Chapter Text
He can't feel anything. Not his arms or legs, not the fire floating around him. Not the breath stuttering through his throat as he fights for air.
He's disconnected, gone somewhere else as his strings are cut and he's released to the burning concrete. It's painful, soothing, horrifying, freeing. He can't describe it.
It feels a little like zoning back in—as if the rush of the moment threw him from his body and only just let him return. He remembers every moment, though. The agonizing fear as Vecna held him close, the hard concrete a cloud in comparison. He remembers lying there just a moment, wishing it would swallow him whole even if it meant being banished to the Upside Down. He wouldn't have to face his party knowing he was just weak. He was weak, and Vecna took advantage of it.
Took advantage of him.
The perfect vessel.
But…
He remembers Mike's face morphing into something he knew so keenly—fear. It didn't look right on their brave leader. It was foreign, more so than the ugly monster approaching him.
And something just snapped.
His vision vanished, dwindled into nothing until he thought himself blind but…
he could see. It was all in the vibrations, the scents and sounds all coagulating into one picture perfect image laid out in front of him.
Mike, Lucas, Robin.
He could see them so clearly without seeing them at all. Even worse, he could sense their fear.
His actions weren't his own when his hands lifted, bringing the fleshy monsters with them. His mind lingered so close but too far to explain how he did it. How he knew how to do it.
But in one movement, the demogorgons cracked into themselves, falling victim to their master's own shtick. Will would be lying if he said it didn't hurt him too—he felt all of it. Arms, legs, neck, eyes. It's why he fell right along with them.
The only difference was his continued ability to catch his breath afterwards. Or rather, his ability to attempt to catch his breath.
That's what he's doing now, still catching his breath. It scrapes through his throat uncomfortably, and he almost wonders if he actually did shatter it right along with the monsters.
Then he's on the ground again, face pressed to the concrete as someone looms above him. His hearing returns to him with a shriek, and it's Mike.
"What are you doing, he just saved us!"
It occurs to him that he should be fighting back, but his arms are weak and his legs don't seem to know how to get under him. The knee pressed to his back isn't helping either. He can hear his mother's inflection somewhere behind him, but it's Mike's face he sees when he can finally look up.
It's that same fearful expression.
Something in him breaks, because it should be over now. He killed the monsters, yet there's always more wearing human skin. He feels himself slipping again.
He expects a part two, a repeat of his previous actions. He expects floating, snapping, dying.
He doesn't expect the ground to split open around him, dragging the unfortunate military to the pits of hell with no preparation. He pushes against the ground just enough to dislodge the knee from his back, then that man is falling too. Will's left on an island of his own making, pulsing red surrounding him like a lava lake.
He feels safer than ever, but maybe it's just the adrenaline.
"Will!" he hears, but he doesn't look up at the muffled call. The concrete is soothing against his burning forehead, finally cooling with the open gate embedded in it. He doesn't like the implications of that, but he's just so hot. "Will!"
He looks up at the second call, already mourning the loss of the cold ground. His vision flickers, blurs, flickers again until he realizes his lids are closing. He doesn't know why he's so exhausted, and he ignores the nagging voice in his head that claims the opposite.
He knows exactly why he's exhausted, but accepting it is harder than blocking it out.
He can still see Mike's face despite the mangled vision, and it's finally lost that fearful look. Some knot in his chest unties.
And the soothing cool leaves him all at once, the eerie red light diminishing as the gates around him solidify back into concrete.
But then he's being shaken, and Mike's words are muffled against his eardrum. He squints, swallows, focuses until he's back to some form of present, and Mike's relieved voice finally reaches his ears.
"—sorcerer! You really did it!"
It's all he hears, and it's all he needs to hear. Will breathes a little easier as his mother finally reaches them, and he lets their combined praise and worry wash over him like a calming spring. But it's not true, not really.
"No," he breathes, pushing himself up. "Vecna got the kids. All of them."
Mike's expression twists too quickly to decode, but he doesn't voice his thoughts.
"Can you stand?" he asks instead, already taking his arm. Will tries to shrug him off, but he's weak. He gets a foot under him, falls sideways, and probably wouldn't have caught himself if it weren't for Mike's steady hand on his shoulder.
There's no plan, nowhere to go, no place to catch a breath—until Robin and Murray appear in a beat up van as the gas mists through the cold air.
"Get in!" Robin yelps out her window, and they don't have to be told twice. Mike hoists Will's arm over his shoulder, all but carrying him until they reach the vehicle. His mom follows closely, and he's honestly surprised she's not checking his pulse, temperature, anything just to be sure of his well being.
Will collapses into the seat, finally letting his eyes fall shut in the dim light. He doesn't fall asleep, doesn't dare to in the aftermath of that. Whatever that was. It doesn't phase him how it should. He's still just south of conscious, close enough to his own body to control it yet not close enough to comprehend it. The others aren't in the same boat, though.
He can hear them whispering—or maybe there's just cotton flooding his ears again. He's not doing the best job of staying awake. Mike's inflection reaches his ears, then his mother's, then Robin's somewhere up front, finally Murray's booming questions permeating the vehicle in a way that should be much less comforting than it is.
The tension of the moment dissipates too quickly to comprehend, and he's got whiplash of the highest caliber despite the smooth road. Comfort lies in the warmth of the shoulder beside him, and it keeps him from realizing just how cold he really is. His hair still hasn't dried, still holds the remnants of that broken sink. It drips icily into his shirt, freezing against his skin.
It's better than the fiery battlefield they're fleeing at least. He'll take a steady drip of freezing water over an agonizing flame any day. Whether that decision had something to do with possession or not was a question he didn't dare consider.
"You're bleeding," Mike comments, turning slightly in his seat. Will's eyes crack open slightly at the address. It hits him all at once—the fire, the snapping bones, the warm liquid dripping from his nose—and he winces with it. He drives a knuckle across his nose, and it comes away coated. More than he thought.
Which… doesn't say much. He'd been expecting none at all. The thought of Eleven-series-superpowers didn't quite register on his possible side effects of otherworldly kidnapping list.
"So that's why I'm lightheaded," he offers lowly. Mike's soft smile greets him in response.
"Or, y'know, the insane display of sorcery."
He's more awake now, more conscious of the moment and the preceding situation that will definitely need to be talked about. He's less than excited. "I don't think that's a good thing."
Mike visually recoils, as if the thought of Will not being ecstatic insults his very being.
"Not a good thing?" he starts quickly, raising a brow. "You just killed a demogorgon without touching it. I'd call that a pretty good thing."
Will falls into silence for a moment, because Mike doesn't know the extent. He doesn't know what exactly happened back there, only having seen a third of the action. Will debates letting it go unknown for a little longer if only to postpone the conversation.
"It wasn't just one," he breathes, looking ahead if only to avoid his eyes. "Robin and Lucas were being attacked too." Mike smiles slightly, but his reply is cut off as something occurs to Will. "Wait—Lucas! He's hurt!"
Will pulls himself up from his seat quicker than he can handle, but the van's already moving so he can't waste a moment. He lets the wall take his weight as he makes a break for the front.
"Murray!" he calls, banging a fist against the metal. "Get to the tunnels! Floor it, I don't care, just get there!"
"I get it, kid, calm your jets." Will feels the air shift at the reply, the vehicle picking up speed.
"Will?" Mike asks behind him.
He lets out a stuttered breath, sinking back into his seat. But his hands won't stop moving, fidgeting. There's something lingering in the air—something replacing the air with an unbreathable substitute. But the others are breathing just fine.
"Will."
His eyes meet Mike's. "Lucas got hit by a demo, I saw it."
"Like at the barn? You saw through it's eyes again?"
Will looks away then, the metal flooring becoming more and more interesting. "They don't have… eyes. It's more like a sensation. They can smell and hear and feel enough to make up for the lack of sight."
Mike hums lowly, sharing the sight line. "You become them?"
Will nods without really meaning to, the truth ringing. But Mike continues. "Does that mean you killed yourself? If you could feel what they felt?"
Will's breath pauses, and his eyes shoot back up to Mike's before he can think. He stutters a moment, looking for some kind of denial to spew like a mantra. But he can't think of anything, and silence falls between them again.
He steels his resolve. "I felt it," he admits, the words a brief whisper in the cramped van. "I felt all of it."
The silence morphs into something a little more comfortable as Mike's hand latches to his shoulder, a wordless apology for something he couldn't possibly have helped.
But it's in the party's nature to fault themselves for things outside of their control. They're all guilty of it.
The van jolts to a stop, forcing everyone forward as the momentum dies. Then Murray's yelling "Alright, everybody out!" and they're piling out one after the next.
The tunnel hatch entrance isn't that far when they sprint, and Mike's hoisting it up in no time.
"We'll be here to help pull him up," Robin says, pulling Joyce back with her and Murray. "Go, be quick."
Will takes a moment to catch his breath, then starts down the ladder behind Mike.
Then it's another sprint, a turn, a backtrack until they reach Lucas—and he does not look so good.
He tries not to let it show, but the pale complexion and sweaty palms give away his ire. "Hey guys," he greets as an afterthought, as if embarrassed to be seen injured.
Mike swears, leaning down to his level. "How bad is it? Let me see," he asks, settling the med kit against the dirt and popping open the lid.
Lucas groans, fiddling with his shirt weakly in an attempt to move the fabric. With Will's help, the wound shows clear.
Then they're all swearing.
"Oh, that's bad," Will breathes, backing away a little. Lucas squirms against the wall as Mike cleans the wound, wrapping it quickly with gauze.
"Sorry I couldn't get the kids out," Lucas murmurs once they're done, but the apology falls flat.
"You did the best you could," Will replies. "Nice swing by the way."
There's a pause as Lucas pushes himself up a bit, his face morphing seriously. "You saw?"
"He more than saw."
Will winces, uncomfortable with the sudden attention. "I'll explain back at the station. We need to go."
The diversion works well enough, but Lucas' curious gaze lingers for another moment before they're all hobbling back to the tunnel entrance.
"It's a trap! Get out, go!"
Hopper's voice reaches her too late, and El's surrounded before she knows it. It's too loud, too painful, the machines burning her from the inside out. It's like her body's vibrating in twenty different directions at once, organs tearing against each other as they flee.
Their hands are unwelcome, fire against her. But she can hear Hopper fighting—failing—somewhere in the building, and hope is suddenly lost.
They're taken to the very room they came here for, and it's an insulting show of military strength.
"You two have been interfering with my work. And you," someone says, and then Kay's looming over El. "Oh, I've heard so much about you."
Even breathing is painful with the suppressors weighing her down, but El finds the energy to glare anyway.
"From who?" Hopper seethes. He's slumped haphazardly against the wall in the apparent aftermath of a fight, but he spends the energy to lean towards El in forethought.
"What, don't see the resemblance?" Kay hums, stepping back towards the door. "I think you knew my brother. Killed him too but, bygones…"
Something in the air suggested that she would not, in fact, let bygones be bygones.
"Papa…" El winces, pushing herself back instinctively. She'd thought herself free after his death, but now this ugly imitation of him presents doubt. Someone always takes up the mantle, someone always passes the torch.
Yet they never seem to comment on the crimson-stained handle.
"I'm not here to finish what he started," Kay booms, and it's not as reassuring as it could be. "But that other world is a scientific mystery, and I will uncover it. I can't keep wasting time cleaning your messes."
"You're gonna get people killed," Hopper says, and his voice grows low with the accusation. "More people."
Kay huffs quietly, but responds nonetheless. "What are a few lives in the face of knowledge?"
The door slams behind her, and Hopper's exhausted swearing is all that fills the small room.
"You alright?" Hopper asks, scooting closer. It's in vain, though, because El spends her limited energy just to face away. "Kid…"
"You were going to die," she mutters. It's a fight through every word, every accusation, but she fights to say it anyway. "The plan was to find Vecna and come home. You lied."
"I didn't—"
"You lied about my training too. You didn't want me on your crawls because you were going to kill Vecna alone and die."
The words sit heavily between them, weighed down by wearable explosives even in their absence.
"El, today was different. You couldn't fight and we only had a small window." Hopper takes one angry breath between his words, weighing the outcome. "I didn't have a choice."
"Yet you already had the bomb ready to go."
He hesitates.
"It was a fail-safe."
"That no one knew about!" El argues, and Hopper can't help but feel a little guilty. A moment passes between them as the emotions dwindle to nothing, silence passing like a tradition. "You were planning to die. You always were."
He wants to deny it, spit an angry consolation despite how much it would contradict itself—but El doesn't deserve that. Not here, not now.
Not ever.
So he lets the flowing rage wash away with a heavy breath, and the seat he takes speaks of patience he doesn't remember learning.
But there are still barriers holding them from freedom that need to be broken. The barren room isn't exactly a comfort for either of them—just white enough for a lab and just empty enough for a prison.
It occurs to him then that they're not left with much to work with—stripped of weapons and left in a empty box devoid of windows, vents, even cracks. It's a cage made just for them.
But the power jackers… the vibrations…
"El," Hopper says, forcing an even tone despite the disappointment in the air. "Where's the sound coming from?"
El moves her attention, gaze falling wearily from corner to corner until she finds something. "Corner," she says, eyeing the top corner by the door.
Hopper hums noncommittally, raising back to his feet.
"You're always trying to save the day. I guess I got tired of you taking my job." He can hear her shift behind him, moving painfully to sit.
He doesn't have a plan, but he knows the government. He knows their tricks, their thought process, their gadgets. He sees it too, the little white disk blending in with the wall.
He didn't believe for a second that they would limit a sound machine's efficiency by muffling it with a wall. No, they put in here with them—disguised haphazardly like the microphone in his ceiling light.
"But I know you won't stand down when I ask you to. Sometimes I feel like you still think no one's there to protect you."
She tries to respond, but it's lost as he rips the disk from the wall. He goes down, voltage materializing across his skin as the sound stops.
Sound waves to shock waves, El to Hopper.
El gasps as the pain diminishes, as if redirecting. Her breath fogs her gas mask a moment while she moves, rushing to just make sure that fight wasn't their last conversation.
He fidgets on the floor, hand still clenched around the emitter in a way that can't just be from muscle spasms. "The—door!" he groans, holding even tighter.
She gets the memo, throwing her hand forward and letting the metal door creak under it's own weight. "You're insane!" It clashes against the far wall, and she's on the floor again as Hopper manages to dislodge the device from his grasp.
"This is supposed to be my job as a parent," he gasps, catching her as her legs seize with the returned sound waves, "but I can accept that you're more suited sometimes."
He hoists her up, carrying her silently to the end of the corridor. If they can just get far enough away from the device, she'll be able to break through a wall. "Just—please—don't make me mourn another daughter."
It's not discreet, nor is it flashy, but efficiency is key here. They have to be quick, though. Someone must have already heard the door crashing open, and they were likely already on their way.
Something squelches beneath his boot, and his heart drops to his stomach. "We gotta go," he whispers, eyeing the thin black tendril slithering back to a tiny crack in the wall. The door had left a sizeable dent, and the vine had apparently found just enough give to pierce through.
Like a needle through rotting wood.
Something roars in the distance, and he's no longer worried about the military.
He sets El down quickly, holding her upright as the device wails behind them.
"I trust you," he murmurs, guiding her hand until it's reaching towards the tiny sliver of light in the wall. "Fight through the pain. Focus on my voice."
Her breath stutters, the smallest cry forcing it's way through her throat as she complies. Her hand twitches, but the wall doesn't budge.
"Block out the noise," he continues. "Think about your friends. Max, Lucas, Dustin, Will, Mike."
Something cracks in her soul as they flood her mind, and the wall cracks too.
Sleepovers and stupidly fun party games.
Reassurances about bullying from the number one bully magnet.
Love letters signed with friendship, but the promise of three waterfalls anyway.
The wall splinters as the first tear leaves her eye, and she collapses into Hopper when the gap is wide enough.
"Good job, kid," he breathes, picking her up again and crossing the threshold into the vast parking lot.
Then someone screams, then someone else, again and again until it's all around them. They finally see it, the dense swarm of bats gliding onto their victims.
Hopper sprints towards the nearest vehicle, throws El in the passenger seat, and starts fiddling with the wires beneath the wheel.
They were lucky to find it unlocked, but of course the keys aren't in the car.
El steels herself as the last remnants of pain disperse. "They see us."
It's true—Hopper stares out through the windshield to see a small portion of demon bats zeroing in on the car, screeching painfully as they fly. He slams the door closed beside him and prays the lock holds steady. "Hold on," he says, fiddling a little faster with the wires.
One after the other, the bats throw themselves at the windows. The vehicle shakes with the impact, eerie darkness making it even more terrifying. "Almost got it, just hang on."
CRACK
Hopper looks up slowly, eyeing the small line in the windshield… until it begins to grow. "El!"
El doesn't have to be told—she throws a hand towards the window and holds it steady, keeping the crack as small as possible as the bats continue their assault.
Finally, the car bristles with a start, and Hopper's moment of celebration is cut short as he steps on the gas.
It's silent for a moment as they make it to the road, watching the bats grow smaller and smaller as they raid the military base. Then El looks over, hesitates, and speaks.
"You don't have to worry about losing me," she reassures, voice soft like a prayer. "But you forget that I don't wanna lose you either."
It finally clicks, and it sits in the air comfortably. Hopper can't help but wonder how long it's been since the quiet between them felt anything other than angry.