Chapter Text
Will Byers pushes down on the pedals of his bike. The buzz of the campaign culminating in that final climactic encounter, and that last smile from Mike, still fills his stomach. He's still reminiscing when his autopiloting brain turns and takes him down the path the party calls "Mirkwood."
Dread starts to pang at the edges of his awareness. He doesn't take this path in the dark. The lack of streetlights makes the already ominous forest seem eldritch. Branches from the overgrown trees on either side grasp at his puffy vest and jeans.
Something crashes through a tangle of branches on his left, and he picks up speed.
Mirkwood gives way to the street in front of his house. His legs ache, his lungs burn. He leaps off the bike and sprints up the stairs to the door.
Something is following him.
He fumbles with the single key on his keychain, scraping it against the lock face four times before he finally finds purchase.
He scrambles inside, locks the door, and slides the chain lock into place.
Will collapses and turns back to the door, chest heaving.
It's not real. It's not real. Its-
The door shudders as something impossibly tall smashes a fist against the cheap wood.
Not real. Please don’t be-
The entire door seems to come loose as another impact rocks the entire house.
RUN!
Will starts to push himself to his feet as the chainlock slowly slides out of the rail, as if an unseen hand was moving it without a care in the world.
He sprints towards the back door as another impact slams the door open. He doesn’t look back, bursting through the rear door and finding his legs taking him to the shed.
His hands find the twenty-two caliber rifle, and he dumps the half-empty box of ammo onto the work table.
Lonnie’s voice comes to Will unbidden; he wants to puke as he forces his body to follow the man’s commands.
“Open the bolt, push the round into the chamber. Close the bolt. Shoulder the weapon. Find your sight picture-”
The boy looks through the rifle's circular sights, a monster, all loping arms and legs, with a head too wrong to process, stalks towards him from the house.
“Finger on the trigger, increase pressure slowly-”
The shot snaps and reverberates through the shed. The monster barely flinches.
“Open the bolt, clear the spent casing-”
The creature is too close.
It lunges.
The world goes white.
The air is damp, and Will’s ears immediately pop as the pressure changes drastically.
“Will! Fireball now!”
It’s Mike’s voice. Will opens eyes he hadn’t realized he’d closed, and finds a large cavern bathed in torchlight. In the center of the cavern is a more familiar monster. A demogorgon, two headed monster with both of its bulbous heads holding rows of sharp teeth.
A small figure in silver armor holding a glowing sword and shield is currently engaged in combat with the monster. Two figures lay sprawled too close for comfort near the creature. One has a bow lying across its chest, the other a sword and mace.
Will finishes pushing the round into the chamber and closes the bolt.
Some dream, usually the gun dreams feel way worse.
He sights one of the creature's heads and slowly increases pressure on the trigger. The snap of the gun firing hits the cavern walls and bounces back four times. One of the heads slumps.
The armored figure lunges forward and cuts cleanly through the neck of the still-active head, and the monster slumps, then falls forward. The armored figure jumps and shakes his sword in the air above his head. Then seems to catch himself.
He sheathes his sword and rushes over to the supine figures.
“Dustir, Luco, hang on. Lay on Hands.”
Will’s eyes go wide as golden light spills from the armored figure's hands, and the two people on the ground, Dustir and Luco, both begin coughing and moaning.
“Come on, Mike, that's not enough!”
Says the one now grasping his bow.
“Sorry, that’s all I had left.”
“Ugh- of course the guild would saddle us with the one paladin who hasn’t even completed his oath.”
Says the one holding the mace and shield.
“The gods work in mysterious ways, right- holy fire! You’re not Will!”
The armored figure, Mike, stands and places a hand on the hilt of his sword when he looks up at Will.
The face, half-hidden behind the mask, makes Will’s heart skip a beat.
Mike stares back at him.