove around school – hard to miss with his bleached mullet and leather jacket and the way he seemed to take up more space than physics should allow. He looked like a dickhead, the kind of guy who started fights in parking lots and left a trail of broken hearts and broken noses in his wake. But up close, in the dim light spilling from the Byers house, he looked genuinely dangerous.

The front door burst open without so much as a knock, the wood slamming against the wall hard enough to rattle the windows. Billy filled the doorway like a storm cloud, his eyes scanning the room with predatory intensity until they landed on Max.

"Well, well, well," Billy drawled, his voice carrying a California accent that sounded out of place in small-town Indiana. "So this is where you've been hiding, Maxine."

His gaze swept over the assembled group – taking in their disheveled appearance, the weapons scattered around the room, the general air of barely controlled chaos. When his eyes landed on Lucas, something cold and ugly flickered across his face.

Steve stepped forward immediately, positioning himself between Billy and the kids like a human shield. His grip tightened on the nail bat, and June could see the tension in his shoulders. "You need to leave," he said, his voice steady despite the obvious threat. "Now."

Billy's laugh was cold and humorless, the sound of someone who enjoyed other people's fear. "I don't think I was talking to you, Harrington." He shoved Steve aside with casual violence, sending him stumbling back against the wall. "Plant your feet next time, King Steve. Might help you keep your balance."

June felt her muscles tense as Billy advanced on Lucas, who was pressed back against the wall with nowhere to run. There was something in Billy's eyes that she recognized from her own childhood – the same look her father used to get right before he'd start throwing- No don't think about that now. when the alcohol and anger finally boiled over into violence.

"Stay away from my sister," Billy snarled, grabbing Lucas by the front of his shirt and lifting him slightly off the ground. Junes bloood ran cold.

"Billy, stop!" Max shouted, stepping forward despite her obvious fear. "Leave him alone!"

But Billy ignored her completely, his attention focused entirely on Lucas. "You think you can come into my town, mess with my family?" he hissed. "Think again, you little-"

That's when Steve moved, launching himself at Billy with the desperate fury of someone protecting his family. "I said leave him alone!"

The fight that followed was brutal and one-sided from the start. Billy was bigger than Steve, stronger, and clearly had experience with violence. He caught Steve's tackle and used his momentum against him, spinning him around and slamming him into the wall hard enough to crack the plaster. Well shit.

Steve recovered quickly, swinging his punch in a wide arc, but Billy ducked under it and grabbed a plate from the nearby table. The ceramic shattered against Steve's head with a sickening crack, sending him crashing to the floor in a shower of fragments.

"Steve!" June started forward, but Billy was already on top of him, pinning him to the ground with his knees.

The punches that followed were methodical and vicious. Billy's fists connected again and again with Steve's face, each impact accompanied by a wet sound that made June's stomach turn. Blood was streaming from Steve's nose, painting his face in crimson, and his struggles were getting weaker with each blow.

"Stop it!" Dustin screamed. "You're going to kill him!"

But Billy didn't stop. If anything, he seemed to be enjoying it, a sick smile spreading across his face as he continued his assault. Steve's eyes were starting to roll back, his body going limp beneath Billy's weight.

Fuck you bitch, June thought fiercely, and grabbed the first weapon she could find – a golf club that had been leaning against the wall, probably left over from some long-ago attempt at home improvement.

She swung it like a baseball bat, putting all her weight behind the blow. The club connected solidly with Billy's ribs with a satisfying thunk, and he grunted in pain, rolling off Steve and clutching his side.

"What the hell-" Billy started, his eyes wide with surprise and rage and a little bit of pure fear that made June revel in enjoyment as he looked up at her.

June was already swinging again, aiming for his head this time. But Billy was faster than she'd expected. He caught the club mid-swing, his fingers wrapping around the metal shaft, and yanked it out of her hands with enough force to send her stumbling forward.

"Big mistake, sweetheart," he said, tossing the club aside and rising to his feet like a predator preparing to strike.

June didn't back down. She'd been in fights before – too many fights, thanks to her childhood and her father's tendency's. She knew how to take a hit, and more importantly, she knew how to give one back.

"Come on then, asshole," she said, raising her fists and settling into a fighting stance. She gave him a taunting smile.

Billy's first punch was a haymaker aimed at her head, but June ducked under it and came up swinging. Her fist connected with his jaw hard enough to snap his head back, and she felt the satisfying crunch of cartilage under her knuckles.

Billy stumbled, genuinely surprised by the force of her punch, and June pressed her advantage. She landed another blow to his solar plexus, driving the air from his lungs and making him double over.

But Billy recovered quickly – too quickly. His next punch caught her in the stomach, right where the demodog had torn her open hours earlier. Pain exploded through her torso like liquid fire, and she doubled over, gasping for air that wouldn't come.

The second punch caught her in the ribs, and she heard something crack. The third sent her sprawling across the floor, her injured shoulder screaming as she hit the worn carpet.

She tried to get up, but Billy was on her before she could regain her footing. His hands wrapped around her throat, his thumbs pressing against her windpipe with practiced precision.

"Should have minded your own business," he hissed, his face inches from hers. She could smell cigarettes and cheap cologne on his breath, could see the cold satisfaction in his eyes as he squeezed tighter.

June clawed at his hands, her vision starting to gray around the edges. She could hear the kids shouting – Dustin screaming her name, Mike yelling for someone to help, Lucas crying out in fear and rage. She could see Steve trying to get up, blood streaming down his face as he struggled to focus his concussed eyes.

Black spots were dancing across her vision now, and her lungs burned with the need for oxygen. Billy's grip was like iron, unrelenting, and she could feel consciousness slipping away from her like water through her fingers.

Then suddenly Billy's grip loosened, and he slumped forward, his full weight pressing down on her. June gasped and wheezed, sucking in precious air as she struggled to push him off.

Max stood behind Billy's unconscious form, an empty syringe clutched in her trembling hand. Her face was pale but determined, and there were tears streaming down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry," Max whispered, but her voice was steady despite the tears. "I'm so sorry it had to be this way."

Billy tried to get up, his movements slow and uncoordinated as the sedative took hold. He managed to push himself up onto his hands and knees, swaying like a drunk as he tried to focus on Max's face.

"You little..." he slurred, but the words trailed off as the drug pulled him deeper into unconsciousness.

Max grabbed Steve's nail bat from where it had fallen, the weapon looking enormous in her small hands. She pointed it at Billy's face, the nails gleaming wickedly in the lamplight.

"From here on out, you leave me and my friends alone," she said, her voice deadly serious despite her youth. "Do you understand me?"

Billy's eyes were glazed and unfocused, but he managed a weak nod.

"Say it!" Max demanded, pressing the bat closer to his face until the nails were almost touching his skin.

"I... I understand," Billy slurred, the words barely coherent. Then he collapsed completely, his body going limp as the sedative finally won.

June struggled to sit up, her throat raw and her shoulder on fire. Every breath sent spikes of pain through her cracked ribs, and she could taste blood in her mouth. Steve was beside her in an instant, his face a mess of blood and bruises but his eyes clear with concern.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his hands hovering over her like he wanted to help but didn't know how without causing more damage.

"Been better," June croaked, her voice barely a whisper. She accepted his help to stand, leaning heavily against him as the room spun around her. "You look like hell, Harrington."

"Feel like it too," Steve admitted, gingerly touching his swollen nose. Blood was still trickling from his nostrils, and one of his eyes was already swelling shut. "But I'll live. What about you? That looked..."

"I'm fine," June lied, though they both knew it wasn't true. Her throat felt like she'd swallowed broken glass, and every movement sent fresh waves of agony through her battered body. Her side where she was torn open mere hours ago throbbed in pain

Mike was already moving with the single-minded determination that had gotten them this far. He knelt beside Billy's unconscious form and rifled through his pockets until he found what he was looking for – a set of car keys attached to a keychain shaped like a skull.

"We need to go," he said, holding up the keys. "Now, while we have the chance."

"Go where?" Steve asked, though June could see in his battered face that he already knew the answer.

"The tunnels," Dustin said, shouldering a backpack that he'd filled with supplies from around the house. "We're going to light that place up like the Fourth of July."

Steve looked around the room – at the unconscious Billy sprawled on the floor, at the kids gathering weapons and supplies with grim determination, at June with her bruised throat and blood-stained clothes. They were really going to do this. They were going to walk back into hell itself to save their friends.

"Alright," June said, her voice still hoarse but gaining strength. She bent carefully to pick up her knife, wincing as the movement pulled at her injured ribs. "Let's go burn some tunnels."

The gear-up montage that followed felt surreal, like something out of a war movie. June found herself in the Byers' small bathroom, staring at her reflection in the cracked mirror above the sink. She looked like she'd been hit by a truck – her throat was already showing dark bruises from Billy's hands, giving her flashback to the times when- shut up. her shoulder was bleeding again through her shirt, and there was a cut on her lip that she didn't remember getting.

She grabbed the first aid kit from under the sink, its contents scattered and picked over from previous emergencies. There wasn't much left – some gauze, medical tape, a few antiseptic wipes that had seen better days. She did what she could, pressing gauze against the worst of the cuts and wrapping tape around her ribs where Billy had landed that devastating first punch.

Every breath hurt, and she was pretty sure she had at least one cracked rib, maybe two. But she'd had worse – much worse, thanks to- Can't you keep your mind under control? seriously June. Pull yourself together.

"June?" Steve's voice came from outside the door, muffled but concerned. "You okay in there?"

"Just peachy," she called back, her voice still rough from Billy's assault. She wrapped more tape around her shoulder, trying to stabilize the reopened wound from the demodog attack. It wasn't pretty, but it would have to do.

When she emerged from the bathroom, the kids had transformed the Byers living room into something that looked like a military staging area. Dustin had found a pair of safety goggles and a bandana, making him look like some kind of post-apocalyptic explorer. Lucas had his slingshot and a backpack full of supplies – flashlights, rope, and what looked like half the contents of the Byers' kitchen cabinets.

Mike was methodically checking flashlights, testing each one to make sure the batteries were good. His face was set with the kind of grim determination that June had seen on soldiers in war movies, and it was unsettling to see that expression on someone so young.

Max stood by the door, Billy's car keys clutched in her small fist like a talisman. She'd found a jacket somewhere – probably Jonathan's, judging by how it hung on her small frame – and her red hair was pulled back in a practical ponytail.

Steve looked up as June entered the room, his eyes immediately going to the fresh bandages visible under her torn shirt. One of his eyes was completely swollen shut now, and the other was ringed with purple bruises that made him look like a raccoon.

"You sure you're up for this?" he asked, his voice thick from his broken nose.

"Are any of us?" June replied, but she managed a small smile that probably looked more like a grimace. "Besides, someone needs to keep you idiots alive down there."

They gathered their supplies with the efficiency of people who had been through too much together. Gasoline from the shed behind the house, siphoned from an old lawnmower that probably hadn't run in years. Matches from the kitchen, wrapped in plastic to keep them dry. Rope and flashlights and knives, anything that might help them survive what they were about to attempt.

The drive to the pumpkin patch was tense and quiet, filled with the kind of silence that comes before a battle. Max drove Billy's Camaro with the confidence of someone who'd been sneaking out and driving illegally for years, her small hands gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled determination.

June sat in the passenger seat, keeping watch for any signs of trouble while trying to ignore the pain radiating from her ribs with every bump in the road. The kids were crammed in the back seat, their nervous energy filling the car like static electricity before a storm.

Steve was sleeping, slumped against the window with his head lolling at an uncomfortable angle. June kept glancing back at him, worry gnawing at her chest like a living thing. Head injuries were serious business, and Billy had hit him hard enough to crack concrete. Concussions could be tricky – people seemed fine one minute and then collapsed the next.

The pumpkin patch, when they reached it, looked like something out of a horror movie. The vines that had once been green and healthy were now black and rotting, twisted into unnatural shapes that hurt to look at directly. The smell of decay hung heavy in the air, mixing with the chemical stench that seemed to follow the Upside Down wherever it touched their world.

They parked near the hole that Hopper had dug earlier, the entrance to the tunnel system that had nearly killed them all. In the darkness, it looked like a mouth – a gaping wound in the earth that led straight down into hell.

June helped the kids drag Steve out of the car, his body a dead weight that made her ribs scream in protest. He was starting to come around, his eyelids fluttering as consciousness slowly returned.

"Nancy?" he mumbled, looking up at Mike with unfocused eyes that couldn't quite seem to track properly.

Mike stared back at him in confusion, his young face creased with worry. "What? No, it's me."

Steve blinked hard, trying to clear his vision and make sense of his surroundings. When he finally managed to focus, his eyes widened as he took in where they were – the dead pumpkin vines, the hole in the ground that led down into the tunnels, the kids armed with gasoline and matches like some kind of adolescent army.

"This is suicide," Steve stated, but he was already following Dustin down into the darkness, his protective instincts overriding his common sense. "We're just kids with gasoline and good intentions. What are we supposed to do against an army of those things?"

June went last, her injured shoulder protesting as she climbed down the rope that Hopper had left behind. The tunnels were even worse than what she ever could have imagined – the walls pulsing with organic growth that looked like exposed muscle, the air thick with spores that made her eyes water and her throat burn.

It was like being inside the digestive system of some massive, alien creature. The walls seemed to breathe around them, expanding and contracting in a rhythm that was almost hypnotic. Vines hung from the ceiling like twisted arteries, and the floor was covered in a thick carpet of the same organic material that lined the walls.

"This is so gross," Max muttered, stepping carefully around a particularly large growth on the tunnel floor that pulsed with its own internal light.

"Just don't touch anything," June advised, keeping her voice low in case there were demodogs nearby. "And try not to breathe too deeply. We don't know what those spores might do to us. I have really bad hayfever"

They moved through the tunnels in single file, following Dustin's lead toward the hub. He seemed to have an instinctive understanding of the tunnel system's layout, navigating the maze of passages with confidence that June found both impressive and terrifying.

The beam of their flashlights created dancing shadows on the walls, and every sound seemed amplified in the enclosed space. Their footsteps echoed strangely, and June could hear the distant sound of something moving deeper in the tunnels – something large and predatory.

Steve fell into step beside her as they navigated a particularly narrow section of tunnel, his shoulder brushing against hers in the confined space. "So," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, "on a scale of one to ten, how stupid is this plan?"

"Solid fifteen," June replied without hesitation, stepping over a root-like growth that blocked their path. "Maybe twenty, depending on how many of those things are waiting for us at the hub."

"Good," Steve said, and she could hear the grim humor in his voice despite their circumstances. "I was worried I was being too optimistic."

Despite everything – the pain in her shoulder, the fear clawing at her chest, the very real possibility that they were all about to die in these godforsaken tunnels – June found herself smiling. There was something about Steve's ability to find humor in even the darkest situations that she found oddly comforting.

"You know, Harrington," she said, ducking under a low-hanging vine that dripped with some kind of organic fluid, "for a douchebag you're not completely terrible in a crisis."

"High praise from someone who just took on that asshole with a golf club," Steve replied, his voice warm with something that might have been admiration. "That was either the bravest or stupidest thing I've ever seen."

"Why not both?" June said, then winced as her side twinged painfully. "Though I'm starting to lean toward stupid. My ribs are definitely voting for stupid."

"For what it's worth," Steve said, his voice soft enough that only she could hear, "I'm glad you're here. I don't think I could keep these kids alive without you."

June felt warmth spread through her chest, pushing back against the fear and pain that had been her constant companions for the past few days. "We make a good team, don't we?"

"The best," Steve agreed, and there was something in his voice that made her look at him more closely. Even in the dim, flickering light of the tunnels, she could see the sincerity in his eyes – the way he was looking at her like she was something precious and worth protecting. How adorable.

They reached the hub after what felt like hours but was probably only thirty minutes of careful navigation through the tunnel system. The central chamber was even more horrifying than June had imagined – a massive organic cathedral with walls that pulsed like a giant heartbeat. Vines hung from the ceiling like twisted chandeliers, and the floor was covered in a thick carpet of the same growth that lined the tunnels.

The air here was different too – thicker, more oppressive, filled with a sound that was just below the threshold of hearing but made June's teeth ache. It was like standing inside the heart of some massive creature, surrounded by the rhythm of its alien life.

"This is it," Dustin said, his voice hushed with awe and revulsion. "The heart of it all. The center of the hive mind."

They worked quickly, knowing that every second they spent in this place increased their chances of being discovered. The gasoline sloshed as they poured it along the walls and floor, the fumes overwhelming in the enclosed space. June's head began to spin from the chemical vapors, and her eyes watered so badly she could barely see.

But they pressed on, dousing every surface they could reach. The organic growth seemed to recoil from the gasoline, the walls actually pulling back as if the substance was painful to whatever alien intelligence controlled this place.

"Everyone ready?" Mike asked, holding up a lighter that looked tiny and insignificant in the vast chamber.

June looked around at their small group – these brave, stupid, wonderful kids who were willing to walk into hell itself to save their friends. Steve caught her eye and nodded, his battered face set with determination that made her chest tight with emotion she wasn't ready to name.

"Light it up," June said, stepping back as Mike flicked the lighter.

The flame caught the gasoline trail with a whoosh that seemed to suck all the oxygen out of the chamber. Fire raced along the walls and ceiling like a living thing, turning the organic growth into a writhing mass of flame and smoke.

The sound that followed was unlike anything June had ever heard – a scream that seemed to come from the walls themselves, a cry of pain and rage that vibrated through her bones and made her ears ring. The entire chamber convulsed around them, the walls contracting like a muscle in spasm.

"Run!" Steve shouted, and they ran.

The tunnels behind them were collapsing, filled with smoke and the sound of something massive dying in agony. June's lungs burned as she ran, the combination of smoke and spores making every breath a struggle. Her injured ribs and shoulder and side sent spikes of agony through her body with every step, and her cracked ribs felt like they were grinding against each other.

But she kept going, following the beam of Steve's flashlight through the maze of passages as the world fell apart around them. Behind them, she could hear the fire spreading, consuming the organic growth that had turned these tunnels into an extension of the Upside Down.

They were almost to the exit when Dustin stopped short, his flashlight illuminating a familiar shape blocking their path. June's heart sank as she recognized the creature – it was Dart, Dustin's former pet, now fully grown into a demodog.

The creature was massive, easily the size of a large dog, with the characteristic eyeless face that opened like a flower to reveal rows of razor-sharp teeth. It let out a low growl that seemed to vibrate through the tunnel walls, and June could see its muscles tensing as it prepared to attack.

"Guys," Dustin said slowly, his voice carefully controlled, "just trust me, okay?"

He pulled off his goggles and face mask, then reached into his backpack with movements so slow and deliberate they seemed almost ritualistic. June tensed, ready to fight or die, but instead of a weapon, Dustin pulled out a Three Musketeers bar.

"Hey there, buddy," he said softly, his voice taking on the same tone he'd used when Dart was small enough to fit in his palm. "Remember me? It's Dustin. Your friend."

Dart's head tilted at the sound of his voice, and for a moment June thought she saw something like recognition in its alien features. The creature's aggressive posture relaxed slightly, its flower-like face closing to a more neutral position.

Dustin unwrapped the candy bar with exaggerated care, the crinkling of the wrapper unnaturally loud in the tense silence. "You always did love nougat," he said, tossing the candy to the creature.

Dart caught it with surprising delicacy, its claws careful not to damage the treat. As it began to eat, making soft chittering sounds of contentment, Dustin gestured for the others to move.

"Okay," he whispered, "now we go. Slowly. Don't make any sudden movements."

They crept past Dart single file, each of them holding their breath as they squeezed by the feeding demodog. June could feel the heat radiating from its body, could hear the wet sounds it made as it devoured the candy. When she was close enough to touch it, she could see the individual scales that covered its hide, each one reflecting the light from their flashlights like black mirrors.

June held her breath until they were well past the creature, then let out a shaky laugh that was part relief and part hysteria. "I can't believe that worked."

"Never underestimate the power of nougat," Dustin replied with a grin that was visible even in the dim light.

They reached the rope ladder that led back to the surface, and Steve immediately started helping the kids climb up. "Go, go, go," he urged, boosting Lucas up toward the opening where blessed fresh air waited.

June was about to follow when she heard it – a sound like thunder, but wrong. It was too rhythmic, too purposeful, like the drumbeat of an approaching army. She turned to see a sight that would haunt her nightmares for years to come.

A horde of demodogs was racing through the tunnels toward them, their claws scraping against the walls as they ran. There had to be dozens of them, maybe more, their bodies flowing through the passages like a river of teeth and claws and alien hunger.

"Steve," she said quietly, her voice surprisingly calm given the circumstances.

He turned, saw what she was seeing, and his face went pale beneath the bruises. "Climb," he said urgently. "Climb now."

But there wasn't time. The demodogs were too close, moving too fast, their alien bodies perfectly adapted for speed in these confined spaces. June and Steve pressed themselves against the tunnel wall, weapons raised, as the creatures bore down on them like an avalanche of nightmares.

"Well," Steve said, his voice surprisingly calm as he raised his nail bat, "this is it."

June looked at him – this boy who had somehow become so important to her, who had risked everything to protect a bunch of kids he barely knew. In the flickering light of their dropped flashlights, she could see the fear in his eyes, but also something else – a kind of peace, as if he'd made his decision about what mattered most.

"Steve," she said, her voice barely audible over the approaching thunder of claws on stone.

"Yeah?"

"If we die down here, I just want you to know that-"

The demodogs had just about reached them, and June braced for impact, more scared than she had ever been in her life. But instead was wrapped in warm arms and a racing heartbeat that wasn't just her own. June looked up and Steve looked down, a mutual understanding. A short moment passed before June wrapped her arms around him too. They both dipped their heads into one another as they prepared for certain death, at least it was a shared experience But instead of the tearing claws and snapping teeth she expected, the creatures ran right past them, their attention focused on something else entirely.

June and Steve stood frozen against the tunnel wall as dozens of creatures raced past them, so close they could feel the wind from their passage and smell the alien musk of their bodies. The demodogs paid them no attention at all, driven by some imperative that was stronger than their hunger.

When the last one disappeared around a bend in the tunnel, heading towards the fire, June and Steve looked at each other in stunned silence.

"Did that just happen?" Steve asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"I think so," June replied, her heart still hammering against her ribs like a caged bird. "Our distraction worked. They're going after the real threat."

They climbed out of the tunnels in a daze, helping each other up the rope ladder and into the cold night air that had never tasted so sweet. The kids were waiting for them at the surface, their faces tight with worry and fear.

"Are you okay?" Mike asked, his voice cracking with emotion. "We heard all that noise, and then those things..."

"We're fine," June said, though she wasn't entirely sure that was true. Her whole body felt like one giant bruise, and she was pretty sure she was running on nothing but adrenaline and stubbornness at this point. "The demodogs, they went toward the heart. Our distraction worked."

As if to confirm her words, they saw lights in the distance – strange, otherworldly lights that pulsed and flickered against the night sky like aurora borealis. The lights were coming from the direction of Hawkins Lab, and June knew with absolute certainty that they were witnessing something unprecedented.

The gate was closing. Eleven was doing it, facing down the Mind Flayer itself in a battle that would determine the fate of not just Hawkins, but possibly the entire world.

They stood there in the dead pumpkin patch, watching the lights dance across the horizon like the northern lights, and June felt something she hadn't felt in a long time: hope. Real, genuine hope that this nightmare might actually be ending.

They had done it. Against all odds, with nothing but determination and a handful of makeshift weapons, a group of kids and one former king of Hawkins High had actually made a difference. They had given Eleven the chance she needed, had drawn the Mind Flayer's attention away from the lab long enough for her to do what needed to be done.

The war for Hawkins was finally, truly over.

Chapter Text

One month later

The December air was crisp and sharp, carrying the promise of snow as June pulled up to Hawkins Middle School in Joyce's borrowed car. The building was decorated with twinkling lights and paper snowflakes, transforming the usually mundane brick structure into something almost magical. Students were streaming through the front doors in their best clothes – the boys tugging at uncomfortable ties, the girls smoothing down carefully curled hair.

"You sure you don't want me to walk you in?" June asked, glancing at Will in the passenger seat. He looked good – better than he had in weeks. The color had returned to his cheeks, and the haunted look that had lingered in his eyes since his possession was finally starting to fade.

"I'm sure," Will said, but his voice carried a note of nervousness that made June's protective instincts flare. "It's just... what if something happens? What if I have another episode?"

June reached over and squeezed his hand gently. "Then you go to the bathroom, splash some cold water on your face, and remember that you're Will Byers. You survived the Upside Down twice. You can handle a middle school dance."

Will smiled at that, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "When you put it like that..."

"Besides," June added with a grin, "if anyone gives you trouble, just remember that your honorary big sister knows at least seventeen different ways to hide a body."

"Seventeen?" Will asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Okay, maybe three. But they're really good ones."

Will laughed – a real, genuine laugh that made June's heart feel lighter than it had in weeks. "Thanks, June. For everything. I know you didn't have to stick around after... after everything that happened."

"Hey," June said softly, "We're family now. Byers don't abandon each other, right?"

Will nodded, his eyes bright with emotion he was too young to fully articulate. He grabbed his jacket from the backseat and opened the car door, then paused. "Pick me up at ten?"

"I'll be here," June promised. "Have fun, kiddo. Dance with a pretty girl. Or anyone pretty. I don't judge."

Will's cheeks flushed pink, but he was still smiling as he shut the door and headed toward the school. June watched him go, noting the way he walked a little taller now, the way he waved to friends who called his name from across the parking lot. He was going to be okay. They all were.

She was about to pull away when another car caught her attention – a familiar BMW parked a few spaces over. Steve Harrington was leaning against the driver's side door, and Dustin Henderson was standing next to him, gesticulating wildly about something.

June couldn't help but smile. Steve looked good – the bruises from his fight with Billy had faded to yellow-green shadows, and his hair had returned to its usual perfect state. He was wearing a burgundy sweater that brought out the gold flecks in his eyes, and June felt her stomach do a little flip at the sight of him.

She'd been thinking about Steve a lot over the past month. More than she probably should have, considering they'd barely seen each other since that night in the tunnels. There had been debriefings with Hopper, medical check-ups to make sure none of them were suffering lasting effects from their exposure to the Upside Down, and the general chaos of trying to return to normal life after saving the world.

But in the quiet moments, when she was helping Joyce with dinner or reading to Will before bed, her thoughts kept drifting back to Steve. The way he'd thrown himself between Billy and the kids without hesitation. The way he'd looked at her in those tunnels, like she was something worth protecting. The way his hand had felt in hers when they thought they were about to die.

Before she could talk herself out of it, June turned off the engine and got out of the car. Steve looked up at the sound of her door closing, and his face broke into a smile that made her knees feel weak.

"June!" Dustin called out, waving enthusiastically. "Did you see my hair? Steve helped me with it. He says it's 'scientifically perfect' for attracting the ladies."

June walked over to them, trying to ignore the way Steve's eyes tracked her movement. "It looks great, Dustin. Very... voluminous."

"That's what I said!" Steve exclaimed, reaching over to ruffle Dustin's carefully styled curls. "Kid's going to be beating them off with a stick."

"Steve!" Dustin protested, frantically trying to fix his hair. "You're ruining the construction!"

"Sorry, sorry," Steve said, holding up his hands in surrender. "Go on, get in there before all the good dance partners are taken."

Dustin straightened his bow tie one last time, then headed toward the school with the confidence of someone who had faced down interdimensional monsters and lived to tell the tale. June and Steve watched him go, standing in comfortable silence as the parking lot gradually emptied.

"So," Steve said eventually, shoving his hands into his pockets. "How's Will doing? Really, I mean. Not the 'everything's fine' version you give Hopper."

June appreciated that he asked. Most people seemed to think that because the Mind Flayer was gone, everything should just go back to normal. They didn't understand that trauma didn't work that way, that healing was a process that took time.

"Better," she said honestly. "He still has nightmares sometimes, and loud noises make him jumpy. But he's painting again, and he actually wanted to come tonight, so that's progress."

"And what about you?" Steve asked, his voice softer now. "How are you doing?"

The question caught June off guard. She was so used to being the one taking care of everyone else that she'd almost forgotten people might be concerned about her too.

"I'm okay," she said automatically, then caught the look Steve was giving her. "Really, I am. The shoulder's healed up fine, and the ribs only hurt when it rains now."

"That's not what I meant," Steve said gently. "I meant... all of it. Everything that happened. It's okay to not be okay, you know."

June felt something tight in her chest loosen at his words. "Some days are harder than others," she admitted. "Sometimes I wake up and for a second I forget that it's over, that we're safe. And sometimes I think about how close we came to losing everything, and I can't breathe."

Steve nodded like he understood exactly what she meant. "The nightmares are the worst part for me. I keep dreaming that I didn't get to the kids in time, that Billy..." He trailed off, his jaw clenching.

"But you did get to them in time," June said firmly. "You saved them, Steve. You saved all of us."

"We saved each other," Steve corrected, and there was something in his voice that made June look at him more closely. "I couldn't have done any of it without you."

They were standing closer now, though June couldn't remember either of them moving. She could see the faint scar on Steve's forehead where Billy had hit him with the plate, could smell his cologne mixing with the cold December air.

"June," Steve said, his voice barely above a whisper. "There's something I need to tell you. Something I should have said that night in the tunnels."

June's heart started beating faster. "Steve..."

"I know the timing is terrible, and I know we've both been through hell, but I can't stop thinking-" Steve said in a rush, like he was afraid he'd lose his nerve if he didn't get the words out quickly. "The way you threw yourself into that fight with Billy, the way you took care of the kids, the way you looked at me when we thought we were going to die... I think I'm falling June. Actually, I know I am."

June felt like all the air had been sucked out of her lungs. Steve Harrington – former king of Hawkins High, the boy every girl in school had wanted to date – was standing in a middle school parking lot telling her he was falling for her.

"Steve," she breathed, and she could see hope flickering in his eyes.

He stepped closer, his hand coming up to cup her cheek with a gentleness that made her heart ache. "I know it's crazy, and I know we barely know each other outside of life-or-death situations, but-"

"June fucking Byers!"

The shout cut through the moment like a knife, and June jerked away from Steve as if she'd been burned. Across the parking lot, two figures were marching toward them with the determination of people on a mission.

Ellie and Rina.

"Shit," June muttered under her breath.

"Friends of yours?" Steve asked, his hand dropping to his side.

"Something like that," June said, watching as the two girls approached. "Listen, Steve, about what you said—"

But it was too late. Ellie and Rina had reached them, and both girls were looking at June like she was a particularly interesting specimen under a microscope.

"June Byers," Ellie said, crossing her arms over her chest. "Where the hell have you been for the past month? You just disappeared after that whole thing with the lab, and nobody's seen you since."

"We've been worried sick," Rina added, though her tone suggested she was more curious than concerned. "There were rumors that you were in some kind of accident, or that you'd moved away again."

June's mind raced, trying to come up with a plausible explanation that didn't involve interdimensional monsters and government conspiracies. "I was... sick," she said finally. "Really sick. Food poisoning that turned into pneumonia. I've been basically bedridden for weeks."

It was a terrible lie, and she could see from Steve's expression that he thought so too. But Ellie and Rina seemed to buy it, their faces softening with sympathy.

"Oh my god, that's awful," Ellie said. "Why didn't you call us? We could have brought you soup or something."

"I was pretty out of it," June said, hating how easily the lies came. "The doctors said I was delirious for most of it."

"Well, you're better now, right?" Rina asked, then grabbed June's arm without waiting for an answer. "Come on, we're going to Benny's. You can tell us everything, and we can catch you up on all the drama you missed."

"Actually, I can't," June said, trying to pull away. "I'm picking Will up in a few hours, and—"

"Will can wait," Ellie said firmly, grabbing June's other arm. "We haven't seen you in forever, and we have so much to talk about. Did you know that Tommy H. and Carol broke up? And there's this whole thing with Emily and Davis that you're going to die when you hear about."

June looked back at Steve helplessly as her former friends began dragging her toward Ellie's car. He was standing there with his hands in his pockets, looking like he wanted to say something but didn't know what.

"I'll call you," June mouthed, and Steve nodded, though she could see the disappointment in his eyes.

The next three hours at Benny's Burgers were a special kind of torture. June sat in a booth across from Ellie and Rina, picking at a basket of fries while they peppered her with questions about her supposed illness and filled her in on gossip that felt incredibly trivial after everything she'd been through.

"So then Tommy told Carol that he'd been seeing Vicki Carmichael behind her back, and Carol threw her milkshake right in his face," Rina was saying, her eyes bright with the thrill of drama. "It was amazing. I wish you'd been there to see it."

June made appropriate noises of interest, but her mind kept drifting back to Steve. The way he'd looked at her when he said he was falling for her. The way his hand had felt against her cheek. The way the moment had been building between them before Ellie and Rina had interrupted.

What would have happened if they hadn't been interrupted? Would Steve have kissed her? Would she have let him?

The thought made her stomach flutter with something that might have been anticipation or might have been terror. She'd never been good at relationships – her nomadic childhood had made it hard to form lasting connections, and her father's violence had left her wary of getting too close to anyone.

But Steve was different. He'd seen her at her worst – bloody and battered and half-dead from fighting monsters – and he'd still looked at her like she was something precious. He'd risked his life for a bunch of kids he barely knew, had thrown himself into danger without hesitation when it mattered.

Maybe that was worth taking a chance on.

"June?" Ellie's voice cut through her thoughts. "You're not listening to a word we're saying, are you?"

"Sorry," June said, forcing herself to focus. "I'm still a little foggy from being sick. What were you saying?"

Rina and Ellie exchanged a look that June didn't like. "We were saying that you seem different," Rina said carefully. "Like, really different. Are you sure you're okay?"

June felt a chill run down her spine. "I'm fine. Just tired."

"It's not just that," Ellie said, leaning forward across the table. "You look... I don't know, older somehow. Like you've seen things."

If only you knew, June thought, but she kept her expression neutral. "Nearly dying will do that to a person."

The conversation moved on to safer topics after that, but June could feel her friends watching her with curious eyes. She was relieved when it was finally time to pick up Will, using it as an excuse to escape their scrutiny.

The middle school parking lot was crowded with parents and older siblings waiting to collect their kids. June spotted Will immediately – he was standing near the front doors with Mike, Lucas, and Dustin, all of them looking flushed and happy.

"How was it?" June asked as Will climbed into the passenger seat.

"Amazing," Will said, his face practically glowing. "Lucas actually kissed Max, and Dustin did this thing where he-"

"Whoa, slow down," June laughed, pulling out of the parking lot. "Start from the beginning."

Will launched into a detailed recap of the evening as they drove through the quiet streets of Hawkins. He told her about the decorations and the music, about how Mike had spent most of the night staring at the door waiting for Eleven to show up, about how Dustin had tried to impress a girl named Nancy with his "scientifically perfect" hair.

"So what about you?" Will asked as they turned onto their street. "What did you do while I was gone?"

June thought about Steve's confession, about the almost-kiss that had been interrupted, about the way her heart had raced when he'd touched her face. "Nothing exciting," she said. "Just hung out with some friends."

Will seemed to accept this, chattering about the dance until they pulled into the Byers driveway. Joyce was waiting up for them, eager to hear about Will's evening, and June listened with a smile as he recounted his adventures for his mother.

By the time Will had finished his story and headed off to bed, June was exhausted. The emotional whiplash of the evening – Steve's confession, the awkward encounter with Ellie and Rina, the joy of seeing Will so happy – had left her drained.

She said goodnight to Joyce and headed to her small room, which had once been Jonathan's before he'd left for college. It was sparse but comfortable, with a twin bed and a small desk where she did her homework. Joyce had insisted on buying her new sheets and curtains, small touches that made the space feel more like home than anywhere June had lived in years.

She changed into an oversized t-shirt and crawled into bed, her mind still spinning with thoughts of the evening. Steve's words echoed in her head: I think I'm falling, June.

What was she supposed to do with that? She cared about Steve – more than cared about him, if she was being honest with herself. But caring about people had always been dangerous for her. People left, or they hurt you, or they died fighting interdimensional monsters.

But maybe that was exactly why she should take the chance. After everything they'd been through, after coming so close to losing everything, maybe it was time to stop being afraid of getting hurt.

June closed her eyes and let sleep take her, her last conscious thought being of Steve's hand on her cheek and the way he'd looked at her like she was something worth fighting for.

But sleep brought no peace.

June found herself standing in a familiar kitchen, the smell of cigarettes and stale beer heavy in the air. She was twelve years old again, pressed against the wall as her father stumbled through the room, his face twisted with the kind of rage that came from too much alcohol and too little control.

"Where is she?" he was shouting, his words slurred but his intent clear. "Where's that worthless daughter of mine?"

June tried to make herself smaller, tried to disappear into the peeling wallpaper, but it was too late. His bloodshot eyes found her, and his face split into a smile that was somehow worse than his anger.

June tried to run, but her feet felt like they were stuck in molasses. The kitchen stretched impossibly long, the door getting farther away with each step she took.

The scene shifted again. Now she was in a motel room in Nevada, watching Anya pack their meager belongings with shaking hands while a man pounded on the door, shouting threats about money owed and debts unpaid.

"We have to go," her Anya whispered, tears streaming down her face. "We have to go right now."

But there was nowhere to go. There was never anywhere to go. Just another town, another person, another reason to run in the middle of the night.

The images came faster now, a kaleidoscope of fear and violence and abandonment. Her father's fists. Her friends tears. The succession of men who had seen a vulnerable duo as easy targets. The constant moving, the constant fear, the constant knowledge that safety was an illusion and love was a luxury she couldn't afford.

"Poor little June," a voice said from the darkness, and June spun around, trying to locate its source. "Always running, always afraid. Don't you get tired of it?"

The voice was male, cultured, with an accent she couldn't quite place. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, echoing strangely in the shifting dreamscape.

"Who's there?" June called out, but the nightmare scenes continued to swirl around her.

"Someone who understands," the voice replied, and now June could see a figure in the shadows – tall and pale, with sharp features and eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness. "Someone who knows what it's like to be different, to be powerful, to be... misunderstood."

The figure stepped closer, and June caught a glimpse of blonde hair and clothing that seemed to shimmer and shift like it was made of starlight. There was something familiar about him, something that made her skin crawl with recognition she couldn't quite grasp.

"You don't have to keep running," the figure said, his voice hypnotic and strange. "You don't have to keep being afraid. I could show you a world where you're the one with power, where no one could ever hurt you again."

"I don't know what you're talking about," June said, but even as she spoke, she felt drawn to the figure, to the promise in his voice.

"Don't you?" he asked, and smiled. It was a beautiful smile and a terrible one, full of sharp teeth and darker promises. "You've tasted power, June. You've felt what it's like to fight back, to protect the people you care about. Wouldn't you like to feel that way all the time?"

The nightmare scenes began to fade, replaced by images that were somehow more seductive. June saw herself standing tall and unafraid, saw bullies and abusers cowering before her, saw a world where she was never again the victim.

"All you have to do is say yes," the figure whispered, reaching out a pale hand toward her. "All you have to do is take my hand, and I'll show you wonders beyond your imagination."

June found herself reaching back, drawn by the promise of power, of safety, of never being afraid again. Their fingers were almost touching when—

June jerked awake with a gasp, her heart pounding and her body covered in cold sweat. The familiar walls of her room came into focus slowly, the nightmare fading like smoke in the morning light.

But the voice lingered, echoing in her mind with its seductive promises. And somewhere in the back of her consciousness, June had the unsettling feeling that this was only the beginning.

Outside her window, snow had begun to fall, covering Hawkins in a blanket of white that made everything look clean and new. But June couldn't shake the feeling that something dark was stirring beneath the surface, something that knew her name and wanted something from her.

She pulled her knees to her chest and tried to convince herself it was just a nightmare, just her mind processing the trauma of the past few months. But deep down, she knew better.

Something was coming for her. And this time, she wasn't sure she'd be strong enough to fight it.

Alright so I MEGA toned this down. It was way more graphic and had many more sensitive themes but i decided y'know what. June doesn't need all that just yet.

Yet.

Chapter Text

The Quiet Unraveling

The morning light filtered through the thin curtains of June's small room, casting pale shadows across the walls she'd never bothered to decorate. She woke with a start, her heart still racing from fragments of a dream she couldn't quite grasp-something about music and dancing and eyes that seemed to see right through her. The feeling clung to her like cobwebs as she sat up, running her hands through her tangled hair.

Today was the last day of school. The thought should have brought relief, maybe even excitement, but instead it settled in her stomach like a stone. Summer stretched ahead of her like an empty void no structure, no routine, just endless days of being invisible in the Byers house while Joyce fretted over Will and Jonathan prepared for whatever came next.

June pulled on her usual uniform of worn jeans and an oversized flannel shirt, not bothering to look in the mirror. What was the point? She grabbed her backpack and headed downstairs, where the familiar chaos of the Byers morning routine was already in full swing.

"Will, did you pack your inhaler?"(idk) Joyce called from the kitchen, her voice carrying that perpetual note of worry that had only gotten worse since the Upside Down incident.

"Yes, Mom," Will replied patiently, shouldering his backpack. He caught sight of June on the stairs and offered her a small smile. "Morning, June. Ready for the last day?"

"As ready as anyone can be for the end of the world," June muttered, but she returned his smile. Will was the only one who consistently acknowledged her existence, and she was grateful for it, even if she didn't always show it.

Joyce bustled around the kitchen, packing lunches and checking that everyone had everything they needed. "June, honey, there's toast on the counter if you want some," she said absently, her attention already shifting to Jonathan as he emerged from his room with his camera bag slung over his shoulder.

"Thanks," June said quietly, grabbing a piece of toast even though she wasn't particularly hungry. She ate it standing by the counter, watching the family dynamic play out around her like a movie she wasn't really part of.

Jonathan ruffled Will's hair as he passed. "Try not to let Mike rope you into any more crazy schemes, okay?"

"They're not crazy," Will protested, but he was grinning. "They're adventures."

"Same thing," Jonathan said with a laugh, then glanced at June. "You need a ride to school?"

June shook her head. "I'll walk. Thanks though."

The truth was, she preferred walking. It gave her time to prepare herself for the day, to build up the walls she'd need to get through another eight hours of being nobody special. The morning air was crisp against her face as she made her way through Hawkins, past the neat suburban houses with their perfect lawns and their perfect families having perfect breakfasts behind perfect windows.

Hawkins High loomed ahead of her, a brick monument to teenage misery and social hierarchies. Students clustered in their usual groups across the front lawn the jocks tossing a football back and forth, the popular girls comparing nail polish, the theater kids dramatically reciting lines from whatever play they were working on. June walked past them all, invisible as always, and headed for her usual meeting spot.

She found her friends exactly where she expected them. Ellie perched on the low wall by the art building, sketching in her ever-present notebook while dressed in what looked like a 1940s secretary outfit complete with a pencil skirt and cardigan. Rina was balanced precariously on the edge of a planter, her rainbow-streaked hair catching the morning light as she regaled Moss with some story that involved wild hand gestures. Moss sat on the ground with his back against the wall, his headphones around his neck and his usual expression of mild disinterest on his face, though June could tell he was listening to every word Rina said.

"-and then I told him that if he wanted to see crazy, I could show him crazy," Rina was saying as June approached. "So I climbed up on the roof of the gas station and-June!" She broke off mid-sentence and launched herself at June with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever. "Thank god you're here. I was about to die of boredom."

"You were about to die because you climbed on a roof," Moss said dryly, though his eyes lit up slightly when he saw June. "Hey."

"Hey yourself," June replied, settling down beside him. She could smell his cologne—something woody and subtle that he'd probably spent way too much money on. "What did Rina almost die doing this time?"

"Existing," Ellie said without looking up from her sketch. "Same as always."

Rina threw a piece of gravel at her. "You're one to talk, Wednesday Addams. When's the last time you did something that got your heart rate above sixty?"

"I don't believe in unnecessary excitement," Ellie replied primly, finally looking up from her notebook. "Unlike some people who seem to think life is a continuous audition for Jackass."

"Life is short," Rina said with a shrug. "Might as well make it interesting."

June listened to her friends bicker with the fond exasperation of someone who'd heard this exact argument a hundred times before. This was her group-the misfits and the weirdos, the ones who didn't quite fit anywhere else. Ellie with her vintage clothes and her sharp tongue, who drew beautiful, haunting pictures and never let anyone see them. Rina with her manic energy and her complete disregard for personal safety, who collected experiences like other people collected stamps. And Moss, quiet and thoughtful, who knew more about music than anyone had a right to and who looked at June sometimes like she was a song he was trying to figure out how to play.

They were her people, and she loved them, even if she wasn't always good at showing it.

The first bell rang, cutting through the morning chatter, and students began the slow migration toward the building. June shouldered her backpack and was about to follow when she heard her name being called.

"June! Hey, June, wait up!"

She turned to see Steve jogging toward her, his hair perfectly styled despite the early hour. Her friends stopped and stared-Steve Harrington didn't exactly run in their circles.

"I'll catch up with you guys," June told them, ignoring Rina's raised eyebrows and Ellie's smirk.

Steve reached her slightly out of breath, which was ridiculous because he was on the basketball team and should have been able to jog twenty feet without breaking a sweat.

"Hey," he said, running a hand through his hair. "I wanted to talk to you about yesterday-"

"Hey steve! You coming to (insert class)?" A voice called out from the back.

"We should probably get to class," June said quickly, already backing away.

"No, wait, I—" Steve started, but

She turned and walked away, her cheeks burning with embarrassment and something else she didn't want to name. Behind her, she could hear Steve saying her name, but she didn't look back.

The day passed in a blur of final exams and teachers who'd clearly already checked out for the summer. June moved through her classes on autopilot, her mind elsewhere. She kept thinking about Steve, The whole saving the world thing. The whole almost kiss thing. Well shucks.

By the time the final bell rang, June was more than ready to escape. She met up with her friends by their lockers, where Rina was already bouncing with post-school energy.

"Freedom!" Rina declared, throwing her arms wide. "Sweet, beautiful freedom! No more tests, no more homework, no more pretending to care about the Napoleonic Wars!"

"The Napoleonic Wars were actually quite fascinating," Ellie said, carefully packing her art supplies into her vintage leather satchel. "Napoleon's military strategies revolutionized European warfare."

"Nerd," Rina said affectionately.

"Philistine," Ellie replied.

Moss slung his backpack over his shoulder and looked at June. "Bridge?" he asked, and she nodded.

Their place-that's what they called it, though it wasn't really theirs at all. It was just the space under the old railway bridge on the outskirts of town, where massive concrete support beams created a kind of shelter from the world above. Someone had dragged an old couch down there years ago, and over time it had become a gathering place for kids who didn't quite fit anywhere else. June and her friends had claimed it as their own sometime during sophomore year, and it had become their refuge.

The walk there took them through the nicer part of town and then gradually into the more industrial area where the railroad tracks cut through Hawkins like a scar. June walked beside Moss while Rina and Ellie argued about whether abstract expressionism was a legitimate art movement or just an excuse for people who couldn't draw.

"So," Moss said quietly, his voice barely audible over Rina's passionate defense of Jackson Pollock. "Steve Harrington, huh?"

June felt her cheeks warm. "What about him?"

"He seems... interested."

"He's just being nice," June said quickly. "Steve's nice to everyone now."

Moss was quiet for a moment, and when June glanced at him, she caught an expression on his face that she couldn't quite read. "Right," he said finally. "Nice."

They reached the bridge and scrambled down the embankment to their usual spot. The old couch sat in the shadow of the massive concrete supports, surrounded by the detritus of teenage hangouts empty soda cans, cigarette butts, someone's forgotten homework from last semester. It wasn't much to look at, but it was theirs.

Rina immediately claimed her usual spot on the arm of the couch, while Ellie settled primly on one end with her sketchbook. Moss and June took the middle, careful to maintain the precise distance they always kept close enough to feel the warmth of each other's presence, far enough apart to maintain plausible deniability.

"So," Rina said, pulling a pack of cigarettes from her jacket pocket. "What's everyone doing with their summer of freedom? you want one?" She asked June. June shook her head. Not today.

"My parents are making me get a job," Ellie said, not looking up from her drawing. "Something about 'building character' and 'learning the value of hard work.'" She made air quotes with her pencil.

"I'm working at the record store," Moss said. "Downtown, next to the bookshop."

"That's perfect for you," June said, and she meant it. Moss working in a record store was like a fish finding water.

"What about you?" he asked, and June realized all three of her friends were looking at her expectantly.

"I don't know," she admitted. "Probably nothing. Just... existing, I guess."

"Existing is underrated," Rina said, lighting her cigarette despite Ellie's disapproving look. "Sometimes the best adventures are the ones you don't plan."

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the shadows lengthen as the afternoon wore on. A train passed overhead at one point, the rumble of it vibrating through the concrete and into their bones. June closed her eyes and let the sound wash over her, feeling more at peace than she had all day.

"I should probably head home," she said eventually, when the sun had started to sink toward the horizon.

"I'll walk with you," Moss said immediately, and June felt that familiar flutter in her chest that she'd been trying to ignore for months.

They said goodbye to Rina and Ellie-Rina with her usual dramatic flair, Ellie with a distracted wave as she continued sketching-and started the walk back toward town. The evening air was warm and still, carrying the scent of honeysuckle and the distant promise of summer storms.

"So," Moss said as they walked, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. "I was thinking."

"Dangerous," June teased, and was rewarded with one of his rare smiles.

"There's this thing happening next weekend," he continued, his voice carefully casual. "At the drive-in. They're showing some old movies—Casablanca, Roman Holiday, that kind of thing. Classic stuff."

June nodded, not sure where he was going with this.

"I thought maybe..." Moss cleared his throat. "I mean, if you're not doing anything, maybe we could go. Together. You know, since we both like old movies."

June felt a warm glow spread through her chest. Moss wanted to hang out with her, just the two of them. It made sense. they had the most in common out of their little group, and they'd been getting closer lately. It would be nice to spend some time together without Rina's chaos or Ellie's sarcasm.

"That sounds great," she said, smiling at him. "I love those old movies. Very romantic."

Something flickered across Moss's face—disappointment? Relief? She couldn't tell.

"Cool," he said, his voice back to its usual monotone. "It's a... it's a plan then."

They'd reached the turnoff to Cherry Lane, where the Byers house sat with its peeling paint and overgrown yard. June paused at the corner, suddenly reluctant to end the conversation.

"Thanks for walking me home," she said.

"Anytime," Moss replied, and the way he said it made her think he really meant it.

June watched him walk away until he disappeared around the corner, then made her way up the familiar path to the front door. She could hear voices from inside Joyce and Jonathan discussing something in the kitchen while the TV played in the living room.

"June?" Joyce called as she came through the door. "How was your last day?"

"Fine," June called back, hanging her backpack on the hook by the door. "Uneventful."

She found the family gathered around the small dining table, where Joyce had laid out what looked like a feast by Byers standards meatloaf, mashed potatoes, green beans from a can. Will was already digging in while Jonathan helped himself to seconds.

"Sit, sit," Joyce said, gesturing to the empty chair. "I made plenty."

June took her usual seat and filled her plate, listening as Joyce and Jonathan discussed his plans for the summer. He'd gotten a job at the Hawkins Post, working for the local newspaper, and Joyce was both proud and worried in the way that only mothers could be.

"Just promise me you'll be careful," Joyce was saying. "No chasing after dangerous stories or anything like that."

"Mom, it's Hawkins," Jonathan said with a laugh. "The most dangerous story I'm likely to cover is Mrs. Henderson's missing cat."

Will looked up from his mashed potatoes. "How was the last day, June? Are you excited for summer?"

June appreciated that he always tried to include her in the conversation, even when it would have been easier to ignore her. "It was okay," she said. "My friend Moss got a job at the record store downtown."

"That's nice," Joyce said absently, her attention already shifting back to Jonathan. "Speaking of jobs, I talked to Mrs. Wheeler today, and she said Nancy might be able to get you some shifts at the (insert some rando job)..."

June tuned out as the conversation moved on without her, focusing instead on her food. This was how it always was she existed on the periphery of the Byers family, included but not quite belonging. They were kind to her, kinder than she probably deserved, but she would always be the foster kid, the outsider looking in.

After dinner, she helped clear the dishes and then escaped to her room, claiming she had a book to finish. In reality, she just wanted to be alone with her thoughts. She changed into her pajamas and settled on her bed with a worn paperback, but found herself reading the same paragraph over and over without absorbing any of it.

Her mind kept drifting to Steve and his interrupted conversations, to Moss and his invitation to the drive-in, to the strange dream she'd woken up with that morning. There had been something about it, something that had felt more real than her actual life. She could almost remember dancing, and a voice that had made her feel like she was the only person in the world who mattered.

Eventually, her eyelids grew heavy, and she set the book aside. The house had grown quiet around her. Joyce and Jonathan's voices had faded, and even the TV had been turned off. June pulled her blanket up to her chin and closed her eyes, letting sleep pull her under like a gentle tide.

She found herself in a ballroom.

It was the most beautiful place she had ever seen, all soaring ceilings and glittering chandeliers, with mirrors that reflected the light into a thousand dancing stars. The floor was polished marble that gleamed like water, and everywhere she looked, there were people in elaborate costumes, spinning and laughing and moving to music that seemed to come from the very air itself.

June looked down at herself and gasped. Gone were her usual jeans and flannel shirt. Instead, she wore a gown that seemed to be made of starlight itself, silver and shimmering and perfectly fitted to her body. Her hair, usually a tangled mess, had been arranged in an elaborate style with flowers woven through it.

But despite the beauty surrounding her, June felt a desperate urgency thrumming through her veins. She needed to find someone. She didn't know who, but the need was so strong it was almost painful. Her eyes scanned the crowd frantically, searching for a face she couldn't quite remember but would know the instant she saw it.

I NEED to find him, she thought desperately, pushing through the dancing couples. Where is he?

The music swirled around her, haunting and beautiful, and the dancers seemed to part before her as she moved through the ballroom. Their faces were masks - literally masks. she realized, elaborate things made of feathers and jewels that hid their true identities. But she would know him even behind a mask. She had to.

And then she saw him.

He stood at the far end of the ballroom, leaning against a pillar with an air of casual elegance that made her breath catch. He was young-maybe her age, maybe a little older-with pale skin and sharp cheekbones and the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen. They were blue, but not just blue-they seemed to hold depths that went on forever, like looking into the heart of a storm.

Their eyes met across the crowded ballroom, and June felt something electric pass between them. A spark, a recognition, a sense of coming home to a place she'd never been before. He smiled, and it was like the sun coming out from behind clouds.

He began to move toward her, and June found herself walking to meet him, drawn by an invisible thread. The other dancers seemed to fade away until it was just the two of them, moving toward each other through a sea of shadows and starlight.

When they finally came together in the center of the ballroom, he held out his hand to her with a grace that spoke of centuries of practice.

"Dance with me," he said, and his voice was like music itself, low and rich and full of promises she didn't understand but desperately wanted to.

June placed her hand in his without hesitation, and suddenly they were moving together as if they had been dancing for years. He led her through steps she had never learned but somehow knew, spinning her out and drawing her back in with a skill that made her feel like she was flying.

"You're beautiful," he murmured as they moved together, his breath warm against her ear. "More beautiful than I imagined."

June felt her cheeks flush. No one had ever called her beautiful before—not like this, not like they really meant it. "I don't even know your name," she whispered.

"Names have power," he said, spinning her again. "But you can call me... Henry."

Henry. The name seemed to resonate through her bones, familiar in a way that made no sense. "Henry," she repeated, and he smiled.

"Tell me about yourself," he said as they continued to dance. "What do you love? What makes you happy?"

The question caught her off guard. When was the last time anyone had asked her that? "I... I like old movies," she said hesitantly. "And books. And music-not the popular stuff, but the kind that tells stories."

"A romantic," He said, and there was approval in his voice. "I can see it in your eyes. You're searching for something, aren't you? Something more than the ordinary world can give you."

June felt tears prick at her eyes. How did he know? How could he see so clearly what she had never been able to put into words? "Yes," she whispered.

"You're special," He continued, his hand tightening on hers as they moved together. "More special than they know. Than they could ever understand. You deserve to be cherished, to be the center of someone's world."

June's heart was racing now, and not just from the dancing. No one had ever spoken to her like this, had ever made her feel like she mattered. Like she was worth something. Weirdo.

"You're different from the others," she found herself saying. "Everyone else just... looks through me. Like I'm not even there."

"Their blindness is not your failing," He said fiercely. "You shine brighter than all of them combined. They simply lack the vision to see it."

The music began to slow, and June realized with a pang of loss that their dance was coming to an end. She didn't want it to stop. She didn't want to go back to being invisible, to being nobody special.

"I have to go," He said softly, and she could hear genuine regret in his voice. "But this isn't goodbye. I'll find you again."

"Promise?" June asked, hating how desperate she sounded.

Instead of answering with words, Henry lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles. His lips were soft and warm, and the touch sent electricity racing up her arm and straight to her heart.

"Until we meet again," he murmured against her skin, and then-

June woke with a gasp, her heart pounding and her skin damp with sweat. She sat up in bed, disoriented and aching with loss. The dream had felt so real-she could still feel the phantom touch of his lips on her hand, could still hear the echo of his voice calling her beautiful.

She pressed her fingers to her lips, trying to hold onto the feeling, but it was already fading like morning mist. All that remained was a deep, inexplicable longing for something she couldn't name, and the strange certainty that somewhere out there, someone was looking for her too.

June lay back down and stared at the ceiling, knowing that sleep wouldn't come again easily. But she didn't mind. She closed her eyes and tried to remember every detail of the dream—the ballroom, the music, the way he had looked at her like she was the most important person in the world.

For the first time in her life, someone had made her feel like she mattered. Even if it was only a dream.

😏😏😏😏😏😏

I'm so evil aren't I?

BUCKLE UP BECAUSE THE ROAD IS ONLY GETTING BUMPIER🏌️‍♀️🚗💥

Chapter Text

Three weeks into summer, and June had already fallen into a routine that felt suspiciously like sleepwalking. Wake up, eat breakfast in the periphery of the Byers family chaos, wander around Hawkins with nothing particular to do, come home, eat dinner in the same peripheral silence, go to bed, and dream.

Always the dreams.

Every night, Henry appeared in that glittering ballroom, and every night June felt more alive in those stolen moments of sleep than she did in all her waking hours combined. He would take her hand, spin her across that marble floor, and make her feel like she was the center of the universe. They would talk for what felt like hours, about books, about music, about the way the world looked different when you were someone who truly mattered to another person.

And every morning, she woke up aching with loss.

"You're looking pale," Joyce observed over breakfast, her perpetual worry lines deepening as she studied June's face. "Are you feeling alright? Getting enough sleep?"

"I'm fine," June said automatically, pushing scrambled eggs around her plate. Across the table, Will shot her a concerned look, but didn't say anything. Jonathan had already left for his job at the Hawkins Post, chasing down riveting stories about city council meetings and lost pets.

"Maybe you should get out more," Joyce continued, in that gentle way she had of trying to fix things without overstepping. "Spend time with your friends. It's summer. you should be having fun."

June nodded noncommittally. The truth was, she had been spending time with her friends, but even that felt different now. Ellie had gotten that job her parents insisted on-working at the library, which suited her perfectly. Rina had thrown herself into what she called her "summer of experiences," which so far had included learning to skateboard, attempting to hitchhike to Indianapolis (she'd made it as far as the county line before getting picked up by Hopper), and starting a brief but passionate romance with a girl from the next town over.

And Moss... Moss was working at the record store, just like he'd said. June had stopped by a few times, ostensibly to browse but really just to have someone to talk to who looked at her like she existed. He'd played her new songs, recommended albums he thought she'd like, and never once mentioned their upcoming trip to the drive-in. June had started to wonder if she'd imagined the whole conversation.

"I might go to the mall today," June said, mostly to get Joyce to stop looking at her with that worried expression.

Joyce brightened immediately. "Oh, that's a good idea! It's supposed to be quite something. Very modern."

The Starcourt Mall had opened with great fanfare a few weeks ago, and it seemed like half of Hawkins had developed an obsession with the place. June had avoided it so far—crowds weren't really her thing but she was running out of ways to fill the long summer days.

An hour later, she found herself standing in front of the gleaming monument to capitalism that had sprouted on the outskirts of town like some kind of neon mushroom. The parking lot was packed, families and teenagers streaming through the glass doors into the air-conditioned paradise within.

June took a deep breath and followed them in.

The mall was overwhelming in the way that new things often were all bright lights and shiny surfaces and the kind of aggressive cheerfulness that made her feel slightly nauseous. Stores lined the corridors like soldiers, each one trying to outdo the others with colorful displays and sale signs. The food court buzzed with activity, and somewhere in the distance she could hear the artificial sounds of an arcade.

She wandered aimlessly for a while, not really looking for anything in particular. She browsed through the bookstore (disappointing selection), checked out the record store (not as good as the one downtown where Moss worked), and was contemplating whether she was hungry enough to brave the food court when she heard a familiar voice.

"Ahoy there! Welcome to Scoops Ahoy, where the ice cream is cold and the sailors are... also cold, I guess? but not personality wise - no- uhm we're actually quite warm! dammit..."

June turned toward the voice and felt her stomach drop. There, behind the counter of an ice cream shop that looked like it had been decorated by someone with a serious nautical fetish, stood Steve Harrington. He was wearing what had to be the most ridiculous uniform she'd ever seen. a sailor outfit complete with a hat that looked like it belonged in a children's theater production. June held back an evil cackle.

Their eyes met across the small shop, and June watched Steve's face cycle through several emotions—surprise, embarrassment, something that might have been hope, and finally resignation as he seemed to remember where he was and what he was wearing.

"June," he said, and her name sounded different in his voice than it had a year ago. Heavier, somehow. "Hi."

"Hi," she managed, acutely aware that she was staring. "Nice... uniform."

Steve looked down at himself and laughed, but it wasn't his old confident laugh. It was self-deprecating in a way that made something twist in June's chest. "Yeah, well, turns out when you don't get into college and your dad decides to teach you about 'real work,' you end up dressed like a reject from Pirates of Penzance."

"It's not that bad," June lied.

"It's pretty bad," said another voice, and June turned to see a girl emerging from the back room. She was younger than them, with short brown hair and an expression of perpetual skepticism. She wore the same ridiculous uniform, but somehow managed to make it look less absurd. "I'm Robin," she said to June. "I work with Captain Ahoy here."

"June," June replied, and Robin's eyes lit up with recognition.

"Oh, you're June! Steve's mentioned-"

"Robin," Steve interrupted quickly, his cheeks flushing red above the sailor collar. "Don't you have... inventory to do? In the back?"

Robin grinned, clearly enjoying his discomfort. "Nope, all caught up. So, June, what can we get you? Steve makes an excellent banana split. He's very... thorough with his banana handling."

June was pretty sure Robin was messing with Steve, though she wasn't entirely sure how. "Just a scoop of strawberry would be great."

"Coming right up," Steve said, moving to the ice cream freezers with the kind of focused attention usually reserved for defusing bombs. "Cone or cup?"

"Cone, please."

June watched him work, noting the way his hair fell across his forehead when he leaned over the freezer, the careful precision with which he scooped the ice cream. His hands were the same hands that had almost touched her face a year ago, in the Byers' living room, when the world had been ending and she'd thought maybe, just maybe, someone might actually want her.

"Here you go," Steve said, handing her the cone. Their fingers brushed as she took it, and June felt that same electric jolt she'd been trying to forget for months.

"Thanks," she said, digging in her pocket for money.

"On the house," Steve said quickly. "Employee perk."

"Steve," Robin said in a sing-song voice, "you know we're not supposed to give away free ice cream."

"It's one scoop, Robin. I think the corporate overlords will survive."

June took a bite of the ice cream, more to have something to do with her mouth than because she was actually hungry. It was good,creamy and rich and cold enough to make her teeth ache.

"So," Steve said, leaning against the counter in a way that was probably supposed to look casual but came off as nervous. "How's your summer going? Doing anything fun?"

"Not really," June admitted. "Just... surviving, mostly."

Something flickered across Steve's face-concern, maybe, or recognition. "Yeah, I get that. Summer's weird when you're not in school anymore. Like, what are you supposed to do with all this time?"

"Serve ice cream to ungrateful customers, apparently," Robin chimed in, but she was smiling.

"Robin's going to be a senior next year," Steve explained. "She's got it all figured out."

"Hardly," Robin snorted. "I'm just better at pretending than you are."

June found herself smiling despite the awkwardness of the situation. There was something about Robin's dry humor that reminded her of Ellie, and something about the easy banter between her and Steve that made the knot in June's chest loosen slightly.

"I should probably go," June said, even though she didn't particularly want to. "Let you guys get back to work."

"You don't have to-" Steve started, then stopped himself. "I mean, yeah, okay. But maybe... maybe I'll see you around?"

There was something in his voice, a tentative hope that made June's heart do complicated things. For a moment, she let herself imagine what it would be like if things were different. If Steve hadn't pulled away after that almost-kiss. If she was the kind of girl who could walk into an ice cream shop and flirt with a boy in a ridiculous uniform without feeling like she was pretending to be someone else.

"Maybe," she said, and meant it more than she probably should have.

June left Scoops Ahoy with her ice cream and a head full of confusion. She wandered through the mall for another hour, but her heart wasn't in it anymore. All she could think about was the way Steve had looked at her, like he wanted to say something but didn't know how. Like maybe he'd been thinking about that night a year ago too.

By the time she made it home, the ice cream was long gone and the sun was starting to set. The Byers house was quiet. Joyce was working a late shift at Melvald's, Jonathan was probably still at the newspaper, and Will was at Mike's house, planning their next D&D campaign.

June made herself a sandwich for dinner and ate it standing at the kitchen counter, staring out the window at the gathering dusk. She thought about Steve in his ridiculous sailor outfit, about the way he'd given her free ice cream and looked at her like she mattered. She thought about Robin's knowing smirks and the easy way she'd teased Steve about his "banana handling."

Most of all, she thought about the way Steve had said "maybe I'll see you around" like it was a question he was afraid to ask.

June went to bed early that night, partly because there was nothing else to do and partly because she was eager to return to her dreams. To Henry and his ballroom and the way he made her feel like the most important person in the world.

But as she drifted off to sleep, it wasn't Henry's face she saw behind her eyelids. It was Steve's, looking at her across a counter covered in ice cream and hope, asking if maybe he'd see her around.

In her dream, she was back in the ballroom, but something was different. The other dancers seemed more solid somehow, their masks more elaborate, their movements more frantic. The music was louder, more discordant, and June found herself searching the crowd with growing desperation.

Where was Henry?

She pushed through the dancing couples, her starlight gown trailing behind her, but she couldn't find him anywhere. Panic began to rise in her throat. He had to be here. He was always here.

"Looking for someone?"

June spun around and there he was, but he seemed different too. Older, somehow, though his face was the same. His eyes held depths she hadn't noticed before, and when he smiled, she caught a glimpse of something that might have been teeth that were too sharp.

"I was worried you wouldn't come," she said, relief flooding through her as he took her hand.

"I will always come for you," Henry said, and his voice was like honey over broken glass. "You are far too precious to lose."

They began to dance, but the steps were different tonight-more complex, more demanding. June found herself struggling to keep up, stumbling over her own feet in a way that had never happened before.

"Tell me about your day," Henry said as he spun her, his grip on her hand just a little too tight. "What did you do in that dreary little town of yours?"

"I went to the mall," June said, breathless from trying to match his pace. "There's a new ice cream shop."

Something flickered across Henry's face-annoyance, maybe, or something darker. "Ice cream," he repeated. "How... mundane. Surely you have better things to do with your time than indulge in such trivial pleasures."

"It wasn't about the ice cream," June found herself saying. "There was this guy-"

Henry stopped dancing so abruptly that June stumbled. His hand on her waist tightened, and for a moment his grip was almost painful. Right on the scar that stopped her from wearing a top that was too short. June winces in pain though she did not pull away.

"A boy," he said, and his voice had gone very quiet. Very dangerous.

"It's not what you think," June said quickly, though she wasn't sure why she felt the need to explain. "We're just... we're friends. Sort of. It's complicated."

"Complicated," Henry repeated, and slowly began to move again, though the dance felt different now. Possessive. "My dear June, you are far too extraordinary to waste your time on complications. You deserve someone who sees your worth immediately, completely. Someone who would never leave you guessing about their intentions."

June felt tears prick at her eyes. He was right, of course. Steve had made his feelings clear when he'd pulled away from her a year ago. She was foolish to read anything into a free ice cream cone and some awkward small talk.

"You're right," she whispered.

"I'm always right," Henry said, and his smile was gentle again, loving. "That's why you need me, darling. To remind you of your own value when the world tries to convince you otherwise."

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles, just like always, but tonight the touch felt different. Claiming, somehow. Like he was marking her as his own.

"Until tomorrow night," he murmured against her skin, and June woke with his words echoing in her ears.

She sat up in bed, her heart racing and her skin damp with sweat. Something about the dream had felt off, though she couldn't put her finger on what. Henry had been the same as always charming, attentive, devoted to her in a way that no one in her waking life had ever been.

So why did she feel so unsettled?

June lay back down and stared at the ceiling, trying to shake off the lingering unease. Outside her window, Hawkins slept peacefully, unaware of the dreams that danced behind the closed eyes of its residents. Unaware of the boy in the sailor suit who lay awake in his own bed, thinking about a girl with sad eyes and wondering if he'd ever find the courage to tell her the truth about that night a year ago.

And unaware of the presence that watched from the spaces between dreams, patient and hungry and very, very interested in the girl who had caught the attention of Steve Harrington.

After all, Henry had been waiting so long for someone like June. Someone lonely enough, desperate enough, to believe that love could come without a price.

He could afford to be patient a little while longer.

Chapter Text

June sat curled up on the living room couch, her legs tucked beneath her as the familiar opening notes of "As the World Falls Down" began to swell from the television speakers. The Byers' ancient VCR wheezed and clicked as the tape played, a sound she'd grown so accustomed to that it had become part of the movie's soundtrack in her mind. She'd watched Labyrinth countless times so many that she could recite entire scenes from memory but something about it always drew her back like a moth to flame. Maybe it was the way Sarah got swept away into a world where she actually mattered, where someone powerful and dangerous wanted her enough to build an entire labyrinth just to keep her. Or maybe it was David Bowie in those impossible tight pants, singing about the power of voodoo with a voice like velvet and smoke. Either way, June had worn out two copies of this tape already, and Joyce had finally given up asking why she needed to watch "that weird movie with the baby-stealing goblins" quite so often. The ballroom scene was coming up June's absolute favorite part, where Sarah found herself in that glittering wonderland of masks and music, dancing with the Goblin King like she belonged in his arms. June leaned forward slightly, anticipating the moment when the camera would pan across that impossible ballroom, when Bowie's voice would croon about the world falling down, when- The screen erupted into violent static. "What the hell?" June muttered, grabbing the remote from the coffee table and frantically pressing buttons. The static continued, angry white noise that seemed to mock her, crackling and hissing like some electronic demon had possessed the television. She tried rewinding, fast-forwarding, even ejecting and reinserting the tape, but nothing worked. The screen remained a chaos of black and white snow. "No, no, no," she said, smacking the side of the TV with increasing desperation. "Come on, you piece of junk. Not now. Not during the scene." The static flickered for a moment, showing a brief, tantalizing glimpse of David Bowie's face those mismatched eyes, that sharp smile before dissolving back into electronic chaos. "Stupid piece of junk!" June snapped, hitting the TV harder than was probably wise. The whole set rocked slightly on its stand, and for a terrifying moment she thought she might have broken it entirely. "I swear to God, if you're dead, I'm going to-" "Everything okay in there?" Will's voice came from the kitchen, followed by the sound of his footsteps on the linoleum floor. "It sounds like you're either fixing the TV or murdering it." "The TV's being possessed," June said, finally giving up and switching it off with more force than necessary. The sudden silence felt oppressive after the chaos of static. "Or maybe the tape finally died. I've only watched it about a million times." Will appeared in the doorway, his bike helmet tucked under one arm and his backpack slung over his shoulder. His hair was still messy from sleep, sticking up in directions that defied both gravity and logic. "Actually, that's kind of perfect timing," he said, shifting his weight from foot to foot in that way he did when he was nervous about asking for something. "I was wondering if maybe you could give me a ride to the mall? Mike needs to buy an apology gift for El, and..." He trailed off, his cheeks flushing slightly pink. June raised an eyebrow, momentarily distracted from her technological woes. "An apology gift? What did Mike do this time? Please tell me he didn't try to 'protect' her from something again." "It's complicated," Will said quickly, his flush deepening. "Something about lying and spying and El being really mad. You know how Mike gets when he's trying to protect people. He means well, but..." "But he has the emotional intelligence of a brick wall," June finished. She did know, actually. Mike Wheeler had a tendency to make decisions for other people "for their own good," which rarely went over well with the people in question. It was a Wheeler family trait, apparently Nancy did the same thing, though she was usually more subtle about it. "Something like that," Will agreed with a small smile. "So anyway, Mike's been freaking out about it all morning, and Lucas suggested the mall, and I said I'd go with them for moral support, but Joyce took the car to work and Jonathan's got some story he's chasing for the paper..." "Sure, I can drive you," June said, already mentally calculating how long it would take and whether she had enough gas. "Joyce won't mind?" "She's working a double shift at Melvald's, and Jonathan's covering some story about the mayor's new anti-mall campaign for the Post," Will said, his relief evident. "Plus, you're a responsible driver. Unlike some people we know." He grinned, and June knew he was thinking about Steve's legendary driving skills. or lack thereof. "Give me ten minutes to get ready," June said, pushing herself up from the couch. "And Will? Maybe suggest that Mike actually apologize with words too. Girls like that almost as much as presents." "I'll mention it," Will said, though his expression suggested he thought Mike was beyond such advanced relationship advice. Twenty minutes later, June was pulling out of the driveway with Will in the passenger seat, his bike secured in the back of Joyce's beat-up station wagon with bungee cords that had seen better days. The summer air was thick and humid, the kind of oppressive heat that made everything feel sluggish and dreamlike. Storm clouds were building on the horizon, promising relief that probably wouldn't come until evening. The radio crackled with static as June tried to find a decent station. more electronic interference that reminded her uncomfortably of her broken movie. She finally gave up and switched it off, leaving them with the sound of the engine and the whistle of wind through Will's partially open window. "So what's Mike thinking of getting her?" June asked as they drove through downtown Hawkins, past Melvald's General Store where Joyce was probably dealing with difficult customers and broken air conditioning. "Flowers? Chocolate? A heartfelt apology letter written in his own blood?" Will snorted, a sound that was half-laugh, half-exasperation. "Knowing Mike, probably something completely overthought and expensive that he can't afford. He's been freaking out about it all morning. I think he called Lucas at like seven AM to discuss strategy." "Poor Lucas," June said with mock sympathy. "Nothing worse than being dragged into someone else's relationship drama before breakfast." "Yeah," Will said, and something in his voice made June glance at him sideways. He was staring out the window with an expression she couldn't quite read, wistful, maybe, or sad. There was something there, some emotion he was trying to hide. "You okay?" she asked gently. "Fine," Will said quickly, too quickly. "Just... you know. Sometimes it's weird being the only one without a girlfriend. Everyone's pairing off and I'm just... there." June felt a pang of sympathy so sharp it was almost physical. She knew exactly what that felt like. being on the outside looking in while everyone else seemed to figure out the mysterious world of romance. Being the third wheel, the extra person, the one who got left behind when couples wanted alone time. "Trust me," she said, her voice softer than usual, "having a girlfriend isn't all it's cracked up to be. Especially when you don't actually have one and you're just pretending you're not desperately lonely." That earned her a small smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "How are your friends doing? The ones from school? Ellie and Rina and... Moss?" June felt her cheeks warm slightly at the way he said Moss's name, like he knew something she didn't want to admit. "Good, I think. Ellie's working at the library and complaining about people who don't understand the Dewey Decimal System. Apparently, someone tried to return a cookbook to the fiction section yesterday and she nearly had an aneurysm." "That sounds like Ellie," Will said with a genuine laugh. "And Rina's trying to give Joyce a run for her money in the 'making people worry' department. Last week she decided to learn how to skateboard by practicing on the steepest hill in town. She's got the bruises to prove it." "Ouch." "And Moss is working at the record store downtown," June continued, trying to keep her voice casual. "You know, the one next to the bookshop? He's in heaven-surrounded by vinyl all day, getting to talk to people about music. It's like his dream job." "Moss is the quiet one, right? The one who knows everything about music and looks at you like you hung the moon?" June nearly swerved into the other lane. "He does not look at me like that!" "Uh-huh," Will said, grinning now. "So what's this I heard about you two going to the drive-in?" "How did you-never mind, I don't want to know." June sighed. "We're supposed to go next weekend. They're showing some old movies Casablanca, Roman Holiday, that kind of thing. Classic romantic stuff." "Like a date?" Will asked with the kind of innocent curiosity that only teenage boys could manage, though there was something else in his voice too. Something that suggested he understood more about unrequited feelings than he let on. "Like friends hanging out," June said firmly, though even as she said it, she wondered if she was being naive. "Moss and I are just friends. He probably just wants someone to discuss cinematography with." Will nodded, but she caught him hiding a smile. "Right. Friends. Friends who go to romantic movies together under the stars." "Shut up," June said, but she was smiling too. The mall parking lot was packed, as usual for a summer afternoon. Cars circled like vultures looking for spots, and June could see families with strollers and groups of teenagers all heading toward the gleaming glass entrance. She finally found a spot near the back, wedged between a rusty pickup truck and a pristine BMW that probably belonged to someone's rich parents. "Here, let me help you with that," June said, getting out to help Will extract his bike from the back of the station wagon. The bungee cords had gotten tangled, and it took both of them working together to free the bike without scratching the car's paint. "Thanks for the ride," Will said, shouldering his backpack and checking to make sure he had his wallet. The few coins inside of it jingled pathetically."You don't have to wait around if you don't want to. I can probably get a ride home with someone, or worst case scenario, I'll call Joyce." "I might stick around for a bit," June said, surprised to realize she meant it. "I've got nothing else to do, and the mall has air conditioning. Plus, maybe I can find a new copy of Labyrinth while I'm here." She watched Will bike over to the main entrance, where Mike and Lucas were waiting in the shade of the building's overhang. Both boys looked like they'd rather be anywhere else Mike was pacing back and forth with nervous energy, while Lucas leaned against the wall with the long-suffering expression of someone who'd been dragged into drama against his will. "Will!" Mike called out, relief evident in his voice. "Finally! I've been going crazy. What if she doesn't forgive me? What if I ruined everything? What if-" "Mike," Lucas interrupted, "breathe. It's going to be fine. El's not going to stay mad forever." "But what if she does? What if this is it? What if I never get another chance to-" "Mike," Will said, dropping his bike and putting a hand on Mike's shoulder. "Calm down. We'll figure this out, okay? That's what we're here for." June smiled as she watched the interaction. Will had always been the peacekeeper of the group, the one who could talk Mike down from his more dramatic moments and keep Lucas from saying something sarcastic that would make things worse. "Damn, Will's sister is cool," she heard Lucas say as she walked past them toward the entrance, his voice carrying in the humid air. "She just drove him here, no questions asked. No lecture about being careful or staying out of trouble or any of that stuff." "Nancy would never do that," Mike replied, his voice bitter with sibling frustration. "She'd want to know exactly where we were going and why and probably insist on coming with us to make sure we didn't get into trouble. And then she'd spend the whole time telling us we're too young to understand real problems." "Erica won't be allowed to drive for another six years," Lucas added gloomily. "So that's completely useless. By the time she gets her license, I'll be in college." June hid a smile as she pushed through the glass doors into the blessed coolness of the mall. It was nice to know that someone thought she was cool, even if it was just Will's friends. Most of the time she felt like she was fumbling through life without a manual, making it up as she went along and hoping nobody noticed. The mall was just as overwhelming as it had been the first time she'd visited, all bright lights and competing music and the constant hum of conversation and commerce. The air smelled like a mixture of perfume samples, food court grease, and that particular scent of new merchandise that seemed to permeate every store. Shoppers moved in predictable patterns, families with strollers navigating around clusters of teenagers, elderly couples walking slowly and pointing at window displays. June wandered aimlessly for a while, letting the crowd carry her along like a leaf in a stream. She stopped to look at window displays without really seeing them, her mind still half-focused on her broken movie and the strange sense of loss she'd felt when the screen went to static right before her favorite scene. On impulse, she found herself walking toward the record store where Moss worked. It was smaller than the chain stores in the mall, tucked between a shoe store and a place that sold nothing but different kinds of soap. Through the window, she could see Moss behind the counter, deep in animated conversation with a customer about something that was clearly very important to both of them. He looked happy, June realized. More relaxed and confident than she'd ever seen him at school. His usual monotone had been replaced by genuine enthusiasm as he gestured toward a display of albums, and the customer, a middle-aged man in a Grateful Dead t-shirt, was nodding along like Moss was sharing the secrets of the universe. "-pressing plant makes all the difference," she heard Moss saying as she got closer to the window. "The German pressings from '73 have this warmth that you just can't get from the later American releases. It's like the difference between a live performance and a recording of a recording, you know?" The customer was practically vibrating with excitement. "I knew there was something different about my copy! I've been trying to figure out why it sounded so much better than my friend's." June smiled and decided not to interrupt. Moss was in his element, surrounded by vinyl and getting to share his passion with someone who actually appreciated it. She'd catch up with him later. Instead, she found herself drifting toward the Gap, drawn by some combination of boredom and the vague idea that maybe she should buy some new clothes. Her wardrobe consisted mostly of hand-me-downs from Nancy Wheeler and bargain finds from thrift stores, and while she'd never been particularly interested in fashion, there was something appealing about the idea of buying something new, something that was entirely hers. She was flipping through a rack of summer dresses, trying to imagine herself in anything that wasn't flannel or denim, when she heard familiar voices from the other side of the store. "-totally the wrong color for your skin tone," someone was saying with the kind of authority that brooked no argument. "You need something with more blue undertones. Trust me on this." June looked up to see Max Mayfield holding up a shirt while El examined herself critically in a three-way mirror. Both girls looked like they were having the time of their lives, surrounded by shopping bags and trying on different combinations of clothes with the serious concentration of scientists conducting important experiments. El was wearing a bright yellow top that did absolutely nothing for her complexion, making her look washed out and pale. But her face was glowing with happiness as she turned this way and that, studying her reflection from every angle. "I don't know," El said uncertainly. "It's very... bright." "Exactly!" Max said, pulling the yellow shirt off the rack and tossing it aside. "Bright isn't always better. Here, try this one." She handed El a soft blue top that immediately made her skin look warmer and her eyes more vibrant. The transformation was immediate and obvious, and El's face lit up as she saw the difference. "June!" Max spotted her first, waving her over with enthusiasm that was impossible to ignore. "Perfect timing. Tell El this shirt makes her look amazing." El turned toward June with a shy smile, holding up the blue top against herself. "You think it's good? Max says yellow is wrong for me, but I like yellow." "The blue is definitely better," June said honestly, walking over to join them. "Very... you, but also kind of sophisticated. Like you could wear it to a nice dinner or just hanging out, and it would work either way." El beamed, and Max looked smug with vindication. "See? I told you. Max has excellent taste in clothes." Max refered to herself in the third person. "Max has excellent taste in everything," El said with the kind of casual affection that made June's chest tight with longing. There was something so easy about their friendship, so natural and uncomplicated. They could disagree about clothes and tease each other and still be completely comfortable together. "How's your summer going?" Max asked, adding the blue shirt to their growing pile of purchases. "I feel like I never see you around anymore. Are you hiding from civilization?" "Just the usual," June said with a shrug, trying to ignore the way the question made her feel defensive. "Working on perfecting the art of doing nothing. It's harder than it looks." "Sounds boring," Max said bluntly, but not unkindly. "You should get out more. Do stuff. Meet people." "You should come hang out with us sometime," El said suddenly, her voice bright with genuine enthusiasm. "We could... what's the word? Double date?" Max snorted, nearly dropping the armful of clothes she was holding. "El, you can't just invite people on double dates. That's not how it works." "Why not?" El asked, genuinely confused. Her head tilted slightly to one side, a gesture June recognized from watching her interact with the boys. "June is nice. She should have fun too." June felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment and something that might have been panic. "That's sweet, but I'm not really... I mean, I don't have anyone to double date with. I'm not seeing anyone." "What about that guy from the ice cream place?" Max asked with a grin that was equal parts mischievous and knowing. "The one with the hair? Steve something?" "Steve?" June's voice came out higher than intended, practically squeaking with surprise. "We're not... that's not... we're just..." "Right," Max said, but her expression suggested she wasn't buying it for a second. "Just friends. I've heard that before." "We are just friends," June insisted, though even as she said it, she could feel her face getting redder. "Barely even that, really. We just... we know each other. From around. Like saving the world...." "Uh-huh," Max said, exchanging a look with El that was full of meaning June couldn't decipher. "Well, the offer stands. Even if it's just hanging out, no boys required. We could go see a movie or something. Get our nails done. Normal girl stuff." "I'd like that," El added softly. "It would be nice to have more friends." June felt something twist in her chest gratitude and longing and a kind of desperate hope she didn't want to examine too closely. "Yeah," she said, trying to keep her voice casual. "That sounds nice." She thanked them and made her escape before the conversation could get any more embarrassing, but she could feel their eyes on her as she left the store. Max probably thought she was an idiot for denying the obvious thing with Steve, and El was probably wondering why she'd seemed so flustered by a simple invitation to hang out. June wandered through a few more stores, trying to shake off the awkwardness of the encounter. She browsed through the bookstore (disappointing selection, mostly bestsellers and self-help books), checked out the music store (not as good as the one downtown where Moss worked), and ran into some acquaintances from school who wanted to catch up on summer gossip. "June! Oh my god, how are you?" squealed Ashley Morrison, a girl from her English class who had never spoken to her during the actual school year. "I feel like I haven't seen you in forever!" "Just enjoying the summer," June said, trying to match Ashley's enthusiasm and failing miserably. "Isn't this mall amazing?" gushed Ashley's friend Brittany? Bethany? June couldn't remember. "It's like having a little piece of the city right here in Hawkins. My mom says it's going to put all the downtown stores out of business." "That's... great," June said weakly. "You should totally come to my pool party next weekend," Ashley continued, as if they were close friends instead of virtual strangers. "It's going to be epic. Everyone's going to be there." June doubted that "everyone" included her usual crowd, but she nodded politely and made noncommittal noises about checking her schedule. After a few more minutes of forced small talk about summer plans and fall classes, she managed to extract herself and continue wandering. She found herself standing outside Scoops Ahoy with no clear memory of how she'd gotten there, like her feet had carried her there without consulting her brain. Through the window, she could see Robin behind the counter, looking bored as she served ice cream to a family with three screaming children who couldn't agree on flavors. There was no sign of Steve, which was probably for the best. June was still trying to figure out what Max had meant about "that guy from the ice cream place" and whether her reaction had been as obvious as it felt. But even as she told herself she should just walk away, she found herself pushing through the door, drawn by curiosity and the promise of air conditioning and maybe, possibly, the chance to see Steve again without Nancy Wheeler interrupting. The shop smelled like sugar and artificial vanilla, with an underlying note of cleaning products that suggested Robin took the health department regulations seriously. The nautical theme was even more overwhelming up close—there were anchors and life preservers and fishing nets covering every available surface, like someone had decided that subtlety was the enemy of effective marketing. "June!" Robin spotted her immediately and waved her over with obvious relief. "Thank god, a friendly face. I was starting to think I was going to have to listen to screaming children all day." "Rough crowd?" June asked, nodding toward the family that was finally leaving with their ice cream and their still-arguing children. "The worst," Robin said dramatically. "The little one wanted chocolate, but only if it was in a blue cone, which we don't have. The middle one wanted vanilla, but not too vanilla, whatever that means. And the oldest one just stood there the entire time making this face like I was personally responsible for ruining his summer." "The glamorous life of food service," June said with a sympathetic smile. "Steve!" Robin called toward the back room, her voice carrying easily over the sound of the mall's background noise. "Your girlfriend's here!" "She's not my girlfriend!" came Steve's voice from somewhere in the back, followed by the sound of rapid footsteps and what might have been someone running into a wall or a door frame. June felt her cheeks burn. "Robin, we're not-" "I know, I know," Robin said with a grin. "But it's fun to watch him panic." Steve appeared a moment later, slightly out of breath and with his hair more disheveled than usual. His sailor hat was askew, and there was what looked like ice cream on his uniform shirt. "June! Hi. You're here. Again." "I'm here again," June agreed, trying not to smile at his obvious flustered state. There was something endearing about seeing Steve, former king of Hawkins High, reduced to nervous stammering by her mere presence. "Thought I might try a different flavor this time. Expand my horizons." "Right, yes, different flavors. We have lots of those." Steve gestured vaguely at the ice cream freezers, nearly knocking over a display of waffle cones in the process. "What were you thinking? We've got chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, mint chip, rocky road, cookies and cream..." Before June could answer, there was a loud crash from the back room, followed by a very clear and emphatic "Shit!" June's head snapped up, recognition flooding through her. She knew that voice, that particular tone of frustrated embarrassment. "Dustin?" "July?!" came the immediate response, and suddenly Dustin Henderson came barreling out of the back room like he'd been shot from a cannon. His curly hair was wilder than ever, sticking up in directions that defied physics, and his face was split by an enormous grin that made him look about ten years old. "Oh my god, what are you doing here?" June laughed, accepting his enthusiastic hug without hesitation. Dustin had always been one of her favorites among Will's friends. he was the one who actually seemed to like having her around, probably because she never talked down to him or treated him like a little kid who couldn't handle adult conversations. "Working on something super important and classified," Dustin said importantly, puffing out his chest like he was announcing state secrets. "Top secret government stuff. Well, not government exactly, but definitely important. What about you? Are you here to see Steve? Because he's been-" "Dustin," Steve interrupted quickly, his voice slightly strangled. "Maybe we should focus on the... thing. The important thing we're working on." June looked between them, curiosity piqued by their obvious nervousness. "What kind of important thing?" "It's nothing," Steve said at the same time Dustin said, "It's a Russian code!" There was a moment of silence, broken only by the sound of Robin snorting with laughter. "A Russian code?" June repeated, looking at Steve's resigned expression and Dustin's excited one. "Seriously?" "We intercepted a secret transmission," Dustin explained, bouncing slightly on his toes with enthusiasm. "It's coming from somewhere in Hawkins, and if we can crack it, we'll be American heroes! We'll probably get medals and everything!" "Dustin," Steve said weakly, running a hand through his hair and making it even messier. "What? She's cool! June's always been cool." Dustin turned back to June with the kind of absolute confidence that only thirteen-year-old boys could muster. "Want to help? We could use another brain on this. Steve's is kind of... limited." "Hey!" Steve protested. "No offense," Dustin added quickly. "You're great at other stuff. Like... hair. And ice cream scooping." June looked at the chaos visible through the doorway to the back room. papers scattered everywhere, what looked like a whiteboard covered in random letters, and a tape recorder sitting in the middle of it all like some kind of electronic shrine. It looked like the aftermath of a very specific kind of explosion, the kind that happened when teenage boys got obsessed with something and lost all sense of organization. "What is all this?" she asked, following them into the back room and picking up one of the papers. It was covered in Dustin's handwriting, letters and numbers and what looked like increasingly desperate attempts at translation. "It's nothing," Steve said at the same time Dustin said, "It's a Russian code!" "You said that already," June pointed out, studying the paper more closely. The handwriting was messy but determined, with lots of cross-outs and corrections. Someone had been working on this for a while. "We think it's coming from somewhere in Hawkins," Dustin continued, ignoring Steve's frantic gestures to shut up. "And if we can crack it, we'll be American heroes! We'll probably get our pictures in the paper and everything!" "Dustin," Steve said again, but there was resignation in his voice now, like he'd accepted that the secret was out. "What? She's Will's sister! She's practically family! And she's smart remember when she helped me with that history project about World War II? She knew all that stuff about code-breaking and secret messages." June felt a warm glow at the praise, even as she tried to process what they were telling her. "You really think someone's broadcasting Russian codes from Hawkins, Indiana?" "I know how it sounds," Steve said quickly. "But we heard it ourselves. It's definitely Russian, and it's definitely coming from somewhere local." June looked at the whiteboard, at the scattered papers, at Steve's earnest expression and Dustin's hopeful one. She thought about her broken movie, her empty afternoon, the way her chest had felt tight with loneliness until she'd walked into this chaotic little room where people actually seemed happy to see her. "Sure," she said, surprising herself. "Why not? I've got nothing else to do, and this beats wandering around the mall pretending to shop." "Really?" Dustin's face lit up like Christmas morning. "This is going to be great! We're going to crack this code and save America and probably get a parade!" "Let's start with just cracking the code," June suggested, settling into one of the folding chairs that had been set up around the small table. "What have you figured out so far?" The next few hours passed in a blur of translation attempts and increasingly wild theories. They'd managed to work out what seemed to be a Russian alphabet, matching Cyrillic letters to their English equivalents, but the actual message remained frustratingly elusive. Every time they thought they were making progress, they'd hit another wall, a word that didn't make sense, a phrase that seemed like gibberish, a reference they couldn't decode. "Okay, let's try this again," June said, squinting at their latest attempt. The whiteboard was covered in letters and symbols, connected by lines and arrows that made it look like a conspiracy theorist's fever dream. "The week is long, the silver cat feeds when blue meets yellow in the west." "That's got to be code for something," Dustin said, pacing back and forth in the small space like a caged animal. "But what feeds? And what's the silver cat? Is it an actual cat? A code name? Some kind of machine?" "Maybe it's not a cat," Steve suggested from where he was leaning against the wall, his sailor hat abandoned on the table. "Maybe it's like... a code name for something else. Like how they call submarines 'boats' even though they're not really boats." "Or maybe it's exactly what it sounds like," June said thoughtfully, tapping her pen against her lips. "Sometimes the best codes are the ones that sound like nonsense but are actually completely literal. Like, what if there really is something called a silver cat, and it really does feed when blue meets yellow in the west?" "But what does that mean?" Dustin asked, flopping into his chair with dramatic frustration. "Blue meets yellow in the west? Is that a time? A place? A signal?" "Could be anything," Steve said. "Could be talking about the sunset, that's west, and sometimes the sky turns all different colors." "Or it could be about the mall," June mused, looking around the small room. "Think about it-this place is huge, it's got stores with different colored signs, it's got a food court and an arcade and all kinds of places where people gather..." "You think the Russians are using the mall?" Dustin asked, his eyes widening with excitement. "I think we're getting ahead of ourselves," June said quickly. "But it's worth considering all the possibilities." Robin appeared in the doorway, looking exasperated and slightly amused. "Okay, I don't know what you three are doing back here, but you're being incredibly loud and Steve, you're supposed to be working. We've got customers." "Robin, we're trying to crack a Russian code," Dustin explained with the patience of someone talking to a small child. "Want to help? We could use someone with fresh eyes." Robin raised an eyebrow, her expression shifting from annoyance to skepticism to genuine curiosity. "A Russian code? Seriously? What is this, Red Dawn?" "Play her the tape," June suggested. Dustin hit play on the recorder, and the strange, crackling message filled the room. June had heard it several times now, but it still gave her chills. there was something ominous about those foreign words, something that suggested secrets and danger and things that were better left alone. Robin listened with growing interest, her expression shifting from skepticism to genuine curiosity as the message played. When it finished, she was quiet for a moment, processing what she'd heard. "Okay, that's definitely Russian," she said finally. "And you guys have been trying to translate it yourselves?" "We've got the alphabet figured out," Steve said defensively, gesturing toward their work on the whiteboard. Robin snorted, a sound that was equal parts amusement and disbelief. "Let me guess, you used a dictionary and tried to match letters?" "...Maybe." "That's not how Russian works, you dingus. The grammar is completely different, the sentence structure is backwards, and half the letters don't even make the sounds you think they do." Robin grabbed a marker from the table and started writing on the whiteboard with confident strokes. "Lucky for you, I'm fluent in four languages, including pig latin. Let's see what we're really dealing with here." June watched, impressed, as Robin quickly and efficiently worked through the translation. Her handwriting was neat and precise, and she moved with the confidence of someone who actually knew what she was doing. Within minutes, she'd confirmed their partial decode and cleaned up several mistakes they'd made along the way. "So we were right?" Dustin asked eagerly. "The week is long, the silver cat feeds when blue meets yellow in the west?" "That's what it says," Robin confirmed. "Though what it means is anybody's guess." "So what does it mean?" Steve asked, voicing the question they were all thinking. "No idea," Robin admitted with a shrug. "But at least now we know we've got the translation right. The rest is just detective work." They spent another hour throwing around theories, getting increasingly creative and increasingly ridiculous as they exhausted the obvious possibilities. Steve suggested it might be about actual cats, maybe someone was feeding stray cats at a specific time and place. Dustin was convinced it was a reference to nuclear weapons or secret military operations. Robin thought it might be some kind of supply drop or smuggling operation. June found herself thinking about the mall itself. all those stores, all those people, all that activity happening under one roof. There was something about the place that felt significant, though she couldn't put her finger on what. Maybe it was just the newness of it, the way it had changed the entire dynamic of Hawkins.

Chapter Text

June was almost to her car when she remembered the mechanical horse by the entrance. It was one of those coin-operated rides that were scattered throughout the mall, designed to entertain small children while their parents shopped. This one was painted silver and blue, with a cheerful expression that seemed at odds with the late hour and the emptying mall.

On impulse, she dug a quarter out of her pocket and turned back toward Scoops Ahoy. Steve was just locking up the store, his movements tired but methodical as he checked the locks and turned off the lights.

"Steve!" she called, and he turned toward her with surprise.

"June? Did you forget something?"

"For the horse," she said, tossing him the quarter. It arced through the air, glinting under the fluorescent lights, and Steve caught it reflexively. "You looked like you wanted to try it earlier."

Steve looked down at the quarter in his hand, then back at June with an expression she couldn't quite read. "You noticed that?"

"I notice lots of things," June said, then felt her cheeks warm at how that sounded. "I mean, I just... you were looking at it when I left last time, and I thought..."

"Thanks," Steve said, and his smile was genuine, reaching all the way to his eyes. "I'll give it a try."

June was almost to her car when she heard the tinny carnival music start up behind her. She turned to see Steve sitting on the ridiculous mechanical horse, looking embarrassed but oddly happy as it rocked back and forth. The music was cheerful and repetitive, the kind of simple melody that got stuck in your head for hours.

And exactly the same as the music at the end of the Russian tape.

June felt her blood run cold. The realization hit her like a physical blow the music, the mall, the code about blue meeting yellow in the west. It was all connected somehow, all part of something bigger and more dangerous than they'd realized.

She started to turn back, to tell Steve, to figure out what it meant, but stopped herself. It was late, Steve looked exhausted, and she was probably just being paranoid. The music was probably just a coincidence, those mechanical horses all used similar tunes, didn't they? Mass-produced carnival music that all sounded the same.

Still, she made a mental note to mention it tomorrow when they continued working on the code. It was probably nothing, but it was worth checking out.

June reached her car and found a note tucked under the windshield wiper, fluttering slightly in the evening breeze. She pulled it out and recognized Will's handwriting immediately:

June - Got a ride to Mike's with Lucas. Staying over tonight. Joyce knows. Thanks for the ride! - Will

June smiled and tucked the note into her pocket. At least she didn't have to track him down before heading home. She unlocked the car, Joyce's ancient station wagon with its temperamental locks and seats that smelled faintly of cigarettes from the previous owner, and slid into the driver's seat.

The interior was stifling after sitting in the sun all afternoon, the steering wheel almost too hot to touch. June cranked down the windows and started the engine, waiting for the air to circulate before pulling out of the parking spot. The radio came on automatically, some commercial for a furniture store having a "summer blowout sale" with prices so low they were "practically giving it away."

June navigated out of the parking lot, joining the stream of cars heading away from the mall as closing time approached. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink that would have been beautiful if June had been in the mood to appreciate them. Instead, she found herself thinking about the code, about the mechanical horse, about the way Steve had smiled at her when she'd given him the quarter.

The commercial ended and "Take On Me" by a-ha started playing, the synthesizer intro immediately recognizable. June reached for the volume knob, turning it up as the song built toward the chorus. This was one of her favorites, something about the combination of the upbeat melody and the slightly melancholic lyrics always got to her.

Take on me (take on me)

Take me on (take on me)

I'll be gone

In a day or two

June sang along, her voice not particularly good but enthusiastic, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel in time with the beat. The road stretched out ahead of her, familiar and empty in the gathering dusk. She'd driven this route hundreds of times, from the mall to downtown, past the old movie theater and the diner where Jonathan sometimes met his newspaper contacts, then out toward the residential areas where the Byers house sat at the end of a quiet street.

The song was building toward the bridge, the part where the singer's voice went high and desperate, when June realized she was getting tired of a-ha. She loved the song, but she'd heard it about a million times on the radio lately, and she was in the mood for something different. Something with more guitar, maybe, or something darker that matched her contemplative mood.

She reached over to the glove compartment, fumbling with the latch while keeping her eyes mostly on the road. The compartment popped open, spilling its contents slightly—a handful of cassette tapes that Joyce kept for long drives, some old receipts, a flashlight that probably didn't work, and a crumpled map of Indiana that looked like it had been folded and unfolded a thousand times.

June grabbed one of the tapes at random - The Clash, London Calling, one of Jonathan's that had somehow migrated to Joyce's car - and was about to pop it into the tape deck when she looked up at the road.

Billy Hargrove was standing in the middle of the street.

Not walking across it, not stumbling like he was drunk or high, just standing there in the center of the lane like he had every right to be there. Like he was waiting for something. His arms hung loosely at his sides, and even from a distance, June could see that something was wrong with his posture, with the way he held himself. Too still, too rigid, like a mannequin someone had posed in the road as a sick joke.

"SHIT!" June screamed, her hands jerking the wheel hard to the left.

The station wagon swerved violently, tires squealing against the asphalt as June fought to maintain control. The cassette tape flew out of her hand, hitting the dashboard and clattering to the floor. The contents of the glove compartment scattered across the passenger seat and footwell. June's heart was hammering so hard she could feel it in her throat, taste it like copper on her tongue.

The car fishtailed slightly as she overcorrected, and for one terrifying moment June thought she was going to flip the vehicle entirely. But then the tires caught traction and she managed to straighten out, bringing the car to a shuddering stop on the shoulder of the road about twenty feet past where Billy had been standing.

June sat there for a moment, her hands still gripping the steering wheel so hard her knuckles had gone white. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps that sounded too loud in the sudden silence - she'd managed to hit the radio's power button at some point during the swerve, cutting off a-ha mid-chorus.

"What the actual fuck," she said to the empty car, her voice shaking.

She looked in the rearview mirror, expecting to see Billy still standing there, maybe looking sheepish or angry or scared that he'd almost been hit. Instead, she saw him walking toward her car with slow, deliberate steps. Not hurrying, not running, just walking like he had all the time in the world.

June's first instinct was to just drive away. Put the car in gear and get the hell out of there, leave Billy Hargrove to explain to someone else why he'd been standing in the middle of the road like a psychopath. She didn't owe him anything - in fact, she actively disliked him. Billy was a bully and a creep who'd spent the last year making Max's life miserable and hitting on anything in a skirt with the kind of aggressive persistence that made June's skin crawl.

But something stopped her. Maybe it was the way he was moving, that strange mechanical quality to his steps. Maybe it was the memory of Max's face when she talked about her stepbrother, the fear that lurked behind her tough exterior. Or maybe it was just the basic human decency that Joyce had instilled in her, the idea that you didn't just leave someone in the middle of the road even if that someone was Billy Hargrove.

Though honestly, June thought with a bitter internal laugh, running him over and continuing on with my life would probably earn me a public thank you from the president himself and a trophy. 'Outstanding Service to Humanity' or something.

She rolled down her window, sticking her head out to shout at him. "Get off the road, asshole! You're going to make someone go to prison when they should be getting a medal!"

Billy didn't respond. He just kept walking toward her with those slow, measured steps. As he got closer, June could see his face more clearly in the fading light, and what she saw made her stomach drop.

His eyes were wrong.

Not just the expression in them, though that was disturbing enough, flat and empty like a doll's eyes, but the actual physical appearance. The whites of his eyes looked darker somehow, like they were filled with shadows or smoke. And his skin had a grayish tinge to it that couldn't be explained by the sunset lighting.

"Billy?" June said, and she hated how uncertain her voice sounded. "Are you okay? Do you need help?"

He was almost at her window now, close enough that she could see the sweat staining his shirt, could smell something acrid and wrong coming off him. Something that reminded her of the chemistry lab at school, of burning metal and spoiled meat.

June's hand moved toward the gear shift, some instinct screaming at her to drive, to get away, to stop asking questions and just go. But before she could put the car in gear, Billy's hand shot out with inhuman speed and grabbed a fistful of her hair through the open window.

"What the-" June started, but the words turned into a scream as Billy yanked her toward the window with brutal force.

Pain exploded across her scalp as he pulled, and June's hands flew up instinctively to grab his wrist, to try to pry his fingers loose. But his grip was like iron, impossibly strong, and he was pulling her through the window like she weighed nothing at all.

This isn't happening, June thought frantically, her fingers scrabbling uselessly at his arm. This can't be happening. People don't just attack other people in the middle of the road. This is Hawkins, Indiana, not some horror movie. This doesn't happen here.

Except it did happen here. June knew that better than most people. She'd heard the stories from Will and Jonathan, the carefully edited versions they told when they thought she wasn't paying attention. She knew about the Upside Down, about the monsters, about the girl with superpowers who'd saved them all. She knew that Hawkins, Indiana was exactly the kind of place where impossible things happened.

Billy pulled harder, and June felt her body being dragged through the window, her ribs scraping against the door frame. She kicked out wildly, her foot connecting with something—the steering wheel, maybe, or the dashboard and the horn blared briefly before her leg slipped free.

"Let go!" June screamed, abandoning her grip on his wrist to claw at his face instead. Her nails raked across his cheek, drawing blood, but Billy didn't even flinch. He just kept pulling with that same mechanical determination, like he was a machine programmed to complete a task and nothing was going to stop him.

June's shoulder cleared the window frame, then her chest, and then Billy was pulling her all the way out. She had a brief, disorienting moment of free-fall before she hit the ground hard, her shoulder taking the brunt of the impact. The air rushed out of her lungs in a painful whoosh, and stars exploded across her vision.

Get up, she told herself frantically. Get up, get up, get up. Fight. Run. Do something.

But before she could move, Billy was on her. His hands grabbed her shoulders and lifted her slightly, and June had just enough time to think oh god he's going to- before he slammed her back down onto the pavement.

The back of June's head connected with the asphalt with a sickening crack that she felt more than heard. Pain exploded through her skull, white-hot and all-consuming, and the world tilted sideways. She could taste blood in her mouth-she'd bitten her tongue when her head hit-and her vision was doing strange things, doubling and blurring and fading at the edges.

No, she thought desperately. No, no, no. Stay conscious. Have to stay conscious. Have to get away. Have to-

But the darkness was rising up to meet her, thick and suffocating, and June felt herself falling into it. The last thing she saw was Billy's face looming over her, those wrong eyes staring down at her with no recognition, no humanity, nothing but empty purpose.

Then everything went black.

Consciousness returned slowly, painfully, like swimming up through thick oil.

The first thing

June became aware of was the pain.

It wasn't localized to one area - it was everywhere, a full-body ache that made even the act of breathing feel like a monumental effort. Her head throbbed with a deep, pulsing agony that seemed to radiate from the back of her skull where it had connected with the pavement. Each heartbeat sent a fresh wave of pain through her temples, and she could feel something wet and sticky matted in her hair.

Blood. Definitely blood.

The second thing she became aware of was the smell.

It was overwhelming, a nauseating combination of rust and decay and something chemical that burned the inside of her nose. It reminded her of the time she'd found a dead raccoon behind the dumpster at her old apartment in Vegas, that same sweet-sick smell of decomposition mixed with something sharper, more industrial. Like someone had tried to clean up a slaughterhouse with bleach and given up halfway through.

June tried to open her eyes, but her eyelids felt like they'd been glued shut. She managed to crack them open just slightly, enough to see that she was in near-total darkness. There was a faint light source somewhere above her - a single bare bulb, maybe, or light filtering down from somewhere - but it was dim and flickering, casting more shadows than illumination.

She tried to move her arms and felt a sharp pull against her wrists. Rope, she realized with growing panic. Her arms were tied behind her back, the rough fibers digging into her skin. She tested the bonds carefully, trying not to make any sudden movements that might alert whoever had put her here that she was awake.

The rope was tight but not expertly tied. June could feel a little bit of give when she flexed her wrists, could sense that whoever had bound her had been more concerned with speed than security. That was something, at least. A small advantage in a situation that was rapidly revealing itself to be completely fucked.

Okay, June thought, forcing herself to think through the panic that was threatening to overwhelm her. Okay. Assess the situation. Figure out where you are, what's happening, how to get out.

She was lying on her side on a hard floor, concrete, from the feel of it, cold and slightly damp. Her clothes were sticking to her body, and when she shifted slightly, she felt the fabric pull away from her skin with a wet, sucking sound that made her stomach turn.

More blood. She was covered in it.

June's breath hitched, and she had to fight down the urge to scream. Screaming wouldn't help. Screaming would just alert Billy-because it had to be Billy who'd brought her here, who'd tied her up and left her in this dark place that smelled like death-that she was awake and aware.

Think, she commanded herself. You've been in bad situations before. You know how to handle this.

It was true, though June didn't like to think about those times. Living in Vegas with Anya had taken her in hadn't been all neon lights and slot machines. There had been bad boyfriends, bad situations, times when June had learned to make herself small and quiet and invisible. Times when she'd learned to pick locks with bobby pins and slip out of restraints and talk her way out of situations that could have ended very badly.

She'd been younger then, twelve or thirteen, and the situations had been different. But the skills were the same. The survival instinct was the same.

June forced herself to take slow, steady breaths despite the pain in her ribs and the way each inhale made her head pound. She needed to stay calm, needed to think clearly. Panic was the enemy. Panic would get her killed.

She tested the ropes again, more carefully this time. They were wrapped around her wrists multiple times and tied off somewhere behind her back where she couldn't quite reach. But the knot wasn't tight against her skin-there was maybe an inch or two of space between the rope and her wrists, enough that if she could just get her hands into the right position...

June started working her wrists back and forth, slowly and carefully, trying to stretch the rope without making any noise. The fibers bit into her skin, and she could feel fresh blood starting to well up where the rope was rubbing her raw. But she ignored the pain and kept working, kept twisting and pulling and trying to create just a little more space.

Her eyes were adjusting to the darkness now, and she could make out more details of her surroundings. She was in a basement of some kind-she could see exposed pipes running along the ceiling, could make out the rough concrete walls that were stained with water damage and something darker that she didn't want to think about too closely.

There were other things in the basement too. Shapes that June's brain initially tried to interpret as furniture or storage boxes, but which resolved themselves into something much worse as her vision cleared.

Bodies.

Or parts of bodies.

June's stomach lurched, and she had to swallow hard against the bile rising in her throat. There were at least three- no, four-no, she couldn't tell how many because some of them were in pieces, scattered across the floor like discarded toys. She could see a hand here, pale and waxy in the dim light. A leg there, still wearing a shoe. Something that might have been a torso, though it was so badly damaged that June couldn't be sure.

The blood she was lying in wasn't hers. Or at least, not all of it was hers.

Oh god, June thought, and this time she couldn't stop the whimper that escaped her throat. Oh god, oh god, oh god.

She was going to die here. Billy had brought her to this place - this charnel house, this nightmare-and he was going to kill her just like he'd killed these other people. He was going to tear her apart and leave her in pieces on this concrete floor, and no one would know what had happened to her. Joyce would come home from her double shift and find June's car abandoned on the side of the road, and she'd call the police, and they'd search and search but they'd never find her because she'd be here, in this basement, rotting away with the others.

No, June told herself fiercely, forcing down the panic. No. You're not going to die here. You're going to get out. You're going to survive this.

She went back to working on the ropes with renewed determination, ignoring the pain in her wrists and the way her fingers were starting to go numb from the awkward angle. The rope was definitely loosening - she could feel it, could sense that she was making progress even if it was agonizingly slow.

Come on, come on, come on, she chanted internally, twisting her wrists in a motion she'd learned from a boyfriend of her mother's who'd been in and out of jail more times than June could count. He'd shown her once, drunk and laughing, how to slip out of zip ties and rope restraints. "Just in case you ever need it, kid," he'd said, and June had filed the information away without really thinking she'd ever use it.

Thank god for small favors.

The rope gave a little more, and June felt a surge of hope. Just a little more, just a little bit more space, and she'd be able to slip one hand free. Then she could untie the rest, could get up, could find a way out of this nightmare.

She was so focused on the ropes that she almost didn't hear the footsteps.

They were slow and deliberate, coming from somewhere above her. Footsteps on stairs, getting closer. June froze, her heart hammering so hard she was sure whoever was coming could hear it. She forced herself to go limp, to let her eyes fall closed, to make her breathing slow and even like she was still unconscious.

The footsteps reached the bottom of the stairs, and June heard the click of a light switch. Even through her closed eyelids, she could sense the room getting brighter. The bare bulb above her must have been connected to a dimmer switch, because the light that had been faint and flickering was now harsh and unforgiving.

"I know you're awake," Billy's voice said, and it was wrong in the same way his eyes had been wrong. Flat and emotionless, like he was reading from a script. "Your breathing changed. Your heart rate increased. There's no point in pretending."

June kept her eyes closed, kept her breathing steady. Maybe he was bluffing. Maybe he was just trying to get her to react.

She heard him move closer, his footsteps echoing in the concrete space. Then she felt his hand in her hair again, grabbing a fistful and yanking her head back with brutal force.

June's eyes flew open with a gasp of pain, and she found herself staring up at Billy Hargrove's face. Up close, the wrongness was even more apparent. His skin had that same grayish tinge she'd noticed before, and there were dark veins visible beneath the surface, spreading out from his eyes like cracks in porcelain. His eyes themselves were completely black now, no white visible at all, just endless darkness that seemed to swallow light.

"There you are," Billy said, and smiled. It was a terrible smile, all teeth and no warmth, like something that had learned to mimic human expressions but didn't quite understand what they meant.

"Billy," June managed to croak out, her voice rough and painful. "Billy, please. Whatever's happening, whatever's wrong, we can help you. We can-"

"Billy's not here right now," he said, and laughed. It was a sound like breaking glass, sharp and wrong. "But don't worry. He can see everything. He can feel everything. He's screaming inside his own head, begging me to stop, but he can't do anything about it. Isn't that funny?"

June felt ice water flood her veins. This wasn't Billy. Or rather, it was Billy's body, but something else was controlling it. Something that was using him like a puppet, wearing him like a suit.

"What are you?" she whispered.

"We are going to be everything," Billy's mouth said, but the voice was layered now, multiple tones speaking in unison. "We are going to spread across this world like a plague, and we are going to consume everything in our path. And you, June Wheeler-"

"Byers," June corrected automatically, then immediately regretted it. Why was she correcting the monster wearing Billy Hargrove's face about her last name?

Billy's head tilted to one side, and that terrible smile widened. "June Byers. Will Byers' sister. Jonathan Byers' sister. You're connected to them. Connected to the ones who hurt us before. That makes you useful. He needs you."

He released her hair, letting her head drop back to the concrete with a painful thunk that made her vision swim. June blinked hard, trying to clear her head, trying to think of a way out of this situation. But her mind felt sluggish, her thoughts moving through molasses.

Concussion, probably. From when Billy had slammed her head into the pavement. That wasn't good. That was very not good.

Billy walked away from her, his footsteps echoing in the concrete space. June turned her head carefully, trying to track his movement without making it obvious that she was still working on the ropes behind her back. The extra light from the now-brightened bulb let her see more of the basement, and what she saw made her wish she'd stayed in the dark.

The bodies the pieces of bodies were everywhere. Some were fresh enough that she could still make out features, could see the frozen expressions of terror on their faces. Others were older, more decomposed, reduced to bones and rotting flesh that had liquefied into puddles of organic matter on the concrete floor. Bones littered it like blades of grass.

And in the center of the room, directly beneath the light, was a clear space. The concrete there was stained dark with old blood, and there were grooves carved into the floor channels that led to a drain in the center. Someone had designed this space specifically for killing, for bleeding out victims and washing away the evidence.

June's stomach heaved, and she had to swallow hard against the vomit rising in her throat. She couldn't afford to be sick, couldn't afford to show any more weakness than she already had.

Billy had stopped at a workbench against the far wall. June could see the array of knifes and bloodied saws decorating the bench.

"The others fought," Billy said conversationally, still not looking at her. "They screamed and begged and tried to bargain. They promised things - money, secrets, anything they thought might save them. It didn't matter. Nothing they said mattered. They all ended up the same way."

He turned back to face her, the knife held loosely in his hand. The light caught the blade, making it gleam.

"But you're different," he continued, walking back toward her with those same slow, deliberate steps. "You're not going to be like them. You're going to be part of something greater. Something beautiful."

June's fingers were working frantically at the ropes now, all pretense of subtlety abandoned. She could feel the bonds loosening, could feel that she was close, so close to getting one hand free. Just a little more time, just

a few more seconds and she'd have it.

Billy crouched down beside her, close enough that she could smell that acrid, wrong scent coming off him in waves. Up close, she could see that his shirt was stained with blood, old blood, dried to a rusty brown, and fresh blood that was still wet and glistening. There were bits of tissue stuck to his arms, chunks of something organic that made June's gorge rise.

"Do you know what it's like," Billy said, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face with surprising gentleness, "to be powerless in your own body? To watch yourself do terrible things and not be able to stop it?"

For just a moment, something flickered in those black eyes. Something human and terrified and desperate.

"Billy?" June whispered, hope flaring in her chest. "Billy, if you're in there, you have to fight it. You have to-"

But then the moment was gone, and the thing wearing Billy's face laughed that terrible broken-glass laugh again.

"He can't help you," it said. "He can barely help himself. He's weak. They're all weak. But soon, we'll make them strong. We'll make everyone strong."

Billy stood up, and June felt her last hope dying. She was almost free, the rope was so loose now that she could almost slip her hand through, but almost wasn't good enough. Billy was standing over her with that knife, and she was running out of time.

"Please," she said, hating how her voice shook. "Please, just let me go. I won't tell anyone. I'll leave Hawkins, I'll disappear, I'll-"

"Shh," Billy said, and grabbed her by the hair again.

This time, he didn't just pull. He lifted, hauling her up by her hair with one hand like she weighed nothing at all. June screamed as her feet left the ground, as the full weight of her body hung from his grip on her hair. The pain was indescribable, like her scalp was being torn from her skull, and she could feel individual strands ripping free.

Her hands came loose from the ropes.

The sudden freedom was so unexpected that June almost didn't react. But survival instinct kicked in, and her hands flew up to grab Billy's wrist, to try to take some of her weight off her hair. Her fingers wrapped around his arm, and she felt something wet and sticky beneath her palms.

Blood. His arm was covered in blood.

Billy carried her across the basement like she was a rag doll, his footsteps steady and unhurried. June kicked out wildly, her feet connecting with his legs, his stomach, anything she could reach. But it was like hitting a brick wall, he didn't even flinch, didn't slow down, just kept walking toward the center of the room.

Toward the clear space with the drain.

Toward the place where all those other people had died.

"No!" June screamed, abandoning her grip on his wrist to claw at his face instead. Her nails raked across his cheek, drawing deep furrows that welled with blood. "No, no, no, let me go!"

Billy stopped in the center of the room, directly over the drain. June could see it now, could see the dark stains around it, could see bits of tissue and bone fragments caught in the metal grating. Her stomach heaved, and this time she couldn't stop it, she vomited, the contents of her stomach splashing onto the concrete floor and mixing with the old blood stains.

"Look at it," Billy said, forcing her head down so she had to stare at the drain, at the evidence of all the people who had died here. "Look at what's coming for you. Look at what you're going to become."

June was sobbing now, great heaving sobs that made her ribs ache and her head pound. She couldn't stop, couldn't control it, couldn't do anything but cry and struggle uselessly in Billy's iron grip.

This was it. This was how she was going to die. Not in some heroic last stand, not saving someone she loved, but here in this basement, torn apart by a monster wearing Billy Hargrove's face. Joyce would never know what happened to her. Will and Jonathan would never know. She'd just disappear, another missing person in a town that had too many of them already.

Billy lowered her to the ground, and June felt the cold concrete against her back. She was lying in the puddle of her own vomit, in the dried blood of people who had died before her, and she couldn't even find it in herself to care anymore. The fight had gone out of her, replaced by a numb acceptance that this was the end.

"Be still," Billy whispered, leaning down so his mouth was right next to her ear. His breath was hot and fetid, like something rotting from the inside. "Be quiet. It will all be over soon."

Then he stood up and walked away.

June lay there, too shocked to move, too terrified to understand what was happening. Billy had just... left her there. He'd brought her to the killing floor, had positioned her exactly where he wanted her, and then he'd walked away.

Why?

She turned her head carefully, trying to see where he'd gone. He was standing near the stairs, his back to her, his posture rigid and waiting. Like he was expecting something. Like he was waiting for someone - or something - to arrive.

June's survival instinct kicked back in with a vengeance. She wasn't dead yet. She was hurt and terrified and covered in blood and vomit, but she wasn't dead. And as long as she wasn't dead, she could still fight. She could still try to escape.

She started to push herself up, her muscles screaming in protest. Every part of her body hurt, her head, her ribs, her wrists where the rope had cut into her skin, her scalp where Billy had torn out chunks of hair. But pain meant she was alive, and alive meant she still had a chance.

June made it to her hands and knees, swaying slightly as her vision swam. The concussion was bad, she could tell that much. The world kept tilting at odd angles, and there were dark spots dancing at the edges of her vision. But she forced herself to focus, forced herself to look around for an exit.

The stairs were out, Billy was standing right there, blocking the only obvious way out. But there had to be another way. Basements had windows, didn't they? Or maybe a bulkhead door, something that led outside?

She scanned the walls desperately, looking for any sign of an exit. But the basement was old, probably built in the fifties or sixties, and the windows had been bricked over. She could see the outlines of where they'd been, could see the slightly different colored concrete that filled the spaces, but there was no way she was breaking through that.

No windows. No other doors. Just the stairs, and Billy standing guard.

June felt despair settling over her like a heavy blanket. She was trapped. There was no way out. She was going to die here, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Then she heard it.

A sound like wet meat slapping against concrete. A sound like something large and heavy dragging itself across the floor. A sound that came from the darkest corner of the basement, from a space she hadn't been able to see clearly before.

Something was moving in the shadows.

June's head snapped toward the sound, her heart hammering so hard she thought it might burst from her chest. She could see something there, something massive and wrong, something that her brain couldn't quite process because it didn't fit into any category of things that should exist.

It was flesh. That was the only way to describe it - just flesh, raw and glistening and wrong. It moved like a slug, dragging itself forward with appendages that might have been arms or legs or tentacles, she couldn't tell. The surface of it rippled and pulsed like it was breathing, like it was alive in a way that nothing made of meat should be alive.

And it was covered in mouths.

Not just one mouth, but dozens of them, hundreds of them, scattered across its surface like obscene flowers. They opened and closed independently, revealing rows of teeth that looked human but were arranged in patterns that definitely weren't. Some of the mouths were screaming, June could see them forming the shapes of screams even though no sound came out. Others were laughing, or crying, or just hanging open in expressions of mindless hunger.

June screamed.

She couldn't help it, couldn't stop it, couldn't do anything but scream and scream and scream as the thing dragged itself toward her. It was huge easily the size of a car, maybe bigger—and it moved with terrible purpose, its flesh rippling and contracting as it pulled itself across the concrete floor.

The smell hit her then, and it was so much worse than anything she'd experienced before. It was the smell of rot and decay magnified a thousand times, the smell of bodies left in the sun for weeks, the smell of infection and gangrene and death. June gagged, her empty stomach heaving, but there was nothing left to bring up.

The thing was getting closer, and June could see more details now that she desperately didn't want to see. The flesh wasn't uniform, it was made up of different textures, different colors, like it had been assembled from multiple sources. She could see patches of skin with tattoos still visible, could see hair growing in random clumps, could see what looked like entire faces pressed against the surface from the inside, their features distorted but still recognizable as human.

The people who had died here. The bodies that had been scattered around the basement. They hadn't just been killed. they'd been consumed, absorbed, made part of this thing.

And now it was coming for her.

June tried to scramble backward, but her body wasn't cooperating. Her legs felt like jelly, her arms were shaking so badly she could barely support her weight, and her vision was graying out at the edges. The concussion, the blood loss, the sheer overwhelming terror it was all too much, and her body was shutting down.

The thing reached out with one of its appendages a mass of flesh that split into finger-like protrusions at the end and June felt it touch her leg. The contact was cold and wet and wrong, and she could feel it starting to adhere to her skin, could feel tiny barbs or hooks or something digging into her flesh.

"No," she whimpered, trying to pull away. "No, please, no."

But the thing was stronger than her, and it was pulling her closer. She could see one of the larger mouths opening, could see the throat beyond lined with more teeth, could see something moving in the depths that might have been a tongue or might have been something else entirely.

June's scream cut off abruptly as her vision finally failed, as the combination of terror and trauma and blood loss finally overwhelmed her system. The last thing she saw before darkness claimed her was that mouth opening wider, wider, impossibly wide, ready to consume her just like it had consumed all the others.

Ready to make her part of itself.

Ready to add her screaming face to the collection pressed against its surface, trapped forever in a prison of flesh and hunger and endless, mindless horror.

The darkness rose up to meet her, and June fell into it gratefully, desperately, praying that she would never wake up.

Praying that death would be kinder than whatever was waiting for her in that thing's embrace.

But even as consciousness faded, even as the world dissolved into black, she could still feel it touching her, could still feel those barbs digging deeper into her flesh, could still feel herself being pulled inexorably toward that waiting mouth.

And somewhere in the distance, she could hear Billy Hargrove laughing.

Chapter Text

Steve Harrington woke up to the shrill, insistent beeping of his alarm clock and immediately wanted to commit violence against it.

The red digital numbers glared at him through the early morning darkness of his bedroom: 6:47 AM. Which meant he'd hit snooze at least twice already and was now dangerously close to being late for his opening shift at Scoops Ahoy. Which meant Robin would give him shit about it for the entire day. Which meant he really, really needed to get up.

Instead, Steve grabbed the alarm clock, ripped the plug from the wall with more force than strictly necessary, and hurled the entire thing across the room.

It hit the wall with a satisfying crash, the plastic casing cracking on impact. The beeping finally, blessedly stopped, and Steve flopped back onto his pillow with a groan that came from somewhere deep in his soul.

"I hate mornings," he announced to his empty bedroom. "I hate alarms. I hate everything about being awake before the sun is properly up."

The universe, as usual, did not respond to his complaints.

Steve lay there for another minute, seriously contemplating just calling in sick and going back to sleep. Robin could handle opening by herself, she was probably already there anyway, being the kind of person who actually showed up to work on time like some kind of responsible adult even thoough she was a teenager. And it wasn't like Scoops Ahoy was exactly overwhelmed with customers at seven in the morning. The mall didn't even open until ten.

But no, he'd already called in sick twice this month, and his manager had made it very clear that a third time would result in "disciplinary action," which Steve assumed meant getting fired. And as much as he hated the stupid sailor uniform and the stupid ice cream and the stupid ahoy mateys he had to say to every customer, he needed this job. His dad had made that abundantly clear when he'd announced that Steve would be paying for his own car insurance from now on, along with gas and any other expenses that came up.

"Time to build character," his dad had said, like Steve hadn't already built plenty of character getting his ass kicked by both Jonathan Byers and Billy Hargrove in the span of a year, not to mention the whole saving-children-from-interdimensional-monsters thing. But apparently, that kind of character building didn't count. He'd had enough character development and nowit's time for his happy ending.

Steve dragged himself out of bed, his body protesting every movement. He'd stayed up way too late last night thinking about the Russian code, about that weird music from the mechanical horse, about the way June had smiled at him when she'd tossed him that quarter. About the way her hair had caught the light, about the little crinkle that appeared between her eyebrows when she was concentrating on something, about-

"Stop it," Steve told himself firmly, stumbling toward his bathroom. "She's Will's sister. Jonathan's sister. She's off-limits. You're just friends. You're helping her with a code because you're a good person who helps people, not because you have feelings for her."

His reflection in the bathroom mirror looked skeptical.

"I don't have feelings for her," Steve insisted to his reflection, which continued to look skeptical while also looking like it had been hit by a truck. His hair was doing something truly spectacular, sticking up in at least four different directions, and there were pillow creases on his face. "I'm just... being friendly. That's what friends do. They're friendly. yeah totally"

The reflection didn't buy it, and honestly, neither did Steve.

He'd been trying not to think about June too much ever since that night at the Byers' house last year, when he'd almost kissed her and then chickened out at the last second. It had been the right decision, she was Nancy's boyfriend's little sister, for god's sake, and he'd just gotten out of a relationship, and the timing was all wrong. But sometimes, late at night when he couldn't sleep, Steve wondered what would have happened if he'd just gone for it. If he'd closed that last inch of distance and kissed her like he'd wanted to.

Probably nothing good, he reminded himself. Probably would have made everything weird and awkward, and then Jonathan would have punched him again, and Nancy would have been disappointed in him, and June would have realized he was just the same shallow asshole he'd always been.

Better to just be friends. Safer that way.

Steve went through his morning routine on autopilot, shower, teeth, hair products applied with the kind of precision that would have made his mother proud if she'd ever been around to notice. He pulled on jeans and a t-shirt, figuring he'd change into the stupid sailor uniform once he got to work. No point in wearing it longer than absolutely necessary.

Downstairs, the house was silent and empty. His parents were in Indianapolis for some business conference thing that Steve hadn't paid attention to when they'd told him about it. They'd be gone for the rest of the week, which meant Steve had the house to himself. Which should have felt like freedom but mostly just felt lonely.

He wandered into the kitchen and flicked on the small TV that sat on the counter, more for the noise than anything else. The morning news was on, some anchor with perfect hair and too-white teeth talking about local politics or the weather or something equally boring. Steve tuned it out as he pulled ingredients from the fridge: eggs, bacon, bread.

Cooking was one of the few domestic skills Steve had actually mastered, mostly out of necessity. His mom had stopped cooking regularly years ago, too busy with her charity committees and book clubs and whatever else she did to fill her days. His dad was never home for dinner. So Steve had learned to feed himself, and he'd gotten pretty good at it.

He laid strips of bacon in a pan and turned on the burner, the sizzle and pop of cooking meat filling the kitchen. The smell was immediately comforting, familiar, normal. Steve cracked eggs into a bowl and whisked them with a fork, his mind wandering as his hands went through the familiar motions.

The Russian code. They needed to figure out what it meant, needed to crack the rest of the message. Dustin was convinced it was something big, something important, and Steve's gut told him the kid was right. That music from the mechanical horse couldn't be a coincidence. It had to mean something.

He should remember to bring his water bottle to work today. It was supposed to hit ninety degrees, and the mall's air conditioning was spotty at best. Last week he'd gotten so dehydrated during his shift that Robin had threatened to pour ice cream down his throat if he didn't drink something.

I wonder what June is having for breakfast, Steve thought, then immediately tried to stop thinking about June. Which of course made him think about her more. About the way she'd looked yesterday in the back room of Scoops Ahoy, bent over that notebook with total concentration. About the way she'd laughed at something Dustin said, her whole face lighting up. About the way she'd said "see you tomorrow" like it was a promise.

Steve flipped the bacon, the grease spattering slightly. He should probably pay more attention to what he was doing before he burned the house down. That would be a great addition to his summer of failures: "Steve Harrington, former King of Hawkins High, dies in tragic breakfast-related fire."

On the TV, the anchor was transitioning to a new story. "And in local news, Hawkins police are asking for the public's help in locating a missing person-"

Steve tuned back in slightly, his attention caught by the serious tone in the anchor's voice. Missing person cases were rare in Hawkins. Well, they used to be rare. After everything that had happened with Will and Barb and-

"-June Byers, age seventeen, was last seen yesterday evening leaving Starcourt Mall. Her vehicle was discovered abandoned on Maple Street early this morning, with evidence suggesting a possible attack. Police are asking anyone with information to-"

The pan slipped from Steve's hand.

It hit the floor with a crash that seemed impossibly loud, bacon and grease scattering across the linoleum. Steve didn't notice. He was already moving toward the TV, his heart hammering in his chest, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps that didn't seem to bring in enough air.

June. They were talking about June. June was missing.

"-no further leads at this time," the anchor was saying, and June's school photo appeared on the screen. She was smiling in the picture, her hair pulled back, wearing what looked like a band t-shirt. She looked happy. She looked alive. She looked like someone who was supposed to be safe, who was supposed to be okay, who was supposed to be having breakfast right now just like Steve was.

"No," Steve said, and his voice sounded strange in his own ears. Distant and hollow, like it was coming from very far away. "No, no, no."

Evidence of an attack. What did that mean? Blood? Signs of a struggle? Had someone hurt her? Had someone taken her? Was she-

Steve's mind shied away from that thought, refusing to complete it. She couldn't be. She was fine. She had to be fine. He'd just seen her yesterday, she'd been right there, she'd smiled at him and tossed him a quarter and said see you tomorrow.

Tomorrow was today. Today was now. And June wasn't here.

Steve's legs felt weak, and he grabbed the edge of the counter to steady himself. The kitchen suddenly felt too small, too hot, the smell of burning bacon making his stomach turn. He should turn off the stove. He should clean up the mess on the floor. He should do something, anything, but all he could do was stare at June's picture on the TV screen and try to remember how to breathe.

The phone rang.

The sound cut through Steve's paralysis like a knife, shrill and insistent. He stared at it for a moment, the old rotary phone mounted on the kitchen wall, its ring seeming impossibly loud in the sudden silence. The TV had moved on to another story, something about the mayor's Fourth of July celebration, and June's picture was gone.

Steve forced himself to move, to cross the kitchen and pick up the receiver. His hand was shaking.

"Hello?" His voice came out rough, like he'd been screaming.

"Steve?" It was Joyce Byers, and she sounded tired and scared and trying very hard not to be either of those things. "Steve, Hi, I'm sorry to call so early, but I need to ask you something."

"I just saw the news," Steve said, and he couldn't keep the tremor out of his voice. "Joyce, I-"

"Have you seen June?" Joyce interrupted, and there was something desperate in her voice that made Steve's chest ache. "I know she gave Will a ride to the mall yesterday, and I thought maybe she'd mentioned something to you, or maybe you'd seen her after that, or-"

"She was at Scoops Ahoy," Steve said, the words tumbling out. "Yesterday afternoon. She came in and we were working on this thing, this project, and she left around closing time. She said she was going home. She said-" His voice cracked. "She said see you tomorrow."

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Steve could hear Joyce breathing, could hear the sound of someone crying in the background.

"Okay," Joyce said finally, and Steve could hear her pulling herself together, could hear her forcing herself to be strong. "Okay. That's helpful. That gives us a timeline. The police said her car was found on Maple Street, which is on the way from the mall to here, so that makes sense. She must have-something must have happened after she left you."

"Joyce, I'm so sorry," Steve said, and he meant it with every fiber of his being. "If I'd known, if I'd thought to offer her a ride, or to follow her home, or-"

"This isn't your fault, Steve," Joyce said firmly. "Don't you dare think that. You didn't do anything wrong. You were just being a friend to her, and that's - that's good. She needs friends."

She needs to be alive, Steve thought but didn't say. She needs to be okay. She needs to be found.

"Is there anything I can do?" Steve asked. "Anything at all? I can help search, or I can-"

"Just keep an eye out," Joyce said. "If you hear anything, see anything, if she tries to contact you, call me immediately. Or call the police. Or both." She paused. "You know what, she probably just went to Rina's house. They're close, and June's been stressed lately, and maybe she just needed to get away for a bit. I'm sure that's it. I'm sure she's fine."

But Joyce didn't sound sure. She sounded like she was trying to convince herself, trying to believe in a reality where her daughter was safe and sound at a friend's house instead of missing with evidence of an attack.

"I'll call you if I hear anything," Steve promised. "Joyce, I-"

"I have to go," Joyce said quickly. "I need to call more people, need to keep looking. Thank you, Steve. You're a good kid."

She hung up before Steve could respond.

Steve stood there with the phone pressed to his ear, listening to the dial tone, trying to process what was happening. June was missing. June, who'd been in his ice cream shop less than twenty-four hours ago.

June, who'd smiled at him and made terrible puns about ice cream flavors and worked on decoding Russian messages like it was the most natural thing in the world. June, who'd given him a quarter for a mechanical horse because she'd noticed he wanted to try it. June, who was supposed to be safe, who was supposed to be okay, who was supposed to be here.

Steve slowly hung up the phone, his hand still shaking. The kitchen was a disaster - bacon and grease all over the floor, the pan lying where he'd dropped it, smoke starting to rise from the stove where he'd left the burner on. He should clean it up. He should turn off the stove before he actually did burn the house down.

Instead, he walked back toward the TV, drawn like a magnet. Maybe they'd have more information now. Maybe they'd found her. Maybe this was all just a misunderstanding and June would turn up any second with a perfectly reasonable explanation for where she'd been.

The phone rang again.

Steve spun around, hope flaring in his chest so bright it was almost painful. Maybe that was Joyce calling back to say they'd found her. Maybe it was June herself, calling to say she was fine, she'd just had car trouble or stopped to help someone or-

He grabbed the receiver. "Hello?"

"Is this Steve?" A female voice, young, slightly breathless. Not June. Not Joyce. Someone else.

"Yeah, this is Steve," he said, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice and failing. "Who is this?"

"It's Rina. June's friend? We met at that party last year, the one at Tina's house where you got really drunk and tried to fight a lamp?"

Steve winced at the memory. That had not been his finest moment. "I remember. What-"

"Have you seen June?" Rina interrupted, and there was an edge of panic in her voice that made Steve's stomach drop. "She was supposed to meet us this morning, me and Ellie and Moss, and she's not answering her phone, and her mom just called me asking if June was here, and I saw the news, and-"

"I haven't seen her since yesterday," Steve said, his voice flat. "She left Scoops Ahoy around closing time. Said she was going home."

"Fuck," Rina breathed. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. This is bad. This is really bad. June doesn't just disappear. She's the responsible one. She's the one who makes sure the rest of us don't disappear."

Steve's hand tightened on the receiver. "The news said there was evidence of an attack. Do you know anything about that? Anyone who might want to hurt her?"

"No! June's-everyone likes June. She doesn't have enemies. She's just-she's June." Rina's voice cracked slightly. "God, what if something really bad happened? What if-"

"We're going to find her," Steve said, with more confidence than he felt. "We're going to figure out what happened and we're going to find her."

"How?" Rina demanded. "The police don't know anything. Her car was just sitting there on Maple Street with the door open and - wait, why was she at Scoops Ahoy? June doesn't even like ice cream that much."

Steve hesitated. He couldn't tell Rina about the Russian code, that was classified, or secret, or whatever the word was for information that could get people killed if the wrong people found out about it. But he also couldn't just say nothing, not when June was missing and every piece of information might be important.

"We were working on something," he said carefully. "A project. Nothing dangerous, just-" He paused, then made a decision. "Actually, it might have been dangerous. There might have been Russians involved."

"WHAT?!" Rina's voice went up about three octaves. "Russians? Like, actual Russians? What the hell was June doing with Russians? Why were you doing something with Russians? What kind of ice cream shop are you running?"

"It's complicated," Steve said, which was the understatement of the century. "Look, I can't explain over the phone. Can you come to Scoops Ahoy? Like, as soon as possible?"

"It's seven in the morning. The mall isn't even open yet."

"I'm opening today. I'll let you in through the employee entrance. Can you come?"

There was a pause, and Steve could hear muffled voices in the background, other people talking, arguing about something.

"Is someone else there?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, Ellie and Moss are here. We were all supposed to hang out with June today, so we met up at my place, and then Joyce called, and-" Rina's voice wavered. "We were going to go to the record store and then maybe the lake. June wanted to work on her tan. She said she was tired of looking like a vampire."

Steve felt something twist in his chest. June had plans. Normal, teenage summer plans. She was supposed to be alive and safe and complaining about being pale, not missing with evidence of an attack.

"Bring them," Steve said. "Bring Ellie and Moss. If we're going to figure out what happened, we need all the help we can get."

"Okay," Rina said. "Okay, we'll be there in like twenty minutes. Steve? June's going to be okay, right? We're going to find her?"

Steve looked at the TV, where June's smiling school photo had appeared again as the news cycled back through the morning's stories. He thought about Barb, about how they'd never found her until it was too late. He thought about Will, about how he'd disappeared into another dimension and barely made it back alive. He thought about all the terrible things that happened in Hawkins, all the monsters and conspiracies and nightmares that lurked just beneath the surface of this supposedly normal town.

"Yeah," he lied. "We're going to find her. I promise."

He hung up before Rina could ask any more questions he couldn't answer.

Steve stood in his kitchen, surrounded by the wreckage of his abandoned breakfast, and let himself feel it for just a moment. The fear, the guilt, the overwhelming sense that he'd failed somehow. That he should have done more, should have seen this coming, should have protected her.

He'd failed Nancy. He'd failed Barb. He couldn't fail June too.

Steve took a deep breath, then another, forcing himself to focus. Falling apart wouldn't help anyone. He needed to think, needed to plan, needed to figure out what to do next.

First: clean up the kitchen before he actually did burn the house down. He turned off the stove, scraped the ruined bacon into the trash, mopped up the grease. The mechanical motions helped, gave his hands something to do while his mind raced.

Second: get to Scoops Ahoy. Meet with Rina and her friends. Figure out if June's disappearance had anything to do with the Russian code, or if it was just terrible timing. Figure out where to start looking.

Third: find June. Whatever it took, however long it took, whatever he had to do - he was going to find her.

Steve finished cleaning and headed upstairs to his room. He pulled his Scoops Ahoy uniform from the closet - that stupid sailor shirt with its stupid red ascot, those stupid white shorts that Robin said made him look like he was auditioning for a cruise ship musical. He'd never hated the uniform more than he did right now, but it was armor of a sort. A costume he could hide behind while he figured out how to save someone he cared about more than he'd been willing to admit.

He changed quickly, his movements sharp and precise. Shirt, shorts, shoes. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and barely recognized the person staring back. He looked older somehow, harder. Like something had broken inside him and reformed into something else.

Good. He'd need to be harder if he was going to do what needed to be done.

Steve grabbed his keys and his water bottle, force of habit, even now, and headed for the door. He paused in the kitchen, looking at the TV where they were still talking about June, still showing her picture, still asking for information.

"I'm going to find you," Steve said to the picture, to June, wherever she was. "I promise. I'm going to bring you home."

The TV didn't answer, but Steve felt the weight of the promise settle over him like a physical thing. He'd made a lot of promises in his life and broken most of them. But not this one. This one he would keep, no matter what it cost him.

He walked out to his car, the morning sun already hot and oppressive despite the early hour. The BMW's leather seats were warm under his legs as he slid behind the wheel. He started the engine and pulled out of the driveway, heading toward Starcourt Mall and whatever came next.

The drive was automatic, his hands steering while his mind churned through possibilities. If June's disappearance was connected to the Russian code, that meant the Russians knew they were onto them. Which meant they were in danger, all of them. Steve, Robin, Dustin. And if the Russians had taken June to get to them, to stop them from decoding the message...

Steve's hands tightened on the steering wheel. He couldn't think like that. Couldn't let himself imagine what they might be doing to her, how scared she must be. He had to stay focused, had to stay calm, had to be the person everyone needed him to be.

The mall parking lot was nearly empty when Steve arrived, just a few employee vehicles scattered near the entrances. He parked near the back entrance that led to the service corridors, the one that employees used to avoid walking through the mall proper. His hands were steady as he unlocked the door and made his way through the concrete hallways toward Scoops Ahoy.

The mall was eerie when it was empty like this. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, and Steve's footsteps echoed off the walls. It felt like a stage set, like something that was only real when there were people around to see it. Without the crowds and the noise and the constant motion, it was just empty space pretending to be something it wasn't.

Steve unlocked Scoops Ahoy and flipped on the lights. The cheerful nautical decor seemed obscene somehow, all those bright colors and stupid puns about ships and sailing. He went through the opening routine on autopilot, turning on equipment, checking inventory, making sure everything was ready for the day ahead.

He was restocking napkins when he heard footsteps in the mall corridor. Steve's head snapped up, his heart jumping into his throat. But it was just Rina, Ellie, and Moss, looking tired and scared and determined.

Rina was exactly as Steve remembered from that party, tall and angular, with short dark hair that stuck up in deliberate spikes and an eyebrow piercing that caught the light. She was wearing ripped jeans and a Siouxsie and the Banshees t-shirt, and her eyes were red like she'd been crying.

Ellie was shorter, rounder, with glasses and curly hair pulled back in a messy bun. She looked like she belonged in a library, which made sense since June had mentioned she worked at one. She was clutching a notebook to her chest like a shield.

And Moss, Steve recognized him too, though they'd never officially met. Quiet guy, always hovering near June at parties, looking at her like she hung the moon. He was tall and thin, with shaggy brown hair and the kind of face that would have been handsome if he smiled more. Right now, he just looked devastated.

"Steve," Rina said, and her voice was steadier than Steve had expected. "Tell us everything. And don't leave anything out, even if you think it's not important. June's life might depend on it."

Steve looked at the three of them, June's friends, the people she'd chosen to spend her time with, the people who cared about her enough to show up at seven in the morning to help find her. And he made a decision.

"Okay," he said. "But you have to promise that what I'm about to tell you doesn't leave this room. Because if the wrong people find out we know about this, we're all in danger."

"We promise," Ellie said immediately, and Moss nodded.

"Russians," Rina said. "You mentioned Russians on the phone. Start there."

So Steve told them. About Dustin's radio tower, about the coded message, about the music from the mechanical horse. About how June had been helping them decode it, about how she'd been there just yesterday, working on the translation. About how she'd left to go home and never made it.

By the time he finished, all three of them looked pale.

"So you think the Russians took her?" Moss said, and his voice was rough, like he was barely holding it together. "You think they figured out you were decoding their message and they took her to stop you?"

"I don't know," Steve admitted. "It could be a coincidence. It could be something else entirely. But the timing is suspicious."

"June doesn't believe in coincidences," Rina said. "She always says that when things line up too perfectly, it means someone's pulling strings."

"Then we need to figure out

who's pulling the strings," Steve finished. "And we need to do it fast, because every minute we waste is another minute June is-"

He couldn't finish that sentence. Didn't want to finish it.

"Okay," Ellie said, opening her notebook with shaking hands. "Okay, let's think about this logically. If the Russians took her, they would have done it to send a message, right? To scare you off from decoding their transmission?"

"Maybe," Steve said. "Or maybe they took her to find out what we know. To interrogate her."

Moss made a sound like he'd been punched. "We have to find her. We have to find her right now. We can't just stand here talking while she's-while they're-"

"We need a plan," Rina said firmly, putting a hand on Moss's arm. "Running off half-cocked isn't going to help June. We need to be smart about this."

"Rina's right," Steve said, even though every instinct was screaming at him to do exactly what Moss suggested, to run out and start searching, to tear Hawkins apart until he found her. "We need to figure out where they might have taken her. If it is the Russians, they'd need somewhere secure, somewhere they could keep her without anyone noticing."

"The mall," Ellie said suddenly. "You said the code mentioned the mall, right? Blue and yellow meeting in the west? What if they have a base here somewhere? What if June is right here, right under our noses?"

Steve felt his blood run cold. The idea that June could be somewhere in this building, somewhere close enough that he could almost reach her, made him want to start kicking down doors immediately.

"That's, that's actually not a bad theory," he said. "But the mall is huge. There are hundreds of stores, storage rooms, maintenance areas. We'd need to search all of them, and we can't exactly do that without attracting attention."

"So we split up," Rina said. "Cover more ground. Steve, you know this place better than any of us. Where would you hide someone if you were a Russian spy?"

Steve was about to answer when he heard a familiar voice echoing through the mall corridor.

"Steve! Steve, are you here? I've got news about the code! I think I figured out what the music means!"

Dustin Henderson came bounding into Scoops Ahoy, his face lit up with excitement, his Thinking Cap perched on his head at a jaunty angle. He was carrying what looked like a portable tape recorder and a notebook covered in scribbled notes.

"You're not going to believe this," Dustin continued, not noticing the other people in the room or the expressions on their faces. "I recorded the music from that mechanical horse and compared it to the music in the Russian transmission, and they're identical! Not just similar, identical! Which means the Russians are definitely using the mall for something, and I think I know where-"

He finally looked up and saw Rina, Ellie, and Moss standing there. His enthusiasm dimmed slightly, replaced by confusion.

"Uh, hi?" Dustin said. "Who are you guys? Steve, why are there random people in Scoops Ahoy before the mall opens? Is this some kind of secret ice cream club I don't know about?"

"Dustin," Steve said, and something in his voice made the kid's smile disappear entirely. "We need to talk."

"What's wrong?" Dustin asked, his eyes darting between Steve and the others. "Did something happen? Is it the Russians? Did they figure out we're onto them?"

"It's June," Steve said, and the words felt like glass in his throat. "She's missing."

Dustin stared at him for a long moment, his face going through a series of expressions, confusion, disbelief, denial, and finally, dawning horror.

"What do you mean missing?" he asked, his voice small. "Like, she didn't show up for work or something? Maybe she just overslept. June oversleeps sometimes. Will says she's not a morning person."

"Her car was found abandoned on Maple Street," Steve said gently. "There was evidence of an attack. The police are looking for her, but they don't have any leads."

"No," Dustin said, shaking his head. "No, that's, that can't be right. I just saw her yesterday. She was fine. She was helping us with the code and making jokes about ice cream flavors and she was fine."

"I know," Steve said. "But she never made it home last night. And we think, we think it might be connected to the Russian code."

Dustin's face went pale. "You think they took her? The Russians took her because we were decoding their message?"

"We don't know for sure," Ellie said quietly. "But the timing is suspicious."

"This is my fault," Dustin said, and his voice cracked. "I'm the one who brought the code to you guys. I'm the one who got June involved. If something happens to her, if she's hurt or, or worse, it's because of me."

"Hey, no," Steve said firmly, moving around the counter to put a hand on Dustin's shoulder. "This is not your fault. You didn't attack June. You didn't take her. Whatever happened, whoever did this - they're the ones responsible. Not you."

"But if I hadn't-"

"If you hadn't brought us the code, we wouldn't know about the Russian threat at all," Rina interrupted. "We'd be walking around completely ignorant while they did whatever they're planning to do. June wouldn't want you blaming yourself. She'd want you to help find her."

Dustin looked at Rina, really looked at her for the first time. "You're June's friend. Rina, right? She talks about you sometimes."

"Yeah," Rina said. "And you're Dustin. The kid genius with the radio tower. June says you're annoying but brilliant."

Despite everything, Dustin managed a weak smile. "That sounds like June."

"So let's find her," Moss said, speaking up for the first time since Dustin had arrived. "You said you figured out what the music means? That you know where the Russians are?"

Dustin nodded, his expression hardening with determination. "Yeah. Yeah, I did. The music is a marker, a way to identify the location without saying it explicitly over the radio. And if the mechanical horse plays the same music, that means-"

"That means the Russians are somewhere near the mechanical horse," Ellie finished. "Somewhere in that section of the mall."

"Exactly," Dustin said. He pulled out a mall directory from his backpack, of course he had a mall directory in his backpack, and spread it out on the counter. "The mechanical horse is here, near the main entrance on the west side. Blue and yellow meeting in the west, I think blue and yellow might refer to store colors or signs or something. We need to look at all the stores in this area and figure out which ones have blue and yellow in their branding."

Steve leaned over the directory, his mind racing. "There's a toy store near there, Kaufman's. Their sign is blue and yellow."

"And there's that sporting goods place," Rina added. "What's it called? Athletic World? They have blue and yellow in their logo too."

"We need to check them all," Dustin said. "Every store, every storage room, every maintenance closet in that section of the mall. If the Russians are here, that's where they'll be."

"And if June is here," Steve said quietly, "that's where she'll be too."

The group fell silent for a moment, the weight of what they were about to do settling over them. They were just kids, well, Steve was technically an adult, but barely, and they were about to go up against Russian spies. Russian spies who had already proven they were willing to hurt people, to take people, to do whatever it took to protect their secrets.

"We should call the police," Ellie said. "Tell them what we know. Let them handle it."

"And tell them what?" Rina countered. "That we decoded a Russian transmission using a kid's radio tower and we think there are Soviet spies operating out of Starcourt Mall? They'll think we're crazy. Or they'll think we're making it up. Either way, they won't take us seriously, and June doesn't have time for us to convince them."

"Rina's right," Steve said. "We need proof before we go to the police. Something concrete that they can't ignore."

"So we do reconnaissance," Dustin said, slipping into what Steve had started thinking of as his "mission mode" voice. "We scout the area, look for anything suspicious. If we find evidence of Russian activity, we document it and take it to the police. And if we find June-"

"When we find June," Moss corrected.

"When we find June," Dustin agreed, "we get her out of there and then we call in the cavalry."

"Okay," Steve said. "Okay, here's what we're going to do. Dustin and I will check out the stores near the mechanical horse. Rina, Ellie, Moss, you three spread out and keep an eye on the area. Look for anything unusual. People going in and out of places they shouldn't be, locked doors that are usually open, anything that seems off."

"What about Robin?" Dustin asked. "Shouldn't we tell her what's going on?"

Steve glanced at the clock. "She'll be here in about an hour for her shift. We'll fill her in then. Right now, we need to move fast."

"Wait," Ellie said, pulling a handful of walkie-talkies from her bag. "June gave these to us last year. Said you never know when you might need to communicate without using phones that could be tapped. I thought she was being paranoid, but..."

"But June's never wrong about this kind of stuff," Rina finished. She took one of the walkie-talkies and tested it. "Channel seven. If anyone sees anything, anything at all, you radio immediately. Don't try to be a hero. Don't engage. Just observe and report."

"Agreed," Steve said, taking a walkie-talkie and clipping it to his belt. It felt strange, like he was playing soldier in some kind of game. Except this wasn't a game. This was real, and June's life might depend on them getting this right.

Dustin grabbed a walkie-talkie too, his face set with determination. "Let's go find our friend."

They split up, Steve and Dustin heading toward the west entrance while Rina, Ellie, and Moss fanned out to cover different areas of the mall. The mall was starting to wake up now, Steve could hear other employees arriving, could see lights turning on in various stores as people prepared for the day ahead.

Everything looked normal. Everything looked exactly like it always did. But Steve knew better than to trust appearances. He'd learned that lesson the hard way over the past two years. In Hawkins, normal was just a mask that monsters wore.

"Steve?" Dustin said quietly as they walked. "We're going to find her, right? June's going to be okay?"

Steve thought about lying, about giving Dustin the reassurance he was looking for. But the kid deserved better than that. He deserved the truth, even if the truth was terrifying.

"I don't know," Steve admitted. "But I know we're going to do everything we can. And I know June is smart and tough and she's survived worse than this."

"Has she?" Dustin asked. "I mean, I know she's been through some stuff, but Russian spies? That's pretty bad."

"She survived living with my mom for a summer," Steve said, trying for levity and not quite managing it. "If she can handle that, she can handle anything."

They reached the west entrance, and Steve's eyes immediately went to the mechanical horse. It sat there innocently, its silver and blue paint gleaming under the mall lights, its cheerful expression unchanged. Just yesterday, Steve had ridden it while June watched. Just yesterday, everything had been fine.

"Okay," Dustin said, pulling out his notebook. "According to my calculations, if the music is a location marker, the Russian base should be within a hundred-foot radius of this horse. That gives us about a dozen stores to check, plus maintenance areas and storage rooms."

"Let's start with the stores," Steve said. "The ones with blue and yellow in their branding. If we don't find anything there, we'll expand the search."

They started with Kaufman's Toys, which wouldn't open for another two hours. Steve peered through the windows, looking for anything unusual. But it just looked like a toy store, shelves full of action figures and board games, displays of stuffed animals, a section of bikes and outdoor toys in the back.

"Nothing," Steve said. "Looks normal."

"Too normal?" Dustin suggested hopefully.

"No, just regular normal. Come on, let's check Athletic World."

They moved methodically through the stores in the area, checking each one, looking for anything that seemed out of place. But everything was frustratingly ordinary. Just stores preparing to open

They moved methodically through the stores in the area, checking each one, looking for anything that seemed out of place. But everything was frustratingly ordinary. Just stores preparing to open for another day of business, employees going through their morning routines, nothing that screamed "secret Russian base."

Steve was starting to feel desperate. They were wasting time, time that June didn't have. What if they were wrong? What if the Russians weren't in the mall at all? What if June was somewhere else entirely, somewhere they'd never think to look, and every minute they spent searching here was another minute she was in danger?

"Steve, look," Dustin said suddenly, grabbing his arm.

Steve followed Dustin's gaze to a door marked "Authorized Personnel Only" tucked between Athletic World and a store that sold sunglasses. It was the kind of door you'd normally walk right past without noticing, plain, unmarked except for the sign, painted the same beige as the walls.

"It's a maintenance door," Steve said. "There are dozens of them all over the mall."

"Yeah, but look at the lock," Dustin said, moving closer. "That's not a standard maintenance lock. That's military-grade. See the way it's reinforced? And there are no scratches around the keyhole, which means it's new. Recently installed."

Steve looked closer and realized Dustin was right. The lock did look different from the other maintenance doors he'd seen around the mall. Heavier. More secure.

"Could just be a coincidence," Steve said, but his heart was starting to beat faster. "Maybe they upgraded the locks on all the maintenance areas."

"Or maybe this is it," Dustin said. "Maybe this is where they're operating from."

Steve pulled out his walkie-talkie. "Guys, we might have something. West entrance, between Athletic World and Sunglass Hut. There's a maintenance door with a suspicious lock."

The walkie-talkie crackled to life. "Copy that," Rina's voice came through. "We're on our way."

"Should we try to open it?" Dustin asked, already pulling out what looked like a set of lock picks from his backpack.

"Where did you get those?" Steve demanded.

"Steve, I have a lot of skills you don't know about. Now, should I try to pick it or not?"

Steve hesitated. Every instinct told him this was a bad idea, that they should wait for backup, that they should be careful. But June was missing, and this might be their only lead, and careful had never really been Steve's strong suit anyway.

"Do it," he said. "But be quick. And if we hear anyone coming, we run."

Dustin knelt in front of the lock, his tongue poking out slightly as he concentrated. Steve kept watch, his eyes scanning the mall corridor for any sign of security guards or early-morning shoppers or Russian spies.

"This is a really good lock," Dustin muttered. "Like, really good. Whoever installed this knew what they were doing."

"Can you open it or not?"

"Give me a minute. I'm working on it."

Steve's walkie-talkie crackled again. "Steve, it's Ellie. I'm near the food court and there's a guy here who looks really out of place. Big, military haircut, wearing a jacket even though it's like eighty degrees already. He keeps looking around like he's watching for something."

"Copy that," Steve said. "Keep an eye on him but don't get too close."

"There's another one," Moss's voice came through. "Near the main entrance. Same description, big, military bearing, overdressed for the weather. They're positioned like they're guarding something."

Steve and Dustin exchanged glances. Guards. The Russians had posted guards around the mall, which meant they were definitely here. Which meant June might be here too.

"Got it!" Dustin said triumphantly as the lock clicked open.

The door swung inward, revealing a concrete stairwell leading down into darkness. There was a smell coming from below, something chemical and sharp, mixed with something else that Steve couldn't quite identify. The lights in the stairwell were off, but Steve could see a faint glow coming from somewhere below, like there was another light source further down.

"We should wait for the others," Steve said, even as he was already moving toward the stairs.

"Agreed," Dustin said, following right behind him.

They started down the stairs, moving as quietly as possible. Steve's heart was hammering so hard he was sure anyone nearby could hear it. The stairwell seemed to go down forever, flight after flight of concrete steps leading deeper underground. How far down did this go? What had the Russians built under the mall?

After what felt like an eternity but was probably only a minute or two, they reached the bottom. The stairwell opened into a corridor, not a maintenance corridor, but something else entirely. The walls were smooth concrete, recently poured from the look of it. There were lights embedded in the ceiling, giving off that cold fluorescent glow. And there were doors, multiple doors, all of them marked with Cyrillic lettering that Steve couldn't read.

"Holy shit," Dustin breathed. "Steve, this is it. This is actually it. There's a Russian base under Starcourt Mall."

"We need to get out of here," Steve said, his survival instinct finally kicking in. "We need to get out and call the police and-"

"Wait," Dustin whispered, grabbing Steve's arm. "Listen."

Steve froze, straining his ears. He could hear voices—multiple voices, speaking in Russian. And beneath that, a mechanical humming sound, like heavy machinery operating somewhere nearby.

"We need to see what they're doing," Dustin said. "We need proof before we go to the police, or they'll never believe us."

"Dustin, this is insane. We should-"

But Dustin was already moving down the corridor, keeping close to the wall, his footsteps silent on the concrete floor. Steve cursed under his breath and followed, because he couldn't let the kid go alone.

They crept down the hallway, passing door after door. Through some of them, Steve could hear the sound of machinery, of people working, of equipment being moved. This wasn't just a small operation, this was a full-scale facility, hidden right under everyone's noses. Litterally.

Dustin stopped at a corner and peered around it carefully. His eyes went wide, and he quickly pulled back, pressing himself against the wall.

"What?" Steve whispered. "What did you see?"

"Guards," Dustin breathed. "At least four of them, all armed. They're standing in front of a door at the end of the hall. And Steve, there are boxes. Lots of boxes, stacked on pallets. I could see them through the window in the door."

"What kind of boxes?"

"I don't know, but they're big. And they have hazard symbols on them. Whatever the Russians are doing down here, it's not good."

Steve carefully looked around the corner himself. Dustin was right, there were four guards, all of them carrying what looked like automatic weapons, all of them positioned around a reinforced door. Through the small window in the door, Steve could see a large room filled with wooden crates and cardboard boxes, all of them marked with Cyrillic lettering and various warning symbols.

This was it. This was what the code had been about. The Russians were smuggling something into Hawkins, storing it under the mall, and they had armed guards protecting it.

But June wasn't here. Steve had been so sure, so desperate to believe that finding the Russian base would mean finding June, but there was no sign of her. No indication that she'd ever been down here at all.

Which meant her disappearance might not be connected to the Russians after all. Which meant they were back to square one, with no leads and no idea where to look.

Steve felt something break inside him, some last desperate hope shattering into pieces.

"Steve?" Dustin whispered. "Steve, what do we do?"

Before Steve could answer, his walkie-talkie crackled to life. "Steve, Dustin, where are you guys?" It was Rina's voice, loud in the silence of the corridor. "We're at the door but you're not-"

One of the guards' heads snapped toward their hiding spot.

"Run," Steve said.

They ran.

Steve grabbed Dustin's arm and hauled him back the way they'd come, their footsteps echoing off the concrete walls. Behind them, Steve could hear shouting in Russian, could hear the guards giving chase.

They reached the stairwell and took the steps three at a time, Steve's lungs burning with the effort. Dustin was right behind him, his shorter legs pumping furiously to keep up.

They burst through the door at the top and back into the mall proper. Rina, Ellie, and Moss were there, their faces pale with fear.

"What happened?" Rina demanded. "We heard-"

"No time," Steve gasped. "We need to go. Now."

They ran through the mall, heading for the nearest exit. Steve could hear the door to the stairwell bang open behind them, could hear heavy footsteps following. The guards were coming after them.

They burst out into the parking lot, the morning sun blindingly bright after the dim corridors below. Steve's car was parked near the employee entrance, and they all piled in, Steve and Dustin in the front, Rina, Ellie, and Moss crammed into the back.

Steve started the engine and peeled out of the parking lot, his tires squealing on the asphalt. In his rearview mirror, he could see two of the guards standing at the mall entrance, watching them go. One of them was speaking into a radio.

"Holy shit," Rina said from the back seat. "Holy shit, that actually just happened. There are actual Russian spies under the mall. With guns. And they chased us."

"Did you see June?" Moss asked desperately. "Was she down there? Did you find her?"

Steve's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "No," he said, and the word felt like glass in his throat. "She wasn't there. I don't think her disappearance is connected to the Russians at all."

"Then where is she?" Ellie asked, her voice small and scared. "If the Russians didn't take her, then who did?"

No one had an answer.

Steve drove aimlessly for a few minutes, his mind racing. They'd found the Russian base. They had proof that something big and dangerous was happening under Starcourt Mall. But they were no closer to finding June than they'd been an hour ago.

"We need to regroup," Dustin said finally. "We need to figure out our next move. Steve, pull over somewhere. We need to think."

Steve pulled into the parking lot of a closed gas station and killed the engine. For a moment, they all just sat there in silence, trying to process everything that had just happened.

"Okay," Rina said, pulling out a cigarette with shaking hands. "Okay, let's think about this logically. June disappeared last night. Her car was found on Maple Street with evidence of an attack. The Russians are operating under the mall, but there's no sign that June was ever down there. So what does that tell us?"

"That there are two separate things happening," Ellie said slowly. "The Russian operation, and whatever happened to June. They might not be connected at all."

"But the timing," Moss protested. "June was helping decode the Russian message. She disappeared the same night. That can't be a coincidence."

"June always says that coincidences are just patterns we haven't figured out yet," Rina said. "So maybe there is a connection, but it's not the obvious one. Maybe-"

She was interrupted by the sound of a car pulling into the parking lot. Steve's head snapped up, his hand instinctively moving toward the keys in the ignition, ready to run again if it was the Russians.

But it wasn't the Russians.

It was Robin, pulling up on her bike, her face flushed from the exertion. She dropped the bike and ran over to Steve's car, banging on the window.

"Steve! Steve, what the hell is going on? You didn't show up for your shift, and there are police at the mall, and someone said they saw you running out of the employee entrance like your ass was on fire! Is it the russians?"

Steve rolled down the window. "Robin, we need to talk. Get in."

Robin looked at the car full of people she didn't know, then back at Steve. Whatever she saw in his face made her decision for her. She climbed into the back seat, squeezing in next to Moss.

"Okay," she said. "Someone better start explaining, because I am very confused and slightly terrified right now."

"June Byers is missing," Steve said bluntly. "And there's a Russian base under Starcourt Mall with armed guards and boxes full of god knows what. And we just barely escaped with our lives. That's what's going on."

Robin stared at him for a long moment. Then she said, very calmly, "I think I need you to start from the beginning."

So they told her everything. About how she'd disappeared last night. About the door with the military-grade lock, the stairwell leading down into darkness, the corridor full of doors marked with Cyrillic lettering. About the guards with automatic weapons, the room full of boxes with hazard symbols, the chase through the mall.

By the time they finished, Robin looked like she was trying to decide whether to laugh or cry or possibly throw up.

"Okay," she said finally. "Okay, so let me get this straight. June Byers, who I've met exactly twice and who seemed like a perfectly normal teenage girl, is now missing, possibly kidnapped, possibly worse. And you've also found a secret russian base."

"That about sums it up," Dustin said.

"And you," Robin continued, pointing at Steve, "thought the best course of action was to break into their secret base without backup, without weapons, without any kind of plan whatsoever."

"When you say it like that, it sounds stupid," Steve muttered.

"That's because it WAS stupid!" Robin's voice went up about three octaves. "Steve, they could have killed you! They could have killed all of you! What were you thinking? You should have at least told me you were going too do that and i would have joined you!"

"I was thinking that June might be down there!" Steve snapped back. "I was thinking that every second we wasted was another second she could be hurt or scared or-" His voice cracked. "I had to try, Robin. I had to do something."

Robin's expression softened slightly. "I know," she said quietly. "I know you did. But Steve, we need to be smart about this. We need to call the police, tell them what we found. Let them handle the Russians while we focus on finding June."

"And tell them what?" Rina asked. "That a bunch of teenagers broke into a restricted area and found a secret Russian base? They'll think we're making it up. Or they'll arrest us for trespassing."

"She's right," Ellie said, pushing her glasses up her nose. "We need more than just our word. We need evidence. Photos, documents, something concrete."

"We could go back," Dustin suggested. "With a camera this time. Get pictures of the guards, the boxes, the whole setup."

"Absolutely not," Steve and Robin said in unison.

"Those guards saw us," Steve continued. "They know we were down there. If we go back, they'll be ready for us. It's too dangerous."

"Then what do we do?" Moss asked, and there was desperation in his voice. "We can't just sit here while June is missing. We have to do something."

Steve looked at the group crammed into his car, Dustin with his thinking cap and his determination, Robin with her sharp mind and sharper tongue, Rina with her fierce loyalty, Ellie with her careful logic, Moss with his obvious devotion to June. They were just kids. Hell, Steve was barely not a kid himself. They had no business going up against Russian spies or trying to solve a missing person case.

But they were all June had right now. The police had no leads. Her family should have been frantic. And somewhere out there, June was alone and possibly hurt and definitely in danger.

"We split up," Steve said finally. "Robin and I will go to the police, tell them what we found. We'll deal with whatever consequences come from that. The rest of you, start retracing June's steps from last night. Talk to anyone who might have seen her after she left the mall. Check with her other friends, places she might have gone. Someone must have seen something."

"What about the Russians?" Dustin asked. "If they figure out we're onto them, they might disappear. Or worse."

"Then we better move fast," Steve said. "Everyone got it? We meet back at Scoops Ahoy in two hours. If anyone finds anything, anything at all, you radio immediately."

They all nodded, their faces set with determination.

"Okay," Steve said, starting the engine. "Let's go find our friend."

Chapter Text

The hermit's name was Earl, though he hadn't told anyone that in about five years. He preferred the solitude of the woods outside Hawkins, preferred the company of his dog, a mutt named Biscuit, to the company of people who asked too many questions and expected too many things.

Earl had been walking the same path through the woods for the better part of a decade, ever since his wife died and his kids stopped calling and the world had proven itself to be more trouble than it was worth. Every morning, he and Biscuit would walk the three miles from his cabin to the creek and back, checking his traps, enjoying the quiet, existing in a space where nothing was expected of him except to keep breathing.

This morning started like any other. Earl woke with the sun, made his coffee, and headed out with Biscuit trotting at his heels. The woods were peaceful, the early morning light filtering through the trees in that particular way that made everything look soft and golden. Birds were singing. Squirrels were chattering. Everything was exactly as it should be.

Until Biscuit started barking.

It wasn't his normal bark, the excited yip he made when he spotted a rabbit or the warning growl he gave when they encountered a snake. This was different. Frantic. Scared.

"Biscuit, what is it boy?" Earl called, but the dog had already taken off into the underbrush, still barking that strange, frightened bark.

Earl followed, pushing through the dense foliage, his old knees protesting the uneven terrain. "Biscuit! Get back here!"

The dog's barking got louder, more insistent, and then suddenly stopped.

Earl felt his heart rate pick up. In all the years he'd had Biscuit, the dog had never just stopped barking like that. Something was wrong.

He pushed through a final tangle of bushes and found himself in a small clearing. Biscuit was there, standing about ten feet away from something on the ground, his tail between his legs, whining softly.

It took Earl's brain a moment to process what he was seeing.

A girl. There was a girl lying in the middle of the clearing, her body twisted at an odd angle, her clothes torn and stained with something dark that Earl's brain didn't want to identify as blood. Her hair was matted with leaves and dirt, and her skin was so pale it was almost gray.

"Jesus Christ," Earl breathed, and he was moving before he'd consciously decided to, dropping to his knees beside the girl, his hands shaking as he reached for her neck to check for a pulse.

There. Faint, thready, but there. She was alive.

"Hey," Earl said, his voice rough from disuse. "Hey, can you hear me? I'm going to help you, okay? Just stay with me."

The girl didn't respond. Her eyes were closed, her breathing shallow and rapid. There was blood, so much blood, coming from somewhere Earl couldn't immediately identify. Her arm, maybe, or her side. It was hard to tell with all the dirt and the torn clothing.

Earl looked around frantically, as if help might materialize out of the trees. But there was nothing. No one. Just him and Biscuit and this dying girl in the middle of the woods.

His cabin was closer than town. Maybe a quarter mile back the way he'd come. If he could get her there, he could at least stop the bleeding, figure out how bad it was, decide whether he had time to go for help or if he needed to carry her straight to the hospital.

"Okay," Earl said, more to himself than to the unconscious girl. "Okay, we're going to move you. This is going to hurt, but we don't have a choice."

He slid his arms under her body as gently as he could and lifted. She was lighter than he expected, all sharp angles and fragile bones. She made a small sound, not quite a moan, (not like that you freaks) not quite a whimper, but her eyes didn't open.

Earl carried her back through the woods, Biscuit following close behind, still whining. The quarter mile felt like ten miles, Earl's arms burning with the effort, his breath coming in harsh gasps. He wasn't as young as he used to be, and the girl might be light but she was still deadweight in his arms.

Finally, finally, his cabin came into view. Earl kicked open the door and carried the girl inside, laying her as gently as he could on his couch. The old fabric immediately started soaking up blood, but Earl couldn't worry about that now.

He grabbed his first aid kit, a military-grade thing he'd kept from his time in Vietnam, and started assessing the damage. There was a deep gash on her arm, still bleeding sluggishly. Bruises blooming across her ribs. A cut on her forehead that had already stopped bleeding but looked like it had bled a lot. Her hands were scraped raw, like she'd been clawing at something. An open wound in her side made him lurch.

Earl worked quickly, cleaning wounds, applying pressure, wrapping bandages. The girl didn't wake up, didn't make a sound, just lay there breathing those shallow, rapid breaths that Earl recognized from the war as the breathing of someone in shock.

He was just finishing wrapping her arm when her eyes suddenly snapped open.

Earl jerked back, startled. The girl's eyes were unfocused, glazed, staring at nothing. Then they slowly tracked to his face, and she smiled.

It was the wrongest smile Earl had ever seen. Too wide. Too bright. Like someone who'd never smiled before and was trying to figure out how it worked.

"Hi," the girl said, and her voice was cheerful, almost sing-song. "What a nice place you have here."

"Jesus," Earl breathed. "Okay, okay, you're awake. That's good. Can you tell me your name? Can you tell me what happened to you?"

The girl's smile didn't waver. "Name," she repeated, like she was tasting the word. "Name, name, name. That's a funny word, isn't it? Name."

"Are you - do you know where you are? Do you know what day it is?"

"Day," the girl said, still smiling that wrong smile. "It's a beautiful day. The sun is shining. The birds are singing. Everything is wonderful."

Earl felt a chill run down his spine. This wasn't right. This wasn't shock or confusion or even a head injury. This was something else, something he didn't have words for.

"I'm going to get you some water," Earl said slowly, watching the girl carefully. "And maybe some food. You just stay right there, okay?"

"Okay!" the girl said brightly, like he'd just suggested the most delightful activity in the world.

Earl backed away slowly, keeping his eyes on her. She didn't move, just lay there on his couch with that terrible smile, her eyes still glazed and unfocused.

In the kitchen, Earl's hands shook as he filled a glass with water and threw together a sandwich, just bread and some leftover chicken, nothing fancy. His mind was racing. The girl needed a hospital. She needed help beyond what he could provide. But something told him that moving her again, taking her into town, might be a very bad idea.

He didn't know why he felt that way. Just instinct. The same instinct that had kept him alive in the jungle all those years ago.

When he came back into the living room, the girl was sitting up. She shouldn't have been able to sit up, not with those injuries, not with the amount of blood she'd lost, but there she was, perched on the edge of his couch like she was waiting for a bus.

"Here," Earl said, offering her the water and the sandwich. "You should eat something. Get your strength back."

"Thank you," the girl said, taking the plate. She looked at the sandwich for a long moment, her head tilted at an odd angle, like she was trying to remember what it was for. Then she took a small bite, chewed mechanically, and set it back down.

"You need to eat more than that," Earl said. "You've lost a lot of blood. You need-"

"I'm fine," the girl interrupted, and her voice was still that same cheerful sing-song. "I feel wonderful. Everything is wonderful."

Earl opened his mouth to argue, but something made him stop. The way she was looking at him - or rather, not looking at him. Her eyes were pointed in his direction, but it was like she was looking through him, at something he couldn't see.

"I need to go get some more bandages," Earl said, testing. "From the shed out back. Will you be okay here for a minute?"

"Of course!" the girl said brightly. "I'll be just fine."

Earl backed toward the door, his eyes never leaving her. She didn't move, didn't react, just sat there with that smile. He stepped outside, closing the door behind him, and immediately moved to the window to watch.

For a moment, nothing happened. The girl just sat there, motionless.

Then Biscuit, who'd been hiding under the

kitchen table since they'd arrived, slowly crept out. The dog approached the girl cautiously, his tail still tucked between his legs, whining softly. He sniffed at her hand, then at her leg, and then, tentatively, licked her fingers.

The girl's head snapped toward the dog with a movement that was too fast, too sharp, too mechanical. Her smile never wavered.

Biscuit yelped and bolted, scrambling across the floor in his panic to get away, his claws scrabbling on the wood. He ran straight for the back door, scratching at it frantically.

Earl felt his blood run cold.

In all the years he'd had Biscuit, the dog had never been afraid of a person. Not once. He'd been wary, sure, cautious around strangers, but never outright terrified. Never running away like something was chasing him.

Through the window, Earl watched as the girl stood up. The movement was wrong, too smooth, too fluid, like she was being pulled up by strings. She walked toward the front door, her steps oddly measured, like she was learning how to walk for the first time. Like an alien trying to look human was the best way to describe it.

Earl pressed himself against the side of the cabin, his heart hammering. He should stop her. She was injured, she was clearly not in her right mind, she needed help. But every instinct he had was screaming at him to stay hidden, to let her go, to not draw her attention.

The front door opened, and the girl stepped out into the morning sunlight. She paused on the porch, her head tilting back to look at the sky, that wrong smile still plastered on her face. Then she started walking, heading into the woods with that same strange, measured gait.

Earl watched her go, his hands shaking. He should follow her. He should call someone. He should do something.

But he didn't. He just stood there, watching as the girl disappeared into the trees, and tried to convince himself that what he'd just seen was real.

Chapter Text

June walked through the woods.

Except walking wasn't the right word. Walking implied control, implied intention, implied that the person doing the walking had some say in where their feet went and how their body moved. This wasn't walking. This was something else.

The world felt wrong.

That was June's first coherent thought, swimming up through the murky darkness that filled her head like oil. The world felt wrong. The colors were too bright, bleeding into each other at the edges like a watercolor painting left in the rain. The trees stretched up and up and up, their branches reaching toward a sky that seemed too close and too far away at the same time.

Her body felt wrong too. Distant. Like she was operating it from very far away, like she was watching someone else move her arms and legs through thick glass. There was pain, she knew there was pain, could sense it hovering at the edges of her consciousness like static on a radio, but it felt muted, unimportant, like it was happening to someone else.

One foot in front of the other. That was all she had to do. One foot in front of the other.

Except her feet didn't feel like her feet. They felt too heavy, too light, too something. The ground beneath them seemed to shift and ripple with each step, like she was walking on water, like she was walking on air, like she was walking on nothing at all.

A branch scraped across her arm, and June watched with detached fascination as a line of red appeared on her skin. Blood. That was blood. Her blood. She should probably care about that, should probably do something about it, but the thought slipped away before she could hold onto it, dissolving like sugar in water.

Steve. The thought came from somewhere deep inside, from some part of her that was still June, still real. Steve is safe. Steve will help. Go to Steve. Steve is safe.

Yes. Steve. That made sense. That felt right. Steve's house. She knew where Steve's house was. She'd been there before, back when everything made sense, back when the world had edges and her body belonged to her and pain meant something.

June turned. Or her body turned. she wasn't sure which, and started moving in a new direction. The trees parted around her like they were afraid to touch her. Or maybe she was afraid to touch them. It was hard to tell. Everything was hard to tell.

Time did something strange. Stretched and compressed and folded in on itself. June blinked and she was still in the woods. Blinked again and the trees were different. Blinked again and she could see houses through the branches, their windows like eyes watching her stumble past.

Her legs gave out.

June hit the ground hard, her palms scraping against dirt and rocks and things that might have been leaves or might have been something else entirely. For a moment, she just lay there, her cheek pressed against the earth, breathing in the smell of decay and growth and life and death all mixed together.

Get up. The voice in her head wasn't hers. Or maybe it was hers. Or maybe it was something else wearing her voice like a coat. Get up. Keep moving. Find Steve. Steve is safe. Steve will help.

June's arms shook as she pushed herself up. Her vision swam, the world tilting sideways, and for a horrible moment she thought she might fall again. But then her legs were under her, holding her weight, moving her forward.

One foot in front of the other.

The woods thinned, and suddenly June was standing at the edge of a lawn. A big lawn. A perfect lawn. Green and smooth and wrong, so wrong, because lawns weren't supposed to be that green, weren't supposed to be that perfect.

A house rose up in front of her like a monument. Big. Expensive. The kind of house that said money and status and everything June had never had and never wanted. But it was Steve's house. She knew it was Steve's house. Some part of her that was still functioning recognized it, even through the fog.

June walked across the lawn. Her feet left dark prints on the perfect green. She looked down and saw that her shoes were wet. Red-wet. Blood-wet. When had that happened? She couldn't remember. Couldn't remember a lot of things.

The front door was white and tall and imposing. June raised her hand to knock, and the movement felt like it took a thousand years. Her knuckles hit the wood once, twice, three times. The sound echoed in her head, too loud, too sharp.

Nothing.

June knocked again, harder this time. The door rattled but didn't open. No footsteps from inside. No voice calling out. No Steve.

Steve wasn't home.

The realization should have meant something. Should have triggered some emotion, disappointment, fear, desperation. But June felt nothing. Just that same distant, muted awareness that something was wrong, that she was wrong, that everything was wrong.

Rina. The thought bubbled up from that same deep place. Rina's trailer. Cherry Road. Rina will help. Rina is safe.

June turned away from Steve's door and walked back across the lawn, back into the woods. The trees swallowed her up again, their branches reaching down like hands, like claws, like nothing at all.

The walk to Rina's trailer was worse.

June's body was failing. She could feel it now, even through the fog, even through the distance. Her legs kept trying to give out. Her vision kept going dark at the edges, tunneling down to a pinpoint before slowly expanding again. There was a sound in her ears like rushing water, like static, like screaming.

She fell twice. Three times. Lost count. Each time, it took longer to get back up. Each time, the voice in her head had to get louder, more insistent. Get up. Keep moving. Find Rina. Rina is safe. Rina will help.

The trailer park materialized out of the woods like something from a dream. Rows of mobile homes, some neat and well-kept, others falling apart at the seams. June knew this place. Had been here a hundred times. A thousand times. But it looked different now, unfamiliar, like she was seeing it through someone else's eyes.

Cherry Road. Rina's trailer was on Cherry Road. June's feet carried her there without conscious thought, following some internal map that still worked even when everything else was broken.

There. The trailer with the chipped blue paint and the wind chimes that Rina's mom had hung up last summer. June stumbled up the steps - when had steps gotten so hard? - and knocked on the door.

Nothing.

She knocked again, her fist hitting the metal with a hollow sound that echoed through her skull. The door rattled but didn't open. No movement from inside. No Rina.

Rina wasn't home.

June stood there for a moment, swaying slightly, her hand still raised to knock again. The wind chimes sang in the breeze, a sound that should have been pretty but instead sounded like screaming, like crying, like something dying.

Ellie. The name came to her slowly, like it was traveling a great distance to reach her. Ellie's house. Ellie will be home. Ellie is smart. Ellie will know what to do.

June turned and stumbled down the steps. Her legs gave out on the last one, and she hit the ground hard, her hands scraping against gravel. For a long moment, she just knelt there, breathing hard, watching blood drip from her palms onto the ground.

Get up. Keep moving. Find Ellie.

June got up.

The walk to Ellie's house was a nightmare rendered in watercolors and static. The world kept phasing in and out of focus. Trees became houses became streets became trees again. The sun was too bright and too dim at the same time. The air felt thick, like trying to breathe underwater.

June's body was moving on autopilot now, following some path that had been burned into her brain. Left at the oak tree. Right at the stop sign. Straight through the woods behind the elementary school. Her conscious mind had almost completely checked out, leaving just that small, screaming part of her that knew something was terribly, horribly wrong.

Ellie's house appeared through the trees. Small. Neat. Safe. June stumbled toward it, her vision tunneling down to just that one point of focus. Almost there. Almost safe. Almost-

"Oh my god!"

The voice came from somewhere to June's left. She turned, too fast, the world spinning, and saw a figure running toward her. Blonde hair. Familiar face. Someone she knew. Someone from school.

Carol Perkins.

"Oh my god, you're alive!" Carol was saying, her voice high and panicked. "Everyone's been looking for you! The police, your family, everyone! What happened? Are you okay? You're bleeding, oh god, you're bleeding so much-"

Carol's hands were on June's arms, trying to steady her, trying to help. Her face was close, too close, her eyes wide with concern and fear and something else June couldn't identify through the fog.

"We need to get you to the police station," Carol was saying. "Or the hospital. Or both. Come on, my car is just-"

June's vision went dark.

Not gradually. Not a slow fade. Just-dark. Like someone had flipped a switch, like someone had pulled a curtain, like someone had reached into her head and turned off the lights.

When the lights came back on, everything was different.

June was on her knees on a concrete floor. The air was cold and damp and smelled like rust and chemicals and something organic and rotting. Her hands were in front of her, pressed against the ground, and they were covered in blood.

Fresh blood.

Wet blood.

So much blood.

June's breath caught in her throat. She looked up slowly, her neck creaking like it hadn't moved in days, and saw where she was.

The basement. She was back in the basement.

The same basement where she'd woken up before, where the thing that looked like Billy had smiled at her with too many teeth, where Heather Holloway had stood with that same wrong smile. The same basement with its concrete walls and its flickering lights and its sense of wrongness that permeated everything.

But it was different now. Bigger. There were more people, or things that looked like people, standing around the edges of the room, all of them watching her with those same glazed, empty eyes. And in the center of the room, rising up like some obscene monument, was something that made June's mind try to shut down completely.

A Mind Flayer.

Not the shadow version she'd seen in Will's drawings, not the creature from the Upside Down that existed in smoke and darkness. This was something else. Something worse. It was made of flesh, human flesh, she realized with dawning horror, all twisted and melted together into a vaguely humanoid shape that towered over her. Arms that weren't arms. Legs that weren't legs. A head that was too many heads, too many faces, all of them screaming silently.

And standing in front of it, watching her with expressions that were almost human, almost concerned, were Billy Hargrove and Heather Holloway.

"Welcome back," Billy said, and his voice was wrong, layered with something else underneath it. "You did very well."

June looked down at her hands again. At the blood covering them, soaking into her clothes, pooling on the concrete floor beneath her knees. At the thing clutched in her right hand, a cheap necklace, the kind you could buy at any mall kiosk, with a little silver heart pendant that caught the flickering light.

Carol's necklace.

Carol, who had been trying to help her. Carol, who had seen her stumbling through the woods and had run toward her instead of away. Carol, who had said you're alive like it was a miracle, like it was something to celebrate.

Carol, who was dead now.

The realization hit June like a physical blow, and suddenly she couldn't breathe. Her lungs were working, she could feel them expanding and contracting, could feel air moving in and out, but it wasn't enough. Would never be enough. Because she had killed someone. She had killed Carol Perkins.

"No," June whispered, and her voice sounded strange, broken, like something that had been shattered and poorly glued back together. "No, I didn't - I wouldn't-"

"But you did," Heather said, and she was smiling that same wrong smile, that same too-wide smile that June had worn in Earl's cabin. "You did exactly what you were supposed to do. You were perfect."

"The girl was a complication," Billy added, moving closer. June wanted to scramble away from him, wanted to run, but her body wouldn't respond. "She saw you. She would have taken you to the police. We couldn't allow that."

"So you took care of it," Heather continued. "You protected us. You protected the family."

Family. The word echoed in June's head, wrong and twisted and obscene. This wasn't a family. This was a nightmare. This was hell.

"I didn't-" June's voice cracked. "I don't remember. I don't remember doing it. I don't remember-"

"You will," Billy said, and there was something almost gentle in his voice, which made it so much worse. "In time, you'll remember everything. And you'll understand. You'll see that this is better. That we're better. That everything we're doing is for the greater good."

The Mind Flayer moved, and the sound it made was like wet meat sliding against concrete. June forced herself to look up at it, at the thing made of people, made of flesh and bone and stolen lives. And as she looked, she saw faces in the mass. Recognized some of them. People from Hawkins. People who had disappeared over the past few weeks. People who were now part of this thing, this abomination.

Was that what would happen to her? Would she become part of that mass of flesh, her identity dissolved into something larger and more terrible?

Or worse, would she stay herself, stay June, but be forced to do things like this again and again? Would she be made to hurt people, to kill people, while some part of her screamed helplessly inside?

"Please," June whispered, and she was crying now, tears cutting tracks through the blood on her face. "Please, I don't want this. I don't want to be this. Please."

"It's too late for that," Heather said, and she sounded almost sad. Almost human. "You're one of us now. You've always been one of us. You just didn't know it yet."

The Mind Flayer made another sound, something that might have been words in a language June's human brain couldn't process. Billy and Heather both turned toward it, their heads tilting in that same mechanical way, listening to something June couldn't hear.

"It's time for you to go home," Billy said, turning back to June. "Your mother will be worried. You've been gone for so long."

"Go home," Heather echoed. "Rest. Sleep. And when you wake up, everything will be clearer. Everything will make sense."

June wanted to refuse. Wanted to fight. Wanted to do anything except obey. But her body was already moving, already standing up on legs that shook and threatened to give out. The necklace was still clutched in her hand, the chain cutting into her palm.

Carol's necklace. Evidence of what she'd done. Evidence of what she'd become.

June walked toward the stairs leading up and out of the basement. Each step felt like walking through quicksand, like moving through a dream. Behind her, she could feel the Mind Flayer watching, could feel Billy and Heather and all the other flayed people watching.

She climbed the stairs. Opened the door. Stepped out into-

The woods.

June was back in the woods, stumbling through the trees with no memory of how she'd gotten there. The sun was setting, painting everything in shades of orange and red that looked too much like blood. Her clothes were still soaked with it. Her hands were still covered in it.

Carol's blood.

June's stomach heaved, and she barely managed to turn to the side before she was vomiting, her body trying to purge itself of something that couldn't be purged. When there was nothing left to bring up, she stayed there on her hands and knees, dry heaving, crying, shaking so hard her teeth chattered.

Home. She needed to get home. Needed to - what? Tell her mom? Tell Joyce that she'd killed someone, that she'd been taken by some kind of monster, that she was infected or possessed or whatever the hell was wrong with her?

No. She couldn't tell anyone. Couldn't let anyone know. Because if they knew, they'd lock her up. Or worse. And the thing inside her, the thing that had made her kill Carol, would make her hurt them too.

June forced herself to stand. Forced herself to start walking. The necklace was still in her hand, and she shoved it deep into her pocket, hiding the evidence, hiding the proof of what she'd done.

The walk home took forever and no time at all. June's mind kept skipping, kept jumping forward and backward, unable to hold onto any single moment. One second she was in the woods. The next she was on a street. The next she was standing in front of her house, staring at the familiar porch, the familiar door, wondering how she'd gotten there.

The front door was unlocked. June pushed it open and stepped inside, and the normalcy of it all was almost worse than the basement had been. The living room looked exactly the same. The TV was on, playing some sitcom with a laugh track. There were dishes in the sink. Mail on the counter. Everything exactly as it should be, as if the world hadn't just ended, as if June hadn't just become a murderer.

"June?"

Joyce's voice came from the kitchen. June heard footsteps, and then her mother was there, standing in the doorway, her face a complicated mix of emotions that June couldn't quite parse through the fog in her head.

"Oh thank god," Joyce said, but her voice was tight, controlled. Not the relief June had expected. Not the tears or the hugs or the desperate questions. Just that tight, controlled tone that meant Joyce was holding something back. "You're home. You're alive. Do you have any idea how worried I've been? How worried we've all been?"

June opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. What could she possibly say?

"The police have been looking everywhere for you," Joyce continued, and now there was an edge to her voice. Anger, maybe. Or fear disguised as anger. "Your car was found abandoned with blood in it. Blood, June. We thought-" Her voice cracked slightly, but she pushed through it. "We thought something terrible had happened to you."

Something terrible did happen to me, June wanted to scream. Something terrible is still happening to me. I killed someone. I killed Carol Perkins and I don't even remember doing it and there's something inside me, something wrong, and I don't know how to make it stop.

But she didn't say any of that. She just stood there, hugging herself, her eyes wide and unfocused, while Joyce kept talking.

"Where have you been? What happened? Why didn't you call? Do you know what it's been like, not knowing if you were alive or dead or-" Joyce stopped, seeming to really look at June for the first time. "Are you hurt? Is that your blood?"

June looked down at herself. At the torn, bloodstained clothes. At her scraped and bleeding hands. At the evidence of violence written all over her body.

"I need to sleep," June said, and her voice sounded distant, mechanical. Not her voice at all. "I'm very tired. I need to sleep."

"June, we need to call the police. We need to get you to a hospital. We need to-"

But June was already moving, walking past her mother, down the hallway toward her bedroom. She could hear Joyce calling after her, could hear the concern and confusion and anger in her voice, but it all seemed very far away. Unimportant.

Sleep. She needed to sleep. If she could just sleep, maybe when she woke up this would all be a nightmare. Maybe when she woke up Carol would still be alive and June would still be herself and everything would be okay.

June pushed open her bedroom door and stepped inside. The room looked exactly the same as it had the last time she'd been here, was that yesterday? A week ago? A lifetime ago? Her bed was unmade, sheets tangled from the last time she'd slept in it. Her desk was covered in papers and books and half-finished projects. Her walls were covered in posters and photos and all the accumulated debris of a life that felt like it belonged to someone else now.

June closed the door behind her and locked it. Her hands were shaking so badly it took three tries to turn the lock. She could hear Joyce in the hallway, could hear her mother knocking, calling her name, but June couldn't respond. Couldn't do anything except stand there, hugging herself, trying to hold the pieces of herself together.

Move. She needed to move. Needed to do something. What did people do when they went to bed? There were steps. A process. June's mind felt like it was full of static, like she was trying to remember something she'd done a thousand times but suddenly couldn't recall.

Shoes. Take off shoes. That was a thing people did.

June looked down at her feet and saw her shoes, torn, muddy, covered in blood. Carol's blood. her own blood. She kicked them off, watching them tumble across the floor, leaving dark smears on the carpet.

Clothes. Change clothes. That was another thing.

But June couldn't make herself move toward her dresser, couldn't make herself take off the bloodstained clothes. Because if she took them off, she'd have to look at her body, at the damage, at the evidence of what had been done to her and what she'd done to someone else.

The bed. Just get to the bed.

June stumbled forward, her legs threatening to give out with each step. She reached the bed and pulled back the blankets with hands that didn't feel like her hands. The sheets were cool and clean and normal, and the contrast with her filthy, bloodstained body was almost obscene.

She climbed into bed anyway, pulling the blankets up over herself, cocooning herself in fabric that smelled like home, like safety, like a life that didn't exist anymore.

Sleep. She needed to sleep.

Sleep sleep sleep, June thought, the word repeating in her head like a mantra, like a prayer. Sleep sleep sleep. Close your eyes. Breathe. Sleep sleep sleep.

But her eyes wouldn't stay closed. They kept snapping open, scanning the room for threats, for monsters, for evidence that the basement had followed her home. Her heart was racing, hammering against her ribs like it was trying to escape. Her breath was coming in short, sharp gasps that didn't bring in enough air.

Breathe. In and out. In and out. Breathe breathe breathe.

June forced herself to take a deeper breath. Then another. Her lungs burned with the effort, but she kept going, kept breathing, because that was what living things did. They breathed. They kept breathing even when everything else was falling apart.

Sleep. You need to sleep. Close your eyes. Relax. Sleep sleep sleep.

But how was she supposed to sleep when every time she closed her eyes she saw Carol's face? Saw the moment when her vision had gone dark and then come back and everything was different? Saw the blood on her hands, the necklace clutched in her palm, the proof of what she'd done?

Tears were sliding down June's face now, hot and silent. She didn't make a sound, couldn't make a sound, because if she started crying out loud she might never stop. So she just lay there, tears soaking into her pillow, her body shaking with silent sobs, while her mind screamed and screamed and screamed.

I killed someone. I killed Carol Perkins. I'm a murderer. Again. I'm a monster. You always were. There's something inside me, something wrong, There always was, something that made me do it and will make me do it again. I'm dangerous. I'm broken. I'm-

Sleep. Please. Please just let me sleep. Let me escape this. Let me be somewhere else, someone else, anything else. Sleep sleep sleep sleep sleep-

Gradually, impossibly, June felt herself starting to drift. The exhaustion

was too much, too overwhelming. Her body was shutting down whether her mind was ready or not, pulling her under like a riptide, like quicksand, like drowning.

Sleep sleep sleep, she thought, and the words were getting slower, heavier. Sleep sleep slee-

The world dissolved.

June opened her eyes and she was falling.

No - not falling. Being pulled.

The labyrinth materialized around her, but it was wrong. All wrong. This wasn't the grand ballroom with its glittering chandeliers and masked dancers. This wasn't the safe space she'd created in her mind, the place where she could escape and think and be herself.

This was somewhere else entirely.

The walls were made of stone, rough and ancient and covered in something that might have been moss or might have been something worse. They pressed in close on either side, so close June could have touched them if she'd wanted to, if her arms weren't pinned to her sides by invisible hands.

Hands.

June looked down and saw them, dozens of hands, hundreds of hands, reaching out from the walls themselves. Gray hands, pale hands, hands with too many fingers or not enough. They grabbed at her clothes, her hair, her skin. They pulled at her, dragged at her, their grip cold and relentless.

No, June tried to say, but her voice wouldn't work. Nothing worked. She couldn't move, couldn't fight, could only be pulled deeper and deeper into the corridor of hands.

The voices started. They made faces with their grey hands to produce those voices.

They came from everywhere and nowhere, whispers that built into shouts that built into screams. Voices she recognized and voices she didn't. Voices that sounded human and voices that definitely weren't.

Murderer, they hissed. Killer. Monster.

You did this. You killed her. You felt her heartbeat stop under your hands.

Carol Perkins is dead and it's your fault your fault YOUR FAULT.

"No," June managed to gasp out, and her voice sounded small and broken in the echoing corridor. "I didn't want to. I didn't mean to. I didn't-"

But you did, the voices said, and they sounded almost gleeful now. You did and you'll do it again. You'll kill them all. Steve and Rina and Ellie and your mother and Will and Jonathan and everyone you've ever loved. You'll kill them all because that's what you are now. That's what you've become.

The hands pulled harder, and June was moving faster now, being dragged down the corridor at a speed that made her stomach lurch. The walls blurred past her, the hands a constant grasping presence, and the voices kept screaming, kept accusing, kept telling her truths she didn't want to hear.

You're one of them now. One of the flayed. One of the monsters.

There's no cure. No escape. No hope.

You're going to hurt everyone you love and you won't be able to stop yourself.

"Please," June sobbed, and she was crying again, tears streaming down her face. "Please, I don't want this. I don't want to be this. Please-"

The corridor ended abruptly, and June was falling for real now, tumbling through darkness, the hands finally releasing her. She fell and fell and fell, the voices following her down, echoing off walls she couldn't see.

Murderer murderer murderer-

Monster monster monster-

No hope no hope no hope-

June hit the ground hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs. For a moment, she just lay there, gasping, trying to remember how to breathe. The voices had stopped. The hands were gone. Everything was silent.

Slowly, painfully, June pushed herself up to sitting. Her body ached, not the distant, muted pain from before, but sharp and immediate and real. She looked around, trying to figure out where she was.

The oubliette.

She knew this place. Had seen it in the movie, in her dreams, in the dark corners of her mind where fear lived. A circular pit carved into stone, walls that stretched up and up into darkness. No door. No ladder. No way out. Just smooth stone walls that couldn't be climbed and darkness that pressed in from all sides.

A place for forgetting. A place for the forgotten.

June pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, making herself as small as possible. She was shaking, from cold or fear or shock, she couldn't tell. Maybe all three.

This was her mind. This was her labyrinth. She should be able to control it, should be able to change it, should be able to escape. But when she tried to imagine a door, a ladder, a way out, nothing happened. The walls stayed smooth and unbroken. The darkness stayed dark.

She was trapped.

Trapped in her own mind, in her own fear, in her own guilt.

I killed someone, June thought, and the reality of it hit her all over again, fresh and terrible. I killed Carol Perkins. I'm a murderer. I'm a monster.

And the worst part, the absolute worst part, was that she knew it would happen again. The thing inside her, the thing that had taken control and made her kill, was still there. Still waiting. Still hungry.

How long before it took control again? How long before she hurt someone else? Someone she actually cared about?

Steve. Rina. Ellie. Will. Moss. Her mom. Jonathan.

What if the next time, it was one of them?

June buried her face in her knees and let herself cry. Really cry, the kind of crying that came from somewhere deep and primal and broken. The kind of crying that shook her whole body, that made her throat raw, that felt like it might never stop.

She cried for Carol, who had just been trying to help. Cried for herself, for the person she used to be before all of this. Cried for everyone she was going to hurt, everyone she was going to kill, because she knew, she knew, that this wasn't over.

The oubliette offered no comfort. No answers. No hope.

Just stone walls and darkness and the terrible, crushing weight of what she'd done.

What she'd become.

June cried until she had no tears left, until her body was empty and exhausted and numb. And then she just sat there in the darkness, alone and afraid and waiting for something-anything-to happen.

But nothing did.

The oubliette was silent.

The darkness was complete.

And June was utterly, terribly alone.

Somewhere far above, in the waking world, June's body lay in her bed, still and silent. Her eyes moved rapidly beneath her closed lids, caught in the nightmare of her own making. Blood had soaked through her clothes and into her sheets, leaving dark stains that would never quite come out.

In the hallway, Joyce stood outside her daughter's locked door, her hand raised to knock again, her face creased with worry and confusion and a fear she couldn't quite name.

Something was wrong with June. Something more than just being missing for a day, more than just being traumatized by whatever had happened to her.

Something fundamental had changed.

Joyce could feel it in her bones, in her gut, in that place where mothers always knew when their children were in danger.

But she didn't know what to do about it. Didn't know how to help. Didn't know if help was even possible.

So she just stood there, her hand against the door, and whispered, "June, honey, please. Please talk to me. Please let me help you this time."

Inside the room, June didn't stir. Didn't respond. Just lay there in her blood-soaked sheets, trapped in the oubliette of her own mind, alone with her guilt and her fear and the terrible knowledge of what she'd done.

What she would do again.

The house was silent except for the sound of Joyce's quiet crying and the distant hum of the refrigerator and the tick-tick-tick of the clock on the wall, counting down the seconds until everything fell apart completely.

In the oubliette, June sat in the darkness and waited for the end.

Chapter Text

June woke to sunlight streaming through her window, and for one blissful moment, she didn't remember.

Then it all came crashing back.

Carol. The blood. The basement. The Mind Flayer. The necklace still hidden in her pocket.

June's breath hitched, and she waited for the panic to set in, for the tears to start again, for the crushing weight of guilt to pin her to the bed.

But it didn't come.

Instead, there was just... nothing. A strange, hollow emptiness where her emotions should have been. Like someone had reached inside her chest and scooped out everything that made her human, leaving just a shell behind.

June sat up slowly, mechanically. Her body moved smoothly, efficiently, with none of the pain and exhaustion from the night before. She looked down at her hands-still stained with dried blood, Carol's blood-and felt nothing.

That should have scared her. The absence of feeling should have been terrifying.

But it wasn't.

June stood and walked to her closet, her movements precise and measured. She opened the doors and stared at her clothes-the usual collection of band t-shirts, ripped jeans, flannel shirts, all the armor she'd built around herself over the years.

Her hand reached out, bypassing all of it, and pulled out a sundress instead.

June stared at the dress-pale yellow with little white flowers, something Joyce had bought her years ago that she'd never worn, had shoved to the back of the closet and forgotten about. It was pretty. Feminine. Everything June usually avoided.

She put it on anyway.

The fabric felt strange against her skin, too soft, too delicate. June looked at herself in the mirror and saw a stranger staring back. The dress. The bruises on her arms and legs. The scratches on her face. The hollow look in her eyes.

This wasn't her. This wasn't June Byers.

But her hands were already moving, pulling her hair back into a ponytail, applying a thin layer of makeup to cover the worst of the bruises. Making herself presentable. Making herself look normal.

Stop, a small voice screamed from somewhere deep inside. Stop stop stop this isn't you this isn't right something is wrong-

But the voice was distant, muffled, like it was coming from the bottom of a very deep well. June could hear it, could feel it struggling, but she couldn't respond. Couldn't fight back.

She was a passenger in her own body now.

June walked to her desk and pulled out a piece of paper and a pen. Her hand moved across the page, forming words in handwriting that wasn't quite hers-too neat, too controlled, the letters slightly wrong.

Mom,

I'm okay. I know you're worried, but I'm fine. I just needed some time to clear my head after everything that happened. I'm going to meet up with some friends at the mall. I'll be home later.

Don't worry about me.

Love, June

She read the note over once, her head tilting slightly to the side in that same mechanical way. It was good. Believable. Joyce would be upset, but she wouldn't call the police. Wouldn't raise an alarm.

June left the note on her bed, smoothing it out carefully. Then she walked to her door, unlocked it, and stepped out into the hallway.

The house was quiet. Joyce must have finally gone to bed sometime in the early morning hours, exhausted from worry and confusion. June could hear her mother's soft snoring coming from her bedroom.

Good. Better if Joyce didn't see her leave. Better if there were no questions, no confrontations, no opportunities for that small, screaming part of June to break through and beg for help.

June walked through the house like a ghost, silent and purposeful. She grabbed her bike from the garage, wheeled it out onto the driveway, and started pedaling toward the mall.

The morning air was cool and fresh, the sun warm on her skin. It should have felt good. Should have felt like freedom, like escape.

But June felt nothing.

Just that hollow emptiness and the distant sound of screaming from the girl trapped inside. The cries of carol haunted her like the never leaving locket in her pocket. (hey that rhymed! I could be dr suess)

The mall was already busy by the time June arrived, families and teenagers flooding through the doors, eager to spend their Saturday shopping and eating and pretending the world was normal.

June locked her bike and walked inside, her movements smooth and unhurried. She knew where she was going. Could feel the pull, the invisible thread connecting her to the place she needed to be.

Scoops Ahoy.

The ice cream parlor was tucked away on the lower level, its nautical theme garish and ridiculous. June could see Steve through the window, wearing that stupid sailor uniform, looking miserable as he scooped ice cream for a group of giggling middle schoolers.

Steve. Safe haven. Friend. Important.

June pushed open the door, and the little bell above it chimed cheerfully.

Steve looked up, his customer service smile already in place, and then his face went completely white.

"June?" he whispered, and the ice cream scoop fell from his hand, clattering against the counter. "June, oh my god, June!"

He vaulted over the counter-actually vaulted over it, his legs clearing the surface in one smooth motion-and ran toward her. June barely had time to brace herself before Steve crashed into her, wrapping his arms around her in a hug so tight it would have hurt if she could still feel pain.

"You're alive," Steve was saying, his voice muffled against her shoulder. "You're alive, you're okay, oh my god, I thought-we all thought-" He pulled back, his hands on her shoulders, his eyes scanning her face frantically. "Where have you been? What happened? Are you okay? You're covered in bruises, did someone hurt you? I swear to god if someone hurt you I'll-"

"Steve," June said, and her voice came out calm, measured, with just the right amount of exhaustion. "I'm okay. I'm fine."

"You're not fine," Steve said, and there were tears in his eyes now. "Look at you, you're-" He stopped, seeming to really see her for the first time. The dress. The makeup. The way she was standing, too still, too controlled. "June?"

"I'm fine," June repeated, and she smiled. It felt wrong on her face, too wide, too bright, but Steve didn't seem to notice.

"I could kiss you!" Steve blurted out, and then immediately turned red. "I mean-not like that-I mean, I'm just so glad you're alive and okay and-oh god, everyone's been so worried-"

"Everyone?" June asked, and right on cue, more people started emerging from the back room.

Robin came out first, still wearing her Scoops uniform, her expression shifting from confusion to shock when she saw June. Then Dustin, his face lighting up with relief. Then Erica Sinclair, looking unimpressed as always. Then Rina, Moss, and Ellie, who must have been visiting.

"June!" Rina shrieked, and suddenly June was being mobbed, everyone trying to hug her at once, voices overlapping in a cacophony of relief and questions and concern.

Ellie grabbed her hand, squeezing tight. She wore a 1930's dress and a small hat tilted to the side. "We thought you were dead. Your car-there was so much blood-"

"The police have been looking everywhere," Moss added, and he was hugging her now, his arms wrapped around her waist, holding on just a few seconds too long. June could feel his heartbeat against her chest, fast and nervous. How... quaint.

Rina was crying, her face pressed against June's shoulder. "Don't ever do that again. Don't ever disappear like that again. You gotta atleast take me with you next time."

Even Robin, who barely knew June, seemed affected. She stood there awkwardly for a moment before reaching out and punching June lightly on the shoulder. "Glad you're not dead," she said, and it came out more sincere than sarcastic.

Only Dustin hung back slightly, his eyes narrowed, studying June with an intensity that made something inside her-the real her, the trapped her-scream louder.

Dustin sees it. Dustin knows something is wrong. Please, Dustin, please notice, please help-

But the thing controlling June just smiled at him, warm and genuine, and Dustin's expression softened slightly.

"What happened?" Steve asked, his hands still on June's shoulders like he was afraid she'd disappear again if he let go. "Where have you been? Who did this to you?"

June felt her mouth open, felt words forming that weren't hers, felt the story spilling out smooth and practiced and completely false. She screamed internally trying desperatly to 'STOP! STOP! IT'S NOT ME! THIS ISN'T TRUE-'

"There was this guy," she heard herself say, and her voice was shaking just right, vulnerable and scared and believable. "I was driving home from work and my car broke down. I pulled over to check the engine and this guy-he just came out of nowhere. Tried to grab me, tried to-"

June's voice broke convincingly, and she looked down, hugging herself. Everyone leaned in closer, protective and concerned.

"I fought him off," June continued. "Got away and ran into the woods. But I got lost, and I was hurt, and I just-I just kept walking until I found this cabin. This old guy, Earl, he helped me. Let me rest. Bandaged me up. And then this morning I finally made it home."

It was a good story. Believable. Explained the injuries, the missing time, the blood. Everyone was nodding, their faces creased with sympathy and anger.

Everyone except Dustin.

Dustin was still watching her, his head tilted slightly, his eyes sharp behind his curly hair. June could see him processing, analyzing, comparing this version of June to the one he'd known for years.

Please, the real June screamed from her prison. Please see it. Please know something is wrong. Please-

But then June's eyes glazed over, just for a moment, and when they cleared, Dustin was looking away, the moment lost.

"Did you see what he looked like?" Steve was asking, his voice tight with barely controlled rage. "Did you get a license plate? Anything we can give to the police?"

"It was dark," June said, shaking her head. "I didn't see much. Just-I just want to forget about it. I just want things to go back to normal."

"We should still report it," Robin said. "There's a dangerous guy out there, and-"

"Please," June interrupted, and her voice was small, pleading. "Please, I just-I can't deal with police and questions right now. I just want to be with my friends. Can we just-can we just hang out? Like normal? Please?" Her voice was not like hers. It was delicate when it should sound dehydrated and gritty. Her vowels were all wrong. Hell her ACCENT wasn't even right.

How could they say no to that? How could they refuse when she looked so fragile, so traumatized, so desperate for normalcy?

"Of course," Steve said immediately, pulling her into another hug. "Of course, whatever you need. You're safe now. We've got you."

No, the real June screamed. No, I'm not safe. None of you are safe. Please, please see it-

But no one could hear her.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of forced normalcy. June sat in the back room of Scoops Ahoy, surrounded by her friends, listening to them talk about something called "the Russian code" and secret rooms and conspiracy theories that would have fascinated the real June.

But this June just sat there, smiling at the right moments, laughing at the right jokes, playing the part of the traumatized but recovering friend.

Dustin kept glancing at her when he thought she wasn't looking. June could feel his suspicion like a physical weight, but he never said anything. Never called her out. Just watched and worried in silence.

As the day wore on, the group's attention shifted back to their mission. Something about the Russians and secret messages and a room behind the mall that they needed to get into. June thought to herself 'What the hell are they talking about? Since when were Russians in Hawkins Indiana of all places?'

"We need someone small," Steve was saying, gesturing at a vent in the wall. "Someone who can fit through there and unlock the door from the inside."

The sound of an insesant bell ringing took their attention.

All eyes turned to Erica, who crossed her arms and glared. "Ahoy sailors. Ahoy?? Get over here and give me some free samples"

Everyone turned to one another. A shared spark flew between them.

The back room of Scoops Ahoy was cramped with eight people crammed into a space meant for maybe four. Steve leaned against the counter, arms crossed, while Robin spread out a hand-drawn map on the table. Dustin hovered nearby, practically vibrating with nervous energy. Erica sat across from them, looking supremely unimpressed, her arms crossed in a mirror of Steve's posture.

Rina, Moss, Ellie, and June hung back near the wall, watching the negotiation unfold like spectators at a tennis match.

"Okay, well, what's the problem?" Steve asked, his voice tight with barely concealed frustration.

Erica raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "The problem is, I still haven't heard what's in this for Erica."

The nautical tune playing over the mall's sound system seemed to mock them as Erica picked up her spoon and took a deliberate bite of her ice cream sundae. She chewed slowly, maintaining eye contact with Steve the entire time.

"More fudge, please," she said, pushing the sundae toward him.

Steve's jaw clenched. "Are you serious right now?"

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Erica asked, her voice flat.

Moss leaned over to Rina, his voice barely above a whisper. "Is she seriously negotiating right now?"

Rina's lips twitched with suppressed amusement. "I kind of respect it."

Steve sighed heavily and grabbed the fudge dispenser, squirting an aggressive amount onto Erica's sundae. He slid it back across the table with perhaps more force than necessary.

Erica examined the sundae critically, then nodded. "Go on."

Robin cleared her throat and pointed to the map. "All right. You see this? This is the route you're gonna take." Her finger traced a path through the hand-drawn ventilation system. "Then we just wait till the last delivery goes out tonight. Then you knock out the grate, jump down, open the door."

"Then you find out what's in those boxes?" Erica asked, taking another bite of ice cream.

"Exactly," Robin confirmed.

"Mm-hmm." Erica's eyes narrowed. "And you say this guard is armed."

"Yes, but he won't be there," Dustin interjected quickly. "We've timed it. The guard does his rounds every-"

Ellie leaned closer to June, her voice quiet and concerned. "This seems really dangerous."

June turned to look at her friend, and that same hollow smile spread across her face. "It'll be fine."

Something about the way June said it made Ellie's stomach twist, but before she could respond, Erica spoke again.

"And booby traps?"

Robin blinked. "Booby traps?"

"Lasers, spikes in the wall?" Erica elaborated, as if this should be obvious.

"What?" Robin looked genuinely confused.

Moss muttered under his breath, "She's seen too many James Bond movies."

Erica's head snapped toward him, her eyes sharp. "I can hear you, you know."

Moss held up his hands in surrender. "Just making an observation."

Erica turned back to the group, her expression serious. "You know what this half-baked plan of yours sounds like to me? Child endangerment."

"She's not wrong," Rina said, earning a glare from Steve.

"Not helping, Rina," he said through gritted teeth.

Robin tried again, her voice taking on a placating tone. "We'll be in radio contact with you the whole time-"

"Ah, ah, ah!" Erica held up one finger, cutting her off. "Child endangerment."

Dustin stepped forward, his hands clasped together almost pleadingly. "Erica? Hi. Uh, we think these Russians want to do harm to our country. Great harm. Don't you love your country?"

Erica took a long, deliberate slurp of her float before responding. "You can't spell 'America' without 'Erica.'"

The slurping continued, loud and obnoxious in the small room. Dustin's eye twitched slightly.

"Uh, yeah, yeah," he said, trying to maintain his enthusiasm. "Oddly, that's, uh, totally true. So, so, don't do this for us." His voice was building now, taking on the cadence of a motivational speech. "Do it for your country. Do it for your fellow man."

The slurping intensified.

"Do this for America, Erica," Dustin finished, his voice ringing with patriotic fervor.

Moss leaned toward Ellie, his voice low. "That was actually kind of inspiring."

Ellie elbowed him in the ribs. "Shh."

Erica set down her empty glass with a decisive clink. "Ooh! I just got the chills." She paused, letting the moment hang. "Oh, yeah, from this float, not your speech."

Rina snorted with laughter, then immediately tried to cover it with a cough. "Sorry, sorry," she mumbled when everyone looked at her.

Erica wasn't done. She leaned forward, her elbows on the table, her expression suddenly very serious and very adult. "Know what I love most about this country? Capitalism. Do you know what capitalism is?"

"Yeah," Robin said.

"Yeah," Dustin echoed.

"Unfortunately," Moss added under his breath.

Erica ignored him, her eyes fixed on Steve and Robin. "It means this is a free market system. Which means people get paid for their services, depending on how valuable their contributions are." She sat back, crossing her arms again. "And it seems to me, my ability to fit into that little vent is very, very valuable to you all."

Ellie leaned close to Rina, her voice barely audible. "She's like a tiny businesswoman."

"She's terrifying," Rina whispered back, her eyes wide.

"So, you want my help?" Erica continued, her voice taking on a businesslike tone that would have been impressive coming from an adult, let alone an eleven-year-old. "This USS Butterscotch better be the first of many. And I'm talking free ice cream for life."

Silence fell over the room. Everyone turned to look at Steve, who was staring at Erica with an expression somewhere between disbelief and grudging respect.

"Are you kidding me?" he finally said.

June's voice cut through the tension, calm and measured and wrong. "Just give her what she wants, Steve."

Steve turned to look at June, his brow furrowing slightly. There was something off about the way she'd said it, something too detached, too practical. But before he could examine that thought, Erica cleared her throat impatiently.

"Fine," Steve said, throwing his hands up in defeat. "Fine! Free ice cream for life."

Erica's face split into a triumphant smile. "Pleasure doing business with you."

Moss shook his head slowly. "We just got hustled by a ten-year-old."

"I'm eleven, you emo bastard" Erica corrected primly.

"Even worse," Rina muttered.

Dustin clapped his hands together, trying to recapture some momentum. "Okay, okay, so we're doing this? We're really doing this?"

"Apparently we're really doing this," Ellie said, and she sounded resigned rather than excited.

June's smile widened, that same hollow, wrong expression that didn't quite reach her eyes. "It'll be an adventure."

Dustin's gaze lingered on June for a moment longer than necessary. His eyes narrowed slightly behind his glasses, studying her face, her posture, the way she was standing just a little too still. Something was off. Something was wrong. He'd known June for years, had spent countless hours with her and Will and the rest of the party, and this-this wasn't quite her.

But then Robin was pulling out the walkie-talkies, and Steve was explaining the plan again, and the moment passed. Dustin filed the observation away, a nagging worry in the back of his mind that he couldn't quite articulate.

June just kept smiling, her hands clasped in front of her, looking for all the world like someone who was exactly where they were supposed to be.

And deep inside, trapped in the oubliette of her own mind, the real June screamed and screamed, but no one could hear her.

No one ever heard her.

June watched as they planned, as they rigged up a helmet with flashlights, as they convinced Erica to crawl through the vents with promises of unlimited ice cream. She should have been concerned. Should have been asking questions. Should have been trying to stop them from doing something clearly dangerous.

But she just sat there, that hollow smile on her face, and waited.

The sun was setting by the time they were ready. Erica, wearing the ridiculous helmet, stood at the entrance to the vent, walkie-talkie in hand.

"Remember," Dustin said, his voice serious. "Just get to the room, unlock the door, and get out. Don't touch anything. Don't take any risks."

"Yeah, yeah," Erica said, rolling her eyes. "I got it, nerd."

She crawled into the vent, and they all gathered around the walkie-talkie, listening to her progress. June stood at the back of the group, her hands clasped in front of her, that same serene smile on her face.

"This is a terrible idea," Robin muttered, but she was leaning forward, anxious, invested.

"It's the only idea we have," Steve countered.

They listened as Erica navigated through the vents, her voice crackling through the walkie-talkie with running commentary about dust and tight spaces and how they'd better make good on that ice cream promise.

"I'm at the room," Erica finally said.

They heard the sound of a door opening, then Erica's triumphant voice: "Free ice cream, For life."

Steve looked at the others, his face pale. "We should call the police. This is way beyond-"

"And tell them what?" Robin interrupted. "That we broke into a restricted area because we decoded a Russian transmission? They'll think we're crazy."

"She's right," Dustin said reluctantly. "We need to see what's in there first. Get proof. Then we can go to the authorities."

"This is insane," Moss said, but he was already moving toward the door Erica had unlocked. "We're all going to die."

"Probably," Rina agreed, following him. "But at least it'll be interesting."

Ellie grabbed June's hand, squeezing it. "You don't have to come," she said quietly. "After everything you've been through, you should probably go home. Rest."

June looked at her friend-really looked at her, at the concern in her eyes, at the genuine care-and felt that distant part of herself screaming louder.

Yes! Go home! Get away from them! You're dangerous, you're going to hurt them, please please please-

But June's mouth opened and different words came out. "I'm not leaving you guys. We stick together."

Ellie smiled, relieved, and pulled June into the restricted area with the others.

"This is so cool," Dustin whispered, his eyes wide. "Real spy stuff."

"This is so illegal," Robin corrected, but she looked excited too.

They reached the room-a massive industrial thing with metal walls and a control panel covered in Russian text. Erica was already inside, examining the buttons.

"Come on," she said impatiently. "Are we doing this or not?"

One by one, they filed into the room. It was a tight fit with eight people, everyone pressed close together. June ended up near the back, wedged between Steve and the wall.

Steve looked down at her, his expression softening. "You sure you're okay?" he asked quietly. "You seem... different."

I'm not okay, the real June screamed. I'm not me. Please see it, please-

"Just tired," June heard herself say. "It's been a long couple of days."

Steve nodded, accepting the explanation, and turned his attention back to the boxes surrounding them.

"Time to find out whats in here"

Suddenly the door closed. Snapping shut.

The air around them hissed. "Okay so I might finally be going crazy but, Did the room just move?" Said Rina her eyes were wide as she stared around the room.

Ericas head popped up from behind some boxes and whispered "booby traps." It was very ominous June though. Mechanical whirring snapped her out of her thoughts however. "You know what" Started steve "let's just grab that and go" He picked up a weird vial that June hadn't noticed before. Weird.

Steve sauntered over to the control panel and began pressing a button. "Erica which one do I press?"

Erica rolled her eyes "Just press the damn button nerd" She stood up and crossed her arms vaugly reminding June of an evil receptionist she met while staying at a motel. A shitty motel at that. Fond memories.

"I am! I'm pressing open door" Steve continued to press the button with more vigour. The annoyance that painted his face grew.

Ellie sighed and marched over "Here let me see" She observed the panel for a second and then pressed the button too. Once. Twice. Thrice. "What the hell?"

The room lurched, and suddenly they were moving. Down.

"Oh god," Steve said, grabbing the railing. "Oh god, we're going down."

"Why are we going down?

They were going down fast, the room picking up speed,

"How deep does this go?" Moss asked, his voice tight with panic.

The air pressure was changing, making their ears pop. June could feel everyone's fear, could smell their sweat, could hear their hearts racing.

And she felt nothing.

Just that hollow emptiness and the distant screaming of the girl trapped inside.

"Make it stop!" Rina was saying, pressing buttons frantically. "Someone make it stop!"

But the room (now dubbed elevator) wouldn't stop. Just kept plummeting deeper and deeper into the earth, taking them somewhere they were never meant to go.

Steve's hand found June's in the chaos, his fingers lacing through hers, holding tight. "It's okay," he said, and he was trying to sound calm but his voice was shaking. "It's okay, we're okay, it's going to be-"

The elevator jerked violently, and Steve stumbled, his other arm wrapping around June's shoulders, pulling her against his chest protectively. She could feel his heart hammering, could feel his breath coming fast and panicked.

I'm going to hurt you, the real June tried to say. I'm going to hurt all of you. Please, Steve, please let me go-

But Steve just held her tighter, and the elevator kept falling, and the thing inside June smiled. June wanted to reopen the wound in her side and rip it out of her with her bare hands.

The elevator was shaking now, rattling like it might come apart at any second. Everyone was screaming, holding onto each other, onto the railings, onto anything they could reach.

The elevator slammed to a stop so suddenly that everyone was thrown forward, crashing into each other and the walls. The lights flickered once, twice, then stabilized.

For a long moment, no one moved. No one spoke. They just stood there in the sudden silence, breathing hard, trying to process what had just happened.

"Is everyone okay?" Steve finally asked, his arms still around June.

A chorus of shaky affirmatives answered him. Bruised, scared, but alive.

"Where are we?" Ellie whispered.

Dustin moved to the doors and tried to pry them open. They didn't budge. He tried the buttons on the control panel. Nothing happened.

"I think we're stuck," he said, and his voice was very small.

"Stuck?" Rina repeated. "What do you mean stuck?"

"I mean this room-elevator-thing- i don't know!- isn't moving and the doors won't open and we're trapped a hundred floors underground in a secret Russian base," Dustin said, his voice rising with each word. "That kind of stuck!"

"Okay, okay, everyone calm down," Robin said, though she looked far from calm herself. "There has to be an emergency hatch or something. A way out."

They all looked up at the ceiling, where a small hatch was visible.

"I'll check it out," Steve said, reluctantly releasing June. He climbed onto Dustin's shoulders, wobbling dangerously, and pushed at the hatch.

It opened.

"Yes!" Steve said triumphantly. "Okay, We can climb up and-"

He stopped, his face going pale.

"And what?" Moss prompted.

"And we're in a really, really long shaft," Steve finished. "Like, I can't even see the top. And I don't think we can climb that far."

He dropped back down into the elevator, and the group fell into defeated silence.

They were trapped. A hundred floors underground. In a secret Russian facility. With no way out and no one knowing where they were.

June looked around at her friends-at their scared faces, their trembling hands, their desperate attempts to stay calm. She should have been scared too. Should have been panicking. Should have been trying to help.

But she just stood there, that hollow smile on her face, and waited.

Because this was exactly where she was supposed to be.

Exactly where the Mind Flayer wanted her.

And deep inside, trapped in the oubliette of her own mind, the real June screamed and screamed and screamed, but no one could hear her.

No one could save her.

No one could save any of them.

The elevator lights flickered once more, and in that brief moment of darkness, June's eyes flashed black.

Then the lights came back on, and she was smiling again, and no one had noticed.

No one ever noticed.

Not until it was too late.

Chapter Text

"This is a code red, I repeat, a code red!"

Dustin's voice crackled through the walkie-talkie for what felt like the thousandth time, echoing in the confined space of the elevator. June sat slumped against the cold metal wall, her knees drawn up to her chest, trying to tune out the increasingly desperate broadcasts.

"This is a code red, I repeat, a code red. Does anyone copy? We are innocent children and we are trapped under Starcourt Mall!"

𝘐𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵, June thought bitterly. 𝘙𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵.

Her fingers found a strand of hair and began to twist it, pull it, anything to give her racing mind something to focus on besides the voices in her head, both Dustin's panicked rambling and the other one, the darker one that whispered things she didn't want to hear.

"The Red Army has infiltrated Hawkins and if we are found they will torture and kill us!"

An hour. Dustin had been at this for an hour now, broadcasting their location and predicament to anyone who might be listening. Which was probably no one, because they were a hundred floors underground in a secret Russian base and walkie-talkies didn't exactly have that kind of range.

Steve let out a deep, frustrated sigh from somewhere across the elevator. June looked up to see him running both hands through his hair, a nervous habit she'd noticed he did when he was stressed or thinking too hard. His sailor uniform was rumpled and dirty, his face smudged with grime, and he looked like he was about two seconds away from completely losing it.

"Dustin," Steve said, his voice tight with forced patience. "Buddy. Maybe take a break?"

"I can't take a break, Steve!" Dustin's voice came from above them, muffled by the ceiling panel. "Starcourt is open and we are in range. Someone needs to hear us! Someone needs to know we're down here!"

"I think the Russians already know we're down here," Erica pointed out from her corner,

Steve muttered something under his breath that sounded distinctly like a curse, then started climbing the stack of boxes they'd arranged to reach the ceiling panel. The boxes shifted slightly under his weight, and Robin reached out to steady them, her face tight with worry.

"Steve, where are you going?" Robin called after him.

"To stop him before I lose my mind," Steve replied, disappearing through the panel and onto the roof of the elevator.

June watched him go, then let her head fall back against the wall with a dull thunk. The metal was cold against her skull, almost painfully so, but she welcomed it. Physical discomfort was better than the alternative, better than thinking, better than feeling, better than listening to the voice in her head that kept getting louder.

She needed a plan. Needed to figure out how to get them all out of this. But every time she tried to think, tried to focus, her mind went blank. Like there was a wall there, blocking her, stopping her from-

Pull.

June's fingers found another strand of hair and tugged, hard enough to hurt. The sharp sting helped, just a little. Helped her focus. Helped her think.

Nothing came.

Pull.

Still nothing.

Pull.

Her scalp was starting to ache now, a dull throb that spread across her temples. But the pain was good. The pain was real. The pain meant she was still here, still herself, still-

Pull.

Come on, think. There has to be a way out. Has to be something they can do. Some plan, some escape route, some-

Pull.

Nothing. Just blank space where thoughts should be. Just static and that voice, always that voice, whispering things she didn't want to hear.

Pull.

Maybe if she just pulled hard enough, maybe if she just hurt enough, the voice would stop. Maybe it would-

Pull.

"Hey!"

June's hand froze mid-pull. She looked up to find Moss settling down beside her, his long legs folding awkwardly as he pulled his knees close to his chest. His dark eyebrows were furrowed with concern, and his ever-present headphones hung loosely around his neck, the cord trailing down to the Walkman clipped to his belt.

"You're gonna lose all of your pretty hair if you keep that up," Moss said, his voice gentle but worried. He reached out like he wanted to pull her hand away from her head, then seemed to think better of it and let his hand fall back to his lap.

𝘼𝙬𝙬 𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙨𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙩, a new voice purred in June's mind, slithering through her thoughts like oil. 𝙇𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧-𝙗𝙤𝙮 𝙞𝙨 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙪𝙥𝙞𝙙, 𝙪𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡.

𝘚𝘩𝘶𝘵 𝘶𝘱, June thought viciously back at it.

But the voice just laughed, a sound like nails on a chalkboard that only she could hear.

Moss was still looking at her, waiting for a response, his brown eyes soft with concern that June absolutely did not deserve. He shifted slightly, and his shoulder bumped against hers, warm, solid, real. Grounding.

"Hey," he said again, quieter this time. "You okay?"

His hand came up to rest on her hunched shoulder, the weight of it familiar and comforting in a way that made June's chest ache. She could feel the warmth of his palm through the thin fabric of her dress, could feel him trying to anchor her, trying to help.

And god, she wanted to let him. Wanted to be comforted, wanted to tell him what was inside of her, wanted to-

But she couldn't. Because she was dangerous. Because she was infected. Because there was something inside her that whispered terrible things and made her do terrible things and if she let Moss get too close, if she let any of them get too close-

June forced a smile onto her face, quick and bright and entirely fake. "Yeah, I'm fine," she said, her voice coming out steadier than she felt. "Being down here is getting to me though." She gestured vaguely at the elevator, at their prison. "These damn Russians."

She threw her fist up in the air, waving it around in an exaggerated gesture of mock anger. "Well, I oughta!" she continued, scrunching her face up into the angriest expression she could manage, crossing her eyes slightly for effect.

It was ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. But it worked.

Moss laughed, a real laugh, full and hearty and genuine, the kind of laugh that crinkled the corners of his eyes and showed his slightly crooked front teeth. The sound echoed in the small space, bright and warm, and for just a moment, it pushed back some of the darkness.

But June's heart didn't warm at the sound.

Instead, it stabbed with guilt.

Sharp and sudden and so intense it took her breath away. Because she could see it in his face, in the way he looked at her, in the way he leaned closer, in the way his laugh lingered just a bit too long. She could see the affection there, soft and sweet and utterly genuine.

Moss liked her. Not just as a friend. He liked her.

And in that moment, sitting there in a Russian elevator a hundred floors underground while something dark and terrible whispered in her head, June knew with absolute certainty that if she asked him-if she asked Moss to do anything, anything at all-he would do it without question.

He would follow her into danger. Would put himself between her and harm. Would sacrifice himself if he thought it would save her.

He would do anything for her.

And that terrified June more than the Russians, more than being trapped, more than the voice in her head.

Because she didn't deserve that kind of loyalty. That kind of devotion. Not when she was broken. Not when she was dangerous. Not when she had killed and would probably kill again.

Not when the next person she hurt might be him.

The guilt twisted in her chest like a knife, and June had to look away, had to break eye contact before Moss saw too much. Before he saw the truth.

She stood up abruptly, stumbling slightly on legs that had gone stiff from sitting. Her mouth opened and closed, words forming and dissolving before they could make it past her lips. She felt like she was drowning, like the elevator walls were closing in, like-

"Robin," June finally managed to say, the name coming out clearer than anything else. She latched onto it like a lifeline. "I need to-I'm going to go talk to Robin."

She didn't wait for Moss to respond. Didn't look back to see the confusion or hurt that might be on his face. Just walked away, swift and purposeful, across the elevator to where Robin was crouched by the control panel.

Robin had the panel open, a screwdriver in one hand and a look of intense concentration on her face as she examined the wiring inside. Rina stood beside her, leaning over Robin's shoulder to watch, her dark hair falling forward in a curtain.

"Careful of that wire," Rina said, pointing at a bright yellow wire that snaked through the panel.

Robin's head jerked back, the screwdriver pulling away quickly. "Why?" she asked, her eyes wide. "Is it dangerous? Is it live? Should I-"

"Yellow is giving me bad vibes today," Rina said with a completely straight face, then shrugged nonchalantly like this was a perfectly reasonable explanation.

June couldn't help it, she let out a chuckle, some of the tension in her chest loosening slightly. This was why she liked Rina. The girl was completely unpredictable, existing in her own reality where vibes and feelings were just as valid as actual electrical knowledge.

"I hope that doesn't mean me then," June said as she approached, leaning her back against the cool steel walls of the elevator.

The cold metal pressed against her spine, sending a shock of temperature through the thin fabric of her yellow dress and straight down her back. She sucked in a breath at the sensation, - cold, sharp, real. It helped, somehow. Helped clear her head. Helped push back the voice.

Rina looked up, her face brightening when she saw June. "Juuuuuuuune," she said, drawing out the name in that particular way she did when she was about to complain. "Why did you fall asleep so early? I was stuck talking to the eight-year-old-"

"For the last time I'm ten, you lame dipstick!" Erica's voice cut across the elevator, sharp and indignant.

June chuckled again, the sound surprising her. How was she capable of laughing right now? How was any of this funny when they were trapped and in danger and she had a monster living in her head?

𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙖𝙡𝙬𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙛𝙪𝙨𝙚𝙙, the voice whispered, sliding back into her thoughts like it had never left. 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙬𝙝𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚. 𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙬𝙝𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙧𝙚. 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙠𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢 𝙖𝙡𝙡. 𝙁𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚.

𝘏𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘶𝘱? June thought back viciously.

But the voice just laughed, and that electronic whirring that seemed to accompany it grew louder, drilling into her skull like-

"Can you redirect your stream, please?"

June blinked, pulled back to the present by Robin's voice. She was looking at someone - June followed her gaze and realized Steve must have been-

Wait, what?

June frowned, confused about what she'd missed. The conversation around her continued, but she'd lost the thread of it, her mind still half-trapped in that space where the voice lived.

𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙖𝙡𝙬𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙛𝙪𝙨𝙚𝙙, it said again, mockingly, the same thing again. Couldn't it atleast bother to use something new once in a while?. 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙬𝙝𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚. 𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙬𝙝𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙧𝙚. 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙠𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢 𝙖𝙡𝙡. 𝙁𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚.

The whirring got louder, mixing with the ambient sounds of the elevator, the hum of electronics, the distant sound of Steve and Dustin arguing above them, the rustle of movement as people shifted position. It was all too much, too loud, too overwhelming.

June's hands clenched into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms hard enough to hurt. The pain helped. Always the pain helped.

A loud bang suddenly echoed through the elevator.

June's head whipped around toward the sound, her body tensing instinctively. Erica was standing by one of the supply crates, holding one of the green liquid-filled cylinders. She had it raised above her head and was bringing it down hard against the corner of a box, clearly trying to break it open.

Robin leapt into action, jogging over quickly. "Hey, hey, hey! Careful, careful," she said, snatching the cylinder out of Erica's hands before she could hit it again. She held it up, examining it warily. "We don't even know what that is."

"Exactly," Erica said, completely unfazed by having her potential weapon confiscated. "It could be useful."

June pushed off from the wall and walked over, drawn by the conversation. Rina trailed behind her, and June felt her friend's warm hands suddenly clinging to her arm.

The touch was meant to be comforting. Friendly. Normal.

But something inside June screamed.

It wailed and writhed and demanded that she rip Rina's hands off, throw them away, make the touching stop because it was wrong wrong wrong and she hated the feeling of warmth against her skin and Rina needed to get away before June hurt her-

June's face screwed up tight, her features contorting into what must have been a terrible grimace. She marched forward quickly, purposefully, shrugging Rina off her shoulder with more force than necessary.

"The eight-year-old scares me, man," Rina said quietly from behind her, sounding hurt and confused. "Why does she insult me so bad?"

June felt a pang of guilt but didn't turn around. Couldn't turn around. Had to keep moving forward before the voice got louder, before she did something she couldn't take back.

"Useful how?" Robin was asking Erica, holding the cylinder up to the light like she was examining a fine wine.

Erica rolled her eyes in that particular way only she could manage, maximum disdain packed into a single gesture. "We can survive a long time down here without food," she said, her voice taking on a lecturing tone. "But if the human body doesn't get water-" she paused for dramatic effect, "it will die."

June smirked despite herself. "I hate to break it to you, bud, but that's not water," she said, shaking her head softly.

"No, but it's a liquid," Erica countered. "And if it comes down to me drinking that shit or dying of thirst-"

She reached out and plucked the cylinder from Robin's hands with the confidence of someone who'd never been told 'no' in her life.

"I drink," she finished, smiling mockingly.

Robin's expression shifted suddenly. Her whole body went still, her head tilting slightly to the side like she was listening to something. Then her eyes widened, and she spun around, jogging back over to the elevator door and pressing her ear against the metal.

For a long moment, she just listened. Then her face went pale.

She turned and ran for the boxes stacked beneath the ceiling panel, her movements urgent. "We've got company," she said, her voice tight.

The words were like a starting gun.

Everyone sprang into action simultaneously, a chaotic scramble of movement and barely suppressed panic.

Ellie, who had been sitting peacefully in a corner with her sketchpad, suddenly gasped and started grabbing at the scattered papers around her. Her pens and pencils rolled across the floor, and she scrambled after them on her hands and knees, trying to gather everything while her hands shook.

Moss, still sitting against the wall where June had left him, lifted his head from his knees. His face was pale, eyes wide and glassy, but his hands moved with practiced efficiency and experience of collecting all belongings in only ten seconds as he stuffed his scattered cassette tapes back into his dark blue backpack, his movements jerky with adrenaline.

Erica didn't waste time with words. She just shoved past everyone, surprisingly strong for her size, and started climbing up the boxes toward the ceiling panel. Her small hands found purchase easily, and she hauled herself up with the agility of someone half her age, which, admittedly, would be a five-year-old, but still.

Rina followed close behind, pausing only to snatch up her worn canvas bag from where she'd left it near the control panel. She reached the boxes and turned back, extending a hand down to help Ellie up. Ellie grabbed it gratefully, her sketchpad clutched against her chest, loose papers threatening to spill out.

Then Rina pulled Moss up, and he scrambled through the panel with more urgency than grace.

June stood apart from the chaos, watching it all unfold with an odd sense of detachment. She should have been panicking. Should have been rushing around like everyone else. Should have been scared.

But she just felt... calm. Eerily, impossibly calm.

Like some part of her had been expecting this. Like some part of her, -the dark part, the wrong part- was almost looking forward to it.

"June!" Robin's voice cut through her thoughts. "Come on!"

June moved then, but slowly, deliberately. She approached the ceiling panel where Robin stood waiting, and when Robin positioned herself to be lifted, June reached down and grasped her around the waist.

She lifted.

And Robin went up with sudden, surprising ease, like she weighed nothing at all. Like June had strength she shouldn't possess, strength that didn't belong to her normal body.

Robin scrambled through the panel, and June followed, pulling herself up with arms that felt too strong, too capable. She emerged onto the roof of the elevator just as the doors below began to grind open, the sound of metal on metal echoing through the shaft.

They all flattened themselves against the roof, barely breathing, as voices drifted up from below. Russian voices, speaking in quick, businesslike tones.

June pressed herself against the cold metal and waited, her heart oddly steady in her chest while everyone around her trembled with fear.

Two Russians entered the elevator. June could hear their footsteps, heavy boots against the floor, and their continued conversation in Russian. She picked up the word vodka a few times.

There was the sound of boxes being moved, of something heavy being lifted. Then the footsteps retreated, growing fainter, and the elevator doors began to close.

Steve's head snapped toward Erica, his eyes locking onto the green cylinder still clutched in her hands. June could practically see the plan forming behind his eyes, desperate and risky and probably stupid, but it was something.

Steve opened the ceiling panel again, moving fast, and reached down to grab the cylinder from Erica. Before anyone could protest, he dropped through the opening, landing in the elevator with a grunt that sounded like it hurt.

He moved to the door and shoved the cylinder underneath just as it started to close, jamming it in place. The door hit the cylinder and stopped, leaving a gap just wide enough for a person to slide through.

"Let's go," Steve said, looking up at them.

June didn't hesitate. She dropped through the panel, her landing smooth and controlled, too smooth, too controlled, and immediately slid under the door.

She popped up on the other side and turned back, ready to help. Erica's backpack came through first, shoved ahead by Steve. Then Erica herself, crawling through the gap with the ease of someone used to fitting into small spaces. Dustin followed.

Then Ellie slid through gracefully, her artistic nature apparently translating to physical coordination. Robin came next, then Rina, then Moss, all of them scrambling through as fast as they could.

Now it was just Steve left.

The cylinder was beginning to crack. June could see the fracture lines spreading across its surface like a spiderweb, the green liquid inside starting to seep out where the pressure was too much.

"C'mon, go!" Steve called, waving them back.

But June didn't move back. Instead, she moved forward, her hand reaching out as Steve started to slide under the door.

She grabbed his hand, his warm, calloused hand, and pulled.

Steve came through just as the cylinder shattered completely, the door slamming shut behind him with a decisive clang. The green liquid that had been inside splashed onto the floor, and immediately began to sizzle and smoke.

They all scrambled backward, watching in horrified fascination as the liquid ate through the metal floor like it was nothing, the steel bubbling and melting and dissolving with a sound like angry wasps.

Everyone struggled to their feet, breathing hard, staring at the destruction the liquid had caused.

"You still wanna drink that?" Robin asked Erica, raising a taunting eyebrow.

Erica, for once, had no comeback.

Moss and Dustin both turned around at the same time, their synchronized movement almost comical if the situation wasn't so terrifying.

"Holy mother of God," Dustin breathed.

"Oh shit," Moss echoed.

June barely heard them. She was already zoning out, her eyes fixed on the long corridor stretching ahead of them. It was bathed in an eerie blue light, pipes lining its sides like arteries, running with god-knew-what. The corridor seemed to stretch forever, disappearing into darkness, and something about it called to her.

Called to the thing inside her.

𝙔𝙤𝙪'𝙡𝙡 𝙙𝙞𝙚 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚, the voice whispered, louder now, stronger now. 𝙄𝙩'𝙨 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙛𝙖𝙪𝙡𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙜𝙤𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙢𝙚𝙨𝙨. 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙡𝙚𝙩 𝙞𝙩 𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙚𝙣 𝙖 𝙮𝙚𝙖𝙧 𝙖𝙜𝙤. 𝙅𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙡𝙚𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙛 𝙗𝙡𝙚𝙚𝙙 𝙤𝙪𝙩. 𝙉𝙤 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙙𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪. 𝙉𝙤 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙨 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙙𝙚𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡. 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙖 𝙬𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙨𝙥𝙖𝙘𝙚. 𝘼 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙣 𝙞𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙢𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧'𝙨 𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙚. 𝙎𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙤 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙩𝙚𝙣-𝙮𝙚𝙖𝙧-𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙗𝙧𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙜𝙤𝙩 𝙩𝙤𝙤 𝙢𝙪𝙘𝙝. 𝙎𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙤 𝙘𝙖𝙣'𝙩 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣 𝙙𝙚𝙛𝙚𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙫𝙚𝙨 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙡𝙞𝙛𝙚 𝙙𝙚𝙥𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙨 𝙤𝙣 𝙞𝙩.

𝙐𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙨.

June winced in pain, her hands flying up to clutch at her head. She rubbed at her eyes, trying to clear her vision, trying to push back the voice and the memories and the guilt that threatened to drown her.

"You coming, June?"

She snapped her head up and saw Steve walking backwards, cool and casual despite everything, with that unintended swagger he'd somehow maintained even through Russian bases and elevator shafts. The rest of the group was behind him, walking forward, occasionally glancing back to make sure everyone was keeping up.

Steve ran his hands through his hair, somehow still maintaining that perfect Steve-Harrington-commercial-worthy-swoop-and-volume despite everything they'd been through. It should have been impossible. It defied all laws of physics and hair products.

June grinned despite herself and jogged up to him.

He turned around just as she reached him, and they accidentally bumped shoulders.

June shoved his back playfully.

Steve retorted with a shove of his own, harder.

June shoved back, even harder.

And suddenly they were play-fighting, a small game of escalating shoves and pushes that nearly turned into full-out wrestling. They were both laughing, real laughs, the kind that felt like relief, like normalcy, like maybe they weren't actually trapped in a Russian base a hundred floors underground.

Like maybe everything was going to be okay.

The others glanced back at them, some smiling, some rolling their eyes, but all of them seeming to relax slightly at the display. If Steve and June were goofing around, things couldn't be that bad, right?

The game finally ended with Steve getting June in a gentle headlock, both of them still laughing, both of them a little breathless.

They walked side by side down the blue-lit corridor, shoulders occasionally bumping, ready to face whatever horrors were waiting to pounce in the darkness ahead.

Together.

Chapter Text

Two hours.

Two entire godforsaken hours of walking through an endless concrete hallway bathed in that sickly blue light, and June was starting to genuinely consider the voice in her head's suggestion that she bash her skull against the pipes lining the walls until either the lights went out or turned into fun colors.

The suggestion was becoming increasingly appealing.

She had absolutely no idea how much longer she could stand listening to Dustin's voice drone on and on about the engineering marvel of Soviet construction, the ingenuity of building a facility this deep underground, the structural integrity required to-

"As a feat of engineering alone, you've got to admit this is impressive," Dustin was saying, his voice carrying that particular tone he got when he was genuinely excited about something nerdy. His hands moved animatedly as he spoke, gesturing at the walls, the pipes, the ceiling. "I mean, think about it. We're a hundred floors underground. The amount of excavation alone would have taken years, not to mention the ventilation systems required to pump air down this far, the electrical infrastructure, the-"

June tuned him out, focusing instead on putting one foot in front of the other. The hallway was only wide enough for four people to walk side by side, so she'd ended up sandwiched between Ellie on her left and Moss on her right. Steve and Dustin were up ahead, with Robin occasionally chiming in with her own observations about the Cyrillic signs they passed. Erica and Rina brought up the rear, with Rina making up elaborate stories about what each pipe might contain.

"-the structural load-bearing capacity alone-" Dustin continued.

"What are you talking about?" Steve interrupted, his voice tight with frustration and exhaustion. "This is a fire hazard. There's no stairs, there's no exit, there's just an elevator that drops you halfway to hell."

June almost laughed at that. Halfway to hell. That was generous. They were probably well past halfway at this point.

Erica's voice piped up from behind them, unbothered and matter-of-fact. "They're commies. They cut corners." She shrugged like this explained everything, and honestly, maybe it did.

June continued walking, her mind drifting, half-listening to the conversation and half-listening to the static in her head. The voice had been quieter for the past hour or so, just a low buzz of negativity rather than the screaming demands it had been earlier. She didn't know if that was because they were so deep underground or because it was conserving energy for something worse.

Probably the latter.

She was so lost in thought that she didn't notice when Ellie's hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.

The grip was firm, sudden, and completely unexpected. June's forward momentum came to an abrupt halt, and she stumbled, nearly toppling to the floor. Her arms windmilled slightly as she tried to catch her balance, wobbling on feet that suddenly felt uncertain.

"What the-" June started to say, but the words died in her throat when she turned around.

Ellie was standing there, her pale hand still wrapped around June's wrist, her other arm crossed tightly over her chest. Her green eyes, usually soft and observant, were hard now, angry even. Her jaw was set in a way June had rarely seen, the kind of expression that meant Ellie was done being patient, done being understanding, done waiting.

"June," Ellie said, and her voice was flat, controlled. She let go of June's wrist, and June's arm dropped to her side like dead weight. Ellie's arms crossed fully over her chest now, a defensive posture that somehow also looked confrontational.

"Ellie," June responded, trying for casual, trying for normal. She even managed a smile, though she could feel how wrong it looked on her face. Her tone came out wrong too-too cheerful, too forced.

Ellie didn't smile back. "What is wrong with you?"

And just like that, June's whole world collapsed.

She fucking knew.

She knows what I've done.

The thought hit June like a freight train, and suddenly she couldn't breathe. The hallway seemed to tilt around her, the blue lights above becoming too bright, too harsh. Her vision tunneled until all she could see was Ellie's face, those green eyes boring into her, seeing everything, seeing through every lie June had told.

How does she know? How could she possibly know what I've done? She wasn't even there!

Or was she?

I don't know. I don't remember. There are gaps, holes in my memory where the thing took over and I can't-

Fuck! What do I do what do I do what do I do-

June was spiraling, falling down into the hole that was her thoughts, drowning in panic and guilt and terror. Her hand moved instinctively to the back of her head, to that spot where the voice lived, where she could almost feel something foreign nestled in her brain. Her fingers pressed hard against her skull, like if she pushed hard enough she could crush it, kill it, make it go away.

Her face contorted, she could feel her features twisting into something ugly. Not anger, not shock, though there was some of that. No, this was self-hatred. Pure, undiluted self-loathing written across every line of her expression.

"June, look at me."

Ellie's voice cut through the spiral, firm and commanding. June had never heard her friend use that tone before, the fierce, no-nonsense voice of someone who was done with evasion and half-truths.

"June," Ellie repeated. "Look. At. Me."

Slowly, so slowly, June lifted her head. The movement felt mechanical, forced, like a child being caught with their hand in the cookie jar at midnight. Her eyes met Ellie's, and June knew that everything she was feeling, all the fear, all the guilt, all the terrible truth, was visible in her gaze.

Ellie's eyes pierced hers like spears, sharp and unrelenting.

"June, I know something's up," Ellie said, and now her voice was softer but no less determined. She gestured wildly with her free hand at June's yellow dress, her face scrunching up in that particular way that showed exactly how out of character she found this whole situation. "You haven't worn that-" she said the word like it personally offended her, "-since you came over to family dinner at my house and tried to look respectful and polite for my grandmother."

June flinched. That had been over a year ago, a awkward dinner where June had borrowed a dress from her mother's closet and spent the entire evening trying not to say anything too weird or inappropriate.

"You've been zoning out WAY more than normal June-level," Ellie continued, her words coming faster now, like a dam breaking. "You snap at us more. You're irritable and frankly annoying to be around. You're skittish and you look like you want to murder someone or yourself or possibly both."

Each word landed like a physical blow. June wanted to protest, wanted to deny it, but she couldn't because it was all true. Every single observation was painfully, undeniably true.

Ellie began walking now, but she didn't let go of June's wrist. Instead, she maintained that death grip and dragged June along behind her, forcing her to keep pace as the group continued down the hallway ahead of them.

"I know something is wrong with you," Ellie said, her voice dropping lower, more intimate. "And I just want you to tell me. Please, June."

June stayed silent. She couldn't look at Ellie, couldn't bear to see the concern and worry in her friend's face. Instead, she focused on her feet, the white Legacy sneakers that her mother had bought her last Christmas, still relatively new. Or they had been. Now, after hours of walking through Russian corridors, the toes were scuffed with grey marks. The laces had come partially undone. There was a smudge of something dark on the left heel.

June must have been dragging her feet. When had she started dragging her feet?

"June, just say something," Ellie pleaded, and god, the desperation in her voice made June's chest ache. "I want to help and you know that I do. I won't tell anyone, I swear. Just please-"

Ellie stopped walking abruptly and spun around, grabbing June's other wrist too. Now she held both of June's hands, her grip firm but not painful, her face tilted up to look directly into June's eyes. They were close enough that June could see the flecks of gold in Ellie's green irises, could see the freckles scattered across her nose, could see the genuine fear written in every line of her expression.

"Tell me," Ellie whispered.

June's breath stuttered in her chest. Her lungs felt too small, too tight. She wanted to scream, wanted to let everything pour out - 𝘠𝘦𝘴! 𝘠𝘦𝘴, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘮𝘦! 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦'𝘴 𝘢 𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘩 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐'𝘮 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘭𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘨𝘰 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘪𝘵 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐'𝘮 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘐 𝘨𝘰 𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘊𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐'𝘮 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘮𝘦-

But the words wouldn't come. They caught in her throat, stuck behind that wall the Mind Flayer had built in her mind, the barrier that kept her from speaking the truth even when she desperately wanted to.

Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

And then something shifted. June felt it, that cold, creeping sensation of the thing taking control, pushing her consciousness back, taking over her body like someone else sliding into the driver's seat of a car.

"Get off me."

The words came out of June's mouth, but they weren't hers. The voice was rough, scratchy, wrong. It was the thing inside her, done with this conversation, done with Ellie's questions and concern.

June's hands—no, not June's hands, the thing's hands, yanked her wrists free from Ellie's grip with more force than necessary. Then her body turned and practically ran away, back toward where the rest of the group had gotten ahead, leaving Ellie standing alone in the hallway.

From inside her own head, trapped in the passenger seat, June screamed silently. She watched through her own eyes as Ellie's face crumpled, saw the hurt and confusion and fear flash across her friend's features. Saw Ellie's hands drop to her sides, still outstretched from where they'd been holding June's wrists.

Saw the moment Ellie realized she was right. That something was truly, deeply wrong.

And there was nothing June could do about it. Nothing except watch as her body ran away from the one person who'd figured it out, who'd tried to help.

I'm sorry, June thought desperately, though she knew Ellie couldn't hear her. I'm so sorry, Ellie. I didn't mean-I want to tell you, I want you to help, but I can't-

But the thing in her head just laughed, and June's body kept moving forward, back to the group, leaving Ellie behind.

They had been walking for what felt like an eternity when the hallway finally opened up into something larger. The blue-lit corridor gave way to a massive space, some kind of loading area or transport hub. And it was full of people.

Russians, everywhere. Guards with military-grade weapons slung over their shoulders, walking in pairs. Scientists in white lab coats, carrying clipboards and having intense conversations in rapid Russian. And weaving between them all were small vehicles that looked like a cross between golf carts and military transport vehicles, beeping as they navigated the space.

The golf cart comparison made June giggle out loud before she could stop herself. The sound came out higher than normal, slightly unhinged, and several heads turned to look at the group.

"Oh shit," Rina voiced what they were all thinking, her voice barely above a whisper but somehow managing to convey maximum alarm.

June had always loved that about Rina, her special way of saying exactly what she was thinking without any filter. It was refreshing in a world where everyone else seemed to carefully curate their words.

"Shit, get down!" Steve hissed, and suddenly everyone was moving.

Steve dove behind a large metal crate, and the rest of them followed like a line of terrified ducklings. June found herself pressed between Moss and Dustin, all of them breathing hard, trying to be as quiet as possible while dozens of armed Russians walked past less than twenty feet away.

"We have to be close to an exit by now," Moss whispered, his brown eyes peeking up over the edge of the crate. "Right? I mean, we can't walk forever. There has to be a way out somewhere."

"I saw it," Erica said suddenly.

"The exit?" Rina asked hopefully, craning her neck to the side to try to see around the crate. Her voice had taken on that desperate edge that meant she was imagining sunlight and fresh air and anywhere that wasn't this underground nightmare.

"No, dummy!" Erica's voice dripped with disdain. "The comms room. Northwest, about forty yards from here."

"The comms room?" Steve turned to face Erica fully, his eyes wide. "You saw the comms room? Are you sure?"

"Positive," Erica said with the confidence of someone who'd never been wrong about anything in her life. "The door was open for a second, and I saw a bunch of lights and machine shit in there."

"I'm concerned by how much this nine-year-old is swearing," Moss said, though there was a hint of a smirk on his face as he deliberately got Erica's age wrong.

The reaction was immediate and explosive.

"Excuse me, you emotionless, down-bad, music fanatic!" Erica's voice rose several octaves as she whipped around to glare at Moss. "I'm ten years old. Get it right!"

"Shh!" multiple people hissed at once.

Moss lifted his hands in surrender, but he was grinning now, clearly pleased with himself for getting a rise out of her.

Steve sighed deeply, the weight of leadership clearly pressing down on him. He ran his hands through his hair, which was still somehow perfect despite everything they'd been through, defying all known laws of physics and hair products, and turned to face the group.

"All right," he said quietly. "We're gonna move fast, we're gonna stay low. Okay?"

"Okay," June heard herself say, though she wasn't entirely sure if it was actually her speaking anymore or if it was the thing using her voice.

She felt like she was watching a show through a television screen, a show that happened to be about her life, but from which she was somehow disconnected. An observer in her own existence.

I wonder what the show would be called? June thought idly as Steve prepared to move.

𝙋𝙧𝙤𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙮 '𝙂𝙞𝙧𝙡 𝘾𝙖𝙣'𝙩 𝙂𝙚𝙩 𝙃𝙚𝙧 𝙎𝙝𝙞𝙩 𝙏𝙤𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙎𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝘾𝙧𝙖𝙬𝙡 𝙄𝙣𝙩𝙤 𝙖 𝘾𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝘽𝙚𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙎𝙢𝙚𝙖𝙜𝙤𝙡,' 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙫𝙤𝙞𝙘𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙥𝙤𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙢𝙢𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙡𝙮, 𝙞𝙩𝙨 𝙩𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙘𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙘𝙧𝙪𝙚𝙡. 𝙄'𝙙 𝙥𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙤 𝙬𝙖𝙩𝙘𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙪𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮. 𝙒𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙚𝙣 𝙩𝙤 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙞𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙖 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩?

𝘠𝘦𝘢𝘩 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 '𝘔𝘺 𝘓𝘪𝘧𝘦' June shot back. 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘧𝘧.

She was getting better at talking back to it, at least. That was something.

"Move!" Steve whispered urgently, and suddenly everyone was in motion.

They ran in a crouch from their hiding spot to another crate about fifteen yards away. Then another. And another. A bizarre, terrifying game of hopscotch through a Russian military facility, with the very real threat of being shot or captured looming over every move.

June's heart was pounding, adrenaline singing through her veins. She could hear Dustin's heavy breathing behind her, could feel Ellie's presence nearby though they hadn't made eye contact since the conversation in the hallway.

They were almost to the comms room. June could see it now, a door with a small window, light spilling out from inside. They were going to make it. They were actually going to-

A man in a white lab coat exited the room, and the door began its slow swing closed.

"C'mon! Move it!" Steve hissed, and he was running now, still crouched low but moving fast.

He reached the door just as it was about to latch closed and caught it with his hand, stopping its momentum. He held it open, waving frantically for everyone to get inside quickly.

One by one, they slipped through. Dustin, then Robin, then Erica, then Rina, then Moss, then Ellie, then June.

Steve entered last, closing the door as slowly and quietly as possible behind them.

And that's when they saw him.

The room was full of communications equipment, radios and monitors and equipment that looked straight out of a spy movie. And sitting in a spinny chair directly in front of the main console, wearing a green military uniform, was a Russian soldier.

For a moment, everyone just froze. They stared at the soldier. The soldier stared at them. Nobody moved.

It was like a comedy sketch, June thought distantly. Like a bit from a TV show where timing was everything.

The soldier stood up abruptly, his chair spinning slightly from the momentum. He said something in rapid Russian, probably something along the lines of "What the fuck are you American teenagers doing in our secret communications room you juvenile delinquents"-and his hand moved toward the handgun holstered at his hip.

Robin shot forward, hands up in a placating gesture. "Uh, privet!" she said, her pronunciation awkward. She started speaking in broken Russian, mixing in pieces of the code they'd translated, her hands making weird miming gestures like she was playing the world's worst game of charades.

"We are so doomed," Rina whispered to June and Ellie, and honestly, June couldn't disagree.

The Russian man was not deterred. He scoffed at Robin's attempts at communication and fully reached for his gun now, his fingers wrapping around the grip.

Steve charged forward with a yell that was probably meant to be intimidating but came out more terrified. He bear-tackled the Russian - Craig, June's mind suddenly dubbed him, because he looked like a Craig-and they both slammed into the control panel with enough force to make the monitors shake.

"That guy totally looks like a Craig," June said out loud, and several people turned to stare at her like she'd lost her mind. Which, fair.

Steve and Craig were locked in combat now, a vicious fight of elbows and punches and wrestling for control. Craig was bigger, more trained, but Steve fought with the desperation of someone who'd faced monsters and lived. Still, he was clearly outmatched.

Craig threw Steve off of him and pulled his arm back, his fist connecting with Steve's face with a sickening thud. Steve went flying backward, crashing into a desk, and Craig advanced, clearly preparing to finish this.

June didn't think. She just moved.

She stepped forward, grabbed Craig by his brown hair, and slammed his head into the corner of a table.

The impact made a horrible sound, bone on metal, and Craig went still for a moment, stunned. It was all the opening Steve needed.

Steve grabbed something from the desk, June couldn't see what, and swung it hard against Craig's head. The Russian soldier dropped like a puppet with its strings cut, hitting the floor in an unconscious heap.

Steve stood over him, breathing hard, doing his signature hair swoop despite being completely out of breath and clearly in pain.

"Dude!" Dustin's voice broke the silence, loud and excited. "You did it! You won a fight!"

Dustin rushed over, pointing at Steve with a huge smile on his face. "An actual fight! Against an actual soldier! Steve, this is huge!"

While Dustin celebrated Steve's victory, Erica knelt down next to Craig's unconscious form and started going through his pockets with the efficiency of a seasoned pickpocket. She pulled out a keycard and held it up triumphantly.

But June wasn't paying attention to any of that anymore. Her eyes had found something else, a pulsing blue light coming from above them, from somewhere up a staircase in the corner of the room.

She looked to her left and realized Robin had seen it too. Their eyes met, and without speaking, they both moved toward the stairs.

Robin reached them first and started climbing. June followed close behind, drawn by that blue light like a moth to a flame. Something about it called to her, pulled at something deep in her chest.

Or maybe it was pulling at the thing in her head.

They reached a door at the top of the stairs, and Robin pressed her face to the small glass window set into it. Her eyes went wide, her face going pale.

"Oh my god," she breathed.

June looked too, pressing her face next to Robin's to see through the window.

And her breath caught.

Beyond the door was another room, larger, much larger. And in the center of it was a machine unlike anything June had ever seen. It was massive, all metal and electrical components and cables as thick as tree trunks. Electricity crackled across its surface in visible arcs, and it was pointed at something.

At a tear in reality.

At a gate.

The gate glowed red, angry and pulsing with malevolent energy. It wasn't fully open-not yet-but June could see the Upside Down through the gap. Could see the dark, twisted version of reality that existed on the other side. Could see vines writhing in the darkness beyond.

"Guys!" Robin was already running back down the stairs, her footsteps loud on the metal. "Guys, there's something up there!"

June followed more slowly, her hand trailing on the railing. Or tried to follow slowly. Her foot caught on a step about halfway down, and suddenly she was tumbling, falling in an ungraceful heap that ended with her sprawled at the bottom of the stairs.

Rina's evil cackle echoed through the room. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry, but that was the least graceful thing I've ever seen!"

"There's something up there," Robin repeated, already heading back up the stairs. "You all need to see this."

They followed her up, all of them this time. Steve brought up the rear, still rubbing his jaw where Craig had punched him. They crowded around the door, taking turns looking through the window.

Robin opened the door, and they filed into an observation area. Through large glass panels, they could see the machine more clearly now. Could see the dozens of Russian scientists and soldiers working around it. Could see the blue beam of energy shooting from the machine toward the gate.

And June could feel it.

The thing in her head stirred, waking up, responding to that energy. The voice that had been relatively quiet for hours suddenly surged back to life, stronger than ever.

Home, it whispered. Almost home.

June's hands gripped the railing in front of the observation window, her knuckles going white. She stared at that red glow, at the tear between worlds, and felt something inside her pull taut like a string about to snap.

This was it. This was what the Russians were doing. They were trying to open a gate to the Upside Down. Trying to access another dimension. Trying to-

Why? Why would they want to do this?

"They're opening a gate," Dustin breathed beside her, his face pressed against the glass. "They're trying to open a gate to the Upside Down."

"The what?" Rina asked, but her voice seemed to come from very far away.

June barely heard the conversation happening around her. She was too focused on the gate, on the way it pulsed with that red light, on the way it called to her.

Or called to the thing inside her.

She could feel it now-the connection. The thing in her head was reaching out, trying to connect with whatever was on the other side of that gate. Trying to communicate with the hive mind that controlled it.

No, June thought desperately. No, I won't let you. I won't-

But even as she thought it, she knew it was a lie. Because she wasn't the one in control anymore. She'd lost that battle the moment Billy Hargrove had grabbed her in her very own car. The moment the Mind Flayer had chosen her.

The moment she'd become one of the flayed.

June stared at the gate, at the machine, at the impossible thing the Russians were trying to do.

And deep inside her head, the Mind Flayer smiled with her mouth and whispered:

Soon.

Chapter Text

"Like end-of-the-human-race-as-we-know-it kind of bad," Dustin said, his voice tight with urgency as he walked briskly down the grey metal stairs, taking them two at a time.

June's thoughts were racing—or rather, her thoughts and the Mind Flayer's thoughts were racing simultaneously, overlapping and tangling together until she couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. It was exhausting, overwhelming, like trying to listen to two radio stations at once. She fought against the overwhelming urge to curl up in a ball right there on the observation deck and let sleep whisk her away to that other place, that dark world where somehow things made more sense than they did here.

The ironic thing was, her dreams actually could do that now. Could take her somewhere else. Somewhere darker, yes, but somewhere that called to her with a voice that sounded almost like home.

"And you know this how?" Robin asked, frowning as she followed Dustin down the stairs. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with the realization of what they'd just witnessed.

"Because I've seen what happens when they succeed," Dustin said grimly. "I've seen the Upside Down. I've seen what comes through when gates are open. And trust me, we do not want that happening again."

"Uh, Steve?" Moss's voice cut through the conversation, his tone odd. Strained. His dark eyebrows were furrowed as he stared at something across the room.

"Where's your Russian friend?" Steve followed Moss's gaze, and his face went white.

Craig—unconscious Craig who they'd left tied up in the communications room—was gone. And in his place was a pool of something dark and wet on the floor. A trail led from the puddle to the door.

Blood. That was blood.

And then June saw him. Craig was hunched over by the door, one hand pressed against his bleeding head, the other frantically gesturing as he spoke rapid Russian into a communication device on the wall.

Red lights began to blare throughout the facility, accompanied by a piercing alarm that made June's already-aching head throb even more. The sound was deafening, disorienting, designed to make it impossible to think clearly.

Craig spotted them through the door's window, and his eyes went wide. He shouted something—probably alerting others to their location—and started fumbling with the door controls.

Steve ran for the door, slamming his full body weight against it just as Craig tried to open it from the other side. The door shuddered but held closed under Steve's weight.

June and Steve's eyes met across the room, and in that moment, they held what felt like an hour-long conversation without words. June saw the determination in Steve's face, the fierce protectiveness that had kept him alive through demogorgons and demodogs. Saw him make the decision to stay, to hold the door, to give them time to escape.

And Steve saw something in June's eyes that made his expression falter for just a moment—a darkness, a wrongness, something that shouldn't be there.

But there was no time to dwell on it.

"Everyone get upstairs and stick together!" June shouted, already jogging backward toward the stairs before turning and running up them at full speed. Her heart was pounding, adrenaline flooding her system, drowning out the voice in her head temporarily.

"Move, move, move, move!" Dustin shouted, throwing open doors without caring where they led. The group followed closely behind him, a chaotic scramble of teenage panic and survival instinct.

"I'm gonna die," Rina breathed out, her blue eyes wide and unfocused as she ran. "I'm really gonna fucking die. I knew it. I've been manifesting death for years and now it's finally happening—"

"I'm surprised it took this long to catch up with you with how long you've been manifesting it," Ellie bit back, her voice sharp with stress. Her once-elegant blonde updo was falling out now, chunks of golden hair cascading down her back as she ran, her sketchpad clutched against her chest like a shield.

"Not the time, guys!" Robin shouted over the blaring alarms.

"Shit!" Dustin had suddenly stopped, so abruptly that Erica crashed into his back.

They'd emerged onto a catwalk overlooking the main chamber with the gate. Below them, dozens of scientists in white coats stood around monitoring equipment, clipboards in hand, completely unaware of the chaos unfolding above them. The machine hummed with power, that blue beam still focused on the red tear in reality.

"Follow me!" June shouted, and she had no idea where this sudden burst of confidence came from—probably the Mind Flayer, probably the thing in her head taking partial control—but she pushed past scientists who were just starting to realize something was wrong, shoving through doors, running along catwalks next to the massive machine that led toward the gaping crater where reality was being torn apart.

Behind them, she could hear shouting in Russian, the pounding of boots on metal, the sound of pursuit getting closer.

"This way!" Steve's voice called out, and June's head whipped around to see him gesturing toward a metal staircase she'd completely missed in her forward momentum.

They changed direction, feet clanging on metal as they ran down the stairs. But Russians were entering from the sides now, cutting off their escape routes. Guards with guns raised, shouting orders, getting closer.

Moss didn't hesitate. He shoulder-tackled a stack of oil barrels that had been left near the stairs, sending them rolling and crashing into the approaching Russians. The guards scrambled to avoid being crushed, buying the group precious seconds.

They burst through a door into another corridor, this one narrower, more cramped. Steve slammed the door shut behind them and immediately threw his back against it as Russians on the other side began trying to force it open.

The door shuddered with each impact. Steve's feet slid slightly on the smooth floor as he struggled to keep it closed.

Robin swore and ran up to him, adding her weight to his, pressing her back against the door too. "Little help here!" she shouted.

Moss and Ellie were already moving, guiding Erica and Dustin and a white-faced Rina toward a ventilation grate set into the wall near the floor. Moss kicked at the grate, once, twice, three times, until it finally gave way with a screech of protesting metal.

Another set of banging joined the first, and June's head whipped around. There was another door on the opposite side of the room, and Russians were trying to break through that one too.

"Dammit!" June ran to the second door and slammed herself against it, using all her strength—more strength than she should have possessed, unnatural strength—to press it closed against the Russians trying to force their way in.

The door bucked against her back with each impact, and she could hear muffled shouting from the other side.

"Come on!" Moss shouted from the vent, already helping Erica climb inside.

"Go! Just go and get out of here!" Steve shouted back, struggling to hold his door as bullets suddenly started flying through the glass window set into it. The glass shattered, raining down in glittering shards, and Steve ducked his head to avoid being hit.

Dustin dove into the vent, his backpack catching on the edges before he managed to wiggle through. Rina followed, her face streaked with tears, moving on pure survival instinct now.

Moss jumped in after them, and Ellie followed, casting one last desperate look back at June before disappearing into the darkness of the ventilation system.

"June!" Moss's voice echoed from inside. "June, come on!"

But June couldn't move. If she moved, the door would burst open. If the door burst open, the Russians would flood through and catch Ellie and Moss and the others before they could escape through the vents.

"Just go!" June shouted back. "Close it and go!"

She heard the scrape of metal as someone—probably Moss—pulled the vent cover closed from inside.

The door June was pressed against gave one final, massive shudder, and then it burst open, sending her flying forward. She hit the ground hard, her chin cracking against the concrete floor, stars exploding across her vision.

Through her blurred eyesight, she saw Steve and Robin get thrown back too as their door finally gave way. Russians swarmed into the room from both directions, shouting orders, pointing guns.

June tried to push herself up, but rough hands grabbed her arms, yanking them behind her back. She felt zip ties bite into her wrists, tight enough to cut off circulation.

She managed to lift her head slightly and saw Steve and Robin being similarly restrained, both of them struggling, both of them being overwhelmed by sheer numbers.

Now, because June had horrible timing and an even worse sense of humor, she looked at the guards surrounding them and said:

"Ladies, ladies, one at a time please." She smirked up at them gleefully, even as her arms were wrenched painfully behind her back. She made a show of it, acting like she was somehow holding the guards back rather than being completely overpowered. "I know I'm irresistible, but there's only so much of me to go around."

Steve actually snorted at that, a sharp bark of laughter that was half-hysteria.

Robin full-on laughed out loud, the sound slightly unhinged, before rough hands grabbed her and yanked her to her feet.

Then they were being separated, pulled in different directions. June caught one last glimpse of Steve's bruised face, his eyes meeting hers with something that looked like an apology, before a black bag was shoved over her head and the world went dark.

Time lost meaning in the darkness.

June was dragged—she could feel movement, could feel hands gripping her arms, could hear muffled voices speaking Russian. But she couldn't see, couldn't orient herself, couldn't do anything but stumble along as she was pulled through corridor after corridor.

Finally, she was shoved roughly into a chair. The bag was ripped off her head, and harsh fluorescent light flooded her vision, making her squint and wince.

She was in a small, concrete room. No windows. One door. A single table. And two Russian soldiers standing in front of her.

The zip ties on her wrists had been replaced with actual restraints—thick leather straps that bound her wrists to the arms of the metal chair she sat in. Similar straps bound her ankles to the chair legs.

One of the soldiers was older, probably in his fifties, with salt-and-pepper hair and cold blue eyes. He wore a green uniform with insignias June didn't recognize. He stood back slightly, hands clasped behind his back, watching.

The other soldier was younger, broader, built like a brick wall. His knuckles were scarred, and he had the dead-eyed look of someone who'd done this many times before.

The older soldier spoke in accented but clear English. "Who do you work for?"

June's mind raced. What should she say? What could she say that wouldn't get her immediately killed? The thing in her head was strangely quiet now, like it was waiting to see what would happen.

"Myself," June finally said, forcing a smile despite the terror thrumming through her veins. "I'm a free woman. Very independent. Feminist icon, really."

The older soldier—he looks like a Harold, June's mind supplied unhelpfully—jerked his head slightly. The younger one—definitely a Lewis—moved forward and grabbed a fistful of June's hair, yanking her head back.

Then he punched her, his fist connecting with the left side of her ribs, exactly where her half-healed scar from Billy's attack was located.

The pain was immediate, explosive, beyond anything June had felt before. It wasn't just the punch—it was the reopening of a wound that had barely begun to heal. She could feel something tear inside, could feel the wet warmth of blood beginning to seep through the fabric of her dress.

June's throat clogged as she choked on air, doubling over as far as her restraints would allow. She spat blood onto the concrete floor, the metallic taste coating her tongue. And then, because her mind was far from secure at the moment, because the pain had fogged up her thoughts enough to block out even the persistent voice that usually nagged her, she laughed.

She actually laughed—a harsh, broken sound that echoed in the small room.

"Look at me," June said between gasps of pained laughter, spitting more blood onto the floor. "Do I scream 'English spy'? I'm wearing a yellow sundress and a white fucking headband with flowers on it. I look like I'm going to a goddamn garden party."

Lewis apparently didn't appreciate her commentary. He punched her in the same spot again, putting his full weight behind it this time.

June cried out, the sound tearing from her throat involuntarily. The pain was white-hot, all-consuming. Blood began to seep through the yellow fabric of her dress more quickly now, spreading in a dark stain that looked like a terrible tie-dye job.

Well, June thought distantly through the agony, at least I won't have to wear this dress anymore.

Harold began pacing in front of her—slow, deliberate steps clearly designed to be intimidating. That fucking pacing was going to drive June insane. Or more insane than she already was.

"How did you get in?" Harold asked, his accent making the words clipped and sharp.

June tried to focus through the pain, tried to think of an answer that would satisfy them without revealing the truth about Dustin's operation or the vents or any of it.

"Dunno," she finally managed, her voice rough and strained. "I sleepwalk sometimes. Very embarrassing condition. My doctor says I should really get that checked out."

She glanced between Harold and Lewis, putting on the most innocent face she could manage—which was admittedly not very innocent considering her nose was crooked, possibly broken, and blood was caking her face like poorly-applied Halloween makeup.

Harold stopped pacing and leaned in close to her face. His piercing blue eyes bored into hers like daggers, and despite her bravado, June shrank back in the chair. There was something in his gaze—a coldness, a cruelty—that reminded her of every nightmare she'd ever had.

"Who," Harold repeated, enunciating each word carefully, "do you work for?"

June sighed, letting her head hang down. She was so tired. So tired of fighting, of lying, of being in pain. Maybe if she just told them something—anything—they would stop hitting her.

But then she thought of Dustin and Erica and the others, hopefully making their way through the vents to safety. Thought of how if she talked, the Russians would go after them.

She lifted her head and met Harold's eyes.

"If I said Cosmopolitan Magazine, would you believe me?" she asked. "I'm here doing a piece on Soviet architecture. Very cutting-edge stuff. My editor's going to be so pleased—"

Lewis sauntered over, pulling his fist back. The gleeful look on his face made June's stomach turn, made unwanted childhood memories surface—her father, his fists, the way he'd smiled just like that before—

"Wait—" June started to say, the sudden confidence evaporating as real fear flooded through her. "Wait, please, I—"

His fist sunk into the side of her head, just above her temple, with enough force that her head snapped to the side. The pain was immediate and disorienting, making her vision blur and her ears ring with a high-pitched whine.

Then he hit her again. And again.

June lost count after the fourth blow. Each impact sent explosions of pain through her skull, made her thoughts scatter and fragment. She could feel blood running down her face from somewhere—her nose, her mouth, a split in her eyebrow, she couldn't tell anymore.

The ringing in her ears grew louder, drowning out Harold's continued questions. The room tilted and swayed around her. And through it all, June could hear herself making sounds—whimpers, pleas, broken words that didn't form coherent sentences.

"Please," she managed to gasp out between blows. "Please, stop, I don't—I can't—"

But they didn't stop.

Not until June slumped forward in the chair, held up only by the restraints, blood dripping steadily onto the concrete floor beneath her. She was crying softly, unable to stop the tears even though she hated herself for showing weakness.

Harold said something in Russian to Lewis, who nodded and left the room.

June barely registered their conversation. The pain had numbed her senses, made everything feel distant and dreamlike. The voice in her head was completely silent now, either scared off by the trauma or simply waiting.

She hung there, drifting, as blood continued to seep from various wounds, as her body catalogued the damage: broken ribs, definitely; broken nose, probably; concussion, certainly; internal bleeding, possibly.

This is how I die, June thought distantly. Beaten to death in a Russian facility underneath Starcourt Mall. Not how I thought I'd go.

But she didn't die. Not yet.

Instead, hands grabbed her—different hands, more hands—and suddenly the restraints were being undone. June couldn't even lift her head anymore, couldn't support her own weight.

Someone grabbed her hair and started dragging her.

Not by her arms. Not in any way that could be considered remotely humane. By her hair, like she was a doll, like she wasn't even human.

June wanted to protest, wanted to fight back, but she was barely conscious. She could feel her body dragging limply against the floor as they moved through corridors, could feel each bump and scrape as her legs and arms hit obstacles.

Behind her, she left a trail of blood against the white tiles, the drops looking black under the blue-tinged lights.

Five armed guards accompanied her unconscious form as they made their way through the facility. Other Russians they passed glanced at June's limp body with expressions ranging from indifference to mild curiosity, but no one intervened. This was apparently standard procedure.

They dragged her into a new room—larger than the interrogation cell had been. June's barely-conscious mind registered chairs, medical equipment, something that looked horrifyingly like a dentist's chair but with restraints where someone's arms and legs would go. Next to it sat a tray full of tools that looked more suited to torture than medicine.

And in the room already, tied up but conscious: Robin and Steve.

Robin was shouting something—June couldn't make out the words through the ringing in her ears. Steve was on the floor, unmoving.

The guards threw June's body onto Steve's, and she landed with a sickening thud. The impact jarred her back to semi-consciousness, and she gasped in pain.

"June! Oh my god, what did they do to you?" Robin's voice was high-pitched with panic and horror. "What did you do to her, you bastards!"

"Put them in the chairs," Harold's voice said from somewhere behind June. She couldn't turn her head to see him.

Rough hands grabbed her again, and she whimpered as they hauled her up. Through her blurred vision, she saw Robin struggling violently as guards forced her into a chair.

"Get your hands off me!" Robin shouted, thrashing against their grip. "Let me go! We're American citizens, you can't—"

But they could, and they did.

June felt herself being shoved into a chair between Robin and Steve. Steve was starting to come around, groaning softly, his head lolling to one side. Some kind of belt restraint was wrapped around all three of them, binding them together in a triangle formation with Robin and Steve back-to-back and June positioned between them, facing outward.

The restraints were tight enough that June couldn't move more than an inch or two in any direction. She was trapped, hurt, bleeding, and tied to her friends.

Harold walked slowly around them, clearly enjoying this moment of power. He lifted both June's and Steve's heads by their chins, examining their battered faces like he was appraising livestock, then let their heads drop back down heavily.

June's head lolled forward, her chin hitting her chest. Everything hurt. Everything was too bright, too loud, too much.

Harold walked around to Robin, bending down to her eye level with a theatrical sigh.

"I think your friends need a doctor," he said, his tone mocking. He paused for dramatic effect, letting the words hang in the air. "Good thing..."

He smiled, and it was the cruelest expression June had ever seen.

"...we have the very best."

Then Harold and his guards began filing out of the room, leaving the three of them alone.

"Wait!" Robin shouted after them. "Wait, come back! We're American citizens! You can't just leave us here! HELP!"

"HEEEELP!" she screamed louder, her voice echoing off the concrete walls.

"Hey, would you stop yelling?" Steve's voice came out slurred and weak, but conscious. His head was still drooping forward, but he was moving slightly now, trying to lift it. "My head is killing me."

"Steve!" Robin let out a shaky breath, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. "Oh my god, Steve, you're awake. Steve, are you okay?"

It was a dumb question—obviously he wasn't okay—but Robin needed to hear his voice, needed confirmation that he was still alive.

Steve groaned softly, shifting in his restraints. "My ears are ringing. I can't really breathe. My eye feels like it's about to pop out of my skull. But you know, apart from that..." He managed to open one eye and lift his head slightly. "I'm doing pretty good."

Despite everything, Robin let out a wet chuckle. "Well, good news is they're calling a doctor for you and June."

"Is this his place of work? I like the vibe. Very Soviet chic." Steve's attempt at humor faltered as something processed in his concussed brain. "Wait, did you say June?"

He became suddenly aware of the shoulder pressing against his, the warmth of another person. He tried to turn his head, and there she was.

June.

But not the June he knew. This was a nightmare version, a broken version.

Blood poured from what seemed like everywhere—her nose, her mouth, a deep gash above her eyebrow, her ears. The yellow sundress she'd been wearing was no longer yellow; it was dark red, soaked through with blood that had seeped from the wound in her side. Her brown hair was matted with dried blood and sweat, plastered to her face and neck. Her face was a canvas of purple and black bruises, swollen almost beyond recognition. Her lips were split and bleeding. Her nose sat at an unnatural angle.

And she was unconscious, her head lolling forward, held up only by the restraints around them.

Steve's breath caught in his throat. For a moment, he couldn't process what he was seeing. This couldn't be June. June was strong, sarcastic, always had a joke ready. This broken, bloodied thing couldn't be her.

"No, no, no, no, god no," Steve started babbling, his voice rising with panic. "June! June, wake up! Wake up!"

He tried desperately to wriggle out of his restraints, the leather cutting into his wrists as he pulled against them. If he could just get free, just get to her, just—

"Steve, calm down," Robin tried, but her own voice was shaking. "Steve, you need to—"

"Look to your right," Robin said, changing tactics. "Steve, look to your right."

Steve looked to his left.

"Your other right," Robin corrected.

Steve turned his head right, his concussed brain struggling to process directions.

"You see that table over there?" Robin continued. "And you see those scissors?"

Steve nodded slowly, his eyes finding the medical table Robin was talking about. On it sat a tray of instruments, including a large pair of medical scissors. "Uh-huh," he said, but his attention kept drifting back to June, his thoughts spiraling. So much blood. How is there so much blood? Is she even breathing? I can't tell if she's breathing—

"Steve, focus!" Robin's sharp tone cut through his panic. "These morons left scissors in here. If we move together at the same time, we can reach that table. I can kick it, get the scissors into your lap, and we can cut these restraints. Then we get out of here. Okay?"

"Okay," Steve said, forcing himself to focus. "On the count of three?"

"Yeah, count of three."

They counted together—"One, two, three!"—and scooted their chairs sideways, moving to the right. It was awkward and slow, made worse by June's unconscious weight creating drag, but they moved.

"Holy shit, it's working!" Robin said, a note of hope entering her voice. "Let's do it again!"

They moved again. And then again. And again.

Each movement brought them closer to the table, closer to escape, closer to getting June help before it was too late.

But every bridge of hope breaks eventually.

On their fifth coordinated scoot, something went wrong. Maybe they leaned too far. Maybe the weight distribution was off. Maybe the universe just hated them.

Whatever the cause, they toppled over.

All three of them, still bound together, hit the concrete floor hard. Steve and Robin cried out in pain as their already-injured bodies took another impact. June made a soft sound—barely even a whimper—as her broken ribs hit the ground.

They lay there, tied together, bleeding and bruised and defeated, groaning in pain.

"Can you stop that, Dustin?" June's voice suddenly slurred from somewhere near Steve's shoulder. "I'm talking to Henry right now."

"Oh my god, June!" Steve's head tried to turn toward her, his voice flooding with relief. "June! June, wake up! It's me, it's Steve!"

There was a pause, and then June's voice came again, weak and confused. "I hurt."

"So do I," Steve said, his own voice rough with emotion.

"I don't like it," June mumbled.

"Neither do I," Steve agreed. "But you're awake. Stay with me, okay? June, stay awake."

June slowly opened her eyes—or tried to. One eye was swollen nearly shut, but the other cracked open slightly. The pain came flooding back into her body all at once with consciousness, and she groaned deeply.

Every injury made itself known: the broken ribs that screamed with each breath, the cut on her lip that stung, the bloodied and bruised face that throbbed with her pulse, the reopened wound in her side that was still slowly bleeding.

Robin began to shake softly, a tremor running through her body that Steve could feel through their connected restraints.

"Hey, hey, hey, Robin, don't cry," Steve said quickly. "We're gonna make it out of here, I promise you. We're gonna—" He stopped, realizing the shaking wasn't from tears. "Wait. Are you laughing?"

"Yeah," Robin choked out, and she was indeed laughing—a slightly hysterical sound that was half-sob. "It's just... I'm really gonna die here. In a secret Russian base under a mall in Indiana. My mom's gonna be so confused."

"I wish I would die faster," June remarked, her voice dripping with dark humor despite—or perhaps because of—the pain. "This is taking way too long. Very inefficient. The Russians should really work on their murder timeline."

Steve actually chuckled at that, a sharp bark of laughter that hurt his bruised ribs. At least they hadn't broken June's sense of humor. Maybe that was indestructible.

"We aren't gonna die here," Steve said with more confidence than he felt. "Just let me come up with a plan. I'm great at plans. My plans are legendary."

"Your plans are shit," Robin pointed out.

"Details," Steve muttered.

June groaned again, trying to shift position and immediately regretting it as pain lanced through her side. "Why am I tied up?" she asked, her voice scratchy from having been screamed raw during the interrogation.

Before anyone could answer, she quickly added: "I would kill for a sausage roll right now. Like, literally commit homicide for processed meat in pastry."

June's vision was strange—too colorful in some places, slowly desaturating in others, like someone was playing with the contrast settings on a TV. Her thoughts were still oddly quiet, the voice in her head absent, though she knew it wouldn't last for long.

The door opened with a loud clang that made all three of them flinch.

Harold entered, followed by another man June hadn't seen before. This new man wore a white coat over his uniform and carried a medical bag. He was older, probably in his sixties, with a lined face and cold, clinical eyes.

This must be Dr. Zharkov.

Several guards entered behind them and hauled the three prisoners back upright, setting their chairs properly. The sudden movement made June cry out in pain, stars exploding across her vision.

"Well," Harold said, looking down at them with satisfaction. "It was fun while it lasted, yes?"

"Yeah," Robin said flatly. "Real blast. Five stars on Yelp."

Harold chuckled, clearly enjoying their helplessness. He began to pace around them again—that same infuriating pacing from before.

"Tell me," Harold said conversationally, "where were you going? When we caught you?"

No one answered.

"Try telling the truth this time, yes?" Harold continued. "It will make your visit with Dr. Zharkov less painful."

Dr. Zharkov had been preparing something from his bag—a device that looked like a syringe gun, but larger, more industrial. It was loaded with a vial of bright blue liquid that seemed to glow slightly in the fluorescent light.

"Wait a second, hold on," Steve said, his eyes going wide as he saw the device. "What is that thing?"

"It will help you talk," Dr. Zharkov said in heavily accented English. His tone was matter-of-fact, clinical, like he was discussing the weather rather than whatever nightmare drug was in that syringe.

"Did you even clean that thing?" Steve asked, his voice climbing toward panic. "Because I feel like that's important! Sterilization! Basic hygiene!"

Dr. Zharkov didn't answer. He simply stepped forward and pressed the device against Steve's neck.

Steve screamed as the blue liquid was injected directly into his bloodstream. His whole body went rigid, back arching against the restraints, every muscle tensing as the drug coursed through his system. The scream went on and on, echoing off the concrete walls, until finally Steve slumped forward, gasping and shaking.

"Steve!" Robin shouted. "Steve, what did it do? What's happening?"

But Steve couldn't answer. He was too busy dealing with whatever was flooding through his system, his pupils dilating until his eyes were almost entirely black.

Dr. Zharkov turned to June next, and she felt ice-cold terror flood through her veins as he approached with a fresh vial of that glowing blue liquid.

"No," June managed to gasp out. "No, please, don't—"

But Dr. Zharkov pressed the device against her neck, and June screamed.

The pain was immediate and intense, fire in her veins, her heart racing so fast she thought it might explode, every nerve ending lighting up at once. It was worse than the beating, worse than anything she'd experienced, because this pain was coming from inside.

The drug burned through her system, and June's scream turned into a choked sob as her body tried to process what was happening. Her vision went white, then black, then filled with colors that shouldn't exist.

And then something else happened.

The drug hit the part of her brain where the Mind Flayer lived, where that piece of the monster was nested in her grey matter. And suddenly, the voice that had been quiet came roaring back to life, louder and more present than ever before.

But it wasn't just the Mind Flayer she could hear now. It was everything. Everyone. Every other flayed person in Hawkins, their thoughts and feelings bleeding into hers until she couldn't tell where she ended and they began.

She could feel Billy, somewhere above them, angry and confused. Could feel Heather and her parents. Could feel dozens of others she didn't recognize, all connected, all part of the hive.

Could feel the Mind Flayer itself, vast and ancient and pleased that its connection to June had been strengthened by whatever was in that drug.

June slumped forward in her restraints, her head hanging down, blood and drool dripping from her mouth onto her already-ruined dress.

From very far away, she heard Robin screaming, heard Dr. Zharkov preparing another dose, heard Harold laughing.

But mostly, she heard the Mind Flayer's voice, clearer than ever before, saying:

Good. Very good. Now we can truly become one. We are one. We. No, I. No, stop. I’m-

And June, broken and drugged and in more pain than she'd ever imagined possible, couldn't even fight back anymore.

She just hung there, suspended between consciousness and oblivion, between herself and the monster, wondering distantly if this was what dying felt like.

Or if what came next would be even worse.

Chapter Text

June's mind was crazy.

Not in the you-need-to-be-institutionalized-and-locked-in-a-padded-room kind of crazy, but in the everything-is-wrong-and-right-simultaneously-and-also-the-walls-are-breathing kind of crazy.

The room they were in was cold, brutally, unnaturally cold, the kind of cold that seeped into your bones and made your teeth chatter. But June didn't feel cold anymore. She felt warm, tingly, like she'd been wrapped in an electric blanket that was slowly cooking her from the inside out. The concrete walls were a dull grey, but to June's drugged eyes they seemed to pulse and shift, moving in waves like water, bleeding colors that shouldn't exist - purples that were too green, greens that tasted like sound, blues that sang.

The saw blades lined up on the metal table beside the medical chair made her giggle. They were so shiny, so perfectly arranged, like someone had organized them by size for a particularly gruesome arts and crafts project. The fact that she was in a Russian base underneath a mall in Indiana made her giggle. The absurdity of it all, the sheer, ridiculous impossibility of this situation, was hilarious. The fact that she was probably dying, that her blood was still seeping through her dress in a slow, steady flow, made her giggle. The fact that her shoulder was pressed against Steve's, warm and solid and real, made her giggle. And the fact that she was giggling at all of this, that her brain had decided this was funny, made her giggle even harder.

"Honestly, I don't really feel anything," Steve said, his voice distant and dreamy. His head lolled to the side, and he blinked slowly at the ceiling like it held the secrets of the universe. "Do you?"

June giggled, the sound bubbling up from her chest involuntarily. "I feel happy," she said, and it was true. Despite everything, the pain, the blood, the terror that should be consuming her, she felt bizarrely, impossibly happy. Like someone had injected pure joy directly into her veins along with whatever glowing blue nightmare fuel the Russians had used.

"I mean, I feel fine," Robin said from behind Steve, her voice slightly slurred. "I feel normal. This is normal, right? This feels normal."

"Yeah, I feel fine too," Steve agreed, a contented smile spreading across his bruised face. "I kinda like it, actually. Is that weird? That's probably weird."

June stared at the walls around her, watching them flash with colors and stripes that moved in geometric patterns. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm feeling amazing," she said, her words running together slightly. The walls were putting on a show just for her, swirls of color that formed shapes, patterns, images.

And then, from the corner of her eye, something moved.

June's head whipped to the side-too fast, making her dizzy-and she saw him.

Standing in the middle of the room, flickering like a badly-tuned television, was a small creature. He was maybe three feet tall, covered in russet-orange fur that seemed to glow faintly in the fluorescent light. His face was distinctly fox-like, with a long snout, bright black eyes that sparkled with determination, and enormous pointed ears that stuck up from beneath a blue cavalier's hat adorned with a long white feather. He wore what appeared to be a tiny suit of armor, or at least, pieces of one, all mismatched and held together with leather straps. A miniature cape fluttered behind him despite the lack of wind. In one paw, he held a walking stick that looked more like a scepter, topped with an ornate brass handle.

Next to him, barely visible, was an even stranger sight: what appeared to be an Old English Sheepdog, grey and white fur covering his eyes completely, wearing a small saddle on his back. The dog was trembling, cowering slightly, clearly the more nervous of the pair.

June blinked. The creatures flickered, became more solid, then transparent again.

Oh, she thought distantly. I'm hallucinating. That makes sense. That's probably what this drug does.

𝙒𝙚𝙡𝙡 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙣𝙚𝙬, the Mind Flayer's voice said in her head, and for once it sounded almost... confused. 𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙣𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙞𝙨 𝙙𝙖𝙧𝙠 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙤𝙬 𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩?

It's Sir Didymus, June thought back, giggling. From Labyrinth. You know, the movie? David Bowie? Muppets? No? You really need to get out more.

𝙄 𝙖𝙢 𝙖𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙗𝙚𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙤𝙛 𝙞𝙢𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙨𝙚 𝙥𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧. 𝙄 𝙙𝙤 𝙣𝙤𝙩 "𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙤𝙪𝙩."

Well that's your problem right there. Very antisocial. You should work on that.

Robin began laughing suddenly, a sharp, uncontrolled sound. "Wanna know a secret-"

"YES!" June cut her off, her attention snapping away from her internal argument with an eldritch horror to focus on Robin. But her eyes drifted back to the flickering fox creature, who was becoming more solid with each passing second. His edges were sharper now, his colors more vivid.

"I like it too!" Robin was saying, her voice giddy. "These morons messed up! They totally messed up the drugs!"

"I like it," Steve said, his voice soft and sincere in that way that only the truly intoxicated can manage. His head turned toward June, and even through his swollen eye, his gaze was warm. "I like it like I like you, June."

June's heart did a weird flutter, or maybe that was just the drugs affecting her cardiovascular system. "I like you too, Steve!" she beamed back at him, not even fully processing what either of them had just said. The words felt right in the moment, felt true, but they also felt distant, like someone else was saying them through her mouth.

𝙊𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙥𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙩𝙞𝙘, the Mind Flayer commented. 𝙔𝙤𝙪'𝙧𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙛𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙚 𝙩𝙞𝙚𝙙 𝙪𝙥 𝙞𝙣 𝙖 𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙚 𝙧𝙤𝙤𝙢. 𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙬𝙝𝙮 𝙝𝙪𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙨𝙤 𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙮 𝙩𝙤 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙧𝙤𝙡. 𝙉𝙤 𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙛-𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙩𝙨 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩𝙨𝙤𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧.

Says the thing that got defeated by a bunch of kids last year.

𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙖 𝙩𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙡 𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩.

You got your ass kicked by a thirteen-year-old.

𝙎𝙃𝙐𝙏 𝙐𝙋.

Sir Didymus was now completely solid, standing at attention in front of June. He looked even more magnificent up close, his armor gleaming despite its mismatched nature, his cape dramatic, his expression fierce and noble. He was looking around the room with evident disgust, his nose wrinkling as he took in the sterile medical equipment, the concrete walls, the instruments of torture.

"They messed up the drugs!" Steve suddenly shouted, breaking into laughter.

"MORONS!" June cackled, throwing her head back. The movement sent a spike of pain through her broken ribs, but she barely felt it through the euphoria flooding her system.

"MORONS! MORONS! MORONS!" The three of them began chanting in unison, their voices echoing off the concrete walls. Steve's voice was the loudest, Robin's had a slightly hysterical edge, and June's kept breaking into giggles between words.

Sir Didymus watched this display with what appeared to be concern, his head tilting to one side, ears perking forward.

"Good heavens!" he exclaimed, his voice posh and theatrical, with the crisp enunciation of someone performing Shakespeare. "Fair lady! Thou art in most dire peril! Fear not, Sir Didymus shall render thee aid forthwith, or may I be forever branded a craven knave!"

He swept his hat off his head in an elaborate bow, the white feather trailing dramatically. His voice carried that particular cadence of old storybook knights, all rolling Rs and emphasized consonants, every word pronounced with utmost importance.

June giggled uncontrollably. "My lady," she repeated, testing the words. They felt strange in her mouth, formal and old-fashioned. "No one's ever called me that, my liege!"

She threw her head back again in laughter, and this time it banged against Steve's head with an audible thunk.

"Ow," Steve said mildly, not sounding particularly bothered.

"Who are you talking to?" he asked, trying to turn his head to see what June was looking at. From his perspective, she was staring at empty air and giggling.

"I don't know," June admitted cheerfully, her eyes never leaving Sir Didymus. "But he's very polite. Very courteous. Excellent hat."

"My lady, I am Sir Didymus, Knight of the Order of the Bog of Eternal Stench, Guardian of the Bridge, and loyal friend to all who would stand against tyranny!" Sir Didymus announced, puffing out his small chest proudly. "I am at thy service, now and for all time!"

He bowed again, even more elaborately than before, nearly toppling forward in the process.

𝙔𝙤𝙪'𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙖 𝙝𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙪𝙘𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙤𝙛 𝙖 𝙥𝙪𝙥𝙥𝙚𝙩 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙖 𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙣'𝙨 𝙢𝙤𝙫𝙞𝙚, the Mind Flayer said flatly. 𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙖 𝙣𝙚𝙬 𝙡𝙤𝙬, 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪.

Yeah, well, at least he's got better manners than you, June thought back. When's the last time YOU bowed to anyone?

𝙄 𝘽𝙊𝙒 𝙏𝙊 𝙉𝙊 𝙊𝙉𝙀.

Exactly. Rude.

The door burst open with a metallic clang that reverberated through the room. Harold strode in, followed by Dr. Zharkov and several guards. The sound of metal instruments being laid out on the surgical tray filled the room, that distinctive clink of steel on steel that sent shivers down June's spine even through the drug haze.

The shhing sound of a blade being sharpened made Robin's head whip around.

"Would now be a good time to tell you I don't like doctors?" Robin said, her voice climbing toward panic even as the drugs kept her body relaxed. "Because I really, really don't like doctors. Or needles. Or really any medical equipment at all. I once passed out getting my ears pierced-"

June giggled softly, her face scrunching up in delight. Robin's rambling was funny. Everything was funny. Why had she ever been scared?

Sir Didymus was now fully corporeal and animated, bouncing around the room with surprising agility for someone of his stature. He poked at the medical instruments with his scepter, making disgusted noises. He examined the restraints holding them with a critical eye. He glared at the guards, who remained blissfully unaware of his presence.

"Foul contraptions!" Sir Didymus declared, whacking his scepter against the metal tray. The instruments didn't move, of course they didn't, he was a hallucination, but in June's eyes they scattered dramatically. "What manner of barbarous chamber is this? 'Tis most unchivalrous to bind ladies and gentleman thus!"

"My lady!" Sir Didymus suddenly appeared directly in front of June, standing at her eye level despite her seated position. He must have climbed onto something. "I rejoice most heartily to bring thee mirth in thine hour of need, yet we must make haste! We must flee ere dawn breaks and the very heavens themselves erupt in calamitous fury!"

His whiskers twitched with urgency, his eyes bright and determined.

"Indeed we must," June agreed solemnly, nodding. Then she giggled again because the movement made the room spin in interesting ways.

𝙔𝙤𝙪'𝙧𝙚 𝙖𝙜𝙧𝙚𝙚𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙤𝙬𝙣 𝙗𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙣'𝙨 𝙙𝙧𝙪𝙜-𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙪𝙘𝙚𝙙 𝙛𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙨𝙮.

Better than listening to you.

𝙁𝙖𝙞𝙧 𝙥𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙩.

Harold stepped forward, positioning himself in front of Steve. "Let's try this again, yes?" His accent made the words sound even more menacing than they should be.

He leaned down, getting in Steve's face. "Who do you work for?"

Steve giggled, the sound boyish and completely inappropriate for the situation. "Scoops. Scoops Ahoy." He said it like it was the funniest thing in the world. "We serve ice cream. It's very serious work. Life or death. The fate of rocky road hangs in the balance every day."

Robin burst into laughter at that, and even through the drugs, June could hear the edge of hysteria in it.

"I work for the postal service," June added cheerfully, which was a massive, bald-faced lie. "Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night, you know. Very dedicated. I can recite all the zip codes in Indiana if you want. It's a great party trick."

𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩'𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙪𝙥 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝? 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙡 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙞𝙘𝙚?

I panicked!

𝙔𝙤𝙪'𝙧𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙣 𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙬𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖 𝙨𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙨. 𝙉𝙤 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙜𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙚𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪'𝙧𝙚 𝙖 𝙢𝙖𝙞𝙡 𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙧.

Maybe I'm having a really bad day at work.

Harold scowled, his patience clearly wearing thin. "How did you find us?" he demanded.

"Totally by accident," Steve said, his tone so sincere it was almost convincing. "Complete accident. We were just looking for the bathroom, took a wrong turn, ended up in a secret Russian base. Happens all the time. Very embarrassing."

Harold rolled his eyes and said something sharp in Russian. Dr. Zharkov stepped forward, picking up a nasty-looking metal device from the tray, something with hinges and screws that looked designed to cause maximum pain.

Sir Didymus leapt up onto the arm of June's chair, his small body bristling with righteous fury. "Thou wouldst fight? Ha-ha!" He drew himself up to his full (minimal) height, scepter raised high. "Sir Didymus accepts thy challenge most readily! If peril thou desirest, varlet, then peril thou shalt have! Have at thee!"

"Sir Didymus!" June shouted, her eyes tracking his movement across the room as he hopped from her chair to the medical table, preparing to do battle with the doctor.

To everyone else in the room, June looked absolutely insane, eyes following something that wasn't there, shouting at empty air, her head swiveling around like she was watching an invisible tennis match.

"What is that shiny new toy, huh, doc?" Steve was saying, his voice climbing as Dr. Zharkov approached with the device. "Huh? Wait, wait, wait, WAIT-"

Dr. Zharkov began fitting the metal apparatus onto Steve's finger, and Robin shouted out desperately: "There was a code! There was a code! We know about the code!"

Harold paused, interested now. He walked slowly over to Robin, his boots echoing on the concrete floor.

At the same moment, Sir Didymus declared: "My lady, thy bonds appear most grievous and unjust! Fear not, Sir Didymus shall relieve thee of thine restraints forthwith, or perish nobly in the attempt!"

He leapt onto June's knees with surprising weight for a hallucination, and began whacking the leather restraints with his scepter. The blows made no physical impact, but June could see-or thought she could see-small scratches appearing in the leather with each hit.

"You broadcast that stupid spy shit all across town," Robin was saying, her words tumbling out faster now, the drugs loosening her tongue just as much as Steve's. "And we picked it up on our Cerebro-"

"Our radio," Steve interjected.

"-and we cracked it in a day. A day! You think you're so smart, but a couple of kids who scoop ice cream for a living-"

"And one who works for themselves," June added helpfully, still watching Sir Didymus attack her restraints with determined ferocity.

𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠. 𝙔𝙤𝙪'𝙧𝙚 Seventeen.

I babysit sometimes. That's work.

𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩'𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩- 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩, 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙚. 𝙎𝙪𝙧𝙚. 𝙔𝙤𝙪'𝙧𝙚 𝙖 𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙙𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙛𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡. 𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨.

"-cracked your code in a day," Robin finished triumphantly. "And now people know you're here. People know what you're doing."

"Who knows we are here?" Harold demanded, leaning in close to Robin's face. He added something in Russian that sounded distinctly like a threat.

"Well, Dustin Henderson knows," Robin said.

"Sir Didymus, that isn't going to woooork," June drawled, stretching out the last word as she watched the small knight continue his valiant but ultimately futile assault on her restraints.

"My lady!" Sir Didymus puffed, still whacking away. "Have faith! No prison can contain those whom Sir Didymus has sworn to protect! I shall prevail, though the very foundations of the earth should crack asunder!"

𝙃𝙚'𝙨 𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩, 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬. 𝙄𝙩'𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙜𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠. 𝙃𝙚'𝙨 𝙖 𝙛𝙞𝙜𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙞𝙢𝙖𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣.

Let me have this.

"Who is Sir Didymus?!" Harold practically jumped over to June, his patience finally snapping. His hand shot out and grabbed her shoulder roughly, fingers digging into her bruised flesh.

June winced but couldn't stop the loopy smile on her face. "He's right there! Can't you see him? He's very brave. Excellent posture. very cool. very awesome"

"Unhand her, thou foul and loathsome beast!" Sir Didymus was suddenly there, attacking Harold's knees with his scepter. "Thou shalt face the full measure of my wrath! I shall smite thee most thoroughly! Have at thee, villain!"

Harold didn't react to the tiny knight's assault because, of course, he couldn't feel it. He maintained his death grip on June's shoulder, his face close to hers, his breath hot and reeking of cigarettes.

"Who. Is. Sir. Didymus," Harold repeated slowly, enunciating each word like June was stupid rather than drugged out of her mind.

June giggled despite the pain in her shoulder. "He's a character from my favorite movie," she said happily. "Labyrinth. Jim Henson. David Bowie in very tight pants. It's a classic. You should watch it. Really good movie. There's a baby and goblins and a maze and-"

Harold scowled, letting go of June's shoulder roughly enough that she rocked back in her chair. He turned away from her, clearly deciding she was useless, and stalked over to Steve.

Sir Didymus helped June steady herself, his small paws on her arm. "Fear not, my lady. That churlish knave shall rue the day he laid hands upon thee."

𝙄 𝙘𝙖𝙣'𝙩 𝙗𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙚𝙫𝙚 𝙄'𝙢 𝙨𝙖𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨, 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙝𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙪𝙘𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙝𝙖𝙨 𝙖 𝙥𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙩. 𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙝𝙪𝙢𝙖𝙣 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙗𝙚 𝙥𝙪𝙣𝙞𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙙.

Oh my god, are you bonding with Sir Didymus?

𝙉𝙊. 𝙄 𝙖𝙢 𝙨𝙞𝙢𝙥𝙡𝙮 𝙤𝙗𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙝𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙄 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙨𝙞𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙖𝙧 𝙜𝙤𝙖𝙡𝙨 𝙧𝙚𝙜𝙖𝙧𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙫𝙞𝙤𝙡𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚.

You're totally bonding.

𝙎𝙃𝙐𝙏. 𝙐𝙋.

"Where is this Dustin Henderson?" Harold demanded, standing over Steve now.

Steve laughed, his head tilting back. "Oh, he's loooong gone. You missed him. Probably calling Hopper right now. And Hopper's probably calling the US cavalry." Steve's grin was manic, unhinged. "They're probably gonna come in here, commando-style, guns a-blazing, and they're gonna kick your sorry asses back to Russia. You're gonna be two pieces of toast. Well done. Burnt, even.

Robin cackled at that, and June joined in with silent laughter that made her ribs ache.

Sir Didymus puffed out his small chest proudly. "Cavalry, thou sayest? Let them come if they must! But know this, their succor shall not be needed, for Sir Didymus shall see thee saved, both maidens and sirs alike, or perish most gloriously in the attempt!" He did a strange little head flick, hands on his hips, striking a heroic pose.

June stifled a grand cackle, biting her split lip to keep from laughing too loudly. The movement sent a sharp sting through her mouth, but it just made everything funnier somehow.

Harold leaned forward, trying to be threatening. His face was inches from Steve's, his expression meant to be intimidating. But through the drugs, he just looked ridiculous, all exaggerated features and over-the-top menace.

"Is that so?" Harold said slowly, drawing out each word like molasses.

Then he started laughing, a deep, booming sound that echoed off the steel walls. Dr. Zharkov joined in, their combined laughter filling the room with a sound that should have been terrifying but instead just seemed absurd.

And then-

An alarm blared. Red lights burst to life, flooding the room with crimson light that pulsed in time with the siren. The sound was deafening, piercing, making June's already-throbbing head feel like it might split open.

Harold's laughter cut off abruptly. He cast a shocked glance toward the door, and for the first time since they'd been captured, June saw genuine fear flash across his face. He barked something in Russian at Dr. Zharkov, then promptly marched out of the room, his boots echoing rapidly down the corridor.

"What a loser," June grinned sharply, watching him flee.

"Indeed!" Sir Didymus replied, puffing out his chest even further. "A most foul and craven creature have I ever encountered—and I have encountered more than a few in the course of many a noble quest! Why, there was the Goblin King himself, and the Bog of Eternal Stench, and the-"

"You're funny," June said, grinning in amusement. Her words were slurring together now, the drugs creating a pleasant buzz that made everything feel soft around the edges, even the pain.

"I thank thee most humbly, fair lady," Sir Didymus said, giving another courteous bow, his feathered hat nearly touching the ground. "Thy praise doth warm mine heart as the summer sun warms the-"

A sudden, animalistic, primal shout cut through the air.

"AAAHHHHHHHHH!"

The door burst open and Dustin Henderson came charging in like a small, curly-haired berserker, wielding what looked like a cattle prod crackling with electricity at its tips. His face was red, his eyes wild, his gums bared in a war cry that would have made a Viking proud.

Dr. Zharkov barely had time to turn around before Dustin jammed the cattle prod into his side.

The doctor's body went rigid as electricity coursed through him. He made a strangled sound, his eyes rolling back, and then Moss was there too, grabbing the cattle prod from Dustin and holding it against the doctor until he fell backward, unconscious before he hit the ground.

"I commend thee, young squire!" Sir Didymus shouted, hopping up and down excitedly. "Most valiantly done! A blow struck true and honorable!"

𝙊𝙠𝙖𝙮, 𝙄'𝙡𝙡 𝙖𝙙𝙢𝙞𝙩, 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙨𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙨𝙛𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙬𝙖𝙩𝙘𝙝.

See? Character development. You're learning empathy.

𝙄 𝙖𝙢 𝙉𝙊𝙏-𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩, 𝙄'𝙢 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙜𝙪𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙣𝙤𝙬.

"Heyyy! Henderson! That's crazy, I was just talking about you!" Steve was beaming up at Dustin like he'd just won the lottery. His smile was huge, genuine, completely drug-addled. "You're here! You're actually here! This is amazing!"

Dustin was already working on the restraints, his fingers fumbling with the buckles. "Yeah, to old uhh whats his name?" "Harold" said june "Yeah good old harold! He was suuuper into knowing more about you," Steve continued, his words running together. "Kept asking questions. Very nosy. Rude, honestly."

Moss leapt forward to help June, pulling out a pocket knife from his jeans and slicing through the leather straps with quick, efficient movements. His hands were shaking slightly, adrenaline making his movements jerky.

"Heyyy, Mossy Moss!" June's face lit up like Christmas morning as her restraints fell away. "What are you doiiing heeeere??? I missed youuu!" She reached up and booped his nose, giggling. "Boop."

𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙛𝙪𝙡 𝙩𝙤 𝙬𝙖𝙩𝙘𝙝.

You don't have eyes.

𝙄 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙚𝙮𝙚𝙨. 𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝙄 𝙬𝙞𝙨𝙝 𝙄 𝙙𝙞𝙙𝙣'𝙩.

Moss looked at her with concern, taking in her bloodied face, her bruised and swollen features, the way she couldn't quite seem to focus on him. "Jesus, June, what did they give you?"

"Blue stuff!" June said happily. "Very blue. So blue. The bluest. Glowy blue. Like a... a blue thing. That glows."

"Get ready to run," Dustin said urgently, finally getting Steve's restraints off. Robin was already free, rubbing her wrists where the leather had cut into her skin.

"Run, sayest thou?" Sir Didymus drew a deep, dramatic breath, his small chest expanding. "Verily, a brisk sprint shall do nicely! 'Tis what separates the valiant from the cowardly, the quick from the deceased!"

He savored the metallic scent of the air, or at least, June's drugged brain imagined he did. Everything felt so real, so vivid. The colors were brighter, sounds were clearer, and Sir Didymus seemed as solid and present as anyone else in the room.

"Ambrosius!" Sir Didymus suddenly bellowed, whirling about with dramatic flair. "Ambrosius, to me! Swift and true! There is no time to dally, thou great cowardly beast! We have maidens to rescue and villains to vanquish!"

From behind the lab chair emerged Ambrosius, and June's breath caught because he looked perfect. Every detail was there, the grey-and-white fur, the shaggy coat that completely covered his eyes, the way he trembled and shook like a leaf in a storm. A small saddle was strapped to his back, looking comically inadequate for the task of being ridden.

Sir Didymus bounded over to his faithful steed, hands on his hips. "Come hither! We must make haste! A chase is afoot!" He gestured dramatically toward June. "The fair lady requires transportation, thou lily-livered cur!"

With a flourish that would have made any theatrical performer proud, Sir Didymus leapt onto Ambrosius's back, settling himself in the saddle with practiced grace. He urged his mount toward June, though Ambrosius moved reluctantly, trembling with each step.

"Easy now, easy," Sir Didymus said, patting Ambrosius's neck soothingly. "Steady, steady... There's a good lad. "

𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮'𝙧𝙚 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡, 𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩? 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙤𝙣 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙡𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙡?

𝘖𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦 𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸, June thought back, but even as she did, she stretched her hand down to where sir didymus stood next to her and felt, or imagined she felt, soft fur beneath her fingers. But right now, I don't care. Right now, they're as real as anything else.

𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩'𝙨... 𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙪𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙡𝙮 𝙥𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙤𝙥𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙡 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙤'𝙨 𝙘𝙪𝙧𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙡𝙮 𝙤𝙛𝙛 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙨𝙨 𝙤𝙣 𝙍𝙪𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙖𝙣 𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙩𝙝 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙪𝙢.

𝘐 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘴.

𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙤𝙨𝙩𝙡𝙮 𝙗𝙖𝙙 𝙙𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙪𝙢𝙖.

𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘋𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰.

... 𝙏𝙤𝙪𝙘𝙝é.

Chapter Text

June would certainly die if they didn't escape.

That thought floated through her drug-addled mind with surprising clarity, considering nothing else was particularly clear right now. The world was a kaleidoscope of colors that bled into each other like watercolors left out in the rain. Sounds echoed strangely, bouncing off surfaces that shouldn't echo. And Sir Didymus—good, noble, completely imaginary Sir Didymus—was riding Ambrosius alongside the vehicle they'd been unceremoniously shoved into, shouting proclamations of loyalty and valor that would have made Don Quixote proud.

They were back in one of those golf cart things—the little electric vehicles the Russians used to transport materials through the vast underground facility. This one was white, or had been once, before it had accumulated dirt and scuff marks and what looked suspiciously like bloodstains. The seats were hard plastic, uncomfortable even without the bruises covering June's entire body. The steering wheel was barely larger than a dinner plate, and the whole vehicle hummed with an electric whine that June could feel in her teeth.

Steve, Robin, and June had been loaded into the back section, which had metal benches along the sides and hand rails to hold onto. June gripped one of these rails, her knuckles white, as Dustin drove like he was training for NASCAR.

"Tally ho!" Sir Didymus bellowed, his voice carrying that magnificent theatrical quality that made everything sound like a performance at the Globe Theatre. "We must ride swift and fast, dear Ambrosius, for the day shall not be deemed victorious until we return thee fair maiden Juniper to safety and hearth!"

He lifted his small scepter high above his head like a general leading troops into battle and charged forward, Ambrosius beneath him trembling but obedient.

June's drug-hazed brain caught on something in that declaration. "Wait," she said aloud, her words slurring slightly. "My name's not Juniper."

𝙃𝙚'𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙝𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙪𝙘𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣, the Mind Flayer pointed out. 𝙃𝙚 𝙘𝙖𝙣 𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙗𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙨 𝙝𝙞𝙢 𝙩𝙤 𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙮𝙤𝙪.

But I don't want to be called Juniper. That's such a... fantasy novel name. I'm just June. Boring, forgettable June.

𝙉𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙞𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙚. 𝙏𝙧𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙢𝙚, 𝙄'𝙫𝙚 𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙙.

Was that almost a compliment?

𝙉𝙤. 𝙄𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙩. 𝙔𝙤𝙪'𝙧𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙤𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙡𝙮 𝙢𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙚.

I'm taking it as a compliment anyway.

"Jesus, slow down!" Steve shouted from beside her, grabbing onto the rail as Dustin hit what felt like the thousandth speed bump. The vehicle jolted violently, sending all three of them bouncing on the hard plastic seats. June's broken ribs screamed in protest, but the pain felt distant, muffled by the drugs flooding her system.

The facility corridors whipped past them in a blur of concrete grey and sterile white, punctuated by those eerie blue lights that made everything look like it was underwater. Pipes ran along the ceiling, some of them hissing with steam or pressure. Red alarm lights continued to pulse, casting everything in alternating shades of crimson and shadow. The sound of the alarm was deafening, a wailing siren that seemed designed specifically to make coherent thought impossible.

"Yeah, what is this, the Indy Five-Hundred?!" Robin shouted from June's other side, her hair whipping around her face as Dustin took another corner at high speed.

June whipped her head away from Sir Didymus—who was still galloping alongside them, Ambrosius's fur flowing majestically—to look at Robin. The movement was too fast, making her drugged brain slosh around in her skull like water in a bucket. "Ow. Ow. Bad idea." She clutched her head. "And it's the Indy Seven-Hundred, thank you very much!"

𝙄𝙩'𝙨 𝙙𝙚𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩.

Shut up, you don't know about racing.

𝙄 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬. 𝙄'𝙢 𝙞𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙗𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙣.

Then you should know I'm right.

𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩'𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙞𝙘 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠𝙨—

"No, dingus, it's the Indy Three-Hundred!" Steve said, jabbing his finger toward the floor of the golf cart for emphasis. His face was flushed, his hair somehow still perfectly styled despite the torture and the drugging and the high-speed chase. How did he do that?

"No, dingus yourself, it's Five-Hundred!" Robin shouted back, shaking her head so vigorously that June worried she might give herself whiplash.

"Three-Hundred!"

"Five-Hundred!"

"I declare it's Seven-Hundred!" June interjected with the solemnity of someone making a royal decree.

"Let's say..." Robin paused dramatically, her eyes going wide with drug-fueled inspiration. "A MILLION!"

Steve and June burst into vivacious, uncontrollable laughter—the kind of laughter that comes from exhaustion and trauma and really excellent drugs. June laughed so hard she nearly fell off the golf cart, saved only by Steve grabbing her arm at the last second. Steve laughed so hard he doubled over, clutching his bruised ribs, which only made him laugh harder.

"What is wrong with them?!" Erica shouted from the front section of the cart, throwing her thumb toward the giggling trio. She was sitting between Dustin (who was driving) and Rina, her face a mask of exasperation and concern. Her red, white, and blue outfit was dirty and torn, her usual confidence shaken but not broken.

"I don't know!" Dustin shouted back over the roar of the electric motor and the wailing alarm. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel, his jaw clenched with concentration as he navigated the maze-like corridors at top speed.

"I think they're high!" Rina said, her blue eyes wide. She was gripping the handlebar in front of her seat with both hands, her usually perfect makeup smeared, her expression terrified. She looked like she might throw up at any moment.

"Sky high, my friend!" June roared with amusement, throwing her arms up in the air like she was on a roller coaster. "We're flying! We're soaring! We're—"

Moss, who was sitting next to Ellie in the front section, ran his dark hand through his black hair and nodded. "Rina's right. June gets really silly when she's high. I've seen it before." His voice was tight, controlled, but June could hear the worry underneath. "They're probably all the same on whatever the Russians gave them."

Moss's jaw was clenched, his dark eyebrows furrowed. He kept glancing back at June with an expression she couldn't quite read through the drug haze—concern, definitely, but something else too. Something that looked almost like... hurt?

𝙃𝙚'𝙨 𝙟𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙪𝙨, the Mind Flayer supplied helpfully.

Of what?

𝙊𝙛 𝙎𝙩𝙚𝙫𝙚. 𝙊𝙛 𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙮𝙤𝙪'𝙧𝙚 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙩 𝙎𝙩𝙚𝙫𝙚. 𝙊𝙛 𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙎𝙩𝙚𝙫𝙚'𝙨 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪. 𝙃𝙪𝙢𝙖𝙣 𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙨𝙤 𝙩𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨.

You're one to talk. You're literally obsessed with taking over the world.

𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩'𝙨 𝙙𝙞𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙩. 𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩'𝙨 𝙖𝙢𝙗𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣.

That's psychotic.

𝙋𝙤𝙩𝙖𝙩𝙤, 𝙥𝙤𝙩𝙖𝙝𝙩𝙤.

"Dustin, watch out!" Erica suddenly screamed.

"SWERVE, AMBROSIUS! SWERVE, THOU NOBLE BEAST!" Sir Didymus shouted at the exact same moment, yanking on Ambrosius's reins.

Dustin swore—a word that would have gotten him grounded for a month if his mother heard it—and jerked the steering wheel hard to the left. The golf cart tilted dangerously, two wheels actually lifting off the ground for a heart-stopping moment, as they barreled toward a stack of tin oil barrels that some idiot had left in the middle of the corridor.

June toppled backward, her center of gravity completely thrown off by the sudden turn. She landed against Steve's chest with a breathless laugh, her head resting right over his heart. She could hear it beating—fast, frantic, alive.

When had she signed up for this roller coaster?

"Sorry, Stevie," June said, making no effort to move. Steve's chest was warm and solid and comfortable, and moving seemed like an enormous amount of effort.

"Barrel into me at any time!" Steve beamed down at her, his face split with a goofy, drug-addled grin. The words tumbled out of his mouth without filter, without the usual careful consideration he gave to what he said around her. Later—much later—he would both regret and treasure this moment. But right now, high as a kite and happy to be alive, he just smiled.

June giggled, settling more comfortably against him. "I'll keep that in mind for future barrel-related emergencies."

𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙛𝙪𝙡 𝙩𝙤 𝙬𝙖𝙩𝙘𝙝.

Then stop watching.

𝙄 𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙝𝙤𝙞𝙘𝙚. 𝙄'𝙢 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙗𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙣, 𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙢𝙗𝙚𝙧?

Oh right. Sucks to be you.

𝙄 𝙖𝙢 𝙖𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙩, 𝙥𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙛𝙪𝙡 𝙗𝙚𝙞𝙣𝙜.

You're also currently forced to watch me flirt. So, like I said: sucks to be you.

The golf cart screeched to a halt, the brakes squealing in protest. They'd reached another set of doors—these ones heavy and reinforced with metal plating.

"You guys alright back there?" Dustin called over his shoulder, his voice cracking slightly with stress.

"Just peachy, little man!" Robin said, cackling her head off. She was sprawled sideways on her seat, her limbs at odd angles, looking like she'd been arranged by someone who'd never seen a human being before.

Erica, Dustin, Rina, Moss, and Ellie leaped out of the sides of the cart, their feet hitting the concrete floor with echoing thuds. They sprinted—and in some cases, stumbled—toward the control panel next to the heavy doors.

Moss got there first, frantically pressing buttons, trying to figure out the access code. Behind them, they could hear shouting in Russian, the sound of boots on concrete getting closer.

"Get up!" Ellie grabbed June's ankle and began dragging her out of the cart, pulling her away from Steve's comfortable chest. "We have to go NOW!"

"Okay, okay, salty pants! I'm coming!" June said, rolling out of the golf cart with all the grace of a sack of potatoes. She hit the hard concrete floor with a painful thud that knocked the wind out of her.

The floor was cold against her cheek, rough concrete that scraped her already-damaged skin. It smelled like oil and metal and something acrid—ozone, maybe, from all the electrical equipment. The alarm lights continued their relentless pulsing, red-red-red-dark-red-red-red, making everything look like a nightmare disco.

𝙂𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙚𝙛𝙪𝙡, the Mind Flayer commented dryly.

"Ow," June said aloud, not bothering to distinguish between the voice in her head and the actual people around her. "That hurt, you know. My everything hurts."

𝙂𝙤𝙤𝙙. 𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪'𝙧𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙫𝙚.

"That's very philosophical for a brain parasite," June muttered, pushing herself up onto her hands and knees.

"What?" Ellie asked, giving June a confused look as she helped her to her feet.

"Nothing. Just talking to my inner demons. Very therapeutic."

Moss had gotten the doors open, and they were all rushing through into another corridor—this one sloping upward. They were ascending, getting closer to the surface, closer to freedom.

Dustin walked quickly to an elevator at the end of the corridor, pulling out a keycard they must have stolen from somewhere. He scanned it against the reader, and with a ding that sounded absurdly cheerful given the circumstances, the doors slid open.

"I have never seen such a contraption as this in all my years!" Sir Didymus declared, staring at the elevator with a mixture of wonder and suspicion. He turned to Ambrosius, who was at his side. "Hast thou, Ambrosius? Ambrosius, I say—cut that out right now!"

Ambrosius was trembling with fear, his whole body shaking, trying desperately to back away from the elevator. But Sir Didymus marched him forward with stern determination, his small paws gripping the reins.

"'Tis merely a moving chamber, thou cowardly beast! 'Twill not harm thee! Probably! Most likely! ...I hope!"

Everyone piled into the elevator—or stumbled in, in Steve, Robin, and June's case. The space was cramped, designed for maybe four people but now holding eight. They were pressed together, shoulder to shoulder, the smell of sweat and blood and fear filling the small space.

The doors slid closed, and the elevator began to rise with a mechanical hum.

And that's when Sir Didymus lost his mind.

"STOP THIS MADNESS AT ONCE!" he bellowed, his voice echoing in the confined space. In June's vision, he was on the floor, frantically whacking his scepter against the metal walls. "SLOW DOWN THIS MIGHTY STEED! 'TIS MOVING AT AN UNSEEMLY PACE! WE SHALL ALL PERISH!"

Each whack of his scepter left tiny scuff marks on the boxes that were stacked against the walls—or at least, June could see them appearing with each strike.

𝙏𝙝𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙠𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙣'𝙩 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡.

They look real to me.

𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩'𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪'𝙧𝙚 𝙝𝙞𝙜𝙝.

Best drug trip ever.

Steve was now standing on top of a small pull-cart that had been left in the corner of the elevator, his arms spread wide like he was catching a wave.

"Dude, you look like you're surfing!" June shouted, grinning up at him. "Cowabunga! Hang ten! Other surfing words!"

"June's right!" Robin wobbled as she tried to hold the cart steady, her feet sliding slightly on the smooth elevator floor. "Ride that wave, Steve! Catch that—uh—whatever surfers catch!"

"Barrels!" June supplied helpfully. "No wait, we already did barrels."

"They seem drunk," Erica observed, her arms crossed, her voice sharp with that particular brand of sass that only an incredibly intelligent ten-year-old could manage.

"Not drunk," Ellie corrected, rolling her eyes at the absurdity of June and company. Her blonde hair was a disaster, her clothes torn and dirty, but she still managed to sound like the most reasonable person in the elevator. "High. Very, very high."

"I'm a natural!" Steve called out, spreading his arms wider, really committing to the surfing roleplay.

And then the elevator hit a bump—why was there a bump in an elevator?!—and Steve went flying. He toppled forward, crashed into the corner of the elevator, and took June out with him on the way down.

They landed in a tangle of limbs in the corner, scrunched into tiny balls, Steve's elbow in June's ribs, June's knee in Steve's stomach. For a moment, they just lay there, stunned.

Then Robin pointed at them, laughing so hard she could barely breathe. "Double wipeout!" she cackled. "Ten points for the dismount! Zero points for the landing!"

𝙄'𝙢 𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙙𝙞𝙙𝙣'𝙩 𝙧𝙚𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙧𝙞𝙗 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙣𝙤𝙬.

Are you... concerned?

𝙉𝙤. 𝙅𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙤𝙗𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜.

You're totally concerned. You care about me.

𝙄 𝘿𝙊 𝙉𝙊𝙏—

"Ow," Steve said mildly from underneath June.

"Sorry," June giggled. "I appear to be on top of you. This is familiar."

"I'm not complaining," Steve said, his face flushing even redder than the drugs had already made it.

Dustin approached Steve, stepping over Robin's sprawled legs, and brushed Steve's hair—his still-somehow-perfect hair, what-the-fuck-product-was-he-using—out of his face. Then he placed the palm of his hand on Steve's forehead, like a mother checking for fever.

"He's burning up," Dustin observed, turning to look at everyone else with worry clear in his young face.

"You're burning up!" Robin said slowly, sliding down the wall until she was sitting on the floor of the elevator, her legs spread out in front of her.

Dustin reached for Steve's eye—the one that wasn't swollen shut—and pulled the lid open with his thumb, leaning in close to examine it.

"His pupils are super dilated," Dustin said, his voice tight. "Like, really dilated. That's not normal."

"Yeah, that's a symptom of being high," Moss said, crossing his arms. He was leaning against the opposite wall, his expression unreadable. "Among other things."

Steve suddenly reached out and booped Dustin's nose with his finger. "Boop," he said solemnly.

Dustin scrunched his face and pulled away, looking affronted. "Dude, what—"

Steve frowned, his bottom lip jutting out in an exaggerated pout. He turned to June instead and reached out: "Boop," he said, tapping her nose.

June, high out of her mind and with absolutely zero anxiety or inhibitions, returned the favor immediately. "Boop," she said, tapping his nose back with a giggle.

And then it was on.

"Boop."

"Boop."

"Boop."

"Boop!"

They descended into a full boop-off, reaching for each other's noses repeatedly, chanting "boop" over and over again, dissolving into giggles between each nose-tap.

𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙧𝙞𝙙𝙞𝙘𝙪𝙡𝙤𝙪𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙄 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙙, the Mind Flayer said. 𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝙄 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙤𝙛 𝙘𝙞𝙫𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙯𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨.

Jealous?

𝙊𝙁 𝙒𝙃𝘼𝙏?!

Of the fact that Steve and I are having fun and you're stuck being a grumpy interdimensional parasite.

...𝙎𝙝𝙪𝙩 𝙪𝙥.

Dustin sighed deeply—the sigh of someone far too young to be dealing with this level of chaos. "Steve. June. Are you drugged?" He spoke slowly, clearly, like he was talking to small children.

"Of course they're drugged," Moss muttered, exasperated.

"How many times, Dad?" Steve said, his face suddenly serious, looking up at Dustin with wounded dignity. "I don't do drugs. It's only marijuana."

"Yeah, it's only marijuana!" June echoed, giggling. Then she processed what she'd just said. "Wait, no, that's still drugs."

Steve joined her giggling, the two of them collapsing into laughter again.

"Look, this isn't funny," Dustin said, though he was clearly fighting back a smile. "I need to know what they did to you. Are you gonna die on us? Because I really can't handle that right now."

"I'm taking over, buddy. Move out of my way." Rina suddenly charged forward, pushing Dustin aside with surprising strength for someone so small. She crouched down in front of Steve and June, putting on the most manic smile any of them had ever seen—all teeth, slightly unhinged, with just a hint of hysteria.

"Hey! Hey hey hey!" Rina spoke in that overly cheerful voice people use when talking to toddlers or very confused elderly people. "How are you guys feeling? Are you druggy drugged? Did the mean Russians give you boo-boos?"

June caved immediately under this onslaught of aggressive cheerfulness.

"Yeah," she admitted, nodding seriously. "They put a funny blue thing in us. Like a—a glowy blue syringe gun thing. It hurt. But now I feel good! Steve, what about you?"

Steve's whole face lit up. "I feel great now that you're here," he said, throwing his arms around June and enveloping her in a massive hug.

June reciprocated without hesitation, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his shoulder. He smelled like sweat and blood and that hair product he used—Farrah Fawcett spray, she remembered him mentioning once—and somehow it was the most comforting smell in the world.

From across the elevator, Moss's jaw tightened. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, and he looked away, his expression dark.

𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙞𝙩 𝙞𝙨 𝙖𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣. 𝙅𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙮.

I don't want to think about that right now.

𝙁𝙖𝙞𝙧 𝙚𝙣𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝.

"Okay, Steve," Dustin said, pushing Rina out of the way and reclaiming his position as the responsible one. "They're gonna be looking for us up there, and I need to know: where did you park your car?"

Steve gasped dramatically, his eyes going wide. "Can we stop by the food court first?"

"YESSS!" Robin's eyes widened with drug-fueled enthusiasm. "I would kill for a hot dog on a stick right now. Literally commit murder. I would fight a Russian with my bare hands for processed meat."

"A DOG ON A STICK?!" Sir Didymus exploded—not literally, but he bounced off the walls of the elevator with such vigor that June was impressed. "BARBARIC! CRUEL! TO CONSUME MAN'S BEST FRIEND IN SUCH A MANNER! 'TIS AN ABOMINATION MOST FOUL!"

He made his way toward Robin, jumping from box to floor to wall, and began whacking her knees with his scepter in righteous fury.

"Sir Didymus, chill," June drawled, still clutched in Steve's arms. "It's not an actual dog. It's a corn dog. It's a sausage wrapped in cornbread. Very American. Very delicious."

"A... a false dog?" Sir Didymus paused mid-whack. "Thou speakest truly?"

"Truly truly."

"Then wherefore is it named thus?! 'Tis most confusing! Most misleading! The naming of foods in this realm is PREPOSTEROUS!"

"Who the fuck is Sir Didymus?" Moss muttered under his breath.

"He's a character from her favorite movie, I think," Ellie explained quietly. "Labyrinth. With David Bowie. She watches it when she's stressed."

"She's lost it, hasn't she?" Rina asked sadly, looking at June with genuine concern.

"FOOOOOD," Steve moaned dramatically, still holding June.

"FOOOOD," June and Robin echoed in unison.

Dustin sighed the sigh of the eternally patient. "Alright. Yeah. Fine. Sure. You can have as much food as you want—"

June, Steve, and Robin began to rejoice, their cheers echoing in the cramped elevator. Steve threw his arms up in victory, nearly hitting Ellie in the face. Robin did a little seated dance, her legs kicking out. June just beamed, still wrapped in Steve's embrace.

"BUT!" Dustin's voice cut through their celebration like a knife. "Only if you tell me where your car is parked."

Steve's face fell. "Uh-oh."

"What do you mean, 'uh-oh'?" Erica demanded, straightening up from where she'd been leaning against the wall.

"The car is, uh... out of the plan," Steve said, his words slurring together slightly. He pulled one hand away from June to pat at his pockets demonstratively.

"What do you mean out of the plan?" Moss asked, his voice sharp with stress.

"They took my keys!" Steve let go of June entirely now, turning out his pockets to show they were empty except for some lint and what looked like a crushed breath mint. "See? The Russians took them. Like, forever agooo." He stretched out the last word, his head tilting back.

June and Robin burst into maniacal laughter.

"Aw, shucks!" June said, actually using the word 'shucks' unironically. "Bummer, man. Total bummer."

𝘿𝙞𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙨𝙖𝙮 '𝙗𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙚𝙧, 𝙢𝙖𝙣'?

I might have.

𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙖 𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙛𝙚𝙧 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙖 𝙗𝙖𝙙 𝙏𝙑 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙬.

You sound like a grumpy old man. Wait, are you old? How old are you in interdimensional parasite years?

𝙄 𝙚𝙭𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙚 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚.

So you're ancient. Got it. Respect your elders, kids.

𝙄 𝙝𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪.

No you don't.

... 𝙉𝙤, 𝙄 𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩. 𝙒𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝙞𝙨 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙗𝙞𝙣𝙜.

Dustin turned around, exchanging looks with Erica, Moss, Rina, and Ellie. The look was one of shared despair—the universal expression of people who have realized they're in charge of three very high, very injured, very chaotic individuals.

"We're screwed," Erica said bluntly.

"We'll figure it out," Ellie said, though she didn't sound convinced.

The elevator continued its ascent with a mechanical hum that June could feel in her bones. The metal walls were scarred with age and use, dented in places, with Cyrillic writing stenciled in fading red paint. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered intermittently, casting strange shadows. The whole thing smelled like motor oil and stale air and the faint coppery tang of blood—probably from her, Steve, and Robin's various injuries.

Sir Didymus had climbed onto one of the boxes and was surveying the elevator like a captain surveying his ship. "'Tis a peculiar vessel," he mused, stroking his whiskers thoughtfully. "It moves without horse nor sail nor oar. What manner of sorcery propels it thus?"

"Physics," June said.

"Physics? What manner of magic is that?"

"The boring kind."

𝙋𝙝𝙮𝙨𝙞𝙘𝙨 𝙞𝙨𝙣'𝙩 𝙗𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜.

Since when do you care about physics?

𝙄 𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙡 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙘𝙚𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙜𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙣 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙮. 𝙄𝙩'𝙨 𝙞𝙢𝙥𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙪𝙡𝙚𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙖 𝙜𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙩𝙧𝙮 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙠 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢.

That's actually kind of profound.

𝙄 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙢𝙮 𝙢𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙨.

After what felt like both an eternity and no time at all, the elevator slowed, then stopped with a mechanical ding that seemed far too cheerful. The doors slid open with a pneumatic hiss.

Fresh air hit them like a physical force—air that didn't smell like concrete and blood and fear. Air that smelled like... popcorn? Perfume? The weird combination of scents that could only mean one thing: they were in the mall.

The group tumbled out of the elevator in various states of coordination. Erica, Dustin, Rina, Moss, and Ellie moved quickly, purposefully. Steve, Robin, and June stumbled out like newborn deer learning to walk.

"Oh my god," June said, tilting her broken nose to the sky—or rather, to the mall's ceiling, which was high and vaulted with skylights that let in the late afternoon sun. "My NOSE. I can BREATHE!"

The air tasted incredible. It tasted like freedom and cinnamon pretzels and that weird mall smell that was part air conditioning and part capitalist dreams. June inhaled deeply, comically, making a show of it.

"That tastes so good!" Robin tilted her head back too, her arms spread wide like she was greeting the sun. "Can you taste the air? Are you tasting it?"

"I taste it!" June confirmed enthusiastically. "It's the best thing I've ever had in my entire life! It tastes like... like..." She struggled to find the words. "Like colors! Happy colors!"

𝘼𝙞𝙧 𝙙𝙤𝙚𝙨𝙣'𝙩 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙖 𝙩𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚.

This air does.

𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩'𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙨𝙚𝙨 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠.

You're not how senses work.

𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙙𝙤𝙚𝙨𝙣'𝙩 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙨𝙚.

Your face doesn't make sense.

𝙄 𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙖 𝙛𝙖𝙘𝙚.

Exactly. Checkmate.

June looked down to where Sir Didymus was standing at attention, Ambrosius beside him. The small knight was beaming with pride, his chest puffed out, his scepter held high.

"Rejoice now, fair maiden Juniper!" he proclaimed. "For thou hast been saved! Rescued from the clutches of villainy most vile! And 'twas I, the noble, valiant, courageous Sir Didymus, who—along with mine stalwart companions—didst orchestrate this most daring of escapes!"

He bowed deeply, sweeping his feathered hat in a grand arc. "I am but thy humble servant, ever ready to face danger and peril in thy name!"

June giggled, clapping her hands together. "You did it! You're my hero!"

"Who is she talking to?" someone nearby whispered—a mall patron, a woman with a shopping bag from The Gap, staring at June with concern and fear.

"The drugs are really hitting her hard," Moss muttered, rubbing his face with his hand.

But the freedom didn't last long.

The gate in front of them—a security gate that had been lowered, presumably to keep people away from this section of the mall—suddenly began to rise with a mechanical grinding sound. And through it poured armed guards in uniforms, not Russian military but mall security that had clearly been compromised.

They were trapped between the elevator behind them and the guards ahead.

"RUN!" Dustin shouted.

The group bolted, sprinting toward a side door. Robin let out a "WOO!" of pure adrenaline-fueled happiness, throwing her arms in the air as she ran like she was at a concert.

"This is the best worst day ever!" June shouted, stumbling after them.

"FORWARD, AMBROSIUS!" Sir Didymus charged ahead, leading the way. "Let not thy cowardly nature impede our escape! Onward, to glory! To freedom! To yon portal of salvation!"

He pointed his scepter at the door Dustin was heading toward.

"Where are we going?" Ellie shouted, her blonde hair wild behind her, whipping around as she ran. Her usually put-together appearance was completely destroyed—her shirt torn, her jeans dirty, her face smudged with grime. But her eyes were sharp, alert, afraid but focused.

"Just trust me!" Dustin shouted back, barreling through the door.

It led into a dark corridor—one of the maintenance hallways that ran behind the mall's public areas. The walls here were plain cinderblock, painted a dull beige that had faded to something closer to grey. Exposed pipes ran along the ceiling, some of them wrapped in insulation that was falling apart. The floor was concrete, unpolished, with stains of indeterminate origin. Dim emergency lighting cast everything in sickly yellow-green.

But the most distinctive feature was the carpet.

Even in this maintenance corridor, there was carpet—not on the floor, but visible through open doors leading to the public mall areas. And that carpet was magnificent in its 1980s excess: geometric patterns in teal and pink and purple, swirls and zigzags that seemed designed to induce seizures. It was the kind of carpet that screamed "WE HAVE SO MUCH COCAINE AND WE'RE NOT AFRAID TO USE IT" in terms of design choices.

"Hey, isn't this near the cinema?" Steve asked, looking around with drug-hazed recognition.

"Shh!" Moss shushed him rudely, putting a finger to his lips.

They could hear the guards behind them, shouting, their footsteps echoing in the corridor.

"Follow me!" Dustin led them through another door, and suddenly they were in the cinema's back hallways.

The smell hit first—popcorn, overwhelming and artificial, mixed with the chemical butter smell that came from the dispenser. Then the visual assault: movie posters lined the walls in their protective glass cases. June's drugged eyes caught glimpses as they ran past—"Back to the Future," with Michael J. Fox standing next to the DeLorean; "The Goonies," with the kids all looking adventurous; "Rambo: First Blood Part II," with Stallone looking improbably muscular.

The carpet here was even worse than the maintenance corridor—a pattern of red and gold that looked like someone had murdered a sunset and turned it into floor covering.

Dustin barged through a door marked "Theater 3," and they found themselves in a dark cinema, the movie already playing. The screen glowed in the darkness, casting flickering light across rows of seats. Only a handful of people were in the audience—it was a weekday afternoon, after all.

On the screen, Doc Brown was saying "Didn't I tell you!" to Marty, and Einstein the dog was barking excitedly after his test run in the DeLorean. The time machine was smoking, the music was swelling, and it was the perfect moment of triumph in the film.

"Come on," Dustin whispered urgently, leading them down the side steps toward the front row.

The theater was beautiful in that distinctly 1980s cinema way—plush seats in dark red velvet, walls covered in heavy curtains, the ceiling dotted with small lights meant to look like stars. The screen was enormous, dominating the front of the room. The sound system was good enough that June could feel the movie's score in her chest, the bass resonating through her broken ribs.

"Here, you three sit," Dustin said, gesturing to three seats in the front row.

Steve, June, and Robin collapsed into the seats with groans of relief. The chairs were incredibly comfortable—or maybe everything felt comfortable when you were high and had been running for your life. June sank into the plush velvet, her body finally able to rest.

Steve had somehow acquired a bag of popcorn during their escape—June hadn't seen where from, and she wasn't going to question it. He settled it in his lap, and June immediately reached over and stole a handful.

"Dude, these seats blow," Steve said, shifting uncomfortably. To be fair, the front row of any cinema was a terrible viewing experience—too close to the screen, neck craned at an uncomfortable angle.

"Then don't watch the movie," Erica replied from where she'd settled a few seats away, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

June, Robin, and Steve let out simultaneous murmurs of protest: "No, we totally wanna watch it," "I love this movie," "Back to the Future is a classic!"

Robin reached over June to steal some popcorn too, and June passed the bag between them.

On the screen, Marty was now in 1955, staring at the town square, everything looking both familiar and completely different.

Sir Didymus appeared on the armrest of June's seat, settling himself down with Ambrosius at his feet. He stared at the screen with confusion and wonder.

"My lady," he whispered, his voice full of awe. "What manner of sorcery is this? There are people trapped within yon glowing rectangle! Are they in torment? Should we rescue them?"

June giggled softly. "It's not sorcery, it's a movie. It's like... like a play, but recorded. Those people aren't really there. Well, they were there when they filmed it, but now they're just... images. Light and shadow."

"A play of light?" Sir Didymus stroked his whiskers thoughtfully. "How peculiar! And what tale doth it tell?"

"It's about a kid who travels through time in a car," June explained, her voice low.

"THROUGH TIME?!" Sir Didymus stood up, nearly falling off the armrest in his excitement. "Surely thou jestest! Time is a river that flows in but one direction! To travel against its current would be—"

"—scientifically possible if you could generate 1.21 gigawatts of power," June finished. "Trust me, just watch. It's great."

𝘼𝙧𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙚𝙭𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙡𝙤𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝘽𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙁𝙪𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙝𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙪𝙘𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣?

He's interested! It's a good movie!

𝙄𝙩 𝙞𝙨 𝙖 𝙜𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙫𝙞𝙚, the Mind Flayer agreed. 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙚𝙢𝙥𝙤𝙧𝙖𝙡 𝙢𝙚𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙛𝙡𝙖𝙬𝙚𝙙, 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙙𝙮𝙣𝙖𝙢𝙞𝙘𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜.

Did you just... analyze Back to the Future?

𝙄 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙖𝙘𝙘𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙢𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨. 𝙔𝙤𝙪'𝙫𝙚 𝙨𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙞𝙩 𝙩𝙬𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙮-𝙨𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚𝙨.

...I have not seen it twenty-seven times.

𝙏𝙬𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙮-𝙨𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣. 𝙄 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙙.

Okay, fine, maybe I like it a lot.

A guy sitting in the row behind them leaned forward and shushed them rudely. "Some of us are trying to watch the movie!"

June turned around in her seat and shushed him back with equal rudeness. "Shhh!"

The guy looked taken aback, probably because June looked like she'd been through a war—which, to be fair, she kind of had. Her face was bruised and bloody, her dress was torn and stained, and she had that particular wild-eyed look that came from drugs and trauma.

He decided not to engage further and settled back in his seat.

"Whatever you guys do," Dustin leaned over the seats to whisper urgently, "don't go anywhere."

"Lest Ellie pulls out her voodoo dolls," Rina added with a nervous laugh, glancing at Ellie.

"How do you know about those?!" Ellie's eyes went wide, her whisper sharp with indignation.

"You literally showed them to me last week!"

"That was in confidence!"

"You showed them to half the school!"

"It was a small, trusted group—"

Dustin waved his hands to shut them up. "Guys! Focus!" He looked back at Steve, Robin, and June. "Don't. Go. Anywhere. We'll be right over there." He pointed to some seats on the other side of the front row, where they could keep watch on the door while also maintaining distance from the high trio.

"Aye aye, captain," June saluted sloppily.

As Dustin, Erica, Rina, Moss, and Ellie moved to their lookout positions, June settled deeper into her seat. Steve was on her left, Robin on her right. The popcorn was being passed between them in a comfortable rotation.

On screen, Marty had just crashed into Old Man Peabody's barn, and the farmer was shooting at the DeLorean, thinking it was a UFO.

"This is the best part," Steve mumbled through a mouthful of popcorn.

"Every part is the best part," Robin countered.

June had to agree. Even through the drug haze and the pain and the bone-deep exhaustion, she felt... okay. Safe, at least for the moment. The darkness of the theater was comforting, the movie familiar, the presence of Steve and Robin on either side of her grounding.

She turned slightly to look at Steve, and found him already looking at her.

"Hey," he said softly.

"Hey," she replied.

"You okay?" His voice was gentle, concerned, even through the drugs.

June considered the question. Was she okay? She was definitely not okay. She was injured, high, being hunted by Russians, and had an interdimensional monster living in her brain. But in this moment, in this dark theater, sitting next to Steve...

"Yeah," she said. "I think I am."

Steve smiled—that soft, genuine smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. "Good. That's... that's good, June."

𝙊𝙝 𝙜𝙤𝙙, 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙚 𝙜𝙤.

Shush. You're ruining the moment.

𝙄'𝙈 𝙄𝙉 𝙔𝙊𝙐𝙍 𝙃𝙀𝘼𝘿. 𝙄 𝘾𝘼𝙉'𝙏 𝙇𝙀𝘼𝙑𝙀.

Then be quiet and let me have this.

...𝙁𝙞𝙣𝙚.

"Steve?" June said.

"Yeah?"

"I'm really glad you're here. Like, I know that sounds weird because we're in a terrible situation and you got tortured because of me—"

"Not because of you," Steve interrupted firmly. "None of this is because of you."

"—but I'm glad you're here," June finished. "I'm glad it's you."

Steve's smile widened, his eyes bright despite the swelling and bruising. "I'm glad it's you too, June."

They sat there for a moment, just looking at each other, the movie playing in the background. On screen, Marty was meeting his teenage parents for the first time, but neither June nor Steve was paying attention anymore.

"Can I tell you something?" Steve asked, his voice low.

"Always."

"I think I—" Steve started, then paused, struggling with the words. The drugs had loosened his tongue, but they hadn't made this easier. "I think I really like you. Like, really really like you. And I know this is probably the drugs talking, and you might not remember this, and I might not remember this, but I wanted to say it. Because we almost died, and I didn't want to almost die without telling you that I—"

June reached over and took his hand, lacing her fingers through his. "I like you too, Steve. Really really."

𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙨𝙤 𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙛𝙪𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙨𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙩 𝙄 𝙢𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙪𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙫𝙤𝙢𝙞𝙩. 𝘾𝙖𝙣 𝙄 𝙫𝙤𝙢𝙞𝙩? 𝘾𝙖𝙣 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙚𝙢𝙗𝙤𝙙𝙞𝙚𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙨𝙘𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙨 𝙫𝙤𝙢𝙞𝙩?

You love it.

𝙄 𝘿𝙊 𝙉𝙊𝙏— the Mind Flayer paused. 𝙊𝙠𝙖𝙮, 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙚. 𝙄𝙩'𝙨... 𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙚. 𝙄𝙣 𝙖 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙜𝙪𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙝𝙪𝙢𝙖𝙣 𝙬𝙖𝙮.

Progress!

Sir Didymus, from his position on the armrest, looked between June and Steve with approval. "Ah! Young love!" he declared quietly. "'Tis a noble and valiant thing! As brave as any quest, as perilous as any battle! I salute thee both!"

He gave a small bow, his hat sweeping across the armrest.

"What's he saying?" Steve asked, noticing June's eyes had drifted to the apparently empty armrest.

"He approves," June said with a smile.

"Of what?"

"Of us."

Steve squeezed her hand gently. "Good. I approve of us too."

Robin, who had been studiously pretending not to listen to their conversation while munching on popcorn, suddenly leaned over. "You guys are adorable and I hate you both. In the best way. But also, can you please pay attention to the movie? Because this is the part where Marty's dad is about to get hit by the car, and it's important!"

June and Steve laughed, turning their attention back to the screen, but they didn't let go of each other's hands.

On screen, George McFly was stepping into the street, about to be hit by the car that would change his entire future.

"This is such a good movie," June sighed contentedly.

"The best," Steve agreed.

"'Tis most confusing!" Sir Didymus complained. "How doth the young man know his mother as a maiden? 'Tis most improper! Most unseemly!"

"It's complicated," June told him. "Time travel is weird."

"If one could truly travel through time," Sir Didymus mused, "what would one do? Where would one go?"

June thought about it, her drug-addled brain working slowly but earnestly. "I don't know. Maybe... maybe I'd go back and change things. Make different choices. Fix mistakes."

𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙘𝙖𝙣'𝙩 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙖𝙨𝙩.

Says the thing trying to change the future.

𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩'𝙨 𝙙𝙞𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙩.

Is it though?

... 𝙎𝙝𝙪𝙩 𝙪𝙥 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙬𝙖𝙩𝙘𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙫𝙞𝙚.

"I wouldn't change anything," Steve said suddenly, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on the back of June's hand. "Because if I changed anything, I might not end up here. Right now. With you."

𝙊𝙆𝘼𝙔, 𝙉𝙊𝙒 𝙄'𝙈 𝘿𝙀𝙁𝙄𝙉𝙄𝙏𝙀𝙇𝙔 𝙂𝙊𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙏𝙊 𝙑𝙊𝙈𝙄𝙏.

No you're not. You're going to sit there and accept that humans are capable of sweetness and connection and—

𝙁𝙄𝙉𝙀. 𝙁𝙄𝙉𝙀. 𝙄𝙩'𝙨... 𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙚. 𝘼𝙧𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙮 𝙣𝙤𝙬?

Very.

June leaned her head on Steve's shoulder, and he rested his head on top of hers. Robin made a gagging sound on June's other side, but she was smiling.