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“I haven't told any of you this because I don't want you to see me differently. But the truth is... I am. I am different. I just pretended like I wasn't because I didn't want to be. I wanted to be like everyone else. I wanted to be like my friends and… I am like you. I'm like you in almost every way. We like playing D&D late into the night, and we like that old person smell in Mike's basement, and we like biking to Melvald's for malted milkshakes. We like getting lost in the woods, getting lost in Family Video, arguing over what to rent, and settling on 'Holy Grail' for the millionth time. And we like Milk Duds in our popcorn with extra butter, and we like drinking Coke with Pop Rocks, and we like bike races and trading comics and NASA and Steve Martin and Lucky Charms and literally all the same things.
I just— I just— I— I don't like girls.”
Will was in tears, small pearls of salted water rolling down his cheeks as he kept talking and talking. Nervousness and fear, without a doubt, were making his mouth spiral into the mess of words he was currently spilling. The boy’s trembling hands were clutching the side of his chair tightly in anticipation of the reactions, like a prisoner waiting for his verdict. His gaze seemed to scream, “Why aren’t you yelling how much of a disgusting faggot I am?”, ready to run at any time. It wasn’t accusation in his eyes: it was expectation, pure and genuine, bracing for the punch.
His mother noticed him clenching his hands and gently squeezed them to encourage him. Slowly, the tension in the room shifted into something softer and understanding. It was so fragile. So raw. Yet an alarm was blaring in Mike's head. This was wrong.
The sound began to blur, muffling the voices rising to comfort his best friend. He barely noticed Lucas hugging Will. But Mike didn’t move, rooted to the spot by a terror that clawed through him with brutal clarity.
Strange was the first thing Mike had thought when Will told him to gather everyone. Will knew how small and crucial their window of opportunity was. If what he wanted to say was related to Henry, why not say it on the move? He knew better than anyone the terror of the upside down, of Henry’s mind. Why risk losing their only chance of saving the world and the kids? But it had seemed so important to his best friend that he kept his mouth shut and did as he was asked.
Mike was a paladin, hopelessly devoted to helping. It was his duty of honour. He was, after all, the heart and soul of their group (to borrow the artist’s own words in the van in California). The paladin and the cleric did share divine soul ties; he would always happily oblige.
His mind spun, theories dancing until they infected his flesh. Melvald’s never had milkshakes. Mike vividly remembers his mother lamenting in their old Mercury that it was "such a shame " they'd gotten rid of it. Was he going crazy? Did he remember things wrong? No… No. No. Those were slip-ups in a sick, rehearsed play. His play.
The only milkshakes they ever got were at the arcade, where Will always ordered chocolate. It was a rare treat he barely allowed himself; the Byers’ money was always too tight. Will hated spending coins on food he didn’t need. Nothing added up.
Getting lost in the woods? Ever since he went missing in the upside-down, his best friend only ever had nightmares about those fucking trees. He’d drawn countless bone-chilling pictures of Hawkins Woods, enough to make Mike feel dread just looking at them. The forest crawling with putrid vines—thick, wet, and alive—in the Upside Down had scarred Will deeply. Trauma was a sly little demon haunting him.
Whenever the party decided to go to the lake, there was always an unease buried in their cleric's gaze. The way his whole body tensed, and he quieted himself, a prey staying alert for its predator approaching, betrayed him. His body remembered fear like a bleeding wound. The raven-haired boy thought back on the numerous times Will had acted weird lately. How he never seemed cold anymore. How he’d claimed he “ran hot.” They both knew it was a blatant lie.
“Mike?” Eleven asked quietly from across the room, worry peeking through her stone-faced mask.
“He’s… lying. That’s not Will. That’s not Will.” Mike could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears. “Get away from him immediately!” he yelled.
He sprang up from the couch, instinctively falling into a fighting stance. It took a moment for everyone to process what he’d just said. Joyce was the very portrait of shock itself. Lucas stared at Mike with open disgust, unable to believe how their party leader was acting. Max, who couldn’t move from her wheelchair, was on her guard. Dustin looked utterly lost. Confusion clouded nearly everyone in the room.
Nancy exchanged a panicked glance with Mike and saw the fear in his eyes. Without hesitation, she grabbed the gun at her side, trusting her brother’s instincts.
“Whoa, whoa—relax, Nance! What the hell are you saying, Mike? What’s your problem?” Jonathan shouted angrily. He pulled Will behind him, shielding his little brother from the bizarre, grotesque scene unfolding before them.
“He’s dangerous, Jonathan! That’s what he is!” Nancy shouted back, her grip tightening around the weapon.
“You have no idea how many tricks Henry can come up with, he could be spying us via Will.” Max supplied with a suspicious glare at Will.
“Having an irrational fear of the evil dark wizard doesn’t give you a free pass to be a total dick, Wheeler!” Robin snapped, panic overtaking her voice. “And Nancy, your reaction is a bit, uh… I don’t know, completely and totally insane? I mean, who reaches for a gun first thing for god's sake! And besides, we’d notice if he was possessed… Right? Like the spooky eye stuff and everything is not exactly subtle. ”
Her breath came in short, fast gasps, on the edge of hyperventilating.
“ He’s trying to fool us, it’s Henry! I’m not acting out! " Continued Mike.
“M-Mike… please don’t do this,” Will pleaded, tears spilling back onto his cheeks. “I know it’s a lot. I know it might be hard to accept right now, but this is who I am. I’m not hiding anymore. You’re mad at me for keeping it a secret, and I get that. Even if you don’t want to talk to me after this, that’s okay. But I need to be here. I need to fight with you all. I was so scared everyone would leave me, Mike…”
“ Liar. " Spat Mike.
His face twisted, his mouth trembling as if Mike’s previous words had been venom. Lucas stepped closer to Will, his voice calm but edged with bitterness aimed towards Mike. He overlapped Robin amid the brewing chaos.
“Don’t listen to him, Will. He just needs time… he’ll get over it.”
“No! ” Mike tried again, desperation clawing up his throat as he turned to Joyce, who stood beside Will behind Jonathan.
“I thought my brother's best friend wouldn’t be such an asshole…” Murmured Jonathan under his breath.
“Everyone, please calm down!” Steve barked. “Yelling at each other isn’t gonna fix any of this. Henderson, block the doors, just in case something really is wrong with Baby Byers over there—no offence, buddy, but we can’t afford a Demogorgon running loose. Nance, put the gun down. Please.”
Dustin blinked, stunned, then hurried toward the doors, silently cursing as he dragged chairs into place. Nancy held Steve’s gaze for a long moment before finally lowering the rifle. Jonathan's shoulder slightly relaxed, but he still had a hand close to his brother. Will had the word fear written across his face, tainted with a vague, hidden frustration.
“Will, baby, I'm going to ask you this only once,” Joyce asked her son in her soft maternal voice. “Is that really you? ” She searched his face, every instinct screaming.
“I'm not under Henry’s control! Can you all stop with this nonsense?” His gaze locked onto the dark-haired boy. He was furious. “I should have known you would have tried to do this. You always react this harshly, Mike!” His voice let out a humourless laugh, almost wounded. “Are you really that disgusted by me? Do I creep you out this much?”
Mike paused for an instant. How could this monster say that with Will’s face? How dare he use his pretty dimples to spill such garbage? He exhaled a shaky breath and calmly began.
“Will… what kind of malted milkshake do you love the most?” Will scoffed, relieved, like the question proved something.
“Vanilla. Obviously. It’s my favourite.” He gave a gentle nod toward his family. “Mom and Jonathan know that.”
“He’s right, Mike, that’s—” She stopped herself dead in her tracks. Her voice faded as doubt crept in. “…that’s what he always orders.”
The shift was almost imperceptible. El and Kali took a small step forward, gazes sharp. It was the calm before the storm that was about to begin. He could see the gears turning in the whole party's heads. The puzzle was solving itself before their eyes, and Mike had just laid his final piece. Their paladin hadn’t even drawn his sword; he’d waited for his opponent to move. And now the trap had closed. Mike was calm as he spoke :
“That’s what you order when you’re with them.” He didn’t move, but kept his focus on Will. “But it’s not your favourite.”
Will frowned in confusion. His warm smile grew cold, and his shoulders tensed. He tapped his feet on the ground rhythmically. Tap. Stomp. Tap. Pause. Tap. Tap. Stomp. Pause.
“You like chocolate more,” Mike continued quietly. “Because it reminds you of Reese’s Pieces.” He swallowed and continued. “You never say it out loud. The vanilla one costs a dollar at the arcade. Chocolate costs a dollar fifty.”
His voice cracked despite himself. The room fell silent.
“And you hate making your family pay extra.” He looked straight at Will. “You only pretend vanilla’s your favourite. But you didn’t know that, did you, Henry?”
“You’re… not my boy,” Joyce concluded.
Stomp. Tap.
Eleven’s eyes widened in recognition at the sound.
“It’s Morse code,” she said, terror dawning. Then her voice sharpened. “He’s spelling RUN. WE NEED TO LEAVE.”
“Mom, it’s me! It’s me!” he insisted. “I remember I created a rainbow ship with all the different crayons I had. Oh, and El! You would always draw on the floor of my room back in California, and I would paint. I taught you how to make flowers.” He turned his head, madness peaking as he faced his brother. A sliver of despair marked every word. “We built Castle Byers together, Jonathan, when… when Dad was still around. Come on, it’s me! You have to believe me!”
Will grasped Jonathan’s hand tightly, too tightly. His knuckles blanched, and a cry of pain escaped the older brother’s lips. A sickening crunch rang out as his bones twisted. People rushed toward them, but “Will” had already shifted position. His arm snapped around Jonathan’s head, locking him in a headlock.
It was a threat. He could kill Jonathan at any time he wanted, and he could do the same to his host.
Weapons rose into the air from the party, and Eleven lifted her hand, trying to force them apart with her powers. Kali stepped in beside her, already forming an illusion of one of Henry’s memories.
Things escalated in seconds. Will raised his fingers and slowly curled them into a fist, channelling Henry’s power through him as his vessel. Kali’s illusion shattered, and Eleven was flung backward, crashing into the stack of chairs Dustin had initially set up. CRACK. She yelped as the metal slammed into her back, knocking the breath from her lungs. Some blood stained the floor. Kali rushed to her side to help her up, as did Vickie, who had stayed silent behind Max. Everyone hesitated, uncertain whether to attack or hold back, because the enemy was still Will.
“Argh! ARGH! D-drop the act, you’re not my little brother,” Jonathan choked out, the words barely forcing their way past the pain.
“You think your little tricks are going to stop me?” Henry’s voice slipped through Will’s mouth, cold and mocking. “I gave you your chance. I already told you when we were kids, Joyce.”
He paused, utterly detached from the sweet, compassionate body he was inhabiting. The same body that would laugh while playing DnD. It made Mike’s stomach churn.
“You need to do whatever it takes to protect what you love.”
“You fucking psycho!” Max shouted at the man who had turned her life into a living hell for a year.
“JONATHAN! JANE!” Joyce screamed. “You’re going to regret touching my family. I don’t care what I have to do to kill you—I’m getting my boy back.”
“Shit,” Dustin hissed. “You piece of trash! How long have you been toying with us?” His blood boiled with rage toward the monster who killed Eddie. He was standing right in front of him.
Jane got up and once again forced her power against Henry. Already wounded, her attempts were easily blocked by Will.
“Jesus, what did I get myself into?” whispered Vickie.
“Jane, you have to go harder on him—it’s not enough! If you keep going like this, he’s going to kill you before you even scratch him,” Kali said while supporting her. They were both shaking.
“I-I can’t. You don’t understand, I can’t. I know it’s Henry, but all I see is Will. I see him in California, hanging out with me. All I see is my brother. I’m scared. I don’t want to kill him.”
Mike knew they had to act quickly amidst the chaos. Jonathan was still pale in his cleric’s arms. Nancy could shoot Will from her position; she just needed someone to draw his attention long enough for the bullet to hit. It would give them the upper hand—enough time to restrain him and, hopefully, weaken Henry’s hold on Will.
Nancy seemed to reach the same conclusion, because she adjusted her gun, sighting down the barrel at Will. Joyce noticed and bit her tongue. She mentally repeated that it was to save her family. She had to do whatever it took, even if it meant relying on her best friend’s daughter.
“I didn’t toy with any of you,” Henry said smoothly. “I simply lifted poor, fragile William Byers of the burden he was carrying. It had been eating him alive for a long time, and I showed him all the ways it could end.” His smile twitched.
“Friends don’t lie,” he continued. “But they hide things very well, especially from the ones they love.”
“Shut up. Shut the fuck up! You don’t know him!” Mike hissed.
“Holly wouldn’t be very proud of those words, Michael.” Henry’s gaze flicked to him. “I know him well. Better than you, in fact.”
He tilted his head. Robin’s expression turned alert, which Steve immediately noticed. He knew those two had been talking. A familiar fear of being outed clung to her chest.
“NO. DON’T YOU DARE—YOU HAVE NO RIGHT—” she implored.
“The painting he gave you? It was never commissioned. He painted it because pathetic, weak William Byers is in love with you.”
Mike felt the room tilt. He noticed the sigh Nancy gave him from the corner. His sister was ready.
“What—” Mike started, but the word died in his throat. The entire room had gone still.
“He’s been in love with you for a very, very long time,” Henry went on softly. “When he learned you and Jane broke up, he was ecstatic—and immediately ashamed of it. He cried himself to sleep that night, wishing he had never felt that way.” A phantom of a smile curled across his face.
“How could he be happy because of your pain?” His tone sharpened. “You knew it and ignored it, didn’t you? The same way you ignored how the bruises piled up whenever his father was around.”
He seemed almost amused. The worst part was that the voice was still Will’s, like a direct accusation coming from his mouth.
“The truly pitiful part? He could never be angry at you. It’s not your fault he doesn’t like girls.”
Mike didn’t know how to feel. It was like a million emotions collided all at once in his chest: joy, shock, shame, and something warmer he couldn’t name at first. A myriad of memories rose uninvited: the sleepless sleepovers (Will’s pretty hair in the morning, the way Mike always noticed it without meaning to), the first time they met (how safe Will had made him feel with just a smile), the quiet afternoons spent drawing side by side while he wrote DnD stories, dreaming about comics they would do together (growing up together).
The symphony his emotions played wasn’t chaos at all; it had a center. It had always had one. His heartbeat stuttered, then raced. Love maybe.
BANG! The bullet rang out, and Mike held his breath as Will whimpered. Jonathan fell to the ground weakly, gasping for air. Tears spilled from the corners of the older teen’s eyes. Looking at Will—his little Will—his mind supplied the image of the helpless rabbit on the ground Lonnie had forced him to hunt.
Red. So much red.
He felt dirty.
The lifeless body, still warm in his arms, blurred with the still-living one of his brother. Joyce ran to Jonathan and hugged him tightly, murmuring reassurances into his ear.
“Gotcha,” Nancy cheered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Holy shit, she got him!” Steve and Robin exclaimed at the same time.
The recoil made Will stumble back three steps as the shot hit his right shoulder. Thick, bright red liquid spilled from the wound and pooled on the white tiles. Mike froze for a second (he would deal with his feelings after saving the world)—thankfully, Lucas and Steve reacted quickly, tying him up to a chair.
Will twisted, both from pain and in an attempt to break free from the ropes. Eleven limped toward him, Kali still trailing behind her.
“Let him go, Henry. Get out of his head. You don’t need him anymore.” Anger bled into her movements.
“That’s where you’re wrong. You’re wasting time. The clock is already ticking—are you going to waste any more?”
“I hate to say it, but he’s right. We’re not going to make it if we stay here,” Lucas mumbled.
Vickie approached Will, cursing, trying to stop the bleeding. Steve stood guard, holding what looked like a bottle of Coke in a threatening manner. While they worked, a small huddle formed among the rest of the room.
“Now what? Do we just leave him here? Because I think leaving a heavily possessed individual with the girl who just escaped Vecna’s dark, weird mind prison and my girlfriend is not the best choice,” Robin said. The last part slipped out, but she didn’t clarify. A beat passed.
“I agree with Robin on that,” Max added.
“The demos are probably on their way by now—if not already waiting. It’s not safe. We need to take them with us,” Mike argued, his gaze lingering on Will.
“Could—could we burn this thing out of him again?” Jonathan asked, his voice strained.
“Vecna is present in Will’s physical body, which means we have time. It’s not the particles. The worrying part is when he decides to hand control over to the Mind Flayer. Notice how much he’s talking compared to last time? He’s not on ‘spy autopilot’ anymore. Back then, he was transmitting information,” Dustin explained carefully.
“So no…” added Nancy.
“What’s going to happen to him if we destroy the upside-down and he’s still linked to that thing?” Joyce remarked with anxiety.
“Will must know something if he’s stuck in there. He’s the one connected.”
“He’s weakened, I can try to bring Will out.” El offered.
“Or we can use music !” Max exclaimed, snapping her fingers together. “We have tons of music here, we blast that long enough for Will to wake up and when he gives us an answer, we blind fool him.”
“It's up to The clash to bring him back…“ sighed the oldest Byers.
The group seemed uncertain about the plan, but what else could they do? The clock was ticking, and they had no other options. Robin ran to the shelves to fetch the album and went to the console. She got to work and put the vinyl on. As the first string of the guitar played, Will’s movement became erratic.
“Stop! STOP !” Will screamed, his body jerking violently against the chair.
The music seemed to cut Will like a knife. As the lyrics echoed, his eyes gradually cleared.
“It’s working,” Mike whispered. “It’s working.”
“Mom. Jonathan. Jane.” His voice cracked. “Mike… listen to me. I don’t have much time.” Will sucked in a shaking breath.
Joyce stepped forward.
“Sweetheart, we’re here. You’re here.”
“No,” Will said sharply, panic flaring in his eyes. “I’m not. Not all the way.”
A low, strangled sound tore from his throat, his fingers digging into the arms of the chair.
“He knows,” Will gasped. “He knows what you’re planning.”
Dustin froze.
“That’s not possible—”
“He saw it,” Will cut in, tears spilling freely now. “He went through my memories. All of them.”
The lights flickered. Eleven took Will’s hand in reassurance. She didn’t need to say a word.
“I never stopped being the spy,” Will whispered. “I’m still his vessel. When you kill him—”
His voice broke into a scream, pain ripping through him as something unseen tightened its grip. Will sobbed, tears blurring his vision.
♪ Should I stay or should I go now? ♪
“He’s still looking through me.”
“No, no, we can fix this. We’ll get you out—” Joyce shook her head.
“There’s only one way,” Will said, suddenly terrifyingly calm. “I still have a part of him in me.”
“Will… what are you saying?”Mike breathed out while stepping forward.
Will looked at him, eyes shining with terror and apology. Mike could see the affection shining through it, solely for him. Now he couldn’t escape his feelings.
“My left eye,” he said. “It’s his. An eye for an eye. If you take it, it will blind him. It’ll free me.”
“No!” Joyce cried. “No, baby, I won’t let them—”
“It’s unfair. It’s unfair! Why do you have to be the one sacrificing yourself over and over, bud? You’re just a kid.” Raged Jonathan.
“Please,” Will begged. “I can’t hold him anymore. He’s winning.”
♪ If I go there will be trouble… ♪
“I’ll fight him from the inside,” Will whispered, voice fading. “But you have to fight for me on the outside.”
“We will, so hold on tight. ” Will’s sister replied.
His head fell back as the song started to reach the end. Mike couldn’t bear to watch. Jonathan reached for the blindfold, still trembling, and covered his brother's eye.
♪ So you gotta let me know… ♪
“Do we still have benzos left? Because we’re going to need them, I think.”
“I-I have some on me. I always have a sedative on me in case, ya know, my patients are out of control. There, I can give it to him.”
Vickie took the boy's arm and murmured a sorry before jamming the needle in. Another cry escaped from his lips before he relaxed in the chair. The walkie-talkie in the corner of the room was blasting with Erica’s voice as if on cue. They grabbed the boy in silence as they walked to the truck. Mike squeezed Will's hand.
“We will kill Henry, I promise. "