Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Wheeler kitchen had looked the way it always had - too bright in the mornings, golden sunlight catching on the edges of the polished tabletop. The warm, resonant buzz of the refrigerator filling the pauses between voices. Silverware clinked against plates, chairs scraped softly against smooth tile, someone laughed at something unimportant. 

Will sat among it all with his fingers encasing a cooling mug, observing the steam thin into nothing, and had the strange, sinking feeling that this was the last moment they got to pretend things were normal. 

The overlapping chatter melted into a stretched out hum that Will learned to tune out over the eighteen months he’d been at the Wheeler’s residence. 

The world was fuzzy at the edges, and his fingers tightened around the mug. 

Holly dropped her spoon in her cereal, beaming when she succeeded in making a big splash, sloshing milk on the once spotless surface. 

Karen tuts, grabbing a handkerchief from her purse and wiping down the mess. “Holly, dear, don’t play with your food, we just cleaned.” 

Will watched as Mike laughed at something Jonathan had said, eyes crinkling and eyes glittering, and Will tried to remember the last time that laughter had come that easily to him. The thought slipped through his fingers before he could catch it, leaving only the sense that he was sitting slightly to the left of where he was supposed to be. 

Ted stood by the window, grumbling under his breath, eyebrows pressed together in exasperation. “There’s nothing good on anymore… all a bunch a’ nothing burger nonsense.” He turns the dial, flipping between stations every five seconds, the speakers crackling.

“—temporary security measures—“

Ted’s hand paused.

Will doesn’t say anything, but he slowly pulls his hands away from his mug, expression darkening. He knew this routine all too well : adults ignoring the signs - even if it were right in their face - until they turned their ears too late. 

A hush fell over the room.

The static gave way to a voice - measured, professional, calm.

“…increased military presence throughout Hawkins County…”

Ted frowned and turned the volume up.

Chairs stopped scraping. Someone’s fork stilled against a plate.

Will felt it settle over the room like a held breath. 

The radio continued, “Residents are reminded to report any unusual activity, including unexplained shadows or sounds. A new perimeter has been established around the northern outskirts. Civilians are advised to remain indoors after dusk.”

The room erupted. Karen telling Holly to sit still, Ted pacing restlessly and muttering, raking a hand through his perfectly gelled hair, raised voices trying to talk over each other.

Across the room, Joyce’s eyes were sharp, peeling open the living room blinds to scan the surrounding area outside the house as if expecting a military guard to pop out the bushes. 

Jonathan was propped against the dining room doorway, arms crossed, silent though his jaw ticked. Nancy, standing just behind him, frowned at the flickering static.

Mike’s hand found Will’s shoulder, grounding him. Will jolted and turned his eyes to him. “Hey, it’s gonna be all right. I’m sure Hopper and El and all the others have this under control in some way,” he murmured, voice low and steady. Will blinked, and for a moment, the chaos faded - the room, the noise, the panic. The world narrowed down to just them, like a hand had closed around them and refused to open up again. He didn’t want it to.

A smile twitched at Will’s lips, and he nodded, “Yeah, thank you, Mike.” 

This close, he could count the freckles dusting over the bridge of Mike’s nose and across the planes of his cheeks, the unique curve of his lips, the slant of his nose, all the colors shifting in his dark brown eyes —

“—ill! Will, honey,” Joyce leaned in, resting a hand against Will’s shoulder, and the bubble popped. His eyes flickered to her. She smiled, tight with exhaustion and worry.

“Hey, baby. You with us?” Will nodded, mouth running dry, and he looked down, suddenly very interested in the marble floor. Mike retracted his hand, and suddenly the air felt cooler, sharper, though Mike remained to press close, eyes soft with concern.

Everyone started speaking at once.

Karen’s once perfectly styled curls were sticking out in all directions, a result of her overwhelmed hand running, rambling as her eyes shifted from Holly to Mike, then back to the older others. 

“What about the kids? How on earth can anyone be okay with sending them outside in a state like this? The town’s practically shut down, and we don’t know what the military guards are capable of doing if one of them is caught outside long after dusk!”

Ted pushed his glasses further up his nose, a sign of frustration, and he protectively moved up beside Karen, snaking an arm around her waist, speaking low. “Think of logistics, Karen. They can’t do anything. Whatever they pull, we have every damn right to turn against them and get this situation lawfully resolved,” he grumbled.

Joyce’s hand tightened on Will’s shoulder, eyes hard with determination. “We have to tell Hopper, he’s one of the best we’ve got. He’s been working on this mission  to the Upside Down, and he’s with—“

“—Eleven. He’s been training with her for these past months.” Nancy finished, voice resolute, and every face turned to her. She swallowed hard. She continued, eyes lingering on Joyce. “We don’t wait anymore. We tell them and everyone else what’s been going on, plan our next move, group together, then meet back at the Squawk this evening to set things in motion.” 

Joyce nodded, “And I happen to be seeing them this afternoon, so they’ll be well aware by then.” 

Karen took several deep breaths in the background, trying to ground herself, and Holly let out a soft, lost “what’s going on??” in the background. Karen only hunched over and pressed a kiss to her cheek, leaving behind a nude pink lipstick mark and a whispered, “Nothing you need to worry about, my love.” 

Joyce turned to Jonathan and Nancy, brown eyes twinkling with trust as she put both hands on one of their shoulders, voice dropping a decibel. “For the whole day, we don’t split up, alright? You two are gonna have to escort Mike and Will to school until we’re sure it’s safe going alone. I just…” Joyce’s voice broke, breath catching in her throat, and Will noticed how her eyes went glossy. His heart squeezed. 

“I cannot lose Will. Not… Not again. Just… promise me, okay?” She choked out. Jonathan frowned and reached out, gently rubbing his mom’s shoulder, a reassuring smile pressing to his lips. 

“Hey, it’s gonna be fine. We won’t let anything happen to them, not even if there’s a chance for something to. Never. Right, Nance?” He looked over at Nancy, who smiled and nodded. 

“Of course. And if anything, somehow, does happen, we’ll let you know.” 

Joyce nodded and let out a soft “okay” as she blinked back the tears that threatened to fall, pressing a hand to her chest, watching as Nancy grabbed Mike by the shoulders and steered him to the front door, their hushed conversation growing distant as they stepped out the door. 

Will followed after them, feeling Joyce’s eyes watching his back as he stepped out into the chilly autumn air, and he pulled his jacket tighter around himself as a freezing gust of wind split the air and moved through him. 

The colors of fall blanketed the sidewalks, fluttering down every time the trees trembled. 

The air feels electric, wrong, and suddenly, he feels something thrum beneath his skin. His chest caved in. Something sinister was brewing under Hawkins, and he wasn’t sure if they’d get their happy ending this time. 

Will forgot how to move until Jonathan’s shoulder gently bumped his, drawing his attention. “Come on, bud, we need to go,” he muttered, eyes gentle as he mounted his bike, joining Nancy and Mike who were already riding well far ahead, loud bickering echoing down the deserted street. 

Will’s hands shook too much as he mimicked Jonathan, and his legs felt like lead as he pushed them to pedal, wind whipping at his face.

  · · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

“Good morning, Hawkins and to anyone pretending not to listen at work — this is your oh so beloved Rockin’ Robin, comin’ to ya live from WSQK, where the coffee is burnt and the equipment is older than my co-host.” 

Steve quietly groaned, though the corner of his lips quirked up in a poorly concealed smirk. Robin flashed a bright grin at him from over her shoulder, adjusting her headphones. 

Steve blindly reached for a sound tape, slipping it into the cart machine and pressing the button, and suddenly a boisterous, distorted guitar riff blasted through the speakers.

Robin didn’t even turn. “And that, my friends, is what happens when you let a former mall babysitter get their hands on expensive equipment.” 

Steve winced, already scrambling to lower the volume. “In my defense, I was blindly grabbing. It’s not my fault your hand writing is so unintelligible on these labels.” 

“Yes, please, make more excuses to salvage your ego. It’s really going places for you.” Robin shot back with a snort. 

Robin leaned back in the chair, and it squeaked in protest. “Looks like clear skies today, Hawkins! But hey — if you experience anything weird out there, and I mean weird weird — maybe don’t ignore it. Trust your gut. Or don’t. I’m not your mom.” A pause. “And – if these weird things involve hearing strange noises? Seeing shadows where there shouldn’t be shadows? Feeling as if you’re being watched? Congratulations — you’re either officially paranoid  . . . or very correct.” 

Robin noticed Steve snuck a glance at her, a frown pulled across his lips. A beat landed, and she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, then nervously chuckled.

“Up next, we’ve got a request from a special somebody who asked very nicely,” Robin halted, and a goofy grin snuck onto her face. “...You know, the one who makes my hands sweaty and my brain stop working. Hypothetically.” 

Steve raised an eyebrow, bewildered at the sudden swing in mood. “That vague, huh?” he questioned slowly. Then a smirk appeared on his lips. “Wait, is this a … feelings thing?” 

“No.” Robin paused, then smiled into the mic. “Shut up.” 

…

Vickie sat in her car, fingers drumming the steering wheel as the opening notes of “Take My Breath Away” by Berlin swelled through the car. Her face burned hot. Her smile came, slow and private, like it belonged to her alone. 

Her mind wandered, carried by the soft thumping of the music that moved in sync with her racing heart. 

February 14th, 1987

Vickie had never felt more low. Her boyfriend had dumped her the Saturday before Valentine’s day, and she already had cried so much she’d almost fainted. He claimed he wasn't ready for the commitment Vickie had been endlessly trying to pull from him (all in a desperate effort to feel wanted), and eventually ghosted her. 

She turned her focus to her studies instead, but the ghost of his touch followed her everywhere, like a handprint on her heart she couldn’t erase. 

Robin was already there when she heard the news through their mutual friends. Knowing she couldn’t stand by idly and watch as a man, someone who was supposed to love Vickie no less, put out her best friend’s fire, she took Vickie out on mall dates every day before Valentine’s day, just to watch her smile and laugh again. She decided she wanted to be the only one to be able to do that. 

On the 14th, Robin took her to the rooftop of WSQK. They leaned over the edge, shoulders brushing as they overlooked the sunbathed meadow that stretched long before the horizon as the sun dipped beneath it, painting the sky in cerise and burning orange. 

Vickie remembered not being able to look away from the creases at the corner of her lips as she tossed her head back, laughter spilling over the studio, fingers brushing Vickie’s in a joke that really wasn’t a joke. “I can’t believe that smug bastard managed to bag you, of all people. I mean personally, you were way out of his league,” 

♪ Watching every motion in my foolish lover’s game ♪

Vickie chuckled, and she tilted her head inquisitively, feeling her stomach flipping. “You really mean that?” Her voice came out small. 

♪ On this endless ocean, finally, lovers know no shame ♪

Robin’s grin drifted into something softer, more sincere. She shifted, turning fully towards Vickie. “Obviously. He didn’t know how to love you without hurting you. So he pulled back. You deserve to be loved without restraints. And I think I know someone who can,” 

♪ Turning and returning to some secret place inside ♪

Vickie found herself leaning in, eyes moving down to the lips that looked soft, and far too inviting. Her heart raced. “Who?” 

“Me.” 

♪ Watching in slow motion as you turn around and say ♪

Robin’s hand cups her jaw, other finding Vickie’s waist to pull her flush against herself, close enough to feel their heartbeats together. Vickie’s breath caught, but she didn’t move away. Instead, she moved closer, and their lips pressed together. Suddenly, everything made sense. 

♪ ‘Take my breath away

Take my breath away’ ♪

Robin pulled back just enough to whisper against Vickie’s lips. “Let me love you like that,” 

“Who said I’m stopping you?” 

♪ Watching, I keep — ♪

The song crackled halfway through, static hissing through the speakers. 

Vickie’s smile dropped from her face, blinking in disbelief. 

“What the hell?” She muttered, fingers jamming buttons, thinking it were some malfunction in her car. She groaned. “Come on, not now. I just took this car to the shop last weekend.” 

…

Robin frowned, tapping her headphones. “Steve?” 

“I didn’t touch anything,” he said quickly. 

The static cleared. Too clean. Too fast. 

The static didn’t roar - it whispered. 

Like breath too close to a microphone. 

Steve sat up straighter, guards instantly rising. “Robin,” he began slowly, “That wasn’t feedback.”

Robin cleared her throat, voice snapping back to brightness like a rubber band. 

“... Anyways. That was Berlin reminding us all to stay dramatic in times of crisis.” 

She glanced at Steve, lowering her voice. “You good?” 

He nodded. Didn’t smile. 

“Yeah,” he replied. “Totally.”

 · · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Dustin had stopped pretending the Hellfire shirt was just a shirt. 

It was a choice. 

He wore it anyway - black cotton faded from too many washes, the logo cracked but still defiant - and felt the weight of it the moment he stepped through the school doors. Hawkins High hadn’t forgotten Eddie Munson. It had decided what he was. 

And now, apparently, it decided what Dustin was too. 

Someone fell into step beside Dustin. 

Andy Harper, his green letterman jacket proudly pulled over his shoulders, brown hair perfectly styled beneath his Hawkins Tigers cap. He flashed Dustin a bright grin, slinging an arm around his shoulders. The other jocks flocked to him like baby ducks to their mother, leaning in, whispering and snorting under their breaths every time they snuck a glance at Dustin. 

“Henderson! How’s my best buddy doing?” Andy asked casually, though mischievousness and malice twinkled in his eyes. Dustin’s jaw tightened, something cold and metallic blooming beneath his ribs. He didn’t respond, eyes fixed forwards instead of towards Andy. 

Andy’s smile faltered, gaze moving down to Dustin’s shirt. His smile twisted into a scowl. “You’re still wearing that? What, you tryin’ to make a statement or something?” One of his friends chuckled cattily to themselves. 

Dustin’s heart panged. Just ignore him. He wants a reaction, don’t give him one, he thinks. Andy’s eyebrows furrowed, and he frowned deeper. “What, have you suddenly lost the ability to talk? Color me surprised,” he snarls. 

Suddenly, Andy’s shoulder knocked into his, and he loses his footing. 

A shoulder turned into hands that shot out, grabbing him by the front of his shirt, pressing his back hard against the nearest locker. The cold, sharp edges dug into the skin there. The sound of metal banging and rattling echoed down the hall. 

Someone laughed softly. 

The force of the impact makes Dustin bite down hard enough on his tongue to taste blood. His eyes went wide, and his breath picked up as Andy leaned in close enough for him to smell the toothpaste he used that morning on his breath, smiling cruelly, speaking real low as if letting Dustin in on a secret.

“You know he deserved it, right?” 

Dustin meets Andy’s eyes, throat tight, eyes burning. “Get off of me,” he growled. Andy’s smile widened at the sight of tears framing Dustin’s eyes. 

“You keep wearing that, and people are gonna think you’re just like him.” he whispers. 

Dustin’s breath stuttered, and his eyes moved down to the floor. 

A hand suddenly clamped around Andy’s wrist. 

Then a voice - composed and flat. “Let him go,” 

Dustin lifted his head, and his eyes locked with Mike’s, the ravenette’s eyes burning with righteous anger. Behind him stood Lucas, who squared his shoulders, and Will, who lingered quietly yet unflinchingly. 

Andy looked around, realized he was outnumbered morally, and let out a sharp scoff, releasing Dustin with a sharp shove that made Dustin knock his head hard into the locker. Stars danced in his vision, and his ears rang. Andy’s friends shot a scowl at the four over their shoulders as they quickly trailed after their leader. 

Will’s hands bunched in his jacket pockets, nails biting into skin as heat crawled up his spine. 

The collar of Dustin's shirt is loose and dangling, a result of Andy’s fingers stretching it when he pulled him in close. Lucas’ eyes softened, and he rested a hand against his shoulder. 

“Are you okay, dude?” 

Dustin’s lips pressed into a tight line, and he nodded stiffly. “Yeah. I’m fine. Let’s just . . . get to class,” 

They all know it’s a lie. 

It seems as if Dustin had gotten better at hiding things ever since they’d lost Eddie. 

Will looked into Dustin’s eyes, and saw himself looking back at him. Lying to deflect was something he’d grown used to doing over the years as well. His heart twisted. 

“No,” Will blurted, and the other’s heads snapped to him, bewildered.

Will swallowed, fingers still digging into his palms. “Not until you let us help you.”

Dustin tilts his head - then lets out a short, humorless breath. “Help me how?”

Lucas shifts his weight, uncomfortable. “Listen – we’re not just talking about this, man.” 

Mike glances down the hall, then back at them. “We’ve got much bigger problems than Andy.” 

Will’s eyes move between them, the heat in his chest tightening into something colder, steadier. “Exactly,” he says. “That’s why we can’t pretend you’re fine.” 

Mike raised his arm, pushing his sleeve back to look at the watch strapped around his wrist. “We’ve got, like, fifteen minutes before second period.”

Lucas nods in the direction of the back doors. “Woods. Behind the school.” 

Mike’s eyes landed on Will, and suddenly it was as if Will were the only thing he could see in the bustling hallway. Will’s heart leapt into his throat. “We need to finish mapping the crawl,” Mike murmured. 

Mike slipped his hand into Will’s just as the other two turned away, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Something that didn’t need to be practiced. 

    …

Bare trees stretched above them on all sides, branches twisting together like intertwining fingers. 

In the middle,  the four gathered around a weathered picnic table they found a couple of years ago – Dustin had brought Lucas and Mike there before Hellfire had run itself into the ground, before Eddie was nothing more than a distant memory. They’d stay out until dark playing round after round of DnD with him, until they’d start complaining over the mosquito bites they’d find in places they hadn’t even known existed to begin with. 

Will wished he were there firsthand to experience those times, and he still can’t deny that every time he thinks of how they’d moved on without him in such a way when he’d left to Lenora left a bad taste in his mouth. But it didn’t matter anymore… right? 

Will swallowed the thought before it could settle. 

Mike shrugged off his backpack with a thud, quickly opening it and shifting through it. Will’s gaze lingers, struck by the way Mike’s dark curls that spilled over his face caught the autumn sunlight. When his head snapped up, Will’s heart skipped a beat and he tore his eyes away, heat creeping up his neck. 

Mike pressed a sheet of paper to the splintered wood - an incomprehensible tangle of lines that somehow made perfect sense to the four of them. Will pressed close, and for a flick of a second, he saw the apples of Mike’s cheeks push up in a faint smile. “Okay. So, Hopper’s crawl.” he states. 

Lucas pointed to one of the wobbly, awkward lines. “They’re starting in the north sector,” he said. “Same pattern as last time. Grid it. Sweep it. Move on.” 

Mike nodded. “If they’re doing it by the book, that means the woods by Lover’s Lake come next.” 

A knot rises in Will’s throat. He shook his head, fingers gripping the edge of the table firmly. “That’s not how it works anymore,” he said quietly. 

Everyone looks at him. His eyes move up from the paper to the other three. “The Upside Down doesn’t stay put.” 

Dustin crossed his arms, fingers digging into his arms to stop them from shaking. “Eddie said dungeon crawls only work if the map’s honest. If you lie to yourself about what’s there . . . that’s how you get killed.” 

Silence fell. This time, it was heavier. 

Mike pushed away from the table. “Then we don’t wait for Hopper to tell us what he finds. We watch. Then we strike.” 

Will felt it again - the electricity thrumming in the air. The hair on the nape of his neck stood up. He pressed a hand there, shakily exhaling. He saw Mike staring at him in the corner of his eye. 

Mike put his hand out in the middle of the table, without looking away from Will. “Are you in?” 

A pause. 

Lucas looked between Mike and Will with a singular cocked brow before slowly reaching out and placing his hand on top of Mike’s. 

Dustin followed suit.

Will hesitated. His hands went clammy. The others turned to him, concern stretched across their faces. 

“ . . . Will,” Mike began.

“R–Right. S… Sorry. Yeah – yeah. I’m in,” Will stumbled over his words, and he quickly stacked his hand on top of the others. Mike reached out with his free hand and gently squeezed Will’s shoulder with it. 

The warning bell rang in the distance, echoing through the woods hollowly. Everyone turned. 

Mike’s shoulders dropped. He exhaled. “After school, the first thing we do is head to the Squawk where the adults will be.” 

No one argued. 

The air hummed again - quiet, waiting. 

The group wandered away from the table, falling into step as they eased into a hushed conversation — and Will noticed whenever Dustin brought up Eddie, Mike and Lucas would exchange a look, and a long silence would drag out until someone broke it again with something completely unrelated.

Will didn’t remember when his feet carried him further out from the others, their voices growing distant. 

His blood rushed loudly in his ears as his eyes rose to the sky. 

The sky began to spin. Faster, and it felt like Will’s head were going to burst.

Laughter rattled in his head like broken glass. It fractured into shouting.

“Derek, cut it out! Leave her alone!” A shrill voice cried, ricocheting off the walls of his skull. 

Will’s breath came in short gasps, and suddenly the world tilted, and he was stumbling into a tree, catching himself at the last second with his arm, using it to steady himself. 

“Will!” 

Three voices cried in alarm, followed by a flurry of footsteps. 

Mike is at his side first, hand gripping his arm, face a mask of genuine worry. “Hey, hey. Easy. Breathe. Are you all right?” he pants, clearly winded from running over to his friend. Lucas and Dustin trailed him, eyes wide as they looked between the two, then at each other. 

Will’s vision is still fuzzy at the edges, and he blinks hard, nodding, breathing in short puffs, sweat beading at his hairline. His chest is tight, and it felt like there were a thousand knives penetrating into his chest with every breath he took. 

“It’s just . . . the sky, it was spinning. A … and there were voices. Children.” Will croaked, and he turned his face up, gazing at the sky above the canopy of trees. Bright blue and clear. 

Mike’s brows hugged close, and he glanced at Lucas and Dustin, who were thinking the same thing he was — it was a sign. Lucas’ hand ghosted over Will’s arm, as if unsure more than one touch would be too much.

Will shook his head, though he shuddered, and something unnamable coiled in his gut. “I just – I don’t know, maybe it was nothing.” 

Mike’s eyes scanned Will’s face, and he shook his head, words coming out tight – worried. Scared, even. “No. This isn’t just nothing. This isn’t something we can just brush off. This means something, every feeling you get does.” His eyes move to the others. “We know what we have to do.” 

The others frown and look between each other, but they don’t deny as to what Mike’s implying has truth to it. 

  · · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The sky spun. 

Blue smeared into white.

Derek didn’t ask if she had wanted to go faster. 

The merry-go-round lurched under Holly’s weight as he shoved it again, and again, sneakers scraping dirt, metal shrieking in protest. The world blurred into color and noise, and her stomach twisted as the ground felt as if it vanished beneath her. Her fingers clutched the metal bars so tight they ached. 

“Derek — stop!” A voice barked - Mary, her best friend. 

Derek only laughed. The kind of laugh that meant he wouldn’t. 

The merry-go-round jerked to a stop, and Mary shoved his chest hard. “Assh*le!” She snarled, eyes flashing behind her glasses.

Derek rubbed his chest and scoffed, “Bite me,” before walking off, seemingly having lost interest. Mary’s glare followed him to the other side of the playground, where he sticks out a foot right as Thomas stepped close enough, cackling when Thomas’ foot caught on his own, sending him toppling to the ground, loud and unnecessary expletives spilling from the fallen boy. 

Mary peered over Holly, eyes softening as she frowned, holding out a hand down to her. “Are you okay?” She asks. Holly’s stomach twisted with nausea, and a ghost of a smile flitted over her lips, taking her friend’s hand and helping herself up, though her knees trembled. Holly realized she was still holding it even after getting up, and she quickly pulled her own back, heat rushing to her face. 

Mary always did that - stepped in first, asked questions later. Ever since kindergarten, when Holly had frozen on the jungle gym and Mary climbed up beside her without a word, sat there until her legs stopped shaking.

“Yeah. Thanks, Mary. You didn’t have to do all that, y’know.” She teased, gently bumping her shoulder against her friend’s. Mary only chuckled and waved her off with a hand, eyes warm. 

“You’re my best friend, Holls. Of course I’m gonna be there, don’t be silly.” 

Holly had known her forever - scraped knees shared on blacktops, whispered secrets during fire drills, Mary’s hand finding hers instinctively in every crowded room.

Holly’s lips curved upwards. 

The bell rang, shrill and short. Miss Harris appears on the porch leading into the classroom, holding the door open, calling out to the students. The others all clumped together, chatting and laughing and joking as they all filed into the room – either in groups, or on their own. 

Mary turned to Holly, reaching down to brush the dirt off her dress, before straightening back up and beaming. “See you inside!” She waved over her shoulder as she trailed into the classroom. Holly smiled after her. 

Movement stirred at the corner of her vision, and her face lit up when she noticed the figure, head lifting to meet their eyes – or rather, his. 

He stood just beyond the edge of the playground, close enough to be seen, far enough not to feel like he was intruding. He was dressed head to toe in dark brown, his red tie and reading glasses standing a stark contrast. His hat tipped politely back, and his smile was soft in a way that made Holly’s chest loosen instead of tighten. 

“That looked rather dizzying,” he said gently. 

Holly blinked, then laughed a little, rubbing at her arms. “Yeah, Derek is . . . really a jerk.” 

The man nodded, like this was a fact he already understood. “Some people don’t know when to stop,” he hummed, “But you did very well holding on.” 

Holly hesitated, then asked, “Do you have kids?” 

He smiled again. “I’ve known many,” A pause. “Just like you, Holly.” 

That answer should’ve felt strange. It didn’t. 

The laughter from the playground dulled, like someone had turned the world down a notch. 

He stepped into the school yard, walking over to her then offering his hand for her to take. Her cheeks dimpled as she took it. He gently moved her in the direction of the classroom. “Let’s get you with your other friends. We don’t want you to be late, after all,” he murmured. His hold was warm, comforting, and everything her father never seemed to have time to be.

…

Miss Harris didn’t notice it at first. It wasn’t until the classroom had settled - chairs scraping, backpacks thudding to the floor - that she realized the seat beside Mary where Holly normally sat remained empty. 

Her face fell. “ . . . Has anybody seen Holly?” She asked. Confused murmurs followed.

Mary’s face shifted into one of concern and confusion, sitting up straight. “No . . . I thought she came inside after I did.” 

Miss Harris’ stomach dropped. She glanced back toward the playground. Holly stood by the fence, hands folded neatly in front of her, head tilted as if listening. Her mouth moved. She nodded once. Smiled. 

Only air stood beyond the fence. 

“Holly?” Miss Harris called gently. 

Holly turned at once. “I’m coming!” she said – then added, softer, “I have to go now.” Her fingers loosened around an invisible hand, rushing forward into the classroom, eyes bright. 

Miss Harris’ hand landed on her shoulder, stopping her, brows pinched in confusion and worry. “Who were you talking to, sweetheart?” 

“My friend,” Holly said simply, shrugging her hand off and dropping into her assigned seat, launching into a warm conversation with Mary as if nothing had happened. 

…

The classroom smelt like dry erase markers and old paper by the time school let out. 

Karen sat in the seat facing Miss Harris’ desk, purse clutched her lap with a frown painted on her face. Miss Harris sat in front of her, face pinched in concern, hands folded neatly in front of her on top of her desk. 

Holly had been sent to wait outside of the classroom when her mother arrived after the final bell rang that day. Fractures of the conversation, low and serious, slipped through the crack in the classroom door.

“...some minor concerns over Holly’s behavior at school today…”

“...must be mistaken, that doesn’t sound like my Holly at all…”

Holly slumped in one of the pair of chairs sitting up against the wall in the hallway, feet not quite touching the ground as she mindlessly fidgeted with a bracelet on her wrist. It was unbearably quiet. The kind of quiet that couldn’t be filled, the kind of quiet that was nearly tangible and you could feel it press in on you.

Footsteps. And by the sound of it, they were approaching her. Holly’s head lifted, snapping in the direction of the source. 

Mike approached, brows pushing up in curiosity, fingers subconsciously fidgeting with the strap of his backpack as he grew closer. He dropped into the seat beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. 

“You in trouble?” He asked softly. His eyes darted over to the mostly closed classroom door, then back to his little sister. Holly found herself leaning into Mike, seeking the physical comfort. 

She shook her head. “No. They’re just talking.” She rested her chin on his shoulder, peeking up at him. “I think they think I’m crazy. But I’m not crazy, Mike. I’m not!” She seethed. 

“I know, Holls. I know you aren’t.” Mike consoled. 

“Mr. Whatsit is real. And he just wants to protect me! He’s my friend.” Her fingers dug into her wrist in frustration, leaving red crescent indents. Mike knitted his brows and gently pried her fingers away, weaving them with his own instead. He gave her an unwavering, trusting expression. 

“Hey. I believe you, okay? You aren’t crazy. You are not. You’re just . . . going over a road bump right now. Something that makes you a little different from the rest,” Holly shot him a glare, and he raised his hands in quick defense. 

“Not that that’s a bad thing! It’s good to be different from the rest. Normal is boring.” Mike quickly said. Holly’s lips twitched in poorly concealed amusement, and she rolled her eyes. His lips curled. 

Mike suddenly pulled his backpack into his lap, reaching into it, fingers brushing familiar plastic figurines. “Okay, so — uh, this might sound dumb. But when I was around your age, I made these guys.” His hand closed around them, and he pulled his hand out his bag, opening his hand up to show his and the other three’s DnD characters to Holly. Her eyes sparkled at the sight of them. 

Mike the Brave, long black curls cascading down his back, dressed in silver armour with a small red heart painted on the chestplate. He wielded a sword and shield that had a matching heart. There was a long, flowing red cape tied around his shoulders. The Paladin.

Will the Wise, cloaked in shimmery purple silk that had silver stars stitched into the fabric and a pointy hat that matched, brown hair peeking underneath it. He held a spellbook under his arm. The Cleric.

Sundar the Bold. He sported dark-toned armour and a long spear with a square shield and a bow strung across his back. The Human Knight. 

Nog. He donned bright robes and a utility belt full of all sorts of gadgets and goggles on top of his head. He possessed a staff topped with crystal. The Bard. 

Mike’s smile widened at the awestruck look plastered onto Holly’s face. He continued, “They protect stuff. Villages. People.” 

Mike fished something else out of his bag. A new one. One that looked like Holly. He pressed it into her hand. She wore a tiny cloak. One arm raised, sword pointed forward like she wasn’t afraid of anything at all.

“This one’s you. Holly the Heroic,” He paused, watching as Holly broke into a smile so hard it felt like her face could split in half.

He resumed, “She’s not like the rest of the party. She’s got dimension door,” he explained. “Means if things get bad, she can get out. Or bring help.”

“She’s better at protecting than . . . anyone,” Mike said carefully. Holly’s fingers curled around it like it would vanish into smoke if she didn’t. 

“Will she stay with me?” She whispered, joy glowing inside of her. 

Mike reached out, hand grasping her shoulder, squeezing affectionately. “Always.” He murmured. 

Holly threw herself at him, and his arms were already out, catching his sister as she embraced him, squeezing tight enough for his bones to crack. Not that he cared, though. 

“Thank you, Mike.” Holly says into his chest, pressing further into him. 

“Anytime, Holls.” 

Karen watched through the classroom window, lips pursed in worry as she watched her son hold her youngest daughter, clutching the small plastic hero in the hand behind Mike’s back. 

It didn’t stop the crawl from moving up her spine.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Jane’s lungs burned as she pushed herself to the razor edge of her limits, arms pumping and legs screaming as she pushed towards the woods’ opening, breath coming in sharp gasps, heart slamming against her ribs, clothes sticking to her skin slick with sweat.

Low lying branches clawed at her hair and scratched her exposed legs and forearms, drawing long lines of blood. The pain was blinding, but she pushed forward. She couldn’t stop, not now. She had to be the best she could be, had to show Hopper she was capable and worth more than she appeared, prepared to face what was undeniably going to be thrown at them. She had grown stronger, more powerful in these past eighteen months, and she wasn’t afraid to show it.

She wasn’t a kid anymore. She just wished Hopper could see that. 

It wasn’t until she saw the familiar obstacle course she and Hopper sat up—pumpkins held high on wooden stumps to represent those she’d have to face. 

The world tilted under her feet as she launched herself into the air, a strangled, frustrated cry escaping her lips as she dragged her hands through the air like pulling an invisible string, sending both pumpkins bursting, seeds and remains flying and raining down. 

Jane hit the ground ungracefully with a thud that knocked the air out of her and made pain bloom in her side, only to stick it with a summersault. She surged back into the air, soaring over the raggedy motorhome, arms and legs flailing awkwardly. Once she made it over, gravity returned its shackles on her ankles and pulled her down fast.

She hit the ground, vision blurring. She pushed herself up, blood streaming down her arms and legs, clothes dirty, meeting her father’s inquisitive and critical eyes. Hopper grunted and clicked the timer off, eyebrow twitching when he observed she’d only been two seconds off the required time. 

“Well? How did I do?” Jane panted, walking over, a slight limp to her stride. Her head pounded, though she ignored it. 

“Two seconds over the time,” He hummed. 

Jane’s face dropped, as though disappointed, but then her eyes hardened as her resolve did the same. “Reset it,” she demanded softly, pivoting hard on her heel and striding away. 

“Jane—“

“Reset it!” she repeated, louder this time, hands curling at her sides. She disappeared into the woods, trees swallowing her up. 

Joyce walked up beside Hopper, shaking her head in worry. “She’s gonna run herself into the ground, Jim.” 

Jim turned to meet her gaze, sighing deeply, hesitating. Joyce pressed, “Don’t you think you’re expecting a little too much? She’s shown she’s more than able to take on the Upside Down again, Jim. You’ve just got to give her the chance to prove herself.”

Hopper combed a calloused hand through his hair, and when he faced Joyce, she could see the exhaustion and poorly concealed fear that burned behind his eyes that never seemed to leave. 

“I know she’s capable, Joyce. I know she’s strong. I’m not afraid she’ll fail. I’m afraid she’ll win at too high a cost.” He said, voice trembling with the effort of holding himself together. 

Joyce’s eyes flickered. She knew what it was like, losing your own child and being terrified the cycle would repeat. Her stomach tied itself into knots, and all she could do was throw her arms around him, encasing him in a tight embrace. Hopper slackened in her hold and his arms came up to return the gesture.

Jane swung back around, wiping away sweat streaming down her face, leaving behind a smudge of dirt on the side of her cheek, chest heaving. Her shins and arms stung, but she pushed down the pain as she moved over to the motorhome. 

Hopper silently clicked the stopwatch off and slid it into his pocket, watching as Joyce instantly slid in front of Jane, eyes growing wide, taking her face into her hands, thumb brushing over a scrape on Jane’s forehead. The teenage girl winced, face scrunching up. 

“Oh my god, look at you. You look awful. You shouldn’t have pushed yourself so hard! Come on, I’ll help you get cleaned up.” Joyce quickly said, hands moving down to Jane’s arm as she gently tugged her into the motorhome. Jane eased herself out of her mother’s hold, shaking her head, eyes determined. 

“No. I can do it myself.” Jane soothed, before pushing past Joyce and walking over to the dingy couch. She sat down in the middle, it dipping beneath her weight as she dressed her wounds in silence, a crease between her brow in concentration. 

Joyce hovered, hands lingering awkwardly mid-air, face tight with concern. She shifted her focus to Hopper, before linking her arm with his and guiding him into their shared room, leaving the door cracked behind them, speaking low as she grabbed him by the arms.

“Jim… I need to tell you something. And I need you to tell me the truth.”

Hopper blinked, then his expression fell into something serious yet knowing, eyes sharp. “Is this what I think it’s about?” He inquired, eyes searching hers.

Joyce nodded, chewing her bottom lip before following with, “There’s military trucks parked at the edge of town. Not temporary ones. They’ve been there since last week.” 

Hopper’s shoulders sank in an exhale, propping himself up against the wall, folding his arms over his chest, expression conflicted, blue eyes stormy. “Yeah, Joyce. I know. That’s why Jane’s been training so hard.”

Joyce glanced over her shoulder, as if half expecting Jane to be standing there, watching silently through the crack in the door — but nothing stood outside the room except silence. Silence that seemed to move around them.

Joyce turned her head back to Hopper, and leaned in, voice more whisper than substance, dread swirling in her eyes. “I can’t help but feel there’s something else going on, Jim. Don’t you feel it too? I just — what if it all has something to do with him?” She ran a hand through her messy waves, sighing deeply. 

Hopper took her hands in his much bigger ones, squeezing tight. “I wouldn’t be surprised. But we aren’t going to let that rotting bastard lay a single crooked finger on the kids, alright? Over my dead body.”

Joyce smiled tightly, eyes sparkling, looking at Hopper as though he were her guiding star — because he was. “What would I do without you?” She cooed, hands lifting to cradle his face and bring him down, pushing her lips to his, heart fluttering when he felt him smile against her. Every kiss felt like their first - uncertain, necessary, full of promise. 

They pull back, just enough for the heat to continue to dance around them. Joyce’s eyes drifted to the stopwatch peeking from Hopper’s pocket.

“Did she—“

She stopped herself, swallowing. “Was it enough?”

Hopper studied her for a moment, then a tender smile pressed to his lips. “With a second to spare.” He whispered.

Joyce exhaled a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding, returning the smile, light shining through her eyes. 

Jane, who’d been walking past to get to her room, paused by the door when she heard Hopper’s statement. Hesitated - then smiled, pressing a bruised, dirt-smudged hand to her chest.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Hawkins Hospital smelled like antiseptic and quiet. 

Will and Lucas walked side by side down the tiled hallways, backpacks still slung over their shoulders like they hadn’t come straight from school, like the world hadn’t kept moving while Max stayed perfectly still. 

Lucas hadn’t said much on the way there. 

In fact, he hadn’t said much at all for these past 18 months. 

Will didn’t expect him to. 

When they stepped into Max’s respective hospital room — Will took in many things at once. The late afternoon sun bleeding through the silk curtains, the rhythmic, steady beeping of the heart monitor, the sharp smell of antiseptic, the white, harsh glow of the overhead lights, the muted footsteps outside in the hall. 

Lucas sank into the plastic chair beside the bed, its metal legs screeching on the marble floor as he scooted closer to Max’s bedside, hands clutching the cold metal bars. Will moved to his side, chest tightening at the sight of her. 

Max lay perfectly still beneath the thin hospital blanket, her red hair pulled into neat pigtails. Her face looked softer like this - pale, calm, lashes resting against her cheeks - stripped of the sharp sarcasm and fire she usually carried so easily. 

A clear tube ran beneath her nose, the slow rise and fall of her chest the only proof she was still here. Still fighting. 

The beeping of the heart monitor was steady. Too steady. It filled the room in a way conversation never could. 

Max Mayfield wasn’t supposed to be small. She took up space, demanded it. But now the blanket swallowed her whole, her hands limp at her sides, like the world had pressed pause and forgotten to hit play again. 

Lucas sniffled, and Will looked over to see tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. His stomach clenched, and without a word, he put a hand against his back, lips pulling down in a frown. Lucas reached over the railing to the bed and laced his hand through Max’s, her fingers stiff as he squeezed. 

Lucas eventually found his voice, voice brittle as glass, thick with tears. “Hey, Max. It’s me . . . again. I haven’t given up on you. Nobody has.” A pause, then a choked sob. “It’s – it’s not the same without you. You were the Sun. And now, without you, it feels as if the world has gone dark and cold.” Lucas suddenly reached into his pocket, and he pulled out a cassette record player – Max’s cassette record player. 

A twitchy, melancholy smile crept onto his face as he held it up, as though she could see it. “Do you remember this?” He chuckled wetly, “I remember you always walking down the halls listening to it through your headphones all the time. I remember thinking Kate Bush was lame. I was so wrong, Max. About a lot of things.” His voice shattered, and Will inched closer, his own eyes filling with tears, biting his lip and turning his face away to hide it. He couldn’t watch him, them, like this. It was too much. 

“She saved you, Max. So, I guess I can say she can be my favorite singer too if she can do it again.” He reaches over to the bedside table, slipping the cassette record player into the cassette player sitting there, then pressing the button as the opening to Kate Bush’s “Running Up That Hill (A Deal With God)” moves through the room. His hand tightens around Max’s, her skin sitting cold against his as his eyes slipped shut, as if losing himself in the rhythm. Will can only watch, his heart breaking with every lyric.

♪ It doesn’t hurt me

Do you wanna know how it feels? 

Do you wanna know, know that it doesn’t hurt me?

Do you wanna hear about the deal I’m making? 

You

It’s you and me ♪

Will suddenly rose from his seat, clearing his throat as he wrung his hands, blinking rapidly to hide the tears threatening to spill over. He placed a hand on Lucas’ shoulder, throat closing up.

“I – I’m gonna go get a soda, or something.” A beat, and Will forced a smile. “I’ll be back,” he shakily promised, then slipped through the room before he could fall apart. 

He pressed his back against the door, rubbing his hands over his face. He felt helpless, and he hated that. He just wished there was something he could do to make this all better. He could hear Lucas’ sobs bleeding under the door, mixing with Kate Bush’s steady singing. Through the cries, there were begs – begs that sounded more like a command than a plea. 

“Wake up, Max. Wake up,” 

Will moved away from the door before his body could get the chance to refuse. 

♪ Oh, come on, baby

Oh, come on, darlin’ 

Let me steal this moment from you now

Come on, angel

Come on, come on, darlin’

Let’s exchange the experience ♪

…

The soda machine spat out the Coca-Cola into the delivery bin with a dull, heavy thunk. Will swiped it into his hands, shifting it hand to hand as if to distract himself from the way his fingers trembled. He took a shaky breath, slowly moving back in the direction of Max’s room, before a flash of familiar blonde hair moved in the corner of his eye, and he paused. 

Snapping his head over, his eyes landed on someone no other than Robin, pushing through throngs of people, her hand laced through another red-headed girl’s, beams plastered on both of their faces. A sudden spark of joy rippled through him, and his feet were moving, quickly following Robin’s. 

“Rockin’ Robin!” He called brightly through a smile. She must not have heard him, because she didn’t turn. He watched as the red-headed girl pulled her through the sea of people. She then turned, taking both of Robin’s hands, a mischievous gleam in her eye as she backed into an empty hospital room, guiding Robin in with her, door slamming behind them. 

Curiosity crowding out the confusion, he moved over to the door, craning his neck to peer through the window leading into the room. Embarrassment flared – shame followed – but still he couldn’t make himself move.

He had to clench his jaw to stop it from dropping open at the sight that greeted him, eyes stretching wide.

…

Robin pushed Vickie up against the wall, laughing into her mouth as she kissed her deeply, warmth pooling in her stomach. Vickie tilted her head, fingers tangling in Robin’s blonde strands. 

Music played low from a nearby cassette player, a familiar rhythm that belonged to them alone. 

♪ Look at the way

We gotta hide what we’re doin’ 

‘Cause what would they say

If they ever knew? And so we’re ♪

Robin let her fingers trail down Vickie’s arms, then gently roam her curves. Vickie hummed, pressing herself harder up against Robin. Hand pressing to the nape of Robin’s neck, Vickie pulled back, warm breath fanning across Robin’s lips, eyes glittering in the dim light. 

♪ Runnin’ just as fast as we can

Holdin’ onto one another’s hand

Tryin’ to get away into the night

And then you put your arms around me

And we tumble to the ground

And then you say ♪

Vickie’s bottom lip jutted out into a playful pout. “You flaked me on me for our date last Friday,” she breathed, leaning in to playfully nip at Robin’s bottom lip. “This is the second time. When are you gonna take this seriously and actually take me out, huh?” 

♪ I think we’re alone now

There doesn’t seem to be anyone around ♪

Robin breathed out an apologetic chuckle, wrapping her arms around Vickie, pressing a kiss to her jaw. “Mmm. I know, I know. I’ve just been busy. But I promise, this weekend is the one. I’ll make it up to you. We’re going to get dinner under the stars and then…” Her fingers toyed with Vickie’s maid hat suggestively, lips pulling into a coy smile, voice dropping. “...Maybe for dessert, I can see you in this hat? And, like, only this hat?” She rasped, relishing in the way Vickie’s breath hitched at her implications, blush dusting her cheeks. 

Vickie bridged the gap between them, hands lifting to gently cradle her girlfriend’s face, claiming Robin’s lips with hers once again, smiling against them. She noticed Robin tasted like coffee, sunlight, and something sweet yet uniquely her. Robin noticed Vickie tasted like vanilla. 

Vickie moved to hook her arms around Robin’s neck, moving back just enough for their eyes to meet when Robin’s eyes fluttered open, smiling softly. “You better keep that promise, Buckley.” She shifted to push her face into Robin’s neck, breathing her in as she showered kisses there. 

Robin sighed shakily, tilting her head to give Vickie better access as a slight chill ran over her skin – not from the contact, but from the feeling they were being watched. Cold dread pooled in her stomach, and her gaze drifted over to the door, and there her eyes met two familiar green ones. 

…

Will froze when Robin’s eyes moved from her girlfriend to his. His fingers clenched around the can, the metal crunching under his white-knuckled grasp, the sticky contents bursting and spilling over his hands and dripping onto the floor – though he ignored it, his mind running a mile per minute. One screamed the loudest above the rest: 

There’s somebody like me.

Someone who seemed so comfortable with who they were, something Will wished he could be. 

Someone who didn’t seem to feel the need to force themselves to wear masks that didn’t fit them to begin with. 

It should’ve felt comforting, but instead it made bile rise to his throat. 

When their eyes met, Robin’s mouth twitched, before slowly morphing into a knowing smile – one that said “I see you, and you’re not alone”. Will inhaled sharply, his eyes filling with tears, and he pivoted hard on his heel, striding away quickly before the glue he’d used to carefully piece himself together could go weak, tossing his soda in a nearby trashcan, wiping his shaking hand on his jeans.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The meadow behind WSQK was far too quiet for what they were about to do. Tall, yellowed grass swayed lazily in the breeze, catching the late afternoon sun like nothing in Hawkins had ever gone wrong, like the earth hadn’t learned how to be afraid yet. The group gathered there anyway - drawn by instinct more than plan - standing in loose clusters, hands shoved into pockets, eyes flickering toward the tree line. And then Mike saw her, and for a moment - everything else fell away: the monsters, the countdown ticking somewhere in the back of his mind. 

Jane smiled wide when she saw him, and she quickly crossed the field to him, and he reached out, catching her in his arms as she encased her arms around him, squeezing tight. No words needed to be said - it was obvious she missed him dearly. She peeled herself from him, smile never wavering as she lifted a hand to his cheek, pressing it there. Mike’s smile twitched wider. 

Will watched them, and though he smiled ever so softly at the sight of them reuniting, his heart twisted, and he turned his face away when he saw their gazes shift toward him. He absentmindedly kicked at the dirt. 

Nearby, Robin held Vickie by the arms, then leaned in to whisper something against her ear. Vickie giggled and weakly shoved her chest playfully. 

To the side, Joyce and Hopper were lifting heavy boxes full of guns and various other complicated mechanics into the back of the WSQK truck while Murray stood nearby, leaning against the side of the truck, arms folded. Their mouths moved, though Will couldn’t make out what was being said from where he stood. 

Steve cleared his throat, breaking the quiet. “Okay. Uh. Is it just me, or is one very loud, very curly-headed genius missing?” 

Joyce’s head snapped up instantly, concern creasing her eyes. “Dustin?” 

She scanned the meadow, hopeful and already knowing better. “He said he’d meet us here.” 

Steve swallowed. “Yeah. He did.” He ran a hand through his hair, sighing sharply. “Goddamn it, Henderson.”

Jonathan shifted beside him, lowering his voice. “You wanna tell us what happened?” 

Steve hesitated, jaw working. “He was radioing from the hill. Then - nothing. Just static.” He let out a short breath. “The kid doesn’t usually ghost. Not unless something’s wrong.” 

“Well, that’s comforting,” Robin chimed lightly, though her eyes had gone sharp. “Real comforting, Harrington.” 

Nancy frowned. “How long has he been quiet?” 

“Too long,” Steve said. 

Jonathan reached out, touching Steve’s shoulder briefly. “We’ll find him,” he said, firm, like he needed Steve to believe it. “He’s smart. He knows how to stay alive.” 

Steve nodded once, tight. “Yeah. He better.” 

From a few steps away, Mike’s gaze shifted between the two, brows hugging. “Since when are you two–” he gestured vaguely, “--like . . . calm together?” 

Robin leaned toward Vickie and whispered, “I give it three hours before someone points it out louder.” 

Vickie snorted, barely containing a laugh. 

Steve groaned in frustration, shoving a hand through his hair again, messing his usually perfect hair up. “It’s driving me nuts. Henderson’s never flaked on us like this before. He’s so different now.” 

Nancy gave him a look. “Well . . . yeah, people change. They grow, Steve. He’s not a kid anymore,” 

Steve shook his head. “I know, Nance. But that’s not what I meant. I mean . . . he’s distant. Cold, even. My boy will hardly speak unless spoken to.” 

Robin’s expression softened, the humor draining out of her eyes. 

“It’s like he threw his whole life away ever since . . .” Steve’s sentence fell off, and his eyes darkened. Everyone looked down. 

Joyce wiped her hands on her jeans, forcing herself to focus as her voice cut the thick silence like a knife. “Alright, we can’t stand around waiting. If Dustin’s out there, we’ll loop back for him once we have our eyes on Hopper.” 

Hopper glanced over at her, already knowing what she was saying. “I’ll bring him home,” he said quietly. 

Joyce met his gaze. “You better.” 

…

The roof of WSQK was warm beneath them, sun-baked tar and loose gravel crunching slightly as Mike shifted closer. From up here, Hawkins looked small. Manageable. Like a place that could be left behind. The sky stretched wide and pale above them, the kind of blue that made promises feel possible. The other’s voices echoed from below. 

Jane was gazing into the distance, lost in wonder. She eventually found her voice, looking over at him, voice small and gentle as if the quiet hanging around them were glass and she was trying to cradle it with her voice. “I think . . . when this is all over, I want to get away. Far away.” 

Mike’s eyes softened, smiling gently as he looked at her. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Away from the monsters, the labs. From Hawkins itself. I dream of a place of three waterfalls, it’s always been there when things got bad.” Her eyes dropped to her hands, fingers subconsciously twisting the same , familiar ring he’d given her years ago - somewhere between fourteen and fifteen, back when promises were simple and terrifying all at once. Without thinking, she slipped it off and pressed it to his palm. 

Mike’s smile faltered. He looked down at the ring, said nothing, and closed his fingers around it before carefully tucking it into his chest pocket.

“...A place with new beginnings.” Jane finished softly.

Mike covered her hand with his own, his expression steady, sure. “And you will go there. You will, Jane.” 

Her heart lifted at the name - the one that belonged solely to her now - and her smile widened. They’d learned, somewhere along the way, that their bond didn’t have to be romantic or storybook to be real. Maybe it was better this way. 

Lucas’ voice cut up to them, sudden and jarring.

 “Hey, lovebirds!” 

They exchanged a perplexed glance. 

“Hate to break the fairytale,” Steve called, sharp and urgent, “but we’ve got a problem.” 

Mike’s shoulders tense, and Jane’s smile faded, frowning in concern as they peered over the edge of the rooftop down at the others. Steve wasted no time, looking back up at them. 

“We still need someone to track Hopper once he’s inside. Dustin was supposed to do it.” Steve hesitated, jaw tightening. “But he’s not here still.” 

The wind suddenly blew colder. Will took a step forward before anyone could speak, shoulders squared, eyes set with quiet determination. “I can do it.” He announced. 

Mike’s heart dropped. “Will—”

Will cut in quickly, holding up a hand. “I know how the radio works. I’ve done it before.” 

Joyce was already shaking her head. She reached for him, fingers curling gently around his arm. “No.” 

Will blinked, his resolve faltering. “Mom . . .”

“I said no.” Her voice didn’t rise, but it hardened - steel beneath the fear. She stepped closer, hands trembling now. “I am not sending you into this. Not again.” 

Her gaze shifted, sharp and decisive, landing on Jonathan. “You’ll do it.” 

Jonathan froze, eyes moving from Steve to their mother. “Me?” He points to his chest weakly, disbelief written all over his face. 

“You’re going with Steve,” Joyce said. “You’ll track your father.” 

Jonathan swallowed, schooling his expression into one of acceptance, though his hands betrayed him, shaking at his sides. He’d never been good at hiding how he felt - Will noticed that, even now. “Okay.” Jonathan muttered. 

Steve looks over at him, resting a hand on his shoulder as if to silently say, I hear you, and I’ve got you. 

…

Joyce and Hopper stood by the tunnel, darkness stretching behind Hopper like invisible hands reaching out, beckoning him to move in deeper until it swallowed him whole. 

Joyce gripped his arms, gazing up at him with a firm expression, though love burned behind it. “Come home in one piece.” 

Hopper’s lips twitched. “Always do.” He chuckled, trying for light. Joyce doesn’t laugh. 

Hopper leans down and kisses her. Brief. Desperate. Joyce’s hands gripped the front of his coat. 

“I’ll see you on the other side,” he says against her lips as he pulls away, already turning. Jane caught him just before he could disappear into the dark. 

“Hopper.” 

Hopper glanced over his shoulder at the sound of her voice, already halfway armed in resolve. Jane stood a few feet away, hands curled at her sides like she was holding herself together by force. 

“I’m coming with you,” she said. Not loud. Not pleading. Certain. “I can protect you.” 

Hopper’s jaw flexed. He sighed through his nose, then crossed the distance between them in two long strides. He knelt so they were eye level, big hands resting on his knees. 

“Kid,” he said gently, “I know you can.” 

Jane faltered, brows knitting. “Then why—” 

“Because this part?” His voice softened. “This part’s on me.” 

She shook her head, frustration flashing hot and fast. “You’re acting like you’re not coming back.” 

Hopper let out a small huff of a laugh, shaking his head. “I’m acting like someone who’s seen enough tunnels to know you don’t tempt fate.” 

Then he grew serious. 

“If something goes wrong,” he continued slowly, “I want you to know something first.” He swallowed. “I am so damn proud of you. Of who you are. Of how hard you fought to be good in a world that tried real hard to take that from you.” 

Jane’s eyes burned. “Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t talk like that.” 

Hopper reached up and cradled her face, thumb brushing under her eye where tears threatened to spill. “Hey. I’m not saying goodbye.” A beat. “I’m saying just in case.”

Her voice cracked. “I don’t like ‘just in case’.” 

“I know.” He smiled, small but real. “If something goes sideways, you come find me. You don’t hesitate. But you do it smart.” His eyes locked onto hers. “You promise me you’ll stay alive.” 

Jane nodded quickly. “I promise.” 

He searched her face, searching for any hint of dishonesty. 

She took a shaky breath. “ . . . Dad.” 

The word landed between them like a held breath finally escaped. 

Hopper’s chest hitched. “Yeah, kiddo?” 

“I love you.” 

For a moment, he couldn’t speak. Then he pulled her into his arms, holding her tight, like if he let go too soon the world might take her back. He pressed his forehead to hers. 

“I love you too,” he said, voice rough. “More than you’ll ever know.” 

Reluctantly, he stood. Jane stepped back, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand, watching as he turned toward the tunnel again. 

Hopper paused one last time, glancing back at Jane and Joyce, both glassy eyed, then squared his shoulders and moved forward, vanishing into the dark. 

Joyce stood there long after he was gone, hands clenched tight, hope and terror warring in her chest — because loving someone in Hawkins meant learning how to let them walk into hell and pray they walked back out.

…

The night split open with fire. 

Flamethrowers flared to life at the mouth of the MAC-Z gate, sheets of flame licking up at glowing scarlet squirming and shrieking tendrils, the mouth to the Upside Down, as soldiers barked orders to one another. Heat shimmered through the air, turning the darkness into something alive and violent. Trucks lined up in tight formation, engines growling low and impatient, headlights cutting pale scars through the smoke. 

High above it all, in the skeletal bell tower of the old church, Mike pressed his binoculars to his eyes with shaking hands. 

“I see it,” he breathed. “They’re clearing it,” 

Beside him, Lucas smacked gum loudly in his mouth, leaning against the stone railing, eyes never leaving the portal entrance below. “Clock it,” he replied quietly. “As soon as the flames pull back.” He popped the gum, and Mike’s head snapped over to him, hands dropping from his eyes as he scowled. 

“Can you not chew so loudly? I’m trying to focus here,” 

“Snipers chew gum,” Lucas replied in a far too dramatic, conspiratorial whisper. 

“But we’re not–”

“Hush, Wheeler. Let me have this.” 

The fire died down in choking bursts, smoke billowing outward as soldiers waved the convoy forward. One by one, trucks rumbled into the darkness, swallowed whole. 

“Now,” Lucas snapped. 

Hopper burst from the shed tunnel like he’d been shot from a canon. 

Mike sucked in a sharp breath as Hopper bolted across open ground, boots pounding dirt, coat flaring behind him. He didn’t slow until he reached the final cargo truck, grabbing the side rail and hauling himself up just as it lurched forward. 

“He made it,” Mike whispered, relief crashing through him so hard his knees nearly buckled. 

Inside the truck, Hopper braced himself against the wall, rifle tight in his grasp as the vehicle jolted and swayed. The air was thick, metallic, wrong. He raised the walkie to his mouth. 

“Joyce,” he said, voice steady despite the chaos. “I’m okay.” 

Static crackled - then her voice, tight and trembling with relief. “Copy that. Thank God.”

The convoy rolled on. 

…

Back on the Rightside, Steve sat in the driver’s seat of the WSQK truck, hands clutching the wheel so hard they ached. Jonathan sat in the back, hands restlessly twisting the knob to the radio, searching for signal, headphones over his ears. 

Steve glanced through the rearview mirror at him, softening. “Got anything back there?” he called. Jonathan shook his head, shifting the headphones as he looked over. 

“No. It’s all static. We need to move further –” 

The van slammed to a halt so hard Jonathan was thrown forward, grabbing for the bench to avoid hitting the floor. “Steve—!” He yelled. 

“I see him!” Steve yelled back, fingers tightening around the wheel, knuckles protesting. 

Headlights cut through the dark, just in time to illuminate a figure swerving into their path - a bike wobbling wildly, tires skidding in the dirt. Steve yanked the wheel, the van fishtailing as it missed the rider by inches. 

“Holy—!” Steve slammed the breaks, the van shuddering to a stop. 

Dustin Henderson toppled sideways off his bike and hit the ground hard. 

Jonathan was out the door before the engine finished coughing. “Dustin!” 

Steve scrambled after him, heart in his throat. 

Dustin pushed himself onto a single elbow, blood smeared under his nose, mingling with sweat running down his face, pale but unmistakably alive. His coat was askew, curls plastering to his forehead from sweat. His knuckles were bruised, his skin split over where the bridge of his nose was, and his eye was swollen, like a blow landed there.

“Okay,” he wheezed. “Before anyone yells, I know how this looks.” 

Steve dropped to his knees in front of him, hands hovering, afraid to touch. “You little sh*t,” he seethed, voice breaking. “We almost turned you into roadkill!”

Dustin sniffed, wincing. “Yeah, well. You should see the other guy.” He gestured vaguely into the darkness, and Steve’s stomach dropped at the realization. Dustin had gotten into a physical confrontation with someone. 

“Also? I think my nose is . . . not where it used to be.” 

Jonathan let out a shaky laugh, relief flooding his face as he crouched beside them. “You disappeared.” 

Dustin blinked up at him. “I had a situation.” 

Steve’s expression darkened, and he stood quickly, pulling Dustin up by the arm, expression dark. Dustin shrunk into himself under the older boy’s gaze, though his jaw tightened. “Disappearing and getting into fights? What’s next, are you gonna –” 

Jonathan sighed deeply, pinching his nose in exasperation and shutting his eyes. “Steve, please. Let’s not do this. Let’s just get back to the van.” He pleaded. Steve looked between Jonathan and Dustin, before huffing, his hand moving to grip Dustin’s hand instead as he led him into the passenger’s seat. Jonathan followed, climbing into his claimed spot in the back, turning his focus back to the radio. 

…

The WSQK basement hummed softly, alive in the way only half-forgotten places ever were. Exposed pipes ran along the exposed ceiling, sweating faintly, and extension cords rippled across the concrete floor like tripping hazards nobody ever bothered to fix. Old radio equipment crowded the folding tables, dials, wires, coffee-stained notebooks, and a flickering lamp casting everything in a sickly yellow glow. Dust hung in the air, disturbed only by the whirring box fan shoved into the corner, useless against the trapped heat and nerves. 

Will stood near the radio table, fingers curled tight around the edge of it, breathing shallowly. His skin prickled, cold crawling up his spine against the warmth. 

“Will?” Jane’s voice drifted from somewhere behind him. “Are you all right?” 

Will opened his mouth to answer. 

Nothing came out. 

The world tilted. The hum of the equipment dropped into a low growl, like he’d been shoved underwater. His vision blurred, then fractured, and suddenly he wasn’t in a basement anymore. 

Darkness. Wet earth. The heavy sound of something breathing. 

A shadow tore through the trees, claws ripping into bark, limbs moving too fast, too wrong. The Demogorgan barreled forward with single-minded fury, mouth flaring  as it followed a scent Will knew with terrifying certainty. 

Home. 

The Wheeler house loomed ahead, lights glowing warmly against the windows, painfully unaware. The creature shrieked, loud and horrible, and surged faster, closer. Too close. 

“No—” Will gasped. 

His eyes rolled to the back of his head, and his legs gave out, sending him crashing hard into the concrete. 

The thud echoed through the basement. 

“Will!” A rush of footsteps. The lights blinked. Someone swore. Jane hit the floor beside him, gripping his shoulders as Joyce skidded to a stop near Will’s feet. 

Will’s body seized, breath coming sharp and uneven, his face gone pale as a sheet. 

Joyce grasped his face with shaky hands, eyes wild with fear and confusion. “Will?! Will, baby, speak to me! What is it?” She exclaims, voice breaking.

Will gasped sharply, sitting bolt upright, grabbing onto his mother with sweaty hands, eyes wide and framed with tears, lips trembling. “It’s coming for them,” he breathed, voice quaking. 

Joyce’s face dropped, frowning in dread and confusion. Her fingers slacked around his face, but his hands shot up, holding them there, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to steady his breathing. “For who? Coming for who?” 

Will’s whimpers slowed slightly, and his head slowly turned to look at Nancy, a single tear slipping down his face, and Joyce followed his gaze, horrified realization dawning on her own. Nancy’s shoulders dropped as her expression shifted from concern, then to disbelief, then to shock and terror. Her eyes snapped over to Jane. 

“We need to go. NOW.” 

Nancy turns in a flip of brown curls, shooting through the back door, that flew open with such force when she opened it that it bounced off the wall behind it. Jane gave a final, worried glance towards her brother and mother before trailing Nancy’s heels swiftly.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The Wheeler house had settled into its evening quiet, the kind that only came after everyone had spoken too much or not nearly enough. Floorboards creaked as the air cooled, the hum of distant cicadas slipping through cracked windows. Holly sat cross-legged on her bedroom floor upstairs, stringing together pink plastic beads with careful concentration, her “Holly the Heroic” hanging in the front of the string like a watchful knight. Downstairs, the clink of glass against the kitchen counter broke the silence. 

“I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal out of this,” Ted’s voice drifted up from the kitchen, tired and already defensive. 

Holly’s hands slowed, and she strained to listen, breath bated. 

Karen didn’t answer right away. Holly slowly threaded another bead onto the string. 

“A big deal?” She finally scoffed. “Ted, you didn’t even know Holly was ten. You guessed. You guessed.” 

“Well, excuse me for not keeping a spreadsheet of everyone’s birthdays,” Ted said. “I work all day. I come home. I’m tired.” 

“So am I!” Karen shot back, sharper now. “But somehow, I still know our children’s names, ages, what they love. What keeps them up at night.” 

“That’s not fair,” Ted muttered. “You’re blowing this out of proportion.” 

Holly’s hands stilled. She leaned closer to her door, beads clutched tight in her fist. 

“I’m blowing it out of proportion?” Karen laughed, but there was no humor behind it. “Only a few days ago, you walked right past your daughter while she was crying and you didn’t even notice.” 

Ted exhaled hard. “I didn’t hear her.” 

“Exactly,” Karen said quietly.

Holly crept to her door, pressing her eye to the narrow crack. 

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Ted said at last. “I can’t do everything.” 

“I’m not asking you to do everything,” Karen replied. Her voice wavered now, just slightly. “I’m asking you to do something.” 

Silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable. 

“I’m going outside,” Ted announced suddenly, sharply, dismissively. “I need air.” 

“Yes, run away, like you always do!” Karen yelled after him, throwing her hand up as the back door swung open, then closed. Footsteps faded into the dark. Karen’s shoulders slumped, and she leaned against the marble kitchen island, pouring white wine into a glass and raising the rim to her lips, swallowing down the alcohol in one thick swallow. 

Holly swallowed, her chest tight. She shut her bedroom door softly, climbed into her bed and curled into a tight ball, pressing her face into her pillow to stifle her cries as tears soaked the fabric. She thumbed her necklace with a hand, chest hitching with every sob. 

Shadows danced as her nightstand lamp’s light suddenly began to surge and retreat. Holly’s head lifted from her pillow, fingers unconsciously sliding down from the beads strung around her neck to Holly the Heroic in the front, clutching tight, breath quickening. 

And then, suddenly, every toy in the room responded, their lights strobing, casting long, nervous, colorful shadows across the floor, and the room began to vibrate. 

The ceiling groaned, and the color drained from Holly’s face, heart somersaulting in her chest as she sat bolt upright, swinging her legs off the bed clumsily just as crumbled plaster began to rain down. 

“Mom?” Holly cried out, grabbing Holly the Heroic in a tight fist, voice breaking. She scrambled backwards, back hitting the wall. A cold sweat broke out on the nape of her neck, her heart knocking against her ribs. 

The ceiling peeled open in a wash of burning orange. A fist punched through first, bone-thin and slick, followed by a wet, tearing sound as something forced its way through. A Demogorgon peeked through the disturbance, mouth spread wide, dozens of yellowing sharp teeth slobbering. 

A scream tore from Holly’s throat just as it shrieked, the sound echoing in her ears, and she lunged for the door, fingertips brushing the cold metal.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The Upside Down did not welcome Hopper. 

The road stretched ahead in warped imitation, asphalt split by veins of red growth that pulsed faintly beneath the tires. Trees leaned inward like crooked ribs, their branches clawing at the smoke-choked, debris littered sky. Ash drifted constantly, coating windshields and settling into hair and uniforms. Engines roared too loud in the wrong kind of silence. 

Inside the second to last cargo truck, Hopper planted his boots wide and braced one hand against the wall as the vehicle jolted forward. His other stayed locked around his rifle. Every instinct screamed at him to run - but there was nowhere to go. Only forward. 

The convoy rolled deeper. 

And then, something moved. 

Not on the road - above it. 

The shriek tore through the dark like metal ripping in half. 

In the WSQK basement, Will staggered once again. 

His breath hitched, sharp and painful, and his fingers dug into his mother’s arms as she rushed to him, cradling him. The world around him dissolved once more. The hum of radios dropped away, replaced by a wet sound and heat and hunger. His vision multiplied and split. 

He saw through too many eyes. 

Claws tore into metal. Teeth sank into flesh. The taste of blood filled his mouth, though it wasn't his mouth at all. Soldiers screamed - high, panicked sounds - their voices overlapping as orders were barked out then immediately drowned out. One creature leapt onto the hood of a truck, its weight denting steel, claws screeching as it hauled itself higher. 

Bullets pierced through layers of skin of Demogorgons, and they let out furious howls, swiping wildly.

Joyce’s voice was far away, and Will couldn’t reach it, like he was trapped under ice. His body writhed, uncontrollable screams ripping from his chest at every bullet that struck him. Dozens of them. White hot agony burst under his skin, making it impossible to catch his breath. 

…

Hopper. 

Hopper knew something was there. 

The Demogorgon pounced onto the truck behind him, its weight slamming down hard enough to rock the vehicle. The driver shouted, swerving wildly. 

“I can’t — I can’t see!” 

A gunshot cracked through the chaos. 

Hopper felt the impact before the sound registered - a hot, tearing pain slicing across his side. He grunted, slamming into the wall as blood bloomed through his coat. 

“Son of a—”

The driver screamed. 

Claws punched through the windshield, glass flying. The man barely had time to choke out a sound before the Demogorgon dragged him out his seat, blood splattering across the glass in thick, streaming arcs. 

The truck veered sharply. 

“Truck three! TRUCK THREE—!” someone shouted over the radio before the signal cut out in a shriek of static. 

The vehicle slammed sideways into a dead tree, metal screaming as it tipped, then rolled. Hopper was thrown violently, his shoulder smashing into a wall as the world flipped end over end. Pain detonated behind his eyes. 

Then - silence. 

Broken only by fire. 

Hopper groaned, vision swimming, lungs burning as he dragged himself upright. Blood soaked his side, his hands slick as he pressed against the wound. Outside, soldiers shouted, gunfire erupting in frantic bursts. Shapes moved through the smoke – too fast, too many. 

He staggered toward the torn opening in the truck, boots hitting the ground hard. 

Run. 

He bolted into the woods. 

Branches lashed at his face, ash clogging his throat as he crashed blindly through the trees. Behind him, shrieks echoed - wet and triumphant - followed by screaming that cut off far too abruptly. 

“Jim?” Joyce’s voice crackled suddenly through his walkie, static choking her words. “J – Jim, do – do you c—copy?” 

He fumbled for it, nearly dropping the device as his hands shook. “Joyce,” he panted. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m –” He choked on a breath. He tried again. “I’m hurt, but I’m okay. I’m moving.” 

“Your signal’s breaking—!” Her voice fractured. “Hopper, listen to me—” 

The signal fell out. 

…

Back on the Rightside, Jonathan stiffened, fingers tightening around the dial. He reached up, hands grabbing the metal rod attached to the roof of the van, cranking it, trying to catch Hopper’s signal again. “Steve,” he said sharply. “We’re losing him.” 

Steve leaned back, knuckles white on the wheel. Dustin’s eyes were wide and shining. “That’s not normal static,” Dustin said quickly. “That’s—like—really bad static.” 

Joyce whispered into the dead static. “Hopper,” she begged, “Hopper, please—”

Only silence answered.

…

In the woods, Hopper tore the walkie from his belt and hurled it aside as he stumbled forward, breath ragged, blood soaking into the dirt behind him.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The Demogorgon fell from the ceiling and hit the floor hard, its gray, spindly body resembling that of decayed flesh. When it rose, the air felt heavier, hotter – like the air bent to its will. The sputtering lights backlit it, and it looked like something out of some urban story people whisper around campfires. Its hands hung low, too large for its body, and its ribcage protruded under its skin. 

Terror held Holly fast, turning her legs to Jell-O, her scream leaving her too late as its claw caught her around the ankle, pulling her upwards to the ceiling. 

Her hands grabbed onto the metal railing of her bed, fingers slipping the harder the Demogorgon yanked her. The front of the bed began to lift off from the floor, and she hit it hard as the Demogorgon’s grip slipped, pulling one of her shoes off instead. It let out a furious growl as she rushed to her feet, bursting out of her room, nearly crashing into a wall as she tried to move her feet as quick as her mind. 

She didn’t stop running until she hit the bathroom door, slamming into it hard enough to rattle the door. “Mom!” She shrieked, voice breaking apart as she collapsed inside. “Mom—there—there’s something—”

Karen turned from the tub, towel draped over one arm, fuzzy bath robe tucked over her, the water behind her already steaming, bubbles bobbing and music playing low from a radio on the sink. “Holly?” she said, startled but steady. “Sweetheart, slow down. You’re shaking.”

“Its—” Holly choked, words stringing together. “My room — ceiling — it grabbed me —” 

Karen crouched quickly, hands going to hold her daughter’s face, warm and firm. “Hey. Hey. Look at me,” she said, too calm, too even. “Breathe with me, okay? I can’t understand you like this.” 

Holly tried. Her chest stuttered instead, eyes wild. 

Karen’s brow furrowed as her thumb brushed something wet along Holly’s hairline. She pulled her hand back – and froze. 

Crimson smeared her fingers. 

The house lights flickered. 

The music warped, folding in on itself.

Something heavy thudded down the hall. 

Karen’s expression shifted instantly, wine-soft calm snapping into something sharp and terrified. “In the tub,” she whispered. “Now.” 

She dragged Holly down with her just as the bathroom lights strobed violently. Karen shoved the shower door shut and pulled Holly down into the bath, both of them sinking beneath the water as the room filled with noise - heavy footsteps, glass shattering, and something breathing too loud. 

Holly clamped her mouth shut, lungs burning as bubbles escaped anyway. 

The Demogorgon struck the shower door once - twice - until the glass exploded outward, shards raining into the tub. 

Holly squeezed her eyes shut. 

And then - 

“Karen? Holly?” a confused, familiar voice called – muffled over the water. 

The creature paused, then with a vicious growl, stormed out the bathroom in the direction of the voice. 

Karen yanked Holly upright, mascara running down her face, wet curls sticking to her face, blue eyes blazing. She nudged Holly out the tub, cold air stinging their skin as they rushed out the room and into the hall. They fled down it and past Mike’s room just in time to see Ted get flung like he weighed nothing through Mike’s closet, splintering wood as he slammed into the wall, blood smeared. 

“Go! Run! Don’t stop running!” Karen gasped, just as they flew down the stairs. They barely made it to the kitchen before Karen’s feet slid on the tile. She went down hard, crashing into the counter with a cry. 

Holly spun around hard, tripping over herself as she grabbed onto her mom, lifting her up around the waist. “Mom!” She sobbed. 

The lights cut out. 

Orange light framed their faces as the Demogorgon broke through the wall, fury rolling off of it in waves. Holly screamed, and Karen shoved herself in front of her daughter. Wide eyes frantically scanning the kitchen, her hand shot out, grabbing the neck of the wine bottle she’d been drinking from and smashed it hard against the counter edge, the bottom exploding into a million glittering fragments, leaving the top a makeshift dagger, honeyed alcohol dripping off its jagged edges. 

Eyes flashing, Karen kept her eyes trained on the Demogorgon, teeth gritted, free hand clenched at her side. “Stay . . . away . . . from my daughter, you son of a bitch!” She snarled. It lunged with a horrible noise, and so did she. 

Holly cried out as her mother disappeared into a blur of motion and sound, hand punctuating pale, brittle skin, black, goopy substance caking her hand. Enraged, the Demogorgon responded, claw lashing out, catching Karen across the chest. 

Holly flinched as specks of blood hit her face, eyes glittering as she watched her mother hit the ground, then not getting up again. Warm, sticky blood pooled around her, the bottle edge rolling out of her loosened fingers.

Holly couldn’t breathe. 

A claw wrapped around her wrist. 

The front door split open in a wash of red light, and the world tilted violently as Holly was forward, her screams swallowed whole —

— And then there was nothing but silence.